It’s mid-afternoon in Dundonald, a protestant suburb in east Belfast, and on the other side of a car park, is The Middle Ale, Lidl’s first pub, which opened last month. Next door is the supermarket proper and a Lidl off-license. It’s striking, a corner site painted in the brand’s distinctive blue and yellow colours.
I can see one or two customers milling about inside, shopping bags with them, as a security guard in a crisp white shirt gets out of a Range Rover and clips on a black tie. “Are you the lad up from Dublin?” he asks. “London,” I say, and he laughs at me.
Inside, the pub is quiet in mid-afternoon, but customers are slowly filtering in. Some are in post-supermarket shop, while others appear to have made their way here directly. There’s room for 60, seated. And the place is immaculate, the cleanest pub I’ve seen, and I’ve helped to open brand new ones in my time.
Shorts
On a wall by the front window are shelves of Lidl products: bottles of washing up liquid, laundry detergent, rolls of kitchen towels and bags of dishwasher tablets lined up in neat sets of three. At the far end of the room, above burgundy banquettes, are boxes of own-brand cereals, condiments and canned goods, while etched mirrors and Lidl-positive newspaper cuttings hang on colourful walls either side.
