A culture clash

Two American IPAs today, from different sides of the admittedly broad genre. I thought it would be fun to try them side-by-side, since they were there.

The modernist wing is represented by Ska's Tropical The Hazy. If the name sounds wrong, it might help to know this is a tropical variant on their The Hazy IPA, one I reviewed, and didn't particularly like, last summer. We're not told on the rough-and-ready labelled can what it is that makes it tropical, though I note going in how different it looks compared to the original, being a friendlier, warmer orange rather than stark yellow. There's a clear fruit aroma: mandarin and apricot, so not really tropical, but suggesting lots of mouth-watering juice. The flavour is less subtle. No suggestions here, but a big and sticky cordial sweetness; perfume and Fruit Salad chews. While very artificial tasting, it's not unpleasant. That could be because it's quite atypical for a hazy IPA, being clean, for one thing, and lacking grit, garlic and caraway. There's even a little hop bitterness; a green pinch at the finish. Rather than a serious take on New England IPA, this is more a novelty fruit beer, and as such it's fine. It doesn't go overboard on the syrup and is easy but satisfying to drink. It's an IPA with a delightfully cheery disposition.

But enough of that. The counterpoint is Sierra Nevada's Dankful, a "resinous West Coast IPA" brewed with Columbus, Chinook, Mosaic, Ekuanot, Nelson Sauvin, Zappa, Idaho 7 and whatever you're having yourself. It's 7.4% ABV, a mostly-clear amber colour and does indeed smell very pine-like, if not especially dank. So it goes with the flavour: a big ol' smack of floor cleaner and wood sap, without the more aromatic grassy feel that I count as "dank". It is pretty good, though, and does offer a fun contrast to the beer I drank just before it. No soft fruit here but plenty of hard and punchy bitterness, with enough oiliness to make it linger for ages on the tongue. There's a very retro feel, harking back to the days when brewers compared their willy sizes using IBU numbers. If you miss those days, Sierra Nevada has you covered. I'm actually reminded a little of Sierra's old old IPA, discontinued around 2007 and replaced by Torpedo. It's certainly not what's understood as West Coast IPA these days and offers more retro action than I bargained for. And sure why not?

I went into this expecting typical examples of the beers' sub-styles and came out pleased by how off-kilter they both were. We may be saturated in IPA these days but those three letters still have the power to surprise.

Changing tides

"Imports" is our designated topic for The Session this month, set by our taskmaster Christopher at I Think About Beer. He asks a very specific question of us non-American participants: "How are American beers (imported into YOUR country) viewed? What is their place in your market?" and I think now is a particularly interesting time to answer it.

When I started taking a serious interest in beer, the speciality and niche end of the market in Ireland consisted almost entirely of British and Belgian imports. You'd get a few central and eastern European lagers and wheat beers bundled in with them, but Britain and Belgium was where it was at, on the off licence shelves, in the pub fridges and the tiny handful of online outlets.

I reviewed my first American beer, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, in my fifth ever post in 2005. It didn't revolutionise my outlook on beer. Neither did the second, Samuel Adams Boston Lager, over a year later. It wasn't really until 2007 and the point where I joined in with Dublin's nascent beer geek and homebrew community that the significance of American beer came to my consciousness, and that centred on one beer: Goose Island IPA.

Goose Island was, by all accounts, the last word in hoppiness. It was strictly not to be touched until the end of a session as it would obliterate the palate and render all subsequent beers tasteless. From then on American beers, and American hops, were the focus of the beer discourse. There were more Sierra Nevadas to be consumed, including their since-retired IPA; there was Brooklyn, Anchor and Rogue for the non-lovers of hops, and Harpoon, Flying Dog and Great Divide for the growing number of drinkers who looked first for the letters "IPA" on the label.

And then the deluge. Younger importers began putting the American selection front and centre in their ranges, and draught American beers started to arrive. This was also just as the independent Irish scene began its first serious growth spurt and I noted with amusement when one distributor who had built an empire on sturdy traditional Belgian and English ales took one token brewery from each of America and Ireland: by 2012 you looked silly without them.

Availability has waxed and waned over the years. Great Divide and Dogfish Head were both missed when they stopped being available, but life went on. Things seem to be on a bit of an upswing at the moment, largely led by Grand Cru Beers who push their Californian and Coloradan brands heavily. It was Grand Cru who took the decision to drop Goose Island IPA from their portfolio, citing a decline in quality and tanking brand equity as the reason. Happily they still carry Founder's All Day IPA which I consider to be a perfectly adequate replacement.

While there always seems to be new American beer to try, there's also less reason to. That hoppy kick which was once the sole preserve of US imports can now be found in abundance in Irish and British beer. I'm not sure why anyone who fixates on freshness would even bother with something that's travelled across the Atlantic, refrigerated containers notwithstanding.

Maybe the imported Americans don't generate the same buzz as they used to, but the hand-transported rarities still do. Even non-whaley commodities like Pliny the Elder get reverentially Instagrammed when someone brings one back. I'm making my own contribution to the buzz around American suitcase beer with this bottle of Captain Lawrence Frost Monster imperial stout which I acquired in New York last September and which spent the winter in my attic. It was quite elderly when I got to it, bottled in late 2015 according to the printing on the neck. No ABV is stated but research tells me it's a stonking 12%.

It smells... rich. There's a decadent chocolate truffle sweetness in an aroma that whispers words like "luxury", "sumptuous" and "calorific". While the chocolate continues in the flavour, there's also a big bitter green hop whack, strangely fresh for a beer that's been sitting, sequentially, on a shelf in lower Manhattan and a floor in west Dublin. The silky truffle and the twangy veg perform a duet all the way down, with the chocolate a little bit louder but still balanced nicely. The alcohol provides percussion: a strong hot back beat, keeping the whole performance grounded, never losing sight of the fact that Big Strong Stout is what this one is all about. It's a superb rendition, exactly what is demanded of a beast of a beer like this.

One of my grievances with modern beer hype is that so much gets left behind, and for no good reason. I had never heard of this beer before I bought it, yet it's absolutely world class. For anyone considering standing in line outside an American brewery in the hope of bagging something special to show off with back home, check the local liquor store first: there might be something there that'll save you an hour or two.

Smooth operators

The slow trickle of American beers into Ireland seems to be continuing. Redmond's had a couple of new ones on my last visit and I snapped them up. Samuel Adams Holiday Porter first. It's a magnificent beer from start to finish. Colourwise it's a deep black with ruby edges. The attractive sweet aroma will follow you round the room. A sharp prickly fizz starts the mouthfeel, but quickly subsides leaving a full and silky texture. Following the richness of the texture there's the richness of the flavour: milk chocolate and raisins first, dark chocolate and plums at the end. Very much in the same league as St Peter's magnificent Old Style Porter and a crime to sell in mere 355ml bottles.

Next up is one of those beers whose style I had no idea of until I opened it: Sierra Nevada Anniversary Ale. The big hoppy aroma on uncapping the bottle was the first clue, and the orange amber colour was the second suggestion, that this is an American-style IPA. I rather like Sierra Nevada's own IPA for its rough and uncompromising bitterness. This is a much smoother affair, full bodied and lightly carbonated. The flavour is full of peaches: sumptuously bittersweet with a gorgeous sherbety quality. It is, in short, Goose Island IPA by Sierra Nevada. I had me a Goose Island last Friday night, but I've always room for another, whatever the label.

More American beer like this, please, Mr Importer, sir.

American Indian

Honorable mention was given a couple of days ago to Goose Island IPA, though I noted it wasn't what I would regard as your classic India Pale Ale. Today the Beerhall Challenge threw another American IPA at me: the one made by Sierra Nevada. This is much more on the money as far as my personal beer taxonomy goes. Above all it has full-on green and bitter hops tang. It's one of those great beers that still tastes big no matter how cold it arrives. Just a shame about the tiddly bottle: next time, mine's a pint.