TAG | IPA
Montréal takes a bit of getting used to.
French is the first language here. Parisian architecture nestles with the brash skyscrapers and wide streets of a typical US city. French-looking coffee shops and cafés rub shoulders with the dual-language ‘Café Starbucks Cafe’ and McDonald’s signs adorned with maple leaves. The roadsigns and large North American cars coexist with a high degree of European cultural activity. And all amongst it is a fierce independent streak. Those in Montreal don’t want to be like the US – or, indeed, the rest of Canada.
Montréal, like many cities, is broken up into many different areas: and I strolled, in the cold, in an area away from the skyscrapers of downtown on the hunt for some microbreweries.
The first, L’amère à boire, brewed all its own beer. The beer menu, proudly advertising ‘ales anglaises, lagers allemandes, lager tcheques’ went into the details of each beer in some detail. I wanted to start with the porter, then realised that if I was to try other beers, this might not be the cleverest plan, so instead, chatting to some new friends from the French-language Radio Canada, I went for the India Pale Ale. It was certainly a faithful, if slightly dull, representation of an IPA – brewed in steel vats behind us. L’amère à boire, which is a piece of French wordplay, was a very fine start to the evening; feeling less like an English pub and more like a south of France bar.
Another walk, and another piece of French wordplay. I’ve no real idea what the wordplay is withinDieu du Ciel, but clearly it was very funny, and extended to the large beer list (above), which was written on the blackboard; the unavailable number 15 demonstrating the continuous turnaround of some of these beers.
I started with the Fumisterie, an amber beer brewed with hemp. It had an odd “signature”, to use the words of my Québec-born companion; an unfamiliar taste of herbs as part of the overall, sweet, bouquet. Certainly one for trying, though whether I would try it again, I’m not so sure.
Then I moved on to the Corne du Diable, a strong and wonderfully hoppy American pale ale. This was deliciously bitter: so much so, it almost made my mouth pucker on first tasting it. Astoundingly good. Most fine.
In both places – and the additional microbrewery I tried the following night – I was struck by the wide choice of styles available. The French or Belgians wouldn’t, typically, also offer you a Scottish Ale, a Kölsch, and a stout; yet the microbreweries in Montréal offered all of these and rather rarer styles, and impressively they get them right, too.
I must find an excuse to visit the city again: there are many delightful reasons to return, especially the people.
The price of beer in Denmark, just like other Scandinavian countries, is madness incarnate. A couple of pints will cost anything from £11 to £13, and that’s before you add a fairly all-pervasive credit-card charge of 3.5%.
The casual beer drinker, apart from being blinded by the eye-wincing prices, would also think to themselves that there wasn’t much variety. Carlsberg appears to be all-conquering, with a few varieties (Carls Special, Carlsberg Dark) as well as the well-known pilsner lager beloved of Liverpool fans. It’s not even the best lager in the world, in spite of its rather clever advertising.
Salvation appears to be at hand with a visit to the bar – in many places, there’s also a range of beers from Tuborg. Whether it’s Tuborg Special, or the standard Tuborg Green, at least there’s a choice of company to pay. Hurray for competition, you’d think. Until you discover that Carlsberg, um, owns Tuborg (and has done since 1970). Mind, you won’t normally find Tuborg in the UK (though it’s a big name in Israel, apparently).
If you’re really lucky, you’ll find another brand name at the bar. JC Jacobsen produce some splendidly nice beer; the Dark Ale is in many bars, but they produce a pretty full range, including Belgian-type strong blonde beers, wheat beer, helles, amber, and more. The beers are splendid. So splendid, in fact, that you almost feel that you can overlook the fact that these beers are named after the founder of, yes, Carlsberg, and they’re yet another brand of the brewery.
Paying all your money (and I mean all your money) to Carlsberg seems almost inevitable, therefore, given that they have a virtual monopoly on beer in Denmark. 92% of all of the 870 million litres of beer drunk by the Danish comes from Denmark, so I’ve no idea how they get past the EU Commission, but, as the fifth largest brewery company in the world, they’re clearly doing something right. They also own Tetley, and Scottish & Newcastle.
However, look a little further, and there’s a surprising microbrewery scene in Denmark; particularly in the centre of Copenhagen.
Start at the dowdy end of the Strøget, the Copenhagen shopping ’street’, and next to the town hall square you’ll find not just one but three brew pubs; all of which brew their own beer on the premises.
First, there’s the nattily entitled Brewpub, which is in an otherwise quiet road that you’d probably not wander down. Don’t make that mistake; on my visit, Brewpub was selling six of their own brews, including Cole Porter (which is a deeply lovely porter), a wheat beer, a fabulous IPA, a lager (well, you know, if you can’t beat them, etc), an odd blended beer which I didn’t really understand made from a few different beers mixed together, and something with elderflower. The Brewpub also does rather good pub meals as well as a fancy restaurant which I’ve never eaten in, though it looks rather good. Everything’s cooked with beer, naturally.
The other side of the town hall square, on the short road to the train station, contains a number of pubs and restaurants, including Copenhagen’s Hard Rock Cafe, an Irish pub, and various other eateries. Among the McDonalds and chicken shops you’ll also find Vesterbro Bryghus which sells, at the time of my visit, five beers – each with their own beer mat (so you can match the beer to the mat). Their IPA was cloudy (presumably unfiltered) and not as fully-flavoured as the Brewpub’s; however, my drinking companion found the Brewpub’s IPA too bitter for his taste, so there’s no pleasing everyone, I suppose.
A few doors away is The Old English Pub, above, which sounds dreadful but is actually rather a pleasant place to pass the time. It’s not a brew pub, but sells quite a variety of beer, including the Carlsberg range as well as at least one other Danish beer from one of the smaller producers. I enjoyed a wheat beer from said brewer – it was darker and less sweet than the Franziskaner weisse that my friend went for.
Over the road (not for this visit) is another brewpub – the Bryggeriet Apollo; actually, more of a brew-restaurant. You always know you’re going somewhere proper when there is a sign, proudly displayed inside, from CAMRA – saying something like “On 28 November 2006, some blokes from CAMRA decided to have a drink here and quite enjoyed it”. Nicer beer, though I remember it as being rather more intimidating than any of the other places I mention here.
And around twenty minutes walk away is the Nørrebro Bryghus which once more sells wonderful home-brewed beer in a rather industrial surroundings – a 19th century metal factory. Nørrebro is apparently the cool place where it’s all at; it served a really nice lunch too, when I went a while ago.
So, the moral of the story is: if you’ve the money for a drink in Copenhagen, there are plenty of places where you can avoid the all-pervasive Carlsberg Group. And I secretly hope that while 92% of the beer drunk in Denmark might continue to be Danish, at least the proportion of Carlsberg beer in that number might start going down: competition’s good for everyone.
This is a slightly rehashed article from the original on my main blog, based on a recent re-visit to Copenhagen.
The Great British Beer Festival is on at the moment in Earl’s Court; and I visited on Wednesday afternoon and evening – on a very hot and muggy day. Here’s what I had… all thirds of pints (and from about 3.30pm till 10.30pm, so I certainly wasn’t drinking fast!)
Vortex IPA (7.4%)
Fort George Brewery, Astoria, Oregon
I should have probably spotted the “IPA” and not “APA”, which is why I was disappointed with this first beer. Fruity aroma, I wrote, but almost unpleasantly bitter – not an enjoyable drink. It quickly sold out, which is concerning!
Fine Raisin Beer (5.1%)
Cain’s, Liverpool
An amber beer which I’ve only ever had at the GBBF, and ensure I have every single visit. It’s splendidly lovely – creamy, fruity, with a tiny little nod to a dark raisin taste. Excellent stuff.
Liverbird Ale (4.3%)
Cain’s, Liverpool
A light beer, made with American hops. Light, bitter, citrussy, thirst-quenching.
Wandle Ale (3.8%)
Sambrook’s, Battersea, London
As splendid as I remember it – a wonderful, fruity, citrussy, splendid beer. I only wish this was on tap near me; sadly, I’ve never seen it. (Excitingly, it was on the Wetherspoon’s “Bar Nouveau” stand, which bodes well).
A drop of Nelson’s Blood (3.6%)
Farmer’s, Essex
Nothing too special – amber, full flavoured, but a bit dull. But a nice name. But a bit dull. Nice name though. But dull. Name good. Beer dull.
An APA from Italy
(sadly, the programme doesn’t recall it, and neither do I)
I’ve never been impressed with Italian beers, but this was a good American Pale Ale, and I enjoyed it.
Lia Fail (4.7%)
Inveralmond, Perthshire
Frankly, bought because its name was funny (hello @llia). A nice, amber, beer – though not particularly special; typically less sweet, as Scottish beer generally is.
West Fest Ale (3.8%)
Malvern Hills, Worcestershire
Light, blond ale: the favourite of @agrumbri who was there in the evening and stuck with this all night. Very nice beer, and not too strong either.
Twisted Spire (3.6%)
Hobsons, Shropshire
Not quite as nice as the West Fest Ale, but fairly similar. A nice, non-heavy, end to the evening.
With more than 450 ales, ciders and foreign beers, even if none of these sound to your taste, you might like some you’d find; and join CAMRA when you get there, too – it’s good for the soul.
I managed to snag myself a ticket to the recent London Twestival – spurred on not just by the desire to meet people who follow me (and who I follow) like @jemimah_knight, but also because there was beer on offer.
And not just any beer.
The lovely people at Brewdog had donated rather a lot of what is fast becoming my favourite beer, Punk IPA. And it was this fact that pushed me into getting a ticket from a secret, twice-the-price, stash that had been left back just for disorganised people like me who knew who to twitter.
Realistically, “Pale Ale” can be anything from a pint of bitter (or ‘heavy’ in Scotland), to very different varieties. In order to stay fresh all the way to India, IPA (India Pale Ale) was made much hoppier, with the hops acting as preservative. A good IPA (Greene King IPA being the one you’ll find in pubs most often) is hoppy and bitter, but a session beer nonetheless.
“American Pale Ale” is very different. Far hoppier still – very bitter, very tasty. Sierra Nevada – increasingly available in British pubs from the tap – is a prime example. Light in colour (that’ll be the ‘pale’ bit), the similarity to a lager disappears quickly when you taste it – bitter enough to make your face pucker if you’re not expecting the taste.
I think Brewdog’s “Punk IPA” is, whether they like it or not, really an American Pale Ale – though this 6% ale probably uses English hops rather than their American counterparts. I say ‘probably’ – the label and the website appear to be fairly coy about the type of hops they use. It’s a slightly smoother taste than Sierra Nevada, but still blisteringly bitter and tremendously refreshing.
Brewdog hasn’t been going for long. They only started in April 2007 – in Aberdeenshire, of all places, not somewhere I’d have thought of as a beer mecca. They’ve managed to get their beer in many places – not just in Utobeer, the nicely stocked beer shop in London’s Borough Market, but also into – of all places – Tesco. And it was here that I first discovered it: as they discontinued Sierra Nevada, Punk IPA cannily came to take its place. I’d much rather buy British than buy American, after all – even if US craft beers are closer to my taste these days – and this is a worthy substitute.
And not only has Brewdog got their distribution sorted, they’ve also got their copywriting sorted. The copywriting on the bottle – some of which you can see at the top of the page – is brilliantly done. When James May and Oz Clarke met the Brewdog team as part of their Oz and James Drink to Britain series, the Brewdog team were waiting for them in a park – passing over their bottles in paper bags, deliberately rebelling against drinking laws. As the label says, Brewdog is all about breaking the rules.
I would recommend it, and should the splendid people at Brewdog wish to send me their other beers to “test”, I’d be delighted, though the chances of that are less than zero, naturally.
See Brewdog Pale IPA at beeradvocate.com
I’ve spent the last few weeks in Australia, mainly on holiday.
Australia is a country with a resurgent craft beer industry. One thing I didn’t expect, when going into Melbourne’s tourist information centre, was a leaflet on craft beer makers; but that’s exactly what was on offer (complete with a foreward written by an Australian MP).
James Squire makes a ton of English-style beers, and are based in Sydney, Australia. This was a very creditable, and nicely hopped, amber ale, drunk in The Hero Of Waterloo, listening to a pub singer and enjoying the experience. Later in the trip, we visited a brew-pub run by the company (in central Melbourne); on offer was a great porter, a splendid IPA, and some not-normally-available brews. Most impressive; unusually-labelled bottles are available in many places, and it was decried by our tour guide one day as “a bloody good choice”. Which I thought too.
Proper brew-pubs did exist, not just those run by large breweries. As an example, we tried the Lord Nelson Brewery in Sydney, which is also a hotel and a pub. I tried their pale ale: served in typical Australian “too bloody cold” fashion. It was pretty good, if not outstanding, and the ambience in the pub was a little loud (a gaggle of girls next to us being chatted up by a set of blokes fresh-from-the-office on the table text to us) so we didn’t stay too long. The “Three Sheets”, advertised on the beer mats, was over 7%.
Of course, you can’t always get it right, even in Australia. Cascade Premium is from Tasmania, and is apparently from Australia’s oldest continually-operating brewery. It’s made by the same people who bring you Fosters (a beer, incidentally, which I didn’t see once in my trip – whether I was just blind to it or not I don’t know). A pretty standard-tasting lager. I don’t like lager much, but for the middle of the day, it was rather enjoyable, I guess.
Available here in the UK in many supermarkets, is Coopers – available here (in the UK) and in Australia as “Coopers Green” and “Coopers Red”. Green, seen here (and above) is a creditable pale ale, bottle-conditioned and tasty. Coopers also sell home-brew kits, interestingly; possibly the first major brewer I’ve ever seen doing this; indeed, their website almost promotes it as a way to enjoy the great taste of Coopers without going out to the supermarket and buying some. Bizarre.
Also part of the Fosters empire is this, Carlton Draught. I ordered this principally because I reckoned that if it was “on draught” it must be good – but clearly it wasn’t on tap at all! Possibly the most boring beer I’d had all trip; the uninspiring cafe that we were in didn’t sell anything other than cheap lagers.
One of our better finds was a bar and restaurant called Cookie, hiding upstairs from some rather dowdy looking doors on Swanston Street in Melbourne. Not just was the food delicious, but their beer menu was around thirty pages long, including many excellent local brews. Mountain Goat, a small brewery in the Richmond part of the city, produce a lot of seemingly excellent beers; I tried (once more!) the IPA, which was gloriously hoppy and excellently delicious. This was for sale in the odd shop we passed, and I really ought to have brought some home. The bottle is quite fun: “bottled but not tamed” is a nice phrase. Bottle-conditioned, naturally.
Also on sale at Cookie was this – Australia’s answer to Belgian beer. This is Cooper’s Vintage – around 7%, and absolutely delicious – a bottle-conditioned, treacly, full-bodied, slow-drinking treat. Almost certainly worth hunting out again when I next visit; and this was the recommendation of the waiter, who was delighted that someone was taking a good interest in beer. He brought me no less than seven bottles to look at!
We enjoyed that building so much that we decided to visit the rooftop bar the day after. While hardly a huge selection, you could still choose from a number of bottled beers, as well as, on tap, Little Creatures Pale Ale and this, which is Little Creatures Bright Ale. Bright is sweeter than the Pale, and tastes nicely fruity. A perfect beer for a lazy afternoon, particularly on the seventh floor of this rather unusual building. (Little Creatures also sell cider, which the bar stocked.)
I also tried Victoria Bitter (so you don’t have to), Coopers Red, which was a little disappointing, and Tooheys New, a lager, which was equally, um, lagery. James Squire’s porter was nicely authentic, too. And the Lowenbrau dunkel I had in a Bavarian theme pub was excellent.
Beer appears to be measured in different sizes depending which pub you went into. A “pot” is different to a “schooner” (except when it isn’t) and a “pint” is the standard (curiously, a pint glass in Australia is 570ml instead of the UK’s 568ml).
What surprised me is how much ‘proper’ beer is available in Australia. True, the Cascade, VB and Carlton is everywhere; but in virtually every place we went to, we could find some bottle-conditioned, local, beer; and normally some proper beer on tap. The craft beer breweries in Australia are, by and large, pretty new; so it’s clear that there’s a real thirst for a different taste of beer in Australia other than the standard lagers. Indeed, there is probably more choice in Australia for the more discerning beer drinker than there is in the UK, rather embarrassingly.
One of my Australian friends sent me an email apologising for their beer after my visit. Not at all. You should be proud of it.
