Like Spain

At time of writing, the long hot summer of 2026 is continuing. You won't catch me on holiday in southern Europe, but today I've brought it home with four beers by Basqueland.

I thought 5.6% ABV was a bit strong for something called Bavarian Pils, but that's exactly the same as the arguable archetype from Augustiner, so I'll give it a pass. It's an appropriate clear golden colour, though its head was a little too quick to dissipate. The aroma is seriously funky in a noble hop way, smelling of silage and manure, in a most agricultural manner. Distinctive, assertive, but really not to my liking. The flavour is somewhat less extreme, and there's a more recognisable hop bitterness, though still extremely noble, with concentrated grass and a rocket or white pepper spice. This is one of those beers where I appreciated its boldness, but I tend not to like it when German brewers go hard on the hops, and this is very obviously trying to beat them at their own game. To me, "Bavarian" is antonym of "severe", implying an hospitable softness with maybe a slightly cheeky, spoil-yourself luxury. This beer, conversely, is a hard sensory workout: be prepared to sweat for it.

I was about to compliment Basqueland on including a west coast IPA in the range, and then remembered that the range is huge and I chose the styles judiciously, so Skeleton Bay's inclusion is on me. 6.7% ABV puts it in the right area for an American-style IPA, if a tiny bit light. They've gone pale with the specs, and left a modest degree of haze in there. Still, my authenticity-detecting antennae were tingling. Have they got this close enough? The aroma is mild, and more on the tropical side than citrus. There's a very solid malt density, so while the ABV may be a smidge low, they've still provided a generous base for the hops and given the beer a satisfyingly chewy texture. Loral, Cashmere and Idaho 7 are the dry hops, which perhaps goes some way to explain that tropicality. Can you really make a west coast IPA without some combination of Citra and/or Simcoe? They have, in fairness, given this one a sufficient clean bitterness to pass the style test. It lacks pine and dankness, opening instead on a sweet orange cordial effect, but that gives way quickly to a more starkly assertive pithy bite, one that lingers long, buoyed up by the thickness and leaving a wax-like residue on the palate, much like classic Sierra Nevada Pale Ale does. While this lacks the bite of the best west coast IPAs, and there's nothing for those who consider crystal malt an essential feature, it still delivers on the bitter promise of the style. An IPA brewed for the grown-up palate? What a concept!

From there we jump straight to triple IPA, and Elbow Grease, a 10% ABV hazy job, dark orange in colour with a loose-bubbled head. The hop schedule is a line-up of favourites, featuring Vic Secret, Sabro, Mosaic and Motueka, so I was expecting a good time, and I got it. Present and correct at the centre of them is Vic Secret's essence of aniseed, almost numbing in its concentration. Around it there's a deliciously juicy mandarin and pineapple fruit salad effect, with a hint of Sabro's pithy bite. Its aroma is simultaneously dank and sweet, which is a fun combination. The can art reflects it all nicely: colourfully childish attributes, but presented for adults only. About the only thing I can ding it for is how well hidden the alcohol is. This could easily pass for a mere double IPA. I don't usually need to consciously hold back from necking triple ones -- the booze burn tends to take care of that -- but here the warmth arrives very late. Dangerously late. Before that it's all sunshine, good times and Robert-Crumb hops wearing baseball caps and shades. There's no subtlety or understatement about any of  it, but it hangs together in a joyously enjoyable manner. Vic Secret enthusiasts: take particular note.

Our finisher is Boyicao, an imperial pastry stout. This is a full 12.5% ABV, though only modestly enhanced, with just chocolate and hazelnut. There has been no straying from the specs here: this pours as thickly as you'd expect, and smells luxurious, like a big slice of warm fudge cake, decadently frosted and served under a tall peak of whipped cream. And a glass of Tia Maria on the side. Surprisingly, it's the hazelnut which opens the flavour: a very slightly dry and nutty husky flavour. The chocolate sweeps in immediately after, all brownies and cookies, followed by an almost spirituous alcohol heat. That doesn't build, however, so like the triple IPA above, the prodigious booziness is expertly concealed. It's a big beer, but jolly, not dangerous or problematic. Again, the label expresses the beer's nature accurately: chocolate confectionery on an epic space quest. That's how it tastes.

I'm quite surprised to find the lager is the one that didn't particularly suit me, though I fully recognise that's a matter of my taste, not the product's quality. Basqueland has produced some exemplary work here. I commend all of these beers, whether I liked them or not.

The Queens of Hungary

I have some tripartite brand extendery for you today. The three beers are from Horizont of Budapest, who made one beer, and then tried to sell tweaked versions of it to idiots who just want new, slightly different, beers to satisfy their weird cravings. Fancy that!

Our basis point is Hazy Queen, an IPA in the New England sub-style; 6% ABV and a bright and sunny opaque orange colour in the glass. The can says it's juicy and it certainly looks like juice. There's a sweetly citric quality to the aroma which helps it keep that promise, and the flavour balances biting hop acidity with softer fruit flesh very nicely. It stays on the citric side, threatening tropical without ever quite delivering it, and is deliciously clean with lots of refreshing zing. I assume it's something of a flagship, because it tastes like a beer that has been finely honed and deftly refined to be accessible and enjoyable to all. I could ding it for a lack of distinguishing features, but that would be churlish. It is, in the most complimentary sense of the word, daycent. The citizens of Budapest should be glad to have it as a regular. So how has the brewery managed to trash its rep by making other versions of it?

Well, the first take on that I have for you is Hazy Queen: Kohia Nelson Edition. It's the same strength and pretty much the same colour, if maybe a tiny bit paler. The aroma adds a dry huskiness to the pithy fruit, which is a little worrying. It's similarly smooth, and still citrus first, but the newcomer Kiwi hops don't really transform it. Yes, there's a tiny bit of lychee, white plum and whatnot, bringing a slightly more exotic fruit element, but it doesn't significantly alter the beer from its base, nor bring any significant improvement. If I liked it more, it's because I got to drink a full 44cl of it. It's just as clean, exactly as (not very) juicy, and a jolly fun time. But we're still merely in daycent territory and nothing fancier.

Never mind the hops, then, feel the gravity. We finish on Hazy Double Queen, the original beer, dialled up to 8% ABV. There's no difference to the appearance, but the aroma does seem brighter and ballsier, suggesting biteable fleshy citrus. Yum. On tasting it's definitely heavier and hotter, which is its own kind of fun, but I had been hoping that the hops would be brighter and more colourful. That doesn't happen. Instead, we're back to the nets of satsumas and mandarins, just given a bit of extra malt poke. There's a breadish chewiness and a little boozy heat, though honestly it's not hugely different from the baseline. No marks off, and all is I'm sure as the brewer intended; I'm not awestruck by the presence of double royalty, however.

If there are props to be given, it's because they didn't do anything silly or unpleasant with the variants. They're largely as good as the original, and very worthy of the name. The question, then, is why bother with the minor edge-tinkering? Hazy Queen fans may feel aggrieved that the brewery is making a play for more of their pocket money without doing enough to justify it. Poor show, lads.

Keep Ballymahon weird

Sometime wild beer specialist Wide Street Brewing continues to pursue other goals with its two latest releases.

"Wakame" is mentioned four times on the can of Umi Lager, so its inclusion in the ingredients is a big deal. There's no explanation as to what it is, however. Turns out it's a seaweed, used in Japanese cuisine. The beer is a pale muddy yellow, its head lasting only briefly. It's not flat, though, and has a fully lager-appropriate sparkle, with a decent body, flattering the 4.8% ABV. As well as seaweed, we're promised Sorachi Ace hops, but that's not a huge part of it. Sorachi extremophiles will have to make do with a sweetly satsuma-esque aroma and some gentle cloudy lemonade citrus in the flavour. I can't say I noticed the wakame, other than maybe a mild saline savouriness, but I could easily have imagined that. It's not bland, however. This has the unpolished but very tasty quality of good Czech or German unfiltered lager. With Japanese rice, Japanese hops and unusual aquatic adjuncts, it seems to promise exotic, but instead it's fundamentally decent and very enjoyable. It's a hack observation to say that it would match well with subtly flavoured Japanese seafood but it actually would.

With Krush, the brewery has aimed for hazy but ended up at muddy, the beer's soupy brown appearance as unattractive as the smudgy AI-generated label. The aroma is candy-sweet, suggesting a cordial stickiness, and it's thin-bodied, even for a mere 5.2% ABV. Judging by everything else, I wasn't expecting much from the flavour, so that wasn't as disappointing as it otherwise might have been. Let's see... The sweetness isn't anything like as strong as the aroma suggested, and there's a slightly dreggy dry and bitter huskiness. El Dorado and Krush both tend towards the tropical, and there's a flash of that, but it's not the main feature. Instead, I get a mineral, chalky rasp, a little too much fizz, and an abrupt finish. The can says it's smooth and soft; I say it didn't turn out as the brewer wanted it. I doubt it's turned out as anyone wanted it. The thing about there being lots and lots of hazy IPAs on sale is that the bad ones really stick out, and this is a bad one.

That the tricky exotic lager worked out beautifully while the basic IPA didn't should perhaps not be surprising with Wide Street. It's a brewery that, for the most part, has gone about things the hard way, and we the drinkers have benefited from that. I think they should stay fancy, because simple doesn't suit them.

Solid state

The beer range at Marks & Spencer is something I tend to pick at, rather than actively pursue. But there's a bigger range of them in the UK, and I couldn't help but grab an armful of randomers last time I was passing through that way. Nothing fancy, mind.

First it's an extremely straight-up Helles Lager, stating what it is in large capital letters on the 33cl can. It's brewed by Cornish brewery Harbour, which does a few contractual things of this nature, as I recall. 4.5% ABV seems a little inauthentically low, and it poured without a proper head, which it definitely should not. There isn't much aroma, but it seems broadly on-style: a snap of cracker with a hint of lemon zest. I was thirsty, so half the glass went in one gulp, and there was plenty of invigorating fizz, keeping it dry and properly refreshing. They still managed to shoot themselves in the foot here, however, because the can says it's "lightly carbonated". It is not. In all honesty, how it tastes was not a major concern for me, but out of respect for you, specifically, I will say that it's very plain stuff. There's a slightly hot fruitiness, suggesting the same sort of careless brewing flaw that made it headless, but you'd barely notice that. I can't remember how much it cost, but I'm assuming not much. Drink it cold; lie back and think of anywhere but Germany.

Being northern, there's a better head on the Session IPA by Northern Monk, and it's lighter than the previous at 4.2% ABV. I knew there was haze coming but didn't expect it this early in the set: it looks like a witbier, translucently pale and hazy. There's a pleasant citric zest in the aroma, suggesting it's no sensory lightweight, whatever the strength might indicate. The flavour starts well, with a fairly assertive bitterness, but the lack of substance, I guess, causes it to all fade away frustratingly fast. The pithy American zing gets replaced by a gritty, savoury quality, a common attribute of wonky haze. I mean, yes, you could have a session on this IPA, but personally I wasn't on for drinking more than one. First of all they should warn people it's hazy -- "juicy" isn't enough, especially when it doesn't taste juicy at all -- and secondly they should clean it the hell up. I wouldn't go quite so far as to say this was a can of useless watery dregs, but it leans in that direction. Only the aroma makes it more of a positive than negative experience. Next!

Next is a little pink can of Hazy Pale Ale. This looks less hazy than the Session IPA, being a bright yellow Golden Delicious shade, and close to transparent. Vocation is the brewer, and it's 4.8% ABV. The aroma doesn't have much to say, and the texture is light, lacking the soft fuzz that's one of haze's signatures, and which I know can be done at this gravity. Its flavour is all up front, and it should carry a health warning for Mosaic-dodgers. I know what people mean when they complain about that hop's sweaty onion tendency, but I don't usually taste it as powerfully as it is manifest here. There's a fried edge and a scallion-green acidity; a faint fruit-chew sweet side, finishing on drier caraway husk. All of that flashes past quicker than it took you to read about it and, perhaps mercifully, there's no aftertaste. This passes as a hazy pale ale, sure, but it's very much a supermarket kind of one, lacking brightness, flare and individuality. Another damp squib, I'm sorry to say.

Finally, the big pink can contains the New England IPA, another from Northern Monk. It's a bruiser at 6.2% ABV and is a little darker than ideal: densely opaque, but with a slight orange cast at its heart. We are not told the hop varieties on the label, but from the get-go I detect the presence of Sabro, Sorachi Ace or one of them fellows, because there's a strong waft of coconut. The aroma adds a little dessertish vanilla to that. This particular hop profile has a tendency to taste pithy, and it does so here in spades. Forget your typical custard or juice of most NEIPA, this starts on a strong and sharp rasp of citrus peel, beginning as jaffas and then intensifying, almost to the level of fresh grass or smouldering plastic. It's invigorating and, if you're one of the Sorachi tribe like me, tremendous fun. I thought we'd get something more typical on the fade-out, but that pithiness continues all the way into the finish, given significant legs, and a charming warmth, by the sizeable strength. I liked it a lot, but be warned it's not the accessible easy-drinker one might expect from a big chain grocer like M&S.

It seems the ABV is enough information on which to judge these beers. Bigger is better, by and large. There was a possibility that M&S and its generally reputable contract brewers would have done the styles well. Not the case, unfortunately, but you probably knew that.

Cultivating enjoyment

I had enough fun with the beers from Croatia's Garden Brewery recently that I picked up cans of the other two beers of theirs currently in circulation in Dublin.

The first is a hazy IPA, and if I hadn't been specifically chasing the brewery's wares, I would have ignored this. Sure they all taste the same. The numbers on Oseka are boringly orthodox too: 6.2% ABV at 30 IBUs. It's brightly yellow, completely opaque and topped by plentiful, if loose, white foam. The hops are a solid combination of Citra, Simcoe and Galaxy, though they've introduced a random factor via experimental variety HBC 431. I have to wonder how that experiment is going, because it hasn't yet been given a name despite my having encountered it almost nine years ago, at a brewery which no longer exists. The beer smells sweet and creamy, with plentiful vanilla backed by a pithy tang of lemon peel and jaffa orange. It was a surprise, then, to find coconut as the loudest part of the flavour: big and bitter, concentrated to the point of tasting almost medicinal. That's fun, but doesn't last, and there's very little behind it. After the initial hit, we're heading straight for the finish line, where the vanilla puts in a token appearance before it all tails away to nothing. It's fine: a perfectly serviceable IPA in the New England style, and if you're one of the distressing number of beer drinkers who demand more of these, then this is a good one. I enjoyed it on that level but don't feel I learned much from the experience.

Plima is a double IPA, though low-balled for an American-style beer, at a mere 7.4% ABV. The can says it's juicy, so customers shouldn't be surprised to find it pours opaque, and it's a pale yellow shade with decent head retention for this sort of thing. The aroma is very sweet, passing vanilla and heading for condensed milk, with added pineapple concentrate. It gets even more tropical on tasting, stacking pineapple on pineapple, with creamy coconut for additional exotic sweetness. This gets balanced somewhat by an assertive citric pith, bitterer than is typical in haze, but very welcome nonetheless. The low(ish) alcohol helps it stay clean and cool. It doesn't really feel like a double IPA, but I don't mind. This is overall good fun, pulling some impressive moves with the hops and avoiding anything unpleasant or daft. Fair play.

I'm glad I went against my instincts to try these out. Garden hasn't always been my favourite brewery, and hazy IPA certainly hasn't been my favourite style. A bit of persistence has paid off for both of us, however.

Krieking at the edges

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

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

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

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

The blip

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

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

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

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

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