Round numbers

Another Monday, another blog post, another round-up of recent Irish pale ale. This one is the blog's 3000th entry. It's best not to think about what that means, and move right along with the reviews.

Spent bread beers were a bit of a thing a few years ago. Wicklow Wolf still has one in annual production and now Lough Gill has added one, getting their crusts from the O'Hehirs bakery chain. Oh! is a pale ale at 4.5% ABV and looks lager-like in the glass: a mostly clear yellow with lots of bubbles and a fine white head. The aroma is crisp and broadly citric but doesn't offer anything especially distinctive or noteworthy. There's a decently slick body -- almost chewy -- but while that would surely be an excellent base for launching some new-world hop fireworks, it's a bit dull on tasting. There's a slightly sweaty savoury aspect, a little bit lemon cookie with a touch of oaty flapjack. "Easy drinking" and "brewed for adventure" says the brewery. They can't have both. I found it rather dull. It's simple and clean, and has a pleasant substance which I'm guessing is the bread doing its work, but it needs a stronger hop charge. I know from other examples that this sort of beer doesn't have to be basic and compromised, so I don't know why Lough Gill has made this one so.

That was followed several weeks later by Hazy Sunshine, about the most on-the-nose name for a summer "tropical IPA". Nectaron, Wai-iti, Waimea and Mosaic are the hops, which certainly sounds like lots of potential for tropicality. The aroma offers a significant degree of fruit salad, but also a harder pith bitterness, suggesting that it won't be sunny the whole way through. It's a heavy affair, tasting denser than even 6.1% ABV might imply, and I found myself wishing I'd served it ice cold rather than the slightly higher setting of my beer fridge. The extra warmth allows a little bit of dry grit into the flavour, just beginning to edge in on the fruit effect from the hops. That bitterness I noticed in the aroma doesn't really materialise in the taste, and instead it's thick and gummy, loaded with concentrated pineapple and mango. A tarter juice and zest effect arrives in the finish, but that's as close to bitter as it gets. I would say it's harmless fun, but the alcohol heat really puts a dampener on any carefree summer vibes it may otherwise have had. This is a serious sort of sunshine. We've become unfortunately accustomed to that around here lately.

I don't get to feature Hopkins & Hopkins on here much: it's a brewery that tends to do only a few things, but does them well. One of its handful of regular outlets is Moss Lane on Pearse Street, where they're pouring a new H&H pale ale called Easy - East. It's a medium orange colour and was served pleasingly cold in the high heat of summer last week. Fresh and juicy mandarin kicks off the aroma and follows through to the flavour, where it's joined by a surprise peppercorn spice and a weighty citrus oil, like a Terry's Chocolate Orange, minus the chocolate. I was reminded in particular of the much-missed Purgatory from the somewhat-missed Franciscan Well brewery. This kind of clean and simple American-style pale ale is far from the bleeding edge of craft beer, and that makes it all the more worthwhile, especially when it's more than a lazy clone of the mainstream.

Over at The Porterhouse they had a rare new one under their own brand, brewed by The White Hag. Cruel Summer is a cold IPA, a style that seems to have gone out of fashion for no good reason. It's a light 4.6% ABV and a very pale yellow, gently hazed. And yet: the dank. It smells pungently weedy with a twist or two of coarse-ground pink peppercorn. The flavour opens on that, brightly and shockingly, but quickly calms down, introducing softer tropical juice and a more orthodox pithy American bitterness. It finishes in a clean and crisp lager fashion, meaning that despite the BIG hop taste, it would work as a session beer. I sometimes fear that I might be getting a bit bored of beer, that maybe they're all actually quite samey and not worth the effort I put in to finding new ones. This was a reminder, a stark one, that beer still has the power to impress and excite. If you're in the vicinity of The Porterhouse or Tapped this summer, do not miss.

From the around-for-ages-but-new-to-me file, Five Lamps IPA. The brand is a pox on Irish beer in general, wrapping itself in the Dublin flag while being brewed by C&C in Clonmel. But at the otherwise lovely Toner's pub, its IPA was the best of a very poor draught selection. It's a sizeable 5% ABV yet still manages to be quite thin and bland. The hops offer no more than a whisper of strawberry and an English metallic tang; and while it's malt-forward, that's not very pronounced either, being lightly caramelised with a bigger kick of dry tannin. It tastes cheap, which isn't terribly surprising since I'm led to believe the range was created to provide Dublin publicans with cheap beer, to compete with the heavily-promoted famous brands. My pint, of course, was not cheap, at €8. It's all about the margins, and this IPA is only marginally enjoyable, so that tracks.

In the same file we find another 5%-er, Rye River's Hazy Bangin' pale ale. This has allegedly been on sale in Tesco for yonks, just not any of the many Tescoes I visit on my travels around Dublin. Then Dunnes got it too and, hallelujah, I was able to buy it in the Stephen's Green Centre while picking up the still-brilliant Grafters brown ale. I don't know if the recipe has much in common with the archetypal Irish west-coast IPA, Big Bangin', of which it's a brand extension. It's certainly not in the west-coast style, what with the haze, and doesn't have the same brightness of hop. Instead there's a medium-sweet zestiness in both aroma and flavour, the former introducing a slightly sticky orange cordial note, while the taste includes some surprise coconut. It's good fun, but I wouldn't call it bangin', exactly. There's a strong caramel malt note which took me a while to place, realising eventually it's something you get from once-hoppy beer that's been sitting too long. My can was four months inside the printed best-before date so I had a reasonable expectation of freshness. I fear, however, this beer may be a delicate creature, not built for the neglect of warm supermarket shelves. As with the IPA the brewery makes for Lidl's Crafty Brewing range, I suspect one must be careful here about freshness. I will seek out a younger edition next time. This one was passable, but no more than that. Even Dunnes has better hopped-up options available. 

Brasserie Nautile visited Ireland in the spring, and included The White Hag on their itinerary, where they helped brew Salt & Stone, a West Coast IPA. This looks well, having the same pristine golden clarity as the brewery's excellent flagship, Little Fawn. It smells sharp, zesty and classically American, which is in its favour; the mere 5.6% ABV less so. I found it surprisingly soft, not bitter, its flavour more succulent stonefruit than punchy citrus. The peach and lychee subsides after a moment, leaving a sharper bite of fried onion and then, finally, a buzz of grapefruit and lime oil. It's not exactly full-on, delivering the IPA basics but nothing spectacular. That's in spite of, or possibly because of, a highly involved hop charge, featuring Columbus, Chinook, Centennial, Motueka and Simcoe. I reckon they've blurred into each other and there's nothing distinctive about the beer as a result. This is inoffensive and a bit anodyne. It certainly doesn't come across as one of those brave and wacky recipes that brewers like to devise when they get together. I enjoyed its simplicity,  but honestly I think I'd have preferred a Little Fawn from the supermarket. Sure, it's West Coast all the way, but that doesn't automatically make it a great beer.

I can't imagine what the prompt which created Curtain Twitcher's label said, nor can I believe that the horrific result was the best the AI could come up with for Third Barrel Brewing. Suffice it to say that the promise of Nelson Sauvin and Citra attracted me more than the "artwork" did. It's an IPA; hazy, though not billed as such, and quite a dense-looking shade of orange. The brewery knows how to use Nelson, and it's very prominent in the aroma: flinty sparks and squashy pineapple. A more subtle white grape and gooseberry takes over in the flavour, plus a weedy dankness and background note of fruit candy, which I'm guessing comes from the third hop, Lotus. There's lots of complexity, then, none of it especially novel, but if the basic formula works, why go changing it? Most importantly, nothing has gone wrong. Hazy it may be, but it's perfectly clean and lets the hops do all the talking. 6% ABV gives them a solid base to work from, the malt providing texture without interrupting the taste. Quality stuff, and recommended in particular to my follow enjoyers of Nelson Sauvin's mineral spice.

"A whole lot of New Zealand goodness" is the sum total of the description on DOT's Nectaron IPA. This is another kiwi-forward 6%-er, and hazy too, of course. The aroma is cool and crisp, hinting at peaches but their sharply perfumed skin rather than the sticky, juicy flesh. The flavour continues that theme, bringing a slightly jammy peach-preserve sweetness and matching it to dryer crisp pale grain. It's a heavy and viscous take on the tropical end of antipodean hopping. A bit of grass and some basil or thyme rubs up against the soft stonefruit. Overall, it's fine, but no great shakes. The hop flavour is a little muted, subdued, and not as full-on as I'd have liked it. DOT makes beers for Aldi and, for me, this one tasted more like that price bracket than the bigger number I paid for it in the independent trade. 

Grumbling further, I don't think I've ever enjoyed a beer badged as an "oat cream IPA". Corner Club by Galway Bay in collaboration with Swiss brewer Hoppy People is not specifically designated as such, but on the label the brewer boasts "we pushed oats and wheat to the max with this brew, creating the creamiest, juiciest IPA base possible," so I think I know what I'm dealing with. It certainly has the hazy custard appearance of the oat cream brigade. The aroma gives little away, but the presence of Nelson Sauvin is unmistakable, with a subtle waft of grape. On the flavour... there it is. Oat cream IPA always tastes like plasterboard: dry and rough, with an alkaline harshness. There's no juice, no cream, nothing soft, only harshness. I drank this back-to-back with Curtain Twitcher and it's amazing how a beer with similar specs as that -- 6.4% ABV here, with Citra and Riwaka accompanying the Nelson -- can result in something so different and so much less enjoyable. It's not massively offensive, but was rather bland once I got past the drywall rasp. The can art is good and the artist is named, so if you've ever drawn a correlation between that sort of thing, I don't think it works.

Galway Bay also takes us out with the strongest beer of the day: Disco Paradiso, another hazy affair, this one at 7.8% ABV. Sureshot of Manchester is the collaborating brewery, and they go to a lot of effort to explain the process that went into making it. Cold-steeped oats, whirlpool Nelson Sauvin and double dry-hopped with three further prestige varieties, one in HyperBoost® form. If this isn't silky juicy perfection then it's time to cancel the whole haze project. It's on the darker side of eggy yellow, with the greenish cast that very hoppy IPA sometimes takes on. Head formation is perfunctory and unenthusiastic. The aroma is a mix of saturated raw-hop vegetal notes and a friendlier kind of tropical buzz. There is a surprising amount of bitterness in the flavour, the Nelson in particular showing its old-world ancestry with a hard, almost waxy, grass bite. There's little room for tropical niceties underneath that, and it finishes bitter and resinous, albeit with a hint of lighter juice, lurking beneath the surface but largely overpowered and subdued. That's a pity. I appreciate that this is intended as a hop showcase, but it ends up unbalanced and rather harsh. The name and branding suggest a quirky and fun quality that's some distance from the rather serious bitter liquid.

Maybe the hot weather had me grumpy but, Porterhouse aside, there wasn't a lot to like here. If there's a theme, it's that a good dose of Nelson Sauvin can be a pale ale's saviour. Use more of that, just to be on the safe side.

Fruits of revolution

The United States of America will shortly be celebrating 245 years since it achieved independence and I thought I would mark the occasion with some American beers. As it happened, there was something of a theme to what was in my fridge when I went looking for candidates.

Another Sierra Nevada brand extension? Hell yeah! This is Mango Little Thing, number eleventy-seven in the hazy IPA series, this time with tropical fruit added. It's a gentle 6% ABV and an innocent sunny yellow colour; hazy but not fully opaque. I do wonder if that's a conscious choice for marketing reasons or a mere consequence of the vast quantities in which the brewery makes its beer.

The aroma strikes a syrupy note; artificial and sticky, not like real mango. That becomes even more pronounced in the flavour, where the foretaste is like opening a bag of Skittles and giving each item inside a single lick. It is somewhat redeemed by still being an IPA, not merely an agglomeration of fruit gack. A subdued hop character hovers in the background, adding citrus pith and weedy resin for a note of realism in what's otherwise a sea of fakery. I guess it meets the spec: we are promised a mango flavoured IPA, and that's what we get. My problem is with the concept rather than Sierra Nevada's execution of it. I won't be buying this again, nor do I recommend it. If you miss drinking Magic Hat No. 9 with your fellow co-eds, however, this could be just the summer beer for you.

Mangoes aren't very American, but blueberries are. Indeed, in 1991 I learned that blueberry is the official state muffin of Minnesota on a tour of the state capitol building in St Paul. It's literally the only thing I remember from the visit. This beer, Blues Berry, comes from a few miles south and west of there, produced by Crooked Stave in Colorado. It's once again 6% ABV and a murky, muddy orange-pink colour. There's a sizeable heat to the aroma, hinting at marker-pen solvents amongst the summer-fruit cordial and a flinty sour spice. It's heavy too: I was expecting spritzy, but this has an almost jammy feel, accompanied by a headache-inducing heat. Oof. Crooked Stave generally does sour properly, and this is properly sour. There's a punchy tart side and obvious berries of some kind -- not necessarily blue -- but it doesn't have the pristine cleanness of a Belgian fruited geuze, or even Crooked Stave's own best work in this area.

I was half way through when I think I figured out the problem. There's no mention of it on the can, but the internet reckons it's oak aged, and that's what's causing the interference. There's a sweet side I couldn't quite place, only that it's not fruit, and this revelation made me realise it's vanilla. That adds nothing positive, and clashes with the tartness. Of course, barrel-ageing is an essential part of gueze, but it doesn't produce messy flavours like this. Perhaps a lack of maturation is the problem. Some time between now and America's 490th birthday, this might become a properly good beer.

Blank look

Today's subject is something of a sequel to Victoria Málaga, which featured in a post about Spanish beer last year. Rosa Blanca is also from the Barcelona beer giant Damm, and is sold in a 66cl bottle. That becomes rather less indulgent-seeming at an ABV of only 3.4%. From that I expected it to be pale and sickly looking, but it's quite a rich golden colour in the glass, with a positively handsome German-style head. The aroma shows character too: peachy fruit, suggesting that the label's claim that it's a "hoppy lager" isn't simply an idle marketing boast.

The flavour is plainer, certainly, but it's not dull. There's a cereal crispness emphasised by a surprisingly full body for the strength. The hops -- American, I assume -- add a zesty lemon note, building gradually into quite a serious resinous bitterness. The sheen comes off it after a few sips, however, with the introduction of a slightly cloying floral perfume note, and a dry tang of metal: both hallmarks of when big breweries try to give their mass-market beers craft-style hop appeal. It's hoppy, but it's not quite right. Regardless, this one has enough going on to feel more like an American pale ale, or at least a European take on one, than a basic eurolager.

More than anything, it's a work of technical achievement, showing what can be done with lager's appearance, texture and flavour at a very low strength. Maybe 3.4% is a sweet spot that nobody noticed before it became a cut-off point for excise duty in the UK, which I presume is the reason for this beer's existence. I'm less sceptical about all that now than I was when I took the cap off.

Peeved

Work had me in Glasgow for a few days earlier this month, a city I had never been drinking in before, so was pleased to get it some way ticked off, though far from comprehensively, I'm sure. I was based on the western edge of the city centre, where there were a few noteworthy pubs (thanks Rob!) within easy reach.

The State, for example, is a pleasant bit of dark wood and brass Victoriana. The five cask ales had nothing of Scottish interest: Almasty's Green Pale Ale was as close as it got, Newcastle being nearly Scotland. It came with a warning of cloudiness, which I waved away, though I wasn't prepared for quite how grey and gritty it was. Still, it tasted fairly clean, with only a hint of dregs. A coconut hop flavour is presumably the result of Ekuanot, in here with Simcoe and Mosaic. There's some woody pine and broad forest vibes, rather than the tropical taste promised by the brewery -- it's not quite clean enough for that. A herbal, medicinal tang, of eucalyptus and aniseed, finishes things off. Low cask carbonation makes for very easy drinking, even at 5% ABV, but there wasn't a lot here to hold my attention. One quick pint, first of the evening, was fine and enjoyable, but I couldn't imagine drinking more than that.

Around the corner and down a bit is The Griffin. The art nouveau fittings suggest traditional boozer, but inside it's bright and more Scandi-functional in the craft beer way, underlined by the Beavertown taps and mats, even though... well, you know.

Isle of Skye Brewing supplies the four cask lines, and several keg. I opted for Skye Black, a dark ale of 4.5% ABV. It is indeed fully black, but not a porter or stout because there's no dark grain character: no roast nor chocolate. Instead, the flavour is based around a tangy fruitiness, verging on pith. Alongside is a toffee malt sweet side and a shaving of red apple, putting this whole package closer to twiggy brown bitter than anything typically dark. I'd have liked more roast. It's another OK beer, but I spent the pint resenting that it doesn’t really taste dark.

My hotel was close to the Bon Accord so I was pleased to learn that this pub was still open after a recent change of ownership. Of cask interest was Otherworld Brewing's Judgemental, a 60/-. Here, that signifies a dark red ale of 3.1% ABV. It doesn't taste at all thin or compromised, having a silky texture matching a rich milk chocolate foretaste, followed by a rasp of dry roast and an odd, but not unpleasant, twist of oaky cork. I guess this would be a mild anywhere else, and as such it's a pretty good one, to my taste. For the full stylistic details, here's Ron.

On an otherwise dismal afternoon, Colbier's Flexatone was a ray of unexpected sunshine. This hazy-ish pale ale was created for Port Street Beer House, below in Manchester, and uses Motueka and Azacca hops to excellent tropical effect. The aroma is an intense mango perfume while the flavour opens on tart cloudy lemonade before softening into more mango, a squeeze of pineapple juice and even a touch of coconut. They're definitely channelling New England here -- there's a seam of sweet vanilla where the bitterness should be -- but they're channelling it cleanly and with top-notch cask drinkability.

The hotel itself had West's St Mungo as its house lager. Presumably this exists as the local indie competition to Tennents. It's similarly quite a plain pale lager, but it's good, going big on dry crispness with plenty of grainy golden malt. The sweet spot between refreshing simplicity and interesting depth is hit square on. Job done.

Shilling Brewing Co. was a stretch goal one evening. The self-proclaimed "last bastion of craft beer in Glasgow city centre," it's your typical '90s era brewpub in a grand high-ceilinged former banking hall. There's a substantial range of guest kegs but I stuck with two from the house. For the tournament that's in it, Anyone But England is a Vienna lager. The barman struggled to put a head on it, so it photographed OK but the foam was gone soon after and it was, indeed, fairly flat. Otherwise it looks well: a clear reddish amber. The slightly caramelised malt flavour is on point, and likewise the grain crunch and faintly grassy hopping. But the lack of condition is a deal-breaker. It really needs some fizz to lift it, and without that it tasted flabby and cloying. Bit of a near miss, then.

Beside it, Stouty McStoutface: now there's a contemporary reference. It's similarly flat, suggesting this is a feature of the pub's dispense system. And it's one of those odd stouts one occasionally finds on the international circuit, in that it's not quite right in a specific way. The sweetness is one part of that, a cloying caramel stickiness, reminiscent of the roughest east-European dark lager; and then there's a strong herbal twang, medicinal to the point of chemical, all iodine and phenol, with a severe tannic bite in the finish. It's hard work, and really not worth it.

For a better time, I probably should have explored the guest beers, but that's not how this blog works.

My final afternoon began with a quest to The Laurieston, the legendarily earthy flat-roofed pub. At 3.30 on a Friday it was busy. Three Fyne Ales cask beers are on offer but it felt like more of a lager vibe so I went with Fyne Helles. This is extremely pale, served ice cold in a chilled glass. It's not exactly big on flavour but there's a distinct celery and dandelion-leaf noble hop bitterness. The gassiness makes it tough to drink quickly, though it is light at 4.5% ABV, with less substance than most Bavarian examples of the style that I know. There's an aura of "we had to have a lager" about it, rather than any real love for the format. Unexciting at best, is my verdict.

Our final stop is Koelschip Yard, which is not a yard and, presumably, was at some point quite an ordinary pub -- the Kelly family coat of arms is emblazoned behind the bar. It has since been thoroughly craftified, festooned in tap badges, empty geuze bottles and assorted world breweriana. There's a dozen or so draught beers, including The Kernel's Ordinary Bitter on cask. This is 4.2% ABV and a clear golden colour. It smells citric and pithy, much more American than English. That continues in the flavour, where the lemon and lime meets dry tannin. A rough woody bark character adds further to its severity. This is no easy-drinker and was a bit of a chore to get through, which I'm certain is not how bitter ought to be. When I noticed the green apple, I stopped analysing. Suffice it to say, this is not to my taste, complex and all that it is. If it turned out as the brewery wanted, it's certainly daring, but that's not at all the same as good.

Given the pub's name, I thought I should give something wild a go before leaving, and picked Graf II by the local brewery Dead End Brew Machine, described as a two-year-old wild pale ale. It arrived purple with a pink head, with a definite wild spice to the aroma. It tastes like a bang-on fruited geuze, though I had to look up what the fruit is. Blackcurrant, it turns out. There's lots of peppery gunpowder in its flavour, and an uncompromising sour kick. Once informed about the blackcurrant, I could taste a hint of Ribena syrup too, but it's on the edge and barely perceptible. I assume from the name there's some cider in the blend as well, though that's fully subsumed into the wild beer character. Despite the slight heaviness (it's 6.5% ABV), it's very good stuff and not at all what I expected to find brewed in Glasgow. I'll absolutely take it, however.

And with that it was back to the airport and home. I feel Glasgow made me work to find the good stuff, which isn't the case in all British cities. It's just as well the good stuff was very good.

Scandi doubles

They like their hops, up in the northern latitudes of Europe. By way of demonstration, today I've got three beers from three different Nordic brewers, all in the double IPA style.

The first is by a new brewery to me, Friends Co. of Helsingborg in Sweden. It's called All Citra DDH IPA, expanding on that by telling us there's 20g per litre of the titular American hop. There's also an instruction to "roll and flip the can to mix well before use" (I didn't), so this is a beer unashamed of its cloudiness, and is indeed a quite opaque eggy yellow. It smells nicely zesty, rather than the vanilla-laden sweetness I feared. The flavour does open sweetly, with soft ripe peach and a burst of pineapple juice. A very faint pithy bitterness follows this, though the tropical aspect never quite fades out, and bounces all the way back in the finish. I was on the lookout for grittiness, but there's none, thankfully, and it's quite full and warming, despite its mere 7% ABV. Vanilla custard is late, but arrives on the palate eventually, buoyed up by the softly dense body. I enjoyed this, even though I'm not sure it's a good use for Citra hops. In lieu of bitter zing there's a colourful fruit salad effect that's impossible to dislike. I think I can be friends with Friends Co.

Staying in Sweden, Brewski is next, this one more of a known quantity. The beer is called Kakapow, and it's badged as a New Zealand DIPA. There's no indication on the packaging as to whether or not it's hazy, but of course it is: another sunny pale yellow, but fully murked. The ABV goes up a notch, to 8%. I love a New Zealand hop, so again I was hoping for a bit of bittering, but again I'm thwarted. The aroma is downright dull, suggesting nothing more involved than marmalade or orange-flavoured jelly. With the flavour, there's a little of the dry mineral quality I associate most with Nelson Savin (the hops aren't named) but the main feature is a somewhat acrid burnt rubber and a harsh waxy buzz. Bitter, yes, but not the clean zing I was hoping for. As occasionally happens with hazy IPA, it tastes rough and unfinished. The whole point of this style is hop freshness, but that gets completely lost when there's lots of interfering heat and grit, as there is here. These two Swedish beers may have much in common superficially but they offer really quite different drinking experiences.

We move to Norway for the final round, and the generally-reliable brewery Lervig. This is Everyday Weekend, strongest of the set at 9% ABV. Hazy again? Yep, still yellow. I think we can take it that this is how our Scandi brethren like their double IPAs. The alcohol is impressively well-hidden and it's clean, but also rather bland. There's no hop wallop, with only a token citric fruit side and a spicy heat that's nothing to do with the booze. It's fine, but unstimulating. Over half way down the glass I was still trying to find descriptors; things it tastes of. Cordial? Lemon posset? That sort of very broad citrus thing, nicely non-sweet, but no sharp edges either. There is a growing warmth which intensifies as it goes, but really this is simply too characterless for what it is. Nobody wants their Norwegian double IPA to be dull and boring. Everyday indeed.

So what have we learned? While the Nordics may like their double IPAs, they seem to be struggling to inject some fun into them. The lower two are really quite workmanlike, so it's just as well I have Friends in high places.

The haze code

If hazy IPA is loosening its grip on the independent beer scene, nobody has told Whiplash. They're still churning them out in Ballyfermot, doubtless to a still-appreciative audience. It falls upon your correspondent to pour the requisite scorn, where appropriate. There are two new ones today.

The first is Hail the Apocalypse, a collaboration with occasional visitor to these shores, Mont Hardi from north-west France. Although this one sports a dashing tall head of foam, underneath it's rather sickly looking, fully opaque and a kind of greenish-grey. The aroma is more appetising, suggesting fresh and pithy citrus hops to come. The brewery has, unfortunately, got out of the habit of naming the varieties on the label.

In the New England fashion, the flavour is sweet, leading on soft lemon curd and candied orange peel. It's light for 6.5% ABV, and doesn't get cloying, but there's something off about the balancing bitterness. While I'm sure hops are involved, it's a dreggy sort of bite, all gritty and chalky. This is a very typical flaw for this kind of beer, and one that Whiplash usually avoids. The beer isn't ruined, but it doesn't quite deliver on the promise of its aroma, and ends up tasting a bit more like it looks, unfortunately. Doubtless the hardcore haze fiends won't mind; they've had worse. I'm not a fan, however.

Then the other week I had visitors in Dublin, so showed them the good room of the city's beer pubs, Fidelity. Here they were pouring a Whiplash IPA that's been around since last year but hadn't yet crossed my path: Colour Me In Kindness.

This is a beer on the cusp. It's very much New England style: 6.8% ABV, murky as you like (or possibly even more so) and with a sunny fresh hop flavour, bringing juicy mandarin and mango for a touch of the ice pops. Unfortunately it has a darker side too, starting on a lightly cloying vanilla sweetness interfering with the hops. Shortly afterwards, the harsh and gritty plasterboard bite kicks in again: further support for the sceptics who believe it's a universal rule that hazy IPA is IPA that hasn't been brewed properly. The hop freshness saves it, but I can't help but think this would be better with more effort made at de-hazing it.

I honestly expected better from Whiplash. Their haze tends to be cleaner than these, although often blander as well, lately. I'll keep checking in with them, but I fear we may have lost one of the few Irish breweries that did this kind of beer well.

Half time scores

It's three months since the most recent JD Wetherspoon beer festival, and three months to go until the next one. I thought this would be an opportune moment to have a look at what's been new (to me) in the Dublin branches. 

Moorhouse is a regular at the chain and Pendle Witches Brew is a beer I've certainly heard of, but was surprised to find I'd never drank. "Strong ale" is something of a rare style, although this is down at the bottom end of it — 5.1% ABV — where it could equally be badged as a hefty bitter. The golden brown colour adds to that initial impression of twigginess, likewise its slightly soapy aroma. The flavour is altogether more light and breezy, presenting a fruity mix of currants and cherries, on a medium-dry malt base with a tannic bite. Think tea brack, but with some English hops adding an earthy bitterness to the finish. And while it may not be by-the-numbers strong, it presents a fullness and warmth which makes the description valid. It took me most of the pint to decide whether or not I liked it, and I do. This could have gone wrong in any number of ways, and that it's not a hot mess of burnt caramel and marker pens is a win. I approve of Wetherspoon serving a beer that's in broadly the same niche as the ubiquitous Abbot Ale but isn't, y'know, terrible.

Branscombe from Devon is a new brewery for me, producer of Summa That, a pale ale pitched at the scholastic theologian demographic. It's strong for an English beer in this style, at 5% ABV, but doesn't have the malt depth to be a strong ale. The colour is dark gold rather than amber, and the flavour hop-forward, although not quite the right kind of hop forward. It's sharp, and almost a little vinegary, with tart berries instead of bright citrus. I got a sense that it should be softer and more rounded, because there's a certain cakey warmth too. That doesn't go far enough to balance the bitterness, however. The end result is quite a severe beer, one which I think should be mellower. The brewery's description says it tastes of mango and pineapple but they've used the wrong hops for that. If tropical was the intention this recipe needs to go right back to the drawing board.

It's always good to see a cask stout, it being a style that works especially well in this format. At The South Strand I found Top Dog from Burton Bridge. This is a full 5% ABV which is also pleasing, but has the same sort of light sessionability as the Irish archetypes. That also means it's no great shakes as regards complexity, however. They keep it simple with a black breadcrust, leaning to charcoal, dry grain roast, a pinch of cocoa powder and some mild fruit esters — blackcurrant and plum — in the aroma. The roast gives the foretaste an invigorating sharpness before it tails off cleanly. This is simple, well-made and enjoyable. A higher finishing gravity and a bit more cream in the texture might have improved my experience, but equally I could have happily charged through a few pints in succession.

Instead, it was across town to Keavan's Port, for more pale ale. Portobello APA is another 5%-er, a limpid gold but rather lacking in head, which spoils the appearance. Tch, London. It's another very easy-drinking beer despite the strength, and the flavour verges a little on bland. It certainly doesn't taste American. The aroma is citric, I will grant it that, but with a honey malt background that says pale (northern) English bitter to me. A light texture leads to a sharp and slightly severe bitterness, throwing the taste out of balance briefly, before a rapid fade-out into watery nothing. I think I can taste what the beer is trying to be, but it ends up as a sad mélange of zesty American zing and smooth English warmth, without harnessing either aspect particularly well. It's not the first Portobello beer to have missed the mark for me, but of course I'll give them another chance when the occasion arises.

The Wetherspoon app advertised yet another 5% ABV pale ale — American Pale Ale by Tonbridge — at The South Strand, but when I got there the clips were showing the Portobello one. This was definitely a different beer, however, being full-bodied and front-loaded with colourful tropical flavours, showing pineapple in particular. The same is very apparent in the aroma, and the head is pleasingly long-lasting. Part two of the flavour kicks in shortly after the initial sweet and fruity rush, adding an assertive bitterness, and a very Kentish sort, being waxy, earthy, and saved only from harshness by the beer's pillowy texture. It's luck of the draw, but this one delivered on things that the previous two pale ales could only promise.

Finally, Stonehenge has never been among my favourite English ale brewers, and Pigswill is hardly the most enticing of names. But this 4% ABV bitter was pouring blissfully cold at The South Strand during the May heatwave, which immediately got it on my good side. And it's not a bad beer, though I question its technical proficiency, since it tastes primarily of apple — hard and green — with a dry tannic backing. It's all cool and clean to begin with, but does build rather on the palate, leaving too much apple residue behind. Hop flavour doesn't really feature, though at least it's dry enough to not present as sweet, with no unwelcome toffee or twigs. A pint was tolerable; the name is excessively modest and far from an accurate description, but it hasn't changed my opinion of the brewery. Civilians may enjoy it, although anyone who has ever written "acetaldehyde" on a marking sheet and deducted points for it, would be better ordering something else.

That's it for now. I'll have more British cask beers next week, but this time I'll travel to them.

Endurance

Two years ago I had my first encounter with the beers from Tom Crean Brewery in Kenmare, and for the most part I wasn't impressed. Still, they're rare enough in Dublin, so when I recently found a different three in Blackrock Cellar I thought it only fair to give them another shake.

I say different, but one of the last set was called Killowen Kölsch, and now there's a beer with identical branding, an identical 4.2% ABV, but it's called Killowen Lager. Optimistically, I thought perhaps the brewery has invested in technology that lets them do cold fermentation properly, though it may simply be that the PGI enforcement squad from Cologne got in touch and made the appropriate threats. Either way, this is a different beer. Gone is the brackish flatness and instead it's a sunny unfiltered sunset yellow with oodles of busy crackling foam on top. The aroma is unsettlingly sweet and apple-like, like Cidona or the similar sugared-up alcopops which pass for mainstream cider in this unfortunate country. The carbonation is far too high, passing the pain threshold of prickliness in the mouth. Then it's more apple candy, some marker-pen phenols, smoky seaweed and a harshly dry carbonic finish. It's definitely a different experience to the Kölsch but it's still not really fit for commercial sale. If your home brewing mate turned out something like this, you'd be having a word.

What? The next one is another pale lager? I sure can pick 'em. This is St Brigid's Irish Lager, named for the medieval Irish saint's renowned associations with south Kerry and Antarctica. It's the same strength, with the same crackling froth, and has a similar murkiness but is noticeably darker; amber, shading to ochre. It smells clean and wholesome, of brown bread and country kitchens, all oak and terracotta. It's nicely full-bodied given the modest strength, with a pleasing chewiness and no more fizz than is strictly necessary. The hops make a good show of things, a waxy bitter tang arriving first in the flavour, followed by sweeter cereal and honey. It lacks polish, but that's not a problem here, since it also lacks flaws. The result is like a backwater Kellerbier: tasty and charming, if still slightly amateurish. I would recommend it, if only I had faith in the brewery's ability to turn it out consistently.

Finally, the beer style I would suggest to my hypothetical mate with the wonky homebrewed lager: a stout. For Six Magpies the ABV soars to 4.5% and the carbonation is awkward, needing a seven-part pour to get it into the glass. Under the massive head it's a shiny vinyl black, and there's a similar spicy aftershave aroma to the one I found in the red ale in 2024. That's perhaps not appropriate, or deliberate, but I like it. It's there in the flavour too, overpowering any cocoa or coffee subtleties the beer may have been intended to show. A faint echo of burnt roast in the finish is the only proper stout aspect, beyond the colour, that I could find. The fizz is a little excessive, removing any possibility of smoothness. While the musky spice quality is fun and novel, it's so loud that it makes this a one-note beer, and detracts from its claim to be a stout. On one level I enjoyed it, but on a more serious one I felt gypped. Where's the stoutishness? For the second time in this post, the brewery has got away with their amateurishness, in that the beer isn't terrible, but I would very much prefer if they made things closer to the broad parameters of their purported styles.

Continue to expect randomness in a glass from Tom Crean, then. Sometimes it works, while other times it really doesn't. Tom's going to take you on a journey to strange and unsettling places. To quote a different Guinness TV ad, one he wasn't in, it's what he does.

In the Navy

Sierra Nevada's Torpedo IPA took its name from the cylindrical piece of apparatus used to dry hop it. Since it graduated from being a beer to being a whole range of beers (capitalism: yay!), someone in the branding department has decided to militarise it, hence the sonar-style graphics on this latest pair of cans.

First up is Rye Torpedo, a whole percentage point weaker than the original, at 6.2% ABV. It's a lovely rich orange colour with a little haze, without being actually hazy. Rye is good for head retention and you really get your money's worth here: a massive mushroom dome of foam forming. I caught it within three months of canning and it still smelled very freshly hopped, of grapefruit zest and lemon jelly. Rye's peppery quality makes a brief appearance in the flavour, but for the most part it's classic west coast IPA -- just what we come to Sierra Nevada for -- mixing the bright citrus with an equal dose of slick pine oil and backed by a marmalade sweet side. There's nothing extreme here, no hop fireworks nor residual slickness, and I'm not even sure it's a better beer than the original. It's damn tasty, however, and still well worth your while, whether or not you were a fan of Torpedo to begin with. Just don't expect too much rye character.

"Dual Torpedo" is how Admiral Grossman has chosen to signal that the next one is Torpedo as a double IPA. It's 8.2% ABV and double dry hopped. I know that "double dry hopped" generally doesn't mean anything, but at the same time I can't help wonder which version of Torpedo it's the doubled version of. Original? Atomic? We will never know. No rye means it's paler: still slightly murked, but golden, not amber. The aroma is rather more muted too, lacking the zest and emphasising the dank and resin instead. The branding wants us to think hops but the flavour, to me, is malt first. It's a large chap, with a chewy body and acres of bready, cakey, toffee and treacle. Trust Sierra Nevada to continue bringing us double IPA in its earliest known form. Not that this isn't hoppy: that high-gravity base is a launchpad for a panoply of hop fun, including peppery spice, piney resin, citric zest and oily peel: all the classic hits of the American golden age. If you like your retro served fresh, here's the double IPA you need. That said, unlike many of the first wave American double IPAs I drank, this one is clean and finessed, low in heat given the strength, and in the dangerously drinkable category. More than anything, it's happy, and very much a reminder of when big-hop American beer was fun, before all the joyless nerds started over-analysing it. Ahem. 

These are definitely different from Torpedo, and I wish the brewery had the confidence to simply call them something else. But they're both bloody decent beers, highly enjoyable, and worth anyone's time, especially anyone sick of haze and tropical and everything else we must accept that American IPA has become.

Summer in the Garden

My reaction to beer with weird stuff in it has evolved from "Wow! This is exciting" to "Ugh! This is stupid" to "Wow! Somebody is still doing this". Today's set is from Zagreb's Garden Brewing, and I drank them in an attempt to recreate the youthful sensation of finding off-kilter beer interesting.

I didn't notice until after I bought them that the brewery has put them in sequence, and first of four is Imperial Strawberry & Vanilla Milkshake IPA. It's so long since I've had a milkshake IPA that I was expecting it to pour pink, but it's actually a more orthodox golden shade, and only slightly hazed. It's a brave move to name Magnum, Citra and Mosaic as the hops, yet it does really smell like an IPA, with lots of citrus zest, next to low-key strawberry blancmange pudding. "Super creamy" they say, but the first sensation I got on sipping was clean fizz and quite a light body for 7.4% ABV. The hops have very much taken a back seat, and it tastes like a lurid-pink pre-packaged single-serving of strawberry cheesecake: the strawberry at a remove from the real thing, blended with a gummy dairy sweetness and set on a crunchy biscuit base. As a child of the 1970s, I never lost my taste for highly processed industrial desserts, so I quite enjoyed this beer. It's not offensively sweet, neither sticky nor hot, and generally quite clean and drinkable. I guess if you're going to make a beer taste of strawberry and vanilla, this is the way to do it: not subtle, but far from a hot mess. It's still fun that milkshake IPA is so often the butt of the joke in beer discourse -- it's inarguably a ridiculous concept -- but faced with Garden making quite a nice one, I'm a bit lost for words. The "IPA" part of the equation is not pulling its weight, but otherwise, this is at worst harmless and possibly, sneakily, rather enjoyable.

It's arguable whether or not the beer numbered two in the sequence is more or less ridiculous. Imperial Banana Bread Stout has as much to do with Courage and Barclay Perkins as the previous beer has to do with Hodgson and Bass. It's a sober 8.4% ABV and a flawless obsidian black, though the head is short-lived. The fruit steers clear of the aroma, which is an enticing coffee and vanilla with a dusting of cocoa, like tiramisu. And... it doesn't taste of banana. At all. That's probably a good thing, but the sort of weirdo who buys this sort of beer at face value is likely to be disappointed by how unweird it is. Whoever wrote "packed with real bananas" on the label has clearly never been packed with real bananas. Coffee is the centre of the taste, oily and liqueur-sweet at first, then dry and dark-roasted. An assortment of other flavours I associate with strong and sweet stout follows: treacle, cookies, vanilla and chocolate, but no banana. It's good stuff, the modest ABV keeping any boozy vapours off the table while still allowing it to be satisfyingly chewy for dessert. It's not much of a complaint that they haven't ruined it with ridiculous novelty, but that's the worst thing I can say about it. Would definitely drink again, though not immediately after the first one.

Number three is a normal beer, and I nearly didn't bother until the lacuna began gnawing at me (naughty lacuna!) and I bought it solely to complete the set. American IPA: Prysma Showcase is its official name; I suspect that they could equally have called it "Let's Find Out If This Stuff Works". Prysma is a hop extract, used here in Citra, Mosaic and Cascade flavours, though each hop is also listed in its normal solid form as well, which seems like a bit of a compromise of the experiment. The beer is 7.2% ABV and nicely west-coast clear; a classy golden amber colour. Grapefruit on the aroma leads to similar in the flavour, doing an excellent job of balancing zesty spritz with slicker resin. There's no missing the hops, but I'm not sure they're bringing "a sharper aroma [and] deeper flavour" than a well-made, non-Prysma, American-style IPA. This one's old-school credentials are copper-fastened by a generous dollop of slightly caramelised malt, making it weighty and chewy, in a way that complements the hopping nicely. They've sold it as the next generation of bleeding edge high-tech IPA. It's not. But it's damn tasty and I'm glad I found space for it in this post.

Last in the sequence is the lightest of the bunch, the 5.5% ABV Gin & Tonic Sour Beer. I've tasted this sort of thing done well before, although this one came with a warning from the lad in the off licence. It looks plain and lager-like, with rather more head than most gin and tonics. It smells lagerish too, all crisp and grainy. We're promised juniper and lemon on the label and neither manifests in the taste to any significant degree. Sour is plentiful, however: it's teeth-squeakingly sharp, a grimace with every sip. Not much is on offer beyond this, with the husky grain making a return, plus a waxy bitterness and maybe a very faint peppery spice in the background, which I suspect is juniper-related. It's not problematic, but not very impressive either. More citrus and more botanicals are needed for this to live up to the promise of its spec. Perhaps one is supposed to be more forgiving when drinking it in order, after three other strong beers.

That's where the series ends. Just one last beer as dessert. Tama says it's an imperial salted caramel and chocolate biscuit stout. "Indulgent", but not over the top at only 8.1% ABV. The aroma is very dairy, with the sweet/sour mix of yoghurt or milk on the turn. Its relatively low gravity (again) means that while it's smooth, it's not thick or heavy, and is a beer for drinking, not merely sipping. Promise of chocolate, biscuit and salted caramel doesn't materialise in any big way, with instead only a buttery cookie and vanilla cream flavour, finishing quickly. "Rich" is another word on the label, overstating the case again. It's not a bad beer by any means, being simple and classy, where it could easily have been a hot sticky mess. I was expecting more of everything, however, and it's a little disappointing not to get it. As a relatively straightforward milk stout, however, it's pretty good.

In general, I think Garden has got the novelty factor correct here. They never lose sight of the need for an underlying good recipe in order for the beer to be enjoyable, no matter the ingredients. These strike me as the work of a brewery that paid its dues making IPAs and sweet stouts properly, before trying anything silly with them.

Odds on

The little bit of Barcelona that is forever Ballyfermot makes a comeback today, with three new beers from Oddity, a Catalonian beer brand which has its production done at Whiplash.

First up is Go On Fool, described as a "Zested WC-IPA" which doesn't make a lot of sense, beyond invoking Grapefruit Sculpin, a popular fruit-flavoured Californian IPA from the long-ago craft beer era. That was 7% ABV while this is a mere 5.5%, though it does list grapefruit zest on the ingredients, along with Saphir and Motueka hops. It's a foggy orange-yellow colour with a decently thick head and plenty of piquant citrus juice in the aroma. The texture is creamy, in a modern New-England way, lacking the sharp edge of Sculpin's California character. So I don't know what they're doing, calling it "WC" IPA: this is very much in the east coast vernacular. For all that, it's not bad, showing some dank resins alongside the sunnier citrus, and keeping everything fresh, clean and unfussily drinkable. The grapefruit element doesn't dominate the flavour, and there's a definite herbal quality from the Motueka perceptible alongside it. As the starter of a three-beer session it works well, and I wouldn't be sad to be offered a second pint of it after the first.

Wildfires is merely a pale ale, but it's stronger, at 6.2% ABV. Simcoe, Strata and Mosaic are the hops and it's unashamedly murky, though pale and translucent rather than resembling eggy batter. The aroma is mildly zesty, humbly suggesting lemon and lime peel, while the flavour is lightly garlicked with peripheral hints of marmalade, lemonade and custard. None of it is terribly loud, and the texture is surprisingly light for the strength. This beer's name is all drama but the liquid itself is rather damp and lacklustre. It's not unpleasant, but doesn't really use the significant gravity and doubtlessly expensive hop charge to make a big impression. This is unfortunately typical of Whiplash's recent offerings: promising full-colour 3D hop zing but not really delivering on it. "A big glass of meh" is a harsh verdict on Wildfires, but unfortunately that's what it is. Hazy pale can be done better than this, and certainly by this brewery.

The one I was looking forward to most was Things We've Done, which is in that most under-represented of styles, double black IPA. It's a whole 8% ABV and is properly dense and weighty with it, the body heavy and slick, despite lots of carbonation and a tall nicotine-stained head of foam. Its aroma is quite roasty and stout-like, with the hops contributing a serious grass and liquorice bitterness to this. The bittering hits hard in the foretaste, mixing super sharp grapefruit rind with an almost plasticky herbal concentration. Sabro, says the can: I might have known. There's Cashmere and Centennial too, but it's extremely on-brand for Sabro to hog the limelight, as it definitely does here. After a second there's a warmer and richer cocoa element, some slightly burnt and sticky treacle and then a colourful zesty citric spritz for the finish. I would never have guessed the strength: the flavour is thoroughly hop dominated with little alcoholic heat. That pithy Sabro does make it a little one-note and not very complex, but if you enjoy what it does, it's an exciting and very boldly-flavoured beer, which is exactly what I'm looking for in a double black IPA.

The slight decline in hop impact of Whiplash's recent beers is somewhat in evidence here, except for the black IPA's total Sabro bug-out. The other two are grand if unspectacular. Oddity shows no sign of brewing for themselves or moving to a different contractor. I'm happy to have them as a slightly exotic contributor to the brewing scene in my home city.

All right Jack

It's a new brewery for me today. McGill's has been plying its trade down in Waterville for some years now, but I didn't know that it bottled its beer, nor that it was ever shipped outside of Co. Kerry. I found this bottle of Jack Murphy Kerry Lager on the shelves of The Wine Centre in Kilkenny recently, less than two months beyond the hand-written best-before date on the label.

They've brewed it to 4.3% ABV and in a rustic fashion, the beer pouring murkily and a greyish amber colour. I made sure to leave at least some of the dregs in the bottom of the bottle. It smells quite sweet, and a little fruity, suggesting lemon sponge and ripe apricot, with a slight herbal hop bitterness to the rear. The flavour is very much built around the malt, tasting heavy and, well, malty, like Ovaltine or Horlicks. There are some warm-fermentation pear esters and a rough grain-husk dry side, all of which gives it a bit of a homebrew vibe. There's no polish to this; no sense of a brewer honing their lager with precision.

It's not at all bad, though. Any number of things could have gone wrong, but didn't, so while it's a little off-kilter, it's still tasty, in a wholesome and amateurish way. Pale lager is a tough style for very small breweries, and I'm not sure McGill's has what it needs to do it brilliantly. Accept the slightly over-sweetened nature of this one, however, and it's enjoyable. I would imagine warm fermentation is more the brewery's forte, however.