The snob quality of keg bitter and lager, 1966

It can be hard to get into the headspace of people in the past but here’s a nugget that reveals attitudes to different types of beer, and different measures, in the mid-1960s.

It’s a let­ter by H.C.G. Sloane to A Month­ly Bul­letin, a brew­ing trade pub­li­ca­tion, pub­lished in June 1966:

In this age of alleged democ­ra­cy and an appar­ent ten­den­cy to throw con­ven­tion to the winds, it is sur­pris­ing to hear that two cus­tomers din­ing in an old hotel restau­rant were refused “two pints of best bit­ter”. Pints of bit­ter were not served because they “low­ered the tone” of the hotel.

So far, so famil­iar – as we cov­ered in Brew Bri­tan­nia, refusal to serve pints has become embed­ded as an indi­ca­tor of an estab­lish­ment that wish­es to set itself apart from, and of course above, the bog stan­dard booz­er. Bris­tol has a cou­ple of such places.

It seems that we must come to terms with the fact that, rather than becom­ing anachro­nisms, pet­ty snob­bery and the sta­tus sym­bol may yet extend and widen the pos­si­bil­i­ties of the absurd.

Well, it’s true that beer has got com­pli­cat­ed with all those tribes and sym­bols and laws of eti­quette.

Beer will, if this hap­pens, prob­a­bly be asso­ci­at­ed only with shab­by tap­rooms, cloth caps, and news­pa­per-wrapped fish and chips. Already one is begin­ning to feel less ple­beian when ask­ing for “keg” rather than “bit­ter”; or a lager instead of a light ale. It sounds nicer, some­how, and more sophis­ti­cat­ed.

This is some­thing we keep com­ing back to – how did lager go from being, in 1966, the classy prod­uct you ordered when you felt a lit­tle fan­cy to, by the late 1980s, riot fuel?

And keg as the upmar­ket choice… That still rings true, sort of, though IPA or ‘craft lager’ are what peo­ple actu­al­ly ask for.

The New Age bar­tender may look askance should one inad­ver­tent­ly demand a glass of mild instead of a beaker of bland.

No, the cor­rect term is “dark ale”.

A “mixed” may in future be called a blend.

Cor­rect.

An igno­rant saloon bar cus­tomer might even ostracised (or banned from using the premis­es) should he refer to his favourite tip­ple as brown ale – once the colour has changed to beige.

Wrong – instead, it’s almost extinct, and two rare sur­vivors are ordered by brand name.

Over­all, Sloane got it right – though nev­er entire­ly as class­less and sim­ple as some roman­tics would have you believe, beer has become increas­ing­ly com­plex, strat­i­fied and laden with mean­ing.

But things have also been pret­ty well swirled about, too.

Is a dim­ple mug of Black Sheep Bit­ter posh, or ple­beian? It depends where you drink it and whether it’s accom­pa­ny­ing a pack­et of scratch­ings or a plate of gnoc­chi.

A peek behind the scenes: why are we sud­den­ly look­ing at A Month­ly Bul­letin again? Because we had a real­ly thor­ough tidy up of what we jok­ing­ly call The Arthur Mil­lard Memo­r­i­al Library – that is, our box­room – and hav­ing got rid of a load of books and organ­ised the rest, we’ve redis­cov­ered lots of stuff that we for­got we had. It’s easy to dip into some­thing before bed or in the morn­ing before work and AMB in par­tic­u­lar is espe­cial­ly dip­pable.

The History of Home-brewing in the UK

This arti­cle first appeared in issue 9 of Hop & Bar­ley mag­a­zine, a home-brew­ing spe­cial pub­lished in 2018, and avail­able to buy at £10 from the web­site.

Before 1963 if you wanted to make your own beer in Britain you either had to pay the government for the privilege, or do it secretly, thanks to the lingering effects of Victorian legislation.

In 1880 Prime Min­is­ter William Glad­stone, seek­ing to appease the farm­ing lob­by and urgent­ly raise mon­ey, replaced the long­stand­ing malt tax with a duty on the fin­ished prod­uct – beer. As a side effect, house­holds that brewed their own beer for ‘domes­tic use’ (that didn’t sell it) were sud­den­ly sub­ject to reg­is­tra­tion, reg­u­la­tion and inspec­tion, and were required to pay for a licence.

This didn’t stop home-brew­ing alto­geth­er, espe­cial­ly not in cas­es where it was part of com­mu­ni­ty life, as at Blax­hall in Suf­folk where, accord­ing to the rec­ol­lec­tions of one elder­ly vil­lager, almost every house­wife brewed her own beer before World War I. They shared equip­ment and formed a ‘yeast chain’ with each woman col­lect­ing yeast from whichev­er of her neigh­bours had brewed most recent­ly. [1]

But as the 20th cen­tu­ry wore on, and peo­ple were dragged into court for mak­ing beer at home with­out licences, home-brew­ing as a vital tra­di­tion all but dis­ap­peared. Offi­cial num­bers sug­gest­ed that by 1961–62 only 250 peo­ple in the entire coun­try had licences to brew beer at home. [2]

Of course there was plen­ty going on with­out licence behind closed doors and one 1963 news­pa­per col­umn described a home brew­er ‘who wish­es to remain anony­mous for obvi­ous rea­sons’ run­ning a sub­stan­tial brew­ery out of his garage to which ‘the Cus­toms and Excise have nev­er found their way’.  [3]

The cost of inves­ti­gat­ing and pros­e­cut­ing hard­ly seemed worth the effort which is why, on 3 April 1963, Con­ser­v­a­tive Chan­cel­lor Regi­nald Maudling announced the abo­li­tion of the 1880 law, with its ragged Vic­to­ri­an trousers, in his bud­get speech to the House of Com­mons. On the day of Regi­nald Maudling’s announce­ment, the garage home-brew­er men­tioned above drank a toast to the Chan­cel­lor, rais­ing a mug of his own strong ale. Free­dom, at last.

Con­tin­ue read­ing “The His­to­ry of Home-brew­ing in the UK

Watney’s Red Barrel – how bad could it have been?

You can’t have cops without robbers, or Batman without the Joker, and so the story of the revitalisation of British beer needs its bad guys too. Enter Watney’s.

Wat­ney’s (or Wat­ney Mann, or Wat­ney Combe Reid) was the Evil Cor­po­ra­tion which sought to crush plucky small brew­ers and impose its own ter­ri­ble beer on the drink­ing pub­lic. It acquired and closed beloved local brew­eries, and it closed pubs, or ruined them with clum­sy makeovers.

Its Red Bar­rel was par­tic­u­lar­ly vile – a sym­bol of all that was wrong with indus­tri­al brew­ing and nation­al brands pushed through cyn­i­cal mar­ket­ing cam­paigns.

This, at least, was the accept­ed nar­ra­tive for a long time, formed by the pro­pa­gan­da of the Cam­paign for Real Ale in its ear­ly years, and set hard through years of rep­e­ti­tion.

But does it stand up to scruti­ny? What if, con­trary to every­thing we’ve heard, Red Bar­rel was actu­al­ly kind of OK?

This long post was made pos­si­ble by the kind sup­port of Patre­on sub­scribers like Matthew Turn­bull and David Sim, whose encour­age­ment makes us feel less daft about spend­ing half a week­end work­ing on stuff like this. Please con­sid­er sign­ing up, or just buy us a pint.

Con­tin­ue read­ing “Watney’s Red Bar­rel – how bad could it have been?”

The Beer of the Future, 1924

More lager, daintier glassware, beer at the dinner table… These were some of the predictions made by  brewing scientist Herbert Lloyd Hind in a talk given to a meeting of Scottish brewers on Burns Day 1924.

We came across this paper while research­ing our big two-parter and thought it deserved a bit of atten­tion in its own right.

As every­one knows, mak­ing pre­dic­tions is a mug’s game, but Mr Hind, as you’ll see, did pret­ty well.

Detail from a Whitbread advertisement, 1937, showing beer with food.

1. Beer must get prettier

The days are past when meals could be eat­en from wood­en bowls, and the days of the old pint pot are num­bered. There was noth­ing like the pewter pot when it was nec­es­sary to hide the drink from the eye to make its con­sump­tion pos­si­ble. Devel­op­ing taste demands that food be served with greater del­i­ca­cy, and that beer be offered in shin­ing glass which sets off its attrac­tive sparkle and con­di­tion to the utmost, and under con­di­tions in which it has noth­ing to suf­fer when com­pared to cham­pagne, or dark red wine.”

This might seem like a pre-echo of the so-called ‘wini­fi­ca­tion of beer’ – more an aspi­ra­tion than a reflec­tion of real­i­ty – but think about how beer has been pre­sent­ed in the last cen­tu­ry: glass became the norm, and even quite ordi­nary com­mod­i­ty beers have their own brand­ed glass­ware and pre­scribed pour­ing meth­ods.

Hind goes on to argue that British beer suf­fers in beau­ty con­tests because it lacks the sub­stan­tial, sta­ble foam of the Con­ti­nen­tal rivals. Which brings us to…

1937 adver­tise­ment for Bar­clay Perkins lager.
2. More lager, and a drift away from ale

In this coun­try beer drinkers have become so wed­ded to the flavour of top fer­men­ta­tion beer that they pre­fer it, and in many cas­es express dis­like for lager. The great major­i­ty, how­ev­er, of those who decry lager have nev­er tast­ed it as it should be, and gen­er­al­ly say they do not like such thin stuff, ignor­ing the fact that such a descrip­tion does not apply to good lager any more than it does to good Eng­lish beer.

Hind was cau­tious on lager but essen­tial­ly called it: tastes can change, he argued – British drinkers had already ditched “that acid beer that used to have a great sale in sev­er­al dis­tricts” – and Den­mark was an exam­ple of a coun­try sim­i­lar in cli­mate to Britain where lager had oust­ed top-fer­ment­ed beer.

In fact, he point­ed out, Britain was the odd­i­ty in hav­ing not embraced lager, and that per­haps the decrease in beer con­sump­tion in Britain could be put down to the fact that brew­ers weren’t giv­ing peo­ple beer they want­ed to drink:

[Those] coun­tries show­ing an increase [in beer con­sump­tion] were all lager-drink­ing coun­tries, or coun­tries where lager was grad­u­al­ly oust­ing top fer­men­ta­tion beers. If there is any­thing in this argu­ment it must fol­low that lager is bet­ter than ale

Oof!

He cer­tain­ly got this right, any­way: Britain did even­tu­al­ly embrace lager, and in a big way. Only now in the 21st cen­tu­ry is there any evi­dence of re-bal­anc­ing.

Macro shot of text and diagram: 'Yeast'.

3. Cleaner, more stable beer

Typ­i­cal char­ac­ter­is­tics of British beers are their hop aro­ma and the flavours pro­duced by sec­ondary fer­men­ta­tion. Chill­ing, fil­tra­tion and pas­teuri­sa­tion tend to remove these very much-desired flavours, so that chilled and fil­tered beer gen­er­al­ly suf­fers in com­par­i­son with nat­u­ral­ly con­di­tioned beer.

This is par­tic­u­lar­ly astute and sets up a debate that would dom­i­nate the fol­low­ing cen­tu­ry: how do we retain the essen­tial char­ac­ter of British beer while also tam­ing it for ease of pro­duc­tion, dis­tri­b­u­tion and dis­pense?

Hind goes on to argue that the British beer ought to be fer­ment­ed with pure yeast strains – that it was time to do away with the super­sti­tion and sen­ti­ment around Eng­lish brew­ing yeast:

[The] sweep­ing con­dem­na­tion some times passed on any sug­ges­tion to adapt pure yeast to Eng­lish con­di­tions is not jus­ti­fied. The only tri­als I know of were made many years ago and in con­nec­tion with beers whose dis­tinc­tive palate depend­ed on a sec­ondary fer­men­ta­tion. This dis­tinc­tive Bur­ton flavour I have seen pro­duced in beers as dif­fer­ent from nor­mal Bur­ton beers as bot­tom-fer­ment­ed stout by an inoc­u­la­tion in the bot­tle of pure cul­tures of Bre­tan­no­myces, as its dis­cov­er­er, Clausen, called the par­tic­u­lar Toru­la employed. Con­di­tions are now entire­ly altered. Sec­ondary fer­men­ta­tion in far the greater num­ber of brew­eries is a thing of the past, and the desider­a­tum now is to pre­vent the devel­op­ment of sec­ondary yeast. Under con­di­tions such as these, sure­ly it is time to reopen the inves­ti­ga­tion and endeav­our to put fer­men­ta­tion on a sounder and more cer­tain basis.

This point of view cer­tain­ly won out in the indus­try but, of course, drinkers did notice when Adnams changed and Bod­ding­ton’s lost its com­plex­i­ty.

"Traditional Country Ales" window livery.

4. Traditional English methods don’t work for session ales

I think it will be admit­ted on all hands that the typ­i­cal Eng­lish nat­u­ral­ly matured pale ales left very lit­tle to be desired. They had a delight­ful appetis­ing flavour, and poured from the bot­tle with beau­ti­ful appear­ance and con­di­tion. The cask beers of sim­i­lar type were also excel­lent, but low­er grav­i­ties have been forced upon us, and the ten­den­cy towards a lighter kind of beer seems so def­i­nite that it is hard­ly like­ly that there will be any return to the old style. Endeav­ours to brew these lighter beers on the old lines are not alto­geth­er a suc­cess, as is evi­denced by the amount of beer on the mar­ket lack­ing in bril­liance or con­di­tion.

This is some con­tro­ver­sial stuff, or at least seems that way from this side of the real ale rev­o­lu­tion of the 1970s.

It’s become a point of faith that British brew­ing meth­ods are par­tic­u­lar­ly well suit­ed to pro­duc­ing low ABV beers, adding com­plex­i­ty to make up for the lack of oomph.

The answer to this con­tra­dic­tion – the desire for beers to be both lighter and clean­er – is, Hind argues, to adopt lager brew­ing meth­ods even for beers that aren’t pre­sent­ed as lager.

Which is exact­ly what, for exam­ple, Thorn­bridge does, using lager yeast for its pack­aged prod­ucts and tra­di­tion­al ale yeast for casks. (At least this is what we think Rob Lovatt, Thorn­bridge head brew­er, told us in a pub about four years ago.)

Keg fonts at a central London pub.

5. Keg!

Even though our meth­ods of man­u­fac­ture were ide­al, there is no pos­si­bil­i­ty of the invari­able appear­ance of the beer in the cus­tomer’s glass in con­di­tion that will sat­is­fy a con­nois­seur, or even a man with ordi­nary stan­dards of taste and per­cep­tion. The meth­ods of retail are hope­less­ly out of date. Though the brew­ers do all that is human­ly pos­si­ble, there are all too many chances of the beer being ruined in the pub­li­can’s cel­lar or at the bar… While bars are fit­ted with the usu­al types of pumps, and unlim­it­ed air is allowed to pass into casks, flat­ten­ing and destroy­ing the flavour of the beer, how can it be expect­ed that beer will serve well to the end of the cask ? The pos­si­bil­i­ties which are offered in this direc­tion by com­pressed CO2 col­lect­ed in the brew­ery have hard­ly been explored at all in this coun­try…

He real­ly nailed this one.

Almost a hun­dred years lat­er the same con­ver­sa­tion is still going, keg bit­ter hav­ing arrived then retreat­ed, while gas remains the key flash­point in Britain’s beer cul­ture wars.

It’s all about qual­i­ty, every­one agrees, and cask ale at point of ser­vice does­n’t always make a good show­ing for itself. “Look after it bet­ter!” say the purists; “Reduce the oppor­tu­ni­ty for user error!” answer the prag­ma­tists.

Mean­while, most peo­ple car­ry on drink­ing lager, obliv­i­ous and unin­ter­est­ed.

* * *

Hind’s pre­dic­tions are inter­est­ing because they’re not out­landish – robot bar­tenders! Pow­dered beer! – but care­ful, based on obser­va­tion, and on a knowl­edge of things already afoot in the beer indus­try in the UK, and espe­cial­ly abroad.

It would be inter­est­ing to read sim­i­lar papers from brew­ers active in 2018.

Don’t Worry, Be (Mostly) Happy

This post was writ­ten for #BeeryLongreads2018 and made pos­si­ble by the sup­port of our Patre­on sub­scribers. Do con­sid­er sign­ing up if you enjoy this blog, or per­haps just buy us a one-off pint.

For the last year or so we’ve been slowly chewing over a single big question: how healthy is British beer culture?

You might remem­ber, if you’re a long-time read­er, that we first wrote about the idea of healthy beer cul­ture in 2013, but that was a set of bul­let points. This post expands on those ideas with anoth­er five years’-worth of evi­dence, expe­ri­ence and think­ing.

We should con­fess that our start­ing point is one of mild frus­tra­tion at the per­va­sive idea that British beer – and beer cul­ture more gen­er­al­ly – is ail­ing. We see var­i­ous wor­ries expressed on social media, and in blog posts and arti­cles, each one dis­crete and per­son­al, but adding up to a mass of anx­i­ety. If you’re in this bub­ble it can feel like the end times.

To pro­vide fuel for this spe­cif­ic blog post we asked our Twit­ter fol­low­ers to tell us what, if any­thing, made them wor­ried for the future of British beer. Some state­ments echoed things we’ve seen said many times before, while oth­ers flagged issues we had not con­sid­ered. Quite a few effec­tive­ly can­celled each oth­er out, high­light­ing the absur­di­ty of think­ing about British beer as a mono­lith. There is no sin­gle idea of what healthy looks like, and no vic­to­ry that won’t feel like a defeat to some­body else.

In this post we want to focus on some of the most com­mon­ly expressed fears, ques­tion whether they have a basis in real­i­ty, and con­sid­er the the like­ly impact of those that do.

Let’s begin with a sta­ple of beer com­men­tary for the past 25 years or so: the  per­ils of the pur­suit of nov­el­ty.

Con­tin­ue read­ing “Don’t Wor­ry, Be (Most­ly) Hap­py”