Kegs and chains

They sure love a chain restaurant in England. They have loads of them, and there's something about a town like Bournemouth -- lots of visitors looking for something familiar, perhaps -- which seems to concentrate them. I did not go there with the intention of exploring exotic English chain restaurants. It just kind of turned out that way.

There is, for example, a Brewhouse & Kitchen, a chain of brewpub-restaurants that felt to me like a modern successor to the Firkins of old, and memorably described by Boak & Bailey as "a bit like business class Wetherspoons." Now there's a demographic to aspire to. I wasn't there to soak up the ambiance, however. I was there to try the beers, brewed on-site on the smart brewkit out front.

I began on the seasonal Kölsch, 5% ABV and appropriately clear and golden. The lovely malt aroma smells like brewing itself, though the flavour is rather plainer. It tastes crisp and a little grainy, meaning it's fully to-spec for anyone who's never drank really good Kölsch. This is in the genre of passable brewpub lager but offers nothing better, or indeed worse, than that.

An American-style pale ale was my next one: Yankee Hack. This is also blonde coloured and quite watery in the mouth, in need of more malt substance. The hops are at least plentiful, bringing zingy orange jelly first, and then a strange bitter spicing which I've recorded as aniseed and white pepper, though your perception may differ on that one. That's fine for a while, but before I had finished my half pint there was a kind of soapy twang emerging. I would not be running back to this one.

There were a few handpulls on the go as well, and herself took a chance on the bitter, Churchill's Fall. It's an unattractive murky amber colour, immediately suggesting a certain lack of cask-conditioned polish. The aroma is sweet and jammy but it doesn't go anywhere interesting with that on tasting. I found it smooth and bland, with more of that soapiness and not a peep out of the hops. More than anything, it reminded me of those execrable nitrogenated red ales from the 1990s. Caskffreys.

I get what they're trying to do here, but the calibre of the beer just isn't up to snuff, much like with most chain brewpubs. These three examples suggest that they're being overambitious in trying to make mass-appeal beers in-house.

At the bottom of the town, near the seafront, there's a development with a wide selection of chain venues in a symbiotic relationship with the Odeon cinema. There's a BrewDog, of course, but I didn't go in. Dinner was courtesy of The Real Greek, which has two beers of its own, brewed by I know not whom.

Alpha Omega Lager turned out to be the better of the pair. There's a solid malt-driven centre here, making me think of Czech pale lager in particular, and working well as a beer for food. Only the finish lets it down a little, arriving too quickly and making me realise that the high quality effect is superficial and that it's likely made very much on the cheap. I still place it on the good side of ordinary, and for the house lager in a chain restaurant it proved better than expected.

Sadly, I can't say the same for Alpha Omega Pale Ale. My first disappointing impression was that it's quite similar to the lager, being very light-bodied and pale. Some mild pine resin sparked a modicum of interest but then faded away to be replaced by a persistent sour zest, like dilute Jif lemon, sharp and astringent, and not at all enjoyable. Again, I'm blaming the accountants for this one: it tastes very cheap. I'm not sure the place really needs a second house beer in addition to the ersatz holiday lager.

From there, we classed it up at Côte, an upmarket sort of generic French bistro. They had upmarket French beer too: Meteor Lager, from France's oldest-established independent brewery. 4.5% ABV and arriving in a 33cl bottle, I suspect this has no pretensions beyond being a Gallic answer to Nastro Azzurro. It's of a much higher quality, however, being both crisply plain for refreshment and having a slightly sweet malt middle which becomes richer and more pronounced as it warms. So here's another chain making a good choice when picking its token lager.

Moving on, there is a craft-oriented beer bar in Bournemouth which isn't part of a chain: All Hail Ale. It claims to be a micropub, and is in a converted shop, but lacks the other common micropub features like cask-only beer, no music and early closing. Still, it's intimate, friendly and overall a nice place to drink.

From the keg selection I chose the charmingly named Post Mortem #2 by Edinburgh brewer Barney's. It's a sour ale aged in Pinot Noir barrels and, though golden, does taste substantially of red Burgundy wine, of ripe plum and fresh juicy red grapes. Added to this is what I suspect is the result of Brettanomyces yeast action: a sweet lychee and apricot effect. It's tangy rather than sour and I got no discernible contribution from the oak barrels; neither spices nor vanilla nor wood sap. There's enough acidity to make it mouthwatering and overall it's tremendous fun. You know, like an autopsy.

And for herself, the Baltic porter from Brass Monkeys down Kent way, called Time & Tide. The ABV checks out, being 8.4% but the flavour isn't quite to style. Chocolate on the aroma is fine, and then the flavour is full of chocolate as well, missing the proper herbal bitterness which should sit alongside. There's a faint metallic tang which I guess is where that's gone, but it's not a big enough feature for my liking. The texture is a bit off too. I don't know if this is really a lager but it doesn't feel like one. I suppose if all you wanted was a beefed-up version of English porter, this will do the job.

So we come to the beery bookends. On arrival at Bournemouth station I stopped in at an Asian supermarket and came out with a bottle of Yanjing U8 which I then drank on the pier. This is only 2.8% ABV and is somewhat under-attenuated with it, but not in a bad way. The residual sweetness gives it a fluffy, full-bodied, candyfloss character which I found quite charming, even satisfying, to drink. I recommend chugging it quite quickly, however, because that does not require much warmth to start turning cloying.

And then the biggest surprise of the weekend came at the Molson Coors-dominated bar at Southampton Airport. The best on offer was Sharp's Atlantic. I've never really got on well with Sharp's, even at the height of their pre-takeover pomp. I fully expected this keg pale ale to be a watery metallic mess. Instead, it has some very well laid-out zesty mandarin notes with an almost New England level of sweet juice. That's balanced by a dry middle which makes it an excellent thirst-quencher, even if it's a little overclocked at 5% ABV. They have bottles of this in my local supermarket which I've never touched. I must find out if it's the same beer inside, because the draught version is a real charmer.

Here endeth the session. You needn't put Bournemouth high on your beer bucket list but, like almost everywhere, there's good and interesting stuff to be found, despite the ongoing demise of good beer and good pubs that we're constantly hearing about.