AMSTERDAM MARINER (Holland)
One of the celebrated “Supermarket Dutch” school, of beers of vaguely Heineken-esque flavour but generally mild-mannered Clark Kent type character available dirt-cheap by import beer standards (generally around $2 per “cheater”, or 330 ml, stubby) at supermarket chains. One of the big chains does Amsterdam Mariner, and the other does Amstel. This is probably the most impact-free of all of them. It’s a Dutch beer, but without the balance that makes the wilfully odd Heineken work, and without the carefree knockabout drinkable charm of Amstel. It’s got enough flavour to get in the way of just knockin’ em back on a hot day, but not a loveable enough one that you’d be remarking on anything but the low price. You’d want to drink it plenty cold, at which point it’s palatable in a “I only spent $2 per bottle on an import beer” kind of way. Not horrible at all, but not much of anything else either.
AMSTEL (Holland)
Same as above, but less pushy about the Dutch mill overkill flavour routine, and thus more chuggable. Again, you’d want it cold, but this is a potential “staying beer” on a hot day. Good value at the price. Careful that you’re getting Dutch beer from Holland though. Some bottle-shops sell an “Amstel” (generally in cans for easy point of distinction, but not always) that’s made under license in England. Most beers made under license in another country than the nominal point of origin are so much barley soup in a can. As a rule you should probably insist that the Dutch beer you buy is at least Dutch.
AMSTEL LIGHT (Holland)
Reasonably hard to come by, which is unfortunate as it’s a pleasant featherweight diversion by light beer standards. (In this case “Light” does mean lower alcohol, as opposed to what it means generally on a European beer label, which is “Not Dark Beer”, ie a conventional, regular-alcohol-count lager.) A touch more flavour than you’re used to in a light beer, and drinks like most American beers, in that it’s built for speed rather than a memorable drive with lots of Kodak sight-seeing moments. You’re looking for a small can in this case, and it’s a light beer, so you wouldn’t want to pay more than about $2 per. Not a real beer, but if you’re after a light, this is one of the better ones you’ll find, if you can find it.
COOPERS MILD ALE (Australia City)
For a supposedly traditional and gimmick-free old school brewery, over the last ten years or so, these guys have arguably produced more pure marketing gimmick and largely pointless beers than anyone in the country outside the Big Two. They’d have the title locked up if it wasn’t for Boags and Cascade producing about a gazillion different versions of what is fundamentally the exact same lily-livered, week-kneed soup for exclusively Tasmanian consumption and putting different labels on it, but at least they quarantine those to local, state-wide consumption and send their heavy-hitters out for the national market.
Coopers pursue the law of diminishing returns with stuff like Coopers Draught and Export Lager, or whatever they were called, and prove conclusively to everyone on a national basis that, for all their famous hand-crafted, oak-barrel tradition, they still can’t make Melbourne beer better than CUB can. Then everyone ignores them comprehensively and goes on drinking Sparkling Ale or Coopers Pale anyway.
Anyway, Coopers Mild is a little different, since they’ve applied the old top-fermented think-pans to the problem of trying to supply a lower-alcohol beer that tastes like something, in particular beer. It’s a problem no-one’s really solved yet, and probably never will, but it was worth taking a crack at, and this isn’t a bad compromise in a way. It’s basically an attempt at trying to do a light beer version of Coopers Sparkling Ale, undoubtedly still their flagship beer. It’s 3.5% alc/vol, it’s cloudy with the trademark swirly bits in it, so it at least looks like a beer.
On first mouth-grab, it tastes like one too, but then it does the light-beer thing where the tastebud-elevator suddenly drops 15 floors, and you find out there’s no “middle” to the beer at all, tag-teamed shortly afterwards by no satisfying “finish” to follow. Well, we’ve all had relationships like that, bar the Pope. Anyway, that’s a lower-alcohol beer given. It’s in the chemistry, man, and after all this time, man-hours and mega-litres of research dollars spent trying to make light beer taste like beer, it’s fairly safe to assume that – short of an immense scientific breakthrough reminiscent of the guy a soccer manager once referred to as “Norman Einstein” – it’s never going to happen.
In the case of Coopers Mild what flavour there is, which is all in the first contact, is pleasantly reminiscent of this mob’s franchise brew, Sparkling Ale, only toned down a little, which may be a plus for some folks, given that that’s a very strange, if liveable and loveable, beer. If you were after a light beer with some (or any) flavour, this is probably worth a try. I think it would be a better “staying beer” in hot weather than the full-strength version which is its one real advantage. Without some fairly pushy marketing – thunderously absent from just about all the previous Coopers variety attempts, so don’t hold your breath there – this will disappear into the ruck, and then probably without a trace. So you might want to be quick on this one.
Price seems to be set at regular alcohol Aussie beer prices, (this is COOPERS after all, who don’t even take a pee without doing it in a hand-crafted, top-fermented fashion, into oak barrels, yet), which is probably a mistake. With a light beer, you’re “getting less” and you should be paying less. This is the way the market’s been conditioned to think, and it’s probably about right too. It might be cheaper than Coopers heavy product, not sure, but I remember it wasn’t enough cheaper when I bought it.
BUDEJOVICKY BUDVAR (Czech Republic)
Or we could just come to an accommodation and call it “BUDVAR” for short.
I’m not 100% research-proof certain, but I think this is the stuff that used to be called Budweiser for years, before the younger American cousins who market something vaguely confusable with a beer under that name must’ve used money to achieve a legal arrangement on the name thing. If I’m wrong, I apologise unreservedly and without the need for anyone getting their lawyers all riled up, but I remember a very similar beer with a similarly coloured label that used to be called “Budweiser” that also came from The Artist Formerly Known As Czechoslovakia. Also, this says “Original Budejovicky Budvar” on the label, and since there probably wasn’t going to be a whole bunch of brewers jostling to have one of the more unwieldy trademarks in marketing history on their label, you figure the “Original” part might be code.
This is a Czech beer, nothing like the possibly erstwhile American cousin, as it has plenty of two-fisted, mouth-punching flavour to be going on with. Unlike a lot of other Czech or Slovak beers, this one is somewhat toned down in terms of pelting you relentlessly with every quirk of the hops and then finishing you off with a right cross of chunky malt. The trade-off is in drinkability, as this has the unmistakable national-folk-dancing-on-your-tongue Czech beer flavour, but drinks a lot more like one of the standard European big cheese beers, like a Stella (but more butch) or a Beck’s (similar drinking but arguably better-balanced flavour). Pilsner Urquell garglers should definitely give this a nudge and see what comes up, pardon the expression. You could “stay” on this one, which is not a noted Czech beer characteristic, Urquell excepted, and not counting Czech people, who drink all that stuff for breakfast. The Czech-style beers are not for Joe VB Drinker and never will be, but even if you’re only the more adventuresome type Joe VB Drinker, this one might be a nice surprise.
It’s becoming a little more available, it’s not generally cheap, but it is worth the price. Like sex. Oops, sorry.
BIRRA MORENA (Italy)
All the countries that were on the wrong side in WWII make good beers *, (possibly by way of implicit apology), and Italy is perhaps the most surprising of them, since people don’t think of it as a beer place. Pieroni Blue (Nastro Azzurri) has dug out a reasonable little following here, and their Gran Riserva is an absolute prince among Big Flavour beers, albeit priced accordingly here. Moretti is drinkable enough, albeit a little more rimless, accountant-like and weedy around the edges. For some reason I’d thought this one was Moretti product too, but when I got it home, I could find no evidence of that on the packaging.
Perhaps the main historical landmark achieved by the Morena posse is a brilliant marketing coup that you can’t believe hardly anyone does unless you count that French mob that whacked some antique nude on the label – they’ve stuck a (head and shoulders only – at ease guys, switch-hitters and lesbian beer drinkers) photo of a gorgeous dark-haired vision of a woman right there under the logo. Yes, it’s tacky as all get-out, but it beats the merry blue hell out of looking at a picture of a brickhouse brewery, a river, or an artist’s impression of a wooden barrel.
Beer-wise the scenery is ok too. Unlike most of the other Italian beers to emigrate to these shores, which come across as lighter-hitting German-style beers, this one says it’s a Pilsener, and in something of a revolution by latter-day brewing industry standards, it more or less is one.
(Look, I really really like both the Matilda Bay and James Squire “Pilseners”, and they may well have been brewed according to ancient authentic recipes found in a Czechoslovakian shipwreck victim’s ancient underwear, but neither of them looks or tastes anything like any of the standard European pilseners, and in particular not like Pilsner Urquell which for most of us is probably the industry standard and bottled bible in this field. It’s an industry-wide curse. Toohey’s Pils may be the most stunningly feeble attempt, but some of the German cans with “pilsener” written on the side could not buy a clue. They should have called them “lager”, or “bitter” or “funny-tasting silly-soup” or “the batch that screwed up but we put it out anyway” for that matter, but in putting the word “pilsener” on the label, they’re only making promises they can’t keep and raising expectations they cannot possibly hope to meet. Well, they might, but you shouldn’t. “Pilsener” is without doubt the word most treated like the proverbial red-headed stepchild by the worldwide brewing industry.)
Birra Morena goes for a hands-free, lighter-weight boxer approach with the malt, and pushes a little sharpness in the hops without going all grass-stains on floral underwear about it. It will be very drinkable to Australian beer-honed palates as a result, and it’s a genuine viable stab at the pilsener style. You want it cold-cold, if not cold-cold-cold, but under those driving conditions, it drinks clean and breezy, and with more than enough flavour to pass the time of day. A nice surprise, tacky label and all. If you can find it at all, it comes in a novelty three-pack, perfect for tipping over and getting in the way of all the other stuff in the fridge.
* (To be honest I’ve never come across a Finnish beer yet. But all the other former Axis partners pull their weight admirably.)
CASCADE “FOUR SEASONS” Brand (Australia City)
Under this generic listing, Cascade produce some of the best, most distinctive and thoroughly made beers in the country. Then, via a marketing campaign apparently hell-bent on complete invisibility, they keep it a secret between you and me.
These are actually four different beers, each keyed to one of the four seasons (of weather fame, not Frankie Valli’s old backing group) made available for roughly three months at a time, and then not available for another nine months, so if you like one, you better stock up on it. I forget all the gimmick names, but it’s like Spring Stampede, Summer Slam, Fall Brawl, and Winter Wipeout – along those lines but not quite so pro wrestling oriented.
Basically the Spring one is golden-coloured, vaguely pilsener oriented but plenty meaty, the Summer one is a wheat beer, and clear, but chunkier than usual for the style, the Autumn version is a solid English-type ale, and the Winter one is best approached with a knife and fork. All of them have the complete courage of their convictions and are obviously made with a ton of care. I don’t think any of the Australian major brewers, outside Coopers, have had the stones to put such distinctive, non-standard Aussie beer out under their own imprint. (Boags did one as a limited edition that was a beauty, and similar to these in intent, but that was yonks ago, and it’s never shown up again. The CUB and Lion-Nathan-Tooheys-Hahn cartels invariably use the boutique imprints – Matilda Bay and James Squire respectively – for the more distinctive, crazy-brained product.)
None of these are for the “Melbourne Bitter is the outer limits of my experimentation” palate. None of them are built for the long summer’s day journey, including the nominal Summer one. But if you want to chew on a beer or two with some flavour, and want to be able to trust that it’s been done 100% right without sparing the horses or any other living organism that might have been involved in production, take it from Ol’ Unca Leapster that you can trust any beer in this range.
Unlike regular global weather patterns, there’s a fifth season in Cascade’s Four Seasons range. Somewhere early to middle footy season they put out something called “First Harvest” as a limited edition. It’s a close cousin to the Four Seasons range, made to similarly eccentric and exacting specifications. This one is one of those “first hops” jobs, like the Germans do (is that what they call a “Bock” beer? – I can’t remember) but this is Godzilla-sized in the flavour department by comparison. It’s somewhere between the Spring Stampede and Fall Brawl approaches, tending more to the latter in both colour and chewiness. Can’t see anyone freely wading through a twelve-pack in a session around the barbie on a hot day (presuming you kept it long enough to do that, which is unlikely), but for a one-off (or two or three-off) treat, it’s a powerful, classy customer, like The Australian newspaper tries to appeal to, but a lot more palatable than that particular thought.
It is a genuinely limited edition, and for the few places you’ll find it, you won’t see it for any longer than a month, max. The year is printed on the label, which is a nice gimmick. (Cooper’s Vintage Ale pulls the same rein.)
If you don’t mind a beer that kicks your head off with flavour, you’re cheating yourself not giving this range a try-out. If you happen to come across a joint that does any of them on tap, when you’ve finished standing on the bar and flicking your Bic to applaud the outrageous prices, hop in like Esther Williams in one of her celebrated swimming pool movies.
Packaged, these beers are pricey too. Save up and buy some.
ZUBR (Poland)
I know, I know, there seems to be a pronounced vowel-shortage in the title there. But prepare to loover your Zubr’s because the rest of the news is party-time all the way.
Polish beer generally is a style that comes a lot more naturally to the Australian luncheon-orifice than, say, Czech beer. It’s saltier, lighter, easier-drinking, and not as complex in the flavour-lock department. It has just enough of that European style that you’ll notice it, and nod to it appreciatively like a more or less pleasant acquaintance in the local barroom, but not so much it blocks up the swallowing mechanism. Johnny Carlton Draught could drink most of these beers, no problem, albeit with a slight face-pull and “It tastes a bit funny, mate” news-update initially, before several stubbies later, admitting it was a bit of a pearler, and telling you how much he’s always thought you were a really, really, rooly top bloke, until you get slightly uncomfortable with the situation.
Anyhoo, of Polish beers, Zubr is a rool good one. Despite the massive buffalo depicted on the label, and 6.2% alcohol content to match, it drinks clean as you like, tapdances lightly on the taste-buds and bypasses the grog-heaviness you’d expect with that alc/vol count.
You’ll pay around $4 per stubby, but they’re those 500ml jobs that the sophisticated guzzle-oriented cultures in Germany and Eastern Europe appreciate, so it works out to around $2.70-odd per 330ml (that being the standard import beer “cheater stubby” volume). By that pricing, it’s pretty reasonable. It’s not an outstanding beer, but it’s very good at what it is.
BOAR’S ROCK PREMIUM LAGER (Australia City)
Yet another obscure premium-priced, unpremium content, gimmicky boutique beer among the unstoppable wave of same threatening to drown the entire nation. It says “Beer With Grunt” on the label, which is where I think they left most of the grunt. What I mostly remember about this beer is that I thought I’d paid too much for it. If you must drink a mammal, you’d probably stick to the Mountain Goat.
BROK SAMBOR EXPORT (Polish)
Very similar story to Zubr (above). Bigger than average alcohol content (5.7%) that doesn’t beat you over the head with it, easy drinking, should be Aussie-friendly to most beer drinkers here. Perhaps a shade less on the flavour side, and a shade more easy on the tonsils, but we’re talking narrow margins here, like the quality differential between individual Kylie Minogue musical selections, only more pleasant. Also comes in the Big Time Charlie 500ml stubby.
REDD’S PREMIUM COLD (Polish)
Jesus God, they could have warned me. There’s nothing quite like the experience of expecting a mouthful of BEER, and instead finding yourself awash to the armpits of your mind in apple flavour.
The bottle/label combo resembles a standard beer container. Break out the Sherlock Holmes-brand family magnifying glass and on the small neck label, in fairly titchy writing under the words “Cold Filtered”, (which are by comparison written in movie marquee dimensions), you can just about distinguish the legend “Refreshing Apple Taste”. Well, they’re not lying about at least two-thirds of that. It sure tastes like apple.
Since I don’t read Polish and have no idea what the popular Warsaw street expression “Kwas Jablkowy” might mean, all I can decipher from the listed ingredients, or “Zawiera” as we now call them in my house, is that caramel and sugar are involved. Whether this is actually apple cider, or apple-flavoured beer, or some sort of Polish apple version of the ready-to-drink/have unprotected teen sex, leg-opener, wine cooler type genre, I have no idea, and your last clue will be from the taste of it. I’d say it’s not cider, or at least not as we know it, Jim. I don’t know what it is. All I know is I don’t want any more of it.
A MARCA BRAVARA (Brazil)
The Brazilians are renowned for soccer, fighting and dancing in the streets wearing fruit with their magnificent breasts akimbo, although not necessarily all at the same time. That’s a lot to pack into one magnificent cultural agenda, so perhaps it’s not that remarkable that they’re not so well known for beer, although you can certainly see how beer would fit in pretty well with all the other stuff.
This beer, which sounds like a modestly talented backfield player who ends up playing for Middlesbrough or somebody, has a bottle (clear) and colouring (ultra-lightweight urine sample) which makes you think of Mexican beer straight away, and don’t bother straying too far from that line of thought. As Mexican beer styles go, this is a little more distinctive and flavour-teasing than the majority. In the overall picture, it’s a modestly talented backfielder among beers. Within this style, you can, and will, do a lot worse. If you don’t go for the style at all, you wouldn’t bother.
MAHOU (Spain)
Dead giveaway national prejudice warning. When it comes to being up themselves about the national culture and history, and having allegedly invented and perfected everything in the history of anything, the Italians and French are world-leaders, the old communist governments of the Soviet Union were legends in the field, the Greeks, though more easy-going as a rule, have their moments, the English are quietly insufferable, but the Spanish street the field given half a chance and the barest shadow of a conversational opening. You never even want to get them started on this stuff. (Their Iberian cousins the Portuguese are right up there, and put some extra mosquito-buzz annoying spin on it, thanks to that small-man syndrome thing of being mostly overlooked by everyone else, but you don’t hear so much of it, since no-one pays any attention to them, except in soccer.)
Having said that, it comes hard to give them further ammunition, but one thing most people don’t cite the Spanish for is making good beer, and they’re real good at it. (Portugal too, by the way.)
Spanish beer is like Italian beer, only moreso. Italian beer is a compromise between the malty European beer standard-issue flavour and the more relaxed-necktie Australian approach, while Spanish beer falls between that and the full-metal-bratwurst/catch-as-catch-can typical German style.
With Mahou, which I reckon might be as good as any of the Spanish internationals, you are not cheated for earthy, rib-digging character, but it’s beautifully balanced (a chip on each shoulder, perchance) and drinks like a dream. The worst you could say about it is that, with an unambiguous approach to bigtime flavour, it’s not really your light-chuggin’ summer-weight beer by Orstrellian standards.
Otherwise, I’ve yet to encounter a Spanish beer that wasn’t well-made, satisfying, and no-fuss. So pretty much the opposite of that public transport we buy from overseas.
EFES PILSENER (Turkey)
As usual, not a pilsener. I should point out that this is a Turkish beer, and not Greek as I’d initially listed on the site. That’s the sort of error not exactly guaranteed to cement touchy international relations. At risk of further exacerbating local tensions over there, I’ll point out that Efes is not dissimilar at all to the run of cheaper Greek beers I’ve occasionally been able to find out here, and I picked it up in the same outlet that I found most of those.
With the same reliability that they turn out Parthenons, the Greeks make a lot of drinkable, non-distinctive beers that are ok, very standard Euro-style, and bring to mind the famous tag-team “unexceptionable and unexceptional”. They’re kind of the Tattslotto presenters among European beers. EFES is – and I assume this is what they were getting at with the “Pilsener” tag – less malt-stacked than the general run of Hellenic suds. That’s ok, and it’s nice enough, and that’s about as far as it goes. When you can find the Greek brands here, they’re often cheaper than other import beers, which is the main attraction, and likewise for Efes, at least as I found it. They’re all on about the same level as the “Supermarket Dutch”, cited earlier.
VOLL-DAMM DOBLE MALTA (Spain)
They’re not kidding about the “Doble Malta” bit either. They wouldn’t have been stretching the friendship labelling this puppy “El Muy Grande Loco Malta Up Your Old Address”. The gothic lettering and sombre, somewhat threatening colour scheme on the label kind of lets you know what you’re in for here. There’s a storm a-gatherin’ and you’re the catchment area about to get thunderstruck is the basic theme. It’s 7.2% alc/vol and you’ll taste every bit of it.
It’s a dark, malty beer (not a stout), it’s unavoidably got some sweetness to it, and they’re unabashed and unashamed about their “Chew on this one, Anglo-boy” attitude. All that said, it’s got the footwork, the hand-speed and the balance of a top-drawer welterweight. It’s a very smooth tastebud-whomper, and drinks breezily, not that you’d remotely think about knocking back half-a-dozen in the backyard on a typical, laboratory-conditions, “listening to the cricket at the barbie” weekend scorcher.
One of the better beers in this style I’ve come across, but you would have to like the style in the first place.
JAMES SQUIRE COLONIAL WHEAT BEER (Australia City)
The most obvious buffalo chip on the otherwise sturdy James Squire roster. It’s nominally weissbeer style, and it kind of is, but only not very good at it. Clunky, fails the refreshment test, and, like Andrew Denton on television, almost kind of sharp but not in a good way. Unlike most of the redoubtable Squire Family, does not improve on tap either. Redback is better in this style. Or you could buy a real one. From Germany. Where they know how to do this properly. This one says “Limited Edition” on the bottle, and this may be true in a way they didn’t intend at the time.