Booze revenue 1937 - 1952

More numbers. What fun.

It’s no surprise that the money raised from alcohol increased during the war. That’s the way UK governments always financed wars. Alcohol is an easy choice since demand is fairly elastic. The table below shows just how much of that came from beer. And how the percentage raised from beer rose from 60% in 1937 to 80% in 1945 and 1946.

Between 1939 and 1947, the revenue from spirits only just more than doubled. While that from beer quadrupled.

You might have expected the income from imported beer to have totally evaporated at the height of the war. There’s a simple reason it didn’t: Guinness. Which continued to export – with some small interruptions you’ll read about later – large quantities of beer to the UK.

There’s an impressive surge in imported wine revenue after 1947. Way higher than the pre-war level.

Please ponder the numbers. As I can't be arsed to explain everything. Stare long enough and they'll make some sort of sense. Or you'll fall into a zombie-like state. That's me most evenings. Get home, staring then zombieing.

UK Excise and customs revenue from alcoholic drink (£ millions)
	Beer			Wine			Spirits
Year	UK	Imports	total	UK	Imports	total	UK	Imports	total	Duty Receipts in Total
1937	57.3	5.4	62.7	0.5	5.1	5.6	31.4	4.8	36.2	104.5
1938	61.2	4.5	65.7	0.5	5.0	5.5	31.1	4.8	35.9	107.1
1939	62.4	3.2	65.6	0.5	4.8	5.3	30.9	4.7	35.6	106.5
1940	75.2	3.6	78.8	0.9	5.7	6.6	34.5	6.2	40.7	126.1
1941	133.5	5.6	139.1	1.6	7.8	9.4	33.9	11.6	45.5	194.0
1942	157.3	7.3	164.6	1.1	3.8	4.9	31.0	15.7	46.7	216.2
1943	209.6	8.0	217.6	1.7	2.4	4.1	49.4	18.2	67.6	289.3
1944	263.2	6.4	269.6	2.1	2.3	4.4	59.6	17.2	76.8	350.8
1945	278.9	8.9	287.8	2.0	2.5	4.5	50.1	13.5	63.6	355.9
1946	295.3	10.8	306.1	2.2	5.0	7.2	51.2	16.9	68.1	381.4
1947	250.4	9.4	259.8	2.2	10.8	13.0	51.6	24.9	76.5	349.3
1948	264.1	9.9	274.0	3.4	15.6	19.0	40.7	42.7	83.4	376.4
1949	294.7	12.6	307.3	3.8	15.7	19.5	46.7	44.1	90.8	417.6
1950	263.1	13.7	276.8	2.8	16.1	18.9	58.7	39.6	98.3	394.0
1951	249.1	13.0	262.1	3.2	18.1	21.3	75.8	38.7	114.5	397.9
1952	248.2	12.7	260.9	3.3	17.5	20.8	67.1	29.9	97.0	378.7
Source:
"Drink in Great Britain 1900-1979" by GP Williams and GT Brake, 1980, Edsdall London, page 380.

UK pubs 1937 - 1952

Time for some more lovely numbers. Moving along a little, now I've done with my WW I book.

Looking at the numbers, it might look strange that there were more fully-licensed pubs in 1947 than 1939. But on closer observation, this is obviously due to beer houses (in column three) converting to full licenses. The total number of pub on-licences in reality declines from 73,572 to 73,232.

I'm surprised the decline wasn't greater. Hundreds of pubs were badly damaged or destroyed by bombing during the war. And rebuilding was virtually impossible. You needed a licence to carry out building works and these were mostly limited to what as considered essential.

The number of clubs was more volatile, dropping by a couple of thousand during the war, returning to its pre-war level in 1947, then zooming upwards from there.

Less explicable is what happened in Scotland, where the number of on-licences for pubs and hotels increased by 48 between 1939 and 1947. Hotel had a specific meaning in Scotland. They were the only licensed outlets allowed to open on Sundays. In addition to offering accommodation, they also operated as pubs.

The increase is all in hotels. Where did they come from? They can't have been all pubs becoming hotels because the numbers don't tally.

Though the total number of licences increased in Scotland, the number of off-licences declined. While in England and Wales, it increased. Again, explanation have I none.

More investigation needed.

LICENSED PREMISES (ENGLAND AND WALES, AND SCOTLAND), 1937-52
	England and Wales				Scotland
Year	Full All Drinks	On-licences Beer/Wine	Regist. Clubs	Off-Licences	Total	Public Houses	Hotels	Regist. Clubs	Off-Licences	Total
1937	56233	18093	16563	22109	112998	4214	1491	687	2475	8867
1938	56173	17747	16951	22052	112923	4203	1506	700	2435	8844
1939	56112	17460	17362	21995	112929	4177	1524	695	2404	8800
1940	56047	17318	16463	21884	111712
1941	56961	17249	15864	21756	110830	4125	1509	661	2281	8576
1942	55901	17191	15682	21653	110427	4101	1501	649	2247	8498
1943	55868	17137	15732	21628	110365	4098	1502	651	2214	8465
1944	55856	17109	15678	21610	110253	4105	1498	657	2218	8478
1945	55875	17085	15590	21599	110149	4080	1506	681	2188	8455
1946	56009	17017	16496	21693	111215	4084	1565	740	2204	8593
1947	56305	16927	17470	21848	112550	4103	1646	773	2257	8779
1948	56850	16534	18370	22025	113779	4111	1690	834	2313	8948
1949	58140	15282	18962	22218	114602	4115	1709	884	2342	9050
1950	59054	14429	19221	23532	161236	4118	1740	912	2366	9136
1951	59757	13664	19511	23669	116601	4123	1768	944	2380	9215
1952	60333	13035	19903	23717	116988	4111	1770	966	2387	9234
Source:
"Drink in Great Britain 1900-1979" by GP Williams and GT Brake, 1980, Edsdall London, page 380.

What were they drinking on Armistice Day?

You can find out in my wonderful new book, which tells you everything you need yo know about British beer during WW I.

And a whole load of stuff you didn't need to know. There's a stack of information in its 600-odd pages. Plus there's a truly ludicrous number of recipes. Buy several copies and give the spare ones to your friends.

Let's Brew - 1919 Truman S4

Another recipe from my wonderful new book that tells you everything you ever needed to know about beer in WW I. You really should buy a copy now.

Somehow Truman S4 managed to go through the war at just about the same strength. Even in that most difficult year, 1918.

Though, given the rules in force, they couldn’t have brewed very much of it. Despite having several beers with gravities below 1030º.

The grist has seen flaked maize dropped and a tiny black malt added. As with all Truman’s beers, the base remains a combination of pale and high dried malt.

The hops are noticeably better than for their other, weaker beers. They’re all English from the 1918 harvest. So basically as fresh as was possible, given this beer was brewed in March.

1919 Truman S4
pale malt	8.25 lb	51.16%
high dried malt	6.75 lb	41.86%
black malt	0.125 lb	0.78%
No. 2 invert sugar	1.00 lb	6.20%
Goldings 120 mins	3.75 oz
Goldings 30 mins	3.75 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.00 oz
OG	1072
FG	1020.5
ABV	6.81
Apparent attenuation	71.53%
IBU	84
SRM	14
Mash at	151º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	57.5º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1028 London Ale (Worthington White Shield)

You can find this recipe, along with history of British brewing during WW I,  and ludicrous number of recipes, iin my latest book. Buy several copies and give the spare ones to your friends.

Atlanta there I go

The hotel might be a bit grotty, but least breakfast is free. The downside being that it’s a plastic plate and cutlery job. That can’t be good for the environment.

There’s no bacon, but there are scrambled eggs and little sausages. The latter swimming gaily in grease. It’ll have to do. I try not to pay attention to Fox News, which is jabbering away in a corner. Just as I’m trying not to pay too much attention to the texture of the sausages. Or their taste. I’m scared of what I’ll find if I look too hard.

It’s not my poshest breakfast ever, but it’s filled a hole that needed filling. And it was free. I keep reminding myself that.

My flight isn’t until 3:20 PM. Ideally, I’d like to head there a little after 1 PM. But checkout is at noon. After I’ve filled my hole, I go to reception and ask if I can check out a little later, say at 1 PM.

“Sure. Just give me a good tip.” The young lady at the counter replies.

“Fine by me.”

I go back to my room for some serious hanging around pointlessly while watching TV and fiddling on the internet simultaneously. At 12:15 I get a call.

“You need to check out sir.”

“I’ve arranged to check out a little later.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir. We’ve too many guests arriving today.”

Bum. I don’t rush to pack up my gear and head to check out. At least I squeezed in an extra half hour in the hotel.

Once checked out, I take a cab. It’s a fixed fare this way, too. Quite civilised, that.

I check in two bags this time, keeping only my grey DDR bag with me. It doesn’t take long, as I have Sky Priority. That’s so handy. Makes most of the airport crap much less stressful.

Unlike at JFK, I’ve very little walking to do. Especially considering the size of the airport. There’s a little food court on the first floor of the pier. Perfect. I can do weird tapas. I kick off with a taco at the Mexican place. Followed by two pork and egg spring rolls, then a portion of onion rings. How multi-culti is that?

While I’m eating, I power up my laptop. Not to get on the internet or anything. To watch some episodes of Taskmaster series one. It helps pass the time nicely.

When it gets closer to boarding time I move towards the gate, hoping to find a bar to drink a final toast to the US. That looks like one just down there. Oh. It’s a Belgian beer bar. I suppose that will do. I order a Duvel and a Jack Daniels. What an odd way to end.

I’ve got a comfort seat again. No point suffering unnecessarily. I watched all the episodes of Archer that they have on the way out. So I switch on my laptop and go back to watching Taskmaster.

Soon after I’ve eaten and had a couple of whiskies, I settle down for a kip. Which works surprisingly well. I awake just before they serve us breakfast. Perfect.

My bags pop out soon after I arrive at the carousel. I’m in no rush, so I get the bus home. What a good boy I am.

I’ll be back here soon. I fly to London tomorrow evening.

Atlanta

The day starts with a fry up. The same bacon and egg combination I had a few days ago.

The same waitress serves me. And clearly remembers me, as she can recall some of my preferences. Which is quite cool. As is eating bacon after a couple of days without.

My flight isn’t until 2 PM. I’m planning on hanging around in my hotel room until checkout at noon. With one little excursion. To the liquor store on Main Street.

The weather is quite pleasant and it’s not that far. It lets me see a bit more of the town. To be honest, I’ve seen bugger all of it, other than the inside of my hotel. I walk past the Edgar Allen Poe Museum, which is in an old stone cottage.

I head straight for the bourbon section, but on my way there am distracted by the moonshine display. Now there’s something that would interest the kids. And very reasonably priced at $9.99 for a half bottle.

Once I’m checked out, I grab a cab and head for the airport. Where I pick up my boarding pass and dump a bag. It’s all very routine.

I spot a Sam Adams pub on the way to my gate. Seems a good enough spot to kill some time. My waitress looks a few years older than me. Her colleague could be her mother. They certainly let the old work here in the US. I feel slightly embarrassed about making her run around serving me. I order a Stone IPA. And a bourbon.

I feel like eating a little something.

“Could I have a portion of onion rings?”

“I’m sorry, we’re out of those. What about some fries instead?”

“OK, that’ll do.” It’ll have to. For a while.

I don’t go too crazy in the bar. I still have stuff to do today.

I breeze out of the airport pretty quickly, not having had too long to wait for my checked in bag. I’ve been lucky so far with that. Unlike in the summer in San Diego, when my bag went missing. And when it arrived, my clothes were soaked in bourbon.

I wonder why the driver hasn’t switched on the meter. “How much will it cost to downtown?” I ask, nervously.

“$32. It’s a fixed fare.”

That’s cool. No need to worry about what route he’s taking.

My hotel isn’t the nicest I’ve ever stayed in. Probably the grottiest US hotel I’ve had in a decade or two. It’s all a bit rundown. The bathroom fittings look like they need replacing. And why are there cars parked virtually under my window? I’m on the 7th floor. Oh, right. My view is of a multi-storey car park. Great.

Pretty much as soon as I’ve unpacked my laptop and fired off a quick email to Dolores, I’m on the move again. I’m already a little late. I’m supposed to be meeting Mitch Steele and Stan Hieronymus at 6 PM and it’s already a little past that.

I quickly grab a taxi and head for New Realm, Mitch’s new brewery.

Despite being fairly huge, the brewery is quite well hidden in an industrial estate. I don’t fancy searching through the whole place for Mitch and Stan, so I ask one of the staff if they know where he is. Just as well I did ask, as he’s out on the patio. Probably the last place I would have looked.

In addition to Stan and Mitch, there are a few other people from New Realm and Daria, Stan’s wife. They already have beer and food. No wonder, as I am a bit late. I order a beer and a steak. Haven’t had one of those in a while. Steak, I mean. It’s only been a couple of hours since my last beer.

It’s good to catch up with Mitch and Stan. We chat about beery stuff, obviously. One topic is preservation of contemporary American brewing records, something I’ve discussed with Mitch before. I fear that should anyone attempt the type of research I do in fifty years’ time, there won’t be much left to look at.

Stan and Daria have tickets for a concert and can’t stay too long. After they’ve left I adjourn to the bar with Mitch for another beer. Always good talking to him. And drinking beer, obviously. The New Realm ones seem pretty decent, based on the ones I’ve tried here.

Again, I don’t leave it too late. I’m getting vaguely responsible in my old age. I watch a bit of crap TV, drink some moonshine and then crash. Sleep stalking me from the shadows.




Virginia ABC
2026 E Main St,
Richmond,
VA 23223.
https://www.abc.virginia.gov/stores/180
Tel: +1 804-225-2705


New Realm Brewing
550 Somerset Terrace NE #101,
Atlanta,
GA 30306.
https://newrealmbrewing.com/
Tel: +1 404-968-2777

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1916 Barclay Perkins XLK (Watney)

I'm just scanning through the manuscript of my new book one last time before I upload it to Lulu.

By the time you read this, it should be available to purchase. All 600-odd pages of it. Now why did I class this as a mini-book? I suppose I didn't expect the recipes to get so out of hand. My guess was 250. It ended up over 370. Even more than Scotland! volume II.

Anyway, here' the recipe:

One of the weirder appearances in the Barclay Perkins records are what appear to be brews for Watney.

It has the same name as one of their own beers – XLK. But that name wasn’t unique to Barclay Perkins. Truman also had a beer with the same name. The cheap and cheerful Bitter that, unlike their other Pale Ales, was brewed in London rather than Burton.

As it’s different in grist and gravity from either of Barclay Perkins own XLKs, I can only assume that this was being brewed for Watney. Maybe Barclay Perkins had spare capacity. As breweries had were pegged as a percentage of their 1914 output, I’m not sure why they would waste some of that brewing for someone else.

The recipe is quite similar to Barclay’s own XLK. That’s not a surprise, seeing as they were both brewed for the same London market. Its gravity falls about exactly between those of Barclay’s draught and bottled versions.

The hopping is a bit different from Barclay’s, though the hops are all still English: Kent (1914 CS, 1915 CS, 1916 and; Worcester (1915 CS) dry hops.

1916 Barclay Perkins XLK (Watney)
pale malt	6.75 lb	69.80%
flaked maize	1.25 lb	12.93%
No. 2 invert sugar	0.67 lb	6.93%
glucose	1.00 lb	10.34%
Fuggles 120 mins	1.00 oz
Fuggles 90 mins	0.75 oz
Goldings 30 mins	0.75 oz
Goldings dry hops	0.25 oz
OG	1047
FG	1012
ABV	4.63
Apparent attenuation	74.47%
IBU	32
SRM	5
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	59.5º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

This recipe - and many others - are in my latest book.

A history of British brewing during WW I, with lots and lots of numbers and ludicrous number of recipes is available for purchae, But a copy. Buy several and give the spare ones to your friends.

Richmond again

Paul and Jamie are driving me back down to Richmond. Also fitting in a visit to a friend with a meadery in town. They’ve some European meads to give him.

We’re a little late setting off. We had meant to be on the road by ten. It’s closer to eleven by the time we’re on the motorway.

The roads are very busy. Where the hell is everyone going? Why are they all going out of town? Probably some outlet mall is their destination, according to Jamie.

I spot a huge Confederate flag adjacent to the motorway. Lovely.

We roll up at the Black Heath Meadery. To find that their friend, Bill Cavender, has popped out. We decide to take the opportunity to have lunch. Jamie asks the barman what he would recommend that’s close by.

“Lunch or Supper.” He suggests. Well, lunch obviously. What a strange thing to say “It’s just one and a half blocks away.” Ah, Lunch or Supper is the name of the place. That’s confusing. At least it’s dead close.

It’s a sort of barbecue, southern cooking sort of place. It looks quite full. One of the staff tells us that it’s a 20-minute wait if we want to eat inside. While we can be seated outside immediately. We opt for that.

Once we sit down we realise that it’s colder than it looks. Out of the sun and in the wind, it’s quite chilly. Even with the outdoor heaters. I’m not wearing my coat, stupidly. But I’m from the North. I’m going to grin and bear it.

Fried chicken and waffles seems a popular choice. It looks really weird, being topped with breakfast gravy, that strange white sauce stuff they have in the South. It seems an odd combination with waffles. I manage to resist that and order instead a rather modest pulled pork wrap. With hash browns.

They have a reasonable beer selection. I go for a Trapezium Lucky 46, a New England IPA. It’s fine. If you like that sort of thing. Sadly it’s served in a stupid jar thing with a screw thread. Really crap for drinking from. Why on earth do places use such crap glassware?

Paul and Jamie, perhaps wisely, both order tea. Though Jamie’s mint tea turns out to be iced. Not so great, given the temperature.

When we get back to Black Heath, Bill still isn’t there. Though he does breeze in through the back door a couple of minutes later.

We’ve already got ourselves a sampler tray of meads, eight in all. A couple are traditional, that is just made from honey and water. The others are flavoured. I quite like the ginger and raspberry ones. Silk Road, with eastern spices, is oddly savoury. Not quite sure what to make of that.

“He’s an old hippy.” Is how Jamie described Bill. He certainly looks the part, with his tie-dye T-shirt, headband and long, grey hair. He’s a fun bloke and very enthusiastic about mead. Which I guess is handy if you own a meadery.

Time is getting on and Paul and Jamie need to get back to Washington. If the traffic is anything like as bad as on the way down, it may take them a while. It’s about 6 PM when they drop me off at my hotel downtown and we say our goodbyes.

After checking in there’s just one thought on my mind: beer. Not being in arsing mood, I decide to try the Irish pub I didn’t quite make it to when I was in Richmond a few days ago. It’s not far.

Inside, it’s fairly big and much like any other Irish pub. Not very busy. Just a few punters at the bar watching American football and the odd table of diners. I squeeze my gut between barstool and bar, then survey the beer options. An Oatmeal Porter looks the most interesting, so I order that. With a side of Jack Daniels.
   
Half way through the beer I get a bit peckish. I don’t want anything too big. That crab cake sandwich should do.

The two blokes to my left are dead into the football game. The Washington Redskins are leading by three points, but their opponents have a field goal attempt with seconds to go. It hits the post and bounces out. Then it becomes obvious why they’ve been watching so attentively: they both have quite a bit of money on the Redskins.

After a couple of drinks, I wander back the short way to my hotel. Which is a rather nice one. I lounge around in my room. Watching something on TV for a while. Until sleep slides surreptitiously under the door.




Black Heath Meadery
1313 Altamont Ave,
Richmond,
VA 23230.
https://www.blackheathmeadery.com/
Tel: +1 703-582-0856


Lunch or Supper
1213 Summit Ave,
Richmond,
VA 23230.
https://www.lunchorsupper.com/
Tel: +1 804-353-0111


Siné Irish Pub
1327 E Cary St,
Richmond,
VA 23219.
https://www.sineirishpub.com/
Tel: +1 804-649-7767

Washington homebrew

I don’t rise until after ten. I’m in no rush.

Jamie is off on a course. I find Paul in the garage, where the wort for the Brown Ale he’s brewing is just about to boil. I spend the next hour or so watching Paul brew. To be honest, mostly watching him clean stuff.

He has quite a nice setup, capable of brewing 10 gallons at a time, though he’s only brewing five today. It’s partially automated, with a control panel that he built himself. Five minutes before the end of the boil, I throw in the Irish moss. Always nice to contribute.

Once all the gear is clean and stored away, me and Paul have a beer. He has plenty of it, both homebrewed and purchased. But we can’t get too into it. Neither of us has eaten. Jamie suggested Donut King for breakfast. So down there we go.

I’ve no intention of eating a donut. They have sandwiches, too, thankfully. When we’re done, Paul suggest a quick look in the liquor store.

He’d been telling me earlier how this was the only county in the country that had a monopoly on liquor sales. There are some whole states where that’s the case. Pennsylvania, for example. But nowhere else is it on a county level.

They have a pretty good selection. I head straight for the bourbon section. Maybe I can get something reasonably priced for the kids, rather than waiting until the duty free. I find a rye for just $17.49. Bargain.

We aren’t going anywhere. Tonight it’s a party for BURP members. Paul and Jamie mentioned that they’d be cracking a few vintage beers so I brought along some of my own. Dolores is always glad to see the back of some of my beer, anyway. Especially the older ones that have been hanging around for ages.

I’ve also bought some cheese, Belgian and Dutch. There’s a particularly tasty very old Gouda. Like a rock it is, and difficult to cut. Lovely flavour, though. And it goes well with the powerful beers we’re tasting. Others have brought food along, too. As well as beer. It’s all rather jolly.

Lots of old friends to chat with,  beer, food. What more could you ask for? World peace, I suppose. Not much chance of that happening, though. I should be thankful for what I do have.

Things have become a little hazy by crashing time. I blame that cheese. Sleep quickly sucks out my consciousness.



Donut King
3727 University Blvd W,
Kensington,
MD 20895.
https://donutkingcafeanddeli.weebly.com
+1 301-949-3464


Montgomery County Liquor & Wine
3733 University Blvd W,
Kensington,
MD 20895.
https://www.montgomerycountymd.gov/dlc/
Tel: +1 240-773-2013

Armistice! is out!

My latest book is out! With just a week to spare.

My history of British brewing during WW I, with lots and lots of numbers and ludicrous number of recipes is available for purchase.

Buy a copy. Buy several and give the spare ones to your friends.

What, no beer!

While beer wasn’t officially rationed during WW I, it was in short supply, especially during the later years. Which meant it was effectively rationed by breweries. They would limit the amount supplied to each public house. Pubs often ran out of beer.

Not a great situation either for drinkers or publicans. This passage makes that very clear:

""WHAT, NO BEER!
The little bye-path inns on the outskirts of London, where prior to the war the casual pedestrian from the metropolis found solace and refreshment, are having a very bad time in these days when beer is hard to buy, and most of the wayfarers are foot-slogging elsewhere in khaki. To-day, in a well-inned area within easy tramp of a bus route terminus, I found a state of things that must bring sorrow to the heart of every lover of the quiet countryside round London. Some my favourite hostelries had put their shutters up for good, and not one of those that remained but had on the door of the parlour bar, where of old the good brown ale used to be found, a pathetic little notice with the legend "No beer." Mine hostess of a favourite inn declared that she had been allowed a scrimpy 18 gallons in month, "and how far do they think that will go, sir," she exclaimed indignantly, "with a sun that would melt you to a greasedrop, and the second hay making season its height?" After a pause she added, "Not that haymaking makes so much difference — it's all being done by German prisoners. Perhaps you Western Daily Press - Tuesday 13 August 1918, page 3.have seen them, sir?" I had, and very lazy and un-British lot of men they seemed to be."

Even in in a quiet pub, 18 gallons would only be enough for a couple of days. For a month, it works out to slightly less than five pints a day. Enough for a boozy lunch for one customer.

Let's Brew - 1918 Kidd Stout

Another preview recipe from my new book. Out next week sometime.

After disappearing, I think, in April 1917, Kidd Stout made a sudden comeback in May 1918. Presumably at the same time as the Porter disappeared.

Which makes it look more like a renaming exercise than a true revival. The strength certainly isn’t very Stout-like. Though it is 2 points higher than the last iteration of Porter.

The grist is much the same as that Porter’s. Save for dropping the cane sugar and doubling the No. 2 invert sugar at the expense of the base malt. It remains a complex malt bill, with a reasonable amount of roast. As usual, the No. 2 invert is my substitute for something simply listed as “Budgett”.

The hops were pretty old: all Kent from 1915. Obviously, I’ve slashed the hopping rate in the recipe to allow for that.

1918 Kidd Stout
pale malt	5.00 lb	63.94%
brown malt	0.33 lb	4.22%
black malt	0.33 lb	4.22%
crystal malt 60 L	0.33 lb	4.22%
No. 2 invert sugar	1.33 lb	17.01%
caramel 2000 SRM	0.50 lb	6.39%
Fuggles 120 mins	1.25 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	1.25 oz
OG	1035
FG	1010
ABV	3.31
Apparent attenuation	71.43%
IBU	36
SRM	37
Mash at	153º F
Sparge at	165º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	59º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

You can find lots of other recipe,s along with literally hundreds of others, in my book on post-WW II British brewing:

http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/austerity/23181344

Two brews in one day

It’s my birthday. To celebrate, I’m brewing not one, but two beers (at different breweris). Both originally brewed on my birthday.

On account of the double brew, I need to be up early. I’m due at Bluejacket at 8:30 AM. I rise at 7:30.

The day kicks off with some crisp bread and cheese. Sadly, a totally bacon-free breakfast. When I’ve finished crying, Jamie drives me to Wheaton metro station. There’s a stop just a couple of hundred metres away from Bluejacket, my first destination. Though I do have to change.

Getting to the Navy Yard stop takes quite a while. And when I emerge, I’m initially disorientated. The map I’ve printed having the station entrance marked in the wrong spot doesn’t help. Stupid bloody map.

Bluejacket is at one end of an industrial building which has been split into several units. All quite trendy looking.

Right, I’ve found the place. Now how am I supposed to get in? The pub side isn’t open yet. I look around the back. Maybe there’s an entrance to the brewery there. There is a door. Let’s see if it’s unlocked.

Thankfully, it isn’t locked. I walk in and can only see kitchen staff milling around. They pay me no heed. I head off in search of someone from the brewing side of the business. There’s a lot of peering around corners and walking upstairs. The brewing stuff is spread around the outside of the building, over several floors

I finally bump into Colin Jordan, a brewer here and Mike Stein, a fellow beer historian on the brewing stage. Up about three floors. We introduce ourselves.

Colin tells me the brewing director, Ro Guenzel, isn’t around. He had to pour beer somewhere. Would have liked to meet me, apparently. I’d have liked to have met him, too, as we’d had some email correspondence.

We’re brewing 1858 Whitbread Contract Porter. The contract meaning it was brewed under contract to the East India Company. It’s the Porter equivalent of IPA. A style with a fascinating, but much neglected history.

We’ve time for a quick beer before the boil. Both Colin and Mike recommend the Helles. Who am I to question their judgement? When it arrives, it doesn’t seem that Helles-like. But I’m too English to comment. After a few moments, all becomes clear. (Unlike the Saison.) Someone has connected a keg of Saison to the Helles line. We eventually get the right beer. Which is pretty nice.

When it’s time for me to do my thing, we go back to the brewing stage. Where I bravely throw in the hops. Being careful not to scald myself on the steam coming off the boiling wort. Breweries are dangerous places for clumsy amateurs like me. Dolores would be dead angry with me if I came home disfigured or dead.

We try the wort both before and after the boil. Looks like the beer is going to be a cracker. The unhopped wort is surprisingly balanced between roast bitterness and malty sweetness. Post-boil an intense bitterness has been added to the mix.

“Will I ever get to try it, though?” I whinge suggestively.

“If we can it, we can send you some over.” That doesn’t sound too promising.

Hops chucked in, it’s time for some lunch. The bar/restaurant part of Bluejacket is cavernous. Unsurprisingly, given marine engines used to be built here. The district isn’t called Navy Yard for nothing. It really is where the US Navy used to build ships. And warship engines aren’t small.

I order a fried mumbo chicken sandwich, after it’s explained what it is to me. A strange mixture of fried chicken with a sweetish Chinesey sauce. A cross-cultural thing, a mix of Chines and African-American influences. It’s quite pleasant, if slightly odd.

A young lady from the parent company’s marketing department comes over for a quick chat and a couple of photographs. Not sure what they’ll be used for. But I’ve long since given up trying to keep photos of me off the internet. As a true Stalinist, I abhor personality cults.

It’s time for me and Mike have to head off. To brewery number two, DC Brau. It’s about 5 miles away. Luckily Mike will be driving us.

Jeff is already quite a way along with the brew when we arrive. But not so far that I don’t get a chance to throw in some hops. My speciality. The beer is 1857 Whitbread KXX, a Burton Ale from London. It’s even more crazily hopped than the Contract Porter we brewed this morning. BeerSmith spat out 123 IBUs for the recipe.

DC Brau is more industrial than Bluejacket. A brewery with a taproom rather than a brewpub. They don’t have a kitchen or anything fancy like that. The brewing equipment occupies most of their space. Though some is empty currently as they’re partway through an expansion.

They have two brewhouses. The original one and a second, larger one. Our brew is on the small kit. Plus the usual rows shiny conical soldiers. Modern breweues are mostly very similar. There's only the odd insane one like Storm Brewing of Vancouver. That's made of scrap metal. Totally mental.

When I’m done with my pretend, brewing we adjourn to the taproom to sample some of DC Brau’s beers. I can always be forced to do that. I try their IPA, The Corruption. It’s in the West Coast style, so quite bitter. I avoid the nitro version. Work of the devil, nitro. I don’t understand why it’s so popular over here, especially for beers like IPA.

Other people start turning up after a while. There’s supposed to be a meet and greet type thing going on. It’s all very informal, which is how I like things.

I chat a bit, flog some books, drink beer. Fun stuff and not too demanding. I try to avoid stress as much as I can. Then again, I do post every day on my blog.

There's a pin of cask beer, which is cool. I do love me my cask. Beer the way it was intended. Unlike that nitro crap. Spit.

We don’t stay out late. It’s an early start tomorrow. At least for Paul and Jamie. I can lie in. Sleep swoops in as the lights switch off.




Bluejacket
300 Tingey St SE,
Washington,
DC 20003.
http://bluejacketdc.com/
Tel: +1 202-524-4862



DC Brau
3178 Bladensburg Rd NE B,
Washington,
DC 20018.
http://dcbrau.com/
Tel: +1 202-621-8890

Washington DC

The day kicks off the way I prefer: with fried stuff.

I can’t be arsed to bugger around looking for a diner so breakfast in my hotel. I go for the classic breakfast (two eggs, hash browns and toast) with a side order of bacon. Breakfast isn’t really breakfast without bacon. With orange juice, it comes to $18.05. Not cheap, but nicely cooked. And just what I need to set me up for the day. It’s soothingly quiet, too.

Proximity to Richmond railway station is one of the reasons I chose this particular hotel. No point making life more difficult than it needs to be. My train is fairly early: 10:16. And I want to be there a while before it leaves. Gentle stroll rather than thrombie-inducing dash is my aim.

The station is a really attractive building, from around 1900. Sweet how they've partially obscured it with a motorway viaduct. The upstairs waiting room is pretty full. Mostly with students from one of Richmond’s universities, if their sweatshirts are anything to go by.

I grab a seat and get on with reading. Why to these benches have a padded back, but not a padded seat? That makes no sense. Other way around, surely?

10:16 comes and goes without much happening. A freight train about 3 miles long screeches interminably through the station. At 11 there’s still no sign of the train. At 11:15 an Amtrak train does appear, but it’s the wrong one, going in the opposite direction.

90 minutes late, my train finally rolls in. As is usual with long distance trains over here, you can only enter by a couple of specific doors. I head for the further one. Bound to be less of a crowd down there.

There is. I immediately find a seat and plug in my laptop.  It’s a typical Amtrak carriage. They must have built thousands of these in the 1970s. Starting to show their age. But there’s loads of legroom, a socket by every seat and reasonable wifi.

The latter is important. Because I need to warn Jamie, who’ll be picking me up at Union Station in Washington, that the train is running late. Don’t want her hanging around for no reason. I fire off a quick email. She replies almost immediately. I caught her just before she was about to leave home.

Warning given, I settle back to watch some Taskmaster. Seems a good way of passing three hours or so. That long wait at the station has got me all out of arsedness for reading.


The train stops rather more often than I’d anticipated. In some pretty small looking towns. It trundles along in the not really very fast way that Amtrak trains do. But does appear to be making up some time. We’re only about an hour late when we pull into Union Station.

As always, I’m dazzled by the sun when I pop outside the front of the station. Not quite as bad as in the summer, but I’m still squinting like crazy. The combination of sun and white building really doesn’t work well with my eyes. When my vision returns, I realise Jamie isn’t there.

It’s a while before Jamie drives up. The traffic has been really bad, she explains. That’s OK. I’ve learned to be patient. Much less stressful than fretting.

The traffic is still bad and it takes quite a long time to get out of town. Everywhere I go now in the US the traffic seems bad. Fairly irrespective of the time of day.

It’s about 4 PM by the time we get to Jamie’s. The delay means we haven’t long before we need to head off for Maryland Homebrew, where I’m giving a talk this evening.

We quickly dine at the local kebab shop, flash bastards that we are. I don’t splash out on a kebab – or kebob as they call them here – limiting myself to a chicken Caesar wrap. And a Goose Island IPA, which I notice in the fridge. This craft beer stuff is everywhere. Eating done, we head for Columbia.

I’ve spoken at Maryland Homebrew before, back in the spring of 2014 when I was touring the US plugging my proper book. This time I’m giving my Brettanomyces in British Brewing talk. The one I would have given in Colonial Williamsburg, had the conference not been cancelled.

There’s a slight computer problem. My laptop won’t talk to the projector. It’s soon solved by using one of the shop’s laptops. I have the presentation on a memory stick so it’s no problem. I always come well-prepared, with various backup solutions. Call me paranoid. But better paranoid than fucked.

Paul and Jamie have brought beer: a Saison and a Porter, both of which have been finished with Brettanomyces. In the case of the Porter, because Paul mashed at too high a temperature and the gravity was too high at the end of primary. He threw in some Brettanomyces and let it slowly bubble away for months. Which finally got the FG to a reasonable level. I has some earlier. Very pleasant.

The talk goes OK. Though I realise that I need to update some of the slides. Especially about Harvey’s Imperial Stout. Since I wrote the talk, I’ve learnt that it’s Debaromyces, not Brettanomyces, that is responsible for the secondary conditioning. Some pretty decent questions from the audience round things off.

Yapping done, I can get on with the serious business of flogging books. And chat with people, of course. I’m the sociable type. Especially if beer is involved. Being a BURP meeting, there are quite a few people I’ve met before.

I don’t get chance to drink much of Paul and Jamie’s beer. Too busy with other stuff. We don’t stay too late. After loading the boot with the debris of the beer and books, we’re on the road back to Paul and Jamie’s.

We try a couple of beers when we get back. But we don’t leave it late. We all need to be up quite early. And I’ve a busy day, brewing collaboration beers at two different breweries.

I soon slip into sleep. Even without a whisky to speed me along.




BURP homebrew club
https://www.burp.org


Kensington Pizza & Kabob House
3701 University Blvd W,
Kensington, MD 20895.
http://www.kensingtonkabob.com/
Tel: +1 301-933-2600


Maryland Homebrew
6770 Oak Hall Lane, Suite 108
Columbia,
MD 21045.
https://www.mdhb.com/