Transcontinental wegbier

This week I've been writing about my recent trip to Warsaw. When making the travel arrangements, I was astounded to discover that there's only one direct flight from Dublin these days, and it arrives at midnight, which is a nuisance from a transport and accommodation perspective. I opted instead to fly with SAS via Copenhagen. It didn't hurt the decision making that Copenhagen airport is a beer destination in its own right, and recently voted Europe's best in a poll by EBCU.

With a short stopover on the way out, we only had time for one, at the Mikkeller Bar. Here they were serving several from Vermont brewery Hill Farmstead and I picked Brother Siogné, billed simply as a saison. I knew it wouldn't be, though, and I was right. This clear golden beer has an aroma of spiced pear. It's lightly sour has a touch of both geuze and gose in the flavour, including oak spice and savoury herbs. Apparently it's made with lime, hibiscus and blood orange, but I couldn't taste any of those individually, though I would well believe they each make a contribution to the expertly integrated overall taste: one based around wild yeast flavours and mature wood, rather than fruit. This is a light 5% ABV, and nicely refreshing, even if it doesn't bear much resemblance to normal saison.

Beside it is Mikkeller's Organic Brown Ale which is a little on the strong side at 5.9% ABV but somehow manages to convey the weight of an even stronger beer. The flavour coming with that is a massively loud hit of coffee-bean roast and a powerful bitterness which I found off-putting. I like brown ale to be smooth and comfortable; this one is the opposite, and I deem it a failure.

We were back here again on the homeward leg, and Hill Farmstead for me again. It's another purported saison, called Civil Disobedience, and is a complex blend of multiple beers in wine barrels. This goes full steam for the lambic profile, and in particular the lemon zest sourness it opens on. Warm apple sauce and nutmeg spice follows, with a sprinkle of pink peppercorn in the finish. I had no objection to the small measure the server warned me about, because it's not a beer to rush. Fantastic work by the brewery, shoring up my firm belief that their beers should not be passed when available.

Mikkeller's collaboration with Budvar intrigued me when I saw it on the menu on the way out, and now I had the time to drink one. #YearOfTheLager is its wanky name, and it's a very clear gold colour. The Czechs didn't do their quality assurance on the head, because there's basically none, which isn't a good start. The mouthfeel is very heavy and there's a strong malt flavour, suggesting decoction mashing to me. On the other side, the hops are extremely floral to a concentrated level, passing a summer bouquet and heading for the medicine cabinet. There's diacetyl too, in enough quantity to taste like the custard filling you get in donuts. Big malt and floral hops make it taste like a description of světlý ležák, but actual Czech pale lagers have a balance and subtlety that this foghorn of a thing lacks. It is very much a product of tiresome craft-beer creativity. Budvar is named on the can as window dressing, and frankly I think less of the brand because of it.

The hazy beer next to it is a Mikkeller session IPA called Ripple Effect. This is rather less ambitious, and is a better beer as a result. There's nothing fancier going on than a zip of fresh lemon zest set on a clean base. It's sweet enough to give me a slight impression of Lemsip, though equally that could be interpreted as a wholesome homemade lemonade. Regardless, it is doubtless fully sessionable, being 4.7% ABV, and offers the drinker plenty of reward for very little effort on their part.

Copenhagen Airport also has a To Øl bar, which is really more of a pizza restaurant, called Neighbourhood. It's a bit cramped and the prices are eye-watering even by Danish standards. Also I'm not really a fan of To Øl's beers. Whose idea was it to come here again?

On the left, across the table from me, is Reuben's Brokilde Brown. This is a punchy 6.5% ABV and looks filthy: a muddy ochre shade. It doesn't bother with the chocolate and coffee of most brown ales I know and heads off on an American kick instead. The citrus aroma is far fresher and cleaner than the beer looks, and the flavour continues in that direction, leading with zesty lemon or sherbet and setting it on a crunchy rye bread base. It's an odd construction, and not really to style as any kind of brown ale, but it works.

I figured I was playing things safe with 45 Days Vienna, the brewery's Vienna lager. They wouldn't dare mess with that, would they? They didn't. To me, this tasted like an expert home brewer following the style specifications exactly. It's a clear amber colour and starts with a dry and crunchy biscuit base from the toasted malt. At 4.7% ABV, it's light-bodied without being thin. Behind the dominant malt, there's room for a little balancing noble hops, bringing a pillow of salad leaves into the picture. As well as being an excellent interpretation of Vienna lager, it also serves as a reminder of why the style is so worth drinking in the first place.

As well as the airport bars, flying SAS also gave us access to the special beers Mikkeller has been producing for the airline for some years now. I've had a couple of these over the years, always hazy IPAs, and the current one isn't an exception to that. It's called Scandinavian Clouds and is 4.9% ABV, which is weak for the style. The haze is fairly light and it's otherwise a dark shade of orange, looking a touch oxidised, if I'm honest. The flavour, built from Simcoe and Citra hops, is very savoury, tasting of spring onions and sweat. An orange-squash stickiness is the only counterbalance to this, so no softness or fresh juice. It's a bit of a mess, and I'm not accepting any excuses about altitude and its effect on taste. This is wonky beer at any height.

The last beer I have to mention is a Polish lager, consumed at Warsaw airport as we began the homeward leg. There's actually a sizeable range of bottles and cans at the airside craft beer bar, but after two days in the deep end, I was happy with something cold and golden on tap. Królewskie, from Heineken's Żywiec Group, is exactly that. And I think it's better than Żywiec itself -- a beer described to me by a local as "Heineken in Polish national dress". This is 5.2% ABV and malt driven, with a satisfying rounded body, a crisp finish, and instead of tinny fake-tasting hop extract, has no real hop character at all. It could probably pass as a Helles in Germany. Europe has thousands of industrial lagers; this is one of the better ones.

With craft beer as we knew it ceasing to be as popular as it was, and the multinationals flexing their muscles anew, I wonder will we see fewer outlets like these in the coming years. Me, I'm happy as long as the airport has something decent to quench my thirst while I'm waiting. I'm not planning to make an evening of it at gate 109.