#378: Off Season

My son picked this beer out for me, otherwise I probably wouldn't have picked it up. No offence to Bullhouse Brew Co, I just don't get particularly animated about St Patrick's Day and beer tie-ins thereof. It was a good chance though to finally feature Bullhouse on the blog - I recently enjoyed their excellent Saisons In the Sun (no review, check out the Beer Nut's here). The artwork in particular is something I've long admired. Who would look at this and think some horrible AI slop would be better? 

Rolling Patrick pours totally opaque and flashes a promising whiff of sharp citrus and juicy tropicals, enticing and fruity. This reappears on the palate too but only for a flash; thereafter remains a beer that is all texture and very little flavour. To be fair there are shades of dank IPA stuff in here somewhere, but it's not particularly expressive, instead just delivering vanilla, grass and the empty promise of a pillowy body. It's sweeter and stickier than it ought to be at 4.2%, especially while doing not much else.

While we're talking about seasonals, this next one (still appropriately branded for St Patrick's Day) was one I thoroughly enjoyed over Christmas, and I've been unsuccessfully trying to replace it since then. 

The beer is Tara, from Lough Gill's dizzying lineup of archaeologically themed barrel aged series for the winter just past. While big barrel-aged stouts haven't been my bag as much lately as they would have been about five years ago, so I only picked up the one that looked most promising to me, this Pedro Ximinez-aged 13%-er. Expectations are high with that sort of pedigree, and they are immediately met; for as thick and slick and chocolatey as the stout of Tara is at its core, I am delighted by the amount of concentrated raisin and figgy wine. The dried fruit and almond is admittedly a secondary characteristic, the main event being dominated by a thumping great big stout that offers vanilla, dark bitter chocolate and sweet malted milk. It's heady at times, pleasantly and alluringly boozy, but never hot and always moreish. For a beer of  this strength and complexity, that's quite the feat. 

The other beers in the series have made a miraculous reappearance in my local off licence, hopefully the Tara will do the same.

#377: Crisp de Burghs

Illness has thwarted by grand designs to take part in the most recent Session, where hosts Boak and Bailey ask What is the best beer you can have at home right now? When able, I'd like to rehash my planned contribution into a sort of post about the house beer situation. Spoiler alert, its liable to be a German lager.

But for now, we settle for reflecttion on the previous week's German lager, the highly regarded Hopburgh Helles from the Alpine idyll of Smithfield, Dublin 7. It pours the colour of golden syrup and despite a fairly lively carbonation the head is loose with big wobbly bubbles that disappear all to quickly. That's about the last wobble of the evening though, because this beer is lovely; big stalky bitterness and, would you believe it, golden syrup on the nose. On the palate there's a suggestion of lemongrass and marshmallow, simultaneously bringing to mind not just native German helles but also Bohemian pils. In this way it's not unlike the Leikeim Pils from a couple of weeks ago, although I would take the Hopburgh over that beer any day. Beautiful, and when it costs more than an Augustiner, it ought to be. 

Not wasting any time we dive straight into the Hopburgh Schwarzbier. I fancy all types of dark lager but this is probably the one I have the loosest grasp on. Like the Helles it pours perfectly clear but in the colour a dark and particularly reddish cola. The foam is slightly more stable on this one too which is a nice bonus. There's a hint of smoke on the nose, rather surprisingly, but this doesn't follow up on the palate, rather unsurprisingly. Instead it's a delightful twirl of raisin and chocolate, with Café Noir biscuit underscoring the finish. Over time the bitterness - always there but rather subtle to begin with - intensifies and combines with the sweeter malts to give a sort of liquorice effect. Beautiful.

Both of these beers are triumphs, and worth the admittedly eyebrow-raising price attached to them.

 

#376: Dieu et Moinette

Surprisingly, this is my first time getting up close and personal with a Moinette despite being a card carrying member of the Dupont fanclub.

Described only as a blond, Moinette Blonde pours much like its more famous little brother the Saison Dupont, pale and highly effervescent with some sediment that demands careful decanting. It also has a touch of the saison's aroma; loads of white pepper and a touch of lemongrass, but the main event even on the nose is a rich and boozy honey and caramel. It's incredibly inviting so I don't dally too long. There's a beautiful malted biscuit on the palate with more of that gentle sprinkling of pepper and some green herbal crunch, maybe a dusting of rosemary? It's subtle enough that note, with yeast coming to the fore mainly as as Dupont white pepper and only moreso as the beer warms up and oxidises, bringing with it some lovely dried and candied fruit notes. 

For all the sweetness - and I must emphasise that this is mainly a sweet affair - the finish winds down to dry almond, making the whole thing delightfully moreish.

There's an argument that this sort of thing isn't the most complex or multi layered beer, something that, at a demanding 8.5%, could be a real bummer. As I see it, its simplicity is its virtue. For an unashamed fan of knuckledragging sugarbooze as well as refined biéres d'art there's plenty here to enjoy, especially with so much of that familiar Dupont yeast character on show. 

Why isn't this called a tripel? I don't know, but the unassuming moniker of Blonde may be a classic case of under-promise, over-deliver. 

#375: Leikeim? I Hardly Know 'em!

 I don't know what a landbier is. In fact, a landbier might be nothing at all. A quick click around Google tells us it's simply - predictably - land beer or beer of the land or country beer. Essentially, a marketing name for any beer from a (presumably rural) German brewer that doesn't fit neatly into an established category of its own. As vague as that may be, I'm happy to roll with it. 

Leikeim Landbier tastes every bit a lager, more of a helles than a pils and with a lovely fullsome grain to it. It's not particularly hoppy but it is well balanced, with just a pale suggestion of grass. At 5.4% it's a bit chewy, dare I say even flabby, its full strength not quite delivering much value. A perfectly nice lager then, but the most distinctive thing about this is its landbier 'designation'. 

We're on much firmer ground with Leikeim Pils. This one is a more standard 4.9% and pours a wonderfully crystal pale straw. It's enticingly fresh and grassy, perhaps not as much as Jever (my personal benchmark for a German pils) but after the relative non-event of the Landbier its nice to have more assertive nobles on show. Leikeim are a Franconian outfit and there's something distinctly Franconian to be found in the malt profile here - not the clean grain nothings of the nordsee, nor the pillowy marshmallow of Bohemia, but just as in its geography it is closer to the latter than the former. This gently sweet biscuit wouldn't be out of place in a Helles but it's certainly lighter, paler and cleaner than most of its Bavarian cousins. Malt is fun! The beer is fun too, a perfectly pleasant pils, if not the bitter noble skunk of my heart's desire.

We round out the trio with the Steinbier, a word that exists in my mind mainly as a segment in an episode of Michael Jackson's Beer Hunter TV series. I watched those six episodes to death in the very earliest days of my beer obsession, fascinated by the styles and traditions described but more infatuated with this glimpse of a world, a culture that was (at my time of viewing) already old and changed immeasurably.

Tasting a beer like a Steinbier is exciting for the same reason - here is a living relic, a thing that is done not because it is easy or convenient but because this is how it's done, we like it this way. To my mind, the hot stones added to the mash of a steinbier are supposed to caramelise some malt sugars and impart some wisp of smoke. There's not much of either going on in this one. OK, it is sweet, but not excessively or unusually so. Its mildly raisiny malt and toffeeish stuff is about is distinct as it gets. Like the Landbier, this one doesn't achieve great value for its ABV either, in this case 5.8%. The body is about right, being 'medium' or so, but you'll have had fuller bodies in weaker helles'.

Maybe I'm nitpicking - and missing the point - but this modern drinker was hoping for more novelty from this novel tradition. 

A decent set, but the pils is clearly going to be my pick if I'm ever back among the Leikeims.

#374: Lussssshhh

In the last few years most of my beer buying has been taken up with pils, saison, gueuze, kolsch, pils again or whatever else occupies that queer twilight in the venn diagram intersect of austere and fun. 

But then, every now and again, a homo heidelbergensis such as myself craves the sweet juice of life and nothing will do but a modern soupy IPA. 

The one I've been returning to the most of late is Dot Brew's Lush DIPA. Seemingly first released in mid/late 2024, cans of this still survive in my local and yes, I still buy it and yes, I know it's not fresh and yes, I too waste a massive fucking amount of my life miserably checking the infuriatingly indecipherable 'canned-on' dates of the Northern Hemisphere's canned IPAs but yes, even if you're not sucking the beer straight from the samplecock of a BBT it will still be very nice if it's a very nice beer. 

And Lush is a very nice beer indeed. It's soft and sweet in the main but with a burst of overripe citrus intensity. Crucially it avoids all common DIPA pitfalls; the finish is clean and swift, like a flat Lilt (in a good way). It's definitely sweet but it's definitely not sticky, and even more definitely moreish and approachable. Grapefruit abounds, orange marmalade supports, vanilla recedes, and the body is not as thick and creamy as expected - there's a gentle but essential little sparkle of life in there. 

I don't know how regular Dot keeps their beers, I suspect this might be a one and done situation. And what harm, there are a quintillion iterations of this exact beer to be iterated and all are deserving of their glimmer of life from the immense void of the brewers' subconcious. That said, if you see this one around, it's still got it. 

#373: Flussssshh

De Glazen Toren's Saison d'Erpe-Mere is a longtime favourite of mine and I've also been impressed by their wonderful tripel. As such, when I stumbled across a sole, tired Autumn seasonal back in October just days shy of its best before date - a veritable shelf turd of old - languishing sadly beside beers brewed a full two years more recently I decided that bringing him home was the most humane thing to do. 

Cuvée Angelique (brewed 2022) is a slow gusher that creeps ominously up the neck of the bottle once opened but pours quite wonderfully, if carefully decanted. Its appropriately autumnal brown shade is matched by an aroma of raisin. There's suprisingly little yeast on show here, allowing the beer to present basically like a doppelbock. Milk chocolate, more raisin and real warmth appear on the palate, almost enough to suggest an ABV higher than its stated 8.3%. Most surprising of all is the swift dry finish, possibly suggesting diastatic yeast, but producing shocklingly little in terms of an ester profile. 

In all it's very enjoyable but is practically begging for food, ideally some fat sweet salty cheese (I don't know I haven't had real cheese in years. For fellow losers, Koko cheddar block is the one to go for). Whether it has always been this way is anyone's guess, but if and when a fresh version appears on the shelves I'll be very interested to find out.

#372: Dead Reckoning

In the earlier days of my beer obsession the appearance of an American craft classic like Left Hand's Wake Up Dead would have been enough to pull me into town for the tick, though to be fair, I'm pretty sure that in those days in the early to mid 2010s it was readily available even here. 

In any case I've never had it and when I spotted it in my local recently it looked quaint and nostalgic and was an immediate pick. 

There is something nostalgic about Wake Up Dead. This is the antithesis of a pastry stout, seemingly hailing from a more innocent time. It is bitter, resplendant with cold coffee, dark chocolate and a hint of fruit. That fruit isn't raisiny like you'd expect but more bitter and tart red berries, although this is very much an undercurrent. The main flavour is dominated entirely by that bitter coffee and chocolate. It is robust and bracing, a true anti-pastry stout, and wonderful for it.