Pubs

When I was at university I went to the pub most days. Sometimes twice, afternoon and evening sessions. The first in the student union bar, the second in the Cardigan Arms.

In my first few years in the real world, it was much the same. Friday lunch, Friday evening, Saturday evening, Sunday lunch. Those were obligatory. There were usually a couple of weekday evenings, too. Friday evening was the highlight of the week, kicking off straight after work. A pub crawl around a part of Leeds where the Tetley's was good: North Street, Cross Green or Hunslet. I almost forgot the club. Burley Road Liberal Club. We'd be there playing snooker a couple of nights a week.

Down in London to program, my pub visits weren't much reduced. A couple of lunchtimes and a few post-work evenings with colleagues for a start. Then a couple of evenings with other friends. It could easily average out to more than one session per day.

This isn't a confession of rampant alcoholism. Many sessions were only a pint or two.

Now I think of it, it was in New York that I started to lose the pub habit. I never drank at lunchtime and rarely went for beers after work with colleagues. The only exception being Friday night darts at Manhattan Brewing. Otherwise, it was just the occasional visit of a local Staten Island bar. As they were pretty crap, I didn't bother often.

Though in Rotterdam, I usually called in Boezembrug on the way back from work. Just for a bottle or two (no sane person drank the draught beer) and a game of pinball. And try not to get bothered by the annoying anarchist hippy. 

Swindon was surprisingly good for pubs. And beer. Which encouraged me out quite often. Though less than in my single days. Drinks sometimes on a Friday lunchtime with colleagues. The odd time after work. Every now and again the odd pint in the pubs on our estate. Weekend evenings in the Old Town drinking Morrels and Wadworth. Or down the railway Village for Archers.

Settling in Amsterdam, pubs might be on the cards a couple of times a week.At least the first time around.

Melbourne revived the pub man in me. I dropped by the Canada most days on the walk home from work. Just to cool down. With a schooner of Cooper's Stout. Plenty of visits later in the evening with Dolores.to the local pubs with draught Coopers.

Definitively back in Amsterdam, pubs played prominent role again. At least three or four sessions a week.Saturday and Sunday Happy Hour in Rick's Café. A few jars in Café.Belgique once or twice a week.

After the kids came along, I'd take them to the pub on weekend afternoons. Café Belgique if I could be arsed to go into town. Bedier if I couldn't. Evening sessions were pretty much a thing of the past.

When the kids became teenagers, the afternoon sessions dried up. What was left? The odd evening with mates.

Now I'm down to once a week. Saturday afternoon with Andrew and the lads down Butcher's Tears. And that's it, pretty much.

Why do I visit pubs so much less? Part of it is just being at a different stage of my life. But money has a lot to do with it, too. A couple of drinks each for me and Dolores can top 30 euros. I can't afford to do that six or seven times a week.

When I started drinking, it was almost exclusively in pubs.This may seem strange to those not quite as ancient as me, but beer used to be cheaper in pubs than in shops. I almost never drank at home just for that reason. Plus bottled beer was way inferior to a good pint of cask.

The latter consideration might also play into Dutch pubs being less attractive. In the UK, cask will tempt me into a pub. While here pubs don't sell anything better than the Abt I drink at home.

Expats

There are two types of foreigners: ones only intending to stay for a year or two and those never intending to leave. Expats and immigrants. Though many in the latter group might not call themselves that. I've belonged to both groups.

When I lived in New York, my behaviour was deeply influenced by what I'd seen in Jamaica. When I visited my brother who was working there. (I got to really like the Guinness brewed there, a sort of foreign Extra Stout. Dragon Stout was OK, too, but a bit too sweet for my taste. McEwans Strong Ale was another one. Brewed, I think, in the Guinness. Also fairly nice.)

I saw how his colleagues behaved. It was a very closed group and didn't look particularly healthy. They were all very much expats.What was the lesson it taught me? It's not a good idea to have colleagues know everything about you. 

That's why I didn't share a flat in New York. It's the only time I've ever lived on my own. Rather that than share with colleagues and be with them 24-hours a day.

I had a social life outside of work. I was good friends with Eva, a Czech woman I met in the Czech language section of a library. She'd been studying in Yugoslavia when the Russians invaded Czechoslovakia in 1968, eventually finding her way to New York.

I'd been looking for books in Czech to keep my knowledge of the language. Shortly before  leaving for the USA, I'd followed a summer school in Czech in Brno. I'd got be reasonably fluent, mostly practising in pubs. Czechoslovakia was perfect. With shared tables and friendly locals, striking up a conversation was a piece of piss. 

The local Brno beer, Starobrno, was fine. There were plenty of other options, too. Cerna Hora, Pilsner Urquell, Budvar, Staropramen (never cared for that, myself), Krusovice and others I can't recall. All pretty good, some outstanding. Lots of choice and dirt cheap with it. As a student I didn't have to exchange the minimum daily amount at the official rate. I was free to change mostly on the black market and get triple the rate.

It was in Brno pub that I met Dolores.

Of course, I socialised with colleagues. We regularly went to the Manhattan Brewery after work to play darts. Where they had English-style beers. A very fine Porter, I recall. Or was it a Stout? It was a very long time ago. Something dark and roasty.

I remember talking with the brewer, a very enthusiastic young bloke called Garret Oliver.

We also played darts in a basement bar in the East Village. Can't for the life of me recall the name. They sold a Czech-style Tmavé Pivo called Prior Double Dark. It was OK. Better than the usual yellow crap, at least.

An expat, is what I was. I never intended to stay longer than my visa, which was for just 18 months. To remain longer, I'd need to apply for a green card. A process which would take years. During which time you couldn't leave the USA. Well, you could, but you wouldn't get back in again. No way I could do that.

Having a very definite and neat end was reassuring somehow. The decision had been made for me about when I'd leave the States.

Next time: I become an immigrant.

Lager Beer (part two)

We're now looking at the brewing process of Lager. What fun. I few years back I collected descriptions of as many different methods of decoction mashing I could find. It was a surprisingly large number.

Though this doesn't sound like a decoction mash.

"It is first crushed by passing between a series of large rollers, and next is transferred to the mash-tubs, where it is stirred about with water at 120° to 140° Fahr., and boiling is then gradually added until all is heated to about 170° Fahr. The infusion or wort is allowed to stand until the suspended matters have settled, when it is drawn off, and a second wort is obtained by treating the residuum with hot water. The first wort is boiled with the hops, the second wort is then let in, and the whole is boiled for about four hours. It is then run into the cooler, where it is quickly chilled to between and 50° Fahr., by running over small pipes through which cold water is continually flowing."
Holmes' Brewing Trade Gazette - Thursday 01 September 1881, page 15.

What sounds like doughing in was at 50º C. But, as boiling water is added, rather than boiling part of the mash, it's quite different to a decoction mash. And more like a sort of step infusion mash. I'm guessing that they had modified the mashing process in the USA to make it more efficient. And cheaper.

"As soon as it is properly cooled it is run into the fermenting tuns, where it is mixed with one gallon of yeast for every twenty to twenty-five barrels. Fermentation continues for about twenty days. At first there is a heavy froth, which soon subsides, however, leaving the surface clear. At the end of this period it is racked off into hogsheads, the yeast remaining at the bottom of the tuns. These hogsheads are allowed to Stand with the bungs open until a few days before the beer is put into barrels for use, when the bungs are driven in to accumulate carbonic acid for life."
Holmes' Brewing Trade Gazette - Thursday 01 September 1881, pages 15 - 16.

A hogshead is pretty small for a lagering vessels. I have seen ones of around that size, but was in Brauerei Schmidt, one of the, if not the, smallest production breweries in Germany. The bunging period seems a bit short at "a few days". Though it must have been sufficient to carbonate the beer. I know from other sources that American beer was pretty heavily conditioned in the late 10th century.

I'd love to accumulate carbonic acid for life. Any idea wher I can load up?

When American hops moved west

I knew that the US hop industry was initially centred on the East Coast, mostly in New York State. Then later mostly on the West Coast. But when did it move?

Luckily, I’ve come across some numbers that answer the question. God, I love numbers. Sometimes I think they’re my only true friends.

The last year when more than 50% of the US hop crop came from New York State was 1892. The percentages I’ve calculated myself.

Estimated hop production of the United States, 1889–1899.
Crop.	Pacific coast		New York		Total
	Bales	%	Bales	%	Bales
1889	106,157	48.78%	111,461	51.22%	217,618
1890	105,619	51.56%	99,229	48.44%	204,848
1891	94,000	45.19%	114,000	54.81%	208,000
1892	105,000	47.09%	118,000	52.91%	223,000
1893	143,000	53.36%	125,000	46.64%	268,000
1894	179,500	56.18%	140,000	43.82%	319,500
1895	180,300	62.11%	110,000	37.89%	290,300
1896	103,000	57.87%	75,000	42.13%	178,000
1897	152,000	66.96%	75,000	33.04%	227,000
1898	151,950	70.04%	65,000	29.96%	216,950
1899	182,000	75.83%	58,000	24.17%	240,000
Total 11 years	1,502,526	57.92%	1,090,690	42.04%	2,594,216
Source:
"Hop Culture in California" by Daniel Flint, 1900, Government Printing Office Washington, page 25.

There’s the when taken care of. What about the why? The same pamphlet has some more detailed numbers by state and they seem to provide the answer.

I’d always assumed it was because of disease on the East Coast. But there’s another reason that leaps out from these numbers:

Acreage, yield, and value of hops in the United States in 1889.
States.	Acres.	Bales.	Value.	bales per acre	price per bale
New York	36,670	111,461	$2,210,137	3.04	$19.83
Washington	5,113	46,185	841,206	9.03	$18.21
California	3,974	36,374	605,842	9.15	$16.66
Oregon	3,130	20,076	322,700	6.41	$16.07
Wisconsin	967	2,381	51,983	2.46	$21.83
Other States	358	1,141	27,829	3.19	$24.39
Total	50,212	217,618	4,059,697	4.33	$18.66
Source:
"Hop Culture in California" by Daniel Flint, 1900, Government Printing Office Washington, page 24.

The two rightmost columns are my own calculations from the other numbers. A bale was 180 lbs, in case you’re wondering. The bales per acre is what tells a story. The yield on the West Coast was way higher than in New York. Though someone must have liked the New York hops as the price per bale is higher.

The numbers for 1890 are similar, except the price of hops was much higher.

Acreage, yield, and value of hops in the United States in 1890.
States.	Acres.	Bales.	Value.	bales per acre	price per bale
New York	35,552	99,229	$6,068,163	2.79	$61.15
Washington	5,282	49,348	2,284,955	9.34	$46.30
California	3,796	31,761	1,521,847	8.37	$47.92
Oregon	3,223	21,174	1,047,224	6.57	$49.46
Wisconsin	871	2,556	142,198	2.93	$55.63
Other States	238	780	41,037	3.28	$52.61
Total	48,962	204,848	11,105,424	4.18	$54.21
Source:
"Hop Culture in California" by Daniel Flint, 1900, Government Printing Office Washington, page 24.

I don’t quite understand why the price of hops had trebled when the total produced wasn’t that much less. 

Let's Brew - 1904 Amsdell Burton

As a special treat for the week of the 4th July, I’m publishing an American recipe for once.

I didn’t come up with the idea myself. It was a suggestion of a reader. And a very good suggestion it was. I just wish it had come a few days earlier.

This recipe has an interesting history. I originally wrote it for my book The Home Brewer’s Guide to Vintage Beer. There was initially a chapter at the end on American beers. Then I changed my mind, deciding I’d like to save those for a later book. Which obviously hasn’t happened do far. One day, one day.

Getting back to the beer itself, Burton was a style that never really caught on in the US. Beers with the name pop up every now and again in the Northeast, but with nothing like the frequency of IPA, Porter or Stock Ale. The most famous example, Ballantine Burton, was only ever brewed a few times and wasn’t available for purchase, being given by the brewery as a Christmas gift.

In terms of strength, this looks more like a Bass No. 1 type Burton Ale than the London draught beer (usually called KK). That would have had an OG of about 1075º in this period. Even the stronger London KKK would have been weaker than this beer.

Amsdell’s Burton does have much in common with London Burton. The brown colour and heavy hopping, for a start. Plus the combination of pale malt, maize and sugar. Not seen black malt in a London version of this period, though.

I’ve made one slight adjustment to the recipe, changing grits to flaked maize. If you fancy having a go at a cereal mash, feel free to use grits as in the original. I assume most of you would rather not bother.

Almost forgot. Amsdell was a largish Ale brewery in Albany, New York.

1904 Amsdell Burton
pale malt 6 row	15.25 lb	72.62%
Black malt	0.25 lb	1.19%
fructose	1.50 lb	7.14%
Caramel
Flaked corn	4.00 lb	19.05%
Cluster 90 min	4.00 oz
Cluster 30 min	4.00 oz
OG	1094
FG	1028
ABV	8.73
Apparent attenuation	70.21%
IBU	113
SRM	20
Mash at	148º F
Sparge at	180º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1098 British ale - dry
	Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

Newark, New York, Albany

Routine. It's a way of making travel less stressful. Which is why I indulge in it, when I can.

That's why I'm flying to Newark. I know the airport. And it has a train station. Pretty important, that, as I'm catching a train later. Penn Station to Albany.

Preparation. Another way to lower stress levels. I've a shiny new laptop, noise-cancelling headphones, two issues of Private Eye and a bottle of duty-free Laphroaig. (Bit of a tradition that last one.) Should be enough to keep me entertained over the Atlantic and beyond.

Though it said alcoholic drinks had to be paid for, they're handing out free wine and beer. That's saved me a few quid. The food isn't great. And there isn't much of it. That's what you get flying with a US carrier. And cabin crew close to retirement.

We arrive at Newark a little early. Then there's the bonus of almost no queue at immigration. I'm through so quick, I beat my bag to the carousel. This is amazing. One of my least painful arrivals yet. I tootle along on the monorail to the Amtrak station. Though I won't be taking an Amtrak train. Not yet. My train to Albany isn't for several hours. I'm just taking the New Jersey Transit train to Penn.

I'm not the only one. There’s soon quite a crowd on the platform. Considering the route we're on, there aren't a great number of trains. When one finally trundles in, it's pretty full. Though it is quite new. One of the fancy double-decker jobs. Luckily, I manage to find a seat.

The area around Newark must be one of the most desolate in the US. Rusting factories, marshland with evil-looking brown, scummy water. Empty lots, railway lines and motorway viaducts. Maybe it's deliberate to make New York look nicer, when you finally arrive.

I've deliberately left a few hours between touchdown and train. You never know how long immigration will take. It also gives me chance for a couple of beers in NYC. I consulted Google maps to work out where. Stout and Rattle 'n Hum aren't too far. But I've been to them before. Not that impressed by Stout. Can't stand Rattle 'n Hum. S, I looked for somewhere new, not too far away. I settled on District Tap House.

Just 5 blocks from Penn. And 50 beers on tap. Sounds perfect. I'm a bit puzzled by the name. All becomes clear as I walk those 5 blocks. This is the Garment District. Full of weird little clothing suppliers. I've just slightly too much luggage for the walk to be enjoyable.

District Tap House looks the part. Pubby enough to please, despite rather too many TVs. I settle at the bar and get a pint of something IPA-ey.

I've mentioned on the internet that I'll be here today. A couple of people said they might show up. I wonder if they will? I get some scran while I'm waiting. They really were economical with the nosh on the plane.

After a second IPA I've moved on to an Imperial Stout. That's pretty much the whole spectrum of US beer covered: pale, strong and hoppy and dark, strong and hoppy. Truly a land of diversity.

I glance towards the door and who should walk in but Jim Barnes. Friend of Dann and Martha (formerly of Pretty Things). He's a top man with whom I've shared a couple of sessions. Including a memorable lunchtime in Boston. We're soon chatting away like crazy.

He mentions my music. I sent him a USB stick of my stuff. He actually listened to it. Probably the only person who ever has, other than me.

Jim helps me carry my luggage back to Penn. Now there's a bonus. The long queue at the gate suggests that the train is going to be crowded. Luckily the carriages going to Albany aren't that full. I settle into my seat, whip out my flip-flop and indulge in some Fresh Meat. Series 3, which I still hadn't finished watching. I'm so behind with television. If they stopped making programmes tomorrow, I'd be good for another year or two.

I do give the scenery the odd glance. Leaving New York, the line hugs the Hudson as flats and houses teeter vertiginously on the cliffs above. No way I'd get Dolores to live in one of them. As we head further North, the valley gets wider and greener, but still bounded by sheer slopes. It all looks very glacial.

My chum Craig Gravina is waiting for me at Albany Rensselaer. Thankfully. It doesn't look like a very nice walk to my hotel.

After checking in and cleaning up, we hit the town. Not quite sure of all the places we went. Beer Belly and Lionheart for sure. Somewhere else, too. It's all a bit of a blur. Must be the time difference catching up with me.

I make it until almost midnight. Then sleep the sleep of a weary traveller. Have to be up early tomorrow. Lots on the schedule.








District Tap House
246 W 38th St,
New York, NY 10018.
Tel: +1 212-221-1822
http://www.districttaphouse.com/


The Beer Belly
281 New Scotland Ave,
Albany, NY 12208.
Tel: +1 518-487-4152
http://www.beerbellyalbany.com/


Lionheart Pub
448 Madison Ave,
Albany, NY 12208.
Tel: +1 518-436-9530
http://thelionheartpub.com/

FX Matt

Just had the coolest day at FX Matt.

I've visited plenty of US breweries. But never one that dates back to the 19th century. It was a revelation. So much old kit. Stuff about as old as I've ever seen still in operation. The Lincoln tanks - called that because they were installed when Lincoln was president - blew my mind.

Looking back, I realise what it reminds me of: Fullers. Still family owned, a sense of tradition, everyone really into beer. Even got to meet Fred Matt, current head honcho.

I'm such a lucky git. Getting to do all this cool shit.

Maybe I'll wake up and it was all just a dream.

This Friday in NYC

I land in Newark around midday. And have a train from Penn Station to Albany at 16:40. I plan filling the time between with some beers.

If you'd like to say: "You're Ron Pattinson and I claim my right to buy you a pint." drop by. If you're a stingy git, drop by, too. Just bring some pork scratchings.

Not sure how long immigration and all that stuff will take. So being a bit conservative, Friday, 11th March, 2016 about 2 PM, I'll be here:

District Tap House  
246 W 38th St,
New York,
NY 10018
http://www.districttaphouse.com

With an avenue-length thirst and just enough luggage to be a nuisance. That'll be me. And happy to chat with anyone not openly bearing arms. Or grudges.

Saturday 1st November

Or coming Saturday.

Just discovered that there is a rail service of some sort out in the sticks of New Jersey where I'll be this week. Which means I'll be able to get to NYC on Saturday.

If anyone fancies meeeting up for a beer, I'll be in Blind Tiger about 13:00. I'll probably wander off later to DBA, Jimmy's No. 43 and Hop Devil.

Book tour day five - Philadelphia (part two)

Already on part two and I've not even left New York. Let's see if I can get all the way to the end of Tuesday this time.

"Have your tickets and id ready for inspection." They say. I obediently take out my verblijfsvergunning and hold it in the same hand as my ticket. It's a dead handy document, a verblijfsvergunning. I'm pretty sure they think it's a driving licence in the US. Whatever, they accept it as id. It saves having to take my passport everyehere with me. 

The ticket inspector is only interested in inspecting my ticket. Waste of time getting out my id.

There are no free pairs of seats so I sit next to a middle-aged woman. I put my magazine ticket and verblijfsvergunningon my seat while I hunk my monster bag onto the overhead luggage rack. When I look back at my seat, the magazine and ticket are there, but the verblijfsvergunningis nowhere to be seen.

I check my wallet. No, I hadn't put it back. I check the floor under my seat. No. Under the seat in front. Not there, either. Under the seats across the gangway. No. I start panicking. And sweating. Just as well there are no security guards about.

I sit down nervously and do through my wallet again. No, definitely not in there. Where the hell could the thing have disappeared to. I check a wide area of floor, crawling around on my knees. This is bollocks. It's not as bad a s losing my passport, but it will still be a pain in the arse getting a new one.

Twenty minutes into the journey, I'm still full of anxiety, anger and apathy. Where could it have gone. In a final depairing attempt, I stick my hand down the back of my seat. And out pops my verblijfsvergunning. What a fun start to the journey.

I get a taxi to my hotel when I get to Philadelphia. It's not far and only costs me ten bucks.

The strange covered-in bit of road outside my hotel looks familiar. When have I seen it before? I know - when we took the crazy Chinese bus from Washington to New York. This is where it stopped in Philadelphia. I'm in China Town.

Despite this being my free day, I have a couple of appointments. Most important is meeting George Hummel, who has arranged my event at Yards tomorrow. He's going to show me around later. First I'm havong a few beers with one of my blog readers, Ed Draper, and his faincée Michelle.

We meet at Home Sweet Hombrew, George's homebrew shop. I'm a bit late, having got disorientated on leaving my hotel. We head off for the City Tap house. The weather is being weird. Having spent the last couple of days freezing my bollocks off, it's now warm enough to sit outside in the sun. Where we have a few beers.

I've mentioned on the blog that I'll be in the Nodding Head brewpub around 18:00, which I am. Another blog reader, Bill King, is waiting there with some books for me to sign. More beers are drunk.

Last time I was in town, I didn't have chance to visit Monks Cafe. For reasons entirely outside my control: a bus smashed into the front of it the day I arrived. Now I can see if it lives up to its awesome reputation. I break one of my most important rules: I drink a European beer. I've a good excuse. It's Tilquin Geuze, a beer I can't nornally buy. And a cracking beer.

I follow it up with a Pliny the Elder. Which goes very nicely with my mussels. George is very entertaining as he shows me his hometown. He's quite a character and seems to know every publican and barperson in town. Which is quite handy. We arrange to meet around midday the following day. For a few more beers while I'm waiting for the evening's event.

Which is what we'll hear about next time.






The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer
http://www.amazon.com/Home-Brewers-Guide-Vintage-Beer/dp/1592538827




Home Sweet Homebrew
2008 Sansom St.
Philadelphia PA 19103
Tel: +1 215-569-9469
http://www.homesweethomebrew.com



City Tap House
3925 Walnut St,
Philadelphia, PA 19104.
Tel: +1 215-662-0105
http://www.citytaphouse.com/


Nodding Head
1516 Sansom St,
Philadelphia, PA 19102.
Tel: +1 215-569-9525
http://www.noddinghead.com/‎



Monk's Cafe
264 S 16th St,
Philadelphia, PA 19102.
Tel: +1 215-545-7005
http://www.monkscafe.com/



Jose Pistola's
263 S 15th St,
Philadelphia, PA 19102.
Phone:+1 215-545-4101
http://josepistolas.com/

Me on the radio again

Here's me bullshitting on the radio again:

http://www.heritageradionetwork.org/episodes/5789-Beer-Sessions-Radio-Episode-206-Beer-History-with-Ron-Pattinson

It was recorded a couple of weeks ago, when I was in Brooklyn.

Book tour day five - Philadelphia

Tuesday begins in leisurely fashion. Gazing vaguely at the TV in my undercrackers.

It's not an attractive sight, but no-one's there to see it. Washed, shaven and bekecked, I head up to the fifth floor for breakfast. It's billed as a continental breakfast. I don't get my hopes up too much.

If I liked cake, I'd be in heaven. Sadly I'm savoury to my core. I've only two topping options: butter or cheese.

At least I assume it's cheese. When I unwrap a slice the contents seem more plasticy than the plastic around them. Though it doesn't seem to make much difference whether I eat that or the wrapper, I plonk the cream-coloured putty on a slice of toast. Can something have negative taste? This reputed cheese seems to. Negative texture, too. It pushes the boundary of bland further than I care to go.

Not the best breakfast I've ever had.

I ask the hotel to call me a cab. I'm still waiting for someone to come back with that old gag "OK, you're a cab." but they never do. As I'd hoped, it's a car service rather than a yellow cab. I ask the driver how much it will cost to get to Penn Station. pretty reasonable is what it is.

The traffic is heavy and I've not quite as much time as I'd hoped at the station. I needed three things: a wee, some food for the train and a stiff drink. Not necessarily in that order. Though I did need the wee first. If an unfortunate trouser-soiling incident were to be avoided.

Luckily Penn Station had public bogs. Free ones. And not even filthy. Score.

I spot a TGI Friday's on the concourse and slip up to the bar.

"Is this seat free" I ask the nice young lady alreadt sitting at the bar.

"Sure."

I order a double Jack Daniels. The young lady is drinking a cocktail. And has a ring in her nose. She's also reading a Kurt Vonnegut novel.

"He's a great writer. I loved his stuff when I was younger." I've only 10 minutes. Why not spend them talking to another human being? No chance of being suspected of trying to chat her up. I've only time for a few sentences and a quickly gulped dose of whiskey.

She's waiting for a train, too, unsurprisingly. Just had an interview at the publisher's Penguin. I tell her I'm in the US to promote my book.

"What's it called?"

"The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer." I have to repeat it three times before she undertands it.

"It's your accent."

Been a while since I had anyone struggle with my accent. Though it happened fairly regularly when I lived in New York. I think I'm pretty easy to understand.

I'd like to eat on the train. I can't linger. The only reason I have any time left at all is that my train is 30 minutes late. At least that's what it said on the departure board.

I say goodbye to the nice young lady and rush off in search of food. A sandwich is all I need. I blow off my first choice when the queue appears immobile. I get served immediately at the next place. But have to wait to pay. Which prompts some grade-A worrying.

Pointlessly, as it turns out. They still haven't let passengers down onto the platform. I've some waiting to do.

"Have your tickets and id ready for inspection." That instruction was to cause me a good deal of panic in a few moments. But we'll learn about that next time . . .









The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer
http://www.amazon.com/Home-Brewers-Guide-Vintage-Beer/dp/1592538827




T.G.I. Friday’s
484 8th Ave
New York, NY 10001
Tel: +1 212-630-0307
https://www.tgifridays.com/

Book tour day four - Brooklyn (part two)

It's a busy day, Monday, as I told you. I wasn't kidding. Still lots more happening.

Radio interview done, we've still a fair bit of time before showtime. Best not spend it all just boozing. I want my best legs on for later. A couple of the Brouwerij Lane guys invite us down to their new brewpub, which is just arounnd the corner. Why not? I never tire of looking at shiny things.

The brewery is called Greenpoint Beer & Ale Co., though the pub it's in is called Dirck the Norseman. It's easy enough to spot, being painted Ikea blue and yellow. The brewery hasn't officially opened. That's in a few days. Luckily there's beer to try, a tasty Pale Ale. Now there's a tick - an unreleased beer. But only for a day or two.

Back at Brouwerij Lane, no-one is quite sure what time is showtime. There aren't many punters about. We decide that there's time for a quick meal. Dann, Martha and me. We venture out in search of Mexican. But stumble upon a Polish restaurant. That'll do.

It's called Karczma and has a well in the middle of the dining room. And the waitresses are wearing folk costumes. I always like that.

They've a reasonable selection of Czech and polish beers, bottled and draught. Dann gets a draught pale Lager, I go for a dark one. Dann sniffs suspiciously at his beer, then tentatively tastes it.

"Dirty lines" is his conclusion. He looks at my beer. "I ordered the pale because that's more likely to be fresh. You've no idea how long a dark one might have been sitting around."

Thanks for raising my expectations, Dann.

This is my third meal if the day. Don't want to pig out, so I just order pirogis. Boiled, not fried. Martha has a plate-sized piece of pork.

I don't manage to finish my beer. Something that rarely happens.

It's much busier back at Brouwerij Lane.

"When do you want to start your talk?" One of the guys asks.

"Talk?"

"Yes, the 30-minute talk you're giving."

It's the first I've heard of it.

"Dann, am I supposed to be giving a talk?"

"Did I not mention that? Just talk about historic beer a bit. It doesn't need to be too structured."

I frantically try to plan out a small talk, while chatting to various people. It's hard to concentrate on either. No point in waiting too long - I'll only fret more. Best just dive straight in.

Dann introduces me. The stove burns at my back. I clear my throat.

Suddenly, it's an hour and a quarter later. I've been talking that long, occasionally punctuated by questions. Not sure what I just said or how much sense it made. But they're clapping so it can't have been totally shit. And no-one buggered off half way through.

There's some book-signing and chatting to be done. As well as some beer-drinking. I'm relief drinking. There's even cask Mild. I can't pass that up. And more 1955 Double Brown on tap. Can't pass that up either. No reason I can't drink both. Though obviously not mixed. That would be weird.

We finish in  Tørst, Evil Twin's bar. It's a bit relentlessly cool, both décor and atmosphere-wise.

We don't linger too late. Poor Dann and Martha have a ridiculously early start to dodge the New York traffic. Four in the morning they plan on leaving. My train to Philadelphia is a little after noon. I can have a nice lie in. And Tuesday is my rest day. Can't wait.







The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer
http://www.amazon.com/Home-Brewers-Guide-Vintage-Beer/dp/1592538827






Brouwerij Lane
78 Greenpoint Ave,
Brooklyn, NY 11222.
Tel:+1 347-529-6133
http://brouwerijlane.com/


Greenpoint Beer & Ale Co.
Dirck the Norseman
7 N 15th St
Brooklyn, NY 11222.
Tel: +1 718-389-2940
http://dirckthenorseman.com/


Karczma
136 Greenpoint Ave,
Brooklyn, NY 11222.
Tel: +1 718-349-1744
http://www.karczmabrooklyn.com/


Tørst
615 Manhattan Ave,
Brooklyn, NY 11222.
Tel: +1 718-389-6034
http://www.torstnyc.com/

Book tour day four - Brooklyn

Monday was the busiest day of the tour so far. Two radio interviews and an event.

Just as well, then, that we rose early again. The hotel did include breakfast, but just a buffet. I wanted something more substantial and luckily Dann and Martha agreed. Off we headed in their van into deepest Brooklyn. Through streets that had seen better days, clad in decayed and sometimes crumbling Victorian grandeur. I love old brownstones. They remind me of the buildings I see in my dreams.

Our destination is Tom's Diner (officially Tom's Restaurant), a renowned breakfast haunt, which, if the photos adorning the place are to be believed, has been frequented by movie stars and popular singers. I go for my usual egg and bacon combination. Can't go wrong with that. Especially when the day ahead is long and busy.

On the wall next to our table are the lyrics of Suzanne Vega's Tom's Diner. Proof that at least one pop singer came here. To be honest, I'm more concerned by the quality of my fry up than which of the famous have eaten here before me. Luckily, it doesn't disappoint. My breakfast, I mean. It's soon safely curled up inside me, sleeping peacefully.

Fed, we need to scuttle quickly across Brooklyn to Roberta's, in a deceptively industrial-looking area of town. It's a pizza place with attached radio studio. I know, weird. But this is Brooklyn. The scavenged construction reminds me of squatted (or formerly squatted) venues in Amsterdam.

As we're still waiting for Jimmy to arrive, I stave off dehydration with a Bell's Two Hearted, a beer I've not tried before. It comes in what look like a jam jar. It's made out of glass - what do I care? It's full of than Americany IPA-style flavour. You know what I mean, the grapefruit thing. It's a pleasant enough breakfast beer.

We record three 15-minute segments with Jimmy. Dann and I are joined by John Holl, editor of All About Beer. It's quite a good laugh. Never much chance of the conversation lagging with Jimmy there.

Done and it's time to eat. In Roberta's, obviously, as we're already there. I have a pastrami sandwich. Just because it sounds so New York. It's rather good, but way too much for me. I've forgotten how much meat they stuff into sandwiches over here.

Fascinating for you, me describing my lunch. It came with some crisps, I almost forgot to tell you. I'm sure you needed to know that.

It's time for our next interview, this time with Chris and Mary of Heritage Radio's Fuhmentaboudit!. But we don't head back to the studio. That's been booked by someone else. We're off to Brouwerij Lane where we'll be interviewd using a little portable recorder.

It's still a little chilly in Brouwerij Lane, but there's beer to drink and the wood-burning stove at the back is gradually chewing awat at the cold. Chris and Mary are remarkably professional. They've clearly been at this radio thing for a while. Just two 15-minute chunks this time. They're done in a flash.

The main event is still to come. My book event in Brouwerij Lane. But before that Dann, Martha and I will eat a Polish meal. Try to contain your excitement.







The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer
http://www.amazon.com/Home-Brewers-Guide-Vintage-Beer/dp/1592538827





Tom's Restaurant
782 Washington Ave,
Brooklyn, NY 11238.
Phone:+1 718-636-9738


Roberta's
261 Moore St,
Brooklyn, NY 11206.
Phone:+1 718-417-1118
http://www.robertaspizza.com/


Brouwerij Lane
78 Greenpoint Ave,
Brooklyn, NY 11222.
Tel:+1 347-529-6133
http://brouwerijlane.com/

Book tour day three - New York City

I needed to be checked out and ready to roll by 9 AM. Dann and Martha were driving me down to New York and wanted a reasonably early start.

Originally, I hadn't planned travelling to New York until Monday. Then Dann had arranged an additional event in New York on the Sunday, at Jimmy's No. 43. Bang went one of my two rest days.

We picked up breakfast on the way down. I dodged breaking my 27-year McDonalds fast by getting something from Boston Market instead. (February 1987 in New Orleans was the last time, in case you're wondering. Don't ask me why I even ate it then. It wasn't my choice.)

We all nodded off at some point during the journey. Except for Dann. Just as well, as he was driving. I find a conscious driver infinitely more reassuring than a slumbering one.

First we dropped off the beer at Jimmy's, before continuing on to our hotel in Brooklyn. I'd not been to Brooklyn for a long while. Since I lived in New York. Almost as long - spring 1987 - as since I last ate McDonalds. I didn't feel quite so guilty about easing over the East River as I would have felt about easing down a greasy burger.

We stayed in an interesting part of Brooklyn. 90% of the locals were Orthodox Jews and the streets around our hotel were filled with beards, long black coats, odd hats, prams and children. That extended to the hotel itself, except for the kids. My room was clean and tidy. Though the pillar in the middle of it was a bit odd.

I was excited to drink in Jimmy's. The East Village was one of my preferred piss-up locations during my NYC time. Jimmy's is right in the middle of where I lived out many of my most memorable drinking evenings. Not that I can remember any of them it great detail. It was all a very long time ago.

Jimmy is quite a character, ebullient and garrulous, flitting this way and that to greet and chat,  perpetually in motion. And always shaking hands. We must have shook a dozen times in the first hour. The perfect character for a publican.

Jimmy keeps beer and appetisers coming. There's also a constant flow of people come to chat with me and Dann, a few books are sold and more are signed. But it's quieter than at the Independent and I've more chance to knock back a few beers. I've a good excuse: I have to grab the chance to drink draught 1955 Double Brown while I can.

It's a lovely beer, but I'd expected nothing less. A Whitbread recipe and Dann's brewing skill were always going to hit the bullseye. It's bitterer than you might expect from and British Brown Ale, but that's backed up by plenty of malt. A great drinking beer. I think I did it justice.

We don't stay too late. There's still time for a barbecue dinner in a trendy, garage-like space back in Brooklyn (Fette Sau). Though my memories of the meal are almost as blurred as the photos I took.

We'll be meeting Jimmy again next time. When he interviews me and Dann in the middle of hipster Brooklyn.





The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer
http://www.amazon.com/Home-Brewers-Guide-Vintage-Beer/dp/1592538827




Jimmy's No. 43   
43 E. 7th St.,
New York, NY 10003.


Pointe Plaza Hotel
2 Franklin Ave,
Brooklyn, NY 11249.
Phone:+1 718-782-7000


Fette Sau
354 Metropolitan Ave,
Brooklyn, New York 11211.
Tel: +1 718-963-3404
http://www.fettesaubbq.com/

Bottled beer - some random stuff

I've a couple of texts related to bottling which are too small to merit a whole post of their own. Randomly nailing them together seems the best solution.

First it's a rather different application of the Merchandise Marks Act. I'm slightly surprised by the outcome, as I'm sure the practice condemned as illegal goes on today.

"BOTTLED BEER.
IMPORTANT CASE TO THE TRADE.
On Saturday, ease some interest to "the trade" was heard at the Dewsbury Police Court. Messrs. Findlater & Mackie, wine and spirit merchants, Dewsbury, were charged with four offences under the Merchandise Marks Act.

Mr. Warren, of Leeds, prosecuted on behalf the Yorkshire Mineral Waters Association (Limited), and Mr. G. E. B. Blakeley appeared for the defendants.

It appeared that the defendants had sold a quantity of bottled beer to William Evans, landlord the Bath Hotel, Dewsbury, and the secretary afterwards purchased from Evans two dozen bottles, of beer, and found that several them had impressed upon them the names persons who bottled beer in Leeds, Huddersfield, and Spen Valley, and therefore the defendants had sold goods to which a false description was applied.

Mr. contended at length that the defendants were not liable, and that the offences charged did not come within the meaning of the Act.

The Bench found the charges proved, and fined defendants 10s. and costs in each case."
Yorkshire Evening Post - Monday 30 May 1892, page 3.

If I read it correctly, Findlater & Mackie had refilled bottles from other bottlers, which had the other bottler's name embossed in the glass. I'm sure this goes on today, where bottles are returned and refilled. For example, Westvleteren in Westmalle bottles.

Why was the Yorkshire Mineral Waters Association so keen on taking Findlater & Mackie to court? Ti stop anyone ever re-using someone else's bottles? Doesn't seem like any great crime to me.


I've heard of Findlater & Mackie. They were a big bottler, whose name regularly pops up on labels. Hang on. It seems like they're still going. Isn't that a aurprise?

Part two of this post is about counterfeit Bass again. Only this time it's an American brewery committing the fraud. Even better, it's one I've heard of, Feigenspan. One of the big Ale brewers of Newark, New Jersey. Eventually they were bought out by their great local rivals, Ballantine.

"IMITATING BRITISH BOTTLED BEER.
A telegram from New York states that the Federal Court has issued an injunction restraining a Newark brewer, named Fegenspan, from using a label for his beers imitating that of English firm Bass and Co., on the ground that the imitation was used with intent to defraud. The Court ordered Fegenspan to account to the English company for all ales sold by him under their label."
Sheffield Evening Telegraph - Tuesday 08 August 1899, page 3.

Note they got the spelling of Feigenspan slightly wrong. It says much of Bass's worldwide fame that a brewer in another continent was passing off his own beer for it. At the time, Bass was one of the best-known brands in the world.

Lager riots

Messing with Sunday rituals is risky:

'Riots are now chronic in New York, and both mob and authorities fight with fire-arms. The last two sectional insurrections were an attack by the oystermen on the quarantine station, and a rising of the Germans against a prohibition to vend their beloved lager-beer on Sundays. In all these rows the insurgents attain at least one common end — they combat the detested "new police." '
Dundee Courier - Wednesday 05 August 1857, page 4.

Fire-arms? That's serious rioting.  I'd love to learn more about these disturbances. I guess stupid licensing laws weren't uniquely British.

I couldn't imagine a Sunday in Bavaria without beer. Few Bavarians could either.

I'll be there soon. In beer's heartland. Two Sundays I'll get. Beer? Sure, there'll be beer. Along with impractically large chunks of pork, rustling trees, laughing kids, chatty blokes, dirndled waitresses and absolutely no stress at all. Can't wait.

No wonder they got so angry in New York.

NYC for EIP

I'm doing this all backwards. Or at least not in the right order. Just letting you know.

The Tuesday of my holiday was an exciting day. One I'd long awaited. A chance to try East India Porter. Someting I've dreamt of since I was a child. Ok, maybe not quite that long. For a couple of years. Since I finally twigged what EI stood for.

The release of the third beer in the Pretty Things Once Upon a Time series, 1855 Barclay Perkins East India Porter, was timed to coincide with my holiday. Boston being a bit too far from Washington, I was pencilled in for the second launch in New York. Held at the Rye House on 17th Street.

I took the train up. The normal Amtrak service rather than the high-speed Acela. That's hardly any faster and more than double the price. I did most of the route last year, though not all in one go. Pretty. That's exactly what the route isn't. Unless, like me, you're into urban and industrial decay. It's like the grottiest bits of South Yorkshire multiplied by the Ruhr and Strathclyde. Philadelphia in particular has some fine examples of crumbling terraced streets, with perhaps one house in ten occupied. Dead factories with shattered windows stare mournfully at the passing trains, the rails of their sidings rusting into the earth. It got me right into the mood for stepping back into 1855.

I arrived with just enough time to dump my bag at the hotel before moseying on down to Rye. It was packed. At first I thought it was just the after-work yuppie crowd. I was wrong. They were there to try the beer. Bit of a shock, that. Pleasing, but still a shock.

Dann soon pressed a glass of EIP into my hand, drawn from a pin on the bar. The beer didn't disappoint. There was the distinctive, roasty taste of brown malt that hovers in the space between cocoa, coffee and chocolate. And hops. Lots of those. And a stack of bitterness, piled up almost to the ceiling. A few more glasses threw themselves with unseemly haste down my throat.

"Take as many bottles as you want." Dann said the next day. How many could I comfortably carry? Seven seemed like a good number. Lucky for some. Lucky for me.

USA here I come (again, again, again)

I'll be in the USA again soon, family in tow. 1st May we fly out to Washington. Then I'll be wallowing in beery goodness for a week.

Tuesday 3rd May I'll be in New York for the launch of Pretty Things East India Porter. According the to Dann, it's the best beer yet in the series. Can't wait to get my lips wrapped around a pint of it. If you fancy being subjected to an hour-long monologue on 19th-century mashing techniques, come along. I'll talk to anyone who'll listen

Thursday 5th May I'll be at Devil's Backbone doing my pretend brewing thing. Throwing hops in. I'm dead good at that.

My brother's coming over to look after the books. I've instructed him to talk them for at least 15 minutes each day. Tell them what good books they are and how much daddy loves them. I hope he doesn't hold one of his wild accountancy parties and spill cash on them.

Spare money? In Washington or New York during the first week in May? Buy me beer.