If you've been following along recently, you'll know that several weeks ago I spent 9 days in the United Kingdom, split pretty evenly between getting home to Scotland and being at a conference in London. During those 9 days, I spent a decent amount of time in pubs, brewery tap rooms, and even the classic Highland hotel public bar. Since I got home to Virginia, I have spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about those spaces, the beers I drank, and the emotions that they inspired - and if you don't think pubs are emotional places then maybe I can change you mind by the end of this post.
The last few posts have not been a blow by blow account of my drinking whilst in the UK, as I mentioned in one of them, I haven't posted about drinking Tennents in the Station Hotel in Alness, or my afternoon pub crawl in Inverness. I've not discussed drinking London Pride and Guinness at Lords while the rain stopped play ad nauseum, meeting Phil Tufnell at the Danubius Hotel bar, or the Harvey's Sussex Best at The Washington in Hampstead. Not everything needs to be shared, and in some cases there are blanks in my memory...
As is probably evident, I was taken aback at how much I really enjoyed the kind of bitters that get roundly derided as being "boring" and "brown". I have mentioned several times that I am working on formulating a version of my best bitter that incorporates crystal malt, and indeed I have an ordinary bitter on keg right now that has some crystal 40 in it, but it is still rather paler than the beers I reveled in back in the UK, so I guess I need to buy some crystal 120, or maybe even some 260 if Murphy & Rude ever make that again. It is also a result of at least one bitter, in this case a strong bitter, that has me hunting for a supply of Admiral hops. I've played around with some of the newer British hops, especially Endeavour, and while Admiral isn't really all that modern, having been release in the 1990s, I feel like I need to explore beyond Goldings, Fuggles, and Challenger a bit more, especially given this autumn and winter could very easily become the season of Bitter.
The main thought that has pottered and re-pottered around my noggin is just what a fantastic place the British pub is, whether that incarnation is in Inverness or Westminster. Of course every serious beer drinking country has it's pubs, from Ireland to Czechia, and all stops in between, people love to drink in communal locations rather than just getting battered at home. Perhaps it that there isn't an undercurrent of puritanical shame about going for a pint or two and just hanging out, there doesn't need to be a purpose or an excuse to go for a drink. Anyway, back to British pubs - and of course this is all just subjective - but being, still, even at nearly 51, a rather introverted person, I find it interesting that going into a British pub is the easiest thing in the world for me. Let me give you an example, a few years ago, back in the before times (you know when I mean), I went to Bamberg, and had several pints of magnificent beer at Schlenkerla. Before I could muster up the courage to enter those hallowed halls, I had walked past the door several times, scoping out the flow of patrons, the places to sit, and the general vibe. When I went to any pub in the UK, there was none of that, I would just go straight in the door, get my pint and worry about where to sit, or stand, when I got there.
I realise that actually says more about me not wanting to stand out as the obvious outsider with my rusty school boy German, which brings me back to the introvert within. I feel instantly at home in the British pub because I can so easily be anonymous, and I love being anonymous. Let me sit with my beer and just people watch, and when I am ready for another pint, I will address myself to the stout yeoman of the bar. I have got used to table service, you really have no other choice in the US, and most places in Europe to be honest, but I love going up to the bar to get my next pint. It's almost a diagnostic thing, it's easier to tell how tiddled you are if you have to walk to and from the bar, half way with a pint in your hand, hopefully one that you're not slopping all over the place. With table service you are insulated from that until it is time to leave and suddenly your head spins as you get to your feet.
It likewise struck me that for such a country so renowned for our reserve, the pub is the place we let our guard down and open up a little, and perhaps becomes a little more observant of, and for, our fellow human beings. For example, I was standing in the St James Tavern, tending a pint of London Pride, enjoying the busy of an early Friday evening crowd. To my left a couple were standing at the bar, clearly wanting to find a table to sit at, being 6'4" (that's 1.93m in the modern world), I could see a table opening up on the other side of the bar, so I let the couple know and off they tottered to claim those seats. Again, I am not the kind of person to just point things out to people in the normal run of things, but put a pint in my hand in a pub, and that goes out the window a little - don't worry I don't turn into mister gregarious or anything crazy, and I am not sure the rumours of me smiling a little in the pub are true or not. So, yeah, I miss the pub.
The weird thing here is, I left the United Kingdom nearly three decades ago as a 23 year old, and since then I have probably been home fewer than a score times. I have drunk in hospody, bierhalle, brewery taprooms, and cafes far more regularly than I have a British pub, yet the sense of instant familiarity stays with me, like a well loved security blanket whenever I get back to the UK. I have been told in the dim and distant past that I am more "pub-centric" in my approach to beer than a craft beer fan, and there is a lot of truth to that. Pubs, regardless of where you find them, are special, almost liminal places and we fail to value them at our peril.
