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.