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Good beer very nearly died out completely in the 1970's. It was only thanks to a grass roots revolt that the big brewers were prevented from imposing their vile balance sheet-led products on us, to the exclusion of all else. This revolt led to a revival in the fortunes of the few remaining independent traditional breweries. Harker's started up during this revival and has carried on to this day, purveying nicely selected and perfectly kept draft bitter. During this period many of the traditional breweries have fallen prey to a new wave of consolidations and closures, and the industry has changed again to one where even smaller independents have come to the fore.
On our last visit to Harker's there were - as one has come to expect - six hand pumps on the counter. Each carried the insignia of a different independent. I didn’t recognise a single one, but gave an impromptu specification of my requirements to the barman and was duly presented with a pint of something alesome from Yorkshire. Well, that barman had understood my request to the letter. To say that the first pull from that shining chalice hit the spot would be an understatement. On a number of levels, that beer set the world to rights. And I had known it would: that is the beauty of Harker's, that it is totally reliable.
Of course draft bitter is a middle class taste these days and the customers are quite noticeably of this persuasion. Men wear jackets, women jeans and jumpers. They are the same people you see in Brunning & Price's other pubs, around Chester and further afield. Your antennae pick up intelligence, confidence and an expectation of competence that is comfortably met.
The décor is spare, rustic, polished. An interesting wine list is chalked up next to the beers on permanent blackboards. Food comes from an appealing menu of mostly locally sourced stuff - meals are built for comfort not speed. And, yes, the chips are real.
Because of its location outside the city centre Harker's avoids most of the circuit drinkers, and the ambience benefits from this. It has no music (live or recorded) and no machines. It has newspapers, good crisps and nuts, simple furniture and a view on to the canal. Lunchtimes, once busy from the nearby offices, are now quiet. Evenings see people who have made the conscious decision to make the jouney here - until someone moves into one of the millions of newly-built apartments along the canalside, nobody can call this their local. But their journey is worthwhile: this is one of the finest boozers we have had the privilege of visiting.
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