Here’s all the writing about beer and pubs that grabbed our attention in the past week, from Cumbria to country pubs.
First, the news that Halewood, which owns Hawkshead Brewery in Cumbria, is moving production from Staveley to Flookburgh. This has caused some local stink but also some sadness in the beer world. Why? Well, see Dave Infante’s piece immediately below for some broader context but, in short, breweries divorced from a specific place seem to lose something. And breweries that get taken over often get moved when it becomes convenient to do so.
For VinePair Dave Infante has further questions of ‘localness’ looking at how American breweries are trying to streamline their operations while retaining their craft credentials. We especially liked this:
Beer production is not innately tied to place. You can do it on any continent, with the exception of Antarctica, and people have for centuries. But beer brands… see, this is trickier. After all, breweries are jobs, and jobs build communities. Communities are innately tied to place, and people in those communities, in the U.S., at least, have taken a lot of comfort in the familiarity and proximity of local beer brands more or less since brands became a “thing” in the late 19th century… The outpouring of grief in San Francisco when Sapporo USA abruptly shut down Anchor Brewing Company last summer wasn’t for Anchor Steam as a product. We know from sales figures and reporting that people weren’t buying the beer! But the brand was another matter entirely. A long-running thread in the Bay Area’s civic fabric had been ripped out. Of course they grieved.
Franz Hofer at Tempest in a Tankard has put together a very useful guide which we’ll definitely be bookmarking: a list of beer gardens, breweries and beer halls in towns and villages near Munich. For example…
Kapplerbräu (Altomünster)… S2 terminus, about 50 minutes from Munich… Kapplerbräu occupies an elegant heritage-protected building to the northeast of the market square. If the weather sings al fresco, forego the charms of the inn and head straight to the courtyard beer garden secluded beneath shady maple trees… And what a beautiful garden idyll it is, perfect for contemplating nothing in particular. Hedges hem the courtyard on two sides, the cheery white-washed walls of the inn reflect light into the shade, and potted plants make common cause with ivy to heighten the sylvan charm. An old well sits off to the right of the entryway to the Altes Brauhaus along one of the inn’s walls, a well that once served as the source for the brewery’s water… Start off with the Export Bier, a honeyed and smoothly bittered affair. Follow it up with the Naturtrübes Helles, a refreshing glass of country bread with floral and mineral notes. Repeat for the rest of the afternoon.
At Pellicle Martin Flynn has profiled Reece Hugill and the Donzoko Brewing Company, a lager brewery in Newcastle upon Tyne in the North East of England. On the one hand… it’s a brewery profile, and you can probably guess large parts of the story. But there are some unique and interesting details:
While the surroundings and equipment were new, the type of beer he wanted to make hadn’t changed… Northern Helles had been joined by (among others) Big Foam, which Reece describes as the “director’s cut” of the former… The name hints at another enduring theme in Donzoko’s story, one which unites those elements of heritage and enjoyment: foam… Reece smiles as he selects the right words to make his point… “If you see a picture of a pint in your head…” he says. “Remember those sweets that look like pints of beer? They’re half foam!”… “It’s fun, it’s a sign of freshness and quality, it’s beautiful. That’s what I’m always trying to achieve, so my beer looks like a comic book beer for people. That’s what they’ll get at the taproom.”
Yes! Very much this! We’re getting a bit fed up of craft lagers served with 5 millimetres of foam that last for about 5 seconds.
We’re going to squeeze in a pair of pub vignettes at the end here. First, Katie Mather writes about looking at wedding dresses in a pub in London after a long schlep down from Lancashire on the coach:
My Pale is light to the touch and Citra-zingy, perfect after an afternoon of studying different cider varieties. Before I know it I’m halfway done, and I have to check myself before I wreck myself. Tonight is going to be a late one. But it’s just so delicious, so perfect in this moment. Savour it, I tell myself, knowing that I can’t. I’m not a savourer. I eat in big bites, drink in big gulps. I want the best things all in one go, now. The noise in The Robin continues to grow as it fills with larger groups, and I feel as though I’m part of the action, even though I’m on my own. I watch Deliveroo scooters and e-bikes zoom towards Crouch End, and pedestrians manoeuvre their way past each other on the packed pavement—city stuff. I don’t get any of this at home.
That’s the city but Adrian Tierney-Jones has been enjoying country pubs:
So there I was in a country pub the other day and after my second pint was struck with a memory from over 30 years ago, a recollection of the short time I once spent at the Angel in Grantham, a venerable coaching inn in a county town, whose most famous resident I can’t be bothered to mention. I was there with my then girlfriend, we had taken the train from London for the wedding of a relative of hers and, as usual, when in another town and with time to kill I suggested an early beer. As we sat there I watched people come and go and the next day I wrote in my journal of how I had briefly experienced the feeling of distancing myself from my life, of putting myself, imagining myself, in another life…
Finally, from Instagram…
(Yes, it is a good font.)
For more good reading check out Stan Hieronymus’s round-up from Monday and Alan McLeod’s from Thursday.
