Tipping and gratuities - are they still necessary in a modern world?

Being at a loose end, at the moment, I’ve decided to crack on with a post about “tipping.”  This is the article I've been meaning to write for quite some time so, seeing as I'm still confined to my quarters, here goes. I apologise in advance for offending anyone, especially Americans, some of whom are family members, but I find the whole practice quite archaic, often patronising and worse still, rather servile.

"Tipping" is an a an act which, according to the Cambridge English Dictionary is, “giving an amount of money to someone who has provided a service, especially in a hotel or restaurant.” This is almost universally understood, especially in the British Isles, but further afield the act of tipping someone, takes on a much greater significance.

When further afield extends to across the Atlantic Ocean, and to the United States in particular, that “greater significance” is much more pronounced, but before making that crossing, I want to look first at what goes on in this country, and any conventions that might be attached to the practice.

Like many people growing up in Britain, I learned that it was normal practice to offer an additional sum of money to people engaged in certain professions, particularly those who had rendered a service of one sort or another to you. That sum of money is usually referred to as a “tip,” although the correct technical, and probably legal term as well, is a “gratuity.” The tip, of course, is given in addition to the basic price of the service.

The occupations which normally warranted a tip were, hairdressers, taxi drivers and waiting staff – in restaurants. You were also expected to tip hotel porters, and possibly luggage porters at large railway stations, but as a child, the family never stayed at a hotel, and because we had a car, long-distance rail journeys were also, never undertaken.

This leads onto the question of, how much should one tip? The answer was, and still is in many cases, 10% of the bill total or, in the case of exceptional service, a higher amount 15% upwards, and this has been a rule I have normally worked to, but none of it answers the question as to why some workers are deemed worthy of a tip, whilst most are not? I often thought, particularly when I was younger, that because no-one ever offered me anything extra for doing my job, why should I be expected to offer an additional payment to a stranger, just for doing theirs?

I’m obviously older, and I’d like to think wiser as well, but offering gratuities does seem restricted to those who offer us a very personal service. Things don’t get much more personal than having our hair cut, and the fact that taxi drivers offer a personalised door to door service that often involves helping with a person’s luggage as well, brings them into the same category as well.

Then there are the waiters and waitresses, the people who take our order in a restaurant, but also in something slightly more basic, such as a pub or bar.  They don’t just scurry off with our order and then bring the food to our table. Sometimes they offer suggestions, or recommendations and, depending on the standing or status of the establishment, may even serve the food up in front of us. This also is a very personalised form of service and is why it is almost universal practice to give these people a tip.

But when and where to draw the line, and should you feel compelled to offer a tip, especially if you have received slow or poor service? This is where things become tricky, and boundaries can become blurred, but before going any further, it’s worth taking note of a small piece of advice, I once read. It said that the word “TIPS” is an acronym meaning To Insure Prompt Service, which almost implies handing over the gratuity, prior to receiving the goods or service – almost as if it were some form of insurance policy.

Well, I don’t know about that, but it does rather tie in with what one researcher categorised as 5 motivations for tipping:

1. Showing off.

2. To supplement the server’s income and make them happy.

3. To improve future service – as mentioned previously.

4. To avoid disappointment from the server.

5. A sense of duty.

In my opinion, the first and the last of those “motivations” are probably the main ones for people to leave a tip, but before looking at the history behind the origins of this practice, let’s make that journey across the Atlantic to the good old US of A. I discovered there, more or less straight away, that waiting staff in establishments ranging from top nosh restaurants to the humble diners, not only expect a gratuity for their services, but are also quite adept at showing their feelings when they don’t receive one. The same applies in bars, even where the staff are just pouring you a drink.

I found this out in a bar at Cincinnati Airport, whilst waiting for a connecting flight. I had only just arrived in the country, and after an unfortunate incident involving a Customs & Border Protection agent, I really needed a beer. I describe the “incident” as unfortunate and whilst with hindsight, the remark I made wasn’t perhaps the most sensible thing I’ve uttered, but if whilst queuing to enter a foreign country, you are asked the question below, you might be tempted to give a similar response.  

“Do you have more than $100,000 about your person?” To which I

replied, “No, but I wish I had!” Ask a daft question and expect an equally daft answer, was my logic, but like most government officials CBP agents are lacking in a sense of humour, and I was told, rather firmly, to stand to one side, asked all sorts of other questions, whilst a detailed search of my luggage was conducted. It could have been worse, and there were no invasive body searches, or anything similar involved, so after feeling rather foolish, I was looking forward to that beer!

It was America, and people sit at the bar. This type of behaviour is frowned

upon back home, and viewed as “bar blocking,” at least amongst most of the people I mix with, but seems the norm in the US. There was a good selection of beers available, although I can’t remember now which one, I opted for. They were dispensed of course, from an array of different taps, mounted along the back wall, directly opposite where I was sitting. All the bar person had to do was pick up a glass, pour the beer, turn around and plonk it on the counter in front of me, so I thought little of it. I handed over a $10 bill, pocketed the change and started necking my first beer on American soil.

I thought the bar tender had looked rather strangely at me, when I pocketed the change, and it wasn’t until the woman sitting next to me, pointed out that I should have given a tip, that the penny dropped. A tip for pouring a beer – a task that involved a minimum of effort, and yet they expected a gratuity? I pleaded ignorance and muttered something about tipping double for the next beer, except there wasn’t a next beer, because when the same woman asked me which part of Australia I was from, I decided the conversation was going nowhere, and it was time to leave.

The experience did prove an important lesson in awareness of the different customs and behavioural etiquette that might be encountered in a foreign country, and over the course of that visit and the subsequent one, I slowly became acclimatised to the requirement for tipping. My sister and her American husband were at pains to explain that hospitality staff, in the US, relied on gratuities to supplement the low, basic wage they received. I can understand this if it wasn’t expected. As argued earlier, a tip or gratuity is offered for the personalised service received, as per a haircut, or help with one’s luggage. Flicking the lever of a tap with your index finger, does not exactly tick the box of “personal service” in my book!

Despite having now lived a quarter of a century in the USA, my sister has similar views to my own, namely pay your workers a decent living wage so they don’t need to rely on the vagaries of gratuities but returning briefly to the question of “entitlement” it’s worth sharing the following story, relating to my last visit.

The three of us had been out for the day – if my memory serves me correctly it was a drive along to the area of downtown Cleveland, known as The Flats. This is a thriving area of bars, restaurants and boutiques that has sprung up quite recently along the banks of the Cuyahooga River before

it flows into Lake Eire. After an afternoon wandering around several street markets, and calling in at the odd bar or two, we were feeling rather peckish, so decided to pick up a Chinese takeaway on the way back to the house.

I said I would pick up the tab, so my brother-in-law phoned the order through, and 30 minutes or so we turned up at the restaurant to collect the meal.  All very straight forward until I went to pay, and my brother-in-law informed me I needed to add a tip. “For a takeaway?” I said, “are you kidding?” “No, it's expected,” was my brother-in-law's reply. So reluctantly, and bearing in mind I was in a foreign country, I added the 15% to the “add service gratuity” option on the card machine.

My sister, who had been waiting in the car, felt embarrassed, and agreed with me that a gratuity for a takeaway, that you pick up yourself, was taking the p*ss. As with pouring the beer, handing over a carrier bag full of foil containers, wasn’t in my view worthy of extra payment, even though the meal itself was excellent. Perhaps the money should have gone to the chef, rather than the bloke behind the counter?

Returning closer to home, and to trips to Europe – remember them? As we know, table service is pretty much universal across most of the continent, even if you are just stopping by for a few beers. Even closer than western Europe, is Britain itself where, for several parts of the pandemic, pubs and bars were required, by the Covid- restrictions, to operate on a table-service only basis.

It wasn’t popular with customers or with publicans, meaning extra waiting times for customers, and increased staffing costs and slower turn-over for landlords. We’re just not used to this type of service in the UK, and if I’m honest, I often find it rather frustrating when I’m abroad., as well.

I’ve raised the subject of table service primary because it relates to tipping again, and the verdict is that in much of Europe, tipping, whilst welcomed, is not automatically expected. I will normally round a bill up to the nearest whole number, or perhaps add a couple of extra Euros if the food, drink, and the evening were exceptionally good.

The same, of course, applies here in the UK, where again there is no automatic expectation of a tip. This does rather leave the United States out on a limb, and whilst the intention of this article, right from the start, was

not to knock our friends and, in my case, relations on the other side of the Atlantic, one does have to ask why one of the richest and most powerful nations on earth leaves millions of its workers reliant on the generosity of others, rather than paying them a true living wage.

Final word on the subject – tipping very much depends on the customs and social etiquette of the country you are visiting. As already covered, tipping is expected in the USA, but there are also parts of the world where it is discouraged and may even be considered as insulting. Japan and Korea fall into this category, so the best advice is to follow local practice, and remember the old adage of “When in Rome, do as the Romans.”

 

Confined to quarters!

I suppose it was inevitable really, and the only surprise is that it has taken so long. After all, the pandemic caused by the SARS-CoV-2, virus, has been with us the best part of two years. So, after managing to successfully evade Covid-19 since March 2020, I tested positive yesterday morning, and have now been confined to quarters.

Now I am not one of those people obsessed with testing themselves every day, so the reason I took a lateral-flow-test was that I felt somewhat under the weather during Saturday. Come Sunday, what I first thought was just a minor sniffle had turned into more of a full-blown cold., with a runny nose, sneezing, headache plus aching limbs.

So out came one of the lateral-flow kits I’d obtained from work, and whilst at first everything seemed fine, before the 30-minute cut-off time had elapsed, a thin red line appeared next to the “T.” It was quite faint, and whilst I was at first, tempted to dismiss it, I checked further on the NHS website. Their advice was even a faint line nest to the “T” must be regarded as positive.

It was then panic stations in the Bailey household, whilst wife and son checked their status. Fortunately, and for the time being at least, they both tested negative, but I was unceremoniously bundled up to the back bedroom and shut in – locked away from the world, only allowed out to use the bathroom.

I also had to scan the QR code on the test cassette and submit it to the NHS Test & Trace service, so that they could contact me, and tell what I already knew. The last day of my 10-day self-isolation is 15^th February, although from day 5, which is the 10^th February, I can start taking lateral flow tests. If I record negative tests, two days in row, I can end my incarceration after the second negative test. All quite intriguing, but also very efficient after the cock-ups that occurred when Dido (without an “l”), as in charge.

And so, here I am. I don’t feel that bad, as the symptoms are more in line with a bad cold and can be kept in check with regular dosed of paracetamol. Mrs PBT’s understandably is taking no chances, so it’s meals on a tray, left at the foot of the stairs and communication my mobile, or failing that, by shouting. Despite her feigned grumpiness, she’s a very good nurse, and I’m being well looked after.

I was somewhat puzzled as to how and where I’d managed to pick up this particular dose which, from the sound of things, is probably the Omicron variant. A call in to work this morning, revealed that two colleagues had also gone down with Covid, one on Thursday and the other the following day. 

Because I only work Monday to Wednesday, I was unaware, until this morning, that mycolleagues had gone down with the same ailment, but as the three of us sit in the same part of the office, it all falls into place, and also points to Omicron being responsible, due to its much higher rate of transmission.

I’ve had quite a busy morning though, as I can pick-up and answer emails from my desktop PC at home, so I’ve been re-scheduling appointments, and also re-arranging the Manual Handling Awareness training, due to take place this coming Friday. I imagine my Covid-stricken colleagues will be doing the same, especially our sales manager.

I don’t actually mind, as to helps to pass the time, but the one area I am concerned about is the lack of exercise. I am quite an active person and with the aid of my Smart Watch – soon to be upgraded, monitor my step count, on a regular basis. Whilst I don’t usually reach the magic 10K over the course of a normal working day, I do get past 7K, so yesterday’s total of 786 steps is quite derisive. Today’s quantity is looking even worse, as it’s only just passed the 300 mark!

 

So, tomorrow I shall head out into our lengthy garden at the rear of the house, but without passing through the living room and kitchen. It will be straight down the stairs, and back along the passage at the side of the property, followed by numerous circuits of the garden. I might even put in some more work on my greenhouse restoration project, which is coming to fruition, quite nicely. With the first week in February already behind us, it’s getting closer to the time when the greenhouse will be needed to bring on seedlings, and protect vulnerable plants, and because of the reduction in my working hours, I have now had the time to get stuck into these projects.

Indoors, I’ve made a start on sorting through various accumulate paperwork, especially that relating to the three pension schemes I’ve been a member of. Because I am still working, albeit part-time, I haven’t drawn on any of these investments yet, but they do need keeping an eye on, and collating the paperwork.

If I really get bored there’s a TV in the room I can watch, along with a pile of books I’ve yet to read, but before signing off, I will echo the words of one of my colleagues, who copped a dose of Covid, during the run-up to Christmas. Although it’s unpleasant, she said, just imagine how much worse it might be had the vaccines not come along, so to all those unvaccinated souls out there, and there are still quite a few, do yourselves and the rest of us a favour and get a shot!

50 Years of CAMRA

Amongst several books I received for Christmas, was on entitled “50 years of CAMRA.” It’s the official biography of the Campaign for Real Ale and tells the story of how what started as half-baked idea, amongst four young friends, on a drinking holiday in Ireland, grew into Europe’s largest, single-issue consumer movement. I finished reading my copy, a few days ago, and found it an absorbing and, at times, enlightening read. It was hard to put down at times, something that is always a hallmark of a good book.

The book contains first-hand accounts from CAMRA members, brewers, licensees, and industry observers, detailing the highs and lows of the Campaign. Beer writer, Laura Hadland, was specially commissioned to write the book, and has done a first-class job. This is despite much of the research having to be conducted remotely, due to the various lock-down restrictions.

"50 years of CAMRA" is neatly and logically structured and starts off with an explanation as to why cask ale needed saving. This is perhaps the crux of not just the book, but CAMRA itself, because the unique set of circumstances that existed at the time, provided the reasons behind the need for an organisation such as CAMRA.

What then follows are a set of rather broad headings, about how the campaign works, in relation to beer, breweries, and pubs. The book then ends with a look at CAMRA today. These headings encompass a wide range of related sub-headings, covering topics and developments, laid out in chronological order. These demonstrate how CAMRA has evolved over the past half century.

The first half was the most interesting as it was the part of the campaign that I really identified with. Back in the late 70’s – early 80’s, it seemed that CAMRA had become an unstoppable force, and what we (because it was, we) were doing was not only worthwhile, but somehow noble as well.  I appreciate that sounds rather pretentious now, but when looked at against the increase in interest, of all matters relating to beer, that CAMRA inspired, I don’t regard it as an exaggeration. The same applies to the huge increase in the number of breweries, not just here in the UK, but globally and particularly in the United States.

I don’t intend to cover all the topic covered in Laura’s book, although there are a number that I would like to explore further. One story, which makes interesting reading, is the development of beer festivals - events that we now take for granted, Cambridge was one of the first off, the mark in 1974, with a successful festival that acted as the template for future CAMRA events. A year later the Covent Garden Beer Exhibition, became the first national beer festival.

I was fortunate to have attended this pioneering event, and two years later I was present at the first Great British Beer Festival, held at London’s Alexandra Palace. I have since attended countless beer across the southeast, worked at several, and even helped to organise the odd one or two.

Organising protest marches, either through towns, or outside breweries earmarked for closure, was another favourite tactic during the early days of CAMRA. Laura recounts the “mock funerals” held in memory of a brewery about to be closed, and I recall attending such a demonstration at Whitbread’s historic Chiswell Street Brewery, in the City of London. Beer had been brewed at this location for over 200 years, before the brewing giant closed the plant in 1976.

Meeting up with fellow members, concerned at the loss of the country’s brewing heritage, was great fun, and it felt like we were not just getting our point across, but by drawing people’s attention to these closures, we were making a difference.  I was certainly proud to be associated with such like-minded individuals, and regarded them as “comrades in arms,” for want of a better term.

Those days have all gone now, the fun has gone out of the campaign and CAMRA has become dull and boring. Like a lengthy marriage that is missing its spark and slowly going off the rails, CAMRA seemed to be just going through the motions. Ticking boxes, surveying pubs for the GBG, attending the Great British Beer Festival, campaigning for Mild during the month of May and cider during the autumn, the whole year was marked out by CAMRA routines and rituals, that hardly varied from one year to the next.

As Laura points out, CAMRA changed from a campaigning organisation to a lobbying one. Sure, the campaign has the ear of parliament and of the brewing industry, but the heart and soul has completely gone from the campaign, the organisation takes itself far too seriously, and like the Conservative party, is riddled with internal politics.

There was the half-hearted attempt at reform, dubbed the Revitalisation Campaign, which culminated in a number of Special Resolutions being put to CAMRA’s National Conference. The majority of these passed, but the most controversial resolution fell at the last hurdle, when it narrowly failed to achieve the 75% majority required to change the campaign’s articles of association.

The resolution would have meant that CAMRA would “act as the voice and represent the interests of all pub goers and beer, cider and perry drinkers.” It would have made CAMRA a much broader church, embracing all the above groups. The motion failed by the narrowest of margins, 72%, and just short of the 75% % required. Similar guidelines should, of course, have applied to the 2016 referendum on Britain’s EU membership, but that’s another story.

Many in CAMRA regarded the failure of this Special Resolution as a missed opportunity for the campaign. An opportunity which would have taken the organisation forward, and beyond the somewhat narrow remit of “Real Ale.” For an individual like me, already disillusioned at the direction the group was taking, it was the final straw, and I cancelled my membership at the end of 2019.

These issues aside, CAMRA over the course of the past 50 years, has achieved far more than those four young journalists could have envisioned, when they sketched out those original hazy details for the campaign, on their lads’ holiday to Ireland.

I am proud of the role I played within this success and am honoured to have been a member of Europe’s largest, single-issue consumer movement for 45 years. During this time, I have made many good friends, visited some amazing pubs and breweries and generally, have enjoyed a thoroughly good time. So, to discover more about this unique and ground-breaking organisation, I thoroughly recommend getting a copy of “50 years of CAMRA,” whether you are a CAMRA member or not.

Finally, a little piece of doggerel from a Christmas card, sent in the very early days of the campaign, by one of CAMRA’s four founders.

"Whether in city bar you sup, Or in village vault you get tanked up, Be on your guard against bad ale, Or you’ll never live to tell the tale………….of CAMRA."

Nostalgia is alive and kicking at the Hooden Smokehouse & Cellar

At the start of my recent post about Ashford, I brought up the old adage that, “You should never go back.” I said at the time that there is more of a grain of truth in this piece of advice, but this does need qualifying. I meant what I'd said, but with the following provisos, because sometimes you end up being pleasantly surprised, as I'll explain shortly.

Nothing stands still, and things change and evolve all the time, and if you actually embrace the change, then when things aren’t quite what you expected or indeed remembered, that’s not always a bad thing. There is one strict condition here, and that is the change must be positive, as there’s no point in going back and re-visiting a favourite place from your youth, if you find it’s been altered out of all recognition. Even then, it still might represent a positive change, if the alterations that have taken place are for the better, so the key is to keep an open mind when returning to old haunts and places that have sacred memories from childhood.

I experienced this, at first hand, a couple of Friday’s ago, as part of that return visit to Ashford, and neighbouring Willesborough, as they were the places where I not only grew up, but also spent my formative years. So, as part of the planning for our trip, I paid careful attention to somewhere suitable for a lunchtime drink, plus a bite to eat.

As the idea was to walk through the housing development where my sister and I had lived with our parents, between the ages of 3 and 11, I was banking on finding somewhere nearby. Straight away, I thought of the Rose Inn, a pub I visited several times as a child, with my parents and maternal grandparents. The latter made regular visits from London, after we first moved to Kent, and as both enjoyed a drink – unlike my parents, the Rose was within easy walking distance, and a place that the whole family could enjoy.

It was an unusual pub, being built into the side of a hill, and was therefore constructed on two levels. The public bar was at the higher level, fronting the road, and a saloon-cum-games area, which doubled-up as children's room, at the lower level. It was reached by descending a series of steps from the road, and also the car park. I remember as a child, sitting out at some tables in the top car park, enjoying a pineapple juice, and a packet of crisps.

My grandmother’s tipple of choice was a gin and tonic, but my grandfather was definitely a beer man. He preferred bottled, rather than draught, and I think this was quite a common preference during the early 60’s – something to do with variability of the draught beer back then. “Draught” would invariably have been cask, and poor cellar skills shown by many licensees at the time, helped lead to the development and wider promotion of keg beer.

The latter, was originally, nothing more than bottled beer but served and dispensed from a much larger container. My grandfather stuck with his bottles though, and whilst I have no idea of the brew served in the Rose, at the time, I imagine it would have been Fremlin’s. I say this because shortly after leaving school, I became re-acquainted with the pub. It was a Whitbread pub back then, the latter company having acquired most of its pubs in the area, following the takeover of Fremlin’s in 1967.

I hadn’t long turned 18, and along with a couple of former school friends, had taken a job at a local food processing factory, whilst awaiting my A-level results. The work was dull, repetitive and boring, but paid reasonably well, and we were placed on permanent late shift, which ran from 2pm until 10pm. Back in those days most Kent pubs closed at 10.30pm Monday to Thursday, with an extension to 11pm on Fridays and Saturdays.

The Rose was the nearest pub to the factory, and if we left as soon as the shift ended, we just had time to hot foot it along to the Rose and get a couple of quick pints in before time was called. Presiding behind the bar was this fearsome old lady called Norah. She appeared to run the pub single-handed, although we later learned that one of her sons helped with the cellar work and other heavy duties. We tended to frequent the lower saloon bar on our after-work visits, primarily to engage in a game or two of bar-billiards, and despite our relatively young ages, Norah seemed quite glad of our custom.

One friend though, recounted a tale of how Norah had once barred his father from the pub, purely because she "didn't like the look of him,” we paid little attention to this story, as we really looked forward to those after work beers, especially after a gruelling 8-hour shift. As proof of this, the couple of pints we squeezed in before “last orders” were called, barely touched the sides.

At the end of that summer, I left home to go to university. When I returned the following summer, I had a different part-time job at a location that was nowhere near the Rose. I consequently lost touch with the pub, until a few weeks ago, when my interest was re-kindled, following a search on What Pub, for a place in Willesborough, to enjoy that lunchtime drink.

I did something of a double take when I first saw the pub and its address. It is no longer the Rose, but instead goes under the name of the Hooden Smokehouse & Cellar, which puzzled me somewhat as I remember a small chain of pubs all with the word “Hooden” in their title. We had one in Tonbridge, for a while, when the Somerhill Arms was renamed the Hooden Horse.

That was quite a few years ago, and the pub has reverted to its original name, but I’m not sure what the story was regarding the Willesborough outlet. I wasn’t that bothered either, because the pub was open, the food and drink offerings looked good and the reviews on TripAdvisor were also positive, so the former Rose it was then. As mentioned in my Ashford article, the Hooden Smokehouse & Cellar (HS&C), was just a few hundred yards past my old primary school, and as soon as we arrived the outside of the pub looked familiar. One thing which was different, was the upper bar was no longer accessible.

We walked down the steps to the lower bar instead, passing through a covered area which serves as the games room. This led through into the main bar which was the one I remembered as the saloon bar, nearly half a century ago. There was a handful of people inside – a couple having lunch, as the far end of the room, a couple of lads, sitting at the side of the bar, plus the landlord who was doing some work on his computer.

We ordered some drinks and grabbed a copy of the menu. I opted for the Harvey’s Sussex Best, which was the only cask ale on sale. Matthew went for a pint of Heineken. We both chose the Dry Aged Beef Burger and chips option for our lunch, and I have to say the food was excellent, and the service prompt. The Harvey’s was good too, which led me to order a second pint.

Afterwards I had an interesting chat with the landlord, and the subject of the legendary former landlady, Norah came up. He had heard several stories, from various sources, about Norah, and had even met one of her sons. I told him one of mine, which sort of tied in with the tale my friend told, about her refusing to serve his father. The story is too long to repeat here, but if you click the link, it will direct you to a post I published in 2010, entitled Fearsome Pub Landladies.

A few quick lines about the pub, to finish on. It was built in 1648, as a coaching inn, and as remained a pub ever since. A serious fire broke out in November 2016. Because the fire started in duct-work, associated with the extraction system, from one of the fryers, in the kitchen, it was some time before it was noticed. This meant the damage was much more extensive than I might have been, and consequently, the clean-up and rebuilding work necessary, meant the pub didn’t re-open, until March 2018.

Unfortunately, the renovation work revealed some structural weaknesses, which meant that it was not possible to re-open the upstairs bar; without some prohibitively expensive remedial work. The landlord told me that steep, wooden, nautical-style which Norah clambered up and down between the bars, was still in place.

The pub’s menu places a strong emphasis on American-style food, with items such as ribs, pulled pork, chicken wings, as well as burgers, a major feature of the Hooden’s food offering. As for the beer, the landlord did say that prior to lock-down, he was running with 2-3 cask ales on, but had (sensibly in my book), dropped this figure down to one. The pub also features two or three craft offerings. On the landlord’s own admission, these are expensive at around £6 a pint, but they were selling.

The Hooden Smokehouse & Cellar is well worth checking out if you are in the area, and with happy childhood memories for me, I’m really glad that I stopped by, to re-live some of them.

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Curious Brewery - Taproom & Restaurant

It seems I’ve been pipped at the post in my rush to bring the story of my visit to Curious Brewing to readers of this blog. The person who beat me to it, with his own account of a visit to this impressive brewing set-up, is none other than master brewer and fellow beer blogger, Ed Wray. Ed’s visit was a professional one, as a member of the Institute of Brewing & Distilling, whilst mine was purely one of pleasure that came at the end of a visit to my old hometown of Ashford.

I wrote about that particular excursion last week but left no hint that the day ended with son Matthew and I calling in at Curious Brewing. However, as the company’s state-of-the-art brewery and hospitality centre, are just across the tracks from Ashford’s International station, it would have been rude for us not to have called in.

The Curious Brewery was established in 2011, as an off shoot of Tenterden-based, Chapel Down Winery. At first, the beers were all contract-brewed), by Hepworth & Co in Horsham, but it was always Chapel Down’s intention to switch the production of these products to an “in-house” operation. To achieve this aim, a crowd-funding campaign was launched, which raised around £1.5 million.

After acquiring a 1.6-acre site, directly opposite Ashford International station, work began on the construction of a state-of-the-art brewing facility, which opened in May 2019.  A total of £6 million was spent on the 50HL 5-vessel brew-house, complete with 19 fermentation tanks, giving a total capacity of 2,900hl. 

 

The new plant is versatile, and adaptable, as it allows the brewing of smaller batch sizes, to ensure improved freshness and quality, and will also enable the launch of an exclusive small batch series. It also looks very impressive, being all shiny and new. Three core brews are produced, at present – an award-winning lager, a session IPA, plus a rather nice, porter, and these are also supplemented by seasonal and occasional brews. I even noticed a  handpump for a caskGreen-Hop Ale, hidden away at the back of the bar.

I first became aware of the company, and its “curiously-branded” products after spotting some of their bottles on sale at Waitrose. This must have been seven or eight years ago, and since learning of their expansion plans, a couple of years later, I had been following developments with interest. Following the opening of the Ashford plant, a visit had been on my “must do” list, and I was just drawing up some plans, when along came Covid!

Like many businesses, Curious were badly affected by the pandemic, with the various lock-downs hitting its sale to pubs, particularly hard. It was perhaps no surprise then when in February 2021, Chapel Down put the brewery business into administration. It was subsequently sold to Risk Capital Partners, who not only stressed there would be no redundancies, but also vowed to rebuild the business.

 So, with this in mind, Matthew and I turned up, as couple of  Fridays ago, to see for ourselves and enjoy a pint or two, before catching the train home. The designers of the Curious Brewing certainly set out to make a bold statement, as the frontage of the brewery sets out to grab your attention and shake you to your core. The stylish restaurant and tap room are on the first floor, with an exterior window looking out towards the station, and an interior one looking out at the brewing kit.

The restaurant was busy that afternoon, with plenty of customers enjoying the beer and the food. Matthew went for a pint of Curious Pilsner, whilst I got stuck into a pint of Curious Porter. Both were very good. I can thoroughly recommend visiting Curious Brewing, and if time allows, perhaps taking in a tour of the brewery as well. I also wish the new owners every success for the future.