Football beer

There seems to be a football tournament of some kind occurring in Europe. Not quite sure where, but there are always mountains in the background. I guess that rules out Holland.

Sometimes it's soothing to stick to sterotypical male behaviour. Like football and drinking beer. The two go together extremely well. Unless you're actually trying to play the game, in which case it's annoying to have to keep going to the dressing room for a wee.

As England managed to avoid qualification, watching the tournament is less stressful than in previous years. Consequently, I have less need of beer to get me through to the final whistle thrombie-free. The throbbling effect of constant tension gives me a hell of a thirst when England's best are cocking things up again on the pitch. So I usually plump for something fairly weak. My usual tipples - all strong Belgians - would have me lying in a pool of my own fluids before half time.

A tension-free tournament is something else. With England out of the picture, I'm not reflex slurping all through the games. I'm able to drink consciously and with pleasure. So which beers are best suited?


Early games (18:00)
I only get home shortly before these games kick off. In such pre-prandial circumstances, my beer of choice has to be St. Bernardus Abt. Served in a Chimay glass, of course. It just doesn't taste right any other way. It's the perfect way to unwind after a busy day. It works for my type of days, too.


Games of the Dutch team
I'll admit that not all games are tension-free for me. When Holland play, I do get the odd twitch of steel band across the chest. Alcohol is what you need to stop your pulse dancing to a drum 'n bass beat. The perfect delivery system is St. Bernardus Abt. Served in a Chimay glass.


Late games (21:00)
Just when I'm starting to wind down and prepare for bed. Too much fluid at this point, and I'll be in and out of the bathroom all night. So a beer without too much water. Just about perfect is St. Bernardus Abt. Served in a Chimay glass.


Quarter-finals
Things start to get interesting in this phase. But there's the possibility of extra time and penalties. A game could last as much as two and a half hours. This is when something less strong is needed. My recommendation is St. Bernardus Prior. Served in a Chimay glass.


Semi-finals
It's serious agogo time. No-one likes to fall at the final hurdle before the final. But there's a long build up to the games. You want to be able to focus for the second half, so easy does it before kickoff. My choice is St. Bernardus Pater. Served in a Chimay glass. Moving on to St. Bernardus Prior after half time. Served in a Chimay glass. Extra time or post-match analysis should be accompanied by St. Bernardus Abt. Served in a straight pint glass. Only joking. In a Chimay glass.


The final
This will be a long day. For the first 3 hours of the pre-match build up, St. Bernardus Pater is your man. Served in a Chimay glass. Pop a bottle of St. Bernardus Prior at kickoff. If the Dutch are playing, you'll also need a bottle of jenever. Korenwijn at least. Rutte 12 or Villiers 8 are best. Every time the Dutch have a shot on goal, drink a shot. If they score, pour yourself a double.

At half time, clean your Chimay glass thoroughly. Have a full (Chimay) glass of St. Bernardus Abt ready for the start of the second half. If the Dutch are in the lead, have a jenever to keep it company. Should the Dutch be winning at full time, at least you won't be able to see it. If it goes to penalties (and you're still conscious) knock back a jenever every time the Dutch score or their opponents miss.

What's your favourite football beer?


* 1914 SSS is a good substitute for Abt and Prior.
** 1914 Porter is a good substitute for Pater.

Aristocratic

In the course of a recent pointless argument on an internet forum, I was criticised for the "aristocratic tone" of my posts. Little did my taunter realise how close he was to the truth.

Blue blood does indeed flow through my veins. Very ancient blue blood. An ancestor of my mother's was one of William the Conqueror's gang and, as a reward for all that killing and oppressing, was given a title and a large estate in the Midlands.

The Earls de Chandelent were a force throughout the Middle Ages, but by the early 20th century only the rump of the estate - a few farms and a village - remained in the family's hands. Still, there was enough money left to provide me with a reasonable private education, albeit not at Eton, as was family tradition.

I don't usually like to talk about my background as it tends to evoke envy and hatred amongst the plebs. You lot won't turn nasty on me, will you, just because I'm a bit of a toff?

I'll see if I can dig out an image of the family coat of arms for you to admire.

What's this got to do with beer? Well, there's a disused brewery at the family seat. It looks just like a stable or storehouse, but I've been assured that they brewed there until sometime in the middle of the 1800's. See if you can spot which it is in "Country House Brewing in England 1500 - 1900" by Pamela Sambrook, 1996 (ISBN 1 85285 127 9).

Gravity Tables - Lager

I was surprised to discover at least one fan of my tables of beer gravities. I don't know why I was so shocked. I could stare at them for hours. Quite often, I do.

Just a small one this time. German Bocks from the early 1950's. These are probably some of the first strong beers brewed in Germany after WW II. What can I say. The attenuation is higher than in 19th century Doppelbocks.


Hang on. I said this was going to be the Summer of Lager, didn't I? You deserve more than one table. And it's a while since I did any. How about far more tables than you'll be able to absorb in one sitting? Sounds perfect.

Here's some German Pilsners.




1950's Lager

Let's take a look at Lager in various European countries in the 1950's. That should be fun, shouldn't it? At least until I swamp you with numbers.


Belgium
As I can't be bothered to think of a clever way of organiosing them, let's look at the different countries alphbatically. We start with Belgium.


They're all Pilsners, you may have noticed. Nothing particularly unusual about them, either. Except that the Stella Artois bought in Belgium is stronger than the others. The weaker ones may have been bought in Britian, which would explain them being weaker.


Czechoslovakia
Beer from just one Czech brewery, Pilsner Urquell. Only one of them appears to be the classic 12º Ležák. That looks the same as it always does in analyses, from the 19th century up until the present. Though it would be interesting to compare the colour with the modern version.



Denmark
Just beers from Denmark's Big Two, Carlsberg and Tuborg, when they were still separate companies (and still each had a brewery).


From the feeble gravities of just over 1030 of many of the examples, it's clear that both were already brewing versions especially for the UK.


Holland
Again beers from the countries largest brewers - Amstel, Heineken, Oranjeboom and ZHB.


All are under 1040 and presumably brewed for the UK market. In the 1950's Heineken brewed three versions of its Pils: one for the Dutch market, one for the USA and one for the UK. Only the UK Pils was piss-weak.


Norway and Sweden
I was shocked to see three Norwegian breweries represented. But only one Swedish. Can't have everything, I suppose.


Given their strengths, I doubt any of these were intended for the UK market. Note that the Swedish beer is just a shade under the 5.6% ABV maximum which was at that time in force in Sweden.

Munich method of decoction

I'm feeling revitalised. So much so that I've had the energy and drive to read brewing manuals rather than the football reports on the tram and bus today. Lucky you. It means I've already a second installment to my summer decoction series.

Today it's the turn of the Munich method. Again, taken from "Handbuch der Chemischen Technologie: Die Bierbrauerei" by Dr. Fr. Jul. Otto, published in 1865, pages 120 to 122.

For 100 pounds of malt, 800 pounds of water are used. [Not sure what sort of pounds. I would assume around 1 pound = 0.5 kg.]

Half to two-thirds of the water is cold and used to Einteigen. The rest is brought to the boil in the kettle. After Einteigen, the mash is left to rest for 3 or 4 hours. If warm water is used for Einteigen, the mash should not be left to rest.

When the water has boiled it is added to the mash. The temperature should rise to 30-37.5º C.

When this temperature has been reached, about a third of the thinner part of the mash is transferred to the kettle and boiled for 30 minutes. (Boiling the first Dickmeisch.)

The Dickmeisch is returned to the mash tun and mashed for 15 minutes, so that the thinner and thicker parts completely separate. The temperature should now be 45-50º C.

As soon as this is finished a third of the mash, again the thicker part, is transferred to the kettle and boiled for 30 minutes. (Second Dickmeisch.)

The second Dickmeisch is returned to the mash tun and mashed. The temperature should now be 60-62.5º C.

Now a portion of the thin mash is transferred to the kettle (enough to raise the temperature of the mash to 75º C when returned to the mash tun) and boiled for 15 minutes. (Lautermeisch.)

The Lautermeisch is returned to the mash tun and there's another round of mashing. The temperature should now be 75º C. The mash is left to rest for 90 minutes.

After the wort has been drawn off, more water is brought to the boil (30 - 60 pounds for 100 pounds of grain) and poured over the grains. The resulting wort is either added to the main wort or used to make Nachbier (Small Beer), which in Munich is called Scheps.

I think there's a mistake in the text I've quoted. For the first decoction it says "use the thin mash", but then for the second it says "use the thick mash again". For the last it says "this time use the thin mash". I suspect the first decoction should be of the thick mash.

Which method should I do next? Bamberg 1819 or Augsburg 1860's? Let's just see how the fancy takes me.

The Summer of Lager

Lager lovers lick your lips. 2008 is officially The Summer of Lager. In my head. And that's all that counts.

The first focus falls on decoction mashing. Who hasn't lain awake at night wondering what the temperature of the mash should be after the second Dickmaisch is returned to the tun? I know I have. I'm not that out of step with humanity that I'm the only one, am I?

Misunderstood lager styles. That'll be all of them, then. Märzen, Export, Kellerbier and Dunkles. There's plenty of scope for me to do some metaphorical shouting about those ones. Especially Märzen.

Lager evolution. How lagers have changed over the last 150 years. Salvator (Doppelbock) is a good one. Not even the name has remained the same.

My new Big Idea is to have more posts announcing posts than actual posts. It's going well so far this week. Watch out for my next announcement about more announcements.

Things I hate

I was going to write about Things I Love. But I need more than a single paragraph. A slight change of viewpoint and suddenly I have more material than I know what to do with.

I hate:

- calling German beers "Ales"
- writing Barley Wine as Barleywine
- Cascade hops
- mustard
- Porter or Stout drenched with citrus hops
- work
- mosquitoes
- nitro-served beer
- ice-cold beer
- sunshine
- the term "Dry Stout"
- double anything, apart from Bock
- Imperial anything, apart from Mild
- hot weather
- cars
- the Dutch football team
- books written without research
- beards
- homebrewers with beards
- Hollyoaks
- cats
- pigeons
- the rubbish Dutch postal service
- Arsenal
- all London football teams
- fake Irish pubs
- smoking
- queue jumpers
- dogma
- dogmatic twats
- certainty
- uncertainty
- pullovers
- T-shirts with jokey slogans
- designer clothes
- jeans
- trainers
- owners who don't control their dogs
- fizzy beer
- all politicians except Stalin and Trotsky
- slugs
- cats
- waking up having a coughing fit
- pubs that don't look like pubs
- Frankfurt
- formula 1
- tennis
- basketball
- sugar
- Gert Wilders
- Leo van den Berge
- closing time
- CO2
- the word "proactive"
- anyone who uses the word "proactive" seriously
- cats
- mission statements
- bullies
- Andrea Rijntjes
- Steve Vaswani
- German pubs that serve Klösse from a packet
- "innovative" beers
- gravity
- cross-channel ferries
- guns
- knives
- spoons
- motorways
- internet forums
- beer names of more than 3 words
- bearded wikipedia contributors
- chocolate
- pneumonia
- decimal currency
- pudding (except for steak and kidney)
- Golden Ales
- Blonde Abbey beers
- paprika-flavoured crisps
- frozen chips
- instant mash
- football teams based at the Emirates Stadium
- stadiums named after a sponsor
- the terms "inside right" and "outside half" falling into disuse
- pints that are half litres
- people who don't mind being served a half litre when they asked for a pint
- novelty underwear
- Amstelveen
- variegated foliage
- sandals
- alcohol-free beer
- personalised number plates
- cats
- ice cream
- Monday
- blaming everything on global warming
- global cooling
- Wednesday
- live test match coverage being only on Sky
- the All Blacks
- Thursday
- kitchens at the front of houses
- painting everything orange
- Tuesday
- August
- December
- mornings
- chips with mayonaisse
- tomato ketchup
- avocado
- not being rich enough to give up work
- the rich
- ivy
- plastic-framed windows
- Windows
- aluminium-framed windows
- plastic door handles
- drivers that won't stop at zebra crossings
- "classic" rock
- breaking my ankle
- breaking my other ankle
- losing an argument
- being wrong
- hamburgers
- treading in dogshit
- bauxite
- DIY
- TNT
- ABC
- TB
- anthropomorphism
- 24-hour days
- Robust Porter
- smug bastards
- the phrase "the golden age of beer"
- airport security
- winter sport
- extreme sport
- ironing
- thin chips
- buttermilk

There will be several more, rather longer installments in this Hate series.

Bayerisches Lagerbier

Time to begin my summer decoction series. Let's kick off with a recipe from the 1860's. This is a loose translation of pages 215 and 216 of "Handbuch der Chemischen Technologie: Die Bierbrauerei" by Dr. Fr. Jul. Otto, published in 1865.

In the 19th century, especially the earlier decades, bottom-fermenting beer was commonly called Bayerisches Bier (Bavarian Beer) or Bayerisches Lagerbier. Because, well, Bavaria is where it was originally developed.

To brew 76 Bayerische Eimer (52 hl), you'll need 12 Bavarian bushels (1478 kilos) and 30 kilos of hops.

In the mash tun, Einteigen (make into dough) the malt with 89.5 Eimer of cold water (61.25 hl). The volume of the mash after Einteigen is 108.3 Eimer (74.1 hl). Leave the mash for four hours. Put 82.5 Eimer (56.5 hl) of water in the kettle.

When the water in the kettle is boiling, it will have reduced to 78.5 Eimer (53.7 hl). Pour the hot water into the mash tun and mash for 15 minutes. The temperature of the mash should be 37.5º C. The volume of the mash is now 186.6 Eimer (127.7 hl)

Take 80 Eimer (54.7 hl) of the mash and put it in the kettle. Boil for half an hour. This is the first Dickmeisch (thick mash).

Add the boiled Dickmeisch back to to the mash tun so that the temperature is raised to 56.25º C. Immediately take another 78 Eimer (53.4 hl) of the mash and put it into the kettle. Boil for 20 minutes. This is the second Dickmeisch.

Put the second Dickmeisch back into the mash tun and mash for 15 minutes. Draw off 92 Eimer (63 hl) of Lautermeisch (clear wort) and boil for 20 minutes in the kettle.

Add the boiled Lautermeisch back into the mash tun. Mash for 30 minutes at 77.5-78.75º C. Rest for 1 hour, then draw off the clear wort.

You should have 118.7 Eimer (81.2 hl) wort at a gravity of 9.37º Balling. Boil for two hours with the hops, after which there should be 107 Eimer (73.2 hl) at 11º Balling.

Cool the wort. There should now be 81.5 Eimer (55.8 hl) of wort at a gravity of 12.1º Balling. Ferment in an open tun for approximately 10 days. Put 76 Eimer (52 hl) into barrels at a gravity of 6.5º Balling, 3.2% ABW.

I'll make a couple of observations. Firstly, the efficiency of the mash is rubbish compared to British breweries of the same period. They usually reckoned on around 80 brewer's pounds of extract per quarter of malt. In this example they only managed 56.5. That's about the same as an English brewer would get from 100% brown malt. Perhaps the recipe is for all dark Munich malt. Secondly, the attenuation, at only 46%, is also crap. Thirdly, it was a very time-consuming process - 14 hours and ten minutes from Einteigen until the end of the boil.

Summer specials

As if my Beer Gibbon drinking on the edge series wasn't enough, I've more special treats lined up for the summer.

Another edition (1889) of "Zeitschrift für das gesammte Brauwesen" should be splintering the floorboards beneath my letter box soon. Then we'll be returning to the wild and wacky world of 19th century German brewing statistics. Should be good for a few dozen posts.

Having told you what I'll be doing on my holidays, it seems only fair to tell what I actually did on my holidays, too. Belgium, Berlin and some others places beginning with the letter B. Betondorp, perhaps. Or Bangladesh.

It's about time I had a proper look at the Truman's brewing logs. Expect lots about Runners and Keepers. If I can read the handwriting. Here's a small aside. Modern Dutch handwriting is similar to old-fashioned English handwriting. When I can't decipher something in the logs, I often ask my son Andrew to take a look.

Warm weather isn't my favourite. It makes me irritable. So expect more rants. The hotter it gets, the more rants there'll be. Check the rantometer (commonly - if mistakenly - called a thermometer) to see the likelihood of a rant in the coming days.

Decoction mashing. I've neglected this topic shamefully. Quoting from old brewing manuals, I'll outline some of the different methods. Einteigen, Dickmeisch. All will be explained. Well, maybe not exactly explained. Described, at least. As traditionally bottom-fermenting beers weren't brewed in the summer, this seems the perfect time to discuss the process.

It's going to be a long, dull summer. Sorry. Long, hot summer.

Borrel met de buren

Here, as promised, is my first report from the edge. The edge of my garden, to be precise. Borrel met de buren. Drinks at our next-door neighbours'.

It was as tense and edgy as only middle-aged, middle-class gatherings can get. And, the guests being middle-aged and middle-class, the drink of choice was wine. My wine drinking is as eclectic as my writing. Basically, I grab anything that comes within my reach. Red, white, pink, green, black. Any colour will do.

This is a good technique to employ at a party where you don't know people that well. Grab a bottle of wine and take it around the room (garden in yesterday's case) and serve fellow guests. Everyone likes having their glass filled. It's a good excuse to approach people. And you keep your own glass full without looking like a raging alkie.

The beer was limited to Amstel Pils. Good enough reason to stick to wine. Though I did notice an empty bottle of Duivels Bier. Quite a good sign. It was Peter's birthday so I took along a bottle of my beer as a present. Another good icebreaker.

Next doors' flat was built as a mirror image of our own (architect Piet Kramer, king of Amsterdam bridges). Divergent refurbishments have left them quiet different in layout. And theirs isn't full of junk like ours is. Dolores won't have a party because of the mess. But what was most striking was how much bigger both their flat and garden appear. I'd swear that hey have 50% more space than us. Compare and contrast the sheds in the photo. Ours, with the emergency corrugated plastic roof, theirs with electricity.

The European Championship is a great boon for social inadequates like myself. It's a great topic of conversation. Football in general is. But a tournament brings it to the fore even more. Of course, when in the company of the Dutch, I'm careful not to express my real sentiments about their team. Because my overwhelming love of Dutch football might embarrass them. Or something like that.

My first venture into the world of extreme drinking was quite successful. We returned with the same number with which we set out: four. Everything else is just a matter of opinion.

Beer Gibbon

Just to announce my new series of posts: Beer Gibbon. This will be beer drinking on the edge. I'll booze with those on the fringes of society and, if I get back, report my experiences. It'll be edgy, seat of the brown trousers stuff. Are you person enough to read it?

Here are just a few "places on the edge" I'll be venturing to:

- Het Probleem (The Problem). The name says it all. I'll be knocking baclk jonge jenever with the hard men of Andrew's chess club.

- Schoolplein: I take my life in my hands to share beers with the boys on incapacity benefit while waiting for Andrew to come out of school.

- Blijburg . As edgy as Amsterdam comes. Literally. It's on an edge they've just finished building. I take on the urban hippies and their dogs. Choice of drink is theirs - Rosé. Who will triumph?

- Borrel next door. Nothing's scarier than neighbours. What chaos will ensue when I bring along a bottle of Pattinson 1914 Porter? I'll be taking my camera to record every blow.

Loads more to follow. Really. Loads more.

Exorcism

I used to work with a bloke called Bernie. Way back in the days when I still lived in London. He taught me many of my assembler programming skills.

We also used to go boozing a lot. At lunch time. After work. He liked his beer. So he should have. He grew up in Lewes. His mum still lived in town, not all that far from the brewery. I went down there for the weekend a couple of times. Once for November the 5th.

They make a big deal of Bonfire Night in Lewes. Something to do with some protestant martyrs. There's a big procession. When that's over, people dressed up as Roman Catholic cardinals are sat in thrones. And the crowd throw fireworks at them. It's dangerous, it's weird and quite disturbing. It shocked me. In Leeds they just used to set light to police cars. I'd honestly never realised there was an anti-catholic aspect to Bonfire Night. Maybe I'm just naive. Or perhaps, elsewhere in Britain, that side of it has been long forgotten.

Of course, while in town I tried to get around as many Harvey's pubs as possible. I can't remember and of the names. But I can clearly recall many excellent pints. And the pub on the same street as Bernie's mum's house having a very flexible interpretation of opening times.

I've had a few strange experiences in my life. But this was a particularly odd one. Once when I was staying there, Bernie's mum asked if we'd take part in an exorcism. The house was pretty old - 17th century, I think - and she thought it had a ghost. Or some strange spiritual presence. So she got in this sort of C of E monk to exorcise it.

It wasn't like in the movies. No green bile or any of that malarky. Just a few prayers and a bit of sprinkling holy water. But it was a fully fledged exorcism ceremony. And I did say a few words when required. I can truthfully say "I've taken part in an exorcism". Haven't you?

Cooking with beer

You may have seen my earlier post where I mentioned judging for the "Beers Of the World" competition. The tastings had a side-effect: quite a lot of beer I couldn't/didn't want to drink. Like a couple of the pale lagers. I'll be honest with you. The nice ones I drank every last drop of.

What to do with all the leftovers. I hate throwing anything away, but in particular beer. It seems like a sin. I fed some of it to Dolores. But there were a couple she wouldn't drink, either. I did contemplate slipping some into the kids' cornflakes. They'd probably have noticed and complained.

Eventually (I'm not very bright) I thought of a solution. Cook with it. So here, in a series that will probably only have a single installment, it's time for Cooking With Ron.

Pork stew with leftover beer
500 gm pork, cut into cubes
3 large carrots
2 large onions
3 cloves of garlic
3 half bottles (approx 600 ml) of leftover beer
5 bottles St. Bernardus Abt
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp ground coriander
0.5 tsp ground cumin

Brown the pork in oil in a frying pan. When done put into a large saucepan. Roughly chop the onions and garlic and brown in the frying pan. Add these to the saucepan, too. Open a St. Bernardus Abt and pour into a Chimay glass. Put the bottle, with the dregs, to one side. Take a big slurp of the Abt. Briefly fry the spices in the frying pan, making sure they don't start to burn, and add to the saucepan. Clean the frying pan because you don't want to be a filthy git, do you? Take another couple of mouthfuls of Abt.

Put the saucepan onto the heat and add the first bottle of leftover beer. Drink another mouthful of Abt, making sure to leave at least 2 cm in the bottom of the glass. Add the Abt to the saucepan and stir in well. Open another bottle of Abt and pour into a Chimay glass. Add the dregs to the saucepan and the dregs from the bottle you earlier put to one side. Add the rest of the leftover beer. When the mixture comes to the boil, give it a good stir, turn down the heat and cover. Drink all but the last 2 cm of the Abt and add the remainder to the saucepan. Leave to simmer for 30 - 45 minutes, while drinking Abt and occasionally stirring. Serve with bread or potatoes.

My manor

I rarely mention the pubs close to my home. It's mostly deliberate. A couple of the pubs on my "secret list" are local. Look, I don't want any of you degenerates dropping by pubs where people know who I am. And where I live. I have to maintain a little privacy.

Anyway, one of my local pubs, one I almost never enter, attracted my attention last week. The main reason I don't go there is the beer choice. Amstel Pils or Amstel Pils. I'm not keen on either. Then last week my attention was drawn to some new signs in the window. In particular the one listing their beer selection. Duvel. That's a definite improvement. And West Mahler. Now that really does sound interesting. I wonder if it's German?

All of this does have a point, Believe me. Yesterday I trolled by to take a photo of the West Mahler sign. Sadly, I was unable to acquire the image I wanted. Firstly, because an old couple were sitting exactly where I needed to be to take the photo. Secondly, and more crucially, the sign had been removed.

So instead I've taken a series of photos of my manor: Hoofddorpplein. Not particularly beer-related, but, hey, you can't have everything. Marvel at the Amsterdamse School architecture, drool over Ton Overmars's bottles.

Foreigners

The following quote is taken from "A Brewer's Progress 1757-1957" by L.A.G. Strong. It's a history of Charrington's Brewery:

"As the century neared its close, this golden age of the village and the village characters was crowded slowly but inexorably out. by the growth of the more mechanized and more impersonal age. The hens went, and the goats. The wheelwrights, the blacksmiths, and the farriers dwindled and disappeared. The tone of the nieghbourhood changed. Foreigners crowded in, immigrants from Russia and Poland, displacing the prosperous tradesmen, who moved further west.

Between the brewery and the earlier inhabitants of Mile End, honest beer drinkers and good neighbours, good fellowship flourished. They were proud of Charrington's: they knew the family: they cherished the brew. But the foreigners who took their place cared nothing for beer, and would most of them been too poor to buy it even if they had wanted to. From being the centre of the district, almost like a castle in feudal times, the brewery became an incident only, a large building that happened to be there."

The century it talks of is the 19th. Nothing new under the sun, eh?

Beer Judging

Though I'm not certified, I've done a little beer judging. Come to think of it, I'm not certified to do anything. Not even my job. Though people have said to me in the past "You should be certified." I think they were trying to compliment me on the depth of my knowledge. Currently I'm busy tasting beers for the "Beers Of the World" competition.

I did it last year, too. Due to the incompetence of the parcel service, who kept breaking stuff, most of the packages of beer had to be sent to me twice. Very frustrating. This year things have gone much more smoothly. Everything arrived intact first time. As you can see from the photo, they had perfect packaging this time around.

Very conveniently for me, they use a 100-point scale. So do I. My usual scoring system can be applied. That's one less thing to worry about.

Taking the BJCP exam would be fun. I wonder what my score would be? That would probably depend on whether I tried to answer the questions truthfully or not. To pass I'd need to learn the right answers. On second thoughts, that might be just too confusing.

A special treat

That's exactly what you're getting today: a special treat. I've just been browsing, as you do, through that wonderful piece of light reading "Jahrbuch der Versuchs- und Lehranstalt für Brauerei in Berlin, 1911".

I thought to myself "Ronald, you shouldn't keep this to yourself. You owe it to your loyal readers to post it." So, generous-spirited as ever, that's exactly what I've done. Well, not quite yet, because I'm still writing it. By the time you read this I will have done it. If you follow me.


Most revealing is the very limited amount of cross-border trade. Exports didn't get much above 1% of production in the pre-WW I period. Imports were even less significant. Contrast that with the more recent figures. In 2004 14% of production was exported.

Consumption per head, that's striking for a different reason. It's about the same now as it was 100 years ago. When people talk of a decline in beer drinking in recent years in Germany, they usually forget to point out that it was at an unusually high level in the 1970's and 1980's. The 153 litres a year it hit in 1986 was the highest ever. In 1935 consumption was only 56 litres per head. A little bit of historical perspective never hurts.

I haven't given up with posting by numbers. Oh no. There are loads more coming. I promise.

More charts

I've sorted out my data problems. Partially, at least. You probably haven't been able to sleep for the past week worrying about when I'd post the rest of the charts for The Triumph of lager. Fret no more. Once again, Andrew has created the graphics for me.

First off is a graph showing the average output per brewery, split between top- and bottom-fermenting.

This shows the output of top- and bottom-fermenting beer per head of population and total beer consumption per head.
Apologies for the delay. But you know computers. You just can't rely on them.


Source of data: "Jahrbuch der Versuchs- und Lehranstalt für Brauerei in Berlin. 1907", pages 750 - 751.

Dichotomy

Time was when breweries in Britain, large and small, brewed much the same types of beer. Bitter, Mild, Stout, Brown Ale, Barley Wine, Old Ale. None were the exclusive property of a particular type of brewery. I'm talking about the first half of the 20th century.

Nothing had changed that much when I started drinking in the early 1970's. Sure, some of the larger breweries (I'm thinking Watney's) made parodies of classic British styles, but they weren't substantially different in many respects from the better examples.

Lager changed that. Initially, most British lager was produced in custom-built breweries (Red Tower and Wrexham are examples). Some other forward-thinking brewers added a special lager brewhouse to their existing plants (Tennent's, Barclay Perkins). Before 1960, lager was very much a niche market and most breweries didn't brew one.

The ever-increasing popularity of lager in the 1960's and 1970's prompted more to enter the lager market. Not just the big boys, but smaller, cask-ale breweries like Young's. Like other new styles before it, lager was gradually introduced into the standard range of many breweries. Though, of course, not all had facilities to brew a genuine bottom-fermented beer and produced a pseudo-lager using a top-fermenting yeast.

If things had progressed as, like, say with Porter, eventually lager would have come one of the mainstays of every brewery. But it didn't. Though the market share of lager has continued to rise, the proportion of smaller breweries brewing it has fallen. Why should this be?

Britain is moving towards a two-tier structure. Large breweries making mostly lager, small brewers concentrating on cask, top-fermenting beer. There are still breweries large and small that produce both, but the trend is definitely towards concentration on one or the other.

The investment needed to bottom-ferment is one obvious reason why small brewers would be wary of lager. It's also where the big boys spend most of their advertising quids. And, especially now none are British-owned any more, the big brewers have lost interest in cask beer. How long before they give up on it all together? Only a handfull of the hundreds of new breweries in Britain bottom-ferments and I can only think of one that specialises in it. (Taddington Brewery with Moravka)

You can see a similar split between big bottom-fermenting, small top-fermenting in other countries, too. In Belgium many smaller breweries have abandoned their Pils, presumably unable to compete with Stella, Maes and Jupiler, and concentrated on top-ferementing beers. Some of the larger independents - Moortgat, for example - still brew Pils, but it surely isn't their biggest earner. More and more, just a handful of breweries are involved in the Pils market.

In Holland, the process was different, but the result the same. By the 1960's, those who hadn't converted to bottom-fermentation had been driven out of business. The few small independent breweries remaining were as much Pils monoliths as Heineken, Grolsch and Oranjeboom. When new breweries started to appear in the 1980's, these were almost universally top-fermenting only (the exception being Christoffel). The industry now consists of, on the one hand, a few very large Pils producers and, on the other, a few dozen small, top-fermenting breweries.

The same situation is developing across Europe, sometimes following the British/Belgian model, sometimes the Dutch one. France, Denmark, Italy, Sweden, Norway all have beer industries polarised this way. Only central Europe - Germany, Austria, Czech Republic, Poland - is an exception, with even most small newcomers bottom-fermenting.

Two beer markets almost totally independent of each other, that's what's emerging. Good? Bad? No idea. However, I can't see the movement in this direction stopping, rather accelerating.

Who's the boss?

Phrases like "the global beer movement" "beer's golden age" have a weighted meaning. Are either true? (Notice that I haven't explained the origin of either expression.)

[My arm is very itchy. Dead itchy. I'm scratching so hard, it's turning red. Pink, really, at the moment. More application is necessary to achieve red.]

That new breweries are being established all over the shop can't be denied. I would have said incontrovertible. But that's too easy to spell. Ye can't fegging argue with it. No spelling is need in a dialect expression. Gearer - is that right? Is there a right?

Many things annoy me. Mr. Angry is me. Being corrected. I've never taken well to that. Being corrected when that was exactly what I intended . . . . that's red mist time . . .

You think you're immune? Think on. We're all tinder waiting for a spark. Are you nice and dry?


Question marks?
Don't you think my use of question marks is unrivalled in the blogging world? No? Who can you quote as a more frequent user of the interregational sentence ender? Eh? You? You? No f*cking way. No - are you right? You think you fecking can?


Global
There's a stack going on. With beer. All over the shop.
Calling it a global movement doesn't do justice to the very local nature of much that has happened in furthering the case of quality beer.

Local and global transmogrification of the extant fabric of stylisticity

That's my beer mission statement. Oversimplified, incomprehensible and untrue. Perfect. Should I have explicitly mentioned beer?



Structure. I left it outside next to the shed . Do you reckon I should go and fetch it? I'd need to put on a pair of trousers. Midnight? It's not worth it. Leave it until tomorrow.

European tour

In 1982 me, Harry and Johnny Ash went to Europe for a week. I was still an inexperienced foreign traveller. I'd still spent very little time outside Britain, except for a couple of visits to Jamaica and a few weekends in Belgium.


Amsterdam
We didn't have much in the way of a fixed plan. About the only thing that was certain was that we would begin and end in Amsterdam. We had return tickets on the train and ferry. It was my first time in Holland. I can remember thinking how modern it looked staring out of the train window on the way from Hoek van Holland to Amsterdam.

We arrived in the city early in the morning. After finding a bed in some fairly grotty hostel, we went straight to the pub. Not a particularly good pub. On Dam Straat. It only sold Heineken. We spent the next couple of hours there, drank several pints of Heineken, then moved on. We didn't get very far, just 20 metres or so further along Dam Straat. Another pub pretty similar to the first. More pints of Heineken were consumed.

That's all we really did that first day. Work our way slowly along Dam Straat drinking Heineken. I didn't know any better. The next day we looked around a little more. Either on or just off Martelaarsgracht we found a pub selling Duvel. We drank several each, before its strength caught up with us.


Deventer
After a couple of days in Amsterdam, it was time to move on. After consulting the railway map in the station, we decided to go to Apeldoorn. As the train pulled into Apeldoorn station, we realised we'd made a mistake. The town was dully modern. Oh dear. We opted for the simplest solution. We stayed on the train. "Let's see what the next stop's like". The next stop was Deventer. It look far more appealing, so we got off.

Even before we'd left the station, 20 people had told us Deventer was where "A Bridge too Far" had been filmed. We stopped on a campsite on the other bank of the river. There was a little ferry that took us almost directly there. We had a two-man tent and two sleeping bags. For three of us. Naturally the one sleeping outside got one of the sleeping bags. I was the lucky one, getting to both be inside the tent and have a sleeping bag.

We found a supermarket and loaded up with bottles of Grolsch. That's all we bought. I remember the girl on the checkout giving us a funny look. The reputation of the English as irredeemable pissheads hadn't yet penetrated that far into Holland's interior. I knew from Michael Jackson that Grolsch was a superior Pils and unpasteurised (sadly, no longer true). Sure enough, it was a big improvement on Heineken. I had the World Guide to Beer with me. Despite its size and supposedly travelling light. It proved later to be a good decision to have taken it along.

That evening I had my first encounter with a pocketless billiard table in a Grolsch pub somewhere around the main square. Deventer isn't a huge town (far smaller than Apeldoorn) but has a lively and compact centre. We played some billiards rather badly (I'd only start getting the hang of this billiards lark when I was living in Rotterdam), drank some Grolsch and ate some fried things out of the wall at a Febo. That was living.

I can't remember how long we stayed in Deventer. Maybe two nights. When we did move on, we decided to head off on foot. We were aiming for Enschede. Looking back, deciding to travel on foot seems an odd decision. I was much younger then, which could explain some of my blind optimism. I'd been doing some walking with Harry in the hills north and west of Leeds. That probably contributed.


Enschede
We set off early. By midday we'd had enough and caught a bus to the next town. From there we took the train to Enschede. Once again we stopped at a campsite, this time rather more crowded and commercial than the one in Deventer. This was filled with Dutch and German families, mostly in caravans. Our little tent looked quite forlorn amongst much grander tents and campervans.

It was boiling hot, somewhere around 30º C. Luckily the campsite had an air-conditioned bar. I camped out in there while Harry and Johnny Ash went swimming in the pool. I'd had several Grolsches before they joined me. I remember a rather long and quite rowdy drinking session that continued into the small hours. And Johnny Ash naming one particular young lady "chapel hat pegs". I can't think why. Once again, I was Mr. Lucky, inside both the tent and a sleeping bag.


Wolfenbüttel
One of our vague plans had been to visit Johnny Ash's uncle. He was in the army and stationed in Germany. In Wolfenbüttel, just east of Braunschweig. We got the train there the next day. The uncle's family were very friendly, happily putting up all three of us and passing around the apfel schnapps.

The next day we went for a look around Wolfenbüttel. It's a very pretty town of black and white half-timbered houses. The houses were all pretty sinmilar, the whole town having been rebuilt in the 17th century. I think it was destroyed in the Thirty Years War, a conflict which devastated and depopulated large areas of North Germany. Deathly quiet reigned. It was just after midday on Saturday and, of course, all the shops were closed. There was no-one about and I can't remember us even finding a pub open. I did see a Bitburger sign and recalling that it was a beer Michael Jackson had written positively about.

I had a Thomas Cook's Continental Railway Timetable with me. It listed the main train routes in Europe. In the pre-internet days, it was essential when wandering about by rail. We used it to plan the next section of our trip. After consulting my World Guide to Beer, I managed to persuade the other two that our next two stops should be Düsseldorf and Halle, just outside Brussels. Nowadays I would either have printouts with me or drop into an internet café. So much simpler than lugging books around with you.


Hannover
The timing was slightly odd. First we had to change trains at Hannover. We were due to arrive in Düsseldorf around 9 P.M. There was a train to Brussels at around 4 A.M that we could take. Basically, we would just have the evening in Düsseldorf.

We had a while to wait in Hannover, about an hour. It's a huge station, with a dozen platforms of more. Ensconced in a little bar on one of them, Johnny Ash noticed there was a similar bar on most of the island platforms. He had found a mission: drinking a beer in each bar before our connecting train arrived. Johnny Ash liked a challenge. He'd been trying for years to do the 50. That's drinking 50 pints in a weekend visit to Leeds. 50 pints in 5 sessions. That's tough. He did eventually manage it. What a hero.

Harry and I remained in the first little bar. Every few minutes we'd see Johnny Ash run up onto another platform and dash into its bar. It was a crazy thing to do. We had a heavy evening ahead of us in Düsseldorf. He must have had 5 or 6 40 cl glasses before we even got on the train.


Düsseldorf
Outside Düsseldorf Hauptbahhof, we asked for directions to the Altstadt. We were advised to take a tram, which in those days still ran overground from the square in front of the station. Before very long we were sitting in Zum Uerige. I was impressed. Very impressed. At both the atmosphere and the beer. We continued on to Schlüssel, which was OK, but not as good as Uerige. Then on to Füchschen, which we liked almost as much as Uerige. We didn''t get long in the homebrew pubs, as they closed relatively early. So we continued around random Altstadt bars. I can remember we were in Der Spiegel. It was wild. Harry danced on the bar. At one point everyone started singing The International. After that, it gets a bit blurry.

Back at the station, with us rather the worse for wear, our train came in. It was all sleeper carriages and you needed a reservation to board. I did try getting on, but slipped on the step. I gave my left shin a nasty knock. To this day there's still a dent in my shin. I can show you, if you want. We had to doss around the station another couple of hours for the first normal train of the day to Brussels. There we got a connection to Halle.

Halle
Why had I chosen Halle? Because it's in the Payottenland, simple as that. I was hoping to trap some proper lambic. At the time, the town still had a small brewery, Vander Linden. Their flagship beer was Duivel's Bier (not to be confused with Duvel). It was a mix of a dark, top-fermented beer and lambic. Quite tart, but tasty and not too strong. (The beer has been revived, at least in name, by Boon. Though the new version is much stronger and quite different in flavour.) Quite a few places in town had it on draught.

For some reason just me and Johnny Ash were together when I tracked down proper lambic. It was in a slightly more upmarket place, more a restaurant/bar than a pub. I asked for a Gueuze. The waitress returned from the cellar with what I recognised as the real deal - a bottle without a label, just marked with a stripe of white paint. Don't ask me which brewery it came from. Probably one of the small blenders, as even then the practice of paint-marking bottles was becoming rare. The beer was, as you would expect, uncompromisingly sour.


Antwerp
We were now on the return leg of our journey. I'd planned a few hours in Antwerp on the way up to Amsterdam. It was another Michael Jackson tip: a pub in Jeruzalemstraat selling 1,000 beers or something silly. I'd spent hours before leaving searching for the street on an unindexed map of Antwerp in a road atlas. It hadn't been easy. The pub disappeared many years ago.

Not knowing a great deal about Belgian beer, knowing what to choose was tricky. I tried asking for beers with sediment, but the barmaid didn't understand what I meant. Harry and Johnny Ash just stuck to Duvel. That might have been a better idea for me, too. I somehow managed to keep picking cherry beers. Not things that would ever have been my first choice, not then, not now. Adventure has its price.


Amsterdam
Our last stop was Amsterdam again. This is when I did one of the stupidest things ever. It could have turned out really, really badly. At the time, I wasn't aware of the enormity of my stupidity. I didn't realise that until I moved to Holland. What was my act of idiocy? I wandered along the Zeedijk totally pissed, at night, alone. I was lucky I only had my bank card nicked. Which wasn't any use to anyone without the pin code. At the time the Zeedijk was well dodgy, lined with junkies and smack dealers even during the day. At night, no-one respectable went down there. In the state I was in, I could easily have got myself badly hurt.

And that was it. Back to England by train, ferry, train. Another two countries under my belt and considerably wiser.

Lists

Some people love lists. A site like RateBeer is basically nothing but lists. Nothing wrong with that. For some members that's clearly its main attraction. They're always coming up with lists generated from their own ratings and inviting others to post their versions. Maybe it's time for me to come up with some lists of my own.

(The entries that follow are in no particular order. I've just plucked out some of my favourites and listed them in a random order. Trying to come up with an ordered list would just take too long.)


Beer-drinking destination

This isn't just about where has the best quality or variety of beer, although these factors play a part. Really, it's where I enjoy going on the piss most.


Amsterdam. Choosing my hometown is a bit of a cheat. But Amsterdam is pretty good for beer. Wildeman, Arends Nest, Het Ij, Engelbewaarder, Gollem, Gollem II, Hesp, De Beiaard, Bekeerde Suster, Elfde Gebod. That's just the beer specialist places. I'll never stop if I get started on great pubs with a limited beer range.

Salzburg. Often overlooked by beer-lovers (as is Austria as a whole), there's much to drink in this manageably-sized city. A couple of great local breweries - Weissbräu and Augustiner - and a couple of reasonable ones - S'Kloan and Stiegel is a good start. Add a plentiful supply of good pubs - Augustiner, Sternbräu, Stiegelkeller and many, many more - and you have a real winner.

Forchheim. It may seem perverse to pick Forchheim over Bamberg. But perversity is what I'm all about. At 9 AM, there's no place in the world I'd rather be than Forchheim. Crazy Hebendanz of laidback Neder. There's something for every mood. You could even try Eichhorn if you want to be all posh.

Prague. In the 1980's, Prague was my idea of heaven. I've still never found anywhere closer to it here on earth. Universally good beer, great pubs, friendly people, low, low prices. There was a period after the restoration of capitalism where my affections strayed, but the city has bounced back. U Cerneho Vola, U Kocoura, Pivovarsky Dum and, naturally, the incomparable U Rotundy.

Leipzig. This one can be explained in a single word: Gose. I haven't been able to get Gose out of my head since I first heard of it. There are a few excellent palces to drink Gose in Leipzig: Bayerischer Bahnhof, Sinfonie and, of course, the place where its revival started, Ohne Bedenken.

Copenhagen. There's but a remarkble transformation of the beer scene in Denmark's capital. Some truly wonderful beer bars - plan B, Pegas; a cask ale specialist - Charlie's Bar; an outstanding beer restaurant - Tatoverede Enke; and several brewpubs - BrewPub København, Nørrebro Bryghus. The city is beautiful, human-scaled and friendly, too. There's only one downside: the prices.

Düsseldorf. Again a single word will do: Altbier. The four city-centre brewpubs don't just make outstanding beer, they're great places to drink it, too. They all have a wonderfully varied clientele, from all ages and classes of society. That's something you don't see often. And the Alt just keeps on coming until you tell them to stop.


Brewery

De Molen. I couldn't omit where my beers are brewed. Menno, is a great bloke as well as a skilled brewer. He brews a long list of excellent beers, my favourites being Tsarina Esra and Rasputin.

Hofmann. Frau Hofmann only brews one regular beer, but what a great beer it is. Unusual, distinctive, wonderfully drinkable. It's a pity she already has a husband.

Schlenkerla. A bit obvious, this one. Still, some of their beers are so outstanding I couldn't ignore them. Urbock robust, complex and uncompromising. Helles, on the other hand, is delicate and subtle. Their other beers cobver everything inbetween. Great range.

St. Bernardus. Another one I couldn't miss out. I drink so much Abt, I have to include them. 6, 8 and 12 - one is suitable for every occasion. Like Wednesday or Tuesday. That sort of occasion.

Harvey's. One of the last remaining established independent breweries in the South of England. They brew a series of classic English ales. Sussex Best Bitter, now King & Barnes and Brakspear's have gone, is one of the few traditional Southern Bitters left. Their Imperial Stout is the closest to a genuine 19th century beer brewed anywhere. Should they close, I would be heartbroken.

Bernard. One of a very small number of Czech breweries that stuck with open fermenters out of choice, rather than because they couldn't afford conical fermenters. Their 12º pale Kvasnicové was the best beer I tried last time in the Czech Republic.

Nils Oscar. Micros come and go in Sweden. This one has managed to stay the course longer than most. They brew a could range of top-fermenting beers, including a particularly tasty Imperial Stout. What's even better, I can buy it in Amsterdam.

Cooper's. What would I have done without Cooper's in Australia? Become a wine-drinker, probably. Their Stout, earthy and coarse, is still one of my favourites. And who could fail to love a beer as inappropriately-named as their Sprarkling Ale?



Pub

Augustiner, Salzburg. My favourite beerhall. The little indoor market for stuff to make your own sandwiches is wonderful. As are the little old ladies in Sunday best, complete with hat, sipping a litre of beer. Everything about the place is charming and perfect. Worth crawling a few miles over broken glass to experience.

plan-B, Copenhagen. A very unpublike establishment, that looks more like a cafe or cakeshop inside. The beer selection is gloriously eclectic and a little bit eccentric. I'm not sure even the landlord is 100% certain of what is hidden away in corners.

Mathäser, Stuttgart. I have mixed feelings about Stuttgart. Despite its outer ugliness, there is something likeable about the city. Breaking my ankle there did strain our relationship, but its charm prevailed. The evening before my ankle break, spent in Mathäser, was one of pure joy. A beautiful pub filled with beautiful people. The beer - a full set of Löwenbräu products - isn't bad either.

Zum Uerige, Düsseldorf. You just can't be miserable in some pubs. If Uerige doesn't bring a smile to your face, you may as well throw yourself in the nearby Rhine. Their Alt is killer, too.

Wildeman, Amsterdam. There are beer pubs all over the world that have a good range of Belgian beer. But how many sell any quantity of good German beer? Tell me if there's another, because Wildeman is the only one I know of. Special events, like their British and German beer weeks, really are something to look forward to. Excellent, but not resting on its laurels and still trying to improve. My local.

U Rotundy, Prague. This is another of my perverse choices (especially for you, Stonch). A smoky dive full of weird locals. It doesn't even have any particularly good beer, only Staropramen 10º. For reasons even I don't understand, I just adore the place.

Olofspoort, Amsterdam. Simply the most beautiful pub in Amsterdam. Is there anywhere in the world that looks better? I seriously doubt it. The landlady is friendly, attentive and always welcoming. Then there's the jenever selection, one of the best in Amsterdam. There's only Affligem for the beer-lover to drink, but that's irrelevant. The atmosphere is magical.

Hebendanz, Forchheim. It may now be a smokers' club (probably not for long, as I expect the law will change to close that particular loophole) but it's still a great pub. Wall-to-wall weirdos, but totally unthreatening. The beer isn't bad, either, gravity-served Export. And only 1.80 euros a half litre.

Augustiner Grossgaststätte, Munich. If only every high street had a pub this good on it. A classic beerhall, with several massive rooms, speedy waiters and Edelstoff from a wooden cask.

The Canada, Melbourne. I haven't been in since 1991, so perhaps this belongs iin the timewarp section. When walking home in 40º C heat, a pits stop in the Canada was the perfect pause. A quick schooner of draught Cooper's Stout was the most delicious beer imaginable.

I would have liked to select a Newark pub. Sadly, all the good ones are currently derelict.


Time travel Pub

Many of my favourite pubs have closed or changed beyond recognition. I've given the year so you know how to set the dials of your time machine.


The Whip, Leeds, 1978. A pub hidden down an alleyway in the centre of Leeds. A Tetley's pub, of course. It had two quite distinct rooms. The front room, which Harry called "the industrial accident bar" was full of weirdly-shaped old blokes watching racing on the telly. The back room had an amazing 1950's jukebox that played records vertically and was full of old Teds. As a leftover from its days as a men-only pub, when I first visied it had no ladies bogs.

The Wing Tavern, 1974. My first pint of cask beer, Barnsley Bitter, was drunk in the Wing. A tiny pub, with no frontage on the street, it survived against the odds for decades. I suppose the site was just not worth much as anything else. Currently derelict and looking very forlorn.

U Dobrého Kata, Brno, 1985. You may be starting to detect a theme of craziness. This was another dive full of drunks. I spent a mad evening there in the summer of 1985. I came home without a shirt. The name means "The Good Executioner". It was converted into a milkbar around 1987.

Baker's Arms, Swindon, 1989. The formica fittings were so 1950's. The landlord and his wife looked as if they had been installed when the pub had last been done up. Now there was real retro chic. They had near-perfect Arkell's BBB.

The George and Vulture, London, 1984. Crazy name, but a great unspoilt Fuller's pub. Where I learned to love London Pride. I was only slightly put off it when two local psychos set about the landlord with an iron bar.



Beer

Tetley's Mild. Undoubtedly the beer of which I've drunk the most. By a very long way. Malty, unassuming, but delicious when on form. Let's hope it stays that way.

St. Bernardus Abt. Could well be closing in on Tetley's Mild. A beer that never disappoints. Rich, complex and fruity, but not overpowered by the alcohol, as it so easily could be.

Schlenkerla Urbock. A heady mix of smoke, hop and malt, it's one of the most complex German beers. Great from the bottle, a world-beater from the cask.

Courage Russian Stout. The best ever brewed. The best I've tried, at least. The soulless bastards at S & N discontinued it after over 200 years of just about continuous production. I hope my recreation will come somewhere close to its excellence.

Het Ij Struis. I really had to pick at least one local beer. When it's on form, Struis is a chocolatey delight.

European Championship

I hope Germany wins. Andrew, too. Why? He's got a German passport. That makes him officially German. Oh, you meant why am I supporting the Germans? Because it's the best way of simultaneously pissing off the English and the Dutch.

German football is under-appreciated much in the same way as German beer. It's not exotic enough to excite, nor quirky enough to charm. But that's missing the point. Reliable, consistent, competent. Not adjectives that set the heart racing. Except for mine.

Not that I'll be cheering on the Germans down the pub. I saw the reaction last time. I was with a group of Australians watching Germany vs Argentina during the last World Cup. We were in a fairly working-class pub opposite Het Ij brewery. The Australians had been in Germany to see Australia play. The locals had been very friendly and left a good impression. So when Germany scored, they all cheered. That was when everyone else in the pub turned around and gave them a look. A "Why the feck are you cheering for the bloody Germans?" look. I don't think I'll risk it by myself.

What I'll be doing on my holidays (part two)

Dolores's friend Kerstin and her family are holidaying in Belgium this year. At a coastal resort right next to the French border. We plan spending a weekend at the same hotel.

Kerstin is another of Dolores's friend from lovely Merseburg (Messyburg, as I used to call it). She lives on the outskirts of Leipzig. Her house has an attic room large enough to sleep me, Dolores and both kids. I do my best to keep in Kerstin's good books. Leipzig is a city I definitely want to visit again.

I haven't been to the Belgian coast for ages. And the last time was just an afternoon in Oostende when we were on a weekend break in Gent. That was before Lexie was born (he'll be 10 in November). Come to think of it, I haven't been to coast anywhere for quite a while. Tunisia, over 18 months ago. That was it.

I was careful to make sure we booked an apartment in Port El Kantaoui for our Tunisian holiday. The good brewpub is there: Golfbräu. As you might be able to guess from the name, it's German-inspired. They had the usual German brewpub holy trinity of beers: Helles, Dunkles and Weizen. Though the latter tasted like the Helles mixed with lemonade.

Our apartment was only a couple of hundred metres from the brewery. I'd walk down there in the morning and get a 2-litre flip-top bottle filled with Dunkles. The Weizen might have been a bit dodgy, but the Dunkles was first class. Perfect for drinking on the beach. I must have drunk my way through a couple of barrels over the course of the week.

Despite the good weather of the last two weeks, I haven't gone the few kilometres to Zandvoort. The rampaging teenage gangs do put me off a bit, I have to admit. It isn't great for beer, either. There's one beer pub, so I suppose I shouldn't complain.

That reminds me. I need to check if there are any good pubs in Oost Duinkerk. Or close by. It being Belgium, finding decent beer shouldn't be that difficult.

Pie and Peas

My kids are big fans of pies. Proper meat pies. Whenever I go to Britain I pack my bag with pies on the return journey. It must be in the genes. Every couple of weeks I take Lexie to Amsterdam's only fish and chip shop for pie, chips and mushy peas.

During my second year at university I wasn't the most studious of students. My day began at around midday, when I'd drag myself out of bed and walk to the campus. Not that I was going to a lecture. I went straight to the refectory in the Students Union. In the balcony there was a pie and peas bar. That's where we'd all meet to eat, well, pie and peas. Meat and potato pie was my favourite. There's health food for you. Carbohydrate, fat, more carbohydrate and a dash of protein in gristle form.

My days were so full. After eating we'd head for the student bar. By the second year, I'd progressed beyond Sam Smith's Old Brewery Bitter. In 1976 they started having problems with their yeast. After about a year they adopted a totally different strain and their beer never tasted the same again. I think it was probably Tetley Bitter I drank in the Students Union in my second year. I can't remember it selling any other cask beers.

After throwing out time (the pubs shut in the afternoon then) we moved on to the table tennis room. That occupied us until five-ish, when it was time to go home and have tea. I don't know how I found the energy. Each day was a heady whirl of pie, peas, beer and table tennis. It's no wonder I don't have a degree.