St Andrews Pubs Aren't That Good

Arriving in a town encased in sandstone and topped with turrets can surely have the visitor thinking one thing: What pleasant spaces there must be to consume a pint. Other such towns boast multiple wood-panelled drinking establishments, their ceilings protruding with ancient beams, and their tables stained with century-old mead. They claim, veraciously or not, to have had monarchs and playwrights pass through their doors. These institutions are dripping not just with real ale but with history and charm.

When choosing to attend a university established in 1413, I never expected to live out the prime drinking days of my life in a Greene King or a Belhaven. When I frolicked in my fresher army to Molly Malone’s (where I ill-advisedly began my St Andrews drinking career), I was appalled to find that within its stony enclosure lay mass-produced menus and feigned Fenian decor. Shamrocks and Amazon-purchased Guinness memorabilia glared in the darkness. Abhorred, I tried to venture to the Whey Pat, to the Central, to Greyfriars, where there was still no escape from their tasteless logos and TV-covered walls. They have scrawled over St Andrews’ glorious architecture in bubble writing with a neon whiteboard pen. 

Whilst they haven’t sequestered every pub in town, what they have left are merely the scraps. The Dunvegan may have had a shred of dignity if they hadn’t sold themselves to the highest-bidding American golfer. I do quite like the Criterion, but it’s impossible to get a seat inside past 5pm, it always smells like pie, and I find the red glare protruding from the huddle of a seating area outside very distracting. 

There are many potential sites to establish an appropriate drinking institution in St Andrews which we have not exploited to their full potential. Why, for example, has South Street’s fabled ‘rave cave’ not been converted into a basement pub? The Szentek-goers among us surely could not think of a better space wherein they could vibe to their rhythmic pulses. Or, as I see it, the ruins of the castle lie unused. Imagine the beer garden that could be erected, sprawling among its stony ruins, looking out on the eye-candy that is Castle Sands. A beer garden complete with a swimming pool, it’s the all-inclusive pub of our dreams. The Scores is also full of pint-y potential, if Sally Mapstone would only give us a little slice of that pie. 

So, now I must turn to the only institution to which we pub purists can still bear to venture: Aikman’s European Bar and Bistro, of course. Although if we were to remove our rose-tinted beer goggles, clouded with the sights of a horde of mutuals and the lurid colour palette of the wallpaper, does this pub bear all the usual markers of a good drinking institution? Firstly, while charming, its decor is questionable at best and in a definite state of decay. Secondly, they never have anything on tap. Thirdly, while some might argue that cash is king, I personally believe Apple Pay is the supreme ruler, and not being served a pint because of my chosen payment method can sometimes be irritating. I do love this institution, with its completely malleable closing times, its distinct character, and its profusion of familiar faces, but all I ask is whether we should only have one such option available?

In a town so filled with architectural charm, why must this be confined to libraries, shopfronts, and sites of historical significance? Those of us who came to this university, famed for its pub culture, have been scammed out of the dreamy, beamy medieval pubs of our teenage imaginings. Greene King, I want my money back. 

Illustration from Wikimedia Commons