Two cans of deer

Last October I provided a rundown of a selection of craft-ish beers from Canadian lager giant Moosehead. Turns out there were more. To catch you up:

Small Batch Hoppy Light Lager tells you exactly what it thinks it is, although it's a rich amber colour, not the wan yellow of industrial light lager. 3.8% ABV is inarguably light. The flavour description is ambitious, proferring "tropical - citrus - pine". That translates in reality to a soft stonefruit flavour, so the pine is the first casualty and I'm not sure there's really a whole lot of citrus either. But I will grant it tropical, in that broad melon and peach kind of way. There's a malt contribution as well, bringing wholesome crunchy biscuit, and a smooth tannic tea quality with a little spark of gunpowder spice. It's far from spectacular, but for something promising to be no more than "light lager" it's very good. 

That mix of peaches and tea can also be found in Derek's Single Hop American IPA. Whoever designed the packaging did not understand the brief at all, because the titular single hop is not named on it: the kind of rookie mistake you might expect from an industrial lager brewery new to this sort of thing. It's a substantial 6.1% ABV, and while the light lager didn't taste weak, this doesn't taste so strong, the alcohol held well in check. It is sweeter, though, with the ice tea profile built up to more of a chewy fruit candy effect. While the other one is a superior example of its genre, this is rather lacklustre. It's missing any punchy bitterness and the fruit isn't fresh or zingy, and rather muted in general. I should add that, in contravention of labelling law, there was no best-before date on the can, so I have no idea how old the beer was -- not the first time I've had this problem with Moosehead. All told, it's inoffensive but unimpressive; perfectly drinkable but not near the high-end of IPA these days.

Whether there will be any more or not remains to be seen. The distributor has been very vocal on the Twitters about the problems thrown up by compliance with the can deposit return scheme. I'm guessing that requirement is actually being enforced, unlike the best-before one.

Pity purchase

Milkshake IPA is already an idea for something nobody wants; lactose-free milkshake IPA is doubling down on the ridiculousness. But that's what Dublin beershop Craft Central got together with Hungarian brewery HopTop to produce last year. Funky Munky is the result, released in the summer but still languishing in the bargain bin at under €2 a can. I decided to do my bit to help clear the stock.

It's 4.6% ABV and the lactose has been replaced by almond milk in the ingredients, which is listed next to vanilla extract and apricot purée. In the glass it's a kind of pale beige, topped with thick foam to begin with, though this doesn't last long. The aroma is worryingly sickly, with a sharp juice tang presented uncomfortably next to sweet fruit salad. The flavour is similar: quite curdling in the way the two competing sides butt up against each other. There's a certain amount of creamy milkiness about it too, though none of the smooth and sweet vanilla that you'd get in a real milkshake and which I'm guessing the vanilla extract was meant to bring.

This isn't good, even as a novelty beer. They've captured the IPA side of the picture, to an extent, but it really doesn't resemble a milkshake in any good way. I doubt it'll be missed when it's all gone.

In for a Penny

It's funny how branches of pub chain JD Wetherspoon develop personalities for themselves. Of the three in central Dublin, The Silver Penny, in the north inner city, isn't the biggest, but it always feels like the busiest, the loudest, the endless party on the verge of kicking off. None of that has anything to do with cask beer, and yet it's the one that does the most to put cask beers on. At festival time, it seems to give everything its turn, where the other two branches don't seem so committed. That's a long introduction to say that virtually everything I drank at the Spring 2024 JD Wetherspoon Beer Festival, I drank at the 'Penny.

First out of the box is Atlantic Red, from Theakston. I've always liked the dryness of this Yorkshire brewery's beers, especially tbe flagship bitter. This doesn't have that. It's a textbook example of the home-brewers' style guide observation that dark English ales may acceptably feature diacetyl. This deep mahogany one has loads, but it doesn't present as slick and sickly butter but warm and wholesome tartan-tin shortbread, with some Highland toffee and fudge to enhance the Scottish giftshop picture. A tiny spark of peppery spice hides in the background, suggesting the activity of one of those complex house yeasts that veteran brewers like this tend to use. Though only 4.3% ABV, it's nicely full-bodied and really took the chill off on a crisply cold early Spring day. There's no massive complexity on display, but it's good solid workmanlike drinking, about as good as red ale can get without drawing on the attributes of other styles.

Arriving simultaneously at The Silver Penny, Roasted Nuts from Rebellion in Buckinghamshire: one of their regulars but new to me. It's a pale brown, though badged as a bitter rather than a brown ale, despite the name. It's definitely a bitter. The texture is very thin for 4.6% ABV and the aroma sharp: a blackberry and damson twang. This intensifies on tasting, giving me a worrying vinegar note at first, but that settles. The tannins of very black tea form the base, and then the forest fruit arrives, tart and mouthwatering. Because of the texture the finish is quick, which makes it a bit of a damp squib. Worst of all, there's neither roastiness nor nuttiness, so the name is completely inappropriate. It's okay-ish, but if it's this thin and sharp when fresh, I don't want to think what it would be like with even a little age on it.

Round two brought Jersey's Liberation Brewing back to the pumps for the first time in a few years. The beer is Guernsey Street NYC, a pale ale with notions of Americana, though only 4.6% ABV. It's a dark-ish amber colour, looking convincingly like Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, and there's lemon in the aroma from the get-go, mixed in with sweeter cookie. No surprises that the flavour goes the same way. It's too malt-forward to be described as zingy, though there's a definite citrus quality: drizzle cake on a good day; household detergent on a bad one. The body is full, the texture smooth, and there's a very mild toffee chewiness. It's nicely balanced and very satisfying to drink: one of those beers where I struggle to get the words down before the glass empties, which is always a good sign.

The only one of this festival's international collaborations I found is Disco Macaw, another American-style pale ale. Repoint of Taiwan is the originating brewery, guesting at Shepherd Neame. At 4.5% ABV it's a similar strength to the above, though paler in colour: at the golden edge of amber. In keeping with my prejudices about the host brewery, there's very little American-tasting about it. I get a broad and rather dull jaffa orange flavour, while the aroma has a dusty staleness which I think has nothing to do with the beer's freshness but everything to do with the Shepherd Neame house yeast. There's nothing offensive about it; it's just a very average English bitter, not the exotic Taiwanese take on American pale ale being presented. It's easy-drinking and fully forgettable, and honestly I count that as a win where Shepherd Neame is concerned.

Onwards. Cairngorm is next, and Lairig Brew, a 4% ABV dark amber job which the brewery describes as a "classic Scottish bitter". I don't know how they expect this foreigner to understand what that means without a shilling value on it. It smells darkly maltish; the strawberry and plum you get from the better sort of Irish red. Not a coincidence. After two American-hopped beers, the foretaste was a bit of a shock. It seemed harshly bitter at first, a hard tang of zinc and bitumen. It doesn't fade, exactly, but you get used to it, and there's a softer caramel behind. No sign of that summer fruit, mind. I wanted to like it for the assertiveness but it doesn't have enough else going on, and tastes unbalanced and difficult as a result. Respect for giving the lie to traditional-style Scottish ale being all soft and sweet, but that doesn't make this a good example.

There was a non-festival interloper next to it, a JD Wetherspoon regular, Burton Bridge Stairway to Heaven. I'd never had it before, so fill me a half, barkeep. It's pale, moreso than I would have thought typical for a 5% ABV English bitter. I got a weird and unexpected rubbery note from the aroma, which turned into quite a nasty tennisball twang on tasting. I have no idea if this is deliberate or infected, but the lack of any redeeming features in the background suggests that it's how the beer is supposed to taste. Either way, I have little else to tell you: Maybe the rubber is the famed Burton snatch, sulphur presenting here, to me, as vulcanisation. Regardless, it's a big nope.

England's turn to provide a brown bitter gave me Ask Twice, from Moorhouse's. The name comes from a tie-in with a Yorkshire mental health charity, and it's that increasingly rare beast: a sub-4% cask ale, being 3.8% ABV. The aroma is simply and pleasantly plummy, and the texture very light. One could accuse it of being watery, but that wasn't a problem for me. I prefer to see it as thirst-quenching and sinkable, refreshing like a good cup of tea. The dark fruit -- raisin rather than plum -- hovers in the background, alongside an equally subdued milk chocolate element. I think this is one of those beers where you need to appreciate, and enjoy, just how subtle the genre can be. For me it was a classically good example of brown bitter, and perfectly pitched if its aim is to encourage conversation and social interaction.

 Next to it is 5G, celebrating five generations of family ownership at Bateman's of Lincolnshire. I'm a longtime fan of the brewery's work, though this is the first of theirs I've tried in the modern style of session IPA. Fuggles, Harlequin and Olicana are the hops and it's a pale amber colour. Unlike the last one, it is not subtle. The flavour gives the palate a sharp kick of lime flesh, backed by a softer concentrated white grape effect. The grape is even louder in the enticing aroma. It's an impressive result from all-English hops, and I would be guessing that one of the modern continentals like Hallertau Blanc was involved. The bitterness builds as it goes, turning a little harsh by the finish. It's only 4.2% ABV but I'm glad I had no more than a half pint to get through. Still, Bateman's reputation for making tasty and characterful beers remains intact.

London's Redemption brings a strong ale to the party: Magnus. It's a whopper at [checks notes] 5% ABV. Insert biannual grumble about these festivals not having any properly strong beer any more. The extra alcohol doesn't bring extra flavour, and it's quite plain. It's very English too, with tin and marmalade deriving from the Bramling Cross and First Gold hops. I expected more malt weight, maybe even some warmth, but it does not extend such courtesies to the drinker. As such it falls between the categories: too light to be a good strong ale, while lacking the subtle complexity of a bitter. If ever there was a case for boosting the gravity of a beer just for the sake of making it interesting, this featherweight is it.

Otter Dark went on shortly afterwards, a mild. This is 3.8% ABV and a dark brown colour, looking almost black but with telltale cola-coloured edges. It doesn't taste of a whole lot, which is not something I feel I can criticise a mild for. Delving deep into the flavour, there's a tangy damson tartness backed by a very light toasty roast. Everything around this is clean and simple, demanding nothing of the drinker's attention. I prefer mild to have a bit more character, but didn't mind how understated this one was. The style is meant for session sinking, and that's very much an option with this example. I would be very happy to find it as a regular in my local pubs.

A black IPA from Hook Norton? Seems unlikely, but I'll give it a go. Crafty Fox is the most terribly generic name for a beer from a Victorian English brewery that's trying to get down with the Gen X kids. The beer is a mere 4.4% ABV but is properly black. The aroma tells us from the off that they've got this right: a lovely waft of spiced red cabbage and freshly poured tar. Yum yum. That acidic hop punch is where the flavour starts, though it's a little softer than the aroma, suggesting a squeeze of lemon juice and a twist of grapefruit peel. A hint of coffee sits behind this, but that's a token complexity. Citrus rules here, and it fits the older spec for black IPA, where you wouldn't know it's a dark beer if you couldn't see it. That makes it slightly lacking in complexity, but I don't mind. The New World hop punch is great fun, and the beer's existence is justified on that alone. 

Oakham, a brewery much better known for its hop forward pale ales, had a stout on the roster, called Bite the Bullet. At 5% ABV, it's one of the stronger ones, and the texture certainly reflects that, being smooth and creamy, almost to the point of chewy. There's decent quantity of tarry roast at the centre of the flavour here, but they've also decided to accentuate the hops. That gives it a surprise bucolic character, all meadowy bowers of rosewater and lavender. Dare I opine that this is closer in character to black IPA than stout? It doesn't have the hop wallop of the Crafty Fox, but it expresses its freshly hopped nature nonetheless. Regardless, it's very tasty, and pretty much exactly how I would expect a stout from Oakham to taste.

The day after the festival ended I paid a quick visit to Keavan's Port where I caught the Titanic Chocolate & Vanilla Stout before it went. Its Plum Porter gives the brewery a good reputation for this sort of thing, and this one is rather good too. It's light at only 4.5% ABV and the sweet adjuncts have been added with some discretion. The aroma is pure milk chocolate, but there's more from the vanilla than the chocolate in its flavour, adding a dessertish note of blancmange or bread-and-butter pudding. A salt tang from the chocolate appears late, and the base stout is still present here too, low on roast but with a contrasting hop tang. It works rather well. I was expecting a full pint to be hard work, but they've kept drinkability in mind when designing it, and while I wouldn't exactly be rushing for another, it wouldn't be any sort of hardship.

Not a bad set, all told, particularly that late run of black ones. I liked the look of several on the menu I wasn't able to try, but them's the breaks. Until Autumn, then.

An assortment of foreigns

This is the final post from my recent trip to Vienna for the spring meeting of the European Beer Consumers Union. The meeting venue for the first day was Del Fabro Kolarik, a drinks importation and distribution company which has close ties to Vienna's Ottakringer. The company's ancestry also includes a spell as the local outpost of the Budvar brewery, not long after it was founded and when they were all part of the jolly Austro-Hungarian empire. Budvar is still a major feature of its portfolio, and for the meeting they kindly tapped up a keg of Budvar Nealko.

I went in a little conflicted: non-alcoholic lager rarely floats my boat, but this is Budvar. Could they pull it off? Yes and no. It is still a non-alcoholic lager with much in common with the other major brands at large. It's a bit too sweet and has an off-putting sticky wort taste. But there's also a little of the Budvar class: a solid poke of freshly grassy Saaz hops, which goes some way towards putting manners on the malt. If you absolutely must drink one of these, this is probably about as good as it gets. I wouldn't be about to trade over from the real thing, however.

The Swedes, normally such a cheery and upbeat nation, were in mourning for the Stockholm Brewing Company, which has apparently changed hands, and with it a change in ethos. Its more interesting beers are for the chop, including its take on geuze: Max Cuvée. A bottle had been brought along for one last outing. Its demise is a real shame, because this was absolutely on point, packed with the gunpowder spice which I particularly enjoy, and with an assertive sourness which veered towards vinegar but stayed on the good side of that line. I would be distraught if something this good disappeared from my local beer scene.

Not for the first time, the Polish delegates brought cans from Trzech Kumpli. New to me was Misty, one of their hazy IPAs, or "contemporary", as the brewery labels it. A very normal hazy yellow colour with lots of foam, the aroma is all about the vanilla and you have to wait for the hops. They arrive in the flavour. tasting appropriately fresh and zesty. It's a charmer, offering nothing that lots of other beers like this don't also have, but without any of the unpleasantness hanging on. It's very clean and there's no heat, presumably since it's only 5.5% ABV. For haze fans, I think it would be well suited as a fridge filler or go-to pub IPA, much like our own Ambush.

The most interesting bottles had been muled in by the Icelandic delegation: three bottles of spontaneously fermented ale bearing the maker's mark of Grugg & Makk.

First open was the 2020 vintage of Svörtuloft, a pale and hazy yellow beer of 4.7% ABV. There was a pleasant soft peach element here, suggesting that Icelandic microflora contains nothing more exotic than the good old Brettanomyces that you get everywhere else. The finish is dry and crisp. That was all well and good, but plonked in front of it, spoiling the vista, was a horrible phenolic twang, suggesting that there are either evil bugs in the Nordic air as well, or that something went wrong in the brewing or packaging. I would have been annoyed if I had paid whatever doubtless eye-watering price this goes for in Iceland. Fortunately there was also a bottle of the 2023 version of the same beer to hand, and it didn't have the same thing, giving the peach free rein and allowing also for a more subtle pear nuance. It was maybe a little sharp and vinegary, perhaps due to its youth, but overall was rather good.

Employing yeast from a different part of the island was Djúpalónssandur. I'm guessing the recipe was otherwise the same, because this was a very similar beer, and not infected. It maybe seemed a little drier and less fruity, with a snappy cracker centre, less of the ripe fruit gumminess and also no suggestion of vinegar, I'm happy to say. As such, it was more subtle, and more interesting to drink as a result. I still don't even want to imagine the price tag.

One last beer for completeness, back in the cosy cellar of Café Bendl, where I brought you for Puntigamer on Monday. It's a Heineken house, and also sells their Czech lager Starobrno. This puts in a workmanlike performance, far from the Republic's best, but with enough of the core elements to keep me happy: crisp grain husk and a little tea. The absence of decoction mashing's signature richness and the Czechs' favourite off-flavour, diacetyl, means it's probably deemed unacceptably bland by the discerning drinkers in its home country, but it did the job for me.

The trip wraps up there. I went in in the full knowledge that there's much more to drinking in Vienna than lager after lager (not that there's anything wrong with that) but I don't think I was expecting to find quite the varied range of taste experiences that I did. Stay curious, Austria.

Ott or not

Yesterday we were looking at some of Vienna's many breweries and that's where we pick up today. I don't know if Ottakringer is the largest of them, but it certainly seems to be the most prolific of the large ones, with a sizeable range of beers. A visit was supposed to be on the cards for this trip but the scheduling didn't work out. I still got to drink quite a bit of their beer.

Ottakringer Helles and Wiener Lager are ubiquitous around the city, but are far from their only pale lager offerings. I was intrigued by Sechzehn, also known as XVI when not in the yoof-coded, graffiti-clad, 33cl bottle. The brewery says "this is the urban beer, perfect for after work parties, nights at the club or bar hopping... the unique spirit of city life... suitable for any outfit". From that, I can't tell if it's pitched at children or ladies, but either way, it's not me, and I'm certain it's not meant to be poured into a glass and sipped. Tiresome branding aside, it's a Helles of 4.9% ABV, and a very well made one. There are no distinguishing features -- neither hops nor malt are particularly loud. And yet it's not dull. The pristine cleanness and silky smooth texture are reward enough, and the quick dry finish makes it quite moreish. I wish something of this quality had been around back when I was swigging from longnecks with twist-off caps.

Clearly, identifying a market niche then formulating a lager to fit it is the Ottakringer strategy. We had a short talk from a brewery representative who introduced us to a brand new beer, one which won't be on general release until next month. It seems the flagship Helles, at 5.2% ABV, is too strong for many a drinker today, and they need something lighter in the portfolio. So they've created this one at the radically different ABV of 4.7% and given it the stirring name Ottakringer Lager. Wow-wee! It is very basic, though does taste of more than the above, piling in the spinach-like noble hops. While the flavour profile matches that of a decent pilsner, the texture is definitely thin. I'm sure they're aiming for it to be sessionable; to me it was just too watery. If Viennese drinkers prefer this to simply drinking 10% less of the Helles then they're being silly.

And for the hippies there's Pur Bio, the organic lager. For what are I'm sure good reasons, this looked much paler than the norm, and a beautifully limpid yellow colour. There's a pleasant grassiness in the aroma but otherwise it has little to say. Blandness is its personality, tasting of cream crackers and white bread. As is often the case with beers which wear their organic credentials up front, you have to enjoy it on that worthy level rather than for any sensory characteristics.

That muddy red job beside it is from Ottakringer's BrauWerk range. I'm told that this is a whole separate microbrewing kit situated within the main brewery, as every brewing giant seems to have these days, as if the size and inefficiency of small-batch brewing is an important thing for consumers. The beer is a session IPA named Big Easy. While it looks absolutely awful, the aroma brought a happy surprise of fresh and zesty citrus. A soft texture suggests that we're in the New England style zone, though the flavour has at least a modicum of bitterness: sherbet lemons and an orangeade tang. Only as it warms does the murk get shirty, imparting an unwelcome meaty savouriness. Overall, though, this has bags of character for only 4.3% ABV. Maybe there's something to the small-batch inefficiency after all. What else do they have?

High Five is an American-style pale ale of 5% ABV and a hazy golden hue. Again, the bitter side is dialled back allowing fruit and flowers to dominate. The aroma is fabulously colourful, presenting sprays of jasmine and honeysuckle. Its flavour is soft and slightly tropical, where I detected ripe melon and apricot. A twist of lemon rind is all that's needed to balance it at the finish. It's simple, straightforward and very classy. I have a strong appreciation of when big breweries, especially precision-oriented Germanic lager specialists, try their hands at New World ales. The results often show the best of both worlds, and this is definitely one of those. It would suck to be a genuinely small brewery trying to compete with this quality of pale ale.

Of course, any fool can brew a successful hopped-up pale ale; I know this because I've managed it myself. Something more ambitious follows: Red Impact, BrauWerk's take on Flanders red ale. It looks the part, a clear yet rich burgundy red, though the ABV seems a little overclocked at 7.5%. It all goes completely up the left with the flavour. Whoever was in charge of adding the essential bugs and wild yeast must have got cold feet about introducing them to a sterile Austrian brewing facility because there's no sourness here to speak of. Without that, it ends up tasting like old-fashioned hard candy: cola cubes and rhubarb-and-custards. There's a certain amount of summer fruit to it, but not the sharp cherry the style demands. An unpleasant plastic or wax aftertaste derives from who-knows-where, but nowhere nice. I wouldn't deem it nasty as such, overall, and a high proportion of my displeasure comes from the fact that I love Rodenbach and this tastes as far away from it as, well, Vienna is from Roeselare. Still, not a recommendation, unless you like your red ales big and sweet and sweaty, you pervert.

Topping off the BrauWerk selection, Black & Proud, a name I'm not entirely comfortable with for an Austrian beer. It's a porter, and a deep brown colour, rather than pure black. I guess it shoudn't have been surprising to have found common ground here with Baltic porter -- Ottakringer is very much a lager brewery, after all -- though this makes no claims to Balticness and is only 5.6% ABV. The aroma is highly herbal, with aniseed in the ascendant. The flavour goes full liquorice, with added dark rye bread and and darker chocolate. As such it's very serious and grown up, with not a trace of candy or cream. The carbonation is low, though I still wouldn't class it as easy drinking. It's very much a beer to take time over, and doing so was a very satisfying experience, even when the measure was a mere 33cl.

That's all from Ottakringer's take on craft beer and, Flanders red aside, they're a good bunch and a positive addition to the Viennese beer scene. For proper craft, Vienna has Brew Age, and my hosts told me it's one of the longest-established brewers of non-traditional beers in the area, beginning in 2014. I had been impressed by their filthy-looking but clean-tasting Alphatier IPA on my visit to the city last year, and on a late-night visit to the beer café Die Freunderlwirtschaft I got to see how they manage with oh-so-traditional Helles.

Brew Age Helles is pretty much on the money, with nothing either off or spectacular about it. The middle is all fresh and fluffy white bread, turning to drier waterbiscuit at the edges and seasoned with a touch of celery greenness from the hops. That's all fine and palateable, and the ABV is only 4.8%. The product development boffins at Ottakringer could learn a thing or two from it.

Perhaps the best place to sample Brew Age beers is at Actundzwanzig, a small bar which doesn't claim to be formally affiliated to the brewery but seems to serve its beer almost exclusively. My first here was Raging Heisl, a collaboration with the Bavarian brewer Yankee & Kraut, one of a whole series. This one is a double IPA, and with only 7.7% ABV I thought it would be a lightweight, but it's not. It is exceedingly dense, the mouthfeel matching the foggy colour, and decidedly hot as well. It uses this powerful gravity to pump out vanilla custard and lots of sweet fruit salad ingredients like pineapple and and red apple slices. I wasn't sure at first but soon found myself enjoying it, mostly because the usual hazy IPA off flavours are largely absent. I felt like I got away with something. Still, a powerhouse beer like this means careful consideration for what to drink next. Is that an eisbock I see on the menu?

Eisknacker (lol) is essentially a barley wine, distilled to 11.6% ABV. It's a dark mahogany colour, and if there was any hop character in the base beer, that's been evaporated off with the excess water. What's left, to me, tastes a bit like a quadrupel, only without the warming Belgian esters. There's a backbone of bready fruitcake, strong on raisins, with prune and damson elements for good measure. It's not barrel aged but still manages a strong oaky dimension, thick with strong-tea tannins. That makes it oddly dry, rather than hot, something which helps keep it drinkable but I'm not sure a beer like this ought to be. I would have liked more bang for my buck: some of the bold belly-warming, gut-coating complexity that makes very strong beer worthwhile. Eisknacker is undramatic and, franky, a bit boring. Time to move on.

Back at Die Freunderlwirtschaft, they had an intriguing item on the draught menu board, called Honig Lavendez, from the Zaungast brewery in Vienna. It's a wheat beer with, as the name tells us, honey and lavender. It's a clear yellow colour and has a very clean and simple base, very much in the blonde ale style, eschewing any of the yeast-derived complexities of wheat beer as brewed in Bavaria or Belgium. That's to leave room for the titular ingredients, and they're not shy. Combined, they bring a strong floral element which is sweet, though a little artificial. I got a certain note of fabric softener, although more in a washed-laundry sense than the raw liquid. It works surprisingly well: a novelty beer, but one that has been thought out and expertly put together for the drinker's benefit. It was closing on midnight after a very long day but it still gave me sunny al freso drinking vibes. Fair play.

Our group was given a brief introduction to the beers from another small Viennese outfit, the gypsy brewer RODAUNer. That began with Strizzi, local slang for a young gadabout, and it's a Vienna lager. Or claims to be -- who am I to argue? I can say, however, that I didn't really like it. Vienna lager's should be smooth and rich, with at least a little malt sweetness. This was very pale and pointy, with a strong acrid dryness, tasting musty and dusty. My noble-hop aversion usually isn't a problem with the style, but I was getting overboiled cabbage from the hop side here. Drinking a small sample while on a historic tram ride is probably not the ideal circumstance in which to evaluate a beer's merits or otherwise, but I feel I got enough of an impression from this one to justify my disapproval.

Next out of the cooler box from the same brewer was Schani, referencing the outdoor tables of Viennese cafés: the super-local branding of the range is a nice touch. This golden ale was far superior to their lager. Apparently it's all done with Saaz hops but I got a strong new-world character from it, softly sweet, with a gentle mix of mango and apricot. The strength is a most un-local 4.2% ABV and yet the body is beautifully rounded and full. I could drink a lot of it, which might explain why, some hours later, I could be found enjoying another bottle in the park beside the Rathaus, served from a handtruck in the company of the RODAUNer sales guy, a Dane, a Finn and a lad from Carlow. Good beer, good times.

Two final lagers to finish this post, the first in the more civilised surrounds of The Long Hall Irish pub. Saphir Pils is by Zwettler, based in the north, near the Czech border. I was tempted by the promise of exotic, modern German hops, but this didn't really deliver. The bitterness is there, in spades. In fact it was all rather severe, the green acidity meeting a powerfully dry astringency that I could almost feel squeaking on my teeth. Yes, it's a pils, so I wasn't expecting it to be cuddly, but there's a serious lack of charm here, and absolutely none of the mandarin or spice that the Saphir salesmen told me I could expect.

Next we found ourselves in a rather more raucous Irish hostelry, the basement Bogside Inn. I could have had O'Hara's Stout from the repurposed Murphy's tap but stayed Austrian with Schremser Zwickl. I don't have much to say about it, however. Though not fined, it's fine: some breadcrust, a hint of honey, medium body, medium carbonation, medium enjoyment. I'm sure the pub didn't choose to stock it for any weird or way-out attributes, beyond the haze. My palate wasn't in great shape by this point anyway.

It was an international beer meeting, so of course some international beer featured, both formally imported and suitcased over by other delegates. That's for the next post.

Viennagain

It felt like I had only just left Vienna, having last been a little over a year ago. The spring meeting of the European Beer Consumers Union had me back in early March, and it's just as well it's a city that keeps on giving, beerwise. I'll get to the new bars and breweries anon, but there was time at the beginning of the trip for a leisurely return to some old haunts.

Ubiquitous brewkit manufacturer Salm's city brewpub had been explored in 2011, when I found it no great shakes in the beer stakes. It was the first port of call, and it was interesting to see how little the beer menu has changed. Experimentation does not seem to be valued by the Good Bürghers of Salm. There was a seasonal, though: Osterbock, what with Easter only around the corner. Though a sizeable 6.5% ABV, it's as mediocre as most of their other beers. It's a pale and murky brown shade and for all that it's meant to be celebratory, tastes rather austere, of brown bread, black tea, and similar institutional flavours. There are noble hops, but they're twangy and acidic, not grassy or green. There aren't any off flavours or problems from the haze, though I count the rapid finish as a bit of a flaw. As it was my first beer I was looking for some welcoming complexity. Salm isn't the place to seek that.

The evening closed out at my Vienna regular, and a candidate venue for sprinkling my ashes in the drip trays: 7 Stern. Here, the beer list also changes little, yet amazingly there are regulars I haven't yet reviewed. 7 Stern Märzen is one of them. It's interesting in a nerdy way because the menu says it's a Dreher-inspired Vienna lager, and all good students of the infallible Beer Judge Certification Programme know that a beer cannot be both a Märzen and a Vienna lager. You would think the owners would know the basics after 30 years of brewing in central Vienna. It's Märzen strength at 5.1% ABV, but dark too, resembling the smoky Bamberg ones in appearance. To taste, though, it's definitely a Vienna lager, packed with crunchy bourbon biscuit made up of cocoa powder and brown sugar, then adding in the fresh and leafy effects of the hops, all raw spinach and lamb's lettuce. Frankly, whichever of the two styles you're after, it meets the requirements of both, and is just very good, thoroughly unfussy, high quality drinking. This was a proper welcome to the city.

With time for another, I was back on bock. I don't think I realised that 7 Stern Bock was a pale one when I ordered it, but I was concerned when that's what arrived. These are generally too hot and harsh for me. Thankfully, this one wasn't like that. Golden and hazy, the flavour centres on a fluffy, super-fresh baguette breadiness, leaving the hops to a mere seasoning of background lawn clippings. That escalates in the finish, becoming a hint of tin, but at no point did any aspect become problematic for my bock-sceptic palate. It's simple, but packed with class, covering a lot of the ground one might expect from a Helles. Bock purists may complain about its understatedness; it suited me down to the cellar, however.

My new brewpub for the weekend -- throw a stone in Vienna and you'll hit one -- was Beaver Brewing, a small and pleasant little L-shaped bar at a busy traffic intersection. It offered a solid cross-section of craftonian styles, meaning I began with...

... black IPA, of course. I'm guessing they're hinting at Irishness with the name, Wandering Aengus, and a high proportion of the flavour was given over to stout-like roast. But it was also hopped with Citra, Mosaic, Sabro and Simcoe, and those Americans weren't here to play. Simcoe in particular brought its dankly resinous charms to the affair, resulting in a very powerful hop bitterness, which was needed to balance the dark grain. I use the word "balance" loosely here: there was nothing subtle or nuanced about it, just big roast and loud hops roaring along together. I loved it.

As a comedown I went for the 3.7% ABV gose next, called Passion. You won't be surprised to learn it contains passionfruit, as everything must now, even in Austria. The most interesting thing about this one was the deep amber colour. Beyond that it's very basic, with a simple syrupy sweetness and loaded with the taste of passionfruit concentrate. Nether the sourness nor the briney salt of proper gose feature at all. It's not even particularly refreshing, though is drinkable and inoffensive. I'm sure there's a fanbase for beers like this. What else explains how many of them there are around?

We get some quality punnage with Ides of Märzen, and it's a quality beer. I think I detected an certain American influence here: it's dark-coloured and heavy, in the way that American breweries tend to think Oktoberfestbier ought to be. Thankfully it lacks the cloying sweetness of those ones and instead is quite dry and woody in the aroma, leading on to lots of out-of-character roast and a strong bitterness from the Germanic hops. By way of complexity, there's a soft and fun strawberry element as well. All of it blends together well, creating a very süffig lager, chewy and satisfying, punching above its weight at only 5.5% ABV.

I'm not sure if having west coast IPA on the menu should be considered retro or cutting edge, but they had one, and it was delicious. This is Sunny Day, which is a light and frothy name for a seriously dense and funky hop bomb. The hop roll call includes Centennial, Citra, Idaho 7, Mosaic and Sabro. The subtler tropical ones get completely drowned out leaving us with bags of damp pine and dank nuggs. The only thing I can ding it on is the strength, and it's not really a criticism to say that something which tastes like 7% ABV or more is a mere 5.8%. I guess that gives it a certain lightness of touch and makes it easier drinking than it would otherwise be. Whatever the details, this is west coast as it should be.

My one for the road here, perhaps appropriately, was Loneliest Monk. This is a tripel, 8.4% ABV and clear and amber, making it darker than I thought tripel should be. The sweet candy aroma is all that really tells you how strong it is; I didn't get any alcoholic burn on tasting. Instead it's clean and dry, and frankly a bit boring, in the way a powerhouse Belgian-style ale shouldn't be. Maybe this is what happens when central European precision gets its hands on the spec. There's a touch of clove but that's about as complex as it gets. It's good that they have a nightcap-appropriate strong beer on the menu, but I would have preferred a more interesting one.

In general, Beaver Brewing has some lovely stuff on offer and is well worth a visit if you're in the area.

From the small breweries to the very big one. Heineken owns the Schwechater brewery out near the airport. A foundation date of 1632 is one of its claims to fame (you can do your own research on that one), the other being that this was the workplace of Anton Dreher, the inventor of Vienna lager. They've even pasted his face on a grain silo -- quite the honour. Today it's spread across quite a low-density set of non-descript buildings, where there once stood maltings, a cooperage and all the other fun old-timey brewery stuff. There's a small public restaurant and beer garden on site too.

So proud of Dreher's achievements were his heirs that they ceased brewing Vienna lager for decades, only bringing it back in 2016 when they noticed that beer nerds were paying attention to the history and had money to spend. It was accordingly revived, and packaged in an admittedly beautiful long-neck green glass bottle.

For all that it's a meaningful beer, Schwechater Wiener Lager is still a Heineken beer, and as such doesn't taste of a whole lot. It's a lovely chestnut red colour, mind, yet not heavy or strongly malt sweet. Instead it's dry and very clean, with only a hint of roast and tangy metal in the finish. While I had a lot of time for its honest unfussiness, and would be perfectly happy to chomp through a few of those bottles of an evening, there are much better Vienna lagers even in Vienna. Heineken's belated attempt to reclaim the style as their own is a bit cheeky, and not terribly well served by the product.

Not all the green bottles are used for that beer. There's also a similarly anachronistic-looking Schwechater Zwickl. This is an especially hazy example, a foggy yellow shade, conjuring unpleasant dreggy images. Thankfully it tastes much cleaner than it looks, though also has lots of rough and rustic character: crisp grain husk and dry sackcloth. A rich golden syrup element makes me think of decoction-mashed Czech lager, and there's an understated but nonetheless present tang of noble hops. Obviously they're trying to conjure an old fashioned vibe with this one, and I think it's more successful, the beer tasting less processed and sterile.

Over at the restaurant, my lunch began with Hopfenperle, the brewery's draught-only flagship pils. It's no lightweight at 5% ABV, and uses that to show off a beautiful creamy texture of the sort I associate most with the sublime Herren Pils from Bamberg's Keesmann. The flavour broadly hits all the style points of pilsner, with a bit of grassy hop and lots of dry crispness. It does so without any real enthusiasm, however, being another beer where the result is doubtless precision engineered, but not to be interesting or exciting. I would describe it as "vanilla" if brewers who ought to know better weren't putting actual vanilla in their beers.

Heineken's Austrian footprint includes several other large breweries which they inexplicably haven't closed yet, grouped together under the Brau Union brand. One is Wieselburg, in the town of the same name. As well as Wieselburger beer, it also has several under the Kaiser brand, including the interesting looking Kaiser Doppelmalz. A tablemate helpfully explained how malzbier is the region's dark and alcohol-free unfermented "beer", so doppelmalz means you get a modest amount of alcohol -- 4.7% ABV -- even though two times zero is zero. This is indeed a dark red-brown and smells of both sweetness and roast, like molasses or treacle. While it's sweet to taste, it is a proper beer, and doesn't taste saturated in unfermented sugar. The burnt edge helps dry it out, and gives it a certain bitterness. This isn't too far away from the Munich Dunkel style, though it's missing that one's hop character. On a menu of bland industrial lagers, this stood out as the most characterful option available. I could drink several.

Another brewery in the chain is Puntigamer, and from the discarded cans in the bins on the packing line at Schwechater, they had recently finished canning a batch of it. I liked the stately blue branding and ordered a pint of it when I saw it on draught in Café Bendl, a gorgeously unspoiled brown basement bar where it looks like the last smoker only just left and there's a clear and present danger of one of the customers striking up an accordian. The beer is rather less charming. Almost a week later I don't really remember how it tasted, but my notebook claims it's "like vomiting candyfloss". So, sweet and acidic, then. I have also deemed it clean and inoffensive, so make of that what you will. I drank two of them so it couldn't have been that bad.

That's a cheery note to wrap things up on for today. We'll go back to the independent brewers next, with another ragtag assortment of solidly traditional lagers and the sort of pseudo-American craft beer you get everywhere. And most of that will come from the same enormous Vienna brewery.

I'd rather dye

Time was, we used to scoff at the green beer phenomenon that foreign types, Americans especially, seemed to indulge in on St Patrick's Day. You wouldn't get that sort of nonsense here, and especially not in the microbrewed sector. That came to an end about 15 years ago when Dublin's then top beer bar, the Bull & Castle, began squirting food colouring into half litre mugs of Blarney Blonde. These days, it seems that The White Hag have claimed the green beer genre to themselves, with a disturbing number of verdant novelties on their logs.

For 2024 it's The Serpent. We should give thanks that it's not one of their sticky syrupy jobs, even though it looks like one: a luminous, Fairy Liquid, shade of green. In fact it's a pretty simple pale ale of 4.5% ABV. Motueka and Nelson Sauvin hops have been used, and while they're not in there by the bucketload, there's enough to give the beer a distinctive background flavour of eucalyptus and pine. I don't know if this recipe exists without the colouring but it would be worth a go if not.

Here ends your special coverage of St Patrick's Day from Dublin. Nonsense of the regularly scheduled kind returns tomorrow.

A reawakening

"Here at Galway Hooker, we are always innovating with new brews and new ideas." Well, no. Since the brewery became part of the Connacht Hospitality Group in 2022 they've stuck resolutely to their core range while furiously rebadging them as house beers for pubs around the country. But it looks like that might be changing, with two new special edition beers arriving last month.

Galway Girl is a bit of a route-one name for a beer from a Galway brewery, but maybe it'll help shift some units. It looks route-one too: a medium hazy orange, allowing a little more light through than the best of these do, suggesting it belongs with those examples made by breweries whose hearts aren't really in the style. Still, it smells bright, fresh and clean, of mandarin and satsuma. The flavour is not to style, and is delightful. Those fresh little orange citrus fellows are back, bringing a cleansing bitterness and a little resinous spice: not very east-coast but who cares? I got a tiny kick of dregginess in the finish, but it's barely noticeable, plus a not unwelcome spark of fried onion. The texture is light for 5.2% ABV, though not thin by any means. The brewery's ownership may have changed, but it seems they've kept the old Galway Hooker talent for balance and drinkability.

The companion piece is in a style much more to my taste: Baltic Porter. Wild Sea Swimmers is 7% ABV and does a reasonably good job of things, smelling bitter and herbal, all aniseed and warm red cabbage. I detected a very slight sourness too, but nothing off-putting. It unfolds in several different directions on tasting, incorporating soft and comforting cocoa, invigorating espresso, floral rosewater, treacle, toffee, cola and a greener vegetal bitterness than the aroma suggested. While it's as busy as it sounds, it's tasty too, the different aspects queuing politely and taking turns. I'm impressed by how close to continental Baltic porter it tastes, for a brewery that's never made one before. 

A sign of good things to come from the veteran Oranmore brewery. Shame about the 2007-vintage distressed lettering.