Another brief encounter with the beers of the North East

After a flying visit at Christmas, I was back in the North East recently for a family wedding, and again had a little time available for beer hunting. What follows is a kind of sequel to this post, covering a couple of the venues I missed out on last time.

But first, a return visit to the Boathouse in Wylam. The pub itself remains basic, and though a lot warmer than it had been on my previous visit, seems to have developed a problem with flies. The little dog sat opposite me was driving himself crazy trying to catch them. But as I said last time, you come for the beer (and the pickled onion crisps), and the atmosphere was pleasant as the sounds of the folk night drifted through from the lounge bar next door.

The pub showcases Hadrian Border brewery from Newcastle, and their beer dominated the bar. I was able to return to Tyneside Blonde which had impressed me so much last time, and it was superb. It’s the kind of simple beer that would be unlikely to make an impression if served in anything less than perfect condition. But it was perfect – cool, with gentle carbonation and a sturdy, creamy sparkled head, and each constituent ingredient positively sang. There’s a suggestion of Digestive biscuit from the malt, a gentle fruitiness from the yeast, a distinctive sulphurous snatch from the water and a subtle sprinkling of floral hops in the finish.

Its companion, Tyneside Brown was similarly simple and very good, too — quite intensely malty, like malt extract, with a hint of toffee and toast. The French Saison, also from Hadrian Border, started well, with suggestions of coriander and lemonade that really does recall a French biére de garde. Sadly, it didn’t sustain my interest and became bland and watery before I’d finished the pint. Continental farmhouse styles can work at sessionable strength, and can work on cask, but the combination of both of these concessions adds up to an underwhelming pint. A final Hadrian Border offering, Ouseburn Porter was far better, wonderfully creamy and full-bodied with a gentle coffee roast character backed with a little toffee and finishing with some grassy hops.

The wedding itself was, happily, at a brewery — High House Farm Brewery in Matfen, a charming little place and a stunning setting for a lovely wedding. The High House beers were fun, unchallenging fare, and since the focus of the day wasn’t beer, I enjoyed them without too much analysis. Matfen Magic, a brown ale, was a treacly, malty affair that benefitted from a satisfyingly full body and a beautiful creamy head, whilst Auld Hemp was a simple but effective bitter. Thompson’s Blonde, named in honour of the bride, was available from a self-service hand-pump along with the food. I think this was Nel’s Best rebadged, and was highly drinkable. The main excitement for me, though, was pouring my own pint, something I’ve never done before and was unjustifiably proud of, especially when a guest at the adjacent table remarked, “aye, decent head on that, like.”

The next evening, I had some free time, and decided to hop on the train into Newcastle to visit the Free Trade Inn. It’s a brilliant pub — properly pubby, worn-in and characterful and pouring a vast range of great beer. I made the most of the evening sun and soaked up the fantastic view of the Tyne, sipping a pint of Wylam’s Swipe Right. Whilst I associate Wylam with dry, bitter beer, this one is full-bodied and juicy and is amongst the best of the New England-influenced pale ales currently doing the rounds. There’s little bitterness to speak of, and it crams huge flavour — peach, mango, mandarin, melon — into a sensible ABV.

The cask selection leans quite heavily towards local beer, though there are sadly no sparklers here. Three Kings is a Newcastle outfit and a new name to me, but Lost Light is impressive. It's billed as a saison but doesn't really taste like one, coming off something like a cask equivalent of Duvel, if you can imagine such a thing. The fruity, distinctly Belgian esters are huge, oozing pear, rhubarb and bubblegum flavours, and the low carbonation makes these even more impactful. If I describe a beer as interesting, it might imply that it wasn’t enjoyable to drink, but Lost Light is both of those things. I’ve heard good things about Almasty, but Echelon, a pale ale, was disappointing. Though pleasantly dry and bitter, I couldn’t get past a savoury, grainy, wheaty note that spoilt everything.

The final stop is my grandma’s local micropub, the wonderfully named Wor Local in Prudhoe. Like many micropubs, it’s in what looks like an old shop, and in its sparseness and spiralling carpet slightly resembles a working man’s club. Nothing wrong with that, especially when the welcome is warm and the atmosphere friendly. Lager is frowned upon in many micropubs, but is on sale here — the mysterious Birra Quattro (I think), which doesn’t have a brewery name on its suspiciously homemade-looking optic. In this setting, offering lager strikes me as a wise, inclusive choice. It was selling well during my visit, as were a wide selection of gins, and presents an attractive alternative to intimidating Sky Sports-type pubs to those who’d rather not drink cask ale.

Toon Broon, from Blaydon’s Firebrick brewery, hit the spot with a big comforting smack of treacle and toffee and just a hint of tart hedgerow fruit — a perfect rainy day beer. Also from Firebrick, Stella Spark impressed with a palpably fleshy pink grapefruit quality, finishing on a more delicate floral note, but the highlight wasn’t strictly local. Wild Gravity, from North Yorkshire’s BAD Co., reminded me of Punk IPA, though weighted more towards caramel malt. On further analysis, I suspect generous doses of Simcoe are what the two have in common, and I think it’s this hop that is responsible for the suggestions of woody herbs and dank forest floor.

I haven’t done enough drinking in this part of the world to come to any grand conclusions, but I will say that in the Boathouse and the Free Trade Inn, the area boasts two of the best pubs in the country and I thoroughly enjoyed this brief, beery trip. I look forward to my next visit.

The Watchmaker's Arms

It’s snowing as I head out to the Watchmaker’s Arms. It’s that wet, slushy snow that you get in the liminal weeks between winter and spring, the kind that disintegrates on contact and soaks my jacket and hair whilst a cold wind whips around my ears. The prospect of a warm and cosy pub has rarely seemed more appealing. The Watchmakers’ doors have only been open a matter of minutes, but the first regular customer is already sitting down with an early-afternoon pint and newspaper, and it’s not long until there’s a glass of Hammerpot’s Bottle Wreck Porter in my hand. It’s rich and warming with deep liquorice flavours, and I’ve soon forgotten the grey, apocalyptic skies outside.

This is East Sussex’s first and currently only micropub. I’ve been in pubs that are physically smaller, but the micropub model is more about taking a back-to-basics approach than necessarily setting up in a tiny premises. It’s easy to define this in negative terms – “no television, no music, no gaming machines” says Ali, one of four partners who own and run the pub – that don’t make micropubs sound especially inviting or fun, and there are those that find them a little exclusive. But think about the positive inversion of what this all means – a social environment that both encourages the sharing of tables and conversation, but also a peaceful place to relax with a book and a pint if you prefer. And, of course, a focus on beer which, bizarrely, is a subject many of Brighton and Hove’s innumerable pubs don’t seem particularly interested in. “Beer is what brings most people to us”, Ali says “a really nice pint of ale, served at the right temperature, straight from the cask. And then they say it’s friendly, or they met someone they liked here and that brings them back.”

Coincidence plays a large part in Ali and Ruth’s story. A former teacher and teaching assistant respectively, they were both looking for a change when an intriguing property came up on nearby Richardson Road, a small community shopping street. “You know how you start looking at houses for sale when you’re not really intending to buy one? I started looking at commercial property online, and this place came up”, Ali explains. Despite having fallen in love with Kent’s micropubs, it wasn’t the first thing to spring to mind – “I thought maybe I could sell furniture.” As it turned out, Ruth and husband Rick had already had the thought that the same property would make a great micropub - “and that was it, that’s what started it.”

After a lot of time, effort and money, the seller pulled out. But soon their current premises, a couple of hundred yards from Hove train station, came up for sale. As with many micropubs, the building is an old shop. With a visit to a local history archive, they discovered it had been a watchmaker’s in 1889, giving the pub its name. “We were worried it might have been a brothel or an undertakers”, says Ruth – “The Undertakers Arms!” They’ve now been here a little over a year, celebrating their first birthday with a weekend-long beer festival – when I visited, a steady stream of casks from the likes of 360 and Brighton Bier were rolling in in preparation.

There’s no bar here as such – more of a counter where you place your order, which is then poured from gravity-dispensing stillage in a separate room. Pump clips, wreaths of hops and regulars’ pewter tankards line the walls, along with a tasteful collection of clocks to tie in with the watchmaking theme. Alongside the beer, local cider and wine are served, but lager is notably absent. I’m intrigued by this – even the most beer-focused pubs and bars operate on the logic that you must serve at least one lager. “We do get people come in and ask for it”, says Ali. “Quite often they’ll come in with a friend who’s an ale drinker and very often we can find something they like.” “People come in and say “do you do lager?” and we say no, and either they try something or they go somewhere where they can get it”, says Ruth. “It’s a bit different to go somewhere where it’s just real ale and real cider.” This is the important point, I think. Should we really worry that lager drinkers (closed-minded lager drinkers who won’t even consider trying anything else, at that) might be excluded from micropubs when lager is available absolutely everywhere else, and decent cask ale isn’t? I think not.

The micropub model offers a lot of freedom and, in the Watchmaker’s case, very few challenges. Overheads are low, so financially there’s less risk in staying small and doing things their own way. Getting started even sounds painless – long waiting times notwithstanding. “The micropubs in West Sussex seemed to have a lot of restrictions put on them from what we know of them”, say Ruth, “like there’s no vertical drinking, so everyone has to be sitting down. I don’t know why, because some of them are so small, there’s not even any room to have a fight even if you wanted to! It was as if they were making it difficult for them to open, whereas for us it was a bit long winded but everything was fine.” In fact, they had their fans at the council – “we had a lot of people there who said “oh I love real ale, that sounds really cool!””, Ali says. Indeed, most of their restrictions are self-imposed – “they couldn’t believe that we’d be closing at nine and only sell real ale!” Ruth says.

As of a few months ago, the Watchmaker’s is also home to BeerCraft, a small pilot brewery using their premises to brew beer for sale here as well as other local pubs. “We’re really lucky because we’d have taken his beer even if it was average, seeing as he’s here”, Ali says, “but it’s really good!” “It just sells like hot cakes”, Ruth adds, “we put it on and it just goes straight away. It’s a real talking point. People come in and ask about his beer and want to know when it will be on. It’s good for us and good for him, because he’s just starting out and he’s got somewhere to brew."

After a successful first year, they seem content to keep doing what they do so well. “There are some very business-minded people who get off the train and come in who ask us, “what are your plans to expand?””, Ali says, “and we say, “nothing!” It will be nice if this carries on and does well but we’re not building an empire.” Sometimes small is just perfect.