Kor range

Dublin's Asian supermarkets aren't a brilliant source for new and exotic beers to tick, but they're worth checking every once in a while. On a recent visit to Asia Market on Drury Street I uncovered this pair of unfamiliar Korean beers.

We start with Kloud Draft, a pale lager of 4.5% ABV, and about six weeks past its expiry date by the time I opened it. No matter. It's a bog standard eurolager, and has nothing to which a month or two either side of the best-before will make a difference. There are a number of cheap mass-production lager's tropes in evidence, including a syrupy body, a plasticky hop twang, a grainy mustiness and a scattering of potentially headache-inducing esters. Not a recommendation from me, and I'm not even going to compare it to Hite or Cass or any of the other familiar mainstream Korean lagers. There's nothing here beyond the exotic novelty factor, and if that's not something you're chasing, drink a Spaten or a Budvar instead.

The next one is a little more intriguing. It's from Jeju Beer Company, "in partnership with" Brooklyn Brewery, though definitely brewed in Korea, with I guess some craft credentials. Jeju Wit Ale is a little dark for a witbier, being the orange of a pale ale instead of cloudy yellow. The ingredients are absolutely Belgian standard: wheat, coriander, orange peel. They express themselves politely and decently in the aroma, with a pleasant introductory mix of fruit and spice. There's an emphasis on the mouth-watering juicy side in the flavour, with tart, shred-studded marmalade and fresh kumquat or satsuma zest. It finishes quickly, giving it an almost lager-like aspect which is beautifully clean and works well as a thirst-quencher. At 5.3% ABV it probably shouldn't be quite so easy-going and accessible, but I really enjoyed its sunny disposition and could see myself, ill-advisedly, chugging several in a row. As Asian beers available in Ireland go, it's one of the best. I hope it's getting out to the restaurants and noraebang venues in town, where it would be a lifesaver among the shitty pale lager options.

Russian to judgement

Once again the Polonez grocery chain has scratched my itch for seeking unfamiliar beers in foreign supermarkets. This time it's an all-Russian affair, beginning at their selection of Moscow Brewing Company beers.

Zhiguli Barnoe takes its name from a famous Moscow restaurant. It's a lager of 4.9% ABV and an enticing deep and wholesome amber colour in the glass. The aroma is clean and malt-forward, reminding me of the heavier sort of Czech 12° pale lager, and Budvar in particular. All very promising. Sure enough, weighty golden syrup follows through in the foretaste, backed and balanced by a mild grassiness that suggests real Saaz hops (or similar) to me. From the cheapie half-litre can, I was getting macro vibes from the outward visuals but this has not been assembled on an industrial assembly line from extracts and additives: it's a real beer in the central European vernacular. There's even a little buzz of complexity on the finish; some honey and rose petals with a pinch of black pepper. The texture is full and satisfying, rounding out a very jolly experience overall.

Presumably because all non-Russians are lightweights, Zhiguli Barnoe Export is lower-strength: 4.8% ABV, and you really need to squint at the small print to find that out. It's a fair bit paler too, bringing back fears of mass-produced dreck. The aroma is unimpressive though not unpleasant: normal bland-lager vibes. And yes, it's very plain. There's a mild toasted grain foretaste but not much beyond it. I looked for hop character and there's maybe a slight green cabbage bite, but that's me being charitable. It is at least full-bodied again -- thinness would be unforgivable -- but it's very boring fare. It could serve as in inoffensive party beer, but nothing more involved than that.

The final beer comes from AB InBev's Russian operation and is one of their core brands. Stary Melnik ("Old Miller") exists in a number of different versions and I think this is the basic pale lager. It's a light shade of gold and 4.5% ABV. Now here's that artificiality I had been expecting. There's quite a plasticky twang off this, and indeed hop extract is admitted to on the label. The soft bready texture is probably its best feature but that's not saying much. A minor malt sweetness precedes the plasticky off-note, and it all fades out quickly in quite an unpleasant watery way. I had thought the fancy embossed bottle would land me something interesting but it once again goes to show how deceptive outward appearances can be. This is a steadfastly dull low-grade industrial lager and that's all you get.

And I guess that's the lesson for this post, inasmuch as there is one. Drink the beer first, then decide whether it's any good or not.

Romanian plain

Timişoreana is far from my favourite brand of Romanian macro lager. I'm an Ursus man. Always have been, and likely always be. You can disagree, but you can't change the facts. An unpasteurised Timişoreana, though? I'll give that a go.

The Timişoreana Nepasteurizată came from Polonez -- a wonderful source of weird stuff from the eastern reaches of this continent. It's 5% ABV and a rich orange shade, looking bright and wholesome in the glass. The aroma is a little sharp and vomity but there's none of that in flavour. On the minus side there's not much of anything in the flavour. I'm used to beers with no foretaste and a kick on the finish, and those that put everything up front then tail off quickly. This creates both of those effects without the corresponding taste part. I ended up letting it warm, just so I could get a bead on it.

There I found a middling lager syrup and vague noble hop pepperiness. Nothing like you'd find in good European lager though, more like a scaled back ghost version of Budvar or Augustiner Pils: what might happen if they too were passed around between SABMiller and Asahi, God forbid.

"Inoffensive" is a word made for this beer. There's none of the crap lager badness -- boiled veg, sharp tin, sickly sugar -- but all character has been thoroughly removed from the ingredients, by a process other than pasteurisation. Pass me an Ursus.

Man up!

Tesco has a new own-brand pilsner, Manislav. The packaging is rather sparse and Eastern-Bloc'y, though I guess it's Budvar they're aiming to gently knock off. It's not a rebrand from some lesser Czech brewery however: it's brewed just up the road in Dundalk at Alltech's Pearse Lyons Brewery.

I consciously picked a bottle from a few rows back and kept it out of the light for as long as I had it, but I still got a slight skunky whiff when the cap came off. Green glass may look continental but it's not doing this beer any favours. Thankfully that initial hit was the extent of the lightstrike.

Behind sits a very decent pilsner. It's properly full-bodied, with the pillowy candyfloss and brioche malt that the Czechs do well. This is balanced by a noble hopping that's dry more than bitter: a hint of yellow mown grass, leading to a slightly harsh boiled-cabbage finish.

It's no finely-polished dvanáctka, and could do with a bit more hops at the front, but it does taste authentic. And for the money it's superb. I drank mine as a post-run beer on a warm evening and was kicking myself I only bought the one. I'll be getting more. Cans would be nice, though.

A tickle of zwickl

Since they arrived almost two years ago, the Stiegl beers haven't exactly been making waves in local beer geek circles. Importer Carlow Brewing has carved out a mainstream niche for Goldbräu lager, and the excellent Radler was a welcome feature on rotation taps last summer, but other than that it's been quite quiet. I paid attention, then, when Paracelsus appeared out of the blue at UnderDog last year.

It's described as a "bio-zwickl", so an organic unfiltered lager, then. The ABV is 5.2% and it's a hazy shade of orange. I got a surprising amount of juice from the aroma; a zesty hit of freshly-squeezed orange. The more typical grain husk is also there, and that's what leads the flavour: dry biscuit at first, building in sweetness to the level of golden syrup, reminding me a little of Budvar. The juice has vanished, strangely, and in its place stands a noble hop bitterness: raw green veg; assertive, verging on harsh to my sensitive palate. The texture is noteworthy too: deliciously soft and chewy.

Overall this is very good at what it does. It's a wholesome and flavourful Mitteleuropa lager of the sort we don't see much of in these parts. I know from the launch event that Stiegl has some very interesting items in its repertoire. It would be great to see more of them around.

Essential groceries

There was an Albert Heijn supermarket conveniently across the street from where I was staying in The Hague over the Christmas break. The beer selection was small but with a few interesting options. I mainly used it as a source for cheap and disposable lager, however.

My eye was caught by the smart branding on Brouwers Pilsner (who else's?), one of the chain's own brands. Unfortunately, the graphics proved to be a lot classier than the beer behind them. This is 4.8% ABV and a dark gold colour. The flavour matches the appearance, being sweet and sticky with an unsubtle musty wax bitterness bolted on to the finish. Charitably, it could be described as a bock, and it is impressively dense given the ABV. With a touch of smoke around the edges as it warms it's definitely not the vapid watery supermarket lager I was expecting, but not good lager either.

One from megabrewer Grolsch to follow: a fancy-pants craft-killing pils called Kornuit, a beer which incorporates Cascade hops, because we know how much you kids love that Cascade. It's a clear pale yellow colour, looking every inch the average lager, while it tastes... fine. I didn't get anything resembling an American hop, though I did drink it from the balcony where it was rather above fridge temperature. What was actually delivered is a perfectly decent pale lager with a medium-full body and lots of tasty toasty golden syrup malt. In particular I'm reminded of Budvar, which is quite a compliment. If the intention was to make a novelty or gimmick, it failed, but I'm quite happy with the result.

A sequel next, to the long-named Flying Dutchman beers I found last year in Amsterdam. This one is called Flip Flopped White Socked Strong Hopped White IPA. It's 5.5% ABV, with coriander, orange peel and, oddly, juniper. The pour produced a pale yellow glassful with just the faintest haze. Lots of witbier herbs come through on tasting: savoury and slightly soapy. The hops (Centennial, Citra, Ekuanot and Cascade) provide a bitter spike for the finish. It takes effort to produce a white IPA that does this hybrid style justice, and this one doesn't quite manage it, being mostly a big and blousey witbier, throwing herbs around and caring not for proper hopping. As such, it's perfectly decent. Just don't hold your breath for that Citra.

I was quite intrigued by this camouflaged bottle on the high shelves. It turned out to be Übersee Hopfen India Pale Ale, from Insel Brauerei in Rügen, off the Baltic coast of Germany. And it made it clear that it was proclaimed Earth's Greatest IPA at the World Beer Awards in 2016. How could anyone resist that?

It took a bit of poking around the small print to discover that "übersee" here means Japan as Sorachi Ace is the only hop used. Not that it needs writing down: there's a powerful oily orange whiff from it. The flavour is remarkably crisp: a clean bitter bite of orange, with sweeter coconut tailing behind it. I've had beers that tasted more strongly of Sorachi, but few where the taste is so clipped, so precise. Although it's bottle conditioned and quite cloudy, there's no yeast interference, except for maybe a pleasant spicing. I don't know that I'd say it's the best IPA in the world -- you really need to like Sorachi Ace -- but it's still jolly nice drinking.

When Mr Heijn isn't meeting your grocery requirements, there's always the posh people's supermarket Marqt (cards only, no cash, you plebs). In there, one particular Dutch brewery's wares caught my attention...

A new dawn

It was a dark and frosty midwinter morning when I arrived in Andrew Jorgensen's car to Boyne Brewhouse. Andrew is head brewer at the brewery outside Drogheda and he had invited me along to witness a special moment in Irish brewing that totally wasn't just yet another beer being created out of the usual stuff. The plan was what we believe to be Ireland's first, and still only, decoction-mashed lager. This slow process is commonplace in Czech and German brewing and involves taking small volumes of wort out of the mash tun, boiling it, and putting it back in as the mash progresses. The idea is to maximise the efficiency of the grain but in doing so it's also said to alter the beer's texture and flavour and is what gives Czech lagers in particular their famous character. (If you want to read more on the technicalities, and words like "betaglucans", Andrew's account of the brewday is here.) In order to use up some Vienna malt that was lying around, the recipe was for what became Boyne Brewhouse Vienna Lager rather than something pils-y. And at the Alltech Brews & Food festival at the end of February it went out to meet its public.

I only had a little taste of it at the festival, which isn't the best way to test out a 5% ABV lager, but I definitely got a sense of central Europe from it. In particular it's the body and the sweetness, the big fluffy candyfloss roundness I associate most with Pilsner Urquell. The flavour has a golden syrup quality, more like Budvar, given a strong greenly bitter kick from the Tettnang hops. What did surprise me, however, was the colour: it's a clear bright gold, as best I could tell through the awful festival beaker. I'd have expected redder for a Vienna lager, and a touch of toffee in the flavour too, but that wasn't there either. No matter. It's a very nice pale lager and a sign that maybe there is something to this decoction business after all.

That was one of a number of new releases from Boyne Brewhouse at Alltech. Up until now, in 17 months of operation, they've only been brewing their core range under their own brand. Now those three have been rebadged, with the names Born In A Day, Long Arm and Pagan's Pillar consigned to the same retirement home as the McGargle family. Born In A Day, now "Boyne Brewhouse Pale Ale", has been reformulated somewhat to be smoother and less bitter. And joining them we had...

Boyne Brewhouse Imperial Stout, available in a number of barrel-aged iterations. I only had a taste of the raw oak one, the barrel presumably a bonus from the company's nascent whiskey-making project. It's 10.8% ABV and very much down-the-line for the style, lots of sticky brown sugar and a serious grown-up bitterness to balance. There were no madly loud oaky flavours, indeed it tasted less oaky than many a bourbon-aged stout I've met, but there was vanilla: balanced, well-behaved vanilla. I'm sure this stout is a great base for all sorts of projects but it works just as well by itself.

I mentioned the brewery's IPA yesterday, leaving just Boyne Brewhouse Saison as the other new one I got to try. No surprises that it's a bang-on, true-to-style iteration of saison, though in the stronger sub-bracket, despite a modest 5% ABV. What I mean is it's big on fruit, with the classic strong-saison melon rind and concentrated peach nectar. There's a definite alcohol heat to all this which makes it a bit tougher to drink than I'd like and which isn't properly held in check by the bitter hop bite or white pepper spicing. It does all the things saison is meant to but I'd prefer if it did them more quietly.

Boyne Brewhouse wasn't the only brewery with new beers to show off at the festival. Tomorrow I'll have a look at some from the other bars, plus some brand new brewers as well.

Low hopping on leap day

My first post with this datestamp, and a couple of bottles from West Yorkshire's Saltaire brewery.

The chocolate one was my primary target but Saltaire Blonde was on the shelf next to it to I figured I may as well give it a go while I'm at it. It's good, if a little bit solidly by-the-numbers: balanced between the bubblegum malt and the gentle, very slightly metallic, hop bitterness with the hops announcing their presence as soon as the cap came off. It uses Saaz and shows off a little of the golden syrup flavour I always enjoy in Budvar and have met in another Yorkshire blonde: Black Sheep's Golden Sheep. Mostly, however, it's understated and sessionable summer drinking.

The main event was Triple Chocoholic and they're cheating a bit here in trying to get one over on those southern jessies at Wells & Young and their merely Double Chocolate Stout. In fact they're both made with cocoa and chocolate syrup, with Sataire cheekily claiming a chocolate bonus point for the chocolate malt, which Wells & Young also use and which, of course, involves no actual chocolate.

It's a fizzy beer, giving the candy sweetness a dry carbonic bite. There's also a considerable bitterness on the finish as well. While the chocolate provides a gooey candybar middle, the bitter tang and the dry fizz predominate. I don't think I'd take this over Young's Double Chocolate, if given a choice.

Hopefully there's more impressive beer than these in the Saltaire line-up.

Ummm... okay then

"We have no Herold Dark, only the Semi-Dark" said the lady behind the bar in Pifko. I was extremely flattered that she said it first in Czech (I don't think I look particularly slavic at all, more's the pity) and then I paused. The Budvar tap started doing a pick-me dance, but I was there for Herold so Herold Granat is what I got. An experience at once interesting and slightly disturbing too.

It presents itself as a foamy nitrogenated dark amber-red beer, looking for all the world like one of those god-awful creamy Oirish reds or smoothflow bitter. The aroma was along those lines too: sickly and unappetisingly cloying. I didn't look, but I'm sure the Budvar tap was making a told-you-so face at this point.

Punching through the head and taking a sip I found myself in a much happier place. The sweetness is far more piquant burnt caramel than gloopy syrup, and it finishes with a gorgeous grassy burst of Czech hops. It's still pretty heavy, but the flavours allow it to be refreshing even as it fills.

Obviously the dark stablemate is to be preferred, but this is a pretty good substitute now and again, no matter what the Budvar tap says.

The living dead

We had an hour or so to kill on a Sunday evening in Dundrum recently. I'd heard that one of the new bars in the shopping centre had Carlow beers on tap so went in on spec, in the hope of a pint of O'Hara's Red.

Ruairi Maguire's is a run-of-the-mill superpub: multiple mezzanines, lots of open floor space for cattle-shed drinking plus a few nice little quiet corners decked out in dark wood and fake leather: not the sort of place I'd make a beeline for, but needs must when there's craft beer on the go.

Alas it appears that O'Hara's Red has left the building, leaving Curim Gold as the only craft tap in the place for the moment. We were actually on the way out when herself spotted the specials blackboard by the door advertising bottled beer of the month White Lady for €3.80. Well how bad can it be?

I was actually really seriously expecting it to be cider. But it is a beer: an organic bottle-conditioned lager from North Yorkshire (both the region and the brewery of the same name therein) titled after an undead milkmaid who haunts the premises.

Sadly, it's a bit of a ghost lager. Massive attenuation has sucked all the character out leaving a wan, thin and rather cidery beer behind (so I wasn't too far wrong in the first place), very pale and with a mountainous weissbier-like cap of foam on top. There's none of the big bittering or flavour hops you might expect to compensate for the lack of body. I can't see too many committed lager drinkers turning to this, regardless of whether their normal tipple is Bavaria or Budvar.

Nevertheless, props to the pub for at least having something different and cheap available. I'll be checking that blackboard next time I'm through.

Strange provenance

I don't get sent much free beer (yeah yeah, boo-hoo etc) but was rather intrigued to be offered some lager by a US PR company a few weeks back. "Sure," I said, "send it on over". And then waited for the "Oh wait, you live very far away, sorry about that" mail. It didn't arrive. Instead I got a box containing a bottle and a can of Minott's Black Star plus some accompanying press materials. I supposed I'd better read the stuff now that I've committed to writing about the beer.

A slightly odd tale unfolds between the lines of the press release. The beer boasts of origins in Whitefish, Montana though is brewed in Milwaukee and is being marketed specifically at Northern California. It looks like desperate attempt at preserving a beer's credentials of origin while having it contract brewed elsewhere and being upfront about it. Convoluted, but at least it's honest: lots of other beer companies are nowhere near as forthcoming about where their product is made.

Sweeping the geography puzzles aside, the beer is an attractive dark gold lager, a colour that immediately had me thinking Budvar thoughts. Saaz and Mittelfrüh are the hops, says the marketing, so that's definitely the right direction. And the body is similarly big and rich with that golden syrup sweetness. But that's where it ends: those hops are nowhere to be found and it all tails off rather sadly.

It's not a bad beer, but with just a bit more hopping it could have been a very good Czech-style lager. I suppose it's wrong of me to criticise it for not being the beer I'd like it to be. With that heavy texture I think it'll stand up well to a curry, so that's where the can will be going.

And if you're reading in Northern California: hey look, here's a beer you can buy.

Tribal imbibements

Friday saw me in Galway where one of the ICB lads had arranged a visit to Ireland's newest brewpub, Oslo in Salthill. Straight off the train my first stop was Sheridan's on the Docks -- a cosy watering hole where the beer list is conscientiously chosen and the macro taps are overshadowed by huge fonts for Budvar, Staropramen and Galway Hooker. It was a pint of the hoppy local that quenched my thirst before I moved on.

Destination two was a new pub for me. The Salt House is part of the chain which includes Oslo, and I was lured in by the promise of cask White Gypsy ale. Sadly, while the engine was in place, the tap was dry and I made do with a pint of Porterhouse Oyster. The pub is a narrow and compact boozer offering free wi-fi and a fantastic range of beers. The guest tap was pouring a deliciously spicy Messrs Maguire Weiss and I had that to accompany the burger I brought in from Mustard, a nearby restaurant under the same ownership. The Salt House is open from 3pm and is managed by James: a kiwi beer fanatic with a robust approach to customers seeking the bland usuals he doesn't stock. It's a definite must for drinking in Galway.

On then to Oslo, in the centre of Galway's seaside suburb of Salthill. This is on a much grander scale, stretching back from the front door along a long bar to a large saloon at the back. Windows here offer a peek at the stainless steel vessels of the Bay Brewery where John the brewmaster plies his trade. They don't have a kegging setup as yet so the beer is pumped directly from the bright tanks to the bar. Two beers are on offer at the moment: Bay Lager and Bay Ale. The former is probably going to come as a surprise to the unsuspecting yellow fizz drinker: it's orange and cloudy for one thing and tastes very dry and crisp. There's a touch of oxidised cardboard in it and I got a mild appley vibe as it warmed. Bay Lager is a work in progress, I'd say. The red Bay Ale is a far more rounded product. It's very much malt-driven and is full of sweet biscuity notes, though the hopping is generous too, adding a lovely fruity dimension to the finish -- definitely one of the better examples of the Irish red out there.

From the wide bottled selection I got a chance to try the 16-year Ola Dubh. It's not very different to the one aged in 12-year-old whisky barrels, but the phenols are more pronounced. It's tasty, but I think I prefer the milder incarnation. I wonder does the marker-pen taste get bigger and bigger with the ascending age of the barrels? If so, I dread to think what the forthcoming 40-year edition will be like.

The group adjourned to The Salt House afterwards for a few Hooker nightcaps and Galway was still partying when we turned in.

It was great fun and I'd like to thank Tom who arranged things and all the crew at Oslo and The Salt House for their generous hospitality. Oslo will be hosting the first Brewers on the Bay festival of Irish craft beer this May Bank Holiday weekend. It promises to be a fantastic couple of days.

Odd place for a pint

The Guinnesses had a charming habit of salting the earth and calling it civic-mindedness. When they bought Sweetman's brewery on Francis Street, Lord Iveagh had the site turned into a market (named after himself, of course) and presented it to the City. The extensive Anchor Brewery premises was also given over, to be turned into council flats, when it fell under the Guinness axe. Sweeping down from the old Dublin Liberties towards Usher's Quay on the south bank of the Liffey, Oliver Bond Flats (The 'Bond, in local parlance) have gained no small amount of noteriety over the years. There aren't a whole lot of businesses running in the immediate curtilege of the complex, but it's not surprising that one of the few is an off licence: a garishly-coloured outlet in the Booze-2-Go chain, operating throughout inner city Dublin in those places where the market demands cider and lager on a budget and served through a perspex hatch.

But this particular branch has a secret that it's trying hard not to keep hidden. Next door to the actual off licence, there's a pub. While the outside branding is still that of a downmarket intoxicant peddlar, a bit of money appears to have been spent on the inside, turning it into a central-European-style hostelry under the name Pifko. There's an extensive Slovakian winelist and a menu of Czech and Slovak specialties. Unsurprisingly, of course, the mainstream beers of the Czech Republic are represented on tap -- Staropramen, Pilsner Urquell, Budvar, Kozel Dark -- plus Gambrinus and the pale Kozel by the bottle. In general it's quite similar to the Czech Inn just a few hundred yards down river in Temple Bar. But it wasn't the selection of mainstream imports that drew me in.

Pifko has a house beer, called Pifko Premium. Before you ask, I don't know who makes it or where. The pub claims it's brewed exclusively for them, and at least one source has it that it's made in Ireland. But until I get some corroboration (let me know if you have any) I won't make any statements of provenance [edit: brewed at White Gypsy].

It's an amber beer, of the granát style, I guess, served very very cold. Bitterness is the driving force here. I thought initially that the sharpness was a yeast thing, as it reminded me most of the more severe sort of Belgian wit. But on the end, and especially on burping, it's clear that lots of bittering hops have played a role here too. There's no character I'd describe as malty per se, no caramel or graininess. Instead there's an intense sugary sweetness which is just about detectable and which, when combined with the hops, creates an amusing sort of perfume flavour, one which comes through in the aroma as well as the taste. It's an interesting beer, without doubt, and there's a lot to be said for having a bitter quaffer available for warm-day drinking. I wish Pifko every success.

I've been writing a lot about Dublin pubs recently, which is most unlike me. And I still haven't got around to Tramco, the intriguing new pseudo-brewery which recently opened in Rathmines. The Irish beer revolution trundles on...

In the meantime, I'm fleeing the country tomorrow to hit the Great British Beer Festival. I'll be in my navy IrishCraftBrewer.com t-shirt, most likely loitering at the BSF bar. Say hello if you see me.

Just reward

I got a proper sunny Saturday a few weeks ago, after about a fortnight of solid rain. I spent most of the day outside, going for two short spins on my bike with a bout of gardening in between. As the sun began heading for the horizon, I had a thirst which needed quenching. It was possibly the only time I have ever felt than an English golden ale is what's required.

The candidate was Trade Winds, by the Cairngorm brewery. On the label it claims to be light gold, but is actually rather red, close to the reddishness of Budvar. The nose promises luscious tropical fruits: mangoes, melons and mandarins. On the palate it's smooth and full: creamy, but in a good way that has nothing to do with nitrogenation, and with just enough prickle to be refreshing. The hop character continues the fruit theme: sweet, lively and with just a tiny dry note right on the end which shades towards metallic but doesn't quite get there. Overall, Trade Winds is very well balanced and wonderfully quaffable. Summer starts here.

The second one from Cairngorm is Wildcat: a darker amber ale. The flavour here is all chocolate and raisins, which put me in mind of Irish classic Clotworthy Dobbin, though it's a fair bit thinner. There's also a very interesting spiciness to Wildcat, which I'm assuming comes from the hops. It's best described as a kind of sandalwood effect, being slightly smoky and exotic. As with Trade Winds, this scores very highly on the drinkability chart.

This Cairngorm lot seem to know what they're doing. I'll be keeping an eye out for more from them.

The bitter lessons of experience

Knowing that good beer would be hard to find here in Cyprus, I brought emergency hop rations with me, in the form of some Goose Island IPAs, and one-a-day of those is keeping the shakes away. While buying them in Redmond's last weekend I spotted yet another new batch of Americans. I took one on holiday with me: the East India Pale Ale from Brooklyn Brewery. It's a shockingly malty little chap, pouring a gorgeous shade of red-gold. I guess it's the English hops which mean there's no green whack on the nose or up-front bitter flavour punch that normally comes from the American Indians. Instead it's smooth and aromatically sweet with just a pinch of dry peppery bitterness on the end. For all that, it's quite easy going and not at all the monster that the 6.8% ABV tag might suggest. Well-crafted, enjoyable, but I'm looking forward to today's Goose Island after it.

Speaking more generally, matters have taken a slight turn for the better in the last few days, beerwise. French supermarket chain Carrefour have supplied me with some Hoegaarden and Budvar: quite acceptable for poolside and barbecue purposes. I also found a new (to me) type of Carlsberg: the lemon-flavoured Carlsberg Edge. I assumed this was another Mediterranean special from Mr Photiades, but it bears the label of Carlsberg UK so it's presumably imported from Britain especially for the shaven-headed gentlemen displaying their protuberant abdomena beneath ill-fitting replica sporting apparel. Or more likely for their ladyfolk who all appear to have been generously upholstered in pink leather, since Carlsberg Edge is very sugary sweet and far more like an alcopop than a beer. It reminds me a lot of the Hoegaarden Citron I encountered in England a couple of years ago, except instead of a toned-down 3% ABV, this is a fuller 4.6%. The taste and texture will allow you to rip through a cold six-pack of these very easily, but if you manage to keep it down, I'd say it makes itself felt the next day. Ack.

Is it nearly time to go home?

Only in it for the dumplings

For lunch today I paid a return visit to the Czech Inn, scene of my recent upsetting Staropramen experience. I used to go to this pub quite a bit last century, back when it was Isolde's Tower: it was the sort of place one never planned to go to, but ended up there, on the edge of Temple Bar, when everywhere else was heaving. Good times.

Now it's a headquarters for Dublin's Czech workers, and is the only place serving a range of the food and drink from home, saving the handful of upmarket establishments with Budvar and Staro on tap. I had a plateful of roast pork with sauerkraut and knedlíky for just €8: even if possessed of the inclination and a big stick, I don't think I could beat that.

It was washed down with a pint of Gambrinus 10°, a smooth and malty pilsner I've met favourably in Prague once or twice. Unfortunately, this was tainted slightly with a touch of that acidic quality I experienced with my last Czech Inn pint. I conclude that the early afternoon is the wrong time to visit this pub. I'm sure once a few dozen pints have been run through the lines of an evening the quality goes up. However, with the sound system already blaring across the empty room, I dread to think what it's like with several hundred thirsty Czechs letting off steam.

Anyway, I will have go back sooner or later because I still haven't had my dark beer fix. Fortunately I'll be able to sink a pint of Budvar Dark tomorrow at the first ever Great Irish Beer Festival (Brits & Yanks: only click the link if you promise not to laugh) in Galway. The thought of that will be sustaining me on my 140-mile trip to the other side of Ireland in the morning.

Knock-offs and Knock-offs

Currently on the shelves in Dunnes we have BB Bürgerbräu, a Czech lager from České Budějovice (formerly Budweis). It makes it quite clear on the label that it is a real Budweiser beer, and that this is now an EU-protected geographical designation, à la Champagne and Stilton.

However, for all its concerns that a big nasty American corporation has stolen its intellectual property, Bürgerbräu still has the feel of a cheap knock-off, of Budvar. It has the deep rich golden-syrup colour of Budvar, and does a fairly good impression of that full malty Czech taste. But it doesn't quite go all the way to perfection, lacking the smooth drinkability of Budvar. I think I'd pay the extra to trade up.

Fair play, however, for the game attempt to take back the Budweiser designation. I notice a few new Bohemian lagers around in Ireland these days. Here's hoping they can turn this geographical designation issue into a real campaign.

Weiss of the North

I never thought I'd see the day when Hoegaarden was easier to get on draught in Belfast than in Dublin, but there you go. Things have certainly changed in the city where beer was recently limited to Guinness and Harp/Smithwick's or Tennent's/Bass depending on who controlled the supply to that bar.

Amazingly, in the Duke of York, where one can get Hoegaarden, Stella, and Carlsberg (among others) on tap, people were still drinking Harp. What's that about? Still, people were also drinking alcopops so I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised it's a low-taste zone.

On the higher-taste front, while in Belfast I discovered an English beer called Curious Brew. It's a strange little dark lager, with distinct yeasty-aley overtones. One to be savoured (and not chugged down in the hotel bar at the end of a ten-hour session and after everywhere else has closed, ahem).

And just for the sake of completeness (which is what this blog is about), I also added Eisbrau Czech pilsner to my list of beers tried (something I will actually add to the side panel one of these months). It's passable, in the mould of Budvar. And, er, that's all I have to say about it.