Who hasn’t tried a Guinness at least once in their adult lifetimes? My first… nine Guinnesses were consumed in Southampton a very long, not-quite-of-legal-age time ago, and yes, it hooked me on Irish stout, a dry, low-alcohol beer, usually poured with nitrogen instead of all carbon dioxide, so the bubbles were tiny and the head dense. In college I first tried the original Guinness Extra Stout, with the yellow label: stronger, far roastier, even a little burnt, far more complex, and one of those beers that people sorta respected in the days before craft beer was easy to come across, and well before that same Extra Stout brewed for the United States was given to a Canadian brewery (“it’s still exported to the US!”) and dumbed down to an unrecognizable garbage beer.
But there was this other Guinness stout, only available in the Caribbean — or was it South Africa, or Belgium, or Nigeria? — that was rumored to be stronger, richer, thicker, and most importantly, delicious. For those of us with no interest in lying on a beach and being shafted by the locals, the Foreign Extra Stout was a pipe dream.
Until last year, when Guinness, or at least their parent company, Diageo, decided it was high time the whole world got to taste this elusive strong stout. And the bottle helpfully explains what’s in store: “Foreign Extra Stout is brewed with generous hops and roasted barley for a bittersweet balance and full-flavored, natural bite. Developed for global export from Ireland, the addition of extra hops ensured this Stout would arrive in perfect condition. Today, it is enjoyed by millions around the world.” I can live with that — it’s pretty much the recipe for the standard Foreign Stout.
As you can see, Guinness Foreign Extra Stout pours a deep, deep dark brown. It’s opaque, and kicks up a thick, foamy beige head, less dense and bigger bubbles than the quintessential Guinness pour (no widget in the bottle, so no nitrogen gas used to push the beer), though it still cascades like the original. A rich, vinous aroma greets me, hints of alcohol — the FES checks in at 7.5%, or close to double that of the regular Guinness — waft up, and even a little mustiness, very similar to cherry pie filling, come to mind.
It’s hard to be concise when describing all the flavors in this beer. The first sip starts with plenty of roasted barley, not acrid, really, just very roasty. Licorice underpins this, as it’s a bit faint and not particularly interested in taking over this beer. The bitterness of the roasted barley contrasts with the hop bitterness, which contributes a roughness to the palate in addition to a little “green”-ness to the flavor, like tasting a plant leaf (which is kind of close to what you’re doing, anyway). The oily, thick mouthfeel guarantees you’ll want to sip this beer, rather than gulp it down, all the way through. The roasted malt and licorice team up the whole way through my mouth and long into the finish, carrying some peppery alcohol, and a residual tobacco-type flavor with it. At any rate, the sharpness of the roast is tempered enough to make me continue to want to sip this beer until it’s gone. A solid brew, and one I do believe I’ll be keeping on hand as constantly as possible.
My friends have divided into two distinct camps on this beer. Some really enjoy it for how interesting and flavorful it is, and some strongly dislike it for an overly roasty character that doesn’t just border on astringency, it crosses the line. You can tell which camp I’m in. And honestly, a four-pack of 33cl bottles (11.2 oz) will set you back $9 at Whole Foods, so it’s not a massive investment in beer. Buy a single for $2.99 if you worry that this Guinness version won’t be like I’ve described. If it’s not around, you could do worse than pick up North Coast’s Old Rasputin — a not-as-roasty Russian Imperial Stout — or even Brooklyn Brewery’s own Black Chocolate Stout in its place. For the people who swear different beer styles deserve to be consumed at certain times of the year, this is the perfect time of the year for strong stouts. Enjoy!
Hungry says
My first beer ever was a Guinness Extra Stout. I hate it. I’d probably like it now even if it’s garbage beer. This foreign stout though, hmm, that’s a mystery.
BeerBoor says
I’m pretty sure all Extra Stout not destined for the US is still brewed in Ireland, and is reasonably the same as it always was. So your next trip to Canada, you can find Irish-brewed, decent Extra Stout (so the bottle can still say “Imported”, you see).
And of course Foreign Extra Stout.