Meetinghouse, 2331 E Cumberland St, Philadelphia.

I was in love with Meetinghouse before setting foot in the Philadelphia pub. Opened about a year ago, it quickly became a new classic with its simple and impeccable menu combined with its laidback, welcoming environment. Given the chatter around town and beyond, I’m definitely not the only one in love.

The team that opened Meetinghouse includes folks with great reputations around Philly including Keith Shore, Marty West, Drew DiTomo, and Colin McFadden. Colin and I had previously met through our mutual friend, Jess Reaves.

Though that prior intro to Colin was brief, I saw his incredibly warm, kind, and passionate personality. When Jess told me that Colin was opening a pub, I knew it woud be great.

Colin isn’t the only affable person at Meetinghouse. In something that I like to attribute to Philadelphia, the rest of the team, including his partners and their staff, are down-to-earth, authentic, and kind. It’s a culture, and to be a patron there is to be a part of it. It seeps into your body and warms your soul. That’s a bit dramatic, but a great pub can have that kind of effect.

The aesthetic at Meetinghouse is simple. If you want to experience it as a regular pub, you can do that. It has everything you need. But if you want to pay a little more attention, you’ll notice everything is subtly and stylishly elevated. It’s one of those highly Instagramable spaces, but the place is so captivating that if you actually think to take out your phone, you almost feel guilty.

Baked clams and Creamed Chipped Beef at Meetinghouse.

Highlights from the kitchen for me were the hot roast beef sandwich that manages to be decadent and a little messy without feeling gluttonous, the addictive, garlicky and herbaceous baked clams (I think we had three orders while in town), the tangy green salad that helped me nurse my hangover (it’s comprised solely of greens and a dressing), and the fries. Yes, the fries were a highlight. They’re perfect.  

They have specials throughout the week and it’s frustrating to see them post these on social media when you can’t get there to enjoy. In particular, they do a mussel and frites night, and knowing how good the fries are, I’m sure they’re the perfect vessel to absorb as much mussel broth as possible.

It’s not a typical pub menu, but it is pub grub. High-quality pub grub without being pretentious. The same goes for the beer. Meetinghouse has three house beers designed by Colin and made across the Delaware River at South Jersey’s Tonewood Brewing.

Their marketing makes it simple when describing the beer:

Morning Swim is a Pale Beer.

Mount Pleasant is a Hoppy Beer.

Living Thing is a Dark Beer.

All of these things are true. In just a few simple words, they explain so much. And with simple recipes that are perfectly executed, these beers do so much whether those drinking them see it or not. But I don’t think they’re actually designed to do much besides be enjoyable. The Meetinghouse team is not interested in how many bottlecaps their beers have on Untappd. They just want to make sure their patrons have a solid beer to enjoy in their pub.

So, not surprisingly, they’re all approachable. The use of Kölsch yeast in each beer helps make this happen. It creates simple, easy-drinking beer that straddles the line between lager and ale. They’re all at reasonable ABVs (between 4.9 and 5.6 ABV) and poured in roughly twelve-ounce servings. It’s meant to allow you to have a few in one stop.  

Morning Swim is a pale beer.

Mount Pleasant is a hoppy beer.

Living Thing is a dark beer.

Of the three, Morning Swim is the one most similar to a Kölsch. It’s also reminiscent of a Cream Ale, but more polished. This is high-end lawnmower beer, without feeling gussied up.

Though also a pale beer, Mount Pleasant is a hoppy beer, as advertised. It hits the spot for any reasonable person who claims to like hoppy beer. But if you’re not a hophead, it’s not overly hopped.

Living Thing has a fairly light body, making it somewhat akin to a Schwarzbier, but the flavor profile is a little more nuanced giving hints of Baltic Porter.

In addition to these three, there are two other beers available. Two beers that I personally adore. Guinness and Orval. In a rare instance of chutzpah, Colin proudly notes they serve the best Guinness in Philly. I had one. It was perfect. And while I was there (on a hot summer weekend, mind you), Guinness was regularly being poured.  

The Orval doesn’t move as fast, but we made sure to have some. It’s one of my all-time favorite beers and since they make the effort to stock it, it would have been rude not to have one.

A half dozen pints of Guinness lined up on a hot summer night.

Orval, served by the incredibly kind Al Upshaw at Meetinghouse. (Chcek out Al’s project, Concrete Blues. He’s making cask ale!)

Beyond beer, there’s a brief cocktail list that includes Long Island Iced Tea. Though I was incredibly curious, I didn’t manage to squeeze one in on this trip. I did have an excellent Negroni. Beyond the cocktails, the have a few bottles of staple liquors.

Like the beer menu, there’s a streamlined wine selection. A red, a white, and a sparkling wine. Simple. There’s also a weekly mystery wine. Again, like the beer, these are all interesting but approachable.

Rounding things out, they have the Ploughman cider and a handful of NA options.  

Colin and Jess reunite. Greetings aren’t always this intense at Meetinghouse, but they’re close.

Meetinghouse was our first and last stop on a 24-hour trip to Philly. We grabbed brunch with Brendon from Carbon Copy before heading back to New York. Brendon opened Carbon Copy’s new location in the Port Richmond neighborhood that weekend (another great spot worth checking out. Go for the beer. Stay for the pierogies.) We reminisced while Marty and Colin popped in and out of the conversation before Brendon had to head off for a long day at the new spot.

I watched as Marty warmly greeted customers when they came in. It was hard to tell if they were old friends, regulars, or new customers, but the atmosphere was so relaxed and welcoming that it felt like we could all instantly be friends and join in conversation together. When you enter Meetinghouse, it’s like you’re walking into a get-together in their living room with people that if they’re not already friends, they will be shortly. The warm summer Sunday afternoon called for another Morning Swim and an order of baked clams. It was really hard to leave my new friends at Meetinghouse.

Berwick Brewing, in Berwick, Pennsylvania, avoids the hype, merch, and social media trends that can only go so far for a brewery over time. Perhaps that is why not enough people talk about the unassuming spot making some of the best beer in the country, especially their lager.

I went to Berwick a few weeks back to interview the brewery’s owner, Tom Clark, about the history of lining beer vessels with pitch (a project many of you know I have been working on (and off) for a while, and which is sincerely, actively moving forward. I promise.) Though the topic du jour was pitch, I went home thinking about how fascinating the place was.  

Berwick’s taproom is missing the glitzy bells and whistles that newer breweries have. There’s nothing wrong with these newer taprooms. There are lot of positive things they offer, but Berwick has proven enduring with something different.

It’s the kind of place that feels like it has been around a while, and it has. The brewery was established in 2008, but the building goes back much further, operating as Vaughn’s Bakery for many decades (the exact name of the bakery may have been different.) The brewery’s patina is authentic and part of its charm. For the beer history nerd, it’s also a bit of a mini-museum, but that’s a different story.

There are influences of a Bavarian biergarten, particularly the long, shared tables. This is not surprising as Tom has spent a fair amount of time there over the years. These tables can be found in varying rooms beyond the bar room. This includes a space out in the back that overlooks the Susquehanna River. (You’d think I would have some pictures of the brewery here, but despite taking a wealth of photos related to the whole pitch thing, I have no good photos of the brewery itself. Check out Google Images to get an idea.)

There’s no secret formula to this space. It’s simple and it works. But the beer they serve is world-class. It’s the glue that keeps this third space together. But you don’t need to fuss over it. It’s there for your enjoyment in the background as you share time with others.  

I brought home three lagers and a Cream Ale from my day trip to Berwick. The lagers gorgeously showcase traditional German ingredients. For hops, there’s Tettnang in the Berwick Lager, Spalter Select in the Zwickel Pilsner, and Hallertau in the Hondo Keller Bier. Each of these beers are built on a variety of German malts.

Though I love all of them, I gravitate most toward the Keller Bier with its gorgeous light amber color. And as is my general practice with amber lagers, Berwick recommends it be served in a stein krug (that’s the stone mug. Important to note…Oktoberfest is around the corner. I used a willibecher in the photo above to show off the color.)

Vaughn’s Cream Ale may very well be the best Cream Ale I’ve ever had. It does everything a Cream Ale is supposed to do. It’s a light, crushable beer-flavored beer that doesn’t taste cheap (or fancy). The beer is named after the bakery that previously occupied the site.

To better understand the magic of Berwick, it’s best to go there to experience it.  Sure, it’s in a pretty remote location, but it’s worth the trip if you can make it. Even if you can’t, it’s a reminder to think of other breweries closer to you that you may be overlooking.  

A lineup of Cream Ales from New York State. This includes Genesee Cream Ale, Newburgh Cream Ale, Prison City Cream Ale, La Cream from Aurora Brewing, and a charitable collaboration from Threes Brewing, Finback Brewing, Strong Rope Brewery and Wild East Brewing.

It seems that Cream Ale may survive the pastry-fication era of beer a little rattled, but intact. Maybe more than any other style, it was ripe for complete bastardization as some American brewers in recent years pushed styles to the extreme. However, on a recent trip to the beer store, I saw way more examples of “traditional” Cream Ale than those with adjuncts like marshmallow or guava. And the fact that numerous examples were readily available says something about its relevance (this availability may have a geographical skew here in New York, which has, IMHO, always been the most important state in the history of Cream Ale.)

Like every other style, Cream Ale has evolved. The story most often told of the beer’s origins is that American ale brewers made Cream Ale in the 1800s to compete with the pale lagers that were exploding in popularity at the time. This was done by brewing a very pale, golden ale with a grist bill that included up to or around 30 percent corn or rice and fermented at cooler temperatures like a lager. It’s kinda like the Cold IPA of the 1800s. The truth is that there already was a beer called Cream Ale in the United States before Pilsner Urquell released its highly influential beer in 1842.

John Taylor's Sons' Albany Imperial Cream Ale by John Taylor's Sons' Brewery - 1865. Image source: Biblio.

One of the earliest records of Cream Ale comes from Albany, New York. However, the big headline from the early accounts does not paint a pretty picture of the beer.

Albany’s John Taylor Brewery (the name changed over the years) was called out by Temperance Movement zealot Edward C. Delavan in the 1830s for brewing with a water source that was contaminated by nearby industries, cemeteries, and animals (live and dead). Seeking to defend his business, Taylor filed a libel suit against Delavan. However, it seemed clear that there was some truth to Delavan’s claims, and the court sided with him.

Delavan and his allies used this for their propaganda, notably in the publication called the Cold Water Army Dialogues, published in 1842. In it, there’s a fictional story where a character expresses surprise as he sees someone order an Albany Cream Ale since he thought the person was a member of the Temperance Society. In response, the Cream Ale drinker says, “I am none of your tetotalers…”

The teetotaler proceeds to tell the drinker the story of the Taylor brewery and the trial. (As a side note, in the exchange, one of the characters notes, “I asked why they call it cream ale, and they said it was because it looked yellow, like cream.”) Swayed by the description of the brewery’s practices, the drinker concedes, “…let me see the trial. If it is as you say, I will drink no more cream ale.”

Image source: Tavern Trove.

Cream Ale got caught up in Temperence Movement controversy again several decades later in the early 1900s with Laevison’s Original Cream Ale Special Brew, aka “The Great Temperance Beer”, from Paducah, Kentucky. In 1911, The Journal of the American Medical Association discussed Laevison’s Cream Ale, noting it was advertised as a Temperance drink, but samples found it to contain four percent alcohol. It stated (with a confusing use of the term “Cream Ale” seemingly implying a nonalcoholic beverage), “in the case of the “Cream Ale” it was declared to be not only misbranded but adulterated in that fermented beer had been substituted in part for the “cream ale.”

Despite these sporadic sidesteps, Cream Ale persevered. It re-emerged after Prohibition, but as Jeff Alworth notes in The Beer Bible, it came back a “lesser beer”. In particular, he notes it lost its strength and bitterness.

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As implied above, Cream Ale was not and is not monolithic. Stan Hieronymus has pointed out a notable example in his book, Brewing Local, with the case of Kentucky Common. This beer is essentially a darker version of Cream Ale that was made beginning in the 1880s. The American Handy Book of The Brewing, Malting And Auxiliary Trades by Max Henius and Robert Wahl notes the darker color in Kentucky Common may come from sugar, caramel and/or roasted malt. It also mentions the addition of corn, but doesn’t mention rice for this particular sub-style.

There are also other types of beer referred to as Cream Ale in a few different beer cultures. Irish Cream Ale typically means an Irish Red Ale that uses nitrogen to create creamy foam. Similarly, Mirella Amato has pointed out in her book Beerology the various Cream Ales found in Quebec, Canada, which she connects to McAuslan Cream Ale. This beer is a nitrogenated Pale Ale. Mirella also identifies a different Canadian Cream Ale from British Columbia originating at Russell Brewing that she describes as a “reddish-brown beer resembling a dark, English mild.”

Confusingly, there was also an Irish Cream Ale in the United States called Beverwyck Irish Brand Cream Ale from Albany, New York. It’s unclear why it had a reference to Ireland, but there’s no reason to believe it was notably different in style than the other Cream Ales being made in the US in the second half of the 1800s. According to the book Upper Hudson Valley Beer, Schaefer purchased the brewery in 1950 and discontinued the Irish Brand Cream Ale, but customers weren’t having it. So, the brewery brought the beer back under the Schaefer name.

Image sources: Pinterest, CanSmart Auctions

Many contemporary brewers have honored the overall concept of Cream Ale, with some putting minor tweaks on it here and there. They seem to shine best when they’re closer to the description of the pre-prohibition versions with more character and bitterness than those that followed prohibition. In a surprise to no one, others have used the term “cream” to take incredible liberties with the style, but as Josh Bernstein says in his book The Complete Beer Course, “there’s something to be said for the simple pleasures of an unadulterated cream ale.”

Looking forward though, as a newer generation of brewers matures, subtlety is becoming popular again. As is, a standard Cream Ale can hit the spot, but there are a few opportunities to tinker with the beer that could be cool. And its dual identity as ale and lager offers some good possibilities. Just spitballing here.

One immediate opportunity is to overcome the challenges the use of rice and corn pose with the creation of foam and head retention. These two adjuncts are lacking in the proteins that help create dense, lasting suds. So, tinkering with the grain bill can help create a Cream Ale that still presents the attributes we want from the beer, but bolsters the foam as well. This could be done by cutting back a little bit on the additions of corn or rice. Also, a small addition of Carafoam can help.

With those modifications, Cream Ale could work well from a Lukr faucet, or maybe as real ale from a handpump. And taking cues from Ireland and Canada, even nitro could work. Yeah, cream ale is not supposed to taste like cream (hold the lactose, please), but creamy foam is a-ok.

“Wafer”, a Cream Ale collaboration between Brookyln’s Strong Rope Brewery and Miles, The Prince in White Plains, New York. The beer spent a brief amout of time in a foeder.

Since Cream Ale mimics American lager, why not put it in pitch-lined vessels like American lager was back in the day? (I say this recongnizing there’s less than a handful of brewers prepared to do this right now.) Or, since it’s an ale, maybe a little (just a little) barrel character isn’t out of line. Brooklyn-based Strong Rope Brewery and Miles the Prince in nearby White Plains, New York recently teamed up for a Cream Ale, called “Wafer”, that spent some time in a foeder.  The result is fantastic. It’s a beer that’s true to the essence of Cream Ale, but for those paying attention, there’s a little something extra there that is complementary to the style and sets the beer apart from others.

It would also be great if more brewers were making Kentucky Common-type Cream Ales, or even darker brews. Either way, American Adjunct Ales through the spectrum of pale to dark would be great to see, making use of a variety of malts that are out there, particularly from smaller, regional malt houses. Likewise, indigenous/local hops are a great way to add character to the beer when possible. That said, Willamette, Fuggle, Cluster, Northern Brewer, Tettnanger, Styrian Golding, and Hallertau are all good hops for Cream Ale. Broadly speaking for both malt and hops, varieties that work well with ale and lager and don’t have intense characterstics work well.

Corn products seem to be the default adjunct for Cream Ale as it is with Mexican Lager and other American Adjunct Lagers. That’s fine, but some more releases with rice would be cool to see.

Finally, maybe it’s time to give those Temperance folks the Cream Ale they wanted. Now is great time to make NA Cream Ale.

Mahar’s Public Bar, c. 2008. Image source: All Over Albany

With a bit of anticipation and uneasiness, two college students approached the bar at Mahar’s in Albany, New York, and ordered half and half’s. Though they likely knew Mahar’s Public Bar was a great place for beer, they may not have known it was also not highly regarded for its service. The barkeep that evening, Bill, was the least welcoming of all the staff.    

Clearly irritated by the order, Bill asked the duo what beers they wanted to be used for half dark, half pale layered drink. Thrown by the question, one of them nervously replied, “Guinness and Budweiser.” His response sounded more like a question.

Bill, in many ways a real-life version of the snooty comic bookstore owner from The Simpsons, briskly replied that the pub did not carry Budweiser, but if they did, he would never make that drink with it. Thanks to this warm welcome, it would not be surprising if the students retreated to their more familiar college dive bar, well-stocked with Natty Ice, forever turned off by the lure of better beer.  

The bar at Mahar’s. Image source: Yelp.

Cask beer handpumps at Mahar’s. Image source: Yelp.

Despite the unwelcoming culture, Mahar’s was one of the very few places in the region to serve a wide array of beer during its day, and it managed to have a positive impact on many people. I was one of them.  

I moved to Albany shortly after getting into beer. Though I didn’t choose my first apartment due to its proximity to Mahar’s, it was a huge perk. Like, Billy Fuccillo huge (IYKYK). It was less than a minute away on foot from my front door.

I moved to town for graduate school in the early aughts, and in addition to working toward two advanced degrees, I had also set a goal of finishing the Mahar’s beer tour. You achieved this by drinking 200 different beers (or maybe it was 500. See below), and could only have four counted toward your tour each day. (Though 200 finished the tour and earned you a case of beer, with 500, you got your name on a plaque. Along the way, 50 earned you a t-shirt and 125 got you your own mug behind the bar. This is my recollection of the program, and it has been a while. So, forgive me if I didn’t nail it. You get the idea though.)

When you got to the bar, you made your way to the back where an old DOS computer kept track of what you drank, and you could print out a list of the day’s offerings minus what you already had on your tour. A primitive Untappd, I suppose. I don’t remember much in life, but I can tell you my tour code was 19570. I recently found one of these sheets that confirms the number.

A snipet from my Mahar’s beer tour menu for May 14, 2005.

I have subsequently learned that beers people drank may not have always made it into the system. This apparently depended on several things, including whether the staff liked you and/or liked what you drank. Daniel Kravitz was a Mahar’s patron, and he told me his experience, saying, “there was a running joke that Bill wouldn't cross off beers from the list that he didn't respect and for some strange reason Hoegaarden Wit would always be on my list. I must've drank that beer twelve times before it finally got crossed off.”

I enjoyed the tour, but many criticized it as they felt it was distracting. In hindsight, I completely understand this perspective. However, as an introvert who often went to Mahar’s alone, this distraction was likely a helpful social crutch for me.  

Despite what I said above, here’s some evidence to show I actually went to Mahar’s sometimes with my friends.

I never really felt the wrath of the employees there, personally. I was polite, quiet and curious. I did get called a hophead once for ordering and admitting that I liked Victory Prima Pils.  

The one time I did catch a bit of attitude was when Smithwick’s came to the US. As crazy as it sounds now, people were excited about it at that time. I walked in one night when they had it on tap and asked Bill for a “Smith-wicks”. He obnoxiously replied, “you mean Smit-icks?” I wasn’t having a particularly good day and angrily fired back, “I don’t care how you say it, can you just get me the beer?” From then on, Bill treated me much better. I wouldn’t say we ever had a laugh together or anything pleasant like that, but he gave me some respect, which, you know, is what he should’ve shown all customers. Nonetheless, I felt like I was accepted. Others did too.

Shaun Pekar tells me, “getting to drink at Mahar’s felt a bit like getting into some secret club where beer was different.” Now a brewer at Wayward Lane Brewing, Shaun says looking back, “in retrospect, I was embarking on a journey that very clearly was leading me to my current career path.”

Shaun learned a lot at Mahar’s. And as he says, it was a place of many firsts. “My first Lambic, my first Rauchbier, my first pint of real ale,” he reminisces. Daniel learned a bit as well. He explains, “I learned about proper glassware and how to pour a beer. I picked up Michael Jackson books that were laying around and would read them…I learned that there are too many beers to say you don't like beer.”

“I want to be perfectly clear in saying that the bartenders there

ranged from curt to downright unpleasant in their mannerisms.”

Online comment on Mahar’s

Though everyone I have recently spoken to about Mahar’s has an overall positive view of the place, they all clearly are aware it was not so easygoing for others, and pretty much all reviews, articles, etc. that can still be found online convey that. It’s astounding the number of times the word “surly” appears. 

One entry on BeerAdvocate reads, “service is well, notorious. Know what you want to order, order it, say please and thank you, leave the bar and go sit down/stand with your friends.” It’s reminiscent of “The Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld.  

A more blunt comment on Yelp describing Mahar’s says, “Staff is ridiculously rude, so much so that ordering a drink is usually an unpleasant ordeal. Beer selection is impressive, but definitely not worth dealing with the trollish bartenders.”

Some recognized that the service did vary a bit, as shown in the following comment from an article about Mahar’s in the local Albany newspaper. The comment reads, “I want to be perfectly clear in saying that the bartenders there ranged from curt to downright unpleasant in their mannerisms.”

To be fair, there was one great bartender during my time going there. His name was Kieran, and he typically worked Thursday nights. Accordingly, more often than not, that was the night I was there.

A sign of the times and vibes at Mahar’s. Image source: Yelp.

Owner Jim Mahar was nearly as brusque, but not as rude as Bill. Nonetheless, it’s interesting that Jim and some of his staff treated customers the way they did since he regularly told a story of being turned away at a Sam Smith’s pub in England. He described arriving at the pub as they were closing for the afternoon hours as they used to do in England. It appeared to him that the staff and patrons inside were still drinking, amused by the American being turned away. This was enough to make him permanently and passionately deride Sam Smith’s beer (though he still sold it). Yet he created a space that in some ways mimicked the less desirable elements of Sam Smith’s pubs, known for their strict rules and questionable hospitality.

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By the end of the aughts, those looking for great beer in the Albany Capital District had options. While Mahar’s still excelled in a couple of areas like their cask service and their in-depth knowledge, other bars carried a solid selection without the attitude and without the old man vibes. Further, the beer nerd market was shifting toward new American beers that were highly hopped. Though Mahar’s stocked a variety of beer, the low carbonation, cellar temperature ale that had been a strong selling point for the pub was no longer as appealing as the beers battling out the IBU wars available in other places around town.

Unsurprisingly stubborn, Jim Mahar did little to change his bar that he opened in 1989. While I appreciated that (not including the shitty service), many understandably did not. They moved on.

A few short years later in 2013, the Mahar’s building was sold and they were forced out. According to local news reports at the time, this news was unexpected to Mahar. Others disputed that. Either way, Mahar indicated it was not an amicable closure.

Mahar had already set up another pub not too far away in Castleton in 2010, but that only lasted until 2014. He passed away shortly afterward in 2015 at the age of 65.

He certainly had his critics, and for good reason, but it was quite an accomplishment to run the kind of establishment he did, where he did, at the time he did, and for over twenty years.

For a period, those on their beer tour were able to continue the journey in town at the Allen Street Pub. My understanding is that came to an end when ownership of this pub changed hands sometime after.  

Mahar’s was replaced by the Madison Pour House, which is still in operation today.

Delaware Supply owners Lauren Slezak and Colin Pratt. Image source: Instagram.

While Mahar’s is now gone for over a decade, there’s a new generation of beer drinkers in Albany that have captured some of the better attributes of the now closed pub, leaving the hostile environment and toxic attitudes in the past. Notably, this includes Delaware Supply, opened by Lauren Slezak and Colin Pratt in 2017.  

While the diversity of the beers carried by Mahar’s often meant there was something for everyone, this may have been a happy coincidence as opposed to an intentional effort to be welcoming. On the contrary, Delaware Supply aims to be welcoming to all, curious college kids included. That means a diversity in beer styles, supplemented with other choices like cider, natural wine, kombucha and NA beverages.

Lauren and Colin are both incredibly polite and happy to offer their knowledge to their patrons without belittling them. They actually enjoy sharing the things they love as opposed to being inhospitable gatekeepers. As an example, Colin says, “serving Orval to somebody for the first time is joyful for everybody involved.”

The something for everyone ethos carries over to their streamlined, but mouth-watering food program. It’s streamlined because Delaware Supply is not a restaurant, but they want you to have easy access to a delicious bite if you’re in need. (Mahar’s also had a few things to eat for a period (see menu above) but I can’t say from experience if it was any good.) Lauren’s goal is to be “simple, fresh, tasty, and a little bit different”. On the menu, you’ll find sandwiches like spicy capocollo with peppadew cheddar spread and pickled celery on a toasted ciabatta roll, tinned fish, olives and other snacks like that.

“Serving Orval to somebody for the first time is joyful for everybody involved.” Colin Pratt, Delaware Supply. Image source: Instagram.

A cask from New Jersey’s The Seed sits atop the bar at Delaware Supply. Image source: Instagram.

They’ve been doing gravity pour cask service periodically for a while and say that when word got out that they were serving cask ale, people started showing up that they had never seen before. Turns out, many of Mahar’s customers still live in the area and they still like cask beer. All these new folks who show up for cask beer mention Mahar’s. That made them have the realization that they were filling a gap in the market, in part, because of Mahar’s closure.

After an event where Suarez Family Brewery temporarily installed a handpump at the bar, Lauren and Colin saw how easy it could be to have their own permanent setup. Gravity casks have their place, but pulling pints from a handpump (that they accessorize with a sparkler), can’t be beat.  

Delaware Supply gives a nod to the legacy of Mahar’s with a special drink that was occassionally served at the shuttered pub. The drink is a blend of two Coniston beers. At one time, the British brewery did this themselves, blending and packaging their Bluebird Bitter and Old Man Ale to produce a beer they referred to as ‘Opium’. Opium could not be imported into the US with that name. So, Mahar’s would bring in Bluebird Bitter and Old Man Ale and blend the two themselves.

Lauren and Colin call it “Mahar’s Special Blend” for two reasons. First, they’re not going to call it Opium. Second, Lauren tells me, “it reminds people that we’re connected to the greater Albany craft beer scene that Mahar’s really established for the rest of us.”

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Albany has had a great beer culture for a long time. It punches well above its weight for a small city in Upstate New York. Mahar’s was an incredibly important part of its culture and history, and was an influential place for myself and many others. Delaware Supply is doing this for a newer generation, and with that, the evolution of Albany as a great beer town continues, for the better at the moment.

The Ambleside Pub is opening in Mount Kisco, New York this week with a house cask Bitter as its star. Normally, I would say that sounds like a very risky venture, but in this case, there’s good reason to suggest it may actually work.

First, people crave authentic experiences lately and pub owner Drew Hodgson has done everything he can to ensure this space is like the traditional pubs of his native England. In addition to the cask ale, the attention to detail covers everything from the interior design of the space down to the Scampi Fries (look ‘em up) you can snack on at the bar.

Second, there has been a slight uptick in the sales of traditional English styles like Dark Mild, and several breweries are even installing handpumps in their taprooms. Drew is aware of these trends, but he’s got more than that going for him.

A few years back, Drew and his wife, Leigh, opened The Hamlet, a British goods store just down the street from The Ambleside. Due to this, he knows he already has a sizable customer base, particularly British expats, craving British goods and an authentic British experience in their home away from home. With these folks alone, there’s a level of comfort that they will regularly turnover firkin-sized casks.  

The primary beverage that will be pulled from the handpumps is their very own Ambleside Best Bitter, a 4.3-percent ABV ale brewed for them by Old Glenham Brewery. The inspiration for the beer goes back to Drew’s youth. He grew up within walking distance from The Boddington Arms in Wilmslow, England, and drank the classic British ale, Boddington’s, on a regular basis.

It’s true that Boddington’s is a shadow of its former self, or so I’m told, but Drew sought out something akin to the Boddington’s from his youth. Something with a bit more character than what the beer presents today.

Working with Ian Hatton at Old Glenham (another British expat), they created a flavorful, and of course sessionable bitter, brewed with a malt base of Maris Otter, and a little Munich and wheat on top of that. It’s hopped with Fuggles, East Kent Golding and Bramling Cross hops.

If you know your British geography, you know that Ambleside is a picturesque village in the Lake District, close to where Drew was born, and Wilmslow is also in the north. So, it goes without saying that the swan necks on the handpumps include sparklers.

When I brought up the question of whether to sparkle or not when speaking to Drew and Ian, they both immediately replied as if there was no other possibility. Sparkler it is.

The beer is the focus of the pub. Drew emphatically tells me, “we care about beer more than anything else.” But they’ve got a perfectly streamlined menu with all the classics if you need a bite. Shepherd's Pie, Bangers and Mash, Fish and Chips and Cornish Pasties, along with the Scampi Fries and other crisps.

It’s more than the beer though, of course. It’s about creating a warm, welcoming place to gather. This will be particularly true when Premier League football matches are happening. The pub will be opening early on game days and Drew believes the pub will also be a destination to watch the matchups.

The pub is a welcome addition to the region, which hasn’t had a space with reliable cask beer in quite some time (The Lazy Boy used to pull cask pints, but that is now a faded memory). In addition to those thirsting for subtle cask beer, given the evolving beer market, The Ambleside may be able to generate some new fans of cask beer. And if cask beer isn’t your thing, they have a bevy of other beverages including a properly served Guinness. Pull up and let them pull you a pint.