More stuff to read....

A few interesting reads from around the web. The first's an article from Craft Beer & Brewing, a US site that's mainly aimed at homebrewers. Many of its articles are too US-centric for my taste, but it does also carry some thought-provoking pieces, including this one, Do IBUs matter? Some drinkers – notably hopheads – are obsessed with IBUs, apparently believing the higher a beer's IBU rating, the better it is. This article explains why IBUs tell you something about a beer, but not everything, not by a long chalk!

Like CAMRA's technical committee, which has finally acknowledged that you can have keg-conditioned real ale, I've had more than a few of those cask vs keg discussions where you try to point out that today's kegs are a world apart from the Red Barrels of the 1970s, then someone says “Well, what about the xyz-keg?” and you have to admit that, actually you don't know that one. So it was great to read this long piece on the Ale is Good blog which is basically explaining from a distributor or server's point of view what all the different kegs are. He doesn't really cover the real ale aspects, but hey, there be dragons...

Original 1930s conetop beer cans

And then earlier today, I picked up an item on Jeff Bell's blog where he quotes a tweet from Fuller's John Keeling, expressing the latter's doubts over micro-canning – doubts which Jeff shares. It reminded me that I never really flagged up my own article on the subject of micro-canning, which was published earlier this year in Engineering & Technology, the magazine of the Institution of Engineering & Technology. I was very pleased with the way it came out in print, and the online version's pretty nice too.

This last one was sent in to me, it's an incomer's view of The Best Bars in Neukölln – a hip district of Berlin that is now gentrifying, after decades as a big Turkish & Lebanese area. I mention the article partly because it reminds me how different people have quite different motives for loving bars and pubs. Berlin is home to a bunch of great breweries, several of them in Neukölln including Berliner Berg which is one of the newest, and Privatbrauerei am Rollberg which is inside the old Berliner Kindl brewery building (and which seems to have overcome my initial misgivings to become very well liked). Yet in all his discussion of bars the only beer he mentions is Neumarkter Lammsbräu which is from Oberpfalz in Bavaria!

For goodness Saké

“Saké, that's that Japanese rice wine, isn't it?” For most of us this is probably the limit of our understanding, perhaps augmented by having had hot saké after a meal at a noodle or sushi restaurant – certainly it was my understanding until not very long ago.

But hey, this is Japan we are talking about, and nothing much seems to happen there without several layers of added complexity and tradition... And sure enough, once you dig in, there is a quite a bit more to saké than appears on the surface, as I discovered when I was invited to the Japanese Embassy in London for a tasting of medal-winning sakés from this year's International Wine Challenge. 

Mashing saké

For a start, while it is usually considered a wine, its production is a lot more like beer. Just like malt, but unlike grapes and other fruit, rice contains lots of starch but little fermentable sugar; it also lacks amylase, the starch-converting enzyme that barley has. That means it must be steamed then mashed with a special mould which converts the rice starch into sugar. After a few days you add water and yeast, the mould continues producing sugars and in parallel the yeast ferments them into alcohol.

To add complexity, not only are there dozens of different varieties of saké rice, but they can be prepared in different ways, giving rise to multiple grades of saké. More variation comes from the many types of yeast available – another parallel with beer brewing, where two different yeasts can produce utterly different results from the same wort – and the water used. Then to top it off, for some grades of saké the brewer adds a small proportion of distilled alcohol before pressing the liquid out of the mash, this dries the wine out a little and extracts more flavour from the mash.

That said, the range of flavour is rather narrower than with beer or wine. There are no added flavourings – no hops or spices – no tannic grape skins, and the grains are not roasted to alter their character, unlike barley malt. So most sakés are clear or very lightly coloured, and like a white wine the flavours range from dry and crisp to sweet and fruity, sometimes with lightly earthy or spicy tones. For instance, Katafune Tokubetsu Honjozo (a medium grade, above regular Honjozo) from Takeda Shuzo offered notes of melon and butter on the nose, with a touch of ginger in the body.

A big part of the difference in flavour comes from how much the rice is polished to remove the husk and the outer layers of the core, explained Nobuo Shoji of Yumegokoro Shuzo (Shuzo means sake brewery). It's expressed in terms of what percentage of the grain is left after polishing, and of course the more you polish away the less is left to mash and ferment so the higher the price. The most expensive Daiginjo might be 50% or even 30%, while everyday Honjozo or Futsushu table saké might use 70% or more of the grain.

To demonstrate he offered me tastes of two different sakés, his 70% Futsushu being dry and spiritous, with a pleasantly rustic and slightly chewy quality, while the 50% Junmai Daiginjo (Junmai means it's all rice, with no added alcohol) was smooth with notes of melon and honey, also dry yet with a sweet edge.

I found something similar with the sakés from brewer Kenji Ichishima of Ichisima Shuzo. His Hidematsu Aka, a 70% Honjozo style, was dry, faintly spicy and again spiritous, with light hints of pear and lychee, while Hidematsu Yamabuki (another Junmai Daiginjo) was rather smooth and mellow, dry-sweet with aromas of green apple and a little tropical fruit.

One thing that did surprise me was how strong most of the sakés were – there was very little under 15%, and some were over 18%. Kenji explained that there has been quite an improvement in fermentation yields in recent decades, but he added that 15% remains the norm – it became the standard, with stronger brews diluted to 15%, because it used to be that anything above 15% was taxed more highly.

Less surprising was the fairly traditional nature of all the saké on display here – with Japan's ongoing craft beer revolution, some saké brewers have diversified into beer, but not the ones I spoke to. There are a few saké variations – aged or sparkling saké for instance, and Aizu Homare's brewer said he also produces fruit-flavoured saké which is popular with younger drinkers and in North America. I guess alcopops get everywhere. Thankfully he had none of that with him, so instead I enjoyed his aromatic and dry-sweet Banshu Yamadanishiki Junmai Daiginjo, with an earthy and slightly funky nose that reminded me of a Saisonbier.

And that tradition is part of what the saké brewers are hoping to sell abroad. It's understandable – saké's flavour range is much narrower than many other drinks can manage, so they have added complexity in other ways, especially tradition and ritual. That said, there is definitely more depth and subtlety to saké than many of us non-Japanese initially realise, and it's amazing what flavours you can get from just rice and yeast. Try it, next time you get the chance.


Sadly, I couldn't take any photos – the embassy's worship of the jealous god Security means a blanket ban on photography, even when the subject is just a glass of liquid sitting on a white tablecloth.

Moor Weird beer please!

Are brewery taproom visits like buses – you wait for ages, then two come along at once? Maybe it's something to do with the great weather too, but either way, it's been a fruitful weekend, meeting family at Moor Beer in Bristol on Saturday, then cycling with the tribe to Weird Beard's open day in Hanwell on Sunday.

We first met Moor about 10 years ago, when it was run by a Somerset farmer and his daughter, who had just won 2004 Champion Winter Beer of Britain for one of her beers, called Old Freddy Walker. A few years later, she had moved on and her father sold the brewery, and then last year the new owner (and brewer) moved it from Somerset into Bristol, rightly realising that the Bristol beer scene had taken off in a big way and that it could be the ideal place for a brewery with a taproom.

And what a nice little site he has created. Sure, it's in an unlovely and somewhat run-down area behind Temple Meads station, bounded by roads and the railway, but it's just about walkable from the city centre and inside is a bright bar with ten keg taps, while outside is a gravelled beer-garden (well OK, a beer-yard) with several picnic tables.

If there's a tiny gripe (apart from the lack of cask ale!) it's that you can buy third-pints for indoor drinking, but only halves and pints to take outside. I guess it's because they use plastic cups for outdoors and they don't have these in thirds. It does make one a bit wary of enjoying the 6% or 7% beers though. Still, you can always buy bottles to take home instead – including Old Freddy Walker, by the look of it the only beer left from Moor's previous incarnation – or buy a two-litre growler and have that filled up.

But whatever, we enjoyed several very nice ales. They ranged from the new 3.8% jasmine-infused Rider's Revival, brewed to celebrate the Tour de France, via Radiance, a 5% golden ale brewed with German malts for a Helles-like character, and Illusion, a piney 4.5% black IPA, through to Hoppiness, a chewy and fruity American IPA at 6.7%. The chilli-dogs and cheeseburgers from the July 4th-themed barbeque were jolly good too!

Then on Sunday was one of Weird Beard's periodic open days at its Hanwell brewery, on a small industrial estate near West Eaing. This isn't the easiest place to get to, certainly not by public transport, but it still seems to attract a good crew of locals who can walk or – like us – cycle there. In fact its closest transport medium is the Grand Union Canal which is right next to the industrial estate, and while a road route might be marginally shorter than the bendy canal – it's actually the canalised River Brent at this point – the waterside route is much nicer and can be a doggie walk too.

After a slow drive back from Bristol in heavy traffic, then cycling along the waterside and nearly losing a dog on the way, we reached Weird Beard with less than an hour to go before its 7pm close. I'd missed one that I wanted to try, but there were still three beers on tap, plus of course bottles in the fridge. We both enjoyed the new incarnation of Little Things that Kill, just 3.8% but full flavoured, and hoppier than many session IPAs.

I also had the Faceless Spreadsheet Ninja – I'm told this could be the last batch of this 5.5% Citra-hopped Pilsner, as they need their remaining stocks of Citra for other beers, but we can expect to see new versions with different hops. (Faceless Wordprocessor Ninja? Database Ninja?) Also still on tap was Something Something Darkside, their 9% black beer which I love – it's somewhere between an Imperial Stout and a Double Black IPA, and is rich and complex.

The tribe enjoyed themselves too – the kids ambled about, with the boy discovering the one-armed bandit, and the dogs made new friends. It was really nice to see the WB crew again too. At last though it was time to head off, along with a few bottles for later consumption. Back along the canal and already looking forward to the next one. We'll try to be earlier next time!

Fourpure pushes the boat out

The evolution and growth of new London microbrewery Fourpure over the last couple of years has been little short of astonishing. Set up as an avowedly keg-only brewery with a small range of typical 'craft beer' styles to target restaurants and the like, it has rapidly pivoted not only to produce a wider core range but also the regular specials and seasonals loved by an increasingly innovation-hungry market. And while it still doesn't do cask ale, it was one of the first in the country to adopt microcanning technology, scoring a notable win very recently when Marks & Spencer added two Fourpure canned beers to its range.

Why was my Pale Ale leaning?!

When I visited the brewery two months ago, it was a far cry from the near-empty shed I recall from my first visit  back in 2013. What little space wasn't filled with brewing and canning gear was heaving with people, enjoying both the two excellent specials being launched that day, a saisonbiere called French Farmhouse and a coffee-infused pale ale called Morning Moon, and the regular beers.

So when the invitation arrived to the launch of two more new Fourpure beers, I knew I wanted to be there. We weren't at the brewery this time but at Mother Kelly's, a relatively new and very popular (except with real ale stalwarts, as it's keg and bottle-only) bar in increasingly hipster Bethnal Green. It has to be said this is a lot more accessible than the brewery, which is on an industrial site at the far end of the Bermondsey beer mile, invisible and not signposted from the road, so unless you know where you're going you won't find it easily.

The new beers this time were a draught American-style wheat ale called Skyliner, a dry-hopped version of Fourpure's well-regarded (and canned) Pils, and a semi-secret second draught beer, a 3.7% sour ale called Hoptart.

I went for the Hoptart first, finding it refreshing and cleansing, and rather like a hoppier than average Berliner Weisse. Head brewer John Driebergen conceded the latter, adding though that he while was "borrowing Berliner Weisse techniques, I'm not making a Berliner Weisse. Other aspects of it are borrowed from Session IPA, British golden ale, and so on.”

Fourpure's Hoptart

The recipe also needed to fit in with Fourpure's other brews: it was kettle-soured before boiling, so no extra microflora entered the fermentation vessels. This might give a less complex result (my words, based on Ron Pattinson's research and other stuff I've read around Berliner Weisse, not John's) but it keeps the brewery clean!

"Why not do something sessionable that's also sour? Sour beer is only going to grow," John said. "My one worry is that people jump on the sour bandwagon and send beer out that isn't ready and without knowing what microorganisms are still alive in it - those things can live anywhere, including the beer lines."

Moving on, I was expecting Skyliner to resemble the hopped-up Weizens that the Germans call Hopfenweisse, but this lacked all those fruity and spicy Hefeweizen notes. Instead it offered some grass and lemon and a bit of a grainy note, followed by an astringent bitterness that overpowered the rest. Not really my thing!

To my surprise, the star of the three was the dry-hopped Pils. I'm used to Pilsners being samey and/or relatively one-dimensional, so I rarely seek out the style, but this one was right up there with the best of the new-wave German Hopfenstopfer (dry hopped) lagers. Pleasant leafy and herbal aromas lead you into a malty and lightly bready body, with grassy and citrus hops and a firm yet balanced crisp bitterness.

Fourpure is now brewing up to eight times a week – it has a 20-barrel kit and eight fermenting vessels – and whatever it brews is already half-sold, John told me. Indeed, where two years ago I marvelled at how much empty space they had, they now need more room.

Something's brewing in Highbury

London's newest brewpub opened last week. The Brewhouse & Kitchen Highbury is a sibling to the B&K Islington, and it too returns to the city a lost brewery: in this case the brewing kit was formerly in the Lamb in Chiswick.

The Highbury pub was previously The Junction and The Tramshed, and as those names imply it was once the terminus of the Highbury to Aldwych tram line. You would hardly know that now,  though – sure, it is long, but floors have apparently been inserted above and below the current public area. (Check out the iron roof columns, which appear to run through the wooden floor, with no column bases visible.)

On our visit, which was officially a preview for the new format, the pub had just reopened after a six-week refit. The brewkit had not yet been connected up, but it should be up and brewing now in the hands of Pete Hughes who has moved up from B&K Islington. The ales were still flowing for the preview though, Pete having brewed six of the recipes designed for Highbury on his other brewkit, and the kitchen was open too, serving excellent bar snacks.

It's undoubtedly an attractive venue, done up in a sort of industrial chic style, with a long side bar, a decent sized terrace out front, and a more open space inside at the back, in front of the brewkit. Talking of which, I hope Pete has more fermenters somewhere, as I didn't see enough!

The beers we tried were good, although a couple seemed a bit thin and might benefit from a little more development. I'm sure this will sort out with time and more brews. As elsewhere, the beer names are locally themed, several for the nearby Highbury football ground but others for historic local residents.

Best of the lot for me were the Illustrator Black IPA, named for Charles Dickens' illustrator, who was local, and the No.19 Brown Porter, named for the nearby bus route, but the Goalscorer Session IPA also scored well.

As well as eight handpumps there's a bunch of keg fonts, currently mostly for foreign non-micro lagers as far as I could see, but I know they plan to brew lagers on-site too. B&K also carries a decent range of bottled beers. I used to live just up the road a few decades ago, and my, how the area has changed. But if I lived there still, I could well imagine this place being one of my top locals.

As a bit of background, the B&K story is an interesting one: the company was formed by Simon Bunn and Kris Gumbrell, two of the directors of Convivial, a small pubco which ran several London pubs, including two gastro-brewpubs, most notably the Botanist on Kew Green which pioneered the format under its then manager Mark Wainwright.

While Convivial sold out to M&B, which promptly ripped out the breweries, Kris, Simon and Mark had other ideas: they wanted to take the gastro-brewpub concept and grow it outside London. They now have half a dozen sites around southern England, with the most recent being Bristol (where I believe Mark is now brewing) and Highbury. I hope this will shows a triumph of long-term vision over short-term expedience and greed; time will tell.

Will there be more in London? Simon was a little pessimistic when I asked: "Brewpubs are the future, but it's hard to get good sites at a reasonable price in London, which is why we've done more expansion on the South Coast," he said, adding that the next planned openings are two sites in the Bournemouth area.

American drinkers take up a British interpretation of American craft beer

If you've been in a Marston's pub* lately, you may well have seen a keg font offering a rather nice American-style Pale Ale from Shipyard Brewing Co of Portland, Maine, in the US. You might even have thought it was an American import, but it's not – it is brewed by Marston's to a recipe that Shipyard devised specifically to suit British tastes.

And in a coals to Newcastle twist, that same beer is now being brewed by Shipyard too in the US – a British version of an American beer style, brewed for the American market.

The tale, as told to me by Marston's brewmaster Simon Yates (apologies to him for any bits I've misremembered!), started in the 1980s with brewer Alan Pugsley working at Peter Austin's Ringwood Brewery, now owned of course by Marston's. Alan moved to the US to build breweries, and then in 1994 opened his own – Shipyard. Hankering after the British ales he'd helped brew, he asked to brew one of them under licence for the US market, namely Ringwood's Old Thumper. In return came Ringwood's Boondoggle summer ale, "originally brewed at Shipyard while visiting," says Simon.

Fast forward a few years to 2012, and the relationship between Shipyard and Ringwood/Marston's continues, with Alan visiting to brew a guest cask beer at Ringwood, called Shipyard Independence Pale Ale. It had a big citrus nose, and was dry-hopped with Chinook, Cascade, Columbus and Centennial, all of them American.

This was pretty popular as a guest, and it had become obvious that there's a good market for American-style Pale Ales and IPAs in the UK, so Simon and the Marston's crew asked Alan to help them create a suitable keg beer too. "The Pale Ale was a mash-up between Shipyard and Marston's," explains Simon. They tweaked Independence and did test brews, one was chosen, and it launched on keg as Shipyard American Pale Ale in May 2013, still with those same four American C-hops.

The Shipyard guys never planned to brew it in the US – the recipe was created for Britain. But then session beers (which for the US means about 4.5% alcohol or less!) took off there, so they took the Marston's recipe and brewed it themselves. It launched there last year, and is now causing confusion right across the beer ticking world, with drinkers unable to work out which one they're drinking. What jolly fun, eh?

*Or even some Wetherspoons - I saw it last week in the White Swan, Highbury Corner. 

Bloody grapefruit beers!

A passing reference by The Beer Nut to a Polish grapefruit-Weizen Radler reminded me that this is also one of the fastest growing beer-mixes in Germany. The best-known, and probably the best-seller, is almost certainly Schöfferhofer Grapefruit, but pretty much every larger brewery now seems to do a grapefruit Radler – and yes, they all call it grapefruit rather than the older German name, pampelmuse.

Initially they were all 2.5% ABV mixes with Weizen/Weissbier, but now mixes with blond lagers are appearing too, as are 0% mixes made with non-alcoholic Weizen. And while they may be flat and watery with little noticeable beer character (hello Schöfferhofer!), I don't usually find them as offensively sweet as traditional lemonade Radlers and shandies can be.

Then I suddenly realised – grapefruit is also one of the aromas and flavours that's often associated with craft beer, to the extent that those who don't like modern citrus-hoppy pale ales and the like tend to disparage them as “bloody grapefruit beers”.

OK, in this case the grapefruit character is from the hops, usually (but not exclusively) US ones such as Cascade or Chinook, and the flavours are more grapefruit bitterness than sweetness. But the parallels are there.

And sure, you can see it with other citrus fruit too – lemon is a long-standing one of course, and I recently greatly enjoyed Beavertown's Bloody 'Ell, which is an IPA with blood oranges in the boil – but grapefruit is the one that's taken off with both the aficionados and the mass market.

So what is it about the characters of beer and grapefruit that make them go together so bizarrely well?!