An invisible hand guides Adam Smith to the shade of Saint Sixtus Abbey.
Taking in the Nottingham Craft Beer Festival, the absurdly-named hype-generating machine that is Neon Raptor Brewing, and the absurdly-built Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn.
In the Noah Man’s Land between inner-city bar and country inn, between craft cool and cask cosiness, floats The Golden Ark, one of London’s newest micropubs.
Bottle shops liquidating? A microbrewery in a football stadium? The cycle has peaked and the bell is ringing.
If the en soi of a Bourbon barrel constrains the pour soi of the beer that is geworfen into it, the culture of a wild beer is the nothingness—the incipient, the contingent—that creates a space for the transcendence of foeder-facticity.
Asahi’s acquisition of London’s iconic Fuller’s brewing business had a shocked beer world searching for explanations last Friday. But the explanation is simple: this is a once-in-a-generation offer that Fuller’s board would have been negligent to turn down.
The brewery taproom is one of the temples in which we gather to say a secular grace, in a ritual designed to alienate ourselves from our true sense of alienation.