Lingo Longer
Forget Mandarin, English or Spanish, the world’s
mother tongue is Beer, writes Alastair Gilmour
I recall my first-ever trip to the Czech Republic vividly. I was a stranger to the country’s customs and its culture while its food and drink were an equal mystery that I knew instinctively I’d soon get to grips with.
So, when I was invited within hours of arriving in the country to taste the beer owned by the Czech nation in the city of its birth, I must confess I was a tad nervous. Would I like Budweiser Budvar? Would I say the right thing in the unlikely event that I found it ‘just OK’? What’s Czech for ‘just OK’?
Beer converses in all languages and it’s fun learning
But then I was introduced to one of global brewing’s most charismatic professionals. Aleš Dvořák’s English is far superior to my Czech – which stutters alarmingly after “dva pivo prosim” (two beers please) – but with the aid of nods, elbow thrusts and smiles, the pair of us readily agreed that it’s fairly easy for those who appreciate good beer to be able to communicate via our specialist subject.
In the bowels of the Budvar brewery in České Budějovice where a temperature of 0ºC is maintained constantly, the young man – at that time second-brewer – filled a two-litre stein of unfiltered Budvar from an enormous, horizontal cylindrical tank, took a gulp, wiped his mouth, and passed it on.
I followed his lead, took a large slug, then another… and got lost for words.
“This is our Esperanto,” said Aleš, with no other comment, save a simple smile delivered with a note of “told you so”. He was absolutely right; beer talks all languages. And delivers them well.
In De Wildeman pub in Amsterdam where the range of beers is a conversation starter
Similarly, the Dutch beer on the table in In De Wildeman in Amsterdam is willing me to get to grips with it. It’s dark and tantalising – virtually black – with a firm, taupe-tinged, tightly bubbled head. The aroma, the flavour and the afterglow from Van Vollenhoven & Co Extra Stout are surely all I need to enjoy it.
Are they though? Is there something else I should know? The label is in Dutch and I don’t speak Dutch. Is there a message in the description that I can’t decipher but might allow me to appreciate my glass even more? It reads: “De ingrediënten van dit bier van hoge gisting zijn: Amsterdams water, bruinmout, kleurmout, donkermout, lichtmout, suiker, hop en gist.”
Brown malts, light malts, sugar and hops are universal in brewing; give or take a few adjuncts. They’re the raw materials, so talking bier, birra, cervesa or pivo is not that difficult after all (even in Swahili, it’s bia).
On another occasion – Scotland this time, so no obvious language barrier – we had signed up to the Edinburgh Literary Pub Tour with some 20 others; an excellent turnout on a chill Auld Reekie evening. It was an eclectic mix of locals and UK-wide visitors, save for a smattering of Americans, four Irish, a trio of Spaniards, a Portuguese journalist on a similar mission to mine and a couple of indeterminate mid-Europeans (mother and son, I guessed).
Two actors dressed in Jacobean burghers’ costume played characters called Clart and McBrain who traded beer-laden opinion for beer-laden opinion following our first pint in The Beehive in the Grassmarket, then across the Royal Mile to The Jolly Judge, our first stop-off. In a lively duel of wits, the pair debated the importance of beer and pub atmosphere in influencing creativity and intellectual thought.
The Spaniards and the indeterminate mid-Europeans got it straight away. They laughed on cue and swigged their glasses with perfect timing to the tales being told. They babbled in their own languages to the British and US contingent – getting as much back as they gave – and all the while the collected works of McEwan, Younger and Deuchar were doing the talking.
After that, it was round the corner to Deacon Brodie’s (cue some pertinent Irish contributions) down Fleshmarket Close to the Halfway House, then across Princes Street to Milne’s Bar – every step illuminated by literary connections from Robert Louis Stevenson to Irvine Welsh. By which time we were virtually all related; citizens of the world communicating in beer and promising to stay in touch for ever.
Here was our Esperanto and a golden opportunity to converse using universal terminology – beer – plus the opportunity to delve into Edinburgh folklore (we were even treated to the Scottish pub closing refrain: “cum oan ladsnlassies, see yer drinks aff, have yiz nae beds to go tae” at the end of our session). Delightful, delicious and unforgettable.
Beer is worth listening to in any tongue
When I met a Norwegian journalist on a fact-finding tour of Newcastle upon Tyne (my adopted city) the conversation inevitably flowed along a thread of beer (although, like most Norwegians, Eva Kirstin Øvstegård’s English is immaculate).
But, even though the travel website she was contributing to was Norwegian, you could still pick out the gist of her experience. For example, does “lokale puben” need any explanation?
Or, how about a comment on a much-loved Newcastle hostelry? “Tradisjonelle Bridge Hotel ved Castle Keep er en svært populær pub for lokalbefolkningen.”
Whether you call it beer, bier, birra, pivo or øl, it’s easy to communicate with others through its sheer beauty. Appreciative grunts, winks and gestures are worldwide and also animate the conversation – even with your mouth full.
And for good measure, you might even discover a new word. Mine is lokalbefolkningen, and as they say in Beer talk, what’s yours?