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.

And the Oskar goes to

The Colorado veteran Oskar Blues makes a welcome return to the blog; welcome in particular when it comes bearing lagers.

Mama's Little Yella Pils has been part of the range since forever but appears only sporadically over here. I grabbed it when I saw it. It's a spot-on 4.7% ABV and a lovely rich golden colour, more amber than yella and looking every inch the Czech classic it's modelled after. I get a mild grassy Saaz aroma, and there's merely a lacing of this in the flavour. Otherwise it's malt-driven: rich and biscuity with elements of honey and golden syrup. That sweetness is the only thing I can ding this for. While I loved the fullness of it all, I was expecting more of a pils crispness, and it doesn't really deliver on that promise. I'm kvetching about what is a perfectly fine lager, though, and "Mama's Little Amber Helles" isn't as catchy a name.

Edit: I hadn't realised I'd had this before, back in 2014. These things happen.

The yin to its yang today is Slow Chill Dunkel. I ran my eye over the Helles in the same series a while back, and quite liked it, but again quibbled over stylistic accuracy. The Dunkel looks the part: cola-brown though looking a bit twee in that most unBavarian half-pint tankard. There's an interesting peppery quality, or maybe cinnamon, in the aroma, with a hint of more typical liquorice. The texture is smooth and heavy, impressively so for the modest 5.5% ABV. All the right notes are hit by the flavour: caramel, hazelnuts, cocoa, and a fun lemonade citrus side which balances it beautifully without throwing it off. The subtlety thrilled me. American brewers have a tendency to go overboard on European styles, but this example has clearly been hewn from a genuine respect and love for proper dunkel. Three cans would fill a Maßkrug nicely.

I like when the package size is the worst criticism I can level at an American beer. Both of these are excellent illustrations of Oskar Blues's no-nonsense brewing acumen.

Berries and chillis and whatnot

Silly stouts from parts north is today's theme, and Boundary has a bunch of them. I have picked two representative examples.

I Heard You've Been Looking For Me is the lighter of the pair, 8% ABV and describing itself as an "imperial cookie stout with blueberry and vanilla". I don't see where the cookie fits into this. There's no cookie in the ingredients and there isn't the thick cakey sweetness I would expect from that. They've gone heavy on the blueberry which gives the head a purplish tone and adds a strong tartness to the taste, though only a small pinch of blueberry flavour. This contrasts hard with the milk-chocolate middle and it doesn't work all that well for me. If a beer is presenting as big and sweet, it ought to be big and sweet. Big and sweet and sour isn't on.

Next, coffee, vanilla, chipotle and coconut are the additions to A Practical Guide To, a 10%-er. This one is thick and smooth and sweet, so the vanilla is doing its job this time. The coffee is mostly to be found in the aroma, while the chilli lands late, bringing a helpful drying-out, though not much spice. I can't say I detected much coconut either. But really, despite the lengthy list of add-ons, it's a beer to take as a whole rather than pull apart. There's a sumptuous richness, with a honeycomb effect not too distant from those top-dollar Scandi pastry stouts, but not as cloyingly sweet. Describing it as balanced might be a step too far, but it's less daft than most of this sort and much more palatable than the previous. I'll take it.

A reminder, then, of why I don't buy a lot of this type of beer. Clearly a great deal of effort goes into them, and I'm sure there are still customers capable of being wowed simply by a long list of adjunct flavourings. To me, it's mostly unnecessary, and I think both of these would have been better beers without them.

Wish you were there

Sure we would all love to be in New Zealand about now. Rascals has done their bit to bring The Land of the Long White Cloud to us instead, with this themed pair. Both are named after hop blends available from New Zealand growers.

Betty's is described as a "dry-hopped New Zealand lager". I had never encountered this blend before, but the can promises gooseberry and lime, so it sounds authentic. The visuals are fairly spot on: a polished golden colour and perfectly clear, though the head faded out a little too quickly for it to pass as something central European. The aroma is pure summer sunshine: roses and apricots and distant cut grass. When the hops are the headline it must be tempting to pile them in wholesale, but that's not the case here. Clean pilsner crispness is the opening feature, and the finishing flourish. In the middle you get nothing as intense as lime, but I'll grant them the gooseberries. The floral and stonefruit aspects from the aroma hang around too, with a meadowy perfume effect, and a pinch of ripe and juicy peach. Only after that crisp finish is there a ghost of citric bitterness in its aftertaste. It's a very well-made lager and enjoyable, even if it's quieter than the busy multicoloured can art implies.

The companion piece is an IPA called Bruce's, and this blend I have met before, though couldn't describe it beyond "broadly New Zealandy". The brewery says it's hazy, though it's only just, definitely translucent rather than opaque. There's a lot of herbal oily funk in the aroma: eucalyptus, sage and rosemary. I thought it would taste bitter but it's a mix of fruity candy in the flavour, with lemon chews, zingy sherbet and orange icepops. A real fast-track to childhood. The texture is quite big and a little fuzzy, which accentuates the sweetness. The downside there is that it lacks bittering balance. It's not overdone, however, so that's not a problem. The end result is a decent, middle-of-the-road IPA, though one which doesn't hit hard enough for being 6.2% ABV. I'm still not sure I get what Bruce's characteristics are. While pleasant, this doesn't taste especially New Zealand-style to me.

Off the back of these, Betty's is the hop combination I'm interested in learning more about. It strikes me that there's a lot of potential there. And more lagers from Rascals as well, of course. Rain Czech must be due a comeback some time soon...

Ale Satan

Duvel Tripel Hop was a big deal when it first arrived. It was one of the first signifiers that American beer trends were making themselves felt worldwide, even in traditional Belgian brewing. Batch one, way back in 2007, sold out instantly. It came back annually, then, in a limited edition 75cl prestige bottle, featuring a sequence of guest hops. My only previous encounter was in 2013, when Sorachi Ace was featuring. Having gone from a once-off, to an annual release, Duvel Tripel Hop is now part of the core range, presented in the standard 33cl Duvel bottle. The brewery seems to have settled on Citra and Cashmere as the signature hop varieties, for now.

The ABV of Duvel Tripel Hop Citra is the same as all the earlier versions: a sizeable 9.5%. It's a while since I've had regular Duvel, but this does seem a little hotter and heavier. The Citra is plentiful, with a pine floor-cleaner quality to the aroma and a generous squeeze of lemon juice in the flavour. That sits next to the more traditional clean Belgian spice, but I don't know that it adds anything positive to it. Trying to look at it in a joined-up way, it's fine. You get the value from the American novelty hop, while also being able to enjoy a strong Belgian golden ale. I do think, however, that both sides work better separately -- the hops on a clean IPA base, and the golden ale letting decades of tradition do the heavy lifting. 

That left me feeling sceptical when approaching Duvel Tripel Hop Cashmere. How could this have the beatings of almighty Citra? It's 9.5% again, and the usual hazy gold. The first point of difference is in the aroma: it doesn't smell like Duvel at all. Instead there's a luscious stonefruit character in both aroma and flavour: big peach and lychee energy, with a little white-tea tannic dryness. The alcohol, and the Belgian spice, await their turn, arriving only when the fruit has faded. I liked this a lot. There's a certain convergence with the tripel style -- it tastes like one of those much more than the IPA it purports to be -- but it retains Duvel's hallmark dryness in the finish. The Cashmere is much more complementary to the base than the loud and jangly Citra above.

I should be happy, fourteen years after Duvel first brought the sides together, that Belgian ale hasn't succumbed to the IPA trend and it remains a novelty. Would that the same were true for US-style IPAs and haze.

The latest brand extension finishes this post on a lighter note. Duvel 6.66 gets its name from the ABV: almost two points lower than regular Duvel and one below the green-badge one intended for draught consumption. It doesn't look as impressive: wan and hazy, with a greenish tint. The aroma is quite authentic, though: clove spice, honey and orange peel. The flavour profile fits Duvel as well, broadly. It's pleasant and very Belgiany. The alcohol burn is of course reduced, though it doesn't taste thin or vapid. And it's sweeter. The label mentions orange zest but doesn't say if that's a literal ingredient. I would believe it though. It's good fun, and achieves what it sets out to do, bringing four-fifths of the Duvel experience at four-fifths of the strength. Nice.

The usual caveats apply that I'm starved of trips to Belgium so valuing its beer extra highly at the moment. The Cashmere Triple Hop is especially worth your while, though. Get it while it's fresh.