September pairs 3: Third Barrel

I'm happy to observe that The Christchurch, Third Barrel Brewing's new pub, is performing its required role exceptionally well, as the hangout of preference for Dublin's zytherati.

The line of Third Barrel beers themed around it continues with The Chimes, a hoppy lager. I was a little apprehensive since the recent Eight Degrees one wasn't to my taste, but this goes hoppier. There's a soft peachy flavour on top of the crispness, and a late bitter poke, more cheeky than assertive. It's only 4.3% ABV, so as a draught-only house beer it's very well adapted. Their Czech-style Hello, Yes is better, but I can see myself switching between the two on the regular.

The lack of a tap badge on the day I came in means you're spared the woeful AI graphic of Two Sides's The Pursuit of Hoppiness. It was nice not to have the distraction because this is an excellent beer. It's an IPA of 5.4% ABV and brewed in collaboration with fellow Third Barrel client brewer, Hopsicle. And although it's doubtless designed for pub drinking -- now that all three companies involved are in the on-trade -- it's not short on complexity for considered drinking. That slightly high-for-the-pub strength gives it a satisfying weight and density, which is used to great effect by the hops. The result is wonderfully dank and oily, starting on a bright note of lime zest before turning to a more serious pine resin. A counter-melody of juicy cantaloupe plays alongside. It's a fun beer: session-drinkable, just about, while showcasing multiple attributes of the marvellous hop. The name is well chosen.

Whether we'll be seeing much by way of new beers from guest breweries at The Christchurch remains to be seen. As an outlet for new Third Barrel product alone, however, it's a welcome addition to our city's beer scene.

September pairs 2: Wicklow Wolf

First beer of the evening on one of the hottest days of late summer: if that doesn't provide a fair context for a piña colada sour beer, I don't know what does. Wicklow Wolf has called it If You Like, and it takes the brewery's Endangered Species series of limited editions to number 68. It's a gentle 3.8% ABV, and the ingredients include pineapple, coconut and lactose, as one might expect. As one also might expect, at least if you're me, it's not at all sour. The first thing to hit the palate is a smooth and slightly gummy milkshake sweetness. Its effect is exaggerated by the lack of any properly strong flavours, of any kind. After a moment, the pineapple starts to emerge, syrupy and processed rather than crisp and fresh. I couldn't really pick out any coconut, and that was a surprise, as it's not normally shy (boom boom!), and of course you can forget about any hop or malt flavour. Sticky pineapple is where this one begins and ends. Maybe it does the job of conjuring memories of that holiday cocktail you liked, but if so, I don't go on the same kind of holidays as you so I couldn't possibly say. We'll park it at "inoffensive but unexciting".

And speaking of unexciting, 67 in the series is a hazy IPA, called Petrichor. This is a modest 5% ABV and brewed with Citra, Krush and Mosaic. The aroma is very bright and zingy, a mix of oily lime citrus and some serious dank resins. Not your typical murk job, then. It turns surprisingly tropical in the flavour, with mango and, oh, more pineapple, but still hanging on to that lovely oily bitter side. I deem this just New England enough, and it avoids the sticky vanilla and any dreggy grit. The lightish strength keeps it clean and drinkable, with the right amount of cleansing fizz. It's a work of supreme balance and bursting with hop appeal. The brewery would like us to know all about the liquid extract form in which they used the Citra, and for once I'm willing to add my voice to that. The Citra here is very Citra-y.

The September Pairs series continues next week. There will be IPA, I imagine.

September pairs 1: Whiplash

Autumn has arrived, and the annual Dublin Beer Festival at the RDS will be upon us soon. Ahead of that, I have a series of short posts on recently released Irish beers, all of which have trickled through in pairs. We begin with Whiplash, and a couple of pints in their Dublin pub, Fidelity.

They've done a grodziskie, which is certainly a rarity for these parts. Final Credits (no idea why) is 3.5% ABV, and an equally-innocent clear dark gold colour. So the big opening smoke hit was a shock. This is not a subtle beer, nor a tasty and fun little curiosity from world brewing. This is a serious commitment to the smoke. It tastes of bonfires and blast furnaces; engines and factories. Smoky, but not in the savoury way of pork and fish. It is at least light-bodied, which goes some way to soften the impact, and once you're used to the acridity, I can see how it could even be seen as refreshing. But that's at least pint two, or possibly generation two of this being the ingrained local beer style. I give props to the brewery for giving one a go, but I couldn't get into this one. It's for grodziskie extremophiles only.

Whiplash brews Oddity, and the latest from the Barcelona client brewer is The Dreamer. In a move that's sadly typical for Whiplash, they claim this is west coast, though my suspicions were aroused as soon as the tap started pouring. The look is hazy; translucent, not opaque, but that's no excuse. We are NOT on the west coast here, boys and girls. The poorly-rendered subterfuge continues with a flavour which is downright juicy. Opening on fresh-squeezed, after a moment it sweetens to orangeade, leaning to hard candy and aromatic citrus oil, and only then reluctantly drifting towards the hard pith and resin of the west coast. It doesn't go all the way there, however. It's maybe a bit slight for 6.6% ABV, and while it's certainly enjoyable, well-made, and properly flavoursome, the style fidelity (lol) is poor. Exercise caution.

More IPA tomorrow, from a brewery that turns them out as prolifically as Whiplash.

Rehydrate

Look, I'm absolutely not against the concept of non-alcoholic beers. It's just that most of the specific ones I've drank have been so wide of the mark that I can't imagine an occasion when I would chose one over drinking nothing. There have been a handful of exceptions, virtually none of which have been in the lager, pale ale or wheat beer styles, which is unfortunately what the breweries keep turning out.

And yet I persist. Today's beers are three from reputable Irish producers which are commonly available. So much so that leaving them off Ireland's top-rated beer review blog would have been remiss. And so I hold my nose, figuratively speaking, and make a start.

Fierce Mild is a standalone non-alcoholic brewer, based in Dundalk. This Extra Pale Ale is the flagship, though a lager was added to the range recently. Let's see how we get on with this first. It immediately does itself no favours with the appearance: both murky and watery looking, with a crackly low-effort head, like your worst witbier nightmare. The aroma is metallic -- aspirin -- which is a common flaw is this kind of beer, but everyone else doing it is no excuse. The effect is ameliorated a little with some freshly lemony hops. Further marks come off for the texture, which is thin and watery, but at least it's refreshing, aided by a busy fizz which I found cleansing rather than intrusive. Not that there's much to cleanse, however. Neither aspirin nor lemons show up in the foretaste, though the latter arrives in the finish and becomes the beer's main character. That would almost have made it palatable, were it not for the creeping aspirin behind it. Ugh. This nearly becomes almost worthwhile, but misses it at the very end, leaving an unpleasant and unwelcome metal deposit on the palate that's tragically typical. I thought maybe the non-alcoholic specialists might have got the formula right, but they turn out to be no better than everyone else. Better get on with everyone else, so.

Galway Bay's flagship IPA has been around almost since the brewery's beginnings, and extensively reformulated over the years. I don't know if the recipe for Full Sail Zero is intended to resemble the current form. The visuals are a little better than the above: it's a marginally warmer shade of golden, though still murky and with no head after the first few seconds. It smells unpleasantly vegetal, like overboiled cabbage or spinach, which I guess is a small step sideways from metallic. It's not watery, and has a surprisingly decent body, but I honestly couldn't tell whether the flavour was either very slight or completely non-existent, and what I could taste was the residual effect of the previous beer. There's maybe a very faint echo of grapefruitish American hops, which would scan for it being a version of Full Sail, but it's extremely bland. It may feel like a beer, and even looks like one, and I guess it gets points for lacking off flavours. Lacking any flavour is a poor show, however, and this does little to raise my opinion of non-alcoholic beer.

The session rounds off with No Dose, purporting to be a pilsner, from Whiplash, where they know how pilsner is supposed to taste. They say it's unfiltered but it's still fairly clear; dark golden and without any head to speak of, alas. It smells mostly of lemonade, suggesting American hops rather than noble ones, though there's a telltale metallic twang too, which doesn't bode well. That lack of head is a result of low carbonation -- I hope they weren't depending on the weak fermentation process to condition it -- although there's a decent weight to it, with no wateriness. The unsubtle lemon is the main feature of the flavour, and it's a flavour which is not beer adjacent. It's barely lemon-adjacent, actually, tasting more like a very plain white lemonade. That lasts long and turns slightly sticky. We're back in the territory of un-beer-like, but not actually unpleasant to drink, as long as the sweetness doesn't upset you. It's a very poor impression of pilsner however.

I feel I've done something worthy by drinking these. There were no surprises: nothing that made me think that the paler form of non-alcoholic beer works as a beer substitute. That none of them was undrinkably disgusting should perhaps be a cause for celebration. Maybe that's what people mean when they say non-alcoholic beer has got better. It's a pretty low bar, though. I'll give science some time to catch up further before I tackle any more sets of these.

Heat-resistant spoons

Virtually no cask ale means absolutely no warm cask ale: a win for the Dublin pub scene, there. At JD Wetherspoon, the cellar cooling system was well able to deal with anything the summer threw at it.

To wit, at The Silver Penny, Hook Norton Haymaker. I'm guessing this pale ale is named for its strength: a whopping 5% ABV. The dark golden colour helps underline its projected power, likewise an aroma which suggests generous quantities of malt, evoking pastry or cakes with a layer of citrus jam. The flavour uses that malt too, but centres more on the hops. They're English, so I was expecting marmalade and meadows, but there's quite a new-world brightness to this beer in general. I get a white-wine grape effect, conjuring Nelson Sauvin or, from closer to home, Hallertau Blanc. Add some peppercorn spice and a rasp of leathery tannin and it rounds out nicely. It's very tasty. Amber-coloured strong bitter can sometimes feel hot and soupy; this one is clean and zingy, refreshing and sinkable, so perfect for summer drinking. I'm a fan of Hook Norton in general, and this is another of their greats.

Green Jack is less of a known quantity. Beside Haymaker was Gone Fishing, an extra special bitter. As a follow-up act to the preceding classic, it would want to be extra special, but I don't think it is. I actually regret writing about perceived soupiness in dark bitter, because this is one of those. It's a big ol' 5.5% ABV, and ornery with it, propelling toffee and red apple aromas, then tasting hot and chewy. The weird individuals who enjoy the constant supply of Greene King Abbot Ale at Wetherspoon will find little to dislike in this; it very much hits the same beats. I'm not into that, however. The experience was saved by that marvellous Wetherspoon cellar, so while the beer tasted a bit on the hot side, it never achieved full soup because it arrived exactly appropriately chilled for the conditions. I can happily write it off as a beer I didn't care for, rather than an actively bad one. If only those were all €2.60 a pint.

Lost in Mosaic wasn't the beer I went in for, but with a name like that I wasn't going to pass by it. It's by Loch Lomond brewery, 5% ABV, and a pure clear golden with a nicely lasting head through the sparkler. And deliciously cool on a day when outside was like a hairdryer. The name is no idle boast: I'd like to think I would have been able to easily identify the Mosaic hops here, in their tropical/stonefruit glory. Peach and pineapple, mango and apricot, are presented cleanly and juicily. Bitterness is minimal and the malt end serves only to propel the softly fruity hops. I can't help thinking that keg serve might have given this some bonus extra intensity but it's very hard to criticise it as a cask ale. It has freshness, coolness, heft and insane drinkability.

Unbeknownst to me when I wrote the above, I had had a much worse experience with the beer in the same pub in 2019. It's nice to be able to set the record straight.

Lastly, you don't see much White Stout around the place. They had a moment a few years back but maybe the breweries got too many complaints from pubs with inattentive and annoyed customers. Anyway, Suffolk brewery Nethergate has one, 4.5% ABV and clear golden in colour. I got a bit of chocolate in the aroma, but in an odd way, with a hint of cinnamon or gunpowder beside it. It has a convincingly creamy texture, and the flavour leads on milk chocolate, before adding that spice from the aroma, which sticks around to the finish. Perhaps that's supposed to represent roast? I don't really get it. Still, most every other attempt at this illusion has been a sickly mess, and this isn't. It may be unconvincing as a stout but it's jolly decent as a beer, of indeterminate style. The flavours (done with cocoa and vanilla, apparently) hold together well, with nothing jarring or uncomfortable. As a once-off gag, it's amusing, but I doubt it's anyone's regular pint.

Cheap, cool pints of cask ale, dark corners and functional air conditioning has made Dublin's JD Wetherspoons something of an oasis for me in recent months. I'm sure they'll go back to being that bit less attractive now the weather has turned.

Belgium, why not?

I've barely set foot in Belgium this year, though that will be changing later in the autumn. To tide me over, a couple of Flemish randomers I picked up in Redmond's of Ranelagh.

Has the Americans' fascination with Belgian pils passed? Is it safe to come out now? The first beer today is a pilsner according to the small print, although the name, Verhaeghe Export, suggests a different lager style. I doubt it matters to anyone outside Germany. It's 4.9% ABV and an absolutely gorgeous dark golden colour in the glass, bubbling merrily to a generous white head. It put me in a good mood just looking at it.

That Belgian-pils raspy metallic dryness is there in the flavour, but allied with some other features which help offset the unpleasantness. A big one is hops: waxy, grassy and noble, like they've gone for a Czech vibe and pushed things a little further than is comfortable. I liked its cheekiness. And then there's what I first thought was a warm Belgian fruitiness -- something that's particularly prominent in the aroma -- but once Czechia was in mind I realised it's diacetyl: an Urquell level of butteriness. Again, that's not going to be for everyone, but, like with Urquell, it's the combination that saves it. I had expected bland, but this is rather charming by the 33cl bottle. Lager fans looking for something a wee bit out of the ordinary, take note.

Verhaeghe is better known for Duchesse de Bourgogne, while the next brewery, De Halve Maan, is better known for the Brugse Zot series. It also brews Blanche de Bruges, of which one sees a lot in Bruges, and the second beer is a brand extension on that: Rosé de Bruges. It is, I guess, the same witbier, but with added extract of unspecified red fruit. It doesn't look horribly artificial, having a slightly dull greyish cast to the pink colour, which I take as a positive sign that it isn't simply done with food colouring. The aroma is lightly sweet but very floral, like Parma Violets or Love Hearts candy.

It has a lovely soft and fluffy texture, less fizzy than I'd have thought typical of a witbier. The flavour is pink, but not excessively so. It's sweet, and a little jammy, but doesn't have the clanging artificiality that plagues so many beers like this. While no masterpiece of nuance or Belgian complexity -- it still tastes like an explosion in The Body Shop c.1990 -- it's both flavourful and easy-going. It's a jolly beer and you would need to be quite the dry shite to actively dislike it.

That's two rather pleasant surprises, then. I hadn't been expecting much from either of these, fearing blandness, tinny tangs and syrupy gunk. They're certainly adjacent to all that, but avoid it competently. Belgian beer: just when you think you know how it works.

Hopzapoppin'

The pale ales, they drop slowly. Here's a handful of recent-ish releases from Ireland's breweries.

"It Ain't Easy" opined Hopfully on an IPA label in 2022. They've changed their tune since they moved from running a brewery back to getting someone else to do that for them, and Easy IPA is their latest. Unusually, there's no information on the can about what it's made from. It looks dreadful: a brackish muddy yellow with barely an effort at a head, like something decanted from a slops tray. Nevertheless, it smells superb, with a bright, clean and zesty kick of citrus. The flavour narrows that down to grapefruit, specifically, with all the acid tartness associated. It's only 4.3% ABV so there's not much complexity beyond that, but it's fun while it lasts, and it lasts for a decent stretch. If left to warm, it does present a degree of dreggyness, but the C-hop onslaught helps mask the worst of it. This is no masterpiece of brewing finesse, nor especially easy-drinking for the strength, but as an unsophisticated slap of bad-ass lupulin, I found it rather enjoyable.

DOT is next, with the latest in their Teeling Distillery giftshop specials. Brewers In Arms is a cold IPA -- the official beer style of the ongoing climate collapse -- and is a particularly light example at just 4.6% ABV. There's a slight haze to the pale golden colour, but more in the realm of unfiltered lager than murky IPA. It's dry-hopped, but we're not told what with. It's a good one, though, the aroma presenting a summer fruit basket of luscious peach and ripe strawberries. The can says it's crisp and the can don't lie: there's a refreshing dry bite right up front, inviting rapid gulping, which wouldn't be at all appropriate for the €6 price tag. After it, the flavour brings a contrasting sweetly floral perfume, which is odd, but pleasant. The oddness may be down to vanillins from barrel-ageing, although the can makes no mention of the beer being barrel-aged. Let's assume it is; all of this Teeling series are, and I'm too old for the system to change. It's good. You really do get the benefits of a refreshing summer lager with some clean and cheery hop fruit. If it's a no-to-light touch on the oak, that's still appropriate. This made for pleasant al fresco drinking on a summer's evening, and could best be improved only by more ready availability and a larger serve size.

More new haze from Rascals, in the form of Space Cadet. The hops are all Australian -- Galaxy and Luna -- and it's 5.8% ABV. It isn't especially hazy, being pale orange with a definite translucency instead of full-on murk. I don't know Luna, but Galaxy tends to present as oranges to me, and this smells of marmalade and sticky cordial, which absolutely scans. It's quite light-textured, and with a crisp fizz instead of the more typical haze softness. At this stage, I honestly couldn't tell you whether or not that counts as a fault. It's not one of those custard jobs, and you can judge it yourself accordingly. Its taste is subtle and leans into the bitter side, opening with a zesty bite. The label promises mango and passionfruit, and while I rarely eat either, I do know those flavours in beer terms and they're not present here. It's oranges again, a dry bite of caraway, and maybe some peach skin. Late on, the strength becomes apparent, making it taste a smidge flabby rather than soft and juicy. As haze goes, this is not how to do it. As an unfiltered IPA to showcase fun Australian hops, however, it has a lot going for it. I liked the sharp zest and its overall cleanness. It could be divisive, but the general proficiency with which it's brewed is beyond doubt.

Latest in the Rye River Seasonal series is River In The Pines, an IPA brewed in collaboration with Adnams. Despite the name and the deep green label, there's no mention of "west coast" in the description. They've gone with "classic" instead, which could well be a good strategy for customers who don't know all the terminology but have noticed IPAs getting worse. To me, it's a west-coaster for sure, evidenced immediately in the beautiful clear dark amber colouring. They're not kidding about the pine: Centennial and HBC 522 hops give it an earthy damp forest effect that really does remind me of drinking Sierra Nevada's long-discontinued IPA for the first time. Flying Dog's Double Dog provided my Proustian reference point for the flavour, which has a sizeable crystal malt component, unsurprisingly. That means a toffee sweetness up front, but one which doesn't cloy, because of a dry tannic finish and a massive hit of spicy wood resin from the hops. It's a simple formula, but highly enjoyable and criminally underused in contemporary brewing. They've finished the beer at 6.6% ABV, and I can't help wondering if it might be worth raising that gravity a little if they do something like this again. And I really hope they do. It's a beer to bring a tear to the rheumy eye of every old hophead. Top work by everyone involved.

Marking The White Hag's 12th birthday, and released to coincide with the eighth Hagstravanza festival earlier this month, a new IPA: Hopstravaganza 12. They, too, have gone west-coast, but with a different approach from Rye River. This is a paler take: still clear, but minus the caramelised malt, and with some surprise oats instead. The hops are Columbus and unspecified Southern Hemisphere varieties, and they have plenty to say, starting with an impressive aroma of citrus candy and tropical fruit. The flavour takes a moment to get going. The body is appropriately dense for 6% ABV, and the combination of smoothness and fizz is all it delivers for the first moments. After that, the deluge. A wave of pineapple and mango follows, chased by a spicy rocket-leaf bitterness. Oily lime and pine provides the finish. It's not as on-the-nose west-coast as the beer above, and has more of a modern sensibility about it, but it's very enjoyable. I guess you can take your revival two ways: either with all the charming, retro features intact, as Rye River and Adnams did it, or channelling the clarity and bitterness into a contemporary take, as though haze never happened. Either is valid, and both are well worth drinking.

I'm not sure when these round-ups last contained two west-coasters in a row, but I'm here for it. Keep that revival coming. Hallelujah.

Light verse

Three new beers from Heaney Brewery to round the week off.

Correct Me If I'm Wrong, with the brewery's sober logo playfully scrambled on the label, is a "farmhouse ale", which I'm taking to mean a saison. Reading that it's brewed with sichuan pepper made me do an involuntary approving lip-pucker. It pours hazy and golden, with a short-lived head. The aroma is all fruit and no spice, though still attractive, with cool fresh pear and lychee. It's surprisingly thin for 5.9% ABV, and I'm not sure it's conditioned the way it should be, feeling a bit lifeless, especially for a (maybe) saison. The flavour is different again: florally sweet rather than fruity, and the spice is no more than one would get from a light ginger beer. And nothing else happens: after an initial burst of flavour, it fades to nothing, and seems almost watery, which is all wrong for the style and strength. I had thought this would be much more interesting but it's a bit of a damp squib. The brewery may have been over-cautious, seeking to be creative without being weird. Never a good idea and I hope they don't do it again.

The other two are in more established styles. Whatever You Think Yourself is the most Northern Irish way of telling someone you think their idea is bad, so it's a bit of a worry for it to be the name of a hazy IPA. "tropical yearning, the ghost of a pineapple's ambition" as part of the description gives us the seriousness of tone intended by the beer. It's a pale orange colour and fully opaque, with an aroma which is strongly pithy, not tropical. It's another light one for the strength, this time up at 6% ABV. The pith is loud and proud in the flavour, very similar to the fibrous underskin of a big jaffa. I doubt Seamus would approve of such intense orangeism. Next to this is a rough gritty side; a regular stumbling block for hazy IPA. It doesn't mean the beer is unpleasant, but it does remove any possibility of it being soft, juicy or tropical. Drinking this is a bit of a workout, and I can recommend it only to those who want their hazy IPAs with a big whack of bitterness as the main feature. Personally, Heaney, I'd have given it a whirl in the centrifuge to clean it up, but wh...

Not a great opening pair, then. Surely redemption must come with the export stout? This is the sort of solidly traditional beer style with which Heaney has already proven its worth. I was immediately on guard when Lamp Light poured more of a dark garnet colour than proper black. Still, the aroma is decent, with the same rich fudgey quality as found in modern classics Leann Folláin and Nocturne. The flavour does not lack darkness, I'm happy to say, opening on quite an intense black-toast roastiness. This is balanced, quickly, by a softer milk chocolate character, which is then contrasted in turn by a leafy green hop bitterness, which is the often-forgotten piece of the Proper Stout puzzle. Again, though, it's weirdly thin-bodied for its 6% ABV, and I'm starting to think that may be a Heaney trait. This one, even more than the others, would have benefited from a greater heft; something to chew on. Here, however, that's a mere niggle. This is a damn decent stout, and I was right to think that the brewery would get the fundamentals right. Export stout is one of my favourite beer styles in general and I welcome this example of it. The process maybe needs some fine tuning, but no more than that.

Redemption indeed, then. I can't help thinking that Heaney really should put less work into trying to be a craft-era brewery and stick to playing the hits. Lamp Light would certainly be an excellent addition to its bottled range. Imagine a choice of three top-notch microbrewed Irish export stouts in glass. We wouldn't know ourselves.

Shack a can

What more appropriate drink for a summer midweek than shandy? The Shandy Shack would like us to believe there is no better proposition. "Shandy's a British treasure that gives everyone pleasure" says the unlikely copy on the cans I bought in a northside Dublin supermarket, adding that it was "ripe for a refresh, so we [who?] quit our jobs, built a Shack and started the revival". Err, OK.

I began with Elderflower Lager, described as a pilsner with added elderflower cordial, and is 2.5% ABV. The visuals are excellent: it's a rich golden colour with pristine clarity. If the intention is to make it look like a proper lager then it works. I see oats on the ingredients, which I'm guessing is a texture thing, because it doesn't contribute any haze, nor does much for head retention. So it's not thin, but it goes a little too far the other way, because of course it's sweet, and so it feels syrupy, and that has a knock-on detrimental effect on its ability to refresh. Half way through I added ice, which helped a little. It still mostly tasted of sugar, and not of elderflower. I guess the cordial is already at one remove, and adding the beer makes it even less elderflowery. It's not unpleasant, but I think it fails at its primary function of being light and thirst-quenching. This is something of a theme with me and pre-made shandies, but they should have added more beer.

OK. Reset and go again. There are a number of shandies in the Shandy Shack range, but the only other one I found was Raspberry Lager. It's still 2.5% ABV, and again they've done a superb job with the appearance. I was expecting lurid pink, but instead it's a dead classy russet shade. It does smell of raspberry -- that's a difficult fruit to hide -- but there's a degree of artificiality about it, like raspberryade or sherbet candy. And it is, if anything, even more syrupy than the elderflower one. I made sure to serve it properly fridge-cold and it still gummed up my palate immediately, the fizz struggling to push through the mire and failing to do any refreshment or palate cleansing. Even more than with the aroma, the flavour tastes of fruit-flavoured candy rather than anything real: there's none of the tartness or juice burst of any actual summer berry. This one would need a lot more beer to make it worthwhile.

I realised at the end that I hadn't even been judging these as beers, so distant are they from the concept as commonly understood. Any of the continental citrus radlers will provide a better experience than you get from this pair. They're obviously trying hard, and seeking to look classy, on both the inside and outside of the cans. But their syrupy stickiness is a deal-breaker. Just have, like, a normal beer instead?

Big beer's small batches

The uncertainty that surrounds the rest of Diageo doesn't seem to be affecting the folks at Guinness: the one bit of the drinks multinational which looks to be washing its face, and no doubt the faces of Johnnie Walker and Captain Morgan too. At The Open Gate Brewery in Dublin, they're continuing to turn out new product, and the recipes have been particularly weird creative recently.

"the classic deli pickle flavor" is the oddly Americanised rationale behind Pickle Sour, arriving at the taproom in time for the late-June heatwave. It's 5% ABV, a pale gold and, shortly after pouring, quite headless. I understand that this is an established style of beer, though not one I've tasted before, so I don't know how accurately this example represents it. First off, it's not at all sour: no mixed-fermentation acidity nor kettle-soured yoghurt twang. It's light and refreshing, though, and while it's predominantly a sweet beer, it's far from the dessertishness of all those fake-sour candy fruit beers. Instead, it delivers the pickle element very successfully. At the centre there's the real green, almost crunchy, bite of gherkin, seasoned subtly and respectfully with herbs -- dill and fennel, says the menu. The accuracy of this serves as a reminder that quite a few spoonfuls of sugar have gone into your wholesome jar of cornichons. This wasn't what I expected, but I liked it. While not a vinegar delivery system like real pickles, it does channel their flavour competently. Of course it's a daft novelty beer, but I have respect for daft novelty when it's done this well.

Alongside it, we also got Specific Sunrise, a New England-style IPA, though a light example at only 4.7% ABV. Pint, so. It's rather wan looking, the sickly translucent yellow of a low-rent witbier. Still, the aroma is bright and cheery with lots of fresh lemony zing. The flavour is clean and, well, not very exciting. There's a simple zesty citrus foretaste which fades too-quickly into watery nothing, leaving only a carbonic bite from the abundant fizz. By the end of the pint, a little vanilla residue had built up, so I guess it qualifies as a New England IPA, though it's far from a good example. Despite being part of a big industrial brewing operation, Open Gate tends not to produce dull beer. This, though proficient and workmanlike, doesn't taste small-batch. Unlike too many of their IPAs, they haven't killed the hops with an overly estery yeast, but it tastes like they haven't used enough hops in the first place.

The next round included an intriguing-sounding Orange Cardamom Rye Ale. It looked pretty normal, the same clear amber colour as the rye ale Guinness made, back in 2016, when they were giving the craft cow a proper milking. This is the same 5% ABV. Rye is the one aspect of the offer that I couldn't taste immediately. The herbal cardamom is very prevalent, somewhere between the baking supplies aisle and the bathroom cabinet. Sweet and zesty orange follows, giving it high-end orangeade vibe: Club or Orangina. I'm told they made their own tincture of orange to get the effect. A faint, tokenistic, old-world hop rasp finishes it off. They served it cold and fizzy, which was deliciously refreshing as a warm-day pint. It is a bit strong for that, however, though since most Open Gate drinkers are here on their holidays, that's less of an issue. If peppery orangeade is something you value, then here it is, done decently, with a bit of poke. Shame about the absent rye, though.

After that pint, I chose to drop down to a half for the Barrel-Aged Cherry Ale, out of respect. OK, it's only 4.8% ABV, but this is a sour ale given six months in Calvados barrels and then aged further on real cherries. I expected it would be involved, and not the sort of beer one quaffs by the dirty great pint. The brewery says it's inspired by Belgian kriek lambic, even if it isn't one. It definitely isn't one. What I missed on reading the description is that it's also blended with a fresh cherry beer, and "blended with" in this context really means "diluted by". The result is very plain stuff, with no mature complexity of any kind. I was hard-pressed to find any indication of barrel aging. The cherry flavour is bright and candy-like, presented on a light and fizzy base. It's predominantly sweet, not sour, and has even more of a soft-drink quality than the orange one. It's passable, but pitched more at the squeals-at-pink-beer crowd than the insufferable mixed fermentation connoisseur. This is another bit of summer fun, and the only actually irritating part is how far the experience of drinking it is from how the brewery describes it. What know they of the finer oude krieks? Bugger all, I'd say.

The next round of releases appeared at first to contain a real surprise: the revival of the late and unloved Guinness Black Lager from 2010. A chat with the management revealed that this isn't the case; it's a new recipe and, with a pint in front of me, I can confirm that that's true. The new Black Lager tastes of something. Primarily hops, surprisingly. There's a hard and raw pellet bitterness from the get-go, running all the way through to the finishing vapours. That's set on a properly clean lager base but with a seam of slightly sticky Czech-like treacle. Together it works well, and is enjoyably flavoursome while refreshing to boot. At 4.2% ABV, it's done at a slightly lower strength than the earlier 4.5% take on the style. This is a neat example of how, for the most part, small scale brewing will get you better beer than doing it industrially.

Finally, assembled, not brewed, was my initial impression of the new Belgian Blonde. My pint of this 6.5%-er arrived extremely cold, and I suspect that separated out the flavours. And there's a bunch of them. White pepper is first, arriving loudly in the aroma and spicing up the foretaste. The core is a crunchy, grainy rasp; rustic, unrefined and wholesome, echoing unfiltered pilsner. Then we're resolutely back in Belgium with the fruit seam, bringing peach, lychee, apricot and nectarine, all bright and distinct, with none of the gummy, sticky warmth. Half way down my pint I learned that it may have been a saison at some point in the production process, and that scans. Style concerns aside, it's a jolly nice creature, all told: complex yet pintable in a way the Belgians wouldn't countenance, but I'm an internationalist to a fault.

Open Gate is in autumnal mode now. That means Germany, so expect doppelbock in the next report from here.

Up before the Beak

I've left it late getting to Beak, a brewery which shares its Sussex home town with the redoubtable Harvey's. But it looks like they complement each other well: Harvey's being staunchly traditional while Beak is colourful, playful and very much down with the non-bitter-drinking kids. I opened my account with a small assortment of the dozen or so Beak beers currently on sale in Dublin.

"Life-affirming ales" is the brewery strapline, but it says nothing of their lagers. I started this lot with Déšť, an unfiltered and naturally carbonated (can-conditioned?) pilsner, presumably in the Czech style, judging by the name. An actual unfiltered Czech pils would be cloudy but this is barely hazed at all -- not that I'm complaining; I was merely a little surprised. The aroma is divine, the fresh-mown summer lawn of Saaz cutting past anything more serious that the Hallertau Mittelfrüh might have imparted. That seems to be in the flavour, where we leave the garden and encounter a harder hop bitterness, one that's a little plasticky to my palate. I got used to it though, and before the half-way point it had changed from unpleasantly harsh to bracingly assertive. That's helped, of course, by the malt side, which brings the rich and rounded crusty loaf quality of really good Mitteleuropa lager. I wouldn't be able to pin this as a clone of any particular Czech or German beer, but to my mind it channels their important attributes beautifully. The paltry 440ml serving format is, of course, an insult.

The next one is rather more run of the mill: Parade, the flagship IPA. Here, "unfiltered" means full-on murk; a medium beaten-egg yellow emulsion. The aroma is brightly fruity, as cloudy IPA ought to be, and there's a strongly tropical character, of mango and pineapple. Enticing. The murk typicality continues in the texture, which is soft and creamy, and happily lacking in unpleasant grit. I expected more from the flavour than I got. Citra, Mosaic and Idaho 7 feature in plenty of big-tasting IPAs, but this isn't one of them. It's not unpleasant, and frankly the lack of garlic and plasterboard off-flavours is a point in its favour, but... There's a subtle blend of fruit salad elements, mostly pineapple and mandarin, but the intensity is dialled way down, starting slow, building to little and fading quickly. That makes for an easy pinter, I'm sure, but it's also 6% ABV, and that should mean a bigger flavour all round. There are, of course, double- and triple- brand extensions, but I didn't think I would need them to get a proper hop hit.

We leave such concerns behind for the finishing imperial stout, Oak, brewed in collaboration with 3 Sons of Florida. Alarm bells began ringing when the can claimed it tries to recreate barrel-ageing without actually doing it, via "innovative barrel-derived extracts, wood additions and micro-oxidation". Beak does Innis & Gunn, by the sounds of it. Further unease was caused by the can, once the beer was poured. I know what an empty 440ml can feels like, and this was heavier, like something weighty was stuck to the bottom of it. I pushed it away and turned to the beer. It smells great: a bit oaky and quite vinous, not far from those lovely barrel-aged imperial stouts that I used to look to De Molen for, in happier times. It's quite flat and very thick, even for 10% ABV. The flavour opens on black cherry and soft toffee, though shies away from the chocolate and coffee which are far more common features in this sort of stout. The wood arrives next and, as expected, it's a very poor substitute for real barrel maturity, adding a dry and splintery tang, then a rough metallic rasp. The overall effect of this high-tech process is half maple syrup and half pencil shavings. The fundamental big stout party is still there, but it hasn't been any way enhanced and, between the sweetness and the tang, is hard work to chomp through. I consider this a misstep, however well intentioned.

Seems to me the life-affirming work of this brewery is indeed done with their lagers. I'm sure I'll be back to Beak in due course, but I don't feel I'm missing anything by not charging out immediately to fill a basket with more of their IPAs.

Would Jubel-ieve it?

Jubel lager "cut with" fruit has, it seems, been going great guns over in the country next door. It's possibly too early to say where this sits in the specialty beer segment, since it's definitely not in the geek-coded global-Brooklyn craft end, nor is it any way presented as traditional, be that authentic or fake. Maybe it's a sector by itself. The arrival of two blatant knock-offs from Irish microbreweries working incognito backs this theory up.

First out was Carlow Brewing with Bohem Lager Cut With Blood Orange. I found it on tap at Tapped. Being curious more than genuinely enthusiastic, I just had a half, to taste. It's the industry-standard 4% ABV, and has a very slight haze, suggesting it's not so non-craft as the brewery presents it. The aroma is pure fizzy pop, suggesting lemonade to me, more than Fanta or Orangina. There's a decent heft to the texture, just managing to avoid being sticky and retaining a properly clean lager crispness. There's not much lager character in the flavour, however. The flavouring gunk has been added in thick and generously. It does at least taste of oranges, though processed: marmalade, cordial and ice pops. Overall I found it decently refreshing, but quite un-beer-like. Perhaps there's a target audience of drinkers who want a radler, but full strength. If so, they're well catered for here.

Jubel splits its half-white logo diagonally, Bohem vertically, so the market was wide open for one that's white on the top and coloured on the bottom. That's about the only significant point of difference for Cúpla Beers: Peach. Wicklow Wolf isn't named on the can as the brewer and brand owner, but you can look up the Eircode of "Cúpla Beers" if you're that kind of curious. I can see why there's a tendency to make peach the flagship flavour: it's striking here, with a perfume that has little to do with real peaches, but is bright and luxurious. Maybe it's because no mass-market soft drinks are peach flavoured, only the posh ones. And there's even a bit of lager character; a hint of grain and a dry finish, after the super-sweet syrup subsides. It's less fizzy than the other though, so while you get a different 4% ABV syruped lager experience, it's not necessarily a better one.

This is one of those fads that I hope won't last long. I don't think it adds anything positive to the beer scene, other than possibly making it more likely that two good breweries will stay in business, and continue making proper beer for people who want it. I'm more irked by the cringey copycat factor. Are we this short of original thought on recipe and packaging design? I can't Jubel-ieve it's not better.

Like Spain

At time of writing, the long hot summer of 2026 is continuing. You won't catch me on holiday in southern Europe, but today I've brought it home with four beers by Basqueland.

I thought 5.6% ABV was a bit strong for something called Bavarian Pils, but that's exactly the same as the arguable archetype from Augustiner, so I'll give it a pass. It's an appropriate clear golden colour, though its head was a little too quick to dissipate. The aroma is seriously funky in a noble hop way, smelling of silage and manure, in a most agricultural manner. Distinctive, assertive, but really not to my liking. The flavour is somewhat less extreme, and there's a more recognisable hop bitterness, though still extremely noble, with concentrated grass and a rocket or white pepper spice. This is one of those beers where I appreciated its boldness, but I tend not to like it when German brewers go hard on the hops, and this is very obviously trying to beat them at their own game. To me, "Bavarian" is antonym of "severe", implying an hospitable softness with maybe a slightly cheeky, spoil-yourself luxury. This beer, conversely, is a hard sensory workout: be prepared to sweat for it.

I was about to compliment Basqueland on including a west coast IPA in the range, and then remembered that the range is huge and I chose the styles judiciously, so Skeleton Bay's inclusion is on me. 6.7% ABV puts it in the right area for an American-style IPA, if a tiny bit light. They've gone pale with the specs, and left a modest degree of haze in there. Still, my authenticity-detecting antennae were tingling. Have they got this close enough? The aroma is mild, and more on the tropical side than citrus. There's a very solid malt density, so while the ABV may be a smidge low, they've still provided a generous base for the hops and given the beer a satisfyingly chewy texture. Loral, Cashmere and Idaho 7 are the dry hops, which perhaps goes some way to explain that tropicality. Can you really make a west coast IPA without some combination of Citra and/or Simcoe? They have, in fairness, given this one a sufficient clean bitterness to pass the style test. It lacks pine and dankness, opening instead on a sweet orange cordial effect, but that gives way quickly to a more starkly assertive pithy bite, one that lingers long, buoyed up by the thickness and leaving a wax-like residue on the palate, much like classic Sierra Nevada Pale Ale does. While this lacks the bite of the best west coast IPAs, and there's nothing for those who consider crystal malt an essential feature, it still delivers on the bitter promise of the style. An IPA brewed for the grown-up palate? What a concept!

From there we jump straight to triple IPA, and Elbow Grease, a 10% ABV hazy job, dark orange in colour with a loose-bubbled head. The hop schedule is a line-up of favourites, featuring Vic Secret, Sabro, Mosaic and Motueka, so I was expecting a good time, and I got it. Present and correct at the centre of them is Vic Secret's essence of aniseed, almost numbing in its concentration. Around it there's a deliciously juicy mandarin and pineapple fruit salad effect, with a hint of Sabro's pithy bite. Its aroma is simultaneously dank and sweet, which is a fun combination. The can art reflects it all nicely: colourfully childish attributes, but presented for adults only. About the only thing I can ding it for is how well hidden the alcohol is. This could easily pass for a mere double IPA. I don't usually need to consciously hold back from necking triple ones -- the booze burn tends to take care of that -- but here the warmth arrives very late. Dangerously late. Before that it's all sunshine, good times and Robert-Crumb hops wearing baseball caps and shades. There's no subtlety or understatement about any of  it, but it hangs together in a joyously enjoyable manner. Vic Secret enthusiasts: take particular note.

Our finisher is Boyicao, an imperial pastry stout. This is a full 12.5% ABV, though only modestly enhanced, with just chocolate and hazelnut. There has been no straying from the specs here: this pours as thickly as you'd expect, and smells luxurious, like a big slice of warm fudge cake, decadently frosted and served under a tall peak of whipped cream. And a glass of Tia Maria on the side. Surprisingly, it's the hazelnut which opens the flavour: a very slightly dry and nutty husky flavour. The chocolate sweeps in immediately after, all brownies and cookies, followed by an almost spirituous alcohol heat. That doesn't build, however, so like the triple IPA above, the prodigious booziness is expertly concealed. It's a big beer, but jolly, not dangerous or problematic. Again, the label expresses the beer's nature accurately: chocolate confectionery on an epic space quest. That's how it tastes.

I'm quite surprised to find the lager is the one that didn't particularly suit me, though I fully recognise that's a matter of my taste, not the product's quality. Basqueland has produced some exemplary work here. I commend all of these beers, whether I liked them or not.

The Queens of Hungary

I have some tripartite brand extendery for you today. The three beers are from Horizont of Budapest, who made one beer, and then tried to sell tweaked versions of it to idiots who just want new, slightly different, beers to satisfy their weird cravings. Fancy that!

Our basis point is Hazy Queen, an IPA in the New England sub-style; 6% ABV and a bright and sunny opaque orange colour in the glass. The can says it's juicy and it certainly looks like juice. There's a sweetly citric quality to the aroma which helps it keep that promise, and the flavour balances biting hop acidity with softer fruit flesh very nicely. It stays on the citric side, threatening tropical without ever quite delivering it, and is deliciously clean with lots of refreshing zing. I assume it's something of a flagship, because it tastes like a beer that has been finely honed and deftly refined to be accessible and enjoyable to all. I could ding it for a lack of distinguishing features, but that would be churlish. It is, in the most complimentary sense of the word, daycent. The citizens of Budapest should be glad to have it as a regular. So how has the brewery managed to trash its rep by making other versions of it?

Well, the first take on that I have for you is Hazy Queen: Kohia Nelson Edition. It's the same strength and pretty much the same colour, if maybe a tiny bit paler. The aroma adds a dry huskiness to the pithy fruit, which is a little worrying. It's similarly smooth, and still citrus first, but the newcomer Kiwi hops don't really transform it. Yes, there's a tiny bit of lychee, white plum and whatnot, bringing a slightly more exotic fruit element, but it doesn't significantly alter the beer from its base, nor bring any significant improvement. If I liked it more, it's because I got to drink a full 44cl of it. It's just as clean, exactly as (not very) juicy, and a jolly fun time. But we're still merely in daycent territory and nothing fancier.

Never mind the hops, then, feel the gravity. We finish on Hazy Double Queen, the original beer, dialled up to 8% ABV. There's no difference to the appearance, but the aroma does seem brighter and ballsier, suggesting biteable fleshy citrus. Yum. On tasting it's definitely heavier and hotter, which is its own kind of fun, but I had been hoping that the hops would be brighter and more colourful. That doesn't happen. Instead, we're back to the nets of satsumas and mandarins, just given a bit of extra malt poke. There's a breadish chewiness and a little boozy heat, though honestly it's not hugely different from the baseline. No marks off, and all is I'm sure as the brewer intended; I'm not awestruck by the presence of double royalty, however.

If there are props to be given, it's because they didn't do anything silly or unpleasant with the variants. They're largely as good as the original, and very worthy of the name. The question, then, is why bother with the minor edge-tinkering? Hazy Queen fans may feel aggrieved that the brewery is making a play for more of their pocket money without doing enough to justify it. Poor show, lads.

Keep Ballymahon weird

Sometime wild beer specialist Wide Street Brewing continues to pursue other goals with its two latest releases.

"Wakame" is mentioned four times on the can of Umi Lager, so its inclusion in the ingredients is a big deal. There's no explanation as to what it is, however. Turns out it's a seaweed, used in Japanese cuisine. The beer is a pale muddy yellow, its head lasting only briefly. It's not flat, though, and has a fully lager-appropriate sparkle, with a decent body, flattering the 4.8% ABV. As well as seaweed, we're promised Sorachi Ace hops, but that's not a huge part of it. Sorachi extremophiles will have to make do with a sweetly satsuma-esque aroma and some gentle cloudy lemonade citrus in the flavour. I can't say I noticed the wakame, other than maybe a mild saline savouriness, but I could easily have imagined that. It's not bland, however. This has the unpolished but very tasty quality of good Czech or German unfiltered lager. With Japanese rice, Japanese hops and unusual aquatic adjuncts, it seems to promise exotic, but instead it's fundamentally decent and very enjoyable. It's a hack observation to say that it would match well with subtly flavoured Japanese seafood but it actually would.

With Krush, the brewery has aimed for hazy but ended up at muddy, the beer's soupy brown appearance as unattractive as the smudgy AI-generated label. The aroma is candy-sweet, suggesting a cordial stickiness, and it's thin-bodied, even for a mere 5.2% ABV. Judging by everything else, I wasn't expecting much from the flavour, so that wasn't as disappointing as it otherwise might have been. Let's see... The sweetness isn't anything like as strong as the aroma suggested, and there's a slightly dreggy dry and bitter huskiness. El Dorado and Krush both tend towards the tropical, and there's a flash of that, but it's not the main feature. Instead, I get a mineral, chalky rasp, a little too much fizz, and an abrupt finish. The can says it's smooth and soft; I say it didn't turn out as the brewer wanted it. I doubt it's turned out as anyone wanted it. The thing about there being lots and lots of hazy IPAs on sale is that the bad ones really stick out, and this is a bad one.

That the tricky exotic lager worked out beautifully while the basic IPA didn't should perhaps not be surprising with Wide Street. It's a brewery that, for the most part, has gone about things the hard way, and we the drinkers have benefited from that. I think they should stay fancy, because simple doesn't suit them.

Solid state

The beer range at Marks & Spencer is something I tend to pick at, rather than actively pursue. But there's a bigger range of them in the UK, and I couldn't help but grab an armful of randomers last time I was passing through that way. Nothing fancy, mind.

First it's an extremely straight-up Helles Lager, stating what it is in large capital letters on the 33cl can. It's brewed by Cornish brewery Harbour, which does a few contractual things of this nature, as I recall. 4.5% ABV seems a little inauthentically low, and it poured without a proper head, which it definitely should not. There isn't much aroma, but it seems broadly on-style: a snap of cracker with a hint of lemon zest. I was thirsty, so half the glass went in one gulp, and there was plenty of invigorating fizz, keeping it dry and properly refreshing. They still managed to shoot themselves in the foot here, however, because the can says it's "lightly carbonated". It is not. In all honesty, how it tastes was not a major concern for me, but out of respect for you, specifically, I will say that it's very plain stuff. There's a slightly hot fruitiness, suggesting the same sort of careless brewing flaw that made it headless, but you'd barely notice that. I can't remember how much it cost, but I'm assuming not much. Drink it cold; lie back and think of anywhere but Germany.

Being northern, there's a better head on the Session IPA by Northern Monk, and it's lighter than the previous at 4.2% ABV. I knew there was haze coming but didn't expect it this early in the set: it looks like a witbier, translucently pale and hazy. There's a pleasant citric zest in the aroma, suggesting it's no sensory lightweight, whatever the strength might indicate. The flavour starts well, with a fairly assertive bitterness, but the lack of substance, I guess, causes it to all fade away frustratingly fast. The pithy American zing gets replaced by a gritty, savoury quality, a common attribute of wonky haze. I mean, yes, you could have a session on this IPA, but personally I wasn't on for drinking more than one. First of all they should warn people it's hazy -- "juicy" isn't enough, especially when it doesn't taste juicy at all -- and secondly they should clean it the hell up. I wouldn't go quite so far as to say this was a can of useless watery dregs, but it leans in that direction. Only the aroma makes it more of a positive than negative experience. Next!

Next is a little pink can of Hazy Pale Ale. This looks less hazy than the Session IPA, being a bright yellow Golden Delicious shade, and close to transparent. Vocation is the brewer, and it's 4.8% ABV. The aroma doesn't have much to say, and the texture is light, lacking the soft fuzz that's one of haze's signatures, and which I know can be done at this gravity. Its flavour is all up front, and it should carry a health warning for Mosaic-dodgers. I know what people mean when they complain about that hop's sweaty onion tendency, but I don't usually taste it as powerfully as it is manifest here. There's a fried edge and a scallion-green acidity; a faint fruit-chew sweet side, finishing on drier caraway husk. All of that flashes past quicker than it took you to read about it and, perhaps mercifully, there's no aftertaste. This passes as a hazy pale ale, sure, but it's very much a supermarket kind of one, lacking brightness, flare and individuality. Another damp squib, I'm sorry to say.

Finally, the big pink can contains the New England IPA, another from Northern Monk. It's a bruiser at 6.2% ABV and is a little darker than ideal: densely opaque, but with a slight orange cast at its heart. We are not told the hop varieties on the label, but from the get-go I detect the presence of Sabro, Sorachi Ace or one of them fellows, because there's a strong waft of coconut. The aroma adds a little dessertish vanilla to that. This particular hop profile has a tendency to taste pithy, and it does so here in spades. Forget your typical custard or juice of most NEIPA, this starts on a strong and sharp rasp of citrus peel, beginning as jaffas and then intensifying, almost to the level of fresh grass or smouldering plastic. It's invigorating and, if you're one of the Sorachi tribe like me, tremendous fun. I thought we'd get something more typical on the fade-out, but that pithiness continues all the way into the finish, given significant legs, and a charming warmth, by the sizeable strength. I liked it a lot, but be warned it's not the accessible easy-drinker one might expect from a big chain grocer like M&S.

It seems the ABV is enough information on which to judge these beers. Bigger is better, by and large. There was a possibility that M&S and its generally reputable contract brewers would have done the styles well. Not the case, unfortunately, but you probably knew that.

Cultivating enjoyment

I had enough fun with the beers from Croatia's Garden Brewery recently that I picked up cans of the other two beers of theirs currently in circulation in Dublin.

The first is a hazy IPA, and if I hadn't been specifically chasing the brewery's wares, I would have ignored this. Sure they all taste the same. The numbers on Oseka are boringly orthodox too: 6.2% ABV at 30 IBUs. It's brightly yellow, completely opaque and topped by plentiful, if loose, white foam. The hops are a solid combination of Citra, Simcoe and Galaxy, though they've introduced a random factor via experimental variety HBC 431. I have to wonder how that experiment is going, because it hasn't yet been given a name despite my having encountered it almost nine years ago, at a brewery which no longer exists. The beer smells sweet and creamy, with plentiful vanilla backed by a pithy tang of lemon peel and jaffa orange. It was a surprise, then, to find coconut as the loudest part of the flavour: big and bitter, concentrated to the point of tasting almost medicinal. That's fun, but doesn't last, and there's very little behind it. After the initial hit, we're heading straight for the finish line, where the vanilla puts in a token appearance before it all tails away to nothing. It's fine: a perfectly serviceable IPA in the New England style, and if you're one of the distressing number of beer drinkers who demand more of these, then this is a good one. I enjoyed it on that level but don't feel I learned much from the experience.

Plima is a double IPA, though low-balled for an American-style beer, at a mere 7.4% ABV. The can says it's juicy, so customers shouldn't be surprised to find it pours opaque, and it's a pale yellow shade with decent head retention for this sort of thing. The aroma is very sweet, passing vanilla and heading for condensed milk, with added pineapple concentrate. It gets even more tropical on tasting, stacking pineapple on pineapple, with creamy coconut for additional exotic sweetness. This gets balanced somewhat by an assertive citric pith, bitterer than is typical in haze, but very welcome nonetheless. The low(ish) alcohol helps it stay clean and cool. It doesn't really feel like a double IPA, but I don't mind. This is overall good fun, pulling some impressive moves with the hops and avoiding anything unpleasant or daft. Fair play.

I'm glad I went against my instincts to try these out. Garden hasn't always been my favourite brewery, and hazy IPA certainly hasn't been my favourite style. A bit of persistence has paid off for both of us, however.