The Real Ale Society

Friends, I must offer my distinct apologies for not sooner writing. Class, it seems, is a necessary evil of this whole “studying” abroad process.

But my adventures have been growing in number and fun levels while here in Swansea. I have become an official member of the Swasea University Real Ale Society. For those not in the know, a real ale is this: a traditional ale served from the same container from which it was fermented. This means no extraneous carbon dioxide is used, only the natural carbonation from the still live yeast in the firkins, from which this blog is named. A firkin is really a measurement, but it is commonly associated with a 9-gallon barrel or cask. This means the ale is kept in the cellar and must be hand pumped from the cool depths to one’s pint glass.

The Society meets on Thursdays, and I am verily due for another meeting on this very eve. Last Thursday, the e-mail called for a meeting at “a particularly nice haunt” called the Railway at Killay. The pub was certainly a house at one time, due to the small rooms and setup. It advertised a ‘live fire’ in a fireplace, and several local real ales. Upon entering the ‘haunt,’ I was met with the glances of many an old man. They were sitting around the perimeter of a small room, and all with pint glasses in hand. I had to walk past them to another long hall where the rest of the society was. About 15 chaps and 2 ladies were present at the meeting, and it was soon underway. I asked for a recommendation from the president. He then called to middle aged gent, grey and balding, with the exception of his impressive and prodigious sideburns, who turned out to be the brewer of half of the ales tapped that evening. “What ought the gent from America try first?”

“I should think he ought to try a beer, hmm?” he said in a loud and slightly slurred response which was met with the laughter of everyone in the pub. I could tell this was to be an interesting and fun evening.

I introduced myself to my fellow enthusiasts, explaining my role as officer and cofounder of the Wabash College Brew Society. I was welcomed to the ranks, having several discussions with the club members and the regular patrons of the pub. Hearing Tory Tom (“They call me Tory because I’m a bloody conservative, right of center you see.”) battle wits on knowledge of the Second World War, particularly in the European Theatre with an older gentleman at the pub counter was truly an amazing spectacle. Not only was he on his was to inebriated, and still going strong with pints in hand, Tory Tom could quote troop movements, the order of the D-Day beaches, many of Hitler’s sub-officers, and when they were replaced. Tory Tom claims his status as an historian proudly at University. As well he ought to be. I couldn’t tell you where Juno was in relation to Sword, much less with Omaha, Utah, and Gold in the mix as well. Now, I did know the beaches and even plan to visit them, but I was very impressed with the intellectual combat before my eyes. This and the British banter in the arguments was hilarious and intriguing.

Aside from this, I’ve been up to cooking various forms of chicken, which I plan to discuss later, due to my ingenious methods, and searching for a job. I’ll keep you posted.