Your actual Baltic

We are joined once again by Mr Engelman and one of his handsome full-pint cans. I'm not sure I've ever had a Lithuanian Baltic porter before, which is a shame, what with it being on the Baltic and all.

Volfas Engelman Baltic Porter, then, is 6% ABV and the can tells us it's in "limited supply". Also that it's 25 IBU, which strikes me as a little low, even if the scale is largely meaningless. Nevertheless, it pours a handsome dark brown with a modest and mangeable off-white head. The aroma gives gentle caramel and the promise of some herbal liquorice hops. Everything is in order there, then. A lager-clean texture follows, and there's a surprise in the flavour. It's not very bitter -- the IBUs don't lie, for once -- and there's a strong chocolate sweetness. But there's the liquorice too, loads of it, and a flourish of milky coffee on the end.

Getting all the aniseed without an accompanying bitter tang is a bit confusing, but I enjoyed the flex. It does run the risk of turning overly sweet, which would be a disaster for any Baltic porter, though it manages to avoid going that far. All told, it's a satisfying pint, warming and nutritious-tasting: ideal winter drinking without going overboard on the alcohol. Thanks Volfie!

So it's come to this

It has been an exceptionally quiet January for new release beers. The general sluggishness of the Irish market at this time of year has combined with this week's radical change to the rules around canned drinks -- introducing a deposit scheme -- to make local brewers less willing to put new beers out. It'll pick up again, for sure, but it's felt like a bit of a desert over the past few weeks. Browsing the beer shops for potential content, I picked today's three from Welsh brewer Tiny Rebel, having eschewed their wares since they became newly available in Ireland last year. They just don't seem like my sort of beers. That's worth putting to the test now and again, however.

When I selected Electric Boogaloo I didn't read any further than "passion fruit" and blithely assumed it was a fruited sour ale. Unfortunately it's worse than that, being a fruited New England-style IPA, at a session strength of 4.5% ABV. It's pale yellow and murky, so that fits the spec, and the aroma is massively tropical. Yes, there's passionfruit in there, but heavily concentrated and smelling like there are other things. It reminds me of some horrific sticky cordial from the 1980s which I don't remember the name of, but it evidently traumatised me. No surprises in the flavour, then: it's a heavily concentrated tropical fruit syrup, with the metallic twang which inevitably comes with that. The hopping does its best to clash with the sweetness but is thoroughly drowned out by it. While it tastes like it should be thick, it actually suits its strength and might even be sessionable were it not for the flavour's unpleasant intensity. This may as well have been one of those sour-in-name-only jobs. Tiny Rebel's supplier of passionfruit syrup has a key account in this brewery. Had I known it was going to be so sweet I probably wouldn't have picked what comes next.

"[I] doubt I'll be rushing to try any of the variants" I wrote when I reviewed Stay Puft marshmallow porter on here, back in 2020. To be honest, a bit over three years is sooner than I expected. Here's just two of them, on a Christmas theme.

Where to start? I figured that Sleigh Puft: The Chocolate One would be the less sweet of the pair. My wariness wasn't in the least offset by the appearance: muddy brown with abysmal head retention: far from proper porter. The aroma is sickly as the marshmallow ingredient makes its presence felt early and loudly. To taste, it is massively sweet, although not sickly. Fortunately, the texture is surprisingly light, without a trace of stickiness, which is impressive at 5.3% ABV. Chocolate is present but doesn't taste real, having the salt-and-plastic twang of very pale milk chocolate, or even a mass-produced white variety. The artificial pink marshmallow note arrives late in the finish. I'm stating the bleeding obvious here, but this is all novelty and no class. Yes I should have known that from the get-go. At least they're up front about it. I can't recommend this, though I can't fault it for delivering on the promise.

Why did I buy another one? Anyway, here's Sleigh Puft: The Caramel One. The ABV is identical and so is the ingredients list, so I guess malt is where the difference lies. There is definitely a difference, though, because it's darker -- nearly but not quite black, and with a much more generous head. There's a lovely burnt character to the aroma, suggesting a very caramelised sort of caramel, not just sugary gloop. Maybe the previous one calibrated my palate in advance, but I didn't find it as sweet. The burnt caramel has a mildly smoky taste, and there's a surprisingly grown-up hint of raw carrot and black pepper. It's weird, and that's a compliment, not following the well-trodden novelty path which the previous one did. I haven't tasted this particular combination before, and I quite like it, especially the unexpected spice. The pink marshmallow makes no appearance, so fans of that might want to dodge it. Everyone else, jump in.

The last beer here is why I keep at this. You can't judge a beer until you've drank it. Maybe there'll be more Stay/Sleigh Pufts featured on these pages in due course.

Only shallow breathing in stereo after dark

An appreciation, first of all, for the top-tier customer service from Whiplash. After I enquired about an out-of-stock recent release, I got a personal heads-up when it was available to order again. And when the order I placed during the Christmas rush wasn't fulfilled correctly, they fixed it in the most convenient way possible. It's massively appreciated, and very indicative of the all-round class act that the brewery is. Now, how about some beer?

Oooh, they've gone all silvery for the first one, Breathing in Stereo, a departure from the usual clean white label background. It's badged as a west coast IPA, though the hops are El Dorado and Nelson Sauvin, neither renowned for their piney or grapefruity characteristics. It's also a bit anaemic for the style, and a bit too cloudy, as in slightly cloudy. The aroma is not west coast either, but is beautiful, bringing Nelson's grape and gooseberry, with sweeter fruit salad from the El Dorado. Nelson dominates the flavour in a deliciously juicy way, missing the oily mineral tang it often shows, leaving smooth and cool pear and lychee, with a edging of slightly sharper peach and white pepper. While I'm putting the boot into its poor style fidelity, I'll mention here that it's not at all bitter. It is damn tasty, though, more like a cleaned-up New England IPA, although that's the sort that Whiplash normally makes anyway. If you like your Nelson to be fruit-forward, this 6.8%-er is a great shout. The mix-up left me with an extra can of it, and I'm not complaining.

At the same strength is properly hazy IPA, Only Shallow. It's a collaboration, with Garden Brewery of Zagreb, though you'd have to wonder what they have to teach the Ballyfermot crew about making this kind of beer. The hops are an all-American blend of Columbus, Centennial, El Dorado and Idaho 7. Plenty of room for juice in that. It's the typical pale and opaque yellow-orange of Whiplash haze, and smells more of pith than juice, fruity but sharply acidic too. The mouthfeel is a little off-putting: thick and cottony, lacking any cleansing fizz and with a substantial alcohol burn. Fresh and juicy it is not. The flavour is all rather serious. It's not bitter, just hot, and with a sort of tangy marmalade sweetness. It feels like there's a central portion of zing which has been excised and discarded. A dose of Nelson Sauvin would have done it no harm at all.

A total change of style for the finisher: After Dark, an imperial stout, this time in collaboration with Pühaste. Careless pouring on my part meant that Emergency Measures were necessary to prevent it from overflowing. It's foamy, the thick chocolate-brown head eventually settling to a paler tan. It's sticky too, feeling all of its 10% ABV and more. The aroma gives little away, but to taste it's all there, all the classic old-school imperial stout flavours of filter coffee, dark chocolate and even a leafy green hop bitterness. That doesn't quite offset the beer's extreme sweetness, and the two sides butt up against each other somewhat, making for a challenging drinking experience. You needn't be in a hurry when you open this one. I did enjoy taking my time over it, however, and found the lack of candystore novelty at least figuratively refreshing, if not at all literally.

The middle beer is one of Whiplash's very rare missteps. It's all quality otherwise, and Breathing in Stereo is one of their best ever. More Nelson please.

From the grape state of California

A random pick from the bargain fridge in Stephen Street News today. Well, for a very craft definition of bargain, at €6.99 for a 355ml can. It's from California brewery The Bruery, part of their Terreux barrel-ageing program, and called Spritz This! Essentially it's a grape ale, barrel-aged and with Syrah grapes pressed in. This is the 2021 edition. The ABV is 7.2% and it's a deep and luscious scarlet colour.

There's a crackle as the head fades out and an aroma of blackcurrant, reminding me somewhat of the result of a cheap homebrew wine kit I made some years ago. It's very thin, and prickly on the palate, more than what I would call spritz. The acidity (3.4/9.0g/L of lactic, the can tells us helpfully) is a little shocking and difficult at first. I adapted to it quite quickly, I'm happy to say, and after a minute there's a much more subtle mix of blackberry, raspberry and cherry, mixed in with white pepper spicing from the oak and a savoury cola herbal thing.

While I liked it, I would have preferred if the bugs-and-barrels features were more prominent. Instead, despite the sourness, it's still a bit syrupy or jammy. I've had plenty better versions of the same thing.

Spontaneous enhancement

Today it's one of the regular check-ins with what they're up to at Oud Beersel. While it's a fine blender of good lambic, it seems to be becoming best known for the creation of draught versions with out-of-the-ordinary ingredients. They've mostly worked quite well, relying on the solid foundation of Boon-brewed lambic to guarantee quality. Three more passed my way recently.

"Semi-fermented and oxidised". Yum yum. That's the description with which Oud Beersel is hoping to lure punters to its Oolong Roasted Tea Lambic. Of course, it refers to the tea ingredient, not the beer. It's an opaque bright amber colour, headless even from the keg, and smelling of Boon/Beersel's typical oaky spice. For 6.8% ABV it's startlingly thin, not helped by minimal carbonation. The flavour is rather plain as well. Usually with these, the added ingredient is not subtle in its contribution, though at the same time I realise I don't actually know what oolong tastes like. Other than that, there's little to complain about. It's just that you may as well be drinking a straightforward lambic. If that's your preference, why did you order one with a weird ingredient in it? I'm disappointed in you, and in this very tasty beer.

I found something very similar with Witte Lambiek which has had witbier's orange peel and coriander added to it. What happens when you do that to a lambic? You get something which tastes much like a standard young lambic. Woody complexity is missing, and the typical nitric spice is muted, though not absent. I looked hard for the orange and coriander but really couldn't find any trace of either. A harmless experiment, then, but not really a worthwhile one.

That had me a little on edge when I came to Rabarberlambiek. Other brewers, and Ireland's Land & Labour in particular, have given rhubarb lambic a go and largely succeeded at it. Is there a risk of a proper lambic brewery trying it and messing up? Not a chance. Oud Beersel nails it, sticking closely to the basics of sharply tart sourness, but adding a beautifully smooth maturity, suggesting a base beer which is older and stronger than the 5% ABV on offer here. The rhubarb arrives late in the flavour, but is distinct, highlighting the sweeter, dessertish side of the fruit over its acidic harshness. The end result is extremely well integrated and balanced, making full use of the fruit while still staying true to the fundamentals. If anything, the core lambic pinch is a little missing here. I suppose balanced sour beer is broadly acceptable, but it's not really what I want from the Pajottenland guys.

I expected to have a stronger reaction to these, be it joy or outrage. As-is, they're quite delicious, but don't offer much by way of education in flavour. It could be that all the good lambic ideas have been done already. Even so, with several new producers coming on stream in recent years and needing to make a name for themselves, I reckon there'll be more "enhanced" lambics of this sort available in the near future.

Les étrangers

Am I a bad beer tourist for going to France and being interested in beers from abroad instead of doggedly sticking to documenting the local scene? Yes, probably, but there's nothing you can do about that. Today's beers are ones I bought in Bordeaux but which got there from elsewhere.

First up is a couple of Brooklyn Brewery beers, brewed by their partner Carlsberg Sweden, beginning with The Stonewall Inn, a session IPA. At only 4.6% ABV it walks the walk for an American recipe, undoubtedly in a straight line. It's a clear golden colour and smells nicely peachy, though not madly different from the brewery's flagship floral lager. It's definitely not a lager, however: the mouthfeel is weighty and thick, while the hops move along from the colourful soft fruit to a more serious dank quality; funky and vegetal, lacking an uplifting tang of citrus typical in an American IPA. I found it a little shocking at first, but warmed to it by the half way point. The flavour is largely Citra's doing, I read, and I think this may be primarily pitched at the Citra fanatic. I made my peace with it eventually, but it would be a challenging sort of session with all the boiled cabbage notes in evidence.

Pulp Art is another European contract job, this time a hazy IPA and 6% ABV. There's a similar fruity character to the aroma, and it suggests that more of the same resins are to come. Luckily it reverts to style on tasting with a big hit of, yes, pulpy orange: a mix of sweet juice and bitter pith. The pithiness even introduces a slight coconut note, making me think of Sorachi Ace, a hop that Brooklyn was responsible for popularising in the craft beer world. It is, however, an all-American superteam of Strata, Simcoe, and Citra again. I guess Strata is on juice-mongering duties here. Anyway, it works really well. A bit like with Sierra Nevada's Hazy Little Thing, an established player has taken the new fashion, put their own stamp on it, and created something very tasty in the process.

Given its long trading ties with Britain, it shouldn't be surprising that Bordeaux has plentiful English-style pubs. I first stopped by The Starfish, which has a sizeable range from Brewpoint, the pseudo-craft label of Bedford's Eagle brewery which used to be Charles Wells, including a bitter on cask.

I did check that other people were drinking John Bull English Ale (possibly previously called "Johnny English"), and they were. They must have come away with a poor impression of cask bitter, however, because my pint was thin and vinegary. There's a slight hint of raspberry about it, but the rest is a way over-attenuated mess, too cold, too fizzy and with an utterly inappropriate sourness. 5.3% ABV should have provided something of a safety net against such things, but not enough, it seems. Usually, I'd try to find the redeeming features; the beer the brewery meant me to have. I'm at a loss with this, however. Drop me a comment if you know how it's meant to taste.

To follow, Ink Well, an oatmeal stout. It was served on nitro but has plenty of flavour, opening on slightly-sweetened filter coffee and building on the sweetness with rosewater and milk chocolate. A bitter counter-melody plays next to this, adding liquorice laces and crisp green cabbage leaf. There isn't much else that a 5.2% ABV stout needs to do. I was very impressed, especially after the John Bull fiasco.

Brewpoint also has the beer concession at another pub in town, The Charles Dickens, down by the river. Here I went for Hop & Heart, their recent take on New England IPA. It's no such thing, of course, and although it hits the gravity full square at 6.2% ABV, is an easy-drinking and refreshing orangeade style number. There's a sherbet-like spritz, a mild kick of Orangina pith, and then a very quick finish, reflecting the almost watery texture. So as far away from proper New England as, well, Bedford is, but it works: a clean and super-suppable, Skittles and Starburst, simple delight.

Yet another Wells pub is The Houses of Parliament. Here I had a half of the 9% ABV Scotch ale, Hop Scotch. This one is a clear garnet colour and was tricky to get the measure of at first, since it was poured extremely cold. Given a few minutes to acclimatise, however, it reveals itself as a very good exemplar of the style, built on a firm foundation of creamy Highland toffee, adding a red liquorice complexity, with a lacing of burnt caramel and a spritz of raspberry tartness. It doesn't taste as powerful as the ABV implies, which may be in part down to the temperature, but I'm sure the excellent balance plays a role too. A half on a damp winter afternoon was just the ticket, recalling similar encounters with The Porterhouse's late lamented Brainblásta, and a reminder why it's a terribly civilised idea to have something like this on any brewery's roster of regulars.

They had a stout I hadn't seen in the other branches, called Genesis. It's served on nitro and is the GB Guinness strength of 4.1% ABV, so it's pretty clear what market they're aiming for. Again, my pint needed a bit of time to warm up to get anything from it, so at least that bit's accurate. Even then there's not much: a broad toasty, bready characteristic, and possibly even a touch of Big G's lactic sourness, but I'm reaching here. It's a very plain, roast-led, low-strength stout and isn't meant to do anything other than save the chain from having to pay money to Diageo. Job done. "A Guinness for people who don't even like Guinness," observed the wife.

For herself, a bock, called Crafty Seadog, a whopper at 8.5% ABV. It smelled a little sour and vinegary, which was off-putting. In the flavour that tartness becomes a fruity balsamic and raspberry effect, which is interesting but not so bock-like. I think I would have struggled through a half litre of this. Luckily my wife is made of sterner stuff. It's no Duvel, I'll tell you that much.

Acquitaine has historic links to the Basque country too, somewhat represented by the fair amount of Basque beer on sale in Bordeaux. I picked up a couple from Laugar, where I suspect the brewers or branding people have a bit of a thing for the heavy metal music.

Funeralopolis is an actual tie-in to the "doom metal classic" of the same name, by Electric Wizard. No, me neither. It's an imperial stout of 10% ABV, with added coffee, tonka beans and lactose. Tonka doesn't dominate the aroma for once, and there's a nice mix of roasts here: the coffee and the heavy dark grain. You have to wait for the flavour to get the tonka, and it's right there in the foretaste, the signature Christmas-cookie spice. It's fairly sweet in general, in a most non-metal way, the coffee giving it an overall tiramisu vibe, including a dash of vanilla. The alcohol heat is kept well in check and the finish is surprisingly quick, leaving no aftertaste. Its mouthfeel is quite light, with plenty of fizz and zero gloop. All-in-all it's a cuddly, playful little thing, which I very much doubt was the intention, but I'll go with it.

The devil music theme continues with Midnight Harvest, another imperial stout, this time with smoked cocoa, which is a new ingredient on me. It's 10% ABV again, and again we get some lactose to take any edges off. It smells broadly chocolatey, but not particularly strongly. The flavour has a little more to say, and it's mostly chocolate. I guess it's the lactose's fault that it's very much basic milk chocolate rather than anything fancier. There's a tiny whiff of smoke in the finish, resembling what you get when chipotle or paprika features in beer -- a slightly chemically, plastic, twang. It doesn't ruin it but doesn't really add anything positive either. For all the camp drama of the label, it's a fairly plain chocolate milk stout, decent but unexciting. Rock out with your choc out.

And there we sign off from 2024's first trip. Bordeaux isn't all about the beer by any means, but there's plenty of good stuff, should you want it.

Butterflies in the stomach

In Monday's post, I mentioned the fine selection on offer in Bordeaux beer bar Le Sure Mesure. One of them was L'Effet Flamande, a collaboration between Bordeaux's own Effet Papillon and Brasserie du Pays Flamand, up north, near Lille. This is another one of those golden Brettanomyces-fermented jobs, this one at 7% ABV. This version of it has been given twenty months of barrel ageing and an extra inoculation of wild yeast and bacteria, though retains the 7% ABV of the basic edition. It is strikingly tart from the get-go, dry and crisp, but with an almost vinegar-like burn. I struggled to find the fruit behind this, detecting perhaps some white grape or gooseberry, but curdled, not juicy. It's nearly very good; nearly brilliant, in fact, but it's too sharp. A bit of blending to tone that down would have been welcome.

Always on the lookout for weirdness, my eye was caught by Effet Papillon's À Go Go, a gose with cucumber and celery. The latter is entirely new for me as a beer ingredient, but I can see how it might work with the salt. It's a plain murky yellow in the glass, the head fizzing away quickly to nothing. Savoury green celery is the full extent of the aroma, so at least they're being up-front and honest about that ingredient. It is hella vegetal on tasting. Yes, I can pick out both the celery and cucumber individually, but when combined with the salt, it adds up to a big simmering pot of root vegetables, suggesting turnip, carrot and beet to me as well. It's cool and crisp, so maybe more of a coleslaw-minus-the-mayonnaise effect. It's very weird, and perhaps a smidge too earthy to work. Full respect for the experiment, however, though I won't be rushing quite so quickly to buy my next celery beer.

45 minutes on the tram out of town gets you to the Effet Papillon brewery, spread across several buildings in white-van land, one of which is the taproom. I had the place to myself on a Wednesday afternoon, and started with the Pils Française.

This is 4.5% ABV and very pale in the glass, a wan and watery-looking yellow. While very dry at first, in that mineral-driven Belgian way, a sweeter and savoury side emerges soon after, reminding me of corn relish and those highly addictive cheese-stuffed baby red peppers that Lidl does. Yum. It's like it's trying to be a serious pils but missing the mark. I like the quirkiness of it, though still think they need a straight German or Czech-style lager in the range.

I beefed it up for round two with the 6% ABV India Pale Ale. Oddly, it looked almost identical to the previous one: pale yellow with a slight haze. And though it looks bland, the aroma is very punchy, giving off a powerful citrus zest and a quieter counter melody of oily resin. The texture supports that: it's thick, but in a hop-forward way, avoiding any malt syrup or caramel. The flavour stays fresh and zesty, so it's clean and refreshing despite the density. On the sub-style spectrum, it's probably somewhere between a clean zippy cold IPA and the weighty intensity of classic west-coast. Whatever, it works beautifully. The sort of IPA freshness for which one travels to the source.

Skipping the double IPA option, I went straight for triple: Allez, at 9.5% ABV. There's a bit of colour to this one; it's amber but still clear. A little sticky malt presents in the aroma but otherwise it smells of very little. The flavour is no great shakes either. You get the heavy, hard-candy sweet side, and then merely hints of marmalade and fruit tea. It's dense and chewy, so we haven't been gypped there, but the hop element is all a bit old-world, and that's not what anyone comes to triple IPA for.

Going back to light and pale, beer four was a Lichtenhainer called Holy Smoke. This one is only 4% ABV though they've fairly piled in the smoke, making it smell a little acrid and chemically. The sourness arrives in the flavour and is tangy, and surprisingly complementary with the phenolic smoke. It's always surprising how breweries can do smoky, sour, even a little hazy, and still have a flavour that's clean and refreshing. The key is the finish, which here is crisp Bramley apple skin. I get why this is a divisive, and therefore unpopular, beer style, but I would love to see more of it.

A dark beer was necessary and I didn't fancy their candied-up imperial stout so went with Sweet Memories, a 5% ABV porter with just cocoa and coffee. The aroma has that slightly dry wafer biscuit effect I often get from chocolate beers; not unpleasant but not beloved either. The texture is fabulously creamy and luxurious, while the taste leans fully into the chocolate, suggesting the hot and smooth drinking sort, sweet not bitter, with a mild salty tang. The coffee is no more than a seasoning on top of this, though a welcome one. Overall it's very good, lacking flaws and imbalances while delivering exactly what the description promises. Can't say fairer than.

My finisher here was one with a bit of local character, a Sauternes Barrel Aged Saison, brewed in collaboration with Wilde Leeuw, the barrel ageing arm of Pays de Flamande. It's yellow and crystal clear, 8.5% ABV and smells of that lovely blend of funk, oak and fruit which makes this sort of thing unmissable for me. That tracks through to the flavour for the most part, though the sappy, splintery wood is more prominent than is ideal. It's rescued by the wine, laying down a deliciously thick and luxurious layer of botrytised delight, where the wood helps stop it turning sickly. I don't know if the sprinkle of pepper on top comes from the barrels or the saison yeast but it's very welcome. I was after complexity and I got it; maybe not as mature and integrated as the best of these, but well on the road to it. This should be sampled from a properly conditioned bottle, of course, rather than fresh <shudder> from a taproom tap.

The brewery and its taproom are quite the asset for the city, and the product is very easily found in bars, restaurants and shops. It seems to me to be doing all the things you'd want a local brewery to do, in any city.

In the final report from Bordeaux, we'll take a look at what gets imported.