12 Beers of Christmas - Day Twelve - Burning Sky Trafalgar Wines Celebratory Stout

I've already written and deleted several paragraphs in which I try to summarise a tumultuous 2017, each time concluding that nobody a) needs to know or b) really cares. Suffice to say, I'm not really into New Year's Eve, but this one does have some significance. Not enough to prompt me to do anything other than sit drinking beer on my Grandma's sofa, but still.

One significant thing about the dawn of 2018 is that it roughly marks the third year anniversary of this blog. The past two years have been busy, and I haven't posted as much as I'd like. In the meantime, it's seemingly become a beer and travel blog, which wasn't my initial intention but I'll take it. And, out of character as it may be to say it, I'm very proud of much of what I have posted. So it meant a lot to hear my name called for the Silver award in the Young Beer Writer category at this year's British Guild of Beer Writer's Awards ceremony. I think this picture sums up my feelings pretty well (that's me on the left).

That goofy grin stayed glued to my face until the last train back to Brighton, when I plugged in my headphones, tied my scarf around my eyes to block out the harsh light and caught some much needed sleep. (Incidentally, another big congratulations to James Beeson, who deservedly took home the Gold prize). So, amongst all the uncertainty and loss, there's been plenty in this past year to celebrate. Which calls for a celebratory beer.

I haven't posted a Golden Pints round-up for this year. One of the reasons for this is the realisation that I wanted to nominate the same names in the same categories as last year, and/or the year before, to the point where it seemed ridiculous writing it all out again. My favourite brewery of 2017, for example, is Burning Sky, just as it was last year. And my favourite bottle shop always was, is, and always shall be Trafalgar Wines. To put my puny blog's anniversary into perspective, Steve is celebrating a staggering 35 years in the business. And for that, he got a very special beer, which he was kind enough to gift to me and other loyal customers to share the love.

Day Twelve - Burning Sky Trafalgar Wines Celebratory Stout (UK, 8.5%)

Even at arm's length whilst I poured, a huge aroma of coffee, dark sugar and clementine hit me, and I knew I was in for a treat. On the first sip, the bourbon barrel in which the beer aged is clearly doing a lot of heavy lifting. Often that means vanilla and booze, which is great, but the bourbon character here is far more interesting than that. It's very woody, with notes of pithy clementine and sweet cherry. 

I can't be sure if there's something just a tiny bit tart in there, or whether that's the power of suggestion because the only other beers I associate with such a strong oak character are lambics. There's certainly plenty of smooth chocolate in there to temper if, if it is there. A gentle booze warmth emerges the more I drink, which happens a little quicker than it probably should due to both its deliciousness and an appropriately minimal level of carbonation - nobody wants fizzy imperial stout, do they?

Another triumph for Burning Sky, and a fitting tribute to Brighton's best booze merchant. Happy new year, one and all!

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Eleven - Struise Pannepot Grand Reserva 2011

Day Eleven - Struise Pannepot Grand Reserva (Belgium, 10%)

De Struise have a reputation as agitators, producing beer that tests the boundaries of traditional Belgian styles, and sometimes exists pretty firmly outside them. Pannepot, as strong beer by my standards, is one of their tamer offerings. This vintage edition further ages that beer on oak. The beer itself was bottled in 2016, which suggests a lengthy ageing process. And although the label doesn't tell us where this oak comes from, my guess based on the aroma would be sherry casks. 

If I'm wrong, then it's a huge coincidence that this tastes so strongly of sharp sherry. You could be fooled into thinking someone had poured a nip of sherry into the glass when you weren't looking. It verges on over-the-top, especially on the first couple of sips, but after a while I got used to it. More sweetness comes out as it warms, which balances the puckering, tannic quality somewhat. Tht sherry tartness recalls sour cherries, and with plenty of bitter chocolate, coffee roast and currants, it's not a one-note beer.

While it's certainly demanding - not an easy-drinker by any means - it never drinks anything like its ABV. Probably worth the five year wait, then.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Ten - De Dolle Stille Nacht

Day Ten - De Dolle Brouwers Stille Nacht (Belgium, 12%)

This being the only yuletide-themed beer in my 12 Beers line-up, I should probably have drunk Stille Nacht before the big day. Luckily, it has a lot to offer beyond festive gimmicks, and not a pinch of cinnamon in sight!

A healthily lively pour, it's thankfully easier to wrangle into a glass than some other De Dolle beers I've encountered. Even before lifting the glass to my nose, there's a strong aroma of honey and sweet orange, but the first gulp surprises with a resinous bitterness. I wasn't expecting that, although bitterness is a noted characteristic in many De Dolle offerings, and it's especially notable in a beer that was bottled over a year ago. The sharp citrus quality, along with a tingling carbonation, adds a lightness to the syrupy Madeira booze underneath.

On the strength of this bottle, I should make Stille Nacht a Christmas staple.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Nine - Westvleteren 12

Day Nine - Westvleteren 12 (Belgium, 10.2%)

Westvleteren 12 is probably the ultimate “saving it for a special occasion” beer. Often referred to as the best beer in the world (as if there’s any such thing), I’ve often thought I need a pretty good reason to drink the bottles in my possession. I also told myself I should age them for at least two years before cracking the cap. Well, the post-Christmas lull seems as good a reason as any to me now, and this was bottled at the end of March 2015. No excuses; just open the bloody thing.

It’s a bad start, as despite careful pouring, my glass is full of enormous chunks of sediment. They look like fat suspended in gravy, and I find it massively off-putting even if it’s unlikely to have much impact on the flavour. And actually, I soon forget it, because that flavour really is very good. Initially it’s very sweet, with notes of caramel and cola, and also strikingly boozy, leaving a warm feeling in the chest like a nip of brandy. Keep drinking, though, and these qualities are rounded out by smooth but bitter chocolate and dried fruit, figs and plums. The depth of flavour is massive, but in fact, it’s quite easy drinking; after that first initial shock of alcohol, it doesn’t really drink its strength.

Best beer in the world? I wouldn’t think so on a sticky summer evening. I probably wouldn’t even think so if I was drinking it in the pub with my friends. But right now, on a chilly winter evening where I have the time to really ponder it, it’s pretty much the best beer I could have in my glass.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Eight - Nils Oscar Barley Wine

Day Eight - Nils Oscar Barley Wine (Sweden, 10.4%)

The barley wine seems to have come to prominence in 2017, in seemingly direct response to Don't Drink Beer's 'barleywine is life' sloganeering. It's an interesting development; I've always considered the style as a little old fashioned, even if I like the beers, perhaps because I associate them with the dusty Michael Jackson books that first told me about the style. People like my dad, who remember drinking bottled Gold Label, adopt a slightly panicked, wide-eyed look whenever it's mentioned; "not barley wine!", this look seems to say; "not since the incident!"

Anyway, I like barley wine, but it's not a style I tend to reach for very often. If I'm in the mood for a +10% beer, it tends to be an imperial stout. As such, this poor bottle has been neglected at the back of the cupboard for the best part of a year, and the internet suggests that the brewery no longer make it.

The aroma is very, very sweet, suggesting raisins and, faintly, banana, but mostly dominated by sticky honey. That sweet honey is the dominant flavour to begin with, too, but there's more to it than straight-up sugary sweetness. It brings a massive floral, musty depth of flavour to the whole thing, propping up the more delicate wintery fig and plum notes. The finish keeps things in balance with a touch of liquorice and a gently acrid bitterness before a pleasant warm glow forms in the chest.

I'm not sure I agree that barley wine actually is life, but I should remember to at least let it be part of my life. One for my list of new year's resolutions.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Seven - Mills/Oliver's Foxbic

Day Seven - Mills/Oliver's Foxbic (UK, 4.7%)

It's cider. No, it's lambic. No, cider. Actually, lambic. Or...

This is a near-accurate representation of my internal monologue as I drank Foxbic. A spontaneously fermented beer made with a traditional turbid mash - i.e. made using the lambic technique, but produced outside of the Lambeek region of Belgium and therefore not referred to as such - the wort is then fermented with apple juice and cider lees from Oliver's. It's as much cider as it is beer, I guess, and a clever idea since sour beers of this sort often recall cider in their dryness and acidity. Foxbic is brilliant because it offers the best parts of both drinks.

The aroma certainly recalls apple juice, with perhaps a touch of floral honey. The initial taste is lemony and tart, before giving way to apple juice and pips before an oaky finish. The aftertaste in incredible; it seems to last minutes at a time, with crisp apple skin drying the palate along with a tingle of sherbet. For all its complexity, Foxbic is unbelievably moreish.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Six - Tilquin Oude Pinot Noir á l'Ancienne

Day Six - Tilquin Oude Pinot Noir á l'Ancienne (Belgium, 7.7%)

Why are grapes used so rarely in beer? Cherries, raspberries, plums, mangoes and countless other fruits seem to jump the queue. Is it because they're expensive, or just because wine is made with grapes? Can't cross the streams, right? Well, I think it's a shame. Grapes have a lot to offer beer. Were I ever to be let loose on a brew kit, the overly ambitious concept I would attempt to realise is a saison with white grapes and Nelson Sauvin hops. Doesn't that sound great? There might be a good reason why it wouldn't work, but until then, I can dream.

I was excited upon finding this grape lambic from Tilquin, hence saving the bottle for the biggest food and drink day of the year. Things got off to a bad start, though, because this beer stinks. Generously, it has an air of mature cheddar about it it. More accurately, it smells of sick. The fact that this doesn't carry over into the flavour is a bit of a Christmas miracle.

On the first gulp, my first impression is that this is dry. Which makes sense - lambic's generally dry, fermented as they are with hungry wild yeast and then aged in oak barrels. Add in grape skins and you can expect a buttload of tannins. It's acidic and tart too, of course, but as it warms, a sweet and rounded raspberry note grows and grows. It's really delicious, and an invigorating pick-me-up after a traditionally excessive Christmas dinner.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Five - Cuvée De Ranke

Day Five - Cuvée De Ranke (Belgium, 7%)

Day five's entry finds me pondering further on the artistry of the blending process, as today's beer is another blend. For this example De Ranke, one of my favourite Belgian breweries, brew and age a sour beer in-house and then mix it with Girardin lambic on a 70/30 ratio. 

The lambic dominates the aroma, with notes of lemon juice and oak, and it pours almost still with a frothy head that fizzes away to almost nothing. Many hallmarks of lambic are instantly apparent in the taste, too - green apples and lemons, leather and wood. Sharp tropical fruits - pineapple and kiwi - are in there, too, perhaps a quality of the original De Ranke beer. Yesterday I noted quinine/tonic water as a common flavour amongst sour, oak-aged beers, and it's certainly present here. It actually comes off more like grapefruit in this instance, with the kind of dry, puckering sensation you get when you chomp on the skin of a particularly tart green apple. 

Pure sophistication, this, continuing an unbroken run in which I utterly love every De Ranke beer I try. 

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Four - Wild Beer Beyond Modus 2014

Day Four - Wild Beer Beyond Modus 2014 (UK, 8%)

"Smells like cherry cola. That's been kept in a shoe."

This was my brother's assessment of Beyond Modus' aroma, and I have to hand it to him - it's pretty spot on. It's very fruity, but equally funky, veering towards cheesy. And whilst the flavour is plenty funky, it's thankfully more barnyard straw than festive cheeseboard.

The label calls this beer "a study in blending", and it really is a brilliant expression of that art. It's beautifully balanced between sweet cherries and acidic red wine, hitting a complex sweet and sour equilibrium. That vinous quality is striking - often evident in the Flanders red style that Beyond Modus could loosely fit into, here it is boosted by ageing in Burgundy barrels.  There's a huge, almost savoury depth of flavour to this beer, and it's also both extremely tannic and very bitter in the finish. This combination, which I often find in barrel aged sour beers, reminds me of tonic water; it makes you pucker your cheeks, and I love it. 

The process of blending has always kind of blown my mind. The principle of mixing young and old beer for a balanced middle ground is simple enough, but in practice, how do you actually go about that? I wouldn't feel confident enough in my palate to make such judgements. But the good folk at Wild Beer have clearly nailed it.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Three - Bruery Terreux Saison Rue

Day Three - Bruery Terreux Saison Rue (USA, 8.5%)

Apologies for the late post - although I was able to drink my beer and make notes yesterday, I was without my laptop. There'll be two posts today to catch up.

'Gusher' is the term usually used to describe beers that foam up aggressively when opened. We've all experienced this - they fizz from the neck of the bottle, out the top and all over your kitchen counter. In this case, the word is inadequate. When I popped the cap, this bottle didn't simply 'gush'. It sprayed energetically, recalling scenes from crap comedies in which someone tries to hang up a picture and drives a nail into a water pipe. It was like a Freudian water feature, except dispensing expensive farmhouse ale rather than water. I was more impressed than disappointed and, in fairness, the bottle had been jostled around a bit in transit, evidently agitating the volatile saison yeast. Eventually I got a couple of glasses under it.

It pours a lot darker than your average saison, with an amber hue. The aroma reminds me of health food shops, which all smell the same - nutmeg, patchouli? The flavour has much of what you'd expect of a saison, including bubblegum, pepper and chamomile. The malt bill marks it out; it includes rye, and brings a background of caramel and some spicy joss-stick. The finish is dry, and also has a suggestion of alcohol heat which, together with some of the herbal/botanical flavours in there, kind of reminds me of gin.

Like the best saisons, its simultaneously complex and refreshing, though less than sessionable at such a high ABV. The explosive bottle is forgiven.

12 Beers of Christmas - Day Two - Wiper and True/Partizan XK

Day Two - Wiper and True/Partizan XK (UK, 6.8%)

London's Partizan brew an impressive range of milds based on historical recipes. This particular beer blends a Lovibond X ale from 1864 with Wiper and True's Keeper Beer, a barley wine. It's an interesting concept however you look at it, but the most fascinating thing about this beer is that the combination of two heritage British styles would come off something like a Belgian ambreé.

After a little over a year maturing in the bottle, it's an insistent, nerve wracking pour in the way of the liveliest Belgian beers. There's a tight, rocky head which sticks around until the very last drop, and an enticing aroma of caramel, orange peel and chamomile. These are all there in the flavour, along with a little tannic black tea and a sugary note suggestive of candy floss. 

The brisk carbonation and light body continue the Belgian parallel. Sold at least partially as a Christmas beer, the label promises the usual festive nutmeg. Happily, I get none of that at all. What could be a claggy, over-spiced mess is, instead, sophisticated and easy drinking; a sipper, and wintery in its warming malt-driven way, but not a chore. 

12 Beers of Christmas - Day One - Omnipollo Noa Bourbon

The decorations are up, the overbearing cinammon-scented Yankee Candle is lit, Phil Spector is on the turntable, and there are twelve bottles of beer lined up under the tree. Yep, it's time for the 12 Beers of Christmas. Overseen by Steve of the Hopinions podcast, this is simply an opportunity (excuse?) to drink and discuss, and for me, it's a particularly good way to clear the backlog of beers that were too strong or too special for casual drinking and lend themselves to the air of festive decadence. 

Day One - Omnipollo Noa Bourbon (Sweden/Netherlands, 11%)

Omnipollo's Noa seems emblematic of a certain trend in beer. It tastes very much like an imperial stout with Betty Crocker cake mix stirred in, and that may not be too far from the truth. It's easily dismissed as infantile and gimmicky, but I'm a big fan. Sweet as it may be, it has enough stark, burnt bitterness to balance it out. This edition incorporates bourbon in some way (barrel ageing? Soaked wood chips?) and I imagined the experience to be a bit like tucking into a gooey chocolate brownie with a glass of bourbon on the side.

Well, that's not too far from the reality. Imagine taking a mouthful of sticky chocolate cake and washing it down with whisky; there are elements of the flavours that will marry, but also nuances in both constituent parts that will be lost in the combination.

The aroma is powerful, evoking childhood memories of licking the spoon after baking. But there's a hint of something more adult in there; somewhat woody, perhaps a little tobacco. From the first sip, it's clear that this beer is more austere, less goofily fun than the original Noa, as the confectionery is softened by a musty honey note and something savoury - water biscuits or maybe the advertised pecan nuts, stripped of their maple glaze. That burnt bitter finish I remember is still there, like the crisp corners of a chocolate brownie, and it leaves a lasting bitterness. 

It never tastes, to me, exactly like bourbon, but this addition adds a complexity that isn't necessarily welcome. It's more grown up than the classic Noa, but less indulgent as a result, and I like it less for that.

Craft bier in Amsterdam

I have a self-imposed rule when travelling — drink the local beer wherever possible. It just seems sensible. I don’t travel to, say, Denmark in order to drink Belgian beer, and the trends and influences in domestic craft beer are always more interesting.

Arriving in Amsterdam for a few days of exploring, however, I broke that rule with my very first drink. I walked into Craft and Draft to find a cask of Shumacher Alt propped on the bar, pouring from gravity. I couldn’t turn that down — where else, without taking a dedicated trip to Dusseldorf, would I encounter such a thing again? It was a good decision, and I followed it with a delicious Kellerbier from St. Georgen in Franconia. The scope and variety of beer on offer in Amsterdam is huge, and whilst there’s plenty of great beer being brewed in the Netherlands, for me it’s this variety that make it such a great beer city.

But actually, aside from some very classy imports, the most notable feature of my beery survey of Amsterdam was a uniquely Dutch tradition. Bokbier has been brewed in the Netherlands since the 1860s, evolving from German bocks and morphing into a distinct style of their own. Order a bok and you’ll usually find something strong – above 6% ABV – and somewhere on the deep red to dark brown continuum, with a deeply malty flavour. It might be top or bottom-fermented, though originally would have been the latter. Though their appearance recalls a heavy stout, they’re typically quite light-bodied in the way of a Belgian dubbel.

On this autumnal visit, it’s herfstboks that dominate the bars — lenteboks are released in spring. And dominate they do. The Dutch take their bok seriously. The PINT Bokbierfestival has been running for 40 years, and Bockbierkrant van Nederland, a dedicated free newspaper, keeps drinkers up-to-date on the latest releases. Specialist beer bars were all offering multiple boks, and the likes of Heineken, Amstel and Grolsch also put out their own seasonal offerings.

My brother has been living in Amsterdam for a few months, getting to know the local brews well. Sitting down for our first beer in Gollem’s Proeflokaal, he took a sip of Brouwerij de Leckere’s Rode Toren and said, “typically Dutch”. Caramel and straw are the characteristic flavours amongst the autumn boks, he reckons, and they’re definitely in there, along with an earthy, savoury note that even verges towards tomato. I like it a lot. Jopen’s eponymous Bokbier’s treacly malt is similarly soft and comforting, but manages to be refreshing at the same time, with a restrained citrus note in the background. There’ll be plenty more herfstbok on my journey around the city. 

Arendsnest is run by More Beer, a small group of bars that includes the aforementioned Craft and Draft and a couple of others. Its USP is that is serves only Dutch beer, across an astonishing 52 taps. At least ten of these are dedicated to bok but, thirsty after a brisk cycle across the city in the sun, I wanted something pale and refreshing. Mooie Nel IPA, again from Jopen, fulfilled that brief perfectly — squeaky clean and resinous with a gentle citrus bite and substantial bitterness, it was glorious. After that conservative start, I chose a couple of weirdos to follow. First was Lambiek from Toon van den Broek, served from cask through a beer engine. There’s very little information about this beer online, but it appears to be a genuinely spontaneously fermented Dutch beer, and was very good. Sharp and tannic as you’d expect, it’s livened by a faintly sweet peach note which pulled it into balance. To finish, a cute 150ml glass of Burning BBQ, a smoked Belgian-style quadruple brewed at Uiltje in collaboration with Largum Bieren. Predictably bonkers, it combines boiled sweets, milk chocolate, orange oil and spiky booze, with the smoke only revealing itself once I was about halfway down the glass. Somehow, it didn’t taste a foul mess, even if it sounds like one on paper, though the experience of drinking it felt like trying to figure out a puzzle.

From there, we left the city centre and cycled to the Butcher's Tears taproom. As is common for such spaces, it's in an industrial unit with the obligatory folding tables, and white tiling that suggests it might actually once have been a butcher's. I was delighted to find Spiral Scratch on tap — a strong ale based on a 1956 J.W. Lees recipe which I believe the brewery initially made for Ron Pattinson's 60th birthday. Despite its relative strength, it was easy drinking, all honey and golden syrup with a very English tobacco-like hop character. The inevitable bok, Broomrider had the aforementioned caramel and straw, with a treacly burnt bitterness in the finish that livened it up. Pooka-delica was billed as 'brown IPA on acid' and is some kind of variation on their regular brown ale. I'm not sure exactly what the twist was, but it had an intense, sharp sherbety citrus flavour that overwhelmed the warming, toasted malt backbone I had hoped for. I liked the place a lot, and would happily have stayed and tasted some more, but dinner was calling and the bok booze was starting to catch up with me.

I've wanted to visit Brouwerij 't IJ for years, and the next day I was happily able to make the tick. Cycling from the fast-paced heart of the city, it was pleasant to move into the more relaxed and residential district that houses the brewery. The place is popular with tourists, perhaps because the original brewery is housed in a postcard-perfect windmill, and I'd been advised to get there in time for 2pm opening to avoid the crowds. Sure enough, I was far from the only punter waiting outside for the doors to open, but it never got particularly busy during our stay. It's popular for good reason; bright and airy or shadowy and bohemian, depending on where you choose to sit, with welcoming staff and a wide range of 't IJ's diverse beers on offer.

Bok is a big deal here; 't IJ brew not one but five of them, variously incorporating smoked malt, rye, orange peel and other intriguing ingredients. I plumped for Amarillobok. Though appropriately malt-driven, it also had a beautiful marmalade spice about it, along with some stone fruit and gentle marzipan in the background. To follow, we split a bottle of Struis, an English-style barley wine which was bursting with treacle, demerara sugar, espresso roast and hedgerow fruit. The booziness is deftly judged; enough to let you know its there and to gently warm the cockles, as a barley wine should, but not enough to become hard work.

Back in the middle of town is In de Wildeman. Housed in an ex-distillery, it's a beautifully worn-in old pub, all vintage breweriana and varnished wood. The fact that the bland-verging-on-hellish central shopping zone has grown around it only improves its appeal — it's an oasis in a desert of boring shops and oblivious tourists with no spatial awareness. I again relaxed my local beer rule here, because the offering is a superbly diverse representation the best of European beer. From Bamberg, Mahr's Ungespundet was just as wonderful as I remembered, with an enormous depth of malt flavour, a touch of honey and a poke of herbal noble hops in the finish. Cantillon Lambic (presumably it was Grand Cru Bruocsella?) was similarly brilliant, in a totally different way — intense where the Mahr's is subtle, it's full of tart green apple and woody tannins, but had a tiny hit of weed about it that I wasn't expecting. You'd be extremely lucky to find these beers in the UK, let alone both on the same tap list at the same time.

Refreshed, we were back on our bikes headed for the ferry that runs from Centraal Station to Amsterdam Noord. Though the ferry is free, regular and takes no more than a few minutes to cross the water, this area still feels a little cut off from the centre of the city. As a result, though, it seems greener, quieter and a little more relaxed, with an attractive waterfront area full of hip cafés and the beautiful Eye Filmmuseum. Our destination was Oedipus, a brewery and tap room surrounded by what seemed to be re-purposed warehouses housing organic supermarkets and fancy restaurants.

The potentially cavernous, industrial feel of the place is softened by the homely decor — all potplants and well-worn sofas — and colourful murals, and it has the same kind of approachable, artsy, gently hippie-ish vibe I've found in squatted and state-subsidised music venues in the Netherlands. I started with Swing Lolita Swing, a collaboration with Austrian brewery Bevog. This was a gose with added passion fruit and raspberry and I loved it. It gets the sweet/sour balance spot on, threatening sweetness at first but ending with a puckering, quenching tartness and a gentle kiss of salt. Chateau Akkerman, Oedipus' take on bok, is much more ale-like than the other examples I'd encountered, and the malt had more stouty roasted and chocolate character. It's dry hopped, which must be unusual for the style, and added an intensely floral note that came off like rosewater. I was perhaps more interested in it than I actually enjoyed it.

Back on the other side of the water, we went for an after-dinner nightcap at the Raamsteeg branch of Café Gollem. Small, cosy, well worn in and just back from the canal, this felt like a real Amsterdam experience, and I'd highly recommend settling in and enjoying the ambience of this place for a while. Even better if it's cold and dark outside. Sharing bottles of Rodenbach Alexander and Achel Extra Bruin kept us busy.

Think of Europe's dream beer destinations and some obvious capitals leap out — Bamberg, Prague, Munich, Brussels, and so on. Amsterdam might not seem an obvious addition to that list, but I think it's a worthy contender. And of course, the experiences noted here barely scratch the surface. I'm already considering a return visit — perhaps to coincide with the emergence of the lentebok.

Clear as mud: in defence of the New England IPA

This post is a contribution to The Session #126, hosted by Gail Ann Williams at Beer By BART on the topic 'Hazy, cloudy, juicy: IPA's strange twist'.

Rarely has a beer style (sub-style? Pseudo-style?) been so divisive as the New England IPA — cloudy bordering on murky, often brewed with oats for maximum fluffy mouthfeel and smooth, juice-like texture, and hopped only in the whirlpool for intense hop flavour and aroma with minimal bitterness. In the US at least, grown men queue for hours to get their hands on these beers, then trade them online like Pogs. Meanwhile, cynics take to Twitter to energetically lampoon the ‘trend’ for ‘murk-bombs’.

Clearly, the NEIPA is not for everyone. I’ll nail my colours to the mast early on; I’m a fan of these beers, which to me seem less of a trend and more of a natural evolution in the IPA style, which has been growing ever fruitier for several years. What concerns me is the wilful ignorance and negativity amongst those who don’t like the style, which I think runs totally counter to the spirit of beer geekery.

 

For example, a brewing company who will remain unnamed recently tweeted (plus some emojis which I’ve removed);

WARNING. THERE’S A NEW BEER HEADED TO TOWN. Here’s a hint, its not a passionfruit mango barrel-aged oatmeal lupulin powder double IPA.

Perhaps I need to lighten up, as the tone here is obviously humorous and hyperbolic. The ‘barrel-aged’ bit doesn’t apply to the New England style anyway. But is it really necessary to mock other brewery’s products in order to sell your own? The inference here is, “we have a new beer, but it’s not one of those stupid New England IPAs everyone else is making. It’s proper beer.”

This tweet frames this company in opposition to other small, like-minded craft breweries. What it comes down to, I suppose, is positivity. I would suggest that marketing your beer based on what it is rather than what it isn’t — what you’re for rather than what you’re against — reflects better on your brand. And the same sentiment applies to the way all of us focus our energy in communicating about beer online, whether through blogs or Twitter. It’s futile complaining about beers you don’t like, especially if there’s nothing wrong with them beyond your own personal preferences, and it makes for pretty tedious reading. It’s fine to dislike a beer, or beer style, or perceived trend in brewing, but why not let others have their fun?

Alright, so they’re not especially bitter and you prefer bitterness in your IPAs. That’s OK. There are plenty of IPAs like that. I can think of only a handful of UK breweries who specialise in the style, and most others experimenting with the NEIPA also produce at least one standard IPA alongside it. Maybe it feels like all anyone is brewing these days is murky fruit juice, but I’d say that’s a warped conception based the fact that those who are making New England-inspired beers are currently getting a lot of social media attention.

The idea that all NEIPAs taste the same is also somewhat misguided. As The Beer Nut has already highlighted on his post on the subject, there is actually considerable diversity amongst these beers. Whilst many are intensely tropical, there are plenty that retain a dank, resinous tang. Some have strong savoury notes — onion and chive — and others don’t. Some, like Cloudwater’s recent IIPA Centennial, marry the East and West coast approaches beautifully, using the intensity of the New England style to beef up the fleshy citrus quality of a now relatively old-school hop variety.

But most importantly, we need to steer clear of the idea that beer should be a certain way. Those who vocally reject the New England IPA because it doesn’t look or taste like beer are edging towards What’s Brewing-letter-page territory. Lambic is beer, and so is porter, so what does beer taste like, exactly? Hefeweizen is beer, and murky beer at that, so what’s the difference? Whether the NEIPA represents progress or not is open to debate, but the idea that producing juicy, hazy beer is somehow inappropriate opposes the experimentation I love in craft beer.

Criticism has its place, for sure. Badly made, infected beer? Call it out. Perfectly well-made beer that many others enjoy but that you happen not to like? Let it be. 

Håndværk øl i København

At one point, I wasn’t planning to blog about my trip to Copenhagen. I felt like I was always reading about the city, especially in the wake of the annual Beer Celebration festival, and that anything I wrote would just be noise. But when I came to compile a list of bars to visit, I realised that that wasn’t actually true. Beyond the multiple Mikkeller-operated venues, I didn’t know anything about beer in Copenhagen beyond (accurate) reports of eye-watering prices. So, here's what I found.

Carlsberg’s dominance is immediately apparent, as the airport is swamped with adverts for the stuff. Most cafés and bars seem to offer only that or Tuborg, and one of the world-class restaurants I was lucky enough to dine at had nothing more exciting than their mediocre Jacobsen sub-brand. Plan ahead, though, and Copenhagen’s astonishing beer scene reveals itself. What follows is far from comprehensive — the number of intriguing bars was so high that I actually felt anxious about not being able to visit enough of them in the time I had. If you’re visiting, my advice is to hire a bike. Copenhagen is flat with cycle lanes all across the city, and whilst it’s not such a big place, some of the beer spots are a little far out by other modes of transport.

My first stop was BRUS, a brewpub in the trendy Nørrebro area run by the To Øl brand. It’s a large, clean space in a former factory, with a dedicated restaurant area (the food was excellent) and adjacent bottleshop. As you might expect, the interior is remarkably clean, sparse and stylish as per the Scandinavian fashion. However, it has bags of character and a buzzing atmosphere, which is sometimes missing in such self-consciously hip venues. I stuck to the house brews, although plenty of To Øl and guests were available. One Ton … of Blackberries, a generously fruited sour, was a great start. Like the fruit itself, it was well balanced between sweet and sharp, and the earthy, husky flavour from the blackberry seeds added satisfying depth. Das Fruit, a double IPA, wasn’t as intensely tropical as I expected. Hazy and full bodied, its restrained juiciness included a twist of tart berry and a little pepper in the finish, and was both satisfying and interesting. Finally, a Baltic porter, Jackie Wants a Black Eye. It's a style I love and this is a great example — clean and easy-going like a dark lager, but with a big, semi-dry cocoa flavour and just a hint of warming booze. 

Just around the corner is another brewpub, Nørrebro Bryghus. Though named after the local area, the large space is decked out to look like a New York subway station, spreading out over two levels and proudly displaying shiny fermentation tanks. The crowd here was mostly younger, perhaps students from the nearby university, and it had a pleasant, down-to-earth atmosphere. Sadly, it was last orders soon after we arrived, so I tried just one of the beers. King’s County Brown Ale was billed as American-style, but was really a comforting festival of malt — treacly, with a little caramel and some earthy, twiggy notes, and yet finishing somewhat dry. I'd like to have spent more time here, but I had further ticks to chase.

The next day, my party all went their separate ways for a couple of hours, and I took the opportunity to bomb over to Mikkeller Baghaven, the newest addition to the cuckoo brewer’s mini-empire. I didn’t necessarily mean to, but I saw a lot of the city on the way, incompetently weaving across the bike lanes, taking endless wrong turns as I unwisely tried to follow the map on my phone whilst preventing it from bouncing out of the basket. I rather like the unreconstructed industrial aesthetic of the place, and it’s a wonderful spot to sit and drink in the sunshine. Vesterbro Spontanale was my hard-earned thirst-quencher. This is the straight version of the lambic that is sold in a variety of flavoured forms, and was very impressive. Crisp, tart apple skin was the dominant flavour, followed by puckering sour lemon, just about balanced by some honeydew melon sweetness in the background. The finish is bitter like quinine, and extremely dry.

To follow, Beer Geek Riesling caught my eye. I assumed this was another in the Beer Geek series of stouts, aged in a Riesling wine barrel. Wacky stuff, and surely worth a try. Just after ordering, I said, “it’s a stout, right?” The barman looked puzzled, and replied, “no, it’s wine.” I was just about to say “I know Riesling is a wine, but…” when the penny dropped — no beer involved at all. “How does that work?” I asked. “I mean, how is Mikkeller involved?” He shrugged, and his colleague chipped in “He just wanted to make wine. It’s made in Germany. We call it a collaboration…” Perhaps ‘commission’ might be a more honest word, but since I’m trying to be more open-minded about wine anyway, I decided to give it a shot. The aroma is wheaty, with a hint of barnyard, as funky as any Bretted saison. Perhaps as a consequence of following the Spontanale, it was intensely sweet at first, like a too-strong glass of elderflower cordial. This mellowed as I drunk on, and some dry tannins emerged before a lightly acidic finish. It was delicious, and not something I’d normally have tried, so cheers to Mikkel for that one.

Contrasting the sparse, open spaces of Mikkeller and BRUS, Søernes Ølbar is so unassuming from the outside that I initially cycled right past it. Situated on the edge of one of Nørrebro's lakes, it has a small, cosy inside space and tables by the water. Though the beer list is long and impressive, only a few taps are Danish, of which I chose To Øl's Mochaccino Messiah, a brown ale. More than mocha, this reminded me of tiramisu, with sweet milky coffee leaning towards hazelnut complimented by dry, bitter cocoa flavours rather than the rich, deep chocolate I'd expected. It would make a great desert beer. Søernes could form part of a mini-Nørrebro crawl along with BRUS and the Bryghus but if, like me, you prefer to drink local when travelling, you may not want to linger too long here.

My final stop was Fermentoren, a tip I picked up from this Good Beer Hunting article and sought out based on the vibe-heavy candelight and lack of (fellow) tourists. As it happened, I found myself in the old meat-packing district during daylight hours, but the indoor space was still pretty dim in a bohemian rather than dingy way. The beer list here is truly world-class, and if I wasn't so hell-bent on sticking to Danish brews, I'd have been sorely tempted by the offer of Schlenkerla Urbock or Rodenbach Caractére Rouge. Instead, I plumped for New Slang, a New England-style IPA from Gamma. Although demonstrating the pillowy mouthfeel typical of the style, New Slang is less milkshake-thick than some, which made for easy, thirst-quenching drinking. The flavour is pure sticky tangerine, perhaps a little on the sweet side but far from cloying, and there's little bitterness to speak of. Whilst I'm a confirmed NEIPA fan, there are undoubtedly examples which use hazy appearance to disguise inattentive brewing and muddied, indistinct hop character. New Slang demonstrates that clarity of flavour is crucial in even the most opaque of beers. I loved it.

I managed to squeeze all of these venues into just a few days on what was not primarily a beer-focused trip, based on minimal forward planning. You could stay in Copenhagen for weeks and still not make it round all the beer spots, perhaps bankrupting yourself in the process. It's one of the most exciting beer cities I've visited, all the more impressive given the apparent dominance of macro lager.

For more tales from Copenhagen, I recommend the series of posts on Martin's blog starting here. He made it to lots of interesting places that I didn't and even tracked down a pint of cask Harvey's Best...!

Another brief encounter with the beers of the North East

After a flying visit at Christmas, I was back in the North East recently for a family wedding, and again had a little time available for beer hunting. What follows is a kind of sequel to this post, covering a couple of the venues I missed out on last time.

But first, a return visit to the Boathouse in Wylam. The pub itself remains basic, and though a lot warmer than it had been on my previous visit, seems to have developed a problem with flies. The little dog sat opposite me was driving himself crazy trying to catch them. But as I said last time, you come for the beer (and the pickled onion crisps), and the atmosphere was pleasant as the sounds of the folk night drifted through from the lounge bar next door.

The pub showcases Hadrian Border brewery from Newcastle, and their beer dominated the bar. I was able to return to Tyneside Blonde which had impressed me so much last time, and it was superb. It’s the kind of simple beer that would be unlikely to make an impression if served in anything less than perfect condition. But it was perfect – cool, with gentle carbonation and a sturdy, creamy sparkled head, and each constituent ingredient positively sang. There’s a suggestion of Digestive biscuit from the malt, a gentle fruitiness from the yeast, a distinctive sulphurous snatch from the water and a subtle sprinkling of floral hops in the finish.

Its companion, Tyneside Brown was similarly simple and very good, too — quite intensely malty, like malt extract, with a hint of toffee and toast. The French Saison, also from Hadrian Border, started well, with suggestions of coriander and lemonade that really does recall a French biére de garde. Sadly, it didn’t sustain my interest and became bland and watery before I’d finished the pint. Continental farmhouse styles can work at sessionable strength, and can work on cask, but the combination of both of these concessions adds up to an underwhelming pint. A final Hadrian Border offering, Ouseburn Porter was far better, wonderfully creamy and full-bodied with a gentle coffee roast character backed with a little toffee and finishing with some grassy hops.

The wedding itself was, happily, at a brewery — High House Farm Brewery in Matfen, a charming little place and a stunning setting for a lovely wedding. The High House beers were fun, unchallenging fare, and since the focus of the day wasn’t beer, I enjoyed them without too much analysis. Matfen Magic, a brown ale, was a treacly, malty affair that benefitted from a satisfyingly full body and a beautiful creamy head, whilst Auld Hemp was a simple but effective bitter. Thompson’s Blonde, named in honour of the bride, was available from a self-service hand-pump along with the food. I think this was Nel’s Best rebadged, and was highly drinkable. The main excitement for me, though, was pouring my own pint, something I’ve never done before and was unjustifiably proud of, especially when a guest at the adjacent table remarked, “aye, decent head on that, like.”

The next evening, I had some free time, and decided to hop on the train into Newcastle to visit the Free Trade Inn. It’s a brilliant pub — properly pubby, worn-in and characterful and pouring a vast range of great beer. I made the most of the evening sun and soaked up the fantastic view of the Tyne, sipping a pint of Wylam’s Swipe Right. Whilst I associate Wylam with dry, bitter beer, this one is full-bodied and juicy and is amongst the best of the New England-influenced pale ales currently doing the rounds. There’s little bitterness to speak of, and it crams huge flavour — peach, mango, mandarin, melon — into a sensible ABV.

The cask selection leans quite heavily towards local beer, though there are sadly no sparklers here. Three Kings is a Newcastle outfit and a new name to me, but Lost Light is impressive. It's billed as a saison but doesn't really taste like one, coming off something like a cask equivalent of Duvel, if you can imagine such a thing. The fruity, distinctly Belgian esters are huge, oozing pear, rhubarb and bubblegum flavours, and the low carbonation makes these even more impactful. If I describe a beer as interesting, it might imply that it wasn’t enjoyable to drink, but Lost Light is both of those things. I’ve heard good things about Almasty, but Echelon, a pale ale, was disappointing. Though pleasantly dry and bitter, I couldn’t get past a savoury, grainy, wheaty note that spoilt everything.

The final stop is my grandma’s local micropub, the wonderfully named Wor Local in Prudhoe. Like many micropubs, it’s in what looks like an old shop, and in its sparseness and spiralling carpet slightly resembles a working man’s club. Nothing wrong with that, especially when the welcome is warm and the atmosphere friendly. Lager is frowned upon in many micropubs, but is on sale here — the mysterious Birra Quattro (I think), which doesn’t have a brewery name on its suspiciously homemade-looking optic. In this setting, offering lager strikes me as a wise, inclusive choice. It was selling well during my visit, as were a wide selection of gins, and presents an attractive alternative to intimidating Sky Sports-type pubs to those who’d rather not drink cask ale.

Toon Broon, from Blaydon’s Firebrick brewery, hit the spot with a big comforting smack of treacle and toffee and just a hint of tart hedgerow fruit — a perfect rainy day beer. Also from Firebrick, Stella Spark impressed with a palpably fleshy pink grapefruit quality, finishing on a more delicate floral note, but the highlight wasn’t strictly local. Wild Gravity, from North Yorkshire’s BAD Co., reminded me of Punk IPA, though weighted more towards caramel malt. On further analysis, I suspect generous doses of Simcoe are what the two have in common, and I think it’s this hop that is responsible for the suggestions of woody herbs and dank forest floor.

I haven’t done enough drinking in this part of the world to come to any grand conclusions, but I will say that in the Boathouse and the Free Trade Inn, the area boasts two of the best pubs in the country and I thoroughly enjoyed this brief, beery trip. I look forward to my next visit.

Craft bjór í Reykjavík

As just about any article on the subject will tell you, Iceland’s beer culture is very young. In fact, beer over 2.25% ABV was illegal in Iceland until 1989, long after prohibition on other stronger alcoholic beverages was lifted. You’d be forgiven, then, for not making a mental connection between Iceland and beer beyond the country’s reputation for eye-wateringly expensive pints.

In recent years, though, we’ve seen Einstök beers become increasingly common in the UK, imported by James Clay. I’ve always thought that their popularity here rested on the exoticism of their Icelandic origin rather than the perfectly well-made but generally unexciting beers, but you’ll find plenty of Einstök in Reykjavik, too. I didn’t drink any – I can get them at home, and you don’t have to look too hard to find plenty of interesting alternatives.

Flight of Icelandic beers at Micro Bar

A tip I picked up from Kaleigh’s excellent blog proved very useful – stocking up at the airport. Upon arrival at Keflavík airport, you’ll see a large duty and tax free shop which stocks a decent range of Icelandic beer in six packs. There are two good reasons to load up here – firstly, the prices are good and worked out to about £2.50 per bottle on our purchases, and secondly, buying beer in the city is not as simple as you’d expect. One of the conditions of Iceland’s uneasy relationship with beer is that normal shops can still only sell low-alcohol beers, and anything stronger must be purchased in the stated owned Vínbúdin stores. There are a couple of these in Reykjavik including one on the main shopping street, but I never once saw it open. So if you’re planning to take beers home or buy something to drink in your hotel, the airport is your best bet. There are duty free shops on the departures side that sell beer, too.

Our purchases here served as our introduction to Borg Brugghús, based in Reykjavik and common in bars and restaurants. Borg is actually a smaller enterprise within the large Ölgerðin brewery which makes Iceland’s mass-produced lager, Gull. This kind of arrangement rarely pays off in the UK but seems to be working beautifully in Borg’s case — they produce a huge range of varied, bold and ambitious beers. In bottled form we sampled Leifur, a saison brewed with arctic thyme and heather. It has a very earthy aroma and a moderately funky note in the flavour. The herbal and floral notes add some depth to the typical peppery saison characteristics, and the brisk carbonation is palate-cleansing and refreshing. Snorri, a witbier, also has artic thyme in it, which adds a delicious and satisfying depth to what can be an insipid style.

We arrived at the hotel just in time for happy hour at Uppsalir, the smart little adjacent bar. Luckily, happy hours are common in Reykjavik —  whilst I'm used to paying higher prices in craft beer bars and the prices in Iceland never made me jump out of my skin, it's certainly not cheap — and most of the craft-focused bars have them. The deal here was particularly good with two-for-one offers on draft beer, including a rotating pump dedicated to Borg. Garún, a wonderful imperial stout, was pouring on our visit — hugely rich and decadent, it was bursting with brown sugar, milk chocolate, caramel and vanilla, but also had enough of an austere booziness and a gentle acrid bitterness in the finish to balance it out. With dinner, I had Úlfur, a solid IPA with a floral hop character that reminded me of Thornbridge’s Jaipur, albeit with more of a caramel malt foundation.

Later, we headed to Kaldi, a buzzing bar operated by Bruggsmiðjan, the first microbrewery to open in Iceland in 2006, and serving only Icelandic beers. I had a few tasters of the brewery’s beers but none really appealed, so I ticked off yet another Borg offering with Úlfur Úlfur, their double IPA.  This was fantastic — although ostensibly a souped-up version of Úlfur, it was much paler, which allowed the hops to lead with deeply dank and resinous notes and lots of sticky orange.

The next evening, we decided to check out Mikkeller and Friends. I like to stick to local beer when I’m travelling, but I was intrigued to visit a Mikkeller bar, and the availability of exclusive ‘house’ beers twisted my arm. Of these, I had Hverfisgata Brown, a very smooth and clean brown ale with citrus and sherbet notes alongside fresh peach and apricots. The rest of the extensive selection was largely dominated by To Øl, with more Mikkeller and a couple of Warpigs beers available, too. The bar itself was a bit too achingly hip to enjoy and felt a bit sterile and stuck-up; we only stuck around for one, although our round was free due to a problem with the card payment system!

I much preferred the atmosphere at Micro Bar. Originally, the bar was situated in the Center Hotel, but has now moved to a larger, cosy basement space just across the street. All of the taps are dedicated to Icelandic beer, including a handful from the Gæðingur brewery that run the place. I opted for a tasting flight which included several of these. Hveiti is sold simply as ‘wheat beer’ and tasted more like a Belgian wit than a German weizen, with a tangy citrus finish that tasted like juicy orange flesh. Sadly, the Pale Ale that followed was ropey stuff, with a dirty, yeasty flavour that wiped out any suggestion of hops. Strange, then, that Tumi Humall, their IPA was so good, and so clean — dank pine followed by sticky mandarin and mango. After skipping the Bruggsmiðjan beers at Kaldi, I sampled their Black IPA here and, although not as hoppy as I’d expected, I really enjoyed it. It had the appropriate focus on smooth, chocolatey depth of malt flavour over aggressive roast, with a peachy hop character in the finish.

The final beer on the board was OMG Súkkulaði Porter from Ölvisholt Brugghús, based in the countryside about 45 miles outside Reykjavik. This was a slightly sweet and very rich and creamy porter, with a slight nutty quality that makes me think it may be made with oats. I came across Ölvisholt again the next day when we took a day-trip to the amazing Sólheimajökull glacier. On the way back we stopped for dinner at Hotel Anna, a lovely restaurant and hotel on a farm in the middle of nowhere. In need of sustenance and warmth after a long day of fresh air and exercise, I had some delicious vegetable soup and a bottle of Lava, Ölvisholt’s smoked imperial stout. I didn’t get a huge amount of smoke from this, and what there was seemed to fade fast as my palate adjusted. Luckily, the stout itself is fantastic – rich, warming, gently roasty and ever-so-slightly acidic, especially recalling red wine in its dry, tannic and tangy finish.

Our final destination before leaving Reykjavik was Skúli, a warm and welcoming bar in the centre of town. This was directly opposite our hotel on a courtyard, though there are no really obvious signs — I didn’t realise it was there until I looked it up on Google maps and found it was 100ft away from where I stood. Micro Bar is just down the street, and Kaldi and Mikkeller are both less than 10 minutes away — Reykjavik is very compact. Five of the taps are dedicated to Icelandic beer, mostly from Borg, with others pouring beers from the likes of Mikkeller, Founders, Stone Berlin and To Øl. To close the trip, I drank Tilraunalögun, Borg’s artic berry saison, which was an absolute treat, deftly balanced between sharp and sweet, recalling Rodenbach’s sensational Caractére Rouge.

Even this isn’t the complete picture — I didn’t have time to visit Bryggjan Brugghús, a brewpub situated near Reykjavik’s marina. That such a tiny city has so much to offer beer-wise is pretty amazing, really, and though it may be hot springs, geysers and glaciers that send you Iceland, looking forward to some great beer in the evening makes any holiday better. Skál!