On tour with The Soft Walls - pt. 2

A couple of days later, we’re back on our way again, and our next gig is in Munich. The free beer from the venue is Giesinger’s Untergiesinger Erhellung, a lively, hoppy kellerbier. Bands are normally supplied with your average cooking lager in these circumstances – this is perfectly understandable and only a true ingrate would complain, but it is a real treat to be offered such a decent beer on this occasion. And once those are finished, a crate of Augustiner Helles is brought out for us - this is amazing in itself, but I need to get closer to the source. This beer holds massive sentimental value for me, as it’s a favourite of my girlfriend, Sidony, one I buy for her on every special occasion. Unfortunately she can’t be with me, but I still feel duty-bound to make a trip across the city and sink one in their beer hall, Augustiner am Platzl, located amongst branches of McDonald's and Foot Locker in Munich's pedestrianised shopping district. The journey is uncertain – I keep taking wrong turns, the blue dot representing me on my phone’s map feature darting and diving all over the city. To make matters worse, my battery is almost dead, and even if I find this hall, I'm not sure how I’ll get back. I have to question whether it’s worth it on a couple of occasions. But, of course, it is. I make it, sweating and dishevelled, and order a litre of helles. I can barely begin to assess its deliciousness before a trio of rowdy young Bavarians beckon me over to their table. My initial instinct is, shamefully, completely antisocial - I try with all my might to communicate that I'm happy by myself, waving my arms to signify ‘no’ and pointing to myself and then to the glass, as if to say “this is just between me and the beer.” They’re having none of it, though, so I head over, trying and failing to make them understand why a lone Englishman would walk halfway across Munich in the rain to drink alone. I have to admit that it’s more fun than sitting by myself, and a great experience I’d never have had if it weren't for the quest for good beer. My glass drained, I try to make my excuses and leave, which my new friends are less than happy about – “but you cannot walk on one leg!” one of them repeatedly tells me, meaning, I think, that one beer must always be followed by a second. I politely tell him I’ll be walking to Cologne if I don’t leave soon, and dart back to the venue, where we polish off a few more bottles before retiring to our youth hostel for glasses of Tegernseer and games of pool.

The next day is no fun at all. I'm hungover and exhausted, and on our way to Cologne, we hit a truly epic traffic jam which puts our journey time at about nine hours. By the time we arrive, I'm a shell of a man, in no physical or mental condition to traipse across the city in search of the Päffgen brewery tavern as I had planned to. I'm gutted – Cologne was my most anticipated beer location – but I do at least manage to choke down a glass of Sion kölsch at the venue. I figure it’s not one of the most highly regarded Cologne breweries (not one I’ve ever heard mentioned back home, for example) but it will at least be fresh and I should try something while I’m here. And it’s good – dry and very, very bitter, far beyond any regular lager, and it only increases my determination to come back and do kölsch properly someday soon.

Nothing spectacular happens, beer-wise, in Paris, though our show there is very enjoyable. The final date is in Brussels and, whilst I had been excited about searching out the very finest of Belgian beers, once we arrive I sort of lose my determination. Instead, I spend our free time hanging out, enjoying the final day of the trip in a more relaxed fashion. Besides, whilst the most visible breweries here are not necessarily the most distinguished, good beer really is everywhere – the convenience stores all sport impressive bottle displays in their windows, and I pop in and out of a few of them stocking up on some favourites to take home before enjoying a glass of delicious Orval in a café, then finding the venue for tonight’s show. When we get there, Ernst, Viet Cong’s tour manager, tips me off to a nearby shop where I can buy Westvleteren beers. I head over there and, sure enough, I find a palette full of Westvleteren 12, one of the rarest and most widely acclaimed beers in the world. It’s €13 a bottle, and I'm a little torn as to whether I should buy one – it’s expensive, but if it really is as good as everyone says, it’s likely to be worth it. It’s also something of a black market product – the monks who brew the beer don’t want it sold on in this fashion. But, as much as I’d like to, I'm unlikely to ever make the trip to the abbey to drink it ‘officially’, and so I decide to act now lest I never have another chance. After the show, we head to a strange, higgledy-piggledy café (the name of which escapes me) with slanted, claustrophobic ceilings and a ton of crazy crap on the walls, and see off the tour with glasses of Chimay blue. My final beer of the trip is a Duvel, drunk straight from the bottle, in a cramped, crowded drag bar, and it's a perfect end to the trip.

The whole tour was an amazing experience, and I’m so grateful to Dan, Viet Cong and everyone else that made it happen and came to see us play. And I’m glad I made the effort to seek out at least some of the local beer experiences in the places we visited. Now, to make a start on the stash I brought home with me. I'm particularly looking forward to reuniting with Pelforth Brun - maybe not everyone's idea of a classic beer, but it was one of the first I ever enjoyed that wasn't a light lager, and I'll always be pleased to see it whenever I visit France. I also picked up an imperial stout (though further research would suggest it's more of a baltic porter) from Carlsberg, which I never would have thought existed, as well as a couple of 2015's Duvel Tripel Hop, which I can't wait to try. 

On tour with The Soft Walls - pt.1

For the past couple of years, I've been playing guitar in the live incarnation of my good pal Dan Reeves’ home recording project, The Soft Walls. In May, we were lucky enough to embark on an 8-show European tour supporting the excellent Viet Cong from Canada. As if this prospect wasn't exciting enough, my heart skipped a beat when the list of dates came through, as the tour took us through some of Europe’s most exciting beer locations, too. And whilst beer wasn't the purpose of the trip, I would surely have a bit of free time for a whistle-stop tour of the local brews between shows. What follows is a run-down of what I drank during the trip.

Tap list at Hoppy Days, Amsterdam. Just visible is the cat I befriended as I drank.

We begin the tour feeling a little haggard after a night on the Murphy’s Irish Red on the overnight ferry between Harwich and the Hook of Holland. Arriving in Amsterdam and driving around searching for the venue, we pass a branch of the Gollem beer café as well as an intriguing brewpub with fermentation tanks in the window. After breakfast and a stroll around the city, neither location can be found in a midst of issues with maps and depleted iPhone batteries. Instead, we settle down for a couple of glasses of La Chouffe at a local café, and I enjoy a glass of Zatte, a tripel from Amsterdam’s Brouwerij 't IJ, in a pleasant canal-side bar. This a beautiful beer, up there with Westmalle as far as I'm concerned. The venue hosting tonight’s show is next store to an Italian restaurant slash craft beer bar called Hoppy Days, so I head over there to wind down after our set. Many of their beers are Italian, though a few are Dutch, and the barman couldn't be more helpful in guiding me to a selection. I choose Heavy White Zen from Pampus, another Amsterdam brewery. It’s a wit beer hopped with Sorachi Ace, with an unusually tart finish which sets it apart from your average wit.

Foreground - Evil Twin Sour Bikini. Background - crazy traditional Danish band at Fairbar, Aarhus.

Hannover is all about bottles of Herrenhauser, the decent local lager, and Franziskaner dunkelweiss. I barely leave the venue, and have fun hanging out and watching Viet Cong play a blinder. The next show is in Aarhus in Denmark, as part of the Pop Revo festival which takes place in several venues across this small and pleasant student town. I didn't have any beery plans here, but there’s some down time after we play, and a quick internet search directs me to Fairbar, a stylish bar serving only Danish beers on tap. The vibe here is a marked contrast to the rowdy, drunken (though very friendly and accomodating) students attending the festival – a band is playing presumably traditional Danish music on acoustic instruments - including what I think is a lute – in period dress, whilst a respectful crowd watch appreciatively. The music might not be my thing, but it is at least an antidote for my ringing ears after our loud set. I opt not to ask the bar staff for advice as I don’t want to talk too much over the band, so plump for a beer I've heard of – Evil Twin’s Sour Bikini. This is the sourest Berliner Weisse I've ever had, dominated by lemon, but husky kiwi and tart raspberries add background, and it’s delicious. After that, I'm craving some juicy hops, so go for LagerManden from Humleland in Risskov, a US-hopped IPL. Perhaps the residual sour sensation from the previous beer distorts the taste, but it’s incredibly sweet at first, all candy floss and baked peaches. But the more I drink, the more zesty grapefruit bitterness I find, and the soft carbonation makes it incredibly, perilously drinkable. I end the night by watching Jad Fair and Norman Blake (of Half Japanese and Teenage Fanclub respectively) play some beautiful love songs together, accompanied by a bottle of the rich and complex Limfjords Porter, brewed by Thisted.

Berlin is our next stop. After our gig, we have a couple of days off here, and the band members are joined by our girlfriends/boyfriends/wives/children, wherever applicable. Amongst countless bottles of Rothaus Pils and Tegernseer Hell, a few of us travel to Wedding, across the city, in search of the Eschenbrau brewpub. I’ve been wanting to visit for a long time, and their pils doesn’t disappoint; it has a full, even creamy body, with a decent bitterness and deep savoury flavour. The aftertaste is husky and bread-like, with just the slightest hint of green vegetables. I love lager, but it very rarely knocks me out the way this one does. The woman serving is complaining that today’s beer is difficult to pour, and this may explain the lack of carbonation in the glass of dunkel that follows – I’d have liked a little more, though I enjoy its blend of caramel wafers, mocha and butterscotch all the same. Finally, the weizen carries the same husky, savoury quality as the pils, but with an aftertaste of tart green apples, and is delicious and very moreish.  There are reportedly countless amazing beer locations all across the city, but I’d highly recommend Eschenbrau for solid examples of classic German styles in a charming location. I’ll certainly be back some day.

To be continued...

Smog Rocket baked beans

Though I reserve a special kind of disgust for the luminous-orange tinned monstrosity that is commonly sold under the name ‘baked beans’, the rich, tangy, home-made, cowboy-style version of the dish is one of my favourite things to eat. Piled on top of some thick toast with some strong cheddar grated on top, these beans are a perfect winter warmer. Stir in some smoked paprika and cumin and they make a great filling for a Tex Mex-style burrito, too. And whilst the worst of winter might be behind us now, as the weather warms up, I'm still craving those beans. In the US, Boston beans are often served as a side dish to BBQ food; there’s a similar depth of flavour and sweet and sour tang. As the smell of smoke in the air begins to signify summer barbecues rather than winter bonfires, I find myself thinking up ways to replicate the smokiness from the open fire in the dish. The answer is, obviously, beer.

Mark Dredge has made a version of this dish using Schlenkerla Marzen, which looks great.  Whilst acknowledging his idea, I want to use my own recipe for the beans, which is based on various different versions I've tweaked and compiled over the years. When it comes to the beer, I want something dark and rich, smoked but subtle with it. A porter should work with the treacle in the dish, so I'm opting for Beavertown’s Smog Rocket. This beer was originally conceived as a match for BBQ ribs, so it should be especially appropriate. Mark notes that even with a full on rauchbier, he didn't end up tasting much smoke in his beans, so I'm going to use smoked garlic in place of regular garlic, and season with smoked salt, too. I'm reducing the amount of treacle in the recipe, as the beer should add a similar depth of flavour, and whereas I’d normally add some vegetable stock, I'm getting rid of it here to account for the beer.

How does it taste? Beautiful. The smoke is there, just a hint in the background, and would complement barbecued food perfectly – I’ll be making this as a side dish for my back garden BBQs this summer – but the beer’s principal value here is adding richness and deep, moreish flavour.

Ingredients

• 2 cans of borlotti beans, drained (the classic tinned version of baked beans are haricot, but you could use almost any variety. I particularly like borlotti beans and most recipes suggest them)
• 1 tsp smoked garlic powder (you can used fresh smoked garlic, but I've found the powder to be more pungently smoky. I buy it in a resealable packet from the specialist ingredient section of Sainsbury’s)
• 1 onion, chopped
• 150ml Beavertown Smog Rocket smoked porter
• 200ml passata
• 1 tsp black treacle/molasses
• 2 tbsp tomato puree
• 1 tbsp soft dark brown sugar
• 1 tbsp Dijon mustard
• 1 tbsp red wine vinegar

1. Preheat the oven to about 160°.

      2. Find a pan which has a lid and is suitable for both the stovetop and the oven – a cast-iron casserole or similar is ideal. Fry the onion until soft and golden, then add the garlic powder and fry off for another minute or so.

      3. Keep the beans to one side, and combine all of the other ingredients in the pan to make a sauce. Once combined, add the beans and bring to a boil.

      4.  Once the dish has come to the boil, turn off the hob, place the lid on the pan and put it into the oven. Bake for about 90 minutes, stirring every now and again. Be sure to scrape the stodgy, caramelised, crusty bits from the edge of the pan and stir them back into the sauce, as they’re full of flavour.

      5.  After 90 minutes, remove the lid and check the consistency. By now it should have thickened, with little excess liquid floating to the top. Once you reach this point, remove the lid and return the pan to the oven to reduce further. It may not sound appetising, but this dish tastes best when it’s gloopy, so put it back, uncovered, in the oven until it is a shade of reddish brown, thick and looking almost crusty on the surface. Remove from the heat and stir before serving.

Priory-Ale-braised-sausages

Beer-braised sausages is one of the most straight forward and obvious ways to incorporate beer into cooking. Google it and you’ll find pages and pages of results; even Stella Artois appear to have a recipe for it (although the link doesn't appear to work in the UK. Probably no big loss; fizzy macro beer may be snidely referred to as ‘cooking lager’, but actually following through with that idea seems kind of nuts). I've been wanting to make a version since having a sausage dish cooked in cider. I wanted to make a similar meal at home, but didn't want to be stuck with the remaining half bottle; I don’t like cider, and it would most likely end up down the sink. And as my mind turned to beer alternatives, I remembered Harvey’s Priory Ale, a beer that has seemed to be screaming out for an accompanying banger every time I've tasted it.

Priory Ale is an interpretation of the kind of beers that might have been produced at a brewery at the Priory of St. Pancras in the Sussex town of Lewes in 1264. It uses only ingredients that would have been available to these brewers; these include hops, but also yarrow, rosemary and thyme, with a grain bill mixing barley, oats and wheat. I first picked up a bottle from Harvey's brewery shop on a whim, simply because I’d never seen it before. I expected little more than a dusty historical curiosity, but was caught out by how unusual this beer is; amongst other things, I taste shandy, Parma Violets and menthol eucalyptus in it, but in this dish, the odder flavours fade into the background and the herbal and citrus notes shine through, working perfectly with the sausages.

My base recipe is this one from the Waitrose website, though I've made several tweaks beyond my selected beer. Perhaps most significantly, I used vegetarian sausages, as I don’t eat meat. I say this knowing full well that Harvey’s beers, amongst countless others, are filtered with isinglass, and therefore not strictly vegetarian. I am personally happy to look past this tiny trace of animal produce in my beer and don’t consider this a contradiction – and in any case, this recipe isn't set in stone, and can be easily produced with a fully vegetarian-friendly beer, or with genuine pork sausages in place of the soya substitute. Whilst I do think the particular beer I used leant a certain richness to the dish, I think just about any ale with a decent depth of flavour will have something to offer.

I made another couple of minor changes – I swapped onions for leeks, for example, because I don't want too much sticky sweetness, and omitted wholegrain mustard from the beer and sausage broth. Instead, I stirred a teaspoon of it through the mashed potatoes than accompanied the dish but, if I were to serve it without mash, I’d include it as per the original Waitrose recipe. Another tweak I made, which might seem a little odd, is the inclusion of a splash of soy sauce. I always do this with veggie gravies, as it adds richness and a little seasoning but the soy sauce flavour per se is not detectable. Apart from anything else, it transformed this dish’s slightly anaemic translucent golden brown colour to something much more befitting a sausage casserole. This step may not be necessary if you're cooking with meat.

This is great comfort food, best consumed on the sofa in front of the TV. My one regret is that I didn't have the foresight to procure a beer to accompany the meal; as I ate, I wished I had a bottle of Fuller’s London Porter on the side.

Harvey’s Priory Ale-braised sausages

Recipe serves a greedy lone diner, but quantities are easily multiplied

Ingredients

3 sausages (vegetarian or otherwise)

1 ½ trimmed leeks, sliced

1 tbsp plain white flour

225ml Harvey’s Battle of Lewes Priory Ale

150ml vegetable stock

Splash of dark soy sauce

1. Heat oil in a frying pan or casserole with a lid, and cook the sausages slightly short of  manufacturer’s instructions, until cooked through but only just golden brown. Remove from the pan and set aside

2. Add the leaks to the pan and cook for 5 or 6 minutes until softened. Add the flour and fry off for a brief minute, then add the beer and bring to a simmer. Add the stock and soy sauce, then return the sausages to the pan and place a lid on for around 15 minutes. Taste a few times, adjusting the seasoning as necessary.

3. Remove the lid and cook for around 5 more minutes, until the liquid has thickened and acquired a rich, sticky texture. Goes very well with a creamy mustard mash.

Thornbridge vs. Schlenkerla: Battle of the Bocks

I’ve often thought that one of the Thornbridge brewery’s strongest suits is their respectful approach to beer styles, along with an interest in slightly more esoteric or niche styles less often attempted by other UK brewers. A copy of Michael Jackson’s Beer Companion and access to Thornbridge beers can teach a novice beer drinker an awful lot – I know, because I learnt a lot this way myself. Craft Beer Co. in Brighton seems to have at least two of their brews on at any one time and so as I read about, for example, kolsch beer, I was able to sample Tzara – surely the next best thing to a visit to Cologne, and way more satisfying than any imported bottle. Similarly, my first taste of Bière de Garde orginated not in Nord-Pas-de-Calais, but in the Peak District. When my dad returned from a trip to France with a couple of bottles of Dyuck Jenlain Ambrée, I was amazed at how true to style the Thornbridge example, still fresh in my mind, had been.

Considering this, I recently realised I had a bottle of both Thornbridge’s Bamberg and Schnlenkerla’s Urbock in my cupboard. This, I thought, could offer an opportunity to see just how well Thornbridge’s beers hold up in comparison to the classics of their style. And so, I decided to taste the two beers side-by-side. Now, I want to make it clear from the get-go that this is purely a bit of fun. There are many reasons why a comparison of this kind isn’t totally fair, not least the fact that strong smoked beer is kind of a palate scorcher. But the beers are both smoked bocks, with similar ABVs (6.5% for Schlenkerla, 6% for Thornbridge), and Thornbridge are acknowledging the influence of (if not inviting comparison to) Schlenkerla by naming their version after the city that famously houses that brewery. Still, the following is not intended to be anything other than a light-hearted experiment; apart from anything else, the tasting itself was really fun to do.

To help me with this venture, I enlisted the help of my other half, Sidony, who took me to Bamberg earlier in the year and became a Schlenkerla devotee in the process. We began by pouring each bottle into two glasses, after which I attempted a blind taste-test by closing my eyes and asking Sidony to hand me a glass without telling me which of the beers it contained. An unscientific element came into play immediately, however; whilst pouring, the aroma of the Thornbridge beer hit me very strongly. After smelling the two glasses, I predicted the one with the most intense, ham-like aroma was Thornbridge, but my guess was based on this prior information rather than a true blind test. The glass with the more powerful aroma unsurprisingly tasted stronger and smokier, too, and this glass actually turned out to be Schlenkerla.

Schlenkerla’s Urbock is, in every sense, a bigger version of their classic marzen. The meaty smokiness is just as strong, but more nuanced – flavours I haven’t detected in the marzen are apparent here, such as tobacco, oak, liquorice and certain herbal notes, and once the smoke subsides, there’s a poke of citrus sharpness. The elevated ABV is evident and, together with a fuller body and pleasantly oily mouthfeel, this slips down easily and leaves a warmth in the chest. Sidony uses an analogy rarely called upon in the beer world – make-up. There are many types of primer (something that is applied pre make up application). Some are gels & creams that often hit the skin and dry down almost immediately, making whatever comes after it apply roughly, whilst others have a more silicone feeling to them, which lets anything come after it glide on. Drinking the beer is a similarly seamless sensation; it's smooth and silky, slippery, easy drinking.

In comparison, Thornbridge’s Bamberg seems a little puny. To again acknowledge the flaw in this test, it is a little mean to taste this after such an intense beer as the Schlenkerla bock. I rinsed my mouth out with plenty of water in order to best compare them, but my palate was undoubtedly affected by the previous beer’s smoke. The smokiness is far milder here, but Bamberg also seems to me like a much cleaner (if stronger than average) lager than your typical rich, warming bock. The body is noticeably thinner, with more carbonation, and the colour resembles a Vienna lager, far lighter than Schlenkerla’s dark copper. Sidony doesn’t like it at all – for her, it neither warms nor refreshes and it’s neither a summer nor a winter beer. I’m much keener; admittedly, after Schlenkerla, it barely tastes like a smoked beer anymore, but then I think I’d enjoy an unsmoked version just as much, because for me it’s a robust but crisp lager. I’d prefer a slightly lower alcohol content, though, because I don’t feel the boosted ABV brings anything to the beer; the body is no fuller than your average lager, and you don’t get that tingling booze warmth.

As I said at the beginning, this was purely intended as a fun little experiment, and there’s no slight on Thornbridge intended – they remain one of the UK breweries I most admire, and to say that any brewery makes a smoked beer that doesn’t quite measure up to Schlenkerla is truly no insult. Apart from anything else, I really enjoyed Bamberg in its own right, and fully intend on trying it again on its own to appreciate it properly.

Spanish beer haul pt.2; Lupulópolis

The following beers were purchased at Lupulópolis in Seville.

Espiga Elixir Vitae Black IPA (Barcelona)

A very lively pour from this bottle, with deep black beer foaming insistently into the glass and settling into a thick, lasting beige head. The aroma is richly savoury, an intense nose full of toasted malt, and the first sip is satisfyingly full bodied with a beautiful viscous mouthfeel. The trio of US hops (Amarillo, Simcoe and Cascade) bring bitterness, but not a huge amount of juicy fruit flavour, which is fine by me as they never threaten to step on that malt backbone. There’s a slight tonic-like tang in the finish, which only encourages you to go back for more, and the beer’s 8.5% ABV reveals itself in a lasting boozy warmth. It’s subtle for a black IPA, but it’s a well-made beer all the same.

Kettal El Yunque Porter (Los Barrios)

A mid-strength porter although, amusingly, it says 4.8% on the front label and 5.6% on the back. The aroma is weak, with a hint of the tart, malt vinegar tang I associate with Harvey’s beers, and which is never inviting even if the beer is good once you taste it. Yunque has some very unusual flavours going on; I don’t get the usual treacle or coffee, with the roasted malt flavour taking a bit of a back seat whilst hazelnuts and big vanilla dominate. It tastes good, but I’ve never had a porter quite like it, and it’s not really what I’m looking for from the style.

Cárdenas Stout (Dos Hermanas)

This is the most local of all the bottled beers I picked up in Seville, brewed in Dos Hermanas just 15km outside the city. It’s an inauspicious start, as unfortunately there’s a lot of floating sediment in the glass, though the bottle has remained upright and I poured slowly. Even worse, the aroma is positively pungent, and not in a pleasant way. I don’t mean to be harsh, but it really does smell like a well-used chemical toilet, with a note of toothpaste in the background. I almost don’t want to taste it, though it’s not terrible when I do – just very, very strange. The roasted malt flavours are in the background, and the most prominent flavour is mint. As with the Kettal porter, it’s not that it tastes awful, it just isn’t anything like a stout should be. Compared to some of the other Spanish beers I’ve tried alongside it, this is, sadly pretty unaccomplished brewing.

Cervezas Guinea Pigs! Hopvana Continuously Hopped IPA (Madrid/Toledo)

I don’t mind admitting that I selected this beer from the fridge based mainly on the wacky label and the fact that I love guinea pigs. Words cannot describe the joy this label brings me; I want a print of it on my wall, I want it on a T-shirt. Anyway,  Guinea Pigs! is based in Madrid, but works as a contract brewer, and Hopvana was brewed at Domus in Toledo. Whilst it’s a broadly American-style IPA, some interesting and creative decisions have been made here; for example, the hop bill mixes German Herkules and Saphir with Australian Summer, with Cascade being the only US hop included. The beer’s unusually dark colour can be attributed to the inclusion of chocolate malt alongside pale ale and crystal. The resulting flavour is both familiar and surprising at the same time; mango and sweet oranges, pink grapefruit and candy floss, balanced by a solid malt profile. I may have chosen it for dubious reasons, but Hopvana was nevertheless a fine choice!

Guineu/BrauKunstKeller Collabrew Double IPA (Barcelona/Michelstadt, Germany)

Guineu is the only Spanish microbrewery I’d heard of before this trip, and this double IPA is a collaboration with BraunKunstKeller, a German craft brewery. Whilst there are obviously exceptions, the thought of double IPAs sometimes makes me wince, because they’re just too much for me; too bitter, too strong, too demanding. This is not the case here, as the juicy fruit flavour is prominent, but without lip-puckering bitterness, and with a solid malt framework, too. The hops are a mixture of European varieties – Mandarina Bavaria and Hull Melon from Germany – in the kettle, and US – Mosaic and Citra – for dry hopping. It’s full of mango, papaya and pineapple, but built on a  foundation of crisp malt which I’d like to imagine is the German influence. It’s excellent.

Domus Super Aurea Double IPA (Toledo)

Not knowing any of the breweries on offer, I had to make my selections in the bottle shop on very limited data. So I figured, go for the beer with the personified cartoon hop on the label, and you can expect something really hoppy, right? Well, kind of. Take a sip and wait for that lupulin hit, and you’ll be disappointed, because the bitterness in this beer is surprisingly low. Nevertheless, it’s very flavoursome and fruity, with lots of juicy papaya and ripe white grapes. It hides its 9% strength very well, with light carbonation and a modest body that demands another gulp. It’s not at all what I expected, and I can imagine some people being really disappointed by it (the handful of reviews it has on Ratebeer are lukewarm at best, for example) but I loved it.

***

It would be arrogant of me to make any broad claims to know Spanish craft beer based on the beers I've tasted in these posts; the generously stacked shelves in Lupulópolis are testament to the fact that I've barely scratched the surface of a rapidly growing scene. This is all the more remarkable when you consider that Spain, as far as I'm aware, doesn't have much of an indigenous beer tradition.The best beers I sampled are good enough to compete with the best beers coming out of the UK and the rest of Europe, and the ones that weren't so good are hopefully examples from brewers still on a learning curve. I'll happily take a light lager in an ice-encrusted glass from time to time, but on future holidays in Spain, it's great to know that proper beer is out there waiting to be discovered.

Spanish beer haul pt.1 ; El Court Inglés

The Spanish department store, El Corte Inglés, stocks a small range of craft beer. The beers featured here are a selection from across the country, and were purchased from the store in the centre of Seville.

Cervesa del Montseny Luplus (Sant Miquel de Balenya, Valencia)

Though brewed with pilsner malt and possessing all of the defining features of a lager, Lupulus is actually top fermented. The motivation is, apparently, a reconnection with the brewing traditions of the Iberians of the Bronze and Neolithic ages. I wouldn’t know much about that, but the beer is surprisingly modern in style, with a flavour profile reminiscent of Camden Pils; clean, crisp and refreshing like a pilsner, but packed with fruity hop flavour. The complex hop bill includes Cascade, Fuggles, Nugget, Styrian Celeia and Target, though the US varieties dominate with juicy mango and mandarin flavours. I’m always partial to beers that combine the refreshment and citrus bite of a pilsner with the moreish complexity of hoppy pale ales, and found this one particularly enjoyable. Accomplished, inventive brewing, and an auspicious start to my exploration of Spanish craft beer.

Cerveza Artesanal de XativaEr Boquerón (Xativa, Valencia)

Though I suspected a gimmick, I couldn’t help but satisfy my curiosity for a beer brewed with sea water. It’s unfiltered and unpasteurised, but even by these standards, the pour is very murky, and the yeast aroma incredibly pungent. I’m expecting it to be undrinkable based on the smell, but it’s a pleasant surprise, full of smooth, subtle yeast flavours reminiscent of wit beer, with notes of pressed apple juice, pineapple and raspberry, and satisfyingly full-bodied. Though you can’t help but search for it, no salt is detectable, though a certain aftertaste does leave you feeling like you’ve recently returned from a walk on the beach. I ended up really enjoying this, despite having bought it principally for the weirdness.

Sagra IPA (Toledo)

Yes, that’s Sagra, not Sagres – there’s no connection to the ubiquitous Portugese lager, despite branding so incredibly similar that I’m not sure how they’re getting away with it. This is the only Spanish IPA on offer on the El Corte Inglés shelves, and I’m immediately sceptical when I get a nose of the beer; it’s dominated by malt, mostly cereals, with no discernible hop aroma. There is a hop presence in the taste, but the overall flavour is cloyingly sweet malt. The bitterness is there in the finish, but the taste of the hops lacks a punch. It’s reminiscent of an English IPA – say, Bengal Lancer – but, although it’s far less robust in flavour, the ABV is 7.2%, which adds nothing but sickly booziness and ruins the beer.

La Cibeles Rubia (Madrid)

A pale ale, which pours a hazy blonde with an appealing rocky white head. The taste is immediately quite underwhelming, if actually quite pleasant in its subtlety and easy drinking. There’s a little toffee with a strong mineral tang and, weirdly, the closest comparison I can make is the non-alcoholic version of Erdinger. The brewery’s website tells me they use Cascade hops here, but very little hop profile is apparent in my bottle. It’s fine, but not full of character.

Antara (Foios/Venta del Moro)

Antara appears to be the creation of a Valencian organic food company, Terra I Xufa, based in Foios, and is brewed at Fernández Ponz in Venta del Moro. It’s by far the best presented beer of the selection, with a minimal white and gold label that reminds me of Wiper and True’s classy branding. This only makes the strange mess of a beer inside the bottle all the more surprising. It pours an unappealing golden brown, like the colour of apple left out too long and oxidised. The aroma is floral, with perfume and strawberries. A chalky mineral flavour leads to an intense and unpleasant bitterness; it’s not a hoppy bitterness, though – it’s more medicinal, like an alka seltzer. Once this fades, the remaining flavour is a little ‘off’ – ‘barnyard’ might be the kindest way to describe it, but it tastes more dirty to me, especially with the smoky finish that’s closer to cigarette ash than it is to rauchbier. This is one to avoid.

Tor Quemada 25 (Palencia)

This beer is billed as a pale ale, and so I was a little alarmed to discover that it was bottled around a year ago, as the hop flavours I’m hoping for will have lost most of their punch in the meantime. Thankfully, this stretch in the bottle seems to have only improved the beer’s character, as, whilst it is technically and ale which is pale, it’s closer to a Belgian golden ale. Though it doesn’t quite reach the same heights, 25’s closest relative is Orval (small complaint as Orval is one of the best beers in the world), though the lactic tang here is sharper. It pours a dirty blonde colour with a big, lively, fluffy head. The aroma is sour apples counteracted by sweet pear drops, and the first sip is full of those tart apples amongst a bold yeast presence. The finish is very dry and moreish, accentuated further by brisk carbonation. It’s absolutely not to style, but it’s a very good beer nevertheless.

Burro de Sancho Roja (Toledo)

The Burro de Sancho range immediately caught my eye, as their labels quite flagrantly rip off Brewdog’s style prior to their recent rebrand. Closer inspection reveals that Burro de Sancho is a subsidiary of the Sagra brewery who, evidently, have previous in their blatant “inspiration” from other breweries’ branding. This is the first filtered beer of the bunch, and pours a clear amber with a quickly receding head. The initial aroma is a quite frightening combination of bitter chocolate and tomato. A little bitter chocolate flavour is apparent, too, along with some toast. There’s a spicy, very savoury quality here, and what little hop flavour is detectable tastes stewed. I find this is not uncommon amongst red ales, but I don’t find it very pleasant, and can’t recommend this beer overall.

The beers I bought from Lupulópolis, a more exciting place to buy beer in Seville, will follow in another post soon.