Raising a glass to our new love affair

We Irish have become beer connoisseurs, insisting they have obscure names and are from far-flung places, says Carl Dixon

BEER and football have long been happy bedfellows, and, despite our ignominious departure from the Euro 2012 football tournament, most fans cheerfully took the opportunity to imbibe more than their fair share of the amber nectar. Not surprising, given that we have been using beer to drown our sorrows, or to celebrate, for much of human history; the oldest known beer recipe is from Mesopotamia 4,000 years ago.

However, in the world of Irish beer there are changes afoot. When we first qualified for the Euro Championships in 1988, stout and lager were the beers of choice for the predominantly male fan base, with other, more exotic drinks, such as wine, reserved for women, foreigners and, maybe, an outlandish event like a dinner party.

Since then, a fair portion of the Irish public have changed to wine, but, in recent times, there has been a massive surge in the popularity of exotic beers. Connoisseurs are now looking for bars that can cater to their new-found cosmopolitan tastes for German lager, wheat beers, English ales and the brews from local micro-breweries. Seasoned beer drinkers, who wouldn’t be seen dead sipping wine during a match, can now indulge their predilection for the exotic without any risk to their status as hardcore, down-to-earth beer drinkers.

It is now getting to the stage where a typical round sounds like a NATO security briefing; full of guttural German sounds, English rural place names and confusing code words. And, God forbid you should return to the table with the wrong brew. “Are you absolutely sure this is the extra-strong Black Strudelweiner Gestalt Wisenbieren from Bavaria?” one of your drinking companions might enquire aggressively, whilst examining the oddly shaped bottle in minute detail. “It is made by blind, silent nuns in a cave hidden high in the Straateck mountains, from a unique blend of hops,” he will inform his other beer-drinking companions in a conspiratorial whisper, whilst they all nod appreciatively. “It has a lovely caramel and green coffee base, with a distinct, coal-dust overtone.” Meanwhile, they all glare at your bog-standard lager with disdain; as if they had brought you to a fancy Italian restaurant and you insisted on ordering chips and curry sauce.

I am, it seems, completely uncultured when it comes to beer. If it is wet and alcoholic, roughly golden in colour, fits tidily into a pint glass and its name is easily pronounceable at 3am, I am sorted.

But, never one to shirk a challenge, no matter how disagreeable, I agreed to a tour of the suitable watering holes of Cork for educational purposes.

However, to accompany me I needed drinkers with class and sophistication, who could tread surefooted through this complex world. Unfortunately, pickings on these criteria were pretty slim; however, asking men to drink beer for research purposes is like putting a tray of lettuce seedlings next to a hungry slug colony, so companionship wasn’t an issue. And so it was that a fellowship of three, Damian, Andrew and myself, was formed and set forth onto the streets of Cork in search of interesting beer.

First up was Bradley’s off licence on North Main Street. “Well, it is hard to know where to start,” Michael Creedon, the owner, said before leading me through a dazzling array of beers from places around the world as diverse as America, Norway, the Czech Republic and even Kerry.

“Some of these beers are around 10% proof,” he said. “Generally, you drink these like wine; you sip one or two bottles over an evening, but you don’t go on the mad tear.” The pick of the crop is Westvleteren, which is consistently voted the best beer in the world and is made by Belgian monks at the Trappist Abbey of Saint Sixtus. A small quantity has been released onto the market to support the refurbishment of the monastery. The monks say their beer is only sold to financially support the monastery, although, presumably, they need to sample the odd glass for quality-control purposes.

The next port of call is The Bierhaus, where owner Dave O’Leary sells only foreign and micro-brewery beers. “In a normal bar, about 70% of the drinkers know exactly what they want, but in here most are looking to try new beers,” he said. “When we started, we had the usual range of beers, but we have gradually phased those out and we currently have about 180 beers to choose from.

“I don’t know whether the famous German purity laws are rigidly enforced, but, certainly, if there are less chemicals in the beer, the hangover is a lot more manageable.”

My drinking companions were, by now, salivating in excitement as they perused the large, handwritten blackboard menu. Andrew went for the White Gypsy Ruby Irish Red Ale, followed by Old Engine Oil; Damian for the Kostzer Black Lager Beer, followed by Kelpie Seaweed Ale. It was here, I felt, that their beer-drinking expertise would naturally come to the fore. “How is it?” I asked Damian, eagerly, expecting him to wax lyrical on how it reminded him of seaside adventures as a child in Kerry, or the excitement of kayaking around the Aran islands, or at least something vaguely nautical in tone. “Nice,” he said. “Very ...er ... nice, really.” Andrew was at least a little more graphic. “The Gypsy isn’t too gassy; you could drink it with a meal, for example. Old Engine Oil is like rubber tyres, tarmac on a hot day, diesel and a bullseye sweet; but really tasty, almost like a sauce,” he said. Meanwhile, my Pipers Gold Pale Ale, judging by the rate at which it was disappearing, could be classed as very smooth.

After a few more pints, including Young’s Double Chocolate Stout, Banana Bread Beer and Zlaty Bazant, we strolled amiably to the Franciscan Well brewery. It is on the site of a old Franciscan monastery and well, dating back to 1219, and legend has it that the water from the well has curative properties.

However, if I was hoping for increased loquaciousness from my reviewers, I was to be disappointed. Andrew enjoyed his pint of Purgatory, but said his next, a Belgian brew, was “a little woolly, like a lost sock at the back of your throat.”

Whereas Damian, with a look of fierce concentration, declared his Schneider Weise Hefe Usnar Original from Tap 7 as “a bit schizophrenic, it doesn’t taste the way it should.”

He then formally declared that his Schneider Wiese Kristal was “very refreshing, like a cold breeze in winter on the Alps or somewhere .... or in Kerry, perhaps”

It was becoming clear, as Andrew and Damian got diverted into an animated discussion on the best-ever Abba song, that the objectivity and sobriety of the beer reviewers was bending under the strain, even though we hadn’t yet reached our third destination, the Abbott’s Ale Inn, just up the road. “Sure it’s miles away,” said Damian, waving a dismissive hand and sinking comfortably into his seat. “Stop fussing, have one of your normal shite beers and relax, would you.”

Beers may change, but beer drinkers don’t, it seems, and this Continental-style of beer drinking may take just a little more practice.

* The Irish Craft Beer Festival is in Dublin’s RDS from tomorrow until Sunday; irishcraftbeerfestival.com; The Paulaner Oktoberfest Beag is at the Old Beamish and Crawford Brewery, South Main Street, Cork from September 13-22; www.oktoberfestbeag.ie

Cheers for our very own Oktoberfest

Cork’s former Beamish and Crawford site on South Main Street transforms itself into a German beer fest for the third year, starting next Thursday.

Sponsored by Paulaner beers, the German brewer will be bringing two of its most special brews to Cork for the Oktoberfest Beag Festival, for beer enthusiasts to sample. “This festival is as close to the real thing as you can get,” says organiser Ernest Cantillon of Electric in Cork. “We go all-out for the authentic German beer festival feeling. We will have specially-made pretzels, staff in Lederhosen, frankfurters, and we fly in a six-piece band from Germany for the duration of the festival.”

There will be a masterclass in beer making, beer games, corporate nights out and tickets start at €10. “We had about 6,000 visitors last year, but this year looks closer to 8,000-9,000,” said Ernest.

* See www.oktoberfestbeag.ie for more