I AM not an easy man to please.
Anyone who is a regular reader of my weekly mumblings and grumblings on the drinking holes of Sussex will, undoubtedly, know this.
Like a Paul Hollywood handshake, my praise is rare, reluctant and richly deserved.
But, from the moment I stepped inside The Prince George in Trafalgar Street, I felt warm and welcome.
Mrs PubSpy and I ducked inside the pub’s doorway to escape the biting cold of a blustery Brighton evening.
Despite it being a mid-week evening, the atmosphere was bubbling along nicely and we were hard pushed to find a table among the labyrinth of bricked walls and wooden beams.
But we eventually settled on seats in a nook next to the pub’s open kitchen.
I always find this a reassuring site as, having worked in various kitchens during my younger years, I have learned that four walls can hide a multitude of sins.
As a 15-year-old, I watched on in horror as a landlord dunked his unwashed, sausage-like fingers in customer’s mashed potato, swiping a dollop from their plates into his mouth before they were served.
Fortunately, this was certainly not the case here.
After taking my seat, I cast my eyes around the pub.
Its long wooden tables and comfortable cushioned seats, topped with tasteful festive decorations, had Mrs Pubspy declaring the building had a “magical feel”.
I was not ready to commit to a compliment of this magnitude just yet, but it was certainly pleasant.
I picked up the menu and noticed the pub proudly proclaimed it had been “vegetarian/plant-based since 1990”.
But, after last week’s meat-free escapades, this was no longer a cause for trepidation.
I selected a katsu tofu burger topped with spring onion mayonnaise and Chinese curry sauce, with Mrs PubSpy picking a mushroom and halloumi burger, and went to order.
A couple of regulars bookended the bar, exchanging quips with busy staff as they served.
Another signifier of a much-loved pub.
Despite the fact the place was teeming by this point I was served promptly and politely, opting for a pint of Best Bitter by the 360 Degree Brewing Company to wash down my meal.
The beer was smooth, tangy and tasty, a perfect beach barbecue tipple and a welcome contrast to the cold outside.
Meanwhile the meal, which was delivered to the table shortly afterwards, was a revelation with each bite being better than the last.
It was delivered on a round, slate-like slab.
Now, I have a pet hatred of food being served on anything but a plate. But, after Mrs PubSpy pointed out the slab’s raised edges, I was satisfied that it could be classed as crockery.
I had recently been persuaded, through increasing pressure from siblings, to join Instagram in order to keep up to date with family goings on.
A (far younger) relative advised me that taking a picture of my meals would earn me some credit on the social media site.
But, when a plate of food is placed in front of me, I always find I would much rather tuck into my meal than faff about with a fiddly phone camera.
After I finished the impressive burger, I took a picture of my empty plate and sent it to said relative – explaining my predicament – only to be told I was doing things very, very wrong. See above.
Nevertheless, my spirits could not be dashed by my own ineptitudes.
Maybe I had been caught up in a flurry of festive spirit, but the pub had given me everything I had wanted from my evening.
Delicious food, good drink, a vibrant atmosphere and, most importantly, a very powerful heating system.
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