I fly to Poznan

A quick report of a short trip I made last weekend.

I trail over to Schiphol a little after 09:00. Which leaves me time to warm up for the flight a little in the lounge. 

The food isn't too bad in the lounge this time. It's the non-Schengen one that I don't visit often.  Not been impressed with the food in the past. The rostis are really nice. Scrambled egg could do with some seasoning.

 

But there's free-pour whisky. Of which I take advantage. Though don't abuse. It's a thin line that you need to walk when you're an enthusiastic drinker like me.

I bump into Ferry at the gate. He's judging in Grodzisk, too. Though we both live in Holland, we first met in Brazil.

When my boarding pass is checked before getting on the bus, there's a beep and I'm given a slip of paper. I've been upgraded to business class. I guess because the flight is overbooked. Now there's a win.

After waiting on the tarmac for a while the bus return to the gate. Two vehicles have collided close to our plane. We have to wait for that to be sorted out. We depart quite late. 

The food is definitely better than the usual KLM slop. And I get a couple of whiskies to wash it down. Which also helps. 

After landing in Poznan, we're whisked off in a bus to our hotel Along with other just-arrived judges. It takes a while to get to Nowy Tomyśl. After just about enough time to drop of our bags, it's back on the bus to go to Grodzisk.

Where we're judging in the former malt house of the last brewery to make Grodziskie before the style's extinction in the early 1990s. Which is pretty cool. And it's right next to the brewhouse of Browar Grodzisk. Current brewer of Grodziskie

We don't have to judge a stupid number of beers - my table has 17. Just as well, as the judging kicks off in the early evening. There are some pretty good examples in the ones we judge. And a few not so good ones. But there are always a few duds, whenever you judge.

I'm judging with two Polish men, Michal Kopik and Jan Lepek and a German/Greek woman, Dafne Peppa_boy. We have some robust discussions about some beers. Which is part of the fun of judging. If everyone 100% agreed, int would be a pretty dull process.

For those of you that haven't experienced the Grodziskie style, here's an overview of its characteristics.

colour: very pale
grist: 100% oak-smoked wheat malt 
hops:  Polish varieties
yeast: top fermenting
OG: 7.7º Plato
ABV: 3.1%

The last two I've taken from the Classic version brewed by Browar Grodzisk. It's also usually bottle-conditioned.

I like versions where the hops and smoke are in balance. Combined with a light body, making them very drinkable. Quite a few of the beers I judge fit those parameters perfectly. And are a pleasure to drink.

I already know quite a few of the other judges. Which makes things easier. Catching up with Evan Rail after many years is fun. Great to learn that U Rotundy remains a s wonderful as ever. Plus lots of other great stuff about beer in Czechia.

Judging is scheduled to end at 21:00. It's a while after that when all the tables are done  And it's pushing 10:00 when we hit the restaurant Schabowy & Salata.

Our, quite late, evening meal is very decent. What I expect in Poland, where the food is usually pretty good. I do like a good Schnitzel. One made out of actual meat. Unlike the shttty ones made from reconstituted gunk they sell in the supermarkets in Holland.

(I was wondering about the name of the restaurant: Schbowy & Salata. I could get the second bit But what about the first? Kotlet schabowy turns out to be what I called a Schnitzel. It's the Polish version of a fried, thin, breaded piece of pork. Like I said earlier, it was excellent.)

Of course, there's also Grodziskie to drink. From the beautifully elegant, slender glasses. 

It's after midnight when I get my head down Aiming for an 8:00 start tomorrow. A gulp or two of hotel whisky whisks me off rapidly to sleep. 

  

Browar Grodzisk
Poznańska 16B, 
62-065 Grodzisk Wielkopolski, 
Poland.
https://browargrodzisk.com 

Schabowy & Salata
Osiedle Wojska Polskiego 18D, 
62-065 Grodzisk Wielkopolski, 
Poland.

Here's a video report of my trip:

 

Grodzisk

By popular demand, (ell, I think one person said they liked them), here's another travel video.

Where I fly to Poznan and am whisked away to judge in the malthouse of the last brewer in Grodzisk when the style died out in the early 1990s. Then eat a Kotlet schabowy. Which was dead good.

 

Dutch Beer Challenge 2026

You may have seen my video report on my day out in Rotterdam. Here's the boring, old wordy version.

Mostly, I judge in exotic places: Brazil, Chile, Singapore. Rarely in Europe. Even in my country of residence. Why is that? Because I rarely get invited and don't go hunting invitations. As I do for bits of South America I'd like to visit.

The last couple of years I have been invited to the Dutch Beer Challenge. And, despite it being in Rotterdam, I have accepted. Though, living in Amsterdam, I do feel obliged to slag off Rotterdam every now and again. It's part of our culture. Having said that, Rotterdam was the first city I lived in when I moved to Holland. When was that? Way back in the 1980s. Almost forty years ago. Where does the time go?

Thankfully, I can get to Rotterdam without needing to go into the centre of Amsterdam.Which I always try to avoid, if I can. It being a pure tourist hellhole currently. Even better, from Amsterdam Zuid I can get a fast train. One that uses the high-speed line. Saving me a massive 15 to 20 minutes.

Amsterdam Zuid is busy. Unsurprisingly, as it's commuting time. I'm in plenty of time for my train, giving me a chance to inspect how the rebuilding of the station is coming along. The new platforms for the metro look about done. While the train platforms are still very much under construction. I'm just looking forward to when the motorway is put underground. Currently, the platforms are jammed inbetween the tow carriageways. Leaving the impression of standing in the central divider of the motorway. Noisy traffic rushing past on either side.

The train is packed. Though I mange to grab a seat after Schiphol. I used to travel quite a lot by train. Not for work, but at the weekend. Dragging the kids on outings to all corners of the Netherlands. Including dragging them into pubs for a few frenetic drinks before bundling them back onto the train. Now they're older, these excursions have finished. And most of my travel is much further afield.

The No. 1 tram takes me through the incoherent jumble of the city centre and its "iconic" architecture to the east of the city. Where more fragments of the city's past erupt between the shiny modern blocks. My destination is the stadium of Excelsior, Rotterdam's third football club. At least it isn't Fejenoord.*

Judging is taking place in the bar inside one of the stands. Plenty of judges are already there when I arrive. Including quite a few I know. Not from Holland. Rather from judging in South America. I'm such a jet-setter. There's time for some chatting before the work starts.

I'm on a table with one Belgian and three Dutch judges. Meaning much of our discussions are in Dutch. Which is novel for me. It's usually English all the way when I'm judging.

We're on a lucky table and kick off with a flight of 17 non-alcoholic beers. My favourite. How often do I drink non-alcoholic beers voluntarily? Never. Only when I'm judging. If I don't want an alcoholic drink, I'll go for something else. Though I might consider an alcohol-free Catharina Sour.

They are improving, non-alcoholic beers. Clearly the technology has advanced considerably in the last 25 years. They even manage to taste pretty much like beer. Most of them.

We trundle along at a decent pace, getting through two-thirds of our allocated beers before lunch. Making the afternoon quite relaxed. Giving us plenty of time to savour the Barley Wines and Pastry Stouts. Finishing in plenty of time.

When judging is done, a bus whisks us off to De Koperen Kat brewery in Delft. In an industrial area to the south of the centre. We're early and have to hang around outside for a while.

It's a new brewery to me. Showing how terribly out of touch I am with the Dutch beer scene. It occupies a small corner of a much larger industrial building. Compact is how I would describe it.We're given a beer to keep our hands busy while we're given a short introduction to the brewery.

I get chatting to a very interesting bloke who works for Westmalle. And another who worked for several decades at Rodenbach. Always fun to meet new people. Especially ones from iconic Belgian breweries.

Our evening meal is very, er Dutch. For me, broodje kroket and chips. What can I say? It's filling.

I'm recommended D'oostPorter. Which is a Porter, surprisingly. A rather strong one, at 8.5% ABV. And rather nice. So nice, that I drink four of them. Full of roasty goodness.

The bus calls in at Delft station before heading back to Rotterdam. I get off there, as it's closer to home.

Finding the station entrance is a challenge. The station has been moved underground and the old building is now a restaurant. The new station is hidden under a council building. And has a very Alphaville vibe.

It's quite a while until the next train to Amsterdam Centraal. Luckily, there's one earlier going to Venlo via Schiphol. Calling at Amsterdam Zuid.

When I'm almost home, there's a sound of breaking glass behind me. Something has been thrown - or shot - at the bus, shattering a window. The couple sat behind me, right next to the break, look pretty shaken up. The bus pulls up just before the next stop, and we're told to wait for the next bus. Fortunately, it's my stop. No need to wait for another bus.

What was that? I don't think a stone, as there wasn't one inside the bus. My guess is an air rifle pellet.

What an unusual end to the day.



* My Dutch team is Sparta, the other Rotterdam club. For various complicated and irrelevant reason which I won't go into here.



Delftse Stadsbrouwerij De Koperen Kat
Schieweg 15, 
2627 AN Delft.
https://www.dekoperenkat.nl/ 

 

The video report. 

 

Dutch Beer Challenge 2026

 I go to Rotterdam to judge the Dutch Beer Challenge. By train and tram. It's so much fun.

 

My 2025: judging

I did a bit of judging this year. Mostly in South America, obviously. That's where I prefer to judge.

The Blumenau contest was fun this year. And not in Blumenau. Instead, it was on the coast at Balneario Camboriu. Literally on the coast, as the judging location was on the seafront. Meaning you could have a stroll down the beach at lunchtime. So civilised. And I managed to dodge judging Best of Show. That's always a win.

In Santiago, judging was in the same hotel as we were staying. Which is always good. A couple fewer bus rides every day. And I got the chance to drop by República Independiente del Pisco. One of my favourite bars in the whole world. Come to think of it, that should have appeared in my list of best pubs of 2025.

More intimate was the judging in Buenos Aires. Only downside was that I was rather coughy during judging. Something that later developped into full-blown pneumonia. Leaving me wonderfully ill for the two free days in Buenos Aires I had at the end of the trip.

Weirdly, I did some judging in the Netherlands. For the Dutch Beer Challenge. It was quite a novelty. And I got a new bottle opener for my key ring.

My final stint at the judges' table was in September in Singapore. Probably the most fun of them all. With the judging taking place in the hotel we were staying in. Which also had good food. Plus some well-chosen evening food destinations. Overall, extremely well-organised. Which is sort of what you would expect in Singapore. 

Last judging

"What will we be judging today? We already awarded medals yesterday." I ask Gordon over breakfast.

"Not all the categories have been judged yet."

My hopes of a short day dashed, I tuck back into breakfast. The eggy sausage fruit thing I'm now totally committed to.

I've been down early enough to be ready for the scheduled departure of the bus at 8:20. I should really have caught on by now. It leaves closer to 9:00.

I sit next to Jan Koch, who brews at a brewpub in Hamburg. I'd been surprised a couple of days earlier when he spoke to me in fluent Dutch. Not what you'd expect of someone living in Hamburg.

It turns out he'd worked in Holland. Including a place where my wife worked. Though they were in different departments and their paths didn't cross. Still weird.

He complains about how late the bus back to the hotel was yesterday. It turns out I was one of one of the lucky ones. I assumed that the minibus would have continued to ferry people back. It didn't. After my trip it fucked off. Everyone else had to wait for all the judging to be done. Which was after 8 PM.

I'm on a table with Ludmilla again. This time captained by Tibor, who has  a beer pub in Munich. Just the three of us.

Tibor is using the same system as Gordon, more or less. Which has us zipping through the beers. I'm dreading a couple of the flights. Vienna Lager, for a start. And home brewed Catharina Sours.

The Viennas are as expected. Almost all riddled with faults. Except for the only decent one I judged on the first day.

In contrast the Catharina Sours are the best set I've had in the whole competition. 8 out of 10 good. Some very good indeed. It restore my faith a little.

We rattle along so smoothly that, even judging one of the flights meant for the afternoon, we're still pretty early for lunch. Again up on the rooftop. It's pretty much the same buffet fare as the other days.

Tibor rocks us through the afternoon flights. So quickly, that we get an extra flight. Even after that, we're one of the first tables done.

I'm going to be judging Best of Show. Meaning I have to hang around until all the other tables have finished. Jan does, too. He mentions that he had a quick swim and a beer at lunchtime. Just 50 metres away. I wondered why his shorts were wet after lunch. I didn't like to say anything in case he'd pissed himself.

A couple of tables clearly have a way to go.

"Fancy nipping to the beach?" I suggest. "Some fresh air would be much nicer than staring at a blank wall."

He doesn't need asking twice. Soon we're settled down on the beach. Almost deserted and quite lovely.

It feels like I'm on holiday for the first time since Sunday. So I get myself a cachaca as well. I nice big, thick one.

Jan asked another judge to call him when they were ready to start. Which he does. It only takes a couple of minutes to get back. We've had maybe 30 minutes on the beach, but it's really chilled me out. And got me ready to make big decisions.

There are two rounds to Best of Show. Each table of six judges gets 15 beers or so and has to put through three. There's a lively discussion on our table to whittle down the possibilities. We manage to come to a consensus without too much pain.

While we're discussing one of the Brazilian judges, possibly a shade older than me, mentions that he's a musician. Quite sell known in Brazil, it seems.

When we've made our choice, I nip off to the bog for a quick slash. On my return, I notice that I 've been chosen to be on the final panel. That's what happens when your name is in the BJCP guidelines. Gordon has already left, flying back to get home for Thanksgiving. The sneaky bastard.

It's pretty obvious to me which the winner is. To most of the other judges, too. There are only really two beers in contention. A quick show of hands confirms the winner as a Catharina Sour. With passion fruit and dragon fruit. The aroma is amazing. I could just sniff it all day.

It's late, but not stupid late. Not even 8 PM. There should still be some food left for us.

Tonight it's Feijoada, a traditional Brazilian stew. Not that I'm feeling that hungry.

A samba band is playing and most of the Brazilians are dancing. It appears the band recognised the musician judge and have invited him to join in. He sits in, singing and playing, for three or four songs. He clearly knows what he's doing.

I'm not tempted by the dance floor. A couple of decades back, I'd have been up like a shot. But my dancing days are behind me. I'm happy now just to watch and tap my foot.

I chat with fellow judge Thomas Sjøberg about beer history stuff. Drinking more Black Princess beer.

It's been a long and tiring day. Other than the quick beach interlude. I don't need to be up particularly early tomorrow. But I still go quite early to my bed. I need to preserve my energy. I'm not a young man anymore. 

Gentleman Bowmore has deserted me. This time it's cachaca giving me the final push into temporary oblivion.

The organisers of the Brasil Beer Cup paid for my accommodation and food during the period of judging (four nights and three days) Beer, too, which was provided by one of the sponsors. I had to pay for my own cocktails. And all other expenses, such as flights and extra hotel nights.

More judging

Ever the optimist, I'm up early and down for breakfast well before 8 AM.

I join Gordon again. And exactly the same egg/sausage/fruit combo as the previous mornings. How boring am I?

We're asked to head for the bus before 9 AM. We're not allowed on straight away. Leaving time for some idle chatter. Like what the hell is that weird fruit hanging from the tree next to the bus? It looks like a 1930s football.

We ask one of the Brazilians what it id. She has no idea. Another says she's pretty sure it isn't edible. No-one knows its name

We get to the judging hotel about on schedule. We're underway after not too long.

The beers come out exactly when required. Not the case everywhere. I've had to wait 20 to 30 minutes for each flight. Really annoying and dispiriting.

They've made a big effort to have a good balance of male and female judges. Great idea. I'll just say that in passing.

Today I'm on Gordon's table. Dead pleased about that. Not just for the chat. But because I know has lots of experience at this sort of thing. He won't allow any hanging around. His table finished first yesterday.

Sure enough, he has a much better system worked out. Makes the process much quicker.

A word about judging, for those who've never judged. It's way less fun than it sounds. Mostly.

You're going to have to drink some bad beer. If you're, unlucky, some really bad beer. That's just how it is. Some brewers, inexplicably submit quite old samples. I'm sure a lot is damaged in transit. Which, depending on where the judging is performed, can be a complex process.

On the upside, you get to discuss beer all day with fellow nerds. Some judges can have very expressive faces when sampling beers. Especially ones they hate. That look of just having taken a slug of battery acid laced with cyanide. I'm a member of that club. I've almost spat out particularly disgusting beers. None that bad this time, luckily.

Other humans can also be a downside. Argumentative, opinionated, pedantic and pig-headed are the characteristics you want to avoid around the table. I'm guilty of at least three. (Possibly five. I'd forgotten arrogant.)

The exact mechanics vary at each contest. But the approach I've seen most is to eliminate the obviously faulty beers first. Oxidation, DMS, diacetyl are the main problems. Even my leather nose can pick them out easily enough.

Next to go are any that are way out of style, no matter how good a beer it is. Like an English Dark Mild that's been hopped with bucketloads of the latest trendy high-alpha varieties, matured in Islay barrels for two years with Brettanomyces and finally bottled with champagne yeast. It might be a great beer, but it's in the wrong fucking category.

Finally, you get to argue about what's left. If you're unlucky, most of the flight will be faultless and to style. A nightmare if there are 8 or 9 quite similar beers. And when arguments can ensue.

The worst rows, however, flare when there's a big split in opinion about a beer. Especially if  two argumentative, opinionated, pedantic and pig-headed judges face off against each other. It doesn't happen that much. Most of the time. judges are in broad agreement. Diametrically opposite opinions don't pop up often. The process would be torture if it did.

I can't claim total innocence of this sin. But I have learnt from my mistakes and grown. As I person. Not getting drawn into that shit again.

Gordon has worked his magic and we're some of the first done with morning flights.

Lunch today is in the rooftop restaurant. With a view over the sea. Very scenic. I get first crack at the nosh, too. 

[Perhaps I would have done better to photograph the lovely view rather than my beige food.]
 

I get all the food groups: beef, pork and chicken. Note that I go for just a small portion of a single carb.

I've some time after gobbling down my grub. And drop by the supermarket over the road. To check out their cachaca selection. For the kids, obviously.

Disappointing, to be honest, the selection. Just the cheap one in the 931 ml bottle. I grab one just as emergency hotel drink. In case there's a big emergency. Like I've drunk the Bowmore too quickly.

On my way to the till I notice a display of glasses. Hey, that's just what I need. Yesterday, I nicked a flimsy plastic cup from the coffee corner. But that bugger split and I almost dribbled Bowmore all over my laptop. Now I'll be able to drink my whisky like a gentleman.

We start dishing out medals in the afternoon. Without a great deal of disagreement. At a decent pace.

A minibus takes the early finishers back to the hotel we're staying at. So early, I can unwind in my room before dinner.

When I get downstairs Gordon and a few other judges are drinking cocktails at the bar.

"That's a good idea. I haven't had a caipirinha yet."

So that's what I get. Makes a change from beer.

There's a barbecue at the end of the garden. Just before the beach. It's blowing a gale. Scarily windy. Which isn't doing the cooks any favours.

I eat a few skewers of meat and one of cheese. Big lumps of this white stuff. No idea what type it is. Barbecues up nicely. 

People keep bringing me bottles of beer. Black Princess Gold. One of the ones we're getting for free.It's OK, when cold enough.

Someone unwisely asks me about oak flavour in 19th-century IPA. It's a good hour before I pause for breath. 

Not a late one, again. 

A gentlemanly Bowmore, from a glass, gently rubs my temples and soothes me to slumber.

The organisers of the Brasil Beer Cup paid for my accommodation and food during the period of judging (four nights and three days) Beer, too, which was provided by one of the sponsors. I had to pay for my own cocktails. And all other expenses, such as flights and extra hotel nights.

 

More judging

Against my better judgement, I'm down early for breakfast. I join Gordon again. And the same egg/sausage fruit combo. Pretty dull, aren't I?

We're asked to head for he bus before 9 AM. But we don't board immediately, leaving time for some idle chatter. Like what the hell is that weird fruit hanging from the tree next to the bus? It looks like a 1930s football.

Not even any of the Brazilians knows. One does think that it's inedible. That's the best we get.

Things get rolling around the scheduled time. I'm delighted to find that I'm on Gordon's table. Not just for the chat. He's lots of experience a this sort of thing and will keep things moving along at a good pace. His table was the first to finish yesterday.

He's worked out a far better scheme than I did. It makes the process much quicker.

A word about judging, for those who've never judged. It's much less fun than it sounds. Mostly.

You'll get to drink some bad beer. If you're unlucky, some very bad beer. It's not necessarily the brewers fault. The transit may have been long and complicated, the beer spoiling somewhere en route.

An upside are he other judges. You get to discuss beer all day with fellow nerds. That can be great fun.

Some judges can have very expressive faces while judging. Looking like they just gulped down battery acid liked with cyanide. I admit I'm a member  of that club. I almost spat out a particularly disgusting beer once.

People can also be a downside. Argumentative, opinionated, pedantic and stubborn are the character traits you're looking to avoid around the table. I'm guilty of at least three of those. Or maybe five (I forgot arrogant.)

The mechanics of judging vary according to the competition. The general method is mostly the same. First you kick out all the ones with obvious faults. Oxidation, DMS, diacetyl. Then the ones crazily out of style ones, no mater how good the beer. 

An English Dark Mild laced with bucket loads of he latest trendy high-alpha hops, aged for two years in Islay barrels with Brettanomyces and bottled with champagne yeast isn't going to get very far. However yummy it might be.

Gordon has worked his magic again. We're done withe the morning flights well before the scheduled time for lunch.

Today it's in the rooftop restaurant. With a view of the sea. Very scenic.

Getting first crack at the buffet, I've more options. I plump for all three food groups: beef, pork and chicken. Light on the carbs, mind. Just a small portion of one sort.

[I should, perhaps, have snapped the delightful view rather than my beige food.]

Having a little time before judging recommences, I pop to the supermarket over the road. I want to check out their cachaca selection Just for the kids, you know.

It's rather disappointing, the selection. They only have the cheap one in the weird 931 ml bottle. I get a bottle in case of emergency. An emergency like finishing off the Bowmore too quickly.

 

On the way to the checkout, I spot a display of glasses. Perfect! Now I can drink like a gentleman I nicked a flimsy plastic cup from the coffee corner yesterday. But it split and I almost got Bowmore all over my laptop.

We start awarding medals in the afternoon. Not much controversy and we're done well before the scheduled close of 6 PM.

A minibus shuttles some of us early finishers back to the other hotel. So early, I have a while to unwind in my room.

When I go downstairs I find Gordon propping up the bar with a couple of other judges, drinking cocktails.

"That's a great idea. I haven''t had a caipirinha yet."

So that's what I order. Makes a change from beer.

There's a barbecue at the end of the hotel garden. Right next to the beach. It's windy. Very windy. Scarily windy, with the trees shaking around frighteningly. It's not making the work of the cooks easy.

I eat a few skewers of meat and one of cheese. Big lumps of this white stuff. No idea what type it was. Grilled well.

People keep bringing me bottles of the Black Princess Gold. It's OK when chilled enough. Not exactly my sort of beer. But it's fee and I can't be arsed to hunt down the Bock.

Unwisely, someone asks me about oak flavour in 19th-century IPA An hour later I take my first breath.

I don't make it a late one. Not when I need to be up early. Too old for that shit.

A gentleman Bowmore gently rubs my temples and soothes me to sleep

More judging

Ever the optimist, I'm up early and down for breakfast well before 8 AM.

I join Gordon again. And exactly the same egg/sausage/fruit combo as the previous mornings. How boring am I?

We're asked to head for the bus before 9 AM. We're not allowed on straight away. Which gives me a chance to chat with Jan Koch, fellow judge and brewer in Hamburg. One topic is the weird fruit on a tree adjacent to the bus.It looks a bit like a 1930s football.

We ask one of the Brazilians what it id. She has no idea. Another says she's pretty sure it isn't edible. No-one knows its name

We get to the judging hotel about on schedule. We're underway after not too long.

The beers come out exactly when required. Not the case everywhere. I've had to wait 20 to 30 minutes for each flight. Really annoying and dispiriting.

They've made a big effort to have a good balance of male and female judges. Great idea. I'll just say that in passing.

Today I'm on Gordon's table. Dead pleased about that. Not just for the chat. But because I know has lots of experience at this sort of thing. He won't allow any hanging around. His table finished first yesterday.

Sure enough, he has a much better system worked out. Makes the process much quicker.

A word about judging, for those who've never judged. It's way less fun than it sounds. Mostly.

You're going to have to drink some bad beer. If you're, unlucky, some really bad beer. That's just how it is. Some brewers, inexplicably submit quite old samples. I'm sure a lot is damaged in transit. Which, depending on where the judging is performed, can be a complex process.

On the upside, you get to discuss beer all day with fellow nerds. Some judges can have very expressive faces when sampling beers. Especially ones they hate. That look of just having taken a slug of battery acid laced with cyanide. I'm a member of that club. I've almost spat out particularly disgusting beers. None that bad this time, luckily.

Other humans can also be a downside. Argumentative, opinionated, pedantic and pig-headed are the characteristics you want to avoid around the table. I'm guilty of at least three. (Possibly five. I'd forgotten arrogant.)

The exact mechanics vary at each contest. But the approach I've seen most is to eliminate the obviously faulty beers first. Oxidation, DMS, diacetyl are the main problems. Even my leather nose can pick them out easily enough.

Next to go are any that are way out of style, no matter how good a beer it is. Like an English Dark Mild that's been hopped with bucketloads of the latest trendy high-alpha varieties, matured in Islay barrels for two years with Brettanomyces and finally bottled with champagne yeast. It might be a great beer, but it's in the wrong fucking category.

Finally, you get to argue about what's left. If you're unlucky, most of the flight will be faultless and to style. A nightmare if there are 8 or 9 quite similar beers. And when arguments can ensue.

The worst rows, however, flare when there's a big split in opinion about a beer. Especially if  two argumentative, opinionated, pedantic and pig-headed judges face off against each other. It doesn't happen that much. Most of the time. judges are in broad agreement. Diametrically opposite opinions don't pop up often. The process would be torture if it did.

I can't claim total innocence of this sin. But I have learnt from my mistakes and grown. As I person. Not getting drawn into that shit again.

Gordon has worked his magic and we're some of the first done with morning flights.

Lunch today is in the rooftop restaurant. With a view over the sea. Very scenic. I get first crack at the nosh, too. 

[Perhaps I would have done better to photograph the lovely view rather than my beige food.]
 

I get all the food groups: beef, pork and chicken. Note that I go for just a small portion of a single carb.

I've some time after gobbling down my grub. And drop by the supermarket over the road. To check out their cachaca selection. For the kids, obviously.

Disappointing, to be honest, the selection. Just the cheap one in the 931 ml bottle. I grab one just as emergency hotel drink. In case there's a big emergency. Like I've drunk the Bowmore too quickly.

On my way to the till I notice a display of glasses. Hey, that's just what I need. Yesterday, I nicked a flimsy plastic cup from the coffee corner. But that bugger split and I almost dribbled Bowmore all over my laptop. Now I'll be able to drink my whisky like a gentleman.

We start dishing out medals in the afternoon. Without a great deal of disagreement. At a decent pace.

A minibus takes the early finishers back to the hotel we're staying at. So early, I can unwind in my room before dinner.

When I get downstairs Gordon and a few other judges are drinking cocktails at the bar.

"That's a good idea. I haven't had a caipirinha yet."

So that's what I get. Makes a change from beer.

There's a barbecue at the end of the garden. Just before the beach. It's blowing a gale. Scarily windy. Which isn't doing the cooks any favours.

I eat a few skewers of meat and one of cheese. Big lumps of this white stuff. No idea what type it is. Barbecues up nicely. 

People keep bringing me bottles of beer. Black Princess Gold. One of the ones we're getting for free.It's OK, when cold enough.

Someone unwisely asks me about oak flavour in 19th-century IPA. It's a good hour before I pause for breath. 

Not a late one, again. 

A gentlemanly Bowmore, from a glass, gently rubs my temples and soothes me to slumber.

London visit

I'm just back from a couple of days in London. And feeling totally knackered. "What did you do in London?" This and that. Oh alright then. Here are (some of) the details.

The main reason for the visit was to be one of the judges at the International Beer Challenge. (Before you say anything, I do realise the irony in me being a beer judge. Especially as I haven't been certified.) It took all day. Surprising what a chore it can be drinking from morning until early evening. Especially when you kick off with nine alcohol-free beers.

Having a good group at the table made it less of an ordeal. People with far more discerning palates than mine. Jo Copestick, De de Moor, the bloke who runs Beer Essentials (whose name escapes me) and Kelly, brewer at Thornbridge. It made me realise how many subtleties I nornally miss.

What else did I do? Ate a Cornish nasty, had two full English breakfasts, drank a few pints of Old Puke at the Gunmakers, met Boak and Bailey for some beers, visited the archives and bought pork pies and mini Scotch eggs for the kids. Not too bad in just 30 hours. Now I'm in need of rest. Dire need. My eyelids are dropping even as I type this.

But I won't be getting any rest. Not tonight, anyway. I've got to go to the opening of Beer Temple, Amsterdam's new American beer bar. It's a hard life, being an international pisshead. Sorry, international beer blogger. You really wouldn't want to do it.

London trip

Tesco have invited me to judge in their Drinks Awards again this year. They don't seem worried that I don't have a certificate to say I'm a qualified beer judge. But we're talking about Britain. No-one gives a toss about that sort of meaningless qualification.

It's a paid gig. Well, they slip you a few quid for expenses. Not that it covers my costs, but it does help subsidise my stay in London. I'll be in town for 3 days. There'll be plenty of time for the archives. And hopefully a visit to Fuller's (If the nice brewer from Fuller's is reading, would the afternoon of Tuesday 30th September be OK for dropping by?)

Yes, I'll be fitting in a lot. Handily, the judging takes place just around the corner from the White Horse in Parson's Green. (I wonder if they've replenished their stock of Harvey's Russian Stout? Me and my fellow judges polished off all they had last year.)

Beer Judging

Though I'm not certified, I've done a little beer judging. Come to think of it, I'm not certified to do anything. Not even my job. Though people have said to me in the past "You should be certified." I think they were trying to compliment me on the depth of my knowledge. Currently I'm busy tasting beers for the "Beers Of the World" competition.

I did it last year, too. Due to the incompetence of the parcel service, who kept breaking stuff, most of the packages of beer had to be sent to me twice. Very frustrating. This year things have gone much more smoothly. Everything arrived intact first time. As you can see from the photo, they had perfect packaging this time around.

Very conveniently for me, they use a 100-point scale. So do I. My usual scoring system can be applied. That's one less thing to worry about.

Taking the BJCP exam would be fun. I wonder what my score would be? That would probably depend on whether I tried to answer the questions truthfully or not. To pass I'd need to learn the right answers. On second thoughts, that might be just too confusing.