Follow the Elephant

The first time I visited Amsterdam, in 2011, I know nothing of Huyghe’s Delirium Tremens. It rained constantly on that trip, and there’s little that I find more frustrating than getting to know a new city in the pouring rain. The first night, upon leaving one bar to move onto another, I noticed a sign jutting out from the side of the building. A pink elephant, glowing brightly against a sky blue background, and some elegant lettering above the image, which I couldn’t read, since fat raindrops on my glasses obscured my vision.

“That’s how we’ll get back to this point” I said. “We’ll just remember to look out for this elephant sign. Follow the elephant.” Landmarks are precious in unfamiliar cities. Recognizable sights are the difference between a short drunken stumble and a long, bumbling one, with too many wrong turns. Of course, it’s important to make sure that the chosen object is indeed novel, and not something that may pop up on every corner.

Too late into the evening, I realized that the elephant was not the symbol of one bar, but in fact the symbol of a beer, made by a brewery more than a hundred miles away, in Melle, Belgium. Upon discovering my mistake, tasting it for myself seemed like the only sensible response. I’d had several beers already by this point, and still didn’t know the name of what I wanted to order. In the next bar, I pointed at the handle bearing the same whimsical design. The bartender produced a tulip glass scattered with tiny pink elephants, and poured me a glass of blond beer. It had all the fruity and spicy esters that I’d expect from a Belgian beer, and I liked it immediately, so much so that I learned the name so that I may ask for another. However, I hadn’t noted the 8.5% abv, and by the time I’d emptied my glass, I had forgotten again.

A couple of years later, when visiting Belgium for the first time, I sought out more Delirium, this time sampling the Delirium Nocturnum. Reddish brown with an off-white foamy head. Aromas of caramel, licorice and coriander. Roasted malt and a crisp bitter finish. Once again, far too easy to drink for its 8.5% abv. And once again, I eventually made it back to my hotel in an unfamiliar city, even without following the elephant, though the details of how meandering that journey became are lost to the night.

I enjoyed a glass of Delirium Nocturnum again recently, for the first time in a long while. At least this time, my stumble to bed was mercifully short.

Ghost of a Pub

When I used to live in southeast London, in a sort of no-man’s land between Greenwich and Deptford, there was an old shuttered pub that I would walk by often. It was called The Thames (and reportedly the Rose and Crown in an earlier iteration, until the 1980s). It was just over the creek bridge, on a corner. The building was three stories high, and one imagines that it must have seemed quite tall and imposing before all the new developments sprung up around it. Despite being dwarfed by newer buildings, it still drew the eye effortlessly. The beige bricks were the type that my junior school was built from; hardy and tough, and all the more beautiful for their wear and tear. I enjoyed looking at the little imperfections, the chips and stains, the black marks and discolourations. I liked to wonder about the stories of how they got there, and also imagine all the damage that the place avoided and chaos it survived, across two wars and everything before, in between, and after.

A friend who still lives in the area let me know last year that the place was gone for good, and a little bit of internet digging revealed that it has been bulldozed to make way for flats. It’s hard to process my feelings about things like this. With an ongoing housing crisis in London, there’s a huge need for (affordable) housing, and by that token, it’s inevitable that some long abandoned buildings must bite the dust. The place had been closed since the 1990s, after all. Even so, the ruthlessness with which such forgotten landmarks are sometimes removed still stings. Riverside bars in the ground floors of nearby new shiny glass developments have opened up, but simply don’t have the same charm.

The removal of these pubs – even when they are ghosts of their former glory – does more than scrub out their past. I’m not only thinking of days gone by whenever I stop to look at ‘ghost pubs’ like this one; I’m thinking about what they could be in the future, too. When I passed The Thames pub on grey and rainy days, I imagined the cold, dank interior behind the bricks being filled with warmth again. Damp patches long since repainted, walls bearing old photos and tankard displays once more. Glowing energy seeping from the doorway as a tipsy drinkers bumps into me on the path as they leave. People drinking and laughing, making new memories, leaving new marks.

Lockdown booze, but festive – Part 2

Well, here we are. It doesn’t really feel like the most wonderful time of the year this time around, does it? Many of us aren’t quite having the Christmas that we had in mind this year. Right now, I’m missing bustling pubs with bad carpets and wooden bar counters stained with beer from the mugs of drinkers from days gone by. Wherever you are, I hope that you have a fireplace to hunker down next to and something nice to drink. Perhaps a cute cat or dog to pet as you do so, if that’s your thing.

This week, I’ve been in the mood for rich, dark, boozy beers, and Belgian styles certainly fit the bill. Here’s what I’ve been drinking.

St Bernardus Christmas Ale
I’d heard so many great things about this one, I had to try it myself, and it didn’t disappoint. An aroma of dark chocolate, winter spice and burnt coffee greeted me as a swirled it, and the foam laced beautifully. Herb and clove flavours leave a gentle tingle in the centre of the tongue. It’s rich and warming, with a full mouthfeel and a long finish that you’d expect from an Abbey Ale. Worryingly, this is far more drinkable than the 10% abv should allow.

St Bernardus Christmas Ale

Unibroue Trois-Pistoles

This is a great take on a dark Belgian ale from this Canadian brewery. It has all the fruity esters you’d expect from a Belgian yeast strain, and a smooth mouthfeel with powerful notes of plums and winter spice. It’s medium bodied with reasonably high carbonation and the finish is dry.

What’s on my non-beer Christmas booze menu?

I’ll be drinking Buck’s Fizz on Christmas morning, Tempranillo with my Christmas lunch paella (a few years old tradition in my household), and egg nog with homemade mince pies.

For cocktail hour, I’ve recently been enjoying gin martinis – made with equal measures of Bombay Sapphire gin and Noilly Prat vermouth for a slightly less boozy gin martini – garnished with a (not too dirty) green olive. I’ve also just purchased some pastis for the first time in years, mostly because I’ve just finished watching the Queen’s Gambit (brilliant, opulent drama, highly recommended) and it reminded me of how elegant I feel when sipping pastis and iced water from my most ornate glass.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Christmas Beers To Pair With Lockdown – Part 1

The Christmas season is different for a lot of us in 2020. Last year I blogged about a favourite tradition of a cold walk to the pub on Christmas Day; sadly not something that I’ll be able to do this year. To compensate somewhat, I have resolved to try plenty of Christmas ales at home, and over the coming weeks, I will be sharing some of my favourite festive brews of the season. Whilst there is no substitute for a cosy seat next to the fireplace of a bustling pub, that will have to wait until next year. I’m sure I won’t be the only one who will be a least a little relieved to toast the end of 2020 in a few weeks time.

Cheers all!

Bell’s – Christmas Ale
I loved the colour of this one as soon as I poured it. The deep, rich cranberry hue reminds me of hand-pulled pints of ruby ales in cosy pubs. This is quite a bit more boozy than a typical sessionable ruby ale at 7.5%, and is classified as a scotch ale. That said, it drinks easier and smoother than most scotch ales I’ve tried; not too punchy or overly rich. It has aromas of blackcurrant, and a long, fruity finish laced with subtle caramel notes with a full and rounded mouthfeel. Delightful.

Clausthaler – Holiday Brew
I was pleasantly surprised by the full mouthfeel of this for a non-alcoholic beer. Rich and warming, with intense lingering cinnamon and red fruit flavours. A perfect way to ease into a winter drinking session or take a break between heady brews.

Sierra Nevada – Celebration IPA
This is probably one of my favourite beers that I’ve tried for the first time this year, which might have something to do with the fact that my first sip was on the day of the US election result. Intense bitterness cuts perfectly across toast and caramel malt notes, for a long finish with hints of pine and melon.

Anchor Brewing Co – Our Special Ale
This sumptuous dark beer starts with a little bit of cinnamon on the nose, then black pepper and winter spices on the palate with a lingering hint of peppermint. Best consumed under a blanket for maximum warm, comfortable, tingly joy.

Clausthaler kindly sent me a sample to try. I was not paid by anyone for this piece, and the reviews above represent my own opinions.

Sitting on top of the world

On the way to the little clearing in the Jemez where we would camp for the night, my ears popped. Snaking along gravel switchback roads, we climbed further and further towards our summit – 9,000 feet above sea level. My husband and I were in our VW, following our friends in their much more suitable off-road vehicle.

“It’s not much further” they told us on the walkie-talkie.

We’d passed phone signal range some miles back. Mine was already in airplane mode, and just the thought of not getting any news push notifications for the next 24 hours was thrilling. As we reached the top of the road and I saw the view for the first time, I felt my heart quicken as it seemed to press outwards and warm my chest. I needed this.

The last few months, needless to say, have been tough for us all. With social events cancelled and our usual support networks stripped away, it can be exhausting to find special and relaxing moments in the current pandemic-ridden world. In the ‘before times’, planning fun things gave me energy. Arranging holidays is a hobby and researching the best new places to get drinks or dinner is part of my love language. Naturally, I’ve felt adrift due to not being able to plan very much at all at the moment. I feel guilty when I mope about this, because I know that I have a lot to be grateful for. We’ve all had to learn new ways to find our joy.

As a person who suffers from pretty bad Seasonal Affective Disorder, I feel incredibly fortunate to be in a place where it’s sunny all day, every day right now. With the nights gradually getting cooler, I knew that the window to camp was closing, and I hoped that a socially distanced wild camping trip would be just the lift that I needed.

Our friends already knew the way to the spot, so there wasn’t much for me to plan apart from layered clothes, car snacks and the more efficient way to stack the cooler full of beer. I cracked open a can of aptly named Happy Camper IPA whilst setting up the tent. Thanks to some practice a few weeks ago in the Pecos, I made light work of it in about ten minutes. I joined the others to gather rocks and kindling to build a firepit. We got it lit right as the sun dipped out of the sky, as though resting on the edge of the world. Then, dinner cooked on a Colman grill, more beer and conversation, marshmallows and laughter all around when I burnt mine to a crisp. Open skies and enough frenetic energy to keep us all warm as the fire died down.

As we stamped out the last of the embers, I heard someone whisper ‘look up’. The galaxy twinkled overhead, as though the stars were flecks of wet paint, some of which had been smudged across a black canvas. I rolled out a picnic blanket and lay down on the ground to gaze at the glittering sky through the trees.

Prost in place: Drinking to Oktoberfest at home

Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Oktoberfest is sadly cancelled this year for the 25th time in its history, and Theresienwiese (Theresa’s Meadow) in the west part of the city of Munich will stand empty of its usual jolly guests. Fortunately, it’s easy to obtain delicious Oktoberfest-style beers to enjoy at home.

Only 6 breweries pour at the annual Oktoberfest event in Munich, but breweries around the world create German-style beers each year in celebration of the famous festival. So what exactly is ‘Oktoberfest’ beer? The style that is served at the modern day Oktoberfest event is called ‘Märzen’ (meaning brewed in the month of March). It is a bottom-fermented lager made with Munich and Vienna malts, typically golden to amber in colour. Each brewery has their own unique take on Oktoberfest beer.

I decided to have my own little Oktoberfest from home, sampling some of the German classics, American takes, and finally something that might satisfy those that aren’t lager fans. Prost!

Paulaner Oktoberfest Bier (6.0% abv)
This is the only beer that is served at the Paulaner beer tents at the modern Oktoberfest event. It’s golden in colour with a gentle hop fragrance and drinks like a full-flavoured lager. This beer is tasty but a little too gassy for me. I could imagine getting hiccups after a stein or two.

Paulaner Oktoberfest Märzen (5.8% abv)
This amber-coloured beer is more full-bodied and rich than the modern Oktoberfest offering from Paulaner, and seems to me like it would be more sessionable. The full mouthfeel and robust biscuit notes give way to a smooth finish with a hint of caramel and fruit.

Spaten Premium Lager (5.2% abv)
Sadly I wasn’t able to get hold of the Spaten Oktoberfest offering, so I treated myself to some of their lager instead. For me, it’s everything that a great lager should be; rounded mouthfeel, bready notes with a soft hop aroma, and a crisp and refreshing finish.

Santa Fe Brewing Oktoberfest (6.0% abv)
A solid take on the classic Märzen style, this drinks clean and crisp, on the lighter-bodied end of the Märzen spectrum. This beer ends with sweet biscuit undertones a bit like sucking on a Digestive. Overall, lovely.

Sierra Nevada Brewing Oktoberfest (6.0% abv)
Full mouthful, rich toasty malts, but definitely hoppier than I’d expect a German Oktoberfest beer to be. I enjoyed the surprisingly floral aroma and fruity tones to this beer, though I would say that this is the least authentic of the ‘festbiers’ that I tasted.

Wallenpaupack Brewing Oktoberfest (5.9% abv)
Amber in colour, this beer is well-rounded and very drinkable, with a robust mouthfeel and lingering bitter finish. Another great American take on the Oktoberfest Märzen.

Schöfferhofer Hefeweizen Grapefruit (2.5% abv)
I enjoyed this a lot more than I expected to. It begins with intensely juicy aroma, then a sharp kick at the sides of the tongue which gives way to balanced sweetness, rounded mouthfeel and a lingering bitterness. Fans of Tangfastics and orange Tic Tacs will love this. This also works well served tall with a splash of Campari and plenty of ice.

Disclaimer: Paulaner, Wallenpaupack and Schöfferhofer kindly sent me these samples to try. I was not paid by anyone for this piece, and the reviews above represent my own opinions.

Trial and error with homemade cider

I was sat at the dining table pouring over some editing – and as it happens, eating an apple – when my phone buzzed and I saw a text from my next door neighbor. Their apple tree was working overtime, producing more fruit than they could chop and freeze for future pies, and would I like to take some of it to make cider?

I had never made cider, even from a kit, but I decided that there was no better time than during the time soup of lockdown to try to learn, even if it meant making some mistakes along the way.

After spending a bit of time looking up beginners recipes for homemade cider, I arrived at my neighbor’s house to find the garden lawn scattered with apples. I gathered up as many apples as I could carry and got back to the kitchen to set to work. After rising the apples, I set about quartering them and removing the cores. Some had bruises and wormholes, which meant that special attention was needed when preparing them, taking an extra moment to slice off the black or rotten bits. I decided that I would stick as many apples as would fit in the slow cooker for softening – it was a red hot day and I didn’t really fancy creating a ton of excess heat on the stove top. I put the apples in on high, along with 3/4 a cup (150g) of sugar and enough water to cover (I could fit about 9 cups, or a couple of litres, without the slowcooker overflowing). Four hours later, they were soft enough to mash with a potato masher.

I hadn’t appreciated how many apples it takes to make even a small amount of cider; it’s a LOT. Having generated a somewhat disappointing volume of strained liquid from my softened-then-mashed apple and water mixture, I wondered if I might have messed up the water ratio. A quick Google revealed that a whopping 20lb is standardly required to produce about a gallon (3.7 litres) of cider. I used to think that handling brewing grain was cumbersome, but making cider from scratch at home has given me a whole new appreciation for how hard cidermakers and orchardists work to produce beautiful craft ciders.

My intent for my first batch was to try spontaneous fermentation, but unfortunately this never got off the ground. After a few days of checking on the cheesecloth-covered wide-mouth jar in the fermentation fridge (giving it a good stir each time), I wasn’t seeing any signs of yeasty life. Eventually I gave in and decided to taste a little of the (almost certainly 0% ABV) cider. Naturally it was a little too sweet given the excess sugar that had not been converted.

Not to be deterred by the failed attempt at using wild yeast, I acquired a cider yeast from the local homebrew store and set about making a scaled-up batch, this time on the stovetop. Naturally, the apples softened much faster thanks to the direct heat, and after a cool off in an ice bath in the sink, it was time to strain through a fine mesh sieve into my sanitized fermenter. It went straight into the fermentation fridge held around 66F (18.9C).

After two weeks, I bottled it and put it straight into the fridge. Final gravity reading suggests an ABV of 4%. I tried a little glass of it at bottling stage. It has aromas of earth, funk and citrus and tastes lightly astringent like a tart lemonade, with a funky sweetness in the aftertaste. I’m looking forward to see how the flavor changes after another couple of weeks in bottles. I also have more apples on the way from my neighbor, so my adventures in cidermaking are not quite over yet!

 

 

Meet the brewery donating their first batch to key workers

There’s no such thing as a perfect time to take the plunge with starting a business, but it is hard to imagine a more challenging one than during the COVID-19 pandemic. That’s exactly how it worked out for Nick, owner of Steel Brew Co in Plymouth, UK. Within a day of getting the power switched on at his brand new taproom, located in the stunning Grade 1* listed Melville building in the historic Royal William yard, the government ordered the shutdown of businesses.

Like many participants in the recent craft beer boom across the UK, Nick started as a home brewer. His background is in management and IT, and he is still working his day job alongside running the business. After spending last summer out and about in the community doing pop-up events, he decided to commit to opening his taproom and brewery premises.

Nick told me that the whole experience has been a huge learning curve, particularly because he’d never used a six barrel system before. By the time the first brew day for Steel in their new premises arrived, the supply chain had almost collapsed. “I had this moment where I thought, I can either go for it or not, and if I don’t, I don’t know when I will” Nick said. “It seemed a very fitting sentiment to give whatever we produced to key workers.”

Giving away free beer may sound simple, but Nick explained that the logistics of getting the beer to some businesses has presented challenges. “Getting into the NHS has been really difficult” he noted.

The beer to be donated gets packaged for distribution using cardboard milk containers. It takes Nick about 40 mins to pour 100 units. Then, he and his wife and dog hop in the car to make the deliveries. Nick explained that they have deliberately kept their team small to limit risk. On one delivery run, Nick and team arrived at a local Parcel Force depot, and the guy who came out thought it was a joke. “It felt like a really positive thing to do” Nick smiled.

As Nick tells me of the taproom, which uses recycled pallet furniture and an open-plan layout, with no screen between the seating area and brewing equipment, I’m eager to visit. The space he has selected perfectly lends itself to this open concept, which for me is reminiscent of the breweries of Portland, Oregon. “If someone was sat at bar space next to the brewing equipment and I’m cleaning, we’ll have to put a sign up saying ‘please don’t wear a nice shirt’” Nick joked.

Nick is optimistic about the future, despite the strange beginnings for his venture, and thinks that the southwest of the UK is ripe for expansion of the craft beer industry. He talks of bringing in a head brewer once he is ready to grow the operation, but is clear that it won’t quite be ‘business as usual’ in the way that he initially imagined it for quite some time. “We keep talking about when the lockdown is lifted, as if that’s going to be a single thing. It isn’t.”

Luckily, Nick has plenty of ideas about how to adapt to the new reality, like click-and-collect style orders, and setting specific timeslots for beer pick-ups to assist with social distancing. “I’m really looking forward to seeing how it all unfolds.”

Burnt biscuits and perfect timing

I’ve been thinking a lot about time management recently. In particular, the art of staying on top of things. Paradoxically, this can sometimes seem more of a challenge when time stretches out before me, seemingly limitless and unpunctuated. A little pressure to juggle multiple things is often needed for me to be maximally efficient with my time. I pride myself on once getting ready for work at a conference in Stockholm in precisely eight minutes, after waking up at a boutique hotel with one of the top five worst hangovers of my life. In contrast, nothing seems to be a more foolproof way to make me exactly five minutes late than having the luxury of an entire morning to get ready.

In lockdown, there’s new rhythms to contend with. Many of us are trying to fathom how and why we feel less efficient than ever, despite having fewer places to be and fewer things to do. My usual habit of taking on too many tasks at once like a cheerful circus plate-spinner has no place in this reality. I’ve begun to learn to let go of the frenetic energy which usually serves me well when I need to do five things at once, and really focus on doing just one. It hasn’t been easy. I want to become someone who can live like this longer term; someone who can actively choose focus and reduced background noise over chaos, even the organised kind.

It will take a while until this new version of me can reach full effectiveness. Right now, things keep popping up which I’ve neglected to do. Last weekend, I suddenly remembered the leftover stout that I bottled in early December. Typically, I like to taste homebrews fortnightly throughout their drinkable lifespan. I absorb the data hungrily and feed it into my ever-growing spreadsheet of recipe footnotes, all designed to make each new batch better than the last. This time, I had simply forgotten.

Tentatively, I cracked it open and poured it into a tulip glass. As I went to take the first sip, I was met with a sweet and roasted aroma of slightly burnt biscuits; the sort that have been removed from the oven a couple of moments too late, but not so late that they are spoilt. These were my favourite kind as a child; treacle-coloured edges, blackened raisins, a satisfying crunch from the first bite.

By the time I finished drinking my homebrew, I had no idea if it was the best of the batch or not, and I didn’t write down anything about it. A week later, I’m still thinking about that first aroma, redolent of my haphazard childhood baking days. It was a reminder that not everything has to happen perfectly on my strict invented schedule in order to be successful or enjoyable. Time doesn’t have to be my enemy, even when a little of it slips through my fingers.

Pining for pubs

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I have not enjoyed a beverage of any kind in a pub, bar, taproom, cafe or restaurant for over a week. It’s a strange feeling.

I am, of course, supporting local breweries by buying take-out growlers and crowlers. I’ve made a particular effort to support those that don’t have any distribution to local bottle shops and grocery stores. In addition, I’ve tried my best to order the beers that needed drinking the soonest. That Czech-style lager I had my eye on will still be there in a couple of weeks in excellent form, but the delicious NEIPA I devoured at the weekend won’t weather the closures quite so well.

It has been fantastic to support local businesses; I count myself incredibly lucky to live close to so many wonderful breweries and to have the means to throw them a little custom during this trying time. That said, I miss grabbing a drink out and about. Going to brewery taprooms, pubs and bars is never just about the beer. It’s a bookend to a day, a chance to watch the world go by, and a way to share an experience with someone.

Right now, even turning up in-person to buy the beer to take away can’t emulate any of that. The taprooms are eerily quiet, and my order echoes around the room. The poor staff look as exhausted from it all as I look and feel too. I try my best to offer my sympathies, and ensure to tip generously. Knowing I’m giving my support to local business is a good feeling; just not nearly as good a feeling as if I was able to stick around.

I keep thinking about some of my favorite pubs back in the UK and trying to imagine them empty. For places like the Harp, which I’ve never seen any less than bustling, even on a Monday lunchtime, it’s near impossible to envisage.

Right now, the uncertainty is the scariest part. No one knows quite when all will be back to normal in our various corners of the globe. All I know is how much I’m going to enjoy sitting on a bar stool, chatting to friends and strangers alike, and listening to the warm, comforting hum of voices swirl around the room again.