>

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... >

We've all been there. It's just usually we don't know at the time.

There's a point in a toper's day when you know you've had a fair few beers. It's just before you catch the eye of your mates who are staring at you, wondering why you're shouting / dancing / have fallen asleep and woken with a jolt. It's way before you buy a kebab from the place where a recently-met couple are copulating by the fruit machine.

Perhaps it's more of a home-drinking thing. Where you still have the time and the space to listen to your mis-firing synapses. When the fridge is empty and you have to peruse your beer collection for the next willing victim. How you're still cognisent and beer-snobby enough to not open a beer that's at the wrong temperature. What do you chose? Why do you still feel drawn to that 750 of shit-kickingly good beer?

Who's with me? Who knows where this is heading?

Your hand hovers over a bottle. You're calculating ABV, volume, consumption time. You're wondering what if... what if I drink it, what will I end up drinking next? Will I end up opening something stupidly good and ruining it? Will I just pass out on the sofa? Am I confusing myself with someone who actually gives a shit?

And so you open the bottle. You twist the cage, tempt the cork up, splash a little into a glass. And you know. This was your tipping point. Tomorrow, you will feel like a shit sandwich that's been on a back-burner. Your internal organs will try and join an awkwardly-arranged queue to demonstrate against you. But you have to remember...

.. you knew your tipping point. You knew that from thereon in, the only direction your evening would take would be one that's shuddering towards hell in a hardcart.

But you didn't care. Because you have a world-class beer in your hands.

I'm right there, right now. And for tomorrow's hangover, I can only be eternally grateful. The greatest thing about drinking beyond your tipping point? Having the full knowledge that it's a top-quality beer that took you over there. >

Brewdog may tell you that shoving a bottle of freeze-distilled beer down a squirrel’s throat marks their End of History. I say – why stop at woodland creatures? I want to see the following stuffed with bottles:

- a kitten that cries pure iso-alpha acid extract when you tickle its belly

- Don Shenker (chief executive of Alcohol Concern) who vomits ethyl alcohol when you push the right button. And every button is the right button

- a haggis (preferably a mature male from the Western Isles) that seeps smoked malt from its pores. If haggis is out of season, substitute with a badger. And substitute paws for pores.

- a rampant unicorn astride a rainbow with a bottle of double-tripel-barrel-aged-smoked-hefeweizen where its horn should be

- a beaver stuffed with Hardcore. Although I do believe something similar may already exist within the realms of certain gentlemen’s entertainment websites.

- a salmon on Speedball leaping majestically over a knackered old shark.

- a gruffalo sporting the world’s bitterest beer, brewed from the bile of those critics who, like, er, just don’t get ‘it’.

Remember, if you keep reading your Fukuyama*, he tells us that “history cannot come to an end as long as modern natural science has no end… within the next couple of generations we will have knowledge and technologies that will allow us to accomplish what social engineers of the past failed to do”. Making us one happy planet of hop worshippers has got to be on the Brewdog agenda. As long as they don’t intend on inserting it into a chameleon.

* Second thoughts: the last man in a bottle, published in The National Interest, summer 1999 >

When it's at the Coach and Horses, Dronfield, Derbyshire.

When the pub turns itself inside out, nearly all the tables and chairs ending up outside.

When it then buckets down with rain but everyone's still smiling under canvass.

When the music isn't a dodgy tribute band but some of the freshest and finest acts from the UK blues scene.

When the food isn't a burnt burger but a Southern-states BBQ smorgasbord of wings 'n ribs 'n jambalaya.

When the beers aren't random blends with daft names but some of the most inventive casks from the UK's most progressive breweries - Thornbridge, Brewdog, Fyne Ales, Williams, Dark Star, Marble, Hawkshead, Roosters.

When locals and tickers and Tweeters and brewers sit round tables and have a riotous time.

Last weekend was more than a beer festival. It was living, breathing proof that good beer is enhanced dramatically by good people in a good location having a good time.

Huge thanks to Cat and the team at the Coach for making the weekend a highlight of my beery summer so far. And props to Darth Kiwi - I mean Kelly Ryan - for his unstinting energy and enthusiasm. >

Smart cafés, ye olde pubs, refurbished bars and the largest beer shop in Europe. There were many places that made Norfolk drinking a fantastic experience; here's an in-no-order top ten;

Reedham

Even just typing its name takes me back to balmy evenings and great, great beer. Sharing market-fresh food and stunning beers with head Humpty Dumpty, Stephen George, and his family at their home was an honour. And not only does Steve brew some darn tasty beers, he knocks up a mean guacamole too. The steep drop down to the riverside for beers at the Lord Nelson was only slightly buttock-clenching - perhaps moreso for Mrs Scoop as I was in 'control' of her wheelchair - and the reward was great Norfolk beers in one of those pubs that you dream about on summer evenings; cool inside, quenching beers, friendly locals. Just downriver is the Ship, a pub with great food and plenty of room outside where you can watch birds lurking at the water's edge and see the occasional train trundle across the swing bridge.

Berney Arms Inn

I can try and explain what it's like at the Berney Arms Inn, but it still feels slightly surreal. It's one of the remotest pubs in England, by virtue of there being no public road for four miles. You can catch a train to Berney Arms, half a mile away, which is (natch) England's remotest railway station. You can walk the Wherryman's Way to it from Norwich or Yarmouth. You could, of course, moor your boat right outside. And when you get there... tip-top beers from Humpty Dumpty, the breeze blowing off Breydon Water, room outside in the sun or inside in the wood-panelled bar. We did the obvious thing on a baking hot day - we sat outside and ate a huuuuuuuge mixed grill.

Mariners Tavern, Great Yarmouth

A pub that came to my attention as an ex-Lacons pun, current Good Beer Guide entry and a CAMRA branch pub of the year. After a morning enjoying the cheesy-seaside experience, albeit plagued by pollen beetles, finding a good pub was in order. The Mariners didn't disappoint; heaps of St Austell beers seemed odd but the Crouch Vale Sonnet was heavenly. Sat in a cool lounge, adorned with heaps of brewery memorabilia, far away from the braying bingo-wings, the Mariners was a true bolt-hole for an hour.

Adnams Cellar and Kitchen, Southwold

Having mentally spent my wages for the next three months whilst perusing the wine in their Southwold shop, I was ready for an Adnams beer in their hometown. So it was a pleasant surprise to find an airy café behind the store, especially when it had cold bottles of their decently-wheaty Spindrift on offer. The food looked gobsmackingly-fresh - I'm still not too sure how we avoided the cheeseboard - and the suntrap outdoor area gave me a chance to enjoy an Adnams beer whilst spending too long a time pouring over their catalogue...

Ugly Bug, Colton

We found this place last year after a visit to the Royal Norfolk Show; looking for a place to stay near Norwich this year, we were keen to return. It feels like it's in the middle of nowhere but it's only a ten minute drive from superstores and the Park & Ride. It's laid back and open plan. The landlord, John Lainchbury, actually brings the menu board over to you. The beer is local and top-quality (Humpty Dumpty's Little Sharpie was on whilst we stayed). The food is local, fresh and plentiful (with the likes of samphire, crab, fish, duck...). The room we stayed in was clean, comfy and a ten-second walk to the bar. No noise at kicking-out time, a relaxed vibe at breakfast and a mad-as-a-box-of-frogs-dog - Alfie - who never seemed to stop running. An absolutely outstanding pub.

The Plough, Norwich

Amongst the eclectic mix of music shops, chandlers and arts venues on St Benedict's Street in Norwich there's a sixteenth century pub serving twenty-first century beer with a timeless feel. The Plough offered whitewash and pine, chilled music, a cordial welcome and bloody good beer. The only thing that annoys me about Grain Brewery beer - the Plough is a Grain pub - is that I can't get enough of it. Major props to the barman who knows a knackered toper when he sees one - I ordered a pint of Harvest Moon and was offered a pint of iced water to go with it. The wander down to Norwich's legendary pub, the Fat Cat, was just worth it but... truth be told, I'd have rather stayed at the Plough and chilled a little longer.

Kett's Tavern, Norwich

When you've spent the morning meandering alongside the River Wensum, when Cathedral and Cow Tower have long since been lost to your sky-line, when you reach the medieval Bishop's Bridge and fancy a pint... keep walking a wee while longer. At the base of Kett's Hill, there's a rangy multi-level pub that serves bacon buttys all day, good value nosh at lunch (fish finger sandwich: top nom) and Indian food from a nearby curry house in the evenings, alongside an impressive array of the counties best beers. Wolf Golden Jackal is a staple offering - it appears on their very competitive meal deals at lunch - just another reason why the pub is well worth seeking out.

The Three Horseshoes, Warham

Another of my all-time favourite Norfolk pubs. Why? Some of the best pub food I've ever tasted - their pies, puddings and flans are superlative. Some of the best draught cider I've ever tasted - from just up on the coast at Whin Hill. By far and away the best pint of Woodforde's Wherry that I've ever tasted - straight from the barrel. No chips, no screaming kids, no hassle. It's a bit of a Bagpuss pub, frayed around the edges, but I can think of no finer place in North Norfolk in which to drop down a mental gear or two and enjoy some of the finest beer and food that the county has to offer.

The Bull, Little Walsingham

Yes, it serves Suffolk cider (Aspalls). Yes, it's slightly pricey. Yes, it's often full of clueless pilgrims from the nearby shrine. Just imagine this; a pub you visit every year on holiday where, shortly after you've ditched your luggage, you're sat outside in the sun with a cool pint, the weekend papers and a bag of crisps. Drudgery drops from your shoulders. Everything slows. Time becomes elastic. That's what the Bull means to me. No photo required.

Beers of Europe

The biggest beer store in Europe. Local beers. European beers. US beers. World beers. Bargain beers. Brews as rare as rocking-horse-shit. I bought bottles of beers I'd been drinking all week (Humpty Dumpty Little Sharpie). Bottles I'd had sips from once before (De Molen Mout & Mocca). Bottles that I've writhed around in ecstasy over before (Cantillon Lou Pepe Framboise). Bottles for friends, bottles for neighbours. And I always end up buying another ruddy glass that I really have no room for but, hey, it looks cool. A photo doesn't do the place justice, so watch their video instead:




A fantastic trip; generous people, beautiful scenery, superb food and drink, relaxing and invigorating times. Bottomless thanks to Stephen and Lesley George of Humpty Dumpty, John and Alison at the Ugly Bug, Glynis and Richard at the Old School, East Barsham and countless others who made it this a Norfolk (and slightly-Suffolk) World Tour to remember. >

Last week's Norfolk jaunt took me and my better half to topering venues old and new with a none-too-Reluctant Scoop or two. Here's the top ten highlights in no apparent order.

Humpty Dumpty - Wherryman's Way IPA

It may be brewed in sleepy Reedham but this IPA has USA stamped all over it. Caramalt gold with assertive levels of Target, Centennial and Simcoe, a bomber of 7.4% hopped gorgeousness was my first beer of the holiday and the one that left the most lasting impression. When a brewer hands you his beer, when you both sip and both smile, it feels darn fine. More about this beer in a Bottled Up feature soon.

Humpty Dumpty - Little Sharpie

Drank this with the brewer at his local, drank it by the river at one of England's remotest pubs, drank it again at the pub we stayed at later in the week. I've bought bottles to drink at home for whenever I want that relaxed Norfolk feeling. Little Sharpie is a GBBF-medal-winning bitter that proved time and again to be perfectly sessionable.

Crouch Vale Sonnet

I went to Yarmouth in search of local beer and found this instead. Magnificently pale, smooth citrics and just the Saaz-ish effect that I hoped the Sonnet hop was capable of delivering.

Adnams Spindrift

On our day trip to Suffolk, a bottle of this served at the Adnams Cellar and Kitchen store in Southwold was exactly what I needed on a hot day. Just enough wheat in there made for a refreshingly soft mouthfeel alongside delicate notes of oranges and lemons.

Grain Harvest Moon

My first visit to Grain's new Norwich pub, The Plough, was a highlight of the week. Harvest Moon was one of the reasons why - sweet malts, grassy hops, lemon edges and a slightly pine finish.

Wolf Golden Jackal

After a meandering riverside walk that had me crying out for a cool, calm, low-ABV beer, this was spot-on. A full fruity hop flavour with lingering bitterness.

Woodforde's Wherry

The very definition of Norfolk session bitter. Drinkable almost everywhere you find it, it really comes into its own at the Three Horseshoes in Warham where it's served on gravity from behind the bar. And it's borderline warm. And I swear it tastes all the better for it - like warm toffee apple with a subtle spicy dusting.

Fox IPA and Fox Branthill Pioneer

Having carped on before about how more cafés ought to serve local bottled beer, it was good to see just that in Norfolk. Fox brew a solid range of bottled beer; I found their robust, marmaladey IPA at Pensthorpe Nature Reserve and their dry, fudgy Branthill Pioneer in the Stables Café at Holkham Hall. Top marks to the latter for keeping the beer in the fridge - the IPA was still good but oozed everywhere like a warm, yeasty volcano. Both beers were accompanied by one of the finest pork pies in England, from Bray's Cottage.

Aspall Draught Suffolk Cyder

Yes, I know it's from Suffolk. But it's my just-so cider; just dry enough, just refreshing enough. And there are times when a cask beer, no matter how clean-cut and calm-flavoured, just doesn't cut it. When only a crisp cider will do. And Aspall's does it perfectly.

Whin Hill Medium Sparking Cider

Once I've got a taste for cider, mind, it's hard to satiate that apple itch. A trip to Wells-next-the-Sea gives it a damn good scratch, though. In a hillside car park, you'll find cider nirvana. Jim Fergusson and Pete Lynn sell a range of carefully crafted ciders, perrys and apple juices that are made and sold on the premises. Their 'medium sparkling' is possibly the finest artisinal cider in the UK. It actually tastes apple-fleshy, it itches along and offers up just enough tartness to let you know what you're drinking.

There were plenty more besides, but they're the ones I'd keep an eye out for if you're Norfolk-Suffolk-bound. There'll be more tomorrow about the places where I drank them. >

I was considering subcontracting this review to Jeremy Clarkson, the demin-clad hyperbole from Top Gear. Or perhaps Nigel Tufnel of Spinal Tap fame. Jezza would undoubtedly say that 1001 is a better book than Ben McFarland's World's Best Beers because this one has one more beer in it. Nige would concur; coz it's one higher. But surely the clincher is quality, not quantity? On a now-cramped 'must-try' beery bookshelf, groaning with weighty tomes that are thicker than a whale omelette, is there room for another?

I'd say so. Not only do you get coverage of a wide range of world brews, but it's written by an impressive array of over forty beer writers. Adrian Tierney-Jones does an admirable job as editor and contributor whilst roping in the expert opinion of reviewers from all over the world, such as Stan Hieronymus, Joris Pattyn and Jay Brooks. The book eschews a style-based structure and plumps for a colour-palette approach; that means shoe-horning those awkward beers into a 'speciality' section which rather unstitches the thread developed, although I'd doubt anyone would ever read the book section-by-section anyway.

The layout is clean and clear; brewery and beer background are covered in between 100 - 300 words along with concise tasting notes in a separate section. The accompanying pictures are bold and simple, perhaps a pump clip or a bottle and glass combo. What I really liked are the diverse collection of beer and brewery illustrations scattered liberally throughout; posters, stamps, watercolours, labels, signage, sculptures and a host of others that are as attractive as the text itself.

So if you've already got Ben McFarland's book, ought you make space on the shelf for this one? Absolutely. Both are complimentary; 1001 Beers has some great reference detail and backstory, World's Best Beers has an idiosyncratic approach and dry wit. I still think the format could do away with any kind of forced structure and just go with an A-Z approach; similarly, I'd like to see some seemingly sacred-cow beers left out to pasture rather than be reviewed just because they have near-iconic stature. But perhaps we'll see that if we ever get to '5000 Beers You Must Try But Probably Won't Live Long Enough To Drink Them All'.

For those of us who like a well-written reference work that you can happily meander through whilst enjoying a beer, 1001 Beers is a must-have addition to your beery bookshelf.

1001 Beers You Must Try Before You Die is published in the UK by Octopus Books. In the US, it's titled 1001 Beers You Must Taste Before You Die and is published by Universe.

Many thanks to Octopus for the review copy. >

Sometimes, I fear beer. That there will become a point when a bottle is no longer just a beverage but an event horizon, a beer experience that will suck me in and wring me dry.

Mikkeller beers have pushed me close to the edge before. Sensory overload lurks around the corner whenever I open one of their bottles. So intense, such a broad spectrum of flavours and feelings that are packed in, that you learn to expect the unexpected.

And so it goes with Black Hole. Here's a beer that becomes the very definition of no compromise; a 13% imperial stout that's balanced only in the sense that holding a sumo wrestler under each arm is balanced too. Immense bitterness is matched by honey sweetness. My only tasting note reads; "as if they've tarmac'd their way through a coffee shop at breakfast time - hot tar, chocolate brownie, cold coffee, burnt toast, honey nut clusters, orange segments, spicy bagels and a hidden booze stash".

It's not a beer you drink, it's a beer you climb inside and look outward to see the rest of the beer-universe unravelling around you.

Distribution of Black Hole is sporadic in the UK. My advice is, if you see it, buy two. One to drink now, one to drink when you make it back out alive. You'll have earned it. >

Welcome our guest reviewer, Henry the Gnome, who will be bringing you his unique brand of succinct and honest summaries of his favourite beers this summer. Take it away, Henry!

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It's a simple story, really. Once upon a time, in a land far far away, the owner of a flooring company persuaded a maverick brewer to use an aromatic wood that can stop bullets at point blank range to make barrels for aging beer. So let me take you on a journey from the heart of South America's 'Green Hell' to a dining table in a sleepy English village, via the second smallest of the United States. It's the tempestuous relationship between the world's hardest wood, sixteenth best football team and a desperate writer. And it starts in Paraguay.

Having been nominated to write about Paraguay for the World Cup Beer Sweepstake, many of my queries were answered with a question mark. Where exactly was Paraguay? What beers do they brew? What are the populace's personal habits? Are the forests really crammed full of ageing Nazis? My usual degree of in-depth research was called for. Half an hour on Wikipedia and three beers later, I still wasn't much the wiser.

Fortunately, there's always someone on the t'interweb that a desperate writer can turn to. Such as a more successful, wittier, entertaining writer. John Gimlette has travelled extensively throughout South America and his book, 'At The Tomb Of The Inflatable Pig', is probably the definitive travelogue for Paraguay. It's a rollicking good read as he meets "cannibals, Jesuits, Anabaptists, Australian socialists, talented smugglers, dictators and their mad mistresses". And the odd Nazi, obviously. I asked him what he remembered of the beers. "The best beer brewed in Paraguay was Baviera", John told me. He recalled that it was "... very Germanic in its flavour. Given the climate it was always sold very cold". The downtown bars in the capital, Asuncion, served the stuff in foaming Maßkrug; the availability of bratwurst is sadly unrecorded.

That Paraguay should proffer a Germanic lager isn't really unusual. Partly because hot countries and pale lagers are made for each other. Partly because Paraguay has a rich history of European in-migration. The Spanish may have colonised the place but the country has become a haven for Germans, Italians and Russians through the years. So, I had high hopes of securing some kind of lager steeped in European tradition. How hard could it be to find one?

As hard as finding a virgin in Sheffield on a Friday night.

The usual suspects of online retailing had a Paraguayan-shaped hole in their portfolios. Not too surprising, perhaps; why import 'exotic' pale lagers half way around the world when the likes of Brahma, Brazil's finest, is actually brewed in a shed within easy reach of a UK motorway? Emails to the Paraguayan Embassy went unanswered. OK, so lager distribution may not be on the top of their international relations agenda. I was getting even more desperate, which usually leads to one of two things. Either a wallow in the limpid pool of self-pity and anxiety or the development of a plan so cunning you could subtly reword it and pretend you stole it from Edmund Blackadder. 

Somebody on Twitter may have suggested it. Certainly, beergenie mentions it. But in my mind's eye, I had a bolt-from-the-blue moment. US brewers Dogfish Head brew a beer called Palo Santo Marron. That beer is aged in a wooden tank. Palo Santo wood. That grows as Palo Santo trees. In the 'Green Hell', Gran Chaco, of... Paraguay. I do believe the popular football phrase is BACK OF THE NET!!!

The backstory of the beer, henceforth to be known as DFHPSM, is worth telling if you've never heard it. John Gasparine, a Baltimore businessman who runs a flooring company, was sourcing woods in Paraguay when he came across bulnesia sarmientoi, known in the country as 'Palo Santo'; holy wood. He noticed how dense it was, heavier than water. That it had natural lubrication from the oils contained within. That it was at the top end of the Janka scale that rates the hardness of wood flooring. So far, so interior design. But Gasparine was attracted by its aromatic quality. And he loved his beer. And he reckoned that a beer aged on Palo Santo wood could be awesome. It would need an awesome brewer to make it happen. But he knew of one - Dogfish Head.

His call to DFH boss Sam Calagione elicited a straightforward reply: "Get a shitload!"

Over four thousand feet of the stuff was needed. That's a lot to cut given that the trees are willowy and three times harder than oak. Would the boards really be strong enough? Gasparine's guide pulled a .38 revolver and shot into a trunk from five feet away. The bullet hardly made a scratch. The order was placed.

The result was a tank over fifteen feet high and ten feet wide with a volume of ten thousand gallons at a cost of $140,000. It was the largest wooden brewing vessel built in the US since Prohibition.  "If Dogfish were a publically traded company", said Calagione, "I'd have been fired for this". The 12% brown ale that makes it out the other side is renowned for adopting the caramel-vanilla notes of the Palo Santo wood and so I was looking forward immensely to trying the beer.

As to exactly when and where, I wasn't sure. Paraguay seemed to be fairly handy- silver medalists at the 2004 Olympics and all that - so I was hoping they'd have a good run. They were stocky, plucky, relentless footballers who made the Italians look fairly ordinary. They showed Slovakia how to play the game. They showed New Zealand... well, not a lot, in truth. They dangled Japan onto the end of long balls and the occasional thumping. And so they managed to scrape their way into the quarter finals against Spain, played on the first day of my Norfolk holiday. I believe the popular football phrase is GAME ON!!!

An e-mail reservation was sent to Beers Of Europe for two bottles of DFHPSM, which were picked up on the way through Norfolk. Saturday night was spent with the head of Humpty Dumpty Brewery, Stephen George, and his family at their home in the sleepy Broads village of Reedham. We drank beer. Oh boy, did we drink beer. And I totally forgot about the football. I get like that when I start the evening by drinking 7% IPA. We rolled down the suicidally-steep hill into the river - I mean, into the pub - at some late stage of the evening when the highlights were showing. A ball was billowing the back of the onion bag and I was over-animatedly gesticulating and shouting "WAS THAT PARAGUAY?!?!".

That answer was, er, no. Those old colonialists had done it again. I believe the popular football phrase is SICK AS A PARROT :-(

Let's look on the bright side. Throughout the World Cup, Paraguay proved to be handy at the long ball (476 passes, more than Brazil, fifth highest overall) and keeping on the move (550 km, sixth highest overall) which was only tempered slightly by the number of fouls they committed (third highest, more than Spain) and handballs (third highest once again). Victor Caceres proved to be so popular with referees that he was the most booked player in the tournament. But losing out to the eventual winners is something that the founding father of Paraguayan football, a Dutch sports instructor called William Paats, would surely have been proud of.

And there's always the beer.  Stacks of tobacco, cherry, chocolate, spices and that vanilla-caramel-boozy-pudding feeling. There's a hell of a lot of flavour packed in there. Like those footballers, it's a stocky little thing that punches above its weight and proves to be as hard as nails.

The last words have to be in Guarani, the indigenous language of Paraguay. It's claimed that up to 90% of the population understand it -  which is gobsmacking given their ethnic and cultural diversity. There's no letter W. Y is a vowel sound. And all you need to know about it, me and DFHPSM that night  is:

Tuicha oka'u. Che ha'u; Che ka'u.

(Very drunk. I drink; I'm a drunk) >

Just a quickie - if you fancy a day sauntering around great gardens, eating knockout food, gazing upon the most delectable stained glass and drinking some of the county's best beers -whilst raising money for charity - the Thornbridge Hall Garden Party is on tomorrow.

In the heart of the Peak District, the Hall is opened up for the day allowing visitor's access to the private grounds and into the hall itself. With a craft fair, fun fair, brass band, falconry display and plenty of live music, it's a great family day out. And there will be lashings of Thornbridge ale on sale too.

Read all about this year's event here and see my write-up from last year here. >

Let's say you're a professional brewer. That you wake up, day in, day out, rain or shine, feeling shit or feeling great, and you go brew. You load hoppers, stir mash, control run-off, fire coppers, transfer and rack and clean, clean, clean, clean. Then you drag your bones home. Why the hell would you want to homebrew when you get back?

For the love of beer. For the passion that inspired you to become a pro-brewer. For the kick that experimentation gives. For the unalloyed joy that resides in a small-batch beast that was crafted on the kitchen table/ in the garage. And because, one day, that homebrew recipe may travel to work with you and get ramped up beyond your wildest expectations.

So here's the tale of a homebrew that the homebrewer never tasted but went on to become a cult beer after the recipe travelled half way around the world. Back in his native New Zealand, James Kemp was an award-winning homebrewer who specialised in heavyweight brews. Before he moved to the UK, his Dad asked him to brew a stout. Which, even though James can knock up an impy as good as the rest of them, he wasn't too keen on doing. So instead he devised a dark beer which, in his own words, he'd "hop the wahoo out of it"!

How did it turn out? Well, James only ever got a taster out of the fermenter before he left for England. But the joy of joining a progressive brewery like Thornbridge meant that the recipe was soon to be unleashed commercially. Perhaps it helps that the Thornbridge brewery manager is a fellow Kiwi. Perhaps it helps that Thornbridge aren't afraid of using huge clods of Nelson Sauvin, the hop that formed the backbone to the original homebrew. Anyhoo, that recipe was ramped up with additions of Centennial and Sorachi Ace and became Thornbridge's first black 'IPA'; Raven.

It's neither the time nor place for me to start unfurling my anti-black-IPA argument. Suffice to say, this beer starts awesomely and gets better from thereon in. Like citric chocolate; the deepest flavoured ganache with a tropical twang. And it's here because a homebrewer had the balls to say; this beer ought to be commercial. To have faith in a beer you never got to taste; for your colleagues to have that faith in you and let you brew it. Not too shabby :-)

So, award-winning homebrewer turns recipe into style-defying classic. What does he do for an encore? Well, he keeps brewing - at home as well on the 'big kit'. Because homebrewers don't stop being homebrewers just because they turn pro. Here's the experimentation, the craftsmanship. That's why James in insatiable on a homebrew kit - a wee heavy with a Trappist yeast, a smoked imperial oatmeal stout. That's where the next barnstorming Thornbridge beer may come from. And for that reason, I'm eternally grateful that some commercial brewers never stop homebrewing. >

Marginalia are a wonderous thing. By the side of failed crosswords, boring books, faded magazines and jaded op-ed pieces I have acquired a wealth of random scribblings. Often libellous, sometimes legible, always nearly related to beer.

Before throwing away newspapers, I check to see if I’ve folded over a page-corner – my indicator-to-self that there’s an interesting article there. Or some random beer scribbling that may be worth developing. Or a picture of Kelly Brook in the buff. Here’s one such preserved slurred musing I’ve just found; “Comfortably Numb – 1980 beer names”. As in, potential beer names taken from hits in 1980. It ran down the margin, over the Sudoku and into an advert for some cock’s V8 droptop. As I honestly have nothing better to do, I’ll share them with you. If you brew a beer and give it one of these names, let me know. I’ll even help you come and drink it.

Ace of Spades – must be a dark beer. 5.2% ABV
Atmosphere – dark, brooding, unsettling. NOT MILD.
Back In Black – does what it says on the tin.
Chemical Warfare – stupidly hopped something.
Comfortably Numb – barley wine, natch
Crazy Train – Nutty. and fruity.
Decades – uses ten hops
Enola Gay – huge dry-hopped hop-bomb of a hoppy IPA
Geno – Washington State hops used
I can't stand up for falling down – a light ale
I wanna be sedated – a milky imperial weiss
To Cut A Long Story Short – an IPA brewed to an old recipe
Tattooed Love Boys – black beer with blueberries
Stereotype – Crystal malt, Fuggles/Golding hopped. But good
Special Brew – legal problems with this?
Rocket From A Bottle – self explanatory >

#4: Good lager is where you find it

You’ve just walked from one end of the National Exhibition Centre to the other, both halves seemingly in different postcodes. You’ve got a throat dryer than the Atacama. You’ve free access to a fridge chock full of beers – Trappist ales, Belgian bruins, double IPAs. What do you satiate that itching thirst with?

Lager, of course.

Nothing – and I do mean nothing – is as refreshing as a cold lager on a parched palate. Those flavours you’d usually savour in a hoppy beer would be too sticky. Maltiness would just clag the gap left where your tonsils were whipped out. You need something crisp, something cold.

We were pouring samples of two great lagers. Moritz is a clean, soft Spanish pils sprinkled with Saaz. Rothaus Tannenzäpfle is a South German pils with echoes of pine needles; there’s a herbal edge to its sweet malt base. I loved them both and drank them deeply all day.

There’s an awful lot of shit lager in the world. But there’s some well made, carefully crafted, thoroughly enjoyable examples out there too.

Remember – pils is not a four-letter word. >

#3) Never underestimate the popularity of fruit beer

Not everyone likes a double IPA. Not everyone likes a traditional bitter. But I reckon you’d be hard pushed to find someone who doesn’t like some sort of fruit beer. I lost count of the times people said to me “I don’t usually like beer/fruit, but that was lovely”. Often it was the ladies who hadn’t been keen on beer (as it was ‘bitter’ or ‘pongy’) and the gents who weren’t sure about fruit (as it was ‘girly, like Bacardi Breezers’).

Putting a decent fruit beer in their hands changed all that. “Does the banana beer taste of banana?”, asked someone. Hell crikey, yes. Mongozo Banana smells and tastes of sweet, Fair Trade bananas. And Mongozo Coconut smells and tastes of coconut milk, as do you when yet another bottle spurts everywhere. Indeed, Mongozo Snozberry would indubitably smell and taste of snozberry.

People were surprised that the beers didn’t taste tacky. That you could recognise the aroma and flavours as those of the fruit in question. Soon, the ladies were supping their beers and joining the back of the sampling queue for more. Four barrel-chested, shovel-handed guys weren’t interested in lagers, they just wanted more coconut beer.

With those flavours licking round their lips, it was time for a gentle segue into kriek and framboise. The pop of the cork, the steady carbonation, the assertive flavours. Here, people found beers to accompany dessert courses, to offer sparkle at a party, to savour out on the decking. Meanwhile, the strawberries-and-cream dream that is Fruli was evaporating from the bar next door.

But *you* still don’t like fruit beer, you say? I bet you just haven’t found the right one… >

#1) It’s a challenge to educate people with beer samples.

With four beers to sample, and a queue of thirsty punters, I reckon I had about thirty seconds to describe the beer styles on offer, push for a decision and pour a beer whilst giving just a sliver of its backstory. Then it was on to the next customer. And repeat for the best part of five hours. You want the customer to try a great beer and understand why it’s great, you want them to remember the beer’s name and – let’s be honest – you want them to buy some either today or on-line at some time. It’s a huge ask in thirty seconds.

#2) Some people say the most obvious things. I had to avoid the obvious answers.

“I don’t like beer, but I like this one”.

Congratulations, that’s because you’ve just tasted your first well-crafted beer made with quality ingredients.

“What’s the strongest beer you’ve got?”

Well, how about forgetting what gets you pissed quickest and try a beer with strong flavours instead? Here’s a chance to redefine your drinking parameters; seize it.

“I don’t like Belgian beer”.

Yeah, that bucket of Jupiler you tried on that stag trip to Brugge was obviously representative of the country’s rich and varied beer heritage.

“Have you got any bitter?”.

Do we have bitter-tasting beer? Yes, some of the world’s finest. But if you mean four-percentish brown slurry, then the answer is no. A sensory descriptor should not define a beer style; both become devalued as a result.

Tongue bitten, objectivity restored, potential future customer identified.

It was actually refreshing to be in a position where I could challenge someone’s beer assumptions. Open their eyes to perceiving beer in a way they’d never done before.. I actually got a kick out of putting a good beer in someone’s hands and seeing a flicker in their eye, a smile on their face, the inkling of a beer epiphany taking place.

More tomorrow. >

I’m a thirsty kind of guy. Not just for the old malt-and-hop-wash, but for beer knowledge. I’m trying to cram in experience at all ends of the industry; one thing I’d never done was work the counter of a trade stand at an exhibition. So when the BBC Good Food Show and 'Tasting Beers Live' rolled into the National Exhibition Centre, with my good friends at beermerchants in attendance, I jumped at the chance to be a bar monkey for the weekend.


The ‘Tasting Beers Live’ side of the show took place in its own area, right at the arse end of the arena. I was sceptical that many would stumble across it, or that it would end up becoming a ‘man-creche’ of blokes desperate to escape from their wife’s wisteria habit. But business was brisk; when we ran tastings the queues soon formed, at other times there was always someone who wanted to stop and chat about the beers.

On the upside, it was great to put good beer into people’s hands and see them get a real kick of tasting something that was new to them – which was a darn site tastier to many they’d tried before. The range of beers by Viven, the truly-fruity Mongozo beers, classic European lagers and pils, all were gratefully received and sampled eagerly.

The only downside was a perception, re-inforced by physical segregation, that beer tasting had to be separate from good food. Yes, there was a beer-and-food stand. Yes, Richard Fox did a sterling job using his beers (and ours) in cooking a range of stunning dishes. But because the sampling stalls were roped off from the main event, perhaps partly driven by licensing restrictions, perhaps to channel customers into paying £7 for a glass and tokens, it seemed like beer was taking itself too seriously and consciously setting itself apart from the rest of the show. For all the exhibitors in there, nothing could have been further from the truth.

I went there for the experience and, boy, there was plenty to be had.. I’ll share some of those with you throughout this week.. In the meantime, huge thanks to beermerchants for letting me loose on the unsuspecting public and props to Sean for not getting too hacked off when I sprayed Mongozo Coconut over him. For the third time. At least we smelt like we’d been on a spa trip, not a beer exhibition ;-) >

There's something about a splash of sunshine that makes me want to bring on the gueuze.

The phhht of the cork from the bottle. The itchng fizz of effervescence in a champagne glass. The sour tang, the makes-your-tabs-laugh tartness, perhaps a funky feel, maybe a lemon twist... truely the drink that keeps on giving. And as for kriek - I can't think of a finer fruit beer than a cherry-blessed, slightly chilled glass of sheer gorgeousness.

I've made gueuze and kriek my summer Thursday beers of choice this year. Partly because they're great beers to sip in the sun, sat in the garden, lawns mown the day before. Also because I knock together a light tea for myself on a Thursday whilst Mrs Scooper is out herding cats - I mean, running a Rainbow Guide unit. So I've been playing around with a host of dishes that complement and contrast the flavours of the beers.

Muusels and fries was a given. Hackneyed, perhaps, but there's that certain something in the way that gueuze cuts across the buttery sauce. Salmon quiche worked surprisingly well. Duck legs steeped in kriek and mustard were fantastic - a jagged-tooth palate-snagger of heat and fruit, sour and nutty. Goat's cheese salad with a few slippery beets was superb.

I'm building myself up to try the Sean Paxton-inspired  venison crusted with coriander and orange peel. Tonight, it's duck on toast; a robust pâté trowelled thickly onto thick slices of toasted Hovis. Alongside, a sublime kriek from Moriau that's been gathering dust for years but still tastes and looks lithe and sparkly. The other beers so far this summer haven't disappointed either, such as a feisty Hanssens kriek and a dashingly dry Grand Cru from Cantillon. And there's plenty more waiting in the wings, Saint Lamvinus and Iris from Cantillon, Drie Fonteinen, Girardin, Boon Mariage Parfait... it's going to be a long, goozey-boozy summer.

Many thanks to Imperial Commander, Gold Cup jockey Paddy Brennan and owner Nigel Twiston-Davies for expanding my tenner at 7-1 into a case of gueuze from beermerchants. >

Have you heard the one about the Dutch brewery with the German-sounding name that used leggy South Africans to get up the noses of a global brewer famous for its American and Belgian brands? No? Have you been comatose for the last 24 hours?

Hats off to Bavaria, the Dutch brewers, who pulled off yet another guerrilla marketing wheeze by having thirty-six women ditch their Danish shirts and reveal their almost-wholly-unbranded 'Dutch Dresses'. And thanks to Robbie "Mr. Naive" Earle for allegedly dipping into his own pocket to the sum of almost four grand to buy the face-value tickets that somehow found their way into the hands of the orange-clad lovelies.

There are, of course, many questions left unanswered. Why did Robbie Earle buy so many tickets and, allegedly, aim to buy many more for future games? How can FIFA claim that the orange dresses, with no discernible logo, are "recognisable items associated directly with the brewery in question"? What have Bavaria got against AB Bev, given that they've pulled this kind of stunt before in 2006? Surely not the brewery equivalent of sour grapes after InBev squealed over the 2007 Dutch beer price-fixing scandal, resulting in InBev walking and Bavaria being fined? Why didn't FIFA just eject the 'advertising mules', as one English newspaper called them, given that they shouldn't have been using the tickets? Is it because of the dangerous precedent it would set? What would Jack Warner, the FIFA vice-president previously embroiled in a ticket sales scandal, make of it all?

Somewhere in here, there's a point to be made about beer marketing.I think it's this; exclusivity deals are bound to make a brewery look like an arse at some point. Whether it's the beer you can buy in a stadium or a sponsorship deal for an event, the bigger and more obnoxious the deal, the harder and funnier they can be made to prat-fall. If only by three dozen attractive women in tight dresses.

PS - for the funniest take on the whole caboodle, you need read only one article. As always, it's the Daily Mash >

Sleek-sided bottle. Bastard plastic 'cork'. Sore palms. Unavoidable yeasty swirlings. Nun's fart-splutter as it opens. Horse-piss amber on the pour. Aroma? Not really. Fine lace mesh head, tilted glass leaves a pin-head constellation smear. Aroma now? Warm fresh banana fudge. Alcohol I can feel behind my eyes, slightly. There's malt sweetness with the yeastyness. A sip smoothens exponentially; flecks of orange peel vie with a vanilla wash. Aroma now? Glue not yet set on the back of an Airfix Spitfire's wing.

Warm flesh required around the glass. Preference; toned thighs Actuality; chubby hands. Coaxing vanilla now, rewarded with drunken caramel leaking around the edges. A prickle on the tongue, kindling an almost-lost sensory memory, something randomly Belgium in a smoky Brugge cafe bar.Spots of dryness stick in the palate. An undefined essence of ester lingers.

So young. Maybe too young. Too lithe. Too subtle. It needs age. It needs weight. It sits in the glass and knows with cock-sure confidence that it could be an amazing, outstanding, stop-the-fucking-traffic beer. But not yet. Like many on the cusp of maturity, it needs a few years to sit in the dark whilst breaking hearts occasionally.

Two more bottles of Brewdog's 10.2% 'vanilla bean infused belgian quad' will now go and wallflower my cellar party til next spring. Let's see if they blossom then.

Abstrakt 01 has sold on on the official website but I dare say that some independent retailer has a bottle or five stashed away. Ask around. You may be surprised.

Somewhere in deepest darkest Laaaaandan right about now - well, OK, at the bright-and-breezy beer theatre that is Cask in Pimlico, the pre-launch party for Abstrakt 02 should be getting underway. The 16% 'Triple Dry Hopped Imperial Red Ale' goes on sale from the Abstrakt website tomorrow.


Thanks to Brewdog for the beer. >

It was almost the perfect evening of cricket. Cool skies cleared to blue along the embankment. Trent Bridge was buzzing with an expectant crowd; the Hounds Road stand was bathed in sun. Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire played a true Twenty-Twenty showcase with thumping sixes and mad dashes between the wickets. But as the shadows lengthened and Samit Patel brought the home side home to a comfortable victory, I realised there was one thing missing – some really great beer.

Before the match, I’d enjoyed a couple of pints of gloriously pale, hoppy beer at the Southbank bar. BG Sips from Blue Monkey shines in the glass, dances on the palate and drives hops down your throat with the same ruthlessness than Alex Hales dispatches sixes with.

Which makes the beer choice inside Trent Bridge all the more disappointing. I’m not stuck by Carling; I struggle to get past the canned sweetcorn aroma. I’d rather eat my own foot cheese than drink Worthington. Which left me desperate enough to drink Magners, a couple of pints bloating me up enough to become the unofficial Trent Bridge blimp.

Now I understand the economic practicalities at play. Refreshments may be run by a concession, that concession may be tied in to a particular partner. But I still think Trent Bridge was missing a trick by not offering at least some quality bottled beers. Thornbridge Jaipur would have been magnificent, likewise Brewdog Punk IPA. I’d have certainly enjoyed something cold and continental – Budvar or Kuppers would have been spot on. Even when poured into a plastic glass.

Would I have paid handsomely for the privilege? Probably. Given that the mark-up on the beers available seemed to be about 20% of city centre prices, I’d have been happy to savour a cool IPA or kolsch whilst Notts thrashed fantastic.

Perhaps this raises a wider question about the availability of cask and bottled beer at sporting venues. I know that Thwaites had a beer tent at Old Trafford for the Bangladesh test and I’m sure that Kent have a CAMRA-run bar open at some of the championship matches. Not quite so grand as drinking Bear Republic Racer 5 at a Giants game, mind, but it’s an improvement.

Can you get a great beer at your favourite sporting event? If not, should we be badgering the powers that be for something better with which to celebrate victory or drown our sorrows? >

.. So there I was, walking along, minding my own business, watching a digger knacker the crap out of what used to be Williams Fasteners on Green Lane (makers of "bolts, nuts, studs, screws, washers, nails, hinges, rivets, sockets". That's a lot of fastening) when two blokes stopped me. And said;

"Is there a pub 'round 'ere?".

"Several", I said, "any one in particular?"

"Yeah", said the big fella, "the one that's won all the awards".

"No problem" I said. "Just walk up the road and bear left. Or right."

Left takes you to the Fat Cat.  Right puts you in the Kelham Island Tavern.

I never saw the big fella and his mate again anywhere around the Valley of Beer. But, truth be told, there's plenty of places to stumble into. I hope they got to drink some of the best beer that Sheffield had to offer on a gray Thursday. I know I did.

What beers were they, you say? Ah, that's another story... >

As a kid, I loved the I-Spy books. The family holiday in Devon gave me a chance to spy those ‘exotic’ car registrations. I’d even buy a clean copy of ‘I-Spy On The Motorway’ to see if I could complete it on the run between Birmingham and Exeter. When I heard that Adrian Tierney-Jones had brought out the Real Ale Record Book, the pitch for which was ‘I-Spy for grown-ups’, I had a shiver of excitement not experienced since spying a flashing overhead sign warning of impending lane closures around the Almondsbury interchange.

The Real Ale Record Book is, quite literally, a cask ale ticker’s book. Which is great but there’s an opportunity going begging, methinks. ‘I-Spy Down The Pub’ is just asking to be written; perhaps it’d look something like this…

Pub names:

Red Lion – 10 points

Wheatsheaf – 20 points

The Cock and Cougar – 50 points

Beers:

Greene King IPA – 10 points

Thornbridge Jaipur – 20 points

Throxheard’s Oak-Aged Double Imperial Goozeberry Hefeweizen – 50 points.

Snacks:

Salted peanuts – 10 points. Minus 5 points if the backing card reveals a ‘hilarious’ picture of a semi-naked woman

Pork scratchings – 20 points. Bonus 5 points if the eyelashes are intact and are longer than the barmaid’s

Rabbit jerky – 50 points

Interior:

Vase of flowers / half-melted candles in fireplace – 10 points

Huge Bass mirror – 20 points. Bonus 10 points if the pub ever actually served Bass

Wood panelled snug with a service bell, Burne-Jones stained glass, Minton tiling and ex-warship-timber roof beams – 50 points

Exterior:

Overflowing cigarette bin by the back door – 10 points

Non-wobbly picnic table – 20 points

White dogshit by the kiddie’s swing – 50 points

Customers:

The one who asks for a pint of Guinness after ordering the rest of the round – 10 points

The one who drinks WKD and has an ankle tattoo – 20 points. Bonus 10 points if it’s a woman. Minus 20 points if she’s in a Wetherspoons

The Reluctant Scooper – 50 points. As long as you buy me a pint first ;-)



PS - Michelin have taken over the I-Spy mantle. Perhaps I ought to drop their Big Chief I-Spy a line... >