“Err, hello, what flavour crisps do you have?” I ask the snooty landlord.

I’m at a country pub that I think most people would now refer to as a ‘gastro-pub’. This has nothing to do with Gastroenteritis. The barman was quite vociferous in making this point when I asked for some clarification. Though I think the reason he is really annoyed is because I’m not sampling their vastly over-priced wares and would rather have a packet of crisps with my pint.

“We have a wide selection of potato snacks, is there any you would prefer?”, he responds with barely disguised loathing.

“Do you have Cheese & Onion?”

“We have Vintage Cheddar and Red Onion Chutney?”

“Err, so you’ve not got any Walkers then?”

“No”

“What about Smokey Bacon?”

“No, but we do have Ludlow Sausage and Wholegrain mustard.”

“Err, is that a joke? You just made that up didn’t you. I just want a bag of crisps, you know, normal crisps”

“Define normal.”

“Salt and vinegar, Ready Salted, Cheese & Onion. Normal!”

“So you don’t want to try the Smoked Salmon, Horseradish and Capers potato chips then?”

I suspect that my incisive business advice for the Lamborghini-driving landlord (that he should stock some normal flavours) would fall on deaf ears, and the look on his face suggests asking for pork scratchings would be a thoroughly bad idea. I return to the beer garden sans bar-snacks to the disappointment of my fellow beer garden occupants and our slightly unadventurous palates.

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