The balance of power

January 11th, 2012

An only semi-relevant picture of some delicious, delicious Kölsch.

It’s not necessarily the case that people hate big, successful breweries; just that they cut new, small breweries a lot of slack.

It’s hard not to get excited when new breweries open, reading  breathless tweets announcing the arrival of kettles and fermenters, or the success of test batches. We’re illogical, emotional creatures and can’t help feeling a sentimental warmth towards the underdogs.

Sometimes, though, things are bit rocky to start with. As craft beer consumers, do we have a ‘duty’ to turn a blind eye to exploding bottles and off-flavours? No, but we don’t mind doing so for a  while because, in most cases, we understand how hard it is. We want them to succeed and enjoy being along for the ride.

When a brewery gets established, achieving regional, national or even international distribution, we start to feel less sentimental. They’re big boys now and ought to be able to take a bit of constructive public criticism. It’s probably at this point, too, that we stop repeatedly trying their beers hoping to find a good one. Frankly, there are too many good beers out there for us to waste our hard-earned cash on those that have already burned us, and drinking every beer twice is hard work when there are more than 4000** of them in the UK. We’ve done our bit, now we want them to do theirs. (As Pivni Filosof put it rather bluntly, “get your shit together or close down“.)

When a brewery gets really big — i.e. monolothic and powerful — the gloves are off. It’s not personal, it’s just that they’re no longer juveniles, and are subject to the law of the land like any other grown-up. We, the consumers, become the underdogs, the little guys in this relationship, and can surely no longer be expected to make any allowances for bad recipes or quality control problems.

Coincidentally, Alan at A Good Beer Blog has just posted on a related subject. Great minds, &c..

** Estimated figure based on 900+ breweries in the UK each brewing 3-5 beers.

Something in the air

January 9th, 2012

CAMRA have finally done something we’ve wanted to see for a while: begun to consider how the biggest beer campaigning group in Britain should react to so-called craft beer and, in particular, ‘craft keg’.

Members can read more about the new working group on the CAMRA website (we wish CAMRA wouldn’t lock all its content away, but hey ho) and we can all read about it direct from one of the group’s members on Tandleman’s blog.

If you’re a CAMRA member, a lapsed member, or someone who thinks about joining but holds back for whatever reason, you can feed in to this conversation by commenting at Tandleman’s blog. (But he will be overwhelmed with people wanting their say, so make your comments are constructive and to the point, if you want them to be heard.)

It would be naieve for anyone to expect CAMRA to change policy drastically overnight, not to mention potentially disastrous for the Campaign — there are, after all, many members, whether we agree with them or not, who believe kegged beer is something to be opposed, and who would cancel their memberships if there is too much change, too quickly. And, assuming the working group does propose changes, those would then have to be approved by members at the annual meeting. (Although wouldn’t an online poll for members be a great and inclusive alternative?)

Nonetheless it would be great if, through this discussion, CAMRA can find some way to reconcile the organisation’s aims — supporting cask ale — with some kind of support, however restrained, for some of the very good non-cask beer being made in the UK today.

Don’t tell us what’s funny

January 7th, 2012

We’ve been thinking quite a bit recently about the subjectivity of taste and continued  the discussion last night over our Friday night beers.

Have you ever had a conversation about comedy where someone has tried to tell that something you like ‘isn’t funny’? We’ve always found this infuriating. If you laugh from your belly at an act, TV show or film, then that means it’s funny, full stop.

It might not be fashionable, and people might argue that it’s not clever, or well-made, or make any one of a number of other critical observations, but what they can’t say is that it’s not funny.

And, with beer, the equivalent non-negotiable reaction is probably excitement. If you find something exciting, that’s something no-one can argue you out of. They might question your standards — “You found that exciting? Really? Then you need to try…” — or note that the beer you’re buzzing about is exciting despite its flaws, but they can’t deny the thrill you felt on putting your nose into the glass and the stuff itself into your gob.

Check out Zak’s reaction to Rooster’s Babyfaced Assassin at 5:34 into the video here. You can’t argue with that, even if you think the beer is pretentious, elitist, overblown, etc..

Second honeymoon

January 6th, 2012

A page from Michael Jackson's 500 beers book.

IPA was one of our first loves. As many people just getting into beer seem to find, the bold, obvious hop flavour and aroma provided an entrance point and, in the most visceral way, excited us. In the Great Beer Guide by Michael Jackson (our Bible back then) it was always the IPAs which looked most alluring — pictured in stemmed glasses, pale at the bottom, glowing amber at the top, the aroma almost lifting off the page. The fact that they played hard to get didn’t hurt, either: finding a strong hoppy IPA in London in 2007 involved research and usually one or more changes of public transport.

In the last year or two, however, we’ve drifted away from this style, partly because (at its worst) IPA can be a one-trick pony, and partly because the novelty wore off. (Colin Valentine was right — once they were everywhere, we got bored and moved on.)

This Christmas, however, we had the opportunity to stop thinking too hard and just enjoy several now easy-to-find IPAs.

St Austell Proper Job (5.5%, bottle)

Back in November, visiting Bridgwater, we were tipped off that Mole Valley Farmers were selling off out-of-date stock of Proper Job and Admiral’s Ale. We bought everything they had at 60p a bottle, knowing that, being bottle-conditioned, it was unlikely to have ‘gone off’. Sure enough, what we actually got in the Proper Job was a beautifully mellowed, rounded, aged IPA, without the slightly astringent hoppiness and thinnish body of the fresh cask version. Always a great beer, but one that doesn’t mind a bit of time to mature, it turns out.

Fuller’s Bengal Lancer (5.3%, bottle)

Is this getting better? The early batches were delicious but, here and there, had a hint of stewed tea about them. The bottles we drank over Christmas not only resembled cask ale more closely than any other bottled beer we’ve tried (skillful use of the microscope?) but also seemed brighter, cleaner and somehow less… English. Worth having in by the case, if you’re that way inclined.

Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference IPA (Marston’s) (5.9%, bottle)

This was the real surprise. We picked it up as an emergency backup — you don’t want to run out of beer on boxing day, do you? — but had a moment of eye-popping joy on tasting it. It reminded us, for some reason we can’t quite pin down, of those heady first days of exploring beer with a Michael Jackson book in our rucksack and absolutely no idea what we were talking about. (Reader: Nothing’s changed, then?) Could it be the upfront cascade hops, once the darlings of the brewing scene, now a bit old hat? At any rate, Marston’s are now somewhat redeemed in our eyes. Worst tasting notes ever, though: malt and hops, apparently.

Thornbridge Jaipur (5.9%, cask)

We approached this with some trepidation. Tandleman and others whose tastebuds we have no reason to doubt have not been impressed with it lately. Fortunately, on this occasion, we found it as as glorious as ever. Compared to the three bottled IPAs, it seemed to have more toffee and certainly had a weightier body. A deep beer, yes, but also a very drinkable one, which slipped down and caused us (literally) to smack our lips.

Maybe, as we approach our fifth year of blogging about beer, it’s time to return to dig out Michael Jackson and get back to where we once belonged?

Why publicans need to connect

January 5th, 2012

A friend of ours recently posted a status update on Facebook saying that a pub we follow on Twitter had ruined a special day — she’d been kept waiting for hours for food, the staff had been rude, and that no-one had apologised. She was never going there again. Her many Facebook friends piled in to sympathise and join her nascent boycott.

For once, though, we were able to do something about it: we dropped the pub a line to pass on the feedback.

Because the publican in question had previously acted like a human being, engaging us in conversation and answering our questions, we knew that our contact would be taken in the spirit it was intended.

Sure enough, an email arrived with a detailed explanation of what had caused the problem, their plans to deal with it, and a sincere apology. We were able to pass that on to our friend and, hopefully, convince her to give the pub (which seems, generally, to be doing all the right things) a second chance.

What went wrong really did go wrong, and the pub needs to look at why the explanation and apology we got wasn’t given to our friend on the day but, nonetheless, this shows why it is worth businesses investing time in social media and that it pays to really connect with people.

Not remotely trendy

January 4th, 2012

Moor beers, from their website

The County Stores in Taunton is one of those shops which seems to have been there forever — the kind of place where you wouldn’t be surprised to see Miss Marple filling a wicker basket with shortbread and packets of powdered egg. Like much in Somerset, it is resolutely conservative and old-fashioned, but there is a point where that instinct overlaps with a fashionable interest in small, local producers.

The result? Shelves stacked with beers from almost all of Somerset’s small breweries. Quantock, Cheddar Ales and — perhaps most excitingly — Moor are all represented in a selection which, perhaps unwittingly, echoes what you might see in a much trendier specialist off-licence.

If you’re passing through Somerset and want to stock your fridge with local beer, head here but, also, if you’re anywhere else in the country, keep an eye on your local family-run department store or farm shop — you never know what might lurk within, beyond the cardigans, balls of wool and miniature porcelain cottages.

Falmouth’s Must Visit Pub

January 3rd, 2012

The Front pub in Falmouth, Cornwall

The Front in Falmouth (CAMRA Cornwall’s pub of the year) is a corker. It always has a long list of ales from a range of breweries; bottled beer from America and Belgium; and (because this is the West Country, let’s not forget) several interesting ciders. We’ve found the bar staff unfailingly friendly and enthusiastic on our several visits, and the building itself is the very model of cosy, well-worn wonkiness.

Now, it’s not perfect. On our most recent trip, we looked at the pump clips and despaired, recognising several Cornish breweries whose beers are, at best, bland and, more often, sadly undrinkable. We were momentarily stumped — there wasn’t much we actually wanted to drink.

Fortunately, Tintagel saved the day. Their Harbour Special (4.8%) was a dark amber delight with lots of citrusy hops up against chocolatey, roasty malt. Gwaf Tan (Winter Fire) (5.5%) was roastier still, with hints of rum and Christmas fruit — an attempt at a Burton, we think, but almost dark enough to pass for a stout in the low light.

The Front’s local loyalty is to be applauded but perhaps there’s something to be said for adjusting the balance to feature more beer from elsewhere in the UK to keep the local brewers on their toes?

At any rate, if you are visiting Cornwall, and like beer, this pub should certainly be on your itinerary. We’ll certainly be visiting again soon.

Notes:

1. On previous visits, we’ve been spoilt for choice, and excellent local breweries such as Coastal are more often found here than anywhere else.

2. Pints and Pubs liked Harbour Special too.

What wedge?

January 1st, 2012

Wedge Antilles from Star Wars. Get it? Eh? Get it? Say no more.

  • The smoking ban is the thin end of the wedge: they’ll ban beer, hamburgers and sex next, now the foot is in the door.
  • Craft beer bars are the thin end of the wedge: soon, we’ll all either be drinking tinnies at home or paying £12 a pint for kegged IPA in chrome-plated palaces.
  • Liking the occasional Brewdog beer is the thin end of the wedge: if you admit to that, you’re buying wholesale into their awful marketing gimmicks and supporting their diabolical plans for world domination.
  • Acknowledging that some keg beer can be pretty good is the thin end of the wedge: it can only lead to the total disappearance of cask ale from the UK.
  • Suggesting that one beer is better than the other is the thin end of the wedge: the next step is riding around in limos swigging from diamond-encrusted bottles of US IPA, whipping peasants and laughing at them as they drink their foul swill.
  • Going outside is the thin end of the wedge: it can only lead to getting mugged or murdered. Best stay indoors.

We’re not at all convinced there is a wedge and we don’t want to waste our time fretting at every change or development.

Why don’t we just see how things play out and, while we’re employing cliches, cross some of those bridges when we come to them?

A standard upon which to improve

December 22nd, 2011

This starts off as a post about books and bread but bear with us, there’s beer at the end.

If you really want to know about snobbery, Jeffrey Steingarten is your man.

Nothing in the food world is chicer than salt, and despite an excess of God-given modesty, I must admit that I got there very, very early… [I] acquired a little walnut box and filled it with fleur de sel. I bring it out only in Europe… My salt sophistication has only soared since then.

Somehow, though, he gets away with it, perhaps because of the self-mocking with which he laces his articles.

In his second collection of articles, It Must’ve Been Something I Ate (2002), Steingarten talks about Parisian baguettes. He observes that, in the past, beautifully made, fine-tasting baguettes were what everybody ate. At some point, a new type of baguette made using strong bread flour — fluffier, whiter, easier to produce in large quantities — came along and took over. In recent years, however, the real thing has started to make a comeback.

Although he then goes on to recommend various small bakeries across Paris, he also says something surprising for a food snob: that the versions of the traditional baguette being made by chains of bakers such as Paul (currently appearing across the UK) are pretty good too and certainly a good thing.

There are French food lovers who fear that… branded baguettes may bring standardization to the world of handmade bread. Having wandered in the baguette wilderness for 20 years, I will feel that I’ve reached the promised land if… [they] set a minimum standard that innovators can strive to exceed.

Is this what beers like Blue Moon are about? Or is this the niche Brewdog are beginning to fill? They are, let’s face it, a pub chain and supermarket supplier these days, but if their Punk IPA is what counts as pile-’em-high Tesco discount fodder, then that’s got to be a sign that things are looking up in terms of the basic standards people expect from their beer.

There have been quality control issues with Punk this year — we had a bad bottle in the summer — but, at its best, it is bursting with flavour and yet also very accessible. Needless to say, it continues to be a shame that they can’t let the beer speak for itself without the tiresome marketing nonsense.

Sucking up a social class

December 19th, 2011

In his column in the 5 December issue of New Statesman, Will Self, on the subject of wine, quotes his French translator who says “when I have a glass of wine, I’m imbibing the region where it comes from.” Self ponders this and suggests that “when an English person drinks wine, she’s sucking up a social class”.

Is that also what’s going on when people drink craft beer? Is it becoming an accessory for those who aspire to, or wish to emphasise, middle class credentials?

We like to think that beer is in the process of being stripped of any specific class associations — that it’s becoming socially mobile, as comfortable at an Islington dinner party as in a working men’s club. But maybe we’re kidding ourselves.

Either way, there’s plenty of work to be done before beer is quite welcome to a seat at the shabby chic dining table in front of the Aga. The Cheese Shop in Truro — one of the most middle class shops you can imagine — has wine, port, sherry, sparkling cider, soft drinks… but not one drop of beer. Not even a politely packaged Fuller’s Vintage Ale getting dusty in a corner. Shame.

This agonising over snobbery and social class isn’t going to end anytime soon, we’re afraid. It is much on our minds.