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Manchester, United Kingdom
Tyson is a beer hound and cheese addict living in the beery metropolis paradise known as Manchester
If the people are buying tears, I'll be rich someday, Ma

Monday, 31 March 2008

back to the future part deux


There’s always at least one beer that people tend to remember. It may be your first ever, your first legal one, or simply that one that conjures up a special time. So it is with the Stomach, and Brains Reverend James. Having tried it several years ago, he’s been desperate to try it again ever since. Was it as good as he remembered? Or was it simply a case of a beer being at the right place at the right time? There have been a few near misses over the years, but every time he’s been alerted to a nearby source, it vanishes before he gets a chance to sample it. So when an afternoon visit to Wetherspoons revealed it to be on the bar, an urgent carrier pigeon was despatched.

Also on the bar was Bank Top Little Sam (3.8%) which was pale and indifferent. Robinsons Top Tipple and Wychwood Mad Hatter were both fine, if not quite up to their Manchester counterpart standard. Ringwood (not usually one of my favourite breweries) 78 at 4.2% wasn’t bad. It probably lacked the hops I prefer with golden beers, but was easy drinking enough. Northern Night To Remember was another one I’ve sampled a lot of recently, although here it seemed to lack the bitterness I’ve had experienced elsewhere. And what of the Reverend James? This 4.5% beer combines malt and fruit to give quite a palatable taste-for a brown beer. Not bad, if not outstanding. As for the Stomach, he did enjoy it, but almost inevitably it was never going to quite live up to expectations. Some experiences are just never meant to be repeated. Best on the day was Westons Conquest Scrumpy (4.8%), which was a very moreish, cloudy, dry cider.

As evening had by now arrived, the Two Tubs next door had opened its doors to Sunday revellers. Reluctantly, I agreed to go and sample some Wainwrights. The bottom half of the pub was given over to a pounding beat, which was seemingly catering for a couple of underage tarts, and some not so young tarts. Quartering ourselves in the small taproom, we sampled Thwaites Double Century (4.8%) as this had replaced the Wainwrights. It was drinkable, but failed to match the bite of any of the previous beers. The real problem was when a group arrived and sat at the bar. After ordering his (keg, obviously) drink, the guy in the middle raised his fat arse and let one rip. It was a real stinker that had everyone in the small room gasping. Now Stonch has waxed lyrical about beer festival farters, but what about unapologetic pub stinkers? Is there no pub etiquette left anymore? The offence was made worse in my eyes by the presence of a woman next to him, although that might just be my old fashioned sense of chivalry. Somehow it seemed indicative of how far this pub has fallen in recent times.

Top tip-apparently, unapologetic, keg drinking, public farters don’t like to be told they are smelly bastards. Some people can’t take constructive criticism….

3 comments:

Tandleman said...

I think you have hit a point there. In my experience farting inappropriately has become a social menace from time to time wherever you go. Eileen and I had to flee from aisle 37 in B&Q the other day. The culprit who seemed entirely unconcerned, was certainly not an obvious CAMRA type.

linda said...

I notice it's always MEN who are the cause of these problems. Funny that.

Tyson said...

A little sexist there, I feel, but I can't really argue with the basic assumption that it's a male crime.