Next stop Kefalonia, or should that be Cephalonia?

 

Well, it's back to cruising, for a short while at least, and perhaps not quite for the last time this year. We pick up on where Mrs PBT's and I left you, which was us leaving our mooring, in the spectacular setting of the Santorini caldera, and heading off into the open waters of the Ionian Sea. A leisurely day at sea than followed, before reaching the last of the Greek island destinations on the cruise, but one which happened to be by far and away the best.

I'm talking here about Kefalonia – also known as Cephalonia which, for us, seemed perfect in every way. The sun was just rising as we docked at the moorings in the island's capital of Argostoli, and an array of red lights, lit up the jetty, highlighting where we would soon be walking, once the Queen Victoria finally tied up. We'd ordered breakfast in our room that morning, in preparation for an early start on our, pre-booked “Leisurely Kefalonia” excursion.

After “swiping out” as we left the ship, we headed along the quayside towards the waiting coaches, lined up ready for those embarking on a shore excursion. Disappointingly, there was an unseemly scrum, as fired up cruise passengers jostled for places, even though there was plenty of room for everyone. The tours were, after all, pre booked. Needless to say, we got a seat, and by being patient were directed onto an “over spill” where there was ample space.

This pushing, shoving and general lack of manners by the mainly elderly passengers on the ship, seemed a real feature of this particular cruise, and it was so bad at times that I gave up on the buffet for breakfast, preferring instead either the Britannia Restaurant, at the stern of the ship with its sedate and unhurried waiter service or alternatively keeping my good lady wife company, enjoying a leisurely breakfast in the comfort of our cabin.

 Eileen described this behaviour as FOMO - "Fear Of Missing Out", but the fact was no one did miss out, all that was needed was a little patience and some good manners. We couldn't put our finger on it, but we haven't witnessed this type of behaviour on any of the previous cruises we'd been on, and that included the voyage from Hamburg up to the Norwegian fjords with a boatload of boisterous, but good-natured Germans.

 Safely on board the comfortable coach, our leisurely excursion of Kefalonia took us through attractive streets of Argostoli, before climbing up into the hills. On the way our guide explained about the earthquake of August 1953 that devastated large parts of Kefalonia. Consequently, most the island’s buildings either date from after that time or have been extensively restored after the earthquake. This applied to the church, at our first stop, which forms part of a former monastery.

Dedicated to St Andrew, the church contained a rather bizarre relic in a form of a rather grizzly-looking, and shrunken, mummified foot, said to belong to the apostle himself. There were some impressive wall paintings, and the setting among the hills of Kefalonia added to attraction, but of more interest to me was the imposing castle of St George, high on the hill overlooking the surrounding countryside. Built by the Venetians who occupied the island for several centuries it still looked reasonably well preserved and had obviously survived the earthquake.

I'm not sure quite how accessible it was by coach as I would like to have seen it, but instead we continued along some narrow and, at times, quite hair-raising mountain roads complete with hairpin bends, as we climbed right up into the interior of the island. Mrs PBT’s take was not to look out the window at those moments, particularly when the back of the coach appeared to hang over the abyss, but I couldn’t resist a quick peep, having every confidence in our unflappable driver.

On the way our guide told us how, due to its strategic position on trade routes between Europe and the Middle East, the Venetians, the Turks, and forces from several other countries had occupied Kefalonia. Britain also had a presence in the Ionian Sea for a short while, towards the end of the Napoleonic Wars, but the saddest story was the one concerning the Italian troops who'd occupied the island during World War II. Following the collapse in 1943 of Italy’s fascist government, and the subsequent armistice which heralded the country’s exit from the war, Nazi troops arrived on the island, to take their place.

 A tragic chain of events, then led to the massacre of several thousand Italian soldiers, held prisoner by their former comrades in arms, after being regarded as traitors. At the end of hostilities most of those responsible for this horrific war crime were never brought to account, with just a handful standing trial at Nuremberg. Set against the background of the initial occupation, was the fictional story of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin which, in 2001 was made into a film, staring Nicholas Cage and Penelope Cruz. Our guide was less than complimentary about the film, although to be fair it must have boosted visitor numbers to Kefalonia.

Eventually we arrived at our next destination, a large vineyard and wine-making complex right in the heart of the island. Several other coaches already were already there, and yet again it was an unsightly free for all, this time just for a few small glasses of wine. If people could just wait rather than pushing and shoving, there would have been plenty for all but, as witnessed earlier in the day, the behaviour exhibited by some of those n the excursion was shameful.

In the end I managed to get some water for Eileen plus a couple of glasses of wine for myself, but not exactly being a great wine connoisseur, I didn't feel as though I’d missed much. Instead, I just enjoyed the beauty of the surrounding countryside, with views of the grapevines, climbing up the slopes of the surrounding hills in every direction. 

After leaving the vineyard, the coach took us on a different route back down into Argostoli, following a series of steep winding roads, before crossing the end of the lagoon on a man-made causeway. We then drove along the water front with its various shops, bars, and restaurants before arriving back at the ship. By this time the sun was blazing down on the town, and the mercury had climbed into the low 30’s, so I left Mrs PBT's to make her way back onboard the boat and set off to explore Argostoli, on my own.

As I walked along the road, past the row of shops and restaurants, keeping in the shade as much as possible, I bumped into a fellow passenger from the ship who we'd got to know. Andrew was full of enthusiasm about a bakery a bit further along the esplanade which was selling homemade pies. Being a huge pie fan, I had to go and try one, but by the time I found the place the only pies left were cheese and mushroom. It's unfortunate that I'd missed the meat ones, but a nice puff pastry pie, plus a decent cup of coffee for six euros, was a real bargain.

Afterwards it was time for a beer, and where better to enjoy one that in the cool shady interior, of the attractive Dash Coffee Bar overlooking the waterfront.  Seated at the bar, enjoying a cool and refreshing half litre of Mythos beer, whilst watching the world go by outside saw me in proper, wind-down holiday mode, and was the perfect way to round off my time ashore in Kefalonia. Before leaving the bar, I had a chat with another fellow passenger from the boat, an intrepid fellow in his 80s, holidaying without his wife, who was back home in Somerset, and thoroughly enjoying himself. (And Mrs PBT's complains if I abandon her for just a couple of days!).

I rejoined Eileen on the ship mid-afternoon, and then towards early evening we joined fellow passengers on the rear deck for some impressive views as we sailed away from Argostoli and Kefalonia. We both agreed the island had been by far the nicest and most pleasant destination we'd experienced on the cruise, even though at that point in time we still had Sardinia and Portugal to visit.

Will the Harvey's at the Boar's Head, last the weekend?

The Boar’s Head Inn at Eridge, is an unspoilt 17th Century inn, just off the main A26 road, a mile or so to the north of Crowborough. It is a low beamed pub with a cosy interior, featuring two inglenook fireplaces. There is outside seating with good views, although when I called in on Saturday, it wasn’t exactly a day for sitting outside. For those who are hardier than me, it’s worth noting, that to the north of the pub, there is a steep wide valley that is traversed by the A26, where twin streams flow along a valley floor flanked by thickly wooded slopes. The railway  between Ashurst and Crowborough makes its way along this valley before journeying to the end of the line at Uckfield.

So, what was I doing at the Boar’s Head? A pub I’d last visited over 30 years ago, and one that I got to know just a few years after moving to Tonbridge. It was my involvement with the local CAMRA branch, which was then known as Tonbridge & Tunbridge Wells CAMRA that took me to the Boar’s Head, as back then the branch covered a small area of neighbouring East Sussex, that included Crowborough.

I remember the place as an unspoilt old inn that belonged to Whitbread, and as such served a decent drop of Faversham-brewed, Fremlin’s Bitter. A decade or so later, and a change of employer, led to me commuting, by car, every day between Tonbridge and Lewes, so I often drove by on my journey to and from work. I say “often” because sometimes I would take the scenic route across Ashdown Forest, thereby avoiding the traffic bottlenecks of Tunbridge Wells and Crowborough.

I was prompted to make a long overdue visit to the Boar’s Head after driving to Crowborough the day before. Mrs PBT’s, and I had visited a medical centre in the town, in order to obtain our COVID booster vaccinations, but the drive through the town is one we take quite often, as Eileen’s sister, and niece live in nearby Uckfield.  Despite this familiarity, I hadn’t given too much notice to the Boar’s Head as it is now set back from the main A26 road. When I worked in Lewes, work was underway to straighten and widen what was a notorious stretch of road between Eridge and Crowborough, which is why the pub is now, mercifully separated from the A26.

The Boar’s Head is also on the No. 29 bus route between operated by Brighton & Hove Buses, which runs every half-hour on weekdays and Saturdays, between Brighton and Tunbridge Wells. It is a well-used service, and for those with a bus pass, the ideal way to travel between Kent and Sussex. With a bus stop, virtually outside the pub, it’s an ideal way to visit the Boar’s Head, without having to drive. Having clocked the position of the bus stops, on both sides of the road, as we drove passed on Friday, the following day I decided to hop on the bus from Tunbridge Wells and check out the Boar’s Head for myself.

It has to be at least 30 years since I last set foot in the pub, and I’m pleased to report that very little had changed. Arriving shortly after 2 pm, I found the pub pleasantly busy, without being overcrowded. Here were several groups of diners, but also a group of drinkers either propping up the bar or sitting at it. I joined the latter group, as I had no real plans to eat, and faced with a choice of Harvey’s Best or London Pride, I opted for the former.

It cost me a fiver, which seems to be the going rate for Harvey’s, these days. The Lewes-based company have always been a little on the dear side when it comes to the prices of their beers, but given their quality, it’s a price I don’t mind paying. Harvey’s also became the matter of some debate at the bar, as two of the fellas sat there were expressing their concerns that the current cask was unlikely to last the weekend.

According to the two girls behind the bar who, incidentally, were doing a sterling job, the cask of Sussex Best on sale was the LAST ONE. From what I could gather, the pub’s licensees were on holiday, and there had been a mix-up with the order from Harvey’s. The next delivery was scheduled for Tuesday, and at the current rate, what was left in the cellar was unlikely to last until then. One worried drinker questioned how many pints had been sold since the last cask went on sale. One of the girls estimated at least twenty, which begged the question, would the Harvey’s last out until Tuesday? As serial pub explorer, and prolific blogger, Retired Martin would point out, it’s debates such as this one which make pubs such interesting places.

It’s all about the detail, even if that often includes the trivial as well, because at the end of the day whilst such things appear unimportant to the majority of us, to some they represent almost life and death situations. So, as Martin would say, it’s seemingly unimportant incidents like the Harvey’s running out, that make pub going so interesting and enjoyable.

Final point, I was unlucky with the bus timings on Saturday, and after missing one in Tonbridge, right at the start of my journey, the knock-on effect was narrowly missing the No. 29 bus in Tunbridge Wells, as well. The return journey was marred by a late running service, so after making my way to the stop, nearly 10 minutes before the bus was due to arrive, I ended up waiting an additional 15 minutes before it eventually turned up. It wasn’t raining or anything, so wasn’t a huge deal, but it was chilly, and certainly cold enough to remind me that the insulating properties of denim aren’t particularly good!

 

 

Dortmunder - the almost vanished beer style

When I first started taking an interest in beer there was very little information available on the subject. Unlike wine, where there seemed an abundance of material on viticulture, books on beer and brewing were few and far between. Beer was definitely regarded as the poor man's drink, but fortunately, things began to change, and it was during my first year at university, that I received wind of an innovative and groundbreaking book called “The Beer Drinker’s Companion,” by Frank Baillie. Frank was a man ahead of this time, and this hard-back publication, which appeared in 1973, was one of the first books on beer to appear and was the first one dedicated solely to the greatest long drink in the world.

According to the notes on the dust jacket, Frank assiduously researched his subject, had drunk all the draught beers listed in the book, and had drank beer in 36 different countries. The book itself listed every brewing company then in existence in the UK, gave details of all the beers produced by each of these breweries, and provided guidance that enabled readers to find pubs, where their beers could be enjoyed. In short, Frank’s pioneering work broke the mould and helped demystify the world of beer, malt, and hops, certainly for this 19-year-old student.

One thing I remember from Frank's book, and one that is particularly relevant to this current post, is a short section about lager. This was a beer I knew little about, especially as I'd only come across lager when it was served mixed with lime cordial. To a rather naive young drinker, this blonde coloured beer looked very attractive in the glass, as the bubbles slowly rose to the top, adding to the cap of foam on top of the beer, but why on earth shove a shot of lime cordial in it?

The only lagers I was familiar with at the time, were Harp, Skol and Heineken, so The Beer Drinker’s Companion was something of a revelation. Frank didn't go into a lot of detail, primarily because the beers brewed in these islands were the main focus of his book, but I do remember reading a definition of lager, how it differed from traditional English beer, and how it was by far the most popular beer in continental Europe. There was also quite an emphasis on lager being brewed using seedless hops, rather than highlighting bottom fermentation, and a grist consisting of lightly kilned malt - the points that really differentiate lager from English ale.

Frank went on to say there were three main types of lager: Pilsner Dortmund and Munich. He described Pilsner as being pale in colour, with a relatively high hop rate and brewed with soft water. Dortmund was also pale, but brewed using less hops, and harder water. Munich was a brown and aromatic type of beer, brewed using different malts, compared to the other two types of lager, giving it a fuller and sweeter pallet. He was obviously referring to the Dunkel style beers which originated in Munich, and which are still popular in the Bavarian capital today.

Over the years I’ve drunk lager-style beers in numerous parts of the world, as well as on home turf. The vast majority have been on the pale side and have included Pilsners by the score – and even Pilsner in the city of Pilsen itself. Some lagers have been Bavarian-style Helles, Franconian Kellerbiers, and some have been the aforementioned Dunkel, dark beers, alongside their Czech equivalents. The one lager style I’ve never managed to track down, apart from an example from Cleveland - based Great Lakes Brewing Co, is Dortmunder. Until the other day, that is, when I finally got to enjoy a Dortmunder beer, from the city that gave its name to the style which Frank Baillie regarded as the third type of lager.

Before revealing the beer and the location where I got to drink (and enjoy) a genuine Dortmunder beer, there’s another groundbreaking beer book that I want to mention, and it’s one which arguably had even more influence on beer lovers (and beer hunters). Published in 1977 and researched and written by the late, great Michael Jackson, “The World Guide to Beer,” was THE definitive guide to beer, the world over, and an indispensable reference book for anyone remotely interested in beer.

Dortmunder beer receives several mentions, as does the city itself, with Jackson describing it as Germany’s biggest brewing city. Dortmunder though, is a relatively new style of beer, having been first brewed by Dortmunder Union in 1873. This light golden beer became very popular with coal miners and workers in the area’s steelworks, and other industrial undertakings, leading to Dortmunder Union becoming Germany’s largest brewery. Dortmunder beer has been described as a lager produced for 19^th Century German industrial workers, and it proved ideal for this purpose.

High levels of sulphate in the region’s water gave the beer a distinct flavour that balances well with the bitterness from the hops. Dortmunder beer was never brewed to less than 5% abv, which was light enough to quench a coal miner’s thirst, but hearty enough to reward him for a long day of manual labour. As the steel and coal industry gradually diminished in West Germany, so did the production of Dortmunder lagers.

The beer is sometimes referred to today, as “Dortmunder Export,” but whatever the name, the style has the malt-forward flavour and sweetness of a German-style Helles, with the bitter base of a German-style Pilsener. The beer is all about balance, with medium hop character and a firm but low malt sweetness, so look for toasted malt flavours and spicy floral hop aromas. Most people would say that the taste of a Dortmunder mirrors the crispness and lightness of a Helles, but with a stronger, more malty taste and a higher abv.

So why isn’t Dortmunder more widely known, and why haven’t I come across it on my travels? I haven’t been to Dortmund, but I have been quite close to the city, following visits to Solingen and Wuppertal. There was no sign of Dortmunder beer in either of these locations, and the only place where I have seen the beer advertised, was at Gaststätte Lommerzheim (Lommi), the legendary Cologne Bier Haus, on the wrong side of the River Rhine, that I finally managed to visit back in March.

A large sign, on the front of the pub, advertises Dortmunder Aktien Bier (DAB), even though Lommi only sells Kölsch. Boak & Bailey mentioned this anomaly in their recent “Impressions of Köln” post, but the presence of this sign, on a pub which is a rare, pre-war survivor from the indiscriminate carpet bombing of the last war, does suggest Dortmunder beer was at one time, more widely available than it is today, in Germany. Finally, we have reached the point in the post where I reveal when and where I was finally able to drink a glass of genuine Dortmunder beer.

Two days after arriving back in England, following our cruise, I called in at the Nelson Arms in Tonbridge, craving a glass of two of English ale. Those cravings were satisfied by a pint of Shere Drop, from Surrey Hills Brewery, followed by one of Gale’s HSB, but whilst propping up the bar (it was very crowded that day), I noticed quite a few glasses of Dortmunder Union beer being served. I had to ask the barmaid, as the keg beers at the Nelson aren’t that well-advertised, coming as they do from the “beer wall” behind the bar. She confirmed my observation was correct and told me the pub had only recently started stocking the beer. It had proved a big hit with the locals, so much so that it is now a regular feature on the beer wall. There wasn’t time, there and then for me to try the beer, but I made the decision to have a pint of Dortmunder, the next time I was in the Nelson.

That time came quicker than I thought, as the other Wednesday, I found myself in the pub, as part of the local CAMRA group, who were presenting the Nelson’s licensees with a certificate, to mark the pub reaching the final stage of this year’s CAMRA Pub of the Year. Yes, the Nelson is one of the four finalists in this year's competition, and deservedly so! After enjoying a couple of Harvey’s beers – Dark Mild and Bonfire Boy (the latter was excellent), I just had to finish the session with a pint of Dortmunder.  My purchase turned a few heads amongst the CAMRA crowd, although when I explained my decision, I’m sure they understood the reasoning behind it. Matt the landlord confirmed that it was the genuine article and is obtained via a wholesaler. Quite a few of the pub’s regulars have taken to the beer, and it is now stocked at the Nelson, instead of Paulaner Helles from Munich.

It was a decent pint of lager, although it was nothing spectacular, and there’s the rub, because it’s almost certainly the reason for Dortmunder’s demise. With no real outstanding features, there’s nothing really to distinguish the style from other lagers, such as Pilsner or Helles. Esteemed beer writer Roger Protz reached the same conclusion, in this piece from 2004. He also made comparisons between Dortmund and Burton-on-Trent; a point that also crossed my mind – although I was thinking more of the high sulphate local water, which is a common connection between both towns.

Roger’s final point was one that seems to have come to pass. He describes Dortmunder, as one of the world's great beer styles, before claiming it is in danger of withering on the vine. I’m not sure about his first point, because as stated above, I found little evidence in the pint I drank to confirm that claim. Sadly, Roger is almost certainly correct about Dortmunder withering on the vine, and unless the brewers of its home city make a concerted effort to promote the beer, and really get behind it, this once renowned style of beer, really is in danger of disappearing for good.