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.