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 Britain's bestest ever German beer fest starts today at 3pm, and runs through to Saturday night. It's a joint effort by Bier-Mania, Stonch's Beer Blog and the festival venue - Zeitgeist @ The Jolly Gardeners (49-51 Black Prince Road, Lambeth, SE11 6AB, map).
Come and get stuck into 19 different gravity-dispensed beers from the world's most misunderstood brewing giant. It'll be an alcoholic education. There's no cover charge, and everything is £3.50 a pint - a bargain in the circumstances. The pub's normal range of 13 draught and 23 bottled beers will also be on offer, and there's talk of a barbecue in the garden. Zeitgeist is open until 12:30am tonight and until 1:30am on Friday and Saturday, so you can really get on it. See you there. The beer list is online (part 1, part 2), but there's going to be a couple of extras. Bier-Mania is a specialist beer tour company run by Andy Neil and his wife Evi. I went on their Franconian tour last summer and we've been friends since then. Zeitgeist is London's newest and best German pub. Stonch's Beer Blog is the website you're reading.
 No, Orwell didn't include a famous Pennine pub in his dystopian masterpiece. In 1984 my dad visited The Tan Hill Inn for the first time. Next weekend he's planning to return after a gap of nearly twenty years to see what's changed. Here's his description of what it was like then, complete with photos:
"I first visited that Mecca for hill walkers, The Tan Hill Inn, in 1984, during a period of my life when I used to undertake solitary marathon walks, each night making a wilderness camp within striking distance of a pub. "It was very late in the evening when I arrived at Tan Hill. In fact it was almost completely dark and a hill-fog had set in, making my track across the boggy moors more a case of dangerous guesswork than anything else. You can imagine how relieved I felt when I saw the lights of the Inn gleaming through the gloom. No more welcome sight had I ever seen on all my wanderings!  "Inside I found a roaring fire, good companionship and excellent real ale. Though CAMRA had hardly conquered the world in those days, the innkeeper, Neil, was a true believer and had a number of well-kept casks. The first pint ‘barely touched the sides’.
I fell in with a stout-hearted painter and decorator from Leeds, Stuart, who was celebrating his 50th birthday by doing the Pennine Way. What a character he proved to be! Where is he now, I wonder? Many pints we shifted together as we sat round the fire, the session lasting through to the early hours of the morning when Neil closed the bar. "He served us a last pint then told us we could doss down in front of the fire until breakfast time. It was a decision he was to earnestly regret. Stuart snored so raucously that Neil came down at 5 am and threw us out to finish our sleep on the moor. Still, there were no hard feelings, as he served us later with a fine breakfast of Cumberland sausage and eggs for a very modest price. Plain fare and good beer, that’s what the Tan Hill Inn was all about in those days. I hope it hasn’t changed".
The Tan Hill Inn is high in the Pennines, near Keld in North Yorkshire (DL11 6ED, Tel: 01833 628246, map, website). I wrote about the landlord's bizarre legal tangle with Kentucky Fried Chicken last year, but have never been there.
American + female + London resident = quality blogger. It seems to be a cast iron rule. Only a few days ago I was praising Krista and Mo. Now Allyson has come up with this excellent post. My favourite bit? This observation from her visit to a real ale pub in West London:
As I sat sipping, the crowd of chunky men watching the footie started in on a rather ugly conversation about the government taxing white Englishmen while Muslims just get away tax-free. I thought, yeah, this is why beer culture is not considered cool in this country– there is all this racist nationalism tied up with “real ale”– a false sense of authenticity. But this is a topic for another post. I know exactly where she's coming from, and look forward to reading that promised post. Allyson writes Impy Malting, a new London beer blog. It's an offshoot from her existing site, Feral Strumpet Teatime.
 Since I became interested in beer, in a bizarre generational reversal, my parents have followed in my footsteps. They've taken to real ale with gusto. They spent last week in Wensleydale, North Yorkshire. The piece below was written by my dad:
"While staying in Hawes, we walked the idyllic path to Hardraw Village. There we enjoyed Timothy Taylor's Ram Tam at the Green Dragon Inn, which was just as good as we remembered from last time. We sat outside in a lovely outdoor space and watched the world go by whilst knocking back the dark nectar. The pub is now managed by Tim Lee, who came up from Grantham recently to do the job. I remarked on how Chinese his name sounded and he told me (seriously) that he sometimes gets misdirected mail from China!
 "I learned from Tim that when the present owner, Mark Thompson, bought the pub, it had been 'modernised' beyond all recognition: original features such as beams, exposed stone walls and fireplaces had been covered by formica and other artificial materials. Mark restored the place to the goldmine of interest that it now is. It's absolutely packed with interesting old knick-knacks, pictures and features of Yorkshire rural life.
"The pub enjoys brisk trade as it's on the Pennine Way. Every walker who passes feels obliged to visit Hardraw Force. It's reputed to be the highest single unbroken fall of water in the UK. The pub owns the rights to the land around the waterfall. "I detest modern, barn-like pubs with only a single huge room, but here there are separate rooms and little nooks and crannies where privacy can be maintained. The Green Dragon Inn is almost like a museum, and one that's well worth a visit for the atmosphere alone."
From today's Sunday Mirror:
"Colleen is determined her wedding to Wayne will be classy affair and has banned beer from the celebrations because it's 'too vulgar'".
Well. That's us told, then. I'm a little confused though - didn't they get married ages ago?
Last year there were rumours that St James's Gate Brewery - home of Guinness - would be closed, with production moving to a new site in the Dublin suburbs. Brand owner Diageo have decided not to do the unthinkable after all. The Pillar and the Met have gone, the Royal long since pulled down - but it seems the brewery is there to stay. Times Online has the story.
In June last year, I wrote this cheeky article about those (now abandoned) plans to close St James's Gate. You might also be interested in this piece about the myth of stout being an Irish innovation.
I'm tasked with picking out twelve pubs for an upcoming publication. The aim is to represent the London pub scene in all its diversity for an audience that, for the most part, will be overseas. All of the choices need to be photogenic and have a suitably interesting back story.
Suggestions?
This time next week the German beer fest at Zeitgeist will be kicking off. Andy Neil of Bier-Mania, who is bringing the beers over, has announced the final line-up (part 1, part 2). We're all ready to go. Don't miss out. Party like your name's Wolfgang, ja?
The venue - Zeitgeist - is at The Jolly Gardeners, 49-51 Black Prince Road, Lambeth, SE11 6AB (map). The fest kicks off at 3pm on Thursday 15th May and continues until 1.30am on the Saturday night. Register your support at the event listing on Facebook, and invite your pals. Join Stonch's Beer Group while you're at it. Jawohl.
My two favourite blogs right now aren't about beer. Those of you who've detected a change around here recently might not be surprised by that.
- Fresh Eyes on London is written by Mo, an American girl who gets around the capital with a camera and a keen eye for what makes this city so wonderful. In a remarkable coincidence, we were clearly within a few feet of each other on Saturday afternoon - compare the photos in my post here and hers here.
- londonelicious comes from Krista, another American. Ostensibly it's a restaurant review website, but the personal tone and the enthusiasm for her adopted home make it much more than that.
The name of this post was taken from Ken Livingstone's concession speech last week. Perhaps he'd been chopping onions.
 Even the most affluent and cultured areas have their fair share of local nutters. So it is with Hampstead village. Sitting down outside of The Duke of Hamilton on a muggy Sunday, we were joined at our picnic table by a man in drainpipe jeans and a bomber jacket covered in badges. His body seemed to be in perpetual motion as his voice rang out, disturbing the still air and those who just wanted a quiet pint.
"I need to concentrate on world peace. That has got to be my aim. The politicians have an inkling, but none have my vision".
"I have the utmost respect for Victorian architects, but things move on. These facades do not flow. I am aiming to redesign this area, much as I love it".
He was accompanied by an earnest (but uncomfortable) churchman, wet behind the ears and clad in a dress-down outfit that looked decidedly mum-bought. The younger man's glass of white wine outlasted his temporary ward's two pints of lager. The landlord stood behind us, faffing with a barbecue to avoid being drawn into the weighty discussions that unfolded. We didn't have an alibi and consequently weren't so lucky. The Duke of Hamilton is a free house at 23 New End, Hampstead, NW3 1JD (map). It's right next door to a small theatre. The beer selection includes real ales from Fullers and Sharp's, keg Meantime London Stout, Bitburger lager and Licher Weizen. It's a lovely place with something of the village pub about it.
 You'd think that seven years in London would have taught me not to arrange a rendezvous at 6pm on a Saturday outside Covent Garden tube. I'd worked up a thirst searching for my pal amongst shuffling tourists, twats pretending to be statues and gaggles of tarts on hen nights.
On our way to The Harp we passed David Bellamy bothering bystanders in a mocked-up allotment (pictured left). The old boy's still going strong at 75, even if he does have a touch of the loons. He was showing some kind of beastie to a terrified child who had been thrust forward by her parents. She probably wondered what Santa was doing in a t-shirt.
Later in the evening we stopped for a couple of outdoor pints at Porterhouse. The Dublin microbrewery's sole British outlet has never appealed to me. The oppressive industrial decor and lack of natural light would be bad enough without the constant jostling from Essex boys and Antipodeans. Thankfully, one of their beers makes it all worthwhile. Wrasslers XXXX Stout is dark, bitter and smoky. Even the dodgy nitrogenated head - creamy like shaving foam - doesn't dull the flavour. They claim it's brewed to a recipe from 1900, recreating "Michael Collins' favourite tipple". We kept an eye out for snipers. He was only 31, you know.
London's Porterhouse is at 21-22 Maiden Lane, WC2E 7NA (map, website). The beers are brewed in Dublin.
The last time I saw Boris Johnson in the flesh must have been about three years ago. "In the flesh" seems particularly appropriate, when you consider his lumbering frame and strangely proportioned face.
I'd taken the foolish decision of running down a busy Piccadilly. The traffic was held up at lights, so I leapt from the crowded pavement to sprint along the empty bus lane. I noticed a cyclist alongside me, his knees splayed wide as he panted along in his suit. His blonde hair was unkempt and his shirt tails were flying, having escaped from his bulging waistband. "Keep running, young man", he said. We kept pace for a while before I barged back on to the pavement, a number 38 bus hot on my tail.
Best of luck, Boris. Thanks for everything, Ken.
 Today, bloggers around the world are participating in the Session, a monthly event where we all write on a common, beer-related theme. Boak and Bailey are hosts for May.
Czechs honestly believe that their beer is the best in the world. They drink more of the stuff than any other nation, with 160 litres a year being consumed for every man, woman and child.
In traditional Czech pubs, the job of tapman is often reserved for the owner, his task a revered art. Waiters carry the precious cargo to those bunkered in around long tables. People of all ages and backgrounds join together as they drain mugs of foaming pivo. Beer is truly an essential for most Czechs. Indeed, working men still drink it for breakfast, a practice that used to be common here but died out many decades ago.
Of course, Czech culture is changing and diversifying as the country moves confidently forward. The brewing and pub industry might contract, but it won't go away. Beer is ingrained in the national psyche. It's almost impossible to spend time in the country and not be affected by it. That's how it was for me when I lived in Prague for six months between 2003 and 2004. I came back home a true beer lover and I've never looked back.
So is Czech beer really the best in the world? When you're in Prague, yes it is.
I haven't got time to compose something lengthy or terribly witty today, so I'll fall back on a beery anecdote I was told recently. It's about a chap who earned the nickname "Veg Stout", due to a particularly rancid display of tickeritis. A few of you will already know what a ticker is: they collect beers in the way others might collect postage stamps. Whereas philatelics can boast of catalogues filled with their paper prey, tickers end up with beer guts and a bad case of wind.
Veg Stout earned his nickname after an incident at a beer festival. Nearing the end of the session, one particularly rare stout was tapped. He knew he'd had enough, but needed that final "tick", so dutifully ordered his half pint measure. Just as he was about to raise the glass to his lips, his guts revolted, expelling their contents at high velocity. Chunks of his lunch flew into the beer. Ordinarily you'd expect a person to stagger away embarrassed, begging forgiveness and abandoning his glass. Not this chap. Undeterred, he took a swig of his own, very special, Veg Stout. And so a legend was born, a sorry tale of desperation and obsessive compulsive behaviour.
Emerging unscathed from a busy lunch service, I see a feature on mild I penned is in this month's What's Brewing?. CAMRA members will see it. The rest of you won't. Spread across four pages, the main body of the article deals with the history, recent development and (modest) revival of the style. There are also three case studies on milds from Theakston's, Brains and Dark Star.
Each year CAMRA devotes the month of May to promoting mild. It's a beer style that accounted for over 50% of beer sales in Britain in the early 1950s, but suffered a near-death experience in later decades. My tip for Londoners: get yourself to Ye Olde Mitre (1 Ely Court, Ely Place, EC1N 6SJ, map), where landlord Scottie will have a different mild on almost every day throughout the month. For more on mild, see my article from this time last year - Milds in May.
I've taken over as manager of a pub this week, so things are pretty slow around here. If you're looking for something to read, try these from the archives:
* Health warning: features a man dressed as a large cock and balls.
In 2003 I visited the Pilsner Urquell brewery in Western Bohemia. We were shown around by a proper little chuckabout of a bird who, despite speaking otherwise top notch English, couldn't pronounce the word "brewery". You'd think she'd have nailed that down. I'll write about the visit a little more on Friday.
Draught Pilsner Urquell is fairly rare in Britain, but recently it's been dispensed from an authentic looking brass font at The Crown Tavern on Clerkenwell Green. With summer finally beginning to peek around the rainclouds, the pub - blessed as it is with a huge outdoor seating area - is coming into its own again. Time to get a few Monday night pints in.
Pilsner Urquell (Plzeňský Prazdroj in Czech) has been in production since 1842. The brewery is now owned by international giant SABMiller, having been acquired by South African Breweries in 1999. The beer is also brewed under license in Poland, but only the real thing is exported to the UK.
 Venice, two summers ago. A sunny spell amid curiously wet weather for August. Caught up in the tourist maelstrom by the Rialto bridge. An edge needs to be rubbed smooth with intoxicants. A bar is nestled in the colonnade of an old market, backing out on to the Grand Canal. A small handwritten sign stipulates bar service only. Strong, dark, red beer on draught. Blonde barman pours on command. A glass is in the hand within seconds. Sitting outside on a little drop-down wooden seat, attached by hinges to the ancient stone wall. Wealthy Americans disembark from a water taxi. Gondoliers steal nicotine-tinged moments. A policeman in a silly hat and white gloves waves his arms around.
The bar was Al Pesador (website). I loved it dearly and returned every day that week.
Never trust people who think beer subdivides into "lager", "bitter" and "Guinness".
Never trust people who say they like chain bars because "they always know what they're getting".
Never trust people who list "socialising" as an interest on their CV.
Never trust people who can't give a straightforward answer when you ask them where they're from.
Never trust people who invite you on skiing trips when you have never expressed any interest in the sport (or indeed their company).
Never trust blokes who try and ban the c-word from conversation because their bird doesn't like it (just say it more).
Never trust people who "don't like to lose control".
Finally and most importantly, never, ever trust people who don't drink beer, unless they have a very good excuse - and for the avoidance of doubt, being an uptight, miserable sod is not a very good excuse.
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Stonch lives in London, where he runs a pub.
Britain's bestest ever German beer fest starts today at 3pm, and runs through to Saturday night. It's a joint effort by Bier-Mania, Stonch's Beer Blog and the festival venue - Zeitgeist @ The Jolly Gardeners (49-51 Black Prince Road, Lambeth, SE11 6AB, map).
