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.
As the summer lion overcomes the winter bull, the brewer turns his mind to the joyful high time of the year.
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.
One of my Pursuit of Abbeyness XII brew-day posts received a spike of traffic from the Homebrew Talk forum. I went and eavesdropped on the discussion.