The international scene

I mentioned earlier this week that beer in Norwich tends to be predominantly local, or at least British, which is fair enough: that's what I went there to explore. A few imports did happen my way, however.

One of them, admittedly, was muled over by the Swedish delegates and shared at a lunch. This is Wit Impériale by Smedsbo Slott, about whom I know nothing and have nothing to tell you. I really should have asked one of the Swedes. I don't normally approve of messing with the basics of witbier -- good rarely comes of it. I thought at first that this was another poorly devised act of "creativity", it being 13% ABV. "A blueish tone and a scent of mushrooms" goes the brewery's official description, unhelpfully. It's definitely amber, not blue, and I didn't get any mushroom. My first impression from the aroma was that it's a hot mess, densely packed with solvent notes, ready to burn any body part placed near it. When I braved a sip, however, I found it rather more enjoyable, giving a rather jolly flavour of stewed apple and a brush of caramelised sugar. It's a long way from witbier as it is commonly constructed, but it works as a shareable sipping beer, perhaps best suited to a Swedish winter.

Hitachino Nest beer seems to have vanished from Ireland again, which is a shame. I spotted one of the range I'd never had before in the pub fridge at The White Lion, where they keep a modest but well-chosen selection of foreign beers. This is Saison du Japon, ostensibly their take on Belgian saison but using malted sake rice. That sounds intriguing but it turned out rather plain: 5% ABV and with pleasant enough notes of baked pear, but not much else. Saison should have something more interesting going on, be it farmyard earthiness or exotic spicing. This does none of that, staying reticent and respectful, like a Japanese stereotype.

Finally, at Bier Draak, I spotted a bottle in the fridge which I have been meaning to get onto this blog since it became a cult beer a couple of years ago. I'm reasonably sure that a friend from Maine brought me some Allagash White a few years before this blog started, but I had no memory of how it tasted, nor any idea why it's suddenly so popular. Now I have one of the two answers. I mean, it's a good beer. What I liked most was the smoothness: it really slips back silkily in a way that encourages serial quaffing. There are no sharp edges; none of the spikes of coriander spice or citric zest that add character to its Belgian counterparts. There's a pleasant element of candied lemon in the flavour but I got little complexity beyond that. It's not a beer for complexity, though, being more about the feels than the taste. I understand the attraction of something which places few demands on your attention and offers no challenges to your palate. Creating that without turning out something bland is an impressive feat.

Three beers from three continents, but all derived from recipes that originated in Belgium. That little country still holds an important place in the world of contemporary beer.