The 07.39 Tonbridge to Charing Cross is delayed, which means the whole days itinerary is in jeopardy. Frost lines the tracks and lingers on rooftops, the air cuts through wool, leather cotton, polyester and skin. It’s the coldest morning of the year and the prospect of spending Sunday chasing trains and waiting on unfamiliar platforms is about as appealing as sticking my head in an industrial freezer.

Actually that might be respite from the cold today.

Just as I piece together the Kentish drawl of the public address system the train eases silently into place. Stops at Hildenborough, Sevenoaks and Orpington are cancelled so that the lost time can be made up and (hopefully) I can make my connection to Leeds. Slowly the The steeples of the oast houses disappear into the undulating hills as the white frosted countryside flies past. Larkin would have written volumes on this journey…

We pull under the shadow of the Shard just in time Read the rest of this entry »

A book, a beer and some me time

Monday night, November. It’s wet, but mild. It’s one of the first really dark evenings, nature’s signal that the beautiful bit of autumn is over and that the trees are preparing for the onset of winter.

As the clock strikes 9.30pm there’s a forgotten errand to run and unexpectedly an opportunity presents itself. An opportunity for ‘me time‘.

My better half receives an overestimate on the ETA for the errand. It’s some ill luck on the way home – a queue at the self serve or some faulty traffic lights. Leeds is littered with road works, they even made the news. Gas repairs on Armley gyratory? Perfect, save for later.

Errand completed in double quick time and oh look, is that a pub? The real ale festival is on? It’d be rude not too… and in I slip.* Read the rest of this entry »

In a list of New Zealand’s exports you can pick from lamb, kiwis, exciting rugby union, Bret and Jermaine, Nelson Sauvin hops and even non-league football and World Cup legend Shane Smeltz, who helped guide his national side to become the only unbeaten team in the 2010 tournament in South Africa (unfortunately he didn’t help Halifax Town too much although I have seen him play at the Shay a few times).

But you beer lovers might just want to pop Kelly Ryan, brewer extraordinare at Thornbridge Brewery, to the top of that list. Kelly leaves the UK this week to head back to his homeland but his legacy will live on with a number of beers that are achieving cult status in the UK – Jaipur India Pale Ale, green hopped Halcyon, Saint Petersburg Imperial Stout and the rare and enigmatic Bracia stout. Kelly’s influence goes beyond simply brewing though, but through hosting tasting events, becoming a resident and local at The Coach and Horses in Dronfield and generally being a positive ambassador for beer.

So as a brewer whose helped change real ale for the better and someone we’re honoured to call an acquaintance, to Kelly and Catherine, all the best in New Zealand and we hope to see you again (hopefully for a twissup style curry!).

Kelly Ryan: better at brewing than Shane Smeltz is at football

Shane Smeltz: has scored more World Cup goals than Kelly Ryan

Kelly& Cat, thanks for the great beers, the inspiring chats and the twissup adventures. All the best in New Zealand, we’ll be having a Mac’s Gold and selected Thornbridge beers in your honour this weekend! PS. Did you and Shane learn those faces at school or something?!

The girl with the pink boa is shrieking loud enough to pierce the wine glass hanging precariously from her hand. Encouraged by a half-cut punter – whose mates have dropped their shoulders towards the bar, wishing their chum would pack it in – she’s asking for photos, removing a thong that’s external to her outerwear (not that you’d notice, it’s fairly intimate outerwear) and decorating shouty-bloke’s less enthusiastic friend with a further feathery pink article and splitting her ample sides with annoyingly gregarious laughter. Her drawling accent cuts through the equally energetic shouts of her girlfriends and the ominous din of 5pm at Wetherspoons in the train station. Read the rest of this entry »

There’s a week in autumn when suddenly the weather takes over the UK. The beautiful yellow, orange and golden leaves are washed from their trees by cats-and-dogs rain and violent winds. The rain thrashes down on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. This week was such a week.

But a gathering storm wouldn’t put the British off burning Guy Fawkes at the stake.

There’s something primeval about Bonfire Night; communities clubbing together everything they can find that is 1) of no use or value and 2) slightly flammable. The roads come to a stand still as normal people with centrally-heated houses rush to cold, wet, muddy fields to stand around a huge fire eating hot dogs.

And it’s generally brilliant.

This year we avoided the throngs of people who descended on Roundhay Park in Leeds (the twenty-something curmudgeons we are meant that we couldn’t face 70,000 people and the dogfight for parking).

So off to the local rugby club (union not league which is a story in itself in these parts). A juicy burger fresh from the griddle, candy floss, bouncy castles and merriment. An ice cold beer, well deserved after a torrential week in terms of weather and workload.

Under the creaking terrace, crammed in like sardines, we sat back and enjoyed the pyrotastic delights, craning necks to see the rockets and bangers that shot so high that those clammering at the back of the stand couldn’t see for the overhanging roof.

And then to the lounge bar: pies and peas, salt & vinegar, reminiscing, joking, betting on the weekend’s X Factor and admiring the sports stars of the local team during years gone by. More perfect, wonderful pints of Fosters served in plastic glasses that burned our fingers with cold condensation. The table is littered in the carrion of good time, remnants of a pint of Wainwright’s, and a plastic cup of rosé, chips and gravy for sharing.

The magic of Roundhay Park? No thank you, the magic of the local community on Bonfire Night thank you very much.

As far as seasonal beers go, I’m not sure many beers can beat Morrison’s Hot Cross Ale for capitalising on a specific annual event. At Christmas we pull out dark stouts scented with cigars and pudding fruits; during the summer we thrown oranges and lemons at everything; but what could sum up spring and Easter better than a hot cross bun. Excluding Cadbury’s Creme Eggs that is.

And if you think this is a gimmick or a joke, I urge you to try it (fingers crossed they do it next year) if only for the experience.

It smells like no beer ever! It’s lemon, currants and cinnamon through and through; it tastes like hot cross buns! There’s a touch of marmalade and spiced orange peel, even that currant character that defines Eccles Cakes, minced pies…and even Banbury Cakes if you’ve ever had the pleasure.

So is the perfect the perfect Spring time beer? Not really, asthis beer would actually better suited to Autumn or Winter,: open fires, conker fights, Christmas markets and roasted chestnuts.

And even if it is a gimmick, it’s one I’ll happily sup again.

Morrisons Hot Cross Ale

Roosters Brewery, whose beers are the staple diet of many a Yorkshire pub, marked this Hallowe’en with a pumpkin beer. No ordinary pumpkin beer though, a pumpkin beer served in nothing less than a giant pumpkin. A really, really giant pumpkin.

Pumpkin 5 Spice Ale was tapped at North Bar in Leeds, in front of Calendar news and a small selection of excitable beer lovers. Arguably a more delicate task than tapping a cask, the job in hand was left to Sam Franklin of Roosters Brewery.

And what of the beer? Well, it’s eminently drinkable: sweet without being at all syrupy; conditioned to perfection with just a hint of carbonisation; spicy but not hot – nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves dominate, ideal for warming the spirit on a cold day.

Everything in moderation including moderation they say. Strangely perhaps, Roosters 5 Spice Pumpkin Ale is a beer that you could drink with little moderation. One of the best session beers of the year.

And it’s served from a pumpkin. A giant pumpkin. What more could you want on a lazy Saturday afternoon in autumn?!

Roosters Pumpkin Ale at North Bar

Read the rest of this entry »

Butternut Squash Curry and Birra Del Borgo Castagnale

It’s half 5 and I’m trying desperately to leave work on time to make the 19.45 kick off. The roads are as sodden as tarmac can be, water runs from every orifice of the car and a swirling wind howls around the city centre.

5 minutes stuck in a queue that goes nowhere. 10 minutes trying to get on the M621 slip road. After being stuck at the same red-amber-green-amber-red-amber-green lights for an eternity I dodge my way out of the queue, flashing the hazards in gratitude, and diverting through Beeston. But it’s a mistake – everywhere is gridlocked. I’ve listened to most of London’s Calling and I’m still within shouting distance of the office.

But eventually I’m out of inner city terraces, past the ex-continental supermarket (now Tesco, naturally) and bypassing the behemoth estates of South Leeds. At last, the front of the bottleneck and up the slope to the motorway. Mirror, signal, manoeuvre and without further ado I’m tearing raindrops apart on the way to Castleford to meet friends before the game.

Bedraggled I pull up at Xscape, Yorkshire’s premier haven of neon commercialism. The brightly lid façade is strangely welcoming, blurred though it is through the rain-covered windscreen. I feel like I’m in a teen Hollywood movie, pulling up somewhere I shouldn’t be.

Then dashing to The Winter Seam for a Wetherspoons tea, hurdling puddles, slamming into the double doors and falling through them into the warmth. The other two are waiting, eating. Lasagne and mixed grill. I slip in at the bar, wait too long to be served and order butternut squash curry and a pint of Castagnale.

Food is wolfed down in catch-up mode, beer mostly misused to assist this process. Despite this it’s good though, brown and caramel yet interesting. The chestnut and spice finish helps take my mind off the cold, wet evening and complements the hot vegetable broth and naan breads surprisingly well. The food is good too, the service provided with a smile.

Before long we’re back in the car, heading to Ossett for my first Halifax Town match of the season. It’s the West Riding Cup and Town give Ossett a spanking in front of 100 people. Wind and rain help with at least four goals, but what I’d do for another Castagnale sat behind the goal as rain sweeps and swirls across the pitch. In fact, what I’d do for a Wetherspoons nightcap. Read the rest of this entry »

I was hoping to get to the Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem to do a piece on its unique atmosphere and selection of beers. Time and circumstances didn’t allow however. They did allow my wife and I to visit the The Joseph Else though, a Wetherspoons pub in Nottingham’s Old Market Square.

The original review was going to focus on the pub as well as the ale but, with this being a Wetherspoon’s there’s not much point. The pub was, well, it was a city-centre Wetherspoons. The spilt-beer-encrusted carpet had seen better days, and the air was awash with the banter of the pre-football crowd (though as Notts County were at home that day, it wasn’t very large.)

The Nottingham Beer Festival was on that weekend and, never ones to pass up an opportunity, Wetherspoons were having their own ‘beer festival.’ We chose a pint and a half (mine was the pint – honest) of Game Keeper bitter (from Milestone – a local brewery based in Newark) and retired to the first floor, which at least afforded us the luxury of sitting down.

The bitter had a nice foamy head, which survived the walk upstairs and the search for seating, and a clear, mid-brown colour. At first taste it was very pleasant; slightly hoppy without being too much so, with a sweet hint of honey. It’s decently strong at 5.2% but didn’t taste overly sugary and was a smooth and easy drink, without once ever feeling cloying or sticky as some bitters can. I’d have quite happily have had more but, again, time and circumstances didn’t allow.

Definitely one to look at for if you see it around.

The Joseph Else is named for the 19th century sculptor who created one of Nottingham’s iconic landmarks, the lions that adorn the Town Hall. Many a relationship has been forged in some way by those lions, the meting place of choice for generations of Nottinghamshire lovers.