Three, times two

Triple IPAs are a clear indicator of the law of diminishing returns in beer hype. Less than a decade ago, double IPAs were exciting and much sought-after. Triple IPAs barely register in hype circles and I've not yet heard anyone name a qudruple IPA that they think is worth trying. Less hype is better. I should be happy about it. It's still odd to see it happening. Anyway, here are two TIPAs from Barcelona's Garage Beer.

Starting on a mild 9.6% ABV we have Game After Game. A bright and hazy orange body is topped with lots of foam. There's decent head retention too, by modern IPA standards. The aroma mixes cloyingly sweet tropical fruit syrup with a harsh allium savoury side. Oh dear. This isn't going to be a gentle one. It's not overly thick, which is a mercy, and there's no yeast bite or gritty fuzz. The alcohol is very prominent, however: a heat that's verging on unpleasant. An initial sweetness helps soften that a little on tasting, the concentrated mango and peach not extreme, but not lasting long either. Half way through it fades, letting a rasping green spring onion and kale effect take the reins. The finish is a sharp edge of pure alcohol, like a shot of high-end vodka. While not difficult, it does suffer from the over-wroughtness typical of triple IPA. I kept wanting to reassure the flavour and ask it to calm down. And with that in mind, I faced into its big sister.

This beer is Obscene. For a start the ABV goes up to 10%. Oo-er. The aroma mixes fruit-flavoured candy with a harder plasticky bitterness for which I'm guessing we have Sabro to thank. It's in the mix here with Citra, Mosaic, Comet and Loral. Happy juicy Mosaic is the most prominent in the flavour, bringing crisp pear and succulent honeydew. The clean-burn alcohol common in triple IPAs is the next thing I noticed, and it very much gets in the way of any subtleties. It may be clean but this is not a beer of nuance. A lime-skin bitterness is the third and final piece of the puzzle. This is a gentler affair than the previous one, less busy and less sweet. It's fine. Another bullet dodged.

I don't really get the attraction of beers like this. I like that they're not simply the next step beyond double IPA: they don't bump up the malt quotient and aren't sticky or harsh as a result. But you don't get extra hop impact from the extra ABV. They're just harder, and hotter. It all stinks a bit of machismo to me.

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.

Curiouser

Larkin's value range of sub-€4 cans has seen an expansion. I have four new ones for you today.

You don't see many American-style wheat beers these days -- Lidl's Rye River one has the local market pretty much sewn up -- but now here comes Immortal Game. This is 5% ABV and hazy in the glass, like a weissbier. It's very much not one, however, having a clean and crisp flavour. Dry grain husk is balanced by a sweeter orange-cordial effect. It is, above all, thirst-quenching and refreshing, even though it's strictly speaking a bit strong for that purpose. That said, I took my time with it and still enjoyed it: though simple, there's enough complexity to keep things interesting. Kudos to Larkins for making a wheat beer instead of just another pale ale. Style diversity is an objectively good thing.

New England IPAs, conversely, are commonplace. What can Bravo Zulu offer us that we haven't had before, other than that €3.25 price tag? It's a foamy beast, taking a while to get under control in the glass. Beneath the head it's pale and translucent, somewhere between the full-on beaten egg of the big-hitters and casual NEIPA's orangey mist. The aroma gets the juicy in early: peach and apricot (hello Mosaic!) with a faint and worrying garlic twang behind. The flavour goes more for vanilla than either of those, and there's an orange cordial accompaniment, for the Super Split effect prized by Irish NEIPA fans. It's pretty decent. Sweet but not cloying, with a nice level of fruit and no interruptions: a settled and cosy sort of hazy IPA, or a gateway to the more intense stuff, perhaps. Personally I would prefer some level of bitterness, but I can't really criticise it for that if it's not meant to be there.

As a '90s kid I appreciated the shout-out in the name of Atlantic 353. Happy longwave days. This is a west coast IPA, albeit a modest one at 5.5% ABV. It's clear and amber in the glass, so full marks for appearances, though there's not much of an aroma, just a faint tang of grapefruit. I liked the full texture and low carbonation, giving the impression of a much more American strength. In the flavour it's a beer of contrasts: sweet first, with caramel and toffee, and then a hard bitterness: grapefruit is the gentlest aspect, but there's also aspirin, zinc and candlewax. The two sides don't really gel together, fighting with each other the whole way along. Thankfully they're not long about it, and the finish is quick and clean. Still, I found this rather harsh for my tastes. It's very retro and reminds me of the time when high-IBU American beers were too much for me to take. I'm aware I was in the minority then, so modern-day haze dodgers will likely find this just the ticket.

The latest addition to the range is Night Tide, a coffee stout of 5% ABV. I can't remember the last time I had a stout with coffee that wasn't either pumped up with alcohol or full-on pastrified with a load of other stuff. Immediate points for retro value again. Mind you, I can see why brewers do now put lactose in these, because it's inescapably thin with a sharp and pointy fizz. Thankfully the intensity of the cold-brew coffee rescues it. The aroma is a straightforward crowd-pleaser, all rich and roasty. In the flavour there's a dash of dark chocolate and a wafery crispness to add complexity, but the coffee is bold and worn prominently. Also prominent is the bitter finish, blending vegetal old-world hops with yet more coffee. This is delightfully old fashioned and a refreshing contrast to what stout-with-coffee tends to be these days. It brought back fond memories of homebrew days before coffee stouts existed commercially.

I confess I was sceptical going into these. Larkin's is on record saying the Curious Society range is pitched at the mass market and designed to be accessible. Too often that's a euphemism for boring. These are far from that and are perfect for dipping one's toe in the world of beer diversity, with change back from a fiver.

What's that it looks nice

Strong and dark is how my missus likes 'em. It does mean that there's always imperial stout in stock, as there should be in every properly-run household. And occasionally there's something new for me to beg a taste of. Here's two such.

Wander Beyond's Half Moon is a big ol' imperial stout of 12% ABV and includes oranges, cacao nibs and vanilla as well as the usuals. They've hopped it with Mandarina Bavaria, but I imagine that's just for thematic cohesiveness since it's unlikely to be discernible under everything else. It smells like an imperial pastry stout: that mix of heavy caramel, milk chocolate and wafer biscuits. The texture is surprisingly light, with a busy fizz. On the flavour, oranges are conspicuous by their absence. It goes big on the chocolate, which doesn't sit well with the assertive carbonation. The sweetness, bitterness and savoury side are all what you'd get from dark chocolate or cocoa powder, and there's only the faintest hint of Jaffa Cake orangeiness on the finish. I'm down on gimmicks in beer generally; poorly rendered gimmicks like this are unforgivable.

Origin of Darkness strikes me as less ambitious. This is from Collective Arts, in collaboration with Mikkeller. There are a bunch of them, but the one in front of me is an 11.3% ABV bourbon-aged imperial stout with almond milk and coffee. It smells burnt; a very studenty aroma of black toast and sweaty laundry. Not a good start. The flavour picks up on the positive nutty elements, with hazelnut in particular coming though, plus chocolate and caramel for a broad Snickers effect. It's weighty without being hot, which is good, but the basic strong stout is somewhat lost under the bells and whistles. This is very much built for the novelty-chaser, and that fact it's one of a whole series of similar efforts only serves to confirm that. I'm not in a rush to try the rest. You will know from the description is this is your sort of thing or not; there are no surprises.

Thank you dear, but no thanks on both of these.

A view on the new BRÚ

It's just over a year since Carrig subsumed BRÚ Brewery and began revamping the brand. This included a revision of the core range and they kindly sent me a set of each to try out, something I had been shamefully remiss about.

BRÚ Lager, then is very much pitched at the mainstream, and was something I had only ever seen people drink in the BRÚ pub chain. It's 4.2% ABV, gluten free, and a perfect bright yellow, if a little lacking in head retention. The flavour is medium-sweet, in broadly the Helles fashion with only a very faint dusting of noble hops in the finish. The middle is malt-driven, with a mix of grain husk and light golden syrup. I made sure to drink it outside in the sun to give a sporting chance, and it worked perfectly. After running two small cans through the pint glass in quick succession I was refreshed and nicely buzzed for what comes next.

Rua was quite the sensation on its release, which is not at all usual for a core-range Irish red. I was certainly a fan. Its successor, BRÚ Red Ale, has some big hoppy shoes to fill. The words "aromatic" and "pine" on the label indicate that the brewery does know how it's supposed to taste. It's a pleasing clear copper in the glass, and the head is much more stable than on the lager. There's a fun mix of toffee and spices in the aroma, though the flavour is all-malt to begin with: burnt caramel and dark treacle. A tannic dryness comes next, and then finally the hops, adding a floral rosewater complexity to the finish. There's a certain bitterness too, but "pine" is overstating the case. This is decent, and very much the sort of thing Irish red ale brewers should be aiming for. I miss the near-American-amber vibes of the old Rua, however.

Last of the set is BRÚ IPA, bearing the royal blue livery of Rí of old. I never really got on with Rí. There was a rubbery burnt note that didn't agree with me. Let's see how the new crew have tackled that. We get a slight reduction in ABV, to 5% from 5.2. It's a slightly hazy pale yellow in the glass and smells of hard grapefruit juice. So far, so west coast. The flavour is gloriously clean with not a bum note to be found of any kind. The citrus pinch comes right through in the foretaste, grapefruit mixing with fresh lemon and bergamot. The malt side adds texture but brings no sweetness, leaving the stage free for the hops -- Strata, Centennial and Cascade -- to perform. I loved the old-fashioned charm here. It's a reminder of when IPAs were clearer, cleaner, bitterer and, y'know, better. Anyone chasing the current west coast revival would do well to get a few of these in.

Marking the first anniversary of new BRÚ they released a tripel in their Urban Jungle range. Memory Lane is 8.8% ABV and quite dark for the style, amber rather than golden. It smells like a weissbier, big on banana with very little spice. So it goes in the flavour. Brown banana or banana candy, and then a hard waxy bitterness. The alcohol is hot and harsh and promises headaches to come. Of such things is good tripel not made. This doesn't really work. There are about three or four styles I could class this as an example of before I'd pick tripel. Clean it up, dry it out, and then we'd be in proper tripel territory. 

Finally, Double Panda is an amped-up version of Panda Nero tiramisu stout, still managing to be vegan friendly due to the use of the mysterious "tiramisu extract" and no lactose. It's pretty similar to the original: thick, sweet and big on coffee. There's slightly harder, harsher side, and a dollop of extra jammy fruit esters, but I think it wears it well. In fact, I'd venture that this 10% ABV beast is the beer that Panda Nero should have been all along. The balance of serious and silly is well done here, and there's a background bitterness which is all imperial stout and completely novelty-free. That's the way to do it.

In summary, the new core range are rock-solid and deserve to do well. They will be a welcome sight on draught when the pubs re-open and are ideally suited to that setting. Thanks to the brewery for sending them my way.

Earth works

A big thanks to Tom of Land & Labour for shipping me some hard-to-find bottles of his wares, buckshee.

I opened with Cuvée L&L, a blend of two- and three-year-old... whatever terms you're allowed to use for lambic-ish beer brewed and fermented in Galway. It's 5.5% ABV and a deep orange. From the first sip it is sharp -- almost harshly acidic and sour. What saves it is a citrus sweetness in the middle: Seville orange and lime cordial. That takes the edge off before fading itself, leaving room for a dry mineral finish. By the second glass I had adapted to the intense initial sourness and was really enjoying it. It's missing the oaky spice of real gueuze, but otherwise hits the style points for a young and slightly fruity version bang on. The refreshment quotient is very high, and the first bottle wasn't long disappearing.

On to the second: Screaming Trees. This was originally created for the ABV Festival in 2017, in collaboration with White Frontier brewery in Switzerland. It's brewed with juniper needles and fermented with kveik for a full-on Nordic effect. A bit of back and forth with the brewer determined that the bottle I had been given was off -- corky, musty, and just not right. A few months later a replacement was sent, and that's what I'm reviewing here.

This is altogether smoother than the Cuvée, feeling more rounded and matured, even though it's slightly weaker in strength. There's a brisk fizz and a certain level of bricky nitre saltpetre spicing. I had to look for the juniper, and very much doubt I would have been able to identify it, but there's something herbal going on, a mint-sauce piquancy with a hint of eucalyptus. Overall it's quite an understated affair. It delivers the goods for a wild-fermented barrel-aged beer in the broad Payottenland style, but only a small amount of them. The plus side is that it's relaxing rather than busy, with the juniper complexity a modest added bonus. The beer is still a rarity, but I would be very happy to see it, or something like it, become an everyday, off-the-shelf session sort of sour ale.

The final part of the official trilogy is Lúnaberry, a foeder-fermented blueberry ale. To cut to the chase, it's a start to finish class act. The colour is gorgeous: a limpid scarlet, almost completely clear on the first pour from the large bottle. The aroma is a hyperloop trip to Brussels: a woody fruity funk exactly like you'd get from a high-end kriek or similar. My wife nodded vigorously when I opined that the glass in her hand smelled like being in the tasting room at Cantillon. It doesn't quite achieve that level of wild-fermentation complexity on the flavour, however. This is a clean sort of sourness, not severe at this early stage in its life, and with only a hint of Brettanomyces horseyness. The pay-off is more fruit than you'd get from a mature lambic. There's a realness to the blueberry side, the sort of tart sweetness you get when you bite down on a fresh ripe berry. It's gorgeous. While I'm intrigued as to what would happen when this ages, I'm fully prepared to believe it works best fresh. If you can get hold of any, that is. I feel very privileged to have received this bottle.

Bundled in with the second Screaming Trees was an unmarked bottle of Spon 2 Year Blend. This is where Land & Labour really gets into gear, being a take on geuze, Galway style. Like lambic it's spontaneously fermented, barrel-aged and blended, just like proper geuze. Beer like this takes serious skill to do as well as the Belgian establishments, but at the same time you have to start somewhere.

This one has an unsubtle spicy aroma, heavy on the saltpetre and sandalwood, hinting at quite an extreme sourness to come. But while yes, there's a big ol' smack of acidity from the first sip, it's not extreme or vinegary. There's a fun sherbet or pop-rocks tingle on the tongue, with notes of allspice and incense. I liked how light and spritzy the texture is: big-bodied beers in this style don't suit me, and while this is close to 6% ABV it's no chore to get through. Further mellowing would doubtless improve it, though I'd be perfectly happy if the production line kept rolling with a two-year-old product.

I'm sure I've said before that Land & Labour is the most promising beer-production operation on the island at the moment. Everything is done properly and nothing is rushed, and you can taste the benefit of that in every bottle (wonky ones excepted). The only catch is availability. I would love to see these as commodity beers available by the caseload, but I don't know if that's the plan.

Waiting for Trouble

Last year Trouble released a pair of twin pale ales called Didi and Gogo. They've followed this up now with something similar but different.

The lighter of the pair is Lucky, a 4.4% ABV pale ale with Citra, Talus and Simcoe, canned the day before I purchased and drank it. It's a pithy sensation, the aroma and foretaste going big on grapefruit. But that's not the whole picture. A bright and happy peach and apricot buzz spreads quickly across the palate adding much needed balance. Gentle vanilla cream adds subtly to the sweet side. The texture is full and fluffy, with a touch of grittiness, but nothing too upsetting. That citrus pith we came in on sees us out as well, though doesn't hang around long. I suspect this benefits a lot from the freshness, but it's also a sound flavour combination and will still be enjoyable if there's any left in the months to come.

Its companion piece is Pozzo at 6.6% ABV. Released at the same time, this had had an extra week languishing in the can. It seems to have been time well spent, however, as this is altogether clearer than the previous. Here Talus and Simcoe are joined by Amarillo instead of Citra, and I guess that explains why the flavour is softer and mellower. It's no less fruity, and I get juicy watermelon in particular, with a little strawberry and red cherry. Although it's quite dense, it's not sickly due to the dry and husky finish which substitutes for bitterness. This is another summery one, maybe lacking the balance of Lucky but still fine drinking.

Assuming the naming convention continues, the fifth in this series will likely be called Godot. Trouble has not yet indicated when it will arrive.