Something on top, sir…?
They say size matters – and to us Brits it certainly does with regard to beer. Those last couple of centimetres (inches if you’re old school; or fingers if you tend to peruse the spirit shelf now and again) can change the entire formula of the drink. CAMRA types will be keenly eying up the level, daring the bar staff to leave their pint a couple of sips short. Northerners will be looking for that thick creamy head we all apparently love, whilst Southerners will be hoping there’s no pesky sparkler dispensing that bubbly wastefulness. And those about to grapple with a round are hoping the surface tension holds until they can get all the pints back to their respective destinations.
But there’s another class of people out there – that never really get taken into consideration on websites and blogs about beer. What about those that like to leave a gap at the top of the pint for a dash of something else? I’m not talking about the students battering their braincells with a ‘depthcharge’ (or Poktanju for our Korean readers). I’m referring to shandy drinkers. Even the name has developed into urban slang for someone who’s a bit soft, the stigma of ordering something weakened, something diluted. But when you think about it, is there anything wrong with asking for a dash of fruity mixer to be included? I remember my (then new) girlfriend asking for a Kronenburg tops in a classic Edinburgh real ale pub – and we’re still together. Although when it’s Kronenburg you’re diluting, I say go for it.
Anyway, all this came up the other month when we were in a back street pub in Stirling and I overheard the conversation at the next table. A group of old soaks were discussing a mate of theirs who had developed a taste for – what has to be the most Scottish ‘thirst quencher’ I’ve ever heard of – Irn-Bru tops. So, of course, that got me thinking about how it could possibly taste. And there’s only one way to find out, of course. So I’ve been doing some digging and have come up with some mind-boggling recipes. Although they are all for another time, not for today. Instead, some actual imported bespoke Belgian ale – albeit one that resembles lager tops.
Mystic Citron Vert (3.8%) is an unfiltered Belgian blanche flavoured with added lime juice produced by the Brouwerij Haacht (also available in Cranberry and Cherry versions). Combining the “light tingling of the lime fruits with a pleasant sweetness”, it “ends in a deliciously refreshing aftertaste.” Well, we are fans of Belgian beer here on the BeerCast. It pours a hazy yellow with a vague greenish tinge, and the overwhelming taste is sugar. It’s colossally sweet, lemons and sugar – oddly I got more lemon than lime out of it. At under 4% there was never really going to be a beery-ness to it, and as expected it tastes like diluting juice, or maybe Lemsip. It might be nicer warm, actually.
