A visit to Braslou Bière

Is this north Cornwall brewery a conceptual art project?

Two days before writing this article, I found out about Braslou Bière from Bea, who in turn found out about it via cider writer Adam Wells. We were quickly caught in the event horizon of this curious project, spiralling ever deeper into its comic nuances. The next day (a Saturday), we drove up the foggy A30 for an hour and a half to make pilgrimage.

Braslou Bière sits in a small industrial estate in north Cornwall, not far from the bougified tourist destination that is Padstow. Here, the field systems are wide, the hedges are uncharacteristically un-Cornish, and you are rather high above sea level. The industrial estate itself is home to some discarded tractors, and a niche company called Seismic Surveys Equipment. To say Cornwall has limited seismic activity is an understatement. To someone un-versed in such things (me), the clear and present need for seismic equipment in this locality was highly amusing.

Anyway, Braslou Bière sits within this estate with a big yellow sign and two ancillary facilities. One is a sandpit for playing pétanque. The other is a blue portaloo.

Both the pétanque pit and the portaloo (yes, the portaloo too) feature heavily in the marketing by Tommy Barnes, founder and brewer. The pétanque pit is a lure to visit the brewery: he has posted a challenge to all on Instagram that, if you beat him at this ball game, you get a free drink. The portaloo is an opportunity for some sardonic merch, a T-shirt that declares “LUXURIATE IN THE BRASLOU BIÈRE PORTALOO”.

What is going on here? Why does the brewery have a French name? Why is everything part of a comedic bit revolving around themes of disappointment?

Answers can be found in the life and times of Tommy Barnes. In 2016, he and Rose his partner moved to the Loire in the centre of France, with the idea of founding a craft brewery. A brewery in wine country is not quite taking coals to Newcastle: it’s more like taking seasoned oak to Newcastle. In other words, it’s quite a strange plan. The brewery seemed to go quite well, in fact, eventually at least. On socials one can see photographs of the brewery, which was reasonably large for a micro operation. However, 2016 was a forboding time to move to France, as the Brexit vote would soon turn everything to “piss in a kettle”. Thus, Braslou Bière went into exile in the British Isles.

You could take the microbrewery out of France, but you couldn’t take France out of the microbrewery. The taproom in North Cornwall has an upstairs space which is a remarkable simulacrum of all things stereotypically French. There are red and white checkered tablecloths. There are little dainty table lamps. There is an upright piano (somehow distinctively French in this context, ignoring the fact that the piano was German). There are art deco movie posters. The upstairs space commits to this so deeply, and yet the overriding context is a rural British industrial estate.

The saffron Helles in all its golden glory

The sheer conceptual chutzpah, the wryness of it, the postmodernism of it, is absolute catnip for any and all pretentious humanities graduates. It’s also quite funny, and quite delightful.

Beyond decor, Tommy Barnes markets his beer with a specially crafted persona. It’s hard to describe it. His many instagram reels give a better impression. He appears to be doing yogic squats while talking about his many charity-funded one arm pushups, and other such tall stories. It’s all very silly but with consummate deadpan delivery. On the bar, he offers snacks of “grand cru Norwegian honey mustard pretzels” for £1.50 and a suspiciously similar looking “Bhutanese single origin honey mustard pretzels”, price also £1.50.

While we were talking to Tommy he actually took a phone call to “negotiate” his “source” for said high-end pretzel bites. This could very well have been a comedic routine but he was genuinely getting a mate to look for them in a well-known supermarket chain (which he was transparent about, and I suspect enjoys being transparent about to others too).

Later, Bea and I bought the book which chronicles Tommy’s Loire adventures in beer, part of a three part series (only two of which are out). It transpired that various anecdotes he mentioned to us in person also feature there, such as the 15cm circular hole his neighbour drilled in his wall for “oxygen” after an unexpectedly sincere drunken pledge the night before. Normally, repetition in comedy is a faux pas. However, with the right degree of irony, it can appear a deliberate and consistent part of the bit. That’s the case here. The book, as it happens, is very, very funny indeed thus far (we’re about 40% through it at time of writing).

I have yet to speak about beer. That’s probably because the beer doesn’t entirely fit the comedic tone. No level of irony is required to enjoy the beer, which is exceptionally good. His flagship beer is a saffron Helles, a light beer brewed with everyone’s favourite crocus stamen. It is refreshing and has a touch of medieval courtly refinement about it. He also makes a superbly balanced IPA. We had a chance to sample an upcoming brew (not yet bottle conditioned) of a stout made with walnuts and port as adjuncts.

All the comedy and conceptual richness of the Braslou Bière project would feel a bit flat were the beer merely OK (and perhaps even if it were comically bad, which would wear off after a couple of sips). Instead, the beer demonstrates that Barnes did indeed learn the craft of brewing in the Loire. Given his book, and some of the website copy, is all about self deprecation, the beer creates a kind of redemption arc. Dare I say it, there is something weirdly poignant about the creation of an excellent beverage from the circumstances.

I also add that Tommy Barnes is not just a persona but a thoroughly decent and generous person who will field any questions about his wares. His brewery and taproom is open for visitors. Just check the opening hours.