It’s a sad state of affairs that pub deserts are a thing which exist. It’s especially mortifying that this should be the case in the diamond of the north that is Manchester. Unfortunately this is the world we now inhabit; tangible climate change fucking things up on the regular, wars anywhere you care to look, a US president with a head like a half rotted pumpkin leading the ‘free’ world into the abyss and pubs shutting at a rate of knots. It’s enough to make you crave a pint, if only that weren’t also an increasing challenge when there is no longer reliably a decent watering hole around most corners & sad swathes of cities and towns where there’s not a pub for miles.
This brings us to The Star Inn. Our oasis.
Uttering the word ‘oasis’ in Manchester likely calls to mind images of knuckle dragging savages hurling pint glasses of beer and/or urine over one another as they gyrate in soggy parkas to tunes penned by the Ghallagers. In this instance though it is meant in the more biblical sense; a hallowed spot of hope in a desolate landscape.
A proudly community owned affair since 2009 The Star Inn is tucked away on a cobbled street in Salford that you’d very easily overlook. It sits in the midst of an area which is benefitting from the growing affluence of Greater Manchester & which it’s not quite hit full ‘gentrification’ there are houses boasting fancy cars, grandiose extensions and other myriad signs of an area on the up.
You’d do well not to dismiss this humble bastion though. It has more soul than anything else in the vicinity.
Out in front is what its website boasts as a ‘sunny beer garden’ which is an ambitious claim in a city famous for being damp. Me and my companion lasted all of about ten seconds before giving up on the ‘sun’ and retreating indoors; on the five days of the year when it isn’t raining though it’s a decent spot.
Through it’s amusingly narrow double doors (sorry fat people, you’re sitting outside) is a cracking little pub. You’re straight into the bar for a hearty hello & a selection of local beers as well as all the typical stuff you’d see anywhere. Scampi fries (only one packet left) and other excellent pub snacks behind the bar; nothing fancy, not needed. No dogs inside sadly, making the leash on the table in the bar area slightly eyebrow raising.
Deeper inside, a ramshackle layout speaks to a long history passing through the hands of landlords for nearly 200 years and after you’ve acquired pints you’ll likely settle into a large lounge at the centre. Long banquettes line the wall, no booths or nooks and crannies to hide in, you’re sharing this space, this heart of the pub, this soul of the community.
On a gloomy Saturday pre 3pm kick off time there was an eclectic cast of characters within. Bloke in a sheepskin coat with bryllcreamed hair who might have been there since 1967, lad and Dad playing darts in the back and some younger lads in the corner discussing the merits of who to put in an accumulator that afternoon. Not the comfiest place i’ve ever had a pint (after sitting on a stool I began to wonder if the aforementioned front doors were deliberate to safeguard the furniture from those whose ample posteriors might turn it to kindling) but cozy and homely, as you are in a pub where there is a silent appreciation from all of being in this truly public house.
Whilst not quite as jaw droppingly brilliant or beautiful as some of the more spectacular pubs in Manchester I was deeply taken by it. Highly likely to be back for a quiz, a folk night or just to drink at this plucky little watering hole in the centre of the Salford pub Sahara.
