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.

Where they do things differently

The Glider is a modern marvel. Belfast's metro-like bus-with-notions runs transversely across the city, from west to east, passing plenty of the city's beer destinations on the way. A new curiosity has arrived at the eastern G1 terminus in Dundonald. As has been reported far and wide, Lidl NI has chosen to open a fully-operational pub in the same building as their supermarket, to subvert local licensing restrictions. I went up to have a look.

Knowing, presumably, how much of a curiosity The Middle Ale would be, and the potential for positive publicity, the chain has gone to more effort than it strictly needed to. Although there's nothing distinctive about the exterior, the inside has been designed to a definite theme, based on the old-fashioned Irish pub-grocer, as befits a kind of modern day equivalent. The shelves are lined with decorative versions of Lidl food and homewares, not to advertise them seriously, but to fit the theme. With that goes shiplap-style painted-wood walls and ceiling, lighting in the style of early electrification, and even little vestigial drawers behind the counter, as though for storing loose produce. That it's all garishly coloured in the company's red, yellow and blue, rather than more realistic earthy ochre or olive green, takes away from the effect and reminds one that it's all a bit of set dressing. But it's fun, like drinking in the on-stage pub from a pantomime.

The drinks offer... well, they've made a bit of an effort. For the most part, the draught options are what you might expect to find in a mainstream Norn Irish pub with a tie to C&C: Tennent's, Heverlee, Bulmer's, Bud Light, Guinness and the one surprise, Estrella Damm. When I lived in the province, such a basic array would absolutely have included C&C-brewed keg Bass as well, and it was a little jarring to see it's not part of what's plainly an out-of-the-box factory-settings beer line-up. I bet the marketing wunderkind who came up with "The Middle Ale" didn't think to ask if the pub would sell any ale. It doesn't.

While you can buy Lidl-brand wine and spirits behind the bar, the logistics of doing the same for draught beer would have been impractical. This is where the effort shows, though: an additional beer tap is badged as the own-brand Crafty Brewing Lager, and while I strongly suspect it's hooked up to a keg of Rye River's Bidin' Time, I also have my suspicions about whether or not those are two different beers in any meaningful way.

None of this was getting me any new ticks, however. I had to turn to the bottle options for that. Now, you know I love a bit of knock-off branding from the German discounters. I had never taken a punt on either of the main rivals' Corona clones, because they're only in six-packs and that's too much commitment to a beer that's likely undrinkable. At The Middle Ale, however, they'll do you a single of Camaro, and even shove a wedge of lime in it.

I understand that the lightstrike-proof hop substitute that big-brand clear-glass lagers are made from is quite expensive. That it's not in use here is painfully obvious, even sniffing through the tiny aperture of a longneck. The pub hasn't been open long but this was still skunked from its time in the glass-fronted fridge. That's present in the flavour too, but is far from the worst thing about it. There's a horrific cooked-sweetcorn savoury quality, turning to popcorn husk in the finish. The little jet of real lime from the wedge does genuinely help by masking some of the awfulness, but it's a bad time from start to finish. The mainstream versions of this type of beer are mostly very bland and treated a little unfairly in the discourse; the Lidl one, however, tastes as bad as all the jokes about them say they do.

A better drinks offer might have had me spending a little more time there, soaking in the Disney-does-country-grocer ambiance, but nothing took my fancy. Back on the Glider, then.

I didn't have any to-do list beyond that, although I'd never had a pint in the downstairs bar of The Ulster Sports Club, so decided to fix that next. It was quiet and cool in there, and downstairs was the only option as the Out of Office brewery taproom on the upper floor hadn't opened yet. I had a pint of their session IPA: Pencil Pusher.

This is a modest 4% ABV and pale yellow with a light but definite haze. The flavour is crisp at first: plain and a little grainy, before the hops kick in, bringing a fresh and pithy citric bitterness. It took a moment for anything else to appear, beyond the initial grapefruit, and that's a sweeter and slightly sticky stewed peach effect. It remains zippy and refreshing, however, and well-chosen as a regular on the more mainstream downstairs bar. There's little to dislike about it.

All roads lead to The Sunflower, and it was busy in the sunny beer garden, though a little quieter indoors, before the Friday after-work crowd fully descended. Galway Bay makes the house beer here: Sunny Lager. It's pretty unchallenging fare, though well made. It's a crystal-clear golden colour, looking like lager perfection, and is softly textured, the body full for something only 4.3% ABV and likely brewed to a price point. Where I cynically expected it to be bland, the flavour has a colourful floral quality, tasting of summer meadows and tasteful bouquets. Maybe the appropriate weather we had enhanced my impression of it, and it wouldn't be as engaging on a dismal grey afternoon. Quality is quality, however, and I would come back to this.

On the guest cask was El Dorado, a pale ale from Manchester brewery ShinDigger. They had it served nicely cold, which was appreciated. This is another pale and clear one, and has much in common with the lager, being plain and decent, with a subtle hop flavour. Here, that's a light zing of orange and grapefruit, though without any proper bitter kick. It's hard to dislike, but I had turned to the cask in search of complexity, and attracted by the name of the beer being the name of a hop. There's an element of false pretences about it: it's far from the hop showcase one might think it would be.

And with that it was back home to Dublin. I didn't get any proper exploring of Belfast done but felt I did the city's beer scene a little bit of justice. Whether it's worth gliding out to Dundonald to see how Lidl does a pub isn't for me to say. Don't go for the beer offer is all I have to add to the conversation.

A two, three, four

In the discourse around beer, one often sees it noted that the simplistic veneration of ever-bigger numbers, common a decade and more ago, has subsided. The IBU race is over, and conscientious beer drinkers, some of them even in the US, have come to recognise that stronger beer is not automatically better than weaker beer. However, I think there are still vestiges of The Old Ways to be found, including the exponential growth of IPA subgeneres: double was followed by triple for no rational reason, and brewery science (or, more likely, brewery marketing) has continued the stylistic inflation. Today we follow the pattern via one brewery: SOMA Beer of Girona in Catalonia.   

Representing double IPA is Lag, at 8% ABV. It's fully hazed up and especially pale, which I'm taking as a good sign: no nasty oxidation here. And indeed it smells very fresh, having been about a month in the can. Ripe mango and mandarin segments form the aroma, as well as a generous dollop of vanilla custard. That had me worrying it might taste sickly, but the flavour is clean. The custard sits at its centre but is prevented from turning cloying by a citric bite, adding oily lime zest and a squeeze of tart lemon juice. But there's something else. Yes, I know it's a full-strength double IPA, but it's also the first and weakest of a set of three, so I wasn't prepared for how hot it is. The texture is dense, almost chewy, and there's a burn to the flavour -- not unpleasant, though definitely surprising. That descends to become a wholesome glow in one's belly. This is a tasty and well-made beer -- hazy DIPA as the Lord intended -- but I was somewhat on edge at the thought of scaling up.

The burn warning continues with Ripple, a 10% ABV triple IPA with an all-Kiwi hop combination of Nectaron, Waimea and Motueka. A blast of heat is fair game for the style, though, and like the best examples, this one burns cleanly, with no unpleasant solvent notes. There's nuance too: a concentrated tropical fruit cordial lands in at the middle, and there's a more involved herbal and medicinal bitterness when it finishes. Despite all that, it rounds out in tidy fashion, with no significant aftertaste. On a warm evening, I took my time sipping through it and enjoyed it a lot. Prepare for a big beer with a big flavour, because it makes no apologies for being one of those, but equally it has been put together with skill and makes good use of big hops and big gravity to deliver a tremendously fun experience. Bring on the big lad!

Despite the glaring obviousness of the concept, quadruple IPAs are fairly thin on the ground. I've only previously had a couple. Today's set is completed by Midnight Club, SOMA's quadeepa. The ABV tops out at 12%. It looks pretty similar to the others: an opaque emulsion, but pale yellow, and therefore free of any oxidation that might make the promised big hopping suboptimal. The aroma is a fairly standard mix of tropical and stonefruit, and if anything it smells less hot than the triple IPA. The texture is where the difference lies. This is milkshake-thick; a beer which requires muscle to pull it out of the glass and down the throat. Hoppy custard. There's a bit of a burn, but not as much I thought there would be, and more of that hard herbal bitter side, turning almost waxy. The bitterness is what makes it different to your standard strong murk. There's no room for fruity niceties here: the hops are aggressive, as is the mouthfeel. I get a sense of a beer that wants to be taken seriously but is just camply silly instead. While it isn't unpleasant, going quadruple is no kind of upgrade on double or triple.

All told, these three aren't really different styles of beer. Strong and hoppy haze is what it is, and there are no significant variations between 8% and 12% ABV that justify according them separate styles. I will, however, say that SOMA is very good at doing it. I'm painfully aware of how many different things they could have got wrong here, throwing their beers out of whack, but it's expert poise and subtlety all the way through. You're on a crazy ride through Silly Town, but the driver has total control over the vehicle at all times and you will arrive safely, if perhaps a little dizzy.

North-west passable

On a recent trip to Blackrock Cellar I picked up a couple of bottles from two of the lesser-seen Donegal breweries. At least I think it's two breweries: they have a brewer in common and I see their bottlecaps are the same. 

Otterbank seems to be doing a bit of a Wide Street, pivoting away from the wild fermentations on which it built its reputation in favour of safer, presumably more saleable, fare. I wouldn't have marked the brewery as a natural home for a weissbier, but that's what Big Tree is. It's appropriately hazy, and an acceptable sunset orange colour, though paler is usually a visual indicator of better quality. As is head retention, and that was very poor here. The beer just doesn't look right in a tall weissbier vase without a thick puck of foam on top. I looked for banana and/or clove in the aroma but got little of either. There's a dry white wine effect instead, suggesting a possibly inappropriate acidity. That carries through into the flavour, which is just a little too sharp for comfort. The grape bite gives way to something close to vinegar, backed by a tang of stale sweat. This is baby's-first-homebrew stuff, or possibly a precursor to some particularly involved mixed fermentation saison type of creation. A classic take on the Bavarian icon it most definitely is not.

Barrel-aged imperial porter should be harder to get wrong. Next is Blás Anagaire from Errigal Brewing: a whopping 11.1% ABV and aged for 13 months in casks from the Crolly distillery. Here's another one where I had to be quick with the camera to capture any head presence, but at least it wasn't a gusher. The aroma of oak is overpowering, making it smell more like a heady dark Iberian fortified wine than a beer: lots of booze, but maybe some gentler chocolate as well. There was a series of surprises in store from the taste, starting on a savoury note of soy-sauce autolysis, then an ashen charred dryness, a rounded vinous fruitiness and a smear of Nutella. The wine factor is constant, and I wonder if Crolly was using sherry barrels for the whiskey that preceded the beer -- their website suggests they're no strangers to both Oloroso and Pedro Ximénez. It's still a bit rough-tasting, lacking the smoothness that comes with maturity. It is unquestionably entertaining, however. This is a beer that forces you to spend time with it, and it's mostly fun, though occasionally problematic, and finishes with a warm glow in the belly. The technical side needs work, I reckon: Lough Gill has shown us what the north-west can do with this genre of beer, and this isn't up to their standard. It's worth another punt, however.

I think there's a bit too much hoping for the best behind both these beers, where I would prefer science and accuracy. It's become something of a theme around half-litre bottles from down the country. The good-on-ya rough-and-ready approach had its day, but I think we're past that now, or at least us insufferable snobs above in Dublin are. Brewers: please cater to our whims, even though you can't make a living from them.

Soft scoops

Tuesday last saw the eagerly-awaited soft opening of The Christchurch, the newest addition to the specialist beer side of Dublin's licensed trade, such as it is. The premises on High Street was Galway Bay's The Beer Market in a previous incarnation, then became the more tourist-orientated Christchurch Inn, though despite its location on the well-trodden path between the city centre and the Guinness Storehouse, doesn't seem to have become the moneyspinner that more central pubs have turned into. Now it's back in the craft game, this time under the aegis of prolific Dublin microbrewery Third Barrel. Not everything they serve is from Third Barrel, but everything new to me on day one was.

"Two More Weeks!" was a running joke about the prospective opening date, so was a fitting name for an IPA launched on the day, albeit without a printed tap badge. It professes to be in the west coast style, but wears the designation lightly. Both the hop bitterness and malt weight are less than full-on, despite the full 6% ABV. It is properly clear, however: a bright golden shade, and the hops are oily and resinous, delivering a clean herbal dankness first, before some sparks of lime and grapefruit peel. The strength becomes a little more apparent as it warms, but it's best enjoyed when cool and refreshing. Dangerously sessionable, as they say in all the best beer bars.

Reflecting the location of the pub, we also got Liberties Dublin lager. Both Guinness and Five Lamps have used their association with the neighbourhood to call beers after it, but I don't think either is currently in production, so Third Barrel can claim it now. It's 4.5% ABV, and its main job that summer evening was providing refreshment, which it did, impressively. The brewery does good lager in general, and this one was flawlessly crisp and clean, though they don't seem to have claimed any particular style for it. I would lean towards Italian pilsner, because after the initial cracker bite, there arises a floral hop note, suggesting lavender, jasmine and honeysuckle to me. As a house lager, this didn't really need to have much by way of complexity, but they've put plenty in anyway. Maybe it could get a little sickly after several pints, but I'll need to research that further.

Presumably because the red tram line runs further up the street, and continues out past the brewery in suburban Bluebell, there's a red ale called Red Line. This was on nitro which didn't do it any justice, I thought, though I'm sure there will be Kilkenny-pilled drinkers who appreciate its gloopy, gunky texture. That might not be so bad if it were as bland as Kilkenny, but there's lots going on in the flavour. It's another very floral one, this time concentrated into perfume. That contrasts with a harsh tannic dry side: stewed tea, building to an almost leathery acidity. The seasoning of peppery spice, wherever it came from, was the only lightening note, and greatly helps the drinkability. So it's fun, of a sort, but highly unorthodox. I'm not sure what the three people who still drink red ale will think of it, but I'm sure they'll tell us in due course.

Finally, Hopsicle Haus of Fionn 20.0, the latest in a series of hazy pale ales brewed at Third Barrel for Cork pubs Fionnbarra and The Bierhaus, marking two decades in business for the latter -- congratulations, Dave! It's a party animal at 6.26% ABV and hopped with Nelson Sauvin, Motueka, Citra and Mosaic. That ought to induce fireworks but I found it a little on the plain side, emphasising haze's unfortunate vanilla tendency. There's a minor bite of lime and some more engaging resinous bitterness in the aroma, and it's at least clean and appropriately soft-textured. It's unexciting, however; just another glass of lightly sweet cloudiness that fails to give its hops a suitable platform. West coast is the way, boys. I thought everyone in the trade knew that by now.

It will be nice getting more draught offerings onto these pages, and it would be nicer if The Christchurch became as destinational for the beer-loving crowd as UnderDog was. Anyway, don't take my word for it, pop along. Opening hours will be Wednesday to Sunday from 3pm, for the next, oh, two weeks at least. 

 

Ten Hope!

Dublin's Hope brewery is celebrating ten years in production this year. They've come a long way from the contract brewer I first met at the RDS beer festival in 2015, growing into one of the established mainstays of Irish brewing, via the radical and daring strategy of making nice beer and then selling it to people.

Celebrating with it is its Dutch twin sister brewery, and homophone, Hoop. Hope has brewed its own version of a honey ale Hoop did earlier this year. It's called Queen Bee® and is 5.5% ABV, found on tap at Caribou, thanks to a heads-up from Lisa Grimm on teh socials. The honey manifests in the flavour as meadow flowers and a sterner waxen note, both of which return emboldened in the flavour. It tastes more of perfume than honey, almost musky: arguably less honey-like than a typical, unadorned, golden ale in the low-countries style. And while it's definitely a gimmick, it doesn't lose sight of the underlying beeriness, with a lager-like clean crispness in its finish as well as matching grassy hop bitterness. Not a bad effort, all told. A big imperial stout would have been better, though perhaps less suitable for a mere ten-year-old.

After a couple of years at a heady 5.5% ABV, the brewery has dropped the strength of its summer seasonal New England IPA down to 4.9%, where it was last seen in 2020. Well, at least it gives me an excuse to review it again. I see from the data that the bittering units have also plummeted, 23 today compared to 42 six years ago. That would be quite shocking, if IBUs actually meant something. It looks... normal: a sunny yellow colour, with a slight translucency indicating a low gravity. The aroma is zesty, and sharper than I was expecting, leading into a flavour that's much more about the west-coast lemon and lime than any New England vanilla custard. I approve. It's light enough to be refreshing and thirst-quenching, which is another boon from the decision not to go full sludge. On the downside, the finish is rather abrupt, and it could reasonably be accused of thinness. While fun at first, the bittering does get a little severe towards the end -- sharp aspirin and zinc -- and if the intention was for this to be a session beer, I'm not sure it succeeds. One was enjoyable, however. I reckon there's a sweet spot to be hit, between this and the soupy fruit salad jobs.

And speaking of fruit salad, we finish on Limited Edition 39: Pineapple and Passion Fruit Sour. Funnily enough, they did the exact same thing for number 15 in the series, back in 2019. Even the strength of 4.7% ABV matched. It poured crackling and fizzy, making it clear from the outset that this is the thin sort of fruit sour, with no pastry. It's not unpleasantly watery, though, with enough substance to give it a rounded texture, as one might find with a quality lager. The aroma is dry and tart, keeping the fruit in the background and emphasising the mineral sourness instead, a feature that's both literally and figuratively refreshing. The passionfruit is rather more central to the flavour, but still without the overwhelming gummy sorbet sweetness it often shows as. Here, it's not muted, but it's not allowed to dominate either. There's a balance between the simple kettle-soured acidity and the syrup. You have to wait for the pineapple, but it arrives in the finish, adding a different sort of tropical sunshine. This is a jolly little beer; again maybe a little too sharp for more than one in a sitting, but it's a great example of what it is.

Happy birthday to Hope, then. It has certainly brightened my drinking life in Dublin over the last decade -- I count the Hop-On tap in Dublin airport among my best friends. Long may the regulars, seasonals, limited editions and collaborations continue. What more could one want from a local producer?

The meanings of Bavaria

I hadn't realised that Dutch brewery Swinkels, formerly known as Bavaria, was still selling Bavaria beer after they got in trouble with the people of Bavaria for calling their beer Bavaria when it's not brewed anywhere near Bavaria. They are though. Bavaria Ultra ("Ultra", no less!) is easily overlooked, by me anyway, because the turquoise and white branding makes it look non-alcoholic. It is, however, 4.2% ABV, and its boast of being only 28 calories per 100ml is somewhat undermined by the giant 660ml bottle. Perhaps one is supposed to share it, but that wasn't going to happen.

All of the above, unsurprisingly, is the most interesting part of this beer. It is extremely dull fare, a wan yellow colour with barely an effort at a head. It tastes, equally unsurprisingly, cheap. I paid €3 for the big bottle but feel cheated as it has all the watery hallmarks of minimal production values, including adjunct cereals instead of proper malt, and a faint mineral tang where some hop bitterness is supposed to be. I don't need to say that it's thin as well, but that does suggest it might be refreshing when served extremely cold. The lack of flavour does at least mean a lack of off-flavours, and it's not overly fizzy either. That's about all I can say in its favour, however. I can see why the Bavarians were so upset. Hashtag not in my name.

Meanwhile, in actual Bavaria, something odd appears to have happened. Weihenstephaner Helles is a beer I've not seen before. It's not in the usual tall Weihenstephaner bottle, nor branded with the company's usual livery. Furthermore, it's a Helles, despite the brewery flagship, Weihenstephaner Original, also being a Helles. They're not the same beer, because Original is 4.8% ABV and this is 5.2%. Maybe in Germany there's a nuance in the difference that I'm missing, but it seems odd. Regardless, let's get it open.

I immediately wished I had picked up a bottle of Original at the same time, to do a comparison (and because it's delicious -- any excuse). From memory, this seems heavier and sweeter by comparison, leaning deeply into the malt side of the style. My usual descriptor for good Helles is spongecake; this goes beyond that, into donut flesh or even candyfloss with its sweetness. The label boasts of Hallertau Aroma and Saphir hops but I deem their contribution tokenistic: the waving of a damp spinach leaf over the brew kettle. What's impressive is that, despite significant density and sweetness, it's still very drinkable, showing a deftness of touch that's very Weihenstephaner: the brewery, and research institute, that wrote the book on perfectly formulated Bavarian lager.

I know it's not really appropriate to draw any kind of comparison between these two beers, but some of us have concluding paragraphs to write. Lager is not just lager, and always check you're in the correct Bavaria.