The birthdays that are generally regarded as landmarks are mostly the ones that end in a zero: 30, 40, 50 and on upwards every ten years. Many get deeply gloomy as the anniversary odometer clicks over another decade. But the most depressing, I think, are the “demographic milestones”, the birthdays that indicate you’ve gone into a different category as far as marketers and demographers are concerned: 25 to 34, 35 to 44, 45 to 54 and so on. Suddenly, in the middle of your forties, or whatever, you are ticking a new box on forms, re-categorised with people nearly 10 years older.
This month I have been demographically re-sorted, and shifted in with people who might be only days from retirement. Please! I still buy records by people like Amy Winehouse, Rufus Wainwright and the Arctic Monkeys – do I have to line up in the same cohort as 64-year-olds? OK, I would rather sit naked on broken glass than go to Glastonbury, but I’ve felt that since three days of enforced constipation at the Shepton Mallet rock and blues festival in 1970 when I was 18.
Still, another birthday is an excellent excuse to try out some of the old beers I have slumbering upstairs, and there are three that are themselves reaching significant anniversaries. One I was particularly keen to sample again was Whitbread Celebration Ale, brewed to mark the 250th anniversary, in 1992, of Samuel Whitbread becoming a brewer, and made at a whopping 1100.5 OG . It was brewed at the former Tennant Brothers’ Exchange brewery in Sheffield, which closed the following year. I bought 12 bottles when it came out, and tried the first bottle five years after, in 1997. The nose was fantastic – blackberries, raisins, a mass of fruity flavours. However, tasting the beer it was clearly still far too young, with immature “meaty” flavours, and over-sweet, from heavy sugars that had still not broken down. Another bottle five years later was also still too young, and so was one I tried two years ago, when it was 13 years old but it was getting there, so at 15 I thought the beer ought to be ripe by now, and I fetched one down from the attic.
Continue reading A trio of old beers