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.

Round numbers

Another Monday, another blog post, another round-up of recent Irish pale ale. This one is the blog's 3000th entry. It's best not to think about what that means, and move right along with the reviews.

Spent bread beers were a bit of a thing a few years ago. Wicklow Wolf still has one in annual production and now Lough Gill has added one, getting their crusts from the O'Hehirs bakery chain. Oh! is a pale ale at 4.5% ABV and looks lager-like in the glass: a mostly clear yellow with lots of bubbles and a fine white head. The aroma is crisp and broadly citric but doesn't offer anything especially distinctive or noteworthy. There's a decently slick body -- almost chewy -- but while that would surely be an excellent base for launching some new-world hop fireworks, it's a bit dull on tasting. There's a slightly sweaty savoury aspect, a little bit lemon cookie with a touch of oaty flapjack. "Easy drinking" and "brewed for adventure" says the brewery. They can't have both. I found it rather dull. It's simple and clean, and has a pleasant substance which I'm guessing is the bread doing its work, but it needs a stronger hop charge. I know from other examples that this sort of beer doesn't have to be basic and compromised, so I don't know why Lough Gill has made this one so.

That was followed several weeks later by Hazy Sunshine, about the most on-the-nose name for a summer "tropical IPA". Nectaron, Wai-iti, Waimea and Mosaic are the hops, which certainly sounds like lots of potential for tropicality. The aroma offers a significant degree of fruit salad, but also a harder pith bitterness, suggesting that it won't be sunny the whole way through. It's a heavy affair, tasting denser than even 6.1% ABV might imply, and I found myself wishing I'd served it ice cold rather than the slightly higher setting of my beer fridge. The extra warmth allows a little bit of dry grit into the flavour, just beginning to edge in on the fruit effect from the hops. That bitterness I noticed in the aroma doesn't really materialise in the taste, and instead it's thick and gummy, loaded with concentrated pineapple and mango. A tarter juice and zest effect arrives in the finish, but that's as close to bitter as it gets. I would say it's harmless fun, but the alcohol heat really puts a dampener on any carefree summer vibes it may otherwise have had. This is a serious sort of sunshine. We've become unfortunately accustomed to that around here lately.

I don't get to feature Hopkins & Hopkins on here much: it's a brewery that tends to do only a few things, but does them well. One of its handful of regular outlets is Moss Lane on Pearse Street, where they're pouring a new H&H pale ale called Easy - East. It's a medium orange colour and was served pleasingly cold in the high heat of summer last week. Fresh and juicy mandarin kicks off the aroma and follows through to the flavour, where it's joined by a surprise peppercorn spice and a weighty citrus oil, like a Terry's Chocolate Orange, minus the chocolate. I was reminded in particular of the much-missed Purgatory from the somewhat-missed Franciscan Well brewery. This kind of clean and simple American-style pale ale is far from the bleeding edge of craft beer, and that makes it all the more worthwhile, especially when it's more than a lazy clone of the mainstream.

Over at The Porterhouse they had a rare new one under their own brand, brewed by The White Hag. Cruel Summer is a cold IPA, a style that seems to have gone out of fashion for no good reason. It's a light 4.6% ABV and a very pale yellow, gently hazed. And yet: the dank. It smells pungently weedy with a twist or two of coarse-ground pink peppercorn. The flavour opens on that, brightly and shockingly, but quickly calms down, introducing softer tropical juice and a more orthodox pithy American bitterness. It finishes in a clean and crisp lager fashion, meaning that despite the BIG hop taste, it would work as a session beer. I sometimes fear that I might be getting a bit bored of beer, that maybe they're all actually quite samey and not worth the effort I put in to finding new ones. This was a reminder, a stark one, that beer still has the power to impress and excite. If you're in the vicinity of The Porterhouse or Tapped this summer, do not miss.

From the around-for-ages-but-new-to-me file, Five Lamps IPA. The brand is a pox on Irish beer in general, wrapping itself in the Dublin flag while being brewed by C&C in Clonmel. But at the otherwise lovely Toner's pub, its IPA was the best of a very poor draught selection. It's a sizeable 5% ABV yet still manages to be quite thin and bland. The hops offer no more than a whisper of strawberry and an English metallic tang; and while it's malt-forward, that's not very pronounced either, being lightly caramelised with a bigger kick of dry tannin. It tastes cheap, which isn't terribly surprising since I'm led to believe the range was created to provide Dublin publicans with cheap beer, to compete with the heavily-promoted famous brands. My pint, of course, was not cheap, at €8. It's all about the margins, and this IPA is only marginally enjoyable, so that tracks.

In the same file we find another 5%-er, Rye River's Hazy Bangin' pale ale. This has allegedly been on sale in Tesco for yonks, just not any of the many Tescoes I visit on my travels around Dublin. Then Dunnes got it too and, hallelujah, I was able to buy it in the Stephen's Green Centre while picking up the still-brilliant Grafters brown ale. I don't know if the recipe has much in common with the archetypal Irish west-coast IPA, Big Bangin', of which it's a brand extension. It's certainly not in the west-coast style, what with the haze, and doesn't have the same brightness of hop. Instead there's a medium-sweet zestiness in both aroma and flavour, the former introducing a slightly sticky orange cordial note, while the taste includes some surprise coconut. It's good fun, but I wouldn't call it bangin', exactly. There's a strong caramel malt note which took me a while to place, realising eventually it's something you get from once-hoppy beer that's been sitting too long. My can was four months inside the printed best-before date so I had a reasonable expectation of freshness. I fear, however, this beer may be a delicate creature, not built for the neglect of warm supermarket shelves. As with the IPA the brewery makes for Lidl's Crafty Brewing range, I suspect one must be careful here about freshness. I will seek out a younger edition next time. This one was passable, but no more than that. Even Dunnes has better hopped-up options available. 

Brasserie Nautile visited Ireland in the spring, and included The White Hag on their itinerary, where they helped brew Salt & Stone, a West Coast IPA. This looks well, having the same pristine golden clarity as the brewery's excellent flagship, Little Fawn. It smells sharp, zesty and classically American, which is in its favour; the mere 5.6% ABV less so. I found it surprisingly soft, not bitter, its flavour more succulent stonefruit than punchy citrus. The peach and lychee subsides after a moment, leaving a sharper bite of fried onion and then, finally, a buzz of grapefruit and lime oil. It's not exactly full-on, delivering the IPA basics but nothing spectacular. That's in spite of, or possibly because of, a highly involved hop charge, featuring Columbus, Chinook, Centennial, Motueka and Simcoe. I reckon they've blurred into each other and there's nothing distinctive about the beer as a result. This is inoffensive and a bit anodyne. It certainly doesn't come across as one of those brave and wacky recipes that brewers like to devise when they get together. I enjoyed its simplicity,  but honestly I think I'd have preferred a Little Fawn from the supermarket. Sure, it's West Coast all the way, but that doesn't automatically make it a great beer.

I can't imagine what the prompt which created Curtain Twitcher's label said, nor can I believe that the horrific result was the best the AI could come up with for Third Barrel Brewing. Suffice it to say that the promise of Nelson Sauvin and Citra attracted me more than the "artwork" did. It's an IPA; hazy, though not billed as such, and quite a dense-looking shade of orange. The brewery knows how to use Nelson, and it's very prominent in the aroma: flinty sparks and squashy pineapple. A more subtle white grape and gooseberry takes over in the flavour, plus a weedy dankness and background note of fruit candy, which I'm guessing comes from the third hop, Lotus. There's lots of complexity, then, none of it especially novel, but if the basic formula works, why go changing it? Most importantly, nothing has gone wrong. Hazy it may be, but it's perfectly clean and lets the hops do all the talking. 6% ABV gives them a solid base to work from, the malt providing texture without interrupting the taste. Quality stuff, and recommended in particular to my follow enjoyers of Nelson Sauvin's mineral spice.

"A whole lot of New Zealand goodness" is the sum total of the description on DOT's Nectaron IPA. This is another kiwi-forward 6%-er, and hazy too, of course. The aroma is cool and crisp, hinting at peaches but their sharply perfumed skin rather than the sticky, juicy flesh. The flavour continues that theme, bringing a slightly jammy peach-preserve sweetness and matching it to dryer crisp pale grain. It's a heavy and viscous take on the tropical end of antipodean hopping. A bit of grass and some basil or thyme rubs up against the soft stonefruit. Overall, it's fine, but no great shakes. The hop flavour is a little muted, subdued, and not as full-on as I'd have liked it. DOT makes beers for Aldi and, for me, this one tasted more like that price bracket than the bigger number I paid for it in the independent trade. 

Grumbling further, I don't think I've ever enjoyed a beer badged as an "oat cream IPA". Corner Club by Galway Bay in collaboration with Swiss brewer Hoppy People is not specifically designated as such, but on the label the brewer boasts "we pushed oats and wheat to the max with this brew, creating the creamiest, juiciest IPA base possible," so I think I know what I'm dealing with. It certainly has the hazy custard appearance of the oat cream brigade. The aroma gives little away, but the presence of Nelson Sauvin is unmistakable, with a subtle waft of grape. On the flavour... there it is. Oat cream IPA always tastes like plasterboard: dry and rough, with an alkaline harshness. There's no juice, no cream, nothing soft, only harshness. I drank this back-to-back with Curtain Twitcher and it's amazing how a beer with similar specs as that -- 6.4% ABV here, with Citra and Riwaka accompanying the Nelson -- can result in something so different and so much less enjoyable. It's not massively offensive, but was rather bland once I got past the drywall rasp. The can art is good and the artist is named, so if you've ever drawn a correlation between that sort of thing, I don't think it works.

Galway Bay also takes us out with the strongest beer of the day: Disco Paradiso, another hazy affair, this one at 7.8% ABV. Sureshot of Manchester is the collaborating brewery, and they go to a lot of effort to explain the process that went into making it. Cold-steeped oats, whirlpool Nelson Sauvin and double dry-hopped with three further prestige varieties, one in HyperBoost® form. If this isn't silky juicy perfection then it's time to cancel the whole haze project. It's on the darker side of eggy yellow, with the greenish cast that very hoppy IPA sometimes takes on. Head formation is perfunctory and unenthusiastic. The aroma is a mix of saturated raw-hop vegetal notes and a friendlier kind of tropical buzz. There is a surprising amount of bitterness in the flavour, the Nelson in particular showing its old-world ancestry with a hard, almost waxy, grass bite. There's little room for tropical niceties underneath that, and it finishes bitter and resinous, albeit with a hint of lighter juice, lurking beneath the surface but largely overpowered and subdued. That's a pity. I appreciate that this is intended as a hop showcase, but it ends up unbalanced and rather harsh. The name and branding suggest a quirky and fun quality that's some distance from the rather serious bitter liquid.

Maybe the hot weather had me grumpy but, Porterhouse aside, there wasn't a lot to like here. If there's a theme, it's that a good dose of Nelson Sauvin can be a pale ale's saviour. Use more of that, just to be on the safe side.