Beerly Coherent

Natural light and darkness

2013-05-26T17:36:00.001+02:00

We’ve spent a good deal of time this weekend trying to keep a nest of baby black birds safe from marauding magpies. The parents are doing the best they can, and we come out to help when we hear their alarm call. Still, it’s been pretty brutal: two chicks gone already, one cowering in the honeysuckle. Nature can be pretty ugly.

I am thus not instantly impressed by products that proclaim their “all natural” or “organic” ingredients. Magpies are completely natural. So is cyanide. Doesn’t make it right.

When Brasserie de la Lesse announces their beers are mostly organic, therefore, I remain to be convinced. We put two of their offerings -- a blonde and a brune -- to the taste test.

La Chinette is the blonde beer. It’s quite light in character, which is a bit surprising for 6% alcohol. There’s a mild honey note, and a gentle hop. It’s not sweet but rather refreshing, and it reminds me somewhat of the Wadesda #3 I tried a couple weeks ago. Fiona loves La Chinette, and we’d definitely look for it again.

La Rouge Croix is the dark one, and though the mouthfeel is a bit thin, I like it right away. Burnt wood, dates, chocolate and iced coffee with a hint of black cherry... but it’s not very sweet at all, happily. Excellent. Buy it if you see it.

The beers of Brasserie de la Lesse are not easy to find, however. We came across ours at Flagey market here in Brussels -- at one of the organic stalls, naturally.

Excuse me, there’s chicory in my beer

2013-05-22T17:30:00.000+02:00

I understand that people get bored. It happens to us all from time to time. And I get it that brewers will occasionally want to try something different just to spice things up.

But putting chicory in beer? I think there may be a line drawn there. Or a good ways before you get to there in fact.

Recalling previous tastings of some historical experimental brews, I think the problem starts whenever you get away from using hops. Beers like Gageleer or Dupont’s Cervesia, which rely on bog myrtle instead of hops, may be interesting, but they’re not anything I’d buy again. The same is true for other pre-hop era remakes like Dogfish Head Theobroma or Dogfish Head Midas Touch: after the novelty wears off, you just have to ask yourself if this is really anything that people want to drink.

Still, I tried to keep an open mind as I approached Hof ten Dormaal Wit Goud, a beer made by replacing some hops with chicory.

The main reason to think that Wit Goud might be worth it is that Hof ten Dormaal produces some amazing beers. There’s the excellent Hof ten Dormaal Blond and the even better Hof ten Dormaal Donker. I’ve been very impressed in the past, so I thought that maybe, just maybe, this chicory brew might be OK. Plus, I actually like to eat chicory -- the “white gold” of this region -- quite a lot.

Wit Goud pours a rusty orange-brown, and it’s got a kind of a whiskey nose about it. The taste is initially a cooked vegetable sweetness, like caramelised onions, fading into honey. 8%. To me, it’s too sweet and, oddly, it’s not bitter enough. You’d expect a beer made with chicory to be more bitter.

So, another experiment with hop replacement, and all I can say is thank goodness they didn’t take all the hops out. It may be the only thing that saves this beer. Still, if I see Hof ten Dormaal beers on the shelves, I’ll go for the Blond or the Donker.

Four new Belgian blondes

2013-05-19T17:40:00.001+02:00

As spring continues to evade Belgium, and the family has run off to Scotland in search of warmer weather -- yes, that’s how bad it’s been here -- I carved out some time to catch up on a bit of important paperwork. But since tax forms are infinitely dull and these ones aren’t due for some time yet, I figure it would be far more interesting to write up some tasting notes that I’ve also been neglecting for a while.

Let’s start with a few blonde Belgian ales. I’ve run into a few new ones in recent months, all worth mentioning. Well, actually, they’re more worth drinking than mentioning, but you know what I mean.

The first is an experimental beer from Brasserie de la Senne here in Brussels: Wadesda #3. It’s not a strong one, being only 5%, and this comes across in the taste right away. Wadesda #3 has a thinnish mouthfeel, and astringency in the aftertaste grabs your palate’s attention. Its elegant simplicity reminds me of Westmalle Extra, though Wadesda #3 is more foamy and less spicy. I think it’s only had a limited production run, but grab a bottle if you can.

Not exactly new, but new to me, is the second offering. Lamoral Triple Degmont is a fine, classic triple: rich and strong. It also delivers hints of lemon and rosemary that I find very welcoming. I think I’m right in saying this one is named after the 16th century Count of Egmont, whose beheading in the Grand Place in Brussels helped trigger the uprising that in time would lead to the independence of the Netherlands. (thanks, Wikipedia) This beer is not going to spark any major revolts against established political authority, but it is certainly worth a try.

Again new perhaps only to me, Non Peut-Être hails from The Black Cat Brewery, located in the village of Genval just outside Brussels. I don’t know much about it, but I think they only create the recipes there and do the actual brewing off-site. Perhaps a reader could jump in and correct me if I’ve got that wrong. Non Peut-Être pours darker than the previous ones -- it’s a lovely amber-orange -- and it’s got an apricot note that sets it apart from others.

Finally, we have Vlawa, which really is a new addition to the world of Belgian beer, only appearing this year, I believe. It seems to be available in a few limited locations for now, and you might be more likely to find it at a beer festival than a bar for some time yet. I was able to get a taste only because the brewer is the friend of a colleague.

The name “Vlawa” comes from a combination of Flanders (Vlaanderen) and Wallonia, celebrating the union of the two major parts of Belgium, which don’t seem to agree on much besides beer these days. The beer pours a rich, gold-orange colour, and the taste is classic triple but with notes of elderflower, honey and liquorice. More on this one at the Vlawa website.

Five British darks

2013-05-05T18:29:00.000+02:00

For sweet dark beers, Belgium is king. The rich velvety gingerbread of Achel Brune Extra, the deep porty notes of an aged Chimay, the bubbly berries of Rochefort... They all have a special place in our hearts. But for the bitter darks -- with the exception of the apparently one-off Black in Japan or the sadly hard-to-find Scheldebrouwerij Oesterstout -- we usually need to look further afield.

Britain is a good place to start, and over the past few months, we’ve been able to sample five super stouts and black IPAs from the UK, all very much worth trying if you can get your hands on them.

The first is Durham Temptation Russian Stout. Chocolate notes come to the fore with this beer. Dark chocolate block. And its pairing opportunities with dark chocolate would seem infinite. And yet a floral hop keeps it sharp and alive, cutting through the richness.

Box Steam Brewery’s Funnel Blower is another chocolatey stout, but here the chocolate note is more cocoa powder then dark chocolate bar. Quite distinctive.

The Wiltshire brewery also makes Box Steam Dark & Handsome. Dark and tarry would be a better description, as this one has wonderful notes of pitch.

Harviestoun Old Engine Oil from Scotland is another fantastic brew, though this porter is perhaps not quite as thick as the name implies.

Finally, my favourite of the five: Scanner Darkly Black IPA. This beer, a collaboration of two great London breweries -- Brodie's and Kernel -- is a truly exceptional drink. No beer from either of these two producers has ever disappointed me: just recalling Brodies Dalston Black IPA or Kernel IPA Citra makes my mouth water.

Working together, these two producers have made something astounding. I don’t know if Scanner Darkly is a one-off or not, but let's hope they're making more.

Hof ten Dormaal Blond

2013-04-28T16:40:00.000+02:00

My father-in-law is a keen gardener, but for years he’s been unable to get his wisteria to bloom. I’ve long shared the same frustration: the viney thing in our yard climbs the railings at a furious pace, but it churns out only leaves spring after spring, with not a purple petal in sight.

Until this year...

My wisteria is currently covered in buds, and it looks set to be a fantastic horticultural explosion. Even better, my father-in-law is coming for a visit.

To prepare for the coming gardener’s gloat-fest, I opened a Hof ten Dormaal Blond. I had a feeling it would be good, because its sister beer, Hof ten Dormaal Donker, is excellent.

The blond initially does what you’d expect from a strong Belgian ale, though it is perhaps slightly thinner and less creamy than others. Pine and honey notes then emerge, which create a very moreish character.

It’s very good: ideal for a lazy weekend watching the flowers bloom.

Brooklyn Black Ops

2013-04-21T19:33:00.000+02:00

Wandering around southwest Florida a few months ago, I came across a bottle of Brooklyn Brewery’s Black Ops 2012 and put it in my shopping cart without giving it much thought. I’d never heard of it before, but I just knew it was going to be good, so why waste time deliberating?

Little did I understand, however, just how lucky I was to find it. Apparently, they only make about a thousand bottles of Black Ops a year, and even friends in Brooklyn couldn’t get their hands on one. How it landed in Fort Myers is beyond me -- some top secret logistics, no doubt. But whatever, I’m not complaining.

We brought it back home to Brussels and let it sit for a few weeks before sharing it with some guests one evening. Everyone was hugely impressed.

Black Ops is a stout that’s aged in bourbon barrels, and the taste is precisely that, and much more. Beurre noisette fades into caramel and cuberdons, a raspberry-flavoured Belgian candy that’s rarely found outside this country, with hints of liquorice. It’s thick and bitter and just painfully good.

Painful, because I now know I’ll probably never find another bottle of it...

Spring arrives with 3 Fonteinen

2013-04-14T20:24:00.000+02:00

Spring. It finally showed up today. Or we at least finally got our first decent day in Brussels this year.

Everyone here has been moaning about the weather for weeks, and with good reason. It’s been crap on a stick without even the benefit of a stick. It really should not take until the middle of April to get a day where you can spend the afternoon outside.

But enough whinging. It’s time for celebration: at last, we can start opening some of these warm-weather beers we’ve been waiting an age to try.

The first is 3 Fonteinen Oude Gueuze “Golden Blend”, which is an awesomely tart sensation, with a lingering raspiness on the sides of the tongue like thin ribbons of wet sandpaper. Honey, but not at all sweet. Tree bark, but palatable. If this doesn’t quench your thirst on a hot day, then quite simply, you’re not thirsty.

The second, 3 Fonteinen Oude Kriek, pours a rich ruby red, and there’s a hint of musty leaf on the nose. The taste is a bit different from other traditional krieks I’ve had. There’s almost a suggestion of cherry cough syrup here, not in sweetness, of course, as this is as tart as the gueuze. But there’s a striking seam of something that lands like dried black cherries on the aftertaste -- and generally heartier, with a greater depth of flavour than other krieks.

Both are strongly recommended. Let’s hope the warm weather holds so you have an excuse to drink them.

Last beer of a long winter: Black in Japan

2013-04-06T20:16:00.000+02:00

A few months ago, in anticipation of sunnier days, I bought a cellar-load of lambics and other warm-weather beers. By doing so, I somehow jinxed the seasonal shift, and spring has been a long-time coming to Brussels.

There was very little sign of it in March, as we’d hoped, and April hasn’t started well, with snow falling two days out of the first five.

This has all been pretty annoying for a seasonal beer enthusiast like myself, who tends towards the rich dark beers in the colder months and favours the tart thirst-quenchers when it heats up.

To have cases of traditional gueuzes and krieks and whatnot just aching to be opened with the daffodils and tulips, but seeing only a few frightened and frost-bitten buds in the garden... well, it’s heart-breaking.

And knowing it’s all my fault makes it even worse. Yes, I did this. I caused the long winter by buying summer beer too early.

Perhaps you think I’m being too hard on myself. Or perhaps you believe I’m too full of myself, delusionally imagining I alone am responsible for the change of seasons. But consider the following:

Tired of waiting for the sun to return, we decided to accept our fate and headed out into the cold to buy some more wintery beer today. Specifically, we picked up some “Black in Japan”, a black IPA from the ever-awesome Brasserie de la Senne.

It seems to be a one-off brew made in August 2012, which is a shame, because it is incredibly good: sharply hop-tastic bitter with a faint dark sweetness, it does everything a “black IPA” is supposed to do. And you don’t even have to go to the US to find it; Black in Japan is made in Brussels.

Black IPA has lately become my favourite (winter) style, and at the moment, this is probably my favourite Belgian beer -- it's certainly in my list of top ten Belgian beers.

More importantly, however, it helped prove that the seasons are dependant on my beer purchases, because as soon as we got it home, the sun came out, and the terrace started to heat up. Buy a winter warmer, and spring appears...

Again with the Westvleteren legend...

2012-12-12T15:31:00.000+01:00

Well, it's the big 12.12.12 sell-off of Westvleteren in the U.S. today. There is no end to the legend, it seems...

NPR did a story on it for Morning Edition. I drove out to the abbey at the weekend with my friend who's the correspondent here, and she came up with this lovely piece:

A Sign From Above? Needing New Roof, Monks Sell Rare Beer In U.S.

Definitely worth a read and a listen, particularly for the excellent quotes from a certain "beer connoisseur".

And when you're finished, have a look at why I've not included Westvleteren in my list of top ten Belgian beers...

A bit of beer

2012-11-18T22:02:00.000+01:00

"Abends Bit, Morgens fit" ran one slogan for Bitburger Primium Pils back in the 1950s -- or “Have Bit in the evenings, and you’ll feel fine in the morning". It sounds snappy in German, but snappier still is the advertising line everyone associates with this beer: "Bitte ein Bit". It's simple and easy to remember, and even comprehensible to non-German speakers, unlike, say, Audi’s "Vorsprung durch Technik", which, though famous, is a bit of a murky mouthful.

Not quite as murky as our arrival in Bitburg, however. The Eifel Hills fog was so thick as we pulled in that we couldn't even see the town until we'd arrived in the middle of it. But we had reached our goal: the Bitburger Brewery for a grand tour.

OK, it's not the brewery exactly, but the "Bitburger Marken-Erlebniswelt", which very loosely translates as something like, "The Bitburger Brand Experience-World". The exhibition, spread across about a dozen rooms, explains the history of the label since it's beginnings in 1817 to its dominant position as one of the top-selling beers in Germany today.

First you encounter the raw materials they use: you taste the water and barley, you sniff the hops and you see the microscopic yeast. They then display every aspect of the brewing process with video and simulation machines. They wow you with numbers all the while: over 700 googolplex of bottles produced every year, 54 squijilion kegs filled, etc. It's somewhat overwhelming...

By the time we reached the bar area and the tasting samples, about the only thing I could remember from the extensive set of details in the “Experience-World” was an interesting point about filtration. It seems that they do it differently for beer sold domestically and that made for export. For the former, they figure it only needs to last six months, so two filtration steps are enough. For the latter, however, they want the beer to last twelve months, so they give it a third filtration.

Now, normally, that would be as beer-geeky as I'd be willing to get. Actually, a bit more than I'd be willing to get... But, it's interesting because it makes the beer taste quite different depending on where you drink it.

What you get in Germany is a more bitter drink, because all the extra solids they've left in add to the bitterness in particular. What you get outside Germany is less bitter and, in short, has less taste.

Now, why, in this this year of our beer 2012, we can't have supply chains functioning so that a six-month shelf-life is just fine no matter where you are on the globe, I don't know. But whatever: the German Bitburger at least is a tasty enough product. That much is clear.

Yes, I know, I know: I shouldn’t like it. I'm supposed to say, ew it's tasteless, lowest-common denominator, mass-produced muck that no self-respecting beer snob would ever look at, let alone allow to pass his lips.

But I do like it. It's dry, with a very fine carbonation, and it is more bitter than the average pils, I'd say, which is welcome. If you're in Germany, you can hardly avoid trying it, so do so.

And if you’re anywhere near Bitburg, go through the Brand Experience-World. Even if the exhibition overwhelms you, the beer offer that goes with it is well worth it: two glasses in the official bar and three more at selected pubs around town. You won't find a better deal in the Eifel region, I'd imagine.

Schieven IPA

2012-09-30T16:32:00.000+02:00

Sometimes, I see a bottle of beer in a shop that I’ve never encountered before, and I think, “oh, maybe I’ll try one of those”. It’s a natural enough reaction for a beer blogger, after all. If it turns out to be delicious, then I’ve found an unexpected joy, and if the new beer ends up tasting like pickled aardvark droppings, well, I figure I’ve only wasted a few coins, so no great loss.

But when I saw Schieven IPA at my local provider’s, I bought a whole case without giving it a second thought.

Though a decision made in haste and relative ignorance, it was nevertheless logical. From the label I saw it was an IPA produced by the fantastic Brasserie de la Senne in Brussels in collaboration with Americans Jeff Bagby, of Bagby Beer and Mike Rodriguez of Lost Abbey. I just knew it was going to be great.

And, hey, no surprise: it is.

Just to be clear, this is most certainly not one of those new extra-hopped Belgian tripels you see these days, like Duvel Tripel Hop or Chouffe Dobbelen IPA Tripel. Those are fine beers and interesting enough, but Schieven IPA is different: an American-style IPA through and through.

It is not easy to get this sort of thing in Brussels. You either have to schlep around looking for elusive bottles of the single-hop limited editions from Delhaize, or you need to order your IPAs from Britain.

Brasserie de la Senne is on to a great thing here with Schieven IPA. Of course, hop lovers already adore their Taras Boulba, one of my top ten Belgian beers, but Schieven IPA is a true hop-head dream.

The only problem is, it seems to be a limited production beer. Thankfully, I found a second case, but I have been assured that it was the last one available in Belgium. Is this really the end of the line for this outstanding beer? Will there be no more Schieven IPA? Please, say it ain't so...

British Ales in Belgium

2012-09-16T16:46:00.000+02:00

For those living in Brussels, finding high-quality British ales isn’t easy. Short of jumping on the Eurostar, in fact, it’s nearly impossible. Nearly.

The assumption is, perhaps, that Belgium has such great beers already, who needs to look elsewhere? Well, those of us who enjoy a bit more variety, for one, and in particular, those of us who crave super-hoppy IPAs, which are only just starting to catch on here.

This was the thinking my friend Bob had when he selected his beers for Deliciously Different, his online shop and roaming market stall offering great British ales, as well as cheeses, chutneys, spices and other things rare on this side of the Channel.

He invited me over for a tasting a couple weeks back, and I have to say, he’s got some great beers on offer. Here are just a few:

Brodies Old Street IPA: Tropical and gorgeous, it’s passion fruit tumbling into a bitter citrus zest finish.

The Kernel IPA Galaxy: This one is a bit more subtle, with almost creamy florals and a hint of -- could it be -- rosemary?

The Kernel IPA Stella: It’s slightly more grassy, maybe even reedy, and less floral, with a hint of citrus.

Durham Brewery St Cuthbert Special IPA: Oddly thinner and somehow lighter, this offers fine carbonation. There’s no hacking hop hit, but it does have a hint of orange zest.

Halcyon Imperial IPA: Lighter in colour, this IPA puts us back in tropical territory: passion fruit and mango. It’s amazing in combination with a bit of Chaucers cheese and strawberry chutney.

Mikkeller Brodies Big Mofo Stout: Moving away from IPAs, Bob revealed a bottle of Big Mofo and declared, “this is probably first bottle of this opened in Belgium”. It’s awesome: coffee nose and all the richness of a Beer Geek Breakfast and Brodies Dalston Black IPA.

It’s got mocha and chocolate, and a big vanilla note running through it.Something else floats above it as well -- lavender? -- which ends up astringent in the aftertaste.

And the best thing is, they are all available in Belgium via Deliciously Different.

Beers in the Midi

2012-08-23T13:00:00.000+02:00

Our holiday travels shifted gears rather abruptly in late July, as we left Scotland for the south of France. Scottish beers in comfortable pubs gave way to glasses of rosé on a boat tied up along the Canal du Midi. Still, we managed to find a few beers even amongst the vineyards.

Arriving in Aix-en-Provence after a day of busses, planes and trains from Edinburgh, we needed something to wash off the dust of a long journey. Pelforth Brune, a northern transplant rather like us that day, did the job.

It’s got minimal head, and it’s a bit too sweet, but it was a welcome sight -- and taste -- nonetheless. Much like Pelforth Blonde, it is nothing spectacular, but it has a part to play.

We also had two southern French beers. The first was La Cagole, a lager from Marseille, which offers some nuttiness and a black cherry note on top of a malty background. We found it surprisingly more nourishing than refreshing for a 4.7% warm-climate lager. Not bad, but not great. The label is pretty nifty though.

La Belle en Goguette is a reasonable enough bottle-fermented blonde ale from Brasserie des Garrigues in Sommières between Montpellier and Nîmes. Again, nothing outstanding, but not terrible either.

Overall, I’d have to say we’ve tasted far better French beers, both north and south. Most nights along the canal we just stuck with the rosé.

Scottish Wildcat

2012-08-22T14:00:00.000+02:00

After leaving the isolation of Knoydart and its remote beers, we journeyed first by train from Mallaig to Fort William and then north by coach to Inverness. It’s a spectacular bus ride snaking along the serpentine banks of the famous Loch Ness, home of, well, you know...

No, we didn’t see a giant reptile rise from the murky waters, but we did see rather a lot of vomit emerging from one of our little monsters.

Our youngest gets terribly carsick -- or coach sick, really, because it only seems to happen on long-distance busses. We had thought she might be outgrowing it, so we went ahead and ordered the tickets. Sadly, not.

I’m afraid it was a rather terrible trip, and we weren’t able to enjoy the fantastic scenery as we’d all hoped. As for spotting Old Nessie, well the beast could have been jumping clear out of the loch and doing triple back-flips for an hour, and we would have missed it.

Now, with a segue as rough as a dry heave, I can point out that I am allergic to cats in a way my youngest is allergic to long bus journeys. And that brings us to today’s beer, Wildcat from Cairngorm Brewery in Aviemore near Inverness.

It pours dark amber, and there’s something almost almost candy-ish -- maybe butterscotch? -- on the nose, which continues into the taste: malty sweet with something else as well... A hint of ginger, perhaps?

In any case, it was a pleasant way to unwind in Inverness after a most unpleasant trip.

Deuchars IPA

2012-08-21T14:00:00.000+02:00

“When you get up to Edinburgh, you’ve got to try Deuchars IPA.”

Thus spake the journalist with the sweetest gig ever as we sat sipping Tilquin Lambic Blend at Chez Moeder Lambic a couple months ago. And just a few weeks later, his advice was heeded, and the prophecy was fulfilled at The Standing Order on George Street.

It is a pretty amazing pub. Being a Wetherspoon place might put some people off, I know -- another big chain bar dominating the market and squeezing out the little guys etc. But this location is special: a converted bank, it is really quite a grand space for enjoying a pint. Wetherspoon’s Counting House in Glasgow, also a former bank, is similarly impressive.

Apparently the most popular cask ale in Scotland, Deuchars IPA from Caledonian Brewing is an odd sort of beast. Hop heads looking for modern mouth explosions of passion fruit, grapefruit and pine will be disappointed, as will fans of bubbles.

“This has no taste whatsoever”, says Fiona. “Where are the hops? And where’s the fizz? Everything’s so flat here.”

Honestly, when it comes to beer, you wouldn’t know she was brought up in the UK. I also suspect the salt and vinegar crisps were throwing off her senses, because Deuchars IPA is nothing to complain about.

The hoppiness is there, I think, but it’s a very hempy sort of hop flavour, not the sledgehammer tropical kind you find in, say, a BrewDog or an American IPA. Interestingly, Deuchars IPA is only 3.8% ABV, which makes it light, refreshing and sessionable. I might not rave about it like my journalist friend, but I find nothing to fault it either. In fact, with the greatest of respect to my better half, I quite like it.

Though yes, it’s flat, so if you need bubbles in your brew, this -- and countless other British ales -- won’t be your thing.

Punk Pub

2012-08-20T14:05:00.001+02:00

As I was just saying, back when I went to the University of Glasgow, the beery distractions were somewhat limited. Certainly there was nothing like BrewDog Glasgow in the neighbourhood.

This shrine to fantastic beers and fuck-you marketing must distract rather a lot of students these days, but it also makes a perfect recharging station for your batteries after a few hours roaming around the wondrous Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum across the street.

We kept it simple with Punk IPA and pizza for a late lunch, and then played some of the board games they make available to customers.

I’ve described BrewDog Punk IPA elsewhere, so I won’t go on about it, though it would be easy to rave about its passion fruit and pink grapefruit lusciousness. Needless to say, Fiona was in hop-head heaven.

It’s probably a good thing that BrewDog Glasgow wasn’t around in the 90s, otherwise the temptation might have been too great.

Glasgow: Go West

2012-08-17T10:26:00.000+02:00

Glasgow holds a lot of family connections for us. It’s Fiona’s mother’s home town, and back in the 90s, Fiona and I spent a year there, while she took a teacher training course, and I did my masters.

Returning there last month was a combination of the familiar -- it rained non-stop for two days -- and the unusual: we found some great beers.

I don’t recall any amazing brews from the time when we lived there. For one thing, we were too poor to afford anything but barrel-scraped bottom-shelf Bulgarian red wine, a Safeway own-brand we would buy when we went to the supermarket at the end of the day to grab the reduced-price cheese and bread about to pass their sell-by date.

As for beer, well, we were probably not that interested in local fare, having spent the previous four years in the Czech Republic, spoiled by its perfect pilsners. Occasionally, some kind prof would take pity on me and buy me a curry and a Tennent’s, a beer that reminds me of yet another family connection: my mother-in-law once worked for Tennent’s. (And before you ask, no, not as one of the “Lager Lovelies” they used to put on their tinnies; it was an admin job, I have been assured.)

Anyway, what we never experienced in all our days in Glasgow way back when was a proper brew pub like the West Brewery Bar and Restaurant, down on the Glasgow Green near that ever fascinating shrine of social history, the People’s Palace. Everything about West is great: the openness of the layout in a renovated Victorian carpet factory modelled on the Doge’s Palace in Venice, the easy atmosphere of place, its tasty German food and, naturally, the beer.

We sampled two while there. The first was West Summer Lager, which is light and slightly lemony. Fiona was happy to finally have something with some bubbles in it after a few days of nothing but flat British ales.

The second was West St Mungo’s, which in addition to a lovely maltiness and a bitter hop finish offers an intriguing hint of lavender.

Fiona and I loved West Brewery Bar and Restaurant hugely. Of course, with a motto like theirs -- “Glaswegian heart, German head.” -- it was bound to please, and even if it wasn’t pouring down outside, we would have stayed for a while. It’s got everything we were missing back in our old Glasgow days. Perhaps if there was something like it there in the 90s we would have remained in Glasgow a while longer as well.

Hebridean Gold

2012-08-16T15:00:00.000+02:00

While waiting in Mallaig, Scotland, for the boat to Knoydart and its remote beers, we had a few minutes to enjoy one at The Tea Garden by the pier. It’s not an outstanding place, but to its credit, it offers Hebridean Gold from the Isle of Skye Brewery.

Billed as a “porridge oat and malt ale”, it is sharp and clean, with a slight candy note and hints of bramble, all backed by strong bitterness in the finish.

“This would make a great breakfast beer”, said Fiona.

It was a comment that might have suggested a bit of jet lag after our long travel to get there.

Except we’d taken the train.

Then again, the enchanting five-hour trip up from Glasgow is one of the greatest rail journeys in the world, so some disorientation could be expected. Or maybe she was distracted by all the childhood memories rushing back to her, having spent many family holidays there in and around Mallaig, her father's home town.

“Is that the porridge talking?”, I asked.

“OK, breakfast might be a bit early. Let’s call it a brunch beer.”

Brunch beer it is then.

Most Remote Beers in Britain

2012-08-13T11:41:00.000+02:00

We’ve just returned from long holidays in Scotland and France, and now I’m facing an inevitable backlog of beer reviews from our weeks among the Auld Alliance partners. Not sure why I don’t just write them up at the time... It might have something to do with being on holiday.

Perhaps it’s best to start with the most far out beers of the trip: two we enjoyed at The Old Forge in Knoydart, Scotland, billed as “Mainland Britain’s Remotest Pub”. It is, indeed, somewhat end-of-the-road -- or a bit beyond that, actually, as there are no roads connecting Knoydart to the rest of Britain.

To get there, you take the West Highland Line rail service from Glasgow right to its end at Mallaig, a small port town once a major fishing base but now better known as a passing-through point for tourists on their way via car ferries to the islands beyond, most importantly the Isle of Skye.

But to reach Knoydart, you give those big ships a miss and hop on a small boat to the village of Inverie, population 100 or so. For 20 or 30 minutes you’ll bounce across the waves with a few others huddled together on a couple square metres of sea-splashed deck or in a modest cabin with the captain, whom you’ll no doubt see in the pub a bit later.

“The pub”, of course, is The Old Forge, a spectacular place, as welcoming and comforting as it is remote.

First, the beers. We tried two cask ales there. For starters we had The Standard Ale from Glenfinnan Brewery, which lies just a few stations down the West Highland Line. It’s not called “The Standard”, by the way, because it’s a model to be followed or because there’s some “deluxe ale” you really ought to be drinking instead of this one. The name commemorates the flag Bonnie Prince Charlie planted at Glenfinnan centuries ago, kicking off the Jacobite rising of 1745.

I found it smooth and plummy -- The Standard Ale, that is; not the Jacobite rising -- and altogether delicious.

The second ale we tried at The Old Forge was Whakatu from Everards in Leicestershire: pale with a creamy head and a lemon aftertaste.

But it’s the location that was most impressive and inspiring. The Old Forge is not only the remotest but surely also one of the best pubs in the UK. Beyond the beer and the food, the view of the isolated bay is incredible. Moving really. And the easy atmosphere of the place is very welcome after a long day of hiking around the isolated mountains and rocky shores of the Knoydart Peninsula.

It’s not easy to get to, but it’s definitely worth the trip.

A Previously Unknown Chimay

2012-08-02T15:00:00.000+02:00

A couple months ago, one of my interns told me she had found a bottle of Belgian beer I’d never tried before. However, when she said it was a Chimay, I laughed, thinking I’d tasted everything that Trappist brewery had to offer.

But she’s laughing now.

I should learn: every time I pretend to know something about Belgian beer, I end up getting whacked with a new lesson in humility.

True, I’ve tried a number of different Chimay ales, including Chimay Red, Chimay Blue, Chimay White, and a variety of Chimay Grande Réserve bottles of varying ages.

But I’ve never had Chimay with a brown label...

I’d never seen it anywhere before, and apparently -- if you don't have a clever intern like I do -- you can only get it at the brewery itself. I'm not even sure what to call it. After a little hunting around the web, I see something called “Chimay Dorée”, and that may be this, though it has a very different label from the one on my table.

Anyway, mild embarrassment and name issues aside, what does it taste like?

It pours a medium blonde and has a flowery aroma. The flavour also has some floral notes hovering over a thin mouthfeel. The finish is perfectly crisp with no residual sweetness. 4.8% alcohol. It would be great with fatty foods like cheese or chips (US: thick French fries).

In all, it’s nothing to laugh at. In fact, It’s very good.

I only wish I could get my hands on some more...

Laughing Skull Amber Ale

2012-07-26T15:00:00.000+02:00

After a long day on a hot beach, there is nothing better than a cold beer.

So, back in December, when a sandy day of shell hunting on Sanibel Island, Florida, came to an end, we headed over to our favourite restaurant in the area, RC Otter’s on neighbouring Captiva Island.

I’m not sure what it is about the place. Is it just that every time we go there we’ve got that post-outdoorsy ravenousness, or is it that their fishy fare is so drool-inducing? Well, probably both, but their beer list helps too...

I chose a Laughing Skull Amber Ale, which hails from Red Brick Brewing Company in Atlanta.

It arrives on the table with an inviting dark red to copper colour. The aroma has a light lemony hint, and that carries on into the taste. Surrounding the citrus note is a strong maltiness. It’s not overly complex to be honest, but it’s excellent with a blackened tuna sandwich or a sloppy yet delicious grilled grouper rueben.

And it’s perfect for a day after the beach.

Storms in Indonesia

2012-07-19T15:47:00.000+02:00

When someone mentions Indonesian beer, I typically used to think of warm-climate lagers like Bintang. That, however, was before my last visit a few months ago, when my friends introduced me to Storm beers.

The Storm brewery is apparently located on the island of Bali, but I’ve never managed to get to that bit of paradise. So, I tried two of their beers in a shopping mall in the capital, Jakarta.

Almost as good, I’m sure...

Storm Pale Ale is light and thinnish in mouthfeel, with a gentle hop bitterness in the finish. There’s a grassy note that’s very welcome and would stand up well to a spicy curry.

Storm Bronze Ale takes a slightly darker route, with a coppery hue and a maltier taste. Hops are present clearly, but it’s slightly sweeter than I’d like.

AkuAku Lemongrass Ale

2012-07-11T14:48:00.000+02:00

From the land of the most expensive beer imaginable comes a refreshing concoction: AkuAku Lemongrass Ale.

This Norwegian brew was another one I tried down at Chez Moeder Lambic the other day, and it does much what you’d expect.

It’s a crisp ale with notes of citrus and grassiness. It comes on slightly sweet but leads into a lasting light bitter note. Think lavender with a light limoncello.

Very nice...

Tilquin Lambic Blend

2012-07-06T11:42:00.000+02:00

I went down to Chez Moeder Lambic Fontainas on Monday to have a chat with a journalist writing a piece on beer and food in Brussels for an airline’s in-flight magazine. It’s about the sweetest gig a hack can get, I’d imagine: spending a few hours sampling fine beers in the best bar in Brussels and, well, getting paid to write about it.

We tried a healthy variety of Belgian beers to understand different styles, tastes and histories. I’d had most of them before, but one name was new. Or, more accurately, it had been sitting in my mental “to try” category since I’d read about it coming on to the market last year.

Tilquin Lambic Blend, from the Tilquin Gueuzerie just a bit outside Brussels, is an awesome addition to the wild fermentation tradition around these parts. With typically low carbonation and a very sharp tartness, it is, to use a very technical term, yummy.

I’ve been on a kick lately for wild fermentation beers, and this is a welcome new brand. If I had to compare it to anything, I suppose it’s somewhere between Cantillon Gueuze and Cuvée de Ranke. Still, that may be a bit unfair to all three, as they are all worthy. I’m going to have to hold a proper side-by-side blind tasting of these someday.

For more on Tilquin, have a look at Chuck Cook’s piece on it, in which he describes the grand opening of the brewery -- sorry, gueuzerie! Wait, is there an English word "gueuzery"?

Mort Subite Witte Lambic

2012-06-28T12:29:00.001+02:00

After finally completing my three months of intensive French courses, I am ready to celebrate the official start of summer with something special.

Just for the occasion, Fiona found a bottle of Mort Subite Limited Edition Witte Lambic “Zomer 2012 Été”, so we’re popping the cork today.

The aroma is all ripe apricot, and the taste is a mild version of the same with a creamy mouthfeel and just the slightest touch of bitterness in the finish. It’s a bit sweet but not absurdly so like many modern “lambics”.

I suppose I would have preferred a tarter beer, but all in all, this is not a bad beginning to the summer holiday.

And what do you know: the sun just came out...