Is the Tavern a medium-to-lekker plek to get gesuip at and does it serve its community by providing an environment that is conducive to get gesuip in?
Let’s dive in to the Diep-end and dissect this bitch.
For over a hundred years, the Tavern ‘n Ale has repped Diep River on its back and is the first pit-stop before heading through to the Plumstead jolling-strip.
Constructed in the early 1700s by a group of potato farmers, it provides a picturesque location if you’re looking to drink your sorrows away in, well, a tavern.
As a pub, it’s a stand-out from its neighbouring watering-holes because of its juke-box that was hand-made by Hendrick Verwoerd himself, it offers 16 different remixes of the National Anthem, which as you can imagine, really gets the crowd going.
By using the power of conceptualisation, I can paint a vivid image of a quaint, warm lil’ pub that is perfect for a casual meet-up with your in-laws or fuck it, even your laatie – just make sure he has a registered South African I.D. – the bouncers are quite tough on those who face difficulty when it comes to aging.
The Tavern ‘n Ale is a symbolic name in the southern community and has been the glue that binds the smet-ness together.
On the grub side of life, they are known for their Saturday night ribs special – R120 for 600 grams of the juiciest.
I’m just not too sure what animal those ribs are from, but they do, in fact, SLAP, bro.
For clarity sakes, the demographic differs from that of your Gonzo’s, as middle-aged white folk run rampant with their Chicago entjies and for once in my life – I NEVER fucking ask for a skuif.
The Tavern provides a wonderful outside area for all those wanting to make a quick escape – I have utilised this more times than you think.
“Hey guys, there’s a nice table over there!” meanwhile its fucking 7 degrees out and the exits in sight.
As a jolling hot-spot, I’d definitely recommend visiting but only if you can’t see your hand in front of your face. Much like Pirates, the possibility of you seeing someone you know is extremely high, so make sure you’re the right kind of inebriated – too drunk to communicate, but healthy enough to function – the perfect balance of gesuipery is vital.
Anyways, your taanie knows my name.
She really does.
In case you didn’t, I’m Custard X, first of his kind and on the last of his brain – oh, and the X stands for executive.