Random Dutch beers (part fifty)

Yippee, I can hear you exclaim. More beer sketches for 2017.

I have to get through my beer pile. I've had very clear instructions from Dolores on that point. I've no idea where it all comes from. I really don't. It just seems to pile up magically. Definitely not my fault.

Though my comments are likely to be crap. I've still got a cold. The bastard just won't budge. Been bubbling along since before Krimble.

First beer is from Holland's longest-running contract brewers.

SNAB Otter, 5.6% ABV
It's billed as a Strong Bitter. Bit pale for that, really. It's a dirty gold (due to my poor pouring). Through the snot, I can just about pick up a twiggy bitterness. Is that English hops? I wouldn't dare say. As I've mentioned before, ingredient guessing is a mug's game. Try to look clever, end up looking stupid. The beer is pleasantly hoppy. But a bit lacking in malt to really count as a Bitter. More like a Golden Ale.

"Do you want to try my beer, Dolores?"

"It's quite nice, actually." Dolores remarks with apparent surprise. Implying I usually hand her stuff that tastes awful.

"Do you want to try my beer, Alexei?"

"Alexei has a cold." Dolores reminds me. Best not let him try it.

"I don't want to drink it anyway, Dad."

Though Dolores did collect several empty half litre bottles of Heineken from his room this morning. They had a good deal last week at Ton Overmars: a crate of 18 half litres for €8.95. That's almost like German prices.

Talking of Germany, we've just booked flights and hotel for the Berlin beer festival. It's becoming my favourite festival. Probably not unconnected with the fact that it has a virtual zero beer geek count. Drinking with normal people is getting harder and harder at festivals. Even in Belgium. Berlin is always fun. And cheap.

Let's continue with another SNAB beer:

SNAB Pale Ale, 6.7% ABV
Bit more colour on this. Marmalade, I'd describe it as. I made a better fist of pouring this and it's just a little hazy. The label calls it an American Pale Ale. Can I smell tropical fruits? Or am I just imagining it? I'll ask Dolores.

"Do you want to try my beer, Dolores?"

"No, I'm busy." She's fiddling with her new flip-flop.

"Do you want to smell my beer, Andrew?"

"No, can't you see I'm doing something."

Right cheerful bunch they are here today. Let's try another sniff. I'm getting something vaguely fruity. Is that peach? Fuity in a non-specific way (blame my cold) in the mouth. Much less bitter than the Bitter, surprisingly.

1918 Thomas Usher GA

As you seemed to enjoy last week’s Government Ale recipe, here’s another. This time from Scotland. There’s two boxes ticked: WW I and Scotland.

If you thought the Truman GA was watery, take a look at this baby. It’s not even 2% ABV. Why is this beer weaker? Because it’s from a year later, when brewing restrictions were even stricter. Strictly speaking, this isn’t really from WW I, as it was brewed on the 13th November 1918, two days after the armistice.

You can the war biting in the grist. Pre-war and during its early years, Usher’s beers contained flaked maize. But this became unavailable as it had to be imported. Which caused the malt content to increase. There’s still sugar in the recipe, though. Sugar was scarce during the war, but not totally impossible to get hold of.

Considering the crazily low OG, it’s reasonably well hopped. Talking of gravity, note how high the FG is. One of the unusual features of Scottish brewing is how similar the FG’s are of beers with very different OG’s. It strikes me that Scottish drinkers expected a certain amount of body, no matter how strong the beers were. It would also have made Scottish beers appear sweeter than English equivalents.

The hops are a guess. By this time only English hops were being used in British brewing. Fuggles is the most likely variety, just because that was the one grown the most. You can substitute some Goldings or other old English varieties if it takes your fancy.

It must have been fun drinking this stuff down the pub. You’d never, ever get pissed. Probably be safe to drive after a gallon or more.

1918 Thomas Usher GA
pale malt	5.00 lb	90.91%
glucose	0.25 lb	4.55%
No. 2 invert sugar	0.25 lb	4.55%
Fuggles 90 min	0.50 oz
Fuggles 60 min	0.50 oz
Fuggles 30 min	0.25 oz
OG	1025
FG	1010
ABV	1.98
Apparent attenuation	60.00%
IBU	18
SRM	4
Mash at	149º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	WLP028 Edinburgh Ale

Whitbread beers in 1960

While I’m describing the brewery I may as well tell you about Whitbread’s beers as well.

I’ve harvested eight different Whitbread beers from 1960. Though I may have missed at least one. I’m pretty sure that at this point they were also brewing Final Selection at Chiswell Street. If they only brewed in occasionally I may have missed it while quickly ruffling through the brewing log pages.

That’s also got wondering about another beer: the Pale Ale brewed for the Belgian market. Which was considerably stronger than either of the Pale Ales in the table. Perhaps it was brewed elsewhere. Or maybe it’s another one I missed. ES – Extra Stout – has the same name and the right strength for the Belgian version.

They aren’t a very strong bunch. Extra Stout is the only one over 5% (though Final Selection was around 9% ABV). I’m pretty sure that was an export beer. Surprisingly, Whitbread still brewed three different Stouts. In addition to ES there was WOS (Whitbread Stout) and MS (Mackeson Stout).

Mackeson is a tricky one because of the way it was brewed. I was at first bemused by the lack of lactose in the ingredients. Then I realised there was a simple reason for that: the lactose was added after fermentation. The entry in the table entitled “Mackeson” is taken from an analysis in the Whitbread Gravity Book. You can see the impact of the lactose addition on the apparent OG and attenuation. It’s weird to think that at the end of primary fermentation, it was a reasonably dry beer.

Best Ale does seem an odd name for a beer under 3% ABV. Whitbread did brew a stronger Mild called XXX in the mid-1950’s, but it only lasted a couple of years. It was parti-gyled with FB (Forest Brown), a beer that sold in considerable quantities in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

The Pale Ales also consist of a draught and a bottled version. PA was Whitbread’s standard Bitter, which, in keg form, was sold as Tankard. While WPA (Whitbread Pale Ale), despite the name, was Whitbread’s Light Ale.

KKKK, Whitbread’s Burton, was probably a seasonal beer by this point, only being sold in the cooler months. It was parti-gyled with Best Ale meaning that it was effectively a strong Mild Ale.

Not a particularly inspiring bunch of beers, but very typical for the period: Light Ale, Brown Ale, Sweet Stout as bottled beers; Mild, Bitter, Burton and, possibly still, Stout on draught.

Whitbread beers in 1960
Beer	Style	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation	lbs hops/ qtr	hops lb/brl	Pitch temp	colour
Best Ale	Mild	1030.6	1010.0	2.73	67.32%	5.67	0.70	64º	110
ES	Stout	1055.9	1015.5	5.34	72.27%	5.96	1.36	64º	300
FB	Brown Ale	1033.8	1008.5	3.35	74.85%	5.45	0.73	64º	110
KKKK	Strong Ale	1051.8	1016.0	4.74	69.11%	7.50	1.56	62º	135
MS	Stout	1041.9	1012.0	3.96	71.36%	5.96	1.03	64º	250
Mackeson	Stout	1046.4	1019.2	3.51	58.62%				300
PA	Pale Ale	1039.2	1013.0	3.47	66.84%	5.68	0.90	62º	23
WOS	Stout	1038.5	1011.5	3.57	70.13%	8.68	1.38	64º	225
WPA	Pale Ale	1035.5	1008.0	3.64	77.46%	8.63	1.25	64º	20
Sources:
Whitbread Gravity book held at the London Metropolitan Archives, document number LMA/4453/D/02/002.
Whitbread brewing record held at the London Metropolitan Archives document number LMA/4453/D/01/127.
Whitbread brewing record held at the London Metropolitan Archives document number LMA/4453/D/09/136.

Whitbread’s brewery in 1960 (part two)

Time to share some of the text of The Sphere article with you. Generous bastard that I am.

Interesting stuff, what follows, though I’m dubious about the veracity of the first sentence:

“WHITBREAD'S BREWERY
Whitbread's, a family business employing over a thousand people at its main brewery on either side of Chiswell Street, has been brewing beer on the same site for more than 200 years. Although, through the centuries, the basic principles of brewing have not changed, the Company have introduced new methods and new machinery. Traditionally, the brewing vessels have been made of copper but, now, many of them are being replaced by stainless steel. Particular advances have been made in brewing since 1871 when Louis Pasteur visited the brewery at the invitation of the partners to study the fermentation of malt liquors.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 34.

Whitbread became a limited company in 1889, meaning it doesn’t sound like a proper family business. Though there were still Whitbread family members in important positions, there were shareholders from outside the family. They did the typical trick of having half the capital in the form of ordinary shares which were retained by the Whitbread partners, while non-voting 4.5% preference shares were sold to the public. Meaning the partners had a considerable influx of outside cash - £625,000 – while retaining full control*.

And 1,000 employees sounds too many even for a large brewery like Whitbread. Perhaps that figure includes everyone Whitbread employed in London.

Pasteur was invited to the brewery not for a leisurely study, but because Whitbread was having problems with their yeast. They supposedly went out and bought a microscope the day after his visit.

“Beer is an extract of malted barley, mixed with hops and fermented with yeast. The malt gives it body and strength; the hops a slightly bitter flavour, and the yeast transforms it from a wort to a vital living substance, beer. Until required for brewing, the malt is stored in large vessels which are known as hoppers. When the brewing process begins, the malt is first run through mills, where foreign substances are extracted before the grains are cracked. It is then passed to the copper-domed mash tuns and mixed with water (known in the industry as "liquor") to be boiled with hops. Subsequently, the liquid, which is known as "wort," is passed through a hop-back to extract the spent hops. It then flows as a bitter-sweet liquid to the fermenting squares where yeast is pitched in to start the fermentation process. After some 24 to 36 hours, the yeast is skimmed off the top and the wort continues to ferment for a further four to seven days in tanks of Welsh slate or stainless steel, in the vast Porter Tun Room. Towards the final stages in the brewing process, the beer is run down to the storage vessel, or, in the case of mild ale, direct to casks. Beer for bottling is brewed entirely separately and, after being stored in the brewery cellars, is sent in bulk to the bottling depots.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 34.

That sounds rather like a dropping system of fermentation. Though the first vessel used was usually a tall round, with the wort then dropping down into a shallower square. Did they really rack into casks directly from the fermenters? I suspect the beer really went into a holding tank and was racked from there.

That stuff about beer for bottling being brewed totally separately – total bollocks. I know that for certain, having seen draught Mild and Forest Brown parti-gyled together on numerous occasions. And the bottled Whitbread Pale Ale with draught Bitter.

Whitbread had been big on bottled beer even before WW I, when it wasn’t all that popular.

“At depots in Britain and Belgium 1,250,000 bottles are filled every working day. This year a new depot was opened at Loughborough, near Leicester, to bring the United Kingdom total to 40; in Belgium the Company have two depots - one at Brussels and one at Antwerp. At the depots, modern labour-saving devices include an automatic machine which crates more than 1,500 dozen bottles an hour.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 34.

Assuming those bottles were mostly half pints, I make that around 2,170 barrels being bottled per day, 651,000 barrels per year. That’s an awful lot of beer. Though spread around 42 bottling stores, that’s an average of only around 50 barrels each per day.

Whitbread sold a lot of beer in Belgium, principally Whitbread Pale Ale and Whitbread Stout. Both of which I believe are still available there. I can remember drinking a Whitbread Pale Ale in Belgium within the last 10 years.

I’ll finish with some more pretty pictures.

“After thirty-six hours in the fermenting squares, the wort is dropped into tanks and the yeast is skimmed off automatically. The liquid then rests for about 4.5 days, during which it is called beer for the first time. This room at the Whitbread Brewery is known as the Porter Tun Room. Its roof, completed by 1784, has an unsupported span second only in size to Westminster Hall in London. Despite incendiary bombs it has been preserved as a fine example of King Post roof construction in Britain.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 34.

“Right: As the yeast begins to work on the wort to transform it into beer, temperatures are carefully controlled in order to ensure the most effective fermentation.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 34.

“Below: A duty brewer checks the temperature gauge as mash (ground malt mixed with hot liquor) flows into the mash tuns.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 34.

Still not finished, mind. Another couple of parts to follow.



* London Evening Standard - Monday 29 July 1889, page 2.

Want to hear me talk?

I mean a proper structured lecture, not an idle chat over a few beers.

Over the last few years I've gradually built up a portfolio of lectures on a variety of historic brewing topics. If you'd like to hear me give one, get in touch. I can guarantee a few laughs, as well as incisive insights and surprising facts.

My rates are very reasonble.

These are the talks that I currently have available:

Title	length
Brettanomyces in British Brewing	45 minutes
The Home Brewer’s Guide to Vintage Beer	45 minutes
The Home Brewer’s Guide to Vintage Beer	60 minutes
British Beer Styles: A Short History	60 minutes
The History of British Lager	60 minutes
Dutch Lager Styles	45 minutes
German Sour Styles	45 minutes
18th Century English brewing	75 minutes
Berliner Weisse	60 minutes
International cooperation in the 19th-century brewing industry	45 minutes

Just get in touch via the gadget at the top lefyt of this page if you'd like to hear all sorts of clever words emerging from my pretty face.

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1969 Truman LL

I was so pleased to find this beer. Because it’s an example of a short-lived type of beer: a regional brewery’s own brand of Lager.

The first British Lagers were mostly brewed in specialist breweries. Either standalone enterprises like the Wrexham Lager Brewery and the Red Tower Lager Brewery. Or a specialist plant within a larger brewery – examples being Tennent in Glasgow and Barclay Perkins in London. There were only a handful of such specialist plants in the first half of the 20th century.

When Lager started to take off in the late 1950’s, just about everyone wanted to get in on the act and market their own brand of Lager. These were usually just brewed on the standard kit and weren’t even necessarily bottom fermented. As the 1960’s and 1970’s progressed, most of these regional Lagers disappeared, replaced by national or international brands. Only weird breweries like Sam Smiths have persisted.

Truman’s London Lager – which is what I assume LL stands for – was such a beer. And true to tradition, it was replaced by an international brand, Tuborg, which Truman’s brewed under licence.

Here’s a selection of the Lagers from regional breweries in the 1950’s and 1960’s:

British regional Lagers 1954 - 1962
Year	Brewer	Beer	Price per pint d	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation	colour
1954	Steel Coulson	Lager Beer	30	1032	1004.3	3.60	86.56%	11
1955	Tennent	Lager	30	1036.1	1007.7	3.69	78.67%	9
1957	McEwan & Younger	"MY" Export Lager		1035.2	1007.3	3.62	79.26%	13
1960	Greene King	Lager		1034.9	1006.4	3.56	81.66%	9.5
1960	Lees	Lager		1037.0
1960	Mitchell & Butler	Export Lager	32	1039.7	1010	3.71	74.81%	7.5
1960	Tennant Bros.	Lager	31.875	1035.2	1006.8	3.55	80.68%	8.5
1960	Tollemache	Kroner Lager		1033.4	1007.5	3.24	77.54%	7
1961	Flowers	Lager	30	1044	1011.3	4.09	74.32%	12
1961	Greene King	Lager	36	1036	1005.8	3.78	83.89%	7.5
1961	Hall & Woodhouse	Brock Lager	36	1033.9	1004.1	3.73	87.91%	10
1961	Lacons	Lager	34	1034.9	1007.1	3.48	79.66%	8
1961	Phipps	Stein Lager	36	1034.8	1005.5	3.66	84.20%	7.5
1961	Tennant Bros.	Lager	33	1036	1007.6	3.55	78.89%	7.5
1961	Tollemache & Cobbold	Kroner Lager	36	1033.1	1005.7	3.42	82.78%	9.5
1961	Charrington	Pilsner Lager	32	1036.3	1008.1	3.66	77.69%	8
1961	Eldridge Pope	König Pilsener	36	1038.6	1007.3	3.91	81.09%	8
1961	McEwan	MY Export Lager	42	1032.9	1010.1	2.85	69.30%	10
1962	Flowers	Lager	48	1044.9	1011.6	4.16	74.16%	8
Sources:
Whitbread Gravity book held at the London Metropolitan Archives, document number LMA/4453/D/02/002.
Lees brewing records held at the brewery.

Tennent’s Lager is the only one to still exist. M & B and Charrington, which both ended up in Bass Charrington, had their Lagers replaced by Carling Black Label and Tennent’s. Flowers, which ended up in Whitbread, had their Lager replaced by Heineken. Not sure what happened at the smaller regionals, but I’d be very surprised if any still brewed their own Lager.

Back to Truman’s Lager. It’s not a very complicated grist, just lager malt, sugar and flaked barley. Unlike all their other beers of the time, it doesn’t use English hops, but ones described as “Styrian”, which I presume means Styrian Goldings. The level of hopping is extremely low. So more of a Helles than a Pilsner.

I’m not sure about the mashing. It looks like a step mash, with strike heats of 125º F and 170º F. Not sure what that equates to in terms of initial heats. The fermentation, though cooler than for their other beers, still hit a maximum temperature of 60º F, which looks too warm for a true Lager. Though it was crashed down to 41º F just before racking.

Looks like a great example of a pseudo-Lager. Or semi-Lager. Though I’m not sure why exactly you’d want to brew one, other than for academic purposes.

1969 Truman LL
lager malt	6.25 lb	83.33%
flaked barley	0.75 lb	10.00%
cane sugar	0.50 lb	6.67%
Styrian Goldings 90 min	0.25 oz
Styrian Goldings 60 min	0.25 oz
Styrian Goldings 30 min	0.25 oz
OG	1034.6
FG	1008.9
ABV	3.40
Apparent attenuation	74.28%
IBU	11.5
SRM	4
Mash at	125º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	53º F
Yeast	Wyeast 2042 Danish lager

Golden Angels

One last Gold Label reminiscence by Frank Priestley.

It sounds like Tennant Bros. was quite a fun place to work. And that there was plenty of boozing going on in addition to the official allowance. And most of that boozing seemed to involve Gold Label.

I’d love to get some brewed the old way. The 1950’s Tennant recipe and a year in casks. It’s not that difficult. Patience is all it really requires. Though, obviously, it couldn’t be sold as Gold Label, as the beer still exists. Tennant’s Gold – might be able to get away with that. The trademark on Tennant has probably been allowed to lapse. Get in touch if you fancy giving it a go.

“On another occasion, I again had a party of Trade Union officials, but this time they were from Czechoslovakia (as it was known then). The officials themselves were rather subdued; they had visited one of the Newcastle breweries the day before and they were still suffering from the after effects of legendary Geordie hospitality. However, their interpreter was a charming lady called Hana. She was in fine form and was telling me about the renowned brewing industry of her native land and of the many special beers that they brewed there. (The word 'pilsner', for instance, related to beer brewed in the Czechoslovakian town of Pilsen.)”
"The Brewer's Tale" by Frank Priestley, 2010, page 121.

It must have been some pissup if they’d managed to subdue a bunch of Czech men. Especially working class ones. They like their beer and know how to drink it in quantity.

“By a fortunate chance, I found a case of Gold Label Barley Wine behind the bar and was pleased to introduce her to that 'special brew'. She took to it immediately and by the time we were on our second or third, she had started calling them 'Golden Angels', which I thought was a perceptive and appropriate description. After a while, she asked me if I had ever visited Czechoslovakia. 'Many times,' I replied expansively. She was taken aback by my effusive answer, since her country was not, at that time, one of the major locations on the tourist map. I felt I needed to explain.”
"The Brewer's Tale" by Frank Priestley, 2010, page 121.

Fortunate chance? I’m sure it was deliberately stashed there for an occasion just like this.

Hang on. Maybe that would work as a name for an old-school Gold Label: Golden Angels. What a brilliant idea.

It sounds like Frank Priestley had quite a session with the Czech lass:

“Although our Trade Union guests revived only a little from their hangovers, Hana and I had a thoroughly enjoyable session and a week or so later, she sent me a post card from Prague saying that she still could not forget the taste of 'Golden Angels'.”
"The Brewer's Tale" by Frank Priestley, 2010, page 122.

That’s all I have about Gold Label for now. How sad.

Whitbread’s brewery in 1960 (part one)

I just found this wonderful article about Whitbread’s Chiswell Street brewery, published in 1960.

I must admit to never having heard of the publication, The Sphere. It was an illustrated magazine apparently aimed at British citizens living in the colonies. Though by the time this edition was published most of colonies had gone. The Sphere ceased publication in 1964.

The article is a combination of photographs and text. As I’m feeling lazy, you’re getting mostly the former. The wordy things I’ll save for next time.

They’d set up quite an impressive visitors’ centre:

“At Whitbread's Brewery in Chiswell Street, running along the boundary of the City of London, part of the cellars has been transformed into a reception centre for the entertainment of visitors. In the exhibition room, the exhibits include inn signs, photographs and paintings which help to trace the history of the Company and of its public-houses. Other features of the City cellars include a bar, restaurant, and a cinema to seat 66 people. The reception rooms were opened in February of this year and so far more than 4,000 visitors have been entertained in the centre.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 32.

“Hops, which have been dried and pressed, are thrown into copper-domed vessels to be boiled with "wort" (the malt extract from the mash tuns). Normally there are four brews a day.”
The Sphere - Saturday 23 July 1960, page 32.

I particularly like this photo. I’d long wondered what adding the hops looked like at a big London brewery. What with the huge quantities being used. You can see that they’re throwing in the hops by the pocket. (That’s what those big sacks are called. Harvey’s still get their hops delivered in pockets.) It looks a pretty messy process as you can see hops have been spilt all over the stage.

Note that the hops are from Whitbread’s own hop gardens. And that they are Mid Kent. Which is more than they usually tell you in the brewing records. And that the coppers are of the domed London type, favoured by Porter brewers.

Allowance beer

British breweries all used to be “wet”. Meaning that beer was drunk during the working day.

This beer was provided free by the employer. Various systems were employed. Sometimes it was: there’s a barrel, help yourself. At other breweries it was more regulated. With workers getting a certain allowance per day. Hence the term Allowance Beer.

“The cellar was an important department for all those who worked in the brewery, for it was here that the beer allowance was issued. Men came down at the allotted time and filled their glasses, jugs, cans or whatever from a tap in the wall. Some drank it there and then, sitting on the benches provided. Others took it back to be enjoyed in the warmth of their own departments. It is all supervised by the cellar foreman. A few men did not take any allowance; they preferred a can of tea, while others somehow managed to scrounge an extra pint. I took the view that a man doing heavy physical work would soon assimilate a few pints. During my time in the Sheffield brewery, there was quite a turnover of cellar foremen. Some people became superstitious about it, particularly as they all had names beginning with the letter 'H' - Arthur Hunter, Eddie Hardy, Bill Hopkinson and Brian Helliwell.
"The Brewer's Tale" by Frank Priestley, 2010, page 39.

It doesn’t say, annoyingly, how much the allowance was. It sounds like more than one pint. If you remember earlier quotes from Frank Priestley, there was loads of illicit Gold Label being drunk in the brewery, as well as the allowance.

I can vouch for hard physical labour working off pints quickly. Especially the watery Mild they’d have been given as their allowance. I once had 5 pints of Fuller’s Hock at lunchtime. After 2 hours back at work, I couldn’t feel it at all.

The only brewery I’ve worked in, the former Hols brewery in Newark. It was the take as much as you like from these barrels approach. The old hands could knock back 5 pints in a 15-minute “tea” break. It was pretty bleak. A dingy cellar with a barrel each of Mild and AK in one corner.

The next bit relates to the bottling stores of Ind Coope & Allsopp in Burton-on-Trent.

“On the other side of the Upper Hall are the canteen and mess rooms together with the women's cloakroom and locker room; the men have the same facilities nearby. On wet days, employees' outer clothing is dried by means of steam-pipes beneath the lockers. Each male employee over 18 years of age is given two numbered checks or metal dues every morning as he commences work; these he may exchange at the "allowance bar" for two pints of draught beer during the course of the day. There is no stipulated time—the bar is open during all normal working hours—and a man may take his allowance beer home if he brings his own clean bottle or other container.
Journal of the Institute of Brewing, Volume 57, Issue 6, November-December 1951, page 434

Note that only the men got free beer. Despite the fact that, this being a bottling operation, there were quite a few women working at the site. And that, although the allowance was only two pints, the bar was open all day. Sounds like a dream job, in some ways. Especially if you saved some tokens for Friday.

I’ve only worked one place with its own bar: Legal & General in Surrey. It was very civilised. You could have a pint of cask Bitter with your lunch. And a few more at the bridge club after work.

Random Dutch beers (part forty-nine)

Just time for a couple more sketches of Dutch beers before the end of the year.

Oddly, both Boks. I stumbled on a couple I hadn't tried this year yet in local supermarket Deen. Odd, because it's really past the end of Bokbier season.

I'm starting with something even odder: a genuine Trappist Bok:

La Trappe Trappist Bockbier, 7% ABV (€1.00 for 30 cl at Deen)
It's a typical red-brown colour, but a little murky. My fault. I forgot it was bottle-conditioned when pouring. My tasting notes are going to be crap, seeing as I have a cold and my nose is pretty blocked. Is that cream and caramel in the aroma? There's something sweetish lurking there. It's quite sweet in the mouth, but with a balancing bitterness. Like raisins dipped in dark chocolate, then liquidised. In a good way.

"Do you want to try my beer, Lexxie?"

"No. Can I drink my Smirnoff Ice now?"

"I suppose so."

It's the last day of the year. Not sure if that's a reason for sadness or joy. I guess I should be optimistic. First obective for 2017 is finishing my book on Scottish beer. The manuscript is about half done. And about three-quarters of the recipes - 240 so far. Which reminds me: I should be writing some now. See you in a while.

. . . . .


Just polished off two more recipes. Time for my reward.

Gulpener Herfstbock, 6.5% ABV (€0.96 for 30 cl at Deen)
Quite pale this one, more red than brown. The decongestants have kicked in so I've a bit more sense of smell. Aroma of sweet red cherries, though not quite maraschino. Quite sweet and fruity in the mouth, like a cheap whore.

"Do you want to try my beer, Dolores?"

"No, not now."

 What? It's after 1 PM.

"Do you want to try my beer, Andrew?"

"No."

Not doing very well for second opinions today.

Let's Brew - 1969 Truman LM

Ah, the happy hours I spent drinking this type of beer in the 1970’s. Ordinary, watery Mild. It’s sad that it’s become such a rarity.

Mild – especially cask Mild – is a cracking long drink. A beer to accompany, rather than dominate, an evening down the pub with your mates. I was reminded just how much I missed that sort of beer and that sort of session when I spent a Saturday evening with Jeff Bell in The Royal Oak in Southwark a couple of weeks ago. Sometimes you need to down at least half a gallon.

Earlier that same Saturday, appropriately enough, is when I collected this recipe. From a Truman’s Ale brewing book in Derek Prentice’s possession. It was great going through the book with him. He could explain exactly what all the Brewhouse names stood for.

I can’t help wondering how close this beer is to the cask Mild Truman introduced in the early 1980’s. The two have similar gravities: 1032º for this, 1034º for the 1980’s version. It’s strange. The 1969 Mild feels way in the past to me, as it’s before my drinking time. While the 1980’s version feels like an old friend, as I drank it reasonably often. Yet just 13 years separate the two. Perspective is everything.

Let’s crack on with the recipe. It’s quite an odd one in several ways. For a start, it’s coloured with roast barley, which isn’t a very common ingredient in Mild. In fact, it’s not a very common ingredient in English beer at all. Nor are roast malts that common in Mild. Not unheard of, but not that common. A spot of black or chocolate malt occasionally.

Impressively, the recipe boasts three types of unmalted barley. In addition to roast barley, there’s also flaked barley and – this is a first – pearl barley. Again, I was glad to have Derek at my shoulder. I’d have missed it, as it’s listed as “P. Brights”. In all, unmalted barley makes up 15% of the grist.  

You may have assumed that brown sugar is a substitute for some other type of sugar. It isn’t. The original really did contain Tate & Lyle brown sugar. Though it did make up slightly less than half of the total sugar. Most of the rest was liquid cane sugar. There was also a touch of something called B.C.L., which I’m guessing is some sort of dark sugar. I’ve substituted No. 4 invert.

More sugar, in the form of primings, was added to the fermenting vessels just before the end of primary fermentation. It would have upped the gravity by a degree or two. Not sure if Truman were still brewing cask at this point. If they were, the FG would have fallen a few more points before being sold. So don’t worry if your attenuation is a bit more than I’ve listed.

I know nothing about the hops, other than that they were English. Fuggles, which were the commonest hop grown in England, probably isn’t far wrong. They probably wouldn’t have wasted Goldings in a Mild. Feel free to use any traditional English hop variety.

1969 Truman LM
pale malt	4.50 lb	64.84%
crystal malt	0.75 lb	10.81%
roast barley	0.25 lb	3.60%
flaked barley	0.33 lb	4.76%
pearl barley	0.33 lb	4.76%
cane sugar	0.50 lb	7.20%
brown sugar	0.25 lb	3.60%
No. 4 invert	0.03 lb	0.43%
Fuggles 90 mins	0.50 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	0.50 oz
Fuggles 30 mins	0.25 oz
OG	1031.9
FG	1011.6
ABV	2.69
Apparent attenuation	63.64%
IBU	17
SRM	22
Mash at	150º F
Sparge at	165º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	62º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1099 Whitbread ale

End of year round up

Everyone does these things. So what the hell. I need to get a couple of posts in before the end of the year. I don't what this year to be a record low.

What have I rounded up for the end of the year? A couple of bottles of port for a start. We forgot to drink them at Christmas. Too busy with that infernal jigsaw. Which we did eventually finish. Some of the pieces are pure white with a single black line. Here's proof we did finish it*:

See how near-blank some pieces are?

The hours of frustration it cost. But, on the upside, we were so distracted from ever other human activity - including eating and drinking - that we've loads of booze left over. Enough to make it a very merry New Year indeed. As I told the kids, you need to finish off all the drink before the New Year. It will all go off the minute the clock strikes midnight. As least that's how my Mum explained everyone drinking like crazy on New Year's Eve to me. So it must be true.

My treat bottle of Westvleteren 12 is sitting safely behind me. Though the minikeg of Adnam's Christmas Ale is almost done. Dolores likes it, as I expected she would. She's a big fan of British beer, especially in cask. How simpler that makes my life. As does her love of curry.

The kids have barely touched their Christmas rum, three-year-old Havana Club**.

Sherry, Amstel Bock, Limoncello. More stuff I've rounded up for the end of the year. There must be a cocktail in there. No Adnams any more, though. Dolores has just served herself the last two-thirds of a pint. She deserves it.

That's enough rounding up to last me until next year. I've rounded up well enough for a good time before all the booze turns bad. As it does on the turn of the year.




* The jigsaw is safely framed and hanging on our living room wall. In the vague possibility that you were interested.

** Alexei says that he hasn't finished his birthday Zubrovka yet. Though he's drinking it as I type. Bastard. He hasn't offered me any.

The 1950’s pub (part three)

It’s been rather a while since the first two parts of this series. In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve already looked at the types of bar in a pub and the drinks sold in them. Now it’s time to look at the different types of pub.

The author identifies three main types of pub, though I’m not sure I can really see a clear distinction.

“pub types
Speaking generally there are three London pub types all with their particular colours—colour is very important in pubs. First, the alehouse type which follows the functional tradition in its use of solid carpentry, scrubbed wood tables and bar-top, and "grained oak" or "teak" paint. A particularly satisfying sort of pub, this type has an immensely long history, stemming from the middle ages, when any wayside house opening its doors for the sale of liquor would automatically invite the passer-by into the kitchen. It is in fact the kitchen vernacular. Many London pubs and public bars are of this type, or of the type of its younger and slicker town cousin the City Tavern. ”
"London Night & Day" edited by Sam Lambert.

I can remember pubs with a “grained oak” paint job. I always thought it looked a bit odd and very 19th century. Basically it’s a way of painting wood grain onto a surface. The idea being to make any old wood look a more expensive, darker hardwood. It’s generally pretty unconvincing. I think the Bun House in Bromley by Bow might have had it.

I’ve had to blank out a word in the next section. Which is an indication of how sensibilities have changed over 60 years. I doubt anyone batted an eyelid at the word’s use in this context back in the 1950’s.

“In the city tavern, wines and spirits and bottled beers tend to take precedence over beer-in-cask, though there tend to be even more casks (chocolate or n***** brown now) which will be for port or sherry, rather than beer. The third type is the GIN palace, be-mirrored, be-lettered, be-plushed (walls and bar mahogany, either the real wood or paint-grained), the great Victorian contribution to the architecture of drink and as a building type, one of England's most prized possessions. ”
"London Night & Day" edited by Sam Lambert.

It just sounds like a slightly more upmarket version of the first type. Bottled beer as a sign of class in something I’ve come across more often in the 1950’s. The posher rooms in a pub also tended to sell a greater proportion of bottled beer.

I think we all understand what is meant by a gin palace. Those magnificent late Victorian and Edwardian gems of etched glass, mahogany and tiles. I was in a great example a few weeks ago: the Princess Louise in Holborn. Where the interior has recently been fully restored, complete with partitioning and snob screens. Well worth a visit if you’re in London and want to see what pubs were like 100 years ago.

Sadly, many brewers were less understanding than Sam Smiths, owners of the Princess Louise. Many magnificent pubs were horribly mutilated by philistine owners.

“Unfortunately the brewers, who have lost touch with their best traditions, are trying to break up gin palace interiors in the mistaken notion that they represent a vulgar phase in the history of drinking. To kill them, they are putting in jazz wallpapers, chromium bars, and graining that gives the effect of pickled or even of grey-wood panelling, a beastly development of genteelism, which tends to give the pub the semblance of a night-club or road-house, two very inferior institutions. Worse still, in the cause of "supervision" the licensing magistrates are helping on the bad work by demanding that the succession of intimate little bars, which are the pride and pearl of the English pub should be gutted in favour of one large bar. Result—loss of the cosiness and surprise that used to make a pub the favourite meeting place of friends. If you are one of those people who resent such atrocities and are not afraid to say so, you can help in the fight against the genteelising of pubs by speaking out boldly about the decorations to your neighbour over a pint of wallop. If your temperament is more retiring, just do it by choosing to drink in the un-tarted up ones. We aren't suggesting that the pubs we list are all period pieces; but they are some of the best that remain and all still have something of the real pub character.”
"London Night & Day" edited by Sam Lambert.

The author clearly isn’t keen on tarted up pubs. And with good reason. Expensive, attractive interiors were ripped out and replaced with cheap tat that started falling apart after a couple of years and needed a further refurbishment, usually equally shoddy.

Thank Stalin this is no longer true:

“Tourists should bear in mind the anomalies of the system of licensing hours, but it is safe to assume that pubs in and near the West End are open from 11.30 a.m. to 3 p.m. and from 5.30 until 11 p.m., and that others open half an hour later and close at 2.30 and 10.30. Hours on Sunday are shorter.”
"London Night & Day" edited by Sam Lambert.

Throwing away the ridiculous restrictions on opening hours introduced during WW I was the best development in UK pubs since, er, WW I.