Beer Geek Night and another Beer Geek Night. Oh and the Ouzo effect!

So much to do, and so little time to do it in...

Apologies, Constant Reader! It turns out I've a couple of undocumented beery incidents on my drive, accumulating cyberdust and feeling a bit forlorn.
What with all the brewing and contemplating beery things all day, I've a bunch of beer related events to cover, two of which are  Beer Geek Nights. So, enough of the apologetic preamble already, onward! For science!

Beer Geek Night #3 was a bit of a pot luck afair, with all attendees adding something to the pile of science to be assessed.
First beer of the evening was Vinken Blond:

Turns out fellow Beer Geek Johan's grandfather used to brew this beer back in (ahem) 1866, and apparently, the village of Geistingen thought it time to resurrect it. A beer with a bit of history and family folklore, I like that. However, much as I'd feared, Vinken Blond is a rather generic and interchangeable Belgian blond, which fails to stand out amidst the hectoliters of comparable blond beers available all over the country. Historic or not, Vinken Blond never makes a mark, and fades into the background of easy, commonplace blond flavours. Nice, don't get me wrong, but most of my sympathy vote is derived from the history behind the beer, rather than the organoleptic experience it evokes.

Next up was Tète Noire by Brass. Desprat:

Go ahead.
Google "Cèpes d'Auvergne" and try to think of a beer with that in it.

A mushroom beer then, and my first in this oh-so-easily (and perhaps deservedly) overlooked substyle. Cèpes are also known as porcini, although the latter tends to refer to the mushrooms when they're preserved in oil, whereas this probably contains the dried variety. Not an easy beer to describe, but when everyone involved takes a sniff, frowningly mutters "Hm. Interesting.", after which a bout of collective sniggering ensues, perhaps descriptions are bound to fall way off the mark. Beer Geek Frank, in an unusual display of leniency, described the smell as "rags which have soaked in something unspeakable, and then left to fester for several weeks behind the compost heap" (or something along those lines). I found the smell to be weird and definitely off-putting, unlike any beer I've ever smelled before (in a rather bad not quite as bad you'd think kinda way). In the mouth, the Tète Noire was thin and watery, mildly sour and disappointingly bland. Like an uninspired attempt at a Flanders Old Brown, with a dash of oddball to spruce it up.

Oh and incidentally: guess what Tète Noire translates to?

Only mildly more revolting than the beer, actually.

Onwards to number three: Pochs Summer Ale

Approved by Anubis

I'll share the details of how I came by this artisanal Catalunyan brewery in a later attempt at travelogue blogging, but for now, suffice to say it's a Spanish ale (du-UH-huh) brewed with Cascade and Willamette hops. Also, now's the time to talk about the Ouzo Effect.

--------------------------------INTERLUDIUM--------------------------------

You've all experienced it. You're on holidays in some faraway place. Let's say, for argument's sake, Greece.

The land that Thatcher forgot

You soaked up some rays, went clubbing in all the wrong places, and had that dinner at the shoreline where they served that drink. What's it called again?

Never figured out how to read the label but it certainly wasn't Petoiva

The next day, just before checking in at Krastinapalodopolis Regional Airport, your hungover head still swimming with delight from this unique discovery of local customs and alcoholic escapades, you purchase a bottle at the tax free shop. Hades, you went all out and bought six of them, determined to sip anise-flavoured booze on your porch till well into next spring.

Now, fifteen years later, check the contents of your bar. Look waaaaay in the back. Recognise that bottle?

That is the Ouzo Effect, and it applies to all things experienced abroad, and relived when no longer proverbially in Rome: the magical veneer of being somewhere else just can't withstand the ham-fisted skepsis of the homestead, and back in wherever-your-true-home-is, the whatever-it-was-you-purchased simply doesn't perform as well as it did in wherever-it-was-you-purchased-it.

Scientific fact, empirically verified but as yet unproved.

--------------------------------INTERLUDIUM ends about here--------------------------------

Poch's Summer Ale was such an eye-opener when I first had it in the shadow of Castellfollit's little church, that the Ouzo Effect had no option but to strike deep and hard: while the hops (hops! in a Spanish beer!) were still there, they were less pronounced and, well, refined, than they were back wherever. The ale yeast (ale yeast! in a Spanish beer!) which flocculated so nicely (flocculation! IN A SPAN...oh hell you get the point already) had accumulated as an ungainly muddy clump in the neck of the bottle. And while the beer was still a drastic step up from the Tète Noire, all assembled agreed that its superiority benefited significantly from the relativistic nature of the experiment: it's pretty hard to fail when you're being paired to a mushroom beer named after a chronically blocked sweat gland. By no means a bad beer, this Summer Ale, but it has a lot (and I mean a LOT) of competition from similar hoppy beers the world over. I've some more stashed away, and perhaps it stands up better on its own. 

Last up on this Pot Luck Beer Geek Night was the 5 Golden Rings by the Bruery

Because pine-apple-pimped christmas beer is best enjoyed
on the hottest day of the year

The Bruery are known for their Big-Assed, Bold-Faced, Brass-Balled brews, and this is perhaps the whackiest beer I've had in a long time. A thickly cloying malt base, heavy and dense like a barley wine deluded into believing it's an imperial stout. Pineapple is definitely present, to such an extent as to be close to overpowering. Spices and a boozy punch to the throat, lingering on and on and on, straight into next Christmas. At 11.5% ABV, this is no quaffing brew either, although the alcohol is remarkably restrained.
Not an easy brew at all, and most of the assembled Beer Geeks didn't actually like it, although I daresay some were intimidated by it. I think it was Beer Geek Frank who said something along the lines of "Innovation implies transgression of the established boundaries", and if there's one adjective which the 5 Golden Rings lives up to, it must be transgressive. If you ever get the chance to pick up a bottle of this, don't hesitate. It's one of those beers that's designed to make a single point:

...or rather "this is still beer"

In all, this was a fun, if somewhat bizarre Beer Geek night. Highlight of the evening was definitely the 5 Golden Rings. While not something I'd drink every (or even any) day, it was by far the most skillfully brewed beer of the lot.


Beer Geek Night #4 then, with a dark and stoutish theme.

Beer Geek Frank brought a bottle of Viking Chili Stout (Hornbeer).

Seriously, Google?

Hornbeer is a Danish brewing company, and going by what little I understand of the Danish language, I gather they brew some pretty creative beers. Their Viking Chili Stout is a spin on a thick imperial stout, infused with chocolate, liquorice, vanilla, chocolate and (du-UH-huh) chili. Pours thick and gloopy, just the way I like it, with a filthy richly chocolatey nose. In the mouth, there's a ton of boozy sweetness, laden with coffee flavours and a weird, mildly upsetting chili-afterburn in the throat. The alcohol combines with the chili (which isn't really noticeable in the flavour) to make this a potent, fiery brew.

A Viking Chili Dog?

Me likes, but my esophagus was getting worried by the time we hit the bottom.

Next up was one I'd been meaning to try ever since I acquired it, and since Beer Geek Bert was offering one of his own bottles, I wasn't going to say no to Tokyo Black Horizon.

Free ad space in the back for the initiated

This collaboration brew is a blend of three pretty drastic brews: Brew Dog's Tokyo*, Mikeller's Black and Nogne O's Dark Horizon, none of which I had first hand experience with when I tasted this blend. I'd been told both the Black and Tokyo* are "too much of a good thing": intensely black and overly potent brews which barely categorise as "still beer".

In this blend, you'll find so much it almost becomes impossible to describe what's going on. There's a prominently malty nose, rich and cozy without becoming decadent. Remarkable abscence of anything normally associated with a beer this black: no roast, no coffee or chocolate, but rather a velvet blanket of dark dried fruits and ripe figs and raisins. Smells like an insanely pimped quadruple, without that annoying hint of sugar in it. In the mouth, smoothness is the word again, albeit without that decadent velvety mouthfeel you'll find in many imperial stouts. It's smooth alright, but it's also very pure and honest: nothing is hidden or glossed over by booze or barrels or somesuch. Rich and rewarding, and remarkably balanced: even at 17.5% ABV, this beer is immensely easy and fulfilling, and definitely one of the finest dessert beers I've ever had.

Last up was the Embrasse Peated Oak Aged by De Dochter van de Korenaar.

Gotta love the presentation of this one

I love this brewery, and their basic Embrasse is anything but basic in its own right, but this barrel aged edition couldn't stand up to the preceding onslaught. I'd been told this one was "very peaty" but it turns out we should perhaps have started with this one, rather than keep it until last (peat tends to numb the tastebuds like pretty much nothing else this side of an acid-bleach cocktail). Neither the base beer -which is pretty present and stated under normal conditions- nor the added wood-and-whisky tones did stand out at all. What we did find was elegant and even a bit delicate, but I'm convinced we need to taste this beer again without first rewiring our concept of "balance" with beer like the Tokyo Black Horizon.

That being said: I'm not sure De Dochter has got her barrel aging skills fully under control just yet. I distinctly remember the Bravoure OASE as falling way short of the mark, in spite of what a wonderful beer the basic Bravoure is.

After half the assembly had left the premises, Beer Geek Frank and myself shared a nice Geuze Mariage Parfait by Boon, because all the above had left us a bit thirsty.

And also, of course, for science.

Next Beer Geek Night, we'll try to do a better match up.

Until then,

Greetz

Jo 



Black & Heady

Because we were curious as to how the Zwarte Madam was coming along, and because any excuse is good enough to share a beer or two, BeerBert and Yours Truly sat down at the table the other night to do some science.

Curiosity cannot be trusted around cats.

Because I had just acquired a can of Heady Topper (thanks, Denno!), we dug into that first. It needs to be drunk fresh after all, so it made no sense to keep it around. 

Drink from the can, it says, but since we're proper scientists, we did in fact use a glass. 

Blasphemy!
Pic not mine, sorry.

Pale and cloudy, with a minimal head, this is a splendid IPA, chock-full of hops, with some extra hops ladled on top. The beer checks all the proper boxes, and sort of sets the rules regarding IPAs. 

From the nose, across the tongue, bouncing across the hard and soft palate, all the way down into the throat, the Heady Topper is smooth and fresh hops all the way. You get just about the whole gammut of hoppy impressions, from grassy to piney, from fruity to flowery. Juicy almost. Almost as if it's not actually beer, but a beer-flavoured hops tea. Delicious. Although extremely hopped, it never becomes extreme. Except perhaps extremely drinkable, even at 8% abv.

But science beckoned, and the Zwarte Madam needed tasting too.

Pic by Dennoman, who wasn't even there.
FLTR: Zwarte Madam basic, caraway and water cress seed.

The basic version, now with about six weeks of bottle conditioning under the cap, still pours a sluggish black. Low carbonation and a slackish tan head. Nose is chocolate and just a faint whiff off greenish hops. With a thick pour like that, the nose is a bit underwhelming, actually, and could use a bit more chutzpah.

1 image > 1000 words in this case.

In the mouth, the Zwarte Madam doesn't surprise, and remains somewhat modest, with chocolatey, smooth dark malts tones. Onset is smooth, if a bit light, then peters out in the middle part, but luckily returns with a malty sweet aftertaste. Slightly too much body, or too narrow a taste to stand up against it.

In all, the basic version is okay, although unfinished. I need to adjust the malt bill to achieve a broader, more rewarding flavour to warrant the relatively heavy body. Perhaps a smidge more hops too. Carbonation should be increased as well. BeerBert seemed to be agreement: this beer is quite alright but in its current incarnation perhaps not interesting enough to have another one. Denno detected hints of oats in an independent tasting, and I'm tempted to add some toasted oats in future incarnations to spruce up the body.

But hark! I opened up two dry-spiced versions to compare and -gasp- blend! 

The caraway version is already decidedly overdosed, with the caraway so firmly in the picture that the delicate chocolate notes of the base beer can hardly stand up against it. I happen to like the particular flavour imparted by the caraway, but BeerBert was quite put off by it. Granted: too much is too much, especially since the base beer isn't really robust enough to withstand more than a pinch. A blend of perhaps 1/6 caraway and 5/6 base made a better impression on me, although Bert's palate got thoroughly wasted from the very first sip of pure caraway. In future incarnations, I may consider boiling the caraway instead of dry-spicing, to better incorporate the flavour into the beer. Mixed messages here, as some seem to like it (quite a lot actually), while some find it unpleasantly overspiced.

The watercress-seed version...well, what can I say other than that it was a bit of a nut-job? The beer really pongs. An overwhelming scent of watercress, poppy seeds and something vegetable which really kicks the shit out of the poor base beer. Even minimally blended (a tiny splash in the aforementioned 1/6 caraway blend) still violently annexed the beer. I can see how the flavour imparted by the cress seeds itself could be an asset to dark beers like this, but I really need to go Uncle Scrooge on it, lest it become an undrinkable mess. Also: for some odd reason, the cress seed seems to amplify the beer's sweetness, turning into a syrupy mess.

Conclusion: Zwarte Madam is a good idea, but needs quite a bit more work. The base beer as it is will serve as a good basis for a more rounded incarnation, possibly including a drastically lowered dose of caraway, and mayby some oats. On the cress seed, I'll refrain from make a decision just yet, but it's not a plausible ingredient at all.

BeerBert always brings stouts when he comes to visit and I'm not one to complain. Especially not if by "stout" you mean this:

Which I do.
Pic again not mine.

Murder & Larceny, and another ampersand pun from the Molen guys. "Screaming bloody murder" is the anglophonic counterpart, and yes, the beer is good enough to apply the proverb. 

All the usual Molen-boxes are ticked: a big, fat body, with a rich tan head. Sublime nose, with hints of smoke, vanilla and bourbon. There's a hint of playful, saturnine mischief lurking in the darkness, which I put down to the rye malts. While it's a big nose, it's not a big fat booze bomb at all: you can sniff the glass all evening and never get bored, nor overwhelmed, but ultimately, you're tempted to take a sip.

In the mouth, this beer simply oozes flavour. There's a nicely balanced smokiness in the undercurrent, beyond noticable but well within limits. Rye and oat malts complement this smokiness splendidly, and the bourbon sits just at the detetection threshold. It's truly amazing how well each individual ingredient of this beer pairs off with the others: the smoked malt elevates the roast and prevents it from becoming ash-like. The chocolate is tempered by the roasted, oat and rye malts, which prevent it from turning the beer into a more familiar (and I daresay less interesting in this case) chocolate-and-coffee stout. The bourbon barrel ageing adds a slightly boozy sweetness, but is quite delicate when compared to recent-day bourbon stouts.

Although they're completely unrelated style-wise, I'd like to take the opportunity to refer to Emelisse's Smoked Rye IPA. Both beers have an aluring undercurrent and an intriguingly delicate smokiness which make them an utter delight to drink.

Truly a marvellous beer, exceptionally well balanced and rewarding. Thanks, BeerBert!

Drunk separately the next day, each from within the confines of our own comfy chairs, we tasted the Emelisse Black & Tan. While I had half an idea what to expect, I daresay I was totally unprepared for this one. 

Okay I forgot to take pics alright?
Stop rubbing it in already!

Black-and-tan (sometimes called Half-and-Half) , for those of you interested in beer history, is something like a beer cocktail. It's a blend of two beer styles, which the landlord would blend on site according to the customer's taste. Typically, a pale ale and a dark beer would be combined in one glass, sometimes presented in two individual layers.

Beer for the pathologically indecisive.

In this case, the blend is between Emelisse's own TIPA (a splendid triple IPA) and their IRS (a solid imperial stout, well suited for all kinds of shenanigans). What's not on the label is the fact that it's also been aged on Islay whisky barrels. 

Peat lovers, start your drooling.

The beer pours a very dark brown, almost black, with cola touches near the edges and a light tan head. Nose is medicinal with peat and smoke at the forefront. While the intensity is quite moderate, the peat amplifies the experience, making this come across as a bit of a wrecking ball.

In the mouth, the first impression is a full gale blast of peat and smoke. Seriously, if you can't stand smoked malt, and if you're not already a dyed-in-the-wool fan of Islay's signature up-front peatiness, then you might as well turn back now. Very little of the constituent beers remains upright under the onslaught of Islay barrel goodness, and you're left with something which most resembles a firm-bodied stout. Not exactly an imperial, but by no means a dry stout either. The DIPA is normally quite (*) hoppy and chewy, and although the chewiness remains in the blend, the hops are entirely washed out by the peat.

*) by quite I mean very but not ridiculously. Adjectives become somewhat meaningless when discussing the hoppiness of double-and-above IPAs

That initial blast of peat mellows down slightly, after which the beer becomes intesely phenolic, in an absolutely unique way. Yes, there is a hint of medicine in there, which is precisely what makes Islay-fans seek out these iodine-and-sea-brine flavours. But the medicinality is really just an undercurrent: the impression which really carries the beer all the way home is one which is decidedly unique, and which took me until the last sip ere I could finally put the finger on it. This beer, ladies and gentlemen, tastes like vetiver smells.

Not that many people know what vetiver  smells like but still.

Truly a unique beer, this Black & Tan, but subject to polarisation. Some people will love it, but most people I know will consider it to be at least too much.

I am one of the latter: it's a beautiful beast of a beer, and it coated my tongue for the rest of the evening. Marvelous job again from Kees&co!

Greetz

Jo