Pursued by a Biodegradable Object

I met a friend for a couple of drinks which at only 5.30pm meant that the night was very likely to go on and on, ending up being a big session. There was a football match on TV with a kick off time of about 7.45pm, giving us plenty of time to fill up on cheap booze at our local Wetherspoon, The Regent.

With my beer of choice out I had to rethink my entire plan for the evening. I was put on the spot which is never a good situation to be in, when one freezes and is stuck on the edge of panic until the brain kicks back and sanity and all cognitive function is restored. I saw they had Dark Star 'Hop Head' on cask so had one of those, I'd had it several times before and knew exactly what I would get. As I picked my pint up off the bar I noticed a sign promoting 'Rogue Amber Ale' for only £1.99 a bottle. Very very tempting, maybe next time.

I had only eaten a harvest crunch bar that day, first thing in the morning. It is one of those granola bars with nuts and a layer of flavoured yoghurt or something. It was tasty and nutritious. But after riding approximately 10 miles, working for several hours then riding back home another 10 miles. That 160 calorie bar did nothing in the way of keeping me nourished for the entire day. I'd exhausted all of its energy giving goodness since I'd burned at least 1500 calories cycling alone. Basically I was really bloody hungry.

After drinking my pint and checking the menu came the difficult decision of choosing what I was going to eat. Tuesday night is 'Grill Night' so the obvious choice would have been something meaty. Eventually I ordered the grilled chicken breast and half rack of rib combo, coming with a side of onion rings and chips. I ordered an extra side of spicy coated king prawns with a sweet chilli dip. With the food I had a can of this American craft beer from a brewery out of Brooklyn, NYC, USA called 'The Six Point Brewery'. The beer was 'Sweet Action', a combination of pale ale and wheat beer. It is the second time I've tried it and for some reason I'm still finding it hard to like it, maybe I just don't like it. It could be due to the fat that it is really unsure of what it actually is or trying to be, maybe the creaminess of it is off putting, I don't know. Other people may and probably really do enjoy it, it just isn't for me, for the moment any way. Who knows, maybe one day it will grow on me.

After my food and beer it was about time to move onto the Rogue Amber. That we did, bottle after bottle. If it wasn't for the football I could have quite happily have sat there chatting and sucking on some Rogue. I'd say that it is similar in style to the 'Brooklyn Lager'. It is a delightfully refreshing amber ale, lots of hops and full bodied and like a lot of American craft beers, full of booze.

The football finished, the team my friend supports lost so we went back to The Regent and had several more Rogues.

It happened as I was nearing home, less than a five minute walk away. I could hear a rustling sound, like the sound of a persons footsteps as the move through the dry and crunch leaf litter that coats the forest floor on a warm autumnal day. I thought nothing of it so carried on along my path.

I got past a parked car and then it came for me. The rustling quickened to a face rate. I turned and glanced over my shoulder, out of the corner of my eye was this object moving rapidly towards me. I sped up and went from a fast walk to an almost brisk jog. I turned now and the object was still coming for me, it had completely revealed itself.

It was a biodegradable plastic carrier bag.

A link to the J.D Wetherspoon site, a good place to go for tasty cheap booze and edible food.

jdwetherspoon

A link to the guys at Rogue

rogue

I'll let others make up their mind on these beers

sixpoint

It isn't Christmas any more but...

It's never too late to drink Christmas beer. Even with it now coming up to the end of January. The bitter chill outside justifies sitting in a warm pub/bar or whatever, preferably by a log fire, drinking a rich, dark and mildly spiced beer.

If anybody tells you that it's wrong to still be drinking seasonal Christmas beers, they are kind of right to but...

… but if the beers were released as a 'spiced ale' or something along those lines then there would be no problem. One could even consume such a beverage all year round if you had such a liking for them.

The particular beer of concern is the Anchor Breweries 'Christmas Ale'. It is what we would consider in England to be a fairly traditional 'Winter Warmer' style beer. It is rich, dark, incredibly complex, spicy and enough alcohol to subdue a Shetland pony. I feel guilty about not having had any of this for or before Christmas. It is really really good.

The other day, during a conversation about beer, craft beers from the United States in particular, I was informed of some brief and interesting information about the Anchor Brewery out of San Fransico, USA. It is one of America's oldest breweries and was apparently one of the only ones to survive the stupid thing that was the Prohibition. They helped pave the way for the 1980's 'Craft Beer' boom along with other breweries like Sierra Nevada. They're still going strong to this day and have many beers like the Porter and this Christmas Ale.

The 40^th anniversary seasonal ale was and is delicious, bring on next years batch.

Check em out, they're bloody good.

anchorbrewing

When Memories Come Flooding Back

A friend of mine had a gig in a pub in the Hackney are of London called 'The Shacklewell Arms'. I could have sworn I recognised the name but failed to dig down into the far reaches of my brain and remember how or why, or if I had ever been there before.

I did a few bits in the morning and afternoon. Like viewing the Allen Jones exhibition at the Royal Academy. After that I had a pint and a bit to eat in Soho, then had most of my luxurious curly locks cut off. I went from looking like a yeti to apparently being a spitting image of John Claude Van Damme in his early Kickboxer days. The only difference being that I wear glasses and have a ridiculous moustache.

I was having a bus day. I fancied a change from the ordinary train, tube and bus combination. It meant that journey times are considerably lengthened and forward planning is essential. You do get the benefit of being out in the open and have a very tall perspective of the streets of London, if you sit on the upper deck.

My haircut took longer than expected but with interesting results. Thinking the show started at 7/7.30pm I had to get a move on from Soho to Dalston.

When I checked a map to find out what bus to get and where, I was happy to discover the bus stop was only about twenty yards from where I was standing. Better still, a bus was due at any minute. It came, I got on, sat up top and watched as I went from place to place and how each was so very different to the one before. I misread the map so though I was getting off at Dalston Kingsland so when the bus passed Dalston Junction alarm bells began to ring. Missing my stop meant that I had got dropped off what must have been a ten minute walk further down the road.

As soon as I stepped through the pub doors, it was like a miniature lightning storm went off in my brain. Areas that had been out of use for so long that my conscious considered them to be redundant were fired up. The offset pool table, the toilet door, it all became clear. I HAD been here before. Actually, I'd been here numerous times before. Back in the days when I used to go out, get drunk and then play extremely competitive games of pool with friends or strangers. There was this one time in particular that a game got so heated that a good friend of mine had to be physically restrained from hitting some stupid twat in the face.

Enough about memories of the past, it's a time to focus on the present and not worry about what has been before or what lies ahead in the future.

The first beer I had was a pale ale from the Sambrook's Brewery, a London based brewery. It wasn't all that so I 'upgraded' to a beer called 'East Coast IPA' from the Greene King Brewery in Bury St Edmunds. It's an American style IPA and to its word it was, it really did taste like one. A pint cost what I would have once considered to be astronomical but now £4.50 seemed quite average. What was ridiculous was that a bottle of Brooklyn Lager cost £5.20 for a 355ml bottle. How nice a beer it is, that doesn't justify a price tag that high.

The gig was tremendous, a band as marvellous as 'Swim Mountain' deserved a much larger fan base. It was a shame to see that the small room was less than half full.

Unfortunately, after they finshed and my desperation and thirst for beer grew, added to how busy the bar was. By the time I got my drink, the headline act had started and the room was so over-full that we were refused admission.

That night I saw a bloody brilliant gig, made a new friend, got drunk and managed to secure a life home with my mate. A fun packed day and an thoroughly entertaining night.

Soudcloud link for Swim Mountain

swimmountain

the pub site

shacklewellarms

Beer, Sex and Sadomasochism

In passing I decided to take a gamble and check out the Allen Jones exhibition at the Royal Academy in Piccadilly, London. It ends very soon, I think possibly this weekend. I was on my way from Hammersmith to Soho on the number 9 bus which passed by the gallery on its route.

I went into the wrong section of the gallery but stumbled upon a great find. There was a small room on architecture. A series of photographs of some influential buildings and some not so from all around Britain, arranged chronologically around the room from the early 20^th century to the present day. The most fascinating was a photograph of The Royal Festival Hall after its construction in 1951, on London's South Bank. In the photo, what is now the Hayward Gallery once stood a giant Lighthouse. I thought to myself and probably out loud “that explains why there is a silly boat on the roof of the Hayward Gallery”. After my discovery of the meaning of life (as far as the boat on the roof was concerned) I enquired about where to go to get tickets to the Allen Jones exhibition and was directed to the correct building.

I bought a £10 ticket without a charitable donation, I feel I do enough for charity and when there are donations like this I have no idea where the money is actually going or being used for. Up I went. It wasn't until I saw some of Allen Jones' work that I recognised it, I'd just never put a name to a face or piece of work. Anybody familiar with Stanley Kubrick's adaptation of Anthony Burgess' 'A Clockwork Orange' should know the scene at the milk bar 'Moloko Vollocet' where the gang chill out surrounded by sculpture like coffee tables and chairs of extremely sexual and suggestive female mannequins, they are by Allen Jones.

Going from one room to the next made me appreciate the work more and more. The first pieces you see, apart from the huge sculpture hanging from the ceiling as you ascend the stairs or the paintings draped on the walls, are of two coffee tables. Both are of women on their hands and knees. One of them is green with the women looking face forward and the glass top has a cut-out around her head. The other is of a topless woman in a sexy leather French maids outfit looking into a mirror, face down on the ground, the glass top is flat on her back and she is kneeling on a sheep skin rug. Both are very life-like and verge on being almost sexually arousing.

The rest of the exhibition went on similarly to that, some pieces being more striking than the others. His use of colour and tonal values was beautiful. Even the way that some of the paintings had been framed and mounted was great. One particular example was I think a red painting in a basic painted frame and mounted onto a piece of walnut veneered plywood. The surrounding of that image was so memorable that I can't even remember what the painting was of it is was less than an hour from when I wrote this.

He has a very distinctive style, maintained throughout his career and to this day. He also has the most unhealthy obsession with feet, legs and high heeled shoes. The breasts are unrealistically pointy and the clothing always so body hugging, some so much that you can see a camel toe (vaginal wedgies). Even if they are not accurate, life-like representations of what they are supposed to be, they are brilliant none the less. Get in quick as I think the show ends this weekend.

It may seem odd that this is on a beer blog but after walking around the exhibit, I sat down in the Atelier café to write. I had a glass by my side and a bottle of Crate Brewery's Golden Ale to fill it with.

A refined and delicate golden ale savoured on very utilitarian furniture in the exquisitely beautiful, classic interior of the Royal Academy.

Get in before it's all over

royalacademy

A lovely place to chill and eat or drink or do what you so choose, The Atelier Cafe

royalacademy

A brewery producing some incredibly tasty beers

cratebrewery

A Classic Classic

As an introduction to a classical concert, I thought I'd buy my landlord and landlady a ticket to the 40^th anniversary Johann Strauss Gala at the Royal Festival Hall. I've seen the show quite a few times before and though it was perfect. A good mix of classical, comedy and dance, perfect for June as she likes the ballet. I bought four tickets so I went and took along my uncle Frank.

With South West Trains forever being broken, especially on the weekends. I got a lift up with my brother the night before when we went to eat at Pitt Cue.

The show started at 3pm but Frank and myself left with plenty of time to have a fry up for brunch at one of the best greasy spoons I've ever been to. The 'Double Six' on Eversholt Street opposite where the platforms are at London's Euston station.

After the food we went straight to the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank, London. We went to the bar opposite the main stage in the foyer of the concert hall, it is an ideal meeting place.

I was about an inch from the bottom of my pint of Theakston's Bitter, when Richard and June, my former landlord and landlady appeared. Richard bought me another pint, the another, then it was announced over the tannoy system to take our seats in the auditorium as the show was about to start. We finished our drinks and walked up all the six floors, to the very top. We were literally three rows from the very top, any higher and we would have had our heads through the ceiling and into the sky above.

Sir Ian McKellen did his usual “turn your phone off etc...”, but not the thing about keeping coughing to a minimum which I haven't heard for a while. So I turned my phone off but not just off, before I shut it down, not only was it already on silent, I switched it to airplane mode as my phone has a habit of turning itself on. Extra special eh?

There was a feeling in my that for some reason they'll be disappointed. That couldn't have been further from reality. Not only had a comedian friend of theirs who used to play at the pub, introduced himself and told us that he'd co-written the script with the conductor. The music was fantastic, the orchestra were flawless and all part of the comedy act. The conductor's jokes really helped to break things up between songs and added an extra layer of entertainment to the show. The part where he and the percussionist played a duet on the vibes was a moment of pure comic genius and sounded superb. During the interval I went over to the dark said and had a glass of red wine. I made amends after the show when I went back to another pint of the Theakston's Bitter. When I finished my pint I said goodbye and left. Starting a marathon two and a half hour journey consisting of two rail replacement buses and a taxi courtesy of South West Trains.

Whatever

It's taken over two years to finally get around to going to this little meat den called 'Pitt Cue' in Soho, London. The only time I've attempted it before, it was shut, this time it was open and busy, very busy.

After sitting through a long and incredibly stressful care ride and nursing a God awful hangover from the night before, I felt I was in need of an alcoholic beverage, if only for the use of the possibly mythological 'Hair of the Dog'.

I jumped out the car and let my brother go and park up somewhere. I went inside to meet another mate and grab a drink, preferably beer. The only beer on tap was called 'Whatever' or so I was craftily duped into believing. Whatever literally meant whatever they had on at the time, not a specific beer. Using my discerning palate and noticing an empty keg of some unlabelled Meantime beer, I determined that the beer was in fact Meantime's London Pale Ale. A beer I knew only too well from an experience that left me sightless and on the floor several months ago. That may sound bad, not at all, only that I drank far too many pints and ended up paralytically drunk.

The ground level bar was buzzing, full of people drinking and waiting to be seated. We stood around waiting for a table to free up for us and us to go to the small downstairs dining area and indulge our senses in delicious meat goodness. Chris was complimenting his current appearance as a cross between a Victorian gentleman and a modern day dandy with one of my favourite cocktails, an 'Old Fashioned'. Lorenzo, my brother was drinking a flagon of cider out of a half pint glass whilst I drank half after half of whatever.

We were drinking in the bar for what must have been over an hour. I had no real way of knowing as I'd failed to notice the time of our arrival. All I do know was that it was a long time and I'd manage to polish off three halves and was ready for more. We had a small bowl of the scratching which were amazing, salty, meaty crispy and crunchy. They left a longing for more so made me even more impatient about going down to eat.

I'd occasionally glance over at the specials board while we waited. As I wasn't paying for my part of the meal I decided I'd add the Mangalitza tartare to my order. I imagined it was finely cut raw pork but had no idea of how it would be served. It wasn't until my name was called and we went downstairs that I noticed it had been marked off the board, it was out.

The boys knew what they wanted, I was quite confident but thought I'd consult the menu one last time. That was it, I knew.

With the tartare off the menu I had the grilled sourdough with dripping instead. It was hot, greasy, and very salty but fantastic. It was a shame it disappeared so quickly, like a David Copperfield illusion, it vanished. I wasn't that upset about it as I wanted to save valuable space for the main event. I went for the pulled pork and bone marrow mash combination like my bro. Chris had the Mangalitza sausage in a bun with the bone marrow mash.

When the food arrived, I suffered not from the usual food envy I have become accustomed to. I couldn't have made a better decision. The meat was smoky, meaty, sweet and sticky pulled pork that was melt-in-the-mouth tender. The mash was creamy, salty and smooth with a rich gravy and a tiny dollop of bone marrow that I would have been unable to detect had I not seen it. For me the highlight was the house-made pickle. There were two, one looked like gherkin and the other one like cabbage or onion. It was sweet and sour, salty and spicy and still crispy, everything that a perfect pickle should be like, and some.

To finish the meal off we all had a Pickleback shot. A shot of Bourbon chased with a shot of the house-made pickle juice. The pickle juice went as a perfect companion chaser for the sweet and smoky Bourbon.

The food was heavenly and the portions although small were adequate, the pickle alone is enough to venture out and wait an hour in the bar for. The beer changes but I would imagine it would never be one to disappoint.

All the details you need on  Pitt Cue (don't forget to buy the book)

pittcue

From Beer to Beats

When you have over half and hour to wait for something you need to do to open, what do you do?

I'll tell you what I did. After walking up and down Mare St in Hackney, London, I noticed the hands on my watch face had barely moved. I needed something else, hopefully more enjoyable to allow the time to pass by unnoticed.

A bunch of tramps were drinking strong cider and loitering on the steps of the Hackney Empire Theatre, I'd already walked passed them a few times and made eye contact on this one approach. It was getting silly, there was still a little under half an hour to go and nothing to help ease it by.

Becoming increasingly aware of how stupid I must have looked, and not wanting to pass the tramps yet again, in such a short space of time. I made an on the spot decision to go into the 'Stage 3' theatre bar/café.

I walked in, went straight up to the bar and was about to order a coffee. That was until I noticed directly in front of me some Crate Brewery beer pumps. This completely threw me off my game, causing me in panic to pause, dead still, for a few moments which seemed to last an eternity.

It seems that I had justified to myself that 11:37am was appropriate as 'Beer O'clock'. I ordered a half pint of Crate Brewery IPA. This whole ordeal made me feel very anxious and the situation wasn't helped by the fact that ordering and paying for it seemed to be an ordeal, a most awkward process that I don't every remember going through.

It was a strange introduction to one of the tastiest IPA's I've had. From an onlookers perspective I'm sure the whole thing looked as if nothing odd had happened and was a perfectly normal experience. Fear had reared its ugly head and manifested itself in my mind, causing me to panic!

Normality was restored after reading a chapter of my book and helped by finishing off the half. I looked down at my wrist and was happy to see my watch read 12:05pm. It's an analogue watch so obviously in reality it had the minute hand at the 1 O'clock position with the hour hand at the 12 O'clock position, making it five past twelve.

I'm looking to venture into brewing myself and get some much required and desired work experience so visited a couple of breweries in the morning. I had one more to go, it was a brew pub called 'The Cock Tavern', which I'd been told great things about and was waiting until it opened at midday to find out for myself.

As far as pubs go, it looked great. Dark, dingy, battered and bruised bar, scratched wooden floorboards and non matching furniture. Perfect, just perfect. No Fosters or Guinness to be seen, the pub was going from strength to strength. As for beers, they had pump after pump of the stuff, along with a selection of their own small batch brews. Downstairs in the basement was the HQ for the in house micro brewery 'Howling Hops'. If I remember correctly, I may have even seen a plaque on the wall saying the pub won Cider Pub of the Year 2013, or was it 2014, I'm not sure, whatever the case it won one of those years.

I tried their 'Smoked Porter' and 'Pale Ale batch no.10'. I'd gone and done it a bit arse about face, instead of starting with a lighter beer going to something heavy, the first one I tried was a Brown Ale from the guys over at the 'Pressure Drop Brewery'. It was a smooth, rich flavoursome beer that one might even have said was almost creamy. From that I then tried the Howling Hops, Smoked Porter which was gorgeous, with all the burnt toast and chocolate notes you would expect. I fancied something else, something lighter and fruitier, I had a sample of two pales, the no.3 batch and the no.10, I went for the latter as it suited my taste better. I was hungry and took my leave. To return again in the near future, in fact I've arranged to visit them again next week.

Another reason for me to be in the area was that I was going to a gig in the evening. An artist I'd heard on BBC Radio 6 Music earlier in the week, it was mentioned they were playing at Rough Trade East, a record shop/venue off London's Brick Lane. All I knew of 'Ghost Culture' was that it was one guy and I liked what I'd heard off the album. The music was what I would call an slightly more evolved version of the kind of electronic music I was listening to about ten years ago.

He had a very interesting set up. Some synthesizer looking devices, other weird boxes, a couple of electronic drum pads, a guitar, lots of wires all over the place and surrounded by lamps with and without shades that seemed to react to the sound, flashing on and off in time with the music.

The whole performance was a spectacle, exciting to watch and verging on annoyingly confusing trying to figure out how he was making the sounds he was. Especially when he drummed as hard as he could on the pads.

Ghost Culture is definitely one to watch out for, I think I may see him again... soon I hope.

Here's a link to his stream on SoundCloud

ghostculture

For up and coming shows or general music related stuff.

roughtrade

The good guys at Pressure Drop.

pressuredropbrewing

Howling Hops and The Cock Tavern.

thecocktavern

Playing with Fire

It's been a long long time since me and a mate of mine have caught up over a beer. I think the last time we did was before he started his job over a year ago. I have seen him a few times out and about but we haven't gone for a midweek beer, just the two of us in ages.

I had the local Wetherspoon in mind, he had other ideas. We went to a pub called 'The Weir', not much further along the river from my parents house, where I currently reside. It is probably only a five minute walk where as the Wetherspoon is about a seventeen minute walk.

I honestly have no memory of ever drinking inside the pub, only what I have seen from going to and from the bar getting drinks. I have sat in the beer garden many times during the balmy summer months. Inside was warm with a strong and in my opinion pleasant smell of wood smoke. In the fireplace were gently smouldering embers glowing a luminescent orange. The smell alone brought back memories of juvenile pyromania.

We ordered our beers, he a lager. I went went for a beer named 'Fireside' which was appropriate given our current surroundings. It is from the Westgate Brewery, but from looking into it more I have found it is under the wing of Greene King out of Bury St Edmunds.

It was a deep chestnut brown with a creamy off white head.

It wasn't doing much for me after my first couple of gulps but after a few more it started to sing. As it sloshed around my mouth, caressing my tasted buds, it grew in intensity and complexity into a well rounded beer somewhere between a best bitter and a special bitter. I obviously liked it enough to have a few more pints.

The pub/hotels website

weirhotel

Greene King beers

greeneking

A tiny? Burger

I decided I'd make the most of my new found freedom/unemployment and go for a drink, or should I have said my current 'between jobs stage'. I had a few errands to run around London so rode my bike. I was planning to drop it off as a surprise gift for a mate.

It was a beautiful winter afternoon so I left my waterproofs at home, much to my amazement it stayed clear for the duration of the day. My bag however was almost unmanageably heavy and packed so full it nearly tore the zipper out, the bag was so full I had to sit on it to zip it up.

After doing what I needed, I was far too tired to cycle over the Shoreditch to meet my mate, I arranged to meet him the next day instead. I was thirsty and getting hungrier by the second. I hadn't eaten anything or had anything to drink. I had had a cup of tea in the morning and some water but they don't count.

When the time came I already had a place in mind and a craving for a real meatilicious burger. The Craft Beer Co pub by Islington's Chapel Market is slowly becoming a regular haunt of mine, if only I lived closer. When Frank and I got to the door I noticed a sign advertising 'Forty Burgers'. The little me was gleefully dancing around inside my head, my belly was grunting and groaning for some food, my tongue was swelling and I was salivating knowing I was only moments away from a flavour explosion.

I knew they sold Five Points Railway Porter as I'd had it before, I hoped they had some on as I was really in the mood for it. It was. I had one pint, two, three, four and maybe even a fifth but I can't be certain.

Frank being a vegetarian opted for the veggie burger which consisted of a large mushroom and haloumi cheese, along with all the usual accompaniments. I didn't even have to make a decision, after a quick browse of the menu my mind had already been made up. I had the tiny burger. Like Little John in Robin Hood, it was in no way tiny. It was a double stack of meaty deliciousness topped with melted cheese and smoky bacon rashers. A joy for any burger lover. I'd eaten it so quickly that my mind and stomach struggled to register it, it was as if it had vanished without any knowledge of where and how.

With an incredible selection of booze, a friendly and chilled atmosphere, unbelievably good burgers and a decent selection of tunes, Craft Beer Co Islington is up there as one of the greats.

the Craft Beer Co Islington site

thecraftbeerco.com/pubs/islington

a place where you can find Railway Porter and a few others

fivepointsbrewing

Beer Flavoured Ice Cream

After meeting with a friend a week or so ago, discussing various topics including beer and the up and coming closure of my pub. Which has actually shut now, awaiting some sort of refurbishment or whatever.

Any way, he recommended I try this beer in a place that had recently opened up in Walton, Surrey. It is a pub that seems to change almost as often as Lady GaGa's outfits at one of her shows.

It goes by 'Craft & Grill' in its current form. The décor and layout looks more or less the same as it did before except this time it has an all American BBQ/Bar theme with the smell of smoked meats and baby vomit. It even comes complete with a Craft Beer fridge as indicated by an almost misleading sign on the bar, in fact it wasn't until I sat down on an excruciatingly uncomfortable customised church pew that I noticed said fridge. When I say customised, I mean that soft thick cushions have been attached, at least I think they have been customised, this made them in no way more comfortable than what they were probably like before. It gave you a very upright and forward seating position forcing you into the table. Why customise a seat that was deliberately designed to be uncomfortable to prevent unimpressed children from falling asleep during something as boring as a Sunday church service. This might seem to come across that I am in some way passionate about church pews, but I'm not. I think they serve a purpose to make it nigh on impossible to fall asleep on and that is that.

It was a Belgian beer that my friend had recommended but couldn't remember what beer, only that it was only available in half pint glasses and that the logo has some sort of cross on it. I tried to venture deep into my memory banks to find it but failed. After looking it up online, it would appear that there are numerous Belgian beers that have a kind of cross as their logo. Using that as the only piece of information to go on is like trying to describe how somebody looks by only saying they have blonde hair.

The beer was a Belgian Blond called Affligem, brewed by monks apparently. According to the barman there is a very specific 2-step pouring process, similar to that of Guinness. The first step pours the beer to a marked line, the beer is left to settle, then secondly the pump is pushed forward giving you a couple of inches of head. Whether this actually affects the taste or not I have no idea, all I can say is that it gives you this really thick, creamy beer flavoured froth similar to what you'd expect to find on any cappuccino. I guess you could call this the beer equivalent of a cappuccino.

A link to the Belgian brew.

affligembeer

The pub if you ever randomly happen to visit Walton.

craftandgrill