Brewski: Issue Four

BREWSKI ISSUE FOUR

HOME BREW SPECIAL

BREWSKI DOES BREWING • MUNTONS • LAWMAN BREWING CO • REVIEWS

C RE D I TS

EDITOR

c o n t e n ts

Touching Hops

2

Muntons

6

Joanna Perry

9

Handcrafted Range Review

11

Lawman Brewing Company

12

Reviews

18

David Vallance david@thebrewski.co.uk

ART DIRECTOR Laura Hurst laura@thebrewski.co.uk

EDITORIAL stories@thebrewski.co.uk

ADVERTISING ad@thebrewski.co.uk

THANKS TO Muntons Joanna Perry Craig Laurie Tempest Brewing Co Ayr Brewing Co Eden Brewery Inveralmond

TOUCHING

HOPS I remember the first time I brewed beer. Before that experience beer came from supermarkets, off licenses and from some underground treasure trove underneath the bar.

Beer was a product.

I knew there were breweries and processes involved somewhere but it was so far removed that I never really thought about it. I never considered the men and women who carted bags of malt, sprinkled yeast and shovelled out the steaming spent grain.

That all changed when I donned some marigolds and turned a friend’s laundry room into a pop-up brewery.

I remember cutting the lid from the can of extract and smelling the biscuity gloop. Thick, viscous and dark, it was a world away from the crystal clear

yellows I’d grown up with.

I remember pouring the thick, treacle-like liquid from the can and into a comically large plastic bucket.

(Sterilised, of course.)

I remember dumping in the water.

A lot of water. An amount of water that made our masterplan feel far too ambitious for the confines of a glorified cupboard.

Then came the sugar - a bag of it.

(A bag which, if you remove the label, looks almost identical to industrially packaged cocaine. And you may do with that information what you will.)

Back to the sugar. Twenty-three litres of beer requires a lot, a whole kilogram.

(We should probably peel off the low cal label.) So in goes the sugar.

And then we stirred.

Never have two teenagers more gingerly stirred a plastic tub of wannabe beer, praying all the while that each swish of liquid and tap of the exceedingly large spoon didn’t crack the flimsy plastic walls.

After a a few laps round of the tub, we were done.

We had made beer. Or rather made a mixture that would, in seven to ten days, become beer. But that was good enough for us. In our minds, we were brewers and beer was not just a product anymore but a process. An intriguing process, a halfway point between art and science.

I’m yet to meet anyone who after nurturing a batch of beer all the way through from ingredients to bottle or keg, wasn’t filled with an instant desire to quit their job and build a brewery in the nearest available industrial unit.

To say it’s quite addictive is like saying crystal meth is just a little moreish. It’s a creeping passion that slowly takes over, filling your head with malt, hops and yeast conundrums.

So in honour of plastic fermentation tubs, the catalyst to the Brewski’s love of brewing, this issue is for you.

“Beer does not make itself properly by itself. It takes an element of mystery and of things that no one can understand.�

Fritz Maytag

- Fritz Maytag

MUNTONS Passionate about malt.

Behind all great things stand brilliant, if unheralded, workhorses. The Statue of Liberty, for example, is hoisted from the earth on a completely hidden and completely rigid iron framework. That framework, the very thing that allows it to exist, is wrapped on all sides by a copper skin a fraction of an inch thick.

The framework, arguably the most impressive part of the structure, is only ever seen by those visitors who venture inside.

the Kelpies, two 30-metre equine sculptures modelled on a pair of enormous Clydesdale horses. Even on the dreichest of days, the Kelpies glow a bright silver as their steel skin glistens in the light. However, beneath the 900 stainless steel plates which form their outer skin lies 300 tonnes of structural steel framework.

The view from the inside, the view of the the tubular steel skeleton is almost as striking - and again only seen by a fraction of visitors.

Slightly closer to home are

Few parallels can be drawn

between the Kelpies, Lady Liberty and beer but the existence of a hidden support structure is one of them.

Behind the glitz of Mikkeller, the grunge of BrewDog and the chrome of Tempest lies an army of supporting bodies that make it all possible.

With three issues dedicated to the work of brewers, we thought it was time to take a peek behind the curtain and get to know the companies that underpin the industry.

And what better place to start than malt, the little germinated cereals which offer up their sugars and make fermentation possible.

For our investigation into malt, we’re venturing south of the border, all the way to the Stowmarket in the south of England to talk to Muntons, one of England’s oldest maltsters.

To understand Muntons we have to rewind the tape all the way back to the 1800s.

The Baker-Munton family has been trading malt and grain for a long time, as early as the 1800s, at least. And what a time it was to be trading malt.

The beer engine, essentially a way to pump beer from a basement to a tap, had just been invented, the Beerhouse Act, which enabled anyone to brew beer, had been passed and hundreds of independent pubs were popping up all across the country. Beer was booming and the demand for malt was ballooning coming along with it.

However, while the BakerMunton family has trading for centuries, the company as it stands today first appears substantially later, in 1921.

In the aftermath of the First World War, the confusingly named Munton BakerMunton spotted a swelling demand for malt extract in the brewing, baking and tonicfood industries, and founded

Munton and Baker Ltd - our first glimpse of the modern company. Under his leadership, Muntons moved into the Old Phoenix Brewery in Bedford and, working in conjunction with the Wells family, began manufacturing malt extract on an industrial scale.

Barley

A decade on and the company acquired the Edward Fision maltings in Ipswich and began supplying their excess malt to breweries.

As the years rolled on, successes stockpiled. Muntons bought out a decrepit 46-acre site in Stowmarket, previously the home of British Nylon Spinners, and set about making it good for malt production. A purpose built maltings, Stowmarket became the headquarters for the group and retains that honour to this day.

Barley kernels

Demand would continue to grow, driven ever higher by insatiable appetite of Scottish distilleries and international sales - notably from Japan, some 6,000 miles to the east.

Eventually, the malt demand in the north from whisky-guzzling Scots required a dedicated site so in the 1960s Muntons built their newest maltings in Bridlington in Yorkshire.

Now approaching its 100th birthday, Muntons’ maltings are still running at capacity, churning out 180,000 tonnes of malt products across the entire group and supplying malt to distilleries and breweries up and down the country.

Malted barley

Here’s hoping the next 100 years are as kind as the first.

Brewski was lucky enough to borrow Muntons’ marketing and creative manager Joanna Perry for a chat about homebrewing, malt and the future of the beer industry.

The modern craft beer boom has largely ignored maltsters, fuelled, as it has been, by big, brash hop-forward beer. However, recently there’s been a shift away from 120 IBU monsters and towards more balanced profiles. Something our friends Muntons are all too happy to see.

“It may be wishful thinking but there is a growing emphasis on producing ‘balanced’ beers where the malt character is up to the job of carrying the hops,” says Joanna. Less eight-pound double IPA sledgehammer and more delicate Scotch ale ball pein.

“Perhaps the key point to make is that there is no longer a typical recipe as there was in the past for various beer styles, and

that brewers are willing to break the mould in terms of what malts go into what beers.”

If you pop down to any brewpub, you’ll see exactly what Joanna is talking about.

Brewers are testing out new combinations and it’s breathing new life into the craft beer revolution. It’s no longer about making the strongest, bitterest brew you can. It’s about creating something genuinely exciting.

And that experimentation is raising the profile of malt, so often disregarded by drinkers as the boring backbone of beer and vehicle for hops.

“Malt is one of the prime ingredients for all beers,” mulls Joanna. “And with the wide range of malt available interesting fruity

flavours can be introduced by selecting the right malts. Perhaps these complex tones will gain popularity with consumers in the same way that aromatic hops have?”

We certainly hope so.

And with Muntons, it’s not just empty talk.

They’ve put their money where their mouth is and delved into the world of the brewer.

Back in the 1970s, Muntons dipped a tentative first toe into the homebrew market, producing kits for companies l i ke C o l m a n s a n d B r e w m a k e r. T h e y would later develop a range of homebrew kits of their own too.

“The UK homebrew market had trebled in size over the past seven years,” explains Joanna. “The turnaround was triggered by the credit crunch and recession, which created nervousness and made people question where they were spending money and how they could reduce their spend.”

Including kit costs, Joanna estimates the average homebrewer’s first batch will come in at between £1.30 and £1.50 per pint. (Once you’ve got your kit, that figure can easily half.) When you compare that with swelling prices in trendier watering holes, it’s no wonder people are making the switch.

“...THERE IS NO LONGER A TYPICAL RECIPE AS THERE WAS IN THE PAST FOR VARIOUS BEER STYLES...”

For that move we can thank Reginald Maudling who, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, abolished the duty on home-brewed beer and essentially legalised homebrewing in the UK. However, while the homebrewing market blossomed in the years up to the Millennium, nothing alluded to the boom that was coming at the tail end of the noughties.

As banking industry went into freefall, the homebrewing market exploded.

And the quality of beer you can produce at home is outstanding. On Joanna’s recommendation we tried out the Handcrafted American IPA kit and, after a bit of simple prep, had 23 litres bubbling away in a pressure keg.

How did it taste? Short answer? Outstanding.

Long answer? Let’s take a look.

H A N D CRAFTED AMERICAN STYLE IPA Muntons American Style IPA (Masipa) pours a cloudy orange with an energetic off-white head. There’s a nice rich sweetness on nose and a pungent hoppiness from the late addition citra pellets. Behind it all there’s a very slightly soured tinge too. It’s a really interesting first impression.

While Muntons call this an American Style IPA, it’s very obvious that it’s an American Style IPA from a maltster. Yes, there’s a citrusy sharpness from the citra but it’s not big or brash in a typically American kind of way. There’s no sudden crash of grapefruit and explosion of bitterness. It’s subdued, maybe even muted.

It’s a hoppiness that’s balanced against a strong malty backbone.

On one side there’s the aromatic

citra and on the other is a syrupy, treacle-like body.

In a world of super bitter IPAs, it’s refreshing to taste one where the hops takes a step back and play a complementary role in the profile A creamy mouthfeel accompanies a slow, steady finish. Warm caramel notes swirl and linger but eventually give way to a strong stinging bitterness. Ah, the brash American finally finds its voice.

Masipa is a genuinely impressive beer. Not just an impressive homebrewed beer but an impressive beer, full stop. And that’s a good thing because Brewski HQ has 23 litres stashed away in the pressure keg for the next editorial meeting.

Once Upon a time in cumbernauld A dozen or so miles to the north of Glasgow lies Cumbernauld, a Scottish New Town and home to bedroom brewery Lawman Brewing Company.

Brewski recently caught up with founder, head brewer and omnidirector Craig Laurie to talk over his grand expansion plans.

“Considering I’ve built a brewery in our flat, my wife is absurdly understanding,” says Craig, chuckling to himself. “She’s a very tidy person, she likes things to be just so. So she comes home from a long day at work and I’ve covered everything in a thin film of dust, the dog’s up to his eyeballs in treats, I’ve not made any dinner because I’ve been cleaning out the mash tun for the second time, there’s a weird myriad of disgusting smells and she doesn’t complain.”

Horizon APA “A deep golden coloured American Pale Ale, packed with tropical fruits and pine.”

Steadfast Köln-ish Bier “ A sessionable, refreshing lagerbier. with an elderflower twist..”

For the past year, Craig and his wife have lived their life inside a brewery. Where some people had ornamental vases, they had fermentation tanks. Where others had had a nice potted plant, they had empty casks.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Let’s rewind four years, all the way back to the start of the Lawman Brewing Company story.

Craig had just fallen into a job at Williams Bros. The Alloa-based brewery was popular but far from the household name it is today.

With the brewery only running four brews per week, Craig found himself with enough spare time to soak up the technical ins and outs of commercial brewing.

“The two senior guys were Jamie Carmichael and Gordon Gelsthorpe, two proper IBD graduates,” says Craig. “So when I say I got to learn this shit they were like “Here’s my textbooks, here’s my course notes, now go learn it.”

“You’ve got guys explaining how you work out hop utilisation, how enzymes work, why alpha amylase works at 68 degrees and beta amylase works at 65. I was supposed to be cleaning but I was actually doing technical IBD training. It was probably one of the best internships you could have.”

Starting at the bottom, Craig climbed his way up and by this time last year was working as assistant head brewer.

And during that time Williams Bros was going from strength to strength. Seven Giraffes was popping up on almost every supermarket shelf and Joker was starting to replace Tennent’s in pretty typical bars.

Williams Bros was finding its space in the mainstream beer world.

So it was with this backdrop of large scale commercial success that Craig planned Lawman Brewing Company.

However, without a spare industrial unit to hand, he had to get inventive with his brewery’s location.

“I got a really confused phone call from a HMRC number. You’ve got to submit a hand drawn plan for your brewery layout and I drew my flat. They were like “We’re a bit confused.

Is it a shed?” Nope. It’s a flat. It’s got an upstairs and downstairs. And that was it.”

“There’s no reason why you can’t do it,” he quickly adds. “As long as you say what you’re doing to do and give them the right paperwork, they’re like ‘Sure! Go nuts!’

And just like that he had a location for his brewery.

The one sticking point turned out not to be red tape wielding bureaucrats but Craig’s landlord. While homebrewers can fly under the radar with small scale kits and limited output, running a commercial setup required explicit consent.

“The argument I had to make to my landlord was that you’re using what’s basically a glorified homebrew kit and I’d been doing this already as a homebrewer.

I’m just going to sell the product at the end of it instead of having insane parties. If it wasn’t a problem before now, why would it be one now?”

Eventually, his landlord agreed and Craig officially founded Lawman Brewing Company.

If you haven’t heard of Lawman before now, there is a good reason.

Until relatively recently you could only find his beers in one Scottish bar: Cloisters on Edinburgh’s Brougham Street.

“When I first approached Cloisters and said here’s our price list, they were like ‘Sure we’ll take it.’ Two days later they were like ‘How much more do you have?’

It worked out pretty well.

All the beer I could produce out of my flat was all they would actually buy.”

The Edinburgh beer scene was to Lawman. He says it’s far more open than other Scottish cities, far more willing to give new beers a chance. And when you’re brewing your first commercial beer from a brewery none has heard of, that’s definitely a good thing.

A regular order from Cloisters provided a strong foundation from which to build and build he has done. In Glasgow he’s just signed up the Bon Accord as Lawman’s official brewery tap. And in Edinburgh the Bow Bar and the Stockbridge Tap have

both started stocking his beers.

It’s not just beer-loving bars and pubs that deserve credit but the beer industry too. “It’s such a weird industry,” says Craig.

“At any point you can ask someone what you’re doing wrong and they’ll tell you. They don’t have to do that. In fact, it’s in their interest for you to fail but they still do.

“Take Carbon Smith in Edinburgh.

On paper he’s my competition. He’s the nanobrewer in Edinburgh, I’m the nanobrewer in Glasgowshire but there was this one time when I couldn’t get any one day kegs in time for an order so he got in touch and was like “I’ve got two; do you want them?” Honestly, the guys you meet are so nice.”

With a burgeoning customer base and the support of all the folk in the industry, building bonafide brewery was an inevitable step. And it’s one that’s finally coming. After a year, life amongst the barley is nearing an end.

Supported by a loan from the Prince’s Trust and a grant from North Lanarkshire Council, Craig plans to branch out from his flat and build a brewery on the outskirts of town. A substantially longer commute from flat to brewery than bedroom to kitchen, but one he’ll happily drive to give Lawman Brewing Company a home of its own.

In fact, as you read this Craig is putting the final touches to his new five-barrel brewery.

In the New Year his output will significantly increase and Lawman will officially transition from nano to microbrewery.

So congratulations to Craig and congratulations to Lawman. We’re genuinely excited to see what the future holds for one of Scotland’s most innovative brewers.

Pixel Bandit Session Ale “A thirst quenching session ale, Pixel Bandit has a big hop flavour with a low ABV.”

Weatherall IPA “A modern take on the traditional British IPA; heavily hopped with First Gold and Jester to provide a complex, orange marmalade bitterness and full flavour.”

s a i s o n s While the Belgian beer identity is dominated by lambics, dubbels, tripels and Trappist brews, Belgium also gave the world one more: the saison.

The saison can trace its roots back to Wallonia, a French-speaking region of Belgium, which dominates the southern half of the country.

Historically, saisons began life as a pale ale brewed in the cooler months of the year and stored in quiet farmhouses to be consumed by temporary farm workers throughout the warmer summer months. Recipes varied from farm to farm but generally contained a hefty dose of antibacterial hops and a decent handful of spice.

However, as agriculture industrialised in the 1900s and refrigeration technology improved, summer ales like saisons went into decline. The beer style which once powered the agriculture of a nation is nowadays only produced by a few small Belgian breweries.

Thankfully, other nations have taken up the torch. American breweries in particular have flocked to the saison, experimenting with traditional Belgian recipes and updating it for the modern beer drinker.

Across the pond we have our own crop of Belgian revivalists too. Over the years, Wild Beer Co. have brewed a number of saisons; though our favourite remains the part-Belgian, part-American Epic Saison.

Up in the north of Scotland, Six Degrees is flying the flag for Belgium too, brewing everything from the humble Bière de Table to the adventurous heather honey beer, Honey Bee Good. However, since this is a saison feature, we’re going to highlight Four Saisons, a particularly drinkable beer packed with cereal malts and citrus and finished with a spicy kick - a wonderful introduction to the style.

reviews A round-up of all the latest beer from around scotland - and some oldies just for good measure

Harvest IPA - 6.7% - Tempest Harvest IPA pours a hazy gold with a fluffy white head on top.

The beer’s Mosaic hops are immediately apparently as little bubbles of floral freshness burst with every bubble. There’s a slight earthiness too but it’s largely lost amongst the hops.

The first sip matches the nose perfectly; all the freshness is there but it’s accompanied by a rich bitterness and chewy

tropical flavours. It’s like a lemon tart melted down and poured into a bottle.

The beer finishes gently with punchy citrus notes taking centre stage. And then it’s gone.

Harvest IPA is a wonderful example of single hopped pale ales - something we hope to see more of next year.

Death and Dr Hornbrook - 7.2% - Ayr Brewing co Death and Dr Hornbrook is an Imperial Blonde Ale from Ary Brewing Company. The beer pours a slightly hazy amber with a very thin head, which disperses quickly. There’s a sweet maltiness on the nose and the slightest touch of prickly grass.

The first taste is a crash of

sugars. There’s a strong caramelly sweetness and strong fruity notes alongside it. Sadly there isn’t much else. It’s light on alcohol too which is surprising considering it weighs in at a hefty 7.2% ABV. Hornbrook fades quickly, leaving behind a very faint earthiness and a tiny bitter tickle.

Perfect Storm - 4.5% - Williams Bros With a blend of Mosaic, Cascade and Southern Cross hops, Perfect Storm is neither subtle nor soft.

From the moment the cap pops off, piercing hoppy flavours shoot out.

Pouring a pale golden, the smells only intensify in the glass.

much more balanced than you might expect. There’s a decent whack of hoppy bitterness but it’s accompanied by a sweet biscuity base. For something billed as an epic IPA, it’s even, dare we say it, a little restrained.

The first taste comes with some trepidation but it’s actually

Psycho Hop Rocket - 7.8% - Eden Brewery Old World meets New in this transcontinental beer experiment.

With traditional floor-malted English barley, Chinook and Cascade hops from America, Rakua hops from New Zealand and Admiral hops from Blighty, Psycho Hop Rocket is a truly international effort.

And what an effort it is. Clocking in at close to eight percent, a boozy caramel hits you square in the chest as soon as you lift the glass to your lips. It’s followed shortly afterwards by the citrus, pine, and spice of the Joint Hop Task Force.

It’s electrifying and it sends a tingle from top to tail with every single sip.

London Porter - 5.6% - Inveralmond London Porter doesn’t so much pour from the bottle as ooze. It’s thick and creamy and beautifully black.The nose is pure stout with an ashy chocolate leading the way.

The usual stouty elements are there in the taste too. Rich coffee,

lush chocolate, silky caramel and sweet cocoa. But they’re not alone.

There’s some interesting guests too - a metallic tang, some crunchy hazelnut and bitter liquorice.

Towards the end everything fades except the bitterness and you’re left nursing something very satisfying.