Monday, 13 October 2025

The Long Pull (part two)

An Atkinsons Strong Ale label.
Not everyone in Birmingham was happy with the abolition of the long pull. As it seems that, in some cases, overmeasure had been attracting customers. Who disappeared again once the long pull ended.

The Long Pull and Co-operative Brewing.
As a result of the abolition of the long pull, the trade at a number of 'tied' houses in Birmingham and district has declined so seriously that one brewery firm, it is stated, has changed the management in no fewer than thirty-two of their houses. The men in charge of these houses were given a week’s notice, the complaint against them being that the trade and profits were unsatisfactory. On the other hand, the men complain that with the abolition of the long pull the customers finding there was no advantage to be gained from continuing their patronage visited those public-houses where the beer was more to their liking. This sort of thing has led it is said to an appreciable depreciation in the trade of the tied houses, and as a result wholesale changes have been made in their management. The "long pull" question has brought the free licence holders, upwards of 500 in number into specially close relation. Comparatively few of these have facilities for brewing their own ales, the remainder obtaining their supplies from the large breweries. The attitude towards the free licence holders of the Brewers’ Association has led to the suggestion of the formation of a co-operative brewery similar to that in operation at Blackburn; and at a meeting recently held it was decided to take preliminary steps in this direction.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 36 1900, December 15th 1900, page 691.

I'm guessing that the brewery in question was Mitchell & Butler. As they were notable for mostly having managers rather than tenants. Was the loss of trade really due to abolishing the long pull? Given the number of pubs, I suspect that it could be. The implication is that a certain proportion of customers weren't that keen on the brewer's beer. And only drank there because it was good value for money.

You can understand why some publicans might have wanted to hang onto the long pull. Which led to the brewers' trade organisation making a rather alarming threat to those landlords still holding out.

The Birmingham Licensed Beer Trade.
A section of the licensed trade at Birmingham have received notices that the renewal of their licences will be objected to at the annual licensing session. The great majority of the licence-holders in the city have abolished the "long-pull” and have adopted a uniform standard of overmeasure to outdoor customers of 25 per cent. A small number, however, refused to adopt this course, and continue to give their customers the usual extra allowance. The Wholesale and Retail Protection Society, at whose instance the “long pull” was abolished in consequence of the increased beer duty, have served notices on the minority that the renewal of their licences will be objected to on the following grounds:— 

“(1) That you are guilty of unfair trading in that you give excessive overmeasure of beer retailed by you; 
(2) that that practice is carried on by you in order to obtain trade and custom by unfair and improper competition; 
(3) that this practice is contrary to public order and morality, and calculated to increase drunkenness; 
(4) that the giving of such excessive overmeasure is contrary to the wishes and views of the Trade Association of Birmingham; 
(5) that you have ceased to be a fit and proper person to hold such licence." 

Many traders have intimated since the receipt of the notice their readiness to abolish the “long pull,” but others resent the tactics of the Protection Society, and a defence fund is to be raised.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 36 1900, August 15th 1900, page 457.

Threatening to object to their licences was the nuclear option. And very unlike the usual behaviour of a brewers' trade organisation. Who were usually objecting to licence removals. It seems to be a rather dangerous tactic. 

Sunday, 12 October 2025

Brewing and festing

I rise at 8:30 and go straight for brekkie. 

They have both bacon and fried eggs. So I have both. Along with orange juice and coffee. And a bit of fruit for pudding. A pretty good breakfast.

Matt comes over and we spend quite a while chatting, while I drink my coffee. We always have plenty to talk about.

A breakfast of a fried egg, bacon, orange juice and coffee.

The bus to the farm is at 10 AM. To a farm with a wonderful view of the valley. What must it be like to live with all this beauty around you every day?

The house is a log cabin with one of those turfed roofs which are pretty common around here. Next to it is a roofed fire pit, where a cauldron of water and juniper twigs are bubbling away over a wood fire. They never brew with pure water. It’s always juniper infused.

A farmhouse brewhouse. A cauldron of water and juniper twigs boils over a wood fire.In the background is the stainless-steel mash tun with a tap and a milk churn, used for cooling the wort.

The farmer, his brother and a mate are doing the brewing. Occasionally, giving the water a stir with a long wooden stick.

Mashing takes place in a stainless-steel tub. Though they have some wooden tubs to show us how they used to do things. Water is transferred in buckets to the mash tub. To which the malt is later added.

Adding malt to the mash. In the foreground, a cauldron of water boils, behind it, three men are busy adding malt to the mash. One holds a malt sack.

No measurements, either of the temperature of the water or the weight of malt, are made. It’s all very casual. Done by eye and experience.

While the mash is standing, we go off for lunch. Which is more potatoes and cold cuts. It fills a hole. I do quite like boiled spuds. And you can’t go wrong with salted pork stuff. And home-brewed beer, of course.

The mash is run off through a tap into a milk churn. In which a bag of hops is suspended. Once the churn is full, a perforated hose is put around its neck. Through which cold water flows and runs down its side, cooling the wort.

Running off the wort. Wort runs from a tap at the bottom of the mash tun into into a stainless steel bucket. Next to it stands the small milk churn used for cooling.

Wort runs from a tap at the bottom of the mash tun into into a small milk churn.
 
Wort cooling in the milk churn. With a perforated hose around its neck.
Wort cooling in the milk churn. With a perforated hose around its neck.

As this is a Raw Ale, there’s no boil. When the wort is cool enough, it’s transferred to the fermenter in the cellar of the house. 

At the beginning of the run off, a small quantity of wort is collected in a bowl. To this kveik is added to form a starter. After only 20 minutes, it’s fermenting away nicely, with a head formed. That’s quick.

Kveik straight after pitching and after 20 minutes.
Kveik straight after pitching.

Kveik 20 minutes after pitching with a head from fermentation.
Kveik after 20 minutes.

The whole fermentation only takes two or three days, despite the beers being 6% to 8% ABV. After that, it’s ready to drink. They don’t bother letting it clear. 

Once the starter has been pitched, it’s time for us to leave. The bus picks us up around three. Giving me some time to chill in my room before the Norsk Kornølfestival starts at 5 PM.

The fermenter. A stainless-steel tub wrapped in a blanket.
The fermenter, wrapped up warm.

I stop by the Spar opposite the hotel to buy some cheese, salami and rolls. As I haven’t eaten since lunch.

The festival is being held in the gymnasium of Honndalshallen, a sports centre on the edge of town.  I walk there. It's not too far. About 1 km. And on the only piece of flat ground within 1,000 km. I don’t do hills. Why do you think I live in Holland?

In the foreground a sheep stares out from behind a fence. In the background are three more sheep.

The route is quite rural, fields along most of it. From one, a sheep nonchalantly gazes at me. I stare back for a while. You can tell I don’t get out into the countryside very often. When was the last time? With my brother-in-law in Hessen five years ago? I don’t think that counts. I just stepped out of the car for a piss. 

On the way, Christina Wade and Chelsea catch up with me. We finish the walk together.

It turns out that I've forgotten my ticket for the festival. I thought it was in my bag. But it isn’t. Eventually, they let me in, making a note that I'll show the ticket tomorrow. Which is nice of them. I feared I was going to have to pay or walk back to the hotel.

About a third of the hall is given over to the home brewers. Each has their own table. Some have small kegs. Others plastic jugs. A few have some bottles. Many also have some sort of snack.

A man dressed as a Viking stands talking to another man.

Most of the rest of the space is taken up by seating for the punters. Along one wall are the stands of a few professional brewers. Who take over beer-serving duties for the last couple of hours after the home-brew section closes at 8 PM.

There’s a separate room with picnic tables where food is served. And beyond that, the room where the talks are taking place. Mostly in Norwegian. Which is fair enough. Most of the punters are Norwegian.

Home brewers sit behind tables pouring samples of beer while drinkers mill around.

I kick off with some of the beers of Thor Humberset, to whom I spoke yesterday. He has.  some really good stuff. There’s a 100% oats beer, flavoured with bog myrtle. Which sounds a bit like a Dutch pre-hop beer.

He has a few bottles of special stuff. Like a really good Imperial Stout. With all the dense roast malt flavours I love so much. It’s up there with the best commercial examples.

Next, he opens a bottle of a 19.5% Barley Wine. Wow. Another barrage of malt flavours, this time more on the fruity side.

“That’ll put hairs on your chest.” I remark. “Not sure I could drink a pint of it, though.”

Thor is very into British styles.

“Do you know any good sources of information on British beers?” he asks, “I’d really like to brew a proper Mild.”

“You could try my blog. Or my books.” I give him the name of my blog.

A table with plastic jugs of home-brewed beer and wooden boards with cubes of smoked cheese.

I expected all the beers to be Norwegian farmhouse styles. But that’s by no means the case. There are plenty of examples of classic styles. Even Lagers. Though brewers usually have some traditional beers as well.

The ample seating means I can rest my weary old legs anytime I want. There’s enough to seat everyone. A huge plus point. One of the reasons I stopped going to festivals was the abysmal lack of seating. Well, that and the stupidly small measures. What sort of fuckwit wants to queue for 10 minutes for one mouthful of beer?

Christina is giving a talk tomorrow and we discuss weird and disastrous gigs.

“My smallest audience was four. But three of those were staff, so it was really just one.” I brag.

The Widebay Brew stand has Vossa Troll, a 13% beer. They say like a Barley Wine. More like a Quad to me. Very sweet, but punchy, too. And rather yummy.

Thor comes up to me with a dark beer in a plastic glass.

“Try this. It’s another Imperial Stout. This time with dates.”

It’s very sweet. But very good, too.

When the home-brew bit closes at 8 PM, I sit with Christina and Chelsea. I don't get any of the professional beer, though. I just sit and chat for an hour. Then walk back to the hotel. No sheep this time. They must be in bed. 

A Coop Prix at night, with plants and bags of compost stacked outside.

On the way back, I drop by the Coop, the town’s other supermarket for more food.

I fiddle on the internet, eat a cheese and salami sandwich and sip on whisky. Before sleep overwhelms me.



Honndalshallen

6763 Grodås.
 

Saturday, 11 October 2025

Let's Brew - 1903 Binnie Table Beer

A Binnie cask label featuring a drawing of a horse shagging a tree and the text "M. Binnie Nungate Brewery Haddington near Edinburgh".
After the tax category was abolished in 1830, Table Beer quickly banished from most of the UK. Except in Scotland, where it lived on until WW I.

What was this later Scottish style like? Extremely watery for the period. With a gravity of just 1030º. Binnie’s example also isn’t very well attenuated, leaving it under 2.5% ABV. Something for the kiddies, really.  It was always parti-gyled with 140/-.

There’s not a great deal to the recipe. Just pale malt and an unspecified type of sugar. I’ve guessed – as I usually do – for No. 2 invert. But it could have been another type of invert or even raw cane sugar.

Three types of hops were employed: Kent, American and Bavarian. With no vintage specified.

 My guess is that this was exclusively sold in bottled form.

1903 Binnie Table Beer
pale malt 6.50 lb 96.30%
No. 2 invert sugar 0.25 lb 3.70%
Cluster 90 min 0.50 oz
Hallertau 60 min 0.50 oz
Fuggles 30 min 0.50 oz
OG 1030
FG 1012
ABV 2.38
Apparent attenuation 60.00%
IBU 25
SRM 4
Mash at 152º F
Sparge at 170º F
Boil time 90 minutes
pitching temp 64º F
Yeast WLP028 Edinburgh Ale

 

 

Friday, 10 October 2025

Northward bound

No rush this morning. My flight isn't until 14:20. I leave home around 11:00.

Schiphol s fairly busy. I can see a big queue at passport control. But that's not a problem for me. As I'm going to a Schengen country

Only pausing to get a bottle of duty-free Jura, I head to the lounge. The other KLM lounge at Schiphol. One I've only visited once or twice. As, most of the time, I’m either flying to outside Europe or to the UK. Which sort of isn’t in Europe any more.

This lounge has one big advantage: free pour spirits. No need to get two singles. I get a single double instead. So much simpler.

A table with a plate of cheese, hamd and olives. And a glass of whisky.

Not just being a pisshead, I get some food, too. Ham, cheese and olives. A real health food snack. Having quite a while before my flight, there's time for a few more whiskies. Mostly doubles. Though I do throw in a treble for the road.

“Why are you going to Norway?” Dolores asked when I told her of my trip.

“For the Norsk Kornølfestival.”

“What’s that?”

“A festival of farmhouse beers.”

“What are they?”

“Beers brewed on farms.”

“Haha. That’s it?”

“Sort of. It’s a bit more than that. A very old tradition.”

“It seems a long way to go just for that.”

“I’ve wanted to go for a while. It sounds dead interesting.”

“For you.”

“Well, that’s all that matters.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

I wonder if the flight is delayed as it takes a long while before "go to gate" comes on the screen. Which is when I leave the lounge.

It's quite a way to the gate. When I get there, everyone seems to have boarded. And it says "gate about to close". A couple of people arrive, sprinting, immediately after me. 

"Just in time. We're closing the gate in two minutes." The gate agent says.

Looking through an aeroplane window to an Air Freance plane, in front of which are several service vehicles. In the background is the terminal and a control tower.

Fuck me, I cut that fine. Totally unintentionally. It could have ended so badly. Like in all those airport videos on YouTube. Where passengers go ballistic when they arrive at the gate too late to board.

That’s happened to me a couple of times. Getting to the gate too late, I mean. Not going ballistic. That’s something I never do. At least not so far. Maybe that’s a future treat waiting for me.

An airline tray table with a partly-eaten cheese sanwich, a small wine bottle and a plastic cup of red wine.

The flight isn't very full. We're served a sarnie and a drink. Red wine for me. I’m happy enough with that. Especially as I deliberately loaded up with food in the lounge.

Sadly, there's low cloud and pissing rain when we arrive. Meaning I can't really appreciate how scenic the setting of Alesund is. I do manage to get a couple of half-decent snaps.

A hilly coastline with many small islands. In the foreground there's a patch of flatter ground with fields and farmhouses. The sky is full of low, grey clouds.

Landside, there's a group of people hanging around outside the terminal. Who are waiting for the bus to the festival. Including Matt Becker* and his wife Christina.

It's quite a trek to Hornindal. Three hours. Through dozens of tunnels. And with a 20-minute ferry ride in the middle. All through stunning scenery of mountains and fjords. Which only becomes more mysterious as dusk begins to fall and the sky darkens to purple and the mountains to transform into dark, lurking shadows. Black clouds swirl overhead like insane giant rooks.

It's 7:30 PM when we pull up at our hotel. Where we don't get much time to rest before the evening’s event. I go to dump my stuff in my room. Fuck me, what a view! Looking out over the lake and its flanking mountains.

A large lake at dusk. On either side are the dark shapes of hillsIn the distance area few lights. In the foreground is a small jetty and a couple of lights.

I’m introduced to Lars Marius Garshol, one of the organisers. Someone I’ve known on the internet for a long time but never met in person before. It’s good to finally meet him. He’s doing some very valuable research into farmhouse brewing.

We're whisked off in a bus to a traditional farmhouse to drink farmhouse Ale. An old wood cabin with a turf roof and a roaring open fire. It's very cosy.

The first beer is served by dipping a ladle into an open pot. Very old-fashioned. My first taste of this ancient type of beer. It’s herbal, fairly flat and quite refreshing. Very cloudy, too.

A wood cabin room with old wooden tables and chairs. Several people are sitting and drinking from plastic cups.The room is lit by candles.

There are a few different beers. Varying quite a lot in character There's also cold meat and boiled potatoes to tuck into. Which I do.

I sit at a candle-lit table. While framed photographs of someone’s grandparents gaze down on the gathering. It’s very atmospheric. I chat with those seated around me. A mix of visitors and locals. One of the latter is Thor Humberset, a home brewer. Who explains a little about the beer he brews.

I work my way through all four beers. One is in a keg. Another two are in plastic jugs. All are quite herbal and a bit funky. Though each quite different from the other. They slip down easily enough. And I suspect are much stronger than they appear. Not that it bothers me. The stronger the better, as far as I’m concerned.

Christina Wade sits at the table. “We met at a homebrew thing in Dublin.” She says.

“That was a few years back. Weren’t you at my talk in Dublin last year?”

“No, I missed it. I was sick.”

“It was fun. An Englishman explaining Irish beer to Irish people in Ireland. I’m surprised I didn’t get lynched.”

“I heard it went very well.”

“I’m still alive, so it must have.”

At 10 PM the bus picks us up again. I go straight to my room. I’m not tempted to stay up any longer. I know my limits. And how much sleep I need.

In my room, after a quick whisky eye-closer, I drift off to sleep. 

 

* Owner/brewer at Becker brewery in Brighton, Michigan. We’ve collaborated on a couple of beers. 

Thursday, 9 October 2025

Singapore slinging

No rush this morning. So, I don’t get up until 8:40. Simply because I didn’t want to get to breakfast too late.

I have the same as the other days: a fried egg and cheese with a single slice of toast. With orange juice and coffee, obviously. And fruit for pudding.

After a while, Carl Kins comes and sits with me. We chat a bit about Belgian beer and the joys of being retired.

Still feeling a bit knacked, I lie down for 45 minutes when I’m back in my room. After which I feel a little livelier. And fiddle around on the internet for a while.

The bus leaves at 12:00. I head down about ten minutes before. Leaving enough time for a quick double Jamesons at the hotel bar. I still have quite a few Singapore dollars to get through. I may as well spend them. And whiskey seems a good option.

On the bus, there’s a cooler full of leftover competition beers. I help myself to a Double IPA. The number looks familiar. I suspect that it’s one of the beers I judged. It’s not bad. And keeps me hydrated as we bounce along the road.

Rows of terracotta soy sauce jars standing in the sun.

First stop is Nanyang Sauce, a traditional soy sauce factory. We begin outside. Where terracotta jars full of fermenting soya beans sit in the sun. There’s a lovely savoury smell in the air. It takes nine months out in the sun to finish the process. After which, the soy sauce is harvested.

It’s hot out in the sun. Fucking hot. It’s a relief when we move inside.

The factory was established in 1959. By the grandfather of the bloke showing us around. Whose passion for soy sauce is evident. He speaks eloquently of the traditional process and the superior sauce that it produces.

Our visit ends with a tasting of several types of soy sauce. As well as a vinegar and a few types of chilli paste. They’re all impressively complex.

Before trooping back onto the bus, we visit the shop. I just pick up a single bottle of heavy soy sauce. Some of the other judges go more crazy, purchasing armfuls of bottles. Including the most expensive unpasteurised and aged soy sauce.

Next stop is LeVel 33. A brewpub on . . . the 33rd floor. “The world’s highest microbrewery in a building” as they bill themselves.

The view from LeVel33, looking out over the bay with ranks of high-rise buildings inb the background.

The view from the balcony is amazing. Gazing over the bay. I would try to describe it. But I’m a bit shit with words. A photo will do the job far better.

Charles gets us each an Oktoberfest. Which is perfectly serviceable. We spend about 45 minutes savouring both it and the incredible view.

The shiny copper brewhouse of LeVel33 with a sign saying “The world’s highest microbrewery in a building”.

The bus drops most of the judges off in Chinatown, to visit the Lion Brewery. I’m happy enough to give that a miss, having spent the best part of a day there with Andrew just a few weeks ago. Instead, I continue on with the bus back to the hotel.

I also don’t have much time left before I need to go to the airport for my flight home. I laze around my room for a while. Before nipping down to the 7 Eleven for a few things. It’s almost dusk. It’s still fucking hot.

Remembering that I haven’t eaten since breakfast, I also drop by the hawker market. Where I buy myself roast duck, egg and rice. For an extortionate four euros.

A hawker stall display, featuring a pig's head, roast duck, roast pork and other unidentifiable animal bits.

I polish off my duty-free whisky. And my hawker meal. Which is dead good. As you would expect. Roasty in a Chinese sort of way.

At ten, I check out and get a taxi to the airport. Check-in is pretty quick. Before you know it, I’m in the duty-free shop. I wouldn’t usually bother here. But I’ve still some Singapore dollars to get rid of. I get a litre of Dewar’s.

After that, it’s straight to the lounge. It’s the Qantas lounge. And is almost deserted. I lounge around there for a while, sipping whisky. Before tipping down to my gate.

I don’t have to wait long to board after going through security. 

A bit after we’ve taken off, there’s a meal service. I don’t bother with the meal, as it’s the usual KLM slop. I just have a red wine. And the fall asleep.

The wing of an aircraft with dawn breaking behind it.

I wake up after 8 hours or so.  With a terrible stomach ache. I go to the bog and throw up. And feel much better. What was that all about?

Breakfast is the weird dumpling-like stuff. I pass on that. And just eat the fruit. And drink coffee and orange juice.

We land about 20 minutes early. Which is good. Passport control is mobbed. Which is crap. Then it takes ages for my bag to pop out. So long, that I use the tag finder app to check where it is. Close by, the app reckons. That’s a relief. Soon after, my bag plops onto the carousel.

Not long after, I’m rolling down the motorway in a taxi.

Before I’ve chance to put my key in the door, Dolores opens it. She’s about to go to the shops. Fortunately, she has tea ready.



Nanyang Sauce
18 Chin Bee Ave, 
Singapore 619940.
https://www.nanyangsauce.com/


LeVeL33
8 Marina Blvd, 
#33 - 01 Tower 1, 
Singapore 018981.
http://www.level33.com.sg/ 

Wednesday, 8 October 2025

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1888 Thomas Usher Export

A Thomas Usher Export Ale label with a six-pointed star and the text "Cross of Honour Brussels 1953.
Just to confuse things a bit more, here’s a beer simply called Export. And, no, it wasn’t the same gravity as PA. As, by this time, its gravity had been dropped to 1050º.

All pale malt in the grist. Three different types, made from Californian, Hungarian and Scottish barley. Increasing amounts of foreign barley was a trend at Usher as the century drew to a close. At times to such a point that there was no UK barley at all in some beers.

The hopping rate was pretty heavy at 15 lbs per quarter (336 lbs). Which you can see reflected in the calculated bitterness of over 100 IBU. The three-hour boil also helps in that respect.

What about the hops themselves? They were an even split of Kent and Hallertau. The vintage isn’t specified in this particular brewing record, but in others nearby it’s given as 1887 for both types.

Was this beer aged? Given the heavy hopping, I think that it probably was. I’m guessing semi-stock, so around 3 months. Which would have reduced the FG somewhat from that listed in the recipe below. 

1888 Thomas Usher Export
pale malt 12.50 lb 100.00%
Fuggles 180 min 4.50 oz
Hallertau 30 min 4.50 oz
Goldings dry hops 1.00 oz
OG 1054
FG 1012
ABV 5.56
Apparent attenuation 77.78%
IBU 102
SRM 5
Mash at 153º F
Sparge at 170º F
Boil time 180 minutes
pitching temp 58º F
Yeast WLP028 Edinburgh Ale

 

Tuesday, 7 October 2025

Judgemental

I rise at 8:15. And go downstairs for brekkie. 

Fried egg, cheese and toast. Again. Except I don’t bother with the horrible turkey bacon. The sausages look dead anaemic, too. I really don’t fancy them. I wash the food down with orange juice and coffee. And a pudding of fruit.

A bowl of watermelon and melon chumks. In the background are a glass of milk and a mug of coffee.

Judging was supposed to start at 9. It's more like 9:30 when we kick off. I have trouble finding my name on the table list. Until it's pointed out that I'm table captain today. More work. Yeah, just what I love: work.

My fellow judges are all Asian. All from different countries. With a range of different viewpoints. Should be fun. Except.

“My tasting ability isn’t at its best today.” I say, sniffling. 

I seem to have a cold coming on. Not like I’ll need my sense of smell today, eh?

We bully off with German Pilsner. I’m surprised at how sweet some are.

“Asian drinkers like sweetness. If they brewed a Pilsner the same as in Europe, people wouldn’t buy it.” I’m told. 

That’s handy for when I set up my Southeast Asian historic beer brewery. I’ll just brew those stupidly sweet Scottish Stouts. Does Heineken taste different in Asia? It wouldn’t surprise me if it did.

The flight has a couple of good examples. Though we’re not exactly unanimous on exactly which beers those are. We manage to come to an agreement because, well, the others aren’t twats. Not sure about me. The others definitely aren’t, though.

A roomfull of judges. In a large room there are several tables aroound which judges with laptops sit judging.

Bit disappointed by the Double IPA flight. Though I appreciate the alcohol. Some are weird. We have a polite debate about what exactly constitutes weirdness. 

I really appreciate the size of the flights. How small they are. Mostly just six or seven beers. Never more than eight. Which is great. Anything bigger gets unmanageable. I’ve judged flights as large as twelve or sixteen beers. Fucking impossible. For an amateur like me.

Because that’s what I am: a total amateur. My only professional association with brewing was a few weeks filling kegs back in 1975. Beer is a career for most of those around me. Their senses are way more finely tuned than mine. Even on a good day. Which isn’t, what with my runny nose.

We’re now moving onto semi-finals and finals. The fun bit. As we don’t have to go through the whole scoring process. Just either choose the best three beers to pass through. Or award the gold, silver and bronze awards.

First is the Pilsner semi-final. Which is a mixture of Czech and German styles. I can’t say that I’m very keen on any of them.

“Pilsner is a difficult style for me to judge as I drink it so rarely.” I warn the others.

An Imperial Stout first round follows. Which is much easier for me. And there are some pretty damn good beers. I finish off the examples I like.

Lunch is the hotel buffet again. Today I decide to try out Indian corner. Where I get myself a potato and pea curry. I do love me a potato curry. 

Indian Corner in the hotel buffet. A judge is serving himself from a pot of curry.

I chat beer history with some of the other judges.

“Do you have a podcast?” one of them asks.

“No.”

“You should do.”

Now there’s a thought. It’s not as if I have much else to keep me occupied. Only writing books and travelling the world. I can do with some other projects. I do enjoy bullshitting away about beer, mind.

I’m not table captain after lunch. Which is a relief. As it means less work And, at heart, I’m a profoundly lazy person. I sometimes wonder what I might have achieved, had I not been such an idle git.

It’s mostly finals and semi-finals in the afternoon session. So no full scoring. Just working out the best three beers.

Judges at work. Five judges sit around a table, each typing on a laptop with beers in front of them.

I’m on table 1. Which is right next to the aircon. And fucking freezing. It’s a little on the chilly side, even for me. I can understand why some of the Asian judges on this table were putting on coats earlier.

It’s the experimental beers semi-final to start.  Which includes some intriguing beers with Asian ingredients, such as koji, pandang leaves and coconut.

Another first round of Oatmeal Stout follows. I’m not enthusiastic about any of them. That’s me being nice.

“Oatmeal Stout was mostly a con. Usually, oats only made up 1% of the grist.” I tell the other judges. They must be concentrating on tasting, because they don’t react.

Next, we award the first medals, for Hefeweizen. There’s quite a bit of discussion amongst us to settle on the winners. As all of the finalists are pretty decent.

Awarding the Saison medals is even trickier. With some beers quite dividing opinion. But we eventually come to a consensus. We all emerge with our egos and teeth intact.

The Milk Stout medals are far easier. With swift agreement about the best three beers. The only discussion is about which colour medal those three beers get.

We finish with the flavoured beer final. Another tricky one, as the base beers are in all sorts of different styles. Leaving direct comparisons very difficult. The winning beers, though, are all pretty good.

A long day of judging. It’s after 18:30 when we finish. And the bus for tonight’s dinner leaves at 19:00. I just have time to go back to my room and dump my flipflop. And have a quick waker-up whisky.

Spotting a couple of fellow judges having a beer in the hotel bar, I grab myself a double Jamesons. I’ve only a few minutes and have to down it in one. Warms me up nicely. Both physically and socially. Not that I’ll be needing the former, given the temperature outside.

A jug and a glass of of beer on a table. In the background, more tables with jugs and glasses of beer.

Tonight’s dinner location is Satay by the Bay. Which specialises in seafood. Only joking. It’s satay. As is pretty fucking obvious from the name. And is next to the bay. Also given away a bit by the name.

As soon as we sit down, pitchers of Tiger appear. Which makes a change from the fancy beer I’ve been judging. After a while plates of food start to appear. Fried rice, a beef dish, spring rolls and, of course, chicken satay.

Thankfully, the satay isn’t smothered in peanut sauce, as it is in Holland. The sauce comes separately in little bowls. Meaning I can eat the satay sauce-free. As I’m not really a fan of peanut sauce.

A table of food. Satay sticks, spring rolls and bowls of peanut sauce.

Charles’ son comes over to our table for a chat. I tell him how his father broke my arm last year. He seems quite surprised.

He’s 18 and will soon be starting his military service. Of two years. Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. And he’s only just moved back to Singapore after doing his A-levels in the UK. A very nice young man.

We leave around 9:30. I don’t fancy going on for further beers. Instead dropping by the 7 Eleven for some stuff. And watch YouTube for a while, sipping my whisky.



Satay by the Bay
18 Marina Gardens Dr, 
#01-19 Gardens by the Bay, 
Singapore 018953.
http://sataybythebay.com.sg/
 

Monday, 6 October 2025

Underlet mashing

A Barclay Perkins London Pale Ale label featuring a drawing of an anchor.
Yet more stuff from the Brewers' Journal. This time about a topic dear to my heart: underlet mashing.

It's weird that this very common method of mashing gets very little attention nowadays. Despite being a pretty standard process for over a hundred years. 

In principle, it's a simple form of a step mash. It started with a simple infusion, which was allowed to stand for 20 or 30 minutes. Then a smaller quantity of hotter water was introduced to the mash from below via the underlet. The internal rakes were then given a couple of spins to mix the hotter water through the mash. And left to stand for two hours or so.

It seems that some brewers also used steam in addition to hot water to raise the temperature of the mash.

The time for application of the underlet must depend upon the malt itself, but in practical working I believe that 20 minutes is a sufficiently long stand after the malt has all been mashed in, unless the malt should happen to be low in diastase, when the time may well be extended to half an hour. There is, in my experience, no harm at all in bringing the second heat up to quite a high temperature— that is, 155 deg. to 158 deg.; indeed, in several breweries the second temperature is brought up to 159 deg., or even 160 deg., though in that case it is usual to extend the preliminary stand from 20 to 30 minutes. It is in such a case necessary either to use a very large quantity of underlet liquor at a very high temperature, or to supplement the underlet with free steam blown in under the plates. This second process answers perfectly well if the steam inlets are sufficiently numerous to allow of a fairly uniform heating of the mash; but in cases where one steam jet only is provided, there is a danger that one portion of the mash may be almost boiling whilst the other is only slightly heated. I strongly advocate the use of hot underlets, and the raising of a mash heat some 8 deg. or 10 deg. after 20 to 30 minutes’ stand, for by this means a wort low in albuminoids, a strong yeast, and a beer carrying a tough viscous head, brightening very rapidly and not prone to fret, are secured.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 38 1902, November 15th 1902, page 668.

Here's an example of an underlet mash from my favourite, Barclay Perkins. Who were very keen users of this technique.

Barclay Perkins X Ale mashing scheme 27th October 1909
operation barrels water strike heat tap heat time stood (minutes) OG wort
mash 1 140 160º F   30  
underlet 26 175º F 150º F 90 1082
sparge 1 36 168º F      
underlet 63 168º F 156º F 30 1029
sparge 2 190 165º F 150º F   1010
Source:
Barclay Perkins brewing record held at the London Metropolitan Archives, document number ACC/2305/1/601.

Note that they used the longer pre-underlet rest of 30 minutes and a shorter post-underlet rest of just 90 minutes. 

Sunday, 5 October 2025

Tied Houses Abolition Act

A Bentley's Brown Stout label featuring a drawing of a man in 19th-century dress and the text "Est 1820 Old Brewery Rotherham".
More fun from the Brewers' Journal today. Which I've been using a lot as a source recently. Mostly, because that's what I've been researching in this week. And I need loads of posts to cover my next couple of trips. I should be in Norway when this is posted.

Tied houses have always been somewhat contentious. Obviously, the temperance twats were against tied houses. Well, just because. They were opposed to everything connected to pubs.

Mr. Broadhurst seemed to have an aversion to tied houses, too. Judging by the Bill he initiated. It's not the easiest of reads, despite being quite short.

Mr. Broadhurst and Tied Houses.
The following is a copy of the Bill introduced by Mr-Broadhurst, and read a first time in the House of Commons on the 3rd inst.:—Whereas the practice of tying licensed houses is injurious to the public, and it is expedient that it should be abolished. Now, therefore, be it enacted:—

1. From and after the passing of this Act any covenant or agreement binding the holder of a licence of ale, beer, or spirituous liquors for consumption on the premises to purchase such ale, beer, or spirituous liquors, or any part thereof, from any specified person or persons only shall be deemed to be an unreasonable covenant in restraint of trade, and shall be void. Provided always that this section shall not apply to any licence granted before the passing of this Act unless and until application shall be made for a renewal thereof.

2. Upon any application for the grant or renewal of a licence for the sale of ale, beer, or spirituous liquors to be consumed on the premises, the licensing authorities shall require the applicant to satisfy them that he is not under any such covenant or agreement as aforesaid; and in the case of an application for the renewal of a licence that has been granted or renewed subsequently to the passing of this Act that he has not been under any such covenant since the granting or last renewal of the licence, as the case may be, and unless the said licensing authority is so satisfied, it shall not grant or renew such licence.

3. This Act may be called the Tied Houses Abolition Act.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 36 1900, August 15th 1900, page 456.

If you were tied for any alcoholic drink, your licence wouldn't be renewed. And without its licence, a pub was worth fuck all. Not much use for a brewer, either.

Of course, the Bill didn't pass. Private members' Bills almost never do. If passed, how would it have affected UK brewing? Would brewers have simply found some other way of securing outlets? They might have concentrated on off-licences. Which were oftebn tied, too. Weirdly, the Bill doesn't seem to apply to them. Only on-licences. 

Saturday, 4 October 2025

Let's Brew - 1885 Thomas Usher Export PA

A Thomas Usher Export Ale label featuring a six-pointed star.
Here we are at the top of the Pale Ale ladder, with Export PA. A proper, full-strength Pale Ale.

For once, there’s more than a single malt. With the pale malt backed up by a small amount of high-dried malt. I’m not totally sure what it’s doing there. Possibly to provide some less-fermentable sugars for secondary conditioning.

At 16 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt, the hopping rate is around double that of the other Pale Ales. Which is to be expected, assuming that this is a genuine export beer. Which would need the protection of extra hops.

Hallertau and Alsace hops, both from the 1884 harvest, were used in the copper.

My guess is that thus was aged for at least a year, both at the brewery and during shipment. During which the FG would have been lowered considerably.

1885 Thomas Usher Export PA
pale malt 13.00 lb 92.86%
Munich malt 1.00 lb 7.14%
Strisselspalt 150 min 4.50 oz
Hallertau 30 min 4.50 oz
Goldings dry hops 1.00 oz
OG 1060
FG 1015
ABV 5.95
Apparent attenuation 75.00%
IBU 96
SRM 5.5
Mash at 152º F
Sparge at 175º F
Boil time 150 minutes
pitching temp 57.5º F
Yeast WLP028 Edinburgh Ale


 

Friday, 3 October 2025

Judgement

I rise at 7:30. After a very good sleep. But still feel a bit knacked. Hopefully breakfast will liven me up. Plenty of coffee should do the job.

The breakfast buffet is pretty impressive. Except . . . no real bacon. Just weird turkey bacon. They do have fried eggs, though. Two types, even: over easy and sunny-side up. I get one of the latter. Along with some cheese and a slice of wholemeal toast. Plus orange juice and coffee. I only have one mouthful of the fake bacon. Not very nice. I won't be bothering with that again.

A breakfast of fried egg, cheese, turkey bacon, toast, coffee and orange juice.

The judging room is right next to the restaurant. Which is handy. It saves so much time and effort. The latter being very important for oldies like me. We’re supposed to kick off at 9. It’s actually 9:30. Which isn’t bad. In Brazil we once sat on our arses for three hours because of computer problems.

I’m not table captain. Yippee! I love dodging responsibility. Someone else can do the hard work 

We’re quite an international bunch. Our Australian captain aided by judges from Germany, Singapore and Vietnam. And me, obviously. I’ve never been on a table of five before. Usually, it’s three.

We kick off with International Pale Lager. What fun. All but one are crap. Not such a surprise. At least we get through them quite quickly.

Witbier next. A much better set. A couple of them I rather like. Especially one with a touch of acidity. Like Hoegaarden had back in the day.

A room full of judges in res shirts sitting at tables.

Achieving consensus between five judges is trickier than between three. But, as none of my fellow judges are arseholes, we can work things out. With a bit of give and take. Judges make or break the judging experience. One opinionated twat can suck out all the pleasure. Get a pair of twats, and judging is complete torture.

American Pale Ale is the last flight of the morning. With some pretty decent beers. Hops can cover up a whole load of nastiness. In Pale Lagers, there’s nowhere to hide.

We're running a bit late in the morning session. It’s almost 2 PM when we get done and break for lunch Which is a buffet in the restaurant where we ate breakfast. Just next door. No pissing around travelling somewhere else. Which I appreciate.

It's way more varied than Brazilian buffets. Lots of different types of Asian food. With a whole section for Indian curries. As well as western stuff. The range is both enormous and impressive.  

Various types of shellfish sitting on a bed of ice.

All sorts of fancy stuff. Like large prawns, mussels and other shellfish.  I get some mussels, beef rendang and deep-fried chicken. Tasty.

My afternoon table has another inspiring mix of nationalities: Indian, Belgian, Vietnamese and German. Should promote healthy discussion.

I’m not very optimistic about the first flight, English Pale Ale.

“I don’t have very good experiences of judging this style.” I tell the others. “They’re usually all crap.”

Which, indeed, most of the beers turn out to be. But there’s one really good beer. Making the process worthwhile.

American IPA, which is next up, is an improvement. There are a couple of pretty decent beers in the set.
.
One of my favourite categories follows: Low-alcohol beer. Only joking. It is better than alcohol-free, I suppose. Not as awful as I feared. Some are just about drinkable.

We end with experimental beers. 

“I always suspect that some brewers call beers ‘experimental’ when they go horribly wrong.” I remark. 

“That’s rather cynical.” 

Cynical? Moi? I’m such a positive chap. Despite what my kids say.

Thankfully, a lot of the flight isn’t that out there. In fact, mostly quite in there. Just an extra ingredient or two to add an accent to a standard style. A few are really weird, though. For example, Irish Stout with orange juice. So strange, that it’s really difficult to judge. What were they aiming for? Have they achieved it?

We finish just after six. Leaving me a bit less than an hour to chill in my room before we go out to eat. And to make sure that my duty-free whisky hasn’t gone off while I’ve been judging. I have to check twice, just to make sure.

No bus, this evening. We walk to a Chinese restaurant. When we're almost there, I recognise where we are. As we walk past the Magpie. Where I drank with Andrew a few weeks ago. It's a weird feeling. Like suddenly waking up. While walking down the street.

A table of Chinese food. In the forground prawns, behind chilli crab.

We sit outside the restaurant and plates of food keep arriving. As well as big bottles of Tiger. Everyone digs in enthusiastically. I’m relieved to drink beer without needing to think about it. I knock back a few. Just to be polite, obviously.

The food highlight is chilli crab. Which, being undressed, is a challenge to eat without changing the colour of your shirt.  Someone asks the Vietnamese women next to me if it's spicy. "No." they say. Not my impression. I suppose they have a different concept of spicy in Vietnam.

I leave with a couple of the other older judges a little after nine. I don’t feel like staying out too late. I’ll leave that to the young and the reckless. I’m still feeling a bit knacked. And I’ll need to be up fairly early again tomorrow. Still time to drop by the Seven 11 on my way back.

I watch some YouTube in my room for a while. Before bludgeoning myself unconscious with duty-free whisky. Finding sleep isn’t a problem. It’s right there in front of me. Just looks a bit blurry.



Por Kee Eating House 1996
69 Seng Poh Ln, 
#01-02, 
Singapore 160069.