A Good Beer Blog

Well, it was +2C at dawn on Tuesday morning which encouraged a return to bed* and then a first firing up of the furnace. Even though it warmed up as the sun popped out, one needs to listen for clangs and sniff for smells on a day when the heating isn’t a necessity. All’s well but probably should get it serviced. Clangs and smells are not the height of mechanical engineering testing. Right after someone looks into that new loud rumble from the dryer. It’s enough to drive one to drink. Which I did.

It’s also the time of year for the return to the tavern instead of the patio, I suppose. Though I always find October unsettling, especially as the American obsession with Halloween is creeping into everything earlier and earlier. And I am not just talking the noxious pumpkin spice this and that. Ghosts. Everywhere a ghost. Including at breweries like the Lemps of St. Louis:

The most famous spirit is the Lavender Lady, believed to be Lillian Handlan, Billy Lemp’s glamorous first wife. Her love of lavender clothing earned her the nickname, and visitors still claim to smell lavender perfume in empty rooms. Then there is the darkest tale on the tour: the legend of a hidden Lemp child with a disability, kept out of sight in the attic and given a cruel nickname by storytellers. Historians have never found records proving he existed, but guests swear they see a small face peering from the attic windows. The brewery has its own ghost stories. Paranormal teams lead visitors into the dark basements of the old Bottle Works, where the cave system once chilled Lemp lager. Investigators tell of shadow figures, cold spots and the echo of tragedies that unfolded in those damp stone rooms.

Lordy. We Canadians are still resisting and partially immune from these things, spending October instead by caulking, patching and sealing in anticipation of the blizzards to come. Regularly checking in on the attic insulation also, you know, helps ensure children are not lost up there. Duh.

News? News about beer?? Fine. Well, Guinness is retreating further from the US market, closing the Guinness Baltimore Open Gate on November 1, 2026 – which is all a bit strange given the recent boom in the brand’s fortunes. Jacob in DC pointed out one thing that may have been indicative:

Here’s a take: the beers coming off Guinness’ 10 bbl system didn’t make it to DC, which is flabbergasting. Diageo is a giant company and they never put their cans or kegs into DC distro beyond Baltimore Blonde and a milk stout in 2019! It’s malpractice! There’s a giant market just south of you!

Jeff on the other coast has more info – including his own loss of a sponsor – that ties to the broader situation owner Diageo faces according to the 2026 annual report:

Overall, spirits were down 5% and beer was up 9%. These results have spurred Diageo, under its new CEO Dave Lewis, to make cuts—none of them delicate. This is apparently characteristic of “Drastic Dave,” a former Tesco CEO  who built a reputation for “cost-cutting.” (Corporations believe that euphemism softens the blow, but I wonder how it feels to workers to be called a mere, dispensable “cost”?) Diageo has eliminated nearly 2,000 jobs this year (6.4% of its total workforce). The company plans to cut more than $1 billion more, and the U.S. has been hit especially hard: 36% of the staff at Diageo’s North America headquarters were recently fired as a part of the effort.

I suppose I am doing my bit for Diago with my now established taste for a Guinness 0 beside a shot of Crown Royal but I appear to be one of a shrinking cohort. It’s too bad. It’s both very tasty and points a pointy finger in a meaningful direction.

On the theme of international booze trade restructuring, Evan Rail has investigated the expansion of the wine bar for VinePair and reported on a few themes:

… the global “restaurant as wine bar” trend has another quirk, often putting much more emphasis on natural, skin-contact, and low-intervention bottles. “It’s a particular kind of direction of wine bars, rather than ‘wine’ in general,” he says. Beyond the list, de Vries says that the global “wine bar” trend has a few particular characteristics that include high quality food in smaller portions that are designed around sharing, as well as a special approach at the front of house. “What we see in this trend in these types of bars, even though they’re restaurants as well, is a different type of service,” he says. “It signals a social experience. It’s just more casual and more open.” The design and atmosphere is often different, too, with a greater focus on conversation and conviviality. In short, the trend is not just about nomenclature. It’s an entire worldview.

I don’t think I have willingly gone into anything labled a wine bar. I’ve checked the price lists. And the stash is so helpful in these matters at an actual fraction of the price. That’s a key factor for development of wine in fact, bars as one of Evan’s sources noted: “…it’s probably more efficient to serve glasses — multiple glasses — than have people buy bottles. You’re going to get a better markup on your glasses of wine.” I am not unsympathetic but I am also fond of my sofa at such moments, too. Time for some notes!

Note #1: Pellicle interviewed Mirella Amato.
Note #2: An obituary for a soon-to-depart Brussels favourite.
Note #3: We called them the yips… or the itch.
Note #4: More Guinness cocktails!
Note #5: Gary on Irn-Bru.

Out and about, NPR had a very good article this week on how to go about eating in a Munich tavern, preferably well before noon:

…Weissbier — or wheat beer — helps wash down a breakfast of boiled veal sausages, sweet mustard and a giant pretzel. Four pale, cylindrical Weisswurst arrive in a big tureen. There’s two ways of eating them. One is zuzeln, which involves cutting the head off of the sausage and then just sucking the meat out. The other is the old-fashioned knife and fork. Both involve removing the sausage skin, which you are not supposed to eat… Master butcher Andreas Gassner…  makes about 1,200 sausages a day. Even more during Oktoberfest, when they deliver 18,000 Weisswurschtl — as Bavarians call the sausages — for breakfast in the beer tents on the first weekend alone… The trick, he says, is to try it without mustard first to get the unadulterated, full flavor profile of the sausage. He advises giving it a good sniff, too. 

As the old saying goes, furnaces and sausages. I am now better educated. But I am not sure I could perform a zuzeln with any grace were sitting at one of those tables facing down the Weisswurst. More seriously and viewing the other side of the bar where the work is done, David J. has written for CAMRA about the losses workers suffer when breweries and bars shut, starting with this portrait:

A few years ago, a neighbour was telling me about her new job in a local bar a bus ride away. Despite a tough childhood marked by the transient nature of care homes and foster parents, kindness was her default setting and I found her bluntness – which jarred with some of the other people in the street – easy to read. I rectified my mistake and took the 171 to Catford only to discover that I was not the only person to enjoy her company and she was firmly embedded in the community, woven into the tapestry of this pub’s framework. I’d never seen her laughing so much. A few months later, I was awoken late at night by loud music from her flat and had to knock at the door. When she answered she apologised, turned the music down and revealed she had been blowing off steam as the pub was now closed leaving her unemployed. Eventually, I saw her again at her new place of work but this job of delivering leaflets caused her no merriment and her downcast appearance was a stark contrast to when I saw her behind the bar that time.

It’s a very compelling thought on how extended the idea of “community” can be – and one that I’ve not considered given all the talk of how tough it can be working in the trade. On another element that draws the drinker, The Beer Nut raised an interesting question on nationalism and international beer styles:

Though a full 5% ABV it’s a bit thin, and the carbonation is lacking. The flavour is clean, however, with the coriander taking the lead. The fruity esters are minimal, which is good, though the orange peel element is relegated to the finish, and it would be better if that were more prominent. It’s a bit simple, overall, though I guess that’s the nature of the style: had it been brimming with complexity, it wouldn’t be a proper witbier. This is a proper witbier, and if you are looking for an Irish-brewed Hoegaarden substitute, it’s well suited. I don’t think it’s an improvement on the original, though.

I compare this to a post at LinkedIn from Mr. B in which he draws upon the current trade climate to make a related point:

… there are a whole lot of great local brands that I simply don’t see getting support from local bars and restaurants, especially those that claim to be community-minded independents. I understand that small production brands often cost a bit more than do the big brands, and that they’re not positioned to offer the same sort of incentives. I even get that there is an educational aspect to stocking local brands, since a lot of customers won’t be familiar with them. But I also know that when a customer at a bar discovers something new and exciting, they will frequently return to that bar or restaurant with friends and colleagues to show off their new find and/or see what else there is to discover…

My initial thought was this when I thought of the two observations:  was the Irish witbeer “new and exciting“? I am very much compelled by the current Buy Canadian efforts and, to be clear, both TBN and Mr. B have a vastly greater experience with a wide range of the clinky and the drinky. But I am not sure how often I have had a beer very often that was both “new and exciting“.** That Czechvar up there? Pretty tasty, for sure. I liked the glass, the momentary beam of autumn light, the rich pale malt… but was I excited? Interested, for sure. But to what degree? Then… would I have been more interested if it was brewed locally? I am not criticizing their language so much examining my own response. Frankly, its the veal saltibocco at Red House West that I’ve now ordered the last three times was the showstopper that will bring me back again. But that was a really good beer, too.

Imran Rahman-Jones has a handy reminder about the decisions that go into creating what attracts the particularly desired crowd:

A bar set in an old church should feel exciting and conjure some sort of cosy nostalgia. Unfortunately, any reminders of this building’ history have been covered up by a series of design choices made by – presumably – the same designer who has decorated every chain pub in the country. A number of generic neon signs adorn the walls in between a few large screens showing sport, while the booths around the outside feel impersonal. The decision to hang plastic pot plants upside down from the ceiling is interesting. However, I am keenly aware this is not built for me. In more self-reflective moments, I think myself fairly conservative when it comes to pubs. I say I want a “timeless” feel, but what I actually mean is that I want to pretend I’ve come to some point in the past when I enter a pub. I want to feel a sense of history. Cold Town House does not give me that, and that’s fine.

On the point of local, however, I am very compelled by the idea of small patch and urban vinyards. My 65 x 100 foot patch includes two Pinot Noir vines as well as a number of unproductive Voigniers. So this piece in Pellicle by Urvashi Roe is very much my thing:

Will Davenport, winemaker at Davenport Vineyard, has been with the project since the beginning. His role is to transform the grapes into wine at his winery in Kent.  ​​​​“​​​Forty Hall’s vines grow on a south-facing site in dry, sandy, and flinty soil over London clay,” Will says. “This means the grapes don’t typically dry out with that deep-rooted water source. ​​​Being in London means it’s generally a few degrees warmer than other vineyards in England, helping the grapes to ripen while retaining that acidity which gives the wine its freshness. They’ve also chosen Ortega and Bacchus, which are varieties that perform well​​​.”​​​​ 

And perhaps Katie has also shared something that I would find “new and exciting” after her visit to manage a bout of pre-flight jitters given its proximity to the bizarre:

The Sussex Arms is a pub completely devoted to the Concorde. For some reason. And I’ve come here for a pint to try a bit of immersion therapy. The tables are chrome and purple-ish glass. The décor is airport-themed, with a live updating LED board showing which aircraft are preparing to land right now in London’s four airports—incredibly addictive viewing. There’s fuselage on the wall and on the ceiling, and arrivals boards behind the bar. The “Business Class Lounge” sign looks remarkably real. Most spectacularly, though, is the central seating area, a conversation pit made from seats from the Concorde. Pet Shop Boys plays on the jukebox nobody has pumped money into since I got here. They look less plush than I expected them to.

Wonderful. Consider, too, what draws Ron to judging around the world:

After pottering around in my room for a while, and fiddling with my new phone, I flop downstairs for breakfast at 9:00. Without a great deal of enthusiasm. A standard buffet is so much better. Letting me pretend to be healthy while eating bacon by adding a dash of fruit. I get an egg and bacon sandwich again. And a milky coffee. Most of the judges are already downstairs judging. I sit by John Palmer and Noelle. We have a pleasant chat. Which is why I do these trips. The social aspects. Meeting people whose eyes don’t glaze over when I blab about 19th-century UK beer taxes. Or are at least polite enough to feign interest.

Finally but still speaking of the interesting versus the disconcerting, returning to David made a good observation on one of the perils of NA beer – especially the craft manufactured offerings:

As a side issue to AF, I have to avoid high sugar drinks as I’m prone to diabetes. Usually the macro ones have zero sugar but craft ones (in general) or top fermented ones can be high. Erdinger Alkoholfrei has 18 grams of sugar per 500ml bottle.

He was responding to B+B’s stated grounds for their use of the NA brews:

The first AF beer that we recall finding pleasant to drink – as in, we occasionally crave it – is Bristol Beer Factory’s Clear Head. It still has some of the typical flaws but, crucially, nothing that reads to us an off-flavour, and its hop aroma is actually pleasing. On the right occasion, it can be quite refreshing. We still find most AF beers unsatisfying or even unpleasant. We’re baffled, for example, by the lie that Schneider alcohol-free Weizen is any good when it is, in fact, like drinking Cup-a-Soup. In recent months, however, as perhaps our alcohol tolerance has taken yet another turn for the worse – we’re both now in our late forties – there have been occasions when AF beer has been a vital part of our tactical approach to a session.

[Cup-a-Soup! Lovely.] It’s all a very reasonably rational argument. But if I am not drinking alcohol – which is by far most of the time – I find other things to drink. I am perfectly happy with a pint of water between pints, too. Or along side even. I had one with that Czechvar. Tipping accordingly of course. Plus I had a Guinness 0 at the pre-tav dump of a bar the other week and was pretty shocked to see it cost four times retail.***

That’s a lot this week. Indicative of a man putting off chores because it’s no longer shorts and t-shirt weather out there. Maybe tomorrow. You bet. Until I make up my mind and for more fabulous observations of the Cup-a-Soup sort and so much more, please check out Boak and Bailey’s postings on each and every Saturday along with the coincidenal and fabulously entertaining footnotes week after week at Patreon. They do put in the effort. And do look out for more of Stan’s “One Link, One Paragraph” format. Then it’s your turn. Read and recommend, please. Scour the world for news tips – then let me know. Then hunt out something in someone’s archives! Leave oblique comments on someone’s post from 2009!! Listen to a few of Lew’s podcasts and get your emailed issue of Episodes of my Pub Life by David Jesudason on certain Fridays. And Phil Mellows is at the BritishBeerBreaks. Once a month, Will Hawkes issues his London Beer City newsletter. Do sign up for Katie’s wonderful self-governing totes autonomous website featuring The Gulp, too.  Ben’s Beer and Badword remains on pause but there is reading at The Glass which is going back to being a blog. Any more? We have Ontario’s own A Quick Beer and All About Beer is still offering a range of podcasts – and there’s also Mike Seay’s The Perfect Pour. Plus follow the venerable Full Pint podcast! And there’s the Craft Beer Channel on Youtube as well as the archives of the Beer Ladies Podcast. What else?

*Look, I was in the work force for 47 years so I am not having any of that sort of response.
**I stared at the belly and butt of a flycatcher this week. There are many. Which was it? The little notch in the tail. That slight yellow to the chest’s edge by the wing. I am not sure a beer has taken my focus. Sure, the sauce of that veal saltimbocco does but, you know, that’s pretty much a given.
***You may have noticed a theme this week – I am cheap. Am I? Maybe. But I simply can’t see how my life is improved by significantly increasing my outlay by increasing heading out to an establishment everytime I want a sip. Which is honestly not all that often anymore. How do you all do it? And have you ever tried flycatcher spotting instead?