Drinking Real Ale from a Lager Perspective
"The only people who drink real ale nowadays are dusty old geezers in flat caps."
Well if this is your image of a real ale drinker, you may be forced to reappraise the stereotype and think again. The latest report has it that a growing number of drinkers are turning their palates towards real-ale, and a large number of them are young.
Having been a lager drinker, I’d never understood the attraction of these flat malty brews. I always found they tasted rather dull and lifeless, and imagined that the drinking of them was a leftover custom from pre-war years. Recently I was speaking to a pub manager and was told that draught ale together with its bottled counterpart was the only alcoholic beverage increasing in sales.
“But who’s drinking it?” I insisted, looking at a group of young men who had all just bought lagers.
“Maybe not so much in this pub,” he said, “but it’s definitely on the increase overall. It’s been rediscovered by a new generation of young urban trendies who appreciate its ‘natural’ qualities – and cheaper price.”
Well if this is true, I thought, why can I never find anyone who drinks it? Where are they? It all sounded like industry hype to me, perhaps to create a battle royal between lager and real-ale drinkers. I was unconvinced. Then less than a week later, and quite by chance, I happened to nip in to a certain pub chain, and lo-and-behold, saw flags draped everywhere. I soon realised I’d stumbled in to the middle of drinks festival – a real ale festival. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to find out more about these beers and meet their supporters, I headed straight to the bar.
"Can you recommend a good real ale beer," I said to a girl behind the bar. Without hesitating she pointed to a bright orange label in front of me.
‘Zulu Blonde’s quite popular. We’ve sold quite a few of these today.’
‘Okay, I’ll have a pint of Zulu Blonde.’
I immediately wondered whether there wasn’t something slightly contradictory in that name. I later found out that the “blonde” had more to do with the type of beer than any hair colour of a Zulu maiden.
I took up my beer, which looked as if it was still fermenting in the glass, braced myself and sipped. I was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t as sour as I thought it would be. In fact it was quite flavoursome.
During the course of the evening I went back and forth trying a variety of beers from around the globe and some closer to home. To my astonishment I found most very drinkable, others were an acquired taste, like the real-ale with coconut extract!
Generally, though, the taste of these beers ranged from being mildly fruity to strangely spicy, or having a distinctly flowery after-taste. But ingredients aside, the one homogenous fact that linked them all was their flatness and a lack of head. And to a lager drinker this is an anathema.
Bleary-eyed and clinging to the side of the table, a curious thought suddenly entered in to my head. If England’s traditional beer is ale, why has the beer market been dominated by the sales of lager?
In the days before Britain had firmly secured herself as an industrial and mercantile power, brewers used to send out their beer very young, and any aging was either performed by the publican or a dealer. But by the start of the 18th century a new type of beer emerged that left the brewrery ‘pre-aged’ and in a condition fit to drink immediately. This beer was known as Porters, and was the forerunner of the modern stout beer.
Porters, or ‘Entire’ as it was sometimes known, was the first beer to be manufactured on a large scale. It was typically a mix of old stale ale and new fresh beer, and was so named because of its favoured position among London’s street and market porters around Billingsgate and Petticoat Lane. Having established itself with London’s porters, it went on to become the staple drink of Britain, and remained so right up until the first half of 20th century. The beer flourished and transmuted in to a variety of styles; bitter, mild, old ale, brown ale, India pale, stout.
Some say it was the long hot summer of 1976 that firmly established Britain’s taste for lager; but in truth, public interest in lager was brewing long before. Whether it was the advent of cheap package holidays that popularised the drink – the fact that lager was associated with continental Europe: style, sophistication, warm climate, and of course good food – sales of lager quickly increased. Breweries were turning to low cost/high margin keg beers and lagers. But ale drinkers were not going to take the matter lying down. They railed against the keg bitters and lagers, until, in 1973, an organisation was formed to promote “real” ale drinking, and to counter the relentless spread of the lager. Thus CAMRA (Campaign for Real) was born.
So, what do I think of real-ale now? Well, I have to admire the sheer variety and inventiveness of some of these beers. Where the taste of lager is pretty recognized and “controlled”, real ale seems to suffer no such restriction. Whatever ingredient can be dreamed up can be chucked in to the mix. And I like that. Creativity is king here. These beers tend to be cheaper than their fizzier cousins. So in an age where everyone is tightening their financial belt, they do represent value for money. If you like personalized, handcrafted beverage, where a lot of thought and thoroughness has gone in to the brewing process, you’ll appreciate real-ales. I’ve tried ales that have tasted almost like lager, and others that have tasted quite outlandish. But the vast majority were pleasant enough – to varying degrees. Once I got over the flatness and lack of head, it slipped down my gullet easily enough. So have I been converted to the real ale cause?
The jury’s still out. Let’s just say I’m now an associate member of the real-ale club.
