Grrr

Dunno what I'm supposed to do with this month's Session topic. Our host, Kendall at The Washington Beer Blog, has chosen "Growlers Galore" as the topic. I trust I can leave the more puerile responses to some of my colleagues from this side of the Atlantic. I shall simply explain to those who may not be familiar that a growler is a large reusable bottle holding generally somewhere around two litres, used in North America and Australia to bring draught beer home from pubs and breweries.

It seems to me to be a function of low population density, poor public transport and lack of a proper pub culture. You don't want to stay in the bar for a few hours of drinking, and/or you have no choice but to drive to get beer, so you get your draught beer bottled on demand and in quantity.

Hey, each to their own. Who am I to judge? Let's just say it's not something I could see myself availing of, even if it were an option, and leave it at that. I like pubs.

So what to do about a beer for review in this growlerless land of ours. Best endeavours turns up an American beer, from a large bottle, next to a small wooden jaguar. Not growley enough by a long stretch I'm sure, but tough.

The beer is Great Divide Grand Cru and the 650ml bottle (a "bomber", rather than a "growler", fans of stupidly-macho bottle names may be pleased to learn) proclaims it to be a "Belgian Style Dark Ale" and says no more that that. It's 11% ABV so I was expecting big and meaty things from it.

Alas, it really doesn't have much going for it. There's an interesting, slightly woody aroma: that coffee-made-on-sour-milk you sometimes get from beers which have been visited by the bacteria that thrive in wood-grain. Oddly, it's not sour at all on tasting. I get a biscuity, Ovaltine-ish malt flavour and... nothing else. It's like chewing Special B or a similar Belgian malt straight from the bag. The bit where the Belgian yeasts roll in and do the fig-and-plum dance simply does not happen. There's maybe a vinous booziness somewhere under the biscuit, but not in any notable quantity.

It's soft, smooth and quite drinkable, though gets a bit sickly after a while. However the one-dimensional flavour is unforgivable.

All yap and no growl, I'm afraid.

Again! Again!

Now we're cooking! The alternatives to standard pubby Irish beer are finally coming out of the woodwork lately -- and in one case, literally. Following after Franciscan Well's big 'n' balanced Shandon Century come two more, from different breweries, with ABVs circling double figures, and both carrying the promise of more like this.

Irish brewing seems to have grown a pair at last. One of them's black and the other is blonde.

White Gypsy Belgian Blond appeared suddenly on the bar at the Bull & Castle in early January. At 8.4% ABV I was expecting a fairly straight Duvel or La Chouffe clone, but that's not what I got. It's completely clear for one thing and, while fruity, is much cleaner than the other two. I found out later that it was done with a saison yeast strain which has chomped through the heavy sugars leaving behind cool refreshing apricot and lychee notes. There's an invigorating, almost lambic-like tartness up front, finishing dry and with a heady perfumey ambergris aroma throughout. It's very drinkable and there's no sign of all that alcohol. Digestible, as the Belgians would have it.

And the good news is that this isn't the end of it. Cuilán says there's more in the tank and the plan is to release them little by little and see how they change. Keep watching the taps at the Bull & Castle.

Meanwhile, down the hill, the third edition of The Porterhouse's Celebration imperial stout showed up on tap in their Temple Bar branch just before Christmas. At 11% ABV it's their strongest yet: the strongest ever Irish beer I can think of. I'm guessing at least some little bit of that is down to the time it has spent aging in a Kilbeggan whiskey barrel.

As it happened, I had some of the permanent 7.5% ABV Celebration lying around and opened the pair last week for comparison (you can see me comparing it, in turn, with the original Celebration here).

I had more trouble raising a head on the aged one, while the youngster poured thicker, darker and, oddly, more mature-looking. The aromas are quite distinct: leeks and liquorice on the straight one and lots of woody vanilla, as one might expect, from the Kilbeggan-aged.

A sip of the plain: amazingly smooth, loaded with silky chocolate. A tough act to follow. But the barrel-aged Celebration aces it: a little more sparkly, true, but still sumptuously rich underneath it. The whiskey flavour is pretty full-on, making me think of a sour-mash American job rather than honeyish Irish whiskey. Bags of vanilla too, of course. You have to look for the rest: a woody nuttiness is next in the queue and the chocolate hides under that. The slightly metallic hop tang is just gone. If I were in charge of this recipe, I'd up the hop quotient somewhat.

Later, I called in to the Temple Bar Porterhouse to find it was still on tap. It's not every day you get the opportunity for a full imperial pint of an 11% ABV stout, so that's what I ordered. And that's what leads me to a final word of warning to anyone in possession of a bottle or two of this: serve it off the shelf. Cold from the keg all those lovely barrel flavours just disappear. I was almost finished my pint before I could definitely confirm that it was the same beer.

And the good news, the really good news, is that the label proclaims this to be part of the Porterhouse's "Barrel Aged Collection". We're getting more! I'm told there are sherry and rioja barrels waiting in the wings, but it'll probably be another year before we get to see the results.

With this lot, and the upcoming (it is upcoming, isn't it, Liam?) second in the O'Hara's smoked ale series, things are looking rosy indeed for the future.

The limit of creativity

Brewdog didn't even bother putting one of their colourful diatribes on the label of Hops Kill: it's just an ad for their share ownership thingy. Label copy that tries to sell you something other than the beer behind it is a new one on me. I guess they reckon anyone who's going to buy this limited-edition imperial red ale has already made up their mind before getting close enough to the bottle to read it.

It's a viscous little number, pouring relatively flat at first and only gradually foaming up towards the end. I was expecting 5AM Saint with extra booziness, as it's 7.8% ABV, but that's not how it transpired. 5AM's aggressive Simcoe and Nelson Sauvin hopping is something I can only handle in small doses, producing a gradual cheese-and-cat-pee character that starts me regretting my pint about three quarters of the way through. Thankfully, Hops Kill doesn't have this.

Perhaps the dry-hopping is less intensive, or perhaps the additional alcohol lends it balance, but the hops here are pleasantly and unapologetically bitter at first, and only showing off their flavour towards the end where, yes the neighbourhood Tom has been marking his territory, but it's balanced with enough sweet sherbet and dry roast to clean up the worst excesses.

At the end of the bottle I'd have another. That doesn't happen with 5AM Saint.

Black Forest, looking pale

The good folk at Ambrosius Trading, down Tipperary way, have recently acquired the distribution rights to the Alpirsbacher Klosterbräu range of beers and at the beginning of the year were kind enough to send me a sample selection of the range. Alpirsbach, for them as are interested, is in Baden-Württemberg: the south-western corner of Germany. A long way from Tipperary, you might say.

Anyhoo, I opened the Pils first. It's a very pale golden colour, pouring with a thick head that subsides quickly but leaves a finger of foam on top of the body. Though the aroma is quite bready, a strike of waxy vegetal bitterness greets the first sip. It's one of your no-messing-about hop-forward German pils, the sort I associate more with the north, from my admittedly limited experience. The texture is beautifully smooth, more like a Munich helles or even a märzen, the fizz kept well in check by its weightiness. It could pass for stronger than 4.9% ABV for sure. You need to wait for it to warm up before any malt comes through at all and it does so with a splash of golden syrup and honey. I guess it could get a bit sickly if left too long, but other than that we have a solid, workmanlike, better-than-average pilsner.

The kellerbier next, and Kloster Naturtrüb is exactly as the name suggests: densely cloudy. The orangey-yellow body topped by a big fluffy head makes it look for all the world like a weissbier. Definitely a lager, though. Like many of the bottled kellerbiers (surely such a thing shouldn't exist?) I've tried it lacks any real character. I get the impression that this is meant for rowdy session drinking in quantity and the taste doesn't really matter. It's clean, there's a nice unrefined rustic graininess, but other than that, very little flavour to speak of. At 5.4% ABV I'd want a bigger taste return on my liver's investment.

The blue-label Weizen follows next, described as "hefe hell" on the label, and is very hell indeed:  a slightly sickly looking translucent yellow. It definitely lacks the full-on fruity esters of its Bavarian counterparts but at the same time there's a nice crispness to it, something I associate, again, more with northern weissbiers like Flensburger's. There's just enough of a light soft fruit vibe to satisfy this drinker's weissbier cravings, and it's certainly very chuggable without getting too filling as it goes. I'm starting to build an impression of Alpirsbacher as a fastidious yet unimaginative brewery. Let's see how they get on with a more full-on style.

A purple label, 7.3% ABV: hooray! I thought, with no good reason, a doppelbock! My face fell as the dark gold beer poured out, and I braced myself for some German trampwarmer. No sickliness or booze on the nose of Kloster Starkbier, however, just a subtle breadiness. The body is full, barely troubled by the fizz, and while there is that slightly sticky sweet booziness you often get in Strong Lager For The Less Discerning Gentleman, it's compensated for by some quite hefty up-front hopping, giving it a kind of candied fruit effect with added herbal complexities, only turning towards park bench/bus station territory towards the finish. I'm a little surprised by how much I liked this. Even as it warms up it remains an enjoyable honeyish sipper.

The joker in the pack is Kleiner Mönch, a dark gold number in a vaguely märzen style at 5.4% ABV. A touch of nettle on the nose, but nothing to be too concerned about, followed by a flavour shot through with more golden syrup plus fresh-baked bread. It's actually not dissimilar to the Starkbier above, but is much more approachable though lacking the bigger herbal hops. I have to wonder why it's in the small bottle instead of the other one.

Last of the set isn't branded as an Alpirsbacher but is from the same brewery as the others. Nagold is a few kilometres north-east of Alpirsbach, so Nagolder Urtyp nearly qualifies as a local beer. 5.2% ABV and producing a powerful nettley whiff as it pours. I get a whack of metallic saccharine up front on tasting, followed by a watery hollowness and, yes, those almost sour noble hop green weeds on the finish. I suspect that all the brewing prowess at Alpirsbacher goes into the brewery's own range, while the Nagolder is left up to the apprentice. Or possibly the cleaning lady.

Overall, I think the Alpirsbacher range has a lot going for it. I see it in the same segment of quality German lagers as Jever and the Rothaus set, a segment which is not exactly what I'd call overcrowded round these parts. Our local brewers could learn something about making lager from this lot.

Proper Charlie

I don't know what the arbiters of beer style would class Gouden Carolus Ambrio as. It pours murky red-brown, like a dubbel, but at 8% ABV is more of a tripel strength. I get dark boozy sugars and sour tangy yeast on the nose, calling to mind Belgian confections like McChouffe and Delirium Nocturnum.

The flavour is quite muted for all that aroma. Raisins and figs are the loudest but it's not much more than a polite whisper, really. Dry fizz and water are more the hallmarks than malt, hops or yeast. It's a shame because the high alcohol provides a lovely base to propel some fantastic flavours, but they're just not there in this.

I've yet to find a beer from this brewer that tops Hopsinjoor.

Better butter, but bitter

A few weeks ago I asked one of the people behind Tom Crean's Lager why they decided to put out that style of beer. The answer was that no-one else seemed to be doing it. And it's true: most of the independents don't do lager, and those that do are mainly the ones who own pubs in which to push it. Of course, you don't have to be a Pattinson-grade beer historian to notice the slew of failed independent Irish lager brands strewn across the not-too-distant past: Kinsale and Brew No. 1 being especially high profile examples, as these things go. Despite it occupying some 63% of Ireland's beer market, the absolute dominance of the Big Two and their pervasive marketing makes lager a tough sell.

Hot on the heels of Crean's into this deceptively healthy-looking market segment comes Carrig. The brand is owned by a couple of entrepreneurs and the beer itself is produced at the BrewEyed plant in Co. Offaly. I thought the BrewEyed lager was pretty decent the one time I tried it, so had reasonably high expectations for this when I trotted along to The Palace for a taste.

At first my expectations were met: cold from the tap the first sip revealed a beautifully clean and crisp lager which, though lacking any real hop flavour, packed an enjoyable lip-smacking bitterness. It unravelled quite quickly after that, however. Our old friend Mr Diacetyl came calling, and proceeded to shout loudly over the top of everyone else. The bitterness just manages to reassert itself and take the edge off the worst butteriness, but the diacetyl lingers and grows with each mouthful making a second pint an unappealing proposition.

In the battle of the new microbrewed lagers I would put this a little ahead of Crean's, but both are clear indications of the other main reason Irish micros don't do lager: it's a very difficult style to do well. A quality Irish pilsner, of the kind I thought Carrig was, would be very welcome and might just stand a better chance of making a name for itself in this closely fought corner.

Don't I know you from somewhere?

It's the same story every time I'm in a Fuller's pub: I have whatever's on draught, but there's always a selection of those beautifully-shaped Fuller's bottles staring at me from the fridge. I've (almost) never resorted to buying one, however, partly because bottled beer is poor value in the pub and partly because I've heard they're not very good. Yes, Jack Frost, I mean you.

Nevertheless, when another of them -- Fuller's Old Winter Ale -- popped up in my local offy I reckoned it was time to finally satisfy my curiosity about it. 5.3% ABV and mahogany-to-amber, so very much in the English old ale bracket so far. That's where the comparison ends, though. The aroma is slightly caramelly, but the taste is dominated by hop bitterness -- acrid at the start, turning tangy at the finish. Not good. Yes there's a bit of toffee malt but not nearly enough for the winter warmer it purports to be, instead offering a hollow and quite watery middle.

This stuff is a very long way from the smoothness I adore in English old ales of my previous acquaintance, and I'd take mainstream fare like Hobgoblin and Old Peculier well ahead of it. And in a Fuller's pub: back to the ESB, no question.

Reuben has similar thoughts here.