BBF’s version, available in 440ml cans, actually pours stubbornly clear, or at least only faintly hazy. It has vanilla in the aroma and, of course, a bunch of banana. At 5%, it’s not as strong as the Schneider original – or, indeed, as most standard German wheat beers.
We liked it so much we bought a box of 12 to drink at home. Perhaps others don’t share our enthusiasm, though, because it was discounted to £25.60 – about £2 per tin. At present, they don’t have any in stock.
A bigger surprise, perhaps, was Left Handed Giant’s take. We say it’s a surprise because we don’t always click with LHG beers, which often sound and look better than they taste.
LHG Hefeweizen is another 5%-er and, we gather, is regularly available at their colossal, rather impressive brewpub-taproom at Finzel’s Reach, on the site of the old Courage brewery.
We found it on draught at The Swan With Two Necks and Ray (the bigger wheat beer fan of the two of us anyway) loved it so much he stuck on it for the entire session.
Our notes say ‘pretty convincing… less banana, more strawberry’. The point is, though, that it isn’t a ‘twist’ on the style; it doesn’t have fruit, or unusual hops, or breakfast cereal. It’s a straight-up, honest beer.
The same might be said for Good Chemistry’s punningly-named Weiss City, also with an ABV of 5% (was there a memo?), and on draught at their taproom the last couple of times we’ve been.
To underline the point we made at the start of this post, here’s how it looks alongside their session IPA, Kokomo Weekday, which is at the back:
We’re not sure we’d know it wasn’t an authentic German product if we were served it blind, in appropriate glassware.
That is a problem, of course: all the examples above were served in standard UK pint glasses, with little room for the customary meringue-whip head.
German wheat beer is more subtle than we had realised — an end-of-level-boss technical challenge for brewers. Too much of those characteristic aromas and flavours and it tips over into caricature, or just becomes sickly. Despite looking dirty, it actually needs to be really clean to work: acidity knocks it right off course, and there’s no room for funk or earthiness. The carbonation has to be exactly calibrated, too, or the beer simply flops: bubbles are body.
It feels as if perhaps things have moved along since then. But until we drink these Bristol beers alongside, say, Franziskaner (bang at the centre of the style in our minds) then it’s hard to say for sure.
Our local Pub & Club News, printed on folded and stapled sheets of A4 in black-and-white, is a reminder of a world where beer isn’t everything. From roast dinners to rock music, pubs are about so much more.
We like to pick up a copy of PNCN, as it’s sometimes abbreviated, whenever we come across it. It’s usually stacked on a table or shelf near the door, shouting out “FREE ISSUE – PLEASE TAKE ONE!” from the cover.
It might be alongside the local CAMRA magazine, Pints West, or perhaps with a pile of flyers advertising a local hair salon.
We found the most recent edition, for May 2022, volume 32, issue 361, at The Horseshoe in Downend, and flipped through it as we drank Greene King IPA and ate deep-fried snacks.
It’s almost entirely made up of advertisements with just the bare minimum amount of editorial material. That includes a report on the performance of Yate Town FC and notes on the Chipping Sodbury and Yate Ladies’ Darts League:
Congratulations to everybody who took part this year. This was our first time back since 2020 and we were all a little out of practice but I think we all enjoyed getting back on the oche and seeing friends again.
The ads are where the real interest lies, though, giving publicans space to set out what they believe makes their pub special.
What that isn’t, generally, is real ale. In the whole publication there are only a couple of mentions of CAMRA and – remember this? – Cask Marque.
Instead, the emphasis tends to be on the ethos…
Gilly and Dave’s motto is ‘Come in as a Stranger, leave as a Friend’
Lynne and Steve welcome customers old and new
Brendan, Becky & team offer a warm welcome to all
Ang, Ian & staff offer a warm welcome to all
Jemma, James & staff offer a warm welcome to all
…or the food…
SUNDAY ROAST DELIVERED TO YOUR DOOR Small £7 Medium £9.50 X/Large £13.50
BEST PLACE TO GET YOUR THATCHERS SLUSH AND FROZEN DAIQUIRI
THATCHERS INFUSED CIDERS NOW ON-SALE HERE!! Dark Berry, Bloody Orange and Cloudy Lemon
Why not book a PROSECCO BRUNCH! Unlimited Prosecco for 2 hours and a beautifully fresh Ploughman’s lunch
Full selection of flavoured Gins and Sambucas
Serving ‘Probably the cheapest beer in the village’
Penny puddings! 1p for dessert!
Refreshing offers – all day, everyday, *new* Heineken Silver – 2 for £5 in May
Serving Tribute @ £2 a pint!!!
…or facilities and events…
Large family beer garden, heated patio area, bird aviary, meerkats and rabbits for the children to enjoy!
EVERY TUESDAY EVENING AMERICAN TRUCKS CAR SHOW GATES OPEN 6PM – FREE ENTRY BBQ & MUSIC FROM ALEX Large garden for displaying vehicles Everyone and bikes welcome
JOIN US FOR THE QUEEN’S PLATINUM JUBILEE CELEBRATIONS
KARAOKE with DJ GRAVY
LIVE MUSIC with WHISKEY CHASERS and music with SIZZLING DAVE
ROCKABILLY NIGHT with THE RHYTHM SLICKS and DJs Slugs and Alex
KLEZMER SESSION (8pm) (Balkan/Gypsy)
DJ DAMPY (3pm)
What comes across is the sheer amount of effort people are putting in to keep their pubs and communities buzzing and alive.
There’s evidence of diversification into takeaway and home delivery, for example, while others have side hustles – “Why not visit the Plant Barn adjacent to the pub?” – and niches: “Four dart oches… Dart teams required.”
And these ads, in their chaotic, Victorian circus poster style, are alluring.
They make us want to visit – to hear the ska bands, eat the cream teas, see the meerkats; to come as strangers and leave as friends.
When you’re faced with overwhelming choice, you need a strategy. Last weekend, we adapted an approach that’s worked with Belgian beer lists to help us choose which pubs to visit.
For beer, it goes like this:
drink something completely new to us
something we’ve not drunk for a long time
and one that’s a stone cold classic
In category two you’ll often find things like Charles Quint or the various Duvel knockoffs. They’re beers we don’t remember especially fondly, or at all.
Category three is where you find Duvel itself, Westmalle Tripel, de la Senne, De Ranke, and so on.
This really works for us as it balances our desire to try new things with our increasing unwillingness to waste alcohol units on something we have to slog through – especially when the best beer in the world is so readily available.
For pubs, we hoped, the same might hold true.
We still have between 50 and 100 new pubs to visit for our #EveryPubInBristol challenge. Covid killed our momentum on this and we’ve been struggling to pick it up again.
The problem is, they’re increasingly far flung; rarely near each other (or, indeed any other pubs at all); and, let’s be honest, not particularly attractive from the outside.
However, we probably do better at visiting completely new pubs than revisiting ones that for whatever reason we just didn’t click with.
There’s been many a time when we’ve finished a visit to a new pub, and said something like “That was fine, wasn’t it? If we lived round here we’d come here more often.”
Which means, in practice, that we never go again.
But pubs do change ownership and direction, sometimes for worse, sometimes very much for better, and we know we could be missing out on some newly-polished gems by sticking to reliable favourites.
To put the theory into practice, we planned a trip to Southville which would include The Avon Packet (new to us), The Old Bookshop (we went once in 2018) and then a city centre favourite, to be confirmed based on how the afternoon had gone.
This was a great success.
We’d heard various positives about The Avon Packet even though it doesn’t look all that welcoming from the wrong side of the heavy net curtains. Anything could be going on in there.
We came in as the server was part way through the biggest bank holiday lager-and-chaser order of all time. That gave us time to take in the decor, barely changed from the photo in our 1975 pub guide.
Flat Bass (Ray) and creamy Guinness (Jess) duly obtained we went out into the unexpectedly huge and bird-filled garden. There is a duck enclosure and, possibly due to the supply of feed, a deafening chatter of birds from the nearby hedge.
The atmosphere was great and the pub very much ‘proper’ making this yet another great example of why we do #EveryPubInBristol – to make sure we don’t overlook hidden gems through sheer laziness or cowardice.
When we visited The Old Bookshop almost four years ago we wrote a note: “Is it a pub? More like a cool bar in Kazimierz.” (Think Krakow’s answer to Shoreditch.) We can’t remember what we drank but the fact we didn’t write anything down suggests it didn’t especially grab us.
We’d heard the offer had been revamped, however, so were hopeful of an interesting round or two. But we weren’t expecting to like it as much as we did.
We’d assumed that the relaunch of a bar in trendy Southville might mean more cans from breweries like Deya and Cloudwater – not our thing.
We were totally wrong.
What we found was a small, well-curated and varied beer list, including Tegernsee Helles, De Ranke XX, a cask beer from Elusive, and an enormous range of lovingly described ciders and, er, mezcals.
It isn’t cheap. Tegernsee was towards £6 a pint, for example. But there is a house ale at just over £4 and third-of-a-pint measures are available. More to the point, a lot of thought and care has clearly gone into this list and its presentation.
The place had been opened out, too. There’s now some pavement seating and a lot more air and light inside. The bar is, still, slightly bizarrely, an old piano.
We stayed for a second round and considered a third, thus immediately promoting it into the category three. Wanting to complete our plan, however, we headed into town to the Llandoger Trow.
This is a pub that has similarly made the transition for us from ‘once in a blue moon’ to regular haunt.
It’s fascinating because the crowd is the same as before, and the location puts it squarely on the route of stag dos and pub crawls, but the beer offer is probably the best in Bristol right now in terms of range.
Lager is a speciality, in all its forms, including Märzens, Weissbiers and Dunkels.
There’s enough local keg to keep visitors happy but also four real ale taps, usually including at least one northern classic. This time it was Plum Porter. That promise will keep us coming back for a good while yet.
The neighbourhoods of Barton Hill, Lawrence Hill and Redfield in East Bristol are something of a graveyard for pubs, it turns out. On Wednesday 16 March, I attended the wake.
The Barton Hill History Group, itself founded in a pub in 1983, tracks changes, gathers information, and engages the community in the collection of memories.
A talk at a local social club was part of that process of outreach.
In his introduction local historian Andrew Jones explained how, by the 1960s, the number of pubs in Barton Hill had dwindled to a mere eight. Then, with eyes wide, he asked the audience: “How many pubs are there now?”
A collective sigh-groan went up.
Mention of the closure of The Rhubarb in 2020, the last pub in the area, was greeted with similar mournful sounds.
Those continued throughout the evening, occasionally mixed with cries of wistful delight.
One thing Mr Jones and his colleague David Cheesley did especially well was to use pubs as anchor points for explaining how the very shape of the streets has changed.
Great Western Road, for example, named for the enormous cotton works, no longer exists.
Once an important arterial road, its line was broken when flats were built in the post-war period.
Now only its tail-end, Great Western Lane, survives.
Of its three pubs – the upper, middle and lower houses, as they were known – only The Lord Nelson can be seen today, in the final stages of conversion to flats.
When a picture of The Lord Nelson in its prime appeared on the screen, there was a ripple through the crowd.
Grey and white-haired audience members remembered drinking there relatively recently.
They also recalled their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers visiting – and scrapping in the street outside.
Mr Cheesley’s photographs are remarkably unremarkable.
He took most of them himself between the 1980s and the present and many have that inherently nostalgic quality that comes with images shot on film.
A picture of a Ford Cortina parked outside a tatty looking pub, cast in a warm Kodak glow, feels like a window through time – not to Great Events but to everyday life.
Other pictures, often in black-and-white, he retrieved from the waste bin at the council planning office where he worked for decades.
Taken for valuation purposes, usually shortly before pubs were demolished, they’re less vivid but arguably more valuable.
They capture pubs that disappeared in the 1960s and 70s, including those on streets that were sacrificed for The Roundabout.
Oh, The Roundabout – the villain of the piece, mention of which caused members of the audience to boo and mutter.
Bristol’s post-war redevelopment put cars first. If that meant breaking important roads in two, severing community connections, and demolishing street after street, so be it.
The Lawrence Hill Roundabout is a great crater in the ground surrounded by tower blocks.
It used to be where Lawrence Hill joined the city centre: a major road lined with shops, churches and factories, with terraces and backstreets behind. Now, it’s a void.
Several pubs went too, of course, including what strikes Jess and me as perhaps the most significant loss: The Glass House on Lawrence Hill, knocked down in 1969.
Whereas many of the other lost pubs were fairly modest, The Glass House was a substantial main road gin-palace-type pub, of which Bristol has relatively few surviving examples.
For the Barton Hill History Group, there’s a particular frustration: how can there be no photos of the interior of such a well-loved, well-remembered, well-photographed pub?
“We had our wedding reception there!” shouted one elderly woman.
“I used to go to the pigeon loft!”
“There used to be a big pair of horns above the bar – the Buffs!”
But nobody said, “I’ve got an album full of pictures.”
Maybe none will ever turn up. Maybe none were ever taken, because who on earth took a camera to an ordinary working class pub in the 1960s?
(This is a general problem for pub historians. If you have photos of pub interiors from before about 1980, do find a way to share them.)
As pints of cider, lager and Old Speckled Hen went down, audience participation became more frequent:
“The skittle alley there was bloody terrible – you could throw it right down the middle and it would always go left or bloody right.”
“It was only small but they used to have a dancefloor there anyway.”
To my surprise, the pub that got perhaps the strongest reaction of the entire night was The St George’s Hall, a recently-closed Wetherspoon pub on Church Road.
It wasn’t an attractive pub – not a JDW flagship – nor especially historic.
But as the older pubs closed, one by one, or hippified and gentrified, it’s perhaps understandable that ‘Spoons became an important community hub. It was somewhere everyone could afford to drink.
Towards the end of the night, there was some grumbling about “demographic changes”.
The reason the pubs have gone, the argument goes, is that there are too many people in the area who don’t drink, or don’t drink in pubs.
We don’t really buy that.
But if you do, here’s a thought experiment: if you could click your fingers and fill every flat and house in East Bristol with white working class families, how many pubs could the area support?
Probably no more than it has now. Probably fewer.
Nobody has any money – and the fact is that the days when people spent multiple nights per week at their local have passed.
In the meantime, the venue for the talk, The Board Mill Social Club, allows something of that ‘traditional’ pub life to go on.
On a Wednesday night in March there was a game of skittles underway, a crowd around the bar, and a buzz in the air. With ale at £3 a pint, and no real alternative, you can forgive a bit of utilitarian clubland decor.
There are also some cautiously optimistic noises in the campaign to save The Rhubarb with multiple credibly parties apparently interested in running it as a pub.
Barton Hill might not be able to support eight pubs but surely there are enough drinkers to keep one alive.
On Saturday 8 March 1975, a 16-year-old boy wrote an autobiographical note on a piece of thin chipboard and concealed it in the skittle alley at The Lord Nelson pub in Barton Hill, Bristol.
Gary Wait wrote this on 8.3.1975 I am 16, I am pretty tall, I have blue eyes and dark blonde hair. I came down here, the Lord Nelson, 3 times a week to stick up. I had 1 pound a night. I wrote this so some day I might find it and read it. I am doing this job so I can pay off some money I owe on my moped, I got £117 to pay. My favourite uncle is Tony Wait he’s the one who helped me when I was in trouble with my bike. I am going to hide this so if I find this is will bring back some happy times.
We’ve written about sticking up before but for those who don’t know about West Country skittles, here’s a recap: when two pub teams get together to play, they pay local lads to sit in a sort of cubby hole at the far end of the skittle alley and pop out to stand up the pins between turns.
Unfortunately, The Lord Nelson has been closed for some years and is in the process of being turned into flats – hence our desire to see the nearby Rhubarb Tavern survive.
The process of refurbishment and partial demolition is how we know about Gary’s note. Workers in the process of taking apart the skittle alley found it and it was shared on local Facebook groups – did anyone know Gary?