Lack of rain could bring a less than bitter harvest

According to Reuter’s News Agency, Europe has been experiencing its worst drought for 500 years. Now whilst Reuter’s are a highly respected news organisation, that have been around for a long time, I’m not quite sure where they got their figures from, as 500 years ago, takes us back to the year 1522. The question that has to be asked, is how accurate were rainfall measurements back in the 16^th Century, that’s if rainfall levels were even being recorded back then. The other point to consider regards Europe itself. Not only is it a substantial landmass, it’s a continent in its own right, so whilst journalists seem to love generalisations, Reuter’s statement does need taking with several pinches of salt.

That’s my little gripe over, and whilst I do get annoyed by sensationalist reporting, there is no escaping the fact that the lack of rainfall during the spring and summer of 2022 is a cause for serious concern. Forget hosepipe bans, as that is just closing the stable door after the horse has bolted, reservoir levels across the country are at rock bottom levels, and by implication they are across Europe as well.

Lack of rainfall has an adverse effect on crop yields, and this coupled with the ongoing war in Ukraine, is impacting heavily on the world’s grain reserves. I’m not sure whether this affects stocks of malting barley as much as it does wheat, but one commodity the current drought is having a massive effect on, are hop yields across the continent.

Proof of this comes from an acquaintance who works for a hop factoring company.  Apparently, the Czech hop harvest is looking at a 50% reduction, whilst Germany is forecasting a 25-30% fall. Figures for the UK hop harvest are not currently available, but several growers have posted photos of bines that are not looking particularly great. However, as my contact from the world of hops pointed out, last year’s UK harvest amounted to 900 tonnes, whereas the Czech total was 8,000 tonnes. Do the math, as the Americans would say, and Czechia’s potential loss this year is 4-5 times the entire UK harvest!

I will probably know more about conditions out in the field this coming Friday, as I am due to visit Hukins Hops at, at their farm near St Michael's, just outside Tenterden, in the heart of the Kentish Weald. Earlier in the year I received an invite, to try my hand at hop picking, but had almost forgotten about it until I received a text reminder on Monday.

I’m not quite sure how the invitation came about, as it was either through my membership of the British Guild of Beer Writers, or because I was introduced to Ross Hukins, when I did some beer judging at the Spa Valley Railway Beer Festival, several years ago. Whatever the reason I’m looking forward to my visiting the family farm, in a couple of days’ time. Full report to follow, in due course.

Rockin' again

My not so new now, employment regime sees me working a three-day week, from Monday through to Wednesday, which leaves me with the relative luxury of a four-day weekend. I had to call in briefly yesterday, despite it being a Thursday, primarily due to my “new” role covering site as well as safety matters. I won’t bore you with the details, but the person who looks after our building work, along with any maintenance that we can’t manage ourselves (mainly electrical stuff), had fixed up an on-site meeting with a specialist contractor, and my presence was required.

Fortunately, it was a brief meeting, and I’m glad I attended as it concerned an issue we had been trying to solve for some time. My presence also afforded the opportunity of checking a newly laid area of concrete, which formed part of another project I am working on. I was there for roughly 45 minutes, and despite deliberately avoiding entering the building, still got caught by the pest-control contractor, no less. Again, this was good as it enabled another issue to be addressed, but by 2.30-ish, I was free to go, and where better than one of the local pubs.

In my previous post, I mentioned the Rock at Chiddingstone Hoath, and it was this isolated pub that I had in mind for a quick pint. I have published quite a few posts about the Rock, and it is sufficient to say it is one of my favourite rural pubs. I have visited the pub a couple of times prior to this most recent one, the first occasion being in November of last year. Strangely enough that was another time when I had to just “pop into work” for something. Larkin’s delectable porter was on sale back then, and very good it was too, but there were worrying signs on the horizon, and rumours of an impending sale.

The pub had effectively switched to opening just three days each week (Friday, Saturday & Sunday), and was closed Monday to Thursday. I knew that the Rock enjoyed a good lunchtime trade, despite its remote location, so in common with my CAMRA colleagues, I was concerned about its long-term future. Fortunately, this situation changed some time in the new year, and a visit back in February confirmed the pub had reverted to being opened all week.

This time though, the rain and cold winds of February had been replaced by warm, sunny, and very pleasant conditions, and as I drove up towards the Rock, the countryside was looking its summer best. I pulled into the car park, pleased that there were plenty of spaces, but a glance down the road showed me why, as the Rock now has its very own over-spill car park, in a field opposite. The pub also has a new hanging sign, reflecting perhaps its new owner. As I walked towards the entrance, I noticed that only was the front door open – a sure sign of summer, but the rear entrance was also open as well, in fact it was possible to see right through the pub, and into the garden behind the building.

I had only sat out in the garden once before, which was a long time ago, and whilst I was aware that much time and effort had been made improving the garden, the timings of previous visits had been such that the warmth of the pub’s fire was far more an attraction than sitting outside in the freezing cold. Thursday was the perfect day though, for a spot of alfresco drinking, and after a brief chat with the friendly lady behind the bar, I took my pint of Larkin’s Pale outside. Larkin’s Traditional was the other choice, but as Pale is quite a rare brew from Larkin’s – ostensibly it is the brewery’s summer seasonal ale, it was the logical choice for me.

There were several couples sat outside, enjoying a meal and a few drinks, and I have to say good use has been made of this outdoor space, with a paved patio area nearest the pub, and a lawn, bordered by various container grown, shrubs, at the far end. I found a seat, in a half- shady part of the garden, where I could enjoy my Larkin’s, check the beer in on Untappd, and then just generally chill-out. It was all very peaceful and relaxed, and apart from the occasional aircraft overhead – Gatwick is very much open go business once more, the only the only other sound was birdsong, and the odd passing car.

The couples slowly left, having finished their lunches, leaving me on my own. It was time for me to depart as well, and I couldn’t help noticing a slight sense of disappointment on the part of the landlady. “Just the one?” she said, as I returned my empty glass to the counter. “Just the one,” I replied, “I’m driving, and have some business to attend to in Tonbridge,” which indeed I had, but I did add that I would be back before too long. I also updated the WhatsApp, Beer Socials Group I belong to, and that information will find its way onto the official West Kent CAMRA group.

So, good news that the Rock is open during the week once more, and good news that it seems to be in capable hands. If you have read this far, you might want to take a look at the pub’s website, where you can read about the Rock’s long history, and also learn a little more about the pub’s new owner.

Follow the bear, as lager beats cask, on a baking hot day

Sunday 14^th August and the heat showed no sign of abating. After two days at home keeping my head down and attempting to stay cool, I felt the early signs of cabin fever creeping in. Mrs PBT’s doesn’t do well in the heat but was relatively happy to sit indoors in the relative cool of the front room, with the curtains drawn. We could do with some of those wooden shutters that the French have fixed to the exterior of their houses, but as most UK properties have windows which open outwards, that wouldn’t really work.

Matthew wasn’t working that day and claimed that he needed to go out. I was happy to join him, providing he drove, but where should we go? I had a follow-up appointment the following morning, to see the consultant who performed my surgery. That day he was working from the Tunbridge Wells Spire Hospital, which is actually just outside Fordcombe – a hill-top village which is six miles away from Kent’s only spa town. Fortunately for me, Fordcombe is less than 20 minutes’ drive from where I work.

Unsure of the Spire’s exact location, it seemed a good idea to check it out first, rather than getting lost and arriving late, so that is what we did. As it happened, it was just as well we did the recce trip, as the hospital wasn’t quite where I thought it was, but having located the place, it seemed a good idea to stop off for a beer. There is a handsome looking pub called the Chafford Arms, just off the centre of Fordcombe, but when we pulled up outside, vehicles were queuing up to get into the car park.

We gave that up as a bad job, which is a shame as it is a decade or more since I last set foot in the Chafford. According to What Pub, it still retains its public bar, which is a real rarity these days. The photo above, dates from October 2010, which means even more time has elapsed since my last visit, but with nowhere to leave the car – without causing an obstruction, Matthew had little choice but to drive on.

My initial suggestion was to head down into Penshurst, on the other side of the Medway valley, and enjoy a pint in the garden of the imposing Leicester Arms, but on the way, I thought we could divert to the tiny hamlet of Smart’s Hill, where there are two fine rural pubs. In my book, the Spotted Dog, which is the first of the pair, has a much more pub-like feel to it, whereas the Bottle House, which is further up the hill, is more of a restaurant. In a different location, it’s a pub I’d be quite happy to visit, but up against its neighbour it becomes less of an attraction.

As we were pulling into the car park, opposite the Spotted Dog, I thought perhaps we should have carried on to the Rock at Chiddingstone Hoath – talk about being undecided, but also spoilt for choice. We stuck with our first choice, particularly as there was plenty of room to park, and after crossing the road and descending the steps to the pub entrance, made our way inside. I have written several previous posts about the Spotted Dog, so I’m not going to repeat myself, apart from saying the pub is built into the side of a hill, with far-reaching views from the rear garden, and it was to there that we headed, after first ordering our drinks.

The pub was surprisingly empty inside, especially for Sunday lunchtime, and I remarked on this to the bar staff. They were blaming the excessive heat and, as the young girl behind the bar said, “Who wants to eat a roast dinner on a baking hot day like this?” There was a good choice of beers, with two offerings from Harvey’s complementing local favourite, Larkin’s Traditional, but the beer that really caught my eye, as well as my fancy, was the imposing font for Hofmeister – Imported Bavarian Lager.

It appealed to Matthew as well, and with Salty Dog crisps on the bar it was “Two pints of lager and TWO packets of crisps!” It was nice and shady in the terraced garden at the rear of the pub, and whilst part of the view remains obscured by the trees, there is sufficient gap to see right across the valley. The Hofmeister was enjoyable, and just the right beer for such a scorching hot day. Those who remember the brand from the 1980’s, when it was just another weak and insipid, ersatz continental lager, brewed by on of the big boys (Courage, in this case), will be amazed by the transformation the beer has undergone.

I won’t recount the whole story, as you can read it on this link, but basically the rights to the Hofmeister name were bought by two friends, who set about relaunching the beer, as a proper authentic, German lager. Hofmeister is now brewed by a fourth-generation family brewery, based in the heart of Bavaria, and the difference in taste and improvement in quality, has to be experienced by all those who love good beer.

Looking around the beer garden, as well as in the pub, we weren’t the only ones enjoying the beer, and whilst Hofmeister’s old advertising strap-line might have been, “For great lager, follow the bear,” in this instance it should have been, “Head for the dog!”