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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