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July 12, 2010

If you get them to taste it, they will be converted

Henrietta gets turned on by Alastair to the complexities of beer, in this case Hospital Porter

There’s a good video short featuring the Old Brewery at the Royal Naval College, Greenwich just gone up on the Guardian‘s website here which illustrates perfectly the fact that people are best converted to good craft beer by having it shoved in their faces and being ordered: “Drink that!”

When people DO try a craft beer from somewhere outside their zone of experience and, wondrous thing, find it to be good in all manner of ways, and deeply pleasing to the heart and mouth, then do they fall to praising the small brewer, and forswearing crap megafizz for ever. As you will see at about the 6:25 mark in that video, when Alastair Hook, bossman at Meantime, the company behind the Old Brewery, hands Henrietta Lovell of the Rare Tea Company a glass of Hospital Porter, a blend of one-year-old and comparatively fresh beers meant to emulate the kind of beer that would have been made at the original brewery on the Royal Naval College site in the 18th century, when it was the Royal Naval Hospital.

As Henrietta tastes the porter, her eyebrows almost rocket into orbit, while a grin wide enough to bridge the Thames splits her face and she declares: “Wow, that’s really good … It’s like nothing I’ve ever had before … it’s really deep, completely multidimensional … I’m amazed at the complexity. There’s no level of complexity missing in this that you would get in a wine. This has been around since 1717 and yet I didn’t even know it existed. To have a fizzy pint of something industrial instead of this – it’s a tragedy.”

It’s certainly a tragedy that Ms Lovell, presumably someone whose taste for the satisfying is away from the common run, since she is known, Google tells us, as the “rare tea lady”, has never previously been exposed to beer of the standard reached by Meantime, and many other artisinal brewers around the world. And yes, it costs £7 a pint, but at eight per cent abv and with that level of complexity, forget your pocket, you’d be doing neither the beer nor yourself any justice by wallying back pints of it. These are beers to be savoured, sipped and appreciated – and Hospital Porter, I suggest, is perhaps a sixth of the cost of an equivalent quantity of fine wine of the same sort of complexity.

So how does the beer world reach out to the likes of Ms Lovell, seekers after excellent taste experieneces but innocently unaware of the miracles that can be found in hops and malt. How can we convert them to the idea that complexity is not to be found only in a wineglass, and beer does not have to be one-dimensional fizz? What sort of evangelical effort should be made to open their mouths, and thus their eyes? Are there enough tastings being organised, enough roadshows, enough side-by-side beer versus wine challenges, enough occasions where food and wine buffs gather and beer, too, is presented as an equal partner at the table? Judging by the time it’s taken for Ms Lovell to realise how good beer can be, no. Is it so, craft beer brewers and craft beer retailers: are you reaching out to the unconverted enough?

July 11, 2010

Summer reading

I was delighted to see that Amber Gold and Black, my just-published history of beer styles, has cracked the summer holiday reading market and will be seen on all the best beaches alongside Stieg Larsson’s The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest and whatever codswallop Dan Brown is currently minting millions from, if this message from Joe Inglis reflects a general desire to read about the truth behind IPA and porter while crisping under a layer of factor 30:

Your book rocks. Read it once, hugely entertaining and informative, so much so that it’s on my list of books to go on holiday with next week.

You can find out if it really does rock by buying Amber Gold and Black yourself for just £9.99 plus p&p via this link if you’re in the UK or Europe, or for $16.47 from here if you’re in the Americas. Should you not like Amazon, you can also order it from my mate Paul Travis at Beer Inn Print here.

And if Joe Inglis doesn’t convince you to buy AGB, the first and best complete coverage of the history of every beer style ever made in Britain, here are a few critical comments from around the globe, the first by Jay Brooks, the highly respected Californian beer writer and blogger, writing in the Bay Area News a few days ago: Keep reading →

June 17, 2010

IPA: the hot maturation experiment

In any modern account of the history of India Pale Ale, you’ll generally find a declaration that the casks of well-hopped beer sent out to India by ship via the Cape of Good Hope in the late 18th century matured and developed quickly in a way that the same beer kept at home in Britain did not. It was this accelerated maturation in a short time (three to four months or so) caused by travelling through the warm waters and hot climate of the central Atlantic and the Indian Ocean as the sailing ships twice crossed the equator that gave IPA the character that was so much appreciated by expatriate Britons in Bombay, Madras and Calcutta, supposedly. But is this actually true?

You’ll be pushed to find contemporary (that is, 18th and 19th century) confirmation of the “hot maturation” theory for IPA’s popularity in India. Contemporary writers talked about the enthusiasm with which IPA was consumed in the Indian heat, but never seemed to mention whether it was altered to the good on its way east.

Certainly “hot maturation” can’t be the cause for any popularity for IPA back in Britain, since if the beer did go through any accelerated changes on the voyage to the sub-continent, this couldn’t be happening to the beer stored in chilly cellars back home. Are current writers on beer guilty of assumptionism (otherwise known as “you’re making this up”), the crime of assuming without evidence that situation A must surely have brought about result B – that beer on board a sailing ship travelling through the tropics must surely have matured quickly?

Keep reading →

June 3, 2010

How to be a beer historian in just 10 books

Countless times I’ve been asked: “Martyn, how do I become a top-drawer beer historian like you and Ron? “Countless” meaning, of course, zero. But if I were putting together a course on the basics of British brewing history, here’s the ten books that would be top of the reading list:

1:Peter Mathias, The Brewing Industry in England 1700-1830, Cambridge University Press, 1959 (reprinted Gregg Revivals 1993)

More than 50 years on, this is still the book that all other studies of the brewing industry have to live up to. It’s basically “only” 600 pages on the big 12 London porter brewers (although it does take a look outside the capital, and at brews other than porter). It covers just 130 years, from just before improvements in the production of brown beer enabled those dozen players to grow to previously unheard of sizes, through to the year of the Beerhouse Act. The Act dramatically liberalised licensing laws, and it marks a convenient point to halt in the history of British beer drinking, since after 1830, probably coincidentally, the giant porter brewers would be slowly overhauled by their rivals. Matthias uses his sources brilliantly, marshalls his arguments superbly, and presents a book so definitive it is impossible to see why anyone would feel there was any need to tackle the same area again. Completely necessary reading to anyone interested in British brewing history, as well as a brilliant example of how to write well about a complex subject with a huge amount of statistical information where it would be dangerously easy to be dull.

2: Terry Gourvish and Richard Wilson, The British Brewing Industry 1830-1980, Cambridge University Press, 1994

Another 600-pager: Gourvish and Wilson pick up the baton where Mathias left it leaning against the side of the mash tun, and cover a similar number of years in almost equal detail, this time ranging across Britain rather than concentrating mostly on London. They are excellent at picking up the recurring themes since 1830 in Britain’s beer manufacturing and retailing businesses, themes that are still with us three decades after their book’s narrative ended. You cannot, I think, understand the British brewing industry today without reading Gourvish and Wilson, and seeing how the five-way pull between brewers, retailers, consumers, legislators and social restrictivists has operated continually since the reign of William IV. Just as with Mathias, if you’re going to write about the history of beer in a British context, this book needs to be (a) on your bookshelf and (b) heavily marked up with highlighter pen.

3: Judith M Bennett, Ale, Beer and Brewsters in England 1300-1600, Oxford University Press, 1996

Bennett, an American, looks at the history of brewing in medieval England from a feminist perspective: the subtitle is “women’s work in a changing world”, and her thesis is that as making ale and, after 1400, the new hopped drink beer became increasingly professional, so women were squeezed out of the brewing scene they had once dominated. If this seems a narrow line to plough, know that while presenting her arguments Bennett manages to supply easily the best coverage on medieval brewing in England currently available. If you don’t want to appear a fool when writing about the assize of ale and similar subjects, Ale, Beer and Brewsters is another vital volume.

4: Pamela Sambrook, Country House Brewing in England 1500-1900, The Hambledon Press, 1996

Sambrook details an aspect of the story of ale and beer that is often ignored: the enormous (until the 19th century) “private” brewing sector, when almost every home over a certain size, especially outside the south-east, would have its own brewery to supply ale and beer to family, servants and workers. It’s a fascinating read anyway, and it gives essential knowledge for a proper perspective on British brewing.

5: Max Nelson, The Barbarian’s Beverage: A History of Beer in Ancient Europe, Routledge, 2005

A long shelf of nonsense has been written about beer in the classical world, by people who didn’t speak classical languages and who relied on (often poor) translations by scholars who did not know enough about brewing to make sense of what they were reading. Nelson is a classicist who clearly has considerable knowledge about beer making, and The Barbarian’s Beverage is a currently unbeatable survey of brewing in the pre-Roman, Roman and immediately post-Roman eras. Some of Nelson’s theories are unconvincing: I don’t believe at all, for example, that the cerevisia and camum of the Romans were names for barley beer and wheat beer respectively. All the evidence I have seen suggests they were simply regional names for beer in general, each the equivalent of zythum in Egypt. But Nelson’s main theme, that the ancient Greeks are responsible for the lack of respect still given to beer, compared to wine, two millennia and more on is a likely-sounding and satisfying one.

6: Terry Gourvish, Norfolk Beers from English Barley, a history of Steward & Patteson, Centre for East Anglian Studies, 1987

Terry Gourvish’s history of the Norwich brewer Steward & Patteson is equalled as an example of the very best in single-brewer historical studies only by his fellow East Anglian brewing history academic Richard Wilson’s Greene King, a Business and Family History from 1983. It’s detailed, it’s thorough, it provides masses of invaluable information and it ties in the particular story to the wider events that were influencing the growth of S&P and its eventual takeover and demise. If you think you might like to write a history of your local brewery, read this and see how it should be done. (Unfortunately this now appears to be an extremely rare book and is currently available second-hand on the net only at the “you’re ’avin a larf” price of $245.)

7: John Bickerdyke, The Curiosities of Ale and Beer, Swan Sonnenschein, London, 1889 (reprinted Kessinger Publishing, 2009)

Any student of brewing history has to read at least one of the “antiquarian” books on beer, simply to see where so many of today’s myths have arrived from, and this is the best: lively, wide-ranging and entertaining. Charles Henry Cook, who wrote under the name “John Bickerdyke”, was a journalist who clearly believed in the newspaperman’s motto “never let the facts get in the way of a good story”. Much of his writing wilts when the light of evidence-based historical research is shone on it. But you’ll have fun being misled.

8: Paul Jennings, The Local, a History of the English Pub, Tempus, 2007

You can’t study the history of beer without studying the development of the pub, and Paul Jennings, who produced an excellent book on The Public House in Bradford, 1770-1970, followed this up with a fine study of the pub in general and its relationship over centuries with its customers, its suppliers, the local community and the state.

9: Martyn Cornell, Beer: The Story of the Pint, Hodder Headline, 2003

I remember my tutors at university used to put their own works on the reading list (one told us he didn’t mind if we stole his books from the university bookshop, as the publisher would already have been paid …) and I’m big-headed enough to plug my study of brewing from the Sumerians to the start of this century because I still don’t think there’s a better, more comprehensive and more accurate general history of beer brewing in Britain available. And Mrs Zythophile agrees.

10: Martyn Cornell, Amber Gold and Black: the History of Britain’s Great Beers The History Press, 2010

It’s even more true that there isn’t, yet, another book covering the backstories of all the beers made in Britain, past and present, at all. AGB is the first ever comprehensive beerstyle history book, it delivers some dramatically different versions of the histories of major beer styles to the ones that almost all other books about beer put forward, and any student on the History of Beer course who reveals in their essays that they haven’t read it will be given an automatic F …

May 26, 2010

All your beer blogging updates in one place

If anybody has been missing Really Simple Beer Syndication, the American “beer blog aggregator”, since it went down apparently never to rise again a couple of months ago, a very nice chap called Pelle Stridh has put together a site called All About Beer which aggregates the feeds of all your favourite beer bloggers from the UK and Ireland in one place, with a few extras tossed onto the pile as well.

Pelle (I’m so glad this is the webternets and not radio, as I have no clue how to pronounce his name) is a Swedish beer fan and runs a similar site in Sweden. Now, out of the great goodness of his Nordic heart, he’s done the same for us here in the British Isles, and I for one will be buying him several pints when (as I hope one day to) I meet him to thank him: there are a couple of British beer bloggers who have automatically updating lists of the latest from other people’s blogs, but neither, understandably, is comprehensive. This is a service the British Isles beer blogging community needed, and now, thanks to a Swede, we have it.

All About Beer currently has more than 20 different beer blogs listed, in order of most recent postings, each with the first 20 to 30 words of the post, which gives a good flavour of what each post is about. The site is neatly laid out, although orange wouldn’t be my choice for the colour of the heads and subheads, there are fuller listings of recent blog titles from Wikio’s top British Isles beer blogs and lists of postings from North America’s top beer bloggers as well, plus news from Camra, RealBeer, Beer Advocate and the New York Times (lovely piece there on the Taybeh brewery in the West Bank which I’m glad to have been directed to – thanks for that, too, Pelle).

Get over there, take a look, add your suggestions, criticisms and comments: Pelle has already tweaked the name because I told him the Beer Nut wouldn’t like being filed under “UK”, he seems a friendly chap willing to take suggestions, and he deserves all the support we can give him.

May 24, 2010

So what WAS the first purpose-built lager brewery in the UK?

It’s a comment on the public perception of beardy beer buffs that people who know I like pongy ale* frequently look surprised when they discover that I drink lager too. My response, of course, is that there’s plenty of great beer not brewed to traditional British criteria, that often a cold one from the fridge is exactly what I need, and anyway, there is a growing number of British brewers committed to brewing top-quality lager.

So hurrah, there’s now a group dedicated to pushing the message that British-brewed lager isn’t all Stella and Carling, they’re called Lager of the British Isles (LOBI – can’t decide if that’s creakingly bad or rather clever) and their website is here. You can also join them on Facebook, here. Maybe if LOBI lobbies hard enough, fewer people will drop their beerglasses like bystanders in a Bateman cartoon when they see the one the beer buff is holding has a lager in it.

But whoops, the “historical inaccuracy” alarms have gone off: LOBI’s Facebook page claims that “Britain has a long heritage of brewing fine lagers, with the country’s first lager brewery, the Anglo-Bavarian Brewery, open in 1864.” WRONG. A little investigation shows that LOBI has based this claim on, yes, bleedin’ Wikipedia, which has an article on the Anglo-Bavarian showing its usual mixture of inaccuracies, misunderstandings and historical assumptionism. However, one of the reasons I started this blog was to put proper historical details up on the web, and try to counter the mountain of misinformation available to anyone with a PC and an internet connection. So let’s state the facts: the Anglo-Bavarian brewery, despite its name, never brewed lager and it wasn’t Britain’s first lager brewery. And it wasn’t opened in 1864, either.

Keep reading →

May 16, 2010

Cask beer equals live music, bottled beer equals CDs

A few weeks ago I went to a performance by Wynton Marsalis, whose music I have been buying since the early 1980s. He arrived then as a young trumpeter who could play jazz and classical music with equal genius: I remember listening to his recording of the Hayden Trumpet Concerto in 1983 and feeling that every note he blew was placed in exactly the spot required: not a femtosecond too early or late, too long or too short. At the same time it was Hayden’s music, but played by someone who was aware of everything that had happened after Hayden.

All the work he’s done since, I think, has been while standing on that same platform: technically impeccable, respecting the music’s history, recognising that we listeners come with modern ears. I commend to your own ears Mr Jelly Lord, his CD from 1999 of Jelly Roll Morton tunes first put down by the fellow New Orleans master 75 or so years earlier. It’s properly Morton, but played by people who are aware, and who know that we the audience are aware, of bop and other developments in jazz history in the decades since Morton’s death.

And yet … I came out of the Marsalis concert feeling that I had listened with real enjoyment to musicians who had played flawless improvisational jazz, rooted in the music’s history, though with enough of a flavouring to show this was not merely a reproduction, a tribute band. But I wasn’t blown away. Was that evening much different to listening to Wynton Marsalis on CD? Not a lot.

Seven days later I saw a performance by the Zawose family from Tanzania – and if you don’t have a grin across your face within 45 seconds of starting to watch those ladies, have yourself checked by a doctor: you may be dead. Fantastic, exhilarating, explosive: as a live experience they shove Wynton Marsalis off stage and out the door. I wouldn’t want to buy their CD, though. The Zawose family are an excellent illustration of a great live act that won’t reproduce well on an MP3 player, or similar sound-only recorded music deliverer. Tremendous visually, fantastic enthusiasm, send you home very happy, but paddling about in the shallows musically.

What has this got to do with beer? Only that while I was thinking about the difference between live and recorded music, and how ultimately live music, when it’s good, is unbeatably superior to the best recorded music, because nothing surpasses the enjoyment of being there while it’s happening, it occurred to me that I have similar feelings about cask beer, proper live maturing-in-the-cellar brews, and bottled beer.

Keep reading →

May 4, 2010

Note to self: it’s only beer history, must stop getting so upset by other people’s errors

Interesting piece I stumbled across from the Washington Post last week about an “abbey” beer project in the heart of the American capital: not actually brewing beer in an abbey, but a homebrewer’s bid to make beers off-site that use ingredients from the grounds of the 113-year-old Mount St Sepulchre Franciscan Monastery in north-east Washington. But ach! Ach! There in the third paragraph, a repetition of the old canard that “as early as the ninth century, the Abbey of St Gall in Switzerland had three breweries in full operation.”

Nobody else probably gives a sh!te about this, I know, and I shouldn’t be such a nerd, but it’s WRONG and when you get this parsecs-from-the-facts stuff repeated in respected organs such as the Washington Post you end up with utter crap like the following:

“Europe’s first big businesses were three breweries owned by the Monastery of St Gall in Switzerland during the dark ages.”

Who is making this stuff up? What are they reading (or drinking) that makes them draw this kind of utterly ludicrous, unjustified conclusion? This is bollocks on so many different levels (mind, the same press release from last year says in the preceding sentence that “Hildegard Von Bingen, the Abbess of the Convent of Bingen in Northern Germany, is credited with introducing hops to beer around 1067AD,” which is even more wrong, at four gross errors in just 19 words).

Must calm down. Time for another entry on the list of False Ale Quotes: for the real facts about the “three breweries of St Gall abbey” click here.

April 28, 2010

The most expensive beer in any bar in the world?

There might, I suppose, be a bar selling BrewDog Tactical Nuclear Penguin or Sink the Bismark for, what, three times the store-bought retail price, but even that wouldn’t beat it.

And admittedly this is a beer that has spent a year maturing in the caves of Champagne (that’s “cellars”, incidentally, and not, as one English beer book that came out last year claims, “caves”), in 75cl corked bottles, reaching 11.5 per cent alcohol by volume.

It’s also an excellent brew, sharp and subtle, creamy and invigorating, and deserving of the label that the same book put on it, “an ideal wedding beer”.

But I’ve bought bottles of this in an English off-licence for less than £15, and it’s been on sale in good restaurants in London for only (“only”) £35 or so.

However, if you were insane enough to order a bottle of Deus Brut des Flandres, brewed by the Bosteels brewery in Buggenhout, Belgium (best known, probably, for another excellent beer, Kwak) in the Belgian Cafe Bar at the InterContinental Hotel in Abu Dhabi, capital of the United Arab Emirates, what do you think you might be expected to stump up?

I’ll give you a few facts before revealing the answer: an “ordinary” bottle of Belgian speciality beer here will cost you 40 dirhams, just over £7, though this isn’t much different than you would pay, probably, in a smart hotel bar in London, where a small bottle of Meantime pale ale, £1.50 or so in Waitrose, is £8 in somewhere like the Met Bar in Park Lane.

This is, however, also the country where someone believes there’s a market for chocolates that cost $250 each – yes, £164 for one single two-inch chocolate truffle.

So: you’re having a night out in what is probably the best bar in Abu Dhabi (though this is, to be truthful, like being called “probably the best football team in the Faroes” – there aren’t very many and they’re mostly rubbish), you’ve decided to show off and you’ve asked the friendly Filipino bar staff to pop the cork off a big bottle of Deus. What figure is going to show up on your credit card statement?

Save some of the Deus to steady yourself with, because that one bottle will cost you 700 dirhams, £125 at today’s exchange rate, $190 US (€145 for you Europeans). You could buy the half-bottle, but even that will be 350 dirhams, £62.50. Or you could wait until you get back to Britain and buy 12 gallons of Stella Artois from Tesco for the same sum (they do also sell Stella in the Belgian Cafe Bar, but I’ve never been stupid enough to buy that there, either).

April 22, 2010

Mercer’s Meat Stout

Here’s a top contender for “vanished beers I wish I’d tasted” – Meat Stout. A mixture of serendipity and synchronicity led me to discover Mercer’s Meat Stout this week, a brew I’d never previously heard of. Serendipity (the art of finding something valuable while looking for some other thing entirely) because I was actually searching for pictures of Ena Sharples in the Rovers Return to illustrate a comment I was making at Alan McLeod’s blog about Imperial Milk Stout. Synchronicity (the occurrence in a short space of time of two random but apparently connected events) because I had been reading just a day or so earlier about the attempt by Stuart Howe of Sharp’s Brewery in Cornwall to brew Offal Ale, containing liver, kidney and heart. (Incidentally, Stuart’s “Real Brewing at the Sharp End” is one of the best brewer’s blogs around: sharp, indeed.)


Revenir, literally, à nos moutons (or similar livestock): Mercer’s was a small brewery in Lower Adlington, near Chorley in Lancashire, that apparently grew out of an own-brew pub called the Plough. Its best-known brand, evidently, was a bottled product called Meat Stout, a “nourishing stout brewed with the addition of specially prepared meat extract – highly recommended for invalids”. When Mercer’s was taken over by Dutton’s of the Salford brewery in Blackburn in 1929, Meat Stout was popular enough for Dutton’s to continue making it under Mercer’s name: the Plough Brewery only closed in 1936, so for seven years, presumably, Meat Stout was still coming out of Adlington.

Dutton’s pushed Mercer’s Meat Stout hard enough to advertise it on the front of its pubs, but at some point it vanished, as did Dutton’s itself, swallowed by the London brewer Whitbread in 1964.

What lay behind the invention of Meat Stout? According to one Blackburn historian, Colin Pritt, “It is rumoured that the natives complained about the gravity or quality of the stout, so the brewer threw a side of beef, or similar, into his next brew and it gave it more ‘body’. They then added some meat product to the brew ever after (probably offal, as it was cheap).”

Keep reading →