Sullerica Fosca

Tired, the hike catching up. Too much beer in the fridge, still. The slow realisation that I can’t drink it all tonight. Maybe I can stuff a few bottles into the suitcase, maybe.

Into the fridge, out comes a porter. A-ha, it’s got flor de taronger, orange blossom. A beer from here.

Dark brown, carbonated. The main flavour, just dodging description. Bloomed chocolate springs to mind, badly stored, hard, dry, bloomed chocolate. Liquorice says my wife, pulling a face.

Nice enough, maybe a touch thin, maybe not. Disappointingly, no flor de taronger though. No discernible here.

Sullerica Bombón

The last night of the holiday, too much beer in the fridge. Still thoughts of terroir, of orange blossom and olives. Wanting more.

Into the fridge, out comes a special edition sweet stout. Nowt much terroir about that.

It’s fine, as far as sweet stouts go. Roasted, creamy, a touch, not too much, of vanilla.

I didn’t want sweet stout, I wanted more terroir, more orange blossom, more olives, more here.

Sullerica 1561

Heading up the the Barranc de Biniaraix to climb Es Cornadors. A hike through the olive terraces, through the art of nature. A hike to make the heart sing.

Head down, legs pounding. Stop, take in the view. Head down, legs pounding. Stop, take in the view. Head down, legs pounding. Stop, take in the view. Head down, legs pounding. Stop at the top, take in that view.

Wander down slowly, taking in the view. Taking in the art of nature, the dull clang, clunk, of the sheep bells. Thoughts turning to all the olive trees. Thoughts turning to beer made with the fruit of these trees. Thoughts turning to terroir, to here.

Finally, a beer from here that’s been shown some hops. Bitterness, but not just from hops. A beer from here, with green olives from here. A beer to make you feel connected to the landscape that you’ve just walked through.

A touch too much carbonation. Way too much gunk in the bottle. Full bodied, full flavoured. Especially when warmed up and the green olive flavours come.

Thoughts turn to terroir, to here. Is this a beer that only works here. Is this a beer that would work there? Only one way to find out.

Sullerica Original

Up early, coffee, out the door. Floor the hire car to Sóller, time for a hike. Up the the Barranc de Biniaraix to climb Es Cornadors. A hike to make the heart sing.

Near the top, lots of alpines. Lots of little wind swept and interesting dwarf rosemary. Scratch and sniff, rub, scratch and sniff, rub. Love the smell of the land in places like this.

Back down, the wander from Biniaraix to Sóller. Thoughts turning to all the citrus trees. Thoughts turning to all the citrus tree, passed on the train ride to Palma a few day earlier.

Thoughts turning to beer made with flor de taronger, orange blossom, from those citrus trees. Thoughts turning to all the citrus trees in the valley, to the rosemary on the mountain tops.

Sullerica Original, made with rosemary, lemon verbena and orange blossom. An ode to terroir. A beer from here, of here. Finally, a beer that speaks Mallorquin.

Back at the villa, beer poured. Down into the villa garden, wandering through the citrus trees. Drinking beer, thinking about terroir, about here. Wishing I could bring a crate home.

Suddenly maudlin. Suddenly a desire to come back in the spring and smell the orange blossom. Suddenly a desire to come back in the late Autumn and pick ripe oranges from the trees, juice them, eat them.

Suddenly angry. Why do more brewers not make beer that speaks of where they are. We’re not extinct Germans, we’re not from [insert US locality here]. Why do me not make more beer that speaks of here, not there?

Sullerica Blanca

A slow start to a hot day. Port de Sóller really isn’t than nice, heat radiating from all the concrete. Fleeced on the tourist tram, was it worth it for the kids? Possibly.

Cala Deià, that restaurant from The Night Manager, salty sea, scorching sun. The Cami des Ribassos back to Deià, a cafe, S’Hortet, with a garden and local craft beer.

Draft craft has just finished, Estrella? The one with the orange blossom too. Damn. Others in the fridge, not for me though, driving. Can I buy to take away?

Back at the villa, wash the kids. Eat dinner so late it’s like we’re natives; Ottolenghi is not just for home. Beer time, finally, just before we head off into town.

A white beer, local Lemons. A touch too much carbonation. Refreshing, but glad I didn’t add all the yeast. A beer to quench the afternoon heat.

Nearly time for the Correfoc fireworks and Dimonis. Definitely time for another beer, one more suited to the sultry evening.