After Belfast, Nicole’s and my journey took us on a
ferry ride across the North Channel from Larne, Northern Ireland to Troon,
Scotland. Catching a train from that
seaside village, we continued on to our next major destination: Glasgow.
Our first stop after exiting Glasgow Central and
checking into the hotel was The Meat Bar, an underground BBQ joint with ribs
and pulled pork to rival any in Kansas City or Memphis. Aside from the succulent, juice-dripping,
carnivorous feast, The Meat Bar was our first encounter with Williams Bros. Brewing Co. While their golden ale,
Birds & Bees, isn’t much to crow about (it’s good, not mind-blowing, and
quite simple), it was the first of many, many
beers we enjoyed from this avant-garde, Dogfish Head-esque brewery. I’ll discuss them further in our next post on
Edinburgh.
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| A pint of Dark Moor, a dram of BenRiach |
We finished our night at The Pot Still, an old-school
whisky bar (Scots don’t put the “e” in “whiskey” and they don’t call the whisky
distilled in their land “Scotch,” either; they simply call it “whisky”)
sporting so many shelves of that golden-brown liquor that it necessitated the
use of a library-style rolling ladder to reach all the wares. We sipped a dram of 12-year-aged BenRiach, a
pint of cask ale, and called it good for the evening.
The next morning we wandered the Glasgow Green, took
artsy-fartsy photos of local bridges, and checked out the botanic gardens in an
effort to waste some time before WEST Brewery—the brewery with a “Glaswegian
heart. German Head”—opened its doors.
Sitting on the edge of the Glasgow Green in the resplendent Templeton Building, a construction of intricate architecture modeled
after the Doge’s Palace in Venice (if you ask me, the arching windows, Arabesque
brickwork, and pointed, casbah-like parapet is more Turkish in design but, then
again, what the hell do I know about architecture?), WEST can never complain
for lack of curb appeal. In addition to
the opulence, there’s also a small biergarten out front (good) but,
unfortunately, it’s carpeted with AstroTurf (tacky). The interior is less extravagant than the
exterior but, with a heaping dose of old wood floors, copper kettles, and wainscoting,
WEST isn’t hurting in the sophisticated column. Except for that AstroTurf.
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| The Templeton Building |
The beers at WEST are comparable to those at Prost Brewing: traditional German beers replicated outside of Deutschland’s borders. The Reinheitsgebot-embracing brewery does
indeed make a mean Märzen and a hell of a Helles but, as a beer traveler, I was
a smidge disappointed in WEST and not because of any fault on part of the
brewery. I came to Scotland to taste
Scotland. I’ll go to Germany when I want
to taste Germany. I realize I’m being
totally unfair and hypocritical because, in Denver, we have breweries whose
offerings are decidedly non-American, not of the local flavor (e.g. the
English-inspired Hogshead Brewery, the Belgian-esque River North Brewery, and
the aforementioned slinger of German suds, Prost) but Denverites like them
nonetheless. In the end, WEST is a nice
place. A stellar place, really. The beer is expertly crafted and the taproom
is stunningly beautiful. But it’s not even a little bit Scottish.
The next brewery of the day, Drygate Brewery, is in
as iconic a location as WEST but for immensely different reasons. Imagine, if you will, the Coors brewery,
sitting like the monolith it is on the outskirts of downtown Golden. It’s huge.
It’s (inter)nationally known. It
runs the show. Now, imagine a group of
renegade brewmeisters opening a craft brewery right next door to Coors, closer
even than Barrels & Bottles Brewery.
Imagine it abutting up to Coors’ property, overlooking the loading
docks, close enough to be mistaken for an addition to the larger brewery, close
enough for David to chuck rocks at Goliath.
Substitute Coors for Tennent’s—Scotland’s primary macrobrew—and that
harassing little brewery next door is Drygate.
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| Just beyond Drygate's front entrance is Tennent's property |
Drygate simultaneously emits the ambiance of a
decrepit factory and a chic gallery. On
one hand, the soggy, seemingly-crumbly brick wall is visible but, at the same
time, protected and encased by a grid of windows that frame the dilapidated façade
as if it were a piece of modern art. The
ceiling is nothing but concrete and HVAC but the tap handles are set against a
shiny copper backsplash, glinting enticingly as customers peruses their choices. Drygate’s propensity for metal mesh as a design
element lends to the space an element of Industrial Revolution but the bright,
white brew room behind floor-to-ceiling glass belies the ostensible rough edges
and reveals Drygate’s true, modern heart.
In so many words, the taproom at Drygate is pretty badass.
The beer’s worthwhile, too. I’m usually not one for fruit beer (well,
sometimes I am; my ill-advised faux-machismo often forces me to deny my proclivity
for fruity ales) but their apple ale, Outaspace, is phenomenal! It tastes enough like apple to be an apple
beer but not so much that it’s basically just hard apple juice. It’s well-balanced and worth a try. Their Gladeye IPA is good, too, but not much
different from a typical American IPA and the Bearface Euro lager, in addition
to having wonderfully absurd label artwork, is a crisp and clean beer perfect
for sunny days (of which Glasgow sees few). Also, they have a "hamburger" made completely of mac n' cheese that's then topped with pulled pork. Uh, how is that not a thing in America? Get crackin' on that, chefs.
In addition to breweries, Nicole and I also stopped
by numerous beer bars. Munro’s is a
decent one; they’ve an impressive line-up of cask ales and the environment is
comfortable like a pastoral pub (especially the “country gentleman” nook with
over-stuffed armchairs, distressed wood tables, red brick walls, a tight-knit
rug, and cast-iron stove). The car tire
chandelier is a bit unconventional as is the assortment of random seating
options (wood stools, metal stools, leather stools, swivel stools…etc.) which
stray from the old-fashioned aura but the warm, wood paneling and stone walls
maintain a classic pub atmosphere.
Nicole and I never made it to Aberdeenshire to visit
inarguably Scotland’s most famous (to Americans, at least) craft brewery, BrewDog,
but the trip up north wasn’t necessary since, in 2011, BrewDog: Glasgow opened. Eschewing tradition (as BrewDog is known to
do), the bar isn’t decorated in the usual pub trimmings e.g. dim lighting, tin
ceilings, overly ornate woodcarvings…etc. Instead, BrewDog: Glasgow appears much like
the average American brewery taproom (save for the absence of actual brewing
equipment). Its puffy, leather,
coffeeshop-esque couches, modern metal-and-wood bar stools, and collection of
empty craft beer bottles from around the world (lots from Colorado plus Brewdog’s own very special, very famous squirrel-encased bottle) provide a fresh twist but, since Glasgow is an ancient city and
because one can’t and shouldn’t entirely strip a historic building of its Old
World charm, the mosaic floor and original brick walls remain, connecting the innovative
spirit of BrewDog with its country’s storied past. The bartender was exceptional, too, and
certainly willing to chat us up about craft beer. Once he ascertained just how passionate we
were about suds he offered us a few free samples which we greedily imbibed.
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| The End of History (empty) |
The third beer bar we sought out was the best. The best of Glasgow. The best of the trip. Quite possibly, the best I’ve been to. The selection isn’t massive, there’s just
enough, but the beer menu’s only part of the attraction. The main attraction at this bar, Inn Deep, is
its setting.
Describing Inn Deep is like describing an M.C. Escher drawing; too many ups and downs and configurations that don’t make any sense. You’d do well to simply look at the pictures
but, for the sake of a challenge, I’ll attempt to put it down in words. First, imagine a fairly major city street
spanning a narrow river. The bridge is
supported by a green arch and there are buildings at street level on either
side. The river itself is wedged between
gray stone retention walls, there is no natural bank. A bike path rides alongside the water and a
concrete stairway leads from the street to the path. Next to the bike path are two long, narrow,
semi-circular tunnels burrowing under a side street and a grand, spired,
brownstone building. In one tunnel there’s
an open-fronted beer garden/grotto, in the other there’s the actual bar plus
additional seating outside on the bike path.
It’s hidden from view, somewhere below street level and above water
level. When you walk into Inn Deep, you
feel like you’re entering an underground punk rock concert venue or the headquarters
of a secret society; except for the taps pouring local craft beer, of course.
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| Those two tunnels in the wall? That's Inn Deep. |
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| Inn Deep from the other side |
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| Nicole and a young kilted man at Inn Deep |
General
musings on Glasgow
·
It’s a happening town. The West End is generally considered the
hippest part of Glasgow but the eastside, where Drygate and WEST (ironically)
sit, is equally as cool as far as I’m concerned. It has a misty, hilly, San Francisco or
Seattle vibe to it.
·
Taking a break from the urban hustle, Nicole and
I took a day trip to Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park, our sole
venture into the Scottish Highlands.
There, we attempted to summit The Cobbler, a 2,900’ peak outside the
village of Arrochar. While we’d been
lucky in terms of weather up to that point, Scotland decided to show its true
colors on our hike, misting us with a constant drizzle and blinding us with a
hanging fog. Soaked to the bone and
constantly losing the trail, we had to call it quits before we made it to the
top.
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| Looking back from the trailhead to The Cobbler |
Still, we
came close and, from what little we saw, I’m impressed with the mountains of
Scotland. They can’t hold a candle to
the Rockies’ overall elevation and they’re cursed with a less amiable climate
but the peaks are still ruggedly awe-inspiring, craggy, and often reminiscent
of Colorado save for the intense greenery and ethereal, draping haze. Truly, hiking The Cobbler was entering a
mystic wonderland. It’s hardly any
wonder Scottish folklore is filled with faeries and hobgoblins and trolls; it’s
easy to imagine such fantastical creatures when walking through such
fantastical landscapes.
·
The national flower and symbol of Scotland is
the thistle. The thistle! With prickly leaves
surrounding a stalk topped with a medieval mace head of stiff thorns and a tiny patch of purple flowers, the
thistle is possibly the ugliest national symbol in existence. Not only is it the orneriest plant known to
humankind, it’s also not unique to Scotland.
Hell, take the Clear Creek bike path to Golden and you’ll see a forest-worth of thistle. In the United States,
we don’t call the thistle a flower (let alone one worthy of being the anthropomorphized mascot of the Glasgow Commonwealth Games which were about to be hosted in
Glasgow at the time of our visit), we call it a weed. Then again, having one’s country represented
by a tough little thorn bush has its charms; it certainly plays into the
stereotype that the Scots themselves are, like the thistle, rugged survivors. Plus, the story of how the thistle became Scotland’s symbol is an interesting, if
mythologized, account (read about it here).
Musings on
Glasgow’s beer scene
·
Less prevalent in Ireland but the norm in
Scotland, when ordering a drink at the pub, the bartender would ask, “what
size?” There are choices? Indeed, in addition to buying an entire pint,
one could imbibe a one-thirds pint, a half pint, or a two-thirds pint. I love
this practice! I have a promiscuous
palate and I want to try everything
but I can’t keep downing whole pints—that kills the liver as well as the
wallet. Presented with different size
options, I was able to drink entire taplists without getting wasted. Yet, it was enough liquid to assess and truly
indulge in my beer; that’s not so easy when given the paltry pour of an American
taster glass.
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| German Pale Ale (actually a Kӧlsch-style ale) |
Why don’t
American bars do this? It probably has something
to do with gratuities: America has a tipping culture, Scotland does not. Your Scottish bartender doesn’t expect any
more money than the cost of the beer. In
the United States, it behooves bartenders to serve large format drinks as they
incur a higher bar tab thus entailing a generous tip. If you’re not expecting a tip, however, you
don’t care if the patrons drink £5 or £500 worth of booze, the money you take
home at the end of the night is always the same. Then again, this set-up isn’t necessarily
beneficial to the business itself which would rather customers spend more
money, not less. Something tells me,
though, most Scottish drinking establishments don’t have a problem with
people drinking too little.
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| Beers in the grotto at Inn Deep |
·
Cask ales: I can’t get enough of ‘em. Warm and flat, you have to be a true beer
geek to re-train your brain and appreciate a beer that’s so contradictory to
the ultra-fizzy, icy cold image of beer with which the macrobreweries have been
brainwashing the public. I love the look
of a hand pump, the hiss it makes when it’s pulled back, the cascading beer,
and the enhanced aroma and flavor. When
I’m visiting U.S. breweries and beer bars, I almost always order their cask ale
(if it’s even available) because they’re rare; they’re a treat for the American
beer geek. Not so much in Scotland. CAMRA’s been effective in the U.K. and most
of the places in which Nicole and I drank had at least half of their selection
on cask. So, I drank cask ale. A lot of cask ale. Too much cask ale. Even now, several weeks after leaving
Scotland, I’ve been forgoing cask. I’m
tired of the cellar temperatures and I’m tired of the lack of bubbles. Right now, I want to drink American-style. I’ve had too much of a good thing. In time, I’m sure I’ll find my way back to
cask but, in the meantime, I’m enjoying my cold and effervescent brews.
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| Copper kettles at WEST |
Favorite beers
from Glasgow
·
The aforementioned Outaspace from Drygate.
·
Dark Moor from The Kelburn Brewing Company. This
dark and smoky cask ale was the perfect accompaniment to our dram of whisky at
The Pot Still.
·
Black Ball Stout from William Bros., a strong,
solid, roasty beer perfect for a cloudy Glaswegian afternoon. Enjoyed at Inn Deep.
·
Punchline from Magic Rock Brewing. A chipotle porter that’s actually from
England, not Scotland. This was the
first beer of our honeymoon I felt went outside style guidelines. Up until this point, everything I had was of
high quality but pretty straightforward and, to the adventurous palate, sometimes boring. Finally, something brewed outside the
box! Enjoyed at Inn Deep.
Stay tuned for the next leg of our honeymoon:
Edinburgh.
Prost!
Chris
Glasgow was one of my favorite
parts of the honeymoon. We didn’t rent a
car during any part of the trip because we didn’t want to drive on the opposite
side of the road. Besides, I think
walking is the best way to see a city; when you’re walking, you see things you
wouldn’t from a car. One of my personal
highlights from the trip happened as we walked through Kelvingrove Park near the
University of Glasgow. We’d just finished
dinner at The Bothy Restaurant and were walking toward the Inn Deep when we
rounded a corner and came across bagpipers and drummers from the university’s
band. They formed a circle in the middle
of the path as they practiced their piping skills and it was amazing to hear
them play and to receive an impromptu concert with instruments so deeply rooted
in the local culture. Click here for video.
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| Never Forget |
Two of my favorite meals of
the trip were in Glasgow. The first was
at Piper’s Tryst, part of the National Piping Center. After several meals of fish and chips, we were
ready for something different. One of the
specials at the Tryst was chicken pot pie filled with peas, mushrooms, potatoes,
and gravy—it was fantastic! The
restaurant also had on display a memorial portrait of Roddy, the tam o’ shanter-wearing
guinea pig. It was an odd commemoration
but cute; I can’t help but smile when I imagine my own guinea pigs in a tam.
The second exceptional meal
was at The Bothy Restaurant in the West End. The restaurant itself is hidden away from the
main road and down an alley. It looks
like an old cottage and feels like one in the inside, too. I enjoyed the haddock and chips while Chris
indulged in the Bothy Burger, a mix of steak and haggis. Chris, more so than myself, likes to
experiment with the local fare. I
figured I might as well give it a try since Chris already ordered it. It was pretty tasty but I don’t think I’ll
add haggis to my weekly meal rotation here at home. I also noticed the desert menu featured
banoffee pie. Banoffee pie is an English
dessert made with bananas, toffee, and cream (bananas + toffee = banoffee). It didn’t disappoint.
When we were planning our
trip to Scotland, I expected to see a lot of people strolling through the park
with either Westies or Scottie dogs as both breeds of terriers originated in
Scotland. I’m a dog person and, more
specifically, a Westie person. I got my
first Westie when I was in high school and, when I moved from a condo to an actual
house, I got another from the Westie Rescue.
I even named him White Rascal after Avery Brewing’s witbier. My parents have one named Peyton, named for
the Broncos' quarterback (or, as Chris would say, the Colt’s quarterback). Clearly,
I love this breed. Well, I was quite
disappointed when I only saw one—maybe two—little white dogs on our trip. I did, however, spend time playing with a schnauzer
puppy at BrewDog. Also, Scotland has an
organization called Dugs n’ Pubs which directs pet owners to dog-friendly
places in Scotland and the rest of the U.K. Check out their website if only to pick up on
the local slang.
Nicole
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| Hiking the trail to The Cobbler |
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| Hiking the trail to The Cobbler |
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| If nothing else, Tennent's has a nicely painted brick wall surrounding it. Just a bit to the left is Drygate. |
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| Glasgow was amping up to host the Commonwealth Games which is just like the Olympics except only with countries that are or were a part of the British Empire (unless said country was very naughty and happened to revolt against The Crown). |
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| The Templeton Building |
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