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.