The Citizen and the King

Barney mavourneen's be it, says I.

For The Session this month, Phil Cook has asked us to consider "beer and pubs in arts and fiction" and I'm glad he phrased it that way, not simply looking for made-up pubs. While my choice appears in a very famous work of fiction, it is a real place and still, just about, standing.

There are few more groanworthy topics in all of art and literature than that of James Joyce's Ulysses, and how impenetrable it is, and so easy to start and impossible to finish. That's not everyone's experience, and some of us made our peace with the more difficult parts as we went through it. To avoid it is to miss some wonderful prose, and the part I recommend to the casual reader, whether or not they have any intention of reading the whole book, is chapter 12: Cyclops.

The scene is not directly related to the story of the rest of the novel, and none of the main characters are at the centre of it, which is why it works as a standalone piece. For the most part it takes place in a pub: Barney Kiernan's of Little Britain Street in the North Inner City. While Joyce interjects with some very, err, Joycean paragraphs to the dialogue, most of it is a transcript of the everyday banter of a group of acquaintances, meeting for a couple of drinks one summer afternoon. The main aim is to capture the wit and repartee of such everyday occasions, and I like to think Joyce enjoyed writing it, stringing together all his favourite turns of phrase that he heard in Dublin pubs before he left the city many years before, and inhabiting the personas of Proper Dub pub characters as he remembered them.

The antagonist of the piece (whom I had always interpreted as the landlord, until the first comment below arrived) is mostly fictional. Named only The Citizen, he's a parody of spittle-flecked 19th century Irish nationalism, and reputedly based on GAA founder and teacher Michael Cusack. But the pub itself is real. At the time Ulysses is set, it was a sizeable concern, occupying three units along the street.

...the house of Bernard Kiernan and Co, limited, 8, 9 and 10 Little Britain street, wholesale grocers, wine and brandy shippers, licensed for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises.

The pub, I understand, was in the middle, with the wholesale office on one side and a goods yard on the other. That yard is now the location of a high-end cocktail pub which I've never been in, but which makes no mention of the literary connection in its menus or marketing. The building which housed the pub has been boarded up for decades. It gets an occasional lick of paint, it has had its brickwork repaired in recent-ish years, and it goes up for sale now and again, but nobody has ever put it to any new use nor relicensed it as a pub. Davy Byrne's, across town, is a Joycean pilgrimage spot, even though it's the location of a much inferior scene. Barney Kiernan's remains unloved, a victim of the dereliction that Dubliners like to decry in their city but nobody seems to want to do anything to fix.

Except the hoteliers, of course. The area next to Little Britain Street, and the North Inner City in general, has seen some gigantic modern aparthotels and hostels built on sites that were once warehouses, tenements, and other parts of the fabric of central urban life. A few minutes' walk from Barney's is Clink, an upmarket hostel for upmarket young'uns, part of a Dutch chain, with branches in Amsterdam and London. Beyond reception, there's a comfy lounge with a small bar and -- hello! -- a house beer. The AI which generated its pumpclip seems to have drawn on elements of the jolly Augustiner and St Bernardus friars, and given him six digits on his left hand, as is traditional in this artistic vernacular.

Clink Lager is 4.9% ABV and came served in a König Pilsner mug. Nothing about the taste suggested it wasn't a straight rebadge of König. That's not a beer that's commonly available here, though I have seen it on draught in a handful of other local pubs, and while it may not be Germany's finest, decent pilsner is not to be sniffed at, and certainly not at €6.50 a pint in central Dublin. There's a proper snap of noble-hop-accented lager malt, suggesting sun-dried grass clippings and pale straw. That's fun, but the real teutonic expertise shows in the finish: a strong herbal greenness that's almost oily, evoking basil or rosemary. Equally, you can happily ignore the understated complexity and enjoy it as a cold quaffing lager: the balance is perfect. I know that several Irish breweries are well capable of making and selling pilsner this good, but so few do. That's why I'm sticking with König as my guess for the provenance.

That's about as close to investigative journalism as you'll get on this blog. Clink also stocks a couple of beers from Black's of Kinsale, and from the décor, it looks like Rascals was one part of the offer too. I'm not sure I'll be making it one of my regular haunts -- dear god, I felt old in there -- but nipping in on a warm afternoon for a looksee with a pint of decent pils was no hardship. 

Ah! Ow! Don't be talking! I was blue mouldy for the want of that pint. Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

The guest room

As a follow-on from Monday's post about Whiplash, today's two are from the Catalan client Oddity, which brews at Whiplash so counts as local for me. These cans haven't been closer to the Mediterranean than Ballyfermot.

First it's an IPA called He Got The Tunes. It's a foamy job, taking up a chunk of my time with the pouring. "West Coast" they say, though it's distinctly, and indistinctly, hazy. Hmm. Aroma-wise, you get a familiar soft mandarin and vanilla effect, and I'm happy to say that the lack of hoppy follow-through I noted in the Whiplash beers doesn't happen here. Instead, you get your money's worth: a sparky mix of citrus zest, pillowy juice and a slightly rough minerality from the floaty dregs; dry like plasterboard, but not quite as severe. Together, it works. There's more than enough zingy hop freshness to counterbalance the dreggy murk. I give it a pass, though I'm sure haze aficionados will love it. Isn't it nice that breweries are still making beer for them, almost a decade later?

Shadow Light, a double IPA, also calls itself "West Coast" but is, again, opaque; this time a dun orange colour. The flavour is nicely, clean, however, showcasing jaffa orange and candied lemon, with minimal heat from the 8% ABV. I think I'm within my rights to expect a decent kick of bitterness here, but there isn't very much at all. After the initial sweet citrus, there's a quick finish with only the faintest hint of zesty peel. I think I may have got lucky with the last one, because here it seems we're back to Whiplash-brewed beers lacking in hop intensity and complexity. Perhaps the can wasn't the freshest, though it still had four months to go on the best-before, but it tasted older: dulled by time. It's an easy drinking fellow, and decent with it; but the fireworks are lacking. As double IPAs go, this one feels a little phoned-in.

That wraps it up for this round. These beers were fine, though not brilliant. My only real complaint is that they're both IPAs. Other styles exist you know, guys.

No sudden movements

A flurry of activity from the Whiplash brewery resulted in today's offerings.

Having already done a beer for burger chain Bunsen, they're continuing to be down-with-the-kids, at least where meat sandwiches are concerned, with one for Chimac, the Korean-style chicken place. It's a rice lager named Rise. Unusually for a restaurant beer it comes in a 440ml can, but as it's a 4.5% ABV golden lager, that's about the minimum recommended dosage. It's pale and mostly clear in the glass, with little aroma other than fizzy water and a touch of grain. I became concerned that this is one of those microbrewed beers designed to mimic industrially-produced ones. Served ice cold it was very refreshing; light-bodied without being thin, and I can see how good a match it would be for fiery fried chicken. By itself, there's not a whole lot going on. There's a faint Helles sweet side from the malt base, but that's barely noticeable until the beer has warmed up in a way it's not supposed to. I thought it would be crisper because of the rice, so the mild fruitiness was a surprise. And of course, no hop character to speak of is discernible. I'm not sure there was a whole lot of point releasing this for consumption outside of the context for which it was designed. It's fine, and the brewery is entitled to make what it wants, but there are imports hitting these beats at considerably more competitive prices. This does nothing to premiumise itself.

I had to go to Fidelity to get Cold Facts, a New Zealand hopped pilsner which seems, so far, to be draught-only. The chiller console tells me they serve this at 5°C but it seemed colder on the nippy April evening I drank it. That seemed to have cut the flavour down a notch or two, which is a shame because there's plenty to enjoy here. Both aroma and flavour are centred on a balanced sampler of lovely Kiwi goodness, incorporating sharp botanicals, luscious tropical fruit and a harder mineral edge on the finish. It's exactly the sort of experience for which one comes to New Zealand's hops, and I wanted more of all of it. Maybe it's not possible to maintain the beautiful balance while also ramping up the hops but I'd be willing to take that chance. A word of praise also for the mouthfeel. For a modest 4.5%-er it has a gorgeous soft and pillowy texture; properly carbonated but not so much that the fizz upsets the delicate flavour. It's very easy to drink, so while I would like to report on how the hop character fared when it was a bit warmer, I had already emptied the glass. Oh well.

Pale ales are more Whiplash's milieu, and that's where we stay for the next two. Sailing Shoes gets immediate points for the daftly literal can artwork. "West coast" pale ale, they say and, like the lager above, it's mostly clear, and a pale yellow shade, so crystal malt is not part of this interpretation. In fact, we're helpfully told it's a mix of Marris Otter, Vienna and Caramalt, hopped with Vic Secret, Amarillo and Chinook, so potentially lots going on there. It's Amarillo's orange candy that I get primarily from the aroma, though a little of Vic Secret's aniseed spicing features as well. Again, there's a pleasingly weighty mouthfeel despite a modest ABV of 4.8%. In the flavour, the hops are all smushed together, with a general orangey tang being expressed, but nothing more nuanced than that. OK, maybe a little background sharpness to balance the sweet citrus, but nothing significant. This is another straight-up drinkin' beer, not trying to do anything fancy and presenting as approachable, easy-going and fun. I'm fine with that. I don't know that telling us to expect "West Coast" was worthwhile, but then since Whiplash are the worst offenders when it comes to no-warning murk in their pale ales, it may serve to shift a few cans to the haze-dodgers. It's cute that the brewery has decided to look after them for once. A broad thumbs up for Sailing Shoes from me.

Going Through Some Stuff is an example of the issue, labelled simply as an IPA but looking like custard with a head once poured. It's Nelson Sauvin and Vic Secret for the antipodean vibe, with a bit of Citra for American balance. The aroma is juicy first, hinting at mineral diesel, suggesting that the Nelson is making its presence felt. The haze is a little too present in the flavour, adding a plasterboard alkalinity which interferes with the proper beer side. Underneath, there's Vic Secret's pinching aniseed, a subtle squirt of Citra lime and, maybe, if I'm not imagining it, some squishy white grape from the Nelson. None of it is very loud or pronounced, and I think that at 6.8% ABV, something should be. It's hardly surprising that a man of my age thinks this beer would be better if it were cleared up. It's a decent hazy IPA, but the well-chosen hop combination would shine better on a clean base. I'm sure that's possible, even if it's not fashionable.

Another brief flurry before I got the above notes published consisted of a matching pair of IPAs. The single one is called Sure Look and seems to have quite a fruit-forward hop list, featuring El Dorado and Azacca. It's a very pale yellow, looking a bit thin, even though it's a full-fat 6.8% ABV. Credit where its due on the lasting fluffy head, something too rare in hazy IPAs for some reason. The aroma is broad-spectrum tropical, as I suspected it would be, but the flavour is rather less sweet. At the front it's very estery, with a slightly chemical pear-essence vibe. That rounds out to jaffa orange and lemon zest after a moment; a reminder that Citra is also here and didn't come to play. But there's also a nasty touch of savoury grit, and an annoyingly quick finish. It's a lot like the beer above, in fact, only with less fun hops. The aroma is the best feature, though doesn't quite make up for its other shortcomings. 

I suppose the route-one move would be for the double IPA companion, Sure Listen, to be made with the same hops, but it's not. Citra and El Dorado are back, joined by Amarillo. Still, it looks almost the same, only a little darker than the last one, though a deal stronger at 8.2% ABV. The aroma is densely sweet, of overripe stonefruit and undiluted squash. It's as thick as it smells and needs a strong drag to get it out of the glass. Once again, the flavour intensity is a degree or two lower than the aroma. I got a hint of coconut oil, a light bitterness no more assertive than peach skin, and a thin smear of apricot jam. But again, you don't get long to explore this. It doesn't have the nasty gritty side; replaced by an alcoholic warmth that's much more cosy. Again, though, it doesn't deliver the bam-pow fun that I know Whiplash can do.

This is all fairly typical Whiplash fare, with no real surprises. I didn't need confirmation that my personal taste runs much more to Kiwi-hopped lagers than hazy IPAs, but here it is anyway.

Rock lager

Who's up for some tenuously-connected lagers? Of course you are. It's probably better to think of these as a random cross-section rather than exploring any actual theme. But there might be a theme...

I assume that WhiteField named Oldtown after the Phil Lynott song, although the Staré Město of Prague might equally have something to do with it. This is a Czech-style pilsner, made with Bohemian barley and Saaz hops. There are immediate points off for the haze: this is very much the unfiltered sort of pilsner, and I tend not to enjoy them as much as the pin-bright ones.

The aroma is surprisingly fruity, with uncharacteristic pear and apricot. The herbal hops are reduced to a background player. It's pretty strong for the style, at 5.4% ABV, and leverages this into a satisfyingly big body, akin to a Festbier. The flavour doesn't quite measure up, unfortunately. The hops are very muted, lacking the grassy sharpness that I particularly look forward to from Saaz. There's little evidence of the fruit from the aroma, so it's the malt that's the centrepiece here. Admittedly, that is enjoyable, with a wholesome bready richness. As a Helles or Kellerbier it would be pretty good, but it doesn't hit the mark for me as a pils. It needs polishing up and some more hops for that.

We're off to Germany next, for a palate calibration. The musical connection for this one is a little more obvious: Trooper: Progressive Lager is one of the beers officially endorsed by Iron Maiden. I had thought these were all brewed by Robinson's in England but this is via Crew Republic, that most unBavarian of Bavarian breweries. Here in the post-craft era, they're still going. That's as much of a surprise as discovering that Iron Maiden are too.

This one isn't very clear either, but there's considerably less murk than in the previous. They don't tell us what the hops are, but I'm guessing they're not classical noble varieties as there's more than a hint of American citrus about this. The aroma is zesty while the flavour centres on a summery lemonade spritz. That it's a lager is almost incidental to this, the format providing a clean base for the hops but it's not really a headline feature. It's a fine drinking beer, and tastes lighter that its 5% ABV. I guess by calling it a "progressive" lager, they just mean it tastes like American pale ale, which is disappointing to an extent. The overall experience was still pretty good, however.

And the only musical connection for the next one is that it's from Foxes Rock. I hadn't noticed that Pearse Lyons brewery had added an Italian Pilsner to their core range, available in Tesco alongside beers they make especially for the chain.

And it's hazy again. Can nobody make clear lager any more? It does, at least, have a proper pilsner aroma, redolent of freshly cut grass. Crispness and fizz follows, though there's a pleasing softness to the texture: it's a little thin but not watery, with sufficient bounce to the pillowy malt. The hop flavour isn't exactly full-on, and it's apparent that we're dealing with a beer designed for a supermarket price point. What's there is good, however, with a twin stream of classic noble hop grassiness meeting a seam of more modern lemon and lime. You don't get long with either and it all fades away quite quickly, leaving nothing much of note behind. This is no classic, of the style nor of beer in general, but the fact that Pearse Lyons is brewing a pilsner in the chic Italian mode to be sold in Irish supermarkets is a positive sign. That the result tastes good is a bonus. The brewery may be on the verge of joining Boyne Brewhouse as another Carlow sub-brand, and if that happens, consider this my pitch for keeping the Italian Pilsner in the range.

None of these turned out quite as I expected, and the lack of clarity and crispness left me a little unsatisfied. This rock 'n' roll rebellion has gone too far, quite frankly. Get a haircut and clean up your lagers.

Keep it fruity

Summer's (almost) here and the time is right for sour beers with some fruit.

"Limoncello sour" is the offer on the label of Wicklow Wolf's Bittersweet. This is 3.8% ABV, brewed with lemon and lactose, and pale hazy yellow. As always, I took it out of my not-too-cold beer fridge, and that might have been a mistake. While it was far from warm, cool doesn't suit it, making it feel thicker and jammier than it ought to. Probably to be expected given the lactose, it tastes mostly like lemon curd, and can only make the woolliest of claims to being sour. It's barely even bitter. Half way down I decided to add ice, and honestly I think it improved it. The flavour became less blurry, more spritzy, although less beery as well. I suppose that with "limoncello sour" it's unsurprising that it would taste quite like an alcopop. As such, it's a nice and undemanding summer drink, but it doesn't press the beer buttons. And doesn't even know where the sour buttons are. I'm unimpressed but I see what they were trying to do.

Galway Bay, meanwhile, is back on its Catharina sour kick. I was delighted because they've all been magnificent so far. Lolla is the new addition, 5% ABV and including blackberry, raspberry and yuzu. I'm guessing it's the blackberry which gives it the dense maroon hue. There's a certain jamminess to the aroma, but light and tart with it, not sugary or syrupy. Indeed, the texture is appropriately light: gently sparkling and very refreshing, making one wonder why anyone ever thinks to bring lactose into a picture like this. I haven't eaten enough yuzu, or any yuzu, to know how much of its character is on show, but there is a certain citric quality, matching a subtle underlying sourness. I'm very happy to report that it doesn't just taste of common or garden berries, and that's an achievement because neither raspberry nor blackberry are usually shy about their contribution. Here, the brewer has put some manners on them and they show polite restraint, giving us a third dimension of tartness. While I definitely prefer the more full-on tropical versions of this style, this one is still very good, and absolutely perfect for the season.

If any of this takes your fancy, make haste, because the current sunny spell may not last much longer.

How do you like your murk?

I missed the most recent beer launch event by O Brother at UnderDog, but fortunately the taps were still extensively taken over when I called in a few days later.

Infinite Jest, a pale ale, was not brand new but I hadn't drank it before, so that's where I started. It's a hazy one, very much in O Brother's style. The aroma is brightly zesty but the texture is quite thin for 5.6% ABV -- it doesn't even have the puffy fluff common to the hazy genre. That leaves the flavour rather hollow, though it does hit the important points, albeit softly. You get your vanilla, satsuma, some garlic and a slightly earthy bitterness. Maybe it's for the best that the flavour didn't come on very strong. After that initial fun aroma, it's all down hill. It's not the first beer I found too dreggy to be enjoyable, and unfortunately I doubt it will be the last.

Something more creative, if not entirely original, follows next: Maybe I Like The Misery, a bitter with Earl Grey tea. It certainly looked lovely, a pin-bright copper colour. And although it's a keg bitter, the texture is soft, not spiked with unwelcome carbon dioxide. At its core it's just a rather decent English-style ale with little by way of gimmick. The flavour centres on a crisp and slightly toasted cereal character with lots of tannin, which I guess you have to be into, but it is how I like my bitter. The Earl Grey isn't a complete dead loss, adding a subtle hint of citrus and some herbal notes which tasted like fennel or basil to me. It's easy to complain about gimmicky recipes, but equally lovely to find one where an unorthodox ingredient has been added in a way that helps the core beer rather than smothering it.

O Brother is prolific with its double IPAs, and this set included Moments Yet To Come, which is very much in their usual vernacular. That is to say it's hella murky and thick: a dense orange shade in the glass. It's sickly-sweet to begin, and this is despite Citra being the headline hop, and proceeds from there to hot 'n' harsh onion before a burnt rubber finish. Needless to say this one didn't suit me. Props for the lack of earthy grit, but everything else the brewery has put together to present as the flavour profile of this beer is disastrous. You might like it, though.

Another O Brother double IPA popped up in Aldi recently. Deis, like the above, is exactly 8% ABV and is a similar dense opaque yellow colour. We're not told what the hops are but it seems altogether more restrained, which is a good thing. The aroma is strangely spicy, almost sulphurous, but the flavour gets right down to fruity business. There's a banquet of pineapple, passionfruit, mango and peach on offer, all tasting bright and fresh like they haven't just spent the last few weeks on Aldi's warm shelves. Beware the yeast slop at the bottom of the can, though: when I accidentally poured that into my glass it didn't improve matters any. Overall, it's simplistic fun, lacking any deeper complexities or any kind of long finish: simply collect your fruit and go. I enjoyed it for all that, and found it happy easy drinking, despite the significant amount of alcohol. I had heard this one was in short supply at Aldi and I can see why.

Maybe I just don't have a taste for the fancier sort of haze, but it seems telling that the one made for a discount supermarket tasted better, to me, than the premium examples sold in the pub.

By the power of sour

No trip to Brussels would be complete without a sampling of its sour specialties, and I found these at a number of locations. First, it was La Fleur en Papier Doré -- my first visit since it re-opened after several years closed. It's still a beautiful café, although the beer list isn't an especially long one. Of interest was Mirakel, by De Ranke. The brewery isn't in Pajottenland so gets around the geographic restriction on lambic by sourcing the two- and three-year-old beer for this blend from established lambic brewers. The one-year-old element they produced themselves, allowing them to style it after their local river: "Spierelambic".

It achieves its goal of tasting like a proper geuze, with a green apple tartness and sparks of nitre. At 5.5% ABV it's lower strength than most new-wave lambics, and I think the complexity suffers somewhat from this. The finish is quite abrupt, with all the lovely wild features clearing off the palate with indecent haste. This lack of depth means it's not a contender for best geuze ever, but it's a pretty good one, and superb for a first effort.

Down the hill at Moeder Lambic Fontainas, they were pouring one from Boerenerf, and it would not do to pass that by. Alsacien is a plum lambic, 6.5% ABV, and the requisite shade of pinkish purple. There was no carbonation to speak of, which was disappointing, and it's light-textured as well. The flavour offers a simple sourness, and the fruit is non-specific and mostly confined to the aroma. There's no spark or spice and the whole thing is rather underwhelming. I wouldn't call it a misstep -- it's a perfectly decent beer -- but Boerenerf's wares are normally more impressive than this.

Among the bars I visited for the first time on this trip was Beer Capital -- a vast barn of a sports pub, right in the middle of town. The draught beer selection is pretty good, and included this oddity from Heineken-owned Mort Subite: Juicy Crime of Passion. It seems Mort Subite is following the example of Lindemans by releasing ever more gaudily branded super-sweet lambics. This is not as offensive as those ones. Yes, it's absolutely saturated in passionfruit syrup, but it's not sickly and smells like the genuine article. The flavour doesn't offer much other than passionfruit, though there is a certain tart kick to it as well, to give it a little bit of grown-up character. This is as silly as the tap badge, and not very beer-like, but neither is it unpleasant to drink.

Finally, we come to Cantillon. I didn't think it would be busy early on a Monday afternoon but had reckoned without the Quintessence festival which was kicking off the following day and which seemed to have brought the crowds a day early.

After a short wait, I picked Tarlantillon from the tasting room menu. The name is a portmanteau of the brewery and Domaine Tarlant, a Champagne producer whose grapes were included in the blend with two-year-old lambic. It's 6.5% ABV and the deep russet of orange wine. The sourness is very strong, with lots of mineral spicing and just a hint of marmalade citrus. It mellowed a little as it went along, but was still a workout for the palate by the end of the bottle. I liked it, but it wasn't an easy sup.

A most generous visitor from Australia was sharing further bottles around the table, and I have him to thank for getting to try Wild Friendship, a three-way collaboration between Cantillon and American sour beer gurus Russian River and Allagash. I say "thank" mainly because I had considered buying a bottle and having tasted it, I'm very glad I didn't. It's not very good. The oak side of it has been completely overdone, resulting in a raw and honking sappiness which covers any good features the beer may have had. This is where I would suggest a couple of years' cellaring to mellow it out, but it was released three years ago already, so I don't think that will work. Approach with caution.

Finally, a bottle labelled simply as Pineau d'Aunis, presumably blended with that grape variety. It's a dark amber colour and smells strongly of grape. There's a beautifully soft and full-bodied texture at a modest 6% ABV and a flavour stuffed with spicy gunpowder; the berry-like grape flavour limited to the background. I loved the mix of spice and smoothness, making it incredibly moreish. This is the sort of thing I had come to Cantillon, and indeed Brussels, for.

But it was time to leave; the brewery and the city. Brussels remains a fantastic city in which to spend a few days of casual beer drinking. I hope to be back before the year is out.

The Brussels hustle

The reception I wrote about (the beers of) on Monday was part of a three-day meeting of the EBCU in Brussels last month. It included, and facilitated, the drinking of Belgian beers in a variety of venues around Brussels. I helped by staying on for two extra days afterwards.

Immediately after the reception, a few of us ended up in the Irish theme pub around the corner, The Wild Geese: a vast and rambling joint, which was pleasingly buzzy on the Thursday night. The beer selection is no great shakes, however, and I opted for St Hubertus Triple Citra, more out of curiosity than any expectation of excellence. I'm guessing this is Carlsberg's attempt to muscle in on Duvel's C-hop edition. There are certainly similarities in the flavour but this one is much less subtle, loaded up with almost sickly perfumed floral flavours. At heart it's still a basically decent Belgian blonde ale, weighty and honey-sweet, but it has a very obvious gimmick of big American hops tacked on. I got through the glass OK, but wasn't hugely impressed.

The following day I had lunch in Billie, the bar which has taken the space of beloved Brussels institution Monk. Mercifully, it has been left almost exactly as it was before, down to the menu and beer selection. After my spaghetti, I had the house beer, Billie. This is brewed by Belgoo, and I wouldn't be surprised if it's simply a rebadge of something else. It's a straight up blonde ale of 5.8% ABV with lots of very typical Belgian flavours: both pithy and earthy; grapefruits and farmyards, with a sprinkling of white pepper spice for a savoury, saison-like, finish. It's not an especially distinctive beer, but is classically constructed and made well.

I had another from Belgoo at the Wolf food market, where they run the brewery. Belgoo Hoppy Pils is beautifully clear and golden. There's a slightly worrying hint of perfume about the aroma but the flavour goes full-on citrus, with zesty lemon up front, followed by a gentler satsuma or kumquat effect. That's set on a very simple malt base, properly lager-clean and nicely full-bodied, as one would expect at 5% ABV. To me, it comes across as something in the Italian pilsner style, but regardless of nomenclature it's very tasty and easy-drinking. Before this trip I didn't think I liked Belgoo's beers. These two gave me pause, and indicated why breweries' beers are often worth revisiting.

Staying in the food zone, we ate at Chez Léon on the way out, and this restaurant has its own blonde ale too, called Bière Léon. The internet tells me it's brewed at St-Feuillien, and the 6.5% ABV matches that of their blonde ale Saint Basle, so maybe it's a rebadge of that. It's pretty basic, and I wouldn't have been surprised to learn that it's Leffe, rather than a more reputable Belgian brewer. There's a hint of floral honey and some mild fruit candy, but nothing to distract you from your moules.

Around the corner, on a flying lunchtime visit to Delirium, I tried Trouble Maker, a New England-style IPA from brand new Belgian brewer Kerberos. This is a full 7% ABV and the pale yellow opaque colour of orange juice. Bags of vanilla and heaps of garlic tell you straight away what kind of beer you're getting, but there's also enough citrus pith and zest to add more life and freshness to it. On balance, it works quite well. It's the sweet and fun sort of hazy IPA, and that's despite quite a serious ABV of 7%. I liked how it was flavourful but not especially demanding on one's attention. Kerberos only launched last November, and this is their first beer, but they seem to know what they're doing.

Taking advantage of the sunshine, post-meeting beers on Saturday began at Grand Hospice, the huge beer garden in central Brussels. It was serving big jugs of Patatje, by Fort Lapin, one of which Reuben inadvertently ordered. We made the best of it. It's a murky orange colour and a little bit gritty with hints of savoury onion but, like the previous beer, adds enough citrus fun to largely offset its problems. As the name implies, potatoes are an ingredient, and I wonder how much of the soft texture can be put down to that. All told, though, it's a pretty good pale ale, nicely hopped and very accessible, though no lightweight at 6% ABV.

There was just a quick call in at Gist, and a snifter of Thor, a brown ale by Valduc. I wasn't a fan of this, from the sad, flat appearance, to the strong solvent aroma, to the harshly alcoholic flavour. While the latter shouldn't be a surprise given that it's 9% ABV, Belgian brewers can usually pull off this kind of thing with more panache. Here, the body is nastily thin and the only redeeming feature is an enjoyable chocolate character. It's not enough to save the beer, however. Pass.

A somewhat more leisurely time was spent at, or rather outside, Moeder Lambic Fontainas early on the Sunday afternoon. Round one here brought the Oud Bruin from West Flanders brewery Verzet. I'm not a huge fan of the style but thought this was an excellent example, tasting more like a Flanders red than oud bruin, which I count in its favour. It's a clear chestnut colour in the glass, and while sour, is not full-on vinegar. The flavour features a thick seam of luxurious dark chocolate plus a surprise dusting of fresh coconut. It's all very poised and classy, where too often these are a mish-mash of clanging flavours, ending up tasting more like soy sauce or balsamic than beer. This one is its own thing, emphasising the positives while keeping the clanging to a minimum.

And on the right of the picture is Schwarzbier by Brussels-based Germanophiles La Mule. It's one of those beer styles I try not to miss when I see it. And this is a good example, if a little extreme. It's strangely flat and quite un-lager-like, with a full and porter-esque body, feeling all of the 5.8% ABV and more. The aroma presents coffee and charcoal, which converts into an ash-dry flavour, delivering a raw burntness which I found quite severe and took some time to get used to. I did, though, and was enjoying the boldness of it all by the half-way mark. The secret is the quick lager finish which prevents it from becoming too harsh. A piece of strong cheese would have accompanied it nicely.

I stayed with La Mule for the next one, their Berliner Weisse. I doubt that this is a quick-and-dirty kettle-soured job because I thought I could detect a funky agricultural note in the aroma, suggesting Brettanomyces at work. It looks innocent enough, being a wan hazy yellow. I assumed a low strength, but it turns out to be a substantial 4.8% ABV. That gives it quite a creamy texture, far from the thin and sharp norm. The description doesn't mention fruit but I got a distinct lime citrus note at the centre of the flavour, though that may be a feature of generous hopping with some modern variety. There's mix of wild spice and funk swirling around this, and the result is at once complex and supremely refreshing. It's nice to see a brewery taking Berliner weisse seriously for once.

It seems to be something of a trend among Belgian breweries to make lower-strength versions of their flagship beers. La Chouffe, part of the Duvel-Moortgat stable, is the latest I've found, creating La Chouffe Lite: half the strength of the original at 4% ABV. That should make it markedly different, but it does a very good job of packing in the Chouffe signatures. For one thing, it's not thin, and retains the slickness of a much stronger beer. Nor is the flavour compromised: there's lots of fun Belgian fruit, all brightly tropical, bringing cantaloupe, lychee and pineapple. It does seem a bit sweeter than standard La Chouffe, and maybe the lower alcohol is a cause there, but there's also a lovely dusting of the original's white pepper spice which helps offset the sugar. When I wrote about the lower-strength version of Westmalle Tripel, I noted approvingly that it still has all the Belgian character one would want. The same goes for this. A bigger serving might be hard going, but as a low-strength substitute for full-fat gnome, it works very well.

On the hoof on Monday, I chugged a bottle of Cornet Smoked blonde ale, having picked it up in a supermarket the previous evening and not got round to drinking it. There are a raft of brand extensions of the oaky blonde ale from Palm, and this is one of them, keeping to the original's 8.5% ABV. There's an initial kick of unsubtle kippery smoke, but it fades in short order to become a very plain blonde ale once more. While the smoke isn't overdone, and legitimately passes as a seasoning rather than a gimmick, the base beer doesn't have enough going on for the smoke to contrast or complement it, and it does feel quite artificial and tacked-on as a result. I'm glad I tried it, and it was honestly better than I thought it would be, but I won't be rushing back for more.

I didn't have space in my bag for that one, but did make room for a bottle of Dupont Moinette, having discovered recently that there's no record of it on this here blog. Here we go then. Publicity photos show it with a fine thick white head but I got only a thin layer of short-lived loose bubbles. The aroma is quite saison-like, with a crisp grain dryness meeting peppery spice and peachy fruit. It's quite a heavy beast, moreso than most other blonde ales at 8.5% ABV. If the aroma promised a lightness of touch, the flavour doesn't deliver anything of the sort. Stonefruit is powerfully present in the foretaste, peaches meeting lychee in syrup and apricot jam. It turns bitter in the finish, with a green old-world hop leafiness. That makes for a pleasing contrast, with the sweeter side returning in the aftertaste. There's a heat which means it's not as casually drinkable as, say, Duvel, but I liked this beefier take on the style. While it has taken me a while to get to, I'll be coming back to this.

One more post wraps up this trip to Brussels, and we'll go properly wild in that. Until Friday, then.

Italy and abroad

The European Beer Consumers Union held one of its regular receptions in Brussels a couple of weeks ago, hosted at the local offices of the Italian farmers' organisation. Grain to glass and all that. All members of EBCU were asked to bring beers from their own countries, but the selection was centred around Italian beers, all winners in national competitions.

Eager to get stuck in, my first beer was La Mancina, from Forte. This is 7.5% ABV and described as a strong ale. It's a bright amber colour and absolutely teeming with too-warm-fermentation fruit esters. From an aroma of hot brown bananas, it leads to a flavour of the same, the sickly sweetness only fading enough to give impressions of fruitcake or treacle bread. That's tough going to drink, and there's nothing much else happening: despite it being a strong beer, there is little by way of complexity or contrasting flavours on offer. Maybe this is a perfect, to-style, rendering of some ghastly sub-genre of Italian beer, but I wouldn't have given it any prizes myself.

The next Italian in my glass was a stout: Cliffs, by Birrificio Humus in Abruzzo. I had brought stout to the meeting because our poor European neighbours tend to be in shortly supply of the pintable sort, but this one was only 4% ABV. You'd never guess from drinking it, though. It bursts with righteous stouty goodness: fresh coffee beans, dense dark chocolate and an unexplained seam of sweet coconut. The smooth body is big enough to carry all that, yet it's very much a dry stout, not a sweet one. If I hadn't been rushing through the selection (for your benefit, gentle reader) I would have liked to spend more time with this one.

There was much curiosity in the room about the Italian beer labelled as a "German Ale". Spitze, by AcmE, turned out to be nothing more exciting than a Kölsch: the law which prevents even mentioning or depicting Cologne on the label is not actually helping consumers. Its nature is immediately apparent from the first pour and sip: pale gold with a light and crisp malt aroma, followed by an equally clean crisp flavour, with a hint of sulphurous spice for character. I found it deliciously refreshing, and I hope those who thought there would be more hops involved aren't disappointed.

We stay on German styles for the next couple, starting with Officina del Baccano's Ziegenbock, an 8% ABV Doppelbock. There's not much to say about this, other than it's a flawless representation of the style, albeit missing any individual features. But it's the requisite chestnut colour, with a heavy texture lightened somewhat by its lager fizz. Chocolate and cereal malts meet with the grass and asparagus of noble German hop varieties. It is at once chewy and satisfying while also conversational and easy-going. Pure awards bait.

Another Italian brewery I've never heard of but am delighted to discover is Styles, from the east coast. At the reception, I tried Lilly Smoke, their rauchbier. Obviously, any sane brewer is going to try and copy Schlenkerla's Märzen, and this has a little of its dark tint, albeit not so severe. It's also on the sweet side, which is justifiable at 6% ABV. They've done a very good job of putting the smoke at the centre of the flavour while also keeping the beer balanced and drinkable, something Schlenkerla makes look easy but few breweries manage. It's actually the bock-like density and sweetness which turns out to be the beer's weak spot for me, but that's more a matter of taste than anything. This is very well made.

Among the beers I took home was another from Styles, and another stout. Black Eyes purports to be American style and is 5.6% ABV. In the glass it is quite black, with garnet highlights. An attractively ivory head doesn't last long. There's little aroma to speak of -- no blast of C-hops, which is what I want when I see the word "American" next to "Stout" -- and the flavour is similarly restrained. There's a delicate creaminess here, and subtle notes of sweet flowers and bitter herbs, but nothing jangling, difficult or, frankly, distinctive. We're in the smooth zone, where all is blended together to the point of blandness. A few light pinches of pepper and rosemary are as assertive as it gets. On the one hand it's a very well-made beer; on the other, this was suitcased from Italy to Belgium and then flown to Ireland, and I'm not sure it was worth the mileage. If you're on Italy's east coast, though, get it into you.

Next it's a couple of beers from Lombardian brewery 50&50, starting on a session IPA called God of Laif. Finally we get some colourful hops from the New World, and I don't know which varieties they use in this, but they're a superb advertisement for the American hop industry. The lead-in aroma is attractively spicy with lots of pine, while the flavour is deeply and thickly resinous, to begin. It then blends this with happy and bright tropical notes which add drinkability and a lightness of touch. The cherry on top is a light 4.5% ABV. This really does have all that's great about American IPA presented in a genuinely sessionable package.

50&50 is the first brewery I've found making an Italian grape lager, the style perhaps an inevitability given Italian microbrewing's contributions to world beer culture so far. Graziela is [rub fingers gesture] 6.5% ABV and pours a medium gold with a modicum of haze and a lacklustre head. The aroma is mostly that of a dry lager -- almost Japanese style -- but with some sort of estery chemical overtone, which I guess is the grapes. The flavour brings these two sides together much more harmoniously. Yes, it's a lager to the core: extremely dry and brittle, sanding down your tongue to leave it wanting more. The grape isn't exactly subtle, with a strong note of gooey Muscat or even Sauternes, which doesn't suggest Italy to me at all. Nevertheless, it works: summery crisp fizz meeting a more perfumed autumnal richness. I'm impressed, and not just because I've never tasted anything quite like it before. It's genuinely easy to drink and exquisitely balanced. Why they thought to send it out into the world in a can with two badly-drawn cartoon characters on it is anyone's guess.

I wrapped up my Italian explorations on the night with Quadro, from Barbaforte, a saison. Funny, I remember this as being a tripel, and now I turn to my notes I see that I thought it smelled like one, with more of a sweet spice than saison normally has. While the taste is predominantly dry, with a subtle cinnamon spice, there's an unwelcome banana element as well: harsh skin at the front and ripe flesh in the finish. It's not a dealbreaker but it didn't add anything positive to the experience for me. This is an acceptable saison, and nicely drinkable for 6.4% ABV, but it's by no means an exceptional one. 

Litha is a witbier, from Arte Brassicola Mastio in central Italy. All appearances are of an orthodox example of the style: 5.2% ABV and hazy yellow. Not content with coriander and orange peel, the brewer has also added cardamom. There's a distinctly herbal note from the aroma, but the promise of citrus zest as well. Alas the zest gets somewhat lost in the flavour, and it's the cardamom which is most pronounced, giving it a strongly savoury character. That is at least a character, but it's not one I care for. It's quite a weighty beer, and the cardamom adds to an overall feeling of heaviness: zingy summer drinking it is not, even straight from the fridge. If you like a more serious and involved witbier, this is one you might enjoy, though I've never met anyone who does.

Last of the Italian beers I nabbed from the post-event leftovers is Ponale, described by its brewer, Leder, as "hoppy pils" -- a reminder that the whole "Italian pilsner" designation isn't much of a thing in Italy. This is 5% ABV and a hazy pale yellow with lots of foam piling up. The aroma is fantastically zesty, giving limoncello and lemon sherbet. It doesn't feel like a pilsner, being quite heavy and ale-like. I would almost swear that the lemon is provided by a syrup flavouring, but it isn't. The sweetness tails off, but leaves those damn lemons in the finish -- sharply citric, like fancy lemonade. It's a fun beer, and worked well on a sunny day, but between the fuzzy murk and the IPA hops, it doesn't deliver what I want from a pilsner of any stripe. Where is the crispness? I had hoped for a classic but got a novelty instead.

Turning to the beers from elsewhere, EBCU's Swedish member recently celebrated its 40th anniversary with a commemorative dark mild. Weird flex, but OK. 40 år Jubileumsöl was produced at Nynäshamns Ångbryggeri in Stockholm, and packed in 500ml bottles. It's quite a pale brown colour and 4.2% ABV, so similarities to English mild are scant. The fruit esters, too, are not the right sort. The best milds have a plummy, autumnal fruit character; this was a more basic raisin and banana effect. Likewise, I enjoy a kick of coffee roast in a mild, and this seemed to be aiming for it but lacks impact, coming across meek and miserly. I think they've taken the notion that mild isn't meant to be an exciting beer a bit too far. As celebrations go, it's a muted one.

The sole German appearance was from a Berliner weisse called Kaiserweisse, brewed by Tyrell BrauKunstAtelier in Brandenburg. This was the 2022 vintage, and there was only one bottle, so I had merely a tiny sip, but it's very good. I could tell it's stronger than normal Berliner weisse but would never have guessed the strength is as high as 9.5% ABV. An innocent pale hazy yellow, it's dry more than it's sour, with an understated acidic sharpness and no high-gravity warmth. The aroma has a snatch of sulphur while the flavour, I guess using Brettanomyces yeast, offers soft ripe stonefruit and pineapple, seasoned with a mild peppery spice. There's a lot to it and I'd be keen to try some other years.

I tend to associate Iceland with dark and smoky beers -- perhaps that's mostly what gets exported -- but the delegates brought something quite different: a light and fruity sour ale. Gæðingur Brugghús makes Eldgosi, souring the mash with a local yoghurt-like culture (skyr) and adding cumin, herbs and seasalt before finishing it with raspberries. There is an unfruited version and I would like to try that, because the raspberries tend to take over here. Candy-like summer fruit -- cherry in particular -- is the long and the short of it, given a clean and spritzy base, making for thirst-quenching fun at just 4.1% ABV. I couldn't help thinking I was missing out on the base beer's deeper complexity, however.

This next one should be good. Lager maestros De La Senne have got together with the pioneering Birrificio Italiano and revered Schönramer to create a talent-pooling lager called Freundeslager. While it's an unpromising 4% ABV it has plenty of body and loads of flavour. Though the hops are a mix of Belgian and German, it's the latter which is most prominent, with a hay-like dryness and lots of greenly herbal bitterness. That took a bit of getting used to, but I was enjoying the overall loud brashness of it before long. The beer is also hazy, and that doesn't help things, adding an unwelcome gritty fuzz: not to tell these people their jobs, but pale lager works best when fully transparent. Some gentle citrus emerges as it warms, adding a layer of peach and mandarin next to the herbs, though the finish is acridily dry; almost a crêpe-paper rasp. I get what they're trying to do here, but I found it somewhat overdone, pulling in multiple directions instead of presenting a seamless and integrated flavour experience. It's lager, but not as I want it. All three breweries make better examples by themselves.

And finally, from Austria, there was Ottakringer G'mischte. This isn't really a beer in its own right, being a blend of the brewery's Helles and Dunkles lagers, presumably in equal measures. I'm not at all sure why they would do this, but I guess it's a convenience thing. The result is a flawless dark copper colour with a subtle herbal quality in the aroma leading to a less subtle one in the flavour. This adds aniseed and basil to the malt's caramel and toast, and the combination works beautifully. While there's plenty going on, it's all blended together perfectly. The only thing upsetting things slightly is its high density and considerable sweetness, making it tough drinking for a beer that's only 4.8% ABV. Still, taking time over it is no hardship. I still think the component beers are perhaps better enjoyed apart, but nothing has been diluted by turning them into this.

With the reception over, the tidying up done, and the goodbyes said, it was off to see what else was happening in Brussels.