25 May 2012

Croocked Moon Zero and Fermentoren

The beer

Croocked Moon Zero is descibed as a 0 IBU American Pale Ale.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Elemental swirls of fire and earth fight for dominance as it's poured. The sky doesn't really get a look in.

There's a slight hint of satsuma as you breathe in, but nothing more.

I'm expecting nothing but stark, malty sweetness.

However, this is bitter.

And not really sweet. At all.

Er, is this the right beer?

I'm a bit weirded out. Unsettled, even.

It slowly dawns on me that the closest thing I have tasted to this is Mikkeller 1000 IBU Light.

Okay, it doesn't have the ultra-brutal bitterness of that beer, but there is something similar in the flavour profile.

Maybe it's the Danish water.


The bar

Fermontoren is more or less just round the corner from the Mikkeller Bar in Copenhagen.

 



 

 




It doesn't quite match Mikkeller in the style stakes – it's more English-pub than Scandi-sophistication with its darts, board games and decrepit wooden furniture – but it is way more comfortable and relaxing.

I wasn't the only one who thought that either. No names mentioned, but I know a number of UK people hung out there and loved it as much as I did.

Oh, wait, I haven't really explained why I loved it.


The match

Well, one reason for the infatuation was the contrast against the crowded bar I'd just emerged from.

There's like two other people in here. Optimum.

The distribution of people per square metre is not my single criterion for judging how good a bar is though.

Wait, this isn't really a bar. Call a pub a pub.

A pub with a tight, focused tap list of exceptional beer.

De Struise, Cantillion, Girardin.

And dry-hopped Saison Dupont. Gimme.

The Croocked Moon beers on the blackboard intrigue me.

One, because that spelling disturbs something at the core of my being.

Two, because, Tony, an Englishman living in Copenhagen who's jamming at the bar sipping Pannepot 2008, tells me it's brewed by the guy that owns Fermentoren.

That means I must have it.

And as much as Zero is a bit of an oddball and I don't understand it, I enjoy drinking it.

Because it marks the moment I enter the trance-like perfect beer and life match state.

Lucid, calm, transcendental, centred, connected with the universe. Pure enigmatic pleasure.

No time or reality exists other than that I experience here and now.

The type of fleeting moment that you really only encounter in brilliant pubs.

Or bars. Whatever.

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