States of mind

It's off to the USA but without leaving Derbyshire today, courtesy of Thornbridge.

Starting on the west coast, Frisco is a California common, a market largely cornered by Anchor Steam but which I guess brewers liking making as a technical exercise. I certainly can't imagine other ones being popular with the drinking public, beyond tickers like me. This looks lovely in the glass, though the clear golden hue immediately put me in mind of bitingly citric IPA, even though I knew that's not the offer. That said, there's a beautiful floral aroma telling me that hops will feature, and it's there in the flavour too: rose petals and lavender with a dusting of lemon sherbet on the end. That's pleasant, in quite a different way to Anchor Steam, but I think this one is a little lacking on the malt front. It tastes much lighter than I'd expect for 5% ABV. It's probably better to think of it as a clean, simple and fizzy American-style pale ale, and I enjoyed it on those terms.

If California common is rare, Kentucky common is rarer still. The only one I've encountered is the much-missed one that Wicklow Wolf created in their early days. While that was dark, The Colonel is amber-coloured and I can't be bothered finding out which is more authentic. This one has a lot more malt character than the above, from the sweet biscuit aroma to the Veda and fruitcake flavour. The hop varieties are old-school American ones, but guessing blind I'd have said they were Germanic: there's a noble green quality to the bitterness here. It took me a while to figure this one out: it's not brash or any way distinctive, but there's a gentle elegance to it, the chewy malt balanced by both that grassy bite and a dry grain-husk side. There's enough tannin for me to suggest that English bitter is its nearest taste-a-like, though it could be mistaken for a Vienna lager also. The ABV is again 5%, but here it's much more apparent, resulting in a classy and satisfying sipping beer.

Given the on-the-nose naming at work, Dancing Horses ought to be a Vienna lager, but it's actually a California-style IPA, brewed in collaboration with Track of Manchester. Californians wouldn't normally brew their IPA at only 5.5% ABV, but that's what they've done. It does at least look like Sculpin, with the classic bright golden body topped by a healthy layer of fine white froth. Grapefruit aroma? Check. It's a delightfully dry number, with the malt serving only to give the hops a base. The hopping isn't harsh, but packs just the right amount of wallop to be enjoyable, mixing sharp citrus with piney resin and crunchy cabbage leaf. The label promises pineapple, melon and passionfruit, but I get none of that: it's pine and grapefruit all the way, and frankly that's perfect. I might like a point or two of extra strength, but otherwise this walks the walk along Venice Beach and over the Golden Gate Bridge (I've never been to California). Collaboration brews have a tendency to be way-out and wacky, whereas this has all the understated quality of a core beer.

That was a bit of fun: two unusual styles and one classic, all done with the standard Thornbridge attention to detail and quality. We're in a very different beer world to the one in which they started in 2005, but they've still definitely got it.

Very common

Don't mess with a classic. Or maybe do. I'll say this at least: the arrival of a Dry-Hopped version of Anchor Steam Beer did make me go out and buy a bottle of the original version for comparison.

The newbie appears a little hazier, though is still the same rich copper shade. From the aroma the malt seems to be still in charge, but there's a zesty lemon sherbet that wasn't there before. And that's the same story on tasting: an unsubtle citric hop layer, all lemon curd and liquorice. The original, crisp, Anchor Steam Beer is still visible, but it's like it has been crop-dusted with a thick layer of hop perfume.

It works, and it's actively pleasant to drink, but I'm not sure it's really an improvement. It doesn't magically become a modern west-coast IPA, and fully retains its old-world stylings, in the manner of a 1950s sweetshop. Part of me expected it to be near identical to Anchor Steam but this is definitely its own thing.

Most importantly of all, there's precious little that tastes like this on the shelves these days.

Pure independence

I'm fairly sure that my interest in craft beer began when The Porterhouse opened in Dublin back in 1996. One of the first international craft beers I ever encountered was the one often credited with starting the whole craft beer movement: San Francisco's Anchor Steam Beer. And yet in all this time I never got around to tasting it. Until now.

It reminds me a lot of the French bière de garde style: a medium-weight amber ale, strongly carbonated with a light dusting of sediment. There's a lot going on in the flavour department, with sweet caramel on the lips, a rich malty middle, subtle hops at the back of the palate and then back to a filling treacle sweetness at the end. Something is wrong though: the date on the bottle suggests that it's fresh enough, but there's a dry sour musty character to the beer that I'm not sure is supposed to be there. Either it doesn't travel well or it's not made to my taste in ale.

Anchor also make the paler, stronger Liberty Ale. Again, this is thick-headed and slightly cloudy, though golden rather than amber. Tastewise it's somewhere between a German weiss and a Belgian tripel: having a much greater complexity than the former in terms of fruit and spice, though definitely not as engaging as the latter. Dry, rich, malty and definitely a cut above its sister ale.

Over on the right-hand coast is another craft beer pioneer: the Boston Beer Company, who brew the Samuel Adams brand beers. Their Boston Lager is fairly well known in these parts (reviewed here), but recently I spotted their Black Lager for the first time. It's a humdinger. It pours a deep deep red with light fizz and a short-lived head. The taste is an up-front smack of smoke and liquorice, fading to treacle and malt afterwards. Of the three beers in this post, this is the only one leaving me wishing it came in bigger bottles, 'cos I could do a pint of this. And then another. Why they didn't call it "Dunkel Sam" is beyond me.

Of course, these days you can hardly move for excellent American craft beer from a variety of small producers around the country. But for this post, given the date, I thought it appropriate to explore some of the origins of American independence.