New brew hoodoo

"How do they make us buy their beer?" asks Alan for this month's Session. "Quite easily", I'm afraid, is the answer in my case. I'll try pretty much anything once, and then proceed to bore you, the innocent reader, with what I think of it.

The brewers don't have to put much effort in to get my attention either. Recently I sprung a bottle of Marks & Spencer Southwold Winter IPA from my stash. It's brewed by Adnams, a consistent favourite English brewer of mine and I'd heard good things about it. At first sip I realised something dubious was going on: it tastes identical to Adnams Innovation, not a bad thing by any means, but there was a moment of disappointment when it occurred that I wouldn't be getting a new beer to write about. Damn you, Marks & Spencer!

Not being one to hide my disappointments, I let Twitter know and word came back from the ether -- from none other than Adnams's illustrious head brewer Fergus -- that Southwold Winter IPA is very slightly different from Innovation. Saved! Specifically, it's dry hopped in a different way. I don't know how differently, and frankly I don't care. A new tick is a new tick and the ridiculously high price that I paid in M&S is now, officially, justified.

What does Southwold Winter IPA taste like? Exactly like Innovation, as I say: fresh peaches and candied oranges. Lots of summer zest, which means the "winter" designation is a serious bum steer. Cracking beer though.

You don't even need to adjust the recipe for me to buy the beer, though I do try and avoid straight re-badges of things I already know (unless they're good, of course). An increasing number of the more, shall we say, geek-friendly breweries are turning out specials and collaborations that are simply blends of existing beers. I'm slightly bothered by this. I think it's cheating, even if it is likely to offer a taste experience quite different from the constituent beers. I tend to pick carefully among such offerings and am only likely to buy if I like the breweries and the beer genre.

At first I thought that was what De Molen and Flying Dog had done with their Bat Out of Hell collaboration. And, as a fan of both Hel & Verdoemnis and Gonzo I was quite prepared to ignore my principles and get my paws on some. But it's not a mere blend, it's a brand new brew from out of the Bodegraven windmill: score!

At the start of the pour I thought this 9.18% ABV imperial stout was totally flat: no bubbles and no head for the first few seconds. Turns out it's just so damn thick it takes ages for the carbonation to get its act together, but when it does a thick, tan-coloured, long-lasting head is the reward. The goodies keep coming with bitter, vegetal hops on the nose: a familiar aroma to anyone who knows the joy of Flying Dog Gonzo, though it's similarly lacking in stoutiness here. But while Gonzo keeps pumping the hops in the flavour, they ease off on tasting here. Instead it's much more of a classic imperial stout: the gloopy scrapings from the bottom of the coffee machine, the first cigar of the evening, one of those terribly posh bars of dark chocolate with the minimalist wrapper, and the inside of the saddler's workshop. The hops pop up again towards the end, though more as a balancing bitterness than a green vegetal flavour.

Bat Out of Hell isn't cheap: DrinkStore took nearly €18 off me for it, but I definitely got my money's worth. Brewers I trust, a style I love, fun branding and local availability: all things that will pretty much guarantee I'll be reaching for my wallet.

Domesticated

"Needs more Dog" seems to be DrinkStore's opinion of the Irish beer market, which is why they're now dealing directly with the European importer Bier & Co and have increased the range of Flying Dog beers available. (A side-effect of the new arrangement is the arrival of half a dozen De Molen beers, but sure you wouldn't be interested in that kind of thing at all.)

I realised I'd never tasted some of the core Flying Dog beers so took the opportunity of their sudden availability in Ireland to give them the once-over.

Tire Bite first: a 5.1% ABV golden ale which, frankly, is a bit too strong. It's quite lagery and I can understand why the American rating sites have classified it as a Kölsch, though it's maybe a little too sweet for that: there's a touch of golden syrup, the sort of thing I'd associate more with hefty Czech lagers or even British golden ale. That's about all the description I could muster, though. It was getting unpleasantly warm as I turned it over and this is a beer very much designed to be sunk cold. A percentage point or so lower on the alcohol and I'd be more inclined to do so. Strong and bland just doesn't float my boat.

I followed it with the basic porter, Road Dog. It's another simply designed beer but even more of a thumper at 6% ABV. An attractive dark ruby hue, it delivers the juicy fresh hops up front, following them with a crisp roasted dryness. The whole experience reminds me a lot of their powerhouse Gonzo Imperial Porter, only in miniature and with balance. Overall, I reckon this is just complex enough to pass as a strong beer for taking time over, though can't help thinking that as a low-strength sessioner it would have been a real winner.

So, it turns out that the bigger, heavier Flying Dogs are my preference over the everyday ones. I suppose that has a lot to do with these everyday beers being flogged for the guts of €3 a pop. At $10 for six I'd be a lot more forgiving.

On the up

A quick Google tells me Black Diamond's Peak XV has only been with us a couple of weeks at this stage. The 8% ABV imperial porter is made with fresh vanilla and California cocoa nibs. And, perhaps because it's so young, is incredibly fizzy at first. Mountains of head piled up as I poured, though subsided relatively quickly leaving a layer of tan foam on the surface.

From this there comes an oddly sharp aroma with a strangely green and herbal character: I get the distinct impression that, a journey of 5,000 miles notwithstanding, this stuff isn't quite ready for drinking yet. Chocolate is the main flavour: dry and dusty like cocoa powder. The vanilla is present too, adding a depth and richness otherwise lacking in this busily youthful but quite two-dimensional beer. The only other beer badged as "imperial porter" that I can think of is Flying Dog's Gonzo, and this has none of the big hop complexities present there.

The texture is relatively heavy, and once the head has settled it's as smooth and ungassy as this sort of beer should be -- a bit of a prickle livening up the mild alcohol burn as it slips down.

At the moment, Peak XV is a big, cacophonous powerhouse of sharp, unsubtle, unblended flavours. While I enjoyed it, I recommend a year or two's cellaring before approaching the thick moulded plastic seal over the cap.

Snob factor 9

There's nothing we stuck-up euro beer geeks like more than cracking open a couple of lovely Sierra Nevada Torpedos and guffawing over how those clueless Americans keep getting our local styles wrong, the fools. Wheat beers tend to be Exhibit A: very few US craft breweries seem to have got the hang of the spicy Belgian variety or the full and fruitsome Bavarian iteration. And then there's tripel. I did rather enjoy the Alesmith-Mikkeller-Stone joint effort recently, but as a juicily-hopped American beer rather than a warmly piquant Belgian-style one.

Which brings me to Victory's Golden Monkey, a straight-up attempt at a tripel by the Pennsylvania brewer. This is a remarkably light and thin affair. It has that slow-building tripel warmth -- at 9.5% ABV it would want to -- but it just doesn't build high enough, dropping away into wateriness after the first few seconds. The spices are in place, but again not to enough of a degree. In fact, what with the coriander and orange peel vibe, and the lightness of touch, this could nearly pass for a very good Belgian witbier, except without the quaffability. It's a good beer, and enjoyable drinking, but I can't help feeling it needs to raise its game a bit more if it's to stand beside real Belgian tripels. That or, like the Alesmith-Mikkeller-Stone one, be its own unique thing and sod the damn Belgians.

Moving on, I'm finding it harder to be snooty about Victory's Storm King imperial stout (though obviously I'll give it my best shot) because, while I've enjoyed many in this style from American brewers, and from European craft breweries who work in the American vernacular, I've very little reference to what what an "proper" old-fashioned British imperial stout should taste like. The 16-year-old Courage Imperial Stout I had a couple of years back (thanks Ron!) wouldn't exactly be typical, though the well-balanced Czar's Imperial from White Shield brewery, sampled at last year's Great British Beer Festival, would perhaps be closer to the mark. A mark that Storm King misses completely. Now, never let it be said that I have something against big west-coast hops in black beer: I don't, and I'll offer both Yeti and Gonzo as examples of how it can be done well, even in strong dark beers. But Victory have over-egged this one badly, in my opinion. I mean, the beer smells lovely, with succulent peaches overlaying sweet dark malt: not what one might expect from an imperial stout, but good beer is good beer and labels aren't important. Hope dies with the first sip. It's horribly, sharply, bitter, and this is accentuated by very high carbonation. No quarter is given to smoothness or warmth. The roasted flavours come in second, jarringly dry and rather acrid, and the finish is given back to the hops, being harshly metallic. It's certainly an interesting beer: there's lots and lots to keep your darling little tastebuds occupied, but more in a House of Horrors sort of way than a pleasant nature walk.

So, it's not that Storm King isn't a "proper" imperial stout: I wouldn't enjoy it regardless of the designation. And I do rather like Golden Monkey for all its untripelness, I just wouldn't swap it for the "real" thing (reminding me that I have a blind tasting of tripels to do here some time soon). I guess you just have to be happy there are people out there willing to take the risk, throw tradition to the wind and mess about with so-called perceived wisdom. The world of beer is better for them.

Snobby and patronising: I'm on a roll today.

Gone tickin'

I'm sorry, I'm not at home right now. By the time Blogger publishes this, I'll be on my last day in Manchester, preparing to head east to Yorkshire for the weekend.

The Session this time round is called Will Travel For Beer, ideal for a blog like mine that tries to mix travel and beer as much as time and budget will allow. Except... I don't travel for beer. Well, not much. I do the odd local trip to a festival in other parts of Ireland, and maybe further afield in recent years like the Great British Beer Festival or Oktoberfest. Mostly, however, the travel comes first and the beer is there when I arrive, and that's just the way I like it.

Now once I've checked in somewhere, I will remorselessly hunt out whatever beers are there to be had, and will go far out of my (and my wife's, admittedly) way to visit bars and breweries where I think there might be something interesting or different to drink. But I try to keep it within reason and I rarely let beer become the main driving force behind my travel.

Er, except once. Last September Mrs Beer Nut and I spent three days in Copenhagen at the European Beer Festival: a massive gathering of beers and breweries from across the globe. Other than some brief strolling around town on the last day, that trip was pretty much beer all the way. I really enjoyed it, but I doubt it's the sort of thing I'd be inclined to make a habit of. On the Saturday morning, we went along to Ølbutikken where I bought a six-pack of special releases from Mikkeller. I've covered three of them earlier this year, and number four was opened in honour of this Session.

It's a collaboration between two Danish beer firms: Xbeeriment and Mikkeller and styles itself a "Belgian Stout" under the name Brewers United. The fact that it's 11.1% ABV suggests that it's on the imperial side of the stout genre. And that's certainly how it tastes: it's hopped up to buggery in the American style with some fairly serious acid bitterness. But that sits on a beautiful espresso base and the two sorts of bitter flavour complement each other wonderfully. It finishes by depositing the hop oils on the lips for a finish that runs and runs. I'm put immediately in mind of the likes of US imperials like Great Divide's Yeti and Flying Dog's Gonzo, but this exhibits more charm and balance than either of them.

And there you have it: A Danish take on a Belgian style based on a British beer made for Russians and latterly popularised by the United States. Sometimes beer travel comes right out of the fridge in 250ml bottles.

Love in a cold climate

It has been mighty cold recently, something which is much harder to bear when one lives in a country where it's pretty much impossible to buy imperial stout. Fortunately I had the good sense to stock up on my travels over the summer, so I've been braving my chilly attic and bringing down rich dark bottles of winter comfort.

To the US first, and a small bottle of Old Rasputin -- a 9% ABV imperial stout by North Coast Brewing in California, featuring Boney M's favourite mad monk in mid-benediction on the label. From the bottle it is totally opaque with not even traces of ruby when held up to the light. The head quickly subsides to a thin tan skim. Texturewise it's quite wonderful, slipping down silkily and leaving a warming buzz as it goes. The big surprise for me, however, was in the taste. Since it's a Californian I was expecting citric hops in spades, à la Gonzo or Yeti, but they're not here. Instead it's all about a sweet Irish coffee aroma and a mild roasted bitterness on the palate. Sumptuous, and requiring very little effort to drink.

Amager's Imperial Stout was harder work. The Danish brewery haven't put quite as much effort into their label, and the half-litre bottle ends up looking like some supermarket's own brand of discount imperial stout. The head is thick and a light shade of beige, and the huge amount of sludge in the bottom of the bottle indicates that at least some of the 10-and-a-bit% ABV is a result of bottle conditioning. It is astonishingly bitter, but again not in a citric American hops way. Instead, the flavour is packed full of burning liquorice and the sort of coffee that's strong enough to stand a spoon in. The texture is incredibly full and quite greasy, but in a pleasant mouth-coating sort of way. Despite being the same style as Old Rasputin this is almost the diametric opposite. Yes it's still very tasty but it's a beer that forces you to take your time and lacks the hypnotic friendly warmth of the other.

Imperial stout, of whatever stripe, is such a rewarding beer. Why more (i.e. some) isn't made or imported into this stouty country of ours is really beyond me.

King of Beers

First stop on arriving in Amsterdam was legendary beer emporium De Bierkoning. Amongst the prodigious range of Low Countries bottles, there is an impressive selection of foreigners. I surprised myself by picking an American, a Norwegian, a German and just the one Belgian.

Flying Dog beers are just starting to touch down in Ireland, but I've not seen the Gonzo Imperial Porter yet. It pours very thickly with a slow-rising café crème head. The aroma is rich and estery, with almost the essence of a solvent. A syrupy feel and sweet coffee notes are at the front, followed by an orangey, pithy, bitterness. Not a beer to be taken lightly, despite a piddling 8.7% ABV. More from Flying Dog soon(ish).

It seems to me that Norway's craft brewers are turning out new beers faster than I can drink them. (The fact that they're not sold in my home country doesn't help either.) I'm just now catching up to Haandbryggeriet Dark Force, another strong black beer. This goes all-out for a powerful hoppy bite, with only a gentle coffee mellowness to take the edge off. I detected some licquorice notes at the very end as well. Half a litre of this is a bit of a rollercoaster.

The German, chosen largely at random, was a pale bock: Leonhardi Bock Heller, by Hummel-Bräu. It's a beautiful dark gold colour and the flavour engages in a tugging match between sugary alcoholic notes (it's 7.5% ABV) and dry throat-catching bitterness. This all makes for a complex, interesting and highly enjoyable experience.

To Belgium, then, and a bottle of legendary Christmas ale Stille Nacht. It pours a hazy orange colour with a big foamy head, yet has a very light and typically Belgian carbonation. It's strong, it's bitter and it's hoppy, but I just didn't feel warmed by it. As Christmas ales go, I think I'd pass on this one.

I didn't have time for a whole lot of pubbing around Amsterdam, but did squeeze in an hour or two on the mezzanine of Café Gollem -- the best seat for a view of the blackboard menu around the walls. Here I had another one from the makers of Stille Nacht, Arabier. It's a pale Belgian ale with the contrast of malty sweetness and hoppy bitterness I most associate with Duvel, but here the two flavours act separately and the result is a little bit sharp and discordant for my liking.

Quite possibly my favourite beer of the trip was that trans-North-Sea oddity Martin's Pale Ale. Here we find the floral and tannic notes of an English ale, but tempered -- quite beautifully, in this blogger's opinion -- with some very Belgian sugar notes and a soft carbonation. Shame about the 33cl bottle: I could neck this by the pint quite happily.

I've come this far and managed to avoid mentioning a single Dutch beer. No more. First up was La Trappe Tripel, a gorgeous red-gold honey colour with yet more honey on the nose. Alas it's not as much of a feast for the tastebuds as it is for the other senses. While there's a little bit of honey in the flavour, there's not a whole else going on. The absence of the full-on fruity and spicy and bitter tripel experience makes it a disappointing example of the genre.

How does one follow a La Trappe? Why, with an Amstel, of course. In a café in Haarlem on Monday afternoon I saw table cards advertising Amstel Rijpe Bock, and I figured I'd have me one of them. Not surprisingly, from Heineken's low-rent offspring, this doesn't taste of much. However, the slight sweet-sour fruit flavours with a hint of smoke, and especially the light ungassy texture, make this quite a pleasant drinking experience, if not exactly a challenging one.

More Dutch beer to follow, and then I'll finally be caught up with everything. Unless I try a new beer in the meantime, of course. The Flying Dogs are calling me, as Kate Bush might have said if she were rather madder than she already is.