Given lemons

These two arrived into my local supermarket at the same time recently, a little late for high summer but very welcome on a warm day in early September. Both are radlers, from two of Germany's big national brands.

I'll take them in ascending order of ABV, beginning with Bitburger Naturtrüb Radler, at 1.9%. It pours as one would expect for naturtrüb, looking like a pale cloudy lemonade, just short of ice and a tiny parasol. The aroma promises refreshment, with a hint of quenching lager crispness next to the very obvious lemon syrup. It has the stickiness of a fizzy soft drink, but at least it's not vapid and watery. The beer side is missing from the flavour, however, with the flavourings providing all the sweetness and bitterness that's perceptible, leaving no space for malt or hops. Given that Bitburger Pilsner isn't the most flavoursome lager in the first place, that probably shouldn't be surprising.

The ABV goes up to 2% for Warsteiner Natur Radler. This one is clearer: a see-through murky yellow, so I hoped it might have a bit of beer character. Not really, it turned out, and again I think that's at least in part down to the base beer's basic blandness. They did get the body right here, though: while it still tastes primarily like a soft drink, it's light and fizzy like a lager. The lemon element is restrained, tasting more like a classy bitter-lemon mixer than something aimed at children. For the use-case these beers were put to, this one performed better. I might even have considered a second, which is unusual for me and sugary drinks.

These were cheap, and fine to drink, but I still don't get the appeal.

Autumn at the Gate

Stuff your summertime hoppy pale ales. The Open Gate Brewery went full harvest mode as soon as the leaves began to turn brown. Here's what I found when visiting recently. 

New on tap in early September was Saison, seemingly quite a straight-up example: 6% ABV and hazy blonde. Like any sane person, I like these dry and this one isn't, particularly. It opens on an enjoyable spicy note, blending black and white pepper, but quickly adds fruit to the picture. Peach and apricot is the menu author's take on it and I don't disagree, but would add Golden Delicious apple and a more exotic lychee element. It doesn't turn sickly, the body is light for the strength, and there's an almost-dry grainy rasp in the finish, so I give this a pass. It's not top-notch saison but is still a welcome example of a style in short supply.

For Oktoberfest season, we got Oktoberfest Märzen, though not one which would pass muster in Munich. It's kind of a murky brown or dark amber colour, and with that there's a somewhat rustic brown-bread fuzz. That adds a sweetness which is pleasant, but not the same sort as you get in the genuine article. The slightly syrupy quality in the aroma and which emerges towards the end of the flavour is more accurate, but doesn't make it a better beer. The finish is what saves it, with the sticky malt clearing away quickly and a ray of positive hop bitterness offering a cheery valediction. Maybe a half pint wasn't the way to test out a beer style meant to be consumed by the litre, though I maintain this one would be hard work, and that's only partly because it's 5.6% ABV. The sweetness, of different sorts, is laid on too thickly.

Autumn means harvest, and Open Gate gave us Catherine's Harvest, a pale ale with blueberries. Catherine who, you ask? Is it the saint who owns the parish next to St James? We are not told. We do know that this is an experimental grain bill, using 30% raw barley. It's 4.5% ABV and a pale orange shade. There's a sweet-sour aroma which is presumably down to the berries but isn't attractive, adding an unwelcome note of vinegar. I also perceived a definite thinness to the body which I've decided to blame on the reduced malting, and the sharpness from the aroma reappears though is muted. The blueberry aspect unfolds from this, becoming jammy and tart. Without a big enough malt base, however, that slips over into being acrid and stomach-curdling. This experiment didn't work for me. Maybe beer recipes are more than 70% malt for a reason.

A Rauchbier follows, the beer style on which so many ambitious breweries founder. This one almost matches Schlenkerla's 5.6% ABV, at either 5.4% or 5.8%, depending which menu you believe, though not its colour, being another fuzzy ochre job. The aroma is promisingly subtle; just the sizzle of the bacon, not the whole rasher. Its flavour leads on caramel, but turns quickly to smoke. That's still fairly subtle compared to other examples, without a trace of acridity or unpleasant fishiness. It's the easy-going, crackling-adjacent flavour of bacon crisps rather than real meat. It works very well, maintaining drinkability while still having plenty of smoke character. Not as much as the wizards of Bamberg, of course, but this is a fun and interesting alternative approach. I could absolutely drink this one by the litre.

A bit of whimsy to finish: Open Gate's opening line-up in 2015 included an Imperial Dunkel Weisse, an experiment to see how Guinness yeast would work in a German-style wheat beer, of all things. Since then, science has told us that Guinness yeast basically is a phenol-positive German-style wheat beer yeast, and now I can't help wondering if the brewers already knew this. We've had a slight name change, to Imperial Dunkel Weizen, and a minor boost in ABV to 8.6%. It's an appropriate dark brown colour and smells warm and caramel-smooth, even when poured ice cold. The roast hits first in the flavour, intensely dry, like black toast. That's followed by softer banana, sweet marzipan and a hint of clove spice. I'm not usually a fan of dunkelweizen, but this melds the good sides of dark beer and wheat beer well, doubtless assisted by that luxurious ABV.

Well played Open Gate, and happy birthday. Since Guinness side-projects tend to have a very short life, it's nice to see this one still running, even after craft beer hit the skids as a mainstream offer. Keep 'er lit.

Before and after

As always, attendance at the Borefts Beer Festival in Bodegraven meant a certain amount of participation in the outside world of Dutch beer. Arriving into Leiden a couple of days early, I dropped by Stadsbrouwhuis, which tends to have the city's most diverse beer list. From the menu I chose Summer Breeze, a Berliner weisse by Spanish brewery Oso. Though 6% ABV, this looked thin, a translucent hazy squash of a beer. It was hard to shake that notion on tasting it too as it's much more watery than I thought it would be, and the alleged blueberry, raspberry and coconut don't really materialise, nor any sourness, leaving just a mildly tangy citrus, just like orange squash. It's an inoffensive beer, but it's not low-strength and it wasn't cheap, so I feel I'm within my rights to have expected something more engaging.

On the other had, I knew the beer at Freddy's would be crap and was fully prepared for that, if not the precise details of the crapness. This is the brewpub on the ground floor of the Heineken Netherlands office building. It's a nice place, very conveniently located for where I was staying, and the food is decent. My only justification for ordering Freddy's NEIPA instead of, say, a glass of wine, was pure morbid curiosity.

Where to start? The amber colour? The nitrogenated serve? It's almost comically off kilter. It has a lot in common with mid-1990s nitro bitters, with the same gloopy texture and cloying sweetness, adding the fake lemon perfume of the dreadful Guinness Nitro IPA from a few years ago. The only trueness to form I can think of is that it resembles real New England IPA in the same way Heineken resembles real pilsner.

On a free afternoon before the festival, I made an excursion down to The Hague to visit a brewery I'd missed on all my previous trips there. Haagsche Broeder only opens three evenings a week, and although it's on a main shopping street, it's well tucked away down an alley so is easily missed. This is a quasi-monastic set-up, its founders renting space from the community of the brothers of St John, although plans to fully integrate the brewery and the community in some sort of variation of the Trappist brewing rules have been abandoned. Still, it's a charming little tap room and had a range of interesting beers available.

I started with Postulant, the "refterbier", so modelled after the single or extra style which is normally the lightest in a Trappist brewery's range and claiming origins as the daily table beer of the monks. This one is 4.8% ABV and a hazy amber colour. The monks in this refectory like their hops on the American side, because there's a wonderful buzzy citrus aroma here, unfolding into full-on juicy mandarin on tasting. A tea-like dryness brings with it gentler peach and apricot, and the overall effect is one of Belgian Pale Ale, one of those styles we don't see much of any more, for no good reason. This is a clean, refreshing and summery thirst-quencher, and a signal that this brewery takes its cue more from contemporary craft than low-countries tradition.

I couldn't as easily pinpoint the influences on Bierkade, which the brewery describes as a farmhouse ale, solely because it's fermented with kveik. It's a similar colour to the last one, and slightly stronger at 5.2% ABV. I miss the hop boldness, and the Belgian-style spice, while pleasant, isn't an adequate substitute for it. I don't really associate any particular flavours with kveik, and the additional gummy fruity overtones here remind me of certain strains of Brettanomyces. For all that, it's not a particularly complex beer, showing a little red apple as it warms, but with a watery finish and some unwelcome earthy dregs. It strikes me as more of a yeast experiment for the brewers' benefit than something brewed with the drinker in mind.

The strength scale leaps to 7% ABV next, and Novice, a saison. The beer gets darker too, though still in that hazy amber end of the spectrum, and not quite garnet. It differs from the saison norm in other ways too, lacking spice and having an odd kick of aniseed in the foretaste. It is at least properly dry, with similar tannin to the first beer, and a sunflower-seed huskiness, plus lots of fizz. I would have expected more body for the strength, or even a little alcohol heat, but neither materialises. This is another one for the decent-but-unexciting file.

There should be some excitement in the third beer, the 10% ABV tripel called Hildegard. They've used spelt in the grain bill but, like kveik, I don't know what that's supposed to contribute. It certainly doesn't change the colour from the hazy pale orange that's normal for tripel. We're back on a hop kick anyway, with a lovely pithy aroma and a concentrated orange flavour. That allies with the heavy malt but avoids making the beer sticky, just warming, like triple sec or similar fruit liqueur. There's a little spice to bring us closer to typical tripel, and a measure more of that would have been nice. It was still a good session-finisher, the clean blue-flame heat giving me a satisfying inner glow as I wended my way back to Leiden.

After the festival, we had a day to meander around the familiar pubs of Amsterdam. No surprises that that began at Arendsnest, the outside table idyllic in the early autumn sun. Local brewery Walhalla collaborated with Utrecht's Uproer to create Daemon #23: Barbatos, a double black IPA. It's a dark red-brown colour and has a strong aroma of white pepper mixed with liquorice. The liquorice continues in the flavour, where it's joined by lots of dark chocolate, spritzy lime zest and a more serious green cabbage bitterness. It's remarkably light for 8.5% ABV, and superbly clean, letting all the bright hop and dark malt flavours flow through without any interference. Textbook stuff and just how I like this kind of beer. I'm very glad someone out there still thinks they're worth making.

Beside it is Hipodèrmia by Menno Olivier, the founder of De Molen, now working from La Pirata in Catalonia. This is a coffee imperial stout, and packed with possibly too much coffee. The aroma is fine, mixing fresh and strong coffee with an edge of hazelnut. On tasting, there's an odd herbal liqueur quality, reminiscent of Jägermeister or Fernet Stock: very concentrated and aggressively bitter. The coffee arrives after this and is every bit as bitter too. Throw in a prodigious alcohol heat, even for 10.5% ABV, and you have a beer to be sipped carefully rather than thrown back with abandon. I found it hard going, though maybe it's for the best when very strong beers don't taste like patisserie confections.

I had one of the house beers in the next round: Bretty Eagle Claussen II, brewed by the MoreBeer pub chain's current main contractor, Poesiat & Kater. This is amber coloured, light textured and 6% ABV. There's a token lemon zest from the hops up front, but then the Brett kicks in, bringing a greasy incense and meadow flowers character, funky yet fresh, like young Orval. It's an excellent showcase for the wild yeast: accessible yet unmistakably Bretted, and delicious with it. Apart from anything else, it's an incredibly brave move for a pub chain to commission a beer so playful. It'll be interesting to see if they take things further in this direction. I hope so.

The other beer in the picture is also a Poesiat & Kater one: Nog Eentje Dan ("One More Then"), a 10% ABV straight-up imperial stout, also produced especially for the chain. This has a toasty aroma with a hint of coffee, and then a clean and mostly dry flavour with a touch of caramel to thicken it up. I got a very slight tang of soy-sauce savouriness, and it would have benefitted from some more aggressive hopping, which I think it could have carried off. As is, it's plain and decent, but might seem bland compared to the Netherlands' multitude of more involved imperial stouts.

My finisher here was a rauchbier by De Kromme Haring, called Marrella. It's a reasonably strong lager, at 6.3% ABV, and is a pale chestnut colour. The aroma is rich and hammy, which is enticing, and the texture as full and smooth as that promises, while still being clean and polished, like the lager it is. The smoke turns a little fishy, which I guess fits with the brewery's marine-life theme, but there's a caramel sweetness to balance the savoury side, and some bonfire smoke dryness to balance that in turn. It all works together very well, especially on an autumnal afternoon. They don't seem to have been trying to copy Schlenkerla here, as other breweries do, with varying degrees of success. This is its own thing and carries it off with aplomb.

For herself, 10 Years 1850, another imperial stout, this one brewed by Kees to mark a decade of brewing an imperial stout which I don't think I've ever encountered in its original form. This is another novelty-free one -- I guess they didn't have donuts and bubblegum in 1850 -- although it's a very heavy beast, the mouthfeel fully reflecting its 12.8% ABV. A dry roast aroma leads on to a more complex flavour of light chocolate and floral rosewater. That's your lot, however, and I couldn't help thinking there should be more going on, given the very substantial gravity. Again, some more aggressive hopping would have helped, and made it taste more like a beer from the mid-nineteenth century.

It was over to In De Wildeman next, where we picked two imperial stouts from a Dutch brewery I hadn't heard of: The Hollows. My choice, on the left, takes its wonderful title from Werner Herzog's autobiography: Every Man For Himself, And God Against All. It's 12.1% ABV and is brewed with coffee, although there's a light touch on that. It's smooth and sweet, for the most part, the slick caramel malt balanced only slightly by hot tar and aniseed bitterness. I deemed it passable, though it's far less involved than the name implied it would be.

Burning Worlds is the same strength and shares the same almost syrupy texture, but has a much more complicated recipe, including three types of chilli pepper, cocoa nibs, vanilla, nutmeg and cinnamon. That sounds busy and difficult, but the chilli side doesn't really come through, leaving the added sweet ingredients to meld with the winter spices to create an effect like Mexican hot chocolate. It has its own coffee side too, and that conjures flavours of tiramisu and Irish coffee as well. It's gut-coating, dessertish and extremely delicious, in modest quantities at least.

The final stop was Gollem where they were serving Kasteel Cuvée, the quadrupel formerly known as Cuvée du Château. I'm not often a fan of this style, finding it too hot and too sweet, but this one is well balanced, even if it tastes unmistakably strong at 11% ABV. The fruitcake character is fully to style, and pleasingly multidimensional, with all the figs, prunes, cloves and cinnamon of actual fruitcake, and all done simply with a good Belgian ale yeast. While its body is dense, the alcohol heat is restrained: present, but not excessive. One wouldn't drink a lot of it, nor at any sort of speed, but it's an excellent unfussy sipper; a beer to relax with.

Gollem was also celebrating its 50th birthday, and had a Belgian beer to mark the occasion. Gollem 50 Jaar is by The Musketeers and is an amber ale of 6.5% ABV. It is indeed quite a dark amber and smells sweetly of toffee and red liquorice, like an old-fashioned sweet shop. The flavour introduces a certain amount of bitterness to this -- a tang of forest fruits -- but it's still predominantly sweet, adding notes of spearmint and bubblegum to the picture. It's a bit too hot as well, turning thick and soupy. One has no choice but to drink this one slowly, and perhaps that makes it well suited for the half-century birthday of this comfortable old pub. It is right and proper to allow time for it.

But that was all the beer time I had on this particular trip. I will now need to come up with some other excuse to go drinking regularly in the Netherlands. My hope is that the Dutch entrepreneurial spirit will notice that gap in the festival calendar in September and seek to fill it with something similar to Borefts. I'll be keeping my ear to the ground.

Finally it.

And so we come to wrap up this week's posts on the last ever Borefts Beer Festival. I've reserved this one for the Dutch breweries present, and of course the host which made it all possible, De Molen.

Given that I tried quite a few of their vast selection, it shouldn't be surprising that some weren't great. Haver & Cappu, for example, is an oatmeal milk stout. That might lead one to expect a certain bigness of body, and likewise the 7.5% ABV, but although it's creamy, it's not especially thick. "Cappu" refers to the inclusion of coffee, and I didn't get much of that either. Instead there's a strong tang of lactose and a somewhat harsh vegetal bitterness, and that's your lot. I was after richness and heady vapours but it completely failed to deliver. Maybe this is what people mean when they say De Molen lost its way in its final years.

Similarly, Rook & Roest ("Smoke & Rust") seemed quite rough and unfinished. That's it on the left of the picture, a headless murky brown and as flat as it looks. It's a rauchbier, of course: 6% ABV and full of sweet caramel, like it hadn't been fermented out properly. I'm not sure if it's a lager, but it lacks any crispness, turning dry only through some acrid tannins. And while bad rauchbier tends to overload the savoury smoke and end up tasting kippery, this has barely any smoke at all. It's a different sort of fail, but a fail nonetheless.

That's a 14.4% ABV barley wine next to it, called Moose & Mounty [sic]. As subtly implied by the name, it has been aged in Canadian whisky barrels, from the Bearface blendery. It's another murky brown one, and has a very boozy aroma with lots of sappy oak. The flavour is an uncomplicated mix of sweet toffee and hot whisky, set on an almost treacle-like dense body. It threatens to get cloying, but works quite pleasantly when sipped in small quantities.

The other De Molen barley wine I tried was Jona & Gold, one flavoured with apples, though I couldn't taste any of that. It's whisky-aged too, up at 12.2% ABV, and that's the signature taste, combining raw spirit heat with subtler flavours of port and sherry, presumably from whatever non-specified barrels have been used -- some versions of the bottle label say Balcones, others don't. While it's more on the aggressive side than a mature smoothie, it still manages to deliver everything one could want from this sort of beer, leaving a satisfying warmth on the palate and in the belly in its wake. I'm still none the wiser about what the apples were for.

Black IPA was in tragically short supply all weekend but De Molen had two on the taps, from which I tried Dank & Dutchies, the collaboration with American brewery Dankhouse. They haven't managed to get this one fully black -- rather, it's a dark brown -- but otherwise it's a classic of the genre. The aroma wrongfoots one immediately with bright and fresh citrus vapours, leading on to a medium sharp resin bitterness in the foretaste, unfolding quickly into spiced up and caramelised red cabbage. It could maybe have done with more on the floral end of the spectrum to fully suit my taste, but it was still absolutely beautiful, and insanely drinkable for 7% ABV.

Bizarrely, I only ticked one new De Molen imperial stout, so I'm sure I missed some beauties. This was Maple & Pecan, the binomial nature of De Molen titles precluding the mention of blueberries, which were also part of the recipe. All that, and a sticky 10% ABV, makes it quite the confection, but it works. Chocolate, jam and Turkish delight are all aspects of the flavour, and yet somehow it isn't a mess, though undeniably sweet. The brewery's expert touch with odd ingredients in strong dark beers shows through here, and will be missed.

My last De Molen beer, possibly ever on this blog, is an icebock called Ijsbock & Poot. It's quite a modest one, as these things go, at just 12% ABV, and includes chocolate and almonds. Both are very much in evidence in the flavour, making it taste like a slice of almond-topped chocolate cake. It still manages to be perfectly beer-like, however, with a distinctly stoutish full body and a burnt-fruitcake dry side for balance. Icebocks can be harsh and boozy, but this is a more delicate affair, sumptuous and luxurious, and making excellent use of the special ingredients.

Moving on, Kees brewery paid tribute to their origins as a De Molen client brewer with an icebock of their own, called It All Started With Menno Olivier. This is a more orthodox 17% ABV and is an innocent chestnut colour. The aroma is the grain and chocolate mix of a bourbon biscuit while the flavour is shockingly sweet, opening on a kind of raspberry ice cream sauce syrup and covering gooey caramel and fluffy banana bread before tailing off. It's as weighty as one might expect a concentrated extra-strong beer of this sort to be, and yet it's still drinkable, albeit slowly. It wouldn't be a regular go-to type of thing for me, but as a send-off for De Molen That Was, it seemed appropriate, and I'm happy to drink to that.

I don't normally get on with the very strong Kees beers, and Velvet Hammer was an example of that, despite its excellent name. This is an imperial stout of 15.9% ABV, and tastes even more alcoholic than that, scorching the gullet with its chocolate napalm. There's loads of thick and sticky caramel, and for good measure a nasty plastic or putty tang. It's rough, acrid, and punishing to drink. Hammer yes, but I failed to find any velvet here. No subtlety, no chill, and frankly no surprise either. I do sometimes marvel that a brewery making such aggressive strong beers grew out of De Molen, which tended to make them in a more nuanced and accessible way.

Mommeriete came all the way from the far eastern Netherlands to participate in the festival, and the first beer I had of theirs was chalked up as Bats on the blackboard, though it seems to be largely known by its style: Gramsberger Rauch. It's a Märzen lager, though a big fellow for that, at 7% ABV, and smoked of course. This is one of those styles that any brewery is brave to take on, since the exemplar of Schlenkerla is so hard to recreate. But I think they've done it. While dark amber and absolutely loaded with deliciously savoury bacon and ham flavours, they've held the clean lager crispness as well, and the two dovetail just as neatly and accessibly as they do in the Bamberg classic. It's thin for the strength, true, but I was happy to ignore the numbers and enjoy an extremely well rendered rauchbier.

They also brought an imperial stout, because you would, though they explicitly state that it's not barrel aged. This is Heer van Gramsbergen and is 12% ABV. While fully gimmick-free it is not without complexity, showing a tarry, smoky foretaste, passing through a smooth dark-malt middle and finishing on a old-school vegetal tang. Even at an event like this, there's a place for a traditional-style imperial stout. I hope other the Borefts punters appreciated that the style doesn't need all the bells and whistles of weird ingredients and processes. There's a lot to be said for keeping it straight. Imperial stout as a palate reset is not something I thought I would find, but it was delightful when I did.

Our last Dutch brewer is Uiltje, one I first discovered at Borefts before it and the hosts became part of the Swinkels empire. Märzen Madness is a bit of a contradiction in terms, and I think they're trying to lure punters in by pretending it's more exciting than a German-style lager will ever be. It is off-style, however, being only 5% ABV for one thing, and having a sweetly floral central flavour, of freshly picked lavender and parma violet candy. A base of crunchy biscuit is something of a nod to what Märzen typically is, although the amber colour doesn't really match how the Germans do it. Regardless, it's pretty tasty, and the intense floral character suits it to the small serves of the festival: I would not countenance a Maßkrug of this one.

On my way out of Bodegraven, I went up to the windmill to say goodbye and enjoy a revisit of some De Molen classics that they were serving there. But before leaving the main festival site at the brewery, my last beer was one from Uiltje which seems to have been discontinued and then revived especially for the event. It came with a health warning: did I want a taste of Flaming Ass Owl smoked chilli porter before committing a token to it? No I did not. I've brewed this style of beer to my own taste in the past, and I have never encountered a commercial version that comes close to my preferred intensity. Fill 'er up.

Well, Uiltje managed it. This presumably one-off festival special was weapons-grade hot: a full-face spray of mace, scorching the tongue and making the eyes water. I loved it. After a couple of blistering sips, the flavour proper emerges, based on dark chocolate but with savoury green chilli pepper skin as well. I fully recognise that this beer may be for my palate only, but at the same time I would love to see more breweries creating chilli beers as delightfully irresponsible and delicious. Thank you for daring, Uiltje and, with nose and eyes streaming, peace out, Borefts.

The other beers I drank in the Netherlands before heading home follow tomorrow.

A wild turn

It wasn't all imperial stouts, quadrupels and barley wines at the Borefts Beer Festival, even if my reporting makes it seem that way. The festival's final outing last month had a particularly good showing from breweries operating in the wild fermentation space, and I put in a bit of effort to try as much of that as I could, especially from the unfamiliar outfits.

Like 't Pomphuizeke, for example. It's a one-man-band operation, founded by a Ghent-based home brewer who seems to have allowed his love of blending lambics get out of control. With a cursory search I wasn't able to find from which breweries the base lambics are sourced, but the tasting evidence suggests it's the good ones.

I should probably be more suspicious of exotic lambic blends than I am, but when something like Peper Lambiek appears on a menu, curiosity takes precedence. This isn't a subtle beer, and the aroma of crushed black pepper is very real, very fresh and very loud. It has seemingly been added in quantity, but the base beer is a match for it, so the foretaste delivers a properly serious oude geuze flavour: dry, waxy and punchily sour. Normally, I'm looking for a spice element in this, but here that's covered over by the pepper, tasting as real and fresh as it presents in the aroma. The result is a complementary savoury quality which works extremely well with the excellent base beer. The combination might not be to everyone's taste, and there's an undeniable air of gimmick about it, but as a fan of spicy gueze, I thoroughly enjoyed this extra-spicy take. A great idea, expertly executed.

That gave me the confidence to return for Koffielambiek. I was sceptical, and chose it mainly because I haven't seen it done before. Adding coffee to a light-bodied, highly attenuated beer like this tends to result in a nasty stale coffee taste, with none of the oily warmth, fruit or flowers that coffee can bring to strong dark beers. And that's pretty much what happened here, like someone simply dumped a shot of cold espresso into the beer. That didn't completely spoil things: the coffee is most apparent in the aroma but is barely present in the flavour, where the base lambic holds its own, maintaining a clean and sharp sourness, with a hint of gunpowder. This one is good despite, not because of, the blender's creativity. Now we know. I will still be trying more of Pomphuizeke's creations, as and when they come my way.

I paid special attention to the Tommie Sjef bar, as this might be the last time I get to try the beer. Beers from the Dutch master of wild fermentation are prohibitively expensive out in the real world, and while I'm sure the prices are fully justified by the quality of the product, I've never been tempted to drop a roll of tenners on a 75cl bottle. Borefts is the one place I've found them available for sampling at reasonable prices, and this was my last chance.

Flint is the name which caught my eye first, and the beer lived up to it. Though all of 7.9% ABV, it's very much in the straight gueze style, amber coloured and intensely sour. The name is well chosen as there's a massive earthy mineral quality to the sourness, but there's nuance too. I found soft notes of lychee and pineapple in amongst the acidity. What tends to bother me with strong examples of this style is a certain flabbiness: too much heat and density which masks the sharp and clean sourness. Tommie has completely avoided that, resulting in a beer which tastes far lighter than it actually is, and is much the better for it. This is the kind of masterful take on straight-up geuze-style beer that I come to the brewery for, though you still won't catch me shelling out €30+ for a bottle of my own.

Next I tried Spróng, Dutch for "jump", made with a favourite novelty beer ingredient of mine, sage. Usually, sage is about as subtle as a foghorn, with its highly aromatic oily savouriness. Here, it has been employed judiciously, and while it does taste unmistakably of sage, it arrives late, after a burst of light and lemony sunshine, alongside the standard bold tartness and minerality. Once again the ABV is in the upper reaches -- 7.4% -- but also once again there's no heat or unwelcome malt weight. It is deliciously and inappropriately refreshing.

Tempting as it was to stay at Tommie Sjef and complete the range, there was much more to try. For example, sharing the container bar with Tommie was French brewery Levain. The first one of theirs I drank was Macération Savagnin, spontaneously fermented, with the addition of white grape pomace. 6% is a much more reasonable ABV, although the beer didn't compare well with the neighbour's. There's a lack of complexity, for one thing: a certain wild and funky edge, but not much. Some may say subtle; I would say bland. A savoury salinity leads on to a tangy vinegar finish, and it might have got away with that if there had been enough good stuff happening in the middle. Oddly, there's not much of a grape flavour, only a mild lemon zestiness which may or may not be related. For what it is, this beer underperforms, both as a wild-fermented ale, and a grape one. I gave the brewery a second chance, however.

Macération Trousseau is similar, but with red grapes instead. Both beers were barrel aged but this is the only one of the pair which tastes it. There's far more complexity on show, including sweet lychee and cherry fruit notes, floral perfume and more than a hint of pink Champagne's strawberry and lychee. The slightly severe vinegar tang found in the previous beer does show up here, but it's more forgivable what with the other features on show. I think this is sufficiently interesting to satisfy the chin-stroking sour beer intellectuals, but most of all it's fun, from the pale pink colour onwards. Perhaps the slightly higher strength of 7% ABV, as well as the choice of pomace, has something to do with the difference in these two beers.

The other French brewery at the festival was another wild specialist: Sacrilège. Cuvée Pepins is a grape ale, and you can take your pick of ABVs: 6% in the festival brochure, 6.2% on the brewery blackboard and 6.9% on the internet. It's that sort of wild, I guess. Regardless, this scarlet number is light and effervescent, and has very kriek-like characteristics, centring on a zingy cherry tartness. It's done with Carignan grapes, they tell us. A pinch of saltpetre spice in the finish adds the necessary extra dimension, so while it's far from complex, it is very well made, balanced and enjoyable. My preference is for grape ales to taste of grape, but I'll take cherry as a substitute in most any context.

Yet another wild beer specialist came all the way from Alberta. Blind Enthusiasm is up front about the influence of Belgian lambic on its way of doing things, sticking rigidly to the methods of the classic producers. With typical Canadian politeness they don't label the beers as lambic, but from what I tasted, they could absolutely pass.

At the basic level there's Single Barrel Spontaneous, flagged as uncarbonated so presumably an attempt at copying young straight lambic. It has the clear dark gold colouring and a perfect lambic tartness which is almost cider-like. The unrefined and rustic quality continues with a pleasant earthiness, invoking mature blue cheese, and a puckering wax bitterness. To my mind, it was absolutely the sort of thing you might find on cask at a specialist lambic bar in Belgium today. Only the well-hidden 7.5% ABV keeps it from being a beer to sink several glasses of, before returning to the harvest. So they've got the foundations right; now what?

A blend of 2, 3 and 4-year old versions of the above gives us Grand Manifesto, again 7.5% ABV. This is a clear gold colour and has an attractive nitre aroma: the damp brick cellar effect which is another of my favourite gueze features. It's quite dense and a touch syrupy, the strength being not so well hidden as it was in most of today's strong sour beers. Still, that provides a platform for lots of flavour, dominated by an almost Chardonnay-like oakiness, a modicum of sharp green apple, and lots of lovely peppery spice. My overall impression was that, while not brilliant, it is convincing. I've seen the eyewatering prices of good Belgian geuze in Canada, and I would be quite happy to switch my allegiance to Blind Enthusiasm if it were local.

And of course they do fruit beer too. Again it's very much after the Belgian style, although raspberry with rhubarb is a new one on me, I think. That's Mega Rhazzle, clear pink and all raspberry in the aroma. The sourness of the base beer dominates the flavour, and I suspect that covers up the rhubarb's contribution, because I didn't get any rhubarb flavour. The raspberry side is subtle and well-integrated, allowing the proper lambic tartness and spice to be the beer's main features. This is another spot-on recreation of how the likes of Cantillon and Tilquin make this kind of beer.

I don't know if I will ever encounter Blind Enthusiasm again, but I highly commend them, and especially where the alternative is a high-priced Belgian import. Further evidence, if it be needed, that there's nothing particularly special about the Pajottenland biome. Good beer of the lambic type is a question of skills, not bugs.

Two rather less involved English beers to take us out. Alas, none of the country's excellent wild beer specialists were present. I made do with Words of Wisdom, a gose by Cloudwater. Like most gose, it's not really a gose, with an ABV of 9%, plus added raspberry, mango and lime. Still, it's a pleasant slice of summery fun, balancing the citrus zest with tropical juice and managing to keep the raspberry from dominating the whole thing. I don't quite understand what they got from making it so strong: while that didn't add any unwelcome heat or otherwise harm the flavour, it flashes up an unnecessary warning light. This kind of thing is better done at half this strength, for more carefree drinking. It's not a connoisseurs' beer and shouldn't have to be sipped.

And then there was Scoop. For the brief periods that this was available, Azvex had to dedicate one of their team to pouring it continuously until the keg ran out. Having been surprised that it sold out on day one, I trooped along on day two to find out what the attraction was, beyond its arresting bright blue colour.

I'm still at something of a loss there. This is one of those pastrified pseudo-sour beers, loaded up with lactose for a creamy, yoghurt or fromage frais effect. The "fruit" element is that blue raspberry flavouring, most familiar from Slush Puppies but also found in bubblegum, assorted other candies, and absolutely not anywhere in the natural world. And that's it. Some electric-blue food colouring seems to be all you need to get the Borefts hoards queuing up to buy it. Blind Enthusiasm, directly across the room, must have been furious.

It's almost time for last orders, but not before we find out what our host and its compatriots brought to the party.

Any stout?

Two brewery stands at the 2025 Borefts Beer Festival seemed to have almost continuous queues. One of them I could understand: the New England legend Hill Farmstead. Early on day one I tried the barrel-aged coffee porter they brought, The Birth of Tragedy. The enticing whisky aroma gets this 9%-er off to a good start. When that gets added to the coffee and the bonus addition of honey, it creates a beautiful Irish coffee effect, all smooth, rich and warming. When the coffee middle fades, the spirit returns, providing a long finish with extra warmth. This isn't the sort of beer I associate with Hill Farmstead but it has been created with the same level of expertise.

Canadian brewery Badlands was next to them and was, if anything, even more popular with the crowds. I had never heard of them so had no idea what the fuss was about. After they sold out and closed up early on the first day, I made sure to be there early on the second.

I came away with Double Kiwi, which I think was the only IPA I drank at the event -- the Badlands selection was very IPA-heavy. This is a double IPA of 8.2% ABV, hazy, and brewed with Nelson Sauvin, Riwaka and Motueka. It shows off these hops well, with lots of herbal dankness and spicy rocket, set on a smooth texture. There's a little grit and a hint of garlic as it warms, but otherwise it's clean and well-made, and is particularly good at hiding the alcohol.

Their one dark beer was Wheat Stout, an 11.9% ABV imperial stout that tastes even stronger, with a massive coffee liqueur flavour, like a glass of Tia Maria. The mouthfeel is extremely unctuous, which I'm guessing is the wheat's doing, and there's no escape from the booze. Subtle it ain't, so I'm sure the Borefts crowd lapped it up. Me, after these two I was none the wiser regarding the Badlands fuss. They didn't seem to be doing things particularly different to a thousand other microbreweries.

Californians Bottle Logic brought several examples of Fundamental Observation, a bourbon-aged imperial stout. The base version, on the left, is 14% ABV and is a cakey concoction, the addition of vanilla beans giving it an intense sweetness which allies with a strong chocolate flavour. A roasted coffee note is as close as it gets to balance. While not exactly smooth, easy drinking, it is pleasant to sip and enjoy the growing warmth it delivers.

As if that wasn't sweet enough, there's also Fundamental Observation: Maple, and the key ingredient is very apparent from the aroma. In the flavour, the sticky sweet maple overrides everything else happening, and here it tips over into being cloying, sticky and actively difficult to drink. A powerhouse beer like this did not need an extra layer of sugariness added to it.

My defence for drinking a third version, Fundamental Observation: Rum Raisin, is that it was on the previous day. This one, at 15% ABV, was one of my last ones before leaving, and it was altogether more manageable than the other two. While there's a huge and unsubtle amount of alcohol heat here, there's somehow a bitterness too; a kind of spicy and herbal vermouth effect, making this an imperial stout for the negroni crowd. I couldn't really pick out either the vanilla, the rum or the raisins individually, but I'm sure they're making a collective contribution. This is the Fundamental Observation to go for if only picking one, which is probably a wise move.

It was a surprise to see traditional Yorkshire brewery Theakston on the line-up, and with their core range of beers, rather than anything souped-up or outré. Their one beer I didn't recognise was called Quencher, a golden pale ale of 3.4% ABV. From the name, I'm taking it that this is supposed to be sessionable, so the heavily perfumed aroma and foretaste seems ill-advised. There's some more subtle light lemon notes later in the flavour, but it all tails off into a watery finish, making it a beer which manages to go from unpleasantly cloying to horribly bland at an indecently quick pace. Obviously, this was completely the wrong context and format for trying this beer, but I would still be wary of it should I happen across it in a proper pub. Theakston is normally much better than this.

Liverpool brewery Azvex has a series of collaboration beers on the go, and it was their one with Cloudwater which they brought to Borefts. Operation Genome [25.05], the latest at time of writing, is an 11% ABV imperial stout with cacao, vanilla and pandan, the latter of which I had to look up -- it's a fragrant leaf used in south Asian cuisine. The beer tastes like an affogato dessert to me: simultaneously bitter and roasty while also ice-cream sweet, with a seasoning of hazelnuts. Like many a Borefts beer, it would likely be problematic in larger measures, but a small glass was perfect for enjoying the dessertish appeal, and the warming aftereffects. If you're buying a can, have someone to share it with.

An unprecedented two Irish breweries were at the festival. Unfortunately, Wicklow Wolf didn't bring anything I hadn't already had, so theirs was the only stand I didn't visit. Galway Bay, however, had Rán, a non-imperial stout (gasp!) that they've brewed as a collaboration with Mikkeller. At heart, it's a fairly typical Irish pub stout: 4.8% ABV, creamily textured and with a gentle coffee roast. With presumably a nod to the nation's favourite stout enhancer, they've also added blackcurrant, but not too much. That sits as a subtle forest-fruit addition to the simple main flavour; I don't think it improves it, but doesn't do any harm either. It was nice to get a break from all the big beers with this one, and it did a better job of resetting my palate than Theakston's Quencher.

I'll leave it there for today and will pick things up again tomorrow, to look at the weird, wild and sour end of the selection.