Thursday 28 March 2024

Judging ends

I rise at 7:30 and eat some fruit in an attempt to not puke up this morning.

I breakfast with Thomas. It’s the usual: scrambled egg and cheese, followed by fruit. It’s a bit of a rush as I was quite late getting down.

My judging companions are both Brazilian:

Julio Rangel de Freitas Barbosa. (With whom I’ve judged with him before.)
Felipe Baptista.

We commence with Dutch-style Koyt. 4 examples. Two quite bland, one sour other has DMS.

English Pale Mild. 2 examples. One gets a bronze. The other had off flavours.

Historical beer. 9 examples. 3 Lichtenhainer, 3 Rothbier, 1 Bernadynskie, Russian Stout, Doppelsticke, Sahti.

I take the Sahti over to Thomas for him to try. As, being Finnish, he understands the style far better than me.

The Russian Stout says that it’s inspired by Kernel 1856 Imperial Stout. I know that beer. It’s a recreation of Barclay Perkins IBSt. Not my recipe, but one from the Durden Park Beer Circle. As I have my spreadsheets on my laptop, I can look up what the grist should be.

“It should have a really high percentage of roasted malts – something like 38% in total.”

Does this beer have that much? Probably not. Though it does just say “inspired by”. I’m not going to hold a lack of roast against the beer.

Wee Heavy mini-BOS. 11 examples. Some pretty good ones, others are too sweet. As in, really fucking sweet.

Old Ale mini-BOS. 10 examples. Not a bad set. Including one of my favourite beers so far. Which gets a gold.

While we’re judging Doug drops by and asks me to stay for the BOS. Damn. I’d hoped to disappear before he asked. There’s a fair bit of a wait before things kick off. What a surprise.

I go and have a quick look at the barbecue outside. It looks dead impressive. Two long lines of wood are laid out on the ground with lumps of meat hanging between them. My mouth is watering already. I send a photo of it to the kids. Just to annoy them.

I’m on a mini-BOS table with Alex Barlow and Eduardo Pelizzon. Which is a good combination. We get 14 beers, all English styles. The process is thankfully painless. One beer comes out a clear winner, being my favourite and the second favourite of the other two.

And then I’m free, as I’m not on the final BOS panel. I head back outside and chat to Chris while watching the meat roast. Then it starts to rain. A little at first, then becoming more tropical. So heavy that they erect a roof over the barbecue. It’s very high tech: just sheets of corrugated iron.

When the rain gets really bad, we all tip inside. Where they’re hacking apart big chunks of meat. I get some beef and some pork. The beef is a bit chewy, but the pork is yummy. Especially the crackling. There’s not much else on offer, other than meat, save for bits of lettuce and potato salad.

After eating, me and Chris go to see if a bus will be leaving for the hotel. It seems not. Doug tells Chris that the buses will leave at 20:00 and 22:00. It’s currently 18:45. We decide to get an Uber back to the hotel, then drop by E-10. As neither of us has used the 15 real voucher we were given for it.

When we get to E-10, they’re doing maintenance. Chris complains to the spectacularly bearded owner that he hasn’t had chance to use his voucher. So the owner orders an Uber for us and gives Chris 15 reals to pay for it, as the driver only takes cash.

We’re headed for Bier Vila, where some other judges will be. Soon we’re sitting at a table with a bunch of South Americans: Nicolas (Argentina), Jary and Claudia (Uruguay), a bloke from Paraguay and Marcus from Germany.

“I need something to get my dinner down. Let’s get a cachaça.” Chris suggests.

I don’t need asking twice. But I also get a Das Bier Morango e Maracuja, a Catharina Sour, to accompany it. The cachaça is from Xanadu, so it’s pretty good. As is the passion fruit Catharina sour.

The talk turns to football, which is pretty entertaining. Especially when Maradonna and David Beckham become topics. But it’s all very good natured.

“We don’t hate the Brits in Argentina.” Nicolas tells me. Good to know as I plan going there sometime soon.

At 21:50 me and Chris head to the liqueur shop around the corner that we saw on the way in. It closes at 22:00.

The nice young lady serving there gives us various ones to try. Most are far too sweet for me. But a mandarin one – made with only the peel – is really tasty and not too sweet. I get a bottle.

We have one more cachaça. And leave it at that as we’re both knacked. Soon we’re in an Uber and hotel bound.

Back in my room, I sip on Ypioca while watching Match of the Day from Saturday on my flipflap. No need to rush to bed today, there not being an early start tomorrow. I’ll be meeting Chris at 9:30 for breakfast, before he heads off to Florianopolis.

That spirit, whatever it is, eases me down the road to the blessed oblivion of sleep.




Choperia Bier Vila
R. Alberto Stein, 199
Sala 100
Velha, Blumenau
SC, 89036-900.
https://www.biervila.com.br/

Wednesday 27 March 2024

Let's Brew Wednesday - 2006 Youngs Ram Rod

This parti-gyle just keeps giving, with a third of Young’s range of Pale Ales, Ram Rod. Which was effectively their ESB. Except that it wasn’t usually sold on draught, only in bottled form.

I’m not sure if this is still brewed. It doesn’t appear on the Young’s beer website. Though RateBeer has one review from this year.  It’ll annoy my mate Lucas if it isn’t, as he’s partial to a “Ram and Spesh”, a sort of upmarket Light and Bitter. Which would come out at about 5.1% ABV.

Obviously, being parti-gyled, it has the same basic recipe as Ordinary and Special. A very simple combination of maris otter pale malt and crystal malt. Along with English hops.

The bitterness level – as with the other two Pale Ales – seems on the low side. But that’s what BeerSmith spat out when I fed in the recipe. 

2006 Youngs Ram Rod
pale malt 11.75 lb 94.61%
crystal malt 20 L 0.67 lb 5.39%
Fuggles 75 min 1.00 oz
Goldings 30 min 0.75 oz
OG 1053
FG 1011.5
ABV 5.49
Apparent attenuation 78.30%
IBU 25
SRM 5.5
Mash at 152º F
Sparge at 165º F
Boil time 75 minutes
pitching temp 64º F
Yeast Wyeast 1968 London ESB (Fullers)

 

 

Tuesday 26 March 2024

Judging continues

I rise at 7:15, throw up and have a shower. Not at the same time, obviously.

I bump into Chris at breakfast.

“Where were you yesterday? Why weren’t you at the barbecue?” He asks.

“What barbecue?” It seems it was for European Beer Star judges so I didn’t get invited. That’s why almost no-one I knew was at Thapyoka. The bastards.

I have my standard breakfast: scrambled egg and cheese, followed by fruit. Lots of fruit. And quite a lot of coffee. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep at the judging table.

At least the bus is a little later, at 8:30.

Thomas joins us for breakfast. I sit next to him on the bus and we chat about beer history.

It’s 9:30 when we start judging. Not too late. Today my partners are:

Jary Rocha – Uruguay.
Nicolás Boan - Argentina.

We start with Franconian Rothbier. 5 examples. 1 pretty good, another one OK.

Hefeweizen. 12 samples. Best set so far. Almost no off flavours and a couple of really quite good ones.

Session IPA. 12 examples. Mostly OK to good.

We’ve been rumbling along at a good pace and are ready for lunch just after noon.

I have lunch with Chris and some other South Americans. As always, just meat and salad. I would say it’s because I’m very careful with my diet. In reality, I’m just not very hungry.

The organisers are getting really worries about the toilets. About them getting blocked with toilet paper. Which you aren’t supposed to put in the toilet here in Brazil.  Worrying that foreign judges might forget, the toilet cubicles are plastered with warnings.

After lunch, we begin with West Coast IPA. 8 examples. All are reasonably good and one totally outstanding, packed with complex tropical fruit flavours.

Wood- and Barrel-Aged Sour Beer. 4 examples. A mixed bunch.

American IPA midround. 12 examples. Several have obvious faults, including diacetyl and DMS.

Irish Red midround. 10 examples. I’ve nothing good to say about these. So I’ll keep quiet.

Brazilian wood aged beers midround. 8 examples. Lots of amburana – some very intense. One aged in amburana cachaça barrels is way over the top. Far too much of everything. Most base beers are Barley Wine, Quad or Imperial Stout. But the best was a Catharina Sour.

We finish off at about 17:30. Which isn’t too bad. Though I judged 71 beers. I never want to drink beer again. That’s how I feel at the moment. It’s been an exhausting day.

How can you be knackered when all you’ve done is drink beer all day? Judging is very tiring. If you take it seriously. Which I do as did everyone I’ve judged with. And there‘s precious little drinking involved. Though I do usually finish off any good beers. Just to be polite.

I sit next to Chris on the bus.

I debated about whether to go to Schornstein in Pomeroda for dinner. I’ve been there a couple of times before. And it’s 22 km outside Blumenau, meaning I can’t just get an Uber back if I’m feeling knacked. But Chris persuades me to go. His enthusiasm can be infectious.

Luckily, the first bus leaves before the scheduled 18:30.

Chris, Thomas, Alex, Shweta, the Norwegian bloke and I all sit at one table. Most go to look at the brew house. I give it a miss. I’ve been there twice before. Both times I thought I was going to die of heat stroke and had to leave.

When the buffet is laid out and we collect food, Chris suggests sitting on the terrace. Where it’s now much cooler as it’s pissing down with rain. I go for a meat and salad combination again. Some of the meat is really good. Though I had hoped for feijoada like last time. I do like some black beans.

The beer is OK. I have s Pils and then a couple of IPAs. But that’s enough beer for me, so I get a caipirinha. Which I have to pay for. It’s well worth 24 reals.

Chris gets himself a Bock and lets me try it. It’s pleasantly thick and chewy. But very cold. A little later, when it’s warmed up, I can smell the diacetyl from across the room. It’s clearly totally undrinkable.

We’re told that the first bus will leave when 40 people are ready. Which is cool. It leaves at 21:45 rather than 22:00. So we’re back in Blumenau by 22:15. Which is great. I can get to my bed early. Except Chris suggests we have a nightcap over the road. And he can be a very persuasive man.

We end up in Curt, a wine bar, as everything else is shut. We get a cachaça each. One aged in amburana. Which ties in nicely with some of the beers I judged a few hours earlier.

Several other judges turn up after a while. And get stuck into cocktails. Me and Chris only have the one, as we’re both feeling pretty tired.

I fancy another drink, but can’t unseal the cachaça bottle I have. It’s a problem I’ve experienced before. And I know the solution. I go down to reception, where they manage to unscrew the top for me.

I watch some more Boarders on iplayer while sipping my cachaça. Which soon gets me in a sleepytime mood.



Schornstein Kneipe
R. Hermann Weege, 60
Centro, Pomerode
SC, 89107-000.


Curt Wine & Bar
R. Curt Hering, 99
Centro, Blumenau
SC, 89010-040.

Monday 25 March 2024

The home of beer

I’ve arranged to meet Mike at 9:00 for breakfast. Which is a buffet.

What do I get? What do you think? Bacon, scrambled egg and mushrooms. Quite a lot of bacon. Why? Because it’s there. And you can’t go wrong with bacon.

There’s quite a good view from the breakfast room, as it’s on the top floor. To one side is the bus station, the other the city centre shops.

After breakfast I nip around the corner to the bus station where there’s a shop. In which I pick up some water for the hotel. And a little hotel whisky. I’ll be needing that later.

We meet Shane, who’s staying in a different hotel, at the station. And James, another AB Inbev person. Our train is at 11:10. And in ten minutes were pulling into Burton. Past what I recognise is the former Allsopps brewery.

As we’ve quite a while until our 13:00 appointment at Marstons, we wander into town, hoping to find a pub that’s open.

No luck. Even after noon. This is another worrying trend. No pubs seem to open before 14:00. Some not until 16:00. The lunchtime session seems moribund. Really annoying for me, as I love a lunch session. When it’s nice and quiet and you can sit in a corner reading a newspaper. While slowly slurping down a few pints. Now Wetherspoons is often the only option for midday  pints.

We get to Marstons a little early for our appointment. As there’s nothing else for us to do.

We’re greeted by Callum Turner, the surprisingly youthful head brewer. Who gets us kitted out in full protective gear: high-vis jacket, protective shoes, glasses and hat. All very proper.

Our tour starts in the brew house. An attractive (and listed) brick building, originally built for London brewer Mann, Crossman and Paulin.

First, we visit the room housing the old mash tuns. Massive, wooden-clad affairs with lids. They were still in use until surprisingly recently. In an adjoining room are their replacements. Two enclosed vessels built from shiny stainless steel.

Opposite are three similarly shiny coppers. Looking very similar to the mash tuns, save for the absence of grist cases.

I ask Callum: “Do you parti-gyle at all?”

“No, not since we stopped brewing Owd Roger. We used to parti-gyle that with Pedigree.”

“Owd Roger has been dropped?”

“Yes, a few years ago.”

That’s a shame. Owd Roger was a proper strong Old Ale, weighing in at around 8% ABV.

We walk the short distance to the fermentation room. Or hall of sadness, as it should be called. Where they’re currently dismantling the world’s last working union sets.

It’s a depressing sight. Especially as I never saw them in action. Which Mike did, the jammy bastard. I try to stifle my sobs as we survey the remnants of the sets. Will we ever see their like again?

According to Callum, one of the main reasons for using the union sets was yeast propagation. The yeast harvested from the sets being particularly healthy and active. They aren’t quite sure how they will replicate that.

The squares are up against the walls. Of a design I’ve never seen before. Totally enclosed and with a manhole. Though I don’t think it’s airtight and under pressure.

One square is being filled with Pedigree and they’re making sure to blend the right quantities of first and second wort to hit the target gravity.

We get ear plugs for the packaging department. Which is pretty noisy with all the bottles rattling around.

There is something hypnotic about cans or bottles shuffling around a filling line. But, other than that, there isn’t a great deal to see. Especially as they aren’t racking into casks at the moment.

Our final stop is the sampling room. The proper sampling room, with rows of casks along the floor. All firkins.

“What’s the largest cask size you use?” I ask Callum.

“Firkins. Other than Bass. That’s in 10-gallon casks.”

What? That’s a weird size.

We start with some Bass that’s been open for a few days. It’s dry and finishes satisfyingly bitter. And no trace of sulphur. Quite like the pint in the Smithfield. Moving on to a freshly-tapped Bass, the contrast is striking. It’s full of sulphur on the nose, not as dry and with less perceived bitterness.

I try a couple of the Marstons beers. Pedigree, which being quite fresh, is also quite sulphurous. But quite different from the Bass. I really like the Old Empire. A beer I’ve never encountered in cask form before.

Derek’s question is answered by the presence of Youngs Ordinary and Special. They’re brewed here in Burton.

As are Courage Best and Directors. A whole load of legacy brands has ended up here. My attention is drawn to the shelves of bottled beer.

“Do you brew Manns here?”

“Yes.”

I explain to the others that Manns was the original modern Brown Ale. And how the Brewers Association guidelines for English Brown Ale are way off the mark. Even on a basic characteristic as ABV. The guidelines say 4.2% to 6% ABV. While Manns, the classic example, is 2.8% ABV.

They ask Callum if they can try it. He goes to fetch a bottle. Which the others share. Its wateriness is quite a shock.

I give the Hobgoblin a try, not expecting much. And I’m not disappointed. I just don’t care for it. Never have. I’m not sure exactly why.

We spend quite some time in the cellar. Which has been very instructive. It’s time to go and drink some beer. In town.

We start at the Roebuck, a curved corner pub close to the station. Which we walked past earlier, when, frustratingly, it was closed.

The landlady is dead impressed by Mike’s Bass jacket. It is rather loverly. With an embroidered red triangle and the word “Bass”. Guess what we’re drinking? You’ll never get it. Bass!

It’s very good. The sulphur is almost all gone and there’s the dry bitterness that I liked in the older sample at the brewery. I can see why Bass still has a following. It’s excellent when looked after properly.

There are a fair few customers for 4 PM. But the customer profile is rather worrying, again. Most are 50 plus. This doesn’t bode well for the future of pubs. Maybe it’s just the time of day. And the young people all turn up later. That’s my hope.

We need to be moving on. Not far. To another pub that was closed at lunchtime: the Devonshire Arms. A former Ind Coope pub. That just happens to be selling Bass. Well, we are in Burton. Why not have a Bass?

The polished copper table tops reflect and enhance the deep amber colour of the Bass. It looks lovely, with its creamy collar and proud red triangle. It’s still a thing of wonder, a well-kept and pulled pint of Bass.

After a couple of pints, hunger, which has been lagging behind us all day, finally catches up with us. What about a curry?

There’s a curry house nearby and we decant there. For various starters and main courses. Not spicy enough for my taste. Do I like really spicy stuff now? I don’t think so.

The final Burton stop is the legendary Cooper’s Tavern. We have trouble getting in as a folk band is blocking the door. Not sure why they don’t just move a little further into the room.

The Bass is served by gravity here. Unfortunately, the cask is almost empty and the beer is pretty flat. Had we arrived a little later, we’d have had lovely, fresh Bass. What a shame.

We only stay for a couple. Before heading back to Derby.

“Fancy a pint in the White Horse?” Mike asks. It’s the pub opposite our hotel.

“Why not?”

It’s fairly full. Many middle-aged (or older) men, watching Derby playing. Though there are some younger drinkers as well Oh, look. They’ve got Bass.

The Bass is pretty good. Mike and I discuss football as we watch the game and sip our Bass. I mention Jim Baxter, who was sent off in the first football match I went to.

“You had to thump someone to get sent off back then. Which is what Jim Baxter did.”

We don’t make it too late. More travelling tomorrow.

On our way out, one of the old chavs comes up and says:

“I heard you talking about Jim Baxter. Great player.”

A tot of hotel whisky has me tooting away to sleep.




The Roebuck Inn
101 Station St,
Burton-on-Trent.
DE14 1BT.
https://www.roe-buck-inn.co.uk/


Devonshire Arms
86 Station St,
Burton-on-Trent,
DE14 1BT.


The Coopers Tavern
43 Cross St,
Burton-on-Trent,
DE14 1EG.


The White Horse

25 Morledge,
Derby,
DE1 2AW.


Disclosure: my travel and all expenses were paid by Goose Island.

Sunday 24 March 2024

Judging begins

The bus is at 8:00. So I rise a little before 7:00. I could have done with another couple of hours kip. But isn’t that almost always the case?

I have breakfast with Alex. There’s no bacon, so I go for scrambled egg and cheese. Plus some fruit for pudding. I don’t eat a huge amount. Not feeling that hungry.


As Alex worked for Bass Charrington, the conversation turns to Runcorn. Which Alex helped shut down. I’m weirdly obsessed by the brewery. Alex tells me that not only was the packaging plant miles away from the brewhouse, it was also downhill. Such a great design.

There’s a bit of messing around to start. Like logging onto the wifi. Meaning it’s a while before we get our first flight. But it’s not too much of a delay. I’ve experienced much worse.

My fellow judges are:

Claudia Di Battista Morin – Uruguay.
Gean Carlo Vila Lobos – Brazil.

We start with Bohemian Pilsner. There are a couple of quite good ones but also some real stinkers. Plenty of DMS and oxidation kicking around. 12 samples.

Vienna Lager next. None that I really liked. A couple are just about OK. 12 samples.

I have lunch with Alex, too. Just a bit of beef and salad, as I’m still not that hungry. I studiously avoid the multiple carbs on offer. Unlike the Brazilians, who pile three or four of them onto their plate.

We kick off the afternoon with European Dark Lager. The first two beers lull me into a false sense of security. Most of the beers that follow are awful. A couple make me gag, they’re so unpleasant. 12 samples.

Munich Dunkel. I didn’t really like any of them. 7 samples.

English Pale Ale. A few quite nice ones.  7 samples.

English Brown Ale. Some real stinkers.  7 samples.

I have a look at the style guidelines for English Brown Ale. 4.2% to 6% ABV, they say. I explain to my fellow judges that, apart from Newcastle Brown and Vaux Double Maxim, there are no examples that fall into that strength range. And that most are around 3% ABV. The handful of Brown Ales that are still brewed.

I’m not sure they totally believe me, as Gean Carlo looks up Manns Brown Ale on the internet. He looks quite surprised when he discovers that it’s just 2.8% ABV.

It’s 17:45 by the time we’re done. By which time I’m totally done. Plenty of other tables are still in full swing. The bus to Thapyoka is at 18:30. Supposedly. I chat with a Norwegian judge while we wait. It’s well after 19:00 when the bus finally leaves.

I sit at a table, expecting some people I know to show up. None do. Eventually, Eduardo Pelizzon, a jolly Brazilian comes over:

“Are you sitting by yourself? Join us on our table.” Where he gives me some Catharina Sour. Which is good, as I remember the draught beer here being crap. While the Catharina Sour is pretty good.

The second bus hasn’t arrived and they haven’t even put the buffet out. Looks like we won’t be eating until 20:30, at the earliest. So we decide to share an Uber and eat elsewhere. I really don’t want another late night.

I decide that I’ve enough food in my room. I’ve a roll left over from yesterday and some cheese and salami. That’ll do me. Along with whatever that spirit is I got in the supermarket – 51. I only bought it because it was dead cheap. In typical Brazilian fashion, it comes in a weird size bottle: 965 ml.

This is great. I’ve got a few hours to relax. I watch some stuff on my flipflop. Internet Today then, after firing up the VPN, Boarders from the BBC iplayer. I’m really happy to get a couple of hours to myself. Lazing around doing nothing. Much more fun than whatever might be happening in Thapyoka.

I don’t stay up too late. Propelled into sleep by whatever that spirit Ypioca is.



Choperia e Restaurante Thapyoka
R. XV de Novembro, 160
Centro, Blumenau
SC, 89010-001.
https://thapyoka.com.br/


Saturday 23 March 2024

Let's Brew - 2006 Youngs Special

Where would Youngs Ordinary be without a Special to go with it? So here you go. No need to thank me. Honestly.

Obviously, the grist is identical to that of Ordinary. As the two were parti-gyled together. What do I have to say? Not a huge amount, really.

The grist of mostly pale malt leaves a pretty pale colour. At the very bottom end of the scale for a Bitter of this gravity. Looking at a 1967 analysis from the Whitbread Gravity Book, the colour seems to have become a little paler, around 1º SRM. Maybe that was as a result of switching to all malt.

It's a little more bitter than Ordinary, but still very much at the low end for the style, Though the relatively high degree of attenuation probably accentuated what bitterness there was. 

2006 Youngs Special
pale malt 9.75 lb 93.57%
crystal malt 20 L 0.67 lb 6.43%
Fuggles 75 min 1.00 oz
Goldings 30 min 0.50 oz
OG 1045
FG 1009.5
ABV 4.70
Apparent attenuation 78.89%
IBU 20
SRM 5
Mash at 152º F
Sparge at 165º F
Boil time 75 minutes
pitching temp 64º F
Yeast Wyeast 1968 London ESB (Fullers)


Friday 22 March 2024

Off to judge

A 7:00 AM start today, as my flight is at 10:00. I have my usual breakfast. It being earlier, the breakfast room is much emptier. As it will be quite a complicated journey, I eat some extra fruit.

After eating, I quickly pack and go downstairs to check out. Before you know it, I’m rocking and rolling through Rio in an Uber.

Check in is a doddle. And soon I’m sitting at the same bar as last time, sipping a caipirinha. It’s not far to my gate, thankfully. Where quite a few people are hanging around. Departure time comes and goes with no sign of boarding. Great. My connection in Sao Paolo is quite short.

We eventually board about 30 minutes late. The flight is pretty short. Before we land, there’s an announcement in Portuguese that mentions Navegantes. Are they talking about the connection?

Landing is pretty scary again. As soon as we hit the tarmac, the pilot jams on the brakes. It’s a pretty short runway.

Once off the plane, I look for the gate of my connecting flight. It’s the same one I just arrived at. No need to worry about missing the connection, as it’s the same plane. When we get back on, I notice some people never got off. That must have been what the announcement was about.

Another short flight has me in Navegantes. Where my bag soon rolls onto the carousel. Just a few metres away, my driver is waiting for me. In a couple of minutes we’re boinging down the highway. That was fairly painless.

The scenery around is as lush as ever as we race inland. Towering clouds billow above the hills. Flat, fecund fields spreading between them. Very impressive. Despite this, I start to doze during the hour so it takes to get to Blumenau.

After checking in, I head down the road to the supermarket. Man, it’s hot. Too hot for me. Much worse than Rio. I’m covered in sweat by the time I get to the shop. Where I stock up on provisions. I need some food, as I haven’t eaten since my early breakfast.

When I get back to my room, I’m covered in sweat. Time for a shower. After fiddling around for a while, I only seem to get cold water. A quick cold shower it is, then. I’m so hot I don’t actually mind.

There’s time to recover a little before the dinner in the evening. So that’s what I do. Watching some crap on my computer.

I wander downstairs at 18:50. 10 minutes before the bus is due to leave. I bump into Chris Flaskamp and we have a bit of a chat.

At the evening’s venue, Restaurante Moinho do Vale, we sit at a table together. Along with Alex Barlow and Thomas Sjoberg. And a German hop grower and his wife. A good group.

A quick look at the beer list tells me one thing. As I remember the beers from last year. That Quadrupel will come in a 75cl bottle. So that’s what I order. It’ll save lots of pissing around.

There’s a cold buffet to start. And rollmops, if your stomach is up to them. Which I don’t think mine is, at this particular moment. Cheese is another matter.

Things kick off with a lot of speeches. And then awards to various people in Brazilian brewing.

“You’d better get ready to get on stage.” Chris tells me.

“What?”

“They’re about to give you an award.”

That’s a surprise. I’ve never had an award before. My main concern is that my shorts will fall down while I’m walking up to collect it. That doesn’t happen. Quite.

I genuinely don’t know what to think. The award itself is quite impressive. A solid sheet of metal. That’ll go nicely over my desk.

The food is a buffet, obviously. I’m a bit past eating when it’s served at 21:30. I’m feeling totally knacked, to be honest. I can’t wait for 23:00 to roll around when I can get the bus back to the hotel.

Some of the others head off for a nightcap. I just want to get to my bed. The bus to the judging location is at 8:00, so I’ll need to be up before 7:00. I don’t want to start tomorrow dead on my feet.

There’s just time for a little hotel whisky to gently nudge me over the edge into sleep.



Restaurante Moinho do Vale
R. Porto Rico, 66
Ponta Aguda,
Blumenau
SC, 89050-010.
https://www.restaurantemoinhodovale.com.br/
 

Thursday 21 March 2024

Stout! erratum

I just noticed a mistake in one of the recipes in my book "Stout!" The quantities for black and amber malt were the wrong way around.

This is the corrected recipe:

1849 Barclay Perkins Imperial Brown Stout
pale malt 16.00 lb 63.37%
brown malt 6.25 lb 24.75%
black malt 0.75 lb 2.97%
amber malt 2.25 lb 8.91%
Goldings 90 min 7.50 oz
Goldings 60 min 7.50 oz
Goldings 30 min 7.50 oz
Goldings dry hops 1.50 oz
OG 1105
FG 1031
ABV 9.79
Apparent attenuation 70.48%
IBU 176
SRM 41
Mash at 153º F
Sparge at 170º F
Boil time 90 minutes
pitching temp 56º F
Yeast Wyeast 1099 Whitbread Ale

This is the book in which the recipe appears. Get your copy now!

To Derby!

I don’t have to get up too early. Thankfully. Time to do stuff before heading off. My flight isn’t until 13:30. I jump in a cab a bit before 10:00. I want to get a lounge breakfast. Both solid and liquid.

It seems like just yesterday I was here, I think as I enter Schiphol. Oh, I remember, it was just over 24 hours ago I stumbled off that flight from Brazil. Not feeling that bad, as I hadn’t gone crazy with the boozing and got a good few hours kip.

There’s a bit of a queue at passport control. Maybe 15 minutes. Nothing crazy. I’m in the lounge soon enough. Whisky first, then some food.

The hot food isn’t bad. A decent enough beef stew. With a slice of wholemeal bread. Goes very nicely with my brace of whiskies.

I’m still feeling peckish and go for a second course. After a second course of whiskies, obviously.  Cheese, olives, pickles and brown bread. Quite a lot of cheese. And a boiled egg.

There’s time for a couple more rounds of whisky before I trundle off to my gate. Which is a bit of a walk on D pier. I’m used to getting transcontinental flights from the much handier E and or F piers.

The flight is pretty much one time. Even after spending 10 minutes taxiing to the polderbaan.

It’s a rather long walk to immigration, which involves doubling back. Now there’s a great layout.

Once they’ve looked at my passport, I’m done, not having checked in a bag. I just need to find my way to the tube. It’s a simple ride. As St. Pancras is my destination, which is on the Piccadilly line. It’s about 14:30, when the tube train pulls out.

I’ve arranged to meet Mike Siegel (of Goose Island) at 16:00 in the Betjeman Arms. A pub inside the station. I should be there in time. It’s about an hour or so on the tube. But everything in London always takes much longer than you expect.

I arrive at the station in good time. I just have to get to the mainline station. Not as easy as you might think. The Piccadilly line platforms are several levels down. And the lifts don’t go all the way to the top. You need to take a relay of lifts to escape from the bowels.

When I finally get to street level, I’m right at the back of the station. I decide it’s easier to walk outside along the street, rather than in the crowded station. And I get to walk past the Salt’s Burton Pale Ale stores.

I get to the pub around 15:50. Pausing only to snap a few pics of the beautiful station.

Mike hasn’t arrived yet. So I get myself a pint of Harveys Best. Because I can. It’s not in the greatest of condition.

I haven’t been sitting long when a voice behind me says: “Hello, Ron.”

When I’ve recovered from the shock, I realise that it’s Derek Prentice. Oracle on London brewing and all-round nice bloke. It’s good to see him again.

“How’s the Harveys?” he asks. I let him try it. “That’s funky, even for Harveys.”

Not long after Mike Sigel and Shane roll up. I recommend against the Harveys and they go for Youngs Ordinary. As do I for my second pint.

We haven’t long to hang around. Our train to Derby is at 17:00. After we move on to Youngs Special, Derek asks Mike if he knows where the Youngs beers are currently brewed.

“Maybe in Burton.”

No-one seems to be sure. Which is rather sad.

We say our goodbyes to Derek and make the short walk to our train. Which seems to be on time. There’s a miracle.

I haven’t eaten since my lounge breakfast. Just as well I ate plenty then. When the trolley comes around, I ask:

“Do you have any sandwiches?”

“No, just snacks.”

Disappointed, I get two bags of crisps. Cheese and onion and salt and vinegar. Just to keep my diet balanced.

Once our bags are dumped in our hotel, we venture out in search of food. Well, there isn’t really any searching. Mike has already planned this out. We’ll be eating in the Exeter Arms, a beer pub with decent food.

There’s a pretty good selection of cask beer. And the cosiness of an open fire. It’s rather nice. I get a Thornbridge Crackendale.

Once seated, we order some food. Scotch eggs and pies. We share one each of the three types of Scotch eggs they make. Followed by a main of three small pies, served with chips and mushy peas.

The pies are rather nice. Though my son Andrew, who’s a bit of a pie Nazi, would have complained because they were all pot pies. That is, there was no pastry side or bottom. Just a lid.

Once we’ve eaten, Mike suggests that we continue on to the Smithfield. Where they have Draught Bass.

The pub is like a shrine to Bass. Memorabilia covers the walls. Including a giant letters spelling “Bass”, which would once have adorned the exterior wall of a pub.

Being a bit of a contrarian, I get a Craven Brew Oatmeal Stout. Just because it’s so rare to see one. It’s OK. Maybe a little past its best. For my next beer, I surrender and go for the Bass.

The Bass is good. I’ve not had it for ages. As you rarely see it in the parts of the country I usually visit. Here, not far from Burton, it’s much more common. It’s not too farty and finishes quite dry and bitter. Easily good enough for a second pint.

The pub is reasonably well filled for a Monday night. But the age of the customers is a bit of a worry. Mike is one of the few under sixty. That doesn’t bode well for the future. Without a steady influx of young customers, pubs will surely die.

We don’t leave it too late. We have a busy day tomorrow.

In case you’re wondering “Why the hell is Ron going to Derby”, it’s researching for my next collaboration beer with Goose Island. I can’t say too much about it. Other than it will be an historic recipe. And probably British.



Disclosure: my travel and all expenses were paid by Goose Island.



Betjeman Arms
53, St Poncras International Station,
Euston Rd.,
London N1C 4QL.
https://www.thebetjemanarms.co.uk


Exeter Arms
Exeter Pl,
Derby DE1 2EU.
http://www.exeterarms.co.uk


The Smithfield

Riverlights House,
Meadow Road,
Derby DE1 2BH.

Wednesday 20 March 2024

Let's Brew Wednesday - 2006 Youngs Ordinary

This might well be the most recent recipe I’ve ever published. It’s certainly the quickest I’ve turned around a recipe after collecting the brewing record. I only photographed this last Friday. When I was at the Young’s heritage centre in Wandsworth.

This was part of a four-way parti-gyle with Special Ramrod and St. George’s Beer. Though the final two were identical. It looks very like a Fullers parti-gyle, with Ordinary, Special and Ramrod being the equivalents of Chiswick. London Pride and ESB.

The grist is very simple, consisting of just two malts: pale and crystal. Though the former was a combination of Crisp Maris Otter and Simpson Maris Otter. I’m sure, if you went back a couple of decades that the recipe would have included flaked maize and sugar. That’s just how everyone brewed back then.

There were three types of hops, all English, from 2004. 2005 and 2006 seasons. There’s no indication of variety in the brewing record. Maybe I should ask Derek Prentice, as he brewed this batch. Weird personally knowing the brewer of a log I’m interpreting. 

2006 Youngs Ordinary
pale malt 8.00 lb 94.12%
crystal malt 20 L 0.50 lb 5.88%
Fuggles 75 min 0.75 oz
Goldings 30 min 0.50 oz
OG 1036
FG 1006.5
ABV 3.90
Apparent attenuation 81.94%
IBU 17.5
SRM 4.5
Mash at 152º F
Sparge at 165º F
Boil time 75 minutes
pitching temp 65º F
Yeast Wyeast 1968 London ESB (Fullers)

 

 

 

Tuesday 19 March 2024

More Ipanema

Rising at 8:30 again, I head straight downstairs for breakfast, pausing only to brush my teeth.

I have the same breakfast as yesterday: bacon and scrambled egg, followed by fruit. Got to keep the vitamin intake up. I can also be a totally boring bastard at times. Especially when it comes to hotel breakfasts.

After eating, I wander down to the supermarket again. For bread, cheese. That sort of stuff. It’s for my tea later. No point throwing away money on that fancy restaurant food. I’m not made of money. And it’s interesting to poke around a Brazilian supermarket. I tell myself.

I’ve resorted to yesterday’s plan. Which is to trail over to one of the few beer places that opens in the early afternoon. And also isn’t too far away.

About 13:00 I get an Uber over to Copacabana. Not to the beach, but to Colarinho Copacabana. A beer pub a couple of blocks behind the beach.

I was here with Martyn a few years back. The first time I was in Rio in 2020, when I had all of 24 hours to investigate the city.

Colarinho is a long, thin establishment at the base of a large modern building housing a hotel. About half the seating is outside. Which is where I park my fat, old arse. It’s rather pleasant in the shade, with a bit of a breeze sweeping away my sweat. Generated on the long walk from the kerb.

Time to get myself some beer.

Colarinho IPA, 6.5% ABV, 56 IBU, 23.90 reals a US pint
Called an “American IPA”, it looks like a West Coast example. That is, not sludgy. Not very citrussy. More the tobacco-like aroma of Old World hops. OK, but not very American.

The prices are cheaper here than Espaço 09. Though this one beer still cost more than a litre of vodka in the supermarket. Which, weirdly, didn’t sell either rum or cachaca. At least, not that I could see.

It’s quite relaxing here. Other than the traffic streaming past. Fuck me, people walk down the street here wearing very little. Just a skimpy bikini or shorts and bare chest.  Though I guess the weather isn’t designed for overdressing.

A lot of the other customers have obviously just come from the beach. Copacabana is just around the corner. Surprising how few people wear hats here, given the climate.

Another beer is what I need. To take my minds off hats. (I’m wearing one today, myself. Which may be why I’m thinking about them.)

Hocus Pocus a Pelaja do Astronauto Contra a Falta da Consciencia, 8.5% ABV, 25.90 real for 200 ml
Described as a “West Coast Hop Hash Double IPA”. Whatever that means. Yes, there’s the citrus. This is much better. Loads of citrus and a decent thump of alcohol.

I’m going for Brazilian tapas – starting with a cod croquette. Yum. That’s nice. Full of fishy goodness. When it cools down. Much like a Dutch croquette in that respect. I smash it down to help it cool off.

The weather is so pleasant here, if a touch on the warm side at 30º C. On past experience, Blumenau won’t be as nice. Mostly on account of the very high humidity. I expect to sweat my arse off every time I step outside.

That thought is making me thirsty. More beer needed.

Noi Amara, 10.5% IPA, 100 IBU, 30.90 reals a US pint

Quite dark this one. Bit of citrus. Quite caramelly. Not as good as the last one. But . . . cheaper and stronger.

Continuing the tapas, I get a prawn pasty to go with the beer. It’s rather nice. You can’t go wrong with a pie.

I’m a bit all beered out. I’ve tried all the beers I fancied. (All the stupidly strong ones.) Time for a caipirinha. And another cod croquette.

It’s great having all my time to myself. And not be rushing around. I can sit here and eat croquettes for as long as I fucking want. And drink caipirinhas. I never get bored of those.

My enthusiasm for the two runs out a bit after 5 PM. At least, that’s what the times on my photos tell me. I’ve completely lost track. Still light, that’s what matters.

After the extravagance of the tapas earlier, I’m back on cheese rolls. The odd ham one, too. I’m living the high life in Rio. This is what retirements all about. Until the excitement gets too much. But let’s not dwell on that.

Fun. That’s what I’m having. In as responsible a way as possible. Well, as possible while still enjoying myself.

On which thought I pour myself a healthy hotel whisky measure. And get down to watching some really bad TV.

I don’t make it too late. I’ve an early start tomorrow. Whisk me to sleep whisky.


Boteco Colarinho Escondido

R. Francisco Otaviano, 30
Copacabana,
Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22080-040, Brazil

Monday 18 March 2024

Ipanema

I rise at 8:30. And go down for breakfast almost immediately.

Same drill as always. Bacon and scrambled egg for main. Fruit for pudding. A perfectly balanced meal. Along with orange juice and lots of coffee. I’m such a healthy bastard.

After berkkie, I wander down to the supermarket for a few bits and bobs.  Mostly drinks. It’s so handy having a supermarket just 100 metres away. One of the reasons I chose to return to this hotel.

I want to take advantage of my roaming data. Did I mention that I always get data while I’m away? In this case, a local sim. Though not one bought in Brazil, as you need a Brazilian id for that. I bought one over the net that isn’t Brazilian but has data for Brazil. Don’t ask me how that works.

I head to the beach, just to send a photo to annoy Mikey. No plans to sit on the beach. But it’s so tempting, I do anyway.

“A large caipirinha, please.”

“700 mil?”

“Why not?”

Perhaps the drinks help lure me into lingering. And the prices. 30 reals is a steal for a cocktail that size. Especially on a beach as beautiful as this. 

I settle myself in a chair under an umbrella. But I notice my knees are in the sun. Dangerous. Since I didn’t bother with sunscreen, not having intended sitting on the beach. Last year I was caught by the sun even though I kept to the shade all the time. Just from the sun reflecting off the white sand.

A middle-aged bloke asks me to keep an eye on his bag while he has a dip in the sea. Turns out he’s Argentinian. Just like the empanadas they come round selling.

It’s not that busy. Far fewer people are around than last year. Is Wednesday a quiet day? There are fewer vendors, too. Only the occasional empanada or beer pusher. The cigarette seller escalates very quickly this time, going straight to coke.

“Er, no thanks.” My monster caipirinha will do me.

Having data, I fiddle on my phone a bit to show off where I am. Just like annoying young people. Except that I’m by myself. Mostly, I just soak up the joy. Of doing nothing. Other than occasionally sipping on my cocktail.

I only stay for the one. Which is quite a lot of alcohol. I don’t want to get burnt. Or ripped off my tits. Not yet, at least.

On the way back I drop by the supermarket. Where I get a couple of rolls, ham and sausage for my lunch. A rather late lunch.

Which I eat back in my room. While watching the Rugby League World Club Championship. I taped it on Saturday. Through the miracle of the internet, I can watch it here. Who would ever have thought that I’d one day watch Rugby League in Rio?

The plan is to head to a beer bar in Copacabana that opens at noon. But by the time I’ve finished pissing around in my room it’s almost 16:00. I decide to just go to Espaço 09, the beer place around the corner that opens at 17:00 instead.

I get to Espaço 09 at 17:10 and am told they’re not open yet. I just sit and wait for a while. I’ve learnt to be patient. I’m in no hurry, anyway. As long as I’ve got a seat, I don’t care.

They start serving about 17:30. When I order:

18 Do Forte Motim Rye IPA 6% ABV, 58 IBU, 34 real for 473 ml

Very citrussy, quite bitter, not bad.

I’m the only customer. For quite a while. Until a bloke about my age turns up. He doesn’t sit down. He’s just getting some draught beer as a carry out.

The kit at the back is still confusing me. I take a closer luck. The bits at the front might be serving tanks, but there does seem to be a full brewhouse behind it. And most of the beers on sale are 09 branded. Maybe they do really brew here.

As it darkens, people stream down the road returning from the beach. Many still in their beachwear. It isn’t the sort of weather that requires much clothing. I’ll be in shorts myself until I get back to Amsterdam. Count yourself lucky that you won’t have to gaze upon my shorted form. Not a pretty sight.

Not really fancying any of the other beers, I get myself another one of the same. There are two Stouts, but I’m not really feeling in a Stouty mood. Which is unusual. Even in the tropics.

More customers have shown up. A group of young expats from various nations. Students, maybe. Obviously, they converse in English. They get stuck into some food as well as beer.

The music starts – a bloke with an acoustic guitar playing cover versions. I don’t stay much longer. I’m just having a lazy time. And what better city than Rio to just lay back and do fuck all?

On the way back, I drop by the supermarket again for more of rolls. With the stuff I bought earlier, that will be my tea. Not being very hungry, it’s plenty.

There’s a queue for the tills. But the cashier beckons me to come forward. I suppose because I’m an oldie. Isn’t Brazil great?

After eating a couple of cheese rolls, I watch some internet stuff while sipping on whisky. My friend Tomatin shooing me to the nation of nod.



Espaço 09 - Coletivo Gastronômico Artesanal

R. Farme de Amoedo, 43
Ipanema,
Rio de Janeiro
RJ, 22420-020.