Trojan work

I found these three Raudonų Plytų beers in the shop at Vilnius airport on my way home from Lithuania last year. The name means "Red Brick" and it's a sub-brand of local giant Švyturys, itself a subsidiary of globe-spanning Carlsberg.

Ryklio Kavinukas ("Shark's Coffee Pot") is a coffee milk stout at 4.5% ABV. It looks typically stouty, though perhaps a little more brown than proper black. I think I was expecting something of a confection: sweet and highly coffee'd, but it's not. Instead, this is a very straightforward medium strength stout, not that different to any mainstream bottled Irish one. There's a light roast and a mild sweet-sour tang which I'm guessing is the lactose at work but neither comes on particularly strongly. A low carbonation level makes it nicely drinkable which means I made short work of the bottle. In a different mood I might feel gypped by its lack of bells and whistles, but I enjoyed its simplicity. Inoffensive doesn't have to mean bad.

A dubbel to follow, though a light one at just 6% ABV. Nežinomas Krantas ("Unknown Shore") is a chestnut maroon colour with a short-lived ivory head. It smells rich and estery with a touch of dark rum about it. It is light of texture and the finish is quick so falls short of the dubbel spec there, but it is tasty. A luxurious plum pudding and port booziness, rum and raisin ice cream, almost but not quite tipping over into marker pen and model glue, probably from an unnecessary addition of oak chips. It's perhaps not as refined as the typical Belgian dubbel, at least partly down to a lack of yeast in the bottle I reckon. But like the stout it's solidly enjoyable.

My last is Bocmano Ūsai ("Bosun's Moustache"), an American-style IPA at 6% ABV again. IPA is where the faking-it industrial brewers always mess up, right? Even when hop celebrities like Citra, Chinook and Centennial are name-checked on the label. It's a deep orange-amber colour and wasn't in much of a rush to form a head as it poured, the carbonation little more than a prickle. The aroma suggests citrus zest, but not very much of it, though this has been sitting at the back of my fridge for over five months so maybe that can be excused. But the flavour is quite understated as well: a generous dose of crystal malt provides a toffee base, and then there are sparks of grapefruit pith, a smoother jaffa and peach juiciness, and then a parting shot of wax bitterness. This is very similar in character to the stout in that it hits the stylistic flavour points in a clean and methodical way but doesn't really offer anything to excite, something I regard as less excusable in a US-style IPA than a session stout. While there's absolutely nothing wrong with this beer it does get quite boring quite quickly.

You can see Raudonų Plytų's sizeable range of beers on their swish website. It's good that Švyturys is making this kind of stuff instead of yet another variation on its so-so pale lager. The usual argument that it'll draw new punters into exploring the beer world further applies. They do seem to lack a certain soul, however. Both the branding and the taste are perhaps a little too clean.

Summoned to the flag

Several years ago I was browsing through the trademarks directory of the Irish Patents Office and noticed that the Dingle Brewing Company, of Tom Crean's Lager fame, had trademarked "1916 Centenary Beer" back in 2010. "That's a good idea," I thought, "thinking ahead." Almost six years later, however, Dingle Brewing has yet to produce a second beer but three other breweries have leapt on the marketing opportunity so thoughtfully provided by the lads in the GPO almost a century ago.

Brehon Brewhouse's barrel-aged special has only just been released, but you can get an impression of it in this video from the brewery. The first to actually come my way was Children of the Revolution, an IPA by Wicklow Wolf. With appropriate reverence, they've assembled an elite hop line-up, gallant allies including Amarillo, Simcoe and Columbus, all packed into a dark gold beer of 5.7% ABV. The aroma suggests that maybe they've overdone the balance a little with this: there's a lot of biscuit coming through with the zesty citrus. The first sip brings a kind of oily grapefruit essence, easing itself over the palate, aided by quite a weighty texture. From this rise piney fumes and a little bit of sweeter citrus fruit flesh, before it lapses back to a long tangily bitter finish. It's a bit of a workout to drink but I found its assertiveness quite refreshing. You deal with this beer on its own terms, and I respect that.

Before starting in on the second beer I have to say thanks to Arthurstown Brewing Company: I was having trouble locating a bottle of their Proclamation Porter and they met my request for a list of stockists with a freebie bottle. Much appreciated. I'd been especially looking forward to it because their stout was the highlight of the range they previewed late last year. I was hoping this would have something in common with that unctuous beauty. It certainly seems dense when held up to the light: barely a trace of any colour other than black. The aroma is a blend of flowers and chocolate -- think Fry's Turkish Delight -- but on tasting all is changed, changed utterly. There's a raw, old fashioned hop bitterness right at the front, reminding me a little of another patriot-inspired dark beer, Wrassler's XXXX. You get a flash of milk chocolate in the middle, but then it's back to bitterness in the finish: both the hop kind and black roast kind as well. And the texture? Surprisingly light, actually. It's probably for the best as well, good that the acid bitterness scrubs the palate and leaves quickly instead of hanging around. In fact I'm a little surprised that the ABV is as high as 5%: what it does could probably be achieved lower down the scale. All in all, a nicely complex beer and one that does take its callback to early 20th century Irish brewing seriously.

Though quite different from each other, both do have a bold, possibly even rebellious, streak to them. Brewing the marketing gimmick into the liquid is an impressive feat.

Cheap ticks

The Three Tun Tavern in Blackrock really pulled it out of the bag for the most recent JD Wetherspoon Real Ale Festival. Eleven beers, almost the full compliment of handpumps, were pouring when I called in on a quiet Sunday afternoon, the first of the festival. I had cycled there with my fingers metaphorically crossed for Pacific, brewed by Melbourne's Thunder Road at Adnams. And sure enough, there it was. It's a pale gold colour and the flavour is a complex mix of sweet orange candy and exotic jasmine perfume. The texture is all light and fluffy sherbet and it was just the fruity refresher I was looking for at the end of my half-hour bike ride. It does run the risk of getting overly sweet as it warms, but that was not going to happen.

It was on to the thirds after that. Titanic Plum Porter is even plummy in colour, a purpleish tint to its dark brown. The two elements fight it out for dominance in the flavour: a jammy plum sweetness and a bitter dark chocolate malt. The jam wins, with the malt having to content itself with being just a flourish in the finish. I don't normally have a problem with sweet fruit beers but I think I might struggle through  a pint of this.

Next to it, Bravo Four Point by Devils Backbone. The branding and presentation say pale, hop-forward: all great, and brewed at... oh. Caledonian. Usually the booby prize at the Wetherspoon festivals. And so it is here: an acrid, fusty burlap taste on a heavy body, managing to be chokingly dry and cloyingly sweet at the same time. And just when you think it can't get any worse, there's a horrible bathsoap twang on the finish. "Hoppy with citrus notes" says the pumpclip. It lies, reader. It. Lies.

I promised you last summer that I'd try the second beer in the Robinson's Iron Maiden series if and when I saw it. And here it was: Trooper 666, a dark gold strong ale at 6.6% ABV. It's rather dull. There's kind of an appley buzz, a sort of damp woody autumnal log pile thing. Not unpleasant, but not especially interesting either. I suppose if you just want something to get you to Stagger Town in short order, the smooth bland stylings of this one will do the job, especially at €2.50 a pint.

I was smiled upon by the bar gods, if not the road safety ones, for round two, when I ordered three more thirds but got given three halves. First up, Acorn Barnsley Bitter: nice brown booze. There's a lot of caramel in this, pretty much at Irish red sweetness levels. The hop contribution is limited to a tiny tinny metallic tang on the end and the only other complexity is a fun and farty sulphurous aroma. I'm sure it's doing everything it's supposed to, but it's just too sugary for my liking.

A totally random pick next: the enigmatic-sounding Bruges best bitter by Hydes, part of its Provenance series of geographically-inspired beers. This is gold coloured and at first tasted like one of the musty Caledonian beers, but there's something else going on too. Described as "spicy" on the badge it's a weird sort of incense or aftershave note. Where must meets musk. That little bit of interest aside, it's not much of a beer: thin and one-dimensional, and another bitter that isn't bitter but sweet. Bah!

Last of this set was one of the more intriguing options. Yes it's from the Marstons hit-and-miss Revisionist range, but Irish Peated Ale? Wut? "Sumptuous smoke entwines with roast malts and caramel tones." Entwines! What this really is is a half-pint of bog water. Massively peaty, yes, but with nothing backing it up. The body is thin and the dark malt that gives it its garnet colour has very little to say for itself. This is a novelty beer, but only just. I hope the brewer enjoyed the result of the experiment because I doubt many drinkers will.

And on that bitchy note, off to Dún Laoghaire, more out of force of habit than anything else. The Forty Foot was buzzing, the kitchen was backed up and the tiny range of festival beers restored my faith in the general haplessness of Irish Wetherspoons. Everards Yakima was pouring, however, so I cleared some dirty glasses from a spare table and sat down to try it. It's OK: a warming and toasty red ale with a little bit of hoppy resin but not really enough. It ends up tasting like a watery shop-brand floor cleaner, inoffensive but not really getting the job done. The raspberry ruffle fudge thing is the reason I normally give hoppy reds the swerve. This one confirms my prejudice.

The festival finishes up this Sunday though you may still find some of the special beers on for a while afterwards. I expect all the Pacific will be gone, though, if the regulars have any sense.

A question of latitude

Yet another IPA by Sierra Nevada today, this one a spring seasonal from their Beer Camp project. It seems very on-trend, named as it is Tropical IPA and promising mango and papaya fruit flavours. Sierra Nevada built its empire on hoppy bitterness so I was a little sceptical about this newcomer's ability to take on the tropical-and-juicy sub-genre.

The beer certainly smells the part: strong and concentrated cantaloupe and kiwi fruit, almost verging on sickly and definitely showing its big 6.7% ABV. The flavour is less convincing. I mean, it's nice, but the dominant characteristic is a spiky pine bitterness and only after that has made itself at home on your palate are the assorted fruits allowed sidle in after it, quietly. The papaya is probably the most pronounced of them, adding a green bitterness of its own rather than mouthwatering juices.

Fans of the Sierra Nevada way of doing things will find lots to like here: it's only a small sideways twist on the sort of experience you get from beers like Hop Hunter and Torpedo. If anything, the fruit effort is a bit of a gimmicky distraction from a straight-up quality US IPA. No pleasing some people.

Pocket change

Ten euro and one cent is what this lot set me back. Five beers from Rye River Brewing released under Lidl's cringeworthily named own brand: two of them new, three previously available as four-packs of 33cl bottles but now reformatted to half litres. And all of them a first try for me.

First over the jumps was the 4.1% ABV Crafty Brewing Company Irish Red Ale which looks quite black in that picture but is more a mahogany red-brown in real life. Mild toffee and lightly metallic English hops are the aroma: invitingly, old-fashionedly, beery. I was surprised how sweet it was: a big, gooey, candybar hit of caramel makes the first impact, growing to the point of sickliness. Thankfully it fades quickly. The bitterness kicks in to replace it, but it's unpleasantly acrid: part liquorice rope, part metal pencil sharpener. This tastes like a thrown-together budget red. It's not boring by any means, but I don't think the recipe has been assembled well.

Onwards and upwards, to Crafty Brewing Company Irish Stout. 4.5% ABV and looking every inch the part: black in the middle, garnet round the edges and topped by a pillow of off-white foam. The carbonation is lower than I'd expect for a bottled stout, perhaps trying for some sort of nitro effect, though missing the mark. And once again the flavours don't quite gel together. While not as sweet as the red, there's still a brown sugar or molasses taste -- mild but enough to make my palate recoil slightly. A classy crisp roasted dryness is the other side of the seesaw but it fails to balance the beer properly. Like the red, it's worth paying a little more and trade up to a better example of the style.

I can't remember the last time I had a 50cl bottle of a new pale lager in front of me, and Irish lager has been on a bit of a roll lately -- including the excellent unfiltered pils Rye River had at Alltech last month. So it was with a mix of excitement and tredidation that I came to Crafty Brewing Company Irish Lager. The tiny badge on the label that says it won a Great Taste Award in 2015 provided some reassurance, as did the appearance: the pure pale gold of Helles. One glance and you're in Munich. Late hopping is promised on the bottle and yep, I get that: a slightly oily celery and white pepper flavour right in the centre. But while I would like that to be floating on a billowing soft malt base, there's instead a honking musty off-flavour: dry, acrid and sharply metallic. This is nearly a superb beer but as-is it's one I'd have to drink very cold and very quick. Up against Aldi's Spaten at the same price it doesn't compete.

That concludes round one and, to be honest, I wasn't really expecting to enjoy any of those. What actually got me through the door of Lidl were the newcomers. Rye River does hoppy exceedingly well, from the much-lauded Francis' Big Bangin' IPA to the hugely under-rated Cousin Rosie to its other budget supermarket own-brand Grafters. Simon had already given the thumbs-up to Crafty Brewing Company Irish Pale Ale so I was expecting a next-level experience, even at just 4.5% ABV.

It poured a dark copper colour and shows a mildly zesty citrus aroma. It tastes... decent. There's a firm malt base and although Ella is mentioned on the label, I detect the down-to-earth citric bitterness of Cascade in here. It's definitely on the old world side of new world, reminding me of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale in particular, a flavour profile harking back to its roots in English bitter. Worth €1.89? Sure. But it's another beer that I think is worth trading up from.

And speaking of trading up, Crafty Brewing Company Irish IPA, at 6% ABV, is priced a little higher at €2.45. West-coast gold and smelling dankly bittersweet with a bit of liquorice and a bit of guava, achieved with Vic Secret hops, the label helpfully tells us. The texture is surprisingly light, lighter than the Pale Ale. In fact the whole thing is a much more polished experience than any of the others. That darkly bitter liquorice effect is at the centre which means this could easily be classed as the first pale black IPA. There's a gorgeous fresh resinous hop buzz, a dash of tropical passionfruit and maybe an edge of red onion, much like Francis' has when I drink it. There's no sign at all of that strength and its paleness, lightness and low bitterness conspire to make it exceedingly drinkable. This is a superb beer, especially at the price. I don't expect availability to be particularly high once drinkers get wind of it. Be nice and don't hoard.

And if the low prices of these beers leave you feeling a pang of guilt, Rye River's Kickstarter campaign begins today.

Green and black

Always one for smashing national stereotypes, I'm writing about Irish stouts this St. Patrick's Day.

As it happens, there's a plethora of them about. When I started planning Monday's general Irish beer round-up I noticed the black seam running through it and decided to separate it out. And here we are.

For two of them I didn't have to even move barstools in The Black Sheep. A pair of their cask beer engines were dedicated to stouts, one of them an intriguing collaboration between our own Trouble Brewing and prize-winning Danish brewers Coisbo. Coalition, apparently, is mainly destined for Denmark and is a milk stout with added vanilla, at 5.6% ABV. It goes for chocolate in a big way, bearing a strong resemblance to the excellent Porterhouse Chocolate Truffle Stout which itself has just made its annual return to the taps across the Porterhouse estate. Coalition adds in a full-fat milky wholesomeness, in texture as well as flavour. It's a long time since I last came face to face with a bowl of Coco Pops, but this beer really went Proustian on me. Searching for the vanilla turns up a custardy crème brûlée lacing running through it. There's a deft bit of balancing going on here, between the childishly fun dessert effects and an elegant, silky-smooth drinking stout. I thoroughly enjoyed all of its aspects.

One pump to the right there was Ulster Black, a new oatmeal stout from Monaghan's Brehon brewery which also turns out the excellent Shanco Dubh porter. The aroma had me expecting another chocolate bomb: a huge sweet and creamy hit from the get-go. But, bizarrely, there's none of that on tasting. Instead it wrong-foots the drinker into a serious burnt -- almost carbonised -- bitterness, tasting purest black with notes of tar and coal dust. Once I was over the initial shock I found a warm blanket of oatmeal in behind, offering a kind of porridge or Ovaltine winter's day comfort. Nobody will mistake this for a kiddie's breakfast cereal: its pleasures are very much grown-up ones.

JW Sweetman, meanwhile, has been tearing through a batch of cask Stout lately on its shiny new beer engines. The sparkler is optional (I went without) and the beer is pretty much much bang-on for an Irish session stout. A tweaked version of the Barrelhead Dry Stout first produced in 2014, this retains a dry, crisp, dark roast smacking the back of the palate, but up front there's an altogether more cuddly chocolate and coffee flavour. And then a surprise pinch of light sourness which I can only (but shouldn't) describe as Guinnessy. While deliciously complex it is, gloriously, not a sip-and-consider beer but one to be poured into the face in quantity, as our grandaddies intended, post-1961 anyway.

And finally, the coup de grâce and pièce de résistance: O'Hara's Imperial Stout, brewed to celebrate the company's twentieth birthday. I'm sure you all remember my post about their tenth anniversary stout exactly, err, eight years ago today. I never thought that there'd be an event for the twentieth, and certainly not that I'd be speaking at it. But so it was on Tuesday evening, in the venerable surrounds of Neary's, a panel discussion on stout in general and O'Hara's in particular, ably hosted by Wayne and including founder Seamus and head brewer Conor. We got the first taste of the beer, so fresh that the bottles weren't quite ready for uncorking so emergency large bottles from the brewery were substituted in. At its heart, O'Hara's Imperial is a typical Irish stout: there's the classic coffee-like roasted dryness right in the centre. Its prodigious 10% ABV is noticeable most in the warming vapours of its aroma. And the hops have plainly been piled in as a green, slightly metallic, tang finishes the flavour off. However the different flavour elements don't quite gel together, or at least not yet. I think this will age nicely and should be in fine form by the time we celebrate ten years since the tenth anniversary beer was released. A cask of this is due to be tapped up tomorrow evening at the Irish Beer & Whiskey Village in the RDS. The blending effect of cask serve on the flavours will have a positive effect, I reckon, so give it a go if you see it.

For my part, I'll be at the festival this afternoon, just as soon as I've shovelled an enormous fried breakfast into myself. All in the spirit of the day, of course.

What's new with you?

St. Patrick's week is upon us, the next Beer & Whiskey Festival is opening at the RDS on Wednesday, so time to catch up on some of the new Irish beers I've found around the place lately. Well, when I say "around the place" I mostly mean in 57 The Headline.

To wit: Little Warrior, a pale and sessionable number from Dublin's Postcard Brewing. Just 3.8% ABV but tastily hop-forward, offering a juicy triumvirate of mango, mandarin and watermelon. It lacks the punch found in Trouble's Grafitti but the more soft-spoken approach is its own thing. More than an American-style citrus bomb it reminded me of good pale 'n' hoppy modern English bitter, and is every bit as drinkable, even on keg. Only a slight soapy tang lets it down slightly but I found that this faded the further into my pint I went and probably wouldn't even be noticeable in a second. That's sessionability, that is.

The Headline scored a bit of a coup in securing some Donegal Dry Hop IPA recently. Aside from the blonde ale, we don't see many Donegal Brewing Company beers and especially not the keg specials done mainly for its home pub, Dicey Reilly's in Ballyshannon. Though a bright and innocent pale yellow, this has a bit of momentum behind it at 5.7% ABV. With dry-hopping I expected the aroma to be a big feature but it's not really. But what it lacks in smell it makes up for in flavour: a fantastic punchy and sharp bitterness, all fresh spinach and nettles, backed by a smooth yet light honey and golden syrup malt base. It simultaneously reminded me of invigorating north German pilsners and the sharper sort of north English bitter: Landlord, Marble Manchester Bitter or that sort. Whichever way you look at it, it's tasty stuff, classically flavoured and every bit as sessionable as the Little Warrior, despite the strength.

These days, IPAs come in colours other than gold and a couple of weeks ago The Headline staged the world premiere of Rising Sons Uprising black IPA, before it even went on tap at the Cork brewpub where it was born. It's my first time experiencing a black IPA loaded with Sorachi Ace and it certainly shows the hop off: massive coconut and a blast of grapefruit pith. Brewer Shane said he was happy with the amount of balancing roast he got into it but to be honest I couldn't taste any of that, just hops all the way, and the better for it. A certain fullness of texture is the only nod towards other types of black beer that I noticed.

A week later it was the turn of a brewery from the other end of the country to introduce a new beer: White Hag and their Red Doe red IPA. I'd grumble a bit at the style designation here as it tasted much more like an amber ale to me, albeit a particularly thick and dark one. The bitterness is quite low and a fudge-like rich sweetness is at the centre. Cascade is the main player among the hops and it's working incredibly hard, turning out dank resins and herbal spiciness of the sort I associate with the more expensive American varieties. I confess I was not wowed by this beer, however. It's decent but seems to lack the White Hag magic, typified by Little Fawn to which I immediately switched.

And being in broadly the same style, Little Fawn makes things very difficult for Max, the new "session ale" by O Brother. This is the same louche hazy gold colour and seems to be going for the same juicy-fruit middle with an edgier bitter trim. Here, though, the bitterness is dominating: a loud, waxy, lemon-skin effect that all but shouts down the fluffier nectarine and pineapple centre. It also feels unreasonably watery for something at 4.4% ABV. Could be it's another one that you need to take a bit of a run at to get properly, but it tasted to me like a recipe pitching for the light and juicy segment but missing it by overdoing the bitterness.

Finally, a slightly out-of-season pick from the taps at The Black Sheep: Beoir Chorca Duibhne's Winter Ale. This is an appropriate deep dark brown-red and even though it was served ice-cold from the keg it retained a beautiful cask-like smoothness. There's a lactic spicy sourness to the flavour, accompanied by a red fruit tang which gives it something of the air of a Belgian framboise. Behind this tartness, and becoming more prominent as the beer warms, there's a stout-like dry roastedness. The red fruit provides the aroma: redcurrant and cranberry. It's an immensely complex beer and very enjoyable sipping. I just had a half because I was waiting for another beer to come on, of which more in the next post.

Tinned Swede

I picked up this random can of pale ale from Stockholm's Södra Maltfabriken the last time I was in Belgium.

Almighty is 4.3% ABV and quite a dark amber colour. Not much of a smell from it: a little citrus, a little biscuit but nothing major stands out. And the same kinda goes for the flavour as well: there's a little mandarin up front and a vaguely soapy bitterness on the finish.

Redemption comes from the malt, which is not a phrase you see very often, for no good reason. For one thing the texture is lovely: full and smooth like a quality cask bitter. And then there's a chewy cereal bar centre to munch through. Maybe a bit more hops for balance would be good, but it's enjoyable, if not exciting, as-is.

Small and far away

Cerveza DouGall's is based in Santander in northern Spain and for the last while its beers have been available in Dunnes. I finally got round to picking up two of the dinky 33cl bottles recently for the knock-down price of €2 each.

First up is Leyenda, an "Extra Special Bitter". Medium orange with a slight haze, it smells classically English, all orange pith and meadowy blossoms. And while that may be the hops at work, the flavour is almost all malt: dry grain and coarse burlap with just a very slight tang of marmalade and a metallic, mineral, aspirin bite, all of which finishes and clears off the palate promptly. The body is surprisingly thin for 5.8% ABV leaving the whole thing a little insipid. Now, given the style designation, it's obviously not meant to be a powerhouse, but I was expecting something rounder and fuller.

I had higher hopes for the pale ale, 942. This is the perfect gold of a highly polished pocketwatch and there's a gentle, but distinct, aroma of sweet tropical fruit: mango and pineapple in particular. It's another thin one, which is a little more excusable at 4.2% ABV but I still feel short-changed by the texture. The flavour is lovely -- fresh fruit, of course, and a mild orange rind bitterness. But there's just not enough of it. I know it's possible to get more fresh juicy hop goodness into a beer, even at this strength. What it is, though, is thirst quenching, refreshing and, crucially, cheap. 942 is the sort of beer you can  keep on hand in the fridge and swig casually when a thirst requires something tasty but unchallenging. You can use the term lawnmover beer, but it's complex enough to be put to other purposes as well. Mind you, when it shares a shelf with Grafters Pale Ale at the same price in a bigger bottle it's beyond my abilities to tell you which you should be buying in bulk.

That's my take on them: for an alternative perspective on both of these, see the recent posts at 5 Minutes of Finney and Irish Beer Snob.

Back to the source

It's like The Sessions of old this month: Mark the Bend Beer Librarian has picked one beer style for us all to write about, and a broad one too: Porter. I decided to go in search of porter's roots, which led me to those Birkenhead barrow-boys Marks & Spencer, and the London Porter that Meantime produces for them in London. The 7-malt boast on the label is familiar, and the callback to a recipe from 1750, so I assume this is a tweaked version of Meantime's own London Porter, scaled back to 5.5% ABV from 7.5%, which is probably a good idea: 5.5 is a more sensible porter strength. It's a while since I last drank Meantime London Porter so I wasn't prepared for a direct comparison, but I expected big things.

It's an attractive shade of dark red brown and definitely not black -- a reminder of porter's brown beer ancestry. The aroma is of milk chocolate so I was geared up for something sweet on tasting, but no, definitely not. There's a lot of hop going on here. Not your new world citrus or Kentish orange blossom but a seriously green tang, shading towards metallic. It's a galvanic jolt to the tastebuds and sets them watering. Beyond that the flavour isn't terribly complex: smoke is promised, as is caramel, but neither really materialise. The texture is light and the carbonation is low so it can be thrown back with abandon, exactly as porter should be. Unfussy quality for the working man. If he can afford to shop at M&S, that is.

"That'll do for The Session" I thought as I picked the bottle off the shelf. A classic porter: job done. But then I noticed the bottle next to it: Greenwich Winter Porter. Cinnamon and allspice added to what I assume is the same beer as it's also 5.5% ABV. Not the sort of thing they'd have been up to in 1750, I'd imagine. The spices would have been far too expensive and I'm sure there were plenty of other adulterants for masking the problems in a bad batch. But if some tavern did knock up a cask of spiced Georgian porter, how would it taste?

The cinnamon was apparent in the aroma from the get-go, unsubtly so, and leaving little room for beer. The tangy green hops were there still, but now being shouted over by the woody barky spices. To an extent there's more of a chocolate note coming out, and I think that's where the cinnamon combines with the malt and creates a sweet Christmas-cookie effect. It's not unpleasant but I don't think there's anything to be gained: it really does taste like the spices have been crudely dumped into the barrel at point of service. There's some as might like it but I an't coming back 'ere until Jan'ry.

Simple is best where porter is concerned. In 1750 and today.

Out for the season

Spring is upon us, and with it the first of the al fresco beers. I'm reliably informed that the beginning of outdoor drinking season is a major occasion in the Norwegian calendar so I decided I would celebrate my own utepils at the earliest opportunity. The beer I had for this twilight tipple was a new release from The White Hag, a Kölsch-a-like called Danu.

The first sip brought instant refreshment: it's clean and crisp with a bracing noble hop bitterness, all pale green celery and leek. The soft lager malt, which I'd regard as more of a Kölsch hallmark than the hops, stands politely but determinedly at the rear. And it's the clear yellow colour that any Düsseldorfer would recognise as the correct shade of baby pee.

And then the niggle arrived. At first I thought it was a flaw: a bleachy, disinfectant tang, perhaps understandable in a beer like this where there's nowhere for it to hide. But my other half couldn't taste it, and later, indoors, I opened a second bottle to explore it further. It was still there but I reckon it's actually a feature rather than a bug: a function of the hop bitterness that just comes across as slightly chlorinated in my perception. I'm reasonably sure that your mileage will vary. For that gorgeous fresh first mouthful I'd still be willing to give it another chance.