When I wrote some musings last week about my pub and its link but distance from the more modern craft beer
bar, I wasn’t planning a follow up post, hence the lack of pictures for this one. But then, I went out with my Uncle
Dave and a few others of his generation in Dewsbury last Friday.
I’ve written about my Uncle Dave before; attacked him even, in a post in 2012 where he was the scapegoat of a
post about old attitudes to new beer. The post was rash but necessary, as it
was an infuriating evening of drinking with people with negative attitudes to
beer development. I’ve come a long way since then. Beer
has come a long way too. And, in his own way, my Uncle Dave has too.
Dave is approaching 60 and is a
lifelong ale enthusiast. He’s been involved with his local CAMRA branch for
twenty years, helping to arrange beer festivals and was even branch chairman
for a while. He also has a very old
school attitude to the Beer world. He doesn’t like many of the new bars or new
breweries as I wrote about in that post over two years ago. His ideal beer is a
Chestnut Mild. He comes out with many classic lines that we affectionately
ridicule him for, such as “These new beers give me heartburn” or my favourite,
“There’s too many hops in this.” And
I used to resent his position and criticise it.
Now, though, Dave and I understand
each other’s stance on beer a little better. It’s education for us both.
Drinking with the likes of Dave and his other peers lets you see a side of Beer
that we craft wankers have long criticised, but rather than hating it now I
understand it.
Friday night in Dewsbury was
still rife with ridiculousness, the type I would have felt slightly angry about
a few years ago, yet now it's ignored. There are blatant factual
inaccuracies I don’t correct, such as his claim that a beer that has nothing to
do with the big Ellon brewery is “the only good beer Brewdog produce.”
The beers Dave drinks are as
you’d expect. On the evening he waxed lyrical most about Brain’s SA and
Thwaite’s Wainwright – two beers I’d avoid ordering unless the choice was
limited to just those. He also describes his love of Acorn Brewery’s Blonde too. “It’s a great beer. A lot of others blondes are too blonde, for me.”
It’s the addition of these final
two words that were missing two years ago that shows how things have changed.
The reason Dave’s approach to beer drinking used to annoy me is because it was opinion
presented as fact. Now he sticks with his opinion and recognises others. We
don’t dismiss each other’s choices; we respect them..
He has an archaic attitude to the
gravity of beers that I find bemusing even though it was once commonplace. Whereas
anything up to 6% is pint territory for me, Dave still puts much stall in the
huge difference between a 4.2% beer and one at 4.5% He still comes from the era
where anything above 4.4% was a Strong beer and says that his head also tells
the difference. He doesn’t like a lot of new bars because there’s often no
attempt to offer a couple of low gravity choices. And he’s right. It still
perplexes me that he can taste the difference in a couple of decimal places but
it isn’t something to deride. He knows his ale and knows what he can handle.
There’s further understanding in the
evening as we settle into the West Riding Refreshment Rooms. There’s an array
of beers on the bar (as ever) from traditional and much more modern breweries.
There are beers that Dave would normally scoff at – such as Great Heck’s Yakima IPA at 7.4%. “Beers shouldn’t be that strong,” says Dave shaking his head. It’s
hypocritical – the sort of comment that annoyed me in that post back then –
because this is the Uncle who introduced me to Gulden Draak (the famous 10.5% Belgian Strong Ale) as a
19-year-old. What he means is that it isn’t appropriate for a British cask
beer. Still Dave chooses what he wants and I instantly plump for a half of the
Yakima. We don’t take a sip of each other’s beers or exchange notes. He asks me
how it is and I tell him it’s wonderful and he accepts that. Whereas once he
may have tried to criticise, degrade or demean my beer choices, Dave raises his
glass to me and we enjoy each other’s company.
We discuss great pubs we’ve
enjoyed over the past decade. We talk about drinking towns and cities we’ve
visited or wish to. We’re not talking about the next big brewery launch, the
next city centre keg bar opening or the next Twissup. We’re talking about pubs
he enjoyed in the 70’s beginning to try cask ale again. We’re lamenting pubs we
enjoyed together ten years ago closing. We speak of snugs and taprooms and dark
milds. We see the side of beer that the new Beer fan has forgotten, or even
never experienced.
I’ve thought about writing posts
before about how I sometime think there’s too many of the “young” beer
bloggers who have started drinking beer during the “craft beer revolution.”
They say things to me that give me one reaction: learn your heritage, learn the tradition.When several people recently tried to tell me that there are plenty of modern British Brewer's doing the Hopfenweisse style better than Schneider Weisse's unbeatable Tap 5 I despaired. I
never developed from a lager drinker. I was hunting out the best pubs for beer
from 18. This has always been my way. I can criticise Dave’s often regrettable mindset
because of that, but I’ll defend the way he is to those whom have never spent
an evening drinking with the likes of him and his peers.
The evening ends in surprise when
the conversation turns towards that prickly subject of CAMRA, the organisation
that I’ve warmed to slightly over the past year. I ask him how things are going in his
branch with genuine interest and he and his wife shock me by informing me they’ve
not been members for nearly two years. “There was so much bureaucracy, Mark,”
Dave tells me. “Branch meetings stopped being fun social gatherings and more
like being sat in parliament.” I truly was surprised. Dave fit most people's image of the
stereotypical CAMRA member well and here I had him expressing his
disillusionment with it.
It's just another part of a developing story. As the landscape has changed so dramatically so have we and we've grown the better for it. It’s not a battleground anymore.
It’s a link between two very different viewpoints who have learnt to co-habituate.
I’m unlikely to get my uncle into a Brewdog or similar bar, but I’ve enough
friends to do that side of things with. Dave symbolises the tradition that
should never die. Here’s to many more years drinking with him and the like.
Cheers!
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