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Breweries — it’s beer and it’s brewed here
Sharp’s let the good times roll in the village of Rock and then nip over to Padstow… Take a trip to the brewery at Sharp’s, a febrile and fast-growing business comfortably at home in the village of Rock, a place that takes its place in the pages of tabloid shame as the place where the well-bred go to ill behave. Across the mouth of the River Camel from Padstow I and others go, a short ferry’s ride, shorter still when the tide is out. Vast expanse of golden sand stretches aside the ever widening waters; to the northwest where the open sea waits to embrace the Camel, waves break and foam over the Doom Bar — a place of wreck and toil; but also a name for the bar-friendly Doom Bar, Sharp’s signature beer (see it: amber in colour; taste it: dry biscuity chewiness embracing sweetish citrus marmalade on the palate, quick finish, easy to drink). At the brewery, an industrial estate far removed from the romance of brewing that was once encapsulated by the likes of Young’s, Morrell’s and Ridley’s — Victorian towers, stately homes of industry, nooks and crannies amongst the coppers, now done up and done over — fork-lifts glide about like ghosts while a lorry waits to be loaded with metal casks. Come inside and see the brewery comes the invitation from head brewer Stuart Howe. Shiny, clean-living, light-reflected, vessels of stainless steel that stretch towards the ceiling, stand in clean and austere open spaces bounded by concrete and fabricated steel; silence there is, apart from the intermittent sound of machines switching themselves on and off. People: one or two men with rubber boots on their feet check dials and computer displays, push switches, climb ladders — and wait. The Spartan life of a modern brewery.
Spartan and spare maybe but passion pulsates when Howe talks of his use of whole-leaf hops instead of the pellet favoured by many of his peers. ‘I’ve never seen any evidence that hop pellets are the equivalent of whole hops in the flavours and aromas they produce. I would liken it to the difference in making a cheese and onion sandwich — it would be a helluva difference if you processed it all to a paste rather than using proper cheese and onion. Some brewers who use hop pellets make good beers, but I personally cannot abide the hop character you get from hop pellets.’ Howe is a tall serious chap with a past in brewing, but a man still passionate about beer — his days are spent overseeing Doom Bar and the rest of the Sharp’s portfolio such as Cornish Coastliner (see it: dark gold; smell it: hints of mint and vanilla alongside citrus fruit; taste it: soft billowing draughts of malt, dry and bittersweet finish), but as the shadows lengthen and the night falls, he turns to brewing alchemy. ‘I’m in brewing because I love beer. Even though I spend more than 65 hours at the brewery and seldom get a holiday I still stay late to brew or bottle something new and interesting in my own time. I’m convinced that beer is worthy of much greater reverence than it currently enjoys. Making Doom and Sharp’s other main brands is my day job. Specialist brews and limited run bottlings are my hobby!’ B is what Howe calls a prototype beer, a 9% bruiser that uses Slovenian Bobek hops (tiny cones I am told). It has a raw green hop nose, an organic earthy magic that also shows off hints of orange and Cointreau; sharp and orangey and sour sweet on the palate, it’s as if it’s straining to be a Belgian triple. Massive has been named well — it’s 10% and has the feel of an imperial stout or porter; there is also chocolate in the mix. The palate has a rich liqueur like quality, while there is also a chocolate, Sambuca-like character knocking about as well. It’s an elegant long-legged supermodel of a beer. Finally there’s 4, an 11% barley wine — initial sightings include an invigorating resiny, pine-forest–after–a–rainfall nose, which is backed up by a beefy, pungent hoppiness — the palate is rich, bittersweet, fruity, earthy and blockbusting. A glorious hallelujah of a beer that is too good to be hidden away from a cruel world. Meanwhile, beers tasted, talks delivered from the management team of Nick Baker and Joe Keohane, questions asked, it’s time for stage two of the trip. A bus back to Padstow to Rick Stein’s Seafood School where assembled journalists are expected to sing for their summer. The man who gave Padstow its modern makeover appears. After seeing Rick Stein on the TV and reading his books, it’s a surprise to see a diffident, almost shy person. Gordon Ramsey he is not. Sipping Chalky’s Bark, a beer with a surprisingly spicy and yet tongue-tinkling touch of ginger, he fields questions and stands up for beer. Job done, he goes and journalists are put to work – chopping, stirring, frying; chopping, stirring, frying; tasting, drinking. Squid is cleaned, monkfish cut into slices, and mussels steam in beer — beer and seafood choices are discussed, debate is good, the beer is good, the food is good. By the time the evening is gone, seafood and beer matching is no longer an abstract concept, it is a reality, a lifestyle, a celebration. A bullish statement of intent from Nick Baker sums it up: ‘we are brewers, offering a modern slant on traditional methods.’ No more need be said. © beeralewhatever.com
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