The Peveril of the Peak — Restaurant in Manchester

I have been visiting The Peveril of the Peak intermittently for over forty years and have always enjoyed the experience. The pub offers a fine selection of beers in a nostalgic setting—one of the few remaining in the city centre. However, my consistently positive experiences took a sharp turn on Sunday, 17th May.

Upon entering, I found the pub fairly busy, though the bar was only one deep. As is customary when ordering a drink, I stood at the bar and attempted to make eye contact with the staff. Most were engaged except for one female staff member, who stared skyward, appearing completely disengaged and disinterested. Since eye contact was proving futile, I asked if they were serving. In response, I received an open-handed gesture and an expression reminiscent of Jack Dee with constipation—her body language clearly suggesting, “Well, what do you think I’m doing standing here?”

Determined to overlook the poor service, I requested a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord. The pint was quite lively, prompting the bartender to use a second glass and let it settle—likely a new barrel, I assumed. Then, I was presented with the card machine showing the cost of two pints. I clarified that I had only ordered one, only to be met with an adamant response: “No, you didn’t, you asked for two.” A frustrating exchange ensued, with the bartender persistently arguing despite my explanation that I was alone and had no reason to order more than one drink.

Unlike previous minor misunderstandings I’ve encountered at bars, where staff promptly resolve the issue without dispute, this interaction was exasperating. Ultimately, I refused the drink and left in search of a more welcoming atmosphere. The bartender was, without doubt, the rudest and most inhospitable person I have ever encountered in such a role—unprofessional, unwelcoming, and a terrible representative of the establishment. Their visible boredom and irritation throughout the interaction were undeniable.

The management needs to reassess their hiring standards. Even for someone new to bar work, basic manners and a friendly demeanour cost nothing. This individual might be better suited to a profession that doesn’t involve customer interaction—perhaps a role underground, such as coal mining or sewer inspection.

I have noticed other reviews commenting on staff attitudes, though personally, aside from this incident, my experiences have always been positive. My rating of the premises is based solely on the service, not on the beer or surroundings. Nonetheless, I am in no...

The Peveril of the Peak is arguably Manchester’s most iconic and important pub. The building, which stands out with its striking green tiled exterior – a rare and beautiful architectural marvel of Victorian history that’s impossible to miss. The "Pev" as it's often referred to by locals is integral to the city’s character. Inside, the timeless, old-school charm that so many modern places try (and fail) to recreate provides the perfect backdrop to a well-priced drink, from a vast selection of regional ales among other national classics and of course an extensive non-alcoholic offering.

There is an abundance of tabled seating in addition to standing areas where guests may play classic bar sports including pool and darts (one table and one dart board), and the extensive space comes at no cost to the warm and welcoming atmosphere retained throughout.

This is the kind of place where you can enjoy a proper pint in surroundings that feel authentic and full of stories. A must-visit for anyone who appreciates traditional national pubs and Manchester’s rich heritage.

Our group attended as part of a stag do, and all eight of us managed to sit down at a table promptly. Our complex order of a coke, coke, coke, vodka coke, double vodka coke, thatchers and two pints of water after a long evening out was not met with confusion by the highly competent and...

Peveril of the Peak: A Green Goddess or Goblin?

I entered the Peveril with hope in my heart and left with mild gastrointestinal anxiety. From the outside, it’s charming, like a Victorian dollhouse dipped in absinthe. Inside, less goddess, more goblin with Irretible bowel syndrome. The toilets require a priest, not a plumber. I’d have taken a dump, but I wasn’t sure where to take one. Bar staff had the conversational warmth of damp breeze blocks.

Yes, it’s iconic. So was Chernobyl.

I ventured in with Sahil the Shenanigan Shayman and Joey the Yodelling Yeti. Together, we braved peeling wallpaper, the scent of forgotten beer mats, and a beers flatter than the the flattest dick, it tasted like it needed counselling.

It could be atmospheric, if you’re into bleak, post-apocalyptic pub cosplay. Better viewed from outside, ideally while walking briskly away.

Two stars: one for its haunted charm, one for the fact we didn’t get tetanus.

Bryan...