Usually when somebody
recommends a pub to me, either I am not paying much attention or
forget for a long time, quite often forever or until I'm reminded
later. That nearly happened here, I remembered all of a sudden that
at some point in the last few months a mate had told me about this
pub near Euston Station in London. It was called the 'Euston Tap'. I
knew it, not very well but well enough to have a memory that was off
putting enough for me to never want to go there again. It was loud
and dark, full of dick heads and wankers. Not a very good pub at all,
they had a puny selection of some really crap mass produced lagers,
the whole place was shit.
Things must now be
different, I'm told it's a craft beer pub and a great one at that. A
huge selection of beers from all over and fridges packed to the edge
with bottles and cans ranging from pales, IPAs and even sours.
I was covering a shift
that evening so arranged to head over after work. I'd meet my uncle
and have a couple of beers then go home to bed. The plan was to go
from his to the shop the next evening for the muchly anticipated
Italian Beer Tasting Masterclass. He was a bit ill, he'd been struck
down with the man flu and wasn't feeling at all peachy but said he'd
meet me for a beer and see about the tasting the next day.
The Euston Tap has
changed a great deal. No longer were there suits buzzing around the
entrance, hovering over overly made up young women like bluebottles
around a steaming pile of shit. In their place were young guys with
long hair, beards in t-shirts and jeans, foreign groups from Spain or
Italy and relatively attractive young women. Alternative tunes
playing on the sound system, what must have been about 20 taps with
beers of all varieties from America, Continental Europe and some home
grown stuff. It was all brilliant. All this in what used to be such a
crap pub.
Beware though, if it's
craft beer you're after, there are two venues. One pub with two
venues across the road from each other. A cider pub on one side and a
beer pub on the other. A cool thing for us punters but it must be an
absolute pain in the bum for the staff if they have to go between the
two.
As soon as I walked in
it was like I'd got stuck in a dense fog, but instead of fresh air or
a crisp salty sea breeze, it was like the humid and rank piss smell
you get from public urinals in warmer climates. An intense and
cutting smell of ammonia, so pungent it never really fades into the
background. Maybe a damp and leaky patch of the ceiling above which
the toilet is situated is more than likely the culprit. The fog of
urine aside, the place was fantastic, how has it taken me more than
five years to try it out again. I don't know how long it's been a
craft beer pub but it is a good one.
To test out if it was
really love at first sniff, I went for a pale ale hopped with my
favourite of the moment, Galaxy. I don't actually remember what the
pale was, it was delicious and confirmed my love of the hop. I
honestly can't get enough of the stuff and want it with everything
that I have and hopefully, will soon be brewing.
Knowing that Frank was
on his way, I ordered a couple of halves for myself and an Imperial
Stout for him. It is actually terrible of me but for the life of me I
can't remember anything about the breweries or beers. He liked his
stout, the pale I had was lovely, the next one was even better and
then I had a sour. Kernel's 'London Sour'. I'd had a sip of the
bottle before and hated the stuff. Since forcing myself into sours, I
think I have developed a liking towards them, not just respect and
admiration. It was a sour sour. Almost like drinking freshly squeezed
white grapefruit juice, it was tart, acidic and very sour.
I feel I have forgotten
the beers because of my attention to one particular bottle. Not that
long ago I was talking to people about sours and this one chap
recommended a specific style and if I could find it, an exact bottle
of beer. 'Duchess De Bourgogne', a Flemish Red. Not knowing anything
at all about it, not even what its constituent ingredients were or
how it was fermented I ordered one. I paid for it but it was to take
home and try either later that evening or a date further down the
line. I kept it in the fridge and was going to collect it once I was
finished and we left.
All the time in there I
couldn't help but occasionally glance longingly at the mouldy and
festering ceiling, and not in a good way. It was utterly disgusting
and the smell was hideous, it was so sharp and harsh almost as bad as
pure Chlorine but not quite as extreme. It was always there but the
attention shifted to conversation or beer or anything distracting and
you quickly forgot it was even there. Then it would come back,
without even trying to, it would appear. There, in front and all
around you. A ghost, a bad omen, a spirit or demon. The Euston Tap
Toilet Demon.
The funny thing was, no
matter how bad the smell was, it didn't make you rush. We drank at a
customary pace and left when we were done.
Back at Frank's I
decided I was going to brave the Flemish Red. It puzzled me,
what was this strange and so well respected liquid. Hoping and
praying that it wouldn't be anything like Cantillon, although I
reckon I'm not far off from being able to drink a whole bottle of the
stuff.
I picked I up gently,
I'd been carrying it in my hand trying to keep it as steady as
possible not wanting to disturb it. I tried as best as I could to
replicate the gyroscope, it doesn't matter what angle you turn it, it
always remains central and spins freely on its axis saying a big
“f**k you!” to gravity.
Obviously I had more
faith in myself than I should have had. As soon as I opened the
bottle it foamed up and shot out like a shaken bottle of celebratory
Champagne. I didn't have anything to celebrate, it wasn't like I'd
just won the Monaco Grand Prix or anything even a million miles off.
So much of the beer spilled over the top and ended up in saturated
paper towels all over the table and floor. In times of desperation I
may have even rung them out and into a glass.
I decanted as best I
could and looked on. The beer was deep and dark. Spirituous looking,
almost resembling some malt vinegar or even fancier barrel aged
balsamic. Funnily enough, that was the first thing that came to mind
when I took a sip. Oh God, what did I get myself into. It was
literally like a glass full of balsamic vinegar. But wait, after the
initial acidic hit dissipated a much more mellow and delicate malty
flavour appeared. Leaving a sweet and almost desert like finish. It
was a good beer. Then I took another sip and it started again, I was
back at the beginning. More vinegar, then the sweetness. The whole
beer practically went that way, to the very last drop. I don't know
if that is how it is meant to be or if that is expressive of the
style. It was more palatable than a Lambic but still rather queer. I
don't think I liked it but I did enjoy it to an extent.
Apart from how my tummy
felt the next day which I'll accredit to that beer, although it could
have been anything, even something from a couple of days ago, who
knows.
Check out the Duchess for yourself.
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