Arthur's Last Christmas

Just before the Christmas holiday I dropped in to the Open Gate Brewery to see what the Guinness crew were offering for the season.

Paddle one began on a Chocolate Milk Stout, the sort of thing Guinness has produced from time to time but rarely to any great aplomb. This one is fine, but unremarkable. It has all the creamy Guinness texture but a little too much of the signature Guinness bitterness. I could barely taste the powdered chocolate behind this, nor did I get any of the vanilla effect which often results from lactose. Overall, it's maybe a smidge denser and sweeter than Draught Guinness, but little more different than that.

The next one gives this post its title: Arthur's Last Ale. The claim is that it's a recreation of the last batch of ale brewed by Guinness before it became an all-porter brewery in the late 18th century. My "beer specialist" server couldn't tell me what it's made from, but it's a dark garnet colour, so I'm guessing some combination of roasted malts is involved. The aroma gives little away but the flavour leaps in with Scotch-ale levels of sticky toffee. It's only 5% ABV but feels more, almost like a barley wine. The flavour finishes with a bite of burnt caramel. A very slight leafy green tang is all that the hops, presumably English, have to say. As historical recreation beers go, it's accessible and pleasant. I don't get the point of putting something like this out as a promotional piece for the brewery without making all the background information available, however.

Finally for this paddle, Plum Pudding Porter: not the most original idea, but nobody else around here is doing one, so why not? It's properly black and a sizeable 8.3% ABV. The spice and plum is immediately apparent from the aroma; enticingly so. The mouthfeel is surprisingly light, in that it's full but not heavy, and very drinkable. What also helps there is that the novelty flavours are restrained and quite balanced. You definitely know you have a novelty beer: its flavour is the gustatory equivalent of wearing a silly festive hat. But the clove, the cinnamon, nutmeg and sultana all taste like the real thing, not some homogenous sludge of industrial "Christmas pudding flavor". This is the classiest gimmick beer I've had in a while.

The second flight began with a palate cleanse called Lyre Lager, a bit stronger than your standard at 5.5% ABV. As is absolutely standard in this place, it's a flawless gold in the glass with a perfectly formed white head. The body is substantial but there isn't really the flavour to justify it. It tastes very generic, with only token hops -- all bittering -- and a sickly malt sweetness that's half way to tramps' brew. I have to wonder what the intention was. Regardless, this one isn't up to the usual high standard of Open Gate lager.

The final two are in those rare beer styles that make high turnover taprooms like this so much fun. Who else would be making 90 Shilling? Open Gate's is 6.8% ABV. This is a heavy fellow, dense with unfermented malt sugars, while also laced by bitterly vegetal hops: serious stuff. There's a definite Highland Toffee element to the centre, and it's enjoyably warming and chewable. On adjusting to the bitterness I found a more nuanced red-liquorice side to it. I'm no expert on what 90 Shilling is meant to taste like, either historically or whatever American homebrew culture has since turned it into, but this is quite a good beer, and was well suited to the cold and drizzly evening on which they served it to me.

Our big finish is Open Gate's Black IPA, brewed in collaboration with giant, mostly-independent, Kildare brewery Rye River. It's certainly black, showing only dark brown at the edges, and it's a sizeable 6% ABV. On the red cabbage to bath bomb scale of black IPA flavour profiles, this leans Lush, sparking with zesty lemon and oil of lavender. The bitterness is harder even than cabbage and spinach, heading for rubber and yeast dregs, but this isn't very prominent and can be ignored. Overall, it's a slightly off-kilter interpretation of black IPA, perhaps taking its cue from the current fashion for fruity ya-yas in IPA hopping, rather than a stern smack. It works, though. Black IPA being a wonderful and under-valued style doesn't mean they all have to taste the same.

Open Gate is closed at the moment but scheduled to reopen on 23rd January. I don't know if any of the above will survive the furlough.

Frost/Bit

I've owned a Bitburger glass for some sixteen years now -- it's one of the Masterson Bequeathment, and is in regular rotation, but for other beers. I discovered recently that I've never had Bitburger. That has to change.

My assumption is that it's the most basic of mass-market German pilsners, based solely on how ubiquitous it is, in a market that doesn't really have big national brands like other countries. The aroma doesn't sing of hops, but there's something worthwhile there: grassy to an acceptable extent. It's not thin, the texture spot-on for 4.8% ABV, with an almost sticky golden syrup note. Any freshness from the hops that manifested in the aroma is completely gone here. Instead, it's a plasticky sort of bitterness -- absolutely standard for industrial German lager, sadly -- and it sits on an overall cardboard-like staleness, even though the bottle was relatively fresh. I mean, I'm glad I took the time to try it, and I won't object too strenuously on future occasions when Bitburger is the only beer available, but it's not a great beer. Everyone else probably knows that already, but now you have it from me.

What prompted the above appraisal was the arrival of Bitburger Winterbock, a 7% ABV pale bock, something which could either be better crafted for taste, or cheap and nasty and hot. In reality it's not quite either. This doesn't taste its strength, being clean and surprisingly dry, with only a mild hit of syrupy malt arriving late in proceedings. I guess strong and simple is all it's meant to do, and I'm glad it doesn't have the powerful melty plastic flavour which is somehow perfectly acceptable in pale bock but very much isn't for me. At the same time, there's nothing very interesting about it, and I feel a little resentful that a strong lager would be so bland: there was an opportunity to do more here, but they didn't take it. It's not even very wintery: swap the brooding black goat on the label for a cheery one wearing a hat and you have an equally fine summer beer. This should be dark. Winter beers should be dark. There, I said it.

On this showing, Bitburger beers are just on the right side of acceptable, but no more than that. Unless you're in one of the German venues they monopolise, there's probably something better available.

Old man beer

Ask any brewer why they don't make more beer in the dark and delicious styles and they'll tell you it's because they don't sell, at least not the way IPAs do. It's a scandal and a disgrace and the drinking public should be ashamed of ourselves. Today, I've picked a selection of beers that have come my way recently, all in styles that there should be more of. 

Things had been very quiet up at Four Provinces so it was wonderful to see them advertising a new beer, and a stout, no less: Dublin Dubh. I was straight round to the pub in Kimmage for a go. It's a very mainstream 4.2% ABV and served on nitro, though in just a single pour, because why not? The flavour is more on the chocolate side than dry roast, which suits me. The roast isn't left out, however, and manifests pleasantly in the aroma. This is a very decent pint of plain and a cut above how the industrial brewers do it, except... I got a slight chlorophenolic twang, lurking at the heart of the flavour; an echo of Laphroaig whisky which doesn't ruin the experience, but I don't think it's meant to be there and it would be remiss of me not to mention it. Here's hoping that'll get fixed in the next batch and this beer will stick around.

As the brewery notes on the can, there has already been an American-style brown ale in Kinnegar's numbered limited edition series, although it was 19, not 18 as the text claims. For Brewers At Play 43 they've ramped up the strength a little, to 6.2% ABV. This one is on the reddish side of brown, and topped with a densely thick head of beige foam. It smells a little piney, though not in a good way, with overtones of floor cleaner or urinal cake. The flavour is simpler and, it has to be said, much less hop-forward. It's centred on very classical brown ale flavours, of latte coffee, milk chocolate and soft caramel. They're set on a beautifully smooth base -- I complained that the last one was a bit thin, but they've resolutely solved that issue, and without adding any unwelcome alcohol heat. Instead of pine or citrus, the hopping manifests as a raisin and rosewater sweet side, so while it says it's "big hoppy" on the tin, it's more that it's balanced and nuanced, which probably wouldn't sell as well, but it should. In summary, this is a lovely beer, hitting the sweet spot of being flavourful but also immensely easy and satisfying to drink, and it expertly hits the points that brown ale is supposed to, so will please everyone else who wants to see more of them around.

Also revisiting old recipes is Outer Place, who released an export India porter called Deepspace Transmission a bit over a year ago. That has been revived as Deepspace Transmission 2 and given a little ABV boost to 6.5%. Again, I appear to have complained that the original was thin, and again the brewery seems to have fixed this. It glooped flatly into the glass, and I thought I wasn't getting a head until one suddenly arose from the depths, nitro style, when the glass was nearly full. The extra heft is borne out in the properly creamy mouthfeel, low on carbonation but still lively. The hops are quiet in the aroma, which is all espresso and hot tar. The flavour is punchily bitter, and there's a certain grapefruit quality to this, but it's mostly the charred roast from its dark grains, with a real old-fashioned herbal liquorice kick. I mentioned that the 2023 version had more than a touch of black IPA about it, and this does glance in that direction too, but in a positive way. As a black IPA fan, I'm happy to find the style's attributes in a porter, but this is still a porter: putting the malt first, with hops as an enjoyable optional extra. All told, it's good stuff, pulling the same interesting-yet-drinkable move as the Kinnegar one. 

With contemporary takes on old-timey beer styles, it was inevitable that someone would try throwing in non-standard ingredients, and of course today it's Lough Gill. They've done a 4% ABV porter, which is all rare and wonderful, but decided it needed cocoa adding, to create Atlantic Cocoa. It doesn't smell of chocolate, mind, being sharply herbal, with oily rosemary meeting a stern burnt-toast bitterness. The texture is thin and fizzy, and there's a slightly sour edge, giving it the feel of bottled Guinness, which is not what I expected. I searched hard for the headline cocoa, and I think it's present in the finish: a sort of desultory rub of dark chocolate around the palate, but it's definitely not central to the picture. The thinness and sharpness makes it taste, to me, like a homebrew gone wrong: not infected, but definitely not done right. That's a surprise from Lough Gill, which normally does dark and chocolatey beers very well without problem. I am as confused as I am disappointed. Anyway, I don't recommend this one. There will be some bereft pastry stout fans in its wake.

Finally, at a pre-Christmas beer geeks meet-up in UnderDog, a bottle of Kernel's Victorian Mild was shared around. Kernel almost never disappoints when it comes to dark beer, but I didn't care for this. It's incredibly dry and quite acrid, with opening flavours of peanut shell and cotton. That's followed by an unwelcome rush of alcohol heat, despite the beer being only 5.7% ABV. The dryness takes a turn towards roastiness, but overdoes it, resulting in an ashen quality to the middle flavour, and then to top it off, an unpleasant vinegary acidity. It left me with a feeling I often get from beers which are recreations of historical recipes: olden days beer wasn't very nice to drink. This one certainly wasn't.

So, just because a beer is dark and in a hallowed style doesn't mean it will be enjoyable. My point really is about variety and choice. I'll happily accept the occasional vinegary clunker as the price of that.

Two two-tone tins

A couple of new beers from Ska Brewing arrived a few months back and have been languishing in my fridge ever since. I finally got around to pulling them out just before Christmas.

Southwest Coast is a 6.2% ABV IPA, and a strikingly clear golden, quite unlike the standard appearance for IPAs these days. Ska, of course, pre-dates the haze craze and seems quite ambivalent towards it. From the thick and lasting white foam comes an aroma of grapefruit and lemon, which shouldn't be very surprising. The flavour is a little more muted, though I'm guessing the protracted period of storage didn't help there. But what it has is good. The citric zest is toned down from the aroma, being more juicy, like a piquant satsuma or tangerine. There's a chewiness to the malt which turns the fruit into fruit candy, though that doesn't come with any alcohol heat. This is an ultra-clean, well-made and workmanlike American IPA, not pulling any spectacular shapes, but very decent drinking, and offers welcome respite from all the haze out there.

In the smaller can is the stronger beer, Checkered Future, another IPA, this time at 7% ABV. It's darker and *gasp* a bit hazy. I didn't get much aroma, while the flavour is also another... subtle... one. We're going oranges again, though this time they're bigger, bouncier jaffas, with an edge of marmalade bitterness. Running in parallel is a crisp fried onion effect, which dries the whole thing out and, frankly, makes it less enjoyable. I'm fine with the more serious aspects of hops, but I would have preferred a proper resinous bitterness -- your pine and your dank -- to the lacklustre veg on display here. This isn't a bad beer, but while the first one was underwhelming, this is doubly unimpressive.

Maybe I should have drank them sooner. Maybe shipping IPAs from Colorado to Dublin isn't a great idea in the first place. But I wasn't impressed by either of these.

For the wings of a dog

It's not a boycott, it's just boredom. While I am aware of the litany of controversies that BrewDog has attracted to it, and that it probably would have a chilling effect on my interest in its beer, the fact is that their Irish importer has been doing a disastrous job of bringing their more interesting wares into this country. But, there's a new(ish) flagship, and its been in my eyeline for over a year now. Time to see what it's like.

"A maverick of a session IPA" tells us that BrewDog is still doing the pisschimp thing after all these years. Wingman is 4.3% ABV and a clear pale yellow with a luxuriously thick head. The aroma is fresh and tropical, offering generous chunks of mango with a background of crisp pear. It's fizzy and light-bodied, which is perfectly acceptable for this kind of beer. Once the obstreperous bubbles get out of the way, the flavour follows the aroma, with sweet fleshy cantaloupe and pineapple, turning to a more chemically ester finish, where pear meets whiteboard markers. It's all quite subtle and understated, very clean and without an aftertaste. 33cl didn't last long, and this would work very well by the pint, but presumably I'd need to go to their Dublin footprint for that, in the part of the docklands which is half way to Wales.

BrewDog does still be Brewdogging. Whenever the discourse turns in their direction, there's always someone saying "yer, and thur beer is shit now too," but in my experience it's not, and never has been (unless you got one of those Punk cans). This beer is fine, leaning to good, but most importantly is what it's meant to be. I have no objection to it being on the market and can see it being the best available option in any number of circumstances. Now there's a slogan for them.

Absolute slop

I'll spare you my usual rant about the bad AI-generated artwork on Third Barrel's cans. Suffice it to say, they're still at it, and it still looks cheap and terrible. I had built up quite a collection of their beers late last year, through no particular reason, and got to work on them last month.

Sitting in the fridge since the summer was Short Circuit, an all-Citra IPA of 6.2% ABV. They've used various formats of the iconic American hop, including cryo, Spectrum and plain old-fashioned T90 pellets like our grandaddies used to use. They don't tell us anywhere on the can that it's hazy, but it is: oats in the ingredients is your nod-wink signal, I guess. The aroma is a little on the oily, savoury side of Citra's lime character: it's certainly no custardy haze job, even if it's very definitely not West Coast style. There's a pleasant bitter punch at the front of the foretaste, and maybe that's why they haven't said it's hazy, because it's definitely not in the New England fashion. The flavour is centred on bitter citrus pith, with a twist of white pepper. That said, it's not sharp or harsh, and does have a certain soft side; a pale cherry-slice cakeishness. This is pretty damn decent in the reliable, enjoyable, and most of all sessionable way that Third Barrel does beers. I only had one can, but I could see this working very well as a super-charged pinter. Careful now.

A month younger, but broadly along the same lines, is early autumn's Green Light Mode, a lightly hazy IPA of 6% ABV and hopped with Hallertau Blanc, Simcoe and Cryo Pop. The aroma is on the savoury side, mixing dry grain husks with raw spinach and celery: Hallertau Blanc tends not to come across as typically German, but I think that's what it's doing here. In the flavour, that gets concentrated to a dry and crisp sesame seed or caraway effect, something I associate most with Mosaic, and do not care for. The haze gives it a pillowy soft texture, which rounds out some of the edges, and there's a seam of sweetish vanilla too, but it's really missing any proper fruit side, and zingy citrus in particular. What bitterness there is is metallic and aspirin-like. This didn't work for me, being all too serious and devoid of the fun side of hopping that Third Barrel usually does so well (see above).

Bringing us right up to date, an IPA canned in late November, called Bothered. Again, it's not labelled as hazy but it very much is; 7% ABV and hopped with Idaho 7 and Strata, two of the brewery's favourites, I think. I expected it to smell more sweetly fruity and juicy — that's what I associate with Strata in particular — but instead the aroma is quite serious: a thick and oily layer of resins shot through with sparks of onion-like spicing. It gets more orangey on tasting, but not really very sweet, showing a pithy tartness and herbal notes of spearmint and thyme. The label says to expect tangerine and grapefruit, which I sort-of get, but also passionfruit, which I definitely don't. And even though it's opaque, there's no interference from the murk; no grittiness or vanilla, and that's always very welcome. The other principal attribute, aside from the hop goings-on, is a rounded warmth, making good use of the high-ish alcohol to create something that's very satisfying when you're only having the one beer. All told, this is very decent stuff.

Brickyard in Dundrum is now the sole proprietor of the TwoSides beer brand, but is still turning out the product via Third Barrel. The latest in its sequence of pale ales is Two Yards: All Citra, and sure why not? As usual, it's a light 4.3% ABV — brewed with pints in mind — and full-on hazy. One might have expected the aroma to be citrussy, but this is all resin, pine and weed, with almost a burn going on, despite the minimal alcohol. I found the foretaste a little off-putting, giving a dry and rasping acridity, like peanut shells or pencil shavings. The citrus takes over very quickly, thankfully, and delivers hard and bitter lime pith with an edge of fried onion and a pinch more of the pine from the aroma. Despite the strength, this is serious stuff, and I'm not sure it is very well suited to pint drinking. Though hazy, there's none of the balancing softer or sweeter sides to counteract the Citra's punch. I'm sure there are those who appreciate it at the level it's intended; it was just a little too aggressive for me, lacking nuance, as single-hopped beers often do. I can't say the front of the can didn't warn me.

TwoSides gets back on the collaboration bandwagon with Bitter Sweet Symphony, an IPA produced with another pub-owned Third-Barrel-brewed beer brand, Hopsicle of Cork. They don't tell us much about it on the can, only that 5.2% ABV is the strength. It's pale yellow and very slightly cloudy, with more of the gritty savouriness from the last one in its aroma. There's a similar sort of pithy bitterness too, but it's altogether less intense, and does show a sweeter side, slightly: a little candied orange peel or Seville marmalade. A proper tang finishes it off on a note reminiscent of English bitter. A symphony this is not. Like English bitter, it's a more subtle affair, wearing its complexity lightly. I expected something more dramatic, but what I got is calm and classy. Though the hops are all-American (Citra, Cascade, Mosaic), there's a restraint in what they're doing here: punching playfully at first, then fading to a dignified silence after the beer is swallowed. For me, this is a beer more to respect than to enjoy. I think I'm entitled to expect a bit more drama from a collaboration IPA with lots of American hops on board. I suspect that the pubs in charge have reined them in, to give it more mainstream appeal.

It's hard to believe, but not everything Third Barrel brews is a hazy pale ale. The two token offerings in other styles is where we'll finish this lot, beginning on a Czech-style pale lager called Hello Yes. This is a prize-winning homebrew recipe, although isn't quality in pilsner more about the process than the recipe? I'm possibly out of my depth with that. Anyway, this is výčepní-strength at 4.1% ABV, a flawless dark golden colour and smells of all the honey and fresh-cut grass that anyone could want. The carbonation is assertive — more so than is to my taste, but for this style it gets a pass. I'm amazed that there's no compromise with the mouthfeel, and it's as rounded and rich as a significantly stronger beer. Likewise the flavour has depth and complexity far beyond my expectations. Classically Czech golden syrup meets peppery rocket in the foretaste, followed by a kick of bitter spinach, before finishing perfectly cleanly with no aftertaste nor trace of fruitiness. I have no further notes. This is absolutely bang on, and reminds me how rare top-notch pale lager is in Ireland. If it's something you've been hankering after, don't miss this one.

"A hefty dose of Centennial" is the promise that comes with Texture Like Sun, a brown ale. It's only barely brown, mind, looking quite red to me. There's no more than a hint of hop fruit in the aroma, mixed with dark malt's chocolate and coffee, suggesting a raisin-studded candy bar. The flavour adds a tannic bite and accentuates the coffee roast, ensuring the sweet side doesn't get everything its own way. The hops are very visible as well, with quite a stereotypical American grapefruit bite on top of all the malt. Though 5.5% ABV, it's not particularly heavy, and that further helps with the balance. There's lots of fun on offer here, whether that be from the west-coast hopping or the ramped-up traditional brown ale features. The two sides work very well together, and both are assertively present, given a perfect clean base to work from. Too often microbrewed brown ales, where they exist, end up murky, gritty and difficult. This example, however, delivers all the good stuff in discreet packages with no interference, and is highly enjoyable as a result.

The conclusion from all this lot? Third Barrel should brew more varied styles, and especially more lager.

North-west trad

Ireland has a number of breweries whose beers never feature on these pages because they're only available in the immediate catchment area. Not everything finds its way to the big cities, and that's as it should be. I'm grateful to the family member who spotted these while on holiday in Donegal and brought them down to me. All are from the Errigal Brewing Company, based at the Caisleáin Óir Hotel in Annagary.

I started with the red ale, Rua, and was immediately impressed by the thick pillowy head of loose bubbles over a clear copper body. Top marks for appearance, then. It's on the strong side at 4.7% ABV, though doesn't smell particularly rich, with only a faint note of non-specific mineral dryness. That leads to a foretaste which also offers nothing in particular beyond carbonic fizz. It needs a moment, and a little warmth, to come out of its shell (don't we all), and when it does we're back on track for the style: the flavour is centred on caramel, but in a light way, with a burnt dry edge. The counterpoint is those minerals again, which I'm guessing comes from some unobtrusive old-world hops, with England's coming to mind in particular. The caramel flashes briefly in the aftertaste and then we're done. I'm sure it isn't meant to offer a multiplexity of flavour, but with the extra body there's certainly room for it to do more. As a basic, decent and well-made Irish red ale, there's not much to complain about. And if that doesn't sound appealing, there's always something else.

The next something else for me was Óir, the self-styled "gaeltacht lager", with the same name as one of Wednesday's beers. Do the breweries not talk to each other? I tend to be apprehensive when a tiny Irish brewery, using a kit that was most likely designed for ales, tries its hand at cool fermentation. The punters want lager and, sure how how hard can it be? Óir passes inspection as a kellerbier: it's yellow and fairly hazy, with a generous and lasting head. The aroma is husky and grainy, which again puts it squarely within kellerbier parameters. Crispness? Yes, to an extent. In the flavour, the grain husk from the aroma presents as a rye-cracker dryness, but it doesn't last long. An odd, warm-tasting, pear-and-apricot, fruity side emerges after a few seconds, confirming my prejudice that breweries like this aren't really cut out for lager. What  you get here instead is a sort of fluffy blonde ale: well made as a beer, but unconvincing for the market segment it's seeking to attract. Every single Heineken drinker would rather a Heineken than this.

Let's see if they do any better with pale ale. APA, or Anagaire Pale Ale, is named for the brewery's home town. It's 4.7% ABV and translucently hazy, with a thick foam on top. The inclusion of oats in the grain bill is likely related. The aroma is brightly citric, with a poke of sharp lime in particular. The flavour is unfortunately rather plainer, and emphasises the sweet side of the profile, giving me orange candy and vanilla. There's a husky, grainy element, similar to the lager, and one which doesn't sit well with the hops. The citrus arrives back to some extent in the finish, though isn't nearly as bitter as the aroma hinted it would be. This is another slightly rough and retro offering, missing the brightness and cleanness that an American-style pale ale really needs. You would want to be fierce loyal to local to deem this an acceptable alternative.

A porter is altogether more promising, and that's where we finish. Dubh looks well as it pours, a dark red that's mistakable for black, with a lovely and firm off-white head. It smells sweetly of chocolate and wafer biscuits, while the flavour goes full-on for coffee, pushing the oily roasted side at first, then following it with both sweeter milk chocolate and an earthy bitterness: contrasting but balanced. It's let down a little by a thin texture, which I guess is to be expected as it's only 4.3% ABV and is very much built for session drinking. And it's adequately suited for that, being quite restrained in how it goes about its business. There's plenty of interest, however, and after the initial cocoa and coffee, I got some bonus liquorice and burnt caramel complexity after it had warmed a little. There's a wholesome, old-fashioned quality to it, and there aren't many Irish breweries doing this sort of thing by the large bottle any more, unfortunately. 

To me, these seem intended as local beers for local people, designed for mainstream appeal even if they're produced in bespoke quantities. The porter is one which I think deserves a wider audience.