Archive for the ‘porters’ Category

Why Porters Served in Highballs? I Speculate No More.
November 2, 2009

mug

Antique Children's Mug...the perfect glassware?

Why joys so scantily disburse,
Why Paradise defer,
Why floods are served to us in bowls, —
I speculate no more.

–Emily Dickinson

There has been some discussion amongst beer bloggers about glassware, especially as it pertains to the woman drinker.  I thought I had no opinion on this until last Saturday when my strong feelings on the matter ambushed me over a half of Fullers London Porter.

On Saturday I donned my bog-standard witch outfit, it being Halloween, and I sat sipping comforting, potent London Porter in the glow of many elaborate jack-o-lanterns in the Barrowboy and Banker in Borough.   I’ve only had this on tap once before, and feel slightly negligent that I’d been to this club at this grand Fuller’s pub many times and never ordered it before.  It’s intense and only slightly demanding in its heaviness, with dominant bitter chocolate as the primary front, and then lovely dried fruits round it out.  It’s not easy to drink pints of this stuff, and yet I did, even when I would have preferred to drink halves.  Why?

Glassware.  I don’t need a stemmed glass but why must halves be served in a collins glass?  This is what they put a half of London Porter in at the Barrowboy and Banker.  Perhaps I’m being too fussy and precious here but it’s as if they had given me a highball glass filled with Veno Chesty Cough. The straight-sided, thin glass didn’t permit the beer to breathe; it warmed unpleasantly in my hand and was awkward to hold.  It is the same glass they serve coke or lemonade in– it’s as if the half is just an afterthought.  Even the bar man kept insisting I really wanted a pint, didn’t I?  Perhaps due to his charm, I relented.  The pint was served in a beautiful, rounded goblet– the nose greeted you with every sip and drinking it from this bowl shape was a completely different experience.  But, size does matter, especially when it comes to something that’s 6%.  I’d just rather stick to halves, but not if I have to drink it out of a cocktail glass.

I don’t care if a glass is stemmed, though some beers are just nicer to drink from a stemmed glass. I don’t mind halves served in the mini Nonik (or bulged tube style glass), though as Zythophile points out, it isn’t the prettiest thing.  He also mentions in this fascinating post that the authentic ale mug up until WWI was a pink china pot with a white strap. (Surely Hello Kitty can pick up the patent on this and reintroduce it?  Or maybe I’m just dreaming).  I love that in Belgium every beer has a specific style of glass in which it should be served.  What would it take for UK pubs to pay more attention to how they are serving their beers?

Some pubs get it right consistently– the Old Dairy being one of them.  They serve their cask ales in the dimpled handle style.  Recently The Beer Nut sang the praises of the dimpled mug.  If I can’t drink my halves out of something like the antique children’s mug (featuring a tipsy monk) pictured above, or a Sanrio re-issue china pot, then the mini-dimple will do.  At they Old Dairy they even give you a choice.  Last night the chipper bar man asked if I wanted my (perfectly kept and delish) Exmoor Gold in a thick, fluted glass or…he paused for theatricality here before bringing out the little dimpled mug.  “It is the most feminine in glassware, I’m sure you’ll agree.  You can even hold it like this,” he suggested as he raised the glass with his little finger extended. Deportment aside, it is my glass of choice.

half-pint-glass-mug1

Extreme Beering
July 5, 2009

usa

When Mr. Malting and I moved across the pond, one of the first things we noticed was the difference in advertising.  In the UK there was a clear absence of images of SUVs driving over small cars on the motorway or dudes chugging yellow soda while snowboarding down a mountain.  In the UK, it’s all fey turtles carrying cans of cola on their backs and Vashti Bunyan singing about her Hebridean cow while hawking a phone plan.

After this weekend’s American Beer Festival at the White Horse in Parson’s Green, one could say that there is a similarly cartoonish contrast in beer.  Many British beers may ask you to be attuned to subtleties all the while courting you with a mild buzz.  American beers are flashy, with big hop-bling and alcohol percentages that will have you arm wrestling strangers before the night is up.

hopdevil_200Forget your 2.5% milds, your quaffable bitters…this weekend’s festival was beer tasting as an extreme sport. Boak had the brilliant idea to meet up at the festival in the afternoon, beating the inevitable evening crowd. I made it there first and chose to start with Victory Hop Devil, a beer I’d never tried before, but I’ve always thought the little hope creature was cute.  Palate pandaemonium!  Was I wise to start with this?  Was my palate f*cked now?  After a few sips of the warming stuff, served in a very nice brandy-shaped half pint, I stopped worrying and just embraced the intensity.

I’d almost finished when both Boak and Pete joined me. If you are going to be tackling these extremes, these are the drinking buddies you want–engaging and passionate about beer, the kind of folks who will sympathize when your half of Hop Wallop goes barn-yardy on you.  We decided we couldn’t detect the oak in the “blind taste test” between the two Arrogant Bastards on offer.  Both were tastier than AB’s I’ve had in the US.  I read that some of the beers had been extra-dry-hopped for the journey. Many were also served American-cold which, while not fridge-cold, is a few degrees colder than what in the UK is cellar temperature (which can vary wildly but sometimes is room temperature).  It might be heresy in some beer circles, but in the summer I like beer to be cold.  Really cold.

Johnny_Cask

Why can't British breweries learn a bit of marketing from the US micros?

Next, Pete suggested we try the fabled Dogfish Head 75 Minute IPA, a mixture of IPAs that have been re-fermented in their special “Johnny Cask” with maple syrup, yeast and even more hops.  It was by far my favourite of the evening with loads of tropical fruits and big hops balancing it out. In typical US fashion, the alcohol % is not advertised on the gorgeous pump clip (or anywhere else where the beer is profiled on the web…)

Sometimes alcohol percentages seem like an absurd obsession in the UK (see the controversy over Brew Dog’s 12% Tokyo).  Whereas in the US many brew pubs will serve pints of 6%+ offerings without blinking.  Indeed, the first time I had an Arrogant Bastard (that sentence sounds bad…) the place didn’t serve halves and yet most of the beers on their menu were upwards of 6%.  What would the Daily Mail say?

Luckily, the White Horse does halves, but as the sun came out and the the post-work crowd showed up, I wished they did thirds.  There were so many beers I wouldn’t be able to try because I was already getting goofy.  At one point Pete asked me if I could still taste anything!  Like a boxer you just retire to your corner, drink some water, strategize and get back into things…

Boak went to get us halves of Meantime’s London Porter. Brewer Alistair Hook playfully “[threw] down the gauntlet to the American brewers by giving drinkers a comparative taste of an extremely traditional beer, a six-month old porter vatted in the original London brewing style…”  Indeed, much of what seems new in the US is actually a reinvention of something quite old, and good American brewers know this.  Likewise, exciting UK brewers like Meantime and Brew Dog are having a beery dialogue with the US and this friendly sparring just means better beer for both sides of the pond.

I believe the London porter was Boak’s favourite; she declared it “liquid tiramisu.”  It was indeed deliciously deep– a contrast in sweet, seductive darkness next to the Dogfish Head IPA which had a sun-in-splendor brightness.  At 9.? % it was the thing that made my liver cry uncle.

But, Alastair…you haven’t won yet!  I am considering returning for another round today.

Dignity Takes a Holiday
December 10, 2008

Mr. Malting drinking lager at Butlins, ATP

Mr. Malting drinking lager at Butlins, ATP

Last weekend we went with a group of friends for a heavy metal weekend at the Butlins holiday compound in Minehead.  It was All Tomorrows’ Parties, a music festival headlined by the Melvins.  I’d never been to a Butlins before, and was even misspelling it as Buttlands (I blame my inner Beavis) until I’d seen the sign. I didn’t think about beer until I got there and was confronted with the range of mediocrity: a couple forgettable lagers, Guinness and Blackthorn cider.  The first night I drank the cider which made me feel as if I were poisoning myself, and not slowly.   I looked longingly at all the people carrying around their pints of Guinness.  Guinness is usually my choice when confronted with nitro-banalities.  I thought how bad could it be?  Guinness was my gateway beer– paving the way for my adventures in real ale.  I would drink it and feel nostalgic, right?

Wrong.  It was a terrible pint– thin, too sweet and flat.  And it cost £3.50.

The next day we went into town and stopped to get some local beer– Cotleigh and RCH, both Somerset breweries, have yet to disappoint.  I finished the Exmoor Beast (Exmoor Ales), a beer I’d enjoyed at the Twickenham Beer Festival.  It’s a straight up porter with a warming alcohol front.  I watched as Mr. Malting drank not only the Barn Owl but the Pitchfork as well… (I curse the day I coaxed him to try better beer!  That Barn Owl was mine!) I was left to bang my head to Mastadon while sober, or drink the nitro swill.

You can guess what option I chose. I wondered if the camp looked better to those who were drunk?  If really getting hammered would have lessened the feeling that we were all in a human storage unit?  If it would have dulled the flashing machines waiting to eat our money and blotted out restaurants serving ration-like food that had been dried, frozen or tinned and blanked the bars serving the same yellow lager that was soaked into the carpets. In short: beer, beer everywhere and not a drop to drink.

So, when confronted with a mediocre line-up, what is your tipple of choice?  Or, for those of you with a penchant for the heavy, what is your perfect metal brew?

Send in the Imperial Dancing Bears
May 7, 2008

I confess I often choose beer because of the label. Despite my ambivalence about Dark Star Brewery (named after a Grateful Dead song, the best-titled Dead song, but still…) I bought this beer because of the label. It’s pretty.

I have tried a couple disappointing Dark Star brews on tap at the Whole Foods “pub”– which now closes at 5pm– is it not part of the green lifestyle to drink after 5pm now? I digress! Could Dark Star redeem itself with my favourite style?

And I wondered: can hippies brew an Imperial Stout, the corsair of beers? This question pressed on me until I purchased a (rather expensive) bottle from the same Whole Foods.

My heart sinks a bit when I pour it– there’s no head at all, not even a lace of foam ringing the glass. It seems a bit, well, dead. The color is a dark ruby, not quite the black-night-of-the-soul I was hoping for. Plus, it has a soy nose and is sour and bitter at the middle and finish. I keep waiting as it warms in my glass for the chocolate or the malt to show, but I am stood up.

This tastes more like an unripe old ale– similar to the savoury/sweet contradictions of Theakston’s Old Peculiar, but without the paradoxical depth. It says on the label that this beer is bottle conditioned and it “will continue to improve for many years.” Maybe this beer wasn’t ready for me? I certainly wasn’t ready for it.

The only similarity between this and other imperial porters I’ve tried– North Coast Old Rasputin being the favourite– is the alcohol content. At 10.5%, chances are when I am done with this one I won’t care too much that it wasn’t that tall, dark Baltic I was dreaming of. I’ll just be happy it did the job.

Eats: chocolate covered hazelnuts to make up for what the beer lacked.

While listening to: Norma Waterson’s version of the Dead’s Black Muddy River