One dead sea, two ingredients.
The Zechstein was a sea. It dried out at the end of the Permian, roughly 257 to 251 million years ago, in at least five cycles of evaporation, and left its salt behind in a belt running from the east coast of England to northern Poland.
Two things here come out of it. In 1859 a borehole was sunk at Bolckow and Vaughan's Middlesbrough ironworks in search of clean boiler water, the Tees being no use for it. In 1862, at about 1,200 feet, it struck a bed of rock salt some 100 feet thick.
Middlesbrough was then in the North Riding of Yorkshire and remained so until 1968. Where the same beds reach the surface — a belt running from Nottingham north through Yorkshire and into County Durham — they are called the Magnesian Limestone, and the water that comes up through them is hard and rich in gypsum, which makes very good beer.
Barley, and the patience it takes.
Tadcaster sits on that limestone. The Romans called the place Calcaria, after the lime. Tax registers of 1341 record two brewhouses working in the town, one paying 8d in tax and the other 4d, and springs still rise near St Mary's church that local usage calls popple-wells.
Samuel Smith's Old Brewery was founded in 1758 and claims to be the oldest in Yorkshire; the well sunk that year still draws water from eighty-five feet down. At Castleford, Thomas Fawcett & Sons has malted barley on the same site since 1809. Malting is slow work.
The grain is steeped, couched, spread across a floor and turned for a fortnight, and stopped before the shoot bursts the husk. Then it is kilned for two to four days. Warm weather hinders germination, so many maltings worked only in winter, in long low buildings of no more than two storeys.
Beer, soured on purpose, and a county that made a trade of it.
Alegar.
Malt vinegar entered English as alegar: ale, plus the French aigre, sour — the same second half as in vinegar. The word is recorded from about 1500, alongside beeregar, and despite the name the stuff was mainly brewed from sour beer rather than ale.
There was no shortage of feedstock. The average person in medieval England drank something like a litre of ale a day, and what turned was not thrown out. Alegar was a fierce product, far harsher than wine vinegar, and its first job was preservation rather than seasoning.
It went into the crock with salt and spices. Malt vinegar and salt arriving together on a plate is the late end of a five-hundred-year-old pairing.
Elland Road, and what it was for.
Yorkshire did not only pour the stuff. The Cambrian Vinegar Company, of Pontypridd, opened a Leeds branch in 1865, in a cellar in New Briggate, moved to a former wool warehouse on Water Lane in Holbeck in 1868, and in 1877 into a purpose-built vinegar brewery on Elland Road.
Fifty staff, two steam engines, four-thousand-gallon vats, thirty-five to forty thousand gallons a week. Vinegar breweries were rare enough that Elland Road and the Penistone Company at Barnsley between them could supply all of Yorkshire, the North and South Midlands and southern Scotland. It closed in the 1960s and was demolished.
The trade it fed keeps its headquarters nearby: the National Federation of Fish Friers, founded in 1913, is run from Meanwood in Leeds. And at Guiseley in 1931, three years after opening a wooden hut there, Harry Ramsden moved into new premises and put chandeliers, oak panelling and fitted carpets around a fried fish counter.