A WEB MAG DOCUMENTING LIFE IN SHEFFIELD, UK
I’ve been to Henry’s only three or four times over the past decade or more, each time at the suggestion of a different girlfriend (this indicates my catalogue of hopeless relationships rather than any claim to alpha-male prowess, btw). Despite boasting an impressively broad spectrum of real ales, beers and lagers, merely seeking coffee or a light lunch doesn’t feel at all awkward or out of place.
Today I was eating solo. With a menu promising meat brought in daily (i.e., fresh and not frozen) from award-winning Sheffield butcher John Crawshaw, I knew the fare would be worth the wait. Sure, the lass who served me looked a little over-stretched, but she remained pleasant, and even polite enough to smile at my attempted light banter.
From a list of salads, sandwiches, a burger selection (and I mean real burgers!), traditional main courses and simple side dishes, I picked stone-baked ciabatta bread stuffed with creamy brie and especially succulent back bacon, all served with a garnish of salad and generous spray of hand-cut chips. Coming to £4.95, it was washed down with a suitably strong black coffee of indeterminate origin – possibly a south american dark roast – annoyingly labelled “an americano”.
During daytime, Henry’s seems to be a good place for middle-aged folk to meet while in town. Yes, there is a draw-down screen showing Olympics coverage right now, but there is little or no sound and so does not distract. I suspect the place livens up later into the night.
There are three-course Sunday dinners for under a tenner and, given the aforementioned display of pumps at the bar, I can imagine a long session with a friend or two (and probably a very early bedtime!) in coming weekends.