BV London Pub of the Year 2013-14 - part three

OK, so, it's the first batch of the new contenders. Can they challenge the early pacesetters and defending champions?

Given the choice between coming up with a hilarious and thought-provoking intro and diving straight into the pubs, I chose the latter. Enjoy!

BV London Pub of the Year 2013-14 - part two

2013-14 was a great year. Easily as good as 1982-83, and possibly even up to the high standards of 1969-70.

Anyway, here's the next batch of PotY contenders as we run down the remaining finalists from last year's competition. (That's 'run down' as in list them in order, not driving at them in a motor vehicle with murderous intent, obviously.)

The first batch have laid down a competitive gauntlet. Now let's check out the rest...

BV London Pub of the Year 2013-14 - part one

So, it's the height of Summer, and that means only one thing.

Well, actually it means quite a few things. Like higher ambient temperatures than during the rest of the year. And flights to the continent becoming more expensive. And schoolchildren hanging around city centres in the daytime because it's the holidays.

But in Ben Viveurland it means this one, specific thing: London Pub of the Year.

The prestige that comes from winning the PotY trophy cannot be understated, of course.

Last year's winner - no longer with us

Last year a team of professional understaters from the UN spent six weeks attempting to understate the prestige, and all of them went home bitterly frustrated at their abject failure to understate the prestige. One subsequently split from his wife after the feelings of shame failed to go away and began to affect their marriage.

That's how fucking prestigious it is.

It all kicks off today, and, yes, it all feels a little unusual because last year's winner is no longer with us, but we've found a way around that. The scoring system is the same as ever, and personal bias and preference will undoubtedly play a significant role.

Parts one and two will feature the four surviving finalists from last year plus the two natural successors to the Catford Bridge Tavern.

Parts three and four will showcase six fantastic new challengers, and then around a month from now, we'll be announcing the winner and getting the trophy engraved.

Exciting times. And, for one pub, a colossal faceful of prestige is splurging your way. Soon.

Final meal 2014 - Black Forest Churrasco

The super-sharp amongst you will recall that, when Italy faced Spain in the Euro 2012 final, I created an awesome new recipe - Gnocchi Bravas - combining the respective cuisines of the finalists.

The super-curious will now be wondering if I've done something similar for Argentina vs Germany in the World Cup, and the answer is: Yes. Yes, I have.

The super-cautious can probably look away now, as it's a bit, well, left-field. Think of it as an inspired tactical substituion.

Birra alla pompa a Roma

So, Italy turned out to be no better than England at the World Cup. Worse, in fact, if your criteria for judging which team is better is 'results against Costa Rica'.

As I said the other day, nobody hates Italy, though I'm starting to refine that theory slightly on the basis of new information. Specifically:

1. Rome is fucking brilliant for beer. 
2. Rome is fucking shit in a lot of other ways.
3. There is probably nowhere in Italy where the food is bad. 
4. Not even Rome.

Regular readers will have picked up on the fact that I've never much liked lazy beach holidays - not for me the indignity of sprawling, sunburned, for a fortnight on a beach like some sort of floppity-haired manatee - and as such I've always thought of myself as more of a short city break-type person.

But, having just returned from the Italian capital, I've realised that I don't much like them either.

Allow me to explain.

It's almost Pub time

If you run a pub, it might be time to start getting excited. Nervous, maybe. Perhaps even a little aroused.

You see, we're into the final few days of June, which means that the epicentre of the year is fast approaching, and the judging of the 2013-14 London Pub of the Year can begin.

Now in it's third year, the competition is likely to be more intense than ever as the number of brilliant pubs in the capital has increased substantially over the past 12 months. (Obviously if your pub is fucking shit you have nothing to worry about. Move along, nothing to see here...)

You'll probably have noticed that we have a bit of a logistical dilemma though, in that last year's winner, the very wonderful Catford Bridge Tavern closed its doors for the last time just a few months after picking up the trophy.

So, I've given things a lot of thought and come to a decision. I think it's a good one because there are literally no losers. Not yet, anyway.

Tuck Off

Nobody believes me when I tell them about five finger KitKats - there's even misinformation on the internet denying their very existence - but in the mid-1980s they were as real as Feargal Sharkey topping the charts and Findus Crispy Pancakes for tea. 

Designed to fit in the old-fashioned mechanical vending machines that my late grandad serviced for a living, the five fingers were shorter than on the normal model, giving the KitKat what we'd call a 'landscape' orientation these days.

They were one of only two sweet items available from my schools very limited tuck shop - the other being little boxes of chocolate-filled discs, sort of like giant Smarties but much bigger. Bigger even than Minstrels. But I can't for the life of me remember what they were called because I always had a five-fingered KitKat.

The vending machines were always out of order (grandad never came to repair them) and the tuck shop was only open for about 20 minutes a day, which probably added to the allure. When, in 1989, I moved to a massive Secondary school with a permanently open canteen that sold all kinds of crisps and chocolates, including normal 'portrait' KitKats, it just wasn't as special.