Ooh aah, Dijon-a

Eric Cantona may have inadvertently stumbled on to something when he hailed France’s hop farmers as living legends who are “idolised and adored” in a gloriously cheesy advert for Kronenbourg, the Alsace macro-giant purveyor of gnat’s piss.

The famously combustible Gallic football legend has cut himself a second career in front of the camera since his playing days. This promo shows him holding a glass of 1664 without apparently sipping from it. It’s left me hoping the man who routinely turned up his collar might have turned up his nose.

Kronenbourg has been one of those perennial scourges of the beer drinker’s French holiday, along with the likes of Grimbergen – the clue’s in the name – and Pelforth. In a land with so much quality wine sloshing about it was as if there was little thirst for decent beer.

Those preconceptions underwent a readjustment last year during a sortie to Paris. Hoppy Corner, in the 2nd Arrondissement, had a healthy percentage of French craft on their 15 taps. Hop-forward big brews from Azimut Brasserie, Hoppy Road and Effet Papillon offered encouragement.

Unexpected finds in Parisian restaurants and a taster of Popihn’s 6.7% Kveik IPA at last summer’s London Craft Beer Festival were further indications that a revolution across the channel might be afoot.

So it was with more than a soupçon of hope that I travelled under said stretch of water in July en route to the south of France.

I’d plumped for Dijon for my overnight stay. The city is comparatively small and easily walkabout-able (think the Nick Park Creature Comforts electricity ads) and is a popular pitstop on the “run to the sun,” nestling in the Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region.

‘Forget the monkey, the baboon finished me off’

As that might suggest it’s slap in wine country; the touristy village of Gevrey-Chambertin and its roster of Grands Cru Burgundy vineyards is some 15 kilometres to the south.

Dijon is also renowned as a culinary destination. Its annual Gastronomic Fair in the autumn would normally count on bringing in about 200,000 visitors. Then there’s the mustard, which the city was named after, obviously…

A quick “Craft Beer Dijon” Google search brought up a couple of options – an early closing crêperie and the Craft Beer Pub, a one-time Chinese restaurant occupying a corner just south of the vibrant Place de la Rèpublique. It was a straightforward choice.

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The Craft Beer Pub’s selling point is what it sells. They work with 15 brewers within the Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region to ensure all their beer is local – “within 150 kilometres from here,” I was told. They set up with 11 taps and fridges that accommodate around 70 bottles.

It was a mouth-watering prospect.

Two beers from Brasserie des Ducs, a 5.4% American Pale Ale, and a 6.5% American IPA, were both big on bold hop flavour. It was part of a trend.

A move to the fridges threw up Houblons & Dragons from Les Bières du Donjon. It’s billed as an English IPA and while it didn’t resemble anything I’d recognise it was nonetheless a pleasant glass of 5.5% and it set up the highlights of the evening.

The resinous and authentic-feeling 6.5% West Coast IPA from Independent House was brimful of Amarillo and Chinook hops. It might have been brewed just up the road but it tasted as if it could have come from across the Pond.

It was followed by The Baboon La Colère Du Baboiun, a raspingly turbid 10% Imperial IPA from Brasserie des Babouins Jurassiens. Forget the monkey, the baboon finished me off.

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I was so impressed, as Victor Kayam didn’t say, I planned my return itinerary around a second visit to the Craft Beer Pub.

I discovered that the Baboon keepers do subtle as well as sludge-hammer. Jungle Spirit is an amalgam of citrus, hoppiness and bite in a 6% IPA that warranted several inspections – just to make sure. I wanted more.

I was intrigued also why there was not a single can of beer to be found in the fridges. Were all these glass bottles some sort of nod to being in the depths of wine country? Or was it an adherence to that old-school belief that fresh beer wouldn’t travel?

I never quite got the answer so decided to put it to the test. 

A takeaway three-pack of Independent House’s West Coast IPA and a couple of big Baboons not only travelled back to London perfectly well, but went down particularly superbly.

Perhaps I should go looking for Eric and let him know.