tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50426273314371234822024-03-17T13:33:13.968+01:00Pivní Filosof - Beer PhilosopherAn exploration of the most divine beveragePivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.comBlogger759125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-81552848431076379232021-12-16T16:12:00.001+01:002021-12-16T16:12:47.930+01:00On How We Brewed Norwegian Raw Ale in Czechia and a Couple of Trips<p>Remember <a href="https://www.pivni-filosof.com/2019/09/pivni-filosof-in-norway-part-i-juniper.html" target="_blank">that trip to Norway I did two years ago</a>, where Sigurd taught us how to brew Norwegian raw ale? Well, that was just the beginning of our cooperation (and friendship) with him. Sigurd came to Czechia two months later to give a talk about kveik at <b><a href="https://www.pivovarkostelec.cz/" target="_blank">Černokostelecký pivovar</a></b> and to visit a few pubs in Prague. There were also plans for last year, which had to be cancelled for reasons I’m sure you’re well aware of, and the same fate suffered some of this year’s plans, too; though not all of them, fortunately.</p><p>Sigurd was back in our neck of the woods recently, and this time we would stay for almost a week. The program prepared for him was quite packed, it started on Monday at <b>U Fleku</b>, where Sigurd was brought straight from the airport. I met at the beer hall of the historical brewery with Tomáš “Vodouch” Vodochovský, one of the owners of Černokostelecký pivovar, and when Sigurd arrived with Pavel (a member of the staff of ČP) we headed towards the brewery itself and its museum, not before allowing our friend to get properly acclimatised. </p><p>I had toured the museum and the brewery a couple of times in the past, but this visit was very special. In pretty much every room Vodouch had a story to share about an exhibit he had rescued in his youth from a brewery about to be torn down. He remembered not only what each thing was used for, but also where he rescued it from and how it ended up at the museum.</p><p>After the brewery tour, and the tasting, we hit a couple of pubs and called it a night. Sigurd went to Kostelec with Vodouh and Pavel, and on Tuesday he would visit a few sites. I would meet all of them again on Wednesday for the main even of Sigurd’s trip in the courtyard of Černokostelecký pivovar.</p><p>Actually, I met them again on Tuesday evening at the restaurant of Černokostelecký pivovar; I thought it’d be wiser to spend the night in Kostelec than to wake up an an ungodly hour so I could be there at 8. I also met with Milan “Květak” (Cauliflower) Starec, ČP’s other owner, to discuss with him what I was supposed to do as the thing’s official translator. </p><p>Květak also told that their brewery museum is now officially called <b><a href="https://nmpivovarnictvi.cz" target="_blank">Národní muzeum pivovarnictví </a></b>(National Brewing Museum) and that this event, and Sigurd’s trip, was part of a wider project financed by EEA Funds (also known as Iceland, Liechtenstein, Noway Grants) called “<i>Revitalization of the Liechtenstein brewery, restoration of original technology and opening of a unique brewery museum and archive in Kostelec nad Černými lesy</i>”. The works should be finished in 2024 and the partners of the project are the Czech Technical University in Prague, Faculty of Architecture - the Research Centre for Industrial Heritage FA CTU Prague, the Herring Era Museum, from Iceland, and <a href="https://www.kveiktraining.com/home" target="_blank">Kveik Training</a>, from Norway.</p><p>As I said earlier, the main event was on Wednesday, in the courtyard of Černokostelecký pivovar, where Sigurd would show how to brew a Norwegian farmhouse raw ale with kveik to an audience of amateur and professional brewers that included people with decades of experience like Martin Vávra, from Bad Flash, and Aleš Dvořák, brew master at Budějovický Budvar. Also attending were the cameras of <b>Česká televize</b>, which captured every step of the process and interviewed Sigurd for a report that will be aired in one their shows in the coming weeks.</p><p>The brewing process was exactly <a href="https://www.pivni-filosof.com/2019/10/pivni-filosof-in-norway-part-ii-lets.html" target="_blank">the same we learned in Norway</a>. The malt, the juniper, the elder wood, and the hops were locally sourced, of course, and Sigurd brought with him some of his heirloom kveik. The main difference was the equipment; for example, instead of a copper cauldron hanging above an open fire, we had a wood fired field kitchen, also known goulash cannon, or better still, in German, <i>Gulaschkanone</i> (an epic word, no doubt). </p><p>The event went really well despite the weather. Besides my duties as translator and interpreter, I spent most of the day helping Sigurd, as some sort of assistant brewer. It was also beautiful to see the interest and enthusiasm of the audience, who in addition to observing attentively everything we did and ask lots of questions, in some cases they also wanted to get their hands dirty and help with, for instance, cooling the wort – though might have been because of the cold.</p><p>After Sigurd had given the Kveik Shout for the cameras and the fermentation tank was full, we stayed outside around a fire drinking and tasting beers with the people that were left, and then inside to drink a couple more pints; but we didn’t stay up too late, on Thursday we were having an early start and it would be a long day.</p><p>We left the brewery shortly after 7 in the morning and, after stopping for breakfast at the local butcher’s, we headed to <b>Žďár nad Sázavou.</b> </p><p>Our first stop there was <b><a href="https://www.zamekzdar.cz/muzeum-nove-generace/" target="_blank">Muzeum nové generace</a></b>, a new museum located in what once was the brewery of a Cistercian monastery – one of the rooms is the humná, or floor maltings, and in another you can see a valach, a device used to dry malt before the adoption of the modern kiln in the mid-19th century. It’s a beautiful museum that maps the history of monastery and the town until the Baroque, when the monastery was closed, with interactive and multi-media exhibits.</p><p>From there we went to <b><a href="https://www.zelena-hora.cz/" target="_blank">Zelená Hora</a></b>, a pilgrimage church listed among the UNESCO World Heritage Sites, and one of the most impressive buildings I’ve seen in my life, not because of its size – it’s quite small actually – but because of its highly unusual shape, designed by Jan Blažej Santini-Aichel, a very famous and peculiar architect of the time. </p><p>At this time of the year the site is closed to the public, but Květak had spoken with its caretaker, Ms Michaela Kokojanová, who was there to receive us and let us in. She was a friendly and very enthusiastic lady who explained us in detail the restoration works that have been, and are still being done to the church and the site as a whole. We must have stayed there for about an hour, awed by the weird beauty of that building, and we couldn’t stop talking about it for the rest of the day.</p><p>We stopped for lunch at a restaurant by the museum, which itself looked like an exhibit from the turn of the century, (20th – 21st), and we got back on the road to <b><a href="https://www.nmvp.cz/vysocina/pro-navstevniky/prohlidka-expozicnich-arealu/vesely-kopec" target="_blank">Veselý Kopec</a></b>, an open-air museum near Hlínsko.</p><p>By the time we arrived there it was snowing like in a Christmas fairytale, which added to the atmosphere of a site that would be beautiful in any weather. It consist of about two dozen rural buildings – farmhouses, barns, mills, an oil press, etc. – from the region dating to the 19th century, laid out as if it was village. The truth, however, is that almost none of those buildings were there until the 1960s, when the first exhibits were brought an reassembled like 3D jigsaw puzzles after having been carefully disassembled in their original locations. Our guide, Mr Jan Štorek, made the visit all the more enjoyable. As someone who has dedicated his entire life to the museum, he knew every nook and cranny in detail and his excitement when he was telling us, for example, about their plans to put the water mill back on operation was contagious.</p><p>The final stop of the day was at <a href="https://www.kutilkovapalirna.cz/" target="_blank"><b>Kutílková palírna a pivovar Žlebské Chvalovice</b></a>. We were greeted there by the owner, Mr Jaroslav Kutílek, a most brilliant host. He was eager to show us his kingdom: the brewing kit (a 6 hl, two-piece set vertically, with the lautering tun on top, something I’d never seen) and the distillery. He was even more eager for us to taste his products. The beers, I have to say, were unremarkable, but the brandys he makes with the fruit from his own orchards were the dog’s bollocks! We spent the rest of the evening there snacking, tasting (except for Pavel, who had to drive), talking and having a cracking time. </p><p>On the way back to Kostelec, Pavel dropped me at the train station in Český Brod, from where I made my long way back home.</p><p>On Friday I had to take care of some work related things, so I couldn’t join Sigurd on his trip to <b>Pivovar Lobeč</b> and <b>Kocour</b>, in Varnsdorf, where he spent the night. We met again on Saturday, when he an Pavel picked me up at home to go to Žatec. Unfortunately, we couldn’t visit the local hop museum, but we were welcome at <b>Žatecký pivovar</b>. </p><p>I’ve never been a fan of the beers from Žatec, not because they are bad, it’s just that I feel they don’t have enough hop character to honour their name, their city and their region. The brewery, on the other hand, it’s beautiful. It’s your typical Czech regional brewery, with a copper brewhouse consisting of mash-tun, decoction kettle, lautering tun, and kettle, deep cellars with open fermenters and even deeper cellars with lagering tanks, where we, of course, tasted some of the local product.</p><p>After a (surprisingly) magnificent lunch at the steakhouse <b>El Toro</b>, we also visited the <b><a href="http://www.zateckypivovar.cz/muzeum" target="_blank">Žatec brewery museum</a></b> right next door to the brewery. It was put together by the people of Národní muzeum pivovarnictví and its dedicated to the history of not only the brewery next door, but of the region as a whole; it’s certainly well worth a visit if you are around, and admission is free.</p><p>We ended the day in Prague, having a few beers at <a href="https://blackswine.cz" target="_blank"><b>Černá/Black Swine</b></a> to say good-bye to Sigurd, who was flying back home on Sunday. Let’s hope things go back to normal, or as close as normal as possible, and we can see him again next year.</p><p>Now for the disclaimer. I was paid for my translation services and I didn’t have to pay for any of the food and beer I had at Černokostelecký pivovar and in the trips, nor for the accommodation at the brewery; but that’s very far from the reason I’m so happy to be part of this. In the 15 years I’ve been blogging and writing about beer, I’ve been involved in a number of beer-related projects, but none of them has given me more satisfaction than this one, because I feel I’m helping people, good people, and friends, in something they are truly passionate about, and that is simply priceless. And it’s my intention to keep on helping them in any way I can.</p><p>Na Zdraví!</p>Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-2056168515573386662021-07-13T12:29:00.000+02:002021-07-13T12:29:02.870+02:00A Beer Walk to Litoměřice - 3rd Part<p>Needless to say, I slept like a drunk baby. In the morning, I didn’t get up immediately when I woke up, I was very comfortable and didn’t fancy leaving the bed – the room, by the way, was great, it looked and felt substantially more expensive than the price I paid.</p><p>When the call of nature could no longer be ignored, I reluctantly got up, fearful of the pain after the exertions of the previous day. But my legs were fine, no soreness, I felt like after one of my usual 10 km walks around town. Go figure.</p><p>As I’ve said, the room at <a href="https://www.penzionmacha.cz/cs/" target="_blank">Penzion Mácha</a> was great, but the breakfast was a bit wanting. The coffee was fine, yes, but all the rest was uninspiring, boring and supermarket quality. After having a couple of coffees and eating something because-it’s-included-in-the-price-and-would-be-a-waste-otherwise, I picked my book and went to explore the city a little more. </p><p>Litoměřice is ideal for a day trip. The main square is gorgeous, there’s plenty of nice architecture, and it’s also a little run-down in some spots, which, together the local life and pulse, give it more charm than towns that are kept in mint condition.</p><p>Eventually, my feet led me to Kafe Doma, a lovely spot hidden in a courtyard just off the main square; a perfect place to sip excellent coffee, a bit of people watching and reading al fresco surrounded by greenery. I would go back the next day for a proper breakfast and the food was every bit as good as everything else in there. I wish I had a place like that where I live, but with beer on tap.</p><p>I did some more exploring and killed time until lunch. A friend had recommended me Radniční sklípek and its terrace in Mirové náměstí. Another great spot. The Pilsner Urquell was not that good, to be honest, but that was more than made up by the amazing food: one of the best kulajda soups I’ve ever had, and a main of roasted lamb, spinach and potato knedlíky that still makes my mouth water. After lunch, the temperature was rising, the sun was beating hard and what I had to do was still a few hours away. A siesta was warranted.</p><p>The place I wanted to go to was about 7 km away, but the walk promised to be mostly under the sun and I just couldn’t be arsed. Fortunately, there’ s a train leaving regularly from the town’s main station that would take me (almost) there in a few minutes – it was a no-brainer. But what to do with the time I would save? Pivoing, of course; I remembered Minipivovar Labuť still had a few beers I wanted to try.</p><p>It was quieter than the evening before, and the service was tectonically slow, too. I sampled three of the beers they had on tap. Like their peers at U sv. Štěpána, the Světlý ležák and the Polotvmavé were frustrating, but for a different reason. Neither of them were fucked at the tap (though, truth be told, they weren’t very well poured either), there was something more intrinsically wrong. In both cases, they were competent though a little too gassy at first, but suddenly there was this aftertaste, like air coming out of a birthday balloon; it was subtle, but once you noticed it, it was impossible to ignore and pretty much ruined the experience. The Pale Ale, on the other hand, that one was awful through-and-through: a perfectly balanced blend of cheap margarine and old hops.</p><p>Beer-wise, the trip so far had not been very remarkable. Or rather, some of the beers had been remarkable, but for all the wrong reasons. Hopefully, my next destination would improve things, and it was time to go to the station and take the train to Křešice and walk the 800 m to Zahořany to find out.</p><p>Pivovar Špitt is not your usual brewpub. It only opens on Wednesdays at 5 and, instead of being in a pub, you feel like you’re hanging out at a friend’s or neighbour’s garden. Also, they produce only one beer, a 12° Světlý ležák.</p><p>It was easy to find the place. I arrived about ten minutes before opening time, together with a group of four cyclists, and the owner waved us in as soon as he noticed us. At exactly five on the clock, the locals started arriving, and soon they were followed by other cyclists. Even still beer-less, I was feeling incredibly content with a setting that could hardly have been better.</p><p>When it arrived in its heavy mug, the beer was pale-gold, almost murky and with a foam that could probably hold a coin. It tasted very much home-made, rough around the edges and a bit too eager with the hops. I’m bet those people who need to dissect every beer they get their hands on would find more than one flaw in this pale lager, and I’d feel a little sorry for them in a way, because once I tuned into during the second round, I came to the conclusion there was some genius in all that imperfection, it fitted the setting in a way that a more refined beer wouldn’t, and it also paired great with the home-made snacks. </p><p>The four cyclists left after their second pint and were soon replaced by an elderly couple, also on their bikes (though electric in this case), with whom I had a great chat, which continued with one of the locals and his dog when they left. It was perfect – the six pints, the food, the atmosphere, the weather – I was almost sad to leave and promised myself I would return some day.</p><p>The evening was balmy and I couldn’t possibly be in a better mood. I noticed a fancy looking wine bar located behind the All Saints Church that looked still open and I stopped for a night cap, two glasses of pretty expensive, but very good white from a local winemaker.</p><p>That night I slept very well, too.</p><p>Na Zdraví! </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://kafedoma.cz" target="_blank">KafeDoma</a></b><br />Mírové náměstí 30, Litoměřice<br />info@kafedoma.cz - +420 416 732 007<br />Mon-Sat: 7:30-19:30 </p><p><b><a href="https://radnicni-sklipek.cz" target="_blank">Radniční sklípek</a></b><br />Mírové náměstí 21, Litoměřice<br />+420 731 422 013<br />Fri-Sat: 11-24, Sun-Thu: 11-23 </p><p><b><a href="https://www.pivovar-spitt.cz/en/" target="_blank">Pivovar Špitt</a></b><br />Zahořany 90, Křešice<br />spittovar@seznam.cz - +420 602 470 800<br />Wed: 17-22</p>Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-55215314539260883392021-06-21T16:08:00.001+02:002021-06-21T16:08:27.345+02:00A Beer Walk to Litoměřice - 2nd Part<p>It didn’t take long to leave the city behind and for the trail to start climbing, taking me my past Střekov castle, into the beautiful suburb of Brná and then into the woods. Save for a couple of (fortunately) short sections, the slope wasn’t too steep, it was the sort of gradient that gradually saps your energy, especially when you can’t keep a steady pace due to rocks, roots and other minor obstacles. Another problem was that the trail was not very well marked in some parts and more than once I lost the way and had to retrace my steps, until I missed a turn right before the village of Sebuzín, which I didn’t realise until after kilometre or so downhill section. After weighing my options, I said fuck it and had the Mapy.cz app draw me a new route. It would be a couple of kilometres longer, but with a gentler slope, apparently. </p><p>The walk was as brutal as I expected given my shape, and there were several moments when I questioned the wisdom of the endeavour, but the sights and the utter peace that surrounded me more than made up for it. When I reached the highest point, I found a resting site and I spent a good while just admiring the view of the České Středohoří and feeling very well about myself. From then on, the way will be mostly downhill and I had already cover about two thirds of the distance. </p><p>The trail took me to the village of Hlinná, a few kilometres outside Litoměřice. It was not in my plans, but I saw a pub and couldn’t resist it. There was nothing in this world that I wanted more than a beer at that moment and that Gambrinus was delicious! The second one, that is, I barely registered the first one. I could have easily stayed, the weather was lovely, I was having a friendly chat with the waitress and the beer tasted as fine as any cold beer in a sunny afternoon after a long hard walk can taste, but I rejected the temptation of a third pint, because I felt it could easily lead to a sixth and that would not be the best idea. </p><p>It took me less than an hour to cover the last 5 km. I checked-in at the B&B, took a long shower and rested a bit; just a few minutes, I didn’t want to fall asleep, I wanted to go out and paint the town red, or at least have a few beers.</p><p>Once my feet felt like walking again, I took an indirect route around the town’s main square to Minipivovar Labuť. I had been there in 2012 with Hanz from Zlý Časy and Gazza Prescott during a quick stopover on our way back from brewing the first batch of Gypsy Porter at Pivovar Kocour. The garden, fortunately, was unchanged, just as beautiful as I remembered it. I ordered the house’s 10%, it was competent, the sort of beer that I wouldn’t go out of my way to look for, but wouldn’t mind coming across; I only wished it was better tapped in a chilled glass. As I sipped it, realised I was starving, but they only serve beer snacks and I needed something more substantial than utopenec or hermoš, so I left in search of it, just when the locals were arriving and the atmosphere was getting lively. Fortunately, I knew that Biskupský pivovar U sv. Štěpána runs a restaurant and was only a few hundred metres away.</p><p>The garden was packed – I’m sure it’d be a great place if it wasn’t next to a very busy road – so I went inside, surprised to realise I was the only client in there. The room is modern in that impersonal, inexpensive-but-not-cheap chain-restaurant kind of way, with lots straight lines and beige. For a pub that operates in what is basically a religious building, I was expecting something else, don’t know what, really, but certainly not a rip-off of Potrefená Husa.</p><p>The waitress came to take my order as soon as my ass touched the chair – I love that of Czech pubs. They didn’t have desítka, so I went for the house’s 11 instead. Now, this is a solid beer, I told myself, a bit like a craftsman who will do the job well but can’t be arsed with any flourish, and I could say the same about the burger. I wish I could also praise the other two beers they had on tap: Štěpán 12° and a polotmavá 13°, and it’s so frustrating! I believe both could be ranked among the fine specimens of their respective styles if they didn’t fuck with them at the end of the line with the juggling at the tap. You know what I mean perhaps, the beer comes out with too much foam, the pour some of it in another glass, which they try to fill, only for the process to be repeated until they get enough beer in one of the glasses, and the other one is usually left sitting there until the next order. Isn’t there anyone in that brewing company that could prevent that from happening? Don’t they realise the damage it does to their product? Do they care?</p><p>I was still in a good mood, I was feeling fine and I think I smiled all the way to my bed. I went to sleep knowing that there would be more beer the next day.</p><p>(to be continued…)</p><p><br /></p><p>Na Zdraví!</p><p><br /></p><b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hospodanahlinny" target="_blank">Hospůdka Hlinná</a></b><br />Hlinná 89, Hlinná<br />+420 727 831 787<br />Tue-Wed: 17-22, Vie: 17-24, Sat: 14-24, Sun: 14-20 <div><br /></div><div><b><a href="https://www.minipivovarlabut.cz" target="_blank">Minipivovar Labuť</a></b><br />Zítkova 784/5, Litoměřice - Předměstí<br />+420 416 534 837 – info@olor.cz<br />Sun-Mon: 11-22, Tue-Thu: 11-23, Fri-Sat: 11-24 </div><div><br /></div><div><b><a href="https://www.biskupskypivovar.cz" target="_blank">Biskupský pivovar U sv. Štěpána</a></b><br />Komenského 748/4, Litoměřice - Předměstí<br />+420 703 379 302 – rezervace@biskupskypivovar.cz<br />Mon-Thu, Sun: 11-22, Fri-Sat: 11-23</div>Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-53461818031394989102021-06-14T15:26:00.000+02:002021-06-14T15:26:08.785+02:00A Beer Walk to Litoměřice - 1st Part<p> I needed to have my computer serviced, which meant that I would have to do without it for a couple of days, which meant that I wouldn’t be able to do much else than fuck all at home. The thing had been acting up for some time already – some issue with the hard drive* – and I’d decided to wait until I finished with a couple of big projects I was working on, always hoping it wouldn’t give up on me.</p><p>It didn’t, and the timing could not have been any better. With the covid restrictions on all the fun stuff mostly lifted,, and the weather finally nice, now I had the perfect excuse to take a couple of much needed days off to partake in one of my favourite activities: getting a train or a bus somewhere to go on a long walk in nature, with a brewery as destination. I’ve done several, mostly alone, in the two years since the divorce and they’ve always been great, even on the occasions when the beer at the end of the road wasn’t all that good; it didn’t matter, my mind was clear, I was pleasantly tired and I don’t think there’s a beer shit enough to ruin that sense of accomplishment.</p><p>This time I would go from Ustí nad Labem to Litoměřice, a 21 km hike. The distance wasn’t an issue, I’ve done longer walks (the longest was 29 km), what had me a bit concerned was the difficulty, especially considering that, other than walking around in Prague and once doing the 13 km from my place to Únětický pivovar, I hadn’t done much in the almost half year prior, and more than half of the distance to my destination would be uphill – all my walks so far had been on pretty much flat terrain. I was looking forward to it.</p><p>It was shortly after 9:30 when I arrived in Ustí. I went around the centre in search of a coffee shop to kill time until 10:30, the opening time of the starting point of the trip proper. </p><p><b><a href="https://www.pivovarnarychte.cz" target="_blank">Pivovar Na Rychtě</a></b> opened in 2010 or 11, and I remember seeing a few good reviews at the time. However, like most other minipivovary that are largely a local affair, it didn’t take long for it to fall to the wayside of the conversation, especially since they’ve never seemed to care too much about trends. The thing is, though, that the few references I had come across since hadn’t been very promising. Regardless, it’d been a while since I’d heard anything, I was hopeful, in a good mood, and since I was around, why the hell not?</p><p>I was the first patron in, but it didn’t take long for more people to start pouring in and fill the tables in the covered patio. I sat inside, with a good view to the taps. The room is quite large and rather characterless in a wood-panelled sort of way, as if the designers hadn’t been able to make up their minds whether they wanted a lively beer hall or a Restaurant, so they chose the most boring bits of both, perhaps hoping the clients will compensate for the rest. </p><p>The service was friendly and attentive throughout. From the daily menu I picked the option that promised the most readily available calories to fuel the climb and one Ústecká Desítka to get things finally going. The food was unremarkable, the beer wasn’t, and not in a good way. It was watery, gassy, with a faded memory of bitterness and a few drops of ghee so it wouldn’t be too bland. It was followed by Mazel 12°, the house’s světlý ležák, a slightly more robust version of the previous, with a dollop of ghee instead of a few drops, and dry-ghee’ed (or is it cold-ghee’ed?) to give it that je ne sais quoi. So far, not good. Only Vojtěch, a 12° polotmavý, was left to save things – but a small one would have to suffice, because I no longer believed in this brewery. Maybe it was premature of me to say that they didn’t follow trends, Vojtěch turned out to be a kyseláč, albeit of the unintentional kind. </p><p>They also had a tmavý ležák from Chýše, but I’d had my fill of crap beer already and had no reason to believe that one would be any good. Besides, I felt it was time for me to get on the road.</p><p>To be continued…</p><p>Na Zdraví!</p><p><span style="font-size: small;">*I know I could have changed disk myself, but the computer was still in guarantee.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p><b><a href="https://www.pivovarnarychte.cz">Pivovar Na Rychtě</a></b><br />Klášterní 75, Ustí nad Labem<br />restaurace@pivovarnarychte.cz - +420 475 205 018<br />Mon-Thu: 10:30-23, Fri: 10:30-24, Sat: 11-24, Sun: 11-21</p>Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-39897309407925705092020-05-11T09:05:00.000+02:002020-05-11T09:05:19.606+02:00The Lockdown from Behind the Taps<div>In the evening of Friday 13 May, the Czech government announced series of measures that effectively put the country on lockdown. The borders were closed, public events and gatherings were banned, freedom of movement was restricted, wearing face covering was mandatory when going out and only businesses deemed essential were allowed to open.</div><div><br /></div><div>The restrictions are gradually being eased now. Beer gardens can open from 11 May and pubs, restaurants, and cafés will be allowed to welcome patrons back into their premises on 25 May, after almost two and a half months of only selling food and beverages to go, at best.</div><div><br /></div><div>The effect this has had on society and the economy as a whole is enormous and we aren’t even close to the end of this crisis, which has been especially hard on small businesses, like pubs. There’s been a lot of talk in the media about it, but I still wanted to know (and share) the perspective of the owners, so I sent a couple of questions to a bunch of them. These are the answers I got.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>How did you react when you learnt that pubs will be closed until further notice? What’s the first thing you did and what did you do during the lockdown?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Jan “Hanz” Charvat (Zlý Časy, Pivkupectví, Bad Flash)*</b>: The news caught me in Vietnam and I had to sort everything out with the staff over WhatsApp. The pub was fully closed over the first weekend and on the first Monday we opened the takeaway window, which has remained open throughout. The turnover is 15% of the normal. This covers the wages of the person at the window and maybe the energy costs. I’ll borrow money for the rent and the rest. The sales at Pivkupectví (the bottle shop) are the same, maybe a little higher.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Vláďa Vítek (Bar Na Palmě)*</b>: When we found out we’d have to shut down the pub we immediately tried to figure out what to do: open a takeaway window, procure plastic cups and bottles, face-masks, disinfectant… At first people were afraid and not many came for a beer. We also offered delivery with an electric skateboard and that helped a little. Gradually more people started to come and thanks to that we could pay the bills. Great. The landlord forgave us the rent, which helped a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Jíři “Bejček” Stehlíček (První Pivní Tramwaj)*</b>: I don’t want to be vulgar so I’ll keep my first reaction to myself. I went to the pub on Saturday 14/3, I drained the beers, filled the pipes with water and washed the keg couplings and the taps. Then I went to my cottage to meditate about the future. When I realised this would last longer than the originally announced 10 days I decided to open a takeaway window and since 23/3 I’ve been selling draft beer in plastic bottles and cups.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Aleš Dočkal (Pivovarský Klub)*</b>: My first reaction was wondering why they didn’t say it already at midday instead of before midnight. We wouldn’t have had to cook and order bread and other stuff for the morning, and we could’ve told the staff that they didn’t have to come work. </div><div>The first thing we did was to try to make the best use of the cooked food and the things that would spoil, which worked out well and everything went to charity.</div><div>At first the pub was fully closed. We sought information on what we had to do and how so we could get at least some help. We tried everything, we asked for payment deferrals and support and applied for loans. So far, we’ve received ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Even the request for a VAT deferral sent on 25/3 hasn’t been settled yet.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Jakub Veselý (Malý/Velký, Pivo Falkon)*</b>: The first thing I did was to conserve the pub, take away everything that could spoil and took the beer back to the storage, and in the next 4 days or so I got the e-shop running. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Max Munson (Jáma The Hollow, Jáma Steakhouse)</b>: We immediately called a management meeting that Saturday morning, March 14th, at 11am. The word had just come that we had to close. My wife and I, and our entire team, were shell-shocked. We did not anticipate such extreme measures so soon. I have had Jama for 26 years, and the Steakhouse for 10, and unless it’s Christmas Day, we simply never close. Regardless, we agreed with the team then, that if the government will let us at least do window sales and deliveries, that we would do that. So on Monday the 16th, we opened both restaurants with sales out the window, as well as delivery service. In both places we lowered the prices to "crisis pricing" and began promoting on the web and by delivering flyers to all the local businesses that were allowed to remain open. We have continued that every day, Mo-Fri, from 11 to 3pm. We did not re-open in the evenings. Also, after not being on any delivery sites for years, we signed up on Wolt and Uber Eats to assist with our lunch deliveries. </div><div>We had to halt all payments including, rent, electric, social, health, VAT, and various other services. We contacted all of those providers and explained our situation. Almost all were understanding and let us postpone payments. Their understanding continues through today. With the limited lunch income that we had, we were basically only able to pay the delivery staff hours and for supplies. Overall both restaurants took about a 90% hit in income. The staff that wanted to work had some hours, albeit limited, and the staff that wanted to wait-out the crisis at home were able to do that. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Olga Romanova (BeerGeek, Sibeeria Brewery)</b> <i>(Olga answered by phone, the following is from my notes)</i>: At first they didn’t have time to think. During the first week, both the bar and the bottle shop were closed. This made their regular clients realise how serious thins thing was; in its seven years, the bottle shop had always been open, even during Christmas, but one of their staff had reported flu-like symptoms – that fortunately, were a false alarm. Eventually, they opened both for takeaway, mainly to keep their bar staff employed. </div><div>But the lockdown hit them hardest in two fronts. The first was their brewery, Sibeeria. It had received the final permit to operate at the end of last year and they spent the entire winter fine tuning their products so they would be as good as possible for the spring season. It forced them to review one of their strategies, though. Originally, they were committed to bottling their beers only in 330 ml bottles, but this made them realise that 750 ml is a more appropriate size for the local market, besides being easier to work with.</div><div>The second front was more personal. They had scheduled an event for the event of March – the event of the year, as Olga said – the presentation of Trillium, a renowned American independent brewery that does not export their products. They had worked really hard to bring a few kegs across the pond, and even the head brewer had agreed to come to talk about their beers, which are now being sold through the takeaway window.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>What are your expectations after 25/5, when pubs reopen? Do you think people flock back to the taps? What effect do you think the situation will have on the market as a whole?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Hanz*</b>: After 25/5 I expect a gradual return to restaurants. If distancing between clients is mandatory, I can’t imagine a return to normal. I won’t lay-off the permanent staff, but I will limit the temporary staff and will also close one of the kitchens. Definitely, I won’t raise wages. I also believe that smaller places, where only one person works, will have it easier, and that many pubs will commit to large breweries; I’m also considering that in some way.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Vláďa*</b>: When the pubs reopen we expect the situation to slowly go back to normal. I can’t foresee the impact this will have in general, but I hope that most breweries and pubs survive.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Bejček*</b>: I’m convinced that people will be happy to return. Everyone around beer miss the feeling of drinking from a glass, meet friends and enjoy the atmosphere of a pub. You may not believe it, but I also miss that. Even though I’m almost daily right at the source, behind the bar serving beer, everyone is standing outside and I’m inside with gloves and a mask and it’s not much fun. I can’t imagine very well the impact of this; I don’t have the data and I’m not an economist, but it’s clear that some businesses won’t be able to survive this long mandated closure. Especially since our chaotic government speak about the support to small and medium-sized enterprises, saying something different every time, but it’s just talk.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Aleš*</b>: Everything is shit and it’ll be a miracle of the pub survives.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Jakub*</b>: I believe people are already looking forward to going back to the pub. On top of that, there won’t be any festivals so many people will come to the pub to have fun. It greatly depends on the kind of the people that went to a given pub. If they were more than 50% tourists, they will have to adapt very quickly or close.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Max</b>: I am thankful that the Czech culture is a beer culture. That should help restaurants and pubs across the board. Although I do not expect a full house when we re-open, I do expect to get our business back up to about 50% by the end of June. Then, it will depend on the daily number of patients infected with the virus, if our business increases or decreases. The fear factor is something none of us have ever had to contend with before, and I am not sure what to expect. The longer the curve can remain flattened, the more our business with increase. The beer garden in Jama will also help. Not only can we open it from the 11th, but also after two months of quarantine, our guests will be really looking forward to sitting outside, enjoying the day with friends in person (and not on Zoom!), and having service in clean and safe environment. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Olga</b> <i>(again, from my notes)</i>: She really doesn’t know what to expect because it’s still not know for certain what restrictions will be in place for pubs on 25/5. She believes people will be divided into two main groups: those eager to go back to the pub and those more reluctant. She also feels that many places will be forced to close, but can’t say what effect that will have on the market as a whole.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>* The answers were sent in Czech, the translations are mine.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The last couple of months have been difficult for all of us in one way or another, but I in my opinion the lockdown was the right decision by the Czech government, even if some of the criticism for their handling of the situation were more than warranted. That made clear, I agree to a great extent with the optimism of most of the answers above. Many, if not most people are eager to go back to the pubs for the simple reason that they are craving for something, anything, that resembles normalcy, and few things are more normal for Czechs than going na jedno do hospody. Whether that will turn out to be a good thing or not, I can’t say, but I admit that some degree of apprehension is justified given the tangible risk of a second wave of the pandemic. Personally, as much as I miss going to the pub, I still haven’t decided whether I will be first in line on 25 May or will rather wait a few more days.</div><div><br /></div><div>On a side note, the pubs, restaurants, cafés and bars that catered almost solely to tourists are pretty fucked. But that’s a chat for another day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe, stay healthy and Na Zdraví!</div>Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-36087357354425137852020-02-04T09:47:00.001+01:002020-02-04T09:47:22.169+01:00Kout na Šumavě - RIPAt the end of last year, Pivovar Kout na Šumavě was shut down. This was no surprise to anyone who follows Czech beer news, the problems that led to this had begun in 2017, if not earlier. Nonetheless, it is a sad ending for a brewery that for some time was considered one of the best.<br />
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When Koutské pivo appeared in Prague in 2007 or 8, the 10° and 12° pale lagers were better than anything anyone was doing at the time, and the two dark lagers, 14° and 18°, were equally superlative. When they opened U Slovanské Lípy, their flagship pub and also distribution point in Žižkov, and Koutland, in Pilsen, they seemed ready to take over the world; literally, because it was not only at home where they were gaining fans. Koutské pivo was also exported and, at some point or another, it made its way to Sweden, Germany, Italy, Russia, Spain, the UK, and even the US, among others. The brewery could barely meet the demand – domestic and foreign – and it didn’t take long before they had to start thinking about buying a new, and much bigger, brewhouse, which was ordered in 2012.<br />
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It was at about that time their momentum seems to have stalled, at least in Prague. Kouland shut down, U Slovanské Lípy closed down and reopened, twice; and the second time was a total shift, with Koutské pivo no longer being the only brand, but just another one among nine or ten. Eventually, the market for characterful classic lagers from smaller breweries would be filled by newcomers like Únětický pivovar and Kout na Šumavě was relegated in the beer discourse. Myself, I became less interested about their beers, too, especially by the middle of the decade, not only because my thirst for a good Desítka or Dvanáctka was already being satiated by someone else, but also because their quality had become hit-and-miss. What’s worse, though, when it was a hit, I was left saying: ‘to není vono’; it was no longer that amazing beer that had blown my mind a few years earlier, but one slightly above average, at best (at least the pale beers, the dark ones vanished from the market and I can’t remember the last time I had one). I thought (probably mistakenly) that this was due to growing pains after the manifold expansion in capacity and that the company was more interested in the more lucrative export market than the local one.<br />
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Things went definitely south in early 2017 with the passing of Jan Skala, the brewery owner. In 2002, he bought the ruins of Pivovar Kout na Šumavě and it took him five years to bring back to life the brewery that the Communist had closed in 1969. Five people inherited the company, among them Skala’s last two wives, who received at least one offer for the brewery, but they refused it, and things would get worse; or it’s possible that they were already pretty bad by then. An article in Euro.cz (now behind a paywall) mentions that the brewery had received a hefty fine from the environmental authorities for dumping untreated water in the nearby river. Whether that was before or after Skala’s death, I don’t know, in any case, this was not the only problem the company had, there where debts, too. But the knock out punch would arrive last year in August, when Jana Skalová, Skala’s second wife, filed a petition for insolvency against the brewing company on the account that they owed her more than 1.5 million CZK. In the end, Gabriela Hodečková, Skala’s third wife and majority shareholder, who was also running the brewery, decided to pull down the blinds and left the keys in Skalova’s mailbox. <br />
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The fate of the brewery is now in the Courts. An insolvency administrator has been appointed, who’s been authorised to sell the remaining stock of beer still in the tanks before all of it gets rotten, as the proceedings to liquidate the company won’t start until May. I don’t have much hope for a second resurrection and even if I happen to be wrong, I wonder whether it’ll be worth it. <br />
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The saddest thing about this is not so much the closure, but the circumnstances that led to it. The company was left to people either uninterested or incapable of running it, who likely had a personal feud on top of that. To some extent, this is the owner’s fault. I don’t know the circumnstances of his death, but he wasn’t a young kid. Perhaps he should have checked if the people around him were willing to carry on with the company once he was unable to run it, and find someone who would if they weren’t. To be fair, though, maybe he tried and couldn’t find anyone. The brewery was for him a passion project, I’m sure, and it is often hard to find someone to share our passion, or we don’t start looking until it’s too late.<br />
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This also makes me wonder what will happen with other successful and well regarded independent breweries once their founders and owners retire or kick the bucket. Who will take over their mantle? Isn’t it better perhaps for the brewery to fold instead of becoming a shadow of its former self? Or maybe we should congratulate the owners who choose to sell it to a bigger company when they are still relatively young and health and wish them wholesome retirement?<br />
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Na Zdraví!<br />
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PS: If you want to know more about Kout na Šumavě and Jan Skala, I can't recommend enough Evan Rail's "The Brewery in the Bohemian Forest" available for Amazon Kindle.Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-8442889298487363192019-10-28T12:35:00.000+01:002019-10-28T12:35:32.255+01:00The News You've All Been Waiting ForWhen I published the second edition of the Guide, the plan was to wait a year or two and start working on a third edition, or at least an update, but it didn’t take me long to give up on the idea. I simply didn’t want to do the job without anyone paying me for it, especially considering the boom of “Craft Beer” bars – all of which seem to follow the template of too many taps with expensive, trendy beer styles from the same bunch of breweries. On top of that, I wanted to cut down on my boozing and I thought it’d be better to spend the limited time and money I had going to places that I knew and liked instead of new places that may not be that good, all for the sake of a vanity project.<br />
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People – not many, only a few, but people nonetheless – kept asking me about it, if there was going to be a third edition, and my answer was always a resolute ‘No’. But one day, chatting with a friend, I confessed to her that I would do it if I could find a new twist for it. That twist materialised in my head while I was sipping a Desítka in my local’s garden. It was like a ‘Eureka’ moment and I was soon fiddling with the Mapy.cz app in my phone to see if it could be doable, and it seemed it could. There have also been a couple of major changes in my life thanks to which now the time (though not the money) and an excuse to do the field work. The decision was made: I would write a new edition of <b>“Prague: A Pisshead’s Pub Guide.”</b><br />
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Rejoice!<br />
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It will be completely new, a total rework. It will still be based on the pub crawl model, but with a broader and more ambitious concept that I doubt it has ever been tried, at least in a city. Each crawl will have five pubs and will cover roughly between four and six kilometres. Instead of being in a largely random order, they will all be connected, meaning that the last pub of a crawl will be no more than two or so kilometres from the first pub of the next crawl. My goal is to have 20 crawls, or trails, that together will take the reader on a 100 km walk through Prague.<br />
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Frankly, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull it off, but I want to try because I’m in love with the idea and the challenge it entails. I’ve already done the first trail and it was fun! I intend to do the walks in the order they will appear in the book – I already have four or five drawn up in the map – and I can’t wait to do the next one. I also have the first draft of the first walk and, shit, I can’t remember when was the last time I was so excited about putting my beer fuelled to bytes.<br />
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Like in the previous editions, there’s no set deadline, but I would really love to publish sometime in 2021, to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the first edition, and my 50th birthday.<br />
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So, that’s it. Wish me luck and if you feel like sponsoring this project, let me know, it’ll be more than welcome.<br />
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Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-31111505556412670622019-10-07T18:33:00.002+02:002019-10-07T18:33:34.868+02:00Pivní Filosof in Norway Part II - Let's Get BrewingOn Wednesday morning, the ghosts of <a href="https://www.pivni-filosof.com/2019/09/pivni-filosof-in-norway-part-i-juniper.html" target="_blank">the previous evening’s Kveik</a> haunted every room of our house and there was no open window that could drive them away. After breakfast we all tacitly agreed on going outside, closing the door behind us, making me feel almost of Cortázar’s short story “House Taken Over”. Not that we minded, we all marvelled at the sight of the water in the fjord covered in fog while the sky above was completely clear. <br />
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Sigurd came for us shortly after, at nine. He had woken up much earlier, though, to the get juniper infusion going. When we arrived at his place, the cellar was warm and smelled lovely. The infusion was cooking in a 150 l copper pot on top of a wood burning stove. Sigurd explained us that it needed to reach about 95°C before anything could be done with it, and that other than feeding the fire and checking the temperature every now and again, there was nothing to do, at least in the cellar.<br />
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Certain that it would still take awhile to reach the required temperature, Sigurd grabbed a bag of pale malt (the only kind we would use) and we followed him to the barn, where he keeps a grain mill dating probably from the 1890s (converted to an electric drive now), which has been crushing grain for Sigurd’s family for at least four generations. <br />
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With the malt ground, we went back to the cellar to get the rest of the gear ready and squeaky clean, namely, two tall metal containers – the mash and the lautering tun – a couple of metal buckets and saucepans and the wooden spoon we’ll use to stir the mash, which was brand new. The previous one had snapped in half during while brewing the last batch, after having served for more than a century. The new one had been carved from alder wood by one of Sigurd’s neighbours. Before using, it head was dipped in the juniper infusion to sanitise it.<br />
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We were all eager to help, either with cleaning the gear, chopping the alder wood and the rest of the juniper we had picked the day before (only about half of the juniper was cooking), and more, which surprised our host. The other groups he’d had would just stand around watching him. Quite silly, if you ask me. After all, the best way to learn a craft is to actually do it! <br />
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I’ve always found ridiculous the claims of some Craft Breweries that their beers are ‘hand made’ (it’s like the ‘carefully selected ingredients’ mantra, but for small breweries). Proper hand made beer is what we started making once the juniper infusion reached the right temperature. Granted, this is, after all, a home brew; regardless, with the exception of grinding the grain, everything was done by hand. The liquor was delivered to the mash tun with a bucket and mixed with the grain using the aformentioned wooden spoon. Not a single valve in sight. <br />
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The process was repeated until the right consistency was achieved, indicated when only a couple of drops fell off the spoon when it was taken out of what now was a porridge. After that, the tun was covered with a cloth, and the mash would have to be left to rest for about an hour for the enzymes to do their job. Interestingly, its temperature was about 65°C.<br />
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It was time for lunch and Julie had prepared a feast for us with smoked trout and trout marinated in cognac, reindeer sausage with juniper spice, venison sausage, and venison roast served cold, among other things. The sausages and the trout was sourced from small producers in nearby locations and the deer for the roast had been hunted by Sigurd himself and prepared by his wife. The food looked so good and tasted so wonderful that nobody bothered to make a picture, so all I can show you is the empty plates.<br />
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Feeling very happy with our lives, and enjoying the sunny warm weather, we slowly went back to work, to prepare everything for the sparging, namely, sanitising the tools, and chopping the alder wood and much of the rest of the juniper, but this time, only the needles. <br />
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The wood was washed and placed on the bottom of the tun, around and over a metal strainer, and the juniper went on top. The purpose of the wood is to prevent the juniper from clogging the outlet (and to add some flavour as well), while the juniper itself worked as a filter. <br />
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As previously, things had to be done by hand. The mash was transferred to the lautering tun using a saucepan. Then some more juniper infusion was added and the mix was left to filter for one hour. <br />
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During that time we went to see a small and ancient looking stone cabin near Sigurd’s place. Other than its walls being made of piled-up rocks without any mortar, the structure is quite unremarkable from outside, and the inside, for that matter. It gets interesting once you know its history: it was used to dry malt. The green malt would be placed inside, on perforated trays above a slab of stone that was heated from the bottom with firewood. The heat radiating from the stone would dry the malt, while the smoke went around the sides of the device. But the entire malting process was interesting, and, as with everything related to traditional Raw Ale brewing, very rustic, too. After the harvest, the barley would be put in bags, but only half full. The bags would be taken to the nearest river or creek, where they will remain for three days. In modern malting, after a certain number of hours of soaking, the grain must be taken out of the water ‘breathe’ for the same amount of time. Here it wasn’t necessary because the water in the river is in constant motion and therefore has a permanent supply of oxygen. From the river, the grain was put to germinate, but not on the floor, as a Czech or Bohemian floor maltster would do, but in devices that hanged from the ceiling of the farmhouse cellar. And then it was taken to the communal kiln I mention above.<br />
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When we returned to the brewing cellar, the ‘first wort’ was rested and filtered and, while we completed the lauterinng, we got things ready for the next step, fermentation. This consisted in sanitising a copper pot that was placed by the tap of the lautering tun, sanitising the mash tun, which now would be used as a fermentation tank, getting a hop infusion going and waking up the Kveik from their slumber in the freezer. <br />
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Sigurd usually makes two beers with each batch of wort: a big Raw Ale and what could be described as a ‘Small Beer’, the brewing of which is completed with a more conventional process, often using also berries or other ingredients. The wort for the big Raw Ale is extracted until it reaches an OG of about 1050. The first gravity measure was 1120 or thereabouts and the whole batch of 50 litres had an OG of 1080. Before the use of the densimeters, the practice was to taste the wort coming out of the lautering tun every 15 minutes or so, until it no longer tasted sweet, or barely so (we tasted the first wort and it was incredibly sweet and rich, and the last, in comparison, tasted quite flat). <br />
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As it fills the copper pot by the lautering tun, the wort is filled into buckets, which in turn are taken to a cooling system that consists of a basin filled with running cold water where the bucket is put until the temperature of the work goes down to 35°C. Each bucket is then taken to the fermentation tank and then added the hop infusion (which had brewed at 95°C for an hour) and some melted candied sugar are added to it, before pitching the Jæst. Now it’s up to the yeasts to do their job, and they do it very quickly! The fermentation is usually completed in 3-4 days, sometime less, with an attenuation rate of up to 90%.<br />
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We closed the day with a dinner at <a href="https://www.foleraus.no/" target="_blank"><b>Raus</b></a>, a welcoming, modern restaurant by the Sykkylven’s marina, with impressive views, superb food and a fairly decent beer list for small town place. It was a very pleasant evening capped with gin-tonic made with the product of the local distillery. <br />
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The next morning, Sigurd came early to pick us up. We had a quick look at our beer. It had been fermenting fervently since the evening, a few hours after we had pitched the yeast.<br />
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Having said good-bye to the ale, and to Julie, we got back on the car to go to Geiranger, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Norway, located at the end of a deep fjord. In addition to stopping a couple of times to make loads of photos of the spectacular panorama, we visited the local brewery, <b><a href="http://geirangerbryggeri.no/" target="_blank">Geiranger Bryggeri</a></b>, where we were greeted by Jakob, one of the owners and head brewer, who, besides answering all our questions and showing us his shop, gave us two of his beers to taste – one of them brewed with Kveik – both very good. It’s a pretty small operation with a three-piece brewing kit with a capacity of just above 10 hl. Much of the production is sold locally, but their beers can also be found in the state-run chain of bottle shops. <br />
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We still had some time and what better way to spend it than having a few beers, from the local brewery at a local spot. Confirming what we’d just had at the brewery, the Geiranger beers were of outstanding quality, with the exception of the IPA, which was probably old. I even enjoyed the strawberry sour! Maybe because it didn’t taste like rotten beer or vinegar.<br />
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From there, Sigurd took us to the Ålesund airport to take our flights back home. It was an amazing trip. Without any doubt, one of the most interesting beer experiences I’ve ever had and I want to thank all the people that made it possible. And, on behalf of everyone in the group, I also want extend my gratitude to Sigurd and Julie for their hospitality, the beer, the food, and for sharing their passion with us.<br />
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Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-88733665591526953522019-09-30T17:58:00.001+02:002019-10-02T11:39:33.500+02:00PIvní Filosof in Norway. Part I - Juniper and TastingIt all begun one afternoon in early June, when I got a call from Milan Starec (a.k.a Květak), from <b>Černokostelecký pivovár</b>, asking if I wanted to help him with project that could get a grant from the Norwegian government. Its purpose, he explained, was to establish partnerships between Czech and Norwegian people who practice traditional trades and crafts. Naturally, Milan wanted to focus it around beer and brewing. I told him I’d love to and that I knew of someone who could help us.<br />
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Immediately after finishing the call, I sent a message to <b>Lars Marius</b>, a beer writer from Norway, author of a great blog on farmhouse ales from his native country and beyond and a couple of books, too. He gave me the contact so Sigurd Johan Saure, who runs <a href="http://www.kveiktraining.com/" target="_blank"><b>Kveik Training</b></a>. His family has been brewing with <b>Kveik</b> (or <b>Jæst</b>, as it’s called in the local dialect) for many generations (Sigurd remembers helping his grand father and uncle when he was a child, at the very same farm where he lives, and teaches, today).<br />
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Before continuing, however, I think I should provide a brief and basic explanation of what Kveik is (though I encourage you to read <a href="http://www.garshol.priv.no/blog/beer/" target="_blank">Lars’s blog</a>, he’s the real expert). Essentially it’s a family of yeasts with some interesting properties, the most remarkable of which is, perhaps, the temperatures at which they work best, over 30°C. Unlike the yeasts used today, they don’t come from labs. They are akin family heirlooms passed from one generation to the next since Grimnir knows when. After every brew, they were raked and dried until they were used for the next batch. If, for whatever reason, the Kveik refused to work, all the brewer had to do to sort it out was to go to the neighbour’s to borrow some of their yeast, just as you would do with sugar. The brewer then would mix the neighbour’s culture with his own and problem solved. This custom has also resulted in some Kveik cultures to be a mix of almost a dozen different strains of <i>saccharomyces cerevisiae</i>, all fermenting happily together. <br />
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Traditionally, and, for more than eight centuries, mandated by law, there were two brews every year: one in autumn – a rich and very strong ale not only for Christmas but for the entire winter – and the other in summer, a light ale for the field workers. The law also required the farmers to grow (and malt) their own barley, as well as the hops, for those that used it. But when the law was repealed in the late XVII century, the farmers continued with the custom, still feeling the obligation to brew at least twice a year. Though the processes could vary from one farm to the next, the most typical ‘style’ was the Raw Ale (because the wort isn’t boiled) brewed with juniper. <br />
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Now that you know the basics, let’s continue with the story.<br />
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Sigurd was more than eager to help us and, after the grant application was approved, I was invited to join a delegation from <b>Černokostelecký pivovár</b> and <b>Pivovar Dalešice</b> on a trip to Norway late last month with the purpose of learning to brew with Kveik. <br />
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We arrived in Ålesund on a Tuesday morning, after an overnight stopover in Oslo. Sigurd was waiting for us at the airport. He showed us Ålesund, where we couldn’t linger for more than a few photos. From there we drove to Sykkylven, a small town about 20 km away (counting the impressive ferry crossing from one shore of the fjord to the other). By the time we got off the ferry, the skies had fully cleared, heralding the gorgeous weather we would enjoy during our stay.<br />
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Our host lives in a hamlet of farmsteads just outside Sykkylven, in a place that can be described as idyllic, at least when the weather is sunny, surrounded by hills and woods, and with breathtaking views to the nearby fjord and the mountains that surround it.<br />
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Though his house dates from the 1880s, Sigurd’s family has lived in that spot since the late XVI century. In the past, his ancestors lived in a group of houses arranged in a circle, each belonging to a family, and all very close to each other. In 1850, the government instituted a land reform which, in a nutshell, consolidated all the fields farmers owned in a given area into a couple of larger plots of land that in total had the same area. And that’s how Sigurd’s farmstead came to be.<br />
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After a hearty lunch prepared by his wife, Julie, Sigurd took us a couple of kilometres uphill to pick juniper and get some alder wood for the next day’s brew. We came back with a full trailer and we sat in the garden to have some home made beer while we waited for our accommodation to be ready. That’s when I had my first contact with a Kveik Ale, brewed with juniper but with a boiled wort. It was amazing! It had notes of green wood and spice that reminded me of Szechuan pepper without the burn, but they weren’t overpowering. It still tasted like beer thanks to its sufficiently muscular malt base.<br />
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That evening, after visiting a gin and akvavit distillery and dropping our stuff at our sleeping quarters, we had a tasting at Sigurd’s cellar (and brewery). The first round was six samples of the same basic recipe, one brewed with US05 yeasts and the rest each with a different culture of Kveik. The differences were so marked that even an untrained palate could detect them paying just a little bit of a attention. They were followed by two samples of a Raw Ale, one served at room temperature and the other, flash warmed in a saucepan; I loved both. For some reason, I expected the Raw Ale to be sour; it wasn’t. It was earthy and full bodied, a tad funky, perhaps, and very smooth, especially the warm sample, which was also maltier and sweeter. I could spend a whole evening drinking that, and happily, even knowing I would much regret it the morning after. But the best was yet to come, when Sigurd produced a kettle-sour Kveik with raspberries, brewed with the 'little mash' of a heftier Raw Ale. As some of you may know, I don’t like sour beers, but this one is one of the very few and rare exceptions; maybe because I didn’t find it sour. It tasted rather like a top shelf, fruity rosé with just the right acidity for balance. We all loved it, in fact. The last beer we tasted was a Kveik Porter. Unlike the previous, it got mixed reviews. I enjoyed it. It had notes that reminded me of gingerbread spice. Perhaps we were all tired by then. It had been a long day, after all, and the next one promised to be long enough, too; we would brew a traditional Raw Ale.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBrc8L3AxRiksSFkFH3pXPW3IGes2qVKJhLbKnv7ThlCNsPZIbqbR-7Ew5P2vOgymiu32UA4X80fbBjQ_gvQAzHFx1W99DThCvGJzvd9lSCSIbTQQPRYQ0eVQIDuKS3yxu2OoCRJvzHei/s1600/Norsko+I+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRBrc8L3AxRiksSFkFH3pXPW3IGes2qVKJhLbKnv7ThlCNsPZIbqbR-7Ew5P2vOgymiu32UA4X80fbBjQ_gvQAzHFx1W99DThCvGJzvd9lSCSIbTQQPRYQ0eVQIDuKS3yxu2OoCRJvzHei/s320/Norsko+I+07.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<i>(<b>Disclaimer</b>: The invitation I got covered all expenses. Sigurd, on the other hand, got paid. The package he offers, in addition to the brewing course, includes a tasting, accommodation, and lunch and dinner on the brewing day. He did give us a discount and was very generous to show us around. We will reciprocate when comes over, hopefully soon)</i>Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-15766464637919803752019-04-22T14:57:00.000+02:002019-04-23T06:48:10.516+02:00Stone Berlin's Failure Shouldn't Surprise AnyoneJoe “Thirsty Pilgrim” Stange, <a href="https://www.goodbeerhunting.com/blog/2019/4/14/critical-drinking-can-beer-jesus-make-a-stone-so-heavy-even-he-cant-lift-it" target="_blank">writing for Good Beer Hunting</a>, goes behind the headlines with an insightful story on the failure of Stone Berlin, reviewing, among other things, the difficulties the California based brewing company faced when putting together their brewery in the German capital.<br />
<br />
Though there’s no doubt that the delays and unexpected costs contributed its ultimate fate (and I sympathise Koch’s frustration with the builders), I believe that, even if everything had gone according to plan (which hardly ever does), the enterprise was doomed for the simple reason that it had arrived way too late. Let me explain.<br />
<br />
The first time I head about Stone’s plans to set up shop in Europe was ten years ago – and it’s possible that even Berlin was being mentioned then. To put it into perspective, this was a time when Brew Dog was still using their first brewery and their Punk bullshit was taken seriously by not few; a time when De Molen, Meantime, Nøgne Ø, Birrificio del Ducato, and Cíbeles were proudly independent breweries, and new; a time when the Craft Beer scene in Spain, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, and maybe even England and Italy were still pretty much in their infancy, and in some cases, like Spain’s for instance, there were still doubts about the sustainability of the fad, not to mention the overall quality of the products. That would have been a perfect time for Stone to disembark on this side of the pond. They would have found a market that was a lot less crowded, with few breweries producing the beers that had made them famous in the US, at least not consistently, and where they would have been surely seen as exciting and innovating, even; and ideal landscape for a new brand with European-wide ambitions.<br />
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Compare that with the environment they found themselves in. The scene in the countries I mentioned above, and in several others, is in full swing, populated by well-established and well-regarded brands, some of which have become household names, enjoying success that goes beyond the beer enthusiast crowd and their domestic markets. Just to give you an example of what’s happening here in Czechia: when I first heard about Stone’s plans, Pivovar Matuška was brewing with a 5 hl kit in the garage of the founder’s mother’s house. Since then, they have expanded massively, becoming a benchmark for Czech Ale producers, clients and consumers, and last year, they made a collaboration brew with Plzeňský Prazdroj that was sold in hundreds, if not thousands, of Pilsner Urquell and Gambrinus pubs around the country, as part of the Volba Sládků series, in October; it was called První, in honour of the 100th anniversary of the Czechoslovak Republic. At the same time, your could count with your fingers the number of multi-tap pubs in town, now, not only there are dozens of them, but you can also find <i>piva z minipivovarů</i> in pizzerias, burger joints, cafés, fancy restaurants, cinemas, and, of course, neighbourhood <i>pajzly</i> – at one of which I recently overhead a conversation between the tapster and a middle-aged <i>štamgast </i>about the merits of a sour beer from Pivovar Kamenice nad Lipou. <br />
<br />
Joe, in his piece, gives another good example of what I’m saying: <i>"On a 2016 visit to Poznań, Poland, I visited a sleek bar called Ministerstwo Browaru. One of its 14 taps was Stone IPA. A half-liter of it cost 24 złoty—a bit less than $6. While that may sound reasonable to most U.S. readers, the catch was that perfectly decent, locally brewed IPAs were going for about half that price. So was another German beer on the menu, the Hofbräu Oktoberfestbier. Poznań is only about three hours from Berlin." </i>Change the particulars, and you can probably tell the same story about many European towns.<br />
<br />
Stone never had a chance to compete with that, and with the other big names distributed across the continent, especially considering that, outside beer-geek circles, it remains a largely unknown brand, most drinkers can’t relate to. Now, instead of pioneering and envelope-pusing, the brand is not much more than another expensive beer taking up tap space. Yeah, some punters may give it a go, out of curiosity, or to add the name to their Untappd profiles, only to perhaps realise that they could’ve spent half the money on a local beer that’s probably every bit as good.<br />
<br />
To be fair, however, Stone’s ambitions were not entirely unrealistic, the thing is that projects like theirs take years iof planning before groundwork can really begin, and there’s no way they could have foreseen how much and fast the Craft Beer brand would grow almost everywhere in Europe. Nevertheless, it’s still a shame for them that they were not able open the Berlin brewery a few years earlier. For the consumers, on the other hand, we already have more than enough to choose from and I don’t think much has been lost. Speaking for myself, I had almost forgotten about Stone Berlin before this news.<br />
<br />
On a side note, for Brew Dog this is fantastic. They got their hands on a fully functional, still fairly new, and quite large brewery that they can start using as soon as they get the keys to pump out some of their flagships for the nearby markets, and a base of operations in Continental Europe safe from any of the possible consequences of the shitshow that is Brexit. However much they’ve paid for it, it was a bargain.<br />
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Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-17494668913516864892018-10-08T09:34:00.000+02:002018-10-19T19:10:18.940+02:00The Reason I Haven't Had a Drop of Beer in the Last Three Weeks and CountingA tooth, one motherfucking tooth.<br />
<br />
Health, fortunately, had never been something I’d ever had to worry. The only serious disease I’d suffered was pneumonia, when I was 10 (how I got it is itself a funny story). Since then, other than the very occasional flu and those “feeling a bit under the weather” things, I’d always been healthy. At 47 now, I was fit, active, I’d never been a smoker, I ate well, I didn’t have weight issues, and I had even cut down a little on the boozing because, well, I’m not getting any younger and I decided that if I wanted to keep on enjoying my beer in the years to come, I had better slow down a bit. And despite all that, that motherfucking tooth almost sends me to an early grave.<br />
<br />
It all started on Tuesday, September 18. I woke up feeling a bit dodgy; nothing that I couldn’t get rid of taking the day off and resting, I thought. There was a mild pain around the earlobe , but I didn’t pay too much attention to it, I believed it was just another symptom of whatever bug I had caught. The pain got worse during the day, but I still thought it’d go away in a day or two. <br />
<br />
The next day I was feeling much worse. I had trouble swallowing, the pain was more intense and there was a clear swelling on the left side of my neck. If anyone is wondering why I didn’t go to a doctor that day, the best answer I can give you is because I’m an idiot. I don’t know how much of a difference it would have made in the end, but by that time I was probably putting my life at risk already. <br />
<br />
On Thursday, September 20, I couldn’t take it any longer. I had barely eaten and slept for the last two days and the pain was unbearable; the swelling had also worsened considerably. When my daughter was dispatched to school, I asked my wife to take me to the hospital. We left home somewhere before 9. The traffic in Prague was, as expected, awful. The last couple of kilometres to Motol were endless, the missus was cursing everyone who had ever sat behind a wheel and I was in agonising pain. We parked in the grounds of the Motol University Hospital a few minutes after 9:30 and headed straight to the ORL department. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to be seen by a doctor who made the usual questions (most of them answered by my wife because I wasn’t able to speak without drooling). After examining me, she called a colleague, a more senior specialist. He had a look at me and resolved that I was to have a CT scan right away. After the scan, I was brought back to the department – now on a wheelchair – where I was told that I would be admitted in the ORL-ICU and that I would have surgery as soon as that can be arranged, if not before.<br />
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To say that I felt confused and woefully out of my depth once I was brought to the ICU is an understatement. Doctors and nurses gave instructions, asked questions, stuck needles, performed routine procedures, gave me release forms to sign, and provided information that I seriously struggled to process, all while still being in agony, and alone now – my wife was not allowed to come in with me, she was sent home with a phone number where she could call later. To make things worse, I realised (I thing when two nurses were shaving my beard and doing their best to lift my spirits) that my mouth was now filling with something that tasted (and looked and smelled) like bog water in a summer afternoon spiced with a generous dose of bad intentions. <br />
<br />
They took to the operating room in the early afternoon. There, the anaesthesiologist asked a couple more questions before putting the mask over my mouth and nose, and told she would release oxygen. The last thing I remember was noticing that the oxygen smelled funny. When I opened my eyes again, it was all over. I was being put back in the bed they had brought me in and I was taken back to the ICU. I found that experience fascinating. It wasn’t anything like falling asleep – I don’t even remember my eyes closing – I didn’t have any dreams and I didn’t feel any time had passed. It was as if someone had flipped a switch that momentarily turned off my mind, consciousness, and self. I now wonder what philosophers have to say about that.<br />
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The operation itself turned out to be more complicated than anyone had anticipated. The cause my condition, basically, had been an infection in the above mentioned tooth, the lower left wisdom tooth, to be more precise. What made it worse was that the bugger was fused to the jaw bone, which helped the infection spread more quickly and aggressively throughout my neck, pushing into my chest by the time I went to the hospital (for the record, I hadn’t even felt a toothache!). They had to call a dental surgery specialist to help them take that tooth out! It was a very special case. A few days later, the head of the hospital’s ORL department, a professional with several decades of practice under his belt (who also looks like a trope character of a TV show set in a hospital), told me that it was something he had never seen before.<br />
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Back in the room, I was feeling better; or rather, less bad. There was still a lot of discomfort, my breathing sounded like someone lazily sucking the dregs of a glass with a straw, but I knew I was out of danger (and under heavy painkillers). Now, it’d only be a matter of a few days, a week at most, before I could go back home and recover, or so I believed, and boy, was I wrong!<br />
<br />
My breathing hadn’t improved on Friday morning and, what’s worse, I was still unable to swallow even a single drop of water. The latter problem was solved in a very simple, and for me very unpleasant, way by the head of the department himself, who inserted a tube up my nose and down my oesophagus through which I would be fed a special cocktail of protein and nutrients washed down with tea for the next 11 days. Actually, he had to do it twice, the first tube, for some reason, didn’t work out. And there was still more fun to come that day.<br />
<br />
Some time in the late afternoon I was rushed to another CT scan. There had been something very wrong with the results of my blood samples. After an hour or so, the surgeon that had operated me came to give me the news. The CT had found another infection, one that hadn’t been there the day before, this time on the right side of my neck. I’d have another operation that evening to remove it and, as a bonus, I would get a tracheostomy, because there was no other way to sort out that problem with my breathing.<br />
<br />
Switching off took a little longer this time – the mask didn’t fit well due to the swelling on my face and the tube sticking out my nose wasn’t much help, either – but I still don’t remember even closing my eyes. Awakening, on the other hand, was somewhat less peaceful. Like the previous occasion, they were putting me back in bed when I regained consciousness, this time, however, I had a panic attack. I’m not sure what triggered it, trying to say something and realising I was unable to articulate any sounds, noticing something odd with my breathing; probably a combination of both. In any case, I went mad, I may have even tried to jump off the bed. Four or five people were needed to restrain me while another injected a sedative. The rest of the evening has been erased from my memory. Probably for the better.<br />
<br />
On Saturday morning, a specialist came in, an anaesthesiologist, bringing something that would make my life, and the work of the nurses a bit easier. After shaving the area and applying local anaesthesia, he made an incision on my groin, on the femoral vein to be more precise, where he inserted a tube with a bunch of connectors (for lack of a better word) that would serve a hub for the IVs and for taking blood samples, too. I was also rewarded with a tube up my willie, so I wouldn’t have to worry about peeing, and introduced to a machine that would help me breathe; there was liquid and a lot of phlegm in my lungs and I was still too weak to get rid of it on my own. The device blew burst of moist oxygen into my lungs at a rhythm similar to normal breathing. If my breathing could keep pace with it, things would go smooth, at least for awhile, because, sooner or later, the coughing would start, and get worse, to the point I could no longer breathe and the nurses had to intervene. The procedure was very straightforward, and equally unpleasant. The nurse would remove the bit of the machine connected to the cannula in my throat and with a very narrow tube suck the phlegm obstructing my airways and stuck to the walls of my trachea. Describing it as horrible doesn’t make it justice, it felt like being simultaneously electrocuted, chocked and drowned, and it wouldn’t matter how many times they did it (which was several a day and night), it never got any better, not even by the end.<br />
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The next four days would be the worst. I was bound to bed, being fed through the nose, peeing in a bag through a tube, unable to breathe on my own and to communicate I had to use sign language or write messages on a notepad. The word in Czech for ‘sick’ or ‘ill’ is <i>‘nemocný’</i>. If you take out the negative prefix <i>ne-</i>, you’re left with <i>‘mocný’</i>, which means powerful or strong. I had never felt so <i>ne-mocný</i> in my life, especially when my wife visited me and I could see the stress, frustration, and exhaustion in her eyes. There was a moment I wanted to cry. You know, let it all out like a proper bloke should, but I couldn’t even do that because I knew it would fuck up my breathing in ways I didn’t even want to imagine. All I could do now was to focus on my breathing and try to enjoy the effect of the painkillers (and the sponge baths, which were good).<br />
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Things started to noticeably improve on Tuesday, September 25, when they disconnected the assisted breathing. Now I was no longer permanently bound to bed, I could sit in an armchair by the bed and even walk a little (carrying the bag with my pee, of course). I could also breathe on my own, but not for too long at first. Breathing through the throat dries your airways, which produces more phlegm, and I’ve already told you where that leads. To prevent that, or rather, to reduce it, because I would still need to have that shit sucked out, though less often as the days went by, I had to spend much of the day, and the whole night, connected to another device. This one had an open ended tube and blew moist oxygen that I could breathe in through the bit that was connected to me cannula.<br />
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On Thursday, September 27, one week after I had been admitted, the pee-tube was taken out. I was feeling more vigorous and was already walking unassisted up and down the corridor. I also learned how to feed myself, a process that consisted of: fill 100 ml syringe with nutrient cocktail, remove stopper from nose tube, insert tip of syringe in tube and pump, replace stopper, fill syringe again with cocktail, remove stopper, pump cocktail in, replace stopper, fill syringe with tea (careful to suck in all the medicines if present), remove stopper, pump tea in, replace stopper. Rinse and repeat eight times a day. Eventually, some of the doses of nutrient cocktail would be replaced by soup, so I wouldn’t get bored of eating always the same, I guess. <br />
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A day later, the cannula would be finally taken off. I could now breathe through the nose, as any normal human being, and also speak again. Knowing I still had a hole in my throat was a little weird, but it was well plugged and they assured me it should not be much of a problem, all I had to remember was to press the plug whenever I wanted to talk or felt like coughing. Two days later, I was told to start drinking again, or to at least try. It was a little hard at first, but by the end of the day, I had drunk two full glasses of tea with a straw. I was feeling legitimately good again, not only physically, but psychically. In the early morning of Tuesday, October 2, I shed a few tears of joy when one of the night nurses came to say good-bye at the end of her shift and told me I would be released from the ICU and sent to the regular care unit, the last step before being sent home. An hour or so later, I no longer had a tube up my nose. I asked the nurses if I could get something to eat, which they were more than happy to oblige. It was a chocolate pudding, and it was one of the most delicious things I’ve eaten in all my life. I also tasted the nutrient cocktail that I had been ‘eating’ all those days, out of curiosity. It didn’t taste very good.<br />
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Regular care wasn’t bad. I was finally getting proper, warm food prepared in a way that would allow me to put it in my mouth, which I still cant fully open, but it wasn’t half bad. I was also able to come and go as I pleased to get a cup of coffee downstairs in the lobby, or buy some snacks. I was also lucky with the room: only two beds, TV, and private bathroom. My first room mate was a geezer who had been released a couple of days earlier from the same ICU after having had surgery to remove a tumour from his ear. He was very chatty, fun and friendly and it did me a world of good to finally have someone to talk to about whatever topic popped up during the conversation, which made me a world of good after so many days without being able to speak. He was sent home the day after, and I had the room all to myself. I spent most of the time reading and listening to jazz (the TV also received the digital stations of the Czech national radio broadcaster) or watching some bollocks on TV until I felt like sleeping. <br />
<br />
On Thursday afternoon, my wife visited me for the last time. We agreed to met at the coffee shop downstairs and from there go to the ICU unit to deliver the cake I had asked her to bake for the nurses a token of gratitude. She also had a surprise for me, Nela, our daughter, whom I hadn’t seen in two weeks. While I was in ICU she didn’t want to come, and both of us were fine with it, as much as I missed her, I didn’t think it’d be good for her to see me in that condition. When she found out I was no longer in ICU, she instead to come. I was so happy to see her again, to hold her, hear her voice. Fortunately, our next meeting wouldn’t have to wait long. On Friday, October 5, I was finally sent home. Now it’s time to get my life back to normal an regain my strength – I lost 7 kg, much of it of muscle mass and I intend to get them back. It’ll take me a few days longer still to be able to drink beer again, but to be honest, I don’t miss it all that much and, besides, there are several things more important to sort out now than that.<br />
<br />
Before closing, I want to express my deepest gratitude to the people that saved my life, or at least try, because I don’t think there are enough words all the three languages I know to do it properly. At no point I felt afraid. The way the first two doctors that saw me reacted to my condition was enough to convince me I was in good hands and that impression was strengthened once in the ICU, where all the doctors, without exception, explained me in clear words the what, why and how of every procedure and always answered all my questions. They cared about me, wanted me to get better, did everything within their abilities to make it happen, and didn’t hide their joy when it finally did. The nurses, on the other hand, were more than wonderful. Their care, their support, and their constant effort to keep my spirits up was invaluable. They motivated me to make an extra effort to get better because I wanted to make them happy. You were great, all of you. Thank you.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-57951567127749414952018-06-22T08:18:00.000+02:002018-06-30T22:24:23.957+02:00A Tale of Nice Weather and a Couple of Dodgy BeersThe weather was nice and I was in a good mood, the kind of good mood that makes you want to go for a walk, which is exactly what I did after taking care of an errand in Vysočany.<br />
<br />
My goal, as I strolled along Park Podviní, was to have a cheap lunch with Svijany at <b>U Rokytky</b>, but before that I thought it’d be good to stop for a quick one at <b>Pivovar Kolčavka</b>.<br />
<br />
Lately I’d heard several people slagging this brewpub. I hadn’t been there for awhile, at least a year, but their beers, though never memorable, had always been on the good side of average, in particular their <b>11° Světlý Ležák</b>, which had had never disappointed. Until today.<br />
<br />
When I walked in and headed to the bar, a waitress/tapstress was juggling three mugs under the tap of Jedenátcka, which was foaming more than the mouth of a rabid dog chewing a bar of soap. By virtue of standing there and watching her, I got the first mug to be filled at an adequate level, which I took outside.<br />
<br />
The beer looked awful, or maybe trendy? It was as if by the end of primary fermentation it had said “I’m not longer a Světlý Ležák, from now on I identify as a NEIPA!” And the the owner (because it had to be the owner), perhaps fearing a PR backlash if they refused, chose to humour it and conditioned it accordingly. And it tasted even worse.<br />
<br />
It’s not uncommon for microbreweries to rush some beers due to insufficient capacity, especially when the weather gets warmer. I can understand that, but not in the case of Kolčavka. If they do have capacity issues, maybe they shouldn’t make so many beers at the same time – there were five or six on tap that day, and at least three were Lagers – or maybe they shouldn’t supply at least two other pubs in town, and (I’ve heard also) Makro. To be fair, though, it’s entirely possible that I’m speaking out of my ass and that the problem with that beer was of another nature. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change the fact that the beer was rubbish.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, lunch at U Rokytky was everything I had expected and the crystal clear <b>Svijanská 12°</b>, perfectly tapped from a tank, healed the damage the previous beer had inflicted on my soul.<br />
<br />
The weather was still nice and I was still in a good mood, the kind of good mood that makes you feel mildly masochistic and, as I was – as lightly footed as I could – crossing Libeňský Most, I decided to drop by <b>Pivovar Marina Holešovice</b>, which I hadn’t visited since researching for the second edition of the guide.<br />
<br />
Unlike at Kolčavka, I never had a good beer at Marina Holešovice, with the exception perhaps of the first visit not long after their opening. But three years had gone by and things may have improved.<br />
<br />
The place still looks stunning; it’s truly impressive, enough to make me want to sit inside, at the bar, where I ordered the house’s <b>Světlý Ležák</b>. <br />
<br />
This one at least looked right – almost clear, with a light haze; just like a nefiltrované pivo should look like. Although it tilted a little to the bland, there was nothing technically wrong as far as I could taste, and it would have been a competent beer if it hadn’t been for the execution. The sole waiter serving the entire place had grabbed the closest mug at hand and poured the beer without rinsing and chilling it with cold water. The result was a beer that warmed and lost its head too fast and by the end tasted like something that had been left on the bar for two hours. Of course, this poor bloke was alone and incredibly busy so he could be excused. Bollocks! No, I was the only client inside that pub and there were only two or three people outside.<br />
<br />
Czech beer wisdom states that <i>“Sládek pivo vaří, hospodský ho dělá.”</i> And it’s true, there are countless examples of otherwise fine beers ruined by shoddy storage, handling, dispensing or a combination thereof. What is more infuriating in this case is that the person who brews the beer and the one that fucks it up work literally next to each other. To be honest, though, I wasn’t all that surprised, in fact, I considered myself lucky to some extent, at least this time I didn’t get rotten beer. In any case, it was a good reminder of why I don’t know anyone that can be arsed with this place.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.pivovarkolcavka.cz/" target="_blank">Pivovar Kolčavka</a></b><br />
50°6'29.813"N, 14°28'56.827"E<br />
Nad Kolčavkou 8 – Praha-Libeň<br />
+420 736 735 685 – spravce@pivovarkolcavka.cz<br />
Mon-Sun: 11-23<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.urokytky.cz/" target="_blank">Restaurace U Rokytky</a></b><br />
50°6'23.05"N, 14°28'30.857"E<br />
Nám. Dr. Václava Holého 7 – Praha-Libeň<br />
+420 284 828 818<br />
Mon-Sat: 10-22, Sun: 12-22<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.pivovarmarina.cz/" target="_blank">Pivovar Marina Holešovice</a></b><br />
50°6'21.808"N, 14°27'23.620"E<br />
Jankovcova 12 – Praha-Holešovice<br />
+420 220 571 183 – info@pivovarmarina.cz<br />
Mon-Sun: 11-24<br />
Trams: 1, 12, 25 – ManinyPivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-28364984169087256892018-04-09T09:40:00.000+02:002018-07-08T11:25:02.428+02:00A Few Easter Beers in PísekAs we’ve been doing the last few years, we spent Easter with relatives, in <b>Strakonice</b>. On Saturday, we went to <b>Tábor</b>, an uninteresting town beewise*, but I loved it nonetheless. The old town is charming, full of narrow, twisting alleys where one can get happily lost, and the main square is gorgeous. <br />
<br />
On Sunday, we headed to <b>Písek</b>, a very nice town for a day trip. It was our third trip there; the first one had been a few years before, also at Easter, and the second, last year in summer. This time, what brought us was the permanent exhibition for children at the <b>old malthouse</b>, which my daughter really wanted to see. <br />
<br />
As we were getting ready for the trip, I remembered that last year, in autumn, a brewpub had opened and I volunteered to stay with Isis, our bitch (he!), while the girls were in the exhibition.<br />
<br />
<b>Pisecký Hradební Pivovar</b> is located in an urban nook near the town’s main square, in what remains of the old city walls. The entrance is through a corridor that leads to a park in the back of the building. To the left there is a restaurant room that I’m not sure was open yet for the day. On the right is the door to the brewpub’s taproom, with the stainless steel bar in the back and a couple of tables. A bit too minimalist for my taste, with not much of a decoration to speak of. Unfortunately, the tables were taken and there was nowhere to have a beer <i>na stojáka</i>. I had to go to the other room, accessible through a doorway next to the beer tank, and man, that one was ugly! It was smaller than the taproom, and narrower; gloomy, too, with only a small window letting in a bit of daylight. One wall was lined with three booths for six to eight people, with 160-170 cm tall partitions painted dark brown and framed with blue pipes, each with its own overhead lamp, and a table for four with very ugly chairs, perhaps leftovers from the previous pub that operated in the premises. On the opposite wall there were three very small tables that together would accommodate a further six people if they weren’t so close together; really, I wasn’t able to pull my chair far enough to sit moderately comfortable without hitting the table behind me. And to make it worse, all the tables were bolted to the wall. All the booths and chairs (with the exception of the one behind me, of course) were taken and everyone was speaking in hushed tones. I felt like being in an ungodly hybrid between a neighbourhood fast-food shop and a dive where you’d meet a hitman** to sort out the details of the contract. <br />
<br />
I guess decoration and interior design weren’t among the owners’ priorities, but what about the beers?<br />
<br />
The menu on my table listed two beers that are permanently on tap (it also listed food, and I wonder how can anyone eat on a table bolted to the wall, barely wider than a cubit) and I started with <b>Pisecký Ležák</b>.<br />
<br />
According to the description, is a <i>ležák plzeňského typu</i>, but that’s not how I would’ve described the orange beer I had in the glass. The description says it’s brewed with several types of malt. Why? What’s wrong with using only Pilsner malt? I can understand throwing in a pinch of Munich or caramel malt to give the beer a bit more depth. But more than that? That’s not how brew a Světlý Ležák. All that being said, outside a competition, a beer should be judged on its own merits and not according to any style guidelines. And this one started fine enough. It had a rustic yet agreeable malt character that reminded me of some Märzenbiere, and I was enjoying it until, about halfway down the mug, the herbal bitterness, which so far had been barely competently playing two chords on the rhythm guitar, said “fuck it! I ain’t nobody’s sidekick!” Pushed everyone around to play a solo, and, by the end of the glass, the beer tasted almost like chewing a bunch of parsley; any thoughts of having a second one had vanished faster than the first pint of Desítka in a hot day.<br />
<br />
It was followed by the deep ruby red <b>Vídeňský Ležák</b>, tapped, unfortunately in a dry, warm mug. It didn’t matter. It had the same parsley-like bitterness as the previous one, which overwhelmed whatever the malts were supposed to be doing. If anything, it was even more unpleasant.<br />
<br />
So far, the beers of Pisecký Hradební Pivovar had been on the wrong side of mediocre, but I was in a good mood and wanted to give them another chance. I chose the <b>Velikonoční Tmavá 13°</b>, which was served in a 0.4l glass. Why do they do that? And why in the name of all the fucks that fly does this beer cost, by volume, about 50% more than the other two? If I’d seen the size of the portion written anywhere (let alone the price), I would not have ordered it and would’ve probably called it a day (after the previous two, there was not way I was having the house’s APA). But, alas, the beer was in front of me waiting to be drunk. <br />
<br />
I was expecting a dark lager, but it wasn’t. The description on the laminated beer list said it was top fermented, brewed with New Zealand hops. It had a mild, but pleasant nose of flowers and tropical fruit with a hint of roast in the back, but it tasted as if the brewer had been asked to make a Black IPA but was never quite sold on the idea. That in itself wouldn’t be bad if the beer hadn’t tasted like it needed more of something – hops or roasted malt – specially in the finish, which falls flat, almost watery.<br />
<br />
I think they had another beer on tap besides the APA, Florián, a Desítka, that I would’ve probably ordered first, but I didn’t have a beer list on the table, nor was I given one by the waitress (I took one from another table when I was finishing the dark ale), but I couldn’t be arsed any longer with this place. It must be one of the ugliest pubs I’ve ever been to, and I didn’t enjoy any of the three beers I had. It was time to leave.<br />
<br />
When I left, as I strolled by the nice park along the old city walls, I called the missus to see what they were up to. “Nela still hasn’t been to the anthill, we’ll be here for another hour or so,” she said and I told her I’d be in the Kozlovna across the river, by the Stone Bridge.<br />
<br />
Say what you want about pub chains, but they do know how to make a place look at least appealing, and <b>Kozlovna U Plechandy</b> is no exception. Granted, unlike Pisecký Hradební Pivovar, the pub isn’t in a forgotten corner, but by the river front and has large windows that let in plenty of light and offer great views to the Stone Bridge (the oldest in the country) and the malthouse, the dominant of the old town, on the opposite side. It’s much larger than the brewpub, too, and it was teeming with families and groups having lunch and, by the sound of it, a very good time. I was lucky to find a table.<br />
<br />
Service was very good: friendly, very attentive; a waitress took my order almost as soon as I had sat, while another brought a bowl of water for the dog. I was feeling a bit peckish, but didn’t want to have a full meal because I didn’t know how long it’d take and we were going to have lunch in Strakonice, anyway. I settled for the goulash soup, which was one of the best I’ve ever had, though, for 57 CZK, the portion was too small and I wasn't brought bread. I needed hardly to think about the beer, <b>Kozel 12° Nefiltrovaný</b>. (curiously, they didn’t have Kozel Tmavý on tap)<br />
<br />
Say what you want about macro breweries, but they do know how to make a pale lager that at least looks the part, and that, at least in this case, tastes really good, too, especially when is properly served, in a mug chilled with cold water. A second půl litr followed. I was really enjoying myself there, soaking up the atmosphere. I thought of having a third, but it would’ve easily led to a sixth, which I din’t think would have been a very good idea on an almost empty stomach. I paid, left, and was crossing the bridge, looking for a sunny place to sit to read, when the wife called to announce they were on their way.<br />
<br />
So, there you have it. I ended up enjoying a branch of a pub chain and its macro lager a lot more than the local brewpub and its Řemeselné Pivo. Who would’ve thought?<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 70%;">* There was a beer festival in town that weekend, but didn’t even consider going because a) I was with the family and the dog, and b) it’s the type that charges admission fee and those festivals can fuck the right off.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 70%;">** Or hitperson? You never know these days</span><br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://piseckypivovar.cz/" target="_blank">Pisecký Hradební Pivovar</a></b><br />
N 49°18.53152', E 14°9.01782'<br />
V Koutě 90/4 – Písek – Vnitřní Město<br />
rezervace@piseckypivovar.cz – +420 722 030 717<br />
fb.com/piseckypivovar<br />
Mon-Thu: 10-22, Fri-Sat: 10-24, Sun: 10-21<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.kozlovnauplechandy.cz/" target="_blank">Kozlovna U Plechandy</a></b><br />
N 49°18.55772', E 14°8.67488'<br />
Svatotrojická 164/5 – Písek – Pražské Předměstí<br />
rezervace@kozlovnauplechandy.cz – +420 604 333 444<br />
fb.com/kozlovnauplechandy<br />
Mon-Sat: 11-23, Sun: 11-22Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-84980577567841656072018-02-21T17:21:00.000+01:002018-02-24T08:52:27.181+01:00Back to the Roots Reviews: Pecký PivovarLike last year, we spent our daughter's spring break in <b>Pec pod Sněžou</b>, at <a href="https://www.chataorlik.cz/" target="_blank">Chata Orlík</a>, a comfortable enough hotel, with very friendly owners and staff, near the slopes, but far from the bustle of the town, and with the best value for money dinners I've ever had – the buffet menu was different every day, with a soup, an appetiser, a main course, dessert, cheese and fruit, all top quality and wonderfully made, and at 180 CZK per person (half for kids). <br />
<br />
After a day of skiing, the meniscus of my right knee suggested, in no uncertain terms, that I should take a day off. At a ski resort, if you aren't skiing, there's not much else to do other than drink yourself silly. The problem is that the bars near the slopes, besides being overpriced and with beer that isn't served in the best conditions, aren't very suitable to go for a quiet pint or five. I also didn't want to stay in the hotel. But I always have a plan (well, not always, to be honest): I'd walk up to Pecký Pivovar, located just short of 3 km from the place I had lunch with the family and the friends that were with us. <br />
<br />
<b>Pecký Pivovar</b> opened last November and I found about it through the posters that adorned many a tram-stop shelter in Prague. Under normal circumstances, I would have ignored it: it's less than six months old and I didn't have any references, but I couldn't think of anything better to do and I reckoned that my knee could handle the walk.<br />
<br />
The way uphill was fairly easy until the last 200 metres or so, where the road not only got steeper, but also very icy. When I made it the the brewery's taproom, and despite the -6°C and the falling snow, I was panting and sweating as if I had been doing callisthenics in a sauna. Inside, the taproom was steaming hot. The day’s batch was whirpooling and the temperature must have been close to 30°C.<br />
<br />
The place, with unremarkable, modern design. is small; only a handful of tables, plus the bar, that also sports a grill, and the kitchen behind it (there's a larger room, a restaurant, separated by a glass door). Almost next to the bar, to the left, is the brewery proper, with a two-vessel, copper plated 10 hl brewing kit and a few tanks lining the wall opposite. There are also more tanks in a cellar visible through a glass floor. I can’t remember now how many, but they seem to have plenty of capacity. If it was located in the middle of a city, it would be just another modern bar full of straight lines, stainless steel and beige, but here, surrounded by forest, snow and mountains visible from the large windows at the back of the brewhouse and right next to me made it a solid contender for one of the most beautiful brewpubs I’ve ever been to.<br />
<br />
But what about the beers?<br />
<br />
The tapster, a tall, lanky bloke with long dreadlocks, who reminded me of someone from my youth back in Argentina whose name I've since forgotten, took my order as I was peeling my layers of clothes. <br />
<br />
I was disappointed to see that the beers were available only in 0.4 litre portions - I may have been more reluctant to come had I known that beforehand, but the website offers no information. The prices were not exactly cheap (36 CZK for the 10° and 44 CZK, for the 12° and the Dark beer. There was also an IPA for 50 CZK a pop), but I was expecting them, given the seasonal nature of the business, and that the brewery was put up in what appears to be a brand new building.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I opened the session with a <b>Desítka</b>. Other than it tasted clean, there's nothing else I can tell you as it vanished down my throat in a swig and a half. A second one was warranted, so, you know, I could properly taste it. It was very good! Again, clean, well lagered, not nasty bits to be felt and a lovely, but subtle, note of Pilsen malt in the finish that you could almost chew. The only quibble: it was too fizzy. Whether that was something inherent to the beer or caused by the dispensing system, I can't tell, but it did have an effect on the structure.<br />
<br />
The <b>Dvanáctka</b> followed. By then I had made friends with the tapster, who was proud of the beers he was selling. And with good reason. Like the 10°, it's brewed only with Pilsner malts, and Sládek, Premiant, and Saaz hops, but with a three-decoction mash instead of two. It was also clean, but smoother, and fuller (maybe a product of the additional decoction?) than the weaker sibling, and the finish, instead of grain, had a floral puf! Almost like chewing on a dandelion, or some poetic bullshit like that. A second one was warranted, just to be sure I had got all the notes right.<br />
<br />
It was getting late, but I couldn't leave without having a go at the <b>Černý</b>. Intriguingly, and decoction mash notwithstanding, it's not bottom fermented. It's brewed with English hops and without roasted barley, which would pretty much rule out a Stout or even a BIPA. I love it when there isn’t a style written on the label. You evaluate the beer on it's own merits and not according to what a catalogue of competition categories will tell you. And if you do want to pigeon hole it, it's up to you where. I wish all breweries did that, at least with one of their beers, but then, how would geeks decide what’s good or not? But back to this beer. I'm not quite sure what style I would fit to this one if I had to, (London Porter, perhaps?), what I am sure of, though, and very sure, is that it was fantastic. Light without being thin, and a massive note of the finest bitter chocolate that is almost endless. A beauty!<br />
<br />
I could have easily stayed for another one, but I had agreed with the missus to meet her at the hotel at around 4, and it was past 3:30. Fortunately for me (and maybe my neck - walking down that icy bit of road would have been a nightmare) the Brew Master was punching out for the day and agreed to give me a lift to town. While he was picking up his stuff a had a taste of the <b>IPA</b>, which was decent enough to buy a PET bottle (100 CZK/1 l) and one of that dark beauty (80 CZK/1l) to share with the rest of the group. Both were a resounding success.<br />
<br />
The Brew Master was happy to know how much I had liked his beers. He's a proper Brew Master, by the way, with several decades in the trade. He started at 15 and spent most of his career at Prazdroj. It shows on the beers.<br />
<br />
I got to the hotel a bit later than agreed. But it didn't matter, everyone was in a good mood, and I was in an even better one, and who wouldn’t be?<br />
<br />
<b><a href="https://www.peckypivovar.cz/pivni-zazitky/pivnice/" target="_blank">Pecký Pivovar</a></b><br />
N 50°42.48400', E 15°43.95328'<br />
Pec pod Sněžkou 124<br />
+420 491 204 141 – info@peckypivovar.czPivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-9125268783281200162018-01-25T08:53:00.000+01:002018-01-25T08:53:34.240+01:00A Philosopher in the League of Extraordinary PissheadsAlthough I understand the value they can have for the brewers (and their marketing people), it’s been my opinion for quite some time that, as far as the experience of the consumer goes, beer competitions, even the most prestigious ones, have fuck-all relevance. My experience judging competitions in the last couple of years (as much fun as they have been) not only has failed to change my views, it has reinforced them.<br />
<br />
There’s one exception, though, <b><a href="http://www.prvnipivniextraliga.cz/" target="_blank">První Pivní Extraliga</a></b>. Unlike other competitions, the samples to be evaluated are not carefully selected (or even specially brewed) and sent by the breweries, they are procured at supermarkets and shops. This means that they may not be very fresh and may have even suffered some sort of abuse or another. In other words, they are beers we actually drink and not an idealised version thereof. The main competition, Světlý Ležák in half-litre glass bottles, also rewards consistency. The winner will have to be successful competing against other nine beers in each of the three rounds that begin in February and finish with the final in November.<br />
<br />
Since its first edition in 2010, the rounds of blind tastings have produced some very surprising results, and the gold has gone to beers many a self-styled connoisseur would not touch with a 10-foot pole. This makes the competition, in my opinion, even more fun to follow. And now I’ll be doing something far better than just following it from the outside.<br />
<br />
Yeah, that’s right. I’ve been asked to join První Pivní Extraliga. Last year’s untimely passing of Rosťa Kloubek left an empty seat and the members of the League thought I’d be a good fit. Needless to say, I’m quite excited and honoured. These people take the competition seriously and Rosťa knew his beer really well (and was much well-liked and now missed figure in the local beer community and among the PPE members).<br />
<br />
Yesterday, at <a href="http://www.prvnipivnitramway.cz/" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">První Pivní Tramway</a>, the venue of the tastings, was the year’s first meeting – <i>ideová konference</i>, as they call it – where I was officially welcome as a member and told about my duties as such. The main point in the agenda was the program for the first half of the year. It’ll be quite busy, but it looks fun.<br />
<br />
I’ll keep you informed.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-12499548249949323852017-10-18T12:38:00.002+02:002017-10-18T12:38:41.514+02:00On Prices and an Impulse PurchaseThere I was the other day, approaching the stand <a href="http://pivochroust.cz/" target="_blank"><b>Letající Chroust</b></a> had at the farmers market in Jiřího z Poděbrad. I was in the kind of good mood you get after having five pints and a fun chat at the pub. My intention was to get some of their Světlý Ležák (Czechs believe that, since we have two legs, you shouldn’t drink in odd numbers and I’m in no position to defy popular wisdom). As the girl as the stand poured it (the beer was really solid, BTW), I noticed a bottle of <b>Černé Cucu</b>, a Barley Wine with black currant Letající Chroust brewed with <a href="http://www.pivovarzichovec.cz/" target="_blank"><b>Pivovar Zichovec</b></a>, and told the girl that I wanted one. <br />
<br />
My heart might have skipped half a beat when I was told the price, 180 CZK, but I was in the kind of good mood you get after having five pints and a fun chat at the pub and I took it. On the way home, however, I wondered whether that wasn’t too much of a 0.75l bottle of domestic beer?<br />
<br />
I know I’ve been nagging a lot about prices lately, but I want to make clear that I have nothing against expensive beer per se. I understand that breweries are businesses that want to maximise their profit and it is undeniable that Craft Pivo is very trendy right now, and since prices will always be as high as the market will allow, brewers (and bars) are doing what’s natural, trying to see how far up they can push the price ceiling, and they can hardly be blamed; I think I would do the same if I were in their position. So, price is not the problem, value is, a highly subjective parameter. In my case, since I’m not a ticker or a novelty chaser, the beer, the beverage itself, must stand on its own two feet and be able to defend its own case, and the higher the price, the harder the beer’s case will be. There’s another factor that I take into account: What else can I get for that same money. To put it into perspective, for 180 CZK I can buy seven bottles of Pardubický Porter, that is 3.5 litres of a great beer with a similar ABV %, and I’ve had some really good domestic wines in the same price range. The thing is that often with expensive beers (or with beers with prices that are higher than their relative production costs would warrant, like <a href="http://www.pivni-filosof.com/2017/10/train-brewery-bus-brewery-bus-2brewery.html" target="_blank">Kellerpils in Továrna</a>) I don’t feel I am getting my money’s worth and I’ve become wary of them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMasZeK4azJA2BX2URAXMmZ2yj-KOttQCS03ufBf1uG5pg8dT_VleXE-TfuSZ6h5eTBpjb4LijWzIU2UVDKQUeleAW76p-A9_hfBumoQ-FGNZX60T2McCN2XBd0LmvnUPPQwcBCoJ6f3ke/s1600/IMG_1649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMasZeK4azJA2BX2URAXMmZ2yj-KOttQCS03ufBf1uG5pg8dT_VleXE-TfuSZ6h5eTBpjb4LijWzIU2UVDKQUeleAW76p-A9_hfBumoQ-FGNZX60T2McCN2XBd0LmvnUPPQwcBCoJ6f3ke/s640/IMG_1649.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
But what about Černé Cucu? I don’t give a hopping fuck about the the unconventional ingredient. Even if they showed me that the use of black currant had such an impact on the costs that the beer could not be sold for lessi I wouldn’t care as that has no effect on the value of my time and money; and for that money, the beer had better be mind-bendingly good not to disappoint. Equipped with a chilled earthenware mug and some nice music I set myself to find the answer in the only possible way.<br />
<br />
Other than its colour appeared to be mahogany as I poured and that the head tan and compact, there’s not much I can tell you about the looks of the beer. I don’t have much to say about the bouquet, either, other than it somewhat reminded me of Manzanilla Sherry or a wood-aged white wine, but don’t take my word for it. The currant is front and centre and it’s clear they haven’t used any syrups or extracts. The tartness of the berries at times threatens to turn sour and fuck everything up, but fortunately they are resting on the ample, bosom of a matronly Barley Wine that effortlessly manages to keep things under control. The finish is long and slightly acidic – it brought memories of some good young red wines I’ve had – and leaves an aftertaste that almost forces you to lift the glass again (or, in my case, the mug), and yet you don’t feel urged to chug it; the base beer has the effect of sitting in a rocking chair by the fire, you want to take it easy. It’s a remarkable contrast that keeps a precarious balance, you almost expect the whole thing to fall apart with every sip – the currant escaping the embrace of the barley wine – which makes the beer quite fun to drink, even a whole bottle of it – especially a whole bottle, I doubt anyone’d be able to appreciate this with only a tasting sample – because nothing ever gets loud.<br />
<br />
There’s no point beating around the bush, Černé Cucu is a great beer through and through. Was it worth the price? Yes, definitely. No regrets about buying it. Would I buy it again? Yeah, maybe. In the right mood I could see myself getting another bottle. Has it changed my views on expensive beers? No. My limited time and current drinking habits have made me prioritise certainty above anything else, which has turned me into a more conservative consumer, and the truth is that, if I’d noticed the price before, I would probably not have bought this beer. Yes, I would have missed on something outstanding, but there’s plenty of that around, and much cheaper, to care.<br />
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Anyway, if you see it around, do give it a go.<br />
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Na Zdraví! Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-55822805563566564902017-10-02T08:57:00.000+02:002017-10-02T08:59:13.129+02:00Train + Brewery + Bus + Brewery + Bus + 2Brewery = Great DayWhen I was blogging for the Prague Post, I wrote a piece about microbreweries outside Prague that could be easily reached by public transport. It included <b>Berounský Medvěd</b>, <b>Starokladenský Pivovar</b> and <b>Antoš Slaný</b>, which, I suggested, could be all visited in one day, without having to travel back forth to Prague. I’d been wanting to do that trip ever since, I even planned it a few times, but, for some reason or another, I had to put it off; until the other day.<br />
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The family was away, I had been able to finish a couple of jobs ahead of schedule and I suddenly found myself with an entire day free! I opened <a href="http://idos.cz/">idos.cz</a> to check bus and train schedules, especially between the three towns, allowing also for a fourth brewery, <b>Továrna</b>, in Slaný. It was very doable; if I started early in Beroun, I could be having the last beer in Slaný by the mid-afternoon. I had a plan.<br />
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I took the S4 train leaving at 9:17 from Hlavní Nádraží. I thought of taking the express train to Pilsen that leaves a few minutes earlier, but I decided against it. It would’ve been faster, yes, but unnecessarily so, as I would arrive before Berounský Medvěd’s opening time (it turned out I was wrong about that, Beroun opens at 9 and not at 10), besides, it was more expensive. My MHD-PID pass covers until the 2nd fare zone outside Prague, which means that the ticket for the S4 would cost me only 18 CZK. On top of that, the S4 does take a slightly more scenic route.<br />
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The train arrived in Beroun with a 20-minute delay. I didn’t mind, I had plenty of time (though the people who had missed a connection didn’t take things so stoically). <br />
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It’d been years since I last was at Berounský Medvěd and it was reassuring to see that hardly anything seemed to have changed (maybe I’m suffering what Borges, in El Aleph, says, that once you’ve reached 40, any change is a detestable symbol of the passage of time). The armoured vehicles were still there and the complex as whole still looked as if Freddy Krueger was lurking in some dark corner. I could also have a look at the wood-fired brewing kit made of scrap metal. In my last visit, I remember, they were fuelling it with old window frames, today they were using pallets.<br />
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The pub inside was exactly as I remembered it, too. It was also almost empty – too early for the lunch crowd, I guess – but it felt right. Not even the crap music from the crap Czech pop radio bothered me too much.<br />
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My spirits were further lifted when I saw the prices of the beer. The most expensive, the 18° Grizzly Porter, was 40 CZK for a half litre; the cheapest, the 8° Cyklopivo, was 20 CZK. I settled for <b>Zlatý Kuň</b>, the house’s Světlá 11° (25 CZK). It wouldn’t call it remarkable, or memorable, but it was very far from mediocrity and it had a bit of a rustic edge that I doubt would go down well at the trendy Craft Pivní Bary of Prague (that would sell it twice the price, maybe), but which paired perfectly with the surroundings.<br />
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For lunch, I chose a deconstructed <i>cmunda po kaplicku</i>. Though the <i>bramboračky</i> needed some more garlic, the smoked pork was top-notch, as was the sauerkraut. Lovely stuff. For dessert, so to speak, I picked the <b>13° Berounský Medvěd Tmavé</b>, which was served way too cold, but had a pleasant mix of chocolate and sweet coffee after it had warmed-up a little.<br />
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There was still more than enough time for a third pint, but, with a 75-minute bus ride awaiting me, I didn’t think it would be a very good idea, which was a pity, because I really fancied a Cyklopivo; I sort of regretted not having one instead of the 11°, in fact (I needn’t have worried, fate would eventually put to rights). Instead, I took a 1.5 l bottle of <b>Klepáček</b>, a 14° Polotmavé (a little rough around the edges, but ultimately nice in a Märzen sort of way), and a 1 l one of <b>Grizzly</b> (lovely and dangerously drinkable) and paid the bill, which was a few CZK short of 300, including the two bottles.<br />
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The bus terminal is next to the train station and my ride to Kladno was leaving at 11:23. I had a book with me to read on the trip, but I don’t think I took out of the bag. After leaving the city behind, the countryside was beautiful and romantic, and I spent the time daydreaming and looking out the window until we entered Kladno.<br />
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The bus dropped me 250 metres from Starokladenský Pivovar, which was good, because I only had half an hour before taking the 608 to Slaný, unless I wanted to stay another hour an half, that is. The stop of that bus was, fortunately, only 100 metres from the brewpub.<br />
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Since the smoking ban at pubs, cafés and restaurants took effect at the end of last May – and, in some cases, last December, when the EET (electronic records of sales) came into effect – some places became ‘private clubs’ to circumvent the regulations. Starokladenský Pivovar is one of those places, and the pub has changed it name to ‘<i>Spolek přátel Kladna a dobrého piva</i>’ (the Association of Friends of Kladno and Good Beer). To make things official, at the entrance is a machine similar to those you get the numbers from at the bank or a public office that issues single-day membership cards (or tickets, to be more precise).<br />
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Much to my surprise, when I walked in none of the 10 patrons was smoking. I perched at the bar and ordered a pint of <b>Starokladno 10.8°</b>. I don’t like curvy Desítky, I find them wrong, but this one is an exception. I don’t really know what it is that this one does right that the other ones miss; it might be the centre of gravity is closer to the top than to the bottom, or the hops that balance it better.<br />
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There’s also something about the place, this spacious drunkshop, that I find really appealing that I cannot quite put my finger on. Maybe is the civility of patrons and the staff (though I’ve no idea what it must be like during the evening), or maybe it’s the prices. Starokladno is 18.50 CZK a pint and the Tmavý, 12.8°, <b>Černý Havíř</b>, the second beer I had, is 25.5 CZK. It, by the way, was similar to the one in Beroun, a bit thinner perhaps.<br />
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I wouldn’t have minded knocking down another three or four Desítky, but the 608 was leaving at 13:14 and, if I wanted everything to work out as planned, staying for another hour and a half was not an option.<br />
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The trip to Slaný took just 30 minutes. It was raining when I got off at the bus terminal and I realised that I had left my jacket in Beroun. There was nothing I could do about that, other than chastise myself, and instead I focused on remembering the way to Továrna.<br />
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There’s nothing I can add about the place from <a href="http://www.pivni-filosof.com/2016/09/a-beer-run-in-slany.html" target="_blank">my visit last year</a>, only that I found <b>Továrenská 10°</b> much improved. Like it’s two degree bigger sibling, <b>Kruták</b>, it checked all the possible boxes for the style, and then some.<br />
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Feeling a bit peckish. I ordered <i>grundle</i>, or <i>cornalitos</i>, as we call them in the Old Land. The little fried fish are a great beer snack and I enjoyed them to their last head and tail – the salad they were served with wasn’t bad, either.<br />
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I was in that merry mood you get when, forgotten jacket notwithstanding, everything had worked out as planned and you’ve had good beers and good food, at nice places – or at least, colourful ones – and I still had plenty of time left, not only for the last pub – which I knew would not disappoint – but to have another beer here at Továrna. I couldn’t be arsed with the overpriced and undersized IPA of the house, nor did I want the dark, so asked the waitress what else they had, hoping it would be the Quadruple, a bottle of which I had really enjoyed a few days before at home. No such thing. The waitress told me they had a <b>Kellerpils</b>. Not what I was hoping for, but far, very far from bad. I ordered one.<br />
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In hindsight, I should’ve figured that there was something wrong when the waitress didn’t ask what size I wanted.<br />
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Kellerpils is served in 0.4l portions that cost that cost 1 CZK more than a Velká Dvanáctka. Fuck these bollocks already! Am I supposed to believe that this 13° Pale Lager costs almost 30% to produce than the 12° Pale Lager, which, as if to further my point, is sold at the same price as the 10° Pale Lager? Even if I was wrong, why the fuck can’t they serve it in a full portion? What are they afraid of, that people won’t want to pay 45 CZK for it, or that they would think that the difference is not worth it? That is, by the way, what I thought, good beer, but not worth the price difference.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwii7F4UqslJ42eON23RRnbkZaYKLyXxPpvLmbTEdIMu_3hACqvq8nIPZp6uDQ7ZI7bKInWRbmhjEbpoZ3vdYR5mHp3oqZHDWcgw42Asg7GITzji6IC2GktDtD8KxNhgRvPpiezRm-99Hg/s1600/IMG_1621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwii7F4UqslJ42eON23RRnbkZaYKLyXxPpvLmbTEdIMu_3hACqvq8nIPZp6uDQ7ZI7bKInWRbmhjEbpoZ3vdYR5mHp3oqZHDWcgw42Asg7GITzji6IC2GktDtD8KxNhgRvPpiezRm-99Hg/s640/IMG_1621.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
This kind of bullshit pricing policy seems to be a Slaný thing. I found something similar at Antoš, where house’s Pšenka 11 costs 41 CZK and the Amber Ale 14, 43 CZK, both for 0.4l, while a half litre of the Polotmavá 13 goes for 33 CZK. I wish someone could give me a good reason for this. <br />
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They need not bother. The reason was sitting at the table right next to mine. Two blokes in their mid-to-late twenties were going through the less ‘traditional’ entries in the beer list, not caring too much, apparently, about the bullshit prices, and quite happy with what they were drinking.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahNOwXtFbXuiOuOt1ql1PpbUqOwgmBINV0ep_iEgAlfC66bVIzVym0y1q0jV5_LaDE32jt_WUPji7Q0WHrDKh8mQwq774ZzL4OiAaPQdL19L9FZG3DPvKj0ToGYSOVct39BpinBn_bg-N/s1600/IMG_1622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahNOwXtFbXuiOuOt1ql1PpbUqOwgmBINV0ep_iEgAlfC66bVIzVym0y1q0jV5_LaDE32jt_WUPji7Q0WHrDKh8mQwq774ZzL4OiAaPQdL19L9FZG3DPvKj0ToGYSOVct39BpinBn_bg-N/s640/IMG_1622.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
But I wasn’t going to let some price gouging to ruin the nice day I was having. After all, I don’t need to buy anything I believe is overpriced, nor am I chasing badges in Untappd. Besides, Antoš does have reasonably priced beers and, to be honest, I was also happy with what I was drinking. <b>Rarach 10 </b>is still great and so is the aforementioned <b>Polotmavé 13</b>. I had no complaints either about the snack I got (I was hungry again!), <i>pečené hovězí dršťky s klobásou</i> – tripe with sausage – served in a spicy sauce. Lovely stuff! Add some beans and you get a perfect <i>mondongo</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Jg4oqvhwCz3MUiDNT4Jsy7sgemjKzl4w9L5eiOtGYXtDt_-APkajuQ5b_jmFF6ujOnC-FmgWEDkONMEQiH9q0DPQvphqT3qY-a_Jf-47HmAD1CBlvkSMToBuYn3Fl3Z0uhXe28NlwmJQ/s1600/IMG_1625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Jg4oqvhwCz3MUiDNT4Jsy7sgemjKzl4w9L5eiOtGYXtDt_-APkajuQ5b_jmFF6ujOnC-FmgWEDkONMEQiH9q0DPQvphqT3qY-a_Jf-47HmAD1CBlvkSMToBuYn3Fl3Z0uhXe28NlwmJQ/s640/IMG_1625.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
I ended up engaging in conversation with those two guys. We discussed the merits of the made-for-TV adaptation of Stephen King’s IT from the early ‘90s. They thought it was very good. I believe that, save for Tim Curry’s performance as Pennywise, it was disappointing to say the least. They were yet to see the new adaptation (I refuse to call it remake), which I think is very good; the casting of the kids was spot-on and Skarsgård’s Pennywise was scary as fuck.<br />
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Before I knew it, my time in Slaný was up. I couldn’t get that third beer I was thinking of because I had to catch the bus back home. Yeah, straight home, without going through Prague. Since late August, there’s a new bus line – 456 – between Slaný and Libčice nad Vltavou and it stops in my village. I was back home at around 5 PM, feeling I had accomplished something important. You should try it, too. But don’t bother coming here, go straight to Prague.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!<br />
<br />
PS: I went back to Beroun the day after to get my jacket (not only I like it, but it is a birthday present from my wife and I would hate to loose it). I took again the 9.17 S4. It arrived with only a 5 minute delay, which left me enough time to have a <b>Cyklopivo</b>, well, two, before taking the train back. What a magnificent beer! I won’t debase it with tasting notes, suffice to say that anyone who likes beers made for drinking, will love it. In fact, all the three Osmičky I had this summer were excellent (the other two are from Hendrych and Únětice), but Beroun’s is, in my opinion, the best. I should go to Berounský Medvěd more often, really.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.berounskymedved.com/" target="_blank"><b>Berounský Medvěd</b></a> <br />
49°57'23.447"N, 14°4'18.365"E<br />
Tyršova 135 – Beroun<br />
+420 728 325 809<br />
Mon-Thu: 09-22, Fri: 09-23, Sat: 10-23 Sun: 10-22<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.starokladno.cz/" target="_blank"><b>Starokladenský Pivovar</b></a> <br />
50°8‘49.266"N, 14°6‘11.76"E<br />
Československé armády 3230 - Kladno<br />
+420 312 240 660 – starokladno@starokladno.cz<br />
Mon-Wed: 06-24, Thu-Sat: 06-02 Sun: 06-24<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tovarnaslany.cz/" target="_blank"><b>Továrna Slaný</b></a> <br />
50°13'43.028"N, 14°4'40.694"E<br />
Wilsonová 689 – Slaný<br />
info@tovarnaslany.cz – +420 312 522 822<br />
Mon-Thu, Sun: 11-22, Fri-Sat: 11-23<br />
<br />
<a href="http://antosovakrcma.cz/" target="_blank"><b>Pivovar Antoš</b></a> <br />
50°13'47.938"N, 14°5'19.052"E<br />
Vinařického 14 – Slaný<br />
kontakt@antosovakrcma.cz – +420 731 413 711<br />
Mon-Thu: 11-23, Fri-Sat: 11-24, Sun: 11-22Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-62793789148791275712017-08-10T09:00:00.000+02:002018-10-21T08:26:53.569+02:00Patented MusingsA couple of months ago, some of the beer personalities I follow on Facebook shared and urged to sign this <a href="https://act.wemove.eu/campaigns/no-patents-on-beer-uk?utm_campaign=snfUAC4rHg" target="_blank">petition against Patents on Beer and Barley</a>. The text raised a couple red flags that made me doubt the claims of the initiators the petition and prompted me to look further. <br />
<br />
The first that thing bothered me was the use of “greedy corporations” to describe Heineken and Carlsberg (H&C), the owners of the patents. Regardless of what you or I may think about these companies and other large corporations, I’ve come to associate this language with people who will not appeal to rational and fact-based arguments to get the public on their side, but to our emotions and natural confirmation bias. That wouldn’t have been such a problem, if the whole text of the petition wasn’t so disingenuous. They say:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 75%;">Barley, brewing and beer are all old and well known traditions, which anybody can use. Nevertheless the European Patent Office (EPO) has granted patents to Heineken and Carlsberg for regularly bred barley. With the patent these transnational corporations own the barley from the seed to the pint of beer.</span></blockquote>
The truth is, however, that H&C haven’t patented barley or beer as whole, as the text seems to imply, but a very specific cultivar of the former that they have developed, and the products made from it.<br />
<br />
Food or crop patents are nothing new, they’ve been around since the 1930s, well before GMOs were invented, and are quite normal, even in the brewing industry. Most of the new hop breeds that have become so popular and trendy are either patented or trademarked, and I don’t see anyone complaining about that.<br />
<br />
Some years ago I visited the Hop Research Institute in Žatec, or, to use the company name as is listed in the appropriate Business Register, Chmelařský institut s.r.o. At the time, Kazbek was the latest cultivar they had developed. If I recall correctly, it’s a cross-breed of ŽPČ (Saaz, for friends) and a wild strain from the Caucasus or the Urals that took years to develop. That is the reason why I’ve no problem with patents on crops: it takes a lot of time, effort, and money to develop them and I think it’s fair and reasonable that companies will want a return on that investment. Patents are a way to at least guarantee that nobody will freeload on their work for the duration of the patent, which is not permanent.<br />
<br />
In the case of the H&C barley, it will be like Kazbek, Mosaic or Citra, just another cultivar on the market. There is nothing preventing farmers, maltsters and brewers to keep on growing, processing and brewing with the many other cultivars available. Czech malthouses, for instance, work with up to nine cultivars every season, which they process separately as each will produce malt with different properties. If we don’t have any problem with patented and trademarked hops, why should it be any different with the barley?<br />
<br />
The most contentious issue begins with the way the new cultivar was developed: <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mutagenesis_(molecular_biology_technique)#Random_mutagenesis" target="_blank">random mutagenesis,</a> a genetic engineering technique used by both conventional and organic farming, which is a grey area in patent law. Some people believe that, since the mutation could eventually occur naturally, it should not be eligible for a patent. But, as <a href="https://www.craftbrewingbusiness.com/featured/world-beer-craft-carlsberg-heinekens-barley-patents-legal/" target="_blank">this page explains</a>, H&C actively fostered the mutations; they didn’t throw seeds around to see what would happen. It could be said, therefore, that it is an invention that should be protected by a patent if its inventor so wishes.<br />
<br />
But that’s not the end of it. The patents don’t only grant H&C a monopoly only on the barley and the products derived from it, but also on the trait that makes that barley unique, a reduced lipoxygenase activity. Provided this is correct, it means that if someone else developed, through different means, a cultivar with the same traits, they would have to pay H&C a license, likewise if that mutation appeared naturally and someone wanted to commercialise the seeds. <br />
<br />
I’m on the fence here, I can see the merits of both sides of the argument, but I don’t have enough information to form an opinion one way or another. I would welcome it, of course.<br />
<br />
But that doesn’t seem to be the case here, Carslberg has issued <a href="https://www.just-drinks.com/news/carlsberg-hits-back-at-anti-patent-pressure-group-letter_id121816.aspx" target="_blank">a statement</a> claiming that “the patents are not for the barley but for the techniques used in their development”. And yet, patent <a href="https://www.google.com/patents/EP2384110A2?cl=en" target="_blank">EP 2384110 A2</a> is for Barley with reduced lipoxygenase activity and beverage prepared therefrom, and patent <a href="https://encrypted.google.com/patents/EP2373154B1?cl=en" target="_blank">EP 2373154 B1</a> is for Barley and malt-derived beverages with low dimethyl sulfide level. So, I don’t know.<br />
<br />
In any case, this is old news. The patents were granted last year and the petition is still a fairly long way from the 200,000 signature threshold, which, in my opinion, serves them right.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-48668442612527777622017-08-07T09:09:00.000+02:002017-08-07T09:09:35.436+02:00A Family Trip to South Bohemia (II)We drove straight to Český Krumlov after the missus, happy with the way her meeting had turned out, picked us up <a href="http://www.pivni-filosof.com/2017/07/a-family-trip-to-south-bohemia-i.html" target="_blank">in Prachatice</a> and we arrived at the hotel shortly before five. <br />
<br />
After checking-in and checking our e-mails, we headed to the centre walking up the lane that went past the hotel. It led us to one of the back entrances of the palace gardens, which was very convenient since the way would go all downhill from there (in the most literal sense). <br />
<br />
The gardens are gorgeous, and were quite empty. It wouldn’t be until we were getting to the buildings of the palace proper that we started seeing more tourists. It wasn’t as bad as I had feared, fortunately. Perhaps the day-tripping herds were already back on their buses. <br />
<br />
It was in the palace complex where the first beer in Krumlov was had, more specifically, at <b>Občerstvení na Vyhlídce</b>, a kiosk on one of the lookouts to the city. It was <b>Eggenberg 10°</b>. Very good, it wasn’t, but it did the job. What I would like to know for sure is if it is brewed locally or still in Pardubice. <br />
<br />
<b>Pivovar Eggenberg</b> has had a fairly colourful last quarter of a century. When it was privatised in 1991, it was bought for a very low price by Frantíšek Mrázek, a controversial entrepreneur (as <a href="https://cs.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franti%C5%A1ek_Mr%C3%A1zek" target="_blank">his Czech Wikipedia page</a> euphemistically puts it), who would be murdered in 2006. The company was tunnelled (I love the Czech term of asset stripping—vytunelovat), changed owners several times and the court hearing the fraud case against one of the previous owners ordered to stop brewing. In 2015, it was bought by the owner of Pivovar Perštejn, in Pardubice, where production was shifted until some necessary renovations were completed (or the court allowed them to brew again?). According to <a href="http://ceskepivo-ceskezlato.cz/pivovary.php?pid=Eggenberg2&on=o" target="_blank">this page</a>, production was resumed in late June last year, though <a href="http://www.eggenberg.cz/index.php?page=home&lang=cz" target="_blank">the brewery’s official website</a> warns that there are not tours due to the ongoing renovations. The brewery pub, however, is open, but we didn’t make it there.<br />
<br />
We walked through the palace complex, being amazed at every courtyard, and entered Latrán through the Red Gate. Opposite it, we saw a shop selling gingerbread aptly named <a href="http://www.ceskykrumlovoriginal.com/" target="_blank"><b>Český Perník</b></a>. My daughter, of course, spotted it before anyone and, of course, insisted we go in. (Fun fact, the Czech name of the TV series Breaking Bad was Perníkový Táta, in reference to the street name meth, perník, derived from Pervitín, the name the drug had in Nazi Germany)<br />
<br />
We were greeted by a very friendly lady (sincerely friendly and not the I-must-smile-if-I-want-to-keep-my-job kind of friendly) and the shop inside was lovely. Though displays with gingerbread took most of the premises, as expected, there were other things on sale: artisan chocolates (delicious according to the youngest and the oldest member of the family), honey products, and artisan liqueurs and fruit brandies. No prize for guessing what caught my attention (and the wifey’s). <br />
<br />
There was rack with demijohns fitted with taps to draw tasting samples at 20 CZK a pop. Really good considering that you’d probably pay more per volume for a generic whisk(e)y, or even Fernet, at many places. <br />
<br />
I tasted the black-currant liqueur and my wife, the coffee one. Both amazing. After having a second sample of black-currant, I couldn’t leave without tasting one of the stronger stuff. They had the usual thing: slivovice, hruškovice, meruňkovice… But it was the mrkvovice (carrot brandy) I was most curious about. I never had seen, or even heard of anything like that and I had to have it. <br />
<br />
It was brilliant! Smooth as the maiden’s boobs, with a hint of the greens of the carrot in the nose, while the flavour of the root rolled down with the finish. I was truly impressed.<br />
<br />
I would have stayed for another round of tasting, but the family had other ideas, or rather one: dinner.<br />
<br />
Choosing the place was no problem; we all wanted to go this pub we loved during our last visit six years ago, <b>Krčma U dwau Maryí</b>. It’s almost under the Vnitřní Město side of Lazebnický Most (a.k.a. the Wooden Bridge) and has a charming terrace next to the Vltava. <br />
<br />
The menu is quite interesting in its own way. It features some very traditional Czech dishes that you hardly ever see at restaurants or pubs. I chose one of them, Houbový Kuba (basically, a mushroom pilaf made with pearl barley instead of rice), which was excellent. So was the service. <br />
<br />
I paired the food, and the atmosphere, with <b>Eggenberg Nakouřený Švihák</b>. I can’t remember when was the last time I had it on tap (six years ago, probably?), but it went down really, really well; even my wife, who doesn’t like smoked beers, enjoyed it.<br />
<br />
We wandered aimlessly around the Inner City until we felt it was time to go to bed, but not before stopping somewhere for a nightcap. After some debate, and almost giving up on the idea, we run into <b>Hospoda 99</b> and went in, instantly attracted by the cosy terrace at the end of a narrow alley to the right of Budějovická Brána. We loved the place—its atmosphere, view, service—so much that we decided to have dinner there the day after. <br />
<br />
The pub is attached to a hostel and the menu caters to a young, international crowd; though many of the patrons seemed to be locals (a common sight in Krumlov). The food was superb and even better value. We had four main courses (generous portions all), two deserts, one home-made lemonade, five large beers and one small, and a cup of coffee for a bit over 1200 CZK!<br />
<br />
They had several brands on tap: <b>Pilsner Urquell</b>, <b>Svijanský Máz</b>, <b>Bernard Polotmavý Ležák</b> (in top condition) and a beer from <b>Glockner</b>, a microbrewery from a nearby village. It was their IPA. I have become wary of the IPAs of microbreweries I don’t know (and of some of the breweries I know, too), but I was in a good mood and decided to give it a go. It looked fairly clear, with a bronze tone. The malt base tasted smooth and clean, and fresh. It was the hops what ruined it. I’m no speaking about how much or what kind was used (I wouldn’t mind that, if it is good, I’ve no problem making the style fit the beer), it was their quality. Fortunately, they refrained from going all U-S-A U-S-A! on the recipe, otherwise it would’ve been a wreck like the one at U Lochkově. It was at least drinkable, if you could ignore the subtle supermarket Eidam note, which was very easy, considering the good time we were all having.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.2marie.cz/" target="_blank">Krčma U dwau Maryí</a></b><br />
48°48'41.147"N, 14°18'56.694"E<br />
Parkán 104, Český Krumlov<br />
+420 732 110 233 – info@2marie.cz<br />
Mon-Sun: 11-23<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.hostel99.cz/hospoda-99/" target="_blank">Hospoda 99</a></b><br />
48°48'53.333"N, 14°19'3.939"E<br />
Věžní 99, Český Krumlov<br />
+420 721 750 786<br />
Jun – Aug, daily from 10 AM (Kitchen closes at 11 PM)<br />
Sep – May Daily from 11 AM (Kitchen closes at 10 PM)Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-1076624002585034772017-08-04T18:33:00.000+02:002017-08-04T18:33:41.599+02:00Regarding Today's DateI care about <b>IPA Day</b> as much as I care about any other Marketing Driven Day or Month, which is even less than I care about the results of the Costa Rican Basketball League, but since we're on the topic, there's something I want to tell Czech micro (and not so micro) brewers (which I'm sure applies in other countries, too):<br />
<br />
If for whatever reason you aren't able to procure good-quality, fresh enough hops, don't fucking bother to brew a beer that is supposed to be hop-forward. Sod the fashion and have a go at the dozens of other styles that aren't hop-forward. Everyone without a Pokemon mentality who enjoys <i>drinking</i> good beer instead of going after the latest novelty so they can get another badge in Untappd will be grateful.<br />
<br />
That's it.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-14482639884395552612017-07-27T09:27:00.000+02:002017-07-27T09:27:32.598+02:00A Family Trip to South Bohemia (I)My old man visited us earlier this month. Even before he had booked the tickets, he said he wanted to go see the <b><a href="http://www.stezkakorunamistromu.cz/en/" target="_blank">Treetop Walkway in Lipno</a></b>. <br />
<br />
Finding accommodation wasn’t easy due to the season and the rather short notice. We wanted to stay near the attraction, but most hotels were either fully booked or too expensive. We searched a until we found one in <b>Český Krumlov</b>, which was somewhat further than planned, but we didn’t mind. Our last visit to Krumlov had been six years before and we were looking forward to seeing that charming city again.<br />
<br />
The hotel, <b><a href="http://www.vodotrysk.cz/" target="_blank">Penzion Vodotrysk</a></b>, turned out to good. It’s hidden a couple of hundred metres from a busy road, past a fishpond surrounded by trees, ten minutes by foot to the centre of town. The building looks like it has seen far better days, but the facilities were clean, it was quiet, the staff was very friendly, the breakfast was all right, and the rooms, though without much in terms of luxury, were spacious and comfortable. It was also excellent value, considering the season and the location.<br />
<br />
But the trip proper didn’t begin in Krumlov. <br />
<br />
Taking the opportunity that we were heading to South Bohemia, my wife arranged a meeting related to a project of hers in a village near Prachatice, were she left the three generations of Bahnsons to piss about while she took care of her affairs.<br />
<br />
What a pleasant surprise <b>Prachatice</b> was! The old town comprises a bundle of winding lanes and alleys, once enclosed behind walls, of which a short section and one of the gates have been preserved. It’s dominated by a gorgeous square surrounded by some impressive Renaissance buildings from the city’s golden age, when it was one of the main centres of the <i>“Zlatá Stezka”</i>, an important trade route between Passau and Prague. A great destination for a day trip if you happen to be in the region.<br />
<br />
It also has a microbrewery! <b>Pivovar Prachatice</b>, like the town, was a pleasant surprise. The main entrance is on one of those winding lanes I mentioned earlier and also has a back entrance through the main square. The pub is nicely put together and not too big, but we chose the cozy small courtyard in the back to have our lunch. The food and the service were very good.<br />
<br />
They had three beers on tap. I begun with the 11° Světlý Ležák. It wasn’t much of a looker, murky enough to be considered Craft by some, perhaps. It tasted much better, though. Fresh, vibrant, almost juicy. I think a few more days in the lagering tank would have done no harm, but it was pretty fine as is. Bradáček, the 13° Polotmavý, on the other hand, was a bit weird. It tasted dry and sweet at the same time. Maybe it was the hint of green apple I noticed in the background that sowed discord between those two. In any case, it was drinkable but unenjoyable. I couldn’t have the third, the Weizen, my daughter wouldn’t let me, she wanted to explore the city; and explore we did until the missus came to pick us up.<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.pivovarprachatice.cz/" target="_blank">Pivovar Prachatice</a></b><br />
49°0'43.964"N, 13°59'48.860"E<br />
Horní 174, Prachatice<br />
+420 606 096 994<br />
Mon-Thu: 11-22, Fri: 11-24, Sat: 12-24, Sun: 12-18Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-14046278382799439752017-06-26T11:22:00.000+02:002017-06-26T11:22:28.389+02:00A Saturday StrollMy daughter’s school had its end of the year celebration the other Saturday. The event consists of every class performing a short theatre play. After gladly (and proudly) fulfilling my parental duties, I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day inside a school building and I decided I would leave during the first break. <br />
<br />
Since my wife and daughter wanted to stay, I would have to get home by my own means. I could have got to the bus without much hassle, but it was around midday and I was starving. I didn’t fancy any fast food and the neighbourhood of my daughter’s school is not precisely famous for the abundance and quality of its gastronomic offer. The nearest place I could think of where I would get a proper sit-down meal was <b>Hostinec Nad Šarkou</b>, home of <b>Libocký Pivovar</b>.<br />
<br />
The day’s menu was just what I was needing: unpretentious and unsophisticated Czech pub grub. I ordered <i>telecí řízek s bramborovým salátem</i>. It was fairly large portion of very good food. The schnitzel was perfectly done, tender and it looked it had been fried in a pan. The veal could have used a bit more seasoning, but that’s just a quibble. The potato salad, on the other hand, was a masterpiece. Light on the mayonnaise, with the right level of acidity to balance the meat. Perhaps the best I’ve had a pub or jídelna. <br />
<br />
But I’m sure you’re wondering about the beer. <br />
<br />
I’d been to <b>Libocký Pivovar</b> a number of times and I was never satisfied with their beers. They weren’t shit, they were just… disappointing. They always tasted like wasted potential, that they could brilliant if something was tweaked here or there, or if they had a bit more of this or a bit less of that. When I ordered <b>Chrudoš</b>, their Desítka, I was expecting to be disappointed.<br />
<br />
My expectations were not met. The beer was brilliant! Very pale, clean, fresh, nimble and without a hint of caramelised malts. Not feeling like pushing my luck (I had seen an awful looking, murky amber thing pass by to another table), I ordered a second pint that was just as beautiful.<br />
<br />
For the first time ever, I was leaving Hostinec Nad Šarkou thoroughly content—and stuffed. The weather, which had been iffy in the morning, seemed to have decided on nice and warm and the wind was pushing the last grey clouds. I was in the perfect mood for a walk, and was right opposite the perfect place for such endeavour, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Divok%C3%A1_%C5%A0%C3%A1rka" target="_blank">Divoká Šárka Nature Reserve</a>.<br />
<br />
Divoká Šárka is one of the things that make Prague so special in my books. It’s located about half an hour by tram to the very centre of town, and yet, once you walk past the public swimming pool, it feels so remote. That afternoon, not even the planes from the nearby airport could be heard.<br />
<br />
But that was not the only reason I was happy to be in there. There was one place I’d been wanting to check out for a long time and I was hoping to finally do it today.<br />
<br />
<b>Hostinec Divčí Skok</b> was featured in Evan Rail’s “The Good Beer Guide – Prague & the Czech Republic”. It’s been 10 years since it came out and I’ve wanted to visit this pub since then, but for a variety of reasons never made it. <br />
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It’s named after the rocky hill behind it, which itself is named after one of the events of the legend of the Maidens’s War. It is said that Šárka, one of the main characters, jumped to her death from the top of the hill after having lured Ctirád and his men to a brutal death at the hands of Vlasta, the leader of the rebellion, and her war maidens.<br />
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It’s a proper beer garden, in every sense of the word. It looks almost as if it had been transplanted from Franconia, and in my opinion, it has a nicer atmosphere than Riegrový Sady’s and better views than Letná’s. Surrounded by woods and hills, with no music being played; the only soundtrack, the wind dancing with the trees to the tune of the birds’ songs and the creek running in front. Idillic.<br />
<br />
They have three beers from <b>Svijany</b> on tap, <b>450</b> Světlý Ležák, <b>Kněžna</b> Tmavý Speciál and <b>Weizen</b>, all sold at the very reasonable price of 35 CZK a half litre, and served in glasses.<br />
<br />
I ordered a 450 in the sheltered area by the entrance and picket a table in the ample garden to enjoy the beer and the atmosphere. The latter was fantastic, the former, not so. The beer had a sharp, metallic note in the finish that faded as the mug emptied. I would have to drink something else because there was no way I was staying here for just one.<br />
<br />
Weizen it was then. I can’t remember when was the last time I had it. It must have been when it came out, around the time LIF, the owner Svijany and Rohozec, acquired Primátor from the City of Náchod in a transaction that was controversial to the say the least. Allegedly, the Mayor of Náchod had decided to sell the brewery to LIF before a public tender was called and blatantly ignored a higher bid by Pivovar Holba, who, together with the municipal opposition, took the matter to court. The court decided that the sale, which had been approved by the Municipal Council in fairly tight vote, was not to take effect. The sale took effect regardless, because that’s the way thing sometimes work in this country. I’m not quite sure how the story ended up, but LIF is still owner of Primátor and it was known and public at the time that Svijany Weizen was brewed in Náchod, and not few people, myself included, believed it was Primátor Weizenbier with a different shirt. I don’t know if that was true, or even if this pšenka is still being brewed in Náchod, or in Svijany. In any case, it was of little importance sitting there that lovely afternoon because the beer was splendid; juicy, as if biting a piece of ripe pineapple. I was in a great mood, I had nowhere to be and got another one, and a third. <br />
<br />
I walked the rest of the way to Jenerálka at a leisurely pace, slowly getting lost in my own thoughts. There were more people on the trail now that the sun was fully out but not scorching, but it was far from crowded, and the few cyclists that passed by were of the civilised sort.<br />
<br />
I had time for one last pint before taking the bus. <b>Kozel</b> 11°, at <b>Restaurace Jenerálka</b>. It did the job, no more, nor less. The pub is quite nice, though, especially the shaded part of the patio, in the back. Another place I’ve long wanted to visit, I’d been passing in front of it with the bus almost every day for 15 years! Glad I did, finally. Will have to come back, the food didn’t look too shabby.<br />
<br />
But the last pint of the day was at <b>U Hasičů</b>. When I got off the bus in my village, the weather was simply too nice to go home. I had to stop for a couple of <b>Desítky</b> from <b>Únětice</b>. Delicious, as usual. And had a nice chat with a couple of the locals, too.<br />
<br />
Overall a very fulfilling Saturday.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.nadsarkou.cz/" target="_blank">Hostinec Nad Šarkou – Libocký Pivovar</a></b><br />
50°5'32.920"N, 14°19'26.235"E<br />
Evropská 134 – Prague-Liboc<br />
+420 733 502 600 – nadsarkou@seznam.cz<br />
Mon-Sat: 11-23, Sun: 11-22<br />
Tram: 20 y 26 – Divoká Šářka<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.divciskok.cz/" target="_blank">Hostinec Divčí Skok</a></b><br />
50°5'59.144"N, 14°19'14.559"E<br />
Divoká Šárka 356 – Prague-Liboc<br />
+420 606 760 647 – divciskok@gmail.com<br />
Mon-Fri: 14-20, Sat-Sun: 10-20:30<br />
Walking, just walking<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.restauracejeneralka.cz/" target="_blank">Restaurace Jenerálka</a></b><br />
50°6'28.018"N, 14°21'13.962"E<br />
Horoměřická 2337 – Prague-Dejvice<br />
+420 235 300 142 – estauracejeneralka@seznam.cz<br />
Mon-Fri: 10-23, Sat-Sun: 11-23<br />
Bus: 116, 161, 312, 316, 356 - JenerálkaPivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-43248384857717261652017-06-19T09:17:00.001+02:002017-06-19T18:06:01.173+02:00Catching up with an Old FriendLáďa Veselý is a true Master Brewer with forty years’ experience in the trade. After spending some time in Japan, he became the first Brew Master at Pivovar U Medvíků. That’s where I met him ten years ago, during one of my first visits to that brewpub, at the beginning of my beer philosophising career. <br />
<br />
I can’t remember exactly how our first meeting went. I think I asked him something about the beer I was drinking and Láďa was eager not only to answer my questions, but also to hear my opinion about his product. <br />
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Back then I had more time and fewer responsibilities and I would drop by about once a month to have a chat with him, and sometimes taste one of his new beers. We slowly became friends. Once, I took two Brazilians that were helping put together a brewery in Brazil that would make Czech-inspired beers, or so they claimed. After a couple of rounds, they said they wanted to hire Láďa to show their brewer the ropes and he agreed on the condition that I would go with him as an interpreter. Naturally, nothing came out of it, they were just two blokes with tall tales.<br />
<br />
One day I asked him why he didn’t follow the example of Martin Matuška and set up his own brewery. He said he didn’t have the chops to be a entrepreneur; that he was happy being a brewer. So I was really curious to know what they had done to convince him to become a co-owner at Pivovar Uhříněves, and I was determined to ask him that when the other day I paid him a visit at his new domain. <br />
<br />
The history of <b><a href="http://www.upiva.cz/" target="_blank">Pivovar Uhříněves</a></b> shares some similarities with <a href="http://www.pivni-filosof.com/2016/08/five-years-of-uneticky-pivovar.html" target="_blank">Únětický’s</a>. It was established in the early 18th century in a village outside Prague (Uhříněves wouldn’t become part of the capital until 2001) and in 1949 was nationalised and shut down by the Communist regime. It was a bigger brewery, though—a look at the former malt house makes it clear—and it its peak produced 40,000 hl/year. <br />
<br />
In 1992, the complex was restituted to the family of the legitimate owner, and last brewer, and they would spend the next two decades restoring the buildings that now, besides the brewery, house storage facilities and offices.<br />
<br />
I was impressed by the beers from Uhříněves <a href="http://www.pivni-filosof.com/2016/09/a-beer-run-to-uhrineves.html" target="_blank">when I went to the brewery pub last year</a>, and also in the couple of times I went to <a href="http://www.vinohradskyburgerbar.cz/" target="_blank">their pub in Vinohrady</a> (to pub itself is nothing to write home about, but the beers are served in great condition), so was looking forward to seeing the brewery proper, and catch up with an old friend, too.<br />
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This time I did take the back streets from the train station and I have to say that, away from the main road, Uhříněves doesn’t look like a bad place to live. When I was beginning to think I had got lost when, behind the trees, I spotted the bell tower of the church opposite the brewery restaurant. A minute later I was standing in front of the main entrance to the brewery complex. Láďa came to greet me in the courtyard.<br />
<br />
The new brewery is very modern, and compact. The brewhouse has a 20 hl kit and everything is shiny stainless-steel. It was financed with EU funds and the grant sets pretty strict conditions regarding how many people they must have employed and how much beer they must be producing by a given deadline. They are a bit behind schedule with both. They’ve recently added a tank to expand capacity and they’re studying alternatives to expand it further. Fortunately, space doesn’t seem to be much of an issue.<br />
<br />
As always, Láďa was happy to answer my questions, hear my opinion about the beers and also show me around. There were a couple of interesting surprises. The ample space in the upstairs houses the mill, but it’s mostly used for storage, of everything: malts, glasses, bottles, tools, etc. I noticed the floor was made of metal and before I could ask, Láďa told me that it is actually the coolship of the original brewery. When we went back downstairs, he opened an old door on one side of the fermentation/lagering chamber that lead to the original brewhouse—or the remains thereof. The 100 hl copper mash tun and kettle are still there like antediluvian titans waiting to be awoken. Unfortunately, a restoration like at Černokostelecký Pivovar is out of the question. After almost 80 years of neglect, the equipment that has survived is in a very bad shape and most of it would have to be replaced. But the do have plans. Once they’ve figured out how to make the room safe for occupancy again (the wooden ceiling is literally falling apart), they want to turn it into a taproom. Until then, they will have to make do with the gift shop that should be opening in the coming months, where, besides branded merchandising and bottled beer, there will be at least one tap.<br />
<br />
We didn’t only talk about beer, of course, but also about life in general: family, homes, work; we shared anecdotes, all while Láďa relentlessly filled my mug with 14° Světlý Speciál. It was like being with a mate at the pub, only that the beer didn’t come from a tap or cask, but straight from a lagering tank.<br />
<br />
Ah, yeah! How they talked him into this. <br />
<br />
It was a chance encounter, he told me. He was in Uhříněves for the theatre and noticed the chimney of the kiln after parking his car. He went in that direction to have a closer look and, while he was standing by the main entrance, a man appeared and asked him if he could help him. Láďa said he was only looking at the old brewery and added that it would be great if someone would “resurrect” it. <br />
<br />
That man turned out to be the owner of the facility, the son of the last brewer of Uhříněves, who at the time was the deputy mayor of the town (now he’s the mayor). They talked for a bit, exchanged telephone numbers and, a couple of weeks later, Láďa was invited to a meeting at the offices of the Municipal Authority to discuss the possible (and eventual) resurrection of the brewery. The rest is history, or rather, the present, and the future.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-6128545146606063672017-06-12T08:55:00.001+02:002017-06-12T10:37:07.127+02:00Back to the Roots Reviews: Loď PivovarContrary to my policy of letting a new brewery lager for at least six months before giving them a go, I went to the (at the moment) newest microbrewery in Prague, <a href="http://www.pivolod.cz/v2.0/" target="_blank">Loď Pivovar</a>. A few people who know beer insisted I should give it a chance and the other day, not having anything better to do, I decided to follow their advice.<br />
<br />
It opened last February, but it would take them another month or so to have their own beers on tap (a common occurrence at not few brewpubs lately). But I think I first heard about this brewery back in 2015—it was supposed to open in autumn that year, if I recall correctly—then it went off the radar and I thought that it was another one of those projects that reality punches in the face. It wasn’t. Word got out again some time last year, that the boat would arrive in Prague in autumn, and then in December… For what I’ve heard, they ran into technical issues, apparently, something to do with water treatment (as you may imagine, boats can’t dump untreated waste water into the river, and breweries tend to generate quite a bit of that).<br />
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The boat is moored on the right bank of the Vltava, not in the really popular Náplavka, between the Dancing House and the railway bridge, but further down the river, almost below Štéfanikův Most. At the moment of my visit, two decks were open, with work in progress on the roof-top terrace. <br />
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If you come just, or mainly for the beer, you’re advised to ignore the upper-deck with the restaurant, not because there’s anything inherently wrong with, but because beers are served in 0.4l portions. Go downstairs instead, to the pivníce, where beers cost the same but come in proper, half-litre sizes. <br />
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It is nice down there, really. There’s not much of a decoration to speak of and you don’t get the any views of Old Prague, but the windows are almost at water level and watching boat traffic passing by more than makes up for it. You’re also surrounded by the fermentation and lagering tanks (the brewing kit is upstairs); the effect is rather welcoming. The only detail that doesn’t quite fit are the two large TVs in opposite corners of the room, but they had them muted when I was there and they were easy to ignore.<br />
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The beers are also reasonably priced given the location, with an average of about 40 CZK per half litre for the three full-time brews. But are they any good?<br />
<br />
<b>Legie</b>, the house’s Desítka was my first. It was excellent! It was everything you’d want from the style: clean, thirst-quenching, mild-flavoured but not boring; the kind of beer that makes you happy to be alive and also wonder why would anyone want to drink an Imperial Passionfruit Grätzer (or whatever the flavour of the week is now) and not this; quite similar to Únětice’s, to be honest, which is not surprise given that the brewer trained under Honza Lumbert, Brew Master at Únětice. It was so good I had to have another one.<br />
<br />
I really appreciate when a microbrewery makes a good Desítka. There are many that don’t bother with it. It doesn’t pay off, I’ve been told. The difference in production cost with a Světlý Ležák is almost zero and owners feel that there aren’t enough people willing to dole out the price they would warrant, and not few of them prefer to make a 11° instead. The owners of Loď Pivovar, though, shrugged off that problem and charge 37 CZK for a half litre, 2 CZK less than <b>Republika</b>, their 12°, which was the next beer.<br />
<br />
It looked, smelled and tasted like Legie, a tiny bit fuller, perhaps, but it was hard to find a real difference. Maybe a pinch more of Saaz wouldn’t have hurt. I still enjoyed it, but I was left wondering whether they hadn’t served me the same beer as before. I guess I will have to go again to make sure.<br />
<br />
So far, so good. I was very happy what I had drunk so far, but…<br />
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<b>Monarchie</b> is the name of the 13° Tmavé. It starts really nice, with a full mouth of fancy strong filter coffee with some chocolate dissolved in it, but after a few swigs it all becomes inexplicably dull, as if someone had watered down the coffee while you weren’t looking, and by the end of the mug I felt I was drinking it as some kind of contractual obligation. Another example of why a tasting sample is not enough to properly evaluate a beer beyond the purely technical.<br />
<br />
To wrap my visit I chose <b>Remorkér</b>, another 12° Světlý Ležák. The pricing was bullshit. Republika’s is 39 CZK, this one was 52 CZK for a beer in the same category and style, but with a different blend of hops and malt bill. I bet the Kazbek hops are pricier than the ŽPČ, but not to the point of increasing production costs by 30%. That wouldn’t have been such an issue if the beer’d been good. It wasn’t. It tasted like an ungodly blend of lettuce, artificial honey flavouring and old hops. Awful, really. There was also a Weizen on tap, but I skipped it, I had more drinking to do that day.<br />
<br />
The last two stumbles notwithstanding, the balance is positive. I really liked the place, the setting and the atmosphere it generates, and I truly loved that Desítka, which all by itself is enough to make me want to go again, and again. Let’s just hope that consistency won’t be an issue.<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.pivolod.cz/v2.0/" target="_blank"><b>Loď Pivovar</b></a><br />
Dvořákovo nábřeží – Štefánikův most – Kotviště číslo 19<br />
50°5'36.381"N, 14°25'36.018"E<br />
+420 773 778 788 – rezervace@pivolod.cz<br />
Sun-Thu: 11:30 – 23, Fri-Sat: 11:30 – 24Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5042627331437123482.post-19043128607500988372017-05-30T10:56:00.000+02:002017-11-22T22:23:13.329+01:00Behind the Beery HeadlinesRemember a few weeks ago when several media outlets reported that, according to a study, beer was better pain reliever than Paracetamol? <a href="https://vinepair.com/booze-news/beer-better-pain-reliever-than-tylenol/" target="_blank">Like this one</a>.<br />
<br />
Well, I found <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/27919773" target="_blank">the study they refer to</a>. It’s more than just a study, it’s a systematic review and meta analysis of a number of other studies (basically, the highest level of scientific evidence), and it is quite interesting.<br />
<br />
What the headlines (though not all the articles) forgot to mention is that it’s not beer itself that is a good analgesic, but alcohol. The headlines could’ve said that Tuzemák is a good pain reliever and they wouldn’t be lying, either. It could be said that Tuzemák is an even better pain reliever than beer, because it’s got a much higher ABV, or at least one that would act quicker. According to the abstract of the meta analysis, the higher the BAC (blood alcohol content), the less pain you’ll feel, which should come as a surprise to nobody.<br />
<br />
An that is where the problem with the media reporting really starts, as, quoting the study’s perspective:<br />
<blockquote><i><span style="font-size: 60%;">This meta-analysis provides robust evidence for the analgesic properties of alcohol, which could potentially contribute to alcohol misuse in pain patients. Strongest analgesia occurs for alcohol levels exceeding World Health Organization guidelines for low-risk drinking and suggests raising awareness of alternative, less harmful pain interventions to vulnerable patients may be beneficial.</span></i></blockquote>That’s quite a massive caveat that I don’t remember seeing in any of the articles I’ve read. Yeah, many, if not most, repeat the mandatory mantra of “drinking with moderation”, but fail to mention that important conclusion of the study.<br />
<br />
I’ll be the first one to say that I probably drink more than I should, and I believe that to be the case with many (if not most) people involved in beer, or booze in general, but I draw the line at drinking as a solution to a discomfort, be it physical or spiritual. That’s why I find this reporting in particular to be almost irresponsible. Anyone who’s ever suffered real, intense pain for more than a couple of hours knows how horrible it is. But pain is only a symptom and sometimes it can be next to impossible to determine the cause, which may even be psychological, and yet, these media outlets are recommending a known addictive substance to somehow solve it. <br />
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I’m really quite tired of this “beer is healthy” bullshit and I wish beer writers, reporters and bloggers, as well as people with beer related social media accounts would stop spreading it. In fact, we should perhaps condemn it more vehemently, especially when it comes from industry commissioned studies not subject to peer-review (not the case with this one, but see how it was reported). Yes, beer does have some stuff that is good for your health, there are those vitamins and shit, but if you eat well (as in a balanced diet), you are getting enough of them vitamins and shit and you don’t need any beer to complement it; and really, who the fuck need such a shit-ass excuse to go for a pint?<br />
<br />
Na Zdraví!Pivní Filosofhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17883511608403454943noreply@blogger.com2