A lineup of Cream Ales from New York State. This includes Genesee Cream Ale, Newburgh Cream Ale, Prison City Cream Ale, La Cream from Aurora Brewing, and a charitable collaboration from Threes Brewing, Finback Brewing, Strong Rope Brewery and Wild East Brewing.

It seems that Cream Ale may survive the pastry-fication era of beer a little rattled, but intact. Maybe more than any other style, it was ripe for complete bastardization as some American brewers in recent years pushed styles to the extreme. However, on a recent trip to the beer store, I saw way more examples of “traditional” Cream Ale than those with adjuncts like marshmallow or guava. And the fact that numerous examples were readily available says something about its relevance (this availability may have a geographical skew here in New York, which has, IMHO, always been the most important state in the history of Cream Ale.)

Like every other style, Cream Ale has evolved. The story most often told of the beer’s origins is that American ale brewers made Cream Ale in the 1800s to compete with the pale lagers that were exploding in popularity at the time. This was done by brewing a very pale, golden ale with a grist bill that included up to or around 30 percent corn or rice and fermented at cooler temperatures like a lager. It’s kinda like the Cold IPA of the 1800s. The truth is that there already was a beer called Cream Ale in the United States before Pilsner Urquell released its highly influential beer in 1842.

John Taylor's Sons' Albany Imperial Cream Ale by John Taylor's Sons' Brewery - 1865. Image source: Biblio.

One of the earliest records of Cream Ale comes from Albany, New York. However, the big headline from the early accounts does not paint a pretty picture of the beer.

Albany’s John Taylor Brewery (the name changed over the years) was called out by Temperance Movement zealot Edward C. Delavan in the 1830s for brewing with a water source that was contaminated by nearby industries, cemeteries, and animals (live and dead). Seeking to defend his business, Taylor filed a libel suit against Delavan. However, it seemed clear that there was some truth to Delavan’s claims, and the court sided with him.

Delavan and his allies used this for their propaganda, notably in the publication called the Cold Water Army Dialogues, published in 1842. In it, there’s a fictional story where a character expresses surprise as he sees someone order an Albany Cream Ale since he thought the person was a member of the Temperance Society. In response, the Cream Ale drinker says, “I am none of your tetotalers…”

The teetotaler proceeds to tell the drinker the story of the Taylor brewery and the trial. (As a side note, in the exchange, one of the characters notes, “I asked why they call it cream ale, and they said it was because it looked yellow, like cream.”) Swayed by the description of the brewery’s practices, the drinker concedes, “…let me see the trial. If it is as you say, I will drink no more cream ale.”

Image source: Tavern Trove.

Cream Ale got caught up in Temperence Movement controversy again several decades later in the early 1900s with Laevison’s Original Cream Ale Special Brew, aka “The Great Temperance Beer”, from Paducah, Kentucky. In 1911, The Journal of the American Medical Association discussed Laevison’s Cream Ale, noting it was advertised as a Temperance drink, but samples found it to contain four percent alcohol. It stated (with a confusing use of the term “Cream Ale” seemingly implying a nonalcoholic beverage), “in the case of the “Cream Ale” it was declared to be not only misbranded but adulterated in that fermented beer had been substituted in part for the “cream ale.”

Despite these sporadic sidesteps, Cream Ale persevered. It re-emerged after Prohibition, but as Jeff Alworth notes in The Beer Bible, it came back a “lesser beer”. In particular, he notes it lost its strength and bitterness.

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As implied above, Cream Ale was not and is not monolithic. Stan Hieronymus has pointed out a notable example in his book, Brewing Local, with the case of Kentucky Common. This beer is essentially a darker version of Cream Ale that was made beginning in the 1880s. The American Handy Book of The Brewing, Malting And Auxiliary Trades by Max Henius and Robert Wahl notes the darker color in Kentucky Common may come from sugar, caramel and/or roasted malt. It also mentions the addition of corn, but doesn’t mention rice for this particular sub-style.

There are also other types of beer referred to as Cream Ale in a few different beer cultures. Irish Cream Ale typically means an Irish Red Ale that uses nitrogen to create creamy foam. Similarly, Mirella Amato has pointed out in her book Beerology the various Cream Ales found in Quebec, Canada, which she connects to McAuslan Cream Ale. This beer is a nitrogenated Pale Ale. Mirella also identifies a different Canadian Cream Ale from British Columbia originating at Russell Brewing that she describes as a “reddish-brown beer resembling a dark, English mild.”

Confusingly, there was also an Irish Cream Ale in the United States called Beverwyck Irish Brand Cream Ale from Albany, New York. It’s unclear why it had a reference to Ireland, but there’s no reason to believe it was notably different in style than the other Cream Ales being made in the US in the second half of the 1800s. According to the book Upper Hudson Valley Beer, Schaefer purchased the brewery in 1950 and discontinued the Irish Brand Cream Ale, but customers weren’t having it. So, the brewery brought the beer back under the Schaefer name.

Image sources: Pinterest, CanSmart Auctions

Many contemporary brewers have honored the overall concept of Cream Ale, with some putting minor tweaks on it here and there. They seem to shine best when they’re closer to the description of the pre-prohibition versions with more character and bitterness than those that followed prohibition. In a surprise to no one, others have used the term “cream” to take incredible liberties with the style, but as Josh Bernstein says in his book The Complete Beer Course, “there’s something to be said for the simple pleasures of an unadulterated cream ale.”

Looking forward though, as a newer generation of brewers matures, subtlety is becoming popular again. As is, a standard Cream Ale can hit the spot, but there are a few opportunities to tinker with the beer that could be cool. And its dual identity as ale and lager offers some good possibilities. Just spitballing here.

One immediate opportunity is to overcome the challenges the use of rice and corn pose with the creation of foam and head retention. These two adjuncts are lacking in the proteins that help create dense, lasting suds. So, tinkering with the grain bill can help create a Cream Ale that still presents the attributes we want from the beer, but bolsters the foam as well. This could be done by cutting back a little bit on the additions of corn or rice. Also, a small addition of Carafoam can help.

With those modifications, Cream Ale could work well from a Lukr faucet, or maybe as real ale from a handpump. And taking cues from Ireland and Canada, even nitro could work. Yeah, cream ale is not supposed to taste like cream (hold the lactose, please), but creamy foam is a-ok.

“Wafer”, a Cream Ale collaboration between Brookyln’s Strong Rope Brewery and Miles, The Prince in White Plains, New York. The beer spent a brief amout of time in a foeder.

Since Cream Ale mimics American lager, why not put it in pitch-lined vessels like American lager was back in the day? (I say this recongnizing there’s less than a handful of brewers prepared to do this right now.) Or, since it’s an ale, maybe a little (just a little) barrel character isn’t out of line. Brooklyn-based Strong Rope Brewery and Miles the Prince in nearby White Plains, New York recently teamed up for a Cream Ale, called “Wafer”, that spent some time in a foeder.  The result is fantastic. It’s a beer that’s true to the essence of Cream Ale, but for those paying attention, there’s a little something extra there that is complementary to the style and sets the beer apart from others.

It would also be great if more brewers were making Kentucky Common-type Cream Ales, or even darker brews. Either way, American Adjunct Ales through the spectrum of pale to dark would be great to see, making use of a variety of malts that are out there, particularly from smaller, regional malt houses. Likewise, indigenous/local hops are a great way to add character to the beer when possible. That said, Willamette, Fuggle, Cluster, Northern Brewer, Tettnanger, Styrian Golding, and Hallertau are all good hops for Cream Ale. Broadly speaking for both malt and hops, varieties that work well with ale and lager and don’t have intense characterstics work well.

Corn products seem to be the default adjunct for Cream Ale as it is with Mexican Lager and other American Adjunct Lagers. That’s fine, but some more releases with rice would be cool to see.

Finally, maybe it’s time to give those Temperance folks the Cream Ale they wanted. Now is great time to make NA Cream Ale.

Mahar’s Public Bar, c. 2008. Image source: All Over Albany

With a bit of anticipation and uneasiness, two college students approached the bar at Mahar’s in Albany, New York, and ordered half and half’s. Though they likely knew Mahar’s Public Bar was a great place for beer, they may not have known it was also not highly regarded for its service. The barkeep that evening, Bill, was the least welcoming of all the staff.    

Clearly irritated by the order, Bill asked the duo what beers they wanted to be used for half dark, half pale layered drink. Thrown by the question, one of them nervously replied, “Guinness and Budweiser.” His response sounded more like a question.

Bill, in many ways a real-life version of the snooty comic bookstore owner from The Simpsons, briskly replied that the pub did not carry Budweiser, but if they did, he would never make that drink with it. Thanks to this warm welcome, it would not be surprising if the students retreated to their more familiar college dive bar, well-stocked with Natty Ice, forever turned off by the lure of better beer.  

The bar at Mahar’s. Image source: Yelp.

Cask beer handpumps at Mahar’s. Image source: Yelp.

Despite the unwelcoming culture, Mahar’s was one of the very few places in the region to serve a wide array of beer during its day, and it managed to have a positive impact on many people. I was one of them.  

I moved to Albany shortly after getting into beer. Though I didn’t choose my first apartment due to its proximity to Mahar’s, it was a huge perk. Like, Billy Fuccillo huge (IYKYK). It was less than a minute away on foot from my front door.

I moved to town for graduate school in the early aughts, and in addition to working toward two advanced degrees, I had also set a goal of finishing the Mahar’s beer tour. You achieved this by drinking 200 different beers (or maybe it was 500. See below), and could only have four counted toward your tour each day. (Though 200 finished the tour and earned you a case of beer, with 500, you got your name on a plaque. Along the way, 50 earned you a t-shirt and 125 got you your own mug behind the bar. This is my recollection of the program, and it has been a while. So, forgive me if I didn’t nail it. You get the idea though.)

When you got to the bar, you made your way to the back where an old DOS computer kept track of what you drank, and you could print out a list of the day’s offerings minus what you already had on your tour. A primitive Untappd, I suppose. I don’t remember much in life, but I can tell you my tour code was 19570. I recently found one of these sheets that confirms the number.

A snipet from my Mahar’s beer tour menu for May 14, 2005.

I have subsequently learned that beers people drank may not have always made it into the system. This apparently depended on several things, including whether the staff liked you and/or liked what you drank. Daniel Kravitz was a Mahar’s patron, and he told me his experience, saying, “there was a running joke that Bill wouldn't cross off beers from the list that he didn't respect and for some strange reason Hoegaarden Wit would always be on my list. I must've drank that beer twelve times before it finally got crossed off.”

I enjoyed the tour, but many criticized it as they felt it was distracting. In hindsight, I completely understand this perspective. However, as an introvert who often went to Mahar’s alone, this distraction was likely a helpful social crutch for me.  

Despite what I said above, here’s some evidence to show I actually went to Mahar’s sometimes with my friends.

I never really felt the wrath of the employees there, personally. I was polite, quiet and curious. I did get called a hophead once for ordering and admitting that I liked Victory Prima Pils.  

The one time I did catch a bit of attitude was when Smithwick’s came to the US. As crazy as it sounds now, people were excited about it at that time. I walked in one night when they had it on tap and asked Bill for a “Smith-wicks”. He obnoxiously replied, “you mean Smit-icks?” I wasn’t having a particularly good day and angrily fired back, “I don’t care how you say it, can you just get me the beer?” From then on, Bill treated me much better. I wouldn’t say we ever had a laugh together or anything pleasant like that, but he gave me some respect, which, you know, is what he should’ve shown all customers. Nonetheless, I felt like I was accepted. Others did too.

Shaun Pekar tells me, “getting to drink at Mahar’s felt a bit like getting into some secret club where beer was different.” Now a brewer at Wayward Lane Brewing, Shaun says looking back, “in retrospect, I was embarking on a journey that very clearly was leading me to my current career path.”

Shaun learned a lot at Mahar’s. And as he says, it was a place of many firsts. “My first Lambic, my first Rauchbier, my first pint of real ale,” he reminisces. Daniel learned a bit as well. He explains, “I learned about proper glassware and how to pour a beer. I picked up Michael Jackson books that were laying around and would read them…I learned that there are too many beers to say you don't like beer.”

“I want to be perfectly clear in saying that the bartenders there

ranged from curt to downright unpleasant in their mannerisms.”

Online comment on Mahar’s

Though everyone I have recently spoken to about Mahar’s has an overall positive view of the place, they all clearly are aware it was not so easygoing for others, and pretty much all reviews, articles, etc. that can still be found online convey that. It’s astounding the number of times the word “surly” appears. 

One entry on BeerAdvocate reads, “service is well, notorious. Know what you want to order, order it, say please and thank you, leave the bar and go sit down/stand with your friends.” It’s reminiscent of “The Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld.  

A more blunt comment on Yelp describing Mahar’s says, “Staff is ridiculously rude, so much so that ordering a drink is usually an unpleasant ordeal. Beer selection is impressive, but definitely not worth dealing with the trollish bartenders.”

Some recognized that the service did vary a bit, as shown in the following comment from an article about Mahar’s in the local Albany newspaper. The comment reads, “I want to be perfectly clear in saying that the bartenders there ranged from curt to downright unpleasant in their mannerisms.”

To be fair, there was one great bartender during my time going there. His name was Kieran, and he typically worked Thursday nights. Accordingly, more often than not, that was the night I was there.

A sign of the times and vibes at Mahar’s. Image source: Yelp.

Owner Jim Mahar was nearly as brusque, but not as rude as Bill. Nonetheless, it’s interesting that Jim and some of his staff treated customers the way they did since he regularly told a story of being turned away at a Sam Smith’s pub in England. He described arriving at the pub as they were closing for the afternoon hours as they used to do in England. It appeared to him that the staff and patrons inside were still drinking, amused by the American being turned away. This was enough to make him permanently and passionately deride Sam Smith’s beer (though he still sold it). Yet he created a space that in some ways mimicked the less desirable elements of Sam Smith’s pubs, known for their strict rules and questionable hospitality.

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By the end of the aughts, those looking for great beer in the Albany Capital District had options. While Mahar’s still excelled in a couple of areas like their cask service and their in-depth knowledge, other bars carried a solid selection without the attitude and without the old man vibes. Further, the beer nerd market was shifting toward new American beers that were highly hopped. Though Mahar’s stocked a variety of beer, the low carbonation, cellar temperature ale that had been a strong selling point for the pub was no longer as appealing as the beers battling out the IBU wars available in other places around town.

Unsurprisingly stubborn, Jim Mahar did little to change his bar that he opened in 1989. While I appreciated that (not including the shitty service), many understandably did not. They moved on.

A few short years later in 2013, the Mahar’s building was sold and they were forced out. According to local news reports at the time, this news was unexpected to Mahar. Others disputed that. Either way, Mahar indicated it was not an amicable closure.

Mahar had already set up another pub not too far away in Castleton in 2010, but that only lasted until 2014. He passed away shortly afterward in 2015 at the age of 65.

He certainly had his critics, and for good reason, but it was quite an accomplishment to run the kind of establishment he did, where he did, at the time he did, and for over twenty years.

For a period, those on their beer tour were able to continue the journey in town at the Allen Street Pub. My understanding is that came to an end when ownership of this pub changed hands sometime after.  

Mahar’s was replaced by the Madison Pour House, which is still in operation today.

Delaware Supply owners Lauren Slezak and Colin Pratt. Image source: Instagram.

While Mahar’s is now gone for over a decade, there’s a new generation of beer drinkers in Albany that have captured some of the better attributes of the now closed pub, leaving the hostile environment and toxic attitudes in the past. Notably, this includes Delaware Supply, opened by Lauren Slezak and Colin Pratt in 2017.  

While the diversity of the beers carried by Mahar’s often meant there was something for everyone, this may have been a happy coincidence as opposed to an intentional effort to be welcoming. On the contrary, Delaware Supply aims to be welcoming to all, curious college kids included. That means a diversity in beer styles, supplemented with other choices like cider, natural wine, kombucha and NA beverages.

Lauren and Colin are both incredibly polite and happy to offer their knowledge to their patrons without belittling them. They actually enjoy sharing the things they love as opposed to being inhospitable gatekeepers. As an example, Colin says, “serving Orval to somebody for the first time is joyful for everybody involved.”

The something for everyone ethos carries over to their streamlined, but mouth-watering food program. It’s streamlined because Delaware Supply is not a restaurant, but they want you to have easy access to a delicious bite if you’re in need. (Mahar’s also had a few things to eat for a period (see menu above) but I can’t say from experience if it was any good.) Lauren’s goal is to be “simple, fresh, tasty, and a little bit different”. On the menu, you’ll find sandwiches like spicy capocollo with peppadew cheddar spread and pickled celery on a toasted ciabatta roll, tinned fish, olives and other snacks like that.

“Serving Orval to somebody for the first time is joyful for everybody involved.” Colin Pratt, Delaware Supply. Image source: Instagram.

A cask from New Jersey’s The Seed sits atop the bar at Delaware Supply. Image source: Instagram.

They’ve been doing gravity pour cask service periodically for a while and say that when word got out that they were serving cask ale, people started showing up that they had never seen before. Turns out, many of Mahar’s customers still live in the area and they still like cask beer. All these new folks who show up for cask beer mention Mahar’s. That made them have the realization that they were filling a gap in the market, in part, because of Mahar’s closure.

After an event where Suarez Family Brewery temporarily installed a handpump at the bar, Lauren and Colin saw how easy it could be to have their own permanent setup. Gravity casks have their place, but pulling pints from a handpump (that they accessorize with a sparkler), can’t be beat.  

Delaware Supply gives a nod to the legacy of Mahar’s with a special drink that was occassionally served at the shuttered pub. The drink is a blend of two Coniston beers. At one time, the British brewery did this themselves, blending and packaging their Bluebird Bitter and Old Man Ale to produce a beer they referred to as ‘Opium’. Opium could not be imported into the US with that name. So, Mahar’s would bring in Bluebird Bitter and Old Man Ale and blend the two themselves.

Lauren and Colin call it “Mahar’s Special Blend” for two reasons. First, they’re not going to call it Opium. Second, Lauren tells me, “it reminds people that we’re connected to the greater Albany craft beer scene that Mahar’s really established for the rest of us.”

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Albany has had a great beer culture for a long time. It punches well above its weight for a small city in Upstate New York. Mahar’s was an incredibly important part of its culture and history, and was an influential place for myself and many others. Delaware Supply is doing this for a newer generation, and with that, the evolution of Albany as a great beer town continues, for the better at the moment.

The Ambleside Pub is opening in Mount Kisco, New York this week with a house cask Bitter as its star. Normally, I would say that sounds like a very risky venture, but in this case, there’s good reason to suggest it may actually work.

First, people crave authentic experiences lately and pub owner Drew Hodgson has done everything he can to ensure this space is like the traditional pubs of his native England. In addition to the cask ale, the attention to detail covers everything from the interior design of the space down to the Scampi Fries (look ‘em up) you can snack on at the bar.

Second, there has been a slight uptick in the sales of traditional English styles like Dark Mild, and several breweries are even installing handpumps in their taprooms. Drew is aware of these trends, but he’s got more than that going for him.

A few years back, Drew and his wife, Leigh, opened The Hamlet, a British goods store just down the street from The Ambleside. Due to this, he knows he already has a sizable customer base, particularly British expats, craving British goods and an authentic British experience in their home away from home. With these folks alone, there’s a level of comfort that they will regularly turnover firkin-sized casks.  

The primary beverage that will be pulled from the handpumps is their very own Ambleside Best Bitter, a 4.3-percent ABV ale brewed for them by Old Glenham Brewery. The inspiration for the beer goes back to Drew’s youth. He grew up within walking distance from The Boddington Arms in Wilmslow, England, and drank the classic British ale, Boddington’s, on a regular basis.

It’s true that Boddington’s is a shadow of its former self, or so I’m told, but Drew sought out something akin to the Boddington’s from his youth. Something with a bit more character than what the beer presents today.

Working with Ian Hatton at Old Glenham (another British expat), they created a flavorful, and of course sessionable bitter, brewed with a malt base of Maris Otter, and a little Munich and wheat on top of that. It’s hopped with Fuggles, East Kent Golding and Bramling Cross hops.

If you know your British geography, you know that Ambleside is a picturesque village in the Lake District, close to where Drew was born, and Wilmslow is also in the north. So, it goes without saying that the swan necks on the handpumps include sparklers.

When I brought up the question of whether to sparkle or not when speaking to Drew and Ian, they both immediately replied as if there was no other possibility. Sparkler it is.

The beer is the focus of the pub. Drew emphatically tells me, “we care about beer more than anything else.” But they’ve got a perfectly streamlined menu with all the classics if you need a bite. Shepherd's Pie, Bangers and Mash, Fish and Chips and Cornish Pasties, along with the Scampi Fries and other crisps.

It’s more than the beer though, of course. It’s about creating a warm, welcoming place to gather. This will be particularly true when Premier League football matches are happening. The pub will be opening early on game days and Drew believes the pub will also be a destination to watch the matchups.

The pub is a welcome addition to the region, which hasn’t had a space with reliable cask beer in quite some time (The Lazy Boy used to pull cask pints, but that is now a faded memory). In addition to those thirsting for subtle cask beer, given the evolving beer market, The Ambleside may be able to generate some new fans of cask beer. And if cask beer isn’t your thing, they have a bevy of other beverages including a properly served Guinness. Pull up and let them pull you a pint.

I don’t know why I’ve been thinking about Irish Red Ales this St. Patrick’s Day season. It may be because I’m working on a post that includes an experience I had ordering a Smithwick’s at the shuttered Mahar’s Public Bar in Albany, NY when the beer first came to the US. It sounds crazy in 2024, but at the time, people were really excited about it.  

Maybe it’s because maltier, traditional ales like English-style Milds are kind of a thing right now. Brett Taylor, Co-Founder and Head of Brewing at Brooklyn’s Wild East Brewing agrees. Brett explains, “I think balance is having a moment, and I think malt-forward and easy-drinking ales are resonating with people after so many years of double/triple/imperial/pastry/smoothie/desert, etc.”

In addition to making some great Milds, Brett used to brew an Irish Red Ale for the Irish Pub The Wolfhound in Astoria, Queens (read a little bit about that here). Ultimately, the partnership didn’t make sense for Wild East given the limited volume of Red Ale that was in need and the scale of their brewhouse. But it was a fantastic beer.

As the market has shifted a little bit, I wonder if making an Irish Red Ale in volume might make more sense now.

“Six months ago, I’d have said the challenge to brewing Irish Red is selling it”, Brett tells me. Yet, today, he’s having success with several of his malt-forward brands. Speaking to Irish Red Ale in the current market, he says, “I think up is down, down is up and the sun sets in the east. For whatever reason malt-forward beers are doing really well right now, which is to say relatively—they’re not going to hang with a pilsner or any IPA anywhere. But they’re not DOA as they were for so many years.”

Irish Red Ale is an oddball style. Many people are actually not even cool with calling it a style, and it raises the problem of having to place everything in a category. Categories that have very specific parameters (e.g. malt, hops, SRM, IBU, etc.) I’m totally fine with simply calling any reddish-colored ale from Ireland an Irish Red Ale. If you disagree, you may want to stop reading. Beers outside of Ireland using that style classification have a higher burden of proof, and it’s reminiscent of my thoughts on Mexican Lagers (i.e. what really makes the beer “Irish”?)

If you want to know more about the history of Irish Red Ales in Ireland, I highly recommend the three-part series over at the IrishBeerHistory blog. Liam, the author of the blog, wraps up the highly detailed series with a quite fitting quote here, saying, “let us not fixate too much on the subject of labels and just drink and brew more red ales.”

So, let’s talk about some of the beers. And to do that, we probably need to start with Smithwick’s. Smithwick’s is an Irish ale dating back to the 1960s, and it’s part of the Guinness/Diageo empire. While Killian’s may have started the whole “Irish Red Ale” thing, it is Smithwick’s that many think of when the style is mentioned. And honestly, Killian’s, a lager, is really not something that has much relevance in talking about what Irish Red Ale is today, and what it could be.

Smithwick’s is not a great beer, but it’s not terrible either. And tasting it makes you see that if someone wanted to, the beer could easily be great. That’s not necessarily for Smithwick’s to do. I’m sure they could care less. Rather, it should serve as inspiration for other skilled brewers out there. And that’s what many have done.

Unfortunately, most Irish ale brands don’t make it here to the US and I’ve never been to Ireland. So, I can’t speak from great experience. Though I’ve periodically seen O’Hara’s and Lough Gill on shelves here (and Porterhouse even had a pub in New York City), aside from Smithwick’s, the only other Irish Red I’ve had from Ireland recently was Sullivan’s.

Sullivan’s Brewing Company began in 2016, but it claims its origins go back to 1702. It is a revival of a defunct brewery in Kilkenny in partnership with members of the Smithwick family, as well as descendants of the Sullivan family who owned the original brewery, per the fluffy, somewhat misleading/inaccurate Sullivan’s webpage.

Their take on the Irish Red Ale certainly packs more heft and flavor than Smithwick’s. To those who think of Irish Red Ale as more of a Scottish Ale, this beer would support that claim. On balance, it still seems lacking.

Over in the US, Irish Red Ales were quite common at one time, and while many were subpar, others really excelled. They’re a bit scarce these days. I recently sampled Conway Ale by Great Lakes Brewing Company and 3Floyds’ Return of the Ancients.

The Great Lakes version could serve as a standard, though it is a bit on the strong side at 6.3-percent ABV. It has a robust mouthfeel and a distinct malt profile that really sets it apart from other Red/Amber Ales.

Not surprisingly, the 3Floyds version packs a hoppy punch and doesn’t seem incredibly far off from other hoppy American Ambers. It is, perhaps, a bit maltier, and has a little more fermentation character. This beer is a bit stronger than the Conway Ale at 6.5-percent ABV (and 40 IBUs).

Back in Ireland, smaller brewers continue to embrace Irish Red Ale. Galway Bay Brewery makes one they call “Bay Ale”. A recent Instagram post of theirs describes the beer like this, “A subtle hoppiness on a rich, but easy roasted malt base…Proud to have this modern classic of a style in the core range.”  

The sessionable beer is 4.4-percent ABV and includes Irish malts in the grain bill. Lough Gill comes in even lower with their Anderson’s Irish Red Ale at 4-percent ABV. That beer also includes some roasted malt.

Galway Bay Brewery Bay Ale. Image source: Galway Bay Brewery.

Lough Gill Anderson’s Irish Red Ale. Image source: Lough Gill Brewery.

Dublin’s Porterhouse Brewing Company bluntly addresses the stereotypes of Irish Red Ales  on their webpage:

“Irish red ales? Yes, we know. Sweet, a bit cloying and, well, no thanks. So, it was brave of us (we say bravely) to put the words “red ale” after our own moniker. Why the hell would we do that?

Because this is a real red ale, an ale to conjure with that happens to be reddish in colour. More importantly, it’s exuberantly, joyfully fruity with a bit of malty caramel.

But sweet? No way. Balanced, yes. Fresh, yes. Aromatic, yes. In fact, we say yes, please.”

I appreciate this. Irish Red Ale doesn’t have to be what some stereotypes about it say they are. They’re making a Red Ale that’s Irish. Take it or leave it.

What I find most fascinating and promising about contemporary Irish Red Ales is what’s happening at Ballykilcavan Brewing Company. The family that owns the property at Ballykilcavan has been there for thirteen generations and the farm brewery was started as a means to sustain the property and its economic viability for future generations.

All the barley used in Ballykilcavan beer is grown on the property and is malted just a few miles away at Minch Malt. Their water is sourced from the property as well. They’re even growing a little bit of hops.

Their Brickyard Red Ale may be the most Irish of all the Irish Red Ales out there. Like many, if not all, of the others mentioned above, the grain bill includes a touch of roasted barley.

The picturesque Ballykilcavan Brewing Company. Image source: Ballykilcavan Brewing Company.

There’s tons of potential for great Irish Red Ales. Like the beer the country is better known for, Irish Red Ales can be sessionable beers enjoyed at the pub, with low enough alcohol and enough of a dry finish that a couple of rounds will do you well for a bit of craic (look it up). But the beer can also be a bit more versatile when it comes to food pairing than Dry Irish Stout.

And Irish Red Ales don’t need to be monolithic. There’s certainly a place for stronger versions like the ones found in the US. Served at the proper temperature, those can do well on special occasions or on a cold winter night by a fire.

Athletic NA Irish Red. Image source: Athletic Brewing Co.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, there’s also NA Irish Red Ale. Believe it or not, Athletic has already made one.

Perhaps one of the best opportunities for Irish Red Ale is how well the style lends itself to natural carbonation and cask dispense. Though cask beer is not necessarily ubiquitous in Ireland, or anywhere else for that matter, who cares? It can be superb from a handpump. Let’s make it happen.

Sláinte!

Casketbeer started five years ago with the goal of promoting everyday beer styles. In a way, this has kinda meant classic beer styles that are overlooked for the latest trends. It was never meant to be static.

When the blog started, there was chatter about increased interest in classic lager styles and I’ve written about a lot of these. Some doubted if the lager thing would stick, but it has proven enduring. That’s great to see.  

There has even been a very slight uptick in breweries producing traditional English-style beer lately. In particular, several breweries now make Mild. This is a style that had fallen off the radar in the UK, and I don’t recall it ever really being on anyone’s radar here in the US.

As things have evolved since the blog’s inception, I’ve been thinking about what’s currently overlooked and I keep coming back to Belgian styles. Not long ago, they were all the rage. People were buying imports and countless Belgian-inspired breweries were opening. Westvleteren 12 was the most highly rated and sought-after beer. Now, it ranks 50th on Beer Advocate’s top list of beers, below others like an imperial barrel-aged maple bacon coffee porter called ‘Morning Wood’.

I’ve had an affinity for Belgian styles since getting into beer. This is no doubt largely due to briefly working at Brewery Ommegang in 2002. The Belgian-inspired brewery in upstate New York was co-owned by the folks who also owned Vanberg & DeWulf, an import company specializing in Belgian beer. Don Feinberg and Wendy Littlefield at Vanberg and DeWulf deserve a substantial amount of credit for not only introducing countless Americans to great Belgian beer, but also for saving Belgian brands that were on the verge of extinction. Their efforts certainly had a significant impact on me.

My mind has drifted toward these beers in the last year. In particular, I’ve been thinking about St. Bernardus. While the brewery makes an array of quality beers, I’ve specifically been thinking about their Wit, Abt 12, and Christmas Ale.

Before getting into those a little bit more, just a word or two on the company. St. Bernardus has evolved to stay relevant. I appreciate that. To connect with contemporary consumers, they began canning some beer, dabbled with barrel aging, and even produced some nitro kegs.

Image source: St. Bernardus.

Image source: St. Bernardus.

The brewery’s packaging/design has improved, but I feel like the company would greatly benefit from a complete packaging overhaul. I get the urge to adorn the labels with a cartoonish monk (technically, it’s not really supposed to be a monk since the brewery had to part with the Trappist affiliation years ago). It conveys several things many customers will immediately connect with. It just doesn’t positively resonate with me. They’ve made a substantial investment in their facilities, demonstrated in part in the photos above, which depict a modern and elegant operation. I think the packaging should align with this evolution.

On to the beer

Aside from a few well-known brands (i.e. Hoegaarden, Shock Top, Blue Moon and Allagash White), Belgian-style Witbier is rare. That’s not only true in the US, but also in Belgium, where it never was a widely brewed style.     

In Belgium, the style was dead until Pierre Celis brought it back to life when he created Hoegaarden. But the interpretation he introduced in the 1960s was different than the Belgian wheat beer of the past. Notably, it was not sour. Instead, the citrus-tinged brew provided a flavor profile that was complex, but approachable. It’s akin to German Hefeweizen, but with a citrus flavor instead of banana and clove. The fact that Witbier does not have greater popularity is baffling.

Celis sold Hoegaarden to Interbrew (now part of AB-InBev) in 1990, which provided greater distribution, and by many accounts led to the detriment of the beer. Fortunately, Celis collaborated with St. Bernardus on their Wit, which may exist today as a greater representation of what Celis created nearly 60 years ago.  

Image source: St. Bernardus.

The St. Bernardus Wit does have similarities to Hoegaarden, but Hoegaarden has a sweetness that detracts from its enjoyability. With the St. Bernardus beer, the sweetness is missing and there is a notable spice bite. All together, it’s easy to see the St. Bernardus version is a better beer.

Abt 12 has probably been the most discussed of the three beers highlighted here because of its connection to Westvleteren 12. The St. Bernardus brewery was created to brew Westvleteren beer for the St. Sixtus monks in 1946. Though the monks at St. Sixtus had been brewing since the 1830s, they decided they wanted to focus their resources in other areas. Their brewer, along with their yeast, brought the recipes to St. Bernardus where Westvleteren beer was brewed until 1992. Abt 12 is very similar to Westvleteren 12. Two differences between the beers would be that they use water from their respective breweries, and Westvleteren now uses a Westmalle yeast strain. As St. Bernardus is using the original Westvleteren yeast strain, you could argue the St. Bernardus version is more Westvleteren than Westvleteren is.

Image source: St. Bernardus.

Contrary to my packaging comments above, there are two things about the Abt 12 packaging that I love. First, one in every 1,000 of the bottles produced includes a winking (not a) monk figure. I’ve never found one, but I always look.

Second, I really enjoy the annual release of the magnum bottle, which features unique artwork each year. This year’s version is depicted below. It’s a bargain. Also, the volume and the style of beer lend themselves well to holiday parties.   

Image source: St. Bernardus.

Image source: St. Bernardus.

However, the brewery has another release specifically for the holidays. The Christmas Ale doesn’t exactly have a story like the Wit or Abt 12, but it is by far one of the best Belgian holiday ales. It has long been one of my go-tos (admittedly, after the Abt 12 magnum noted above). It checks a lot of boxes in terms of flavor, potency and packaging (which is again in contrast to what I said above. I feel like it’s more palatable for Christmas beers). My understanding and interpretation of the Christmas beer is that it is incredibly similar to Abt 12 except it is spiced to give it more of a holiday feel. 

Grab yourself a bottle (or can, if you like) of Christmas Ale this holiday season. It’s nearly guaranteed to give you a little holiday cheer. And throughout the upcoming year, consider some of the other Belgian classics. I have so many favorites, but I’m thinking Saison Dupont in the spring (also, their Avec Les Bons Voeux for New Year’s Eve), St. Bernardus Wit over the summer (or maybe De La Senne’s Taras Boulba, a modern classic), and Rodenbach Grand Cru in the fall. Cheers.