Your actual Baltic

We are joined once again by Mr Engelman and one of his handsome full-pint cans. I'm not sure I've ever had a Lithuanian Baltic porter before, which is a shame, what with it being on the Baltic and all.

Volfas Engelman Baltic Porter, then, is 6% ABV and the can tells us it's in "limited supply". Also that it's 25 IBU, which strikes me as a little low, even if the scale is largely meaningless. Nevertheless, it pours a handsome dark brown with a modest and mangeable off-white head. The aroma gives gentle caramel and the promise of some herbal liquorice hops. Everything is in order there, then. A lager-clean texture follows, and there's a surprise in the flavour. It's not very bitter -- the IBUs don't lie, for once -- and there's a strong chocolate sweetness. But there's the liquorice too, loads of it, and a flourish of milky coffee on the end.

Getting all the aniseed without an accompanying bitter tang is a bit confusing, but I enjoyed the flex. It does run the risk of turning overly sweet, which would be a disaster for any Baltic porter, though it manages to avoid going that far. All told, it's a satisfying pint, warming and nutritious-tasting: ideal winter drinking without going overboard on the alcohol. Thanks Volfie!

So it's come to this

It has been an exceptionally quiet January for new release beers. The general sluggishness of the Irish market at this time of year has combined with this week's radical change to the rules around canned drinks -- introducing a deposit scheme -- to make local brewers less willing to put new beers out. It'll pick up again, for sure, but it's felt like a bit of a desert over the past few weeks. Browsing the beer shops for potential content, I picked today's three from Welsh brewer Tiny Rebel, having eschewed their wares since they became newly available in Ireland last year. They just don't seem like my sort of beers. That's worth putting to the test now and again, however.

When I selected Electric Boogaloo I didn't read any further than "passion fruit" and blithely assumed it was a fruited sour ale. Unfortunately it's worse than that, being a fruited New England-style IPA, at a session strength of 4.5% ABV. It's pale yellow and murky, so that fits the spec, and the aroma is massively tropical. Yes, there's passionfruit in there, but heavily concentrated and smelling like there are other things. It reminds me of some horrific sticky cordial from the 1980s which I don't remember the name of, but it evidently traumatised me. No surprises in the flavour, then: it's a heavily concentrated tropical fruit syrup, with the metallic twang which inevitably comes with that. The hopping does its best to clash with the sweetness but is thoroughly drowned out by it. While it tastes like it should be thick, it actually suits its strength and might even be sessionable were it not for the flavour's unpleasant intensity. This may as well have been one of those sour-in-name-only jobs. Tiny Rebel's supplier of passionfruit syrup has a key account in this brewery. Had I known it was going to be so sweet I probably wouldn't have picked what comes next.

"[I] doubt I'll be rushing to try any of the variants" I wrote when I reviewed Stay Puft marshmallow porter on here, back in 2020. To be honest, a bit over three years is sooner than I expected. Here's just two of them, on a Christmas theme.

Where to start? I figured that Sleigh Puft: The Chocolate One would be the less sweet of the pair. My wariness wasn't in the least offset by the appearance: muddy brown with abysmal head retention: far from proper porter. The aroma is sickly as the marshmallow ingredient makes its presence felt early and loudly. To taste, it is massively sweet, although not sickly. Fortunately, the texture is surprisingly light, without a trace of stickiness, which is impressive at 5.3% ABV. Chocolate is present but doesn't taste real, having the salt-and-plastic twang of very pale milk chocolate, or even a mass-produced white variety. The artificial pink marshmallow note arrives late in the finish. I'm stating the bleeding obvious here, but this is all novelty and no class. Yes I should have known that from the get-go. At least they're up front about it. I can't recommend this, though I can't fault it for delivering on the promise.

Why did I buy another one? Anyway, here's Sleigh Puft: The Caramel One. The ABV is identical and so is the ingredients list, so I guess malt is where the difference lies. There is definitely a difference, though, because it's darker -- nearly but not quite black, and with a much more generous head. There's a lovely burnt character to the aroma, suggesting a very caramelised sort of caramel, not just sugary gloop. Maybe the previous one calibrated my palate in advance, but I didn't find it as sweet. The burnt caramel has a mildly smoky taste, and there's a surprisingly grown-up hint of raw carrot and black pepper. It's weird, and that's a compliment, not following the well-trodden novelty path which the previous one did. I haven't tasted this particular combination before, and I quite like it, especially the unexpected spice. The pink marshmallow makes no appearance, so fans of that might want to dodge it. Everyone else, jump in.

The last beer here is why I keep at this. You can't judge a beer until you've drank it. Maybe there'll be more Stay/Sleigh Pufts featured on these pages in due course.

Only shallow breathing in stereo after dark

An appreciation, first of all, for the top-tier customer service from Whiplash. After I enquired about an out-of-stock recent release, I got a personal heads-up when it was available to order again. And when the order I placed during the Christmas rush wasn't fulfilled correctly, they fixed it in the most convenient way possible. It's massively appreciated, and very indicative of the all-round class act that the brewery is. Now, how about some beer?

Oooh, they've gone all silvery for the first one, Breathing in Stereo, a departure from the usual clean white label background. It's badged as a west coast IPA, though the hops are El Dorado and Nelson Sauvin, neither renowned for their piney or grapefruity characteristics. It's also a bit anaemic for the style, and a bit too cloudy, as in slightly cloudy. The aroma is not west coast either, but is beautiful, bringing Nelson's grape and gooseberry, with sweeter fruit salad from the El Dorado. Nelson dominates the flavour in a deliciously juicy way, missing the oily mineral tang it often shows, leaving smooth and cool pear and lychee, with a edging of slightly sharper peach and white pepper. While I'm putting the boot into its poor style fidelity, I'll mention here that it's not at all bitter. It is damn tasty, though, more like a cleaned-up New England IPA, although that's the sort that Whiplash normally makes anyway. If you like your Nelson to be fruit-forward, this 6.8%-er is a great shout. The mix-up left me with an extra can of it, and I'm not complaining.

At the same strength is properly hazy IPA, Only Shallow. It's a collaboration, with Garden Brewery of Zagreb, though you'd have to wonder what they have to teach the Ballyfermot crew about making this kind of beer. The hops are an all-American blend of Columbus, Centennial, El Dorado and Idaho 7. Plenty of room for juice in that. It's the typical pale and opaque yellow-orange of Whiplash haze, and smells more of pith than juice, fruity but sharply acidic too. The mouthfeel is a little off-putting: thick and cottony, lacking any cleansing fizz and with a substantial alcohol burn. Fresh and juicy it is not. The flavour is all rather serious. It's not bitter, just hot, and with a sort of tangy marmalade sweetness. It feels like there's a central portion of zing which has been excised and discarded. A dose of Nelson Sauvin would have done it no harm at all.

A total change of style for the finisher: After Dark, an imperial stout, this time in collaboration with Pühaste. Careless pouring on my part meant that Emergency Measures were necessary to prevent it from overflowing. It's foamy, the thick chocolate-brown head eventually settling to a paler tan. It's sticky too, feeling all of its 10% ABV and more. The aroma gives little away, but to taste it's all there, all the classic old-school imperial stout flavours of filter coffee, dark chocolate and even a leafy green hop bitterness. That doesn't quite offset the beer's extreme sweetness, and the two sides butt up against each other somewhat, making for a challenging drinking experience. You needn't be in a hurry when you open this one. I did enjoy taking my time over it, however, and found the lack of candystore novelty at least figuratively refreshing, if not at all literally.

The middle beer is one of Whiplash's very rare missteps. It's all quality otherwise, and Breathing in Stereo is one of their best ever. More Nelson please.

From the grape state of California

A random pick from the bargain fridge in Stephen Street News today. Well, for a very craft definition of bargain, at €6.99 for a 355ml can. It's from California brewery The Bruery, part of their Terreux barrel-ageing program, and called Spritz This! Essentially it's a grape ale, barrel-aged and with Syrah grapes pressed in. This is the 2021 edition. The ABV is 7.2% and it's a deep and luscious scarlet colour.

There's a crackle as the head fades out and an aroma of blackcurrant, reminding me somewhat of the result of a cheap homebrew wine kit I made some years ago. It's very thin, and prickly on the palate, more than what I would call spritz. The acidity (3.4/9.0g/L of lactic, the can tells us helpfully) is a little shocking and difficult at first. I adapted to it quite quickly, I'm happy to say, and after a minute there's a much more subtle mix of blackberry, raspberry and cherry, mixed in with white pepper spicing from the oak and a savoury cola herbal thing.

While I liked it, I would have preferred if the bugs-and-barrels features were more prominent. Instead, despite the sourness, it's still a bit syrupy or jammy. I've had plenty better versions of the same thing.

Spontaneous enhancement

Today it's one of the regular check-ins with what they're up to at Oud Beersel. While it's a fine blender of good lambic, it seems to be becoming best known for the creation of draught versions with out-of-the-ordinary ingredients. They've mostly worked quite well, relying on the solid foundation of Boon-brewed lambic to guarantee quality. Three more passed my way recently.

"Semi-fermented and oxidised". Yum yum. That's the description with which Oud Beersel is hoping to lure punters to its Oolong Roasted Tea Lambic. Of course, it refers to the tea ingredient, not the beer. It's an opaque bright amber colour, headless even from the keg, and smelling of Boon/Beersel's typical oaky spice. For 6.8% ABV it's startlingly thin, not helped by minimal carbonation. The flavour is rather plain as well. Usually with these, the added ingredient is not subtle in its contribution, though at the same time I realise I don't actually know what oolong tastes like. Other than that, there's little to complain about. It's just that you may as well be drinking a straightforward lambic. If that's your preference, why did you order one with a weird ingredient in it? I'm disappointed in you, and in this very tasty beer.

I found something very similar with Witte Lambiek which has had witbier's orange peel and coriander added to it. What happens when you do that to a lambic? You get something which tastes much like a standard young lambic. Woody complexity is missing, and the typical nitric spice is muted, though not absent. I looked hard for the orange and coriander but really couldn't find any trace of either. A harmless experiment, then, but not really a worthwhile one.

That had me a little on edge when I came to Rabarberlambiek. Other brewers, and Ireland's Land & Labour in particular, have given rhubarb lambic a go and largely succeeded at it. Is there a risk of a proper lambic brewery trying it and messing up? Not a chance. Oud Beersel nails it, sticking closely to the basics of sharply tart sourness, but adding a beautifully smooth maturity, suggesting a base beer which is older and stronger than the 5% ABV on offer here. The rhubarb arrives late in the flavour, but is distinct, highlighting the sweeter, dessertish side of the fruit over its acidic harshness. The end result is extremely well integrated and balanced, making full use of the fruit while still staying true to the fundamentals. If anything, the core lambic pinch is a little missing here. I suppose balanced sour beer is broadly acceptable, but it's not really what I want from the Pajottenland guys.

I expected to have a stronger reaction to these, be it joy or outrage. As-is, they're quite delicious, but don't offer much by way of education in flavour. It could be that all the good lambic ideas have been done already. Even so, with several new producers coming on stream in recent years and needing to make a name for themselves, I reckon there'll be more "enhanced" lambics of this sort available in the near future.

Les étrangers

Am I a bad beer tourist for going to France and being interested in beers from abroad instead of doggedly sticking to documenting the local scene? Yes, probably, but there's nothing you can do about that. Today's beers are ones I bought in Bordeaux but which got there from elsewhere.

First up is a couple of Brooklyn Brewery beers, brewed by their partner Carlsberg Sweden, beginning with The Stonewall Inn, a session IPA. At only 4.6% ABV it walks the walk for an American recipe, undoubtedly in a straight line. It's a clear golden colour and smells nicely peachy, though not madly different from the brewery's flagship floral lager. It's definitely not a lager, however: the mouthfeel is weighty and thick, while the hops move along from the colourful soft fruit to a more serious dank quality; funky and vegetal, lacking an uplifting tang of citrus typical in an American IPA. I found it a little shocking at first, but warmed to it by the half way point. The flavour is largely Citra's doing, I read, and I think this may be primarily pitched at the Citra fanatic. I made my peace with it eventually, but it would be a challenging sort of session with all the boiled cabbage notes in evidence.

Pulp Art is another European contract job, this time a hazy IPA and 6% ABV. There's a similar fruity character to the aroma, and it suggests that more of the same resins are to come. Luckily it reverts to style on tasting with a big hit of, yes, pulpy orange: a mix of sweet juice and bitter pith. The pithiness even introduces a slight coconut note, making me think of Sorachi Ace, a hop that Brooklyn was responsible for popularising in the craft beer world. It is, however, an all-American superteam of Strata, Simcoe, and Citra again. I guess Strata is on juice-mongering duties here. Anyway, it works really well. A bit like with Sierra Nevada's Hazy Little Thing, an established player has taken the new fashion, put their own stamp on it, and created something very tasty in the process.

Given its long trading ties with Britain, it shouldn't be surprising that Bordeaux has plentiful English-style pubs. I first stopped by The Starfish, which has a sizeable range from Brewpoint, the pseudo-craft label of Bedford's Eagle brewery which used to be Charles Wells, including a bitter on cask.

I did check that other people were drinking John Bull English Ale (possibly previously called "Johnny English"), and they were. They must have come away with a poor impression of cask bitter, however, because my pint was thin and vinegary. There's a slight hint of raspberry about it, but the rest is a way over-attenuated mess, too cold, too fizzy and with an utterly inappropriate sourness. 5.3% ABV should have provided something of a safety net against such things, but not enough, it seems. Usually, I'd try to find the redeeming features; the beer the brewery meant me to have. I'm at a loss with this, however. Drop me a comment if you know how it's meant to taste.

To follow, Ink Well, an oatmeal stout. It was served on nitro but has plenty of flavour, opening on slightly-sweetened filter coffee and building on the sweetness with rosewater and milk chocolate. A bitter counter-melody plays next to this, adding liquorice laces and crisp green cabbage leaf. There isn't much else that a 5.2% ABV stout needs to do. I was very impressed, especially after the John Bull fiasco.

Brewpoint also has the beer concession at another pub in town, The Charles Dickens, down by the river. Here I went for Hop & Heart, their recent take on New England IPA. It's no such thing, of course, and although it hits the gravity full square at 6.2% ABV, is an easy-drinking and refreshing orangeade style number. There's a sherbet-like spritz, a mild kick of Orangina pith, and then a very quick finish, reflecting the almost watery texture. So as far away from proper New England as, well, Bedford is, but it works: a clean and super-suppable, Skittles and Starburst, simple delight.

Yet another Wells pub is The Houses of Parliament. Here I had a half of the 9% ABV Scotch ale, Hop Scotch. This one is a clear garnet colour and was tricky to get the measure of at first, since it was poured extremely cold. Given a few minutes to acclimatise, however, it reveals itself as a very good exemplar of the style, built on a firm foundation of creamy Highland toffee, adding a red liquorice complexity, with a lacing of burnt caramel and a spritz of raspberry tartness. It doesn't taste as powerful as the ABV implies, which may be in part down to the temperature, but I'm sure the excellent balance plays a role too. A half on a damp winter afternoon was just the ticket, recalling similar encounters with The Porterhouse's late lamented Brainblásta, and a reminder why it's a terribly civilised idea to have something like this on any brewery's roster of regulars.

They had a stout I hadn't seen in the other branches, called Genesis. It's served on nitro and is the GB Guinness strength of 4.1% ABV, so it's pretty clear what market they're aiming for. Again, my pint needed a bit of time to warm up to get anything from it, so at least that bit's accurate. Even then there's not much: a broad toasty, bready characteristic, and possibly even a touch of Big G's lactic sourness, but I'm reaching here. It's a very plain, roast-led, low-strength stout and isn't meant to do anything other than save the chain from having to pay money to Diageo. Job done. "A Guinness for people who don't even like Guinness," observed the wife.

For herself, a bock, called Crafty Seadog, a whopper at 8.5% ABV. It smelled a little sour and vinegary, which was off-putting. In the flavour that tartness becomes a fruity balsamic and raspberry effect, which is interesting but not so bock-like. I think I would have struggled through a half litre of this. Luckily my wife is made of sterner stuff. It's no Duvel, I'll tell you that much.

Acquitaine has historic links to the Basque country too, somewhat represented by the fair amount of Basque beer on sale in Bordeaux. I picked up a couple from Laugar, where I suspect the brewers or branding people have a bit of a thing for the heavy metal music.

Funeralopolis is an actual tie-in to the "doom metal classic" of the same name, by Electric Wizard. No, me neither. It's an imperial stout of 10% ABV, with added coffee, tonka beans and lactose. Tonka doesn't dominate the aroma for once, and there's a nice mix of roasts here: the coffee and the heavy dark grain. You have to wait for the flavour to get the tonka, and it's right there in the foretaste, the signature Christmas-cookie spice. It's fairly sweet in general, in a most non-metal way, the coffee giving it an overall tiramisu vibe, including a dash of vanilla. The alcohol heat is kept well in check and the finish is surprisingly quick, leaving no aftertaste. Its mouthfeel is quite light, with plenty of fizz and zero gloop. All-in-all it's a cuddly, playful little thing, which I very much doubt was the intention, but I'll go with it.

The devil music theme continues with Midnight Harvest, another imperial stout, this time with smoked cocoa, which is a new ingredient on me. It's 10% ABV again, and again we get some lactose to take any edges off. It smells broadly chocolatey, but not particularly strongly. The flavour has a little more to say, and it's mostly chocolate. I guess it's the lactose's fault that it's very much basic milk chocolate rather than anything fancier. There's a tiny whiff of smoke in the finish, resembling what you get when chipotle or paprika features in beer -- a slightly chemically, plastic, twang. It doesn't ruin it but doesn't really add anything positive either. For all the camp drama of the label, it's a fairly plain chocolate milk stout, decent but unexciting. Rock out with your choc out.

And there we sign off from 2024's first trip. Bordeaux isn't all about the beer by any means, but there's plenty of good stuff, should you want it.

Butterflies in the stomach

In Monday's post, I mentioned the fine selection on offer in Bordeaux beer bar Le Sure Mesure. One of them was L'Effet Flamande, a collaboration between Bordeaux's own Effet Papillon and Brasserie du Pays Flamand, up north, near Lille. This is another one of those golden Brettanomyces-fermented jobs, this one at 7% ABV. This version of it has been given twenty months of barrel ageing and an extra inoculation of wild yeast and bacteria, though retains the 7% ABV of the basic edition. It is strikingly tart from the get-go, dry and crisp, but with an almost vinegar-like burn. I struggled to find the fruit behind this, detecting perhaps some white grape or gooseberry, but curdled, not juicy. It's nearly very good; nearly brilliant, in fact, but it's too sharp. A bit of blending to tone that down would have been welcome.

Always on the lookout for weirdness, my eye was caught by Effet Papillon's À Go Go, a gose with cucumber and celery. The latter is entirely new for me as a beer ingredient, but I can see how it might work with the salt. It's a plain murky yellow in the glass, the head fizzing away quickly to nothing. Savoury green celery is the full extent of the aroma, so at least they're being up-front and honest about that ingredient. It is hella vegetal on tasting. Yes, I can pick out both the celery and cucumber individually, but when combined with the salt, it adds up to a big simmering pot of root vegetables, suggesting turnip, carrot and beet to me as well. It's cool and crisp, so maybe more of a coleslaw-minus-the-mayonnaise effect. It's very weird, and perhaps a smidge too earthy to work. Full respect for the experiment, however, though I won't be rushing quite so quickly to buy my next celery beer.

45 minutes on the tram out of town gets you to the Effet Papillon brewery, spread across several buildings in white-van land, one of which is the taproom. I had the place to myself on a Wednesday afternoon, and started with the Pils Française.

This is 4.5% ABV and very pale in the glass, a wan and watery-looking yellow. While very dry at first, in that mineral-driven Belgian way, a sweeter and savoury side emerges soon after, reminding me of corn relish and those highly addictive cheese-stuffed baby red peppers that Lidl does. Yum. It's like it's trying to be a serious pils but missing the mark. I like the quirkiness of it, though still think they need a straight German or Czech-style lager in the range.

I beefed it up for round two with the 6% ABV India Pale Ale. Oddly, it looked almost identical to the previous one: pale yellow with a slight haze. And though it looks bland, the aroma is very punchy, giving off a powerful citrus zest and a quieter counter melody of oily resin. The texture supports that: it's thick, but in a hop-forward way, avoiding any malt syrup or caramel. The flavour stays fresh and zesty, so it's clean and refreshing despite the density. On the sub-style spectrum, it's probably somewhere between a clean zippy cold IPA and the weighty intensity of classic west-coast. Whatever, it works beautifully. The sort of IPA freshness for which one travels to the source.

Skipping the double IPA option, I went straight for triple: Allez, at 9.5% ABV. There's a bit of colour to this one; it's amber but still clear. A little sticky malt presents in the aroma but otherwise it smells of very little. The flavour is no great shakes either. You get the heavy, hard-candy sweet side, and then merely hints of marmalade and fruit tea. It's dense and chewy, so we haven't been gypped there, but the hop element is all a bit old-world, and that's not what anyone comes to triple IPA for.

Going back to light and pale, beer four was a Lichtenhainer called Holy Smoke. This one is only 4% ABV though they've fairly piled in the smoke, making it smell a little acrid and chemically. The sourness arrives in the flavour and is tangy, and surprisingly complementary with the phenolic smoke. It's always surprising how breweries can do smoky, sour, even a little hazy, and still have a flavour that's clean and refreshing. The key is the finish, which here is crisp Bramley apple skin. I get why this is a divisive, and therefore unpopular, beer style, but I would love to see more of it.

A dark beer was necessary and I didn't fancy their candied-up imperial stout so went with Sweet Memories, a 5% ABV porter with just cocoa and coffee. The aroma has that slightly dry wafer biscuit effect I often get from chocolate beers; not unpleasant but not beloved either. The texture is fabulously creamy and luxurious, while the taste leans fully into the chocolate, suggesting the hot and smooth drinking sort, sweet not bitter, with a mild salty tang. The coffee is no more than a seasoning on top of this, though a welcome one. Overall it's very good, lacking flaws and imbalances while delivering exactly what the description promises. Can't say fairer than.

My finisher here was one with a bit of local character, a Sauternes Barrel Aged Saison, brewed in collaboration with Wilde Leeuw, the barrel ageing arm of Pays de Flamande. It's yellow and crystal clear, 8.5% ABV and smells of that lovely blend of funk, oak and fruit which makes this sort of thing unmissable for me. That tracks through to the flavour for the most part, though the sappy, splintery wood is more prominent than is ideal. It's rescued by the wine, laying down a deliciously thick and luxurious layer of botrytised delight, where the wood helps stop it turning sickly. I don't know if the sprinkle of pepper on top comes from the barrels or the saison yeast but it's very welcome. I was after complexity and I got it; maybe not as mature and integrated as the best of these, but well on the road to it. This should be sampled from a properly conditioned bottle, of course, rather than fresh <shudder> from a taproom tap.

The brewery and its taproom are quite the asset for the city, and the product is very easily found in bars, restaurants and shops. It seems to me to be doing all the things you'd want a local brewery to do, in any city.

In the final report from Bordeaux, we'll take a look at what gets imported.
       

Quelle surprise

Bordeaux was not as I expected. My assumption was that a city so closely associated with one particular product, one which has an arcane and highly-specified quality control procedure, would be a bit of a monoculture as regards food and drink. Far from it. There is a vibrant, varied, multiethnic food scene, although of course high quality French food is very easily come by. And the wave of microbreweries that began to sweep the country a decade ago is very much in evidence here too. Though the city is easy to get around, beer places tend not to open until later afternoon, and several were taking an extended January vacation, so what follows is a very far from comprehensive guide to the Bordeaux beer scene.

The first bar we visited was a poky little one called, ironically, Space Factory. I began on a beer from what appears to be Bordeaux's largest and most prolific brewery, Effet Papillon: their Petite Brett. "Petite" means 5.5% ABV, and it's a hazy yellow in the glass, with a short-lived head. There's quite a stern, earthy, funky aroma, though the flavour offers much more of the soft peaches of Brettanomyces, with a little bonus peppery spice. Beers like this often have a slightly sticky, gummy texture which helps the fruit flavour; here that has been sacrificed for the littleness, and the result is on the thin side. That's all I can ding it for really; otherwise it's a beautiful Brett expression and tastes exactly as one would want a session-strength version to. There will be much more from this brewery in the next post.

The dark beer beside it is Franckie, from La Débauche, a brewery in Angoulême, just north of Bordeaux. It's badged as an Irish stout, though 7% ABV and infused with whisky, as well as coffee and oak chips. That doesn't sound in the least bit Irish, and I doubt would be even legal to make. Nevertheless, it's a very good beer, with a smooth and creamy silk texture. Tarry coffee roast is the aroma in toto, and the coffee is central to the flavour as well, beginning with a jolt of espresso before settling to softer tiramisu. I don't know if the whisky or oak are making any contribution to it, but they certainly don't spoil it with heat or sawdust if they do. All told it's super stuff.

I picked up another from the same brewery at the excellent off licence La Cave des Moines. What attracted me to it was the use of jasmine in the recipe, a substance I often reference in tasting notes, and I think I know what it means. It's always worth recalibrating when the opportunity arises. This is Kâma. "Blanche" suggests it's a witbier at heart, though it's a little dark for that; orange rather than yellow. The aroma certainly isn't very different from typical witbier, mixing the sharp citrus and savoury herb. There's loads of fizz, so I guess a summery, spritzy, refreshing use-case is intended. 5% ABV doesn't deny that. But there's a more serious side too; a hard lemon zest and greasy plant greenness. It's bitter at first, then floral and fun. Jasmine is somewhere between the flowers and spices, and there's loads of it here. I think I've got the descriptor correct, and in a spritzy summery wheat beer it works beautifully. Expect to see more references to jasmine here in due course.

The other shop I raided is called Beer Trotter, coming away with yet another La Débauche beer, an imperial stout called Demi Mondaine. It's 11% ABV and includes coffee, chocolate and lactose in the ingredients. There are plenty of hops too, mind, and that assertive boiled-veg aroma of big hoppy stout is present here, eschewing any sweetness or roast. There's bit more coffee in the flavour, but far from excessive and fairly similar to the coffee element you might get from any imperial stout, derived entirely from the dark grains. In fact, the lactose and the chocolate do the same: ensuring that it's a classically-styled, weighty and boldly-flavoured imperial stout, rather than trying to make it an exciting novelty. I approve of the approach.

Hearty recommendations all round for La Débauche, then. Less so for Bordeaux's own Brasserie Bad. I get the impression that this operation is very small and very local, given that I only found their beers in Beer Trotter, and the one I had was... well, I think the brewery may be aptly named for us anglophones. I tried their 9.6% ABV Imperial Stout and it gushed in an extremely annoying way. As expected, by anyone with homebrew experience, the beer was intensely, harshly dry, with whatever yeast was still active in the bottle continuing to chomp away on any residual sugars. There's a little bit of dark chocolate behind the ash and burnt toast, but not much. This is pure amateur stuff, and though it didn't taste infected, I wouldn't be surprised if something else of theirs was. Big nope. Next!

Magnus and Minus appear to be a pair of pubs with their own brand of Magnus beer, though I couldn't tell you where it's brewed. Magnus the pub is on a broadly nordic theme, and had just launched a new "Baltic dark" (Baltic porter?) called Bull Kick. Although it's only 6% ABV, it does channel most of Baltic porter's good points, from the caramel and treacle foretaste, through a clean middle to finish with liquorice bitterness and a hint of smoke. In fact, I can get behind the lighter gravity as it brings out the dark lager characteristics better, and avoids any cloy or stickiness. It may not win any style fidelity prizes, but it will absolutely do.

The last bar before we settle into the hotel room drinking is Le Sure Mesure, a bustling high-end craft joint on a corner in the old city. Sacrilège is a brewery I first encountered in a similar bar in Riga last autumn; here they were pouring a pear-and-thyme flavoured wild ale called Poire. As per, it's a very slightly hazed golden colour with a head which fades quickly. There's a strong herbal aroma and flavour, which had me thinking of something heavier and oilier than thyme; perhaps rosemary. There's an overall pizza vibe: very savoury and disappointingly one-dimensional too. There may well be a decently complex mixed fermentation beer at the base, but the thyme honks all over it and leaves no room for any pear. There's maybe a vestigial hint of lemon zest and perhaps a little oak sap, but I'm reaching for complexity that this beer doesn't really show in any obvious way, even though it should.

Aviateur is a brewery with a beautiful 20th century branding and a 5% ABV gose called Jet Lag. The plain (ha!) version of this style may be long out of fashion but this looks like an IPA, being pale orange and quite hazy. The aroma is hot and heavy rather than light and zippy, perhaps reflecting that it's a full percentage point stronger than these were when breweries still made them. It's deliciously zippy to taste, however, a mineral tartness and lots of fizz, where the extra body from the strength is used to impart grapefruit, pomegranate, and a limeade sweet/sour blend. It works tremendously well. The surviving Leipzig goses are heavier and more briney; this one delivers the clean sea-spray refreshment on a gravity with a bit of poke, without needing any daft, "craft", fruit or whatnot additions. It's an object lesson in how to be cool and modern while still treating an old European style with respect. You better believe I approve of that.

I had hoped to visit Maison PIP at some point during the trip, but it's a long way out and doesn't open until 5pm, meaning it would be a whole evening, so it didn't happen. I felt guilty enough to buy one of their beers when I saw it: Blanche, chosen because there's black pepper in it, and ya boi likes a black pepper beer. They've matched that with passionfruit, which seems odd but there's no pepper interference in the aroma: it smells sweetly and tropical, like passionfruit and little else. That's pretty much how it goes on tasting: tropical sorbet; crisp, clean and uncomplicated. I searched for pepper but none was to be found. This is a lovely sunny patio beer, and I particularly liked how fleshy it tasted, like biting into a real mango or honeydew melon or some other tropical fruit I've never actually bitten. Regardless: it's tasty. Brewers looking to impart tropicality in their beer would do well to look at how this lot did it. I like spice, but I'll happily set it aside for juicy fun like this.

Long have I considered La Goudale to be the cheap, mass-market take on French farmhouse beer. That meant I was amused to see there was a La Goudale Grand Cru on the shelves in Carrefour, suggesting something like Coors Premium or Heineken Exceptionelle. It's just not how it's done. I bought it anyway, a 7.9% ABV bière de garde, and it's fine; not hugely different from the basic one, with a little white pepper, celery, a hint of honey and then finishing crisp yet strong, like a big bock lager. While it's not my sort of beer, I can't fault it. They've done their homework. How it compares against the standard Goudale I can't tell you for sure, only that it's broadly the same thing. Perhaps too much so. Regardless, it works, and if you're on Team Goudale, seeking something bigger, here it is. I'm sure that was the intention.

Things go dark again from here on in. This is Forever Dark Woods by In Taberna. It's a gruit with juniper, fir, pine and heather. I guess they're going for some sort of pagan metal vibe, although the 6.66% ABV suggests they're also into middle eastern religious literature. It's full-on black and has a charming aroma of blackcurrant and cola: sweet and fruity but with a herbal or mineral side too. There's a dry and spritzy feel to the flavour; a dash of sea spray, rinsed purple with blackberry jelly plus a sweaty gym-gear funk. I'll admit it took me a moment to decide if it was any good, but it is. It's not easy drinking: it's too sharp for that. But it's a complex proposition, very similar in tone to Flanders red ale, bringing spritzy summer fruit, shading into autumn with blackberry and redcurrant, before finishing with cola nut and fresh leather. That's a lot of descriptors, but together it works, without being busy or difficult. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone, but it'll do me.

"Motor Oil: Do Not Throw Yourself In" is the best translation I can make of Mazout Ne Pas Se Jeter Dedans. It comes with a warning on the back that you can't run your Renault Safrane on it, and I can't help thinking there's some French humour here which I'm not getting. It's another imperial stout of 11% ABV and comes from the 90 BPM brewery on the edge of Dijon. No adjuncts this time, and despite the lack of lactose, it's even more viscous than any of the previous ones today. The aroma doesn't give much up, only a broad treacle or caramel sweetness. It's definitely caramel to taste, and not really a whole lot else. There's maybe a hint of liquorice or molasses bitterness, or some herbal savouriness, but nothing I would call distinctive. It's grand, if a little plain. Perhaps this is what the brewers of the explodey Bad one above meant to create.

That's your introductory random assortment for starters. Next, we'll hop a tram and see about some Effet Papillon beers at the source.

Guests at the Bullhouse

Two beers from Belfast's Bullhouse brewery today, both created in collaboration with someone else.

The first is described as a "bramble sour" and is the latest in the Ár gCairde series that Mo Chara in Dundalk has been doing with various breweries. It's made with blackberry and blackcurrant puree and is dark pink in the glass, with lots of froth. The aroma is on the sickly side, smelling mostly of undiluted Ribena. Thankfully it's more restrained on tasting, being quite drily tart, with a fine cleansing fizz. The jammy berries are present, but without too much residual sugar. As a thirst-quencher it works well, not offering much in the way of complexity but plenty of simple fun.

The next is a collaboration with Leeds's Northern Monk and I picked it because of the delightful name Hallion Battalion. It's a very clear American-style pale ale, attractively amber and 5% ABV. The can promises resin and pine, and looking at the beer I don't disbelieve it. Still, it does it with balance and panache, adding a lighter floral perfume to the sticky pine and grapefruit. None of it lasts long, and an almost lager-like clean finish brings it to a conclusion quite quickly. It's nice to get a break from the haze now and then, but I think I would have liked a bit more punch here. It reminded me of the less-good draught version of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, hinting at bold flavours it never really delivers. Still, I didn't need to spend much time over it.

Nothing too amazing here, though they're decent beers. One might have thought that a collaboration was an opportunity to do something a bit more unusual, but they've resisted that urge.

Decaf

"Affogato" is a descriptor I regularly use for dark and sweet coffee-like beers, but this is the first time I've seen the brewery make it part of the spec. Planina is from Zagreb's Garden Brewery, a "double imperial affogato stout", and boasts lactose, cacao nibs, vanilla, tonka beans and, oh yes, coffee.

As usual, the tonka is in charge, with a strong kick of cinnamon in the aroma, leading to more in the flavour. Here it's joined by a surprise dark fruitiness, making it taste a lot like a mince pie, one sprinkled with coarse brown sugar. And with a maraschino cherry on top. The body is as smooth and rounded as you would want, warm but not hot at 10.3% ABV. What's lacking, unfortunately, is the coffee, relegated to a minor roasted role in the finish.

This is enjoyable, and delivers what it promises after a fashion: a big stout with added desserty characteristics. Having one of these now and again is fun but not exactly edifying. There's nothing here that isn't done on a regular basis by many other fashion-chasing breweries. Maybe I'm asking too much of my double imperial affogato stouts.

Little and large

We had a jolly time of it one Thursday night in early December. Sierra Nevada's co-founder, Steve Grossman, was in town, prompting a night of revelry and €5 pints at UnderDog.

One of such was Oktoberfest, last year's vintage having been brewed in collaboration with Kehrwieder of Hamburg. As such, then, there's a northern influence, meaning less Bavarian softness and more of a hop bite. Not that there isn't a huge malt component: this is very bready, with an overall chewy and wholesome feel. The hops manifest as a selection of leafy vegetables, particularly celery, spinach and rocket. While it's very definitely a Festbier, it does shade into pale bock to an extent, with all that noble hop character. A little unwelcome caramel emerges as it warms, so I was glad to be dealing with only a pint rather than a litre. It still absolutely hit the mark, however, providing just what an Oktoberfest beer ought to, in a way that non-Bavarian breweries rarely get just right.

Later, a special bottle of Brux was opened. This is a collaboration with fellow Californian brewing legends Russian River and is a "domesticated" wild ale. From the name it's apparent that Brettanomyces is its signature feature. I thought it was quite understated, which is unusual because Russian River in particular likes to go properly wild with its wild beers. Here, I got an aroma of subtle rosemary and basil, followed by a flavour of Sauternes grape and breadcrust. An extra perfume and resin effect emerges as it warms, alongside a lightly earthy mushroom funk. It's good, I guess, but it's not as fun and interesting as the best of these, holding back on going full-tilt with the Brett. I enjoyed it, for free, but would have resented paying top dollar for a beer that doesn't offer as much as it promises.

We leave the pub and head home with cans now. The ...Little Thing series has been rolling along busily since it began, occasionally producing worthy successors to Hazy Little Thing, but mostly not. The next is at some remove from hazy IPA, being a pilsner called, of course, Crisp Little Thing. It's described on the can as an "easy drinking lager", which tends to be brewer-speak for bland. 4.7% ABV is certainly lower than typical for Sierra Nevada. Still, it looks well, being an enticing limpid gold in the glass, if a little lacking in head. It is crisp, so full marks there, but it's not plain or watery. There's a surprise stonefruit taste -- peach and apricot, with some bonus tropical lychee -- therefore it's certainly not a typical German-style lager like the Oktoberfest. This is definitely American, in a good and very Sierra Nevada sort of way. The fruity side does come at the expense of crispness, and it lacks that dry thirst-quenching power that the name suggests it should have. I'm not complaining, though. Rounded, fruity, uncrisp lagers are still absolutely OK with me when they're this well done.

They're going to run out of "cool" beer words soon, aren't they? With Crisp covered, the inevitable next step is Dank Little Thing. If you fancy some background reading, Stan has opinions. So, the brewery is going all-in on the stoner culture with their marketing here. I'm not sure that they walk the walk, however. Yes, the aroma does have a hard resinous edge, buoyed up by the heat from 7.5% ABV, which gives it a certain front-door-of-Amsterdam-Centraal effect -- weed smoke, not sticky buds. Any similarity ends there, however. The taste is centred on tropical fruits typical of hazy IPA, suggesting pineapple and mango in particular, set on a weighty base with the sweetness of orange-flavoured hard candy. The fruit is quickly overtaken by a sterner herbal bitterness, one which isn't beyond what bittering hops can do, but from the publicity material, and the phrase "ale with natural flavors" on the can, signifies the addition of terpenes. Black's of Kinsale went through a phase of doing this, in four of their beers from 2019, then stopped. It doesn't make the beer taste like weed and I doubt it'll get any stoners on board. Dankness works better when it's a side effect of high quality hops, rather than this sort of novelty contrivance. The overall picture is fine, but it does taste like a sweet and hazy IPA that's been bittered up in a way which does nothing to improve it. We go back to my contention that the original Hazy Little Thing is very hard to better.

Still, it's good that Sierra Nevada is still turning out interesting beers for this blog to cover. That's appreciated. I've often said that IPA is their strength, and a lane that they're best to stay in, but maybe there's room for more lagers too. They certainly appear to have developed skills in that direction.

Bear back in time

Today's notes have been sitting, unfinished, in the oul' drafts folder for a stupidly long time. With apologies to Crafty Bear, I hereby give them a polish and present them to you.

We begin with another of their pale ales, this one called Trip Hazzard. Dunno why. Despite being hazy and all of 5% ABV, it's rather thin, at least on draught. The bubbles are sharp and palate-scrubbing, which I wouldn't expect in a beer like this. There's a mild mandarin and satsuma aroma, followed by a startlingly strong dose of vanilla in the foretaste. It finishes bitter and citric, and were it not for the appearance and sweet side, would almost pass as west coast. It's fine, but I'm not a fan overall, finding it a bit vapid, like making a bolder beer wasn't worth the effort. The watery texture is at the root of its problems and the main thing that needs fixing.

Last but not least is Last But Not Yeast, a 5.5% ABV IPA. At first glance it looks like your standard haze: pale yellow, completely opaque, and with a mere combover of bubbles for a head. The first sip presents a gentle vanilla sweetness and some spring onion savouries, so no surprises there. However -- and I guess this is where a full pint rather than a smaller measure is useful -- it did unfold from there into something a bit more interesting. There's a bitterness which wasn't immediately apparent, tasting of tangy lemon and grapefruit. There's none of the malt base which makes such things worthwhile in a west coast IPA, but I definitely detected a hint of something more old-school enjoyable about it. The other late-arriving feature is an oilier, resinous quality, bringing more dank to New England than one might otherwise expect. It's an easy drinker, devoid of common pitfalls. And while it's far from unique, it might make for a good alternative for any regular consumers of the likes of Trouble's Ambush.

Nothing too strange or startling here, but it seems to be the sort of beer that people like to drink. Neither lasted long on the board at UnderDog, and that's enough to justify their respective existences.