Ten Dutch beers you should try

I've noticed how much people like lists. And it's always been my policy to give people what they want. Except when I give them something else instead and hope they don't notice. So following on from my "Ten Amsterdam pubs to visit this summer" post, here are suggestions for what to drink in them. If you can find them. Dutch pubs have a habit of selling of selling good Belgian beers and crap Dutch beers.

As usual, these are in no particular order.


Christoffel Blond
Christoffel is the only new Dutch brewery to concentrate exclusively on lagers. Not surprising, as it was founde by a member of the Brand family who had studied at Wehenstephan. A pale lager, it's usually classified as a Pilsner, despite its 6% ABV. The first thing you notice is the massive hop aroma. It's one of those beers I could just sit and sniff all day. The aroma is that good. Should you manage to get it into your mouth, you'll be greeted by more abundant hop flavours and a scorching bitterness. (Here's an alternative description for American hopheads: there's a little a hoppiness in the aroma and a slight trace of bitterness in the finish.) Distinctive and very drinkable. That's a winning combination in my book.


Amstel Bock
That's right. I'm seriously proposing that you try a beer brewed in one of Heinken's mega lager factories. Amstel Bok is a surprisingly good beer, that regularly scores well in blind tastings. It's the classic old-fashioned Dutch Bock, malty, but without the tooth-rotting sweetness of more modern versions, such as the sugary Grolsch attempt. In my years on the dole, I drank hectolitres of the stuff, as it's dirt cheap. It demonstrates that Heineken can, when they want, brew something pretty decent. Clearly, they don't always aim that high. You'll have to wait to try it. It's only available October to January.


Van Vollenhoven's Stout
I have a soft spot for classic beer recreations, as you might have noticed. This is a cracker: deep, complex and satisfying. Guus, owner of de Schans, is a talented brewer. And this is one of his best efforts. Van Vollenhoven's was an Amsterdam brewery taken over by Heineken in the 1940's and closed around 1960. Heineken brewed a bottom-fermenting version until about half a dozen years ago. I was told yesterday that it won't be available again until Autumn. So you may have to be very lucky to try it this summer.


De Molen Tsarina Esra
Now I'm being perverse, picking a beer with incredibly limited availability. It's brewed just a few times a year in tiny batches and is sold only at the brewery in Bodegraven. Let's just say it gives you a good reasion to visit the brewery. If you're lucky, you may meet Menno. A great guy and a great brewer. Say "hi" to him from me. He's such a nice bloke that I don't even mind him describing it as an Imperial Porter. Powerful and complex without being overpowering or unbalanced. A top beer by any standards.


't Ij Vlo
Most of 't Ij's beers are firmly based on Belgian examples. Vlo is an exception. Brewed originally for beer shop De Bierkoning, the recipe is supposedly the result of an accident at the brewery. Now where have I heard that one before? It's certainly an unusual beer, dark amber in colour and with more coriander than an Indian spice shop. The coriander stops just short of total craziness and it's surpisingly drinkable and refreshing (what am I saying here, this is like a marketing man's description). Joris, you probably think it tastes like soup. I think it tastes delicious. This one at least is pretty easily avaible. If you're in Mokum. Unsurpisingly, you can find it bottled at Bierkoning. And it's one of Café Belgique's regular draught beers.


SNAB Speculator
Speculaas is a type of spiced biscuit eaten around Sinter Klaas. SNAB, not a brewery but an organisation that gets beers contract brewed, has created a beer featuring the same spices. It took them a couple of tries to get the balance right. Goldilocks. First year too much spice, second too little, since then spot on. A unique beer with a particularly Dutch identity.



Jopen Koyt
It's disheartening that Dutch micros usually draw their inspiration from abroad, Belgium in particular, ignoring their own rich brewing tradition. Koyt is an exception. A modern interpretation of a style of pre-hop beer once common in Holland. Some hops are used in Jopen's version, but they are barely noticeable through the spices. As was usual in medieval and renaissance Holland, the grain bill is a combination of wheat, barley, rye and oats. That adds a particular depth to the malt flavours I just adore.




Bavaria Pils
I've included this for a very special reason. To demonstrate just how disgusting a mass-produced Dutch Pils can be. Best would be to get a less discerning friend to buy it and just take a sip yourself. If it's chilled enough, you'll be spared some of the nastiness. A masochist might want to try it at cellar temperature.

Since the takeover of Grolsch by SABMiller, Bavaria has become Holland's largest independent brewery. Unfortunately, all their beer is crap.





Mestreechs Aajt
You may notice a theme here: uniquely Dutch beers. Meestrechs Aijt has similarities with Belgian styles such as Oud Bruin, where aged, sour beer is mixed with young beer. The twist here, is that Aijt is only 3.5% ABV. There's only one brewery that makes it: Gulpener. There was a rumour that production would have to cease because of EU rules about the use of wood in food manufacture. Thankfully, that hasn't happened yet.




Double Saison de Liège
The De Keyzerr brewery in Maastricht was closed and left intact in 1970. It's recently been opened for tours. This is a recreation of one of their products contract brewed by Den Engel Bierbrouwers. Why did a Dutch brewery make a Saison? Because they owned another brewery across the border in Liege. When they shut that down, production was moved to Holland. It's dry and spicily hoppy, as you would expect from a Saison.


Budels Oud Bruin
It doesn't necessarily have to be Budels Oud Bruin. Any other one will do. Not to be confused with the sour Belgian beer with the same moniker, Oud Bruin is one of a handful of indigenous Dutch styles. (It always makes me smile when I see them lumped together with Belgian Oud Bruin on beer ratings sites. And it's a good one to bring up when someone claims every single style of beer is brewed in the US.) Based on a very cursory look through Amstel and Heineken records, it seems to have appeared after WWII. Very sweet, low in alcohol and with virtually no hop presence. One for the extreme beer fans.

Inspiration and synergy

There were many reasons for me starting this blog. Finding an audience for Barclay Perkins monologues. Keeping track of my research. Showing off. Hoping to inspire others.

What had struck me about beer writing was the minute amount of original research being done compared to the volume of words generated. Not good. My own little forays into the archives had revealed how much primary source information was lying there unused. Guesswork, assumptions and fairy tales were being used instead of cold, hard facts.

I tried to collect details of 19th and early 20th century beers from published sources for five years or more. You should see the pathetic little list I assembled. Fewer than 100 entries. Half a dozen archive visits has increased that by four thousand. That's what I call progress. But it begs the question: with so little material available, what the hell were writers using as sources for their books on beer styles?

I was delighted when Beer Nut told me of a project to document Ireland's vanished breweries. It's a much neglected topic. Unless there's a whole load I've missed. He asked if I could suggest any sources. I can't claim to have been the inspiration, but I'm happy to share my research experience.

To that end, I did a quick web search for Irish trade directories. A great source of brewery names and addresses. Some are available on CD from a web shop at fairly reasonable prices. The same site also offers something that set my heart racing: Barnard's "Noted Breweries of Britain and Ireland". I've wanted to get my hands on a copy for ages. Unfortunately, it's rare and expensive. Twenty-odd euros for a CD version is a bargain. I've already put in my order.

Inspiration is a two-way street. Synergy. Without Beer Nut, I may not have found the Barnard. A book with which I'm sure I'll be boring you for months to come. Another triumph for blogging. Thanks Beer Nut.

Copenhagen festival

Before yesterday's beer tour*, I grabbed a quick beer with anti-American Mike. He had good news. He's found us rooms in Copenhagen. And only 40 euros a night. Well done, Mike.

We're off to Copenhagen for the first European Beer Festival in September. It should be a great event, with the best beers from across Europe. Up until now, the large European festivals have mostly represented a single country. Some, such as the Great British Beer Festival, have featured foreign beers for many years. But it's only a small percentage of the total. Even the Berlin International Beer Festival has a majority of German beers.

The only exception I can think of is the small, but perfectly-formed, Bruxellensis. Also held in September. I must check if it clashes with the Copenhagen festival**. It would be a shame if it did. My kids are keen on revisiting it. They liked the food.

I'm uncertain if I'll be able to cram in everything I would like to do in Copenhagen into just two days. It's a great city. With many wonderful pubs, including Mike's favourite, plan-b. You can tell it's a modern sort of place by its eschewing of capital letters. But don't let that put you off. The idiosyncratic and eclectic beer selection is unrivalled. I've been to plenty of places with a far greater number on their menu, but none with as many unexpected treats.

Tatoverede Enke is another must. A beer cuisine restaurant that rivals the best in Belgium. And which has a pretty good beer range, too. Also on the list is BrewPub. Last time I was in the city I planned to visit it on Sunday, forgetting it doesn't open that day. I want to get to Ølbutikken as well, a beer boutique bulging with delights. Pegasus is another stylish beer bar that warrants a return visit. Sounds like I won't have much time left over for the festival itself.

Let me know if you'll be going to the festival. I might have a spare five minutes to chat. You'll have no trouble finding me. I'll be standing next to Mike.


*The beer tour was good fun, by the way. A very pleasant couple from Kansas City. And I was in bed by midnight. Very important with an 8-hour shift today.

**I've just checked. They do clash. The kids are heartbroken.

Commerce

If you look at the left frame of this page you'll see a link called Amsterdam Beer Tours. It's a little sideline of mine. Basically, people pay me to take them on a pub crawl of Amsterdam. Sounds like the perfect job, doesn't it?

This isn't an advertising pitch, by the way. I just mention it because I'm doing one this evening. With one exception, they've been good fun so far. I work out a rough itinerary but often change it around, depending on the interests of the participants. Amsterdam isn't that big. And the city centre has a stack of decent boozers. The possibilities are endless.

Only one problem. This is a school night. Every morning when I stare in the mirror to shave, I'm reminded of a depressing truth. I'm no longer a young man. Four-hour drinking sessions midweek take their toll. I've only just about recovered from Saturday's sesh in Folkestone. Though I did start at 9:30 AM. That might have had an impact. As I just said, young I ain't.

I'm frequently told I should be more commercial. "Ron*, be more commercial." they say. It's true. I should be. The amounts I earn from beer are pitiful. Far less than what I spend on books and travel for research. I'm not naive enough to expect to earn a living from beer. Just breaking even would be nice.

Proactive. That's what I need to be. Unfortunately, I'm a more propassive sort of bloke. Except when it comes to dusty, old books. Those I rather too actively seek out. According to Dolores. God forbid she notices my latest buying spree. I've got rather used to having a matching pair of bollocks.

Which is why I came up with my plan. I think it's a good one. Making Andrew my commercial manager. I've offered him an 11% commission on any new advertising he can drum up. He's still got 6 weeks of his summer holiday left. He was already starting to get bored after week one. Then we unwisely installed video editing software on his PC. Big mistake. Now he's busy the whole day videoing and editing. I can't think where he gets that sort of obsessive behaviour from.


*Or, as a Czech would say, Rone (pronounced as two syllables). Don't you just love the vocative case? It's always been one of my favourites. Especially as it entails sticking an ending on my name.

Folkestone

The last couple of years I've visited Britain much more frequently than in the previous two decades. Many of these visits have been beer-connected. Trips to the archive, judging for Tesco, Beer Writers' Guild dinners. That sort of thing.

My short stay in Folkestone last weekend was an exception. It was principally a shopping expedition. For food. Now Mikey has a car, it's simple. For me, at least. I don't have to drive. The only slight worry is that his car is about to fail its MOT and was making some rather disturbing noises. And the hole in the exhaust made it sound like a Heinkel 111 with a sore throat.

We left Amsterdam 08:30 on Saturday. An hour or so later I was scanning the beer section of a Belgian petrol station. Pretty crap, to be honest. But you can't expect somewhere like that to stock Westvleteren or Struise. I had to settle for a few cans of Gordon's Finest Gold. Not the world's greatest, but, at 10%, at least it has a little poke. And the only other options were either dull pale lagers or Inbev nasties like Leffe.

For some of you, 09:30 might be on the early side to be guzzling a ten percenter. You're probably right. I'm not so sure it was a particularly wise course of action. But when did that ever stop me? Two hours later, with an achingly full bladder and Calais still 30 km away, I was already beginning to regret the beer. I didn't have a spare pair of kecks with me, so any toileting accident would have caused real problems. Some bushes on the tunnel approach arrived with seconds to spare. What a relief.

Mikey had bought a new lighter-socket powered cool box. To test it out, he'd put a couple of cans of Strongbow in it. We cracked these in the tunnel. I was already over my daily recommended limit, and we hadn't even got to Britain. Things were going well.

Why Folkestone? Simple, the tunnel entrance is on the edge of town. Only ten minutes driving and we were at our hotel. Just 25 quid for an ensuite room with a sea view. Bargain. And just a couple of hundred metres from Sainsbury's.

My watch was showing 12:15 when we walked into Chambers, the town's premier real ale pub. I hadn't had to adjust my watch. Since the little screw fell into the toilet bowl, I haven't been able to change the time. I've got used to it being an hour behind the real time. Suddenly having it correct was confusing. I'm easily confused. That's what happens when you get old. You'll find out for yourselves soon enough.

I can't remember what I had. Mikey was a bit pissed off because they only sold still cider. He likes his fizzy. So we stayed only for the one. Time for dinner. Well, breakfast. We had a full English in a cafe. Next stop was a Weatherspoon's in an old church. What can I say, it was a typical Weatherspoon's. Definitely far fewer nutters than in the Newark branch, at least. But Newark is full of headcases, so that isn't saying much. Mikey wasn't to keen on it. Just the one, again.

I'm not going to bore you with the details of my shopping. Well, maybe a bit. Pies, sausages, mini sotch eggs, pork pies, salt and vinegar crisps, tea, malt vinegar, pickled onions and sloe gin. The last one was for Dolores. The two before that for me and the rest for the kids. I'm doing my best to pass on my British culture to them. Pies, vinegar on their chips, yorkshire puddings and taking the piss. I think that about covers it. And being able to pronounce "the" properly. Talking of which, Andrew gave me a masterclass in pronouncing the word "Spui" last week. I still can't get it right.

So now we were loaded down with shopping, right? No. Because we'd arranged to leave it in Sainsbury's cool room until just before our departure the next day. But we decided to stroll back to the hotel anyway. Mikey was in need of a rest. Lightweight. Luckily, our route took us right past a pub, Harvey's. Unfortunately, not a Harvey's pub. Courage Best was the best they had to offer. A pretty unexciting beer, but cask. That's enough of a thrill for me.

Harvey's, despite its trendy-sounding name, is the sort of unashamedly downmarket pub that I rather like. "It a builders' pub. A bit rough and ready" the friendly owner of our hotel later told us. We just stayed for the three. Then it was siesta time. For Mikey. I still had a couple of cans to get through.

The evening session started at Skuba. A smart, modern bar with no cask. I had to make do with a couple of bottles of London Pride. It could have been worse. Mikey got chatting to some locals who recommended another pub, the Bank (or was it Bank's?). No real ale and not even any bottled London Pride. Time for Guinness. How they can make a Stout as bland as Draught Guinness is beyond me. Virtually flavour-free, with only the slightest hint of roast. So I only had two or three.

This is where the evening starts getting rather vague. Mikey tells me we chatted with some French people. Can't really recall that, myself. Nor going back to the hotel. Everything's a blank until I woke up to the sound of seagulls the next morning. Feeling as rough as a badger's arse, I dragged myself down to breakfast. After forcing down the last mouthful, I got the setting concrete feeling in my gut that's the usual precursor to vomitting. Wonderful. I rushed back to my room. Throwing up in the breakfast room is frowned on in most hotels. But the puke didn't come. After 45 minutes lying in bed watching the Hollyoaks omnibus, I felt a little better. Semi-human.

I didn't buy much in Tesco. Just a bag of Jersey Royal potatoes and a couple of magazines. My heart wasn't in shopping, the way I felt. Watching a low-quality soap opera in a reclining position was about all I was good for.

We went back to Skuba for Sunday dinner. A roast, of course. Not bad. I'd just about reacquired an appetite by then. But my thirst was still AWOL. I did something I very rarely do. I left a pint unfinished.

We went straight from the pub to the tunnel. We both wanted to be back in Amsterdam at a reasonable hour, having to work the next day. We weren't quite finished yet, though. In Calais we had an appointment in Beer and Wine World to pick up 10 slabs of Strongbow. Eight for Mikey and two for Dolores. I had a look at the beer, but there wasn't anything very interesting. I limited myself to a couple of bottles of decentish wine.

We arrived back at my gaff at 20:30. Exactly 36 hours after our departure. The car hadn't fallen apart, which was relief. Mikey only told me after we got back that the main problem with the car was a knackered chassis. The mechanic had advised him not to put anything heavy into the boot. 240 half litre cans of Strongbow doesn't count as heavy, does it?

Whither Lager?

If reader responses are anything to go by, you're just about decoction mashed out. I wondered how long it would take. My money was on the material stretching further than your patience. It seems I've been proved right.

But it would be a shame to finish with lager so quickly. And the relevant books are still piled up on my desk. I may as well continue with another aspect of lager brewing. The obvious choices are: boiling, fermentation or lagering. Any of those three particularly take your fancy?

You're probably thinking "Oh no. Not another endless series of obscure technical posts." "All three choices are dull, dull, dull. Can we get back to travel reports and jokes, please?"

Adding a practical twist is a possibility. I could post details of how to make a particular beer, say, an 1880 Dunkles Export. Or a 1870's DDR Helles. Really useful stuff. If you're a homebrewer with a lager obsession. Or a lager obsessive with an interest in homebrewing. That covers about 99% of the population, doesn't it? Though not me. I'm not a homebrewer. I could call it Let's Brew Lager. Or Lagering for Fun and Profit. Something snappy like that.

The Bohemian method of decoction mashing

This is more like it. Jumping over the Bayerischer Wald into Bohemia. Exciting, isn't it? Well, I'm excited, even if you aren't. This is taken from "Schule der Bierbrauerei" pages 306-308.

In Bohemia decoction mashing is carried out differently to in Bavaria and provides an interesting practical example of dispensing with the last starch rest.

Before discussing this method in more detail we first need to learn more about the division of the brewing water. For 100 kg of malt 750 kg of water is required. Of this amount, a quarter is used for the Nachguß (sparge) and the rest for mashing, except for one thirtieth, which is used to dilute the first wort. Of the remaining mash water, four fifths is used for Ausschütten (pouring) and one fifth for the following temperature rises (Zubrühen). The 750 kg are divided like this:

435 kg pouring
108 kg warming
19 kg diluting the first wort
188 kg Nachguß

The water required for pouring [Ausschütten] is boiled in the kettle (a highly wasteful and unnecessary practice; rational brewers heat just a little water and put cold water into the mash tun) and put into the mash tun where it is allowed to cool (to 33º C in summer, 40º C in winter). The warming [Zubrühen] water is now put into the kettle and brought to the boil.

The ground malt is added to the cooled water in the mash tun and mashed well for 5 or 6 minutes, after which the boiling Zubrühen water is added and stirred in well. Then about a third of the mashed grains are moved to one side of the mash tun and transferred to the kettle as Dickmaische. There it is careful brought to the boil (to prevent burning or boiling over) and simmered for 30 minutes. The foam that accompanies saccharification then appears. As soon as this foam starts to disappear and the pale colour of the wort starts to turn brownish-yellow (as a result of the transformation of proteins) the Dickmaische is considered to have boiled long enough and is returned to the mash tun. There it is mixed in well. Now another Dickmaische is assembled, but from another side of the mash tun (why "from another side?" Hasn't it been mashed properly?) put into the kettle, boiled for 20 to 24 minutes (why not again until the appearance of signs of saccharification, as with the first Dickmaische?) and returned to the mash tun. Finally there is a third Dickmaische which is boiled for 20 minutes.

Through the three boils, the temperature in the mash tun is raised to 71-75º C. The remaining one thirtieth of the mashing water is now put into the kettle.

The wort is run off into the underback until it becomes clear. The cloudy wort (which is full of starch) is added to the boiling water in the kettle and boiled for several minutes (whereby the starch is gelatinised). It is returned to the mash tun, but without disturbing the sediment which has already settled. Then the saccharification is left to complete.

If, however, the intended complete saccharification can ever take place is doubtful, since, as Balling has shown, the temperature in the mash tun is already over 75º C after the third Dickmaische and is now raised even further.

It's pretty obvious from the snide comments that the author isn't too impressed with this method. I wonder if this is how they mashed at Pilsner Urquell 150 years ago? As some of the wort is boiled four times, I suppose this is a quadrupel decoction.

Filling gaps

I've finally finished harvesting gravities from the Barclay Perkins logs I have photographed. What next? Pretty obvious, really. Time to fill in some of the gaps.

"Which gaps might those be?" The two decades of the 20th century so far unrepresented in my Mega-Gravity Table. The 1980's and 1990's. I've started on with the oldest Good Beer Guide I own, 1983. My guess is that it only contains around 500 beers. With any luck that shouldn't take more than a week.

This seems a good point to renew my call for volunteers. "What do you want us to volunteer for?" Transcribing the gravities and ABV's from part of an old Good Beer Guide. I don't even expect you to do a whole one. Just a couple of letters. Every little helps. This is an example spreadsheet

I've just thought of something else for which I need help. Colours. I have beer colours in a few different formats. Many are in lovibond, but a 1 inch column rather than the 0.5 inch column used today. Anyone any idea how I can convert these figures to EBC? Whitbread uses another variation of 1 inch lovibond, with numbers for brown and red. Help converting these would be handy, too.

Brussels again

Catching the international train to Belgium is always fun. If you get on at Amsterdam Centraal. Then you're sure of a seat. Join from Schiphol onwards and you may well have to stand.

That's on a good day. It being summer, the backpackers have made their summer migration to Amsterdam. You see them lying around in piles, their luggage piled around them, all around the station. The youth of all nations. With and without beards. With and without hippy skirts. They're harmless enough, unless you have to crawl over their rucksacks to reach the toilet. I wonder where they're all going?

I'd decided to be on my best behaviour. So no beer on the outward journey. God that was hard. Our train left at 08:56. I'm usually on my third beer by that time. Yesterday, just coffee.

One of the first things I ever read in a Dutch newspaper was about the highspeed trainline to Belgium. That was in 1987. The thing still isn't operational. The track has been ready for some time. But there's some delay in actually running trains along it. Most carriages on the Brussels-Amsterdam run have already been painted in the new Hispeed (the inspirational name for the service) livery. I'd assumed that it had been built as a TGV line capable of taking trains travelling at 300 kph. Silly me. They'll only be going 160 kph - no faster than some existing lines. It makes you wonder why they bothered.

We watched the "high speed" line split away from the Schiphol mainline and disappear into Holland's green heart. It rejoined us, equally empty, just before we entered Rotterdam Centraal. People piled off in Rotterdam nearly emptying our carriage. Then more people piled in to leave it fuller than at the start of the exercise. Will they run more trains when the new track opens? Probably not. When they introduced an ICE service to Cologne, they reduced the number of trains each day.

Dolores hadn't been to Antwerp since the tunnel was opened. It's quite an impressive hole, filled with trains, they dug under Antwerp station. Though from inside a train, you can see little more than a bare concrete wall and a shiny escalator.

As Dolores was along, we were well provisioned with sandwiches and drinks. She's very good at that sort of thing. We also has A Plan. Something I rarely bother with. What can I say? I'm a spur-of-the-moment sort of bloke. I take a map, not A Plan.

First stop was Beenhouwersstraat for a meal. Putting all the restaurants in one street makes like easy. After a quick look around we settled on a place with escargots in its fixed-price menu. Our kids are pretty perverse in what they will and won't eat. Lexie won't touch chicken, but insists on eating snails whenever possible. Andrew won't eat a cod fillet, but tucks happily into fried baby squid, complete with ink. I've given up trying to fathom any logic in their tastes.

How can some places serve a 3-course meal for as little as 8.75 euros? By bumping up the price of the drinks. We went for somewhere expensive. With a 12.50 3-course menu. But the cheapest bottle of wine was 29 euros. Luckily, in Belgium every restaurant sells half a dozen beers. Time for a Duvel. At 4.50, still a little steep, but not ridiculous. There are pubs in Amsterdam that charge as much, or even a little more, than that. Dolores had to drink water. I promised her a nice beer later. "You can have a nice beer later." I said. I'm so considerate.

My Duvel came ready-poured. There was something slightly odd about it. Too sparklingly bright and slightly too golden in colour. Had they just slipped me a Pils in a Duvel glass. I took a sniff. Some spice - was that coriander and a touch of cloves? That's not how Duvel smells is it? I thought I could recognise it. No, too sweet for Pils. And too strong. Sweet and a bit nasty tasting, but blonde and alcoholic. Now what could it be?

I had a suspicion. My second beer was meant to confirm it. I ordered the only dark beer - Leffe Bruin. That came still in its bottle to my table. So that was definitely the right beer. I sniffed it. There was the same hint of spice, presumably from the yeast. Yup, the first beer had been Leffe Blonde. I would have complained. Except I'm not a great complainer. And I'd already destroyed the evidence.

Phase two of the plan was the "nice beer" I'd promised Dolores. Delirium Cafe is, conveniently, on an alley off Beenhouwersstraat. We would have sat ouside, but it was raining. It's funny how quickly you get used to no smoking pubs. Walking downstairs into the cellar bar, it was a shock to be greeted by fag smoke.

Delirium has a huge beer list. A list so huge, it's hard to work out what you want. I didn't have time, so I ordered a hercules. Not had one in a while. Dolores chose a draught Floris Kriek. A bit girly, but, hey, she is a girl. And she enjoyed it. That was her treat for the day, so she better had do.

There was little moaning from the kids, despite Delirium being quite dingy and smoky. Lexie did try to hurry us out after the first beer, but his heart wasn't really in it. We all mellow with age. I'd noticed Hansens Kriek while flicking through the menu. Not something I can find easily in Amsterdam. And I'd already started lecturing Andrew on fruit beer. It would be a good tool for explaining my point. "Smell that. Like mouldy hay with a little cow dung in it. Maybe a trace of cow piss, too. Lovely, isn't it? Have a taste." He wasn't having any of it. "It might smell like poo, but it tastes like cherryade. Honestly." Andrew still wouldn't budge. "I can smell vinegar." he said.

Lexie was keen to move on for a reason. Stop three was his choice: a toy shop. That, too, was just around the corner. A Bart Spit. Nothing very exotic in that. They run about half the toy shops in Holland. Yet everything, at least according to the kids and they should know, was cheaper than in Holland. Including computer games. That's what they bought, games. A WII game each.

The forth and final stage of The Plan was the War Museum. Andrew's choice. Just 5 stops on the Metro. It's pretty hard to miss, stuck on a hill at the end of a monumental boulevard heading east out of the centre. A monumental structure in all senses of the word. And free. That's a pleasant change from Holland, where no museums are free. Not any ones I've been to, at least.

Dolores hadn't expected to like the museum much. Tanks and guns aren't really her thing. But the museum is about a lot more than that. The first room is full of cabinets packed with the objects soldiers carried in different periods. Their uniforms, weapons and the crap they kept in their pockets. All sorts of small personal items. Now that is Dolores's thing.

The museum looks big from the outside. But from that vantage point, you can't see most of it. In reality, it's enormous. Just when you think you've been around it all, you discover suites of further rooms. Finding an enormous hanger full of aeroplanes was a shock. And the courtyard crowded with tanks. Including a Hetzer. Andrew guided Lexie around the tanks, explaining about the different suspension systems. It's one of his specialist subjects.

We didn't get chance to explore fully. Throwing out time arrived before we'd finished. At least we'd got our money's worth. Before leaping on the Metro, we went in search of a supermarket. To stock up on scran for the journey home. I stood, gob well and truly smacked, at the bread counter. They had crumpets. Since Marks & Spencer closed, crumpets have been unobtainable in Amsterdam. Brussels truly is the capital of Europe, if you can buy crumpets everywhere.

By now we were too late for the 17:15 trains we'd planned to take back. But, arriving at Centraal Station, we noticed that it was still on the departures board. Sure enough, when we rushed to the platform it was there. But with its doors closed. The conductor's whistle blew as we reached for the door handle. Bottom. Just missed it.

Rather than hang around in gloomy Brussels Centraal, we took the next train to Antwerp. Dolores wanted to look around the new bits of the station. And we could picnic in its more pleasant surroundings.

If you're thinking that there's remarkably little beer in this tale, you're correct. At 18:00 my beer counter was still stuck on 4. In the supermarket I had considered this shameful situation and did something to rectify it. I bought a four-pack of Guinness Special Export. It's a good train-drinking beer. Not bottle-conditioned, so no disturbed yeast to worry about. And a tasty beer.

The train back wasn't crowded at all. It helped that it didn't go via Rotterdam or The Hague, as it was supposed to. A problem between Rosendaal and Dordrecht meant that it was diverted through Den Bosch and Utrecht. Though they forgot to stop in Den Bosch.

We were home at 21:45. I thought you'd like to know that. And I hadn't even finished all the Guinness. I'm losing my touch.

Busy week

This week's going to be pretty busy. I've two foreign trips planned. What a globe-trotting jet-setter I am.

Until the EBCU recption the week before last, I hadn't visited the centre of Brussels for ten years. Wednesday I'll be there for the second time in a month. This time with the whole family in tow. That will limit my pub time.

It isn't a beer-drinking trip, of course. It's a stop the kids going stir crazy trip. Both kids have already picked where they want to visit in Brussels. Andrew - war museum; Lexie - lego shop. I should be able to slip in the odd beer in Delirium Cafe, as we'll be eating just around the corner. At least that's the plan.

Saturday, I'm off to Folkestone with Mikey. It's mostly a stocking up on cider and sausages trip. Knowing at least one car-owner can be handy. Given the kids' appetite for pies. But who doesn't like pies? With any luck, we'll arrive at about midday. Perfect for a dinnertime session. Anyone have any suggestions for good pubs in Folkestone?

Gloria Monday

Gloria Monday's van isn't well. That's what I've heard. Is the writing on the wall for Pils? Will it plummet into obscurity in the next decade? The pint beside the old bloke sat in a corner with his dog - is this the future of Pils?

Everything I've learned about beer evolution and the fickle nature of public taste screams the answer "Yes!!!". I've been scouring the statistics for years, searching for the slightest sign of a slip. In Pils sales, I mean. I might have spotted the very beginning. Is it real, hope or expectation? A few more years should tell us for sure.

Of course, in many countries Pils has nowhere to go but down. Places like Holland where it hit a peak of a 98% market share. Last time I looked, it had slumped to just 95%. In Germany, too, sales of Pils have fallen. But what will replace it as the world's favourite beer?

Here are some of my suggestions. Not particularly rational or probable, as you'll see. But when have minor considerations like that stopped me?

- Dark Mild
- Broyhan
- Porter
- Berliner Weisse
- Keut
- session-strength IPA
- Oud Bruin (the Dutch lager version)
- Dunkles Export
- English-style wheat beer
- amber Lagerbier

Do you have any better ideas?

I blame the young

Change. When you get to my age, most change becomes scary. Or terrifying. New stuff keeps appearing. Things like mobile phones and Double IPA. Stuff you never asked for, but arrived on your doorstep anyway.

Every generation rejects the taste of its parents. In music, clothes, wallpaper, politics, food and, of course, beer and pubs. Everything has its fashion and every fashion has its day. Who of my generation could ever have imagined the early 70's becoming hip again?

The young, for the most, adore the thrill of the new. It's not really their fault. They don't know any better. That's why I bear with the younger members of the blogging community when they bang on about stylish bars and shiny-new, US-style beers. Or slag off dull, old-men's pubs without music or young lovelies. Give them another 20 years and they'll be wondering why youngsters call their favourite pubs boring, their favourite drinks old-fashioned and their beer festivals unappealing.

Reading a 1972 Daily Mirror article on beer got me thinking about much of this. I remembered the feel, smell and taste of drinking in the 70's. Would I want to go back to it? Probably not. Admitttedly, pubs, in general, were far more pleasant. Apart from the smoking, obviously. The beer, overall, was better, too. As long as you liked ordinary Bitter and Mild. And didn't mind if you could only find two sorts of each in your hometown. You'd also have to forget about ever drinking anything as exotic as a Belgian beer. Apart from Stella.

I do miss simple, ordinary pubs. Places with a Public Bar and a Lounge, metered electric pumps and outdoor bogs. But they aren't coming back. They've disappeared along with socialism, tin baths and fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. What have we got instead? The internet and more breweries than at any time since WW II. Swings and roundabouts. I've heard some of the young 'uns also like those.

Decoction mashing in Munich

More from "Schule der Bierbrauerei" by Conrad Schneider, 1875, page 300-301. This time it's Altbayern's turn. Will the fun never end?

Let's get straight on with the description.

This method is mostly common in Altbayern. In Munich the following method is employed. The ground malt is tipped into the mash tun, which already contains cold water. And, while being regulalrly stirred, is left to stand for 3 or 3 hours. Meanwhile, the rest of the mash water is brought to the boil. This is introdusced into the mash tun from below. When all the water is in the tun, the temperature should be 31-37º C. Then the first Dickmaisch is transferred to the kettle and boiled. As soon as the grains begin to rise due to the vigorous boil, enough Dickmaische is returned to the mash tun, whilst mashing all the time, to raise the temperature to 47-51º C. The second Dickmaische is then transferred to the kettle and quickly brought to the boil and boiled for 45-60 minutes. When moved back to the mash tun, the temperature rises to 60-62º C. After standing for 15 minutes, most of the Lautermaische is transferred to the kettle and boiled for 15 minutes. When returned to the mash tun, the temperature of 72-75º C is reached.

The amoount of Dickmaische which needs to be boiled varies greatly. The size of the mash tun also plays a role, because of how it cools down. This is an example for approximately 1000 kg of malt.

4700 l of cold water are put into the mash tun. A further 2150 l are heated in the kettle, of which 1600 l are put into the tun. Temperature 35-37º C. 2550 l are removed from the mash tun for the first Dickmaische and brought to the boil in the kettle. After boiling for 45 minutes, enough Dickmaische is returned to the mash tun to raise the temperature to 47-50º C. For the second Dickmaische, 2600 l is boiled for 60 minutes in the kettle. During this time, the underback is half filled with Lautermaische. As soon as the second Dickmaische has been returned to the mash tun and a temperature of 60-62º C achieved, the Lautermaische in the underback, topped up with the same amount from the mash tun, is transferred to the kettle and boiled. In total, 6000 l are put into the kettle and boiled for 15 minutes. When returned to the mash tun, the temperature is 72-74º C. Brewers put great stock in hitting precise temperatures in the mash tun. For example, the rise in temperature of the mash from 33.75º C at Einteigen to 53.75, 64 and 74-75º C in the Dreher brewery in Schwechat next to Vienna has been copied by many breweries, who believe it to be the secret of the Vienna brewery's success.

I'm pleased to finally see a mention of an Austrian brewery. Very few details of Austrian brewing of this period have come my way. I've just ordered an Austrian brewing manual published in 1914. Hopefully that will help fill some of the many gaps in my knowledge.

My Weekend

What did you do over the weekend? Nice of you to ask. Loads of things. Went into town with Lexie to buy an X-wing Fighter. Read some Barclay Perkins logs. Barbecued in the rain. Made Star Wars 14 film with Lucas and the kids. Bribed Lexie to start cataloguing my books. Drank some St. Bernardus Abt out of a Chimay glass. Fell asleep in front of Tatort. Normal stuff.

At the end of one archive session I photographed a whole load of Barclay Perkins logs from WW II. I didn't look at them properly at the time. That was about a year ago. I finally got around to them this weekend.

The book that covers 1939 and 1940 has some wonderfully matter-of-fact entries relating to the war. "September 28th 1939. 1st war budget. Increase of 1d per pint on beer and increased tax on sugar." "September 16th 1940. Bomb through porter side." "September 29th 1940. Bomb through ale side."

When war broke out, Barclay Perkins were brewing three Milds:

A 1030.84
X 1034.77
XX 1042.7

By 1942, gravity cuts had squeezed them together:

A 1027.3
X 1028.7
XX 1031.4

You wonder why they bothered brewing three beers with only a couple of gravity points between them.

I'll tell you something strange. I can't find any entries in the Whitbread or Truman Gravity Books that match these gravities. Even though I have ones for the same period as the log entries.
Here's an example. I have log entries for A, X and XX from January and September 1939. They're both the same as the first set of gravities above. Yet the Gravity Book entries for January, February, March and May are all 1038. That's way off the gravities of any of the Milds, as brewed. About exactly half way between X and XX.

Any suggestions for an explanation?

Porter and Stout gravities 1805-2005

Sounds impressive, doesn't it, 200 years of data? I have a greater spread of years for Stout than for any other sort of beer.

These are the average gravities, based on the entries in my mega-gravity table.

First Porter:

1805-1899 1057.5 (29 samples)
1901-1917 1053.8 (6 samples)
1919-1929 1037.8 (38 samples)
1930-1939 1035.8 (8 samples)
2002-2005 1046.7 (22 samples)


Now Stout:

1805-1899 1077.8 (39 samples)
1901-1917 1074.5 (14 samples)
1919-1929 1055.5 (144 samples)
1930-1939 1046.9 (321 samples)
1940-1949 1042 (63 samples)
1950-1959 1043.3 (248 samples)
1960-1968 1046.8 (23 samples)
2002-2005 1047.8 (40 samples)

There's a simple explanation for the hole in the Porter figues. No Porter was brewed in Britain for several decades.

It's bizarre that there is currently almost no difference in the gravity of Porter and Stoyut. This could possibly be caused by a blurring of the distinction between the two types.

If your mind works better with pictures than numbers, here's the same information (plus Pale Ale and Mild) in a nice visual format.


May I point out the changing relative strengths over time? The only constant, is that Stout has always been the strongest. Mild, Bitter and Porter have swapped around the other positions. Few today would realise that Mild was once stronger than Bitter.

See. I am using this information it's taken so much effort to assemble.

Plato proud

I'm so proud. After only two hours of frantic scribbling, I've managed to change my OG to Plato conversion into Plato to OG. You wouldn't believe that I had an A-level in maths, the trouble it took me.

This is the OG to Plato formula I started with:

=(-0,003829+WORTEL((0,003829*0,003829)-4*0,00001572*(1-(L205/1000))))/(2*0,00001572)

Eventually I managed to derive this Plato to OG formula from it.

=2000-(((0,003829*0,003829)-(((2*P205*0,00001572)+0,003829)*((2*P205*0,00001572)+0,003829)))/(4*0,00001572))+1)

Don't ask me why the 2000- is at the start of it. I added that so that the right number came out at the end. If you're wondering what the L205 and P205 are, they are the cell numbers of respectively the OG in specific gravity and Plato. I'm using the formula in a spreadsheet, you see.

Rather naively, after leaving school I never expected to have to manipulate complex arithmetic formulae again. Then along came brewing. Converting between Plato and OG and vice versa is a pain. As is calculating alcohol content from OG and FG. At least I only have to do this once. Embedded in the spreadsheet, the calculation occurs automatically. I pity any poor bastard who has to do this by hand.

Why was I doing this? For my mega-gravity table. I've just been incorporating some analyses (is this the correct plural form of analysis? I keep using it) from German sources, where all the gravities are in Plato. Well, Balling, really. I'm aware that it isn't a 100% identical to Plato, but I've already spent several hours playing around with Plato conversions. It'll have to do.

5,360. There's another number for you. How many entries I now have in my mega-gravity table. Now I've added the continental ones.

Unused

Not everything I write makes it into the blog. About a quarter of the posts I write remain unused. This one will almost certainly join the "don't bother" pile. Which means that you won't read it and will remain unaware of my profligacy. Unless I've already mentioned it.

You know how elderly relatives tell you the same tale over and over again? I fear I'm, about to start doing the same. More than 12 months into this blogging lark and I'm forgetting what I've already posted. Remember, the thing to do when I repeat myself is to nod your head and feign interest. On no account remind me of my forgetfulness. Just think of me as the uncle who always slips you a few bob whenever we meet. You don't want to ruin everything by pointing out I'm a boring, repetitive prat. Not if you want any more half-crowns.

I've forgotten where I was. Not to worry, on to my next point. On no account comment when I duplicate an earlier post accidentally. No-one likes to be reminded of their failing mental faculties. I certainly don't. Just ignore it and hope that I don't repeat the mistake too often.

Most of what I don't use is just rambling bollocks. Or repetitive. Or both. But please don't point out either. It might upset me so much I forget to take my pills. And we wouldn't want that, would we?

Barclay Perkins X Ale. Will I ever get it brewed? That reminds me. I must look up the log for the decoction version.

Pale Ale gravities 1839 - 2005

It's great fun playing with my mega-gravity table, now that I have some modern stuff in there. I've been looking at Pale Ale this time.

I've averaged the gravity of several hundred samples of Pale Ale. I realise that this doesn't give a true average gravity, but it does give an indication of general trends. I suppose I should also define what I mean by Pale Ale. All types of Bitter and Pale Ale. Splitting apart Bitter and Best Bitter just isn't feasible.

Anyway, here are the figures:

1839-1899 1058.55 (4 samples)
1901-1917 1058.9 (12 samples)
1926-1930 1046.7 (83 samples)
1930-1939 1046.7 (235 samples)
1940-1949 1037 (292 samples)
1950-1959 1038.8 (290 samples)
1960-1968 1040.7 (86 samples)
2002-2005 1041.7 (557 samples)

It's quite scary how the 1926-1930 and 1930-1939 came out exactly the same. It looks a reasonable enough average to me for the period. The figure of 1037 is significant, too. For many years during the 1940's that was the average gravity for all beer brewed demanded by the government.

If you compare the same Mild over the same period, you'll notice that its gravity fell significantly in the 1930's:

1839-1899 1068.6 (12 samples)
1901-1917 1050.3 (13 samples)
1920-1926 1041.9 (50 samples)
1933-1939 1036.2 (224 samples)
1940-1949 1030.2 (291 samples)
1950-1959 1032.4 (220 samples)
1960-1968 1032.5 (12 samples)
2002/2005 1037.8 (71 samples)

The difference between Bitter and Mild is now at its smallest since the 1920's.

As I said before, these aren't precise scientific figures. But they do still tell us something. I just have to work out exactly what that is.

What is highlighted, is my lack of data for 1970-2000. Ironic, as this it was in the 1970's that beer gravities first became generally available. Once I get some of those into my table, I should have a pretty good idea of the trends in beer gravities from 1920 until the present. Won't that be groovy?

More decoction mashing fun

Today were going to take a look a variation on decoction mashing, Lautermaisch. It's taken from "Schule der Bierbrauerei" by Conrad Schneider of 1875, pages 298-299.

It's a great book. I could only afford a copy because I bought an example with a broken spine. (What do I care if the book is perfect or not? It's only the information that I'm interested in. I'm not a collector. The broken spine has the advantage of making the book easier to lay flat on the scanner.)

Back to the book itself. It has one of the longest chapters on mashing I've seen, describing British, French, Dutch, Swedish and Belgian methods in addition the German ones you would expect.

Did I mention that I'd tried to get in touch with the Carslberg archivist? To ask some questions about Carlsberg's mashing techniques in the 19th century. Unfortunately she's on holiday at the moment.

The Lautermaish method has its home in the Bamberg area, but is also employed in Belgium and Holland.

The distiguishing feature of this method is that the rise in temperature in the mash tun is not achieved through the addition pure water (as in an infusion mash), but though heating tapped wort (Lautermaisch). This is partly cloudy, full of starch which boiling gelatinises. This hot Kleister wort is put back into the tun. Sometimes clear wort is also used to transfer heat this way.

The execution of this method varies widely.

The Bambergers work with cloudy Lautermaisch. The ground malt is put into the mash tun dry, lower in the middle and higher around the edges. Boiling water in the kettle is mixed with enough cold water to give it a temperature of 80º C. This water is let into the mash tun from below, through the underlet, so that the malt is lifted and swimms like a cake on the surface. It is left for 30 minutes to soak through. The tap is then opened, so that a cloudy broth (like buttermilk) pours out. This is put immediately into the kettle and brought to the boil. Finally a fairly clear wort flows out and this is put into the underback.

The Lautermaisch in the kettle, whose starch is gelatinised, gives off an aromatic smell and a scum forms, which is a sign of saccharification. Care has to be taken that it does not boil over, which Lautermaisch tends to do. It is left to boil for 75 minutes. After this part of the Lautermaisch is put back into the mash tun from below to gelatinise the starch deposits (Unterteig") that have formed there. The rest of the Lautermaisch is poured over the grains, mashed well and left to stand. The wort in the underback is put into the kettle to protect the bottom from burning.

In Kulmbach they work with clear Lautermaisch. The ground malt is put into the mash tun and mixed with enough water at 50º C to wet evenly it through. It is then left to stand for an hour. Then enough boiling water is let into the tun through the underlet so that after a half hour mashing the temperature is 54 to 56º C. After the grains have settled, the clear wort is drawn off, put into the kettle and brought to the boil. After putting the Lautermaisch back into the tun the temperature is raised to 70-72º C. After 45 minutes mashing the mash is left to rest.

I was quite surpised to learn that they didn't use a classic Dickmaisch in Bamberg. But why should they use the same techniques as in Munich? Franconia had only become part of Bavaria 50 years earlier.

The book has many more pages on mashing. I'll be working my way through them next week.

Summer of Lager update

I'm delighted with my choice of Lager as a summer theme. It wasn't something I'd ever looked at in any great detail. I've already learnt so much.

Of course, I understood the concept of decoction mashing, but I hadn't realised how many variations there were. I've still only looked in three books and I'm already up to around a dozen methods. Should be perfect for driving people away at parties. "Don't you find decoction mashing fascinating. I certainly do. I read about this great single decoction method the other day . . . Where are you going? I've only just started."

There's so much to discover. I haven't really got past mashing yet. There's boiling, fermentation and lagering to come. Perhaps I should have called it Year of Lager.

I'm kicking myself for not having started before my last trip to Franconia. There are so many questions I would ask the brewers now. Mostly about their mashing schema. I wonder how many do a Dickmaische? Given the great variation in ingredients and fermentation methods, I would guess that their mashing systems are equally diverse.

Andy at BeerMania! has been trying to persuade me to go back to Franconia in July. Unfortunately, the kids are on holiday then. No chance of Dolores releasing me. Providing him with a list of prepared questions might be an idea.

"Gebrauchen Sie eine Dekoktionsverfahren?"

"Eine Einzel-, Doppel- oder Dreimaischverfahren?"

"Auf welche Temperatur maischen Sie ein?"

"Welche Rasten machen sie und für wie lange? Eine Eiweissrast? Eine Verzuckerungsrast?"

"Was ist die Temperatur der Gesamtmaische nach dem erste Kochen?"

"Was ist die Temperatur der Gesamtmaische nach dem zweite Kochen?"

"Was ist die Temperatur der Gesamtmaische nach dem dritte Kochen?"

"Für wie lange kochen Sie die Maische?"

"Kochen Sie die Dickmaische oder die Dünnmaische?"

"Was is die abmaisch Temperatur?"

I think that covers the most important points. If any of you happen to be in a German brewery in the near future, feel free to ask these questions for me. I've honestly no idea how they do these things nowadays.

Mild 1920 - 2005

Now I've got some modern beer details (thanks Ted and Mark) I can start comparing modern beers with those of 50 years ago. I've begun with Mild.

I've calculated the average OG of Milds from various periods:

1920-1926 1041.9
1933-1939 1036.2
1940-1951 1031.3
1952-1969 1032.5
2002/2005 1037.8

I was genuinely shocked to see that the average OG of Mild has increased significantly, a full 5 points, since 1969. I had expected it to have remained much the same.

Of course, this is an average of the OG's of different beers, not an average OG for all Mild sold. That would most likely be significantly lower for 2002/2005, as some of the biggest sellers - Tetley's, for example - have OG's in the low 1030's. It's clear that micros, in general, brew stronger Milds than the ones I drank in the 1970's and 1980's.

Do you think Mild will make it back to the heady 1040+ average of the 1920's? Or will it die out first?

Märzen

Zythophile has just posted on the shortcomings of Wikipedia beer articles. It shouldn't come as a great surprise. When so many books use only third-hand sources, what do you expect?

I used to actively contribute to wikipedia. For a while. Then I started getting my edits "corrected" by other contributors. Mostly they were using things like the BJCP guidelines and ratings sites as their sources. After a couple of quite nasty arguments, like Zythophile, I decided it was a complete waste of my time. If you look you can probably spot my contributions. There are still a couple sizeable sections of my text.

It was the Märzen article that made me renounce wikipedia and its evil ways. Take time to look at the wikipedia Märzen article now . . . . . .

What do you think of it? That's right, it's almost total bollocks. Scarcely a word of what little content it has is true. The shit that was thrown my way when I tried to correct some of its glaring inaccuracies would have blocked the Incredible Hulk's toilet.

Why do I bring this up now? Apart from the fact that I hate losing arguments. Just something I stumbled upon this morning when I was searching for a description of mashing in an ancient German book. (I get up early enough to leave an hour for doing this stuff before setting off for work. Dilligent, aren't I?) One section listed the main types of Bavarian "Byer" (I told you it was ancient). The very first was Merzen or Sommer Byer. According to the Wikipedia article, Märzen was "invented" by Anton Dreher in Vienna in the 1830's. My new source pushes that date back just a tad. Any guesses as to how much further back? 1800? 1750? 1700? No, much further. The book was published in 1581.

Thanks to Kristen for sending the link to the 1581 book. It's full of fascinating stuff. For people like me. Now all I have to do is read it. In addition to the usual obstacle of gothic typeface, it also uses idiosyncratic spellings. And weird grammar. Be patient.

And, for those who think yeast was unknown before Pasteur, it also mentions "Heffe".

Adulteration (part two)

I've decided to look more closely at the differences between the gravities recorded in brewery logs and those obtained from the analysis of pub samples. To make life easier for all of us, I've calculated the pub OG as a percentage of the log OG. To be fair, I've included all the samples I have for the periods covered.

There's a huge significant difference between the results for Whitbread Bitter and Mild. I've chosen pretty much the same years for both, 1931 to 1939 for Bitter, 1933 to 1940 for Mild. The Bitter pub samples had, on average, 96.47% of the OG in the brewing log:


Of the 19 samples, 18 were below the brewery OG, just one, every so slightly, above. Two samples were within 1% of the brewery OG, 4 between 1% and 2%.

It was a very different story for Whitbread Mild:


Of the 23 samples, 18 were above the brewery OG, 5 below. 3 were within 1% of the brewery OG, 8 between 1% and 2%. On average, the Mild samples had 102.49% of the brewery OG.

Maybe someone who understands statistics better can me if can say if that's significant.

Barclay Perkins Burton

It's been too long since I last mentioned Barclay Perkins. I wouldn't want the conceit of this blog to evaporate. What? It was just last week? Still too long ago. Barclay Perkins Burton. That kills two obsessions with one stone.


The table below covers almost a century of Barclay Perkins KK. Sold on draught under the name Burton. In the 19th century, it really was a Strong Ale, weighing in at over 7% ABV. Like all other British styles, its gravity was whittled away by taxation to fund hostilities, starting with the Boer War.


WW I knocked almost 25% off. After a period of stability in the 1920's and 1930's, WW II reduced the gravity by about another 25%. By the 1950's the gravity was little over half what it had been in 1869. A reduction pretty much typical for all British styles over the same period.


You know what I would love to run? An Edwardian pub. I don't mean a pub in an Edwardian building. I mean one with Edwardian-strength beers. So ordinary Bitter and Mild at 1050, Best Bitter at 1060, Burton and Stout at 1075. That's the draught beers. The bottled beers would be stronger. Double Stout at 1082, Triple Stout and KKKK at 1095. Admittedly, not at Edwardian prices. Would I have any customers?

Braunbier decoction 1826

This is fun, isn't it? Looking at all these methods of decoction. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.

You're not stupid. If you've bothered to read the title, you have a fair idea of what this post will be about: decoction mashing in a Braunbier brewery in 1826. This will be a first. Our first foray into the time before thermometers. Before they used them in Germany, at least. In Britain, thermometers were popular amongst brewers before 1800. The practice took a while to spread to the Continent.

The source is "Beschreibung der Braunbierbrauerei" by Benno Scharl, 1826, pages 63-65.

The ground malt is tipped into the mash tun, which already contains cold water. The two are thoroughly mixed together with a mashing shovel. This process is called Einmaischen. The mixture is left to stand for 3 - 4 hours before mashing begins.

First Dickmaisch. As soon as the water in the kettle is boiling vigourously, the Dickmaisch can begin. Some let it boil longer than others.

The boiling hot water is ladled* from the kettle into the mash tun. While this is happening, mashing occurs in the tun. Mashing is performed in the same way as Einmaischen, the grains and water being mixed thoroughly with a mashing shovel. Mashing continues until the kettle is empty. The mixture, as much as possible of the malt, is transferred to the kettle until it is full. Now the first Dickmaisch is in the kettle. The rest remains in the mash tun. During this time the fire is stoked so that the Dickmaisch comes to the boil quickly.

In the beginning the malt has to be stirred so that it doesn't fall to the bottom of the kettle and burn. When the heat increases, the malt rises of its own accord. When the Dickmaisch comes to the boil, the fire shoukld be reduced so that it does not boil over. It is boiled for 1.5 hours.

Second Dickmaisch. When the first Dickmaish has boiled for 1.5 hours, it's ladled back into the mash tun. The procedure is now the same as for the first Dickmaisch, except that none of the thick part in the kettle is ladled back into the mash tun. When mashing of the second Dickmaisch is over, it's left to stand for 15 minutes.

Half an hour earlier, at the beginning of the second Dickmaisch, about three Eimer of clear wort is tranferred to the underback. When the kettel has been cleaned of the spent grains, this wort is put into the kettle so that it doesn't burn before the Lautermaisch begins.

Lautermaisch. After the mash has stood in the run for 30 minutes, the tap is opened and the Lautermaisch run into the underback. when the kettel is full, it's heated again until the Lautermaisch comes to the boil.

As son as the Lautermaisch comes to the boil, it's ladled back into the mash tun and there's more mashing, as described above.

As this is the last mash, mashing is longer, about 30 minutes. Meanwhile more water is heated in the kettle, enough to make a Nachbier.

When the last mash is over, the mix in the tun is left to stand for at least one or two hours.

Without the help of pumps, that sounds like an awful lot of hard, physical labour, moving all that wort around. It's recognisably a classic triple decoction, but with a couple of twists. Not returning the grains in the second Dickmaisch to the mash tun is a new one. Not sure what the point of that is. And, at an hour and a half, the boiling time of the two Dickmaisch is much longer than in later descriptions.

I can't say that I would want to attempt brewing just using these instructions. There's no indication of how much wort is put into the kettle and boiled. Which would help, in the absence of temperatures. I would assume that the aim is to hit around 50º C after the first Dickmaisch, 65º C after the second and 78º C after the Lautermaisch. But that's just my guess.

Notice my correct translation of Grand (underback) in this piece. It's wonderful to actually know what it means. Any suggestions for the English equivalent of Einmaisch?

How consistent were their mashing temperatures? Possibly more than you would expect. Experience would have taught brewers how much water/wort to boil to obtain the best results. Volume was easy enough for them to measure.

I've another thermometer-free description. I'm not sure if I should include it, as it isn't a decoction mash. What do you reckon? Maybe I'll take a look at the Barclay Perkins lager logs instead. That's decoction mashing. What about a decoction-mash Mild? I've a log for one somewhere. An experimental brew from, I believe, 1916.


* I've translated the German "geschöpft" as "ladled". You know the two crossed things you always see on German beermats. Those two things with the long handles. One looks like a shovel with holes in it, the other like a bucket on a stick. I think "geschöpft" means using the bucket on a stick. If you have a better translation. please let me know.