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News

News, nuggets and longreads 7 September 2024: Salata Aswad

Here’s all the writing about beer and pubs that grabbed our attention in the past week, from collabs to club singers.

First, some minor news that nonetheless strikes us as significant: Adnams has collaborated with Five Points on a new Landbier. “Otherwise known as a country beer, the 4.5% ABV slightly hazy amber brew celebrates locality, harvest time, and culture.” Why significant? Because earlier in the year we also enjoyed a beer Adnams had brewed with New Bristol Brewery. It is, in fact, a contender for our beer of the year. This willingness to get out and connect with newer breweries seems like a good sign from an old regional family brewery that has had its struggles of late. It’s certainly helped Adnams get into a wider range of venues, and reach a different group of drinkers. It’s a good strategy. Good luck to them.


A person with a big bush of dark hair, a big 1970s-style collar, and a smile.
Alex Samos in his stage gear. SOURCE: David Jesudason.

At Episodes of My Pub Life on Substack David Jesudason continues to find historic examples of the colour bar in action, while also telling stories about British drinking culture. His latest piece is about the Willesden Legionaire Club:

Alex Samos was a New Zealander of Polynesian parentage, a teacher who came to Britain in 1967 around the age of 29. He became a musical act shortly after he arrived after undertaking singing lessons with a British tutor… Alex was booked to play the Legionaire in December 1984 for a £60 fee. This was the third time he had played the club and he was prepared for hostility because the club entertainment manager had tried to bar him on his last visit… During that second booking he had said to Alex: “You can’t go on because you’re coloured.” After a major row, Alex had eventually been allowed to perform but Hines – the man who had used the racial slur when talking to Brian – rang one of Alex’s representatives to complain… Cindy Denham, Quality Acts, remembered that Hines threatened her by saying “I was to remember the policy of no coloured acts”.


A pub full of people viewed over the top of a pint of Guinness.
Immaculate vibes. SOURCE: Katie Mather.

On the Isle of Man Katie Mather found a pub whose “vibes were immaculate” and wrote about it for her newsletter The Gulp:

The tower-turret on the corner took my breath away. A castle of a pub! Could this really be the “old man pub” I was promised? I said I wanted scruffy and friendly, and was assured that this was it. The immaculate frontage told me something else… The first room on your right is a glowing surprise. The highest ceilings sit loftily over an imposing marble fireplace, a bay window table nestled perfectly into the corner turret, and a gorgeous curved bar polished to within an inch of its life. Natural light soaks the room, despite the clouds outside. Scruffy? Never. Before I can order a pint I’m called into another room by one of our growing group, and on the way out of the stunning front room I glimpse the pool room. I’m being dragged to the “Gent’s Bar”… As deeply chestnut as you’d want it to be, the Gent’s Bar is open to all now, but the unspoken rule is that this is where the locals sit. If somebody wants their seat back, you have to give it to them.


A modern micropub style pub in a former retail unit with benches outside.
Bird in th’hand, Darwen. SOURCE: Chris Dyson.

We enjoyed Chris Dyson’s crawl around the Good Beer Guide pubs of Darwen in Lancashire partly because it evokes the feeling of a sunny day off work pootling around somewhere new:

By 1907, the local trade union, the Darwen Weavers, Winders, and Warpers Association, had more than 8,000 members in the town. As the cotton industry fell into decline and the mills closed, other industries sprung up in the town. Crown Paints are based in the town, Anaglypta wallpaper was invented here, as was Perspex which is still manufactured here today… The Good Beer Guide listed three places, which all seemed from their descriptions to be bars or brewpubs, rather than traditional pubs. I walked down to the bottom of the hill where a police van was stationed opposite a traditional pub with a bouncer on the door. It was only 1pm, but with loud cheers emanating from inside, something was going on. It turned the East Lancashire derby match between recently-relegated Burnley and Blackburn Rovers was on Sky.


A stamp in red on rough paper certifying craft status.

At Beervana Jeff Alworth has made something of a policy statement on the use of the term ‘craft beer’ from a 2024 perspective:

Things have changed. Now little breweries make lite beer and hard seltzer and big breweries make hazy IPAs. “David and Goliath” no longer describes the world of brewery size, either. We have massive brewery collectives, historically large regional breweries, former independents owned by companies known for making beer—but also soft drinks and cannabis products. The language of “craft” is no longer adequate to describe breweries or the beer they make… “Craft beer” is a conceptual cul de sac. We started using it with good intentions, but with a naïveté about how brewing works and how markets function. It now causes more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t have any problem with the Brewers Association using the terms in their marketing—I certainly would if I were them—but we should recognize it for what it is. I encourage members of the media to consider using different language. It will make us all understand beer better. 


Watney's Red Barrel: beer in vintage glass with logo.

We’ve written about Watney’s Red Barrel, and Watney’s Red, fairly extensively over the years. Now, Ron Pattinson has a short but sweet post with a recipe for Red Barrel as it was c.1970 – and with a throwaway comment that potentially explains its bad reputation:

The recipe doesn’t look much different to other Bitters of the day… Overall, it looks like a pretty decent beer. That’s before it was pasteurised. Derek Prentice told me that the Truman’s beers of this period always tasted stale because of the heavy pasteurisation. Perhaps that was also the case with Red Barrel. 


Finally, a plug for Ray’s other project, under his real name. Intervals of Darkness, a collection of 14 weird stories, is out today as an eBook and paperback:

A quote from John Grindrod: "Existing somewhere between Robert Aickman and J.G. Ballard, these blackly funny tales sure to chill you however high you turn the heating." Next to it is the cover of Intervals of Darkness which shows someone being stalked through a dark space by an unseen figure.

For more good reading check out Stan Hieronymus’s round-up from Monday and Alan McLeod’s from Thursday.

Categories
News

News, nuggets and longreads 31 August 2024: Concrete Island

Every Saturday we round up the best writing about beer from the past week. This time we’ve got wartime lager, perfect pubs, and more.

First, news of an event: there’s an opportunity to find out more about brewing material held by the London Archives (formerly the London Metropolitan Archives) on Friday 13 September. You need to book tickets. We’ve done lots of research there over the years and it’s a great library with a fantastic collection of brewing logs. If you’ve ever thought about researching some aspect of brewing in London, this could be a good place to start. You’ll need to book a slot.


A drawing of a scientist with glasses and white coat using a microscope.
SOURCE: Laurel Molly/Pellicle.

We often give the top slot in this round-up to pieces from Pellicle but this week’s, by Will Hawkes, really is a stand out. It tells the story of Dr. Dora Kulka, a Jewish refugee from Austria, who ended up working in Sheffield during the war:

Dora produced a stout (“Your vitamin stout is good,” Erna Hollitscher, to whom she sent a bottle, told her; “In spite of the protest of some English people I still don’t think it is so very different from beer!”), a pale ale and, most significantly, a lager. She probably thought little of it, but for the powers-that-be at The Hope Brewery it was like a lightbulb flickering on. Just a few years later, Claywheels Lane became the first British home of Carling Black Label, the beer that started the British lager revolution, and that has been the nation’s favourite since the early 1980s… It started with Dora.

And the statement from a 91-year-old interviewee that “Sheffield water was similar to that of Pilsen” offers another lightbulb moment.


A beer garden table made from an old disposable keg with fake grass on top.
SOURCE: Jane Stuart.

Jane Stuart writes detailed blow-by-blow accounts of pub crawls in British towns and cities, often on matchday. This week she takes us on a tour of Clitheroe in Lancashire:

I was asked if I was drinking inside or out. Whilst I was hoping for inside, it was busy in here, so I couldn’t be certain of bagging a seat. I therefore hedged my bets and ended up with plastic glasses. This isn’t something that bothers me as it does some folk; they’ve still got beer in them, which is the important thing… As it was, I headed out back and found a seat at a table with a lot of empty glasses on it (profuse apologies were offered when it was cleared) but otherwise I didn’t have to share my table… There wasn’t much signal going on here either so I took to earwigging on the group at the next table… ‘I’ve got beers and champagne for later by the way. No food.’… I figured that would get messy.


Illustration: a pint glass.

For Pursuit of Hoppiness brewer Kieran Haslett-Moore has written thoughtfully about the positive part beer plays in the lives of drinkers:

I spend my days working in a brewery separated from the dining room of our restaurant by a glass wall. While people look on and watch me the reverse is also true, and I get to watch people sitting and drinking beer together hundreds of times every week. They are taking part in something that has been happening since the dawn of civilization. The coming together to slowly ingest an intoxicant, which when things go well, relaxes those taking part, reduces their ability to use guile or deception and lowers the barriers to social cohesion… Alcohol sedates the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that is crucial to lying, subterfuge, and the suppression of desires. By taking drink together we are ritually ingesting a truth serum. And so I watch people drink beer together in business meetings, after work, on dates, before weddings, and after funerals. I watch them find unity in their tribe or — to use the modern terminology — I watch them engender a sense of belonging.


Illustration: a quiet corner in a quiet pub, with table and stools.

Pete Brown has played the beer writer’s favourite game: attempting a fresh spin on George Orwell’s famous essay ‘The Moon Under Water’. Pete’s perfect pub is called ‘The Old Stone House’:

There’s a big open fire at one end of the room. In winter, you have to be here at opening time to claim the table next to it. There’s also a large, shiny-seated wooden chair opposite. It’s the kind of chair you just know you don’t sit in unless you’ve been drinking here since the pub was built… The walls and ceilings are decorated with random stuff – nothing as obvious as horse brasses or old black-and-white photos of the pub. A lot of the décor relates to the name of the pub (which isn’t really the Old Stone House.) But on top of that (sometimes literally) there’s a collection of old scythes. A bowsaw. A 1930s policeman’s helmet. A case full of arrows.

We guessed the twist – the LED bulbs gave it away. It’s made us think there’s probably a whole anthology, or at least a zine, in this idea. Moons under Water maybe?


The cluttered and atmospheric interior of the Poechenellekelder with dark wooden furniture and enamel signs advertising Belgian beer brands.
SOURCE: Franz Hofer/Tempest in a Tankard.

Speaking of (maybe) perfect pubs (or cafes) Franz Hofer has painted a picture of the Poechenellekelder in Brussels:

A one-time puppet theater, Poechenellekelder hides out in plain view across from one of the most famous statues in the world. The café does get its share of tourists, many of whom sun themselves on the large terrace that spills out in the direction of Manneken Pis, but it’s not nearly as touristy as Delirium Café on the other side of the Grand Place… And it’s unique. The well-worn interior with warm wood tones is given over to a comprehensive collection of dolls and puppets, including renditions of the famous kid outside. But that’s not all. Poechenellekelder is also a riot of old comic strips, dusty hops strewn from the rafters, barrels of various sizes, old photographs and engravings, beer signs, old musical instruments, and even a vintage sled and crossbow. It’s abuzz with conversation in the evening, the dim light limning the puppets ready for their cameo in a cabaret act that could seemingly begin at any time. If you arrive during the day, the best seats are along the Rue du Chêne, where you can divide your time between watching the people outside and inventing stories about each piece of interior décor.


Finally, from BlueSky, an evocative image…

Quiet in The City (although only slightly quieter then normal in the pubs). Much nicer this way

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— Will Hawkes (@handle.invalid) Aug 30, 2024 at 14:57

For more good reading check out Stan Hieronymus’s round-up from Monday and Alan McLeod’s from Thursday.

Categories
bristol pubs

The Crown has been revived and still has Bass

The Crown Tavern is a Bristol landmark but its future seemed uncertain when the former publicans retired. But it has been saved and revived.

We first noticed The Crown when… Well, you couldn’t help but notice it. It’s a big, hulking Victorian building surrounded by small ones.

And, until quite recently, it had trees growing out of its brickwork, and a general air of intimidating dilapidation.

It took us a while to summon the courage to go inside. When we did, we found that it was just a neighbourhood boozer, with a mostly older clientele. The atmosphere wasn’t scary so much as sleepy.

It had all the signs of being doomed, though. The building was crumbling, for one thing.

For another, the publicans, Gloria O’Connor and her husband Dominic, were in their eighties.

And, finally, there was its location: a pub desert to the south and east, and rampant development to the north and west.

The exterior of a pub with pale yellow and red brick, net curtains in the windows, and some graffiti. A big plastic sign says The Crown Tavern.
The Crown Tavern in 2021, before its refurb.

When it closed early in 2023, we assumed that was it. Demolition or redevelopment was sure to follow.

Then people who are much more clued into Bristol pub gossip than us told us they’d heard Sam Gregory, landlord of The Bank Tavern, was interested in taking it on.

You might have heard of The Bank, even if you don’t know Bristol: it’s the one with the four-year waiting list for reservations for Sunday lunch.

We filed this news under “We’ll believe it when we see it”. So much can go wrong with plans to revive pubs, as we’ve seen with successive attempts to take on The Rhubarb.

But scaffolding went up, workmen came in, and by spring this year, there were clear signs of a refurb underway. We’d walk past on our way to the nearby Swan With Two Necks and peer in, trying to catch glimpses of what might be going on.

“It’s opening next week,” someone told us several months ago. It didn’t, which seemed a worrying sign. Then, last Friday, in mid-August, it did.

The bar of The Crown Tavern with fresh paint, gleaming keg fonts, and green tiles in the background.
The bar at The Crown Tavern – the same as before but with fresh paint.

We wandered in yesterday, unable to resist the lure of a wide open door and the sound of clinking glasses. This is already a contrast to The Crown of old with its opaque entranceway, all frosted glass and net curtains, guarded by smokers.

Sam Gregory himself was behind the bar, beaming as he welcomed us. The first thing we noticed was something that had not changed: cask Bass on the bar.

“It’s controversial, though,” he told us. “Because it’s on handpump, served with a head. Whereas a lot of Bristol pubs serve it through electric pumps, completely flat.” (It’s true.)

Honestly, much as we appreciate that local tradition, the pint he presented looked all the more attractive for its inch of tight white foam.

“They’d only sell it to me if I promised to keep it as a pub,” he added, when we complimented the refurb. Was that also the reason for the presence of Bass? He nodded slowly. “But it’s selling very well.”

The refurb is good. In many ways it feels like the same pub – basic to the point of austerity, neither fussy nor trendy. There are some shiny, jewel-like tiles on the walls, and a few plants here and there, but not much that would startle a customer from the 1920s.

The main thing is that everything is clean, fresh, sharp and new. The windows are clear and clean, allowing light to stream in. And where there used to be gloom and shadows, there are warm, subtle lamps.

The beer range isn’t designed to attract craft beer types, although four cask ales, including Bass, might be a draw for the CAMRA crowd. The guest ales on our visit were from Twisted Oak and Hop Union.

It’s not quite the same type of pub it was before but, frankly, how could it be? Where is the business model that supports selling £2 pints of Bass or cans of lager to a dwindling cohort of ageing drinkers?

But it’s not pretentious, hipsterfied, or unwelcoming, and seems to have sidestepped gentrification controversies.

The most exciting thing for us is that there is now another decent pub within walking distance of our house, a full two minutes closer than The Swan With Two Necks.

And that a small run of decent pubs is emerging in St Judes. You could have a very happy afternoon or evening wandering between The Crown, The Swan With Two Necks, and The Volunteer.

Throw in The Phoenix (it has its attractions) or The Coach & Horses (more Bass) and you could keep going, too.

The Crown Tavern is at 17 Lawfords Gate, Bristol BS2 0DY.

Categories
News

News, nuggets and longreads 24 August 2024: Death of a Ghost

It’s Saturday morning and time for us to round-up the best writing about beer from the past week, including pints, Pilsner and pubs.

The Irish journalist Nell McCafferty has died at the age of 80 resurfacing the story of a protest she led in the 1970s, as described by Dr Christina Wade in this 2018 blog post:

McCafferty led a group of women to a Dublin pub. Here, they ordered the socially acceptable drink of brandy, and after it was served, proceeded to order a pint of Guinness… Which they were flatly refused.  Refused on the account of them being women, and most especially because it was a pint. They drank their brandy, refused to pay and walked out… It was acts like this that drew attention to this horrendous practice and helped pave the way for women to happily consume their pints in pubs across the nation. However, it wasn’t until 2000 (!!!) that the Equal Status Act barred this sort of sexist discrimination.


A technical drawing of a train wagon from both the side and the front.
The Ringhoffer beer wagon. SOURCE: Andreas Krennmair/Daft Eejit Brewing.

At Daft Eejit Brewing Andreas Krennmair offers a snapshot of the competition for dominance between Vienna Lager and Pilsner at around the turn of the 20th century:

In terms of production, the largest brewery was of course Dreher Kleinschwechat, with about 610,000 hl for the brewing season 1892/1893. Pilsen on the other hand brewed 522,270 hl in the same time period. Dreher’s Hungary-based brewery in Steinbruch brewed another 400,000 hl, while for the other two Dreher breweries, no volumes are listed. It shows to what a large operation the Pilsner brewery had grown, while Dreher’s advantage was having multiple large breweries across Austria-Hungary that were all serving different markets… One thing though where Pilsen absolutely excelled the Dreher breweries was the number of beer wagons: while Kleinschwechat owned and operated 60 of them, and Steinbruch 20, Pilsen had much more capacity for export with a whopping 132 beer wagons.


An open-topped sports car parked outside The Kelham Island Tavern, a victorian pub with lots of window boxes laden with flowers.
The Kelham Island Tavern. SOURCE: The Beer Nut.

Every now and then The Beer Nut comes over to England from Ireland and conducts one of his inspections. This time, it’s Sheffield that’s come under his stern gaze:

I wasn’t a fan of the Kelham Island Tavern the first time I visited. The beer selection is excellent, but it has always been uncomfortably loud and crowded, and so it was again. I took my pint of Left Handed Giant’s Dark Mild out to the alley that passes as a beer garden and sulked through it there. It added an extra layer of disappointment to the experience, looking good — a clear dark garnet — but tasting quite plain. Sweet cereal is the bulk of it, like honeyed porridge, and then an off-kilter tang of cork oak. Though only 3.4% ABV, it’s quite heavy and took me a while to get through. There was no sign of the coffee roast I look for in mild, nor any dark fruit. A little chocolate arrived towards the end, but not enough to redeem the beer for me. I wasn’t staying for another.


A small Victorian pub next to a railway platform.
The Stalybridge Buffet Bar. SOURCE: Scott Spencer/Micropub Adventures.

Scott Spencer has been pub crawling again, this time around Stalybridge, Ashton-under-Lyne and Droylsden:

My day commenced in Stalybridge, a town renowned for its historical significance as one of the pioneering centres of textile production during the Industrial Revolution, notably with the establishment of a water-powered cotton mill in 1776. In 1995, it earned a place in the Guinness Book of Records for hosting both the longest pub name, ‘The Old Thirteenth Cheshire Astley Volunteer Rifleman Corps Inn,’ and the shortest, ‘Q Inn’… [Stalybridge Buffet Bar] is among the few remaining original Victorian Station Buffet bars in England, with its structure dating back to the station’s reconstruction in 1885.


The exterior of a pub painted red. There are lots of shoppers and delivery people walking in front.
Mooney’s. SOURCE: Lisa Grimm/Weirdo Guide to Dublin Pubs.

At her Weirdo Guide to Dublin Pubs Lisa Grimm has a sort of combined pub and book review, using Maurice Gorham’s 1949 Back to the Local as a lens through which to view Mooney’s of Abbey Street:

An Irish journalist and, later, broadcaster with the BBC, Gorham had been educated in the UK and lived in London until the late 1940s, when he returned to Dublin and served as the Director of RTÉ Radio… While the historic Mooney’s of Abbey Street was at 1 Abbey Street (indeed, the signage is still visible on the façade), we’re now just a few doors down at 4 Abbey Street, and there’s been a very recent glow-up to the interior. We’re leaning in to ‘traditional pub’ here, but it’s well-executed, with dark wood, deep colours and a bit of slightly-spurious history here and there, but it’s all quite pleasant, with a number of snugs and booths… The stained glass toward the back remains from its previous incarnation as Madigan’s, with the name-change happening in 2020. 


Concentric circles marking a location on a map with the word Local nearby.

Here’s some good pondering from Jeff Alworth at Beervana on the potential different meanings of ‘local’:

What’s curious is how contingent that concept of local is. In Oregon, there’s the very local—the brewery in your neighborhood or town—and then the “local,” which means made in the state. Portlanders don’t distinguish between Breakside (Portland), pFriem (Hood River), or Deschutes (Bend) when they’re reaching for a sixer; they’re all local. You might give your local brewery more of your business than driving to the one a little further away, but really, anything in the state will scratch our parochial itch. And it is parochial, because here’s the thing: you won’t see many (or any) cans on that grocery shelf that come from Vancouver, WA. Vancouver is, even by Belgian standards, very close—just a river’s width away—while Bend, even by Oregonian standards, is a bit of a drive (three hours). Yet in our beer-buying decisions, the latter is the “local.”


Finally, from BlueSky…

More South Bohemia: an undated photograph in the Prácheňské muzeum, Písek. Farm workers drinking what appears to be dark lager (see the man with a mug, center left), possibly 1920s or 1930s, sitting atop sheafs of just-cut wheat. 🍺

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— Evan Rail (@evanrail.bsky.social) Aug 19, 2024 at 10:22

For more good reading check out Stan Hieronymus’s round-up from Monday and Alan McLeod’s from Thursday.

Categories
News

News, nuggets and longreads 17 August 2024: SPQR

Against all odds (bereavement, Covid) here’s our regular round-up of the best writing about beer and pubs from the past week.

First, some news that interested us because it made us think about where we might be in the cycle: Birra Moretti has overtaken Carling as Britain’s best-selling draught lager, according to new stats from CGA. This, along with the ongoing fascination with the success of Madrí, reminded us that the craft beer boom was preceded by a ‘world lager’ craze back in the 1990s and noughties. Consumers are clearly expressing discernment – Carling simply won’t do! – but not straying too far from base in terms of style or flavour. Moretti is also stronger than Carling and marketed as a ‘premium’ product. Perhaps there are hints here, too, of a little more spending power among drinkers? Anyway, it struck us as a ‘signal’ of some kind.


The Art Nouveau sign for the Waldwirthschaft on a cream-coloured building with green shutters. A classical statue is in the foreground.
SOURCE: Franz Hofer/Tempest in a Tankard.

Perhaps it’s because we haven’t been able to get away to Germany this year that we’ve been particularly drawn to the beer garden travelogues from Franz Hofer. This week’s is a report from the idyllic Waldwirtschaft:

That sweeping vista across the valley below! It’s the first thing you notice when you find a seat in the Waldwirtschaft’s expansive beer garden. Known locally as the “WaWi,” the Waldwirtschaft in southwestern Munich is nestled in the woods just beyond a residential neighbourhood lined with villas. Perched atop a beer cellar cut into an embankment high above the Isar River, the WaWi conveys a topographical sense of what it meant to cut fermentation and lagering cellars into riverbanks in the days before modern refrigeration. Indeed, this entire area was once a bastion of beer cellars… As with any top-notch beer garden worth its malt, local lore has woven a certain mystique around the WaWi, which found itself at the center of the “Beer Garden Revolution” of 1995. So significant was this local upheaval that it helped usher in the Beer Garden Ordinance of 1999.

Wait, what? Tell us more! (He does.)


The word 'wild' in an antique-style font over a woodcut illustration of winds and cloud.

At Good Beer Hunting, which is still with us for now, Maggie Gigandet has written about the practicalities of capturing wild yeast for commercial use. It sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it? And very romantic. But there’s a reason most breweries just buy off-the-shelf yeast:

Three Nashville brewers sipped beer from small plastic cups in the backroom of Bootleg Biology, Tennessee’s only yeast lab. The lab’s garage door, framed by an old red, white, and blue brewers’ conference banner, was open despite the early February cold. The beer they were sampling was brewed with a wild yeast collected from a sunflower. Surrounded by brewing and lab equipment, they compared tasting notes. They pronounced it “Belgian saison-y,” with flavors of bubblegum and banana… Chad Mueller, head brewer at TennFold—who, with his colleagues, had begun their hunt for this yeast six months earlier—was surprised by the banana flavor. “I’m pretty interested,” he said. But he wasn’t sold. Did the yeast have a gene that could lead to exploding cans and ruin the taste of his beers? They’d need to test it.


The Midland Tavern with its name on a board and the name of the brewery, Tolly Cobbold, beneath.
SOURCE: Simon Knott/Capturing Cambridge.

At Substack David Jesudason shares the story of Albert Gordon, Cambridge’s first black landlord, via interviews recorded for a local oral history project:

“We brought an atmosphere to the pub,” says Albert. “It became known as a friendly pub in Cambridge – you could come in there and chat with either me or Lorna. We had a good relationship with our customers. We help them, sometimes [they] ask us a favour – we would jump in a car and take them wherever they want to go… “People loved us – even now people talk about ‘Albert from the Midland Tavern’. Everyone after tried to build on what we started. A lot of people came and saw how Jamaican people lived and the Jamaican way of life – the happy part of our life. One of the things we gave to them is the music.”… There was no food served but there was music. And, boy, was there music – reggae and soul – and every so often a steel band. There was also Northern Soul and once a month rock n roll with Teddy Boys (often associated with racism) turning up. “I tried to get everything for everybody in there,” Albert said.


A beer bike on the streets of Bristol, loaded up with blokes on what is probably a stag do.

As converts to the way of Wegbier we were intrigued by a piece at VinePair by Will Hawkes about the European habit of drinking on the move:

The German passion for Wegbier doesn’t extend to all drinking on the go. Beer bikes — a human-propelled vehicle, seating up to 16 customers, who drink as they pedal — have been restricted in Germany for many years over concerns about rudeness and, most unforgivable in Deutschland, holding up traffic. Other countries have taken a similar approach, including the Netherlands, where the phenomenon first reared its head in the late 1990s… Nonetheless, they are still popular, with Britain in particular currently a growing market — although even here concerns remain, perhaps because they’re associated with rowdy stag parties.


Concrete decorations in a post-war subway in Colchester showing the emperor Claudius.
Colchester.

Off the back of our recent trip to Essex, which is littered with Roman archaeology, an article by Katy Prickett for the BBC caught our eye. It summarises, in pleasingly plain language, the evidence for industrial-scale brewing in Roman Britain:

Imagining Roman Britain conjures up images of emperors, gladiators, posh villas – and the army that held the empire together… But a much more varied story is emerging, thanks to evidence uncovered by excavations in recent years… Beer brewing was just one of the industries that grew rapidly to supply the military, and small towns and cities like Camulodunum (Colchester) and Verulamium (St Albans) in the three-and-a-half centuries of Roman rule… Evidence of brewing on an industrial level was discovered at a Roman villa at North Fleet in Kent, and using the features found there – such as malting ovens and lined tanks for steeping the grain – archaeologists knew what to look for at smaller sites.


Finally, from BlueSky…

Tonight I'm drinking keg-conditioned Best Bitter in an industrial estate in the former capital of West Germany.

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— Ben Palmer (@johnzee7.bsky.social) Aug 16, 2024 at 17:54

For more good reading check out Alan McLeod’s round-up from Thursday.