Manifest destiny

Doug Odell stands up and talks. Rangy, weather-bitten face, small goatee — I imagine him as a driven pioneer forever pushing west in the 19th century. Manifest destiny. Pioneer: the right word. ‘Thirty years ago we were producing some of the most boring beers on the planet. Now…’ There’s no need to finish the sentence. I believe that the US is currently the most exciting place on the earth for beer at the moment (hell, beer is exciting across the whole world at the moment but I’m particularly fixated on the American guys). And that’s not just down to the buckets of hops that are being shovelled into brewing kettles right across the continent (I must admit I have reached a high water mark on IBU madness). On my recent trip to Vermont I discovered that these guys are getting lagers right; while saisons are undergoing the US treatment and walking right into my glass, some as sweet as Silly, others right on the nail like Dupont’s. Over the weekend I was enjoying He Said Beer…She Said Wine and Brewing With Wheat. Cask beer is also coming on, though to my mind the ones I tried had an unfinished, unrefined rawness that I didn’t particularly take to. But it’ll come. And as my liver shrinks back to its normal size after last week’s beer extravaganzas (the beerwriters soiree, my GBBF lager spree, and visits to the Rake, Brew Wharf, the Gunmakers and the White Horse) it’s last Wednesday’s American Craft Beer Dinner at the White Horse that still resonates. Victory Storm King huffing and puffing and cutting the cream on the cheese board; Odell Saboteur Brown Ale eyeing its chances with the Rack of Lamb and Sierra Nevada’s Kellerweiss going all soft and cooing as the honey mustard sausages and cured salmon crostinis were handed round. Beer had a deserved seat at the table here: crisp white tablecloths, glasses that shone and sparkled, bright with anticipation, as they waited for the beer to lap and foam at the rim; those in attendance ears cocked as Doug Odell and others spoke about the greatness on parade. A formidable evening. And last night as Sherlock Holmes reached its denouement, I was whisked back to that evening as I took the tab off a can of GUBNA Imperial IPA from Oskar Blues — a remarkably balanced beer, pungent and punchy, sun-ripened peach skin, a firm cracker undertow and a long resiny finish that reminded long after I had finished the can. Saluté.

Another beer?

‘Try this’ says someone, pointing out a tall bottle. Someone else chips in, ‘this is gorgeous, I would normally run a mile from such a beer’. Amongst the bottles on the table, little fellas, 330ml, the one that holds Goose Island’s Juliet is twice the size. Into the glass it goes, hazy and ruddy faced like an angry farmer, soft cloud-white foam on top. The nose is sour and vinous, the famous horse blanket aroma, a hint of hedgerow berries in the background; grapefruit, peachy, tart and tangy on the palate but this is Chicago rather than Brussels; a beer with wild yeast, a beer aged in cabernet barrels with blackberries. Absolutely wonderful. The same brewery’s Sofie is spritzy, soft and creamy. ‘Another beer.’ Anchor Bock, not had this before. Hands up who remembers blackjacks? A dark chewy retro sweet, aniseedy, prone to turning the tongue black. The aroma on this beer takes me back to the corner shop, jars of bon-bons, chocolate limes and blackjacks. The taste is an alcoholic dandelion and burdock, who thought a mere beer (mere beer?) had the power to take one back to childhood. All very in search of lost time. At the White Horse, the tasting of US beers brought in by James Clay and marshalled by the good people of RnR continues. I like the contrast between the IPAs from Goose Island and Flying Dog. The latter has a rugged hop sack character, is a bittersweet symphony, pungent and earthy and has a long train ride of a finish; the former has a softer more mellow citrusy nose, a sherbert like sweetness on the palate, but still manages to come up with a dry bitter finish. Which one is best? Depends on the mood and the moment, which brings me round to Orval, the beer that for me is a beer for all occasions, which then brings me to Goose Island’s Matilda, Orvalish and citrusy. Raging Bitch next, Belgian-style IPA, fragrant and floral on the nose, ripe, peachy, apricot and spice in the mouth, soothing bitter and fruity finish. I had it not long ago and didn’t enjoy the high Amarillo note in the finish; it’s not there this time. And to finish: Gonzo Imperial, coffee, cocoa, soot, smoke and bitterness, luscious vanilla, I bet this looks good in an ice cream float; then stand by your beds for beer sambuca: Brooklyn’s Black Chocolate Stout, spirituous, mocha, rich, Herculean, ‘now I am become death, a destroyer of worlds’. And with that out into the night, refreshed and replenished I went.

Life is full of too many choices and Saturday November 28 is a prime example

Modern life has too many choices, low-fat, skimmed, free range, organic, biodynamic, cold-filtered and so on — I don’t like it but come Saturday November 28th I will be faced with two choices too many. First of all this is the day of the St Austell Beer Festival, a roisterous and rumbustious celebration of beer and Cornishness at the old Victorian brewery that overlooks the town — over 100 real ales, with nearly a dozen of then brewed especially by Roger Ryman, will be available. When I say especially brewed, we’re not talking the meek and mild — in previous years there has been a coffee stout, a Czech dark lager, a Kolsch style (the prototype which I helped to brewed in the small brewhouse several years ago), a mango beer, Tribute Extra (Tribute beefed up and put in a whisky cask) amongst others. Beers from Cornwall, Wales, Man, Scotland and Ireland celebrate the Celtic nations (plus beers from hardy perennials like Woodfordes etc), but what also makes this festival special is that it has selections of foreign keg beers from California (Sierra Nevada last time I looked), the Czech Republic and Cologne; furthermore you can get Guinness, Carlsberg and several other regulars, which means that you see groups of mates going along, with none of that division you might get at ale fests. Also, I note that Sharps are supplying a couple of special beers, one of which is a 11% Imperial Porter — the two companies might be rivals in the real world, but in this fairyland of beer come Saturday the 28th they’re all pulling together. On the same day, it’s the second day of the White Horse’s Old Ales weekend festival, a righteous rite of passage for the cold months ahead. I have never ventured out to it sadly. I can still remember first reading about it in Michael Jackson’s Beer Companion, but the nearest I got was being at the pub several days after the event and as a reward been offered some Bernardus 12 straight from the cask (my journey back west was a bit hazy). This year, I am told that beers from Le Baladin, Birra del Borgo (I am desperate to try their Imperial Pilsner), as well as Duchesse de Bourgoyne in cask will be highlights, plus various old ales, barley wines and dark beers from the UK. So there you have it, a dilemma to challenge the greatest of philosophers, especially given that train times between Taunton and Paddington or St Austell are roughly the same. I can get the 7am bus out of Dulverton, a train after nine and be propping up the bar by midday, and back in Taunton in time for the 8pm bus home. At the moment inclinations are for St Austell (I don’t like London on Saturdays), but the White Horse is coming up fast. As I said too much choice.
The pic shows one of the beers from the 2006 festival.