IN PRAISE OF THE POST-INDUSTRIAL PINT | November 15th 2007

Chris Routledge wipes the foam from his lips, and explains that it's technology, not tradition, that makes better beer. The golden age of pre-industrial British beer is a marketing man's myth ...

Special to MORE INTELLIGENT LIFE

The rise of "real ale" has delighted British publicans and drinkers alike. In 1989 chains of pubs controlled by the big industrial breweries were required by law to sell at least one "guest" beer alongside the house beers, opening up a new market for smaller brewers and bringing some of them back from the brink of extinction. Breweries sprang up across the land from inner cities to Scottish islands such as Orkney and Arran. Old breweries such as Shepherd Neame in Kent, and Cain's in Liverpool, made much of their history and traditions.

The marketing of "real ale" typically evokes a Victorian golden age. One Yorkshire brewer, Timothy Taylor, sells its "Landlord" bottled ale with a label depicting a jolly 19th-century publican raising a frothing tankard. A Burton brewer, Marston's, sells a pale ale called "Old Empire", marketed as a "genuine IPA", using images of sailing ships and men with handlebar moustaches.

But how might these modern beers compare to their Victorian forebears in a blind tasting?

The answer is: surprisingly well, probably, at least when measured against the first Victorian beers.

In the early 19th century most brewers operated out of sheds and yards attached to pubs and brew-houses. In very cold or very warm weather they struggled to brew at all. Most beer was produced between September and May. As late as the 1860s beer was advertised by the barrel with the month in which it was brewed as an indication of quality.

Porters, stouts, and dark ales dominated the market. With some regional variation these were strong, heavy brews—and, because they were dark in colour, they were easy to adulterate. They were vatted and sold throughout the year as long as stocks held up, but most beer-drinking went on in the winter, when poor light and cold prevented outdoor work.

Then, as now, brewers fretted about the cost of ingredients such as hops and malt. But whereas excise duty is paid now on the finished product, before 1880 it was levied on the raw materials—and you cut costs where you could. The markets were cut-throat, especially in hops, which give beer its bitter flavour. The best are usually year-old (‘yearling') hops, just old enough to have mellowed a little. But to hedge against swings in the market, Victorian brewers stockpiled ingredients for years. Ten-year-old hops might be pressed into service, by which time they were all but flavourless.

Technology came to the rescue, improving on tradition. By the 1860s larger brewers were taking regular samples of water and learning to modify their recipes to take account of mineral levels. (High levels of calcium were good for producing bright, bitter beers—such as the pale ales of Burton. Dublin water had relatively low calcium content, ideal for brewing stout.) They brought in steam power and cooling systems; they experimented with sugar and malt substitutes such as maize and rice, to improve the stability of their brews and to meet the demand for freshness and clarity.

By the 1880s brewing was an industry, not a craft. The Laboratory Club, established by the chemist E.R. Moritz in 1886, was a place where brewers and brewing scientists could exchange information and develop their techniques. Moritz worked as a consultant for the brewers, providing chemical analysis. The days of variable, unpredictable, traditionally brewed ales were over—and both brewers and drinkers gave a sigh of relief.

The story, therefore, is a touch more complicated than the real-ale brewers (and their fans) would have you believe. They are making better use, not less use, of industry and science. Many "traditional brewers" transport their product around the country these days in unmarked tankers for fear of revealing the essentially industrial nature of their business. They are not going back to some artisanal, pre-industrial age, and you probably wouldn't like it if they did.

(Chris Routledge is a freelance writer and editor of The Reader Online. His book, "Cains: The Story of Liverpool in a Pint", will be published by Liverpool University Press in 2008.)