Whilst the great British pub might be under threat (some 400 closed in 2024), of the 39,000 remaining, it seems like several of the really good ones can be found in Lancaster. In this piece, Alex Candlin explores some of his favourite Lancaster watering holes…
One of the many unassailable rights afforded to Brits — alongside queueing and mild, persistent weather complaints—is the sacred entitlement to a proper pint: drawn with reverence, served without fuss, and consumed like it might be your last.
If you should find yourself in Lancaster — an estimable place with plenty of character packed into it’s historic cobblestones — you’ll face not the problem of scarcity, but the frankly Herculean task of choosing from an array of establishments, each making a compelling claim to serve the best beer this side of the Tweed.
Louis XIV may have fancied himself the Sun King, imagining the whole of France revolved around his powdered dome and ornamental trousers, delusions of grandeur, certainly, but in Lancaster there’s no confusion: The Sun Inn reigns supreme, and with considerably more justification.
It’s less a public house and more a civic cornerstone—a warm, golden-lit beacon to the weary, the thirsty, and the mildly overdramatic (I would know). I’ve conducted extensive fieldwork within its storied walls (in the interest of public knowledge, of course) and can confirm that it pours the full arsenal of Lancaster Brewery’s finest. These are ales of such calibre they could coax a blush from a cavalry officer, whiskies smoother than a politician’s promise, and lagers so sharp they’ve been known to revive the conversationally comatose.
Insert by Bryony (hello!): There are also notes of historic interest within the walls of The Sun Inn (Alex: this post was meant to be free of nerdiness), such as the Roman well that you can see underneath the floor, protected by a layer of thick glass. There is, of course, the slightly erroneous plaque on the wall that claims that some of the floorboards and/or panelling that make up the pub came from a “17th century ship used in the battle against the Spanish Armada”… now, this is either a typo or a bit of a fib, seeing as the Spanish Armada sailed into British waters in 1588, quite comfortable in the 16th Century. Ah well, it’s a nice urban legend, either way…
(Alex: That’s better, I’ve got my article back) If your plan is to drink well and face the consequences cheerfully, there are few finer places to lay down your tab. Many a pleasant evening has been spent in The Sun before gently ambling down the cobbled street opposite towards the bus station to catch the last bus home.
Bryony again: (Alex: Oh, for God’s sake) – The Sun Inn also does some pretty great food, some of the best “pub food” I’ve had in Lancaster. They also do sharing platters, which are great to split between friends while indulging from behind the bar. Bryony, out.
Strategically entrenched beneath Lancaster Castle—an ideal fallback should the evening take an ill-advised turn—The Merchants 1688 is the sort of pub that feels both defensible and deeply drinkable. A subterranean stronghold of stone and candlelight, it’s part wine-cellar, part drinking den, and entirely ideal for either a rendezvous or a strategic retreat.
Its location near the station makes it a natural first or last stop for any campaigner braving the railways. Inside, the beer list is a tactical triumph: rotating cask ales, precise lagers, and brooding stouts strong enough to give even the most seasoned drinker a moment’s pause. If you like your beverages full-bodied and your exit strategy clear, this is your pub.
Bryony: I’ve also seen it used as the setting for an amateur play. A production of Journey’s End was performed here, using the barrel cellars to great effect as stand-ins for the underground feel of WW1 Trenches. Of course, the pub in it’s clean, uplit, and delightfully warm self, is nothing like a trench in reality, but it was quite clever to use the space this way.
It’s proven ground for social manoeuvres: I once launched a first date there that didn’t immediately dissolve into awkward silences and desperate glances at the door—a diplomatic miracle on par with the Treaty of Utrecht. And then there was the pub quiz: five pints in, fifty quid out. Not a bad night’s work for a man who can barely spell “Trafalgar.”
Every musician needs a stage, and every ale-seeker needs a haunt with just the right blend of chaos and charm. Enter Ye Olde John O’ Gaunt, a venerable tavern that doubles (sometimes) as Lancaster’s unofficial concert hall, confession booth, and living room.
Step inside and take your chances. It might be a raucous evening of foot-stomping folk tunes, where the ceiling trembles and the fiddles fly—or it might be a quiet night of murmured stories and pints gently kissed by the firelight. It’s a coin toss, really, but either way, you win.
The interior is long, narrow, and seasoned with age, like the barrel of a fine musket or the hallway of a ship about to be boarded. Acoustics are lively, proximity is guaranteed, and conversation flows as freely as the taps.
Speaking of which—the beer. There’s always a strong cast of real ales, with guest appearances from local brewers and just enough craft oddities to keep hop-forward types entertained. Whether you’re in the mood for something hoppy, roasty, or brewed by modern-day monks in an Alpine garage (probably), they’ve got you covered.
Food-wise, it’s honest fare—no frills, no nonsense, just something hot and satisfying to keep your second pint from ambushing your dignity. Pies, toasties, and the occasional rogue special. You won’t find foie gras, but you will find something that won’t let you down.
A cornerstone of Lancaster’s boozy ecosystem, Ye Olde John O’ Gaunt is as much a part of the town’s identity as rain and student loans. Whether you’re here for a spontaneous gig, a solitary moment with your pint, or a late-night laugh with old friends, it delivers exactly what you didn’t know you needed.
Until next time, and further exploration of my favourite places for excellent beer;
Alex