#354a: Bristol Part One

In what has become an unintentional tradition for us on a British trip, our first beery stop in Bristol was the particularly pleasant branch of Brewdog on Baldwin St, overlooking the northern tributary of the Avon; it was on the way to our intended destination, and lured us in with promise of vegan pizzas and riverside outdoor seating.

As such, the only extant photograph of the first beer, Brewdog's Hazy Jane, is this enticing pizza shot. It was the perfect beer for the occasion too, delivering all the juicy tropical mango and passionfruit stuff you expect from a New England IPA without falling into the traps of thick chalky sweetness I can't abide in other examples of the style. For enthusiasts of the form this might be a bit light and thin and lacking in the dank arts, but I'm on board for its dangerous drinkability and skirting of the sweaty cream problem that I despise in modern IPA.

Some hours later in the Burger Joint I received a bottle Bristol Beer Factory's Independence, a US pale ale, accompanied by the grubbiest, dirtiest glass I've ever encountered. When I politely asked for a new one, I was given the same glass hastily rinsed; the squirt of water wasn't enough to remove the 'thing' clinging to the outside of the glass, which I had to scratch off myself. Something to bear in mind. 

Thankfully the beer was delicious, a caskalike, low-carbonation, earthy kind of IPA with plenty of tangerine highlights to enliven things. It's smooth and sinkable and really does deserve to be served from the cask, though the bottle is quite lovely.

That was it until the next day when, with the Sober Destrier off at work, I had some pre-pub time to kill and a belly to fill. A wrap and a can of Oakham's DDH Citra, specially canned for M&S, did the job. The beer is rather delicious, a good mix of what's best about more 'traditional' English IPA and more modern (but not too modern) American west coast stuff; a touch of crystal, orange rind and grapefruit, Tanora and a cleansing bitterness.

The prime destination for the trip was Small Bar, which isn't as small as you'd think, with the front bar being neat and cosy with bright wood reflecting plenty of glorious June sunlight from the large windows high up the walls. Through a small walkway there's an extended tavern-like seating area with darker wood and lower ceilings, looking like just the place to hunch over bellywarming beers in the colder months. It was empty now, in the early afternoon sunshine, and for my purposes the bright and airy benches opposite the taps were more appropriate.

Keller Pils

First up was Lost and Grounded's Keller Pils, arriving very pale straw colour. The aroma is a kellerly wet grass and malted biscuit delivered with a satisfying, grainy fullness. Much is said about this beer and rightly so; its simple, understated beauty is testament to the brewers' accomplishment, being an elegant and clean yet intriguingly earthy lager. It's no Jever, of course, and fans of hoppier pils may be slightly disappointed, but Keller Pils delivers exactly what it should without over complicating things.

Next up is New Bristol Brewery's Subnatural, an IPA served on cask. It's golden-orange and delivers orange toffee Eclairs a first, developing a beautiful finish of ripe citrus marmalade which is only slightly spoiled by some overzealous caramel stuff turning a bit buttery at the very end. It's good, but no Hoppiness.

Subnatural

Better luck was had with Sonny Boy from fellow locals Left Handed Giant. This is wonderfully bittersweet, again showing ripe orange and orange rind, its juiciness enhanced by an unusually slick, almost creamy texture, suggesting the possible inclusion of oats. There's a fair sweetness there too, giving the impression of a particularly zesty and mouthwatering marmalade. 

Chicxulub

A later trip to the same venue yielded Saison Printemps from Unity in Southampton. This isn't my kind of saison, all sweet banana and warm estery mischief. Dupont it ain't.

My last beer in Small Bar was Big One, namely Chicxulub from Vibrant Forest. There's an incredibly complicated genesis to this beer involving multiple barrel ages variants and additions and blending thereof, but it was sold to me rather simply as a kind of sour imperial stout. It's rather delicious too; a symphony of wood and tart blackberries laced with syrupy chocolate and red wine.

For the purpose of staying under the permitted character length for labels, this post is continued in part two right here, right now.