Where they do things differently

The Glider is a modern marvel. Belfast's metro-like bus-with-notions runs transversely across the city, from west to east, passing plenty of the city's beer destinations on the way. A new curiosity has arrived at the eastern G1 terminus in Dundonald. As has been reported far and wide, Lidl NI has chosen to open a fully-operational pub in the same building as their supermarket, to subvert local licensing restrictions. I went up to have a look.

Knowing, presumably, how much of a curiosity The Middle Ale would be, and the potential for positive publicity, the chain has gone to more effort than it strictly needed to. Although there's nothing distinctive about the exterior, the inside has been designed to a definite theme, based on the old-fashioned Irish pub-grocer, as befits a kind of modern day equivalent. The shelves are lined with decorative versions of Lidl food and homewares, not to advertise them seriously, but to fit the theme. With that goes shiplap-style painted-wood walls and ceiling, lighting in the style of early electrification, and even little vestigial drawers behind the counter, as though for storing loose produce. That it's all garishly coloured in the company's red, yellow and blue, rather than more realistic earthy ochre or olive green, takes away from the effect and reminds one that it's all a bit of set dressing. But it's fun, like drinking in the on-stage pub from a pantomime.

The drinks offer... well, they've made a bit of an effort. For the most part, the draught options are what you might expect to find in a mainstream Norn Irish pub with a tie to C&C: Tennent's, Heverlee, Bulmer's, Bud Light, Guinness and the one surprise, Estrella Damm. When I lived in the province, such a basic array would absolutely have included C&C-brewed keg Bass as well, and it was a little jarring to see it's not part of what's plainly an out-of-the-box factory-settings beer line-up. I bet the marketing wunderkind who came up with "The Middle Ale" didn't think to ask if the pub would sell any ale. It doesn't.

While you can buy Lidl-brand wine and spirits behind the bar, the logistics of doing the same for draught beer would have been impractical. This is where the effort shows, though: an additional beer tap is badged as the own-brand Crafty Brewing Lager, and while I strongly suspect it's hooked up to a keg of Rye River's Bidin' Time, I also have my suspicions about whether or not those are two different beers in any meaningful way.

None of this was getting me any new ticks, however. I had to turn to the bottle options for that. Now, you know I love a bit of knock-off branding from the German discounters. I had never taken a punt on either of the main rivals' Corona clones, because they're only in six-packs and that's too much commitment to a beer that's likely undrinkable. At The Middle Ale, however, they'll do you a single of Camaro, and even shove a wedge of lime in it.

I understand that the lightstrike-proof hop substitute that big-brand clear-glass lagers are made from is quite expensive. That it's not in use here is painfully obvious, even sniffing through the tiny aperture of a longneck. The pub hasn't been open long but this was still skunked from its time in the glass-fronted fridge. That's present in the flavour too, but is far from the worst thing about it. There's a horrific cooked-sweetcorn savoury quality, turning to popcorn husk in the finish. The little jet of real lime from the wedge does genuinely help by masking some of the awfulness, but it's a bad time from start to finish. The mainstream versions of this type of beer are mostly very bland and treated a little unfairly in the discourse; the Lidl one, however, tastes as bad as all the jokes about them say they do.

A better drinks offer might have had me spending a little more time there, soaking in the Disney-does-country-grocer ambiance, but nothing took my fancy. Back on the Glider, then.

I didn't have any to-do list beyond that, although I'd never had a pint in the downstairs bar of The Ulster Sports Club, so decided to fix that next. It was quiet and cool in there, and downstairs was the only option as the Out of Office brewery taproom on the upper floor hadn't opened yet. I had a pint of their session IPA: Pencil Pusher.

This is a modest 4% ABV and pale yellow with a light but definite haze. The flavour is crisp at first: plain and a little grainy, before the hops kick in, bringing a fresh and pithy citric bitterness. It took a moment for anything else to appear, beyond the initial grapefruit, and that's a sweeter and slightly sticky stewed peach effect. It remains zippy and refreshing, however, and well-chosen as a regular on the more mainstream downstairs bar. There's little to dislike about it.

All roads lead to The Sunflower, and it was busy in the sunny beer garden, though a little quieter indoors, before the Friday after-work crowd fully descended. Galway Bay makes the house beer here: Sunny Lager. It's pretty unchallenging fare, though well made. It's a crystal-clear golden colour, looking like lager perfection, and is softly textured, the body full for something only 4.3% ABV and likely brewed to a price point. Where I cynically expected it to be bland, the flavour has a colourful floral quality, tasting of summer meadows and tasteful bouquets. Maybe the appropriate weather we had enhanced my impression of it, and it wouldn't be as engaging on a dismal grey afternoon. Quality is quality, however, and I would come back to this.

On the guest cask was El Dorado, a pale ale from Manchester brewery ShinDigger. They had it served nicely cold, which was appreciated. This is another pale and clear one, and has much in common with the lager, being plain and decent, with a subtle hop flavour. Here, that's a light zing of orange and grapefruit, though without any proper bitter kick. It's hard to dislike, but I had turned to the cask in search of complexity, and attracted by the name of the beer being the name of a hop. There's an element of false pretences about it: it's far from the hop showcase one might think it would be.

And with that it was back home to Dublin. I didn't get any proper exploring of Belfast done but felt I did the city's beer scene a little bit of justice. Whether it's worth gliding out to Dundonald to see how Lidl does a pub isn't for me to say. Don't go for the beer offer is all I have to add to the conversation.

Further abroad

Yesterday we got introduced to Riga and its beer via some of the bars in the historic centre. Today we're firing up our transport pass and moving out into the sprawl for more.

It's not very far to BEERA, a low-ceilinged basement lounge in one of the grand 19th century buildings. It stocks a mix of local and international beers and I went for one from the Swiss Brasserie des Franches-Montagnes: Resiståtør, a golden sour beer of 6.8% ABV. It's surprisingly sweet for all that, with an abundance of sunny summer fruit in the foretaste -- cherry, raspberry and the like -- followed by a more serious foeder or barrel oakiness. The tartness kicks in properly in the finish where there's a twang of green apple skin. Generally I'm a fan of this kind of beer, and I enjoyed this slightly odd take on it. BFM can sometimes go a bit too heavy on the vinegary sourness but this pitches it at just the right level.

A few doors down from BEERA, and presumably in a symbiotic relationship with it, is the tiny stand-up watering hole, grandly named "Beer Manor" (Alus Muiža). Still, there's a very solid selection and plenty of seating outside if the weather is cooperating. I was drawn to something calling itself Old School IPA, from Indie Jānis brewery. This is clear and amber-coloured; a modest 5.5% ABV. It smelled highly unappealing, funky and foetid, like the unexorcised ghosts of old boiled vegetables. Then it performs an amazing about-turn on tasting, bringing fresh and zesty satsuma to the fore. The bitterness is low, which makes it not exactly as advertised in the name, but it's fine -- not too far from that traditional style of east European IPA I mentioned yesterday, if lacking in the resinous notes.

Herself wanted a can from the fridge: Black Pecan Cake with Raisins from another new-to-me Latvian brewery, Hopalaa. It's a pastry stout, I guess, being 10% ABV and including vanilla in the recipe, though no lactose. There's a nicely serious amount of roasted grain in the aroma, along with some light floral elements. The texture is every bit as silky smooth as one would want something like this to be; it's not hot nor does it cloy the palate -- no lactose is paying dividends here. It does, however, taste sufficiently like a chocolate cake for the name to be accurate, and there's even a green hop bite in the finish, for those who prefer their stout to be stout-flavoured. Something for everyone in this, which I wouldn't have expected from the outset.

The next bar is only a few kilometres from the city centre but it feels like much further. We're out in the motorway hinterland, among the car showrooms and garden centres. On the first floor of a strip mall, above a hardware superstore, is Craft Beer Station. It's a long way from any trains but has been intensely decorated along a railway theme, feeling a bit more like a family restaurant or play centre than a pub.

The international selection is pretty good, so I opened my account with a Polish beer: Topping Revolution, a "calamansi pie crust" pastry sour. The strawberry coulis is advertised, and obvious from the dirty pink colour. It is extremely jammy, with concentrated, processed strawberry in both the aroma and flavour. It got better, though, starting with a late-delivered tang of real sourness and a fruit complexity involving peach and pineapple notes. It's not heavy or syrupy either, despite the sweetness, and offers a decent quantity of refreshing zing. I didn't think it was possible to get both jam and zing into the same beer, but my notes don't lie.

I couldn't resist the novelty of Belarusian beers. They're not exactly easy to find in Dublin at the moment. Both of these are from Valaduta, near Minsk. First it's Rager: Wakatu, a double IPA and presumably part of a hop series. I'm so used to these being murky yellow that the clear amber colour was a surprise. It's thick and chewy but doesn't deliver the hops to match that, giving me only a vague marmalade aroma, then a flavour with hints of lime shred and eucalyptus on a base of golden syrup. It's old-fashioned, I guess, and probably would have been fine a decade or so ago, when it would be interesting solely for being all of 8% ABV. Double IPA has moved on, however, and this seems bland and tired by contemporary standards.

Redemption for Valaduta came in the form of a dunkelweizen, which is odd because I don't normally like them. "Why would you pick a style you don't normally like?" This is why. Saule Dunkel is 5% ABV and treacle-black, with quite a busy aroma of bonfires and marker pens. The texture is light and the flavour is cleaner than expected, blending weissbier banana with a dry toasted element that is always missing from other examples. It may be that they've used roasted barley, which a German brewer probably wouldn't, but regardless: this is as good as dunkelweizen gets and I hope to find more like it.

As well as multi-brewery pubs, Riga also has a few taprooms/tied houses, and I went to two. I don't know if there's an actual brewery at the Trofeja pub: it didn't look like there was but I can't see any other production address listed. The venue seems to be going for a kind of rustic country cabin vibe, and there's an amateurish feel to the beers as well.

Oh hey! There's another English-style mild! Trofeja's Angļu Kents is no more successful than the one I reviewed yesterday. It's orange again, murky with it, and has a dirty, dregged-up flavour to match. A hint of orange peel is the one saving grace, otherwise it's bland and watery, despite a full 4.1% ABV, and nothing like a dark mild. I guess it could be classed as a pale mild, but only to serve as an example of why nobody brews those much any more.

I hoped for better from the pale ale called Sunny. It's very pale indeed, being a white-gold colour in the glass and only faintly misted with haze. The sour lemon aroma seemed a bit... off, and was followed by a similarly puckering hard lemon taste. A raw green celery note completes the poorly-drawn picture. I don't think it was infected, just over-hopped on too low a malt base. The end result doesn't really resemble proper pale ale, isn't very sunny and is just an end-to-end disappointment. Time to leave Trofeja and never return? You bet!

The Fon Stricka villa was once the exceedingly grand home of a 19th century brewer and his brewery. It hasn't fallen down but looks to be on the verge of it, appearing in need of a plasterer and painter, if not a structural engineer too. Pass through the grand but shabby archway and there's a courtyard with a cluster of buildings, some of which, presumably, used to be the brewery. While it all looks ready for the wrecking ball, it's home to a selection of event and hospitality businesses, including a taproom for Labietis, Riga's "pagan" brewery -- I get the impression that this is meant to signify the brewery's preference for pre-modern ingredients and nods towards ancient brewing.

Akmeņrags is one example of what I mean. This is an amber ale of 4.5% ABV, brewed with heather and wild thyme, plus Sladek hops. Minor points off for being more golden than amber, but the herbal side is spot on, tasting powerfully sagey and gruit-like, just how I want something like this to be. The hops keep quiet, and without their bitterness for balance this does get a little cloying after a while, but I'm sure you're not meant to drink it in quantity. A small one was different and fun.

I followed that with what used to be an obscure anachronistic herbed beer style but which has since gone mainstream: a gose, named Asara. Again it's 4.5% ABV and lightly hazy; pale yellow and with an odd appley aroma. The mouthfeel is strangely gooey, which isn't fun, and it's only tangy rather than cleanly sour. I was hoping for palate-cleansing refreshment but it proved a bit of a struggle to drink. Maybe gose was like this in Old Leipzig (it's not in modern Leipzig) but it isn't the way I like them, needing thinned out and cleaned up.

One of Riga's landmarks is the old zeppelin sheds, relocated to near the main train station and turned into market space. The second hangar along is the foodie one, and Labietis has a bar here as well. As someone who regularly chooses beer based on a silly name, I was drawn to the collaboration with the Dok brewery called 4 Naked Guys and [a] Dead Pigeon. One does not ask how it got that. It's a saison with added meadowsweet, mugwort and yarrow. Once again they haven't skimped on the botanicals and there's a strong blast of savoury herbs in this, all blended together and creating a general vibe of bucolic outdoor drinking. The base saison is the victim of this, losing its spice and crispness, but for once I didn't mind.

I also picked up some Labietis for hotel room drinking, including Trīs Indiāņi, a 5% ABV American-style pale ale. They're keeping things classic with this, presenting a pale yellow liquid which is quite free of haze. The aroma is all hop, mixing dank and funky with a lighter zesty side. The flavour also swings in multiple directions at once, throwing out lots of hard limey bitterness with savoury herbal resins and a slightly chalky, soda-water minerality. It's very old school, reminding me of the drier end of English bitter more than anything American, lacking the crystal malt side that these tended to have. There's a certain amount of malt sweetness but not really enough to balance the relentlessly sharp hop attack. This isn't an easy beer to like, and is definitely not for anyone who doesn't like their tongue getting a thorough scraping from hop acids. I imagine it makes an ideal antidote to fluffy, vanilla-laced haze, however. It's worth keeping on that basis alone.

Then there's Mežs. It means "forest" and is a 5.5% ABV "juniper red ale". It's pretty much red all right, though on the paler side of that spectrum. Hops aren't meant to be a major feature, and sure enough, once you get past the initial mild caramel everything else is herbal rocket, red cabbage and rosemary. There is a berry element too, though more cranberry than juniper: sharp and zesty, with a suggestion of sourness, without being a fully fledged sour beer. I liked it. I remember when gruit ales were fun and exciting novelties, and this belongs to then. You want a beer that's all about picking berries naked in the Baltic rain? Here's one for just such an occasion, where you don't have to actually do it.

That's enough meanderings for today. We return to Riga Old Town for a final couple of pubs tomorrow.