To Derby!

I don’t have to get up too early. Thankfully. Time to do stuff before heading off. My flight isn’t until 13:30. I jump in a cab a bit before 10:00. I want to get a lounge breakfast. Both solid and liquid.

It seems like just yesterday I was here, I think as I enter Schiphol. Oh, I remember, it was just over 24 hours ago I stumbled off that flight from Brazil. Not feeling that bad, as I hadn’t gone crazy with the boozing and got a good few hours kip.

There’s a bit of a queue at passport control. Maybe 15 minutes. Nothing crazy. I’m in the lounge soon enough. Whisky first, then some food.

The hot food isn’t bad. A decent enough beef stew. With a slice of wholemeal bread. Goes very nicely with my brace of whiskies.

I’m still feeling peckish and go for a second course. After a second course of whiskies, obviously.  Cheese, olives, pickles and brown bread. Quite a lot of cheese. And a boiled egg.

There’s time for a couple more rounds of whisky before I trundle off to my gate. Which is a bit of a walk on D pier. I’m used to getting transcontinental flights from the much handier E and or F piers.

The flight is pretty much one time. Even after spending 10 minutes taxiing to the polderbaan.

It’s a rather long walk to immigration, which involves doubling back. Now there’s a great layout.

Once they’ve looked at my passport, I’m done, not having checked in a bag. I just need to find my way to the tube. It’s a simple ride. As St. Pancras is my destination, which is on the Piccadilly line. It’s about 14:30, when the tube train pulls out.

I’ve arranged to meet Mike Siegel (of Goose Island) at 16:00 in the Betjeman Arms. A pub inside the station. I should be there in time. It’s about an hour or so on the tube. But everything in London always takes much longer than you expect.

I arrive at the station in good time. I just have to get to the mainline station. Not as easy as you might think. The Piccadilly line platforms are several levels down. And the lifts don’t go all the way to the top. You need to take a relay of lifts to escape from the bowels.

When I finally get to street level, I’m right at the back of the station. I decide it’s easier to walk outside along the street, rather than in the crowded station. And I get to walk past the Salt’s Burton Pale Ale stores.

I get to the pub around 15:50. Pausing only to snap a few pics of the beautiful station.

Mike hasn’t arrived yet. So I get myself a pint of Harveys Best. Because I can. It’s not in the greatest of condition.

I haven’t been sitting long when a voice behind me says: “Hello, Ron.”

When I’ve recovered from the shock, I realise that it’s Derek Prentice. Oracle on London brewing and all-round nice bloke. It’s good to see him again.

“How’s the Harveys?” he asks. I let him try it. “That’s funky, even for Harveys.”

Not long after Mike Sigel and Shane roll up. I recommend against the Harveys and they go for Youngs Ordinary. As do I for my second pint.

We haven’t long to hang around. Our train to Derby is at 17:00. After we move on to Youngs Special, Derek asks Mike if he knows where the Youngs beers are currently brewed.

“Maybe in Burton.”

No-one seems to be sure. Which is rather sad.

We say our goodbyes to Derek and make the short walk to our train. Which seems to be on time. There’s a miracle.

I haven’t eaten since my lounge breakfast. Just as well I ate plenty then. When the trolley comes around, I ask:

“Do you have any sandwiches?”

“No, just snacks.”

Disappointed, I get two bags of crisps. Cheese and onion and salt and vinegar. Just to keep my diet balanced.

Once our bags are dumped in our hotel, we venture out in search of food. Well, there isn’t really any searching. Mike has already planned this out. We’ll be eating in the Exeter Arms, a beer pub with decent food.

There’s a pretty good selection of cask beer. And the cosiness of an open fire. It’s rather nice. I get a Thornbridge Crackendale.

Once seated, we order some food. Scotch eggs and pies. We share one each of the three types of Scotch eggs they make. Followed by a main of three small pies, served with chips and mushy peas.

The pies are rather nice. Though my son Andrew, who’s a bit of a pie Nazi, would have complained because they were all pot pies. That is, there was no pastry side or bottom. Just a lid.

Once we’ve eaten, Mike suggests that we continue on to the Smithfield. Where they have Draught Bass.

The pub is like a shrine to Bass. Memorabilia covers the walls. Including a giant letters spelling “Bass”, which would once have adorned the exterior wall of a pub.

Being a bit of a contrarian, I get a Craven Brew Oatmeal Stout. Just because it’s so rare to see one. It’s OK. Maybe a little past its best. For my next beer, I surrender and go for the Bass.

The Bass is good. I’ve not had it for ages. As you rarely see it in the parts of the country I usually visit. Here, not far from Burton, it’s much more common. It’s not too farty and finishes quite dry and bitter. Easily good enough for a second pint.

The pub is reasonably well filled for a Monday night. But the age of the customers is a bit of a worry. Mike is one of the few under sixty. That doesn’t bode well for the future. Without a steady influx of young customers, pubs will surely die.

We don’t leave it too late. We have a busy day tomorrow.

In case you’re wondering “Why the hell is Ron going to Derby”, it’s researching for my next collaboration beer with Goose Island. I can’t say too much about it. Other than it will be an historic recipe. And probably British.



Disclosure: my travel and all expenses were paid by Goose Island.



Betjeman Arms
53, St Poncras International Station,
Euston Rd.,
London N1C 4QL.
https://www.thebetjemanarms.co.uk


Exeter Arms
Exeter Pl,
Derby DE1 2EU.
http://www.exeterarms.co.uk


The Smithfield
Riverlights House,
Meadow Road,
Derby DE1 2BH.

Obadiah Poundage launch

All around me on the plane are Ajax fans. They’re off to watch them play away in the Champions League at Chelsea. Let’s hope they don’t notice the Chelsea hat in my pocket.

There’s a long story to that. Why I have a Chelsea hat. I don’t even vaguely support them. In fact, I hate them on principle. As I do all London teams. Everyone from the Midlands and North does. It’s not just me. When younger, Alexei was once vaguely drawn to Chelsea. I think because, at the time, they had a player called Alexei. He’s no longer fussed and I needed a winter hat. No point wasting money on a new one.

I’ve flown into Heathrow. Which means a long tube journey. No time to hang around as I’m scheduled to meet Mike Siegel of Goose Island at 2 PM. It’s 12:40 when the train trundles out of terminal 4. And I need to get all the way across town to Aldgate East.

To my great surprise, I’ve still five minutes when I emerge, blinking and mole-like, from the tube station. So I quickly nip into Tesco for a few bits and bobs. It’s just about exactly two when I start checking in. No sign of Mike, though.

I trail up to my room and power up my laptop. There’s a mail from Mike: he’s running a little late. Can we meet at 2:30? No problem. Gives me a chance to catch my breath.

We head off up Commercial Street to the Goose Island brewpub. It’s not that far and the weather is dry. Oddly enough, I can’t ever remember walking down this way before. Though I have spent quite a lot of time in the East of London.

I tell Mike of a particularly scary pub crawl down the Whitechapel Road. Including a visit to the Blind Beggar, former Mann’s brewery tap.

“Lovely pub. It’s where one of the Krays blew a rival gangster’s head off.”

The brewpub is pretty empty. Just a couple of staff and a brewer. Mike is just checking everything is set up for tonight. While we’re hanging around, I give Wimbledon XK Mild a try. Very nice it is, too. As I’d expected. So I try their Copper Leaf, too. It’s also rather good.

Emma Inch arrives. She’ll be compering for us tonight. We run through approximately how things will go. We’ve never met properly before and it’s nice to have the chance of a chat.

A whole stack of people I know turn up. I won’t go through the whole list. As I’ll probably forget several. Derek Prentice, who was also involved in the project takes us for a quick tout around the old Truman site, which is just over the road. Who better for the job?

Emma does an excellent job of keeping the conversation going between me and Mike at the launch itself. She asks relevant questions and I try not to wander off the track too much in my replies. I’m easily distracted.

The beer is very well received. Which is pleasing. With its heavy Brettanomyces character, it’s not what modern drinkers expect from a Porter.

Talking done, a whole load of us tip over to the Golden Heart, former Truman brewery tap, for multiple pints and lots of conversation.

We finish off in Pride of Spitalfields for some final beers. Well, we don’t totally finish there. Remembering that we haven’t eaten since midday, Mike and I go for the only available option at midnight: a kebab. Been a while since I had one of those.

Sleep needs no coaxing when my head hits the pillow.




Goose Island Brewpub London
222 Shoreditch High St,
Hackney,
London E1 6PJ.


Golden Heart
110 Commercial St,
Spitalfields,
London E1 6LZ
Tel: +44 20 7247 2158


The Pride of Spitalfields
3 Heneage St,
Spitalfields,
London E1 5LJ.
Tel: +44 20 7247 8933

Obadiah Poundage launch

Continuing my dreams coming true series. next week I'll be drinking, sorry, presenting, my latest long-term collaboration.

You might not have realised that I'm producing a series of beers with Goose Island. Because six years in, and we're only just ready with beer number two. My grandkids will be in college by the time we hit double figures.

I don't care, The whole point has been brewing aged beers. Ones that require a little patience. Something I have little of in my normal life. But when it comes to beer . . . I'm more mellow.

Though when I finally get to taste that 1840s Porter, brewed from the right malt - even the right barley variety - then aged and blended the right way, excitement may get the better of me. As I think: you're such a jammy twat, Ronald. Then chug down a pint, obviously.

This is a little about the project. Please excuse my waffling and waving.




Come and share my joy.

Monday 29th April
Goose Island Tap Room,
1800 West Fulton St.,
Chicago
Doors 6:30pm, event 7:00-9:00pm

I'll have books for sale at the event.


Bring cash. I'll need it to buy vodka to take back for the kids.

I'll be in Chicago in a couple of weeks

I know. I've only just got back from Texas. And her I am gadding off to the USA again.

I'll be in Chicago from Friday 26th April to Tuesday 2nd May. The reason for the trip is the launch of my latest collaboration with Goose Island, an aged Porter called Obadiah poundage. The beer is based on an 1840 Truman Keeping Porter. Though we've brewed a matching Runner, too, to blend it with.

If you'd like to try it, the launch is Monday 1st May 29th April at the Goose Island taprrom on Fulton Street.

Should you be around in Chicago on 27th or 28th April and fancy having a beer or two, get in touch.

London day 2

I rise at half eight. Teeth brushed, I head downstairs for breakfast. A bacon-led event.

That’s weird. The breakfast room is closed. I ask someone at the desk where it is. “Down to the end and on your left.”

It seems that they’re just using a corner of it while the rest is renovated. When I’m at the buffet a waitress tell me to use a large plate for the hot stuff. Then piles four slices of bacon on it. It seems churlish to put one back. I’ll just have the one egg, then.

The breakfast room was oddly quiet. I realise why, when I switch on the news back in my room. It’s an hour earlier than I thought. I forgot my watch was still on Dutch time. What a schoolboy error.

I meet Mike Siegel outside the Market Porter in borough market at 10:30. We’re going to take a stroll down Park Street to the Anchor. He’s disappointed that the pub isn’t open.

“It’s one of the last pubs that opens at 6 AM. I guess it’s closed because it’s the weekend.” Mike says.

You used to be able to drink 24 hours a day in London, even before the licensing hours changed. There were pubs that opened weird hours close to market. And the railway yards at Stratford.

While we’re waiting for the others, we take a look in Utobeer, the beer shop in Borough Market. Never been there before. I see lots of familiar favourites, including De Molen. It’s fun staring longingly at beer you’ve no intention of buying. Not even the Schlenkerla Helles, tempting as that is. As tempting as a bacon sandwich with slabs of cheese replacing bread. Deep fried.

On the way to the Anchor, I show Mike what’s left of the Barclay Perkins brewery: two brewers’ houses. A stern “Take Courage” slogan still visible on the gable end. There’s that and the plaque commemorating Barclay Perkins’ draymen beating up Austrian general Haynau in 1850. Good on them. He was a bastard who had women flogged.

Not yet noon and the Anchor is pretty empty. Just someone telling an obviously new member of staff the table numbers. I don’t mind. I hate crowds.

Out of the handles on the bar. Truman Swift catches my eye. It’s a bit hazy. Is it supposed to be like that? Mike seems to think it tastes OK. We have the one, then head off to The Rake. I’ve not been there since the launch of Brewery Yard, the beer I did with Goose Island.

Being still pretty early, there are only a few other customers. That doesn’t worry me. I hate crowds. The busier a pub is, the longer you have to wait for your pint. And I hate waiting for beer.

I ask for a Heavy Industry Collaborator.

The barman asks “Do you want a pint or a half.”

“A pint. I don’t do halves. Not even of Imperial Stout.”

There’s a big lump of Lancashire cheese on the table, purchased at the cheesemonger on Park Street. Mike gets out a pork pie, bought in the market. We all get stuck into the cheese.

“What would you like next, Ron.”

The Garden Croatian Imperial Stout has caught my eye. Should I have a third or a half?

“I’ll have a half of the Imperial Stout.”

“I thought you didn’t do halves?”

Damn me and my big mouth. It is just about afternoon. “OK. OK, a pint of Imperial Stout.” Just as well I didn’t ask for a third.

It is rather nice. And full of alcoholey goodness. Warming me from the inside out.

I fetch my next beer. “A pint of Imperial Stout, please.”

“Are you Ron?” the barmaid asks.

How on earth did she guess that?

Mike Hill, one of the owners of The Rake turns up and chats with us. He has great stories, some of them even fit for publication.

We don’t stay too long. We’ve an appointment with heaven. At least heaven on earth. The Royal Oak is just a refreshing stroll away. For me Mike Siegel and Johnny. The others are heading off doing their own stuff for a while. They’ll meet up with us later.

It’s pretty empty, just four or five other customers. I don’t mind. I hate crowds. Fuck, I love this pub.

I planned on starting with a Mild. But the Old is just too tempting. It’s sort of strong Mild, anyway. It’s gorgeous. Balancing effortlessly on that razorblade between drinkability and flavour. Fuck, I love Harvey’s.

We order a selection of meals, which we share. Pub tapas. All classic British stuff: fish and chips, bangers and mash, bubble and squeak, pie. Real health food stuff. I’m not that hungry, but nibble at a few bits anyway.

The Old is disappearing pleasantly down my throat. Fuck, I love Harvey’s. I could happily drink nothing else for the rest of my life.

We eventually reluctantly leave the Royal Oak. Some of the crew want to drop by Oxford Street. Close to Oxford Circus. For shopping or other such nonsense. I have something slightly different in mind.

“We could go to the Argyll Arms.” I suggest. “It’s just around the back of Oxford Circus. The interior is magnificent.”

We duly jump on a tube. Some shop, others pub, bound.

The Argyll Arms is pretty full so we can’t sit in one of the little booths. But we do find seats at the back. What should I drink? I know, let’s have a beer for a change.

I’m a good boy. I only stay for a couple of pints. I’m back in my hotel room in time to watch Match of the Day.


The Market Porter  
9 Stoney St,
London SE1 9AA.
Tel: +44 20 7407 2495
https://www.themarketporter.co.uk/


Utobeer  
24 Borough Market,
London SE1 1TL.
Tel: +44 20 7378 6617
http://www.utobeer.co.uk


Anchor Bankside  
34 Park St,
London SE1 9EF.
Hours: Open ⋅ Closes 12AM
Tel: +44 20 7407 1577
https://www.greeneking-pubs.co.uk/pubs/greater-london/anchor-bankside/


The Rake  
14A Winchester Walk,
London SE1 9AG.
Tel: +44 20 7407 0557
http://www.utobeer.co.uk/the-rake/


The Royal Oak  
44 Tabard St,
London SE1 4JU.
Tel: +44 20 7357 7173
https://www.harveys.org.uk/pubs/the-royal-oak-london/


Argyll Arms  
18 Argyll St,
Soho,
London W1F 7TP.
Tel: +44 20 7734 6117
https://www.nicholsonspubs.co.uk/restaurants/london/theargyllarmsoxfordcircuslondon


Disclaimer
Goose Island paid for my travelling expenses to London and for quite a lot of food and drink while I was there. 

London by train

This is exciting. I’ve never gone to the UK by train before.

I don’t have to rise that early. My train is just after nine. A lie in, compared to my workday routine.

Trying to zip up my main bag is a challenge. Resolved mostly by Dolores. Totally by Dolores, really. Unless you count unhelpful suggestions.

I transfer some contents to the bag containing my laptop. Did I accidentally leave a gold bar in it? So heavy it makes my wrist ache. Despite the offloading, my trolley bag still feels as if it’s concealing a baby rhino. But at least it’s closed. It’s going to be fun hunking that around.

I’ve taken the shuttle through the tunnel when me and Mikey went to Folkestone, but never the Eurostar. They’ll be running direct trains to Amsterdam from London next month. But the other way you’ll still need to change in Brussels as they haven’t arranged the international treaty required. At least that’s what they say.

My journey is even more complicated than that. The Benelux train isn’t runnng as far as Amsterdam, currently. I need to change in Rotterdam and Brussels. Making it a much longer journey than necessary. As usual, the train is mobbed, despite being in the first carriage. I dread to think what it’s like further back.

I’ve come prepared. Sandwiches I made this morning and a few cans I picked up yesterday in Ton Overmars. They don’t have a great can selection, but it’s better and cheaper beer than I’d find in the station. I’ve got three cans of Stone Arrogant Bastard and a couple of their other beers. I crack the first Bastard as we pull out of Schiphol.

There’s a bit of hanging around at Rotterdam Centraal. Not been here much since it was rebuilt. At least it has a full roof now, which is an improvement. Luckily, my connection is on the same platform. Did another rhino sneak into my bag when my back was turned?

I crack the second Bastard as we emerge from the tunnel under the Maas. It’s good to see the back of Rotterdam, dump that it is. Having lived in the city, I feel I’m qualified to say that. Perhaps I’m a little harsh.

On reflection, no, I’m not.

I haven’t too long to wait in Brussels, though I do need to check in and have my bags X-rayed. Now where’s my ticket and passport?

“Is this someone’s?” one of the security guards asks holding up my ticket and passport. I’ve left them in the tray. Now there’s stupid. I really should know better, given how much I travel.

I wait until we’re clear of the Brussels suburbs before popping the third and final Bastard. Brewed in Berlin, obviously. I’ve no idea how closely it resembles the San Diego version as I’ve never drunk that. It’s pleasant enough in an Americaney hoppy sort of way.

It’s weird when we pop out of the tunnel. Partly because we don’t stop in Folkestone. But also because I’ve never been on a train going genuinely high speed in the UK before. I open a Stone mocha Stout thing to celebrate. Eventually, they’ll have a high speed network in the UK. Just when the first skin of ice is starting to form over hell.

I’m walking to my hotel, as it’s only 10 or 12 minutes away from St. Pancras. But my luggage is quite heavy. Those rhinos are now the happy parents of twins.

I need to pause for breath. Where better than the Euston Flyer? I have to walk right past. It is bad luck to pass an open pub, after all. I have a quick pint of ESB. Very nice it is, too. No time to linger, though. I’ve people to meet and beer to drink.

I really love the oddness of St Pancras New Church. With a sort Greek temple thing going on. And the female statues acting as pillars.  There are a couple of weird statues in front of its Euston Road side. I think they fit in quite well. Not sure why. Maybe because the church itself is a bit strange.

I don’t do much more than check in and dump my bags. I’m relieved. They now drag at my arms as if a third generation of rhinos has arrived. I shouldn’t have brought all that cheese. Though the beer is quite heavy, too. Those Brewery Yard bottles are like exercise clubs.

Time to tube.

Changing at Green Park, I regret my choice of route. There’s a walk of three or four miles between the Piccadilly line and Northern Line platforms. This is what happens when you don’t travel regularly by tube. You get sucked in by seemingly simple routes, not realising you’ll be a tomb raider, navigating endless underground passageways, hoping eventually to reach the treasure of your connecting train.

When I lived in London, I knew which connections to avoid. I’m a local no more.

Emerging from Old Street tube, I’m confused. Which way is it? Doesn’t help that there are no street signs on any of the roads. I walk a random direction and look at the name of the first side street. Which I look up in my A to Z*. Brill. I picked the right way.

I used to work not far from here. In that arms factory. I can’t recognise anything. It was all a very long time ago. 1979, to be precise. The first time I lived in London. Happy days. No. not really. I was glad to get away.

It’s raining when I get to the Artillery Arms. A compact, dark wood sort of place, bustling with punters. Never been here before, but it seems a decent pub. With, like most Fullers pubs, a pub theme. I quite like pubs that look, smell and feel like pubs.

I’m the first. The others arrive when I’m a few sips into my ESB. Mike Siegel and a crew from Goose Island in Chicago and ABI people from the UK. Plus Derek Prentice and Hugo Anderson, both London brewers. Derek worked at Trumans, Youngs and Fullers before his current gig at Wimbledon. Hugo is now retired after a career at Watney.

I chat with Hugo about Watney beers and all the ullage they contained. He’s remarkably upfront and upbeat about it. “We never brewed a drop of Star Light.” No wonder it had such a great reputation. Look it up on the internet.

Hugo has a big, old-fashioned suitcase. In it are two Reid’s Porter brewing books. I’m a bit nervous when he puts them on a table, in the near presence of pints. I wouldn’t want them getting damaged.

Looking through the logs with Derek and Hugo is a great experience. After a while I realise something. The 1820 one is in the same format as the later Reid records I have, from the 1840’s through to the 1870’s. But the 1837-38 they have at the Westminster City Archives is completely different, like a Truman’s or old BP log. It can’t be Reid. Who could it be? Anyone but Reid, Meux, Barclay Perkins, Whitbread or Truman. Combe, perhaps?

On the way over to where we’ll dine, we nip into the yard of the former Whitbread brewery. And gaze up towards the awesome wonder of the Porter Tun Room, where massive vats of Brown Beer used to ripen. But which we can’t really see, save for an odd glimpse through a high window.

Sad brewing ended here after a few centuries. Never got to taste any beer from it myself, even though I was drinking when it closed in 1974.

Our destination has a slight Whitbread connection. Well, quite a big one, really. It’s the former brewery tap, now called The Jugged Hare. Should I ever get my time machine working, it’s one of the places I’ll be drinking Porter. A brewery tap being about the only place I’d trust wasn’t fucking with the beer.

We sit in the restaurant and order ourselves the house Bitter. It’s on the cloudy side. But who knows if that’s a fault nowadays or not? And just because a beer isn’t fined, doesn’t mean it should be cloudy. Brewed right, beer will drop bright. If you’re patient.

John Hall, Goose Island’s founder, trundles in after a while. He’s always good fun. And a really nice bloke. We eat a little and drink rather more. Beer is such a social drink.

We finish in the Ye Olde Mitre, off Hatton Garden. Not that far from where the Reid brewery was located. Another Fullers pub, this time hidden down an alleyway. It’s pretty full, but we manage to squeeze into the public bar. What to drink? ESB seems like a good idea. I’ve been drinking it most of the day.

I don’t stay out too late. Busy day tomorrow.



* A sort of analogue Google map, printed on paper and bound as a book. Each page contains a map of a small section of London. Taken as a whole, it forms a street map of all London. An index allows you to locate a street, not just by page, but by a section of a page.



The Euston Flyer  
83-87 Euston Rd,
London NW1 2RA
Tel: +44 20 7383 0856
http://www.eustonflyer.co.uk


Artillery Arms
102 Bunhill Row,
London EC1Y 8ND.
Tel: +44 20 7253 4683
http://www.artillery-arms.co.uk


The Jugged Hare  
49 Chiswell St,
London EC1Y 4SA.
Tel: +44 20 7614 0134
http://www.thejuggedhare.com/


Ye Olde Mitre  
1 Ely Pl,
London EC1N 6SJ
Tel: +44 20 7405 4751
http://www.yeoldemitreholborn.co.uk


Disclaimer
Goose Island paid for my travelling expenses to London and for quite a lot of food and drink while I was there.

London Goose day two (part three)

I’ve been around a lot of breweries in the last few years. To be honest, most of them look pretty much the same: stainless steel kettles, stainless conicals, bourbon barrels stacked in a corner.

The ones that stand out as being very different have one thing in common: they’ve been around a long while and retain lots of old equipment. Which for a historian like me makes them especially interesting. They’re the 3-D reality of what I’ve read in text books.

That’s why I’m so excited to get a look inside Harvey’s. A brewery that, in most respects, is brewing pretty much the same as they did before WW II with equipment that hasn’t really changed since then.  Thirty or forty years ago this wouldn’t have been unusual, even in regional or national breweries.

One of the biggest transformations has been in fermentation vessels. I can count on the fingers of one hand new breweries I’ve visited that use anything other than conical fermenters. Even in these exceptional cases, usually it’s a fermenter or two for special beers, with the bulk of fermentation still taking place in conicals. How much impact has the universal use of conicals had on beer flavour? I suspect a lot.

I’m delighted – but not surprised – that Harvey’s have an old-fashioned fermentation room full of squares and rounds. The squares are indeed almost square and relatively shallow. Inside there are loose devices resembling radiators. Miles Jenner confirms what I suspected: they’re attemperators.

“I prefer loose attemperators because they’re easier to keep clean.” He explains.

I spot another device in a different fermenter, un upturned cone. I know for sure what that is. It’s a parachute, used for removing yeast from the top of fermenting wort. Isn’t this fun? Getting to see all these exotic piece of equipment.

There are fermenters in every phase. Some just cleaned and empty, others full of fiercely fermenting wort, others where the yeast is clearly about done. And everywhere the lovely fresh smell of fermentation. Plus the prickle of CO2 in the nostrils.

We head downstairs to the racking cellar, which is sensibly placed below the fermenters. The beer is run off through the simple expedient of an outlet in the bottom of the fermenter. It doesn’t have any great distance to travel. Not a lot is going on as no casks are being filled today.

On the same floor are the yeast stores. Simply a couple of cooled rooms filled with buckets of yeast. There’s an interesting story about Harvey’s yeast.

They used to get their yeast from a company in Burton that specialised in collecting yeast and selling it on to brewers around the country. When that firm closed in 1957, they had to find an alternative supply. After a bit of experimentation they settled on John Smiths.

Almost 60 years later, they’re still using it. But they haven’t cultured it. They’ve been repitching all that time, for what must be several thousand generations. It’s two strains that work symbiotically. Well, technically three, but we’ll get to that later.

Next Miles proudly shows us his new kegging system. For several years they had no kegging capacity, taking out the old system after the flood. It’s pretty small, the new equipment. Then again the vast majority of their beer is sold in cask form, a staggering 95%. I was going to say that I doubt anyone can match that. Then I remembered Donnington and Hook Norton. It wouldn’t surprise me if cask were a similar proportion there.

Our final stop is the bottling line. Which looks much like any other. Except for the bottles. Harvey’s is the last brewery in the UK to use returnable bottles. I’m amazed to hear that. Returnable bottles are dead common in Holland.

I say the bottling line was our final stop. Final stop before the sampling room, I should have said. It’s a pretty tiny space with a few casks along one wall and a sink. Miles fetches some bottles of Imperial Stout for us to try. Without labels, as they need to know the destination before labelling the bottles. Obviously, ones for the US require different labels with all the US legal requirements on them.

I should remember what Miles tells us about the fermentation. Because I was at his presentation on Harvey’s Imperial Stout in March this year. Harvey’s has a particular and peculiar secondary conditioning. They don’t add Brettanomyces, as you might expect. Instead it’s a third yeast in their pitching blend that’s responsible. It does nothing during primary and during the first nine months in tank it remains dormant. Then all hell breaks loose and there’s a violent fermentation.

The yeast responsible is neither Saccharomyces nor Brettanomyces but Debaryomyces, something I’ve never heard of. It certainly makes a very interesting beer.

Harvey’s have also started making an unaged version of their Imperial Stout called Prince of Denmark. It’s a good bit weaker, much sweeter and without the aged character from the Debaryomyces. But it’s still a cracking drink.

Before we leave, Miles gives some bottles to take with us. Including both versions of the Stout. But we can’t resist diving into their shop on the way out to pick up some more bottles. The others buy other memorabilia, too. But I’m under strict instructions from Dolores: “Don’t bring back any more junk, Ronald.”

We’ve a little while to wait for our train. But handily there’s a licensed buffet on the platform. No interesting beers, so I get us a round of Glenmorangie. “Do you want to drink them here or take them with you?” How civilised.

Despite us travelling against the grain, there’s another scrum for seats. We sit next to a young chap with a bottle of Peroni in front of him. As we’re all brandishing beers, it seems an appropriate place to sit.

After we’ve cracked our beers we get chatting with a woman in her fifties sitting across the aisle. I can see that she’s slightly bemused by our beer obsession. She didn’t even realise there was a brewery in Lewes. We drink a few beers, chat and soon the journey has evaporated.

Back in Victoria, we need to quickly cross town for dinner. Which is with the full Goose Island crew at the Jugged Hare on Chiswell Street. That gets my attention. The home of Whitbread’s brewery, most of which is still standing. The pub must have been a Whitbread house at one time as it’s in the same block as the brewery.

Not that it’s really a pub. Well not most of it. A restaurant really, with a small bar at the front. The food, as you might guess from the name, is mostly game. I have a steak. My third in two days. That’ll be my meat ration for the next couple of months.

It’s been a long and tiring day. But a fun one. I sleep the sleep of the well sated.



The Jugged Hare  
49 Chiswell St,
London EC1Y 4SA.
Tel: +44 20 7614 0134
http://www.thejuggedhare.com/

London Goose day two (part two)

Miles Jenner keeps the beers coming as we drink our way through the cask ales.

I notice that every time he gets a round from the bar, he gets a little glass of the beer first.

“I’m just making sure it’s in the condition I’d like it to be.”

The beers all look and taste amazing. I’m most impressed by the gravity-served Sussex Best. It forms a wonderfully creamy head. It’s obviously in wonderful condition. Reminding me of some beers I served at the GBBF years ago. M & B Springfield of Matthew Brown Mild and Bitter. They had similar levels of condition. Not sure how many beers do any more.

Miles Jenner explains why the beer is so well conditioned:

“We used to send it out straight after racking. After we realised pubs were selling it too soon we started keeping it in a warehouse for a week.”

There are many breweries that could do well to follow the lead of Harvey’s.

After a couple of pints we head upstairs for a bite to eat. Just for variety, I have fish and chips. It’s rather nice, with Sussex Best batter. The talk, unsurprisingly, is mostly about beer and hops and very entertaining.

Once we’ve drunk our coffee we head back over the road to the brewery. This is so exciting. It’s somewhere I’ve always dreamt of visiting. Let’s hope it isn’t a disappointment.

I’m surprised to learn that the current building wasn’t all constructed at once, the tower being added later. You’d never know from looking at it. The join is seamless.

We start at the top of the brewery, as usual. Where they have, as is logical, the malt and hop store. Plus a couple of little steam engines. They’re still in working order, but aren’t connected up to any belts or anything. They run them once a year.

Seeing the malt piled up in sacks isn’t a surprise. It’s how everyone stores their malt. The hop store would have been a shock, if Mike hadn’t forewarned me. I’ve been telling people for years that Victorian brewers knew how to preserve hops and kept them in cold stores. Harvey’s have them at room temperature. Though, to be fair, they did say that bulk storage was offsite in a temperature-controlled space.

Did I mention all their hops come from Sussex? And they’re still in pockets. In a way, getting ingredients locally is both very traditional and very modern. Is that ironic or weirdly logical?

On the way out of the stores we see the blocks of No. 3 invert sugar and sacks of flaked maize. A sure sign they brew the old-fashioned way here.

Moving on, we admire the pair of coppers. One is grandly copper, the other more discrete stainless steel. But they’re functionally the same. And therein lies the key to Harvey’s. It isn’t a museum. As equipment wears out, it’s replaced. With something that performs the same function. The material might have changed, but the way it operates is unchanged.

It’s the same story with the mash tuns: one copper, one stainless. There are rakes at the bottom, but purely to aid cleaning out the spent grains.

I’m pleased to see a very specialist piece of equipment that you don’t see much anymore. It’s a sugar dissolver. Not glamourous, I know, but this sort of shit excites me.

You can’t imagine how excited I got in the fermentation room. But I’m saving that for next time.





Disclaimer: my trip was paid for by Goose Island as part of my consultancy fee.

London Goose day one

I’ve only been back a week from Chicago and it’s time to travel again for a Goose Island event. This time only as far as London.

My flight is only at 11 am so I’m not in a huge rush. I even have a bit of a lie in compared to a normal weekday. I’m allowing plenty of time. When I flew to Chicago it took me 40 minutes to get through security.

No delay at security this time. I waltz virtually straight through. Just as well as this time I spend 40 minutes dropping off a checked in bag. Bit of a bummer, that. Some of the machines seem to be malfunctioning.

As my flight is leaving from D pier, I feel obliged to nip in the Irish pub. It’s a tradition when I’m down this end of the airport. I recognise all the staff now. The nice Scottish lady gets me my half of Stout and double Jamesons after I squeeze up to the bar. It’s always busy here, no matter what time of the day.

I got myself a sarnie in the Albert Heijn landside. Just in case. You never know what they’re going to serve you on short flights. It’s as well I did. The food served was a miniature packet of nachos. I ate them after wolfing down my egg and bacon job.

The flight is packed, but uneventful and we arrive on time. I’ve been doing well with my bags. Third on the carousel coming back from Chicago, fourth this time. In no time I’m on a DLR train crawling through the former docklands. I only take it as far as West Ham, where I can get on a proper tube train. In 40 minutes I’m at my hotel on the Strand.

I’d like to drop my bags and freshen up. But my room isn’t ready yet. I’ve still a little time before I’m due to meet Mike Siegel of Goose Island. So I dump my bags and do what I always do with spare time in London: spend it in a pub. Luckily, I noticed a suitable Nicholson’s house, The Wellington, on my walk from the tube.

I quickly rush back there. There’s a gaggle of forty-something women at the bar and one younger bloke. I assume it’s an office crowd. They’re humming and hawing about what to order and I’m able to nip and order my pint. Not much doubt about what I’d get when I spotted Harvey’s Sussex Best.

The group at the bar have in fact travelled up to London to see a show. Two of the women start discussing bra sizes and the younger bloke reaches round from behind one of them and grabs hold of her right breast.

“That’s a nice handful.” He says.

“How can you get away with that?” one of the other women says to him.

He then starts smacking another woman on her bottom. Quite hard, in fact. They must all be good friends because no-one seems to mind. Or even pay much attention. When the young chap gets out his old chap I look away. Don’t want to be put off my pint. They go outside to smoke and the excitement disappears with them.

Only time for the one, sadly. Have to meet Mike in the hotel lobby. Me, him and Ken, Goose Island’s media guy, walk the short distance to Joe Allen Restaurant, our lunch destination.

AB-Inbev’s local PR people are already at the table. It’s a sort of working lunch. Not for me, obviously. I left work in Amsterdam. I’m just along for the ride. And the steak, which is rather good. And there’s Goose Island IPA on tap, which thankfully is brought to the table in pitchers. Otherwise the largest measure is a half pint.

Once repasted, we get a bit of a thirst on. I’ve already planned our next step with Mike.

You may find this hard to believe, but I’ve never been to The Harp in Covent Garden. One of London’s most famous beer pubs. Not sure how that happened. Probably because I haven’t been down this part of London much in the last 20 years.

John Hall, Goose Island’s founder, is already here. I met him briefly at my talk in Chicago. Seems a nice bloke.

The remainder of the afternoon slips by in pints of Sussex Best. Yes, they’ve got it here as well. And even though I’m going to the brewery tomorrow, I can’t resist a few more pints. It’s such a lovely beer. And a real taste of the past. In the early 1970’s, this is how most Southern Bitters tasted.

I finally get to check into my room in the late afternoon. But can’t dally long. I’ve just about time to log into the wifi network and quickly check my mail before it’s time to jump in a taxi to head to this evening’s event. Which is me bullshitting about Stock Pale Ale. While hopefully getting to drink quite a bit of it.

The event is in the Rake. I was quite surprised when it was mentioned as a venue. Only been there once before and what most struck me was its small size. I’ll be talking in the slightly larger garden at the back. Which fortunately is covered by an awning, in case the weather turns nasty.

First things first. I check that my presentation is properly loaded and that the laptop is so placed that I can look at its screen and the audience at the same time. Once that’s done, I get stuck into some beer. Just to make sure my throat doesn’t try out before talking, obviously.

Before too many punters show up, some promo photos are taken of me and Mike proudly holding bottles of Brewery Yard. It’s like standing next to one of my kids. I look like a midget.

There are a fair few – actually possibly a majority – of the audience that I know. Not surprising seeing as I was involved in drawing up the guest list. Plenty of people to chat with. And whose opinion on the Brewery Yard I’m interested in hearing.

When I spot Roger Protz I realise that I’ve forgotten to bring the bottle of Ij IPA he asked for. Not from Holland, I must add. I just forgot to bring it from my hotel. I promise to leave it there for him to pick up.

The talk goes even better than in Chicago. Practice helps. I get a few laughs and some heartening applause. Time does weird things when I’m up in front of an audience. It always only seems like I’m talking for five minutes. Even when it’s several hours.

I’m pleased to learn that the beer is going down well. The responses are very positive. Which sort of makes the two years the project lasted worthwhile.

Once the crowd has gone we pop around the corner to Black & Blue for a meal. I have another steak.

Back at the hotel a couple of us linger in the Gin Palace bar for a nightcap. A warming Glenmorangie. Just as well, as Mr. Laphroaig hasn’t accompanied me this trip.



The Wellington
351 Strand,
London WC2R 0HS.
Tel: +44 20 7836 2789
nicholsonspubs.co.uk
http://www.nicholsonspubs.co.uk/restaurants/london/thewellingtonstrandlondon


Joe Allen Restaurant
13 Exeter St,
London WC2E 7DT.
Tel: +44 20 7836 0651
http://www.joeallen.co.uk/


The Harp
47 Chandos Pl,
London WC2N 4HS.
Tel: +44 20 7836 0291
http://www.harpcoventgarden.com/


The Rake
14 Winchester Walk,
Borough Market SE1 9AG.
Tel: +44 20 7407 0557
http://www.utobeer.co.uk/

Black & Blue
1-2 Rochester Walk,
London SE1 9AF.
Tel: +44 20 7357 9922
http://www.blackandbluerestaurants.com/



Disclaimer: my trip was paid for by Goose Island as part of my consultancy fee.

Chicago day four

It’s my last full day in Chicago. I know. It’s been a ridiculously short trip.

Mike is picking me up later. He has to work in the morning. Which I guess is fair enough. No need to rush downstairs for brekkies. I stuff down the usual grease ball, then retire to my room for some lazing around. Until I remember. I need to get Andrew some Bourbon.

While searching the internet for a nearby liquor store, I notice there’s a Trader Joe’s not far away. I know they sell spirits from my last visit to Chicago. I head on down there. They have a fair selection of whiskey. I settle on a mediumly expensive one. And one I’m certain Ton Overmars doesn’t sell.

I’m tempted by the adjacent beer and pop a couple of cans into my basket. At the checkout I’m informed that I have to buy either four cans or a six pack. What? It’s the law apparently. Not sure what purpose it serves, other than to force me to buy more beer than I intended. I can’t imagine encouraging more beer purchase was the law’s purpose.

After a bit more lazing around my hotel – what a lazy git I am – Mike picks me up and we zoom off to our first destination, Cruz Blanca Cervecería. As you might have guessed, it’s a Mexican-themed brewpub. Mike knows the brewer and he gives us a quick tour.

I’m amazed at how well-equipped many American brewpubs are. And how much kit they can fit into a restricted space. Even a few of the obligatory oak casks. They’ve clearly the capacity to brew a lot more beer than the pub could sell. Some beer is packaged. Mike is very taken by the small bottling unit they have. Looks very labour-intensive to me.

We eat some tacos (very good) and try a few beers (also pretty good) and chat a while with the brewer. The tap handle design is great, too. I love the simplicity of the interior. Not Spartan enough to feel barren, but not overcomplicated. Overall, a class act.

I’d stay longer, but there are places we need to go, people we need to see.

Or next stop isn’t far. Just a few blocks away on Randolph. And it’s another pub brewery, Haymarket. The interior as dark and. No brewer Mike knows is there. With no-one to guide us around, we don’t hang around long. A quick beer and we’re off again. To a very special spot.

To where the story started in 1988: the Goose Island brewpub.

We start off inside the brew house. It’s hot. Very hot. Way too effing hot. You get the idea. It’s quite a rickety old brew house, unlike the one at Goose Island central. With a good deal of charm, it must be said. Apart from the heat. I wouldn’t want to work here in August.

It’s with a good deal of relief that we head into the bar. Much cooler there. The island bar counter in dark wood gives it some of the feel of a pub. Which I guess is the idea. We try samples of a few beers with the brewer. Just to be polite, obviously. No element of pleasure involved at all. Do you think I make these trips to have fun?

After my talk yesterday I got talking to Kristina the owner of an offie. Who offered to take some of my leftover books off me. We struck a deal and agreed to meet at her shop, West Lakeview Liquors, this afternoon.

It’s quite some shop, with a huge range of all types of alcoholic drinks. In particular good beer, whiskey and mezcal. A few quick samples of the latter open my eyes a treat. It’s in this moment of clarity that Kristina asks:

“Would you like to trade the books for some bourbon?”

“Depends on what it is.” I reply.

“What about a Van Winkle?”

“Ooh, I’ve heard of that. Andrew will be impressed.” I mentioned Andrew was a big bourbon fan earlier.

She throws in a bottle of Buffalo Trace as well. I think I’ve got a very good deal.

Our final spot to pummel is a pretty new brewery, Dovetail. One that concentrates on Central European styles. It sounds right down my Gasse. We start off in the bar, which has a very industrial feel with its bare brick walls and bare board bar top. The giant inflatable pretzel is a nice touch. And about the only decoration.

But I’m more impressed by what’s behind the bar: an enormous grand. I won’t try to explain for those of you who don’t know what that is. Easier to show you a photo:

After a quick beer at the bar, the brewer takes us around. He has a really impressive beard – full ZZ Top. It doesn’t look like they bought new kit, given the slightly hotch-potch look. They do have a copper copper, which scores them extra points. And some crazily complicated piping.

Once we’ve had enough of the shiny things, we return to the bar. Where I give their beer list a good perusal. It lists just four: Lager, Hefeweizen, Rauchbier and Grodziske. But the Rauchbier is crossed out because they’ve run out. Thankfully, the Grodziskie isn’t sour. But that’s not the beer that impresses me most.


That honour belongs to the Lager. A beautifully, easy-drinking Helles that throws itself down my throat. Best get another. I’m dead, dead, dead impressed. It’s as good as a good German version. And this is a style that’s really difficult to do well. There’s nowhere for any faults to hide. It bodes well for the future that they’ve come up with a beer like this right off the bat.

We leave it there. I say my goodbyes to Mike and trail back to my hotel. Where Mr. Laphroaig is impatiently drumming his fingers.



Cruz Blanca Cervecería  
904 W Randolph St,
Chicago, IL 60607.


Haymarket Pub & Brewery  
737 W Randolph St,
Chicago, IL 60661.
http://www.haymarketbrewing.com/


Goose Island Clybourn  
1800 N Clybourn Ave,
Chicago, IL 60614.
Tel: +1 312-915-0071
http://www.gooseislandbrewpubs.com/home-clybourn/


West Lakeview Liquors  
2156 W Addison St,
Chicago, IL 60618.
Tel: +1 773-525-1916
http://www.wlvliquors.com/


Dovetail Brewery  
1800 W Belle Plaine Ave,
Chicago, IL 60613.
Tel: +1 773-683-1414
http://www.dovetailbrewery.net/


Disclaimer: my trip was paid for by Goose Island as part of my consultancy fee.