Since
I write and drink a lot anyway (sometimes simultaneously) I’ve always
considered beginning a blog about beer but have been made unsure by the number
and quality already in existence (and my own dilatory nature.) But recently
I’ve had many thoughts and opinions on the goings on in the world of beer that
I’ve felt it was time to delineate some of my own personal demons. There is
much to concern me at the moment. Call this my mind’s ablution.
There
never used to be much to think about. It was always good to seek out good pubs
serving good beer, without saying much more about it. I never thought at any
point I would see eye to eye with anybody associated with the continuously
declining, slightly motor themed television show that is Top Gear, but once upon
a time not too long ago James May actually said something that made me inclined
to marginally agree with him. It can’t be coincidental that he was actually in
my hometown of Stalybridge and stood in our famous buffet bar when he had a
great epiphany, and turning to Oz Clarke he slurred these words:
“With
so many different beers available I don’t need to start intellectualising it
and getting into the habit of drinking beer because it becomes interesting to
talk about it.”
The
context here was that Oz Clarke was taking James to a few real ale pubs on the
same railway line and asking him to really think about the beer for the first
time. Regular drinkers of fantastic beer will know the motions to go through;
the sight test to explore the colour and haze, the smell test to absorb those
hoppy or malty or citrus or whatever-it-may-be aromas, before finally that all
important taste test. And this isn’t just rating the beer on the “It’s nice or
it’s crap” scale. This is really savouring those different flavours fused
together by the loving brewer and sometimes changing with each mouthful as the
temperature changes. This is real beer enjoyment.
Or
is it? Are we just intellectualising it all a bit too much?
This
is the demon I have been fighting with for some time. I’ve always drunk great
beer. I’ve never known anything else. When I was 14 and my friends and I had
our first alcoholic house parties, there’d always be at least a four pack of
Guinness just for me next to the 24 pack of Becks. When we were 16 and in the
shops ourselves, I’d be stocking up on the “4 for £5” bottle range whilst my
peers deliberated which offer on bottles of Carlsberg was best. I’m not a
convert. I’ve not had to be shown the light after years of knowing nothing but
cheap, carbonated lager. I’m not part of the revolution.
When
I was finally old enough to discover all the pubs I wanted, it was instantly
about hunting out the greatest ale. It made it so much more exciting to know
you could be surrounded by thirty pubs but only three were going to serve a
decent pint. It made those pubs that much more special when you walked through
the doors, feeling the 100 year history and finally saw a cask pump of a
porter, or a pale ale, or a mild, or a bitter etc… Then you could finally enjoy the pint you’d
searched through ten pubs for, enjoying that distinct taste, just to turn to
your acquaintances and exclaim – “It’s nice, that.”
If
you were really lucky this might lead to a short conversation on the beer where
your friend might reply, “Yeah, I had it somewhere else and it was good,” or
you might discuss the brewery, “Well their beers are usually good.” Then you
were free to go back to discussing the latest football, the Tory government,
the latest love in your life or, at best, the pub itself. Because there is a
lot of history to discuss, a lot of up and down periods to consolidate and a
lot of period features to gaze at or lament. But the beer, as much as you could
still gain plenty of pleasure from it, was just beer.
So
what happens nowadays? Now the pub is still a pub, but it’s not a pub, in fact
it was once a shop, or a bank, converted into a pub, but officially called a
bar, and looks more like a café, can we still refer to it as the pub? and where
are the random metallic objects adorning the walls? But, Sweet Jesus is the
beer good. In fact it IS good, it’s not just nice, there’s lots going on, loads
I need to describe and discuss, I’m smelling it, I’m getting the hints of
citrus skin, I’m swilling it like a fine wine, I’m on Twitter, I’m REALLY
enjoying this beer. But I’m still in somewhere that has all the markings of a
coffee shop.
Which
one do I prefer? And who is intellectualising all this? Suddenly the beer world
is at war. Suddenly the old folk at CAMRA are at odds with the children of the
Revolution. Pro-keg. Anti-keg. Craft beer. Traditional ale. Old pubs. New Bars.
Whose side am I on?
But
I see both sides. When I was first drinking, real ale was for the weird
looking, bearded men dressed in fantastical cardigans, who really played that
traditional stereotype. Now, many of these keg drinkers are weird looking,
bearded men dressed in fantastical cardigans and who seem hell bent on playing
the traditional stereotype. When I go to a CAMRA beer festival to be served by
those prehistoric volunteers, I’m often met with a rude, disgruntled attitude
that suggests to me that they don’t believe I look like I should understand
real ale. Yet recently I’ve had my beloved Schlenkerla Rauchbier on keg in both
North Bar (Leeds) and Port Street Beer House (Manchester.) On both occasions
whilst ordering, the young (bearded, obviously) boy behind the bar stopped me
and explained to me about Rauchbier and why I might not want to have it. Obviously
their rude, disgruntled attitude suggests to me that they don’t believe I look
like I should understand German beer.
Yet,
where would I be without the delights of North Bar or Port Street? They are the
best places for beers in their respective cities, in my humble opinion. But do
I still think it is worth visiting the likes of Whitelocks (Leeds,) The
Philharmonic (Liverpool) or Blackfriars (London) just to enjoy such beautifully
constructed pubs, even if their ale is often average?
There
just seems to be a bit too much cynicism growing between some people in the
beer community and it’s why I’m not as heavily involved as I could be. The
other night I took part in the Twitter Event for Durham Brewery’s White Stout.
It was a really fun way to spend an hour in the evening with so many beer
lovers opening their bottles at the same time around the country and tweeting
their thoughts on the beer. Some gave detailed tasting notes. Some just enjoyed
the experience. It was fun. And beer is supposed to be fun. But then, my Dad’s
never going to be involved in a Twitter event even though he’s been drinking
Real Ale for 40 years. Does that mean he’s not fun?
I’ve
always encouraged my friends and peers to drink great beer at every opportunity
and overall my conversion rate is pretty successful. But two stories really stick
out for me. One took place in the King’s Head, Huddersfield over several pints
of Magic Rock Brewery’s Curious. The other in the Brew Dog Bar, Edinburgh over
a variety of their beers. On both occasions I picked the beers for them to try,
only to be left with 3 or 4 pints for me to finish off. These are guys in their
20’s who will happily drink Real Ale, but who find these brilliant new wave
beers just too much for their tastes. “There’s too much flavour in it,” said
one, referring to Curious. But if this is their tastes then I’ve no problem.
Sure, they won’t be involved in the next Twitter tasting event, but if they’d
choose Bombardier over Carling every time then that’s enough for me.
I’m
still a lad. I’m still a young lad at heart, even though those around me are
growing up fast. But as a lad, I meet other lads and we have lad’s nights out.
And it won’t always be to the best beer joint in town. Because some of the lads
are lad’s lads and they want a lad’s pint of urine flavoured detritus and to
chat to the ladies. And the majority of single ladies are not drinking the
craft beer. They’re in the bar down the road which, at best, might serve
something that once represented a Pilsner. So I’m not going to intellectualise
this bar’s pilsner. I don’t want to be talking to a lady and say, “Hold that
thought whilst I tweet the brewer and let them know how much I’ve enjoyed this
beer.” I’ll be a lad’s lad for the evening. Does that make me wrong?
I
guess I’m trying to say that beer is for everyone but not every beer is for
everyone or for every moment. We need to enjoy it in our way. And that’s the
key – enjoyment. Oz Clarke wanted to make detailed tasting notes about every
beer. He could tell if it smelt of pear fruit or pear skin. He knew if it had
used Simcoe or Sorachi. So do a lot of great beer bloggers out there whose
posts I really appreciate. They literate what my taste buds are sensing when
I’m drinking. James May just wanted a
beer. He was in a nice pub with a good selection on, with his mate and he wanted
a beer. He wanted to sup it and he wanted it to taste good. He didn’t want to
do much else afterwards. Maybe he’d tweet the brewery in less than 140
characters to say it was nice. Oz Clarke would need 1400 words.
These
are my demon’s thoughts. I don’t seem to sit on either side of the fence. I
enjoy really great beer. Draught. Cask. Keg. Craft. Whatever. And I often think
a lot about it. And I often tweet the breweries to tell them my thoughts too.
Like so many. But it doesn’t need to be entirely intellectualised. I still want
an enjoyable beer when I’m watching the football, but when we’re 3-0 down at
half time and the commentary is drowned out by my casual cursing, the malt
caramel scent is often lost on me. And on the occasional Saturday night, when
my week has been so poor I just want to drink so much with my friends that the
entire month becomes a haze, I’m not buying the £20 bottle that was aged in
whiskey casks for 9 months.
James
May was still wrong. And I was wrong for believing I agreed with him. There is
a huge passion for beer that he hadn’t understood. It’s not about
intellectualising anything. It’s about people sharing their interests in
whatever way they see fit. I can’t make my friends share my passion for beer, I
only achieve in making them groan as I go on about the brilliant flavours I’m
experiencing and give them the backstory of the brewery it came from. So I’ll
share it on here. For now this blog may seem inchoate but in this way I’ll
fight my beer demons. And maybe I’ll restore peace to the beer world at the
same time.
Though when I am next in
Stalybridge Buffet Bar, I’ll make sure I don’t waffle on too much about my
beer, just for James…
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