The renowned Czech brewery Budweiser Budvar is so concerned about developments in its own country that it has launched a consumer campaign based on what it calls the Ten Commandments of good brewing practice. Budvar ages its premium beer for 90 days, while a new bock-style Bud Super enjoys a remarkable 120 days in the lager cellar.

Budvar warns beer drinkers that the dedicated craftsmanship that created the first pale lager beer in Pilsen in the 1840s and transformed brewing worldwide is under concerted attack. It cites the case of Pilsner Urquell—the original pilsner—where aging has been reduced from 60 days to 27. SABMiller, a merger of South African Breweries and Miller of Milwaukee, now owns Pilsner Urquell.

The group dominates Czech brewing: it also owns Gambrinus, Radegast and Velke Popovice. The other major force is Interbrew, which owns Prague Breweries, where Staropramen is the leading brand.

SABMiller claims that after 30 days in the lager cellar the yeast has no more work to do. Aging beer for more than 30 days, the group says, results in liquid lying in tanks that could be used more profitably for fresh brews. Josef Tolar, brew master at Budweiser Budvar, vigorously contests this view. He believes that long aging produces beer with greater finesse, aroma and flavor.

Budvar’s concern is not restricted to aging. It criticizes other Czech brewers for tampering with fermentation temperatures to speed up production and introducing cheaper ingredients, such as malt and hop extracts.

Budvar’s campaign is not entirely altruistic. While its overseas sales continue to grow—it’s sold as Czechvar in the United States—the brewery has lost market share at home as a result of the well-heeled onslaught of Interbrew and SABMiller. Budvar hopes its insistence on using only the finest ingredients and a long aging process will appeal to a younger “green generation” concerned about fast food and over-reliance on chemicals, fat and sugar.

But a few glasses of Budvar in the bars of Ceske Budejovice should convince skeptics that the brewery is also fighting for the soul of beer.

Dramatic Change at Burton

Interbrew outraged British beer lovers in September when it announced it planned to close Boddingtons Brewery in Manchester and move production of Bass ales to Marston’s plant in Burton-on-Trent.

Interbrew bought both the Bass and Boddingtons brands in 2000. The British government told Interbrew to off-load some of its interests, as the group’s market share broke competition guidelines. Coors arrived on the British brewing scene, bought the former Bass breweries in Burton, and continued to brew Bass ales for Interbrew.

Interbrew was anxious to break its links with Coors but was aware that Bass is synonymous with Burton and the beers would lose credibility if they left the town. It has now struck a deal with Marston’s to move Bass to the town’s other major plant.

At the same time, Interbrew said it would axe Boddingtons and transfer production to plants in North-west England and South Wales. Boddingtons Bitter was once a superb pale ale, straw-colored, rich in malt, fruit and hops, and sold only in cask-conditioned form. Today, cask Boddingtons accounts for only ten percent of total production. Bass has followed a similar tragic decline; this world-renowned brand is so reduced that it can be brewed by Marston’s, its arch rival in Burton-on-Trent.

A different attitude exists among regional brewers. Fuller’s of West London is committed to cask beer production and its London Pride brand is now the biggest-selling premium ale in the country. It has also been doing some in-depth work on its famous strong pale ale, Extra Special Bitter.

Sales of ESB have faltered in recent years. It seems some drinkers are deterred by the strength of the beer. Fuller’s brewers have responded by maintaining both the recipe and the strength of the beer but allowing it to lie in conditioning tanks after fermentation for 21 days on a bed of Goldings hops. The beer has a spicy and peppery hop aroma and palate that balances the renowned rich, orange fruitiness.

ESB drinkers are now presented with a beer that doesn’t overwhelm the tastebuds with sheer alcohol and fruit but also offers a solid hop presence. It speaks volumes for Fuller’s commitment to its brands that it has sensitively improved ESB’s appeal instead of panicking, reducing the strength and destroying its rich heritage.

The British Invasion wasn’t just limited to music. Soon it seemed that almost everything British became a hot commodity—James Bond, The Avengers, Carnaby Street, Twiggy, mini skirts, Kings Road Chelsea, Monty Python, and even Benny Hill. The United States may have been born in a rebellion against Great Britain, but now almost anything from the mother country was chic.

Beer was an entirely different matter. There was Bass Ale, of course. The classic English pale ale was popular here even before imported beer became the rage. But, in general, British beer continued to bear the mythological “warm and flat” image brought back by American servicemen from the Second World War. Music, movies, and television shows were one thing, but beer was something entirely different. In America we apparently still liked our beers yellow, cold, and fizzy. End of story, right?

The emergence of craft brewing in the United States kindled a new-found appreciation of the complex flavors and aromas of many classic beer styles. Britain’s styles gained new admirers, especially once our new brewers revived them with uniquely American ingredients and verve.

Meanwhile, British brewing did not stand still, either. As the largest breweries continued to push increasingly bland products or exit the business completely, smaller regional and family brewers rededicated themselves to traditional cask beers. By the turn of the 21st century, they had been joined by a surging number of microbreweries to outpace the few remaining multinational giants in the production of cask ales. Today, Britain is overflowing with new beers of high complexity and quality. A growing number of them have been showing up on our shores.

You Say You Want A Revolution

Beer lovers in America now have access to a selection of British brands that was simply unfathomable in 1964. But despite this development, the prevailing view of British beer in this country remains remarkably out-of-date. It’s as if we stopped listening to rock music after the Beatles broke up. People still ask about old “classics” like Watney’s Red Barrel or Double Diamond, brands that haven’t been produced in eons. In musical parlance, it’s like talking about Herman’s Hermits, the Dave Clark 5, or Freddie and The Dreamers, as if Bowie, Costello, or the Clash had never existed. All is not just Bass Ale and Newcastle Brown. The fact is, we’re actually in the midst of an unparalleled British beer invasion, with choices that couldn’t be imagined just a few years ago.

Walk into a decent beer store these days and the selection of British brands can bowl you over. Next to some familiar names like Fuller’s, Young’s, and Samuel Smith are lesser-knowns (at least in the USA) like Adnams, Black Sheep, Broughton, Caledonian, Coniston, Felinfoel, Greene King, Hook Norton, Hop Back, Moorhouse’s, O’Hanlon’s, Orkney, Frederic Robinson’s, St. Peter’s, Charles Wells, and Wychwood. And not all of these are standard pale ales. There are golden summer ales bursting with hop character; low and high gravity milds; powerful old and winter ales; porters and stouts; wheat and rye ales; Scottish wee heavies and English barley wines. There are even ales brewed with heather, spruce, and gooseberry. Clearly these are not your father’s British ales.

But, truth be told, our purchasing patterns have yet to catch up with all these new choices. When we opt for a British beer, we’re just as likely to go for the more established names. Beyond Bass and Newcastle, the top sellers come from familiar old friends Samuel Smith’s, Fuller’s and Young’s. Interest in imported beers is booming, yet many magnificent British ales are gathering dust on the shelves, and we’re not talking one-hit wonders here. Why is this?