Young's sugars in 1975

There are rather a lot of different sugars. Though not all in one beer. Everything except Export Pale Ale includes malt extract. Presumably for extra diastatic power.

In addition to malt extract, the Pale Ales also contain No. 3 invert sugar and tiny amounts of caramel. The latter, presumably, for colour correction.

In the dark beers, it’s Flo Sweet, DAS and CDM. Not sure what the first two are, but the last is Caramelised Dextro-Maltose, a less readily fermentable sugar which added body and colour.

Total sugar content is around 6.5% for the Pale Ales and 14% for the dark beers. 

Young's sugars in 1975
Beer	Style	malt extract	no. 3 sugar	Flo Sweet	DAS	CDM	caramel	total sugar
BMA	Mild	3.16%		4.74%	4.74%	2.03%		14.67%
PAB	Pale Ale	2.15%	4.30%				0.11%	6.55%
YPV	Pale Ale	2.17%	4.34%				0.10%	6.62%
PA	Pale Ale	2.15%	4.30%				0.03%	6.48%
SPA	Pale Ale	2.22%	4.44%				0.06%	6.73%
SPA	Pale Ale	2.15%	4.30%				0.06%	6.51%
Ram Rod	Pale Ale	2.17%	4.35%				0.06%	6.58%
EXPA	Pale Ale		4.44%				0.11%	4.55%
Winter Warmer	Strong Ale	2.85%		5.71%	1.90%	1.07%		11.53%
Old Nick	Barley Wine	3.06%		5.10%	5.10%	1.02%		14.29%
Saxon	Lager	4.80%						4.80%
Source:
Young's brewing record held at Battersea Library, document number YO/RE/1/44.

Let's Brew - 1970 Youngs Special London Ale (EXPA)

The strongest Pale Ale in Young’s lineup was called EXPA in the brew house and was presumably first brewed for export. Though at some point it was sold in the UK under the name Special London Ale.

With an OG over 1060º, it looks very much like a pre-WW I Stock Pale Ale. At least in terms off strength. Which is typical of Pale Ales later in the 20th century which were brewed for export. They tended to not be affected by the fall in gravity of domestic beers.

The grist is quite different from the other Pale Ales. With neither flaked maize nor malt extract. I’m guessing that without the flaked maize there was no need for the extra enzymes from the malt extract.

There’s also a higher hopping rate than in the other Pale Ales. Which is reflected in the much higher level of bitterness. A single type of English hops were used. 

1970 Youngs Special London Ale (EXPA)
pale malt	11.25 lb	86.34%
No. 1 invert sugar	1.75 lb	13.43%
caramel 1000 SRM	0.03 lb	0.23%
Goldings 120 min	2.00 oz
Goldings 15 min	2.00 oz
OG	1062
FG	1018
ABV	5.82
Apparent attenuation	70.97%
IBU	41
SRM	9
Mash at	148º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	59º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

Young's grists in 1975

Grist next. The malt content is pretty high, varying between 76% in the Mild, to 95% in Export Pale Ale. The latter had an impact on some brew of the other Pale Ales, as PA, PAB and SPA were all sometimes parti-gyled with Export Pale Ale. Which left those particular brews with a higher malt content than the standard versions.

The base malt is, in most cases, pale malt. Except sometimes the Pale Ales had mostly PA malt, a posher version of pale malt. And Saxon, which, unsurprisingly, went for lager malt.

Crystal malt only turns up in the three dark beers: Mild, Winter Warmer and Old Nick. Demonstrating once again that crystal malt was by no means universal in Pale Ales, even long after WW II.

One malt appears in every beer: enzymic. Which was used to adjust the pH of the mash.

Flaked maize, UK brewers’ adjunct of choice, shows up in every beer except for the Export Pale Ale parti-gyle. 

Young's grists in 1975
Beer	Style	pale malt	PA malt	lager malt	crystal malt	enzymic malt	total malt	flaked maize
BMA	Mild	61.63%			9.48%	4.74%	75.85%	9.48%
PAB	Pale Ale	81.63%				3.22%	84.85%	8.59%
YPV	Pale Ale	90.13%				3.26%	93.38%
PA	Pale Ale	27.95%	53.75%			3.22%	84.92%	8.60%
SPA	Pale Ale	81.06%				3.33%	84.39%	8.88%
SPA	Pale Ale	81.67%				3.22%	84.89%	8.60%
Ram Rod	Pale Ale	80.38%		1.09%		3.26%	84.73%	8.69%
EXPA	Pale Ale	92.12%				3.33%	95.45%	0.00%
Winter Warmer	Strong Ale	68.49%			8.56%	2.85%	79.90%	8.56%
Old Nick	Barley Wine	64.29%			9.18%	3.06%	76.53%	9.18%
Saxon	Lager			77.19%		5.15%	82.33%	12.86%
Source:
Young's brewing record held at Battersea Library, document number YO/RE/1/44.

Keg!

My recent travels have interrupted my main work for a couple of months. What with queueing up posts for my days away, then endlessly chronicling those same days.

London with Andrew was for research, at least, for one of my current projects. What was supposed to be a fairly quick book like "Stout!", ended up a huge dig into the facts and experiences of the 1970s. For the first time, I have a chance to talk to the brewers whose names I see in the ledgers.

I've interviewed a few people so far. Hopefully, I'll be able to talk with more. Then there's The Brewers' Guardian. I've found so much great stuff in it. And I'm only halfway through 1970. Nine and a half years more material. Just as well I'm retired.

"Keg!" started as a little side project. Before becoming something more. As the first period I've written about where I have a direct personal connection, the 1970s resonate more emotionally. I drank these beers. I drank in these pubs. Of course, I'd dive willingly into a black hole of research once I started.

The time and effort to photograph a good selection of the Young's records was well worth it. And good to have a couple of days with Andrew. Who also turned out to be dead useful as an assistant.

I could easily publish "Keg!" in its current form. It's a complete book. I just don't know when to stop. And some material I'm not sure whether I should use or not.

Like a listing for every brewery and all the beers that they brewed (pretty much) with the OG where I know it. I already have a spreadsheet with that information. But wonder: is anyone that intested in 1970s beer?

I'd love to get my hands on some more 1970s brewing records. There must be plenty more knocking around. Surely.
 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1970 Youngs Special Bitter (SPA)

Big brother to Ordinary Bitter, and parti-gyled with it, was Special Bitter.

Special was introduced in 1949, when the restrictions on brewing in WW II were starting to be relaxed.  It was at around the same gravity as PA had been before WW II.  Other London brewers – for example, Watney and Fullers (SPA was the original name of London Pride) – also introduced Special Bitters at around the same time.

For such a strong Bitter, Youngs were brewing considerable quantities of it. With Special often being the senior partner in parti-gyles with Ordinary. This particular brew, for example, consisted of 201 barrels of Special and 145 barrels of Ordinary.

Obviously, the ingredients were identical to those in the Ordinary Bitter recipe above. 

1970 Youngs Special Bitter (SPA)
pale malt	7.50 lb	76.84%
flaked maize	1.25 lb	12.81%
malt extract	0.50 lb	5.12%
No. 1 invert sugar	0.50 lb	5.12%
caramel 1000 SRM	0.01 lb	0.10%
Fuggles 120 min	1.50 oz
Goldings 0 min	0.50 oz
OG	1045
FG	1009
ABV	4.76
Apparent attenuation	80.00%
IBU	23
SRM	5.5
Mash at	148º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	62º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

Young's beers in 1975

Let’s take a look Young’s beers in the middle of the grooviest of all decades.

There are quite a lot of them. Though a couple are just variants off other beers. SPA (Special Bitter) appears twice because there was an increase in its gravity in 1975. A change which then made it identical to Ram Rod.

I’m not sure what YPV was. It was a slightly weaker version of PA (Ordinary Bitter) that was occasionally made in small quantities. EXPA is Export Pale Ale or Special London Ale. Usually parti-gyled with a couple of other Pale Ales. PAB is bottling Pale Ale, which was probably marketed as Light Ale.

The rates of attenuation are all pretty high. I haven’t taken the highest or lowest but a median value for the FGs. I never realised just how strong Special was. Mostly over 5% ABV.

Rather unexpectedly, Saxon is level most hopped beer, along with Export Pale Ale, with over 7 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt. The other Pale Ales were all hopped at around 5.5 lbs per quarter of malt. And the Mild and Winter Warmer, which were parti-gyled together,

It’s always nice to have colours listed. In this case, EBC. Which shows that the Pale Ales were on the pale side. With the Light Ale barely darker than the Lager.

Young's beers in 1975
Beer	Style	OG	FG	ABV	App. Atten-uation	lbs hops/ qtr	hops lb/brl	colour
BMA	Mild	1030.5	1005.5	3.30	81.82%	3.40	0.44	76
PAB	Pale Ale	1030.5	1005.0	3.37	83.64%	5.49	0.67	14
YPV	Pale Ale	1035.5	1007.2	3.74	79.69%	5.49	0.74	18
PA	Pale Ale	1036.6	1005.5	4.10	84.85%	5.87	0.88	14
SPA	Pale Ale	1044.9	1006.6	5.06	85.19%	5.50	1.00
SPA	Pale Ale	1047.6	1007.2	5.35	84.88%	5.99	1.20	22
Ram Rod	Pale Ale	1047.6	1009.4	5.06	80.23%	5.53	1.08	23
EXPA	Pale Ale	1062.6	1017.2	6.01	72.57%	7.38	1.83	27
Winter Warmer	Strong Ale	1055.4	1011.6	5.79	79.00%	3.48	0.72	68
Old Nick	Barley Wine	1084.2	1023.8	7.99	71.71%	5.26	1.87	51
Saxon	Lager	1032.7	1005.0	3.66	84.75%	7.29	1.00	12
Source:
Young's brewing record held at Battersea Library, document number YO/RE/1/44.

 

 

Leaving London

It’s always fun waking up Andrew in the morning.

“Get up, you lazy bastard.”

“In a minute, Dad.”

“You said that half an hour ago.”

It’s quarter to ten when we hit the breakfast room. Which is even quieter today.

I feel like something different today. Cereal and fruit, perhaps. Only joking. I have exactly the same as yesterday.

I go first again. But Andrew does eat something. A fried egg, a rasher of bacon and some beans. And a mug of tea. You can’t start the day without that.

Fed, we return to our room and have just about enough time to pack before checkout time.

On the way to the tube, we drop by the supermarket. To get some contraband: crumpets, cheese and lemon and ginger tea for Dolores.

It’ a simple journey to Heathrow. The Piccadilly Line all the way. We’re lucky that the train we catch isn’t very full. We bumble along for an hour or so. Until we pitch up at Terminal 4.

We check in Andrew’s bag, then trail airside. And go straight to the lounge. Where I was just a few weeks ago.

It’s not quite as busy as last time. We can easily find seats.

“Beer, Andrew?”

“Yes, please.”

I get myself a whisky. Only the one, as it’s a decent measure. And some cheese. You can never go wrong with cheese. It’s a good friend.

We have a couple of more rounds while we net the intersurf. Andrew on his phone, me on my laptop.

Our flight is on time. The gate just far enough away for the walk to be irritating. Boarding starts soon after we get there. Which is perfect.

It’s much emptier than the flight out. I have two empty seats next to me. This time we get a coffee in addition to the bag of cheesy biscuits.

Back on the ground, it’s a bit of a walk to passport control. It’s almost deserted. Which makes a change. Andrew’s bag is already circling around on the carousel when we get to it.

The cab ride home takes a little longer than usual, due to rush hour traffic. Once we get home, Dolores is waiting. With a pot of tea, as always.
 

Youngs!

Our appointment at Battersea Library is at 10:30. But, now here’s a surprise, I have trouble getting Andrew up at 9:00. He’s not much of a morning person. Or early afternoon one. His rhythm is more vampire.

It’s after 9:30 when we get to the breakfast room.

Not expecting Andrew to be that interested in food, I attack the buffet first. In a controlled and focused way. Two fried eggs, three rashers of bacon, some tomato and two slices of brown toast. I believe that each fried egg deserves its own slice of toast. Anything less would be disrespect.

“I’m not really a breakfast person.” Andrew told Dolores before we left. Yet he does eat a little. And have a mug of tea. As do I.

There are a gazillion ways to get to Battersea Library. Mostly involving Clapham Junction. We settle on a short walk to Euston, Victoria Line to Victoria, then a train. It only takes around 35 minutes.

Until the walk up Primrose Hill. I’m not a big fan of hills. That’s one of the reasons I live in Holland. And grew up in Newark. Leeds was just an aberration.

They’re very friendly in the library. And the nice Scottish lady already has the first six volumes out for us.

Before we kick off, I give Andrew a few pointers. Though I’m sure he’ll say I just left him to it.

There’s a sort of physical poetry to the ritual of consulting records.

Receive the document, reverentially place it on its support cushions, photograph the document number, photograph the cover, open the book. Then falling into a rhythm of turning a page, taking a snap, turning a page, taking a snap, in endless repetition. Until the volume ends.

Return the document to the counter and receive the next, reverentially place it on its support cushions, photograph the document number, photograph the cover, etc. etc. In a loop until the end of the documents. It’s easy to fall into a sort of trance. A good thing. As the process is boring as hell. And doesn’t do my back any favours.

We rattle through the records in three hours. I was very particular in the 22 brewing books I requested. A couple from the 1930s. Every year 1939 to 1047. Two years each for the 1950s and 1960s. Three for the 1970s. Because, well, I’m writing a book on the 1970s.

“Do you know John Hatch?” The Scottish lady asks.

“We’re seeing him when we’re done here.”

“He’s a lovely man.”

He is indeed.

One of my main motivations for this visit was to get some more 1970s recipes. And to just get on with things. On my last visit to London, I spoke with John Hatch about visiting the archive. Why not just do it now before I forget?

We’ve a couple of hours before we’re due in Sambrook’s taproom.

“What about ‘Spoons for some food?” I suggest.

“Sounds good.”

We had to walk past a Wetherspoons on the way from Clapham Junction. It’s called The London and Southwestern. I assume after a railway that operated the nearby station.

It’s pretty spacious inside. One large, square-ish room. With a bar along most of one side.

A pint of Red McGregor for me, a pint of Strongbow for Andrew. We grab a table and peruse the food menu at our leisure. And I peruse our fellow customers.

Many of whom are my people. By that, I mean pensioners. There’s a table of half a dozen old boys. They look like old friends meeting up for a few pints. Several old couples occupy other tables. I suppose it is prime pensioner time: early afternoon.

When I order food at the bar, I notice many are paying in cash. Handing over a fistful of coins for pints of John Smiths Smooth or Guinness.

Not feeling overly hungry, I get a small ham, egg and chips. While Andrew has a cheeseburger.

“Do you want to eat my chips, Dad?”

“I suppose I can force them down.”

Which I do. I’m such a good dad.

After a second round, we go in search of a bus. Andrew has consulted the TFL site and has a couple of bus numbers we can take. To Wandsworth Town Hall. One rolls up pretty quickly. This is fun.

We get to Sambrooks Brewery a little after 16:00, the appointed time. No sign off John Hatch or Derek Prentice. Whom I’m meeting. I mention to the barman that I’m here to meet John when I get some beer. He’s not sure where he is.

I haven’t even taken a sip of my pint when Derek arrives. With a friend. Soon after, John comes downstairs. Holding a shaggy looking folder. I know what it is. It’s the brewers’ notes. One of the reasons I’m here.

As we chat about various brewing-related topics, I photograph all the pages of notes that look interesting. Or possibly interesting. Or even vaguely possibly interesting. Always best to be on the safe side.

After a while, it’s just me, Andrew and Derek.

“Would you like to go to another pub?” Derek asks.

“Ooh, yes please.” I reply. Andrew looks keen, too.

We settle on the Eagle Ale House, which is a short bus ride away.

It’s in an odd spot. Halfway along a residential street. Not where you usually find pubs in London. Is it a former beer house? Probably not, as the street looks like it was built after 1869.

It’s pretty busy, though we manage to find a table. I’m excited when I spot they have a Mild. Moor Buckwheat Mild, to be specific. Andrew, as usual, has a cider. The Mild is pretty good. Dark and malty.

We only stay for a couple, as Derek needs to get home. Though it’s getting on for 10 PM by the time we leave.

Being lazy, we get an Uber back. It’s very reasonable at a little under twenty quid.

Back at Tavistock Square, we nip to the late-night shop. Where we get sandwiches and cider. We already have crisps.

We watch some crap on my laptop while I polish off the whisky and Andrew finishes his cider. It’s 1 AM when we turn in.




The Eagle Ale House
104 Chatham Rd,
London SW11 6HG.

Let's Brew - 1970 Youngs Ordinary Bitter (PA)

One step up from Light Ale was one of Young’s biggest sellers: Pale Ale or Ordinary Bitter as it was called down the pub.

A surprise about Young’s 1970s records, is that there’s quite a bit single-gyle brewing. Much more than at Fullers, where just about everything was parti-gyled. Which is a longwinded way of saying that this wasn’t parti-gyled with the Light Ale I've already posted. Though it was parti-gyled with Special.

There’s just pale malt, though three different lots, from two different maltsters. (Four, actually, as there’s some enzymic malt.) Accompanied by quite a bit of flaked maize and a little bit of No. 1 invert sugar. As well as malt extract, which I assume was in liquid form.

Two types of English hops were used. With no indication of variety. Or age. It’s one of the few areas where the logs are weak. Though it does mention that 25% weren’t added to the copper, but to the hop back. Hence the zero minute addition.

1970 Youngs Ordinary Bitter (PA)
pale malt	6.50 lb	79.56%
flaked maize	1.00 lb	12.24%
malt extract	0.33 lb	4.04%
No. 1 invert sugar	0.33 lb	4.04%
caramel 1000 SRM	0.01 lb	0.12%
Fuggles 120 min	1.25 oz
Goldings 0 min	0.50 oz
OG	1037
FG	1007
ABV	3.97
Apparent attenuation	81.08%
IBU	20.5
SRM	5
Mash at	148º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	63º F
Yeast	WLP002 English Ale

 

 

London City

It’s quite a late start, the flight being just after 17:00. Allowing me to be lazy and do some of my preparations in the morning. Like my final packing.

I also need to get Andrew organised, as he’s coming along with me. Acting as my research assistant. At least, that’s what I’m calling it. Slave labour is another term. Though he is getting all the cider he can drink. A good deal, if you’ve seen the way he knacks it back.

We jump in a cab about 14:00. Security takes longer than usual as they pull out my bag. And there’s a whole queue of them before mine waiting to be checked. This is going to take a while.

Luckily, an Italian family with a small swarm of kids has three bags in the queue. Which all get pulled out pretty much at once. We’re delayed by maybe 15 minutes.

There’s a bit of a queue for passport control. But it’s moving at a fair lick. We pop out airside pretty quickly. And head immediately for the lounge. A bit later than I’d hoped.

“What do you want to drink, Andrew?” I ask, already knowing his reply.

“A beer.” I knew that’s what it would be.

I get myself two whiskies, obviously. I’m a vulture of habit.

After we’re settled, I give the food a once over. They have the beef stew thing I tried last week. It’ll do quite nicely for lunch. Covered in cheese which I assume is really intended for the pasta dish.

I accompany my food with another pair of whiskies. And another beer for Andrew. I’m not a monster.

Another couple of whiskies perks up my appetite again. Second course is a sandwich and some pickles. Even Andrew eats a sandwich. I snap a photo of it for posterity (for Dolores, too). And he has another beer. He’s not a monster.

Not sure when or where I’ll be eating again. I get a bit more bread and cheese. And whisky.

It’s a bit later than I thought. Meaning I need to rush my food. At least the board says our gate, E21, is only 3 minutes’ walk away. Which is nothing at Schiphol. Walking times of up to 19 minutes are being shown.

Three minutes – what a joke. I assume that’s the time to gate 2. Add another 10 minutes for gate 21. Which throws our timings all off. It’s far more of a rush to the gate than I’m comfortable with.

They’re already boarding zones 1 and 2 when we arrive at the gate. We add ourselves to the end of the queue.

It’s another bus, tarmac and stairs job. As we’re flying to London City. I genuinely didn’t notice it was London City until after I booked. It doesn’t really make much difference to me. Heathrow or City.

We get a bag of cheesy biscuits and a bottle of water. In the short time that we’re in the air. Luckily, I’m not feeling very hungry. No idea why.

I’ve explained to Andrew how badly the DLR connects with the tube. And how painfully slow it is. Like a little shuttle train at an airport. Which is why I suggested that we change at West Ham to the Hammersmith line.

“It’s a bit slow.“ Andrew comments.

“I told you. Like a toy system. Not serious public transport.”

After a small false start when we get on a District Line train by mistake, we’re bouncing and grinding on our way. My god, tube trains can be noisy.

The Hammersmith line platforms aren’t quite as stupid deep as the Piccadilly Line ones. But still quite a pain in the arse to escape.

We drop by the Euston Flyer on the way to our hotel. For a beer or two. And maybe something to eat.

“Are you hungry, Andrew?”

“Maybe I’ll eat something in a while.”

“Let’s start with some beer.”

“Cider for me.”

“OK. Beer for me, cider for you.”

After a drink or two, Andrew finds some appetite.

“It’s annoying that they don’t say how big the burgers are.” Andrew complains.

He doesn’t want too large a meal. Eventually, we settle of fish and chips and a portion of onion rings. Intending to share. I would have ordered a pie, but there isn’t one on the menu.

I end up eating all of the fish and most of the chips. The fish is dead good. Proper battered fried fish.

We have another couple of drinks. Then head for our hotel, pausing only at the supermarket to stock up on essentials. Like crisps, cider and whisky.

By the time we’re checked in, it’s getting pretty late. We laze around in the room for a while. This being an economy trip, we only have the one room. We don’t leave it too late. No later than nine we need to be up. For our appointment at Battersea Library.



The Euston Flyer
83-87 Euston Rd.,
London NW1 2RA.
https://www.eustonflyer.co.uk

Homeward bound

No rush to get up this morning. I lie in until 8:30, before trailing down to the bar for breakfast.

As every other day, I get myself a traditional Irish breakfast. It’s about the perfect size for mer. Substantial enough, but sufficient to lie like a stone in my stomach all day.

At one off the other tables a Chinese woman is videoing herself eating a cooked breakfast. There’s a first. She doesn’t seem too keen on the black pudding. Me, I love the stuff. Bloody and puddingy at the same time. Yum.

Straight after breakfast, I pack up my stuff and check out. Before grabbing a cab to the airport. Terminal 1 is what I need. And where I go.

I’m not checking in a bag. Which makes the process pretty speedy. Especially with my pushy-in boarding. The only question now is: where’s the lounge?

It’s not much of a walk. Thankfully. I park my arse on a seat and then approach the bar. WTF. There’s a sign saying only two alcoholic drinks per customer. I wonder why that is? Local rules, perhaps.

That’s a bastard. No chance of getting very pissed before boarding. Just as well I won’t be here for that long. I have to nurse my drinks. Luckily, it’s a fairly decent measure.

I get myself some cheese and bits of salad to go with my whiskey. Before firing up my flip-flop and getting on with the serious business off getting angry with the internet. It’s my favourite pastime.

The flight is on time. And, with reasonable timing, arrive at the gate five minutes or so before boarding begins.

The flight is full again. But it’s just up and down, really, with a sandwich and a bottle of water for service.

Unlike on the way out, where the bus started from right at the end of D pier, we’re dumped right at its start. Saving a shitload of walking.

The stairs down to passport control are cordoned off. Though I see a couple of people let through. When I go to take the lift, a security guard asks: “What sort of passport do you have?” When I reply: “Dutch” I’m allowed to continue.

Downstairs I see why. There’s a long queue for other passports. But the machines for EU passports are empty. I just roll on straight through. I’m so glad I got myself a Dutch passport

Tea, as usual, is waiting for me when stumble through our front door.
 

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1885 Thomas Usher 60/- B

Strongest of Usher’s trio of B suffix Shilling Ales was, logically enough, 60/-. Which is the only one clawing its way above 3% ABV.

This and the above 50/- were members of a five-way parti-gyle. Along with and 80/-, 100/- and 54/- M. Quite an interesting mix.

Not much more I can say about this beer. Other than that it looks like another beer for sharing with the kiddies while eating your tea.

All three of these beers are very weak for the late 19th century. You only really see beers of this strength in Scotland and more rural parts of England. 

1885 Thomas Usher 60/- B
pale malt	2.75 lb	33.33%
Munich malt	4.50 lb	54.55%
No. 2 invert sugar	1.00 lb	12.12%
Cluster 120 min	1.25 oz
Strisselspalt 30 min	0.75 oz
Goldings dry hops	0.25 oz
OG	1040
FG	1015
ABV	3.31
Apparent attenuation	62.50%
IBU	35
SRM	8.5
Mash at	150º F
Sparge at	175º F
Boil time	120 minutes
pitching temp	59º F
Yeast	WLP028 Edinburgh Ale

Another train!

A rather longer journey and earlier start today. As I’m travelling to Cork and have a morning appointment. My train is at 8:00.

No time for a ‘Spoons breakfast today. Instead, I pick up a coffee and a sandwich in the station to eat on the train.

The train is busier than the one I took yesterday. Though no-one is standing. And there are a few empty seats. The journey is much longer today, around 2 hours and 40 minutes. Which isn’t too bad for 250 km.

The approach to Cork Kent station is a bit unusual. After emerging from a long tunnel, there’s a sharp right turn and there you are.

I jump in a taxi and rumble through the centre of Cork, heading for University College. Once there, the Boole library is easy to find. It’s a pretty typical brutalist concrete lump. Just like the ones in Leeds University.

It’s slightly weird walking around a university campus with all these young people milling around. It fair takes me back to the days of my youth.

I’m headed down to the basement, where the archiyey things happen. Everything is ready for me. They pass me the books one at a time.

The first couple, which are pretty old and scribbly, are quite short. It only takes a few minutes to photograph all the pages. Not exactly sure what’s in them, as they’re hard to read. I did see the words “India” and “Pale Ale”. I’ll be giving them a closer look, when I have some time.

It was great fun working out which volumes I wanted to consult. As the brewing and fermentation records are in different books. And not always described properly in the catalogue. Meaning I had to order matching books. It makes things far more complicated.

Receiving the brewing book first, I also have to remember which dates I photograph, so I can also snap the matching fermentation records. Luckily, Murphy only brewed a couple of different beers. And regularly. By photographing all of January and half of October, I’m sure of getting multiple examples of all their beers.

It’s a lot of work. And I’m not sure I’ve got it all right. Luckily, I plan another visit. Simply because I’ve only been able to get through maybe half of the documents I want to consult.

A student group enters the research room. It seems that they're doing some archive study. Luckily, I find it easy to zone out and they don’t disturb me at all. After a while of snapping, I just go onto autopilot. Working away without really thinking about it.

At the end of four hours, I’m knacked and through everything. At least, through all the documents I’ve ordered. And there’s still time for a pint.

On my way in, I noticed a pub just opposite the station. That’ll do. And I’ll be just a couple of minutes away from my train.

It doesn’t look that promising from the outside. Inside, it’s rather bland and modern. With only a couple of customers.

They have the full set of industrial Stouts: Guinness, Murphy’s and Beamish. As I haven’t seen it for ages, I get the last.

It looks the part. But there’s something a bit weird about the flavour. Is it old? Are the lines dirty? Not sure. But something’s not right. I mange to force it down, without any pleasure. Not going to waste it, however bad it might taste.

I get myself a sandwich and Taytos for the train journey. It’s quite busy, without being totally packed. We trundle along at a decent pace. Through a sea of green fields and grey skies. Rain occasionally lashes the windows.

It’s 20:00 when we get back to Heuston station. After a short cab ride, I’m back at my hotel. Pausing only to nip into Tesco for some more scran. And the bar to get a pint for my room.

The Brehon Oatmeal Stout has finished. I get a pint of Old Peculier instead. It’s not bad.

Whisky has me tumbling down the slumber hill.



Station View Tavern
87 Lower Glanmire Rd,
Montenotte,
Cork,
T23 A265.

Train!

This is so exciting. I’m taking an Irish train for the first time. A proper express service. I have been on the DART before, but that doesn’t really count. Just being a commuter-type train.

There’s no rush. My appointment in Portlaoise is only at 14:00. I rise a little before nine and drop downstairs for breakfast. Being very unimaginative when it comes to breakfast choices, I go for the traditional Irish again. Should keep me going until after lunchtime.

My train isn’t until 13:00. Leaving me a little time to stock up on stuff to eat later.

After a short cab ride, I’m at Heuston station. A rather impressive stone edifice in a classical style. Inside, it reminds me a bit of Manchester Piccadilly. With a large concourse filled with shops in front of the platforms.

I’m quite early, leaving me time to poke around the shops a little. And pick up food and drink for the train: an egg and bacon sandwich, Taytos cheese and onion and a bottle of cola.

Soon after leaving, we’re out in the countryside. Which is surprisingly green. Well, not really. Surprising, I mean. It has been raining off and on the whole time I’ve been here. And Ireland sort of has a reputation for being, er, green.

The train rattles along at a decent pace and in 40 minutes we’re in Portlaoise. Which has another attractive stone station building. The library, where I’m headed, is just a short walk away down Main Street.

I knew that the library must be new, as it’s still under construction on streetview. It’s rather nice: airy and bright. I’m led up to the local studies room, where they already have the Perry brewing records laid out for me.

Now the fun starts. There are only ten books, which means that I can take my time. Well, not rush too crazily. I have around three hours, my train being booked for a bit after 17:00.

I sit down to do the snapping today. I stood yesterday and by the end my back was aching like crazy. Over the course of two hours, I take just shy of 500 photos. About one every 15 seconds.

I like the Perry’s records. They’re compact, easy to read and include pretty much all the information I need. Ingredients, mashing and boil details, and a fermentation record. They’re some of the easiest to process.

Cherry’s, which I photographed yesterday, records are a bit frustrating, not giving boil times and having only a partial fermentation record, finishing at what looks like cleansing.

Cairnes’ are in what I call “Scottish format”. Where there are several records spread horizontally across two pages. The upside, is that I capture multiple brews with a pair of photographs. The downside, is that they’re rather cramped and some of the writing rather small. And, in the case of Cairnes, the beer type is annoyingly on the second page.

While I’m snapping away, a couple of groups of schoolkids wander in, apparently doing some sort of local history project. It doesn’t bother me. I’m totally focussed when doing this stuff.

By 16:00, I’ve snapped all that needs snapping. Great. I’ve time for a pint before getting on the train. I noticed a suitable looking pub on the way in: Kavanaghs.

There are half a dozen or so other customers, mostly clumped around the bar. I order a pint of Guinness. The other punters are mostly drinking Lager. Other than a two who are getting stuck into Smithwicks.

A couple of TVs are showing racing. One horses, the other dogs. It reminds me very much of lunchtime in some pubs in Leeds back in the 1970s and 1980s. The Guinness isn’t bad. Drinkable, if a little low-powered on flavour.

I’ve only time for the one. Before trailing back to the station. It’s raining again. But the half-hearted type of rain that hydrates rather than soaks. I’m used to this sort of stuff. We get plenty of it in Amsterdam.

My train is on time. Which is just as well, as I’ve an early evening appointment. The legroom is much better than on most modern UK express trains. And the windows match the seating layout.

Back in Heuston, I’ve no time to lose. As I’ve an early evening appointment. I nip back to my hotel, pick up my USB drive and books to flog, then head off again. To Underdog, where I’ll be giving a talk tonight.

I get there a little after 19:00. Which isn’t too bad going. I immediately bump into John Duffy. Who recommends a super-strong, barrel-aged Stout. Well, that should get me in the mood.

The talk compares the beers of an Irish brewery (Cairnes) with those of an English brewery (Rose of Malton) and a Scottish brewery (Usher). There are lots of questions as I trundle along. Which I rather like. As it offers me plenty of opportunity to digress.

When the talk is done, it’s time for some talking. I chat with various people, before ending up with Lisa Grimm and John Duffy. It’s good to see both of them again. Though I end up staying rather longer than I’d intended. It’s past midnight by the time I jump into a cab.

I’ve an early start tomorrow. I go to bed almost as soon as I get back to my room. Pausing only to briefly reacquaint myself with Mr. Whisky.




Kavanaghs
28 Main St,
Portlaoise,
Co. Laois,
R32 EP2K.
http://www.kavanaghsportlaoise.com/


Underdog
199 King St N,
Rotunda,
Dublin 1,
D07 PR5X.