Mild Memories

May is Mild month, at least according to CAMRA. As a loyal member, I feel it's time for me to write something about Mild.

Newark
The very first Mild I drank was Hole's, well Courage (Newark) as it was then romantically called. 1973, it must have been. It was in the Castle and Falcon, a pub virtually in the yard of the Castle Brewery where the beer was brewed. It wasn't cask. Hole's was all bright. The beer was filtered (but not pasteurised, I think) and served through electric pumps. The glass cylinder type with a diaphragm that moved from side to side. Most beer, including cask, was served this way in the East Midlands at the time.

For the life of me, I can't remember what Hole's Mild was called. Definitely not Hole's Mild. (If anyone can remember, please let me know.) Even though not real, it wasn't so bad. Bright beer was a reasonable second-best to cask. It wasn't fizzy like top-pressure keg, though it was never as good as well-handled cask. At least you always got a full pint through electric pumps, as the cylinder was a measured half pint.

My first pint of cask Mild was a little later. Home Mild. In the early 1970's, of the 35 to 40 pubs in Newark, all but 6 were owned by Courage. This was the result of both Newark's breweries - Hole's and Warwick & Richardson - ending up in Courage's hands. Only one of their Newark pubs sold cask beer when I started drinking: Barnsley Bitter in the Wing Tavern. The town's only other source of real ale was the four Home Ale's pubs.

Home only brewed two draught beers: the prosaically-named Home Bitter and Home Mild. Both were slightly stronger than usual. Home Mild had an OG of 1036º, which made it one of the strongest in the country.

I won't claim Home Mild was the greatest beer on earth. But it did have two things going for it: it was cheap and reliable. Nottingham still had three decent-sized independents - Home, Shipstone and Hardy & Hanson (all now sadly closed) - that owned the majority of pubs in the city. Any coincidence that it also had some of the lowest beer prices in the country? I thinkl not. The Nottingham brewers helped drag down prices in the whole of the East Midlands. Home beers were always in good condition. I never had a duff pint until they built the new brewhouse (the cause of their demise).

I'm pretty sure I first tried Home Mild in the Newcastle Arms, close to Newark North Gate train station. It was a typical Home Ales pub. It had a public bar and a lounge, was fairly modern in style, but pretty down-to-earth. God knows what it's like or what it sells now. I lost interest when S & N took them over.

Leeds
One cask Mild. That was the choice I had. Until I started university at Leeds in 1975. My very first evening there I made two lasting friendships. The first was with Matt. The other with Tetley's Mild. Me and Matt were off down the pub shortly after meeting in our shared student flat. If I remember correctly, we hit the Pack Horse, Eldon and Fenton. All Tetley's pubs. Weren't all the pubs in Leeds? All three had pretty decent electric-pumped Tetley's Mild and Bitter. Already committed to Mild, my choice was easy.

Matt was along, too, the first time I tasted handpumped Teley's Mild. We went on a drinking expedition to Sheepscar. There wasn't a great deal in Sheepscar at the time. The back to backs had all been demolished and just the occasional lonely pub remained. The Sheepscar was one, surrounded by nothing but roads and waste ground. But it did have handpulled Tetley's. So did the magnificent Roscoe and Victoria. This was where Tetley's grand plan to replace beer engines with electric pumps ground to a halt. I can't remember the exact story, but I know they backed down in the face of opposition from one corner or another.

When I took my first sip, I understood why customers had wanted the handpulls retained. It tasted like a completely different beer - and a much better one - than the electric-pumped version. Not surprising really, as this was how Tetley's was made to be served - through a handpump with an economiser. The texture, head and flavour were all so much better. I was sold.

From that point on, I hunted down the remaining Tetley's pumps with beer engines. Most were in districts in the throes of demolition or that had just been rebuilt: Hunslet, Sheepscar, Cross Green. Early in 1977 I moved into a back to back in Cross Green. There were some great pubs and lots of great Tetley's Mild. The Cross Green Tavern, the Black Dog. It was like heaven.

But I was still doing a fair bit of my drinking on the other side of the city. With Simon, a friend from school in Newark also at Leeds University, I used to spend evenings in the Rising Sun and Cardigan Arms on Kirkstall Road. Both had electric pumps, but the beer was still pretty good. Then one day we entered the taproom of the Cardigan and saw a row of handpumps on the bar. The beer wasn't a disappointment. It's still the best Tetley's I've ever had. The Cardigan was one of the first pubs to go back to handpumps. A couple of years later, there were almost no electric pumps left.


London
After returning from Bordeaux in May 1979, me and Matt lived in London for a while. A whole bunch of us did. Simon, Tym, Piers. In the same house. It was incredibly cheap for London. Free, in fact, because we were squatting. An old terraced house on Swaton Road in Bromley-by-Bow. (That's the East End, if you're not acquainted with London.) In a row of houses overshadowed by tower blocks. A lovely area.

The only pub locally that sold Mild was a Whitbread pub in Chrisp street market. It was keg but I occasionally drank it, just because it was there. I never saw anyone else under 70 buy it. There wasn't a great deal of cask beer about. The Tenterden had the cask Bitter that Truman's had just introduced. It wasn't great, so I usually mixed it with bottled Guinness. Perhaps I was subconsciously trying to construct something like Mild.

Me and Matt had a job in a factory close to Old Street tube. It was a funny place. They made the boxes for anti-aircraft missiles and doors for warships. I spent most of my time sanding down missile boxes. Thirsty work. Not far away was a pretty decent real ale pub, The Bricklayers Arms. Me and Matt often used to spend our half hour dinner break there. I can remember my excitement the day we found that they had Fuller's Hock on. It was in beautiful condition. Absolutely perfect. I had 5 pints. I liked it that much. I soon wore the booze off once I got back to sanding.


Leeds Again
I didn't stay in London long. When the rains started at the end of summer, we realised why the house in Swaton Road had been boarded up. The roof was riddled with holes. I moved back up to Leeds, to 97 Brudenell Road. At one time, almost everyone I knew had lived in that house. I got a job at Systime Computers, a DEC OEM. (Apologies for the computer jargon.) Assistant scheduler, that was my title. The job was even less important than it sounds.

Friday was our big night out. I'd meet up with Harry and Dave Turton straight after work. The North Street crawl was our favourite, ending up at The Roscoe and Victoria. The Roscoe was a brilliant pub. A proper Irish pub. Not somewhere with a stupid faux Irish name and Shamrocks all over the place. A real Irish pub with an Irish landlord and mostly Irish customers. They sold a cracking pint of Tetley's Mild. It was one of the last Beerhouses in Leeds. That meant it only had a licence for beer and cider, not spirits. Beerhouse licenses were created by the 1830 Beer Act. Licensing authorities started a vendetta against them in the 1880's and had whittled away their numbers either by forced closure or allowing them to upgrade to a full licence.

The Roscoe had a brilliant atmosphere. Even though it was tiny, they still had live music, the musicians sitting amongst the drinkers. It was one of the best pubs in Leeds and much loved by the Irish community. I could see why. Which is why the road scheme which necessitated knocking down both it and the Sheepscar - two of only a handful of buildings left standing in a demolition wasteland - is so baffling. It seemed as if the council went out of its way to get rid of as many pubs as it could. Thankfully, that wasn't the final end for the Roscoe. The landlord took on a nearby club and turned it into the New Roscoe. It didn't have the charm of the original, but at least a very special institution wasn't allowed to die.

In a full Friday session we usually managed to knock back 10 to 12 pints of Tetley's Mild. We stopped not so much because we were drunk, but because we were full. Though I seem to remember we often stumbled on to the Corner Cafe, an excellent ethnic Indian restaurant (despite the name) just over the border in Chapeltown.


London again
When I realised being and assistant scheduler wasn't much of a career, I took a 3-month government course to retrain as a computer programmer in 1982. There wasn't much programming work in the North so I was more or less compelled to return to London.

This time I lived in Thornton Heath, 10 miles due south of Victoria station. It's part of a swathe of very similar suburbs stretching from Streatham to Croydon, that were built as London's local train network developed around 1900. I rented a room from Tony. He'd grown up in Wimbledon and was a big Young's fan. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of the location of their tied houses. He took me around dozens of different ones. Sadly, Young's had discontinued their Mild by that time, so I had to drink Bitter.

By the early 1980's Mild was pretty much extinct in London. You occasionally saw keg Mild is some dismal dump of a pub. Or cask as a special treat in a real ale pub. But I sometimes went months without drinking any. Then something really strange happened. Truman's, already in the same ownership as Watney's, suddenly became really enthusiastic about cask. They introduced a whole range of cask beers - Mild, Bitter and Best Bitter. Many of their pubs sold all three.

My favourite place for a pub crawl in central London was Fleet Street, then still home to most national daily newspapers. The Wig and Pen, The Old Bell, The Punch Tavern and, just a bit further on, the magnificent art-deco Black Friar. The Wig and Pen was a Truman's pub. When Truman's went cask-crazy, they stocked all three. I'd go there after work on a Friday, amazed but delighted to have found a regular source of Mild in the centre of town.

I should take a look art the recipe for Truman's Mild. The brewing records should be there in the London Metropolitan Archives. I hadn't thought of this before. The Truman's cask beers are the only ones where I could find the records for beer I personally drank. What a strange idea. By checking the dates, I'm pretty sure I could track down specific batches. How weird is that? Definitely top of my list next time I drop bt the archives.

Planning a trip to Prague, I started teaching myself Czech. Once there I realised how inadequate my efforts had been and enrolled in a night school class. It took place just north of where I worked on Gloucester Place. It ws close to Lord's cricket ground. Our teacher was Czech dissident Jan Kavan, who later became an MP in the Czech parliament. After the lesson me and my fellow students often went for a drink in a nearby pub. A Greene King house that surprisingly sold their XX Dark Mild. Another unremarkable beer, but you couldn't afford to be choosy as a Mild-drinker in London. You had to grab any scraps thrown in your direction.


Swindon

After 1985, when I left London for New York, my life was Mild-free again for a long time. The USA wasn't the Mild-drinker's paradise it is today. What? It still isn't a Mild paradise? Believe me, it was much worse then. I was happy to get hold of anything that wasn't pale yellow and chemically-tasting.

Returning to Europe in 1987, I decided to give Holland a try rather than just return to Britain. I found a job then guess what my new employer did? Sent me to Britain for two years. Not just anywhere in Britain. Swindon. Once home the Great Western Railway's engine works (the last British steam locomotive was built there), now a sprawling town of Barrett-box estates. In a word, a shithole.

It did score well in one respect. It had two small breweries, the established Arkell's and the new Archer's. Only one snag: neither brewed a Mild. But all was not lost. Oxford isn't far away and Morrell's had one tied house in the older part of Swindon, the Beehive. Surprisingly, they stocked Morrell's Dark Mild, a pretty rare beer, only available in a couple of pubs. It became one of my regular haunts. As did the Bakers Arms and the Gluepot in the railway village. Neither sold Mild. The former was an Arkell's house, with a charming 1950's feel. I wonder what's happened to that? It's about as unfashionable a look as you could imagine.

The Gluepot was Archer's only tied house. Dolores worked close by at W.H. Smith's (their office, not a shop) and used to go there with her colleagues on a Friday dinnertime.

With very little Mild about, I came to appreciate Southwestern-style Bitter - quite malty, sweet even, with delicate hopping. Arkell's BBB is a great example. Really good stuff. But I digress, these are my Mild, not Bitter, memories.


Australia
Mild in Australia? Surely I'm joking? Not in the slightest. In October 1990 I was sent to work for Ansett Airlines in Melbourne. Their office was in the city centre and I lived a 15-minute walk away in Carlton.

I've never been very comfortable with heat. I'd be happy if it were never warmer than 20º C. Australia in the summer was quite a challenge. Luckily there was a pub selling draught Cooper's about half way home, the Canada. A quick schooner of Cooper's Stout cooled me down a treat and fortified me for the remaining journey. Happy days.

Yes, I've remembered this is supposed to be about Mild. Cooper's made my time in Australia bearable (beer-wise, Australia has plenty of good points in other areas). There were a few pubs with draught Cooper's Sparkling Ale around where I lived. And a few more selling Bottled Cooper's Stout. The Stout is a corking beer, a little rough around the edges, earthy and intense. It even tastes good at 0.5º C, the standard Australian serving temperature.

I liked Cooper's so much, that I arranged a weekend in Adelaide, its hometown. They have one tied house. Just the one. It sells their full range on draught, including Dark Ale. A Mild. Rather a nice one, too. It's how I imagine Mild was in the 1920's, being a good bit stronger than modern British Mild. I can't recall ever seeing it on sale in Melbourne, not even bottled. Maybe you can now. Bierkoning here it Amsterdam has it. I bought a couple of bottles last month.

In some ways the Australian beer market is very regional. The beer glasses are different in each state. What they call a midi in New South Wales is a pot in Victoria and a schooner in South Australia. Beer styles vary, too. Victoria is all pale lager. Really nasty pale lager. I hear the Abbotsford brewery in Melbourne has discontinued Stout. Brilliant. That was my last resort drinkable beer in all the shitty CUB pubs. What the hell would I do now? In Adelaide, there's plenty of Ale about.

New South Wales is different again, with Old and New. The latter is just the same pissy pale lager you find all over the world. Old is a form of Dark Mild. Pasteurised, filtered, gassed-up and kegged, but still Dark Mild. It's not the most inspiring beer, in its current artificial form, but it's still Mild, so I felt obliged to give it a go when visiting Sydney. There was a choice of Tooth's or Toohey's. I can't recall there being any great difference between the two. It's another type of beer I never saw in Melbourne. The only time I came across it in Victoria was in Ballarat. Or was it Bendigo? One of those country towns.

Cairns. I drank Old there, too. That was weird, drinking iced Mild in the tropics. It took me back to my Leeds days. The summer of 1976 was long, hot and dry. My brother had brought me a 5-gallon plastic barrel of Mild he'd brewed. It was so warm, I added ice cubes to each glass to cool it down. We sat on the balcony of our student flat in North Hill Court, Pete, Matt, Tym and me, listening to The Ramones first album, sipping iced Mild. Has Mild ever tasted better?. I should have been studying for my first-year Chinese exams. It's no wonder I failed them.

I had to return during the summer holidays to take resits. I was broke, living just off the dole. I studied all day and relaxed in the evening with War and Peace. And 45 minutes nursing a half of Teley's Mild in the Pack Horse. A half was all I could afford.

The last time
The last time I drank Mild was in February. I was with the family in London for the weekend. We met Stonch at his local, The Jerusalem Tavern, for a couple of beers. And to give him a bottle of my 1914 Porter.

The Jerusalem is a St. Peter's tied house and one of London's few regular Mild outlets. I'd had a few pints there on my previous visit to London in December. My day had gone pear-shaped when I discovered that the London Metropolitan Archive was closed. Suddenly I had an empty day in London in front of me. I couldn't drink too much, because that evening I was attending The British Guild of Beer Writers' annual dinner. How did I fill the hours? With a few pints of Mild at the Jerusalem and a copy of the Guardian. Sitting at the bar, I was pleasantly surprised to see how popular the Mild was.

Zoigl

Back on the motorway, we're soon back in Germany. It's a strange feeling. This the part of the tour I've most keenly anticipated: Zoigl country.

I notice the first Zoigl sign 100 metres before we pull up at our hotel. Sadly, it's swung flat against the wall. No Zoigl there today.

Zum Waldnaabtal
Marktplatz 1 in Neuhaus,
92670 Windischeschenbach.
Tel. +49 (0)9681 / 37 11
http://www.waldnaabtal-hotel.de

Our hotel is also a pub and restaurant. It's in that rustic kitsch style I've learned to love. Set your mind free and seek the beauty within. God, I'm turning into a hippy. I need a beer, quick. The landlord's daughter checks us in. It isn't the last we'll be seeing of her.

Andy takes us over to look at Windischeschenbach. We're staying in its twin town of Neuhaus. The two are separated by a rushing stream. Twin towns is a slight overstatement. The two combined make a pretty small town. Windischeschenbach does at least have a small high street lined with shops. At the end of it we spot the Zoigl trailer. It reminds me of a muck spreader. This is how the wort is transported from the communal brewhouse to the private homes where it's fermented. This is so exciting. Even though it's just sitting by the side of the road. I spot three or four pubs. The plan is for Andy to drive us back over here in about an hour. We should have somewhere to drink.

Back at our hotel, Andy has a chat with the landlord. Yes, he does have Zoigl on. Hooray! Even though the official Zoigl time ended on Sunday (it's Tuesday, if you've lost track). He has a little flyer with the Zoigl schedule for the year printed on it. They're very well organised. Each of the five brewing families in Neuhaus takes it in turns to sell Zoigl Thursday to Sunday. Like I said, it's Tuesday. Once a year (3rd of October in 2008) , all five Zoigl families sell beer simultaneously. I'll mark that date in my calendar.

I have my first glass of Zoigl in front of me. It's a shape of mug I've never seen before - low, wide and with a pattern of raised half spheres. Like the bottom half of a dalek. Andy looks at it with longing I reserve for brewery yards. "Do you really want to go to Windisch tonight? We could just stay here." I can see how his mind's working. I've barely said yes and he's already halfway down his first beer. I can't say I blame him. That Pilsner Urquell tour was enough to drive a teetotaller to drink.

Romantic that I am, I'd expected Zoigl to come straight from a barrel. Having it served by top pressure robbed me of another illusion. Quite a lot of top pressure, too. Maybe they're getting close to the end of the barrel. I've once had Zoigl before - bottled, 18 months ago (thanks again Sebastian). It was absolutely wonderful, like a really good Franconian Kellerbier. This one is disappointing in comparison. Far from bad, just not as good as my first. (Isn't the same true of most everything? The first is always the most memorable.)

Bahler Zoigl: golden colour, sweetish taste, honey, butter and resin flavours. I score it 59 out of 100.

We're the only customers in the pub. The landlord's daughter comes over. She tells Andy that she can take us to the Zoigl house now. It isn't far. Just next to where Andy's parked the minibus opposite the hotel. It looks just like all the other houses in the street, except there's a small green sign saying Zoigl on the big double doors to the courtyard. Inside we can see that it's a farmhouse with various outbuildings. A friendly, youngish chap in overalls welcomes us. He's the farmer/Zoigl brewer.

He takes us to see his brewery. It's in quite a small room adjacent to the courtyard entrance. Along one wall is an open fermenter. There's a healthy-looking scum on top of it. On the oppsite wall are stainless steel lagering tanks. The whole space is smaller than my bedroom. And I don't live in a palace.

Here's what he told me about the brewing process.

- the beer is left in the coolship in the communal brewery overnight and transported to someone's house the next morning

- primary fermentation is at 6-8º C and lasts 7 days

- lagering is for 20 days at 8º C

- he brew 22 hl 10 times a year

"Do you want to see my Zoiglstube?" Are bears catholic? Course we blooming do. It's behind the brewing area, along one side of the inner courtyard. "It used to be a barn" There's enough agricultural equipment lying around the yard to convince me this is still a genuine farm. Diversification really is the name of the game in rural Bavaria.

The pub is surprisingly spacious, especially considering it's only open a couple of days each month. You guessed - more rustic kitsch. Pale pine is everywhere. At one end is a tiny bar with a single beer tap. He pours us a Zoigl each. "Would you like to try a special schnapps?" Am I a catholic wood? "It's called Hopfengold." I'm not quite sure if any hops are involved in its manufacture. I'm too busy slurping it down to ask. It's 56% ABV and I experience a pleasant warm feeling as it progresses towards my gut. I've just about totally forgotten about that godawful Urquell tour.

Mrs. Brewer/Farmer comes in and has a short but totally incomprehensible conversation with Mr. Brewer/Farmer. His German was pretty normal when he spoke to us just now. This is full-strength dialect. I literally don't understand a single word. Just as well he made an effort with us.

The tour isn't finished yet. "Do you want to see the communal brewhouse?" He keeps asking us questions with only one possible answer. Maybe it's all a clever trick. We'll be so used to nodding our heads enthusiastically that when he asks us if we want to hand over our wallets we'll say yes, too. It isn't far to the communal brewhouse. It looks like a shed. Not a particularly grand shed. There's a tiny plaque explaining what it is and a bit of its history. He unlocks the door and we enter.

I've been around lots of breweries. Quite a lot of them in the last 5 days. This is about the least grand I've seen. It looks like a shed inside, too. It reminds me of the Museumbrauerei in Singen, which I suppose isn't all that far away. Except this one doesn't have a steam engine. It doesn't have a full set of brewing equipment. No fermenters or lagering tanks, which reduces the clutter a fair bit. The copper is directly fired by a furnace underneath it. On the first floor there's a shallow cool ship of a type you very rarely see nowadays. Well not in use. You do see them in museums. This one is still very much part of the equipment in active use.

They also have one of the little tanker trailers we saw earlier. It has a star of David and "Zoigl" painted on it. It must be a cheering sight to see it being pulled through town. We'll find out more about exactly how cheering tomorrow. But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

We return to the hotel. It's really livened up in the bar. There's an old couple in one corner. Time to eat. There's lots of tempting rustic fare on the menu. Andy and Jim order some meat extravaganza made for two. It sounds like it's going to be an awful lot of food. I pick something that sounds as if it can be eaten by one normal person.

The joint's now really buzzing. Another old couple is sitting in another corner. On the table next to them is a middle-aged bloke with what looks suspiciously like a mail-order oriental bride. They have a baby with them. By the bar the landlord's daughter is playing with what I assume is her child. It's another real family business.

Andy and Jim's food arrives. It's on a plate only slightly smaller than our table. For two? It looks like enough to feed everyone in the pub. There's no way they'll eat all of that. I'm pretty convinced of my ability to polish off my much more modest meal. Filled dalek glasses keep appearing, but are soon emptied. Andy orders a Weizen. What's wrong with him? You can drink Weizen anywhere, but not Zoigl.

I was right - Andy and Jim admit defeat with their giant plate far from empty. We're soon alone again. The other customers only came in to eat and disappear quickly. I can't remember what time it is when we call it a day. It's not that late.

The day has been long and varied. Seeing both bits of a Zoigl operation has been exciting. It contrasts nicely with (and makes up for) the mind-aching tedium of Pilsner Urquell. Tomorrow is my last day on the tour. Will it be an anticlimax? The next installment will reveal all.

Mild month

May is Mild month. At least according to CAMRA and I'm a loyal member.

I'll be posting about Mild soon. Very soon.

It'll make a change from Franconia and Berlier Weisse.

Koninginnendag purchase in action

The wine jug I bought (OK, that Dolores bought) is coming in dead handy for decanting bottles of my Porter and Stout. As you can see from the photo below. What did I do without it.

Pilsen

Breakfast is at 08:30 again. I'm down before that. Last night was the latest I've stayed out so far. It must have been getting on for 11 o'clock when we left the last pub.

After eating, there's enough time for Jim and I to take a look at the Staropramen brewery. The older bits of the brewery are quite impressive. I get another chance to stare longingly at a brewery yard. Unfortunately, we're a little too early for any of the neighbouring pubs. They don't open until 09:30. At least I get some photos of the brewery. No idea what I'll do with them, but I have them.

We're aiming for the first English-language tour of the day at Pilsner Urquell. The drive is our first taste of motorway in since Germany. It's no more palatable than usual. There's no great distance between Pilsen and Prague so it doesn't take long.



Pilsen - Na Spilce
U Prazdroje 7,
304 97 Plzeň.
Tel: 377 062 755,
http://www.naspilce.com/

After parking and buying tickets we still have a while before the tour starts. Luckily, the pub is open.

You remember me saying that beerhalls come in a variety of sizes? U Spilce is at the large end. F*cking enormous. And shinily new. They have a decent selection of beers on draught, including the two new Master beers - 13º amber and 18º dark. I go for the latter. It is 11:00 and it only comes in 40 cl glasses. There's time for three and a snack before the tour starts. I'm later glad that I had those three strong beers.

Master 18º Tmavé: very dark brown colour, sweet taste, toffee, liquorice and dates flavours. I'm surprised at how good this beer is. It's a decent try at a Doppelbock. I give in 62 out of 100.

A group of about 200 Chinese comes in. There's still plenty of seats left after they sit down. I told you this place was big. None of the Chinese seem to be drinking beer, which is a bit odd in a brewery. Then I spot a couple of the children - they can't be more than 7 or 8 years old - struggling with a half litre pot of Prazdroj. Very odd.

I'd been a bit worried at the entrance to the ticked office. There was display of beer bottles called "The World of SABMiller". A whole wall of dull lagers. It's not the sort of world I want to live in. Why such obtrusive corporate imagery? This is the home of pale lager. Shouldn't they be celebrating that rather than how well the parent company has played beer monopoly across Eastern Europe?

Pilsner Urquell tour

The tour begins with a film. The alarm bells start ringing (in my head) when it refers to Pilsner Urquell as a brand rather than a beer. Let's hope that's the end of the corporate bullshit. A bus takes us to the bottling plant. While waiting for the bus, I ask our guide if there's still a separate Gambrinus brewhouse. His answer is long and as clear as mud. At the end, I'm non the wiser about where Gambrinus is brewed. From the guide's hand gestures, it takes place somewhere in a far distant corner of the site.

The bottling line is in action and is an impressive sight. For 2 or 3 minutes. Unfortunately 3 Americans in another group ask the guide questions. Lots of questions. I'm not sure exactly what about, because they are stood some distance away and it's pretty noisy, what with the rattling of bottles and all. Twenty minutes later and they still have bottling questions. Pressure is starting to build in my bladder. I wonder if there's a bog close by?

Another 15 minutes and the Americans haven't run out of bottling questions. Something is about to run out of my bladder. I need a toilet and quick. We move on just in time. By the entrance there are toilets. Relieving myself is the biggest thrill of the day so far. It's going to be one of the highpoints of the next two hours.

Next it's the historic brewhouse. They stopped brewing here a couple of years ago. "Is Pilsner Urquell only brewed here?" Andy asks cheekily. "Yes, all the Pilsner Urquell in the Czech Republic is brewed here." "What about Poland?" "It's brewed there under license. But Czech Pilsner Urquell is only brewed here." "And Russia?" "It's brewed under licence there, too." So Pilsner Urquell is only brewed in the Czech Republic. Except when it's brewed in Poland or Russia.

We see another film. It repeats quite a bit of what was in the first. Loads more references to brand in place of beer. My feet are starting to ache from all the standing around. "Pilsner Urquell is brewed in exactly the same way as in 1842." says our guide proudly, "The process takes five weeks." Mmm. Didn't they used to lager it for 3 months?

The next multimedia installation is undergoing repair. A workman is painting a sign on the wall. I watch him for 5 minutes. It's more interesting than the rest of what's going on. I'm relieved to hear that the renovation means we'll have to skip the next film. What a shame. I was looking forward to hearing more about the Pilsner Urquell brand.

After the historic brewhouse we drop by the "working brewhouse". It looks no more lively than the museum one. Sorry, but I don't believe any brewing goes on here. This is a workday, but there's no evidence of any activity. It's also way too small to be brewing the quantity of beer they churn out. It dawns on me that the bottling line is the only real part of the brewery we're going to get to see.

I'm roused out of my torpor by an interesting nugget of information. They use directly fired coppers and the slight amber colour is the result of caramelisation. My day hasn't been totally wasted. Not quite. And until 1900 they got their yeast from Weihenstephan

The tour is becoming like a frustration dream, except there's no possibility of me waking up. Falling asleep, now there's a chance of that. "Stonch recommended this tour?" I ask Andy. "Yes. He must have had a babe showing him around and spent his time drooling over her." That turns out to be a remarkably accurate assessment.

Just two hours in and we finally get to the old lagering cellars. With only the occasional barrel remaining, they're quite a sad sight. Time for a beer finally? No, time for another bloody film. Great.

The beer used to be down here for three months, our guide says. Didn't he, what seems like several weeks ago at the start of this endurance test, tell us that the beer has always been made in 5 weeks? We see some of the old open fermenters, but it doesn't look like they are ever used. Finally we get to a cellar with some full barrels. A cellarmen serves us beer straight from one in plastic cups. I go back into the queue to get a second, as does Keith. We deserve it. In fact we deserve half the barrel. After what we've gone through.

It's cloudy and the guide tells us it's 6 weeks old and three quarters of the way through the lagering process. So it's lagered 8 weeks? Get your bloody story straight. That's the third different lagering time we've been given. This is the beer made on the old equipment. "Does it taste the same as the beer made the new way?" I ask. The guide spends the next 5 minutes giving me an answer that doesn't answer my question. The beer is a good bit better than what we drank in Prague yesterday. But it still isn't as good as I remember Prazdroj being in the 1980's.

By the time the tour finally draws to a close, I've been contemplating suicide as a method of escape for almost an hour. "I'll never take anyone on that again." says Andy. "Bloody Stonch."


Šenk Na Parkánu
Veleslavínova 4,
30114 Plzeň.
Tel: 377 235 574

We head for the brewery's museum pub, Na Parkánu, which sells unfiltered Urquell. It's a pleasant enough pub, with a couple of wood-panelled rooms. We each order an Urquell. Except Andy, of course. Still coffee time for him. The beer isn't bad and helps quell my anger a little. Not completely, but a little.

I would describe the pub more precisely, but that tour has taken away my will to live. Look at the photos. Unless my camera gets nicked before I get home. In that case you'll have to use your imagination.

Unfiltered Pilsner Urquell: hazy golden colour, bitter taste, butter, pepper, honey, resin and grass flavours. Quite nice, with lots of hop character. I score it 68 out of 100.

I have another snack. This time it's a klobasa. I had one in U Rotundy, but this one is a good deal classier.

On the way back to the minibus, I snap a couple of trams. For Andrew. He likes tram photos. The day hasn't been a total waste.

I do finally discover a way of getting rid of my extra crowns. I sell them to Andy. He'll be back again soon. Lucky bastard. Assuming he avoids the Urquell tour.

Czech Beer Styles

Here's a handy cut-out-and-keep guide Czech beer styles. Avoid embarrassing incorrect style classifications. My list is ever-so-slightly more extensive than the BJCP's (must go and wash my brain out now).

8º pale - Lehký (Light). 3% ABV. Light, low-alcohol, easy-drinking beers. Bottled only.

10º pale - Světlé Výčepní (Draught). 3.5-4% ABV. Everyday cooking lager. The most popular style in the Czech Republic.

10º amber - Polotmavé Vycepni (Draught). 3.5-4% ABV. A not that common cooking version of amber lager. A style that is pretty much only seen in the Czech Republic.

10º dark - Tmavé Vycepni (Draught). 3.5-4% ABV. Quite common - usually quite sweet and a bit malty. The lager equivalent of ordinary Mild.

11-12º pale - Světlý Ležák (Lagerbier). 4.5-5% ABV. What foreigners think of as the typical Czech beer. It has a considerably wider gammut of flavours than the incorrect designation "Bohemian Pilsner" would have you believe. Though all have prominent Saaz hop character, they vary from bone dry to quite sweet.

11-12º amber - Polotmavý Ležák (Lagerbier). 4.5-5% ABV. Somewhere between dark and light 12º in both colour and flavour. Sweetish to dry, with quite prominent malt and some hops. Sometimes it really is a mix of pale and dark 12º.

11-12º dark - Tmavý Ležák (Lagerbier). 4.5-5% ABV. Vary quite widely in flavour from very sweet beers similar to Austrian Doppelmalz to dry, roasty beers more akin to a Schwarzbier. Mostly only have a quite subdued hop character.

13-14º pale - Speziál (Special). 5.5-6% ABV. Sometimes like a German Spezial - malty, but with quite prominent hops. Other times more like a German Märzen, with malt dominating.

13-14º amber - Speziál (Special). 5.5-6% ABV. Currently very much in vogue in the Czech Republic. SImilar to an amber Märzen.

13-14º dark - Speziál (Special). 5.5-6% ABV. A style only found in Franconia and the Czech Republic - a Dunkles Märzen. Malty, full-bodied and sometimes with a surprising degree of hoppiness.

16-17º pale - Strong. 6.5-7% ABV. Similar to a pale Bock. Very full-bodied, malty but with a good amount of balancing bitterness.

16-17º pale - Strong. 6.5-7% ABV. Amber Bock - like the pale version, but maltier.

16-17º amber - Strong. 6.5-7% ABV. Dark Bock. Sweeter and maltier than the paler versions.

18-20º dark - Very Strong. 7.5-8% ABV. Pale Doppelbock.

18-20º amber - Very Strong. 7.5-8% ABV. Amber Doppelbock.

18-24º dark - Very Strong. 7.5-10% ABV. Dark Doppelbock.

I make that 16 styles. Just one or two more than the "Bohemian Pilsner" listed by the BJCP. In a way, I'm surprised they haven't added more lager styles. Their main objective (and the Brewers Association, too) seems to be to give out as many medals as possible.

You also see Kvasnicové versions of at least 12º and 16º pale lagers. Such beers are reseeded with yeast after lagering and are usually (but not necessarily) slightly cloudy.

You can read much, much more about lager styles and their history in this article.

Prague (part two)

After a relaxing hour in U Kocoura, we continue our crawl, sorry, cultural tour. Charles Bridge is being renovated and half is out of use. It leaves the remaining half even more tourist-clogged than usual.

After fighting our way across, I propose "Do you want to go somewhere guaranteed 100% tourist-free." Jim and Keith nod eagerly. "Then follow me." Once over the bridge, we fork to the right. Our destination is no more than 200 metres away.

U Rotundy
Karoliny Světlé 17,
Prague 110 00.

I was overjoyed when I rediscovered U Rotundy. A slight confusion over its location left me unable to track it down for many years. I'm pleased to notice no alteration to the exterior. Great - still unspoiled. Entry confirms my preliminary conclusion: apart from the nicotine-stained walls being a shade or two darker, nothing has changed.

There's still just one beer on tap: Staropramen 10º. Another blast from the past. It used to be extremely rare for a pub to offer more than one draught. In less posh pubs, than meant 10º. 10º pale lager, or výčepní as its usually called, is the commonest style of beer in the Czech Republic. But you'll look for it vain in any US-based style guidelines. They only recognise one Czech beer style: Bohemian Pilsner. Typical. The one they do notice, doesn't really exist. What they mean is Světlý Ležák. Which isn't the same as f*cking Pilsner. But I don't have time to argue about that here. Back to U Rotundy.

The Staropramen goes down surprisingly well. It isn't exactly flavour-packed, but is clean and refreshing. When my first is empty, the waitress brings another and whacks it down on the table with a reassuring thud. That's the sort of service I like. She adds a pencil mark to our sheet of paper with a flourish.

A blackboard lists the snacks on sale. Brilliant! We can have Czech tapas. There's no translation, of course. I'm fairly confident what one or two of them are. We order those and a couple of others. What's a life without surprises?

Everyone but us is chain-smoking. At least we're joining in with chain-drinking. A group of middle-aged blokes sits in one corner. They don't say a great deal. Than again, their mouths are pretty well 100% occupied with smoking and drinking. I wonder if they'll be any chattier when a smoking ban is finally introduced? Probably not. They order a new round, though each has his own slip of paper to be marked. What a sociable bunch.

In the opposite corner sit a middle-aged woman and a youth of about 20. He looks slightly mentally throbbled. But he's still taking part enthusiastically in the chain smoking and drinking culture with his mum. I suppose this is care in the community, Czech-style.

The beers and tapas continue to arrive whenever needed. This is how I like to eat on a pub crawl: little bits and bobs, not some thirst-dousing big meal. We eat various sausage- and cheese-based snacks. They only cost around a euro each. I'm having big problems with my crowns. I withdrew 2,000 when we got to the Czech Republic two days ago. I've only managed to get rid of a couple of hundred and we've just 24 hours left in the country. U Rotundy isn't going to use up many.

I make a nostalgic trip to the bogs. Did I tell you that I once locked myself in the toilets here. It's another reason I have such a soft spot for U Rotundy. Yes, yes, YES! AT least one Prague pub is upholding the filthy toilets tradition. Above the urinals are signs saying "Don't throw in fag ends" Makes then hard to light, I guess.

When we're as smoked as kippers, it's sadly time to leave U Rotundy. If I want to maintain some minimal lung function for the rest of the day.

Did I mention that we're in the Staré Město? At the height of stupid pricing in Prague city centre, one of the few classic beerhalls not to succumb was U Medvídků. It's just around the corner, so I suggest it as our next stop.


U Medvídků
Na Perštýne 7,
100 01 Prague 1.
Tel: 2-24 21 19 16
http://www.umedvidku.cz/

This has been one of the city's main Budvar outlets for decades. When, in the late 1980's U Medvidku dropped Budvar, that was a sign of how desperate the regime was for foreign currency. After our stay in České Budějovice, I've just about Budvared myself out. I order 3 Old Gott's instead.

U Medvidku spreads over every floor of the building. The main beerhall is on the ground floor, the basement houses a shop (I bought an excellent Budvar towel there a few years ago) and somewhere in the upper floors is a brewery. Old Gott is the brewery's main product. In the brewpubby bit they have it on draught. Downstairs in the beerhall we have to make do with bottles.

We take a sip and all pull faces like we've been sucking on lemons. "This is undrinkable." says Jim "Full of diacetyl." I pretty much agree, though I do hate leaving beer. Even horrible beer. Jim and Keith give up after a couple of mouthfuls. I bravely soldier on until the end.

We still have a little time before we're due to meet Andy. Embarrassed by the awfulness of Old Gott, I'm keen to redeem myself. "I think I know a nice place just around the corner. An old-fashioned beerhall." Within a couple of minutes we're heading for:

U Dvou Koček
Uhelný Trh 10,
110 00 Prague 1.
Tel: 221 014 354

Our second pub of the day with a cat-based name. The Two Little Cats, in case you were wondering. It's on a small square in the maze of little streets that make up the Old Town.

Beerhalls come in a variety of sizes. Dvou Koček is definitely at the small end. There are two rooms. The smaller has the bar counter and some space for vertical drinking. The larger has vaulted ceilings, white walls and Pilsner Urquell tablecloths. We take a seat. It's busy, but not quite full.

Like most Pilsner Urquell houses in Prague, the draught beers are Prazdroj 12º and Velkepopovické 10º Tmavé. The dark is a good enough drinking beer, so I order that. I can drink Prazdroj any time. And we'll be in the brewery tomorrow. I've got my drinking head on and the 10º is soon disappearing from my glass at an alarmingly swift rate. Not to worry: it's just like drinking Mild. You have to drink it by the bucketful.

I have a confession to make. The last time I was in Dvou Kocek, back in the mid-1980's, I did a runner. At the tim, the pub was operating a three-waiter system: one waiter for beer, one waiter for food and a third waiter for paying. After trying vainly to attract the attention of the last for 45 minutes, I just walked out. Not that there's much chance of the staff recognising me. Our waitress's mum was probably still at school when I ran off.

Our fellow customers are a healthy mix of tourists and locals. Though we're the only travellers. It's quite nice in here. Why haven't I been for so many years? Keith phones Andy, telling him of our location. He'll be along in a few minutes.

Keith gets a call from Andy. "Where is Uhelný Trh, exactly?" He can't find it on his crappy free map. Like I said, it's in a maze of streets all curving about like a can of worms. Explaining how to reach it isn't easy. After consulting a more detailed map, Andy finally works out the route.

We're also joined by Ramsey of the Czech Beer Guide. He's an American living in Prague. I've met him once before in Amsterdam.

The next pub is Ramsey's suggestion:

Pražský most u Valšů
Betlémská 5,
Praha 1.
tel.: 222 333 920
http://www.prazskymost.cz

It's a new one to both me and Andy. It's quite small - a single room [Ramsey has since told me that most of the pub is in the cellar, which we didn't see], decorated in a sort gothic modernist style, if that means anything to you. I like the wall-mounted lights. That's why a take a photo. Tell me if you agree.

On draught are Maly Rohozec pale and dark 12º. I order the dark. It's a bit bland and served with too much top pressure. I'm past taking notes, so you'll have to make do with that brief description.

After one beer, we move on. Andy has made reservations to eat at a Medieval-themed pub back over on the Malá Strana. It's dusk and Charles Bridge is much emptier. The tiled roofs leading up to the castle look magical in the fading glow of the sun. Prague really is stunningly beautiful. Even the masses of tourists can't spoil that.

Krčma U Sedmi Švábů
Jánský vršek 14,
110 00 Prague 1.
Tel: 257 531 455
http://www.svabove.cz

My first impression - who turned the lights out? In keeping with the medieval theme, it's lit by candlelight. We order beer and our food. The beer is Prazdroj, the food some sort of cold meat platter, except for Keith who's ordered chicken wings. Big mistake by Keith. We've long finished eating and there's still no sign of his chicken.

After eating, I make the error of asking Ramsey what it's like living in Prague. It takes the best part of an hour for him to detail everything that pisses him off about the place and its inhabitants. I should know better. I really should. Ask me about Holland and the Dutch and see how long it takes me to get everything off my chest. It's more than an evening's worth. But I have lived in Holland for 20 years. Ramsay has only been here for 6 or 7.

"Time for one more pub." says Andy confidently. U Hrocha is just around the corner.


U Hrocha
Thunovské 20,
Praha.
Tel.: 222 516 978

What a strange layout this place has. There are two rooms separated by an outdoor passageway. A waitress who looks all of 13 flits between the two. "Not getting your way are we, love?" The seats are all full so we have to stand. They wouldn't have let you do this in the old days, just stand in the middle of a room. No seat, no service. That used to be the rule. Unless you were in the small designated standing area in the taproom. Anarchy, it is nowadays. I bet they even let you move chairs from one table to another.

This pub was a suggestion of Stonch. In its overcrowded and my overtired state, it's hard to make a reasoned assessment of its quality. Next time. If I can remember where it is. Around the back of U Schnellu. That's it.

We only manage one last beer. Then it's back to Malostranské námestí - where Andy dropped us off this morning - to pick up a taxi.

It's been a challenging, but satisfying, day. For a start I have two new entries for my Prague Pub Guide - U Kocoura and U Dvou Koček. I don't like to think about how many beers I've knocked back over the course of the day. I reassure myself with the thought that it was mostly just 10º.

Next is the Pilsner Urquell and Zoigl country. How exciting will that be? Find out tomorrow.

Berliner Weisse the long version (part 9)

Almost finished with Berliner Weisse. At least the stuff from "Die Herstellung Obergähriger Biere". I've got other sources. Just let me know when you get totally bored. It won't make me stop, but I will have the satisfaction of knowing I'm doing my job right.

Clear Weissbier

Barth and Schanderl used large, pressure-resistant iron containers to produce clear beer. Fully fermented beer from the tuns is mixed with young beer and undergoes a secondary conditioning.

5-10% young beer is added. The container has a safety valve that opens when the pressure inside exceeds 3 atmospheres. This usually happens after a few days secondary conditioning as the proportion of young beer is quite high and the temperature is 12.5-15º C.

Barth adds wood chips to the container to help clarification. Schanderl doesn't use any clarifying agent, but after 3-4 weeks uses the pressure in the container to force the beer through a filter and into wooden transport casks.

The landlord transfers the beer under pressure from the transport cask to a glass container which is connected to the tap from which drinking glasses are filled with beer.

Recently it's become possible to move the beer under pressure into drinking glasses directly from the transport barrel.

During the early days of producing yeast-free Weissbier, the process often made the beer turn a darker colour or even purple. This was the result of the lactic acid acting on the untreated iron container which release iron which combined either with tannin from the hops of from the untreated oak transport barrels.

The problem of discolouration was solved by treating the iron container with paraffin.

Another hindrance to the spread of yeast-free Weissbier was its low CO2 content when served. This was solved by improving the serving apparatus and simplifying the pipes from the barrel to the tap. This enables such beer to more closely resemble bottle-ripened weissbier in flavour.

Yeast-free Weissbier has a longer shelf-life because:

- it's free of all organisms
- no water is added
- the high CO2 pressure restricts the growth of bacteria

Hopefully yeast-free Weissbier will become more common and become a people's drink [Volksgetränk] like bottled Weissbier.

Prague

Being off season, the Zvikov brewpub is closed on Monday. We have to help ourselves to breakfast. No great chore. It's still much less work than at home.

The drive to Prague doesn't take that long. I'm starting to get really excited. Prague is not only beautiful, it's a great boozing town. I want to take advantage of every minute.

We're staying in a botel moored on the Malá Strana side of the Vltava. Just before we arrive, I notice the unmistakable sight of a brewery chimney. Staropramen is just 100 metres from our accommodation. I'll have to give that a look, though it isn't on the tour. Staring at brewery yards has become my new hobby. It's harmless enough.

Today is the only break Andy gets from us bunch of losers. The day is free until early evening. I announce that I have my own personal pub crawl planned out. Jim and Keith ask if they can tag along. "No problem." I say. "Another great chance to pretend I can still speak Czech" I think. Andy drops us at the bottom of the castle hill and speeds off. The hill is just as steep as I remember it.

Up in the castle grounds my breath is taken away. Only partly from the walk up that bloody hill. The jagged pattern of tile roofs, penetrated by towers and domes is as lovely as ever. God. I love Prague. Just being here puts me in a good mood. I haven't even had a beer and there's a smile on my face.

Our first stop is up in the castle grounds. I didn't walk all that way uphill just for the view. In the castle precinct, there are tourists at every turn. Why don't they just piss off and leave the place to us travelers? We walk away from the more crowded sections of the castle grounds. This is the right way, isn't it? It's a few years since I was last here. It turns out that our destination is simple to spot: the only building that hasn't been poshed up to within an inch of its life.

U Černého vola
Loretánské nám. 1,
Prague 6 - Hradčany.
Tel: 220 513 481

If you don't like the Black Ox, there's something seriously wrong with you. It hasn't changed in decades and isn't likely to. When it was threatened with renovation the locals clubbed together and bought it. That's why I ask anyone who goes there not to be loud and touristy-looking but discrete and respectful. That could be opne of the co-owners sitting next to you.

They sell 3 draught beers: Velkopopovický Kozel Premium, Velkopopovický 10° Tmavý and Pilsner Urquell. Now which will I choose? You've guessed it.

Velkopopovický 10° Tmavý: dark brown colour, sweet taste, sugar, toffee and liquorice flavaours. Pretty sweet, but pleasant enough. Like a southern Dark Mild. I give it 54 out of 100.

There's a proper waiter and barman pepperpot set, competing for who can acquire the largest beer gut. This palce really is a time capsule. I'm sure these are the same massive battered tables that were here in the 1980's. The leaded glass windows depicting coats or arms give it the feeling of a castle interior. Appropriately enogh. We are in the castle grounds, after all.

Jim takes a few photos of the back room. A couple of minutes later a bloke with his arm in plaster, who looks a bit agitated and asks: "Jste Cesi?" ("Are you Czechs?") I tell him in Czech that we're English. I can't quite remember the word for American. English is close enough. That seems to pacify him and he goes back to his seat.

We're in no rush. I've just ordered some snacks for us all. I'm pretty sure I know what they all are. The menu was only in Czech. I know for sure that Keith's was chips. Possibly with something else, but chips for sure. Time enough for me to try the pale Velkopopovický beer, too.

Velkopopovický 12° Světlé: pale yellow colour, sweetish/bitter taste with honey, citrus, resin and tobacco flavours. It's better than I expected - hoppy, but with a slight underlying sweetness.
Mr Broken Arm comes over to our table as he leaves. He apologises for the earlier incident. We're non the wiser as to ewhat all the fudss was about in the first place.

It's all going to be downhill from here. In a literal sense. We're at one of the highest points in central Prague.

Before we started our ascent, I noticed a sign outside U Kocoura: "Bernard Kvasnicové 30 Kr." So our next stop is:

U Kocoura
Nerudova 2,
Praha 1.

This is an old favourite of mine from the 1980's. Unfortunately, it was one of the city centre pubs that went is search of the tourist dollar. Consequently I haven't visited for years. Nothing much has changed inside. A series of rooms ascends towards the rear. The first contains the bar counter. We sit in just in front of it. I don't like to be too far away from the beer action. There's assorted football memorabilia pinned up behind the bar. A Sparta Prague scarf - that's OK. But an Arsenal pennant? That's shameful.

There are 4 draught beers: Pilsner Urquell, Budvar 12º Světlé:, Budvar 12º Tmavé and Bernard Kvasnicové. All at a very reasonable 30 crowns. Using my best pretend Czech I order 3 Kvasnicové.

Bernard Kvasnicové: hazy pale amber colour, sweetish/bitter taste, yeast, honey, elderflower, pepper, tobacco, resin. Absolutely delicious! Packed with complex hop flavours with a touch of balancing malt sweetness. It's the best pale lager I've had in ages. I score in 84 out of 100.

If it weren't for the rather obtrusive TV, this would be perfect. It's a beautiful sunny day, I'm in Prague and I have a scrumptious beer in front of me. Well, not for long, because it's very soon time for a second. The Bernard is really hitting the spot. Several spots, in fact.

It's been a great start to the day it's still just 14:45. Will it now go metaphorically as well as literally downhill. Find out in the next thrilling installment, when I drop by my favourite Prague pub and reacquaint myself with a former favourite.

Zvíkov

We reluctantly leave Lipan. There's still one final destination today. Our fourth brewery of the day.

Pivovarský dvůr Zvíkov
Zvíkovské Podhradí 92,
398 18 Záhoří u Písku.
Tel: 382 285 660
Fax: 382 285 722
Homepage: http://www.pivovar-zvikov.cz

We pull off the road and into another small village. We drive to its far side, edged by woods. And there it is: a brand, spanking new, custom-built brewery, pub and hotel. We won 't have far to walk home this evening.

We dump pour bags upstairs and meet in the bar. Andy has his drinking head on again. Steady on there, we've got another 5 hours before they close. There are three beers on draught: 11º Zvíkovský Rarášek (Top-fermented), 13º Tmavé and 13º Světlé.

Creature of habit that I am, I start with 13º Tmavé: very dark brown in colour, with roast, liquorice cream and fruit flavours. Quite dry and utterly drinkable. I score it 75 out of 100. Definitely worth coming all the way out into the middle of nowhere for.

The pub is very much along traditional Czech lines, despite being no more than a few years old. It's filled with chunky pine furniture. I feel right at home. This time we have a very tall barmaid. God she's tall. And I live in Amsterdam. I'm used to having to look up at girls when I'm standing in the tram.

I'm quite surprised when Andy suggests we go for a walk. He was drinking like he was settled in for the night. A couple of hundred metres down the track is Zvikov castle. It should give a got appetite for our tea, so we agree and head off.

The sun is low in the sky and adds a cheery glow to everything. Everyone else has gone home and the silence is only broken by birdsong and farting. It's so romantic. The castle, perched on cliffs above a bend in the river Vltava, is typically central European. There's one high lookout tower in a single bailey, skirted with buildings and the exterior walls. In the orange-tinged light it's quite magical. We linger far longer than I had expected.

Safely back in the pub, we're approached by a young bloke in shorts. He's the brewer. He offers to take us around the brewery.

It's a complete contrast with Lipan - ordered and rational. That's the advantage of custom-built premises. The cellar was designed to hold a brewery.

Michael, the brewer, speaks excellent English. He picked it up while working for Staropramen when they were owned by Bass. It makes asking questions much easier. Surprisingly, he doesn't work full-time at the brewery. He has a day job during the week and leaves the running of the pub and hotel to his wife.

Here's what he told us:

They use spring water for brewing with 11-12 German degrees of hardness.

The Dunkles is brewed from pils, Munich, caramell malt and farb malz.

They use 3 types of Saaz hop pellets, some for arooma, some for bittering.

Both top- and bottom-fermented beers are made, but not at the same time.

The top-fermented beer uses a German Weizen yeast and is spiced with ginger. Yeast is pitched at 13º C and the temperature rises to 16º C after 24 hours. Primary fermentation lasts 6 days then the beer is cooled.

The bottom-fermented beers are pitched with yeast at 7.5º C, rising to 11º C after a day. Primary fermentation takes 6 days for the 11º, 8 days for 13º C.

The beers are lagered for 3 months. The first week at 5º C, slowly being cooled to 2º C over two weeks. The pressure in the lagering tanks is one bar.

My shed

Today is going to heaven day. Hemelvaart. Another day off. We're spoilt, we really are. Two public holidays in one week.

Shed day. Today was that, too. Our garden shed. It sits in the bottom-right hand corner of our garden. I can wave to it from where I sit. . . . I just have waved to it. No reaction. Antisocial bastard shed.

Dolores got suspicious when I took a couple of photos of the shed just now. "You're going to blog about the shed, aren't you? Claiming you did all the work. Typical! It's always the same, Ronald. I have to do everything and you just sit there drinking beer!"

That's so unfair. Truthful, but horribly, even psychopathically, unfair.

I won't deny that I was intending to highlight my own particular contributions to the restoration of our shed. ("That's where you'll be living now, kids. With Lucas. He has the floor." "But there isn't room for us and Lucas in there." "OK then, you can have the whole shed to yourselves. Lucas will have to make do with the spare room.") The passing of the hammer, the holding of the door. What did Ricki (Dolores's sister) do? Just hammer in the nails, screw in the screws and crawl on the roof of the shed to attach the corrugated fibre glass plates. And clear the roof first of rotted leaves and bird poo. She did clean out the inside of the shed, too. What did I tell you - nothing compared to my hardcore holding-things and standing-around duties.

Ricki is so lazy. While I'm usefully employed typing this on the computer, she's lounging around vacuum-cleaning our kitchen. "Hoy. There's a couple of dirty plates in the sink. Quicky, quicky cleanee platee." Pity she doesn't understand English. "Du hast das aber gut gemacht, Ricki. Gehe jetzt schlafen, das hast du verdient, Schatz."

I can now hear myself talk. Ricki has finally stopped making all those irritating vacuum-cleaning noises. She insisted on making it all way around the living room, as well as the kitchen. Show a bit of consideration, girl.

My theme. Where is it? In the photographs. Can't see it? Put your glasses on, grandad. Just to the left of the shed door. Thanks Andy. Dolores thinks it's a great plant pot holder. I'm not going to argue with her. I enjoy having a complete set of genitalia.

Berliner Weissbier the long version (part 8)

I haven't forgotten about Berliner Weisse. No chance of that. Not with Mike looking over my shoulder. At least we've now got fermentation out of the way. This is what happens at the end of primary fermentation.

Handling Beer after fermentation

At the end of primary fermentation, the beer is transferred to a mixing tun (Sammelbottich) and mixed with fresh beer or young beer from another mixing tun in the proportion 2:1, 3:1 or 4:1. The beer is packaged and sent directly to publicans or bottled (Ausgelitert) in the brewery.

According to the customers' wishes, 10-35% water is added to the mixture of finished and young beer. The mixture is filled into bottles for secondary conditioning.

It's ready to drink after 2-3 weeks, or sometimes sooner.

Adding water is by no means essential to make a good Weiße.

On the contrary, adding water reduces the quality of the beer by making it thinner and reducing its natural protection against infection through alcohol and hop resin.

Improving beer quality would be in the interests of the breweries themselves as they often lose considerable amounts of money through complaints of bad beer in the summer.

Adding too much water stops bottled beer becoming clear, partly because it the fining qualities of the yeast and partly because it encourages infection which can also cause cloudiness.

If little or no water is added, the proportion of fresh beer added must be reduced to 1/6 or 1/7, otherwise the bottle fermentation is too "wild". With little water added the beer will become clear in the bottle.

Customer should demand clear Weissbier and not be content with the milky-white version often provided by landlords.