Nøgne Ø has made quite a name for itself in the craft brewery scene. Norway's best kept secret isn't easy to find outside of Scandinavia proper, but I still managed to grab hold of a bottle of Tyttebær when I was visiting the beershop at De Molen Brewery.
The Lingonberry then. Cousin to the cranberry, this fruit features quite prominently in Scandinavian cuisine. Mikeller, having recently found a bit of a fad with sour "wild" beers obviously thought this would make a great combination. Myself, I'm less than enthousiastic though.
Gusher alert! Despite keeping the bottle upright and well rested for the better part of a month, it released a steady jet of sticky-sour beer all over my kitchen. While not a re-enactment of the eruption of Mt.Helens, still a good quantity of beer was lost. Not the best of starts for this berry.
Will you look at that beautiful orangy-red colour? Delicate lacy head on top, oh yes, if you finally do get the brew where it belongs (i.e. in your glass instead of all over the kitchen top), it's a sight worth grabbing a mop for.
In the nose, you get a mildly sour punch of weirdness. I'm sure it's the Lingonberries, but this beer definitely has a medicinal pong to it. If anything, it smells like wintergreen.
Wintergreen is that stuff which makes athlete's muscle spray smell like, well, muscle spray. It's what you smell whenever you walk into the fysiotherapy ward of a hospital, and it's a close match to Air of Dentist.
No, I cannot honestly say that the Tyttebær smells aluring. But hey, for science!
Up-front is the Tyttebær taste which, again, rings all manner of medicinal alarm bells. It takes a while to get used to this: it's not actually unpleasant, but it takes a long time before the human psyche overcomes the association with muscle trauma, and I can easily imagine how people would be utterly put off by this.
Seriously (and bear with me, I'm getting to the good part in a bit): this is a beer you'll need to muscle up for. Unless you're willing to give it credit (and a bit of time), you're likely to pour it in the sink. And don't get me wrong: that would be a bit of pity.
Picking up after quite some time is a gentle, friendly sourness, which is really what makes this beer drinkable. If it had been sweet, it could easily be mistaken for some exotic kind of cough syrup. Kudos to the brew crew for getting the sourness just right: it's nowhere near to being acidic, but remains mildly lactic, yet distinctly sour, perfectly counterbalancing the weirdness of the Lingonberry's intrinsic flavour.
And waaaaay at the back, when the sourness has cleansed the palate, leaving you smacking your gums for something more, are the Bretts. Mild Bretts, but noticable. Again, this little layer is essential to the beer's drinkability, making it slightly chewy, and gives an overall lingering flavour, neatly tying up all those loose ends encountered earlier.
Bit of a hit and miss here: on one hand there's the understated sourness of the basic brew. It's not quite on par with old style Gueuze or derived fruit lambics, but it still has a few things going on in the background which elevate it from being "just sour".
It's unlike any sour beer I've ever tasted before. Note that this is both its greatest merrit as well as its greatest flaw: the Lingonberry can easily be summed up nicely as "not for everyone". If you can overcome the weird associations with ripped tendons, strained ankles and Tiger Balm, then what you're left with is a beer resembling a layered sour jawbreaker of a bear, which will lead you (brazenly but diligently) from one flavour into the other: from berries to sour to Bretts, in a long and lingering, but ultimately pleasant joyride.
Recommended for sourheads and beergeeks. All others would do well to abstain, as this beer is probably simply lost on them. No discredit to either them or the beer, but really is quite polarising: love it or hate it. While I can't say I'm loving this as much as I'd like, I'm still siding with the former: this makes me curious as to what Mikkeller's been up to with their Wild series.
Beer: Tyttebær
Brewery: Nøgne Ø in a collab with Mikkeller
Style: wild/sour fruit beer
ABV: 8%
EBU: -
SRM: an orangy red hue
Served: 500ml bottle
Nice one, but not for the faint of heart.
Greetz
Jo
 |
| Tyttebær, aka Lingonberry |
Gusher alert! Despite keeping the bottle upright and well rested for the better part of a month, it released a steady jet of sticky-sour beer all over my kitchen. While not a re-enactment of the eruption of Mt.Helens, still a good quantity of beer was lost. Not the best of starts for this berry.
 |
| Things perk up when the beer finally makes it into the glass. |
In the nose, you get a mildly sour punch of weirdness. I'm sure it's the Lingonberries, but this beer definitely has a medicinal pong to it. If anything, it smells like wintergreen.
Oh look, another obscure berry.
Wintergreen is that stuff which makes athlete's muscle spray smell like, well, muscle spray. It's what you smell whenever you walk into the fysiotherapy ward of a hospital, and it's a close match to Air of Dentist.
Oh and this stuff.
No, I cannot honestly say that the Tyttebær smells aluring. But hey, for science!
Up-front is the Tyttebær taste which, again, rings all manner of medicinal alarm bells. It takes a while to get used to this: it's not actually unpleasant, but it takes a long time before the human psyche overcomes the association with muscle trauma, and I can easily imagine how people would be utterly put off by this.
Seriously (and bear with me, I'm getting to the good part in a bit): this is a beer you'll need to muscle up for. Unless you're willing to give it credit (and a bit of time), you're likely to pour it in the sink. And don't get me wrong: that would be a bit of pity.
Picking up after quite some time is a gentle, friendly sourness, which is really what makes this beer drinkable. If it had been sweet, it could easily be mistaken for some exotic kind of cough syrup. Kudos to the brew crew for getting the sourness just right: it's nowhere near to being acidic, but remains mildly lactic, yet distinctly sour, perfectly counterbalancing the weirdness of the Lingonberry's intrinsic flavour.
And waaaaay at the back, when the sourness has cleansed the palate, leaving you smacking your gums for something more, are the Bretts. Mild Bretts, but noticable. Again, this little layer is essential to the beer's drinkability, making it slightly chewy, and gives an overall lingering flavour, neatly tying up all those loose ends encountered earlier.
Bit of a hit and miss here: on one hand there's the understated sourness of the basic brew. It's not quite on par with old style Gueuze or derived fruit lambics, but it still has a few things going on in the background which elevate it from being "just sour".
It's unlike any sour beer I've ever tasted before. Note that this is both its greatest merrit as well as its greatest flaw: the Lingonberry can easily be summed up nicely as "not for everyone". If you can overcome the weird associations with ripped tendons, strained ankles and Tiger Balm, then what you're left with is a beer resembling a layered sour jawbreaker of a bear, which will lead you (brazenly but diligently) from one flavour into the other: from berries to sour to Bretts, in a long and lingering, but ultimately pleasant joyride.
Recommended for sourheads and beergeeks. All others would do well to abstain, as this beer is probably simply lost on them. No discredit to either them or the beer, but really is quite polarising: love it or hate it. While I can't say I'm loving this as much as I'd like, I'm still siding with the former: this makes me curious as to what Mikkeller's been up to with their Wild series.
Beer: Tyttebær
Brewery: Nøgne Ø in a collab with Mikkeller
Style: wild/sour fruit beer
ABV: 8%
EBU: -
SRM: an orangy red hue
Served: 500ml bottle
Nice one, but not for the faint of heart.
Greetz
Jo
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