Lager Heads BBQ Smokehouse - USA August 2018

One of the most common recurring nightmares in the minds of travellers, even seasoned ones, is that of  arriving at the airport too late to catch your flight. With most airlines recommending two hours for short haul and three for longer flights, many people could be forgiven for not wanting to spend too long just hanging around at the airport. However, with increased security checks, combined with greater numbers of people flying, it really does pay to get to the airport sooner rather than later.

Several years ago, on a flight back to Japan, I threatened to leave my business colleague browsing the airport shops, They had called our flight and were asking all passengers to make their way to the gate, but my co-worker was insistent on having one final look for some presents for her children.

Once she realised I wasn’t joking, she abandoned her last minute shopping and accompanied me to the gate. Like many international airports, Kansai sprawls over a large area, and it was quite a trek to where our aircraft was due to depart.

I have heard similar  tales from friends and co-workers of only just making a flight, due to delays in getting to the airport, (stuck in traffic, train cancellation, accidents etc), so it is a golden rule of mine to always allow plenty of time before a flight.

The first leg of my homeward journey from the United States last August, is a case in point of how not to arrive happy and relaxed at the airport. If you’ve been following my travels, you would be aware that I spent six days staying with my sister and her husband, at their home in a small town, about 50 minutes’ drive from Cleveland, Ohio.

Cleveland airport is slightly nearer, and on the last day of my stay, my brother-in-law arranged to drop me off there, for my flight home. It was a Monday, and although he’d taken the previous week off, to keep me entertained, he had to go into work that morning.

His absence gave my sister and I the perfect excuse to nip out for a McDonald’s breakfast. Her husband isn’t a massive fan of “junk food”, having seen its effects on far too many of his over-sized fellow countrymen, but my sister and I fancied something a little decadent, and something my brother-in-law would not have approved of.

We did the whole American thing, picking up our breakfast from the local drive-thru’ McDonald’s, before heading down to the lakeshore to fill our faces. The shore in question is that of Lake Erie, and a short distance away from my sister’s place, there’s a nice public area where you can park up, get out and stretch your legs whilst enjoying the view of the lake. It was a sunny August day, and the lakeside setting was just right for our slightly decadent, fast-food breakfast.

Afterwards, we drove over to the nearby town of Oberlin, to allow me to get some last minute shopping. Back at the house, we waited for my brother-in-law to arrive home, whilst I completed my packing. We would then be heading off to the airport, stopping for lunch on the way.

My flight wasn’t until 7pm, so a 5pm drop-off would be fine, but it wasn’t until we were in the car and my brother-in-law suggested a brewery and tap-house, called “Loggerheads” as an ideal lunch stop that my alarm bells started ringing – just ever so slightly. He hadn’t been there before, but claimed he knew where the place was, so with my luggage safely stowed in the back of the car, off we went.

We headed due east, towards the airport, before leaving the freeway and heading in a southerly direction. I was enjoying my ride through the Ohio countryside, but as we continued further south, I started to get just a little anxious. This was silly  really, as we still had plenty of time, but when my sister started disagreeing with her husband, in the way that many couples do as to which route we should be taking, I became slightly more alarmed.

She was insisting he used the Google Maps setting on his phone to find the way; he, like most of us males, was adamant he knew where he was going and didn’t need help from his phone, or any outside assistance. I realised that, like the pattern adopted in towns and cities, many rural roads in America follow a similar grid design, so it was pretty easy to ascertain the direction of travel, but when we eventually started heading east again, we ran into a series of road closures and then actual road works.

This was where my sister put her foot down, and resorted to Google. In the meantime, the countryside had changed from mainly flat and open pasture, to a much more hilly and wooded landscape. The well-maintained homestead, with their neatly manicured lawns, had also changed to something much more rough and ready. I jokingly suggested that my hosts were planning to abandon me in the heart of “Hick-country”, and I would never be seen again!

We eventually reached the location my brother-in-law was looking for, but there was no sign of  Loggerheads Brewery. The Google Assistant  did inform us though that there an establishment, just up the road, called “Lager Heads BBQ Smokehouse”. That was when the penny dropped and we realised my brother-in-law had got the name wrong! Not to be outdone we headed off in the recommended direction, and sure enough, found the place at a location called Abbeyville, to the north-west of the township of Medina. We parked up, and went inside.

Lager Heads BBQ Smokehouse, was established in 2004 by two brothers, and concentrated initially on the brothers’ own recipe BBQ sauce and hickory smoked meats; all processed in-house in a building which dates from the late 1800’s. Following the success of the restaurant, the brewery was established in 2010, and five years later the production capability was doubled. At the same time, a sampling room was opened, and this was where we found ourselves, after our scenic tour of rural Ohio.

There was a long bar at the front of the building, with the usual handful of people sitting at stools. After being greeted and asked if we were eating, we were shown to a seating area towards the rear, and found ourselves perched at one of the ubiquitous high tables.

Although I was moderately hungry, with a six hour flight ahead of me, I didn’t want anything too large. Equally I didn’t want anything too strong to drink either, so those 7% plus "hop-bomb" IPA’s were definitely out of the question. Fortunately there was a 4.1% Pilsner, called “Tackle Box”, on tap, and also a session IPA. Both were tasty, refreshing and fitted the bill.

As for the food, I opted for deep-fired, breaded cod, in a bun; what the Americans call a “sandwich”. I skipped on the fries, but did tuck into the bowl  the almost obligatory side offering of “slaw”. Despite its isolated location, Lager Heads was a pleasant enough place which seemed to have plenty going for it, and was a good place for me to end my North American visit. Our server was friendly and helpful, even though I managed to confuse her with my UK Visa card, when it came to paying the bill. After several attempts she did managed to get the payment to go through by tapping in the “long number “ manually.

One final point, which I know will be of interest to other readers. Hanging on the wall of the corridor leading to the toilets (bathrooms?), was a Bass mirror. It was very obviously repro, as you will see from the photo, but with its contemporary styling, makes no pretensions of antiquity.

The journey to the airport passed without incident or anxiety, as it turned out that we weren’t that far from Hopkins Field – Cleveland’s International Airport. My brother-in-law had maintained this all along, but despite knowing his mischievous sense of humour, my sister and I hadn’t believed him.

Needless to say, I arrived with plenty of time to catch my flight, and after passing through security and passport control, was left clicking my heels. But you knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?

Christmas - a personal perspective

Christmas thankfully comes once a year. Some people love it, others loathe it whilst people like me wonder what all the fuss is about, but with Christmas 2018 fast approaching, here's my take on it.

The fact that Christmas comes as close as makes no odds to the Winter Solstice means that whether or not you're of a religious persuasion, it forms a welcome festival of light at what is the darkest and dreariest time of the year.

For many it's a welcome break from work, although the 10 day shutdown between Christmas and New Year is a relatively modern idea and, of course, does not apply to everyone in the workplace. For people employed in hospitals, the emergency services, transportation and broadcasting, Christmas is just another day although this is probably not a bad way of looking at the festival.

There's this absurd fantasy that everyone should have a perfect Christmas, which of course is complete and utter b*ll*cks. If you believe the adverts, every home must have a new sofa in time for Christmas and just for luck a new dining room suite as well. Then there's the meal itself, with a whole host of so-called "Celebrity Chefs", weighing in with advice as to how to cook that perfect Christmas dinner.

It's also supposed to snow at Christmas - at least it should according to all the cards and the majority of Christmas themed films. Of course this rarely happens and we're far more likely to see snow in February, or even March (as it did this year), than we are in December; although we did see heavy snow during that month, in both 2009 and 2010.

So Christmas is just another day when all is said and done, and yet so much fuss is made over it. People get wound up and stressed out as there is so much pressure to get everything right. They spend far too much money on presents, many of them rubbish and soon to be discarded, and all too often find themselves in debt which they can ill afford to pay back.

Our son works in retail and the festive season is the busiest time of the year in the calendar for people employed in that sector. He is not permitted to take any leave during the run up to Christmas and gets precious little time off during the period between Christmas and New Year. This makes it extremely difficult for us to go away as a family during the festive season.

It's this commercialism that I really dislike as the whole meaning of Christmas, which after all is a religious festival, has totally been lost. I am not a religious person, but I'd be happy to go along with some of the things which are associated with the Christian festival. As a child I enjoyed singing carols at school and of course I enjoyed the build-up to Christmas.

There was a time when I planned out what I considered would be my perfect Christmas, and it would be as traditional one as possible. It would even snow -  unlikely I know, given what I've written above, but I do remember heavy snow on Boxing Day 1962 - which was the start of one of the coldest winters on record that of 1962-63. 

The family and I would go and gather chestnuts in the weeks leading up to Christmas, We would cut down sprigs of holly and make a holly wreath. The log burner would be lit, there would be the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols on the radio on Christmas Eve, with the lights turned down low and the candles lit. We would have a traditional Christmas tree and a few tasteful decorations, whilst the dinner would be roast turkey with all the trimmings.

 
We would attend a Carol Service preferably in Tonbridge's 12th Century parish church. Alternatively, the imposing chapel of Tonbridge School, would make a suitable setting for such a concert. Going to a performance of Handel's Messiah, would also help to set the scene for this imaginary "traditional" Christmas.

Alternatively I would take the family somewhere really cold for a proper traditional Christmas abroad. Somewhere like Austria, Bavaria or even Norway would fit the bill. It would definitely be cold and there would be tons of snow; not the wet slushy stuff we get in the UK , but nice, soft, dry and powdery snow. There will, of course, be food and drink appropriate to the location.

The trouble is, like most businesses, my company is very busy in the run-up to the festive season, and the same applies to other members of my immediate family. What with shopping and present buying (even if it is limited), this all means there is little time to actually enjoy the good bits of Christmas, and coming back to reality what I have outlined above is a total fantasy.

If truth be known I will be glad when it's all over, but to end on a high note I want to emphasise we do make a bit of an effort in the Bailey household to have a decent Christmas. So come the day, there will be a traditional roast turkey dinner on the table, with Christmas pudding, mince pies with brandy sauce to follow. Drink-wise  there will be Fuller's 1845 to go with the dinner, and then whatever takes my fancy afterwards. I may even crack open the bottle of Port which Mrs PBT's bought me two years ago.

We don't go over-board on presents, as there's not a lot any of us really need; although it is nice to have something special. For me it's either a book, or something good to drink, but I do know that this year, son Matthew has bought me a splitting maul (a straight-handled axe, with a heavy, wedge-shaped head). This means that come Boxing Day, I will be out in the garden, splitting logs - a good way to work off some of the Christmas excess, providing the weather remains dry!

So whatever you're planning for Christmas, and whatever way you celebrate the festive season, may your glass never run dry and, as the song says, may your days be merry and bright.

The long wet road to Larkin's Porter

Well, six weeks from the date it was first released, I finally managed to track down some Larkin’s Porter, and now, having drank and really enjoyed a pint of this excellent winter beer, I can feel smug and content, secure in the knowledge that this harbinger of winter is as fine a beer as it ever was.

My "porter salvation" occurred at the Greyhound, Charcott, just up the road from where I work, and a pub I pass on an almost daily basis, whilst on my routine lunchtime walk. I took the trouble of phoning ahead first, and was pleased when my question as to whether the porter was on, was answered in the affirmative.

So come lunchtime, I headed off in my usual direction, up the road know locally as Camp Hill, towards Charcott. The recent heavy rain meant the road was more like a mountain stream than a thoroughfare, but that didn’t seem to stop the lunatics in their 4 x 4’s speeding along like there was no tomorrow.

With a raging torrent running down the margins of the road, there was not the usual space for me to step aside as close to the verge as normal; not without getting my feet wet, so my message to those who feel compelled to drive like Lewis Hamilton, please slow down and give some consideration to pedestrians! The fields at the top of the hill, looked like a scene from the Kevin Costner film  Waterworld, but that’s not unusual for this time of year.

I arrived at the pub around 1.15pm. It wasn’t packed, but trade seemed to be ticking over nicely, with a good mix of drinkers, plus a handful of diners. It’s been a while since my last visit, as not only have I been trying to keep my fitness levels up with my regular walking schedule, but I have also been shying away from a lunchtime drink. This is mainly because I want to stay awake during the afternoon, rather than dosing off.

However, with just two and a half days to go until the eleven day Christmas shutdown, and the manic workload slowing down, at least until the New Year, I felt I could afford to push the boat out – especially when there was a pint of porter waiting for me. Landlady Fran welcomed me and, in recognition to my earlier phone call, told me that the porter was going well. She said that the current cask was the third one the Greyhound had sold this season.

The beer pulled up well and was looked really inviting in the glass. Given its 5.2% ABV I wasn’t concerned at having to pay £4 for a pint, as in my book it was worth every penny. After expressing my satisfaction, I found a seat in the right hand front corner, asking first if I could share the table with a chap sitting on his own and his remarkably well-behaved spaniel. 

My table mate had his head buried in a newspaper, so with little in the way of conversation from him, and Fran and her helper behind the bar busy serving drinks or taking food orders, I picked the other paper up from the rack.

You can see the headline from the photo and whilst much of this is just political manoeuvring and playing to the gallery, I couldn’t help wondering how a wealthy and highly respected country like the UK,  got itself into such  a sorry mess? It surely is unprecedented for a country to be voluntary adopting such measures during peacetime, and for what?

I turned the page in search of something more cheerful, but apart from yet another famous football manager getting the chop, there was little of real interest. It made me realise why I never bother wasting money on a newspaper, so I attempted to make friends with the dog who was hiding under the  table.

The arrival of its owner’s food put paid to that, as my canine friend rapidly revealed where its true interest lay. I sat there, in quiet contemplation, enjoying my glass of Larkin's Porter. The beer was a smooth as silk, with a blend of rich roasted coffee and chocolate, balanced by a pleasing, and refreshing hop bitterness. I scored it at 3.5 NBSS.

All too soon it as time to go. I wasn't tempted to stay for another, even if time had allowed, as the pint I had was just right. I retraced my footsteps, back down the very wet Camp Hill, and was at my desk, just before 2pm.  As well as enjoying an excellent pint, in an attractive country pub, I also managed to clock up just under 1.2 miles on the walk there and back.

I may make a return lunchtime visit to the Greyhound on Friday, seeing as it's our last day at work, but we shall see.

The Beer Seller - Tonbridge

The Beer Seller, the latest and very welcome addition to the Tonbridge beer scene, opened its doors to the public last Friday (14^th December). I was unable to be there for the opening, as Friday was also the day of my firm’s Christmas dinner, but I did call in on Sunday and was pleasantly surprised with what I found.

The old jeweller’s premises of John Angell in Tonbridge High Street, have been transformed into a rustic-looking barn, which just happens to house a pub. I freely admit I had no idea what the new proprietors had in mind for the vacant former shop premises, but knowing that they are the owners of the Halfway House in Brenchley, I knew it would be something out of the ordinary.

The team responsible for the transformation, spent eight weeks working 12 hour days, seven days a week, to complete the project in time for the pub’s projected opening day, and what they have achieved, has to be seen to be believed. So without giving too much away, a lower false ceiling, constructed out of corrugated iron sheeting, has been fitted, a new stone-flagged floor has been laid, and a new back-bar fitted.

The latter is behind the bar, and is where all the beers and ciders are dispensed from. Like its sister pub, all the cask beers are dispensed by gravity, straight from casks houses in a specially constructed, chilled cellar room, just behind the serving area.

The pub was pleasantly busy when I called in, with a good mix of customers, ranging from shoppers, family groups or people – like me, out in search of a good pint. There were several people standing at the bar, and I recognised one as my old friend and walking companion, Eric.

I hadn’t seen Eric in ages, let alone have a beer with him, so after exchanging greetings, I offered him a drink. He opted for the 5.1% Gold Star from Goacher’s, whilst I went for the 4.3% Old Man from Long Man Brewery. I must admit my eyes lit up when I spotted the sign for this excellent Old Ale, and I was not disappointed. It was smooth, dark, full-bodied an eminently drinkable – in fact everything an Old Ale should be.

I spent some time chatting to my old friend, and also to the friendly barmaid, who seemed happy to answer all our questions. I gave her my card, which she passed over to the General Manager, a congenial fellow called Jamie. Jamie said they were all extremely pleased with the response to their opening and with the positive reactions and comment from local people.

He told me that the aim was to keep things local, sourcing cask ales, ciders and  other drinks as much as possible from producers based in Kent or Sussex. Cellar Head, Gadd’s, Goacher’s, Long Man and Tonbridge are supplying the core range of beers, alongside classic  session beer, Adnam’s Southwold. These will be complemented by guest ales; again sourced locally, wherever possible.

I noticed that the draught lagers were also local brews, with Helles Belles from Westerham Brewery and Curious Brew from Chapel Down. A changing range of local ciders is also stocked. The Beer Seller offers good value for drinkers, with regular cask ales selling at £3.60 a pint, lagers at £4.00 and ciders at £4.20.

After finishing my 4.0 NBSS pint of Old Man, Eric returned the compliment and bought me another pint. This time I went for the 3.9% Scaramanga, a refreshing and well-hopped pale ale from Sussex-based, Gun Brewery. This pint came in at 3.5 NBSS; both scores being a good start for this new establishment.

I left just before 5pm, and hurried along to meet son Matthew, just as he was finishing work. He’d promised me a lift home, so I didn’t want to keep him waiting. Before leaving I said goodbye to Eric,  thanked Jamie and the barmaid, and told them I’d be back. I also promised to give then a decent write-up on the blog.

The Beer Seller is definitely a welcome addition to Tonbridge and the local drinking scene, and I strongly recommend you pay it a visit, if you are in the area.

Footnote: John Angell Jeweller & Goldsmith was an old family business, which was established in 1830. It ceased trading mid-way through last year, and as a mark of respect to the building’s long heritage, the old name has been left up above the door.

The calm before the storm? Or all quiet on the Tunbridge Wells front

As you might have guessed, I didn’t manage to track down any Harvey’s Old at the weekend, and neither did I manage to source any Larkin’s Porter, although by all accounts I came pretty close.The truth is there was too much occurring on the domestic front, and this was enough to keep me out of the pub.

Tuesday evening saw me catching the train over to Tunbridge Wells in order to catch up with some of my CAMRA colleagues who were on an extended “Christmas Drinks” pub-crawl. As most of them are retired, they started at 5.30pm, but that was way too early for us ordinary folk who are still working, so I caught up with them at the last port of call.

Actually, they caught up with me as they were running behind schedule, as is so often the case on these sort of events. So having missed out on the Royal Oak, the Guinea Butt and Fuggles, I made my way to the top of Mount Ephraim and bought myself a well-earned pint at the George; this year’s West Kent CAMRA pub of the year.

It’s some time since I last set foot in the George, but the pub was looking suitably festive and with a log fire providing some welcoming warmth on a cold winter’s night, I could think of few better places to be. My only grouse was the two drinkers, sat at the bar, blocking my view of the pumps, but even that changed when they disappeared outside for a ciggy.

There was an interesting line-up of beers, including two dark ones, but for starters I opted for a pint of  “Pint” from Manchester-based, Marble Beers. Weighing in at just 3.9% ABV, this session ale is packed full of citrus flavours from the use of American and New Zealand hops, and I scored it a worthy 4.0 NBSS.

I sat down away from the bar, and towards the front of the pub. It was fairly quiet, but then it was only Tuesday and the Christmas festivities haven’t really kicked off yet. You could almost describe it as the calm before the storm, and as I sat there I felt content and nicely relaxed.

The peace was shattered by the arrival of my CAMRA friends and colleagues, so I made my way towards the bar to greet them. They had a similar tale to tell, as the other three pubs they’d been in were all on the quiet side. Whilst standing at the bar chatting, I was trying to make up my mind as to which beer I should have next; a decision which basically meant I could  now dive in on the dark stuff.

A friend had bought himself a pint of Adnam’s Sloe Storm Winter Ale, and offered me a taste. Coming straight after the Marble Pint, the Adnam’s offering tasted rather insipid; you certainly couldn't taste the sloes,  so I gave it a miss and opted instead for the Holler Brass Hand – a 4.2% ABV Golden Ale. Holler are based in Brighton, having moved there, having outgrown their original premises in Uckfield.

The Brass Hand was very drinkable (3.5 NBSS), but on balance I preferred the Pint. By this time the CAMRA contingent had grabbed one of the large tables, close to where I’d been sitting earlier. It was good to see them, and it was equally good to  catch up with a friend who’d been away in Australia for the past month. He was definitely feeling the change in climate between here and Oz – not that I had much sympathy for him!

I learned from one of my other friends that I had narrowly missed Larkin’s Porter, as it had been on at the George over the weekend. “Fancy not saving me any”, was my response, but this did give me the cue to try the other dark offering on at the George that night.

Export India Porter from 360º Brewing; another Uckfield based brewery.  This 5.8% ABV beer has a strong malt base supplemented with oats for both body and smoothness. Three aromatic New World hops produce a Porter which, according to the brewery, “Is strong on body, big on aroma and large on taste”.  It was good so, as with the first beer, I scored it at 4.0 NBBS.

It wasn’t a beer to rush either, so it was gone 10.15pm when my friend from Tonbridge and I left the pub to make our way to the station. It had started raining, only lightly, but it did at least raise the temperature. Unfortunately our train to Tonbridge was delayed by 30 minutes, which meant by the time I arrived home it was 11.30pm.

This wasn’t good, with work the next day, but this minor irritation aside, it had been an excellent evening. Having been tempted now by the dark stuff, I  just need to find a pub serving either Larkin’s Porter or Harvey’s Old and I shall then be a really happy bunny.

The Bass Chronicles - Part 2. (1980 - 1990)

Carrying on from the first part of this narrative, we move into the 1980's and see how after losing its way and ditching much of its heritage, Draught Bass made a bit of a comeback and even recovered some of its former glory.

It was to be  nearly ten years before I returned to Burton. During the intervening years I had changed my job twice, moved house three times, got divorced and re-married. The fact that my moving house had brought me back to Kent (first Maidstone and latterly Tonbridge) meant that opportunities to consume Draught Bass were not as frequent as they were in London. However, the Man of Kent in East Street, Tonbridge always managed to serve a very acceptable pint of the stuff!

It was during this time that Bass committed an appalling act of vandalism by announcing the closure of their Union Rooms on the grounds of "cost". For a brewery that had built its reputation on the quality of its pale ales, this was tantamount to sacrilege. As CAMRA commented at the time, for a company prepared to spend thousands on advertising such tasteless aberrations as Carling Black Label, to claim that they couldn't afford the maintenance and upkeep of the rooms where their most famous and prestigious product was produced, just did not add up.

Bass claimed that after extensive trials they had managed to match the unique taste of Draught Bass, using modern conical fermenters, with that of the version brewed using the traditional union method. As CAMRA again remarked, "They may indeed have been able to do this under carefully controlled brewery sample room conditions, but would they be able to reproduce the same character in the pub cellar?"

My own observations (and indeed tasting at the time) suggest that CAMRA was correct, and the Draught Bass that I sampled during the mid-1980's quite frankly left me rather disappointed. It also left me feeling extremely angry that Bass could have debased their most famous product in this way.

In March 1987 I had the opportunity of returning to Burton. A group of friends (drinking buddies) had noticed a trip advertised by the local coach company - Maidstone & District. The trip was advertised as  "The Burton Brewer", and consisted of a visit to the Bass Museum followed by a trip around the Bass Brewery. I had seen the museum, then in its infancy, during my earlier visit and the opportunity to re-visit it and to spend some time in Britain’s “brewing capital” seemed too good to miss. We duly booked our places and on the allotted day boarded the coach to Burton.

After a somewhat tedious journey up the motorway, we arrived in Burton just after midday. Our driver told us to assemble at the brewery gates at one o'clock, so having some free time, we decided to try some of the town’s delights. We headed straight for the Victoria Tavern, the brewery tap of the then recently formed Burton Bridge Brewery.

The pub was a splendid multi-roomed establishment and the beer was very good as well. We tried the Bridge Bitter and also the very tasty Porter, but by the time we arrived back at the brewery gates we learned that not only had we missed our trip round the museum, but the tour round the brewery was about to commence. It seems that the coach driver had got his times muddled up, which was a great shame as I would really have liked to have had a proper look round the museum.

Seeing that we were late, our tour guide enquired as to where we had been, with a look of obvious annoyance on her face. One of my three companions informed her that “We had been sampling some proper beer in the Victoria Tavern". “Oh”, replied our guide, "it's strange but everyone seems to go there". “Perhaps if Bass brewed some decent beer these days, people wouldn't have to” murmured another of my friends. Our guide either did not hear, or perhaps chose to ignore that somewhat pointed but rather poignant comment, and without further ado we embarked on our tour of the brewery.

As we rapidly discovered, this was not to be a trip around the solidly traditional Number 2 Brewery that I had visited nearly ten years earlier. Instead our tour was to consist of a look round the ultra modern Number 1 Brewery. En route to the latter we discovered perhaps the real reason for the closure of the Burton Union rooms, namely the site was wanted for redevelopment. Demolition of the lovely old red-brick Victorian buildings was well under way, a sight which left me feeling both saddened and angry.

There is not much to see in a modern, functional brewery. Everything is either concrete, steel girders or white-tiled walls. Most of the brewing vessels are totally enclosed and can only be glimpsed through viewing portals. However, the view over Burton from the top of the brewery was worth seeing, even if it again provided further evidence of the desecration of the town's proud brewing heritage by both Bass and near neighbours, Ind Coope.

The tour ended with a couple of pints in the visitor centre. My friends and I all opted for Draught Bass, but after five pints of Burton Bridge ales our palates were somewhat jaded and it was not possible to give either a sound or indeed fair judgement on the taste of the beer.

Some six months later I had the opportunity to visit Burton again; this time on business for my new employer. I travelled by train, and as Burton is somewhat poorly served by rail links, I was collected from Nuneaton station, on the West Coast mainline, and driven to Burton by a representative from the company I was visiting. We drove to the company's factory on the outskirts of Burton, and after a very fruitful morning's discussion adjourned for lunch. My host took me to a pub in a nearby village and, seeing as it was a Bass house, I opted for a pint of Draught Bass.

We sat down at a table ready to peruse the menu, but all thoughts of food vanished as I took my first sip of the beer. It was heavenly. I decided that I must be dreaming and took a full mouthful this time to discover that I wasn't imagining things. There was no mistake, this was the Draught Bass I had known and loved, but which I thought had been lost for ever! I was absolutely amazed that after all this time the ale had suddenly returned to its previous superb form. During the course of the meal I made certain that this was not a “one-off” by ordering a second pint. This proved every bit as enjoyable as the first, and definitely made my day. It even eclipsed  the successful outcome to my business trip, which was concluded when we returned to the factory.

It still seemed too good to be true that Draught Bass was back on form, but a couple of months later I had the opportunity to sample the beer again when I visited the West Country for a well earned holiday. My wife and I, accompanied by our pet dog, drove down to Devon for what was to be our first proper holiday since our honeymoon some two years previously.

We had booked into self-catering accommodation in an annexe adjoining a farmhouse, close to the picturesque village of Dittisham on the River Dart. Although my wife had been to this part of South Devon before, it was my first visit. Furthermore, all we had to go on in those pre-internet days, as to the standard of our accommodation, was a brief description in the brochure, plus an artist’s impression. It was therefore with some trepidation that we drove down the narrow track which led to the farmhouse.

We needn't have worried, as the accommodation was of a very high standard, and was clean as well as cosy and comfortable. Having unloaded our bags, I left Mrs PBT’s to prepare our evening meal and set off, in the car, to explore Dittisham and, more importantly, to find its GBG listed pub - the Red Lion.

Standing close to the imposing village church, the Red Lion is a large, but perfectly ordinary looking, white painted, Victorian pub.  Stepping inside though I  was immediately struck by its peaceful atmosphere, and quiet rural charm. I had noticed that Draught Bass was on sale, so spurred on by my previous experience opted for a pint.

It was every bit as good as the ale I had recently sampled in Burton. I tried another swift half, just to make sure (I was driving after all!). I then instructed the barman to fill my 4 pint container with Bass and set off back to the farmhouse.

 I arrived back in extremely high spirits, enthusing about the beer, the pub, the village, the tranquillity of our surroundings and life in general, and tucked into my meal with relish. I washed it down with several more glasses of Bass, and polished the rest of it off later that same evening. Over the course of the week, I discovered Draught Bass to be quite  common in South Devon, and I must confess I enjoyed a good few pints of it.

We returned to the same farmhouse for three years in a row, and on each occasion I enjoyed the Bass at the Red Lion as well as the other pubs in the area. One pub in particular is worthy of a mention, namely the Dolphin Inn at Newton Ferrers. This wonderfully unspoilt pub faces out, across the River Yealm, to Noss Mayo - the village on the other side of the estuary. I have some very happy memories of sitting in the south-facing, pub garden looking across the river, whilst soaking up the mid-September sunshine and the superb Bass in equal quantities!

The Bass seemed all the more better for being served straight from the cask - by gravity, and this leads me on nicely to the conclusion of this treatise,  namely the methods by which Draught Bass is served.

"Down for maintenance"

There is something strange going on over at CAMRA’s National Heritage Pub website, as anyone who has tried logging on recently will know. Rather than being able to access information about the UK’s remaining “unspoilt” stock of pubs; the ones which are rightly regarded as “heritage pubs” and hence “National Treasures”,  visitors are instead confronted with the following message:

We’ll be back soon!  Sorry for the inconvenience, but we’re performing some critical maintenance at the moment. - The CAMRA IT Team.

I wouldn’t say I’m a regular visitor to the site, but I do find it useful especially when planning a trip to a new area. Several years ago, I made up my mind to visit as many of the country’s remaining “heritage pubs” as possible, but with the website down for “maintenance” it’s proving difficult to track them down.

What I hadn’t realised was just how long the site has actually been down, as it was only a disgruntled email from a correspondent, on one of the CAMRA discourse forums, which alerted me to the fact the website has been undergoing "critical maintenance" for six months now.

So does anybody out there know the reason why this important resource has been unavailable for so long? And can anyone, especially someone from CAMRA, say when it might be up and running again?

Data protection and/or security issues have been cited as possible reasons, but whatever the problem it seems absolutely incredible that a site could be out of action for such a lengthy period of time, in this day and age.

pubheritage.camra.org.uk

Footnote: the photos are of two historic, absolute gems, which I am privileged to have visited. Both are called the Red Lion, but that is the most common pub name in England.