A brief encounter with the beers of the North East

Between Christmas and New Year, I spent a few days in the North East visiting relatives, giving me a little bit of time to explore the area’s beer offerings. I thought I'd take the opportunity to indulge in the super-basic “I went here and drank this” style of beer blogging, a form I love reading and have only ever applied to trips abroad. So, simply enough, here’s what I found.

Our first stop was The Boat House Inn in Wylam, a beloved real ale-focused pub located right next door to the train station and attracting beer-loving visitors from miles around. As a pub, it’s a slightly odd place – the bar room wasn’t exactly intimidating, but had an oddly still atmosphere, possibly as a result of the lack of music. By early evening, the place was heaving and the atmosphere lively enough that it wasn’t needed, but in the quarter-full pub in the middle of the afternoon, I almost didn’t dare speak out loud. It feels cosy, with an open fire at one end, but in truth was freezing cold, and the lounge next door was even colder and dark, too.

But you come for the beer, of course, and the cellarmanship on show here is second to none. The ambient temperature probably helped, but everything was served beautifully cool, with a picture-perfect sparkled head and gentle tingle of carbonation. I rarely come across poor quality cask ale, but such jaw-droppingly brilliant examples are even rarer. On top of this, The Boat House sells Walkers’ rarely-spotted Pickled Onion flavour crisps which I have previously evangelised here and had to buy, though they clashed horribly with my beer.

Pedants will note that the eponymous Wylam brewery was never actually based in the town, initially brewing in nearby Heddon-on-the-Wall before their move into Newcastle. According to a conversation on the adjacent table on which I was eavesdropping, The Boat House was once a sort of unofficial brewery tap, but this is no longer the case. There’s still a Wylam beer on the bar, though – 004 Palisade, one in a series of single-hop pale ales and showcasing an American variety I’ve never heard of. Pouring an attractive amber, it’s perhaps just a touch too sweet, with a red berry flavour leaning heavily towards strawberries and a building bitterness. 

The pub is now reportedly a flagship for Newcastle’s Hadrian Border Brewery, and their Tyneside Blonde was pouring. Another simple beer, all biscuity Marris Otter with a gentle lemon hop character, livened by an unexpected sulphurous aroma. I’d like to meet this one again. There was also Trade Star from Firebrick in Blaydon, which was billed as an amber ale with New Zealand hops but drank like a slightly metallic English bitter with a very gentle background of tropical fruit. Pleasant enough. Best of all was Fyne Ales’ Jarl, from across the Scottish border – peachy, with a hint of oily, dank hops - simply superb, and far superior to the already very good kegged and bottled versions.

In Durham, we had lunch at the Head of Steam, one of a chain of Belgian-focused beer bars now owned by Hartlepool’s Cameron’s brewery. Stonch recently praised their Sheffield venue as an example of how craft and ‘normal’ beer can co-exist, and the same is true of the Durham branch, which was doing a roaring trade in San Miguel on our visit. The cask offering is top-notch here, too – I went for Reindeer Porter from Leeds Brewery, a relatively straight-up offering despite its festive name. It was delicious, mind – smooth and rich, with a big dollop of sweet caramel, milk chocolate, some mild coffee roast and red berries. And just for fun, I followed it with a St. Bernardus Christmas Ale. Though served too cold from keg, it was lovely, generous helpings of nutmeg and clove lightened by strong banana esters and zingy citrusy lemonade finish.

Sadly, I had time for just one stop in Newcastle, which was Wylam’s majestic brewery tap in Exhibition Park. The fifteen minute walk from the town centre was simple enough, but it was dark, and the council might consider installing some lamposts before the inevitable consequence of placing a drinking establishment on the edge of a poorly-lit duck pond occurs. Anyway, it’s a beautiful building and an amazing space inside, close to what I imagine the larger US brewery taps to be like – spacious, with drinking areas stretching over multiple rooms, and with a separate event space as well as the brewery itself. Even arriving three minutes after opening, we were far from the first customers, and it was heaving by the time we left, with a diverse crowd – a couple of young lads glued to iPads at one end, and my 87 year old grandma keeping it real for the older crowd. She loved her half-pint of Galatia. Most importantly, the brewery tap showcases the Wylam beers at their absolute best, which ought to be integral to a tap room’s purpose but isn’t always the reality.

I was desperately thirsty when I arrived, so opted for Solar Terminator, an unfiltered and dry-hopped pilsner. It has a beautiful tropical aroma, all mandarin and melon, and the flavour is clean as you like, allowing those fruity hops to shine. It’s also hugely bitter, which I may not have enjoyed if I’d had it in isolation, but led me into my next selection nicely. Nomi Sorachi is probably the best use of Sorachi Ace I’ve yet encountered. It’s very pale, minimising interference from the malt, and utilises all the tropical fruit flavours the hop can bring – tons of clementine, toasted coconut and lemon drops – whilst largely avoiding the savoury, herbal edge.

Almost everyone seemed to be drinking Jakehead, the brewery’s flagship IPA. I’ve tried this before, leaving a positive write-up as I checked it into Untappd, but had somehow misremembered it as overly sweet in the meantime. I figured it would taste best directly from the source, so ordered it anyway, and it turns out I was quite wrong. There’s a little residual fruit-chew sweetness, but it’s certainly not overbearing, and doesn’t prevent a big whack of pine and lemon zest from registering, with a little mint in the finish. Although it’s obviously far less intense, there’s a juiciness about it that reminds me of some of the Cloudwater DIPA series – high praise indeed. Finally, 3000 Gyles from Home, a cream porter. Some fun cocoa, caramel and chocolate milk flavours here, but the finish is a little metallic and the body a touch thin.

I'm well aware that Newcastle deserves at least an entire dedicated day of beering, but it wasn't an option. Next time, I hope, because it seems like a great city for drinking as well as being a great city for just about everything else. And in general, the North East seems to be in fine fettle for beer - besides the likes of Wylam making a name for themselves on a national scale, there's a healthy population of small local breweries, and not one but two relatives told me about the new micropubs in their towns. You can keep your Newcastle Brown Ale.

Sussex CAMRA beer festival 2016

Last weekend saw the 26^th Sussex CAMRA branches beer festival at Brighton’s Corn Exchange. Here are some thoughts on my experience of the festival and the beers I drank.

The beer

With over 170 beers at this year’s festival, the 13 mild ales on offer might not seem much. But I’d all but declared mild extinct in this part of the country - admittedly, many of the examples here are from further afield (further North), but there’s a certain type of beer geek that’s inexplicably drawn to such unfashionable styles, and I’d proudly count myself among them – so 13 milds in one room is pretty exciting to me.

That said, I drank only a few as there were so many other beers I wanted to try, but they were all very tasty and extremely moreish (mild isn't best suited to third-of-a-pint servings) and helped clarify my idea on what mild means. First was Leeds’ Midnight Bell, an elegant beer with a lightly roasty malt backbone and some earthy, vegetal hops adding depth. The hoppy bitterness is bigger than I expected from the style, possibly due to the unusual addition of Willamette hops. Kissingate’s Black Cherry Mild is, obviously, also atypical, though it does have a similar light roasty foundation. It’s too sweet for my tastes, although it does taste like real cherries rather than a sticky, syrupy synthetic flavouring. Arundel’s Black Stallion , a mild that actually does hail from Sussex (though they seem reluctant to refer to it this way), was another solid offering, and I really hope I get to become properly equated with a few pints of it some time. Finally, Summer Wine’s Resistance was the best of the bunch - beautifully balanced between sweet toffee-like malt and bitter hops, with a hint of vanilla adding depth. I've unjustly ignored this brewery for no good reason for too long, and I’ve clearly been a fool.

Stewart’s 80/, a Scotch ale, isn't so different to some of these milds – a little sweeter with next to no discernible hop bitterness, it’s a big, soft, fluffy, malty comfort blanket of a beer. Brighton Bier’s Freshman, an IPA in the Vermont style, is at the other end of the spectrum – super pale malts imparting as little character as possible, accentuating the big, juicy hop hit I’ve come to expect from this brewery. It’s all about hop aroma and flavour, and bitterness is consequently low – it’s exactly the kind of IPA I love, and Brighton Bier’s most accomplished beer yet.

There was also plenty to appeal to fans of smoked beer like myself. Gun Brewery, from Heathfield in East Sussex, have often impressed me, and the new Smoked Rye they've brought with them is excellent – an authentic swirl of Bamberg-style smoke, with a wonderful herb-like finish recalling oregano and rosemary. Langham’s Aegir porter also brings a hefty dose of smoke, alongside a smooth, slightly sweet malt character. Brigid Fire from Celt Experience is a smoked rye IPA that slightly disappoints in the smoke department, and doesn't present itself as particularly hoppy either. Its interesting feature for me is the bierre de garde yeast, which imparts the kind of honeyed sweetness you find in a beer like 3 Monts, or the marzipan character of Jenlain Ambrée. It’s a complex beer that I pondered carefully with every sip.

And finally, some big hitters. Hammerpot’s Baltic porter was smooth and full bodied, with a rich tang suggesting port wine. Kissingate’s Murder of Crows was my undisputed highlight of the festival -  a huge, double-mashed imperial stout, reportedly aged for a year before release. It’s rich and sweet with muscovado sugar and clementine flavours, but also slightly tart and tangy, resulting in a balsamic sweet and sour character reminiscent of a Flanders Red. It’s a very special beer, and one you absolutely must order if you’re lucky enough to see it out in the wild.

Alongside some great beers, the event was well organised – all beers in tip-top condition, very few not ready in time for the opening session – and the volunteers were great, everyone enthusiastic and friendly.

Room for improvement

There’s definitely room for improvement, though. I’d love to see the introduction of key kegs (as per the recent CAMRA festival in Manchester), especially as increasing numbers of local breweries are beginning to experiment more with kegged beers. Although I was happy to stand throughout the session and saw plenty of free seats, it’s a shame the seating has to be tucked away around the edges of the room, isolated from the atmosphere of the festival, and seats with tables would be especially practical. I accept that this is a necessary compromise given the space available at the Corn Exchange, and the choice of venue may well explain my other complaint – the food.

The food is, I think, provided by the venue’s in-house catering, and it’s possible that they won’t let the festival bring in outside food vendors, although that wouldn't make much sense considering they’re bring in hundreds of casks of beer from outside. Most of it looked fine, but the festival website and programme both promised vegetarian and vegan options. When I asked about the vegetarian option, I was given a choice of a cheese and onion pasty or chips. The pasty offering was a bit crap, but consigning any vegans to nothing but a plate of chips is just an insult, and especially annoying since it would have taken very little effort to knock up a vegan alternative to the food that was already there – a vegetable chilli alongside the meaty equivalent, vegan sausages (which are available in pretty much any supermarket) for hot dogs. Don’t claim to cater to dietary requirements if you can’t be bothered to do it properly, or even better, ask one of the innumerable vegan-friendly food businesses in Brighton to do it for you.

Whilst it’s not the CAMRA festival’s fault, it’s a shame that so many beer events in the city coincided in such a short space of time. Tiny Rebel’s ‘town takeover’ at various pubs across the city overlapped, and the Thursday night session that I attended clashed with a Siren tap takeover/meet the brewer event at Craft Beer Co. BrewDog Brighton also organised a Sussex keg beer event which I’d have been keen to check out if it wasn't for their continual childish CAMRA baiting in promoting it – there are plenty of us who like cask and keg beer and don’t drink the BrewDog Kool-Aid any more than we pay regard to the conservative faction of CAMRA, so why alienate these drinkers?

Several of these events stretched across the whole weekend if not longer, so in theory interested parties could have attended all of them. But if, as in my case, time and money are limited resources, this isn’t realistic. A little forward planning would benefit everyone.

American Pale Ale, three ways

Dark Star’s American Pale Ale is an important beer for me. I remember my first pint well – bored with the selection of ‘premium’ lagers at the pub I was in (most of which tastes much the same as the cans of Holsten Pils I used to drink at home), I observed as a friend approached the bar. She ordered an American Pale Ale. I’d heard good things about Dark Star, and figured I could probably manage a pale ale. So I went for it and, obviously, was knocked out. I couldn't even tell that it was the bitterness of the beer, much less the flavours from the hops, that I was enjoying – I just knew it was good, and different from any other beers I’d tasted. Even if it took a while longer for me to take a real interest in beer, I would always excitedly order a pint of American Pale Ale whenever I saw it, and that excitement continues to this day.

When Dark Star announced they’d be releasing cans of their APA a couple of months ago, I was curious. How would it differ to the cask version I've always known? And then an idea hit me; I could go to the Evening Star and sit down with a glass of each version to see how they compared. In fact, the Star also often has the APA available from key keg, so there are three distinct versions of the same beer.

As I set them out on the table in front of me, I was amazed at how different each glass looked. The cask beer is clear and golden, still and with a small, frothy head. The glass from the keg is a little hazier, possibly unfiltered, and with an extremely lively effervescence that almost looks like someone’s dropped a Berocca in the glass, and with a tight white layer of foam. The beer from the can is somewhere in between, golden-amber in colour, with a small head and the odd jet of carbonation.

A sip from the cask version first. I'm so familiar with the beer, it’s hard to analyse its flavour. The hops are Cascade and Centennial  and, whereas the newer breeds of US hops (Citra, Mosaic etc.) tend to be tropical-tasting and fruity, these classic varieties primarily bring citrusy bitterness. Grapefruit is the dominant flavour here, and it’s a big hop hit. The beer is in excellent condition, with only the very softest carbonation but a silky-smooth and satisfyingly full bodied.

Moving to the keg beer, I'm initially disappointed by its blandness. That smack of hops isn't there at first, but there is a lingering bitter aftertaste. The more I drink and the more I switch between the three beers, though, it ended up as my favourite incarnation, precisely for this subtlety.

The canned beer is different again. That citric bitterness is even further delayed here, but crisp, warm Marris Otter malt is there in spades. So whilst it comes on like a golden ale to begin with, the hops creep up on you. It’s probably the most balanced of all three beers, the least assertive and my least favourite. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not writing the APA cans off, though – I’ll be sure to try it in its own right soon, as I expect I’ll find much to enjoy.

I don’t think much about methods of dispensing or packaging beer – I usually just drink whatever takes my fancy regardless of whether its cask or keg. Bottled or canned beers are rarely as good as those on tap, but I usually don’t think of them as being markedly different. This experiment shows me what a difference these things can make – ostensibly the same beer in three different glasses, each distinct from the next. Dark Star American Pale Ale remains one of my all-time favourite beers regardless of which of these glasses I reach for.