Crazy frog

I'm mad, me. Absolutely hatstand, no question. How mad? Well, the other day I paid €3 for a bottle of beer. A pale lager. From France. In a 33cl bottle, a green one.

What could possibly justify such a high price for something with the same provenance as Kronenbourg? Well, the beer in question is Kasteel Cru and its unique selling point / gimmick / device for separating money from fools is that it's made using champagne yeast.

On opening there was an immediate lightstruck whiff, no doubt resulting from the green glass. It pours extremely pale and thin looking, with lots of bubbles. This made me think immediately of fellow Alsatian Fischer, a beer I enjoy a lot. On the first sip there is indeed a similar sharp gassy dryness, but there's more as well. It really does carry the fruity, toasty flavours of champagne and the chardonnay grape (when fermented) in particular.

It's an interesting experiment, and a genuinely pleasant beer. It's still overpriced though: nice, but not that nice.

Banished from these shores

It's that day of the year when central Dublin becomes a no-go area and I'm holed up at home with a couple of beers to keep me company.

This year I have something a bit special: O'Hara's Celebration Stout brewed by the Carlow Brewing Company to commemorate ten years of O'Hara's beers, something similar to what The Porterhouse did with their own superb Celebration stout nearly two years ago.

From its distinctive 75cl swingtop, it pours thick and highly carbonated, rather like bottled Guinness. And it has a similar dryness, but at 6% is much heavier, inching towards Foreign Extra territory. On the nose there's a hoppiness which is very unusual for an Irish stout, as well as the roasted barley character one would expect. Moving past the fizzy texture, there are the chocolate notes I love in normal O'Hara's, though these are understated against the hoppy dryness. At the very end there's a metallic tang of the sort I most associate with certain English ales and I'm wondering if it's a feature of the English Northdown and Fuggles hops with which the stout is laden.

O'Hara's Celebration is a considered sipper, as against a quaffable pint of plain. Since Diageo are the only people making something remotely like this for the Irish market, it's great to see one of our own taking them on.

And that brings me on to a more general point this St Patrick's Day: Carlow Brewing were one of the pioneers of the Irish craft beer movement, and one of its success stories. They are the only real Irish brewer to have made much of an impact on the international scene, exporting bottles to the UK, US and further afield. Indeed, here's the rub: O'Hara's Celebration appears to have been made specifically for this market, with 3,000 bottles from the limited edition destined for the States. I don't know how limited the edition is, of course, but it looks like the company know which side of the Atlantic their bread is buttered on. Several of the independent off licences in Dublin that I spoke to had not been allocated any.

Naturally, I don't blame Carlow. I'm just miffed that it's so hard to convince Irish people to drink decent beer, to the point where our good brewers constantly look for outlets abroad: Black Pearl going in its entirety to Russia and Scandinavia is another scandal. And when they're not shipping it out, they're making the good stuff in limited quantities, like the two aforementioned Celebration stouts, or the Imperial from Messrs Maguire (currently enjoying a glorious return to the pumps, but for how long?)

And so, on our national day, I urge any Irish reading to support our locally-owned breweries. We can't expect the situation to get better if we don't do our bit.

My hat comes off

Found myself in London again this week and, for once, not in the distant and hostile reaches of the far west end. Instead I was able to make use of Stonch's London Beer Map, which led me to The Harp on Chandos Place. Past the stained glass exterior it's a bright and clean little boozer, arrayed with rows of high benches back beyond a bar festooned with pump clips of guest ales gone by. The fact that I recognised more than a couple gave me a warm glow from knowing that my education in the beers of Britain is well under way.

There were three guests on, in addition to regulars including Landlord and Black Sheep. I knew I was in the right sort of establishment when the seat in front of me was taken by a specimen from the species Camracus Tickerius, displaying his distinctive anorak colouring, biro clenched in his teeth as he dug in his backpack for The Good Beer Guide, perusing it over a carefully sipped half. I started with a Daleside Old Legover, since I knew and liked the brand of old. The big up-front whack of chocolatey flavours -- rather like Clotworthy Dobbin -- pleased me, but it was followed by an unhopped sort of wortiness that didn't sit so well. Enjoyable to begin with but sadly lacking afterwards, and a beer divided against itself is, er, unfortunate.

On my return to the bar the barmaid asked how I enjoyed my Legover. "I've had better" was my response. It's that kind of pub. I followed with a White Adder from Mauldon's. This is a pale gold ale with a strong fruit profile, almost grapey. Dry like a sauvignon blanc. Where I felt it fell down was the temperature: served cool, this would be a great refresher, as was at 12°C or so, it was heavy going and quite tough to finish.

Utter redemption came before I left, in the shape of Harvey's Best Bitter, a regular. This is a corker of a beer, smacking you up front with tart fruity mandarin notes and a sultry sandalwood spiciness thrown in as well. Best of all it was poured at an invigorating cool temperature. The first sip had me wondering why, with beers like this around, British brewers even bother with summer golden ales. Half way down, the spice made me realise the redundancy of winter warmers as well. A real desert island beer from the East Sussex brewer.

My second glass tip of the trip goes to beer explorer extrodinaire Knut Albert, for pointing out a pub which has been under my nose (while being above my head) for years. Usually on excursions to London I scurry back for a pint of cask dullness at The Skylark in Heathrow Terminal 1 via the Heathrow Express from Paddington. This time I lingered in the station and paid a visit to the Fuller's establishment upstairs, The Mad Bishop and Bear. I kicked off with some Festival: Fuller's mild. This is a very very dark beer with just a skim of cream-coloured head. There's not much to it unfortunately. A little bit of roast; a little bit of bitterness; but altogether mild, too mild. Similarly dull was Fuller's Chiswick Bitter: not bitter at all and really quite a grainy affair, though otherwise rather plain. The best of the bunch was Tribute from the St Austell brewery in Cornwall. This is a pale gold number, surprisingly highly carbonated for a cask ale -- bubbles clung to the side of the glass, though my attempt to photograph them (right) failed due to cameraphone crapness. Tribute doesn't have much of an aroma but it tastes aromatic, if that makes any sense: sort of perfumey. It's very tasty, very refreshing, and one of the good English golden ales.

And that was it for this visit. I'm sure I'll be back in London later in the year for more explorations, and maybe a trip to some of its top-flight beer pubs. In the meantime, just thanks again to Knut Albert (real name Knut Albert) and Stonch (real name Colin Stonch) -- true friends of the beer tourist.

Got my goat

I missed January's Session because I was away, but I wouldn't have been able to find any new doppelbocks to try anyway. Recently I encountered Celebrator for the first time, though I'm kinda glad I didn't find it in time, since ten other Session bloggers did this one as well.

Anyway, I was a little bit wary on approach: while I thoroughly enjoyed Salvator, Triumphator and Maximator, they all arrived in half litre bottles. The 33cl of Celebrator put me immediately in mind of Aventinus Eisbock, a beer I didn't particularly enjoy. The pour to a thin, short-lived head had me on even more of a syrup-alert, and the ultra-dark opaque brown-red body didn't help. My fears evaporated on the first sip. Celebrator is actually medium-bodied: full, but with none of the chewy texture of super-strong bocks. The flavour is exceptionally complex and very well balanced, running between savoury smoke, sweet caramel and bitter liquorice, and all the way back again. I think I could quite happily drink a couple of these back-to-back without feeling put-upon. I could definitely handle it by the half litre. Great stuff.

And Celebrator isn't the only Ayinger beer around these days. I've also picked up a bottle of their Jahrhundert-Bier. My German being essentially non-existent, I mistook the warning to store in a cool dark place (kühl und dunkel lagern) for a description of the beer as a dunkel lager. Yes, yes, I know. A moment's holding the bottle up to the light would have shown how pale it is: a limpid straw colour once out of the bottle. The carbonation is quite sharp and goes well with the kölsch-like dry grainy character. There's a bit of astringency about it as well as, conversely, a banana-ish fruitiness. It's only 5.5% ABV, but with its weighty body it could probably pass for a bit more. Well made, but not something I'll be hankering after.

There are a couple of Ayinger weisses around at the moment as well. I'll get to them eventually, but I might have to go back for another couple of Celebrators first.

Eco-illogical

I was a little disheartened when organic beers was chosen as this month's Session topic. I've had quite a few organic beers over the course of this blog and very few have been memorable. To the best of my knowledge, Ireland has only ever produced one organic beer: a lager in Celtic Brew's late Finian's range. I don't remember much about how it tasted, just that it was gassy as hell and a bugger to pour. There are some real stinkers from Britain, like Honey Dew, Whitstable Bay and Lomond Gold, though redemption comes in the form of St Peter's Best and a number of beers from the Marble Brewery in Manchester.

New Zealand's Green Man Bitter stands out as the first organic beer I tried and actually liked. It seems that most of the organic hops we get in these parts come from Down Under and this beer uses them in spades. New Zealand also provides the green for the beer I'm actually reviewing for this Session: Broughton's Angel Lager -- not something I'd be running to try normally, but the only organic beer I could find that I hadn't already tried.

Leaving prejudice and apprehension aside, I'm rather enjoying it. It's a dark gold colour and every bit as crisp and dry as one would expect this style to be. There's plenty more, however: a heavy aley body for a start, and an interesting hoppy spice which leans towards a mediciney bitterness. This runs in parallel with some sweet malt and diacetyl butterscotch notes. There's a lot to this, which is always good to find in a pale lager, not to mention in an organic beer

All that said, I have to wonder what the point of the organicness is. There's nothing in the flavour that couldn't be achieved with non-organic ingredients and I can't help thinking Mother Earth would prefer us to use chemically enhanced Hallertau from local German farms instead of flying nature's own from the other side of the world. The overall environmental benefits of most of the organic beers we get is questionable.

If it's not going to save the world and doesn't taste any better, why are we doing organic beer? Could it be that the Soil Association badge is just another marketing gimmick to appeal to a certain sort of drinker?

The quiet Americans

The gradual increase in the number of American beers available in Ireland (real American, not Kilkenny-made Bud or Cork-made Miller), as mentioned here and here, continues steadily. Two more for your consideration from the eastern and western USA.

When I first saw Sierra Nevada Wheat I asked Why? Who in their right minds would go for a small bottle of American wheat beer when there's half a litre of Schneider-Weisse on the shelf next to it, probably for less money. Well, "me", is the short answer to that one. I decided to give the guys from Chico a chance. I was made wary from the get-go by the very pale yellow colour. The carbonation is medium -- less head than you'd expect from a German weiss but more than a Belgian wit -- typical for an American ale, funnily enough. The model is definitely a northern European one and the dominant flavour is dry, almost like the characteristic French wheatbeer style, though not as astringent. This dryness is softened by citrus and slight perfumey notes. It would be a poor imitation of the European norm if it wasn't for a mild dose of hoppiness in the aftertaste which adds a small bit of individuality, but really it's too little too late. All these understated flavours and a light body make for something very undemanding and easy to drink. As your friendly neighbourhood wheatbeer, I'm sure Sierra Nevada functions adequately; as an exotic number from half-way across the world, however, it's not really worth it.

A little closer to home, there's Harpoon IPA from Boston. This dark gold ale is one of the sweeter sort of American IPAs and reminds me a lot of Snake Dog. There's a heady floral aroma and hints of caramel and summer fruits, gradually tightening to a mild bitterness at the end. It has a superb oiliness giving substance to the body, which is just how I like my IPAs to be textured. Like the Sierra Nevada Wheat, this is an unchallenging entry-level sort of beer, though I don't think that detracts from its tastiness at all. Quiet, but fun.

And no sooner had I guzzled these than I spotted more Americans, from Boston Brewing's Samuel Adams range. Unfortunately, Redmond's have arrogated themselves to selling these by the six-pack only. I'm sure they're lovely, but I'm not shelling out €13-€14 for over two litres of each. Not if I can help it. I'll check to see if any of my other usual sources can meet my modest requirements.

And while I'm talking about fun things from the States, you may notice I've added a widget from Beermapping.com to my side panel. It shows the latest place I've reviewed on their marvellous resource. Go, play, enjoy, and add some more content to Germany -- it's looking very sparse at the moment.

The difference is clear

'Ere, Bea Nat. Ah cam you ain't tokt abaht enny Inglish bea in ayjis? Sowt it ahht.

Thank-you, Mr Van Dyke, you're quite right that I have been neglecting the folks next door lately and it's time I rectified that. Shepherd Neame Master Brew is new to these shores, and I humbly present my appraisal.

Wherever Irish beer fanatics gather, someone will usually point out the craziness of Kent brewer Shepherd Neame and their clear glass bottles. Opinion then divides over whether their beers are any good or not. I tend to find that they're a mixed bunch and am never quite sure what I'm going to get when trying a new one. My guess on the clear glass is that it's an attempt to recreate the visual experience of a freshly-poured pint of ale to customers in the aisles of supermarkets. It's a daft strategy and it leads to lightstruck beer.

This bottle was no exception: a distinct skunky whiff, mixed with sugar, came up as it poured to a lovely thick and lasting head. The colour is an attractive red-gold, but you have to get that right or the clear glass is in vain. The flavour is mild and smoky, with a tannic bitterness followed by some sugar notes right at the very end. I found it quite dull to begin with, probably because I was drinking it too cold, but it got better and more complex as it went along.

It's not a world-changing beer, and not even as interesting as the bigger Neame flagships like Bishop's Finger and 1698. Instead, with an alcohol by volume of 4%, and even less in cask form, it's probably highly enjoyable to charge through a few pints. Not one for considered sipping, but a decent beer nonetheless.

There. Sorted.