Real Ale University Chapter 3: Pub Crawl for a Purpose

 The ubiquitous British pub crawl. A Wiki-search of the origination of the pub crawl results in plenty of modern information. But I’m still unsure of its heritage. When I surmise on the origination of Plymouth pub crawls I envision crowds of bawdy sailors cavorting dark Union Street haunts. For me today the pub crawl serves a final lesson in my quest to become a real ale connoisseur, courtesy of Norm at Summerskills Brewery.

Norm decides to start our pub crawl for a purpose at the Millbridge Inn, Stoke. When Norm and I arrive around noon it’s still quiet. Norm chooses this location because it is hosting a beer festival, carrying the Summerskills Ninja and Indian Bones. The bar staff greet Norm casually before attempting to uncork his “pin” (keg). They struggle. Finally, Norm grabs the pliers and pops the keg open himself. We are poured a pint (for Norm) and a half-pint (for me). There’s no way I’m trying to match a master today.

We slide into a corner booth with a view of the footy and passer-by. As neighborhood-rats slowly enter, Norm and I talk taste.  “The Ninja is so much hoppier than Devon Dew,” he begins (remember from Chapter 2 that Ninja is the only Summerskills brew to use international hops). “It’s more aromatic, with a strong aftertaste.”

Norm points to the other pin on the bar. “Millbridge will open Indiana Bones* next. Bones is a russet brown, sweet and hoppy but quite potent at 5.6% alcohol.” He talks more about Devon Dew, the “most drinkable” Summerkills offer. “Devon Dew is a malted wheat that uses Pilgrim English hops.  “We use a higher proportion of malted wheat to malted barley in Devon Dew than in the rest of our beers,” Norm details. “The properties of English hops are a result of the terroir (geography, geology and climate) and this also has a bearing on the strains of malting barleys grown in the UK. Malt gets its flavor from sunlight and soil. The UK gets less sunlight than other beer-producing nations like the USA, Australia, and New Zealand. In fact, real ale changes slightly when exposed to sun.” He holds his glass up to the warm light streaming through the puckered glass windows. “The changes are known commonly as ‘skunking’ because of the skunk-like aroma that results.”

As the noise in the pub grows, Norm and I decide to head to the next location. We exit the green and yellow building (all the Plymouth pubs under this company’s direction are painted green and yellow). He directs us across Victoria Park, which used to be an inland waterway called Stonehouse Creek. Norm enlivens the tour when he notes, “The sick men of the Royal Navy were brought from the Dockyard to the Royal Naval Hospital via Stonehouse Creek and this was the origin of the term ‘up the creek.’” We continue to cross Union Street at the Palace Theatre, sighing at its shabby exterior. “That would make a great brewery,” I state. “I wish,” Norm chortles.

Next we cruise past the Theatre Royal and up the Hoe. I’ve yet to walk onto the Hoe without being called to pause: This oceanic view is probably the most stunning of any I’ve seen. We bob down Madeira Road. I see a chalkboard pointing “up” toward the Fisherman’s Arms. “This is my favorite pub in Plymouth,” Norm says. “It’s a free house, a cosy place, and rivals the Minerva Inn as oldest pub in Plymouth.” On our way Norm pauses at a low, wooden bench. “We used to sit on this bench and watch the sun sink on the Hoe. It’s outside what used to be the Commercial Inn, which closed in 2014. Several of the ‘Commercial refugees’ now drink in the Fisherman's Arms.” Up a windy cobblestone street we traverse, below an apartment building bridge, and we arrive to the Fisherman’s Arms.

Donna, the pub owner, greets Norm warmly with a pint of Devon Dew for him and I. She sits at the table with us. Behind her I see a huge bouquet of lilies on the bar. Behind that sit a group of men missing teeth and laughing heartily. The walls are adorned with historic images of Plymouth. Donna’s husband, Lee, works behind the bar. 

“This pub was owned by St. Austell until I bought it last December,” Donna explains. Now, she runs it as a free house. Norm uses this time to explain the difference between pubs that belong to companies (“pubcos”) and free houses. The main pub companies today are Punch, Enterprise, and Admiral Taverns. Pubs companies lease spaces to owners. The pub company negotiates all food and drink contracts direct with suppliers like Summerskills. Pub managers then choose from their pubco options at prices the pub company sets. This price is often higher than the open market price and totally irrelevant to what is happening in the bar.

Pub companies themselves are actually a relatively new phenomenon. To help explain the situation, Norm sent me an article titled “Pubcos drinking in Last Chance Saloon” by the editor of the Good Beer Guide.

The pattern of pub-owning in Britain has changed out of all recognition in the past few decades. Pubs used to be owned in the main by breweries. But government action in the early 1990s followed a Monopolies Commission report that showed that the large national brewers acted as a cartel, fixing prices and charging far more for beer than smaller competitors…As a result of sweeping changes brought in by the government of the day, most of the big brewers sold their pub estates to new pub-owning companies, known as “pubcos” for short.

“What’s the benefit?” I ask. “There’s less initial outlay when a new owner starts the pub,” Norm explains. But he explains that the propensity for pubcos to purchase failing pubs causes a constant cycle of pubs purchase/ sale, usually to the benefit of the pubcos. The article in Protz explains how devastating this cycle is for pub owners and neighborhoods (linked below). Because pubcos benefit from sale cycles they aren’t wholly inclined to support managers. The article shows, “Figures over the last four years expose the calamitous reality of the pubco business model, with a staggering third of pubs owned by the two largest pubcos being sold off in just four years.” 

While totally intrigued by the conversation, I cannot take another sip until I fill my belly with whatever incredible scent is wafting from the kitchen. Donna’s Chef is a Moroccan, hence the smoky cinnamon smell. I order a lamb tagine special and Norm the chicken skewers. When the tagine arrives, I giggle at the side of roast potatoes. You may be able to put a Moroccan in the kitchen, but there’s still a Brit in the bar.

After a couple more drinks, Norm and I part ways. Donna calls her little dog back when it tries to sneak out with us. Seagulls call overheard. Norm is off to another festival showcasing Summerskills ales. He invites me to join but I don’t think I can handle any more beer. I decide to take a long walk instead (see the recount of my eventful day HERE). Passing a few pubs on my way out of the Barbican I note that some post signs stating “free house.” I smile to myself. I finally know what that means. And I know exactly where I’ll order my next real ale pints.

Real Ale University Chapter 2: Location, Location, Location

 Well, this isn’t right, I thought as I looked at the construction works in front of me. My iPhone told me to continue to go straight on the Southwest Coast Path told Saltram, but my eyes told me Google Maps wasn’t aware of road works. I’ll have to use my spidey senses, I sigh, spinning my bike around. I was on my way to visit the Summerskills Brewery, just across Laira Bridge Road near the Plymstock Morrison’s. It’s my second lesson in Real Ale, graciously guided by Norm of Summerskills Brewery (check out Chapter 1 HERE, in case you missed).

I wasn’t really sure what to expect of the brewery. I hark from the land of Molson-Coors, where breweries churn out millions of gallons of beer a year. In Colorado, big beer competes with the ubiquitous microbrewery, who invite customers to sit among brew kettles and sip flights of the day’s special batch. I hadn’t the faintest idea what form of Plymouth’s oldest brewery.

Eventually I located the brewery not by the smell, which I kind of expected (the entire town of Golden, Colorado, smells like malt because of Coors Brewery). I found it by the Summerskills van parked prominently outside. Summerskills was at the end of a line of other warehouse-based companies, a familiar site in this part of the world. I lean my bike against the bikes of Rob and Dan, Norm’s staff, and bound in the open warehouse door.

Very quickly I realize that Summerskills Brewery is not like American breweries because it was not American. It was very, very Devonian. Pictures of beer drinkers and beer processes and beer awards and beer festivals line the walls. Smiling staff wear multiple layers to fight the cold. The whole place felt a little rustic, a little haphazard, and a quirkily disorganized. It felt exactly like I might have expected if I had thought to expect it.

Norm barely hugs me before I begin whizzing questions to at him. He explains that one of the most important parts of Summerskills ales is its malt. Norm sources from Tuckers Maltings (Newton Abbot), quoted from the website as being one of only four malthouses in England that still produce malt in the traditional way. They use barley grown in southwest England. Tuckers Maltings is a Devon institution, offering guided tours and a huge Beer Shop. Plus, they host the industry and crowd favorite Tuckers Maltings Beer Festival in conjunction with the Society of Independent Brewers (SIBA). In fact, it was a partnership specifically between Tuckers and Summerskills that launched the first festival in 1991. This year’s festival takes place this weekend, 16-18 April.

Before the barley ever reaches Norm at Summerskills it undergoes a germination process at Tuckers. Tuckers first soaks the barley in water. Then, it is spread across cool, wide floors, where the germination process begins. Sprouts that appear during the germination process are signs that starch, the seed’s stored energy, has been converted to simple sugar. Yeast requires sugar in the fermentation process (more details below). Before the seeds have the chance to fully germinate Tuckers halts the process, drying the sprouted malt in a huge kiln. At this point malt is sent in big bags to Summerskills who continue add the next ingredients, water and hops.

One of the first things a visitor to Summerskills encounters is a large round stainless steel container used for mashing and draining malt. Dan is standing on the outside of the masher, manually turning the malt with a small shovel and a big smile. Nearing the container I smelled the trademark scent of breweries: A musty, warm, hay-like comfort wafting around us. Dan’s job that day was to dump Tucker’s malt into the masher then add hot “liquor.” I look at Norm incredulously when he used this term. “You add alcohol to malt?” I didn’t know much about beer but I knew that didn’t make sense. Norm laughed. “No, in brew terms ‘liquor’ just means water.’” That made sense to me for a few reasons…

The hot liquor mixes with malt to make “porridge.” Norm insists that the porridge is edible. It smells so good, so working-in-a-barn nutritious, I am tempted to dip a spoon in. Summerskills leaves to porridge to sit, eventually draining a syrup called ‘wort’ through small holes in the bottom of the tun. The husks of the malted barley form a natural filter that keep the protein from the cell walls out of the finished product. This protein does get through in small quantities and will form a “chill haze” as it comes out of solution in cold beer. Wheat beer tends to be cloudy because it doesn’t have this natural filtration property. I’ve been surprised to see “floaties” in my ales past; now, I hope for this cloudy quality verification. Wort moves through pipes and into copper “kettles.”   It is boiled there with hops, then cooled quickly to about 20 degrees centigrade and collected in a fermenting vessel.

According to www.rpi.edu, hops are the cone-like flowers of the female hop vine. They give beer its bitter flavor and trademark “hoppy” aroma. They also help inhibit bacteria from growing in the beer. Norm flavors Summerskills brews with dry-packed hops sourced from England, except for the “Ninja” brew which appropriately receives its hops from Slovenia. Acting a little sheepish, Norm explains that he uses Slovenian hops for Ninja only because it really is a key ingredient with a flavor that cannot be achieved in the UK. He prefers to continue the Summerskill legacy. From his first day as brewmaster Adam Summerskill used only locally sourced ingredients, not because it was the cool, hip thing to do (as it is now) but because it just made sense. Tuckers Maltings barley taste the best. Tuckers is happy to put brewers in touch with their barley farmers if both parties are agreeable. The barley grown for malting has to be top quality so farmers are usually happy to show off their farms and fields. The English hops used at Summerskills are grown in Herefordshire and Worcestershire. The other main growing region in the UK is in Kent. Norm says, “We are invited every year by our hop merchant to go on a ‘hop walk’ to see the farms and the crops before and during the harvest.” It seems to me that knowing your source just makes good business sense.

On yeast, another key ingredient, Norm has this to say: Brewers yeasts are carefully selected strains that are suitable for the fermentation of wort to produce beer.  Hops are generally only added at the liquid stages for example to the wort in the copper, and into casks when filled with finished beer. Some brewers run the wort through hops after boiling to capture the aroma that would otherwise go up the chimney during the boil.

The methodology of brewing real ale means that not only does the beer have a lesser shelf-life but it also requires manual labor (versus the oft-machinated process seen for mainstream carbonated brews). A conundrum emerges. Pubs and bars think they ought to pay less for real ale because it won’t last as long; they run the risk of it souring in the keg before cost is recovered in sales. On the other hand, real ale ought to be sold at a premium because of ingredients and labor. Premium, locally-sourced ingredients are used and staff manually ushers ingredients through every stage in the process. Norm, Summerskills, and other brewers in the region are constantly trying to educate new pub-owners about the reality of real ale. New producers with dramatically reduced prices constantly appear on the market, hoping to cash-in on real ale hyper. Competition is tough. A lot of producers go “tits-up” (to use one of my favorite British terms). “Is that why I see so many different real ales?” I query. Norm nods his head, frowning. “It’s part of the reason, yes. A lot of those guys don’t last that long.”

During our tour Norm explains the unique traits of Devon’s water. When he says, “Devon has soft water,” I wonder if all the syrup has gone to his head. Alas, he’s actually describing the chemical elements of Dartmoor’s water, which has less minerals in it than water from other regions. Dartmoor water is perfect for producing stout, which might be one of the reasons why my first Summerskills love was the Shamrock Stout. When using soft water for his ales Norm has to manually “harden” it by adding minerals. In fact, this “hardening” processing is actually called “Burtonising.” Apparently, the hardest water is found in Burton-on-Trent (Staffordshire). And here I was thinking Liverpool is “hard!” (Get it? Gangsta’ reference? Come on, ‘Mericans…)

When we start talking about mineral properties I feel like I’ve returned to high school chemistry courses. “Are you a chemist?” I ask. Norm attended Brewlab, a “beer university” hosted by the University at Sunderland, UK, proudly displaying his certificate on the wall. Norm highly recommends this course for any beermaster hopefuls. The lessons he learned there are particularly important when experimenting with new flavors. Because of the required real ale process and ingredients, every time a new beer is produced an entire batch is made. “So you have to get it right the first time!” Norm says. “We haven’t ruined a batch yet,” he smiles.

While we’ve been milling about the brewery Rob and Dan have been hard at work, loading the recognizably simple Summerskills van with beer for delivery. Norm has an appointment to drop off his Devon Dew at Countryman’s Choice in Ivybridge and in South Hams at Yealmpton Stores. He spends a portion of his days driving to breweries, picking up and dropping off kegs. “It’s a lot of work,” he says, referencing life as a brew master. “But there’s nothing I’d rather do.”

Except maybe drink the beer, I think. Stay tuned for the final chapter in this series: Pub Crawl for a Purpose.