40 Beers at 40

Villée

2011-12-04T22:27:00.001+01:00

I am now getting back to Belgian beer after some time away. Tonight, we tried Villée, a collaboration between the Biercée Distillery and the Silly Brewery. Yes, yes, there’s a Belgian town called “Silly”, and you’re not the first to find that amusing.

The jester on the label offers no humour for us, but instead kicks off a debate before we even open the bottle. Fiona doesn’t like it: it’s too, um, well... silly, she says. I’m not so sure. It’s not the same as the gnomes, sprites and pixies you get on far too many Belgian beer labels, and about which I have moaned about here on this blog in the past.

At least jesters existed.

What matters, however, is not what’s on the bottle but what’s in it. Unfortunately, the inside doesn’t rescue the dubious outside.

Immediately on cracking open the bottle and decanting the straw-coloured liquid, the essence of lemon fills the kitchen. It’s not inviting so much as overpowering: a hyperactive perfume spray air-freshener.

The taste is very much in line with the aroma: lemon from start to finish, with very little else. Sadly, it’s not the full complexity of the citrus fruit, with zest and pith and so on, but merely the sweetened juice, giving it a 7-up quality.

Villée would perhaps be refreshing on a hot summer’s day, but even that would be a stretch. It’s just too artificial and not beery enough. And it’s hard to believe it is 5.9% alcohol. I cannot taste that, though I cannot taste much of anything beyond the lemony additives. In short, it’s like a wheat beer with some lemon squash or syrup dumped in.

Not sprites, then, but Sprite for sure.

Taedonggang (North Korea)

2011-12-03T19:03:00.001+01:00

One of the great things about working for an international organisation is the cross-cultural intellectual stimulation of interacting with colleagues based around the world. I learn so much from them all every day -- about politics, language, business and customs -- expanding my knowledge and understanding of people and societies in every corner of the globe. When we get together, it’s like a personalised, intensive course in foreign affairs, and I feel my mind sponge soaking up the wonders of humanity in all its glorious complexity.

Oh, and they sometimes bring me beer from some strange places.

The latest was from one of my colleagues covering North East Asia: a beer called Taedonggang from North Korea. (Thanks, Dan!)

The brewery has a bit of a strange story, it seems. The plant itself used to be in England and then, after some discussion about whether the equipment could be used for chemical weapons production, it was dismantled in Wiltshire, shipped around the world and reassembled in Pyongyang.

The beer they began brewing was named after the Taedong River, which runs through the North Korean capital. Not sure if that’s the water they use...

The taste is nothing special, but it’s also not as frighteningly terrible as some might imagine. It is pretty much a typical lager, though it has a bit stronger caramel note than it should, perhaps. Still, Taedonggang has a decent bitterness. Really, it’s not bad at all.

Happily, the beer doesn’t seem to suffer from the some low-quality production values as the two-and-a-half-minute TV advert for it...

Nigerian Guinness

2011-12-01T20:54:00.001+01:00

I’m off to Nigeria early next year, and after handing in my visa application today, it seems an appropriate evening to crack open a bottle that’s been sitting in the “to try” crate for rather a while: Guinness Foreign Extra Stout from Nigeria.

Now, there are infinitely more qualified people out there who can tell you all about the history of how Guinness developed such a committed market in Nigeria, but one thing I can say: this is not your familiar Irish Guinness. For starters, it’s 7.5%. Be warned.

The initial aroma is sawdust, which is not entirely pleasant, I have to say. That carries into a slight cardboard note in the taste, which I suspect is a result of oxidation, probably exacerbated by the fact that I let this beer age too long.

Apart from that, Nigerian Guinness is sweet right from the start, followed by some of the stout elements you’d expect: burnt caramels and such. Not refreshing so much as nourishing. And intoxicating -- did I mention it’s 7.5%?

In any case, it’s certainly inviting. I am very much looking forward to trying it in its homeland...

Gulpener HerfstBok

2011-11-30T20:56:00.001+01:00

Readers who pay attention to this blog will notice that I haven’t been. Well, not very much lately anyway. Since the end of summer, it has been pretty mad at the day job, and after a few months of rapid-fire tastings during the warm months, it seemed a good time to cool down for a bit.

And go on a diet.

Lost five kilos, thanks for asking.

But somewhere in the blur of life that was October -- at a moment when I was off in the Dutch countryside at a staff retreat, in fact -- I did manage to try a new beer, Gulpener HerfstBok, and took some notes too.

I’ve had good experiences with the beer from this brewery in the Limburg region of the Netherlands. From their Gulpener Limburgs Land Premium Pilsner to their Gulpener Korenwolf to their Gulpener Winter Vrund, it’s always been a happy tasting. So, when the retreat centre said they could procure some bottles of their HerfstBok to avoid us having to drink the bar’s paltry selection of draft offerings, I happily agreed.

Gulpener HerfstBok is an autumn beer, as you may have guessed from the name. It pours a seasonally appropriate reddish-brown, and the taste is rich without being overpowering. Malt mixes with baked cherries and apples and maybe even blackberries, evolving into a solid hop bitterness. At 6.5%, it’s more a brisk and bracing walk through piles of fallen leaves than a fireside warmer.

If it has a downside, it might be that it is just a touch too sweet. However, I often say that in my tasting notes, so by no means let my hypersensitivity to sweetness put you off trying this one.

I only wish I’d reviewed it before autumn turned to winter...

Herkenrode Bruin: second shot

2011-10-14T22:00:00.000+02:00

This is one I’ve tried before -- and not long ago, in fact -- but I wasn’t overly impressed, which was a bit of a shame, I thought at the time, because their Herkenrode Tripel is very good. Anyway, the brewery saw my original post and reckoned I must have got a bad bottle of the Bruin, and they very kindly sent me a few new ones to give it a second chance.

So, I sat down with a few friends one afternoon a while back and popped them open.

Indeed, it didn’t taste much like I had remembered. It was still thin in body as I’d noted, but this Herkenrode Bruin was much more pleasant overall.

Jess found a fruitiness right away, while Jonathan made that more precise, saying it had a lovely aroma of strawberries. So far, so good. He then waxed lyrical about it being, “close to an English ale”, which reminded him of being at the pub as a child. Not so sure about that.

For me, along with that red berry note, I was getting a whiff of creosote or oakum, which I adore. There’s a pronounced bitterness late in the aftertaste, which clears away any residual sweetness.

On second try, then, yes: Herkenrode Bruin is a very worthy beer. Glad I had another go at it.

This whole experience risks upsetting my method of operation, however. If, every time I say a beer doesn’t taste quite right, the makers send me fresh bottles, where’s my incentive for saying that it’s excellent the first time around?

Three last podcasts from the American summer

2011-09-30T22:18:00.000+02:00

At long last, I am finally ending the great summer of American tastings with these three podcasts from the Beerly Coherent series: Yeti Imperial Stout, Peak Organic Nut Brown Ale, and Weyerbacher Heresy.
Beerly Coherent 18: Yeti Imperial Stout (mp3)

Beerly Coherent 17: Peak Organic Nut Brown Ale (mp3)

Beerly Coherent 16: Weyerbacher Heresy (mp3)

Spas, tattoos & mystery lagers

2011-08-23T20:42:00.000+02:00

We had another lovely few of days in Aachen, Germany, which as always included a trip to the spa. As I was relaxing in the waters, however, I had a rather disturbing thought about aging.

It occurred to me that I am from an era you might call BT, or “before tattoos”. Not exactly, of course, as tattoos are probably older than Sumeria, which surely dates back before 1968. But I come from a time before tattoos were ubiquitous.

Watching people in the spa very quickly tells me what generation I belong to.

It’s not baldness or flab or grey or wrinkles that clearly defines the divide so much as tattoos. Anyone about my age (43) or older will more likely than not be free of subcutaneous inks, while anyone so painted will almost always be younger.

It’s not just in Germany either. I’ve noticed this in the US, UK, Belgium, and half a dozen other western countries.

Nor does it have anything to do with class. I remember when pretty much only sailors, convicts and erotic dancers had tattoos. Today, it seems to be everyone from accountants and architects to zookeepers and zymurgists.

Just to be clear: I’m not saying anything negative about sailors, convicts and erotic dancers -- one of which I used to be, of course (go on, guess...) -- any more than I would laud the accountant life-style, whatever that may be. Nor am I disparaging tattoos and the people who wear them.

I am only making an observation: at some point in my lifetime, the phenomenon went from being an almost cultish thing on the fringe -- even a mark of rebellion or an f/u to society -- to a mainstream rite of passage. There must have been some turning point, just after I passed some borderline age, when men and women started opting for tattoos in previously unseen numbers. Looking around the spa, I can see it’s a generational marker I must have just narrowly missed.

Sitting a bit later in Das Restaurant Elisenbrunnen and continuing to ruminate on my advanced age, I tried an “EB” or Elisenbrunnen Lager. I’ve no idea about the origin of this house-brand beer, which reminds me of another mysterious lager we’ve tried in Aachen, Öcher Lager at the Brauhaus just across the park. But the taste is not reminiscent at all.

Elisenbrunnen Lager pours a lovely amber, but then it hits you with an aroma of pizza dough and, um, sliced ham. Only one of those could make any sense for a beer... EB has fine carbonation, but the flavour is somewhat sweet and yeasty. To me, it’s not a winner.

But of course, maybe that’s how the younger, tattooed generation likes its beer.

HB Münchner Sommer

2011-08-22T12:00:00.001+02:00

Among all the American beers we enjoyed on our summer holiday, there was one lone non-US brew: HB Münchner Sommer, which we tried at Loreley Restaurant & Biergarten in Manhattan.

It’s unfiltered, and it thus appears cloudy. The taste is wonderfully lemony and refreshing, just what’s needed for a shopping break in the summer heat. Very good.

American beers seem to be following me

2011-08-19T00:20:00.017+02:00

Going away on holiday is great, of course, but really, we may have overdone it on the tasting notes from our US trip. With so many, I’d ideally use them to stretch out my blog posts on American beers over a couple months. But there are new American tastings on the horizon, some here in Belgium (more on that at the end of this post), so I’ve got to clear the deck.

Where to start, where to start...

How about with Southampton Double White Ale? It’s produced by Southampton Publick House, located out on Long Island, New York, though we gave this one a try at a Brooklyn bar. We liked it quite a bit. It’s a witbier with lime zest and coriander notes, and even a hint of that strange Savon de Marseille flavour you get with Amsterdam’s t’IJ beers. On top of all that, this one comes with a bit of bite to it, more than is usual for white beers, but welcome.

In the same style but not in the same class at all was Kirkland Signature Belgian-Style White. First off, it’s colour seemed just wrong, being too copper and too clear rather than light and cloudy. Maybe it has a lemony note, but there’s just not enough fizz in this. Witbiers shouldn’t be flat.

Now, if you know that Kirkland is the brand name wholesaler Costco uses for its in-house beer, you might think, well, no surprise this one isn’t stellar. But given that some of their other labels are quite decent, this “Belgian-Style White” is disappointing.

Victory Golden Monkey is a Belgian-style tripel, with obvious yeast flavours from this country working through it. Fiona found it to be much like Chimay tripel, which is surely true, though the alcohol was perhaps a bit too evident at the first sip. Still, this beer from Pennsylvania’s Victory Brewing Company went fantastically well with an Indian take-away.

That brings us to Stone Arrogant Bastard Ale, which doesn’t hold back on flavour, as you might have guessed by the name. Strong passion fruit and raspberry notes pile on top of a layer of malt backed by aggressive bitterness and notable alcohol level. Very lovely. California-based Stone Brewing has a real winner here.

There we are: most of the remaining notes from our America trip -- not including some podcasts I need start editing.

But just as I’m thinking I can finally return to reviewing Belgian beer again, events seem to be conspiring against me. It’s not just that I’m heading back to the US in a couple weeks, where a few more American beers no doubt await me. Even more intriguingly, Chez Moeder Lambic here in Brussels is going to host a weekend of Stone Brewery beers in mid-September, with 30 of the US producer’s brands on tap.

Won’t want to miss that one...

Three American pale ales

2011-08-18T21:23:00.000+02:00

Step by step, I am slowly clearing the back log of tasting notes from our holiday in the US. It would seem we sampled 61 different brands in the three weeks we were there, which I think you’ll agree is a pretty good innings.

When it comes to pale ales, I’ve already mentioned the very tasty Smuttynose Shoals Pale Ale, the delicious Kona Fire Rock Pale Ale, and the lovely Captain Lawrence Fresh Chester Pale Ale, in addition to various labels of the sub-species known as IPA.

To that tally, let me add three more.

We tried Ommegang Pale Ale from a growler one evening in Brooklyn, and sadly, we were a bit disappointed. We’d expected the citrus notes others have raved about, but didn’t find them. Any flavour disappeared quickly, and it came across as not very distinctive at all. I won’t give up on this one, however, as I’ve heard very great things about this beer. I’m going to buy a bottle on my next trip to the States to give it another chance.

Also unexpected, but from a different direction, was Kirkland Signature Pale Ale, a beer from the "we only sell mayonnaise in 55-gallon drums" wholesaler Costco, but brewed by Matt Brewing Company in Utica, New York. Though you might not expect much from a big chain store’s “own brand” budget beer, this one is actually pretty good, as is its sister brew, Kirkland Signature IPA.

The pale ale pours copper, with healthily active carbonation building into a lasting head. The aroma is nothing much, it seems, but the taste is hoppy and refreshingly bitter. Not bad at all.

Captain Lawrence Liquid Gold, however, was my favourite of the three. Billed as a “Belgian pale ale”, it had a wonderfully creamy smooth mouthfeel with a light bitterness kicking in later. Citrus notes round it all off -- even without the unnecessary addition of a lemon wedge the bar sought fit to jam onto the edge of my glass -- making this a very pleasant and drinkable beer.

Not your old American lager

2011-08-18T00:58:00.001+02:00

Not long ago, “American lager” meant a pale, thin, fizzy, soda-like substance. Compared to its Bavarian or Czech ancestors, the US brews seemed watered down, diluted to nearly homeopathic “no active ingredient” levels.

Then, in my personal timeline anyway, came Samuel Adams Boston Lager, offering richer flavours: deeper maltiness and an unashamedly bitter finish. Over the years, it has deservedly become a classic of the quality beer scene in the States -- so popular, in fact, and produced in such quantity, that some apparently started to wonder if it could still be called a “craft beer”. In any case, Boston Lager surely deserves the moniker, “gateway craft beer”, because for many people, this is the first step on a life-long love affair with quality brews.

But now, all sorts of things seem to be going on with “American lager”, and there’s a range of flavours within, from the solid, simple and traditional, to the wild and weird. Here’s a few we tried this summer.

Blue Point Toasted Lager is on the more straightforward side of things, with a light bitterness and a gentle caramel. Bob caught a hint of candy sugar, and we were both sensing some berry notes. Tasty.

Sierra Nevada Summerfest is billed as a “crisp summer lager”, and that’s a fair call. The colour is a deep yellowy gold, and it seems to have a hearty body, while not being at all syrupy. A pleasant, lasting bitterness develops mid-way, leading to a dry finish. It is indeed crisp and very appropriate on a hot summer day after a few hours at the pool. This may not be anything outrageous, but it is really quite good.

The craziness comes with Coney Island Albino Python, described as a “white lager brewed with spices”. I’ve no idea what a white lager is, but presumably Schmaltz Brewing, makers of He’brew, know what they’re doing...

This one starts off with a fruity nose, and at first taste, we are all sensing the spices... liquorice, at first, and then, oddly, ginger, and also fennel. Fiona says it reminds her of Old English Spangles, a bygone candy, but she’s not sure if it’s the liquorice one or the cough candy one she’s remembering... Naturally, a debate breaks out over exactly what cough candy is. Or was. Herbal cough drops of some sort?

Anyway, Coney Island Albino Python should be tried to be believed. You may not like it, but it will certainly make an interesting change from the American lager you thought you knew.

Ending my anti-can snobbery

2011-08-17T21:36:00.000+02:00

As anyone who’s ever read this blog before understands, I don’t really know a whole lot about beer. Even after sampling many hundreds of different brands, I still find myself struggling desperately in my amateur efforts to describe them.

Still, my deep ignorance hasn’t stopped me from becoming something of a beer snob. Indeed, it has probably accelerated the process.

Take my attitude toward beer in cans, for example. Despite my family connections to the home of such modern conveniences, I have always seen canned beer as a down-market, overly fizzy and taste-damaged product. I swore I could detect the metallic element to the taste. Even when I probably couldn’t.

You wouldn’t catch me with a can in my hand, no sir.

I was forced to reverse this prejudice a few weeks ago, however, when I tried Sixpoint Bengali Tiger IPA. It comes from a can, but there is nothing tinny about this one at all.

In fact, it’s a very fine IPA, with a lively floral aroma and pine notes in the flavour. It’s not too carbonated either. Super yum.

Despite being from a can.

Lagunitas backlog

2011-08-17T00:15:00.000+02:00

The catch-up on tasting notes from our American holiday goes on... Today, let me add some additional beers from California brewer Lagunitas, makers of the fine Lagunitas IPA and the outstanding Hop Stoopid, reviewed earlier.

Lagunitas Imperial Stout pours darker than tar in a cave at night. Nona dubs it, “a black milk shake”. Indeed. Flavours include burnt malt, ripe fig, prune juice and, oh so amazingly, roasted ginger. Excellent stuff.

Lagunitas Wilco Tango Foxtrot seems to be a kind of light stout, with a very strong maltiness, trending into molasses and something medicinal. It’s got a sticky mouthfeel combined with a biscuit note, as well as hints of creamed spinach and candy canes, all ending in a sour aftertaste. I was struck speechless by this one, to be honest. Maybe its complexity simply overwhelmed me.

More from Dogfish Head

2011-08-16T19:09:00.010+02:00

On our summer trip to the US, we tried loads of beers from Delaware-based brewer Dogfish Head, one of the drivers of America’s great craft beer renaissance. There were super-hop IPAs like Dogfish Head Squall IPA and Dogfish Head 60-minute IPA; stranger offerings, like the historic beers, Theobroma and Midas Touch; and, of course, the astounding Bitches Brew.

But that was not all. Oh no.

We also tested Dogfish Head Raison D’ Être, which pours chestnut brown and has an aroma similar to Belgium’s Palm Royale. The flavour is not a million miles away from it either, though less sweet. Bob found a note of dark raisins, though the label says green raisins, while I was thinking it was more like blueberries. Bob also thought he detected an aftertaste of asparagus. The alcohol (8%) seems a bit too strong, that is burning and out of balance.

Much better was Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale. Already a favourite of Bob’s, it’s not brown so much as black and dark. The aroma first hits you with an old fruitbowl air, and the flavour darts back and forth between an IPA and a stout. There’s a definite pumpkin note in the middle -- nothing subtle about it: it’s like sticking your head into a carved jack-o-lantern. And then there’s a whiff of maple syrup. Very interesting. Very good.

Dogfish Head 90 Minute Imperial IPA does not seem to do much on aroma, but it whacks you around the head and shoulders with the flavour of strawberries. The aftertaste is lingering, with something like a Sharpie pen hit of gorgeous, lasting hops.

Smutty memories

2011-08-16T01:08:00.001+02:00

About 25 years ago, I spent the summer on the Isles of Shoals, a collection of rocky outposts off the coast of New Hampshire and Maine. I was doing courses in marine science on Appledore Island, to be specific, which is just across a narrow channel from Smuttynose Island, namesake of today’s beers.

The brewery is not on the island, of course. About the only thing out there, apart from the ghosts of the victims of an 1873 axe murder, are a bunch of seals. Smuttynose Brewing Company is located in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, which has fewer seals flopping around its streets, as I recall, and hopefully fewer ghosts as well.

I used to be rather excited by a life at sea, and for me, the Isles of Shoals were really inspirational, influencing so many of my study and work moves in the years immediately after. From there, I found my way on to research boats, then on to traditionally rigged sailing schooners, plying the waters between Newfoundland and the Caribbean.

That all seems like a long time, and many choices, ago. Between then and now, there were fleeting bits of lives lived in Montana, Seattle, the Bering Sea, Anchorage and Berlin, before Czechoslovakia, and so on... Explaining exactly how I got to Brussels and my current job, which has nothing to do with the oceans, gets a bit complicated.

But I still retain fond memories of the Isles of Shoals -- or at the very least, romantic notions about as foggy as the air around the archipelago itself -- and it’s fun to be reminded of one fine summer by two beers.

Bottle-conditioned Smuttynose Shoals Pale Ale is caramelly, with vanilla notes, and yummy, if a bit sweet. Is it more brown ale than pale ale? Tasty either way.

Smuttynose IPA also comes with some welcoming mung at the bottom of the bottle (remember, I like Belgian beers and always pour them out to the very end to get that yeasty, B-vitamin goodness). The aroma is a bit weak, but the flavour is complexly bitter over a slight biscuitiness. It’s not clearly floral nor piney nor citrus, but all those together in small amounts and all combining to add up to a rich taste.

That’s how I remember it all anyway.

Madison beer fest

2011-08-15T17:02:00.002+02:00

No one will believe this, but by complete coincidence there was a beer festival in Madison, Connecticut, the very weekend I happened to be in town. I wasn’t looking for it. Honest.

I was visiting my brother around the corner, and we popped into the Madison Wine Exchange, where MWE’s Ted Satinsky spotted us poking around the beer shelves and struck up a conversation. He told us of the upcoming charity event, “From Hops to Hope”, and so, two days later, on 24 July, we went down to check it out.

See, coincidence. Beery things just find me, that’s all.

It was a great afternoon out, with dozens of craft brewers, US and international, pouring their goods. Brian and I managed to try quite a number of new beers. One of these, Dogfish Head Midas Touch, I’ve already written about, so on to the others...

Brew Dog 5am Saint is an amber ale, but it’s not like any amber I’ve ever tasted. It has an overwhelming floral aroma and a super pine hop flavour.

Narragansett Summer Ale is, I believe, the first Rhode Island beer I’ve ever tried. I found it a bit dull and unremarkable, sadly.

Adding another US state to my beer list -- this time Hawaii -- Kona Fire Rock Pale Ale was a very nice beer, with fine carbonation and a hint of cinnamon.

Kinda Blue, from Boulder Beer, is made with blueberries, which seem to be the fruit of the moment in the US craft beer world as far as I can tell. It is a rather sweet wheat ale, and the blueberry flavour is unmistakable. Not bad.

Weyerbacher Hops Infusion is a super-hop lovely, as was Blue Point Hoptical Illusion, which, at 60 IBU caused Brian to note, “if they served this as medicine, you wouldn’t want to take it”. I liked it a lot, as did Fiona, lover of all things hoppy, and we went for a growler of it a few days later in Brooklyn.

Widmer Brothers Nelson Imperial IPA was yet another American hopster beer. This one was smooth, with a splendid maltiness backing notes of pepper and mango.

Finally, I spent some time at the Samuel Adams table, where they’d set out a taste test to determine public preferences for an upcoming new beer release. I tried, and liked, a porter with hints of maple syrup in the flavour. No idea what it was or if we’ll see in it mass production soon. Then, I had a Samuel Adams Summer Ale, a lemony wheat beer, which I think it’s fair to say is, um, fair.

Altogether, that was a pretty good day out, particularly considering we’d stumbled across it by chance. Really, we did.

Two historic brews

2011-08-14T15:11:00.000+02:00

I like to try “historic beers” when I can -- that is, beers made to very old recipes that attempt to recreate the flavours of bygone days. They’re always very weird, and none of them are ever going to become regular tipples for me. But still, they are fascinating.

Those I’ve had before, including Gageleer and Dupont Cervesia, are recreations of the pre-hop era of brewing in Europe’s Middle Ages. If nothing else, those beers show you why hops supplanted bog myrtle and other herbs in brewing.

The following two beers, however, trace their roots back much further: with recipes originating in BCE times.

Dogfish Head Theobroma is apparently “based on chemical analysis of pottery fragments found in Honduras which revealed the earliest known alcoholic chocolate drink used by early civilizations to toast special occasions”. The ingredients are strange indeed, including, cocoa powder, cocoa nibs, honey, chillies, and annatto.

It pours an orangey amber (presumably from the annatto?), and the aroma is very clearly cocoa. We didn’t pick up any chillies in the taste, but Brian, Fiona and I all thought it exhibited both M&Ms and Skittles-style fruit flavours. Fiona found it “sour and thin” over all, and I’d agree.

Dogfish Head Midas Touch was the second historic beer we tried in the States on this last trip. The brewer says the recipe “is the actual oldest-known fermented beverage in the world”. It comes from a region now in Turkey and is 2700 years old. Wow.

We got a quick taste of Midas Touch at a beer festival in Connecticut (more on that later). The first thing we noted was a grape sweetness, and overall, I’d describe it as a bit musty, though drinkable.

I didn’t find either of these beers “a keeper”, but I did like trying them. Sometimes “interesting” is more important than “delicious”.

An evening at the Brooklyn Brewery

2011-08-14T12:41:00.000+02:00

Our beer tour of Brooklyn could, of course, never be complete without a visit to the Brooklyn Brewery, one of the powerhouses of today’s quality beer renaissance in the US. So, Bob took us there for one of their Friday evening openings.

The bar area of the brewery is a lovely space, but the noise is incredible. There’s something about the acoustics in the place -- with hard-surface walls all around and nothing to break up the sound of people trying to talk with each other, everyone just shouts louder to their friends standing next to them, creating an upward spiral of deafening din. It was like normal crowded bar noise times ten.

Now, before you think this is just some old fart moaning about loud young people, let me tell you that my observation was independently verified. I took out my phone and opened an app to give me a noise reading. It said 95 decibels, which is apparently the “level at which sustained exposure may result in hearing loss”. No kidding. It was loud.

But we weren’t there for the sound; we were there for the taste.

All Fiona and I knew of Brooklyn’s products before was Brooklyn East India Pale Ale, which Fiona in particular loved, and we were keen to try some new ones. Almost every one of them was lovely -- with one notable exception. We’ll get to that in a bit...

Brooklyner Weisse is a tasty wheat beer: very florally and moreish, though perhaps a bit flatter than I would have expected.

Brooklyn Blast Pale Ale is a double IPA with a very strong fruity hop aroma. The flavour is lightly grilled mango. Bob said it was fiery. At least, I think that’s what he said. As I mentioned, it was loud in there...

Brooklyn Brown Ale offers a fine, lasting maltiness. It’s not outrageous on the bitter side at all. Wonderfully sessionable.

Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout (2009) is super smooth and super dark chocolate. I was in heaven. Bob said chocolate covered coffee beans. I found notes of stewed and caramelised blackberries. Wow. It’s just lovely.

Another beer we tried at the brewery was The Brooklyn Concoction. This one didn’t go down well at all.

Bob and I had actually tried Concoction a few days before as part of a flight of tasters, and it was so foul, we thought there may be something wrong with the line from the keg. It smelt and tasted more like disinfectant than anything else.

Keeping an open mind, we gave it another shot at the brewery, but the result was the same: Dettol or Pine-Sol dominating the flavour. That’s obviously what it’s supposed to taste like. Bob and I figured it must be some experiment gone terribly wrong. Far from being an “herbal spice beer” as billed, it would be better labelled as floor cleaner.

But in general, we had a great evening at the Brooklyn Brewery. Most of their beers are fantastic, and I would heartily recommend them. When we go back again, we’ll just have to remember to bring ear plugs and avoid sipping from the mop bucket, and it will be perfect.

Peppery bliss

2011-08-13T16:45:00.000+02:00

One evening during our stay in the Brooklyn, New York, neighbourhood of Williamsburg, we went out to pick up a growler at the drugstore, but somehow got distracted at Breuckelen Beer Merchants around the corner.

Distracted, that is, by a flight of four beers.

One was Empire IPA, which I’ve already discussed, and two Brooklyn Brewery beers I’ll write about later. The fourth was Elysian Saison Poivre, which turned out to be one of the best beers I had on our US trip.

Elysian Saison Poivre is not much aroma, but the complexity of its flavour more than makes up for that. “Poivre” means pepper, and although peppery notes are not unusual for a saison beer, this one has it in bags. It overflows with a gorgeous spiciness. Then there’s something in the mid- to late taste that’s like maple syrup. The evolution of the flavours in your mouth is thus quite remarkable.

It’s produced by the Elysian Brewing Company, which, interestingly, got its start in Seattle’s Capitol Hill district, where I used to live back in 1990-91. Elysian opened in 1994, so I just missed it, sadly.

Had beer like this been around a few yeas earlier, I might have stayed in the States... How different my whole personal history could have been...

Williamsburg growlers

2011-08-11T21:54:00.003+02:00

One thing that struck me on my recent excursion into the land of American beer is the ubiquity of the growler. The refillable glass jars, which people take to shops and bars for quality craft beer to consume at home, remind me of the Czech tradition of the džbánek, which though usually made of ceramic, is the Bohemian cultural equivalent in functional terms. Anyway, in the US, growlers seem to be everywhere you look.

Or at least everywhere I look.

In the Williamsburg neighbourhood of Brooklyn, New York, for example, they have become so popular that an outlet of a major drugstore chain is now acting as a beer refueling station. The Duane Reade apparently took the move to overcome anticipated area resistance to a big chain moving into the community, and it looks like it’s worked. They seem to have won over the locals.

Or at least the locals I know.

Wanting to familiarise Fiona and me with local customs as smoothly as possible, Bob and Nona got out their growlers, and we headed for the drugstore. Several times, in fact, during the week we stayed with them. Here are five we tried...

Captain Lawrence Fresh Chester Pale Ale comes from Pleasantville, NY, so it’s hard not to like for that reason alone. But even without its cheery origins, the taste is fine, though different people discovered different flavours. Bob spotted grassiness and an asparagus note over the base maltiness, Nona found maple syrup and walnut, and Fiona caught a whiff of smokiness. I was hit by a biscuity aftertaste.

Sixpoint Righteous Rye is well hopped, creamy and drinkable. Nona described a celery note, while I found candy, and Fiona, a bready aroma. In any case, it all ends up in a lasting bitterness. Bob, not bitter himself at all, was very impressed with this one.

Kelso Pilsner comes from a Brooklyn-based brand. The aroma is herby. Nona found it very refreshing, with fine carbonation. Agreement all round. It’s deeper and more complex than your typical bulk lager, with a touch of caramel and even a celery note. But yes, refreshing.

Blue Point Rastafa Rye poured a gorgeous ruby colour. There’s something musty about the aroma, and the flavour says biscuit. Bob found it very sweet.

Our final stop on the growler-go-round was Shock Top Belgian White. Nona said it held the glass well, but none of us were too sure what that meant. She may have said “he”, referring to the aforementioned unbitter Bob, who was, in fact, embracing his snifter with noteworthy refinement. Regardless, the beer in the glass had that typical witbier creaminess, with an aroma of coriander and serious lemon notes.

In all, we came to the conclusion that Duane Reade in Williamsburg surely sells the best beer of any drugstore anywhere.

Or at least of the drugstores we know.

Beer in the Garden State

2011-08-11T00:16:00.002+02:00

Today, we’re again looking at some American beers, and readers, be advised that there are more on the way. This might seem strange for a predominantly Belgian beer blog. But hey, I’m also now a member of the British Guild of Beer Writers. As Walt Whitman wrote, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large. I contain multitudes.”

Whitman’s final resting place, by the way, is in New Jersey, the source of today’s beers.

Times have, of course, changed since I lived in the US twenty years ago. It used to be that if you told anyone you were from New Jersey, the standard response was, “what exit?” Indeed, the “Garden State” was often known more for its highways than its green areas.

There was even a kind of attempt to develop this reputation in a virtuous direction, with service areas on the NJ Turnpike, for example, named after such New Jersey luminaries as Woodrow Wilson, Thomas Edison and, yes, Walt Whitman.

Now, however, when I mention the state of my birth, people seem to think first of The Sopranos. Not sure that’s an improvement. There’s no service area named after Tony Soprano. Yet.

In beer terms, New Jersey is perhaps best known as the historical home of the first canned beer, made in Newark at the Kreuger brewery, where an uncle of mine used to work. Today, however, there are a number of smaller brewers in the state joining the tide of great craft beer that is washing over all the land. I tried two from Flying Fish Brewing, which is based in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, also home to the Walt Whitman service area of the Turnpike.

Keeping with the motorway theme, Flying Fish Exit 9 (Hoppy Scarlet Ale) is super hop fun, with strong passion fruit and mango notes on a solid malt base. It’s it extremely excellent for an exit beer. Hop-lover Fiona is very impressed.

Flying Fish Farmhouse Summer Ale is an easy seasonal session beer. It starts on fizz, then moves to bitter and a lovely ale hollowness of malt in the middle, which finally evolves into a crisp dry finish. It’s refreshing and lovely: very drinkable.

I am always amazed how much beer culture has changed in the US since I last lived there. Twenty years ago, finding bottles of beer this good would have been next to impossible. Now it seems high-quality craft beers are in every liquor store.

Draft options in restaurants and bars are equally astounding. We went to a great place for dinner one night, Klein’s in Belmar, New Jersey, which has great fish dishes and beers to match. We tried two.

Long Trail Belgian White is faithful to the style, though an interesting sourness kicks in later. This Vermont beer is excellent with seafood.

Leinenkugel’s Summer Shandy from Wisconsin is very lemony, otherwise witbier-ish. It’s refreshing, for sure, although maybe a bit too sweet. Fiona says it would be better in the heat of the afternoon right off the Jersey beach, rather than at sunset on Belmar's Shark River.

By the way, Walt Whitman was chosen as one of the poets for Shark Week: “Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water...”

American IPA Hopsterism

2011-07-28T22:45:00.001+02:00

Even just a short beer-tasting trip to the US will tell you that the country has gone mad for super-hoppy India pale ales. You can’t swing an empty growler without hitting a hop-bomb IPA these days.

While I have a hobbyist’s interest in noting how this popular preference evolved, I am more immediately concerned by the fact that my wife has caught the bug and is now on her way to becoming a serious hophead. Seems they just can’t make a beer with a triple-digit IBU number that she doesn’t like...

So, we made a tour of some new-American IPAs while in and around New York, a few of which I can describe here.

Stone IPA is immediately impressive, with strong florals in the aroma and a grapefruit juice bitterness in the flavour. 6.9% alcohol is well-integrated in the overall experience. There’s something of raw snap peas or French green beans about it, too. It says “big character” on label. Indeed.

That’s not quite hoppy enough for Fiona, however, so bring on Lagunitas Hop Stoopid. With an aroma of passionfruit, mango and canned peaches, this one is a hopster’s dream at 102 IBU. It pours an orangey copper colour and tastes wicked bitter. 8%. “This is the way it should be”, says Fiona. “It coats your mouth so you taste it for a long time. That makes you not want to snack afterward, so it’s a good diet beer.”

Full Sail IPA is citrusy in flavour, evolving into a gentle maltiness that develops further into lightly bitter. It’s not very fizzy at all. 6% alcohol. Overall, it’s very drinkable, and I find it an excellent balance, rather than a hop attack. It’s lovely after a good day at the Jersey shore with hot sun and rough surf.

Harpoon IPA is my brother Brian’s regular: floral aroma, very drinkable, not crazily hopped, but pleasant. A good session IPA.

Perhaps the best evidence of how IPA-crazy the US has become is that even Costco wholesale stores are pushing it. Its own-brand Kirkland Signature IPA, actually produced by Matt Brewing in Utica, New York, is not half-bad either. Perhaps a bit too thick to be properly refreshing, but it has a hop taste that is serious and piney.

Dogfish Head 60-minute IPA sports an aroma of multi-vitamin juice, according to Fiona: mango and peach in strength. It is very smooth and drinkable, with citrus and pine sap notes, though Fiona finds it a bit too thick. To me the key here is how smooth and velvety it is, even while remaining bitter.

Dogfish Head Squall IPA takes the company’s 90-minute IPA and throws in some bottle-conditioning. Fiona says it has an aroma of salt caramel, while I find it slightly buttery with a hint of vinegar. The taste starts biscuity, with a slightly thick mouthfeel, bitter but not outrageously so. Something about it whispers salt and vinegar crisps. Brian says cola and cinnamon. Fiona points out that it is not citrusy and offers no mango essence like other IPAs, but Luke finds a bit of grapefruit in it.

We enjoyed Peak Organic IPA from a growler in Brooklyn. A lightly floral aroma is inviting, a smooth mouthfeel makes it go down easy, and while it is not insanely hopped for Fiona’s tastes, it is surely hopped enough. Bob says it’s a bit sour for an IPA and finds a lime note.

Next was Empire IPA from Syracuse, New York. A piney aroma entices Bob, who says it has a strong lingering sweetness and little effervescence. “India pine needle ale”, Bob concludes. We’re impressed.

That may seem like quite a few hoppy IPAs, but it is probably only a tenth of one percent of the US brands in this style out there these days. It really is incredible just how much they are currently mesmerising the American market – not to mention the wife.

Bitches Brew

2011-07-20T20:24:00.001+02:00

Back in December, I met an old friend at a conference in Switzerland, and she brought me a couple bottles of beer from the US as a gift from both her and her husband, also an old friend. In fact, I think I can take some small credit for them getting together, as they actually met through an online magazine I started about 12 years ago.

The bottle of Fisherman’s Imperial Pumpkin Stout went down in January, and it was delightful, let me tell you. But the second bottle, Bitches Brew from Dogfish Head, sat in my cellar for seven months, waiting for the right moment. Tonight.

It’s another deep, dark treat. Clearly, my friends had been reading my blog before they went shopping and knew that for me, the darker, the better.

Apparently, Bitches Brew is not a very easy beer to find these days, and I can see why. It is astounding, and would disappear from store shelves quickly. It pours ludicrously dark. A laser wouldn’t get though a glass of this stuff.

The initial aroma is a very pleasing whiff of caramelised carrot. The flavour is, as you might guess, espresso and dark chocolate through and through. Malted bitterness reigns here.

The bumf says Bitches Brew is, “a fusion of three threads imperial stout and one thread honey beer with gesho root”, which is a kind of African shrub that is sometimes used in the same way as hops are. (Yes, I had to look it up on Wikipedia...)

Thanks, Andrew and Susan!

Tyttebær: what kind of fruit are you?

2011-07-18T19:02:00.000+02:00

Tonight’s beer is a Scandinavian treat. I’ve already mentioned a number of Norway’s mortgage-wrecking beers, but Tyttebær is something new.

The label proclaims it to be a, “wild ale brewed with Scandinavian cranberries”, though it goes on to explain that a tyttebær is also called a lingonberry or mountain cranberry. Some apparently call it a cowberry.

If, like me, you are still not really sure what the hell fruit this beer is all about, Wikipedia can help.

Produced by Mikkeller at the Nøgne Ø brewery using wild fermentation, Tyttebær pours a reddish-brown, and the aroma and flavour are indeed pretty wild. Somewhere at the core of it, Tyttebær almost seems like Orval, but layered on top of that base flavour is... urinal puck... drifting off into red currents... or raw cranberries... or lingonberries, I suppose... and then some tannin takes over. In the end, the overall tartness means it finishes very clear.

It is, um, interesting, to say the least. Fiona gave up and ran away screaming, “it smells like wee, it smells like wee”. Sure, and while I’m not about to make this my daily tipple either, there is something in the astringency of Tyttebær that I find quite compelling.

Aachen weekend

2011-07-16T12:49:00.002+02:00

We went to Aachen last weekend. As we often do. And we tried a few German beers while there. As we often do.

First off were two bottled Alt beers: Hannen Alt and Diebels Alt. Both seemed good to us. Hannen was maybe a bit maltier than the average Alt, and if I had to choose between them, I’d go for the more bitter Diebels. Still, we both thought they weren’t as good as other Alts we’ve had. In particular, I recall that Schlüssel Alt we had a couple months ago... yum...

But the next beer threw us a bit. Not for its taste, mind you -- Öcher Lager comes to the table a lovely tan, and the taste is something not a million miles from an Alt beer, if not quite as bitter. Looking around the web a bit, I’ve seen it labelled an Alt. But here’s where the confusion comes in, because I’ve also seen it called a Kölsch-style ale. But the name suggests it’s, um... a lager.

Clearly, something doesn’t add up. Is it top-fermented, like an Alt or a Kölsch, or bottom-fermented like a lager? Trying to find the brewery online doesn’t help. Some websites claim it’s produced by the Lahnsteiner Brauerei in Lahnstein, south of Koblenz, but that doesn’t make any sense if, as other websites suggest, it as a “local beer”. And the Lahnsteiner Brauerei website makes no mention of this beer.

Anyway, if you’re ever in Aachen, step into the Aachener Brauhaus, which used to be a brewery but no longer is, and give it a try.