Spring warmer

Despite the sunshine there was still a nip in the air when Kinnegar's Brewers At Play 45 arrived, so I can forgive the brewery for putting out a winter beer just as spring starts turning to summer. It's a smoked porter with maple syrup, and surprisingly low-strength for such a thing, at a mere 4.2% ABV.

It's not a light beer, however. The brewery's description suggests that it was designed smoke-first with the syrup as an afterthought, but it's exceedingly dense, though tastes and feels more like chocolate sauce than maple syrup. The base porter, then, is wonderfully full-flavoured, packed with high-cocoa chocolate mixed with dark-roast coffee, the impact aided by the silky texture. Yet oddly there's very little smoke, that I could detect, maybe just a hint of burnt sugar to signal its presence. I don't miss it, though; there are few things worse than a smoked porter that tastes ashen or fishy, and this definitely isn't one of those. The maple flavour arrives right on the end, present but unobtrusive. I'm not sure it's needed: the underlying porter is plenty.

This is the sort of high quality autumn seasonal that works well any time of the year. It's big, bold and luxurious, yet at a strength to permit mid-week drinking. Another addition to the Kinnegar pantheon of top notch dark beers.

It was twenty years ago today

In February 2005, Russian River launched the world's first triple IPA, Pliny the Younger. A few months later, on 28th April, I stopped putting things off and published the first post on my new beer blog. The two of us have not met previously, but here we are at last, on the 20th anniversary of me getting this thing moving.

I can't remember the last time I saw a clear triple IPA, but it's quite the thrill: the promise of a strong, clean, upright and muscular experience; a beer six-pack of a different sort altogether. The aroma is pure West Coast, but not in an especially intense way, just nice sparks of grapefruit zest on a clean malt base which calls to mind strong pale lager. Flavourwise, it's not hugely different to how I remember its double IPA antecedent, Pliny the Elder, tasting: an orderly array of classic American IPA characteristics, including grapefruit, pine, orange peel and a touch of spicy, herby, cannabis. The extra strength does make a contribution to all this, though, preventing any harsh IBU-chasing bitterness by adding a slightly syrupy residual-sugar effect. Despite it, the heat intensity is restrained and I wouldn't have guessed an ABV as high as 10.25%. This is drinkable rocket fuel.

Overall, it's a jolly decent beer. I get how, two decades ago, it would have been eye-poppingly amazing. At the time, I was only just discovering what Sierra Nevada Pale Ale does, and there wasn't a single commercial brewer in this country using Cascade hops, never mind anything more intense. But triple IPA made its way here eventually: half way between 2005 and now, Trouble Brewing released Ireland's first, and it wasn't markedly different to what I have in front of me. Since then, American IPA went tragically off course [insert politics joke here], and there are now any number of hot messes claiming to be worthy triple IPA, so the amazement factor is now back, except in retro mode: this is great because hardly anyone makes IPA like it, or as good, any more.

We're just two twenty-year-olds, having fun together, not caring that the rest of the world has moved on. A big thanks to Paul for gifting me the bottle.

Toro!

It's The Session time once again, and this month's host is Ding, who asks Where do you find value? As someone who does a bit of consumer campaigning, it's a very important topic: whether beer is expensive or cheap, the drinker should feel they're getting value for it. With the highly-marketed mainstream beers in the pubs of Ireland, I think that is very much not the case. For a neophile like me, there's another side to the value proposition. Most beers that I drink are new to me, so I've no idea whether they will prove good value or not. What helps is the existence of this blog. I've long come to view it as a way of getting value out of bad beer. I may not have enjoyed drinking it, but being able to compose and publish an account of why, makes it some way worth my while. And, of course, excoriating reviews are much more fun to write than positive ones.

I was expecting some excoriation to be necessary when I came to today's pair of beers.

The ongoing trend for rustic-branded Mediterranean lager rarely troubles these pages. I am bewildered that there still seems to be space in this sector where Heineken's Moretti and Molson Coors's Madrí are slugging it out. Neither beer is any good, but that hasn't stopped other large breweries trying to attract drinkers away from them with similarly-presented fare.

Damm's effort comes from its brewery in Málaga, and is called Victoria Málaga. It's presented in a 66cl bottle and, like Moretti, the label features an old-timey bloke with a hat -- he's a German tourist, apparently, the beer's mascot since the 1950s, before Damm bought and revived it in 2001. It's a quite a dark one; the clear golden colour having a slight tint of coppery red in it. It doesn't look like a cheapie mass-market job.

Not much happens in the aroma, just a vague graininess which is the sort you get from mass-market lager, though the body is fuller than I expected from just 4.8% ABV. There's a proper malt foretaste, thick and bready, with some quite Czech-tasting golden syrup. Alas, it doesn't last long, fading before the beer's other flavour kicks in. That's a mild zinc-like bitter bite, very much the sort you get from old-world hops, and likely German ones. This too is fleeting, and it finishes promptly and cleanly. This shows some of the features of good wholesome lagers, but its industrial nature betrays it. While it doesn't taste cheap or compromised, there's not really enough depth of taste for me to recommend it. It could have been much worse.

And speaking of: Aldi has taken a direct potshot at Madrí by creating an obvious knock-off, called Grande. Given that these, and there are many of them, never bear any resemblance to the beers they're copying, beyond the label, I had no idea what to expect. It's noteworthy that, unlike Madrí, this one is actually brewed in Spain. Again it's a 66cl bottle, and again it's on the darker side: not quite as deep as the previous beer but certainly an alluring amber. It's much thinner and fizzier, however, and drinking them back-to-back really shows up the Victoria as a better beer made to a more flavourful spec. This isn't much lighter at 4.6% ABV but is a world away.

The aroma is quite sugary, but not in a malt-like way, and suggests that the beer might become sweet and cloying. The chance would be a fine thing. On tasting there's almost nothing going on, with the insistent fizz providing white noise where the flavour should be. I let it warm up a little, in the hope that something of interest would emerge, but nothing of interest is on the cards here. There's a slight tang of green apple and brown sugar, hallmarks of lager done on the cheap, but nothing beyond this. Any bite comes from the carbonation rather than hops. It's not unpleasant, but it is extremely basic. Is it an effective substitute for the price-conscious Madrí drinker? Sure, why not?

I remain none the wiser about the Mediterranean lager trend. These beers are quite different from each other, yet both are being pitched at the same segment of beer drinkers. Neither has TV adverts, though, so I guess they'll continue in the ha'penny place, regardless of any individual merits. I'm certainly not planning to buy either one again, but the four paragraphs above mean I got my money's worth from them.

Tripel the fun

I was fortunate to get to visit the Westmalle brewery a couple of years ago. The most unusual thing I noticed was how this otherwise quite normal industrial-sized brewery only ever makes three beers, and most of that is just one beer: Westmalle Dubbel. In amongst the canyons of brown crates in the cellars there's only the occasional patch of cream or pale blue, for Tripel and Extra.

Now the two lesser siblings have got together to create a new draught product: Westmalle Duo. It's a 60/40 blend of the pair, and I guess the idea is to deliver the complexity of Westmalle Tripel at a more approachable strength. Still, it's 7.2% ABV, so I wouldn't exactly deem it a session beer.

In Dublin I found it on tap at The Porterhouse, a pub that has been known to serve draught Westmalle Dubbel by the pint, albeit not any time recently. Duo is a bright gold and completely clear. The aroma is unmistakably that of a golden Belgian ale, exuding fruit and flowers in colourful abundance. It leans fully into that in the flavour, almost too much so, with oodles of very ripe melon, pear, lychee and similar pale and sweet juicy fruits. This is perfumed up with lavender and jasmine top notes, plus a sprinkling of Westmalle Tripel's pithy spices.

It has been a while since I last drank either of the component beers, but this did not seem at all like a compromise between them. The dilution of the alcohol has not in any way diluted the taste. Draught serving also results in a lighter carbonation, which may be why the flavour seems so pronounced. There's also plenty of slick and smooth body to give it a long and luxurious finish.

My assumption that this is a slightly cynical attempt at extending Westmalle's share of throat (shudder) remains, but it is still a superb beer. It's perfect for that one last one of the night, when you want the big flavour and the heft, and maybe there's nothing suitable in the venue's small-pack selection. I don't know how many Irish pubs will be willing to keep a 7.2% ABV on draught, though. I wish we could fix that.

American things

Wicklow Wolf has always been a westward-looking brewery, taking its initial influence from Colorado in particular. Today's quartet of beers are their first for 2025, and they're exploring other parts of the North American continent and its related beer styles.

You don't see many California commons brewed these days, and I think this may be Wicklow Wolf's first. It's called Pacific Heights, and is 4.9% ABV. It's an attractive clear golden, looking very lager-like, in a classy way. There's a surprising sweetness at the front of the flavour, all perfume and fruit-flavoured candy. I found it a little strange that this was set on a clean lager-like base: the two don't work very well together. California common should be crisp, not floral, with a crunch of crackers. That's missing from this one, which instead goes for estery fruit, with overtones of cherry, banana and rum cocktails. I'm not a fan. The flavours would work in a big and bold beer. In one that's trying to be subtle and modest, they're a distraction. We may not get many California commons, but we haven't forgotten how they taste, and this one doesn't fit in. I'm not a fan of the warm, headachey alcohol vapours on offer here.

A west coast IPA should clean things up nicely, and next is Next Stop, named after the east coast. Err... It's only 5.8% ABV, which gives me one point to question the stylistic fidelity, and it's hazy too: a pale kellerbier yellow. The hops are Simcoe, Citra, Amarillo and Columbus, and that gives it a bright and zesty aroma. There's a decently big and soft texture -- more than I would have expected from the strength -- and the hops pile into the foretaste with Citra leading the charge, all lime and grapefruit. Style purists may object that the bitterness is dialled back, and it's not especially sharp. Pine and dank don't feature, either, so the citrus is your lot. I enjoyed it, though. The summery zest is enough for a beer that isn't particularly strong or blousey. You get your money's worth from the hops regardless. This is just the sort of boldly flavoured American-style IPA that made Wicklow Wolf's name back in the early days. It's good that they're still at it.

A second pair followed hot on the heels of those two, and I'm starting with Cliff Walk, a hazy IPA, and a light one at only 5% ABV. From the date on the base it looks like this had been in the can three days when I opened it, and the benefit of drinking this sort of beer fresh was hammered home by the aroma: a powerful blend of citrus and sterner green vegetables. That bold mix is very much present in the flavour too, dominated by an acidity which suggests raw hop pellets, loaded up with bitter herbs, spinach and pine. It does run the risk of seeming dreggy, but the pure hop flavour cuts through the grit and keeps it out of the way. Those in search of juice from their murky IPA are made to wait a few seconds before the satsuma or tangerine emerges to feature in the finish. Although some softer vanilla creeps in as it warms, the aggressive bittering never quite goes away, leaving a strong impression of west-coast IPA, counter-intuitively. Regardless, it's a banger, and well worth grabbing as soon as you can because I very much doubt it will improve with age.

That arrived with Off Script, described as a West Coast Pilsner (see my recent thoughts on such terminology) and brewed with German hop variety Tango and a descendent of both Hersbrucker and Strata, named Audacia. 5.6% ABV makes it today's second-strongest beer, yet it is worryingly pale, and completely transparent, resembling an American light lager more than anything. There's a vague and slightly sweaty lemon zest aroma, which isn't especially enticing, and the flavour is mild too. A hint of onion is perhaps the most prominent characteristic, but it's still no more than a hint. Behind it there's a sweet 7-Up mix of lemon and lime extract, flashing briefly before fading out. The saviour of this beer is the texture, that big gravity giving it a full and chewy mouthfeel that makes it very satisfying to drink even if the flavour isn't up to much. Much like the Kinnegar one from a few weeks ago, I can't say I got much West Coast character from it, however.

I guess there's more stylistic leeway with IPAs compared to California common or pilsner, as long as you get the fundamentals right. Next Stop and Cliff Walk are commended to anyone who likes their beer with a pronounced hop character. Off Script offers lager lovers a certain clean yet weighty charm. I don't know who the other one is for, however.

Widening appeal

Two new beers from Wide Street today, and something of a departure. The brewery specialises in wild fermentation, barrel-ageing and blending, but these are both straight-up (ish) takes on more controlled beer styles. The funky stuff isn't for everyone (though it should be) so I guess this is the brewery trying to appeal to less adventurous drinkers. If that's what it takes to get the koelschip full now and again, then it's fine with me.

The year's first warm evening on the patio brought me Summer in Siam, a witbier. It's on the light side at only 4.3% ABV, and they've skipped the coriander and orange peel, hoping to get their combined effect from lemongrass instead. In the glass it's a sickly-looking greenish-yellow, though the head is properly white and fluffy. A bit of a farty whiff suggests that the yeast is properly Belgian, at least. Before I could get to the flavour, I was already disappointed by the texture. Beneath that fluffy foam it's not a fluffy beer, and from the first pull was unfortunately thin and fizzy. You do get your money's worth from the lemongrass: it tastes very much of it, clear and green and herbal, with a lacing of citric acidity. There's dry rasp from the grain and then it all tails off abruptly. I guess it's meant to be easy-drinking refreshment, but I think it needs to be sweeter for that. This is quite a pointy and severe witbier, rather than a fun one. The lemongrass is a highlight but it doesn't have much else going for it, I thought.

Its sibling is a hazy IPA called Midnight in a Perfect World, a collaboration with Trouble Brewing. If the witbier was no oil painting, this one is even uglier: the orangey-beige of an earwax smear. Luckily the aroma smells fresh and clean, of lemon candy and vanilla. The murk reasserts itself in the flavour: it is extremely dreggy, tasting like a full glassful of the bottom of the keg. I'm sure all of that did wonders for my vitamin B levels, but I didn't enjoy the ingestion. I can't tell you anything very much about the Motueka and Nelson Sauvin hops' contribution to the taste because that's buried under a loud layer of earth, grit and leafy bitterness. While it's stronger than the previous one at 5.4% ABV, it still seems very thin, like the witbier, though not as fizzy. I hope I just got a bad can and that the whole batch wasn't this mucky.

This pair really didn't do it for me, and I don't think I can place the blame on them not being in the brewery's usual fun and funky area of work. Neither represents their respective mainstream style at all well. A bit of bugs 'n' Brett would have benefitted either.

The novelty factor

It was dessert time after a big dinner. Down the street from the restaurant, we settled into UnderDog for a beer in lieu. The most appealing item on the menu for my sweet tooth was from Amundsen, delighting in the name Donut Series: Coconut Cronut with Dark Chocolate & Almond Glaze, a pastry stout, believe it or not.

Now, I have never eaten a cronut -- portmanteau words give me indigestion -- so I can't speak to how accurately this 10.5% ABV recreates the experience. To be honest, I didn't really get any sense of pastry from it, in the cake or bread sense: neither donut nor croissant. The coconut, though? Oh yes, in spades. I guess it doesn't take much of it to make a stout taste coconutty, because those that have it tend to absolutely honk of it, like this fellow. There's plenty of chocolate too: syrupy and thick, resembling more a sticky chocolate sauce than the real thing, and lacking the proper cocoa promised by the "dark" chocolate part of the beer's name. Beyond that, it's just sweetness, the lactose adding that particular vanilla quality that's common to lots of beers like this. And though it's heavy, it's not hot: the double-digit alcohol causing no unpleasantness.

While the name utterly overstates the case for what it is, it's a decent and fun beer, and was absolutely the afters I was after on the day. If you hate this sort of thing, whether the title, the concept or the taste, then it's best avoided. Me, I liked how simple it was in contrast to the very involved specification. I'd have been more inclined to buy it if they'd called it Big Chocolatey Stout and nothing else.

Belgians abroad

The influence of Belgium on the brewing world spreads far and wide. I noticed this on opening my beer fridge recently. Here are three beers from three different countries, all taking their cue from Belgian tradition.

The first is, purportedly, a Kriek, but I had my suspicions from the outset. This example, from Lithuania's Volfas Engelmann, claims to be "Belgian style" but is only 4% ABV and I wasn't expecting much wild character, if any. I wasn't surprised to find that it's pink, nor that it is, indeed, very very sweet. It differs from syrupy Belgian kriek by having a realer cherry flavour: there's a hint of the genuine flesh of the black cherry here. The label tells us this is down to the 10% real cherry juice it includes. Beyond that, it has pretty much nothing else going on in it. There's not even a pretence of sourness. I have a strong tolerance for this sort of daftly sweet beer, and it didn't take me long to chug through a pint of it. I can't say it made me think of Belgium, however.

From the odd to the downright strange. Colorado's Left Hand has long made bottled nitrogenated beer its whole thing, and is best known for the milk stout to which it gave this treatment. Would it work with a witbier? I can't believe anyone even asked. The other specs of Belgian White Nitro are pretty accurate, at 4.8% ABV and brewed with coriander and orange peel. The nitro gimmick works well for the appearance, and you get a thick and lasting head, although it looks a bit wrong sitting over a perfectly clear witbier. I didn't realise that high carbonation is an intrinsic part of the style's charm, but the flatness of this one brought it home. It feels gloopy and cloying, like smoothflow English bitter, lacking any palate-scrubbing condition and accentuating the malt sweetness. The coriander feels clumsily tacked on to this, more a chemical pollutant than a herbal seasoning. It looks good, but it doesn't work. There is nothing to be gained from nitrogenating witbier, however one does it.

We return home to Dublin for the final round: Belgian Tripel from Hope, number 35 in its Limited Edition series, for anyone counting. The first thing to note is that it has very poor head retention, and the second that my Westmalle chalice holds a full 44cl. It's darker than tripel typically is, and it's sweeter too, giving a strong impression of boiled sweets and candied citrus peel. I like a bit of spice in a tripel, and there's none of that on offer here. After the sugary foretaste it all just tails off, with a faint vegetal bitterness but nothing much else. Strong Belgian-style beer should be bold yet subtle, and this manages neither, tasting like simple alcoholic barley water, lacking finesse.

The complexity of their beer is what makes Belgium distinct, and it's essential to get that right when trying to copy it. Many's a brewer goes to the extreme, resulting in beer that's too hot or too cloying. These ones all have the opposite problem: they've got the basics right, but are missing the extra spark which seems to come naturally to Belgian brewers but is elusive elsewhere.

Back in business

I spoke a bit too soon when I complained that there hadn't been many new DOT beers in my line of sight this year so far. Before that was even published, there were four more to add to my to-drink list, all of them thanks to DOT's assorted pals and partners.

First up, a rum/whiskey barrel-aged Helles? Did you ever hear tell of such a thing? Helles Yeh! is the latest in the collaboration series between DOT and the Teeling Whiskey distillery, and sold exclusively through its giftshop in Dublin. It's kellerbier hazy and smells a little like dry crackers and faintly of oaky spirit, with perhaps a little more of rum's sweetness than whiskey's. The mouthfeel brings us back to classic Bavarian lager: it's properly smooth and very clean, opening with a crisp grain crunch followed by softer honey and spongecake. It's only 5% ABV but doesn't really use that to deliver big flavours, and I feel a little gypped by how little it tastes of the barrels: you need to dig right in to the back to find a thin patch of oak and spirit. It's decent drinking, though, and comes across as a better example of Helles than I thought it was going to be. But at €6* for a small can, I feel it did owe me more complexity. Or a bigger can.

We switch retail partners for the next one, another in DOT's Spin Off Series for Aldi: Oatmeal IPA. This is 5.8% ABV and a mostly-clear golden colour, suggesting the west coast of America more than it does a bowl of porridge. The head was a little slow to form, so condition was the first thing I was on alert for. No problems there: it's lightly carbonated, which helps the oatmeal smoothness do its thing, resulting in something that resembles the mouthfeel of a nitrogenated beer without being one. I found the hop side a little bit lacking, with only a vague piney acidity at work in both the aroma and flavour. We're promised "juicy fruity Simcoe" (is that a thing?) by the label, but the beer does very little to back up this promise. The flavour is primarily built around cereal flavours, dry and flaky. On one hand that shouldn't be a surprise with oatmeal, but equally, oatmeal IPAs never taste of the actual oats: that's not the point. I also get a very slight soapy twang on the finish. I don't know where that came from, but it could have been covered up with more hops. This is a compromised affair which will doubtless shift units, and if that helps keep the brewery lights on, all to the good. It's not DOT's best work in the hop-forward space, however.

Back to the barrels, and the next two are continuations of the barrel-aged imperial milk stouts that DOT has created with Two Sides, the beer brand of Brickyard in Dundrum. 

I confess I haven't been keeping fully up to date with these, and the pair starts on Over A Barrel 06: Blend Whiskey Ex Blackberry Brandy. Whiskey support here comes from Two Stacks rather than the more usual Teeling. One doesn't expect much of a head from barrel-aged beer, but this had a full-sized pillow of beige foam over the shiny black body. It's blackberries a-go-go in the aroma; smelling of all the mushed forest fruits in quite a yoghurt-like way. It only becomes a little more stout-like in the flavour, and the fruit is still fully infusing it, building up to a surprisingly intense perfumed finish. Before that, the milk stout presents in quite a typical way, with creamy milk chocolate, plus hints of vanilla and latte. It's only 9% ABV, so badging it as "imperial" rather than, say "export" is a bit of a liberty, and the flavour reflects this understatedness. A growing alcoholic warmth in the belly is the only real sign that it has welly. There's a decent beer in here, but the blackberry brandy gives it too much blackberry, almost like they've simply dumped in some syrup. Give me more stout, please.

That request is directed at Over A Barrel 07: Single Malt Ex Maderia [sic], which sounds altogether more grown up. There's less of a head here, and the aroma is definitely all whiskey: the crunchy honeycomb candy of the Irish sort, at once sweet and seriously boozy. "But the Madeira," you ask, "Where's the Madeira?" That's present from the very beginning of the flavour, as a kind of coconut sweetness with an edge of raisin and booze. You know, Madeira. Once again, stout is not the principal characteristic, and you have to go looking for it. There's a certain amount of creamy chocolate, but it's buried under the mix of whiskey and wine, like some sort of temperance metaphor. While the previous one tasted innocent for its 9% ABV, this one is full-on barrels and spirits and the rest. It's fun, and provides everything one would expect from the spec. Brewers don't often barrel-age milk stouts, and this one shows how it should be done. No blackberries.

DOT will soon be celebrating nine years in business. They've decided some re-brews are in order, but maybe we'll get something new as well.

*Compliance with the law on drinks packaging is for the little people, not Teeling. They don't charge deposits on the DOT cans, though they are returnable, so the net cost of this one was a mere €5.85.

Creatures feature

Larkin's remains something of an enigma in Irish brewing. It didn't feature on here at all in 2024, last seen just before Christmas the previous year. Today's beers are new-release and bear the address in Kilcoole where Larkin's has always operated. That's now, primarily, the Rí-Rá lager brewery, so... is Larkin's simply the badge they put on beer they make which aren't the flagship, or is it a side-project for someone working there, or is the founder still somehow involved in the brand? Nothing is clear, but I'm quite happy that Larkin's beer is still coming out, because I didn't especially care for Rí-Rá.

First of the pair is called Animal Farm and is described as a "farmhouse" session IPA, without any further elaboration on that epithet. 4% ABV is certainly sessiony, and it looks well: a pale sunset yellow, gently hazed and skimmed with white foam. The aroma is juicy like mandarin with a spicy edge, but still nothing out of the ordinary. On tasting, however: here comes the farm. It's a mild but distinct gummy funk, a little like you get from Brettanomyces, but dialled back so as not to interfere with the hops. It finishes on a similarly gentle dry peppery heat. All of this microbial fun plays second fiddle to the hops, which retain a fresh and luscious tropical quality which is entirely complementary with the wildness. This beer shows a superb level of of delicious complexity without losing sight of its sessionability, and was a bargain for €3.25 the can. One for both wild beer fans and hop lovers to stock up on.

The next one is a straight-up IPA with no particular bells nor whistles notified. It's called Hoppy Dog and is a full 6.5% ABV; hazy to an extent, but far from opaque. While not non-descript, there's nothing terribly special about the aroma, delivering a light dusting of sweetish citrus: satsuma or kumquat. The gravity gives it a hefty, dense mouthfeel, coming across almost syrupy. By rights, the hops should get to use this as a performance space, but they don't. I got no more than a mild tang of marmalade shred and a little, unwelcome, grated white onion acidity. It's too heavy to be refreshing and too bland to be characterful. "Needs more hops" we used to say in the old days, before all the haze brewers took us far too seriously. This could certainly do with a boost, of the modern and tropicalesque varieties, for both flavour and aroma. The €2.50 price tag (on special in Molloy's) was attractive, especially given the strength, but it definitely did taste like it was brewed to a price point, unfortunately.

I am genuinely pleased to see beer under the Larkin's brand still being produced, albeit at a much reduced pace. Maybe when the owners realise that their premium lager wheeze isn't going to fly, we might get back to something resembling the old days. And if the old Larkin's Baltic Porter recipe is sitting in a filing cabinet somewhere, well...

Secrets and mysteries

Time for another peep into the Guinness brand home's experimental brewery, or at least it was last month. Here's what I found.

Open Gate has a remit to name its small batch beers after local places and history, but do they provide an explanation for these? Oh my, no. That would be helpful. Instead you get pale ales called things like "Threadcount", which might be a reference to the textile trade which shared the Dublin Liberties neighbourhood with brewing and distilling, but there's literally no way of finding out. This, on the left of the flight, is 4.9% ABV and rather murky; a slightly coppery red-gold colour. The aroma gives little away, and on tasting it proves quite thick and sweet, with unsubtle strawberry and raspberry tones. It is at least clean: Open Gate has form on making muddy-tasting pale ales, but this isn't one of them. It keeps things light and summery, with a long finish of sherbet and candied citrus peel. As long as you don't want any bitterness in your pale ale -- and it seems that most people these days don't -- it's an acceptable option.

In the paddle's middle is Sweetheart Sour, the Valentine's Day special, superannuated in the run-up to St Patrick's Day. It's a crystalline scarlet colour with a brush of pink foam. The aroma is an unremarkable cereal dryness, with no fruit and no sourness. A popping, punchy tartness is where the flavour starts, followed quickly by cherry and raspberry. If the intention was to recreate Love Heart sweets in beer form then they've done a superb job of it: artificial berry essence meeting alkaline effervescence. It's no high-brow wild-fermented sour beer, but equally not the sort of syrupy confection that too many brewers try to pass off as sour these days. There is zing and there is bite, and they're well done.

The last beer on the paddle is the one I came in for especially. I mentioned last year that Calvados ageing of beer is something I approve of and would like to see more of. So here's Open Gate with Calvados Champagne Ale, eliding two different drinks from northern France in a single beer. This is 8.3% ABV and a clear golden with no head. It tastes, in short, like Fino sherry: oxidation is a loud and brash main act here, giving me cork and grape skin, running right through from start to finish. It's light and breezy, not tasting or feeling the strength, but does get a little cloying and difficult when the novelty wears off. I liked it. Though it doesn't really have much Calvados about it -- maybe a little autumnal orchard funk if you look for it -- there is a certain Champagne crispness. But if they'd called it a sherry ale I would have completely understood it from the get-go. Fino fans assemble.

My finisher was an Open Gate Belgian Wit that was just coming to the end of its run. I only chanced a half, because a pint of wonky wit is not something I would relish being stuck with. This one isn't very cloudy and a dark-ish golden colour. The aroma is quite banana-ish, and it leans fully into that in the flavour, tasting much more like a weissbier than a wit. Like the sweeter sort of weiss, there's an element of caramel or toffee in with the banana, although it's not heavy or sticky, so at least has that in common with the Belgian style it's meant to be. I wasn't impressed, however. A half was the right decision.

So that's what was going down at Arthur's gaff in March. It must be nearly time to pop by again, although a bit more effort in keeping their online beer lists updated (ie, some effort; any effort) would be good.

What's going on?

Three beers from Galway Bay are the subject today, beginning with Figo, a pilsner which they've deemed to be in the Italian style. That means extra hoppiness, inasmuch as I understand the term. It's a beautifully clear gold pint, and modestly strong at 4.5% ABV. I was warned by my friendly server in The Black Sheep about the bitterness, and I braced myself, but while there's more hop character than in a mass-market pilsner, it's not excessive or gimmicky. Tasted blind, I would put this more in the north German genre than what tends to get badged as Italian, and I mean that as a compliment: it is not trying to steal the clothes of perfumey American pale ale. Instead it's crisp and grassy rather than fruity; the hops well balanced and entirely complementary to a soft and springy malt base. There wasn't much aroma at first -- that's pints for ya -- but when I was half way down and had a sufficient volume of vapour trapped in the glass I found a very pleasant mirror of the fresh and green herbal taste. This deserves to be served in something more goblet-like, though absolutely still by the pint. It's a class act, all told, and I'm pleased to report that Galway Bay Brewery looks to have started another year with high-quality output.

It looks like there's a story to be told about Whiskey & Coffee, the stout they launched, quietly, in March. The badge implies that it's one in a series called "Modern Classics" and that it's a "celebration stout". Celebrating what, and how do the whiskey and coffee enter the picture? Not in the flavour, anyway. This tastes very plain indeed, and though it's not powerhouse-strength, 5.5% ABV is plenty to give a stout character. Here, the extent of the coffee is no more than you'd find in any typical dry stout. There's nothing resembling whiskey at all, so I doubt it's barrel-aged. Whisky-soaked oak chips, maybe? Sorry, there are more questions than answers with this one. I was a bit bored by it, not to mention confused.

Our finisher is a barrel-aged imperial stout -- haven't had one of those in a while -- called No Quarter. No skimping on the ABV here: it's 11.8% and pours a flawless obsidian with a slow-forming dark brown head. In the manner of Galway Bay, they've added tonka beans, maple syrup and vanilla, and of course the former is fully present in the aroma, showing tonka's signature candied cinnamon. That's heavily present in the flavour too, but superficially so, and it's easily ignored. The other two add-ins don't really make their presence felt, and I'm not surprised to find they blend in with the barrel's effects. That is subtle, though, with no spirituous heat or obvious sappy oak. Instead, it's smooth and creamy milk chocolate at the centre, giving a Snowball dusting of flaky coconut and dessertish coffee cake. A wisp of burnt-caramel smoke adds a modicum of dryness to the finish. The barrels don't really feature, and I had to check the label to find out what they were: bourbon, apparently. I complain about how honkingly unsubtle that can be in other stouts so I can't really complain about it being unobtrusive here. Points for complaint are few with this one: with the velvety smoothness, it's charming and classy, even if it does taste a bit like the bakery on cinnamon swirls day. The price, though, is not easy-going, and I think €13.50 for the half litre is excessive. If that sort of thing isn't a niggle for you, dig in.

Galway Bay's previous whiskey-barrelled stouts tended not to be such shrinking violets: they know how to deliver the spirit and the warm. So I don't know what's happened to either of these stouts. Maybe some longer maturation would be in order. There's nothing wrong with the pils, though: that can be left alone.

Ketchup, catsup...

The Jesuitical analysis of comparable beer styles never ceases to amuse and bemuse me, bless all the dear pedants who take such things seriously. Before us today is the question of how a "dry-hopped lager" differs from a "West Coast pilsner", because I'm sure these aren't terms that breweries simply assign arbitrarily.

For the former, we have Airbell by Lough Gill. This was a terribly handsome fellow once poured into a glass: a deep and serious golden colour, crystal clear, topped with a generous pillow of pure white foam. There's not a Bavarian alive who wouldn't be charmed by that. It all turns very un-continental afterwards, however, starting with the freshly zesty aroma making it very clear there is citrus to come. The flavour follows right through on that promise, delivering an intense hit of freshly-squeezed lemon juice. It runs the risk of tasting a bit like washing-up liquid but avoids it thanks to a generous malt base, providing the pancake for the hops' Jif. Throughout, it's as squeaky clean as I'd want a lager to be, and the pinch of grapefruit bitterness on the end adds to its significant ability to quench and refresh. There's a lot going on in this for a mere 4.5% ABV, and if you didn't know Lough Gill, you might be surprised that something so accomplished could come from a small brewery in north-west Ireland.

Also in that general neck of the Atlantic coast is Kinnegar, who have reached Brewers At Play 44 in their limited edition series. This is another pretty one, and I'm not sure I can recall when I last had two purely clear Irish beers on the trot. The aroma wasn't as in-my-face as the previous, only a wisp of sherbet or lemonade. The hops really don't manifest in the flavour, or at least not in The American Way. Instead, here's a very Germanic crispness; achingly dry in the Nordsee manner, with a rasp in the back of the throat, mixing celery and spinach with a harder plaster dust and burnt rubber acridity. I'm surprised to read on the can that it's done with American hops, because it really doesn't show much of their attributes, merely a light spritz of grapefruit zest at the end of something that's pilsner first and West Coast a distant second. It's not at all a bad beer -- I'm fond of a traditionally-formulated pils -- but it's not what I was expecting, and is very very different from the beer which preceded it.

You demand conclusions. It's probably something about how the myriad decisions required when formulating any beer recipe have more of an effect on the finished product than any pre-determined notion of style. Or, pay more attention to what brewers brew than to what they write on their cans.