Flying again

“Are you crazy? Another trip?”

“Yes, Dolores. I need the XP points.”

“What?”

“With KLM. I need three more XP points to keep my gold status.”

“You’re travelling just for that?”

“And to get some research in. I’m going to an archive.”

I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to photograph some more brewing records. I can never have too many of those. In particular. Records from the period 1880 to 1914. For the book I’m currently writing.

It’s not going to be a long trip. I won’t be in the UK for much over 24 hours. And six of those will be in the archive.

With my flight not until 4 PM, it’s a fairly relaxed start. Which is how I prefer it. There’s no-one to wave me off when I leave. Dolores and Alexei are at work. Andrew is still in bed.

There’s a lot of car traffic at Schiphol. Which has me worrying a bit. Needlessly. It’s pretty quiet at both security and passport control. No duty-free today. So it’s straight to the lounge.

Where it’s whisky time again. I’m loath to break with tradition. Brace of whiskies it is.

The last few times I’ve been in the KLM non-Schengen lounge, the warm food hasn’t been bad. Much better than the slop on their planes. Today the trend continues with zuurvlees. A tasty stew.

I shouldn’t have to far to walk. E is one of the closest piers to the lounge. And the display says that it’s a 3-minute walk to the gate. Wary of what happened last time, I head for the gate 40 minutes before the departure time.

Checking the gate hasn’t changed on my way to E pier, the display now says it’s a 12-minute walk. Best not doddle.

I really like the way that the one gate where you’re taken by bus to your plane, is right at the end of the pier. You walk all the way there, just to get on a bus. Perfect.

The flight is full, but thankfully short. With no checked luggage, I’m free as soon as I get through immigration. Which is just a short 10 km walk down a dingy corridor away. A really dismal welcome to the country.

St. Pancras is a long way by tube. About an hour. Always fun with luggage. As the carriage gets fuller and fuller the closer you get to central London. Luckily, I’ve only a small rucksack today.

I realise that I haven’t told you where I’m headed. Maidstone. And the Kent archives. I spent some time looking for regional archives. Preferably, where there were records from multiple breweries. And that I could get to relatively easily.

Kent Archives in Maidstone, turns out to have long sets from both Fremlin and George Beer & Rigden. Plus a couple of other things.

Because getting there from London by train isn’t difficult, Maidstone seems an easy destination to reach. It takes about 2.5 hours from Heathrow to Maidstone. On a tube and then two overground trains.

The first train, a fast Javelin, is packed when we leave St. Pancras. The second, a clanky suburban train from Strood, is much quieter.

I’ve come to Maidstone West station because it’s closer to my hotel than Maidstone East. Sadly, it’s uphill. And I really can’t be doing with hills. Especially with luggage, however light that might be.

My original plan was to hit Spoons and Tesco. But I’m feeling a bit knacked. Just Tesco, then. By Uber. What could be simpler?

Lots, it turns out. Uber keeps giving me stupid pickup points. Then can’t find me a driver. Eventually, one does roll up.

Loaded up with crisps, sandwiches and hotel whisky, it’s time to try my luck with Uber again. A 25-minute wait. What a fucking joke. I could walk it quicker than that. So I do. Remembering that I saw a couple of pubs on the way.

The first, the Royal Albion looks deserted. When I get to the door, I understand why. It’s closed. Despite all the lights being on inside.

Drakes, the other pub on the way, is open. And has Harveys Best. Unfortunately, there’s also a jam session. Which I fear is going to damage my hearing. The only way to get away from it, is to leave. After just one pint.

Up the hill to my hotel. Walking along the busy main roads. Fuck there’s a lot of cars here. They make walking such fun.

The hotel doesn’t have ITV +1. I only catch the last 10 minutes of Latvia against England. Damn.

Still, there is the hotel whisky to put me to sleep.



Drakes
9 Fairmeadow, 
Maidstone ME14 1JP.
https://drakescorkandcaskmaidstone.co.uk/
 

Let's Brew - 1893 Tomson & Wotton X

Here are the first results of my jaunt to Maidstone during the week. The Kent Archives have one Tomson and Wotton brewing book. A personal notebook rather than the official brewing record. Pretty complete information, though.

A provincial Mild Ale here. But not too far from London. And that seems to be reflected in the strength. As this is closer to a London X Ale than Adnams X Ale.

As with most Milds of this period, there’s not much to the recipe. Just one type of base malt and a dash of sugar. No description of the sugar. So I’ve guessed No. 2 invert, as usual. And that’s it.

What about hops? Two types: East Kent from the 1888 harvest and Californian from 1891. Fairly old, then.

No dry hopping, but there was another addition. It says in the log: "mixed in 4.75 barrels of O.A." into the 91 barrels of Mild. I take the O.A. to be Old Ale. An interesting case of blending. 

1893 Tomson & Wotton X
pale malt	11.00 lb	95.65%
No. 2 invert sugar	0.50 lb	4.35%
Cluster 90 mins	1.00 oz
Goldings 60 mins	1.00 oz
Goldings 30 mins	1.00 oz
Goldings dry hops	0.50 oz
OG	1050
FG	1014
ABV	4.76
Apparent attenuation	72.00%
IBU	44
SRM	6
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	180º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1099 Whitbread ale

 

Bounding home

I get up at eight. Want to be in plenty of time for the bus, which is at 9:30 AM.

Not quite the same breakfast this morning. There’s the egg, bacon, bread and orange juice. But no coffee. With a 3-hour bus journey, I don’t want to be putting diuretics into my body.

Matt comes over for a chat while I’m eating. It’s been good seeing him again. We always have loads to talk about.

The coach sets off just a little late. The weather is good: Sunny and no wind. Making the landscape even more stunningly beautiful. Some of the water we pass is dead still, perfectly mirroring the mountains behind it. 

We’re in sight of water most of the journey. Except when we’re in one of the many tunnels. The road mostly hugs a shoreline. Using a thin strip of relatively flat land between water and mountain.

Occasionally, we pass through a small town, strung out along a shore. Always with a marina. Sometimes with a small ferry port.

The mountains step back towards the horizon, Sometimes, with sheer rock cliff faces, at others with steep, wooded slopes. Brown where silver birch predominate, deep green where conifers rule.

A bit over half way, we roll onto a ferry. It’s quite handy, really. As I could do with a piss. Some of the others get pancakes. Which, as I learned yesterday, is what you eat on Norwegian ferries.

It’s a bit chilly out on deck. The views are amazing, though. Several other ferries are trundling over the water. With, of course, hulking mountains behind them.

We roll up at the airport a little after noon.  And my flight isn’t until 16:50. Lots of time to kill.

“Is there a lounge” I ask, hopefully, after checking in my bag.

“No.”

Bum. Four hours to kill and no lounge. There is an Irish pub. I make my way there.

I order a pint of Guinness and a double Jamesons. It comes to over 400 crowns (35 euros). Fuck me, that’s steep. No speedy drinking today. The server gets two whiskey glasses.

“I only ordered one whiskey.” I point out.

“We have to serve each shot separately. It’s the law.”

As soon as the glasses are handed to me, I consolidate the whiskies into a single glass. What the fuck was the point in that?

Manchester United against Sunderland is on the TV. Thankfully, the Mackem bastards are losing.

Time drags a bit as I eke out my pint. Which isn’t that bad. Not being too cold, there’s actually some roast malt flavour.

The next game is Newcastle against Forest. When Newcastle score, I get another double Jamesons to celebrate. Well, two singles.

My flight has been delayed by 20 minutes. Great. Even longer to hang around.

About 30 minutes before the new departure time, I wander to the gate. Pausing only to buy a sarnie. A bargain at 110 crowns (9.50 euros).

Upstairs at the gate there’s also a bar. Time for one last cheap drink.

“A double Jamesons, no ice, please.” I ask the young girl serving.

“Sorry, I’m not allowed to serve that. And I’m the only one working today.”

What the fuck? I start to walk away, then turn around.

“Are you allowed to serve wine?”

“Yes, I can serve beer and wine.”

“I’ll have a wine, then.”

“Which one?”

“The cheapest.”

“Large or small.”

Without hesitation I say: “Large.”

At the gate I bump into Christina Wade and a German festival-attendee. And we chat until boarding begins.

The flight is uneventful and short, just 90 minutes. As they’re trying to catch up time. We land at 7 PM.

Being Schengen, there’s no passport control. It’s straight to baggage. Where I don’t have to wait too long for my bag.

After which there’s a short taxi ride home. I walk through the door at 8. It’s been a long day.

Dolores has tea and food waiting for me. 

Some Munich Methods of Fermentation

The Brewers' Journal reprinted quite a lot of technical information from foreign publications. Particularly German ones. Lots of interesting stuff. Such as today's article which looks at fermentation procedures in Munich breweries.

We start with pitching.

Some German Methods of Fermentation.
A general account of the methods adopted in fermenting in Munich breweries is given by N. Klimoff in the Wochenschrift für Brauerei, and the following is an abstract of his paper:—The density of the wort varies according to the nature of the beer and the season of the year from 12.8°—18.6° Bg. In one brewery the yeast is mixed to a paste with three-quarters its volume of wort, and sometimes the whole of it is sown at once into the fermentation vat; at other times, half the former quantity of yeast is allowed to start in a little wort, and, when fermentation is set up, the main bulk of the wort is added.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 35 1899, June 15th 1899, page 347.

I've read about German brewers in the 19th century using the method of first pitching and starting the fermentation in a small quantity of the wort. Then later adding the bulk of the wort once fermentation had kicked off.

Now it's pitching and fermentation temperatures.

The initial temperature is 4° R [8.75-10º C] , and fermentation lasts from eight to 10 days, the temperature rising about 1°R. [1.25º C] in 24 hours; it is not allowed to rise above 7—8° R. [8.75-10º C] , but is again reduced to 4°—5° R [5-6.25º C]. When the yeast has been in use for some time it is washed with cold water. Only the middle layers of yeast, separated from each vat, are used for setting up the next, the rest (more than one-half) is sold. 
The Brewers' Journal vol. 35 1899, June 15th 1899, page 347.

That's a pretty cool fermentation. But what you would expect for Lager.

It's the turn of lagering now.

The attenuation varies from 45 to 60 per cent. The beer is cooled to 2° R. [2.5º C], and stored in the lager cellar at 0.S°—1.5° R [0.625-1.875º C]. The time of the different treatments in the cellar varies with the nature of the beer. With summer export beer, 30 days’ storage is allowed before adding shavings for clearing purposes, and 36 days later the lager cask is bunged for another 22 days, after which the beer is filtered and sent out. 
The Brewers' Journal vol. 35 1899, June 15th 1899, page 347.

It would be nice if they said real or apparent attenuation. I suspect that it's real. I know attenuation was poor in Munich, but not quite as bad as 45% apparent.

Summer export beer would have had a fairly short lagering period. But it still adds up to 88 days in total. Or pretty much the classic three months. The bunging would be to carbonate the beer.

Bock beer, after six weeks’ open storage in the cellar is treated with "krausen” in the shape of fresh beer, and the casks are bunged and kept for another three weeks. The density of the different kinds of beer ranges from 1.25° to 2° Bg.; they contain from 3 to 5.9 per cent, of alcohol, and from 6 to 7.3 per cent, of extract, the strongest being bock beer. 
The Brewers' Journal vol. 35 1899, June 15th 1899, page 347.

Was Bock the only beer to be kräusened? I sort of doubt it. Are those alcohol percentages by weight or volume? I suspect weight.

In another brewery only pure cultures of yeast are employed, and a small fermentation of two hectolitres is first set up with one litre of pasty yeast culture. When this is complete the yeast is separated and used in the ordinary fermentations; after being used six or seven times it is replaced by a fresh pure culture. The fermentation is conducted in much the same way as in the former case, and the treatment in the lager cellar only varies slightly. Another brewery cultivates a continuous supply of pure yeast in a Kühle and Hansen’s yeast apparatus and sells it after using it four times.
The Brewers' Journal vol. 35 1899, June 15th 1899, page 347.

I would have expected all the breweries in Munich to be using pure yeast cultures by this point. Well, the large brewers, at least. 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1903 Binnie 140/- Ale

Strongest of Binnie’s beers was 140/-. Which, although it’s a good bit weaker than William Younger 140/-, I suppose still counts as a Strong/Scotch Ale.

They brewed a surprising amount of 140/-. About as much as they did of any beer.

There’s nothing fancy about the grist. Just base malt. And quite a lot of it. As there’s nothing else to provide fermentable material. And nothing else much to talk about.

Three types of hops of unknown vintage: Kent, American and Bavarian.

Was this aged? Very difficult to say. Maybe. For six months or so. That might explain the high FG.

1903 Binnie 140/- Ale
pale malt	19.25 lb	100.00%
Cluster 90 min	1.50 oz
Hallertau 60 min	1.50 oz
Fuggles 30 min	1.50 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.00 oz
OG	1083
FG	1038
ABV	5.95
Apparent attenuation	54.22%
IBU	51
SRM	6.5
Mash at	154º F
Sparge at	175º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	61º F
Yeast	WLP028 Edinburgh Ale

1970s brewing

In case you missed it on Boak & Bailey's blog, here's a wonderful film from 1974 showing how they worked at Hook Norton.

 I doubt things have changed very much there. It's very much how they operate at Harveys, too.

 

All day festing

I rise at 8:40 and go straight for breakfast.

It's the same as yesterday: fried egg, bacon, orange juice and coffee. Followed by fruit. Everything I need in the morning.

There aren’t that many other festival-goers in the breakfast room. They’re probably breakfasting later.

Back in my room, I have a bit of a lie down. Before fiddling on the internet a bit. And making myself some cheese and salami sandwiches to eat at the festival. I saw the price of the food they’re selling there. I’d never be able to look Dolores in the eye again if I paid that much for nosh.

The festival starts at noon today. I set off a little after that and roll up about half an hour after that. 

It’s still pretty quiet when I arrive. Am I here too early? I may as well get stuck into some beers. Starting with stands I didn’t visit yesterday.

I begin with several of the local “Raw Ales”. Ones brewed the way I saw yesterday, where the wort isn’t boiled. When they use hops – which isn’t always the case – they either make a hop tea separately or run the wort off over a bag of hops (as I saw yesterday).

They’re stronger than I expected. Mostly in the range of 6% - 8% ABV. (Though I suspect there’s only a vague estimate of strength, given the way many brew.). With loads of juniper flavour, as the mash water is first boiled with juniper. The quality is, well, variable. The best are surprisingly light and refreshing. 

A brewer explains why not boiling isn’t as infection-prone as you might think. Because kveik is pitched so warm – 30º to 40º C – there’s very little time spent cooling the wort.  Whereas a boiled worts needs a couple of hours to cool down enough to pitch, leaving more time that it can be infected. It sort of makes sense.

I find another Imperial Stout, Svart Hav from Arve Sundnes. A relatively light 15% ABV. It’s another winner. Is it just my personal preference coming out that I love the Imperial Stouts?

I wander by Thor’s stand again. I do like his beers.

“I had a look at your blog. Your books are exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

That’s good to hear.

Not all the traditional beers are raw. In some places they do boil. And really boil, for five or six hours. Even though these are also brewed from 100% pilsner malt they’re much darker. Around the colour of an English Bitter. And quite different to the unboiled beers.

Christina told me about a brewer with a Pliny the Elder clone that sounds interesting. He has three beers and I kick off with the lightest, a pseudo-Pilsner, brewed with kweik. It’s rather nice.

I try the Pliny clone next. Not sure it’s an exact clone. It’s pretty good, though. Packed full of hop flavour. The brewer tells me that he uses a ridiculous quantity of hops to make it. I can believe him.

A few brewers I speak to grow their own hops. None are sure exactly what variety they grow. As often the hops have been there since before their grandfather’s time. Not sure if homegrown hops are enough for all their needs.

For those buying hops, German and Czech types seem the most popular. With the more adventurous plumping for American varietiess.

Finally, it’s the turn of an Imperial Stout aged three months in an oak barrel, Outstanding stuff. Powerful and complex, while still being very drinkable. A really dangerous beer.

I have a chat with Lars. About historical research and the current state of farmhouse beer across Europe. He’s doing really important research into a very much neglected topic. And putting a lot of time and effort into it. It’s very much to be applauded.

Another farmhouse style is smoked. And I mean smoked. The brewers smoke their own malt and use 100% of it in their brews. Not for the faint-hearted. These beers make Schlenkerla seem restrained and subtle. 

I often say that there’s almost nothing genuinely new in beer. That pretty much every “innovation” has, at some time and in some place been done before. But here I found something totally new to me: beer brewed with cheese mould.

I get talking to the brewer, a charming 87-year-old man. Who tells me that the taste reminds him of his childhood, when he would surreptitiously drink his father’s beer.

What of the beer? It’s not as weird as it sounds. While still having a pretty distinctive flavour, which I find hard to describe. Definitely drinkable.

I bump into Matt and we get talking about invert sugar. Which he makes commercially.

“I mostly sell to homebrew stores. Sometimes to brewers.” He tells me. “I sent a sample to one brewer who makes a lot of British styles. Do you know what he said?”

“What?”

“British brewers don’t use sugar.”

“Where the fuck did he get that idea?”

“Beats me.”

“A good case of being confidently incorrect.”

We visit Brølsch Brewery’s stall. Who has an 8% beer. And whale meat snacks.

“Are you going to try the whale, Ron?” Matt asks.

“No.”

“It’s very smooth. Almost like pâté.”

“Still not tempting me.”

Having been told that his beers are good, I wander across to the captain’s (Andre Kragset) stall. I’ll call it that because the brewer is wearing a full captain’s uniform. And the stall is like the front of a boat. He even has an engine noise playing in the background.

His beers are, indeed, rather good. And, to accompany them, he has pancakes. With loads of butter and sugar. Apparently, this is what you eat on Norwegian ferries. Which is the experience he’s trying to replicate.

He’s another brewer who’s very interested in British styles. In his case, ESB in particular. I mention that I have lots of Fuller’s brewing records.

“Could you send me an ESB recipe?”

“Sure.” I give him my card.

At 7 PM Christina is talking. About Vikings in Ireland and their use of beer. It’s all new to me, being well before the earliest period I’m comfortable with. Fascinating, if, at times, rather brutal.

When it’s done, the homebrew part of the festival is about to close. I decide to call it a day. I’m not so interested in the commercial part. I’ll have to start paying for beer, too. And I’m feeling knacked, having been here over seven hours.

I finish off my duty-free whisky as I watch some YouTube. Sleeping isn’t a struggle.

 

The Long Pull (part two)

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

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.

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, 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?

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.
 

Let's Brew - 1903 Binnie Table Beer

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

 

 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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 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 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.

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.

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/