I've been off the sherbert recently, a pesky chest infection making for a deadened palate and no appetite for alcohol. With the tubes feeling clearer today, I ventured forth for a pint or three.

The beer was great - Oakham Akhenaten was blisteringly full of hops - but even better was the afternoon nap that followed. Back home, feeling mellow, citrics still licking around my mouth, the crossword was put to one side... and two hours of blissful snoozing was enjoyed.

There are few things finer in life than the post-pub afternoon nap. Sheer contentment in a to-hell-with-the-housework style. If you get the opportunity to indulge in one, I'd thoroughly recommend it. >

The last time I visited the offices of Thornbridge brewery, I noticed a large cardboard box full of picture frames in one corner, It turns out they were awards, presented to them by festival organisers across the country. Were they reluctant to hang them? Embarrassed, perhaps? Gladly, no - the simple answer is that the walls were already crammed full of certificates.

And the majority of those were for Jaipur IPA, a beer that's been winning awards since it arrived in 2005. With 57 awards (and counting) in four years, it was disappointing for it not have been chosen for judging at the Great British Beer festival this year. When a beer is winning CAMRA festival awards - consistently - it would seem that it deserves to be placed alongside its peers and be judged at national level.

Thornbridge didn't leave empty handed from Earls Court, though. With a silver medal for Kipling and a bronze for their perennially-underrated bitter, Lord Marples, their award count kept climbing. And I'm pleased to see that the plaudits are still stacking up.

The last few weeks have seen success in the World Beer Awards (Halcyon being judged the World's Best Harvest Ale and Bracia being highly commended in the World's Best Spiced beer section) and at the International Bottled Beer Challenge (gold for Kipling and Bracia, silver for Saint Petersburg). That brings to one hundred the number of industry and consumer awards Thornbridge has won since September 2005.

A hundred awards - from competitions held all around the world - is a phenomenal achievement for such a young brewery. I love their beers and their attitude and look forward to them covering their wider walls with awards at the new brewery site in Bakewell. And to celebrate their 200th award in a few years with something sparkling - time to get that Derbyshire lambik developed, guys!

PS - Castleton confectioners Cocoadance won a Great Taste Award this year for a beer flavoured truffle. Which beer did they use? Jaipur, of course... >

#1: Broughton's Pies. Not a tinfoil-thrice-baked pie. Or a slop-in-a-dish-with-puffy-stuff-floating-on-top pie. Just huge slabs of meaty goodness, encased in shortcrust pasty, hewn from a pie several feet wide. With chips. And mushy peas. Proper festival grub.

#2: Tony's Pork Scratchings. Legendary. They curl, they have bristles on, they are shrapnel-hard on the outside and gooey-soft on the inside. I swear that some of them are whole eyebrows. That wink at you from inside the packet. Never have cholesterol-ridden offcuts tasted so good.

#3: The posh seats. Hosted in the Town Hall, upstairs there are cinema-style seats that give you a panoramic view over the carnage beneath. You get to see the stained glass and wrought ironwork ceiling supports close up. But you don't throw pork scratchings at the topers below. That's how you get ejected. And an ASBO.

#4: Martin Atterbury. At lunchtimes, the WurliTzer leaps forth onto the stage and Marty plays all the tunes. Dambusters. Rule Brittania. Coconut Airways. Too Drunk To Fuck. Possibly not the last two. But he does often wear a salmon-coloured suit and he wears it well.

#5: Public transport. It's five minutes from the bus stop serving Derby. And it's five minutes from the railway station that's opposite that very same bus stop. And thanks to Cross-Country trains, you can get to Burton from all over the country. Mind you, thanks to Cross Country Trains there's no guarantee which station you'll end up travelling via on your way home.

#6: Beers. They have a habit at Burton. They like to put on really good beers that people want to drink. As opposed to beers that thirty people want to tick. So, there will be beers from the likes of Dark Star (Espresso, APA), Brewdog (Edge, Trashy Blonde, 77 Lager, Hardcore IPA), Thornbridge (Seaforth, Jaipur, Epic Halcyon) plus a whole heap of other great stuff.

#7: I'll buy you a beer. All you have to do is approach me with a rolled-up copy of What's Brewing and say "You are the Reluctant Scooper and I claim my free half!".

All the gory details can be found here >

The problem with bottled beer is that there's far too much of the damned stuff. Only a few years ago I could walk into my regular shopping haunts and be greeted by the same couple of dozen familiar bottles. Seen them, drank them, found most of them to be boring. Nowadays, the blighters are getting everywhere and multiplying faster than rampant yeast - supermarkets have competitions, farmer's markets often have brewers' stalls, off-licenses are carving out a niche and as for t'internet...

All this choice is great, but you still need guidance on which bottle to plump for. With brewer's label blurb often leaving a lot to the imagination, a concise third-party guide would aid weary topers as they wend their way around the shops. And here's where Jeff Evans rides to the rescue. For the last eleven years, he's edited the Good Bottled Beer Guide produced by the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) and the latest edition (the seventh) proves to be even more indispensable than ever.

CAMRA are rightly proud of their 'Real Ale in a Bottle' accreditation scheme and this Guide is a proud flagbearer for it. All of the beers featured in the guide are bottle-conditioned - where yeast has been kept in the bottle, allowing the beer to ferment again. This means there's no place for the thousands of bottled beers that are filtered and/or pasturised but that still leaves more than enough to talk about.

Jeff's done a sterling job of cramming in a ton of salient stuff without compromising the book's clarity and usability. Over 1300 bottle-conditioned beers are listed here with just under a third of those benefiting from detailed tasting notes and background information. That's the real value of the book for me; thirteen sections dividing beers by style with a short overview, followed by well laid-out reviews of individual beers. The detail given on hops and malts is a useful insight, some of the potted histories are genuinely interesting and the tasting notes actually make sense. The latter is a challenge when reviewing a multiplicity of beers under a distinctive style, like India Pale Ale for example; there are only so many ways you can rearrange the words citrus/tangy/tropical whilst namechecking oranges, lemons and pineapples but Jeff Evans carries it off well.



It's a good looking book, inside and out, with an soft embossed cover and a clear layout. There's appropriate use of photos and logos, never swamping the text. And the compact format (7.5 x 4.5 inches) makes it more-or-less jacket pocket sized, ideal for when you're beer buying out and about.

The ratings system is straightforward - a star to highlight beers of "outstanding quality" and a rosette to identify breweries producing beer of a "consistently high standard". Some readers will want more ratings info - I'd be happy with none at all. When the tasting notes are so detailed, I'd rather base my purchase on that information.

There's plenty of added reference detail in here, too; a comprehensive brewery A-Z with contact details along with a list of notable retailers (both 'real world' shops and internet sites). The mini-essays prove to be interesting reading, particularly for the beer novice with "Brewing for the Bottle" and "Growing Old Gracefully" giving concise overviews of the brewing process and bottle aging respectively.

Some of the ancillary stuff I could do without; the now-ubiquitous food matching advice proves little more than the fact that cheese goes with most beer and the international section (although well written) mentions too many beers that are difficult to get hold of in the UK, even through specialist retailers.

One thing that proved a little frustrating was the lack of cross referencing between the brewery beer lists and the main content of the book - it would have been useful to know which beers merited a full review. Having found a brewery I like, the only way I could find more beer reviews for that brewer was to plough through the whole book, one section at a time.

But the proof of a beer review book is in the drinking. I found a beer knocking around the cellar that I hadn't tried before - Meantime's London Pale Ale - and compared my tasting notes with the Guide. Which pretty much nailed it; earthy hops, lilting sweetness, dry finish. I got a real mineral edge in there as well. If I'd bought the beer on the strength of the book's review, I certainly wouldn't have been disappointed.

Faced with an ever-growing amount of bottled-conditioned beer on the market, the Good Bottled Beer Guide is an indispensable reference.

You can buy it at your friendly local neighbourhood bookseller for £12.99. Online deals are invariably cheaper. But why not buy direct from CAMRA - that way, they get a larger share of the profit to plough back into campaigning. >

This bottle of Cantillon Iris has been in and out of my fridge for weeks. It's made way for a glut of supermarket BrewDog. Shuffled to one side to accommodate champers for celebrations. Relegated to the kitchen table when wine was on my mind.

But today it claimed a place in the cooler, so that it could come out to play in the unexpected September sun. My post-gardening beers are usually cheap and cheerful lagers or hardcore IPAs. Today I thought I'd do something different after the lawnmowing; the result being that it's been a pleasure to sip my way through this bottle one fluteful at a time.

As for Iris - it had more flowery dry tartness than a Derby city bus shelter on a wet Wednesday night. Just funky enough. If this is the last of summer, Iris is a great beer to toast its farewell with. >

Here's a unfeasibly-long postcard I sent to my dear old friend, Hugh Jarse, last summer. It never arrived - Hugh having changed address at Her Majesty's Pleasure yet again - so now it's been returned I thought I'd share it with you.


Dear Hugh. Well, here I am in the capital of the People’s Republic of South Yorkshire. Sheffield is dreadfully sunny and hot, with none of the sleet and hail that the brochures promised at this time of year. Passport control was very lax. All that time spent learning the names of champion whippets was wasted – no-one asked me any questions and I was allowed to leave the station unmolested.

I met up with Gazza, Mrs Gazza, Dave Swij... zwege... Dave Unpronounceable and a few others before ordering a breakfast so large that it arrived on a plate bigger than my head. For a Wetherspoons it was a real culture shock – there was a barmaid who was chatty, polite and knowledgeable about beer. I wonder if that attitude can be exported to the further reaches of the JDW empire?


Suitably cholesterolised, we took a bracing walk downriver to a charming public house. The Harlequin offered a superb range of beers, light and dark, weak and strong, handpull and gravity, little and large, eggs and bacon, Tom and Jerry.... a slew of beers were imbibed as several more jolly Ratebeer types joined us. Even when Dave farted and blamed it on a sleepy Alsatian, we still enjoyed the brews which included such delights as Weyerbacher Double Simcoe.


Eventually, we moved on to the Fat Cat, just down the road. Here we sat outside, warm sun permeating the slight shadows. There is a certain joy in taking the Yorkshire air of an afternoon, particularly when said air is located next to a fine drinking establishment. Such joy is multiplied by a beer brewed within sight of the bar (well, it would be if you could see through several brick walls). A Kelham Island special was ordered. "Mieszko!" said I. "Bless you!" came the reply...


Sustenance was now required by all and sundry. Rather than partake of the award-winning menu here, the party decided to build up further our appetites and take a sturdy yomp to another pub further down the valley. Thirty seconds later, we'd arrived there. The Kelham Island Tavern was mackerel-tin busy so I wasted no time in securing my usual round - one pint of Pictish Brewers Gold, two Red Leicester cobs. The wait for hot food proved lengthy, too many hungry topers in one place, so my reserve cob soon became the subject of a bidding war. Until my fellows realised that the basket on the bar was full of them. More friends turned up, Steve and Chrissie having been taking in some of the architectural delights of the city beforehand.

Amongst the melee, a bottle of De Struise Pannepot appeared from nowhere. Well, it appeared from the rucksack of an exceptionally-bearded Scottish gentleman sat next to me. Craig (for it was he, hirsute-of-chin) and I shared surreptitiously this fine Belgian ale and I made note to secure further supplies for winter-fireside-topering.


Once food orders had been satiated finally, we wended our way to the Wellington. Here, our thirsty crowd all flocked to order Pictish El Diablo, a notably hoppy stout. Indeed, so popular it proved that before I reached the bar it "burst", the latter apparently being a beer aficionado term for "run out". I settled for Oakham Endless Summer; weak in alcohol, strong in hop flavour. Shortly after, a chance remark (which was sadly not recorded) led to the gentleman next to me displaying his training shoes as surrogate mammaries. Or "Mes's Nike Tits" as they became known.


Not only are the beers tasty at the Wellington, but it is well situated within this Valley Of Beer. Only a few minutes amble from the other houses visited so far and so close to the passing tramline that the windows rattle as one passes. Our party availed itself of the aforementioned transportation to whisk us onward to our next calling point, the Hillsborough Hotel. Here, we were encouraged outside once again by the bracing mid-evening air and panoramic views over the Don Valley. And of the dry ski-slope. And of Mecca Bingo. Plenty of high-quality, low-cost, on-site brewed beer was imbibed, the Crown Hillsborough Pale Ale becoming a swift favourite around the table. And it was charming to watch the doyen of scoopers, Gazza Prescott, holding court in front of the camera.


The rest of the day descended into a steady haze. Another pub or two was found, fellow topers tailed off and away, an enthusiastic homebrewer tried to convince me that elderflower wheat beer was the future. It had been the usual pleasure to crawl the Valley of Beer, moreso to be in good company. I look forward to inviting you over here for a drink or four sometime in the near future; do let me know if your injunctions and court orders prevent you from travelling to this particular county.

Chin chin!

The Reluctant Scooper >

... as soon as the drugs start working. Now on the seventh day of a throat infection, The medication has me sleeping up to 18 hours a day. With a mouth feeling like it's full of glue and razor blades. No palate, no appetite. When I tried a sip of alcohol, my throat swelled up alarmingly.

So, no beer festivalling this weekend. If I'm awake for long enough, I may get around to writing up some more articles. LOL. (OK, not LOL, not with my throat...) >

"Summer's gone / days spent with the grass and sun
But I don't mind / to pretend I do seems really dumb"

Autumn is almost upon us. Summer was that fleeting afternoon of insipid heat, followed by a few days of uncomfortable warmth, bookended by several weeks of blustery fluster that brought the world and their ankle-biters out to every pub garden. I'm never that sad to see summer move on, but it does have one thing going for it - drinking hoppy stuff in the sun.

Because summer beer to me means hops - oily fruit tickling the parched throat. So the summer beers that I look back on with a wry smile, in no particular order, are;

Ostravar Pils
From the bottle, in my conservatory. With lawns mowed, edges clipped, borders turned, bushes trimmed and slugs deaded. There are few feelings finer than the first lawnmower beer, one that's been whipped out the freezer and barely wets the edges as you bolt it down. Then let out a hugely satisfying belch to let the neighbours know that your gardening day is truly done.

Pictish Brewers Gold
In the beer garden of the Kelham Island Tavern, Sheffield. A suntrap melange of palms and ferns and splashes of shrubbery colour, no more than a well-hefted stone's throw from decayed factories and flash flats. Because every sip of it tastes like victory; balance over bludgeon, assured quality over reckless ambition. Because twenty minutes spent by a yucca with a Red Leicester cob, a crossword and a damn fine pint makes the rest of the day's dreary detail recede.

Marble Dobber
No sparkler, by the pint, sat with mates, by the bins out the back of the Marble Arch, Manchester. For the sheer joy of necking one of England's finest cask IPAs at its home ground, with a bunch of beery friends who loved it too. For the joy of watching people try it for the first time, and realise how I must have looked thirty seconds earlier.

Thornbridge/Epic Halcyon
At the Coach & Horses, Dronfield, Derbyshire. Outside, it was packed. Clear sky, sharp sun, the weather that leads a blondie like me to bleach and burn. So my retreat was beaten back into a calmer bar with an accommodating leather chair. Where I was sustained by a barbecued fish on a stick along with lashings of lip-twisting IPA. Where the comfort of great beer, great food and great music became almost tangible.

Thornbridge Jaipur
On this occasion, in the Bear Inn, Alderwasley, Derbyshire. As there are few finer moments across my summers than a back-knackering walk uphill, on a clear-blue-sky day, and happening across a pub selling one of my standout beers. As taut muscles relaxed and my palate welcomed back favourite flavours, I became the very definition of contentment. Albeit with five more miles to walk.

You know what? Summer sounds alright after all. But.... I'm ready for knocking the snow off my boots, glowing inglenooks, barley wines that warm the cockles of your thermals, finding that imperial stout you stashed away two years ago in the back of the garage.

We had joy. We had fun. Drank IPAs in the sun.
But the weather weren't what it oughta. And I'm gagging for a porter. >

And the award for Grinding Inevitability In Beer Blogging goes to... Reluctant Scooper for the obligatory Brewdog article. Want to know why I write about them? I like their beers. I'd buy shit booze and write about that instead but my masochistic streak doesn't run that deep. It only goes as far as supporting Nottingham Forest.


Anyhoo. Once upon a time there were three beers and their names were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. But Brewdog didn't brew those. They *did* brew Dogma, Chaos Theory and Hardcore. Rumours that those names were inspired by a certain someone's Lovefilm.com rental list are unsubstantiated.


Let's start with Dogma.

Tastes of... white pepper and liquid caramel.
Smells like... honey from the back of the cupboard. That's turned kinda special.
If it were a track by Radiohead it would be... I Might Be Wrong


Let's middle with Chaos Theory.

Tastes of...... orange peel impregnated with pine needles
Smells like...bitter jelly
If it were a track by Radiohead it would be... No Surprises


Let's finish with Hardcore

Tastes of... Boxing Day fruit salad split under the Christmas tree. And rubbed with a caramel cloth.,
Smells like... fractured grapefruit stirred with a sticky hop stick
If it were a track by Radiohead it would be... Everything In Its Right Place


Blag blah Sainsbury's, blah blah four for the price of three, blah blah probably next to the charcoal briquettes unless you shop in Edinburgh.

And that’s it. I promised myself I’d stop at two hundred and >

If you've suffered this site for long enough, you know I love to scoop. There's a joy to be held in finding new, interesting, adventurous beers. A delight delivered by the fulfillment of expectation. But also the thrill in tasting the beer that blindsided and surprised you.

My Reluctancy in scooping is borne out of too much bland bitter, brewed by this month's new micro. Of too much tinkering; a hop pellet there, a malt bill shifted here, an uneven regular brew leaping Lazarus-like onto the bar as a rebadge everywhere.

But in the back of my mind, there's always Reluctant's Conundrum; if you don't scoop the new beer/brewery, you may miss out something special. After all, what if I hadn't tasted Thornbridge (or Oakham or BrewDog or, or, or) at the time that I did? Sure, I would have had their beers by now, but being an 'early adopter' has given me a couple of years worth of fantastic beery experience.

It's great to find the beer styles/brewers that you love. It's great to try something different. It may be the Worse Beer You've Ever Tasted - Official. Or it could be the beer that changes your topering habits for a lifetime.

We may be living in a golden age for UK brewing. With technological advances, environmental concerns and consumer/producer enthusiasm, the next twenty years could see revolutions in brewing quality beers at a local scale. The scope for scooping is massive.

There are great pubs in my village / the city / the Midlands and Yorkshire, depending on how far I want to drag myself for a pint. There are some quality breweries on my doorstep. And there's a hugely influential, articulate and intelligent bunch of beery bods on the t'internet. So I could just sit back, read the blogs and drink what I know to be good.

Problem is, in twenty years time, I'd be the bitter man at the bar bemoaning, "this stuff used to taste better when I was younger... and what the hell is oak-aged double imperial goozeberry hefeweizen, anyway?". So I'm happy to be Reluctant a little while longer. The thrill of the chase, the surprise of the unexpected, both make beer drinking in this day and age an unmitigated joy.

My last wish is to keep on scooping Reluctantly.... and for a few more people to do the same. Go find the beers and breweries that others are excited about. See how they measure up to your palate and expectations. And then take the time to savour them. Find the balance between chasing the tail of that new beer and snuggling up next to an old favourite. Don't forget why you drink the stuff in the first place. Life's too short to spend it with indifferent beers.

Someone once said opinions are like arseholes - everybody's got one, and everybody thinks everybody else's stinks. Well, I'm happy to keep stinking up the internet. One beer at a time.

Cheers! >

In England, we talk of microbrewing. We define by size; by a volume limit, a taxation break. Microbrewers are seen as good, macrobrewers bad, with regional brewers caught between a rock and a hard place.

For me, size doesn't matter. Quality does. Looking Stateside, there's a true minority - 5% - of the brewery scene who are dwarfed by the Bud-Miller-Coors Goliaths. Small in market share, big in ideas and confidence. And they are proud to call themselves craft brewers.

Defining what they brew and how its brewed not by scale but by the passion and care invested into it. Brewing that involves "...innovation, independence, curiosity, collaboration, character and family".

A few breweries over here describe themselves in similar terms. Our homebrewing scene is guided by an organisation called the Craft Brewing Association.

I've rattled through a long wishlist this month. But I one wish I'd love to come true would be a shift in thinking; define the UK beer scene by the quality of the brewers and beers, not by their size. To be proud of a pint produced by craftspeople.

Saying you're a craft brewer is a statement of intent; a guarantee; a challenge. An inspiration to the consumer and an aspiration for the homebrewer.

What's in a word, you say? It's just another lame marketing ploy? Play the video below and tell me if you still think that craft brewing would be no more than a rebranding tag.

>

The mention of cider evokes various images. Industrial grot, laced with additives, necked by teenagers. Horse-piss scrumpy, twigs floating in it, stripping enamel from your teeth.

So here's a positive image - artisanal producers of quality cider and perry. I love how producers such as West County in the US take pride in being artisans; "an enterprise small enough so that the farmer or craftsman is the guiding and working force behind what is grown and made". I love the passion for quality and standards shown by the likes of Tom Oliver, the force behind the Guild Of Craft Cider and Perry Producer's Charter.

I love good cider and perry. I love a product that's made with care and passion, that's taken time to mature, skill to blend. I'm glad that I can't walk into a supermarket and buy stuff from Olivers/Burrow Hill/Whin Hill/Gwatkins. I want to search it out and treasure it, I want it to be made only in small batches, I want it to be positioned as a premium product and I want producers and consumers to take pride in it.

Un-mucked-about-with cider and perry could be the UK's finest contribution to the world's premium quality alcoholic products. The quiet revolution is underway; perhaps it's time to cherish it a little more. >

We have some great national museums; maritime, science, railway. Er, computing. Um, customs and excise... so where's the National Museum of Brewing? After all, it's an industry revolutionised by transportation, embodied by science. Enhanced by computing? Often shafted by HMRC...

The closest we've had was the Bass Museum in Burton-on-Trent. MolsonCoors closed that down in 2008 and it has to be said that it was looking rather tired and emotional at the end of its days. That may be the result of under-investment; it has to be said that allowing free entry for CAMRA members - surely a key visitor market - didn't seem to be the most commonsense business model.

We may well yet see that collection rehoused. But a brewing museum is too great a concept to be entrusted to a single brewing concern. As an industry which has shaped the rural and urban landscape of this country; that has played a pivotal role in economic and social history; that reveals something about the very core of our national identity... we deserve a National Museum of Brewing.

Something that's dynamic and interactive. Where machines work. Where shires tramp around. Where aromas and flavours can be found. Where brewery archives - not just Bass's - can be bequeathed. Where universities develop formal partnerships for research into brewing science and social history. Where a microbrewery brews - in those historic styles I've mentioned a few weeks ago.

Not a visitor centre, an exhibition, a stultified archive. But a living, breathing, respiring, fermenting place.

There are a few sites in a certain East Staffordshire town that would be suitable. Political will, brewer's desire and popular support could combine to give us the museum that all topers deserve. >

Let's go for broke. English gueuze. Let's have it. Simply because it can't exist.

Let's start with A Gueuze 101. It tastes like fizzy piss and smells like barnyard piss. If it actually looks like your piss, you need to get back on the tablets.

Let's try that again. It's an acidic beer featuring spontaneous fermentation - the wort ferments after natural inoculation by wild yeasts present in the air. It's made by blending old and young beers (lambics) which allows the younger beer to continue fermentation. And it's ruddy gorgeous.

To be lambic, the beer must be brewed in the Brussels-Lembeek area. Where the wild yeasts are. I'm guessing here, but I don't think there's a heap of Brettanomyces bruxellensis in the air around Kidderminster. Or Chorlton-cum-Hardy. Or Cocks.

And if we found it, and brewed with it, it still wouldn't be lambic/gueuze. Belgium has an outfit called HORAL, the High Council for Artisanal Lambik style beers. They promote the style and protect it via legislation. So we can't actually have gueuze here.

But I still reckon that England could have a wild-fermented sour ale. A little bit of brett could be out there. Somewhere. If you have a beer, if no other yeast can help, and if you can find brett, maybe you can brew... Wild Harvested Or Reseeded Superlative English Sour. WHORSES ;-) >

Bottle conditioned beers can be a thing of wonder. Living yeast allows further conditioning and/or fermentation and so preserves the beer and possibly adds to its complexity of flavour and aroma. Indeed, some bottles won’t reveal their intended characteristics until after a lengthy ageing period.

But that doesn’t mean that non-conditioned bottles should be written off. Yes, they’re too often the last resting place of poor beers that have had the last vestige of life pasteurised out of them, but that doesn’t have to be the case. Beer can be filtered instead, perhaps even centrifuged, to remove yeast rather than having it burnt out. The challenge lies in maximising the flavour and aroma, making sure that volatile hop nuances aren’t lost in the process.

Thornbridge are looking to introduce a range of beers, carbonated in the tank, that will be centrifuged to as low a yeast count as possible before topping up carbonation as a "bright beer" before bottling. They’re likely to do that for beers best drank fresh, those with lower ABVs and highly hopped beers. Brewdog are investing in light-filtration techniques that will preserve the intense flavours and aromas found in their beers.

I want to see UK brewers learn from continental and US production methods and develop innovative ways of bottling beers with a decent shelf life that's still chock full of tasty goodness. >

In the last few years, UK supermarkets have been undergoing a quiet revolution when it comes to stocking quality beer. Rather than get all dewy-eyed about the demise of Safeway and their foreign beer list, the chainstore-shopping toper can be excited about initiatives that bring world class UK beers to a wider market. 'Beer challenges' have proved popular; a range of beers are trialled with the fastest/highest volume seller gaining an ongoing national listing.

Which brings us to Sainsbury's. Their 2009 challenge sees fifteen beers promoted from ten brewers, almost half of the beers being Scottish. Yes, Brewdog's distinctive bottles are in there but it's fellow countrymen Williams Brothers who lead the way with four entries showcasing differing styles. I took a few bottles out and about with me to see how they fared, as well as handing some out to colleagues for their impressions.

One thing that the Silverstone circuit lacks is decent beer. It's thirsty work being sat on your backside watching a few million quids worth of GT cars speed past, so I took two of the Williams beers with me on a recent jaunt to the Northamptonshire circuit.



Fighting my way into the crowded stands, Ceilidh was first up. Billed as a lager, it's got some latent sweetness but there's simply bags of crispy malt in there. A little citric licks around, some fresh flower petals. A very smooth mouthfeel makes for an enjoyable botle; not a quencher, more golden ale than lagery, still worth taking a punt on.

Next on the schedule was the IPA. Lager malted again to give that lilt of sweetness and smooth texture. Was it well-hopped? Well, there's a whiff of Amarillo here but the Bramling Cross mix makes for a balanced hop feel. In fact, it's so well balanced as to be almost understated; perhaps lifted by a tinge of cinnamon-topped apple pie in there? Certainly another fair whack of sweeter malts. It's all fairly smooth, but I prefer a few rough edges with my IPAs.

The other two beers were reserved for post-lawnmowing on Sunday. Birds and Bees was the intriguing one; Belgian pale malt, hopped with Cascade and Bobek hops and infused with elderflowers and lemon zest. It was smooth enough, with the now-customary clean-sweet malts bolstered by a wheaty backbone. Fruity enough, with some plump juicy fruits to the fore. Zesty? Not really. Elderflower? Barely. Which was disappointing at the time as I'm keen on such flavours when they're full-on. But on reflection, Birds and Bees struck a similar balance to the other Williams beers and was probably better for it.

Which leaves the 80/- til last. To be honest I wasn't expecting much from this, which is why it was sat at the back of the fridge and behind the others in the pecking order. And so it's great to be blindsided. Gorgeous cool toffee (anyone else love toffee out the fridge?) with a biscuity crunch. Hedgerow fruitiness that bursts as you work it round your mouth. Bits of bonfire toffee lurking too. Yet it's still really soft, the combination of calm carbonation and clean malts seems to have become a trademark of these Williams beers.

So what does that leave us with? A lager that isn't, but is golden; a golden ale that is golden but isn't elderflower; an IPA that's flowery but not that fruity and a fruity bitter that's above all expectation. With liquid toffee-dunked Digestives.

And because I'm a generous chap, I shared some bottles around at work. Birds and Bees was classed as "yummy", Ceilidh had "burnt malt and hints of citrus". And 80/- was "pleasantly enjoyable". I'd second that emotion.

These beers are (hopefully) on the shelves of a Sainsbury's near you. If, indeed, you have a Sainsbury's near you. You can probably buy them online. Possibly. If you can't see them in store, try the aisle where they hide the seasonal stuff.

And at four for the price of three, you can treat yourself to the full Williams set for (I think) £5.97.


Thanks to Williams Brothers for the samples >

Keg lager nearly killed cask bitter. When I were a lad, lager was cool - advertised incessantly and drunk by the bucketload. It may have tasted of bubblegum and chilled your teeth to the roots but at least it wasn't what your Dad drank - bitter or mild, the stuff that had twigs in and made him fart.

Nowadays, lager is still chucked down necks regularly although UK on-sales seem to be suffering. Erstwhile premium brands are watering down to reposition themselves in a market hung over with lager-lout and wife-beater connotations.

So now's the time to reclaim lager as a decent, tasty pint. There's been a quiet revolution going on for some time; Freedom have had a lager-only brewery in England for fourteen years; Moravka have been producing unpasturised (and even unfiltered) lagers in Derbyshire since 1997. In Scotland, Williams and Brewdog both bottle lagers. Outfits such as Meantime and Zerodegrees offer home-brewed keg lagers. The likes of Cains, Oakleaf and Harviestoun have all been knocking out cask or keg lager to appreciative customers. And it's not just the pale stuff; bocks, dunkels and schwartz have made their ways, kicking and screaming, onto UK bars in recent years.

The step change for me will be decent keg lager with national distribution. Good lager is out there - it's time to reclaim the style from the supermarket tinny-hoards and show that it can be as good in the UK as it is in Central Europe. I'd like to see Wetherspoons encourage lager brewers by offering one in each region a bar font for a UK Lager promotion. The mass market is nothing to be ashamed of and I think lager drinkers deserve better than the current fizzy swill. >

Let's keep this one simple. More pubs should brew beer on the premises. Enough to satisfy the demands of their customers. Only served at the pub itself so, if it's good, you've got to travel their to try it. If pubs are looking for a unique selling point, home-brewed beer exclusive to the establishment is as exclusive as they come.

Perhaps publicans with the capacity to set up a backyard brewery could approach a microbrewer who's looking to move out of their garage/shed; the pub gains a house beer, the brewer gains a market.

My real wish? Several brewpubs in the same village/town/city centre all brewing their own beers and then joining together for collaborative brews and festivals. Think of the buzz that could be generated. >

Pairing food and beer in a bar/restaurant successfully is often so woeful in the UK as to be almost insulting. In some places I've visited where there's a formal approach (i.e. beer option listed against dish on the menu) it's ranged from the half-hearted (IPA with fish & chips... but they only sold Deuchars) to the downright bizzare (Anchor Steam with burger and chips. Because they're both American. Gah.)

Sometimes, if I'm feeling in a particularly cruel mood, when a day of pulling legs off spiders and deleting random files on the work server still hasn't satiated my evil streak, I like to go and bait barstaff. I'll go for a meal in a pub that offers a fair range of cask & bottled beer, order something like liver and onions, then ask the waiting staff, "Which beer would you recommend with this"? The results tend not to be good.

Either pair them well or not at all. There's such an opportunity to be successful with beer/food matching. It's also way too easy to make a complete horlicks of it. I'm all for dishes cooked and served with the same beer, or having a few well-paired dishes with high-quality bottles. Just don't feel that every tuna jacket potato or lamb bhuna needs a beer pairing.

Just a couple of places that do it well would be appreciated. Not every city can have a Den Dyver. But I can dream... >

CAMRA's Good Beer Guide (GBG) is a decent publication. Yes, it's not all-inclusive. Yes, some entries defy rational explanation. But it's still the most comprehensive papery-thing-tied-up-with-string beer guide that I know of for the UK.

And the papery-thing bit is the problem. I visited Norfolk last month; the GBG travelled on the back seat of the car and signposted us to outstanding places like the Ugly Bug at Colton that we wouldn't have known about otherwise. But the problem with a printed guide is that it's old gen as soon as it's printed. Pubs close, opening hours change. So, how about getting the GBG online - and updated frequently.

The GBG must be a revenue-generator for CAMRA; I've misplaced my set of last year's accounts, so I don't know the figure. The argument proffered against producing an online version in the past has been that fewer people would buy the book, thus less cash enters CAMRA's coffers. But perhaps they ought to think of the bigger picture; what if some other online pub guide adds a 'Good Beer Guide' flag to their listings? As pubs already advertise the fact that they're in the Guide, is it fair to say that the listing info is already in the public domain?

A CAMRA-endorsed web-based directory site, with members-only access, could add value to the Good Beer Guide rather than threaten it. At the very least, let's have a more comprehensive GBG 'updates' section on the CAMRA site... perhaps one that branches/members can update themselves? >

There's no substitute for having the brewing process explained to you by a brewer whilst he/she brew. But I'd like to see a clear, informative guide somewhere on the internet.

Wikipedia is too wordy, stuff like this is (literally) too Flash. Brewers such as Thornbridge and Broughton have explained the process in great detail, but I'd like to see something that strikes a happy medium between accessibility and academia.

One that gives a simple overview, with illustrations/animations. Which then has the scientific detail of each process available if you want to dig down further (a bit like how the Broughton site works). And has a full hyperlinked glossary of brewing terms. And an appreciation of how much cleaning and disinfecting goes on!

Perhaps there's such a site out there already. Let me know if you have a favourite.

If not, who's going to take on the challenge of building one? >

The problem with wanting to try craft beers from half way round the world is that they're, uh, half way round the world. To import them, they're probably going to travel on a slow boat at a high unit cost. Which is a bugger when you live in England and are keen on drinking beer brewed in New Zealand.

It's all the fault of Luke Nicholas. I met the award-winning Kiwi brewer from Epic Beer a couple of months ago when he was over in the UK, promoting a UK-brewed version of Epic Pale at the Wetherspoons festival. He's a really passionate and engaging guy and I'd like to try more of his beers (particularly Armageddon IPA). I'm sure thousands of others would like to, too.

The key would be a cheaper distribution route - I don't suppose an outfit like Epic can cover the costs of an exclusive shipment half way across the world. Short of discovering a pan-Atlantic/Pacific wormhole, I don't have any bright ideas. Apart from... there must be shipments from NZ-USA, USA-UK and back again; if you or anyone you know works in international shipping frieght, let me know and we'll see if we can work something out. If only for a case of Armageddon that's been tucked under the bunks; I'll glady come and collect it from any UK port ;-) >

Most brewers have a core range of beers. Many produce specials, perhaps on a seasonal basis. And some brew endless variants of the same beer; malts bills and hop varieties tweaked, ABVs hovering around 4.2%. There's a light one and a brown one.
And a browner one and a darker one. And they're all brewed to be ticker-friendly. And they all taste just the same.

Why churn out what is ostensibly the same beer (and not always a good one to start with) and continually rename it? Is it pure marketing - to attract customers into buying a 'new' beer? Only to be told, on asking what it tastes like, "er... it's rather like the other ones that they do". Is it lack of consistency in the brewing process; they cannot reproduce a given recipe so each run becomes a 'special'? Is it to bait tickers? Is it to sell over-designed pumpclips to tickers at festivals?

I'm all for experimentation in brewing. But incessant tinkering and renaming of bland bitters does the UK beer scene a massive dis-service. Let's have fewer 'anonymous' bitters and more that a brewer is proud to brand under just one name. >

I'm guessing that most branches of CAMRA run a beer festival. As branches vary in size, tradition and ambition, so do the venues and scale of those festivals. I've drank in a Melton cattle shed, the Town Hall in Burton and marquees on the castle lawn in Nottingham. Larger venues can offer more choice; more punters mean more footfall, more beer sold, more stalls and food outlets etc.

So why not have regional CAMRA festivals? I'd like to see festivals that could manage the expense of stocking more US/continental bottled/cask beers. More festivals offering a variety of food, seating areas, entertainment. Festivals where the emphasis is on beer but the venue isn't just a long bar with a burger stand on the end. Areas for tutored tastings, demonstrations, presentations...

I'm not suggesting that every CAMRA 'region' hosts an uber-fest; the size differential of those regions is too great. And a regional event shouldn't be at the expense of smaller branch fests. But I think there's potential for a couple of 'festival+' gatherings through the year, perhaps each point midway between National Winter and GBBF. The potential economy of scale delivered by large festivals could enable them to be innovative and still profitable for the region... and maybe even help to subsidise those branch fests... >

What if you could subscribe to a service where your favourite brewers kept you informed of their latest brews and news? Where your favourite pubs told you what beers were on that night? Where you didn't have to trawl websites and forums and scoopgen and blog upon blog for updated gen?

That's Twitter, that is. Whereas blogs and sites take time out of a busy publican's/brewer's day to maintain, Twitter is updated as quick as a text message. And those updates are going out to people who choose to be informed - people who want to hand over their hard-earned cash for a product they're interested in. And who will re-tweet the news to likeminded friends.

Twitter is a marketing dream for the industry. Brewers, publicans - make yourself heard on there sooner rather than later and make the most of a promotional channel that money couldn't buy. >

Of all the websites that ought to be good for updated brewery news / pub opening times / crawl ideas / festival info, local CAMRA branches should be at the forefront. But not every branch will have a technical maestro who's able to give up the significant time it takes to keep a website up-to-date and looking fresh. And it's frustrating when one branch offers excellent gen in an accessible way, yet others seem to bury news or are slow to refresh the content.

So how about CAMRA developing a website template that all branches could take advantage of? So branches can concentrate on content? Where core info could be found regardless of branch? With an emphasis on collaborative working? For instance; group-authored blogs, Twitter updates on branch meetings and socials, Facebook pages featuring 'Pub Of The Year' pics and reports?

It seems a shame to have a brand like CAMRA that's then diluted at local level. Let's not heap misery onto the shoulders of one put-upon 'webmaster'; share the joy, give all the sites consistency and let members Tweet updates about good beer whilst they're down the pub. >

Eighteen cask beers, including one continental. Two ciders/perrys. Ten draught lager/weiss/fruit beers. 200+ bottles from around the world. Pork pies. Pickled duck eggs. Rabbit jerky. Bar and lounge and taproom. T-shirts and glasses illustrated by famous cartoonist. Hard working bar staff. Beer geeks and locals sharing drinks. Close to the railway and bus stations.

No, not another attempt at my Moon Under Water. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Grove Inn, Huddersfield. Not Leeds, Birmingham, Sheffield, Newcastle, Nottingham... Huddersfield. If the UK's 39th largest urban area can host such an excellent pub, why can't others? The custom must be there. Where's the vision and passion required to do likewise across the UK? Indeed, where else in the UK is there a pub that offers anything remotely similar to the Grove? Answers on a beermat, please... >

OK - sit back and relax. I'm going to say something and I want you to say the first thing that pops into your head. Ready.....?

Morris Dancers.

Hands up if you said any of the following;

- hankie wavers
- annoying
- pewter tankards
- really annoying
- ruddy fecking bells
- If you don't stop prancing about and get out of my way I'll be forced to reverse over you
- SHUT UP! SHUT THE FECK UP! I'M TRYING TO ENJOY A DRINK!

If you answered yes to all seven, congratulations! You are Gazza. Now off you go and enjoy a refreshing tankard of Phoenix Strawberry.

If you agreed with any of those sentiments, it's my job to convince you why morris dancing is something to be revelled in and should indeed be compulsory at beer festivals.

- Morris dancing is a treasured aspect of English folklore. Practiced since the fifteenth century, it's something to be proud of and kept alive. Unlike badger baiting.

- It's not just fat man waving hankies. Some of the most athletic and disciplined dancers I've ever seen - including ballet - have been in morris teams; the all-women's Pecsaetan Morris are a prime example.

- In fact, it's not just hankies. That's Cotswold morris. How about Long Sword morris (three guesses what they use). Molly dance morris often include brooms. And my favourite, Border morris, with its full-on black-faced stick-smacking big-band approach.

- it's actually fun to watch at a fest. Most bands at fests are woeful, at least morris dancers entertain and are often more than happy to share a beer with you. They may even let you have a try-out. They may even try to recruit you. You're in my team now, Dave....

- they have a party where teams dance for the fun of it with plenty of food and drink. And that's called an 'ale'.

Every beer fest should have them.

If you still need convincing, watch Black Pig in action here or visit their website >

OK - you're a microbrewer. You may have another bod to help with cask cleaning/deliveries. You may have someone who you've cajoled into sorting out the admin and finances. But chances are, for most of the grunt work you're all on your lonesome. You've got to brew, market, sell, distribute, promote, research....
If there are a dozen microbrewers in your area, you could treat them all as competitors. You could all struggle with the same issues. And then you could watch yourself and others go bust. Or you could accept that there's strength in numbers.

I love the idea of brewer's collectives. We have it here in Derbyshire. They operate a 'one-stop shop' for beer festival ordering. They collect empty casks for other members. They promote an 'ale trail' of pubs where member's beers can be bought. They meet regularly to discuss links with universities, access to laboratory services, joint marketing initiatives...

This seems such an obviously good idea that I don't know why other counties/cities/regions have adopted it. Unless they have and I haven't noticed. Either way, more brewers' collectives seem an ideal way to strengthen the hand of microbrewers in these straitened times. >

Twenty years ago, I drank black beer. Otherwise known as Guinness. I drank black beer because I wasn't keen on brown beer (bitter) and that pale yellow beer (lager) gave me the windy-pops. I knew nothing of beer style - all I knew was it came in different colours.

Nowadays, I'm ceaseless in my search for yet another oak-aged dry-hopped bottle-fermented triple imperial gooseberry hefeweizen. Having gained an understanding of beer styles, I want to discover more. To find those breweries that aren't afraid to experiment, playing fast and loose with new flavours or paying respect to historical recipes (come on down, Thornbridge and Brewdog).

And it's those traditions that I feel need to be preserved properly. Without those baseline styles of brewing beer, we wouldn't have the building blocks for experimentation. Individual breweries keep historic beer styles alive, but I'd like to see a concerted and co-ordinated effort. Recipes should be held in a national depository as part of a National Museum of Brewing. CAMRA could highlight a style every two months (the 'Mild in May' approach) to raise its profile and the drinking public's awareness. And my dream.... the in-house brewery bar at a National Museum of Brewing producing a sampler tray of beers brewed to historic recipes. It would be the reference sampler for British beer styles. And when you'd polished it off, you could move down the bar and try some tasty UK kegged gooseberry hefeweizens too. >