Well, not here anyway.
All my beer writing and other forms of beer journalism now appear here.
Light beer? You big loser.
It has been drawn to my attention that I'm currently on the porky side of things at the moment. I say drawn to my attention, this is at the head of Badjelly the Wife's list of complaints relating to my appearance and has been for some time. References to my weight have been on-going for the entire seven years of our association as my mass has crept up from being 97kg to a current measurement of 113kg with only a few fluctuations in between. Around 113kg Lady Voldemort's needling and snide remarks probably have a grain of truth to them and so I am embarking on a course of doing something about it. Diet and exercise are components of the new regime (as is a bet with a similar porker that I will lose more by percentage of bodyweight than he will). The other significant factor in my new regimen is lowering my alcohol intake.
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| Apparently I'm a chunky monkey. They may be right, but dieticians can still get fucked. |
Bastards.
With this in mind, over the six week duration of my 'Biggest Loser' bet, I shall be drastically lowering my intake of beer, and when I do partake, it will generally be a lower alcohol option. There is widely held perception that light beer equals light flavour and this is generally the case. The issue is that in order to keep alcohol levels low, the amount of available maltose that can be fermented out is less than half that of full strength beers. This is where beer gets a great deal of its flavour, and light beers generally cannot hold the full array of flavours of their fuller strength siblings, but it isn't always the case.
In 2012 my beer of the year was Croucher Low Rider, a session IPA with only 2.7% abv. I had literally no idea it was that low until I went to review it on ratebeer.com. It had the full palate of flavours of a well-made IPA three to four points higher. Sadly the Lowrider is only available infrequently down here in Christchurch, but I have a happy alternative in Cassel's and Sons Light Owl for when I am presenting The Brewery Quiz. If I want a sixer for the fridge, I'll be reaching for Harrington's Harry's Light. Yes there is a compromise being made for flavour, but it needn't make the competition more arduous than it needs to be. If there's anything I love more than a challenge, it's a bet: and if I win this bet, I'll be drinking something with a bloody sight more alcohol than 2.7% abv... ...and then the next day I'll be off to the gym.
Eee Ecky thump, I do like a pint o'bitter
Me Mam's from Yorkshire, but it is only in old(ish) age that the accent that was beaten out of her by elocution lessons in her youth subversively rises to the surface: words like 'cassle' for castle, 'anti' for aunty and 'faff' for bullshit. I'm proud of the British side of my heritage and I tell people I am half English, but in reality it is a catch-all for a background of English, Scottish and German. We also have a few suspicions that there is some Welsh lurking darkly back there as well, but we don't talk about that. Anyway, so when a pint of bitter, be it ordinary, special or ESB is put in front of me, or I broach a bottle of Britain's best, I get filled with a warm sense that I'm doing something good that my ancestors have done for centuries before me. Usually this is my excuse for having a second, third or fourth. I write this with a glass of Fuller's ESB beside me, but it could just as easily be Twisted Hop Challenger, Cassel's and Sons Best Bitter or one of the raft of beautiful cask conditioned, hand-pulled ales we are blessed with here in Christchurch from breweries such as Golden Eagle, Raindogs, Pomeroy's, Three Boys, Wigram or any of the wonderfully talented contract brewers around. |
| If I can spend fifty years doing this, I'll be quite happy. |
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| The shirt says Milk Stout, but the lustful anticipation in this young man's eyes says Best Bitter. |
If it is an old man's drink, then I will happily enjoy the next fifty years of being an old man, as mercifully, I came to Bitter early. Cask conditioned bitter is mahogany furniture to lager's pine or MDF flatpack; it is Tom Jones to lager's Lady Gaga; it is a Midsomer Murder with John Nettles as DCI Barnaby to lager's New Zealand's Got Talent.
Eee by gum, I do like a pint of bitter.
*One that I particularly refer to was a shot named 'The End of the World' which was a shot glass filled with 1/3rd tabasco, 1/3rd Tequila. 1/3rd Green Chartreuse consumed tabasco first through a straw. It made me question why on earth someone would voluntarily drink something they knew they wouldn't enjoy. Dicks.
16% pensioner's ale
Alcohol. It's a bit like fire, a good servant but a bad master. It is vilified as the cause of a number of society's issues and alternatively celebrated for the same reason. I think there is idiocy at both ends of that particular continuum but I have been thinking about how I regard alcohol: that crazy, sexy byproduct of the fermentation process. There have been times when I have misused it and suffered a few consequences but then most of the time it makes me feel happy and while I love it, it know that if I get too close, it will bite me and bite hard. The subject of this post is the paradoxical celebration of alcohol. If you listen to this guy*, having a beer that is 16% abv is a flagrant defiance of right-thinking society and a sure path to the cells via domestic violence, drunk driving and vomiting on pensioners. I would come right back to Sgt Al Lawn and say don't knock it until you've tried it... the beer that is, not domestic violence, drunk driving and vomiting on pensioners.
I have in my possession a beer that ought to rank among the greats that I have tried. It is a barrel-aged Imperial Stout and it is that 16% monster. As far as beer goes, this style is as close to a glass of perfection as it gets. The hallmark of this style for me is that I can never write a review that doesn't end in tears (tears of joy). They are usually oily and viscous, smell of licorice, dark chocolate, incense, spice, dates, prunes, dark cherries, coal, burnt toast, molasses and just about every dark flavour there can be. The thing about this style of beer as well, is that while 16% abv is a colossal amount of alcohol, you cannot drink more than one. In fact, I would go so far as to say that you need two people to drink a bottle of this beer because it is closer to drinking port... actually drinking port is easier than drinking this. I once opened a bottle of beer named Brew Dog Tokyo. It was 18.2% abv and it took three of us to chew through it. It was both sublime and ridiculous at once and it defied chopping, sculling, beer bongs, jugs, beer-pong and any form of student drinking for reasons that I fall short on being able to describe other than it is simply too chewy. Sgt. Al Lawn may not want to drink beer like this, but if he thinks about it, this is just the kind of beer that is the antithesis of 5% fizzy lager and the alcohol related harm that dominates his personal and professional crusade.
8 Wired is a truly remarkable brewery. On ratebeer's lists it dominated the top ten in Australasia last year with six beers. It is ranked as the 40th highest rating brewery in the world for the quality of its beers. It has two brown ales in the top 50 brown ales in the world (numbers 13 and 39) and it peppers other top 50 lists by style. There is every indication that this beer has the capacity to knock my socks off tomorrow or whenever I get the stones to try it. What intrigues me though, is that the label suggests that the best before date is thirty years from now. I like a challenge and so I shall buy some more bottles and add them to my cellaring programme.
Crikey. I'll be a pensioner when it comes time to drink that one. I hope no-one vomits on me.
Thanks, but no thanks
This post really hurt to write and I will elaborate.
I am from a small town in North Canterbury named Cheviot. It is a lovely wee hamlet settled in a small plain between the Random Spur Range and some hills bordering the Pacific Ocean. It is an agricultural service centre with an Area School that I attended a hundred years ago, an award winning butchery and the town's bucolic loveliness attracts plenty of passing travellers to stop and have a pie or a milkshake at one of the local tearooms and in summer its proximity to Gore Bay and its camping grounds means it is a thriving little hub. I love the rustic ambience of Cheviot but it has been some years since it has had any form of beer culture outside the Cheviot Trust Hotel and a few ancillary cafes and restaurants. But for some time I have been wrong. Or rather I am right and wrong because there is a brewery in the Cheviot district that has been going for over a hundred years and I haven't even known about it. About twenty kilometres South down the road you take a right before the Hurunui bridge. You drive another couple of k's and just when you think there is nothing but the gorge and the railway line there is a whistle stop named Ethelton. I used to think that there was nothing but the train station, but tucked away behind some trees is a small brewery named Shitwhistle.
"Stop." you say, "You're taking the piss, there is no such thing. Do you expect us to believe there's a brewery with such a stupid name?". Yes, says I. I do. The Shitwhistle family have been in the district for nearly as long as there has been a district. I went to school with a couple of the Shitwhistle boys and you mock their name at your peril because they are granite tough and like Johnny Cash's 'A boy named Sue', they are happy to prove it. Many kids took the piss out of Dave, Steve and Chris Shitwhistle only to find themselves sitting in a puddle of snot, blood and tears. This is a pattern that has occurred at Cheviot Area School since the family changed their name from the original German version of Pschitvisl around the time of the First World War when being German in New Zealand wasn't a terribly good idea, but the Shitwhistle family are stalwarts of the district and one of their number was once even the mayor. They are a family of businessmen, grafters and good community stock and country settlements need families like them.
There isn't much to Ethelton now, but once upon a time when the railway was being built it boasted a population of over two thousand people, several pubs, a couple of rugby teams, a textile mill, a general store, a school and crucially, a brewery. The Pschitvisl family owned the brewery and gradually moved into farming when the rail head moved north and the people began to move away. Soon there was nothing left of Ethelton bar the family farm and the railway but the brewery quietly kept on going, albeit on a very small scale. In fact for around fifty years it existed only to provide an illicit supply of tax free beer to a coterie of local farmers. The local constabulary has turned a blind eye to many a hooley in Ethelton that was supplied with beer brewed by the Shitwhistles and the awakening of the craft beer market didn't escape Dave Shitwhistle's attention. He and his brothers have revived the family brewery legitimately and now their beer has entered the market coming on tap in Christchurch at selected outlets. But as a Cheviot-man, this is the part that hurts: I don't like it.
I have to be honest. I know and like Dave, Chris and Steve but the beer needs a massive amount of work. I tried their Foxy Brown Sweet Stout and found it particularly difficult drinking. It tasted muddy and smelled.. well... like turds. I really wanted to give the local lads a hand but the beer they have released is sloppy. It seems as if they have done so in the expectation that any small brewery can launch a beer and it well sell because it is 'craft'. It doesn't work that way: breweries like Raindogs, Golden Eagle, Garage Project, Liberty et al have worked hard and the reason they continue to sell their beer is because they brew tasty, well-made beers that people enjoy and technically are excellent. In fact, I would suggest that smaller brewers without massive marketing budgets need to work even harder to make their names and the best way they can is by brewing beers that drinkers can love. The Foxy Brown is anything but lovable... it stinks. The larger breweries are attracting criticism because the 'craft' brews they are releasing are lacking character and flavour, I don't see that smaller breweries should be immune from criticism when the beer they release jut isn't up to par. The boys from Ethelton intend to release a cider and an IPA and God I hope it is better. Sorry Dave, Chris and Steve, the truth hurts, but it had to be said.
Please don't hit me.
You've done what?
I have drunk 1,200 beers.
I say this with a qualification that these are 1,200 different beers and I promise you that I didn't drink them all at once. Over the course of the last seven years I have been a member of the website ratebeer.com where consumers around the world submit ratings on the beers that they have tried. Some do this as a personal memoir, some do this with the fervour of a professional and some do this very very seriously indeed. I envy the chaps who sit atop the league tables who can afford the time and the money to travel the world reviewing beers with some of them reviewing over three hundred beers a month. A month! The man on top of the leader board is closing in on his 30,000th review and according to the statistics on the site, he still has a way to go with over 250,000 different listed beers in the world with more being added every hour. This site provides beer geeks and geeks in general with plenty of fodder providing a bewildering array of measuring beers, breweries and personal feats. The best part is that this is beer being measured by the opinions of the drinker and so when you ask which beer is better there is a way of proving it, although I find even with a wealth of statistics the answer to which beer is better is entirely subjective and dependent on a person's individual taste. On the whole though, trusting the opinions of drinkers is a fairly good way of assessing and evaluating the quality of various beer. Of course there will inevitably be the kind of reviewers who will rave about the latest imperial IPA with terms that you'd usually find being used by some wet-lipped, over educated, pretentious wine-ponce who swallowed a thesaurus and regularly quotes from the Dulux colour chart. I am one of those reviewers.
I sniff, I swirl and I consider. I reach into the depths of my vocabulary and attempt to outdo myself with a flow of verbal diarrhoea and I shall provide an example. This was my review of a beer named Sunturnbrew by Norwegian brewer Nøgne Ø.
It seems unintentionally ironical that I have had this beer in my possession for three weeks and the first time I get to sample it turns out to be the 21st of December (NZ time), as close as you could hope for the solstice (Summer here, Winter there). It seems beer bridges the world. So in the spirit of adventure and in the knowledge that at 12.48am this will be my last beer tonight and at 7am when my beloved wakes me up I will hopefully still be drunk on this beer, I venture: I have pried off the lid and before pouring can smell malt, a whiff of smoke and danger in a bottle. I’m REALLY looking forward to this. The colour in the glass is deep mahogany amber with a coarse latte coloured head that thought about sitting there but is slowly losing impetus, leaving a stubborn collar of lace. The aroma first and foremost is tarry smoke, like the inside of a smoke house that has used reddish aromatic timbers. Alongside are aromas of dates, burnt caramel, marzipan, toffee, fruit leather, road tar melting in the sun, rata honey, sawn timber, mace, licorice, cowhide, tree gum, eucalyptus bark. I could go on. I should go on. I have to drink: Oily and slick and then a riot of smoke, oil and burning timber. Caramel comes to the fore and then up comes stewed apricots. It becomes fluffy and sherbety and then dried and I get memories of warmed sweetened condensed milk. The longer it sits, the more I get slightly burnt toast, crackers and fluff (that’s the mouthfeel still sitting there. It is rich and velvety with dehydrated fruit, muscatel raisins and blacked trees on the finish. Troops, this is from just one sip. I still have 95% of the rest of the bottle to go. I can state with relative certainty that it will take me a long time to finish this bottle and that I will be buying more. To my friends in the North, you can have your sun back now, as long as I can have more of this. I have found it too difficult to find faults with this beer. This is it. This is my best ever.
And it was the best beer ever... until I tried one from Belgian Trappist brewery Westvleteren and what I wrote got longer and more convoluted. For the sake of (already lost) brevity, I won't include that review but I will include some excerpts of reviews that I enjoyed writing not so much for the sake of giving a critical appraisal of the beer but for the joy of putting words together on a page:
North Coast Old Rasputin Imperial Russian Stout (with apologies to my wife)
This is up there... if I was to lose my sense of smell, this would be one of the last things I would want to smell, along with Daphne and some ex-girlfriends.
Rogue Arrogant Bastard Ale
Gorgeous mahogany colour with reddish latte coloured head. Crystal malt, amber and apricot aromas along with redwood, sweet figs and toffee brittle. I could go on... I will go on: spruce and pine resin. To taste there is an immediate FARK! noise as I realise what I’ve put in my mouth. There was a full-on blast of competing flavours like an explosion at a caramel factory with apricot, glace orange peel, resin, chlorophyll and just every available adjective to describe American hops. This is just an excelsis of malt, hops and anger. It has the remarkable effect of numbing the back of the tongue like a throat lolly. To be fair, the label does suggest it will be an aggressive ale. "This beer hangs on to the parts of the mouth you don’t expect them to and then gives you a thump." said my learned off-sider Ari. There’s just so much more that could be written about this remarkable, remarkable ale. This just describes for me the American ethos of bigger, better, faster. Remarkable.
Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA (which I did actually like a great deal)
I saw the blurb and I thought "Mere puffery sprinkled liberally with bollocks."
For every sublime there is a ridiculous and the beer world is littered with wreckage as well:
El Diablo Super Strong Brew Beer
Ah, there are some things in life that just scream danger. Red frogs, Susan Boyle, 12% Indonesian lager. I undertake this rating in the name of science. Science ought to look after me tomorrow if I have to see a doctor... Beer for vagrants and I have to say if I was homeless, my wife had left me and I was faced with imminent death and had no money, I would drink it to take my mind off the suffering.
Ranfurly Draught
Whoever brewed this should be burnt alive.
Lion Black Ice
In a perfect world I would get my due recognition as the sole arbiter of good taste and I could not only prevent the public from trying this beer, but I could get the brewers prosecuted for crimes against humanity. It looks innocuous enough, but beneath the veneer of insipid ’pale lager that perfectly compliments any darker fish meal’ is a dangerous, sweet timebomb that exists merely as a vehicle for malodourous malcontents to get blasted out of their tiny minds. I damn this beer and anyone who enjoys it and would willingly sentence them to penal servitude until they knew better.
My reviewing journey continues and gives me great fulfilment. Over the course of my first 1,200 I have found a few things: Beer is a time and place thing sometimes and this could be the topic of a whole post later on; Eurolager is an oft maligned creature, but some old world examples are done so well that it is easy to see why it is imitated on a massive scale; Certain beers have a reputation they deserve and other beers, while not standing up to critical appraisal, are just perfect for sociable quaffing. I point mainly to English session bitters; The main difference between a craft brewer and a mainstream brewer is giving a damn about what your beer tastes like rather than concentrating on giving the opposition a commercial stuffing. Other lessons will come in time but I shall enjoy writing every single future review. Will the written flow of flowery rubbish ever stop? I hope not. Will my love of beer, beer culture and pubs mean I will ever grow a beard? Absolutely not.
One thing I really, really like about beer
Brian Eerwriter has a blog column in Beer and Brewer Magazine and challenged himself to write six things he loved about beer that couldn't be beer itself. The first three were bar snacks, "Fancy a Pint" and facial expressions. I won't provide a synopsis because you can just read about it yourself here. He has only covered his first three in this column and will continue in another edition, so the next three things he loves are unknown to all but himself. I would like to add something for him to consider. It is a role that I think is the most important element of a pub and it isn't always done well - the staff. It would be easy to imagine a role model barmaid to have lofty bosoms and look like a cross between Jessica Rabbit and a Munich Oktoberfest beer Fraulein and certainly this is a nice thought, but it is very true that looks aren't always important, although in this vein I would like to acknowledge that I have chosen women for the images accompanying this post. It could quite easily be men but it's my blog and I'll do as I damn well like.
Let's examine a scene: Joe Lunchbox fancies a pint and walks in off the street into a pub. The bar is fairly rustic, bordering on dirty. The taps aren't polished, the music, bubblegum pop, is the obvious choice of the sticky, gum chewing chav who is biting her nails while reading a magazine behind the bar. Joe really wants a pint but is ignored for the better part of thirty seconds. Eventually he coughs and makes himself known and with a grunt, Chavella gets up off her stool, a roll of flab poking out from under her unwashed uniform and waits for him to make a selection. Joe isn't familiar with the beers, so he isn't terribly decisive, irritating Chavella. The pint is poured so that Chavella has to tip out half a glassful of foam into the drip tray and them is plonked in a puddle onto the bar. She takes Joe's money, gives him his change and they sit down at opposite ends of the bar in frosty silence - she because Joe is an imposition and has interrupted her reading about some American X Factor's Got Idol Talent runner-up recording an album that no-one's going to buy; Joe because he has never felt more unwelcome in a bar.
Let's contrast that with another: Joe Lunchbox fancies a pint and walks in off the street into a pub. The music is considered for the surroundings and the bar is clean and welcoming with polished brass and a clean, dry bartop. Joe is taking in his surroundings when he is greeted by a cheerful voice of Brenda Armaid. It isn't just a simple hello, but an enquiry as to how his day is going, what work he is currently dodging to be in the bar in the first place and then smiling, Brenda asks him what he would like. Joe isn't familiar with the beer selection and Brenda asks him first what he usually likes to drink and then makes a few appropriate suggestions without overwhelming him with options. She then pours tasters of three beers and Joe selects one of them. When Brenda pours the pint she does so carefully so as not to waste it, but also so that there is enough head on top to look presentable. She dries the side of the glass where there is spillage and the pint is placed label forward onto a beer mat. Joe then spends a happy quarter of an hour drinking his pint, alternately chatting to Brenda and reading the paper when she is busy serving other customers. Joe fancies another pint and orders one. He leaves having spent a pleasant hour or so and more money than he dropped in the pub where Chavella works. He also vows to return with friends.
I am remarkably fussy about pubs: I don't like gimmicks; I don't like it when the music is too loud; I don't like a poor beer selection; and most of all, I don't like to wait for my pint. If I have to wait because the bar is busy or the staff are otherwise occupied, I like my presence to be acknowledged if they cannot get to me at once. I want my barstaff to be presentable, conscientious and attentive. I want them to give a damn about what they do. Talented barstaff will not only save the pub money by minimising wastage, but are a positive asset because they are the managers of the customer's first impression. They can show their personalities and engage us making recommendations, intelligent discussion and even act in the time-honoured role as free counsellor. Their role as ambassadors for their pub does not stop at caring for their own appearance and personality, but also how they treat the bar around them. There is always something to do in a bar, even if their are no customers and that is cleaning - polishing the glasses and taps, wiping down bench tops, making windows sparkle. I would argue that a member of bar staff by their combined efforts can make the beer taste better: A Westvleteren 12 carefully presented by Brenda Armaid will tasted better than one slung across a bar by Chavella (who won't know what it is, let alone how to pronounce it).
So, Brian, what do you reckon?
Crafty mass-debate
I love beer
No. I love beer. I would like to believe that it loves me back. I love its colour, its smell, its taste and the infinite variations of form and flavour that beer manages to achieve. Beery beery goodness. I love the ritual that beer offers, the array of places to enjoy it, the pubs, the packaging, the anticip.................ation. There aren't many occasions where beer isn't appropriate: from weddings to wakes, probably not so much for christenings although a child of mine may get baptised with a drop or two of barley wine (although this may be subject to veto by Attila the Wife and may have to happen during a much more informal ceremony. I also have to categorically state that there is no risk of this having to happen yet). Beer is much more than a social lubricant, it is a symbolic gesture "I'm sick of arguing with you, you bastard. Let's go for a beer." When Barack Obama wanted to make a mea culpa with a wronged veteran, he invited the bloke for a beer at the White House. Going for a beer with someone is a gesture of friendship, in fact my criteria for accepting a friend on facebook is "Would I sit down and have a beer with this person?"
Yet I find that when you love something, it brings up a concomitant frustration. Much is being made of youngish sportsmen getting hoovered and attracting the wrong kind of attention. The first thing held to blame is 'alcohol' - he has an alcohol problem - he's got alcohol issues - I had too much alcohol and I paraded through a bar naked before getting in a fight - my career is in tatters because I am an alcoholic. I have issues with this, mainly because while alcoholic drinks are almost always a factor, it is the behaviour of the individual involved that is the cause of the problem. The fact of the matter is that they are not taught how to enjoy their drinks constructively and the association with their drinking is blamed as the root cause. Did the person get into a fight when they were drunk because they were drunk or because they are a dick? This leads on to the other bone I have to pick that arises out of alcohol/sport debate: calling it alcohol. Alcohol is a by-product of the fermentation process. The process is started with the intention of producing a flavour (with the exception of vodka, where I suppose the use of the moniker alcohol is probably appropriate). If anyone is drinking just for the alcohol, then they've got an alcohol problem in that they're drinking for the wrong reason. People ought to be drinking foremost for the flavour. I would hasten to add that this is not a puritanical diatribe against drunkenness. The fact of the matter is that getting a bit drunk is fun, it feels good and there is a long standing history of it in my Northern-European cultural background. In fact, there is a long standing history of it in other cultural backgrounds. There is a growing stigma against getting cheerfully plastered and leading a normal life. Rightfully, there is a stigma against getting cheerfully plastered and letting it rule your life, affecting your relationship with your family and adversely affecting your employment. I would argue that if the net result is harmless, then leave the humble drinker alone. Conversely, I would also assert that when a young sportsman (and it usually is a male) has a bit of a bender and does something silly, branding them an alcoholic and pillorying them in the media is wrong. The mistake they make is that it affects their employment relationship because they have a public profile to uphold. The issue then is between employer and employee, not for the wider public.
I suppose that the number of cases involving young sportsmen annoy me because it detracts from the enjoyment of having a few drinks, that people can't do it properly and then a section of society climbs on its high horse. The Society of Beer Advocates is mounting a membership drive based upon the enjoyment of beer primarily for flavour. Quite right. As their tagline suggests, this is a group extant of beer for the right reasons and their aim is laudable. I think we should also enjoy beer for the property that it gets you a bit squiffy as well, but that would be counter-productive in a world where this society exists to further the interests of beer against those who would cheerfully have it banned and other reactionary groups. Soba also exists to provide a credible lobby group in matters of law-making and intellectual property and thus advocating getting a bit pissed would take its feet out from underneath its credibility. Who is left to look after the modern drunkard?
Ooh, you can't advocate for people who like getting drunk. That's bad.
Ah well. I'll just advocate for myself - the chap who likes a few beers, maybe gets a little squiffy now and then but doesn't drink every day of the week.
This page will be a platform for me to write about beer things, notable beers, beer places and beer people. It should be fun (for me at least). If I write something you vehemently disagree with or intrigues you or you want to let me know I'm talking out my fundamental orifice, feel free to contact me to tell me or invite me to discuss it over a beer (your shout).
Ancient History
New Zealand is one of the younger countries of the world. We celebrate our history but our history is only written from around 1642 onward. Oral history goes back a further four or five hundred years or so, but the majority of what you'll find in a museum, documents, photos and artifacts, will be from about 1800 forward. European recorded history is a lot older. Waaaaaay older, and I will use for my analogy, a bottle of beer in my possession from a brewery in Belgium named Orval. On the label underneath the lettering is a fish with a golden ring in its mouth. This is an allusion to the legend as to how the place where this beer is brewed got its name: a widowed Countess named Mathilda of Tuscany was passing by a spring when she accidentally dropped her wedding ring into the water. Assuming it was lost, she prayed to God to return the ring to her, promising to build an abbey if it was somehow returned to her. A trout swam to the surface with her ring in its mouth and she proclaimed the place to be truly a 'val d'or' - a valley of gold. Hence the name Orval. Monks arrived in 1070 and a church was built in 1124. Beer would have been brewed on the spot since that time, a time when there was no human colonisation of New Zealand. This beer is a tangible link to a historical past, although the beer itself would be a million times removed from the original. The monastary buildings were destroyed by fire in 1252, burned and looted in the revolution of 1793 and suffered the denigrations of two world wars, but the tradition of Trappist brewing lives on.
You just don't get this sort of history in New Zealand and while our brewing culture is young and vibrant, I often like to enjoy a nod to the past. Orval is one of those beers that beer adherents rave about because of its place in the pantheon of milestone ales. I wrote a review of it, promising to age some Orval to see how it developed in bottle, and was emailed a few years later by someone in the United States to see how it had gone. I sheepishly had to reply that my stock of Orval was destroyed in the Canterbury earthquakes and I hadn't bothered to replace my stash. Well, now I have. Three bottles sit in my writing desk waiting to be consumed at 2, 3 and 4 years old. At present, I am ten months away from opening the first and am warmly anticipating the event.
Aging Beer?
It seems an odd type thing to do, to buy beer and not consume it within the week. Most beers just won't stand up to it and the majority of beer is designed to be consumed fresh. But there is a class of ale that is preserved by its high hop and or alcohol content that will develop and change its flavour over time, similar to aging wines (but much easier to do). Notable examples include Thomas Hardy's Ale at 11.7% abv which has been known to keep for over 25 years and drinks like port. Other ales like Imperial Russian Stouts were intensely flavoured and also had high alcoholic contents to survive their journeys from Britain to the Baltic. Examples pulled from ships wrecked over a century ago have proven to be excellent drinking (although horrifyingly expensive). In a similar vein, the old India Pale Ales were highly hopped and had strong abvs to cope with the long journey from Britain to India with its commensurate changes in storage temperature*. Hodgson IPA, brewed by Ben Middlemiss is a throwback to this time and it is an 8.8% abv monster with masses of hops. On the label it dares the purchaser to store it for 4-5 years: suitably dared, I have eight bottles in my desk (cool, dark and even temperatured) that I shall consume each year one after the other until it is gone, noting the changes I have been able to discern. It's a labour of love.
Other aging greats include a 2008 Pink Elephant's Imperious Rushin Stowt, Renaissance Tribute Barley Wine, various vintages of The Twisted Hop Engima Barley Wine, and several magnums of Moa St Josephs Tripel. How can I possibly go about my day to day life without running to the cupboard to scoff down the lot? I get as much pleasure from the ownership and the anticipation as I will from the eventual enjoyment. I will also enjoy the company of whoever I choose to enjoy it with me.
Am I in the wrong profession?
A beer in Wellington? A capital idea.
Last weekend found me taking a rare trip out of town. Wellington called and I answered, or rather I called and Wellington seemed to answer. I have been aware for a while of the established beer culture in our capital but have only now seen how deeply it is entrenched. Bars littered with taps of the big two macros also have taps with labels bearing the arms of local brewers Parrot Dog, Garage Project and Tuatara. Cafes that if placed elsewhere in New Zealand would have Speight's, Steinlager Pure, Corona and Becks had Renaissance, Croucher and Three Boys. While I was there The Dominion Post carried an article about a Fresh Hopping festival in the city. I was impressed to see not a handful of bars carrying the beers, but a lengthy list of options. A cavort around a supermarket in Christchurch usually sees me go to the beer section and look at the range going "Had it... had it... had it... had it...". Wellington's supermarkets and bottle stores threw out a good dozen that I hadn't tried before, which is (almost) as good as an orgasm to me.
Another beer related highlight was a few well spent hours with Brian Eerwriter. Brian and I met at The Twisted Hop in Poplar Lane a hundred years ago when I worked there and he was dropping by. His recollection of me must have been hazy at best because after all, it was a hundred years ago, but he very kindly agreed to let me waste some of his time sitting, drinking and talking about beer and politics. During the course of this conversation, I asked him what he thought of the non-argument of the Nelson v Wellington beer capital. Easy, said Brian, Wellington wins hands down because it is the consumption capital. Not only that but it has more people willing to spend money on beer and he's absolutely right. The stark reality of the market is that you have to have one first. Nelson may punch above its weight in terms of brewery numbers and hop production, but this is all for nought without dedicated followers and purchasers. This is something Wellington has in spadefuls with craft beer embraced and enjoyed widely. I would argue that Christchurch is the Burton-On-Trent of New Zealand in that we have a large number of producers but there is no way it can compete on an equal footing with public exposure to craft brewers. Brian Eerwriter is a significant contributor to Wellington's success as a beer town and with a bit of luck, there will be an on-going collaboration between us.
I did leave Wellington with a couple of regrets: I didn't get time to take in The Fork and Brewer and their range, although I did try the excellent Base Isolator. I also didn't get time to take in Hashigo Zake but I would have run out of money by then and would only be able to look like the sick kid at the birthday party. Balls to that.
Next time can't come soon enough.
Crikey. I'll be a pensioner when it comes time to drink that one. I hope no-one vomits on me.
Thanks, but no thanks
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| My home town in winter. She's a beauty ain't she? |
I am from a small town in North Canterbury named Cheviot. It is a lovely wee hamlet settled in a small plain between the Random Spur Range and some hills bordering the Pacific Ocean. It is an agricultural service centre with an Area School that I attended a hundred years ago, an award winning butchery and the town's bucolic loveliness attracts plenty of passing travellers to stop and have a pie or a milkshake at one of the local tearooms and in summer its proximity to Gore Bay and its camping grounds means it is a thriving little hub. I love the rustic ambience of Cheviot but it has been some years since it has had any form of beer culture outside the Cheviot Trust Hotel and a few ancillary cafes and restaurants. But for some time I have been wrong. Or rather I am right and wrong because there is a brewery in the Cheviot district that has been going for over a hundred years and I haven't even known about it. About twenty kilometres South down the road you take a right before the Hurunui bridge. You drive another couple of k's and just when you think there is nothing but the gorge and the railway line there is a whistle stop named Ethelton. I used to think that there was nothing but the train station, but tucked away behind some trees is a small brewery named Shitwhistle.
"Stop." you say, "You're taking the piss, there is no such thing. Do you expect us to believe there's a brewery with such a stupid name?". Yes, says I. I do. The Shitwhistle family have been in the district for nearly as long as there has been a district. I went to school with a couple of the Shitwhistle boys and you mock their name at your peril because they are granite tough and like Johnny Cash's 'A boy named Sue', they are happy to prove it. Many kids took the piss out of Dave, Steve and Chris Shitwhistle only to find themselves sitting in a puddle of snot, blood and tears. This is a pattern that has occurred at Cheviot Area School since the family changed their name from the original German version of Pschitvisl around the time of the First World War when being German in New Zealand wasn't a terribly good idea, but the Shitwhistle family are stalwarts of the district and one of their number was once even the mayor. They are a family of businessmen, grafters and good community stock and country settlements need families like them.
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| The opening of the Ethelton line. The original Pschitvisl Brewery buildings can be seen in the background to the right of the station building awning. Photo used with permission of the Cheviot Historical Society. |
I have to be honest. I know and like Dave, Chris and Steve but the beer needs a massive amount of work. I tried their Foxy Brown Sweet Stout and found it particularly difficult drinking. It tasted muddy and smelled.. well... like turds. I really wanted to give the local lads a hand but the beer they have released is sloppy. It seems as if they have done so in the expectation that any small brewery can launch a beer and it well sell because it is 'craft'. It doesn't work that way: breweries like Raindogs, Golden Eagle, Garage Project, Liberty et al have worked hard and the reason they continue to sell their beer is because they brew tasty, well-made beers that people enjoy and technically are excellent. In fact, I would suggest that smaller brewers without massive marketing budgets need to work even harder to make their names and the best way they can is by brewing beers that drinkers can love. The Foxy Brown is anything but lovable... it stinks. The larger breweries are attracting criticism because the 'craft' brews they are releasing are lacking character and flavour, I don't see that smaller breweries should be immune from criticism when the beer they release jut isn't up to par. The boys from Ethelton intend to release a cider and an IPA and God I hope it is better. Sorry Dave, Chris and Steve, the truth hurts, but it had to be said.Please don't hit me.
You've done what?
I have drunk 1,200 beers.
I say this with a qualification that these are 1,200 different beers and I promise you that I didn't drink them all at once. Over the course of the last seven years I have been a member of the website ratebeer.com where consumers around the world submit ratings on the beers that they have tried. Some do this as a personal memoir, some do this with the fervour of a professional and some do this very very seriously indeed. I envy the chaps who sit atop the league tables who can afford the time and the money to travel the world reviewing beers with some of them reviewing over three hundred beers a month. A month! The man on top of the leader board is closing in on his 30,000th review and according to the statistics on the site, he still has a way to go with over 250,000 different listed beers in the world with more being added every hour. This site provides beer geeks and geeks in general with plenty of fodder providing a bewildering array of measuring beers, breweries and personal feats. The best part is that this is beer being measured by the opinions of the drinker and so when you ask which beer is better there is a way of proving it, although I find even with a wealth of statistics the answer to which beer is better is entirely subjective and dependent on a person's individual taste. On the whole though, trusting the opinions of drinkers is a fairly good way of assessing and evaluating the quality of various beer. Of course there will inevitably be the kind of reviewers who will rave about the latest imperial IPA with terms that you'd usually find being used by some wet-lipped, over educated, pretentious wine-ponce who swallowed a thesaurus and regularly quotes from the Dulux colour chart. I am one of those reviewers.I sniff, I swirl and I consider. I reach into the depths of my vocabulary and attempt to outdo myself with a flow of verbal diarrhoea and I shall provide an example. This was my review of a beer named Sunturnbrew by Norwegian brewer Nøgne Ø.
It seems unintentionally ironical that I have had this beer in my possession for three weeks and the first time I get to sample it turns out to be the 21st of December (NZ time), as close as you could hope for the solstice (Summer here, Winter there). It seems beer bridges the world. So in the spirit of adventure and in the knowledge that at 12.48am this will be my last beer tonight and at 7am when my beloved wakes me up I will hopefully still be drunk on this beer, I venture: I have pried off the lid and before pouring can smell malt, a whiff of smoke and danger in a bottle. I’m REALLY looking forward to this. The colour in the glass is deep mahogany amber with a coarse latte coloured head that thought about sitting there but is slowly losing impetus, leaving a stubborn collar of lace. The aroma first and foremost is tarry smoke, like the inside of a smoke house that has used reddish aromatic timbers. Alongside are aromas of dates, burnt caramel, marzipan, toffee, fruit leather, road tar melting in the sun, rata honey, sawn timber, mace, licorice, cowhide, tree gum, eucalyptus bark. I could go on. I should go on. I have to drink: Oily and slick and then a riot of smoke, oil and burning timber. Caramel comes to the fore and then up comes stewed apricots. It becomes fluffy and sherbety and then dried and I get memories of warmed sweetened condensed milk. The longer it sits, the more I get slightly burnt toast, crackers and fluff (that’s the mouthfeel still sitting there. It is rich and velvety with dehydrated fruit, muscatel raisins and blacked trees on the finish. Troops, this is from just one sip. I still have 95% of the rest of the bottle to go. I can state with relative certainty that it will take me a long time to finish this bottle and that I will be buying more. To my friends in the North, you can have your sun back now, as long as I can have more of this. I have found it too difficult to find faults with this beer. This is it. This is my best ever.And it was the best beer ever... until I tried one from Belgian Trappist brewery Westvleteren and what I wrote got longer and more convoluted. For the sake of (already lost) brevity, I won't include that review but I will include some excerpts of reviews that I enjoyed writing not so much for the sake of giving a critical appraisal of the beer but for the joy of putting words together on a page:
North Coast Old Rasputin Imperial Russian Stout (with apologies to my wife)
This is up there... if I was to lose my sense of smell, this would be one of the last things I would want to smell, along with Daphne and some ex-girlfriends.
Rogue Arrogant Bastard Ale
Gorgeous mahogany colour with reddish latte coloured head. Crystal malt, amber and apricot aromas along with redwood, sweet figs and toffee brittle. I could go on... I will go on: spruce and pine resin. To taste there is an immediate FARK! noise as I realise what I’ve put in my mouth. There was a full-on blast of competing flavours like an explosion at a caramel factory with apricot, glace orange peel, resin, chlorophyll and just every available adjective to describe American hops. This is just an excelsis of malt, hops and anger. It has the remarkable effect of numbing the back of the tongue like a throat lolly. To be fair, the label does suggest it will be an aggressive ale. "This beer hangs on to the parts of the mouth you don’t expect them to and then gives you a thump." said my learned off-sider Ari. There’s just so much more that could be written about this remarkable, remarkable ale. This just describes for me the American ethos of bigger, better, faster. Remarkable.
Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA (which I did actually like a great deal)
I saw the blurb and I thought "Mere puffery sprinkled liberally with bollocks."
For every sublime there is a ridiculous and the beer world is littered with wreckage as well:
El Diablo Super Strong Brew Beer
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| So bad even the label sucks. |
Ranfurly Draught
Whoever brewed this should be burnt alive.
Lion Black Ice
In a perfect world I would get my due recognition as the sole arbiter of good taste and I could not only prevent the public from trying this beer, but I could get the brewers prosecuted for crimes against humanity. It looks innocuous enough, but beneath the veneer of insipid ’pale lager that perfectly compliments any darker fish meal’ is a dangerous, sweet timebomb that exists merely as a vehicle for malodourous malcontents to get blasted out of their tiny minds. I damn this beer and anyone who enjoys it and would willingly sentence them to penal servitude until they knew better.
My reviewing journey continues and gives me great fulfilment. Over the course of my first 1,200 I have found a few things: Beer is a time and place thing sometimes and this could be the topic of a whole post later on; Eurolager is an oft maligned creature, but some old world examples are done so well that it is easy to see why it is imitated on a massive scale; Certain beers have a reputation they deserve and other beers, while not standing up to critical appraisal, are just perfect for sociable quaffing. I point mainly to English session bitters; The main difference between a craft brewer and a mainstream brewer is giving a damn about what your beer tastes like rather than concentrating on giving the opposition a commercial stuffing. Other lessons will come in time but I shall enjoy writing every single future review. Will the written flow of flowery rubbish ever stop? I hope not. Will my love of beer, beer culture and pubs mean I will ever grow a beard? Absolutely not.
One thing I really, really like about beer
Brian Eerwriter has a blog column in Beer and Brewer Magazine and challenged himself to write six things he loved about beer that couldn't be beer itself. The first three were bar snacks, "Fancy a Pint" and facial expressions. I won't provide a synopsis because you can just read about it yourself here. He has only covered his first three in this column and will continue in another edition, so the next three things he loves are unknown to all but himself. I would like to add something for him to consider. It is a role that I think is the most important element of a pub and it isn't always done well - the staff. It would be easy to imagine a role model barmaid to have lofty bosoms and look like a cross between Jessica Rabbit and a Munich Oktoberfest beer Fraulein and certainly this is a nice thought, but it is very true that looks aren't always important, although in this vein I would like to acknowledge that I have chosen women for the images accompanying this post. It could quite easily be men but it's my blog and I'll do as I damn well like.
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| "I'll get to y' in a minute. I'll just finish m'fag. |
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| For the purpose of creating an image, this is what Brenda Armaid looks like. |
I am remarkably fussy about pubs: I don't like gimmicks; I don't like it when the music is too loud; I don't like a poor beer selection; and most of all, I don't like to wait for my pint. If I have to wait because the bar is busy or the staff are otherwise occupied, I like my presence to be acknowledged if they cannot get to me at once. I want my barstaff to be presentable, conscientious and attentive. I want them to give a damn about what they do. Talented barstaff will not only save the pub money by minimising wastage, but are a positive asset because they are the managers of the customer's first impression. They can show their personalities and engage us making recommendations, intelligent discussion and even act in the time-honoured role as free counsellor. Their role as ambassadors for their pub does not stop at caring for their own appearance and personality, but also how they treat the bar around them. There is always something to do in a bar, even if their are no customers and that is cleaning - polishing the glasses and taps, wiping down bench tops, making windows sparkle. I would argue that a member of bar staff by their combined efforts can make the beer taste better: A Westvleteren 12 carefully presented by Brenda Armaid will tasted better than one slung across a bar by Chavella (who won't know what it is, let alone how to pronounce it).
So, Brian, what do you reckon?
Crafty mass-debate
My attention has been diverted recently by
trawling through the Crafty Beggars Facebook page and reading some of the
comments. There seems an even balance of adherents and detractors, the
adherents put on to the product by the ingenious use of 'beer insurance' (an
idea I thought of about a year ago but never implemented and I was going to use
it for a promotion myself this year dammit) and the detractors put off by the
brandwank on the label that says We
are the Crafty Beggars - a rogue society of nine brewers who agreed that
someone needed to brew a craft beer you can actually drink.
When
this appeared, great was the outrage from smaller brewers and beer commentators.
What increased the fury was that this was a label created by Lion who had
realised that while the mainstream beer market was in decline, craft beer
growth was going rather well and it was time to get a piece of the action. Who
did Lion think they were to tell smaller brewers that their beer was
undrinkable? What message did it send to consumers about their own craft brand
Mac’s and recent acquisition Emerson’s? Lion (through Crafty Beggars) pointed
out that there was a section of the market that did not appreciate rich
flavourful beers or overly-hopped ales but wanted to dip a toe in the water and
try something else. I think this is reasonable: if you get a novice drinker
trying something that will rip their head off like a heavily peated whisky, a
chewable Imperial Russian Stout or Imperial IPA or even absinthe, it will put
them off for life. We should view these beers as being a gateway into better
things. However, the implication that craft beer is undrinkable is undiplomatic
at best. At worst it is a slap in the face, but then you have to take as good
as you give because people have been maligning mainstream products for years.
The main point of examination of this post
is that the detractors on the Crafty Beggars Facebook page seem to wade in on
the ‘what is craft?’ debate. My position shouldn’t be ‘what is craft?’ but why
bother with such a moniker at all? It is an artificial distinction that serves
no purpose whatsoever. There is a difference between macrobrewers and
microbrewers, but one only in terms of economics. I like the idea that when I
pay for a pint of locally made ale from a smaller brewery, the profit stays
local. I’m not terribly keen on the idea of my pint’s profit going to the
Mitsubishi Corporation (umbrella owners of Kirin, who bought out Lion a few
years ago) but when said and done all that truly matters to me is the flavour
of the pint in front of me. There are microbrewers who don’t do such a good
job, there are macrobrewers who do and if two pints are placed side by side, I’ll
be finishing the one that tastes the best and ordering another one of that
irrespective of who brewed it.
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| Good Lord. Really? |
Passion was also a term thrown about when
divining the distinction, but I doubt that many brewers in a large brewery turn
up to work and don’t like brewing. It just so happens that microbrewers are
known for the love that they put into brewing their products. This also feeds
toward the notion that a company that loves beer will do its best for the interests
of beer in general. Lion hasn’t exactly got the best track record in this
regard being one side of a long standing duopoly in New Zealand that still
largely exists today. The beer war has been covered in great detail,
particularly in Michael Donaldson’s excellent book Beer Nation where Lion and DB struggled for dominance in the market and the ultimate loser
was the public. In some quarters of the drinking public, this has left some
resent and this in part is a contributor to the negative reaction to the
release of Crafty Beggars. I would like to think that its survival will depend
on the public voting with their wallets but I was also surprised to hear of its
recent Silver medal success at the International Brewing Awards*. I blinked a
bit and referred to my ratebeer notes for that particular beer. I
can only shrug my shoulders and move on.
I have an interest to declare in that up
until recently I was employed by Lion. I have a soft spot for certain Lion
brewed beers such as Mac’s Sassy Red and Hop Rocker, Little Creatures Pale Ale
and such and I will happily go into bat for them. I also have another interest
to declare that I was also employed by The Twisted Hop and have an on-going
role with Cassel’s and Sons. I like to think of myself as a roving ambassador
for these brewers and for other Christchurch microbrewers such as Raindogs and
Golden Eagle. In addition, I review beer for ratebeer.com and like to think
that I am impartial in my views. I offer constructive feedback where I can and
will happily rave about beers I think deserve positive feedback. My view is
that we should welcome new labels into the market because ultimately choice is
a good thing. As to whether Crafty Beggars products are any good - the beer
will speak for itself.
*Entering beers into international brewing awards is a process that very few smaller brewers can afford to do as the entry fees are fairly substantial and so there is argument that this award doesn't necessarily translate into national success. Put into context though, winning any brewing award is a laudable feat.
I love beer
No. I love beer. I would like to believe that it loves me back. I love its colour, its smell, its taste and the infinite variations of form and flavour that beer manages to achieve. Beery beery goodness. I love the ritual that beer offers, the array of places to enjoy it, the pubs, the packaging, the anticip.................ation. There aren't many occasions where beer isn't appropriate: from weddings to wakes, probably not so much for christenings although a child of mine may get baptised with a drop or two of barley wine (although this may be subject to veto by Attila the Wife and may have to happen during a much more informal ceremony. I also have to categorically state that there is no risk of this having to happen yet). Beer is much more than a social lubricant, it is a symbolic gesture "I'm sick of arguing with you, you bastard. Let's go for a beer." When Barack Obama wanted to make a mea culpa with a wronged veteran, he invited the bloke for a beer at the White House. Going for a beer with someone is a gesture of friendship, in fact my criteria for accepting a friend on facebook is "Would I sit down and have a beer with this person?"
| Photo shamelessly lifted from The Twisted Hop. Bless them. |
I suppose that the number of cases involving young sportsmen annoy me because it detracts from the enjoyment of having a few drinks, that people can't do it properly and then a section of society climbs on its high horse. The Society of Beer Advocates is mounting a membership drive based upon the enjoyment of beer primarily for flavour. Quite right. As their tagline suggests, this is a group extant of beer for the right reasons and their aim is laudable. I think we should also enjoy beer for the property that it gets you a bit squiffy as well, but that would be counter-productive in a world where this society exists to further the interests of beer against those who would cheerfully have it banned and other reactionary groups. Soba also exists to provide a credible lobby group in matters of law-making and intellectual property and thus advocating getting a bit pissed would take its feet out from underneath its credibility. Who is left to look after the modern drunkard?
Ooh, you can't advocate for people who like getting drunk. That's bad.
Ah well. I'll just advocate for myself - the chap who likes a few beers, maybe gets a little squiffy now and then but doesn't drink every day of the week.
This page will be a platform for me to write about beer things, notable beers, beer places and beer people. It should be fun (for me at least). If I write something you vehemently disagree with or intrigues you or you want to let me know I'm talking out my fundamental orifice, feel free to contact me to tell me or invite me to discuss it over a beer (your shout).
| Brewhouse at the Brasserie d'Orval |
New Zealand is one of the younger countries of the world. We celebrate our history but our history is only written from around 1642 onward. Oral history goes back a further four or five hundred years or so, but the majority of what you'll find in a museum, documents, photos and artifacts, will be from about 1800 forward. European recorded history is a lot older. Waaaaaay older, and I will use for my analogy, a bottle of beer in my possession from a brewery in Belgium named Orval. On the label underneath the lettering is a fish with a golden ring in its mouth. This is an allusion to the legend as to how the place where this beer is brewed got its name: a widowed Countess named Mathilda of Tuscany was passing by a spring when she accidentally dropped her wedding ring into the water. Assuming it was lost, she prayed to God to return the ring to her, promising to build an abbey if it was somehow returned to her. A trout swam to the surface with her ring in its mouth and she proclaimed the place to be truly a 'val d'or' - a valley of gold. Hence the name Orval. Monks arrived in 1070 and a church was built in 1124. Beer would have been brewed on the spot since that time, a time when there was no human colonisation of New Zealand. This beer is a tangible link to a historical past, although the beer itself would be a million times removed from the original. The monastary buildings were destroyed by fire in 1252, burned and looted in the revolution of 1793 and suffered the denigrations of two world wars, but the tradition of Trappist brewing lives on.
Aging Beer?
It seems an odd type thing to do, to buy beer and not consume it within the week. Most beers just won't stand up to it and the majority of beer is designed to be consumed fresh. But there is a class of ale that is preserved by its high hop and or alcohol content that will develop and change its flavour over time, similar to aging wines (but much easier to do). Notable examples include Thomas Hardy's Ale at 11.7% abv which has been known to keep for over 25 years and drinks like port. Other ales like Imperial Russian Stouts were intensely flavoured and also had high alcoholic contents to survive their journeys from Britain to the Baltic. Examples pulled from ships wrecked over a century ago have proven to be excellent drinking (although horrifyingly expensive). In a similar vein, the old India Pale Ales were highly hopped and had strong abvs to cope with the long journey from Britain to India with its commensurate changes in storage temperature*. Hodgson IPA, brewed by Ben Middlemiss is a throwback to this time and it is an 8.8% abv monster with masses of hops. On the label it dares the purchaser to store it for 4-5 years: suitably dared, I have eight bottles in my desk (cool, dark and even temperatured) that I shall consume each year one after the other until it is gone, noting the changes I have been able to discern. It's a labour of love.Other aging greats include a 2008 Pink Elephant's Imperious Rushin Stowt, Renaissance Tribute Barley Wine, various vintages of The Twisted Hop Engima Barley Wine, and several magnums of Moa St Josephs Tripel. How can I possibly go about my day to day life without running to the cupboard to scoff down the lot? I get as much pleasure from the ownership and the anticipation as I will from the eventual enjoyment. I will also enjoy the company of whoever I choose to enjoy it with me.
Am I in the wrong profession?
A beer in Wellington? A capital idea.
Last weekend found me taking a rare trip out of town. Wellington called and I answered, or rather I called and Wellington seemed to answer. I have been aware for a while of the established beer culture in our capital but have only now seen how deeply it is entrenched. Bars littered with taps of the big two macros also have taps with labels bearing the arms of local brewers Parrot Dog, Garage Project and Tuatara. Cafes that if placed elsewhere in New Zealand would have Speight's, Steinlager Pure, Corona and Becks had Renaissance, Croucher and Three Boys. While I was there The Dominion Post carried an article about a Fresh Hopping festival in the city. I was impressed to see not a handful of bars carrying the beers, but a lengthy list of options. A cavort around a supermarket in Christchurch usually sees me go to the beer section and look at the range going "Had it... had it... had it... had it...". Wellington's supermarkets and bottle stores threw out a good dozen that I hadn't tried before, which is (almost) as good as an orgasm to me.
| A prized image of Brian at the Mussel Inn Look at him. He's blushing he's so excited. |
Another beer related highlight was a few well spent hours with Brian Eerwriter. Brian and I met at The Twisted Hop in Poplar Lane a hundred years ago when I worked there and he was dropping by. His recollection of me must have been hazy at best because after all, it was a hundred years ago, but he very kindly agreed to let me waste some of his time sitting, drinking and talking about beer and politics. During the course of this conversation, I asked him what he thought of the non-argument of the Nelson v Wellington beer capital. Easy, said Brian, Wellington wins hands down because it is the consumption capital. Not only that but it has more people willing to spend money on beer and he's absolutely right. The stark reality of the market is that you have to have one first. Nelson may punch above its weight in terms of brewery numbers and hop production, but this is all for nought without dedicated followers and purchasers. This is something Wellington has in spadefuls with craft beer embraced and enjoyed widely. I would argue that Christchurch is the Burton-On-Trent of New Zealand in that we have a large number of producers but there is no way it can compete on an equal footing with public exposure to craft brewers. Brian Eerwriter is a significant contributor to Wellington's success as a beer town and with a bit of luck, there will be an on-going collaboration between us.
I did leave Wellington with a couple of regrets: I didn't get time to take in The Fork and Brewer and their range, although I did try the excellent Base Isolator. I also didn't get time to take in Hashigo Zake but I would have run out of money by then and would only be able to look like the sick kid at the birthday party. Balls to that.
Next time can't come soon enough.
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