3 hours ago
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The writer Vladimir Nabokov was extremely particular when it came to language, and rather more basic when it came to sustenance: “My habits are simple, my tastes banal,” he once told an interviewer. “I would not exchange my favourite fare (bacon and eggs, beer) for the most misspelt menu in the world.”
I’ve often thought of this as I’ve perused misspelt beer menus over the years, wondering what Nabokov would make of all the hazy dubble IPAs and triple brown mocha porters, because, over the course of what we might have to label the “craft era”, beer has become anything but simple. You may well have lamented this, too, especially if you’ve ever been cornered by an enthusiast at a party. India pale ale (IPA), for example, which was once a distinctly British style of ale designed for export, has, in the hands of American craft brewers, become a sort of standard-bearer for complicated beer: aggressively hopped, often startlingly bitter and/or sour, and redolent of a bygone era of millennial hipster striving.
The very term “craft beer” itself is confusing enough. It was originally used by the Colorado-based Brewers Association to denote “small, independent and traditional” breweries, but many of the movement’s trailblazers (Goose Island and Brooklyn to name just two) have since been snapped up by multinationals, while the actual American craft sector declined last year even as IPA tightened its grip.
Still, every trend has its counter-trend and, in retrospect, the moment when Beavertown Neck Oil became available on draught at the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium may well have been a turning point. And the unashamedly mass-produced Guinness is famously the order of choice for gen Z. Meanwhile, I’ve noticed a definite uptick in “Erm ... lager?” when ordering rounds with my friends (often accompanied by complaints about the dire effects of IPAs on the middle-aged stomach).
There’s also a subset of British brewers who are pushing to make beer, well, beer again. “You can now see these American-style IPAs in every pub around the country,” says Adrian Peskin of Woodshedding Brewery in Shepton Mallet, Somerset. “So, the craftiest thing you can do now is to turn 180 and go back to where it was before.” Peskin, who is of dual English-German heritage, typifies this new generation. He runs a genuinely small operation out of an old milk barn where he concentrates on “simple beers from complex soil” – old-world styles that have either been neglected or forgotten. Among his beers is Stubn, a rich, ruby alt beer, a style popular in Düsseldorf before Bavarian-style lager came to dominate; he also champions the slept-on British beer styles made “since for ever” by medium-sized regional breweries such as Timothy Taylor’s in West Yorkshire and Harvey’s in East Sussex.
Peskin reckons it’s also about appreciating beer’s role in society: “The craft beer movement really shifted the focus on to the beer itself,” he says, “whereas, traditionally, beer was more like a conduit for other stuff – good chat, gathering people together. It was never meant to be as divisive as it’s become.” Amen to that!
Four old world classics
Ecks Victorian Mild Ale £28.80 (6 x 440ml cans) woodsheddingbrew.com, 5.7%. Dark, malty and strong, but light in taste and in a style that almost disappeared after the war. Great with bacon and eggs.
Timothy Taylor’s Landlord £2.40 (500ml bottle) Tesco, 4.1%. An all-time classic pale ale, and an unbeatable pie accompaniment. A must-order whenever it’s on draught.
Five Points Best £2.50 (500ml bottle) Morrisons, 4.1%. A classic new-school old-school bitter from Hackney’s Five Points, made with Kentish fuggle hops.
Paulaner Münchner Hell £22.80 (12 x 500ml bottles) Majestic, 4.9%. Malty and crisp, this quintessential Bavarian lager hits the spot with the reliable accuracy of a German penalty taker.
