Peeved

Work had me in Glasgow for a few days earlier this month, a city I had never been drinking in before, so was pleased to get it some way ticked off, though far from comprehensively, I'm sure. I was based on the western edge of the city centre, where there were a few noteworthy pubs (thanks Rob!) within easy reach.

The State, for example, is a pleasant bit of dark wood and brass Victoriana. The five cask ales had nothing of Scottish interest: Almasty's Green Pale Ale was as close as it got, Newcastle being nearly Scotland. It came with a warning of cloudiness, which I waved away, though I wasn't prepared for quite how grey and gritty it was. Still, it tasted fairly clean, with only a hint of dregs. A coconut hop flavour is presumably the result of Ekuanot, in here with Simcoe and Mosaic. There's some woody pine and broad forest vibes, rather than the tropical taste promised by the brewery -- it's not quite clean enough for that. A herbal, medicinal tang, of eucalyptus and aniseed, finishes things off. Low cask carbonation makes for very easy drinking, even at 5% ABV, but there wasn't a lot here to hold my attention. One quick pint, first of the evening, was fine and enjoyable, but I couldn't imagine drinking more than that.

Around the corner and down a bit is The Griffin. The art nouveau fittings suggest traditional boozer, but inside it's bright and more Scandi-functional in the craft beer way, underlined by the Beavertown taps and mats, even though... well, you know.

Isle of Skye Brewing supplies the four cask lines, and several keg. I opted for Skye Black, a dark ale of 4.5% ABV. It is indeed fully black, but not a porter or stout because there's no dark grain character: no roast nor chocolate. Instead, the flavour is based around a tangy fruitiness, verging on pith. Alongside is a toffee malt sweet side and a shaving of red apple, putting this whole package closer to twiggy brown bitter than anything typically dark. I'd have liked more roast. It's another OK beer, but I spent the pint resenting that it doesn’t really taste dark.

My hotel was close to the Bon Accord so I was pleased to learn that this pub was still open after a recent change of ownership. Of cask interest was Otherworld Brewing's Judgemental, a 60/-. Here, that signifies a dark red ale of 3.1% ABV. It doesn't taste at all thin or compromised, having a silky texture matching a rich milk chocolate foretaste, followed by a rasp of dry roast and an odd, but not unpleasant, twist of oaky cork. I guess this would be a mild anywhere else, and as such it's a pretty good one, to my taste. For the full stylistic details, here's Ron.

On an otherwise dismal afternoon, Colbier's Flexatone was a ray of unexpected sunshine. This hazy-ish pale ale was created for Port Street Beer House, below in Manchester, and uses Motueka and Azacca hops to excellent tropical effect. The aroma is an intense mango perfume while the flavour opens on tart cloudy lemonade before softening into more mango, a squeeze of pineapple juice and even a touch of coconut. They're definitely channelling New England here -- there's a seam of sweet vanilla where the bitterness should be -- but they're channelling it cleanly and with top-notch cask drinkability.

The hotel itself had West's St Mungo as its house lager. Presumably this exists as the local indie competition to Tennents. It's similarly quite a plain pale lager, but it's good, going big on dry crispness with plenty of grainy golden malt. The sweet spot between refreshing simplicity and interesting depth is hit square on. Job done.

Shilling Brewing Co. was a stretch goal one evening. The self-proclaimed "last bastion of craft beer in Glasgow city centre," it's your typical '90s era brewpub in a grand high-ceilinged former banking hall. There's a substantial range of guest kegs but I stuck with two from the house. For the tournament that's in it, Anyone But England is a Vienna lager. The barman struggled to put a head on it, so it photographed OK but the foam was gone soon after and it was, indeed, fairly flat. Otherwise it looks well: a clear reddish amber. The slightly caramelised malt flavour is on point, and likewise the grain crunch and faintly grassy hopping. But the lack of condition is a deal-breaker. It really needs some fizz to lift it, and without that it tasted flabby and cloying. Bit of a near miss, then.

Beside it, Stouty McStoutface: now there's a contemporary reference. It's similarly flat, suggesting this is a feature of the pub's dispense system. And it's one of those odd stouts one occasionally finds on the international circuit, in that it's not quite right in a specific way. The sweetness is one part of that, a cloying caramel stickiness, reminiscent of the roughest east-European dark lager; and then there's a strong herbal twang, medicinal to the point of chemical, all iodine and phenol, with a severe tannic bite in the finish. It's hard work, and really not worth it.

For a better time, I probably should have explored the guest beers, but that's not how this blog works.

My final afternoon began with a quest to The Laurieston, the legendarily earthy flat-roofed pub. At 3.30 on a Friday it was busy. Three Fyne Ales cask beers are on offer but it felt like more of a lager vibe so I went with Fyne Helles. This is extremely pale, served ice cold in a chilled glass. It's not exactly big on flavour but there's a distinct celery and dandelion-leaf noble hop bitterness. The gassiness makes it tough to drink quickly, though it is light at 4.5% ABV, with less substance than most Bavarian examples of the style that I know. There's an aura of "we had to have a lager" about it, rather than any real love for the format. Unexciting at best, is my verdict.

Our final stop is Koelschip Yard, which is not a yard and, presumably, was at some point quite an ordinary pub -- the Kelly family coat of arms is emblazoned behind the bar. It has since been thoroughly craftified, festooned in tap badges, empty geuze bottles and assorted world breweriana. There's a dozen or so draught beers, including The Kernel's Ordinary Bitter on cask. This is 4.2% ABV and a clear golden colour. It smells citric and pithy, much more American than English. That continues in the flavour, where the lemon and lime meets dry tannin. A rough woody bark character adds further to its severity. This is no easy-drinker and was a bit of a chore to get through, which I'm certain is not how bitter ought to be. When I noticed the green apple, I stopped analysing. Suffice it to say, this is not to my taste, complex and all that it is. If it turned out as the brewery wanted, it's certainly daring, but that's not at all the same as good.

Given the pub's name, I thought I should give something wild a go before leaving, and picked Graf II by the local brewery Dead End Brew Machine, described as a two-year-old wild pale ale. It arrived purple with a pink head, with a definite wild spice to the aroma. It tastes like a bang-on fruited geuze, though I had to look up what the fruit is. Blackcurrant, it turns out. There's lots of peppery gunpowder in its flavour, and an uncompromising sour kick. Once informed about the blackcurrant, I could taste a hint of Ribena syrup too, but it's on the edge and barely perceptible. I assume from the name there's some cider in the blend as well, though that's fully subsumed into the wild beer character. Despite the slight heaviness (it's 6.5% ABV), it's very good stuff and not at all what I expected to find brewed in Glasgow. I'll absolutely take it, however.

And with that it was back to the airport and home. I feel Glasgow made me work to find the good stuff, which isn't the case in all British cities. It's just as well the good stuff was very good.

Scandi doubles

They like their hops, up in the northern latitudes of Europe. By way of demonstration, today I've got three beers from three different Nordic brewers, all in the double IPA style.

The first is by a new brewery to me, Friends Co. of Helsingborg in Sweden. It's called All Citra DDH IPA, expanding on that by telling us there's 20g per litre of the titular American hop. There's also an instruction to "roll and flip the can to mix well before use" (I didn't), so this is a beer unashamed of its cloudiness, and is indeed a quite opaque eggy yellow. It smells nicely zesty, rather than the vanilla-laden sweetness I feared. The flavour does open sweetly, with soft ripe peach and a burst of pineapple juice. A very faint pithy bitterness follows this, though the tropical aspect never quite fades out, and bounces all the way back in the finish. I was on the lookout for grittiness, but there's none, thankfully, and it's quite full and warming, despite its mere 7% ABV. Vanilla custard is late, but arrives on the palate eventually, buoyed up by the softly dense body. I enjoyed this, even though I'm not sure it's a good use for Citra hops. In lieu of bitter zing there's a colourful fruit salad effect that's impossible to dislike. I think I can be friends with Friends Co.

Staying in Sweden, Brewski is next, this one more of a known quantity. The beer is called Kakapow, and it's badged as a New Zealand DIPA. There's no indication on the packaging as to whether or not it's hazy, but of course it is: another sunny pale yellow, but fully murked. The ABV goes up a notch, to 8%. I love a New Zealand hop, so again I was hoping for a bit of bittering, but again I'm thwarted. The aroma is downright dull, suggesting nothing more involved than marmalade or orange-flavoured jelly. With the flavour, there's a little of the dry mineral quality I associate most with Nelson Savin (the hops aren't named) but the main feature is a somewhat acrid burnt rubber and a harsh waxy buzz. Bitter, yes, but not the clean zing I was hoping for. As occasionally happens with hazy IPA, it tastes rough and unfinished. The whole point of this style is hop freshness, but that gets completely lost when there's lots of interfering heat and grit, as there is here. These two Swedish beers may have much in common superficially but they offer really quite different drinking experiences.

We move to Norway for the final round, and the generally-reliable brewery Lervig. This is Everyday Weekend, strongest of the set at 9% ABV. Hazy again? Yep, still yellow. I think we can take it that this is how our Scandi brethren like their double IPAs. The alcohol is impressively well-hidden and it's clean, but also rather bland. There's no hop wallop, with only a token citric fruit side and a spicy heat that's nothing to do with the booze. It's fine, but unstimulating. Over half way down the glass I was still trying to find descriptors; things it tastes of. Cordial? Lemon posset? That sort of very broad citrus thing, nicely non-sweet, but no sharp edges either. There is a growing warmth which intensifies as it goes, but really this is simply too characterless for what it is. Nobody wants their Norwegian double IPA to be dull and boring. Everyday indeed.

So what have we learned? While the Nordics may like their double IPAs, they seem to be struggling to inject some fun into them. The lower two are really quite workmanlike, so it's just as well I have Friends in high places.

The haze code

If hazy IPA is loosening its grip on the independent beer scene, nobody has told Whiplash. They're still churning them out in Ballyfermot, doubtless to a still-appreciative audience. It falls upon your correspondent to pour the requisite scorn, where appropriate. There are two new ones today.

The first is Hail the Apocalypse, a collaboration with occasional visitor to these shores, Mont Hardi from north-west France. Although this one sports a dashing tall head of foam, underneath it's rather sickly looking, fully opaque and a kind of greenish-grey. The aroma is more appetising, suggesting fresh and pithy citrus hops to come. The brewery has, unfortunately, got out of the habit of naming the varieties on the label.

In the New England fashion, the flavour is sweet, leading on soft lemon curd and candied orange peel. It's light for 6.5% ABV, and doesn't get cloying, but there's something off about the balancing bitterness. While I'm sure hops are involved, it's a dreggy sort of bite, all gritty and chalky. This is a very typical flaw for this kind of beer, and one that Whiplash usually avoids. The beer isn't ruined, but it doesn't quite deliver on the promise of its aroma, and ends up tasting a bit more like it looks, unfortunately. Doubtless the hardcore haze fiends won't mind; they've had worse. I'm not a fan, however.

Then the other week I had visitors in Dublin, so showed them the good room of the city's beer pubs, Fidelity. Here they were pouring a Whiplash IPA that's been around since last year but hadn't yet crossed my path: Colour Me In Kindness.

This is a beer on the cusp. It's very much New England style: 6.8% ABV, murky as you like (or possibly even more so) and with a sunny fresh hop flavour, bringing juicy mandarin and mango for a touch of the ice pops. Unfortunately it has a darker side too, starting on a lightly cloying vanilla sweetness interfering with the hops. Shortly afterwards, the harsh and gritty plasterboard bite kicks in again: further support for the sceptics who believe it's a universal rule that hazy IPA is IPA that hasn't been brewed properly. The hop freshness saves it, but I can't help but think this would be better with more effort made at de-hazing it.

I honestly expected better from Whiplash. Their haze tends to be cleaner than these, although often blander as well, lately. I'll keep checking in with them, but I fear we may have lost one of the few Irish breweries that did this kind of beer well.

Half time scores

It's three months since the most recent JD Wetherspoon beer festival, and three months to go until the next one. I thought this would be an opportune moment to have a look at what's been new (to me) in the Dublin branches. 

Moorhouse is a regular at the chain and Pendle Witches Brew is a beer I've certainly heard of, but was surprised to find I'd never drank. "Strong ale" is something of a rare style, although this is down at the bottom end of it — 5.1% ABV — where it could equally be badged as a hefty bitter. The golden brown colour adds to that initial impression of twigginess, likewise its slightly soapy aroma. The flavour is altogether more light and breezy, presenting a fruity mix of currants and cherries, on a medium-dry malt base with a tannic bite. Think tea brack, but with some English hops adding an earthy bitterness to the finish. And while it may not be by-the-numbers strong, it presents a fullness and warmth which makes the description valid. It took me most of the pint to decide whether or not I liked it, and I do. This could have gone wrong in any number of ways, and that it's not a hot mess of burnt caramel and marker pens is a win. I approve of Wetherspoon serving a beer that's in broadly the same niche as the ubiquitous Abbot Ale but isn't, y'know, terrible.

Branscombe from Devon is a new brewery for me, producer of Summa That, a pale ale pitched at the scholastic theologian demographic. It's strong for an English beer in this style, at 5% ABV, but doesn't have the malt depth to be a strong ale. The colour is dark gold rather than amber, and the flavour hop-forward, although not quite the right kind of hop forward. It's sharp, and almost a little vinegary, with tart berries instead of bright citrus. I got a sense that it should be softer and more rounded, because there's a certain cakey warmth too. That doesn't go far enough to balance the bitterness, however. The end result is quite a severe beer, one which I think should be mellower. The brewery's description says it tastes of mango and pineapple but they've used the wrong hops for that. If tropical was the intention this recipe needs to go right back to the drawing board.

It's always good to see a cask stout, it being a style that works especially well in this format. At The South Strand I found Top Dog from Burton Bridge. This is a full 5% ABV which is also pleasing, but has the same sort of light sessionability as the Irish archetypes. That also means it's no great shakes as regards complexity, however. They keep it simple with a black breadcrust, leaning to charcoal, dry grain roast, a pinch of cocoa powder and some mild fruit esters — blackcurrant and plum — in the aroma. The roast gives the foretaste an invigorating sharpness before it tails off cleanly. This is simple, well-made and enjoyable. A higher finishing gravity and a bit more cream in the texture might have improved my experience, but equally I could have happily charged through a few pints in succession.

Instead, it was across town to Keavan's Port, for more pale ale. Portobello APA is another 5%-er, a limpid gold but rather lacking in head, which spoils the appearance. Tch, London. It's another very easy-drinking beer despite the strength, and the flavour verges a little on bland. It certainly doesn't taste American. The aroma is citric, I will grant it that, but with a honey malt background that says pale (northern) English bitter to me. A light texture leads to a sharp and slightly severe bitterness, throwing the taste out of balance briefly, before a rapid fade-out into watery nothing. I think I can taste what the beer is trying to be, but it ends up as a sad mélange of zesty American zing and smooth English warmth, without harnessing either aspect particularly well. It's not the first Portobello beer to have missed the mark for me, but of course I'll give them another chance when the occasion arises.

The Wetherspoon app advertised yet another 5% ABV pale ale — American Pale Ale by Tonbridge — at The South Strand, but when I got there the clips were showing the Portobello one. This was definitely a different beer, however, being full-bodied and front-loaded with colourful tropical flavours, showing pineapple in particular. The same is very apparent in the aroma, and the head is pleasingly long-lasting. Part two of the flavour kicks in shortly after the initial sweet and fruity rush, adding an assertive bitterness, and a very Kentish sort, being waxy, earthy, and saved only from harshness by the beer's pillowy texture. It's luck of the draw, but this one delivered on things that the previous two pale ales could only promise.

Finally, Stonehenge has never been among my favourite English ale brewers, and Pigswill is hardly the most enticing of names. But this 4% ABV bitter was pouring blissfully cold at The South Strand during the May heatwave, which immediately got it on my good side. And it's not a bad beer, though I question its technical proficiency, since it tastes primarily of apple — hard and green — with a dry tannic backing. It's all cool and clean to begin with, but does build rather on the palate, leaving too much apple residue behind. Hop flavour doesn't really feature, though at least it's dry enough to not present as sweet, with no unwelcome toffee or twigs. A pint was tolerable; the name is excessively modest and far from an accurate description, but it hasn't changed my opinion of the brewery. Civilians may enjoy it, although anyone who has ever written "acetaldehyde" on a marking sheet and deducted points for it, would be better ordering something else.

That's it for now. I'll have more British cask beers next week, but this time I'll travel to them.

Endurance

Two years ago I had my first encounter with the beers from Tom Crean Brewery in Kenmare, and for the most part I wasn't impressed. Still, they're rare enough in Dublin, so when I recently found a different three in Blackrock Cellar I thought it only fair to give them another shake.

I say different, but one of the last set was called Killowen Kölsch, and now there's a beer with identical branding, an identical 4.2% ABV, but it's called Killowen Lager. Optimistically, I thought perhaps the brewery has invested in technology that lets them do cold fermentation properly, though it may simply be that the PGI enforcement squad from Cologne got in touch and made the appropriate threats. Either way, this is a different beer. Gone is the brackish flatness and instead it's a sunny unfiltered sunset yellow with oodles of busy crackling foam on top. The aroma is unsettlingly sweet and apple-like, like Cidona or the similar sugared-up alcopops which pass for mainstream cider in this unfortunate country. The carbonation is far too high, passing the pain threshold of prickliness in the mouth. Then it's more apple candy, some marker-pen phenols, smoky seaweed and a harshly dry carbonic finish. It's definitely a different experience to the Kölsch but it's still not really fit for commercial sale. If your home brewing mate turned out something like this, you'd be having a word.

What? The next one is another pale lager? I sure can pick 'em. This is St Brigid's Irish Lager, named for the medieval Irish saint's renowned associations with south Kerry and Antarctica. It's the same strength, with the same crackling froth, and has a similar murkiness but is noticeably darker; amber, shading to ochre. It smells clean and wholesome, of brown bread and country kitchens, all oak and terracotta. It's nicely full-bodied given the modest strength, with a pleasing chewiness and no more fizz than is strictly necessary. The hops make a good show of things, a waxy bitter tang arriving first in the flavour, followed by sweeter cereal and honey. It lacks polish, but that's not a problem here, since it also lacks flaws. The result is like a backwater Kellerbier: tasty and charming, if still slightly amateurish. I would recommend it, if only I had faith in the brewery's ability to turn it out consistently.

Finally, the beer style I would suggest to my hypothetical mate with the wonky homebrewed lager: a stout. For Six Magpies the ABV soars to 4.5% and the carbonation is awkward, needing a seven-part pour to get it into the glass. Under the massive head it's a shiny vinyl black, and there's a similar spicy aftershave aroma to the one I found in the red ale in 2024. That's perhaps not appropriate, or deliberate, but I like it. It's there in the flavour too, overpowering any cocoa or coffee subtleties the beer may have been intended to show. A faint echo of burnt roast in the finish is the only proper stout aspect, beyond the colour, that I could find. The fizz is a little excessive, removing any possibility of smoothness. While the musky spice quality is fun and novel, it's so loud that it makes this a one-note beer, and detracts from its claim to be a stout. On one level I enjoyed it, but on a more serious one I felt gypped. Where's the stoutishness? For the second time in this post, the brewery has got away with their amateurishness, in that the beer isn't terrible, but I would very much prefer if they made things closer to the broad parameters of their purported styles.

Continue to expect randomness in a glass from Tom Crean, then. Sometimes it works, while other times it really doesn't. Tom's going to take you on a journey to strange and unsettling places. To quote a different Guinness TV ad, one he wasn't in, it's what he does.

In the Navy

Sierra Nevada's Torpedo IPA took its name from the cylindrical piece of apparatus used to dry hop it. Since it graduated from being a beer to being a whole range of beers (capitalism: yay!), someone in the branding department has decided to militarise it, hence the sonar-style graphics on this latest pair of cans.

First up is Rye Torpedo, a whole percentage point weaker than the original, at 6.2% ABV. It's a lovely rich orange colour with a little haze, without being actually hazy. Rye is good for head retention and you really get your money's worth here: a massive mushroom dome of foam forming. I caught it within three months of canning and it still smelled very freshly hopped, of grapefruit zest and lemon jelly. Rye's peppery quality makes a brief appearance in the flavour, but for the most part it's classic west coast IPA -- just what we come to Sierra Nevada for -- mixing the bright citrus with an equal dose of slick pine oil and backed by a marmalade sweet side. There's nothing extreme here, no hop fireworks nor residual slickness, and I'm not even sure it's a better beer than the original. It's damn tasty, however, and still well worth your while, whether or not you were a fan of Torpedo to begin with. Just don't expect too much rye character.

"Dual Torpedo" is how Admiral Grossman has chosen to signal that the next one is Torpedo as a double IPA. It's 8.2% ABV and double dry hopped. I know that "double dry hopped" generally doesn't mean anything, but at the same time I can't help wonder which version of Torpedo it's the doubled version of. Original? Atomic? We will never know. No rye means it's paler: still slightly murked, but golden, not amber. The aroma is rather more muted too, lacking the zest and emphasising the dank and resin instead. The branding wants us to think hops but the flavour, to me, is malt first. It's a large chap, with a chewy body and acres of bready, cakey, toffee and treacle. Trust Sierra Nevada to continue bringing us double IPA in its earliest known form. Not that this isn't hoppy: that high-gravity base is a launchpad for a panoply of hop fun, including peppery spice, piney resin, citric zest and oily peel: all the classic hits of the American golden age. If you like your retro served fresh, here's the double IPA you need. That said, unlike many of the first wave American double IPAs I drank, this one is clean and finessed, low in heat given the strength, and in the dangerously drinkable category. More than anything, it's happy, and very much a reminder of when big-hop American beer was fun, before all the joyless nerds started over-analysing it. Ahem. 

These are definitely different from Torpedo, and I wish the brewery had the confidence to simply call them something else. But they're both bloody decent beers, highly enjoyable, and worth anyone's time, especially anyone sick of haze and tropical and everything else we must accept that American IPA has become.

Summer in the Garden

My reaction to beer with weird stuff in it has evolved from "Wow! This is exciting" to "Ugh! This is stupid" to "Wow! Somebody is still doing this". Today's set is from Zagreb's Garden Brewing, and I drank them in an attempt to recreate the youthful sensation of finding off-kilter beer interesting.

I didn't notice until after I bought them that the brewery has put them in sequence, and first of four is Imperial Strawberry & Vanilla Milkshake IPA. It's so long since I've had a milkshake IPA that I was expecting it to pour pink, but it's actually a more orthodox golden shade, and only slightly hazed. It's a brave move to name Magnum, Citra and Mosaic as the hops, yet it does really smell like an IPA, with lots of citrus zest, next to low-key strawberry blancmange pudding. "Super creamy" they say, but the first sensation I got on sipping was clean fizz and quite a light body for 7.4% ABV. The hops have very much taken a back seat, and it tastes like a lurid-pink pre-packaged single-serving of strawberry cheesecake: the strawberry at a remove from the real thing, blended with a gummy dairy sweetness and set on a crunchy biscuit base. As a child of the 1970s, I never lost my taste for highly processed industrial desserts, so I quite enjoyed this beer. It's not offensively sweet, neither sticky nor hot, and generally quite clean and drinkable. I guess if you're going to make a beer taste of strawberry and vanilla, this is the way to do it: not subtle, but far from a hot mess. It's still fun that milkshake IPA is so often the butt of the joke in beer discourse -- it's inarguably a ridiculous concept -- but faced with Garden making quite a nice one, I'm a bit lost for words. The "IPA" part of the equation is not pulling its weight, but otherwise, this is at worst harmless and possibly, sneakily, rather enjoyable.

It's arguable whether or not the beer numbered two in the sequence is more or less ridiculous. Imperial Banana Bread Stout has as much to do with Courage and Barclay Perkins as the previous beer has to do with Hodgson and Bass. It's a sober 8.4% ABV and a flawless obsidian black, though the head is short-lived. The fruit steers clear of the aroma, which is an enticing coffee and vanilla with a dusting of cocoa, like tiramisu. And... it doesn't taste of banana. At all. That's probably a good thing, but the sort of weirdo who buys this sort of beer at face value is likely to be disappointed by how unweird it is. Whoever wrote "packed with real bananas" on the label has clearly never been packed with real bananas. Coffee is the centre of the taste, oily and liqueur-sweet at first, then dry and dark-roasted. An assortment of other flavours I associate with strong and sweet stout follows: treacle, cookies, vanilla and chocolate, but no banana. It's good stuff, the modest ABV keeping any boozy vapours off the table while still allowing it to be satisfyingly chewy for dessert. It's not much of a complaint that they haven't ruined it with ridiculous novelty, but that's the worst thing I can say about it. Would definitely drink again, though not immediately after the first one.

Number three is a normal beer, and I nearly didn't bother until the lacuna began gnawing at me (naughty lacuna!) and I bought it solely to complete the set. American IPA: Prysma Showcase is its official name; I suspect that they could equally have called it "Let's Find Out If This Stuff Works". Prysma is a hop extract, used here in Citra, Mosaic and Cascade flavours, though each hop is also listed in its normal solid form as well, which seems like a bit of a compromise of the experiment. The beer is 7.2% ABV and nicely west-coast clear; a classy golden amber colour. Grapefruit on the aroma leads to similar in the flavour, doing an excellent job of balancing zesty spritz with slicker resin. There's no missing the hops, but I'm not sure they're bringing "a sharper aroma [and] deeper flavour" than a well-made, non-Prysma, American-style IPA. This one's old-school credentials are copper-fastened by a generous dollop of slightly caramelised malt, making it weighty and chewy, in a way that complements the hopping nicely. They've sold it as the next generation of bleeding edge high-tech IPA. It's not. But it's damn tasty and I'm glad I found space for it in this post.

Last in the sequence is the lightest of the bunch, the 5.5% ABV Gin & Tonic Sour Beer. I've tasted this sort of thing done well before, although this one came with a warning from the lad in the off licence. It looks plain and lager-like, with rather more head than most gin and tonics. It smells lagerish too, all crisp and grainy. We're promised juniper and lemon on the label and neither manifests in the taste to any significant degree. Sour is plentiful, however: it's teeth-squeakingly sharp, a grimace with every sip. Not much is on offer beyond this, with the husky grain making a return, plus a waxy bitterness and maybe a very faint peppery spice in the background, which I suspect is juniper-related. It's not problematic, but not very impressive either. More citrus and more botanicals are needed for this to live up to the promise of its spec. Perhaps one is supposed to be more forgiving when drinking it in order, after three other strong beers.

That's where the series ends. Just one last beer as dessert. Tama says it's an imperial salted caramel and chocolate biscuit stout. "Indulgent", but not over the top at only 8.1% ABV. The aroma is very dairy, with the sweet/sour mix of yoghurt or milk on the turn. Its relatively low gravity (again) means that while it's smooth, it's not thick or heavy, and is a beer for drinking, not merely sipping. Promise of chocolate, biscuit and salted caramel doesn't materialise in any big way, with instead only a buttery cookie and vanilla cream flavour, finishing quickly. "Rich" is another word on the label, overstating the case again. It's not a bad beer by any means, being simple and classy, where it could easily have been a hot sticky mess. I was expecting more of everything, however, and it's a little disappointing not to get it. As a relatively straightforward milk stout, however, it's pretty good.

In general, I think Garden has got the novelty factor correct here. They never lose sight of the need for an underlying good recipe in order for the beer to be enjoyable, no matter the ingredients. These strike me as the work of a brewery that paid its dues making IPAs and sweet stouts properly, before trying anything silly with them.