Costa Mesa

We're being picked up by Keven Keane at 11:30. So we have time to potter around a little.

When we go downstairs at the appointed time, he's waiting outside. We've never met, but I am aware of his former blog. I can see the look of puzzlement and disappointment as he takes in the tatty entrance to the hotel.

“My wife said I was crazy letting a total stranger take me off in his car. I hope you won’t lock me in your torture basement.”

“No need to worry about that with your two bodyguards along.”

Soon we’re zooming along one of LA’s many motorways. They seem endless. As do the often scary cars. Weaving around lanes in a crazily dangerous fashion. My tactic is to ignore the traffic and concentrate on the scenery. Otherwise, it’s too scary.

Our first stop is Yorkshire Square. Which is, unsurprisingly, owned by a Yorkshireman. On the way the kids keep spotting things that look familiar. From Grand Theft Auto. The game seems to have formed their image of the city.

I see a plume of black smoke ahead. When we reach it, there's a car blazing away at the side of the road, surrounded by 4 or 5 fire engines.

"That's an electric car. That's why there are so many fire engines." Lexie says.

"That's reassuring."

It's almost impossible to put the battery out when it catches fire."

"Even more reassuring."

"You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Moi? Never!"

Yorkshire Square specialises in English beer and has an impressive array of handpumps. Me and the kids kick off with a Mild. Which is fair enough take on the style. And goes very well with the sausage rolls we get as well.

We’re sitting outside. Thankfully in the shade. It’s still a bit on the warm side.

“It will be cooler in Cost Mesa.” Kevin reassures us. “As it’s next to the sea.”

I hope that’s true.

Next, it's the turn of Wuthering Stout. Which is a little pale and on the thin side.

We don't linger long. Next stop is Rasselbock, a bar specialising in German beers. We sit in the beer garden. Luckily, it's not too stupidly hot.

"Andrew, you don't look like you're melting for once."

"That's because it's not stupid hot here."

Well, look at that. They've St. Bernardus 8 on tap. I resist the temptation to order that and plump for Rasselbock Don't Look Bock. It's an amber Bock, surprise, surprise. And is quite tasty. 

Most of the beers are German. Not German-style, but German-brewed. That's fine by Andrew. He has a Kölsch. He likes his pale and fizzy beers. Especially when it's hot. We don't stay long. Just as well. I'm starting to get peckish.

The main event is at Kevin's house. Starting with a charcuterie board while the smoker fires up. There's some really nice English cheese which I get stuck into.

"The bread is really nice." Lexxie says. And he's right.

We sit outside in the falling rays of the sun and watch lizards scuttle around the garden. It’s all very relaxing. Other than the occasional aircraft flying nearby. It is, indeed, cooler here.

Kevin's partner, Gina, joins us while the tritip is smoking. In an impressively high-tech smoker, where everything is computer controlled. I'm genuinely amazed by it. Makes our barbecue look like something from the stone age.

Kevin has brewed a pin of Golden Ale. Pulled through a handpump, it looks lovely, with a fluffy white head. It tastes pretty nice, too. The kids seem to agree, judging by how enthusiastically they're getting stuck into it.

The tritip is amazing. Very, very tasty. It puts my roast of the same cut to shame.

We chat about this and that until the kids polish off the Golden Ale. Then the single malt comes out. This is a lot of fun. It helps that here close to the coast that the weather is significantly cooler. And the company is good.

"Do you want some dessert as well as the booze, Andrew?"

"I'll just have the booze."

"That's the most Andrew statement ever." I quip.

"Shut up, Dad."

On the way back downtown we have a good chat with our Indian Uber driver, who's a really nice bloke. But, amazingly, doesn't like cricket.

When we get back everything is shut. Up in our rooms, though, there’s still beer and whisky.

Bourbon is my sleepy time chum.



Yorkshire Square Brewery & Pub
1109 Van Ness Ave,
Torrance,
CA 90501.
http://yorkshiresquarebrewery.com/beer/


Rasselbock Kitchen & Beer Garden
4020 Atlantic Ave,
Long Beach,
CA 90807.
https://www.rasselbocklb.com

Let's Brew - 1914 Hancock SBA

SBA wasn’t exempt from the general drop in gravity amongst Hancock’s beers. Though in its case the fall was relatively small, just 3º.

There have been quite some changes to the recipe. The most obvious, is that it’s no longer all malt. Leaving the grist pretty similar to that of XXB. With the exception that the sugar here is No. 1 invert rather than glucose.

Two thirds of the base malt were made from Californian barley, the rest from English. That’s something you wouldn’t see for much longer, as the war cut off supplies of Californian grain.

The hopping rate has fallen from around 9 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt to 6 lbs. This is reflected in the lower (calculated) IBUs.  Most of the hops were English, topped up with a few Oregons. No harvest gate is listed for either type of hops.

1914 Hancock SBA
pale malt	7.00 lb	72.73%
No. 1 invert sugar	2.50 lb	25.97%
malt extract	0.125 lb	1.30%
Cluster 90 mins	0.50 oz
Goldings 90 mins	1.00 oz
Goldings 30 mins	1.50 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.00 oz
OG	1050
FG	1011
ABV	5.16
Apparent attenuation	78.00%
IBU	42
SRM	7
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	White Labs WLP099 Super High Gravity

 

 

Leaving Portland

I'm up very early - 7:30. And immediately ring reception to arrange late checkout. Great. We can laze around in the hotel until 13:00.

We drink some more beer. And get our stash down to a manageable 4 bottles. Which I can just about squeeze into my checkin bag.

“Well done, kids.”

“You weren’t much help.” Andrew is scathing.

“I did . . .”

“Your best. I know. Let’s not go into that again.”

Nice of our driver to let Lexxie sit in the front. It’s a bit of a crush with the three of us on the back seat. Airco on full blast, too. Well worth the extra $8 for a large car.

Portland airport is such a doddle compared to Schiphol. We troll up to the Sky Priority lane and in a minute or two my bag is checked. Security barely takes any longer and we're airside.

"Let's find a bar close to the gate." I suggest.

There’s no argument. Never is when a pub is the suggestion. Weird, that.

We check a map of the terminal and see that there's a Deschutes pub right next to our gate.

"It'll make up for missing out on Wednesday." Andrew says.

We would have visited their downtown Portland taproom yesterday, but it's closed on Wednesday.

You're supposed to order through a QR code thingy. But when Lexxie tries to register, it doesn't like his phone. We do it the old-fashioned way by grabbing hold of a waiter. Not literally, obviously. We’re English. Never dream of doing that.

Me and Andrew order a Fresh-squeezed IPA. It's too fizzy, which masks the hop flavour. Not a patch on the cask version I had a few years back. But it’s only $7.50 for a US pint. That’s amazing value for airside. Just 50 cents more than the city-centre price.

We have a few rounds and some food. We haven't eaten yet and it's already 14:00. I get fish and chips, Alexei a BLAT. Andrew just shares a little of our meals.

"Do you want to try my sandwich, Dad?"

"Of course not. It has avocado in it, the devil's vegetable."

“Shut up, old man.”

We stroll the few yards to our gate just before boarding. Legroom is a bit tight for the kids, but not too bad. I spend the flight watching Breaking Bad and staring occasionally out of the window.

I'm slightly concerned about my checked in bag. Will it ever arrive? No need to worry. It's already on the carousel when we get there.

Getting a taxi is a bit chaotic. You can't pick one up outside the terminal, but have to get a shuttle bus to a special area. It takes a while, but once we're there, it's a doddle getting a cab.

When we stop to be dropped off, I wonder at first if the driver has the right address. It's a parade of run-down shops. Sure enough, there's a hotel at the end. With crumbling stairs and a boarded-up window. Now there's classy.

The rooms aren't as bad, if a little tired. Very tired, to be honest. But not as totally exhausted to death as the corridor.

The view is great. A pile of building materials. Maybe they’re about to do the place up. A bit premature, surely?

Bags dumped, me and Alexei head to Suehiro Mini, a ramen place he found just around the corner.  We turn down a dead dodgy-looking street. My instinct is to turn around. But I continue on for Lexxie’s sake. Luckily, our destination isn’t too far down.

It's very small. About the size of ones in Japan. Well, maybe a tad bigger. When we arrive, there's a cop outside. I wonder if the place is being busted. He's actually just waiting for food. And seems quite friendly, saying hello to us.

We both order Tonkatsu ramen and gyozas. It's good, but very filling. I can't finish all of mine. My ramen, I mean. Obviously, I’d never leave any gyozas.

Back in the kids' room, we watch TV and drink the beer and bourbon we picked up in CVS on the way to the ramen shop.

It's bourbon nudging me towards slumberland today. And away from the gunshots outside.




Deschutes
7000 NE Airport Way,
Portland,
OR 97218.


Suehiro Mini
642 N Broadway #5,
Los Angeles,
CA 90012.
https://www.suehirocafe.com

Lazy Portland day

I'm up fairly early. Just after 8:00. And potter around until Lexxie gets up.

He wants to go to Denny's for breakfast. But gets voted down by me and Andrew. Neither of us is hungry yet. Instead, we work through some of our beer stock while we wait for the brewpubs in the centre of town to open.

Backwoods Brewing is where we start. It's not too crazy hot when we get there. And plonk our arses at a nice corner table.

A fairly typical taproom with a long bar, exposed brickwork and lots of wood.

We don't have much planned today. Just brewpubs. And Powell's City of Books. The kids seem quite keen on giving it a look. And it's only a couple of blocks away from Backwoods.

I kick off with an IPA. 

Logyard IPA, 6.7%, 78 IBU
Pretty classic old-school IPA. Clear and pretty bitter. Not bad.

The kids have gone for the Hinterlander Pilsner. Which they seem to like.

It being well past midday and none of us having eaten, we order food. Burger for Andrew, BLT for Lexxie and a Reuben sandwich for me. As usual, I can't finish it and ask for a box.

Time for more beer.

Off Grid IPA, 6.2% ABV, 50 IBU
A bit hazy and very different from the other IPA. It has that Izal aroma which I suppose is the Chinook. Or some other trendy hop I’m not that keen on.

Andrew has switched to IPA. He does like IPA, but often sticks with a Lager.

I'm not looking forward to the walk to Powell's. Even though it isn't far. It's not too unbearable and we're soon in the chilly embrace of the bookshop's airco.

I head for the beer section. Last time I was here they had my "proper" book. Not any more, sadly. But lots of other books. Just not the sort of ones I'm looking for. Though a strange set of volumes called Siebel Institute Personal Notes. A mix of handwritten and typed notes. All very technical stuff.  But they’re way too bulky and heavy to fit in my luggage.

I go in search of the kids. But can't see them anywhere. After a while of wandering, I spot a bench and sit down. I'm by the tils. They're bound to come past here sometime.

They don't. So, I set off in search of them again.

"There you are, Dad. We thought you'd be at the military history section."

Alexie has got some academic book about spies. But is also looking for a Japanese novel. The staff eventually point him in the right direction. He's dead pleased.

The heat hits us like a hot hammer when we exit. Fuck me it's hot.

Next destination in 10 Barrel. Which is back the way we came. But a bit further and a bit more uphill. It's an unpleasant, but thankfully quite short, stroll.

The kids race off ahead, as usual. Can’t they wait for their poor old dad? No. They fucking can’t. No regard at all for my age and radgedness.

“Could you slow down?”

“No. Could you speed up? And shut up complaining.”

We seat ourselves at a high table. And try to get the QR code-driven menu to work. I leave that to the kids. Like all the other high-tech stuff.

I order an IPA again.

Nature Calls Mountain IPA, 7.1%, 45 IBU
Very pale in colour, quite hazy, not very bitter.More modern type of IPA, I suppose. Quite refreshing.

Lexxie has a pomegranate cider, while Andrew is back on Pils.

He's very impressed with the Pils. "It tastes like a proper German Pils."

It's pretty lively considering it's the middle of a Wednesday afternoon. Though the weather is going to give you a thirst.

The brewery is crammed into a tiny area, which is almost totally filled with conicals.

"How much do you think they hold, Dad?"

"A lot more than ten barrels."

Time for something a little stronger.

All Ways Down Double IPA, 9%, 75 IBU
Clear and golden. Very bitter and citrusy. And full of alcoholy goodness.

The two women beside us are drinking Old Fashioneds. Jim made ones for us on Sunday.

"I've seen them on Sunday Brunch a lot, but never tried one." I said to the kids at the time.

"Do you fancy an Old Fashioned, kids?"

Of course, they do. We get them made with Buffalo trace. They're dead good. So good, I drink three.

After six, many more diners stream in. It's time for us to fuck off.

The Uber is a van this time. Plenty of room for three big lads like us.

More beer and baseball in the kids’ room. The Mariners pull off a late win against the Rangers again.

By 22:00 I can barely keep my eyes open and the kids keep poking me to keep me awake.

“Stop poking me.”

“Then go to your own room and sleep.”

I'm asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.




Backwoods Brewing Company
1162 Wind River Hwy,
Carson,
WA 98610.
https://www.backwoodsbrewingcompany.com


Powell's City of Books
1005 W Burnside St,
Portland,
OR 97209.
https://www.powells.com


10 Barrel Brewing Portland
1411 NW Flanders St,
Portland,
OR 97209.

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1912 Cairnes Single Stout

Many thanks to Alex Witt for providing the photos of the Cairnes records.

On the one hand, it looks like Porter was well on its way out around 1900. But was that really the case? Because there are lots of “Stouts” which, in terms of gravity, look very much like a Porter to me. So, were Porters just renamed Stout because it sounded classier?

In Ireland this seems to be particularly true. For example, Guinness Porter was often sold as Single Stout. I suspect something similar was going on at Cairnes. Because this looks very similar to a London Porter.

At least in terms of strength, as the grist isn’t the same. As was usual outside London, the only roasted grain is black malt. Though, unusually for Ireland, sugar was also involved. In the very simple form of glucose.

There were equal amounts of three types of hops: Poperinge from the 1911 crop, English from 1908 and Bohemian from 1905. Lots of pretty old hops. Not sure what that says, if anything. 

1912 Cairnes Single Stout
pale malt	9.75 lb	84.78%
black malt	0.75 lb	6.52%
glucose	1.00 lb	8.70%
Strisselspalt 120 mins	1.00 oz
Fuggles 60 mins	1.00 oz
Saaz 30 mins	1.00 oz
OG	1052
FG	1012.5
ABV	5.23
Apparent attenuation	75.96%
IBU	33
SRM	24
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	58.5º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1084 Irish ale

Train, train!

Our train to Portland isn't until the afternoon. So, we arrange a late checkout. And try to get through at least some of our huge beer stash.

The kids make a fairly good job of it, brave little troopers that they are. I do my best to help, in my oldie person sort of way.

“Hurry up, Dad! You’re not drinking your share. We’ll never get through them at this rate.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Well, it’s not good enough.”

It’s a terrible thing to be a disappointment to your children.

“Then try drinking faster.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes. Christ, you’re going senile. Shut up and get on with drinking.”

It's much warmer today, unfortunately. Much, much warmer. Which me and Alexei notice as we head over to the Mecca Cafe for breakfast.

It's a proper diner place. Exactly what I was after. We both order a three-egg breakfast. It turns out to be ginormous. Three eggs, three rashers of bacon, two sausages all on a massive bed of hash browns. And two big pancakes. No toast, mind.

Breakfast totally defeats me. I can't eat that much. I leave my pancakes and most of the hash browns untouched.

We Uber it to the station. Which is quite crowded. We seem to have arrived at exactly the right time. The queue behinds gets much longer soon after we join it.

At least there's always plenty of legroom in Amtrak trains. Even if they are a pain in the arse to get into, with the stupidly low platforms and steep steps.

I'm feeling quite knacked and doze most of the way. About two-thirds of the way in, the airco starts struggling. The temperature in the carriage rises. Not as high as outside, but enough to make it uncomfortable.

It's boiling outside Portland Union Station. Where we wait for our Uber to show up. It's not a very big car. And we all have to sit in the back. Which is incredibly uncomfortable. Luckily, it isn't far to our hotel.

Checked in, we crowd around the ac to cool down.

"We'd best drink some more of this beer, Dad." Andrew suggests.

"Sure. I'm always up for more beer."

“Remember to keep up the pace. We’ve a lot to get through.”

“I will Andrew. Just don’t shout at me again.”

Lexxie, diligent lad that he is, has found somewhere for us to eat.

"Red Robin. It's just down the road."

The sun has fallen in the sky and it's somewhat cooler. Though still not exactly cool. Red Robin is, indeed, fairly close by. It looks a bit closed, as all the blinds are drawn.

It is open. I think they've just been keeping the sun out.

We order some drinks from an enthusiastic waitress. The kids get a large beer. I order a diet coke. And a margarita. It goes with the hot weather.  

The waitress asks for the kids’ IDs. They show her their UK passports. But she can’t seem to work out where the date of birth is.

“Well, if you’re old enough to drink in the country you come from, that’s good enough for me.”

I’m amazed at such a cavalier attitude to drinking age. Though both kids are well over it. And almost 7 foot tall.

Hydrated, we order food. Nothing too large for me. Just a BBQ chicken wrap and a salad. The kids both opt for burger and chips.

I can't finish mine. And get a box to take it home. I'm sure I'll eat it later.

We drop by Wahlgreens on the way back. To get some water. And beer. Not sure why the kids want 12 more cans of beer when we already have so much.

It's baseball and beer in the hotel. The Mariners just edge out the Rangers in an exciting finish. I hope the kids aren't expecting something similar next week when we see the Padres.

“Don’t expect the Padres game to be as exciting as this. Baseball is mostly much less exciting.”

“Like cricket?”

“No. Nothing like cricket. That’s just wall-to-wall excitement.”

“Yeah, right.”

I do finish my wrap, my hunger perhaps awoken by a whisky or two.

I don't stay up very late. In fact, I struggle to keep my eyes open. "Stay awake, Dad." They're afraid that I'll fall asleep in one of their beds and they won't be able to wake me up. Ever.

I make it to my own bed. And collapse immediately into unconsciousness.




Mecca Cafe
526 Queen Anne Ave N,
Seattle,
WA 98109.
https://mecca-cafe.com/



Red Robin Gourmet Burgers and Brews
1139 NE Grand Ave,
Portland,
OR 97232.
https://www.redrobin

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

Seattle downtown

We're changing hotels today. It's too late when we rise to get breakfast. Instead, we pack and pile into an Uber.

Why aren't we on the motorway, I wonder. Surely that's the way to get downtown? It turns out that there's been a mix up. The Uber was provided by the hotel and they'd given the driver the same address as yesterday: Foggy Noggin. Just as well we're in no rush.

We're staying fairly well downtown. Which means there's lots of stuff nearby. Like somewhere to eat.

There's a taco place, Dos Chamucos, over the road. Just $3 a taco. Ok, they're quite small, but it's still cheap. As I'm not that hungry, I order two. And a margarita. Don't fancy a beer, this time. I'll be drinking lots of that over the next few days.

I do like a margarita. A caipirinha, too. Especially when it’s hot. They slide down a treat. The kids are sticking with beer.

“It’s very colourful in here.” I opine.

“That’s Mexico for you.”

“We’ll be experiencing it first hand in a few days.”

“If we make it across the border alive.”

“Crossing which way?”

Fed, we laze in the air-conditioned delight of the hotel. Where, ironically, I warm myself up for the evening with a whiskey or two.

“Leave some for me, Dad.” Andrew objects.

“Who paid for it?

“If you’re going to be picky, Mum did.”

I'm due at Machine House (or Machine Head as Lexxie keeps calling it) for my second and final event of this trip. As usual, we get an Uber there.

It's quite full. And everyone must be there for me, as they don't usually open on Monday. That’s a fairly good sign.

This is a more formal talk. Complete with a Powerpoint and everything. To go with the event, Bill, the English owner, has brewed five cask Mild Ales of varying vintages. It's like heaven, really. Dolores was so jealous when I told her.

The talk runs smoothly, though I'm feeling pretty hot. The kids shelter outside in the breeze, watching BNSF freight trains roll endlessly past.

When I start flogging books after I'm done jabbering I notice that I've forgotten to bring from the hotel the volume I specifically lugged across the Atlantic for this event: Mild! plus. Damn.

Bill packs us off with a load of stuff. T-shirts and beer. The kids are reluctant to take so much beer. Especially as we're already packing quite a bit Jim gave us at Foggy Noggin.

“You can never have too much beer.”

“It’s easy for you to say that, Dad, when you aren’t the one carrying it.”

They’re so ungrateful. No-one was giving me free beer when I was their age.

“When I was your age . . .”

“Shut up, Dad, we’ve heard it all before. You slept on a block of ice and ate nothing but gruel. Times have changed.”

Feeling a bit peckish when back at the hotel, we nip over the road to Dick's, an incredibly cheap burger place. Just $2.60 for a cheeseburger. Bargain. It’s incredibly stripped-down, just a counter and a big open space. No tables, no seats, just open space. Seems, sort of, a waste of space.

We eat our burgers in the hotel. Topped off with a little Tomintin to glide me down sleep's deep valley.

You can hear my talk at Machine House here.




Dos Chamucos Taqueria
550 Queen Anne Ave N,
Seattle,
WA 98109.
https://www.doschamucos.com/



Machine House Brewery
5840 Airport Way S #121,
Seattle,
WA 98108.
https://www.machinehousebrewery.com/beer/

Dick's Drive-In
500 Queen Anne Ave N,
Seattle,
WA 98109.
https://www.ddir.com/

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

Bothell

We don't rise very early. Well, the kids don't. Me and Lexxie head down for breakfast at 10:30. And just miss breakfast. But they are serving brunch.

Luckily, I can get something with fried eggs: pork hash. It's quite nice, but the broccoli is almost raw and very tough. As we eat, the dining room fills up a bit. Still far from full, though it is pretty big.

Our hotel is in the middle of a state park, with various trails. We decide to take one down to lake Washington. It's very peaceful amongst the towering pine trees. Well, apart from all the people with dogs. And runners. And families with small kids. At least they're all on a lead. The dogs, I mean. And runners with kids and dogs with families. Near as dammit totally deserted.

We don't make it all the way down to the lake. If we had, I'd be well and truly fucked. 

“Kids. My lungs can't cope with these slopes. If I don’t stop now, I’ll never get back up.”

“Wimp.”

“Thanks for the sympathy, Lexxie. Just wait until you get old.”

“At least you’ll be long dead by then.”

“Lovely, Lexxie, lovely.”

“And they’ll probably have found some way to stop oldies getting useless the way you are.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut up with that thanks shit. And don’t just switch to another language.”

Damn. It’s as if Lexxie can read my mind.

“You’re so predictable.”

And I keep saying things out loud?

“And you keep saying things out loud”

As it is, I have to take multiple rests on the way up. While the kids waltz ahead, whistling. The bastards.

We're due at Foggy Noggin between 14:00 and 14:30. With my talk scheduled to start at 15:00.  Leaving us an hour or so to chill in our very classy hotel. Just as well I have that bottle of whisky to entertain us. And the kids that beer.

Suitably warmed up for my gig, I get a hotel shuttle. Well, Uber. We sit outside and wait. And wait. So long, I go back to reception and ask where the fuck it is. Obviously, I don’t put it that way, as I’m English.

“Do you know where my car might possibly be?”

It cancelled. Great. He books another.

“Thank you so much.” Remaining polite at all times is my super power.

We arrive at the back end of the time slot. Apart from the delay, it's further than I thought from the hotel.

Most of the attendees are already here so we kick off pretty much straight away.

It's an informal affair, which I conduct seated. Much better, as it takes a while. I really can’t be doing with standing for an hour or more, If I can avoid it.

 

Jim, the owner, has brewed six AKs of various vintages. Which we go through in reverse chronological order. It makes sense, as that's moving up in strength.

There's lots of interaction with the audience, who ask loads of questions. When I'm done, I hang around and chat. And shift a few books, which is always good. Especially as they’re dead weight I’ll be lugging around for the rest of the trip.

When the crowd has thinned out, a couple from the audience introduce the kids to cornhole. Lexxie, in particular, seems to enjoy it. Probably because of Beavis and Butt-head, which he’s always quoting. He’s worse than me and Barclay Perkins.

We finish on the deck, where we eat pizza, drink bourbon and chat away.

It's quite late when we leave. There's just time for a Tomintin eye-closer back at the hotel.

You can watch a video of the talk here.

Foggy Noggin Brewing
22329 53rd Ave SE,
Bothell,
WA 98021.
http://www.foggynogginbrewing.com

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

Let's Brew - 1914 Hancock XXB

As with all Hancock’s other beers, XXB has seen a substantial drop in gravity since 1897. In this case, 6º. Leaving it at just 1040º.

Neither has the recipe remained unchanged. Out go the No. 1 and No. 2 invert sugar and in come glucose and malt extract. The base malt this time was two thirds Californian and one third English. Which is completely different from 1897.

Just one type of English hop was used. I’ve guessed Goldings. Annoyingly, Hancock had given up recording the age of the hops in the brewing book. So, I’ve assumed they were all pretty fresh. The dry hopping is very heavy: 45 lbs compared to 63 lbs copper hops.
 

1914 Hancock XXB
pale malt	6.00 lb	76.19%
glucose	1.75 lb	22.22%
malt extract	0.125 lb	1.59%
Goldings 90 mins	1.00 oz
Goldings 30 mins	1.00 oz
Goldings dry hops	1.50 oz
OG	1040
FG	1010
ABV	3.97
Apparent attenuation	75.00%
IBU	27
SRM	3.5
Mash at	151º F
Sparge at	175º F
Boil time	90 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	White Labs WLP099 Super High Gravity

 

 

Leaving Amsterdam

You lucky people. You're about to experience the vicarious thrills of my last trip to North America. Hear every insult the kids throw at me, feel every blow the little bastards strike me with. And drink along with every beer, stuff down every plate of chips.

It'll take a while to get through the whole trip.

 

 

Our flight isn't until 14:35. But, knowing the chaos at Schiphol, we left home at 9:30. Just as well.

"That's a long queue for the car hire." Lexxie says when we enter the airport.

It isn't. It's the queue to get upstairs to departures. Great.

"At least it's the last queue we'll be in, kids."

It isn't. We get through the Sky Priority lane, but when we try to go to security, some jobsworth won't let the kids through. We have to queue with the plebs. At least we have plenty of time.

“At least we have plenty of time, kids.”

“That will make the waiting seem so much shorter.” Andrew replies.

“No need to be sarcy.” This bodes so well for the next two weeks. Will I get through them without strangling one of the bastards?

An hour, it takes. I've had worse. But mostly much, much better.

We haven’t checked any bags. On the news, I’ve seen the piles of bags all over the airport. I don’t trust them to get a bag on the plane. We’ve crammed everything into carry-on. At least Schiphol has free trollies. They lighten the burden of luggage.

After picking up a bottle of hotel whisky, we go directly to the lounge. With two hours until our flight. 49 euros it costs for a lounge pass for one of the kids. I’m still deciding which one.

"You need to eat and drink at least 50 euros worth of stuff. Otherwise, I've wasted my money."

“25 euros, surely? There are two of us.”

“And one was free. The other I paid 49 euros for. I haven’t which, yet.”

“That’s a bit mean.”

“That’s why I’m such a good dad.”

“In your dreams.”

My dreams are wonderfully child-free.

“That’s even meaner.”

“Did I . . .”

“Yes, you did say that out loud. Sponge Dad.”

“Thanks.”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“Thanks, anyway.”

“Christ, you’re stupid.”

“Thanks.”

“Stop saying fucking thanks.”

"Merci."

“Can you just shut up?”

Lexxie accompanies me to the bar. A beer each for the kids. A Jim Beam and a Teachers for me.

It's wonderfully quiet in the lounge. Very relaxing after the chaos outside. We have several more drinks. And me and Lexxie have a little to eat. That's why I skipped breakfast at home.

“No point wasting my money when I get food here for free.”

“Don’t forget the whisky, Dad.”

“Do I look like I’m forgetting the whisky?”

Which prompts me to fetch another Jim Beam and a Teachers. I’d be a fool not to.

Andrew isn’t hungry.

“Eat something. You’re not getting your money’s worth.”

“I’m doing my best with drinks.”

“At least you’re trying.”

No problem getting Lexxie to eat. He fully explores the food options.

We get to the gate just in time to board. The flight is full. Mostly of Americans.

I have a window seat and get a good view of Greenland as we pass overhead. It's not very green. Mostly beige, with the odd thin white dash of ice.

Immigration is an absolute doddle. No queue and we're straight through. We don’t even have our fingerprints taken. I suppose since they’re still on file from previous visits.

Not having checked in any bags, before you know it, we're in a taxi bearing down on our hotel. Which is a former seminary in the middle of wood.

It’s a dead impressive place.

“It reminds me of the hotel in The Shining.” I told Lexxie after booking.

“Cool.”

When we get there: “I see what you mean, Dad.”

Soon after checking in, we head for the nearby Stoup brewpub. Where I get an IPA and the kids a Pils. It's pretty quiet for a Saturday night.

“I wonder where everyone is?”

“Probably at home having a barbecue.”

 

Andrew is impressed by one of the beers on the menu: Belching Beaver Nitro Peanut Butter Milk Stout. It Sounds lovely" He says.

"It's never a good sign when they need that many words to describe what it is." I reply.

We have a few beers, but don't stay out very late. Which is in the middle of the night, Amsterdam time.

On the way back, we drop by a supermarket. The kids need beer for the hotel. Well, Andrew does. Bud Light is his choice. Only because they have no Pabst Blue Ribbon

A Tomintin nudges me gently down the road to sleep.

Stoup Brewing Kenmore
6704 NE 181st St,
Kenmore, WA 98028.
https://www.stoupbrewing.com/kenmore/

 

If you liked this post, maybe consider buying the book about my trip to Japan and South Korea with the kids.

 

Hop growing in the DDR (part 2)

As promised, more details on hop growing in the DDR.The fledgling industry got off to a slow start in the early 1950s, but by its final years had grown to a decent size.

It would be interesting to see figures for some later years. Because it looks like a plateau was reached in the 1960s. I must have a look in the later editions of Kunze.

There's a note which says that the harvests of 1956, 1960 and 1961 were badly affected by summer thunderstorms. Which I suppose explains the poor yield in those years. I wonder what happened in 1962? Where the yield was even worse than in 1960.

By the 1960s, had the DDR become self-sufficient in hops? Possibly. Hang on. I have the numbers. I have the quantity of beer brewed and I know what the hopping rates were.

The maximum hopping rates for the most popular styles, Vollbier Hell and Deutsches Pilsner, were 240 gm and 350 gm per hectolitre, respectively.The most heavily hopped style, Deutscher Porter, received a maximum of 650 gm per hectolitre. The average hopping rate couldn't have been more than around 300 gm/hl.

By 1959, the DDR was producing just shy of 100 gm of hops per hectolitre of beer brewed. Which by my calculations was around a third of their requirements. Did they eventually manage to achieve self sufficiency? We'll find out in a later post.

DDR beer and hop production 1951 - 1959
year	hl beer	kg hops	gm/hl
1951	5,739,556	0	0
1952	6,991,555	2,500	0.36
1953	8,390,848	29,500	3.52
1954	10,631,354	98,000	9.22
1955	11,772,064	335,000	28.46
1956	11,073,236	294,000	26.55
1957	12,955,326	691,000	53.34
1958	12,884,952	1,014,000	78.70
1959	13,659,064	1,327,000	97.15
Sources:
Brewers' Almanack 1962, page 54.
Technologie Brauer und Mälzer by Wolfgang Kunze, VEB Fachbuchverlag Leipzig, 2nd edition, 1967, page 43.

Here are the raw hop production figures:

Hop growing in the DDR 1951 - 1965
Year	Area in ha	Production in dt	Production per dt/ha
1951	0	0
1952	6	25
1953	45	295
1954	159	980
1955	444	3,350
1956	687	2,940	4.3
1957	875	6,910	7.9
1958	1,006	10,140	10.1
1959	1,150	13,270	11.6
1960	1,415	12,160	8.6
1961	1,705	9,810	5.8
1962	1,967	14,742	7.5
1963	2,090	26,550	12.7
1964	2,128	26,288	12.3
1965	2,135	20,200	9.4
Source:
Technologie Brauer und Mälzer by Wolfgang Kunze, VEB Fachbuchverlag Leipzig, 2nd edition, 1967, page 43.

 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1885 William Younger 100/-

The best thing about 100/- is that there’s no modern beer with same name to cause confusion.

It took me a while to get my head around Scottish styles. Especially the Shilling Ales. Then I realised that they are just Ales. The weaker ones being Mild Ales, the stronger ones Stock Ales. It’s really that simple.

100/- is very similar to 60/- and 80/-, just a bit stronger. Three types of malt, with a little less than half made from Scottish barley, the rest from foreign. All very simple. It’s not going to last. By the end of the century Younger’s grists would look very different.

The hopping rate is about the same as for 60/- and 80/-. Consisting of Kent, Californian, Spalt and American, all from the 1884 crop. 

1885 William Younger 100/-
pale malt	17.25 lb	100.00%
Cluster 120 min	1.75 oz
Spalt 60 min	0.75 oz
Fuggles 30 min	1.50 oz
OG	1074
FG	1024
ABV	6.61
Apparent attenuation	67.57%
IBU	52
SRM	6
Mash at	153º F
Sparge at	163º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	56º F
Yeast	WLP028 Edinburgh Ale