Gone for a Burton

When a Second World War airman failed to return from a mission, his RAF comrades would declare grimly that he had gone for a Burton. The 'Burton' in this case was Burton ale - once as common as IPA is today. With this adapted recipe by Joly Braime, you can create this vanished ale at home...

Illustration by Louise Logsdon

Illustration by Louise Logsdon

In The Home Brewer’s Guide to Vintage Beer (2014), Ron Pattinson observes that: “Burton, as consumed in London, is a puzzle – for the way it so quickly disappeared physically from the bar and virtually from people’s memories. In 1950 it was on draft in every pub in London.Twenty years later, few could even remember what it was.”

Though occasionally confused with IPA – that other famous Burton-on-Trent brew – Burton ale was a different beast. Broadly, it was strong, sweetish and quite heavily hopped and was distinctive for the fact that it was meant to be stored and matured. 

There are still a few Burtons left, living quietly under assumed names. If you want to try a 20th-century Burton ale, one is still produced seasonally under the Young’s brand, only they changed the name to Winter Warmer in 1971. According to Protz, Fuller’s well known ESB developed from its former Burton, while Cornell reckons Theakston’s Old Peculier “has all the hallmarks of a Burton”. And the original, supercharged stuff is very occasionally available as Bass No 1 Barley Wine. 

Or, you can have a go at brewing your own. This simple recipe is adapted from an 1850 Whitbread and an 1877 Truman, and inspired by The Home Brewer’s Guide to Vintage Beer. It comes out full of flavour and body, and makes for surprisingly easy drinking, although at 7.5% it hits pretty hard. 

1. Heat 26 litres of water to 76°C, then stir in 8.5kg of pale malt (Maris Otter).

2. Mash (steep) the grain for an hour and a half. Keep the temperature as close to 66°C as you can, either by insulating or very gentle warming.

3. Collect the wort (liquid). Sparge (rinse) the malt with another 10 litres of water, heated to 76°C. Do this slowly to extract the maximum amount of sugar.

4. Bring the wort to the boil, then add 150g of East Kent Goldings, 1 teaspoon of carragheen (to help it clear) and 2 teaspoons of Burton salts (to replicate the mineral-rich water of Burton-on-Trent). Boil for an hour and a half, adding 150g more Goldings after an hour. There will be a lot of steam.

5. Cool the wort as quickly as you can, bringing it down to about 22°C.

6. If you have a hydrometer, check the specific gravity (SG). It should be around 1081. You can adjust it up by adding sugar, or down with water.

7. Put the wort in a fermenter or large bucket then whisk vigorously for a few minutes to aerate it. Add a high-tolerance yeast (I used Mangrove Jack’s M15 Empire Ale). Whisk again, then fit a lid and an airlock (or drape a clean tea towel over the top).

8. Make a bonus batch of ‘small beer’ by repeating steps 3-7. Because the Burton ale uses so much grain, there will still be plenty of sugar left in the malt. Sparge slowly, keeping an eye on the SG of the wort to make sure it doesn’t drop below 1035. I got about 20 litres, which I brewed with 75g of Fuggles hops to make a gentle 3.5% pale ale.

9. Leave to ferment for about five days – or until the gravity is down to around 1024 – then rack (siphon the beer carefully off the sludge) into a clean vessel.

10. Bottle after a few more days, adding half a teaspoon of sugar to each 500ml bottle (you should get about 35 bottles). Set aside for at least six weeks if you can bear it, and no less than two if you can’t. 

3-Joly-Braime-profile-pic.jpg

Joly Braime is a writer and a home brewer. His workload is fairly eclectic, from outdoor magazines and a book on Sherlock Holmes to erotic fiction. He spends his leisure time tramping the moors or filling his coal shed with homemade alcohol.

jolybraime.co.uk

 

This recipe features in issue six of Ernest Journal, on sale now. 

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Pressing seaweed

Following in the bootsteps of intrepid Victorian seaweed hunters, Melanie Molesworth and Julia Bird collect and press specimens along the Cornwall and Dorset coast 

As natural history was coming into its own in the 1800s, the biggest clubs for the ‘gentlemen sciences’ still banned women. While hunting was seen as too dangerous a pursuit and digging up plants too sexually loaded, gathering seaweed was deemed relatively safe. A popular pastime for both Queen Victoria and George Eliot, it was not, however, without risks. Margaret Gatty advised wearing men’s boots and, due to the dangers involved (especially on low-water mark expeditions), the protection of a gentleman companion may be necessary. She warned he might require some enticing by proposing he “fossilize, or sketch, or even (if he will be savage and barbaric) shoot gulls”, while his lady collect her crop. 

With their crop, which they gather along the shores of Cornwall and Dorset, Melanie Molesworth and Julia Bird create beautiful pressings and artwork. They kindly share their secrets with us:

1. Start by gathering your seaweed in a bucket – low tide is the best time.

2. Rinse well before placing them in a large plastic or metal tray dish filled with a couple of inches of fresh cold water. 

3. Place a piece of watercolour paper in, then float your chosen piece of seaweed on top. 

4. Swirl and arrange your seaweed over the paper until you are happy with it – you may want to snip a few bits off to make a cleaner shape. 

5. Slowly lift the paper out and lay it on kitchen paper or cloth to help soak up some of the excess water. Blot with kitchen roll or blotting paper. 

6. Place a piece of greaseproof paper on top and then a layer of newspaper, followed by a sheet of cardboard, before adding the next specimen and repeat steps 4 and 5. 

7. They will then be ready to press – you could use an old-fashioned trouser press or pile books on top. 

8. Check seaweeds daily and replace the newspaper layers and paper until dry. 

9. Carefully peel the paper off (some pieces are more fragile than others) and fix them in place, to display, using thin strips of masking tape. 

10. Seaweed identification can be tricky as there are hundreds of species. Try Seaweeds of Britain and Ireland published by Seasearch, £16.95. 

You can see more of Melanie Molesworth and Julia Bird’s beautiful seaweed pressing and artwork at MolesworthandBird.com and on Instagram.  

This originally featured in issue six of Ernest Journal, on sale now. 

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Paint it black

By applying an iron solution to carved wood, you can instantly ‘ebonize’ it, creating unique pieces with wonderful inky hues. Max Bainbridge turns to the dark side...

Max advises using either oak or walnut for ebonizing, due to their high tannin content. Image by Dean Hearne

Max advises using either oak or walnut for ebonizing, due to their high tannin content. Image by Dean Hearne

In this project I demonstrate how to ebonize a small oak bowl, using the natural tannin in the wood to blacken the surface. It’s a simple and natural process that gives an instant and completely transformative result. 

The ebonizing process is one that’s hard to believe even when you see it happening before your eyes. The basic principle is to create a chemical reaction between the wood’s tannin and iron oxide. Tannin is a tree’s natural defence against predators, and iron oxide is what we commonly know as rust. You can create an iron solution by steeping wire wool or iron nails in vinegar. Then, by applying this to the surface of a wood that is high in tannin, such as oak, you produce a chemical reaction that turns the wood black. 

Tools

Small oak or walnut bowl
Large jar
Water
White distilled vinegar
Iron nails or wire wool
Paintbrush
Cloths
Beeswax salve 

Method

1. Fill a large jar with two parts water to one part white vinegar, add the nails or wire wool and leave to soak. Do not keep a lid on the jar because while the vinegar reacts with the iron, a small amount of gas will be produced, which needs to escape.

2. Once the nails have been in the solution for at least a week, a layer of rust will form on the surface and the liquid will be brown or orange in colour.

3. Using a paintbrush, start applying the rusty vinegar solution to the surface of the wood and allow the reaction to take place. If you are using oak, the reaction will happen straight away and you will see the colour change in front of you. Observe how the colour develops and keep applying more solution if you wish to intensify it.

4. You can keep applying layers, allowing each layer time to dry, until the colour doesn’t get any darker. Once you are happy with the colour, give the surface of the wood a wipe down with a cloth.This may result in some of the colour rubbing off, but keep going until nothing more comes off on the cloth. Leave the ebonized bowl somewhere ventilated to dry and allow the vinegar odour to evaporate.

5. When it is completely dry, apply a coat of beeswax salve.You will need to use a clean cloth just in case any residual pigment comes off the bowl as you apply the salve. Leave to soak in overnight and then rub down the following day. 

For more carving projects and woodwork techniques from the team behind Forest + Found, pick up a copy of The Urban Woodsman by Max Bainbridge (Kyle Books, 2016), £16.99.

This features in issue 6 of Ernest Journal, on sale now.

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Issue five is on sale now!

We're thrilled to announce that issue five of Ernest Journal hits the shelves this week and it's a corker of an issue, exploring the interconnected themes of time travel, slow journeys and solar exploration. Read on for more about what's in store and order a copy today...

24-page guide to Vancouver Island

Seek out old growth forests and storm-battered beaches in Tofino, before exploring a puzzle of islands characterized by fiercely independent and resourceful people and a finely balanced ecosystem.

Curious histories

Enter the unruly world of made-up languages; meet the small cryonics community striving for immortality; conduct time traveling experiments in your sleep and explore everyday tales of radiation. 

Spaces

Meet the photographer capturing every RNLI station in Britain using a Victorian photographic technique; learn about the humble geologist and map maker that changed the world, and explore time bending images that have been painstakingly restored to change the way we think about the past.

Slow adventure

Seek out simple shelter in the mountain bothies of the northwest Highlands; follow in the footsteps of The Peregrine author JA Baker, and journey with Tres Hombres as she ploughs across the Atlantic, carrying cocoa and barrel-aged rum in her wooden belly to herald the start of a new slow cargo movement.

Timeless style

Chart the evolution of British style through the post-war era of burgeoning café culture, modernist architecture and rock’n’roll, and explore the social history of the fisherman’s smock. 

Workmanship

Pick up the journey of an antiques restorer who plies his trade on the open road; explore the practice of solargraphy, a long exposure technique that records the path of our sun, and discover a movement that sees artists, perfumers and chefs blend their practice to create intriguing multi-sensory experiences.

Wild food

Unravel the history of the vindaloo; reimagine the strange, unsettling, yet magical recipes of The Futurist Cookbook with Bompas & Parr, and gather wild plants from the forest floor to make your own herbal first aid kit.

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listen to Scriabin's Mysterium

Meet Russian composer Alexander Scriabin, whose week-long synthesised symphony was all set to bring about the end of the world.

Alexander Scriabin (1872--1915) / Alexander Nemtin (1936--1999), L'Acte préalable (Preparation to the Final Mystery) 00:00:00 I. Universe 00:41:46 II. Mankind 01:33:45 III. Transfiguration Alexei Lubimov, piano Thomas Trotter, organ Anna-Kristiina Kaappola, soprano Ernst Senff Chor St Peterburg Chamber Choir Deutsches Symphonie-Orchester Berlin Vladimir Ashkenazy Artwork by Jean Delville

The Mysterium: Preparation for the Final Mystery was to be Alexander Scriabin’s master work, intended to bring together all he had learnt about philosophy, synesthesia, theosophy and poetry. He thought of his music as fragments of this mystical vision – as bridges to the beyond in the tradition of composers such as Wagner and Stockhausen who wanted their music to bring about “aesthetic, social, or cosmic apocalypse”.

Scriabin delved heavily into Russian symbolism and theosophy and his notebooks are filled with fascinating passages charting his personal voyage. He believed he could attain the symbolist ideal of art having a material effect upon reality by channelling divine energy through the careful coordination of elements designed to stimulate multiple sensations.

He started working on The Mysterium in 1903, but it remained incomplete when he died in 1915. His vision comprised a seven-day-long mega work with dirigibles and bells suspended from clouds that would summon spectators from all over the world. A reflecting pool of water would complete the divinity of the half-circle stage, with spectators sat in tiers across the water and the least spiritually advanced in the balconies. Seating would radiate from the stage, where Scriabin would sit at the piano surrounded by a host of instruments, singers and dancers. The cast would include an orchestra, dancers, a choir and costumed speakers articulating rhythmic texts in processions.

The work required special people, special artists and a completely new culture. The entire group would be permeated continually with movement. Together with fellow theosophist Emile Sigogne, Scriabin worked on a new language for The Mysterium, which had Sanskritic roots but also included cries, interjections, exclamations and sounds of breath. The temple in which the event would take place would not be made of one type of stone but would continually change with the atmosphere and motion of The Mysterium.

This would be done with the aid of mists and lights, which would modify the architectural contours; sunrises would be preludes and sunsets codas; flames would erupt in shafts of light and sheets of fire and constantly changing lighting effects would pervade the cast and audience, each to number in the thousands. The choreography would include glances, eye motions, touching of hands, odours of both pleasant perfumes and acrid smokes, frankincense and myrrh from pillars of incense. Furthermore, the whole world would be invited: “Animals, insects, birds, all must be there.”

Scriabin intended that the first and only performance would be held in the Himalayan foothills in India, in a half-temple that would crumble due to the vibrations of the performance and open the ritual to the heavens. The event would annihilate space and melt reality, bringing about the end of the world and replacing humankind with nobler beings. All participants would dematerialise, allowing them to achieve spiritual unity with divine cosmos.

Fortunately for the human race, in 1915 Scriabin nicked a boil on his upper lip when shaving and died from septicaemia at the age of 43. His funeral was attended by such numbers that tickets had to be issued. Rachmaninoff went on tour, playing only Scriabin’s music. Scriabin was acknowledged as one of the essential voices of the early 20th century.

At the time of his death, he had sketched 72 pages of the prelude to The Mysterium, entitled Prefatory Action. Composer Alexander Nemtin spent 28 years reforming this sketch into a three-hour-long work, which was eventually recorded. You can hear it below:

You can read the full feature about Alexander Scriabin and The Mysterium (written by Tony Gill) in issue four of Ernest Journal, on sale now.

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