Last week, Brewdog Nottingham opened. I ought to write about it. And not just because they gave me free beer and cheese. So, here goes:
Location:
Broad Street, Nottingham. Which is a five-minute stagger from the Lace Market tram stop. Or a fifteen-ish minute stagger from Victoria Bus Station (time depends on whether you pop to John Lewis for a pee on the way). And next door to the Broadway Cinema which has free wifi, bigger toilets and cheaper lager. In case you need to satiate your desires in those directions.
Ambience:
Understated urban warehouse cool. Exposed brick. Surprise mirror. Those lights that look that those lights in an old IKEA catalogue that you nearly bought for your living room until you remembered that you don't live in a Manhattan studio loft. In 1986. Tables and stools that purposely annoy the middle-aged. Some walls covered in recycled school-gym laminate, complete with basketball lines and teenage knee-graze bloodstains.
Facilities:
Bar. The Smallest Toilets In The World Ever. Jenga.
Beer:
The freshest Brewdog draft I've ever tasted: , Blitz, 77 Lager, Punk, 5AM, Hardcore. Paradox Jura at 15%. Guest kegs were decent; three visits took in the likes of Mikkeller, Hitachino Nest, Stone, Cigar City. Bottles were excellent; Port, Cantillon, Ballast Point, The Kernel. It costs - practically £4 for a pint of 77 Lager, £3 for 2/3rds of Punk, maybe £5 for a third of import / strong Brewdog.
But, ask yourself this question. Do you want to drink 15% Paradox? Fresh-as-you-fancy Ballast Point? Japanese keg? I do. And I'm happy to pay that price to drink them practically on my doorstep in a fun venue.
Food:
Platters of cheese & meat. You can't believe how happy I am to see this approach taking off. So-so meat but the cheeses - including decent Stilton and Brie - are nibble-mongous. And I hear they've started stocking Mrs Kings pork pies too.
Knitted Merkin:
Worn with pride. By...
One of the Brewdog squirrels
the best damn beer festival I've been to
And some random waitress at
Hooters:
Conclusion:
Parts of an old school literally meets new school brewing. Can be loud and brash. Which, I believe, is the idea.
Thanks to the bar scamps for feeding and watering me on press night and to the usual Twitter suspects for Technology Corner shenanigans. Special thanks to
@alcofrolicchap and
@brewdogbecca for the photos.
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The Morning Advertiser reports that Brewdog are on the lookout for premises in Sheffield.
I'd love to see them in the city. There's definitely room for innovative bars in between the established cask circuit of Kelham Island and the meat-rack theme dens of West Street.
Literally. Last night I went to the opening of Dada, Thornbridge's latest bar. Art on the walls and tables, keg-led, everything the right side of cool. I could see more bars like this starting up in Sheffield, ones that run film nights or performance art or nothing but world-class beer and blues.
Having bars by Thornbridge and Brewdog within walking distance of each other would be outstanding. I'll start keeping an eye out for suitable venues.
More about Dada tomorrow.
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It only takes one e-mail.
Sunday morning, about to reach for my walking boots. Contemplating an early autumn day of fresh breezes and mud between my cleats. And then...
"Sheffield Tap. Just gone on - Kipling, dry hopped with Nelson Sauvin. Also still on Thornbridge/The Kernel Coalition Burton Ale".
The purpose of the Yahoo group Scoopgen is to share, err, gen about scoops. Let's try that again. Members share information about beer availability that they think would be of interest to other members. They can also bore the arses off each other when they forget that it's not a forum for endless pedantic/semantic debate, but that's another story.
I scan through the emails on the web and was just idling through the previous night's updates when I read the one above. And twenty minutes later I was on my way into Sheffield. After just over an hour, I was sat in the Tap enjoying those two glorious beers.
And more - Magic Rock Cannonball and Dark Arts on keg, Brewdog Mr Squirrel likewise. More Dark Arts after missing my train. Marble Weizen on the train.
Sometimes, I'm not interested in the moving target, the hope and expectation, the thrill of the chase.
I'm in it for the moment. I want to get my hands round the blighter.
I'm in it for the kill.
Why the picture of an Orval beermat? Why not?
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Everyone has, or had, an Auntie Hilda. Even if she wasn't really your auntie. And wasn't called Hilda. And had an Adam's apple. Auntie Hilda was the relation or friend who, on hearing it was your birthday and knowing you liked a beer, went to the supermarket and pciked out some interesting bottles for your pressie.
Which is why, if Hilda was alive in the UK in the 1980's, you ended up drinking Hobgoblin or Fiddler's Elbow.
But what if Hilda's shaky grasp on reality extended far enough to remember you liked beers called 'IPA'? If she went shopping today and plonked three beers into her trolley, what are your chances of getting a decent beer?
There's only one way to find out.
We sent someone - for argument's sake, let's call them Hilda - to a large supermarket close to where they live. The only stipulation was to buy the first three beers with the words that featured 'IPA' on the label.
How well did Hilda do?
Beer number one was Greene King IPA. Cue wailing and gnashing of teeth (mine, not Hilda's. Not with the state of her dentures). But, here's the thing - it wasn't bad. It wasn't game-changing, but market leading food and drink products rarely are. That's why they're popular. It wasn't vile, it wasn't fermented from dead babies injected with botulism. It was a mildy hoppy, reasonably carbonic, inoffensive bottle of beer. I would never have dreamed of buying it myself. Not even in one of those technicolour dreams I have after eating too much cheese. But I've drank worse. And would go so far as saying, if I were offered it again at a barbeque, I wouldn't adopt that face that suggests the host has just asked you to have sex with a horse.
Next up - Brewdog Punk IPA. With its Equity for Punks collar. Bringing share ownership to the supermarket masses. Jello Biafra must be shitting himself that he didn't think of that one.My relationship with Punk and Brewdog is like that I have with the pair of collared doves that perch on my garden fence. Most of the time, I love them; predictable, content, reassuring. Sometimes, I wish they'd shut the fuck up. Sometimes, I wish a passing hawk would rip their innards out and arrange it across next door's lawn to spell out 'LOL'.But I'm on an upward slope with Punk at the moment. This bottle was two-weeks fresh, nasally orgasmic and relentlessly fruity. Hilda did good.
And last - but by no means first - was Meantime IPA. So either her Irish national lottery numbers coughed up last week or she was hitting the value gin on her way around the aisles. Not the cheapest bottle on offer, but it is 7% and a 75cl job. And it was strangely un-nerving. I've known it to be dusty and lemony but this was all rather meh. Orange marmalade with a slightly metallic tang. Wet twigs. Old Cointreau. Obvious alcohol and a smear of green apple.
So, in summary: surprised that Greene King wasn't bad; not surprised Brewdog was so good, surprised Meantime wasn't better. And for Christmas, Hilda would be better off spending her heating allowance on Punk.
This post was brought to you in the spirit of supporting IPA Day. Because anything that gets brewers and consumers and writers excited about beer is a good thing, yes? You don't have to buy into the the bullshit of IPA being the "pinnacle of brewing innovation". You may feel that the individuals and organisations behind it are self-publicists who see it as no more than free publicity.
Do me a favour. Grab a beer, drink it down and take it easy. IPA Day is what you want it to be.
Because: IPA isn't a style. It's a declaration of intent. Whether the intent is to say: we're traditional, we're bleeding-edge.
Drink IPA. Don't drink IPA. But do keep an open mind.
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Let's make this clear at the get-go. Jay Brooks' idea for this 'cheese-off' Session is a great one - everyone buys the same three cheeses and pairs them with different beers. Though as I couldn't get hold of the particular cheeses (US ones, natch) it made my participation in the Session seem moot. Ah, what the hell - I bought broadly similar styles to those suggested by Jay - soft goat's, aged Cheddar and a blue - and gave it a bash anyway.
Pairing #1: Fivemiletown Cooneen and Saison Cazeau.
A goat's cheese that doesn't taste of the farmyard, a saison that doesn't taste of the farmyard. There's a pairing full of win. Cooneen is delicate almost to the point of anonymity but it's all in the texture - the right side of creamy, still an eat-with-your-fingers cheese rather than one that ends up spread into the wallpaper. Cazeau has a smear of lemon, slight spice. The kind of saison that if you found it at a ramshackle bar halfway round a long yet lazy bike ride, you'd need a taxi to get you back to where you started. On a warm day, it's a beer you stop for. And keep stopping.
Pairing #2: Lincolnshire Poacher and Adnams Innovation
Cards on the table. Lincolnshire Poacher is my favourite hard cheese. It's a little bit nutty, a little bit sweet with a texture that's just-so. Two words describe it best: Lincolnshire Poacher. No point in describing it in terms of other cheeses. It is what it is. Adnams Innovation is one those IPAs that just keeps on giving; pungent wet earth, back-of-the-cupboard spices, sour-sweet citrics that haven't decided which way to fall. But when you cannonball the two - wowser. One eggs the other on, pummeling your taste buds before the other has finished with them. I've always had thicker, maltier beers with Poacher before - never again.
Pairing #3: Long Clawson Stilton with Brewdog Tactical Nuclear Penguin & Sink The Bismarck
My intention was to open up a sensible barley wine that had the balls to take on a full-flavoured Stilton. But I really didn't fancy a whole bottle of the ones I had. But lurking in the fridge, I had two pipettes. Looking like dodgy urine samples, they were actually the slightest snifters of two Brewdog heavyweights. Neither were great, to be honest. Tactical Nuclear Penguin had sherry-cardboard riven all the way through, Sink The Bismarck had an unusually satisfying sugar hit before an odd hop and ethanol burn. Thankfully, neither detracted from the Long Clawson - just creamy enough, just enough bite, a lingering sharpness.
Clear winner for me was the Lincolnshire Poacher with Adnams Innovation. More aged cheddery-stuff with IPA-esque beers will certainly be on my summer picnic agenda.
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Leicester is afforded special status in the Reluctant Scooping scheme of topering. It's where I drank my first doppelbock. My first Dogfish Head. It always offered a heady mix of ye olde traditional pubs and somewhat-leftfield bars. But it's been a couple of years since I was last in town. Does Leicester still love its beer? There was only one way to find out...
The Pub
Casks on offer: 12-ish
Potential scoops: 6-ish
Keg beer on offer: 12-ish?
Potential scoops: 2
Scoops drank: 0
Favourites drank: 1 (Brewdog 77, two pints)
Yes. It really is called The Pub. Before the owners moved across New Walk, their former bar (Out Of The Vaults / Vin IV) often served two beauties by Beowulf - Finn's Hall Porter and Dragon Smoke Stout. They're the beers I'd have plumped for if my eye had been on cask. But I didn't even look at the handpulls. Instead, I fancied something cool and just-so-carbonated as a thirst slaker on this sunny Sunday. Brewdog 77 lager hit the spot. So much so that when alcofrolicchap turned up, I had another pint of it.
The Pub is one of those long, narrow bars that looks and feels cool in an almost-trying-too-hard kind of way. I was content to go sit out in the sun, drink lager and watch the world amble by. I'll revisit their cask offering one day.
The Globe
Casks on offer: 4. Possibly.
Potential scoops: 1
Actual scoops: 0
Favorites drank: 1 (Everards Sunchaser, one pint)
I've always enjoyed visiting this multi-room, often-bustling pub in the heart of the city. Then again, I've always enjoyed picking lint out of my navel and flicking it at people on the bus. I don't come here for the banter by the 'characters' at the bar (read: shouting Sex Pistols lyrics with the emphasis firmly on the last syllable of "Pretty Vacant". I don't come here for a mediocre guest beer (lots of pumpclips of interesting ones on the wall, never seen them on when I've visited). I come here for a damn fine pint of Everards.
Sunchaser was the right side of cool - maybe it was the 'extra cold' version? It certainly felt more-than-just-cellar cold. Great condition, in its branded glass. Good beer, well presented. Whereas alcofrolicchap's Burton Bridge Spring Ale seemed to have sprung itself flat somewhat.
Criterion
Casks on offer: difficult to tell
Potential scoops: ?!?
Keg on offer: six-ish
Actual scoops: 0
Favorites drank: 2: (Punk IPA, one pint; Augustiner Edelstoff, 500ml bottle)
The problem with the Criterion? It's like bumping into an ex-girlfriend; you both drifted apart, you both met someone new, now she's no longer the bubbly bundle of fun you once loved but slightly jaded and world-weary. You want to put your arm round her and chat about the old times but you both know it won't cheer either of you up.
This used to be my favourite pub in the city; interesting casks well kept, odd keg offerings at a time when there wasn't so much variety knocking around as there is today, a chunky bottle menu that became the syllabus for my Belgian beer education (intermediate level). Now the place seems to be quieter, the casks more predictable, the bottles scarcer. Alcofrolic and I enjoyed the last pints of the kegged Punk and some bottled Edelstoff outside by the giddy vista of the ring road. And I felt wistfully bitter...
The Font
Casks on offer: four
Potential scoops: none
Keg on offer: some-ish
Actual scoops: 1 (Stella Black)
Favorites drank: 1 (Stella Artois)
There's only two reasons we visited this bright and breezy student-centric bar. Hand-cut chips. And Stella Black.
The chips were chunky, hot and really potatoey. The Stella Black was a car-crash in a chalice. Worse thing I've had in my mouth since I chewed a verruca. I had to have a pint of, er, 'normal' Stella to get the syrupy gloop taste out of my mouth.
(Now is not the time nor place to discuss why Black is so execrable or why I'm still drinking Stella Artois. That time will be after I've had six pints of the latter one afternoon and feel like mouthing off ).
Swan and Rushes
Casks on offer: about eight
Potential scoops: some
Keg on offer: probably
Actual scoops: 1 (Dupont Monk's Stout)
Favorites drank: 2 (Orval, Cantillon Vigneronne)
One fine day, I will make the Swan and Rushes my first port of call when in Leicester. I will have a game of bar billiards, chew the fat with the bar staff and sip an Orval at a leisurely pace. Today, however, it was the usual last-pub-mad-dash.
An Orval slipped down quicker than a Manchester United striker in the penalty area. I think I asked alcofrolicchap how quick he could drink gueuze. A bottle of Cantillon Vigneronne was procured and drained in short order. That's all the beer I was here for. And well tasty they were, too. Though I did then find the time for a Monk's Stout by Dupont; it seemed a fairly plain-Jane brew, though to be fair my tastebuds had just been wrapped round the back of my ears by the Cantillon.
So here's another pub that seen some better days. It's been on and off the market for years and would really benefit from a period of stability. Having said that, it's got a well-worn-slipper feel about it, comfy and inviting. And the staff are great - knowledgeable, interested, amiable. The barmaid that night, Erica, was keen to try the Vigneronne and happy to chat about geuze. You just don't get that in many other places.
Results
Scoops: 2
Favourites: 7
Verdict: Really Very Reluctant Scooping.
Beer of the day: Orval. Obviously.
There's still plenty of good beer to be found in Leicester. It's just a rather subdued scene. Someone needs to give the place a swift kick up the victuals.
Perhaps a Leicester Tap, anyone...?
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Brewdog = Marmite.
I can't think of any other British brewer that polarise opinion in the way that Fraserburgh's finest do. Stoats stuffed with freeze-distilled beer. Dwarfs protesting outside Parliament. A Bar With No Cask. Never backwards at steamrolling forward with PR that complies to the law of contrary opinion.
Plenty of mouth is one thing. Do they have the brew trousers to match? Well, in four short years their beers have passed into the lore of British New Wave Of Hoppy Brewing. The steady hand of Martin Dickie has pushed Punk IPA and Riptide to the fore as worthy competitors to Jaipur and St Petersburg as brewed at his former employer, Thornbridge.
With an assertive export programme, ceaseless experimentation with ingredients at both extremes of the ABV spectrum and their own bars starting to bloom, Brewdog may or may not be forging a 'craft beer revolution'. Call it what you will; as long as you can call the end product 'damn tasty beer' then I'm behind them.
If only I could persuade James Watt that a beer actually brewed with Marmite might work...
Why try? Leftfield brews that you can't fail to have an opinion about.
What to look for? Punk IPA, 5am Saint - both on keg. And Paradox, the whisky-aged stout.
Where to buy? Their own bars and website, plus a host of top ale pubs and bars such as the Sheffield and Euston Taps.
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It's Thornbridge Jaipur.
And Marble Dobber.
And Brewdog Punk.
And that's it.
"IPA & fish & chips /
Are all my brain and body need"
Today's Obviously Made Up Fact About IPA:
IPA first arrived in the USA in 1899 when, following the shipwreck of the HMS Chlamydia, Petty Officer Dick Fitztightly rowed on top of a partially-full hogshead and made landfall at Montmorency Creek, New Hampshire
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IPA Is Dead.
Whatever.
Single hopped beers are not new. But I applaud Brewdog for putting out four variants that fall firmly into the 'what-if?' category of hopping for many beer lovers.
Now, I drank the Citra last night and wasn't exactly blown away. How did the others fare?
Nelson Sauvin: waves of aggressive gooseberry. It turns, waves of bitterness. The flavours I began to fall in love with get pissed all over.
Bramling X: interesting. Starts with strawberries and cream? Segue to earthy fruit and then... tsunami bitterness. Just as the hedge was probing with berries and spices. Damn.
Sorachi Ace: Whooooo-hoooooo! Fantastic aroma; like my fridge when I bury satsumas under a heap of other crap at Christmas. It's creamy, bits of crystallised lemon stick in the palate, that turning orange was majestic. My wife thought it was rank; "I thought you loved me?" she spat. Literally. Meanwhile, I was losing myself in the lemon tea meets piss-ridden nettles sumptuousness of this beer. I ruddy loved it.
So, what to do next? Blend them.
One-third Nelson Sauvin to two-thirds Bramling X was transformational; killed the cattiness, maintained a gooseberry lineage all the way home, somehow took the lingering bitterness away. I'm not saying the sum of both beers was better than its parts but in comparison I'd put it in my top one.
Three parts Bramling X, two parts Nelson Sauvin, one part Sorachi Ace. Good, but not as good as the previous. It just tasted like a good, strong, hoppy IPA. Nothing special.
But I saved the best til last. One part Sorachi Ace to lots more parts of Sorachi Ace.
Moudly orange. It's the future. I've tasted it.
Today's Obviously Made Up Fact About IPA:
With pale malt attracting a premium price, some London brewers tried to brew IPA
with dark malts instead. The export market, however, was non-existent as no-one was
dumb enough to buy a beer called Black IPA.
One last point I have to mention - seven quid postage and it took eight days to arrive. Meantime, other merchant's orders arrived within 24 hours and cost less to ship. Brewdog need to raise their game in the delivery department.
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The wonderful thing about Citra is that Citra's a wonderful thing.
100% Citra hopped beers can be sublime - I'm thinking Oakham Citra at the Barton's Arms in Birmingham, or Thornbridge Larkspur at the Coach & Horses, Dronfield. Or Fyne Ales Jarl at the same place. Mmmmm, Jarl...
...anyway, let's stop drooling. All-Citra IPA is something I hadn't tried so thought I ought to rustle some up. Couldn't find the one by Nøgne Ø. Beermerchants had sold out of Kernel's. So the idea was withering on the bine until a moment of happenstance: Tom Fozard (cheeeseboiger on Twitter) offered up some homebrew and Brewdog started selling their 'IPA Is Dead' series that featured a Citra single hopped beer.
The results?
Tom's homebrew - Baby Faced Assassin - had a great fruitbowl aroma, sharp flavour with plenty of bitterness and just a touch of acetone lurking in the background. Brewdog Citra was earthier, more malt-forward, softer. Both tropical; Brewdog in a freshly-blitzed smoothie way, Fozzie's in a Chewit stylee.
Let's remember - one's a homebrew. One's the product of a major brewer's incessant experimentation programme. So which one impressed me more?
Baby Faced Assassin. If Tom Fozard can knock out stuff like that in his kitchen - and manage a cool label as well - he's doing better than half the professional brewers I Reluctantly Scoop around Sheffield and Derby. Sure, I've had better homebrew. But they've been homebrews by professional brewers.
Brewdog Citra was a competent beer. But compared to other beers of a lower ABV that lead with the hop, it underplays its hand. I'm looking forward to seeing how the rest of the 'IPA Is Dead' series measure up later in the week.
Today's Obviously Made Up Fact About IPA:
The first hop variety grown specifically for IPA brewing was East India Excess Isohumulene Ordinary developed in the village of Hadder by the ninety-year-old farmer Jeremiah McDonald. Brewing ledgers from the mid nineteenth century stipulate the use of “Old Mcdonald Hadda Farm E.I.E.I.O”
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Back in 2008 at Beer Exposed, Eric Wallace of Left Hand Brewing told me the tale of how any, er, 'brewer' can chuck a bundle of hops into a brew. That it takes restraint to brew in balance. And so 400lb Monkey IPA was born.
Today I got to taste it on draught. And it was... good. Caramel-forward, dusty spicy hopped, a well-composed IPA. Worth £3.50 a half? Debatable. Better than Brewdog Punk IPA on keg? Let's not get involved in a dick-waving contest.
It was worth the experience: Left Hand 400lb Monkey is today's IPA. Not Punk, which was sampled on cask and keg in the company of Magic Rock Stu. Truth be told, it wasn't the tastiest beer of the day; that goes to Pictish Motueka. For which, as for the rest of his single-hop series, the brewer supplies the following tasting notes: "A pale, very hoppy beer brewed using [insert name] hops."
And a tilt of the glass to Matt Clarke from Thornbridge and Alex Barlow of ALLBeer; always a pleasure to share a beer and chew the fat with you.
Today's Obviously Made Up Fact About IPA:
An over-conditioned shipment of IPA erupted en route to India in 1876 resulting in the
The Carlsberg Ridge Incident, still the second-largest man-made explosion on Earth.
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I have a fractious relationship with Brewdog Punk IPA. I've bemoaned the inconsistency of recipe and level fill. I've been caught up in the keg v cask 'debate'. I've winced slightly at the homage/straight steal from Stone of the bottle's wording.
But I know this much is true. It sits in my fridge eternally, the loyal and faithful retainer of hop promise, the dependable Labrador of beer that welcomes me home.
Tonight could have been the night when I compared Punks old (6%) and new (5.6%). It could have been the night when I lined a Punk up next to Thornbridge Jaipur and Marble Dobber. Instead, it's going to be the night when I stop prattling on the tinterweb, go the fridge and Just Drink Beer.
This bottle of Punk IPA, bitter and floral, was chugged down in the time it took to type this post. I now have to go and recover the next bottle from the freezer - 15 mins should do the trick- and then repeat, lather, rinse, repeat...
... but not forgetting today's Today's Obviously Made Up Fact About IPA:
East Kent Goldings hops were used in IPA not only for their preservative qualities in stopping the beer from spoiling on the long voyage but also because they stopped the beer drinker from contracting syphilis
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Here's my first Reluctant Scooping report for 2011. Details are going to be brief, it's not going to be encyclopaedic with regards to prices, ABVs, opening hours etc. I'll include links to pubs, bars and brewery websites if you want to follow up on that sort of thing.
The basic plan is: find four pubs that offer the chance for me to scoop new beers/breweries as well as offer up some of my old favourites. Then see if I reluctantly choose the new beer over the old favourite. Maximum of one pint in each pub.
And we start in Sheffield. Why? It's the Holy City of ticks, it's the Valley of Beer. If you can't find good beer to scoop here, you won't find it anywhere.
Sheffield Tap
Cask beers on offer: 6
Potential scoops: 0
Keg beers on offer: 8
Potential scoops: 2
Actual scoops: 1 (Matuška Svatomartinské Polotmavé, half)
Favourites drank: 1 (Brewdog Punk IPA, half)
The cask beers were a quintet of Thornbridge and Fyne Ales Highlander, all of which I'd had before. The Matuška beer was a good scoop, a Vienna-ish, biscuity-grassy affair. The other was some kind of weiss but I couldn't not have keg Punk. Before noon.
Harlequin
Cask beers on offer: 11
Potential scoops: 7
Actual scoops: 1 (Summer Wine, Heretic Black IPA, two halves)
Plenty of new beers on offer here. I realised that I'd never had a beer from Summer Wine, despite seeing them around Sheffield before. So their Black IPA, Heretic, was an obvious scoop. After an always-entertaining chat with Brew Company's Pete Roberts and enjoying one of the Quin's humongous roast beef dinners, I forced myself to have another Heretic. It was too good to ignore now I had the taste for it and it's the perfect example of how a scooped beer can become a must-try-again beer.
Kelham Island Tavern
Cask beers on offer: 13
Potential scoops: 5
Actual scoops: 0
Old favourites: 1 (Pictish Brewers Gold, pint)
No new beer really tickled my fancy here today. Thankfully, one of their regular beers is a favorite of mine; the only problem with Pictish Brewers Gold is that it's so sessionable I felt like stopping for several more. But not today...
Gardener's Rest
Cask beers on offer: 8
Potential scoops: 4
Actual scoops: 2 (Dancing Duck, 22 and Burscough, Ringtail, half each)
A pub with a reputation for new brewery scoops and today was no exception. Half the beers were regulars from Sheffield Brewery that I'd already had; of the four guests, two were from breweries new to me so I plumped for those. The Dancing Duck 22 was OK, another one of those well-made malt-led best bitters that thrive around the North Midlands / south Yorkshire. More interesting was Ringtail from Burscough, I'd love to know what hops were used as there was really delicate fruity edge to it.
Hillsborough Hotel
Cask beers on offer: 7
Potential scoops: 2
Actual scoops: 0
Old favourites: 1 (Crown, Stannignton Stout, half)
Yes, I know I said the rules were four pints in four pubs. But I was on the way to catch the tram and it would have been rude to walk past... I was after the latest in their 'jazz musicians' series of specials, as brewer Stuart Ross had told me about the Amarillo-laden 'Stephane Grapelli'. But that cask had gone and I hadn't got time to see if it was being replaced. A quick half of Stannington Stout is always a pleasure, though - it's one of the best dark beers brewed in Sheffield.
Results:
Scoops: 4
Favourites: 3
Verdict: Not Too Reluctant Scooping.
Beer of the day: Burscough Ringtail. It's always good to find a brewery that's new to me and really enjoy their beer.
Next month: Leicester
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Brewdog may tell you that shoving a bottle of freeze-distilled beer down a squirrel’s throat marks their End of History. I say – why stop at woodland creatures? I want to see the following stuffed with bottles:
- a kitten that cries pure iso-alpha acid extract when you tickle its belly
- Don Shenker (chief executive of Alcohol Concern) who vomits ethyl alcohol when you push the right button. And every button is the right button
- a haggis (preferably a mature male from the Western Isles) that seeps smoked malt from its pores. If haggis is out of season, substitute with a badger. And substitute paws for pores.
- a rampant unicorn astride a rainbow with a bottle of double-tripel-barrel-aged-smoked-hefeweizen where its horn should be
- a beaver stuffed with Hardcore. Although I do believe something similar may already exist within the realms of certain gentlemen’s entertainment websites.
- a salmon on Speedball leaping majestically over a knackered old shark.
- a gruffalo sporting the world’s bitterest beer, brewed from the bile of those critics who, like, er, just don’t get ‘it’.
Remember, if you keep reading your Fukuyama*, he tells us that “history cannot come to an end as long as modern natural science has no end… within the next couple of generations we will have knowledge and technologies that will allow us to accomplish what social engineers of the past failed to do”. Making us one happy planet of hop worshippers has got to be on the Brewdog agenda. As long as they don’t intend on inserting it into a chameleon.
* Second thoughts: the last man in a bottle, published in The National Interest, summer 1999
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Marble. Oakham. Thornbridge. Brewdog.
Four of my favourite breweries. If a pub is serving one of their beers, that's probably what I'll end up drinking. Sometimes, there may be two of those breweries on offer. Very occasionally (like Derby's Flowerpot on a good weekend) there may be three to choose from. Rarely do I see all four together.
So the beer boards I saw yesterday had me salivating. A pub with six casks on handpull and another seven served on gravity straight from the cellar, offering a stellar lineup of some of Britain's best beers. The effortlessly-drinkable Marble Pint. A bundle of bitter fruits in Oakham Citra. Some lush, copper-hoppy goodness of Thornbridge Lumford. And the grassy-edged, toffee-middled, floral-riven experience that is Brewdog Punk IPA.
Drank in that order, with another sneaky Pint at the end, it was quite possibly the finest afternoon's cask beer drinking that I've ever had. In a pub that was comfy, clean, buzzing with friendly locals. And a ladies netball team. And a bunch of raspberry-cider drinkers wearing the shortest skirts and highest heels known to man.
So, that's a pub offering top-quality beers from my favourite brewers on a regular basis. With comfy chairs. And engaging customers. With a bus stop right outside. Three guesses where I'm going to be on a regular basis from now on...
The Queen's Head, Marlpool. And they have a Facebook page too. I'll see you at the bar...
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I've been here before with exhortations about Russian River's Blind Pig. But here goes again.
Hoppy beers invariably taste better when fresh. When you get the chance to drink hoppy beers that have tucked away a few air miles, you ought to drink them at your earliest convenience.
So tonight, I will mostly be revelling in the humulus lupulus overload delivered by two US brewers; 21st Amendment's Brew Free! Or Die IPA and Captain Lawrence's Captain's Reserve Imperial IPA. The latter I had at the Great British Beer festival last year, indeed I drank it until I was decidedly wobbly. The former - well, Nico and Shaun's 'tasty crack can' has been something I've lusted after ever since hearing their Brewing Network ads. It's IPA, chock-full of six lush hops, all in a can. In fact, I'm chugging it back right now.
You got hoppy beer? Drink the mother-suckers. Your palate will thank you for doing so.
ps - the fresh fresh fresh bottles of Viven IIPA and Brewdog Punk IPA earlier on were all rather fine and dandy too. Thanks to Phil Lowry for the Belgo-US hop shocks and a yay! to Asda for stocking Punk and making my early morning shopping worthwhile.
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The right kind of bitterness. Not the kind that we associate with toxic substances, nothing bordering on the taste sensation of denatonium. It's about the bite, the edge, the sudden sharp finish or the lingering itch.
It's all about the alpha acids again. The thermal isomerisation of the humulones produces the intensely-bitter iso-alpha acids; they're modified by the residual sugars present in beer to balance out the bitterness.
But how bitter do you want your beer to be? International Bitterness Units (IBU) provide a guide, with a classic English bitter rating around 25-35 IBUs on a scale where 100 IBUs is regarded as the threshold of taste. Not that such limits hold back extreme beers by experimental brewers - Brewdog, Pitstop and Mikkeller have all sought to produce beers with a theoretical bitterness way in excess of what the palate can discern.
Perhaps that's good PR but bordering on developing a denatonium approach to brewing. As Brooklyn brewmaster Garratt Oliver says, "It’s a fairly idiotic pursuit, like a chef saying, ‘This is the saltiest dish'. Anyone can toss hops in a pot, but can you make it beautiful?”
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I've had literally some enquiries as to whether I'd be getting hopelessly drunk on New Year's Eve and presenting a vast number of meaningless awards. Ladeez en jayneteelmen - I give you, The Scoopies 2009
The Cheshire Cat Award for Most Contented Beer Moment
- sat on a pallet outside Thornbridge Hall brewery with Ian Harrison of pubsandbeer, enjoying a ham cob and a pint after enjoying a morning's brewing
Unfeasibly Good Pub of the Year award (sponsored by the Fat Cock Inn, Little Dribbling)
- The Bear Inn, Alderwasley, Derbyshire. Miles from a main road, dominoes by the fire in the bar, top quality food, nooks and crannies, beer garden overlooking Crich Stand, Thornbridge Jaipur - ticks all the boxes
The 'Maybe We Can Turn Back The Hands Of Time" award for best new Best Bitter
- not awarded due to lack of entries
The 'New Technology Baffles Pissed Old Hack' award for Most Entertaining #techfail of the year
- Me trying to blog live about Brewdog 5AM Saint at the Harlequin, Sheffield, via a steam-driven mobile phone. Proof positive that this toper can't drink and think at the same time.
The Death Of Conversation Award for Most Flagrant Misuse of Technology in a Beer Context
- myself and Dave 'Unpronounceable' Szwejkowski, sat in the Kelham Island Tavern, bitching about drinkers sat four feet away from us... by Facebook status updates.
The "I'm Not Pished, Ossifer" Award for Most Entertaining Pratfall
- Me, after only a couple of pints of BrewDog Paradox Smokehead, Derby CAMRA Winter Festival. I went to lean against a pillar; sadly, it was a poster. Fortunately, the beer escaped unharmed.
The Best At-Seat Service on an English Rail Route
- er, me again. For serving myself Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA on the way back from the GBBF. When the steward asked, "Would you care for a coffee, Sir, or are you happy with your beer?" I told him that I was *very* happy with my beer
The "Fucking Students" Award for Most Annoying Soap-Dodgers With Fat Mouths Ruining A Good Pub
- the slow drinkers in the University Arms, Sheffield. Yes, I know it's practically on campus, but FFS. Go drink shite in a union bar. I don't want to hear such tripe as "There are three things I look for in a woman...." btw - I'm imagining those things are desperation, solvency and a predilection for Rohypnol
The 'Are You Looking At My Moobs?" Award for Best Mistaken Identity Incident
- the bloke in the yellow shirt at the Platform 4 urninals, Sheffield Station, who mistook me for the actor Kevin Kennedy (Norman 'Curly' Watts of Coronation Street fame).
The 'Thank My Lucky Stars For A Transcontinental Retailer On My Doorstep' Award for Best Supermarket Beer
- Asda, for selling BrewDog Punk IPA. Often on offer. So I was able to buy it on the way to work, shove it in the fridge and then be able to enjoy it on the way home. I mean, when I got home. Honest, officer.
The Hey Nonny Nonny Award for Unexpectedly Good Morris Dancing At A Beer Event
- Pecsaetan Morris at the Thornbridge Hall Garden Party
The Life of Brian "Yes, Yes, We Are All Individuals" Award
Anyone who runs a beer blog based solely around regurgitated press releases and commenting on other blogs. Thinking is so important, Baldrick.
The 'Suspiciously Traditional Categories That Almost Match Up To The Golden Pint Awards But Fall Short Because I Can't be Arsed To Write That Much Anymore' Awards
Beer Festival of the Year: Beer, Blues and BBQ at the Coach & Horses, Dronfield. For many reasons, but mainly for Thornbridge/Epic Halcyon. And barbecued fish on a stick.
Online Retailer of the Year: Beermerchants.com - yes, they are proud suppliers of free beer to this site but I have yet to find another online retailer with such depth and breadth of stock, keen pricing and superb customer service.
Best Beer Book: Good Beer Guide Belgium. The finest vicarious beer journey of the year
Best Beer Blog: Martyn Cornell's Zythophile
Food and Beer Pairing of the Year: A carry-out of cask Thornbridge Jaipur enjoyed with fish and chips from Carlo's Catch, Spondon.
Pork Pie of the year: Lanes of Leicester for the second year in a row. Not the fattest, crustiest or meatiest pie of the year, but by far and away the most moreish
Most Interesting Brewery: Hopshackle. Nigel is brewing up a quiet revolution; historic styles delivered with passion. And the 2008 Restoration is ageing supremely; another year and I reckon it'll be Trappist-beating.
Best Bottled/Cask Beer: Not telling. There's been too many where the combination of beer, place and people elevated the malt and hops onto a higher plane.
But because I'm a generous old soak, honourable mentions must go to Mikkeller Beer Geek Brunch Weasel, Russian River Pliny the Elder and BrewDog Hardcore (bottle); Brunswick Black Sabbath, Marble Dobber, Captain Lawrence Captain’s Reserve Imperial IPA and Thornbridge Jaipur (cask)
Well, as the head gardener said to the confused bulb-holding apprentice, that's shallot. 2009 was a blast; great beers found and enjoyed with great friends old and new. 2010 has a lot to offer and some important changes here at Reluctant Scooper - keep your eyes peeled over the weekend for more gory details.
Unitl then, dear topers - drink them like you stole them. TTFN.
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Newark; CAMRA Festival, May 2009.
New Brewdog; I am assaulted by hops, in a tent.
Then, I leave for the Lincoln CAMRA fest
"In a little while I'll be gone / The moment's already passed
Yeah it's gone / And I'm not here This isn't happening"
Lincoln; CAMRA Festival, May 2009.
I am sludged by brown beer, in a drill hall.
"This isn't happening / I'm not here / I'm not here"
Derby; my dining room table, December 2009.
Bottles bludgeon old wounds.
Strobe lights and blown speakers? Almost.
Opening the bottle and squatting three feet away, still there's a hop relentless assault. Reminds me initially of Nanny State. Make those memories go away...
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No apologies to be found. No quarter asked. No quarter given. Relentless pine, discordant bitterness. Daft grapefruit. Yet - once you've puckered up, buttercup, those hops seep into your soul and you're grateful for the transfer.
It may yet be overdrawn in the hop account, though BrewDog didn't forget to settle the malt bill. Self-redeeming. Just.
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The lyrics came from something Michael Stipe said to me. I rang him and said, "I cannot cope with this." And he said, "Pull the shutters down and keep saying, 'I'm not here, this is not happening'".
Thom Yorke
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...Within the first couple bars of “How to Disappear Completely,” I knew I was in deep shit...
...There’s a specific satisfaction when a sad song comes on amid your own heartbreak...
...it does take me back to the hotel room in Samoa: cool linoleum under my feet, a glass of sickly-sweet liquor on the nightstand, and the inescapable awareness that I had lost something huge...
Dan Clem
(from the ever-excellent McSweeney's)
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... it just completely messes you up.
The idea came from a conversation with Scott from Hamilton's Tavern (killer beer bar in San Diego). He suggested a 4.5% session double IPA. We just made the concept a little crazier, a little more BrewDog.
James Watt
Brewdog blog
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“The hoppiest beer?” Garrett asked. “It’s a fairly idiotic pursuit, like a chef saying, ‘This is the saltiest dish.’ Anyone can toss hops in a pot, but can you make it beautiful?”
New York Times
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I fear that hops will always break my heart. Tease my palate. Dance on my grave. Rarely be lost.
(and Never Be Found)
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A long morning of pushing a broom around the driveway, shifting leaf mulch and wet moss, builds up my appetite for beer. So I fancied the ninety minute troll up the River Derwent to call by at two Derby brewpubs in search of strong ale.
The Brunswick is a given in the hunt for strong ale in winter. Usually, I'd be slavvering over a pint of Black Sabbath, unfeasibly ABV'd at 6.66%, black as a black thing that's been stuffed full of damsons and twigs and liqorice and sourness (in a good way). But this is Rambo season; Rambo being an old Everards recipe resurged at this brewpub into a deep, viscous, fruity brew. Truth be told, the first few sips were difficult, perhaps as I'd worked up a thirst and satiating it with strong ale wasn't the keenest move.
Like one of Victoria Wood's flapjack, you just need to work it around your mouth a bit. The turning fruit and itching malt works better as the beer warms. To be honest, sitting in the parlour where the only sound was the head of my pint popping and forming has been one of my finest beer moments this year.
Upriver for a palate cleanser. There's one downside to the Smithfield in Derby - when the river's running high, the pub stinks. But there's nearly always a dog in the bar that's mad as a box of frogs, great tunes on the perpetually self-selecting jukebox and at least six handpulls full of light, hoppy beer. It's unusual for me to not be drinking Whim or Oakham in here - when the alternative is BrewDog Punk IPA, perhaps I can be forgiven. Full of fat fresh fruit salad flavours. Dang tasty.
Last stop was the Flowerpot. Often tricky drinking here on a Sunday; being a popular music venue, fans may have given the beers a hammering the night before. The upside is availability of their own brews; five of theirs on today including their winter ofering, Zymosis. Vaguely golden, bitter pine to the fore, lurking alcohol with licks of old pineapple steeped in gone-off glue. More drinkable than Rambo, deceptive with its strength. In cinematic terms, it's Jason Bourne by comparison - subtle, understated.
Back home with a smile on my face and a Three Counties jacket potato to look forward to - Double Gloucester cheese, Worcestershire sauce and Herefordshire perry. Nom cubed. And a glass or four of BrewDog Zephyr to chase it down - but that'll be another story...
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