Beer Tinted Spectacles

The Session #65: You’re never alone with a Strand

It’s funny, drinking alone. For many of my friends it just isn’t done; an admittance perhaps that your socially failing. Another example of modern day liberal mindedness gone too far though I fear. My father in law has set off for the pub by himself, every Sunday, most weeks of his adult life, and possibly a few before that. He doesn’t ring around in advance to ask who will be there; no checking of social media sites or text messages and no sending of pigeons either come to think of it. He gets up late; has a shower and heads off. He will sit at the bar and drink a pint of whatever takes his fancy, but is within the bounds of his respectable repetoire. Bass, yes. Old Speckled Hen, yes. Landlord, yes. London Pride, no. Bank’s, no. Greene King IPA, nay, nay and thrice nay. Pedigree, pub dependent.

But of course, the beer is of little relevance in this scene. Sure, it’s part of the pub currency… a pub currency that has linked these visits from the time he started. Memories of beers that have come and gone; of public houses now just houses, and Landlords now lording it under the land behind the Church. And sure, despite what he says, the pint itself matters even less when most of the time he sluices a Gold Label into it anyway.

Because in reality, he never does drink alone. John is someone who is an institution in his village in a way I can never been in mine – he has lived there all his life; his business is there; his family are around him. And his extended village family too – people he has known all his life; or their children, new bucks he gently teases about their effiminate ways… even if he wanted to be alone, he couldn’t be. And while he may complain about this from time to time, he knows as well as everyone else that he wouldn’t have it any other way. If the pub has no other customers, then he chats to Tom, the Landlord; if he knows no one in the bar, he either introduces himself, or much more likely, is introduced. So, even though he is by himself, he is most definitely not alone.

I’m different. Sometimes I need my space. Once or twice a year, I really do need to be alone and just let the cobwebs that have accreted over the passing months get blown away. I’ll go to the hills and walk, or set off on my bike. But this isn’t the everyday me. I have what I deem to be an curious individual trait, which of course, is common to most: from time to time, I like to be alone in others’ company. the hustle and bustle around me; the chatter; the greetings; the people-watching. I observe it directly or in the corner of my eye as if floating like an invisible orb above the scene, but actually being in it is critical. Because I can choose to participate if I want to.

And beer doesn’t always feature here. Before I had children, the occasional Sunday newspaper, bag of crisps and a pint was more occasional than not; today, it’s more likely to be a snatched 30 minutes between the parental taxi duties. Not that I’m complaining. Because the shimmering image of those Sundays, sitting at a big oak table, with a broadsheet spread out in front of me and a pint of …ooh, let’s say, Broadside, my accompaniment, is always there. It may take me until retirement to live that dream frequently again, but I can dine out on the thought of it happily until then.

Heads it is.

The Greyhound in Colton is a quite typical British pub – not stereotyped, just typical. It’s set in a pretty, wooded village in Staffordshire where Cannock Chase begins to lip down into the vale of the Trent. The buildings are a crumbly redbrick and often stone edged; there’s a village school next to the Church which together, seem to be the focal point for the community. It’s even got a ford which must predate the little hump-backed bridge adjacent to it, where you enter the village from the west. Just like Emmerdale only with fewer flatcaps and boinging sheep.

It wasn’t a pub I went to that often; at the time, I lived a couple of villages away and driving was the only way to get there – at least, it was the only way to get back before 4am. But in the Summer it was always worth making the effort as the beer garden actually was a garden – it was out of the front of the pub, with flower beds in abundance, and the building itself was an end terrace. Leaning over the fence and chatting to the neighbours was probably what attracted the regulars.

This was the scene where I witnessed my first episode of ‘Head Rage’. The landlord had had the temerity to serve a customer a pint of Bonks’ with a head. It was possibly as deep as a whole centimetre.

Ranting. A tirade. Spitting feathers. Incandescent with rage. None of these phrases conjure up the ire that this particular gentleman was lobbing at the publican. ‘Short changing me’. ‘Robbing me of my beer’.

Calm down Dear. It’s only a 5mm head.

Robbing me of my beer.

You see, I am of the other persuasion. Where Bristolians zig, with their headless pints of ‘flat’ cask ale, I zag. I like a good head on my beer. More than this, I’m a double zagger, because I like more than normal head, but that’s because my head isn’t normal. The head is part of the beer. It wouldn’t be there without the rest.

I’m anchored to memories of awesome beers with towering stacks of cloud-like foam: in the Augustiner Hof in Munich at 11am eating weiss wurst and wiping the foam from a weissbier from my nose. Or pints of Boddington’s in the Lower Chequer where you wanted a spoon to finish off the last precious drops in the bottom of the glass. And the lacing, furled and curled down the sides of the glass, like Gandalf’s smoke rings puthering out into the air. I often ask for more head on my beer not less, in fact in a Vintage Inn the other week, this request so befuddled the waitress she seemed to turn into Marvin the Paranoid Android featuring a look of “Does. Not. Compute.” across her face the whole time we were there.

But you know, I’d never shout at anyone for not serving enough head on a beer, especially where it’s local tradition. I referenced Bristol earlier as a while back, I had a cracking pint of Bass there. If it had been served during ‘The Terrors’ of Paris during the French Revolution it would have had more head. I’m pretty sure that in Bristol, publicans have been strung up from the Clifton Suspension Bridge for even hinting at the use of a sparkler, but as with any place, find a good bar, you’ll get a good pint. In Devon, you get what I call a natural head. Just that thin layer that seems to suggest that the pint would be out of breath if it had to produce any more with the CO2 available. And Burton beer used to be like that too, but the sparkler has made inroads here in the last 10 years.

But this chap was bright red. He was jabbing at the sign that provocatively proclaimed that the head must be less than 5% of the total with a staccato insistency. And he was shouting. Sweating. Swearing. He was on the edge of losing control.

Good for beer I suppose, that it creates that level of passion, but for me, heads it is.

© David Preston, Beer Tinted Spectacles 2012

Great Beertish Menu: Ainsworth is Outlawed

This week’s final heat on the Great Beertish Menu featured chefs from the South West. I love the South West. I went to University there and now have family in the region – but it’s the incredible variety in the landscape that’s in my soul. From the windswept moors and their bewitching rock tors that hover, almost suspended in mid air on misty mornings, to the deep, riven valleys, cutting narrowly and steeply into the sea, and the surprises too… like the parallel valleys and ridges of east Devon that rise and fall as if the ripples of the sea have set on land. And undoubtedly my positively coloured view impacted how I viewed this week’s Great British Menu. “All the chefs seem much more chilled, and they are all being pleasant to one another. It must be living in the South West that does it. I bet they all go surfing after work”, I was telling myself…. although none of the chefs had much of a West Country burr in their accents though so it was definitely a case of beer tinted specs on this job.

Of the three cheffy protagonists, two had competed before. One, Paul Ainsworth, got his pud through to the final last year and this year yet again delivered incredible, thoughtful and creative presentation…plus clearly, flavour too. Yet gratifyingly, Nathan Outlaw ultimately won it, for his beguilingly simple dishes; so simple, they disguised the innate technical complexity and subtle combinations of flavour. And I say gratifyingly because at his restaurant in Rock, Outlaw has been working with Stuart Howe of Sharp’s Brewery on innovating with food and beer. It seems fitting therefore to pair his winning menu with some beers.

Starter: Hogs pudding with seaweed, potato terrine and mushroom ketchup. I remember Hogs pudding from when I lived in the south west, At Uni, they used to serve it every Friday breakfast. Consequently, I didn’t have it there that often as I rarely made it up at such a ridiculous time (9am), but when I did, I always had it. I think it was made by Ivor Doble in town and had this subtle yet peppery taste plus a smooth, deeply milled texture. For me, this needs a beer with nuances – ideally from a bit of aging. I’m going to kick off this menu with a good bottle of Worthington’s White Shield, buy it from Morrisons and get it close to sell by if you can, then ideally leave it at least another 6 months. Described as having a ‘chestnut sparkle’ whatever the hell that is, this is beer that gets sophisticated with age. It does have a lovely conker colour right enough, but I feel could handle a little bit more yeast dosage to give it the greater ‘sparkle’ it used to have.

Fish Course: mackerel again, this time with horseradish and oyster sauce. This dish split the judges but was presented fabulously, despite an accusation of being ‘beige’. The humble mackerel seems to be quite de rigeur at the moment, and it has now featured on a number of winning menus. And when combined with horseradish needs a beer with a willingness to fight and stand up for itself. There’s a lot of flavour going on here but I think a beer that can handle it will be Veltins. I think of these west German lagers as like chablis – steely and precise – and good with fish of all denominations.

Main: duck, barbequed monkfish, rosemary, samphire and aspargus. My friend Paul describes dishes like this as ‘Surf and Turd’ after he had a run of bad experiences in Texas when he was working out there. But I get this one; monkfish has that bovine-like compact texture and structure, yet a delicate flavour; the ‘barbeque’ sauce wasn’t what we perceive it to be but a much more herb-laden marinade that brought the two cuts together. And for me, a bottle of Sol or Corona for BBQ just won’t cut it. You need some body here, and whilst I am loathe to recommend a beer that is so hard to get hold of in the UK, I think Orval would be a cracker – again, give a bit of age on this beer as it can change remarkably with time. Orval is a Trappist beer that flys like a butterfly and stings like a bee; it has the suppleness to complement this meal, yet a left hook that lets you know that there is another boxer in the ring.

Pud: elderflower and lemon tart, strawberry sorbet and meringue. This dish didn’t go down that well, so don’t expect it to be gracing the innards of any Olympians soon, however, it was very pretty and nicely executed. And Vedett Extra White would be a lovely accompaniment to this dish – Vedett’s wit beer is fairly new and unlike some other Belgian beers of this style doesn’t have an overpowering cloviness. It’s more finessed yet still has sufficient bitter zing to show off elderflower and stand up to flavours like strawberry.

Onwards and upwards: next week the grand finale – let’s see if a great British beer can win gold on the final menu, or whether the final medal table will be dominated with New World boldness.

Great Beertish Menu: it’s terry-ific

Despite this week’s Great British Menu being the penultimate round before the finals, the energy has not let up. Three highly skilled and competitive chefs, Stephen Terry of the Hardwick Arms in Abergavenny, James Sommerin of the Crown at Whitebrook in Monmouthshire and Richard Davies of the Manorhouse in Wiltshire whilst mostly genial, were quite happy to stick the knife into their combatants when they were off camera. And James Sommerin was a little too sure of himself throughout, earning him no fans in this household at least – the use of liquid nitrogen in cooking seems to transform attitudes into winning ones, without the substance to back it up.

Angela Hartnett, this week’s judge was rather like Judge Dredd – ‘tough but fair’, and whilst her scoring was generally on the low side, it was only a hare’s breath separating the chefs at the end – in fact it was a mere half point that saw Richard Davies back off to Wiltshire with his molecularly gastronomic tail between his legs.

But this is a beer matching blog, not a TV review so let’s get to it. The winner in the end was Stephen Terry to the visible dismay of James Sommerin who has not yet succeeded in getting a dish to the final meal. What he lacked in radical new techniques he made up for in inventiveness around the olympic theme.

His starter was entitled The Opening Ceremony. A rather dainty salad served with squab pigeon, chicken livers, onion risotto cubes and asparagus. The pigeon and livers make this sound somewhat heavier than the presentation actually was, so this salad needs a beer with backbone but one that leaves only slight footprints. St Peter’s do a lovely fruit beer with grapefruit that should marry well with this dish.

The fish course perhaps pushed the Olympic theme a little too far: 5 coloured rings with nine different fishes or seafoods; including caviar & lobster; cucumber jelly with mackerel tartare and a baked lemon jelly with cold and hot smoked salmon. Consequently it’s a tricky match as there’s a whole load going on. But I’m going for a wheat beer which in this instance needs to be clean and not too overwhelming. Erdinger weissbier is the one for me, whilst not my favourite, it has a more gently clove character which should stand it in good stead here.

Main now, and rabbits beware for this was The Bunny Pentathlon. Peter was shot, skinned, boned and dealt with savagely but it must be said deliciously. There was bunny burger, pressed bunny loin – fivefold ways as you can gather from the name. And this is pale ale territory which means a lot of choice, and I will err for a well balanced version but not an English one – in fact, Cooper’s Sparkling from Adelaide would be my choice (one of my favourite beers this one, so always a pleasure to marry it well to some good food).

And finally pud here it was three traditional puddings dusted down and scrubbed up to a new sheen. Gold, Silver or Bronze? was the name for an interpretation of Chocolate mousse, lemon meringue pie and strawberry trifle – and again, this tapas approach makes matching troublesome. But where there is chocolate there has to be beer and in this case a classic – Westmalle Dubbel has the flavour punch with delivered with elegance.

No Welsh beers here I’ve just realised, but given that both the judge and winner are actually English please forgive me this indiscretion.

Spherication… a load of balls?

This time last week, I was basking in northern pride as the participants in the Great British Menu North West heat slugged it out. Despite a walkout, the standard was still phenomenal and Simon Rogan fought off his adversary with a menu of balance, finesse and imagination. Much like the ensuing beer choices I hear you say.

The turn, this week, of our London and South East entrants – the region containing the majority of our population and in London, one of the gastronomic capitals of the World. The standard, in previous years was bound to be high. But in the end it begged to differ and was something of a disappointment.

The three chefs were all Michelin Star vajewelled – Phil Howard of the Square Restaurant in Mayfair has held two Michelin Stars for almost 15 years; Marcus McGuinness, a young upstart (relatively speaking) from Hibiscus has a one, and another down the side of his sofa, and finally ex rock band drummer Graham Garrett, from the West House in Biddenden, Kent also keeps one in the barn out of the back of his Gastropub.

The issues started with the elimination of Graham Garrett. Along with all the chefs, he made small mistakes, but his food, more than all the others spoke from the heart, showed his personality, and on the basis of his main course and dessert alone, should have seen him through. But celebrity chef judge Jason Atherton did not agree and was wowed by McGuinness’ use of olives & asparagus in his dessert course. Marcus is another molecular gastronomy advocate – using scientific techniques to create unusual and counter-intuitive textures and tastes. But it was all rather a triumph of style over taste with yet more spherications doing the rounds, so to speak, meaning that Phil Howard unsurprisingly romped home with his classical menu. Let’s get into it:

For starter, Phil served a spring salad with goats’ milk puree, pickled asparagus and quails’ eggs. For me, the Goats’ milk will be the challenge – the rich, farmyard earthiness and hay aroma can be quite powerful; yet the asparagus is a dream pairing with beer. I’m going to push the boat out here, and recommend something with some hop led backbone yet finesse. Anchor’s Liberty Ale should be a fine accompaniment.

Phil’s fish course was undoubtedly a cracker, in fact, I’m sure had it been required, it would have been the tiebreaker. A simple, high quality ingredient, elevated from pedestrian to pedestial. Cornish mackerel with oysters, mussels, winkles & samphire was mackerel being treated with reverence: the beer should not let the dish down; and again, a balance between structure yet finesse is needed – to cope with the smoky mackerel, but not overpower the other ingredients. This is dark lager territory – if you can get hold of a bottle of Paulaner Dunkel it should be both a fine complement and foil to this fish.

The main was elegantly executed but rather lacking in imagination: roast loin of lamb with pie and mash, carrots, nettles and mint. And a classic British meat and veg dish, needs a classic British ale to accompany it – so many to choose from here although in this case Hall & Woodhouse’s Tanglefoot would be a great choice; a little more alcoholic body to stand up to the mint, but more of a floral aroma and foretaste to not knock out the lamb.

Finally pud, rhubarb and custard souffle rounded the meal off. A fine dessert; particularly putting a small base of rice pudding into the souffle was a cracking idea, but I’m not convinced that it will stand much of a chance in the finals. However, for now it deserves a beer to show it off in the best light, and it’s a tricky one – souffle being so light, yet rhubarb being slightly vinous and acidic, making for a tricky pairing. Well, even though I think a small serving of a stronger, more maderia-like beer could work here, on balance, I am going to plump for a lighter bodied beer to finish, with some crisp, hop bitterness. Something of a radical choice at this stage in the meal, but a terrific beer, Jever Pils (available through a few specialists in the UK) would complement, not get bullied and leave you wanting the cheese board!

What do you think? Sound recommendations or a load of spherications?