For this year’s Big Import (after the success of it, and of the BrewDog swag this time last year, we really should make it an annual tradition worthy of Capital Letters), the Overboss scored an actual metric tonne of beer from Thornbridge, an excellent little brewery on a stately country property in Derbyshire. (Fittingly, I’m watching Antiques Roadshow as I write this one up.) Coincidentally, they’d just been featured on TV, in the (somewhat delayed) local airing of Oz and James Drink to Britain — the eponymous pair visit the brewery in the first episode, and Oz declares this ‘Jaipur’ IPA to be his favourite British beer of the moment.
That’s by no means an outrageous call, because this is pretty damn good. (And, of course, “favourite” is properly subjective; there’s never a need to get grumpy about what someone else might call their favourite.) It’s very fresh, fruity (peachy, I thought), incredibly drinkable and with a hoppy bitterness that rewardingly builds and changes as you make your way through it. One of those great, well-rounded beers that certainly deserves the accolades that zip towards it.
Verbatim: Thornbridge ‘Jaipur’ IPA 30/9/10 5.9% 500ml ÷ 2 with Peter as we nerd out on the end of the bar after work. $11 @ work; this year’s Big Import, basically. They (3 of them) were a sod to put away, but did well @ Beervana, and the brewery was just mentioned in James May’s TV Show (nice timing; must download that…). Gorgeous hazy pale orange, lovely fruity nose. Zesty and delicious, really. Quite peachy, too.
‘Ardennes’ is one of those beers that I forget about for ages, only to pleasantly surprise myself when I go back to it. In this case, I was cleaning out the fridge one night — as I do; I’ve turned it from a chore into a sport and an artform, and have dubbed it ‘Kegtris’1 — and discovered an unlabelled (and so unsellable) bottle. Since I’d recently had the Golden Bear ‘Bear Trappe’ and ‘Ardennes’ was a candidate for Hopinator treatment, we had a little sampling. Almost certainly inspired by the Golden Bear, my vote was for peaches in the Hopinator, but we eventually went with pears, which did go quite nicely. Part of the fun of these extra-stuff-in-beer experiments is seeing how they change over time, from subtle to sometimes overwhelmingly (but not necessarily unwelcomely) heavily flavoured, depending on the doubtless-very-complex chemistry going on inside that neat little gadget.
Peter and I did try actually eating some of the pears when he was cleaning out the Hopinator after we’d gone through our supply of Ardennes; that was a bridge too far.
Verbatim: Tuatara ‘Ardennes’ 30/9/10 6.5% 330ml ÷ 3 w/ Peter & Amanda. Ages since we’ve had it on tap and there was an unlabelled bottle in a delivery a while ago. It’s a hopinator candidate, and the Bear Trappe made me curious. And it’s really lovely, actually. Big, fruity, dry. I definitely think we should run it over peaches if we Hopify it.
1: A fairly-cursory Google search — a.k.a. “research” — does begin to suggest that I might actually deserve credit for coining this useful word. It’s possible that that’s mostly because I’m just about the only person in the world who enjoys the combination of a) prolonged exposure to zero degrees Celsius, b) heavy lifting (boxes ≈ 16kg, kegs ≈ 65kg), and c) a task that boils down to Organising Things Into Rows and Piles like some kind of gibbering compulsive.
I have to explain to people sometimes, at work, that if I compare something to Little Creatures Pale Ale, then I think that thing is a very good thing indeed. So I was curious to try something from White Rabbit, a new-ish operation outside of my beloved Melbourne, and sort of East Coast Cousin to the famous Creatures.
But when we had this at our stand at Beervana in August, I was a little meh about it. It was something of a misunderstood orphan, really. Unlike the Stone & Wood, Bridge Road and Coopers beers we had, the Rabbit didn’t have anyone from the brewery over to talk about it — and the name threw us locals a bit, too; by “Dark Ale”, they mean Brown Ale rather than anything Portery, or further South.1
In between having it at Beervana and having it on tap at work, my friend Glenn (a former colleague at the College of Surgeons in Melbourne) was in town and muled over a few interesting-looking bottles of beer for me, in what is becoming a neat little tradition (he’s repaid in Tour Guidery around Wellington’s Interesting Little Places). One of these was included, so I gave it another go. And was glad I did.
Diary II entry #17.1, White Rabbit 'Dark Ale'
Especially once you’re not expecting anything dark-dark (expectations can really do funny things to how you taste a beer), it presents itself as pleasantly rich but still nicely easy-drinking. Lots of malt character, and a interesting little sideline of a certain sort of mustiness and a subtle fruity wineyness. This bottle was almost-alarmingly sedimented, which also leant a nice big smooth layer of foam. It was interestingly-divisive, on tap at work; much of the Beer Nerdy crowd didn’t really go for it, but it was surprisingly good (given their usual prejudices against Australian beer and things darker than gold) at winning over more ‘mainstream’ drinkers. I do always enjoy stumbling upon effective ‘evangelism’ beers; seeing people have that ‘wow, this is tasty’ moment when you give them something that goes against their preconceptions is a very rewarding thing, as a bartending Beer Nerd.
Diary II entry #17.2, White Rabbit 'Dark Ale'
Verbatim: White Rabbit ‘Dark Ale’ 30/9/10 muled over by Glenn 4.9% 330ml From memory, this is Little Creatures’ baby brother in Healesville, outside the beloved Melb. We had it at our stand at the Beer Festival, but it was a bit of a misunderstood orphan, as none of its people were over. I was a little meh about it, but I think the name threw my expectations — it’s really a brown ale, and as one, is rather good. Quite rich but still very easy, a little musty and a little winey. Seems to be a national thing; Moo Brew’s ‘Dark Ale’ was also a Brown. Not a lot of Aussie Porter… maybe it’s just usually too fucking hot. I should’ve said MOO BREW ‘DARK ALE’. I’m not good at making new habits.2 This is definitely growing on me. The head is particularly impressive — big + smooth + resurrectable. (There was an almost-worrying amount of sediment in the bottle; that’ll help.)
1: This might be (or might be beginning to be) an Australian Thing; Moo Brew do it too with their ‘Dark Ale’. Maybe it’s just almost always Too Damn Hot for anything blacker and heavier — though of course, the delectable Coopers ‘Best Extra Stout’ is an obvious counter-example.
2: Perhaps I should explain why I chastise myself for not writing in capitals (here, as once before). They’re kind of like little visual hyperlinks, so that I can more-readily see what entries talk about other entries, basically. Things got quite hard to navigate with 300+ entries in Diary I — though I was still capable of occasional Rain Man-esque feats of spookiness like turning instantly to the page that contained the more-than-a-year-ago diary entry for Stone & Wood’s (delicious) ‘Draught Ale’ when Brad from the brewery saw my book and asked if his beer was in there…
Diary II entry #16.1, Twisted Hop 'Sauvin' Pils on the Hopinator
1) Kegs of Twisted Hop Pils arrive at work, and the people rejoice — I’ve said before that this stuff is a frontrunner candidate for All-Time All-Staff Favourite at work. 2) The Overboss announces his plan to run this through the Hopinator, overlooking at opportunity to just stick it on on a Friday night and likely blam through it in delicious short order — and the people get apprehensive. 3) It goes on, with the Hopinator loaded with Hallertau hops, and I try it shortly after. I certainly didn’t hate it, maybe because it reminded me of my beloved ‘Minimus’. Still, it seemed like it just would’ve been better as-is. Why mess with a Good Thing, especially with the Good Thing is that damn good?
Diary II entry #16.2, Twisted Hop 'Sauvin' Pils on the Hopinator
4) I try it again the next day. Which turns out to be enough time for the hops to really stew into the beer. And everything goes to hell, changing my mind about all the “it’s not great but” slightly-positive aspects. Instead, it’s now as if someone has presented you with a tea cosy made from the skin of your dead cat. It just reminds you of the cat, and makes you miss them — and, if push really came to absolute shove, you’d have thought there’d be better uses for a catskin, anyway.
I wondered if something lighter would’ve worked better (maybe white grapes, or the Sauvin hop itself?), but I think anything would have soon over-stewed and presented its own version of the Catskin Problem. Basically, taking a beer that is so remarkable and wonderful and lovely simply because it is such a deft touch of a thing and then ramming it full of some superfluous flavour is simply pants on head retarded.
Diary II entry #16.3, Twisted Hop 'Sauvin' Pils, as is
5) A week later, the next keg goes on, unmolested — and the people rejoice once more. Imagine… imagine if someone resurrected your dead cat. And then, they presented them to you in the morning, so you were still all groggy and confused, and initially assumed that you were just dreaming. But, no… there it is, just like you remember.
I suspected I’d like this; it was recommended by a few people who are usually good for such things (including Kieran, the Beer Wizard in Residence at Regional). But I was pleasantly surprised to utterly freaking love it.
Golden Bear is a tiny little brewery at the top of the South Island — an area charmingly-sprinkled with such neat little operations; it’s a popular area for people to go to drop out of the rat race and do what they love, instead — and a few such people do exactly that and start brewing. The chap from Golden Bear is Californian (the name comes from a symbol for the state), as is my friend and fellow bartender Halena, so I thought I’d split this with her after a shift (much as we’d done with a similarly-fantastic Sierra Nevada ‘Southern Harvest’). I had it all poured and photographed, and then had a minor freak-out when I remembered that I’d lost my pen that night and that all the spares seemed to be blue. I’m very much a Creature of Habit, to the point it borders on being problematic sometimes, and I was hesitant to give in and muck up the colour scheme of Diary II so early. (Diary I has its share of random-pen entries, so I do manage to sort out my priorities, eventually, but they always felt… odd.)
As you can see, it pours a very appealing hazy dark gold and has a pretty damn luxurious big thick white head that is easily resurrected with a little swirl when you’re further down the glass. And you definitely will be swirling it, because you’ll want absolutely all you can get of the insanely lush and fresh fruity nose — helped in part, no doubt, by the brewer’s clever inclusion of actual peaches in the mix. It is, to quote my notes, “just bloody lovely”; absurdly well balanced, delicious, and just different enough.
Diary II entry #15, Golden Bear 'Bear Trappe'
Verbatim: Golden Bear ‘Bear Trappe’ 2010 27/9/10 $17 @ Reg. 750ml ÷ 2 with Halena after a Monday shift. (The Californian connection again, after all, like with Sierra Nevada Harvest.) 7.5% Cute punny name, nice big-ass bottle with a nifty re-sealable plastic screwcap thing. Big strong Belgian tripel with actual “black-boy” peaches thrown in, rather than just waiting for the sometimes-peachy note you get. Just bloody lovely. Massive fruity + fresh nose, nice thick white head that’s easily resurrected. Neither too-sweet nor too-tart. And damn, am I glad I had a backup black pen; I was freaking out for a second, there.
Notwithstanding the time-travelling posts that appear before this one, I felt I should leave this mostly-default post in place, as a token of when the Beer Diary blogthing actually started. As I say in the About whatsit, copies of actual diary entries (wherever they were originally made, though usually in the notebooky diaries themselves) appear on here under their original creation dates.
But this should stand as a monument to t0, as it were.
This entry from Diary II is unique (so far), in that it contains absolutely no tasting notes. Coopers bloody-lovely Pale is something I’ve had umpteen times before, but had never given its own entry; the Diaries were never about recommendations for other people, originally, and I knew this well enough that I didn’t need to write about it.
And then, Dr. Tim Cooper himself — the latest heir to take the reins of the brewery — paid our little country, our little town, and our little pub a visit. My first proper bar-tender geek-out was when Richard Emerson — another heir to another eponymous brewery — visited the Malthouse on one of my first few shifts. I’ve had a few such borderline-fanboy reactions to meeting other beer industry folk since, but none as acute as this, for a while.1
Tim was in town for a bit of a shindig to celebrate the new-ish mass-importing of his beers into the Little Country; we’ve had several kegs of Sparkling, Vintage and Stout on tap already. And he seems to be an utterly lovely chap. A semi-regular customer — a Suit who is occasionally-bothersome, but harmless enough — insisted on shouting a round, and Dr. Cooper elected for a Pale (apparently his favourite go-to of their range), so I joined him, and then revelled in my unashamed nerdery by asking him to sign the bottle.
Diary II entry #14, Coopers Original Pale Ale
Verbatim: Coopers Original Pale Ale 23/9/10 at work, bought by the same random occasionally-bothersome suit who shouted the above. (And I do mean ‘shouted’.) This round was precipitated by the appearance of Dr. Tim Cooper himself. There was a bit of a do for the new imports and such. And he seems like an utterly lovely chap. He picked one of these for his in this round, so I joined him, then wrote this, obviously. And just as I was thinking a photo would be lame, I got him to sign my bottle. Now that makes for a photo opportunity. [Heh; no tasting notes.]
1: The pairing is really rather apt. Emerson’s Bookbinder was probably my first proper local microbrew; Coopers Sparkling was my first Australian — and both are members of my All Time Favourites and were therefore written-up together for my contribution to the Malthouse Beer Blog. Coopers & Emerson’s would also have to be acknowledged as leading the proper-brewing trends in their respective countries — though the former takes the gong by a hundred years, and the latter makes up for tardiness by being much more experimental.
Twisted Hop IPA, in the Hopinator with whole mandarins
People do get confused when they spot our Hopinator gizmo, they really do. Most often, they mistake it for a trophy of some sort, sitting rather-randomly on the bar. You have to sympathise, admittedly. But you do have to wonder what the trophy was for, when they saw it like this.
Twisted Hop’s IPA is bloody lovely. I’ve had a fair amount of it — and have certainly had it to excess, on one memorable occasion — and it definitely has a bitter, fruity snap to it. So hell, why not pile the Hopinator full of mandarins, and bam that up a notch? The result was really interesting; the familiar Cascade hops have a distinct citrussy bitterness, but here’s that flavour coming from actual fruit, too, so you get this nice moment of clarity about how the one really does taste like the other, but also are reminded of how different they are. If that makes any sense. This is a stonking great big beer; it is difficult to continue to make much sense when standing in its blast radius.
Diary II entry #13, Twisted Hop IPA and mandarins
Verbatim: Twisted Hop IPA & Mandarins 23/9/10 Hopinated @ MH on fresh — whole! — mandarins. 6.4%? Seems slightly mad at first, but the Hopinator looks awesome with weirdly-distorted fruit in it, and it does work. The IPA is weighty enough to not be overwhelmed, and the pithy fruity bitterness that is leeched off the fruit nicely highlights the similar flavours that were already in there. Pretty damn full-on, but good.
Given the nature of the place he runs, our Overboss can be a surprisingly… incurious drinker, sometimes. He’s very-much fond of what he’s fond of (i.e., American Pale Ale), and doesn’t seem to much wander into other fields. But hey, that does leave me (as resident Beer Nerd) with a fairly steady stream of samples to try, so no complaints.
Harrington’s make a broad range of beers, and they make them very well. They don’t often make anything whacked-out and loopy, preferring instead to make simpler, easy-drinking instances of various styles. We were a little weirded-out by the tasting note’s inclusion of a reference to “toffee” flavours, since that’s eerily close to a classic brewing fault — but I didn’t really think such was in there, anyway, except perhaps as a slightly growing sweetness in a beer that is generally crisp and light, with a cidery / winey feel to it. As much as I enjoy some crazypants in my beer sometimes, I also have a lot of time for things like this, and like Mussel Inn’s Golden Goose: simple, clean, quaffable lagers that should be rights be much more popular than the oddly-rank somehow-leading commercial examples.
Diary II entry #12, Harrington's 'Saddleback' Lager
Verbatim: Harrington’s ‘Saddleback’ Lager 20/9/10 4% sample that Col. didn’t want. 500ml. We were weirded out by the ‘toffee’ note on the label; sounds oddly like a fault. But no matter, I don’t really think it’s in there. More crisp and light, with that borderline cidery / winey feel. Very slight build into a sweetness, maybe. But this happily joins the likes of Golden Goose and such; simple, clean + quaffable
I get mistaken for Canadian, sometimes (I have very idiosyncratic accent — and no idea why I do). I have Canadian relatives, I’ve been to Canada (though I was not of beer-buying age), one of my favourite bands (The Tragically Hip) is Canadian, as are some of my most-beloved TV shows (Wonderfalls, Due South). So, how the hell did I get to Diary II without any Canadian beer, so far? And how the hell did I get this far without this legendary Canadian beer,1 in particular?
I don’t really have an excuse. But here I am, solving both problems at one delicious time. Because this beer is very much not one of those times where you finally try something much-hyped and are left with a confused look on your face, wondering what everyone elses’ fuss was all about. This deserves the not-insignificant fuss it generates.
It’s a dark, broody looking brown with purply highlights that show up against the light or during a swirl — and which suspiciously-well match the Apocalpytic-looking painting on the bottle. Compared to its big, chewy, Belgian-esque brothers, this one has a fresh, ‘uppy’ and particularly plummy fruitiness that brings a whole smackload of deliciously tart flavour into your face — like a crabapple straight off the tree. I do love the more-typical sticky fruity Belgians like Kwak, but this is just utterly fantastic as itself, and as a comparison.
Diary II entry #11, Unibroue 'Trois Pistoles'
Verbatim: Unibroue ‘Trois Pistoles’ 18/9/10 9% 355ml $9 from Rumbles. Ticking off another of those embarrassing Never Hads. Very dark brown-with-reddy-purply-highlights-on-the-swirl. Suits the broody Apocalyptic painting on the bottle. The nose is fresh, uppy and plummy, and that nicely tart fruitiness carries on into yer face. Almost crab-apply. Nice to have that side showing up in one of these big Belgian-esque ales — a fresh change from the stickier sweeter ones like Kwak. Old Port wine character, they say, which is fair. (And hey, Three Pistols was always a favourite Tragically Hip track.)
1: The aforementioned favourite band, The Tragically Hip, even did a song (on their 1991 album, Road Apples) called ‘Three Pistols’. I can only assume it’s not directly related — it’s likely that both are named after the Quebec town. I’m a big enough nerd that I made sure I listened to it while drinking the beer — and while writing up this entry, weeks later. These things have to be done, really.
