Job done

I was expecting something hot and heavy from St. Austell's Big Job, imagining it as a kind of tramps' edition of their Proper Job IPA. But it's really quite classy, despite the name. A slight haze is thrown by the bottle-conditioning, around which it's a bright golden orange colour. There's maybe a faint whiff of that Special Brew-ish sickliness in the aroma but mostly it's all about the hops: pithy jaffa and lighter ripe mandarin.

There's a veritable explosion of hoppy fruit on tasting, the combination of Centennial, Citra and Cascade working its magic and pushing out a complex cocktail of lime, honeydew, peach skins and even a dusting of coconut. While I was still boggling at all that, it struck me that there's no trace of heat from the 7.2% ABV -- if anything the texture is a little thin but that does add enormously to its power to refresh.

Even as a long-time flag-waver for the joys of Proper Job (except when on keg) I was surprised by how enjoyable this was.

Top marks, St. Austell.

Priorities

It feels odd even writing it, but it's true: on my last visit to England, a two-day trip in mid-June, I didn't visit a single pub. My friends Sarah and David were getting married in a remote corner of east Cornwall and the most straightforward way of getting there was flying into Bristol and driving down. We opted to stay in a precariously positioned clifftop cottage near the venue, which meant nipping out to a nearby licensed hostelry wouldn't really have been an option, had we had the time to do it. But none of that matters: the wedding was wonderful and there was decent beer aplenty.

In fact, beer was the theme of the wedding, each table named after a hop variety and decorated with tasting glasses and a beer which demonstrated the specific hop in action. I don't know who I pissed off to get seated at Fuggles, but there you have it. Mercifully the showcase beer was a last-minute substitution and instead of Bombardier it was a local(ish) Devon brew called Otter Bright. I'm happy to report it's a largely malt-driven beer, a golden ale of 4.3% ABV. The nose is a little off-putting, being slightly musty and oxidised, but the beer underneath is sound. There's lots of golden syrup and pale sugary biscuits. The hops are mostly present in a final bitterness that balances it nicely. Even at room temperature, this was a success.

While I didn't get to go to a pub, I did drop into a brewery briefly. There was a concern that the beer supplies laid in might not have been enough, so on the morning of the wedding I was dispatched on a 120-mile mission along most of the length of the county to Redruth and the Keltek Brewery, sited in an unglamourous industrial estate outside the town. I wasn't even tempted to swing off the A38 at the signs for St Austell and fill the car with Tribute and Proper Job instead of what was ordered.

What was ordered was two 10L polypins of Keltek beer: Golden Lance is another slightly musty golden ale, though dry and very drinkable. Magik is a smooth brown bitter with lots of puddingy caramel, great for dessert. It was my first experience with beer-in-a-bag-in-a-box and I felt the carbonation could have done with being upped a bit more, though I don't know if this is a gripe with the dispense method or the brewery.

And so it was back on the road again on the day after the ceremony. Obviously, I called in at Buckfast Abbey on the way back to Bristol: as an Armaghman one simply does not pass up the opportunity to see such an important part of one's heritage. At Bristol airport, with the car (a ghastly Vauxhall Meriva: don't ever buy one) back in the lot I checked in and was able to, for the first and only time all trip, walk up to a bar and order a pint of beer. Butcombe Bitter was on the one and only handpump. There'd be times when I'd dismiss this as a boring brown bitter, but at the end of a long trip it was a delicious cool copper pint of pure refreshment. On the whole it's quite dry and rather tannic in a marvellously thirst-quenching way. There's a touch of eggs in the aroma and a hint of soap on the flavour: stereotypical faults of English beer, but they compromised my enjoyment not a jot. If my flight hadn't been called madly early, I'd have launched into another no problem.

I returned home eager for more travelling in England. O to have time for those interesting excursions off the motorway, to stop in those villages and drink in those pubs. And to fill the car with cases of cider from those farms. Some day.

Where've you been?

I've whined lengthily in the past about Marks & Spencer not bringing their good beers over to Ireland, but they've really raised their game over the last year or so, since they launched their re-branded line. Sure, they never have everything all at once, but the good ales are turned over frequently and it's great to see. I always look forward to checking what they've got for us any time I go in. On previous mentions on this blog, commentators have drawn my attention to their Cornish IPA, brewed by St Austell and alleged to be a straight re-badge of their excellent Proper Job. At long last it showed up in Dublin and off I went with a bottle.

Glad I did too. We don't get Proper Job over here, so to have it in M&S clothes is extremely welcome. I'd only ever tried it on cask before and was a bit worried about how the bottled version would work as too much fizz would destroy its charms. But my fears were groundless: it's beautifully smooth with a level of carbonation that's firm enough to push the hops out while not interfering with the more delicate flavours.

It starts with a chalky mineral base, on top of which is set a crisp hard-toffee sweetness overlaid in turn by lightly bitter stonefruit hops. Where some beers would finish at that, all sweetness and smiles, Cornish IPA sends you on your way with a rogueish yet good-natured smack of marmalade bitterness. The word "balance" was coined for beers like this.

The only downside is the price. €3.19 is just a bit high for a half-litre bottle of English beer, when the independent off licences are carrying plenty of British beer of similar calibre for 40-50 cents less. But if you're tempted by M&S's 6-for-5 offer, a sixer of this would be well worth considering.

My dearest England...

We two have been intimately acquainted for many years now so it is with a heavy heart that I compose this melancholic missive. I cannot escape the feeling that, as we have come to know each other better, our relationship has changed. Perhaps it is a maturing, a sign that our youthful frolics are now properly put away to be replaced with a more cerebral mutual understanding. I hope so. But all I can say now is that things between us are unlikely to ever be the same again.

I began to suspect this when I visited you last summer, but it only really came home to me during our most recent meeting, little over a week ago in Brighton. It is my newfound belief, England, that to be a ticker in you is pointless and unfulfilling.

Please don't take this the wrong way -- I still have the greatest respect for your beers and will uphold to the death your reputation for making tasty and sessionable ales. It's just, so many of them are so similar to each other that I now find little joy in picking new ones arbitrarily in the hope that they will excite my senses and inflame my passions. Maybe it's my advancing age which speaks, but they so rarely do either.

Let us start, as I did that sunny Wednesday afternoon, in the rustic bare wood surrounds of The Evening Star. From the Dark Star range available I opted for Solstice, expecting little more than irrigation for my travel-parched throat. In fact, it's quite a beautiful hop-forward golden ale: full-bodied and satisfying, redolent with succulent peaches and nectarines. Indeed it eclipsed even the Hophead which followed, a beer which has truly delighted me in the past but proved rather watery on this occasion.

Over the following days I sought out as many of the Dark Star range as I could find. Original is a seemingly quite strong porter at 5% ABV, though tastes light with a pleasant roastiness to it, let down by a nasty metallic buzz on the end. Festival is a brown bitter, endowed most unfortunately with a flatulent egginess redeemed only by a fruity raisin complexity. Returning to the pale, there is Argus, a very bitter pale ale which wears its hops deep, offering the drinker little by way of flavour or aroma. Solstice and Hophead i would return to willingly, and while I didn't feel I'd wasted my time with the others, I did begin to suspect that perhaps sticking to what I know and like may be a useful rule of thumb in your company.

Beyond this local fare, the Evening Star was also serving Thornbridge Hopton. "Ah", I thought, "here's a brewery whose beers deserve special ticking attention, so distinctive and tasty are they, by repute". But, while there's nothing wrong with golden Hopton per se -- it's earthily bitter with a hint of jaffa oranges, chalkily dry and finishing on burnt toast -- it's not terribly interesting and certainly wouldn't have me singing the praises of Thornbridge by itself. At the opposite end of the tickable scale, elsewhere in Brighton, there was cask Bass. Not expecting much from this I actually quite enjoyed it: dry again, sulphurous as a Burton bitter should be, but balanced by a sticky caramel fruitiness. As a solid and drinkable beer, it's streets ahead of its stablemate Marston's Pedigree. That I accord equal status to these beers -- one artfully crafted in small batches, the other mass-produced under contract for a large corporation -- shows me that your beers are not be be judged by their rarity or the craft credentials of the brewery. An unsettling realisation for the travelling ticker, I hope you'll agree.

The other Brighton pub I spent a bit of time in was The Victory, a charming little L-shaped hostelry with a tempting range of draught beers. Hepworth Pullman was probably the best of them: a nicely hoppy golden pale ale with some tasty bubblegum notes. Much better than the tired by name and nature Arundel Footslogger: flat, grainy and completely uninspiring. I had finally forsworn my ticking tendencies for our future dalliances by the time I got Gatwick, offering them one last chance with Exmoor Gold on sale there. The sharp-tasting eggy-smelling beer decided me that sticking with what you like is definitely the most apposite behaviour when venturing to imbibe beyond the Irish Sea.

Of all the beers I drank on the trip, I enjoyed none so much as the two pints of Harvey's Best I had on separate occasions. I will be turning to this, and Landlord, and Adnams Bitter, and Proper Job whenever I see them. I now need a reason to stray to the other handpumps.

I must bring my ramblings to close, fair England, and bid you adieu until next month when we shall be united once more. And please rest assured that I still hold your beers in the highest regard and you have a great deal to be proud of.

Your most humble, obedient and thirsty servant,

The Beer Nut

Round the Cape

I've not had the best run of luck with English IPAs of late. I couldn't stomach the Fuller's one at all (though have not yet had the pleasure of their new and very much admired Bengal Lancer). Samuel Smith's was better but I still couldn't shake that harsh, rather metallic, bitter sensation that I get from these styles. Is there anything out there that has the beatings of Proper Job or White Shield?

Ask anyone who knows anything about English beer and they'll probably tell you "Thornbridge Jaipur", most likely followed by some sort of "duh" noise. I've seen this beer on sale once, at the British Pavilion of the European Beer Festival in 2008. I was thoroughly underwhelmed by it: thin, sharp and characterless. I'm perfectly willing, as always, to give it another go but the opportunity never presented itself. Until, out of the goodness of his heart and to shut me up, Mark from Real Ale Reviews sent a bottle to me in the post.

Immediately, I knew this was going to be a different experience. The aroma from Jaipur is fantastic: lots of those peachy, sherbety hop flavours that I enjoy in American IPAs, but this isn't a simple clone of a west coast hop bomb. On tasting, the citric punch is missing. Instead there are nice soft melons and peaches, plus lively orange flavours which are zesty though not any way sharp or aggressive. Indeed, it's one of the least assertive IPAs I've met. There's a bit of a bum note on the end however, where a soapy off-flavour creeps in and spoils things. I think I've got a better sense of the beer now, but also that it has to be tried on cask to get a proper feel for it. I'm still reluctant to put it in my tiny pantheon of good English IPAs. Sorry Mark.

I didn't think I'd be putting St Peter's India Pale Ale in the pantheon either. Ken in DrinkStore told me the bottle was something of an antique, having been taken in by him as a refugee from another off licence, one with a less-discerning clientele. The best-before date had rubbed off some time previously and the hard-wearing label had a definite frayed look to it. This, along with the green glass of the bottle, meant I was not expecting the fresh hops of a mint condition IPA.

But it was wonderful. Fantastically full-bodied for 5.5% ABV with a base of delicious toffee malt. It's not fresh and fruity, but spicy and complex, giving out exotic undertones of sandalwood and incense. And yet, like all the St Peter's beers, it remains incredibly drinkable throughout: all gone in under ten minutes. If this is what St Peter's IPA is like after months of ill-treatment and harsh lighting I can only imagine how good it must be fresh.

I'd also forgotten how great the St Peter's beers are generally. Whatever happened to them? They used to be everywhere.

Bloomsbury set

My belief that London is always more than a day's work is something of a bone of contention between me and my employers. Even with the miracle of the Heathrow Express, I do not believe it's possible to get from the southside of Dublin to central London in time for a 9.30am event and have any attention span left by wrap-up at 4.30 and the always-delayed evening flight home. My protestations will continue but I think my most recent trip to the big smoke, just over a week ago, may well be the last to involve an overnighter for a one-day event.

As a result, I made the most of it. My travelling companion was up for a few pints of the decent but probably wouldn't have appreciated any seriously-long crosstown beer pilgrimages, so I kept it simple.

First stop after checking in to our Bloomsbury hotel was The Lamb. I had been meaning to have a nosy at this jewel of Victoriana for quite a while (I didn't take any photos, so thanks to Flickr user Ewan_M for the image right). The décor is surprisingly understated: calming green leather and brasswork instead of the eye-watering stained-glass-and-mosaics I was half expecting. Nothing I fancied was on tap so I opted for a bottle of Kew Gold, the green and white label making it the most distinctive occupant of the fridge. It's a golden ale and I enjoyed it: lovely refreshing citrus notes, zingy like good light Czech lager, and in the same vein as Theakston's excellent Golden Sheep.

It was getting on for 10pm at this point and pub kitchens had mostly closed, as far as I could see. Wandering down to Holborn I reckoned the Wetherspoon there -- Penderel's Oak -- offered the best opportunity for quick and easy eats. Stonch would have loved it: cavernous, clueless staff and, yes, a group of gamers guffawing loudly over spacecraft weaponry at the next table. From the guest ales on offer I started with a pint of Black Bear, Beartown Brewery's mild. It opened with some lovely milk chocolate notes -- just what I'm after in a mild. This was overtaken shortly afterwards by a sugary sour note which left me wondering if this was deliberate or if the beer was slightly off. By the end of the pint, however, it had gone and the chocolate came back. I'd give this another go, should the opportunity arise, but the jury's out for the moment.

(Side-note: behind the Black Bear pump above you can see two flicked switches at bar level belonging to this tap and the next one. I've noticed these in a few cask ale outlets, generally the dodgier ones. Some places have them on only some of the taps. What are they?) Last pint of the evening was a pale ginger ale from Everards called Sly Fox. The thin and watery body was more than compensated for by the strong fiery ginger flavour. A bit more of a malty-hoppy-beery taste would be nice, but it's still a refreshing quaffer if consumed sufficiently cold.

The following day was work. Lunchtime afforded the opportunity for a rapid cheeky pint down at the Museum Tavern (left). Sadly, no Theakston's brews were on offer, so I picked the well-reputed Doom Bar from Sharp's. It's a fairly innocuous substance, amber-brown and full-bodied with a lovely big creamy head. The flavour I found somewhat lacking -- not much malt and just a tiny vegetal tang on the end to indicate the presence of hops, but still enjoyable on a textural basis.

My colleague and I parted company at clocking-out time. He went off for a peek at the Elgin marbles while I did some cultural tourism of my own. To get the best bang for the limited time available, and to check out one of the most controversial boozers among Stonch readers, I headed for The Bree Louise near Euston. Even before the after-work crowd filled it, it was loud and awkwardly laid out. Tables scattered in the middle of the floor make it resemble nothing so much as a mini paint-by-numbers chain pub or shabby business motel bar. Full credit for the beer selection, however.

I started with one from the gravity casks (my attempt to photograph same [left] engendered the pictured response from a friendly barman. I don't think you need focus to determine his customer-centred, service-driven reaction. Lovely). Eden Ale is another from Sharp's, and I was wholly unimpressed: a thin, musty, flat amber ale not worth the time spent writing about it, never mind drinking it. I stayed in the West Country for the next one -- Proper Job, from St Austell. This is a well-balanced pale ale with a nice sharp fruity bitterness to it, including a fleeting hint of grapefruit. It manages to have a full and satisfying body while remaining light and drinkable. One of the better summer beers around.

Cottage's summer seasonal You Cannot Be Serious came next, the tennis being on. It's an interesting pale, dry ale with a sharp fruity nose, reminding me of nothing so much as a Belgian framboise. The tartness continues in the flavour, and there's a creamy full body as well. Could it be that those aren't raspberries and they're going for strawberries and cream here? If so, I'm tickled. I enjoyed it anyway. Also from Cottage is Paws, a dark-coloured but light-textured amber ale. I got dark fruits and dark chocolate from it, putting me in mind of cherry liqueur chocolates. It's good and malty as well, in the style of Bishop's Finger, only with less weight and a more complex flavour.

I began to feel the clock was against me at this point and I left myself plenty of time for the journey to Paddington. Enough for a swift half in the Mad Bishop and Bear on arrival, as it turned out, and as well as the usual Fuller's range plus Tribute, they had a second St Austell beer on: Tinners. This was wonderfully mild and refreshing after the unpleasantness of rush hour Tube. There's a slight sharp, sulphurous dryness to it, making it interesting and light without being thin: the perfect railway station beer-in-a-hurry.

Having met my colleague again, the temptation for a last pint in the landside Terminal 1 bar was too great. The place was also markedly less jammed than I'm used to. Burton Bridge XL was the guest, but I wasn't terribly impressed with it. A bland amber bitter with a pleasant texture and a decent head, but not much to say for itself flavourwise. With that drained and forgotten, we were off through security and heading for the sheet-metal tunnels of gates 80-90 where flights for Ireland depart: an area unaffectionately known as The Paddyshack. They've done some remodelling on the airside part of Terminal 1, making the walk to the gate even longer. However, it does now pass through the main departure lounge, which means I have an outside chance of a final cask pint on the far side of security when I travel through Heathrow following the Great British Beer Festival next month. If I'm about to lose my fight on overnighters in London it'll be well worth my while.