‘Another pint of bitter, love, when you’re ready.’ To those of a certain age the request slips off the tongue like the opening line of a sonnet. A pint of bitter is as English as the first cuckoo of spring or the last rose of summer. It brings to mind a pub, the people in it, and that social phenomenon which binds us to those we trust – the round. And, of course, one pint may lead to another.
Television adverts used to be full of jolly pint-swillers. Whitbread ‘Big Head’ Trophy Bitter was ‘the pint that thinks it’s a qua-art’. Tetley of Leeds, a big player in those days, introduced viewers to their ‘Bittermen’, with the declaration: ‘You can’t beat ’em.’
Bitter, more than its maltier cousin mild, was the favoured hoppy drink of the pub before the tasteless brute lager swaggered into our taverns. Sometimes, particularly in the north and Midlands, the two went together in a single beaker – though if you try telling the tale of ‘mixed’ to the hipsters of Camden Town, you might get some funny looks. The trendy modern toper prefers to take his ale from a barrel marked ‘craft’, as though the indentured brewers of previous decades hadn’t the foggiest.
Their successors, terrified by the prospect of being behind the times, are running scared. The Wye Valley Brewery, responsible for the superb Butty Bach, has decided to ‘rebrand’ its best bitter as Pyoneer. Although they insist the change is a way of honouring native traditions – Canon Pyon being the village where the brewery has its roots – a spokesman rather gave the game away by referring to the hunt for ‘a new demographic’.
We know what that means. Out with the woolly jumpers; in with bucket hats. So fare thee well, bitter beer. It was lovely knowing you. These days, if you promise to behave, you may be passed off as ‘amber ale’, which, strictly speaking, is true. Sometimes your dance card says ‘pale ale’, which is more or less true. Bitter and pale ale have always worn each other’s clothes – like those hipsters in Camden.
Landlord, the world classic brewed in Keighley by Timothy Taylor, is designated a pale ale. Their best bitter has for some years been called Boltmaker – and jolly good it is, too. There is no time for tears so long as brewers offer regulars such sapid stuff.
London Pride, the jewel in the crown of Fuller’s of Chiswick, is also promoted as an amber ale. There was a deliberate change of tone when Asahi, the Japanese brewers, bought the company six years ago – and you can still get Pride worth a gargle. The Red Lion in Barnes, a white-walled fortress with a garden, is a good place to satisfy your curiosity.
But the foreign invasion, represented in part by the rise of those overrated craft beers, has claimed some notable victims. Later this year, the Banks’s Brewery in Wolverhampton, which has pleased Black Country boozers for 150 years, will close its doors. Their mild is justly famous so this is a real deprivation.
The carve-up of regional brewers by multinational corporations has changed the culture of drinking habits in a land known for its range of ales
The carve-up of regional brewers by multinational corporations has changed the culture of drinking habits in a land known for its range of ales. Jennings of Cockermouth and Ringwood of the New Forest are merely the latest brewers to join the likes of Boddingtons in the taproom of history. Who ever thought ‘Boddys’ could go? It was as much a part of Manchester folklore as rain in July and the gay village. Well, the palace next to Strangeways Hotel, where they brewed what beer guides called ‘a distinctive straw-coloured bitter’, was pulled down 20 years ago.
It can be difficult to keep up with developments. Draught Bass is now brewed under licence by Marston’s. It is one of the great beers, characterised by the red triangle – the UK’s first registered trademark – that appeared in Manet’s Bar at the Folies-Bergère.
Is it a bitter, or a pale ale? It doesn’t really matter – though you might be stretching the tolerance of Burton folk to call it an amber ale. Sitting outside the Swan Inn at Milton last week, six miles from the brewery, it was possible to close one’s eyes and pretend the cataclysm hadn’t happened.
There are still corking beers to be supped. Bateman’s of Wainfleet, Holt’s of Manchester, Batham’s of Brierley Hill, and Woodforde’s of Norwich won’t let you down. And there are plenty of local breweries giving it a go without having to pretend they’ve ‘gone craft’. Is there an outstanding candidate? There most certainly is. If we put Landlord to one side, for the sake of argument, then Harvey’s Sussex Best of Lewes lands the strongest punch. ‘Sussex Best Bitter’, to put a proper handle on the jug, must be considered the champion.
At the Express Tavern on Kew Bridge you may find this great ale, which has been sluicing through their pumps for 105 consecutive years. There is no excuse for not popping in to see how they are getting on.
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