Coals to Newcastle

Here I am in Brussels, beer capital of the world and my first post is about... Irish stout.

Funny story. On my way to the airport on Tuesday I stopped off at the Bull & Castle for a Galway Hooker. Geoff, the manager, was behind the bar and ushered me upstairs to the glass-fronted cold room for a surprise. It was a surprise all right: it turns out that a craft brewer in Tipperary has been quietly making an Irish stout for export, to Russia mostly, according to a recipe from Dwan's, one of the many independent breweries in Ireland killed off by the multinationals. The result is Black Pearl, in full pint bottles, bearing the original Dwan labels and cap.

So it happened that I began my trip by exporting Irish craft beer to Belgium. Later, ensconced in a Ghent hotel room I opened the bottle. Black Pearl fizzes out, forming a short-lived dark tan head. The mouthfeel is far from fizzy, but marvellously silky. Like the classic Irish stout it is, the taste is dry, offering roasted grains and a pronounced hoppy finish. But there's more: a rich chocolate flavour which, coupled with the silky texture, all adds up to a sublime stout experience.

Brewers tell me that stout is one of the easiest styles to make. So why don't they all taste like this?

Commercial Irish stouts are an occasional topic of conversation on the Irish Craft Brewer forum. The consensus seems to be that bottled Guinness, at room temperature, is the best commercial macrobrewed [see comments] session stout in Ireland. Bottled Guinness is something of a rarity in Dublin pubs, but I was fortunate enough to be able to find one on Tuesday before heading to the airport. Believe the hype: bottled Guinness is lovely. Dry, of course. The taste is fairly mild, but the roasted barley is present in a way you don't find with Guinness draught. It's filling as well: you know you've had a pint at the end of this. But the best bit is the texture, to feel the carbonated prickle of real beer instead of the soulless blandness of nitrogenation.

And so to the airport. Dublin airport has the only bar I know whose supply is entirely controlled by Ireland's third biggest brewer: Scottish & Newcastle-owned Beamish & Crawford. So instead of Guinness/Murphy's and Bud/Heineken, it offers Beamish stout and Kronenbourg 1664 lager. Ack.

I've long had an aversion to Beamish, but I'm not the sort to hold a grudge. So, since it had also been spoken of favourably on the ICB forum, I felt it was time to check again. Beamish is certainly more flavoursome than draught Guinness. It is much much sweeter, but to me it tastes watery. On balance, I think I'd rather have a pint of Guinness draught done well, bland and all that it is.

I can't leave the topic with introducing at least one token Belgian element, so here it is: Leroy Stout. This is a thick black stout with an overwhelming saccharine sweetness. It is quite smooth, but it lacks any roasted or burnt flavours, nor is there chocolate, nor even much by way of hops. A miss, then.

Right, that's the Irish stuff out of the way for a bit. Next up, following a side-trip yesterday, it's The Lagers of Luxembourg.

Just a taster

I'm going to Belgium tomorrow.
Oh, that felt good. I think I'll write it again.
I'm going to Belgium. Tomorrow.

It's therefore a bit daft of me to have cracked open a bottle of Belgian beer since I'll be drinking little else for the rest of the week, but here we are. The beer in question is a Tripel Karmeliet, from Brussels. It's quite a bit clearer than any of the Trappist tripels, with barely any discernible sediment. The colour is rather more orange than I was expecting. Tastewise, however, it's pretty much bang-on. There's the rich orange-peel fruitiness characteristic of the style, enhanced by the weight of alcohol. In fact, it's only 8%: virtually a session tripel. I'd criticise it only on a lack of spice. There's none of the coriander prickle found in the better-known brands. Still, it'll do to be getting on with, oh yes.

Darkest Germany

Having seen a variety of it on the shelves in recent times, I decided to conduct some further explorations into dark German beers, expecting to find the results heavy and sweet. That's not how it turned out, though, especially with my first find, Frankenheim Alt. "Old" is almost synonymous with "sweet" in my beer experience, so I was surprised to find this dark German bitingly bitter, sour even, with a rough smoky taste. A quality beer, but not a fun beer.

A much better proposition in this blogger's opinion is Köstritzer Schwarzbier. With the light behind it, this beer will just about admit to being deep red, but is mostly very black indeed. It has quite a gentle taste, with smoke and a hint of caramel. It's still pretty dry though, but in a good way.

Bringing us out into the sweetness and light is Distelhaus Landbier. This is a light tan "dunkle", with a chewy consistency and a sweet toffee flavour that's altogether more fun than the foregoing. Who says Germans can't be frivolous?

London (not) for beginners

It's 3.30 yesterday afternoon. I've just come out of a meeting in Camden, north London and have arranged with a colleague to meet at Paddington Station at 5 for the train back to Heathrow. At Camden Town tube station I discover that the Northern line is severely disrupted and all service on the Circle and Hammersmith & City lines has been suspended. The question: have I time for a quick pint of St. Peter's excellent cask ale at the Jerusalem Tavern in Clerkenwell?
'Course I have.

Had I not been navigating on the hoof I'd have hopped out at Euston, walked to Euston Square, and taken the Metropolitan line to Farringdon. I didn't spot this easy option, however, and opted instead to leg it from Euston, across Bloomsbury, past Gray's Inn field and into Clerkenwell.

I arrived at the Jerusalem in Britton Street at 4.15. It's a strange, simple little pub, furnished in rickety wood and giving the appearance of being held together by paint and varnish. The taps on the bar serve Bitburger and Aspall's cider. Behind it, however, a row of spigots promise beers from the pub's parent brewery: St. Peter's in Suffolk. Though tempted to order something I know, and compare its cask and bottled incarnations, I went instead for a pint of mild, a beer style which is nigh-on impossible to find here at home. St. Peter's Mild is very dark, with a thick creamy head. The taste is indeed mild, offering subtle coffee and roasted grain notes.

As I sunk my mild, I consulted my map and figured that I'd be able to take a much shorter route back to Paddington: from Farringdon, changing at Baker Street. And that meant I had time for another pint. This time I went for St. Peter's Grapefruit beer, having read good things about it, and to find out how the wizards of Bungay do fruit beer. More than anything, it reminded me of Früli. It doesn't look like it, taste like it, smell like it or feel like it, but it has a similar beer-fruit relationship, with the fruit definitely wearing the trousers. It's clear, almost headless, a deep red-gold colour and tastes overwhelmingly of real grapefruit. Marvellously refreshing and innovative.

At this point I took my leave and was back at Paddington at the appointed hour. We arrived at Heathrow with time to spare. Anyone who flies at all regularly between Ireland and Heathrow will be very familiar with the complex of metal tubes housing gates 80 to 90 of Terminal 1, affectionately known as "The Paddyshack". Time was, the Paddyshack Wetherspoons had Theakstons on draught and the last couple of pints at the airport was something I always looked forward to. Alas those days are gone, and it's necessary to drink landside in order to get anything better than Heineken these days. Armed with this knowledge I led us to the main landside Wetherspoons, where the handpumps were pouring Schiehallion, Marston's Pedigree, Bombardier and Deuchars IPA. The last of these was the only stranger to me, so that's where I started. I was disappointed from the first sip. This is a rather bland affair, lacking the hoppy citrusy warmth one expects from British IPA. Instead, it's creamy and smooth with only the fainest hop character at the very back.

Having polished that off I should really have opted for a Schiehallion, knowing that I really like it. Instead, I decided to give a dull beer a second chance. Having been disappointed with bottled Marston's Pedigree, I tried a draught pint and found it to be exactly the same forgettable sensation. Marston's should be proud that their bottling process manages to reproduce the cask experience perfectly. If only it were an experience worth having...

Unendangered species

I feel I'm letting the national side down on this month's Session. A couple of weeks earlier and I'd be adding a Headless Dog to the Brew Zoo. My quest for unusual animal-themed beer took me to off licences right across Dublin, but there were no really weird creatures to be found. So instead, I present three beers that are new to me, but which are probably common-or-garden varieties to the rest of you.

First up is Badger Ales' Tanglefoot, which proclaims on the label to be "light", "crisp" and "smooth", which immediately set my alarm bells ringing. It's not all that bad, though. Sure, it's not a classic by the standards of English ale, but there's a lightness of touch about the mellow fruit flavour and gently bitter aftertaste that's rather pleasurable. The fact that it's 5% ABV is astounding and I guess it would sneak up on you quite quickly after a few. But then, everyone knows how vicious badgers can be.

From an English ale to an American take on an English ale: Goose Island Honker's. To my mind, this migratory bird is much more at home among its own kind to the west of the Atlantic. The characteristically American hops bitterness is here tempered by a certain candy sweetness, but frankly there's not enough of either to make this truly enjoyable. Like the Tanglefoot, however, it is well made, and would make a great quaffing ale if it only were sold in quaffable quantities.

What makes the Brew Zoo better than the other sort is its cryptozoological section, where they keep the Hobgoblins, les Chouffes, the Kelpies, and my last candidate: Bigfoot. This is Sierra Nevada's 9.6% ABV barleywine, and for once you won't hear me kvetch about the bottle size. Bigfoot is a huge beer. Somewhere there's a rich caramel flavour and a citrus hoppiness trying to get out, but they're utterly crushed under the harsh alcoholic bitterness. This guy needs a cage to himself.

Thanks to Rick of Lyke2Drink for hosting: I really had to do my homework on this one, but it was definitely the most fun Session yet.

Black and white contrast

I feel it is beholden on me to report on anything new coming from Ireland's brewers, no matter how awful I know the beer is going to be in advance. Sometimes I might be wrong, though usually not, but the important thing is to know. So it was that I found myself yesterday in the back room of classic Dublin pub Doheny & Nesbitt contemplating a pint of Guinness Mid-Strength, currently being tried out on the Dublin market. Guess what: it's awful. The idea is to have something that looks and tastes like Guinness stout, but with one-third less alcohol. The lab has got the texture right: this is your normal creamy pint of Guinness, but what little beer flavour Guinness has has been removed, making it almost completely tasteless. I say "almost" because I detected a slight chemical sourness, which may just have been from a bad pint, though I'm not sure. It's almost like the brewers achieved their objective by adding two parts Guinness to one part (dodgy) water. I hope at the end of the trial Guinness Mid-Strength is found guilty and put away forever.

Not so much to get the taste out of my mouth as to get some in, I went across to Messrs Maguire for a pint of their Plain. This is such a total contrast, being awash with delicious stout flavours. The first sip dumps about half a kilo of malt on your palate, with an inherent sweetness and a touch of chocolate. Just as you get used to that there's a rising, astringent bitterness that takes a few seconds to gain control. Repeat to the end of the pint. It doesn't have the heavy creamy stout texture that most Irish craft brewers go for, trying to ape the big boys: Messrs Maguire save that for their Extra stout. Instead, this is a teensy bit thin, but more than makes up in flavour what it lacks in mouthfeel. An extreme Irish stout and anything but plain.

Light drizzle, more like

Brewed with "lemongrass and coriander" to be "excellent with spicy and oriental food", says the label of Hopback's Taiphoon. The lemongrass meant I decided to put it to the test with a Malaysian curry rather than my preferred vindaloo. It's a very pale yellow ale with a slight sediment. The aroma is promising: lemon and spice, but it's not backed up with flavour. What's there is subtle and tasty, but totally crushed under the weight of chillies. Well-made, but not what I need in a currybeer.

Back to the Cobra for me.