Mr. Hyde’s Burgers– Beef patty, jalapeños, smoky chilli sauce
Split Personality Sausages– A mix of classic pork & fiery spiced
BBQ Chicken Wings– Sweet glaze or hot & smoky
Sides & Pub Favourites
Tattie Wedges– Crispy potato wedges, dips on the side
Neep Slaw– Creamy coleslaw with a Scottish twist
Grilled Corn on the Cob– Butter & herbs
Pub Chips– Thick-cut, malt vinegar & sea salt
Sweet Endings
Shortbread Bites– Buttery Scottish shortbread
Dark Chocolate Brownies– Rich & gooey, a Hyde indulgence
Kieran’s mouth watered at the thought of a juicy burger and a side of thick-cut chips. The supermarket food filled a hole but lacked flavour or substance.
‘You eat better than me,’ he grumbled to Prom.
Prom blinked, unconcerned with human gastronomic crises.
Kieran eyed himself in the mirror. Cream linen shirt, khaki shorts, deck shoes. A look that said:pretending to be relaxed while battling existential dread.
Beth would approve. Possibly.
Then he recalled Peggy at the hairdresser’s the day before, scissors snipping near his ear. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’ she’d huffed, referring to Beth’s menu. ‘It’s a wee Scottish pub, no’ a posh hotel wi’ snooty waiters and no prices on the fancy menu.’
He’d bitten back a retort and swallowed his snobbery. It was easier to keep the peace than start a debate about culinary innovation while inhaling perm fumes.
‘Do I pass muster, Prom?’ Kieran asked. ‘Will the fine ladies of Cranley swoon at the sight of my debonair charm?’
Prom stretched, yawned, and fell asleep.
‘That’s a no, then.’
Arriving at the pub’s beer garden, Kieran sniffed the air appreciatively. Smoking charcoal, sizzling meat, and a hint of suntan lotion.
‘Hello, laddie.’
It was the elderly woman he recognised as Jinnie’s gran, Wilma. The one who’d banged on about his aura of sadness. In defiance, he pasted on his broadest grin.
‘Are you auditioning for the role of The Joker in anotherBatmanremake?’ Wilma cackled, and the man next to her sighed.
‘You must be Kieran. I’m Gus. Pay no heed to Wilma. Her heart is generous, but her mouth is prone to uncensored outbursts.’
‘Meaning I’m an honest soul.’ Wilma looked Kieran up and down. ‘Aye, yer aura’s lightened. Less dark purple, more mauve.’
‘Fascinating,’ Kieran said, edging away before she started diagnosing his chakras.
He wove through crowds until he reached the barbecue station where smoke curled into the bright air. Two massive charcoal grills hissed and spat. Ed stood over them, tongs in hand, wearing an apron that declared:Chillin’ & Grillin’.
‘Hi, Kieran,’ Angela called.
