A rare pleasure today. Beers with Ian Harrison; half the brains behind pubsandbeer.co.uk, upstanding member of ratebeer.com, 2006 winner of the Best Bloke To Share Mead With In A Reading Travelodge Award and possessor of one of the keenest palates I know.

Who found a German pils to be like "licking walnut shells on the outside".

Who nailed "strawberry cherry" as a malt descriptor.

Who brings out the best and worst in me. And our shared tasting notes.

Mr Grundy's Lord Kitchener wasn't just toffee and banana. It was, specifically, banana-flavoured Toffo.

Derby Malt Teaser was 'malt water'.

Poretti didn't just taste of cardboard. It was 'enough cardboard to build the homeless a mansion. But enough lemon to reset your palate'.

Which led us to this epic conclusion:

Poretti is the Control-Alt-Delete of beer.

Malt Teaser is the Blue Screen Of Death.

You know, tasting notes are all bollocks. But in that moment, the fuggy beery moment when you blurt them out loud, it's like you've finally comprehended constellations as alien code. In the moment, they make absolute sense.

Which is why, looking back through notes of old, you wonder how you know a beer has the aroma of  "a pair of pants pissed in and abandoned in the dank corner of a poorly ventilated stable".

Ah, they were the days... >

Let's start with some facts. Beer Exposed was a great exhibition. I met many great Ratebeerians. And some normal people, too. I drank too much, ate too little and left my coat behind. But it was such a pure rollercoaster of great beers and good times. Twelve other things I know for sure, dear toper, so twelve things only will I tell...




Des Mulcahy and Matt Roclawski know how to throw a show. The outstanding venue (Islington's Business Design Centre) was a perfect place to showcase their heady mix of world-class beers, enthusiastic speakers and an easy-going vibe. Des and Matt put together a passionate package that didn't encourage a free-for-all, nor solemn ticking, but let the audience fulfil the exhibition's tenets of 'explore, educate, enlighten'.



Ian Harrison is a jovial beer monster. One of this countries outstanding beer raters and co-founder of the site Pubs & Beer.co.uk , this guy never stopped smiling and enthusing about beer from the moment I met him in the pub beforehand right up to the last beer we shared. He never bored of first-time Schlenkerla Rauchbier drinkers saying 'wow! it's like smoky bacon crisps!' Wandering around with him as he pushed me towards beers that I wouldn't normally have tried was one of the session's highlight.




Flashy stands = poorer beers. Some stands had little in the way of backdrops, literature and the whole corporate shebang. Brooklyn, Brewdog and Thornbridge all let their beer do the talking - racking the bottles up and chewing the fat with you. To sell dodgy Lithuanian cider, wazzy Chinese lager and the spawn of Suffolk's Beelzebub it seems you needed three layers of slap, nightgowns and a sparkler that produced a glass of froth. Svyturys, Tsingtao and Greene King were proponents of 'style' over substance. Shame on them all.



Meantime is an outstandingly assured brewer. I just love the way Meantime operate - competent across beer styles, unafraid to experiment with flavours, distinctive marketing, assured nationwide presence. Bottles you want to hold, beers you want to savour. IPA, London Porter and Coffee Beer prove to me that their mission to bring the consumer the 'most exciting flavours' is superbly successful. Even more kudos for them to be away in a corner, a simple presence, where the beers were enjoyed with passion.



There's always a surprising beer around the corner. I used to equate Zywiec Brewery with underpeforming lager, so I wouldn't have given their stall a second glance if it hadn't been for Ian mentioning their porter. And what a whopper it was; fresh coffee and chocolate, smooth feel and a drying finish. Great to be blindsided by such a beer, glad to given the opportunity. Explore, educate and enlighten indeed!



Fullers are doing something right. It's all too easy to take the rise out of regional brewers, seemingly spending more on fancy glasses than quality ingredients. But Fullers have a keen eye on the English beer market. London Pride may not be everyone's choice tipple, but the thousands who like it are rewarded by a solid, well-made bitter. I make the journey to my nearest Fullers pub - in Birmingham, their northernmost outpost - to get a couple of sessions on London Porter when it's released as a seasonal special. And as the stand here proved, there's always something interesting lurking in the back catalogue - two versions of Vintage as well as the Gale's Prize Old. Fullers are prepared to keep such niche beers going for an appreciative audience, whilst other regionals rebadge and water down once great brews. I know which approach I prefer.



Thornbridge almost burst with ambition. A low-key presence here for this high-achieving brewer, but Thornbridge marketing manager Alex was more than happy to thrust a Kipling at you and let you know what's going down up at the Hall. How the current bottles are good, but when they get their own bottling plant they'll have top quality bottle-conditioned beers available. Why maturing beers in sherry butts is a natural progression from whisky barrel experimentation. How brewers' competitions bring out the best in each of them. Wet-hopped beers, Belgian-style dubbels, beers with herbs grown in the Hall's garden.... Thornbridge could rest on their well-hopped laurels and spend all day brewing their 40+ award winning Jaipur. But they're prepared to experiment with beers that are indeed 'never ordinary'. It's always a joy to meet up with them, even more so to see 'beer newbies' fall under their Thornbridge spell. Seems we all start with Jaipur and then never want the variety to end.



Eric Wallace knocks out a damn fine milk stout He regaled us with tales of US over-hopping and his reaction to the trend, 400lb Monkey, and then revealed what for me was the black ace up Left Hand Brewery's sleeve; a milk stout that achieved a smooth segue through sweet nutty chocolate notes into a drying creamy finish. Eric said he thought it would appeal to the British drinker and he's absolutely spot on. A beer that deserves distribution wider than its likely to achieve over here.



Ratebeerians are the best beer bods I know . Passionate about the styles they love and the styles they love to hate. Knowledgeable about the craft, art and science of brewing. Never insular to the extent of only breathing malt & hops, though - some of the funniest, warmest, most well-rounded people I know are the ones I've met through ratebeer.com . The beers are key to them but not to the exclusion of having a good time. Getting a whole bunch of them together in the same place with great ales is bound to end in fun, sweat and beers. So, to those ratebeer crew that I remember meeting on the day - harrisoni, duff, phil_l, mes_&_sim, thewolf, reakt, magicdave_6 - I salute you.




Collaboration produces world-beating beers. Smaller producers and respected brewers seem to be almost falling over themselves to get into the mash tun together. Perhaps it's borne out of homebrewing, where the community is open, helpful and respectful of the advice offered and received. I'm familiar with some of the English collaborations involving Garret Oliver, Brooklyn's brewmaster (such as Kelham Island's awesome Smoked Porter). So it was an unexpected pleasure to sample an interesting collaboration between him and the Schneider brewer Hans-Peter Drexler. Brooklyner-Schneider Hopfen-Weisse was brewed on the Brooklyn plant using Schneider yeast. A feisty dry-hopped weizen, this was the the beer that persuaded Ian to get his notebook out and start rating. I'll add a full review to Bottled Up sometime soon (I brought two bottles back with me) but suffice to say it was a stunning sherbert fizz of a beer. And the perfect example of what brewers (and friends) are capable of when they knock their noggins together.



Brewdog have a beer for all seasons. I love Brewdog. I've even forgiven Martin Richie for leaving Thornbridge. Because they brew, without doubt, the best quality, no-compromise beers in Scotland. Punk IPA has been my picnic bottle of this soggy summer. And Paradox will be warming my cockles by the fire all through the winter. It was the first time I'd met James and the first time I'd tried Smokehead (their bourbon-barrel matured Paradox); both were intriguing and beguiling, one was smokey and one is a fan of cookie dough... this was a stand that us ratebeerians gravitated to, always a great beer and a good banter to be had. And, guys.... you've got a Paradox matured in a 1968 Islay cask? I'm 40 this year and have been looking for a suitable drink to celebrate with....



and, last but by no means first ...

Phil Lowry is an alien from the Planet Beer. He can't be human. This guy is beer personified. He serves the stuff, drinks the stuff, brews and buys and sells the stuff. Publican-turned-retailer, qualified lecturer, beer sommelier, keen brewer, writer and photographer... makes you sick, eh? At Beer Exposed, he was literally showing the scars of his exploits from where his latest brew had exploded in his face whilst in production. Does he stop? Nah, he's behind the Beermerchants.com bar, pouring and talking and - every now and then - magicking up a bottle of something special. Mikkeller Beer Geek Breakfast, Struise Black Albert, aged Liefmans... Phil's homebrew... although I was too busy drinking Fruli and getting lost in the limpid blue eyes of the lady next to me to take many notes. (And, Mrs H, if you're reading this, yes I *do* prefer your auburn eyes to anyone else's in the whole widest world :-)

Phil travels widely for his beer, meets the makers and shakers, and - in a world of fat tickers and braying wannabe's - can talk the talk and walk the walk without sounding arrogant. The beermerchants stand was the place to be, outstanding beers and a great mix of beer faces old and new. Phil's enthusiasm was contagious and generosity legendary. Many thanks to him for the invite and for the chance, for a few hours, to be part of an event that has redefined how beer can be presented to a willing and enthusiastic audience.



Beer Exposed has proven that there is a market for intelligent, informed events in the beer sphere. A million miles away from the vast festival halls crammed with sweaty yobs, the easy-going atmosphere of relaxed drinkers having a good time - one driven by the beers but never dictated to by them - firmly exposed the myth that beer events are no more than swill sessions for weirdy-beardies. More of the same next year, please... this country's drinkers deserve more events like Beer Exposed.

PS - all photos by me which is why they're a bit shaky. Slideshow and more pics available (though, sadly, not the one of Duff receiving double nipple action from Ang and Tom) on my Flickr site.

PPS - huge thanks to Ray Alcock, concierge at the Business Design Centre, for mailing me my coat back for free. Now, that's what I call service!!!

>

So, I say... Oxford. And you think of.... dreaming spires, Inspector Morse, Tolkien, ruddy tourists and the blue hue cast by the gown around town. But did you think of beer?

Probably not (and this is a beer blog! Sheesh! You just can't get the readers nowadays).



To be honest, it wasn't my first choice for a Midlands pub crawl. Truth be told, it wasn't even in my top tweleve choices of rambles on the beer. But it was the chosen venue for the second Midlands ratebeer.com crawl and with over a dozen members set to meet up there, it was too good to miss out on.

Now, I've travelled cattle class on this Cross Country line before and had no intention if doing so again. So, it was hoi polloi class for me and a dozen or so maiden aunts and far-too-well-off football fans. Shame, then, that to claim the complimentary beverages you had to claw your way to the other end of the train across sprawling students and feral families. Having marginally avoided kneeing a few toddlers in the head, it's then another let-down to be given not a crusty bacon roll but a 'snack-pack' which had some strange, squidgy stuff in it that smelt a bit like a Belgian beer. I think they call it "fruit"; I tried it once and didn't like it. At least they also gave you a Kit-Kat to dunk in your hot chocolate.

A pleasant journey, then. Having met up with our Glen, our esteemed leader for the day, and some of his mates we set off for the short stroll to the first pub of the day. Arriving there at 1130 gave us half an hours advantage on the rest of the mob who were due around 12.... shame then that the St Aldates Tavern wasn't open. So - Glen put Plan B into action, a walk across the city to the Three Goat Heads. Delightfully art deco on the outside and possibly on the inside to... but as this was shut as well, I'll never know.

Plan C then - hang around outside the Aldates 'til opening time. By now, a few more Ratebeerians had joined the hubble - Hughie, Chris O and Mark (complete with baguette in gob. Though, as he was bringing me Westvleteren, I'll be nice to him just this once.). As we watched what seemed to be every bus in Oxford try to force their way down the street, Gazza's arrival was heralded by scooping acolytes scattering hop flowers before his feet.

Eventually the door latch was slipped, havoc cried and the Aldates invaded. This is a non-nonsense single-room pub, utilitarian furniture, pump clips on the ceiling, rugby shirts on the walls and some juicy looking White Horse beers on the bar. As I tucked into a pint of White Horse Bitter, the rest of the gang began to pile in - Ian "Kippers" Harrison, Merton BF's Fin, Steve and Casey looking unnervingly like father and son. And that veritable rating combo (but a crap hand at Scrabble), Mes & Sim and Ang.

This was a bubbly little place, felt like a community pub beached in the city, with some excellent White Horse beers (their aforementioned Bitter and Giant were in great nick). A surreptitious slurp of Hair of the Dog's Adam, courtesy of Hughie, was greatly appreciated (by far the best- and almost only- dark beer of the day). Just a hint of surly landlord on glass collection, a service level incomparable to the indifference yet to be encountered...

No rest for the beer crawler - the next stop was but a bus-defying dash across the street and down an alley to the Bear. Glen was saying we wouldn't all get in; my stomach alone took up the room normally occupied by four diners. And it was those sausage eaters, with their tables and chairs, that took up precious room that could have been better served by cramming in a dozen vertical drinkers. So, with Old Hooky Bitter bought, we repaired to the 'beer garden' - a stupendously euphemistic term for a line of picnic tables next to the bins. Which didn't stop a steady line of tourists taking photos - though probably not of the bins. Unless they're on ratebin.com. And how *sad* would that be... the Hooky was fine, would have been disappointing not to have any during the day. Every county needs a solid, local-brewed bitter - just that I much preferred the cleaner taste of the White Horse one.

Glen then seemed hell-bent on finding even narrower alleyways to lose us down - I half expected to round a corner and hear "They lured him here to bugger him senseless, Lewis!". But, as Endeavour inevitably found, there was a pub at the end of the alley. And not just *a* pub - the hallowed Turf Tavern.
I forgot to take a photo here, so here's one purloined from t'internet.

A ramble of rooms, a sizable beer garden (one with plants and roofs and everything), a tiny bar and Oxford's representative in the Surliest Put-Upon Barman competition. Though, to be fair, if I was trying to serve fifteen punters in a pub that's bristling with students and tourists, I'd have been reaching for the machete rather than pleading with people to keep his hatch area clear. Little pleader.

Loads of room outside though, highlighting the peccadilloes of prime ministers and presidents during their time at the Turf. The beer was educational as well; I tried another White Horse beer brewed for the pub, Turf Tavern Summer Ale, which was a clean and refreshing drop.

Sitting outside, to be honest, was like drinking in the outdoor section of B&Q, with more decking than Charlie Dimmock can swing her things at. Inside was fairly cool, quaint in a 'Greene King Survivor' way, with some individuality not totally snuffed out by the suits from East Angular. I should have spent more time inside musing around; I may have enjoyed the pub more.

From here, then, on to the White Horse. Sadly, not a brewery tap but an engaging single room pub just down the way from the Bodleian. It reminded me of some old market town boozers that I know, stepping down from the street into a bare-boarded bar with a hub-bub of conversation. Having taken a few minutes to scare off the locals, we commandeered half the pub and drank White Horse Wayland Smithy. Apart from Ang, that is, who had Hoegaarden and Lemsip. Allegedly.

Time for nosebag and Glen had recommended the next pub as a suitable scoffing point. Far From The Madding Crowd was a Ronseal pub - does exactly what it says on the sign. Away from the main drag, busy but not crammed with be-scarfed loons and camera-addled visitors. Swift table-arranging allowed us to set up dining for twelve with King Gazza promoted to the sofa. I swapped Derby tales with Fin, whose Dad is lucky enough to live within staggering distance of the Old Oak in Horsley Woodhouse, the brewery bar for Leadmill and Bottle Brook.

Unlike very other pub today, the 'Madding' has little history, being a new build to fill in the gap between extended modern shops. As such, it was an opportunity to do something different- instead, it's all rather bland and boxy. Even more disappointing was the long wait for sausages that , when they finally decided to put in an appearance, had seemingly been warmed by the light from an energy-saving bulb rather than cooked in an oven. As least the beer range was diverse (although few dark beers today - surprising for the time of year) and with a new Abbeydale beer for me to try (Ephiphany) I was happy to mull over a pint. I just got the feleing that here wasa chance wasted - I wouldn't have wanted a 'ye olde' facsimile (no pint when the city is throbbing with the real thing) but it felt a little like an Ikea showroom. With tuck scoffed, Hughie bade us all farewell at this point - hope I'll catch up with him sometime for a Peak District ramble.

No rest for the scooping crawler, regardless of reluctancy. Two uber-historic pubs to knock off yet, starting with the Eagle and Child. Or Bird & Baby, or Fowl & Foetus. Anywhichway, it's an attractive place, tiny front rooms leading off a long bar, beyond which is a dining area and a fairy-light-encrusted corridor where I and a few others pitched up. The Cains Dragon Heart had just been drunk dry by the ratebeerians who weren't outside taking photos, so I settled for a more than adequate Adnams Broadside (only problem with it being that is I'm used to having a steak and mushroom pie at the same time, pie and Broadside being my staple meal at one of my locals, the Carpenters Arms in Dale Abbey). This was a pub I'd like to spend more time in, have a bite to eat and a chat with the staff. Was it the sort of place where you could imagine Tolkien and Lewis nattering away... "There's been a murder, Lewis.... it's Haldir!". Well, er, no, but it's still an atmospheric place.

Time to head over the road - well, over the unfeasibly wide urban motorway with a car park in the middle - for the pub the Inklings defected to, the Lamb and Flag. And let me get my one piece of negative criticism out of way now; the barman seemed to resent customers with every strand of his DNA, never knowing (or caring) who was next to be served but instead just shouting 'NEXT!!' whilst looking at the drink he was pouring. Never smiled, no manners... no wonder pub staff in this city get a bad rep.

But, what a pub - solid beers from Skinners and Palmers (the latter rebadging Gold providing the pub's house beer, Lamn & Flag Gold). Room to swing a cat if you fancied it, plenty of nooks for tables and chatter, room at the bar for surly service. And to sit there on a stool with a beer and chew the fat about whatever you wish - which I did with Warren Monteiro, playwright, journalist and beer drinker extrodinaire. We shared our views on Oxford's beer scene, I evangelicised about Reluctant Scooping and Warren gave me the lowdown on beers NYC style. And he helped date my Westys! Certainly a pub I'll return to.

Mark then made his way back to deepest darkest Northamptonshire - and I bet he'd written up his blog entry for the day by the time the bus got him home...

That's all the pubs I'd planned on visiting today, but with an hour and half to go I decided to be dragged along to another pub, the Gardeners Arms. This was a wee way away to the north of the city (should have been more attentive of this at the time). On the upside, I noticed a fish 'n chip van on the way and immediately began to dream of a fried supper on the way back to the station.

The Gardeners was a locals pub at the end of a row of houses (natch). A few warm and friendly rooms, Marstons beers and (apparently) a great reputation for vegetarian food. I sampled the Brains St Peters - OK stuff, underwhelming but beery enough. Cue the great 'stout versus porter' debate round the table: I personally don't think there's a spit of difference between them, but a reasoned and loquacious discussion on the style(s). Suddenly mindful of the time, I thought of heading back to the station. How long would that take? Glen thought it would be twenty minutes - Fin was convinced it woud be thirty. I had thirty five minutes but it ended up being a hard paced walk, foresaking fish and chips on the way.

An on-time train and a quiet carriage awaiting made for a blissful journey home. Even if I'd been tempted, the Westys stayed unmolested by virtue of me falling asleep on the approach to Banbury and not stirring again until I entered the nether regions of Staffordshire. Too tired even for a nightcap at the Brunswick on the way home.

All in all, a fun day; some above average beers, especially impressed by the White Horse brews. Some pubs I'd like to revisit and linger longer in (Lamb & Flag, Turf Tavern). And always good to meet up with ratebeer bods who are never backward at coming forward and telling people why stout is porter. Like, duh!

>