What are beer houses?

A short video about the forgotten other type of pub: the beer house. Pubs which were only allowed to sell beer.

 

Back to Amsterdam

I rise at 7:30. I start packing and write up notes for the last two days. I couldn’t be arsed yesterday and am now rather behind. Bad Ronald.

I breakfast with Chris at 9:00. Just for a change, I go for a bowl of fruit. Getting a bit bored with the bacon and egg sandwich.

A car to take me to the airport is scheduled at 10:00. I pack my stuff and check out at 9:45. I wait at one of the outdoor tables with Chris.

It’s quite a long drive to the airport. Up into the hills again. The weather isn’t great: cloudy with intermittent rain.

I roll up at the Copa Air check-in desk.

“Have you paid for a check-in bag?” The nice lady at the desk asks.

“I get one for free.” I reply.

She doesn’t argue. For which I’m very grateful. 

At immigration, another nice young lady grabs hold of me, leads to an automatic gate and shown how to use it. They treat us oldies really well in South America.

I go to the duty free and get a bottle of Medellin 8. Andrew will kill me if I don’t bring any Medellin rum back. Some chocolate seems a good idea, too. I also get some coffee.

Great. I’m feeling crap. It feels like I might be catching Chris’s cold. Seeing a chemists, I get some cold medicine. Hopefully, that will make me feel better.

Still having some time, I get myself a coffee and find a seat. Feel better after a while. Is it the medicine or is it the coffee? I don’t really give a shit, as long as I don’t feel so crap.

Or maybe I’m just getting used to the altitude. Here at the airport, it’s over 2,000 metres. Perhaps that’s the reason I was feeling crap.

I’m in boarding group 4. When I troll up at the gate, they’ve already boarded zone 1. But, as an oldie person, I can walk straight on. I really could get used to being old in South America.

The flight is full, but thankfully short. Just as well, given the lack of legroom. Anything much over a hour would start to be agony.

I can’t see any signs for the lounge in Panama City airport. But I spot something on the first floor that looks like a lounge. And it is. Two lounges, to be precise. I have access to the Copa Air one.

It takes a while to get in, as my boarding pass doesn’t have ”Gold” printed on it. Thankfully, I check out. 

A group of women with “Girls weekend away“ T-shirts sits next to me. I wonder where they’re off to? Probably not Amsterdam.

At the bar, there’s Flor de Cana 18 year. That’ll do nicely. 

There’s no hot food, but lots of small sandwiches. And lots of seating. Obviously, I take advantage of the rum. Where the measures are decent, after I ask for just a little ice. I grab a few sandwiches, too.

The gate isn’t too far. Though, I have to wait there standing for longer than I’d like before boarding. My oldie legs can’t do with too much standing.

The flight is packed. As fucking always.

The first meal isn’t too shit. Chicken with mashed spuds. Washed down with red wine.  I get my head down straight after eating. And get a reasonable-ish sleep for a few hours.

  

When the lights come back on ninety or so minutes out of Amsterdam, I watch sone episodes of the Simpsons.

The breakfast is, er, indescribable. Quite literally. It looks like rounds of beef in gravy. Brown. I bite into one round and it’s sweet and doughy. I think it must be pancakes, but I’m not totally sure. I just eat the fruit. And drink orange juice and coffee.

We’re quite a way from passport control “next toilet 250 m” a sign says. Never seen a sign like that in Schiphol before. I wonder if there have been some “accidents”, which prompted the sign.

There’s not much of a queue at the automatic gates. And my bag comes out pretty quickly. I’m soon bouncing along the motorway in a cab.

Dolores, as always, is ready with tea.
 

Let's Brew - 1884 Lees K

There was also a stronger Mild at Lees. With an equally enigmatic name as its weaker sibling U.

This one is very similar in strength to a London X Ale. And relatively dark. Though I’m not totally sure about the colour, as I don’t really know how much black malt was used. The quantity is given as two “canfulls” I’ve guessed that to be about half a quarter. I could well be wrong.

Usefully, the type of sugar is given in the brewing record. Two types, actually. Not that it helps me much. As I’ve no idea what they are. “Audax” and “Burnel” (I think). The second sounds like a manufacturer’s name.

There are lots of hops. An awful lot of hops. Nine types in total. Ba 1878, Ba 1882, Chams 1882, Bur 1882}, Russ 1882, Light 1883, Poperinge 1883, Sussex 1883, Kent 1883. Not sure where they’re all from, though there seem to be quite a few foreign hops. 

1884 Lees K
pale malt	12.50 lb	95.57%
black malt	0.25 lb	1.91%
No. 2 invert sugar	0.33 lb	2.52%
Strisselspalt 180 min	1.50 oz
Hallertau 60 min	1.25 oz
Fuggles 30 min	1.25 oz
OG	1057
FG	1017
ABV	5.29
Apparent attenuation	70.18%
IBU	44
SRM	15
Mash at	149º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	180 minutes
pitching temp	61º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1318 London ale III (Boddingtons)

 

More congressing

I rise at 7:00 as usual. And head downstairs for brekkie just before 8:00.

It's a bacon and egg sandwich again. I’m so boring. With a flat white, the coffee with milk having far too little caffeine. And a bottle of water. I'm worried about getting dehydrated. It was so fucking hot in the congress yesterday.

I'm on third this morning. After Noelle Philips, who's talking about women in UK brewing. Mostly late medieval/early modern. Pretty good stuff. Mostly new for me as

I talk about Irish Porter and Stout. It's not my best performance, as it's so fucking hot. Sweat is running off me. But the audience seems to like it. Or, at least, clap reasonably enthusiastically at the end. I’m quite glad that there are no questions. “Somewhere cooler as soon as possible” is all I can think.

Not having much luck shifting books today. Everyone who wanted the Home Brewer’s Guide bought it yesterday. I’m sure it would be a different story, if I had my other books.

Which are still in customs. Current ETA: soon. I’ll believe that when I have the fuckers in my sweaty hands. And my hands are very sweaty today. Always good to have an extra worry while travelling. If something has to go wrong, I prefer financial worry to breaking a bone.

Lunch is rice and stuff (meat and vegetables), which I eat with Chris, Markus and very little enthusiasm. They’re always fun to chat with. The social contact is why I do all this travelling. Certainly not for the culinary experience.

In the afternoon, Chris and I nip to a nearby offie. Up the hill, but not too far. (Thank fuck. I’m getting well fed up with the hills here.) He asks about the Medellin solera rum. They do stock it. In a beautiful package, but hideously expensive. Far too rich for me. I get a half bottle of Medelin 3 year. Not sure why I don’t buy more. They have a wonderful selection.

This evening's event is in Estación Central 3 Cordilleras, a former brewery. Where the tanks have been converted into seating. Pretty funky. Let’s see how things go.

We’re given some beer tickets. Not going to waste those. I get myself an IPA. Chris leads me to a seat upstairs in one of the fermenters. Which aren’t quite as spacious as the massive London Porter vats. In which they sometimes held dinners parties.

We move to a dance area, where we sit with Michael and John Palmer. The salsa being played is pretty good It almost has me up and dancing. Almost. Then they start playing some dull pop music and the desire to dance disappears. Just as well, probably. Nothing more embarrassing than a geriatric dad on the dancefloor.

Around 22:00 John gets an Uber for him, me and Chris. It's pissing it down. And we get in the wrong car. Which we realise when the driver tries to drop us off in totally the wrong part of town. 

John explains the mistake to the driver and we head off again. This time, in the right direction. It’s quite a way. Through some pretty dodgy-looking areas. I’m glad I’m in a car. Not just because it’s pissing it down still.

I don't stay up long. And don't even have a rum eye-closer. I'm that knacked from a day in the sauna. At least there’s samba again to lull me to sleep.



Estación Central 3 Cordilleras
Cl. 30 #44 176, 
La Candelaria, 
Medellín, 
Antioquia. 

Congressing

I rise at 7:00. And try to shower. Except there's no hot water. I have a very brief cold shower. What a great way to start the day.

It's egg and bacon sandwich time again for breakfast. It's OK and not too big. I get a flat white as it has much more coffee in it than the milky coffee.

I set up with the few books I have at the back of the congress room. Let's see how many I can flog. The other books still haven't cleared fucking customs.

It's hot in the congress room. Fucking hot. The glass roof and lack of ac don't help. For some reason it's much worse than during judging.

Inbetween sweating cobs, I sell a few books. But only a few. I'm sure that I would have shifted more, had more titles been on offer. Oh well. It's only money. At least I have my health. Sort of.

Lunch is in the hotel again. Pasta and mince with toast. I don't eat all of it. I make a rather feeble attempt.

After lunch, it's back to the sauna. This is so much fun. Luckily there's an afternoon excursion. To the Medellin distillery. I'm dead excited, as I love their rum. Andrew will be so jealous.

We're going on a party bus. One with no glass in the windows, seats around the edge and dancing poles. Except It's gone by the time Chris and I get upstairs. Chris rings someone up and the bus returns for us. Phew! I would have hated to miss out.

The distillery is a large industrial complex. Mostly consisting of large warehouses stuffed full of wooden barrels. Oddly, stacked vertically rather than horizontally. There are also some vats which are being used as a sort of solera.

It’s the master blender that shows us around. He’s clearly very proud of the distillery’s products. And with good reason: they are excellent.

140,000 barrels they have, evidently. That’s quite a few. Though, given that they’re ageing the rum for at least three years, they’re going to need a lot.

We're invited to climb some stairs to the top of a large metal vessel to get rum samples. Just scooped directly from the tank. I don't fancy the climb so Chris gets a sample for me.

Samples of the solera rum are also given out. All I can say is “Wow.” Easily one of the best rums I’ve drunk. Just incredibly rich and complex. I wonder how much a bottle costs?

Surprisingly, there’s no gift shop. I was planning on getting a couple of interesting bottles. There is a reason for that. They don’t usually have tours. I realise how lucky I am to have got a glimpse inside the distillery.

Tonight's activity is the party bus to a couple of breweries. I'm feeling knacked and decide to give it a miss. Staying in my room with rum for company.

When I feel peckish, I nip down to the taqueria again. The tacos are dead good. And exactly what I’m craving.

 More rum helps me off to sleep a treat. As I samba silently in my bed.


Fábrica de Licores y Alcoholes de Antioquia
Cra. 50 #12 Sur - 149, 
San Fernando, 
Itagüí, 
Medellín, 
Antioquia.
https://fla.com.co/
 

What is cask Bitter?

Another little video, this time about the proper form of Bitter: cask.

 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1884 Lees U

The earliest Lees brewing is, er, rather idiosyncratic. Where sometimes really important is simply left out. Which makes interpreting them and creating recipes rather challenging.

It’s interesting to stray outside London and see the strength of beers in the provinces. U, Lees base-level Mild, is a good bit lower in gravity than an equivalent London beer. Where an X Ale was in the high 1050ºs

The recipe is simple enough. Just pale malt with a touch of black malt and sugar. And no adjuncts. Which is interesting. While sugar seems to have become pretty universal after the 1880 Free Mash Tun Act, it seems to have taken a while for brewers to pick up adjuncts.

There were lots of hops. Six types in all. Of varying vintages. Two types of "Ba" (Bavarian?) from the 1878 season, German from 1882, Russian from 1882, Dutch from 1883 and Poperinge from 1883. 

1884 Lees U
pale malt	9.25 lb	95.48%
black malt	0.1875 lb	1.94%
No. 2 invert sugar	0.25 lb	2.58%
Strisselspalt 150 min	0.75 oz
Hallertau 60 min	0.75 oz
Hallertau 30 min	0.75 oz
OG	1042
FG	1009
ABV	4.37
Apparent attenuation	78.57%
IBU	25
SRM	12
Mash at	149º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	150 minutes
pitching temp	61.5º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1318 London ale III (Boddingtons)

 

Best of Show

I rise at 8:00 after a good night's kip. I’m getting used to the disco lullaby.

As every morning, I write up notes about yesterday. Not because I’m a diligent little bunny. Because I’m a forgetful fuck. If I wait until I’m home, this trip will just be one long bedtime disco in my memory.

After pottering around in my room for a while, and fiddling with my new phone, I flop downstairs for breakfast at 9:00. Without a great deal of enthusiasm. A standard buffet is so much better. Letting me pretend to be healthy while eating bacon by adding a dash of fruit.

I get an egg and bacon sandwich again. And a milky coffee. Most of the judges are already downstairs judging. I sit by John Palmer and Noelle. We have a pleasant chat. Which is why I do these trips. The social aspects. Meeting people whose eyes don’t glaze over when I blab about 19th-century UK beer taxes. Or are at least polite enough to feign interest.

Waiting for the little shop around the corner to open, I return to my room for a while. Filling the time with fiddling on the internet. I don't have any judging this morning, which is nice. Just Best of Show in the afternoon.

I try to install apps on my new phone. It’s a very frustrating experience. I try to log into my Google account. But it won’t let me, because my phone number is different. I trail through multiple verification levels without ever fucking getting in. I eventually give up.

Modern life can be so fucking rubbish. Why is everything so fucking complicated?

Calm down. I hate getting agitated. Especially when there’s no fucking air-conditioning. I know what can restore me to a state of rest. A rum. A big, fuck-off slug of rum. 

That works. For a while.

Calmed, I pick at my other open sore of worry: the status of my books. Are they out of customs yet? Of course, they fucking aren’t.

At 11:20, I nip down the shop. Where I pick up rum, water and cola. All the essentials. Then return to my room for more internet fiddling. Much less interesting than the filthy-minded amongst you might suppose. I’m just watching crap YouTubes.

Around 13:00, I go downstairs for lunch, sitting with Chris and Mike Hall. It's a bowl of fried rice. Rather dry. I don’t manage to force it all down. I’m starting to long for the ubiquitous buffets of Brazil. Where, at least, you get to choose what you’re eating. Three, four or five carbs.

I roll downstairs afterwards for Best of Show judging. Into the greenhouse. Hoping not to poach in my own sweat.

I'm on the Lager table. We have twelve samples. Which is pretty manageable. I’ve sat on BOS tables with over fifty beers. A fucking nightmare. And why I’ve tended to dodge judging BOS. I’ve literally run away in the past.

Unsurprisingly, as they're all gold medal winners, the twelve beers are pretty decent. We don't have a super-long discussion as we're in fairly general agreement about which are the best beers. An American Light Lager wins. Not my personal favourite, but it was in my top three. An excellent beer and a worthy winner.

I leave the judging room pretty much immediately after we've had the judges' photo taken. It's just too damn hot down here. If I’m going to die of heatstroke, I’d prefer it to be in the comfort and privacy of my own room.

Returning to my room around 15:30, I drink a little rum. Well, quite a lot of rum. I decide to have a bit of a nap.

When I wake up, it's dark. Fuck. We were meant to be getting a bus to the Lardi brewery at 17:30. Bum. I guess I've missed that bus. A bit annoying, as Lardi’s beers, which I sampled at Metropole, are dead good. 

It’s another reminder of how deserved I am of the oldie-people’s special queues. In your early sixties, it’s quite amusing to be given preferential treatment. Given your own delusional self-image of relative youth. When you’re pushing seventy, your knees remind you how very welcome that special treatment is.

Woken and getting peckish, I fetch a taco from the taqueria next door. A beef one. It's pretty good. And only cost a couple of euros. Yum.

After some more leisurely internetting, I turn in just after 22:00. With Colombian rum my slumber companion.
 

What is Keg Bitter?

Another of my little videos, this time about evil Keg Bitter. The stuff I used to studiously avoid, whenm I was younger.

 

Quiet Monday judging

I rise at 6:45 and shower. Then wander downstairs for brekkie.

It was much quieter overnight. And the noise stopped at 1:00. I guess because it was a Sunday.

I am a little hungry and get an egg and bacon sandwich. This being Colombia, the egg is hard fried. The only other time I visited in Colombia, I spent most of the trip in search of a fried egg with a liquid yolk.

I'm judging with Chris Flaskamp and Panamanian Cesar Sanchez. It’s the first time I’ve judged with Chris. Should be fun.

This morning, we're judging homebrewed beers. Starting with American Amber Ale. The first beer is really nice. Unlike the ones that follow.

I check on the status of my books. Still in customs. I hope that they’re released by tomorrow when the congress starts. That’s when I’m supposed to be selling them. This is so frustrating.

We're done at 11:50. The last beer, with honey and ginger, is the pick of the bunch.

We quickly have lunch and then I go with Chris and Markus to Exito, a massive shop that sells everything. Sort of the local equivalent of Asda. Where I pick up a new phone. With a Columbian SIM. Brilliant. Now I can take photos again. I am a few hundred euros light, though. I try to convince myself that I needed a new phone, anyway. I’m almost successful.

The afternoon is all professionally-brewed Belgian styles. It's by far the best flight so far. We award two gold medals, to a couple of very good beers.

We're quick again. Finishing at 16:15. Luckily were not punished for finishing early by being given extra flights. Giving me a little time to chill in my room. Not literally, obviously, there being no aircon. Sweat in my room would be more accurate.

The group photo is scheduled for 17:30. I get down at 17:25 and they've already started. That's weird: starting early in South America. Chris, who arrives on time, misses it completely.

Buses leave for tonight's destination - Torrealta brewery - just before 18:00.  It's quite a drive, up into the hills around Medellin. I'm sure that it's very scenic. not that we can tell, as it's dark.

It takes almost an hour of winding roads to get there.  Mostly uphill. We climb around 1,000 metres, then drop down a few hundred. The brewery lies at around 2,100 metres.

I get myself a Tripel, as the brewery is known for Belgian styles. It’s pretty nice. 

I stare through the huge windows at the brewhouse, drooling slightly. As us nerds are supposed to. Judging by the number of fermenters, they must brew quite a lot of beer.

I sit outside. Then Chris invites me over to what he calls the “gringo table”. (Is it OK to say that?) With Scott, Markus, Shweta, Noelle, Eugene and John Palmer. And Chris, of course. It's all quite jolly.

I'm glad that we were warned to bring warm clothes. It's distinctly chilly up here. Even with the outdoor heaters. It is pretty high up.

Pizza is being served. I'm not too hungry, but force myself to eat a couple of slices. It’s quite nice. And will keep me fuelled for a while.

The plan for buses back at 21:00 and 22:00 falls through when too few want to take the earlier bus. (Obviously, miserable, old twat that I am, I was down for the earlier bus.)  Meaning I won't be back in the hotel before 23:00.

Chris persuades us to move inside. After a while Laeddy comes up to tell me and Scott that we won't be required to judge tomorrow morning. Just for the Best of Show, starting at 14:00. Yippee! The whole morning off.

I'm pretty knacked when we tip onto the bus. Despite only having drunk the one beer. The return journey is a little quicker, as there's less traffic. And we get the splendid sight of Medellin’s sparkling bowl at night.

As I don't have to be up early tomorrow, I stay up watching YouTube a little. Before the Jura gently eases me to slumber.



TorreAlta Cervecería
Don Diego - La Ceja, 
Don Diego, 
Retiro, 
Antioquia. 

Retired

I'm so enjoying being retired. I just wish I'd done it twenty years earlier. Or thirty.

What are the upsides?

1. I don't have to go to work.
2. I have 365 days of holiday a year (366 in leap years). 
3. I don't have an idiot boss.
4. I can spend the afternoon down the pub. 
5. No more emails to answer. 
6. I can get up at whatever time I like.
7. I don't have to go to work.
8. I can spend my time as I choose. 
9. I don't have to interact with idiot colleagues.
10. No more pointless meetings.
11. I don't have to go to work. 

 What are the downsides?

 None that I can think of.

I can thoroughly recommend retirement. The earlier you take it, the better. 

Let's Brew - 1909 Maclay PI 48/-

Maclay didn’t content themselves with brewing one watery Pale Ale. They also had a slightly less watery one, in the form of 48/-. 

It wasn’t a beer that was brewed very often. Probably because it wasn’t very much different from 42/- and 54/-. In fact, a lower degree of attenuation leaves the alcohol content exactly the same as in 42/-.

No fewer than five types of pale malt, two made from Oregon barley, and one each from Tunisia, Romania and Scotland. The Scottish accounting for only half a quarter out of 13.5 quarters.

The grist was essentially the same as all the other Pale Ales. Consisting of pale and amber malts, grits and sugar.

As with all the other Maclay beers, there were lots of different types of hops. Hallertau from the 1905, 1906 and 1907 harvests; Californian from 1907, Farnham from 1908 and Worcester from 1905.

1909 Maclay PI 48/-
pale malt	5.25 lb	66.14%
amber malt	0.1875 lb	2.36%
grits	1.50 lb	18.90%
No. 2 invert sugar	1.00 lb	12.60%
Cluster 120 min	0.50 oz
Hallertau 60 min	0.50 oz
Fuggles 30 min	1.00 oz
Goldings dry hops	0.25 oz
OG	1038
FG	1012
ABV	3.44
Apparent attenuation	68.42%
IBU	28
SRM	6
Mash at	146º F
after underlet	154º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	61º F
Yeast	WLP028 Edinburgh Ale

 

Judging begins

I rise at 7:00. And have a shower to wake myself up properly. Then an eye-opener of rum. The perfect breakfast drink. With enough cola to really kickstart the day.

I slept surprisingly well. Seeing as the disco went on until about 4:00.

Not feeling hungry, I just have a coffee for breakfast. I sit with Chris and Noelle Phillips, a Canadian judge. We have a pleasant chat. That gets me in the mood for some heavy-duty judging.

My judging partners today Carlos Estrada and David Montes, both Columbians. I’m table captain.

We kick off with English Porter/Stout and American Porter/Stout A couple of good ones and some real stinkers. Nothing new there.

Irish Red Ale/Scottish Export comes next. Now here’s a first. One of the Irish Reds isn’t rubbish. Unlike all the other ones I've judged. And I’ve judged dozens of them. The Exports are all shit. I'm guessing none of the brewers has tried a Scottish-brewed version. Now surprise there, really. Most people in the UK haven’t either.

We’re getting through the beers at a reasonable pace. Always a plus, that.

I’ve had some of my Lulu books sent over to sell. I was worried about them arriving on time. No need. They got to Medellin last Friday. But haven’t been delivered yet. Currently stuck in customs. Brilliant.

We're quite late going for lunch. I don't eat that much of mine. And it’s not even that big a meal. I do eat most of the soup but almost none of the rice. 

We had twelve beers this morning and have another twelve this afternoon. Which isn't too crazy. We finish at 17:20. Quite late, considering the small number of beers.

We're supposed to be walking to the Barrica brewpub at 17:30. That's too early for me.  Seeing as I’ve only just finished judging. And no-one will be there on time, this being South America.

Chris messages me and suggests leaving at 18:40. Sounds good to me. Should be about when everyone else goes.

I don't take my wallet with me after yesterday's experience. I just take my credit card in one of my lower shorts' pockets.

On the way down, some bloke starts pestering me with football shirts. I tell him to fuck off. Rather rudely. Which is unlike me. I’m usually very nice. Saturday’s experience has changed me.

Unexpectedly, lots of judges are already in Barrica when we arrive. So much so, that we have trouble finding seats. It's also loud. Very loud. Far too fucking loud. Quite pleasant salsa music, but the volume makes conversation all but impossible. We move outside where conversing is less of a struggle.

I have an American Pale Ale. Which is fine. The food is tortilla chips with various gunk on the top. I eat it very unenthusiastically. And leave a good chunk of it for Chris.

The owner comes around with his favourite rum and pours us a shot each. It's very good. Man, I love Colombian rum. I get a second shot. 

The DJ and another are accompanying the recorded music with percussion. Unfortunately, the bloke on the cowbell can’t keep time. I find his continual missing of the beat irritating almost to the point of physical pain.

Chris suggests that we decant to Metropole, which is just down the street. Where I get myself a rather nice Double IPA. Wonderfully hoppy and not cloying at all. It’s much quieter, too. Without music, other than that drifting down the street from Barrica.

Around 22:00, Chris suggests we have a nightcap on the way back. The uphill walk makes me realise that it's time for bed. I skip the nightcap and return to the hotel. Only pausing to buy a bottle of rum.

I have a shot or two of hotel whisky and then crash out. It's only just 23:00. Meaning I can get a good 8 hours kip.



Barrica Cervecería
Cl. 9 #43B 22, 
El Poblado, 
Medellín, 
Antioquia.
https://www.barricacerveceria.com/


Metropole Beer Lab
Cra 43C #9 - 03, 
El Poblado, 
Medellín, 
Antioquia.
 

Medellin rambling

I rise just after 7. No trouble getting up in the morning when you travel west.

I head to reception before breakfast. I have an important request.

“Can you move me to a quieter room?”

“Which room are you in?”

“402.”

“You’re already on the quiet side of the hotel.”

Fuck me. I wonder what the noisy side is like?

Quite a different breakfast. No buffet, for once. There are five options. At least, for free. I go for a bowl of fruit, healthy bastard that I am. With a milky coffee. Which sets me up nicely for the day.

After breakfast I bump into Chris. Always good to see him. we arrange to go to Barrica brewpub at 13:00.

I drop by the nearest convenience store. But it's shut. Fuck. I'll have to go back later. The walk back up the hill, though short, is steep enough to be quite annoying. I hate hills so much.

Back in my room, I see on the internet that the convenience store opens at 11:00. I was there at 10:50. I laze in my room for a while before returning to the shop. Where they have what I was looking for: Medellin rum. Which I know from my time in Cartagena is dead good. I get a bottle of the 8-year-old. What luck that they sell it here in Medellin.

I bump into Chris on the way back. He's still waiting to check in. He suggests that we go to the Barrica brewpub in 15 minutes. Which is fine by me. 

It's about a 10-minute walk there. All downhill. Several people pester us on the way. One bloke trying to flog a Colombian football shirt gets right in my face. It takes ages to brush him off. A couple of minutes later, when Chris asks me to check the route on my phone, I realise why he was so close and persistent: he nicked my phone. The cunt.

Before drinking, we drop by a nearby restaurant to get some food to eat in the brewpub. It's a flat bread with a lump of cheese in it. Quite nice. Chris tells me that it’s typically Colombian.

Not the best start to my stay. Though a nice 9% ABV Stout makes me feel a little better. As it always does. I’d take a photo of it. Except some cunt nicked my phone.

There was supposed to be a judges’ event here. No-one else has come. So far. Until we are leaving and a group of four other judges arrive. How’s that for timing?

The walk back isn’t much fun. Not just on account of the vibes. It’s all uphill. Not all that steep, at the start. But a good kilometre, all uphill. A rise of 60 metres. I take it pretty slowly.

I laze around in my room for a while. With some Medellin rum for company. It makes me feel a little better. I try not to get too annoyed about the phone. It was pretty old and, realistically, pretty much worthless. It’s just the inconvenience and the loss of photographs.

The welcome dinner is downstairs in the hotel. Which is pretty handy. Me being a lazy git and all. I don’t really feel like walking around the streets of Medellin just now.

They have a decent IPA on draught. Into which I get stuck. Chatting with Shweta, Chris and others. There are plenty of judges that I know. Mike Hall I only saw a couple of weeks ago in Brussels.

There isn't really a meal. Just snacky bits of food. Which I can't be arsed to eat. Maybe stress is affecting my appetite. Or I’m just knacked. It could be that.

I don't stay up too late. It's a fairly early start tomorrow. And it’s been quite an annoying day.

Outside the disco is in full swing. They’re playing some cumbia today. Dead cool music. Fuck me, I recognise this number. A really good one. Though I would prefer to be lying here in silence.

Medellin rum is my sleepy-time chum. With a musical accompaniment of salsa.


Barrica Cervecería
Cl. 9 #43B 22, 
El Poblado, 
Medellín, 
Antioquia.
https://www.barricacerveceria.com/
 

What is Nourishing Stout?

 Now I'm back from my travels, I can bash out some more videos. This on is about Nourishing Stout.

 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1909 Maclay Strong Ale

Top of the tree at Maclay was their Strong Ale. A beer which, if it were sold in England, would probably have been called Scotch Ale.

In a glimpse of what would happen after WW I, this was parti-gyled with a Pale Ale. 54/- PI, to be precise. Between the wars, everything was parti-gyled together at Maclay. 6d, 7d and 8d Pale Ale and Strong Ale were brewed together in every possible combination.

This was a slightly unusual parti-gyle, in that the hopping is different for the two beers. Implying that the Strong Ale was all first wort. Which, given this beer’s strength, shouldn’t really be a surprise. I wonder if the 54/- PI got any first wort?

Unsurprisingly, the recipe is the same as for the Pale Ales. Pale and amber malt, along with grits and sugar.

This wouldn’t be Maclay if there weren’t loads of hops. Hallertau from the 1907 and 1908 harvests, Californian from 1907 and two English types, both from 1908. 

1909 Maclay Strong Ale
pale malt	13.00 lb	64.20%
amber malt	0.50 lb	2.47%
grits	4.25 lb	20.99%
No. 2 invert sugar	2.50 lb	12.35%
Cluster 120 min	2.00 oz
Hallertau 60 min	2.00 oz
Goldings 30 min	4.00 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.50 oz
OG	1096
FG	1031
ABV	8.60
Apparent attenuation	67.71%
IBU	79
SRM	12
Mash at	146º F
after underlet	154º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	WLP028 Edinburgh Ale

 

 

South America bound

The start of the day isn't too rushed. My flight isn't until 13:00.

The airport is quite busy. The normal security queue is pretty long. Thankfully, I don’t have to go through that. Rather surprisingly, there's no queue at all at passport control. I breeze straight through. 

Once airside, I go to the duty free and get the cheapest malt whisky I can find: Jura white oak cask. Then it's on to the KLM lounge.

The good news is that they're serving doubles today.  Hooray. Soon I have a pair of doubles. The warm food looks a bit crap. It really is a total lottery, really, what warm food they’ll have I just get some cheese, French bread and bits and bobs.

The lounge is packed and I have trouble finding a seat. Then, 30 minutes later, almost everyone has left. How odd. I have a few more whiskies then head to the gate. Where I don't have to wait long.

The first meal isn't too bad. Chicken and mashed spuds. Along with some red wine. I also grab a couple of extra red wines from the galley. Just to keep myself hydrated, you know.

I watch a few films, as usual. Nothing particularly earth-shattering. Just stuff to pass the time. The Mandelorian and Gogu, Am I OK. And finish off with some Simpson’s episodes.

Despite leaving 10 minutes late, we arrive in Panama City about 20 minutes early. I've about two hours until my connecting flight to Medellin. Most of which I spend walking from terminal 1 to terminal 2. At least it’s well air-conditioned.

I don’t bother looking for a lounge. I haven’t that long to wait. I’m not hungry, either. And I don’t really need any more booze. What have I become?

At the gate, it’s pretty crowded. Though I do manage to find a seat. Thankfully. I really couldn’t be doing with standing up for too long. That’s what being an oldie does to you. I read some Private Eye to entertain myself.

It’s only a short hop to Medellin. Just an hour. The formalities go pretty quickly after landing. When I realise that priority bags have been stacked next to the carousel. And I get into the oldie person queue for immigration.

Landside, I bump into Claudia from Uruguay. We've judged together a couple of times before. We're getting the same lift to the judges’ hotel.

It's quite a drive, a lot of it through long tunnels. When we do emerge, we can gaze down on the bowl of Medellin and its lights. An impressive sight. I wonder what it looks like in daylight?

Once checked in, I go to my room. Which is quite noisy as there seems to be a disco going on just outside my window. It’s also weirdly laid out. With all the lighting close to one of the walls. And no TV. Or air-conditioning.

The disco outside lasts until after 2:00.  Luckily, I'm so knacked that I sleep anyway. A Jura nightcap helps.
 

Medellin September 2026

 A sort video report of my trip to Medellin last week. Very eventful. As you'll soon discover.

 

Breakfasts in Medellin

Still feeling a bit knacked from my trip. So a cheating picture post today.

I know how fascinated you all are about my breakfasts. And I don't like to disappoint. Not a complete set of breakfasts, for reasons you'll discover later.

Medellin was cooler than I expected  Which was just as well, given the lack of air-conditioning. A couple of small problems on the trip. But at least I din't break any bones.

 Note the hard-fried egg, typical of Colombia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Youngs PA hops 1939 - 1945

And what about hops? Well, unsurprisingly, they were all English. All of them. All through the war. With no hops being imported while the conflict was on, the only foreign hops they could have used were ones they already had in stock.

Most of the time, PA contained two types of hops. Though, occasionally, there was only one. The majority of them were from Kent, either simply Kent, East Kent or Mid-Kent. With a few from Worcester and Sussex.

There’s no mention of hop varieties, other than in the case of “BG”. Which, I assume, stands for Brewers Gold.

In a majority of cases, the hops were from the most recent season. Though a few were from a year earlier. And the older ones had usually been cold stored (as indicated by CS). 

Youngs PA hops 1939 - 1945
Date	Year	hop 1	hop 2
27th Jul	1939	Kent 1938 CS	Kent 1938
22nd May	1940	Worcs 1939	Kent 1938
1st May	1941	Sussex 1940	EK 1940 CS
3rd Jul	1941	Worcs 1940	EK 1940
8th Jul	1941	Worcs 1940	EK 1940
23rd Oct	1941	MK 1939 CS	MK 1941
7th May	1942	Worcs 1941
9th Jul	1942	Worcs 1941	EK 1941
20th Oct	1942	Kent 1941
30th Apr	1943	Kent 1942	EK 1942
20th Jul	1943	Wor. 1942	MK "BG" 1942
1st May	1944	MK 1942	MK "BG" 1943
8th May	1944	Kent 1942	MK "BG" 1943
19th Oct	1944	Kent 1943	MK "BG" 1943
8th May	1945	Kent 1943	Sussex 1944
3rd Jul	1945	Kent 1944	MK "BG" 1944
12th Jul	1945	Kent 1945	MK 1944
Sources:
Young's brewing records held at Battersea Library, document numbers YO/RE/1/8 YO/RE/1/9 YO/RE/1/10, YO/RE/1/11, YO/RE/1/12, YO/RE/1/13 and YO/RE/1/14.

 

Let's Brew - 1909 Maclay OMS 63/-

As one of the first Oat Stouts, this is an incredibly important beer. One which inspired a whole generation of beers. This should be interesting.

At just 1062º, it’s not exactly the mightiest of Stouts. It just about scrapes in strong enough for a Single Stout. A pretty poor degree of attenuation – a recurring theme in Scottish Stouts – leaves it only a shade over 5% ABV. Or about the same as a London Porter.

As this was parti-gyled with the DBS which we’ve just seen, I have little to say about the recipe. Other than that, at 20%, the oat content is pretty high. At most brewers, who, admittedly, used flaked rather than malted oats, it was under 5%. Sometimes, not much more than 1%. Purely token amounts. Whereas the quantity of oats in play here would have definitely impacted the character of the finished beer.

The hops are the same as all the other beers. Hallertau from the 1905, Hallertau and 1907 vintages; Californian from 1907, Farnham from 1908 and Worcester from 1905. 

1909 Maclay OMS 63/-
pale malt	7.50 lb	53.10%
black malt	1.50 lb	10.62%
amber malt	0.50 lb	3.54%
malted oats	3.00 lb	21.24%
No. 2 invert sugar	1.25 lb	8.85%
caramel	0.38 lb	2.65%
linseed	0.50 oz
liquorice	0.25 oz
Cluster 120 min	1.00 oz
Hallertau 60 min	1.00 oz
Goldings 30 min	2.00 oz
OG	1062
FG	1024
ABV	5.03
Apparent attenuation	61.29%
IBU	52
SRM	60
Mash at	144º F
after underlet	154º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	60.75º F
Yeast	WLP028 Edinburgh Ale