Drinking Europe

The European Beer Consumers' Union has, among its objectives, the support and promotion of the traditional beer styles of its member nations (an easy one for Ireland, that, since we don't have any of our own). So when we were very kindly invited to a tasting and rating event in Liverpool's Lady of Man on Friday night I was expecting some fairly orthodox beers from the Dutch, Danish, Swiss, Swedish etc attendees. Turns out I was wrong.

Well, mostly. The locals had given us bitter because, as I mentioned in my last post, you can't have too much of a good thing. First out of the polypin was King John which promised lots with its strong roasty aromatics, but proved a bit of a let-down by not following through on taste and being too thin of body. Skeleton was next, a simple yellow bitter with not much going on in it. George Wright's Pipe Dream almost follows it into the dullness trap, but had just enough hop aroma and bite to make it worthwhile.

The newest brewery in town, Liverpool Organic, sent along two bottled ales: William Roscoe is a strangely milky/lactic pale brown ale which I rather enjoyed, not least for its full and smooth body. My only IPA of the trip was called Shipwreck, and though Séan didn't approve, its orangey hop character made for a moreish beer which really struck a chord with me.

Beer always looks more interesting in someone else's table, and I gazed enviously at the bottles from Cantillon and De Molen being circulated elsewhere in the room. With my bitter-rating duties complete, I went on a raid to see what dregs could be gleaned. Laurent was very keen to show off his Swiss-made Irish red Rivale -- a vaguely caramelly, totally unhoppy ale which is characterless enough to blend in with the real thing, though not a bad palate-cleanser between the more involved brews.

It should probably go without saying that the Nordics really pulled out the stops for this, bunch of show-offs that they are. From Finland's Malmgård brewery we had a marvellously chocolatey strong dark and funky ale called Ceci N'est Pas Une Belge, a name which had this Magritte fan chuckling. Denmark's Hornbeer was represented by Caribbean Rumstout, a not-so-subtle concoction of serious chocolate and coffee notes in a hefty 11% ABV body, yet balanced enough to not let the phenols drown out everything else. Yummy stuff, but possibly one to finish the evening on.

Not that we did...

A lorra lorra bitter

I went over to Liverpool on Friday with Séan, to represent Irish beer drinkers (what do you mean you didn't elect us?) at the meeting of the European Beer Consumers' Union -- a great bunch of people, and very sympathetic to what we're trying to do over at Irish Craft Brewer. I hope it won't be the last time we're in touch.

It was a highly enjoyable trip -- meeting up with my sister whom I don't get to see nearly enough of, as well as regular commenter Laurent and fellow blogger Melissa Cole, lovely people one and all. We visited some absolutely cracking pubs and I ate more pies than is probably healthy, but this sort of exotic food just has to eaten when in foreign parts, right? But there was one bit I didn't really enjoy, now that I think about it. I am sick to my eye-teeth of bitter. If I never see another pint of mildly hoppy, softly carbonated, yellow-to-brown ale, it will be too soon.

Things started out well enough on Friday afternoon, coming in from the rain to the cosy Victorian splendour of the Phil and a pint of Cains Bitter: a heavy and warming brown beer, with an interesting dry chewiness and a touch of honey. When we moved down to the Fly In The Loaf (my favourite pub of the trip) I was still able to enjoy the bitter yet balanced Shropshire Gold, though my attention started to waver over a sharp but still drinkable Hopback Odyssey. Choosing dull and musty Newman's Druid's Choice, however, was regrettable. Bitter fatigue was setting in.

I pepped up a little with Beartown Ursa Minor, enjoying its cool lemony freshness. But Wapping Gold, on tap next to it in the Lady of Man, was much less inspiring -- nothing wrong with it, just crying out for a bit more hop oomph. As we moved on to the Ship and Mitre, there was the crashingly dull brown Allendale Wolf, though some level of redemption in Wentworth's Amber Gambler which had some interesting bubblegum malt and a solid hoppy kick. The evening finished belowstairs at the Everyman bistro with Coniston Gold, not a beer that was going to keep me awake contemplating its complexities.

We spent Saturday afternoon meandering. Things were quiet down by the docks, but the commercial centre of Liverpool was thronged. As any UK beerophiles will know, JD Wetherspoon has its annual festival running at the moment and I managed to drag our small band into the dark heart of one of Liverpool's mammoth branches. Yes, I know I shouldn't have -- it was horrible -- but there was one of the specials on: Toshi's Amber Ale. That's got to be good, sure isn't Toshi Ishii of Yo-Ho one of the greats among world brewers, and his amber ale is just going to be loaded with zingy hops, right? Right?

Nope, just another boring brown bitter. A bit sweet but a huge let down. The manager only managed to squeeze one half out of the cask, so we also had Everard's Old Original, which had a pleasant piquancy tempered by a touch of caramel, plus one other bitter so boring I can't find any reference to it on the Internet, so I'm not going to bother naming it. Maybe I was hallucinating by this point.

The ring of bitterness came full circle with our final pints back at the Phil. Utterly sick of bitter but with basically no other choice I went for Brewster's Hop-A-Doodle-Do, sighing at the name, and hoping against hope there'd be something more to it. But no: this was a lightly hopped brown beer with a teensy bit of fruity hops in the middle and absolutely no legs at all. Down it went, and we were on our way back to the airport.

I think I can see why some British beer drinkers are so down on tickers: basically, there is no point in ticking English bitters. They're all too alike. The way to enjoy them is to pick one and settle with it for the session. Flipping between lots of them is just unsettling. That's my lesson learned (though whether it'll change my behaviour is another matter entirely).

Sounds like Liverpool was a bit of a washout beerwise, eh? Far from it. I had lots and lots of really interesting beers, most of them on the darker side of the house. But that's for another post.

Joyful mystery

"Framing" is what Andrew calls the phenomenon of beer label description -- the text that tells you what to expect when you pop the cap and pour out the foamy goodness. It reminds me of Ron's definition of a beer style as "a consensus between brewer and drinker, a shorthand to describe the essential features of a beer". While you don't want a beer that's brewed to rigidly conform to standards set by someone other than the brewer, you do at least want some information on what to expect -- dark or pale; hoppy or malty; sessionable or likely to knock you on your arse after one. Framing beer is a matter of practical necessity.

And yet, I love throwing away the frame. I love to pick a beer totally at random and drink it with no previous knowledge of what it's going to look or taste like. It's far more fun than tracking down the much-sought-after brew that everyone else is talking about (though I do enjoy that too). All I know about Belzebuth is that it's French and that it's 13% ABV -- understandably this is advertised in massive bright orange characters on the neck: the only frame the brewery really wants you to be aware of. So what's inside? Nectar or tramp juice?

Obviously glass selection is a problem with mystery beer. I opted for my Duvel one with the vague expectation of this being a Belgian-style blonde, based mostly on the satanic moniker, though this is a great multi-purpose glass and will show off most beers to their fullest.

I was wrong on the blondeness anyway: it pours amber with lots of head which dissipated quite quickly, giving off a lightly boozy nose, with hints of pale sherry or white vermouth.

The first taste was a shock: incredibly syrupy, in a realm beyond Special Brew or similar stupidly strong soupy beer. Yet it's not one for the sink. There's enough of a proper hops bitterness to save it and make it a worthwhile sipper. The heavy and bittered malt flavour reminded me a lot of some beer schnapps I picked up in Munich, and that's how I think this beer is best treated. Take an hour over 25cl in what's basically a brandy glass.

I never enjoyed the similarly-strong Belgian ale Bush and haven't tasted it in years. This has got me thinking that liqueur-style sipping may be the correct approach. To be continued...

Mists and mellow booziness

The nights draw in and I start feeling the need for some richer stronger beers. It's perhaps a little early yet to start hitting the imperial stouts, so what else is in the stash?

La Trappe Isid'or looked promising, named in honour of one of Konigshoeven's founding brothers. It pours a hazy shade of amber, giving up echoes of summertime past in its red berry aroma. The flavour starts with the yeast spice typical of this sort of strong Belgian-style ale, but unfortunately stops there too, with no sign of the big malty flavours or any traces of hopping. A bit boring and one-dimensional, this, and I'd be quite miffed if it were produced as a tribute to me.

I had a taste of the same brewery's Bockbier on my last visit to 't Arendsnest and thought the bottled version might be worth a go when I saw it on sale in Deveney's. La Trappe disappoints again, however. It's drier than any Dutch bock ought to be -- almost bitter, in fact -- with just a hint of residual sugar left on the lips. There's none of the floral complexity I found in the kegged version. Indeed the soft carbonation gives it a fuller body and reminds me more of a dubbel than anything else. It's sort-of warming, but not in the way I'd expected. It was time to break out the big guns.

Despite a whopping 8.3% ABV, De Molen Winterbock could actually pass for a lighter beer, so easy to drink is it. A nose full of chocolate and toffee lures you in, thinking that this is the typical sugarbomb one would expect of the style. The flavour starts off, appropriately, with big sticky caramel but widens out to include a liquorice bitterness afterwards and then finishes, amazingly, with a Rodenbach-like woody sourness which clears the palate. I got all the weight and warmth I wanted, but wrapped in a highly complex parcel which was remarkably drinkable, and almost refreshing.

Maybe it's just because they were my first introduction to the style, but in general I have a sneaking appreciation for the bocks from the Netherlands's mega-macro brewers. Where La Trappe is concerned, it looks like I'll need to trade up to their Quadruple to get the mellow warmth I'm after. At least until De Molen products start making an appearance on these shores.

All the threes

Collaboration, collaboration, collaboration -- that's where the action is at the geek-focused breweries around the world at the moment: get some extra wow factor into your beer by inviting someone else who brews highly-sought-after beer to work on one with you. Credibility for all!

Sometimes, though, two breweries just isn't enough. Which is why California legends Stone got together with their neighbours to the south Alesmith, then roped in the globetrotting king of the Danish beer geeks Mikkel Borg Bjergsø, to brew a beer. What style? Why a tripel, of course.

The result is Alesmith Mikkeller Stone Belgian Style Tripel Ale, seemingly just another in the growing list of hopped-up Belgian-style strong blonde ales. I was expecting something along the lines of Houblon Chouffe or Hop-It, but I was wrong.

The first clue was the lack of clumpy or hazy Belgian yeast residue. It's a very clear amber colour, with just a few bits hanging suspended, as in jelly. It follows from this that the body is a big'un, supporting a thunking 8.7% ABV: thick and greasy is how I'd describe it, very unBelgian. The dominant taste is mandarin fruitiness from some very generous American hopping, and absolutely delicious it is too. There's not a whole lot else -- a gentle sparkle, a pleasant warmth -- but mostly it's clean, hoppy and distinctly Californian. It's the simpler sort of three-brewer, transatlantic, hybrid style ale. I didn't miss the Belgian yeast complexity one little bit.

Show us your dimples

Murray's is what you might call a boutique superpub. It's right at the, ehm, unfashionable end of O'Connell Street and has had a succession of names over the years. The current incarnation is perhaps a little bit more pleasant than some earlier versions, and on my visit the food seemed decent and some of the punters actually looked like they were gainfully employed.

What had me in there in the first place was news that they had a house beer now on tap. Not expecting much, I have to say I was extremely impressed by Murray's Lager. First thing that struck me was the serving temperature: see the frost on the glass in that picture? Exactly. I'd say it comes out somewhere closer to a cask ale: refreshingly cool, yet warm enough so you can actually taste it. And what a taste: Saaz, Saaz and more Saaz. The spicy bitter Czech hop is balanced by a candyfloss malt character, and the whole thing is tasty, extremely drinkable, and at a mere €3.30 is one of the best value pints in central Dublin. The cute dimpled pint mug, something I've never been served beer in before, was the icing on the cake.

All other things being equal, I'd assume this was a Czech import. It tastes a lot like Pilsner Urquell. The barmaid in Murray's even told me it was a Czech import. Except, the postering and font badge are promoting it as "Home Grown Beer" with merely "Imported Czech Hops". So, like Pifko Premium, Solas Lite and the TramCo range we have another mystery beer. It's great the way the beer choice keeps expanding, but why does the provenance have to be such a big secret?

Late late edit: apparently it's a rebadge of one from the Chotěboř brewery in the Czech Republic. Thanks Cliodhna!

Eastenders

I was really quite disappointed with Meantime's India Pale Ale when I tried it last year. Still, I've been roaring through their amazing London Pale Ale ever since, and they're a brewery of considerable repute, so there was no hesitation when a bottle of Meantime London Porter crossed my path recently.

Like the IPA it's an historical recreation, conditioned in a corked 75cl bottle, and weighing in at a respectably hefty 6.5% ABV. The colour is a gorgeous dark ruby which just catches the light, and is topped with a long-lasting creamy head. There's a touch of roastiness on the nose, but it's not until the first taste that the action starts. My first reaction is digestive biscuits: slightly sweet yet slightly salty baked graininess. But the flavour continues, hitting milk chocolate notes as well as mellow dryer roastedness. It's really quite a wonderful experience, with nothing metallic, phenolic, or otherwise off at all. The smoothness of the carbonation carries it all along beautifully. This beer is a definite hands-down world classic.

I'm heading back to London in early December, for the annual round of work things that happily coincide with Pig's Ear in Hackney. I'm determined to get some other beery stuff done too this time, and was thinking of heading eastwards to Greenwich. Anyone know if Meantime opens for visits?