Lots more judging

I rise at 6:30 after a shit sleep. A shower livens me up a little. A little.

A coffee helps some, too. But I only get the one before the coffee machine breaks. Bum.

My breakfast main course is scrambled egg and cheese once more. I’m sitting with Jose again.

“I see you’re trying the white cheese. Do you like it?” He asks.

“Yes. Much better than the yellow stuff.”

Which it is.  Like cottage cheese formed into a solid lump. Still very soft. The yellow cheese is very plasticy. And pretty tasteless.

The judges’ bus is at 8:00 again. Sort of. It’s close enough. We’re in South America, after all. No point in getting hung up on exact timings.

I’m on table 7 today. Where Suzanne Schalow is captain. The other judge is Alan Iglesias, a brewer from Argentina.

We start with a mini-BOS of American Malt Liquor. A couple of OK ones. Quite an alcoholic start to the day. Not totally sure about what a Malt Liquor is. Other than a strongish Pale Lager.

Our scores are quite a long way apart. With mine being particularly low. I’m rather a mean scorer. If beers have faults, which many do I’m pretty ruthless.

More Lager next. Slightly weaker stuff: Dortmunder Export. There are a couple of pretty good ones. Rather surprisingly. Pale Lagers are difficult to get right. And quite fragile. Which isn’t great when beer isn’t kept refrigerated the whole time.

We jump up in strength again. With Double IPA. Pretty good generally. With a couple of outstanding beers. Though they’re quite hard on my tastebuds.

There’s no letting up on the strength: English Barley Wine. A couple of real crackers in this set. As I can’t stand wasting good beer, I finish off the best samples.

American Imperial Porter. Another really good flight.

Lunch. I’m not particularly hungry. Not surprising, given all the big, chewy beers I’ve tasted this morning. At least we kept up a good pace. We got through five decent-sized flights. Have we caught up yet? Probably not. I eat some stuff simply as ballast rather than with any great joy.

Back to judging. Fuck. It’s Irish Red Ale. Even less fun to judge than non-alcoholic beers. The six or seven times I’ve judged them, I’ve never had one that was even half decent. This lot aren’t quite as terrible as usual. A couple are almost drinkable. Almost. Out of twelve samples.

Czech Dark Lager. four samples, one quite good.

Followed by an hour wait. Then more flights in quick succession.

Belgian style Witbier. six samples. Some OK ones.

Wild Beer. five samples. Mostly with Brettanomyces. Quite a difficult flight to judge.

West Coast IPA. Eleven samples. Eleven fucking samples! After all the strong beers we’ve judged today. My palate has gone. They all taste the same. Which I hate. I always want to do justice to the beers I’m judging. I defer to the other judges.

I've already packed away my laptop, when we're asked to judge another flight. Aargh. I thought I'd escaped. Fuck. Luckily, it’s a very small flight. Of a style so obscure, even I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like.

Breslau-Style Schoeps. Two samples.

And we’re really done. Just to make sure, I pack up quickly and head for the exit. Don’t want them dragging me into judging yet another flight.

I'm so fucking knacked. We’ve judged so many beers today. And lots of strong ones. I never want to drink beer again. I’m so done with it. I just want to drink some cachaça and sleep.

Back at the hotel, I'm tempted to skip the barbecue at Captain Brew and just get some food from the supermarket. Then I see that it isn't open. I'd forgotten it was Sunday. Barbecue it is, then.

I'm half way through arranging an Uber when another judge asks me if I want a lift. That's handy.

There's the lovely smell of cooking meat when I enter. That perks me up a bit. I get myself an IPA. One brewed here. It’s perfectly fine. Hitting the spot without pummelling it to death. With enough alcohol to keep my interest.

I’m offered a taste of Einbecker Maibock which a German judge has brought over. Then a Bayerischer Bahnhof Gose. 

"It's not sour enough." I complain. As usual. I can be a real pain in the arse. I should learn to keep my gob shut. Particularly when people are giving me beer.

I find myself a seat. because, well, I'm well knacked. Platters of meat appear. And are quickly consumed.

I get chatting to Matteo, who’s been organising the beers for our judging table. A really nice bloke, full of energy. As young people tend to be.

Someone brings around Paraguayan rum. Which is very nice. And nicely alcoholic.

I leave a little after 21:00. Back in the hotel, I sip dodgy cachaça and watch the rest of Match of the Day. And crash out not much after 10. I need sleep.



Captain Brew
R. Marieta de Castro Santos, 135
Altamira, Uberlândia
MG, 38411-004.



Disclaimer: Concurso Brasileiro de Cervejas paid for my hotel, some meals and some drinks during my stay in Uberlandia. 

 

A video of my time in Uberlandia.