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.