A thin slice of liquid bread

I'm all for breweries giving us classic European styles, but there's something wrong about putting them all in 440ml cans. The presentation of Hope's Limited Edition 32: Belgian Dubbel reminds me a bit of when The Porterhouse in Temple Bar first got Westmalle Dubbel on draught and, presumably knowing no better, was serving it by the pint.

At 7.5% ABV this is slightly stronger than the Belgian originator, and it looks a little paler too, a cherrywood red rather than brown. The aroma doesn't give much away, merely hinting at damson and tea brack, and certainly not smelling like all of its strength. The texture is similarly light, and it could easily pass for a percentage point, or even two, lower than it is. Hope is good at giving us statistics (24 IBUs, 30 EBC) though the one I would be interested in for this is the original gravity. For all the strength, it's quite thin bodied and lacks malt richness. I wonder if that was intended. It's left to the Belgian yeast strain to do all the heavy lifting, bringing the brambly fruit and peppery spice without the accompanying smooth cakey richness which, I think, dubbel ought to have, though I guess breweries these days tend to save that for their quadruples.

In general, this is fine, but where it's sharing shelf space with actually Belgian dubbel, I would be inclined to pick one of them first. Even when it comes in a tiddly 330ml bottle, that gives a rounder, fuller and more enjoyable drinking experience. This one might work by the pint, however.

Got your Bax

When I visited Groningen in 2022 I remarked on the virtual absence of the area's most famous beer brand, Grolsch. There was also no sign, that I recall, of the colourful local micro I'm looking at today: Baxbier. It certainly wasn't anywhere like as visible as, say, Frontaal is in Breda or vandeStreek in Utrecht. It's just as well that a wide selection of them arrived into Ireland earlier this month, and keenly priced too, with cans beginning at just €2.65.

First up is Abel's Ale, named in honour of that famous son of Groningen, Abel Tasman. I've actually tasted this before on a busy night in Zwolle a couple of years ago but never wrote it up. It seems the specs have changed a little since then, the ABV dropping from 7.8% to 7.4%, with a concomitant increase in IBUs, from 49 to 65. They describe it as a "Pacific pale ale", using unspecified hops from the region, plus an addition of birds eye chilli peppers which I don't think I noticed first time round. I can't say there's much sign of them now either. The aroma of the clear amber liquid is happily tropical -- pineapple, cantaloupe, mango -- without going overboard and turning sickly. From this I expected a bigger tropical flavour but instead it stays true to its west coast specs and offers citrus and pine resin as the beginning and end, with just a flash of exotic fruit in the middle. The aftereffect is dry, which might be where the chilli is manifesting, but that could easily still be the hops. It's no world-shaker, but it's pleasant: one of those slightly retro IPAs that remind you this was not all haze, once upon a time. I often find myself thinking that's good enough these days.

Is there haze, tho? Of course there's haze. Starkly named Tropical is 5.6% ABV and a bright and sunny shade of juice. The aroma is much less tropical than the previous beer, however, though is just as enticing, with a kind of savoury herbal spicing. And it's savoury to taste as well, giving me a first impression of fresh mange tout and crisp red cabbage or lollo rosso lettuce. It evolves quickly, passing through tangy jaffa peel and into softer and sweeter mandarin and mango. I had expected a full-on pineapple attack, but this is much more subtle; clean and exceptionally well balanced. It gives a sense of sunny summer days (very welcome on a dreary February night) without being any way silly or gimmicky. Beers like this can also end up gritty, hot, or acridly dry, but there's nothing here for haze-haters to hang a criticism on. Like the above, it's perhaps a little too quiet in how it goes about its business and could do with a fraction more flavour wallop. It's very tasty though, and for €2.65 would make for a quality fridge-filler or party beer. Sipping slowly through one was fun, but equally I could have gone for several in a row without risking getting bored or overwhelmed.

Crowd Pleaser is "beer with beer flavor", a delightfully reactionary description, pleasing at least this grumpy member of the crowd. What they mean is it's a lager, 5.1% ABV, hopped with "Motuea" [sic] and it's hazy, at least a bit. I'm wary of Motueka's extreme herbal bitterness but the aroma, yet again, is pleasant and welcoming, with a gently sweet buzz of lemon meringue pie. It gets a bit more grown up on tasting, with a dry and sharp introduction to the palate, grassy and fresh rather than the hot medicinal effect I associate with the hop. Amazingly, the blurb on the can doesn't continue the overuse of the word "crisp", so it's just as well I'm here to inform you it is indeed very, very crisp. The citrus I got in the aroma reappears later in the flavour in a punchier way -- lime rind and real lemon zest. I think they've miscalculated by giving it a name which suggests easy-going, lowest-common-denominator stuff. This is complex and interesting, and I think would be disappointing to anyone only after a basic lager, or a classically-styled one. Its craft game is strong, as indeed the label's hop cone wearing sunglasses makes quite clear. Party like it's 2009.

"Could be worse" is an inauspicious name for a beer up for review, but that's the translation we're given for Kon Minder, a very pale ale of 5.5% ABV showcasing Citra. Does it have a gently fruity aroma, you ask? It does, though leaning towards the extreme end of Citra where lime and pine become fried onion and floor cleaner. That warm onion thing ramps up in the flavour, to somewhere between a catering tureen of hot soup and surprise unwashed gym clothes. They appear to have dialled the bitterness back -- 30 IBUs says the label, which should be plenty -- and Citra without the punch seems rather pointless. While it's broadly in an American style I can't see any American brewery turning out a Citra-first beer like this. On the plus side the texture is nicely soft and the finish is quick, so the vaguely unpleasant savoury side doesn't hang around for long. It runs in parallel with a more subtle candy sweetness, with a very vague artificial fruit character. It all adds up to nothing very enjoyable, so yes, it could be worse. I can't say I was misled by the direct Dutchfolk here.

A fair few of the range have been showing up on tap too, and I found Bourbon Infused Koudvuur at UnderDog. I had drank the straight version of this smoked porter on a visit to Arendsnest in Amsterdam once, and found it a bit plain. With the whisky on board, the ABV leaps from 6.5% to 7.8% but it retains the lack of richness which irked me about the original. The aroma promises treacle and a substantial amount of smoke but I couldn't find either of these serious aspects in the flavour. Instead it's all dark chocolate and coconut, with no more than a slightly charred dryness bringing the only more challenging and grown-up aspect. The bourbon adds vanilla to the finish but otherwise stays out of the way, and I couldn't taste any smoke at all. It's really just more of the same, then: passable as a beer but not really doing enough with its components to be properly enjoyable.

Interestingly, to me at least, there's also a bourbon Barrel Aged Koudvuur. How different could they be? Well, this one returns to 6.5% ABV and the aroma leans heavily into the oak, though dry and sappy, rather than sweetly vanilla'd. It doesn't look like a lightweight, being densely black, with a decently thick texture to match. The bourbon oak is right at the front of the flavour, with the fresh-wood resins plus a tang of sour-mash whisky. That makes it difficult to spot the smoke, which melds into the dry-barrel acridity. What prevents it from being a chore is a gentler chocolate and fudge element, suggested in the aroma and forming the centre of the flavour. I found myself wishing for more of it. The bourbon is overdone here, building on the palate and becoming quite sickly by the end. Yes, it is a different experience from the bourbon-infused one, but I'm not sure it's any better.

There's yet more bourbon in store when we turn to the final trilogy of barrel-aged beers. That begins with BA23.01, the strongest of them, at 10.2% ABV. I was hoping for much more chocolate counterpoint here, as it's billed as a "mexicake" imperial stout: so chocolate with chilli, cinnamon and lactose. There's vanilla in the ingredients as well, which is slightly worrying. It pours a shiny obsidian black with little head to speak of. The chilli is the main feature of the aroma, dry and paprika-like, and slightly eye-watering with it. As with the last one, there's a good bit of bourbon spirit in there too. The vanilla and lactose are the heroes of the piece, giving the flavour an initial sweetness that the other ones really would have benefitted from. It's rich and warm and round, just as you'd expect a Dutch imperial stout of this strength to be. The bourbon is a little muted, likewise the alcohol heat, and that's fine by me. It doesn't rely too much on the chocolate either, so it's not really a cake beer, though I do get a certain cherry and raspberry cream effect, of the sort you might find from a Black Forest gateau. We're back to the subtly complex construction I identified in the paler Baxbier beers above. As such, it's rather tasty. Not hard work to drink, and with plenty to explore while doing so.

Coffee next, and BA23.02 is described as a "mocha stout", having cacao and lactose as well. Bourbon barrels do the ageing honours once more. The aroma is strong, but it's neat vanillin-powered whisky much more than Irish coffee or cream liqueur: boozy and hot, with the background coffee smelling raw and roasty. It's not unpleasant, but suggests something of a workout to come. So it was surprising to find that it tastes smooth and balanced, offering a mix of crisp hazelnut, smooth butter and, well, mocha, without too much heat or vanilla, and no sappy, splintery wood. That's carried by a full and equally smooth body, bringing the beer close to being sticky but narrowly avoiding the excesses. There's more going on here than might be expected for a trifling 9.6% ABV -- my experience of Dutch imperial stout brewers is that few bother with single-digit strengths, but this is a clear demonstration of how you can still get all the power of a big stout in a slightly smaller package. In fact, this has more character than the stronger and more involved one before it.

It's a complete change of tack for BA23.03, a wheat wine aged in rum barrels. It's the slightly muddy looking mahogany colour that's normal for these. A strongly boozy burn usually comes next in the aroma but Baxbier's masterful subtlety strikes again, and it smells more like an actual wine: sweet raisin and mere hints of oaky spice. Unfortunately, much as I enjoy the occasional rum, rum-aged or infused drinks rarely suit me, and this is a strong example of that. The rum is very prominent right from the start, and to me it tastes sickly and plasticky, with a kind of concentrated strawberry jam sweetness. But hey, it's still not hot, and the texture doesn't add to the difficulty, being nicely light for 9% ABV. This is one of those beers where I'm obliged to say it's very well made, just not for me. It certainly could be worse, though.

It's a little bit of a surprise to find a brewery of this sort which does pale and hoppy better than strong and dark. The balance on display in the recipes here would make them quite well suited to pint drinking even though they're not from that kind of cultural background. Still, there's always the option of buying the well-priced 330ml cans two at a time.

The culture war

There were a couple of new beers from Galway Bay Brewery. I dropped into The Black Sheep one afternoon to see what the story was.

Celestial Floods (or "Fioods", as the badge has it) is a double IPA of 7.9% ABV. Bullhouse of Belfast collaborated, and the hops are Galaxy, Riwaka and Mosaic. "Hazy" doesn't quite cover the proposition: it's downright beige in the glass, though smells attractive. I get pineapple, guava and something tropical but greener; avocado, perhaps. This is where I would like to be saying it tastes as clean as the aroma but it really doesn't. A hard, yeasty grit suffuses the flavour in a most unpleasant and unwelcome way. Chalk and boiled vegetables hit first: dry and earthy with a strong and rough bitterness. Some softer peach and banana flashes briefly before the sharp dregs take over once more, seeing us out into a mercifully short finish. Maybe I got the tail end of the keg but it can be hard to tell what the brewer intended when it comes to superhopped murk. Regardless, it's a poor example of this kind of double IPA, gathering together all the features I dislike and then releasing them simultaneously. Pandora's box without the hope.

I hoped for better from Tharapita, named for a nordic thunder god. That's because it's a collaboration with Estonians Pühaste and is a Baltic porter, a big one at 11.3% ABV. It pours thick and black as one would expect. The default 25cl pour was probably wise for a lunchtime on Capel Street, but that's not how they roll on the Baltic. The aroma is roasty with lots of coffee, more like an imperial stout than a Baltic porter. Its mouthfeel is super thick which makes me wonder if it's properly cold-fermented, though the texture is beautiful so I didn't wonder too hard. On tasting, the style snaps properly back into place: dried herb bitterness and sticky treacle with an edging of cola nut and the crust of central European rye bread. You get a jolt of espresso in the aftertaste as a digestif. The bitterness is less than the best examples, so maybe some more early-boil hops would have been good, but as a complete package it's unassailably delicious. My single complaint is that they didn't release it in November when it could have kept us warm all winter.

Ugh. This all sounds like I'm the ancient geezer who likes olden-days European beer but isn't hip to what the kids in America are into. Is Baltic porter always better than hazy IPA? No it isn't. Mostly it is though.

Some bang off that

Sierra Nevada's Hop Bullet double IPA featured on this blog in 2018 and didn't impress me much. Solely to get my attention, they've released a supposedly improved version with an even more macho name: Hop Bullet Magnum Edition. *swoon* Go on, then.

The ABV gets a boost to 9.5%, up from 8%, though it's still clear and orange coloured. Orange is still the flavour also: jelly, marmalade, that sort of deal. Sweet and tangy, not zesty or bitter. Given the strength I thought there would be more heat but it's quite a calm fellow, pretty much as drinkable as any normal American IPA. Magnum is best known as a bittering hop, but the flavour here offers more than just bitterness, including plenty of citrus fruit as well. While it's perfectly passable, it's not the kick in the head I thought I was going to get. 

I don't think this varies a great deal from the original. It's predominantly sweet and not terribly complex, but fine for what it is. The reason I'm more positively disposed towards it is that the can only cost me €2.50 in my local supermarket. For that, it's pretty good value.

Geopolitical beers

The beer and breweries of Ukraine don't get quite the same attention as they did a couple of years ago, even though I'm certain the businesses are experiencing the same problems. Today's three are presented as snapshots in time, though of 2022 more than 2024. I bought them last year in Little Beershop, an off licence in Utrecht.

First, commemorating the UK's early support for Ukraine against the Russian invasion, is a milk stout called JohnsonUK, by Pravda of Lviv. The erstwhile Prime Minister features on the label though he was gone from office by the time it was bottled in January 2023. It's a dark brown shade, rather than black, and is a sizeable 5.8% ABV. I got only a low-intensity sense of coffee from the aroma, and the flavour is on the plain side, delivering broadly sweet mocha up front, set on quite a thin and fizzy base. The finish is more nuanced with wafer biscuit, rosewater and a more concentrated bean-like coffee roast. A supporting metallic bitterness suggests English hops. It was underwhelming at first, but I decided by the end that it's subtle and enjoyable, balancing the flavours well and not over-egging any of them. Yes, I would have liked a little more substance, especially given the strength, but it does make for easy and unfussy drinking, which is a role to which milk stout can be well suited. I therefore deem Johnson to be adequate. You can add your own satirical quip here.

Also by Pravda is вiд сяну до дону, Vid Syanu do Donu: "From the San to the Don", the rivers which colloquially mark Ukraine's western and eastern edges respectively. It is, with intended irony I'm sure, a Russian imperial stout, and 10.3% ABV. That's borne out right from the start in the aroma, which is boozy and bitter, strongly implying a stickiness to come. It's thick but not excessively so, and it goes in for bitterness far more than the more fashionable sweet side. I get very grown-up notes of marjoram, cardamom and aniseed on a backing of burnt caramel and woodsmoke. Gentler coffee and nougat marks the finish. I liked it. It's close to how I imagine the British originals of the style should taste: strong, yes, but assertively bitter with it, free of chocolate and candy add-ons.

For such fripperies, there's this solidarity beer from Portuguese brewery Lupum, called Tractors Tow Russian Tanks. It's a 14% ABV beast of an imperial stout, with added blueberries and maple syrup. It pours jet-black and oil-thick with a deep tan-coloured head. They haven't skimped on the blueberries because there's an instant compote sweetness in the aroma, alongside a slightly more serious dark coffee roast. The berry reappears in the foretaste, joined by gooey treacle and plain chocolate. It's not bright or artificial blueberry but the real thing, with similarities to raisin and cherry. The super-dense mouthfeel allows the foretaste to last a long time, and I had given up on the maple syrup before it arrived in the finish, tasting authentic again, adding a woody, smoky dryness. It's delicious, delivering all the things that the spec promises. While it might be fairly pegged as a pastry stout, it's one of the better sort, with a properly serious side to it.

Dark times make for dark beer but all three of these provided comfort, reassurance, and a reminder that the war hasn't ended yet. Slava Ukraini!

The French disconnection

French beer has been something of a theme on this blog in recent months. It's in no way intentional, and today's first beer was an unexpected gift from a traveller in parts Breton. It's from the Philomenn brewery in the very Breton-sounding Tréguin, whose wares were previously reviewed here.

Spoum is a tripel: 9% ABV and dark for the style, amber rather than golden. It's heavy and sweet, piling in honey with a side order of clove. The sugary intensity builds to the point where it resembles burnt caramel. I would have expected a lot of fruity esters in a beer like this, but they've kept it fully clean. It's OK. I like a bit of spice in a tripel, and this is missing that. You get the warmth and the richness, sure, but it fails to achieve the casual drinkability of the Belgian versions.

The next one I picked up last October in a charming little épicerie in Nancy called Carrefour. The bottle is quiet about what it actually is, beyond "bière aromatisée" on the label. "Flavourings" is listed on the ingredients though we're not told what they are. Black by Licorne is the name, Licorne being a brewery in Saverne, not far from Strasbourg.

Immediate points off for the beer being dark brown rather than black. It smells beery: that mix of sticky dark malt with a strong boiled-vegetable bitterness. It's predominantly sweet, however, centred on caramel and cola, with only the faintest tang of leafy hops in the finish. There's a certain crispness too, suggesting it's cool fermented. If so, I would broadly class it with the Czech dark lagers, lacking as it does the stronger bittering of German dunkel or the ashen dryness of schwarzbier. Whatever the enigmatic "flavourings" are, they don't have much to say. Overall, it's quite plain fare, though inoffensive. Not a bad find for cheap in a supermarket.

Not France's best work by any means, but fairly solid stuff. The neighbours do these sorts of beers a bit better, however.

Heart of ice

Not every day, but I like an eisbock now and again. I tend to see the method as a means for making big imperial stouts even more warming and sippable. Frosty is the first ever one from Polish brewery Funky Fluid, and is derived not from a stout but a weizenbock.

It's a striking mahogany colour, and seemed a little thin as it poured, despite the substantial 12% ABV. The wheat side is very prominent in the flavour, offering a dry and crisp cereal quality. It's not as rich as I was hoping for, the crispness extending to the mouthfeel as well. There's a layer of chocolate wafer and quite a punchy green vegetal bitterness, presumably from the concentrated noble hops. A little fruity raisin and plum arrives at the end. The alcohol heat is represented in the cough-syrup aroma, but not really in the taste.

This isn't the eisbock I wanted. I'm sure it's closer to many a German original, but it's not the sort I'm used to from Dutch and Danish breweries. It's pointy and difficult, not smooth and warming. I hope they'll be making adjustments if they brew a second one.

Animal tendencies

The role of animals in the branding of English beers is a fine, and often parodied, convention. I've been in Wetherspoon again, inspecting the menagerie.

Devon's Otter Brewery is first up, with Otter Amber. It's rare that I have any quibble with the beer quality at Wetherspoon, especially in the more upmarket Keavan's Port where I got this, but I don't think it was quite right. There was a definite murk about the pale gold colour, and a lemon tartness that I don't think belonged. That was at least fairly easy to ignore, and beyond it I found a solidly malt-driven bitter, oaty and grainy at heart, with a top layer of candied citrus. I reckon it would be well suited to summer, being easy drinking and only 4% ABV. Only that off-putting twang would prevent me from enjoying a few of them in a row.

I was surprised to discover I'd never tried Nethergate's Old Growler (it's a dog; grow up) before. The name is certainly familiar but maybe just because it's a JDW regular. It's a porter with a decent heft to it, at 5% ABV. That gives it a full body and a wholesome old-ivory head, the same colour as in those vintage ads for a certain Dublin-brewed stout that now pours with sterile bone-white foam. It turns out that the similarities don't end there. This is no chocolate-sweet porter but a drier, bitterer sort, showing the cabbage-and-zinc tang of classic English hopping. It's a refreshing change from the candified tendencies of contemporary porter brewing, and I would hazard a guess that the experience is close to how that Dublin-brewed beer tasted when it was still cask conditioned. This is a beautifully put-together beer: tasty, complex, subtle, and highly satisfying. I'd be quite content if standard porter were more like it.

Last of the cask is Whakahari, a bitter from Welsh brewery Purple Moose. I like this brewery; they make some great beers. This isn't one of them, however. Although it's a beautifully clear golden colour, it has quite a sterotypical soapy bitterness, dry and a little acrid. There is some softer fruit lurking in the middle, following the initial soapy hit -- I got red apple and a hint of juicy satsuma -- and then the acridity returns once more for the finish. It became less shocking and difficult by the half way point, and I'm sure is absolutely as the brewer intended. It wasn't to my taste, however. The name implies New Zealand hops, though I couldn't find any specified in the marketing. My guess is one of the harsher sort has been used, smoothed out by the cask serve but still with a slightly nasty edge. I'm sure somebody is into that sort of thing.

Last year I wrote a bit about Mad Squirrel, having happened across their pub in Watford. They, too, are now on the Wetherspoon roster, with kegged Big Sea getting some point-of-sale promotion. I'm in for a half. It's billed as a West Coast IPA but is distinctly murked, pale yellow and opaque like a Vermont fog (I assume). The aroma doesn't give much away, and the texture is surprisingly thin for 5.5% ABV. There's a broad lemon-zest flavour, followed by a hint of New England IPA's vanilla sweetness. They combine in the finish to leave a kind of citrus chew-sweet aftertaste. I strongly suspect that this has been brewed for the price point (€5.50 the pint on Abbey Street): it has the framework for dramatic hop pyrotechnics but doesn't deliver more than, well, a damp squib. Big Sea looks to have replaced BrewDog's Planet Pale, and that's a step down in flavour, to my mind.

Cask porter is best in show, then. Not a major upset on this blog.

Sunshine from the Garden

A couple of weeks ago I attended the first launch event for Irish beer in 2024: a tap takeover in UnderDog by Wicklow Wolf, presenting two new additions to its core range. On a dismal winter's evening, both had a promise of summer about them.

I mean, one of them self-describes as "tropical" and is called Solstice. I'm reasonably sure it's not the winter solstice to which it refers. It also describes itself as "sour", is 4% ABV, and a surprising clear golden colour. Nothing makes me feel more like a florid gentleman in a 19th century novel than praising the clarity of a beer, but credit where it's due. The tropical side of the equation is not the subtle kind, its aroma absolutely blasting out a generic mix of sweetly exotic fruits. A similar mélange presents on tasting, starting with fruit salad and adding coconut, banana fritters, green tea and a short twist of pepper. There's a certain dry tang in the background but it's not sour, though nor is it syrupy. I appreciated the overall loud brashness of it, but it is still a bit of a mess, not committing to any real flavour, just a generous pour from the big tub labelled "tropical". The intensity does limit its power to refresh, I think, though I'm prepared to come back to it when the weather is better suited.

Its fraternal twin is a hazy IPA called Sugarloaf. A small detail, but it's a bit strange that they haven't called it a "session IPA", or even just a "pale ale" when it's only 4.3% ABV. The brewery already has 5.6% Tundra as a hazy IPA in the core line up and I don't know if this is meant to be complementary to that, or replacing it. The low strength is certainly apparent in the thin mouthfeel, where it does have some level of New England fluff, but dialled back considerably. In the flavour we find a central theme of orange juice plus an added mild pith bitterness. This gives it balance, although I'm not sure something so slight and unobtrusive needs to worry about balance. It's very sessionable, bordering on forgettable. This isn't the first Wicklow Wolf beer that I would consider a safe option if I saw it on tap in a place with nothing else worth drinking; it's no show-stopper in and of itself, however.

Neither beer represents Wicklow Wolf at its best, but then dark beer is where it excels, so that's not surprising. I suspect they're efforts at giving the drinking public what they want, and I can't quibble with that, even if neither will be a regular go-to for me.

Sneaky phonecall

En Stoemlings of Brussels has been on a journey since I visited their miniscule first brewery in 2015, the latest news being the closure of their full-sized production facility and reversion to contract brewing. In between, they managed to push one of my particular ticking buttons with a beer exclusively made for and sold at Brussels airport. It's called +32, after the dialling code for Belgium, is 6.5% ABV and of no stated style. Oh, I do like a challenge.

From the strength, I lazily assumed it would be a blonde ale, but it's more amber coloured. There's a spritz of fruity hops in the aroma and a hint of toffee crystal malt so I think we're into Belgian IPA territory. It's light-bodied and very fizzy. There's no big hop explosion, but that's very much in keeping with Belgian takes on Belgian-style IPA. Instead it's a dry tannic tang and a twist of grapefruit peel. Anyone in search of rounded and warming Belgian esters will be disappointed. I found it a bit severe, stripping my tooth enamel before curdling in my stomach. The finish is a very unBelgian mix of water and fizz.

It's not great: over-attenuated, unsure of what it's meant to be, and seems to be trying some sort of modern edge rather than cuddly Belgian comfort. But I bought it and am now hundreds of miles away from the complaints department. You win this round, Brussels airport.

Bavarians at the gate

Every once in a while I happen across a well-known classic beer which, inexplicably, I've never taken the time to try. I blame the absence of Augustiner Heller Bock in my repertoire on the excellence of the brewery's other beers. Why would I ever need to switch from Helles, Edelstoff, Oktoberfest or Maximator? It's a poor excuse. Time to get this bottle open.

It's no lightweight at 7.5% ABV and I feared a cloying syrupiness. It looked worryingly dense as it poured too, finishing a dark orangey shade of golden. The aroma does have a little syrup going on, but there's a promise of cool crispness and fresh damp grass as coolant. The texture is as heavy as one might expect from the strength, however, and there's a rising malt stickiness which isn't as severe as I feared, but is still along the same lines. The hop side is herbal and savoury -- spinach and kale -- which doesn't do much to counterbalance the malt. I guess this is a good example of the style, but it's a style I tend to avoid, and here's a reminder why that is.

While I was buying this in the Fresh supermarket in Smithfield, I picked up a few other Bavarian bottles which took my fancy.

Andechs, like Augustiner, is another giant of the greater Munich area. I've had a few of theirs before, but I don't think Andechs Spezial Hell has crossed my path. Spezial is one of those well-defined categories of German beer that never really got appropriated into a "style" by the anglophone beer world, existing too close to the likes of Helles and Märzen, I guess. This is 5.9% ABV, bright golden and with a steady stream of fine bubbles: pure class in a glass, essentially. A vague breadiness is all that the aroma offers, and I thought the flavour would make up for that, but it's very bland. A heavy spongecake texture, fluffy to the point of chewy, is about the most interesting feature. The taste gives me the dry carbonic fizz and a certain generic cereal malt sweetness, but no more than that. There's no balancing breadcrust or grass, and no intriguing yet accessible depths. While it's pretty easy to get through given the strength, it has little to say for itself along the way. I'm underwhelmed, overall, and thought better of this outfit.

A total randomer to follow that. I had never heard of Flötzinger, nor seen their beer in Germany, but there are a couple of them around Ireland at the moment. I picked Flötzinger Weis'n-Märzen, so another strong golden lager, then: this one at 5.8% ABV. It's a bit dusty-looking in the glass, not the usual brilliant gold. It's a little on the light side too, lacking any of the chewiness I associate with good Festbier or Märzen. There's the right sort of bready heft to the flavour, plus a spoonful of golden syrup for good measure, but really it could do with more of everything. If I'm drinking a lager at this strength, I want to feel it. Letting it warm up doesn't help. It just becomes estery, adding unwelcome apple and apricot. I fear this just isn't an especially good beer. It was the only one of the set under €4, and I guess that shows sometimes you get what you pay for.

It's back to the known quantities of greater Munich brewing to finish, and Ayinger, whose Lager Hell is another beer I have inexplicably never drank. It's very hell indeed, looking a little watery, in fact, though the ABV is only a little low for Helles at 4.9%. They haven't skimped on the aroma hops either, and there's a beautiful meadowy floral waft. Texturewise it's perfect, leaning into the malt's smoothness as a key feature, and sprinkling that with a flaky-pastry sweetness and more of the flower effect from the hops. There isn't much else to build a review around, and one could argue that it's a bit bland, but one would be wrong to do so. The term I would use is "magnificently drinkble", slipping down with indecent ease leaving an empty glass and an instant desire for more. Buying one bottle is terribly unGerman and not something I recommend.

Trust the establishment, seems to be the lesson of these four. Andechs, Augustiner and Ayinger may have some not-brilliant beers on the periphery, but their core product cannot be argued with.

Always Christmas and never winter

The Scandinavians provide today's beers, both Christmas specials which were still haunting the fridges at Stephen Street News in January.

The first is a Vienna lager from To Øl called Crispy Christmas. It's the right shade of coppery amber, although with a degree of craft haze as well. The aroma has a significant hop quotient, grassy and noble, with only a token level of crisp biscuit malt behind. That's not how the flavour goes, oddly. There's an unwelome sour tang which I wasn't expecting, and although it's predominantly dry, there's quite a pronounced strawberry and cherry tang. These strange elements aren't around for long and it finishes with a rasp of roasted grain. This meets the basic requirements of a Vienna lager, I think, but isn't an especially good one. I'm not sure what made them pitch this for Christmas, only that it's a time of year when drinkers are perhaps a little less fussy.

From Denmark to Norway, and a tall can by Lervig, filled with Hoppy Holiday Haze, a milkshake pale ale -- remember those? The haze isn't excessive, it's a pale yellow and quite translucent, with a fine white foam on top. It smells spritzy, of lemon zest and lemon curd, and the texture is light, suggesting an ABV even lower than its 4.7%. The flavour continues the zesty theme, adding an even sharper kick of lime to the lemon. There's a little bit of vanilla, but nowhere near the level of sweetness typical of this style, nor any cloying stickiness. In fact, it's delightfully sparkly, the fizz suiting the citric taste rather well. Again, I have no idea why they thought this would be Christmassy, but I would have no problem using it as a palate-cleanser on the big day. 

Another disappointment from To Øl here, but it was nice to find a new quality product from Lervig.