The IPA way

There's not normally much of a gap between new Sierra Nevada beers, but this can of Mellow Little Thing had been sitting in the back of my fridge since July, with no sign of any companions for it. Last week I decided it's not getting any better in there, so it was time to drink it.

This is one of the Little Things that doesn't stray far from the original. It's a straight-up hazy IPA, and the name is presumably a reference to it being 4.5% ABV, against Hazy Little Thing's more substantial 6.7%. It's a bright pale yellow and, in the Sierra Nevada large-brewery way, is not opaquely murky but more gently translucent. It smells pithy, which is not a typical haze attribute, and the flavour is small and uncomplicated. I guess that's what they mean by "mellow" but it's quite a euphemism. The pith remains the main thing to taste, even though it's barely present. That tang also suggests soluble vitamin tablets and sugar-free orangeade. Looking closely, I found an even slighter note of citrus fruit flesh, but that's very brief. The finish includes an unpleasant hot gritty dreg element which makes me feel hard done by, given how low-key the haze look and flavour are.

Lacklustre, is the word for this. It's not often that I have a problem with a Sierra Nevada pale ale, but this one has had all the goodness compromised out of it. The brewers may not be aware that cracking hop flavour can be delivered at 4.5% ABV, but they ought to be.

And, of course, as soon as I had that review cued up, two more new Sierra Nevada IPAs hove into view. Although, when Northern Hemisphere IPA appeared at Tapped I assumed I'd had it before. There has certainly been a lot of fresh-hopped Sierra Nevada passing this way over the years, but none with this specific name, so a-ticking we will go.

The first surprise was the beautiful copper colour: very unusual for this day and age, but the brewery tends to do poorly when trying to follow recent fashion (viz. the above), so I'm glad to see it. There's no more than a mild earthy spice in the aroma. That had me guessing Cascade but it turns out to be Centennial. Still in the classic C-hop genre, then. As one would expect, there's a bright and zesty lemon sherbet kick to the foretaste, with a more assertive lime-peel acidity building behind it. The caramelised malt doesn't interrupt this with much sweetness, although it's plenty heavy at 6.7% ABV, making it more satisfying to drink. A nod to English bitter or strong ale comes via a finishing rasp of black tea tannins.

All told, it's classic Sierra Nevada material, and while I'm sure it was best before leaving the US, its transatlantic journey hasn't spoiled my enjoyment of those fresh hops.

Keeping it classic, Sierra Nevada has also released West Ghost IPA, which I almost missed on the offy shelf, since the can lacks distinctive Sierra Nevada branding. They describe it as a "modern" west coast IPA, and for once that doesn't mean it's hazy, or at least not very. There's some juice in the aroma, however: it smells of peach and pineapple, with a mildly pithy afterburn. The pith muscles its way to the front for the flavour. It's no pine-bomb, but I'll happily grant it west-coast status, for the dry citrus and mineral bite. The malt isn't doing much here, and there's very little sign of its 7.2% ABV, but what it lacks in substance, it gains in drinkability. This is a softly spoken ghost; low-impact but just tasty enough. Proper Sierra Nevada, in other words.

I'm sure I've said it before, but this brewery does its best work when staying in its lane of clean and hoppy beers. I'm also sure I've complained in the distant past that this is a quite a boring state of affairs, but now: what's rare is wonderful.

Fuerst principles

I associate Berlin brewer Fuerst Wiacek with world craft styles (ie IPA) more than with anything traditionally German, but today's two represent their take on Bavarian standards. I was curious to find out if they would do anything craftish with them.

Festbier Lager is first, given no fancy name, though is maybe a little light in strength at 5.5% ABV. And it's hazy, suggesting perhaps something of a Festbier-Kellerbier hybrid. The aroma does suggest that Kellerbier crispness, with a slight rough and fusty burlap element. The grain is present in the flavour too, right at the front, and it's only in the later stages that it exhibits the polished smoothness of Festbier proper. That comes with a slightly syrupy sweetness, so while it might not be full strength, it tastes it, and more. The hop side of the equation is lacking, so balance is an issue. The sweetness continues to build to an unpleasant level, and there's a weirdly tangy countermelody, resembling those sugar-coated sour jellies. I was very glad I only had a craft 440ml can rather than a full Maß. The established brewers of this kind of beer do it better than this.

And with sweet being a problem there, I was downright apprehensive about Provocator, the doppelbock, which followed. Here the appearance is spot-on: a medium chestnut mahogany arrangement. Its ABV is a generous 8%. The style demands richness and warmth, and the demand is reasonably well met here. There's still a bit of a tang, suggesting copper or zinc to me, but it's well masked by bourbon biscuit, café latte, nougat and soft caramel. The roasted side of that mélange is accentuated in the finish, and there's a very slight herbal bite too, though savoury more than bitter. Anyone looking for serious doppelbock heat will be disappointed; instead there's balance. I'm still not sure that the tangy factor is a benefit rather than a flaw, but this passes muster as doppelbock. It would make an acceptable substitute when none of the proper ones are available.

All told, however, I think Fuerst Wiacek is better sticking to the IPAs. There's less to go wrong there. Throw in a few buckets of American hops and everybody's happy.

Middling

Athlone's Dead Centre Brewing remains a jewel in the national brewery treasury, the Shannonside tap room a gloriously bright and jolly place when the weather is good, which it was when I visited recently. I don't get here often enough to tell you how frequently the beers turn over, but while there was a modest selection of new-to-me offerings on the day, the flagship pale ale, Marooned, was the best beer there, that I tried.

I had started the afternoon with Silly Giggles, an India pale lager, and a light one, too, at just 4.1% ABV. The new-world hopping is not subtle, and a big burst of bright citrus arrives front and centre, right from the start. It lingers too, gradually filling out an otherwise thin mouthfeel with stickier hop oils. Complexity is not part of the deal, but then I don't think it's meant to be. This is down-the-hatch refreshment: good for clearing the travel dust at the start of the session, and I came back to it for some palate cleansing via a second pint later on.

Next door to the pub is top-tier eatery Thyme, and for it, Dead Centre brews an Elderflower Pale Ale. I'm not sure if that's meant to be consumed with or around the cheffy food, though at 4.2% ABV it seems a bit light for the former. The pint is clear and golden, and I expected a sizeable hit from the elderflower. There isn't one, however. It's quite a disappointment to find little sign of the headline ingredient, and there's little by way of supporting enjoyment from the base beer. It's dry, dull and husky, with no hop character at all. Late in the pint I did get a very mild hint of meadow flowers, albeit much more muted than full-on summery elderflower. I guess it won't interfere with the taste of the food at Thyme, but I very much doubt it adds anything either.

The red ale Red Sun Rising garnered a few unhappy clucks around the table, so when I came to it, I stuck with a half. For a start, it looks awful: a murky, muddy brownish red. That doesn't automatically mean there's something wrong -- it might be charmingly rustic -- but there was a pop of sour vinegar in the aroma to indicate there was something amiss. That wasn't too strong in the flavour, so I'm filing it as factory seconds rather than something unfit for sale. Although it's rough and quite homebrewish, I'm sure there are plenty of drinkers who would be happy with it, and one could even make the case that it straddles a gap between Irish red and the Flanders sort. I was glad I only had a small glass, however, and was a bit disappointed that the brewing and tasting processes at Dead Centre would let something like this through. I'm not sure what's worse between not being able to detect a flaw, or noticing it and putting the beer out anyway. Here's where the back-up pint of Silly Giggles proved invaluable.

The week before had been Dead Centre's Oktoberfest, and remaindered from that was the Hofbräu Sommerzwickl, a 5.1% ABV unfiltered lager. The name had me expecting something light and pale, so it was a surprise to be given another murky ochre beer. At least there were no acetobacter footprints in this one, but instead it had a strong and disconcerting whack of banana esters. This clashes with a hard grainy dryness which reaches almost a roasted level of acridity. Again, I don't think the beer was off off, but I suspect it's not meant to sit in the keg for as long as I'm guessing this one has. Zwickl is built to be served fresh, so it's probably not a good idea to try shipping one all the way to Westmeath from Munich in the first place. That said, I doubt I would have liked this anyway. I don't get along with Hofbräu beers in general, and an unfiltered semi-dark lager seems like an unlikely candidate to redeem them. If I'd known what it was, I probably would have stuck to the excellent Marooned.

Niggles about beer quality didn't stop me from having a good time in Athlone. Dead Centre's pizza are top notch (the currywurst special a particular highlight) and the whole vibe of the place is upbeat and friendly. It appears to do a roaring local trade, though I fear they might not be as beer-curious as a production facility like this needs them to be.

Slick Zich

Back in September I promised a return visit to the beers of Zichovec, as they had been starting to appear in their stylish new livery. And I promised to include a lager. So here we are.

The pleasure of Zichovec begins with picking up the can: that extra 60ml over the standard results in an immediate feeling of being treated. This can contains Devítka, a session lager of 9° Plato, or 3.6% ABV in our money. That's a tricky format in which to make a good beer, though the visuals here are excellent, with a bright golden body -- slightly hazed -- and a handsome head of stiff white foam. The aroma is rich and sweet, like that of a luxurious Munich Helles, while the hops wait for the flavour to arrive. That's classically Czech, of course: lightly grassy with a flinty mineral edge, and meticulously balanced. But they can't possibly have given it a properly full body at 9°, can they? Reader, they have. I found this indistinguishable from a precision-engineered full-strength světlý ležák, with enough depth to keep it interesting while being, in accordance with the label's claim, seriously sessionable. This is a rock-solid beer by any measure, but at only 3.6% ABV it's a triumph.

"Nothing But Strata" is a bold statement of intent for the next one, a hazy New England-style IPA of 7% ABV. It's one of the very beige sorts, heavily murky, though with a similarly handsome head to the foregoing lager. That struck me as perhaps not entirely compatible with the clean tropical juice that is Strata's best attribute, but the aroma is all juice -- bright and fun -- with no sign of any dregs. There's a sideways move in the flavour. It's still completely clean, and sings with fresh American hops, but it tastes of fruit candy rather than real juice. I got orange-flavoured Skittles and Starburst in particular. A hint of vanilla adds to the candy effect, though there's also a much more grown-up heat from the booze. But no garlic, and no dusty plasterboard. This has been thought through in advance and, I suspect, flawlessly executed. Hazy IPA promises fluffy sweetness and mouthwatering fruit; this is one that delivers on that perfectly. It's not a style I'll ever get excited about, but to find one done so competently when that's far from the norm, elicits a nod of approval from me. My main takeaway is the question: why doesn't every brewery make them like this?

And if you thought that was unCzech, our finisher is Like A Pickle Shot, a sour beer (purportedly a gose) with pickle brine and oak chips. One might think something like this is done at minimal ABV but this one is a sizeable 5.1%. It's a bright hazy yellow and smells sweet, and a little plasticky, with a vinegar tang, like if the candy companies made a pickle gumdrop. I'm used to these being crisp and fizzy, because they're usually much lower-strength, but this is full and smooth, with a slickness to its brine foretaste. Immediately after that, there's a green, gourdish, central flavour: cucumber and courgette, laid on strong and earthy. That gives it an acidic bitterness which is entirely separate from the one provided by the souring culture, which is third in the queue after the salt and vegetable. As a result, this is a bit of a workout, and is not going to be a beer for everyone. Or most people. Or, indeed, many people. The Zichovec attention to detail is apparent once more, but the detail here is making a beer that tastes of gherkins. They've completely nailed it, and you might not want them to have. I enjoyed the gimmickry, but ultimately the beer isn't the cleansing and tart refresher I want from this format. Polite applause for the technical side, but it's not quite to my taste, and I'm one of the few people I know who actually enjoys this kind of beer. I'm sure they'll be all over it in the Slavic lands, however.

The IPA in particular gives me hope that that side of Zichovec's output, which is a significant proportion of it, might be worth exploring further. Overall, their blend of brewing skill and unusual ideas makes them a brewery worth coming back to.

The struggle

In early October I watched the new beers arrive on the Craft Central website and counted 17 variants on pale ale in the chronological list before there was something else. That something else was Into The Abyss, a Festbier by Whiplash. Sold!

It boasts of decoction, which is a nice piece of beer nerdery, whatever you think of the process itself. 5.8% ABV is a proper feisty Festbier strength, and there's an edge of amber darkness about the colour. It smells rich and wholesome, the cake-like malt complemented by contrasting hop sharpness from Saaz and Perle. As expected, it's chewy, though doesn't lose sight of its fundamental lager crispness. This would still be drinkable in Maßkrug quantities, but only just. The foretaste is a little reticent and it takes a moment for the flavour to develop. I thought there would be more malt sweetness but the biscuit side of the picture is quite restrained. Instead, the hops use the beer's density to build gradually on the palate, starting as a dry papery rasp but intensifying into a more enjoyable green bitterness, as of fresh leafy vegetables. One can view this as both filling and nutritious while also refreshing and gulpable: the sweet spot for the style. Whiplash should brew more lagers.

Elsewhere in south-west Dublin, Rascals held their annual Rocktoberfest. As usual, there was a lager to mark the occasion, although not as usual it was canned as well, which means I got to try it. As far as I can see, previous editions were in an Oktoberfest-appropriate style, whereas this year it's a pilsner. It's a festively strong one, though, at 5.1% ABV. It's pilsner-pale in the glass, perfectly clear, though lacking head retention for the genuine German effect. The aroma has a proper hit of noble hop herbs, all done with Tettananger hops, we're told, and the strength gives it enough of a Festbier weight. It's still a pils though: no bed of pillowy Bavarian malt, but instead an altogether more Prussian starkly crisp grain flavour. That's well suited to the equally-stark hopping, which goes big on bittering and chooses a hard, medicinal, mineral flavour as the centrepiece, mixing flint, wax, earth and boiled green cabbage. I thought I might have got past my aversion to concentrated German hop flavours, but I haven't: as I mentioned recently, they just don't cross my path as often these days. This is a well-made beer, but the choice of flavour hop is unfortunately not to my taste.

Regardless, it's still pleasing that my local breweries are well able to make decent lager. When they want to, that is.

Turning crisp

I last checked in at Open Gate in August, when the autumn beer schedule was being drawn up. I promised you doppelbock. They promised me doppelbock. But alas it was not to be: although the beers are almost entirely confined to the taproom, they're subject to the usual stringent Guinness quality controls, and that batch didn't pass. So what else did the turn of the seasons bring?

Summer was not quite cold in its grave when the brewery summoned winter with a Sichuan Stout. This is built on the export frame at 5.9% ABV, though it's surprisingly sweet -- much as I love this style in general it's best when it's roasty and bitter. Here, the bitterness is no stronger than mainstream dark chocolate. The texture is a little on the thin side too. I let my cold and fizzy pint flatten and warm for a bit but it didn't get a whole lot fuller. Behind the chocolate lies the pepper, and it's tasted more than felt, adding quite a mild piquancy, one with no real burn. I'm sure that's deliberate and sensible, but I reckon if you're going to do daft stunt recipes, you may as well go all-in. The overall result is a fine export stout, but a simple, accessible chocolatey one. I enjoyed it once I stopped thinking about how I would have brewed it differently from Guinness did.

Summer then turned a bit Indian with the arrival of Peach Wit. It looks the part: a deep hazy yellow with a fluffy white head. The peach aroma is pretty powerful, covering anything else that might have been going on with floral peach perfume. And that goes even harder in the flavour, concentrated like an undiluted cordial. There's a bitter side too, which the brewery lists as a feature but to me tastes more like the kind of bug that creeps in when you overdo the fruit syrup. That said, I am assured it's done almost entirely via real, skin on, peaches. The base witbier contributes a pleasant softness which takes some of the edge off. The whole thing takes a bit of getting used to, and you need to be tolerant of gimmick, but I liked the all-in peach-bomb jollity. A half was plenty, however.

I was warned about the Pecan Pie Brown Ale before I'd even ordered it. After that awful hazelnut one from O'Hara's, however, my baseline expectations were low. It arrived looking a bit pale and sickly. The aroma does a great job of capturing real pecans, mixing the syrupy sweet side with a harder woody dry kick. The flavour is... a journey. Problem one is the beer is too thin. That introduces a harshness in the foretaste, where the nut crunch loses its sweetness and turns to cardboard or plywood. It doesn’t last long, however, and we're back to lovely dessertish pecans by the end. That finish runs for ages, still wafting maple vapours onto the palate long after the beer is gone. Something of a curate's egg, this. I don't think it quite works overall, but the aroma and aftertaste show that there's promise in the concept.

Arriving at the same time was El Dorado SMASH, a pale ale which suffers a bit from a similar thinness. It's less of a problem here, though. The beer is light and refreshing, zinging with zesty lemon, plus a modest swoosh of pine resin. It doesn't last long, however, fading to watery fizz after a few moments. That would be OK if it were a deliberately light beer, but seems off for this one's 5% ABV. It works, but it's far from spectacular. Still, I'm happy that Open Gate's hopped-up pale ales aren't the sad banana-laden messes they used to be. I'll take the win and move on.

Out next was Midnight Saison, subsequently renamed Oregano Bay. I've had so many great black saisons over the years, it's a shame they're not more commonplace. This one is 5.5% ABV and the base is one of the fruitier examples, giving me a slice of banana in with its dry straw and tickle of roast. There's a gimmick, however: the addition (per the name) of oregano and bay leaf, and that's not subtle. If you don't like your beer tasting like the rub for a nice piece of fish, this might be best avoided. I liked the big herb of it, however, which mixes oily winterish savoury notes -- sage and rosemary, for me, even though they're not used -- with the base beer's sweeter fruit side. I've made it sound busy, but all the contrasting flavours integrate well with each other and the beer, by the pint, is thirst-quenching, as saison ought to be. Excellent work.

I have long lauded Open Gate's prowess with lagers, though recent efforts haven't quite lived up to the early glories. There's a return to form, however, with First Draught, a Helles they put out in October. The slight haze was a little concerning but it shouldn't have been. This is a masterpiece of balance, crisp as you like and pilsner-dry rather than Helles cakey, which is my preference. The hop flavour is pure nobility, but delicate with it, offering salad leaves and a slightly harder spinach bite. At 4.5% ABV it's light, and quite fizzy too. This makes it highly refreshing and very well suited to session drinking. I might have badged it as more of a Kellerbier, myself, but such distinctions are immaterial in these parts. Quality is what counts.

That was followed swiftly by The Final Act, in the rare and retro style of American Wheat. I seem to remember these being clear, since they don't use a weissbier yeast. This doesn't either, but is the same hazy sunset orange of many a weizen. The yeast is neutral, however, and that allows for a massive blast of C-hops. Almost too much, in fact. It's the raw green acidity of biting a pellet, an effect that starts slowly but builds gradually. In a world where big hops has come to mean tropical and stonefruit, this is an educational throwback to what "American" used to signify when applied to beer. Behind the hops, there's a clean lager-like crispness with a hint of grain husk and breadcrust. The wheat element contributes a certain softness to the texture, helping balance the hard bittering. I liked it. If the aim was to do hard and uncompromising American hops, it worked, and better than many a contemporary remake of west coast IPA. IBU chasers, take note.

I'm going to draw a line under this post here, though the next raft of Open Gate beers will be landing in very soon. Mexican hot chocolate stout and sour rhubarb may be making an appearance, if they pass QA.

What sweet music

Last year, Wicklow Wolf released a black IPA for Halloween called Devil's Glen. It seems they hadn't exhausted their supply of spooky Wicklow placenames, nor glow-in-the-dark label ink, because this year they're back with more of the same. Slaughter Hill is again 6.66% ABV, though they give us no further information on what it's brewed with. It's on point for the style, however, beginning on a pungently bitter and roast-forward aroma, suggesting burning tyres, mulchy leaf mould and damp wool. Lovely. The flavour is more straightforward: the dry dark grain of a porter hits vegetal hops, for two kinds of bitterness in every mouthful. That's softened slightly by lighter notes of flowers and medicinal herbs. It's heavy and warming too; more wintery than autumnal, but still finishes cleanly. I would have liked more and bigger of what it does, especially the hopping, but it hits the black IPA spot nicely. I hope we can expect another something similar next year.

Extra Elevation proved to be reduced Elevation, as the can suffered a slow puncture on the way home and I lost about half the contents. A shame, because it's really good. Elevation pale ale is a favourite, being an ultra-clean and well-balanced, pure-of-heart, American-style pale ale. This brand extension has almost double the ABV at 8.4% and is double-dry hopped. Though slightly darker with the additional gravity, it's still brightly clear and golden. Sharp and pithy grapefruit meets smoothly oily pine, the hop impact enhanced by the stronger malt weight. It's beefy, but extremely drinkable, and didn't suffer from being emergency-served at room temperature. In a recent pale ale round-up, I noted how The White Hag and Rye River were going to fun and interesting places with west coast IPA. Now Wicklow Wolf is too. Anyone who likes their IPA strong, transparent and popping with bitterness would do well to get hold of this one.

They've thrown us a curve ball for dessert. Scoff Limits "caramelised biscuit stout" doesn't mention Biscoff by name, but I think Lotus Bakeries would have them bang to rights on infringing evocation. Its nature is immediately apparent from the intense caramel aroma, the runny sort, with a dash of biscuit crumb too, making it smell like a banoffee pie, minus the banana. It's only 5% ABV and as a result it's not as thick and sticky as I was expecting. In fact, while it's not thin, there's a decent amount of sparkle, making it almost refreshing. The sweetness is all in the taste rather than texture. Milk chocolate and toffee are as predicted, but there's also dark treacle and a pronounced cinnamon spice which absolutely makes the beer, just as it makes the biscuit. This isn't a million miles from last winter's Truffle Shuffle, though I think it's better. You don't need to add chocolate to make a lovely chocolatey stout, is the lesson here. Yes it's a gimmick beer, but thought and skill went into its creation.

Of note is the fact that all three of these one-offs have roots in previous beers from Wicklow Wolf. While I don't like the idea of a brewery limiting its horizons and creative scope, it is a positive sign that some limited edition beers become springboards for further ones later on. We didn't get the regular calendar of Locavore beers this year. Perhaps an annual autumn black IPA and winter sweet stout is the new pattern.