Being tasked with trying to sum up another year of running a publication is what I imagine it must feel like to give an acceptance speech at an awards ceremony.

By the time I will get into the swing of things, thank the right people, and express what this all means to us, the music will start playing and the lights will ungraciously lead me off the stage. Part of me thinks that I could pull off dancing over the play-off music like Jennifer Coolidge collecting her Emmy. Instead, I’ll try to keep this as concise as possible.

It feels fitting that I will be closing out 2022—our third full year of publication—as it was an article I wrote on finding my local which kicked us off in January. It warmed my heart to share that piece of writing and to read the responses from everyone, it encouraged me to give more of myself to my writing. After almost two years of struggle for pubs across the country, it was a real privilege to publish so many stories this year about pubs, the communities they foster, and how they impact our lives differently.

If I were to sum up the year in Pellicle in as few words as possible it would simply read; The Pub.

Whether it was reminiscing about home, and revisiting an old haunt from days gone by, discovering the pub of your dreams, a bonafide national treasure, or even a pub that only really exists on the silver screen, we enjoyed publishing every one of these pieces, and look forward to sharing even more with you next year.

One writer in particular produced a series of articles which shone a light on areas of pub culture that needed more attention. Not just because of the importance of inclusivity, but because of how fascinating it was to read about how experiences of the pub differ between communities. David Jesudason published three pieces on Pellicle in 2022: the aforementioned story on the Southampton Arms in Kentish Town, a thoughtful piece on the lack of disabled access in our pubs and taprooms, and most recently about the impact of Desi pub culture in the Black Country on diversity in football. Articles such as this, and Jemma Beedie’s piece on breastfeeding and alcohol helped to highlight issues, raise awareness, and remind us that the pub is for everyone.

One of the aspects of running Pellicle which gives me the most joy is showcasing areas of beer and pub culture across the breadth of the UK and beyond.

With Matthew and I both moving from London after creating the publication, it’s been as much of a pleasure to publish stories about Oldham, Teesside, Bradford and Lincoln as it has been to share those from Vermont, Gent, or Crete. On a personal level, it’s been nice to see more representation from Scotland this year, and with Matt being based in the North, it’s given us the ability to shake any accusations of being London-centric in 2022. This work culminated in Matt/Pellicle guest editing the upcoming issue of Ferment Magazine on all things Manchester, which will be out in January.

Keeping it in the North, and giving focus to lesser known elements of beer culture, in April we published an article by a newcomer, my colleague and friend, Reece Hugill of Donzoko Brewery. This piece, on the banked beers of Teeside, accompanied by 35mm photos by Reece, was the Bun of 2022, and by that, I mean it blew up. It’s hard to predict a hit, and on paper, an article about frothy pints of cask in the working men’s clubs of Hartlepool by a new writer could have passed by without much of a look in.

But, just as people in the UK, especially those of you on Twitter, love to debate the semantics of bread rolls, they equally seem to enjoy discussing the pros and cons of foam on a pint. If you thought that the discourse regarding sparkled and un-sparkled pints was intense, then Reece’s article on banked beer took those debates to new heights—much like the head on a banker, now that I think about it.

Whether you were a foam fanatic, lusting after banked pints of John Smith's Magnet, or simply making a tired joke about flakes and Mr Whippy, it certainly got people talking about Teeside and the fact that certain elements of pub culture still can make us feel giddy, no matter how jaded we can get. This article has gone on to become our most-read of the year and last month was one of a number of Pellicle writers who picked up an award at the British Guild of Beer Writers annual ceremony.

The full list of nominees and award winners can be found here. On top of our congratulations (and commiserations), I want to say a huge thank you to all of our contributors for not only pitching to us, and working through edits, illustration drafts, and constructive criticism with us, but for representing and championing the magazine across social media and in public.

Nothing makes us prouder than to see you all excited to put your work out in the world. We don’t have a big budget and thus are very selective about what we commission. While this means we’ve had to turn down hundreds of great stories this year, it means that we fully commit to the ones we take on board. Believe me when I say that we have some real doozies lined up for next year, including a piece by a returning icon, Rachel Hendry, on an iconic pub snack, which I’m salivating about just typing this.

There were many other exciting things to happen for Pellicle this year, including picking up awards from the North American Guild of Beer Writers, and SIBA, and hosting more panels at FyneFest (we will be back next year). We also brewed one one, but two collaborations with Oxford’s Tap Social, and Manchester’s Track Brew Co. In particular, there was one moment this year which I would like to take this opportunity to reflect on, and that was our event at Peg in Hackney, east London. Running events like this was always a big part of the larger Pellicle plan, and while we had had the pleasure of co-hosting events in the past, the Covid-19 pandemic put a halt to us being able to commit to as many events as we hoped to.

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At the beginning of this year, I had the pleasure of meeting self-proclaimed hospitality professional Paris Barghchi in Edinburgh. Paris was here ahead of a trip to Fife to research an upcoming Pellicle article, and after a long conversation over coffee, invited me to join her for lunch at The Palmerston. Trying to be savvy and sensible, I politely declined and offered to walk her there instead. Upon our arrival, a quick glance at the menu turned from a responsible Sunday into a two-hour lunch, enormous plates of food, multiple bottles of wine, and ultimately, a lot of scheming.

I left that lunch feeling impassioned, excited about the magazine, and with a new friendship. I felt an instant connection with Paris, and her passion for all things fermentation shone brightly. She is an advocate for change, progression, and forward-thinking in our industry. Someone who champions the importance of mental health, and similarly shared a vision with us in our belief that beer, wine, cider and food could all be enjoyed together, with mutual respect and appreciation for the work that went into the creation of that product. In short, Paris got Pellicle, and we got Paris, and we set to work on creating an event to celebrate all of the things we love about this industry.

Despite many setbacks, including the last-minute announcement that Peg was to shut its doors for good, we pressed on, and on Sunday 21st August, we convened on Hackney’s Morning Lane, and put on an event which I will remember for years to come.

As I look across my living room to the strikingly simple poster by Tegan Hendel, I’m struck by how basic the concept for the event was: a summer party, with a focus on beers and ciders from UK producers, paired with non-fussy snacks from the kitchen. Paris offered us a venue, their staff, a menu of cutlery-minimal food, and their full support to promote the event, even after the announcement of their closure. In return, we would use our knowledge and contacts in the industry to put together (I couldn’t bring myself to use the word curate) a drinks menu of beers and cider from the UK and Ireland (and beyond) which we thought represented the philosophy we share between Peg, Pellicle and these producers.

As much as I love this industry, there can be an element of gatekeeping and cool-guying, which I abhor and I’ve spoken about in the past. It is no secret that I have been a fan of the Noble group, which encompasses P Franco, Bright, Noble Fine Liquor, and (previously) Peg, with that the idea of doing an event at one of their venues being a huge aspiration for me personally. That said, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive. For all of our good intentions, would the natural wine and small plates crowd of East London understand and appreciate what we are trying to do with Pellicle? Would anyone show up? Would we be returning to the North, tail between our legs?

At 11 am that morning, before opening the doors at Peg, I was feeling anything but optimistic. Thankfully, my fears were nothing but a manifestation of my own insecurities, having spent months organising this event tirelessly with Paris. Upon meeting the team upon arrival, I was struck to see how much work they have put into the event on their end, and I was instantly put at ease.

The front-of-house team—Paris, Sarah Millet and Sol Cabanis (and myself during busy periods)—had done an immaculate job creating menus, and learning about each producer. Despite them never trying many of the drinks pouring—from the likes of Land & Labour, Deya, Linn Cider, and Balance—the team had put together a document, which they ran by me to fact-check, listing details about the producers, each release, and information they could tell the customer. Having mainly worked in the beer industry, this was a level of hospitality that I hadn’t experienced first hand, with the standard of service being so high and yet so warm and genuine.

In the kitchen, Will Gleave and Ziggy Hampton worked to put together a menu of delicious, accessible snacks that would work perfectly with the drinks on offer, but also keep the atmosphere casual, and make cutlery obsolete. Dishes included a take on their classic Pizza Fritta, lamb ribs, grilled corn, mackerel and my personal favourite, a simple plate of Panisse, served with crème fraîche & chives.

To say the event was a success would be to undersell ourselves. From the moment we opened until the end of service, was a total whirlwind. From friendly faces, who had supported us from day one, to Peg regulars who were there to see what the fuss was about and pay their final respects, the place was packed for most of the day, with people spilling onto the street outside. Getting to meet so many readers of the magazine and to pour bottles from producers we admire and think represent our shared ethos, was a highlight of my year. One of the most surprising but wonderful parts of the day was seeing bottles from newer producers such as Balance, and Torn Plant Cider, running out ahead of seasoned veterans of the industry such as Burning Sky, and Olivers.

I want to take this opportunity to once again thank Peg, Paris and her incredible team for helping to put on an event which I will hold in my heart for a long time. It’s rare in this life to find people who truly understand you, but I feel that on that day in Peg, we were all vibrating on a similar frequency, basking in the joy of all things we love, with smiles on our faces.

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At this point that I feel the need to put on my best Telethon voice and talk a little more about how this whole running a publication thing works. Matthew and I have talked at length about our process before and I like to think that we are very upfront as a company about our financial situation, and how we run our business. On our third birthday this year, we made the decision to raise our fees for writers, photographers and illustrators all of which you can read about here. In order to make this decision feasible and sustainable we needed to markedly increase our support on Patreon so as to not operate at a loss.

Sadly, with everything going else going on in the country, we have not been able to make that happen. Like the PBS of the publication industry, we will keep fighting for the opportunity to keep things going, and we will continue to bring you award-winning stories about beer, cider, wine, food, and pubs—Pubs! God! Isn’t the pub great?—until we can do so no longer.

It’s a funny thing running a publication like this. There is no office for Pellicle, and nor do I think there ever will be. Pellicle is run between Manchester and Edinburgh with support from Katie Mather, Lily Waite and all of our writers across the world. Despite the fact there are three Pellicle collaborators living on one street here in Leith, minutes from my own door, I have only managed to see my colleagues once this year, and yet we somehow manage to make it work.

And continue to make it work we shall. Ideally, we can continue to put out content as frequently as we have been, but we may have to adjust that in 2023 in order the balance the books and continue to pay our contributors. If you want to help keep Pellicle alive and support independent journalism, you can support us here on Patreon. As a Patreon supporter of other creators, it costs least than you might think, and if every person who enjoyed the magazine gave just a few pounds each month, we can all work together to keep showcasing this wonderful culture and the people who work within it.

Happy new year from us at Pellicle, here’s to a good one.