Drinking Cask in London

Those of you that follow me on Twitter know that I don't drink cask conditioned real ale in London all that often. Let's get a couple of things straight. I love London pubs, not least of all because they very much remind me of how pubs used to be. They are lively and busy, many are unspoilt and haven't had their innards pulled apart in the same way as has happened almost everywhere else - there are exceptions, of course - and they are perhaps surprisingly pretty friendly and generally nice places to be. They have a very mixed clientele, and a general buzz and jolliness which I find attractive. Furthermore, they usually offer a pretty good choice of beer generally, and most tend to sell real ale. What, then, is not to like then, for us casketeeers?  Well, our old friend quality of beer at point of dispense. Many real ales sold are simply not up to my standards, quality wise.

Even allowing for differing dispense preferences - unsparkled beer is the norm - cask beer is often warm, flabby, over vented, under conditioned and served badly by untrained staff. Or a combination of aforementioned serving issues. Despite these obvious shortcomings, the product is still usually sold at over five pounds a pint.  Over the 20 or so years we have owned a flat in London, I have realised that to buy cask beers in random pubs, no matter how attractive they otherwise might be, is often just throwing money away. As an aside, drinking cask in the centre of Manchester, Leeds or Liverpool, Sheffield, York and many more places, is likely going to reward you with a decent price and a reasonable price.  Don't blame me for stating this point. It is just a matter of fact. The downside is that you may well be drinking your splendid pint in less than glorious surroundings, so in some ways, it is a kind of place versus quality thing, though as in London there are exceptions.

I'm not going to list all the places where you get an excellent pint of cask in London - the Good Beer Guide "should" do that, and often does - but even as a CAMRA veteran of 40 odd years, I don't tend to lug the guide about with me, and, secondly, when I am out and about in London, I may not know exactly where I might end up and therefore pop into somewhere pubwise I, or we, like the look of.  That has led to a great few disappointing beers - and I am being kind here - so I tend to drink lager or stout on such occasions, unless I see the wickets being pulled for fun.

Let me give you a recent example.  A couple of weeks ago, I had been out for a wander as E performed her last-ever day of paid work.  After a pint of Anspach and Hobday's excellent nitro porter at Craft Beer - I'm never keen on the cask there - I went to the Sutton Arms in Great Sutton Street (where one can drink cask beer with confidence) and hence via a wondrously confusing Old St - renovations have made this an unsigned maze - towards Commercial Road where I was to meet E.  After a lager in one of our favourites, the Commercial Tavern, I persuaded E to try the Golden Heart, which still bears a large Trumans neon advert and some other external Truman's signage.  We often pass it in summer, when it is usually rammed in and out. It seemed to have been recently cut in half though, with a wine bar being added, but anyway, in we went.

It was moderately busy and had a Heineken bias on the pumps, which meant there was nothing I was keen to drink, but they did have Landlord.  So, against my better judgement, I took the plunge.  Firstly, the barperson filled the glasses via the swan neck from above the glass, resulting in much loose foam. My three-quarter pint was handed to me. I requested a top-up, which again was attempted by filling from above, and the beer (pictured) looked grim.  What could I do?  The lasses behind the bar clearly knew nothing about the beer or how it should be presented, equally clearly nobody had taught them how to pour it. The Landlord wasn't fit for service either, being as green as Ireland on St Patrick's Day. To add insult to injury, the beer was well north of £5 a pint.

This or similar nonsense is still going on all over London, so my friends, that is why I only drink cask beer from trusted venues in the capital. And why premiumisation of cask beer in what is effectively a cask lottery, is a bonkers distraction that should be shunned.

It would have been the work of seconds to show the bar staff how to use a swan neck to dispense beer, and equally the work of seconds to know that the beer wasn't yet ready to be served. If anyone cared, that is - which clearly they did not. (Tip. Landlord needs more time to settle a clear and reach its peak than most cask beers.)

As a matter of interest, I am always wary of Star Inns and Bars (Heineken). Very rarely do they have much worth drinking in my personal opinion.

Good Pubs or Good Beer

I recently did a little poll for a bit of fun, but of course it had, underneath it, a serious point. Here's the result:

Choose one:

— Tandleman (@tandleman) March 3, 2019

Now of course if you really like pubs it's a no brainer. When you think of it logically, why if you really like beer above all, would you go to the expense of visiting a pub and endure the mark-up when you could merely find the required beer at the best price and sup it quietly in the comfort of your own home? 

Now of course this would be an unusual way to look at things - though not out of the question as a minority of beer drinkers for whatever reason don't frequent pubs -  and in any case many people pointed out, that it can't really be a great pub without great beer. That though isn't at all so certain.  Great beer is always in the eye of the beholder, as to a lesser extent are great pubs, though likely the latter is more easily identified than the former. (Mudgie uses the word "congenial" to describe his required atmosphere.)

On that slight tangent, there can also be the more neutral "unthreatening" and while old hands like me and Mudgie can (mostly) tell a pub where you might be in danger within a second, others might not be quite so keenly tuned in.  Of course a boisterous or indeed a clearly cliquey atmosphere rarely conveys a feeling of danger. Danger is probably best described as the" absence of normal" and your instincts tend to kick in in such situations. Mere boisterousness can usually be quickly rationalised too and most of us old soaks often understand the warning signs before even setting foot in a dodgy pub. These can clearly only ever be described as convivial by the sort of people you wouldn't ever want to drink with.

But I digress, so back to the main question.  Mudgie sums it up quite well, as he often does:

"Even if it's the best beer in the world, I won't stay for more than one if I don't find the pub congenial" — Pub Curmudgeon 🍻 (@oldmudgie) March 3, 2019"

To my mind, that's a very good rule of thumb.

Not to be outdone, Mudgie followed my poll up by:

POLL: Which would you prefer?

— Pub Curmudgeon 🍻 (@oldmudgie) March 10, 2019

Now in some ways this seems to contradict my poll, as here great beer wins out. I suppose the difference may be that I ask about "fantastic" and Mudgie asks about "dull". Think about it a bit more closely and it might well just be down to terminology. In Mudgie's case this is a less binary choice, as it means you are in the pub anyway.

So do good pubs and good beer go hand in hand? On the balance of probability - yes - but in beer and pubs, as in everything, the rule isn't hard and fast.

 Of course being a cask ale kind of guy, pubs are essential to my sort of drinking.  So I'm biased both by inclination and neccessity.

I don't know so much about bars though, but that's for another time.

When in Rome

Don't drink beer essentially. Apart from the fact that it is cripplingly expensive, it is piss poor. Rome is the home of Peroni and that's what you get everywhere near enough, except in these places that charge just as much for it as Peroni places, but give you something generic for the same price. And it isn't Nastro Azzuri, the premium stuff, but the weaker and poorer Rosso, a red label beer, not red in colour, but as poor a lager as you are likely to come across.  How much then? Generally for 0.2l, around €4 and upwards of €6 for 0.4 - and more if in a nice square. I was soon cured of it, even when offered in our hotel, in the happy hour, for half price. This is a "not worth it at any price" beer.  What about craft? Well, there was some, with un-named bottles sold at loony prices here and there. Far better to drink local wine and watch the world go by.

But that was old Rome. Tourist Rome in spades if you will. A walk across the river to the area of Trastevere does not bring any relief at all from the prices and it is still touristy, but you do find a little variety in mass produced lager.  You can safely ignore this though.  Why drink Morretti or Porretti when you can drink craft from the many little craft beer bars lurking in the pretty streets and on a sunny day, I was in the mood for a beer.  We repaired to the two bars which everyone tells you are a must.  Our first port of call was Bir&Fud, one of two bars in a quiet square in the back streets. Narrow and thin with three little tables at the front, this offers a veritable cornucopia of Italian brewed craft beers. The narrowness of the pub is offset by bigger rooms behind, but we sat outside in  the front while a gaggle of voluble Italian lads and a solitary lass scoffed beers and laughed a lot. My Hammer Brewery Saison was as good a beer as I'd had in a while - spicy, hoppy and very moreish - so good I had two - while Eileen liked her Italian lager, though muttered a bit about its haze.  The pub was quiet though and I reckon it might get a bit frantic there when busy, but we were greeted warmly enough, the beer was bloody good and, by Rome standards, cheap. Beers were mostly €6 depending on strength and it seemed you just got smaller glasses as the strength went up. Not a bad system at all.  

Across the road is Ma Che Siete Venuti A Fà, beloved  of luminaries such as Stonch who praised it to the heavens years ago. Again it was fairly quiet and again, the beer was bloody good. E enjoyed her imported German Pilsner - can't remember which - but, to her immense satisfaction, clear as a bell, while my Rurale 5 Seta Special was a Belgian style wit with bergamot, which again called for two. Same as its sister place across the road, I wouldn't fancy my chances later in the evening, but it was sure charming enough and the same prices applied.

So when in Rome and you fancy a beer, go to these two places. Pretty smashing really.

We should really have stayed for more, but we fancied something to eat where there sun shone.  Both these pubs were in the shade and sadly the sun did not shine all the time for us and we didn't want to miss it while it was there.

Unwisely, I didn't take Jeffers advice for other venues. I should have, but E will be glad I didn't. She was in wine mode.  Mind you it was ten years ago.

 

Unspoiled by Progress

Did you know that Hebden Bridge in West Yorkshire has one of the biggest lesbian populations per head in the UK? Well it does. I am not sure what attracts them to this neat and straggling little town on the Calder Valley, but then I wouldn't would I? For those interested in such things, the Rochdale Canal also flows through it, though I suppose it would be a long, tiring swim back, so it is good that bus from Rochdale, the 590, accepts Greater Manchester First Day Savers. Lesbians notwithstanding, the attraction for us was a day out across the border in Yorkshire, to visit twee shops, walk around, have a bite to eat and a few pints.

The day started off badly as we missed the hourly bus by a few seconds, but arriving an hour later, I confused myself and E by mixing the place up with Sowerby Bridge, therefore finding it impossible to find that pub by the canal I'd been in a couple of years ago.  It's a mistake anyone can make and once my phone had been consulted, all was revealed, so changing our plans we made for Stubbing Wharf which is a perfect canalside pub in every way.  Delightful inside and out, a great range of beers, cheerful old locals and bloody muzak.  What on earth is that for?  The group of local old gents, discussing Syria called on the barmaid to change it to Frank Sinatra since "I know you are not allowed to turn it off".  Black mark for that.  For a good description, I recommend that you read this article from beer writer Arthur Taylor (one of my CAMRA branch members) in the Daily Telegraph.

A bit more wandering around and we felt hungry, so at random we called into the White Swan, just in time as lunchtime service was about to end.  A extremely diminutive barmaid of the old school served us with a cheerfulness that was obviously inherent.  Beer was from Black Sheep and somewhat oddly, from Everards, with their Sunchaser being served, as was the Black Sheep,through an autovac, which to my mind, though it does give a beautiful creamy head, has a tendency to flatten the beer a tad.  The two roomed pub, with a bar area and what we'd have called a lounge at one time, was rather empty, though a few popped in from time to time for a quick glass.  Food prices were as old fashioned as the service and portions plentiful.  You'd be stuffed for under a fiver.
The barmaid, and later the owner, chatted to us.  I remarked that I'd last been in around five years ago and that it hadn't changed a bit.  She agreed, adding ruefully "The only thing that's changed around here is me and I've just got older - and it won't change either as long as I'm here". Good for her.

We supped our beer happily and ate our meals, served by an astonishingly pregnant young woman who was teased about her size by the barmaid.  There was a juke box too. Oddly enough it was one of these modern ones that has every record ever, tucked in a corner by the bar.  I put on some 60's stuff (5 for a pound) and the elderly barmaid sang along happily.  It was just perfect in its warmth and simplicity.

We left with considerable reluctance, but the 590 is only one an hour, it takes a while and having missed one that day, I didn't want to miss another.

I was also able to buy a couple of bottles of Henderson's Relish in one of the independent shops albeit at a considerable mark up to Sheffield.  Result.

A Good Beer Day

Now that my Belgian man flu has subsided to a cough and my nose has dried up, it was time to consider beer. Beer with taste and where better to start than with a bottle of Hawkshead New Zealand Pale Ale, kindly given to me by Matt, the brewer when he visited the National Winter Ales Festival.

I have to declare an interest here. I am a big fan of Hawkshead beers and will sup them wherever I see them. From Windermere Pale through to NZPA, they are tremendously well made beers. Hint to other brewers. Make your beers as clean as Matt's and you are half way there. Now if I was, say, the Beer Nut, I'd wax lyrical about tropical fruits, wonderful hoppy aromas and that sort of thing. But I'm not and he's way better at that kind of thing, so I won't. Instead I'll compare it to the draught (cask) version and instead tell you it is a pretty good approximation, with the carbonation held at a slightly lower level than most bottled beers, allowing the craftsmanship of the beer to zing out. It was good. Very good.

So how do you follow that? You go to the Baum in Rochdale and purchase a pint of Ossett Snow Drop, a pale, well balanced beer with moderate hoppiness, through to a strongly bitter and hoppy finish. Then you toddle down to the Regal Moon and spend the rest of the evening with your chums drinking Ossett JPA, another pale beer, but this time much more hop forward, while avoiding that wateriness that spoils many such beers.

There you have it. I have mentioned both breweries before and no doubt will again. Why? Because they are bloody good!


If you want to put a date in your diary, mark May down. Ossett will be putting Citra out. It is a stunner.