Going to town on the hops

It's blog post three of my Dublin taproom catch-up and this time it's a Saturday afternoon at Urban Brewing. The financial district is quiet at weekends so there was plenty of elbow room in the outside space, plus attentive service as we worked through the menu, half by half.

Round one brought Urban Brewing Mexican Lager, and I was particularly interested to see how it compared to Open Gate's version from last week. Not well, unfortunately. They seem to have opted for Corona as the template, and while it's attractively clear and pale golden, it's very thin and plain, unable to hide a vinegary tang that wonky brewpub lager sometimes shows. There's a somewhat redeeming hint of biscuit as it warms, but really nothing to give it proper character. Maybe they were aiming for those who prefer their summer lager to be tasteless, but I think such people would like an international brand label on it too.

I was much more interested in what arrived with it: a murky glass of gloop posing as NZIPA. The brewery says this is all Nelson Sauvin, added at 18g/L and -- insider tip -- when a g/L figure is mentioned, that always means "a lot". The aroma is all-out dank and grassy, smelling fresh but also heavily saturated. I get lots of spice in the flavour, black pepper intensifying to incense. That's not an effect I associate with Nelson but I loved it regardless. The haze doesn't get the chance to spoil it in any way: no grit, no gunk, just bright and clean hops. Here is the sort of playfully uncompromising beer that in-house breweries can do so well if they pull the stops out.

It's back to lager for the next round and Vienna Lager is sometimes used as a synonym for Mexican Lager, so seeing both styles on from the same small-batch brewery was odd but intriguing. Sadly the intrigue ends there. This is better than the Mexican, but not by much. It's a little fuller-bodied and there's a mildly fruity flavour which could count as character, but really it's not much more interesting than the other one. Urban seems to be having a bit of an off-season as regards lager.

But not so for the murk. Here's Tropical Pale, and just like the lagers are close siblings, this is very much on the same lines as the NZIPA. The hops have been absolutely stuffed into it and the result is beautifully dank and resinous. That of course means it's not even slightly tropical tasting, but that doesn't matter. A hard and bitter flavour gives it loud west-coast IPA vibes, particularly impressive when the ABV is only 4.7%. Once again it's clean and brash and utterly delicious.

I wasn't expecting to be impressed by the Weisse Bier. I rarely am, no matter who makes one. This 5%-er takes the banana part of the spec and runs with it, and keeps running. That begins with a huge banana candy aroma, and then doubles down on the sweet esters in the flavour, banana becoming banoffee. It's quite lightly textured, which helps prevent it turning too cloying, and while it looked a bit flat on arrival there's plenty of sparkle despite big bubbles in the head. Half a pint was no chore but I'm not sure I'd have been on for a bigger measure.

The promise of more adorable hops makes India Pale Lager the finisher. This is the weakest one of the session at 4.5% ABV but yet again it's resins all the way. Here it's a kind of oily citronella effect in the aroma followed by a bright and fresh citrus foretaste. I'm guessing the aim of IPL is to deliver zingy pale-ale hopping on a lager-crisp body, and if so this one gets the formula exactly right. If the aim is to make something that's calm and easy-drinking, then no: this remains an absolute riot of west-coast hop joy and frankly would be impossible to enjoy simply as a lager. No matter. A cleanly aggressive hop-bomb in a sessionable package is as good place to end as any.

This brief session reminded me of what a great asset to the city Urban Brewing is, and how much I missed my regular ticking sessions at the bar. I will be making more of an effort to pop along in future.

Giving the people what they want

For some unfathomable reason, my posts about Aldi's off-brand lagers are perennially popular with you lot. Never above a bit of click-bait, I filled a basket with ones I hadn't tried on a recent restocking expedition and then dared myself to tackle them. At one stage there was a grand plan to try them blind next to the brands they're aping, as I did with the Peroni one, but it started to look like too much fizz to get through, so these will be judged on their individual merits alone.

We begin with the Budweiser twins. I'm sure there's a very good reason for Aldi offering two different Bud lookalikes, though can't help thinking it must be confusing for a target demographic not used to making choices when it comes to beer. It could be that there's a transition afoot. Breysers is the legacy brand, one which has been around for ages. "100% premium quality ... authentic American style beer ... made in France" is all the essential data Aldi wants to get across to us. In the glass it's a proper pilsner gold with decent head retention, so therefore nothing at all like Bud on that score. There's a slightly metallic tang in the aroma, which does say American light lager to me, but at least suggests the possibility of hops. In the flavour, hops came there none. It's a surprisingly thick and sweet affair, very much unbalanced to the malt side. An initial hit of candyfloss and barley sugar tails off into an unpleasant musty damp-grainsack twang. The upside of all this residual sugar is a big and fluffy Helles-like texture, which is nice and süffig, but very much not the crispness that Bud drinkers will be seeking. This is a poor effort overall, a dismal beer and nul points for resemblance to its originator.

The new kid is Brookston, though they've gone more old-school in their blatant theft of Budweiser's image. This time the can gives us no clue as to the beer's origins, though does tell us it's "premium" four times on the front. Methinks the lager doth protest too much. Maybe it's my imagination because the photos are very similar, but I thought that this bore a closer resemblance to Budweiser: a slightly paler shade of golden. The sweetness has definitely been dialled back but that horrible sackcloth staleness remains, with a weird ready-salted savoury bite. Alongside the extra crispness, there's an accompanying watery quality, making it feel like something has been cut out of it. Some bonus points for tasting and feeling a little like Budweiser, then, but none for being actually enjoyable.

Next on the list for the homage treatment is Carlsberg, and Karlskrone is the Aldi answer. As with the previous two, the ABV is 4.3%, matching the Irish versions of the mainstream brands. It looks well in the Carlsberg glass: the right shade of bright and shiny gold. The aroma is innocent: weighty malt and a mild noble hop grassiness. All very promising. As with Breysers above, the malt leads the flavour, but it's not quite as intensely sweet. There's a certain level of crispness, and no off-flavours. Although it could be accused of being bland, I think there's enough character on display here to tip it into acceptability. I don't know that I would consider it an acceptable substitute for Carlsberg, however -- it's still too heavy and sweet for that. If you don't mind your lager being a little on the sugary side, I would almost recommend this. It's the first one of the sequence to offer actual value for money.

I didn't realise Staropramen had a sufficiently high profile to warrant a clone, but here one is. Strana is a little different to the others in that we are told the brewery of production, and its none other than my old mucker Pearse Lyons of Dundalk. Close followers of the own-brand lager scene will know that Lyons makes an excellent Czech knock-off for Tesco, called Manislav. Strana is the same ABV (5%) so I'm guessing the recipe is at least somewhat similar. It comes in a green bottle, too, so was giving off skunky vibes even before I brought it outside. That's really only in the aroma, however. The flavour is a flawless mix of crisp grain and grassy hops -- hallmarks of a classic Saaz-based světlý ležák. Definitely a cut above the others so far. Shame about the UV-permeable bottle, though.

Finally, what if San Miguel, but cheaper, asked nobody. San Marcos is Aldi's answer. "Tradicional cerveza especial ... brewed in Italy" says the label. It's a little lightweight compared to the real thing at 5% ABV, and looks somewhat pale by comparison too. I'm not at all a fan of that Spanish lager so no points will be awarded for similarity here. It's cleaner, drier and easier to drink, and more appropriate to warm weather. But there's a nasty element too; a plasticky tang that prevents it from being clean, bland and decent like the Karlskrone. The extra strength means it probably works OK as a food beer, where other flavours will mask the flaws. As such, if you're looking for something cheap and relatively cheerful for Mediterranean food -- Spanish or Italian -- this is worth a punt.

A couple of diamonds in this particular rough, then. I haven't decided yet whether I'll tackle the remaining clones. The Corona and Heineken ones are only sold in multipacks and that's a commitment I am not yet ready to make, even for the clicks.

Brutal winter, cruel summer

A raft of new beers from the ever so industrious Sierra Nevada today.

It was still winter, just about, when I opened the Winter Warmer lager. This is a  potentially warming 6.7% ABV and a very dark red-brown colour. Not much head formed on pouring, and that dissolved to nothing in a couple of minutes, leaving it millpond flat. The flavour is typical of mid-European dark lager, big on liquorice and caramel, with lots of burntness too. There's a surprising lighter fruit side as well, bringing a squeeze of sweet cherry and blueberry. What it lacks is warmth. Though it has the same sticky dark malt of any dunkels or tmavý, the alcohol doesn't really push through. It's fine but unexciting.

"Spring seasonal" it says on the label of Sierra Nevada Brut IPA. Also that it was packaged on 17th December. Go figure. From the bottle it's a pure and clear pale gold. The aroma is quite sickly: a gastric acidity that made me slightly apprehensive. Thankfully there's none of that on tasting, just a lemon sherbet flavour, and not much else, really. It's surprisingly sweet for something that's apparently had all the sugar fermented out of it, a definite hard-candy effect. There's a certain tongue-shrivelling dry smack, but nothing dramatic. It feels a bit efforty, overall: an attempt to get down with what the kids are drinking that doesn't bring the Sierra Nevada finesse in the same way Hazy Little Thing did.

Back to lager again for the next one. Sierraveza is Mexican-style, tapping into that craft market for macro clones. It looks more like a Corona than a Negra Modelo: a pale limpid yellow with poor head retention. It also somehow tasted skunked, and given the brewery's attention to detail I can't help thinking that might be deliberate. There's a touch of Germanic heritage next -- some slightly harsh ryegrass noble hops and soft, sticky, candyfloss malt. It doesn't taste like a quality beer, and yes I know that's probably the point, but I also don't know why Sierra Nevada is elbowing in on Corona's territory. Their brand is cheapened by it and the drinker gets nothing worthwhile out of the arrangement.

Beer four is for charidee: Resilience, an open source IPA produced by multiple American breweries to aid relief from the 2018 Butte County wildfires. It's a dark orange job, the aroma redolent with toffee and caramel. The texture is smooth and the flavour dry at first, with a strong-tea astringency. Behind that are the fresh and fruity hops, bringing mouthwatering orange peel and spiky, earthy resins. It's another of those '90s style IPAs that I keep calling out when I see them but there's a new one every week or so. It won't be for everyone, tastewise, but I liked the complete eschewing of fashion in aid of a good cause.

Overall, not the brewery's best work, this lot. At least we can be assured there'll be something else from them along soon.

Real Mexico

Variety in Mexican beer is hard come by in Dublin these days. I guess it's C&C's fault. They're the distributor for Grupo Modelo, via the various arrangements with AB InBev, and they seem to have decided to concentrate on Corona and Corona Light in this segment, for obvious reasons.

Therefore I was disproportionately pleased when I spotted Pacifico in the fridge at Pablo Picante on Aston Quay. I mean, it's only a mass produced hot-country lager and nothing to get excited about, but I still felt like I'd achieved something by locating it.

The burrito bar does not run to glassware so I didn't get a look at the liquid, or a proper smell, really. I found it quite sweet to taste: lots of melanoidin malt, which I guess shows its Viennese heritage. It's good that that's still perceptible after everything this brand has been through since 1900. A tinny twang is all you get by way of hops, or anything else, but the malt is enough. While easy drinking and quenching, as you'd expect, it's also heavy enough to match up to a glutinous cheesy burrito.

This isn't a beer to be dismissed readily, and certainly not to be lumped in with Corona.

No mean lager

Following on from last month's review of BrewDog Avery Brown Dredge, another British lager, this one from Meantime in east London where BrewDog's regular lagers are currently produced. London Lager comes in a dinky 33cl and is designed, I assume, for the style-conscious bottle-by-the-neck brigade who'd otherwise be on the Corona or similar.

It's certainly rather lacking on the aroma front: I get little beyond fizzy water on the nose. But the flavour is quite pleasantly full-on, even cold from the fridge. Lots of toasty whole-grain pilsner malt, given a gently herbal complexity from the hops, plus a smack of golden syrup as it warms. I fall to my knees in thanks to the lager gods that it's not nettley or otherwise unpleasantly Germanic. I'm not sure it's especially British either, nor yet is it generic world lager. While comfortingly familiar, I can't really place where I've tasted something like this before. Maybe I just don't drink enough lager.

Anyway, Meantime's dry yet thirst-quenching London Lager gets a thumbs up from me.

Love lager

When it comes to beer, Ireland is pretty much synonymous with stout. As far as I can tell, this is largely down to Diageo's marketing power rather than what anybody actually drinks. The latest figures , from 2006 (p.12 here), say that 63% of all the beer sold in Ireland is lager (stout is most of the rest, with ale a mere 5%). The typical Irish pub certainly offers a dizzying array of locally brewed lagers. You'll find Bud, Carlsberg, Heineken, Miller and Coors Light side-by-side on almost every bar. More upmarket places will also have draught imports like Stella Artois and Beck's Vier, and bottles of Sol, Corona and Tiger as well, while pubs serving a less affluent clientele will have local Amstel and Fosters bringing up the rear.

When Ireland's first lager brewery closed up shop in the summer of 1893 after a meagre 19 months in business, I'm sure Mr Stoer who owned it never dreamed that the daring new style he found in Bavaria and the US would one day rule supreme in Irish beer. Yet when the latter-day beer pioneers Oliver and Liam set up The Porter House in the 1990s, it was inevitable that lager would be a key component in their success. The first brews were called Probably Lager and WeiserBuddy, each with its own distinct and individual branding.

Of course, the multinational which holds the licence to brew Carlsberg and Bud in Ireland threw a fit, and the beers were hastily renamed. I've already covered the Porterhouse's Bud clone back here and today I'm looking at the other two lagers they make and sell: Temple Bräu and Hersbrucker. And yes, I'm well aware that by writing about fancy-pants microbrewed beer I'm breaking my own Session rule on plain everyday lager. Sue me.

I got my first sip of Temple Bräu in just before the rain started and we had to leave the beer garden of Porterhouse North. I hadn't tasted it in a long long time so had basically no expectations, other than what you see here: a fizzy yellow lager aimed at the mass market. I was still surprised, however. It's nice. The body is quite full and comes close to the creaminess you get in the best German pilsners. The aroma indicates a definite hop character and it tastes pleasantly bitter with a long aftertaste. All is not completely rosy in the beer garden, however: there's a bit of a metallic tang as well, right in the middle of the whole thing, though not enough to spoil the enjoyment. Despite its flaw, Temple Bräu remain a tasty quaffer for sunny afternoons.

Inside, I moved on to Hersbrucker. Once upon a time, this was Mrs Beer Nut's regular tipple but she quit a couple of years ago, citing an unpleasant change in the beer. I had never been a fan so was very much on the alert as I took my pint back to the table. Rightly so, as it happened. Hersbrucker, slightly darker than Temple Bräu, is damn near undrinkable. The only thing that saves it is its watery hollowness. The flavour starts with nothing but is followed by a massive disinfectant flavour: pure essence of hospital. Sharp, tangy and unpleasant. I did, in its defence, finish the pint, but I couldn't help thinking that I might have been better off with a pint of Carlsberg, sadly.

I was going to leave this post here, but the guilt about drinking microbrewed lager got the better of me. I had to go back to my roots.

It's very hard to find a pint of Harp in Dublin. It was still relatively common in the mid-1990s but pretty much disappeared soon after. Diageo brew it in Dundalk and just about all of it heads north across the border. Fortunately (or not), there are a couple of hold-outs around town, one being O'Neill's of Suffolk Street, a vast pub that seems possessed of the desire to stock every draught beer that exists anywhere on the Irish market. They have a Harp tap. Since it's the beer I drank most when I started drinking beer, I felt I owed you all a pint.

And it's not awful. I was astounded at how unawful it is. It's not in the least watery and has quite a sweet foretaste with a bit, but not much, of a bitter kick at the end. To be completely frank I doubt I could tell this blind from your typical pale Czech lager. In fairness that's probably more a damning indictment of what the multinationals have done to the established lagers of Prague and Plzeň than any kind of kudos for Diageo, but still: I could actually drink Harp without complaining. That's an eye-opener for me.

And that's all I've got to say on the yellow fizz of Ireland. Post your linkages somewhere on here, or e-mail me or whatever. A round-up will be forthcoming some time in the next week. In the meantime, I'm off to Belgium for the weekend where I won't be so much as tempted by a Jupiler. I'll likely be Twittering my way through Cantillon's public brewday tomorrow, but unfortunately won't be able to read your jealous howls until I return.

Schleswig schwingtops

A phrase to terrify the beer shopper perusing the off licence shelves in search of a new thrill: "Mild & Frisch". And I would have passed on the Flensburger Gold if it wasn't one of a matching pair, the other of which looked genuinely interesting and it didn't feel right leaving this one behind. But more of that below. Gold comes in a dinky 33cl swingtop and shows off its pale gold hue through clear glass. Unsurprisingly, then, there's a definite lightstruck whiff from it. It has a characteristic German smoothness but little by way of flavour, with just a hint of graininess at the back. Enjoyable in its own little way, but there are much better German lagers out there. Somehow I can't see it stealing market share from the other popular 33cl bottles of pale lager: the Coors Lights and Coronas of this world.

It was the Flensburger Winterbock that attracted me to the pair in the first place. The red label had me expecting something much darker than what I got: the sort of orange an IPA would be happy with. I think the dark, smoky bocks of Norway may have spoiled me for bock in general. This one certainly has the raw, sweet malty notes of a German bock and the thick sugary mouthfeel, though the bock flavours aren't as strong as they could be and an odd gassy dryness, almost like a pilsner, comes in behind it. It all has me craving something heavier and stickier. From the branding -- red with snowflakes --I assume that this is meant to be a fireside warmer, but I'm sitting by the fire now and I'm just not feeling the love.

Just as well winter's nearly finished, eh?

The Alan Partridge Project

Last year I reported on a visit to a dire pub in what used to be rural England but is now just off the road to somewhere else. This week I went one further and found myself in a generic low-rent business hotel in the English midlands: exactly the sort of Travel Tavern that Alan Partridge used to live in. It was, of course, a real ale desert (how did he survive so far from his beloved Director's Bitter?), with the bar taps dominated by InBev products, including Boddington's. It's a very sweet, light keg bitter: unchallenging but still quite tough drinking. I stopped at one pint.

My trip was far from a total waste, however. With some careful planning I found myself with a couple of hours to spare in central Manchester. I had picked out a handful of pubs worth visiting, but never got past the first: the gloriously appointed Marble Arch. This quirky boozer is kitted out in steel-and-ceramic Victorian bling and boasts a curiously slanting floor throughout. Out back, the house brewery produces a range of cask and bottled beers, the latter available to take away. Everyone in the house was drinking Manchester Bitter, a shockingly pale yellow lager lookalike. The resemblance ends there, however. This has a strong fresh hoppy aroma and greets the palate with a lemony bitterness which would appeal to any witbier fan. It's a wonderfully refreshing classic bitter and, I can only presume, the sort of beer that Boddington's would like to be.

The house range also includes Stouter Stout, a very sharp, bitter, but creamy stout. The abundance of hops is there right from the nose and is carried through in the strong rich bitter flavours. For a stout this is just too tart to my taste: IPA dressed as stout and off-puttingly weird, despite the care and attention that obviously went into making it. The house also makes Ginger Marble, another very yellow ale. The clue's in the title here, but in case of doubt there's a sweet, candied ginger aroma first off. This is followed by a gorgeous back-of-the-mouth raw ginger burn on the first swallow, with a legacy of ginger nut biscuits on the lips. I think this is the best ginger-flavoured beer I've ever tasted and would make a superb aperitif. And every flavoursome beer the Marble Brewery produces is 100% organic: proof that most everyone else is just doing organic wrong.

Of the guest ales, Spitting Feathers caught my attention first. This is a "smoked autumn ale", thick and creamy with little foretaste and almost reminiscent of a nasty keg ale. The smoke comes through afterwards in a vague sort of way, after some unpleasant dry mustiness. My limited experience of smoked beer has led me to expect the full-on bacon flavour experience and you don't get that with this. Two guest taps were displaying clips from Scottish craft brewing's enfant terrible Brew Dog. When I asked the barman whether I should go for Hype or Buzz, he told me he'd sold more Hype that evening, so that's what I ordered. Again, this is a very pale affair but it more than makes up for it in texture and flavour. It's warm and hits the palate with a hefty bitterness. A heavy and filling beer, all-in-all, despite having a mere 4.1% ABV.

With a heavy heart I left the pub and headed to the airport. A little previous research allowed me to stave off the return to keg ale for a few more precious minutes. The online menu of terrifyingly cheery family restaurant Giraffe included, among the Corona and Tiger, Brooklyn Lager. This is an impressively amber beer with a hoppy aroma, smelling for all the world like the lighter sort of American IPA. On first sip there's a full body and a strong malty flavour, carrying through to a dry bitter bite at the very end. Brooklyn is a thinking man's lager, and not just because the brewmaster is now a published philosopher.

A delay to my flight meant the time eventually came to bite the bullet and approach the main bar, where Worthington's Bitter was the house ale. Unlike the Boddington's, this is properly amber coloured. It has a striking burnt corn flavour, liked singed tortilla chips. Flavoursome, but not really in the right way.

I feel Manchester definitely warrants further barstool-based research. It'd just be a question of tearing myself away from the Marble Arch.

Enjoying my Brazilian

On a trip to a distant and exotic off licence in West Dublin I chanced upon Bravara lager from Brazil. Quite enjoyable, especially on a hot day after some vigorous DIY. Unfortunately there are a million beers that fit this remit too, Corona for instance, and most of them are cheaper. Still: Brazilian beer. Another pin in the map.

Not that I'm bitter

I spent the long weekend in England's West Midlands. While trying to squeeze as much quality ale into very little time I am sorry to report that I didn't get a chance to sample Banks's: the local brew and therefore the yardstick by which all else should be measured.

My top find was Hobsons Mild, a very light and tasty ale with a gorgeous deep red hue. That was in Pennyblack's in Birmingham's Mailbox. I was drawn in by Casque Mark displayed in the window and wasn't disappointed. While there I succumbed to the power of marketing and ordered a pint of What The Fox Hat, though it wasn't the perplexing experience the name suggests, just a fairly normal pale bitter with that slightly sharp edge.

Out at Ironbridge on Sunday I sat in the sun outside The White Hart and enjoyed a couple of pints of Abbot's: slightly sharp, but still way better than most of what passes for draught ale over here in Ireland.

Two other dalliances with cask ale were in The Hill and the Briar Rose: Broadside and Castle Eden Ale respectively. Neither worthy of special comment within their surroundings, but again the sort of stuff England should be proud of.

The Briar Rose is a Wetherspoons, a chain I have a huge amount of respect for. Their corporate responsibility and general policy of common sense regarding their customers and their products is to be admired. I suspect it's one of those things the British take for granted or complain about, like the NHS and the rail network. I was disappointed I didn't get my Theakston's fix, though. Wetherspoon's can normally be relied on for Theakston's, even in Northern Ireland where it is a very strange and exotic substance indeed. But alas, in Birmingham, it was not to be.

On to the dregs, then. Went to Santa Fé in the Mailbox too. It had a fairly impressive beer list, beyond the obvious (San Miguel and Corona). I tried their own-brand organic lager which managed to taste of just about nothing. Water with yellow colouring counts as organic, right?

The first watering stop of the weekend was in a cavernous super-theme-pub. Having given up any chance of there being a cask ale on offer I examined the taps and saw that Tetley's was about the nearest thing available. Deciding not to be so gauche as to order it by name I asked for "a pint of bitter", for when in England one must do as the English do. The Australian barkid looked confused and leaned over to shout into a back room "Is Tetley's bitter?" That was bookended with a swift Worthington's at the airport last night and the reflection that the English, in terms of beer variety and quality, have things so much better than us.