I’m currently in the UK brewing a very special beer along with the guys from one of Sweden’s best beer bars – Akkurat in Stockholm! That’s why it’s just a little bit quieter round here than normal but rest assured I’m collecting lots of film footage and stories of our time here in England and will be posting reports over the next few days.

Cheers and (lots of lovely session ale) Beers!

Darren

It’s time once again to dig out the suitcase, pack more bubble wrap* than clothes and turn every drawer in the house upside down in a frantic last minute search for my passport because I’m off on yet another beery adventure!

This time I’m headed back to the UK (with the fuzzy memories of the Great British Beer Festival still fresh in my mind) to brew some very special beer with the owner and bar manager of arguably Sweden’s absolute best beer bar – Akkurat in Stockholm.

We’re heading to the Shepherd Neame brewery in Faversham early next week where we’re going to spend a day grinding barley, mashing in and adding hops on our way to brewing 16 40L casks of what we hope is going to be a very British beer indeed.

Exactly what type of beer we’re brewing I’m going to keep secret for a few more days yet but I can reveal it will contain six different types of British barley and six different types of British hops (and rather a lot of them to!)

That’s right. Not a single green leaf of Cascade, Amarillo or any other American hip-hop will be used in the making of this beer!

If everything goes according to plan we’ll all then head home (via a pub or two I know) while the beer is busy fermenting and conditioning and will meet up with it again when it goes on sale at Akkurat some time in October. More details on all that to follow.

Of course I’ll be taking the video camera so you can join me in following the birth of a new beer from the grain all the way to the glass.

This will of course mean I’ll miss the huge release of new beers at the Systembolaget on September 1^st but I’m sure it will be worth it. After all you’ll save me a few bottles won’t you?

Anyway enough talk, I’ve got bubble wrap to pack. Now if only I could remember where I left that bloody passport…………..

*Anyone who takes their beer seriously knows that bubble wrap is on the very top of the list of things to pack when travelling abroad, above clean underwear and just below a new packet of Alvedon. And no, it’s not used for some strange sexual fetish (that I know of anyway) but to wrap bottles of beer up in so they arrive home in one piece.

Tasting beer is rarely a team effort but rather a very personal pursuit. The way you interpret all those beery aromas and flavours depends entirely on your own unique tasting DNA as well as a raft of other external factors that can easily turn a good beer into a drain-pour or into an drinking experience you’ll never forget.

With so many variables and fuzziness I’ve always been from the school of ”Don’t take My Word for It, Try it Yourself” and have treated rating systems with about the same amount of suspicion I feel whenever I see a pitbull terrier off a leash.

However I also understand that people generally like beer ratings as they bring a little order, tidy things up and potentially make the job of choosing which beers to buy a little more straight forward. That’s why I introduced a rating system to BeerSweden (after a few months of resistance) back in March of this year.

However I’ve discovered that this system, like my own ability to taste, isn’t perfect. I’ve increasingly found the scale of 1-5 with 0.5 increments is just too ‘clumsy’. There have been several beers I’ve rated, say, 4 because it was better than a 3.5 when it reality it wasn’t really a full 4 either.

Therefore from today I’m introducing a slightly more sophisticated scale of rating, using all the  .somethings from 0.0 to 4.9. I’ve also shamelessly stolen the idea of displaying these ratings on a bottle cap from the excellent Swedish beer blog Pilsner.nu which I recommend you all check out (and not just to make me feel better either. It’s a well written blog from a guy, Jonas, who is one of the original founders of Slottskällans Bryggeri and has 25 years in the beer business so really knows what he is talking about).

Remember though that rating a beer is like trying to describe toothache to someone else – sometimes it’s very hard to put into words. Therefore I still urge you all to go out and buy and try as many beers as possible (while drinking in moderation and responsibly of course) in order to make up your own minds.

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A few days ago I asked you, the ‘thirsty faithful’ to submit your own posts for BeerSweden.

The idea is for all of us get involved in creating a beery buzz in this country by uploading original content that you yourself have created. It doesn’t matter if it’s a video, an article, a beer review, a photograph or a spoof. Neither does it matter if it’s in English or Swedish. The only stipulation is that it’s about beer! (Ed note: and that it doesn’t break too many laws….).

So first out is this very professional and in-depth video beer review from BeerSweden fan Peter Nyström, who told me this ‘tribute’ video was filmed after a long day of testing beers (Ed note: You think?). I can only marvel and feel somewhat jealous of Peter’s unique tasting technique and use of metaphors. The look on his face when he smells the beer really does just say it all

Have you got a post you want to submit to this blog? Then what are you waiting for? Send it to me at darren@beersweden.se.

Cheers and Beers!

Darren

(ps: This video is in Swedish, although quite honestly I don’t think it really matters

I won’t get too many opportunities in my beery life like the one that recently came to me via my inbox at BeerSweden.

When a nice chap called Magnus got in touch with me to say he had some crates of old beer bottles cluttering up his house in Umeå and asked me if I’d be interested in looking at them I jumped at the chance. After all I love tasting vintage beers and that sense of anticipation and of the unknown as you open the bottle to see whether the effects of time have ravaged the beer or made it ravishing.

In amongst a lot of bottles of Carlsberg and other European pale lagers (which all bore fantastic ‘retro’ labelling but I dread to think what they would taste like now almost two decades on….) I found 15 bottles of beers that I am hoping may have stood up well against the test of time. I’m particularly excited about a few of them, specifically:

Leffe Vieille Cuvee 8 – an 8.2% Belgium Strong Ale (RB 93p) from 1994

EKU 28 – an 11% Eisbock from the Kulmbacher brewery in Germany and a previous holder of the ‘World’s Strongest Beer’ title. 1993 vintage.

Ayinger Celebrator Doppelbock – 7.3% and the highest ranked doppelbock in the world. 1994 vintage.

Samichlaus Bier – a 14% doppelbock that was another ‘World’s Strongest Beer’ back in the day. 1994 vintage.

Courage Imperial Russian Stout – a classic! 10% and now retired. 1992 vintage.

Gales Prize Old Ale – brewed at the Horndean Brewery before it was bought by Fullers. 9% old ale. 1993 vintage.

Alexander Rodenbach – a 6% sour ale aged in oak cask for 2 years. The third best rated sour ale in the world. 1993 vintage.

Orval – an iconic Trappist ale from 1993.

I’m almost trembling with excitement about all these beers (although the Adnams Broadside might be a little ‘tired’ by now….) and will be opening at least one of them on an upcoming BSTV episode so I can share the experience of drinking a beer released the same year we were getting sick and tired of listening to this and being shocked (or titillated) at the cinema by this.

A big beery thank you to Magnus for giving me the opportunity to taste so many vintage beers. Magnus still has a number of bottles left that might appeal to collectors of Scandinavian beer brands (all from the early 1990s) so if you’re interested get in touch and I’ll hook you up.

I’m looking for guest bloggers who want to share their beery stories, anecdotes, reviews or rants with other BeerSweden readers.

After over 360 posts in 10 months I thought it might be as refreshing as a chilled glass of Summer Twist to look at things from a slightly different perspective – yours in fact.

(also I’ve spent so much time with this blog recently I think of it as a demanding child and as every parent knows it’s sometimes nice to have a break from the kids!)

So if you’ve got something to say about beer here’s your opportunity to say it to thousands of BeerSweden readers.

You can write about anything; your favourite (or worst) beer moment, the best beer and food match you’ve ever had, a review of your favourite beer or pub, your take on Swedish drinking culture, what you think of the Systembolaget, what you think of beer blogs; well you get the picture. As long as your article has a beery theme it stands a chance of getting published.

You don’t have to be a beer blogger or beer ‘nerd’ to participate – I’d particularly welcome contributions from you if you’ve never written a single word about beer before!

All I ask is that you keep your post to between 200 and 800 words. Whether those words are in Swedish or English is totally up to you. If you have any photos to accompany your article then so much the better. Please send any submissions to darren@beersweden.se and I’ll be in touch!

Cheers and Beers!

Darren

I have a taste for beer. It’s in the paper so it must be true!

This full-page article appeared recently in the Västerbottningen paper, rounding off a great summer for BeerSweden with articles in several regional newspapers and a breakfast interview on Sveriges Radio.

Although this coverage is admittedly very regional I’m getting a distinct sense that the media may ever so slowly be catching on to what all of us at this blog already know – that beer is grabbing many of the headlines in the drinks world these days.

Rather than spending countless column inches demonising beer and casting it as the root of all social misbehaviour (while praising wine with regular and almost religious fervour) we might, and I say just might, be at the turning in the road.

That’s not to say the journey to parity with wine in the media isn’t going to be a long one. To be honest we’ll probably never even get there what with the millions invested into the glossy magazines by the wine industry. I seriously doubt we’ll ever get equal share of ‘throat’ considering the limited means of many of this country’s relatively young microbreweries.

But that’s OK. We don’t actually need to fight with wine anyway. All we need to do is show people that the things they enjoy in their wines can actually be found in beer. We need to inform people that wine isn’t a ‘one size fits all’ drink and that there are many occasions where wine feels decidedly uncomfortable and yet where beer thrives. Rather than compete against wine we need to complement it and use wine’s proven ability to get people to experience new flavours and styles and use it to encourage them to channel their curiosity into beer once in a while.

I often talk and write about wine as though I have a huge grape on my shoulder. The truth is I don’t. Wine is a wonderful, beguiling and elegant drink that has been involved in many of the most sensational food and drink experiences of my life. I don’t want to pick a fight with it. I just want people to give beer the same chance as wine, to be as equally open and willing to appreciate it on its own merits.

If we can do that then we really don’t need to compete against wine. Beer would have already won.

While flipping through the pages on Scanorama, the glossy in-flight magazine of Scandinavian Airlines on my way back from the UK yesterday I came across one of the most positive pieces of coverage for Swedish craft beer I’ve ever seen.

Remarkable really as the beer itself is only named once, in passing, in the final line of the picture caption.

So why am I sitting here then bubbling with excitement as though I’ve just got 13 right on the horses? Well it’s thankfully not what they say about the beer but how they present it to the reader that is so significant. The article itself is a glowing review of Stockholm’s ultra-trendy Sturehof restaurant and particularly their renowned 5 sorters sill dish (5 types of marinated herring) which is hugely popular with tourists and the beautiful, champagne-drinking, slicked-back hair ‘Sture-brigade’.

But rather than the waiter pouring up the expected bottle of chilled Alsace what is that he’s delicately decanting (Ed note: if I’m being picky with perhaps just a touch too much head) into the glass? Why it’s none other than a bottle of Landsort Lager from Nynäshamns!

This is exactly the kind of image I want people to see, where great beer is finally seen back in its rightful place at the dinner table of top restaurants. Well done Scanorama for showing your readers another side of this country’s favourite drink and take note the rest of you working in the Swedish media!

Is coverage of craft beer finally taking off in Sweden?

She was dressed as a very sexy Snow White and I was a Red Indian. The pub was a pressure cooker of fancily dressed and extremely drunk party revellers counting down the last seconds before 1986 turned into 1987.

Everyone was happy. After all, things were looking good back then. We were all on the roller-coaster ride up in Thatcher’s boom and bust Britain. Our houses were worth twice what we paid for them, everyone had shares in something and as teenagers we strutted around listening to Europe and Billy Ocean dressed like Crockett and Tubbs from Miami Vice, despite the fact that pale peach linen trousers never looked quite the same in the cool English climate.

1987 was a particularly momentous year for me as I was soon to turn 18, which meant I could at last legally buy the beers I had till now been quietly stealing from my dad, often blending his frothy pints of Courage Directors with my glass of lemonade to produce a sweet and refreshing bitter shandy.

But tonight Snow White and I didn’t bother with the lemonade. It was easy for older friends to pass us beers in all the confusion and by the stroke of midnight, fortified by ale, I was pretty sure this evening would have a fairytale ending.

Snow White and I somehow managed to squeeze ourselves between the cigarette machine and the stone fireplace in the corner of the pub where we were hidden from both sets of parents to steal our first snog (not a kiss but a proper, messy, overly enthusiastic teenage snog).

We knew it was going to happen because things had a habit of happening at the The Royal Oak, the community pub at the centre of the rather well-to-do village of Bearsted.

The ‘Oak’ was THE place to be on New Year’s Eve. Bringing in the New Year here was always eventful. People who normally wouldn’t share the time of day with each other were regularly seen locked in heated carnal embraces and plenty of rock steady marriages were severely tested in those crazy hours around midnight.

The Oak’s landlord (who will remain nameless) was the party ringleader, inciting us (we would later claim) to drink far beyond our ability, the one who always started the dirty rugby songs off and the first in the conga line that ritually snaked its way every year around the huge oak tree outside from which the pub got its name.

Back in 1987 The Royal Oak was the epicentre of village life. Before the Internet and credit card-sized mobile phones the best way to catch up on what was going on was to simply drop in for a pint. An hour in the Oak was all you ever needed to be fully briefed on village (as well as world) affairs.

It was also a great place to do business – all the tradesmen you needed were there, including the village butcher who seemed permanently glued to one of the padded leather bar stools and who gladly took orders for your Sunday roast. Of course it helped to buy him a pint to get the choicest cut. I grew up thinking a butcher had the best job in the world.

Cricket was still being played on the green the day I went back to the Oak.

The pub itself was a very simple affair. It had once been a pub divided in two, both physically and socially. Separate doors took you either to the saloon bar on the left for discerning residents or right into the public bar so popular with rowdy visiting football and cricket teams coming in after a match on the nearby village green.

But the dividing wall had been knocked down long ago and now it was a simple rectangular room with a huge solid strip of varnished mahogany and beaten copper panels that ran almost the entire length of the room.

The ceiling was stained an unhealthy shade of tobacco brown and the floor was covered with a patterned carpet that looked like someone had thrown up on it and which the landlord proudly claimed had never been cleaned. I imagine if a sample of it could have been examined by some of those forensic scientists from CSI New York they’d gather slack jawed around their computer screens in amazement, screaming “Jeez Detective, you’re never going to believe this!”

The mechanical till had never needed electricity to power it. I learnt only a year later while working there for a brief spell as a barman that you needed the forearm strength of Popeye to push down the keys as you would a typewriter before the (often incorrect) amount popped up.

But it was never the bricks and mortar or the fixtures and fittings that gave the Oak its character. As in any great pub it was the people that seemingly spent their every available spare moment there that made it such a pivotal part of my upbringing. Unfortunately my father was one of those people, which meant I grew up suffering extreme mood swings of love and hate for the Oak, which was one day an exciting and intoxicating adult world I longed to be part of and the next a place that stole my father away from me for hours, sometimes days, on end.

Looking back now I miss the Oak but would never want a pub like it in my life today. Time has been called on places like the Oak. They are drinking dinosaurs that no longer fit comfortably in a society where alcohol and driving is rightfully frowned upon, where sensible people count carbs, conduct conversations via SMS and drink brightly coloured ciders.

So it was with some measure of trepidation that a few days ago I found myself standing outside the Oak 15 years after my last pint there. It is however now no longer called The Royal Oak but the rather more poetic ‘The Oak on the Green’.

I noticed the new oak tree was now almost half the size of the original mighty oak felled on the night of the great storm in 1987 (that really was an eventful year). The outside car park has been transformed into a large fenced dining area where I spotted groups of Dolce and Gabbana girls with designer sunglasses giggling into glasses of Pimms and Lemonade.

Entering the pub I saw the carpet had finally been ripped away to be replaced by brushed wooden floorboards. The ceilings were lined with dried hops and the fireplace where I had once cornered Snow White had been bricked up, only to miraculously reappear at the other end of the bar where a huge extension had doubled the size of the original building.

The worn blood-red leather bar stools sticky with spilled beer had been replaced by stylish wooden seats. There was, in truth, practically nothing of the old Oak left. It was as though when they ripped out the carpet they ripped out the pub’s soul, throwing away the old-timers, the stoneware ashtrays, the newspapers on the bar with half-finished crosswords, the old man in the corner with the hacking cough I was always afraid to serve, the fights, the affairs and the foul language. What was left had been sanitised and repackaged as a Sunday supplement pub. I could, for all intents and purposes, have been standing in the middle of a Bishops Arms.

A simple but delicious pint of Bee-Head from the 1648 Brewery in Lewes

The one thing that saved me from walking out was the sight of a small selection of craft cask ales on the bar. Three beers from the 1648 brewery in neighbouring Sussex that were poured up in excellent condition, with the beautifully light biscuit and honey flavoured Bee Head the best of the bunch.

Sitting in the old car park drinking my beer and counting the number of Mercedes and BMWs as they cruised by I could only grudgingly concede that the Oak is not the only pub to have shared a similar fate. This it seems is the way British pubs are going. It is food, not beer that rings loudest at the electronic cash tills these days. The Oak had been transformed from a pub whose greatest culinary highlight was a bowl of chilli con carne to a restaurant that sold beer.

I used to regularly take a piss where their award-winning kitchen is today.

As I left I decided to visit the men’s toilets where I had rocked unsteadily on my heels on countless occasions as a young man, only to discover it had been converted into a fancy and highly expensive fish restaurant.

That, I thought, was taking the piss and I left quickly so as to keep what was left of my fond old memories intact, vowing never to go back.