That Quality Thing Again

I have a lot of sympathy for my CAMRA colleagues in the South West of Scotland. Real ale is rather thin on the ground around these parts and it must be difficult, in a sea of Tennents, to keep the cask beer flag flying.

I was in Dumfries and Galloway a couple of weeks ago and though my friends and I didn't try all the pubs that sold real ale, we had a go at quite a few of them.  Some, it has to be said, even though they were listed in the Good Beer Guide were less than enthralling quality wise.  The most common fault being tired beer and warm beer, probably  indicating turnover wasn't all it could be. There was exceptions though and hats off to the  Cavens Arms in Dumfries for spot on beer - though dining pushes drinkers rather to the side here - and the Selkirk Arms in Kirkcudbright whose beer was immaculate and, as we were the first customers of the day, was carefully pulled through to ensure quality. The resulting pints of Kelburn Pivo Estivo were well up to snuff and the beer garden, in unscheduled sunshine, was quite a bonus too.  So it can be done.

One thing we did notice was the dominance of beers from Greene King, supplied no doubt through their Scottish subsidiary, Belhaven. Fair enough, but not once in the half dozen or so pubs that sold Greene King, was a single cask ale from Belhaven available. Shame that.  It was sad too to see that beers in the local Wetherspoon in Dumfries were dominated overwhelmingly by Greene King and Marstons, though in fairness here, quality of what we had was good.

Now of course where there is a brewery tap, one can breathe a sigh of relief and relax in the knowledge that here at least will be a friendly welcome and beer as the brewer intended. Well you'd like to fondly imagine so wouldn't you? Sadly in the visit to the local brewery and tap, in my second Scottish home town of my youth, Castle Douglas - my grandparents lived there - that wasn't to be.  The beers were lifeless and warm and frankly near enough undrinkable. A quick look under the bar showed that the casks were not temperature controlled in any way and when this was mentioned to the barman, we were advised that real ale was meant to be served at room temperature. 

We made our excuses and left.

Yes, I will be dropping a note to my CAMRA colleagues in South West Scotland about the brewery tap. Brewery taps should be a beacon of real ale excellence. After all if you can't get cask beer there in the best form possible, then where can you? The only other bar in Castle Douglas purporting to have real ale, didn't have. We beat a hasty reteat to Dumfries for liquid sustenance.

The photo isn't beery, but shows Dumfries railway station at night. I spent many a time there with my Mum and sister waiting for the train to CD. Alas the line was axed by Beeching.

Losing Confidence in Cask?

I was in Scotland week before last and as usual, in the land of Tennents Lager, was wary about choosing cask beer where there was any. My experience, even in high turnover places like Wetherspoons, is that it can be hit or miss and more often than not, it misses.  As it happens, my first opportunity, fresh off the train was in the Counting House off George Square and it was hot, so looking at the pump clips with an array of dark Scottish beers, I decided, given the heat, that I wasn't chancing it and enjoyed instead - and I did - a couple of pints of keg. More of that later.

That night in the Captain James Lang, another JDW house, I thought, having spotted that Loch Lomond Brewery's Southern Summit was on the pumps, that I'd give it a go. It was only £1.79 and actually fairly good.  Alas when I returned to the bar, it had gone. I chose Skye Blonde and was immediately, before I'd go it to my mouth, assailed by a distinct whiff of vinegar.  I pointed this out to the barperson who had obviously read the Book of Barkeep Excuses.  "I think" she posited "it's meant to taste like that". Moving on to page 2 of the tome she added "I don't drink beer myself".   I was though given an exchange and turned down the offer of a whisky flavoured 7.8% beer from Strathven - despite it also being £1.79 a pint - in favour of a bottle. Minimum pricing? Take that Scottish Government.

I was in Helensburgh next day meeting an old pal. Alas in the Henry Bell, there was no cask I wanted to drink. All were around 4.8% and brown. As the barmaid herself, a Northern Irish lass of some character, noted "They could do with something pale and hoppy on, that's what I drink". Put her in charge of the cellar I say.  I did take her wise words on board as I stood wondering what to have. "Don't have the Tennents" my sage advised, "it's really shite."  This lass will go far or at least, ought to.

The day after my sister took me out for an hour. We went to the Balloch Hotel on Loch Lomondside, me having noted that it has a wide choice of real ales.  Of course it wouldn't be a Tandleman day out if some idiocy hadn't occurred.  The bar as you enter is L shaped with a bank of five handpumps immediately on your left. On the wall facing is the sign in the photo. My sister sat and I surveyed the wickets. "I'll have the Adnams" I thought. A few moments passed and I looked up the bar to the corner of the L. No barperson appeared but an old soak on a barstool shouted along the other angle of the bar and after a while a barmaid appeared. She seemed annoyed. "You should have come up to where the tills are quoth she."  "Are there more cask beers there then? I enquired. "No" she said "but I stand up there." This was getting interesting, but she had the last laugh. Only two handpumps were on. I chose London Pride which was a little tired but OK. This place is owned by Mitchell's and Butlers as a matter of interest.

On my return to Glasgow Central I had a pint in the Counting House again. This time I went for cask in the shape of Oakham JHB. That distinct whiff and then taste of vinegar again.  On pointing this out the server called a colleague, presumably the cask beer champion or something along these lines.  He took a straw out, dipped it in my beer and allowed a drop to roll onto his tongue."Hops" he pronounced. "And something else."  I agreed and pointed out the something else was vinegar.  My duff pint was exchanged for, yes you've guessed it. Keg.

Right I'm getting a bit fed up of reading this myself, but I am sure you get my drift by now.  Dodgy beer and dodgy bar staff don't make for a great combination.  It's the offer Stupid. If that isn't up to snuff, then you are on a loser.

I rather liked the beer pictured above from Jaw Brew whom I haven't even heard of. Really decent, though you do have to knock a bit of the CO2 out. I had it both visits and despite the murk, it didn't disappoint. Oh and I'm not losing confidence in cask really, but rubbish cask makes others do so.

For those that know Glasgow, I understand, Camperdown Place, another JDW just 50 yards away from the Counting House, has now closed due to Queen St Station redevelopment. Shame, as for the traveller with a suitcase, its ground floor toilets were a boon even if the beer choice was less extensive.

What's the Point?

I'm quite a fan of JD Wetherspoon though I'll readily admit its many faults, but on the whole, I quite like what they do.  People do call it a vast monolith that sucks the life out of other pubs, but I for one never forget that not so many years ago, there wasn't a single one. They have been built by one man and who can grudge such business flair that consistently gives a lot of people what they want? Not me.

Now back to these faults which can manifest themselves differently in different places. I'm not expert on the JDW pubs in Scotland outside the centres of Glasgow and Edinburgh,  but like their pubs in England, they vary and usually vary down to the competence or otherwise of the manager. As in all businesses, good managers bring flair, direction, purpose and enthusiasm. Take these away and you have a bad pub. Recently I was visiting my old mother in my home town of Dumbarton. Now Dumbarton isn't a wealthy town. The Wetherspoons there,theCaptain James Lang, only opened just over three years ago and it has added a lot to the town. Mothers and old ladies love it for coffee in the mornings. Old soaks like the prices, though I don't detect the same hard cadre of  9 a.m. John Smith's drinkers we get here in Middleton. It sells cask ale for the first time in Dumbarton since I left over 30 years ago and here's the point. No bugger drinks it.  I have tried when I visit and every time I have ordered a pint, I'm assailed by vinegar and the beer is "taken off". I'm offered a replacement with the same results.  Frankly if you don't drink Tennents Lager, get out of town  I shudder to think of the wastage rates.

On the following night I took the family for something to eat - no, not at the Captain James Lang despite the fact that there is less choice to eat in Dumbarton than you'd get in a Welsh Chip Shop - but to a carvery run by Crown Carveries, a subsidiary of Mitchells and Butlers.  The venue displays a Cask Marque sign outside, so all will be well? No, it won't. This time I asked for a taster. The Deuchars IPA was vinegar. The barmaid offered to pour some off as no-one had had any for "a few days". I declined and looking at the pumps, ordered a Heineken. No dice - "that's just for show".  So, a pint of Tennents was ordered.  The chatty barmaid explained that only Tennents and Guinness sell and that they have told M&B repeatedly that no-one drinks real ale, or Coors, or Heineken, but it seems it is a standard offer, so no changes. The barmaid said disparagingly "They are English - they don't get here. Just wasting their money."

The Pub Curmudgeon recently wrote about this subject here. I agree. What is the point of selling real ale where clearly there is no demand? There is none.  You have to grow a cask market and you won't do it by selling them vinegar and cask, in what is already stony ground for it, will get an even worse reputation. A downward circle of death.  That is not to say that you can't do something - you can - but you need to start off slowly, have offers and tastings, educate and encourage. If you don't do that you are lost.  Maybe M&B and Timbo should take a good look at their Scottish outlets. The market is different there and they should cut their cloth accordingly. 

As always, "It's the offer Stupid."

Why didn't I eat with the family in JDW?  Because I had an atrocious meal there when I had the duff beer. No prizes for saying which eggs were cooked by my 84 year old mother and which by JDW.
 
And no, I'm not saying either company should give up on real ale in Scotland, but apply a bit more individual thought and intelligence according to location. 

The carvery was really rather good and great value.

Two Things What Happened

Mudgie is always banging on about children in pubs. In fact he admits it to being "a bit of a hobby horse". Frankly I don't tend to come across them too much in the pubs I go to, though we do often get quite a few on a Sunday afternoon in the Tavern, but thankfully most are very well behaved.  We get far more trouble from dogs. My other haunts tend to be relatively child free, though the Rose of Lancaster, where I am often to be found of a Friday tea-time, usually has quite a few eating with parents.  It is though so well run, with high standards and a manager that is always there and having a word if needed, that I am not bothered by them one bit. That's as it should be.  Well behaved children enjoying themselves are a delight.

Not so on Saturday night.  In a pub near me which won't be named, I entered around seven in the evening with my lass. Firstly, in a heaving pub, we could see that almost every table was inundated with uncollected glasses and empty plates. Food was till being served and we did find a seat after moving glasses to a nearby table.  Children were running about shrieking and chasing each other, using the steps as a jumping playground and getting under the feet of the customers, and dangerously, staff bearing plates of hot food.  They were unchecked by their parents.  This is the kind of thing that really annoys.  To me, together with the uncleared tables and the absence of a manager taking control,  this is a sign that the pub is being run badly.  Children aren't the issue really, as children will be children, but the failure of parents to apply discipline was magnified by the failure of pub management to apply standards.  We supped up quickly and left and won't be back at a time when children are there. It was just a bit of a nightmare.

On a different tack, last night at our CAMRA Branch meeting in the Baum, I had a beer from a brewery in Kent whose beer I know quite well, as it is often available in London.  Having had it in less than optimal conditions in London, I nonetheless think it as a pretty good beer and was looking forward to trying it under the assurance of the highest possible standards, in this former National Pub of the Year.  This example wasn't. It was distinctly phenolic.  Now here's the thing. Discussing it with some of my fellows, only one out of four of five that tried it identified the distinct (to me) TCP overtones.  I recalled Mark Dredge writing about this and stating "this is another off-flavour which some people are more susceptible to tasting than others". Too true and a reminder that we all perceive flavour differently.  How many times have you thought a beer dreadful while someone else loves it - or, indeed, vice versa?

So two issues. One easy to tackle and one less so. The joys of the pub.

Now someone is going to say "Why didn't you complain?" Well, I have complained about this pub before to the owners and clearly nothing has changed. maybe the potential revenue loss might be an issue.  I'll just vote with my feet.

 

Not Pubs - Bars

I don't think Manchester is unique in having a fairly large number of trendy bars that aren't, in the traditional sense at least, pubs, but it is surely unusual on having large concentrations of them in two distinct and compact areas, Chorlton and in town, the Northern Quarter.  What I'd venture is even more unusual, is that almost all of them sell cask ale and good cask ale at that. So, on Saturday, with my oldest friend Mike, we tried a few and didn't go to a single pub as such.  And did we get good beer?  You bet we did.  Admittedly, none of it was cheap, but hey, that's Manchester for you.  It is rapidly becoming in some places at least, as expensive as London, but at least the beer is well conditioned, at the correct temperature and (usually) sparkled. 

We started off in Odd, which is part of  a well thought of chain, though this branch seemed determined to buck the trend.  Two beers from Privateer - yet another new Manchester brewery - a blonde and a brown one.  Pints of the blonde were procured and found to be vinegar.  Not good.  The brown one was okay, but warm.  Neither were sparkled with an explanation (by the manager I assume) that the barstaff couldn't get the hang of them and kept losing them, so they gave up.  Really?  Get better bar staff then, or someone who knows how to train them.

Things looked up after that in the fairly new Pie and Ale, with perfect but pricey (£3.60) Wilson Potter Tandle Hill.  So impressed was Mike that we had to have another.  It's one of my favourite beers, so no hardship there.  This is a very modern (and a bit soulless) bar concentrating on good beers and pie and mash. They keep the beer very well, so no complaints at all and the barman was a friendly enough sort.  It's a short walk thence to Port St Beer House and again excellent service abounded with advice (decent) and tasters offered.  We picked Caveman Palaeolithic and while it had some interesting and unidentifiable flavours, it wasn't bad at all.

Another skip round the corner took us to the excellent Soup Kitchen, a semi basement den, with the highest bar stools I've ever come across.  Men should be particularly careful in both ascending and descending, lest they ruin future chances. It was pleasantly busy with studenty types scoffing vegetable forward options.  Stout was the order of the day, from Liverpool Organic and damn fine it was too.   Heading back to Victoria Station to be handy for Mike's train, we popped into Common, a sister to PSBH and in an incredibly busy and vibrant bar, I was rewarded by Weird Beard Black Perle, a Milk Coffee Stout.  Now coffee stouts aren't my favourite thing, but this was well balanced and not over coffeed and went down a treat.  Cask conditioned and sparkled since you ask.

One last call.  Across the road from Common is Terrace, a long, bare brick bar with a youngish crowd.  There we finished off with Overtime from Six O'Clock Beer Company and finally, as us old men staggered off for a night snoring on the settee, Magic Rock Carnival.

The striking thing was that apart from our first place, we didn't get a bad beer, they were all thrivingly busy and it was good to see most bars supporting new local breweries.  Pubs are great, but good bars aren't bad either.

There was of course craft keg, but having laid out the route, someone else can have a pricey bash at that.

Baby It's Cold Inside

As this winter drags on and on, one place of solace ought to be the pub.  Excellent beer, a cheery welcome and a warm fug of heat as you enter, makes the winter blues dissipate somewhat does it not?  One problem I have found recently though in that otherwise cheerful picture I've drawn, is that far too many pubs are at the moment, not to put too fine a point on it, bloody freezing.

On Saturday, our trip to Magic Rock having taken the knock due to appalling weather, a brave band of us went for a few pints in Manchester.  It wasn't all plain sailing. On one of the coldest days of the year, it wouldn't be unfair to say that two well known pubs in the Northern Quarter, both in the Rochdale Road area, were as cold as a sheep on Arran.

 Times is hard I know and fuel bloody expensive, but you don't go to the pub as an endurance test.  A small coal fire in one room will not heat a large pub on a very cold day.  This really is a case of speculating to accumulate, because customers will simply not sit about drinking beer when the temperature inside would make a yak shiver.

Put another couple of pennies on a pint - I don't care -  but heat the pub up please.

It has to be said that the three, shall we say, less traditional pubs we visited, were lovely and warm. Even if the beer was icy.

A Forgiving Lot - Almost

The poll on bad pub experiences has closed. A reasonable 65 people voted and here are the results:

Shrug and put it down to experience - 7 (10%)

Complain politely and if not satisfied walk out vowing never to return - 14 (21%)

Walk out without complaint and vow never to return - 9 (13%)

Slag the place off to everyone you know afterwards no matter the outcome - 1 (1%)

Report them to Trading Standards - 0 (0%)

Give them a second chance then do one of the above - 34 (52%)

Unsurprisingly, given that most if not all voters were presumably British, our reluctance to complain, our stoicism in the face of adversity and our sheer good nature, gave a majority to the "second chance". A surprisingly healthy 33% were of a less forgiving ilk, with vows of "never to return". That is surely enough to give at least pause for thought to publicans. Bad experiences will lose you customers.

Thanks to everyone that took part.

A Fool to Myself

Now I am more open minded than most when it comes to JD Wetherspoon, though well aware of their limitations and faults. I kind of regard them as a distress purchase - good in certain situations. A bit like Guinness, not something you'd actively choose, but if there is nothing better, it'll do.

Last night we decided to nip along to the Liberty Bounds for their curry night as one of the few times I have had a curry there, I've quite enjoyed it, but there is a big caveat. I've always had their "thali" - a load of little sampler dishes of various curries - and though I am well aware it is microwaved, nonetheless, not too bad. First problem; they have stopped doing the thali. I also looked at the beers on the bar - an unremitting sea of brown. This is where I really got it wrong. We should have left at that point. After all the reason for going there in the first place was gone. But, fool that I am, we didn't.

I ordered the chicken jalfrezi. Poor beyond belief. It was a three or four chilli dish. Bollocks. I've had hotter cough sweets. The free drink should have been Pedigree, but luckily there was none. I chose Exe Valley XXV, mentioned here by Paul Garrard, who found it "a complex beer that keeps you guessing". No Paul, this tasted like fermented farmyard sweepings and was by a long way the worst beer I've had this year. Undrinkable rubbish. Feeling distinctly crabby by now, I took it back where it was exchanged for the second worst beer I've had this year, Goff's Tournament. Who let that out of the brewery? Determined to salvage something from the night, I orderd a Weston's Organic Cider. It had gone off. "Would I like Thatcher's Old Rosie?" "That'll be fine." No. That was off too.

We left with me in a bad temper, having had in spades the sort of experience that others frequently complain about. The only thing missing was the chavs. There isn't going to be much let up either. I picked up the JDW magazine which lists the forthcoming guest list. Brown, brown, brown, brown and fecking brown. They even boast about their darker autumnal range. What on earth is the matter with these people? Recommended by East-West Ales it seems. What's the matter with these people?

I know. It serves me right, but if Timbo had been there, he would have got a piece of my mind.

There are three really good beers on the list: Oakham Mompesson's Gold, Thornbridge Jaipur and best of all, the delicious St Austell Proper Job. The rest are a mixed bag of hopless wonders.

E's chicken tikka massalla - I know- was considered OK.

Putting Your Own House in Order

When I left the hall yesterday after Oldham Beer Festival set-up, I saw the back of my bus leaving. Damn. It was a half hour wait for the next one, so what to do? Conveniently there is a pub opposite the bus station. It is signed and run by Marstons. Do you remember that rant by Marston's MD Stephen Oliver that I referred to recently? I know he has apologised for most of it since, but remembering his boast that I could have all the choice of beer I'd like in his pubs, I went in.

Guess what? Of the 35 permanent beers boasted by Mr Oliver, exactly none were available. The pump clips were all turned round. Instead a lone Black Sheep pump coughed and spluttered a reluctant half of ice cold beer to me. The barman, with cigarette behind his ear, told me I might need it topping up as it had been giving trouble all day. He then retreated to the open back door to smoke said fag. It did need topping up, but I didn't bother asking for one, or wondering why he didn't change the beer onto a non faulty handpump. He had plenty to choose from and almost no customers.

There are many reasons why we don't go to pubs, but I'd imagine this cheerless experience would put you off for quite a while. I went back to the cold bus station. It was preferable by far and a much happier place. At least in a bus station hope and expectation fill the air. The pub is for sale or is it lease? No wonder.

Reading this Ollie?