6 Degrees of Seperation

19th Century [April 1822] – Bow District, London, England: 31-Year-Old Brit

       Taking a deep draw of the dark-chocolate-colored liquid in my pint glass, I savor the creamy head on contact, roasted malt flavor backbone, and lingering acrid bitter finish.  A common beer, for the common man.  Or woman, in my case.  So smooth and refreshing. 

       My elated ecstasy is interrupted by a wobbly stack of letters being placed on the polished mahogany surface in front of me by the barmaid.  She’s my cousin, but we could easily be confused for sisters, based on our similar appearance and mannerisms.  This brewery business is decidedly a family affair.

       As the youngest, and most organized, member of the direct descendants, I now receive and review all mail sent my grandfather’s way, even decades after his patriarchal passing.  Based on the high quantity of communications, many from far-flung regions of the globe, he influenced a lot of people with his prized products.  Namely, the tasty beer housed in the tall mug held in my left hand. 

      Now sitting on the bar top is the most recent batch of correspondence.  These are compiled and passed off to me weekly for review, most addressed to the brewery entity itself as opposed to a specific person.  There’s a dozen letters this week, equating to twice the average cadence.  Interesting.

     Taking one dingy white rectangle off the stack with my delicate fingers, I turn the object over inquisitively.  The outside of the envelop has multiple stamps adhered, and is adorned with several postage insignias.  These processing details make the origin of the packet clear.  The continent of Asia, specifically the country of India.

        While I’ve never been to this foreign land, being born and raised here in London, I do have a detailed understanding of the merchandise this region prefers.  At least the transplants from my homeland, who fiend for memorable mementos from their posh past.  Notably, British soldiers, slaving away in humid conditions halfway around the world, seeking cooling alcoholic libations. 

        My family’s brewing skills have helped satiate these sad souls for decades.  A talent I have the upmost appreciation for, especially after indulging in another sip of quaffable ale.

       Hydrated for now, I turn my attention back to the letter recently picked up.  Specifically, the documented original post date, which I immediately compare to the mental calendar in my brain, a mandatory requirement for a busy mother.

         Post office services continue to innovate, relentlessly improving delivery speed and parcel reliability.  Likely because this industry is acutely aware of the communication revolution that’s just getting underway, with sounds able to be transmitted magically and instantaneously over wires, as opposed to the sluggish movement of physical paper.

      The newest mail machination has allowed this item to arrive in my possession much sooner than typical.  By leveraging transport of goods by land, as opposed to ocean, directly through the Middle East, instead of being widely diverting around the extended tip of Africa.

        As England is an island, there’s still some aquatic transport required.  However, the quick and predictable straight navigation through the flat Mediterranean Sea is much more efficient than the tangential and erratic southern loop connecting the Indian and Atlantic Oceans.

         Maybe Bow Brewery should start moving our delicate beers along these same primarily ground-based routes.  The faster the transport, the fewer preservatives needed, and the less chance for spoilage.  Ironically, this small business has become famous on the stability of its product, immune to warm temperatures, jostling storage, and length transport, all unavoidable characteristics of oceanic clipper transit.

        It’s hard to argue against a trip that takes just 30 days as opposed to 3 months, to reach the same destination.  I wonder what the pricing is for this roadway caravan journey.  Apparently, based on the insignia stamped on the external flap, which reads “Care of Mr. Waghorn” in classy cursive script, this overland mail service is currently a capitalism funded endeavor.

         How long until the British government discovers the improved speed of this communication mode, and begins using the approach for their own government and military coordination?  The administration is always stealing good ideas from the private sector. 

         The contents of the first envelop I open are two pieces of paper, the first a newspaper clipping from the “Calcutta Gazette”, dated January 20th of this year, of an advertisement for the recent arrival by sailing ship of “prime London goods”.

        Even more intriguing, one of the products highlighted is beer made in my family’s kettles, generously described as “pale ale of the genuine October brewing, warranted fully equal, if not superior, to any ever before received in the settlement.”  That’s quite a rave review.

         The accompanying hand-written note in scrawling hand on rough paper, addressed simply to Bow Brewery, is from a young and homesick soldier from Manchester.  Apparently, the receipt and subsequent consumption of this booze was the highpoint of his 6-month stint in India thus far, and has prevented this lad from deserting the army.

         Amused, I dig into the pile of letters with renewed vigor.  By the 5th offering, I’m sensing a pattern, as all messages make some reference to a large and tasty ale shipment which arrived in Calcutta at the beginning of this year.  A product delivery that was evidently met with substantial fanfare.  I’m glad our little business is doing its patriotic part to help the British Army in their Indian conquest.   

      It seems like my homeland has been perpetually at war in far-flung colonies over the past several decades, and potentially much longer.  As a female, I’m lucky enough to miss the various calls for troops, but still feel for these young guys slaving away in parts foreign and unknown.

         These troops are often overheated, slaving away near the equator, not used to the oppressive heat experienced there, a far cry from the chilly conditions characteristic of England.  Their parched thirsty, both physically and sentimentally, needs to be quenched.

         It didn’t take military leaders managing these distant activities long to discover there was one sure way to keep their underlings motivated in the incredibly uncomfortable climate of India.  Beer.

         Most of the ale provided to these troops in the early years of the conflict was the dark in color, smokey in taste, and low in alcohol, a concoction that quickly became unceremoniously dubbed “Government Porter”.  My grandpa’s own Bow Brewery porter offering, while more flavorful than most, in my decidedly biased opinion, fell into this camp.  Not exactly the satiating potion needed for the toasty war environ.

       Soldiers at the front line in India are relatively well paid, with few goods available to spent their paychecks on.  Military-issued supplies already cover basic housing, transportation, and food needs, and even some entertainment when not on duty.  Why not splurge on quality beer, and other creature comforts, from the British homeland, with the supplemental funds?

       While the porter sold fine, it wasn’t until a hoppy libation which could survive the difficult aquatic journey, and provide the flavor profile memories of a hand pump cask at a bar in London, that beer sales really picked up, and the profit margins materialized.

       Granted, creating a fine pale ale recipe capable of overcoming the rigors of oceanic transport was no small feat.  Fortunately, my grandfather’s brewing knowledge, and customizable equipment, was up to the task.  After some substantial trial and error, to be sure.

         The oversized seafaring ship conveyance from Britain to India isn’t ideal for moving living liquids.  This trip takes up to 6-months, depending on prevailing weather patterns, with craft and cargo crossing the equator twice enroute, while looping around the Cape of Good Hope, at the southernmost tip of Africa.

         As the crow flies, London and Bombay are separated by only 7k kilometers, a circumferential arc on the globe now able to be calculated by, through the recent determined precision of longitude and latitude.  Unfortunately, there’s no way to transport a single human, let alone a huge quantity of beer, by air.  Yet.

          In contrast, the longer and more erratic sailing route, even with benefit of modern chronometer technology, clocks in at around 35k kilometers, 5 times the optimized distance.  Assuming no issues arrive while on the open ocean.

         There’s been rumblings of a construction project to create a canal connecting the Mediterranean and Red Seas, but this has yet to materialize from a funding or construction standpoint.  At least that infrastructure would allow continuous aquatic transit while remaining in the northern hemisphere for the entire journey.

       The thousand-ton floating behemoths that execute this difficult half-year passage are dubbed East Indiamen, in honor of the company navigating them, and their typical destination.  The East India Trading Company, based out of London, which debatably wields more influence and power than the English parliament.

         Conditions in the hold, just as above deck, are not favorable while on the water.  The substantial underbelly of each vessel is fully packed to optimize profits, with all manner of dissimilarly sized barrels, boxes, and bins.  Initially well secured, this carton collective inevitably becomes more jostled as the bumpy conveyance across the ocean progresses.

       Erratic thrashing aside, another issue is the variable temperatures, cold and damp when starting out, peaking intensely hot and steamy, with a multiple of climate conditions experienced in between, is not beneficial for perishable products, in any format.

        Understandably, the challenges for beer transport are extensive.  Stale, infected, damaged, or drunk are all conditions which the booze has arrived in India, none pleasant to those awaiting refreshment.

         My wise grandfather recognized these logistical challenges for live ale much earlier than many brewery counterparts in the city.  And took proactive steps to mitigate damage to the booze on route.

         All sorts of unique processing options were explored across the fermentation industry in the last decade of the 18th century, when the robust demand for, and thus potential profit from, delivering quality ales to India, became realized.

         Custom barrels, tightly sealed and firmly secured in the hold on route.  Sending unfermented wort, with yeast added upon arrival.  The exact opposite strategy, creating concentrated liquor, that was diluted on site.

         Each strategy mitigated the quality concerns, but generated ancillary issues in terms of both taste and cost.  Gramps ideation process was simpler, harkening back to old formulations that could handle lengthy timelines without spoiling, as opposed to fundamentally changing the entire brewing process.

       The clever solution was to create a barleywine, a very high alcohol beer, meant to be cellared for many months.  These hearty concoctions were known in the industry as “October Beer”; brewed during the fall harvest, and serving as a replacement to sophisticated wine or sherry, expensive liquors less accessible in the U.K. than mainland Europe, due to colder grape growing conditions across England.

        Thus, these style of ale was often aged for years, some even brewed at birth, then tapped on the child’s 18th birthday.  These rich concoctions were heavily dosed with fresh hops, also collected in the fall season, which acted as both a preservative and flavor enhancement, using up to 10 pounds of wet cones per barrel.

          Considering all these characteristics, my grandad figured this was just the style of beer needed to withstand the long ocean transport to India.  All that remained was to refine and scale the recipe, turning a typical small-batch, bespoke, seasonal offering, into a production scale, consistent-in-flavor, year-round staple.  Which apparently took several iterations to dial in, based on various renditions of the origin story he told us children, while bouncing on his knee in front of the fireplace, before passing.

        The final version turned out pale in color and strong in flavor, just as desired.  The bright notes of Kent Golding hops, readily available in fresh or dried form depending on the month, were a welcome and sentimental addition.  Beyond flavor, the hops provided the supplemental benefit of being a natural antibiotic for scurvy and other dangerous diseases.

         Right on cue, my empty glass, laced with foamy lines, is replenished with 16 ounces of delectable golden liquid.  My cousin read my mind, and instinctively knew I was ready for another round.  Much appreciated young lass.

         I’m definitely my father’s daughter, and my grandfather’s, for that matter.  Which means I’m never one to turn down a hearty adult beverage, beer being my libation of choice, like most of the previous generations with this surname.

       My granddad founded the original Bow Brewery way back in 1752.  For the first half century of existence, it was a small and steady operation, averaging just 11k barrels of production annually.  However, the close proximity to the East India Company docks, located just down the road, facilitated easy logistics for overseas shipment, and a valuable opportunity to increase sales.

        The turn of the century, corresponding with me turning 10, saw my patriarch’s passing, with my father Mark quickly stepping in to take over the reins.  After transitioning to take the helm, he quickly ramped up the beer volumes shipped to India to 4k barrels annually, a 4-fold expansion from the quantity exported at the start of the 19th century.

       The untimely and premature death of my own dad in 1910 rocked the now-thriving family business.  Battling attrition, male descendants continued to step up, notably my older brother Fredrick.  Us siblings poured our hearts, and our tears, into this operation, trying to maintain the legacy and honor established by the past two generations of great men.

        With the old Bow Brewery facility running out of space, as a result of this increased scale, the operation moved just down the road in 1817, allowing continued expansion of production capacity.  Of more intrigue, at least selfishly, was the opening of a public taproom, apply named the “Bombay Grab”, in reference to the locale where the profits allowing such growth were generated.

       This causal tavern, and this specific end seat, is where I now spend most of my free time, enjoying quality ales for free.  I’ve apparently earned comped legacy pours for life.

      Just last year, the Bow Brewery moved again, back to the quickly-renovated original location.  Conveniently, my personal bar remains open, with fresh casks transported down the street by wagon, or even rolled over here to the cellar in a pinch.

        Brewing operations have now transitioning fully over to my brother, ushering in another generation to the fold.  This ambitious lad and his friend have a new business model, attempting to cut out fees levied by both East Indiamen shipments and import merchants in India.  Busy with my own life, specifically our sizable pack of children, I’m not involved in daily operations, but am happy to root on this next cohort of entrepreneurs.

        My husband, bless his soul, is a clergyman and professor, which makes him adept at handling our increasingly large brood of offspring on his own.  Good thing, as my emotions, and womb, can only handle so much more trauma.

        My spouse, always a multitasker, has an additional job quite relevant to activities here at Bow Brewery.  A consultant at East India Company College, founded and funded by the similarly named corporation, which has grown into the most proficient and productive operation in the history of British commerce.  Holy land crusaders and Caribbean land confiscation aside.

        Originally, there was a key element of the Bow Brewery that provided an advantage in terms of sourcing the hearty porter.  It’s location in eastern London, along the same river as the East India Company headquarters.  This proximity gave us a substantial leg up relative to other larger brewing operations in the city with regards to convenience.

       While gramps leveraged the fortuitous prime positioning, it was my dad who was able to fully corner the market, undercutting pricing of any competitors.  Our familiar dark style, and our increasingly popular pale, were both flying off the shelves.

        Beer was sold on an 18-month credit, allowing the full circular trip halfway around the world to be executed before requiring any payment.  This flexibility helped Bow Brewery gain a disproportionality large share of the market in the oceanic shipment game.  Credit is a valuable commodity in today’s era of global commerce.

       The next ongoing phase of the familial ploy is attempting to eschewing the East Indiamen transport entirely for our own rented sailing fleet.  I’m glad I don’t need to be part of these complex dealings, which will require investment, insurance, and inventory way beyond simply brewing barrels of ale, and conveying these casks down to the local docks.  A risky foray; I’ll be interested to see if the ambitious boys in charge can pull it off.

        Granted, this greedy behavior is a delicate balance, which can quickly lead to similar stable offerings being acquired from other fine establishments in the London area.

      Through word of mouth, as beermaking is a historically close knit and incestuous industry, I’ve already heard rumblings that the director of the EIC is looking for other sourcing avenues.  There’s no shortage of facilities to solicit, many with much larger capacity, allowing economies of scale, who could certainly compete with our popular products.

         Regardless of the alcohol input cost, most of the profits made by the East India Company are on the return journey.  High-value items brought back from India, and surrounding lands in Asia, including fine silks and fragrant spices, are the real reward for the risky 6-month oceanic venture.

        I take another long pull from my mug, letting the notes of steamed oats, burnt caramel, and bright citrus bombard my palate in sequential waves.  All the taste buds of the tongue are tingling, sweet to start, bitter on the backbone, with a flavorful finish.  A delicate and delectable balance.

      Perfectly predicting my mood, the savvy server has switched pours from our flagship mellow porter to the more potent pale ale.

        I’ve never actually tasted this concoction as it arrives in India, but hope the transported beverage is just as flavorful as it is here, less than a kilometer from the kettle this libation is brewed in.

       Every time I sit at this refined bar post, even though I was never an active participant in the brewing game, I still get questions as to the origin on my grampa’s famous October beer.  Was he really the first to import a pale ale to India?  What was the inspiration for this unique recipe?  Why did it gain so much traction within the market?

        Without first-hand experience, I don’t have definitive answers to any of these queries.  Just my own interpretation of the facts, based on my own experiences, handed down through disjointed, and often drunken, conversations.  Regardless of reality, there’s no debating the composition and volume of ales exported from England to India has completely changed over the 3-decade period since my birth.

       Using hops as a preservative is by no means novel.  From 1760 onward, proven though scientific analysis, it’s been common knowledge that adding these aromatic cones is a useful technique for preserving freshness and flavor of beer intended for transport to and consumption in hot climates.  So, we can’t take much credit there.

       Starting at the beginning of the 18th century, various types of brews, a core competency of Britain, along with our primary malting competitors in Belgium and Germany, were successfully shipped around the world, including to India.  Success is subjective, as the liquid arrived physically unscathed, but flavor was not up to the discerning standards foreign connoisseurs demanded. 

         Always able to adapt, by the 1780’s, resourceful English breweries were importing pale ale, small beer, strong ale, and ciders, to India, in addition to the common porter.  At this time, taste was much more important than branding, with the finest product garnering the most adoption.

         I know from journal entries my grandfather sent early versions of his own pale ale prototypes to Calcutta as early as 1793, with mixed results.  Trial and error was apparently a key part of the experimentation process for developing a shelf-stable suds solution.

     Based on salutations, and sales, over the subsequent years, with local marketing newspaper clippings in the chronological scrapbook dating back to 1801, something worked out well.  Even if gramps wasn’t first, he was clearly the most successful at penetrating the domestic Indian market with an offering the British soldiers craved.

        I’m proud that my grandfather’s innovative contribution to the brewing industry is now documented in writing.  Per the recently published Andrew Ure’s Dictionary of Chemistry, leveraging his original recipe, which suggests 4 pounds of fresh hops be added to each 32-gallon barrel for successful transport to India.  This deceased gentleman, and by extension, myself, are now famous.  Not that either of us simple folk ever wanted to be.

        Maybe this style of beer is worthy of its own style moniker.  While not novel in any specific element, the combination of timing and execution has apparently made strong pale ale shipped to India a unique and desirable product.  We’ll have to brainstorm a creative name for this concoction with the rest of the family at our next business strategy gathering.

       Bemused by my patriarchal lineage, and my own success in life, I look down and notice my glass is empty yet again, then give a subtle nod to the barkeep signifying I’m ready for another pint, of her choosing.  None of our taps clock in at over 7% ABV, even the cellared October beer, so I’ll be fine to function during the pending household dinner duties.

      At least no one has recognized me yet tonight.  Just the way I like it.  Being a female participant in the brewing industry has decided anonymity benefits.

​

        The popular claim that George Hodgson (1727 – 1802) created the first India Pale Ale at the Old Bow Brewery around the start of the 19th century was written and disseminated by writer William Molyneaux in 1869.  While directionally accurate, this conclusion is not completely factual, and even the Hodgson family never claimed IPAs as their own novel concept.

       Regardless of origin, Hodgson’s unique October pale ale was the most popular beer in India between 1820 to 1840, achieving rave reviews from consumers, and commanding a price 50% higher than other larger London breweries.

       The Bow Brewery product was initially called “Pale ale prepared for the East and West India climate”.  The term “East India Pale Ale” didn’t occur in print until a 1935 advertisement in “The Liverpool Mercury” newspaper.  It would be another decade or more until the IPA acronym moniker fully caught on.

       Looking to reduced costs, and avoid monopoly pricing, the EIC enlisted Allsopp Brewery to create an IPA clone offering in the mid-1820’s.  Allsopp specialized in dark and sweet porters, so this pale ale style was outside their core competency.  The lead brewer and maltster Job Goodhead executed several test batches using very lightly toasted malts, made with the best available barley, before landing on an offering that could compete with Hodgson’s October Beer from a flavor and stability standpoint.

     A 1839 rail line connected Burton upon Trent, including the Staffordshire region’s densely populated breweries, with London, greatly increasing competition for pale ales to be transported to India.  Bass and Worthington were large players who entered the market at scale during this time.

     Marco Polo’s family pedaled wine, while George Hodgson’s lineage trafficked in beer.  As a result, it’s clear that civilization’s penchant for alcohol is relentless, having not waned over nearly a millennium.

       Over the 7-century duration of this story, all manner of unique products were imported to India, however many of the same very desirable items remain the country’s primary exports.  The demand for saffron and silk, pepper and perfume, is evergreen.