Most people would call it crazy, but the crazies call it ‘living archeology’: if material remains of our past no longer exist, we have to recreate past times as best we can in order to figure out the truth of how people lived back then. It drives some to live as bronze-age villagers, others to dress up as Roman legionnaires and go ten rounds with Gaulish barbarians. It drove me to recreate the greatest journey beer has ever made, an 18,000 mile sea journey that hasn’t existed for 140 years.
It began with a question that seemed obvious in retrospect: every brewer of an ‘authentic’ India Pale Ale claimed this was a beer that matured and developed on a long, tumultuous sea voyage from England to India. Yet no modern brewer had sent their beer on this journey. So how did they know if it was authentic or not? Who knew what a ‘real’ IPA tasted like? I didn’t think anyone did, not really. And as soon as this occurred to me, I realized I was going to change that. Whatever it took. It’s funny how in what you might later describe as a ‘moment of madness,’ you feel saner than at any other time in your life. The brain clears of all its usual clutter, and the one insane thought that occupies it sits there shining and elegant, obvious and all embracing. When the idea of brewing a nineteenth century India Pale Ale and carrying it on its legendary journey first occurred to me, it seemed like the most obvious, sensible thing in the whole world. It seemed less obvious―and certainly less sensible―over the ensuing six months, when people who know best about this kind of thing told me it couldn’t be done; when I discovered that no ship in the world stops in South Africa en route to India; when I had to apply for visas to enter India and Iran; and particularly when the Iranians refused my visa. Eventually, via a combination of cruise liner, sailing boat and cargo ship, I managed to piece together an approximation of the route. But it cost me dearly, and not just in monetary terms. Time and again I asked myself why I was doing this. Each time, I came back to the same point. IPA is my favorite beer style, and my favorite beer story. The trouble with beer stories is that they tend to get told the way all good stories are―from mouth to mouth, from pub to pub. The edges are worn away. Details are misremembered. And a dramatic flourish some guy added in a moment of inspiration becomes a core ‘fact’ two tellings down the line. I wanted to write the definitive history of IPA. Beer history is a vast and sprawling thing, full of holes and traps. But I figured I had chosen a narrow enough field to be able dig deeper than anyone before. Two and a half years later, after sifting through frustratingly incomplete brewery archives, panning for gold in the East India Company’s records and handling newspapers in which the French Revolution was reported as breaking news, I’d say I have the dubious honor of knowing more about the history of IPA than any other living soul. I’m not sure if that’s something I should be proud of, or bring up with my analyst. I started off by gathering everything written about IPA in beer books and journals and on websites, everything in historical tomes and style guides. Most of it pointed back to two books: one published in 1853, the other in 1870. Each of these, in its own way, is somewhat unreliable. Consequently, many myths have grown up around IPA, as passionate fans attempt to discover more about the beer and its origins. Here are ten of the biggest myths around this fascinating legend―some wholly inaccurate―others merely misunderstood.
1. IPA was invented by London brewer George Hodgson in 1785.
There are two falsehoods in this statement. Hodgson is often credited with ‘inventing’ IPA because he was the brewer who first gained supremacy in the Indian market. But for years before his rise to prominence, ‘pale ale’ was being advertised in the Calcutta Gazette. Well before Hodgson’s ale was advertised by name, brewers such as Bell’s of Burton-on-Trent were prominently featured. IPA evolved from aged October ales, and it’s likely that several brewers had the idea of adapting these ales for the Indian market independently of each other. Any interested brewer would know that beers high in alcohol and hops, designed for cellar aging up to ten years, had the best chance of surviving a six-month sea journey. The Hodgson family gained prominence primarily through their commercial dealings with the East India Company rather than by inventing a new beer―most likely, they gradually evolved their recipe based on feedback from India. As for the 1785 date―this is often cited because it is the date of an ad in the Calcutta Gazette for ‘pale ale, light and sparkling.’ The reason there are no prior ads is because this is the date the Gazette, the first newspaper in British India, was first published―not because pale ale didn’t exist in India before. There are records of ‘Burton and pale ale’ being drunk in Madras as early as 1717―giving the lie to the myth that this was a new style of beer invented in London later that century, and that London brewers predated Burton in India.
2. IPA became popular in England following a shipwreck in 1827, when an India-bound cargo was washed ashore near Liverpool.
This story is reported in Alfred Molyneaux’s book, Burton and its Bitter Beer, written fifty years after the supposed event, with no specific names, dates or sources. The shipwreck probably did happen. Ships were wrecked off the British coast all the time, and their cargoes were routinely sold off by insurers. So it’s highly likely that cargoes of India-bound beers were sold off in this way on a regular basis, but very unlikely that one specific incident introduced Britain to India Pale Ale in such a dramatic fashion. Bass and Allsopp, the two most famous Burton brewers, were both selling strong pale ale in Britain before 1827, and yet ‘India Pale Ale’ was not introduced as a term to describe beer until 1833―proving that that the style came around as a gradual evolution.
3. OK then, how about this—IPA became world-famous following Bass’ presence at the 1851 Great Exhibition in London, which was visited by a third of the UK population. That must be true—it’s in the definitive history of Bass Charrington, researched entirely from original daybooks, brewing logs, press cuttings etc.
Admittedly persuasive and cited regularly in newspaper stories about IPA from as early as 1870. But a cursory examination of the records of the Great Exhibition reveals that the event was dry. The organizers were worried that with the aid of alcohol, such a gathering of the masses could easily turn into a riotous mob. Some enterprising businessmen sold beer through the railings lining Hyde Park―where the Exhibition was held―and were promptly arrested. The only beer drunk inside was ginger ale.
4. IPA was remarkable because the grueling journey to India meant other beers, such as porter, were undrinkable by the time they arrived.
Early ads in Indian newspapers reveal the Anglo-Indians enjoyed porter, brown ale, cyder, even small beer, as well as pale ale. Even when IPA reached its zenith in the 1870s, porter was still being imported to India in huge quantities. IPA wasn’t the only beer that could survive the journey (porter was also high in alcohol, and could just as well have been highly hopped). It’s more that, when consumed ice cold, it was the beer that most suited the Anglo-Indian palate.
5. IPA was cask conditioned, with live yeast undergoing a vigorous fermentation in the cask during the journey to India.
Every brewer who wrote a guide to brewing India Pale Ale in the nineteenth century agreed that the worst thing that could possibly happen to the beer was for residual yeast in the cask to create a secondary fermentation. While filtration techniques were not what they are now, brewers tried their best to get as much of the yeast out of the beer as they possibly could before packaging it for the journey. Even then, between eight and ten percent of casks exploded en route. And at temperatures of over thirty degrees, yeast would have started to misbehave and add unwelcome Brettanomyces characteristics to the beer. So IPA was filtered. Add to this the belief of Madeira winemakers that long exposure to moderately high temperatures over long periods had an effect comparable to shorter, more intense pasteurization, and IPA had more in common with a modern filtered and pasteurized beer than a ‘traditional’ cask conditioned ale―a style that was actually a descendant from IPA.
Pete Brown
Pete Brown was born in 1968 in Barnsley, South Yorkshire, England. Since 1991 he has worked in advertising, specializing in marketing beer. He has appeared regularly on television as a beer expert, writes on beer for a variety of publications and is the author of Man Walks into a Pub, the award-winning travel book Three Sheets to the Wind and Hops and Glory. He lives in London.
Excellent article! Very informative and it made the history fairl exciting. You also don’t need to play down the fact that you know a lot more than nearly everyone about IPAs. You did the research and were smart enough to work everything out. Be proud of it. You don’t have to be arrogant, but you also don’t need to put yourself down as you did in at least two places!
Good article but I have seen it written (I’m at work right now and don’t have access to references) that, at least by volume, the largest portion of IPA shipped to India was actually brewed in Vancouver and sent by Clipper ship across the Pacific. This is because it was both cheaper to brew there and faster to transport it from there to India. I believe that this was a later development, probably from the 1870s on. The writer of this article doesn’t address whether this is true and if so what effect this would have had on the recipes. I’d be interested if he’s heard of this claim and his thoughts on it.
Haven’t heard that at all. If it was after the 1870s then that may well be why – Burton’s dominance was on the wane by then, and brewers in other parts for the world could Burtonise their water, and brewers in Vancouver would certainly have had access to some good hops. I’m sceptical though because after 1870 it certainly wouldn’t have been faster to transport to India. By that time we had steam ships going through the Med and down the Suez canal, and it only took three weeks from the UK too India on that route. It would have been longer and more dangerous to cross the Pacific and then go through south east Asia to India.
I’d seen a piece (Beer Advocate, maybe?) speaking to IPA and porters. The gist of the story was that the IPA was for the other ranks and the porter was for the officers.
That being the case, should anything have to go overboard it would be the IPA.
Regardless, thanks for the article – and Happy IPA Day!
A well-written, entertaining and informative piece. Novice IPA nipper that I am, I’ll be glad to share it with my IPA-quaffing colleagues.
The original so called was like Budshite. Dead before it hit the bottle or in those days oak cask. A Brit thousands of miles will drink any old rubbish so long as it tastes somat like he remembers. Does not mean to us now its any good. The British soldier in India would have drunk Budshite.
Hi Andrew,
How do you know that? Were you in India in the early 19th century? I’d love to hear more about your memories.
Note only porter and perry are mentioned in a RN ancestor’s disapproving 1808 note on his Calcutta hosts: “at 7 … they sit down in half an hour to a great dinner where little or nothing is eaten – Everything is English – the Table Service – Porter, Perry, Hams &c procured at an enormous price – after dinner, the Hookhar [pipe] is introduced for a short hour – when the Gentlemen repair to the Ladies, who give coffee… which does not prevent the Smoking – and frequently but not always a great supper finishes the Eating of the day.” At ‘tiffin’ (lunch), they had had wine. IPA would have been so much more refreshing…