Secrets and mysteries

Time for another peep into the Guinness brand home's experimental brewery, or at least it was last month. Here's what I found.

Open Gate has a remit to name its small batch beers after local places and history, but do they provide an explanation for these? Oh my, no. That would be helpful. Instead you get pale ales called things like "Threadcount", which might be a reference to the textile trade which shared the Dublin Liberties neighbourhood with brewing and distilling, but there's literally no way of finding out. This, on the left of the flight, is 4.9% ABV and rather murky; a slightly coppery red-gold colour. The aroma gives little away, and on tasting it proves quite thick and sweet, with unsubtle strawberry and raspberry tones. It is at least clean: Open Gate has form on making muddy-tasting pale ales, but this isn't one of them. It keeps things light and summery, with a long finish of sherbet and candied citrus peel. As long as you don't want any bitterness in your pale ale -- and it seems that most people these days don't -- it's an acceptable option.

In the paddle's middle is Sweetheart Sour, the Valentine's Day special, superannuated in the run-up to St Patrick's Day. It's a crystalline scarlet colour with a brush of pink foam. The aroma is an unremarkable cereal dryness, with no fruit and no sourness. A popping, punchy tartness is where the flavour starts, followed quickly by cherry and raspberry. If the intention was to recreate Love Heart sweets in beer form then they've done a superb job of it: artificial berry essence meeting alkaline effervescence. It's no high-brow wild-fermented sour beer, but equally not the sort of syrupy confection that too many brewers try to pass off as sour these days. There is zing and there is bite, and they're well done.

The last beer on the paddle is the one I came in for especially. I mentioned last year that Calvados ageing of beer is something I approve of and would like to see more of. So here's Open Gate with Calvados Champagne Ale, eliding two different drinks from northern France in a single beer. This is 8.3% ABV and a clear golden with no head. It tastes, in short, like Fino sherry: oxidation is a loud and brash main act here, giving me cork and grape skin, running right through from start to finish. It's light and breezy, not tasting or feeling the strength, but does get a little cloying and difficult when the novelty wears off. I liked it. Though it doesn't really have much Calvados about it -- maybe a little autumnal orchard funk if you look for it -- there is a certain Champagne crispness. But if they'd called it a sherry ale I would have completely understood it from the get-go. Fino fans assemble.

My finisher was an Open Gate Belgian Wit that was just coming to the end of its run. I only chanced a half, because a pint of wonky wit is not something I would relish being stuck with. This one isn't very cloudy and a dark-ish golden colour. The aroma is quite banana-ish, and it leans fully into that in the flavour, tasting much more like a weissbier than a wit. Like the sweeter sort of weiss, there's an element of caramel or toffee in with the banana, although it's not heavy or sticky, so at least has that in common with the Belgian style it's meant to be. I wasn't impressed, however. A half was the right decision.

So that's what was going down at Arthur's gaff in March. It must be nearly time to pop by again, although a bit more effort in keeping their online beer lists updated (ie, some effort; any effort) would be good.

What's going on?

Three beers from Galway Bay are the subject today, beginning with Figo, a pilsner which they've deemed to be in the Italian style. That means extra hoppiness, inasmuch as I understand the term. It's a beautifully clear gold pint, and modestly strong at 4.5% ABV. I was warned by my friendly server in The Black Sheep about the bitterness, and I braced myself, but while there's more hop character than in a mass-market pilsner, it's not excessive or gimmicky. Tasted blind, I would put this more in the north German genre than what tends to get badged as Italian, and I mean that as a compliment: it is not trying to steal the clothes of perfumey American pale ale. Instead it's crisp and grassy rather than fruity; the hops well balanced and entirely complementary to a soft and springy malt base. There wasn't much aroma at first -- that's pints for ya -- but when I was half way down and had a sufficient volume of vapour trapped in the glass I found a very pleasant mirror of the fresh and green herbal taste. This deserves to be served in something more goblet-like, though absolutely still by the pint. It's a class act, all told, and I'm pleased to report that Galway Bay Brewery looks to have started another year with high-quality output.

It looks like there's a story to be told about Whiskey & Coffee, the stout they launched, quietly, in March. The badge implies that it's one in a series called "Modern Classics" and that it's a "celebration stout". Celebrating what, and how do the whiskey and coffee enter the picture? Not in the flavour, anyway. This tastes very plain indeed, and though it's not powerhouse-strength, 5.5% ABV is plenty to give a stout character. Here, the extent of the coffee is no more than you'd find in any typical dry stout. There's nothing resembling whiskey at all, so I doubt it's barrel-aged. Whisky-soaked oak chips, maybe? Sorry, there are more questions than answers with this one. I was a bit bored by it, not to mention confused.

Our finisher is a barrel-aged imperial stout -- haven't had one of those in a while -- called No Quarter. No skimping on the ABV here: it's 11.8% and pours a flawless obsidian with a slow-forming dark brown head. In the manner of Galway Bay, they've added tonka beans, maple syrup and vanilla, and of course the former is fully present in the aroma, showing tonka's signature candied cinnamon. That's heavily present in the flavour too, but superficially so, and it's easily ignored. The other two add-ins don't really make their presence felt, and I'm not surprised to find they blend in with the barrel's effects. That is subtle, though, with no spirituous heat or obvious sappy oak. Instead, it's smooth and creamy milk chocolate at the centre, giving a Snowball dusting of flaky coconut and dessertish coffee cake. A wisp of burnt-caramel smoke adds a modicum of dryness to the finish. The barrels don't really feature, and I had to check the label to find out what they were: bourbon, apparently. I complain about how honkingly unsubtle that can be in other stouts so I can't really complain about it being unobtrusive here. Points for complaint are few with this one: with the velvety smoothness, it's charming and classy, even if it does taste a bit like the bakery on cinnamon swirls day. The price, though, is not easy-going, and I think €13.50 for the half litre is excessive. If that sort of thing isn't a niggle for you, dig in.

Galway Bay's previous whiskey-barrelled stouts tended not to be such shrinking violets: they know how to deliver the spirit and the warm. So I don't know what's happened to either of these stouts. Maybe some longer maturation would be in order. There's nothing wrong with the pils, though: that can be left alone.

Ketchup, catsup...

The Jesuitical analysis of comparable beer styles never ceases to amuse and bemuse me, bless all the dear pedants who take such things seriously. Before us today is the question of how a "dry-hopped lager" differs from a "West Coast pilsner", because I'm sure these aren't terms that breweries simply assign arbitrarily.

For the former, we have Airbell by Lough Gill. This was a terribly handsome fellow once poured into a glass: a deep and serious golden colour, crystal clear, topped with a generous pillow of pure white foam. There's not a Bavarian alive who wouldn't be charmed by that. It all turns very un-continental afterwards, however, starting with the freshly zesty aroma making it very clear there is citrus to come. The flavour follows right through on that promise, delivering an intense hit of freshly-squeezed lemon juice. It runs the risk of tasting a bit like washing-up liquid but avoids it thanks to a generous malt base, providing the pancake for the hops' Jif. Throughout, it's as squeaky clean as I'd want a lager to be, and the pinch of grapefruit bitterness on the end adds to its significant ability to quench and refresh. There's a lot going on in this for a mere 4.5% ABV, and if you didn't know Lough Gill, you might be surprised that something so accomplished could come from a small brewery in north-west Ireland.

Also in that general neck of the Atlantic coast is Kinnegar, who have reached Brewers At Play 44 in their limited edition series. This is another pretty one, and I'm not sure I can recall when I last had two purely clear Irish beers on the trot. The aroma wasn't as in-my-face as the previous, only a wisp of sherbet or lemonade. The hops really don't manifest in the flavour, or at least not in The American Way. Instead, here's a very Germanic crispness; achingly dry in the Nordsee manner, with a rasp in the back of the throat, mixing celery and spinach with a harder plaster dust and burnt rubber acridity. I'm surprised to read on the can that it's done with American hops, because it really doesn't show much of their attributes, merely a light spritz of grapefruit zest at the end of something that's pilsner first and West Coast a distant second. It's not at all a bad beer -- I'm fond of a traditionally-formulated pils -- but it's not what I was expecting, and is very very different from the beer which preceded it.

You demand conclusions. It's probably something about how the myriad decisions required when formulating any beer recipe have more of an effect on the finished product than any pre-determined notion of style. Or, pay more attention to what brewers brew than to what they write on their cans.

Lash in the hops

Today's selection is from the haze merchants at Whiplash and is end-to-end haze, of a variety of sorts. Can't have too much haze, right?

The brewery has form on doing good low-strength hop-forward beer, but Never Drinking Again is the first non-alcoholic one, claiming the title with an ABV of 0.5%. It's densely murky in the glass, an uneven yellow-ish orange with no proper head, looking just like a glass of fruit juice. I'm guessing they compensated for the lack of alcohol by absolutely saturating it in hops, and it's almost distracting enough. You barely notice the thinness through the absolute slap of concentrated tropical fruit which makes up the foretaste. That's followed quickly by a powerful warming resinous side, oily and dank with a significant peppery spice. The two aspects of the hops play well with each other, and last for a pleasingly long time. Reality kicks in at the eventual finish, however, which is rather watery and gives away the fact that it's not a proper beer. There's a growing mineral grittiness, which is something else that tends to mark out non-alcoholic pale ales, and not in a good way. My goal is, some day, to find one of these that's an acceptable substitute for the real thing. This probably comes closer than any pale ale so far, and props to the brewery for not skimping on the hops: that decision served them well. It takes more than sackfuls of hops to solve non-alcoholic beer's flavour and texture problems, however.

Onwards and upwards, and it's a pale ale next, called Melted Head. It's a collaboration with Verdant so I thought that haze might just feature, but was not prepared for the extreme egginess of the appearance: very pale and densely opaque, with an almost green tint to it. The aroma goes two ways, giving concentrated hop freshness -- both tropical and piney -- but also a serving of gritty dregs, the standard downfall of this kind of beer, though one Whiplash tends to be less susceptible to than others. I'm happy to say it's not a major feature of the flavour, which opens with a big, invigorating, bitter pine bite. That effect is sustained, even as it unfolds into oily resin and then some refreshing juicy mango or similar, which flashes briefly and indistinctly. Since it's only 4.8% ABV, this all wraps up quite quickly, leaving us with only the murky grit, which is a bit of a sad finish to what's otherwise rather a jolly little fellow. Those who are fond of their big and strong hazy IPAs will find this a welcome change of pace, delivering the main flavour components but at a more approachable strength.

And speaking of big and strong hazy IPAs, that's what the final two are. First, we're Fond of a Jar: a light one for Whiplash, at only 7.8% ABV. It's a dark shade of orange and completely opaque, smelling of fruit-flavoured candy, which is no surprise given the El Dorado and Strata hops listed on the front of the can. There's Citra too, and it's harder to find that influence. Bitterness is very limited, the flavour coming across mostly as a sticky fruit cordial, aided by significant warmth and thickness, thanks to the ABV and, I'm guessing, some exceptionally lazy yeast. This is basic stuff: the generic hazy double IPA that every brewery comes out with sooner or later. While it's predictable and inoffensive, I know Whiplash is capable of better. Maybe they've saved that for the next one.

Our hindmost offering is Raising Tables, brewed with frequent Whiplash collaborator Garage. This one goes the other side of the straight eight, at 8.2% ABV. It's very soupy looking, with almost a greyish tint to the eggy yellow. The aroma is quite savoury, with a combined fruit and spice combination, reminding me of brown sauce, which is a first for a hazy double IPA. It's very dense, and you know you're pulling on a strong beer when you drink it. I feared for what might happen in the flavour, but unduly so, it turned out. This is a really smooth charmer, showing the usual sharp garlic and sticky vanilla taste that many of these do, but somehow it gets away with it, avoiding being hot, harsh, dreggy, cloying, or any of those unpleasantnesses. Maybe the fruit side could be brighter, and I feel I deserve a modicum more alcohol warmth, but for the most part I was charmed by its grown up gentility. It's a welcome change from the bam-pow hyperactive toddler double IPAs that cool breweries usually create, especially when they're working in tandem.

We live in strange times when it's the non-alcoholic beer in the set which has the bam-pow hops. Whiplash is part of the scenery in Irish brewing these days, and I don't know if its complacency or my jaded palate which made these seem less vibrant than the beers it used to make.

The state of the art

"This could be a review of a beer you’ve enjoyed, or perhaps one you haven’t." O the temptation to just slap the Session badge on a pre-existing draft post and deem the job done. Critiquing beers is, after all, what I do here. But where's the challenge in that? For this month's Session, hosted by Matthew "Total" Curtis, I decided to up my game. Well, within reason.

The beer I've chosen for today's deep dive is Shadow Dancing, an extra stout by Dublin brewing institution Third Barrel. Regular readers will know what my usual first point of critique is with their cans: the cringe-inducing low quality AI generated artwork. The brewery used to have clean and stylish branding, but since it was handed over to a robot, it's become a series of blurry messes -- a poor match for their beers which tend to be very good. Streetscapes and signage are a particular weak point of the algorithm, and it's plopped out another one for this. Grim.

On to the beer, so. It pours quite thickly with lots of foam, taking two goes to get into the glass, with a luxurious creamy head as the reward for one's patience. I think of the style as being quite a bitter one, and the human-created part of the label promises us "full on roasty", "burnt toast" and "black coffee", so it was a surprise to find the aroma very sweet, showing toffee or molasses rather than anything sharper. But that's OK: I simply adjust my expectations. No surprises from the texture, however. 7% ABV here means a velvety smoothness; gently sparkled in a way which lets the flavour shine.

And shine it does. We start on that chewy dark sugar but there are hops not too far in the distance, bringing an old-world green bite which balances the caramel nicely. There's a herbal liquorice kick for an alternative bittering effect, and then a growing warmth, the gravity again making a contribution to the beer's overall character. What I like about 6%+ ABV stouts is how they can channel the features of the really big ones without turning unbalanced: too many imperial stouts are performatively sweet or bitter, if you can find one that isn't full of donuts or children's breakfast cereal, and nobody seems to try those silly gimmicks in the foreign extra space. Third Barrel calls this "a stout for stout drinkers" and it is: serious, but very charming too.

The topic gave me a reason to spend some time with this beer, and it's one which fully justifies slow drinking. The see-saw dialogue between the luxuriously sweet base and the stimulating roast and hopping provides entertainment in every sip. Not every beer -- not even every strong stout -- offers that. Exploring beers in a slow and long-winded fashion is pretty much my thing, so this was far from a novel experience. I hope some of today's other participants found such an exercise to be worthwhile. It's much easier when the subject beer is up to it.

Supplemental

As promised on Monday, an assortment of cask ales which I found in and around the recent JD Wetherspoon beer festival, but which weren't actually part of it.

Acorn's Old Moor is where we start. This is a porter, blackest of the black, with a head of agéd ivory. It is a creature of exquisite balance, being mostly quite dry and roasty but not thin, with added coffee oils rounding it out, including the slightly fruity cherry and raisin effect that some coffees give. There's some silky dark chocolate towards the end, a streak of buttery diacetyl, and then an assertively dry finish. I can't think what more any sane adult would demand from a 4.4% ABV porter. Yorkshire has a reputation for being no-nonsense, and they could sustain that on this beer alone. Proper.

I'm very surprised I haven't had the next one before. Wainwright used to be Thwaite's, now Marstons, next: who knows? It's all gone weird in the Carlsberg-Marstons empire these days. It's a golden ale of 4.1% ABV and, as usual in any Dublin Wetherspoon, looks perfect. I was expecting plain but there's quite a bit of character here. I'm guessing it got quite a warm fermentation because there is soft fruit aplenty, the flavour brimming with apricot, lychee and particularly banana. That follows a more subtle bubblegum aroma. Bitterness is not on offer, and only a faint trace of grain-husk dryness provides any balance. While this isn't bland, it isn't very impressive either, doing the cask blonde basics but no more than that. It's not on the list of beers that Carlsberg gave the chop to last year, but I wouldn't miss it if it were...

Staying in t'North, but moving to Yorkshire, Ilkley Brewery's Lotus is next, an American style IPA of 5.9% ABV. It was sharing a bar with Thornbridge Jaipur which seemed, in the words of Sir Humphrey, courageous. Quite a dark fellow, it smelled pleasingly citric, and the initial taste had the correct kick of grapefruit and lime. It takes a rapid left turn from there, delivering crazy fruit candy and banana esters -- an extreme sort of sweetness that's quite out of keeping with the style. The finish returns it to style somewhat, with a dryly acidic rasp, but that fruity weirdness remains the defining characteristic. I liked the brash boldness of it but also found it a bit too weird to fully approve of. If you've never had it, give it a go. I'd say it's a divisive one.

Finally, Gadd's No 3 had been assigned a festival badge at The Silver Penny, though it wasn't one of the 30-beer line-up. This is a pale ale, golden and clear, brewed with Fuggles, Goldings, and "some others I don't talk about". An admission that this Kent brewery doesn't use all-Kent hops? At 5% ABV it's a bit of a strong one. That strength is well used, giving the beer a full and chewy body. Whatever about the interlopers, its English hops give it a very beery flavour: a coppery mineral bitterness, infused with fresh and crunchy green vegetables, set on a slightly sticky base of golden syrup and oatmeal cookies. It might look like a lager but it's definitely a bitter: not quite as sharp as the similarly-golden northern archetypes (Landlord, Marble), but similarly clean, despite the extra malt. This is tasty, unfussy, and very well made. There's nothing novel or innovative about the flavours; only how precisely they've all been balanced against each other. This is the sort of beer I would love to have as a local regular; I couldn't imagine ever getting bored of it.

That's your lot for now, casketeers. We return to our normal force-carbonated content later in the week.

Doing it properly

I guess it's because the annual Spring Beer Festival at JD Wetherspoon falls close to International Women's Day that they've used it in the past to highlight female brewers. This year I didn't see any such publicity, and it's not mentioned in the festival programme, but all 30 festival beers have a woman named as its lead brewer. No virtue-signalling, just quiet achievement.

Also with an achievement mindset was The Silver Penny, the Wetherspoon on Dublin's Abbey Street. They kept the cask specials turning over, meaning that for this festival I didn't go anywhere else. That was enough to nab me just over half of the line-up over the course of a week.

On day one, things began with two of the range on tap. My first pick was Batemans Loopy Loo, a 4.4% ABV amber ale described on the clip as "defiantly fruity". The hell does that mean? I think I got what they're alluding to on tasting. It starts harshly bitter --- pith, shading to laundry detergent -- and then in the finish there's a veritable explosion of fruit, slinging tinned peach, sliced apple, lychee and bubblegum. Its dual nature with sequential bitter then sweet is very unusual and I wasn't sure what to make of it. The extremes are such that it qualifies under both harsh and sickly. So while the concept is interesting and fun, the execution would be better if it were toned down all round.

Down the bar, there was Lady in Red, from Saltaire, purporting to be an American style red IPA (what's the archetype?) but at an unAmerican 4.8% ABV. Surprisingly for JDW it was a bit murky in the glass, a blurry mahogany, and has a certain amount of grittiness on foot of that. The rest is lovely, though. I doubt I'd call it an American IPA as the bitterness is very low, but instead it has a beautiful soft and sweet summer and tropical fruit, giving me strawberry, mango and melon, balanced with a twist of savoury black pepper or incense. A rub of dank resin emerges as it warms, redeeming its American credentials somewhat. Overall, this is complex, subtle and classy: just what one comes to cask ale for, but don't always get.

Day two, and Redemption's Gulpa joined the line-up. It's billed as a "deep" golden ale, but struck me as rather bubbly and superficial, in the nicest possible way. A bit like the Batemans one, it's very fruit forward, demonstrating lots of tinned peach, mandarin segments, cantaloupe and white grape, mixed together in a fruit salad mélange. Cleverly, however, it's not allowed to turn overly sweet because a hard and assertive bitterness swings into action half way through, giving the finish a seriously invigorating bite. The fruit salad effect is enhanced by a lip-smacking full and creamy body, and you'd never know it was only 4% ABV. I was very impressed by this one, and especially considering it's all done with English hops -- Bramling Cross, First Gold and Cascade. This is the beer that the other fruity pale ales were trying to be but couldn't quite manage.

A couple of days later and Sambrooks Kiwiana had arrived: the London brewer's take on a New Zealand hopped pale ale. It's a pretty pale golden colour and doesn't have much of an aroma but tastes bright and tropical, of Starburst candy and lemon spongecake: very much on the dessert end of fruity, rather than actual fruit itself.  The body is smooth and lightly sparkled, making for very easy drinking, aided by a modest 4.5% ABV and no real finish. A little bitter bite on the end might have been nice, and entirely possible with the Rakau and Wakatua (fka Hallertau Aroma) hops, but they've constructed it differently, and I respect that. What you get is a gorgeous, easy-going session beer, with a colourful flavour which is fruit-forward without laying on the sweetness too thickly. It's hard to argue with that.

That was enough fruity pale ales for a while, and fortunately the selection had now taken a dark turn. Next to the Sambrook's was Brains Boudicca, a porter. I wasn't expecting much from this, but wow-ee: it's a beaut. They describe it as "ruby" although it looked plenty black to me. It's 5% ABV but tastes considerably more, with a gut-sticking warmth that speaks of dark liqueurs and decadent pastries. The flavour is centred on high-class chocolate embedded in soft and rich cake or pudding. For balance, there's a playfully sharp liquorice bitterness and hints of burnt caramel and dark roast coffee, before a late addition of black cherry and raisin. It's one of those beers which unfolds gradually on the palate, each sip revealing a new aspect, and all of them delicious. I only had a half, and I think that was enough. The complexity could have become overwhelming if I'd had more of it. This is very far from a simple and straightforward drinking porter; it's a sipper, and an excellent one. The programme said it's new, and I sincerely hope that Brains makes more of it.

All of that was what I had been expecting from the first of this season's collaborations: Chocolate Porter, designed by Birra Perugia and brewed at Batemans. Roasted cocoa beans is how the chocolate has been applied, the brochure helpfully tells us. It's another black one, with a lasting tan-coloured head. Although it's the same strength as the previous one, it's light bodied. Turns out, this is the easy-drinker that I thought the Brains one would be. It's very smooth, with no sharp edges and little by way of distinguishing features. The most prominent note is coffee: warm, freshly ground beans, which I'm guessing is actually the chocolate at work. That's subtle, but does add an enjoyable high note to what's otherwise quite a serious and roasty dry porter. This is solid, decent fare. As is usual with these collaborations, it speaks more of the traditionally English Lincolnshire brewery it came from, rather than any showy Italian panache.

Another international collaboration was on shortly afterwards: Wallaby, by Penny Red of South Australia, brewed at Oakham. It's an all-Galaxy pale ale, and a little murky with it, pale gold under the fuzz. The aroma is fresh and peachy while the foretaste has a now very familiar fruity candy character. There is at least a substantial bitterness to go along with this, and that arrives early. Combined with the peach and apricot of the foretaste it creates a slightly unpleasant perfume effect which takes a bit of getting used to. I enjoyed the assertiveness of it, and that the brewery has given us something of interest beyond the wow-fruity factor that lots of other brewers seem to be doing. Fashion is over-rated, especially in beer.

Beside it they had the first cask beer I've seen in these parts from Mad Squirrel, one of the regular suppliers of craft keg to Wetherspoon. Beerhart is also golden but we're back to clarity as a virtue. They've paired new American hop Krush with old-school Summit, and I don't think it works. A concentrated floral aroma leads on to a weird mix of too-familiar tropical candy and ash-dry grain husk. The result is at once acrid and cloying, which is quite a technical achievement but quite unpleasant to drink. I recall that Summit, when it was on-trend, had a reputation for bringing a cooked onion quality, and I think that's at work here, clashing with Krush's tropical stylings. By the end of my half pint I was finding that it nearly works, but the insane mélange of raw white onion, spicy jasmine and essence of bathroom lavender is just too weird. Experiment complete: don't try this again, anyone.

A festival emphasising female UK brewers would have to include Brewsters Brewery, of course. Their offering is Persephone, a golden ale. Though a hefty 5% ABV, it's a subtle one, showing notes of pale fruit: all pear, lychee and honeydew melon. It's delightfully bucolic, an elderflower overtone perfectly matched to the first sunny days of spring on which it was served. While there's no particular malt element to the taste, there's a nicely full body which helps the hops do their thing. They're nothing more exotic than Cascade, Bramling Cross and First Gold, but it's incredible how they've been combined to create a flavour as bright and modern as any number of spendy canned pale ales which use proprietary hop extract products. I had been wondering if the name was a reference to pomegranates, and while it doesn't include them, it does show that sort of succulent exoticism. Phwoar.

The pumpclip for Adnams Blackshore stout had gone up at this stage, and on my next visit it was actually pouring. I expected big things but, while this is a very decent beer, it's not really anything special. A light 4.2% ABV, it's a very light ruby colour, not properly black. The flavour begins with some gentle dark chocolate, becoming roastier as it goes along, finishing on quite a playful pinch of burnt tar. It's classic stuff, with neither bells nor whistles, only a faint brush of dark fruit. Top marks for balance and drinkability, but I think there was room to make something a little more interesting.

Another stout was available for comparison: Blossom by Black Sheep, one made with added cherry. The fruit is very obvious from the aroma, which is sweet and unctuous, smelling like sticky cherry jam, raisins and fig paste. 6% ABV gives it considerable heft, the treacly texture well matched with a flavour of chocolate syrup and burnt caramel. There's a sizeable coffee component too, suggesting some strong variety, roasted darkly. This is high quality stuff, almost ruined by the tacked-on cherry syrup which does its best to distract from the good points but, thankfully, is easily ignored. Festival beers don't go much stronger than this these days, and it was nice to find one that filled the big-beer slot so effectively.

That wasn't the only cherry beer: Greene King also added cherries, to a bitter, to create something called Cherry Nice. This opens with a kerr-azy candy aroma, all syrupy and artificial, more perfume than fruit. The flavour after it is pretty similar, but less intense, having been well watered down. Beyond that, there's a very dull, flavourless, ordinary bitter. Even at just 4% ABV I would have expected more character. I have to wonder who this kind of simple adulteration of boring beer is meant to impress.

Two red ones followed next, starting on Queen of Hearts by the ever-reliable regional St Austell. The official description says toffee and raisin, and that had me worried I was in for a sticky one. Thankfully, it's not. This is quite a dark garnet shade and has a cheeky bitterness in its aroma, suggesting herbal liquorice. The flavour is indeed sweet, but 4.3% ABV holds that in check, and the caramel is characterful but brief. Toffee and raisin? Yes, and even a hint of richer port or Madeira, but it remains a light beer: warming but drinkable too. The liquorice reappears briefly in the finish. Very nicely done, and the sort of red ale I could get fully on board with.

Similarly-reliable Harviestoun was next, with a cask lager called Vienna. This one is lighter still at 4.1% ABV and chestnut red. Scottish brewers have significant experience with cask lager and I'm not at all sure they work well. My first issue with this one was a harsh vegetal note which I immediately tagged as German hopping: Magnum and Tettnang dominating the Cascade and Challenger in the recipe. The malt base behind it is clean enough to be almost invisible: it certainly doesn't taste dark, with no roast or caramelisation until it has warmed right up. And then there's the flatness. It's softly conditioned in the way that perfectly suits cask ale, but in one that's constructed as a lager, it doesn't work so well. I'm not completely sure I would have enjoyed this on keg either, because of those hops. The malt richness of Vienna lager is unforgivably absent.

From red to amber for the final two, beginning on Grand Union by Hook Norton. This is 4.3% ABV and badged as a pale ale. Only at this festival is haziness a noteworthy feature, but this does show a very faint misting. The hop acidity I dinged the Vienna for reappears here in the aroma: sharp and vegetal, even though the hops are an involved mix of British and American only. This evolves on tasting into a thick and funky resin effect, one that's savoury more than bitter, tasting like a gooey onion marmalade with burnt plastic and boiled cabbage topnotes. Did that suit my palate? I'm sorry to say that it did not. A half of this was hard work. It lacks cleanness and nuance and, frankly, mercy and kindness. Should you find yourself with Admiral, Cascade, Citra, Mosaic and Olicana to hand, I suggest not putting them all in the same beer.

The festival line-ups aren't as exciting as they used to be ("John Fucking Kimmich", lol) but one beer that did jump to my attention from the brochure was Antipodean Ale, brewed at Adnams but designed by Brew Moon of New Zealand. I first wrote about Brew Moon's beer on this blog in 2005 and most recently in 2009, but haven't seen them since. But, much like myself, they're still going and showing up in JD Wetherspoon. It's perhaps more golden than amber and has a lightly tropical aroma. That takes a sideways turn on tasting, into nutty nougat and marzipan. The sweet side is dialled back, keeeping things summery and refreshing, and while there's no significant hop bitterness, there's a dry bite on the finish to keep things drinkable. I drank a half in a hurry but would have been very happy to take more time over a pint or two of this. There's an understated complexity which I suspect has lot to do with Adnams's involvement.

That's as far as I got. It was an early finish because nothing on earth would get me into a Dublin Wetherspoon on St Patrick's weekend, when the festival wrapped up. Of course, an inevitable consequence of all this Wetherspoon-going is a number of non-festival beers which also presented themselves for ticking. I'll cover those off next.