Youngs adjuncts in 1990-1991

Now it’s time for the adjuncts that I mentioned earlier.  Four of them, in total. Though two of them only appear in one beer each.

The percentage of adjuncts in the grists is quite low, mostly around 5% to 7%.. Only being higher in the Oatmeal Stout.

The Porter and Oatmeal Stout both use roast barley, which is intriguing. As, historically, it wasn’t much employed in London. Where black and brown malt were preferred as the roasted elements of Black Beers.

Why was that? Why the change? My guess is that it’s on account of the gap in brewing Stout at Youngs.  In the 1970’s and some of the 1980s, Youngs brewed no Stout. And presumably came back to Stout brewing with a new perspective. Or maybe one of the brewers was a roast barley fan.

Flaked maize, which was usually UK brewers’ adjunct of choice, only appears in John Young’s London Lager (JYLL). But not in the stronger Premium Lager. The latter, as we’ve already seen, being brewed all malt.

Had I not spoken to former Youngs brewer John Hatch, I wouldn’t have realised torrefied barley was in most of the beers. As in the brewing record it’s just described as “flakes”. Which in most cases means flaked barley. Not here. Where it’s flaked torrefied barley.

It pops up in most of the top-fermenting beers, other than the Black Beers and Export Pale Ale. I assume that one of its roles is to aid head retention.

Finally, we come to flaked oats. Which, now here’s a shock, only appear in Oatmeal Stout. While 6% might not seem much, it’s way more than was used in earlier London Oatmeal Stours. Which had only about 1% oats. 

Youngs adjuncts in 1990-1991
Year	Beer	Style	roast barley	flaked maize	torrefied barley	flaked oat	total adjuncts
1990	JYLL	Lager		9.16%			9.16%
1991	Premium Lager	Pilsner					0.00%
1990	Light Ale	Pale Ale			7.18%		7.18%
1990	PA	Pale Ale			6.14%		6.14%
1990	SPA	Pale Ale			6.96%		6.96%
1990	Export	Pale Ale					0.00%
1990	Porter	Porter	2.61%				2.61%
1991	Oatmeal Stout	Stout	4.50%			6.00%	10.50%
1991	Winter Warmer	Strong Ale			4.43%		4.43%
1990	Old Nick	Barley Wine			4.88%		4.88%
Source:
Young's brewing record held at Battersea Library, document number YO/RE/1/59.

Listen to brewer John Hatch explain how they brewed at Youngs in the 1990s.  

Youngs malts in 1990-1991

Moving on now to the ingredients. Kicking off, logically enough, with the malts. Of which there are a few. Not all that many. But that’s made up for by the adjuncts, to which we’ll get later.

Two are base malts: pale and lager. The former being used in most of the beers and the latter in, well, the two Lagers. Nothing odd there. In earlier decades, more base malts had been used. With the bitters using pale ale malt and Mild and Burton using mild malt.

I suppose that you could argue that enzymic malt was also a base malt, as it did have diastatic power. That wasn’t its main use, though. It was to lower the pH of the mash. Which is why it didn’t appear in the Porter or Stout, where the roast grains fulfilled that function.

The Lagers only contain lager malt. With the Premium Lager being all malt. Leaving it Reinheitsgebot compliant. Not sure if that was the intention of the brewery, or just a happy accident.

There’s quite a bit of variation in the proportion of malt in the grist. Ranging from a high of 100% in the Premium Lager, to low of 66% in Old Nick. I think that it’s no coincidence that the percentage was lowest in the latter. The strongest beer that Youngs brewed.

Quite a dark crystal malt was used: 150 L. Which is probably why the Pale Ales all contained less than 2%. Which is a bit contrast with the Porter, where it was a massive 16%. In the two Strong Ales, Winter Warmer and Old Nick, the proportion was a more reasonable 5%.

Youngs malts in 1990-1991
Year	Beer	Style	pale malt	lager malt	crystal malt	enzymic malt	Total malt
1990	JYLL	Lager		84.73%			84.73%
1991	Premium Lager	Pilsner		100.00%			100.00%
1990	Light Ale	Pale Ale	83.25%		2.87%	2.87%	89.00%
1990	PA	Pale Ale	85.17%		1.53%	3.07%	89.77%
1990	SPA	Pale Ale	84.22%		1.74%	3.13%	89.10%
1990	Export	Pale Ale	90.48%		1.59%	3.97%	96.03%
1990	Porter	Porter	73.04%		15.65%		88.70%
1991	Oatmeal Stout	Stout	81.00%				81.00%
1991	Winter Warmer	Strong Ale	70.85%		5.54%	6.64%	83.03%
1990	Old Nick	Barley Wine	58.54%		4.88%	2.44%	65.85%
Source:
Young's brewing record held at Battersea Library, document number YO/RE/1/59.

 

Listen to brewer John Hatch explain how they brewed at Youngs in the 1990s.  

Let's Brew - 1960 Youngs XXX Ale

Here’s a special treat. A Burton Ale that was called Burton Ale. As this is before Youngs changed the name of theirs to Winter Warmer.

Given that this example was brewed in July, it seems obvious that it was still a year-round beer at this point and not a winter seasonal, as it later became.

It’s a bit different to 1990s recipes. As Youngs were still brewing a Mild Ale and could parti-gyle their Burton Ale with that. Which is exactly what happened in this case. Meaning that this is effectively a strong Mild. Much like the Old Ales brewed in the South of England. For example, Adnams or Harveys.

As was typical for Dark Mild, the darkest malt is crystal. With the majority of colour coming from No. 3 invert and caramel. The latter being in the form of CDM (Caramelised Dextro-Maltose). Does anyone still manufacture that?

Two types of English hops, one from the 1958 harvest and one from 1959. Pretty much the same as in all their other beers. 

1960 Youngs XXX Ale
mild malt	7.25 lb	67.25%
crystal malt 150 L	1.00 lb	9.28%
flaked maize	1.50 lb	13.91%
pale malt extract	0.33 lb	3.06%
No. 3 invert	0.50 lb	4.64%
caramel 500 SRM	0.200 lb	1.86%
Fuggles 105 min	1.00 oz
Goldings 30 min	1.00 oz
OG	1050
FG	1014
ABV	4.76
Apparent attenuation	72.00%
IBU	24
SRM	17
Mash at	151º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	105 minutes
pitching temp	58º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

 

Listen to brewer John Hatch explain how they brewed at Youngs in the 1990s.  

Wandering back

No need to get up very early. Breakfast lasts until 10. And Peter is picking us up at 11.

We enter the breakfast room at 8:30. There aren’t many others there.

I give the spread a look over. Surprisingly, there is some warm food. Which is a plus. No bacon. There is scrambled egg. And baked beans. Not bad.

I get some cheese to go with my scrambled egg. Recreating a South American breakfast. I’m so imaginative.

Dolores gets herself a boiled egg and some beans. The egg is rock hard all the way through. And cold. And rather green. She doesn’t eat it. I don’t blame her.

“Are your scrambled eggs warm?” She asks.

“Not really.”

“My beans are cold, too.”

The tea and coffee are warm. Which is something.

We don’t rush. Hanging around until 10, drinking coffee and generally chilling.

Back in our room, we prepare for the train. I create one of my “special” drinks by decanting the remainder of my expensive whisky into a half-emptied cols bottle. 

“That should keep me warm inside.”

“Don’t go crazy, Ronald.”

“When do I ever go crazy?”

“Let’s not have this conversation again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just don’t go crazy with the whisky on the train.”

Peter van der Meer picks us up at 11 on the dot. And is soon setting us down at Essen Hauptbahnhof.

It’s surprisingly busy for a Sunday morning. I notice that the sandwiches are way cheaper than in Düsseldorf Hauptbahnhof. I wonder why that is? I suppose they just charge what they can get away with.

I just hang around guarding our luggage and taking in the vibes, while Dolores does some shopping.

The train to Viersen is pretty full. We’re lucky to get seats. Where we’re jammed in with our luggage. This is fun. 

An awful lot of people get off at Viersen with us. That’s not a good sign. As they don’t leave the station. Looks like they’re all headed for Holland, too. Bum.

When the Venlo train pulls in, it looks full. Very full. Triple bum. We have trouble squeezing ourselves in. Looks like we’ll be standing all the way to Venlo. I think that serves a: fuck!

A bloke has his bag on one of the fold-down seats. He takes pity on me and shifts his bag so I can sit down. Brilliant!! I might make it back to Amsterdam alive.

Everyone is bound for Holland. For King’s Day, which is tomorrow. There’s another stampede at Venlo, as everyone rushes to the platform where the Amsterdam train is.

Fortunately, it’s a much larger train than the one from Viersen. We manage to find a coach that’s pretty empty. With no need to use Dolores’s train elbows. Honed on many a Deutsche Reichsbahn journey, when she was a student. 

Now there’s enough space for me to enjoy my “special drink”, which I haven’t touched so far.

“Don’t go crazy with the whisky, Ronald.”

“No need to worry. You know me.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m asking you to not go crazy.”

“You don’t have much faith in me.”

“I’m just realistic.”

“Cynical, more like.”

The train starts to fill up the further we get into Holland. All going to Amsterdam for King’s Day. The centre is going to be packed. As usual. Luckily, I don’t have to go there.

Fortunately, this train isn’t going to Amsterdam Centraal. Just Amsterdam Zuid and Schiphol. Loads of people get off in Utrecht to switch to a train headed for Centraal. Emptying our carriage out nicely.

“Why are you filming fields again?”

“It’s for a video.”

“One of those that forces people to listen to your horrible music?”

“It isn’t horrible music.”

“Then why will no-one listen to it voluntarily?”

Dolores can be very cruel.

The last part of the journey is nice and quiet. Which is how I like my journeys: quiet and uneventful.

We don’t have to wait long for a bus. Soon we’re trundling into our flat. With the children rushing up joyfully to greet us. I wish. Andrew is absorbed by his laptop. And Alexei is upstairs in his room.

“Is the tea ready, Andrew?” I ask.

“Very funny, Dad. Make it yourself if you want some.”

How charming.

“I suppose you don’t want a cup then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

It’s great to be home. 

 

 

A couple of videos about our trip to Essen.

 

 

 

Me talking about the history of IPA

Excerpts from my talk on the history of IPA at Fronhauser Sudwerkstatt. Fairly short excerpts, as the talk was 150 minutes. I hard to stop once I get started.

 

Away we go

“Do you fancy coming to Essen, Dolores?”

“Why are you going there?”

“I’m giving a talk.”

“Are you getting paid?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Maybe.”

Such enthusiasm.

Dolores had already agreed to come, when she discovered that the trains to Germany were buggered up on the relevant weekend. Some sort of works on the rails. Normally, we could get a train to Duisburg – under two hours – and then have a short hop on the S-Bahn to Essen.

Except the ICE service to Düsseldorf and Cologne is diverted via Venlo. Using that, getting to Essen would involve changing a couple of times. And take getting on for four hours, rather than two and a bit.

“How will we get there?” Dolores asked.

“Good question.”

“An answer would be nice.”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Business as usual, then.”

“Haha.”

“Just sort it out.”

“OK.”

Not wanting to invoke the wrath of Dolores, I did some poking around on the internet. And found an alternative route. Taking an NS train to Venlo and then changing to a couple of regional German trains. Not just quicker, but also more convenient. As the tickets would be valid for every train, not just specific ones.

Problem solved. Dolores happy. Me happy.

We leave home around 10:30 bound for Amsterdam Zuid. Now there’s another advantage of this route: we don’t have to go to Amsterdam Centraal. Through the tourist hell of the city centre.

Amsterdam Zuid is more of a commuter station. Currently undergoing a massive rebuilding programme. Sometime in the not-too-distant future the motorway will disappear underground. Currently, cars whizz past just a few metres away from the platforms. Lovely.

The service to Venlo is one of the longest train journeys you can take from Amsterdam, without running of the edge of the country. Lasting around two hours. We settle in for the ride.

I’m so used to stupidly long flights that a couple of hours seems like fuck all. Especially in the comfort of a train. Dolores is playing with her new MP3 player. While I read the latest Viz. I’m feeling quite relaxed. And A true intellectual.

I take some video of the fields.

“People like cows.” I say, defensively.

“You’re weird. No-ne wants to see boring fields.”

“With cows in them. “

“Right. A few cows suddenly make fields interesting.”

“More interesting.”

“Than what?”

“A field without cows.”

“You’re weird and stupid.”

There’s a bit of a stampede in Venlo as pretty well everyone on our train rushes to get onto the German one. We’re lucky enough to get seats. Rather crammed in mind, as the carriages weren’t built with luggage in mind.

Everything ran perfectly smoothly while we were in Holland. Virtually as soon as we cross the border, things start going wrong. With our train stopping to wait foe freight trains. We miss our planned connection in Viersen. The train service in Germany has turned to total shit. It makes the Dutch railways look like those of Japan.

It’s a rather desolate station. With half a dozen windswept platforms and not much else. 

“Would you fancy moving here, Dolores?”

“No. I’d rather move back to Eisenach?”

“You’d be up for that then?”

“No. There’s nothing to do there. I just wouldn’t want to move here. It looks shit.”

“Far enough. I wouldn’t want to move back to Newark, either.”

Not unless the only other option was Grantham. Newark’s evil twin. I’d rather move to hell. Or Newark. Not much difference, really.

Luckily, we don’t have to wait very long. Just 15 minutes for the next Essen-bound train. Which is also pretty crowded. We do find seats, though.

We’re being collected at Essen Hauptbahnhof by Peter van der Meer. Owner and brewer of Frohnhauser Sudwerkstatt. A tiny brewery in an inner-city suburb of Essen. I send him a message to let him know that we’re running a little late.

We don’t have to wait long for Peter to pick us up and whisk us off to our hotel. My talk not being scheduled to start for a few hours, we have a chance to relax in our room. Though there’s only space for one of us to stand at a time. And getting onto the toilet requires some contortion.

We drop by Lidl for supplies. 

All the essentials. Rolls, cheese and ham for the journey back to Amsterdam. And a bottle of the cheapest whisky. Under 7 euros on special offer. Fuck me, that’s cheap. It would be stupid not to buy a bottle. And I pride myself on not being an idiot. (Not that the kids would agree with me on that.)

“I hope you’re not going to drink all that whisky tonight.”

“No, that’s a sipping whisky.”

“At under 7 euros a bottle?”

“Yes, I’ll last all of today and tomorrow.”

“That’s “sipping”? Drinking a bottle of whisky in two days?”

“Sounds like a challenge to me.”

“Fuck off, Ronald. Just drink yourself to death.”

“Sounds like a . . .”

“Fuck off.”

We marvel at bottles of organic wine for under two euros a pop. Almost as good value as the whisky. Wondering why Dutch cheese is cheaper here than at home. And why eggs increase 50% in price when they cross the border into Holland.

A tear comes to my eye when I get to the checkout and see 100 ml bottles of Chantré next to the sweets. It’s the classic impulse Schnapps. Heartwarming to see the tradition alive and well.

We wander down to the brewery around 17:30. And get stuck into some beer. Just to get my throat lubricated for all the talking I’ll be doing. Which is quite a lot.

My talk is on the history of IPA. And Peter has brewed five historic beers to go along with it. 1838 Combe IPA, 1877 Truman P1, 1911 Whitbread IPA, 1939 Barclay Perkins IPA and 1991 West Coast IPA.

The beers are served at appropriate points in the talk. And I actually get to properly drink them this time. Very nice they are, too.

It’s a pretty relaxed talk. With me digressing on wild tangents a few times. With a short break in the middle, I talk for 2.5 hours. Plenty of laughs. And interesting questions. When it goes well, I really love talking. 

Though, let’s be honest, I love talking even when it isn’t going great. Like with my audience of one in Brazil a couple of years back. I just like talking when no-one is allowed to interrupt me. Unlike in most of my life.

I feel pretty knackered when I’m done. But happy. Time for more beer.

A bottle of 1980s DDR Berliner Weisse appears. Such wonderful stuff, even after all these years.

I don’t stay up too late. I’m too old for that nonsense. And I want to be human for the train back to Amsterdam. With Deutsche Bahn, you never know what might happen.



Frohnhauser Sudwerkstatt 
Pollerbergstrasse 3
45145 Essen
https://www.frohnhauser-sudwerkstatt.de/

 

A couple of videos about the trip.

 

 

 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1960 Youngs PA

Next, we have Young’s original Pale Ale. Which, by 1960, had become Ordinary Bitter. Such a great name for a beer, I’ve always thought.

Though this isn’t going to be a huge, long description. This being parti-gyled with the PAB we’ve already seen. Obviously, there’s just a little bit more of everything in this. Not a huge amount more, as the gravities aren’t that different.

Ordinary was a smaller part of Young’s output than it was later to become. It says much of the different beer landscape in 1960 that the batches of X Ale were much bigger than of PA: 250 barrels to 150 barrels. The situation would be very different a decade later, as Mild’s popularity in London collapsed. By the middle of the 1970s, few London pubs sold cask Mild. Many sold no Mild at all.

It’s a shame that this period of Young’s records doesn’t record the bitterness level. My guess is, based on later versions where it is given, that it was around 35 EBU.

1960 Youngs PA
pale malt	6.75 lb	79.82%
flaked maize	1.00 lb	11.82%
pale malt extract	0.33 lb	3.90%
No. 1 invert sugar	0.375 lb	4.43%
caramel 500 SRM	0.002 lb	0.02%
Fuggles 120 min	1.00 oz
Goldings 30 min	1.00 oz
OG	1038
FG	1003.3
ABV	4.59
Apparent attenuation	91.32%
IBU	26
SRM	4.5
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	174º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	59º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

 

Listen to brewer John Hatch explain how they brewed at Youngs in the 1990s.  

Youngs beers in 1990-1991

I've published all the recipes so here's an overview of Young's beers in the early 1990s.

Did I drink any of these beers? Not exactly. As I was living in Australia for some of the period. I did drink some of them slightly later iterations. I definitely tried the Porter once. And probably Special Bitter, too.

First, an explanation of some of the brew-house names. JYLL is John Young's London Lager, PA is Ordinary Bitter and SPA is Special Bitter. Simple, isn't it?

There are ten beers in total. Eleven, really, as in this verion Ram Rod was the same beer as Special, just in bottled form rather than draught. Quite a broad range, covering quite a range of strengths and styles. Though the bulk of the beer they produced was one or other type of Pale Ale. Some of the beers - such as Porter, Oatmeal Stout, Winbter Warmer and Old Nick - were only brewed in small quantities.

Note that all the gravities, other than for Light Ale, end in .8. That's not a coincidence. It's the highest they could get away with rounding it down. Ah, the joys of the old tax system, based on the gravity of the beer before fermentation. 

Weakest of the set is Light Ale at a tad under 1030º and 3% ABV. Which is about typical for the style. Next up the strength tree is John Young's London Lager at around 3.5% ABV. Which is reasonably strong for a UK Lager.

Top of the tree is Old Nick at 1089º and just over 7% ABV. Which was pretty strong for an English beer at the time.

The rate of the attenuation is pretty varied. It's under 70% for two of the stronger beers, Winter Warmer and Old Nick. Not sure if that tells us anything in particular. Special Bitter has the highest degree, at just over 80%. Leaving it at exactly 5% ABV. That's powerful for a post-war UK Bitter. Though I always preferred Ordinary, myself. Not sure why.

All the Pale Ales are reasonably well attenuated, at 75% to 80%. Which is about where you would expect a Bitter to be.

Moving on, there's a large variation in the hopping rates. I'm going here on hops per quarter of malt, which takes the strength of the beer out of the equation. Bottom of the pile is Porter, at just over 2 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt. Top of the pile is Old Nick, at 5.62 lbs. The hopping rate for Porter was much higher in pre-WW II, being 7lbs per quarter (336 lbs) compare to 8 lbs for the Pale Ales.

One of the things I like about this period of Young's records is that they include the bitterness level. And a real one, as it was measured in their lab, not calculated. Interestingly, not only does the bitterness level vary per batch, but also across the different fermenters for the same batch. Which I find fascinating. 

Least bitter are Porter and the Light Ale. While at the other end are Export Pale Ale and Old Nick, at 51 and 61 EBU, respectively. Which are pretty high for UK beers. Though, given the relatively low rate of attenuation, Old Nick probably wasn't as subjectively bitter as some of Young's other beers.

Colour also shows a big variation. Obviously, palest in the two Lagers. And darkest in Winter Warmer, Oatmeal Stout and Porter. Interestingly, Porter was the darkest of the bunch, darker even than Oatmeal Stout.

Notice which type of beer is missing? Mild Ale. Best Malt Ale, Young's Mild, was dropped in the 1980s. 

Youngs beers in 1990-1991
Year	Beer	Style	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation	lbs hops/ qtr	hops lb/brl	colour (EBC)	EBU
1990	JYLL	Lager	1037.8	1011.0	3.55	70.90%	4.20	0.63	8	32.5
1991	Premium Lager	Pilsner	1047.8	1011.0	4.87	76.99%	3.94	0.67	9	30
1990	Light Ale	Pale Ale	1029.5	1007.5	2.91	74.58%	5.00	0.58	15	29
1990	PA	Pale Ale	1036.8	1007.5	3.88	79.62%	4.70	0.67	16.5	36
1990	SPA	Pale Ale	1046.8	1009.0	5.00	80.77%	5.39	1.87	21.5	40
1990	Export	Pale Ale	1066.8	1016.5	6.65	75.30%	4.89	1.29	32	51
1990	Porter	Porter	1040.8	1012.0	3.81	70.59%	2.10	0.38	135	29
1991	Oatmeal Stout	Stout	1055.8	1014.0	5.53	74.91%	3.02	0.69	120	33
1991	Winter Warmer	Strong Ale	1055.8	1018.0	5.00	67.74%	2.50	0.58	85	31
1990	Old Nick	Barley Wine	1086.8	1032.5	7.18	62.56%	5.62	2.18	120	61
Source:
Young's brewing record held at Battersea Library, document number YO/RE/1/59.

 

Listen to brewer John Hatch explain how they brewed at Youngs in the 1990s.  

I travel to Essen

My trip to Essen to speak at Frohnhauser Sudwerkstatt to talk about the history of IPA.

 

Doing my talking thing

No rush today. I rise at 8:00 and go for brekkie.

As there's no bacon, it's back to scrambled egg and cheese. With fruit for pudding. I sit with Michael Helzer, one of the American judges. We have a good chat.

I send the family a picture of my breakfast. It looks rather pretty, with the sunlight shining across it. Let’s see the bastards complain about that.

After breakfast, I go back to my room to chill for a while. Today there are the talks. Mine is scheduled for 14:00. As the morning ones are all in Spanish, I don't go there until midday.

Surprise, surprise: they're running late.

Hernán Testa, the Argentinian hops bloke is talking about . . . Argentinian hops. The bits I can understand are pretty interesting.

The next talk is by some people who make a hop oil. There's some beer to go with this one. Three different versions of the same beer. One dry hopped with 100% pellets, one 65% pellets and 35% hop oil and one with 35% pellets and 65% hop oil. At least it gives me something to drink.

For my talk, I speak a couple of sentences and then the interpreter translates them into Spanish. It interrupts my flow a bit. But does give me a chance to drink some beer while the interpreter is taking.

My talk is about Irish Porter and Stout. I should probably update it. I wrote it a while ago and have since got hold of a lot more Irish brewing records. In particular, examples of heading, the sort of Kräusen used in Ireland.

I get through my beer so quickly, I have to request a refill. That’s a first. Just making sure my throat doesn’t get too dry. Wouldn’t want to get hoarse. Usually, I only get to take a sip or two, as I keep rattling away.

When I'm done, I sell a few more books. Which is good. I'm nicely building up dosh in my PayPal account. Dolores will be so happy. Why have I never brought books with me to sell before? Because I’m an idiot. That’s why.

There are three talks after me, two of which are in English. One from Martin Zuber about creating Lager recipes for craft brewers. And another by Mike Hall about Bathtub Row, the cooperative brewery he helped.

I stand around and chat a bit when the last talk is done. And drink some beer. Before heading back to the hotel in an Uber with a couple of other judges.

Tonight, there's a visit to Hasta Pronto, another brewery. But I'm too tired for that. Especially as it's a 40-minute ride away. Instead, I drop by the supermarket again. For bread, milk, cheese and pisco. As my hotel whisky is all drunk. And some biscuit things for Lexxie.

On the way back to the hotel, someone says hi. It's John, an American brewer who brews further south in Chile, whom I met in Temuco a couple of years ago.

I watch some YouTube and eat a little. All very quiet and restful. Which is exactly what I need.

I turn in around 23:00.



Disclaimer: Copa ACI paid for my accommodation, some meals and some beer. 

 

You can fins a video report of my trip here: 

Best of Show

It’s an early start. I rise at 6:45. And go upstairs for breakfast.

The good news: they have bacon. And mango juice. A win-win. I slurp down coffee and mango juice with my food. I have fruit for my pudding.

I remember to send the family a snap of the glorious scrambled egg and bacon. And a second of my fruit pudding.

The family’s response is rather dispiriting.

“Why do you just send photos of boring plates of food?” Alexei messages me.

“You find my breakfasts boring?”

“Yes, it’s just the same scrambled egg and bacon.”

“That’s not true. Most days it’s been scrambled egg and cheese.”

“That’s even more boring. Just yellow stuff.”

“Excuse me.”

“Send some more interesting photos.”

“OK. I’ll send you some photos of buildings.”

“That’s not much better. Isn’t it autumn down there? Can’t you take pictures of that?”

“The trees haven’t started to change colour yet. And I’m in the middle of the city.”

“You always have an excuse.”

“It’s called a reason>”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The view from the breakfast room is pretty spectacular. That’s what you get for being on the twelfth floor. In the background, behind the high rises of the city, lurk the snow-topped Andes. 

I send my family a photo of the view. Maybe that’ll stop the fuckers complaining.

I get outside around 8:00. A few judges are chatting there. But no-one is going anywhere. It's pushing 9:00 when we get to the judging site. Where they aren't ready. Again. Partly because the local judges are all stuck in traffic. You have to get used to things starting late when you’re in South America.

It's 10:15 by the tine judging kicks off. We have four beers left over from yesterday: Three Robust Porters and one Old Ale.

Once we've got those out of the way, it's time for some homebrew judging. Weirdly, none of the homebrew beers have bad faults. Unlike quite a few of the professional beers. A couple of the Stouts are really rather good. Judging is full of surprises.

We're done by 12:45. Nothing more to do until lunch at 14:00. Which is why I'm writing this. Got to keep myself occupied. I wouldn’t like to get bored.

In the meantime, I'm shifting quite a few books. Which will please Dolores. With any luck, I'll sell all of the ones I've brought.

Lunch is a steak again. Quite a small one this time. But enough for me. I have a fascinating chat with Hernán Testa, the Argentinian hops bloke while I’m eating. And Michael Helzer, an American. Two pretty engaging and informed conversation partners.

In the afternoon, I'm judging the Best of Show. We have to wait quite a while for the stewards to sort out the beers. But I’ve had worse. I try to keep positive. No matter what my family say.

“You’re so negative, Dad.”

“Just realistic.”

“Cynical, more like.”

I’ve had some bad experiences with judging BOS in the past. Hopefully this won’t be another. 

There are five of us. And 29 beers. Which is quite a lot. Nothing I judged earlier, as we didn't award any gold medals on my table. The table is large but there’s only just about room for all the beers.

There are some excellent ones, which makes the process more difficult. Luckily, there are no opinionated twats on the panel. And we can come to an agreement on the medal winners reasonably quickly. Without any unpleasantness.

I send the family a snap of the table full of beers. It isn’t a plate of food and it isn’t all yellow. Let’s see them complain about that.

In the evening there's a pub crawl, finishing at Intrinsical. But I'm feeling totally knacked and just go back to the hotel. Only venturing out to visit the supermarket for some milk, bread and cheese. Even that 100 metre walk is a struggle. I’m so fucking exhausted.

I send the family a picture of the spirits shelves in the supermarket. Specifically, the Havana Club. I know Andrew will enjoy that.

“Looks just like how I remember it.” He replies.

He’s so sweet.

I watch some stuff on Ziggo and sip my hotel whisky. Before turning in pretty early. A good long rest is what I need. As I’ll be giving a talk tomorrow. I need to be at my best for that.

At least it won’t be an early start.



Disclaimer: Copa ACI paid for my accommodation, some meals and some beer. 

  

You can fins a video report of my trip here: