Remember Artois Bock

And so I tried several of the Marston’s revivalist beers over the weekend, which the postman had struggled up the path with: I enjoyed the Dark IPA and the Steam Beer, though my brow furrowed at the Saison, which I thought miles away from what I recognise a saison to be; it was lacking in austerity and flintiness and felt fat and ale-like on the palate. There was some boiled lemon sweetness but it confirmed the view that I had felt when first drinking it at Craft Beer Rising: it wasn’t a saison, even though the right yeast was used. It was drinkable but if you are going to call something a saison I would expect it to have some of its characteristics. Hey ho. Several months before, I had also tried the Greene King speciality beers with which the postman had struggled up the path and enjoyed a couple and felt let down by the rest. But at least they’re trying I thought.

However, the other thing that the beers propelled into the forefront of my thoughts was a memory of InBev’s Artois Bock, which perhaps one could say was one of the first attempts by a massive brewery to go all craft. Released in 2005 after much tasting and contemplation by the likes of Michael Jackson and Mark Dorber, it had, according to a piece I wrote in the Morning Advertiser at the time, ‘a smart stainless steel font and bespoke glassware, while quirky ads told the trade of this new arrival in what was called the “Artois family”’. No mention of the taste then.

One of my main memories of it was that in 2005 I was in my first year as secretary of the British Guild of Beer Writers and one of our major awards was sponsored by Artois Bock and InBev, which didn’t go down well with some members (InBev had announced the closure of the Hoegaarden brewery at the time). It was served at the Guild’s awards and dinner (and untouched by some) along with caramelized boneless quail with grapes, shallots and a Fuller’s Honey Gold reduction, accompanied by sweet and sour endive; meanwhile a wine writer won the eponymous award. The Artois family was then joined by something called Peeterman, an ethereal (read bland) light beer and then the ‘oak-aged’ lager Eiken Artois — all went the way of the ark in 2008.

I suppose it was all an attempt to give the brewers of Stella a bit of an upmarket cache, but as soon as I saw bottles of the Bock knocked down to £1 in the supermarkets I guessed the beer’s days were numbered — the beer was ok, but I seem to recall being underwhelmed by its character, disappointed, especially as the tasting notes on a chalkboard in the White Horse seemed to bear little relationship to what was in my glass (I blamed myself). Meanwhile, Peeterman was incredibly watery and I never even bothered to try Eiken.

I hope that the larger breweries continue to produce their niche beers, if only to demonstrate that their brewers can make good beers beyond the ones they make day in and day out (I also hope that they can perform that great mythical dance of being a ‘gateway beer’). However, if you see the bottles discounted in the supermarket then remember Artois Bock, the beery Nineveh of its day.

A pint of Greene King has me thinking about the politics of beer

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m sitting by the river outside a local pub, which happens to be owned by Greene King. Inside the bar, dark wood, antlers, the usual stuff, there’s a choice of Old Speckled Hen, Waddies 6X and IPA. I plump for the latter and note that it’s got the stainless steel gizmo that can dispense the beer in either a southern or northern style. The barman pulls a face when I ask him about the system. ‘I think it’s a bit of a gimmick,’ he grumbles. I tell him that I had tried the beer in a pub, first the northern one and then the southern one, and didn’t really notice much of a difference. 

Outside, drinking the beer, it’s a pleasant enough drop: citrus buzz, a flurry of spicy hop notes and a dry bittersweet finish. Having just done a bit of a cycle, it did the job but I would go mad and sign the pledge if I had to drink this all the time — it’s ok. But this makes me think. Am I biased about the brewery that produces this beer? When it won a silver medal at GBBF several years ago, the announcement was booed by the crowd there on the trade day. Was this because it was not a correct IPA? Was it because people were opposed to the way they operate their business? Was it because they are a very big brewery? Or was it because it the crowd in the hall listening to Protz pronounce from on high didn’t like the beer? Did it matter? If a beer has been adjudged to be good by a panel of pros does it matter that it is Greene King? 

I then started musing on the days when I used to write music reviews for leftie London listings mag City Limits and how I would invariably groan whenever someone would come up with a breathlessly written declaration that said radical record would shake the foundations of society or, er, something like that (it wouldn’t and it didn’t, and I felt the Fall and Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel more radical than any Red Wedger with a tambourine). 

In the here and now that translates into asking if the politics of beer matter? I don’t like Budweiser, Miller Lite and John Smith Bitter for a start — is that because of some collective mass psychological party line that is seared into my soul (dislike of their business matters, cheering on the little guys) or because I find the beers insipid and tasteless and besides there are some much better beers being produced by other breweries (large and small). I would like to think it’s the latter (though there’s probably a little bit of the former), and then where does that leave Greene King? Is it a case of if I look deep enough into my soul then maybe I am one with that jeering crowd from London (though happy enough to drink one after a cycle ride)? Or is it a bit simpler: I like Abbot Reserve, Crafty Hen and Strong Suffolk (I applaud Greene King for maintaining the tradition of blending and ageing beer) and don’t like the others?