The history round

Or is it the geography round? It's Session day again and our topic this month was chosen by Laura: The Ultimate Pub Quiz. Hopefully not literally: I do like a quiz and wouldn't like to think of them coming to an end. As regards preferred subjects, rounds on beer trivia are rare, but I'll settle for geography or history, two areas that I've learned about extensively via beer.

In which year was the Spanish Armada wrecked on the Irish coast?
Today I'm assessing two beers from Western Herd in Co. Clare. As a regular visitor to Donegal in my youth, I was well aware of the associations there with the Spanish Armada, the failed attempt by Spain to invade England by sea, resulting in a swathe of wrecked ships down the western Irish coast. I'm less familiar with how it affected areas further south, but Clare got a coastal placename out of it, and from the placename, a beer: Spanish Point.

This has been around for a couple of years now, but I've only just encountered it for the first time. The brewery calls it an "American pale ale", though at 5.9% ABV it's stronger than many an Irish-brewed IPA. That's one part of its authentically American sensibilities; the other is the huge citrus aroma, packed to the gunwales with zesty, spicy citrus. There's a bit of heat too, making it smell a bit like an Old Fashioned to me, even though there's no barrel-ageing involved. On tasting, that turns to pine resin: a different sort of classic US character. It's not a million miles from what Sierra Nevada's Pale Ale does, though maybe a little more fruit forward. And I shouldn't have to mention this, but for the record, it's completely clear: a slightly amber-leaning golden. All in, it's a class act, and leaves me wondering if the American brewer at Western Herd makes this sort of thing because he's homesick. I assume it's in regular production, even if it's a bit tricky to get hold of in Dublin, and I heartily recommend it to everyone who's done with the vanilla, garlic and grit of contemporary pale ales.

How long has Western Herd been brewing?
It has not been a good time for microbrewing out west, and the boom is certainly over. Bridewell, Galway Hooker and most recently Black Donkey have all packed it in of late. That makes me extra grateful for the breweries from Donegal down to Kerry who are still keeping the lights on. Maybe it's because I don't see their beer very often, but Western Herd seems to be staying out of the rat race, and I hope that's working for them. It has seen them through to their tenth anniversary, for which they brewed another classic American-style beer.

Milestone describes itself matter-of-factly as a Centennial IPA. There's no crowing about the West Coast anywhere, but it's immediately obvious on pouring that it's that sort of IPA. The beer is perfectly clear again, and a shining copper colour, promising toasted malt to go along with the hops. The aroma is floral: sweeter than I thought it would be, and any citrus is juice, not pith. The flavour goes big on jaffa oranges, and it too is surprisingly sweet. There's more than a hint of hard candy and lollipops about the hop taste here. I thought there would be toffee from the malt, but that whole aspect is very understated, tasting merely tannic, stewed not caramelised. All told, it's not a very bright and distinctive beer, resembling a simple English bitter more than an American IPA. I didn't quite get what I was expecting, but an easy-drinking bitter is never a chore.

It seems that Western Herd has a house style, and it's a distinctly retro one. No remarks would be passed on either of these beers if they'd showed up in the US microbrew scene of the 1990s. Perhaps those that do know their history are still doomed to repeat it, in quite a tasty way, it turns out.

Belfast bookends

Today's post is a short companion piece to Monday's run-through of the beers I drank at the Jubilate festival organised by Boundary Brewing last month.

Glider efficiency meant we were some minutes early for the gig, and fortunately the Boundary taproom across the yard from the venue was open and serving. It seemed appropriate to open my account for the day with the beer created to commemorate the event: Jubilate, brewed by Boundary in collaboration with nine festival participants from the island of Ireland. It's a pale ale of 4.5% ABV and hazy in the way that Boundary likes to make them; as do most of the other breweries involved, in fairness to them. Everyone must have brought a big sack of hops to the kettle because it is absolutely saturated in them, giving the beer a harsh and hot garlic character which I wasn't keen on. This clashes with another haze cliché: thick vanilla custard. There's a little orange juice lurking in the background, but I wouldn't classify the beer as juicy, the way the brewery does. It's bang on for the fashion, is absolutely the sort of thing that Boundary has a name for, and it will have fans for sure. For my part, I didn't think it was awful, but definitely isn't my kind of vibe. It's at least part of the reason that there weren't many IPAs in Monday's blog post: I reached my haze quota early.

We had a couple of hours between kicking out time after the early Saturday session and the train home from Belfast's shiny new Grand Central Station. It would have been rude not to drop in at The Crown while passing it, and we shared a snug with some Americans, upset that their stew arrived partially frozen. Pfft. Tourists. I had a pint of overly sweet English cask cider and an excellent one of Timothy Taylor Boltmaker, and on we went.

There was still time at the station. Time to exercise some morbid curiosity about the new BrewDog Belfast, situated on the mezzanine above the station concourse and about which I have yet to hear a good word said. It's a poky little space, all width and no depth (make your own BrewDog joke here) but it does serve White Hag's Little Fawn on draught, so can't be all bad.

Nothing so sensible for me, however. I spotted one potential tick among the BrewDog beers so opted for a pint of Wingman Tropical Storm. I quite liked the session IPA this is based on, and indeed found it to have a happy tropical flavour from the hops. Here, they've boosted the ABV to 7.2% and boosted the tropicals with mango and passionfruit extract. Or at least, they've tried to. The hop side gets utterly drowned out in a sticky confection of fake-tasting syrup. The sweetness is at that needle-bending end of the scale where it starts tasting hot and metallic. I will say the alcohol is well hidden, but it's hidden by something horrible. Still, I finished my pint and caught the train anyway. I doubt I'll be making BrewDog Belfast a regular stop on visits to the city, but I am glad that it's there and that it serves drinkable beer, something I'm increasingly glad of as the multinationals flex their muscles. Better this than somewhere pouring mass market rubbish.

The above is, of course, not representative of Belfast as a beer drinking city. (You can read some better recent experiences here, for example.) Boltmaker is already a magnificent beer, but it takes on an extra level of reverence in this sort of context.

Better Jubilate than never

Having been cancelled  by that virus thingy back in 2020, Boundary Brewing's Jubilate festival finally came to life at the end of May. The venue was a spacious floor of a former linen mill, just opposite the brewery and its taproom in east Belfast. 20 guest brewers from Ireland and the UK showed up, each pouring two beers at a time.

Without any particular strategy in mind, I began with Ultimate Thunder, a 4.9% ABV New Zealand-hopped pale ale, produced by Northern Monk with collaborative input from Amity and Elusive. The hop bill is an involved one, and I'll leave you to look up the details yourself. I didn't find it especially characterful, however, seeming to offer nothing more than the basics of New Zealand hops' Germanic origins: a weedpatch of nettle, dandelion and dry grass clippings. It's nicely clear and clean, channelling the pale lager styles which such hops were originally bred for, and there's a beautiful creamy texture of the sort found in the best pilsners. Despite this, the finish is abrupt with no aftertaste to speak of. I enjoyed it to an extent but had expected more from it. 

Beside it here is Exemplify, a coffee stout from Belfast client brewer Tilt & Pour. Though only 4.5% ABV, it's weighty and sweet, presenting like the unloved coffee-cream item in a milk chocolate assortment. After the initial sugar rush, the roast reasserts itself and it tends towards acrid and burnt from the middle to the finish. They certainly didn't skimp on the coffee: this has at least two very real coffee aspects going on. I found it a bit too busy for my liking, not enjoying the clash of the rough and the sugary. If you like your coffee beer with all the coffee, however, it might just be your cup of tea.

While we're on novelty stouts, I had high hopes for Sigaro, currently being touted around the festival circuit by Galway Bay, and made in collaboration with Italian brewer Hilltop. The name derives from the inclusion of tobacco in the recipe, which I don't think I've encountered before, but seems like a suitably complementary adjunct for a stout. There's rather more normal cacao as well. Alas, I have no idea where the tobacco went, or what contribution it made, because I couldn't taste it. Nor the chocolate either, frankly. This 5.6%-er turned out to be another confectionary-like effort, smelling warm and creamy, like an Irish coffee, and with a roasted coffee dryness at the centre of the flavour, more subtle than in the Tilt & Pour one. No gimmicks, no fireworks, just a well-made classic drinking stout, properly balanced and making good use of nitrogenation to smooth it out. Have your cigar on the side.

Our hosts had set up their own bar separately from the guests, and my first from here was a lime and coconut gose, given a typically Boundary name of Just Had To Teach Myself Calculation Logic. Although it's a light 4.5% ABV, this has a beautifully smooth texture and does an excellent job of showing off its headline ingredients. The big coconut flavour comes with an attendant creaminess, while the lime is subtly tangy, taking a background role along with the salinity. It's dessertish without turning overly sweet, and while very much a novelty beer, the classic elements of gose are still present and form the visible framework onto which the novel aspects are affixed. It's gulpable, refreshing, and only a little bit silly. Perfect summer fare.

The festival selection, though satisfactory, was lacking in high-end geek-bait, which was a little disappointing. Land & Labour's presence helped, and there was also The Kernel, from whom I tried Bière de Saison Apricot. First impressions weren't much, the beer looking innocent and yellow, with a simplistic stonefruit-flesh aroma. It hit the geek buttons with its flavour, however: a lambic-like soured peppery spice and lots Brettanomyces-derived funk, resembling a young and frisky blue cheese. The name is typical Kernel understatement: it puts in a performance which is much more impressive than those four simple words convey.

Back to the locals, and Beer Hut was up next, with Master Blaster, a session IPA. This is a hazy one, and very pale yellow with it, 4% ABV and brewed with Centennial and Simcoe. I wasn't a fan of the butane and banana aroma, something better suited to a weissbier than an IPA. The flavour was a big improvement on this, thankfully, beginning with the zingy and sparking bitterness: grapefruit and lime rind, giving way to a more resinous forest pine. It's a little on the thin side, but avoids turning harsh, as so often happens when light beers are given big hops. The malt base is clean and dry, with a snap of water biscuit. This gives you big beer energy in a small package, which I guess is the point of session IPA, but it's seldom done so well as it is here.

Whiplash pulled a daring move with its choice of beers: maybe people would be bored with all the saturated IPAs and novelty stouts; maybe they'll want something to hit reset. So they brought their recent non-alcoholic IPA and their brand new shandy: Body Radler. As the name suggests, this is Body Riddle pale ale, diluted back to 2.5% ABV with lemonade. And it seems to be quite a high-end lemonade, being cloudy and with a fresh zesty tang. Unfortunately, the beer side gets totally buried under the sugar, so while it's far from unpleasant, you may as well be drinking the lemonade neat. I don't really see what purpose is served by the beer, because it doesn't taste or feel like a grown-up drink at all.

I rarely see them in the wild, but Kinnegar's "Tap Room Only" series has now reached TRO 12: Smoked Lime Sour. I was a little apprehensive, though there was no chance of me passing this one by. I was hoping for something along the lines of a tropical barbecue, but no. The aroma is barely there, while the flavour chases it with a honking, clunking fishy twang with an unpleasant chemical burntness. It's not the first smoked beer in which I've encountered this kippers-and-plastic effect, and I have to wonder who out there is OK with it. That said, the harshness settles after a moment or two and the whole beer becomes smoother and gentler, showing sweet lime candy, pineapple and honeydew melon, before finishing on a note of cold ashtray. It doesn't work. There is nothing complementary about how the citrus and the smoke interact with each other, and the latter would have been better left out. A worthy experiment, perhaps, but not one to repeat.

Beside it is a cleansing imperial stout from the Boundary bar, the last remnants of one from a few years ago called Like Putting on a Wee Jumper: 10.4% ABV and aged in an Islay cask for a swift four weeks, then cut with another stout. That cautiousness means it's only slightly smoky, which was a relief after the beer beside it. Instead, there's a beautiful spiced wine or vermouth character, mixing in with coffee and toast. The name is extremely apt: it's wintery and comforting, without turning hot or cloying. There's a good dryness to the toasty roast, lending it almost a crispness and ensuring it remains drinkable. There was no way back from here: stout time had begun.

Left Handed Giant's Deeper Water was a mere lightweight at just 4.5% ABV, served with a huge wodge of nitrogenated foam. The aroma is attractively chocolate-like, but it turns oddly savoury on tasting, with a strong umami note, hinting at autolysis, even though it's not the kind of strong and old beer which I'd have thought might be susceptible to that. While it's not bad, it left me a little confused as to what was going on here.

While the Rascals pilot brewery is relatively accessible to me at home, I had to come to Belfast to try Pilot #135, a big imperial stout of 10.3% ABV, which isn't usually their style, but I'll take it regardless. The lack of aroma was a bit of a let-down, giving me nothing but a worryingly harsh heat. The flavour is mellower, thankfully, offering a nutty cola effect, with a wintery cinnamon spice note. I'd be happy if they decided to make this a regular beer -- it would be most welcome in their generally quite light core range. But as a one-off, it lacked a bit of character. I felt it needed more of a richness to make use of the alcohol. Cake it up, please.

That beer's prospects weren't helped by it coming right next to the magnificent Vienna Imperial Stout from Kirkstall. The name derives from the base malt used, one which has given it a superb rich and velvety smoothness. This 10.2% ABV version has been aged in Irish whiskey and bourbon barrels, and the honey effect of the former arrives late in the flavour, complementing the sumptuous milk chocolate which forms the early part. It's one of those beers which is difficult to pick apart because it all dovetails so neatly together and you can't see the joins. It was a tough decision, but eventually I had to set down my pen, sit back and simply marvel.

That was it for the draught, but some packaged beer was circulating the room, via the good offices of Simon. Oldest stout of the day was Cloudwater's Hibernate, 11.2% ABV and bottled over a decade ago. This showed the classic pipe tobacco and old leather of very agéd stout, though there was a surprisingly fresh seam of coffee running through it as well. Predictable, but not overwhelming, soy-sauce umami crept in towards the end, and a fun aftershave spice finished it off. Beer this old often presents a trade-off of mature deliciousness against wonky flaws, but overall, this was worth drinking, and had escaped any unpleasant oxidation or souring. I'm not sure I would have left it much longer, though: get your Gyle 123 open, if you're holding.

And finally, half its age: Intergalactic, a whiskey-aged salted caramel stout, aged until five years ago in a whiskey barrel. This was the day's strongest, at 12.5% ABV and I'm not sure that the super high gravity served it well, because it came out smelling unpleasantly of hot mushy bananas. The flavour tempered this with some classic coffee and cocoa, and presumably the caramel element was a contributor to that. A small sample of this was plenty for me. Maybe it could have done with another five or so years in the can.

Anyway, that's where it all wrapped up. It was a well-run festival in an excellent space with plenty of interesting beers. Particular thanks to all the brewers who brought stout, something that's not always a given for a summer gig. I'm not quite done with this trip to Belfast yet, however: pre- and post-festival beers will follow next.

Look who's Tolkein

I guess it's the nerd connection that's responsible for all the fantasy telly tie-in beers. Mikkeller had the Game of Thrones franchise a few years back and now it seems that the owners of Lord of the Rings have granted a licence to Hungarian brewery Mad Scientist to make some associated beers. Three of them showed up in Craft Central.

White Tree is a pale ale of 5.2% ABV. It doesn't look ideal, being dull and murky, with a greyish cast. Oxidation? I don't get any staleness in the flavour, but there's no freshness either. It all tastes very savoury, which is a surprise given the New Zealand hops employed -- Nelson Sauvin, Motueka and Pacific Sunrise. Something has definitely gone wrong here. Instead of grapes, grass and minerals, it tastes of sesame paste and dark brown breadcrust: not what anyone wants from a pale ale. It is at least cleanly flavoured, the murk softening the texture but stopping short of adding any unwelcome grit. But ash-dry pale ale is an idea whose time has not yet come and hopefully never will.

Anyway, I only bought the pale ale to make up the numbers. The next two are in much more interesting styles. Mordor is a black IPA. They wouldn't dare mess one of those up, would they? It's a bit murky, pouring muddy brown rather than shiny black. The aroma doesn't have much to say, but it's on the right lines, with light liquorice and dark toast. The flavour keeps everything moving in the right direction, with the spiced red cabbage effect I especially enjoy in black IPAs. Sparks of peppercorn and gunpowder start us off, and the finish is smooth and treacly. That said, it's all quite understated, not making full use of the 5.5% ABV to drive flavour. I can't really criticise it too much, because it delivers all the lovely features of black IPA, and at a modest strength. Yes, I'd like bigger and bolder, but what's here is very decent. Mordor seems like a lovely place.

Our epic quest concludes with Dwarven Forge, an oatmeal stout. This one, at least, is properly black, with a rich and wholesome aroma of coffee and porridge. It's surprisingly lightly textured for all of 6% ABV, but it does have that oatmeal smoothness. The flavour centres on dark chocolate with an edging of oily coffee roast, finishing quickly and cleanly. There's a burst of floral complexity in the middle and a growing alcohol heat, making for some tasty after-dinner sipping. While it's no world-shaker, it's a jolly decent beer with enough going on to keep it entertaining while delivering all the things anyone could want from an oatmeal stout. Dwarves: dependable. 

I get the impression that Mad Scientist didn't bring their best to this franchise arrangement. The beers are middling and unspectacular. I guess they know that people will buy them for the association rather than the taste. That's one way to stay in business.

I do know Panenka

It's a football term, apparently. You might expect a lager called Panenka to appear on a rotation tap when there's a football tournament on. Indeed, the same brewer created one called Maracanã for the 2014 Brazil World Cup. I don't know why this one is here and now. "Here" is The Porterhouse in Dublin's Temple Bar and it's branded as a house beer, though since the Porterhouse brewery was sold on, all beers are produced elsewhere, and this is the first of them to come from Hopkins & Hopkins, upriver in Smithfield.

A Czech-style pils is what's on offer, which seems like a reasonable prospect from a brewery that has made Helles its unlikely but welcome flagship. Magnum hops from Czechia are the signature feature we are to be on alert for. I didn't expect them to be fruity, so was surprised by the waft of light yet ripe pear in the aroma, and the same in the centre of the flavour. Around that, it is the light summer pilsner we're promised, despite a not-insubstantial 4.7% ABV. The base is very crisp and dry lager grain, teaming up with an almost aggressive carbonation. Nevertheless, it's not basic or bland. I would have liked a little more assertive noble hop bittering, beyond the faint green herbs of the finish, but it still stays on the right side of the boring/interesting divide.

I don't mean interesting as a euphemism for wonky. I think this would pass muster in a proper lager culture anywhere in the world. Obviously, nobody else who comes to The Porterhouse to drink it will appreciate what's going on the way I do, but I hope it brings a little bit of golden continental sunshine into their otherwise dreary lives.

Hoppy Monday

The advent of summer brought us a raft of new hop-forward beers from Irish brewers. Here are the ones that haven't made it into some other post.

The White Hag has embarked on an Experimental Brew Series -- everyone else is doing it, so why not? First out is XBS: Session NEIPA, a hazy IPA of just 4.5% ABV. It's not especially hazy, being pale orange and not quite opaque. The hops are the not-very-experimental Amarillo, Citra and Motueka and not much else is out of the ordinary about it. Which isn't to say it's a bad beer. There's a very pleasant light tropical fruit quality: mango and passionfruit, joined by juicy peach and soft lychee. The Citra adds a seasoning of zesty bitterness. Even for the modest strength, it's light-bodied and verges on thin, but I think that's all part of the design. You get a lovely sessionable beer, brimming with fresh and juicy hop character. It's the sort of thing White Hag frequently excels at so I really don't know where the experimentation lies, but I probably shouldn't worry about that.

I complained previously that the hazy IPA imperative had infected wild beer specialists Wide Street, and now I see that the AI-slop label disease has too, with another smeary nighttime cityscape, devoid of humanity or artistry, adorning the label of City Lights, their new session IPA. It's as yellow and murky as you like (or not) and smells of the de rigueur mix of vanilla and citrus juice: not unpleasant, but by golly I've smelled it before. I've become somewhat fascinated by how the haze squad do texture at sessionable strengths, and this conducts itself expertly. Though only 4.6% ABV, it's full and fluffy, but there's an initial waxy twang in the foretaste that concerned me at the outset. It softens a little to coconut but never quite gets rid of the plastic note. Any fruit side is seriously low-balled, maybe a little pithy orange but -- and I searched -- nothing else to report. It's not unpleasant, and crucially it's not thin and harsh, but the flavour doesn't deliver anything worthwhile. I can't imagine a session on it.

I'm somewhat surprised that Brú Brewery still exists, never mind that it's had a rebrand and released a new beer, but here we are. "Brú has seen a few changes over the years" says the can, winning the award for understatement from anyone keeping track of Ireland's independent brewing scene over the last decade and a bit. I had been previously informed that Brú beer was produced on contract at Dundalk Bay, but this says it came from its parent's actual production facility, Galway Bay in Oranmore. I'm sure they wouldn't lie. Brú Hazy IPA is barely hazy: a sort of lemonade cloudiness, pouring thinly and crackling fizzily. No pillows here. The aroma is grainy and crisp, more like a lager than any kind of IPA, and with nothing hop-related to say. There's a certain substance to the taste, not feeling as thin as it looked and sounded, but there is nothing by way of fresh hop character, which is a grave error for anything calling itself an IPA in this day and age. Cereal, cordial, fizz and talc are the sum of its parts. It's hard to believe that anyone employed to brew a hazy IPA in 2025 has never actually drank one before, but that's the only explanation. It's not a bad beer; it's not infected or flawed, but it barely passes muster as a sort of stickier witbier, and definitely not as an IPA. Take a look at what you're doing, Brú. The corner cutting won't save your company.

Rascals is next, collaborating with English brewer Rivington, on Crack On, a 5% ABV hazy pale pale. This one is properly murked, though still pale orange rather than the trendier beaten-egg yellow. "Bold haze" and "juicy vibes" are promised on the label. I found it quite restrained, however. A barely-there aroma shows nothing more exciting than orange squash, while the flavour has a lacing of savoury raw onion around the edges and a big fat nothing in the middle. The body is decently full, and it would be a great platform for some exciting hop action, but it's just not there. The label does say it's "smashable" and it is indeed very easy drinking, but in quite a plain and unexciting way. Both of these brewers know their way around the haze genre, so all I can think is that something went wrong here. There aren't any technical flaws, nor any off-flavours. It's the lack of on-flavours that troubles me. This is a beer which is sorely wanting in whirlpool and fermentation tank hops.

From Hope, a 5.5% ABV Summer 2025 New England IPA, this being the third year in a row they've done this, and this time round the usual hops of Idaho 7, Azacca and Mosaic are joined by experimental variety HBC 1019. Juice features prominently in the aroma: it has lots of zesty orangeade and cordial sweetness. The flavour swings that way too, tasting like the fun first punch through the skin of a Capri-Sun: very sweet, very spritzy and very thirst-quenching. They say it's made for outdoor drinking and it absolutely is: piling in bright and fresh New-World hop qualities, set on a light body, and keeping clean throughout. It looks like Hope has largely ceased developing this recipe: neither this year's nor last year's cans carried the year on them. Should they choose to settle on this as every year's summer recipe then I fully support it. We don't have a perennial summer beer in this country, but if we did, I would quite like it to taste like this.

Just because it's hazy doesn't mean it's juicy, and Two Yards has given us a reminder of that with Shiny Hoppy People, the second of its name. Although it looks all bright and sweet, and does have a beautiful soft texture, it is seriously dank and resinous; much more bitter than New England-style IPA tends to be, and gloriously, unapologetically so. A burst of pithy citrus towards the finish is as fruitsome as it gets, and the 5.8% ABV is well concealed. As usual with Third Barrel's Two Sides offerings, this is a high-quality pinter, right in the sweet spot between quaffable and interesting. 

Lineman has extended the Electric Avenue IPA series to number 7, trying a combination of Centennial, Krush and BRU-1 hops. On paper that sounds like it would offer just the sort of lightly citric and softly tropical combination that previous versions have excelled at. A blast of mango and apricot up the nostrils indicates that I might be correct. The flavour is pure summer, centred on sweet and bright passionfruit that I would swear was purée-derived if I didn't know better (correct me if I'm wrong there, Linemen), right up to the slightly sticky texture. There isn't room for a whole lot of complexity beyond this, but I must give credit for a balancing resinous bitterness, a mild grassy spice, and the juicy red-apple finish. At 6% ABV and full-bodied, it's not ideal for the daytime summer session, unless you're really in a mood for celebration. It's well worth including in any sequence of beer consumption this season, when available, however. I'm no brewer, but would be very interested in finding out what happens if you put these hops in a lighter pale ale. For the sesh, like.

Next, here's Lough Gill, and surf's up, with Ocean Swell. The shade of amber is spot on, though the murk is very much un-retro and not welcome. It adds a layer of dirt to the otherwise clean and English-smelling marmalade aroma, and also to the flavour, which is broadly citric, but lacks any edge. It tastes like it should be clean, sharp and invigorating, and I'm fine without the oily richness that the better West Coast IPAs show. But there's no zing here; it's quite savoury by contrast, with notes of onion and peppercorn. This isn't unpleasant, and does impart a somewhat fun retro vibe, but from a time when breweries didn't have excellent quality control. There's an unfortunate wonky-homebrew vibe to it, whereas proper West Coast IPA ought to be very clean and very precise. Whatever reason they've chosen not to give this a proper clean before packing wasn't worth it, in my opinion.

Marking twelve years since they created Ireland's first double IPA, Galway Bay has released a revised version of Of Foam & Fury, incorporating Riwaka hops. It's not the most dramatic or celebratory variety, but let's see what they've done with them. The aroma is intense, and slightly shocking at first, suggesting hot rubber and burnt hair, but mellowing after a moment to grass and pepper with a dusting of gunpowder. That's quite different to classic OF&F, but the first sip reveals both a familiar heaviness and the dry, clean body that have been the beer's hallmarks despite its previous changes over the years. It's 8.3% ABV and has never been shy about letting you know that. The spicy vegetal note continues in the flavour, so the Riwaka wasn't a minor tweak but the beer's whole deal. It dovetails nicely with the almost syrup-like malt base, making something serious, savoury and chewy; a sipper, but not hot or difficult drinking. Above all, it's retro: a reminder of a time when double IPAs were see-through and you could taste their malt. I haven't drank the original in several years, and this made me feel a little guilty about avoiding it. Anyway, if you like your nostalgia with an up-to-date twist, this fellow delivers. For a reliable second opinion, Kill gives it the once-over here.

If nothing else, I think the above shows that there's quite a variation in the quality of Irish-brewed pale ales, even when we're largely past the point of commercial breweries making amateur mistakes. Some brewers seem more interested than others in showing us a hoppy good time.

Basic Bull

A new tranche of Bullhouse beers arrived into Dublin, and I realised that I have been very remiss by not trying the core range from the Belfast haze merchants. No, the other Belfast haze merchants. Today I have two of them for you.

Suds is described as a juicy pale ale and is that slightly too dark shade of opaque yellow: an unattractive shade of earwax that speaks to me of all sorts of horrors which may lie in store. The aroma is altogether friendlier, however, and delivers all the juicy: smelling of peaches and mangoes, with a light coating of vanilla cream. The mouthfeel is an interesting mix of oaty smoothness meeting a lighter sparkle which matches the modest 4.5% ABV. I guess this is balance, showing characteristics of the session strength pale ale it is, and the New-England-style beer it also is. Both aspects are present and correct. In the flavour, the thin and fizzy side has the upper hand, resulting in a harshness to the hops. They're leafy and vegetally bitter, like raw pellets, failing to be softened by the pillowy haze. Other than that twang, it's quite clean and approachable, and if you can call hops an off-flavour, that's the only one there is. The vanilla sweetness carries through from the aroma but is subdued, and the finish is quick. I deem this broadly fine. If haze is your thing, here it is for you in a relatively low ABV package, allowing you to step away from the saturated double IPAs for a moment while still getting you your fix. In a market which appears to have an infinite capacity for this kind of beer, I can see why Bullhouse has made it central to their range. For my part, I feel I got away with something: I thought it was going to be terrible and was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't. That's a pass.

A "thick Mosaic melody" if the can is to be believed, Frank the Tank is 5% ABV and hazy once again. This... doesn't smell like Mosaic, neither in its melon-and-mango mode, nor the nasty onions-and-armpits dark side. It smells dry and kerosene-like, suggesting Nelson Sauvin to me. Berries? They're not in the flavour, though we're definitely back in Mosaic territory, and the good kind. Berries suggests tartness, but this is more of a fruit salad, with segments of honeydew, pineapple, red apple and white grape. Grapes count as a berry, I guess? I have certainly seen blueberry used as a flavour descriptor on beers which tasted nothing like it, so maybe this is just me failing to pick up on the hop descriptors normal people use. Regardless of such sensory minutiae, the beer is very good. There's a heft to the base which makes for a satisfying and chewy drinking experience, yet without any heat, and not too much risk of a headache, given the strength. As well as the fruit, there's a sizeable amount of resin, making full use of the density to coat the palate with heady weedy oils. A variant called "Frank the Dank" does exist, but basic Frank is pretty damn dank. I enjoyed the combination. 

Both of these were genuinely more enjoyable than I expected them to be. I think it shows that when you get an unpleasant, hot, gritty, garlicky or otherwise nasty hazy pale ale, that's not inherent in the style: it's just bad brewing.

Old spice

As part of the blog's 20th anniversary celebrations, I picked my oldest bottle of geuze out of the stash for drinking. I bought this HORAL Megablend 2015 in 2017 but hadn't got round to opening it. At the time I said I might be opening it in 2021 because I'd heard it wasn't then ready for drinking. A full ten years is probably enough time to find out whether it ever made the grade.

It's old enough to still bear the name of 3 Fonteinen on the label's list of nine producers who created it, a lambic house which left the HORAL group not long after. It finished up at 7% ABV and was a deep amber colour in the glass, suggesting that oxidation may have taken place. The aroma has a mineral sharpness mixed with a heavier, richer, cereal side. To taste, it's not very sour but does have acres of gunpowder and Szechuan pepper spice, which I adore. Usually, you get your spice with a sterner sour acidity and sometimes a rub of waxy green bitterness (if you're lucky), but here that seems to have mellowed away, leaving a smooth and friendly fellow. Oxidation? Yes, a touch, but it's more pale sherry than wet cardboard, and confines itself to the finish, so that's OK.

I think it's safe to say that this has reached maturity, if not gone some way past it. It definitely shows signs of age, although these are both positive and negative -- as is par for the course with top-end geuze. On balance, it's very good, regardless. I have repeat bottles of the subsequent vintages stored in the same wardrobe. Now the debate is whether or not to open them sooner than their own 10th anniversaries. 

Krushing it

I'm due to post another of my round-ups of assorted Irish pale ales soon, and these three are offcuts from that work in progress. Third Barrel tends to do hoppy and hazy at a pace, so it's unsurprising that I was able to separate out three for their own entry. 

First up is Concrete Jungle, and another poorly realised AI streetscape adorns the can. Though a substantial 5.9% ABV, it's pale and hazy, looking all fluffy and innocent. Enigma, Idaho 7 and Hallertau Blanc hops had me expecting some softly fruity fun. But there's a kick to this: the aroma is quite pithy, while the flavour does have a significant citric bite, especially right before the finish. Ahead of that, it shows the grape-and-gooseberry white wine effect of H. Blanc in particular, with Enigma's spritzy satsuma plus a more serious diesel minerality. Its mouthfeel is as soft as it looks, and there is no interference from the haze: no earth, no grit. This is almost as good as hazy IPA gets. The fruit flavours could stand to be a little brighter, but they perform adequately in this understated mode as well. 

By the badly rendered palm tree (?) I'm guessing that the latest version of Two Yards is meant to taste tropical. This iteration of the hazy pale ale produced by Third Barrel for Two Sides is made with Strata and Cryo Pop, and the ABV stays at its usual 4.3%. It smells more citric than tropical, though still sweet, like mandarin or tangerine. That's pretty much how the flavour goes too, with a certain amount of pithy bitterness balancing the juice. I get a bit of oily coconut in the background, so maybe that qualifies it on the tropical front. Once again, happily, the haze doesn't interfere with the flavour but does add body, so you get a full and smooth texture to go with your mini oranges. A can at home was enjoyable but I'd say it comes into its own on the sunny front terrace of its home pub, Brickyard.

A double IPA and a triple collaboration finishes us off. Krush Proof is a joint project with Third Barrel's fellow west Dubs Lineman, and some suspicious out-of-towners called Rock City, from the Netherlands. I've remarked previously that Krush is a promising new hop, and isn't it a shame that hop hype is a thing of the past? Maybe I liked the bullshit. Anyway, tropical is the game of the name here, from the concentrated mango aroma to the guava and pineapple-in-syrup foretaste, it's pure sunshine. Not in an innocent and carefree way, though: it tastes and feels all of the 8.1% ABV and more. Allied with the fruit is a delicious contrasting spice, suggesting grapefruit skin and white pepper. It never gets busy, however, and while I would stop short of calling something so viscous "clean", nothing is out of place for a hop-showcase double IPA. You are left in no doubt that this is a strong beer, to be sipped slowly. Sharing a 440ml can with a fellow hophead wouldn't be unreasonable. On this showing, Krush is still top of the hops for now, but I remember when I used to think of Mosaic like this.

In conclusion, and to the surprise of nobody who has been paying attention, Third Barrel is still acing the whole hop thing. Whiplash has the reputation among Dublin breweries brewing this kind of beer, and of course their branding is excellent and ethical. As regards the liquid, however, I think Third Barrel has been making better stuff recently.

What works and what doesn't

The Jumping Church Brewery has been operating in Ardee, Co. Louth, since 2021. They've made no more than a handful of different beers in that time, and seemingly none of it travels very far from its place of origin. I have Thomas and Brendan to thank for donating today's three bottles, picked up on their way south to Mullingar in April. I will say at the outset that I don't have a whole lot of trust in the quality of the beer from small rural Irish breweries with very limited distribution. But I hoped for the best.

First open was Gae Bolga, a pale ale of 4.3% ABV. It's a slightly hazy amber colour, and the first sign that something may be amiss was the mass of froth and busy carbonation. If the conditioning wasn't properly under control, what else wasn't? The answer comes right in the foretaste: an acrid burnt rubber taste which suggests something is up with either the water treatment or the fermentation. It's a rookie homebrew error, and sadly much too common in beer from these sorts of tiny breweries. This is allied with a cardboard-like twang which suggests oxidation as well. Because it's a light and, frankly, quite watery beer, the Cascade, Columbus and Centennial hops' contribution isn't very loud and gets drowned out by the off flavours, for the most part. Only Cascade's earthiness puts in a proper appearance.  It's not woeful, but it's not a good pale ale either, and certainly nothing like an American brewery would produce. I hoped for better from the following two darker beers.

The retro style whose scarcity everyone complains about but nobody actually buys, red ale, is represented by Ferdia Red, again 4.3% ABV. Full marks for the visuals: it's a dark cola-brown with an off-white head, making it look wholesome and rustic, as I'm sure was the intention. It's quite fizzy again, however, which here interferes somewhat with the all-important malt in the flavour profile. When that settles a bit, there's weighty mix of caramel, coffee and chocolate, reminding me a little of another by-gone style, ruby porter, represented on this island by the once-mighty Clotworthy Dobbin from Whitewater. While that had a sneaky cheeky twist of Cascade bitterness in the finish, this is an all malt affair, taking you on a tour of the characteristics of the medium dark varieties. A very slight vegetal tang -- English hops, I assume -- is the only thing to tell you hops were involved somewhere. I was worried about off flavours which might have crept in during production or packaging but I am very happy to report that it's clean as a bean. I will take well-made and simple over complex and wonky any night of the week. This is the beer that Macardle's wishes it could be. A bottle in a warm, dark pub would be ideal, though I could still discern its quality on a drizzly summer afternoon. You won't often find me extolling Irish red, even when new ones are a rarity, but this meets the requirements adequately and is an enjoyable grown-up drink.

It must make your excise returns easier when your core range are all the same strength, because The Turf Man stout is also 4.3% ABV. While the red was dark, the stout is only a couple of shades darker beyond that, pouring a chocolate brown and looking a little murky under the cream-coloured head. The aroma is lightly roasty, not dissimilar to a certain big-brand Irish stout when it's in carbonated format: slightly burnt toast and a metallic mineral tang. I was surprised to find the texture full-on creamy, the fizz held well in check and a smooth, almost cake-like, texture taking over. The flavour is not an especially strong one, so this is very much a stout built for the session -- I would very happily spend the night on it. Nothing builds, nothings cloys, nothing twangs, and instead there's a brisk dry roast with a glimpse of a slightly deeper dark chocolate complexity: something to hold your interest during any lull in the conversation. Some slightly sticky black liquorice indicates the hops' presence. This feels to me like an Irish stout designed by someone who loves to drink Irish stout. It is the epitome of nothing-fancy while still having an understated character and quality. Like with the red, I can't pick anything I would do different, given the specification.

I don't imagine we'll be seeing any sour fruit beers or rye-and-grapefruit saisons from Jumping Church any time soon. This seems to me like the sort of little local brewer of quality, traditional-style, beers that should be rinsing the multinationals in its catchment area. That hop-forward beer might be a problem for them is unfortunate, but there's no reason they need to get good at that, any more than they need a lager. Even in this day and age it should be possible to make a living producing the basics of beer in a excellent way, as Jumping Church appears to be doing.

Hope over experience

As one of the first brewers of interesting beer I ever found, Williams Bros. has always had a bit of a halo for me. That said, where I see them recently tends to be in Aldi, and the beers they make for the supermarket are universally terrible and cheap-tasting. Well, here we are again: two IPAs, both with a nod to contemporary beer fashion. Fingers crossed and in we go.

The first is called Rocka Hula, described as a tropical IPA, and is 5.1% ABV. The can promises grapefruit, mango and guava but doesn't provide a list of ingredients. I'm not convinced that the flavour comes solely from the hops, because while it is indeed tropical-tasting, there's a sticky and sickly quality to it, which suggests to me that it's done with syrup. It's not unpleasant, however. It's a pale gold colour and only faintly misted with haze. The base is crisp and clean, with a bite of dry grain husk on the finish, after the artificial candy effect fades away. It tastes cheap, however. While it's better than the previous Williams x Aldi efforts, I can't really recommend it.

With it to Aldi came Magma, a hazy IPA of 5.2% ABV. It's barely hazy, pouring quite a dull translucent orange, though with a better head than most of the premium-grade versions manage. The aroma has both the sweetness and sharpness of citrus fruit, a little like lime or grapefruit marmalade. None of that makes much of an appearance in the flavour. Cold from the fridge, it tasted very plain, with any hop character reduced to the very finish, where it's no more than brief tang. There's kind of an empty cereal effect before that, lacking taste, as well as body and carbonation. Given a little time to warm up, all that emerges is a hard onion acidity, which is best ignored. At least that's some way to-style. Like the other one, it tastes very cheaply made, and while there's nothing especially offensive about it, there's nothing to recommend it either. It certainly won't give you the full-on, or even half-arsed, hazy IPA experience at an Aldi price.

These were actually better than I expected them to be. They sin by omitting pleasant flavours rather than putting in nasty ones. Maybe they'll be a gateway to something better for the curious Aldi shopper, but mostly I don't think they'll do anything positive for the reputation of craft beer in general and IPA in particular. This is what all the fuss is about?

Gastro brewing

Word on the street was that the small-batch beer line-up at Open Gate Brewery had changed somewhat since my last visit, so back I went, early doors on a sunny Saturday afternoon. In the event, it turned out I'd missed the recent SMASH XPA, but there were still three new tasting opportunities for me, enough to fill out one of their €11 paddles.

In the middle of the board is the most intriguing of the set, Escar Gose, the on-the-nose name making it clear that this is a gose with actual snails. My beer-specialist servers weren't completely clear at first how that was done but eventually agreed with each other that the gastropods were added to the mash. ("Gose is normally brewed with seafood but our brewers used snails.") I tried not to roll my eyestalks too visibly. Anyway, it's a hefty 6% ABV and the requisite pale and hazy yellow. The extra gravity gives it a honey sweetness that's not very gose-like, though there's a saline tang as well, and a spritzy fizz. It's still too heavy to be refreshing however, and there's no proper sourness. And of course, it doesn't taste like snail because snails don't taste of much. Maybe some garlic or parsley in the boil would have given it a more interesting character. Still, in a world where novelty beer is all too common, this one is top-tier gimmickry. Shame it's not more enjoyable to drink.

Next, on the left, is the one I had been particularly looking forward to: New Zealand Lager. Did they deliberately decide not to call it a pilsner? It looks identical to the gose, and while there's a certain grassiness in the aroma, it's not very full-on. A taste reveals, perhaps, why they didn't go with "pilsner": this is another weighty one, all of 5.5% ABV. That means it's malt more than hops which stands out initially, soft and cerealish. The hops aren't punchy but sweetly herbal, like basil or sage. They're pretty low-impact, however, fading quickly and not contributing much to the beer's whole deal. Listen, if you put "New Zealand" in the name of your beer, I want to be tasting Marlborough all the way through. This is fine, clean enough to qualify as good, but not the high-end lager that I know Open Gate is capable of. Actually, it's been a while since I last found one of those. Perhaps I should be concerned. 

On the right-hand side, the least blonde of the set, is Strong Blonde. Are they going for Leffe here? The 6.6% ABV matches that Belgian, er, classic. If the other two were sweet, the aroma here raises the game significantly, with an intense boiled-sweet effect. Thankfully it's calmer on tasting, and not at all Belgian. I'm reminded more of English golden ale, with the marmalade flavours of Kentish hops (or hops of Kent) set on a clean malt base with golden syrup and light caramel. For something strong and sweet it does an amazing job of avoiding heat, sickliness or stickiness. You get a satisfying summer warmer (that should be more of a thing in this climate) which is chewy, fruity, but perfectly drinkable too. I really didn't expect this to be the stand-out, but that's the joy of random paddles at the experimental Guinness bar.

A couple of weeks later I was back for more, finding two further additions. The thoroughly uninspiring Session Pale Ale is 4% ABV and a clear pale amber. The menu promises grapefruit and peach but I struggled to find either. Its aroma is very slightly citric but sweet too, like the least-assertive bathbomb in Lush. A soft texture and low fizz do mean that it's easy drinking; not quite on New England territory but looking in that direction. The flavour is thoroughly lacklustre: barely-there chew sweets and orange sherbet dust make up the full extent of it. I got a faint sharp pinch in the finish which I would love to say is bitterness but it's not really, and certainly nothing like grapefruit. It all feels like a technical exercise. Clearly they've interpreted "session" as bland. That's not the idea, guys.

Beside it is Open Gate Baltic Porter, the second one they've brewed by my reckoning, though this one is lighter than the 2019 vintage, at 6% ABV, rather than 6.8%. It's a little pale and reddish, though there's nothing dilute about its big roasty, toasty aroma: thank you, carbon dioxide. The flavour opens on chocolate biscuits, all crunchy and wholesome, yet not particularly sweet. There's no creaminess in this porter, which is entirely appropriate -- all is lager-clean. I got lucky that there were some brewers in the house when I asked what the yeast was, so my server was able to tell me it's Lallemand's Diamond Lager, and for once I believe what I'm told at that bar. I thought they might have skimped on the hops, but after a minute I found a sneaky seam of liquorice which adds just enough bittering. As Baltic porters go, this is a study in cromulence. It meets the requirements of the style with some bonus coffee and cola, but doesn’t really add any distinctive features beyond that. And that's OK. A polite round of applause from me and lager redemption for Open Gate.

Until the next flip of the board, then.