Blob Review - Santa Chupitos

We mentioned a week or so back about how it does our head in the amount of alehouses in town that can't spell their own names on their signs – Beer off Bold Street, the Krazyhouse and Beer Cellar to name a few.

But, if there's one thing worse than poorly spelled signs, it's the misuse of words. On the Albert Dock, trying to cram the tourists in, the Fart Gaff renamed itself The Pump House (it still smells like rat stuck on an escalator) but worse again is the Americanisation of this scruffy gaff by Seel Street. If, Santa Chupitos, you're going to open on the Liverpool/Wool border, you'll have to start using our language. So Tip One; ditch 'Santa' and 'Chupitos' and say it in English – Father Christmas' Little Chips.

Their clear shame at being English doesn't end there. Gone is the quaint, rustic look we pride ourselves on, also missing are fine English ales like Fosters, Bud and Stella. In their place are stairs, these weird long seats called 'booths' and cocktails which, to our complete bamboozlement, are not little things for warming you nobs – but a mix of a load of drinks we've never heard of that doesn't give you any change from a tenner.

'Exclusive' is also a word that clearly hasn't manged to cross the English Channel to America yet, either. This place was rammed with people who, to put it kindly, looked like they hadn't had a short back and sides in at least a fortnight. Here at the Blob we have a motto - 'serve it and they will come. If too many come we're a bit fucked because we haven't got many staff, so if we ignore them long enough they'll go somewhere else and come back when there's nobody waiting to get served.' The motto here at Father Chrimbo's Little Chips seems to be 'we'll serve anybody.'

What's worse is that the crowd inside are moody. As we walked around in our Nike Gumps and Diadora Trackies we were subject to a load of funny looks and snide comments. I don't know who 'Dave McCabes arl' fella' is and don't care to find out. But if, as suggested, we share a rig out, then the lad is alright for a free bottle at the Blob.

In the alehousing game, two things are important to customers. A temperamental fruity to keep them on their toes and an upstairs bookies. Imagine our surprise then, when going up to get a bet on the 2:34am at Lucksin Downs, we were met with a living room full of people in fur coats and wearing glasses. We're all for 'Dressed by the Corpy' anonymous meetings but in place of somewhere we can get a bet on?

Not on our nelly.

In summary; between its bustling atmosphere, numerous staff and bad location – easily a ten minute walk from the nearest Lobster Pot, 'Santa' 'Chupitos' gets our lowest possible rating – 0 Cheese & Onion KPs out of 5 bags of Monster Munch.

What The Well Dressed Customer Is Wearing

Over the years we’ve gained a bit of a reputation for producing some of the best dressed aleheads in the whole of Great Charlotte Street. In fact, hardly a day passes by when we don’t hear someone walking past, muttering ‘where the fucking hell did he get hold of them threads?’ It’s testament to our customer’s dedication to stay one step ahead of the game in the looking sharp stakes.

Luckily, here at the Blob, we subscribe to the ‘what is mine is yours’ school of hosting, literally sometimes – don’t be surprised to have a regular looming over your shoulder for a slurp on your warm fozzies – and, as such, we’ve compiled a handy little cut out and keep list of key items to prevent you from looking like you’ve just stumbled out of the Penny Fartho, shit your strides and fell head first into a clearance sale in Solitaire. So here it is; what the well-dressed drinking man is wearing:

Your Lid – Strictly speaking, not clothes but it’s important to have a certain type of head if you’re going to bevvy in the Blob. We’ve always been big fans of that ‘just got out of bed’ look. Especially the one that is a slightly overgrown skinhead with a huge sticking up tuft at the sides. To really complete the look, have a greasy mop to compliment it. A genuine Blob classic.

For those of you with a hairless lid, try some headwear. In this economy we know that hats can be a bit of dent in your ale money so why not try a bandage? Wrapped all around the head has become a bit of a staple here over the years. The added bonus, of course, is that the NHS walk in over the road dish them out for free, usually after a game of ‘last hits’ has got a bit out of hand on a Sunday.

Clobber (Upper)

Nothing says ‘I’ve got enough to cover a round and a pasty’ more than a decent Members Only Jacket. For inspiration, nip into any old person’s home or watch an episode of ‘The Sopranos.’ We love a trackie top here at the Blob, never more so than when worn on a bare chest. The beauty of the jacket-on-bare-back (J.O.B.B) is that it covers all weather. If it’s cold – zip it up. If it’s warm – unzip it. If it’s hot – take it off. You’ll never own a more versatile bit of clobber in your life.

As for accessories, a bit of left over bandage on the arm will give you a decent bevvying grip while a digital watch will let you know how long it is until you can use your saveaway again. Here at the Blob there’ll always be someone on hand to flog you a spare battery to boot, at a very reasonable price.

Clothing (Lower)

It’s become a bit of a recent trend for any trackie wearers to go for that ‘full matching trackie’ look. That’s something we’d advise against. From your waist down, what you want is maximum comfort. We suggest a cracking pair of Fruit of the Loom kecks from the ‘Mick Foley’ range, available in a range of colours; from grey to navy blue. They offer a tremendously baggy arse, ideal for slouching. Secondly, they don’t constrain the knees – giving you loads of room for manoeuvre if you’ve got a proper moody pair of legs. Fruit of the Looms absorb almost any stain and after a while your kecks start to have that ‘vintage’ look as they’re cased in grease and ale. For those with a problem shaking their nobs after a piss – the navy pair will show up hardly any piss blobs as you walk out the bog.

For storage, the loose Fruit of the Looms leave you wide open to some pocket slippages – we’ve found tons of crisp packets and used bog rolls that have obviously fell out of our customer’s pockets and got stuck, tight, right down the side of our seats. Easily happens. Therefore, we suggest the bum bag for all your storage needs. Preferably fluorescent in case the leccy meter runs out again and we haven't got ten bob to sort it out.

Footwear

If you don't wear Reebok Classic, yer barred.

Formal Wear

Here at the Blob, it's not unusual for us to hold the occasional classy night. We've had dramatic readings from Pam's interpretation of the Vagina Monologues, 'Me and My Clunge,' a 'Singles Night' when we were running low on spirits and a few Funeral/Darts Night cross overs. On these occasions we expect our customers to dress up a bit and so the above dress list needs to be tailored a bit. Obviously, the footwear remains the same but we'd expect to see a pinstripe suit jacket, preferably quite big over a white polo. As for legwear, a simple light blue denim jean will fit the bill or at least a darker pair of waterproof trackies. An arl trilby would be respectable, too.

So that's your lot – don't be one of those soft lads walking round with long hair and jumpers. Follow these rules an you too could be catching the eye as you waddle around town looking for a chippy while counting your odds.

Blob Review - Tribeca

Took a bit of a while for us to get round to visiting this place, in truth.

When we first got round to the idea of inspecting our rivals and seeing exactly why they weren't as good as us, we drew up a list of places to go to. After we had a decent list we asked around 'where shall we go next?' and initially thought we were being asked to try Becca. We looked all around town, from Lime Street to Church Street to no avail. Then we bladdered our BT Phonecard ringing direct enquiries going through every Becca they could find us. Eventually, one of our regulars from the Bombed Out Church was telling us about some place he wasn't allowed to have a burst up against any more and the penny dropped.

Then we turfed him out because a penny doesn't get you anything here. Since the Oranjeboom went off anyway. Then put the penny in the tips jar.

The first thing that hit us, before we even went to the place, was it's location. Whoever was responsible for building an alehouse that far out of town wants shooting. If you sit back and think about the big hitters in terms of local popularity – Us, The Penny Fartho, Tess Riley's, Coopers – we've all got something in common; we're near the train stations and bus stations. We've even heard that the fella who owns City Pets ha started to let people bevvy in there now as well. Smart move.

Anyway, we put a few buttys together and bought ourselves an all zone saveaway and set off, looking forward to a big day out.

They say every place has got its own smell and that you don't really know what it is yourself. That might be true, we're often told how much our place smells like a sock and we take that as a great compliment – what better to keep you warm of a cold winter night then a nice smelling sock? In Tribeca though, they seem to be oblivious to their own smell of LOADSA GARLY BREAD.

Upon entering we were immediately asked 'are you eating?' to which the response straight away came back 'i've got a bit of a snicker stuck in me teeth like, what's it to yer?' After a while though, it was explained that the question was because in Tribeca you sit in different places depending on whether you are eating or drinking. As a rule, we agree with that – hence why we let people sit on the bog with a scran and keep the bar for our drinkers.

In truth, we ended up completely ballooned after a bowl of olives came over, meaning we had to order about 50 Martinis to put them in. We like a bevvy as much as anyone but that's putting a bit too much pressure on your customers. Our motto is 'pour it and they will come. And if they don't keep it away for someone else tomorrow. Waste not want not.' Admittedly, it's not the shortest motto, as we found out when we tried to paint it on our staffs bare backs during the summer. However, staff in Tribeca won't have that problem, seen as though they walk around like complete scruffs in grey t-shirts. That's unacceptable for any bar. Especially when the jeans they wear them with aren't even boot cut. We could see the top of everyone's shoe when, in 2014 in this industry, it should be a toe at most. Honestly, how they're expected to pocket their wallets, nokia 3210s and Sony Walkmans on the ferry home, while looking like Bryan Ferry, is anybody's guess.

As for the food, some soft bastard folded our pizza over so we sent it back and asked for a refund. Some of the old favourites turned up on tap but it was scant consolation. Within an hour we were on the steps of the church with a few of the lads tucking into a Frosty Jacks. That, coupled with the realisation that we didn't have to scratch the dates on our zoneys mean we give the experience a generous rating of half a pizza out of 5 crisp buttys.

Blob Review - The Krazyhouse

As seasoned pros in this ale selling game, we believe at the Blob that you shouldn't really boast about something unless it's a stand out achievement. That's why we don't really go for big window banners banging on about the many awards and compliments we've received over the years. We could if we wanted to, and chief amongst them would be just some of the following (we had to include words in brackets occasionally because those commenting seemed to miss out crucial words, presumably so excited about their visit:

• 'An absolute (watering) hole.'
• 'What a dive(rsion from the daily grind)'
• The bar staff had one hell of an (amazing) attitude.'
• 'The warmest ale i've ever tasted.'
• 'No change (from a quid) in the last 20 years.'
• 'The toilets are scarcely believable.'

Such is our modest nature, we were a bit surprised then to notice that our latest rival inspection, at the Krazyhouse, they had made a big deal about having three floors. We've got three floors ourselves – the floor in the bog, the one behind the door, and the main sticky one under the tables. Like we said, if you're going to boast about something, make it something worthwhile.

What they should be boasting about is the temperature of their bottles of Bud which are the hottest we've tasted outside of Great Charlotte Street - so hot in fact that our glass collector, Robbie, once burnt his lip on a bottle so badly that he couldn't bite the top off our bottles for a whole week around New Year – resulting in us having to smash bottles open over the end of the bar.

The Krazyhouse is one of the founder members of an annoying craze popping up on most of our rivals' premises of late – not being able to get a sign maker in that can spell the name of your alehouse properly. The same goes for 'Beer' off Bold Street, the Beer Cellar in Liverpool One and the Baltic Feet by the Docks, where nobody is allowed to wear any socks.

Once you're in the Krazyhouse you are promised one of the most diverse nights in Liverpool. Now at the Blob, we keep our words quite basic and so we're assuming that diverse means sweaty, and this place is bang on the money. In fact, it's so hot in there that all the lights seem to have blown out and everybody who enters dives in a swimming pool before going in, and just walks round soaking.

Musically, they don't seem to have any karaoke at all which is a bit mad, and we didn't catch any Diana Ross all night. What they lack in good music though, they make up for in entertainment – the bottom floor Village People fancy dress area is an absolute hoot, even if the contestants take it a bit seriously at times.

Overall with their warm ale, saving on the leccy and policy on letting the bogs getting on with being bogs, the Krazyhouse (or the K, as regulars call it, because they think it is O.K) was a big improvement on yesterday's foreign muck selling Salt Dog Slims, earning it a decent rating of 2 and a half lager tops out of 5 warm Fosters.

Blob Review - Salt Dog Slims

The first thing you notice when turning up at this 'Salt Dog Slims' place is that they've gone for a few stairs outside their door. Bit flashy.

Back in the early 2000s when everybody was looking into getting steps or stairs, we had a little go ourselves. We were warned against it like, seen as though our door was on street level but, we'd come into a bit of money after our fruity hadn't paid out for about a year. We asked some of the customers what they fancied seeing at the Blob and the answer, unanimously, was 'Steps.' So we went with it.

Initially, most people were a bit gutted that we had gone in for some actual steps and not got the band round to do smash hits like 'When the Feelings Gone and You Can't Go On' and 'Better Best Not Remembered' but after we pulled the bedsheets off our new purchase, everyone was right on board.

The problems were fairly clear. The steps had no back and most people banged their head on the frame of the door when they reached the top. In fact, we broke our daily record for most NHS One Stop trips, smashing the previous record previously set after our inaugural, and only ever, Knuckles Championship of 98, during which Mad Mart lost a knuckle, and an Ace of Spades. Anyone who managed to duck the door frame fell right off onto the wooden floor. We had to bin them, in the big bins, after an hour.

These jokers at 'Salt Dog Slims' clearly don't know their history though, and they've gone with steps. Our customer research shows that most people like belly sliding out at the end of the night and the last thing they want to negotiate, even more so than the repayments on their tab, is a set of stairs. Blob 1-0 S.D.S

One of the things we've been accused of in the past is not being on Blob when it comes to serving food. We've tried nearly everything:

• Nuts – we asked Mad Mart to put his away while people were eating
• Volley Vants – we booted the German lads out who vanted too much sauce
• Pot Noodles – we loaded our noodles with green to get people even more hungry

and so it was with great curiosity we had a little look at the scran available in here. First off, were 'chilli dogs' which, disappointingly weren't cold at all, quite warm. If there's one thing you don't want your food to be it's too warm. That's the job of your bevvy on a cold winter night (more on the so called bevvys on offer in a minute). The dog came over and, lo and behold, not a Princes hot dog in sight. There was then a wait of about 45 minutes until it became clear there wasn't any brown sauce coming over at all. Lashed it on the floor and turned our hat to the ale on offer.

As we walked over we couldn't see a big F on a pump anywhere. Or a friendly Carlin. We're all for experimenting at the bar, we tried chip and pin once – but people kept cutting their hands on the pins trying to clench their change, putting blood all over their chips – but these start ups are going to flounder if they don't get the basics right. When was the last time you walked past this Salty Dog gaff and saw a load of your salt of the earth lads in no t-shirts and members only jackets playing a friendly game of darts. Even though there isn't a dart board? Exactly.

The whole two hours we were there, nobody offered us any socks or batteries, there wasn't a proper bar of Dove in the bogs and we didn't hear the Rat Pack or The Mavericks all night. Frankly we couldn't wait to get over the Raz for a green drink.

Rating: 1 lager top out of 5 pints