The Griffin Inn, ShustokePhoto copyright Jimbob Spencer
With pub closures at a record high, we celebrate some of the finest inns that continue to serve the West Midlands. This month we raise a glass to…
The Griffin Inn, Shustoke
Most ancient inns are being transformed into cold, sterile gastropubs; they are dotted with chrome and devoid of charm. The Griffin has never succumbed to such a destructive fate, and remains a truly atmospheric and agreeable place to sink a pint of ale.
The place is full of character, with a cosy and unspoilt décor. The tables are made from converted sewing machines, and the walls are adorned with scrumpy jugs. The low ceiling is decorated with antique beermats, (which shows how a long-standing passion must fuel the success here). Pride and affection is apparent in the drink itself - very few pubs keep Real Ale to such an exceptionally high standard.
One of the regulars, in the fisherman’s corner, likes to be stroked and fed peanuts. I’m not referring to an old angler, after too much grog, but rather a very nice Bulldog, (who looks a little bit like Winston Churchill).
The original part of the building dates from circa 1750, and the other section was added in 1986 - but an unchanged atmosphere is carried throughout. The landlord, Mike, has maintained the flow of good beer for nearly 30 years. He has a good philosophy on how to avoid the current trend of destroying old pub interiors: “Don’t fix it ‘til it breaks, youth.”
The gaffer’s son, Ollie, is studying for a Masters in Brewing and Distilling, and makes his own beer on the premises. I tried a pint of his ‘Re-session Ale’, which certainly lived up to its name, (it was quaffable on a large scale, while simultaneously easing the misery of the economic downturn). After consuming it, I instantly became a ruddy-cheeked, strong farmer.
One of the former publicans, William Ancott, died after he fell down the cellar and broke his neck in 1905. His ghost allegedly haunts the building, and there have been reports of him carrying a crooked walking stick and smashing glasses. Spookily, these sightings almost always occur after drinking all night.
The Griffin prides itself on selling good bar snacks and food to take home – including local honey, pork pies and eggs. The pork pies have a thin crust, and are filled with good meat, (very different to the ones available in shops - which have an inch of tasteless lard for you to leave teeth marks in). They also serve local country wines, such as Sloe or Elderberry, alongside real ciders, and it is no surprise that they have featured in countless copies of the CAMRA Good Beer Guide - including the new 2010 edition.
There is always a satisfying, steady rumble of mumbling voices in here - which lulls you into a content state of mind, (unless that’s the Old Peculiar). The peaceful bar does not allow children inside, but there is a large conservatory and plenty of outdoor seating, plus a large playing field, for them to scream loudly and spill drinks to their hearts content.
This is a classic country pub; it tantalises the same part of the brain that is affected by the smell of wax jackets, or the game-filled flavour of Hare. On a summer evening, you can sit outside with views that stretch as far as the BT tower in Birmingham. In winter, there are a couple of log fires to lure you in from the snow. The Griffin is a local gem to be proud of, and well worth a visit.
Jimbob Spencer
The Griffin Inn, Shustoke
Most ancient inns are being transformed into cold, sterile gastropubs; they are dotted with chrome and devoid of charm. The Griffin has never succumbed to such a destructive fate, and remains a truly atmospheric and agreeable place to sink a pint of ale.
The place is full of character, with a cosy and unspoilt décor. The tables are made from converted sewing machines, and the walls are adorned with scrumpy jugs. The low ceiling is decorated with antique beermats, (which shows how a long-standing passion must fuel the success here). Pride and affection is apparent in the drink itself - very few pubs keep Real Ale to such an exceptionally high standard.
One of the regulars, in the fisherman’s corner, likes to be stroked and fed peanuts. I’m not referring to an old angler, after too much grog, but rather a very nice Bulldog, (who looks a little bit like Winston Churchill).
The original part of the building dates from circa 1750, and the other section was added in 1986 - but an unchanged atmosphere is carried throughout. The landlord, Mike, has maintained the flow of good beer for nearly 30 years. He has a good philosophy on how to avoid the current trend of destroying old pub interiors: “Don’t fix it ‘til it breaks, youth.”
The gaffer’s son, Ollie, is studying for a Masters in Brewing and Distilling, and makes his own beer on the premises. I tried a pint of his ‘Re-session Ale’, which certainly lived up to its name, (it was quaffable on a large scale, while simultaneously easing the misery of the economic downturn). After consuming it, I instantly became a ruddy-cheeked, strong farmer.
One of the former publicans, William Ancott, died after he fell down the cellar and broke his neck in 1905. His ghost allegedly haunts the building, and there have been reports of him carrying a crooked walking stick and smashing glasses. Spookily, these sightings almost always occur after drinking all night.
The Griffin prides itself on selling good bar snacks and food to take home – including local honey, pork pies and eggs. The pork pies have a thin crust, and are filled with good meat, (very different to the ones available in shops - which have an inch of tasteless lard for you to leave teeth marks in). They also serve local country wines, such as Sloe or Elderberry, alongside real ciders, and it is no surprise that they have featured in countless copies of the CAMRA Good Beer Guide - including the new 2010 edition.
There is always a satisfying, steady rumble of mumbling voices in here - which lulls you into a content state of mind, (unless that’s the Old Peculiar). The peaceful bar does not allow children inside, but there is a large conservatory and plenty of outdoor seating, plus a large playing field, for them to scream loudly and spill drinks to their hearts content.
This is a classic country pub; it tantalises the same part of the brain that is affected by the smell of wax jackets, or the game-filled flavour of Hare. On a summer evening, you can sit outside with views that stretch as far as the BT tower in Birmingham. In winter, there are a couple of log fires to lure you in from the snow. The Griffin is a local gem to be proud of, and well worth a visit.
Jimbob Spencer
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