The French disconnection

French beer has been something of a theme on this blog in recent months. It's in no way intentional, and today's first beer was an unexpected gift from a traveller in parts Breton. It's from the Philomenn brewery in the very Breton-sounding Tréguin, whose wares were previously reviewed here.

Spoum is a tripel: 9% ABV and dark for the style, amber rather than golden. It's heavy and sweet, piling in honey with a side order of clove. The sugary intensity builds to the point where it resembles burnt caramel. I would have expected a lot of fruity esters in a beer like this, but they've kept it fully clean. It's OK. I like a bit of spice in a tripel, and this is missing that. You get the warmth and the richness, sure, but it fails to achieve the casual drinkability of the Belgian versions.

The next one I picked up last October in a charming little épicerie in Nancy called Carrefour. The bottle is quiet about what it actually is, beyond "bière aromatisée" on the label. "Flavourings" is listed on the ingredients though we're not told what they are. Black by Licorne is the name, Licorne being a brewery in Saverne, not far from Strasbourg.

Immediate points off for the beer being dark brown rather than black. It smells beery: that mix of sticky dark malt with a strong boiled-vegetable bitterness. It's predominantly sweet, however, centred on caramel and cola, with only the faintest tang of leafy hops in the finish. There's a certain crispness too, suggesting it's cool fermented. If so, I would broadly class it with the Czech dark lagers, lacking as it does the stronger bittering of German dunkel or the ashen dryness of schwarzbier. Whatever the enigmatic "flavourings" are, they don't have much to say. Overall, it's quite plain fare, though inoffensive. Not a bad find for cheap in a supermarket.

Not France's best work by any means, but fairly solid stuff. The neighbours do these sorts of beers a bit better, however.

Heart of ice

Not every day, but I like an eisbock now and again. I tend to see the method as a means for making big imperial stouts even more warming and sippable. Frosty is the first ever one from Polish brewery Funky Fluid, and is derived not from a stout but a weizenbock.

It's a striking mahogany colour, and seemed a little thin as it poured, despite the substantial 12% ABV. The wheat side is very prominent in the flavour, offering a dry and crisp cereal quality. It's not as rich as I was hoping for, the crispness extending to the mouthfeel as well. There's a layer of chocolate wafer and quite a punchy green vegetal bitterness, presumably from the concentrated noble hops. A little fruity raisin and plum arrives at the end. The alcohol heat is represented in the cough-syrup aroma, but not really in the taste.

This isn't the eisbock I wanted. I'm sure it's closer to many a German original, but it's not the sort I'm used to from Dutch and Danish breweries. It's pointy and difficult, not smooth and warming. I hope they'll be making adjustments if they brew a second one.

Animal tendencies

The role of animals in the branding of English beers is a fine, and often parodied, convention. I've been in Wetherspoon again, inspecting the menagerie.

Devon's Otter Brewery is first up, with Otter Amber. It's rare that I have any quibble with the beer quality at Wetherspoon, especially in the more upmarket Keavan's Port where I got this, but I don't think it was quite right. There was a definite murk about the pale gold colour, and a lemon tartness that I don't think belonged. That was at least fairly easy to ignore, and beyond it I found a solidly malt-driven bitter, oaty and grainy at heart, with a top layer of candied citrus. I reckon it would be well suited to summer, being easy drinking and only 4% ABV. Only that off-putting twang would prevent me from enjoying a few of them in a row.

I was surprised to discover I'd never tried Nethergate's Old Growler (it's a dog; grow up) before. The name is certainly familiar but maybe just because it's a JDW regular. It's a porter with a decent heft to it, at 5% ABV. That gives it a full body and a wholesome old-ivory head, the same colour as in those vintage ads for a certain Dublin-brewed stout that now pours with sterile bone-white foam. It turns out that the similarities don't end there. This is no chocolate-sweet porter but a drier, bitterer sort, showing the cabbage-and-zinc tang of classic English hopping. It's a refreshing change from the candified tendencies of contemporary porter brewing, and I would hazard a guess that the experience is close to how that Dublin-brewed beer tasted when it was still cask conditioned. This is a beautifully put-together beer: tasty, complex, subtle, and highly satisfying. I'd be quite content if standard porter were more like it.

Last of the cask is Whakahari, a bitter from Welsh brewery Purple Moose. I like this brewery; they make some great beers. This isn't one of them, however. Although it's a beautifully clear golden colour, it has quite a sterotypical soapy bitterness, dry and a little acrid. There is some softer fruit lurking in the middle, following the initial soapy hit -- I got red apple and a hint of juicy satsuma -- and then the acridity returns once more for the finish. It became less shocking and difficult by the half way point, and I'm sure is absolutely as the brewer intended. It wasn't to my taste, however. The name implies New Zealand hops, though I couldn't find any specified in the marketing. My guess is one of the harsher sort has been used, smoothed out by the cask serve but still with a slightly nasty edge. I'm sure somebody is into that sort of thing.

Last year I wrote a bit about Mad Squirrel, having happened across their pub in Watford. They, too, are now on the Wetherspoon roster, with kegged Big Sea getting some point-of-sale promotion. I'm in for a half. It's billed as a West Coast IPA but is distinctly murked, pale yellow and opaque like a Vermont fog (I assume). The aroma doesn't give much away, and the texture is surprisingly thin for 5.5% ABV. There's a broad lemon-zest flavour, followed by a hint of New England IPA's vanilla sweetness. They combine in the finish to leave a kind of citrus chew-sweet aftertaste. I strongly suspect that this has been brewed for the price point (€5.50 the pint on Abbey Street): it has the framework for dramatic hop pyrotechnics but doesn't deliver more than, well, a damp squib. Big Sea looks to have replaced BrewDog's Planet Pale, and that's a step down in flavour, to my mind.

Cask porter is best in show, then. Not a major upset on this blog.

Sunshine from the Garden

A couple of weeks ago I attended the first launch event for Irish beer in 2024: a tap takeover in UnderDog by Wicklow Wolf, presenting two new additions to its core range. On a dismal winter's evening, both had a promise of summer about them.

I mean, one of them self-describes as "tropical" and is called Solstice. I'm reasonably sure it's not the winter solstice to which it refers. It also describes itself as "sour", is 4% ABV, and a surprising clear golden colour. Nothing makes me feel more like a florid gentleman in a 19th century novel than praising the clarity of a beer, but credit where it's due. The tropical side of the equation is not the subtle kind, its aroma absolutely blasting out a generic mix of sweetly exotic fruits. A similar mélange presents on tasting, starting with fruit salad and adding coconut, banana fritters, green tea and a short twist of pepper. There's a certain dry tang in the background but it's not sour, though nor is it syrupy. I appreciated the overall loud brashness of it, but it is still a bit of a mess, not committing to any real flavour, just a generous pour from the big tub labelled "tropical". The intensity does limit its power to refresh, I think, though I'm prepared to come back to it when the weather is better suited.

Its fraternal twin is a hazy IPA called Sugarloaf. A small detail, but it's a bit strange that they haven't called it a "session IPA", or even just a "pale ale" when it's only 4.3% ABV. The brewery already has 5.6% Tundra as a hazy IPA in the core line up and I don't know if this is meant to be complementary to that, or replacing it. The low strength is certainly apparent in the thin mouthfeel, where it does have some level of New England fluff, but dialled back considerably. In the flavour we find a central theme of orange juice plus an added mild pith bitterness. This gives it balance, although I'm not sure something so slight and unobtrusive needs to worry about balance. It's very sessionable, bordering on forgettable. This isn't the first Wicklow Wolf beer that I would consider a safe option if I saw it on tap in a place with nothing else worth drinking; it's no show-stopper in and of itself, however.

Neither beer represents Wicklow Wolf at its best, but then dark beer is where it excels, so that's not surprising. I suspect they're efforts at giving the drinking public what they want, and I can't quibble with that, even if neither will be a regular go-to for me.

Sneaky phonecall

En Stoemlings of Brussels has been on a journey since I visited their miniscule first brewery in 2015, the latest news being the closure of their full-sized production facility and reversion to contract brewing. In between, they managed to push one of my particular ticking buttons with a beer exclusively made for and sold at Brussels airport. It's called +32, after the dialling code for Belgium, is 6.5% ABV and of no stated style. Oh, I do like a challenge.

From the strength, I lazily assumed it would be a blonde ale, but it's more amber coloured. There's a spritz of fruity hops in the aroma and a hint of toffee crystal malt so I think we're into Belgian IPA territory. It's light-bodied and very fizzy. There's no big hop explosion, but that's very much in keeping with Belgian takes on Belgian-style IPA. Instead it's a dry tannic tang and a twist of grapefruit peel. Anyone in search of rounded and warming Belgian esters will be disappointed. I found it a bit severe, stripping my tooth enamel before curdling in my stomach. The finish is a very unBelgian mix of water and fizz.

It's not great: over-attenuated, unsure of what it's meant to be, and seems to be trying some sort of modern edge rather than cuddly Belgian comfort. But I bought it and am now hundreds of miles away from the complaints department. You win this round, Brussels airport.

Bavarians at the gate

Every once in a while I happen across a well-known classic beer which, inexplicably, I've never taken the time to try. I blame the absence of Augustiner Heller Bock in my repertoire on the excellence of the brewery's other beers. Why would I ever need to switch from Helles, Edelstoff, Oktoberfest or Maximator? It's a poor excuse. Time to get this bottle open.

It's no lightweight at 7.5% ABV and I feared a cloying syrupiness. It looked worryingly dense as it poured too, finishing a dark orangey shade of golden. The aroma does have a little syrup going on, but there's a promise of cool crispness and fresh damp grass as coolant. The texture is as heavy as one might expect from the strength, however, and there's a rising malt stickiness which isn't as severe as I feared, but is still along the same lines. The hop side is herbal and savoury -- spinach and kale -- which doesn't do much to counterbalance the malt. I guess this is a good example of the style, but it's a style I tend to avoid, and here's a reminder why that is.

While I was buying this in the Fresh supermarket in Smithfield, I picked up a few other Bavarian bottles which took my fancy.

Andechs, like Augustiner, is another giant of the greater Munich area. I've had a few of theirs before, but I don't think Andechs Spezial Hell has crossed my path. Spezial is one of those well-defined categories of German beer that never really got appropriated into a "style" by the anglophone beer world, existing too close to the likes of Helles and Märzen, I guess. This is 5.9% ABV, bright golden and with a steady stream of fine bubbles: pure class in a glass, essentially. A vague breadiness is all that the aroma offers, and I thought the flavour would make up for that, but it's very bland. A heavy spongecake texture, fluffy to the point of chewy, is about the most interesting feature. The taste gives me the dry carbonic fizz and a certain generic cereal malt sweetness, but no more than that. There's no balancing breadcrust or grass, and no intriguing yet accessible depths. While it's pretty easy to get through given the strength, it has little to say for itself along the way. I'm underwhelmed, overall, and thought better of this outfit.

A total randomer to follow that. I had never heard of Flötzinger, nor seen their beer in Germany, but there are a couple of them around Ireland at the moment. I picked Flötzinger Weis'n-Märzen, so another strong golden lager, then: this one at 5.8% ABV. It's a bit dusty-looking in the glass, not the usual brilliant gold. It's a little on the light side too, lacking any of the chewiness I associate with good Festbier or Märzen. There's the right sort of bready heft to the flavour, plus a spoonful of golden syrup for good measure, but really it could do with more of everything. If I'm drinking a lager at this strength, I want to feel it. Letting it warm up doesn't help. It just becomes estery, adding unwelcome apple and apricot. I fear this just isn't an especially good beer. It was the only one of the set under €4, and I guess that shows sometimes you get what you pay for.

It's back to the known quantities of greater Munich brewing to finish, and Ayinger, whose Lager Hell is another beer I have inexplicably never drank. It's very hell indeed, looking a little watery, in fact, though the ABV is only a little low for Helles at 4.9%. They haven't skimped on the aroma hops either, and there's a beautiful meadowy floral waft. Texturewise it's perfect, leaning into the malt's smoothness as a key feature, and sprinkling that with a flaky-pastry sweetness and more of the flower effect from the hops. There isn't much else to build a review around, and one could argue that it's a bit bland, but one would be wrong to do so. The term I would use is "magnificently drinkble", slipping down with indecent ease leaving an empty glass and an instant desire for more. Buying one bottle is terribly unGerman and not something I recommend.

Trust the establishment, seems to be the lesson of these four. Andechs, Augustiner and Ayinger may have some not-brilliant beers on the periphery, but their core product cannot be argued with.

Always Christmas and never winter

The Scandinavians provide today's beers, both Christmas specials which were still haunting the fridges at Stephen Street News in January.

The first is a Vienna lager from To Øl called Crispy Christmas. It's the right shade of coppery amber, although with a degree of craft haze as well. The aroma has a significant hop quotient, grassy and noble, with only a token level of crisp biscuit malt behind. That's not how the flavour goes, oddly. There's an unwelome sour tang which I wasn't expecting, and although it's predominantly dry, there's quite a pronounced strawberry and cherry tang. These strange elements aren't around for long and it finishes with a rasp of roasted grain. This meets the basic requirements of a Vienna lager, I think, but isn't an especially good one. I'm not sure what made them pitch this for Christmas, only that it's a time of year when drinkers are perhaps a little less fussy.

From Denmark to Norway, and a tall can by Lervig, filled with Hoppy Holiday Haze, a milkshake pale ale -- remember those? The haze isn't excessive, it's a pale yellow and quite translucent, with a fine white foam on top. It smells spritzy, of lemon zest and lemon curd, and the texture is light, suggesting an ABV even lower than its 4.7%. The flavour continues the zesty theme, adding an even sharper kick of lime to the lemon. There's a little bit of vanilla, but nowhere near the level of sweetness typical of this style, nor any cloying stickiness. In fact, it's delightfully sparkly, the fizz suiting the citric taste rather well. Again, I have no idea why they thought this would be Christmassy, but I would have no problem using it as a palate-cleanser on the big day. 

Another disappointment from To Øl here, but it was nice to find a new quality product from Lervig.