I don't often write about beer from Irish brewers, the reason being my employment in the industry as one of those brewers. Over the past few years its been an easy line to take; if I'm not fully willing to talk openly about bad beer (not out of any sense of industry loyalty or protection, but rather a feeling that such would be unprofessional and, given the nature of what makes some beer 'bad', unhelpful and unfair) then am I disingenuous in only presenting the good?
As a journeyman consumer in the early days of the blog, it was about navigating all that beer had to offer, both good and bad, with the aim of hopefully finding more of the former and avoiding the latter. Although, to the collector, a bad tick might be just as useful and valuable as a good tick.
While still a collector, I'm no longer bothered about the ticks, just the good ticks. And even then, not at the expense of a good beer.
When I worked in Bradley's (still the best off-licence in Cork and possibly the country), the trend I noticed was that a new beer is better than an existing beer for many. A customer might show me a beer they picked up last weekend and tell me how it was one of the best they've ever had, before putting it back down and perusing the new arrivals. And why not? With so much quality flowing through the place, imagine how many world-beaters might be sitting undiscovered on the new arrivals shelf. What's better than trying something new? Such is the thrill and for many (including me) the essence of
beer as hobby.
Nowadays though, I tend to find myself gravitating towards familiarity. Far from breeding contempt, it breeds contentment. Maybe its a sign of the economic times, that I am far more likely to pick up Saison Dupont, Jever, Augustiner Helles or Geuze Boon for their guaranteed success rate, rather than spend bigger sums on less sure things.
Or maybe all of the above is but a side issue to the simple fact that I have a particular fondness for Belgian and German brewing styles and opt for those who brew them. Whatever the case, it's fair to say that Irish brewing hasn't featured here for some time, which is not fully representative of my actual buying habits.
Because I almost always pick up new stuff from Galway Bay, one of my favourite brewers in this or any other country. Whether it be convincing examples of continental styles or, I don't know, an opaque DIPA, they do it all and they do it well.
PDA came out late last year and was a superb example of the latter, brewed with Fuerst Wiacek. All your bright, juicy tropicals in one package with a dusting of sharp lime zest. To taste it's sweeter than expected, with brown sugar and caramel deep in the centre of a ripe, peely marmalade glaze. Syrupy fruit and, at the finish, a flourish of pithy, acid grapefruit make it one of my favourite IPAs of the year.
Beers That Nobody Asked For is a teeny saison from even earlier in the year, brewed in collaboration with Boundary, standing only 3.8% tall and boasting lemongrass as an ingredient. I'm a sucker for lemongrass at the best of times but a herbal brewing skeptic too, so this could go either way. Unsurprisingly there's a faint, light aroma with light spice and, yes, lemongrass, amongst peppery stuff and an almost off-putting soapy note. Despite being a Dupont worshipper, I tend to believe saisons should be weaker than that beer's 6.5%, but surely not this weak?
Actually, yes. The brief soapy wobble above is the only suggestion that this beer might benefit from more fullsome padding or a core of Belgian sweetness, because on the palate it's a huge success. Refreshing, spritzy, and super easy to drink, it makes glorious use of a potentially weird ingredient and, given time to develop, brings menthol, eucalyptus and lime cordial in gentle puffs. Why bother writing about this presumably extinct beer? For one, lingering cans of this in the wild might still be well worth the punt (your mileage my vary with the PDA) and, crucially, this is a beer that I Am Actually Asking For. More of this sort of thing, please.
I don't truly know what a festbier is supposed to be; is it a marzen? A gussied-up helles? Something new entirely? This Festbier from Galway Bay has a slight coppery glimmer to it, landing between traditional helles and modern interpretation of marzen on the EBC scale, with a toffee and noble hop bouquet to match that description. I poured hard, probably degassing the thing but making it nice and slick and moreish in the process, generally offering caramel malts first with a peppering of a lovely floral, perhaps even Teutonically vegetal hop profile.
Whatever a festbier is, this is just a very accomplished lager.
As is the last of our Galway Bay offerings, Märzen to the Fire. This is simply fantastic and, gladly, is the most current featured here. It has the air of the benchmark of the style with woodsmoke and salty pork up front but none of the weight or savoury angles. On the palate it's every inch a dark lager, with sweet cola and leafy nobles easily glimmering throug the veil of sharp smoke; smoke which acts more like punctuation or colour than roaring into the mouth like the main event, like Schlenkerla's exemplar. To be honest, I could probably drink a lot more of this than of the Schlenkerla in one sitting, which maybe says more about my personal taste and tolerance for ash than about the beers themselves, but there you go. Pick it up.
Staying west but heading north, Kinnegar are another whose newbies attract the eye, and Thumper is no exception. At 7.8% it's about the perfect size for a DIPA, especially, as I am about to discover, one so firmly rooted in the west coast. Yeah, the other one.
Crystal! Clear bronze, crystal malt and brown sugar are the immediate impression, holding back wafts of pine, orange zest and McVities Jaffa Cake, chocolate and spongey biscuit and all. The sweeter side tempts fate and edges toward overpowering the whole experience but in general it stays the right side of balanced, and lives on as a nostalgic tribute to Sierra Nevada's Torpedo.
The real draw from Kinnegar though was their Brewers at Play 28 American Barleywine. As a certified Bigfoot fetishist, how will this stack up?
Pretty well in fact. Orange skins, burnt sugar and apple toffee syrup suggest rich depth with citrussy highlights. To taste its more bittersweet chocolate, plummy fruitiness and a touch of boozy heat. It lacks the Cascadian credentials of my boy out west - there's no blaze of pine and the fruit expressed is more of the dark raisiny sort than the candied citrus and pineapple, but I think the tannic, crystal core has shades of the Bigfoot, albeit with a heavier hand toward the malt. In any case and aside from my pointless comparison-making, it's a superb, cosy sipper and cans still existing in the wild will come with my recommendation.
Speaking of things that are superb and cosy, Boundary's Skipper and Orla rounds out the roundup. A Calvados-aged quadrupel of 11.9%, all the ingredients are there for a hot mess.
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| Skipper and Orla |
Hot mess it ain't. It's typically quad-like of the less degestible, tangibly non-Belgian sort, with dark fruit, rich mince pie or Christmas cake or plum pudding, essentially whatever stewed, concentrated and spiced dark fruit mix you prefer. Then, apple brandy. Genuine barrel character appears, with wood and ripe apple steering proceedings home. That Calvodos character, when expressed through the lens of a quadrupel, makes the beer feel like a completely acid-free Flemish red - all the ripe fruit and leather and woody complexity and apple sauce with none of the sourness.
An unconventional quadrupel, but a triumph of a beer. Any of this sitting around should be snapped up.
Back to our regular programming next time (probably).
