The novelty factor

It was dessert time after a big dinner. Down the street from the restaurant, we settled into UnderDog for a beer in lieu. The most appealing item on the menu for my sweet tooth was from Amundsen, delighting in the name Donut Series: Coconut Cronut with Dark Chocolate & Almond Glaze, a pastry stout, believe it or not.

Now, I have never eaten a cronut -- portmanteau words give me indigestion -- so I can't speak to how accurately this 10.5% ABV recreates the experience. To be honest, I didn't really get any sense of pastry from it, in the cake or bread sense: neither donut nor croissant. The coconut, though? Oh yes, in spades. I guess it doesn't take much of it to make a stout taste coconutty, because those that have it tend to absolutely honk of it, like this fellow. There's plenty of chocolate too: syrupy and thick, resembling more a sticky chocolate sauce than the real thing, and lacking the proper cocoa promised by the "dark" chocolate part of the beer's name. Beyond that, it's just sweetness, the lactose adding that particular vanilla quality that's common to lots of beers like this. And though it's heavy, it's not hot: the double-digit alcohol causing no unpleasantness.

While the name utterly overstates the case for what it is, it's a decent and fun beer, and was absolutely the afters I was after on the day. If you hate this sort of thing, whether the title, the concept or the taste, then it's best avoided. Me, I liked how simple it was in contrast to the very involved specification. I'd have been more inclined to buy it if they'd called it Big Chocolatey Stout and nothing else.

Belgians abroad

The influence of Belgium on the brewing world spreads far and wide. I noticed this on opening my beer fridge recently. Here are three beers from three different countries, all taking their cue from Belgian tradition.

The first is, purportedly, a Kriek, but I had my suspicions from the outset. This example, from Lithuania's Volfas Engelmann, claims to be "Belgian style" but is only 4% ABV and I wasn't expecting much wild character, if any. I wasn't surprised to find that it's pink, nor that it is, indeed, very very sweet. It differs from syrupy Belgian kriek by having a realer cherry flavour: there's a hint of the genuine flesh of the black cherry here. The label tells us this is down to the 10% real cherry juice it includes. Beyond that, it has pretty much nothing else going on in it. There's not even a pretence of sourness. I have a strong tolerance for this sort of daftly sweet beer, and it didn't take me long to chug through a pint of it. I can't say it made me think of Belgium, however.

From the odd to the downright strange. Colorado's Left Hand has long made bottled nitrogenated beer its whole thing, and is best known for the milk stout to which it gave this treatment. Would it work with a witbier? I can't believe anyone even asked. The other specs of Belgian White Nitro are pretty accurate, at 4.8% ABV and brewed with coriander and orange peel. The nitro gimmick works well for the appearance, and you get a thick and lasting head, although it looks a bit wrong sitting over a perfectly clear witbier. I didn't realise that high carbonation is an intrinsic part of the style's charm, but the flatness of this one brought it home. It feels gloopy and cloying, like smoothflow English bitter, lacking any palate-scrubbing condition and accentuating the malt sweetness. The coriander feels clumsily tacked on to this, more a chemical pollutant than a herbal seasoning. It looks good, but it doesn't work. There is nothing to be gained from nitrogenating witbier, however one does it.

We return home to Dublin for the final round: Belgian Tripel from Hope, number 35 in its Limited Edition series, for anyone counting. The first thing to note is that it has very poor head retention, and the second that my Westmalle chalice holds a full 44cl. It's darker than tripel typically is, and it's sweeter too, giving a strong impression of boiled sweets and candied citrus peel. I like a bit of spice in a tripel, and there's none of that on offer here. After the sugary foretaste it all just tails off, with a faint vegetal bitterness but nothing much else. Strong Belgian-style beer should be bold yet subtle, and this manages neither, tasting like simple alcoholic barley water, lacking finesse.

The complexity of their beer is what makes Belgium distinct, and it's essential to get that right when trying to copy it. Many's a brewer goes to the extreme, resulting in beer that's too hot or too cloying. These ones all have the opposite problem: they've got the basics right, but are missing the extra spark which seems to come naturally to Belgian brewers but is elusive elsewhere.

Back in business

I spoke a bit too soon when I complained that there hadn't been many new DOT beers in my line of sight this year so far. Before that was even published, there were four more to add to my to-drink list, all of them thanks to DOT's assorted pals and partners.

First up, a rum/whiskey barrel-aged Helles? Did you ever hear tell of such a thing? Helles Yeh! is the latest in the collaboration series between DOT and the Teeling Whiskey distillery, and sold exclusively through its giftshop in Dublin. It's kellerbier hazy and smells a little like dry crackers and faintly of oaky spirit, with perhaps a little more of rum's sweetness than whiskey's. The mouthfeel brings us back to classic Bavarian lager: it's properly smooth and very clean, opening with a crisp grain crunch followed by softer honey and spongecake. It's only 5% ABV but doesn't really use that to deliver big flavours, and I feel a little gypped by how little it tastes of the barrels: you need to dig right in to the back to find a thin patch of oak and spirit. It's decent drinking, though, and comes across as a better example of Helles than I thought it was going to be. But at €6* for a small can, I feel it did owe me more complexity. Or a bigger can.

We switch retail partners for the next one, another in DOT's Spin Off Series for Aldi: Oatmeal IPA. This is 5.8% ABV and a mostly-clear golden colour, suggesting the west coast of America more than it does a bowl of porridge. The head was a little slow to form, so condition was the first thing I was on alert for. No problems there: it's lightly carbonated, which helps the oatmeal smoothness do its thing, resulting in something that resembles the mouthfeel of a nitrogenated beer without being one. I found the hop side a little bit lacking, with only a vague piney acidity at work in both the aroma and flavour. We're promised "juicy fruity Simcoe" (is that a thing?) by the label, but the beer does very little to back up this promise. The flavour is primarily built around cereal flavours, dry and flaky. On one hand that shouldn't be a surprise with oatmeal, but equally, oatmeal IPAs never taste of the actual oats: that's not the point. I also get a very slight soapy twang on the finish. I don't know where that came from, but it could have been covered up with more hops. This is a compromised affair which will doubtless shift units, and if that helps keep the brewery lights on, all to the good. It's not DOT's best work in the hop-forward space, however.

Back to the barrels, and the next two are continuations of the barrel-aged imperial milk stouts that DOT has created with Two Sides, the beer brand of Brickyard in Dundrum. 

I confess I haven't been keeping fully up to date with these, and the pair starts on Over A Barrel 06: Blend Whiskey Ex Blackberry Brandy. Whiskey support here comes from Two Stacks rather than the more usual Teeling. One doesn't expect much of a head from barrel-aged beer, but this had a full-sized pillow of beige foam over the shiny black body. It's blackberries a-go-go in the aroma; smelling of all the mushed forest fruits in quite a yoghurt-like way. It only becomes a little more stout-like in the flavour, and the fruit is still fully infusing it, building up to a surprisingly intense perfumed finish. Before that, the milk stout presents in quite a typical way, with creamy milk chocolate, plus hints of vanilla and latte. It's only 9% ABV, so badging it as "imperial" rather than, say "export" is a bit of a liberty, and the flavour reflects this understatedness. A growing alcoholic warmth in the belly is the only real sign that it has welly. There's a decent beer in here, but the blackberry brandy gives it too much blackberry, almost like they've simply dumped in some syrup. Give me more stout, please.

That request is directed at Over A Barrel 07: Single Malt Ex Maderia [sic], which sounds altogether more grown up. There's less of a head here, and the aroma is definitely all whiskey: the crunchy honeycomb candy of the Irish sort, at once sweet and seriously boozy. "But the Madeira," you ask, "Where's the Madeira?" That's present from the very beginning of the flavour, as a kind of coconut sweetness with an edge of raisin and booze. You know, Madeira. Once again, stout is not the principal characteristic, and you have to go looking for it. There's a certain amount of creamy chocolate, but it's buried under the mix of whiskey and wine, like some sort of temperance metaphor. While the previous one tasted innocent for its 9% ABV, this one is full-on barrels and spirits and the rest. It's fun, and provides everything one would expect from the spec. Brewers don't often barrel-age milk stouts, and this one shows how it should be done. No blackberries.

DOT will soon be celebrating nine years in business. They've decided some re-brews are in order, but maybe we'll get something new as well.

*Compliance with the law on drinks packaging is for the little people, not Teeling. They don't charge deposits on the DOT cans, though they are returnable, so the net cost of this one was a mere €5.85.

Creatures feature

Larkin's remains something of an enigma in Irish brewing. It didn't feature on here at all in 2024, last seen just before Christmas the previous year. Today's beers are new-release and bear the address in Kilcoole where Larkin's has always operated. That's now, primarily, the Rí-Rá lager brewery, so... is Larkin's simply the badge they put on beer they make which aren't the flagship, or is it a side-project for someone working there, or is the founder still somehow involved in the brand? Nothing is clear, but I'm quite happy that Larkin's beer is still coming out, because I didn't especially care for Rí-Rá.

First of the pair is called Animal Farm and is described as a "farmhouse" session IPA, without any further elaboration on that epithet. 4% ABV is certainly sessiony, and it looks well: a pale sunset yellow, gently hazed and skimmed with white foam. The aroma is juicy like mandarin with a spicy edge, but still nothing out of the ordinary. On tasting, however: here comes the farm. It's a mild but distinct gummy funk, a little like you get from Brettanomyces, but dialled back so as not to interfere with the hops. It finishes on a similarly gentle dry peppery heat. All of this microbial fun plays second fiddle to the hops, which retain a fresh and luscious tropical quality which is entirely complementary with the wildness. This beer shows a superb level of of delicious complexity without losing sight of its sessionability, and was a bargain for €3.25 the can. One for both wild beer fans and hop lovers to stock up on.

The next one is a straight-up IPA with no particular bells nor whistles notified. It's called Hoppy Dog and is a full 6.5% ABV; hazy to an extent, but far from opaque. While not non-descript, there's nothing terribly special about the aroma, delivering a light dusting of sweetish citrus: satsuma or kumquat. The gravity gives it a hefty, dense mouthfeel, coming across almost syrupy. By rights, the hops should get to use this as a performance space, but they don't. I got no more than a mild tang of marmalade shred and a little, unwelcome, grated white onion acidity. It's too heavy to be refreshing and too bland to be characterful. "Needs more hops" we used to say in the old days, before all the haze brewers took us far too seriously. This could certainly do with a boost, of the modern and tropicalesque varieties, for both flavour and aroma. The €2.50 price tag (on special in Molloy's) was attractive, especially given the strength, but it definitely did taste like it was brewed to a price point, unfortunately.

I am genuinely pleased to see beer under the Larkin's brand still being produced, albeit at a much reduced pace. Maybe when the owners realise that their premium lager wheeze isn't going to fly, we might get back to something resembling the old days. And if the old Larkin's Baltic Porter recipe is sitting in a filing cabinet somewhere, well...

Secrets and mysteries

Time for another peep into the Guinness brand home's experimental brewery, or at least it was last month. Here's what I found.

Open Gate has a remit to name its small batch beers after local places and history, but do they provide an explanation for these? Oh my, no. That would be helpful. Instead you get pale ales called things like "Threadcount", which might be a reference to the textile trade which shared the Dublin Liberties neighbourhood with brewing and distilling, but there's literally no way of finding out. This, on the left of the flight, is 4.9% ABV and rather murky; a slightly coppery red-gold colour. The aroma gives little away, and on tasting it proves quite thick and sweet, with unsubtle strawberry and raspberry tones. It is at least clean: Open Gate has form on making muddy-tasting pale ales, but this isn't one of them. It keeps things light and summery, with a long finish of sherbet and candied citrus peel. As long as you don't want any bitterness in your pale ale -- and it seems that most people these days don't -- it's an acceptable option.

In the paddle's middle is Sweetheart Sour, the Valentine's Day special, superannuated in the run-up to St Patrick's Day. It's a crystalline scarlet colour with a brush of pink foam. The aroma is an unremarkable cereal dryness, with no fruit and no sourness. A popping, punchy tartness is where the flavour starts, followed quickly by cherry and raspberry. If the intention was to recreate Love Heart sweets in beer form then they've done a superb job of it: artificial berry essence meeting alkaline effervescence. It's no high-brow wild-fermented sour beer, but equally not the sort of syrupy confection that too many brewers try to pass off as sour these days. There is zing and there is bite, and they're well done.

The last beer on the paddle is the one I came in for especially. I mentioned last year that Calvados ageing of beer is something I approve of and would like to see more of. So here's Open Gate with Calvados Champagne Ale, eliding two different drinks from northern France in a single beer. This is 8.3% ABV and a clear golden with no head. It tastes, in short, like Fino sherry: oxidation is a loud and brash main act here, giving me cork and grape skin, running right through from start to finish. It's light and breezy, not tasting or feeling the strength, but does get a little cloying and difficult when the novelty wears off. I liked it. Though it doesn't really have much Calvados about it -- maybe a little autumnal orchard funk if you look for it -- there is a certain Champagne crispness. But if they'd called it a sherry ale I would have completely understood it from the get-go. Fino fans assemble.

My finisher was an Open Gate Belgian Wit that was just coming to the end of its run. I only chanced a half, because a pint of wonky wit is not something I would relish being stuck with. This one isn't very cloudy and a dark-ish golden colour. The aroma is quite banana-ish, and it leans fully into that in the flavour, tasting much more like a weissbier than a wit. Like the sweeter sort of weiss, there's an element of caramel or toffee in with the banana, although it's not heavy or sticky, so at least has that in common with the Belgian style it's meant to be. I wasn't impressed, however. A half was the right decision.

So that's what was going down at Arthur's gaff in March. It must be nearly time to pop by again, although a bit more effort in keeping their online beer lists updated (ie, some effort; any effort) would be good.

What's going on?

Three beers from Galway Bay are the subject today, beginning with Figo, a pilsner which they've deemed to be in the Italian style. That means extra hoppiness, inasmuch as I understand the term. It's a beautifully clear gold pint, and modestly strong at 4.5% ABV. I was warned by my friendly server in The Black Sheep about the bitterness, and I braced myself, but while there's more hop character than in a mass-market pilsner, it's not excessive or gimmicky. Tasted blind, I would put this more in the north German genre than what tends to get badged as Italian, and I mean that as a compliment: it is not trying to steal the clothes of perfumey American pale ale. Instead it's crisp and grassy rather than fruity; the hops well balanced and entirely complementary to a soft and springy malt base. There wasn't much aroma at first -- that's pints for ya -- but when I was half way down and had a sufficient volume of vapour trapped in the glass I found a very pleasant mirror of the fresh and green herbal taste. This deserves to be served in something more goblet-like, though absolutely still by the pint. It's a class act, all told, and I'm pleased to report that Galway Bay Brewery looks to have started another year with high-quality output.

It looks like there's a story to be told about Whiskey & Coffee, the stout they launched, quietly, in March. The badge implies that it's one in a series called "Modern Classics" and that it's a "celebration stout". Celebrating what, and how do the whiskey and coffee enter the picture? Not in the flavour, anyway. This tastes very plain indeed, and though it's not powerhouse-strength, 5.5% ABV is plenty to give a stout character. Here, the extent of the coffee is no more than you'd find in any typical dry stout. There's nothing resembling whiskey at all, so I doubt it's barrel-aged. Whisky-soaked oak chips, maybe? Sorry, there are more questions than answers with this one. I was a bit bored by it, not to mention confused.

Our finisher is a barrel-aged imperial stout -- haven't had one of those in a while -- called No Quarter. No skimping on the ABV here: it's 11.8% and pours a flawless obsidian with a slow-forming dark brown head. In the manner of Galway Bay, they've added tonka beans, maple syrup and vanilla, and of course the former is fully present in the aroma, showing tonka's signature candied cinnamon. That's heavily present in the flavour too, but superficially so, and it's easily ignored. The other two add-ins don't really make their presence felt, and I'm not surprised to find they blend in with the barrel's effects. That is subtle, though, with no spirituous heat or obvious sappy oak. Instead, it's smooth and creamy milk chocolate at the centre, giving a Snowball dusting of flaky coconut and dessertish coffee cake. A wisp of burnt-caramel smoke adds a modicum of dryness to the finish. The barrels don't really feature, and I had to check the label to find out what they were: bourbon, apparently. I complain about how honkingly unsubtle that can be in other stouts so I can't really complain about it being unobtrusive here. Points for complaint are few with this one: with the velvety smoothness, it's charming and classy, even if it does taste a bit like the bakery on cinnamon swirls day. The price, though, is not easy-going, and I think €13.50 for the half litre is excessive. If that sort of thing isn't a niggle for you, dig in.

Galway Bay's previous whiskey-barrelled stouts tended not to be such shrinking violets: they know how to deliver the spirit and the warm. So I don't know what's happened to either of these stouts. Maybe some longer maturation would be in order. There's nothing wrong with the pils, though: that can be left alone.

Ketchup, catsup...

The Jesuitical analysis of comparable beer styles never ceases to amuse and bemuse me, bless all the dear pedants who take such things seriously. Before us today is the question of how a "dry-hopped lager" differs from a "West Coast pilsner", because I'm sure these aren't terms that breweries simply assign arbitrarily.

For the former, we have Airbell by Lough Gill. This was a terribly handsome fellow once poured into a glass: a deep and serious golden colour, crystal clear, topped with a generous pillow of pure white foam. There's not a Bavarian alive who wouldn't be charmed by that. It all turns very un-continental afterwards, however, starting with the freshly zesty aroma making it very clear there is citrus to come. The flavour follows right through on that promise, delivering an intense hit of freshly-squeezed lemon juice. It runs the risk of tasting a bit like washing-up liquid but avoids it thanks to a generous malt base, providing the pancake for the hops' Jif. Throughout, it's as squeaky clean as I'd want a lager to be, and the pinch of grapefruit bitterness on the end adds to its significant ability to quench and refresh. There's a lot going on in this for a mere 4.5% ABV, and if you didn't know Lough Gill, you might be surprised that something so accomplished could come from a small brewery in north-west Ireland.

Also in that general neck of the Atlantic coast is Kinnegar, who have reached Brewers At Play 44 in their limited edition series. This is another pretty one, and I'm not sure I can recall when I last had two purely clear Irish beers on the trot. The aroma wasn't as in-my-face as the previous, only a wisp of sherbet or lemonade. The hops really don't manifest in the flavour, or at least not in The American Way. Instead, here's a very Germanic crispness; achingly dry in the Nordsee manner, with a rasp in the back of the throat, mixing celery and spinach with a harder plaster dust and burnt rubber acridity. I'm surprised to read on the can that it's done with American hops, because it really doesn't show much of their attributes, merely a light spritz of grapefruit zest at the end of something that's pilsner first and West Coast a distant second. It's not at all a bad beer -- I'm fond of a traditionally-formulated pils -- but it's not what I was expecting, and is very very different from the beer which preceded it.

You demand conclusions. It's probably something about how the myriad decisions required when formulating any beer recipe have more of an effect on the finished product than any pre-determined notion of style. Or, pay more attention to what brewers brew than to what they write on their cans.