This cheeky beer, which comes in a dark glass bottle and boasts 10.9% ABV, has a tasteful, minimalist label with a yellowing, historic maritime maps theme. Upon pouring, the beer is a dark red with an excitable head of foam, needing to be topped up a few times as the glass fills; in contrast to the creamy white head, the beer looks almost porter-black, but when held to the light it’s more a bright ruby, with the opacity of the wine-dark sea. I have to confess here that we didn’t let the bottle stand for long enough, so the live yeast didn’t have time to settle at the bottom, and the bitterness is therefore slightly more dirty than it would otherwise be. If I ever have the privilege to try this delightful beverage again, I’ll be sure to treat it with more respect.
Sniffing the glass, one is hit immediately with the aroma of hard caramel, and that roasted barley that some people take as a coffee-substitute, but there’s a hint of ripe dates and apricots in there as well, perhaps a souçon of parsnips roasted with an orange zest seasoning. It’s certainly hoppier than I expected, and in a pleasant way. A tantalizing first sip is fruity and light, carrying over some of the ripe citrus flavour and a just mildly saccharine sweetness suggestive of orange barley water or cordial; nothing so far letting on how brutally strong a beer this is going to be. On taking a second sip and letting it sit on my tongue for a few seconds, I’m getting the malty, fruitcake darkness in more force, plus a more cloying hoppiness like chewing seeds or unripe lime leaves, dry and bitter rather than refreshing. I can smell tobacco, so I swallow quickly before I panic and back out.
It’s here on the swallow that the yeast hits me, and it’s pretty brutal, leaving a cloying layer of sleaze on the tongue as if you had the ‘flu, almost drowning out the peaty aftertaste of a good blended whiskey. Breathing over the memory of that bitterness, I can taste rye, ginger, fine flour and maybe a hint of marmalade on burnt toast, the way the English like it. I take another swig, enough for two or three swallows so I can taste it across my whole palate at once. The citrus is almost gone now, nothing more than a glazed fruit peel backdrop to the brandy-soaked cake washing past my tongue, the echoes of liqueur and coffee in my throat, my saliva stained with cooling fudge. The earthiness is still there, like gently sautéed mushrooms tinged with bitterness from chewing old spinach leaves. Almost salty to finish, this beer is more like a meal than a drink. I couldn’t drink litres of this in one sitting, but the complexity of the textures and flavours was absolutely delightful, and I’m glad we had it as an aperitif, rather than letting it be spoiled by accompanying it with spicy food.
