#364: Bock Unsteady

 I don't know quite what it is that distinguishes Ayinger Winter Bock from it's big little equal sibling, the celebrated Celebrator; both are 6.7% ABV, both pour a mahoganey so dark as to almost be black and both promise fulsome comfort for long winter evenings.

The Winter Bock promises 500mls of said comfort, and, while I regrettably don't have both beers in front of me to compare, I immediately detect more roast in here than I remember from the Celebrator. Think whole coffee beans and the slight scorch of black malt, and only a shade of the rich, jammy fruit cornucopia I associate with the Celebrator. 

The beer I did have alongside this one is an old favourite from the same brewery, the Altbairisch Dunkel. It may be a more sessionable 5%, but I can't help but be more seduced by its raisiny, malted biscuit Munich character than by the comparitively heavy and abrasive Winter Bock. That may sound harsh but if all three of the aforementioned beers are on the shelf before you, The Winter Bock might be the last one to reach for, the others doing a similar job to a higher standard. When you factor in the iconic and stunning Celebrator packaging and the multi-seasonal sessionability of the Altbairisch, you'd have to wonder; what is the point of the Winter Bock?

#363: Pulling Ranke

 In celebration of my first full year without a post, here's a post!

I didn't know what it was that puts the noël in De Ranke's Père Noël until I deigned to tread the label halfway through my glass, and by jove it's licorice[sic]! I am no friend of liquorice but have found it a beautiful flavour characteristic in coffee and some (usually) darker, stronger beers, no doubt the phenolic offshoot of some roasting process, but how does it fare as an out and out addition to a pale beer of a moderate 7%?

Quite well, actually. The beer is bone dry and effervescent, with scouring bubbles and an initial gentle touch of tripel-like spice, not unlike an aromatically souped-up Duvel. There's a bracing leafy bitterness that cleans up a rather charming crystal centre, and the lingering, light menthol effect of what I would have guessed was a hop and yeast interplay but may indeed be the liquorice. In any case, it does not taste much like liquorice, but there's plenty of herbal, floral and light spice white noise in here to allow for interpretation.

At 7% it is no table beer, but all of its other characteristics would make Père Noël a fine one; dry and refreshing, moreish, bright and versatile for food pairings, and all the while interesting enough to just drink on its own. 

#362: Saison de Fête

It was a pleasant surprise to see beer from Burning Sky, a brewery that has thus evaded me, turn up in Cork recently. By reputation I had known them for their classic continental styles and I barely lingered over the label of Saison de Fête before making it my choice. 

So hasty was I that I had missed the part about the beer being a bit of a mixed ferm job with time spent in wood, and so the wash of lactic acidity that accompanied the first lively sip was a mild shock. Students of the form (or, those who have read Farmhouse Ales by Phil Markowski) will have known that 'authentic' saisons and other farmhouse beers of antiquity would be expected to have this sour edge, so Burning Sky are very much delving into the history books here. In any case, it's delicious. Despite the time spent in oak it doesn't have any of the aged, cellar character of, say, a gueuze, but it is awash with dry grain, mild peppery spice and a flourish of flowery hops. The only age that does show through is a refreshing, good tart cider character that lasts throughout, and it is far more mellow and moreish than the initial prominent sip suggested. 

This has more or less everything a farmhouse ale could hope to offer, at least for this palate; noble green-nosed hops, soft black pepper and clove, a beautifully pillowy, multigrain and dry malt composition, and all buoyed by typically effervescent carbonation and laced with tangy fruity acidity.

Saison de Fête is a stunning beer, and even though it wasn't the big bottle of modernly-interpreted-Dupont that I guessed I might be buying, it's all the better for it.

#361: Chimay Grande Réserve 2012

On the same day that I opened (and eventually drainpoured) a 2011 vintage of Westvleteren XII, my disappointment drove me to immediately open another old quadrupel, a 2012 vintage of Chimay Grande Réserve. 

In contrast to the XII, the Grande Réserve 2012 is a delight. It has retained much more of its characteristic carbonation than the former, while it exhibits similar oxidised flavours, all rum, old wood and leather. There's dried fruit, particularly raison, but also the warm candied citrus and spice of winter baking. There are darker malt notes too - the subtle chocolate I often find in the style is probably more prominent, while I feel the yeasty bread aromatics have actually dissipated compared to the original. The main effect is of a beer that is darker and sweeter on the nose, but with some medium sherry-like vinous age thrown onto the palate. The carbonation has dissipated some - it's not as effervescent as it should be, and this does give it a slightly thicker and more sluggish feel, but it's just lively enough to remain true to its digestible roots. 

And this is the key. 

The point is elucidated best in Brew Like a Monk, where Stan Hieronymus relays a brewing principle key to the Trappist brewers and secular abbey stylists alike; digestibility. Regardless of the size and strength of the beer it should be drinkable - it should never feel heavy or thick, it should function well as a digestif after a full meal, without demanding too much of the drinker's gut. At least, this is my interpretation of the term, and it summarises my feelings about well-made examples of this type of beer. Both beers have this quality in spades when fresh, but the Wesvleteren seemed to lose every shred of digestibility in the nine intervening years, while the Chimay retains it, at least in the most part. It has developed over the years - it's richer, and arguably more complex than a fresh example. 

There are some differences between the two to consider before a fair comparison can be made; the Chimay is of course a year younger and is packaged in a 750ml cork and cage bottle, rather than a 330ml with a crown cap. They are different beers - the Chimay/Westvleteren comparison is never going to be as closely run as a St Bernardus/Westvleteren comparison, but the two occupy the same ballpark to my mind. Crucial is the difference in price and scarcity - in the United States, they call this kind of thing a shelf turd. No hype, old world, readily available. I've spent enough money on expensive, rare beer from incredibly good breweries recently* that have all gone directly down the drain, to know that every beer can be a shelf turd if you treat it poorly enough. 

This Chimay lived its eight year lifespan a few inches away from the Westvleteren in the same cupboard, subjected to the same conditions.

It's certainly no turd.

*the Double Barrel-aged Harmonic Convergence (the original is astounding) from Galway Bay and both Sound of Islay and Sound of Kentucky from Buxton

#360: Jever And Friends

The most recent Amsterdam excursion was one of the more relaxed and least beer-focused of all, to the point where I barely pulled my camera onto the table to get illustrations for a blog that was more or less dormant at the time.

Of course, I still have to take notes, because otherwise how will my great-great grandchildren know how I wasted my youth?

The Arendsnest is always the first stop and, despite its familiarity and unbelievably approachable service, the sheer scope of the menu can be daunting at times. As such, it was with a hint of impulsive panic that I immediately ordered Platte Lambiek, a cask-served unblended lambic-a-like from Vandenbroek. From Groningen it may have come, but it makes a very convincing Payottenland impression - wheat, wax and lemon in a flatish and quite sour mixture, it's rather simple and one-dimensional, even though it's quite pleasant, but I guess that's why the boffins usually blend these. A tad cheaper and served in bigger measures, this would be a session hit.

I'm never far from something dark and soupy either, and the latest quadrupel against the wall was Gulpener Quadrupel. I mean it in a nice way when I say it's a by-the-numbers quadrupel.; it is sweeter than some and less carbonated than many (which are points against it) but it is definitely rich and interesting enough with raisiny syrup and actual grain flavours to make it a satisfying possible step-up from the Arendsnest's permanent La Trappe quad.

Another and yet more interesting rendition is Kracht Hout from Breugem, a tad stronger at 10.7% and leaning more towards ruby red than the brown-black depth of the Gulpener. It's intriguing - drier by far and with a prominent marzipan icing and praline streak, blazing through a very wintery landscape of nutmeg, faint cinnamon and apple strudel. As is breathes and reacts to the cold November air, it develops more of a sort of ripe fruit or even dry red wine character. It's a fantastic beer tailor made for the season, and in my notes I opine on whether there's an unusual yeast component at play or something else. As it happens, I later discover the beer has seen the use of Palo Santo wood, which I class as a revelation. This has all the contributions a brewer thinks they're making when they spice a beer for Christmas, without the almost ubiquitous grossness that accompanies such beers - there's no sense of artificial flavouring, no Fantôme weirdness, just some subtle but noticeable sweet spice and dried fruit flavours, laced through a good strong Belgian ale. Something to note for the homebrewer.

Season allowing, I always try to get my hands on a few variations on the bok theme, and Uddelaer's Dubbel Bok was the first of those. Here we return to lagery cleanliness, even though I'm still not certain if a bokbier is typically a lager or ale-yeast fermented beer (I'm under the impression that, like saison, it's more a state of brewing than a straight style - a stronger, higher gravity beer of any style than the brewer usually produces, often for the colder months). There's some crunchy green, celery-like bitterness going on, playing off some powdery milk chocolate, but it never approaches anything as sweet or boozy as its (presumed) cousin the German doppelbock. It's just as clean though, in stark contrast to the Akkerman disaster, so I can update my latest opinion on bokbier to 'Cold Fermented'.

Southward across town but in the same family is Craft and Draft, and I started in a similarly wild manner as in the Arendsnest. MONYO Brewing are from Budapest and their Hungarian Terroir: Villány is a wild ale aged in Hungarian syrah barrels with the pomace of said wine in tow, information I was not privy to upon drinking and note-taking at the time. It produces a wonderfully soft, only lightly acidic beer reminsicent of an Alsace wine; vanilla and melon are present throughout and the carbonation is relatively low, but the beer remains clean and sharp as a tack, finishing bright on citrus. Very nice and moreish.

Back on the winter warmers is Stone Eagle, a barleywine of Morebeer's own making with some involvement from Stone Brewing. I was expecting something in an American vein but this seems to lean more toward the British tradition - think boozy slick malts with aged rum and wood character pinning it down. Rich fruitcake is the lasting impression, and it's quite pleasant. 

It was probably about time I tasted a hop, and so last of the session was 't Uiltje's Dr Raptor, A DIPA of 9.2%. Sweetly pungent right from the off, the aroma almost precedes the glass to the table. Candied tropicals and those artificially flavoured Tutti Frutti sweets dominate the aroma, but there's more bitterness to be found on tasting. Proper orangey, pithy bitterness, in a way that seems positively old fashioned these days, but very welcome to my taste. There's a lasting boozy pineapple thing that lingers between sips, as the beer doesn't try too hard to hide the high alcohol, but thankfully it never becomes hot or sticky. A good way to sign off proceedings.

But not as good as ambling into In de Wildeman on the afternoon of our departing flight, where I couldn't resist a half litre of draught Jever. It's predictably better than the bottled version, showing less skunk (a trait I don't particularly find unattractive in the bottle version if I'm being honest), allowing bold noble hop bitterness and florals to take centre stage. Squeaky clean, bitter, moreish, gently herbal - almost menthol - this is my perfect lager at the moment. I would adore a regular draught stockist of this in Cork.

#359: Westvleteren XII

I last spoke about Westvleteren XII in December 2015. At the time, the bottle was around four years old and, if not necessarily improved (to my taste), it certainly hadn't depreciated. 

The same could not be said for a bottle opened earlier this year. This one-time legend of Belgian beer suffered from the typical malaise of an over- (or incorrectly-)aged beer - oxidised aroma compounds cascade from the glass on pouring. There's a staleness to the otherwise recognisable raisin jam palate, a sort of cardboard edge to the spiced stewed apple ester play, but most prohibitive to any real enjoyment is the thick, slick and soupy texture to the body. This feels every bit of its 10.2%, but without much finesse or even pleasantly warming heat. The scarcity and age of the beer meant I felt compelled to soldier through the glass, but I only made it halfway before regrettably sending the rest down the drain.

I'm confident that this beer hasn't been contaminated or infected in any way, despite the slightly more prominent appearance of unsightly dregs roused by serving. Rather, I suspect the almost 9 years spent sitting in a cupboard with no temperature control has not served it well. Such is the risk taken with long periods of ageing, especially without properly regulated conditions. 

#358: George Gale & Co. Prize Old Ale

It's not often a Marble beer is welcomed into my home, and this one had to go to Amsterdam to find a way into my hands.

This one is a special one; a collaboration with Fuller's reviving a classic old ale by George Gale and Co. A few renditions were done, each with a different barrel finish. This particular George Gale & Co. Prize Old Ale comes from a second fill pinot noir barrel, and it's stunning. The first impression is like an aged Flemish red ale with the acidity stripped out - syrupy plum, wood, leather and chocolate. There is an element of funk hiding in the background, but it never appears more than a fun accent on the rest of the beer. The body is neither heavy nor sugary, but does have enough satisfying heft to justify the high alcohol content.

For all the superlative richness and a thumping 11.2% ABV, this is cosy, easy going, and the perfect sort of thing to sip while roasting your toes in front of a fire.