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.

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.