Even though I haven’t yet tried it, it cracks me up that I, at age nineteen, can walk into a pub and order a drink. Additionally, I can take that drink in its glass outside, where I’m likely to smash, lose, or run away with a perfectly good glass, and at places like festivals and street vendors, I can order beer or cider and carry it around in an open container!
As a non-drinker, I was a bit worried about how I would handle pub culture, as well as how my peers, both American and British, would participate in it. I have to say, I’ve been more than pleasantly surprised. I think my newfound comfort with pub culture is both a function of the more laid-back attitude towards drinking in Britain, as well as appreciating the fact that most people I regularly hang out with in the group aren’t looking to get trashed. Additionally, however, I think I also appreciate the pubs themselves. Unlike George Orwell, I don’t think I’ve found my perfect pub, nor do I think I ever will, since my perfect pub would probably only serve soda, all meals would be slathered in cheese and decidedly unhealthy, the bathrooms would be Cloroxed on the hour, and the contents of my iPod would serve as the juke box. Despite not liking drinking or rowdy people, the permeating smell of beer-soaked carpet, or much of the music played at various volumes depending on the venue, I quite like the few pubs I’ve frequented so far.
My first experience in a British pub was on my first full day here. My friend and I popped into the Lord Stanley in Camden for two reasons: One, this is the pub my favorite band got their start in, and two, I needed somewhere to be sick. Despite not being in the best of moods (as well as being distracted by the fact that Coldplay used to perform right there on that piano…I am aware I’m a nerd), I was quite interested by the fact that the other patrons didn’t seem to think much of knocking a few beers back at lunchtime and going back to work a bit loud, as well as the fact that you could order a decent selection of full meals in a place primarily for drinks.
Since that day, I’ve mostly stuck to the Marlborough Arms and the Court with the other members of Humanities 309, as well as a few stops at the Fitzroy. I think we started coming to the Arms mostly because it’s the closest pub to the Arran House. It smells decidedly of stale beer, but the food is good, the bartenders put up with our Americanness, and the music is quiet enough so I can still hear it most of the time, but I don’t need to shout over it, either. Like many others, I enjoy the Arms when I just want a meal and a talk, though we’ve been permitted to get a bit loud in the corner when we so choose. The interior seems to be, as Orwell put it, “the solid, comfortable ugliness of the nineteenth century,” though perhaps the Arms isn’t as authentic as many of the other more historic pubs we’ve been in this month. The Court, by contrast, caters to a younger crowd by having louder music and pool tables, as well as a more modern-looking interior and a designer cocktails menu. In America, I probably wouldn’t go near a place like the Court simply because of its loudness and the fact that people spill out onto the pavement and carry the rowdiness outside, but I’ve actually had some of my favorite nights there, which is as much a credit to the place and the carefree yet still somewhat reserved behavior of the British drunks I’ve seen as it is to the people on the trip I’ve partied there with.
In Watching the English, Kate Fox spends one of her longest chapters discussing British pub culture and customs, which was one of my favorites so far. Because Grace did the finer points such justice in her post, and because I already packed said book deep inside my suitcase, I will simply state that I have yet to see some of the behaviors she outlines. I did once get yelled at for not minding the “invisible queue,” and I don’t think most of us have yet mastered the act of ordering a round for the group and then working out who owes what later (not to mention offering the bartender a drink as tip), but I don’t think I’ve seen any “regulars” that the rules don’t apply to, nor have I heard any ritual arguments and camaraderie between regulars and the bartenders. Perhaps this is because the pubs we frequent are in the center of London and move probably thousands of different people through their doors each year. But in Norwich, I think the pubs might have a slightly different flavor, and I hope to do some of my own anthropological observing in order to understand most of what Fox has written.
I told myself before I came that I was open to the idea of becoming a social drinker while I was here, since it’s part of the culture, but I didn’t expect to want to. Not only have actually enjoyed the sips of friends’ drinks I’ve tried (surprising, since my number-one reason for not drinking has been dislike of taste), but I find the attitude towards drinking so laid-back that now since I’m not pressured to drink or ostracized for not drinking (thank you, group), I’m willing to give it a go. Now I see myself ordering ciders or Pimm’s and lemonades sometime in the near future, but I think because I have little to no experiences with alcohol, I have to be careful how much even one drink would affect me. Either way, I’ve embraced what I’ve seen of the pub culture so far with open arms, surprising myself, and I’ve enjoyed going out to the pubs almost every night for either a meal and a chat or a bit rowdier of a time more than I ever could have expected.
