This week, we were asked (not for the first time) if we had any plans to open a brewery.
Who doesn’t have plans? Plans are exciting. When we’re wandering the clifftops, we spend hours talking about possible brewpubs, breweries and business models.
Will any of them ever be realised? Probably not.
We’ve tasted too many beers brewed by people running before they can walk — sour, chalky, nasty-smelling concoctions that we’d have poured down the drain if they’d come out of our plastic homebrew fermenting bucket, but which people have had the nerve to bottle and sell. For real money.
Either they know it’s crap and they’re selling it anyway (cynical) or, worse, they really can’t tell how bad it is. No-one who’s not fussy about beer ought to be brewing.
When we brew at home, although our beer is increasingly drinkable, it’s rarely the strength or colour we were expecting, and we’ve never successfully replicated a recipe. In the unlikely event that we suddenly find ourselves in possession of the kind of capital necessary to start even a modest-sized brewery, we wouldn’t want to. Not yet.
Two of our best idle dreams c.2007: getting the then disused brewery at the back of the William IV in Leyton going again, and buying the rights to the Truman name to take advantage of the free advertising all over London. Heh.