The early 1970s was a time when not only was British Beer at a nadir, but it was starting to be recognised as such and importantly, a few people were starting to do something about it. The rather chummy, but none too serious Society for Preservation of Beers from the Wood (SPBW) was giving way to a much more purposeful and aggressive organisation, the Campaign for Real Ale, which sent shock waves through the whole brewing industry and facilitated to a very large extent, the changes that moved British Brewing from one of homogenisation, to one of huge diversity.
This particularly British tale is engagingly tale is told in a pretty sure footed way by well known beer bloggers, Boak and Bailey, in their first book,
The Strange Rebirth of British Beer. Although a history, this, in part at least, is a character driven book, because the fightback against the standardisation and bastardisation of British beer is one of individuals, operating singly, but all with a burning view that the bland, fizzy, weak, lookalike beers foisted on the public by the then big brewers, was something they were going to do something about, albeit in individual and unconnected ways. People like David Bruce with his chain of brewpubs, drinkers such as Christopher Hutt, whose book
The Death of the English Pub was a clarion call to the British drinker that something was wrong and the four founders of the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA), are well known and rightly given their place, but the authors have delved into less known cases of early pioneers of beery diversity in the delightfully named chapter
Lilacs Out of the Dead Land. Outposts of rebellion in places such as Selby in Yorkshire and Priddy in Wales are discussed, as is the case of Godsons, a new brewery and wholesaler who took London by storm long before the present crop of London brewers were born, though sadly, we are not told why
"everything that could go wrong did."
Inevitably there had to be something that pulled all this together and the golden thread running through the early part of the narrative of change in the brewing landscape is the emergence and dominance of the Campaign for Real Ale. Interviews with many CAMRA worthies bring this to life and for an old hand like me, the book reminds me that CAMRA was a much more swashbuckling organisation than it is now. And quite possibly much more left wing. It may not be intentional, but the book clearly illustrates that CAMRA took the feeling of "something wrong", into a movement that not only annoyed the big brewers, but by campaigning against them and what they stood for, arguably, swept them into the dustbin of history. For those unfamiliar with this history, the role that CAMRA
played might well be quite a revelation.
The emergence of a new wave of brewers and more importantly, beers and beer styles as well as the new wave of craft beer bars, is the sort of second half of the book, but here you feel the authors are somewhat less sure of themselves. What about the current changes that in some ways mirror, or at least replicate the situation CAMRA found in the 1970s? Is there a broad feeling that there is a need for step change around? You get an idea there might be, but the book doesn't really go there. They do not get into the soul of what the new wave of craft brewers is about - no major interviews - though they do rightly identify BrewDog and Thornbridge as key players. They do make a more convincing job of bars, with an interesting delve into North Bar Leeds, which they postulate is a template for all yet to come and a fascinating reminder of Mash and Air in Manchester as well as others. But overall there is a strong impression that not only are the writers more meticulous about the past, but the writing of this complicated history is where their main interest lies. In fairness the emergence of the new "craft movement" is a muddled one and not yet fully formed. Perhaps Boak and Bailey could let that one ferment for twenty years or so and then turn their skills to it?
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It is clearly written, straightforward in style, captures the essence of the issues that faced British drinkers and what was then done about it. The history is meticulously researched. It is weaker in its second half, though this is redeemed by a skilful weaving (doubtless intentional and maybe in recognition of the relative weakness) of the past and present and is studded throughout with attractive stories and slightly bonkers people. One criticism is perhaps more about who wasn't interviewed as
who was. Given the nature of the book, it might have been useful to seek
the views of someone who was there
throughout and is still there now, such as Tony Allen of Phoenix
Brewery. There are no doubt others. Of course in any book there are only so many characters that
can be fitted in and they have in such luminaries as Brendan Dobbin and Sean Franklin, chosen some of the best. Later inclusions though seem somewhat whimsical at times, such as the mention of the Campaign for Really Good Beer. Perhaps the authors elliptically allude thereby to the somewhat feckless SPBW (for whom they seem to have an abiding fondness) and their "drinking club" status?
To this writer, where the book excels is in the pulling together of a non linear story of change into a narrative of characters, key people and events. Those that are familiar with the story and those that are not and those that have even the most passing interest in British beer and brewing will equally find fascinating and educational. I would particularly recommend it to those that feel they are breaking new ground in brewing, drinking or being "different" or in a fancy bar with fancier prices. While the characters, the pubs, bars and beers have changed, the principles haven't. This book tells you in an easy to read way, that to a large extent, it has all been done before.
If you wonder how we in the UK got where we are today beerwise, I recommend that you buy it.
Brew Britannia. The Strange Rebirth of British Beer is, as they say, available from all good bookshops and on line.
The barman clutches a glass. He hesitates and I watch his mind wrestling with itself. I know what's afoot instantly. The glass is warm from the glasswasher. I know what he is thinking. He internalises the problem instantly and I see him putting the arguments to himself. "This glass is hot. Should I find another or just serve in it anyway ?" will be the gist. The decision is made more or less at once. Inside his head he silently says "Fuck it". The half is served in a warm glass, which I detect immediately by the simple expedient of putting my paw round it. "You made the wrong decision there" I say. The barman looks at me slightly uncomfortably. "We both know that glass was too warm for the beer don't we?" I add. He says nothing, but pours the beer away, checks for a cold glass and serves me the beer. I pay and say no more.
I am not the biggest fan of the cask products of Shepherd Neame which I find harsh and samey. I can't say the same about many of their non standard bottles though, which are quite the opposite. They are very good. Shep's should maybe look at putting some of them such as Brilliant Ale (which actually is) or Double Stout on cask, rather than the nondescript ones they do now. Early Bird, Amber Ale, Late Red? Just say no. They taste the same as the usual ones. Harsh and difficult to tell from each other. Be that as it may, I still like the nearest Shepherd Neame pub to my London flat and do go there. You'd hardly be attracted by the prices though, expensive as it is, even by local standards which are scarcely cheap. But I like the place. That's the thing about pubs. It isn't just the beer. The Princess of Prussia is very pubby, with a good mixed clientèle and a nice feel to the place. Distinct drinking areas, lots of dark wood for cosiness and a splendid, atmospheric, heated outside area at the back adds to its considerable attractiveness. It is pretty well run too and while I dislike the beer, I have never had a badly kept pint.
It is a decent size with some benches out front, a stall selling fancified pig flesh of some sort, run by an incredibly hairy guy and two skinny women and inside a neat spacious place with more benches, fridges of exotic beers down the left wall and a long bar with keg taps at the back. A non bearded barman greets us with a smile and a hello. He offers tasters and good advice, all in a non condescending way. He is very amiable and friendly. We choose two two thirds. Me of wheat beer, E of lager, which shows clearly the limitations of this glass. On a hot day, two gulps and there is almost nothing left of my beer, but hey, maybe that's just me. We take seats inside, as outside the few patrons practice the usual British policy of spreading themselves out to keep a space for six the domain of two. But we don't mind - it's nice inside and we can look out through the wide open doors at the trees (look to the right for this, otherwise it is the back of a nondescript building). We note that mercifully the music, playing at a sensible volume, is not techno beat, but something equally modern, without that drilling bass sound that makes you want to kill yourself, or, better, the bastard that put it on. Most of the men aren't bearded, which endears the place to me even more. We like it. 
Back to Bethnall Green Road and some history. We pass the sign for the Ship. A Watney's House, though there is no trace of the pub. I look with interest at the few open pubs. The Marquis of Cornwallis, the Star of Bethnall Green which I'd have liked to go in, rough though it looked, but E wouldn't. The Old George? No. Not this time. A new target for us was The King's Arms. It is disconcerting to turn a few yards off the main road with its distinct Asian feel into posh London with neat streets and that gentrified feel which is almost unique to London. The pub is majestic, with its long floor to ceiling windows and a good feel inside. The place though is more or less empty and the beer, ironically from Salford, is toasty warm. The cellarman is called. He apologises and pours a new one which is much better. He explains the beer lines aren't cooled to the point of dispense. He and I both shake our heads at this. Three casks, a few well chosen kegs, but it needed customers, though we did linger a while and one or two did wander in. We like it and again we'll be back. But I'll make sure I'm not the first customer for a while.
Now I'm no home brewer, but I like to think I know enough about the processes not to make a fool of myself, so our little team - thrust together absolutely randomly - first all determined that none of us were home brewers - or indeed any other kinds of brewers. So we had an even non brewing playing field and hopefully not too many preconceptions. We had though all listened carefully to the pep talk by Václav and another by Paddy and fortunately all of us had taken the same main message out of it "Less is more." We decided at that point that our recipe would be a tweak, not a complete re-write.
The water - brought from Pilsen was already being boiled - so we (Canadian Presenter and Filmmaker Nate Nolan, Norwegian writer
Line Elise Svanevik from In a Pub Magazine (who incidentally sounded as Norwegian as I do), Neil Walker, Blogger and National Press Officer at CAMRA and me) started thinking about malt. PU is brewed with 100% pilsner malt. We decided that we wanted something with more mouthfeel, so we substituted some melanoidin malt and just a touch of Munich to again add richness and also to add a touch of colour which in PU is provided by triple decoction. Not something we could do. That decided, it was into the boil. For those that like detail; 3.9kg Pilsner Malt, 325g Munich Malt and 75g Melanoidin Malt went in and a lot of hot and sticky stirring ensued.
The hops discussion was much livelier and longer lasting. PU is hopped solely with Saaz, but after much sensual rubbing, sniffing, oohing and aahing, we decided on an all Czech hop bill. Currying favour? Us? Certainly. So we had 40g Saaz in the initial boil, 20g of Agnus five minutes from the end and 40g of Kazbek (which we all really loved) to provide aroma at flame out. Sounds good? We thought so. We ended up more or less where we wanted to be with an OG of 1048.6. 21 litres in all. The wort tasted good. Much as we'd hoped, with good bitterness under all the sweetness and distinct lemon and spice. The worts were then chilled and the yeast pitched before being taken away to London Beer Labs for fermentation and lagering. 
