One of the finest pleasures York has to offer, especially on a fine summers day or a crisp winter morning, is a ramble through the Museum gardens.
As you wander merrily around the potted borders, you can cast your inquisitive eye over a Roman Tower, 1800 years old, clamber over the ruins of St Mary’s Abbey (at one point the most powerful and wealthiest abbey in the the North of England) or feed the pigeons, squirrels and chavs with your left over pasty.
As nice as all these activities most certainly are (apart from feeding the chavs; they only accept White Lightning and Benson and Hedges) you would do well to carry on through the museum gardens, emerge onto Marygate and get yourselves into the Bay Horse, a smashing pub that is deserves your custom, not least because it could quite easily have been a dozen or so swanky flats.
The Bay Horse had been serving drinkers for more than a century, before closing in late 2003. It appeared the writing was on the toilet wall when the building was the subject of two planning applications to convert it into residential use, after being laid empty for five years or so.
To the delight of pub-goers, the developers failed in their bid and the premises was bought shortly afterwards by the Little Pub company, who set about a programme of renovation and re-opened as a pub in the Christmas of 2008, and thepubsofyork,com are most certainly glad it did, for it is a cracking pub.
The stylish wallpaper, comfy upholstered seats and contemporary lighting may be a bit too ‘modern’ for some purists but seeing as though it was so recently and extensively renovated, anything else would probably feel a bit contrived (and if you do want ‘traditional’ head up the road to the Minster Inn which is as traditional as they come).
Six hand pulls are readily available at all times and on our last visit, Greene King IPA and Rocking Rudolph (by the same brewery) were sampled and both were well kept and eminently drinkable.
The friendly bar staff can also serve you a packet of ‘Real Crisps’ which has been stated before on these pages, are the greatest crisps known to man and there’s even a plasma screen in the corner which shows live sport, so football fans needn’t miss out on their weekly fix of Uncle Jeff.
In fact, thinking about it, bypass the Museum Gardens and head straight here, you won’t be disappointed.
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Whilst doing a bit of research for this review, thepubsofyork.com thought it would be prudent to try to inform readers who Mr Bean was (not that Mr Bean). After several seconds googling, the only likely candidate that could be found was a Mr Henry Bean born November 13th 1853 in the good old US of A;
