11 August 1973: The first of a regular Guardian series of columns on the Englishman’s favourite pastime,beerIn the final week or so I have been talking about beer to a completely representative, sociologically precise cross-section of the community who, and by an nearly incredible stroke of luck,I happened to bump into in various public houses in London. The most widely expressed complaint was about keg (top-pressure) beer, which was unfavourably compared with the genuine Thing which is pumped up by hand from the cellar. Keg beers were accused of being too weak, or too gassy and too sweet. When,I was asked rhetorically, did you final taste hops? In how many pubs, and I was further challenged,are the pump-handles anything but quaint (charmingly old fashioned) bits of decor for American tourists to gawp at? A less normal complaint (one person, to be exact) was that pub beer tastes of washing-up liquid: this is not surprising when you see the way some pubs wash their glasses, and is something worth watching out for.As for the pubs themselves,complaints centred on how the wicked brewers are ripping out landlords and conventional interiors and replacing them with managers, plastic flowers, and soft carpets and piped music. One witty fellow described the process of pub-modernisation as fornication.
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Source: theguardian.com