"When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life..."

I’ve kind of been putting off writing about my beer experience in London.  To be honest, I simply went with the flow. Of course I took plenty of mental notes, but I guess I didn’t want to seem uncouth sitting in the pub scribbling. I did sniff, I did swirl, I did look at the pint, but I opted to do it a bit more covertly.  This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy myself, I did indeed, I guess I simply wanted to allow the beer and pub culture to wash over me instead of aggressively attacking it as I am apt to do.  Ultimately, I think I may have had a better time because of it.

My flight from Boston had a brief layover in Shannon, Ireland, just enough time for me to have a Guinness. I’ve heard from almost everyone who has ever had a Guinness in Ireland that it is a thousand times better than the Guinness we get in the US, so I was eager to test it out. It was morning in Ireland, but it was still quite late in Boston, so I justified my purchase by considering that somewhere in Boston a pint of Guinness was being poured at the same time as mine.

I’ve always been a firm believer that the enjoyment of something is directly related to where, when and how, so when I tell you that I thought the Guinness I had at the Shannon Airport DID taste better than anything I’ve had in the states, please understand that my anticipation, the fact that I was on vacation and the fact that I was in Ireland are all direct contributors to my enjoyment of the beer. It was a perfectly poured pint with just enough creamy foam on top. I savored it while I waited for my connecting flight to Heathrow.

The flight from Shannon to London was short and before I knew it I was on the train to the heart of London. I had quite a pack on my back as I hustled across Hyde Park towards Paddington and my hotel.  After getting somewhat lost I finally managed to find my hotel, which was conveniently located across the street for The Mitre pub, a venue I would visit frequently over the next few days.

As excited as I was to have a pint, I was much more excited to see the city. The plan was to forgo a Tube pass the first week since I’d be travelling to Paris in a few days. I zigzagged my way across London from Wellington Arch to SoHo and back again.  I was very tired, I had not slept very well on the flight and I was looking forward to an early first night. I ended up back at The Mitre, a Young’s Pub, where I got a freshly drawn pint of their Bitter and a plate of fish and chips. I enjoyed a couple other Young’s specialties including Young’s Double Chocolate Stout on nitro, smooth, creamy, chocolaty and a great end to a very long day.

I spent the next day visiting sights and popping into a pub here and there. Unfortunately, I happened to be in London at the time of the World Cup.  Many pubs would become frenzied at game time (which seemed like almost all the time).  Being an American, I have little interest in European football, so I sought refuge in a few “football free” pubs, a Godsend if I’m being honest. Fuller’s seemed to have a couple of these pubs scattered around the city and I had no problem popping in to get out of the sun (yes, there is sun in England), especially when I could find Fuller’s London Porter on cask—a beer I have enjoyed numerous times in bottles and on draught in the US—a revelation from a cask, however.

If you’ve been reading this blog, you’ll know that I headed off to Paris and that when I returned I was in classes for the good part of a week.  We had a few scheduled half days and of course we had the evenings free.  I made the best of these by visiting the British Museum, the National Gallery and strolling the street and along the banks of the Thames. I saw a lovely production of Macbeth as a member of the groundlings at The Globe and a stunning production of The Tempest at the Old Vic.

Near the end of the week I planned to meet up with my friend Alex for a proper British pub-crawl. I had mapped out a plan of attack, starting at what would become my favorite pub in the city. Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese is just off Fleet Street and a stone’s throw from St. Paul’s Cathedral. Rebuilt in 1667 after London’s Great Fire, this classic English pub is full of charm and character. With sawdust on the floor and a vaulted, whitewashed basement bar, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese serves up one of the best (and most inexpensive) pints of Samuel Smith’s Bitter in the city. Samuel Johnson was famous for having frequented Ye Cheese (and I mean frequented) as well as a host of other world-renowned literary figures. It was difficult for us not to spend the entire pub-crawl at this one location, but we moved on.  After a number of notable stops, we ended up at a pub near the Houses of Parliament drinking with a group of Australians.  Before too long it was time to pack it in and get some sleep, besides, the pub was closing!  We said goodnight to the Australians and jumped in a cab. As I walked through South Kensington it began to drizzle slightly.  The cool rain was refreshing as I made my way back to the dorms where I fell quickly to sleep.

I returned to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese the next day after picking up some tea for Amanda at Twinings and walking around Trafalgar Square. As I sipped a wonderfully drinkable nitro-Stout from Samuel Smith, I realized that this would not be the last time I would visit London.  As a fellow patron of Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese once said, “when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life,” I’ll certainly drink to that.

In the Land of Wine and Cheese

In June of 2010, I travelled to London for a class in Comparative Cultural Policy and Administration at Boston University’s London campus. As exciting as that sounds (and believe me it was!) this trip also afforded me the opportunity to see a little bit of Europe. The class was to meet for one week, so I booked my ticket to arrive one week before so I could take the train to the continent.

I had the choice to either visit Brussels or Paris via EuroStar and while the choice may have appeared easy, it was not. The problem was that the class had an excursion scheduled towards the end of the week in London to visit Boston University’s campus in Brussels, so I would be travelling to Belgium later in the trip. I knew I wasn’t going to get a lot of time to spend in Brussels during that visit, but I figured it was enough to keep me satisfied, so I opted to visit the land of wine and cheese for two days.

Those two days in Paris were beautiful. I’ve told Amanda a dozen times that the only thing that would have made it better would have been her company…

Of course I visited the major tourist sites, I walked up the Eiffel Tower, did a quick loop around Notre Dame and shuffled along corridors of beautiful paintings at the Louvre. My favorite moments were simply wandering around the streets and alleys finding places to purchase bread with the only French phrase I had memorized, “une baguette s'il vous plait.”

I managed to find a few beer bars with some decent Belgian beer on tap and I even stumbled upon an expatriate Scottish pub with Belhaven on draught, but of course this was not Brussels.

On my last evening I had a lovely meal along a busy back alley and enjoyed plenty of crisp white wine with the meal as a small cat circled my table trying to nibble the crumbs that had fallen off my plate. I strolled back to my hotel, a lovely old place near the banks of the Seine and within earshot of Notre Dame’s blessed bells. I set my travel alarm to catch the train the next day and fell asleep to the sounds of the city just outside my open window.

The next morning I packed my belongings and headed to the train station. As I walked passed the Pompidou Centre down another small side street, I noticed a shop with Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in the window! I quickly popped my head inside and was greeted by the shopkeep who, after my clumsy exchange, asked if I wanted to speak to him in English—I guess I didn’t blend in too well. Simon was very interested in American beer and I was very interested in what the French were brewing and we chatted as I browsed his selection.

La Caves à Bulles was filled with artisanal beers from all around France as well as an ample selection of Belgian beers—I was quite overwhelmed by the selection. I asked Simon if he wouldn’t mind picking five or six beers that were his personal favorites for me to take back to London to sample. It was a shame that I hadn’t found this shop on my first day in Paris, but I wasn’t exactly looking for beer and I didn’t even know that France had such a burgeoning beer scene. I left the shop with a handful of delightfully obscure beers and I made my way to Garde du Nord to catch the EuroStar back to London.

When I got back to London I was very eager to give the beers a try. My favorite of the bunch was a beer from La Brasserie de Fleurac. Fleurac La Triple Brune IPA poured a dark brown with an appropriate café au lait colored head. Deep, rich, earthy hop aromas mingled with hints of toasted and roasted malt and some cocoa notes. Nice hop balance in the flavor with pine and earthy undertones and the accenting flavors of dark malt. The other beers were as expertly selected as the next. Simon certainly knew his beers and made sure I left his shop with the finest examples of artisanal French brewing.

I’m still amazed that I stumbled upon those beers completely by accident and that they were so fantastic—sometimes you find the best beers when you’re not even looking. The next time I’m in Paris, La Caves à Bulles will definitely be one of my first stops.

I did finally manage to make it to Brussels, but the time spent there was all too brief. Sometimes I think I should have chosen to spend my time there instead of Paris, but seriously, who gives up the chance to go to Paris? And I also remind myself of that little bottle shop a few blocks back from the Seine and the amazing beer I found there. The choice was easy.