Still judging

I rise at 6:30 feeling much better than yesterday. After a solid eight hours of kip. It’s amazing what a good sleep can do. Just waking up is a positive at my age. You never know when it may not happen. I’m downstairs by 7:15.

I have my usual breakfast. Call me Mr. Boring. I don’t care. It’s what I want to eat. And I’ll fucking eat it. That’s the great thing about being old. Not really having to give a fuck what anyone thinks.

I’m sitting with Jose. The chat turns to yeast with the bloke on the next table who has a yeast company. I meet such interesting people at these things. And learn interesting stuff. In the Anglosphere, the discussion rarely turns to South American beer. A shame.

For me, it’s one of the most interesting regions of the beer world. Lots of very enthusiastic people trying out lots of stuff. Some of which works. Like Catherina Sour, which I think is a wonderful style. So drinkable. And so lovable.

Back over at Überbräu, I’m on the same judging table as yesterday, with Suzanne and Alan. I’m happy with that. We rattled through the flights yesterday. Coming to a consensus without much argument. Which saves much time. And annoyance. Especially annoyance. The last thing I need is extra stress.

In charge of beer service is Matteo. A livelily friendly young man. With whom I chatted a bit at the barbecue yesterday.

Lots of flights this morning. Fortunately, mostly very small flights.

We start with fruited wheat. Just two samples. Both pretty good.

Scotch Ale. One sample. Pretty nice. A perfect breakfast beer. 

American Pale Ale. Six samples. Loads of hops.

Session IPA Not the greatest flight. Lots of oxidation. One or two decent ones.

Dorada Pampeana. One Sample. A type of beer from Argentina. Lucky that we have an Argentinian on the table to explain it to us.

Dutch-style Koyt. One sample. Pretty decent.

German-style Rye Ale. One sample. Tastes right to me. Quite similar to the Thurm und Taxis Roggebier.

We finish at 11:00. Or, rather, we think we do. Matteo gets us one more flight.

Wood and Barrel-aged beers. Six samples, three of which are based on Wee Heavy. The Wee Heavies are so good, I finish all of them. Just to get me in the mood for lunch. My plan works.

We finish at 11:42. A victory for common sense.

Lunch isn’t at the judging location today. We’re whisked off to a restaurant, Boca e Uva, in taxis. At first, I think we’re going back to the hotel, when we pull into the street it’s on. In fact, we’re headed to a place just a little past it. 

It’s a buffet, obviously. This is Brazil and it is lunchtime. A bit more choice than on other days. It’s OK. I get some meat and some salad. Which pretty much describes what I always collect from a buffet. And an orange juice to wash it down.

After lunch, there’s a real treat. Non-alcoholic beers. Six samples. All three sour styles are pretty good. With the Catharina Sour the pick of the bunch. The best non-alcoholic beer I’ve ever drunk. Which may be quite a low bar. Or was. It’s been raised considerably now.

That was much better than expected. Some flights of alcoholic beers were far worse. Not sure what that tells us.

There’s then a long wait for the pre-BOS. Like two fucking hours. Such fun sitting and sweating. Watching Match of the Day helps pass a little time.

I’m doing the pre-BOS of English styles with fellow Dutchman Ferry Wijnhoven. At 16:50. Just four beers arrive:

British-style IPA
Special Bitter
Dark Mild
Robust Porter.

This should be nice and quick. Oh no, that was a mistake. It's actually 14 beers. Fuck.

It does turn out to be fairly painless. Only complicated by the fact that most of the beers are excellent. I quite like the English IPA and the Dark Mild. Though we settle on the Imperial Stout as the winner. It’s a lovely beer.

We’re done at 17:18. And I can fuck off back to the hotel. Totally knacked again.

I have some time to relax in my room. Which I really fucking need. Excuse the swearing. I’m feeling stressed. Weirdly, the hanging around seems to take more out of me than the judging. 

That should be the last stress of the trip. No more judging. Just a couple of days relaxing to come.

Some judges are going to the Madero steakhouse tonight. I decide to tag along.  I could do with some more meat. Can’t remember the last time I ate some. It’s so hard to get hold of here in Brazil.

I bump into Tina Rogers outside the hotel. She’s headed the same way. We share an Uber. 

The restaurant is in a shopping centre. Most of the others haven't arrived when we get there. It’s fairly spacious. Reasonably posh. And not very full.

For a while just Tina and me sit on a large table. Drinking caipirinhas, as they don't have any decent beer. And I like drinking caipirinhas. Who doesn’t? Weirdos, that’s who.  Anyway, I’ve had enough of beer after the last couple of days.

There are ten of us eventually. A very international bunch, a mix of South Americans and Europeans. Which is always fun. One of the reasons I enjoy judging so much, mixing with people from diverse locations. The main reason I love it, now I come to think of it. The actual judging can be as much fun as sandpapering your bollocks.

I order a picanha steak and chips. Medium rare, of course. It's very tasty. And goes well with a caipirinha. Well, anything goes well with a caipirinha. Even better with two caipirinhas. Or three. Or four. Any number, really.

We stay until around 10:15, then get Ubers back to the hotel.

I don't stay up long. Even though I can sleep in tomorrow. Just a quick draught of gut-rot cachaça to push me down the hill to unconsciousness.



Madero Steak House Uberlândia
Av. João Naves de Ávila, 1331
Tibery, Uberlândia
MG, 38408-902.
https://www.restaurantemadero.com.br/pt/restaurante



Disclaimer: Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas paid for my hotel, some meals and some drinks during my stay in Uberlandia. 

I take the train to Düsseldorf

Me and Dolores take the train to Düsseldorf, eat Korean food and drink Alt in Schuhmacher. 

Back home

The kids keep taking the piss out of me for not learning any Portuguese. Totally incorrectly.

“I know enough.”

“Like what?” Andrew asks.

“Sanitarios? The question mark in the tone is important.”

“Obviously.”

“And knowing where the bogs are is vital when you’re an oldie like me.”

“I don’t need to know that, Dad.”

“Carvalha. That’s oak.”

“Any non-alcohol-related words.” 

“Morango. Strawberry.”

“That’s something that was added to a beer, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Learnt any new words that aren’t a fruit or type of food?”

“Er.”

“Got nothing?”

“Mandioca. Cassava.”

“Also in a beer?”

“No.“

“Part of a meal?”

“Possibly. That’s three new words. You should be congratulating me.”

“That’s not even a word a day.”

“Caju. Cashew.”

“You already knew that one.”

“I haven’t told you to fuck off yet, have II?”

“I’ve a feeling you’re about to, aren’t you?

“If it’s that obvious, I’ve no need to.”

“Right.”

“Tapioca. That’s a new one.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tapioca.”

“So the same as in English?”

“Yes. Still counts as a new word.”

“Even though it’s exactly the same as the English word?”

“Yes. It isn’t pronounced exactly the same.”

“You just did.”

“Because I’m not a native Portuguese speaker.”

“I’m going to say it now.”

“What?”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

“I’m glad you said it and not me.”

We have such inspiring conversations. 

Lots more judging

I rise at 6:30 after a shit sleep. A shower livens me up a little. A little.

A coffee helps some, too. But I only get the one before the coffee machine breaks. Bum.

My breakfast main course is scrambled egg and cheese once more. I’m sitting with Jose again.

“I see you’re trying the white cheese. Do you like it?” He asks.

“Yes. Much better than the yellow stuff.”

Which it is.  Like cottage cheese formed into a solid lump. Still very soft. The yellow cheese is very plasticy. And pretty tasteless.

The judges’ bus is at 8:00 again. Sort of. It’s close enough. We’re in South America, after all. No point in getting hung up on exact timings.

I’m on table 7 today. Where Suzanne Schalow is captain. The other judge is Alan Iglesias, a brewer from Argentina.

We start with a mini-BOS of American Malt Liquor. A couple of OK ones. Quite an alcoholic start to the day. Not totally sure about what a Malt Liquor is. Other than a strongish Pale Lager.

Our scores are quite a long way apart. With mine being particularly low. I’m rather a mean scorer. If beers have faults, which many do I’m pretty ruthless.

More Lager next. Slightly weaker stuff: Dortmunder Export. There are a couple of pretty good ones. Rather surprisingly. Pale Lagers are difficult to get right. And quite fragile. Which isn’t great when beer isn’t kept refrigerated the whole time.

We jump up in strength again. With Double IPA. Pretty good generally. With a couple of outstanding beers. Though they’re quite hard on my tastebuds.

There’s no letting up on the strength: English Barley Wine. A couple of real crackers in this set. As I can’t stand wasting good beer, I finish off the best samples.

American Imperial Porter. Another really good flight.

Lunch. I’m not particularly hungry. Not surprising, given all the big, chewy beers I’ve tasted this morning. At least we kept up a good pace. We got through five decent-sized flights. Have we caught up yet? Probably not. I eat some stuff simply as ballast rather than with any great joy.

Back to judging. Fuck. It’s Irish Red Ale. Even less fun to judge than non-alcoholic beers. The six or seven times I’ve judged them, I’ve never had one that was even half decent. This lot aren’t quite as terrible as usual. A couple are almost drinkable. Almost. Out of twelve samples.

Czech Dark Lager. four samples, one quite good.

Followed by an hour wait. Then more flights in quick succession.

Belgian style Witbier. six samples. Some OK ones.

Wild Beer. five samples. Mostly with Brettanomyces. Quite a difficult flight to judge.

West Coast IPA. Eleven samples. Eleven fucking samples! After all the strong beers we’ve judged today. My palate has gone. They all taste the same. Which I hate. I always want to do justice to the beers I’m judging. I defer to the other judges.

I've already packed away my laptop, when we're asked to judge another flight. Aargh. I thought I'd escaped. Fuck. Luckily, it’s a very small flight. Of a style so obscure, even I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like.

Breslau-Style Schoeps. Two samples.

And we’re really done. Just to make sure, I pack up quickly and head for the exit. Don’t want them dragging me into judging yet another flight.

I'm so fucking knacked. We’ve judged so many beers today. And lots of strong ones. I never want to drink beer again. I’m so done with it. I just want to drink some cachaça and sleep.

Back at the hotel, I'm tempted to skip the barbecue at Captain Brew and just get some food from the supermarket. Then I see that it isn't open. I'd forgotten it was Sunday. Barbecue it is, then.

I'm half way through arranging an Uber when another judge asks me if I want a lift. That's handy.

There's the lovely smell of cooking meat when I enter. That perks me up a bit. I get myself an IPA. One brewed here. It’s perfectly fine. Hitting the spot without pummelling it to death. With enough alcohol to keep my interest.

I’m offered a taste of Einbecker Maibock which a German judge has brought over. Then a Bayerischer Bahnhof Gose. 

"It's not sour enough." I complain. As usual. I can be a real pain in the arse. I should learn to keep my gob shut. Particularly when people are giving me beer.

I find myself a seat. because, well, I'm well knacked. Platters of meat appear. And are quickly consumed.

I get chatting to Matteo, who’s been organising the beers for our judging table. A really nice bloke, full of energy. As young people tend to be.

Someone brings around Paraguayan rum. Which is very nice. And nicely alcoholic.

I leave a little after 21:00. Back in the hotel, I sip dodgy cachaça and watch the rest of Match of the Day. And crash out not much after 10. I need sleep.



Captain Brew
R. Marieta de Castro Santos, 135
Altamira, Uberlândia
MG, 38411-004.



Disclaimer: Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas paid for my hotel, some meals and some drinks during my stay in Uberlandia. 

 

A video of my time in Uberlandia. 

Let's Brew - 1990 Youngs Winter Warmer

A very special beer, this. The last London Burton Ale. Which, by this point, had been a seasonal beer for quite a long while. I’m so pleased that it isn’t one of the many Youngs beers which disappeared after the Wandsworth site closed. Fingers crossed that it survives for a few more decades.

With no Mild to be parti-gyled with, it was brewed single-gyle. With a recipe quite similar to Old Nick. The big difference being the total absence of No. 3 invert sugar. This is basically the same as the Old Nick recipe with the No. 3 removed and everything else left unchanged.

The sugar was all Young’s Special mix. A blend of glucose, molasses and caramel. Whose exact composition varied to his extract and colour specifications.  I’ve gone with what I’m hoping is a typical proportion of glucose 73%, molasses 25% and caramel 2%. 

Two types of hops without indication of vintage. All, seemingly, added at the start of the boil. As with Old Nick. I’ve had to increase the hopping by 0.5 oz. for each type to get the IBU value in the brewing record. 

1990 Youngs Winter Warmer
pale malt	9.00 lb	74.32%
crystal malt 120 L	0.875 lb	7.23%
torrefied barley	0.875 lb	7.23%
glucose	1.00 lb	8.26%
molasses	0.33 lb	2.73%
caramel 2000 SRM	0.03 lb	0.25%
Fuggles 60 min	1.25 oz
Goldings 60 min	1.25 oz
OG	1056
FG	1020
ABV	4.76
Apparent attenuation	64.29%
IBU	30
SRM	16
Mash at	149º F
Sparge at	165º F
Boil time	60 minutes
pitching temp	61º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

 

Judging day

I rise at 6:30. Feeling just about human. And quickly head downstairs. As I want to have a leisurely breakfast. At my age, everything takes a long time. The bus to the judging is scheduled for 8:00.

I sit with Jose. No bacon, so it's scrambled egg and cheese. Which fills a hole. And three cups of coffee wake me up. A bit. 

“Have you tried the white cheese?” Jose asks.

“Do you mean this?” I reply, pointing at the rather anaemic yellow squares on my plate.

“No, the really white cheese. It’s local. Very fresh.”

I check the cheeses when fetching my fruit. There is, indeed, some very white stuff. I’ll have to try that tomorrow. Always good to expand my cheese horizons. Melon and watermelon provide all the fruity goodness I need. Along with orange juice.

The buffet selection isn’t that bad. Other than the absence of bacon. Lots for the cake-eater.

The bus leaves fairly well on time. To Überbräu, another brewery taproom. This time on an industrial estate.

I’m on table 13. That’s lucky. With table captain Tedesko Almeida (from Brazil) and Lisa Matzeu (from Italy).

After a short introduction from Doug Merlot, including a stern reminder not to throw bog paper into the bogs, we’re ready to rock. And rock we immediately do. This is great. No pointless hanging around without beer to judge.

We kick off with American-style Light Lager. Now there’s a style to cheer the soul. The examples vary between fatally flawed and just about acceptable. I'm glad when we're done.

Looking forward to the next set, which is Catherina Sour. Except they don't seem to have them ready. We have a wait. Which becomes a long wait. So frustrating. And likely to leave us finishing rather late. We have to judge 50-60 beers today. After two hours, we've only judged eight. I have visions of us judging into the night.

We wait so long, that lunch rolls around. Which is, surprisingly, a buffet. Quite a small one Not particularly great for the vegetarians. Who have a choice of stodge or salad. Even some of the vegetable dishes seem to contain meat.

Not long after lunch, a second flight appears. Not Catherina Sour, as promised. Instead, it’s Belgian-style Dubbel. A type of beer I’ve drunk quite a bit of. All are a bit sweet for me, but there are a couple of really decent beers. With enough alcohol to rouse my spirits.

There’s a bit more waiting before the next flight arrives. Catharina Sour. One I’d been looking forward to. As usual, some lovely beers. And all are pretty decent. It’s a wonderful style. So drinkable, while still being packed with vibrant flavours.

After lots more doing nothing, it’s announced that we’re done for the day. At 16:00, after only judging three of our scheduled six flights. While it’s nice to finish early, it just means more work tomorrow. As we try to catch up.

I rest a bit in my room, before heading downstairs at 18:00. The plan is to go to the Trema brewery. But a group of people are going first to Bar do Rone for some meat. I decide to tag along. Good Brazilian meat isn’t to be missed.

When I arrive, the others are already there. It’s an unpretentious Brazilian neighbourhood restaurant, very simply decked out. And pretty busy. Which is a good sign. I pull up a chair.

The meat is delicious pork. With a wonderfully crunchy crust. It comes in a big lump which is sliced by a waiter at the table. Yum, yum, yum. I accompany it with a passion fruit caipirinha. Which is also yummy.

There’s a bottle of posh cachaça on the table. Not sure where it came from. However, it would be impolite to refuse a shot. It’s very nice. As I knew it would be. Don’t ask me describe it. Other than that it’s full of cachaça-ey goodness.

The plan is to continue on to Trema. But I'm feeling knacked. Instead, I return to the hotel. Where I chug some cheapo cachaça. And start watching Match of the Day.

After 20 minutes, I'm done and turn in. Tomorrow will be a long day. Lots of beers to judge.


Überbräu Microcervejaria
Av. Espanha, 391
Tibery, Uberlândia
MG, 38405-048.
https://uberbrau.com.br/


Bar do Rone
Av. Seme Simão, 1399
Laranjeiras, Uberlândia
MG, 38410-327.


Disclaimer: Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas paid for my hotel, some meals and some drinks during my stay in Uberlandia.

 

A video of my time in Uberlandia. 

Why are you still travelling?

Dolores has asked that more than once.

I asked it myself last week, when I had an incredibly stressful journey back from Brazil. All my own fault. 

 My answer: social contact.

The older you get, the harder it is to either meet new people. Or hang onto the ones you already know. As they drift off geographically, spiritually or physically. 

My international beer gigs are a great opportunity to socialise. Meet old friends. Make new ones. Pretend that I'm still a student. 

That's it, really.Pretending to be young again. If only for a couple of days.  

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1990 Youngs Old Nick

Strongest of Young’s regular beers was Old Nick. Another of the casualties of the move to Bedford. Though I’m not sure if it disappeared immediately. 

It was usually a bottled beer. Though it may have appeared in bulk form – cask or keg – as a special. I should ask John Hatch or Derek Prentice. They would know. The label calls it a Barley Wine. (Barley Wine Style Ale in the USA.)

It’s a post-WW II beer. Not sure when they started brewing it. I can’t find it in the 1`960 brewing book. Though there is a beer called XXXX with a gravity of 1077º. And dark in colour. That could possibly an earlier name. Or just the brew house name.

Getting back to this particular beer, the grist is pretty complicated. With four types of sugar. Though three of them – the glucose, molasses and caramel – were bought premixed as Young’s Special Mix. The crystal malt darker, 150 L, than indicated in the recipe. It’s just that BeerSmith doesn’t go any higher than 120 L.

There’s an awful lot of sugar. Almost 30% of the grist.  Most of it in the form of No. 3 invert. Not sure I’ve ever seen quite so much of it in a beer.

Two types of hops. Goldings and Fuggles seem a fair enough guess. Unlike for other beers, no late copper hops are listed. I’ve assumed that they were all added at the start of the boil. Which, at 60 minutes, was short for a beer of this gravity being brewed single-gyle. Maybe that’s why there’s so much sugar.

Unlike for the other beers from this set, I haven’t had to drastically increase the hopping rate to hit the IBUs listed in the brewing record. Only by 0.75 oz. 

1990 Youngs Old Nick
pale malt	10.50 lb	62.28%
crystal malt 120 L	0.75 lb	4.45%
torrefied barley	0.75 lb	4.45%
No. 3 invert sugar	3.50 lb	20.76%
glucose	1.00 lb	5.93%
molasses	0.33 lb	1.96%
caramel 2000 SRM	0.03 lb	0.18%
Fuggles 60 min	3.25 oz
Goldings 60 min	3.25 oz
OG	1088
FG	1032.5
ABV	7.34
Apparent attenuation	63.07%
IBU	61
SRM	26
Mash at	148º F
Sparge at	165º F
Boil time	60 minutes
pitching temp	59º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

 

Another video of Brazil

 Me in Uberlandia in Minas Gerais, Brazil, , where I judged the Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas.

Uberlandia bound

I rise just after 7:00. And, after my morning ablutions, go downstairs for breakfast.

It's the same as yesterday: scrambled egg and bacon. Along with coffee and orange juice. Plus fruit, of course. Wouldn’t want to skimp on the vitamins. Or the bacon. It may be the last I get on this trip. Best double up.

The other guests all seem to be Brazilian. Beach bound most of them, based on their dress. This is a handy spot. For the beach and everything else.  A really nice spot. Which is why I’m here and not wasting my money on a Copacabana beachfront room. Probably their motivation, too. Not a lot of business travellers, by the look of it. Just me. Sort of.

Just after 9:00 I get an Uber to the airport. Santos Dumont, not the international airport where I arrived. I’m off to Uberlandia. Weird name, I know. Strangely German. Sort of. In Minas Gerais. A new state for me.

Once out of Ipanema, we skirt Copacabana beach for a while. Hunking hotels looming over the beach. Which doesn’t look that inviting in this weather. Overcast and rather blustery. Like midsummer in Mablethorpe. But double the temperature.

On the way to departures, I notice that the bloke in front of me looks familiar. It's one of Brazilian judges, Jose Padilha. We’ve been at competitions together a few times. We sit together while waiting for our flight to board. 

I spotted someone in a Cantillon top earlier. After Jose posts a photo of me and him on the judges’ WharsApp group, Cantillon bloke comes over with his wife and introduces himself. He’s from Italy. Later a Mexican judge also joins us.

Our connecting flight in Sao Paulo leaves the gate on time, but then queues on the tarmac for ages. We take off twenty minutes late. The flight itself is uneventful.

Once we’ve picked up our bags, me, Jose and the Italian judge and his wife share an Uber to the hotel.

“Uberlandia is very different to Rio.” Jose remarks as we make our way along bumpy roads, flanked by random buildings of random heights.

That’s very true. Much more modern. And rambling. A lot less charming, too. With a busy four-lane road right through the middle of it.

The hotel is a bit grotty. And has a brown toilet. How weird is that? I suppose it hides shit stains well. There is a fridge. Where I stash what’s left of my cheese.

I have a few hours to myself. Warming myself up for the evening with the last of my hotel whisky. There are no glasses in the room. Another sign that it’s not the poshest of hotels. I have to mix in a coke bottle and drink from that. I feel so classy.

The bus for the judges’ dinners leaves at 19:00. Supposedly. This is Brazil. No way it will leave before 19:20.

Lots of familiar faces are waiting in the lobby. Which is cool. Plenty of people to chat to. And I’m a pretty chatty bloke. When the topic is beer. Then it’s hard to shut me up. Especially if I get going on the colour of Mild Ale. You’ll be lucky f I pause in the next three hours. Such a enthralling subject..

The dinner is at Captain Brew, a taproom. In quite a plush neighbourhood. The interior is fairly cavernous. As these places tend to be. With the brewhouse at the rear behind glass.

There’s a buffet. What a surprise. They so rarely have buffets in Brazil. Not really. I’d best get used to it. The first of many, I’m sure. I get myself some beef and cheese. Seems like a balanced meal. Colour-wise, at least. 

I have an IPA. There’s original. Not that there are loads of options. Rather an IPA than a Lager. Hops will cover up some nastiness that’s totally exposed in a Pils. And it’s stronger. Just love me those ABVs.

More cheese is eaten And IPA is drunk. It’s very good. The cheese, I mean. The IPA is OK. The cheese is something special. A cheese corner is home to several different types. Local artisanal stuff. Easily the best cheese I’ve had in Brazil. And, as everyone knows, you can never have too much cheese.

There’s plenty of chat, obviously. I talk to the Silvia de Tomas, from Peru, about writing, A topic I know a little about. I hope. I’ve written a lot of books. Volume counts for something, surely? Best not mention that. If number of words were the sole criterion, I’d be the best beer writer in the world.

I sit next to Suzanne and Kate, whom I’ve met a few times over the years. More than I’ve been able to forget. Back during my first trip to Boston, when Pretty Things held an event in their bottle shop. My biggest memory being how fucking expensive the Starbucks Dann bought for me was. The price of 3 Abts in Ton Overmars. 

Thankfully, the bus back to the hotel isn’t too late. I can’t be doing with late nights. Especially when I need to be up early in the morning. And need a clear head for judging.

I do have a small nightcap. Of gut-rot cachaça. I have to get someone at reception to open the bottle for me. It doesn’t have a screw top, as you might expect. Instead, a plastic top that needs to be cut off with a knife.

Soon slumber summons me. How can I refuse?


Captain Brew
R. Marieta de Castro Santos, 135
Altamira, Uberlândia
MG, 38411-004.


Disclaimer: Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas paid for my hotel, some meals and some drinks during my stay in Uberlandia.
 

Rio relaxing

I rise at 8:30. Potter around a bit, then nip downstairs for breakfast.

It's not a bad buffet. I go for bacon and scrambled egg. Followed by fruit. I'm such a healthy chap.

I wander to the supermarket to stock up on essentials: salami and cachaca. Two litres. I'll be needing that in Uberlandia. And am not quite sure where I could pick up some there. Or when I’ll have the chance. It’s not exactly the best stuff. Far from it. Not a cachaca you’d want to drink straight.

The weather isn’t great. It’s cloudy and threatening to rain. Not really beach weather. And only around 25º C.

I laze around in my room for a while. I'm in no rush. Around 13:30 grab an Uber and head for Copacabana and Colarinho. A bar that I rather like.

We roll through leafy Ipanema streets. Bustling businesses and apartment blocks. Chemists. So many chemists. Almost as many as in Paris.

I always try to drop by Colarinho when I’m in Rio. Grabbing a table outside. Where I’ve a good view of the street. There aren’t quite as many beautiful people walking past as usual. Though some still wander by in beachwear. 

What to start with? I think I’ll go for an IPA.

Colarinho IPA Maracuja, 7.5%, R$23.90
A bit hazy, but not too bad. Quite nicely fruity and not too bitter. Quite dank and quite alcoholic. Just like me (I keep making that joke.)

They’re still building opposite. How long have they been doing that? At least a couple of years. I doesn’t seem to have progressed at all since I was here with the kids in 2024.

This is my only real rest day. I did consider going to the beach. Then I saw what the weather was like. I don’t really fancy sitting on the sand in the rain.

I first came here with Martyn Cornell in 2020. On my first trip to Brazil. I’ve visited pretty much every time I’ve been in Rio since. It reminds me of Martyn, which brings up mixed emotions. Still hard to believe that he’s been gone almost a year.

Time for another beer. Maybe an IPA, for a change?

Noi Amara IPA, 10.5% ABV, 100 IBU, R$30.90 (450 ml)
Pretty sure I’ve had this before. I wonder what attracted me to it? I remember: the high ABV. Funny that. It’s quite dark and caramelly. Also, pretty bitter. As you’d expect from the name. 

Not bad. And very alcoholic. Did I mention that? Probably not. I don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing.

It’s not that warm. Did I already mention that, too? Barely warm enough to wear shorts. Which I’m obviously wearing. As I will be all the time I’m in Brazil.

The bloke on the next table is getting stuck into caipirinhas. He’s knocked back three or four since I’ve been here. I’ll be moving onto them later.

I’m feeling all relaxed now. Can’t think why. I just ordered a 57 real steak. Bargain. I don’t get anything to go with it. It’s a 100% meat meal.

A woman just walked past wearing a Nottingham Forest shirt. How strange. Most people are in Flamengo tops.

The steak is excellent. As they always are in Brazil. The beef is so good here. Just a shame about all the rainforest. Time for a caipirinha now. My first of the trip. I’m sure it won’t be my last.

You know what a caipirinha puts me in the mood for? Another caipirinha. Which is what I order. This is my idea of fun. Sitting in a Rio bar, drinking caipirinhas and with absolutely fuck all I need to do.

Still a bit hungry, I order a cod ball. Because I know from previous visits how nice they are. Full of coddy goodness. It doesn’t disappoint.

A French family, on their way back from the beach, order takeaway hamburgers. The adults drinking a Pils while they wait for their order.

I leave around 17:30. Before it gets dark. And when I’ve had enough caipirinhas to warm me up. I have nothing planned for the evening. Other than attacking my hotel whisky and fiddling on my laptop. 

I find that the maid has left the TV on. A bit odd. As there must be a reason, I don’t switch it off.

I turn in around 23:00. As I have to be up fairly early tomorrow for my flight. After I’m urged unconscious by whisky.


Boteco Colarinho Escondido
R. Francisco Otaviano, 30
Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22080-040 

 

Flying down to Rio

I've fairly early start. my flight is at 10:40. I rise at 6:45. And am in an Uber by 8:05.

The formalities go pretty fast tanks to pushing in boarding. And after a quick diversion to the duty free, I'm in the lounge by 8:30.

It's the standard brace of whiskies to kick off. Along with some breakfast. It's the best meal of the day in the lounge. The hash browns are pretty nice. Not so keen on the turkey bacon. I prefer the real stuff. Which is full of piggy goodness.

For some reason, I thought the scrambled egg was potato salad on my first visit to the food bar. WTF was I thinking? Next time I get myself a plain omelette. And insert some cheese. Cheese improves anything.

I revisit the bar bar a couple of times for more restorative whiskies. Wouldn’t want to be getting on the plane too sober.

There's no air bridge, for some reason. We have to get a bus. Which is weird for such a large jet. And lots of stairs to walk up. Always a challenge for fat oldies like me.

Boarding is competed pretty early. I’m hoping to get two free seats next to me. But right, just before the doors close, two young blokes take the seats. They're obviously on stand-by. And, judging by the way they interact with the cabin crew, seem to be KLM employees. Probably cabin crew themselves.

That's fucked me trying to surreptitiously drink the miniatures I bought in the duty free. Then, just before take-off, they're moved to premium economy. Phew.

Just before take-off, we're told that there will be a half hour delay due to a "miscommunication". Great. It's more like 40 minutes. Brilliant. Though the pilot claims we'll still arrive on time. I’ll believe that when it happens.

The first meal is meatballs. It's just about edible. Though I can't stomach the mash. It’s good to have low expectations of airplane meals.

I start watching Infinite Vice. Which is sort of like the Big Lebowski. But not quite as good. Half way through, I pause it and doze for a couple of hours. It makes the time go quicker.

I nip to the galley a couple of times to fetch some red wine. I wouldn't want to become dehydrated during the flight, would I?

It's a long walk to immigration again. At least there are moving walkways for most of it. With my oldie priority, I'm through in a jiffy.

My bag pops out quickly. And soon I'm in a taxi bouncing towards Ipanema. Through a darkened Rio, lights glistening on the hillsides. Motorbikes weave scarily through the traffic. We dash through floodlit tunnels. Finally, rumbling into the rumbaing streets of Ipanema. Where shops glow enticingly. Cafés and bars spilling joyously onto the pavement.

God, I love Rio. Especially Ipanema. That could explain why I come here so often.

Same hotel as always. Comfortable enough rooms. Great location. Pretty decent buffet breakfast, which includes bacon. Crispy bacon. Mmmm.

Once checked in, I nip to the supermarket. It isn’t even a block away. (See what I said about the hotel’s location?) For bread rolls, cheese, sliced meat and cola. The latter to mix with my whisky. That’ll be my tea. The rolls and stuff, not the whisky. That’s supper.

The meat section is impressive. Big chunks of lovely beef. I stare longingly at the display for a while. Before moving on to the cheese. A far less impressive display. I’ve been spoilt by living in Holland.

I consider dropping by Mad Brew for a beer or two. Just consider. I don’t actually do it. As it’s getting late. And the pubs are looking pretty crowded. With happy, young people. Pretty much the opposite of me. I don’t want to bring down the tone.

I spend the next couple of hours watching YouTube. And sipping my whisky. Until sleep beckons me from across the void. Hello oblivion.
 

Rio by the sea-o

A short video report of my time in Rio de Janeiro recently.

Let's Brew - 1932 Youngs Stout

The stronger of the Black Beers was, naturally enough, Stout.

With an OG in the low 1050ºs, it fits nicely into the strongest category of beer in the last set of price controls from just after WW I. These were generally the strongest draught beers in London during the interwar period. And included most Stouts.

As you’ve probably guessed, this was parti-gyled with Porter. All the London brewers did that. The quantities of Porter being brewed by this point didn’t merit being single-gyle.

The presence of oats convinces me that there was a bottled version. Oatmeal Stout wasn’t usually a draught beer. Even though, in many cases, draught Stout also contained oats. Brewers just didn’t tell anyone.

Pretty sure this wasn’t aged to any great degree. Maybe a few weeks in trade casks.  

1932 Youngs Stout
mild malt	6.00 lb	53.55%
black malt	1.00 lb	8.92%
amber malt	1.125 lb	10.04%
crystal malt 60 L	0.75 lb	6.69%
flaked oats	1.00 lb	8.92%
No. 3 invert sugar	0.625 lb	5.58%
No. 2 invert sugar	0.625 lb	5.58%
caramel 2000 SRM	0.08 lb	0.71%
Fuggles 120 min	2.00 oz
Fuggles 30 min	2.00 oz
OG	1052
FG	1016
ABV	4.76
Apparent attenuation	69.23%
IBU	46
SRM	39
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	59º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

 

Learn more about brewing at Youngs from former brewer John Hatch. 

1960s Hydroautomatic Brewhouse (Steinecker)

Even more DDR fun. Sort of. The source is from the DDR, at least.

This time with a more high-tech brewhouse. A two-vessel system. Which, if you paid attention to my post on a four-vessel brewhouse, meant that meant the vessels had dual functions. With the mash tun doubling as lauter tun and the mash kettle doubling up as the wort kettle. As in the system illustrated here.*

It's automatic. Or at least, that's what's claimed. With a brewer only needed to keep an eye on it. Sounds dead groovy. Like the decade that spawned it.

As this was a system developed by a firm, Steinecker of Freising, Bavaria, I doubt very much one was ever installed in the DDR. It would have cost way too much hard currency. Unless the Czechs produced a knock-off back in the communist days. (Or the Good Old Days, as I call them. Much to the annoyance of Dolores.)

Hydroautomatic Brewhouse (Steinecker)

(1) Malt Steeping Vessel
(2) Twin-Roll Mill for Wet Milling
(3) Mash and Lauter Tun
(4) Mash and Wort Kettle
(5) Hop Filter
(0) Control Panel
(7) Sight Window with Liquid Level Indicator
(8) Cutting Unit
(9) Propeller
(10) Hop Feeding Device
(11) Exhaust with Fan
"Technologie Brauer und Mälzer" by Wolfgang Kunze, VEB Fachbuchverlag Leipzig, 2nd edition, 1967, page 265.

* "Technologie Brauer und Mälzer" by Wolfgang Kunze, VEB Fachbuchverlag Leipzig, 2nd edition, 1967, page 264. 

Four-vessel DDR brewhouse

More DDR fun today. I've accumulated so much material on DDR brewing that maybe I sould assemble it into a book. Like "DDR! volume two". Except who would be interested in a book about a country that no longer exists. Let me know if you would. If there's enough interest, I might nail it together.

Back to the topic of the day. A four-vessel brewhouse. In the DDR. Though, if you look closely, it couldn't be a West German system. As there's a second mash tun. One specifically for a cereal mash of unmalted grains. Which obviously wouldn't apply in Reinheitsgebot-land. Where you would only need three vessels.

I suppose that the extra mash vessels must have been installed after WW II. As the use of unmalted grains wouldn't have been allowed before then. I imagine that, in most cases, the other three vessels were already installed and continued to be used.

The four vessels were:

a mash tun, which was unheated
a mash kettle for boiling the partial mash
a lauter tun
a wort pan for boiling the whole mash*

A simpler, two-vessel system was also in use. Here, one vessel functioned as both mash tun and lauter tun and the other as mash kettle and wort kettle.** Which is more like the set up in a traditional UK brewhouse, though used in a different way.

Looking at the Helles Vollbier mashing scheme I published a few days ago, it's clear that some breweries had a two- or three-vessel brewhouse. In that scheme, the cereal mash was performed in the kettle rather than a dedicated mash kettle. I imagine that situation was more common than the system illustrated here. 

(1) mash kettle I    (4) wort kettle    (7) hop montejus    (10) discharge pump
(2) mash kettle II    (5) malt mill    (8) agitator drive
(3) lauter tun    (6) adjunct mill    (9) mash pump


* "Technologie Brauer und Mälzer" by Wolfgang Kunze, VEB Fachbuchverlag Leipzig, 2nd edition, 1967, page 260.
** "Technologie Brauer und Mälzer" by Wolfgang Kunze, VEB Fachbuchverlag Leipzig, 2nd edition, 1967, page 260. 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1932 Youngs Porter

Time now for the Black Beers. Of which there are two. We’ll kick off with the weaker one, Porter.

It’s as watery as you would expect of an interwar Porter. Not quite 3% ABV. Quite a change from the 5% ABV version brewed before WW I. No wonder its popularity plunged into a death spiral.

With four malts, one adjunct and two sugars, it’s a pretty complicated grist. Well, it could be five malts, as it’s not totally clear what form the oats were. I’ve just guessed flaked rather than malted. Feel free to use malted oats if you prefer.

Interesting that brown malt isn’t amongst all those malts. It had been a standard ingredient in Porter since, well, the beginning of the style two centuries earlier.  Though there is some amber malt. Presumably for flavour, mostly. With most of the colour coming from the black malt and the sugar.

Speaking of sugar, there were equal quantities of No.3 invert and DM (dextro-maltose). For the latter I’ve substituted No. 2 invert. As well as a small amount of caramel as primings.

The two types of hops were both from Kent and the 1930 harvest. One had been cold stored.

Obviously, no ageing for a beer this piss-weak. 

1932 Youngs Porter
mild malt	4.00 lb	58.82%
black malt	0.50 lb	7.35%
amber malt	0.75 lb	11.03%
crystal malt 60 L	0.25 lb	3.68%
flaked oats	0.50 lb	7.35%
No. 3 invert sugar	0.375 lb	5.51%
No. 2 invert sugar	0.375 lb	5.51%
caramel 2000 SRM	0.05 lb	0.74%
Fuggles 120 min	1.25 oz
Fuggles 30 min	1.25 oz
OG	1032
FG	1010
ABV	2.91
Apparent attenuation	68.75%
IBU	34
SRM	25
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	59º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

 

Learn more about brewing at Youngs from former brewer John Hatch.