Now I know you have been waiting for it, but here it is. The feet on the ground, beers you can buy everywhere (more or less) Golden Pints. The definitive guide to what really is good, not what really is rare or odd. Let's get straight in with the most important category of all:
As everyone started to drift off home, on the way back to the bus station three of us passed the Regal Moon and felt compelled to pop in. We spotted Pretty Things Jack D'Or Saison Americaine, brewed at Adnams, on the bar and despite its 6% abv ordered pints thereof. What a great beer. First of all the nose which had delicate sweetness, a touch of brett and an overall bouquet that siren like called out "Drink me". We did and it was luscious; peppery spicy from rye with a bittersweet Belgian mix of slight sourness, balancing malt sweetness, lemons and a good dash of hops to finish. It was perfectly cask conditioned, full bodied and satisfyingly drinkable. It cost us a few buses as we supped, perhaps unwisely, a couple more. But funerals, if nothing else, make you want to seize the moment.
The decision of Marstons to sell some 200 of its wet-led pubs has met with a degree of concern that is hardly surprising, but should that really be so? The giant PubCos are a mess and have little coherent branding, but Marstons and Greene King, huge in themselves, but disconcertingly under the radar in most circumstances, are quietly changing their wet focus into food-led with drink as an add on. They are building large new pubs to emphasise this point, so there is surely little shock that bottom end pubs with little prospect of fitting into a different mainstream future are being disposed of? It is not simply the move to food that has motivated Marstons however, as the company needs to reduce its £1 billion debt and the £90 million deal will come in handy for this purpose. But it will also be used to build more new pubs, or should that be pub/restaurants? 
Another first for me was that it was held in the Bull at Highgate, a pub that I'd never visited, but which is pretty famous amongst London beer buffs. It is also home to its own micro brewery, which could be seen from the area just to the left of the bar. Now I must say that the Bull, whatever I might have been expecting, was hardly your traditional boozer. In an affluent area, it was nonetheless warm and likeable, but no bare boarded ale house. Think more chintzy than that, but it seemed to have a good mix of customers amongst the assembled beer glitterati.
A couple of days later I called in again, reasoning that it would all be new beers by then. My ordered pint of Vale Misty Hop was cloudy. I wasn't going through all that again, so tasting it gingerly, it wasn't that bad. "Misty Hop" I thought. "Wonder if it is meant to be cloudy?" The Blogosphere didn't know, so I emailed the brewery. This what they said "Misty Mountain Hop should be served crystal clear." Now my first thought was to bubble this mob to Cask Marque and I will if next week when I'm in London, I call in and there is the slightest doubt about the beer. But it may just be they had a disastrous weekend in the cellar and its a one off. I'm a kind sort underneath, though there is no excuse for selling under par beer, which they were quite blatantly doing. My second thought was about the Misty Hop. I had thought that this might have been one of those daft beers that are meant to be served cloudy? I didn't know and the name hinted that it might.
A couple of things occurred on Saturday which I'll share with you. In one pub after enjoying two sparkled pints of the same beer, I was so impressed with it and since neither me nor my companion were intent on moving on, why not order another? I looked around me, taking in the scene, as my pints were poured, not by the charming young lass who'd patiently offered us tasters, but by a bebearded hipster type. I looked at my pint. No head. I looked at the handpump. The sparkler had been removed. "What's going on. Where's the sparkler gone?" I asked. "I took it off" quoth he, "the brewer doesn't like sparklers."
First up was the Old Bell in Fleet St, part of the Nicolsons chain. Small and intimate with lots of wood, this was cosy and though the welcome was nothing special, the beer was really rather good. I opted for Gadd's Rye Pale Ale and really enjoyed its dry crispness, while E had no complaints about the condition of her Nicolsons Pale Ale, though she wasn't quite so keen on the beer. Not far for the next one and of course a bit of a classic. Now I have been in the Old Cheshire Cheese before, though E hadn't and I hadn't been downstairs. What a gem, with a coal fire, an "olde worlde" appearance which actually is genuinely old and Old Brewery Bitter at sensible prices. OK it was getting to the end of the barrel, but by no means undrinkable and the place was warm, the barmaid chatty and cheerful and downstairs a revelation, with its benches reminiscent of a German beer hall. We then had a quick bit of culture in the nearby Romanian Orthodox Church before nipping into Ye Olde Cock Tavern, where although the beer was in splendid nick and the barmaid again welcoming, the beer was badly chosen by me. Brown and Browner I think they were called, with Brown coming from East London and masquerading under the name Foundation Bitter and Browner pretending to be Hackney Best Bitter. No real redeeming features, but ten out of ten to the pub for offering something local and in good nick.
Now funnily I hadn't been to the Old Bank of England before. A Fullers pub of considerable grandeur and once again, despite its fullness, a warm welcome. Fullers Black Cab needs a sparkler, but was tasty and my first ESB for quite some time was thoroughly enjoyable, with distinct Seville orange flavours. Great for people watching too. We left rather impressed and went on a bit to the George, a thin narrow, old fashioned long bar, bristling with handpumps. Great quality here too, with Gadd's No 7 pretty damn good and Truman's Lazarus, pale and hoppy, the the pick of the bunch. An oddity was an "English Craft Lager" called Noble which wasn't anything special. Fantastic service here too from a barmaid who was a positive blur as she shot up and down the bar. We'll be back here for sure. Leaving there with some reluctance, we decided to retrace our steps, as we'd missed one. The Tipperary is London's oldest Irish Bar and though the craic was anything but mighty from the taciturn barmaid, the beer was again spot on. Portobello Pale was a very decent hop forward golden ale.
Near the main railway station, PJ Fruh is one of my favourite places. Mostly I'm hugging the wall in the schwemme or public bar, where one can watch the waiters fill their trays with beer freshly poured from a wooden barrel and of course, not wait more than a second or two for a another glass. We certainly needed a drink after severe train delays and standing all the way from Düsseldorf - Deutsche Bahn is going through a bad patch. Being mob handed, the schwemme was out of the question of course, so through many rooms we went, all huge and all full to the brim, until somewhere deep beneath, there was a room that was busy but could still take the 14 or so people we had. The place had hundreds outside on a beautiful Autumn day and even more hundreds inside. Here is lesson number one. Most of the good pubs in Cologne are big and boy are they busy. The Germans like to eat lunch out. And dinner it seems. Service was brusque and business like. When things are done on this scale, there is little time for chat.
Then a quick visit to old favourites Sion and round the corner Peter's Brauhaus, where one of our female tripsters was refused a glass of wine as the waiter had counted 12 of us and brought 12 glasses of beer. (She could have wine the next time he patronised.) That's another thing common to both Cologne and Dusseldorf. You'll have the devil's own job to get anything other than beer and one beer at that mostly. Confidence or cheek? You decide.
Tyson, Eddie and I then went seeking different Kölsches. As Tyson has pointed out, most are brewed in the same place and the Dom Brauerei Ausschank (Brewery Tap) did not, alas, include the brewery. Outside as it is on the Rhine, beer terraces overflowed with customers. Inside was as deserted as could be. Another little quirk you find in Germany emerged. We picked a table by the window among a sea of empty tables. A waiter rushed over. "You can't sit there." He gestured to another row of identically empty tables and we went over. He didn't like the one we chose then either, but asserting ourselves, we just stayed put. He wasn't happy. That happens a lot too, but Old Grumpy was replaced by a cheery young lad who sorted our beer out. German waiters want you to do it their way. Another German trait.
Of course, where there are downs, there are ups. In most places, waiters couldn't have been kinder or more accommodating, but certainly later in the day, if you are not eating, or inside early, you may have to forgo your chosen watering hole. It was nearly thus in the Reissdorf Brewery Tap, an old haunt, but fortunately the unseasonably warm weather allowed us to drink outside where a lovely young waitress cheerily kept our glasses filled. No mean task I assure you. I like Reissdorf, it's a bit more pokey than most examples of the kölsch genre. Less traditional was a place I'd always wanted to go to as we've sold their beer for years now at GBBF. Braustelle do more than standard beer in a very busy pub, filled to bursting with a mixed crowd, but mostly twenty plus. Regrettably we'd just missed the pale ale, but the alt, yes alt in Cologne, was more like a porter and very moreish, so we had some more.
So what's going on? Cologne if anything seemed to be booming more than Düsseldorf. Pubs were going like a fair but we got the impression that
this had allowed a touch of complacency to emerge in some quarters at
least. How easily are the seven lean years forgotten, when plenty is
all around. 
I have been in London for a few days and of course visited a few pubs. Shortly after my recent arrival in London, we walked the mile and a half or so to one of my favourite London pubs, the Pelt Trader. The place was comfortably busy and, with it being a Tuesday, there was a few less suits than usual. In fact, quite a good mix of customers made for a pleasant atmosphere. Kirsty, a top bar operative if ever there was one, was running the bar with one other staff member. (Or maybe he was running it with her?) Either way, the place was busy enough for more than two staff, but working as a team, they never stopped and nobody had to wait long. It was all done with a smile too, reminding me, as if that was really needed, that great bar staff are a prerequisite to a great pub. The beer here was spot on too, though for once Mallinsons Creak Mouse was a little too sweet for my taste. At 4.8%, it needed more hops. Yes. A Mallinson's beer needed more hops. I can't believe it either.
I also tried Adnams Dry Hopped Lager, which I liked. Decent body and a bit of discernable hops, it wasn't a bad drink at all and one I'd happily have again. Kernal Citra and Summit was decent too, but maybe not their best. Perhaps I'm just expecting more and more hops from them and certainly less wateriness, but nonetheless we both enjoyed it as our intended last drink, though it didn't bowl us over. The Pelt Trader is a good place,the beer is good, the prices are fair and the staff are brilliant. Possibly something for others to consider?
Germany, well North Germany, is getting an expensive place to drink. On my recent trip to Düsseldorf, the brew pubs in particular, the glorious four of Uerige, Schumacher, Fuchsen and Schlussel all the alt beer hovered around the €1.80 mark for a 25cl glass. That's pretty hefty, especially when you effectively pay €2, as given that when there was a lot of us and the bill was paid jointly, you ended up chipping in two euros for convenience. Even when you paid yourself, it seemed a bit petty to wait for 20c change. I'm guessing too that is pretty standard. Not a great deal for the drinker, but admittedly it was at least nice for the waiter. Twenty five centilitres isn't much either, so you end up with quite a few glasses to pay for.
Having just read Mudgie's latest blog post, it reminded me of a photo I took from Chester's ancient walls (hence the dodgy quality). You can still read it though.
In an interesting development (or is it bandwagon jumping?) it seems that the Society of Independent Brewers (SIBA) are considering changing their logo which current says "Local Beer," to read "Craft Beer". 
If Conwy had gone some way to restoring our faith in cask ale, Chester had it centre stage and shouting its quality to all comers. Handily underneath the Premier Inn where we were staying, Harker's
is a well known Brunning and Price pub on the canal-side.
Lavishly appointed, the haunt of Chester's well heeled and with a great
range of beer, we struck lucky with superb Crouch Vale Amarillo, which
was by a long chalk our best beer so far. The handpump was red hot as it
cranked out pint after pint, so we had a second as we assumed it would
be gone soon and we had other places to visit. 
Next stop was the
beautiful Cross Keys and Joules (pronounced Jowls) beer. The pub is a
Victorian masterpiece and as good a place as you'd want to spend an hour on a Wednesday night. The beers surprised me. Since I last had them in Eccleshall around a year ago, they seem to have improved beyond all recognition. Across the road was Okell's Bear and Billet and there it was the Manx Pale Ale that stood out, with the charming service a close second. MPA is is a beer that you want to drink a lot of and we should have stayed for more, but the boys wanted to visit the nearby Spitting Feather's Brewery Tap in what was once a Jacobean Banqueting Hall. Now I did warn my friends that the place outshone the beer in the way a lighthouse outshines darkness, but they wanted to see it. Suffice to say other than the wonder of the surroundings, only the superbly attentive young lasses behind the bar, gamely trying to fashion a silk purse out of a sow's ear, made the visit worthwhile.
Our second last official port of call was a Sam Smith's house (can't remember its name) which one of our number had always wanted to visit. The OBB at £1.80 was just about OK but comfortably better than our previous experience. Then to JDW and one of the oddest, strangest, bestest, differentest pints ever. Bateman's Hazelnut Brownie (6.3%) was a liquid version of its name. It did what it said on the tin and no mistake. We all loved it and it was still a talking point at breakfast the next day. Round the corner, and back at our hotel, Harker's beckoned again, but alas it had closed at eleven. All wasn't lost though, as two of us nipped across the road to the Cellar and the very welcoming sight of Marble Manchester Bitter. Again the hospitality couldn't be faulted and the beer was on superb form. We staggered back across the road around the half one mark, slightly the worse for wear. 
Our next destination, Conwy, was immediately impressive with its streets busy despite the downpour and the castle replete with two Welsh flags dominating the scene in a good way. We parked at the Castle Hotel, an old coaching inn which regrettably seemed to have had all character removed, though that didn't detract from the very warm welcome received from the young and enthusiastic bar staff. We noted too in the hour or so we were there, the large number of diners and drinkers. They are obviously doing something right. Beer here was from Conwy Brewery with the 3.6% Clogwyn Gold being a bit of a belter.
Lastly in Conwy, a terrific pub of tremendous appeal and character. The Albion is a splendidly restored 1920s, multi roomed pub which positively gleams inside. Again the welcome couldn't have been warmer, nor the beer in much better form. Local pork pies from Edwards (what a shop they have - worth a trip to Conwy just for their Bara Brith and sandwiches) were spot on too. It was consequently a cheery bunch of old gits that left for Chester. Now North Wales has been slagged off by some respondents and I can see why, but Conwy was a gem and I dare say we'd have found some other decent beer there too. It just had that sort of feel to it.
All Good Beer Guide pubs next. The best bet beer wise in the Station Inn (a bit of a basic boozer) was Adnams Ghost Ship and that wasn't great. Our earlier experiences of Purple Moose Snowdonia had warned us off that, so after one, we supped up and plodded along to the Ship Inn which offered mainly national brands. It wasn't that busy at all. Our more exotic choice, Lancaster Blonde had that same midweek feel to it. Last up was the working men's club-like Spooner's Bar, at the narrow gauge railway terminus. We were persuaded by the barman to try a brand new cask of Snowdonia but it did little to convince us of its inherent qualities and after a couple we left, the boys to seek a curry and me to seek an early night.
Well not that sneaky really. The Regal Moon in Rochdale is one of JDW's flagship ale houses. It is shutting for some refurbishment soon and was granted permission to start the October JDW Fest a bit early. Chris, the manager, had promised us that the most sought after beers, those brewed by foreign (in this case American) brewers would be there in force. And so it came to pass.
I've written about the Pelt Trader here and as a bonus, it is now firmly established, thus guaranteeing turnover. The cellar is in capable hands and as a bonus, my favourite and toppest barmaid in London* works there, adding even more quality to the already excellent team. So we are on. Outside are suits galore. Inside is a much more mixed bunch of drinkers. I am greeted warmly at the bar and spot Stringers Gold on sale. No need to taste - it'll be good. Clean, spicy, cool, well conditioned, the beer is as good as it can be without a sparkler and a handpump. It barely touches the side and is repeated. I try a taste of Arbor Motueka, the follow up pint of which confirms a long held view which I am foolish enough to ignore on many an occasion. That is, a small taste tells you little. The beer itself is a disappointing thin effort of 3.8% with a dose of New Zealand hops to overcome its poor base. It works on almost no level. Ah cask. You lift me up and dash me down. E had fared much better with Tiny Rebel Fubar at 4.4%. Hoppy, pale, a body like a Strictly professional and just as enjoyable. I switched to it and it was a fine finish as grub beckoned..JPG)
While many of us in the blogosphere are getting a bit tired of all this "what is craft?" stuff, a long foreseen development is, well, developing. Greene King is to open a £750,000
“innovation brewhouse” at its Bury St Edmunds brewery for experimenting
with different craft beer styles.
When tidying out my garage yesterday, I came across this forgotten piece of Dobbin memorabilia. Odd in some ways, but that's Brendan for you. Note too the warnings about excessive consumption of alcohol.
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.
While I'm in the mood, another couple of breweriana items for you. I doubt if the Bass one would meet with much approval today.
A few of us have heard of Brendan Dobbin, who was in my opinion one of the earliest pioneers of the use of foreign hops for their own sake (rather than to supplement British hops) but fewer still will remember his very idiosyncratic advertising. I didn't realise I had any of Brendan's stuff apart from some labels, but amongst my bits and pieces, I came across this little beauty.
I have a lot of catching up to do after my week in London, so let's start a mixed story of good and bad. The Good? Well to some a surprise maybe, and it is relative, but let's start with JDW's Goodman Fields, a pub near Tower Hill station and now adjacent to many new hotels which are clearly helping trade. This is the nearest JDW to our London flat and that, footsore as I was greatly influenced where we went after I trudged back from Olympia on Saturday night. I just didn't have many more steps left in me. Now Goodman's Field has been piss poor in the past, with the usual set of JDW failings of queues, dodgy beer selection, indifferent service, and zero atmosphere. This time it was different, starting with the fact that it was packed, thus providing atmosphere, continuing with a charming Spanish barmaid who could not have been more pleasant or speedy - especially in that 200 mile an hour way of speaking the Spanish have - and in the beer (I can't remember what is was though) which was excellent and for once in this neck of the woods, pale and hoppy. We ate there and despite the crowds it came quickly, was hot, tasty and well presented and we were asked twice if everything was OK by enthusiastic and cheerful staff. Amazingly, tables were promptly cleared and we were given a cheery goodbye. Clearly they have kicked out the deadbeats they had before. It just shows that in any pub, the attitude and enthusiasm of the staff can make an ordinary place well worth visiting and leave you feeling "That was good".
It is amazing what a couple of pints will do to loosen the inhibitions of a busload of lushes. It was a very cheery throng indeed that wended its way to our next stop,the Railway at Mobberley where lunch was to be eaten. We were additionally guided by one of my predecessors as Branch Chairman who hails from this neck of the woods. He was greeted enthusiatically by the landlady who remembered him. A nice touch. This ex Greenall's pub was not that posh, but busy enough even without our 25 or so. The beer was on good form, but the choice not to everyone's taste. Dunham Massey - they seem to have Cheshire tied up - Black Sheep and Wainwright's leading the charge. Lunch was filling, but hurried, though the craic was excellent as always on these dos. Our next journey was a quick one, a mere five minutes or so to the delightful Church Inn also in Mobberley, a lovely pub with a nice beer terrace at the back and again, that very friendly and cheery service that so typified the day. Beers were again local with yes, you've guessed, Dunham Massey and Tatton breweries featuring.
The poshness was dialed up considerably next. We knew when our bus entered the car park amid open topped Porsches, Jaguars and the odd Bentley, that this would not be a dump. The Bull's Head, like the previous Church Inn, is part of Cheshire Cat Pub and Bars. It had recently been done up to an exceedingly high standard and had a beautiful beer garden at the back, bathed in sunshine and with splendid views of aircraft taking off from Runway Two at nearby Manchester Airport. This was a very enjoyable stop and again the staff couldn't have been nicer and we left with considerable reluctance. Beer? Dunham Massey and Tatton featured of course. Across the way, we noted, the closed and being renovated Roebuck. Owned it seems by a big PubCo, there was rumours of a licensee being hounded out by high rent. True or not, the pub had been closed for weeks, thus missing our finest summer for years. Mistake.
