The Session #54: Sour Beer

The first sour beer I drank was one of the worst drinking experiences I’ve ever had.

We’d gone to Croydon for the day. It had become some kind of mythical beer wonderland in our young estimations, but I have no idea why (I think it was just one of those places that we often spoke of going to but never thought we actually ever would). The reason we wanted to go was the Beer Circus.

The Beer Circus is now closed and I only went there once. It was a bar lifted from the pavement of Brussels and dropped on the edge of Croydon’s greyest area. I was only just getting into decent beer when we went so to see a list of bottles with so many different pages, and to see each beer coming in a unique glass, was a great experience. After a few bottles (including a Kwak so we could get the cool glass), we ordered something at random from the list. I have no idea what the beer was. All I know is the warning the barman gave us:

“Have you had that before?” he asked.

We hadn’t.

“It’s a flat as a witches tit and as sour as fuck.”

I think this was meant to put us off, to warn us onto something else. Obviously it didn’t. We ordered it. When it arrived I don’t remember it being flat because I was so, so shocked by how sour it was. It was as sour as fuck, as warned.

And I hated it and couldn’t drink it.

I didn’t drink another beer like it for a few years until I tried a Cantillon lambic. But Cantillon isn’t really a starter beer of its style as is particularly puckering. Why did people drink these things that suspended your forehead in a pained frown?

But then things changed.

It was Boon Geuze which did it. So bright in the glass it could’ve illuminated a dark night, so full of flavour, peppery, dry, sharp but not aggressive, a depth of woody, savoury oak; I drank it in my back garden on a hot day while reading a good book. I suddenly got it.

Now I love it. I went to Belgium to the Weekend of Spontaneous Fermentation, a beer festival like nothing else, serving just lambic and gueuze and varieties with fruit. There I saw how different and spectacular these beers could really be – quenching and full-flavoured but still delicate with a stunning depth to them, a tickle of sweetness, a tongue-smacking sharpness and, the thing which I love the most, the flavour from the wood, savoury and dry and woody. Then we went to Cantillon. The most handsome and magical brewery I’ve been to, oak casks lined up in dark, cool cellars, waiting. In America I couldn’t resist the sour selection at Russian River, with Temptation being the one I’ll always go back to first. And then Lovibonds’s Sour Grapes, drunk dry at the Rake in minutes. A stunning British sour beer. Then this week at GBBF the Revelation Cat Laphroig lambic; an insanely brilliant mix of sour and smoke.

What I like most about these beers is the story behind them. Beers brewed and deliberately left open to airborne wild yeast or beers which have those funky yeasts added to them. Beers which aren’t ready in three weeks or three months but need years to mature, hanging out in great oak casks, pulling complexity from the wood, depth of flavour, and then either served as a single vintage as lambic or blended for gueuze. Or with cherries for kriek. Or other fruit for something different – blueberries, strawberries, rhubarb.

   

Sour as fuck? Fuck yeah!

This month’s Session is hosted by The Brew Site. I should add that I don’t like all sour beers. I love the lemon sharpness of lambic and gueuze, but I can’t stand the vinegar sourness of beers like Rodenbach and Duchesse de Bourgogne. It catches my throat and burns. No thanks.

The Session #52: Beer Collectibles and Breweriana

About three years ago I started collecting bottle caps. Every unique cap from a bottle I’d drunk. There were red ones and yellow ones, black and silver and blue; most had brewery logos, some had other designs, each had something different. Caps became scalps, a leftover from the bottle I’d had. They were a collage of what I’d had to drink: a green and gold Mythos from Greece, a shining reminder of the shining sunshine; my first Westvleteren saved like a valuable old coin; a Fuller’s Vintage I’d kept for a couple of years complete with the headband of label; a Stone Ruination and the grizzly gargoyle. Whatever it was, I’d take the cap off the bottle and add it to the others.

It started as a small pile which grew to a big pile which then moved to a plastic pint glass which then overflowed into another small pile which became a balancing act of a big pile. To keep the unwieldy collection under control I would need to take regular audits, spreading the caps out, keeping the good ones and dropping any duplicates and boring ones – the collection became stronger, better. And so on until my little stash of bottle caps became an ever-evolving snapshot of my drinking. I always enjoyed adding a new cap to the pile, hearing that plastic-softened chink of metal on metal. I’m sure that I had big plans to do something with the caps. One day.

When I moved in with Lauren, to share a flat with her and her OCD tidiness, the cap collection didn’t make the journey, left behind like forgotten toys (they might still be in my parents’ loft...). I decided to start fresh on a new collection so it was a physical memory box in the form of ridged bottle tops. This new collection didn’t last long...

“What are you doing with that bottle cap?” Lauren would say.

“Just going to put it on the top shelf and keep it.” I reply, politely smiling.

“Why?” She asks.

“It’s a nice cap, look.” I show her it. It’s got a nice logo on it.

“No, it’s not. You aren’t keeping it.”

“Oh, just this one, it’s a really cool one.”

“No. What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know. Just look at it. I like keeping them. Maybe I could make a picture from all the bottle caps I save.”

“NO!”

Knowing better than to argue over a bottle cap, I threw it towards the bin, probably missing. Unable to break the simple habit of keeping the caps, I briefly attempted to keep a secret stash on the highest shelf where she couldn’t see. These were just the rarest ones I had, the ones I couldn’t possibly bare to throw away (“But it’s from Russian River!”).

I just checked my stash. Only two remain, hidden under the huge wedge that is Don Quixote (great book), missed by Lauren. Two caps does not a bottle cap collection make, as the very famous saying goes. I just threw them away.  

I guess I don’t keep bottle caps any more.

I have, however, started keeping some of my favourite bottles. “We can use them as vases!” I said, trying to distract from the fact that I’m just keeping old, empty bottles of beer. It’s working, for now... although I’ve only got three (I’m being very, very selective). I used to have a small bottle of BrewDog Zephyr but I guess that went away with the caps. There was also a Petite Orval but that’s gone too. Lauren's better at over-tidying then I am at hoarding crap. 

This month’s Session is hosted by All Over Beer.

The Session #49: A Regular Beer

I don’t have a regular beer, a beer I always have in the fridge, something which is replaced as quickly as it’s emptied, like milk or ketchup. This struck me last week and bothered me slightly. When was the last time I drank four of the same beer in one night without any concession to geeking out on something new or exotic? When was the last time I just sat back and drank like a regular guy, opening something simple for the pure pleasure of just drinking a beer from the bottle and not thinking about it? It was too long ago.

But I buy too much beer. I’ve got backlogs in the cupboard, a fridge filled with new tastes, a separate cupboard 20 miles away with the good stuff in, and to ignore those is to increase the backlog even further. In the pub too, it’s always something different. Only if it’s very good do I return for another otherwise it’s on to something else (given only three lagers on tap I’d probably drink a pint of each).

Here’s the thing: I don’t have space in my house for a regular bottled beer and I’m too curious a drinker to stick to one beer all night in the pub.

It wasn’t always like this. University was the time. Always a box of Kronenberg, Carlsberg or Rolling Rock, straight from the fridge, drunk from the bottle. No tasting notes, no need for fancy glassware, no thinking. And I enjoyed drinking this way. When I opened a Budweiser recently it made me realise that I need to drink more regular beer, more no-brainer beer – I drink beers to chill out after work, after the gym, after the day is done, so taking a bottle and a notepad and a nice glass is like I’m still working.

I need to make space in my fridge for a regular beer. It’s got to be a small bottle so I can drink it straight from the fridge, no glass required. That’s essential. It’s something to open and gulp as soon as I get in from work, taking the cap off the beer before the shoes off my feet, the first mouthful hitting my tongue as my backside hits the sofa. That’s what regular beer means to me and I need to make a concession to the geek within and let him have the night off occasionally.

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The Session #49 is hosted this month by Stan Hieronymus at Appellation Beer. It’s about regular beer, but you’ve hopefully guessed that by now.

The Session #48: Cask, Keg, Bottle or Can...

This month's Session topic is from Reluctant Scooper, one of the finest drinkers and bloggers I know.

Some people guzzle up beer in any form, from any where, served any how.

I’m one of them.

As a drinker I want to try lots of different beers, maybe every single beer, maybe just some of them, it depends on how busy I am at work. I’m still on the exciting bit, the search for the forever-elusive Best Beer In The World, where the promise of the next pint makes me drink fast, with hope, with excitement, with anticipation. New beer (plus the desire to occasionally socialise) is what takes me to the pub, to beer shops, to blogs and websites. I want to drink them or hear about them or read about them. That's why I do this.

Being this kind of drinker all that truly matters to me, when it comes down to the bare-boned-knuckles of the bar brawl, is that it arrives in the glass in a good condition and tastes totally amazing (or at least tastes like I want it to taste in that moment, subjectivity being a powerful thing and all that).

So if it's the stuff in the glass which touches the lips which is the most important thing, then does it matter how it got to that glass?

Of course it doesn't!

  

Keg beer. Oooh, sexy keg beer, Craft Beer in a Keg. It's the Future! Maybe. I’m excited to see more breweries filling kegs, but then I would be, wouldn’t I, with one longing eye always looking at the US and their beers. The thing is, it works in the US because the beers benefit from that little tickle and push of fizz on the way out and that extra coldness – the big hops, the big bodies of those beers, they get brighter, bolder but lighter and guess what, they are tastier! Put a 4% bitter through it and it won’t work, but a 6% pale ale or a 9% stout... Why am I excited about kegged British beers? Because it’s an extra choice. Because maybe someone who’s never tried ale before will give it a go. Because maybe more British brewers will give lager a go. Because the beers being put inside these kegs are the ones I want to drink.

Bottles! I love bottled beer, you know that. Pubs are scary so I drink at home. I'm also lazy. Or tired. So a bottle on the sofa is easier than a pint on a bar stool. I've had some wonderful, amazing beers in the bottle, beers which could only be so good because they've been in a bottle or because I've poured them out of that bottle at a special moment. Bottles are good. I spend too much money on bottles of beer.

I don't need to start on cans. We all know how I feel about them. GIVE ME GOOD BEER IN CANS! Yippee. THAT’S the future. Maybe.

And cask beer. That great and glorious product that British beer is based around. What a wonderful thing. A perfect pint of cask ale is a dream to drink. Completely unbeatable in the beer world. Full stop. But only if it's well brewed and well kept, they are delicate things those casks of beautiful beer.

So look. I like all beers, right. Most of all I like how they taste when I drink them. But, and here’s where the argument falls over, some beer is shit. I’ve had as many, or more, average or bad pints of real ale than I’ve had great pints of real ale. I’m not just talking about boring beer. I can appreciate it if it doesn’t get my tongue doing backflips of joy as long as it’s fresh and in great condition (I’d rather have a boring beer well kept than an exciting beer poorly kept; who wouldn’t?). The same is true of bottles, with as many poured down my sink as down my throat (a very wise man once said life’s too short to drink bad beer). Some beers are brilliant in the bottle, some should stay locked away forever, never touching glass. I've had less shit beer in kegs and cans, but then fewer are filling these with the beers I want to drink, so the sample is skewed, for now. But then, the majority of kegged and canned beer is not the stuff I want to drink, if that makes a difference (NOTE: The best beers I’ve drunk so far this year have all come from keg!).

This is what’s important to consider: some beers are just better in casks, some are better in kegs, and some need a container like a bottle or a can. NOw consider this: the cask, keg, bottle or can only carries it to the drinker. In an ideal world we’d all drink from the conditioning tank in a brewery. The key is this, and it’s the epicentre of this whole discussion: the beer going into the container has to be great in the first place. Get that bit wrong and you might as well serve it in a recently-emptied crisp packet.

As long as it's good in my glass than that's all that matters to me. I've said it before. I'm almost certain I'll say it again (bemoaning the single-minded REAL ALE ONLY! crowd, or the FILTERING IS THE DEVIL! groups, no doubt). It's the taste what counts; it's how it makes the drinker feel that truly matters the most. Beer is the Best Drink In The World because it's democratic and there's something for everyone. It’s a baited discussion but if a pasteurised beer sold in a can tastes great to you or me, then why are we even having this discussion? As long as you are willing to at least try it and not dismiss it point blank without even considering it as an option, then let’s happily sit here and drink our beers and talk about the weather, women or what we saw on TV last night.

Good beer first (the 'good' being highly subjective and individual, of course), container second. Simple as that.

However, and this is exciting, we’ll soon be able to get Punk IPA in cask, keg, bottle and can. This means, definitively, that we’ll be able to know once and for all, settling all squabbles forever and ever, which is the best. So, and I’ll take this challenge for the team, it’ll be WINNER TAKES ALL. Punk vs Punk vs Punk vs Punk: what’s your money on?

The Session #47: Cooking with Beer: Scotch Eggs and Beer Mayonnaise

I love cooking with beer so couldn’t resist this month’s Session with the topic chosen by David Jensen of Beer 47. My Imperial Chilli is one of my greatest culinary creations, made awesome by the addition of a bottle of imperial stout; these beer ribs are fantastic; beer ice cream is very cool, my favourite so far was made with BrewDog RipTide; malty ale in macaroni cheese adds a brilliant depth; and my Barley Wine Cupcakes passed the ultimate test: my girlfriend liked them. And there’s more I want to do with food and beer: a carbonnade challenge of a few different beers; roasted garlic IPA mashed potatoes; beer and cheese soup; spaghetti bolognese made with rauchbier; ice cream made with rauchbier (why not?!); beer jelly; a curry made with Mongozo Coconut… I could go on.

Some people seem to think that cooking with beer is a terrible waste, but I’m not one of them. I love how it adds a different depth to food, how parts of the beer’s make-up come through in unique ways. Plus, I like to experiment with flavours, regularly turning my kitchen upside down with wild ideas of faux culinary genius.

I also love eating with a beer on the side and this is the perfect condiment and snack which also includes beer as an ingredient and has the ability of throwing you up in the air and down on a street somewhere in the middle of Belgium (albeit inexplicably with a delicious meat-wrapped-egg in one hand).

Scotch Eggs and Beer Mayonnaise

I have a weakness for scotch eggs. Not the mini ones which taste like cardboard and egg mayo and not the big chewy, dry ones with taste like sulphurous breadcrumbed pulp, I’m talking about hot, fresh, crispy-on-the-outside-and-soft-in-the-middle-ones. A scotch egg fresh from the heat of the oven (I’m in the baked camp of the baked vs fried argument), cut into quarters with a pile of ketchup/mustard/mayo on the side. They are rightly near the top of the beer snack hierarchy; an all-day breakfast of sausage, egg and bread neatly rolled into a palm-sized ball.

Ketchup is my condiment of choice. A red splodge was on almost every plate of food as I grew up and, while it may now have been gradually made redundant, it’s still very important to some foods, especially sausage-based ones. But through curiosity I tried out beer mayo for this snack.

Like custard, it’s a food which comes with a police tape block of fear around it from the worry of it splitting and ruining, but do it right and there’s no fear of oily egg yolk sick. The recipe I used was from Richard Fox’s The Food & Beer Cook Book and it worked perfectly, leaving a thick and delicious mayo with just a hint of beer (I guess you can use any beer or cider you want; I’d like to try one with lambic next instead of lemon juice).

Scotch eggs are easy to make, even if they do take a few processes. First, soft boil an egg, run it under cold water to stop it cooking in its shell, peel it (peeling eggs sucks; how do they do it in scotch egg factories?! My job from hell would be an egg peeler), and roll a little flour around its quivering white exterior. Then get some sausage meat, either a block of it or take some sausages and remove the meat from the skins. Add any seasoning you want – salt, pepper, fresh or dried herbs, spices, chilli, even a few drops of beer, if you want – and then shape a handful of meat around the egg, making sure there are no gaps. Get three bowls out: one for flour, one for beaten egg and one for breadcrumbs. Roll the ball in flour, then egg, then breadcrumbs. Put on a baking tray and bake for 30-40 minutes until it’s crispy and cooked.

For the mayo it’s one large egg yolk, two teaspoons each of beer (whatever you’ve got open or whatever you want to use) and lemon juice, one level teaspoon of Dijon mustard, up to 200ml of light oil (the lighter the better so it doesn’t overpower the taste of everything else), seasoning. Mix the yolk, mustard, beer and lemon juice in a bowl and then add the oil a little drizzle at a time, whisking (by hand) constantly. Keep whisking and slowly adding oil until it’s the texture you want it to be. Word is that says that if it splits then add a drop of warm water and whisk like a maniac and it’ll come back together.

As beer snacks go this is one of the best; made with beer and best enjoyed with a beer on the side. Now I’m craving a huge bowl of fries with a slick of homemade lambic mayo and a nice glass of cold beer.

The Session No. 35: New Beer’s Resolution

The New Year is here and after looking back at 2009, now it’s time to look forward to 2010 and everything I hope to achieve or do better than I did in the last year. This post is part of the latest Session project, hosted by Beer for Chicks, where they ask the question: What beer resolutions do you have for 2010? Here are mine...

To drink in different places. I don’t have a long list of pubs which I visit regularly and I seldom travel further than a train journey away. I need to go different places, drink different local beers and drink in new pubs. This extends to drinking abroad too, when I can.

To find new breweries. This year I’ve talked a lot about BrewDog, Thornbridge, Ramsgate and Marble. They brew great beer so they deserve it. In 2010 I want to find some more breweries to get excited about.

Go to more beer festivals. There are 3 or 4 festivals which I go to every year without fail. I need to go to more. I want to go to festivals further away than London too. The Weekend of Spontaneous Fermentation is high on my list. Leicester, Reading...

To drink new stuff or to drink familiar favourites? One of those difficult questions: you want one more beer, there’s two on the bar: a favourite cask beer or a new one you’ve never heard of. What do you choose? The old favourite you know and want to drink, the new one is unknown but there’s the hope it could be great. If you don’t try new ones then how do you discover new favourites? I want to strike a balance between new and old. I want to enjoy the old favourites but I also need to try new ones.

Say yes more/do more stuff. I’ve read Yes Man. It’s pretty inspirational. I get invited to events or to go out places and I need to say yes more. Good things happen at these places, interesting people are there and good beers are there.

Learn more about brewing and brew some beer somewhere. I understand brewing but I want to know it better and I want a deeper understanding of it. I also want to help brew some beer (home brew and professional).

Convert some lager or wine drinkers. Try and show the delights of craft brewed beer to people who don’t know about it.

Hold some beer tastings of beer and food dinners. Small groups, a few beers, tell people about the joys of great beer.

And a personal Resolution: To be more ‘go get ‘em’. I need to make things happen for myself and not just sit back, thinking about doing them.

Here’s hoping 2010 is a great year!

The Session 28 (Better Late Than Never): Hollow Way Brew Co.

I wrote this for the previous Session (hosted here) but was feeling a little rough after drinking the night before and didn’t get around to posting it. It seems a waste to just leave it unpublished, so here it is.

I visited Hollow Way Brew Co. earlier this year. It’s an unreal place. Grayson Holloway, the owner and head brewer met me when I got off the bus in the middle of nowhere. He’s younger and better looking than I expected (if a movie of his life were made he’d be played by Kevin Costner circa 1998 or Ryan Gosling) and he drives me in his pick-up to the ranch where he has built his brewery.

It’s only been around for a few years, he tells me. I tell him that I haven’t been able to find any information on the place and there’s no website. They are working on the whole PR side of things and he has big plans for the next year. His girlfriend, Abbie, is setting up the brewpub and she’s also helping out with the website. The brewpub will be the big draw, he hopes.

We arrive at the brewery-come-ranch. It’s a hot and dusty day and the air hangs still, full of the heady aromas of fresh hops. The place consists of two large barns and two old farm houses (he lives in one, the other will be the brewpub). He has around ten acres of land, part of which is used for growing hops (currently Eroica, Green Bullet, Olympic, Symphony and Zeus – a bunch of lesser-known varieties) and part is an established vegetable garden which will supply the brewpub. He also has a large greenhouse where he grows herbs and spices and other delights. It’s a pretty wonderful sight for a beer geek like me.

The brewing area is split in two: the main brewhouse barn and the experimental/storage barn. The main one has the capabilities for one 35hl brew a day, plus 4 UNI conditioning tanks. The other barn is like a secret cave a goodies (plus a cave of barrels and bottling machines). There are old whisky barrels filled with beer, there are a whole range of ingredients like dried fruits and spices, coffee beans and tea. Plus there’s one of his first projects: Wild One. It’s his own lambic which he brewed over a year ago and which he hopes will be ready in another year or so. That’s his baby, he tells me. There is also a Wild Two (working title) ageing in champagne barrels.

Following Gray around it’s clear that he’s hugely passionate about brewing. He started the brewery up after receiving an inheritance and now he wants to make it big. He’s seen the craft beer market take off and he wants to be involved in that. He wants his name as well known as Stone, Dogfish Head, Russian River and Mikkeller. He wants to see his beers flying up the ‘Best Of’ lists. He wants to win awards. He wants people to visit him from far away and to love his beer. He wants to be someone special.

But what are the beers like? I got to try a few while I was there but to be honest I was a little disappointed. I expected more from all of the beers and none of them really delivered. I think Gray sensed that I was slightly underwhelmed and it was then that he said this: ‘They aren’t perfect yet, I know, but they will be.’ His voice was full of a raw emotion, something intangible, something deep-rooted; a sadness that he hadn’t got it right, but a hope that he will. And you know what? He’s an impressive guy. He knows about beer. He knows what he wants and I’m pretty sure that he’ll get it.

Session One. 5%
The session ale modeled on a British bitter. A deep amber with a thick, creamy head. It has a nose of toffee, bread, earthy hops, blackcurrants and spicy citrus. The body is a little thin but it drinks well enough. There’s a good malty base, nice and bready, finished with plenty of rounding-off hops.

Session Two. 4%
A pale ale. Zingy and fresh and light. Biscuity malt and finished with a hefty load of hops. This was a good beer (in the same vain as HopHead) although he tells me that it doesn’t sell too well.

Dark One. 8%
Hollow Way’s stock stout. Big and black. A nose of coffee, milk chocolate, liquorice, heavy soil, toasted nuts and a berry bitter-sweetness. Great nose. Unfortunately it doesn’t carry through onto the palate which is a little one-dimensional.

IPA Two. 10%
A double IPA. This is more my kind of thing. It’s hopped with a selection of the ones he grows at the brewery along with Centennial, Columbus, Simcoe and Cascade: a real hop bomb. The nose is just what you’d expect: citrus and pine with floral hints of mint, and sweet notes of white chocolate and toffee. It’s the best brew I tried there. Brutish, strong, in your face. Fairly well balanced although I’d want it more bitter, in truth, something which he intends to do anyway with the next brew.

Super One. 15%
This one took 15 hours for Gray (and his assistant Jacob) to brew. It then spent 10 days in primary fermentation and a year in whisky barrels. It’s massive and I was so excited about trying it. It pours a thick crimson-brown with little head. The nose is immediately smoky from the barrel aging, then it’s got dried fruits and a slight sourness, blackberries. Drinking this was a little odd though. The smoky and oxidized sour notes clashed in a strange way. The strength was fiery and there was little sweetness to claw it back. Gray is disappointed with this one, but he’s working on a few more in the Super Series (Super Two, Three and Four).

While I was there I also got a quick taste of the Wild One (a big privilege as this was the first time Gray had even tried it!). He tapped a little off into our glasses and held it up to the light: a blush of pink. The aroma: winter fruits, mustard, hay. He was smiling at this point. The taste: still sweet, straying into sour with cherry and under-ripe plums. This one is turning out well and he’s delighted with it. Although it’s not perfect yet.

So there we are, my little trip to Hollow Way Brew Co. Gray is doing some cool things and he sure is ambitious. You may not have heard of him yet, but remember his name because someday soon I’m sure you will.

I didn’t get any pictures because my camera wouldn’t work when I got there. I was really pissed off about that.

The Session 27: Beyond the Black & Tan

"The whole mixing thing opens up a new sphere of beer drinking, a realm of creativity for the drinker to play brewmaster - a bonus level for the extreme beer fan". I wrote this a few weeks ago in a vblog about mixing beers. In this I blended Fuller’s ESB with their Golden Pride to create a Peacemaker. And it was pretty good. But I am unconvinced by mixing beers, yet still I’m curious about the possibilities.

For this month’s Session (hosted by Beer at Joe's), which asks us to look beyond the Black & Tan, I wanted to try something I’ve been thinking about for a while - mixing a strong stout with a cherry beer. I had a bottle of Sam Smith’s Cherry beer that’s been lying around for ages (too long - it was a year past the drink by date!) and was going to be used in the kitchen. I also had a Guinness Foreign Extra in the cupboard so I thought, ‘hey, why not?!’ I wanted to pour it so that there was a divide between the two liquids, or at least a blending of colour from black down to red. I’ve seen and done this before in a bar where I used to work. This mixed (in a truly hideous cocktail) a clear, citrusy alcopop with Guinness. If it’s poured correct (over the back of a spoon) it stays as two very separate colours in the glass and looks amazing (like this), even if it tastes like hell. Here’s the video of me pouring it and tasting it.

As you can see, my pour didn’t work out perfectly but there was some difference in colour between top and bottom (I think the carbonation in both may have encouraged the two to come together more willingly, I’m not sure - I think the nitro Guinness was better for sitting on top of the alcopop than the bottled stuff). But how did the beer taste? Well, it was ok. The first few mouthfuls were interesting but fairly good, lots of cherry, a little sourness, roasted notes, vanilla and chocolate bitterness. As I drank on it got more and more cloying and to be honest it had this weird tangy astringency (maybe the year too-old beer was to fault?!). It could’ve worked and I think a 70-30 blend, top heavy with Guinness (or another strong, thick stout) could be great.

So another interesting mix. It didn’t work as well as I’d hoped in terms of the way it looked or the way it tasted, but it was worth trying. And that was the purpose of this Session - to try something new. As for my thoughts on this mixing beers game? I’m still sceptical but I won’t give up just yet.

The Session 26: Rauchbier: A Smokin’ Story

It’s Session time again, this month it’s hosted by Lew Bryson and the topic is Rauchbier. Let me tell you a little story about Bert and Ernie on Smokin’ Sunday...

They enter the bar, Ernie more excited than Bert. A fug of smoke stings their eyes and fills their lungs, causing Bert to cough and Ernie to inhale deeply.
“What you having?” asks Bert.
“Schlenkerla, of course, that’s why we’re here isn’t it?” Ernie replies, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “What they got?” He purses his lips as he stands on his toes to see what the bar has to offer. “Oh yes, they got the Weizen, Marzen and the Bock!” He yelps like an excited child.
“Yippie” says Bert, less than enthusiastically, trying to hide his disinterest, hoping to see a tasty IPA. “Have they got anything else on?”
Ernie turns, incredulous, mouth open wide. “Are you kidding me?! It’s Smokin’ Sunday dude. They got Schlenkerla, Schlenkerla, Schlenkerla and smoked meat and cigars.”
“It’s just… Doesn’t matter. I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Sweet! We’ll do a tasting tray!”
Bert looks around the bar, trying to see through the fog. The air is thick with smoke, roasted meat and a little musky sweat. It’s busy, mainly men. Quite a lot of beards on big men, sturdy you’d say if you were being polite. Some of them dressed in lederhosen and drinking from hefty steins as if the night asked for themed clothing. This made him kind of uncomfortable.
Ernie orders, leering the busty barmaid who chews gum visibly.

“Two smokin’ trays.” His smile wide, full of excitement.
“You want the smokin’ platter too.” Her voice is droll and completely disinterested as she begins to pour.
“What’s on it?” he asks.
She breathes out a long sigh, clearly having repeated this damn list over and over: “Smoked meat, ham, roast pork, ribs, smoky hot sauces, smoked cheese.”
“Holy smokes, yeah gimme two of them!” He skips up and down at the bar while Bert still looks around the room. A table comes free and he darts over, sitting down just before another guy can claim it. He coughs under the heavy air which is making his eyes water. He doesn’t mind cigarette smoke but he bloody hates cigars with a passion.
“Choo choo, coming through big guy!” calls Ernie, a tray of beer in each hand which he slides onto the table. “You are gonna shit when you see what I got us!” Bert looks down at the three beers in front of him, all a similar murky brown shade.
“Plus the meat platter.”
“Great,” says Ernie. He tips his nose down and the overwhelming smokiness fills him, this time it is from the beer, not the bar. Ernie is opposite, dipping his nose into each glass, sighing loudly and pleasurably with each inhalation.
“Good, huh?” sings Ernie.
“Yeah, sure,” replies Bert, picking up the first glass.
What ya got first?” Ernie looks over. “Oh, that’s the Bock. So we’re starting at the top and working back. Watch out, it’s a smoky brute. 6.6%.” Ernie grabs the same glass, swirls it and sucks in all the aromas. “Oh baby, that’s the stuff.” He takes a gulp which swallows half the glass. “Oh boy, that’s goood, so much sweet smoke, so smooth, caramels, and some, like, crackling firewood.” He reclines back on his chair, a content smile on his face as he waits for Bert to go.
He lifts the glass to his nose. He gets bonfires and burnt wood and an overwhelming urge to shout out ‘bacon’. Why would anyone want to drink this, he asks himself, gazing back at Ernie’s wide smile. He takes a gulp, swallowing it straight down, almost coughing the way you do after your first drag on a cigarette.
“Oh man… Why would anyone want to drink a beer that tastes of burnt meat?!” he asks his smoke-loving drinking buddy.
“Dude you ain’t getting it. It ain’t meat, it’s SMOKE!”
“Tastes like meat to me. And it looks like coke.” He replies before lifting the Marzen, hoping for something better, something less, meaty.
“Good call. That’s the Marzen. Like 5% or something. BIG smoke.”
“Oh great.” Ernie says under his breath, sniffing the glass full of firewood and ham. He takes a mouthful as Bert watches on, nodding slightly in encouragement. “Nope. That’s meat too. Smoked sausage with, if I’m not mistaken, actual pieces of charcoal.”
“Ah man, what’s with you? These are classic brewskis! The Marzen is sweet and the smoke just wraps around your mouth, warming you up, and it’s sweet too, treacle and toffee and bread. It kicks ass.” He takes another gulp, a big satisfied ‘ahhh’. “Try the Weizen. That one you’ll love, I just know it.”
Bert lifts up the glass which Ernie points at. It’s an orangy colour, like fire he thinks to himself. He doesn’t even bother sniffing this one, he just takes a sip then replaces his glass, forming his opinion which Ernie waits for with baited breath.
“That’s like licking rusty copper pipes! Why would you drink that?!”
Ernie necks the entire glass in one satisfied gulp. “Woah yeah!” hollers Ernie, his face a wave of contemplation. “Holy. Shit. That’s. Amazing!” Bert stares back, unable to ‘get it’.
“Duuude, what’s wrong with you? It’s lighter, softer, more delicate.”
“It’s like what’s left over from a campfire that’s been smoking a pig, man. That ain’t beer.”
“Oh jeez. Campfire is good! Try the bock again.” Bert lifts the glass, sips. A mouthful of burning hell.
The food arrives just in time, thrust down on their table by the feisty barmaid.
“You guys want drinks?” she asks, hoping they’ll say no.
“I need an IPA, stout, hell I’ll even have a lager, just something without smoke!” says Bert. Ernie looks back disapprovingly, shaking his head before getting into the meat platter.
“We got an IPA tray, you want that?”
“I would love that, thank you.”
“I want another smokin’ tray please, and two cigars” calls Ernie, ripping the meat from a rib slathered in thick hot sauce. “Mmm, good ribs!”
The barmaid turns away and disappears into the smoke which fills the bar.

The Session 25: Love Lager

Time for The Session, which this month is hosted by The Beer Nut with the topic of ‘Love Lager’. I was unsure what to write and where to begin for this one, so I started start right back at the beginning…

I’d never tried it. It’s what the Dads drink. It’s for adults. They stand around with the stubby green bottles they picked up on cruises to France when my sister and I picked up cool crisps and loads of chocolate. Those little green bottles. Their horrible smell, the strange and nasty taste, the cool beads of condensation. He used to drink them most in summer; the smell of fresh cut grass and barbequing sausages. Me raking the lawn after he had cut it, me copying him drinking from my bottle of juice. Working together in the small garden. The satisfied gulp, the relaxed sigh. I’d never tried it.

Then I was allowed to drink some. ‘Eurgh,’ I’d groan as the men laughed back. ‘One day you’ll love it’ they told me. It started with lemonade. Then I’d add orange cordial. I didn’t like the funny taste, the bitterness, but it’s what the men were drinking. The men who were standing around chatting, laughing, talking about cars and football and work. I didn’t know anything about that. I was still a boy. I didn’t drink beer.

Then I started to drink it. All my friends were. It was about fitting in, belonging, brotherhood, growing up. Talking to girls, smoking, drinking too much, misbehaving. Experimenting and learning limits. It was the beer that my Dad now offered to me. Those little green bottles. I was starting to act like the men do. I was drinking their drink. Lager.

Then I drank it all the time. It was the first pint I got served in the pub. It was the second, third and forth… It was drinking from the can with friends. It was getting drunk. It was behaving like an adult but acting like a child. I was 17 and it was pints at lunchtime. It was the laughter and the fun. It was the getting away with it. It was the rock concert where I was pushed deep into the sweaty, bouncing crowd. The nightclub who served all drinks for a pound before 10. It was drinking in the park. Not being asked for ID. Being an adult, doing adult things, drinking lager: ‘Do you want a beer?’

And it never goes. It is everywhere. It’s part of being a man, of being a part of something, of becoming an adult, of belonging. It’s for celebrating or commiserating. It’s comfortable, always the same, it doesn’t change.

It’s the cans around the student house. The cold bottle on a hot day. ‘Something to drink?’ ‘A beer’. A bottle while cooking dinner. The nights out where lager was all they had. The drinking games. The parties where everyone drank the same beer because it was free and the bath tub was filled with cans. The making a fool of yourself, losing the drinking game, the throwing up; the bad times. Or the good. The time we won the cricket tournament and I drank beer straight from the trophy. The pint after the work is done. The taste of achievement. The lying around and drinking a cold pint in the hot afternoon sun when I should’ve been studying. The celebration when it’s all over.

It’s no longer the drink of choice, but it’s still there. And there are new ones. Better ones. Or just bottles of the old. The Budweiser which tastes so familiar despite never drinking it. The cold Kronenbourg from the fridge to slake a thirst without having to choose from the beer collection. The pint just because. Mythos in the hot Greek sun, a bottle while cooking meat on the barbeque, the stubby green bottle. Still being able to enjoy something simple. There is always a beer behind a story. Always a memory.

A pint of lager: something which has shaped the person that I have become; something that is very important. It’s about growing up. Learning. Belonging. Shaping ideas, making choices, becoming who I am.

The Session #21. What is your favourite beer and why?

This is my first entry into the monthly beer blogging event known as The Session, and it’s a bloomin’ tough one, posted by Matt at A World of Brews. It’s the question I’m most frequently asked when I say I write about beer, and it’s the question I most frequently shy away from answering.

I don’t like to answer the ‘favourite beer’ question for a number of reasons. Firstly, it’s so difficult to say just one out of all the beers I’ve tasted. Secondly, I don’t want to appear snobbish or geeky, reeling off a list of obscure brews from around the world, and conversely, I don’t want to sound ‘uneducated’ or boring by choosing something that everyone has heard of. Thirdly, I see the question as something that I will always be searching for; I don’t think there will ever come a time when I think to myself, “Okay, that’s it, I’ve found my favourite”, because then what? In all honesty I think that my favourite beer is one that I haven’t tasted yet, but that’s shying away from a proper answer.

I think that my ‘favourite’ beer should be the one I would always turn to - a desert island choice. Something for any occasion, on any day, for when I’m in any kind of mood. It’s the beer that I seek solace in and celebrate with. It’s something familiar and comforting while at the same time exciting and new with each mouthful. It’s like being in love, I guess you could say.

So my favourite, or at least the one that I’ll choose today, is a pint of Fuller’s London Pride. It’s not a rare beer, it’s not the best beer that I have ever tasted, and there is nothing particularly unique or special about it. The only provision; it has to been impeccably kept.

I can trace my love back to a particular moment in a backstreet boozer in West London. I walked in and was upset that they only had Pride available, but I ordered it anyway. It was, you could say, an epiphany. I had had Pride many times before, but this one was different. The beer was a glass full of perfection. It was fresh, fruity and crisp; cool yet comforting. I’ll never forget the overwhelming flavours of fresh bread and blackcurrant, with a gorgeous malt middle and smooth, clean finish. I expect I drank it in a few glorious gulps, only surfacing for air to cry out how good the beer is before quaffing some more. Since then, whenever I’ve had a decent pint of London Pride, I still get that excited feeling, the one which fills me with content.

It’s a good topic, and it’s always fascinating to hear what other beer lovers say. Maybe I shouldn’t shy away from answering the dreaded ‘favourite beer’ question anymore. Maybe I should Proudly embrace it.