The haze hose

It's the five newest (at time of etc.) releases from Whiplash today. While making lots of different types of beer, the brewery has built its reputation on one particular kind. See if you can spot what it is.

We begin on a comfy green-leather banquette at Fidelity. New from Whiplash here was Fetch, billed simply as an IPA but arriving shockingly beige with a fine white head. The aroma gives little away, only a faint air of dessertish vanilla. Its flavour is understated too, especially given the 6.8% ABV -- I guess the low serving temperature helped there. Fresh apricot and nectarine begins it, turning to a more severe oily garlic by the finish. When it eventually warmed, I got a touch of grittiness but otherwise it's quite free of haze flaws. Better than it looks but all told not very exciting, is the verdict here.

Whiplash also brews for Barcelona's Oddity, and there was a new IPA from them on the taps: Loose Plan. Beige is in, it seems, because here's another one. The aroma is brighter and more tropical here, suggesting pineapple in particular. The telltale grit is present in the flavour, but so is an invigorating bitterness, all pithy grapefruit in quite a west-coast way. That mostly covers up a garlic side which manifests only briefly at the end. Although this is a lighter beer than the last one, at 6.5% ABV, it packs in more flavour and most of it is enjoyable. There are dreggy haze compromises, and I think whatever they've hopped it with would work better in a clear IPA, but this is pretty good overall. It's not for haze sceptics but may convert some moderates to the murky cause.

Back home, another 6.8% ABV IPA, this one called Fear Phobia, a collaboration with Japanese brewery Totopia. It is, again, full-on murky, and foamy too, showing a tall stack of dense white froth when poured. The aroma is quite vegetal, smelling of spring onions and garlic in particular. The flavour, however, goes to fruit instead, I'm happy to say. It's not especially strong tasting, with subtle notes of pineapple, peach and passionfruit, all soft, ripe and juicy. The texture is similarly soft and rounded, the carbonation a gentle sparkle. I got a slightly harsher pithy bitterness and some dry grit on the finish, but otherwise this is easy going and easy drinking. It's another which won't convince any anti-hazers, but it does show off the style's positive sides in a calm and understated way. I approve.

That was followed by Only the Good Notes, yet another 6.8% ABV IPA. In a wider glass the head was more manageable, peeping above the rim like the dome that made a billion for Diageo. The aroma is brightly tropical, Citra seemingly staying quiet, in a trio with El Dorado and BRU-1. It gets bitterer on tasting. Though the sweet New England fuzz stops it turning sharp, there's a certain soft fibrous pith to the foretaste. That clears away quickly and is followed by a hit of cinnamon spice and a sugary orange jelly. A baked Alaska of vanilla, spongecake and tinned fruit sees us out. It's nice, but you've tasted it before. Again, based on this beer alone, I can't go off on one about how haze is a degenerative sort of IPA: it's very tasty stuff. More of what's produced should taste like this, however.

We raise the intensity to double IPA next, though the yellowish-orange earwax murk remains very much the lewk. Count To Three is 8% ABV and hopped with Pacifica and Wakatu. The aroma is vaguely tropical, but gives little away. It's thick, with a custard mouthfeel to match the vanilla foretaste. The hops don't really swing in after that, nor does the alcohol heat, and I'm reminded of a criticism I made of Whiplash earlier this year, that their beer isn't as flavourful as it used to be. It's quite herbal in that Germanic New Zealand way, missing the tropical fruit which would have been very welcome. A mild coconut oiliness is as sunny as it gets. I mean, it's big enough and sticky enough to meet the needs of the low-standards strong-and-hazy brigade. I'm not into it, however. I remain impressed every time a hazy IPA, like this, doesn't disgust me with its amateurishness. This is very competent, but it's still not brilliant beer, though it's presented and priced as one.

Regardless of the individual merits of these beers, do we really need so many similarly styled ones, in succession, from the same brewery? If you're one of those people who only ever buys hazy IPA, could you maybe try switching it up a little, for all our sakes.

Periscope creep

Oh they are a capricious lot, the beer gods. Just after I complained about unnecessary extensions to the Sierra Nevada Torpedo brand, two new ones arrived into view. I must make the requisite sacrifice by drinking them.

But first, another inevitable extension. I swear the well of inspiration for the Little Thing series is running dry. I mean, Hoppy Little Thing? What's next? Fizzy Little Thing? Liquid Little Thing? Beery Little Thing? Hoppy is 5% ABV and a pale sort of yellow haze. It doesn't smell especially hoppy, just a vaguely zesty lime effect. The carbonation is faint, and that helps accentuate the New England softness. The flavour is hoppy, I guess, but it's quite plain: similar lime to the aroma, some lemon candy, a brush of onion, and then a vanilla sweetness which isn't hop-related at all. I don't get the point of this. It's like a watered-down version of the 6.7% ABV original. Was anyone asking for an extremely basic hazy IPA in 2025? Sierra Nevada thought they were.

Time next to ready the Torpedoes, and first up is Phantom Torpedo at a spectrally diaphanous 6% ABV. They have no convincing explanation for the name, but do tell us it's brewed with Vic Secret, Azacca and Magnum. It's a sort of grey-ish orange, which is unattractive, and translucently hazy with it. The aroma is pithy and bitter, all very classically Californian. Vic Secret's aniseed waits for the flavour to appear, where it's right in the foretaste, all very herbal with less of its usual bitterness. Oily jaffa orange follows, briefly, before an understated resinous finish, coating the palate without turning aggressive. I guess it's an echo or a ghost of regular Torpedo. Did anyone ask for a Torpedo that was less Torpedo-y? While I enjoyed it, it does feel like the flavour is building up to a kick that never gets delivered. Vic Secret has such a bold and distinctive flavour, ideal for this kind of IPA, it's a shame to see it low-balled like this. Good but with lots of room for improvement, is my take.

We're out the other side with Electric Torpedo, very slightly stronger than the original, at 7.5% ABV. The brewery has opted not to tell us what the hops here are, only that it's a blend. Once again it's a hazy orange, but looking rather less grey than the previous. I get marmalade from the aroma, with lots of oily orange and lime rind. Its flavour is altogether less processed, with zinging fresh citrus for days. I guess it's the gravity which allows that, and yet there's no boozy heat nor sugary malt to get in the way of the hops. This has a lot of Torpedo's aggressive charm, but I think has a subtler side too, leaning less on the harsh resins and allowing more of the fruit to come through. It's so clean and easy to drink that a 12oz bottle didn't feel like enough, despite that significant strength. "Electric" is perhaps an overstatement, but it's very lively and stimulating, and thoroughly enjoyable. If we hadn't all got sidetracked into the haze, this could have been what IPA evolved into, and we would all be the better for it.

OK, these departures into alternative-universe Torpedoes I do understand. If the brand-extension conceit is what it takes to put more tasty west-coast IPAs on the market, then I'm all in favour. Consider the series to be an answer to the prayers of all those rheumy-eyed old hopheads, hankering after one last hit of pine in a world of vanilla and garlic sludge. Who could deny them?

Unionise!

Thornbridge acquired the Burton union system that Marston's were throwing out. You don't need me to tell you this: it was all over the beer news. Likewise, you don't need me to tell you what a Burton union is and does, which I easily could because I understand it completely. Two union-derived beers have arrived in Ireland in bottled form, and here they are.

The Union is the grandly titled flagship, an IPA with a grand ABV of 7%. Bottle conditioning has left the pale amber liquid a little hazy, which I'm sure a classically constructed English beer like this isn't meant to be. And by "classically constructed", I mean Maris Otter, Goldings, Northdown and invert sugar number 2. The aroma is very English, with an almost gastric sharp acidity. It's nicely light bodied, wearing its strength gently, much like the brewery's flagship IPA, Jaipur, does. And like Jaipur, the flavour opens with a pithy kick. There's citrus, but in the more easy-going jaffa orange manner of English hops, rather than any American grapefruit, and this sits next to a slightly metallic tang and a peppery spice. It became heavier as it warmed, and a single half litre serving was plenty. If there's something specifically union-y about the taste, I missed it: this is pretty much what I would expect an English-hopped 7% ABV IPA to taste like, similar perhaps to the one Meantime used to have as its claim to past glories. It's maybe a little strong to celebrate too loudly, but I enjoyed it regardless.

Now, that one was marked "a pure union brew" on the label; the West Coast IPA simply says "from the union". Is something different going on with the production here? I'm confused and a little suspicious. Anyway, this one is 6.5% ABV and collaborated on by Burning Sky. It's slightly hazier than the previous, and a paler shade of spun gold. The aroma's fresh grapefruit brings us straight to the west coast of the USA, and the mix of spritzy zest and oily dank in the flavour keeps us there. There's a certain softness in amongst the sharp hops, which is delightful and adds a welcome subtlety to what would otherwise be quite a brash beer. Is that the union's doing? Regardless, this is just the sort of high-end quality one expects from Thornbridge; bold and full-flavoured, but with a charming old fashioned classiness. Yes, it's a true-to-style American IPA, but there's a beautifully softer English vibe happening as well.

I am none the wiser as to what I, the beer drinker, am expected to expect from the use of a Burton union. These beers are both lovely, but very much in the way Thornbridge already operates. With luck, one of England's many fine beer writers will be able to explain what difference the equipment actually makes to the product, beyond the press releases and collaborations.

Packed to the Gills

This post has been a long time coming, and it's all the fault of the brewery's prolific output and nothing to do with my sluggishness in turning notes and drafts into consumable content. So I am, to say the least, several months behind in my coverage of Lough Gill.

It all started back in August, with a couple of sunny summer cans. I hadn't seen the word "crushable" in a beer description for quite some time. The word seemed to have a moment back in the craft heyday and appeared on these pages exclusively between 2014 and 2020. Lough Gill deployed it anew for their latest lager, called Rake. I guess the name implies that one can drink it in quantity, though the 5.5% ABV puts it above the level of your standard Irish pint. It's also "west coast" according to the can, single-hopped with Chinook. It looks well, being a dark, almost reddish, golden colour with good head retention. The Chinook is quite shy in the aroma, and instead there's a Czech-like bready malt effect, with maybe a hint of lemon. The Czech impression continues in the mouthfeel, which is very full and almost sticky, something which I would say has an adverse effect on its crushability. It doesn't taste very American; the hop side is all bitterness with very little citric or pine flavour. I tend to think of Chinook as a bittering hop in the main, and that's borne out here. There's a resinous payload which gums up the palate without delivering any accompanying dank enjoyment. Coupled with the big body, that makes this a somewhat cloying affair, far from the session-drinker that the brewery seems to have envisioned it as. Your mileage may vary, but this satisfied neither my need for clean lager, nor for American-style hop fun.

We should have some proper hop fun next, with Sunbrella, brewed with wunderkind hop Krush alongside fruity fellow-Kiwi Nectaron. We're back in Lough Gill's comfort zone with a 6% ABV hazy IPA. "Tropical" it says in all caps on the front, but this is another serious beer, tasting like it has nothing in common with the fruity soft drinks that I imagine the word is intended to convey. The weedy quality is set on another very full body, with an alcohol heat that tastes of all its 6% ABV and more. Here it meets a strongly sweet custard vanilla, but the hops hold their own, creating a proper balance in a type of beer not really known for that. The flavour has similar length and depth as the previous beer but is far more enjoyable, sparking with a mineral spice and citrus pith in addition to the main theme. It's not crushable, and I'm sure it's not meant to be, and neither does it show the bitterly herbal hallmarks typical of New Zealand's more established hop varieties. It is a banger, though: fresh and bright tasting, while warm and soft feeling. Taking my time over it, I did find a certain degree of garlic building up as it warmed, though not to an offensive degree. I don't always enjoy it when Lough Gill does the haze, but they've nailed it here. You don't even need sunny weather to enjoy it.

That's hop-forward beers for you: some you win and some you don't. An all-Chinook lager was a courageous flex but I don't think it worked out. The new-wave New Zealand hops continue to impress, however.

A few days after drinking these, I paid a visit to the brewery where they were nearing the end of their winter preparations, with the usual selection of strong dark beers going out again this year. The imperial stouts are joined by a couple of different small cans, though following the usual Gaelic theme which the receiving importers presumably lap up.

I haven't seen Emerald for sale at all in Ireland and it may have all gone to the Netherlands, which isn't at all unusual for an Irish beer these days. It says "Irish Export Stout" on the label, and I guess they mean that literally. I tend to expect bitterness from this style: substantial hopping and lots of roast, with any sweet side being burnt caramel or molasses, where there's a darker, more grown-up aspect to the sugar. This one is all-out sweet, however, which was disconcerting. Sticky chocolate sauce builds, even in a small sample, to the point of becoming like pink marshmallows. Lough Gill was an early adopter of kerr-azy pastry stout recipes, but this one shows you don't actually need the daft adjuncts to get the same effect. It's not my sort of thing, regardless. 

I was able to buy the next pair locally, beginning with Celtic, an "oak whiskey red ale". Unlike most Irish reds, it's 6.5% ABV, though the clear dark garnet colour checks out. The whiskey side is very strong in the aroma, in a lovely, warming, hot-toddy sort of way. A side order of caramel comes with that, and the caramel takes the lead in the flavour. Though sweet again, it somehow avoids being sticky, showing remarkable restraint. That allows the whiskey side to return in the finish, bringing notes of honeycomb and raisins. Though they've put the word "oak" up front in the description, there's no honking sap or vanilla here; the oak's contribution has been fully integrated into everything else happening, and I would be very hard pressed to pick it out. I assume oak chips rather than barrel ageing is the reason behind the wording. That process does tend to have a much less impactful effect on beer, and I'm impressed that so much of the whiskey side has come through. This is a very pleasant wintertime sipping beer and I can report that a nip of Power's on the side helps enhance its Irish whiskey features even further.

It's a shame that an "Irish breakfast stout" has been named Shamrock rather than "Rasher", but that's the export market for you: no sense of humour. We're up to 7.5% ABV and, as the description implies, oatmeal and coffee have been engaged. I was expecting sweet but the first sip gave me significant bitterness which, after a moment, turned out to be a combination of black toasted grain and dark roast coffee. That would have been severe were it not for the soft malt base behind it, bringing gentler chocolate and golden syrup, with a wisp of rauchbier smoke. Rasher: I'm just saying. There's a bum note too, and to me it tastes autolytic, of Marmite or soy sauce. It might be an effect of the coffee rather than a fermentation flaw, but it didn't sit right with me. In a beer of this sort, I like the coffee to be creamy and oily, contributing more to its sweet side rather than the roast. That doesn't happen here, and it's to the beer's detriment. Shamrock files with the more serious and slightly acrid school of Irish export stouts. Normally I'd be all in, but the savoury tang, whether from coffee or dead yeast, spoiled it for me. It's just as well I still had some Power's left to take the edge off.

And it wouldn't be winter without Lough Gill's plethora of little black cans. At the brewery, I got a bit of insight into the process behind these, too. They're all made from the same base, and this year for the first time, they've released it as a standalone: the plainly-titled Imperial Oatmeal Stout. For something developed as a means to a different end, it's an excellent beer in its own right. The checklist for a 10% ABV imperial stout is all there, with lots of chocolate, a dark fruit complexity -- raisin and prune -- and then a decadent liqueur warmth. This is aided by the oatmeal doing exactly what it's supposed to, making the texture silky and cream-like, lengthening the flavour and enhancing the drinking experience. While this is surpassed in different ways by its barrel-aged progeny, it's still worth drinking, especially if you're a fan of the barrel-aged ones. It would be nice to have it available year-round, rather than trying to compete with the elaborate seasonal specials.

Speaking of which: Warrior is among the returning versions for 2025. It's new to me, however, because previous vintages were packaged in spendy 75cl bottles. Moving it to a 33cl can has brought it into my price bracket for the first time. Warrior Warning 1 is that it keeps going up in strength, having started at 12.8% ABV in 2023, it's now a very full 15%. Warrior Warning 2 is that it's peated, pointed out in all-caps on the label. And not just peated: the wood involved previously held the Turf Queen herself, Laphroaig. This is immediately apparent on cracking the can, wafting up vapours of salty seaweed and TCP. The beautifully smooth and rich stout (see above) helps offset the effect in the flavour, but I wouldn't exactly call it balanced. Instead, there are two parallel streams: the unctuous velvety stout, with soft dark malt notes, comforting winter warmth and a distinctive and distinguished smokiness, and then an absolute foghorn of chlorophenols on top of this, like it's been given a jet of disinfectant. The latter arrives late but hangs around on the palate for... well, at time of writing, possibly permanently. You really really need to enjoy peated product to get value out of this one. I do, and even I found it a bit much, especially in the first few sips. I guess there are enough fans of the big smoke to keep it on the market for three winters and counting.

On to new business, and with Solera we depart from the Celtic theme, because it wants to tell you about the sherry brandy barrel, latterly used for whiskey, it was aged in. I assume this is "brandy" in the sense of the not-for-drinking fortification spirit used in making sherry. It's a light one, at a mere 11.9% ABV, though is the usual dense black, of course. The aroma tells us that some barrelling has been going on but is vague on the details. It's more wine fruit than spirit heat. That continues in the flavour, with notes of raisin and fig, while the base beer is still very much in evidence, with its smooth chocolate dessert and affogato coffee and vanilla. I enjoyed the subtlety of it. Even though there's lots going on, every flavour gets a turn, and the brandy complements the stout beautifully. You can take the sumptuous velvety texture as read; likewise the lack of excessive heat or rough oak. This is a future classic and I hope we'll be seeing it again in the years to come. 

There's more wine to be found in Wine Geese, using ex-Bordeaux barrels and referencing the French winemakers of Irish extraction. This one is 12% ABV, though seemed a little thinner on pouring, its café crème head quickly crackling away to nothing. Dried dark fruit features again in the aroma: plump and juicy raisins with sweeter prune, and the flavour allies these with the same blend of chocolate and coffee as the above. So they're similar beers, but different. This one has even less spirit heat despite the extra strength, and although it's quite sweet in the middle, it finishes on a balancing dry roasted note, cleaning it respectfully off the palate. I caught a little splintery oak too, as well as some oily coconut and a mildly meaty twang, suggesting a touch of autolysis. You'd need to be a very fussy drinker to pick those out, or even designate them as off-flavours. It's very hard to find fault here otherwise.

A highlight of the brewery visit was a final new addition to the sequence, one which hadn't got as far as canning yet and was tasted from the tank. With Celt, the imperial oatmeal stout has been given the Cognac barrel treatment, finishing at 12.6% ABV. There's no mistaking the spirit: this opens with a strong kick of distilled alcohol, before softening into that luxurious vinousness that is uniquely Cognac. The stout still manages to hold its own, ensuring that the significant warmth doesn't become a burn, and contributing that beautiful oatmeal texture to combine smooth beer with mature brandy. The finish is surprisingly clean, considering everything going on, and there's a pleasant aftertaste of Christmas jollity. This is an excellent candidate to drink on The Big Day, if I'm allowed mention it this early in November.

It strikes me that a palate reset would be a good idea after all that. At a Sligo off licence on the way to the Dublin train, I picked up some 1928, a Helles that Lough Gill brews in support of Sligo Rovers football team. This is light for the style at 4.2% ABV yet still manages to display all the necessary Helles qualities. It may even over-compensate, its principal malt character going beyond light spongecake and into the full melanoidin effect of treacle cookies and steamed pudding. There's just enough grain-husk crispness to prevent that turning unpleasantly sweet. For a beer that is, presumably, not aimed at the especially particular lager drinker, it has a great deal of character and class.

I think that's enough to be getting on with, and a nice broad sweep of what Lough Gill put out, at least in the winter when we're safe from all the fruity gloopy jobs they're a bit too fond of. A big thanks to James at the brewery for showing us around on the day. A taproom is in development which will make Sligo Town even more of a beer destination than great pubs like The Swagman and Thomas Connolly's already make it.

Transcontinental wegbier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Non-local colour

As mentioned in Tuesday's report from the Warsaw Beer Festival, there were a handful of non-Polish beers available at the event. A couple of mixed fermentation Belgian options piqued my interest, ones I had never seen for sale in Belgium, so was willing to shell out the €10-odd requested for a taster from the bottles.

I don't think I'd even heard of Geuzestekerij Odilon, from whom I tried the Schaarbeekse Kriek. This was their 2024 edition, but tasted older. The whole deal with the Schaarbeekse is it's the most cherry-tasting of cherries; this beer emphasised the funk of damp wood in the aroma, and has a powerful tart acidity in the flavour. Actual cherry only appears towards the end, with a hint of marzipan. I know it's a cliché that lambic causes heartburn, and that's not something I normally experience, but the intense sourness here was enough induce it. This example of kriek is to-spec, and might suit those who prefer the more extreme sort, something I associate mostly with 3 Fonteinen. It's not exactly to my taste, and certainly not at a tenner a sip.

What initially attracted me to this bar was the presence of Antidoot, a non-Pajottenland, and therefore non-lambic, Belgian wild beer producer which nevertheless has been mentioned in reverential tones within my earshot. The only beer left by the time I got there was an oud bruin called L'Obscur, this one a 2021 vintage. I'll say up front that I tend to find oud bruin too vinegary, and while this was another beer that wasn't to my taste, I can't accuse it of the vinegar thing. The style's strong points are its sweet/savoury date, tamarind and spice notes, and this had plenty of those, including black pepper and a hint of smoke. It turned sweeter in the finish, adding cherry and fig paste to the picture. It lacked any tart or mineral zing, but so does every other oud bruin, so while I can say, again, that this wasn't for me, it's an excellent example of what it is.

To Germany next, and there was an appearance by the new Schlenkerla Grodziskie. This is a fun departure by the Bamberg smokery, taking on Poland's national style of pale smoky wheat beer. The consensus in Poland is that it's not a proper grodziskie, being a cool-fermented lager. The lager attenuation combined with a low gravity, finishing at 2.9% ABV, results in a rather thin beer with a bit too much fizz. It is wheat based, but that doesn't pull its weight in giving the beer substance. It excels, however, in the specifically Schlenkerla aspects, from the lip-smacking light smoke aroma, on to a flavour of freshly grilled bacon. This might not please the grodziskie purists, but the Schlenkerla drinkers get some fan service, and something to drink in between doppelbocks.

Our festival run finishes in Burton-on-Trent. Laura from Burton Bridge Brewery, which has taken on the mantle of Burton's brewing heritage after AB InBev hollowed it out and Molson Coors shut down the remains, brought a couple of beers based on old Bass recipes. They're sold under Burton Bridge's Heritage label.

Masterpiece is their recreation of White Shield, formerly the last of Britain's old bottle-conditioned IPAs. It's been a bit too long since I drank that beer for me to judge it on accuracy, but it is very good. There's an old-fashioned dryness that's been bred out of modern, American-influenced, IPAs, making it crisp and exceedingly drinkable for 5.6% ABV. Don't look for fresh hops; instead there's a subtle hint of vegetation and green apples, with a good measure of tannin. Doubtless it will upset a few drinkers who think they know what IPA ought to be; I liked that it's keeping an important part of the style's history alive and accessible, as well as being a good beer in its own right.

There's perhaps less reason for the existence of Burton Bridge DBA. This is their recreation of Bass, a beer that AB InBev has suddenly, and likely briefly, started putting a bit of marketing and distribution welly behind. I have had that quite recently, and I think this has the edge on it, in the complexity stakes. To me, contemporary cask Bass lacks the signature Burton sulphur, but it's here in spades. There's also a full and wholesome fruitcake profile which takes it beyond the basics of bitter or pale ale. Maybe it's a different, and calmer, beast on draught, but for a purported old-school bitter, this is quite the flavour bomb.

For entertainment as much as education, this tasting session also included a Burton ale brewed by a Polish brewery at the festival. Nieczajna Burton Ale is true to this largely defunct beer style: 9.4% ABV and a dark amber colour; thickly textured and warming. The tannin theme from the genuine Burton beers continues here, and there's a similar dark fruit flavour to the bitter -- sultanas and glacé cherries. It's good, though I couldn't help thinking it also shows why this style has disappeared: there's nothing you wouldn't also get from an English-style barley wine, and they have a more explanatory name. Still, this is a pleasant way to drink oneself through some lesser-known beer history.

That's all I have to say about the festival, other than a big thanks to the organisers for the free ticket. If I were returning, I think I would stick to the earlier hours to try and avoid the crowds. I will definitely be back, to see and to drink Warsaw properly, however.

Warsaw packed

The 2025 Warszawski Festiwal Piwa wasn't my first Polish beer festival in a football stadium: readers may remember my extolling of one in Wrocław back in 2019. This one, though impressive, wasn't as much fun, and I think a lot of that has to do with holding it in October rather than June. Sitting in the shady stands on a warm afternoon is pleasant in a way that shivering in them on a chilly evening just isn't; and while Wrocław spreads the brewery stands across the concourse outside the ground, Warsaw crams them in to three floors of indoor space that really wasn't designed for such a thing. It was densely crowded, difficult to navigate, and short on places to perch one's glass, never mind sit comfortably. As a result I probably didn't get through as many beers as I otherwise would have, you'll be pleased to hear.

There was, however, no shortage of interesting beers to try from the 1100+ menu, and a general youthful energy about the place that can be lacking at beer festivals here in the post-craft era. I'm not sure it was entirely wise to open my account on a chilli oatmeal stout, but I did, though opting for the 10cl option -- smallest of the three standard sizes available across the event. This is Naga Jolka, from the plainly named Piwoteka brewery. There's not much spice in the aroma, but the pepper kicks in properly soon after tasting. The 7% ABV base beer is nicely smooth and quite sweet, but you don't get long to enjoy it before the chilli heat hits, and starts to build. I enjoyed it, though I always have to warn readers that this is a personal quirk of taste, and if you don't like chilli stout in general, this one won't convince you otherwise.

We will be covering several black IPAs today. There were lots of them available, and it was only a concern for diversity of coverage that I didn't systematically try them all. First out is Proszę Ja Ciebie ("I'm Asking You") by Browar Zakładowy. Riwaka and oats feature in this, though it's very much a classic black IPA, albeit a dark brown one. There's an enticing herb and spice aroma and a light tarry or smoky bitterness before the hops go full IPA and break out the fresh citrus and stonefruit. I don't require the bright topnotes in one of these but it's a very pleasant surprise when I get it. This 6.6% ABV example balances the dark and light side of the style spec in magnificent fashion.

That emboldened me to go straight for a second one: Dziki Wschód's Mroczny Blask ("Dark Shine"). It's a weaker affair, at 5.5% ABV, and nothing like as impressive. The roast side is good, and there's a substantial bitterness which tastes of savoury thyme and basil, with a dose of oily aniseed, for a Fisherman's Friend effect. What's missing is the fresh hop bang. As I say above, a brewery can get away by simply adding extra hop bitterness to a dark ale, but the best black IPA shows some level of fresh new-world fruit or flowers. This one was OK to drink as a serious and bitter dark ale, but even if it hadn't been immediately preceded by a top-notch black IPA, I'm not sure I would be singing its praises.

A rye IPA follows, called Żytko, by Browar Kazimierz. In my experience, these are usually amber-coloured but this one is strangely golden and offers a juicy aroma with a slightly sharp edge. The flavour is juice first and pith second, but still all citrus. That means the rye doesn't make much of a showing: no grass and no pepper. There's a little New Englandesque vanilla, keeping it within the bounds of contemporary IPA fashion, but if that's what I had wanted, there were plenty of better-labelled options. I liked drinking it, but the disparity between what I expected and what I got took some of the shine off.

I spent a while perusing the menu of Stara Szkola -- a brewery named not for its brewing methods but because it's in an actual old school. It seems to specialise in wild beers with wilder botanicals, which all looked fascinating. Unfortunately, very little of the fun beers advertised on their board were actually available when I visited, so I settled on the rather plainer Koryciński lager. Koryciński is a type of traditional cheese although there's no indication that any kind of cheese-adjacent farmhouse methods or ingredients were used in it. It's very good, however, having an exceptional clean crispness despite some haze, and lots of spicy, grassy bitterness with a generous shake of white pepper. It's a kind of hopped-up kellerbier, I guess, and though unfiltered and most definitely rural in origin, has a rare precision which makes it a delight. I'm now feeling quite regretful that I didn't go back later, to check again if the more involved beers were on.

From a beer steeped in national tradition to one that most definitely isn't. A lot of breweries had ice bocks available, and many of them were "iced" versions of their other beers. And of course, it's October, so here comes AceBrowar with its Iced Naked Mummy pumpkin beer, in a "coffee and cream candies edition". Just a small one, please. Though it's a hideous murky brown, this turned out to be quite tasty. The texture is smooth and creamy, befitting its 13% ABV. It smells like a carrot cake and tastes like coffee cream chocolates, so pretty much exactly as described, once you discount the pumpkin as contributing nothing. A little more autumnal spice would have been beneficial, though there was plenty going on besides, and no harshness or excessive heat. While very much an unashamed novelty, as an after-dinner sipping beer, it works very well. Bonus points for me never having tasted anything quite like it before.

We return to drinking classic styles next, with the delightfully-named Sick Boy Brewing, and Reverie, their Flanders red. 30 months in Tempranillo barrels for this one, finishing at 6.5% ABV. It's a light and zippy chap with tart red cherry notes backed by some sweeter raspberry. There isn't much of a contribution from the oak, but too many breweries ending up making these harsh, so I approve of an error on the side of caution. There's nothing here that you wouldn't find from an accomplished Belgian brewer of Flanders red. Simple as that.

Next up, something described plainly as a "dark Brett beer" which sounds like just my sort of thing. Darek Otwórz is from Moczybroda in Poznań and is 5.3% ABV. We're on the spice and perfume end of the Brettanomyces spectrum, with cedar wood as the dominant flavour. Add a sprinkling of cinnamon to that, a little ripe peach and some light caramel, and you have a fascinating and delicious beer; another one where I've not tasted its like before. Even though there's loads going on, it's not overly busy and all the various elements are suitably restrained. I approve of the concept and would like to see more breweries trying it out.

I was trying to be careful about the consumption of imperial stouts as there were loads of them. Also, the choice of either 10cl or 30cl wasn't ideal: I would have liked an option in the middle for these. Anyway, I succumbed to temptation with Black Celebration #4 from Browar Sarabanda, a Warsaw-based client brewer. It's a good example, if a little lacking in distinctive features: good for the drinker but harder for the writer. So, a sweet chocolate and caramel aroma leads on to a fairly bitter flavour, of filter coffee and sticky liquorice. That settles after a mouthful or two, and more of the caramel side begins to come through. Maybe it's the context, but it reminded me a little of Baltic porter, in the effortlessly tasty way it balanced sweet density with herbal bitterness. Regardless, it's a very satisfying drinker, making excellent use of its 10.2% ABV.

I felt I needed some hops after that, and Hopkultura's bar seemed to have the goods. I opted for Firestarter, a 6.5% ABV New Zealand-hopped hazy IPA. It's a workmanlike presentation; perhaps not the best of what the Kiwi hop characteristics or New England IPA style can do, but the bases are covered. A fresh stonefruit aroma starts us off, while the flavour mixes a heavy dankness and sharp grass with a slightly incongruous vanilla buzz. The hops reassert themselves in the finish, adding a peppery bite. While there aren't any nasty off flavours here, I don't think the hops are a good fit for the style. I wouldn't drink this again, but it wouldn't at all put me off trying more of Hopkultura's range.

Time for another black IPA, I reckon. zGryfus Black IPA is a collaboration between Gryfus and Sady and is a big 7% ABV, with a heavy texture to match. Despite this, it's dark red in colour and smells of Turkish delight, so I was expecting to love the flavour too. That turned out to be a little more muted; bready rather than hoppy, and lacking in punch or any significant bitterness. There's a certain growing tarriness instead, and the floral side does put in an appearance at the finish, so it's nearly brilliant but just misses the mark. I am being overly critical, however, and was happy to find another very good black IPA, even if I had to adjust my expectations somewhat following the first sip.

Pivosky had a full menu of differently-hacked Baltic porters, and while I generally don't agree with doing that to classic lager styles, it did provide an opportunity to test my prejudice. And so I picked Imperial Baltic Porter: Cannabis Infused, because I do like a bit of peppery hemp character in a beer, when it's done well. This was a strange one, however. There's a weird herbal thing going on -- not cannabis but a range of medicinal plants of the sort you might find in a Victorian-themed toothpaste or shampoo. "Root beer" is in my notes, likewise cinnamon and clove, but there's more to it than than. Though 10.5% ABV, the base beer is quite light, and there's no stickiness, which is a mercy. I knew this was a gimmick going in, but didn't know quite what kind of a gimmick. It's OK, but once it's done its thing in the first taste, it has little else to offer.

On one lap of the hall I spotted a cherry black gose and made a mental note to go back for it later. When I did, I discovered it's called Big Balls, and is by Harpagan. This is a mere 4.6% ABV, and I suppose I should have expected it to not resemble gose much. The watery cherryade aroma shouldn't have been a surprise, nor the obvious cherry syrup behind it. The rest was good, however. I've had black "gose" before, and the mix of dark beer chocolate and roast with the thirst-quenching savoury spritz works very well. And so it goes here. The end result is something that's as silly as its name, but fun too. If you don't have a sense of fun about such things, it's best avoided.

For the rest of my time at the festival, I was a guest/prisoner of the extremely hospitable Jedlinka brewery. First came a much-needed palate cleanser called Jedlinka Lite: a lager of 3.2% ABV. It must be quite a challenge to make a good lager at this strength, but they've pulled it off well, giving the beer a light and wholesome haze and adding a lemony kick from some Citra hops. That builds into an assertive but not harsh waxy bitterness and leaves an aftertaste of lemon meringue pie. It is multitudes more complex than beer like this usually is, and would make for a perfect fridge-filler, especially in summer.

Jedlinka also contract brews Thai Lager, created for a Thai entrepreneur based in Germany. This is a 5% ABV job and uses "Thai ingredients" of which I couldn't find the details, but I suspect lemongrass is heavily involved. It has a straightforward lager-grain aroma with just a hint of citrus. The texture is smooth, supporting quite a sweet malt-driven flavour. I'm guessing they've held back on hops to let the added ingredients shine through, and that's in the form of lime zest, crystallised peel and grapefruit marmalade. The bready depth of the base beer prevents this from tasting out of place: it's a bonus seasoning more than a gimmick, and it creates something very enjoyable.

And my finisher was from their PortHard series: described as a sherry-barrel aged ice wild imperial Baltic porter. I'm not even going to try and unpack all of that, and if "wild" is meant to signify some mixed fermentation, I definitely didn't get any of that. The main feature is a spiced wine or vermouth flavour, mixing with rough and sappy oak and retsina-style boozy resin. Freeze-distilling has brought it to 20% ABV and there's a definite back-of-the-throat burn which comes with that. Somehow it all manages to hang together into a coherent experience, and still taste like a dark beer rather than a liqueur or fortified wine. However, it was probably for the best that I ended proceedings with it.

That's my full compliment of Polish beers, but there were a handful of foreign ones too, via some importers and agents. I'll come to them next.