Black malt on the rise

More on the history of Porter. Because I'm feeling lazy.But also because it is interesting to see how Porter grists evolved.

How needed black malt was as a colourant is demonstrated by the fact that a brewer like Whitbread adopted it the year of its invention, 1817.

Initially the quantity used was small – less than 1% of the grist. But that percentage steadily increased as the decades ticked away. By 1875, black malt made up 6% of the grist of Whitbread’s Running Porter. This could mean one of two things: either Porter was becoming darker or black malt was becoming paler. I incline towards the former explanation.
The proportion of brown malt used shows no such consistent trend, varying up and down between 0% and 20%. Though it mostly made up at least 15% of the grist.

The gravity of Porter recovered in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars and the high taxes that paid for them. At Whitbread, the OG peaked in the 1849s, after which the general trend was one of decline. Though there were a few ups and downs.

The hopping rate, which was mostly around 12 lbs per quarter of malt (336 lbs) was quite high. Whitbread’s X Ale, for example, was hopped 8 lbs. per quarter in this period. The last example, from 1875 had a significantly lower hop charge. Was this a permanent change? We’ll find that out later.

Whitbread Running Porter grists 1817 - 1875
Year	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation	lbs hops/ qtr	hops lb/brl	pale malt	brown malt	black malt
1817	1054.0	1017.7	4.80	67.18%	8.78	2.44	87.89%	11.82%	0.30%
1825	1058.7	1018.8	5.28	67.92%	11.67	3.01	95.05%	3.81%	1.14%
1830	1058.2	1019.4	5.13	66.67%	13.63	3.41	98.59%		1.41%
1835	1061.2	1018.6	5.64	69.68%	13.47	3.49	88.45%	9.63%	1.93%
1840	1061.8	1020.2	5.50	67.26%	10.94	2.71	85.52%	12.07%	2.41%
1845	1063.2	1022.7	5.35	64.04%	11.85	3.04	80.93%	16.23%	2.84%
1850	1061.2	1019.4	5.53	68.33%	12.50	3.26	76.27%	20.46%	3.27%
1855	1059.0	1015.5	5.75	73.71%	10.81	2.79	76.64%	19.46%	3.89%
1860	1054.0	1015.8	5.06	70.77%	11.19	3.02	75.83%	20.49%	3.69%
1865	1057.1	1018.6	5.09	67.48%	12.96	3.14	80.63%	14.18%	5.20%
1870	1051.8	1015.0	4.87	71.12%	12.44	2.95	94.35%		5.65%
1875	1055.1	1017.5	4.98	68.34%	7.87	1.90	78.95%	15.04%	6.02%
Sources:
Whitbread brewing records held at the London Metropolitan archives, document numbers LMA/4453/D/09/011, LMA/4453/D/09/019, LMA/4453/D/09/024, LMA/4453/D/09/029, LMA/4453/D/09/034, LMA/4453/D/09/039, LMA/4453/D/09/043, LMA/4453/D/09/049, LMA/4453/D/09/054, LMA/4453/D/09/059, LMA/4453/D/09/064 and LMA/4453/D/09/070.

The birth of Porter

Porter was a hot new beer style in the early 18th century. It was a fairly simple beer, brewed from 100% brown malt and a development of the Brown Beer which had been brewed in London for a century or two. The big innovation of Porter wasn’t how it was brewed but how it was conditioned.

Until the Porter revolution London brewers had shipped out their beer at the end of primary fermentation. Any ageing took place in a haphazard manner, either by publicans or third parties. With Porter, brewers took the ageing process in house.

Initially they aged all their Porter for a medium length of time – no more than six months. As they became more accomplished at ageing beer, brewers realised that Porter matured more evenly and more reliably in larger vessels. Soon they were building vats with a capacity of thousands - or even tens of thousands – barrels.

The aged flavour which brewers sought – and which drinkers loved – derived from a long, slow secondary fermentation with Brettanomyces. Brewers at the time had no idea how this process worked, not realising that another type of yeast, other than the one that they pitched, was inoculating their worts.

Obadiah poundage’s letter of 1760
Obadiah Poundage was the author of a famous letter which explained the early history of Porter. His real identity is unknown, but it’s assumed that he had worked as an outdoor cooper for one of the large Porter brewers. At outdoor cooper being a brewery employee who went around pubs checking up their cellars.

Here's how I interpret his letter:

• many drinkers liked the taste of aged beer, to get this they drank either all old beer or old beer mixed with young
• before Porter, breweries sent out all their beer young and to get old beer publicans either had to age beer themselves ("start butts") or buy it from middlemen
• brewers had the idea of a partially-aged beer themselves to:

• generate greater profit

• make life easier for landlords

• the first Porter was Brown Beer aged for 4 or 5 months
  by 1760 customers and publicans expected Porter to be clear

Richardson's hydrometer experiments in the 1770s give us the first hard data on the strength of Porter:

Richardson's hydrometer trials early 1770s
Beer	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation
Strong ale	1110	1052	7.67	52.73%
Common ale	1075	1025	6.61	66.67%
Porter	1071	1018	7.01	74.65%
Table beer	1040	1004	4.76	90.00%
Source:
“A History of Beer and Brewing” Ian S. Hornsey, 2003 p.436.
Note:
ABV my calculation from the gravity drop.

Porter and me

You may have noticed that I've been posting stuff on the history of Porter. There's a good reason for that.

I'm busy writing the talk I'm going to give in Asheville beer week. In about two weeks. This is the link:

https://avlbeerweek.com/event/the-rise-and-fall-of-english-porter-1750-1960-lecture-tasting-at-zebulon-artisan-ales/2019-05-26/

My mate Mike Karnowski of Zebulon has brewed up a bunch of Porters that span the history of Porter, from the 1750s to the 1920s. While the crowd enjoy the beers. I'll be rambling on about history in my usual way. I'm sure I'll enjoy it.

And, just as a side thing, Mike has brewed up the Warwick's & Richardson's (a brewery in my home town of Newark) range of beers from 1910. He really does spoil me.

When I write a new talk, I always kick off my writing an article on the topic. Then write the slides based on that. It pulls my thought together nicely, writing the article. Plus I get I get the article itself. One went on to become the book Lager!.

The article for my Porter history talk is getting a little bit out of hand. Over 10,000 words. I usually aim for between 4,000 and 5,000 for a 45-minute talk. Lots of editing required, unless I intend talking for two hours.

It would be a shame to waste what is a nice potted history of Porter. I've been thinking that it would make a good introduction to a book of historical Porter recipes. Would anyone be interested in that?

I'd say that I wouldn't waste my time on it, if no-one was interested. But that's never stopped me in the past.

Let's Brew - 1914 Whitbread X

The first years of WW I were the last hurrah for strong Mild, unfortunately.

Since dropping the stronger XK in 1905, Whitbread were down to brewing just a single Mild, X Ale. Ironically, the war would prompt them to brew multiple Milds again. Though not necessarily in a good way, as some were ridiculously weak. As you’ll see in later recipes.

The grist hadn’t got any more complicated, consisting of just pale malt and sugar. There were four types of pale malt, however, including some made from Indian-grown barley. Once again, I’m guessing as to the sugar type. This time, I’ve gone for No. 3 invert. It seems a fair enough bet, as another brew of X Ale from a couple of months earlier definitely contained No. 3. They just always be bothered to note it down.

There were three types of hops: Pacific hops from the 1913 harvest, plus two types of Mid-Kent hops from the same year, some of which had been kept in a cold store.

It’s odd to think that fewer than ten years after this was brewed 1055º would seem ridiculously strong for a Mild.

1914 Whitbread X
pale malt	10.75 lb	91.49%
No. 3 invert sugar	1.00 lb	8.51%
Cluster 115 mins	0.50 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	1.00 oz
Fuggles 30 mins	1.00 oz
OG	1055
FG	1017
ABV	5.03
Apparent attenuation	69.09%
IBU	35
SRM	10
Mash at	148º F
Sparge at	168º F
Boil time	115 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

This is one of the dozens of recipes in my book Mild! plus. Which is avaiable in both paperback:

 

and hardback formats:

Runners and Keepers

Porter chnaged several times during its history. From a 100% brown malt beer to one brewed from a mix of brown and pale malts. With the introduction of black malt in 1817, it was possible to drop brwwon malt altogether. Though most London brewers stuck with it.

It wasn’t just the recipe that was changing. How Porter was aged evolved, too. Rather than age all their Porter for a medium length of time, brewers started to age just s proportion of it for a relatively long period and then blend this with “Mild“ or young Porter. This entailed brewing two types: Keeping Porter and Running Porter.

In the first seven decades of the 19th century London brewers produced two types of Porter for the domestic market:

- Running Porter which was sold young
- Keeping Porter which was aged 6 to 12 months

The recipes for the two beers were essentially the same, except that the Keeping version was much more heavily hopped as it would need to survive longer. The hopping rate was 50-100% greater than in the Running version. There might also be a higher proportion of roasted malts in the Keeper.

Unlike like Pale Ale which was aged in trade casks – usually hogsheads – Keeping Porter was, as in the 18th century aged in enormous vats, holding thousands of barrels. The larger the volume of beer, the less that is in contact with oxygen.

During the ageing process Brettanomyces, which was either part of the pitching yeast or lurking in the oak staves of the vat, would slowly work away at any remaining fermentable material and produce vinous flavours, which were highly valued by drinkers, along with a certain degree of acidity

Keeping Porter wasn’t usually sold straight, but blended with Running Porter in the brewery before being sent out to customers. The usual recommendation was to use no more than one third of Keeping Porter in the blend. This would add the aged flavour that was valued by customers without being too harsh or tart.

Keeping Porter was brewed in large quantities up until 1860, after which it quickly fell out of favour and by the end of the 1870’s had disappeared entirely. The public seems to have lost its love of the aged flavour. Though Porter remained extremely popular in London, it was all sold “mild”.

Some stronger Stouts were still aged, but as the quantities involved were much smaller, more modestly-sized vats were employed. London Porter brewers ripped out their large vats, vats which had once been a source of great pride.

Runners and Keepers in the 1850s
Year	Brewer	Beer	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation	lbs hops/ qtr	hops lb/brl	pale malt	brown malt	black malt
1856	Whitbread	P	1054.8	1013.0	5.53	76.26%	10.99	2.95	76.64%	19.46%	3.89%
1856	Whitbread	K	1057.1	1014.4	5.64	74.76%	15.42	3.85	75.83%	20.49%	3.69%
1855	Barclay Perkins	TT	1058.2	1018.0	5.31	69.06%	10.71	2.56	85.05%	11.63%	3.32%
1855	Barclay Perkins	Hhd	1057.6	1016.0	5.51	72.23%	15.17	3.70	83.30%	13.36%	3.34%
1855	Truman	Runner	1059.3	1017.2	5.57	71.03%	10.6	2.60	87.02%	9.87%	3.10%
1855	Truman	Keeper	1051.2	1016.1	4.65	68.65%	16.9	3.70	84.00%	12.80%	3.20%
Sources:
Whitbread brewing record held at the London Metropolitan archives, document number LMA/4453/D/09/050.
Barclay Perkins brewing record held at the London Metropolitan archives, document numberACC/2305/1/542.
Truman brewing record held at the London Metropolitan archives, document numberB/THB/C/057.

You'll find more information that you'll ever need to know about Porter in my excellent book on the subject:

War with the French

Porter wasn’t a static thing, it continued to develop during the 1700s. Moving away from its origins as a 100% brown malt beer.

Towards the end of the 18th century, almost constant war with the French left the British government in need of cash. And they turned to their favourite source of revenue: alcohol. At the time, beer was taxed in three ways: on the malt, on the hops and on the finished beer itself.

A combination of increased taxation on malt to pay for the wars with France and the introduction of new technology, in the form of the hydrometer, transformed Porter grists. Brewers realised that, though cheaper, the poorer yield from brown malt actually made it more expensive to use than pale malt. The base malt changed from brown to pale, with brown retained just for flavour and colour.

It’s likely that this is when brown malt stopped being diastatic. With a majority of the malt pale, there was no need for the brown malt to retain any diastatic power. At a time when it was also required to provide more colour and flavour than previously.

At this point London brewers still used ingredients from the immediate area: malt from Hertfordshire or Sussex and hops from Kent. This would change radically in just a couple of decades as the UK’s population and thirst for beer outstripped the productive capacity of agriculture.

The increased taxation had a couple of effects on Porter. The first was the move away from a 100% brown malt beer to one brewed from a base of pale malt. But it retained a high percentage of brown malt.

The second change was a reduction in OG. Dropping from 1075º in the 1770s to around 1055º by the first years of the 19th century. This was as a direct result of increased taxation, which encouraged brewers to lower strength to cut costs.

Taxes on beer 1779 - 1815
Year	Tax/bush.malt	tax/lb. Hops	tax/brl strong	tax/brl small	tax/brl table	Price quart porter
1779	9.25d	1d + 5%	8s	1s 4d	2s	3.5d
1780	1s 4.25d	1d + 10%	8s	1s 4d	2s	3.5d
1783	1s 4.25d	1d + 15%	8s	1s 4d	3s	3.5d
1786	1s 4.25d	1.6d	8s	1s 4d	3s	3.5d
1791	1s 7.25d	1.6d	8s	1s 4d	3s	3.5d
1801	1s 4.25d	2.5d	8s	1s 4d	3s	4.5d
1802	2s. 5d	2.5d	10s		2s	4d
1804	4s 5.75d	2.5d	10s		2s	6d
1815	2s. 5d	2d	10s		2s
Sources:
The Brewing Industry in England 1700-1830 Peter Mathias, p.369
A History of English Ale and Beer, H.A. Monckton, p.204

Porter before black malt
Year	Brewer	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation	lbs hops/ qtr	hops lb/brl	pale malt	brown malt	amber malt
1804	Barclay Perkins	1055.4	1015.5	5.28	72.02%	6.83	2.00	42.59%	47.43%	9.98%
1807	Whitbread	1052.6	1015.5	4.91	70.53%	13.06	3.60	66.32%	16.84%	16.84%
Sources:
Whitbread brewing record held at the London Metropolitan archives, document number LMA/4453/D/09/002.
Barclay Perkins brewing record held at the London Metropolitan archives, document number ACC/2305/1/525.

You'll find more information that you'll ever need to know about Porter in my excellent book on the subject:

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1880 Whitbread XX xpt

I'm not about to drop my Mild theme now May has rolled around.Get ready for lots more Mild recipes over the next few weeks. Though, by jumping around eras, I should be able to keep them pretty varied.

This beer is a bit of a puzzle. The XX indicates that it was a Mild Ale, And I’m pretty sure “xpt” stands for export. So an Export Mild. But is that really what it is?

Because the level of hopping is crazy – almost 15 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt. That’s about the same rate as Whitbread’s Stock Ales and Pale Ales. And around double to rate of X Ale. It is an export beer, so you would expect it to be heavily hopped. But at this level?

The grist is very basic: two types of English pale malt and sugar. Which type of sugar isn’t explained, but I’ve chosen No. 2 invert. It could have been something more like No.1. Or something else entirely. It’s all very vague.

I know a little more about the hops. They’re all English. A third were from the 1879 harvest, the remainder from 1880. Making them mostly pretty fresh.

XX xpt, whatever it was, didn’t stick around much longer. It was last brewed in 1884.

1880 Whitbread XX xpt
mild malt	14.00 lb	84.85%
No. 2 invert sugar	2.50 lb	15.15%
Fuggles 105 mins	3.50 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	3.50 oz
Goldings 30 mins	3.50 oz
OG	1078.5
FG	1025
ABV	7.08
Apparent attenuation	68.15%
IBU	105
SRM	12
Mash at	150º F
Sparge at	160º F
Boil time	105 minutes
pitching temp	56º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

This is one of the dozens of recipes in my book Mild! plus. Which is avaiable in both paperback:

 

and hardback formats:

Tuesday flight

A lazy, lazy morning. When I told the front desk my telly wasn't working last night, they gave me a voucher for a free breakfast. Well that solved one question for me.

I sit next to some two thirty-somethings bullshitting away about their start-ups and skiing in Colorado. Sort of weirdly fascinating, this view into their lives. If there's one thing Americans can do, it's talk a good talk. I'm more the retiring type. Scared of appearing to show off, which is a bit of a no-no in the British cultural tradition I come from.

But their conversation is oddly fascinating. I can’t help peering through this half-open window into their lives. Perhaps because there are no TVs to drag my eyes away. In that weird magnetic way.

The menu is shorter and the print larger than at Dove’s. Even my dodgy old eyeballs can clock the classic eggs and bacon combination. Sausage is an alternative option to bacon. But what loony would take American sausage over bacon? Not someone I’d want to share a taxi with.

I preferred the Dove's breakfast, to be honest. Better bacon - this lot is too smoky - and the grits, amazingly, I preferred to the hash browns this time out. Odd, as I usually quite like hash browns. And grits are a bit weird.

I did my packing before brekkie. Being much more careful to pad all the bottles than last time. When I was a cavalier. Overconfident. Lesson learned. Though I'm still not going to risk ruining any books. Money down the drain. Dolores has very strong opinions about that sort of thing. Strong opinions and lightly veiled threats to my person.

To the airport, I'll be indulging in a taxi. Theoretically, it's a piece of piss from here to the airport. There's a Blue Line stop just outside the window where I'm typing this. It goes straight to the airport. The pissing around the other end - getting from metro station to shuttle to the international terminal is a total nightmare. I'm going to risk the wrath of Dolores by getting a Joe.

Having spent fuck all so far, I hope I can indulge in this one extravagance.

My driver is a chatty bloke from Morocco. We discuss religious politics. Something I usually try to avoid with stranger. Then switch to football. A much safer topic. Football is great. An easy way to talk to men the world over. Even Americans now.

The ride only costs $40. Not that bad. Avoiding all that fucking walking and queueing was $35 well spent.

I breeze through checkin and security. Airside, I look for some scran. Something Asiany, preferably. Bao, that'll do.

There's also time for a quick farewell whiskey. As drinking my own booze would get me into a shitload of shit, should anyone notice, I need to find a bar. There isn't a huge choice. I find one with a few stools and guide my arse onto the end one.

I get chatting with my two neighbours. A truck driver from LA and a local bloke. The truck driver sings the praises of Salt Lake City. "It's a great place to party." He claims. Not sure I'm convinced. “You should go there. You’re white, you’re Hispanic,” he says, pointing at the moustachioed man to my right,” I’m black. In a club the black women would be all over you two.”

I think the chances of me being mobbed by women of any description are even lower than me ever being in a club in Salt Lake City. I don’t want to break the mood, and hold my tongue.

Airport bar conversations are great. That’s why I always sit at the bar. It means you’re close to others, without invading their private table space. People open up more readily. Maybe it’s being stressed and searching for distraction. Or simply knowing you’re even less likely to ever bump into each other again than I am to be mobbed by women in a Salt Lake City club.

The flight is packed. And the twat in front has tilted their seat back. I'm struggling to look at the screen of my laptop. I hate pillocks who recline the minute the plane takes off.

I don't bother with the meal. It was pretty disgusting on the way out. I only ate it out of desperation. That's why I had the bao earlier. To avoid desperate eating.

I don't watch Taskmaster for that long. I want to get a few hours kip. Otherwise tomorrow will be hell. I drift off without too much trouble.

I awake in time for a strange breakfast. The only reasonable bit, orange juice, I spill all over my kecks. Great. I arrive back in the country with a suspicious wet patch on my groin. What’s the symbolism there?

Monday Goose

I awake to a thunderstorm. The weather has been so shit.

I skip breakfast. I know, it’s the most important meal of the day. But I’ve a fairly early start at Goose Island. And I can’t be arsed to rise early enough to fit brekkie in.

There’s a lightning strike frighteningly nearby. My TV blacks out and I lose my internet connection. Wonderful. But I’ve no time to piss around.

I’m meeting Mike Siegel at 9:30 at the Goose Island tap room on West Fulton Street. I grab a cab and we’re soon rocking and rolling down side streets.

“The traffic is really bad. We’d get held up on the main roads.” The driver explains.

That might be the reason for the condition of the roads. Or maybe not. As we splash our way through giant puddles, it’s like being on amusement park ride. You know, the ones that soak everyone. Luckily the windows are shut tight.

Mike jumps out to greet me as we pull up. He takes me into the deserted and dark tap room where we discuss what’s going down this evening. Thankfully, nothing too effing complicated. Just some fairly unstructured talking. Unstructured – that’s my middle name.* 

Our morning appointment is a podcast at Good Beer Hunting, which is a short walk away. Luckily it’s stopped raining. Though there are still huge puddles to walk around.

I’ve done a podcast with Good Beer Hunting before. When they had a different location. With a nice new little studio, they’re obviously moving up in the world.

I try to avoid hesitation, repetition or deviation. Every audio appearance is like being on Just a Minute, I feel. Luckily, I’m not competing against Kenneth Williams. He’d have whipped my arse. (Ooh, matron.).

Avoiding repetition isn’t easy for me. Just ask Dolores and the kids. As the title of my blog betrays, I do tend to go on about stuff. “You’ve already said that ten times, Ronald. I worry you’re getting Alzheimer’s, honestly.” Is one of her catchphrases.

Mike Kiser seems happy enough with how things roll. Was that really an hour? I must have been talking a lot. Time always seems to go quicker when I’m bullshitting free.

After a quick sojourn back at the brewery, we head over to the Goose brewpub for lunch.

I don’t recognise it. A total rebuild has transformed it since my last visit. Not sure I prefer the new look. My memory could be deceiving me, though.

As our bums drop on bar stools, Mike introduces himself to the waitress. And orders us some peeve.

“A Bock for me, please, Mike.”

We nip into the brew house for a quick look around. It’s changed as much as the pub. Cooler. I remember it being boiling hot last time I as poking around here.

What to eat? I can’t decide, which is annoying. After changing my mind several times – in my head – I finally opt for the duck pot pie. Just as with bacon, you can’t go wrong with a pie. Even if, technically, pot pie is just stew with a pastry lid.

Next beer - Next Coast IPA. It’s all very relaxing. Which is how I like things. I'm an intensely lazy git at heart.

Back at Fulton Street, we hang out on the brewing deck a while. It's my first chance to taste the draught version of Obadiah Poundage. Mmm . .. nice, as they say on Jazz Club.

Hard to tell over the industrial clunking, but that sounds like the theme tune to Germany 1986. Bit bizarre. A programme that speaks so much to me, because I lived through the final days of the DDR. And we were in the Stasi headquarters - where some scenes were filmed - last year.

They open the doors early, at 6 rather than 6:30. Quite a few punters trickle in. By the time it's getting close to showtime, it's pretty packed. This is heartening. Quite attendees I know. Like John Hall, Goose Island founder, and Jeff Renner.

Others I’ve heard of, but never met. Like Liz Garibay. Energetic and enthusiastic, is how I’d describe her. Characteristics which, while fading rapidly in me, I can still appreciate in others.

There’s a chance to try the two beers separately. An uncarbonated keg of each has been kept back. The blend really is better than the sum of its parts. The Keeper is a bit harsh and the Runner a little bland. Combined, you get the best of both: the Keeper’s depth of flavour and Runner’s freshness.

The talk isn’t formal. Just me and Mike and a mike. With Chris acting as MC to keep us in line. Standing up and giving some background on the beer and its brewing. Followed by a Q & A.

Then it's time for the important bit: flogging books. There’s an informal Q & A as I do my tarting thing.

“When did you start writing about beer?”

“Ages ago. Though that's not where my writing really started. It was the letters I composed while living in New York in the mid-1980s that were key. That’s where I acquired my style and tone.”

“Why did you start investigating beer history?”

“Porter kicked it all off. Because the existing books had contradictory accounts of its history. When I realised how much contemporary source material there was, I started researching myself. Initially, old technical literature. Until I discovered how many brewing records had been preserved and were accessible. Then I dived into them. It changed my life.”

It really was a sort of immersive therapy.

When someone asks “Why do you live in Holland?” my minder moves in and says: “Mr. Pattinson doesn’t answer personal questions.”

Not really. “Because I couldn’t face moving back to Thatcher’s Britain.” Though I put it more subtly than that.

And there’s the eternal: “Why is your blog called Shut Up About Barclay Perkins?”

“No idea. I wrote a random word generator program, and that was the only non-obscene five-word phrase it spat out.”

“How much does this book cost?”

“25 dollars.”

Selling books is a good excuse to sit down. I’ve been on my feet far too long today.

It starts a bit slow.  Imagining how I'll fit all the surplus books into my luggage is getting my heart flapping fishily around again. Especially after that bottle broke in my check in bag last time. I don't really want to mix books and beers in one case. Which means having the books in my carry on. The doorstep that is Porter! - of which I have ten copies - is effing heavy. More than I want to lug around the airport.

With every sale, my heart fish flaps a little less. When the remaining pile looks carryable, it escapes back into the open water. No nightmare donkey haul tomorrow.

The crowd is thinning out. Mike comes up and says “You haven’t eaten since lunch. We’ve a food truck outside. Come and get something.”

Sage advice from a wise man. Dori's taco truck is parked right outside.

“What would you like?”

“Let’s go crazy apeshit and have a steak taco.” I’m such a flash bastard.

It's 10 by the time all the chatting is done, and me and Mike are bouncing along Chicago's highways again. God, I feel cream crackered.

We discuss a really, really cool project. About which I can tell you nothing. Mostly, because I'm afraid of it going tits up. Another long-term dream of mine. I don't want to get ahead of myself. More than a decade I've been - mostly incredibly frustratingly - busy with this one. No way I'm going to fuck it up now.

My TV still isn't working. So I watch some of the Modern Life is Goodish I have on my PC to soothe me into sleep. Along with the remnants of my hotel whisky, if I'm being honest. I don't feel guilty. In the whole of the event yesterday, I only got down one (US) pint of Obadiah Poundage. Just too much talking. And feeling really Donald Ducked.

No bacon today. Best fix that tomorrow.

Glen Grant, Hollywood superstar, soothes my achy throat and racy brain.



* I have no middle name. I have contemplated adopting Robert as one, since I’m so often called Rob Pattinson. Just when people are learning to spell my surname correctly, they start getting my first name wrong.

Sunday Lagering

I’ve absolutely no plans for today. Other than drinking beer and chilling. Mostly the latter. So I don’t rush.

Were this my first time in Chicago, I would have felt obliged to do more. But it isn’t. I’ve visited the city several times. Downtown? Been there, done that. It’s nice to hang around in a more normal neighbourhood. Soak up the atmosphere. Along with the rain.

Before heading out, I watch some footie. The time difference means I can watch a Premiership match live before breakfast.

There's still snow on the side of the road as I walk to Dove’s. Lovely. When I pass under the elevated Blue Line, there’s water dripping like crazy, presumably from melting snow.

Bloody hell. There’s some very Third-world looking cabling under the railway. Actually, I’m doing a disservice to Jamaica. There’s some insanely improvised cabling. That doesn’t in the least bit safe. I hope they aren’t power lines of any sort.

Some the infrastructure in the US is total shit. Especially considering the amount of money in the country. Do people not notice or just not care?

Dove's is emptier this morning. I ladle myself into stool at the counter again. Then stare lovingly at all the crazy mezcal bottles, in a sort of trance. Until the waiter says: “Are you ready to order, sir?”

It still always rings strange in my head being called “sir”. I’ve not been knighted yet. Bound to happen eventually, though.

“Can I have the egg and bacon thing?”

I can’t be bothered to seek it out on the menu. I doubt I could read it, anyway. As there’s only one dish that even vaguely resembles my description, the waiter understands what I mean. And doesn’t give me a condescending “you’re an idiot” look. Or maybe he’s just a better actor than my waitress yesterday.

I’m starting to warm to grits. Especially with some egg yolk mixed in. Almost exactly unlike pease pudding. Save for the colour and texture.

I don't bother with a mezcal this time. Best not make combining bacon and booze at breakfast a habit.

When I get back to my room, there’s an email from Dovetail. Do I fancy dropping by today? The brewer would like a chat. Hell yeah. I love their beer. I keep saying how wonderful they are.

I jump in a Joe, which whisks me through the soggy streets of North Chicago. Not a complicated journey. Mostly straight north on Damen. We bounce and splash our way along, fountains of water spouting sideways as we swoosh through massive puddles. (See my earlier comment on US infrastructure.)

The brewery is located in an industrial area. Not so weird, as this is a production brewery with a tap room, rather than a brewpub.  It’s a simple, two-storey brick structure, which I would guess dates from the 1930s.

As soon as I enter, Hagen Dost comes up and says hello. We last met in St. Louis at the Historic Lager Festival. Where we did our best to polish off a keg of Pilsner. It’s good to see him again. He gets us a couple of beers and we settle in at the bar.

“Would you like a Jägermeister Underberg?”

“Sure.” I can allow myself one, seeing as I skipped the morning mezcal.

“Do you want to drink it from the bottle or would you like a glass?”

“In a glass, pleas.” Obviously. I’m not a philistine.

I kick off with a Helles, followed by a Lager. They're both excellent drinking beers and slip down a treat. That’s what I like about Dovetail’s beers. They tread that very fine line between drinkability and complexity. There are few Lagers to match them in the USA. They taste like German beers. You can’t get a much greater compliment than that.

I think I know why. It’s not just about recipes, but also equipment and process. Which I’m reminded of as Hagen walks me through the brewhouse. It’s much like you’d find in a Bavarian brewery: open fermenters, horizontal lagering tanks and even an open cooler. Sometimes the importance of equipment is underestimated. Things like open fermentation lend specific character to a beer.

Most modern breweries look very similar. The skin may vary – brick, stone, metal, wood – but the kit inside is always much the same. Stainless steel brew house surrounded by a metal stage and rows of conical fermenters. The main variation being the scale of the brewhouse and the number of conicals.

I’m sure that I could post photographs of random bits of shiny kit and that even the brewers themselves couldn’t recognise them. The more recent the gear, the more similar it all looks.

Because Dovetail has chosen for an old-fashioned style of equipment, the brew house has a distinctive look. Painting their insect-like horizontal lagering tanks bright yellow only makes it stand out more.

Back at the bar we chat about a putative project. I would tell you all about it. But . . .  it’s at a very early stage and I don’t want to jinx it. An idea I’ve been kicking around for years. One of several that I’ve never found a taker for. Doesn’t stop me plugging away, mind.

We have a few more beers and chat some more. Then I slide into another cab. Which slides me back south, dashing puddles aside. Chicago glows and glitters around me. A pointillist painting through rain-spattered windows.

As I gaze in wonder at the bright lights of the big city, I remember that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. There’s a Mexican takeaway just around the corner from the hotel. Looks cheap and cheerful, which is exactly what I’m after. I get myself a steak burrito.

As I wait an eclectic bunch drift in and out. Clutching packets of food joy. Just as I do.

 It's exactly what I needed.

Glen Grant is my sleepy-time pal once more.



Dovetail Brewery
1800 W Belle Plaine Ave,
Chicago,
IL 60613.
Hours: Closed ⋅ Opens 12PM
Tel: +1 773-683-1414
http://dovetailbrewery.com/



Flash Taco
1570 N Damen Ave,
Chicago,
IL 60622.
Tel: +1 773-772-1997
https://flashtaco.com/