Toro!

It's The Session time once again, and this month's host is Ding, who asks Where do you find value? As someone who does a bit of consumer campaigning, it's a very important topic: whether beer is expensive or cheap, the drinker should feel they're getting value for it. With the highly-marketed mainstream beers in the pubs of Ireland, I think that is very much not the case. For a neophile like me, there's another side to the value proposition. Most beers that I drink are new to me, so I've no idea whether they will prove good value or not. What helps is the existence of this blog. I've long come to view it as a way of getting value out of bad beer. I may not have enjoyed drinking it, but being able to compose and publish an account of why, makes it some way worth my while. And, of course, excoriating reviews are much more fun to write than positive ones.

I was expecting some excoriation to be necessary when I came to today's pair of beers.

The ongoing trend for rustic-branded Mediterranean lager rarely troubles these pages. I am bewildered that there still seems to be space in this sector where Heineken's Moretti and Molson Coors's Madrí are slugging it out. Neither beer is any good, but that hasn't stopped other large breweries trying to attract drinkers away from them with similarly-presented fare.

Damm's effort comes from its brewery in Málaga, and is called Victoria Málaga. It's presented in a 66cl bottle and, like Moretti, the label features an old-timey bloke with a hat -- he's a German tourist, apparently, the beer's mascot since the 1950s, before Damm bought and revived it in 2001. It's a quite a dark one; the clear golden colour having a slight tint of coppery red in it. It doesn't look like a cheapie mass-market job.

Not much happens in the aroma, just a vague graininess which is the sort you get from mass-market lager, though the body is fuller than I expected from just 4.8% ABV. There's a proper malt foretaste, thick and bready, with some quite Czech-tasting golden syrup. Alas, it doesn't last long, fading before the beer's other flavour kicks in. That's a mild zinc-like bitter bite, very much the sort you get from old-world hops, and likely German ones. This too is fleeting, and it finishes promptly and cleanly. This shows some of the features of good wholesome lagers, but its industrial nature betrays it. While it doesn't taste cheap or compromised, there's not really enough depth of taste for me to recommend it. It could have been much worse.

And speaking of: Aldi has taken a direct potshot at Madrí by creating an obvious knock-off, called Grande. Given that these, and there are many of them, never bear any resemblance to the beers they're copying, beyond the label, I had no idea what to expect. It's noteworthy that, unlike Madrí, this one is actually brewed in Spain. Again it's a 66cl bottle, and again it's on the darker side: not quite as deep as the previous beer but certainly an alluring amber. It's much thinner and fizzier, however, and drinking them back-to-back really shows up the Victoria as a better beer made to a more flavourful spec. This isn't much lighter at 4.6% ABV but is a world away.

The aroma is quite sugary, but not in a malt-like way, and suggests that the beer might become sweet and cloying. The chance would be a fine thing. On tasting there's almost nothing going on, with the insistent fizz providing white noise where the flavour should be. I let it warm up a little, in the hope that something of interest would emerge, but nothing of interest is on the cards here. There's a slight tang of green apple and brown sugar, hallmarks of lager done on the cheap, but nothing beyond this. Any bite comes from the carbonation rather than hops. It's not unpleasant, but it is extremely basic. Is it an effective substitute for the price-conscious Madrí drinker? Sure, why not?

I remain none the wiser about the Mediterranean lager trend. These beers are quite different from each other, yet both are being pitched at the same segment of beer drinkers. Neither has TV adverts, though, so I guess they'll continue in the ha'penny place, regardless of any individual merits. I'm certainly not planning to buy either one again, but the four paragraphs above mean I got my money's worth from them.

What goes around comes around

In late 2012, about a month before the announcement that the brewery had been sold to Molson Coors, Franciscan Well released an extra stout aged in Jameson barrels. It was packaged in a one litre fliptop bottle, cost €12 and, according to my review, tasted great: lots of treacle, a solid dosing of hops, and a subtle hint of Irish whiskey. Time has not been kind to it, and the remaining bottle I opened recently had a definite air of faded grandeur about it.

Time hasn't been kind to Franciscan Well, either. Molson Coors, to the surprise of nobody in particular, tanked this fondly considered Cork brand, releasing a string of poor mass-market beers and a disastrous macro lager that was everywhere, doubtless at great expense, for a brief while, then seemingly retired to be replaced by stablemate Madrí. Then last year it looked like there was a bit of good news from the whole affair. The brewery at the Franciscan Well pub had stayed in the ownership of founder Shane Long, who together with former Franciscan Well brewer Páidí Scully, had embarked on a new independent brewing enterprise. Since, by Shane's count, Franciscan Well had been Ireland's 7th independent brewery when founded in 1998, the new operation is called Original 7. Until now, all the beers had been draught only and confined to Cork, so I had never tried any. And then, with bemusement, I was gifted their first bottled beer a couple of weeks ago, by their PR firm. It's an Extra Stout Aged in Jameson Casks in a one litre fliptop.

You can perhaps tell that it's their first bottled beer as it's not legally compliant, missing the ABV on the packaging. One press release told me it's 5.4% ABV, and another that its "close to 8% ABV". The Original 7 webshop has it at 9.3% ABV. It's probably one or other of those. Replete with a handsome cardboard tube, the RRP is €29. It's not 2012 any more.

Once poured, it gets full marks for the visuals. It's properly black and the head forms slowly and surely, resulting in a beige pillow of foam with an attractive dome transcending the glass rim. There's not much of an aroma, just like with the 2012 edition, but the flavour is beautiful. A subtle dark chocolate bitterness leads into a tangy herbal pinch of fresh hops. While that's going on, a sweet honeycomb element gradually unfolds on the palate as the whiskey arrives, all flavour but none of the heat. It's fantastically smooth, and very easy drinking for 5.4% / 8% / 9.3% ABV.

And maybe that's the downside. In this day and age, big stouts are really big. This does a great job of recreating the 2012 one, which was revolutionary for a country which didn't even have any double IPA yet. Since then, the nordics in particular have shown us worlds of strong stout flavour, and eye-watering prices, with which this doesn't compare favourably. I'm not a fan of Jameson whiskey, but a bottle of it for around the same price is still a better value proposition.

I can't argue with the liquid, however. It's undeniably a very good stout. And now I can safely add the proviso that if you have a bottle, drink it fresh. It won't improve over the next eleven years. None of us will.

Back to the pub

Normality comes dropping slow. I haven't exactly been rushing back to the pub since they began re-opening, though it's been nice to return to The Porterhouse and 57 the Headline on occasion. One evening in late August I found myself in one of my locals for the first time in a couple of years, and got a bit of a look at the post-pandemic landscape of normal pubs.

I had seen branding for Madrí Excepcional in a few places around town. This Spanish lager has been newly introduced by Molson Coors, perhaps to add a classy side to their portfolio which neither Molson Canadian nor Archway was giving them. Interestingly, it's presented as a "collaboration" with the parent brewery LA SAGRA (why the shouting?), suggesting it's not actually brewed there.

What do you get if the branding appeals and you order a pint? It's clear and an appropriately rich golden colour, so full marks for the visuals. Less so for the taste: I got a substantial whack of diacetyl from this, the buttery taste matched with a slick and greasy texture. And that's pretty much it: there's a lightly crisp biscuity malt base but no hop character to speak of. I'm not especially diacetyl-averse so I wouldn't consider this spoiled, but it's not impressive. If it makes you feel part of a more Mediterranean drinking culture, then I wish you the joy of that, but I can't think of any other reason to buy it.

And then there's Island's Edge. There has been much online commentary about this new stout from Heineken — the company which already brews two of Ireland's three biggest-selling stouts — from the name which clearly came from a very short brainstorming session where "Rockshore" was written on the whiteboard, to the downright offensive claim that the stout sector in Ireland is stagnant and un-innovative. The supposed innovation here comes from the inclusion of basil and tea in the recipe. Heineken had a shortlived tea-flavoured stout on the market a couple of years ago — Kettle Brew — but it disappeared before I got the chance to try it. I guess this is the next phase in that project. So what's it like?

Well, first of all it's a nitrokeg stout, and only 4% ABV so I wasn't expecting a wow-factor from the taste. The brewery has stated that it wants to attract new drinkers by dialling back the bitterness, and that made it extra unlikely that we would end up as friends. There is a pleasant creamy chocolate element here, and the novel ingredients are manifest as a kind of dry leafiness. It seems that when you combine black tea and basil you end up with something that tastes of green tea, which probably shouldn't be surprising. This builds to become a concentrated cabbage effect by the end. It's not a good stout. Although it isn't thin, and it's bland enough so that the odd flavours aren't jarring, it's missing the elements that make session stout worthwhile. No roast, no bitterness; no point, frankly. As with a lot of new-release industrial beers I can see it being a distress purchase for me for a while, until the novelty wears off, if it lasts that long. I don't see what it offers drinkers of the established big stout brands, or the stout-curious, however. 

And that's why I tend to stick to the pubs where they serve the beer I like.