Beer Travels with Adrian Tierney-Jones


As anyone who read about my visit to Munich in the previous Beer Insider might guess, I have been thinking a lot about beer pilgrimages; are they routes that take you from dissolution to dissipation, spiritual pub crawls, or is there a deeper meaning in the journey, a more metaphysical understanding of the nature of beer, a dagger-like thrust into the heart of beer that will unveil the real meaning of beer around the world?

Can a beer pilgrimage uncover, rediscover, move the soul and join in the joy of the great beverage that has forever (it seems) refreshed humankind? Can there be beer pilgrims, can there be a beer equivalent of the Camino Di Santiago, where weary feet tread, eager to discover a beer in its place, for let’s not forget the difference in drinking what is a rare beer at home as against imbibing it in its native location where it is commonplace and pleasing to the local palate.

We bill and coo when a local brewery produces a singular beer style such as a Leipziger Gose (usually with added blueberries or orange blossom, which the last time I checked was not a usual addition), but as I once discovered to really understand this kind of beer I had to make a pilgrimage to Leipzig and drink it neat or with a drop of kummel at the Bayerischer Bahnhof brewpub in a former station, where it is brewed. Here it is a commonplace beer, a daily beer, part of routine, a glass of, please.

So, if I think about it, what have been my pilgrimages?

I have been offered a massive tin mug of strong amber-hued lager half-way through the morning in a buttercup-coloured castle-like brewery six kilometres from the border with Bavaria and suddenly decided that the two former principalities have much more to say to each other over a beer than their querulous history would suggest.

This revelation came after the brewer waved his arm in the general direction of the border and said that over in Bavaria they called the beer we were drinking Märzen, and that here in the Czech Republic its name was Speciál. The beer was creamy, fresh and perky, fulsome in the mouth feel; it had a bittersweet buzz followed by a notable bite of bitterness, it felt both smooth and rough in the mouth, a heady combination that made it one of those dreamy beer experiences. A pilgrimage performed?

At Cantillon, I have watched as then proprietor Jean-Pierre van Roy emptied boxes of sharp-tasting cherries to a lambic that had already spent a year in maturation in order to encourage the beer to breathe and live again. I still remember my first visit in 1996 when my friend asked Jean-Pierre van Roy whether the water came from the canal outside — he testily shook his head and answered ‘no’ before going onto to answer someone else’s probably more intriguing query.

I have wandered through the noise, the lights, the fights, the people and the heat of the Oktoberfest in Theresienwiese, a destination incidentally that I had arrived by train from a trip to the Bohemian hop lands. The latter was a place where the mood was bucolic and calm and considered and the sun to the festival’s night.

I have sat in the cloister-like quiet of a Saturday afternoon pub in Sheffield, a glass of beer in front of me, idling the hours away, being visited by a dog called Rocky, exchanging pleasantries with a man who had just clocked-out from his night’s work and feeling snug, safe, kept from the storm and possibly a little indulgent.

This is not a pilgrimage for those soldiers or agents of the state who are in search of those who have done wrong (apparently), but it is about those who follow a path, sometimes obediently, and at other times hot with the lust of glory and discovery. Jesus said that he was the light and that led us to read stories about being led astray as we followed the light, usually into a mire or a bog of our own making, but the pilgrimage when beer speaks is a different journey, a restless quest, a celebration of ritual, a holiday of simplicity, a voyage into the unknown (who visited the Senne Valley before gueuze and lambic became a ritual and a reason to come?) and an illumination of questions that have been held too close to the chest for too long.

I’m off. Who’s coming?

Adrian Tierney-Jones


Beer Hawk (B2B) created on foundations of The Bottle Shop


From the remnants of the sadly failed The Bottle Shop business has emerged a new ABI-owned operation, Beer Hawk (B2B), which has the objective of bringing some professionalism to the craft beer industry in the UK.

This is the aim of The Bottle Shop founder Andrew Morgan who is now head of Beer Hawk (B2B) and suggests the “juvenile” nature of the industry contributed to the failure of his business when it abruptly lost some big contracts. It went on to leave a batch of breweries with unpaid bills and piles of their kegs and bottles locked, and legally inaccessible, in the company’s Canning Town warehouse earlier this year.

Morgan says: “There are simply no contracts in the industry. Very few breweries were legally equipped to get their beer back from us when we failed and this is also why Beavertown and Mikkeller could simply take their trade away from us with little notice. It’s representative of the juvenile nature of the industry.”

He says this sort of thing should not happen again and at Beer Hawk (B2B) he intends to ensure both breweries and the Beer Hawk business itself have legal safeguards in place. “We had less than five contracts across all The Bottle Shop dealings. There are simply no contracts in craft beer. This is not the case in other industries or in the US craft industry,” he explains.

This lack of ‘retention of title’ the vast majority of creditor breweries had over the stock locked up in the Canning Town warehouse means that this beer has passed into the hands of ABI as part of The Bottle Shop assets that the company acquired during the sale process that was handled by the administrators. In reality, much of this beer will now be spoiled – or near its sell by date – due to the length of the administration process and therefore has questionable value.

At the point of collapse The Bottle Shop was understood to have had around £400,000 of stock in the business. [Disclosure: Bohem Brewery, of which I am co-owner, had £10,000 of unpaid stock sitting in The Bottle Shop warehouse]

Happy days at The Bottle Shop

Morgan defends the collapse of The Bottle Shop and says the breweries he bought from was all done with good intent and not done “dishonestly”. “The credit extended to us was decided by the breweries supplying us. It was not a massive corporate swindle. It was the way business was done,” he says, adding that the situation was made difficult by the “shoestring” funds that the Bottle Shop had at its disposal.

This does of course include the £400,000 that The Bottle Shop raised from a crowdfunding campaign – much of which went into building of a cold chain infrastructure. [Disclosure: My family lost £1,500 in the crowdfunding campaign].

“No one likes to lose, least of all me and investing in beer or running a beer business can be a risky affair, but at The Bottle Shop we did our best and gave it the best chance possible of being successful. We went into the crowdfunding as a profitable business, but things got out of control when we lost the two key distribution agreements,” he explains.

At this point Beavertown’s Neck Oil and Gamma Ray kegs and cans represented four of the top-10 sellers for the business and it never recovered from their loss. “When a wholesaler loses business like this then the small brewers and retailers ultimately take a hit,” says Morgan.

Gamma Ray zapping distributors

ABI’s purchase includes the warehouse and its cold chain platform that Morgan says can now be implemented fully with “proper funding” from ABI. A new 65,000 sq ft Beer Hawk warehouse is also being built that will be used to hose stock for the current consumer-facing website and the new B2B trade operation.

ABI is in the process of acquired the former Bottle Shop Arch bar/shop on Druid Street. This unit will join the existing two Beer Hawk bars, which are not the direct responsibility of Morgan. The opening date would be around Autumn. ABI brands Camden Town and Goose Island will sit alongside other smaller independent breweries. These will include some former Bottle Shop clients in the US such as Green Flash, Great Divide and Bear Republic.

Which small independent UK brewers will want to deal with the ABI-owned Beer Hawk (B2B) business remains to be seen but Morgan is hoping the big business approach will have some appeal.

“The Bottle Shop folding has created some ripples. I want to ensure that these things are not repeated in the new business. For this we need simple contracts. ABI has the power to enable small businesses more,” he suggests. This is undoubtedly also up for debate in these testing times for craft beer.

Glynn Davis, editor of Beer Insider


Around Town with Amateur Drinker


Beware the Ides of March.  March 2019 was the most momentous month in London’s recent beer scene, and almost all the news was bad. The biggest was undoubtedly the demise of The Bottleshop.

It is no secret to anyone who has been reading this blog, that I regarded this as the best venue in London, and I must make full disclosure that both myself, and the Editor, as Bohem Brewery shareholders, lost money due to its collapse.

There were good people at TBS who knew a lot about, and loved beer. So how could it go so wrong?

There are doubts about the beer distribution model in the modern digital age, which has ruthlessly removed middle-men such as high street travel agents. Brewers can directly supply venues much more cheaply.  Moreover, when breweries become successful, they take distribution in-house. This leaves distributors with small young brewers or foreign imports.  The latter have a structural problem, in that UK beer has improved so much over the last few years, reducing the premium that foreign can command and the present issue of very weak sterling since the Referendum.

However, overriding it all is the Crowdcube problem.  They are not fit for purpose. Any form of funding , be it bank loan or equity investor should, at times, be a pain, as the capital-providers act as a necessary constraint on, and source of advice and experience, for the business,  just as a good parent must discipline and guide their children. Crowdcube impose no discipline and accept ridiculous forecasts, fraudulent accounts and ludicrous valuations.

As written, ( last September.

“Hence, a basket of investments in all these issues is guaranteed to lose money. It’s possible that a single company might be so good that it produces decent returns, but if that were the case, why are they using such a fringe platform to raise funds when there are so many other ways to bring in money? I would advise beer-lovers to follow their head, and not their heart, and avoid all brewery crowd-funding.”

It was very sad to see these words prove so prescient at a venue I loved.

The next piece of news was almost as bad: Magic Rock sold to Lion Nathan Ltd, purveyors of dubiousness such as Toohey’s and Castlemaine XXXX, and themselves a mere subsidiary of Kirin, the giant Japanese macro-brewer. Kirin, who jointly own San Miguel and have a quarter share of Brooklyn Brewery, is themselves a member of the Mitsubishi UFJ Financial Group (MUFG), which includes the world’s 5th largest bank by assets.

When Lion acquired Four Pure in July 2018, they said that it would be its “primary focus here in the UK and as their sole production brewing facility” ( So, that promise lasted nine months, which tells you all you need to know.

Crowdcube: expiring investment

Four Pure was always run as an investment proposition, and did not give the normal bullshit that “nothing will change” when they sold out. They did good beers well, but there was nothing particularly special or different.  Magic Rock, however, have been true innovators in the scene: Unhuman Cannonball, with its annual launch becoming one of the first to produce US-style queues. Salty Kiss was a very early example of a core gose and the various different BA versions of Bearded Lady imperial stout were exceptional.

Will they now all be brewed to the same quality aspirations and excitement of Castlemaine XXXX? If anyone really doubts this, then, after I have sold them a bridge over the Thames, they can look at Beavertown’s Bloody ‘Eel, another great beer whose annual launch was a true event.

It has been downgraded from an IPA to a Pale, with the ABV cut from mid 7% to just over 5%. Bloody ‘Eel was as seasonal as blood oranges are seasonal. Now it is a core beer, being produced in industrial quantities with industrial ingredients and sits forlornly and unloved in my local Waitrose, wasting away at room temperature.

In the latest round of Fuller’s and friends, brewed late 2018, one of the collaborations was Fuller’s with Magic Rock. At that time, they were two great breweries.  By March 2019, they are part of the macro-giants Asahi and Kirin.

Earlier in the month, Tesco had announced that it would be stocking Magic Rock, Overworks, Wild Card and Four Pure. The last of those, along with Beavertown, went into Waitrose, last year, just before they both sold out. It isn’t a definitive sign but it should set alarm bells off, for three reasons: Supermarkets and their suppliers rely on wafer-thin margins offset by vastly bigger volumes, which often require investment in capacity. It means that the brewers no longer care about independent bottle-shops who supported and showcased them in the early days. Finally, until a major retailer invests in cold-chain, the quality of the beer drops dramatically.

To complete the trifecta, Beer Boutique failed. Again, it was a Crowdcube alumni. It raised £375k just 10 months ago, at a valuation of £2m! This is a complete nonsense: companies do not go from £2m to bust in 10 months unless there is fraud or exceptional external circumstances. As there is no evidence of either, the valuation was fantasy.

March also saw Eebria re-file corrected accounts showing £350k losses as opposed to £400k profits! That would be a £750k difference they just missed or forgot about!  Again, they are a Crowdcube client. Anyone who invests in such schemes clearly wants to lose their money.

No transfer windows in the world of brewing and March saw a big move as Georgina Young went from Fuller’s to Bath Ales, now part of St. Austell, where Roger Ryman oversees all brews. He is a friend of this blog and helped Bohem brew the excellent Brut lager Otaker, (, which launched in March.

Anspach & Hobday celebrated its 5th birthday with casks of their five favourite beers at The Old Fountain: Three Threads, Patersbier, Eeepa, Dry Hopped Blond and Baltic Porter.

Siren TTO at The Sutton Arms. Broken Dream stout on cask, with Caribbean Chocolate Cake and the launch of 2018’s Maiden, their Solera-method Barley Wine.

We Brought Beer Clapham shut down although they claimed that this was a local incident, connected to increase rents, rather than a group-wide problem.

Mother Kelly’s launched To Ol’s 2019 Mr. Series: Blondee, a cucumber and lime gose, Blue, an imperial blackcurrant stout, Brown, a double coffee and cookie dough brown, Orange, an orange DIPA, Pink, a watermelon DIPA and White, a DDH Jasmin Tea Pale.

Finally, to end with some light relief, Gregg Wallace visited Carling’s brewery in Burton for Inside The Factory whilst in Midsummer Murders, The Ghost of Causton Abbey, the church is now a craft brewery, but “excitement turns to fear when a man is found boiled to death in one of the vats shortly after a party to launch a new ale”!

Reporting from the front-line – Amateur Drinker manages to get along to all the beer things you’d like to but couldn’t. If you see this man and are tempted to buy him a drink think of the consequences.

Beer Travels with Adrian Tierney-Jones


Where is this? You emerge out of the Hauptbahnhof, the central nervous system of the city, and are immediately floored by its noisy, car-laden, babel of voices as people flurry about as if in a snowstorm. It is a place where you have your mid-morning brunch of a long, slim glass of Weizen alongside either a pale ghostly sausage or a deeply sun-tanned brown pretzel; around you in the tree-shaded beer garden, the chatty, garrulous, gossipy and contemplative soul of the people who live in the city is revealed as the conversation all around ebbs and flows like the sea in a cove on a day when the wind can’t quite make up its mind what to do.

Where is this? Another beer garden, this time plonked in the midst of one of the city’s broad green spaces, a place of waterfalls, temples and yoga classes, upon which dogs run and people lounge. On a sunny day it is a vital escape from the city. Even though the hum of traffic can be heard in the background, the green space is restful with the sound of birdsong. There’s no escaping beer though: this beer garden is overlooked by an 18th-century Chinese pagoda, whose weathered frame is enlivened by the golden bells that hang off it. I try a glass of Urbock, a copper-coloured, robust creature, with a crystalline sweetness, a rich caramelisation, a lingering bitterness, and a weight of flavour from its 7.2% ABV.

Where is this? Inside the bar it’s all wooden panels, old black-and-white photos on the wall and a quiet and restrained mood. The food is traditional for the city, sausages, chunks of meat as if hewn from the rocks of an ancient cliff and a glass of Dunkel, deep chestnut brown, with a chocolate, rye, and biscuit nose; on the palate toasted, pumpernickel bread, floral hop notes, followed by a dry and crisp finish, appetising and refreshing and my glass is empty all too soon. I order another.

I think you might have guessed by now. This is in Bavaria, in Munich of course, one of the great beer cities of Europe, a place that I love but also occasionally roll my eyes at and wish I was in Berlin or Bamberg instead. This is a city that it pays to take a beer pilgrimage to, and if you can stand the crowds and the extraordinary sights of public drunkenness also make your way to the Oktoberfest. If you really want to immerse yourself in the culture of beer then Munich is one of those stations of the cross, where you go on a beer pilgrimage.

Pilgrimage is such a basic word, a word that slides into everyday speech with the ease of a towel thrown at an exhausted athlete after a race well run. It is an easily used word, promiscuous perhaps in the way it makes friends with everyone, its use thrown about like a stool or a series of punches in a pub fight; it is a word that suggests everything and nothing.

A shopping centre is a place of pilgrimage; others might say that they went to see their football team on a pilgrimage; there are favourite bands whose day has long gone but still the pilgrims come, grey of hair, slightly stooped of gait, remembering what was once and what could have been; there are historical pilgrimages and family plots in a graveyard that mean nothing to anyone but you. These all merit pilgrimages.

As does beer, which is why as the summer comes and thoughts turn to travel, I would suggest that if you really want to get into the soul of beer, whether it’s a Leipziger Gose, a West Coast IPA, or even a Best Bitter brewed in the middle of the English countryside, it’s time to make that pilgrimage. Munich was one of mine.

Adrian Tierney-Jones


Roll out the barrel…


The famous red barrel

Watneys Red Barrel was the beer that prompted the formation of real ale movement the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) in 1971 because this fizzy liquid, held in pressured keg containers, was deemed tasteless and a threat to traditional real ale. In the first CAMRA Good Beer Guide, drinkers were infamously advised to “avoid it like the plague”.

The beer became the poster child for all that was bad about keg beer – compared with cask-conditioned real ale whose condition (let’s call it sparkle) was due to natural carbonation and not injected gas.

It has taken almost 50 years before we have now reached a stage where Watneys is making a return via a £400,000 crowdfunding plan, albeit with the company stating it will produce decent beer this time! Since it is questionable what residual value is left in the brand and with the beer likely to be vastly different, I’m left to ponder the value of such a resurrection?

Anyway, the potential return of “Grotneys” is merely an aside to the main event on CAMRA’s near half-century anniversary – the movement’s revolutionary action to allow keg products at its major event, the Great British Beer Festival (GBBF), for the first time.

Having shunned those beers for all those years it has finally succumbed to recognising things aren’t as simple as keg beer bad, cask beer good. Life is so much more nuanced today. We have a situation where the majority of the output from the newer craft brewers is keg. This is mainly because keg is easier to look after through the supply chain – ensuring it has consistency at the point of dispense isn’t difficult – and the brewers can charge a lot more for it than cask beer.

Keg is the liquid younger consumers are downing, leading to the sad decline in cask beer sales, which had fallen 6.8% in volume terms in the year to July 2018, according to the British Beer & Pub Association, with few signs of a turnaround since. In fact, if you look at Fuller’s sale of its brewery to Asahi, it’s the opposite of a turnaround. If cask beer had been flying out the door that deal probably wouldn’t have materialised.

What appears to be a major change of heart by CAMRA isn’t strictly the case. The reality is keg beer has been served at GBBF for a number of years at the international bars, where drinkers have been able to enjoy keg lager imported from the Czech Republic and Germany. Such beers are supposed to be held in pressured containers. Cask versions of these beers would be ridiculous and, in most cases, impossible to produce because of the methods and ingredients involved.

It is therefore rather strange that the US Brewers Association has sent over a consignment of cask versions of American breweries’ keg beer to GBBF for some years. They have been well received by many but I’m not among them as the exercise has merely highlighted how specific styles of beer are better suited or designed for keg while others are at home in cask format.

Against this backdrop, the major debate about beer today surrounds its final condition when it’s served in the boozer – and this is where cask has been losing out. Unless it’s looked after – from brewery to pub cellar to the point of serving – what is in the customer’s glass won’t reflect the product created by the brewer.

In demanding the beer the brewer intended, my own drinking habits have increasingly skewed towards buying keg beer from craft brewers but, in reality, the brews I’ve enjoyed most have invariably been cask. When attending tap takeovers at my local, The Great Northern Railway Tavern in north London, the standout brews have all been cask but produced by renowned companies that predominantly brew keg beer.

Memorable beers have been Siren Craft Brew’s Suspended In Fog, Magic Rock Brewing’s High Wire, Northern Monk’s Eternal, and Cloudwater Brew Co’s Pale Ale. These were the best of these brewers’ selections on tap when served in a pub with top cellar credentials. This goes to show that unlike in the 1970s when keg was the biggest threat to cask, today’s biggest threat to cask is cask.


This piece was originally published on Propel Info where Glynn Davis writes a regular Friday opinion piece. Beer Insider would like to thank Propel for allowing the reproduction of this column.

Shattered dreams

Crowdfunding has dined out for far too long on the story of Camden Town Brewery delivering a highly profitable exit for its investors on Crowdcube in 2015.
Since then, the reality is there has been little positive news accompanied by the occasional blow-up to upset the party. Until recently, that is, as we’ve seen a increasing number of failures in recent weeks, with the craft brewing industry in the eye of the growing crowdfunding storm. The credibility and validity of this route to raise money is now firmly under the spotlight.
There’s no doubt crowdfunding has been a terrific boon for the craft beer industry and has been the first, middle and last port of call for many businesses looking to raise money. However, the ease with which they have been able to do this has sadly come at a high price. The lack of due diligence undertaken at the time of many fund-raises is coming home to roost.
Very little of what’s been contained in the crowdfunding documentation – I hate to call them prospectuses because that gives them more credibility than they deserve – has ultimately been delivered. Much has been promised to investors but, sadly, they’ve been badly let down on too many occasions.
One of the disappointments has been Two Heads Beer Co, which recently closed the three Beer Boutiques it acquired following a £375,000 crowdfund last summer. The objective of raising the money was to open more stores but the company seems to have adopted a reverse store-opening programme.
Then there’s been The Bottle Shop, which raised £400,000 to build a cold chain platform and open more units. While the former was delivered as promised, no headway was made on adding bars or shops to the business. The company called in the administrators earlier this year, wiping out all the crowdfunding investors.
Most interesting of the bunch has been Hop Stuff, which recently had its brewery seized by the landlord after failing to pay its rent – and taxes. It’s unclear exactly what Hop Stuff Brewery’s future holds but perhaps its parlous state shouldn’t have come as that much of a surprise because it had the most doubtful business model I’d heard in a long time.
The plan was to open a number of bars under its Taprooms concept supplied by Hop Stuff but with the “unique” aspect of selling beer from other breweries too. That sounds like a bog-standard pub to me – or am I missing something? I think I must be because the valuation placed on the business at the time of its latter fund-raise was a staggering £25m. I say latter as the company went to the crowdfunding well on three occasions and brought in a total of £1.5m from investors. I’m not sure exactly what the company is worth right now.
For anybody wondering where a figure as high as £25m comes from, I can tell you – it’s pretty much plucked out of the air. There’s nothing scientific about it – it’s all art. When businesses use crowdfunding platforms they are encouraged to use large numbers in their pitch because this shows they have big growth plans and it helps draw more investors into offering their money.
The most recent craft beer company to hit the buffers was Redchurch Brewery, which called in administrators last month. The company was immediately bought, with the new owners hailing the “great news”. Yes, it is good news the employees can remain on board but Redchurch had raised almost £900,000 in two crowdfunding rounds in 2016 and 2017 and in the company’s statement there was no mention whatsoever of those investors, who were wiped out once more.
Most startups fail but it seems to me many crowdfunded businesses adopt an attitude of easy come, easy go. The lack of reference to their investor community when these companies hit the rocks suggests they cared little for the enthusiastic investors who made it possible for them to reach for their dreams. I predict many more nightmares to come.

Glynn Davis, editor of Beer Insider

This piece was originally published on Propel Info where Glynn Davis writes a regular Friday opinion piece. Beer Insider would like to thank Propel for allowing the reproduction of this column.

Beer Travels with Adrian Tierney-Jones


What shall I write is the question that anyone who lives by the pen (or laptop these days, naturally) all too often asks themselves? Where shall I wander on the page, what shall I dredge from the deep river of memory — which beer, which brewery, which brewer, which city has attracted my attention, has made me want to live there forever, or at least until my liver gives out?

Today I feel like writing about how travel is crucial in understanding a beer culture, how leaving your safe suburban (or Rus in urbe) home and reaching out to a beer city (or town) is an essential act when it comes to immersing yourself in the world of beer. Anyone can sit at home and drink a lemon and lime gose and tell their social media feed that they comprehend everything about the style, or that the coconut-flavoured Tripel from a cuckoo brewer in the badlands of Boston (Lincs rather than that big city in the US) is just how a monk really intended it to be.

However, in my view to really understand where a beer comes from and what it really tastes like and how it is drunk and where it is drunk, you need to gulp this beer style in the city or the region where it is made. In Leipzig you can drink Leipziger Gose, perhaps at the Bayerischer Bahnhof, where the beer is brewed on a platform above the bar, or hunker down in the Gosenschenke ohne Bedenken, an old-style wood-panelled tavern where Putin was reputed to sup when he worked for the KGB here. The latter is a traditional Gose pub, which has recently started brewing its own on the premises, but it also still sells Ritterguts’ tongue-curlingly sour version (an ideal snack accompaniment is a piece of black bread smeared with pork fat).

Home of Schlenkerla

Over the last few years some of the places I have immersed myself in have seen me drink Gose in Leipzig, West Coast IPAs with the Pacific swell just over there and sit in the dark confines of Braueri Heller’s tap room in Bamburg, where Schlernkerla Rauchbier is the everyday drink of those who come in to read a paper or hang out with their mates.

There is that feeling that for a brief snatch of time, however short or transient, you are part of something; that the beer style that you rarely see in the UK or has been disembowelled by all kinds of adjuncts, is just the daily beer of the locals who come and go. For those of us who love beer culture these sort of trips are a kind of pilgrimage

However, I recently realised that there is a downside to this dependency on travel: after co-organising the Exeter Beer Weekend I decided that all this travel was all well and good, but that I was in danger or ignoring the beer culture that was going on in my own city, Exeter and throughout the whole southwest.

There are breweries cropping up all over the place, while those like Verdant, Deya, Moor and Lost and Grounded are quenching the thirsts of beer lovers all over the country. Here in Exeter, Topsham Brewery mix music and their own beers at a lively tap down on the historic quay, while just outside the market town of Crediton the lagers of the newly commissioned Utopian are rapidly taking all of us by storm; add to that Powderkeg and others in the surrounding countryside and I’m beginning to temporarily lose that itch to travel (it’ll come back). Someone in the pub the other night said something that chimed within as we discussed our growing beer scene: local is the new global. She might well be right.

Adrian Tierney-Jones

Opposite Ends of the Scale

One of the UK’s most non-PC comedians, the late Bernard Manning, used to have a running gag at his shows in which he would pick an overweight member of the audience and a slimmer one and suggest the thin one looked like he had been in a famine his larger mate had caused.
This oddly reminds me of the brief time I spent working in Los Angeles in the early 1990s, when I discovered the Californian city had an extremely polarised population. Half seemed crazed, teetotal health fanatics on a weight-loss regime, while the other 50% were obese individuals on the path to early death from massive overconsumption of food and alcohol.
The health-conscious members of my office were firmly in the former camp and found it hard to accept I’d pop to a bar for a few beers after work. Apart from Fridays, which was the only acceptable drinking evening for my colleagues, my bar visits were invariably solo missions. To the majority in the office my behaviour suggested a raging alcoholic – just like the stereotypical English blokes they’d read about.
I wonder whether we’re falling into a similar polarised situation in the UK when it comes to drinking alcohol? Of most interest is the younger grouping of Generation Z – the 18 to 24-year-olds. It’s clear total alcohol sales are falling in the UK, and this is particularly prevalent among Generation Z.

Gen Z: More likely to drink mocktails than cocktails?

Research by KAM Media found that in 2018 almost two-fifths (39%) of the group claimed to be teetotal, which is more than twice the average level in the UK across the whole population. Proof of this move to a healthier lifestyle can be seen in almost half (49%) of respondents heading to the gym at the end of the day compared with a modestly higher 51% who go to the pub. This represents a serious 20% uplift in gym-goers since 2015.
However, countering these numbers is evidence from the Stonegate wet-led pubs business, which last year enjoyed a record-breaking fresher’s week. Chairman Ian Payne thinks part of the fall in consumption is simply down to the higher strength of beer today. Whereas a few years ago 3.8% ABV was the normal level for a beer and 5% Stella something akin to “loopy juice”, craft beer today is so packed with flavour and alcohol Payne says it’s impossible for most people to drink more than three pints in a session.
KAM Media founder Katy Moses suggests government statistics show levels of obesity, diabetes and alcohol problems are the same as before. There has been no noticeable decline in-line with the healthier trends we are seeing among Generation Z. “There seems to be two extremes of healthy and indulgent,” she says.
While this is undoubtedly the case, Moses suggests the middle ground is the dangerous (uncertain) part of the market for leisure and hospitality operators. But is it? We are seeing massive potential in what is undoubtedly the bridge between these two polarised camps – low and no-alcohol beer and spirits.

The ever-increasing range of low- and non-alcohol beers on offer

Drinks businesses around the world have recognised new product development in this area could provide the double-whammy of tempting non-drinkers into the category while appealing to regular drinkers who want to consume less and perhaps alternate between low-alcohol beer and their 10% triple IPA.
Certainly sales for low and no-alcohol beer in Western Europe have risen 18% in the past five years, according to Euromonitor, which predicts a further 12% climb by the end of 2022. I suspect low-strength beers might not have particularly appealed to Bernard Manning but, thankfully in many respects, the world has moved on and the market needs to adapt to the desires, demand and sensitivities of the younger generation.

Glynn Davis, editor of Beer Insider

This piece was originally published on Propel Info where Glynn Davis writes a regular Friday opinion piece. Retail Insider would like to thank Propel for allowing the reproduction of this column.

Around Town with Amateur Drinker


Bellwoods Jelly King Tangerine

As the trip started, on the train from Euston, in the month of February, I will detail the Manchester visit, for Cloudwater’s Family & Friends, in this month’s blog.

After checking in, The Editor and I started at The Crown & Kettle, which had a superb Buxton IPA on cask. A wonderful Burning Sky Arise, again on cask, at The Smithfield  Tavern, was followed by The Marble Arch with their famous Pint beer being dispensed in the same fashion.

Superb beers in great condition in wonderful local pubs. Finally, we ended in Cafe Beermoth, which was hosting a Bellwoods TTO. This Toronto brewery produces excellent beers, and, spoiler alert, one of them was ultimately to prove Beer of the Festival. However, although it is a great bar, Cafe Beermoth could have been a craft-bar in London, or, indeed, anywhere in the developed world and so lacked the charming difference of earlier in the evening.

Friday morning, we were late and yet surprisingly close to the front of the queue.  Once in, there seemed vastly more glasses than people outside and punters are almost never late for a pre-paid, unlimited pour festival. It soon became apparent that less than half the tickets had been sold.

Room to stretch out

Whilst this is not sustainable for the organiser, it meant for a fantastic experience for the festival-goer, with no crowds, waiting nor queues. For the most sought after brewers, Hill Farmstead, Monkfish, Other Half, Trillium and The Veil, there was a token system so that everybody would get some.

This seemed a very good idea, but wasn’t really tested, given the limited tickets sold. Modern Times bourbon BA imperial stout Modem Tones, De Garde spontaneous wild ales, J Wakefield Space Oddity, a Denali dry-hopped Berliner Weisse, Mikkeller Spontan, Trillium IPA, Other Half DIPA, but the undoubted beer of the festival was the aforementioned Bellwood’s Jelly King Tangerine, a dry-hopped sour that absolutely screamed of fruit.

Afterwards, we spent the afternoon in the Briton’s Protection, a lovely old-fashioned pub 5 minutes walk from the venue. Buxton, again, and a superb Cloudwater Burning Sky collab Reassuring Trial IPA, both on cask. The evening was spent in Refectory, Northern Monk’s bar and Cafe Beermoth again (not sure why).


Saturday will go down as a day of infamy, in the beer scene. I hadn’t checked any media, mainstream nor social, before meeting the Editor, for breakfast, at around 07:45. His expression was one of complete shock, and, when he asked, “Have you heard the news?” I assumed that there had been a natural disaster, terror attack or North Korea had launched a missile!

In fact, he told me that the Festival has been cancelled! Social Media said that the Council had turned up at the evening session, presumably after noise complaints from local residents, and realised that there was no alcohol licence. Authorities rarely stop an event, correctly understanding that evicting angry, drunk punters is a recipe for trouble.

However, the Council had made it abundantly clear that the event was not to continue on Saturday, with the organisers facing a large fine, and possibly jail time, if they did.  The agents renting the venue had apparently told Cloudwater that it had a full licence, but it is inexcusable not to get that in writing.

Rumours and counter rumours swirled as people decided whether to travel or take refunds. As we were pot-committed, with pre-paid hotels and train tickets, we weren’t going anywhere.  After walking down to the venue, and seeing some unfortunate punters turn up unaware of any problems, we popped over to Albert’s Schoss, for a couple of Czech lagers and to re-group.

The organisers maintained that the present venue was definitely out, and had therefore packed up and loaded the Lorries, but they were looking at alternatives, and the plan seemed to be one massive session with both morning and afternoon combined. It seemed absurd that any venue with a licence would still be free at the last minute on Saturday, far and away the most popular day for weddings, etc.

Moreover, there would have been no pre-planning at a new venue and logistics mistakes would be made. We both thought the one-session idea particularly stupid, full of queues which they would “justify” by saying that we were there for eight or nine hours. It was agreed that we would only go back to the original venue or take a refund.

We went back to Upper Campfield at about 13:00 and after a few minutes chatting to brewers, it was announced that they had got permission to carry on and were to start unloading the Lorries. We decamped to the nearby Briton’s Protection to await imminent confirmation. After 45 minutes the official announcement came that the evening session would be largely unaffected whilst the morning would be reduced to just three hours, but with a pro rata refund on our tickets.

One can gripe that the decision to unpack cost us a full-length session but I suspect that it was necessary to convince the Council that Cloudwater were taking it seriously and accepting responsibility.

Having been so close, we were near the front of the queue to get in and were OK, but, because Saturday had sold out, it took almost 15 minutes to get everyone in, which is bad at the best of times, but dreadful when the session had already been cut to three hours. Inside, it was much busier but not disastrously so: however the truncated time meant that the Guaranteed Pour system didn’t work, which is as a shame as it is a good idea.

The main complaint, rather than the licensing fiasco was that, as Friday hadn’t sold out, they kept beers on and didn’t rotate. This is completely unacceptable penny-pinching as the tickets had been sold on that basis, which meant people like ourselves who had bought more than one session ended up drinking many of the same beers again.

Overall it was a fantastic trip and I loved the Manchester pubs, and cask most of all. The Festival itself was a Curate’s Egg: fantastic beers and Friday morning, as half-full, was unbelievable, but the licensing was a rookie mistake and the beers should have been rotated.

Albert’s Schloss

A very good article from Will Hawkes on the much-missed London Beer City He pitched the idea at LBA in June 2014, two months before the inaugural event. Thanks again for all his hard work, and it was very sad to see it finish in 2017, after four great years.

A few events at Mikkeller Bar, which appears to have cut its prices, so that they are now merely expensive, rather than ludicrous, especially as the location is as central as it gets.  Angry Chair TTO with  3 Little Birds Berliner Weissse,  Mango Gose, El Cicuy, a Bourbon BA Russian Imperial Stout with cinnamon and vanilla, Popinski, another Russian imperial, this time with peanut butter and marshmallow and Simple Math, an imp stout with cinnamon, coconut and coffee.  Tired Hands TTO, which was obviously good, as I have managed to lose all my notes!

Craft Beer Rising was, as normal, a strange Trade Show, in which some, excellent independent beer, was interspersed with dreadful faux-craft brands from the macros. Timmy Taylor’s landlord on cask, opposite the American import stand, including Foolproof’s The Grotto IPA, Fifty Fifty West Coast Haze IPA and New Holland Dragon’s Milk imperial stout, provided a great contrast and attracted the crowds.  The Siren CBR after-party at The Old Fountain saw Soundwave, a Suspended and the Tropical Chocolate Cake, all on cask. No biggie (geddit?) on keg continued the West Coast IPA theme.

In brief news, Brouwerih de Molen is now part of Swinkels Family Brewers and RateBeer fully acquired by AB InBev, which immediately renders it useless.

And onto March, which will all be about some shocking news…

Reporting from the front-line – Amateur Drinker manages to get along to all the beer things you’d like to but couldn’t. If you see this man and are tempted to buy him a drink think of the consequences.

Bohem and Adnams team up for hoppy wheat beer collab


Fergus Fitzgerald flanked by team Bohem

Adnams’ respected head brewer Fergus Fitzgerald recently joined Bohem Brewery for the day to create a hoppy wheat beer collaboration packed with mandarins and US hop Sabro.

Although original discussions were around a creation along the lines of Schneider Weisse renowned Tap 5 Hopfen-Weisse beer the commitment to lager production by Bohem dictated that a lager yeast be used thereby reducing the clove and banana characteristic in the beer.

To overcome this missing aspect the brew was given a unique character through the use of Sabro hops – that have a Sorachi Ace dill-like flavour along with mango fruit character. This was complemented by the addition of 50kg of fresh mandarins into the kettle.

Fitzgerald says the appeal of brewing a collab with Bohem was the use of its Czech Republic-built decoction kit: “It’s an unusual way of production and until I’d actually brewed on it then I didn’t know it’s impact on a beer. It will give some spiciness and body to this wheat beer even though we are using lager yeast [on a mix of two-thirds wheat and one-third barley in the grist].”

It represents the first time Bohem has used wheat or fruit in any of its beers so the ultimate outcome will certainly interest Bohem head brewer Petr Skocek. For Fitzgerald fruit has played a part in a number of Adnams beers including one brew with juice from the peel of oranges that took two weeks to extract the required level of zest. “We did not do it again!” he says.

The collab beer – named Mandarinka – will spend a total of five weeks in tank at the Bohem Brewery and be released as a quaffable 4-4.4% zesty brew that will be available in keg at select bars.

Glynn Davis, editor, Beer Insider