Brettanomyces Festival. I wouldn't usually leave it this late, but I've been a busy bunny. It's my third gig this month.
One of my dreams will be turning into liquid reality. Like that dream about drinking Holes Mild in 1940, but being awake. And really drinking beer.
I finally persuaded someone to brew a beer that's intrigued, tempted and tantalised me since I learnt of its craziness: Stock Pale Ale. The original IPA style. Beers not sold young, but properly aged until the hops were well rotted, as they said in the 18th-century. A beer with a firm, persistent bitterness, that lasted past throwing out time, the chip shop and crap late-night TV, right through until the next day's lunch.
Not sure how coherent I'll be, given the pants wetting excitement of the beer. A bit like slurping down C Ale on Monday. Hard to not do an involuntary happy dance.
Stock Pale Ale, 1870's recipe, 11 months in wood, Brettanomyces secondary fermentaion. My liquid dream.
If you've bought a ticket for my talk, you'll get a chance to to try it, too. You haven't? I can sort you out for an appropriate fee.
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