The Harbour Inn – Sunday best

On the birth of the Ten Pint Sunday.

© Imran Rahman-Jones

I’ve just returned from a few days in Paris, the marvellous city where I once spent six very happy months as a student.

If you’re ever in Paris and missing home, may I recommend a visit to The Highlander Scottish pub, a dingy, tartan-clad hole set in an alleyway just off the Pont Neuf. I spent many happy Saturday afternoons there watching the fantastically-named Match of Ze Day – the programme which showed that day’s featured Premier League game, hosted by France’s Lineker, David Ginola. After the match, we would often stagger out on to the Seine, blink in the late afternoon sun, ignore the glorious Notre Dame across the way and lurch the few steps to the nearest Irish pub, The Galway.

I don’t want it to sound like I spent half a year in Paris simply living like a stereotypical Brit abroad. I also soaked up the local culture. I went to art galleries. I drank black coffee. I ate cornichons. I learnt to shrug. I occasionally wore a stripey T-shirt.

I was pleased to see The Highlander and The Galway still there on my recent visit © Imran Rahman-Jones

But Paris was also the birthplace of a tradition which came to be known by myself and my British friends as Ten Pint Sundays, which was as marvellous and regrettable as it sounds. And while it’s been years since my last Ten Pint Sunday, the tradition formed my opinion that Sunday is surely the best day to drink. It’s relaxed, conversation can be languid but easy, and there’s no expectation for the session to go anywhere. Monday seems so far away.

I made this argument in my review of The Harbour Inn last year.

The Harbour Inn doesn’t look like much from the outside, but don’t let that put you off. The small, nautical-themed bar room is a cosy, welcoming place, where tables are so close together you’re almost forced to talk to your neighbours. The beer is good, and reasonably priced. And there’s a separate – though less nicely decked-out – room for darts and pool. It’s worth a pint or two any day of the week.

The chaser – Home

I want to draw your attention to this piece by Charlotte Cook, who writes the

Drinking in Strange Places

newsletter. Cook grew up on Tyneside, studied in Edinburgh and then moved to Speyside. It’s there that she discovered Cairngorm Brewery, a quietly innovative little brewer, which, when it’s not winning national awards, generally keeps itself to itself.

But among the Crystal Weisses and the elderflower extracts is an amber ale called Wildcat.

As a brewer I’ve moved around a lot, I’ve worked abroad, and currently live very far from home. Brewers more concerned with fashions and trends might adjust their beer recipes to include some new hops that have aromas of coconuts or wild strawberries and undergo not infrequent rebrands to stay fresh. Not Cairngorm. Excepting the expected fluctuations inherent in a handmade product, it’s always the same. It’s always there and it’s always delicious. I’ve come off 9 hour flights to a bottle of Wildcat and it makes me feel as grounded and settled as I would had I been there for months.

It’s a reminder of the supremacy of taste, and the way it has a direct line to memory. It has the power to transport, soothe and comfort. All it takes is one sip.

Drinking Something That Tastes Like Home