First off, an apology. This blog entry has been long overdue, but hey, it's the holidays.
Holidays for a true BeerGeek mean just more work, and more opportunities to score some new and exciting brews.
I'd been told the craft revolution is really happening on the Iberic Peninsula, so with anticipation soaring, we set out, diagonally across France (where, it saddens me to say, the revolution is still so deep underground it may only be experienced if one applies a shovel) into Iberia proper.
Pretty much like most European contries, the zythological topography of Spain is dominated by a couple of national/local superbrands (Damm and San Miguel) and the usual noxious international megabrews you'll find the world over (Heineken, Amstel and the ubiquitous AB/InBev). I steered clear of the latter but a word on the former: Spanish megabrew is mostly okay, in an easy, inoffensive "it's hot and a need a really cold drink" kinda way. Most of the Spanish megabreweries have at least one decent lager on offer, which is what you'll be ordering if you ask for a canya.
While it'd be easy to mistake these Spanish cervezas for pilsners, they are in fact not. Most of them, if not all, have a bit of rice in the malt mix, sometimes a bit of corn. The corn varieties are the least savoury, reminding me of generic American lagers. The rice varieties are ok, really. In the hot summer sun, they get the job done and any beer that makes you want another as soon as you see the bottom of the glass is fine by me. Unassuming, smiley-faced quenchers.
First stop, then, to test the waters: the local supermarket. Expect those same cervezas you just had at the bar, canned or bottled (go for cans if possible; the Spanish sun does not treat beer in transparent bottles kindly). And lo and behold: a whole section of "specialty" beers. Most of them from the same handful of megabreweries, but five years ago, supermarkets simply didn't stock them.
Here's a handful of the ones I sampled.
Voll Damm (Doble Malta)
Of all the Spanish commercial breweries, Damm is the one least likely to let me down. Their Estrella is the archetypal Spanish cerveza, and this double malted hybrid between a spécial Belge and a märzen is quite okay. It's nothing special, mind, but sometimes, that's all you're likely to get. Don't expect big bold flavours here, nor even anything subtle like you'd expect in a well-poured Bolleke. I don't really see the point of drinking a 7.2%ABV beer in this weather if you're only getting a relatively thin-bodied, lightly malted brew, but given the rest of the commercial range of beers, this is a welcome change of style.
Bock Damm (Negra Munich)
San Miguel 1516
Here's a "true" pilsner, which apparently won gold in the World Beer Awards in 2012. Now I'm no beer judge, and pilsners are a dime a dozen anyway, but this one was, again, merely okay. Sometimes, that's all a beer needs to be, but it makes me wonder about the contenders who didn't go home with a trophy in 2012.
Onwards then! Things sort of lose focus once you see fancy bottles with gold writing on the labels, but a true scientist never shirks his duty.
San Miguel Selecta XV
This is where things get dodgy. What we have here is something which we call a specialty beer. Irony being what it is, this term covers a wide spectrum of beer, many of which are anything but special. This Selecta epitomises the current state of afairs where Spanish commercial brewing is concerned. It's just trying too damn hard to be something it is not: special. Too much alcohol in a watery brew. A whiff of hops but utterly devoid of direction and focus. A slightly unpleasant bitterness which hints of chemicals. Drink it ice-cold and it's barely enjoyable. Drink it slightly too warm (i.e. five minutes after pouring it straight from the fridge) and it becomes unpleasant enough to give up on it. A bottle covered with pretentious descriptions tops it off: this is a Spanish mutt, crawling with the lice of Belgium's Specialty Beer tradition (*).
*) A bit of off-tangent ranting on "Belgian Specialty Beers": do not mistake the word "specialty" with "special". Belgium has idly been wallowing on its laurel-scented bed called "Beer Country of the World". While it's true that Belgium hosts a staggering number of brewers and beers, what's truly staggering is how few of them are truly special, despite being promoted as "specialty beer". In fact, any beer proclaimed to be "special" tends to be conformistically uniform and devoid of identity. Self-proclaimed specialty beers are seldom special at all, but this is true in any country, not just Belgium.
Cruzcampo Gran Reserva
The only thing missing here is specks of gold leaf floating in the bottle, Anthony Martin style. Strong lager generally means "something boozy pretending to be beer". Fortunately, this one never even comes close to the vileness you'll find in Gordon's Finest Platinum or other beers of its ilk. Nevertheless, just like the San Miguel Selecta, it suffers badly from SpecialtyBeer-itis: it's just full of pretense, trying too painfully hard to be the next best thing since canned laughter, and failing equally painfully. Not sure what the Gran Reserva's supposed to mean, since this one probably wouldn't survive a single year in the best of cellars.
Ambar Export
Another fine example of the principle "gold label = prentetious overcompensation", Ambar Export is a overly sweet, overly strong amber beer, flaunting various "special this" and "exquisite that", and blending it all into an overall experience of mildly annoyed meh. Another beer with no purpose, no focus (or rather, the wrong focus on the wrong things) and no appeal. The only thing which sets this one apart from the Gran Reservas and the Selectas of the world is that it's not a turbo-lager, if that's any consolation.
None of this inspires me to loud whoops of approval regarding the state of Spain's beer culture, but to be fair, it's not hard to walk out of a supermarket in any country (including my own) with a dozen inferior brews in one's hand. We're talking commercial beers here, and despite the megabreweries' efforts to polish off the patina of Greatest-Mean-Denominator blandness (by means of lots of gold labels), commercial brews in Spain simply don't stand out.
But hark!
Cervaza artisanal is booming in Spain, and nowhere more so than in Catalunya. Stay tuned for a specialty (ah ah ah) report on Iberian craft brewing later on. I promise it won't be as long in the making as this one.
Until this,
Greetz
Jo
Holidays for a true BeerGeek mean just more work, and more opportunities to score some new and exciting brews.
I'd been told the craft revolution is really happening on the Iberic Peninsula, so with anticipation soaring, we set out, diagonally across France (where, it saddens me to say, the revolution is still so deep underground it may only be experienced if one applies a shovel) into Iberia proper.
 |
| Catalunya to be more precise. |
 |
| That beer-shaped thing in the foreground. |
While it'd be easy to mistake these Spanish cervezas for pilsners, they are in fact not. Most of them, if not all, have a bit of rice in the malt mix, sometimes a bit of corn. The corn varieties are the least savoury, reminding me of generic American lagers. The rice varieties are ok, really. In the hot summer sun, they get the job done and any beer that makes you want another as soon as you see the bottom of the glass is fine by me. Unassuming, smiley-faced quenchers.
First stop, then, to test the waters: the local supermarket. Expect those same cervezas you just had at the bar, canned or bottled (go for cans if possible; the Spanish sun does not treat beer in transparent bottles kindly). And lo and behold: a whole section of "specialty" beers. Most of them from the same handful of megabreweries, but five years ago, supermarkets simply didn't stock them.
Here's a handful of the ones I sampled.
Voll Damm (Doble Malta)
Märzen in July. In Spain. Makes total sense to me.
Bock Damm (Negra Munich)
"Black". Ish.
Notice a trend? Most of what we're seeing here is German in style if not in function. Some of the cans even had a bit of Reinheitsgebot blather on them. Nothing wrong with that, but it's saying something about Spain's lack of zythological identity. Here we have a beer which can't decide whether it's a darkish dunkelbock or a lightish schwartzbier. Like the Voll, the Bock is okay, if lacking in ballsy gutsiness. Nothing inherently wrong with it, except perhaps an utter lack of, well, espiritu catalàn.San Miguel 1516
Now in an fancier bottle!
Here's a "true" pilsner, which apparently won gold in the World Beer Awards in 2012. Now I'm no beer judge, and pilsners are a dime a dozen anyway, but this one was, again, merely okay. Sometimes, that's all a beer needs to be, but it makes me wonder about the contenders who didn't go home with a trophy in 2012.
Onwards then! Things sort of lose focus once you see fancy bottles with gold writing on the labels, but a true scientist never shirks his duty.
San Miguel Selecta XV
Not my pic. Señores in the background unknown by me.
*) A bit of off-tangent ranting on "Belgian Specialty Beers": do not mistake the word "specialty" with "special". Belgium has idly been wallowing on its laurel-scented bed called "Beer Country of the World". While it's true that Belgium hosts a staggering number of brewers and beers, what's truly staggering is how few of them are truly special, despite being promoted as "specialty beer". In fact, any beer proclaimed to be "special" tends to be conformistically uniform and devoid of identity. Self-proclaimed specialty beers are seldom special at all, but this is true in any country, not just Belgium.
Cruzcampo Gran Reserva
Note to Self: inquire about World Beer Awards and its judges
The only thing missing here is specks of gold leaf floating in the bottle, Anthony Martin style. Strong lager generally means "something boozy pretending to be beer". Fortunately, this one never even comes close to the vileness you'll find in Gordon's Finest Platinum or other beers of its ilk. Nevertheless, just like the San Miguel Selecta, it suffers badly from SpecialtyBeer-itis: it's just full of pretense, trying too painfully hard to be the next best thing since canned laughter, and failing equally painfully. Not sure what the Gran Reserva's supposed to mean, since this one probably wouldn't survive a single year in the best of cellars.
Oh wait, it would.
Because no one would be drinking it.
Because no one would be drinking it.
Ambar Export
 |
| More gold on label |
Another fine example of the principle "gold label = prentetious overcompensation", Ambar Export is a overly sweet, overly strong amber beer, flaunting various "special this" and "exquisite that", and blending it all into an overall experience of mildly annoyed meh. Another beer with no purpose, no focus (or rather, the wrong focus on the wrong things) and no appeal. The only thing which sets this one apart from the Gran Reservas and the Selectas of the world is that it's not a turbo-lager, if that's any consolation.
None of this inspires me to loud whoops of approval regarding the state of Spain's beer culture, but to be fair, it's not hard to walk out of a supermarket in any country (including my own) with a dozen inferior brews in one's hand. We're talking commercial beers here, and despite the megabreweries' efforts to polish off the patina of Greatest-Mean-Denominator blandness (by means of lots of gold labels), commercial brews in Spain simply don't stand out.
But hark!
Cervaza artisanal is booming in Spain, and nowhere more so than in Catalunya. Stay tuned for a specialty (ah ah ah) report on Iberian craft brewing later on. I promise it won't be as long in the making as this one.
Until this,
Greetz
Jo
