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.

Krieking at the edges

Co. Mayo's Belgian-style brewery, Mescan, has added a new fruit beer to the range. Kriek Silín is, I think, overstating the case with the K-word: I put aside any notions of this being a mixed-fermentation barrel-aged marvel before opening the bottle. Mescan tried its hand at lambic a few years ago and it didn't go well. This one is a straight wheat beer at 6% ABV, relying on the cherries for any sourness.

That they haven't skimped on the cherries is obvious from its appearance: a dark Ribena purple with a vibrantly-coloured electric-pink head. With that comes a heavily thick mouthfeel, making it feel almost syrupy, although it's not sweet. The cherry aspect of the flavour flashes only briefly at the beginning: that concentrated jammy quality, like in a Bakewell tart. When it fades, it leaves a more generalised fruit perfume taste, with notes of red apple, grape juice and a blackcurrant tartness. You can throw on a whiff of violet and lavender old-lady perfume as well.

While I'm happy it's no sugar bomb, I would have liked more of a cherry taste. The problem may well be that they've used real cherries, which don't taste as cherry as the proprietary syrup from a tub which less scrupulous breweries tend to use. It also has reminders of the flavour profile of oude kriek lambic, without any of the essential aspects: oak and Brettanomyces, basically. To me, that gives it an air of something unfinished, awaiting the truly fun parts of the production process.

Would I recommend drinking it? I'm not sure. Mescan does its best work when brewing authentically-Belgian tasting beer, and this isn't that. It is, however, a decently strong fruited wheat beer with good complexity and a flavour, if brief, of real cherries. I found it a little harsh and hollow, however, being neither a fully-involved masterpiece of complexity, nor a laugh-along candy frippery, but somewhere in between that's not quite as enjoyable as either. If all that sounds unhelpful, buy a bottle and make your own mind up.

The blip

Three new beers from the generally reliable Our Brewery of Randalstown showed up locally recently. This producer has a pleasing tendency towards style variations, so I was a little disappointed to find that all three were pale ales. Still, at least they're different kinds of pale ale, and that's often the best we can hope for from beer these days.

The label of Next Time Around doesn't make it explicit that it's hazy, though the use of "juicy" and "soft" meant I wasn't surprised when it turned out to be. It's on the darker side of yellow, with plenty of head. I think "juicy" is overstating the case as it's sweet, but lacks any balancing refreshing acidity, tasting more of orange squash than proper juice. Its aroma is dry, with a poppyseed savoury crunch. Mosaic? No, this is done with Citra, Motueka and Rakau, and honestly I expected more from them. 5.3% is no compromised lightweight ABV, but this is dull and blunt, lacking colour and zing. A badly printed and incomprehensible date code means I can't tell if it's an issue of freshness, but I wouldn't be surprised. It's disappointing either way.

I followed that with The Nod. It's a collaboration with client brewer Tilt & Pour, in Australia's native beer style, the extra pale ale, and hopped with New Zealand varieties. I knew a vigorous pour would be necessary when I felt how squeezy the can was, and sure enough it's barely carbonated. Still, it manages to push out a gorgeous aroma, laden with fruit salad and tropical candy. The flavour is dialled back, however, with a harder bitterness in the ascendant, bringing notes of beeswax, zinc and aspirin. Though it smells like a cartoon, this is a beer of serious heft. The flatness makes it feel heavy for its 5.5% ABV, and I found myself having to chew through it, laboriously. If they'd got more of the hop fun from the aroma into the flavours, this would be a delight. As-is, it's missing the mark for me.

The final part of today's trilogy is Light Up Gold which the brewery describes as West Coast IPA, and backs that up with Citra, Simcoe and Chinook hops, as well as the beer's attractive rose-gold colour. At 6.3% ABV it's no lightweight local take either. There's not much aroma, and the flavour isn't a riot of grapefruit and pine, but it still works well, starting on a dry tannic note that helps hide the alcohol. There's a hint of crystal malt toffee and then it's over to the hops. They have a fun summer-fruit quality, tasting of strawberry and ripe red cherry, then a more serious resin and freshly-tanned leather. And while it's not heavy, there's enough substance to give it a long finish, continuing that fruity leathery fun for ages. This is classy stuff, taking a modest approach to the classic features which make west-coast IPAs so enjoyable.

All told, I don't think these represented the brewery's abilities well, and that's not just down to choice of styles and this drinker's preferences. Usually, Our Brewery's technicals are on point, and that under-carbonated one, in particular, was out of step. I'm fervently hoping that both that, and the tendency towards more pale ales than we need, are merely a blip.

Summer pubbin'

"Just stay out of Temple Bar" is my general advice to anyone coming to Dublin and looking for beer. Today's subjects were both found in pubs, and both of them technically in Temple Bar, although they're some distance from the Auld Dub/Oliver St John Gogarty/Quays/Temple Bar/Fitzsimons's central parade of shame.

I mean, The Porterhouse, Dublin's longest-surviving vendor of decent beer, is only a little bit west of Fitzsimons's on the same stretch, and it does get a generic crowd of uninterested tourists, but it also has a carefully chosen and ever-rotating beer menu. Lately, that has included the new range of tentative one-offs from Eight Degrees.

Last time it was Dolcita, an IPA, now it's a hoppy pilsner called Pacifika. It's got the pilsner look right, being clear golden with a well-formed and lasting lager head. The aroma is... lacking. No exotic gust of hop waft greeted mine hooter, I'm sorry to report. The flavour goes lager-first too, giving a grainy dry quality, all husky and slightly rustic. That's not unpleasant; this beer is clean to beat the band, but I signed up for hoppy. Where's my hoppy? One is left to wait, but it's there in the finish, with a quick and subtle burst of the tropical, fading to a fresh salad-leaf greenness and some slightly spicier forest resin. You have to look for it, though. I should probably be more appreciative that this pilsner is actually in the crisp and dry pilsner style, not simply a pale ale fermented cold. The Eight Degrees VLB training is on display here. But, since they made a hop the beer's actual name, I feel I should have got some more hop from it. Fans of proper pilsner are well served by this, but how many of us are there?

Changing Times, despite its name, doesn’t strike me as much of a trend-chaser, but it has seemingly decided that the tiny wave of Irish ginger beers is worth surfing, and produced one of its own: Sinséar. I found it in the busily touristed surrounds of Darkey Kelly's, on Temple Bar's far western edge.

The visuals are as one would expect: a lightly hazed pale yellow, and likewise its ABV is the orthodox 4%. I turned down the option of lime, but was happy to be asked. They haven't skimped on the ginger. It's been a while since I've tasted the competition (Smithfield Zingibeer and Kinnegar Jackrabbit), but this one feels like it has more of a spice kick than I remember from them. That sparks on the tongue initially, spreading a tingle over the palate like a mouthful of pop rock candy. It's not built for complexity though does have a bonus hint of brown sugar or very light caramel. The thin fizzy texture is a bit of a downside but I'm sure that's intended: it's not meant to be assessed the way regular beers are. For summer refreshment, I could have seen myself drinking it again, maybe even with the discretionary lime, then I looked at the bill and found that this particular pint of light fizz cost €8.75. Yes, this is technically Temple Bar, and such things shouldn't surprise me, but that's ouchy nonetheless. I don't know if other pubs in the brewery's group sell it, but I hope they price it more reasonably if and when they do.

It's been hot in the city lately, so it's good that the pubs are looking after the punters' need for refreshment. That the pubs on the edge of Temple Bar still sell pints at single-digit prices should perhaps be a cause for celebration. It won't be like that much longer.

Value proposition

A completely random pick from the fridge at Craft Central landed me this can of triple IPA from Canadian brewer Nano Cino. It's called Innovation #6, it's 9.7% ABV and it cost more than €10. What does that get me?

The big floaty gobbets aren't an innovation: I've see those before. And it's quite an average shade of medium opaque orange, darker than the triple kind of IPA tends to be. The aroma has a lot of the caramel/crystal quality of the sort I associate with first-generation double IPAs, where the brewers seemed to care only about boosting the gravity without being too concerned where the hops fitted in. There's a spicy sort of citrus sideshow, but nothing especially bright or fresh.

Thankfully it doesn't taste of caramel, but the sweet orange jelly it runs with instead indicates that it's still a malt-first beer, which is a little disappointing. To the cordial or orangeade it adds a twist of black pepper for complexity and lots of chewy, boozy liqueur heat. You get a dash of vermouth or madeira in with your hops here, and I'm not convinced that that's a good thing. The sticky finish coats the palate with marmalade and triple sec: Paddington's breath on Saturday night.

I guess it passes muster as a triple IPA, but it tastes a little elderly and overwrought. Maybe as an end-of-the-night finishing beer, but even then I suspect it's better in smaller doses than this.

I don't make a habit of buying the double-digit-priced cans, and this is a prime example of why. It's just not worth the risk. Beer of better quality is available from breweries much closer to home at significantly more reasonable cost.