Wednesday 6 November 2024

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1880 Chapman X

Another Chapman beer today. I've just spent a whole day writing up my Cairo trip. The another posting them out for the next week or so.

Unlike London brewers, who had mostly cut back to just a single Mild Ale by this point, Chapman still brewed a range of X Ales. This being the weakest of the set.

As was typical for Mild Ales at the time, there’s not much to the grist. It’s just base malt and sugar. There is some interest in the base malt, as there are two types. The majority is made from Saale, that is German, barley.

The sugar is described as “Pale Ref”. Not sure what that might be and have substituted No. 1 invert.  Whatever, the result is a pretty pale beer. Which is similar in colour to their Pale Ales.

Just the two types of hops: Kent from 1878 and Californian from 1879. No dry hops.

1880 Chapman X
pale malt 6.50 lb 68.42%
No. 1 invert sugar 3.00 lb 31.58%
Cluster 90 mins 1.00 oz
Fuggles 30 mins 1.00 oz
OG 1051
FG 1006
ABV 5.95
Apparent attenuation 88.24%
IBU 30
SRM 7.5
Mash at 145º F
Sparge at 167º F
Boil time 90 minutes
pitching temp 58.5º F
Yeast WLP023 Burton Ale



 

Tuesday 5 November 2024

More lazing in Cairo

I rise at 9:20. Giving me enough time for a leisurely breakfast. Andrew continues snoring away in bed. The lazy git.

Cheese, salad and fruit again. With tea.  Rather nice tea. Like the proper English stuff. I have a couple of cups.

A breakfast of cheese, salad, orange juice and tea.

The plan for today was to visit the pyramids. But it’s after 3 PM by the time Andrew drags his arse out of bed. We discover that the ticket office closes at 4 PM. It’s too late for us to visit today.

“What about going to the pub, Dad?”

“We could do.”

“Five Bells?”

“That works for me.”

This time there aren’t just a few customers. There are none at all. We take seats close to where we sat last time.

I start with a Stella. As does Andrew, obviously. It’s much like the first time. Except there’s no footy on the telly. Well, not a match. But some sort of football show, where players are interviewed.

I switch to Egyptian whisky after finishing the Stella. Andrew is just about polishing of his third bottle.

A prawn cocktail in Five Bells.

We order food again. Cheese croquettes for Andrew, a prawn cocktail for me. Disappointingly, there’s quite a lot of tomato ketchup on top of it.

“Look Andrew. They’re going to show the Manchester City game.”

“Is it live?”

“I think so. It is three o’clock in the UK.”

The Stella and whiskies flow through us, as the afternoon slinks into evening. A few other diners appear. An Egyptian family. Two German women. Still not exactly a crowd.

Zamalek shops.

We leave around 8 PM. And don’t return directly to our hotel. Concerned at the total absence of booze, we searched for off-licences before going to the pub. There’s one just a little bit further. Unfortunately, on the other side of quite a big road.

I’m quite apprehensive about crossing it.

“You need to be more aggressive, Dad. And just walk out into the road as if you assume drivers are going to avoid you.”

“That doesn’t sound exactly safe.”

“Don’t worry. Everyone else is doing it.”

“And look like they could get run over at any moment.”

“You’re such a wimp, Dad.”

“One who is still alive.”

The offie is called Sakara Bazar. It’s a hole in the wall sort of place. With a counter on the pavement almost completely blocking entry.

“What would you like sir?” The assistant asks friendlily in very good English.

“Egyptian whisky.”

“The best?”

“No, the cheapest.”

He invites me to squeeze through the small gap and enter the shop to take a look at the selection. While Andrew grabs some cans of beer from the fridge.

“This is obviously Heineken-owned, based on the beers they’re selling.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

I end up getting an expensive Egyptian whisky. A single malt. Our triple-bagged haul comes to around 20 euros. Not too bad.

Not totally sure how, but I make it back across the scary road intact.

“I wouldn’t want to do that every day.”

“You probably wouldn’t need to. At least, not for longer than a week.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t survive that long with your load-crossing technique.”

“Thanks, Andrew.”

A street in Zamalek, Cairo,

Some of the streets are on the way back are pretty poorly-lit. And infested with cats running around everywhere. Rather a confusion of cats than a pack of dogs.

While watching some stuff on my laptop, we drink responsibly. Really. You don’t believe me? You cynical bastard.

It’s shocking how quickly 75 cl of whisky can disappear. Especially if your git of a son is drinking it as well. Despite having seven half-litre cans of beer.

Nothing left for a nightcap. Unless you count the whole evening. Which wouldn’t be fair.



Five Bells
13 Ismail Mohammed,
Abu Al Feda,
Zamalek,
Cairo Governorate 11211.
 

Monday 4 November 2024

Museum

I planned getting up just in time for the end of breakfast at ten. But my watch is still on Amsterdam time. And I rise 30 minutes too late. Damn.

The upside, is that I can stay in bed longer. Which I do. A couple more hours, as I’m feeling well knacked.

We were supposed to be meeting some of Andrew’s university mates at the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization at noon. But it keeps getting delayed. Meaning we can stay longer in bed. We finally meet up at 2 PM.

The ride over there is, er, interesting. Many of the roads are three lanes wide. But there’s no lane discipline. Cars, motorbikes, buses and all weave in and out of each other. It’s a wonder that there aren’t loads of collisions. Then again, seeing how many cars have dented and scratched bodywork, missing bits and parts held on with duct tape, it’s clear that there are loads of bumps.

Every driver apparently fears, should they ever stop, they’ll never get moving again. Even when, apparently, totally blocked in. I can’t understand how it works without total carnage.

Exterior of the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization.

We have to pass through a metal detector at the entrance to the museum. Which seems pretty standard here. It’s the same at the hotel. Though there the armed guard does nothing when it beeps as a guest enters.

“Racial profiling, Dad. That’s the reason.”

“Probably. When it advantages you, it doesn’t seem quite as despicable.”

The museum has artifacts from the stone age almost up to the present day. We go around in revers chronological order. Which I suppose is the opposite of what you’re supposed to do.

Old pottery in the museum.

Downstairs is the mummy room. There are a couple of dozen of them. Mostly pharaohs from various periods.

“Have you noticed something, Dad?”

“What?”

“They’re all short arses.”

“True. Though almost everyone is compared to you. Other than Lexie.”

Museuming done, the plan is to have some drinks and then food. Sounds good to me. We take a few cabs over to Cairo Cellar. It’s a pretty upmarket wine bar in the basement of a posh hotel.

We’re warned on entry that we’ll have to leave before 8 PM as some of us are wearing shorts. Including me. As soon as the thermometer hits 20 C, I ditch long kegs. Being old and sweaty, my lower regions need all the ventilation I can get.

It’s very dark inside. I can barely read the menu. What to drink? A local rum, I think. As usual, Andrew plumps for a Stella, as usual.

Rum and coke.

The group keeps getting larger. And less manageable. After a few drinks, and just before the 8 PM deadline, it’s time to pay up and move on to the restaurant.

It’s a bit of a cab ride away. A rather scary one. Is it worse or better at night when you can’t see the other traffic as easily. I’d call it a draw. On a three-lane road, with pretty fast traffic, a horse and cart passes us. Coming in the wrong direction in the outside lane.

Just before we get to the restaurant, we pass a fish market. Stalls loaded with ice topped by fans of fish. I’ve never seen a market, let alone a fish market, open this late.

Our destination is Sobhy Kaber. A place serving traditional Egyptian food which sprawls of several large rooms and three floors. Simply put: it’s massive.

Sobhy Kaber butcher.

On the ground floor, opposite the entrance, is a butchers, with slaps of meat dangling from hooks. Waiters scurry about, holding high wooden trays of small, round flat bread. It’s all pretty chaotic. And full.

One of the rooms in Sobhy Kaber.

We’re ushered to a spot next to the bakery to wait for our private room to be ready. I watch as hundreds of flat breads are churned out and then whisked away.

“It must be fun working there in the summer, I remark to Andrew.”

“I can imagine.”

Sobhy Kaber bakery.

We’re led off to a private room. And soon plates of stuff begin to appear. We each get one of salad and some sort of coriander dip. Then fruit appears. Because, this place being very traditional, it serves no alcohol. Just as well I got a good few rums down earlier.

Meat and vegetable dishes are placed on the table. Spicy lamb sausages, pigeon stuffed with rice, tender slices of spicy beef served in tin foil, a baked dish of rice and meat. All sorts of exotic things, almost none of which I recognise.

Sobhy Kaber food.

And there’s bread. Thin, flat bread, around the size of a hand towel, folded into a cone. And the small, round puffed-up ones that I’ve seen being made, transported and consumed all over the place.

It truly is an Egyptian feast. I just wish I was hungrier and could appreciate it better.

Sobhy Kaber baked rice.

It’s about 11 PM when we tip out onto the pavement. Lots of diners are still just arriving. Many with quite small children in tow.

“Have you noticed all the little kids still coming out to eat?”

“It is the Mediterranean, Dad. People do just the same on the European side of the sea.”

“I suppose they do.”

We’re lucky and get an Uber pretty much straight away. The most difficult thing is spotting the right car. The numberplates being all in Arabic script. Including the numbers/ We mostly go by the colour and make of car.

As we duck and dodge along the crowded roads, I notice a brightly-lit shop called Drinkies. Is that what I think it is? I spot what looks like a shelf packed with bottles of wine. What a great name for an offie. I’m surprised it’s still open, as it’s getting on for midnight. I make a mental note of the name for later.

Back at the hotel, Andrew asks: “Do you fancy a quick drink in the bar?”

“Sure.”

Flamenco hotel bar.

Andrew must be gasping for a pint after all that time in the restaurant. And we’ve run out of duty free. It’s surprising how quickly two litres of spirits can disappear. When you lock two pissheads in a hotel room.

The tables are all occupied and we grab a couple of stools at the bar. Andrew, once again, opts for Stella. I think I know why, now. It’s 4.5% ABV. While Sakara, the other major brand, is just 4%. I get an Egyptian whisky.

The drinks come with a bowl of what looks like cottage cheese, sticks of carrot and cucumber, as well as bread sticks. It remains untouched. Neither of us is ready for more food after the feast.

Hotel bar malt whisky.

They still allow smoking indoors. Everyone is chain smoking. And it’s quite a small room. Not very well ventilated. It’s been so long since I experienced one, I’d forgotten just how unpleasant a smoke-filled room is. Soon my throat is starting to ache.

“It reminds me of my last job in London. I was in a small room with two smokers. I had a permanent throat ache.”

“The good old days, eh?”

“Don’t take the piss.”

“Didn’t the smoke take everyone’s minds off the rickets and TB?”

“I’m not that fucking old.”

The bloke sitting next to me is puffing away, drinking Stella. And occasionally pouring himself a shot from a bottle of vodka. Looking around, I see a table of four has a bottle of Jack Daniels. A full litre.

We have a few more drinks. Quite a few more, as all the duty free is gone. Did I mention that earlier? We leave at 2 AM. Which is throwing out time.

Back in our room. We go straight to bed. As all the duty free is gone



Cairo Cellar
22 Taha Hussein,
Abu Al Feda,
Zamalek,
Cairo Governorate 4271150


Sobhy Kaber
151 Ebeid,
As Sahel,
Rod El Farag,
Cairo Governorate 4350021


Flamenco Cairo Hotel
02 El Gezira El Wosta,
Abu Al Feda,
Zamalek,
Cairo Governorate 11211

Sunday 3 November 2024

Lazing in Cairo

We get up again around 2 PM. I’m so confused about what day and time it is. I’m not so sure how wise staying up for breakfast was. I feel totally exhausted.

“What do you fancy doing, Andrew?”

“Pub.” he says succinctly.

We looked for pubs close to our hotel before leaving Amsterdam.

“How about the Five Bells?”

“Sure, Andrew.”

Five Bells exterior

It’s not far. Just a few blocks away. Thankfully, we don’t have to cross any busy roads. That looks so fucking dangerous.

Most of the pub is actually outside, covered by a tent. There are air-conditioning units. But, as it isn’t that hot, they aren’t switched on.

We both order a Stella. No, not that Stella. It’s a local beer. Though one which is produced by a brewery owned by Heineken. 

A bottle of Stella beer.

“What do you think of the beer, Andrew?”

“It’s OK.”

He’s not wrong. It’s drinkable, if unspectacular. He must quite like it, as he’s polished off his before I’ve had more than a couple of mouthfuls of mine.

We decide to order some food. Plate of chips for Andrew, falafel for me. Though neither of us is very hungry. We pick at our meals in a leisurely way.

A plate of chips and a plate of falafel'

One beer is enough for me. Not that I stop drinking. I move over to whisky. A local one. I’m not made of money. It’s OK Wet and pretty alcoholic. Rather like me.

There’s football on a TV. A local game. It reminds me of South America. Where there’s always football on TV in every pub. Often more than one game on different TVs.

There are only a couple of other customers. More staff, in fact.

A second footy game starts. A rather more important local game, given the behaviour of the staff. They’re paying far more attention. And reacting far more to events on the pitch. The game finishes two all. And, oddly, immediately goes to penalties.

We hang around for quite a while. It’s only at around 7 PM that more people start turning up. Which is our cue to leave.

Inside the Five Bells.

“Let’s go to the supermarket on our way back.” Andrew suggests.

There’s one called Metro just opposite our hotel. Which is where we go.

I think I know what Andrew is looking for: beer. It’s a very well-stocked shop. But the one thing they don’t have is beer. I can’t say that it surprises me. Instead, we get some mixers for our duty free. And some cheese and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps.

Back in our room, we get stuck into the duty free. Mixing the Tanqueray with this weird lime green Schweppes stuff we got. As there was no tonic water in the supermarket.

We spend the remainder of the evening sipping away and watching stuff on my laptop. It’s quite late when we crawl off to bed. About 2 AM. We aim to rise around 9:30 AM for breakfast. Hopefully that will work.

Despite us having risen late and done fuck all but hang around in a pub for hours, I’m still feeling knacked.

Duty free Bowmore is my impetus to sleep.



Five Bells
13 Ismail Mohammed,
Abu Al Feda,
Zamalek,
Cairo Governorate 11211.

Saturday 2 November 2024

Let's Brew - 1880 Chapman PA

Similar to AK, but a good bit stronger, was Pale Ale. Basically, it’s a full-strength Pale Ale. Pretty much the same strength as an equivalent beer brewed in London.

The grist is very simple, consisting of just base malt and a single type of sugar. The latter being listed as laevulose, an older word for fructose. The percentage is even higher than in AK, coming to about a third of the total.

There were equal quantities of two types of hops: Kent from the 1879 harvest and Hampshire from 1880. Kent hops from the 1880 season were used as dry hops.

The big question is: was this a Stock Pale Ale? I’m not sure, to be honest. It’s pretty heavily hopped, at 12 lbs per quarter of malt. But not too crazily hopped. And I know that it was racked into barrels, kilderkins and firkins. I wouldn’t expect a Stock Pale Ale to be put into a cask as small as a firkin. My guess id that it wasn’t a Stock beer. Perhaps it was semi-Stock and aged three months or so. 

1880 Chapman PA
pale malt 7.50 lb 68.18%
fructose 3.50 lb 31.82%
Fuggles 90 mins 3.50 oz
Goldings 30 mins 3.50 oz
Goldings dry hops 1.00 oz
OG 1059
FG 1009
ABV 6.61
Apparent attenuation 84.75%
IBU 77
SRM 8
Mash at 148º F
Sparge at 168º F
Boil time 90 minutes
pitching temp 57º F
Yeast WLP023 Burton Ale


Friday 1 November 2024

Beer Guide to the 1970s (part sixteen)

Another mixed set again. All breweries whose beers I definitely drank. All in the less fashionable parts of the North and Midlands.

It's so long ago when I visited the Higson's brewery tap in Liverpool that I was underage at the time. Obviously, being the 1970s, getting served at 17 was no problem.

I remember Holts from the 1970s, too. Not from beer festivals, but from a visit to Manchester in 1979. I was wandering around Salford. As you do. When I spotted this rather nice looking Edwardian pub. Which brewery owned it? No indication on the exterior. Inside, no pumpclips on the handpulls. Leaning over the bar, I was able to make out the brewery name on the bottled beer: Holts. There's low-key advertising for you. In the late 1970s, lack of a brewery name on the outside usually indicated a Watney's house.

Holdens remain what the were then: a solid, small Midlands affair. Selling loads of lovely Mild.


Higson
Liverpool,
Merseyside.
Founded:    1780
Closed:            1990
Tied houses:    160

The last independent brewery in Liverpool, Higsons was bought by Boddington in 1985. I drank their beers when in Liverpool in 1973 and was reasonably impressed. After closure, the brewery reopened as Robert Cain and was passed around between a few owners and endured a couple of bankruptcies.

beer style format OG description
Bitter Pale Ale draught 1039.3 well-flavoured, well hopped
Mild Mild draught 1033.4 Dark Mild
Bitter Pale Ale keg    
Mild Mild keg    
Pale Ale Pale Ale bottled    
Double Top Brown Ale bottled 1033.9  
Stingo Gold Barley Wine bottled    



Holden
Woodsetton,
Worcestershire.
Founded:    1875
Closed:            still open
Tied houses:    8

One of the small breweries in the Black Country which started life as a brewpub. Considering their small size, they brewed a decent range of beers. And pretty good ones at that.

beer style format OG description
Bitter Pale Ale draught 1039 well hopped, sweetish
Special Bitter Pale Ale draught 1052 full bodied, hoppy
Mild Mild draught 1036 Dark Mild, well balanced
Old Ale Old Ale draught 1065 full bodied
Golden Keg Pale Ale keg   full flavoured Bitter, chilled and filtered but not pasteurised
Pale Ale Mild bottled   A Dark Mild



Holt
Cheetham,
Manchester.
Founded:    1849
Closed:            still open
Tied houses:    80

One of several independent breweries in the Manchester area, Holt was of a fairly modest size. Its tied estate was fairly concentrated in the Greater Manchester area. In the 1970s, they sold pretty much exclusively to their own pubs. They didn’t usually even supply beer festivals. Their beers were pretty good. Especially the Bitter, which truly lived up to the name.

beer style format OG description
Bitter Pale Ale draught 1038.5 well balanced traditional brew
Mild Mild draught 1033.4 malty Dark Mild
Pale Ale Pale Ale bottled    
Six X Barley Wine bottled    
Diamond Ale Brown Ale bottled   strong Brown Ale
Brown Stout Stout bottled 1040 medium sweet


Thursday 31 October 2024

Flying East

“That’s ridiculous, Dad. Your business class ticket is cheaper than mine to sit with the plebs.”

“I know, Andrew, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Very funny, Dad.”

“No need to thank me, Andrew,”

Air fares can be completely illogical. But I’m not complaining, in this particular case.

It’s a bit of an odd journey, this one. We start a little after 15:00, but don’t get into Cairo until 01:30. Partly because we have over three hours in Charles de Gaulle. (My favourite airport in the world. Just like living in Alphaville.) With a shorter layover, we could have done the journey quicker, but we’d always to arriving at 01:30. Which isn’t great.

We head off for Schiphol around noon. To make sure we have plenty of lounge time. Andrew may be travelling cattle-truck class, but, via me, he can still get into the lounge.

The airport isn’t too busy and we blitz through security and passport control.

When I’m signing Andrew into the lounge, the nice young lady says: “Do you realise that you’re in the wrong part of the airport? You need to be on the Schengen side.”

I’m so used to flying to non-Schengen countries, that I automatically went to that part of the airport.

“You can still come into this lounge, however.”

 Which is what we do. Having plenty of time.

Rendang and whiskies.

I begin with my traditional brace of whiskies. Following up with some food. A rather nice beef rendang. The best hot food I’ve ever had in this particular lounge. Yum.

We have a couple of drinks before heading over to the right part of the airport. We’ve still plenty of time before our flight. And drop by the other KLM lounge.

The other lounge.

The food isn’t as good. On the other hand, they have self-pour spirits. A feature I always love.

Me and Andrew say goodbye to each other on boarding. With me heading for luxury and him for squalor.

A light meal of artichoke salad, cheese and a doughnut.

It’s a pretty decent meal for a one-hour flight. Artichoke salad, cheese and a doughnut.

Back on the ground, I wait for Andrew to disembark. We make our way towards terminal 2E. Which is where our Cairo flight departs from. It’s quite a complicated walk. I love Charles de Gaulle. It’s like living in a dystopian 1960s French film.

Alphaville_airport.

On the way we pick up bottles of duty free. Bowmore for me, Tanqueray for Andrew.

Snack of cheese, boiled egg, ham, gherkins and wine.

Next stop is the Air France lounge. Where Andrew and I stock up on food and drink. I go for boiled egg, cheese, ham and gherkins. And, for a change of pace, red wine.

Cairo by night from the air.

On the next, longer, leg I have a flatbed seat. Which is dead cool. I can properly stretch out.

Despite the luxury seat, I’m feeling pretty knacked when we land in Cairo. Immigration isn’t too bad in terms of waiting time. But when we get landside we can’t find the transfer I arranged. Instead, we get a normal taxi.

Soon we’re dodging dangerously through the traffic. I used to think US motorways were scary. This is next level. Repeated use of the horn replaces obeying any of those pesky traffic laws. Cars and motorbikes pass within a few inches of each other.  At speed. None of the motorcyclists are wearing helmets.

We roll up to our hotel and get ourselves checked in. By the time we’re done, it’s getting on for 3 AM.

We have a nightcap of Bowmore and Tanqueray. Which makes it even later.

“What are we going to do now, Dad?”

“We could stay up a little longer until breakfast starts at six.”

Two breakfasts: croissants and pretzels; scrambled egg and sausage.

Which is what we do. Scrambled egg and chicken sausage. It’s not bad. I skip coffee, as I’m about to go to bed. Andrew has a few croissants and a pretzel.

We turn in at around 7 AM. I drop off immediately. It’s been a very long day.

Wednesday 30 October 2024

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1877 Chapman Double Stout

This is slightly before the period this book covers. But, as it’s the only record for this beer, I’m going to run with it.

Compared to even a London Single Stout, this looks pretty weak. London Stouts were usually over 1070º. Chapman, by the way, were based in Brighton on the south coast. As a rule, London-brewed beers were generally stronger than equivalent beers from the provinces.

The grist, on the other hand, has very much a London feel about it. As there’s a pretty large percentage of brown malt. Along with the usual pale and black malt. Most provincial brewers tended to go for a simpler grist of just base malt and black malt for colour.

There’s also sugar, in the form of No. 3 invert. Which is a pretty typical type to use in a Stout.

Equal amounts of three types of hops were used. Two types of Kent and one described as Bavarian. All were from the 1875 harvest. 

1877 Chapman Double Stout
pale malt 9.75 lb 67.24%
brown malt 2.50 lb 17.24%
black malt 0.75 lb 5.17%
No. 3 invert sugar 1.50 lb 10.34%
Hallertau 90 mins 1.25 oz
Fuggles 90 mins 2.50 oz
Goldings dry hops 0.50 oz
OG 1065
FG 1015
ABV 6.61
Apparent attenuation 76.92%
IBU 45
SRM 34
Mash at 148º F
Sparge at 171º F
Boil time 90 minutes
pitching temp 60.5º F
Yeast Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

Tuesday 29 October 2024

Beer Guide to the 1970s (part fifteen)

Three very different breweries from the 1970s today.

In the second half of the decade, for the first time in 50 years (since the clubs breweries immediately after WW I), new breweries began to spring up. And, by the end of the decade, the centuries-long decline in brewery numbers was reversed. They were a combination of production breweries and brewpubs. The latter had a habit of using malt extract, something I really couldn’t stand. Reminding me of poor-quality homebrew. 

Those founded by professional brewers tended to produce better beer. Though, generally, the quality was variable. Probably, at least in part, due to cobbled-together brewhouses that were prone to infection.

Many new brewers didn't last long, packing in after just a couple of years. With most of the trade tied up, finding outlets was difficult. Especially as almost all produced only cask beer. Some invested in their own tied houses. Which was a good way of finding outlets. If you had the cash.

Heavitree is an example of a brewer who switched to being a pub company. How long did they last, I wonder?

And Harveys is, well, Harveys. And still going strong.


Harvey
Lewes,
East Sussex.
Founded:    1790
Closed:            still open
Tied houses:    24

A small, much revered brewery located just a little north of Brighton. As time has progressed and other southern brewers have either closed or made their beers more bland, Harvey’s beers have stood out more and more. I’ve always had a lot of time for their beers.

beer style format OG description
Bitter Pale Ale draught 1033 nutty flavoured 
Best Bitter Pale Ale draught 1040 stronger and a little sweeter
Mild Mild draught 1030 A pleasant dry Dark Mild
XXXX Old Ale draught 1041 strong dark Ale
Elizabethan Ale Barley Wine draught 1090 strong and satisfying
Keg Bitter Pale Ale keg   Best Bitter in keg form
IPA IPA bottled    
Blue Label Pale Ale bottled   A stronger Pale Ale
Nut Brown Ale Brown Ale bottled   medium sweet
Exhibition Brown Brown Ale bottled   stronger than Nut Brown
Sweet Stout Stout bottled    
Elizabethan Ale Barley Wine bottled 1090  



Hawthorne
Gloucester,
Gloucestershire.
Founded:    1978
Closed:            1982
Tied houses:    1

An early new brewery, which opened in the Norfolk House Hotel. They didn’t stick around for long. I doubt very much that I ever came across their beer. If I’m honest, I mostly avoided new breweries in the 1970s as the beer was often crap.

beer style format OG description
Extra Bitter Pale Ale draught 1038  
Special Bitter Pale Ale draught 1042  
Hastings Bitter Old Ale draught 1066  



Heavitree
Exeter,
Devon.
Founded:    1790
Closed:            1970
Tied houses:    135

Despite exiting brewing in 1970, Heavitree continued to run their tied estate, being supplied beer by Whitbread.
 

Monday 28 October 2024

Random beer review: Zillertal Scottish

Just cracked a can, as you young people say, of a beer I brought back from South America this summer.  Zillertal Scottish. I bought it, well, because it's a Uruguayan Scottish Ale. Who wouldn't want to try that?

All the weird cross-cultural stuff is the man reason I bought it. A brand with an Austrian name, based in Uruguay brewing a Scottish Ale. Irresistible.

My expectations? Low, as usual.Experience has taught me that's the best approach.

Before I dive in, like the gentleman I am, I offer Dolores a taste first.

"It's OK."

Reassured. I take a sip.

"That's nothing like as bad as I feared."

"Praise indeed, Dad." Andrew reacts.

"It's OK. Not a bad attempt. Quite sweet and malty. Like a beefed up 8o shilling."

"I've no idea what you're on about, Dad. You sound like the Real Ale Twats."

"Thanks. Haven't you learnt the classic Scottish styles yet?"

"No, Dad. I've got better things to do. Like learning Sanskrit."

"This is like the strongest Scottish Pale Ale, but even stronger. Halfway to Strong Ale."

"Whatever, Dad."

"What did you think of Zillerrtal Pils?"

"OK. Like standard Pils."

Like drawing blood from a stone it is, sometimes. 

Bloody kids.

Sunday 27 October 2024

Duesseldorf with Mikey (again) part two

[Slideshow]

1 PM - time for breakfast.

 
What to drink for breakfast? Alt.

Noodles for breakfast,

Time for some Uerige Alt.

That Alt didn't last long.

That's where  the Alt came from
 
A change of pace - Mikey's choice.

A baby barrel of Alt.

Drinking shots of Alt.