As The Crow Flies - Ed.6 - Tasting The Difference

Scanning through the taproom menu, I’m confronted with an ever revolving carousel of 5 words, in dizzying repetition. Citrus. Floral. Hazy. Tropical. Juicy. Citrus. Floral . Hazy, and so on. Beer is wonderfully complex and the combination of different types of hop, malt, and water can produce a staggering and oft intimidating spectrum of flavours. So how is it that this veritable cornucopia of flavour is so often reduced to just a handful of vague catch-alls? 

You hear the phrase ‘don’t worry, there are no wrong answers’ frequently when it comes to discussing tasting notes, whether it be in coffee, wine or beer. The intention is to make people feel more comfortable when it comes to putting forward the flavours they pick up. I would argue that whilst it’s a nice sentiment, it is simply not true. My personal framing is that there are definitely wrong answers however there is absolutely nothing wrong with being wrong. What is absolutely unforgivable however is being dull. When it comes to tasting notes, being brave and interesting is far superior to being boring and technically correct. It is easy to be technically correct. If you are giving tasting notes for a pale ale for example, and you describe it as citrussy, floral and tropical then you have covered so much of the flavour wheel that you are most likely to be correct in at least one facet. But you have said nothing of value, and done nothing to excite or entice fellow drinkers. 

Having said all of this, there is a definite separation between verbal and written tasting notes. By their nature written tasting notes do, and should, trend more towards the informative. However this should be no excuse for dullness or obscurity. The purpose of written tasting notes shouldn't necessarily be just to tell the reader what the product tastes like, it should be about helping them to choose which product they would like to drink, and the best way of doing this is by being specific. If a list of beers is simply recycling the same 5 uninspiring tasting notes in rote, then whilst you may be given a very loose idea of some of the flavours that may be present, after reading through the list, you are no closer to coming to a decision, as there is little in the way of differentiation. 

Specificity is the key, one specific tasting note can tell a prospective drinker far more than 3 vague ones. Fruit comes in a variety of forms and has several constituent parts, utilising this is the key to giving good accurate but evocative tasting notes.Orange pith, for example, tells a drinker that the beer tastes like oranges, but that there is a pleasant bitterness to be found too. Too easily would the catch all “citrus” be used in its place. When we scan through a menu we are begging to be enticed, for something to leap out to us, bursting with its unique personality, not to be bombarded with banalities. 

It is when spoken, that tasting notes really take on a life of their own however. I want you to think about the best beer you’ve ever had. This won’t come easily and most people will struggle to pick out a single beer. However I can guarantee that, for all but the most unbearable of beer nerds, that your choice will likely have more to do with the context in which that beer was drunk than the actual liquid itself. Flavour association is absolutely everything. Do you love Cascade hops? Or did you drink a particularly good Sierra Nevada during your trip to America and now you associate the flavours that hop produces with happy times spent with friends and family? Do you love raspberry stouts or does that combination of summer fruits and dark malt remind you of your dear aunty who is no longer with us, but loved Guinness and black? Specific flavours evoke specific memories, these associations are different for everyone but they are so beautiful and ripe for sharing. People and memories live on in these associations, it is wonderfully human to share these experiences, and in doing so the liquid you are consuming comes alive. 

Last year there was a beer pouring here at the Crow, I believe it was by Baron, this beer reminded me of the Wednesday nights when my nan would collect me from school. We'd watch Countdown, eat dinner, and then we’d share a can of tinned peaches for pudding. She’d let me drink the juices at the end of the can, and when I tasted this pale ale the combination of juicy peach and a slight underlying metalicism took me right back to those Wednesday nights, spent with someone whom I adore, and who is sadly no longer with us. It doesn’t matter that other people might not get that exact same association, they can share in my happy memory whether they taste peaches or not. Perhaps in the future they’ll drink a vanilla stout that reminds them of the choc ice their grandad used to sneak them when their parents weren’t watching, and they will share that fond memory with someone else. For it is in these experiences that beer ceases to be a mere thirst quencher and becomes something much more, a vehicle through which we can traverse space or time, revisiting precious moments and distant loved ones.