Get down

It's hard to beat a bit of sunshine and warmth in the midst of the winter gloom. Last month's New Year jaunt certainly provided that, with a week or so in sunny, and rainy, but most of all warm, São Paulo, Brazil's largest city. It's a city that sprawls like few others, so I'm definitely not in a position to provide you with a guide to the best beer places. This week's posts are just about what I drank, and most of that came from the supermarkets. I did get to a handful of bars, however.

Just around the corner from where I was staying, and a stone's throw from Paulista, the city's grand main boulevard, was a small and bustling open-fronted restaurant and bar called Asterix, specialising in beers from local outfits.

For the first round, that's me in the middle, with Evertreze Stout, a 4% ABV version by Everbrew. This guy goes heavy on the coffee: oily and nutty, with only a little dry roast on the end. The bitterness gets no more intense than a thin sprinkling of dark chocolate. Still it works rather well. They weren't serving it nitrogenated, but it retains a beautifully smooth texture, which is especially impressive given the strength.

And that's Evertreze Red on the left of the picture. This is stronger, at 5.1% ABV, and is a slightly murky shade of copper. They've kept the flavour cleaner than I expected, with nothing dreggy or hot going on. Instead there's a brief and perfunctory offering of toffee and cherry, before a quick finish. Foreign takes on red ale are usually more interesting than this, but if the aim was to capture the quintessential dullness of most Irish examples, then I think they've nailed it quite well. It's not a patch on their stout, however.

And to the right we have Citra Blast, from one of Brazilian's better-known breweries (ie I had heard of it): Dogma. The name writes a big cheque but the beer can cash it, the clear and innocent gold hiding a huge punchy slap of lime-rind bitterness right from the start of the flavour. And it continues all the way through, almost burningly citric, concentrated like a cordial or sorbet. I found it invigorating and fun, with a zingy freshness as well as a more serious dank and oily side. At 6.4% ABV it's perhaps not really made for session drinking, but I could see how it could become one's regular IPA.

I stuck with stout in the next round, and another brewery whose beers I'd had before: Trilha. Their Oyster Stout is 10.2 % ABV and extremely thick. I can't say I got any oyster from it, nor even the slightest salinity. Instead it's a very dessertish beast, tasting mostly like a heavy Turkish coffee: molasses-sweet, and with a supporting cast of spices, flowers and herbs. A harder roasted bitterness arrives in the finish, and makes an already slow-drinker into something you really need to take time over. I enjoyed it for all that: a well-made big stout is always a pleasure, even when the gimmick gets lost.

And the IPA to the right this time is Purple Sabbath by Hocus Pocus. The brewery claims this for the West Coast, but it's very definitely hazy, and has the soft and creamy mouthfeel to go along with that. And it's fruity too, with a beautiful bright and colourful flavour of mandarin or similar small and sweet oranges; all the juicy. There's not much beyond this, but what's there is delicious and very thirst-quenching. I would never have guessed it's all of 7% ABV.

Not far away, across Paulista, is The Blue Pub. It's an understated name for what turned out to be a vast rambling venue across multiple floors, with several bars and two simultaneous live bands. The payment system is a ridiculously cumbersome one, whereby a card is issued to you at the door, you charge drinks to it, and then pay at automated tills on the way out. This also allows them to add a cover charge on exit, without any previous mention of it. "Pub" strictly in name only, then.

It's not a speciality beer bar at all, but they've made a bit of an effort, with some Brazilian independents and exotic imports from the likes of Fuller's and O'Hara's.

Dogma features again here. The can on the left is Hop Lover, a double IPA of 8.4%. It's a big and chewy one, using both its alcohol and its haze to bulk out the texture. It ends up rather soupy, however, with lots of boozy heat shouting over the hops. These are savoury and crisp rather than juicy or citric, so while it's a passable double IPA, it wasn't in the way I prefer them.

They did rather better with Dogma American IPA beside it. It's still no lightweight at 6.5% ABV, but it blends the classical American hop flavours beautifully and without allegiance to coast. There's juicy peach and pineapple, leading to a punchier citrus acidity before building to a hard resinous bitterness in the finish. This is an accomplished beer, brewed by people who know exactly what they're doing when it comes to American hops.

In the next round, there was a gamble on a gluten-free pale ale called simply Cerveja Sem Glúten, by southern Brazilian brewery Farrapos. I'm glad it wasn't my gamble, because I thought the beer was terrible, tasting of rancid butter and old fish. I've no idea what process they've used -- although the weirder-tasting gluten-free beers tend to be brewed with alternative grains, and maybe that's what disturbed me here. Disturb me it did, however.

Luckily I had a palate-cleanser to hand, in the form of Cerpa Export lager, looking very 1980s macro in its foil-necked bottle. This is 5.3% ABV but tasted much stronger to me, with a heavy texture and big brown-sugar sweetness. Its bready fruitcake effect isn't unpleasant, but I was looking for a lighter and crisper beer when I ordered it, not this slightly sickly low-hop bock effort. I'm not sure how something this mainstream ended up on the list here. Regardless, that was enough. We left The Blue Pub a-grumbling. You have been warned.

Not really counting as bar drinking, the best beer option I found at São Paulo airport was from the little newsagent. For swigging at the gate I got a can of Orange Sunshine by Hocus Pocus. It's described as an American blonde ale with natural orange flavour, and they've really laid that on thick. It tastes syrupy and sweet, the fruit really killing any of the blonde ale benefits. Before I got to the airport I considered Hocus Pocus to be one of the better breweries I had encountered. Maybe this beer is just a blip.

I'll have more from them in an upcoming post, and also from Baden Baden, whose Witbier I bought. It's pretty plain stuff, lowballing both the herbs and fruit, though I recognise that drinking from the can didn't give me the full sensory picture. There's a refreshing crispness so I'm sure it does what the brewer (Heineken) wants it to do. Another sub-Hoegaarden witbier, then. Perhaps that wasn't the best note on which to conclude my exploration of Brazilian beer, but this week's posts are just getting started. We'll visit a brewery tomorrow.