Do We Love The Beer Or Brewer?

Lew has written another segment of his unfolding manifesto on his relationship to craft beer and the craft beer industry and triggered a long discussion. I take this as his key point:

I have to tell you, this kind of “let’s treat craft beer with kid gloves” stuff has been bugging me for years. It’s one of the main reasons I started this blog and my website. I don’t have a lot of patience with people who blast beers from positions of ignorance — “This IPA sucks! I hate hoppy beers!” — but when a beer is not good — poorly packaged, poorly formulated, or just plain insipid — I don’t want to be told by some brewer that it wouldn’t be nice to say so, or that if I felt I had to say so, I should say so nicely.

Hey, we’ve all heard it from mothers and grandmothers (and editors): if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything. Well, how am I going to talk about light beer, then? Seriously, if a critic can’t say negative things, he’s gagged. And if I can’t say those negative things in an entertaining, creative way…what the hell am I getting paid for?

He is right but in being right also begs the question of the importance of his rightness. Don’t get me wrong. I like Lew lots. I even make a point of paying for his books and not hitting him up for review copies largely because he was an early adopter or at least supporter of my blogging about beer, what, for the best part of four years now. All I mean is like any voice with audience you have to remember that the subject matter itself is the important thing. Last month I thought out a bit of my mini-manifesto around being a fan. But while I am a fan of the great brewer I am really a fan of the brew more than anything. And I am really only a fan of what the brew does for me…not Lew… not the brewer… and not you out there (however nice you all are – and you are.) As a result, I am quite content not to get Cantillon and other Belgian sour beers, quite content to describe Rodenbach Grand Cru thusly…

That is all there but you have to appreciate that the acidity is that of a sub-puckeringly sharp wine. Vinous does not cover how sharp. Tart but only in the sense of King Tart of the Tartonians. Within the tart the is some reflection of spice and certainly a gooseberry-rhubarb custard trifle would go well with this.

…or to say of another of its general ilk: “I cannot hate it. Yet I am sure it hates me.”

If someone does not agree with me I do not understand how that changes the experience I have when those thing-like-fluids are in my mouth. For me, it is only about the fluid just as a pub is only about the actual experience you have or I have – not the hype or the good time a pal’s sister’s friend had 15 months ago. That may mean you have to take yourself seriously, too, and pay attention to what is in the glass and not rely on others anymore, even me, than you would rely on advertising or if the brewer is friendly, starting out or your cousin.

There. Another bit of the manifesto.

Web 2.0 Valuations – Or Maybe I Don’t Get Something Again

I haven’t written something about not getting something internet related for a while…days at least. And, of all the things I do not get, I really do not get the Web 2.0 bubble:

Deep-pocketed companies are now angling for a piece of the Web 2.0 action – a quest that already has yielded a couple big jackpots, helping to propel the sales prices of startups to their highest levels since the dot-com boom…News Corp. paid $580 million in 2005 to buy MySpace, the largest social-networking site, and Google Inc. snapped up video-sharing pioneer YouTube Inc. for $1.76 billion late last year…In 2006, the average price paid for a startup funded by venture capitalists rose 19 percent to $114 million. That was the highest amount since the dot-com frenzy of 2000 when the average price of venture-backed startups peaked at $337 million, according to data from Thomson Financial and the National Venture Capital Association.

Having lived tangentially though Y2K and the dot-com boom and fortunate, prior to those points in time, to have advised the webby people I knew that they should recession proof themselves (always good generic Maritimer advice), I can only scratch my head. Not so much at the boom – as these things happen – as history repeating itself so closely.

Once upon a time, the internet promised to replace commerce. The dot-com boom busted when it became apparent that people were just not going to buy dog food and sofas on-line and B2B still was going to require sales reps in 17 year old Ford rust buckets or flying in economy class roving the landscape to meet the people to make the deals. In large part the success of the internet on a retail basis is that it serves as the greatest flier insert ever. No one is really claiming now that the internet has in itself created a retail boom but I do get to find things to get – yet they only replace other things I would have gotten otherwise. And it only works for a few goods. I am still dependent on my grocer, for example, for my access to the most excellent of coffees at a reasonable price…not to mention all my other food. I could ship that coffee in via e-commerce (i-buying?) but that would cost too much. So I use e-commerce really only to buy that which is unattainable (very good homebrew supplies, unpopular books, quirky gifts). E-commerce works great for the unnecessary.

If we get right down to it, the internet now really only promises to replace your social life. I was reminded of this when actually I met up with some bloggers this week and went over all the things that never panned out: video blogging, podcasting, pervasive citizen journalism. Like early TV and its promise to bring education and two-way video communication into every home, lofty goals and intimate technologies get traded in for just more bulk entertainment. This is fine, I suppose, if you like bulk entertainment – and if watching cable TV or being a fiend for movies won’t do it for you. We game, we chat in text, we make connections and discuss ideas with people whose lives would not otherwise touch ours. There is nothing wrong with this but, like the dot-com boom, how is it not just replacement of the inessentials? There is the eternal question of the Internet: would I not be better off if I held a dinner party for people I work with, joined a service club or rec sports team and actually talked with actual people, making real relationships upon which I can depend (rather than creating a dependency)…not to mention doing all that in the context of actually doing something? I would have to give up certain levels of real or illusionary control of the discussion as I would have to deal with people as people and put away the small pulpit and the accompanying pulpitism that the internet gives people. Could you imagine in 1985 the idea that social life could occur in something called MySpace as opposed to an “our”-space? A “my-space” then was where you were alone. I suspect in a very real way it still is except the trinkets and baubles as well as bells and whistles distract you from that.

I look forward to the collapse of social networking sites. The web-0.0-era hobbyists sorts will remain as always but I still plan a party for that great day. It will be interesting again to watch today’s gurus become tomorrow’s apologists, then accusers, then naysayers, then advocates for the next big thing – whatever the venture capitalists will believe that is in 2016. Whatever it will be…will they call it Web 3.0? Not likely. That would be like the guy who, early in 2000, I comforted with the knowledge that he was well suited for consultancy in Y3K.

A New Year With Barry

It is odd these days to witness ethics and sport and perhaps crime collide when you are not talking about the NFL or Italian soccer. But that is why we
have Barry Bonds:

“Let them investigate,” he said. “Let ’em.”

So began the San Francisco Giants’ 2007 baseball season. This could be the year that Bonds breaks the career home-run record, or the year that he is indicted by a federal
grand jury, or both. For the past three seasons, Bonds has pursued some of baseball’s most hallowed milestones at the same time grand juries have investigated his connection to the Bay Area Laboratory Co-Operative steroid distribution case.

Asked Tuesday how the
investigation weighed on him, Bonds said, “It doesn’t.” Asked about his level of concern about the outcome, he said, “None.” Asked for an explanation, he told reporters: “It’s just you guys talking. It’s a media conversation.”

Again, I say, I say: is there any sport that makes for better reading than baseball? This article in the New York Times about Barry Bonds moving towards the sullied home run record is great in its focus on his relationship with newly
acquired (and also Barry) Zito. Not so much with the hockey quote of “working hard for the team” or the NBA prima donna quote about being all fun and one big family and the ball sucks / does not suck. The
batter like the pitcher plays an individual sport within a team sport in a way. They do not need us. They need that moment.

All of a sudden, a batting-practice session in February turned into a midseason confrontation. Cain unleashed another fastball. Bonds met it over the middle of the plate. The ball landed on a grass-covered hill beyond the right-center-field fence.

“I’m ready,” Bonds proclaimed.

Just March Madness to get
through and then it’s all lawn for months.

My Wee Experimental Brewery

Not quite this much yeast…

I was going to call this another project but I think that might be a wee bit too much so “My Experimental Brewery” (or MEB) will have to do. I have home brewed in two periods of my life. In 1987 I visited the Pitfield Beer Shop that Knut visited in 2005 but which recently shut. I picked up some books, a few collapsible kegs and backpacked them back to Halifax, Nova Scotia for a stretch of kit brewing with my recently graduated pals. From 2000 to about 2003 I part-mashed about 100 gallons a year, mixing extract and a small mash. I was pretty good and used the best ingredients I could find. I also got a bit heavy…heavier…which has put me off brewing for a while.

But recent comments here plus thinking more about beer and culture plus a colleague with an interest in brewing got me thinking – including thinking about about all that excellent yeast I have been pouring down the drain as I rinse out the bottles for the recycling bin. I’ve probably tossed back or poured down the best part of a half litre of saison yeast in the last year and another of top barley wine leavings. That can all be farmed, reused and renewed. And half the magic is in that yeast as we all know. So I put together the makings of a semi-demi-pico brewery and plan to make tiny ten litre batches of all-grain brews. Maybe a pumpkin porter with Fantôme yeast from Belgium. Maybe an imperial Scots heavy with the mixed yeasts of dubbels and Traquair to help give comfort to a few of we Scots who never got to have that empire. Maybe I will pull down that book by Tayleur that I picked up in 1987 and make something out of what I grow this summer in the garden.

So what would you make if you could make just five six-packs at a time?

PGP 1.0: The Pub Games Project

northants_skittlesWhat – another theme? As if having contests and starting to think about beer and music is not enough, I have been obsessing a bit (inspired no doubt by Stonch) about old games a bit lately at my other blog, the general purpose Gen X at 40, the web site that spawned this here place.

Plenty of old games relate to pubs – both inside games like darts and lawn games like bowls. But beyond that, they tie beer to gathering and do so in an utterly unproductive but pleasing way. I am a bit fan of unproductive skills and have started a gathering of local beer fans under the name of the Kingston Society for Playing Catch with the aim of exploring all aspects of idleness at a very slow pace over the remaining decades of my life. I think I am going to suggest that pub games need to be added to the mandate of the KSPC.

What do I mean by pub games? There are the obvious ones. My life has always included doinggames as much or more than board or card games. I grew up in a Minister’s house where darts was played after supper – leaving one manse front door in a very bad state as I recall. And, along with good helpings of shuffleboard, undergrad early ’80s two-player table top video games morphed into law school snooker as staples during my free time in the vicinity of a beer or two. But before or as these popular games developed in the Victorian era (or were created in the early digital one) there were other more localized games skill being played by a few dedicated fans like bar billiards, ball and trap, the incredibly fun looking London skittles or the smaller scale variation known as hood skittles or Northamptonshire skittles shown being played above. Plenty of different games and their rules are to be found at the excellent Masters Traditional Games. More rules and history can be found through the pub games page at wikiality as well as the Online Guide to Traditional Games.

Realizing that these are mainly English games, I hope to explore a bit about the other games played by folk having a beer in other nations through this series. If you know of any you love please join in.

Paul Goes to Two Cambridge Pubs

[Alan here. Before we get into this post, the third of Paul’s series this week, I just have to point out my gratitude for these contributions as well as all those of all those who get to post here – Knut, Gary, Donavan and the rest. And I have to say that I had a hard time cropping Paul’s pictures, as I often do, as there were so many wonderful aspects to what he caught. Thanks again, guys.]

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Cambridge is one of my favourite cities, and my partner Ginny and I were lucky enough to spend a couple of days there recently. Amongst all the activities that we had scheduled to cover there were two pubs I wanted to visit; they were The Eagle, which I had been to before on a couple of occasions and The Live And Let Live, a pub I had heard a lot about but had never crossed the threshold.

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We arrived in Cambridge by train. The best mode of transport to use when travelling to this fair city as it’s not a particularly car friendly place. The Live And Let Live is but a short distance from the railway station, so of course it was our first port of call. It was a Sunday lunchtime. A very pleasant man behind the bar greeted us. As there were half a dozen different real ales on offer we hummed and hared for a while over what to have. In the end I plumped for a pint of Rupert’s Ruin from Springhead Brewery while Ginny went for the Nethergate Stinger.

The Rupert’s Ruin was a dark copper coloured sweetish malty bitter while the Stinger had a hint of sweetness but with a very bitter after taste that was very tamarind in style. We ordered food, Ginny went for a fishy dish while I decided that I would have Quorn bangers and mash. Quorn in the UK is a brand of ‘vegetarian meat’ – please forgive the tautology. I am no longer a vegetarian but I really fancied it. To my surprise a little while after we’d ordered the meal the chef came to the bar and asked if I wanted the normal gravy or did I want him to make some vegetarian especially. “What’s the normal gravy ?” I asked, “ Well it’s an onion gravy but it has red wine in it, which isn’t necessarily vegetarian”, he paused for a split second, “but I notice you’re drinking real ale so I guess it doesn’t matter”. I agreed. He went back to his cooking and I sat there impressed at the attention to detail. When the food arrived it was jolly good and tasty.

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To wash down our lunch I had a pint of Banks & Taylor Dragon Mild, a stout-like ale without the bitterness, smooth, almost creamy. Ginny had an Everards Tiger, a golden ale of the Tanglefoot ilk, but this one had usual apple undertones. With a decor that reminds you of the inside of a wooden packing case this unassuming back street hostelry is a fantastic free house. Sunday night was spent at a John Martyn concert, singer, songwriter and guitarist extraordinaire! Followed by a ‘bag of chips’ supper from a burger van on Cambridge market, most welcome on a cold winter’s evening. Then off to bed at the Crowne Plaza. Monday lunchtime saw us heading off to the Eagle. The Eagle is an old coaching inn that dates back to the 17th century. The interior (above, right) is an interesting mix of stone floors, wood paneling, mullioned windows and wall paintings. Personally I think it has an ‘Arts and Crafts’ feel, but what do I know about history ? It’s a Greene King pub, but don’t hold that against it. I had a pint of Old Jerusalem a new beer to their stable and named after the Nottingham pub that I wrote about recently. A pleasant ale in the Old Speckled Hen mold. Greene King no longer make the most exciting range of ales but a well kept pint of their beer is still a pleasure.

Paul Goes To The Laxfield Low House, Suffolk, England

[This post was written by Paul of Bury-St.E.]

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I’ve never been to a pub quite like the Laxfield Low House. First up that’s not its proper name, but it’s what the locals call it. Its official name is The Kings Head, an Adnams pub now, but it is the stuff of legend. I’ve known of it for a number of years but have never managed to get to it before now. Set in the rolling Suffolk countryside well into Adnams territory, the small hamlet of Laxfield is a picturesque gem, so it’s only fitting that it should have such a wonderful pub, and wonderful it most certainly is. The Low House is well off the beaten track.

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Largely unchanged since Victorian times this is like no other pub I’ve been in. There is no bar as such, you wander into the tap room, at busy periods you queue, which comes naturally to us British, and you order the beer of your choice from a selection of five or six, straight from the barrel. Delicious ! The taproom is one of those sort of backrooms that you just know stays at a fairly constant temperature all year round. Perfect for the keeping of beer. Whilst I was waiting to be served, the gentleman in front of me, blessed with a South African accent, ordered a pint of Carling. To the uninitiated this is factory Euro-fizz lager, also brewed in the rainbow republic. I wondered what drove people to commit such acts of gross stupidity, but then I suppose it’s just asking for trouble selling the stuff in the first place.

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It’s a pub of nooks and crannies; a number small rooms and snugs plus a restaurant area. A lovely fire was blazing on the Sunday we called in. Food was excellent. Dublin prawns for starters followed by a honey and mustard grilled ham chop. Unfortunately it’s a pub you have to drive to, and I was driving, so I only had the one pint. Adnams Explorer, a golden ale of some note. Not very ‘winter’, but it slipped down well all the same. There was a welcoming fire blazing in the grate of one of the larger rooms, an interesting mix of locals and tourists lingered, sipping well-kept ale. A welcoming air flows around the whole establishment. It’s appeared to be a pub for milling about, chatting and just plain soaking up the atmosphere. The walls are a busy mix of pictures, posters and rural artefacts whilst the floors are on several slightly different levels. There were a few rural artefacts sitting in chairs, chairs I suspect they occupy on a regular basis. One local character was hawking cuts of meat in the main saloon. Meat that was on display from the open tailgate of his estate car, conveniently situated opposite the front door. All an interesting slice of bucolic Suffolk life.

I want to go back soon. Better still I want to live in Laxfield.