I once ran a '12 beers of Christmas' feature where I treated myself to some of the choicest bottles sat in my beer cupboard. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I thought I'd do it all over again. After all, what could be better than enjoying a dozen great beers?

Well, how about enjoying twenty-four of them? From now until JC's birthday, I'm treating myself everyday to a beer. And there'll be a gift and a dinky picture every day too.

Today's beer is unusual in bottle. Exposed by Thornbridge appeared on cask back in January and has been bottled as part of their experimental 'Alchemy' series. It's a dry stout infused with pink peppercorns and aged on strawberry pulp. And it almost works; a good glass swill brings pepper to the fore. There's a certain earthy flavour imparted by the Bramling Cross and woody strawberry. For me, a fuller mouthfeel and less astringency would have made a good beer great.

Today's gift: continuing the strawberry vibe, here's a slightly-annoying game to play.

Today's picture: it has to be a festive cat. Just this once...


Thanks to Thornbridge for the beer, >

Let's establish the facts:

Moved house. Contracted a chest infection. Been out-of-this-world-knackered for days. Recovered enough today to fill a skip with the flotsam from my cultural ebb and flow. Now particularly knackered, but in a pleasantly-tired way rather than a my-body-is-eating-itself way.

So there's been neither time nor inclination to write about beer.Let's change that.

I could write about this time last Saturday; a handful of brewers, a table full of beers and a fair few backslaps and man-hugs as we said goodbye to Kelly 'Tigger' Ryan from Thornbridge. But you don't want to know about Bracia, Thornbridge lager and home-made gueuze, do you?

You do? Sorry. Ain't gonna happen.

Here's what's happening this Saturday. I stink. Six hours dipping into a skip and introducing a lump hammer to recalcitrant furniture does that to a man. When I'd finished, I knew just what to do.

I didn't want harsh citric hops. I didn't want treacle-caramel malt.

I. Just. Wanted. A. Beer.

So here I am, with a six-pack of diddy Stella bottles and that aaaaaaah moment.

As in - aaaaaaah, beer. Not ooooh! Triple-dubbel-cranberry-hefe!

Just. Aaaaaaah. Beer.

A cold one. Something to glug. To knock the froth off. To scratch that itch halfway down by dusty throat.

Why Stella? It's the first beer I ever bought from the off-license. It's a beer I know I can buy from my local off-license today.  It's the beer I've been drinking at one certain bar for over sixteen years.

It's because I rather like it. >

Much of my early-days beer shopping was at Sainsburys. Which meant two things: heaps of hit-and-miss Wychwood and the better-than-average Meantime lager-types in the Taste The Difference range. I don't shop there too often anymore so it was a treat this week not only to find Meantime's London Porter and IPA in 75cl bottles but also on sale at a quid off.

The Porter - well hopped, bitter coffee, chewy chocolate fruits - perfectly complemented a Pieminister pie with creamy mash. And the IPA - smooth, dusty hops with a lemon edge - has lasted me through a gargantuan portion of haddock & chips tonight and is still going strong.

Bottles of this size are a mild indulgence for an individual toper. The glass topped up slowly but often, an exposure to hops and malts sustained, nuances shifting as your palate is with and without food. And so I got to thinking - here's a bottle that deserves a place on a dinner table, to be shared. A couple of glasses of IPA to go with your main course, perhaps. A couple more of some kind of stout to accompany a chocolate pudding. Or an oyster starter. Not a single beer for each person; a range of beers to be enjoyed by all at the table.

So it's encouraging to find, after extensive research five minutes Googling that these Meantime bottles do appear on menus. Not just at the brewer's own restaurant but in London gastro establishments and some great country pubs too. I'd like to see more bottled beers of this quality and size on menus - allows the beer drinkers to enjoy a couple of styles with their meal and, perhaps, provide an entry-point tipple for any non-beer drinkers around the table. >

... there's an etched window in a light oak door. The dried-blood coloured floor tiles pave a way from russet benches to the dark panelled bar. Five handpulls stand proud. Above, nine glass tankards hang southward.

To one side, black boards describe the beers on offer. There must therefore be eight more in the other bar, plus continental draughts. More boards announce food available; cobs and crisps only on this side.

My eyes scout around the room. Posters for brewers both familiar and long forgotten: Woodfordes, Hook Norton, Holt, Lloyds, Simspons, Vallances, Fremlins. Mirrors: Adnams, Bass, one that's massive (Worthington's).

Late autumn afternoon light refracts through stained glass. No other customer has disturbed the bar for over ninety minutes. One poster resonates - "Beer - the best long drink in the world!"

Outside, very close outside, trains stop or don't stop. Pints of porter have warmed me. The next train that stops is the one that spirits me away from what is possibly the best mid-afternoon pub in the world. >

The Brewing Network should need no introduction. Because, you're a beer lover. So you listen to it all the time, right?

Their Sunday Session is the perfect mix of frat-level ass-hattery and stupendously useful home-brew technical knowledge. Interviewees have included Brit-based brewers such as Kelly Ryan from Thornbridge, James Watt from Brewdog and Justin Hawke from Moor. But last week's podcast was something other-worldly; it featured Dr. Charles Bamforth of University of California, Davis (and Special Professor of Brewing Science at the University of Nottingham) who has to be one of the most engaging and charismatic characters I've ever had the pleasure of listening to.

All I'll say is this; if you love beer, go listen to Charlie. You'll love it even more after and will certainly learn a thing or four. The opening of the show is great, too, as host Justin Crossley gives a sparky American's perspective on English cask beer. And three guesses as to which ubiquitous English beer bod gets a namecheck early on... >

One of those brewer guys but like no other. The first time I spent a brewday with Kelly, he bounced around from mashtun to laboratory to hop store and back again. His enthusiasm for both the art and science of brewing is legendary.

He's off to New Zealand, leaving a Tigger-shaped hole in the English brewing industry.

For all the beers we've shared, for all the banter exchanged, here's to you, Kel.


And if if you want to know why he's really called Tigger, with apologies to A A Milne but no apologies for length, read on....








Jim woke up suddenly in the middle of the night and listened. Then he got out of bed, and lit his candle, and stumped across the room to see if anybody was trying to get into his hop-cupboard, and they weren't, so he stumped back again, blew out his candle, and got into bed. Then he heard the noise again.

"GiddayGiddayGidday!," said Whatever-it-was, and Jim found that he wasn't asleep after all.

"What can it be?" he thought. He got out of bed and opened his front door.

"I'm Jim," said Jim.

"I'm Tigger," said Kelly.

"Oh!" said Jim, for he had never seen a brewer like this before. " Do Thornbridge know about you?"

"Of course they do," said Tigger.

"Well," said Jim, "it's the middle of the night, which is a good time for going to sleep. And tomorrow morning we'll have some honey for breakfast. Do Tiggers like to brew with honey?"

"They like to brew with everything," said Tigger cheerfully.

"Then if they like going to sleep on the floor, I'll go back to bed," said Jim, "and we'll brew things in the morning. Good night." And he got back into bed and went fast asleep.

When he awoke in the morning, the first thing he saw was Tigger, in his gummies, sitting in front of the mash tun. Covered in honey. Tigger had been brewing with it.

Jim suggested that he could try some hopcorns.

"Thank you, Jim," said Tigger, "because hopcorns is really what Tiggers like best."

So after breakfast they went round to see Farmer Farham, and Jim explained as they went that Farmer Farham was a Very Busy Man who didn't like bouncing, and asked Tigger not to be too Bouncy
just at first.

And Tigger, who had been hiding behind the copper and jumping out on Jim's shadow when it wasn't looking, said that Tiggers were only bouncy before breakfast, and that as soon as they had had a few hopcorns they became Quiet and Refined. So by-and-by they knocked at the door of Farmer Farham’s house.

"Hallo, Jim," said Farmer Farham.

"Hallo, Farmer Farham. This is Tigger. He likes hopcorns," said Jim,
"so that's what we've come for." Farmer Farham pushed a bowl of hopcorns towards Tigger, and said, "Help yourself!"

But Tigger said nothing because his mouth was full of hopcorns....

After a long munching noise he said:

"Awwwww…Sweeeeet…True!"

Farmer Farham, who was rather glad that Tiggers like hopcorns, said,
"What about caraway?"

"Caraway," said Tigger, "is what Tiggers like best."

"Then lets go along and see Gardener de Wynter," said Farmer Farham.

So the three of them went; and after they had walked and walked and walked, they came to the part of the estate where Gardener de Wynter was.

"Hallo, Gardener de Wynter!" said Jim. "This is Tigger."

"What is?" said Gardener de Wynter.

"This," explained Jim and Farmer Farham together, and Tigger
smiled his happiest smile and said nothing.

Gardener de Wynter led the way to the most caraway-looking patch of
caraway that ever was, and waved a glove at it.

"A little patch I was keeping for my birthday," he said; " but, after all, what are birthdays? Here to-day and gone to-morrow. Help yourself, Tigger."

Tigger thanked him and he took a large mouthful, and he gave a large
crunch.

"Good on ya, mate!" said Tigger.

Jim called to Tigger.

"Come along and we'll go and see Stef. He's sure to have lots more breakfast for you."

Jim was thinking of a poem. And when he had thought of it he began:

What shall we do with our bouncy Tigger?
If he brews with everything our brewhouse should be bigger.
He loves to use honey and hopcorns and caraway
Because of how aromas, flavours and tastes overlay
And all the good things which a brewer needs
Like quality malt and Tahitian lime leaves

At last they came in sight of Stef's house. Tigger rushed up to him.

"Oh, there you are, Tigger!" said Stef. "I knew you'd be somewhere."

"I've been finding things," said Tigger importantly. "I've found a Jim and a Farmer Farham and an Gardener de Wynter, but I can't find any proper breakfast."

"Don't you know what Tiggers like?" asked Jim.

"I expect if I thought very hard I should," said Stef, "but I thought Tigger knew."

"I do," said Tigger. "Everything there is in the brewing world
like honey and hopcorns and - what were those crunchy things
called?"

"Caraway."

"Yes, and those."

"Oh, well then," said Jim, "Stef can give you some breakfast."

So they went into Stef's house, and there on the table was a pint of Fermented Extract of Malt.

Tigger came closer, and he leant over the back of Stef's chair, and suddenly he put out his tongue, and took one large golollop. The pint of Fermented Extract of Malt had gone.

Tigger looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes, and his tongue went round and round his chops, in case he had left any outside, and a peaceful smile came over his face as he said…

"So that's what Tiggers like best!" >

There's a certain something about November.

Looking out of my office window, I've been watching trees on the turn. Burnished golds and russet reds replace the green swathe. And my mind is set on one thing.

Boot time. A good Sunday yomp. Mud between the cleats, leaves stuck in your hair. And a good, malty beer at a country pub as a reward.

After a morning spent ankle-deep in the mud it was good to stop off at a cracking pub near where I live, The Royal Oak at Ockbrook, kick off the boots and introduce a vague aroma of cowshit to the bar. Sat back outside in the bright sun and cool breeze, with a coco-choc-full pint of Derventio Barbarian, I remember just how much I enjoy getting out into the countryside. And just how great the first sip of that first pint tastes. >

Those folks over at Beertaster.ca are hosting this month's Session, the beer-blogging monthly get-together, which this time around is all about the wonderful world of wheat beers.

So, here's Four Less-Than-Obvious Observations About Wheat in Beer.

I say wheat beer. You say…. Weiss? Weizen? Wit?

It’d be easy to pour a bottle of the cloudy stuff into a vase-shaped glass and ruminate on all things hefe, but let’s give it up for the wider world of wheat in beer.

#1 – Wheat in beer is (almost) everywhere

And for good reasons. When you think of an archetypal weiss, the head stands out – literally. Wheat is rich in glycoprotein, molecules of which are both attracted to water (hydrophilic) and repulsed by it (hydrophobic). These nest together, create pockets of C02, forming bubbles and – ta-da! – a head on the beer. Which is why many brews include a small proportion of wheat in their mash.

#2 – Lambic is a wheat beer

OK, not as high a proportion as weizens, but wheat makes up around 30% of a lambic’s grain bill. Turbidity, head retention, high levels of dextrins helping young lambics taste smoother than their funkier, older siblings… that’s the unmalted wheat at work.

#3 – Britain brews some damn fine wheat beers

They’re not quite like any other. Which is fine and dandy by me; if I want a classy bottled hefeweizen I’d buy a German bottle. There’s a certain something about an English cask ale that’s been given the wheat treatment. Oakham White Dwarf has a smooth lemon edge to it and makes for a corking summertime pint. Castle Rock Snowhite is more floral and, as a winter release, is a welcome palate rester when the bar is full of malty-toffee beers.

I get to drink those two fairly often. Wish I could say the same for Green Jack Orange Wheat with its deft marmalade touch and itching Citra notes. And then there’s Lovibond’s Gold Reserve Wheat Wine: brewer Jeff Rosenmeier took his premium wheat beer (Henley Gold), ramped up the wheat and balanced the flavour out with local honey to produce what was voted the world’s best honey beer at the 2009 World Beer Awards.

#4 – Britain held the first International Gluten-Free Beer Festival

So, glycoproteins helps make a wheat beer all fluffy and wonderful. Albeit not so wonderful at all if you’re allergic to them. They’re the building blocks of gluten, which is also found in barley, so severely restricting the beer-drinking of those who are gluten-intolerant. There have been a number of gluten-free beers entering the market in recent years and back in 2006 there was the first international festival to feature them. Held in Chesterfield, Derbyshire, it featured over a dozen gluten-free beers in bottles, cans and on draught from all around the world. Today, UK brewer Green’s have developed a range of beers made with de-glutenised malt –including pilsners, dubbels and triples – to challenge the assumption that gluten-free beer is boring in both style and execution.

And one of the judges at that festival was Nick Wheat. Seriously. I couldn’t make it up. >

Last month, I spent a couple of beery, cheery days at the ever-excellent Nottingham CAMRA beer festival. After a busy session as a SIBA judge and a day of random beers, I decided that I ought to write an article all about it. And I thought I'd try to persuade Nottingham CAMRA to publish it in their multi-colour, multi-award-winning branch magazine, Nottingham Drinker.

I tried to catch up with its editor, Pete 'Spyke' Golding, at various times during the festival. A quick hello was as far as I got; the crowds got deeper and my chance of a convincing pitch diminished. And as much as I wanted to talk about my article idea, I also wanted to thank him in person for his work as editor on what's possibly the best free beer magazine I've ever read. Never mind, I thought. There's always another time.

Spyke died last week.

It's his funeral tomorrow. I can't be there, but I'll wearing my most colourful tie when I raise a pint to him. >

Who suggests to me the beers that I drink? 
Well, I'm more receptive to suggestion now than I ever was. It's been a wave; when I was a newbie to beer I listened to anyone who shouted loud enough. When I thought I knew what I was doing, I'd ignore most people and go with what I knew. Now, I'm broadminded - letting folks on Twitter and Facebook decide which beers I should drink whilst at the Nottingham Beer Festival this year was a real eye-opener. I tried beers by brewers to whom I wouldn't normally give a second glance.

Who do I ignore? Why?
Any beer or brewer that makes just too much noise. When half a dozen bloggers regurgitate the same press release, when the Facebook album is loved by people I know cannot have tried the new beer, I steer clear.

Where don’t I go to drink beer? Why?
I'd become rather beer-snobbish. To the extent of not visiting High Street, national chain bars lest they offered nothing of quality and passion. To the extent of not visiting some of my local pubs, where I've eaten and drank for ten years, because the cask offering was unlikely to be a show-stopping dry-hopped bonanza. Then I realised how I'd been missing out on a great, fresh pint of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale at All Bar One. How a well-kept Pedigree or Bass can be flinty and sulphourous and pretty damn good with fish & chips.

What styles do I avoid? Why?
It's repetition of style that I'm avoiding now. There were times at beer festivals, desperate to scoop new breweries, when I would drink nothing but brown best bitter. Because that's invariably what debut brewers brewed. And most were average but some were tasty. Step forward six years and the lists are now chock full of pale, pale ales. And many of them are tasty... put it this way: I like Metallica. I think the track 'Master Of Puppets' is one of the most kick-ass tracks of all time. But I couldn't listen to the intro over and over and over again. The chords may begin to bore me. I'd know what to expect. I'd be satiated, but not quite as excited. But after I've been away and listened to a stack of Mahler, the DAH! DAH-DAAH-DAHHH!! of 'Puppets' sounds claw-your-face-off fresh.

How does method of dispense make a difference? Why?
The difference is everything and nothing. Nothing beats the flavour, aroma and mouthfeel that you get from a pint of hoppy pale cask ale that's been poured from gravity, allowing the gentle flavours to linger longer throughout the glass.. Except for a pint of nutty, toffee cask ale handpulled through a sparkler, giving a creamy head that helps the flavours stick. Or.. a pint of kegged unfiltered lager which stays cool and crisp and refreshing. Or... a bottle of carefully conditioned ale that's developed a level of complexity that even sherry dare not dream of. The only difference that dispense makes is when beer drinkers get too hung-up about it and miss out on great opportunities.

When did I last drink my‘epiphany’ beer, the one that proved to you that beer can be not-sucky? Why?
About three weeks ago. Why? Because it's gorgeous. Because no other beer looks so damn tasty in its own branded glass. Because when I drink it, I'm transported back to Brugge and the bar of the Oude Burg hotel and I remember what it was like to be on the cusp of discovering a world of beer which, until that moment, I had been blissfully ignorant of. And so I'll be having another bottle of Duvel this weekend. You've gotta love non-sucky beer.


  >

My name is Simon and I am a Reluctant Scooper.

In the past four weeks, I have:

- drank nothing but imported bottled lager in a pub offering 12+ tip-top quality cask beers

- drank nothing but imported keg beer in a bar offering 8+ tip-top quality cask beers

- drank nothing but the same cask beer in a pub offering 15+ other tip-top quality cask beers

- drank supermarket beer at home rather than trek out to new bar openings and beer launches

- drank random cask beers suggested to me by folks on Twitter and Facebook whilst at a festival

The point? It’s easy to get hung up about method of dispense, about the shock of the new, about surfing the zeitgeist.

Ask yourself some questions.

Who suggests to you the beers that you drink? Who do you ignore? Why?

Where don’t you go to drink beer? Why?

What styles do you avoid? Why?

How does method of dispense make a difference? Why?

When did you last drink your ‘epiphany’ beer, the one that proved to you that beer can be not-sucky? Why?

I’ll answer my own questions tomorrow. >

Reluctant Scooper is back. With a jump to the left and a step to the right.

There's going to be brews news, reviews and interviews. More irreverence and topering about. And, for starters, spot the pattern;

1) Cains Double Bock, 2) Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, 3) Augustiner Edelstoff.

1) Brunswick Father Mike's, 2) Budvar, 3) Westmalle Dubbel.

1) Thornbridge Kipling, 2) Thornbridge Kipling, 3) Thornbridge Kipling.

A clue? Some of the 2's could also be 3's. Some of the 3's could also be 2's. Some of the 1's could also be 3's. As, indeed, Kipling proves.

A prize for getting it right, I hear you say? I'll stand you a pint. >

An afternoon spent skulking around pubs reveals these immutable truths:

- old men will argue how Bass / Landlord used to taste better until they drop down dead.

- there are few finer food and beer combos than a pint of Thornbridge Jaipur and a doorstep chip butty

- every rainy day is made brighter by the unexpected introduction of ska to the jukebox

- local brewers often reveal themselves to be opinionated cocks when they talk to customers without realising what that customer may actually know about beer

- there are fewer finer topering experiences in an English pub than enjoying a real ale, served by a real character, who draws a real fire and then pulls up a real solid wooden chair for you to sit in.

- when the leaves are starting to fall from the trees, it's time to unleash those fat, sticky, malty beers. Hops for summer; malts for winter.

Pubs drank in today: 3

Pints drank: 7 (Sarah Hughes Dark Rich Ruby * 1, Thornbridge Jaipur *3, Brunswick Father Mike's Dark Rich Ruby * 3)

Number of different beers on offer in those pubs: 30

Potential scoops on offer: 9

Scoops drank: 0

Reluctant Scooping score: max >

I'm still being grumpy in the corner but there's life in the old Scoop yet.

I'm enjoying doing what I used to do pre t'interweb days - drinking beer for the fun of it rather than drinking beer and writing/Tweeting about it. But there's plenty of news, reviews and interviews lined up for November. Thanks for all your comments, both here and elsewhere.

Being grumpy in the corner is a sojournment, not a retirement :-) >

There's a great feeling about drinking in a city where no-one stops you and asks your opinion about beer.

To sit in the corner, by the bar billiards, enjoying a great pint and realising - that's why I got into this scene in in the first place.

It's time for me to be that grumpy guy in the corner again. The one who sips on his pint, incompletes the crossword and doesn't really mind. In the place you wanna go. Where nobody knows your name. >

As I’m in a slightly-tinkerish mood this morning, I couldn’t resist blogging about a blog that blogs about another blog even if blogging about blogging is dangerously close to joining in on the scene that celebrates itself by narcissistic blog linking.*

The Tigger of Thornbridge, Kelly Ryan, writes today that he’s one of the contributors to the J D Wetherspoon Real Ale Festival blog. Alongside James Watt (Brewdog’s Head Of Stuff) and David Grant (Managing Director of Moorhouses) Kelly will be sharing his words of wisdom with the JDW readership.

Like the fest itself, I think the blogs are a great idea. There’s every chance that drinkers may experience their real ale epiphany at a Spoons fest – finding the beer that finally convinces them that there’s a whole new world beyond the bland. If it also then spurs them into exploring the fest website, reading the guest blogs and finding a wider world of incisive, interesting beer writing on the tinternet – that’d be fantastic.

Here’s hoping that the JDW fest blog will also include some guest posts from the international brewers and maybe even from a Spoons manager on the challenges they face.


* Kelly: that’s seven mentions of ‘blog’ in one sentence. In your face, sucker! >

I chimed into a recent Beer Advocate forum thread about where to buy bottled beer in the UK; it really got me thinking.

Buying good bottled beer in the UK is just getting better and better.

Supermarket shelves are no longer stuffed with boring brown crud. I can buy Brewdog Punk IPA on my way to work via Asda. Sainsbury's have a solid range and go out on a limb with some of their annual beer challenge selections. Tesco have Flying Dog. Waitrose stock the wares of 80+ British brewers between their stores. Booths is a beer retailing legend. Co-op have their excellent Freeminer range. Marks and Spencer have own-label beers brewed by major UK names.

Mail order gives the shopper a chance to buy the finest (and sometimes rarest) of UK, continental and world beers. Beers Of Europe have a jaw-dropping range of European beers plus US oddities. Beermerchants are at the pointy end of market stimulation - how about stuff from Viven or US brewers such as Lost Abbey and Founders that can't even be bought in the majority of US states? Then there's myBrewerytap.com, specialising in helping UK microbrewers get to market through their merchant services whilst also branching out into rare Italian and US beers.

Direct sales from the brewers themselves can be a bargain and a revelation. Bulk shipments of your favourites; first dibs on the rarities. I'm thinking about the likes of Brewdog online plus a host of brewers with shops in sheds, outhouses and brewhouses: Humpty Dumpty, Amber Ales, Old Chimneys, Nutbrook, Hopshackle.

Independent off-licenses excite; for the chance to chew the fat with someone and pick up a recommendation, for the oddity brews, for the joy of finding local beer in a local shop. I've found many and loved them all; the likes of Liquid Treasure (Belper), Red Zebra (Derby), Archer Road Beer Stop (Sheffield), The Offie (Leicester), Utobeer (London). And there's still many with a great rep that I've yet to seek out - Beer Ritz in Leeds, Stirchley Wines in Birmingham, Bacchanalia in Cambridge, Kris Wines in London.

The more I think, the more I recollect; a good mixed selection from Ales By Mail, Kernel beers at Sourced in St. Pancras, Marches Little Beer Shoppe in Ludlow. And I forgot farmer's markets - like Amber Ales at Belper, cask beer poured into two-pint carryouts. And the Original Farmers Market Shop in Bakewell where I once bought ***** and ******* after even the brewer had sold out of it (I'd tell you the names of the beers but then I'd have to kill you).

Let's be clear here. This is not a marketing roll call. Yes, I've written about some of those outfits; I've carried out paid work for some, some have sent me free beer. I just want people to realise that there is a HUGE amount of great bottled beer sat out there. Some of it you'll need to drive down grassy lanes to find during the three hours when the brewery shop is open. Some of it will be in a shop in a town where perhaps you least expect to find it. Some of it will be just round the aisle from Blossom Hill and not necessarily on your eye-line. Lots of it is only a few tinterweb clicks away.

But.. if you want it, if you want to travel across the country or just get a courier to ship it to you... great beer is out there. You've just gotta go get it. >

I've never seen Brussels in the daylight. Indeed, all I have ever seen of the Belgian capital is a budget hotel at the end of a runway and the inside of two bars. One of them was the newer of the two Chez Moeder Lambic bars, the one at Fontainas. And I loved it.

Why?

After a long day going continental in Phil Lowry's blue beer-taxi. I was ready for a beer. A bite to eat. Scenery that didn't involve more flat, grey Belgian landscape. Some chilled music. Dropping of the mental gears. And Chez Moeder Lambic Fontainas delivered it all in spades.

Two rows of benches, plenty of light wood, a well-lit bar sparking with hanging glassware, forty-plus beer taps, serried ranks of refrigerators. An eclectic eighties power-rock compilation playing in the background. Attentive but not obsequious service.

It was getting late-ish, probably gone 10pm. It was a Monday night but the bar still attracted a laid-back crowd. Paper menus on the tables listed the draught beers on offer. Hand-pumped lambic. A delectable saison from Jandrain-Jandrenouille. The food platter was straight-forward and packed with flavour - salami, sticky cheese, properly salty butter, honest brown bread.

Sat chatting to Phil, I realised that this was the Brussels combo that I'd dreamed of; great beers and snack food in a friendly, relaxed bar where you could have a cogent conversation. But I also knew in my beery heart-of-hearts that this was a sad moment; I knew that I'm unlikely to get to this place more than once in a blue moon and that the Moeder Lambic approach could never, ever work in the UK.

The thought of wandering into a London bar, nevermind one in the Midlands, late on a Monday night and being able to enjoy small glasses of quality beer and knockout nom is a crazy thought. Somehow, a rack of pale blonde cask beers and a few cubes of cheese in a bowl isn't quite the same.

I'd experienced the kind of continental beer culture that the UK can't recreate merely with a few stainless steel chairs and a late license. I'd love to be proved wrong, but I don't think a Moeder Lambic-esque bar would work even in London. Not enough customer interest, too much commercial pressure to knock out big-name pints alongside the artisinal beers.

It's a shame. But it's made me want to go back to Brussels and find more bars that wouldn't work in the UK. >

I've been to a festival today that was unusual in several respects.

It was held in a private member's club, although the festival was open to the public.

It served forty-plus cask beers in tip-top condition, half a dozen on handpull from the member's bar and the rest on perfectly-cool stillage.

It sold the most attractive cheese and onion cob that I've seen in a long while.

And every beer cost £1.25 a half. From Theakston's Mild at 3.5% on gravity to Fuller's Golden Pride at 8.5%.

How many festivals do you know with uniform beer pricing? >

With all the current kerfuffle about the validity and impact of the I Am A Craft Beer Drinker video, let’s throw this into the mix.

How about a video with a simple, inspirational message, delivered by random drinkers in random bars, with no branded glassware/pumps/taps/mirrors impinging. Hell, I’ll even give you the script:

“This is my pint. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My pint is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my pint is useless. Without my pint, I am useless.

I must drink my pint true. I must drink smarter than my enemy, who is trying to vomit on me. I must drink up before he vomits on me. I will.

Before Lupulus I swear this creed: my pint and myself are defenders of our craft, we are the masters of our enemy, we are the saviours of hops and malt. So be it, until there is no enemy, but good ale.

Cheers!”

I’m no movie director (as my Youtube channel shows) but if anyone want to take on the challenge, be my guest.


- I've been itching to spoof Full Metal Jacket for ages. Serendipity is a wonderful thing. >

And I'm slightly scared. And slightly excited. And I may have just had a tangential sex wee.

I'd tell you all about about it. With pictures and hyperlinks and shit.

But: you know what?

Silence is golden >

 This month's host of The Session, The Beer Babe, has challenged us all to blog on this topic:

"Seek out a new brewery and think about ways in which they could be welcomed into the existing beer community. How does their beer compare to the craft beer scene in your area? Are they doing anything in a new/exciting way? What advice, as a beer consumer, would you give to these new breweries?"

A new brewery? Hmmmmm. Where to look?

My own doorstep is the obvious place.

Derbyshire is a cradle of microbrewing in the UK. We have some time-served brewpubs (John Thompson, Brunswick), some up-and-coming micros (Spire, Ashover, Amber). The occasional small-guy-done-good (Thornbridge). And I don't know if it's the water, an innate desire or our love for good ale but the county just keeps on inspiring brewers.

We have a million people here, most in the city of Derby with the rest spread over the county of a  thousand square miles. Mind you, they are chicken-feed statistics compared to every United State. Yet this year we've seen four microbrewers open up, giving us thirty working brewpubs and brewers. And today I've been enjoying the beers from one of the newest on the block.

Raw Brewery have been in business for just over three months. But they're already making a great impression on the local beer scene and beyond. From their place in Staveley - already home to Townes and Spire breweries - they're knocking out beers that are punching way above their weight.  It's only today that I managed to drink their beers and, boy, was it worth it. Grey Goose IPA bucks the trend of senseless over-hopping and settles for deep fruit, married with solid malt. The blindsider was Dark Peak Stout; one of those beers that you fall in love with because of its commensurate restraint.  Just licorice enough, just ashen enough, just dark-chocolate-with-fruity-berry-notes enough.

Enough for Dark Peak to win the overall silver medal at the Peterborough Beer Festival, one of the largest cask festivals in the UK. And it was best beer in the New Brewery category too. Grey Goose was second in that category. Not bad for a newbie brewer :-)

So, to answer Carla's call:

- how could they be welcomed? No introduction required; already established as a regular beer in key pubs through North Derbyshire. And joining the Derbyshire Brewers Collective shows their dedication to collaboration.

- How do they compare? Very well. Derbyshire brewers set the bar high and Raw are another startup who don't flop beneath it.

- New and exciting? To be honest, what Raw do is not new. And that's what makes it exciting. Old skool IPA and stout, tasty and restrained, full of body and full of flavour. No bells and whistles or mad bastard hops. Just really drinkable beer. Isn't that why we pick the glass up in the first place?

-What advice can I give? Keep on keeping on. Few brewers hit the ground running in this fashion.

For those lucky people within reach of Derby, five Raw beers are on sale at the Smithfield as part of their festival. Although knowing the crowd they get, who drink like bastards, there may not be too much left by the time you reads this. Sorry. At least I shared the gen :-)

To find out more about Raw Brewery, check out their website, Facebook and Twitter pages >

>

I'm keen on experimenting with beer and food pairings. I like to try out recommendations. I like to read books on beer & food. And, yes, one day I will get round to tracking down Garrett Oliver's The Brewmaster's Table. I like to wax lyrical about complements and contrasts, on occasion. I like to drool over Sean Paxton's menus. I get a kick out of discovering a pairing that lifts the a meal to another level of flavour.

But, in my heart of hearts, I know it doesn't really matter. Because there is only one pairing that matters. Beer and pizza.

I've thought before as to why it works so well, but could never quite nail the reason. Then tonight, whilst I was blowing the suds off a cold one,  waiting for the oven to ping, it struck me.1

Beer and pizza is the perfect pairing because it's whatever you want it to be.

It changes with your palate, your mood, the seasons, the special offers.

It can be the best of pairings and the worst of pairings. It can be luxurious, all hop-tickle and mozzarella drops. It can be brutish, all suds and chewy cheese. A pairing borne of wisdom or borne of foolishness. A pairing that results in belief or incredulity.  When you have everything before you and nothing before you, when your pairing can send you direct to heaven and direct the other way. 2

Everybody changes. Everybody hurts. But there's always beer and pizza. It's a pairing that I love now and know that it will keep exciting me and satiating me until the day I die.



1) What beer and pizza did I have tonight? Sheesh, if you're asking the question then you've missed the point.

2) Yeah, I bet Charles Dickens would have loved beer & pizza too >

The last dozen US-influenced, UK-brewed beers that I've tried have all ploughed the same furrow, riven with hops. Some have been sublime - Oakham Citra has already become hop lore in the UK - but others seemed misshapen in their one-trick/single-dry-hopped profile.

Which is ironic, considering that some of the tastiest US beers I've drank this year have taken their inspiration from the balance of traditional English ales. For some, the bittersweet line is there not so much crossed as trashed, equating it with a middle-of-the-roadness sense of unadventure. Thankfully, Colorado's Doug Odell understands flavour balance perfectly and executes it with aplomb across his range of beers.

Since 1989, Odell have been brewing with balance in mind; brown ales where sweet malts are tempered by an hop edge, IPAs with an aggressive hop showcase on a substantial malt base. These beers aren't often seen east of the Mississippi in the US so it was fantastic to have the opportunity to sample them here in the UK.


The IPA exhibited ballet-show balance; delicate touches, lilting floral notes, understated sweetness. By way of contrast, St Lupulin had a bitterly astringent nose yet maintained a zesty, perfumed palate and clean juicy fruitiness. The only problem with 90 Shilling was that it was so good I wanted to pour it on my cornflakes at breakfast - plenty of creamy caramel undercut by some hedge-berry flavours. Balance was taken to another level by the 5 Barrel Pale Ale, its biscuity base and soft herbal hops made for a great bottled pale that must be phenomenal served fresh on tap. As for Cutthroat Porter... all I can say is that I've never has a US porter that packed in so many subtle roasty/toasty/coffee/smoky notes and yet was still an effortless easy-going, thoroughly enjoyable beer.

These are beers that British brewers need to try, lest they forget just how fresh and exciting the 'old styles' can be. Many thanks to myBrewerytap.com for donating the beers. >

Some time ago I joined Beer Bloggers Unite, a social networking site for beer bloggers. And then totally forgot about it.

Well, I've had a glint of inspiration. I've launched a UK group where beer bloggers can share info, plan collaborations and blow off steam. If you have a blog and want to take part, go to the UK Beer Bloggers home page and sign up. >

Being phenomenally bored this morning, I fancied a challenge. So when Neil Bowness said on Twitter “whenever I see Jaipur, I want to sing it's name to the tune of 'Jolene' by Dolly Parton”, it got me thinking….

Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur
I’m begging of you please come join our clan
Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur
You should drink it just because you can

Your hoppiness is beyond compare
With body light as liquid air
With gentle malts and notes of pine and fir
Your flavour’s juicy tropical
All other beers are in your thrall
And they cannot compete with you, Jaipur

We talk about you in the pub
The other beers we always snub
We’re crying when your last cask goes, Jaipur

And we easily understand
Your somnific effect on man
Coz we know what he means to be Jaipured

Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur
I’m begging of you please come join our clan
Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur
You should drink it just because you can

We always have our choice of beers
But we are not mutineers
You’re the only one for me, Jaipur

We had to sing this song to you
Our happiness depends on you
And whatever hops that Matt chucks in Jaipur

Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur
We’re begging of you, listen to our plan
Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur, Jaipur
We’re begging of you; put it in a can!
Jaipur… Jaipur… >

The Session is a monthly collaboration of beer bloggers and writers who write from their own perspective on a single topic. Each participant posts their contribution on their site on the first Friday of the month, with The Session host picking the topic and summarizing all the contributions. This month's topic is 'A Special Place, A Special Beer'.

What could be easier than writing about beery places that are special to me? I’m finding them all the time. Last week may be atypical but still memorable; the brewery at Orval with beer tasted straight off the bottling line. Chimay Dorée in the Auberge de Poteaupre. The Westvleteren trio sat outside In de Vred. They were great beers in great locations, true enough, But what made them great places?

For me, a sense of place is greater than just physical location. It’s about interaction – who you’re with (or not); what’s happening (or not); what you choose to do (or not). Straining to hear Orval’s Francois de Harenne make himself heard above the grind of the bottling line. Laughing with friends as Chimay corks went literally ballistic around the gardens. Looking out over the flat Flanders fields and experiencing a sense of calm even when surrounded by a hundred plus drinkers. There's a true sense of place for me, something I’ll be reminded of whenever I drink those beers again.

But I’ve found a certain special place in the last few years that has revolutionised my attitude to beer. It’s the place that led me indirectly to those great Belgian beer experiences. It’s a place that enhances nearly all the beers I drink. It’s a place I love, a place I visit every day. In fact, you’re in that place right now. That place is the internet.

Not a physical location but a shifting network, an ebb and flow of information and attitude. An ethereal presence at my desk, my dining table, at the bar, in the festival tent, on a hillside. It’s all about the interaction noted above, only the assembly of likeminds and dialogue is via social media rather than face-to-face. It’s the virtualisation of latter-day café culture, where the sense of place is bound no longer by walls but by bandwidth.

When I drink a beer and mention it on my Twitter feed, on Facebook, on Ratebeer, on this blog, I get a response. Some want to share their enjoyment (or disappointment). Some want to enjoy a vicarious drinking experience. Sometimes I ask questions about the beer; sometimes they get answered. By loudmouths, by drunkards, by brewers, by drinkers. Sometimes by all four. Sometimes all four are the same person. I am drinking a beer within a community; that community is a place for debate and discussion and knowledge transfer and argument and agreement. It just happens to be on a phone or laptop rather than crowded around a table.

I’d like to think that Baudalaire would approve; "To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world". I bet he'd be LOL over Twitter. The internet is indeed a special beery place for me; perhaps because it augments the beer experience so much. Perhaps also because it's a place I can choose to leave at the push of a button. But not before I hit 'Publish Post'... >

Most people have it easy at the Great British Beer Festival. Turn up, buy glass, buy beer, wear daft hat, buy more beer, buy suspiciously-long sausage in an undersized bun, drink more beer, cheer when a glass gets dropped, drink more beer, forget where Earls Court tube station is. But for some of us there's an early-doors manic session: the heady delights of Trade Day.

Before the thirsty public are unleashed, GBBF plays host on Tuesday afternoons to a motley crew of brewers, publicans, writers and other beery flotsam. There are the corporate suits, BlackBerried and braying. There are knots of brewers in matching sweatshirts, stood in packs around rucksacks. There are the punters from pubs and clubs and bars, the bar staff and regulars, the minibus outings. The occasional old man with a little-boy-lost face, an empty pint glass and a glazed expression at the overwhelming beer list. The table of geeks, all notebooks and serious demeanour. The mingles of writers and bloggers, Tweet-meeting and LOL IRL. And what I doing?

Schmoozing and boozing.

Meeting up with dozens of brewers, writers, bloggers, marketing managers, distributors, publicans. Swapping bottles, catching up on gossip, working out where the bodies are buried. Press-ganging friends into helping out on brewery bars. Flittering leaflets around tables of topers. Drinks on the fly with old friends, new brewers, consular staff and trade mag editors. And making introductions - brewers who've never met but could now have collaboration plans; landlords and distributors who both want to broaden the accessibility of quality beer.

Speaking of which, let me tip my glass in the direction of a few select tipples. Thornbridge's Craven Silk has a pleasant elderflower zestiness. Augustiner Edelstoff is probably the most refreshing spezial I've ever tasted. And there's probably no finer last-glass-of-the-session than De Molen's Tsarina Esra Reserva; packed full of peppery coffee and chocolate with cherry-berry notes under a vanilla veneer accompanied with a deft hop crunch.

The Great British Beer Festival is now in full swing until Saturday at Earls Court. My advice is: go early. The great beers won't last long. >

A recent article over at Beer Birra Bier about beer festival strategy got me thinking. I know some beery bods who do treat festivals as if they were a military operation; notepad, pen/pencil, PDA/smartphone, water bottle, festival glass, spare glass, spare pen/pencil, bubble wrap for bottle purchases. A beer list cross-referenced to ratebeer/beer advocate/their own tick list. With coloured highlights to show rare/strong/foreign beers. With an annotated arena map to identify the optimal seating area; equidistant from the key bars, close enough but not too close to the loos, away from the band/the t-shirt stall/the grumpy old soaks who moan about the demise of British bitter.

Yes, I know these denizens of planning. I used to be one of them.

Why did I change? After all, I'm a natural born planner. Analysis may as well be my professional middle name. Perhaps it's because of those times when I was waiting at a bar to be served, listening to the protestations of other scoopers, watching them succumb to analysis paralysis. Too many beers on their list. Unable to make a decision on which to buy. A purchasing system thrown out by a beer not being ready/running out/never arriving.

I've seen scoopers spend a miserable half-hour trying to commit to buying a beer as their first, second and third choice beers fail to materialise. Seen them squabble over the last halfpint, plead to try green beer or the dregs of a titled cask.

I've set myself free from the tyranny of beer festival planning to the minutiae. Yes, I still have a broad-brush plan for GBBF. It goes like this;

- start with some kind of draught gueze/kriek
- chew the fat with whoever serves me and see what they think of the foreign beers on offer
- buy a US beer by a brewer that I've never heard of before
- ask around the tables to see what's going down well
- go with the flow. And don't forget to buy sausage and mash

Free your mind and the hops will follow. I hope... >