False equivalence

An argument that I’ve made more than once in the past is that CAMRA made a major strategic error by deciding that the relationship between bottle- and brewery-conditioned packaged beers was an exact mirror image of that between cask- and brewery-conditioned draught beers. But, you may say, in each case one conditions in the container and the other doesn’t, so the principle is just the same. However, it’s not quite as simple as that.

An important point to remember is that CAMRA didn’t come into being to stand up for something already recognised as “real ale”. It identified that something was going badly wrong with British beer, and then came up with the definition of real ale as a means of sorting out the sheep from the goats. However, it involved more than just undergoing a secondary fermentation in the cask – real ale should also be unfiltered, unpasteurised, not artificially carbonated, and pumped or gravity dispensed rather than being forced to the bar by CO2 pressure. And, as Martyn Cornell points out in his book Amber, Gold and Black, Mild, which as late as 1960 accounted for most draught beer sold in Britain, had traditionally been regarded as a “running beer” to be sold as quickly as possible and experiencing minimal secondary fermentation. Cask-conditioning was basically something that happened to Bitter.

At the time, the definition of real ale was a pretty effective way of defining what was good, at least in terms of British draught beer. Yes, there were some awkward cases that didn’t quite fit, such as the Scottish air pressure system, which was accepted, and the Hull Brewery ceramic cellar jars, which weren’t, but broadly speaking it worked. In the early 1970s, bottled and canned beer accounted for less than 10% of the overall market, and it didn’t really matter that filtration and pasteurisation had been adopted as the norm for decades. There were a tiny handful of beers that still fermented in the bottle, and so CAMRA was able to say that these were “good”, whereas all the others were “bad”, but it was just a token gesture that made little difference in the overall scheme of things. Brewery-conditioned bottles could simply be dismissed as “keg in a bottle”.

However, over the years, the off-trade beer sector steadily grew at the expense of the on-trade, and therefore assumed more significance in drinkers’ buying habits. Much of this was canned beer, but the brewers started producing “Premium Bottled Ales” which, although brewery-conditioned, were presented and perceived as the equivalent of the cask beers such as Pedigree and London Pride drunk in the pub. Indeed, although strictly speaking it is wrong, many drinkers routinely refer to them as “real ales”.

CAMRA launched the “CAMRA Says This is Real Ale” accreditation for bottle-conditioned beers, and encouraged many of the new wave of microbreweries to produce them. However, they have never taken off in the same way as draught real ale, and only account for a tiny proportion of bottled beer sales in major retailers. This is not because they have refused to stock them, but that too often they have tried and failed. The general consumer simply does not want them, perceiving little or no benefit in terms of flavour and character, but a major downside in terms of inconsistency and the risk of cloudiness. Meanwhile, CAMRA continues, at least officially, to refuse to recognise any merit in high-quality brewery-conditioned bottles such as Thornbridge Jaipur, Hawkshead Lakeland Gold and Robinsons Old Tom. It’s noticeable how all the new-wave breweries who have broken through in the bottled beer market have done so with filtered beers.

Essentially, though, the read-across from draught to bottled is far more tenuous than CAMRA likes to believe. For a start, drinking real ale involves no more effort from the customer in the pub than drinking keg, whereas bottle-conditioned beers require considerable care in storage and pouring, and are obviously unsuited to immediate consumption. And, if done properly, a bottle-conditioned beer will come out “fizzy”, albeit in a slightly different way from an artificially carbonated one. The difference, as perceived by the drinker, is much less.

It’s possible to argue that, apart from reasons of turnover, all ale served in pubs could be cask-conditioned, whereas realistically you can’t argue that all packaged ale, for all situations, should condition in the container. A further factor is that lager, by definition, can never be cask- or bottle-conditioned because the nature of the process means the beer is stabilised before being put into the container. But that shouldn’t mean dismissing all bottled lagers out of hand.

I’ve argued before that a key part of CAMRA’s mission was defending a unique British tradition that, in the early 70s, while under threat, was still very much alive and kicking. It was “a people-powered cultural heritage movement”. But it wasn’t bringing something back from the dead. Bottle-conditioned beers, on the other hand, had largely vanished from the scene decades before, and, to be honest, had never been greatly celebrated and weren’t much mourned when they were replaced by bright beers which were clear, consistent and didn’t have bits in. It’s also very questionable how much bottle-conditioning actually took place in bottled Guinness which for long was held up by CAMRA as a totem.

Yes, at the end of the day, bottle-conditioning, if done well, does add something to a beer. Bottle-conditioned beers can be regarded as the crème de la crème. But, because of the practical difficulties involved, and the fact that the process adds very little to lower-strength quaffing beers, it is best reserved for higher-strength specialities. Now that the off-trade accounts for over half of all beer sold in Britain, it is high time that CAMRA abandoned the narrow dogmatism of insisting that it is the only proper way of presenting any packaged beers.

Under the radar

There are about 50,000 pubs in Britain today. CAMRA’s WhatPub online guide lists just short of 36,000 that sell real ale, leaving some 14,000 in the category of “keg pubs”. These often exist under the radar of CAMRA, and other compilers of pub guides, and surprisingly little is known or written about them.

The other day, Jeffrey Bell chanced on one in Folkestone, the Park Inn, pictured above. What is notable about the beer range is not just the absence of real ale, but the absence of any nod to the craft beer movement or indeed the 21st century. Jeff and his companions plumped for Guinness, although I suspect my preference would be Stella or Carling as Guinness tends not to agree with me. Martin Taylor has written about the Vaults, a surprisingly characterful little keg pub in Tenbury Wells in Worcestershire, although that does offer “real” cider.

In the old days of the tied house system, breweries would often offer keg and cask versions of the same product in different pubs. However, with a few exceptions, such as Felinfoel and Sam Smith’s, you don’t tend to see that now. You wouldn’t go into a Robinson’s pub and find keg Unicorn on the bar. Instead, the ale range is likely to be one or more of nationally distributed smoothflow beers such as John Smith’s, Tetley, Boddington’s and Worthington, plus possibly a blast from the past such as John Smith’s Chestnut Mild.

While a large majority of pubs in Stockport serve real ale, there are still some prominent keg-only pubs such as the Town Hall Tavern on the A6, the Jolly Crofter on Castle Street, Edgeley, and the Houldsworth Arms in Reddish. The Jolly Crofter seems to do good business, and whenever I pass it during opening hours there seems to be a throng of smokers outside the front door. And one of Manchester’s most famous pubs, Sam Smith’s Sinclair’s Oyster Bar, remains defiantly keg-only.

By definition, a keg pub is not one that is seeking to attract new customers with an interest in beer, and is probably familiar with people walking through the door, taking one look at the bar taps, and walking out again. And it has to be said that nowadays, with real ale increasingly becoming a middle-class affectation, keg pubs tend to very much appeal to the working class, who of course can spot pretension a mile off.

They may be largely ignored by people who write about pubs and beer, but keg pubs represent a whole swathe of pub life that doesn’t get the attention it deserves.

Delayed gratification

The latest proposal to rear its ugly head in the People’s Prohibitionist Republic of Scotland is one from “public health experts” to ban the sale of alcohol in the off-trade until 5pm. Now, this is objectionable on so many levels that I’m not going to make any attempt to list them. It represents a collective punishment meted out on the overwhelming majority of responsible drinkers in an attempt to address the problems of the irresponsible few.

One obvious issue is that it would be likely to lead to a kind of quasi black market of people buying drink on others’ behalf. A simple request to pick up of bottle of whisky while you’re out could easily lead on to someone carrying a small stock to supply people who find it inconvenient to buy it themselves. And I can’t see the Scotch whisky industry – the country’s leading export earner – being remotely happy about being prevented from selling bottles to coach parties on distillery tours.

In Sweden, which operates a similar hard-line attitude to alcohol sales, the state-run Systembolaget stores tend to close their doors just as the Scottish offies would be opening. You could just as well argue that earlier closing, rather than later opening, would achieve the same result, or lack of.

Of course the chances of this happening in the near future, even in Scotland, are zero. But, by laying it on the table, an Overton Window has been opened up in which such draconian proposals are brought within the scope of serious debate. And how long will it be before someone suggests banning pubs and bars from selling alcohol before 5pm too?

Not so Pedigree condition

One aspect of Marston’s rebranding brainfart last week that seemed to get lost in the noise was the news that Pedigree was going to become an entirely bottle-conditioned beer. This was welcomed by many in CAMRA, but to my mind it represents another error of judgment.

For a start, the actual demand for bottle-conditioned beers is pretty limited. Look at the premium bottled ale shelves in Tesco, and how many are bottle-conditioned? Two or three out of a hundred, if you’re lucky. It’s not that the supermarkets are deliberately holding the category back, but that they’ve tried it in the past and found that buyers actively shun it. There have been experiments with selling Shepherd Neame Spitfire and Courage Directors in bottle-conditioned form, both of which rapidly died the death, and more recently HopBack Brewery have switched their popular Summer Lightning to be brewery-conditioned.

And will the change make the minority who seek out bottle-conditioned beers any more likely to buy Pedigree? It’s currently a fairly unadventurous, mainstream product, and those basic characteristics aren’t going to change. I can’t say I’ve drunk much bottled Pedigree recently except when it’s been on offer at £1 a bottle in Morrisons. It’s OK, but there are many better and more distinctive bottled beers out there.

On the other hand, unless a very “sticky” yeast is used, the average drinker is likely to reject it on the grounds that it has bits in it, while if the yeast is sticky they won’t notice much difference. And, either way, you’re likely to get a less consistent product. I’d say it will win few new customers while potentially alienating many existing ones. I’ll certainly try it when I see it, though, and report back on my findings.

Surely a better approach would have been to leave the existing product as it was, but introduce a new and possibly slightly stronger variant called “Pedigree Extra” or suchlike, which made a virtue of being bottle-conditioned, and could be promoted on the basis of a greater appeal to the connoisseur.

I can’t see the container-conditioning being extended to the canned version, though, so, if you want a consistent drop of Pedigree to enjoy at home, I’d advise going for the cans instead.

Dad dancing

This week, Marston’s have announced a major revamp of their beer branding, as shown in the picture above. However, the initial impression is that they’re trying a little too hard to appear trendy and ape craft beer styling, and it comes across as something of a misstep. There’s always a risk that customers will be confused if the packaging fails to reflect the contents, and someone described it on Twitter as “a traditional brewer trying a bit of dad dancing”. Compare the designs with the distinctive, smart Pedigree label shown below, which in itself was the result of a subtle tweak only last year.

Renaming the classic Burton Bitter as “Saddle Tank” comes across as an error of judgment which will only serve to confuse customers, and opens itself up to the inevitable rather unfortunate rhyme. I’d also say as pumpclips, as opposed to bottle labels, they’re too dark.

I was interested to read an article on how to design packaging to appeal to older consumers, which made the following points:

They prefer traditional tastes to 'experimental' ones. This extends beyond the product to the packaging, which they want to look and feel traditional, rather than appear overly radical or be 'different for different sake'.

They prefer products and packaging that are subtle: ones that are ageless but appeal indirectly to their demographic, rather than those that appear directly targeted at them because of their age.

And it’s important to remember that half the adult consumers in this country are over the age of 50.

Obviously packaging does need to change with the times, but if your intention is to stress tradition and continuity it’s important to do it in a subtle way that respects what has gone before. Otherwise the risk is that it comes across like go-faster stripes painted on a Honda Jazz. You only need to look at malt whisky labelling to see how it should be done.

Fear of the dark

There has recently been a debate in the columns of the CAMRA newspaper What’s Brewing about whether pubs should make more effort to stock dark beers. On the one hand it is argued that, if pubs have eight or more handpumps, they could allocate one or two of them to dark beers to provide more stylistic variety. But, on the other hand, there is no point in stocking beers that don’t sell and, while you can lead a dark horse to beer, you can’t make him drink it.

This is exemplified by this letter in the November edition from Paul Hurditch, licensee of the Star in Glossop, a long-standing Good Beer Guide entry.

As he says, he’s made the effort to put dark beers on, but his customers don’t want to drink them. That is simply commercial reality – you offer the types of beer that your customers want. I’ve complained more than once myself over the years about pubs with eight beers that are all variations on the same theme, but sadly it’s a fact of life. Often it’s hard enough to find a brown beer, let alone a dark one.

I’ve spoken to several licensees of family brewer pubs who have told me that they tend to pass on any dark beers in the brewery’s seasonal range, as they simply don’t sell. And it’s always very noticeable at the end of Stockport Beer Festival that most of the beers left over are dark ones.

There is a widely-held belief that dark beers tend to be on the stronger side, which isn’t by any means always the case, but does deter people from drinking them. And all dark beers are not the same – there is a clear division between roasty, strong-flavoured stouts and porters, and sweeter, more mellow milds and old ales. Some drinkers try to avoid those roasty notes, while others will run a mile at the thought of anything with a chestnut flavour, let alone reminiscent of Christmas pudding.

I have to say I tend to prefer the more mellow side, and I have fond memories of drinking the distinctive old ales that used to be produced by breweries in the South-East such as Brakspear, Gales and King & Barnes. These typically had a strength of around 4.3 or 4.4%, so it was easy to drink a pint or two, but they still had a rich flavour and a touch of winter warmth about them. Sadly there doesn’t seem to be much brewed in that kind of category nowadays.

Yes, it would be good to see more dark beers on the bar. But all dark beers are not the same, and it has to be recognised that their absence is not due to a lack of imagination of the part of licensees, but to customer preference.

Accessible or appetising?

A claim made more than once by egregious blogtroll “py” is that heavily-hopped New World-style IPAs are much more “accessible” than conventional British bitters. On the face of it, this seems an absurd proposition, as surely the blander a beer is, and the more it lacks strong, distinctive flavours, the more accessible it becomes.

In these terms, the ultimate entry-level beer must be a very light, bland lager such as Bud Light. There may not be much to appeal to the tastebuds, but there’s nothing to offend them either. While beers such as Doom Bar and Greene King IPA are often dismissed as bland, I’d say all ales have a slightly “rough” or “dirty” edge to them, which appeals to many, but stands in contrast to the cleanness of lagers. This is what in the past led to some fastidious people saying that they just didn’t like the taste of beer.

However, as explained in this blogpost by Boak & Bailey, there is a different way of looking at it. The sheer absence of offputting flavours may seem to some an absence of anything to actually appeal to the tastebuds. A beer may not be actively unpleasant, but on the other hand may have nothing to recommend it, and thus not appeal to people seeking distinctive, characterful flavours.

I said in the comments:

I’ve never got this about heavily-hopped IPAs being “accessible”. To my mind, it’s like putting forward Laphroaig as an “entry-level” whisky.

To which someone replied:

Funnily enough when I read your comment I was already planning to post exactly that: that for some people Laphroaig really is an entry level whisky.

My sister for one. She had tried other whiskies and not liked them much. Not hated them, but not liked them either and couldn’t see any reason to drink them when there are so many other drinks to choose them. And then she had a taste of Laphroaig and went wow! and has never looked back. Now she also appreciates more subtle whiskies, although I think Islay ones are still her favourites.

The point is, you can’t assume that blander things are more accessible. Sometimes a strong and/or unusual flavour can get people interested.

So, on those terms, it’s reasonable enough to argue that it’s powerful flavours that can get some people to understand the appeal of beer, or whisky, whereas more muted ones have passed them by. It’s like saying “I never got cheese until I tried a really ripe Stilton”. But it’s an entirely different kind of attraction from being unchallenging or easy-drinking, and the two shouldn’t be conflated.

And I still cannot understand how some people can claim that enamel-stripping IPAs with massive IBUs are actually sweet to the palate. But they do.

Moor to taste

I recently posted about CAMRA giving accreditation as “real ale” to can-conditioned beers produced by Moor Brewery. Now, the point of this post was to express a degree of scepticism about the concept, and the message that this put across, rather than making a judgment on the beers themselves. However, inevitably someone said “how can you criticise something you haven’t tried?”, to which I rather cheekily replied that if Moor would send me some samples for me taste I would give a considered verdict. To their credit, Darran McLaughlin from Moor took me up on this and duly despatched a selection of six cans – of course child-sized 330ml “craft cans”.

His tasting and storage recommendations were: “Just let them sit in the fridge for a couple of hours. I drink them straight from the can because you don't get much sediment, but if you like you could pour carefully. I would pour a light one out fully so you can see that sediment isn't a problem.” However, I wanted to see what the initial level of clarity would be, and how it would be affected by storage.

The first I tried was the 4.1% Nor’Hop, which I drank only a couple of days after receiving the package, and poured the whole contents into the glass. This is a very pale beer with an assertive “New World” hoppiness. Having had little chance to settle, it was distinctly cloudy and, to be honest, very yeasty in flavour.

The 4.6% Confidence I donated to the raffle at the local CAMRA branch meeting, so can’t comment on flavour or clarity. Despite being accredited as “real ale in a can”, it met with a somewhat derisory reception.

The remaining four I allowed to settle for at least ten days, and poured very carefully to ensure I did my best to leave any remaining yeast in the can. I was able to pour them all with no more than a slight haze (although none were crystal clear) and all had sufficient carbonation to suggest that a secondary fermentation may well have taken place in the can.

These were:

• Return of the Empire (5.7%) – a strong IPA with an aggressive, hoppy character.

• Smokey Horyzon (5.0%) – a rye beer with a smooth palate and an intriguing flavour deriving from the use of smoked malts.

• Revival (3.8%) – a lighter pale ale, still fairly bitter and hoppy, although less assertively so than the Nor’Hop and Return of the Empire.

• Raw (4.3%) – a darker beer, more like a traditional bitter, although still with a hoppy edge, and rather more carbonation than the Revival.

Of these, the Smokey Horyzon was definitely my favourite, and probably the only one for which I would fork out my own money in the off-licence. The Raw wasn’t bad either, but the other three I tasted weren’t really my sort of thing.

The exercise demonstrated that, if given a decent time to settle and poured with care, these beers could be served with no more than a slight haze, and underlined (which I had never questioned) that Moor were accomplished brewers capable of turning out a quality product.

However, the whole issue of clarity cannot just be ignored. In the context of draught beer, Ed Wray gives a fairly thorough overview of the issues here, and the point is made that, once you accept *some* degree of haziness, where do you then draw the line as to when it becomes too much?

When it comes to bottled and canned beer, some people seem to dismiss out of hand any concerns that yeasty beer may have an adverse effect on the digestive tract. But these are far too common for them simply to be waved away, and I have to say on several occasions throughout my drinking career I have experienced unfortunate consequences from ropey beer. OK, you may have cast-iron guts, but many others don’t. I have nothing against bottle-conditioned beers, and recognise that at their best, especially at higher strengths, they can be superior to brewery-conditioned ones. But, at their worst, they can be far inferior, and I’d say the ability to pour them clear with confidence is essential.

For this reason, I’d say the whole idea of can-conditioned beer is a flawed concept, nay even a daft gimmick. They fail to meet the reasonable expectation of most canned beer drinkers that they’ll be able to get a clear glass of beer without any waiting period, and they make it far more difficult for the connoisseur of container-conditioned beers to be able to pour them clear and leave the yeast in the bottom.

They’re not intrinsically poor beers, but they’d be far better presented in bottle, and to my mind CAMRA undermines its reputation by giving its seal of approval to them.

Curtains for choice

Over the past nine years, I’ve often found myself cast in the role of Cassandra for predicting that the restrictions imposed on tobacco will increasingly be applied to alcohol. And, to be honest, while various measures have been mooted, in practice surprisingly little has actually happened.

But one measure that certain comes straight out of the tobacco control playbook is the proposal in Ireland to severely restrict the display of alcohol in shops. While in large supermarkets this may amount to nothing more than confining alcohol to a discrete section where children are not admitted, in small corner shops it will effectively add up to covering products with curtains or shutters in the same way as now applies to tobacco.

The ostensible reason given is the protection of children from the awful sight of bottles and cans of strong drink, but surely there’s also an underlying hope that it may curb adult consumption by making alcoholic drinks less visible. I’d say that’s very questionable, as if people want a drink, they’ll buy one, and in recent years we’ve seen declining overall consumption at the same time as alcohol has become more visible in shops and also spread to more outlets such as petrol stations.

But one thing it will do is the change the nature of the marketplace. Currently, you will survey the products available on the shelves and often, if you see something new that looks interesting, give it a try. You may already have seen advertising for that product, but you probably haven’t. If you have to ask for a product by name, or ask the shopkeeper to raise the shutter to view the shelves, you’re much less likely to do that, and more likely to end up asking for a familiar name simply because it’s easier.

This will very much stifle innovation and new product development, which should be of particular concern to sectors such as craft beer which to a large extent depend on variety and refreshing the range rather than just selling the same old stuff. Imagine trying to launch a new cigarette brand under the current regime – it would be simply impossible, and so the market ends up ossifying in the form it had before the restrictions came in.

And can we be sure there won’t be moves to apply similar curbs to the display of alcoholic drinks in pubs, at least those where children are admitted?

On a related note, it’s worth noting that the Irish Republic is also planning to introduce a minimum alcohol price of €1 per unit. At current exchange rates this is not far off double the 50p/unit proposed in Scotland. If applied in the UK, this would start to cut into the bottom end of the range of pub prices (think of those 6% real ales in Spoons after applying the 50p CAMRA discount) although, as prices are generally higher in Ireland, it probably wouldn’t quite manage it there.

Character or clutter?

The early days of CAMRA saw a reaction against the “plush pub”, with its deep-pile carpeting and expanses of red dralon upholstery. Thus was born the “bare boards alehouse”, which before too long became a feature of most major towns and cities. It was in keeping with the back-to-basics, rustic ethos of the real ale revival. The concept was even taken up by the big breweries, most notably in the form of Whitbread’s ill-fated “Tut & Shive” chain. It’s a theme that is still common, especially in independently-run free houses.

But there comes a point where plain and unvarnished starts to morph into plain tatty, and sometimes you wonder whether it’s simply because the owners can’t be bothered to apply a bit of polish. And, if they can’t keep the pub spick-and-span, what does that say about the cellar? I have to say on more than one occasion I’ve suffered beer redolent of a lack of line cleaning in scruffy “alternative” pubs.

Things get even worse when pubs start to accumulate collections of what some would regard as interesting memorabilia, but which others would simply dismiss as tat. It’s a danger sign once assorted stuff starts to spread from shelves and window ledges on to the seats themselves. I’ve hinted before how my trip earlier this year to the legendary drinking nirvana of Thanet didn’t quite live up to expectations, and one GBG-listed pub in particular came across as more like the private home of an eccentric hoarder.

Sometimes, as with the famous Yew Tree at Cauldon, it can work and add genuine individuality and character to a pub. But there’s one well-known free house in the North-West, which I won’t name, where the general accumulation of mostly WW2-related artefacts starts to obstruct the seating and access to the bar and, to my mind, goes too far. It just comes across as messy and tatty, and you have to wonder whether it’s ever cleaned or dusted.

Back from the dead

Off-trade drinkers in Scotland will have been dismayed by the recent verdict from the Scottish courts that minimum alcohol pricing may indeed, contrary to a previous EU judgment, be legal. The issue is well summed up by Christopher Snowdon with his usual aplomb and there’s very little that I can add.

It’s almost certain that there will be an appeal to the Supreme Court, but if the verdict is overturned it will inevitably be seen by the SNP as another example of Westminster interfering in Scotland’s affairs. It’s richly ironic that, while the SNP continue to have a love affair with the EU, its trade rules stood in the way of their flagship policy.

It’s worth pointing out that a 50p per unit minimum price would affect the majority of alcohol sold in the off-trade, in volume terms. It certainly isn’t something targeted at a small minority of unusually cheap drinks, as often suggested.

To be honest, part of me rather wants the Scots to go through with it and find out the hard way what a damaging and counter-productive policy it would be. It would do nothing to curb problem drinking while encouraging criminal activity in the form of bootlegging.

An acceptable method?

While CAMRA formally champions bottle-conditioned beer, I’ve long gained the impression that a lot of people who promote it don’t properly appreciate what it entails. They seem to think that it involves an unfiltered, unpasteurised bottled beer, probably a bit hazy, with a low level of carbonation and a layer of sludge in the bottom. But nothing could be further from the truth. As the name implies, it’s a beer that actually enjoys a secondary fermentation in the bottle and, I’d say, many British so-called bottle-conditioned beers don’t experience this.

Earlier this year, I discussed how most Belgian bottle-conditioned beers managed to achieve this quality. A beer that actually has conditioned in the bottle will be distinctly fizzy, typically with a dense, rocky head and visible spires of carbonation rising in the glass, albeit with a finer grade of bubbles than those produced by artificial carbonation.

Someone was recently comparing bottle-conditioned beers with sparkling wines made by the méthode champenoise, which involves conditioning in the bottle. Now, I have to say I didn’t really understand what this involves, so I looked it up. Do you know? I bet you don’t.

Apparently it’s no longer permitted to describe it as the méthode champenoise, as it involves the addition of a small amount of “outside” wine, so it’s now called the méthode traditionelle. But the essence is still the same. The bottles are stored on their side, with the top at a slightly lower level, so that the lees accumulate at the end where the cap is. Eventually, the cap is removed, the lees extracted, and the bottle recorked, resulting in a bottle of fizzy, but crystal clear, wine.

Would that be acceptable as a method of production for bottle-conditioned beer? And, if you don’t think it would be, aren’t you rather missing the point?

It seems that some people have experimented with beers given an in-bottle fermentation using the méthode champenoise style, but so far they don’t really seem to have caught on. Possibly the cost is a deterrent, because it's a rather labour-intensive process.

Reality bites

For a long time, there has been a widespread view that craft beer happily floated along on a higher moral plane, where animosity and cut-throat competition were unknown. You know, “beer people are good people” and all that. However, there have recently been one or two uncomfortable incursions of harsh commercial reality.

Boak & Bailey have reported that some smaller brewers are complaining about the competition provided by “well-funded, trendy” brewers such as Cloudwater. And Matt Curtis has bemoaned that the craft beer market has succumbed to prince competition in a race to the bottom.

I’ve said before that I have little sympathy for brewers who find themselves exposed to the harsh winds of competition. The world doesn’t owe anyone a living and, to succeed, you need to be good at business, not just good at brewing.

And I fail to see how Cloudwater can be considered to be doing anything remotely immoral or underhand. As I said in the comments on Boak & Bailey:

I’m certainly no cheerleader for Cloudwater, but they have built up their reputation through producing well-made, innovative beers that people actually want to drink – surely the recipe for success in the craft beer market. The fact that it was brewed by Cloudwater would make it more likely that I would sample something unusual, simply because I’d be confident they’d done a good job of it.

There seems to be a large element of “tall poppy syndrome” about all of this. I’m not aware that Cloudwater beers are particularly cheap (indeed often the opposite), nor that they are engaging in loss-leading. Competition can be a harsh mistress.

Surely the fact that price competition and discounting have reared their ugly heads is a sign of maturity in the craft beer market – that it is reaching out to sections of the population who would previously only have considered mainstream beers. Every consumer market manages to sustain discount, middle-of-the-road and premium segments, and beer is no exception. Any fears that an outbreak of competition will end up devaluing the quality of high-end craft beers are misplaced. But it may expose more people to different and better beers than otherwise might have been the case.

Squalour and grandeur

I’ve mentioned before that I often tend to use CAMRA’s National Inventory as a kind of informal Mudgie pub guide. By definition, every pub on it has a distinctive interior of historic character. Many of the featured pubs are splendid establishments in their own right, in terms of character and atmosphere and, in my experience, most are rewarding places to visit.

While I’m not turning into an NI ticker, this year I’ve made a bit of an effort to visit some of the featured pubs within reach of me that I had previously missed. And it has to be said that one or two have turned out to be places that, setting aside their undoubted historic character, you really wouldn’t go out of your way to visit as pubs.

You can’t necessarily blame the people in charge of them, as they may be in rather unpromising locations for running a pub in the present-day climate, and I’m certainly not going to name names, although if you follow my travels on Twitter you may have gained some idea.

I wrote here about how some magnificent 1930s improved pubs “linger on as rather down-at-heel locals which rather give the impression of barbarians playing amongst the awesome ruins of Ancient Rome”. And it’s a salutary reminder that the National Inventory, while it will lead you to many excellent pubs, is not a cast-iron guarantee of quality.

A perfect match?

I’ve never been a great enthusiast for the concept of beer and food matching, but when offered the chance to try a Spanish beer especially brewed to complement Spanish ham I couldn’t resist the opportunity.

The beer in question is La Virgen Jamonera, distributed in the UK by Basco Fine Foods. It came in an elegant brown 330ml bottle and was accompanied by a pack of dry-cured Serrano ham. It’s a bottle-conditioned beer, so I allowed it to settle for three days before sampling. Pouring it carefully, I managed to keep most of the sediment in the bottle, resulting in only a slight haze.

The beer is mid-brown in colour, with little noticeable aroma. It had moderate carbonation and only a small head, although it retained this down the glass. The flavour is malty and rounded with only a subdued hop character.

It’s a pleasant, mellow beer that, to be honest, doesn’t really stand out as being hugely distinctive, although having said that, its restrained character makes it a better match for ham than something more overpowering.

I’m not really sure of the correct vocabulary to describe ham, but it was certainly very tasty, coming in wafer-thin individual slices separated by thin plastic sheets.

The company also supply Cerveza Er Boqueron, a saltwater beer specially brewed to complement anchovies, another traditional Spanish delicacy.