Brewed to an old London recipe, this stout opened with a mist of Marmite coated chocolate.
Oh, by the way, I never tire of seeing Kernel bottles.
I just adore their faux naive cottage industry “hand stamped” brown paper labels.
And so far I’ve not been disappointed by any of their beers either.
I’ve just had a thought.
Is this the beer that had its recipe printed in CAMRA’s Beer magazine?
It might be.
Whatever, this is such a great stout.
Its initial flavours mirror the initial yeast fart of opening the bottle, tasting for all the world like a bar of chocolate dunked in Marmite.
Cacao and beef.
Lovely.
But as you chew your way through you start to discover all sorts of other things.
Starting with Liquorice Allsorts, sweet black liquorice covered in fondant.
But it’s woody too.
Woody like an antique wardrobe full of biscuits.
And the biscuits are covered in Morello cherry flesh and soused on rum.
There’s also a very odd thing indeed, right off in the distance, just like a flicker.
It’s garden mint.
Yes mint, but it’s not minty as such.
It’s not a Polo or a stick of gum, but there’s that rich prickly sweetness you get when your mint sauce and gravy come together over your favourite cut of lamb.
This is a meaty beer.
Definitely not a vegetarian beer, Kernel’s 1890 Export Stout is deep and dark and devilishly delicious.