I'm starting a new YouTube series looking at the history of Mild Ale. Starting in the 1830s.
It's an early start today. I rise at 5:20. I skip showering.
I meet up with some other judges at reception around 5:50. We then go off in search of the bus. We initially head off in the wrong direction. Until another group of judges puts us right.
We're given a brown paper bag with breakfast. And another with snacks.
There are, in fact, two buses. There would need to be with 60 judges going on the trip. It's about 6:40 when we eventually set off. I sit next to Dan, who's a really nice bloke.
Once we're outside the city, the landscape becomes pretty barren. With volcanic dust and rocks everywhere. Patches of it are marked out with old car tyres. This is land that's being squatted. Inside is just dust and a small shack. Looks a pretty miserable place to live to me.
At a certain point, the dust becomes sand. And manages to be even more desolate. There's no vegetation of any kind. The most deserty desert imaginable. Just lots of rubbish by the side of the road. What a depressing landscape.
Things liven up a bit when we get to La Joya. Where shops in shacks and unfinished buildings line the road. Backed by irrigated fields of cactus and dragon fruit. The cactus is for cochinella, which is produced by a parasite.
Further into La Joya, factories and light industry are strung out along the road. It's still pretty dusty. Dolores would hate it here.
Once out of town, we cross some barren mountains. Then Vitor comes into view. A lush valley surrounded by dusty beige hills, devoid of any life. It's like an oasis. Once beyond, we pass through a flat expanse of sand. Whose only features are discarded car tyres and general rubbish. I wouldn't want to get stuck out here.
After over two hours on the bus, we reach our first destination: Santa Rita and the Midolo winery. Another oasis of irrigated green. We drive through the town. Dogs lazily wander the streets. Buildings seem rushed and unfinished. Dust is everywhere.
It's a relief to get off the bus. My arse is starting to ache. And I could do with a piss. Which is the first thing I do. In a toilet, obviously. I’m not an animal.
The visit kicks off with a talk by the owner. Some of which is translated into English by a lady from the Arequipa tourist board. We then get to walk around some of the vineyard. Which is very dusty. Soon my shoes are covered in the stuff.
Various grape varieties are being grown. All fully netted. I guess to keep the birds out. Though that doesn't seem 100% effective as there's a humming bird buzzing about. It's pretty hot because we're now only at 1100 metres.
Back in the winery, we look at the fermentation and maturation room Which is full of plastic containers. And a still for pisco.
We're given little plastic sample glasses that are filled with an orange-coloured wine. Fairly nice. Next comes a sample of pisco. Which is OK, if a little rough around the edges.
I notice a judge at the bar getting a sample of another pisco. I go up and get one for myself. It's much smoother. So I buy a bottle. Not sure how much it cost. Pretty sure it’s worth whatever it was.
We return to Vitor, the lush valley between barren hills, where we visit our second winery, Hacienda del Abuelo.
No vineyard tour, this time. We go straight to the winery. Here we find more plastic tubs. But also some stainless-steel vessels. And, in a special room, earthenware jars, some dating back to the 1850s. Still in use. That's so damn cool.
Sampling time. First, a wonderful malbec. A really top-class wine. But I'm after pisco. Which I get next. It's not as good as the one I bought. But I notice that they do have a posher one. I buy a bottle of that. They don't take cards, so I pay with euros. Getting Peruvian sols as change.
I hang out for a while with Gabi and the other Brazilians. We drink some more of the lovely malbec, as someone has bought a bottle and opened it. Really wonderful stuff. The best red wine I’ve drunk in quite a while.
We return to La Joya, where we're having lunch at Musuq Restautant Campestre. A cavernous modern restaurant set back from the main road through town.
I’m having roast pork and noodle cake. Another big portion and I can't finish it all. There's Lager and chicha (non-alcoholic) to drink with it. The Lager is OK: cold and refreshing. I buy a bottle of Pilsner, which I share around.
The final winery is also in La Joya. Torre de La Gala. Our visit starts with quite a long talk in Spanish by the owner. Who looks a good bit older even than me. But still pretty spritely.
We're given samples of a sweet red wine. Which I don't really care for. Just way too sweet, for me.
I'm getting pretty tired and find places to sit as we tour the winery. When we get to the pisco room, I sit next to a plastic vat. I'm considering pouring myself a glass when an employee comes up and fills a jug from the vat. And pours everyone samples. It's not really a sipping pisco, but OK.
Visit over, I nip to their shop and buy their poshest pisco. I say buy. They only accept cash. Of which I don’t have enough. Someone called Andre kindly pays for it. Thanks, mate!
The sun is just setting when we leave. The journey in the dark will be fun. On the way out I noticed lots of crosses and little shrines on the roadside. Each, presumably, a spot where someone has died. There are an awful lot of them.
At a certain point, traffic comes to a standstill One lane is closed as a lorry has tipped onto its side. Confirming how dangerous this road is.
Justin and Ruvani break open a bottle of pisco and share it me and Dan. Quite a nice one. It helps the journey go quicker. And the chat to flow along with the pisco.
We get back at 20:30 and have to walk up a fucking hill. I must be getting used to the altitude because I make it up without fucking dying.
Some of the others go to the hotel bar. I just go to my room and sip on pisco while watching the latest episode of Taskmaster. Then slip off to slumber.
Musuq Restautant Campestre
G552+3W9,
Arequipa 04405.
I rise at 7:15 and have a shower. I’m so disciplined.
I head for breakfast at 8:30. And have the same as yesterday: scrambled egg and cheese, followed by fruit. I eat alone as there's no-one I really know that well breakfasting.
I try on my competition shirt, which I need to wear today for the group photo. I can barely get it on.
At 9:15 I start walking to Plaza de Armas, where the group photo is being taken. It’s a chance to see the old city in daylight. And rather lovely it is. Mostly colonial buildings in the local stone. Quite austere, other than the occasional decorative flourish around the doors and windows. Few more than a single storey, and their upper floors look like later additions.
Lots of tiny shops line the street. Many travel agents. But also cramped groceries, bakeries, laundries, and restaurants. Not particularly touristy, other than the odd souvenir shop.
Heading towards the square, there's some schoolkids’ parade. Not sure what it’s about. I watch that while we do the inevitable hanging around.
The square is just as beautiful in the daylight. Though quite a bit warmer. And with a few people selling tourist tack. Not in an aggressive way, thankfully. Not too many of them, either. Compared to Amsterdam, it seems very untouristy here.
It doesn’t take too long to get the required snaps of the judges in front of the cathedral. I’ll be glad to take off my judge’s shirt as it’s so tight.
While we’re waiting for the Ubers to take us to the judging location, we’re next to a woman in traditional dress with an alpaca and a baby alpaca. Very sweet. I send a photo to Alexei. He’s been asking if I’ve seen any Inca stuff.
At the judging location, I change back into a normal shirt. The judge’s one was too tight for comfort. Then someone comes up with a new one for me. Much large. Big enough to fit my manly curves.
I'm judging with Dan Calzaretta and Ruvani de Silva.
We kick off with ten American Pale Lagers. Pretty bland, for the most part. A couple of OK ones. We manage to agree on the medals without too much argument.
We’re done pretty quickly and can decant for lunch. By the raging torrent that is the Rio Chili.
There's rather nice roast pork today. Quite a large portion: two thick slabs. I don't manage to finish everything. I do eat all the pork, it being dead yummy. Just my sort of thing.
The afternoon starts with a Hazy IPA medal round
We come to a consensus remarkably quickly. All having the same beers in our top two. Only the bronze medal requires some discussion.
We're done by 15:10. Unfortunately, I'll be judging Best of Show. Bum. We have an hour to wait before that kicks off. Who knows how long it will take?
I fiddle on the internet for that hour. Which makes the time go quickly.
We're doing a pre-Best of Show of malty beers. Ruvani is with me again. It's been fun judging with her. She's enthusiastic and has a good palate. Way better than the leather one I'm lumbered with.
We have ten beers of very different styles. Ranging from Helles to Imperial Stout. A couple of dodgy ones. And some really good ones. Interestingly enough, the Helles and the Imperial Stout are our top two beers. The Stout just gets the nod.
We're finished at 17:10, which isn't too bad. I get an Uber with Ruvani back to the hotel. I've seen her on the internet and interacted a little electronically, but never met in person. I really enjoyed judging together and getting a chance to chat.
That's what these trips are all about: making new friends. You can never have too many friends.
Almost done with my Jura, I need to make an expedition to the shops for some pisco.
There's an event tonight at 20:00. But we need to be up early tomorrow. The pisco bus leaves at 6:30. I need to go to bed early.
I head down the street to the shops as soon as I'm back in the hotel. I'm heading for a supermarket. On the way I spot a little shop and nip in there instead. I pick up a couple of bottles of pisco. And bananas and crisps. All I need for tonight’s feast.
Bed is early. 9:30. Giving me 8 hours before I need to rise.
Pisco is now my bedtime chum. A very early bedtime chum.
| 1852 Allsopp Arctic Ale | ||
| pale malt | 20.25 lb | 69.42% |
| wheat malt | 1.75 lb | 6.00% |
| crystal malt 80 L | 1.67 lb | 5.73% |
| amber malt | 1.67 lb | 5.73% |
| brown malt | 1.33 lb | 4.56% |
| chocolate malt | 0.75 lb | 2.57% |
| Demerera sugar | 1.75 lb | 6.00% |
| Goldings 60 mins | 6.75 oz | |
| Goldings 30 mins | 4.25 oz | |
| Goldings 15 mins | 2.25 oz | |
| Goldings dry hops | 12.00 oz | |
| OG | 1130 | |
| FG | 1032 | |
| ABV | 12.96 | |
| Apparent attenuation | 75.38% | |
| IBU | 81 | |
| SRM | 34 | |
| Mash at | 156º F | |
| Sparge at | 168º F | |
| Boil time | 60 minutes | |
| pitching temp | 67º F | |
| Yeast | Irish Ale (Wyeast Labs #1084) | |
I rise at 7:15. And have a shower. I need a good clean after all that travelling yesterday.
I breakfast with Claudia, Sandy Cockerham and Gabi Demozzi. It's an OK buffet. Scrambled eggs, but no bacon. I have cheese instead. And fruit, obviously. I wouldn’t want to drop dead from lack of vitamins.
The breakfast room fronts onto the rather pretty garden, with many bright flowers and a small swimming pool. The small terrace is rather pleasant in the early morning sun. And sun is what you get every morning.
We take a taxi to the judging location, where we hang around for an hour before judging kicks off. Which is quicker than usual. If judging in South America has taught me one thing it’s patience. And to always have your laptop powered up.
Diego Perrotta hasn't turned up, so I'm just judging with Gabi. Which is fine by me, as we're old mates.
First category is Grape Ales and Fruit beers. A five-beer flight. Two pretty good ones and a couple of quite bad ones. Tasting pretty weird. We do manage to award three medals. These are homebrew, incidentally.
We're done before 11:30 and have a free hour before lunch. Which I use to write this rubbish. Well, some of it. I’ll add loads of lies when I get home. (That’s what the kids believe I do.)
The judging location Restaurante Sillustani, is right next to the river. Which is, er, rather fierce. Not that wide, but very swift. Maybe we'll go rafting later.
I have lunch with Sandy, Gabi and Dan Calzaretta, an American judge. We have to wait quite a while for our food. Which is pretty decent: a large chicken filet with chips and boiled veg. We sit outside, next to the raging river. Which is quite noisy.
Ignacio Lomeli is judging with us after lunch. We start with American Pale ales, a set of six. These are commercial brews. Mostly OK.
Followed by British styles. I hate them all. It's fun finding ones to award medals to.
Because we've been quite quick, we're given a bonus round of a homebrew medal flight. They’re various types of IPA. Including some pretty good ones. Awarding medals really is fun this time.
Thankfully, it’s been a quite light judging day. Fewer than thirty beers. We're done by 17:15. Which is great. I'm back in my room by 17:45. And I'm free until 20:00. What could I possibly do? I know: fiddle around on the internet, as I always do.
I ask for a cup at reception and they point me to the bar. Where I pick up two thick plastic glasses. Now I can drink like a civilised person, not straight from the bottle. How can you have no glasses in a hotel room?
I set off for Servus just before 20:00. I bump into Gabi outside reception and we walk down together. Via Plaza de Armas, which is beautiful.
It’s a typical colonial square, with an impressively large cathedral filling one side and two-storey colonnades occupying the other three. All built of the pale grey volcanic stone. Massive palm trees dominate the gardens at the centre of the square.
People bustle around, all dressed in overcoats on account of the evening chill. The lights lend it a magical, fairytale atmosphere. It’s hard to believe that we’re in the southern hemisphere.
I should mention the unusual climate here. The temperature is the same every day: 23º C maximum, 7º C minimum. And when I say every day, I mean all 365 days of the year. That’s what you get for being in the tropics, but in a desert at 2,300 metres. The difference between summer and winter? In the summer it occasionally rains.
Our destination isn’t far from the square: Servus. A brewpub in a rambling old building also built from the local grey volcanic stone. We're barely through the door when Silvia gives us a beer from her brewery. Which is quite nice. Both the gesture and the beer.
When I've finished that, I go to the bar to get another beer. It takes a while as they're very busy. Eventually, I get an IPA. Which is OK. A bit lacking in aroma, though.
There's no sign of the promised pizzas. Gabi gets fed up of waiting and heads off in search of food. I finish my beer and get an Uber back to the hotel. I can’t be arsed to look for a restaurant.
Not having had any pizza, I pick up a sandwich and a bag of cheese and onion crisps in reception. That will be my tea. I’m glad I got the crisps, as they liven up a very bland sandwich.
I go to the hotel bar in search of a pisco sour nightcap. Unfortunately, they're just closing. It's only 22:00. Instead, I go to my room where Jura is waiting for me. We take a stroll together down the sleepy-town path.
Restaurante Sillustani
JF97+2W2, Puente Chilina Magnopata Yanahuara,
Cercado De Arequipa 04017.
Servus
C. Palacio Viejo 325,
Arequipa 04001.
https://www.atom.bio/servusaqp
Continuing my series on UK Lager, I look at the 1970s, the decade Lager really broke through.
Just back from a few days in Folkestone. As part of my annual trip with Mikey.
"But weren't you just in Peru?" I hear you ask? Yes. I arrived back on Tuesday afternoon and on Thursday morning headed off in Mikey's car. A short turnaround, I know. But one that didn't work too badly. All I had to do was sit in the car until we got to the UK. Not exactly challenging.
I won't go into the trip blow-by-blow. As we didn't do anything particularly interesting. Mostly, we were just hanging around in 'Spoons or the chippy. Those two pillars of UK culture.
The most shocking event was on Thursday, when the East Kent Arms closed at 20:30. What the fuck? When does a pub close that early?
I didn't realise how big Halloween was in the UK. Loads of people in fancy dress on Saturday night. We met some rather nice young people in 'Spoons who were all dressed up. They were wondering where the drinks they'd ordered were. Before twigging that they'd ordered them for the right table number, but in a different 'Spoons. One in Southampton, where one of them is studying. I'm surethat it must happen quite frequently.
You probably want to know about the beer that I drank. I hand a couple of really nice pints of Tim Taylor Landlord in the Pullman. Some OK and some Dodgy Greene King Abbot in 'Spoons. A pint of Wobbly Bob in "Spoons that was just about OK. And that was about it.
Because even fewer pubs seem to be serving cask in Folkestone. Chambers, the cask specialist, has closed. Which had a big impact on choice. I ended up drinking espresso martinis in 'Spoons when the Abbot was tasting weird.
I had two chippy meals: fish, chips and peas; pie and peas. Really good stuff. Even the peas, which are often shit in the South.
We had some rather nice Vietnamese food, too. Accompanied by a Saigon beer. Allowing me and Mikey to reminisce about our time in Saigon earlier in the year.
I'll be back to Peru trip reports tomorrow. Luckily, I took extensive notes.
On 21st November at 12:00 in the Butcher's Tears shop on Witte de Witstraat I'll be celebrating reaching my 8th decade.
There should be three historic beers to try: 1955 Lees Best Mild, 1956 Lees Strong Ale and 1832 Truman XXXX.
Everyon is welcome to come along. Just remember to bring me a present.
It's a pretty early start. My flight is at 9:55 and I don't want to rush at the airport. I’ll get in some lounge time, too. I wake just after six with Dolores wishing me happy birthday.
I don't bother with breakfast. I can get that in the lounge. I order an Uber at 7:00. It takes a little while to come.
The motorway isn't too bad. But there's a long queue in the approach to the drop-off point at Schiphol. We wait more than 5 minutes there.
I pick the wrong check-in desk and have to wait a while as someone makes weird inquiries about a wheelchair. It’s a woman in her early twenties who seems perfectly mobile.
Security is always a doddle with priority. And the queue isn't too bad for passport control. I'm through in 10 minutes and headed for the duty free. Where I get a Jura white oak cask. That being the cheapest single malt.
The lounge is reasonably crowded. But I can still find a table. First destination is the bar for my habitual brace of whiskies. Both doubles. They seem to have changed their policy on doubles. Which is cool.
Next stop is the hot food counter. I'm here at the best time: breakfast. I get an omelette, scrambled egg, mushrooms and two rostis. I know they’re dead good.
I don't have a huge amount of lounge time. About 40 minutes. I need to make the best of it. Which means another three rostis and two more whiskies.
I head to the gate about an hour before departure time. I know it's going to take about 15 minutes to walk there. My flight is at D47: about as far from the lounge as you can get.
Zone 1 starts boarding just about when I arrive. I only need to wait a couple of minutes before it’s my turn.
The flight is pretty full. Despite that boarding is completed in plenty of time. It's just the 10-minute taxi to the polderbaan that delays us.
I get stuck into the films straight away. Starting with The Incredibles 2. Which is pretty good.
I actually finish all the first meal: chicken, green beans and spuds. Along with a red wine, of course.
Next is a long German film with a weird title. I don't bother with English subtitles and can understand it perfectly well. Othe than a brief appearance by someone with a thick Bavarian accent.
About halfway, we're served a sandwich. A not particularly inspiring one. With which I drink a red wine.
My Daughter is a Zombie is a Korean film. For which I do need subtitles. It's not bad. And a change from all the American films. Like The Proposal, which is so fucking predictable. I finish with sitcom The Mick. Which is just about OK.
The last meal is a small pizza. I manage two bites. It isn't very appetising. I only finish the chocolate pudding.
We land about on time. Immigration is quick, as I join the oldie people queue. As always in South America, oldies like me get priority. I pick up my bag and head landside. Where I check in my bag again. So much fun.
Joining the priority queue, there's no waiting at security. And soon I'm airside again.
I have to wait a while before the gate is announced for my flight. I sit in a large food court area. First having bought few miniatures of pisco and a bottle of cola. Which I combine into one of my “special” drinks. Which I proceed to drink. What else would you do with a drink? Especially a “special” one.
When my gate is announced, I troll out there. It's C17. Also, about as far away as you can get. All the seats are taken when I get there. I have to stand around for a while. Before boarding first with my oldie advantage.
Not much to report about the flight. It lasts just an hour. And there's no drinks service.
My bag comes out almost as soon as I get to the carousel. In a jiffy, I'm outside and wondering where my lift is. I message Silvia and she arranges an Uber for me.
The only problem now is working out where the pickup point is. A helpful traffic policeman finds my Uber for me. And off I go.
The ride is so bouncy, that I think the road is cobbled. It isn't.
I'm not taken to the hotel but the location of the judges' reception. Well, not exactly to it. I'm dropped on a square and the driver tells me "It's over there." Pointing vaguely at a restaurant. I message Silvia and she comes to fetch me. The actual location is just around the corner.
Lots of judges are there. Several whom I met in Medellin a couple of weeks ago. a pisco sour is thrust into my hand. And everyone sings Happy Birthday, which is slightly embarrassing.
After another pisco sour, I get an Uber to the hotel with a Columbian judge.
I'm happy to be in my room. It's 22:00. I left home 21 hours go.
After a little Jura and some internet fiddling, I get my head down.
Not much in the way of aroma. Mostly just metallic. With a touch of oxidation. It's very full in the mouth, Some dark fruit flavours and liquorice. It finished bitterweet. Very nice. I think the extra alcohol helps.
I saved the Brand until last because I expected it to be the best. And I was right. A pretty decent beer, full of malty goodness.
This will have been brewed at one of Heineken's breweries, as the Brand plant has closed. Sadly. They brewed some fairly decent Lagers.
Hopefully I can find some more Bokbiers. Especially Amstel Bok.
A couple of times in the past I attempted to blind taste all a seasons's Bokbiers. What fun that was. Well, not really, given how horrible some of them were. I doubt I'll ever attempt that again.
It being the season, I trolled down my Local Dirk van den Broek to pick up a few examples. A bit of a disappointing selection. Only five. Three of them from Grolsch. One from Heineken and one from AB Inbev. All beers from global brewers, then.
I'm kicking off with Grolsch Herfstbok, their original Bokbier. I don't have high hopes for this. I wouldn't usually buy it, because it's way too sweet. Or at least has been all the times I've tasted it in the past.
Here I go. It smells a bit oxidised, if I put my beer-judging hat on. A bit of fruit, too, which is OK. Very sweet in the mouth. Some dark fruit flavours and even a touch of liquorice. It finishes a bit harshly bitter and with an odd metallic taste. It has some good features, in a rather disjointed whole. Not my thing. And the finish is quite unpleasant.
While Dolores finishes off the Hefstbok, I've moved on to another Grolsh offering, Winterbok.
It smells very differnt from its sibling. Spicy. No surprise, as it is spiced. Cinnamon, I think, dominates. Mmm. Lots of cloves in the mouth and lots of herbal bitterness. Unlike Herfstbok, there's not much sweetness. I like it more than Herfstbok. ThoughI suspect that all the spices would get annoying after a glass or two.
I may as well get on with the third Gulpener beer, Dunkel Weizenbock. Which, interestingly, has the name of the beer in German.
Spicy aroma. Mostly cloves, which I suppose is from the wheat beer yeast. Quite wheaty in the mouthg with more spice. Easily the best of the three. And one I don't think they brewed themselves. I seem to remember that their Weizen was brewed somewhere in Germany.
That's enough Bokbier for today. Time for some whisky.
| Youngs boiling and fermentation in 1945 | ||||||
| Beer | Style | boil time (hours) | Pitch temp | max. ferment-ation temp | length of fermen-tation (days) | |
| A | Mild | 1.5 | 1.5 | 59º F | 66.75º F | 6 |
| X | Mild | 1.5 | 1.5 | 58º F | 66.5º F | 7 |
| PA | Pale Ale | 1.75 | 1.75 | 58º F | 68º F | 7 |
| PAB | Pale Ale | 1.75 | 1.75 | 59º F | 67.25º F | 7 |
| Average | 1.63 | 1.63 | 58.50º F | 67.13º F | 6.75 | |
| Sources: | ||||||
| Young's brewing records held at Battersea Library, document numbers YO/RE/1/13. | ||||||
| 1910 Lees Bitter | ||
| pale malt | 9.75 lb | 82.42% |
| flaked maize | 0.33 lb | 2.79% |
| No. 2 invert sugar | 1.75 lb | 14.79% |
| Fuggles 125 min | 1.25 oz | |
| Fuggles 60 min | 1.25 oz | |
| Hallertau 30 min | 1.25 oz | |
| Cluster dry hops | 0.125 oz | |
| OG | 1055 | |
| FG | 1016 | |
| ABV | 5.16 | |
| Apparent attenuation | 70.91% | |
| IBU | 44 | |
| SRM | 8 | |
| Mash at | 153º F | |
| Sparge at | 166º F | |
| Boil time | 125 minutes | |
| pitching temp | 61º F | |
| Yeast | Wyeast 1318 London ale III (Boddingtons) | |
Every time I go on a trip, I have to queue up nine or ten blog posts. I'm writing this almost two weeks in advance. One of seven posts that I've written today. I can be very diligent when I need to be. Tomorrow I'll be recording a few videos to tide my YouTube channel over while I'm away. How did I ever fit in a full-time job?
Anyway, time to get on with the actual post. All eight sentence of it. Enjoy.
Continuing with the hops, there’s not a huge amount to report.
Just the two types of hops in every beer. Both English, of course. Kent from the 1943 harvest and Sussex from 1944. Fairly fresh, then. Pretty much the same as in earlier war years. And that’s about all I can string out of this meagre information. Sorry about that.
| Youngs hops in 1945 | |||
| Beer | Style | hop 1 | hop 2 |
| A | Mild | Kent 1943 | Sussex 1944 |
| X | Mild | Kent 1943 | Sussex 1944 |
| PA | Pale Ale | Kent 1943 | Sussex 1944 |
| PAB | Pale Ale | Kent 1943 | Sussex 1944 |
| Sources: | |||
| Young's brewing records held at Battersea Library, document numbers YO/RE/1/13. | |||
| 1910 Lees XXXP | ||
| pale malt | 6.50 lb | 50.98% |
| brown malt | 1.75 lb | 13.73% |
| crystal malt 60 L | 1.75 lb | 13.73% |
| black malt | 1.25 lb | 9.80% |
| flaked maize | 0.25 lb | 1.96% |
| No. 2 invert sugar | 1.250 lb | 9.80% |
| Fuggles 120 min | 0.75 oz | |
| Fuggles 60 min | 0.50 oz | |
| Fuggles 30 min | 0.50 oz | |
| OG | 1059 | |
| FG | 1019 | |
| ABV | 5.29 | |
| Apparent attenuation | 67.80% | |
| IBU | 21 | |
| SRM | 47 | |
| Mash at | 152º F | |
| Sparge at | 168º F | |
| Boil time | 120 minutes | |
| pitching temp | 61º F | |
| Yeast | Wyeast 1318 London ale III (Boddingtons) | |
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