Regular readers will know that I have a bit of a thing about Anton Dreher*. And the injustice of this Lager pioneer's relative obscurity.
I had thought that the only reminder of him in the modern beer world were a few beers brewed in Hungary that bear his name. Also odd that, though his Schwechat brewery just outside Vienna still survives, none of its beers is named after him. Bit of a lack of respect, in my opinion.
I'm just back from family hols in Sardinia. Not much to speak of on the beer front, but I'd expected that. With age, I've become relaxed enough to drink what's on offer, or, should that be too nasty, switch to something else. Wine and grappa will do the job well enoough.
Imagine my surprise when running my eyes without too much expectation over the nearest supermarket's beer shelves to see the name Dreher. Ah, the Austro-Hungarian Empire. At various times it controlled all sorts of odd bits of Europe. Including parts of Northern Italy, where Birra Dreher was brewed. (In the small section of imported beers, along with Carlsberg and Heinken, I was taken aback to spot Tennent's Super. I was almost tempted to buy a bottle or two.)
Thinking about it, a British equivalent would be finding a beer called Allsopp or Barcaly Perkins brewed in Calcutta, Nairobi or Melbourne. I can think of one sort of example. But only in the name of the beer not the brewer: Farson's Hop Leaf Pale Ale, a former Simonds brand.
The Dreher beer was nothing special. A tad better than the local Ichnusa, I suppose. But I bought a few bottles, just to honour poor old Anton. I haven't forgotten him.
Sometimes people are bloody unpleasant.
The other weekend I had to deal with a particularly unpleasant complaint.
From time to time Sunday lunchtime seems to bring out the most venomous of