26. From Bermondsey Mania to Bristol Rules, A Little English Beer Diary
A trip to England is the cure for what *ales* a mild case of beer-life malaise; plus a pilsner for putting in the effort toward long-term fulfillment.
An English Travel Journal That I’d Like Credit for Not Naming with a Bridget Jones’s Diary + Beer Pun
Well, hello again, how was your Thanksgiving? It feels like an eternity since we last chatted.
For me, that eternity was packed with content and news that pulled me further away from the world of All Things Beer than I’ve probably been since I went all in on a beer writing career a few years ago. From Stephen Sondheim’s death to the release of “House of Gucci,” I’ve been distracted by theater and fashion nostalgia.
Getting back to work, I felt I needed to yet again reflect on why I do this. Why I care. And so I turn to the aspect of beer I do whenever I need at least some of my focus yanked back from deciding which is my favorite cover of “Send in the Clowns” or whatever. The most important thing about craft beer, in my opinion anyway, is its communal quality. Its connection to all things social and cultural, its power as a connector, its role as a conduit to storytelling.
On that note, I’m going to reflect a bit on my recent UK trip, because there was a lot of beer. But beer certainly wasn’t always actually the main event; instead, it was more of a facilitator or a supporting character.
An American in Bermondsey
One of my key takeaways from this trip was how different the Bermondsey Beer Mile was from my last visit, which was 2019. During that first time, I found most breweries pleasantly peppered with patrons—you know that happy medium, where things feel cozy and convivial but everyone has a seat and space. It allowed for leisurely imbibing and even nice, long conversations with brewers at both London Beer Factory’s Barrel Project and Moor Beer. This year, it was like my friend and I had accidentally crashed a stag do festival. In The Barrel Project taproom I had once known as chill, ordering a beer felt akin to trying to get a headliner’s attention mid-set at Warped Tour.
We made this first stop early-ish in the afternoon, and the mood was still quite cheery and friendly despite the sheer volume of human bodies. A group of friends who I’m pretty sure were all reuniting for the first time post-lockdown very graciously let my friend, her cavapoo, and I perch at the end of their table, where we were comfortable enough to get lost, if only for a short while, in the funky decadence of a dark wild ale and the lush-bready-citrusy-bitterness of a kveik IPA. From our ends of the long bench, threatening to spill us onto the cobblestone each time yet another member of the table’s occupying friend crew moved, I watched in bemusement as hordes of grown men in costumes started to fill the streets.
By the time we ended our day at Brew By Numbers, the vibe had started to turn ugly. As my friend and I sipped our beers al fresco on account of a packed house inside, we watched hulking groups of shout-talking men bristle at not being let into at-capacity taprooms. Two men approached us and struck up conversation, and it only took a few minutes for them to reveal that ugly anger some guys at bars sometimes unleash—you know what I’m talking about. They’re resenting you, a woman, for something, and you’re not sure what—that you’re not instantly falling at their feet? that you exist?—but it’s all too real in thinly veiled insults and strangely harsh jokes that are no one’s sense of humor. When they asked about what we did for a living, I don’t know why, but I had this instinct to not share. But one of them pushed, and I figured I was being silly.
“A beer writer?” He scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no way you write about beer. You probably work…in HR. Yeah, that’s it, you definitely work in HR or something.”
I tried once to defend myself, but he wanted proof, and couldn’t wrap his head around a woman writing about beer. My friend and I began our exit from the chat, but not without first getting treated to some real comic gems from these gents, many of which included violent threats aimed at my friend’s dog—which, you know, who doesn’t love to laugh at that?
Cloudwater was a port in the storm. I hesitate to put it this way, because it implies that, say, the awful encounter above was somehow Brew By Numbers’ fault, which it of course absolutely wasn’t. The staff had made me feel welcome and comfortable, to the point where if we hadn’t been able to shake those two lovely humans right away, I would have gone to get help. But I’ll just say that Cloudwater’s atmosphere felt different than anywhere on the strip. My friend, who’s lived in London nearly a decade and had never done the Beer Mile, immediately commented on how much more comfortable she felt at Cloudwater than anywhere else. I geeked out over the comprehensive code of conduct plastered on the bathroom doors. We sipped delicious beers from IPAs to little hoppy lagers. I filled my friend in on Cloudwater’s collabs, and we happily took home some Queer Brewing cans.
I’m left wondering, though, what was behind this wildly different Bermondsey visit. I know, it could be a mixture of anything—going on a Saturday afternoon versus a Friday night, plus the fact that England’s long, strict lockdown still isn’t that far behind them, and people still seem quite elated to get out there. It’s only been a couple of years, after all, and most of that was dominated by the pandemic. I do still question, though, if there’s been any shift in the way the general going-out public in London is engaging with craft beer. Are gaggles of twenty- and thirty-somethings being wooed by the ability to slam 10% brews in breweries compared to the 4% or 5% options more regularly on offer in pubs? If anyone on that side of the pond has any thoughts, I’m interested. Safe to say, either way, that this was one of the first times in which brewery-hopping felt like bar-hopping circa my college days.
Bristol Rules
On a brighter note! I fell hard for Bristol, where we spent, oh, 30 hours? Left Handed Giant Brewpub and Small Bar had a diverse, welcoming vibe similar to Cloudwater, as did The Canteen, a bar, vegetarian eatery, and venue that felt more like a community space, focusing on inclusion, sustainability, outreach, and advocacy. There, the bartender, who was also a cider sommelier, introduced us to the first still hard cider I’ve ever had—kicking myself for neglecting to note who made it—and it was so lovely.
Over our ciders and beers at The Canteen, my friend asked me to fill her in on what was happening with Brew Dog and Mikkeller. I was thrilled she asked and excited to get into it—in the way you are when the topic, itself, is anything but thrilling or exciting, but you’re so glad to have a friend outside the craft beer world who genuinely wants to learn and understand these things, and remember them when they’re buying beer or talking to others about it. And during our visit, we noticed lots of nice, prominent signage about spiking awareness and the push against it—Bristol is not slouching on fighting this issue; they’ve begun funding test kits for checking drinks.
Bristol really stood out to me because it was the first time I’d ever seen an entire city united in strong messaging for safety for all at bars, clubs, and generally out and about. All over town, we ran into big, bright signs about the Bristol Rules. These rules are intended to help all enjoy nightlife—revolutionary, isn’t it, that a city would do this instead of suggesting that women dress less provocatively or maybe just go home before midnight? Check out the rules here. I just love this. And geez, it sure would be nice to start seeing other cities organize campaigns like this. Bristol people, what is it like to live in a city that cares about you this way? Can’t relate.
Pints, Pubs, and Friends Old and New
I’m happy to report that the Bermondsey encounter was the only unpleasant one, and the rest of the week was filled with truly enjoyable conversations over pints of real ale or local craft brews. Socially anxious, awkward, neurotic curmudgeon that I am, I can honestly tell you I have never talked to this many strangers in pubs or bars and wholeheartedly enjoyed every second of it. I think something about the pandemic has removed any interest in or need for small talk; we all just want to get to it and relate to each other. In every pub, a mini friendship for the afternoon—even when I forget the names and faces, I’ll never forget that.
I also got to reunite with friends and meet online beer world colleagues IRL, which was a joy. At Mother Kelly’s in Bethnal Green, one of my favorite beer destinations anywhere in the world, really, I had a beautifully balanced small IPA from Neptune Brewery and a simply perfect porter from Anspach & Hobday while having the privilege of chatting with Claire Bullen, a brilliant writer, author, and editor-in-chief at Good Beer Hunting (who has been the reason I’ve gotten to write some of my favorite pieces, too). And delight of delights, while there, I got to meet another brilliant bright light in beer, Natalya Watson. I left Mother Kelly’s in one of those moods where I knew exactly why I wanted to be a writer in this industry, and remembered exactly everything—and everyone—I love about it.
The warmth carried me (okay, the Central line did, but you get the idea) right to The Craft Beer Co. in Covent Garden, where I got to catch up with two friends who live in LA, who I’d not been able to see since before the pandemic. Over hand-pulled bitters, I didn’t let a moment go by without feeling grateful.
Beer Tarot!
This week, I pulled the Seven of Cups.
Cups, as a suit, speaks to love, emotions, and relationships. The Seven of Cups is about opportunities, wishes, illusions, and choices. This is basically the folktale or after-school special of tarot in that its message is largely, “Be careful what you wish for.” All those cups are full of “gifts,” except that some really are gifts and others are curses. You may be facing all these different opportunities right now. You have your pick of paths to pursue. Things can indeed turn out great if you really think it all through. Don’t chase the shiny objects, essentially, and choose meaningful, fulfilling endeavors for the best rewards.
And to get there, you’re going to have to put in the work. Success isn’t going to knock on your door; you have to go out there and get it. Stay focused, play the long game, believe in yourself and that you are worth every ounce of this effort, and it’ll pay off—you’ll get the jewels chalice instead of the snake chalice, or something.
To pair with this reading, let’s go with the With Open Arms Pilsner from Cloudwater and G.L.O.W., a collective tackling gender bias in beer. Not only is it a collab with a very important and impactful organization, but With Open Arms also raises money for Refugee Action. It feels like yet another example of Cloudwater’s dedication to not just chasing hype or Untappd ratings or any other empty mark of success in beer—instead, they take the longer path, aiming to help create a more equitable industry through collaborations and the liquid, itself.
This Week’s Boozy Reading Rec
Newsletter friend Chris O’Leary recently got overseas, too, and I would be remiss to not recommend that you read his delightful account of brewery-hopping in Lisbon, especially since he is the real pro at beer travel journals. I’m not surprised at this at all, since Brew York & Beyond has made me put cities on my list that I never thought I’d care to visit, but I’ve got a new-found enthusiasm for getting to Lisbon now, and will be using this latest issue from Chris as my itinerary-planner. Also, he says this, which…hard relate: “I was simply happy to be back on the outside again — in a place beyond my comfort zone, in a place seemingly foreign to me, where a common language of good beer can form bonds.”
Until next week, I give you “Contemplative Pug at Local Beer Bar, Winter.”
