The Woolwich Arrow and Arms is the first place I ever went in Guelph, and it continues to be one of my favorite places to go. It’s a Pub in the old style, with long wooden tables, a great selection of draught beer, and really good food. The fish and chips and veggie burgers are particularly tasty.
When Josh and I first visited Guelph looking for a place to live, he brought me to dinner here with a bunch of people who would soon become our friends–a move, I am sure, calculated to win me over. It worked, of course, and I can say in complete seriousness that if the Woolwich were the only good thing about Guelph, I’d still be pretty happy. Why all this fuss over a bar, you ask?
When we lived in Boston, there was a wonderful place called The Publick House, which was more than just a bar. It was the Best Beer Bar we’d ever seen. And not only that; the food was incredible–no one, and I really do mean no one, does pommes frites like the Publick House–and it had the sort of warm, stay-a-while ambiance that you only get in wood-paneled pubs. We were crazy about it, to the point that Josh developed a relationship with several of the workers, and some of our friends complained that we were wasting our limited time in an exciting city by always staying in one place. The only drag was that, over the course of our time in Boston, The Publick House became more and more popular, and before I moved away, it was nearly impossible to get a table without showing up before 6 PM. Even this fact, however, could not dissuade us from our love. After my M.A. comps, I stood outside the Publick House waiting for it to open for my celebratory meal and drink, and after we loaded the moving truck in preparation for my move away from the city, I had my last Boston meal there. Parting with The Publick House was a difficult thing, and it became even more so when I discovered that there were simply no good beer bars in Nashville.
Voice this complaint to anyone in Nashville, however, and their first response will be something along the lines of “But what about The Flying Saucer???” And for them I have but two words: Beer. Wenches. The Saucer does indeed have a decent draught beer selection, and is even in a cool-ish building (a remodeled train station, next to the Union Station Hotel). But they throw away what potential atmosphere they might have had by forcing their waitresses (and they’re all women, of course) to wear tiny schoolgirl skirts and crop tops. This fact by itself is annoying, but even worse is the fact that this establishment is walking distance from Fraternity Row at Vanderbilt, and thus attracts all manner of Bros interested in ogling the Beer Wenches and feigning an interest in beer by ordering Newcastle. The place is always packed, the food is terrible, and The Publick House it is not.
So, after a disappointing three years sans-Beer Bar, I am truly elated to find The Woolwich. No, it’s not The Publick House either, but it has its own merits. All the beer is Canadian, and most of it is from Ontario, so we get to try all sorts of things we’ve never seen before–and so far, it’s all been really, really good. I appreciate The Woolwich’s commitment to serving local food and drink, which is nice both from an environmental perspective, and from the point of view of anyone who values having the ‘authentic’ feel of a place. So, seriously, if you haven’t been, go. And given that it’s not very likely that anyone who actually lives in Guelph hasn’t been, those of you who live elsewhere should come visit. I can promise that a trip to the Woolwich will be on our itinerary.
I went to visit my parents this past weekend, who still live in the city where I grew up–Baton Rouge, Louisiana. While I was there, I was struck all over again by how strong feelings of “home” can be, even after years away, and how wonderful it can be to be in familiar surroundings and with familiar friends, even when that familiarity has to be found and created all over again.
Even though they’re delicious, don’t consume Fish-and-Chips and beer immediately before sitting by the heater and reading Portnoy’s Complaint by Philip Roth. You’ll wish you hadn’t.
