I seem to recall grabbing one of my dad’s Amstel Light bottles a couple years back. This was when I was still living up in Jville, Florida, and I was down visiting the folks and Vero on some much needed vacation time. It was late. I was out of good beer (I always made sure to bring a stash). And I really wanted a beer. So, I did the only thing I could; I grabbed a bottle of Amstel Light, popped the cap, poured, sipped…and my night came to a screeching halt. Like a trainwreck you can see coming but just can’t help but to watch, that was me and the Amstel Light. I knew I was in for a massive crash-and-burn head-on collision of sophisticated palate meets backwater flimsy near-death swamp water. Lesson learned.

(and yet, here I am again to once more bare ironic witness to my trainwreck)

My Amstel Light poured a very clear, very light straw with a white heed that hovers above an unnaturally thick stream of bubbles. The nose is spritzy with faint lemon, grass, and grains. It’s like that one season where everything blooms but a shadow of their proper glory, and yet you are forced to try and harvest what meager means you can from them. Even those few faint aromas have a spritzy seltzeresque tinge to them. One last gasp of yellow corn, and I think the nose just up and died on me. I poke it, but it doesn’t move. With no apparent choice but to move on, my first mouthful is surprisingly clean, light, and refreshing like water. Oh, wait. It is just like water; in fact, Amstel Light could be bottled water if it didn’t happen to smell and taste so bad. I happen to really like the taste of good water, and good water Amstel Light is not. Instead, there is a pathetically slow stream of large bubbly carbonation which bursts painfully atop my tongue, releasing bitter acrid esters of dank grains, rotten lemon, dead grass, and yellow corn too long on the cob. I thought the body and palate was bad enough, but apparently I hadn’t given the finish enough time to wake up and rear its bastardly head. Bitter, hard, dry, and rank with citrus wax and metal. The trainwreck has officially concluded with a massive explosion of chunky bits, rotting flesh, and a lifetime of lingering nightmares. I want my mommy.

Now I remember why I try not to remember Amstel Light: it’s gross. Beyond gross, it’s up there with a rare few that are just so dismally rank, they are a disgrace to beer and an insult to anyone’s palate should they actually give a damn about taste. This is one trainwreck I am thankfully able to walk away from, scarred, but alive nonetheless. The perfect ending would be if Amstel Light continued to smolder and smoke, never again to gain life and haunt me from the shelves in a grocery store, tap handle in a bar, or a foam-encased bottle. I wonder how much therapy costs these days…


bottled water tastes better and gets you more bang for your buck

Moving onto my third and final selection from Hook & Ladder, I am presented with their Backdraft Brown. Out of their three beers I have tried so far, Lighter and Golden Ale, the Backdraft Brown is the one I have been looking forward to the most. I am always on the lookout for a nice session brown ale, and I am hoping the Backdraft Brown lives up to my expectations.

Pours crystal clear nutty browns with amber glinting in the passing light. A soft khaki head fades into a fairly decent layer while a couple swirls leave faint whispers of lace. As I raise the glass, I am met halfway with a nose eager to please. Lots of spice fraught with cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, and a touch of brown sugars. Dry wood which splinters under the trampling onslaught of sweet roasted nuts: pecans, almonds, peanuts. Crunchy burnt sugars and burnt toast continue to compliment his dry yet sweet spiced nutty crunchy nose. Phew! There’s a mouthful. A promising start, but is he all talk and no follow-through? My first quaff is clean and medium-sweet with caramelized brown sugars and maple playing with lemon in the finish. Nuts crunch with each quaff while toast lingers in the oven, browning to dry, crispy, toasty perfection. Clean and highly sessionable, there is more than enough of a tastefully balanced palate to satisfy my inner bitch, er, critic. His finish is a bit short; I would have enjoyed a bit more toast and spice in the breath. Overall though, the Backdraft Brown was much better than I expected, and so far the best offering Hook & Ladder has presented to me.

It’s not often I get to say I’d buy a 6pack of a beer InBev/AnBusch distributes, but I would have to say in regards to that, Hook & Ladder’s saving grace is that they haven’t let InBev/AnBusch sink any of their financially controlling claws of doom into them. Hook & Ladder is one of the very few and very rare instances where they distributed but not owned, and I hope it stays that way. In the mood for a good session brown ale, Backdraft Brown is a winning ticket.


the best of H&Ls offerings...so far

Pirates have enjoyed a resurgence in popularity lately largely in thanks to the Pirates of the Caribbean movies by Disney. Myself, I have enjoyed a different kind of pirate for the last few years, one which I believe Captain Jack would approve. Of course, I would be speaking of the Piraat Ale from Brouwerij van Steenberge in Belgium. A strong ale, she ages beautifully as I have found out, having recently cracked open a 2007 bottling. In all honesty, I don’t remember the vintage on this particular bottle, but I do remember it being very tasty.

Oranges and golds shimmer and shiver under a generous head of coppery orange tinged foam which fades in rocky splotches. Huge clumps of lace are left clinging desperately to the sides of my glass while a thick blanket lingers long into our session. Raising her chalice to my nose, I dip into her moist bounty dripping with tropical fruits and honey. She finishes smartly with a warm nip of brown sugar and spice and a tart tang of yeast. Belgium is as far removed from tropical as one can get, and yet Piraat has captured perfectly a feast of tropical proportions to honor the best of our azure islands of relaxation and harmony. Mango, papaya, pineapple, and kiwi stimulate my thirst while warm and sticky butter rolls lead perfectly into sourdough, yeast, and a touch of funk. Orange and lemon pith compliments cinnamon for a brisk note of dryness which finishes with a pineapple juice flourish. Wow. Keep in mind folks, this is just the nose. No need to lick my lips here; I dive right in and savor a mouthful of bottled treasures. She coats my lips and mouth with honey fresh from the comb even as my tastebuds tingle with tart acidity and pinpoint carbonation. Her tropical palate is in full force as I find myself awash in pineapple, mango, papaya, and kiwi with just a touch of dryness from their skins. My breath is all spice while bright acidity continues to tickle and tease the top of my tongue. As she warms, her mouthfeel shows a softer side with gentle effervescence and a pleasant warming sensation. Cooked cinnamon apple slices, anyone? Sweet, tropical, spiced, and dry, Piraat is a Belgian classic, and would be perfectly at home on the Black Pearl.

The Belgian brewery which brews Piraat offers dozens of others brews such as Gulden Draak, one of which I have also quaffed. Piraat is easy to find ages wonderfully. When I cracked open my 2007, she was pushing 2+ years and was as good as if not better than she had been fresh. Forgo the smaller capped bottles and go for the corked 750ml bottle; there is a difference in quality and taste between the two, and especially in terms of ageability. When having to choose cap or cork: always go for the cork.


ARR!

There are many splendored and wondered things that are the Bahamas, but Kalik is not one of them. You can paint it as pretty as you want, but no amount of gloss can cover up the fact that it is just another player in the macro world of flavorless light lagers. You can give them different names and different breweries, but no matter where it comes from and what you call it: a flavorless light lager is a flavorless light lager. Kalik is yet another faceless light lager in a sea of faceless light lagers. The only Kalik available in the States is the standard light lager, brewed by the Commonwealth Brewery along with Heineken.

Like piss on the water, he pours an unnaturally clear yellow into my lager glass. Extreme carbonation screams for the surface, stopped only temporarily by a feeble white head which disappears almost as quickly as it tried to appear. No lace, no foam, and little hope on my end for anything of tasty interest. The nose is sweet, and as I dig deeper under the sweetness, I find it very difficult to pick out anything but sweet sugar syrup and sweet corn. The carbonation continues to sputter and splatter, adding a hard mineral seltzer bite to the nose. A dismal wisp of hay and cereal grains do their best to not be quashed below the overly sweet and artificial nose, but to very little avail. I take a deep draw. Then another. And another. Ok, three quaffs in and I am starting to taste something. A quick slap in the face of sweetness rides atop a watery palate before leaving to play with bitter lemon skins in the background. Not even a minute has passed and once more I am left with not a whimper of his palate to try to enjoy. Ok, maybe not "enjoy", but I am trying to take tasting notes here. A couple more quaffs and dank, wet, rotten grains start to play while a pervasive sugary corny sweetness burbles and bubbles under his highly carbonated mouthfeel. I enjoy a good seltzer drink; Kalik is anything but. I’ve tasted all I am going to taste, and the growing rotten dankness that is lingering far too long for my tastes means only one thing: drain pour.

With all the mediocre, adjunct riddle, chemically altered, and flash-produced light lagers that I keep pouring down the drain, I hope I am not causing any irreversible damage to our environment. Something so unnatural can’t be healthy for all that is natural and good in Nature. An even sadder reality is that millions of people think this schlock is what a lager is supposed to taste like. Brrr. If you want to drink a lager that is all well and good, great, but let me get you a real lager which has flavor and doesn’t leave a road kill aftertaste in your mouth.


the dark side of the Bahamas

Realizing that for all I had quaffed of the Traquair House Ale, I had yet to sup on their equally divine Jacobite Ale; ale brewed with hops, malt, yeast, water, and coriander. Simple is best, and I have a feeling that he is going to sweep me off my feet, and my life will never be the same. In fact, having supped a couple bottles since taking my initial notes, I can say that I am blissfully and hopeless in love. My heart has been stolen, and I am OK with that.

Deep browns, blacks, and burnt mahogany settles into my glass underneath a shy khaki head which lingers as a thin layer. No lace yet, but with a couple tender swirls, fragile lace leave their mark on my glass. I raise his liquid nirvana to my nose, and the first and only thing I can think of to say is: Wow! Awesome! Heavenly! I am swept away beyond what words can describe, but I am going to try. Ooey gooey sticky dark fruits: dates, plums, prunes, figs, raisins. Rich Swiss chocolates melt under the warmth of her gaze, drowning sweet black cherries while truffles make sweet love to toffee and caramel nougat. Prune juice, anise, chocolate pudding and pudding bread lead into a dry bitter chocolate finish which is all Hershey’s syrup and coffee. Permeating his nose is coriander, cinnamon, and nutmeg. I’m not sure what I have done of late to deserve such a perfect presentation of Beervana, but I am not going to count my luck. Judging by his nose, my first sup of Jacobite Ale must come under eyes closed, heightening my sense of smell and taste. As his dark nectar hits my lips, a chill runs from the tip of my toe to the top of my head. Goosebumps tingle and hairs stand on end. Clean and smooth, he is delicately sweet with toffee and caramel chocolate truffles melting in my mouth, sending shivers up and down my spine. I pause before exhaling cinnamon, nutmeg, and coriander. The Hershey syrup adds a touch of roughness to his palate which complements the darker, dryer side of fresh brewed coffee and espresso. His middle is a juicy chewy cornucopia of the moistest dates, prunes, plums, figs, and raisins. Chocolate mousse, pudding bread, and holiday spices marked by coriander continue to fill out his palate. Rich and enveloping, I am drowning in sweet ecstasy. The Jacobite Ale is not cloying in any way, shape, fashion, and form. His palate is rich, but his body and mouthfeel is light, clean, and exquisitely balanced. My lips become coated with dry earthy finish even as prune juice lingers in with a supple kiss. I don’t want this moment to end, but all good things must eventually come to an end, I suppose. That hasn’t stopped me from stocking my cellar with 6 more bottles, though.

The Traquair House Jacobite Ale is heaven descended, and I pray that Traquair never stops making this beer, or any of their beers for that matter. The “big” players can go fly a kite, and I hope they get carried away into the atmosphere by a freak storm, never to return. Jacobite has reminded me all over again why Beer is so much more than just a beverage: it is Passion personified.


perfection

I have a pet peeve: American wheat beers being called a Hefeweizen when they are most clearly NOT a Hefeweizen. The differences in palate between the two are night and day. That isn’t to say that either style is better than the other; I enjoy both myself, drinking whichever strikes my mood more at any given time. The Harpoon Brewery out of Boston, Massachusetts brews an excellent American wheat beer; one of the best if I do say so. The Harpoon UFO Hefeweizen is their flagship beer and a quintessential American Wheat beer. Besides being falsely labeled as a Hefeweizen, it also perpetuates the general populace’s confusion regarding the two styles, much less that there are two distinct styles. I like the beer; I just wish Harpoon wouldn’t call it a Hefeweizen.

Nit-picking aside, let's drink.

She pours a gorgeously delicate haze of white oranges with a white head billowing up and almost over the rim of my glass. Rocky and mischievous, she fades slowly in pockmarked patches, leaving a web-work of chunky lace along the way. Her nose is orangesicles melting in the summer sunshine while white bread bakes in the kitchen oven. It must be early in the morning because dew lingers fresh on the tips of green grass, reflecting the soft orange glow of my beer while lemon-cream joins the orangesicle parade. Very soft with all her notes gently working together in humble harmony. A touch of bright lemon zest hits the back of her nose, but fades quickly so as to not intrude on my lazy summer afternoon. Mm… wasting no more time, I draw deep for my first quaff, and quickly follow it with another. Dangerously drinkable, the UFO Hefeweizen is light and airy with a smooth, creamy mouthfeel, a worthy tribute to her wheaty nature. White breads touched by honey melts into orangesicle and lemon cream with a touch of dry orange pith to cleanse my palate for the next quaff. Her soft mouthfeel continues to sooth, sending me into an almost Zen-like zone of beer bliss. Her palate soothes even as a quick nip of bright lemon zips through the background. Refreshing and perfect just as she is. No orange or lemon slices need apply.

An excellent American Wheat beer, now I just need Harpoon to call it like it is and desist with this silly false-advertising. A good beer doesn’t need the additional hook of a popular German beer style which is oft misrepresented in the American market because advertising rules when there is a lack of general knowledge. Name aside, the Harpoon UFO Hefeweizen was lip-smacking delicious and an easy winner in my book.


area 51 has an escapee

Give me sour or give me war.

I have a confession to make: I have a sour tooth, and a very BIG one at that. I cannot hide nor lie nor pretend otherwise, and I certainly have no desire to do so either. Sour beers are a tongue-tingling, palate-thrilling, lip-puckering explosion of the most vivifying visceral delights available. In my not-so-humble opinion, of course, and if you don't agree, you are wrong. I still refuse to lay claim to a favorite beer or beer style, though I do lay claim to a favorite beer country: Belgium which is home to some of the best sour ales available. When considering American craft beers which truly know no bounds nor accepts any inhibitions, Dogfish Head is one of my consistently top performing breweries. Their motto of 'off-centered ales for off-centered people' couldn’t be more me if it tried. Up to bat today is their summer thirst quencher which I tried for the first time last year and it was love at first quaff. Her name is Festina Peche, and she is a Berliner Weisse brewed with peach concentrate for an extra added punch of refreshing fruity peach tartness.

The Berliner Weisse is a traditional German unfiltered wheat beer characterized by a tart, lactic acidic fermentation which verily qualifies it as a sour beer instead of a wheat beer, imo. My Festina Peche glowed softly with hazy yellows, oranges, and blanched golden hay topped by a soft white head. Her head fades in gentle rocky pockets, melting under the building tart nose which seeks to capture me heart and soul. Being the sour geek that I am, expect little to no resistance on my part. She swirls with no lace which is typical of beers with a high level of lactic acidity. Instead, I release a mushrooming nose of peach skins, peach concentrate (hold the sugar), unripe apricots, lemon concentrate, citric skin acidity, and sour milk which explodes with lip-smacking epic proportions. Woo! Hold the coffee; this might be the new morning pick-me up. She’ll certainly wake up your tastebuds and clear the gunk out of your eyes if nothing else will. By far not the most tartly beer I have encountered, but I am digging her highly addictive Berliner Weisse nose. There is a hint of hard candied sugar drops, the kind which are coated in sweet sugar but all sour drop delights beneath. My mouth is watering on a scale to make the Niagara Falls blush; I cannot wait any longer. I forgo the barrel and just dive headfirst into her bright, tart sour depths. She tingles. She teases. She grabs me by the tastebuds and cackles in lactic acidic glee. There is a lingering softness of wheat which contributes to her full body and soft mouthfeel; she is still a wheat beer at heart, after all. Crisp, tart peach and apricot skins burst with crisp fruit acidity while lemon concentrate cleanses for the next quaff which cannot come soon enough. A quick clean finish leaves nothing to the imagination and everything to the present as the center of my tongue is quivering in sour rapture. Is that a touch of spice lingering in my breath? White pepper, maybe? At a lean 4.5%ABV, I could definitely savor a couple glasses of the Festina Peche from Dogfish Head brewing. In fact, seeing as my glass is now empty…

Dogfish head is renowned for their extremely big and extremely crazy beers. With their seasonal release of Festina Peche, Dogfish Head also proves that they can execute a session beer of dazzling proportions. Berliner Weiss is a rare beer style even in its country of origin and not exactly the easiest to brew. Dogfish Head met that challenge, conquered, and left it with a stamp all their own. Grab a 4pack while you can; otherwise it’s a long wait until spring 2010.


refreshingly sour

I love me some smoked beers. The German Rauch brewery Aecht Schlenkerla is the premier Rauch brewery, with the Smoked Porter from Alaskan Brewing coming in a close second. My love for smoke has me far more optimistic than I probably should be in regards to the Smoked Amber Lager from Fort Collins. Seeing as their beers have so far either been drain-pours or barely tolerated, the only aspect giving me hope is “Smoke”. I’m not going to find out just sitting here, so without further ado…

My glass fills with a steady stream of deep amber with orange highlights and a crystal clear body. Her head is a small tuft of random bubbles and foam which wastes no time fleeing the scene of interest. (It may seem silly to time and time again expound on the merits or demerits of a beer’s head, but the head is a very important part of one’s beer. It is concentrated aroma and flavor packed into the most scientifically and chemically complex feature of beer which is the least understood. So yes, make note of your beer’s head, my friends.) As fast as her head could disappear, her lace hangs around for the full show. A sign of promise? Dipping my nose into her amber-orange brew, I literally have to get wet to get the very faint esters of smoke which struggle to please. I eventually find both wood and smoke. Far more prominent than the smoke is a pleasing array of amber lager delights: cinnamon, burnt honey, apples, more wood, lemon skin, sliced key limes, and green grass. Neither really dominates; they choose instead to mix and mingle, creating for an eclectic but intriguing nose. Breathing deep once more, I go long for my first quaff which is faintly sweet, faintly smoky, and dominated by crunchy apples, dry grass and hay with a quickly developing bitter dry finish. Acrid. She is a gentle smoke which wisps by upon a gentle spring breeze, and as I quaff more, I find she lingers long and hard more in the finish than anywhere else. In a rather unpleasant turn of events, the bitter dryness in her finish starts to scour my tongue with an acrid burnt metallic hardness; none too pleasant, for sure. I don’t drain pour, but that hard finish does a fair job of ruining any developing enjoyment of the rest of her palate.

The Fort Collins Smoked Amber Lager started out rather promising. She didn’t overwhelm me with a smoke cloud, but the majority of her palate was ok. Her finish, on the other hand, was a cruel and bitter disappointment. If Fort Collins were to fix the finish in this beer, they would truly have a decent gently smoked Amber Lager to be proud of.


no fire and no smoke

What’s the first state that comes to mind when someone mentions the city Portland? I don’t know about anyone else, but even now, Oregon comes to mind first. But did you know that there is another Portland in the USA? Indeed, and much like its westerly cousin, it sports a magnificent brewery which would be as at home in Belgium as it is here in Portland, Maine. Allagash specializes in bottle-conditioned Belgian-style beers with a solid year-round line-up and an impressive list of seasonal brews. The seasonal I partook of most recently was their Allagash Four, a bottle-conditioned ale highlighting a blend of four malts and four hops.

She poured murky browns tinged with orange amber highlights. Her khaki head is super-soft, lazily fading into a thin film. She swirls, but to no avail. On the other hand, I appear to have awoken a sleeping giant as her nose lets out a loud bellow and firmly grabs hold of my olfactory senses. Sweet maple and toffee lay next to crunchy cooked honey which has started to cool in the night air. There is a hearty punch of alcohol heat in the back of her nose, but she is quickly subdued by a cornucopia of tropical and fall fruits. Orange and tangerine citric skins bitter and dry with sweet fruity esters of fall red apples plucked from the orchard. Green grass and bales of hay keep me close to the earth while cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, splintered wood, and bulging oak barrels fill out her nose. Divinity has descended unto my glass for I sure have no other explanation for the seemingly limitless bounty of her brown nectar. Seeing as my olfactory senses have been well sated, my lips and palate are begging for their turn. I gleefully oblige. Sweet and sticky bleeds into drying wood, brown spices, and cinnamon while her alcohol warms my breath. My chest is aglow and my tastebuds are smiling; life is good. Thick and mouth-coating without being cloying, sweet maple, toffee, and caramel goodness melts in my mouth, not my hands. Her finish is definitely all about the dry side of her palate, creating the perfect marriage of thirst-quenching and thirst-inducing. Her warmth continues to permeate my body with brown spices, dry wood, and rum soaked barrels resting in fields of wilting hay and grass. Content, I lay my pen down and slowly savor the rest of our time together.

Allagash is one of America’s premier Belgian-style breweries, ranking right up there with Ommegang and a small handful of others who exclusively brew in Belgian tradition. Being the Belgian geek that I am, all is well in my world. The Allagash Four is yet another excellent contribution to their beery portfolio.


four is just right

My best friend of many years, Chris, exposed me to Warsteiner Premium Verum back in the day when I was starting to wet my feet in the world of beer. Nowadays, I wouldn’t touch the beer unless I had to, but good memories and premature tastebuds told me it wasn’t half bad, and it wasn’t…for a macro light lager. Having quaffed many traditional German lagers since, the difference is night and day. Fast-forward a few years to today, and I am playfully curious as to what I will think of the Warsteiner Premium Verum now that I am fully entrenched in the wonderful world of real beer.

Clear yellow, a small loosely packed head fades to a sliver of foam, forced to the sides by an unnatural amount of carbonation screaming to the surface in apparent desperation. Desperation from what is yet to be determined. No lace appears after a couple vigorous swirls. Instead, I am met by lemon crème, wonderbread, and soft grains blanched from the sun, resembling the softness of mulled oats. A decent start. And the beer itself? A softer mouthfeel than I was expecting, though it still suffers from thinness and over-carbonation. I’m drinking a beer, not a soda pop, and yet quite a few breweries mistakenly believe that more carbonation is a positive contribution to beer. Initially dry and grassy, waxy bitter lemon skin starts to taint the top of my tongue. There is little finish to speak of, though some dinner rolls and white bread gives a bit of meat to her thin, carbonated body. Is that some stale bread long-forgotten sitting forlorn in the back? A few more quaffs, and I am more than done.

Not nearly as bad as I feared, but she was definitely not as good as I remembered her tasting. Has the recipe changed any in the years since I first tried the Warsteiner Premium Verum? Possibly, but not necessarily. What has changed though is my knowledge and understanding of real beer which in turn has broadened my appreciative palate as to what real beer tastes like. Skip the Warsteiner and grab a real German lager, instead.


sometimes memories are best left as memories

Now that I have accumulated enough resealable growlers of a couple different sizes, I am now prepared to travel to breweries and bars and bring home kegs of the latest, greatest, and even old standbys on draft for my personal enjoyment at home. One such brewery that I look forward to getting some growler fills on are the Brooklyn Brewery Brewmaster’s Reserve monthly keg releases. The newest from Brooklyn is the Cuvee de Cardoz, a collaborative brew with the famed chef Floyd Cardoz. A renowned spice fan, I expect the Cuvee de Cardoz to be rich, complex, and pungent.

She was placed before me in a gorgeous Brooklyn Brewery snifter bearing their logo in frosted simplicity on the front. Further proof, imo, that sometimes simple is best. I am about to find out though that the contents inside her beautifully simple glass are anything but. Hazy golden orange, a rocky head of off-white foam fades into a thin film which is appropriately thicker around the edges. I could be on the other side of the room and her nose would still find me and lay me out on the floor. Mint, black licorice, parsley, and cilantro are followed by a blossoming explosion of flowers and pollen. Anise and mint is everywhere, permeating her heavily pungent nose which borders on being so complex that she is in danger of overwhelming herself. Overripe bananas, pineapple, mango, and sugar syrup. Poppy seeds and lemon cream reminds me of the moist, heavy lemon poppy seed muffins I used to bake years ago using all-natural ingredients. Phew. I take a step back to gather my senses before wading through her nose to partake of the actual brew itself. A creamy mouthfeel makes for a pleasantly soft presence which works largely in her favor; if she had been thick and heavy, the explosion of flavors upon my tongue would be too overwhelming. Again, I feel that precarious balance of too much and just enough. The Cuvee de Cardoz is a sipper to be sure. Mint and black licorice permeates her palate and lingers long in my breath. Creamy overripe bananas perfectly compliment her creamy mouthfeel while green chilies, celery, white pepper, more mint and black licorice drown my senses. The more I quaff, the more I am left pondering an interesting quandary: her exuberant complexity is threatening to dull her palate, resulting in a rather simple beer despite the sheer diversity and quantity of quality ingredients that went into making this beer. Later than sooner, I sup the last of her golden nectar, savoring her seemingly never-ending finish of pungent bananas, lemon cream, mint, anise, and herbs.

A bit too thick and rich for my tastes, but still a good beer. Very unique and a one-of-a-kind beer, trepidation aside, she is definitely worth trying. Different strokes for different folks, though I definitely can appreciate what Garret and Floyd Cardoz were trying to accomplish.


gives spice a new home

There occasionally comes a time when I loathe the keg-only beer releases. Why? The beer is unadulterated toe-curling orgasm-inducing ecstasy. Period. Nuff said. That moment came once more about a month ago when my favorite beer joint, Vine & Barley, procured a keg of Ommegang Rouge, a Belgian Flemish Sour Red Ale aged for 18 months in French Oak. If memory serves me correctly, that French Oak previously contained French red wine, but I can't say for sure. This is the second year Ommegang has released this beer, and I missed last year’s release so I can’t do a comparison between the two. What I can do is to taste, review, and rave about this beer with pure shamelessness.

She came to me in a glass snifter stained a deep burgundy with nothing but a mousse-pink comforter covering her bareness below. She has born all for me to see, to smell, and to taste and I shall ravage her body with the most gentle and appreciative caress possible. Her mousse-pink head never fully dissipates, choosing to linger as a pink necklace. As we draw ever closer, I breathe deep her perfume. Deeply vinous, sour, and bursting with crushed red grapes and wood tannins. Tart cherries which pucker as you bite in to them. Your teeth meeting the pits inside, you make sure to suck every last piece of tongue-tingling tart cherry meat from her dry earthy pit. Vanilla bean is ground before me as red and green apple skins crunch. A touch of lactic acidity rounds out her nose which has me cupping my glass, eyes closed, and every fiber of my being soaking in the experience. Goosebumps. Our first kiss is orgasmic. Soft and creamy smooth, she glides over my tongue like soft velvet before bursting in an explosion of tart black cherries, old oak soaked with red wines, grape skins, pits, and vanilla bean tainted lactic acidity. A beautiful palate pleasing and palate cleansing experience, she lingers with tingling tart cherry and grape skins and thirst-inducing vinous wood. Clean and vibrant, the dryness of her body offsets her smooth creaminess. As passion builds, she soothes, teases, pleasures, and satisfies my palate like no other beer has done in a long-long time. I am left with esters of a sour cherry and raspberry tart topped with vanilla and cream and ending with dry wood.

Ommegang is a little piece of Belgium in Cooperstown, New York. I can say with nary a doubt that their Ommegang Rouge one of the best Flemish Sour Red Ales available, second only to the Rodenbach Grand Cru. I am elated and depressed at the same time because just as she swept me off my feet, she disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving me with only the warm memories of our time together and a fated promise of a reunion a year later in the future. I’m not exactly religious, but if prayers were to be answered, this would be one.


crimson bliss

I’ve explored very little of the northeast beer scene, though what I do get in the sunny state of Florida is more often than not dated with a best-buy date to ensure freshness. As a beer geek, I have a mixed relationship with freshness dated beer. When it is applicable, great, but not all beer needs to be freshness dated; some beers excel with age. And then there is the concern that my freshness date is not because the brewer wants to ensure that my beer is always fresh by using the best ingredients possible, but because they used low-quality ingredients and adjuncts to brew their beer. Harpoon Brewing out of Boston, Massachusetts freshness dates their beers for the first reason, thankfully, and their specialty is quality session beers brimming with flavor. They also have a line of extreme beers known as the Leviathan series, but right now all that is available in Florida is their standard line up. Take the IPA, an American IPA which exemplifies.

Clear amber orange with a soft copper-tinged head which fades into a thin ringlet. A couple swirls produce a decent display of lace which sticks well to the sides of my glass. Clean glasses are a MUST and ALWAYS hand wash them. (This has been a public service announcement from you local Beer Ambassador. We now return you to your normal programming.) As I partake of her nose, I have left my chair and am strolling down rolling hills resplendent with green grass and wild vegetables. Her nose is light but green, vegetal, herbal, and somewhere someone’s key lime orchard is abloom. Broccoli, celery, cucumber, basil, and thyme mingle amidst the fields of green grass. I’m a kid at heart so I wasted no time romping and rolling through the fields, and in return I am met with a bright palate bursting with fresh hop cones just picked from the vine while below my toes green grass bristles. A dry, brisk palate, she snaps all her flavors across my palate in quick procession: lemon, key lime, herbs, white pepper, green wood, green grass, celery, and hop cones, some whole and some crushed, oozing their sticky oils. Now, anyone who has quaffed the Harpoon IPA knows that she is not a big beer by any standards, but what she lacks in robustness she makes up for with her straightforward palate. No mysteries. No surprises. Just good clean fresh IPA quaffing which is certified family safe.

Make sure to always check the freshness dates on bottles that have them. For some breweries like Harpoon, they really do matter. It’s not crazy at all for a beer to taste fresh amongst everything else, and the Harpoon IPA was solid living proof.


land-lubber friendly

I am revisiting the Brown Ale from Samuel Adams because, even though I have quaffed it many times before, I have yet to really sit down and spend some one-on-one time with her. That is changing right now, and so I am set to put my thoughts down on paper before returning to a more leisurely relationship.

Clear brown, mahogany and burnt amber highlights glimmer faintly under a puffy khaki head. Her head fades in rocky patches until only scattered patches of khaki film lingers. What she lacks in head though she more than makes up for with an amazing scattering of lace which crackles along the sides of my glass from first quaff to last. Her nose is all about cinnamon, brown sugar, and maple crunchies while pumpernickel toast and chocolate esters permeate the air. A sliver of greenery flits through the background, and I tilt her lips to mine for a satisfactory kiss. Light with a clean mouthfeel, cinnamon, brown sugar, and maple glides like butter across my lips, over my tongue, and down my throat with purity to rival the most pristine babbling brooks. Growing less toasty, there is a background of butterscotch and caramel which leads into chocolate covered nuts. My palate starts to dry well into our passionate interplay, hinting of powdered chocolate. The greenery is just a whisper in the finish just as her nose had bespoken earlier. While the Samuel Adams Brown Ale isn’t overly complex, she makes a great session beer which melds both American and English brown ale characteristics.

The Samuel Adams Brown Ale was one of my first Samuel Adams beers. Not quite a Samuel Smiths Nut Brown Ale or Brooklyn Brown Ale, she is quite possibly what would happen if the two were to marry and have a child. Good stuff.


another solid classic from a solid brewer

Plzen of the Czech Republic may be the origin of Pilsner, but Germany also has a fine long-standing tradition of rich golden lagers and flavorful crisp pilsners. Internationally, there are two recognized styles of Pilsner: Czech-style Pilsner and German-style Pilsner. It is those two long-standing styles which other countries try to emulate, even exploit, to create their own variation of lager and pilsner. Some choose to remain true to the classics while others forgo the richness of palate and aim solely for marketable drinkability which, sadly, results in a bastardized shadow of the original. Paulaner is a German brewery with a rich brewing heritage which continues to this day. Sitting before me ready to be poured into my thirsty glass is their Premium Pilsner, an extra dry German Pilsner by their own definition.

She shimmered under my watchful eye with rivers of gold straw and hay rising below a fragile white head which burbles and buckles under the pressures of gravity. Arms wide open, I am embraced in a cool breeze which carries with it a gentle touch of sweet green grass, a smart snap of lemon, and freshly baked breads born from the fields of grain I stand amidst. Bees buzz in the background, tending to their sticky sweet honeycomb while the air starts to weigh heavy with the promise of rain as a touch of sulfur tinges the atmosphere. Safe in her arms, my first impression is brisk and dry, just like she promised. And yet, beyond that initial promise is an endless horizon colored in drooping fields of grain to bake the freshest loaves of bread ever seen in this world as sweet honey esters buzz overhead. Thunderclouds rumble on the horizon while lemon spritzer tickles the back of my throat. A touch of lemon skin gently dries my palate but never so much as to interfere with the Premium Pilsner’s overall brisk, sweet, and grain-fresh palate.

At first, the dryness was surprising because I am used to the fuller, sweet and bready German Pilsners, but after a few, we were the best of friends. She won’t win any awards for complexity or a strong point-of-view, but I can only imagine just how refreshing she would be after a long day of laborious labor in the rugged land of Germany. A romantic’s view? Maybe, but isn’t beer a beverage born of mystique touched by romanticism? Grab yourself some Paulaner Premium Pilsner and decide for yourself.


no lotion needed

The marriage of wood and beer is as natural as the sun, moon, and stars. Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ales understands this, and so they willingly surrender themselves and their beers to the wiles of Bretty barrels. While none of their beers are nuclear sour bombs, they do have a range of tart, sour, lactic, and barnyard funk characteristics. How much of each varies depending on the beer style and profile they are aiming for. A seasonal release, the Madrugada Obscura Dark Dawn Stout is a Belgian inspired stout rich with lots of hops and roasted malts. I’m excited to see what the Bretty barrel aging has done to her dark depths.

Just as promised, my glass has been swallowed whole by the black abyss that is the Madrugada Obscura Dark Dawn Stout. Thick and ominous, a burnt brown head is creamy and smooth, resembling the most decadent of chocolate mousse. And people wonder why black is my favorite color? I barely raise her glass to my nose before I am assaulted by tartness. Tart lactic esters are everywhere; no matter where you turn there they are. Weaving in and out of her tart palate is bark, burnt wood, charcoal, licorice root, rich black top soil, prune pits, figs, black chocolate covered cherries, bakers chocolate, cigar leaves, and some caramel nougat for a final flourish. Permeating this majestic tapestry of stout delights is her tart sour lactic acidity. Intrigued am I. my first quaff is deep and full. My lips pucker as my tongue curls just a little as I savor her tart dark bounty. The mouthfeel features unusually soft carbonation which relents the further down my glass and the bottle I progress. Tart sour lactic acids are everywhere while dark chocolates, bakers chocolate, tobacco leaf, and burnt wood soothes my palate. The interplay of tart and naughty with thick and earthy is expertly played. Dark chocolate covered cherries with pits included dance down into the middle while dried cigar leaves linger in my breath. My body tingles and the eyes role as my mouth curls in a blissful smile of ecstasy.

The Madrugada Obscura Dark Dawn Stout is fantastically invigorating, far more than a stout of such rich, deep, earthiness should be. But the Brett worked their magic in the Jolly Pumpkin barrels, birthing a new family of stout which I hope to see more of. Fear not the Brett, and find yourself a bottle of Madrugada Obscura Dark Dawn Stout while you can; she only comes around once a year.


dark dawn is rising

Once upon a time before Budweiser was even a twinkling in the eye of Mr. Augustus Busch, there was a beautiful crisp pilsner being brewed in the town of Budweis, Bohemia. It was named Budweiser Bürgerbräu of course, or in English, Budweiser Budvar Brewery. The brewers were and are proud of their hometown, their heritage, and their beer. It is enjoyed in Czech, in other European countries, and also in the USA. Unfortunately, the USA market suffers from the bullish steel fist of Anheiser Busch, formed years after the original Budvar of 1785, yet they have managed through billions of dollars of lawyers and corporate greed to claim exclusive rights to the name Budweiser and Budvar as theirs and theirs alone. Unfair? Absolutely. Unjust? Absolutely. Just plain mean? Absolutely.

The original Budvar can be found in the states under the name Czechvar, but she is not the only fine Czech pilsner to be found in the states. A much lesser known brewery without the controversy, but just as good is the Krusovice Lager. This fine Czech lass hails from the region of Krusovice, Czech and they are just as proud of their beers which include a wonderful Schwarze beer and their wonderfully dry, crisp, grassy, and citrus-tinged Pilsner, Imperial 12.

She poured enthusiastically from her 16.9oz brown bottle depths into my large pilsner glass. Golden hay spreads out before my eyes while a playful white head tufts and billows above the gentle carbonation below. A delicate web-work of lace marks her slow decompression. Lifting her golden depths to my nose, I am transported to lush fields of green grass while I lounge in my chair with a plate of water crackers for nibbling. A lemon orchard nearby tinges the air with gentle lemon esters as my toes curl in blissful nirvana. Our first kiss on this gorgeous sunshiny day is bright and grassy with a wisp of bitterness in the finish. The lemon is fresh and refreshing, leaving also a whisper of bitterness in the back. Water crackers provide the perfect middle, mingling with husked grains for a crisp presence through and through. Czech pilsners are fragile creatures, but she has survived her harsh trip to the States and my quickly diminishing glass with grace and aplomb. Czech pilsners win with simple complexity and crisp refreshment which highlights the best nature has to offer, and the Krusovice Imperial 12 is no exception.

Complex is great, yet so is simplicity. I would recommend drinking her as fresh as possible, always. Krusovice handily dates their bottles with a bottled-on date so you know how fresh, or not fresh, yours is. Pop a couple open and share one with a friend and show them what a real pilsner tastes like.


what many wish they could be

At one time I was just a simple beer drinker, blissfully unaware of the political turmoil, corruption, back-stabbing, and cold litigation that also makes up a large percentage of the beer world. That large percentage of bullying is thankfully limited to a large few, with the smaller and in general more friendly craft brewers choosing the more civil and prosperous path of working together. Goals attained hand-in-hand are far more rewarding and lasting than those gained with guns pointed and blood-soaked remains trampled underfoot. For two craft breweries, there came a deciding moment when they could have walked the down-and-dirty path of lawyers and general bitchiness. Instead, they joined hands, brewer to brewer, wife to wife, and forged an alliance that is now celebrating its third anniversary of beery communion. The beer is the Collaboration Not Litigation Ale, featuring a joyous union between Avery Brewing and Russian River Brewing.

Hazy oranges with a touch of earthy browns float suspended in my glass while a gentle khaki head settles comfortably atop her liquid bounty, lingering long into our intimate session. There isn’t much lace to speak of, but that’s ok, because her nose is all I need at this moment. A touch of tartness leads directly into a tropical fruit paradise where the waters are pristine azures that bleed into a sky so blue, decorated with cotton puffs. Apricots, peaches, tangerines, nectarines, mangos, pineapple, kiwi, and cantaloupe, hold the umbrella please. The snap of peach skins break upon fresh cinnamon and nutmeg sprinkles which highlight more tartness. Green bamboo makes for an interesting addition, and right before I take my first quaff, some warm butter rolls come steaming out of the oven. Tart and juicy. Sweet and spiced. Wet and dry. Her soft, velvety, frothy mouthfeel exudes warm brown spices and sticky butter rolls. Dry wood is now a finishing highlight versus the green wood of bamboo in her nose. The top of my tongue immediately starts to dry under a tropical assault of tart and sweet fruits. The acidity is all fresh fruit skins, and I am left refreshed after each quaff, my breath is replete with a beautiful sunny fruit essence which lingers long into the empty depths of my glass.

Standing on their own, Avery and Russian River both brew phenomenal beers, so it comes as no surprise to me that their collaborative work is a beautiful marriage of both their passions. Once more, the specialty beer world is better because two brewers chose their shared love for beer over selfish grubbery.


make peace and beer

My first Shiner Bock was when I was still living up in Jacksonville. I was in Vero on a mini vacation visiting the folks and soaking up the sunshine, tiki bars, and gorgeous beaches centralized in the perfect laid-back atmosphere money could never buy. The best things in life are Natural, boys and girls, and Vero has it in spades. After hearing that, don’t even think of bringing your faceless boring chains and fad-a-minute knickknacks here. We have neither need nor want for them. But to get back on subject... I was chilling at the Royal Palm Point office which also conveniently doubles as a Key West style utility apartment with my kitty, Mr. D. located on the water. There was beer in the fridge, the sun was shining, and life was good. The beer in question was the Shiner Bock from Spoetzl Brewing located in Spoetzl, Texas. Not too many good things come from Texas, least of all politicians, but I had hopes that their Shiner Bock would be a different story; she was a bock style beer, after all.

She poured a clear but deeply rich and polished mahogany which sparkled with coppers, ambers, garnets, and treacle. A faintly tinged head receded fairly quickly into a thing ringlet, but she does puff up with generosity upon some friendly swirls. Her nose is all about brown spices, brown sugars and breads lightly buttered and toasted with caramel and maple drizzles while fresh lemons are sliced in the background. Her nose is soft but crisp, leading me with tried assurance into my first quaff. Of course, this isn’t the first Shiner Bock I have drunk, but the first in at least a few years and the first where I dedicated my full attentions. So while she is a glass of wistful memories, she is also a glass to celebrate the moment and the moment is now. Bright. Maple and lemon zest greet my tastebuds with a celebratory song, ensuring they are bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and paying her their full attention. The sweetness which was highly prominent in her nose is now settled into the background while melba toast and cooked brown sugars crunch with each thirsty quaff. A well balanced bock, she goes down easy with just the right touch of complexity. Further in, my lips smack of maple while lemon peel dries the top of my tongue. She hits fast and leaves fast which is fine and dandy with me.

Not the richest bock I have quaffed, but a fine contender if I do say so. Maybe Texas finally does have something to be proud of; the Shiner Bock is certainly a gleaming light in a sea of festering ignorance and political puss. Ok, maybe that isn’t a fair generalization; good people and good things can come from Texas. If you have the chance, give the Shiner Bock a fair chance in your fridge, and if she happens to be sitting next to her sister, the Bohemian Black Lager, take them both home. Good girls come in twos, after all.


shine on

This particular beer got her name because, having supped the supple divinity that is the Old Heathen from Weyerbacher, to do anything to change this liquid nectar would be nothing short of heretical. Hence, the bastard offspring of the Weyerbacher Old Heathen is named, thusly so, Heresy. He is anything but bastardly or heretical; choosing instead the higher path of inspiration by surrendering himself to the magical wiles of oak barrels. Not oak chips; we are talking the real deal here. Coming from Weyerbacher, I expect nothing short of heaven descended.

He poured deep silky black into my awaiting chalice which trembles just a bit, my hands a-tremor with barely suppressed excitement. A soft chocolate head settles like mousse which leaves no lace despite some treacherous aggravation. Instead, he lets loose a full assault of aromas of sweet oaky woody chocolate decadence to humble the most gilded of delicacies. Milky sweet with the freshest vanilla root. Dry and crumbly. Soft truffle nougat with a delicate powder dusting. The perfect measure of charred wood and burnt chocolate leads into espresso and licorice while juicy prunes and dates give meat to his center. Cinnamon sticks and nutmeg provide spice as I lay smitten, tilting her sinful depths to caress lips moist with desire. Smooth and creamy, my lips and mouth are coated in creamy milk chocolates highlighted by vanilla, spice, and lingering long in my breath with chocolate dusted truffles oozing a warm caramel nougat center. I can definitely taste the wood which fully permeates his palate without overpowering. As my chest starts to warm, I contemplate his center of temptation which has possessed my palate and refuses to let go. All right; you shall hear no complaints from me. A touch of earth and more charred barrels coated in chocolate and espresso wrap up our exotically sensual escapade, and it is with aching sorrow I bid farewell.

Thankfully, I have a couple more bottles in my fridge; but bear in mind, the Heresy from Weyerbacher is a seasonal release so grab her while you can. Twelve long months is twelve months too long to wait for this beautiful beer. It seems almost heretical to call it Heresy considering he is anything except, but who am I to argue. I’d rather surrender and sup.


heresy was never so sacred