From Prussia with love

It's all going to get a bit German on this blog for the next fortnight. Berlin had been on my must-visit list for far too long, and while beer wasn't top of my priorities as a first-time tourist, the city does have quite a number of brewpubs plus a unique local beer speciality. And our visit, earlier this month, just happened to coincide with the three-day Berlin Beer Festival, so beer did creep in here and there between the museums and palaces and historical sites. Funny how that keeps happening...

That local speciality is, of course, Berliner weisse, of which Berliner Kindl Weisse is the only surviving example from a mainstream Berlin brewery. It's a sour wheat beer almost always flavoured with woodruff or raspberry syrup to take the edge off. Having tried both of these previously I was determined to hunt out the naked original version. I found what I was looking for a couple of days into the trip, at Alkopole in Alexanderplatz station. It's one of a chain of beer specialists and they boast that they blend their own flavourings for Berliner weisse. I took this to imply that the unadulterated form was also available though it took a few rounds of "Öhne schuss." "Öhne schuss?" "Ja, öhne schuss" before the waitress finally threw her eyes heavenward and scuttled off to get me some.


It arrived in the customary goblet, though strangely headless: perhaps that's another function of the syrup. A pale gold colour and only slightly hazy, it exudes a grainy lagerish aroma. And on tasting it's surprisingly plain and dry more than full-on sour. Only a little vinegary tang on the finish hints at the lactic bacterial jamboree involved in the fermentation process.

All in all it was a bit of an anti-climax. But that's it done and I can rest easy knowing that if this beer goes the way of so many local German specialities at least I gave it a try. My recommendation is still to go for the green woodruff version if you see it.

Aside from the weisse, Berliner Kindl brews some more orthodox stuff. Their summer seasonal was a dark one called Märkischer Landmann Schwarzbier: a dark red affair with some lovely caramel on the nose and a touch of molasses, but also quite smooth and dry making it eminently sinkable. Of course there's a standard pils too which one sees all over Berlin, competing tightly against the rival Berliner Pilsner. This is a pure north-German style pils, gold with almost a greenish hue and a pungent waxy bitterness, finishing on heady grass notes. After a hot afternoon's schlep around the Museum Island it's a perfect refresher.

So much for the macros: we've got  brewpubs to hit. Starting at the everso touristy Georg-Bräu by the banks of the Spree in the city centre. I have a bit of a soft spot for this place, just because it was sunny when we visited, and it served us the first beer of the day.

Georg-Pils Hell was a hazy orange affair with madly low carbonation: little more than a gentle effervesence. There's a vague sort of herbiness in the flavour, but really it's a conversation beer meant for unfussy quaffing, which is what I did. Herself was on Georg-Pils Dunkel, a name to give the style purists white knuckles. This was bizarrely pale for something claiming to be dark, more of an orange-amber and only a few notches down the colour chart from the Hell. Low fizz again and this time a bit more depth to the flavour, showing some nice sweet fruit in the middle, and just a little waft of mown grass at the end.

We head back to the vicinity of bustling Alexanderplatz for the next one. Bräuhaus Mitte has a touch of '50s futurism about it, wedged into an upstairs corner of a rather unglamourous boxy shopping mall.

There were four beers on the go: Mitte Pils is a pale gold with a fast-disappearing head. It's very heavy work with lots of sugary golden syrup. Mitte Dunkel is more by-the-numbers: lots of milk chocolate in both the flavour and aroma. Only the paleness of its brown colour marking it out as any way unusual. These Berlin brewpubs seem a little afraid of the dark maltsacks. Mitte Weiss was pleasantly odd: a heady perfumed aroma and a flavour that spoke more of sweet pineapples than clove or banana. Finally the seasonal was a Zwickel. Relatively clear for this format and an attractive shade of dark gold. The flavour was very odd indeed: a sickly cakey cinnamon spice thing. Yeast playing silly buggers, I suppose.

For all that the beers at Mitte are a mixed bag it's a nice place to hang out if you get a seat on the terrace. Chatty staff and pork chops the size of housebricks make for ample compensation.

Lastly for this post we nip around the corner to Marcus Bräu, a poky little rustic tavern full of bric-à-brac. The old reliable pils and dunkel were all the menu offered. Marcus-Bräu Pils is an alarmingly wan watery yellow, looking for all the world like some class of weak lemon drink. Yet it's surprisingly heavily textured with lots of syrup and some bready, biscuity weight. A tiny citric hit on the finish is the only intimation of hopping it offers. The Dunkel, for once, is properly dark and red-brown. Aromas of coffee and caramel drift off the surface of the stickily textured beer while the flavour packs in brown sugar laced with old world spices: cloves and nutmeg. Definitely a cut above the dunkels we've seen so far.

On Wednesday we take a wander out of the city centre in search of yet more micros.

Belgian Vogue

The label looks like it was cut from a mid-'80s fashion mag, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the unglamourous title of La Grognarde. It's a "hoppy blonde" from Brasserie Sainte-Hélène in the far south of Wallonia, not far from Orval.

I'm always a little skeptical of anything the Belgians call hoppy, since the strong yeast-derived flavours have a tendency to override the finer points of hop character. Nevertheless, the hops -- Saaz and Brewers Gold -- haven't been skimped on here. The first indication of this was in the skunky whiff when the cap came off: you didn't think the green champagne bottle through, did you?

Poured into a glass and given a more considered sniff there's a stronger, more complex oily pith aroma from the hazy pale orange beer. The carbonation is surprisingly light and the alcohol a mere 5.5% ABV so it's quite sessionable for a Belgian blonde. The central flavour is deliciously juicy with hints of sherbet and only a mild background hum from the earthy Belgian yeast, barely noticeable on the first pour from the large bottle, though louder on the second. Maybe it's the influence of that northern European yeast, but I'd never have guessed there was Saaz in here.

I'm impressed, overall. It's properly citric and refreshing, very drinkable while still having all the depth of character of a small-batch Belgian ale. I would quite happily rank this in the same league as De La Senne's much-loved Taras Boulba, though I award extra points for the bigger bottle and the advantage that gives to the hops.

Little Britain

Dublin's cask beer arms race took a step up recently with The Black Sheep's paltry four pumps being trumped by WJ Kavanagh's bank of five. While it would be technically possible, these days, to fill all of these spots with local beer, both pubs rely on imports from the UK to pick up the slack.

Spire's Sgt Pepper drew me across town a few weeks ago to give it a whirl one quiet Saturday evening. It arrived a little on the flat side and didn't hold its head very long. Black pepper is the key ingredient here and it had an effect I wasn't expecting at all. While there's a vague sort of spice buzz somewhere in the background, it seems that the husks of the peppercorns are more of an influence. It tastes slightly musty to me, that slight tang of dusty attics and old dry sackcloth. While not actively unpleasant -- I had a second pint to get the measure of it fully -- I don't think I'll be crossing the city for it again.

Some time later, the pub staged an event to officially inaugurate the pumps (well, four of them) wheeling out their tame cellarman Declan to tell us a bit about what was on offer. Three more new ones from England, and first up was Gorgon by Derventio, a zesty golden ale with some lovely lemon and peach notes. That's about all there is to it and I could see myself getting a bored of it after one, but it's perfect as a hot day refresher.

Deuce from the Derby Brewing Company was next, presumably a summer seasonal what with the tennis theme. It presents as a mahogany-brown bitter and I confess I wasn't expecting much from it. But far from being a stodgy butterbomb it's really quite astringent, in a good way, providing a full-on beeswax bitterness followed by brief hits of orange sherbet. It gets even better as it warms, as the astringency mellows into a refreshing tannic quality. Brown bitter the way it should be.

Finally, we had Dark Drake from the Dancing Duck Brewery, an oatmeal stout. There's a lovely aroma here: full of raisins and roast. It's 4.5% ABV but is incredibly heavy, full of greasy esters which also add a banana-like fruitiness to it. Only a sharp hit of dry espresso on the tail stops it from becoming difficult. I definitely couldn't drink a lot of this but it's quite an experience in small doses.

Those more familiar with English beer than me may have noticed that all four breweries are based in Derbyshire. A turnover of Derbyshire beer that doesn't include Thornbridge may seem a bit always-winter-but-never-Christmas, but hopefully the Kavanagh's team will be seeking to recify that in due course. Thanks to Colin, Seaneen and Declan for the event and the samples, and for creating this little tickers' paradise in the north inner city.

Bring it

I suppose you have to talk a good game in the highly competitive world of American IPAs. Bigger is better and the punter has to know it. What point even being on the shelves if you're not furious, a titan, the big daddy bringing ruination? And so it is with the good people of Green Flash brewing in San Diego who have dubbed their IPA [minor chord] Palate Wrecker. Hold me.

It's a whopping 9.5% ABV and the hopping process starts at the mashing phase and goes right through. Naturally they claim a bitterness rating of over 100 IBUs.

It burns, but not harshly. There's kind of a pleasant sting as your tongue gets coated in all those hop oils. The bitterness slams into the back of the throat and then wafts up the back of the nose. Probably its best feature is the aroma: a powerful, resinous funk as the hops combine with hot booze.

Mind you, for all its intensity I can't say it really lived up to the name. It wasn't my last beer of the day and I distinctly remember tasting other things after it. Hey Richard, thanks for sharing, but you probably should ask for a refund: goods not as advertised.

More power to yours

So here's the second beer from the enigmatic new Cork beer brand Elbow Lane, kindly sent to me by the boss. Bravely they've gone for a 4.4% ABV pale lager, called simply Elbow. It's a tough market in which to sell craft beer, but I guess that having their own chain of restaurants will help keep it moving. It's also a very difficult style to brew well, but I think they've more-or-less nailed it.

Elbow is a slightly unpleasant brassy colour but absolutely crystal clear. There's a very mild sourness in the aroma, which presents in the flavour as a kind of coppery tang. I'm guessing the hops are somewhat responsible here as there's very little sign of them otherwise. The centre of the flavour, however, is dominated by soft biscuity lager malts. There's an almost breadlike filling texture which I think will make it an ideal food lager. But best of all is the carbonation: a gentle cask-like sparkle which makes it very very drinkable.

With my classification hat on I'd place it more towards the Bavarian helles side of the house than Czech pilsner. If I didn't know the strength I'd be suggesting märzen. But even more so it reminds me of the lovely cask lagers of the UK like Schiehallion and Latitude.

A welcome addition to the somewhat hit-and-miss realm of cool-fermented Irish beer.

Just having the one

For The Session this month, Craig asks us to imagine our theoretically perfect beer. What would it be like? My starting position on this is "Bah: don't be silly, there's no such thing." Much as I love them, I would feel extremely hard done by if sentenced to a lifetime of drinking only Harvey's Best Bitter, or Uerige Alt, or Goose Island IPA. I'm sure I've said this before but what attracts me to beer is its infinite variety: the myriad ingredients that can be be used in it, that it can be any colour, any strength and a whole range of textures, aromas, flavours. I rarely have the attention span to stick to the same beer during an evening, never mind a lifetime.

So there's nothing else for it but to cheat. I would need a beer that could be hacked about, changed as required, given a new spin every now and then to keep things interesting. My decision was inspired by a series of imperial stouts I encountered recently (thanks Adam!) from Emelisse in the Netherlands. I'd already tasted their Laphroaig-aged one at Borefts last year, though it didn't really exhibit the powerful phenols of the whisky, somewhat surprisingly. This time round, however, the Ardbeg edition of Emelisse White Label gives out much more of its inner spirit: major peat in the aroma and enough turf in the flavour to almost hide the fact that it's a beer at all. That's normally a cardinal sin in my book, but since we're striving for variety I'll let it pass.

There's more of a proper stout vibe in White Label: Jack Daniel's, but also lots of that hallmark limey sourness just lacing it. Finally, best of the lot, was White Label: Glen Elgin. I'm not familiar with the whisky and I couldn't really pick out any individual flavour characteristics from it, but it did contribute a wonderful oakiness and a brief scorch in the throat alongside the fantistically smooth chocolate notes.

Limes, chocolate, peat, and plenty more besides, all served in separate proportions. Emelisse White Label is my One Beer To Rule Them All, and whisky is just the beginning of the things I could do to it.

Sweet oblivion

A damp, dark and miserable summer's evening, with the rain sheeting down and the wind howling through the trees: what better time to open Mort Subite Witte Lambic, the Heineken subsidiary's seasonal for summer 2012?

Despite their reputation as back-sweetened alcopop lambic, I retain a soft spot for the Mort Subite range, they being the first sour(ish) Belgian beers I tasted, back when my hair cascaded to my shoulders and there was a Belgo in Temple Bar. These days, of course, I rarely give them a second look but this arrived -- as Belgian beers do to my house -- via one of my wife's business visits to Brussels. Hello old friend, I thought, I like your new costume.

The bonhomie ended there unfortunately. Once the beer poured -- sickly orange with just a slight haze -- my nostrils were assaulted with a blast of plasticky artificial perfume. Tasting gave me more of the same: sugary foam sweets at the bottom of the pick-and-mix bag; that scent granny wears which was probably outlawed in 1956. Awful. And not a trace of any sour lambic character behind it: just water and fizz. At the end there's a residual hint of vanilla which could be something derived from oak barrels but with the sweetness it ends up tasting far more like school dinner custard.

What were they even trying to do here? I demanded an explanation from the label, which told me it had "the subtle taste of aromatic herbs selected by our master brewer". Aye, out of a big plastic tub with a skull and crossbones on it. Gak. Your master brewer hates beer and the people who drink it.

My recommendation is to avoid. Andrew is a little more positive.