The crawl of Rome

In an age of beery uncertainty -- when the consensus of the craft era is, if not completely dismantled, then at least creaking with important bits falling off -- it's nice that some certainties remain. I've developed a newfound appreciation of the beers and bars I discovered in the early years of this blog, and before, which are still operating despite the barbarians being inside the gates. So it was especially pleasing to arrive into Rome and find that two of its fondly-remembered institutions are still going, same as ever.

Open Baladin is one of them. I first visited this outpost of the Piedmontese brewery in 2014, and was impressed. The place has rather more of a worn-in look now (don't we all?) but the range of beers is still excellent. I started with Alla Ceca, a Czech-style lager and indeed a collaboration with the Budvar people, who do seem to be getting around a bit these days. Their international collaborations never seem to be as good as the original, however, and this was no exception. It's very plain, and only hints at the golden syrup malt and fresh-grass hop which proper pale Czech lager does so well. Full marks for the creamy texture, and the beautiful presentation in the fancy new TeKu Mug glass. But two or three mouthfuls and it was gone, leaving not much of an impression on me.

My travelling companion, Reuben, went straight for an IPA: OpperBacco American IPA, brewed by Baladin, but as a collaboration with OpperBacco of Abruzzo. It's a retro affair, amber and resinous, with a heady hop perfume and a greasy texture. Going for big malt and big hops has left it overly sweet, and I can understand how this sort of IPA has fallen out of fashion. It was a bit of a chore to drink, and I only had a sip.

I felt in need of a stout next, and picked Baladin's Brune. "Ispirata alle stout irlandesi, ma originale," they say. We'll see about that. The inspiration is a loose one. While this was served from the handpump (which doesn't necessarily imply cask beer, since we're in Italy) and was delightfully smooth and creamy, it had a very strange and off-putting twang in the flavour; a spice that suggests incense or cedarwood to me. By itself, that might not have been a problem, but then I started noticing other oddities, like cola nut, paprika and especially strong liquorice. That all takes us deep into the world of exotic beer, and a long way from ordinary daycent Irish stout. Brune is certainly a noteworthy beer, but I found it too busy and difficult to enjoy.

Not a great start so far, but the evening was saved, beerwise, by Garden, Baladin's Rauchbier. Though a bouncing 7% ABV, it's light and clean, having been lagered to perfection. The mild bacon aroma is very similar to that found in genre classic Schlenkerla Märzen. The flavour centres on the woodsmoke, which isn't always a given, and it manages to be both dominant and characterful while also subtle and understated. It tastes gently hammy, rather than the full-on kippers of most lesser smoked lagers. Like Schlenkerla, this manages to be both a big-bodied savoury treat, and a refreshing drinking lager all at once. I require nothing further.

There are a handful of guest beers at Open Baladin and I finished on one of them: Almyrós, a gose from South Soul in Campania. My first impression of this is that it's soft and salty, like tepid bathwater. It does get better from there, however. Bergamot and sumac are as far as the novelty flavouring goes, and that gives it a balanced spiciness, reminding me of ginger ale. With this comes a significant sweet side, however, and there's not much by way of souring. Still, it's only 4.5% ABV so isn't really a beer that demands forensic attention. It's light and refreshing, and tastes fun.

Along with Open Baladin, the other classic Roman beer venue is Ma Che Siete Venuti a Fà, commonly known as "The Football Pub". It hasn't changed because there's not much in this poky alcove that can be changed. I sat in the back room with Cantina Errante's Bruin Ramasin, a Tuscan take on Flemish oud bruin. It's 7.5% ABV and feels like it too, with an almost syrupy texture. It's also had several years of ageing on plums, though that side of it tastes fresh and juicy rather than macerated and oxidised. So the murky brown beer's flavour begins on a sweet and jammy note, but the sourness kicks in quickly, softened a little by the malt density and a hint of chocolate. It still manages to be brisk and tart, with none of the gloop or heat that often turns me off beers like this. This has been expertly assembled, matching the sweet fruit to the sour culture in a very pleasing way.

That's in Trastevere, and we had something of an impromptu pub crawl in a different part of the neighbourhood on the Friday, beginning by disembarking at Trastevere station. Not far away is Luppolo Station, a small rail-themed bar with an attached music venue and lots of tables out front. I was in an early-evening lager mood and honed in on Vinhradská 11, from Prague's Vinohradský Pivovar. 11° Plato gives us 4.5% ABV and makes for another very easy drinker. A featherlight malt sweetness meets downright stereotypical Saaz grass, with breezy meadow flowers and a lingering bitterness. For me it was pale Czech lager perfection -- miles better than Baladin's take on the same thing, and without the benefit of a notions side-pouring tap.

In the background of the photo is Freibiergesicht, which sounds German but is actually a Kellerbier from Terre di Faul in northern Lazio. It's on the dark side for that, more amber than yellow, and with a light haze. I found it slightly rough, the noble hops here having that plastic tang I dislike. Well made, but not to my taste, I guess. The Vinhradská was the wise choice.

As was the beer we both chose next: Corva Nera. It's from an Italian brewery called Mukkeller which is not, it turns out, intended as a parody of that Danish brewer. This 6% ABV stout was on the handpump, giving it a large tan-coloured head above the black. The aroma entices with rosewater alongshide a generous amount of wholesome toasted grain. The flavour starts bitter, with earthy, mineral hops, followed by a misting of the rose perfume. That fades quickly, allowing for a clean and dry finish. This is very nicely done; stylish and sumptuous; a smooth and easy-drinking stout with export-strength sensibilities. More rational drinkers would have stayed for another, but we were off.

Not far, mind. Further up the street is Birrifugio, a rambling wood-lined bar that looked to me like it was an Irish pub in the recent past -- a search on Google Streetview shows it as "Moloney's" in 2008. Here, after a poorly kept pint of Marble's Manchester Bitter, I got some actual German lager: Maxlrainer Pils. This is another classic, and as such it doesn't really warrant the usual sensory evaluation. Only 4.9% ABV, it has an off-the-charts crispness factor, and a tiny, but acceptable, pop of buttery diacetyl. My only other comment is that my half-litre didn't last very long. That tells you more than any description of the beer itself.

Further up the street, there was dinner at Treefolk's, an oddly-vibed English theme pub. That came with a complimentary taster of Parrot Invasion, an IPA from Rome's own Rebel's Brewery. It's a fairly standard 6% ABV and seems very much in a west-coast vein: pale yellow in colour and with sharply bitter pine resin and citric pith. I detected a tiny bit of dreggy fuzz in the sample, though the hops remain fully in control of the flavour. I didn't trade up to a bigger glass of it, but it seemed like that would have been a perfectly enjoyable option.

What I drank with my dinner was Mora, listed on the menu as an oyster stout, from Eternal City Brewing. The brewery, however, says it's simply an oatmeal stout. That makes sense, because there was nothing oysterish about it and instead I got a perfectly drinkable, ordinary stout. I had hoped for some sort of novelty factor, but none materialised. Instead, there's nothing more complicated in the flavour than a seam of plain chocolate. If the goal was to emulate the bland industrial stouts of the Ireland-based brewing multinationals, then they've got it spot on.

Beyond Trastevere, in the less-touristed northern end of the city centre where we stayed, there's Beer Time. I sat outside and didn't venture further than the bar counter, so I can't give you much of a description, only that the beer list seemed well-chosen.

I started with Gramigna's La Ruzza, a porter, and a strong one at 6.5% ABV. For reasons best known to the brewery, they've gone all-in for the roast with this one. The foretaste has a burnt quality which I found quite harsh, and which hits against a contrasting sweetness, made from milk chocolate and mushy strawberries. That turns it both sickly and harsh at the same time. The black beers have been quite a roulette and, like the Baladin stout, this is trying to be big-flavoured and characterful, but has made the wrong choices and is cacophonous instead. Maybe there's something to be said for Eternal City's calmer approach.

I decided a switch to lager was a safer option, and chose Schammelsdorfer Lagerbier from Franconia's Brauerei Knoblach. This was one of a wide range of Franconian beers available in Rome's pubs, owing to an event which I'll cover in the next post. This 5.3% ABV example was an excellent introduction to the set. Clear golden, soft honey meets sharp salad leaf in the flavour, making it crisp yet chewy. It's the essence of German lager, offering the full base of a Helles with the hop high notes of a pilsner. Magnificent stuff, which sent me to bed happy on the first night.

On the last night we finished up at Be.Re, an odd sort of pizza joint with a bar. I decided to try out Ritual Lab's session IPA, Nerd Choice. They've opted for a very sessionable 3.9% ABV, and it's a very pale yellow colour. Nevertheless, it's full-bodied for the strength, and the hops take full advantage of that. Its aroma is seriously dank and funky, making it smell like a bigger and darker sort of American IPA. The flavour is simple but quite spicy, with lime zest and a bergamot complexity. It all works very well together.

The amber beer beside it is Reuben's Epic Lava, a double IPA brewed by Rebel's, who seem to be trying everso hard to keep the beleaguered spirit of craft beer alive. The beer is just as retro as its name: 8% ABV, a bright orange colour, and packed with big citric hop notes giving all the pith and zest that anyone in the 2010s could want. There's even a cheeky hint of crystal-malt toffee, although I thought the alcohol was deftly concealed. I haven't had any Sierra Nevada Torpedo in a while, but this brought it to mind for me. There's a certain youthful thrill with beers that go so all-out for the hopping, and this channels it beautifully. Epic indeed.

My nightcap, and the beer on which I'll wrap up this crawl, was another from Ritual Lab. Papanero is an imperial stout at 12.5% ABV, brewed in collaboration with Pennsylvania's Voodoo Brewing. Unsurprisingly, it's very heavy and sticky. The flavour opens on toffee and chocolate sauce before adding a tarry bitter roast. The burntness and sugar combine in the finish to create a warming treacle effect. This is not one of your subtle and complex imperial stouts; it's a bit of a sticky sledgehammer, but one of those before bed never harmed anyone. I won't say I was charmed, exactly, but it's a good beer in its own way. I wish more bars at home kept a double-digit beer on tap for last-call purposes.

And that is indeed last call for now. We will reconvene on Wednesday at the Villa Torlonia. It looks like something interesting is happening there.

Going straight?

Last week, I reported on Irish wild beer specialist Wide Street producing a couple of tamer offerings. Today it's more of the same, except the brewery is Denver's Crooked Stave.

Again, we begin with a hazy pale lager, although rather than "Kellerbier", the brewery has called it their Italian Pils. This is a light 4.9% ABV and smells ripely fruity, of soft peach and mango. The flavour is calmer, and rather more pils-typical, with a crisp pale malt base, adorned by citric hops which add a modest amount of bitterness but lots of lemon and grapefruit flavour. The unfiltered fuzz adds a softness of texture, meaning it's both crisp and smooth; thirst-quenching and filling, in a way I associate most with Bavarian Helles. Some may argue that the hopping makes it too American to be classed with any kind of European pilsner, but I think that's par for the course when the "Italian" card is played: "Italian pils" should never be confused with "pils from Italy". This is a highly enjoyable lager, and debates on whether it gets filed with new-world or old-world examples are entirely immaterial.

Next it's an amber lager called Road Trippin', and I trust Crooked Stave to deliver what I want from one of these (hops). It doesn't look the best, pouring a dirty brownish ochre, and there was no hop brightness from the aroma, only a bittersweet liquorice effect. The flavour turned out to be almost as dirty as the beer looked; a mélange of strawberry and raspberry mush, blowtorched with dry roast and infused with dreggy grit. There's a poke of hop bitterness too, but it's quite old-world, suggesting earthy English varieties to me, though that could just be Cascade showing its Fuggle ancestry. It is not what I wanted. The best American amber ales have a precision about them, displaying citric hops and caramel malt separately, but in a complementary way. In this one, everything is rough and indistinct. Of course, leaving a beer unfiltered can prevent any beneficial flavours from being stripped out, but there's no point going this way if all that's left behind is dregs. This is a beer in serious need of polish and focus.

A sour beer finishes this set, hopefully with a flourish. This is Hibiscus Dream, made with both hibiscus and blueberry, and is a beautifully bright cherry red in the glass. The aroma is extremely promising, suggesting a mix of sourness and fruit of the sort one gets with grape or berry geuze. Like a geuze, it's busily fizzy and light-bodied: to be expected for 4.5% ABV and fully fermented out. Not a trace of sugary fruit (or flower) additive remains. Where the geuze analogy ends is its lack of barrel-ageing, meaning no oak spicing or wine notes. So it's simpler, but still very good. The cherry and raspberry flavours are bright, clean and distinct, and while there's little by way of aftertaste, it finishes with a mildly farmy wild-yeast funk: a tasty square of stinky and runny cheese next to the fruit compote. In a world of non-sour sour fruit beers, here's one that shows how it ought to be done. Shove yer lactose.

It seems that the wild and sour end is where Crooked Stave excels, and I'm not at all surprised. I'm sure it's good for the brewers to try their hand at other things, and nobody wants a monoculture, but there's only one type of beer for which I can recommend this brewery to you.

Budget destinations

I'm not in this for the clicks, but I have noticed that for some reason my blog posts about Aldi and Lidl beers are the most popular thing I write. It is a source of some dismay to one of such a refined palate as myself. And much as I hate to give the people what they want, there are very often new beers to try at the supermarket. Aldi tends to have the turnover and the most amusing knock-offs, but today's are Lidl's work, though very much in the same vein.

Birra Bionda (or "Bit of Beyond That", as it's rendered on Dublin's northside) is their  answer to Moretti. The cheery chap on the parchment-coloured background isn't wearing a hat, so it's a completely different look to Heineken Italy's original. This is stronger than Moretti, at 5% ABV, and it poured with a surprise Kellerbier haze. The label gives us no clue as to what country it was brewed in, but there's a definite German influence. The texture is candyfloss-soft, making it feel like a pillowy Munich Helles, and there's a lot of pale malt in the flavour. Then, however, it turns quite Prussian, introducing a spiky and dry herbal bitterness. Unfortunately they don't balance; there's just too much of both, making the beer loud and rough and lacking any sense of Mediterranean chill. I honestly couldn't tell you whether this is a result of a corner-cutting industrial brewery, or a smallscale operation that doesn't know what it's doing; nor whether it's better or worse than Moretti, a beer that's too forgettable to have left any mark on my memory. I didn't especially care for it, however, and I'm sure there's better lager in Lidl.

Is San Martínez one of them? This is borrowing the style of San Miguel, a heavy lager which I actively dislike, though I wasn't expecting this to be any way similar. The ABVs are close, however, with this slightly lighter at another 5% ABV. Are we sure it's a different beer to the above? It is still cloudy, though less so than the foregoing, and it's darker: close to San Miguel's deep amber but not quite reaching it. This still does the aggressive hops vs. sticky malt thing, but it's gentler and nearly palatable, were it not for the plasticky twang of hop extract. This is definitely a big brewery making lager as cheaply as it can. Drink it cold enough and that's not a problem, but it isn't one of those actually-good discount supermarket lagers.

Neither of these are. And isn't it a shame that the type of beer worth copying to get the most drinkers is the current trend for vapid, sunny-clime-coded industrial lager? Why can't everyone like good beer instead?

Them'uns

Something happened in Paris a decade ago. I don't know what it was, but it was significant enough for Our Brewery to name a beer after it. Ten Years Since Paris is a Rotbier, which I confess isn't a favourite style of mine, though I remind myself that this brewery doesn't always brew according to a homebrewer's level of tight fidelity to style, which is good. This one is clear, looking polished, not rustic. It's a bright copper shade, and little is given away by the aroma. The flavour is more full-on, and quite sweet, with notes of red cherry and Norn Irish favourite, brown lemonade. The finish is funky and earthy, a stark contrast with the sweetness, fully on-spec for Rotbier, and one of the reasons I dislike it. The mix of caramel and mushrooms does not sit well with me. It does seem like an accurate rendering of Nuremberg's flagship style of red lager, however, so if you actually enjoy them (not just the charming Franconian taverns that serve them) you'll likely enjoy this.

At the same strength of 5.2% ABV is All This Is That, an American-style wheat beer. "A sunshine beer built for hop lovers" says the can, which sounded lovely on a blustery March day. It certainly looks sunny: a bright and wholesome yellow with a light misting of haze. The aroma is sweet and lemony, like drizzle cake or meringue pie. That gets somewhat concentrated in the flavour, starting with an almost cloying perfume blend, exuding lavender and rosewater in quantity, plus some bonus pineapple. A pithy bite arrives later and goes some way to offset the floral excesses, and the quick clean finish helps too. The wheat pulls its weight by supplying a pillow-soft body with a dense shaving-foam head. At the outset, I had thought this was going to be a bigger, more characterful affair. In the end, it turned out to be subtle, but still bright and cheery, and definitely full of sunshine.

The inevitable hazy IPA follows, although Yes It Is is barely hazy at all: a bright and shining polished gold colour. That's topped with plenty of fine foam; too much for my undersized branded glass. There's a strong tropical buzz from the aroma, resolving into a very pure and sweet pineapple juice flavour. Not much else happens, however. 6.3% ABV makes it quite a sticky and viscous affair, though that merely serves to turn the initial kick of pineapple juice into pineapple candy by the end. It still manages to finish cleanly, the busy carbonation giving it an almost lager-like crispness with little by way of aftertaste. No undesirable gritty or garlicky haze attributes are present, but that's because there's no haze neither. This is a passable tropical style IPA: easy and straightforward, with no particular complexity. I can see haze enthusiasts being upset by its clarity, while the dominant sweetness means it's far from suited to the west coast purists. Being of neither tribe, I enjoyed it in a noncommittal way, and was bemused by the irony of its name.

A double IPA to finish, named A Hymn We Used To Believe. It looks nicely west-coast, clear and amber, pouring a little viscous, without much head. The only thing that doesn't say proper old-style American double IPA is the measly 7.9% ABV. It smells fresh and zesty, of lime oil and spicy pine resin. I was right about the texture: it's almost syrupy thick, with only the faintest of sparkle, and I think there's enough warmth for it to pass as a couple of percentage points stronger. The flavour isn't as intense as the aroma suggested it might be, but there's plenty going on. It is primarily bitter, in the proper west-coast way. Hop classics Simcoe, Cascade and Columbus are bringing their earthy and resinous spike. Modern fruity hops Idaho 7, Nectaron and Krush are also billed, but while there's a certain faint tropicality to the aroma, I don't get their contribution to the taste. Regardless, it's quite enjoyable, and does a good job of conjuring the American IPAs of the olden days (2010). This is a pleasant note on which to conclude.

The brewery may not be hung up on style accuracy, but it does show a homebrewer's fondness for variety and quality. Even when they do commonplace styles like haze and DIPA, there's a creative flair which the breweries who make more of them don't always show. This small operation in a Northern Irish backwater punches above its weight.

Feel the width

The best brewery in Longford, Wide Street, makes a return to these pages today, with a whole three new beers.

The first, Keller Pils, has been around since last autumn, but had eluded me until recently. This strikes me as the kind of beer a brewer makes primarily for their own consumption, and that's generally a good sign. A 5.5% ABV lager, it is only slightly hazy, and attractively golden. Its aroma is even more enticing, balancing snazzy Saaz grass with soft and cuddly candyfloss malt, plus a little hint of lemon on the end for a cheeky extra piquancy. Saaz "in its purest form" reads the label copy, and you certainly get that in the foretaste: a big bitter hit of mixed dried herbs, spicier than the damp cut grass which I more readily associate with the hop, but no less enjoyable. A softly floral honey effect follows, and then the malt is right in behind, giving it a gentle spongecake sweetness, before a clean finish with no aftertaste. There's a nicely full body, making it satisfying drinking. For a fuzzy beer, this is a precision effort, and delivers exactly what the style demands. Perfect after a long day tending to the fermenters and whatnot, I'm sure.

Ooof, it's a hazy IPA next. What happened, Wide Street? You used to be cool. The Crystal Ship is a murky amber, rather than the more fashionable beaten-egg shade. The aroma is tropical and funky, like a bowl of mango and passionfruit was left to ripen for too long. The colour had me a bit worried that it might be oxidised, but there is no staleness in the flavour. Things stay sunny and tropical, and definitely fresh, with just a hint of savoury grittiness arriving after the fruit. That's not enough to spoil things, but at the same time the beer is a little on the subtle side, and I think a bigger hop flavour would improve it. It's only 5% ABV, so perhaps the subtlety can be excused. This is probably better oriented towards pub drinking, and has more than a little in common with Trouble Brewing's classically pintable haze, Ambush. If that's a regular for you, definitely try this. And while it's well-made and tasty, I would still prefer if Wide Street didn't make a habit of haze.

"Barrel-aged wild sour ale" is more like it. This is Passiflora, given three years in oak and then, dubiously, flavoured with passionfruit. It's 5.8% ABV and a warm red-gold in the glass. The oak is immediately apparent from the aroma, with a classy, lambic-like gunpowder spice, and the suggestion of quite a robust sourness. That's where the passionfruit comes in. The fruit helps soften the flavour, smoothing it out without dulling its edge. It tastes sour, for sure, but not harshly acidic, and the spice is still there, though now more pepper than mineral, with hints of cinnamon and incense too. I feared the passionfruit would feel artificial or tacked-on, but it's well-integrated, adding a classy perfume rather than sticky syrup. While the strength isn't apparent, it's not a beer to drink quickly. The sourness means small sips are the way to go, while the spicing that comes with each one makes for optimal enjoyment. This is classy stuff, and one of those beers I'd half expect to be delivered in a corked bottled, though a can suited me just fine.

That's a pretty good set, then. If the brewery feels it must make hazy IPA then they've gone about it the right way. But drinking pils and the wild 'n' weird is where they do their best work. Long may that continue.

Amber to red

Who's up for some malty goodness? Today's pair are of the russet persuasion, noteworthy for being something Irish brewers don't produce very often. Tellingly, they're quite different from the usual formula for Irish red ale.

O Brother, for example, has allied with coffee roasters Velo to create a Coffee Amber Ale, exclusive to Aldi. It is indeed amber: a dark shade, though not at risk of being mistaken for porter or brown ale. That's topped with a head of fine bubbles, looking almost nitrogenated. The aroma is dry and roasty, though very much in a beer way, not coffee. There's a hint of cherry or similar red fruit too. The coffee waits until the flavour to appear, but isn't shy when it does. It doesn't taste like the frighteningly serious gourmet coffee that I associate with named roasteries, but is sweet and somewhat powdery, suggesting (to my untutored coffee palate) instant with a dollop of cream. Next to that, there's lots of genuine malt character, bringing more of that red fruit from the aroma, though more strawberry than cherry, some light caramel and a toasted grain dryness to keep things balanced. It's no masterpiece of complexity, but is enjoyable and delivers well on the promise of amber ale with coffee.

For its 38th Limited Edition beer, Hope chose Red Ale, which I thought was an odd move until I read the small print. 7% ABV with Citra and El Dorado as dry hops means we're a long way from Macardles. There's definitely a citrus quality to the aroma, but not intensely so. It only smells a little like a pale ale. I think of El Dorado as a fruit-candy flavoured hop, but the main flavour of this beer is at the opposite end of the spectrum: dank, oily, and very savoury. That contrasts strongly with the caramelised malt, and it's a bit disconcerting at first, especially when the beer is still fridge-cold. It rounds out once there's a little warmth on board, however, even if it never quite loses its sharpness. The strength helps the malt hold its own against the hop onslaught, though I don't think I can fairly call it balance. While this is a bit of fun, I'm happy for it to be a once-off. The experiment to marry rich red malt with resinous American hops has not been entirely successful here, and the result is just a little too discordant to be enjoyable. I have tasted plenty of excellent American-style amber ales, but they tend to be more subtle on all fronts, and with good reason, it seems.

I somehow doubt that these beers will meet the needs of the people who complain about the lack of red beers from Irish breweries. Both are significant twists on the plain caramel-water of mainstream red. And while I wasn't a huge fan of either, they're still better than the norm. Hooray for variety, I guess.

Where beer geeks fear to tread

Today it's another chapter in the ongoing history of Dublin's Smithfield Brewing Company, last seen in this post from 2024. Back then, a shiny new brewing kit had been installed at the old soap factory on North King Street but there was no sign of the brewery opening, nor indeed of any brewing happening -- I understand there is a well-established contract brewing link to JJ's in Limerick. I suspect that will be the case for a little while yet, as the soap factory has been earmarked for redevelopment into student flats, meaning the brewery will be on the move again.

Smithfield Brewing is part of a company which owns a small chain of central Dublin pubs, clustered around fashionable Fade Street, which are the only venues in which the beer is served. Finding out what they're pouring these days meant going undercover as one of the cool kids, to Drury Buildings, where four unfamiliar Smithfield beers were on tap.

Smithfield IPA looks a bit flag-shippy, leftmost of the tap array and with the least explanation of what it is. 4.7% is the ABV, and it's pale too: a pilsner-clear golden. The badge helpfully tells us its made with Cascade and Citra, and there's certainly an American vibe, presenting lemon and lime up front. After an initial spike, the bitterness is restrained, turning quickly to sherbet and chew sweets, finishing on lemon drop candy. That goes with a softness of texture, not like a pillowy New England IPA but more of a multivitamin tablet effervescence. A metallic aspirin tang is the only bum note, but otherwise it's a cromulent take on the Irish pintable version of American pale ale. Customers who just want to point at a badge saying "IPA" and order one of those are well served.

I'm sure Smithfield Lager has been out and about before under various guises. It's not great, but not offensive either. Again the texture is soft and rounded, much more like an ale, and I raise an eyebrow towards the brewery's "lager" brewing protocol. The flavour does the basics on the malt front: clean, with a Czech golden syrup feature. Hops don't manifest, but from the yeast we get a panopaly of pear, passionfruit and lychee which is quite tasty, but doesn't resemble lager as our continent understands it. Again, the non-beer-aligned customer spots lager and orders this, except those people don't exist in the brand-first Irish beer scene. Putting this on beside Moretti won't attract those people, nor the Heineken nor Rockshore people. It still wouldn't if it were a better beer either, so, *shrug*.

Fair play to Smithfield for making a Red Ale, the style that everybody loves but nobody likes. Theirs is on the pale side, and a little hazy. The aspirin twang I noticed in the IPA (which I suspect is a JJ's house trait) is here in spades. It sits next to big caramel and a mild fruitiness. As an Irish red: yeah, it probably qualifies. For independent brands, this style is probably only ordered by tourists, and it doesn't matter if they order another. I doubt they will. This lacks the easy lagerish drinkability of Smithwick's and Macardles but doesn't have the extra craft dimension of O'Hara's Red, say. A pub chain wanting to have their own red ale is cool; this example of it? Nah.

It's not like me to leave the weakest beer to the end, but the name Light Pale Ale didn't sell it to me. I would imagine that other breweries would call this 3.8% ABV job a "Session IPA". Still, when I did eventually chance a pint, the early signs were good. The spicy gunpowder aroma was delightfully unexpected, and the beer has plenty of body, despite the low gravity. The flavour was another surprise, showing lots of complexity, combining zesty orange, a floral bergamot bitterness, and then more of that spice, like a sprinkle of freshly-ground black pepper. It's a fantastic combination, however it's done, and even the return of the aspirin dryness doesn't come close to spoiling it. This is, above all, a fun beer; accessible but with plenty going on too. I'm glad it left me with something positive to say before I moved on.

I imagine these beers will change. Late last year, Dublin City Council granted permission for Smithfield Brewing to open a new brewpub at the bottom of Smithfield Square, beside the Luas tracks. If I'm correct in thinking that the current beers come from JJ's rather than North King Street, then the move presents an opportunity to get that aspirin tang out of them. In the planning application, the owners expressed an intention to open pub hours, which means that in addition to moving the brewing licence and the kit, a pub licence will need to be found and applied as well. All of that takes time, so I'm not expecting to be dropping in for a pint any time soon. Before settling on the name "Smithfield Brewing", the brand was called "Persistence". They've certainly shown that.  

As the owner says in this report, the new brewpub will fit nicely into the beer scene in this part of town, linked by tram to Carlow's Urban Brewing, Guinness Open Gate and Rascals HQ, though it's also all but adjacent to Whiplash's Fidelity pub. That puts it in a prime position to get the cool kids and the beer geeks too.

Haymarket House, Smithfield, Dublin 7. Future home of Smithfield Brewing.