The uncertainty that surrounds the rest of Diageo doesn't seem to be affecting the folks at Guinness: the one bit of the drinks multinational which looks to be washing its face, and no doubt the faces of Johnnie Walker and Captain Morgan too. At The Open Gate Brewery in Dublin, they're continuing to turn out new product, and the recipes have been particularly "the classic deli pickle flavor" is the oddly Americanised rationale behind Pickle Sour, arriving at the taproom in time for the late-June heatwave. It's 5% ABV, a pale gold and, shortly after pouring, quite headless. I understand that this is an established style of beer, though not one I've tasted before, so I don't know how accurately this example represents it. First off, it's not at all sour: no mixed-fermentation acidity nor kettle-soured yoghurt twang. It's light and refreshing, though, and while it's predominantly a sweet beer, it's far from the dessertishness of all those fake-sour candy fruit beers. Instead, it delivers the pickle element very successfully. At the centre there's the real green, almost crunchy, bite of gherkin, seasoned subtly and respectfully with herbs -- dill and fennel, says the menu. The accuracy of this serves as a reminder that quite a few spoonfuls of sugar have gone into your wholesome jar of cornichons. This wasn't what I expected, but I liked it. While not a vinegar delivery system like real pickles, it does channel their flavour competently. Of course it's a daft novelty beer, but I have respect for daft novelty when it's done this well.
Alongside it, we also got Specific Sunrise, a New England-style IPA, though a light example at only 4.7% ABV. Pint, so. It's rather wan looking, the sickly translucent yellow of a low-rent witbier. Still, the aroma is bright and cheery with lots of fresh lemony zing. The flavour is clean and, well, not very exciting. There's a simple zesty citrus foretaste which fades too-quickly into watery nothing, leaving only a carbonic bite from the abundant fizz. By the end of the pint, a little vanilla residue had built up, so I guess it qualifies as a New England IPA, though it's far from a good example. Despite being part of a big industrial brewing operation, Open Gate tends not to produce dull beer. This, though proficient and workmanlike, doesn't taste small-batch. Unlike too many of their IPAs, they haven't killed the hops with an overly estery yeast, but it tastes like they haven't used enough hops in the first place.
The next round included an intriguing-sounding Orange Cardamom Rye Ale. It looked pretty normal, the same clear amber colour as the rye ale Guinness made, back in 2016, when they were giving the craft cow a proper milking. This is the same 5% ABV. Rye is the one aspect of the offer that I couldn't taste immediately. The herbal cardamom is very prevalent, somewhere between the baking supplies aisle and the bathroom cabinet. Sweet and zesty orange follows, giving it high-end orangeade vibe: Club or Orangina. I'm told they made their own tincture of orange to get the effect. A faint, tokenistic, old-world hop rasp finishes it off. They served it cold and fizzy, which was deliciously refreshing as a warm-day pint. It is a bit strong for that, however, though since most Open Gate drinkers are here on their holidays, that's less of an issue. If peppery orangeade is something you value, then here it is, done decently, with a bit of poke. Shame about the absent rye, though.
After that pint, I chose to drop down to a half for the Barrel-Aged Cherry Ale, out of respect. OK, it's only 4.8% ABV, but this is a sour ale given six months in Calvados barrels and then aged further on real cherries. I expected it would be involved, and not the sort of beer one quaffs by the dirty great pint. The brewery says it's inspired by Belgian kriek lambic, even if it isn't one. It definitely isn't one. What I missed on reading the description is that it's also blended with a fresh cherry beer, and "blended with" in this context really means "diluted by". The result is very plain stuff, with no mature complexity of any kind. I was hard-pressed to find any indication of barrel aging. The cherry flavour is bright and candy-like, presented on a light and fizzy base. It's predominantly sweet, not sour, and has even more of a soft-drink quality than the orange one. It's passable, but pitched more at the squeals-at-pink-beer crowd than the insufferable mixed fermentation connoisseur. This is another bit of summer fun, and the only actually irritating part is how far the experience of drinking it is from how the brewery describes it. What know they of the finer oude krieks? Bugger all, I'd say.
The next round of releases appeared at first to contain a real surprise: the revival of the late and unloved Guinness Black Lager from 2010. A chat with the management revealed that this isn't the case; it's a new recipe and, with a pint in front of me, I can confirm that that's true. The new Black Lager tastes of something. Primarily hops, surprisingly. There's a hard and raw pellet bitterness from the get-go, running all the way through to the finishing vapours. That's set on a properly clean lager base but with a seam of slightly sticky Czech-like treacle. Together it works well, and is enjoyably flavoursome while refreshing to boot. At 4.2% ABV, it's done at a slightly lower strength than the earlier 4.5% take on the style. This is a neat example of how, for the most part, small scale brewing will get you better beer than doing it industrially.
Finally, assembled, not brewed, was my initial impression of the new Belgian Blonde. My pint of this 6.5%-er arrived extremely cold, and I suspect that separated out the flavours. And there's a bunch of them. White pepper is first, arriving loudly in the aroma and spicing up the foretaste. The core is a crunchy, grainy rasp; rustic, unrefined and wholesome, echoing unfiltered pilsner. Then we're resolutely back in Belgium with the fruit seam, bringing peach, lychee, apricot and nectarine, all bright and distinct, with none of the gummy, sticky warmth. Half way down my pint I learned that it may have been a saison at some point in the production process, and that scans. Style concerns aside, it's a jolly nice creature, all told: complex yet pintable in a way the Belgians wouldn't countenance, but I'm an internationalist to a fault.Open Gate is in autumnal mode now. That means Germany, so expect doppelbock in the next report from here.
