Pilsner Urquell

Is it heretical to admit to liking a big brewery beer? Well if it is then I don’t care, as I really like the beer in question and have been drinking rather a lot of it later. It’s one of those beers where the more of it I drink, the more I find things to like about it. One of the advantages of having previously owned and run my own off-licence is not only do I still have my own Personal Licence entitling me to sell alcohol to the general public (must remember to renew it next year), but more importantly I also still have a Cash & Carry Card.

The brewery entrance in 1984

The latter enables me to buy cases of beer, and other items, at wholesale prices, and the other week I took advantage of this by treating myself to a case of the beer I am talking about; 24 x 330ml bottles to be precise, and the beer, why Pilsner Urquell of course!

A similar view taken in 2012

Pilsner beer maturing in oak casks

Pilsner Urquell hasn’t always been a big brewery beer, and certainly not in the accepted meaning of the term “big brewery” that is used today. By that I mean large, multi-national conglomerate. That isn’t to say then that Pilsner Urquell hasn’t been a large brewery, as for much of the last century it was one of the largest breweries in what is now the Czech Republic, and previously Czechoslovakia and before 1918, the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was also the brewery where the original golden lager was first produced, hence the name Urquell, which in German means “original source”. Small coincidence then that nearly all  golden lagers are termed “pilsners”  “pilseners” or just plain “pils” in reverence to the east Bohemian city which gave birth to the style.

I am privileged to have visited the brewery twice; the first time being in 1984, when Czechoslovakia, as it then was, was firmly in the communist camp. The second was some 28 years later, in 2012, 23 years after the collapse of communism, and 19 years after the Czechs and the Slovaks went their separate ways.

Back in 1984, the Pilsner Urquell brewery was high volume, low tech high in man-power and owned by the Czechoslovak people, (well the government actually, as you surely don’t believe the communist line about "the people" actually owning things like breweries, do you?).  You can read all about my visit here.

By 2012, the brewery had gone all hi-tech, had expanded in size considerably, and was now owned (and still is) by global brewing giant SAB – Miller. I must admit I was sceptical at first about the new owners, but after watching a presentation and enjoying a trip round the brewery I trust I am right in saying this jewel in the crown of Czech brewing is in safe hands. In 1984 western visitors must have been as rare as hen’s teeth; today they’re shown round the plant in an almost conveyor-like fashion, with several trips a day conducted in English alone.

Apart from the extensive cellars under the brewery, which I will describe in more detail shortly, I don’t remember much about that original tour. I do recall being entertained with lots of free beer afterwards in a very nice hospitality room by someone high up within the brewery; possibly the plant manager? This time an American employee of SAB Miller conducted us round the brewery. He could speak Czech (hats off to him there as it’s a notoriously difficult language to learn), and was very knowledgeable about the company, telling us all about its history and showing us various exhibits on the way. These included the original copper in which the first golden pilsner was brewed, back in 1842, and a special cut-glass tankard produced to commemorate the visit to the brewery, of Emperor Franz Josef. I won’t repeat the history of the brewery and how the worthy burghers of Pilsen hired Bavarian brewer, Josef Groll to produce the world’s first golden lager here, as it is well known. If you are that curious, then click on the link here to the brewery website.

We were bussed around the huge site; starting at the sparkling new, multi-million Euro bottling hall. The after the audio-visual presentation about the brewery and its history, we were shown the brew-house; a careful fusion of old and new, but despite this much of the brewing process is still very traditional.

Pilsner Urquell are proud that they use a triple decoction mash regime; something which is very rare these days. The brewery claim that the third decoction helps extract the last amounts of malt sugars from the grain and that this is what gives the beer its full-bodied taste. “It gives our beer its unique caramelised flavour and round, rich mouth-feel from the malt which we produce in Plzen.” I am not certain they still use whole hop flowers, although they were at pain to inform us about the choice Saaz aroma hops used in the beer. They malt their own barley, which is petty rare for a brewery these days, although perhaps not that uncommon in the Czech Republic.

Rather less traditional though is the forest of tall conical fermenters which has sprung up around the site, replacing the time-honoured tradition of fermenting in large, round open, wooden vats, before maturing the beer for a lengthy period in huge, pitch-lined, wooden casks. These were housed underground, in a maze of cool and slightly damp tunnels beneath the brewery which extend for a distance of some 9 km in total.

This was where our tour finished up, back in 1984, and being shown around these tunnels was the real highlight of the tour. It was also where our tour finished in 2012, and whilst just a fraction of the tunnels still retain their original purpose, it remained a fitting highlight twenty-eight years on. A small proportion of beer is still fermented and matured in the original wooden vessels; partially as an obvious tourist attraction but, more importantly from the brewery’s point of view, to enable taste comparisons to be made between beer brewed the traditional way, and the bulk of the production brewed in the conical fermenters.

We were given a taste of the unfiltered beer drawn straight from one of the maturation, or lagering, vessels, and it was excellent. I would have liked some more, but our guide had to get back to meet his next tour group, so that was that. I had read about a pub somewhere in Pilsen which serves unfiltered Pilsner Urquell, but we had a two and a half hour train journey back to Prague ahead of us, so decided to leave that experience for another time. Recently, Pilsner Urquell have held a series of promotions in selected London pubs, show-casing their beer drawn direct from brand new oak casks. What’s more the beer is unfiltered and un-pasteurised.

I was unable to attend any of these events, but I’m pleased to report un-pasteurised Pilsner Urquell is quite widely available in Prague in the form of tankovna, or tank beer. Basically large stainless steel tanks are installed in the pub cellar, and the beer arrives fresh from the brewery, by means of road tankers, and is pumped straight into the cellar tanks. Only selected pubs are allowed to sell this type of Pilsner Urquell, because the beer that goes into the tanks is un-pasteurised, meaning it is fresher than pasteurised beer. However, the shelf-life for tank beer is just three weeks from leaving the brewery, and only one week once the tank is first opened, so pubs must be able to prove a sufficiently high turnover before they are allowed to stock tankovna. The freshness of the beer means you get a fuller flavour and a deeper taste, so it is well worth tracking it down when visiting the Czech Republic.(Closer to home, tankovna Pilsner Urquell has recently been installed at the renowned White Horse, Parsons Green, London).

Looking back to that first visit, I recall that after our tour we had lunch, plus yet more beer, at a pub-cum-restaurant adjacent to the triumphal arch which forms the entrance to the brewery. I looked for it on our return visit, but it seems to have closed. The configuration outside the brewery seems to have changed out of all recognition too. One possible reason for the pub’s closure is the provision of a vast new restaurant, constructed in part of the old cellars beneath the brewery. We had a couple of glasses of beer there, plus a light lunch, whilst waiting for our tour to start.

I’m not certain I tried Pilsner Urquell before my first visit to Pilsen; even though I believe it may have been available in the UK via specialist beer shops. Today though, the beer is readily available locally, with most of the major supermarkets stocking it, quite often at a discount. Like many of the beers I buy for home consumption, I normally wait until I see it discounted, and then buy it.
 

With all this talk of history, tradition and brewing, it would be easy to forget the actual beer. Pilsner Urquell though is very memorable. Unlike most continental lagers, which are brewed to a strength of around 5%, Pilsner Urquell weighs in at just 4.4%. However, the beer packs in loads of juicy, caramel malt flavours, probably as a result of the triple decoction mash carried out at the start of the brewing process. Also it is possible the yeast does not attenuate the beer as much as modern strains.

A video on the brewery website demonstrates three different ways of pouring the draught version to produce the thick creamy head, so beloved by Czech drinkers, but none of these techniques work properly when pouring the beer from a bottle. What is important though, is not to over-chill the beer. The brewery recommends serving Pilsner Urquell at between 5˚ and 8˚ C, with 7˚ C as the optimum. Whilst sitting in the brewery restaurant, waiting for the tour, I couldn’t help notice a large digital display indicating that the temperature of the beer being served was hovering at around this figure. Americans and Australians please take note; pilsner-style beers should not be served at sub-zero temperatures, and certainly gain nothing when this is applied to them.

A few final points to end up on

The switch to conical fermenters from the open wooden ones, happened in the early 1990’s, when the recently privatised company was owned by a consortium of Czech banks and share funds. This was before SAB-Miller acquired the company, so the current owners cannot be blamed for this loss of tradition.

Although conical fermenters are known to speed up fermentation times their effect on the taste of the beer is probably a lot less than many traditionalists would have us believe. Brewers such as Adnams and Fullers use them, and I can’t say I’ve noticed any deterioration in taste or quality with the products of either of these brewers. If, as the company insist, there is no noticeable difference between Pilsner Urquell fermented and matured in stainless steel conicals, compared to the old method of open wooden ones, then there was no point in persisting with the old system. Not only was it costly in terms of materials and manpower, it was also difficult to maintain.

Roger Protz, writing in the Morning Advertiser, claims otherwise, stating the pitch used to line the huge oak casks in which the beer was matured added a “rich vinous flavour to the beer”. Personally, I think this statement is a fallacy as pitch has been used for waterproofing buckets, barrels and even small boats, since time immemorial. I'd like to believe pitch is inert, but if it's not then I’m very much relieved that pitch-lined casks are no longer used, as organic compounds leached out of the lining, possibly by the action of the alcohol, are the last sort of substances I wish to be drinking with my pint!

There is one thing though which SAB-Miller have done, and which in my mind, is blatantly wrong. That is allowing Pilsner Urquell to be brewed in a location other than Pilsen, because in 2002 the company announced plans to open a satellite brewery in the Polish town of Tychy, in the heavily industrial Katovice area of the country. They claim this move is in response to local demand, and whilst the demand may well be present in Poland, this decision has instantly devalued everything which was unique about Pilsner Urquell. How can a beer, whose name means “pilsner from the original source”, be brewed anywhere else apart from at the “original source”, which is, of course, the won of Pilsen? It’s like trying to produce a top notch burgundy in Portugal, or a Grand Cru Bordeaux in Greece!

Madness! So after full marks to SAB-Miller for sticking with triple decoction, malting their own barley, and selecting the finest aroma hops for use in the beer, a huge minus for debasing a world heritage beer by trying to turn it into just another “international brand”.

Craftwerk

There has been quite a lot of debate recently on various blogs about the awakening of interest in Germany, in Craft Beer. Some might argue that this is long overdue, given the rather staid and solidly traditional nature of much of the country’s brewing industry. Some highly respected and knowledgeable bloggers, including Barry Masterton (The Bitten Bullet) and Barm and have waded into the debate and have provided details of their own experiences with German Craft Beer and, just recently, Boak & Bailey were asking whether anyone had come across examples of “craft” slants on classic German styles.

My experiences of German craft are rather limited, and apart from reading various posts from some of the aforementioned bloggers, and looking on the odd website, that’s about it. This changed back in March when my son and I visited Berlin for the first time.

We hadn’t visited the German capital with the purpose of looking for German craft; although I am sure we could have tracked some down with a bit of effort and some forward planning. Instead we stumbled on some quite by chance, when we called in at Galleria Kaufhof, East Berlin’s largest department store. Ostensibly we wanted a look around, along with the opportunity to pick up some goodies (biscuits and chocolates) for our respective work colleagues back home, but whilst browsing some of the items on sale in the massive food hall, I noticed a display of something close to my heart – beer!

It wasn’t just any old beer, it was craft beer; German Craft beer in fact, with an impressive display dedicated to this newcomer on the scene. The display was advertising, as well as displaying the products of a company called BraufactuM, although as well as their own beers there were a number of classic beers from other countries, in particular from the United States and Belgium.

Alongside traditional German beer styles there were Pale Ales and IPA’s, Strong Ales, Barley Wines plus Porters and Stouts. There were also fruit beers and Belgian style ales. All the BraufactuM examples were packaged in the company’s distinctive looking bottles with their informative, but minimalist style labels. Most were an unusual 355ml size, but here were several packaged in 750ml, magnum-style bottles. The latter were quite expensive, even for Germany, so I left ignored them, along with some of the more traditional local styles. Instead I picked up a couple of bottles; one a pale ale called Palor, and the other a beer called Colonia. When I got the beers home I realised the later was in fact a Kölsch, and the name a play on the old Roman name for the city where Kölsch is produced – Cologne. I also picked up an informative leaflet; some of which is reproduced here.

So who exactly are BraufactuM?  Well, they are the craft beer arm of the Radeberger Gruppe, who in turn are owned by the massive Dr. Oetker Group, probably best known in this country for frozen pizzas!

„Die Internationale Brau-Manufacturen GmbH“,  (BraufactuM  for short), was set up in May 2010 by Marc Rauschmann and Thorsten Schreiber, both of whom already worked for Radeberger. The duo claim that before they began brewing craft beers in Germany, they went on a journey visiting brewers all over the world, looking for inspiration and for something special. Their journey took them to Belgium, Italy, the UK and, on several occasions, to the USA .

After enjoying beers brewed with the sort of dedication and technical artistry we have come to expect from Craft-brewing, the duo’s ideas about their own craft beers began to reach maturity. By the end of the trip, they were convinced that they needed to brew their own beers: Craft beers with a German twist.

BraufactuM’s aim is to combine the openness for new discoveries of American and other international craft brewers with the centuries-old German tradition and expertise in beer brewing. The company’s philosophy regarding brewing and quality does not end with the creation of exceptional beers and the use of carefully selected ingredients. They make considerable play of the claim that all their beers are packaged in very dark bottles for optimal light protection. They are then kept cool storage straight after bottling and protected from temperature peaks during transportation. Finally, the recommend an appropriately high-quality glass for the final step, namely the enjoyment of the beer!

So after all this attention to detail, sourcing of the finest ingredients etc, what did the two beers taste like?

BraufactuM Palor Pale Ale 5.2% - Now here’s a first for me, a German Pale Ale, and a very good one at that. Presented in a 355ml bottle with a simplistic, but stylish label, Palor is amber in colour, and with a dense white head.The beer has some hop aroma, but the hops come through much more in the taste. According to the label, Polaris and Cascade aroma hops are used in what is described as “an elegant version of a British Bitter”. I have to say the balance between the hop character and the sweet, juicy malt is just right, so I’m really pleased I brought this beer back from my recent visit to Berlin.

The malt base is Pale Ale Malt, Pilsner Malt and what is described as Karamellmalz (crystal malt?). The address on the label is Frankfurt am Main, although this is not necessarily where the beer is brewed. Palor is a very good beer all round, and for a German Pale Ale, pretty amazing.

BraufactuM Colonia Obergäriges Bitterbier 5.5% - Another beer presented in the same 355ml bottle as the Pale Ale. This time it’s a take on a Kölsch, the classic Top-fermented light-coloured beer from Cologne, (hence the name Colonia). Light golden in colour, with a nice lacy head, and a good hoppy nose (Citrus and pineapple, according to the label). Dry-hopped with Sapphire Hops, this is another excellent and very drinkable beer.

Of course BraufactuM aren’t the only producers of Craft beer in Germany, and as I said at the beginning of the article I am certain we could have tracked down a craft few producers, and outlets in Berlin had we been so inclined. This summer’s holiday is yet to be finalised, but a return visit to Regensburg, where SpitalBräu seem to be turning out some interesting new beers, remains a possibility, as does a visit to southern Bavaria (Oberbayern), where a stop-over in Munich would almost certainly be on the cards. An outfit called Giesinger Bräu were around on our last visit to the city, ago, but we never managed to track them down. Two years on, and I’m certain their beers will be much more widely available, so hopefully we’ll get to sample some this time around. Check out the websites for these two companies by clicking on the links above.

Old Family Brewers of Britain. Part Two of an Occasional Series - King & Barnes of Horsham

Welcome to Part Two of this occasional series, looking back at some of the old established family brewers of Britain, from a period in time some 15-20 years ago. This time we are looking at King & Barnes Ltd, who brewed in the West Sussex town of Horsham. I say "brewed" because unlike Robinson's, whom I wrote about in the first of these articles, King & Barnes ceased brewing back in 2000, following a take-over by Hall & Woodhouse of Blandford St Mary's, Dorset. Their 56 pubs were absorbed into the Badger estate, and whilst some still sell Dorset-brewed "King & Barnes" beers, they are not the same. Anyway, read on and see if this piece brings back a few memories of a company which once brewed one of the finest "ordinary bitters" in England.

The first time I ever tried King & Barnes Bitter I thought that it was one of the finest beers I had ever tasted. Sadly, I rarely bother drinking it, these days, as it has become just another run of the mill, ordinary bitter which, quite frankly, I find very disappointing. This is a great shame, especially when I think back to the lengths I had to go to in order to track down a pint of King & Barnes during the late 1970's.

I was living in South West London at the time, and being a country boy at heart, I often had a longing to escape from the confines of the big city. To travel out into the fresh air and open spaces of the surrounding countryside was what I desired. I achieved this aspiration by purchasing a second hand racing bike. It cost me the princely sum of £29. The bike fulfilled another aspiration, that of becoming fitter, and what better way than to cycle out into the Surrey countryside, in order to visit an unspoilt country pub.

Virtually every Sunday, from early Spring through to late Autumn, weather permitting, I would jump on my bike and head due south. Invariably I would be aiming for a country pub, carefully picked from the Good Beer Guide, where I could enjoy a Sunday lunchtime drink before cycling home. As I became fitter, the length of my cycle journeys increased as well. I had always wanted to try King & Barnes, as I knew that their  beers had an excellent reputation. A glance through my beer guide showed me that there was a King & Barnes house in Reigate a town which, although a fair distance, was just about within my reach.

One particular Sunday, with the promise of fine weather, I decided to go for broke and cycle to Reigate. I chose my route with care trying, as I always did, to avoid main roads wherever possible. However, for the first part of my journey, busy main thoroughfares were unavoidable. Before too long though, I was riding through the Surrey "Stock-Broker Belt" and into the open countryside.

Those who are familiar with the geography of this part of the country will know that the North Downs form a natural barrier to the south of the capital; a barrier which has to be traversed. Travelling due south there is a relatively shallow, but rather long climb up before one reaches a steeply sloping escarpment. This then drops away, quite dramatically, to some relatively flat ground in between the next ridge of hills. What this means for the cyclist, is a long, but reasonably gentle ride up on the outward journey, culminating in a short, but exhilarating ride down. Whilst on the return journey there is a steep, but short climb up, followed by a nice long, free-wheel all the way home - just the thing after a long cycle ride out!

I was aiming for a pub called the Nutley Hall; an unspoilt 19th Century town boozer, hidden away in the backstreets of Reigate. I managed to find it without too much trouble and, after chaining my bike to some nearby railings, I stepped inside eager to quench my thirst after my long ride. I ordered a pint of bitter and raised it to my lips with eager anticipation. I was not to be disappointed.

The beer was very pale in colour, not quite the pale-straw colour of Boddingtons or Theakstons, but not far from it. It possessed a wonderful hop aroma, which led into a superb, flowery hoppiness. This set off the maltiness of the beer in a way that can only be described as perfect; so perfect in fact that, as I mentioned at the beginning of this article, it ranked as one of the best beers I had ever tasted. The beer was almost too good to tip straight down my throat and, thirsty as I was, I found myself savouring every last drop of it. I still managed to put away a further two pints of it, before time was called, after which I mounted my bike and reluctantly headed for home, vowing to return.

I made at least two further visits to  Nutley Hall, taking a friend with me on one of those occasions. Each time the beer was superb. I even tried the King & Barnes Mild by way of a change. However, having got this far, I decided to cast my net even further afield. The reasons for this decision were twofold, and included a desire to prove to myself that I could cycle even further for a lunchtime drink. My main reason though was having enjoyed King & Barnes Fine Horsham Ales in an unspoilt town boozer, I wanted to enjoy them in an unspoilt country inn.

The Plough at Blackbrook fitted the bill, and on a scorching July day, after a long ride and a few wrong turns, I arrived hot and sticky at the Plough. I found the ale here to be every bit as good as that at Nutley Hall, but this time I had the added bonus of the pleasant rural surroundings.

So far as I recall, this was to be my one and only visit to Blackbrook, for not long afterwards I moved to Maidstone, where I had bought my first house. There were no King & Barnes pubs in the Maidstone area, or indeed Kent as a whole,  and it was to be some time before I had the chance to sample the company's products again.

My chance came in the summer of 1980, on a visit organised by the Maidstone & Mid-Kent branch of CAMRA, to the brewery itself. I had recently been co-opted onto the branch committee and had been given the job of organising the trip. I booked the coach, and on the appointed day our party journeyed to Horsham. Our trip round the brewery was scheduled for 1pm, which meant that we had a couple of hours to sample King & Barnes in their home town. Despite visiting a number of King & Barnes pubs, I must confess to a feeling of disappointment over the beer I sampled that day. It seemed somewhat lacking in character, certainly compared to the beer I had enjoyed a couple of years previously. It was also considerably darker in colour.

The reasons for the changes were not immediately apparent to me but, with the benefit of hindsight, I now know that they were directly related to the opening of a brand new brew-house in 1980. The latter was built alongside the original, 120 year old one, and had three times its capacity. The idea was that the old brew-house would produce the smaller volume beers, such as Sussex Mild and Old Ale, whilst the new one would brew Sussex Bitter, plus the recently launched Draught Festive - a premium strength bitter derived from the bottled beer of the same name. It was around this time that the company adopted both a different style for its beers, and a new corporate identity for its pubs. Instead of being known as King & Barnes Horsham Ales, they set their sights further afield, adopting the name King & Barnes Sussex Ales. Similarly, the bitter, which had formerly been known as P.A., was renamed Sussex Bitter.

The tour was interesting enough, although having already drank a skin-full of ale beforehand; my memory of it is rather vague. Not long afterwards, I remember reading in "What's Brewing", a letter penned by, amongst others, Frank Baillie. The letter was a complaint concerning the deterioration of King & Barnes's Bitter, with the comment that it lacked the delightful flowery hop aroma it once had. The writers also believed that the beer had become bland and lacking in character. Although I had a considerable amount of respect for Frank Baillie, I considered this judgement to be somewhat harsh. Again with the benefit of hindsight, I now know that these opinions were correct. King & Barnes Bitter had gone from being one of the finest beers in the country, to being a very plain and very ordinary bitter.

In 1984 I moved to Tonbridge, a move which gave me more of a chance to renew my acquaintance with King & Barnes. By this time their beers were quite widely available in the West Kent area, and the company had also just acquired its first tied house in Kent, the Hop Bine at Petteridge. I drank King & Barnes wherever I could, but must admit the Sussex Bitter invariably left me disappointed. Things eventually got to the stage that I started to avoid Sussex Bitter. When measured against the other “Sussex Bitter” i.e.. the better known, and more widely distributed beer from Harvey's of Lewes, there was just no comparison and, given the choice, I would always plump for the latter.

In 1987, as secretary of the Tonbridge & Tunbridge Wells Branch of CAMRA, I organised another visit to the brewery. This time we travelled by train, and also had the tour mid-morning, i.e.. prior to embarking on a crawl of the pubs of Horsham. Sampling the beers in the brewery hospitality room, and then being led on the conducted tour round the plant, finally brought home to me just how much the bitter had deteriorated in character. I firmly believe that the brewery altered the recipe of this beer some time between 1978 and 1980. Whether this was a result of the opening of the new brew-house, or whether it was just coincidental, I don't know. What I do know is that I no longer go out of my way to drink Sussex Bitter any more.

As I said at the beginning of this article this is a great shame, but at least King & Barnes still have some fine beers in their portfolio. Draught Festive is a very good drink indeed, whilst their seasonal Old Ale is rightly described by CAMRA's Good Beer Guide as a classic. I have yet to try all of the new range of seasonal beers, introduced by the company, but feel that I will not be disappointed when I do. Certainly, those I have sampled to date have all been good. Now if only King and Barnes would revert to brewing Sussex Bitter like it used to be then everything would be just fine!

 

Footnote:

My desire for the old  P.A. recipe to be revived was never fulfilled, because in September 1999 Shepherd Neame of Faversham made a surprise bid for King & Barnes. This was countered in April 2000, by a rival bid from Dorset brewers, Hall & Woodhouse. The bid was accepted by the shareholders, and within weeks brewing had ceased. The brewery buildings were sold off and demolished for housing, and the pubs are now managed by Hall and Woodhouse, who also acquired the rights to the King & Barnes brand names

.

The exact reasons behind the takeover are not clear, but the value of the brewery site, right in the centre of Horsham, may have been enough to persuade the majority of the shareholders to cash in their chips. Family member, Bill King wanted to continue brewing, but his 30% share was not enough to stop the others from selling up.

In May 2001 Bill King formed a small brewery in Horsham - WJ King & Co. Around the same time, King & Barnes ex-head brewer Andy Hepworth also started his own brewery in the town - Hepworth & Co.  The company specialises in contract brewing and also bottles for other brewers, but still produces some cask beer for sale locally. A couple of years later, Hepworth’s and King’s were joined by Welton’s; a company which produces a wide variety of different cask ales.

Fourteen years later, and Hall & Woodhouse are still churning out beers badged as King & Barnes. If anything, the Sussex is even worse than it was in the latter days of brewing in Horsham, and anyway, how can you have a Sussex Bitter which is brewed in Dorset?

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Relieving the Pressure?

As I sit here writing this post  I pause to reflect that, even as my fingers press down on the keys, the great and the good of CAMRA, (well Tandleman for a start), will be debating many weighty matters at this weekend's National AGM and Member’s Weekend at Scarborough.

I mention Tandleman because he is proposing what will almost certainly be the most controversial motion of the weekend. The motion basically expresses concern about the increasing tendency for some cask ales to be brewed in order for them to be served hazy or cloudy. It mentions the potential for both confusion at the point of sale and the undermining of customer confidence in real ale, and goes on to instruct the National Executive to examine the matter and report back to next year’s Conference with its findings. 

Controversial enough you might think? But nowhere near as controversial as the issue which refuses to go away, and yet is not up for debate at Scarborough. I’m talking here about but the real elephant in the room; the one divisive issue which CAMRA chooses to ignore and refuses to discuss. In case you haven’t guessed, I’m talking about Cask Breathers!

Cask breathers or aspirators are a mechanism for keeping oxygen away from beer in the cask, thereby extending, or prolonging its shelf-life. They work by keeping the gas in the cask at atmospheric pressure by either admitting applied gas to replace beer drawn off, or venting any excess gas generated by the beer itself. The carbonation level of the beer is thus kept constant, and because of this mode of operation, they are some times referred to as “demand valves”.

 The effect of the breather on the taste of the beer is a matter of hot debate, and remains controversial. In controlled tests, most drinkers have been unable to distinguish between naturally conditioned and cask breather beers, but unfortunately some CAMRA members have developed a pathological hatred of these devices which borders on insanity.

In order to understand why this should be it is necessary to look back to the early days of the Campaign for Real Ale and to examine exactly what the fledgling organisation was up against. The years preceding CAMRA’s formation had seen a massive consolidation within the brewing industry, leading to the creation of six large brewing groups, achieved through a series of consolidations and mergers. Around three-quarters of the nation’s pubs were owned or controlled by these mega-breweries, each of whom was pursuing policies of rationalisation within their tied estates. Locally brewed, traditional cask-conditioned beers were being phased out in favour of heavily promoted, national “keg” brands, which were easier for publicans to handle but which like any mass-marketed product, had a tendency towards blandness.

“Keg” or “brewery-conditioned” beer was to begin with, little more than bottled beer in a much larger container. What made it the object of so much derision not only from early CAMRA members, but also from many seasoned drinkers, was its bland taste and overly gassy nature. The brewers’ quest for nationally available brands meant that many of the characteristics which distinguished beers from one region of the country to another, were removed. The overtly hoppy beers preferred by one area or the full-bodied and malty beers enjoyed by another were homogenised to create beers which the brewers hoped would appeal to people in all parts of the country; for such is the nature of a “national brand”. 

So far, so good, but in order to promote their national brands to a still wider audience, the large brewers had to try and sell them to people who didn’t actually like beer; well certainly not beer which tasted of malt with a good smack of hops! The result, even blander and sweeter brews, derided by some as “lemonade beers”. The most infamous example of this was Watney’s Red, a sweetened and dumbed down version of the company’s original keg beer, Red Barrel. Launched in a blaze of publicity during the early 1970’s, under the theme of the “Red Revolution”, with posters depicting look-alike iconic communist leaders, such as Khrushchev, Mao and Castro, the beer was a spectacular flop, but the company persisted with its promotion and with the phasing out of popular local brands such as Bullards, Tamplins, Ushers and Wilson’s.

As if the sweet, insipid taste and the use of inferior ingredients wasn’t enough, the beers underwent filtration, to remove residual yeast, and then pasteurisation to kill off any remaining yeast and to stabilise them. They then needed a method of dispense in order to transfer them from the keg to the customer’s glass. Carbon dioxide (CO₂) pressure was the answer, and it was quite a logical one given that it is the gas naturally produced during fermentation, and the gas which gives the beer its sparkle or condition, and also imparts that pleasant mouth feel and refreshing characteristic to the beer. This, of course, is the system used in the vast majority of countries where beer is sold on draught.

The only trouble was that the pressure of CO₂ required to force the beer from the container to the glass was such that it made the beer overly fizzy, and also led to a tendency for the beer to fob, or foam during dispense. I remember this well, being in a queue of thirsty drinkers at the bar and watching the bar staff pouring pint after pint of mainly foam, whilst waiting for the stuff to settle down. The brewers countered this by installing chillers in the lines, which worked because, as we all remember from school science lessons, gasses are more soluble in liquids at low temperatures, than they are at higher ones. The trouble here is that whilst lager-style beers are meant to be served chilled, top-fermented ales are not. However, as some critics pointed out, chilling helped disguise the poor taste of many of these heavily promote keg brands, so for some it was a blessing in disguise.

CO₂  rather than filtration or pasteurisation, became the bête noir, so far as CAMRA was concerned, and certainly in the early days of the campaign the organisation seemed more interested in dispense methods than anything else. Again it is easy to understand why, because although at this time there was still a lot of cask-conditioned beer around, much of it was served by "top-pressure" dispense. This system involved connecting a cylinder of carbon dioxide to the spile hole of the cask so that when the tap was pulled on the bar top fount dispenser, pressure of CO₂ was applied to the "top” of the beer, thereby forcing beer put of the cask, along the pipeline and into the customer's glass.

The brewers argued that it allowed the beer kept to be kept for much longer, as it prevented it coming into contact with oxygen in the air. It also gave an extra "sparkle" and bite to the beer, owing to the increased amount of dissolved CO_2. Critics countered this by complaining that the system ruined perfectly good cask beer, and gave it the characteristics of keg i.e. brewery-conditioned beer. CAMRA's choice of words at the time was that it made the ale "sickly and sweet", although quite how it achieved the latter is beyond me. (Dissolving CO₂ in water, and beer is approximately 95% water, produces carbonic acid, which is definitely NOT sweet!)

However, as someone who commenced beer drinking during the early 1970's, when this system was quite commonplace, there is no doubt that excess gas certainly did spoil cask beer. I may not have realised it at the time, as to begin with I probably drank far more "top-pressure" dispensed beer than that dispensed by more traditional methods. This was not through choice, but down to the simple fact that most of the pubs I drank in used CO₂ dispense. Most were either tied to Courage or Whitbread; both of whom had something of a duopoly in the East Kent town where I grew up. Pubs belonging to local brewer, Shepherd Neame, were more likely to have retained traditional hand pumps as a means of dispense, but at the time myself and my friends tended to avoid Shep's pubs, preferring instead something more modern i.e. tarted up!, and furthermore none of us were keen on Shep’s beers (probably because they had a lot more character back then than the more bland offerings from Messrs Courage and Whitbread.)

Enter the cask breather. It has been argued that if these devices had been around at the time when CAMRA was formed, there would have been no need for the campaign. From an emotional point of view it is perhaps easier to understand the vehemence and distrust with which these devices are viewed by the more rabid members of the campaign. However, from a scientific and totally logical point of view there is no need at all for the cask breather to be treated with such contempt.

Let’s look at the facts: if the beer is already conditioned then the CO₂ is simply stopping the air getting to the beer. That air contains oxygen and bacteria which will damage the beer, but the applied CO₂ prevents this from happening. The applied CO₂ is not going to be detrimental to the beer as it won't get into it. Beer gives up CO₂ to atmospheric pressure, so the only thing that will happen to beer kept in casks fitted with cask breathers is it will loose condition, slowly, until equilibrium is achieved. Basically there is no way that CO₂ at atmospheric pressure will somehow damage the beer. The only real argument against cask breathers is that they are the thin end of the wedge. Even this though is a spurious one, as why would landlords want to change from a system which works, and which has no deleterious affect on the beer at all, to a fully-fledged "top-pressure" system which DOES alter the beer and which comes with  substantial inherent extra costs?
CAMRA's argument against cask breathers is therefore one which is based purely on emotion, and past history, rather than scientific fact. It is of no help to struggling pubs and hard-pressed landlords, and by its extreme fundamentalist nature merely succeeds in making the campaign a laughing stock within the pub and beer industry.

The late Richard Boston, who was an early flag waver for real ale, and a pioneering campaigning writer for better quality beer, became disillusioned with CAMRA quite quickly, and stated in his excellent book “Beer & Skittles”, published 1976, “At times it has seemed that CAMRA’s sole interest was in the means of dispense. It has been said that some of their members would drink castor oil if it came from a hand pump, and would reject nectar if it had no more than looked at carbon dioxide.”

I know several rabid hard-line fanatics who fit into this category, arguing vehemently against cask breathers, particularly at branch Good Beer Guide selection meetings. It is impossible to discuss the issue with them scientifically or logically. These are the people who are convinced they can spot a pub using cask breathers just by looking at the beer in the glass! They are the same self-serving people who think it is their right to insist the landlord shows them his cellar, just in case the prohibited devices might be lurking somewhere in a dark corner. I am normally a peace-loving person, but they are the sort of anally retentive people who make me want to tear up my CAMRA membership card in disgust and throw something at them!

To sum up; don’t expect to see a change in CAMRA policy any time soon. To put the record straight, it is worth noting that CAMRA’s Technical Committee, which advises on various aspects of brewing and cellarmanship, actually approved the use of cask breathers. My memory isn’t quite what it was, but I believe this recommendation was made about 20 years ago, so we are not talking recent history here.

Despite this approval which, incidentally was based on scientific fact and not doctrinal clap-trap, successive AGM’s have voted to reject cask breathers purely on the same emotional, illogical reasons we have already covered. I won’t go into how these AGM decisions come about, as the subject of democracy within CAMRA, and the way AGM’s are handled is a whole separate subject. However, as the dinosaurs and anoraks within the campaign get older, and slowly shuffle off this mortal coil, there is always hope that common sense will prevail. Hope that is, as long as it is not too late, because developments within the brewing and pub industries, such as the increasing popularity of “key-kegs” and tank beer, may eventually make the whole business of cask-conditioning and hand pump dispense, a real thing of the past!

 Footnote:

Looking back at the first Good Beer Guide, published in 1974, it's interesting to note that it lists beers from the now defunct Hull Brewery, even though all that company's beers were filtered and served from cellar tanks - albeit by hand or electric pumps!
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Old Family Brewers of Britain. Part One of an Occasional Series - Robinson's of Stockport

What seems like several years ago, but is actually much longer than that, I wrote a series of articles about various UK breweries and my relationship with them. This relationship varied; some were either amongst my favourite breweries, or brewed one of my favourite beers. Others were companies I was familiar with, for the simple reason that at some stage I lived within their trading ares, and thus drank a lot of their beers. The list also included breweries which I had a love-hate relationship with. (Sheps fall into this category, but it's still very much hate at the moment!).

I had largely forgotten about these articles until the other day, when I came across them whilst transferring files across from my previous computer to one I have just acquired from a work colleague. As I seem to be bereft of ideas for blogging at the moment, and suffering from a bout of "writer's block", I thought I would inflict some of these articles on readers of this blog. So, in no particular order, here is the first of them, and it's about North-West brewers, Robinson's.

Until the autumn of 1973, when I went to live in the Greater Manchester area, I had never heard of the Stockport brewers Frederic Robinson and Sons. Back in the early 1970’s CAMRA was in its infancy and whilst I had a burgeoning interest in trying different beers there were no guides as such to point the discerning drinker in the right direction.

I had ended up in Greater Manchester following the offer of a place at Salford University. This was not my first choice as a seat of learning, but having failed to obtain the necessary grades at "A" level I had to take what was offered by the universities "clearing system". By the time my place had been secured it was late September and I discovered that student accommodation was in very short supply; so much so that some students were having to bed down on the floor of the university gymnasium.

The problem of a place to stay was solved by my mother's sister, who lived in a small town called Romiley, situated in the foothills of the Pennines, a few miles outside Stockport. My aunt had a spare room in her house, so it seemed the ideal solution for me to put up there for a while, whilst looking for alternative accommodation.

Although I was a bit homesick at first, I soon settled in, and found my aunt and uncle's house to be both comfortable and well appointed. I used my motorbike to travel the dozen or so miles into university each day then, after it broke down, I switched to journeying by train. Most of my fellow students lived much closer to the university, and although I enjoyed quite an active social life during the week, I found myself at a loose end at weekends. This was because a significant number of my fellow students came from places within easy travelling distance of Manchester, and many of them preferred to return home for the weekend rather than stay put at university.

Rather than spend my evenings sat in front of the television, or shut in my room reading, I decided to explore some of the local hostelries. This was no easy task for a somewhat shy and introverted 18 year old, but I nevertheless forced myself to go out. I knew that if I turned left out of my aunt's house and then carried on down the hill towards the station and the centre of Romiley, I would come to a John Smith's pub called the Duke of York. I had been in there on my first night at my aunt’s and found it pleasant enough, but I wanted to see what lay in the other direction. At the end of my aunt's road, sited on a junction, was a pub whose name now unfortunately escapes me. It belonged to a brewery that was totally unknown to me - Frederic Robinson & Son Ltd.

I chose the saloon bar, in the belief that the natives would be friendlier than in the public (or vault as they prefer to call it in Manchester). It was comfortable without being overtly plush. Adorning the bar were a number of metered electric dispensers, with Best Bitter and Best Mild as the beers on offer. Opting for the former once I had drunk my way through the thick creamy head so beloved by Northern drinkers, I found it quite aggressively hopped, and not at all unpleasant.

These days when visiting a strange pub I would have no trouble in striking up a conversation. Back then though I was a lot more self-conscious, but I nevertheless stood my ground at the bar and stayed for a couple of pints. I also purchased some bottles of brown ale to take home with me, so as to have something to drink the following evening. I made a few other visits to the pub over the course of that first term getting quite to like the Robinson's Best and taking note of the fact there were several other pubs belonging to the brewery in the town.

By the following term I had found myself lodgings close to the town of Eccles. The lodgings were only a short bus ride away from the university, and whilst they were somewhat spartan, and the food dull, lacking in nutrition and extremely un-imaginative, the lad I shared a room with liked a pint. Howard shared my love of a pint, and coming from the Lake District was a Hartley's devotee. We soon discovered that the nearest pub to our lodgings was a large, modern Robinson’s pub called the White Horse. We ended up going out most evenings as there was precious little in the way of entertainment at the digs. Although we often ventured a bit further a field into Eccles itself, we still spent many an evening in the White Horse enjoying the Robinson’s beer.

At the end of the academic year I became actively involved in researching and compiling a guide to local pubs. The guide was to form part of the Student’s Union Handbook for the forthcoming academic year. One of the pubs we visited was the unspoilt Star Inn, situated in a quiet and almost forgotten backwater of Salford. The following year I managed to secured accommodation in one of the university halls of residence (with a room of my own as well!), and the Star became one of my regular haunts. The fact that the Star was home to a thriving Folk Club added to the pub's attraction, as did the Robinsons' beers.

The Star was one of only 20 or so outlets selling Robinson's Ordinary Bitter. This was out of a tied estate that approached 400 pubs. Even rarer, was the fact that the beer was dispensed by hand pump, rather than the much more common electric pumps. The Star also occasionally had Old Tom barley wine on draught; the legendary strong ale, with an alcohol content of 8.5%. At the time it was the strongest beer I had tasted, but it was certainly a drink for helping to keep out the cold on a frosty winter's night. So far as I know, Old Tom was originally a winter drink, but it is now brewed all year round, and is made available to those pubs who wish to take it.

My close friend and drinking buddy, Nick normally accompanied me to the Star. He lived in a rented house, close to the halls of residence, which he shared with a group of fellow students,. Halfway through the autumn term Nick and his housemates decided to throw a party, and wishing to offer something different from the usual Party Seven fizz thought that a cask of Robinson's would be a good idea for the party. The order was duly placed with the brewery, and a couple of days prior to the party we persuaded the girlfriend of one of the housemates to drive us there in her Land Rover in order to collect the cask.

Having located the brewery, and paid for our purchase, we carefully transported one firkin of Robinson's Best Bitter back to Salford and set it up on the kitchen table, venting and pegging it as instructed. This was my first experience of looking after cask-conditioned beer, something I have become quite adept at over the years. The party was a great success, due in no small measure to the excellence of the beer.

During my four years in Manchester I enjoyed Robinson’s ales on numerous occasions and ironically, for my last six months in the region, I ended up moving back to Romiley. This time though I was not staying at my aunt's; instead a girlfriend and I had rented a small flat above the local butcher’s shop. Unlike my previous stay in the town, I managed to explore most of the local pubs. The Railway was one fairly frequent haunt, but it was another Robinson’s pub that ended up becoming our local. The pub was called the Friendship Inn and we became regulars there, playing the locals at both darts and cribbage. It was therefore with some sadness that we had to say goodbye when the time came to move back down south.

It was to be some time before I next had the chance to enjoy a pint of Robinson's again, although occasional business trips to Manchester did provide a few opportunities. I also drank the beer on visits to the Derbyshire Peak District during the early 1980’s; the Manner's Arms in Bakewell serving a particularly fine pint. When I first tried a pint of Best Bitter in the Manners, the beer appeared much paler in colour than I remembered, but this was probably just my memory playing tricks on me.

In 1997 I tasted Robinson's Dark Mild for the first time. This particular brew is a very rare find indeed, normally being available in only a handful of pubs. I had been thwarted, by the weather, in a previous attempt to track it down, so after spotting it on sale at the Great British Beer Festival, I just had to have a pint.

My first attempt at sampling this beer, had taken place some nineteen years previous, in 1978, when I was still living in Romiley. My girlfriend had already moved back to London, in order to start a new job, and had moved back in with her parents until she managed to find a flat for us both to live in. I was at a loose end, and knowing this, my friend Nick suggested that a trip out to Derbyshire, with the express purpose of trying a pint of Robinson’s Dark Mild would be a good idea. He had recently passed his motorbike test and offered to drive me out to the Old Pack Horse in the small Derbyshire town of Chapel-en-le Frith, which was listed in the Good Beer Guide as stocking the beer. Unfortunately the day chosen for our trip was a bitterly cold Saturday in the middle of February. Heavy snow had fallen the previous week, and although there was little sign of it when we set out from Romiley, by the time we got into the foothills of the Pennines we became aware that much of the snow was still lying in the surrounding fields.

As we climbed higher into the hills, the roads became more and more treacherous, until eventually we reached a spot where the wind had blown a substantial drift off the fields, right across the road. To have continued any further, on two wheeled transport, would have been foolhardy in the extreme, so we had no choice but to turn round and head for the warmth of home.

Shortly after that expedition I too departed from Greater Manchester, so it was especially satisfying to complete my sampling of  Robinson's then range of cask ales by enjoying, at long last, their excellent Dark Mild.

So there you have it, a traditional brewery with an excellent range of traditional beers. The only blot on Robinson's copy book is their take over, and eventual closure of Hartley's Brewery during the 1980's. What my former room-mate, Howard made of that heaven only knows, but then again nobody is perfect all of the time!

Having said that, Robinson's must definitely be one of those beers that doesn’t travel well. When my wife and I had our real ale off-licence during the first half of this decade,  we featured Robinson’s Best (now re-badged as "Unicorn").as a guest ale on several occasions. I must say that both my customers and I found it rather bland and somewhat disappointing. It might possibly be one of those beers that benefits being served through a sparkler, with a tight, creamy northern-style head. Alternatively like a host of other once distinctive and well-regarded beers, it may have deliberately have been “dumbed down” and made blander in order to appeal to a wider audience. I don't think this is the case, but until I re-visit the North-West I really won’t know for certain.

Footnote:

2013 saw Robinson's celebrating their 175th birthday and they used the occasion to enlarge and re-build their Victorian Brewery, turning it into a state-of-the-art modern Brew- House. They also re-vamped their beer range, re-naming some of the beers and dispensing with others, and launched the hugely successful Trooper, a 4.8% golden ale created with heavy-metal rock group, Iron Maiden. The latest innovations have been the opening of a new Visitor and Training Centre in the heart of Stockport, plus the introduction of a brand new line-up of seasonal ales, giving drinkers in the North West, a well as further afield, the chance to sample something that little bit different.

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