So we’ve been asked to comment upon Rummers (apparently not a reference to spirit soaked drunks), a fairly unassuming pub in Cardiff by.. well I suppose I should refer to him as a friend (this chapee here …. But we’re not entirely sure why…

We had stopped over in Cardiff to see Joe, our former flatmate, on our way to the camping holiday in the Brecons. We hadn’t seen Joe for a while and had a genuinely lovely morning walking into Cardiff centre via a riverside walk and, after a good hour or so in the National Museum looking at stuffed seagulls, hearing the booming voice of a whale condemn us and our earth-raping kind, and lingering over the stunning sketches of DaVinci, we were kinda peckish.

There was some genuine nostalgia for Deptford days as I dragged us from place to place; refusing to enter a franchise I recognised and eschewing all things chrome… searching for Authenticity. Even the faux authentic would do. I’m not hard to please; write up your menu with chalk, put a stuffed animal over the bar and call your sliced pan ‘rustic’ and you’ve pretty much got me fooled.

Rummers delivered.

Now the food wasn’t that great. A bowl holding a chicken breast wrapped up like some Egyptian prince in bacon slices and draped generously in a tomato sauce… a thick slice from a steak and ale pie; black pie-juice oozing out to be eagerly mopped up with fries and peas… It was all perfectly fine.

But… nice relaxed staff, crazily uneven wooden furniture, names scraped like schoolyard compass graffiti into the table tops, old skool prices… It had me at hello.

Eoin: 6
Billy: 7
Googlemap: I actually can’t find the address of the place online… Errr… it’s near the castle… beside the Millets with the cool action-pants on sale.