Of wolf and boar

There's something a bit medievally heraldic about Wallonese breweries and their wild beast avatars. Today I'm visiting two of them.

Brasserie Minne is one I've encountered before, in Brussels bar Gist. The brewery itself is not far out of Marche-en-Famenne, where I was staying for this year's Brussels Beer Challenge judging. That said, it's still quite remote, and based in a very utilitarian industrial park, so I don't know who is making the effort to come and drink in the compact but well-appointed two-storey taproom. The company logo is the wild boar (sanglier, en Français) and it features heavily in their branding.

The flagship, as far as I can determine, is Super Sanglier, a blonde ale of 4.8% ABV, and a distinctly unBelgian one, I thought. It has a lightly floral aroma but none of the fruit esters or yeast-derived spicing that I would expect of a Belgian blonde, even at this low strength. Instead, it's thin and dull, lacking even the cleansing crispness of a lager. I'm sure the brewery cares not in the slightest for puns in English (who does?), but I found this to be a massive bore.

Sangl'IPA is Minne's take on IPA, and presumably pitching for the American style, with a new-world combination of Citra, Cashmere and Wai-iti hops. It's quite hazy, and looks quite dark in my picture but is really no more than a medium amber, showing fully yellow in the right light. An inviting tropical aroma starts us off, though the astringent bitterness in the first sip was something of a shock. That softens quickly, however, restoring the gentle mango character, with a lightly tart gooseberry finish. It's not terribly complex for 6.5% ABV, but what's there is enjoyable, bringing some summery refreshment to another otherwise dismal November afternoon.

There was a promise of something more interesting from Vinum, the grape ale. Minne makes several variants of this, and I had the newly-released 2025 Gewurztraminer version. The wine variety has a signature floral character, and here it's heavily concentrated, with an intense pear and lavender perfume effect. I couldn't help thinking it has something of fabric softener about it, which is unfortunate. It's a stonking 9.5% ABV and quite cloying, even in small doses. If you're a Gewurztraminer superfan it might float your boat, because the grape side is unmistakable. Otherwise, exercise caution with this one.

A barley wine to finish, and a change of animal. My Deer is another one that comes in many forms; this is the 2025 Cognac barrel-aged version, given 15 months of contact with the oak. It's 12.5% ABV and all of that comes out in an immediately hot aroma and foretaste. It smells more like red wine than brandy, and the flavour has an oddly off-putting redcurrant sour side. This lacks the mature smoothness that barrel-aged barley wine ought to have, instead offering a rough acidity mixed with a cheesey funk. Although its heart is in the right place, the execution careens randomly. I would strongly recommend leaving this for a year or two's maturation in the bottle, though am far from guaranteeing it will be any better after that.

I feel a bit ungrateful after that, having enjoyed the brewery's hospitality but only one of their actual beers. Try the tripel and the stout instead: they're pretty reliable.

We go south for today's second brewery, almost to the border with Luxembourg proper. The village of Gouvy is home to Brasserie Lupulus, its clean and modern brewery across the courtyard from a rustic-styled bar and restaurant in a converted barn.

Our hosts welcomed us with what I'm guessing is their flagship, Lupulus Blonde. No half measures on the strength here, with the full 8.5% ABV of the classics. Maybe because it was served very cold, it tasted nothing like that. It looked proper, being indeed blonde and very slightly hazed, even on draught. The outline of the taste is correct too, with crisp and grainy cracker meeting a bite of grapefruit peel, but all is low-key and dialled back. I found it refreshing after the journey, but I doubt that's the point of a beer with this degree of heft. A high level of drinkability is usually a positive, but here it creates a paradoxical hybrid of dangerous and boring.

Lupulus Pils was the place to go next. I don't know how far it gets from the brewery but it seemed to me much more of a kellerbier than a pristine pilsner. That's in its favour, as is the fact it's not one of those metal-dry Belgian-style pilses. Instead, there's a gentle Germanic greenness about the hopping, all salad and celery. The balance is superb, with an invigorating bite of bitterness and acres of clean, crisp grain. I tend to use pilsner as a kind of test of a brewery's ability, especially when drinking at source. This one passed with honours.

There's a nod to contemporary beer trends with Hopera, the Lupulus IPA. There's maybe also a quick wink to the Belgian way of doing things, with a little hard-candy sweetness, but otherwise this 6%-er is clean and quite west-coast-ish. There's a fresh and zesty grapefruit aroma, and a flavour based on wholesome biscuit with gentle citrus layered delicately on top. The hops are maybe a little too muted to fool anyone into thinking it's actually American, but it's very clean and accessible, with a preciseness to the taste which reminded me of how German brewers tend to do IPA. That's a compliment.

Before leaving, I took a random chance on Jolly Poupée without knowing anything about what it is. It arrived bottled, described on the label as "modern red beer" and with an ABV of 6.671% -- the brewery's postcode. Hilarity! I've no idea what makes this "modern", because it has a lot in common with many an Irish red ale, though the better sort. The base is very roasty, with strange but welcome notes of coffee. This contrasts with sweet summer fruit, and strawberries in particular, before the grain reasserts itself for a dry finish. That ABV gives it a lovely smooth richness, and on the whole it's rather enjoyable. Where it fits into the rest of Belgian beer is a bit of a mystery, but perhaps it's what De Koninck might taste like if it wasn't chock full of disgusting diacetyl.

Apart from a side trip to Rochefort, where they had no new beers for me to tick -- disgraceful -- that was all the brewery visits of the trip. One of the competition stewards did bring a beer he, as Oldskool Brewery of Eindhoven, had collaborated on with the Weiherer brewery near Bamberg. It's a Rauchweizen, and I was quite apprehensive about that since the only smoked weissbier I know is Schlenkerla's, and I don't think it works -- the savoury smoke clashing badly with the sweet esters. This one was altogether better, and I put at least some of that down to the cask serve, giving it a beautifully soft texture and a subtle flavour, untroubled by busy carbonation. It's very much a weissbier at heart, centered on light clove and banana notes, while the smoke is barely noticeable at first, but builds gradually on the palate as it goes. There was a lot of it to go round, and a lot of building was done, but it never became excessive or difficult, being more sessionable than expected, even at a modest 5.3% ABV. Masterful stuff, and not a beer I would have even thought possible.

I didn't fancy trying to get to Brussels airport and home from Marche-en-Famenne directly, so broke up the journey with a night in Brussels. With some of my fellow judges I trooped along to Lord Byron where we shared a bottle of their house beer. It's from Lambiek Fabriek, a brewery I check in with only occasionally because I tend to find their beers too harsh, and it's a geuze with added blood oranges, called Bloody Byron. And it's good! Although bright Lucozade orange in colour, the fruit makes only a minor contribution, adding a mild zestiness to the picture. Otherwise it's a straightforward geuze, with a sizeable quantity of brick-like minerality and gunpowder spice. None of the brewery's regular roughness is detectable, so perhaps it's time I gave them a proper reappraisal.

The evening finished, as all the best ones do, at Le Coq. My signature move here is to check the specials blackboards first, and that got me L'Annexe's Saison de Bruxelles. It is saison cromulence in a glass, with all the right elements in the right places: light peachy fruit meeting a dry grain rasp. What more could anyone want? As it happened, there was some Saison Dupont in circulation too, and that was an eye-opening comparison. Though the beers are broadly similar, Dupont's is just bigger flavoured, with more of the almost tart dry aspect. L'Annexe's could hold its own to an extent, but didn't have the beatings.

Finally, an unfamiliar beer from De La Senne: Tabula Rasa, a 5% ABV pale ale, brewed in collaboration with French brewery Cambier as a fund-raiser following a devastating fire. It's the pale hazy yellow of grapefruit juice, and tastes a bit like it too. The body is quite thin for the strength, despite the inclusion of rye, wheat and spelt in the recipe, and the citric bitterness is laid on heavily: a sharp workout for the gums. A couple of mouthfuls in, however, and I was used to it, and actively enjoying its punchy assertiveness. Amazingly, it's all done with French hops, tasting classically American. Regardless, it's another very flavourful and pintworthy De La Senne beer of the sort we've come to expect.

And that wrapped up another highly enjoyable few days in Belgium. I feel virtuous for having explored the southern reaches of Wallonia, though I'm not sure I'd recommend it to anyone but the most dedicated of Belgophiles.

Dennis Kort serving his Rauchweizen in Marche-en-Famenne town square

Apostrophising

An invitation to judge at this year's Brussels Beer Challenge had me in Belgium a fortnight ago. Despite the name, the event moves around the country, and this year was hosted in the far south: the sleepy village of Marche-en-Famenne in Belgian Luxembourg. You probably don't need to put it on your must-visit list and I can't tell you much about its hospitality establishments, although it has several. Judging was conducted at the local council's sports hall, and for the opening night there was a reception with beer pouring from a number of local breweries. It appears that the local dialect of French likes apostrophes, because they featured a lot in the beer names.

I started at the apostrophe-free Brasserie de la Lesse, and their pilsner Top Lesse. This pale and murky fellow was an instant reminder that Belgian pils is its own thing, and very nearly became fashionable a year or two ago. The horror! The problem, in this very typical example, is that it's far too dry, lacking all but the most acrid of leafy hop bittering and totally devoid of soft and balancing malt. The defining feature is a mineral rasp, like water with too much dissolved metal in it. In accordance with proper judging procedure, I award this example full marks for style fidelity, but I don't recommend drinking it unless you already have an affinity for specifically Belgian pils.

Next up was Brasserie Du Comte Hener, and one called IPA'ir Tendue. It's an IPA but I'm not going to unpick the name any further than that. Pale and hazy, with 5% ABV, the aroma begins on fresh and zesty citrus but quickly devolves into some ropey chlorophenols. There's no escaping that in the flavour: bleach, and plenty of it. No freshness; none of the rounded fruit esters that the Belgian way of brewing can impart. No enjoyment, in short. I well remember when exploring the world's beers meant regular encounters with commercial offerings that tasted like low-grade homebrew. It rarely happens these days, but this beer brought me right back there.

We plod along to La MA'riebrasse in the hope of better beer. Dark seems like a good idea right now. Their La Sainte MA'! Noire is not billed as a stout, but it has a lot in common with it. A chocolate foretaste kicks things off on the right foot, and is followed by a bouquet garni of herbs, from which I could pick out thyme, rosemary and fennel, though I'd say none are included in the recipe and it's all done with hops and a spicy, phenol-forward, Belgian yeast. 6% ABV gives it a satisfying weight, and ensures that the flavours are bright and the finish long. We haven't quite escaped from the homebrew effect here, but this unorthodox offering is at least fun.

Brasserie du Château de Leignon is the grand name of the next brewery in the queue, and Leignon Triple is the beer. I kept having to correct my spelling away from the usual Flemish "tripel". This example is broadly to style, with a thumping 9.1% ABV and a heat to match. The flavour is dominated by sweet pear, with no more than a hint of clove to make up the spice side of the profile. The overall impression is of a hybridised hard candy, part clove rock, part pear drop, and with enormous potential to cause devastating hangovers.

The brewery with the fanciest mobile set-up was Rochehaut, investing in American-style branded tap handles for each of its draught offerings. There was another tripel too, called simply Rochehaut Triple. This is another very clovey one, and although it's lighter than the previous at 8.5% ABV it's still pretty damn boozy, with the hot syrupy character offset only by the cold serving temperature. A bottle would likely have been much harder work. Still, I liked its full and chewy body, and that might have been lost if they dried it out more. I'll file this one under "workmanlike". And also "not bad for free".

Rochehaut also brought their winter ale, Hivern'ale. Kegs being what they are, this copper-coloured job was also pouring at Arctic temperatures, so at the beginning it was easy to miss its 10% ABV. But while it rounded out nicely after a few minutes under the lights, it didn't develop any great flavour complexity. There's clove aplenty once more, and a more piquant minty quality. The dark side manifests as no more than a sprinkling of burnt caramel. While I can see how it would work as a beer to drink in cold weather, I don't see the advantage of it over more mainstream -- and better -- year-round dark Belgian ales. Pick a quadrupel, any quadrupel.

But one more tripel before moving on. Triple du Miel is from the St. Monon brewery and, as the name states, is made with honey. I liked the idea of that, reckoning the flavours would be nicely complementary. Before I even got there, I found honey in the aroma, and indeed it was well integrated into the tripel experience, not feeling artificial or tacked-on. The honey is a bit more punchy in the flavour, tasting more waxy than sweet. The base beer is only 8% ABV and doesn't have much to say for itself; I was just happy this one didn't taste of cloves. On the whole it's decent and drinkable, but ultimately rather plain, in a way that this kind of strong ale shouldn't be. I still think there's more room for honey/tripel experimentation, though.

From the same brewery: St Monon Brune. Other than Leffe, you don't see many of these in the northern reaches of Belgium, and I think this one could easily pass for dubbel up there. It's a full 7.5% ABV for one thing, although the alcohol is well hidden. An attractive clear dark ruby colour, it opens with an almost porter-like roasted grain aroma. The flavour has lots of dubbel's fig and prune notes, but without the warmth it feels a little like something is missing: it doesn't go full fruitcake, and maybe that's what makes it merely brune. Regardless, it's a lovely beer, even if it's slightly strong for what it delivers.

There was something a little similar from Microbrasserie des Coccinelles, called La Morhette au Clair de Lune, pouring from a 75cl bottle. This one is a mere 5.9% ABV, and quite a pale amber colour for a beer invoking night scenes, but it tastes the part. There's a solid backbone of rich roastiness and smooth caramel, then a generous heaping of mixed Christmassy spice: clove, yes, but nutmeg and a little cinnamon too. It finishes dry, your slice of fruitcake served with a mug of strong black tea. Everything about it is incredibly, deliciously, Belgian. Except for the ABV.

Our finishers are pale. First it's a blonde ale by Brasserie de Tenneville, called Tenn'City. This 6.2%-er is a fizzy beast, and surprisingly light, given the strength. It refreshes almost as well as a lager, with only some mildly sweet pear and melon notes to indicate warm fermentation. This won't win any awards for complexity or elegance, but it's one of several I drank on the night that I would be perfectly happy to have as a characterful local beer if I lived in the region.

An IPA brings us out: how modern. And it's canned, too. Johnny is from Babeleir, in the big city of Namur, and is 6% ABV. It's straw yellow and lightly hazy, all contributing to its general too-cool-for-Belgium vibe. I'm guessing they've tried hard to make it taste like the New World, promising juice and a soft texture, but Belgium will out, and this seemed very much in the Belgian IPA style to me. Rather than juicy sweetness, it's a cleaner hard-candy effect, in both the flavour and aroma. The tell-tale cloves sneak their way into the middle, and the finish is assertively bitter, very much in an Old World way, with lots of Germanic grass and herb. For something presenting as fun, it's a little harsh, but I enjoyed the various twists it took. I don't get new Belgian IPAs very often, and it's noteworthy that I didn't see many others in the room, so finding this one was most welcome.

You may have noticed, as I did, a slightly amateurish vibe to many of the beers on display. I don't know if that's typical of small rural Belgian breweries in general, or just this somewhat remote part of the country. As someone who mostly sticks to the big Flemish cities, it felt a little like stepping back to the Belgian beer of 10 or more years ago. That can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the beer, but it's always interesting. In the next post I'll be stepping into a couple of other local breweries for some at-source critique.

Medium roast

Autumnal red and brown is the palette for today's selection, as we face into the depths of winter proper.

Once upon a time, Rye River brewed an own-brand American-style brown ale for Lidl. It was a somewhat overlooked masterpiece, and then just as I was establishing it as regular in my fridge, it disappeared. Not long after, rival supermarket Dunnes added a new beer to its house label, Grafters. Night Shift is an American-style brown ale, brewed by Rye River. Has the original been saved, but moved?

The ABV matches, and it's the same deep garnet shade with a solid, reliable head. The American hops are present from the start of the aroma, with the almost-acrid sharpness of a good black IPA, mixing hot tar and pungent spices. It's smooth and creamy, heavy enough to be satisfying, yet with perfect drinkability. The initial flavour of soft milk chocolate and toffee matches this perfectly, and only in the finish do the spiky, spicy hops reassert themselves, wrapping the experience with a bracing blast of bitterness which adds a whole extra dimension. I'm reasonably sure this is the Lidl recipe. It's worth making a special trip to Dunnes for, and at €2.10 is a steal.

A year or so after Changing Times landed into Dublin's pubs, it's added a fourth beer to the line-up. Following the lager, pale ale and stout, the macro-clone range continues with a red ale. Bleedin Red is 4.2% ABV and a lovely clear dark copper colour.  It's topped with a firm and lasting head which makes it look nitrogenated but the very busy fizz apparent from the first sip tells me otherwise. There's not much by way of aroma, while the flavour leads on a harshly metallic bitterness and finishes on a nasty soapy twang. While it looks all caramelised, there is precious little crystal malt in evidence. The second half of the pint gave me aspirin, rubber, boiled spinach and beetroot, and while I'm certain that's all down to legitimate English hops, pleasant drinking it does not make. Red ale is a hard sell at the best of times, hence the handful of people claiming it's underrepresented on the Irish bar. Sales figures from this one will test if it's really something people want. Me, I think I'd prefer the watery embrace of Smithwick's to this rough character.

Finally, we have Malt Fiction, badged simply as a red ale, produced by BrewDog in Berlin and on sale in these parts at Aldi for €2 the 33cl can. It's quite red and completely clear, with a loose-bubbled head. The aroma has a sweet candy fruit thing, smelling like raspberry and strawberry, with a hint of richer malt behind. 5am Saint came immediately to mind. There's a lovely weight to this, derived from a malt base which manifests in the flavour as cake and biscuits: a little treacle, a little chocolate and lots of toffee. But it's not sickly and is very deftly balanced by the new-world hops, which add the summer fruits of the aroma, along with candied lemon and oily little sparks of pine bitterness. It's rather charming, and a world apart from my slightly dismal experience at the company's Dublin bar recently. I have a lot of time for American amber ale as a style, especially when the brewery doesn't try too hard on the bitterness. This is an excellent example, and if you're under forty and therefore too young to have ever drank one, here's your chance. Hashtag amber ale comeback.

There's definitely some good autumnal drinking available at the supermarkets. I'm not sure I'd bother searching the pubs though, if you're a Dubliner.

The K club

Today's beers have nothing in common, other than names beginning with K.

Krush is a Korean "ice blast lager", from Kloud. I don't know what that means, but it's 4.5% ABV and a medium gold colour, looking like a typical continental-European macrobeer. According to the ingredients listing it's an all-malt recipe, and yet it still manages to taste like some cheap adjunct has been used: sweetcorn or rice. There's a grain-husk rasp and then an overly sweet syrupiness, before a finish that's dry but not clean enough to call crisp. That's "balanced" in a way by a metallic chemical tang that is presumably meant to taste like hops but is a long way from them. On the plus side, it has a decently full body, though that just carries the wonky flavours further than is enjoyable. This is a bust. I wouldn't like to try and place it on a league table of Korean beers, but globally, it's well towards the bottom.

The diversity of beer is what keeps me interested, and also filed under K is something quite different: Kaapse Leen Calvados Barrel Aged Barley Wine, from Kaapse of Rotterdam. This looks to have been a leftover from this year's Dublin Beer Festival, which I missed, and showed up on tap at UnderDog (RIP) in October. It's dark chestnut in colour, and quite dreggy looking, though that doesn't seem to have adversely affected the taste. I would have guessed a wine barrel rather than apple spirit because the aroma is full of grape juice and light summery red wine. That gets heavier and more oaky on tasting, calling to mind Tokaji or Sauternes, though with a significant bite of tartness alongside the sweet. Tart berries and Granny Smith apples continue the sour theme, and although there's an undeniable heat from its 11.2% ABV, it never really rounds out into the soft and smooth winter warmer that I think it ought to be. I'm generally a big fan of Calvados barrels for beer, but whatever way they've done this one, it hasn't quite worked out. Even as a small-measure sipper, it's quite a tough beer to drink.

Pick any two beers randomly and, chances are, neither will be much good. There's probably a lesson there, but I've no interest in learning it.

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.