Beat the January rush

I feared I might have missed the new-year specials when I rocked up to Rascals for an overdue visit in late February. Thankfully everything was still in stock -- shout-out to all the dry Januaryers of Inchicore.

First up is a big surprise style: cream ale. Nobody around here makes them and I've never really seen the point of them, but my continuing unprofessional development is what pilot brews are for. This isn't a straight example, which is good. Instead they've made it a Blueberry Coconut Ale. Does that improve it? Probably. The problem with cream ale is it's generally tasteless, whereas this has a nice dollop of soft creamy coconut and a gentle berry tartness which I don't think I could have identified unaided but adds a different character and balances the coconut sweetness well. Perhaps cream ale is the way to go with this: a base so dull it tones down any additives. As a result this 4.1% ABV purple job is spared busyness and is nicely drinkable and easy-going.

That was number 74 in the Rascals pilot series. 75, then, is called Campfire Brown. Brown what, you can decide for yourself: it's cold fermented. With the smoked malt and 5.3% ABV it sounds like they're going for something similar to Schlenkerla Märzen, which you could say is the archetype of smoked brown lager, but you probably shouldn't. If that's what they were aiming at they haven't hit it. This is sweet, very much like a typical brown ale -- caramel to beat the band up front, and only the way it finishes quickly giving away the lager side. The smoke is relegated to a back seat, so at least there's no unpleasant kippery flavours. Overall, it's a bit basic. Something for brown ale fans for sure, but in a reverse of the previous one I expected something more to my taste from the description.

Luckily I didn't have a description for the final beer of this visit, only that it's a Coffee & Oatmeal Stout and 4.2% ABV. No pilot number. Served nitrogenated, it looked a little pale in the glass: brownish-red, not black. The gas doesn't hold the aroma back, and there's a strong smell of fresh roasted coffee from the get-go. The body is surprisingly full for the strength, in a good way: this could almost pass for something in the foreign extra category. And then there's the coffee. The flavour goes massively on this: the burnt and oily crunch of a coffee bean eaten raw. The creamy texture softens this, making it seem a little like a frothy Irish coffee or a coffee cake. This is the sort of one-dimensional beer I have no problem with: it's all stout and all coffee, and probably some oatmeal, and as long as that's what you're after, it delivers. I like the idea of something as extreme as this being a permanent house beer. I hope it sticks around.

Meanwhile, back at home, a new take on IPA, which is of course just what the beer world needs. They're not the first to try and hybridise east and west coast IPAs, though they've opted for Midwest IPA as the name rather than "mountain" IPA which Odell has tried to popularise. So what do we get? It's 6.1% ABV and brightly golden in a very west-coast way. Citrus sprirtz is the aroma too. I mean, if you're going to lean one way or the other, west is best. The bitterness is restrained but far from absent, and there's a sizeable dollop of satsuma and kumquat which may be the intended nod to the east, but it's not juicy, not fuzzy and has no vanilla or garlic. What we've got, then, is something that tastes like a traditional American pale ale of a lower strength than this is, one where the flavours are bright and clean and accessible but not terribly engaging. I drank it on a Wednesday. It's a good Wednesday beer.

The pilot series has moved on since February but I think that's enough for today. I'll be back at Rascals for their Happy Days festival in a couple of weeks.