Drinking beer so that you don't have to!

Beck’s is Germany’s best-known international beer brand with availability in more than 90 countries. It has for a number of years been owned by the biggest brewing behemoth on the planet, namely AB InBev, a company that brews more than 45 billion litres of beer per year (almost 7 litres per living human being), has a turnover in excess of US$47 billion (about the same as the gross domestic product of Lithuania), and generates more than US$15 billion in profit for its shareholders. Not surprisingly, the company has a reputation for bland beers, cost cutting, buying and shutting breweries and other such shameful shenanigans. Therefore, many beer lovers (myself included) try to avoid their products, preferring to spend our hard-earned money supporting brewers that care more about taste and quality. However, as I was browsing the beer shelves in my local supermarket the other day, I failed to avoid noticing that Beck’s have jumped on the Craft Beer Bandwagon (CBB), launching three new beers on the market: an amber lager, a pale ale and a “traditional” pilsner (called “1873 pils” in reference to the year that Beck’s was originally founded), and providing the consumers with a very handy 3-pack containing one of each, making the purchase process very smooth indeed.

Needless to say, I saw it as my sacred duty to you, the faithful readers of this blog, to purchase one bottle of each of these and conduct a tasting session, to save you from having to go through this potentially costly and painful experience yourselves – and so it came to pass that last night a few weeks ago, I opened said three bottles and poured them into a glass with a minimum of pomp but an appropriate amount of circumstance. The first one out was the 1873 Pils, and it poured nicely – as you would expect, it left the bottle willingly once I had remembered to remove the bottle top and tilted the bottle the required amount, and since I had cunningly positioned the glass underneath, nothing was spilled. There was some head, which is always nice, though this disappeared disappointingly quickly, which on the positive side gave me a golden excuse to drink the beer faster. On the nose, the beer felt wet and a little bit fizzy, but once it found its way down my gullet it revealed a fair amount of taste. Where most German pilsners from the north are quite dry and hoppy, this one was malty and had a touch of sweetness. Certainly not unpleasant, but not something to write a poem about either, except possibly a mediocre limerick.

It's pils as it was back in 1873, apparently.

Next up was the Amber Lager. Some of my favourite lagers are amber and some of my favourite ambers are lagers, so I had high hopes that this would be one that would make its forefathers in Vienna proud. Unfortunately, it was on the bland side. Not unpleasant, just lacking something – a bit like a bee happily buzzing around pollenating some fairly attractive flowers, but knowing in its tiny little heart that if it had only found an extra “r” it could be a beer instead.

Don't underestimate the power of the amber side.

Finally, there was the Pale Ale. This had more hops and certainly a more flowery sort of taste, though this was also miles away from some of the finer interpretations of the style both in terms of the overall attack on the taste buds as well as the subtler aspects. However, credit should be given for a decent effort – it was quite drinkable, and I finished the whole bottle without having to force anything down. I could go on about notes of freshly mown grass and lightly used badminton rackets, but for some reason such descriptions never enter my head whilst drinking, only when I sit down afterwards to write about a taste I have long since forgotten… so I won’t.

It's pale and presumably ale, but is it pale ale?

In confusion, this was an eminently forgettable, but nevertheless not unpleasant drinking session. My prediction is that these beers will disappear from the market as suddenly as they appeared, and looking at their web site just now this is exactly what seems to have happened – the focus is back on the standard pils and the crazy mixtures they concoct up there in Bremen, like beer mixed with lemon, lime and other citrus fruits that really should go nowhere near a decent brewery’s drink portfolio. Never mind – Beck’s marketing department probably has an idea or two on how to continue to contribute healthily to AB InBev’s profits, and they don’t need my help, even though I’d be happy to provide expert advice for a very reasonable 10% cut. Meanwhile, I shall shift my attention to other parts of Europe – I have travelled a bit lately, which has enabled me to expand my beery horizons even further. In other words – stay tuned. As they say in Thailand despite the fact that I haven't been there for 20 years: Chok dee!

It's Czech, mate!

Well, well, well. It’s been a while. My keyboard may not have been fingered as much as usual, but I have not been idle drinking-wise. Since the last blog entry, I have had the (somewhat mixed) pleasure of drinking beer in Germany, Switzerland, France, Norway, Belgium, Russia, England, Scotland and last – but definitely not least – the Czech Republic.

My wife had never been to Prague, and I hadn’t been there for almost 8 years, so in order to drink two beers with one hand I gave her a very cunning Christmas present, namely a trip to Prague accompanied by yours truly. Rumour has it that Prague is one of the most attractive cities in Europe. This may well be the case. What I have established beyond reasonable doubt is that Prague is arguably the finest city in Europe in which to drink beer.

Before I start describing the delights of this city from a beer lover’s perspective, I’ll give you some basic facts about Czech beer. Of course, the momentous occasion in the city of Plzen (also known by its German name Pilsen) in 1842, when Joseph Groll invented the golden lager style known all over the world as “pils” or “pilsner”, remains the turning point. After this, all Czech breweries worth their malt started to brew their own interpretations of this style. What is interesting, though, is that the Czech pilsner-style beers remain different from other pilsners in that they tend to have a richer, more full-bodied malt sweetness to them. The reason for this is that the brewers use a lot of malt in the wort, but then stop the fermentation process before all the fermentable sugars have been turned to alcohol. Most other factory brewers abhor such ideas, because malt is expensive – and to get people drunk cheaply, the best idea is to turn almost all the malt sugars to alcohol. Not so in Czech lands – instead, the brewer deliberately leaves malt sweetness in the finished products and then – wait for it – adds another expensive ingredient, namely hops, to balance the sweetness! No wonder the Czech Republic is one of the cheapest places in Europe to drink beer! Erm, hang on a minute...

If you’re visiting this fantastic country and wander into a pub for the first time, you’re likely to be a little confused by the beer menu. It’s not going to be very extensive – 2 or 3 beers on tap and perhaps a handful of bottled ones is the norm. If you want a beer menu looking more like a telephone book (if you don’t remember what telephone books look like, you’re either too young or too drunk and should stop reading right now to either grow or sober up), go to Belgium. However, you will notice some very scary looking numbers next to the beers, usually 10, 11, 12 or 14, with a symbol that looks a little like the percent or degree symbol. Fear not, this is not the alcoholic content, nor is it the temperature of the beer. Rather, it is a number that indicates how much malt went into the beer before it started fermenting. This is known as the gravity of the beer, and is information that is difficult to obtain for the vast majority of brews in the world. In Czech, though, this is used to categorize beers in the menu, along with its colour (light, amber or dark). The number comes, allegedly, from the Balling scale, which surely deserves to be at least as well known as the Richter or Bathroom scales. Anyway, the Balling scale very nicely tells you how much malt the brewer put into the beer and therefore indicates its value as a nutritious drink: 10 indicates a relatively light beer for everyday drinking, 12 is usually a brewery’s flagship lager that corresponds roughly to “premium beers” elsewhere, and 14 or higher are special beers for special occasions such as breakfast.

OK, enough lecturing. You are, after all, reading this blog to get my heavily biased opinions, not a bunch of dry facts that you could easily look up on Wikipeida. As soon as you arrive in Prague, make sure you get the heck out of the airport as soon as possible, because the airport is, as far as I could tell, the only place where beer is actually expensive. The first thing you need to do when you get to town is to avoid going into any pub that displays the sign “Staropramen” on the outside. Staropramen is owned by the biggest brewing corporation in the world, which means that they have turned a once-great lager into standard euro-fizz and, to add insult to injury, they’re trying to flog you imported Stella as well. You’re much better off going into bars that display the sign “Budweiser Budvar” or “Pilsner Urquell”. If you’re going to find anything else than these Big Three, you’ll have to search. Needless to say, I searched – with good help of the invaluable “Good Beer Guide to Prague”, a guide book so essential that I’m surprised they don’t automatically include it in the price of the bus ticket from the airport.

These beers from one of the Big Three weren't quite up to the normal Czech standard

The first place to try and find is the “Pivovarsky Dum”. This is a fantastic little microbrewery that serves one of the best unfiltered pilsner-style lagers, one of the best dark lagers and some of the weirdest fruity concoctions in the whole of the land. If you’re feeling adventurous, get the beer sampler where you get a tenth of a litre of each beer, including the sour cherry, the coffee and the stinging nettle beers. Then re-order your favourites, which are likely to be the lovely wheat beer, the aforementioned lagers and perhaps the seasonal. Incredible stuff.

Weird and wonderful beers from Pivovarsky Dum

Next, you could wander across town or get a few trams and land up in the “Pivovarsky Klub”. This is one of the few places with a beer menu approaching what you’re used to from Belgium – a large selection of Czech and foreign beers are on offer. Ignore the foreign stuff and start with the 5 or 6 they have on tap. These probably change – after our visit, there sure wasn’t much left, anyway – but the ones we tried were simply superb: a couple of light-coloured, unfiltered pilsner-style beers, a couple of amber ones and a very fine dark. The bottled stuff will probably be a little disappointing after the freshness of the ones on tap, but it’s a great opportunity to try beers from all corners of the republic.

Prague’s weirdest and wonderfullest microbrewery has been there since 1499, and it’s called “U Fleku”. This place is worth a trip to Prague on its own – a vast complex of different rooms, all kitted out with great big tables full of tourists drinking a pitch-black beer, which is explained by the fact that it is the only thing on offer. Try asking the waiter for a pilsner, and you’ll be told in no uncertain terms that there are 97 other people waiting for your table space so you should stop wasting his time. A better strategy is to order the beer, which is so good I’ve decided to compose a symphony in its honour. Actually, make that two symphonies.

Novomestsky Pivovar is another microbrewery in Prague - worth seeking out, as you can see!

Prague is much more than its tourist-infested old town, though. A walk out into the suburbs gives you a very different impression of the city – gone are all the fine architecture and foreign crowds, replaced by a nice mixture of Czechs going about their daily business and old, dilapidated remnants of former times. On our final day, we walked over to the Prague Exhibition Grounds, which had a fantastic old main building which looked like it couldn’t decide whether to fall down or be renovated. Next door was a cafe which served beers from the “Uneticky Pivovar”, which I had, astonishingly, never heard of. Apparently, the original brewery that was founded in 1710 stopped brewing in 1949, only to be revived in 2011. I promptly ordered the unfiltered lager, which cost about half as much as in the centre of Prague, and enjoyed what was perhaps the finest lager I’ve ever had the pleasure to drink on a Monday afternoon.

Czech out the prices...

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and so it was with our trip to Prague also. All too soon, the trip out to the airport beckoned, and we collected our luggage with heavy hearts (actually, we used our hands) and a few hoppy tears in our eyes. To soften the blow, we stopped off at the splendid litte Pivovarsky Dvur in Chyne, from where you can pretty much see the airport (still the best part of an hour away by bus though), and enjoyed a last couple of lovely Czech beers. I would probably have labelled these as unforgettable if it hadn’t been for the fact that, due to the plethora of unforgettable beers we had already sampled and forgotten, I promptly forgot what they were like.

In conclusion, Prague is a great city and you must go there immediately. There are plenty of tourist attractions, most of which we ignored, and an insane number of places to drink excellent beer, most of which we didn’t have time to visit. Although the beer scene is dominated by the aforementioned Big Three, finding excellent and unusual brews both from Prague and around the country is not difficult. Add the fact that the beer is somewhere between cheap and ridiculously cheap (at least seen with my Norwegian eyes, which are used to watching my Norwegian hands paying up to 10 times as much for a beer), and you quickly realize that you’re in a beer-lover’s paradise. Are you still reading? I thought I told you to go immediately. No time to waste! Na zdraví!

Pils pils me

Insomnia is less fun than drinking beer, and it’s also less fun than sleeping. In fact, insomnia is one of the least rewarding hobbies available to mankind. The only positive aspect is that you get a few extra hours in the middle of the night which you can use to update your blog, and write about fun things such as sleeping, beer, or sleeping after drinking beer, so I guess it could be worse.

Today I thought I’d write about the World’s favourite beer style: pils, pilsner or pilsener. This incredibly successful brew originates in the town of Plzen, known as Pilsen in German and once upon time part of the massive Habsburg Empire, but nowadays situated in the westernmost part of the Czech Republic. It was here, in the 1830s, that a handful of breweries united to form a citizens’ brewery (Bürgerbrauerei) in order to improve quality and compete efficiently with the Bavarians, whose beers had a far better reputation. They recruited a young brewer named Josef Groll from the town of Vilshofen in Bavaria, but it was quite clear that this lad wasn’t satisfied with merely trying to copy the dark, bottom-fermented lagers that were commonly brewed just across the border. Instead, he started experimenting with paler malts and proceeded to combine this with the lovely soft water from the wells in Plzen as well as a generous helping of Saaz hops to create something the world had never seen before. He presented his first batch of beer to the unsuspecting drinkers on the 5^th of October 1842.

The rest is, as they say, history.

The brewery where the Pilsner beer was invented

The drinkers in Plzen loved the new golden beer, and presented in the new see-through glassware that was becoming popular (replacing the old ceramic tankards), the visual appearance of the brew also played a major part in its success. Soon, others started copying the style, and before anyone realized what was going on (mainly because they were too busy drinking, I suppose), 150 years had flown by and breweries were churning out their various interpretations of pilsner all over the world.

Lovely looking kettles, now used to show tourists how lovely they look

A few years ago I visited the Plzeňský Prazdroj brewery which made, and still makes, the Pilsner Urquell (which means the “original source” in German). This was a very mixed experience. On the one hand, you’re standing in the exact spot where Josef didn’t brew the first batch, but at least you’re not far away, and you get a real sense of brewing history. On the other hand, you very quickly realize that ever since the brewery was bought out by the giant corporation SABMiller, the emphasis has shifted from tradition and quality to marketing and brands. They take you on a big tour around the brewery and serve up one claim after the other about how they’ve modernized and changed everything but ensured that the beer tastes exactly the same. Then you get to see the vast network of underground passageways containing wooden lagering casks kept at a constant 4-5 degrees Celsius, and they tell you that this is no longer in use because it has been replaced with modern tanks. Finally, they actually give you a glass of unfiltered beer from one of the few wooden casks they still use “for quality control purposes”, and you get to taste what may well be the best pilsner in the world. In fact, this is also a great place to bring the kids if you have some, or rent a couple if you don’t, because they also get a glass of beer which you can swiftly confiscate as long as they’re under 16 or 18 or 35 or whatever you find appropriate. I was ready to adopt a couple of the most gullible-looking kids on the tour, but their father politely refused before guzzling their beers with a very happy smile on his face.

Underground passageway with beer casks, some with very good beer in them

After the tour you’re ushered into the brewery tavern where you can drink more beer from taps conveniently located at your own table. They serve the filtered version from the modern tanks this time, and it still tastes pretty good, even if it lacks the magical wonderfulness of the unfiltered beer straight from the cask.

It’s only when you come home to wherever you live and you pick up a bottle of Pilsner Urquell in your local supermarket that you realize what’s really wrong with this whole enterprise. Not only is the beer brewed at several different breweries hundreds or thousands of kilometres away from its home (making a complete mockery of the “original source” claim), it is also likely that the beer will taste absolutely nothing like the wonderful stuff you quaffed back in Plzen. It’s not just that this beer doesn’t travel well, I think it goes a bit deeper than that. SABMiller have bought up the brand and shamelessly exploited its heritage whilst disregarding quality and tradition. Perhaps it’s just the way of the world nowadays, but I personally find it a bit sad. May it one day spectacularly backfire.

Pilsner remains one of my favourite types of beer, but I’m getting increasingly picky. Most of the pilsners in Germany and the Czech Republic are good, with a decent amount of bitterness as a result of generous usage of hops. This is how it should be. The Czech versions tend to have a bit more of a malty body, whereas the German ones are a bit drier, but the best ones from both countries are wonderful beers, especially on a hot summer’s day. The rest of the world, unfortunately, is not so lucky. Although there are some glorious exceptions, most “pilsners” that you buy are fizzy, cold, and taste either next to nothing, or have this unpleasant chemical taste that comes from the use of sugar, maize, rice, polluted water or, perhaps, chemicals. The emphasis is on producing vast quantities at low cost. To avoid scaring off customers, the marketing people that instruct the brewers what to do tell them to avoid using too much hops in case the trendy young people who bought the beer because of the great design on the new label should accidentally taste something.

As you can see, I have a love-hate relationship with the pilsner. I love the ones in my fridge, but I hate the big global beer makers that buy out the small players and promote their tasteless brands instead. Too often the choice is a big brand or no beer, but increasingly often I see smaller breweries sneaking into bars and restaurants, so perhaps there’s hope. I’m using my consumer power for all it’s worth, buying the good stuff and avoiding the crap, and I encourage you all to do the same. This way, we’ll support local brewers and hopefully retain the diversity we enjoy – at least in some countries – today. Man, that’s enough preaching for today, I think. I’m sleepy. Good night!

Summertime – and the drinking is easy

I’m looking out the window and it’s as dark as a serious porter. A few weeks ago it would have been more pils-coloured out there at this time of day. This can mean only one thing: it’s time for another blog post.

Today I thought it’d be a great idea to review the summer of 2011, in other words the very season which still hasn’t quite finished. The less said about the weather, the better, so I shan’t bore you with statistics about record levels of rainfall and the fact that even though it’s felt like a coldish summer, it’s actually been warmer than the long term average. The topic of this blog is, after all, beer.

One question which causes much debate, serious disagreements and perhaps a minor war or two every year is: what is the ultimate beery refreshment on a hot summer’s day? There are many candidates, but most people will agree that a summer beer should be light in colour, very cold, and perhaps also light in body and taste - perhaps a bit like making love in a canoe, to quote a famous Monty Python sketch. Personally, I disagree. The most refreshing summer beers are not necessarily light in colour and most certainly not light in taste, though I concede that I prefer them coldish. Another aspect of summer beers is that they probably shouldn’t be monster strong in alcohol terms, so that you can have “a few” without necessarily needing the entire autumn to recuperate. This, unfortunately, excludes most beers from Belgium, though the Belgian will no doubt disagree, albeit somewhat drunkenly.

Sometimes, a dark beer in summer is just right

Personally, I find that the Germans, as per usual when it comes to beer, have got everything about right. Their Pilsners are mostly well brewed, and a fair number of them are quite heavily hopped, at least if you compare to the average “global brands” (I’m sure you know which ones I’m talking about and if not I promise to write a severe post where I slag them off properly sometime). The hop presence in the German pilsners is very refreshing and tends to make you fancy just one more before you meander home from the warm evening in the beer garden.

Of course, there’s also the wheat beers. Nobody brews these better than the Bavarians, which probably explains why these people are so fond of their beer gardens. These are so omnipresent that it sometimes comes as a surprise to find pointless things like buildings, parks, roads and tomatoes between them. In fact, quite a few Bavarians live in the beer garden pretty much all summer, having a reserved table called a “Stammtisch” where nobody else is allowed to sit. There they quench their thirsts with the best wheat beers, most of which are wonderfully tart and über-refreshing even though they’re sometimes not particularly light in colour.

The Berlin version of the wheat beer also deserves a mention. This beer is so sour it makes lemons taste like lollipops in comparison, but with a bit of practice and some patience, you should be able to enjoy its taste even if your face may suggest otherwise. An added benefit is its surprisingly low alcohol content – at only 3% or so you can have quite a few before you lose control of your legs, though what it would do to your stomach is a different question.

Bavarian beer gardens are great places to live in summer

Less traditionally associated with summer, but nevertheless refreshing, are other well-hopped beers such as Pale Ales. You won’t find many of these in Germany, but adventurous brewers in North America and lately also in Europe, are brewing some really good examples. What could be better than watching the sunset from your terrace on a warm evening whilst enjoying a chilled pale ale?

In summary (or should that be summery?), I think it’s safe to conclude that beer, without a shadow of doubt, is the best summer drink available. Sure, beer is also the best autumn, winter and spring drink, but that’s not the point. Assuming the weather is half-decent, summer gives you great flexibility since you can be inside, outside, poolside, seaside, offside, backside, countryside or even ribonucleoside and still enjoy a cold brew. For this reason, I have no hesitation in placing the summer firmly amongst my top four favourite seasons, and encourage you all to raise a glass to the last few warm days remaining before, conveniently, the Oktoberfest kicks off.