Dispatches from the East: Beer, There, and Everywhere

So spring has hit us this week in East Anglia, the low clouds and drizzle of winter parting to reveal a sun which suddenly remembers, ‘Ah yes, Britain does exist, too’; and the artfully unkempt gardens in my neighborhood have started to splash out in vibrant colors. English gardens, even the small ones, are worthy of a blog of their own–the most key factor being that, in England, it is perfectly acceptable for heterosexual middle-aged men to plant dainty flowers. In fact, it is nearly mandatory.

Swarthy Tony, my Spanish ex-pat neighbor, Internet Lothario, and proud adherent to anything he deems to be quintessentially English, told me gleefully as he transplanted a rather ungainly bush that this truly was the year his garden would be perfected–a project that had taken him three years. With a fish and chip shop to run, a grandson he spends a lot of time with, and the many ladies he’s chatting up over the Interwebs, the fact that he can find time to garden as well gives some idea of the dedication and esteem garnered from a well tended garden. And the key to an English garden is another nod to the great British sense of irony, in that the more cared for it is the wilder and unkempt it will appear. Don’t let it fool you, though, they made it that way.

But it isn’t just the gardens that are blossoming–about this time of year many of the local pubs sprout flowers as well. The mildness of spring and overwhelming joy of having light past 4:00p.m. means that pubs really come into their own in the spring. Publicans decorate their somewhat austere brick buildings with a variety of pots, hanging plant boxes, and fauna which sometimes leaves you wondering if you’re walking into a bar or a garden centre. However, you’ll know you’re in a pub because you’ll see the line of taps for Real Ale.

If you’re a fan of beer, Real Ale is one of the great treasures of the U.K. It’s the beer our grandfathers who served in WWII warned us about–served cellar temperature, generally fairly flat as it’s naturally carbonated, and coming in a variety of strengths and colors, from bitters to Pales to porters to stouts, each region and area represented by breweries ranging from huge and corporate, to brewers who work out of their houses. They carry a variety of fun and catchy names–you can quaff a Hurricane, a Spitfire, a Golden Fox, or a (slightly unnerving) Bishop’s Finger. And because some of them are brewed in such limited quantities, it’s a constant state of delight in finding one you really like, and disappointment when it’s no longer available because it’s run out.

Keeping everyone abreast of the Real Ale movement is a group called the Campaign for Real Ale (or CAMRA). Whenever a group of Brits get together to form a social group or club, you can guarantee that they will A) take it very seriously, B) quickly become experts in whatever they’re doing, and C)be able to talk about it to absolute strangers for hours. CAMRA is no exception, and they have painstakingly documented pubs across the country in a book entitled The Good Beer Guide, which is a must for anyone travelling to the U.K. hoping to get a flavor of the Real Ale scene (and, handily, it also gives you a heads up on where the good food is at). CAMRA also sponsors festivals across the country, has a selection of books on pub walks and London pubs, campagins to save pubs in danger of going out of business, and is generally a fantastic resource for anyone interested in pubs or pub culture. Some knowledge of Real Ale is also a great way to get a conversation going in pubs, as most Real Ale enthusiasts love to compare favorite ales, and are keen to win you over to the Real Ale side.

I’ve been lucky enough to have a well-respected Real Ale pub, the Trafford Arms, as my local, which was a great introduction, and the Fat Cat, a Norwich staple which serves beer from across the world (including Sierra Nevada from the States, great if you’re feeling homesick). Also, Norwich hosts a Real Ale festival in October every year at local St. Andrew’s Hall, featuring over 200 types of beer from breweries around the country. Even smaller towns have festivals–one of the most entertaining I’ve been to was the Sheringham Beer Festival, which took place on a train platform and was a delightful, if surreal, combination of bluegrass bands, tents, steam engine locomotives, and, of course, beer.

So with spring in the works, the sun out, and all this talk of beer, I may wander down to the local, sit outside in the sun, and see what’s on tap today.

Author Info - Will Averill was born and raised in Lawrence, Kansas, which is not his fault. After mostly attending the University of Kansas, he worked a variety of jobs to support his theatre habit, including taxi driving, bookstore retailing, sandwich frying, and occasionaly gigs as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. He moved to Norwich in early 2003 and has never looked back. Will currently works with two actor/reprobates in the sketch comedy company Axis of Evil Productions, doing sit-coms and dirty puppet shows. His wife is much awesomer than him, and has runs online jewellery site Eclectic Eccentricity. Will loves bacon rolls. Read more from this author