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Beers among the berbers

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(Photo by Bryce Edwards, from Flickr Creative Commons)
The Grand Hotel Tazi is a bit of a misnomer. It's actually quite an inauspicious-looking premises in the heart of old Marrakesh, aiming perhaps for a kind of faded grandeur, only without the grandeur. Its claim to fame is that the bar was once the only place in the medina where one could get a drink, and although several of the touristy restaurants will surreptitiously offer a carte du vins to any customers who look like they wouldn't be offended by such a thing, the Tazi remains about the only "proper" bar within the walls.

Inside it feels more like a down-at-heel canteen or café than an hotel bar, however lacking in swank said hotel may be. The furniture is shabby and mismatched, the lighting severe and the walls in serious need of a coat or two of paint. Threadbare curtains are kept drawn lest the decent citizens outside be scandalised by what goes on within. There's a distinct feel of speakeasy about the clientèle: a few young chancers here to catch the TV football results, and an ever-changing group of elderly gents, coming and going, exchanging gossip and tutting at the general ways of the world. All have Flag Spéciale in front of them, paying no attention to the little green bottles until a hand darts in and a swig is taken, then quickly back to the table as though nothing has happened. Drinking? Me? Heaven forbid!

As tourists, we were served our Spéciales in posh wine glasses, along with a fiery bowl of harissa-laced olives and shredded pickled carrot. How was the beer? It was beer, and that was enough.

As far as I can determine there is just one brewing company in the country, Heineken-owned Société des Brasseries du Maroc, operating three breweries around the country. One occasionally glimpses expensive imported Leffe and Hoegaarden, but otherwise it's Heineken products all the way.

Apart from the eponymous Dutch pilsner, a couple of foreign brands are produced under licence, including Castel, originally from Bordeaux. It's a not as commonplace as the other beers and is a little more expensive than most but I was glad to find it on the rare occasions that I did, just to add some semblance of variety to my all-lager diet.

Heineken's bog-standard French lager 33 Export is also brewed locally and represents the only draught beer I found over the fortnight I was in Morocco. This was at The Chesterfield, a rather fun low-ceilinged, wood and leather-lined bar, secluded on a hidden mezzanine within the walls of the Hotel Nassim in Marrakesh's new town. Again, perfectly acceptable, but the novelty of taking pulls from a half-litre mug was almost thrilling.

Back to the domestic beer names, and there is a lower-rent option available under the Flag, er flag: Flag Pils. This was my regular tipple, coming in at around €1.50 for a 500ml can, and only a little more for the 330ml bottles in hotel bars.

Flag Pils is the epitome of beer that's OK to drink and quite refreshing on a warm January afternoon when served sufficiently cold. I reckon the branding could do with an update, though. It's a few decades since anyone thought "I'll choose this one; it's beige".

Another one whose packaging doesn't seem to have received any attention since the French left Morooco is Stork. Like Flag Pils, it's cheap and not particularly cheerful, and it's hard to imagine that the words "Bière De Luxe" are meant as anything other than irony. From what I could gather hanging around in the dens of inquity that are supermarket off licences (hidden in a corner, with a dedicated check-out for sinners -- it reminded me of beer shopping in Northern Ireland), this is Morocco's old man beer. I opted for a can when I tried it, but the preferred format is a 330ml bottle made from inch-thick green glass and weighing significantly more than the beer inside.

I've had it before, in a Moroccan restaurant in Brussels, but I can't leave without mentioning the national icon which is Casablanca beer. Well, I assume it's iconic: they certainly charge enough for it as it's 50% dearer than most of the other beers and I can't say I detected anything in the flavour to justify that. As well as the 330ml cans and bottles, this also comes in a weird energy-drink-sized 250ml can. Maybe God doesn't object to those quite as much.

And that's where we leave Morocco. If you'd like tasting notes on any of these beers you'll have to look elsewhere, I'm afraid. The Session this month is under the aegis of Oliver at Literature & Libation, and descriptions are verboten. Trust me: you're not missing much.

Hawaii Fido

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Of all the beers in the Kona range, Pipeline Porter is the one which came particularly recommended to me. Though brewed at Craft Brew Alliance headquarters in, presumably, Oregon, this one gets an extra point of authenticity for the inclusion of genuine Hawaiian coffee. It smells pleasantly of creamy coffee with perhaps an additional Tia Maria-esque liqueur whiff. The texture is as smooth as you'd want for a coffee porter and the flavour, too, is an easy-listening blend of sweet dark malts, toasted grains and no-nonsense, cuppa-joe coffee. It doesn't do much, this beer, but it does it well.

From the breezy 5.2% ABV of Pipeline we move up to 8.9% and Flying Dog's Kujo Coffee Imperial Stout. A different sort of beast altogether, this is viscous and heavy and carries more than a hint of cold espresso about it, or the scrapings from the bottom of the coffee machine. There's an unpleasant putty flavour as well which doesn't help things. While it avoids being hot despite the strength, and isn't sticky the way some dense flavoured stouts can be, the recipe just doesn't gel together well. Whether that's because there's not enough coffee in it, or the base beer isn't good enough, I wouldn't like to speculate.

Less is more with these two Americans, it seems.

Standing alone

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Among the first of the new Irish breweries to release beer into the wild in 2014 was the Independent Brewing Company, based in the Connemara Gaeltacht village of Carraroe, running a 10hL kit with all brewing and bottling -- refreshingly -- happening on site. The plan is for three beers, of which two had emerged at time of writing.

I opened Independent Gold Ale first: 4.5% ABV and, according to the nicely informative label brewed with Magnum, Hallertauer Mittelfrüh, and Chinook. An odd combination, but there's nothing wrong with any of those hops per se. It presents as a very dark gold, heading towards amber even, with enthusiastic carbonation forming a pile of loose white bubbles on top. The aroma offers a kind of spiced golden syrup effect, as often found in the heavier sort of Czech lager, with some sweeter perfume behind it. This perfume dominates the taste: intense floweriness at first then a jolt of metallic tang, a bitter bite and finally an astringent (oxidised?) grainy finish. As they unfolded I found myself making a series of faces and resembling a page from Juffage's blog as a result. I'm not sure what to make of this beer: it's technically proficient, full-flavoured, but there's something just not right about the flavour, or maybe it's just not to my taste. There's not much like it already brewed in Ireland, that's for sure.

With curiosity and a little trepidation I approached the Independent Pale Ale. This is a stonking 6% ABV and a shade or two darker, bringing it into more orange-amber territory. Same busy carbonation, mind. Magnum, Columbus and Chinook hops this time, and nicely fresh if the aroma is anything to go by: there's a piercing note of grapefruit juice and pine there, but a staleness too, which leaves me increasingly wondering about the possibility of oxidation. It tastes solidly, unapologetically bitter: waxy, mouthwatering and perhaps even a little harsh, but not too harsh. There's just a flash of citrus fruit at the end as a nod to the lighter side of C-hops, but mostly this is a businesslike and serious strong ale.

Independent has definitely not chosen the safe path for its first beers, though I think there may be a bit of tweaking required in the bottling process to get rid of that slightly stale note.

More posts from the new new wave of Irish brewing are on their way.

Close to home

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The weekend before last saw the return of Alltech's beer and food extravaganza to the Convention Centre in Dublin. It was a two-strand operation: upstairs in the sessions for the trade, publicans were subjected to a sequence of tirades on how they need to be upping their collective games beerwise, and how to do that; while downstairs it was a fully fledged beer festival with a couple of dozen beer stands, largely staffed by the brewers themselves.

The most interesting part for me was the first opportunity to try some new beers from new Irish brewers. First point of call was N17, a massively ambitious project based out of Tuam, though the first pair of beers were brewed at Black's brewery in Kinsale. What makes the N17 business model different from everyone else is the intention to use as much of the brewery by-product as possible and create a sheltered employment operation next to the brewery. Sarah had the spent grain granola and dog biscuits on the stand, but that's just for starters. Two beers form the initial line-up: N17 Rye uses a modest amount of the eponymous grain, just 8%, and comes out at an approachable 5% ABV. It's very much malt forward, with the hops putting a mere citric twist on what's otherwise a decent but unexciting Irish red. N17 Oatmeal Stout is a different story: 6% ABV and beautifully dense, showing off coffee, chocolate and a marvellously complex floral rosewater effect. A dry and gently roasty finish brings it in. This was my favourite beer of the whole festival and I look forward to seeing more of it around.

Over at Hilden, Owen was pouring a brand new IPA, called Mill Street. It's an innocent looking pale gold but packs a serious 6.1% ABV. A pleasant sharp hop burn kicks things off and a resinous residue bookends that at the finish but in between it's nicely drinkable with some lovely tangerine and lime notes. Your mileage may vary, however, as I'm told this first-cut recipe is likely to be changed for future outings. I've just noticed, for instance, that the sign in the background describes it as an Irish red, which it most definitely isn't. If that's what it is by the time you get to drink it, don't blame my notes.

White Gypsy has two new ones on draught, both close relations of existing bottled beers. Puck is a doppelbock, 7.5% ABV but fantastically light on its feet for all that. Sure, you get bourbon biscuits and brown sugar, but it totally avoids any heaviness or overpowering sweetness. Instead it has a wonderful lager cleanness that makes it easy drinking. If it's weight and/or heat you're after, Obelix fits the bill better. This strong blonde is all about the Belgian yeast flavours, presenting a reliable amount of banana-ish esters and bittersweet meadow flora.

Finally for the Irish, Kinnegar had a Valentine's offering in the form of Maddyroe, a "burnt red IPA" of 5.7% ABV. This starts off nicely roasty and warming and then follows it with a long pine finish. The caramel malt sweetness sits side-by-side with the bitterness offering contrast without conflict. A nicely put-together combination of flavours here.

The UK was well represented at the festival, including an entire bar of Welsh offerings. I enjoyed the lightly porterish chocolate-and-hops of Llangollen Welsh Black Bitter, and found Brecon's Three Beacons to be incredibly good value, serving up bags of fresh orange flavours at just 3% ABV.

I missed out on Black Paw's cask beers but caught up with the bottled version of their Archbishop's Ale later on in the cosy surrounds of the festival press room. My fellow liggers legitimate members of the media found this mid-brown 4.1%-er to be peaty but I can't say I detected that myself. Instead it's all about smooth and mild milk chocolate to me. Pleasant, but fairly forgettable.

Elgood's had brought some interesting things over and set them up on stillage at their bar. Among them was Coolship, their new lambic (thanks to drumswan off of Boards.ie for pointing me in the direction of this). 6.7% ABV and a muddy brown colour, it's very nearly true to style -- certainly the mouthwatering sourness that kicks in at the start  leaves no doubt as to what kind of beer it's meant to be. But I could also detect a distinct residual sweetness, resembling what you'd get from a Belgian faro. The absence of any mature wood smoothness also left it lacking the refinement of the real thing, something I'm guessing comes from the art of maturing and blending. Served a little warm from the cask didn't help things either, but overall I think this has the power to be an excellent refresher if served a little bit colder. Next to it was Black Eagle, an imperial stout. Clear red-brown rather than black, and heavy with diacetyl, adding a buttery richness. Boozy warmth and dark fruit combine to create a kind of slivovitz or kirschwasser effect which I rather enjoyed and which suggested much more than its mere 8.7% ABV.

The last three English breweries were huddled together in one corner of the hall. Windsor & Eton flew the flag for cask down here, serving their famous Conqueror black IPA. There's some great use of Summit in here for a heavy dankness plus some more innocent sherbet notes, with the dark malts adding a mere touch of roast to the picture. Its big brother Conqueror 1075 was very different: all about the heavy liqueurishness, coffee upon port upon something sticky and chocolately for dessert. Luxurious. I was less convinced by Kohinoor a novelty IPA with extra India via the addition of jaggery, coriander and cardamom. The end result is a vaguely spicy marmalade effect which doesn't seem worth the effort that went into it.

Dave and Ann from Hardknott were back for a second year, bringing Dark Energy with them, an interestingly sour and fruity dark ale with blackcurrant elements against a light roast. Next to them were newcomers Redwell whose Pils was a shocking pale yellow and very thin. This allowed for some enjoyable crispness but there was a hint of vinegar about it too. I wouldn't be rushing back for it. Redwell IPA on keg was a much better proposition: screamingly fresh and oily Simcoe dank from a perfectly clear medium-orange body to add some semblance of balance. I'm on record as not the world's bigggest fan of Simcoe, but when given free rein like this it really can be sublime.

Next up, what the continentals brought to the party.

What the continentals brought to the party

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One of the highlights of the Alltech festival is always (ie twice so far) the beers from abroad that we don't normally see here. Ticker heaven. Lots of unfamiliar European breweries had either sent beer along or showed up in person.

Most enthusiastic was the Valencia-based Italian-themed restaurant-brewery Birra & Blues whose Jon Lovitz lookalike owner was pouring beers and shaking every hand offered. Endearing. Amongst the line-up was La Negra, a murky brown pumpkin ale of 5.8% ABV. As per, there's not a whole lot of pumpkin going on but the spices are nice and the dark malt adds a pleasant sweetness. The brewery's Tostada is a warming Belgiany affair with the expected yeasty esters as well as a sharper tang on the end. It felt a little unfinished and homebrewish overall. John Lee Blues is a more polished version of the same thing, still with the Belgian heat but there are some actual fruit flavours discernible: plum and even a little bit of juicy peach. Lots of my fellow attendees had good things to say about the Spaghetti & Blues 25° Aniversario. I thought it was awful. Strong, and beefed up with time in Scotch whisky barrels, it's hot and heavy while also grainy like an unpleasant wheat beer. Not for me.

Next door was the Catalan brewery Espiga. They had just the one beer pouring: Bruna. It's red-gold and tastes powerfully of dusty grain sack. A layer of candy store hops and just a tiny touch of weedy dank rescues it, but doesn't bring it any higher up my approval scale than "acceptable".

One that immediately caught my eye when I spotted it in the press room fridge was from BrauKunstKeller. One does not pass up beer from the German new wave when it appears in Dublin, though I admit I had completely forgotten I hated the only other beer of theirs I've tried. Amarsi is 7.1% ABV though tastes stronger, hopped with a combination of Amarillo and Simcoe for some lovely tangerine and nectarine, but the booziness kind of interferes with the fresh fruitiness. A lighter touch is needed, I think.

While we're on hot and Teutonic, a sample of Salm's Burning Hell was secured by Reuben after one of the formal tastings. It's a chilli-infused pale lager, pouring hazy yellow and reeking of vinegary sourness. The chilli element is sharp and long, dominating the flavour all the way to a dry chilli-skin finish. It's pretty disgusting, but I reckon that's more to do with the quality of the base lager than what's been done to it.

To the Netherlands next and Stoute Liefde, an imperial stout. A fairly simple offering, dry with some treacle and liquorice. Evil Twin's Even More Jesus (kindly supplied by Simon) took it to school, exhibiting a sumptuous silkiness underlying warming satisfying cocoa. A real comfy armchair of a beer.

I couldn't help wondering if anyone pointed out to Danish contract brewers Coisbo that their name translates as "FootCow" in Irish. They have some very stylish minimalist branding, alluring beer names, and ended up taking the top prize in the professionally judged competition for their Four imperial stout. I was surprised when I heard. I mean, it's nice, but my notes say it was rather light and plain for a 10% ABV beer, never mind for an international award winner.

I had high hopes for their Urban Haze, a 5.3% ABV golden ale with elderflower. I do like a bit of elderflower in a beer. This didn't have much of that, or much else really. What should have been bursting with summery fun was all a bit wet bank holiday Monday. Harlem Break brown ale was also rather two-dimensional: some nice milky coffee but that's about it. I'd expect more at 5.3% ABV. About the best of them was the pale ale Manhattan Dawn: orange barley sweets up front and a solid background bitterness. Just what you'd want from a 6.5% ABV semi-session ale.

A handful of Americans to finish us off, in the next post.

The Brewgrass State

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To round off this week's posts on the Alltech Brews and Food 2014 event, we turn to the beers from Alltech's home country of the USA. In fact, the emphasis was on the company's home state of Kentucky and they'd brought along some Kentucky beers to put on a rotating tap.

Venerable Louisville brand Falls City is still finding its feet under new ownership and much of its beer is produced out of state. As far as I can tell, however, the Black IPA they were pouring in Dublin came from the pilot plant in Louisville itself. It's a lovely example of the hoppy-porter sub-genre, with a gorgeous contrast of bitter treacle and liquorice on one side and then light flowery hopping on the other. Sinner and saint in one glass.

Against the Grain, also in Louisville, produces a dizzying array of beers, most with silly names. I don't know which of the many was pouring (Rico Sauvin? Citra Ass Down?), only that it was a light and enjoyable pale ale with fresh and simple mandarin vibe. I'd be up for trying more from this operation, even if titles like "Noble Flops" and "Munichaulay Dunkulkin" are cringeworthy.

Lastly, a beer from Alltech's own brewery in Lexington. To give it its full and legally mandated name, Kentucky Kölsch Style is 4.3% ABV and definitely has the look of Cologne's signature beer: a perfectly limpid pale yellow. The flavour doesn't quiiite hang together: there's a decent crispness but the aley fruit is a smidge overdone and, like most kölsches, it's too fizzy. A pleasant change from mainstream lager is about the height of its charms.

And that's it for Alltech Brews and Food 2014, with the usual thanks to Maeve, Tracey, Aisling and the team for putting on a hell of a show and providing the opportunity to get up close and personal with quite a few beers I'd never get to meet otherwise.

Divine uninspiration

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This pair of Belgian abbey beers, brewed under licence at Brunehaut, sat in my fridge a few months longer than they should have, largely because the label is so dull. I reckon my eye just slid over them every time I opened the door.

Ramée Blonde is a 7.5% ABV tripel. It's a pale orange colour and quite clear, probably from sitting in the cold so long. Still, there's a honeydew freshness in the aroma which is encouraging. On tasting there's no trace of staleness, thankfully, and it leans very much towards the sweet rather than the spicy side. I get honey and brown sugar, golden syrup and fruit cocktail. The texture is nicely light and the fizz busy enough to prevent the sugar building up unpleasantly. Received wisdom is that tripels should be consumed young but I'm really not seeing how this one would be any different at an earlier stage in its life.

Now here's an odd thing: the sister beer, Ramée Ambrée, is also badged as a tripel. An amber tripel? Messing with the style purists' heads? Or not really caring about such things? This is rather murkier, perhaps because it's two months less out-of-date than the blonde, and definitely brown rather than amber. It smells like a dubbel, with prunes, figs and a touch of marker-pen high alcohols. These elements blend together quite nicely on tasting, the rougher edges softened by a dusting of muscovado and a subtle touch of ripe banana. The texture is nicely soft as well, the bubbles providing a gentle mouth massage rather than a full-on pummelling.

I enjoyed these much more than I thought I would. There's a lesson here about not judging a beer by its label, I guess.

Baying for more

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With Beoir's Beer of the Year for 2014 and a gold medal at Alltech under their belt, Galway Bay Brewery is not exactly short on laurels, but they certainly haven't been resting on them. This last few weeks has seen a new pub, Alfie Byrne's next to the Conrad Hotel in Dublin, bringing the estate to nine. And there have been several new beers.

It was at the opening night in Alfie Byrne's that I met Galway Bay American Amber Ale -- as a child of the pilot brewery it doesn't appear to get a proper nautical name like its full siblings. It's a little on the pale side for the style, more a dark orange than properly red, and it smells of... swimming pools? One mouthful in and my pint was confiscated by the management. Incomplete line-cleaning, it seems. A replacement was immediately provided. This had significantly less chlorine and a lot more mango in the aroma. At its heart is the big illicit buzz of dank hops: funky, oily and all-pervading. It gradually fades to a pine bitterness with a spike of gunpowder spice. This is a serious beer for serious hopheads but its dark malts make it approachable for normal people too. The biggest surprise came some days later when I discovered it's 7.4% ABV. It really doesn't taste as strong as that. Highly enjoyable, but handle with care.

Before the Amber arrived, the Next Big Thing in Irish beer was Two Hundred Fathoms, a 10% ABV imperial stout aged in Yellow Spot whiskey barrels and released in a limited run of just 900 bottles. I'm not familiar with Yellow Spot though am a big fan of its Green brother so this, coupled with rave reviews from other drinkers, had me very keen to get the waxed cap off. (A word to brewers on waxed caps, though: don't). Gloopy is the first impression, pouring like some diabolical combination of Tia Maria topped by Baileys. When the foam subsided I got in for a sniff, finding dry cocoa powder and a non-specific spirituous vapour. The first pull was hard work, intense viscosity meant a beer which put up a fight leaving the glass. Once in the mouth it explodes in several directions at once: there's the definite burnt-toast dryness of classic Irish stout, then the harsh ball-of-malt burn from the whiskey. More comforting dark chocolate follows and is the lasting impression, simultaneously bitter and sweet. My preference would be for some softer floral or fruit notes, but perhaps these will develop with age. More than anything, I'm reminded of Brooklyn Brewery's Black Chocolate Stout. That's the sort of league we're in. For all the weight, heat and complexity, it's actually pretty easy drinking, another feature it shares with Brooklyn Black Chocolate. It lures the drinker in to its dark world, hence the name, I guess.

Alfie Byrne's has dedicated a tap for special edition beers, named "The Vernon", after the pub Alfie himself ran, down on Talbot Street. That'll be the first place I look on future visits.

In the bag

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It's hard to keep up with the busy little gypsies of the Brown Paper Bag Project. No fewer than three beers have come out since the beginning of 2014, with another currently in preparation in the Czech Republic. For now, a pair of Belgians and a Dane.

First up, a porter. Not the most wowtastic of styles and the name, Pleasant, continues the modest theme. Only the ABV hints at something more going on: 6.6% ABV, so I expected a bit of a kick. From the 33cl bottle it pours out a wholesome dark brown, topped by a tight off-white head the colour of a winking pint on a Gilroy poster. There's a mild fruit and chocolate aroma, but nothing particularly striking. Pleasant, you might say. The taste is a rich blend of dry roast, milky coffee, sour damsons and a lighter floral breeziness, with a slight metallic tang on the end. There's no sign of the extra alcohol but I'd be confident that it makes a contribution to the depth of flavour. I could drink a lot of this. Somebody needs to teach them Belgians the joy of pint bottles.

Released at the same time was Big Red. This, as the name implies, is a strong lad (8% ABV), and a bright garnet colour. It took a bit of work to get it all into my teku, what with the masses of foam. The result was a clear body with an ivory head, smelling vaguely of hoppy spicing but not much else. The taste is caramel first, then a rather harsh waxy flavour. But no fruit, no spice: just blunt bitterness. It looks fun, but this is really quite a serious beer and not very enjoyable. Shame.

The third beer in the series was presented under plain wrappers as a Twitter-based blind tasting last month. It was an especially good choice of candidate for a slow tutored tour as it does different things at different points of the sensory whatnot. The first thing it did was explode all over the table -- and from watching Twitter I wasn't the only one to find this -- the head subsiding away, leaving a hazy pale orange beer with a scattering of brown crumbs in it. The aroma is nectarine and soft sweet plums, with (as his eminence The Gargler pointed out) a hint of tinned mandarin. But a little dry sourness lurks at the back, and on tasting the two elements swap places. The sourness comes rushing to the fore while the fruit takes a back seat. Underlying the acid there's a berlinerweisse wheatiness, but it's cleaner than any of those I've tasted and more complex because of the hopping.

The big reveal showed it to be a gose, brewed in collaboration with Denmark's Fanø Bryghus and titled Gøse. Of the characteristic coriander I could taste no trace, but the salt is there, providing an invigorating seaspray after-effect. As it warmed, some honey notes started to come out, but it didn't interfere with what's otherwise a beautifully complex sparkly refresher.

About the only thing these three have in common is how different they are from each other. After all, there's no point travelling around Europe and brewing the same beer over and over.

Moch the weak

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Bateman's Mocha isn't weak: 6% ABV, in fact, and very proud of itself. The chocolate is Belgian, we're told; the coffee arabica. It's pale for all that, an off-white head rather than beige, over a body that shines red at the edges.

It smells, unsubtly, of cheap chocolate and cheap coffee, as though the flavourings are an afterthought instead of the main event. The texture is is light, with high carbonation dominating any sugary weight. But sugar there is, in a big way: a sweet chocolate milkshake alcopop with an oily coffeebean finish. I'm looking for dark malt or roasted grain but they're not there. Overall, it's a bit of a one-dimensional experience.

Bateman's rarely put a foot wrong in in my book, but this is one of those.

The world in a glass

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Why do you drink? asks Douglas, host of this month's session. For me, there are as many answers to that as there are beers, but the one I'm singling out for this post relates to one of the few things I enjoy more than drinking new beers and that's travel.

If I had my druthers I'd spend my life hopping from place to place, ticking off cities and countries as readily as I tick off their beers. But that's not an option. And if I can't go to the beer, the next best thing is for the beer to come to me. I do my level best to mix up the nationalities of the beers written about on this blog and include as many as possible from outside the usual Irish-British-American-Belgian quadrilateral. For all that international craft beer seems to have developed a common language -- a pale ale from New Zealand is often very like one from the US -- there's a lot to learn from the little differences. It's especially interesting to try a beer from a country where the market hasn't yet stabilised into the standard styles.

So it is with this specimen. Ba Ba Boom! is very new, though comes from the venerable Frog & Rosbif brewery, best known for its chain of brewpubs in Paris and beyond. A bottle arrived courtesy of Declan, whom Dublin beer fans may remember from the Bull & Castle and Against the Grain and who now manages the Frog & Rosbif. This is the first in a planned series of limited edition IPAs, and from the outside it looks very attractive: a quirky medicinal bottle shape and the promise of Pacifica hops jazzed up with orange zest.

What comes out is a translucent pale amber beer with a distinct orangeyness in the aroma: mildly sherbety and sweet. It unravels a bit on tasting with a hulking great mass of diacetyl sitting greasily in the middle, exuding butterscotch and toffee and refusing to let the hop flavours past. It's not by any means unpleasant, but for a beer that strongly implies it's a hop bomb it doesn't seem to be what the brewer intended. A barely noticeable pithiness hangs around in the finish, a ghost of what could have been.

Worth travelling to Paris for? No, but there's a city whose beer scene seems to be exploding at the moment. I'm looking forward to the next in the Frog Hero Hops series, regardless of where I end up drinking it.

Sawed off

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The label of Left Hand's amber ale, Sawtooth, is a burst of colour but the excitement pretty much ends there. It presents as more of a dark gold colour than properly amber, though pleasingly clear. The aroma is all about the crystal malt with barely a trace of any hops, and it's a similar story on tasting: I get some pleasant marzipan and biscuit elements which, coupled with the cleanness, make it seem more like a Vienna lager than an American amber ale. Searching hard for the hops there is perhaps a tiny hint of peach, and a slight metallic hit on the end but otherwise this is all about the malt.

It's not a bad beer: one of those that is technically proficient and workmanlike and will certainly have its fans. Its job is as a local session beer close to its place of origin, however. As an intercontinental speciality it doesn't really stand up.

Who you calling a hypocrite?

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There's a lovely bit of Breughel on the label of these two, illustrations from his Flemish Proverbs series.  "Pillar-biter" is, apparently, an old Flemish expression meaning hypocrite and here we see one such, literally chomping on a post.

Pilaarbijter Blond is already not doing what it said it would, being much more of a red-gold than a blonde. Even pouring 33cl into a roomy Duvel glass took three attempts, so busy is the fizz here. Though bottle conditioned, a year or so of refrigeration left me with a perfectly haze-free bowl. There's nothing too exciting about the aroma: lots of heavy bread and a touch of spicing. The texture is thick and warming, unusual for an 8.5% ABV Belgian blonde: they tend to wear their strength quite lightly. The flavour professes lemon, cinnamon and dark honey. It's a long time since I last ate a Locket throat sweet but I seem to remember them tasting something like this. The unctuous throat-coating quality enhances the effect. I rather like this. Just when I thought the floral hop-forward Belgian blondes were the best sort, something like this comes along.

There's a similar amount of fizz in Pilaarbijter Bruin, though the bubbles are finer, sitting off-white atop a chestnut-red body. This is a mere 6.5% ABV but first impressions are that it's very similar to the blonde, showing the same sort of spiced grain aroma. It's a lesser beer on tasting, however. Rather thinly textured and though there's the caramel and light chocolate that any fan of a Belgian brown would be seeking, it lacks complexity. So low-key is the spicing that it could even pass for something dark and Bavarian; a clean dunkel lager or similar. Not exactly a damning indictment of any beer, that, but if you're looking for Belgian warmth it's best to apply to the blonde.

Both beers, incidentally, are from the Bravik brewery in West Flanders: the opposite side from Breughel country, but we won't point fingers.

Ego Patricius

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Time was, a new Irish beer review was a special effort I put in for St Patrick's Day. These days it's hard to keep up. So here's a round-up of my last few weeks of Irish beer exploring, for the day that's in it.

Meath newcomers Brú quietly released their first IPA last month, called . Well, it seemed quiet to me: first I saw of it was when it became the début cask beer served from 57 The Headline's new beer engine. It's 5.5% ABV and, thanks to the chilly weather, arrived in my glass beautifully cool. All the right notes are there for a refreshing English-style pale ale: the juicy peach and mandarin without any of the harsher bitterness of the less-genteel IPA-brewing nations. But it's no lightweight, the alcohol content lending it a decent heft. Sip or slurp: your choice. I will say I don't think I got the best of it as the barrel was rushed from brewery to bar on the day so there was a bit of a yeasty, bready burr to it. I noticed the bottled version in the shops lately and would be hoping for a cleaner experience from that. If it can retain the hop complexity of the cask edition it will be a real treat.

Continuing the hop theme, Franciscan Well Double IPA was a nice surprise when it showed up on tap far from home in Against the Grain. It's a perfectly clear glassful, somewhere between dark orange and pale amber and smells worryingly of toffee more than hops. It's better on tasting, however: pithy, in an old world IPA sort of way. Do I detect the orangey overtones of Styrians, perhaps? Either way I get a distinct echo back to former Franciscan Well classic Alpha Dawg. The crystal malt sweetness becomes more apparent as it warms rounding it off rather nicely. Like Rí it's a well-mannered and approachable hop-forward beer.

The award for having fun with hops goes to Carlow Brewing and their new, ambitious, O'Hara's Amber Adventure, making its first appearance the week before last as part of a tap-takeover at Farrington's. The plan is a rolling programme of amber ales under the same name, representing a world tour of hop growing regions. We start the quest in New Zealand, the first iteration being a showcase for Pacific Gem and Motueka. An effort has been made at keeping things light and sessionable, so it's only 4.1% ABV and rather pale for the style. But it's far from insipid: the drinking experience is bookended by a big bitter hit at the start and a lingering acidity at the finish. The wonderful hop complexity forms the meat in this hop sandwich: all funky, weedy, resinous dank which is lightened, though not balanced, by mild candy caramel malt. As the colour previously suggested, the malt element is very much understated compared to other amber ales, and while it's good that the hops are pushed to the front, it does mean the end result is a little on the watery side. That said, no other Irish beer offers so much hoppy impact in such a sessionable package, and that makes it a very welcome addition.

Moving on from the hops... Wait, no, that's not how we roll in Ireland these days. Sticking with hops to the very last, a new seasonal from JW Sweetman: Intergalactic, a 6.8% ABV amber ale. My apologies for the utterly abysmal photo which makes it look like an opaque soupy mess, it's really quite see-through, though is a dark amber colour. One sniff delivers a blast of satsuma zest, in case it wasn't clear enough from the name that Aussie hop Galaxy is in the house. Tasting gives you a rapid flash of orange segment quickly followed by a sterner bitterness. There's a similar resinousness to that found in the house Pale Ale. The malt sits on the sidelines providing a modest amount of balance -- no toffee or caramel interfering here. Overall, an interesting side-step from the Pale Ale, but I was still glad to get back to a proper pint of the latter afterwards.

And never to be outdone when Irish micros are throwing hops around, Galway Bay Brewery have another one from their pilot series which has been around a while but I only just caught up with it last weekend. It's billed as a Cascadian Dark Ale, 6.8% ABV and served exclusively on cask. The aroma from the opaque dark brown beer is an innocent and inviting sherbet citrus smell, but its true colours are revealed on tasting as a much more harsh, rather waxy, bitterness. The dark malts play good cop to this, adding a cakey sweetness and a comforting creamy texture. Complex and thought-provoking: just what you want from a one-off small-batch brew.

So that's what's going on here. Meanwhile I'm off to Italy this morning, to spread the good news from Ireland to the Romans, like St Patrick in reverse.

Caerphilly does it

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I felt like apologising to my bottle of Silures as I poured it: eight months in the fridge, six weeks past its best-before. My first Celt Experience experience should have been under more appropriate conditions. What I got was a hazy red-gold pale ale, at a sessionable 4.6% ABV smelling of hard toffee and lavender. The sweetness and old-lady-perfume are there on tasting too, and there's a lasting oily residue deposited on the lips, but it feels like the middle is missing. There's a ghost of citrus fruit and lemon sherbet in the middle, and a lime bite without the lime itself.

Despite the finer points of this beer having departed, it's still pretty enjoyable. That acid bitterness contrasted with sticky malt actually works quite well and is especially surprising given the modest ABV. At the back there are tannins and butterscotch, so maybe the hops were in the way all along.

No, I doubt that too. Sorry, Celt Experience: I'll make sure the next one of yours I try is fresh.

Tony Supremo

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So this is My Antonia, the legendary collaboration with Dogfish Head brewed at Birra Del Borgo. You need credentials like that to get me to buy something badged as an imperial pilsner, because they're generally awful awful beers.

My Antonia presents as an attractive rich gold colour with just a few skeins of sediment drifting aurora-like through it. The aroma is sharply zesty: a blaring tocsin of lemon rind and grapefruit pith. The texture is heavy and a little syrupy, almost a barley wine consistency which is perhaps not surprising at 7.9% ABV. For all that, it's subtly flavoured: a bucolic perfume of jasmine and honeysuckle underpinned by sharper citrus and pine. Every sip unveils a different combination of fruit and flowers, but always exquisitely balanced, utilising the big strength to push the hop envelope.

My faith in the collaboration was justified and at the same time I have a new standard of how good something badged as an imperial pilsner needs to be.

Expand and contract

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Brú has become the latest Irish brewery to begin making an own-brand beer for a large contractor. They've enlisted veteran distributor Cremin & Radley to sell their beers, a deal which gave them instant access to the nationwide chain of SuperValu supermarkets. It was there I found these two, brewed at Brú for C&R.

Hopes were uncharacteristically high for Kenmare Irish Red Ale, given the excellence of Brú's own Rua. This is 4.3% ABV and pours a handsome dark garnet colour, fizzing louchely to form a loose-bubbled off-white head. The aroma is as sweet as one might expect, but lightly spicy too and the texture reflects that low carbonation: wonderfully smooth and sinkable in a way that not enough beers of this strength are. Milk chocolate is the main element of the flavour: not unpleasant but far from typical of the style. There's quite a large discordant metallic tang as well, the occasional downside to using English hops. An almost sour sharp dry roast finishes off proceedings. Much as I love the mouthfeel of this beer, the flavours just don't come together properly. While it's not a run-of-the-mill Irish red and shows real substance and character, it doesn't quite go off in good and interesting directions the way that, for example, Brú Rua and O'Hara's Red do.

To the Kenmare Irish Pale Ale next. The same casky foam piles high above a medium amber body, before gradually collapsing away. Some light orange juiciness presents in the aroma, though I detect a worrying bleachiness as well. The texture is much thinner than the red, but that's not a criticism: the first pull offers instant quenching refreshment and invites a second. The orange theme continues, though it gets sweeter, turning more towards satsuma, or even Capri-Sun artificiality. The malt contributes an unnecessary layer of toffee. And that's your lot: no real bitterness and once the satsuma middle fades there's no real finish. I downed the rest of glass quite quickly, looking for something else going on, but this is very very plain fare. The best I can say is that it's accessible, drinkable and sinkable, though I was surprised to turn the label around and discover it's as strong as 5% ABV.

Several more Kenmare beers are promised. Hopefully they'll build on the good points of these two while fine tuning the flavours a little better.

Taking down the clown

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Another jolly, and slightly weird, Belgian cartoon on the label of Paljas Blond, from Brouwerij Henricus in Zeebrugge. It's bright and only slightly hazy for a small bottle-conditioned job. The first surprise is its aroma: crisp and slightly sour, with overtones of gueuze about it.

 Not so much in the flavour, however. There's a big bitterness from a generous early addition of Magnum, followed by the orange cordial effect of Styrian Goldings. This fades from a thick intense syrupyiness to a fresher, lighter juice flavour, enhanced by a certain savoury -- but perfectly clean -- character from the Belgian yeast. The real beauty of the recipe is that the sour aroma never goes away, and the contrast between how it tastes and how it smells is quite special. Not too sweet, not too dry, an interesting take on the style.

Far from boring Leffe clones for people who don't really like beer, the Belgian blonde genre always seems to have something new up its golden sleeve.

Something in the water

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A couple of pubs have had it, but I stumbled upon this glass of Victory Headwaters Pale Ale in Farrington's a few weeks ago. Apparently, the beer celebrates the Pennsylvania brewery's water supply, though I think they've thrown a hop or two in as well. The aroma, for one thing, is strikingly sharp -- an invigorating zap of lemon rind and sherbet. It's a little calmer on tasting, not exactly jumping with hops but with a pleasant blend of grapefruit and blood orange flavours, fully realised in the manner of the posher brands of breakfast juices.

Above all, this 5.1%-er is simple fun, even though plenty of Irish breweries have shown themselves capable of making beer of this quality at more sessionable strengths. Few offer as much detail on the creation of their products as this, however.

Here isn't the news

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"Beer Journalism" is Heather's choice of topic for this 86th round of The Session, asking us to turn a critical eye on how the media cover the beer industry. Madam, that's the only kind of eye I've got.

Y'see, in Ireland we have a fairly obvious problem, and I'm sure it is by no means unique to us, and it's that beer journalism -- and I mean proper writing or broadcasting by paid journalists for reputable outlets -- falls into one of two unsatisfactory categories.

At one end you've got the Bottle of the Week sidebar, as found in the likes of The Irish Examiner and The Sunday Business Post, where a staff writer has picked something from a more interesting corner of Tesco or O'Brien's and written a hundred words on how malty and hoppy it tastes. It would be very cynical of me to suggest that such pieces are sometimes little more than paraphrasings from the label or brewery website because the writer's critical faculties are not primarily attuned to beer, or they're too busy with their proper journalistic endeavours to spend much time on this, but let's just say that distinctive voices in the Bottle of the Week column are rare. And it's not that such columns are a bad thing: they make it marginally more likely that when Citizen Reader goes into Dunnes or Molloy's he (and let's face it, it's a he) is more likely to pick a bottle from a more interesting corner than the big brand lager he actually went in to buy. Good for awareness, good for diversity, but really the picture of the bottle and the price would be sufficient: the actual journalism tells us little.

At the other extreme you've got The Big Feature. Every paper has been running these for the last four or five years, sometimes with alarming regularity. Three or four pictures of three or four different brewers, holding up a trial jar, stirring a mashtun, standing in front of a shiny stainless FV with arms folded. And the copy... the same copy: "Well, we wanted to increase the choice of beers...""People kept asking what the local beer was...""I came back from working abroad and...""Yes, it's hard graft but when you sit down at the end of the day with your..." It was exciting the first few times, especially when the telly magazine show started doing it too. But now it's so tired. And, like the other extreme, the reader never really finds out anything about beer. Such features are run as human interest stories, or sometimes in the business section, but it's always far more about entrepreneurship than the actual product. Again: a legitimate thing for the media to be covering, but it leaves a gap where the actual beer should be.

To see just how glaring the gap is, you need only turn to the wine page. There it is, in the heart of the Food & Drink section, itself a capstone of the Lifestyle supplement. Sure, there's a bottle (or five) of the week in the sidebar, but what's the headline, the week's theme? There's more to Spain than just Rioja... A plucky foreigner has opened a winery in the heart of Bordeaux country... Chile's Central Valley has a unique climate... There's more to New Zealand than just Sauvignon Blanc... Substance. Broad yet specific facts about wine and viniculture, illustrated with vignettes, observations from the writer's wide-ranging experiences and quotes from knowledgeable insiders who are also personal acquaintances. Like the best journalism in any subject, you get a glance into the topic, and around the topic, from someone who knows the beat and has plenty to teach you, week after week. And that is totally missing from beer journalism in Ireland.

Until quite recently, it was forgiveable. The Irish beer scene was hardly buzzing with potential new stories, and nobody wants to read an abstract piece about unattainable foreign beers. But that has changed. The local scene is thriving, not only in the number of operators, but how regularly they're putting new and seasonal products out and, most interestingly, what they're putting out.

Cask left; keg right
I've two newsworthy examples to back up my observation. The first is Yerba, a collaboration between Metalman and Hardknott (newsworthy enough in itself, as I think it's a first). The beer is a 6.2% ABV dark ale, which Metalman at least are reluctantly calling a porter (there's a whole paragraph right there) and it's brewed with orange mate tea (cue digression on the place of mate in South American culture) sourced from Kingfisher in Enniscorthy. Dispense in the Bull & Castle was offered in both cask and keg formats (save that discussion for a future article?). It tastes powerfully, palate-cloggingly herbal: wintergreen and eucalpytus with loads of orange zest. I racked my brains trying to work out what it reminded me of, eventually settling on Campari: it has the same sort of intense bitter stickyness. I get a little coconut as well which had me wondering if some Sorachi Ace hops had sneaked in somewhere, but no, it's Pacific Jade and Bramling Cross, neither bringing much of their soft fruit credentials to the party. Mere traces of portery treacle cower in the background, behind the orangey herbal onslaught.

So, Yerba didn't really work for me. It's a fun novelty for one pint, and to that end I preferred the cask to the keg as the craziness was more pronounced in the former, but one pint was plenty and I wanted something that tastes more like beer after it. But hey, full marks for bravery.

Mere days after encountering Yerba, Irish brewing landed another oddly-constructed beer on me in the form of Franciscan Well Clementine & Rosemary Ale, on tap at The Beerhouse on Capel Street. This was presented as a lightly hazy gold colour and was a real jolt of summer on a rainy late-March day. A saison yeast did the heavy lifting here but it's not as bone dry as some saisons can be. There's a very weissbierish clove complexity and some mouthwatering orange spritz from the clementines, a world away from the hard orangeyness found in Yerba. The rosemary almost spoils the party: it's not the lightly-seasoned-lamb infusion I was expecting but more the harsh resinousness of chewing raw leaves. Thankfully it doesn't get too much in the way. Overall a superb refresher just perhaps a couple of months premature.

However you slice it, these are two utterly fascinating beers, reflecting a vibrant, diverse and mature brewing (and cider-making) scene. Not that you'd know anything about it from picking up the paper.
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