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.