Amsterdam bound

I meet Mike for breakfast at nine.

I’m feeling a bit crap. Not sure why. A cold coming on, perhaps. Maybe lack of sleep. Or it could have been those cocktails. And the soju. Yeah, maybe it makes sense. I’m tired and have a cold.

The best in such circumstances is to fill your stomach. Preferably with salt and grease. Also known as a full English. I get scrambled egg, mushrooms, lots of bacon and, in a daring move, a sausage. Only because it’s labelled “Cumberland sausage”.

It’s not too bad. Could maybe have done with a bit more texture. I have some more orange juice. And more coffee. I’m still really thirsty. That’s it. I’m, ill, tired and dehydrated. It’s so simple.

We’re due over in Wandswortth at 11:00. I wouldn’t know the best way to get there. We take a District line train to East Putney. Then walk. It’s not stupidly far. But I have my luggage with me.

We’re meeting various people at Sambrooks. Which is located on the part of the former Youngs brewery site. Never been there before, so should be fun. Despite the walk.

After a while of fiddling around outside, we find Derek and his son Michael are already inside. Along with Duncan Sambrook of, er, Sambrooks.

We start off with a drink. For me, a water. I’m weirdly thirsty.

We have a quick spin around the brewery. Where John, a former Youngs brewer who kept brewing going on the site after the closure. He’s busy brewing on his small kit. An IPA. We don’t have long to chat as he’s, well, brewing. 

After Sambrooks, it’s the turn of the Youngs Heritage Centre. Where, in one of the few bits of the original structure, they have some old bits and bobs. And a couple of brewing logs. Including the final one, covering 2006-2007. I quickly snap a few random pages.

There’s just time for a beer before we need to leave for our next appointment. I get a half of Porter. Don’t want to drink too much beer. I have a long tube ride to consider. Don’t want to soil my kecks on the way to the airport.

We take a bus to the Bricklayer’s Arms in Putney. A famous beer pub, which I’ve never visited before. It’s sort of Timothy Taylor’s London HQ. Selling no fewer than four of their beers: Dark Mild, Landlord, Landlord Dark and Boltmaker. Pretty impressive. I get a half of Landlord Dark. As the Mild has just gone off.

I can’t stay for long. I need to get over to Heathrow for a 5 PM flight. I start getting ready to leave around 2 PM. But everything takes longer than you expect in London.

By the time my Uber drops me at Hammersmith tube station, it’s 14:40. Mmm. I’d like to get to the airport around three-ish. When’s the next train to terminal 4? Bum. Not for another 15 minutes.

Luckily, it’s only 30 minutes to the airport. I’m there at 15:30. Where I discover that my flight is delayed by 60 minutes. More time in the lounge, I suppose.

It’s pretty full. I manage to find a seat, though. After setting up my flip-flop, I visit the bar to fetch a whisky. The think about food. As I’ve not eaten since breakfast. The hot food isn’t that bad. So I get stuck in.

I fiddle around on the internet for a while. While sipping whisky and stuffing my face.

Eventually it says my flight is 45-minutes late. Though, by the time it leaves, it’s delayed by more than an hour.

Not much to report about the flight. We take off, fly for a bit, land and then spend forever taxiing to the terminal.

When I open my front door, there’s a cup of tea ready. Andrew tracked my flight this time.




Sambrook's Brewery
1 Bellwether Ln,
London SW18 1UD.
https://www.sambrooksbrewery.co.uk/


The Bricklayer’s Arms
32 Waterman St,
London SW15 1DD.
https://www.bricklayersarmsputney.com/ 

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

Let's Brew Wednesday - 2006 Courage Best Bitter

This is a rather strange one. A version of Courage Best Bitter brewed at Youngs. And, even weirder, it’s way stronger than Courage Best usually was. The standard OG being 1039º. I’ve no idea why this version is so much stronger.

The recipe looks remarkably like those of Youngs own Pale Ales. With a grist mostly of pale malt along with a little crystal malt. With the addition of a very proprietary ingredient: Youngs Special Mix. A blend of sugars put together especially for Youngs. It was a mix of glucose, molasses and caramel with a colour of 220 EBC. I’ve added the individual elements to the recipe.

There was just a single type of hops described as Donnington Court. Which doesn’t tell me a great deal. Given the small quantity, I decided to go with something higher alpha than Goldings or Fuggles. But that is purely a guess. They could have been pretty much any English variety. 

2006 Courage Best Bitter
pale malt	9.50 lb	79.50%
crystal malt 20 L	1.33 lb	11.13%
glucose	0.85 lb	7.11%
molasses	0.25 lb	2.09%
caramel 2000 SRM	0.02 lb	0.17%
Brewer’s Gold 60 min	0.50 oz
Brewer’s Gold 15 min	0.50 oz
OG	1055
FG	1013
ABV	5.56
Apparent attenuation	76.36%
IBU	15
SRM	10
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	165º F
Boil time	60 minutes
pitching temp	63º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1028 London Ale

Back home

The twelfth day of the trip. Longer than I’m usually away. I’m feeling it when I drag my miserable carcass from under the sheet at 6:15.

Ablutions abluted, it’s time to fill my fat gut with coffee, scrambled egg, cheese and fruit. Exactly the same as every other day I’ve stayed in this hotel. I’m such a wacky bloke.

My driver rolls up a minute or two before the appointed time. We quickly rumble out of town, which hasn’t totally woken up yet. At least, the swarms of cars haven’t.

It’s still pretty damp. Out in the countryside, the pastures are sodden emerald. With only the occasional sad, seated cow and erratic palms to punctuate its emptiness. The hills, pumped full of trees, are mostly invisible, steaming with mist.

Weirdly unconvincing billboards pimping luxury developments often block the view. As do the roadside restaurants. Many, inevitably offering buffet. In a not particularly subtle way.

A little of the Dupipe was left over yesterday. Shame to waste it. And that diet cola. Time to make a travel drink. I wouldn’t want to dehydrate during the journey.

When it starts getting more urban, I realise we’re getting close to the airport. Small, low houses and workshops. And my special drink bottle runs dry. That’s good timing.

I’m soon checked in. I know there’s nothing really to do airside. I just find a seat by the gate and read Private Eye.

I get on as one of the first – thank you, Brazilian law – and the flight is on time. With the usual slightly scary landing, where the brakes are slammed on as soon as rubber hits the tarmac. That’s Congonhas for you. 

There’s only an hour between my flights. Congonhas, being no Guarulhos, is pretty compact. In no time, I’m at the gate.

I built a lot of wiggle room into today. I land in Rio at 13:05. My flight to Amsterdam is at 20:50. Bit of an overkill, I know. Price might have played a role, too. Though I do need to transfer from Rio’s domestic to its international airport. Already having booked a car, the transfer is a doddle.

It’s not even 14:00 when I get there. Far too early to check in. Waiting it is. Several hours of it. Getting to catch up on some of Private Eye backlog is my positive way of looking at it.

Once, eventually, checked in and airside, I remember what I hate about this airport: the endless walking. Even worse than Schiphol. And almost no travellators.

After some initial trouble linking to the wifi (I blame VPN), I settle in to watch some crap with nibbles and a few caipirinhas. A bit disappointed, I switch to whisky. They were the weakest caipirinhas I’ve tasted. Nothing like enough cachaça.

A bit before it’s time to leave the warm embrace of the lounge, a storm starts with flurry of flashes. Hope that’s over before takeoff.

They seem a little behind schedule in getting boarding going. Leaving my poor old legs standing around for 15 minutes.

I plan on a good kip. And sort of get it. I fall asleep during Next Goal Wins. I don’t get further when I restart, nodding off only a few minutes on.

It might not be my first impression, but I seem to have had a reasonable amount of sleep. Maybe five hours. Just very disturbed. I woke up lots of times. Just not for long.

We’re served a yellow rectangle of something they don’t bother to explain on a base of some red stuff. If anything, the visuals oversell the flavour. And they’ve promised fuck all. I don’t care. I just have to one mouthful. Which I regret. Coffee and orange juice will do me.

It seems a very long walk, considering we arrived on E pier. And the carousel for our luggage is the very far one.

The wait for the first bag isn’t too bad. It just takes a while for mine to come out.

A taxi soon leaves me opening my front door. Where Dolores has tea ready for me. She’s followed my flight on her computer. The wonders of modern technology.

 

Thomas Usher malts in 1894

Some more ridiculous detail on Thomas Usher's beers. Well, it's all to do with me travelling again. In two ways.

First, it's spun off from some material I'd been preparing for a new talk. And it's to cover a period when I'll be travelling.

For most of the beers, there’s not much in the way of different malts. With the exception of the Stouts, all the beers only contain pale malt. Though there was more than one type of pale malt. Made from barley grown in various parts of the world. For example, Chile, Syria, Turkey and Scotland. With the locally-grown barley being one of the least common.

The malt percentage of these beers varies between 75% and 95%.

More interesting are the Stouts, which contain three types of malt: pale, brown and black. The continued use of brown malt is unusual, as, by this time, most brewers outside London had stripped down their Stout grists to just pale and black. And, at over 17%, the percentage is pretty high.

Also high is the proportion of black malt, weighing in at 13%. Anything over 10% is very high. 

Thomas Usher malts in 1894
Beer	Style	pale malt	brown malt	black malt	total malt
XX 60/-	Mild	94.03%			94.03%
50/- Br	Ale	85.71%			85.71%
60/-	Ale	75.00%			75.00%
60/- Br	Ale	85.71%			85.71%
80/-	Ale	75.00%			75.00%
100/-	Ale	75.00%			75.00%
3 XX	Stock Ale	95.24%			95.24%
IP	IPA	85.71%			85.71%
PA	Pale Ale	75.00%			75.00%
PA 60/-	Pale Ale	85.71%			85.71%
Stout	Stout	47.52%	17.82%	8.91%	74.26%
Stout Export	Stout	69.57%	17.39%	13.04%	100.00%
Source:
Thomas Usher brewing record held at the Scottish Brewing Archives, document number TU/6/1/2.

Festival talk

I have some weird dreams. I’m being chased by a bunch of neo-Nazi thugs. Not sure why, but they seem very angry. I awake with a vague feeling of unease.

I hit the breakfast room at 9:00. Where I eat the same as every other day. Jos soon joins me.

Only a handful of judges are around. Even fewer than yesterday. I suppose everyone is gradually drifting off home.

Annoyingly both the coffee and milk run out well before 10:00. I try getting a cappuccino from the machine. It’s unbearably sweet. I only take a single sip.

I’ve not much planned today. Other than the talk I’m giving later. That will only take an hour. Oh, and I also want to use the 15 real voucher for E-10. That doesn’t open until 15:00. In the meantime, I laze around in my room, occasionally sipping on cachaça.

Packing, too. I bought more cachaças than was wise when roaming the countryside a few days back. Now I’m wondering if they will all fit in my bag. Sadly, I conclude that four, at most, can be squeezed in.

Heavy of heart, I sacrifice the Dupipe silver. It’s very full flavoured for a spirit with no age on it.

I just about force the four bottles into my check-in bag. Hoping they were protected enough for their long journey.

It’s been raining most of the day. Raining most of the last few days. Not torrential, but a steady stream. And when it hasn’t been raining, it’s been overcast. Which has kept the temperature fair more bearable.

It’s getting on for four when I trail down E-10. It’s raining. Nothing crazy. I don’t mind getting a little wet. Half a dozen blokes are standing around outside.

What should I do with my 30 reals? It’ll get me about 200 ml of beer, depending on the strength. I start with a Van Dutch Double IPA. It’s full of citrussy goodness.

I sit outside under cover and watch as the rain thickens. The harder it falls, the more quickly people scurry past.

My next choice is an Imperial Stout. To get me in the mood for this evening. It’s not bad in a roasty sort of way.

It’s not yet 17:00 yet. Too early to go to the festival. So I load up another 30 reals and indulge in some more Double IPA. Then some more Imperial Stout.

The rain has picked up the pace even more. A bit like me when closing time is approaching. As my planned departure time ticks around, it’s streaming like from a busted watermain. Which is having an impact on Uber availability.

I have to wait quite a while for one. Once I’ve clambered in, the Uber isn’t getting anywhere in a rush, The traffic is abysmal. We crawl along, surrounded by cars and rain. I thought I’d left plenty of time to get there before my talk. I’m not so sure now.

It’s 18:45 when I get to Vila Germanica. Just about enough time to pick up an Imperial Stout. Solely for mouth hydration purposes. Wouldn’t want a dry throat while I’m speaking.

The speaker before me hasn’t finished yet. Leaving me some time to chill.

It’s not a huge crowd for me: 15-20. I rattle through the presentation pretty quickly. With a few excursions on tangents every now and again. The slides are just there to prompt me. The talk itself is different every time. Other than the many numbers. They always remain the same.

After chatting to a couple of the judges, I’m in search of beer. Tres Santas is very close by. I go there for a Double IPA. A style I’ve come to quite like. Possibly because it’s difficult to fuck up. The alcohol content may also play a part.

While It’s being poured, someone, presumably the owner, rushed up and tells the server to give it to me for free. Seems he’s a fan. We chat for a little, though it’s restricted by his limited English.

I start chatting with Shweeta and a German judge, while polishing off my beer. But before I can finish it, I’m grabbed by my arm and dragged over to another stand. Aqua do Monge. It’s the owner who’s just abducted me.

He’s dragged me over because one of his servers speaks much better English than he does. Enthusiastically, he shows me a photo of the front cover of my “proper” book on his phone.

“Do you like cachaça?”

“Ooh, yes.”

“It’s six years old.” He says, pouring me a generous shot.

It’s very nice. As is his Wee Heayy

After pouring me a few more of his beers, he asks “What are your favourite beer styles?”

“Quadrupel, Imperial Stout, Double IPA.” Those are the ones I’ve been drinking most over here.

Taking me aby the arm, he leads me to the stalls where they have what he considers the best examples. Leopoldina for Quardrupel, Karsten, Lassbier, Tres Torres. It all gets rather blurry after a while. Especially given the ABV of the styles I chose.

I bump into Fe and we chat a while. I wonder how much sense I’m making, The beers aren’t so much catching up with me as racing past me. 

Another one of those aged cachaças perhaps isn’t the best idea. What the hell? I’m on holiday.

I can’t stay too late. Need to be up at 6:15 tomorrow. I’ve an Uber booked for 7:30 to take me to Navegantes airport. And I want to eat breakfast.

A day is called at 10:30. I say my goodbyes

Dupipe directs me into dreams of tropical gardens.
 

Let's Brew - 2006 Youngs Waggledance

I was rather confused as to what this was when I spotted it in the brewing records. I read the name as “Way”, which was part of the problem. Whereas, in fact, it’s “Wag”. Standing for Waggledance.

There were two versions parti-gyled together, this, which was the cask version and a slightly stronger bottled version. The beer was originally brewed by Vaux and when they disappeared it was picked up by Youngs. Before being passed on to Charles Wells in 2011.

It’s very similar to the other Youngs Pale Ales, with a grist of just pale and crystal malt. Though with rather less crystal malt. And, of course, there’s quite a lot of honey. This being a honey beer, and all.

There are two types of English hops, from the 2004 and 2005 harvests. The hopping rate is lower than for the other Pale Ales, at 3 lbs per quarter (336 lbs) of malt, compared to 4.5 lbs. Hence the very low IBU count. 

2006 Youngs Waggledance
pale malt	8.25 lb	83.25%
crystal malt 40 L	0.33 lb	3.33%
honey	1.33 lb	13.42%
Fuggles 70 min	0.50 oz
Goldings 15 min	0.50 oz
OG	1044
FG	1010
ABV	4.50
Apparent attenuation	77.27%
IBU	11
SRM	4
Mash at	150º F
Sparge at	165º F
Boil time	70 minutes
pitching temp	65º F
Yeast	Wyeast 1968 London ESB (Fullers)

A new local

The closing of Butcher's Tears was a sad day. And not just because I wasn't there for the last day. Swanning off to Brazil.

Once the sobbing subsided, a question was voiced: where to next?

There weren't many options. With these criteria:

- reasonably priced
- easy to get to
- decent beer
- not overrun with fucking tourists

That ruled out anywhere in the centre. Pretty much. We gave Siouxie's Saloon a try. Not my sort of place.

Soundgarden was suggested. Ticking many boxes. But, from some reason I can't recall, we decided to go with Checkpoint Charlie instead.

Last Saturday was or third time there. Not really giving me a local vibe yet. But that takes time to build. Harder to bear is the lack of draught Mild and Stout. Especially Headroom. A beer that took me closer to the 19th century with every sip. Weihenstapher Dunkles Weissbier is OK. But three of four pints is enough. And Checkpoint Charlie does sell korenwijn. Drinablke jenever. Not like the industrial cleaner called jonge jenever.

The presence of a pool table and pinball machine mean Alexei is much more likcely to come along. And reminded me of a previous local.

"We always used to play pool in Rick's Cafe. And pinball. During Happy Hour, at the weekend. Drinking De Koninck."

"And?"

"That was our local for several years. Me, Lucas, Will and Mikey."

"Can you just take your shot?"

I surprisingly potted two balls in fairly convincing fashion. Then totally missed the 8-ball. I did win, though. Unlike at pinball. Where he thrashed me.

Rick's Cafe was our local for quite a while. At least five or six years Probably more. Drinking half-price, happy-hour De Koninck.I had a couple of Guinness breakfasts there, too, after a night of clubbing.

 I can't remember why we stopped going there.

Then there was Cafe Belgique. We hung around there for a few years. I had my 40th and 50th birthday parties there. Where the beer tokens were miniature Czech 50 and 100 crown notes. Mikey worked there for a while. Lucas DJ'd once.

Even earlier, back in the early 1990s, me, Lucas and Will often hung around in the De Pijp. Like Centurion on the Ceintuurbaan. Or the odd little place close to Sarphati Park where we'd play pool. And heard cumbia for the first time.

Both are long gone.

Late drinking started at Korsakoff. A bar/club sort of thing that looked like it had stared as a squat. It stretched through several floors of a pakhuis - an old, narrow warehouse. They had some OK beers: witbier, De Koninck on draught. Duvel and a Trappist or two in bottles.

When Korsakoff closed, if we still had a thirst, Mazzo wasn't far. A club where we could drink for two hours more. Though a couple of years later we did go there for clubbing. When they had to move after a fire, Lucas had a regular DJ slot in the chillout room. Happy days.

Both are closed.

Ter Brugge was another regular meeting place. When Will and Lucas used to play football with me and the kids in Vondel Park. One of the cheapest pubs around. Wher eI drank Westmalle Tripel or La Chouffe.

It was remodelled and renamed in 2016.

We've been through quite a few regular haunts over the years. Me and my long-term mates. When somewhere closes or changes or gets too fucking expensive, we move on. As we have done many times before. 

 Butcher's Tears closing was sad, but we're moving on. The group of friends is what matters. And is the whole point of going down the pub. Not where we choose to meet.

Let's see if Checkpoint Charlie sticks. If not, I'm sure we'll find somewhere else. We always have.

Festival!

I rise at 8:40, brush my teeth and descend for breakfast

There’s almost no-one there. I get my usual breakfast and after a little while Jos turns up and sits at my table.

“Do you know what time the festival starts today?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look it up.”

He can’t find the opening times. Oh well.

As it looks pretty cool outside, I go straight to the supermarket after breakfast. Despite it only being 25º C, I still feel pretty warm when I get there.

I pick up some stuff for lunch: rolls, cheese and salami. That should stop me from starving. And give me some ballast come festival time. Despite the relatively low temperature, I’m bathed in sweat by the time I get back to my room.

Looking at the festival website, I see that the festival opens at 17:00 for industry people and 19:00 for the general public. I guess us judges count as industry.

It’s going to be a fairly lazy day. Not much on, other than an appointment with Fe Brasciano at 13:30. Which then gets delayed until 15:00, in Bier Vila.

I get myself a Catharina Sour on arrival. I ask for “medio”, thinking that will get me the middle size. It actually gets me a half litre. I also get a caipirinha to keep it company.

After a while of chatting with Fe, Jos arrives and sits at our table. He gets himself some schnitzel strips. Which gets me thinking: maybe I should get some food. Nothing too big, mind. I look in the small meal section of the menu. They seem to have an odd concept of “small”. For example, a full-sized portion of fish and chips. I get deep-fried mash things. They’re quite pleasant and not too filling.

Fe goes off to pick up her accreditation, saying she’ll be back in a few minutes. Half an hour later and she hasn’t returned. As it’s already way past 17:00, Jos and I pay and leave. The hall is fairly empty.  Now how do we get a beer?

Payment, it seems, is by a card you charge up. Except the desk selling them isn’t open yet. Next to it is the Patanegra stand, where they’re still setting up, but are happy to serve us some beers for free. I get an American IPA, while Jos goes for a Session IPA. I’ve made the better choice. Mine is really rather nice. While his is oxidised.

Next I get an Imperial Stout, which is deeply roasty and packed with alcohol. My kind of beer.

I try a Double IPA next. I’m going for all the session stuff. By the time I’ve finished, a queue has formed at the till. Jos gets a card with 200 reals on it. Which allows me to use one of the few phrases I know in Portuguese:

“O mismo.”

We find ourselves some seats and look around for beer. Being a lazy git, I opt for the closest stand. Which in Alcapone. Wanting to stick to the session stuff, I ask for a Barley Wine.

When I’ve sat down again, someone from the Alcapone stand comes up and talks to me. At first, I think, are they asking if I’ve paid. What they really want to know is what I think of it, as it’s their first attempt at a Barley Wine. I haven’t actually tried it yet. It’s maltily rich, balanced with a decent hop bitterness.

“It’s very nice. With the right balance of sweet malt and bitterness for the style.”

They seem pretty chuffed at my answer.

When the band starts up it gets too loud to have a comfortable conversation. I hate overly loud music at beer festivals. I can’t understand why anyone likes it. Don’t they want to converse with their companions? We decant to the next hall. It doesn’t have any beer stands, just other things like coffee. But the noise level is way lower.

I discuss Brexit with Jos. Well, mostly shout and froth at the mouth. It’s that time of day. After several caipirinhas and strong beers.

“I haven’t used any of the money on my card yet.” I tell Jos.

“I‘ve starting paying.  I don’t want to freeload.” Jos replies.

“I’d normally charge for the talk I’m giving tomorrow. More than the cost of a few beers.”

I have a few more beers from Alcapone. More low-alcohol stuff: an Imperial Stout, a Double IPA and another Barley Wine, just to check if it’s still OK.

“Do you want a full measure?” the man serving asks.

“Yes, please.”

I bail out a little before ten. I don’t want to go to bed too late.

On the way out there are some cachaça stands. Including Wylaardt. The owner is there. I go up and shake his hand and tell him how much I loved his 18-year-old. I’m not sure he totally understands, but maybe my smiles and thumbs up give him an inkling.

I get an Uber in a couple of minutes. One of the advantages of leaving early. I’ve only had beers from two breweries. That works for me. No way I can get around them all anyway. I’m happy to stick with a brewery whose beers are good.

I sort of regret getting the card and putting 200 reals on it, as I’ve spent nothing. The Alcapone people seem to have liked my comments and are happy to give me full measures for free. Their beers are really good. I wasn’t bullshitting.

Back in my room, a cachaça nightcap soon has me stumbling down the stairs to sleep.



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