On the 16th of January 2020, Summer Wine Brewery—based in Holmfirth, West Yorkshire—announced via Twitter that it would be closing its doors for good. The tweet was met with an outpouring of sympathy from the industry-at-large, and closed by saying: “Thank you for the memories, we’ll cherish them for a long time.”

The brewery was founded in 2008 by James Farran, Andy Baker and Meyrick Kirk. It took its name from the fondly remembered BBC sitcom Last of the Summer Wine, which was set and filmed in Holmfirth, and ran from 1973 until it ceased to air in 2010. But while the brewery’s name was inspired by its home and the rolling countryside of West Yorkshire, its beers took their inspiration from somewhere much further afield. Namely, the American West Coast.

I first discovered Summer Wine around 2011 when, after a couple of trips to the United States, I was desperately seeking out British iterations of the riotously hop forward beers I had been exposed to while travelling. After finding Summer Wine online I placed an order for a mixed case of beers via their website (which felt highly novel at the time). My main interest was Diablo, its West Coast IPA, which was packed with the pithy grapefruit and resinous pine flavours I had found myself craving.

While Diablo remained a favourite, it wasn’t the only Summer Wine beer that piqued my interest. There was Teleporter, a cosy-up-by-the-fire kind of porter that featured 10 different malts, and a lime and coriander saison, which along with beers like Dupont, helped to get me excited about Belgian beer all over again. Looking back at my own journey, along with folks like Marble, Thornbridge and Magic Rock, Summer Wine was pivotal to my own experience, and I will forever be thankful for that.

It’s why, when Jonny and I decided to publish a list on the most influential British beers of the past decade I insisted we include Summer Wine. Which beer to choose was the hardest part. Diablo so nearly made the cut, but we decided to go with one (or technically two) of its most special beers: Kopikat, a pair of imperial stouts, brewed with Vietnamese civet coffee and aged in a 1983 Caol Ila and 1997 Clynelish whisky barrel, respectively.

In that piece I wrote not only about how important that beer was to me, but how the night of its launch brought together what turned out to be a proto-London beer scene. It’s yet another example of how vital this brewery’s influence has been over the past decade, and how much it will be missed as a result.

There’s a lot to unpack when it comes to why Summer Wine failed in a market where so many other like minded breweries continue to succeed, or even thrive. Did its branding represent the beer as well as it could have? Was it being distributed to the right markets? Did they simply try to take on too much themselves, instead of outsourcing or hiring great talent? There will be a time to dissect this, but this doesn’t feel like the place, or occasion to do so.

For now, we should take this opportunity to mourn—or perhaps celebrate is a better word—a wonderful brewery. One that produced outstanding beers, which brought joy to many of us. Fittingly I got to celebrate the memory of Summer Wine last week, by drinking from one of the last ever kegs of Diablo. Pouring at the recently opened Exale Brewery in Walthamstow, North London, we did our best to drink the keg dry.

The beer tasted exceptional, if somewhat bittersweet knowing that it was the last time we would get to enjoy it. That grapefruit zest quality was so precise, adding in juicy tangerine to the mix, these flavours masterfully laid over a honeycomb structure of barley sweetness. It would not be hyperbole if I was to say it reminded me of West Coast greats such as Russian River Bling Pig, or perhaps Ballast Point Sculpin in its pomp.

The venue was fitting, in that Exale’s head brewer Dan Price began his brewing journey when he collaborated with Summer Wine on the barrel aged Kopikat stout I mentioned earlier. He even drew the artwork for the label. It’s a reason why I feel this closure shouldn’t be seen as a herald of doom. Because where Summer Wine has closed, breweries like Exale are still emerging, carrying with them the same ideals and dedication toward producing delicious, joyful beer.

Yes, I’ll mourn for a moment, but then I’ll press on, because I believe there’s still so much good in beer, and so much still to be enjoyed. Thank you for the memories, Summer Wine. We’ll cherish them for a long time.