An Initiation to Alcoholic Ginger Beer

I’ve always had a thing for ginger ale. There have been occasions in my life when, usually following a lengthy sequence of excess, an urge to lay off the booze for a while proved resilient enough to withstand any peer pressure or fear of missing out.

During these brief sober spells, ginger ale was my go to drink. I would continue to meet up with friends at bars and clubs, happily sipping a champagne-coloured, ginger-flavoured soft drink while real life reruns of animated discussions and intoxicated idiosyncrasies unfolded around me. As soon as body and soul were amply rejuvenated to endure more carnage, I would readily partake in all the regular shenanigans all over again.

Until recently, I was under the impression that ginger ale and ginger beer were one and the same drink. This misconception might be tenable in contemporary times but, traditionally speaking, there is a distinct difference. Ginger ale is, and always has been, nothing more than carbonated water flavoured with fresh ginger. It is a well-known remedy for an upset stomach and is commonly used in cocktails to offset the intensity of dark liquors with its sweetness.

Ginger beer, on the other hand, was originally an alcoholic beverage prepared through the natural fermentation of ginger, yeast and sugar.

Ginger Beer: A Brief History

While ginger has been used for medicinal purposes and the flavouring of food since as early as 500 BC in ancient China and India, ginger beer’s origins date from an era in which the colonial spice trade with the Orient and sugar-producing islands of the Caribbean was already in full swing.

First mentioned in Thomas Sprat’s A History of the Royal Society of London, published in 1702, the author writes of “brewing beer with ginger instead of hops.” By the mid 18^th century, ginger beer was being brewed on a large scale in Yorkshire and quickly gaining popularity throughout the rest of Britain ˗ including the colonies of Ireland, South Africa, the United States, and Canada ˗ as a result.

The brew’s popularity continued to soar until 1855, when the introduction of excise tax laws saw the alcoholic content of ginger beer limited to 2%. Over time, this led to many brewers abandoning the production of alcoholic ginger beer altogether. Their customers did not seem to mind though, and demand for the non-alcoholic version was particularly high up until the beginning of the 20^th century.

Modern Applications

Nowadays, ginger beer is often manufactured instead of brewed. It is stronger-tasting, less sweet, and less carbonated than ginger ale. That prominence in terms of flavour means ginger beer is generally used in more complex cocktails ˗ like the Moscow Mule and Dark ‘N’ Stormy, for instance. It is even known to be mixed with regular beer, preferably a British ale of some sort, to make a type of shandy.

When I spent a week with friends in Crouch End in August 2022, I was still completely oblivious to all of the above; my knowledge pertaining to non-alcoholic, ginger-flavoured drinks did not extend further than an awareness of my finding their taste extremely agreeable.

Imagine my delight when, on the day after a late arrival in North London’s foremost hidden gem, I stumbled upon a bottle of Crabbie’s Alcoholic Ginger Beer at the convenience store around the corner from my hosts’ residence. I did not have a doubt in my mind that I was in for a treat and grabbed myself two bottles, which would immediately thereafter be supplemented by a small selection of other brews.

In a Nutshell: The John Crabbie Story

One of the online resources I came across whilst doing the necessary background reading about the topic at hand states that “when John Crabbie discovered the perfect recipe for green ginger wine back in 1801, it was steeped in ginger for up to eight weeks and blended with citrus, herbs and spices.” Considering there are records to show John Crabbie was not born until the 2^nd of December, 1806, the previous statement is likely to apply to his father, Millar, instead.

Old man Crabbie was an upholsterer by trade but another set of council records show that by 1814 his occupation had changed to grocer, operating from an address in the centre of Edinburgh. When his third child, John, inherited this small-scale trading enterprise, a range of beverages ˗ including ginger cordial ˗ became central to its business model.

John Crabbie would enter a partnership with a certain William Cree in 1838 or thereabouts to enable the acquisition of a company with properties ˗ among them an old porter brewery ˗ in Edinburgh’s port of Leith.

Crabbie & Cree

A haven for pirates and smugglers up until the dawn of the 19^th century, Leith was, at the time, undergoing a lengthy metamorphosis from dry dock to sizeable wet dock. The move to the southern shore of the Firth of Forth signalled the beginning of a golden era for Crabbie & Cree, who now had first dibs on the finest fruits, spices, and ginger imported from Indonesia, India, China, and Nigeria, among many other exotic places.

Moreover, it had become a lot easier to offload their own fruit-based cordials and green ginger wine onto the steady flow of ships headed out to the furthest reaches of the empire ˗ and all the ports in between. John Crabbie often jumped on board himself and absorbed many a captivating experience on his travels; the type of experiences that would leave a lasting mark. It is said that his first encounter with elephants in India was one such experience, which is why the majestic pachyderm graces the entire range of Crabbie’s alcoholic ginger beers with its image in this day and age.

Sadly, one of the business partners was not granted the privilege of revelling in their newfound success for very long; following William Cree’s death in 1840, the company was renamed John Crabbie & Co. and its rise continued.

John Crabbie & Co.

Further properties were purchased in Leith, bonded warehouses stockpiled with wine and brandy were established, a distillery was opened, and John Crabbie took to blending his own range of whiskies. In addition to procuring large stocks of single malt whisky from some of the most renowned distilleries in Scotland, Crabbie signed licences to have his whiskies produced on their premises during the decades that followed.

Perhaps his most notable contribution to the burgeoning success story of Scotch whisky came in 1885, when he teamed up with two other influential whisky magnates to found the North British Distilling Company. Their aim was to supply a new, independent, and cheap source of grain whisky, and when wine harvests across continental Europe started failing in the late 1880’s due to the spread of a particularly nasty parasite, North British was ready to meet the enhanced demand for alternatives on the other side of the North Sea.

It was also around this time that John Crabbie got involved with local politics and moved into a stately property with a view of Leith, plus all the ships that sounded their arrival from afar.

The Crabbie Legacy

John Crabbie would enjoy that view until his death in 1891; the seeds he had sown characterised the landscape he left behind deep into the 20^th century. North British was producing over 13 million litres of grain spirit at the fin de siècle ˗ more than any single malt distillery in Scotland today ˗ and Leith soon became famous for its whisky storage facilities.

Casks of whisky on which excise duty had yet to be paid were kept under lock and key in these bonded warehouses, around 85 in total up until the 1960’s. The warehouses owned by John Crabbie & Co. were filled with the blends of revered distilleries such as Lagavulin, Laphroaig, and Talisker.

The Crabbie Range

When it came to the its own range of beverages, however, John Crabbie & Co. was best known for the previously mentioned green ginger wine, which would continue to be produced in Leith until the 1980’s. It was during that decade when another Leith distiller and blender, one by the name of MacDonald & Muir, acquired the company.

MacDonald & Muir’s most prized asset was, arguably, the Glenmorangie distillery, which had been under their ownership since 1918 and they would ultimately become the Glenmorangie Company in 1996.

In turn, this brand was sold to its present owners, Halewood International Ltd., in 2007. Halewood Int. then started manufacturing alcoholic ginger beer at their plant in Liverpool and attached the Crabbie name to it. The legendary green ginger wine and a variety of whiskies are also still sold as certified Crabbie products, donned with the image of an elephant and all.

Besides their traditional ginger beer, the folks at Crabbie’s have come up with a variety of flavours, of which Scottish Raspberry, IPA, Stout, and Rhubarb are available in the United Kingdom, and Spiced Orange in the United States.

Crabbie’s Original Ginger Beer

The “Original” is by far the most satisfying alcoholic soda I have ever tasted. Its nose is on point ˗ a sweet ginger aroma that smells natural, not artificial. Its pale golden colour sparkles bountifully as it reluctantly settles beneath a thick head of fuzzy white foam that quickly fades to a thin collar with some clingy lace. It tastes just as crisp and refreshing as it looks. The spicy kick of ginger balances out the distinct soda sweetness very nicely while the burning sensation intrinsic to the palate of all ginger-based drinks is far from overpowering and does not linger.

The two bottles I purchased on my first full day in Crouch End were finished before sundown. During the remainder of my stay, every time my gracious host and I popped into the local corner shop, I was tempted to treat myself to another one ˗ and almost invariably succumbed. On one of these occasions, a lone bottle of the Rhubarb variant was on display next to a row of the “Original” so I immediately snatched it out of the cooler and claimed it as my own.

Crabbie’s Rhubarb Ginger Beer

A day or two later, my guy Louie Jenkini suggested we embrace the heat wave that had been keeping us housebound by taking a walk to nearby Queen’s Wood, where 21 hectares (52 acres) of shaded ancient woodland awaited us.

Before heading out, I was alert enough to grab a drink for the road. Hydration was imperative, you see, and remembering to bring along a bottle of alcoholic ginger beer for emergencies only showcases a sense of preparedness and responsibility befitting a man my age. And so we set forth out into the wilderness of brick and tarmac; the bottle of Rhubarb ginger beer had already been opened before we reached the end of the road.

The Rhubarb variant is not quite as splendid as the “Original”. It is sweeter and lacks a distinctive taste, almost as if the spicy heat of ginger and the tartness of rhubarb have managed to neutralise each other and sugar, the sneaky third party, has prevailed. Nevertheless, it is still refreshing enough to come in handy on a sweltering August day in the Big Smoke and we reached our destination without incident. And what a destination at that!

A Leisurely Stroll in the Woods

A remnant of the ancient Forest of Middlesex, which covered large sections of what is now North London from prehistoric times until the 13^th century, Queen’s Wood has never been subjected to the type of intensive management practices upheld at abutting Highgate Wood and other surviving pockets in the area. Not only has this enhanced the diversity of flora and fauna to be marvelled at, the absence of playgrounds and fitness zones means large crowds rarely form under its canopy ˗ least of all on a Monday afternoon during working hours.

Unlike yours truly, the son of a tropical forester, Louie Jenkini is very knowledgeable about trees. Before we were formally introduced, I knew him only by the nickname he had earned himself during our first few weeks of living on campus: The Tree Hugger.

The Barrelman of North London

It soon became apparent how misplaced our judgements had been. Louie did not hug trees, he climbed them; much higher than any of us brand-clad posers with gel in our hair and trainers on our feet would ever dare venture. What’s more, our first conversations revealed that we had plenty of shared interests and a similar sense of humour.

I distinctly remember one windy autumn evening outside our respective halls of residence, atop a hill overlooking Canterbury, when I spotted Louie gently swaying back and forth in the upper reaches of an oak tree as if he were Barrelman of the flippin’ HMS Bounty. Genuinely concerned for his safety, I rushed to the foot of the oak and urged him to abandon his reckless endeavour. After a while, when he happened to look down and saw me waving my arms frantically, he smiled broadly and waved back.

Since I was not about to hoist myself up there to try and outstubborn my new friend, I retreated to a nearby bench from where I continued to watch him scour the horizon for his proverbial Pitcairn Island. Some twenty minutes later, he was back on terra firma.

Seated next to me on the bench, in response to my barrage of questions, he explained that he had honed his skills on a patch of preserved forest not far from the house he called home. Of course I could not have known it was destined that, twenty years on, I myself would consider that very same house and its surroundings to be a home away from home.

A Sacrosanct Environment

As we made our way to the heart of Queen’s Wood, Louie pointed out some of the trees he liked to climb back in the day. He simultaneously educated me on the specimens around us, all self-seeded in an era long gone. Even the Wild Service Tree, a rare deciduous tree with brown berries whose presence is commonly interpreted as an indicator of ancient woodland, is scattered throughout the grounds.

We paused to inspect a fallen oak and, seated on its trunk, finished the bottle of Rhubarb ginger beer. The topic of conversation turned to an incident involving Hornsey Urban District Council, the residents of a property bordering Queen’s Wood, their insurance company, and three or four mature oak trees.

Louie told me that the insurance company had pressured the residents into initiating legal action to have the oaks felled in order to root out any risk of damage occurring to the property during extreme weather. When it was publicly announced that the council had granted the relevant permits to have the trees cut down, a torrent of bohemian outrage was unleashed. Petitions were signed, conservation organisations got involved and, most impressively, a sizeable group of people kept constant vigil at the site for weeks on end.

All these efforts persuaded the council to backtrack and declare the whole situation would be reassessed the following year. Predictably, this turned out to be little more than a diversion tactic. It is plain as day the council are wary of another community backlash – the oak trees in question are still standing tall and proud.

I, for one, was genuinely ecstatic with the outcome. It was a satisfying conclusion to an enjoyable afternoon. The only thing missing was another bottle of Crabbie’s Ginger Beer to crack open in celebratory appreciation.