Opus Dei

About 5 years ago, I was given a gift of two bottles of very special beer: Sam Adams Triple Bock 1995 Reserve, brewed with maple syrup. 10 year old bottles of beer. At the time I didn't fully appreciate what I had been given, but I didn't squander it either. They were buried and forgotten from time to time, peeking through piles in our storage room to remind me that I had these incredible-yet-mysterious bottles of whatever, waiting for god-knows-what before I finally drank them. The Pope? The end of the universe? Who knew.

Five years of seeing and forgetting these beers passed by. But finally, unearthed yet again under piles of useless junk I'll never use, I decided this was the time. Why wait any longer? What magic could possibly happen that hasn't already?

Fighting reluctance and embracing anticipation, tonight became the night. It was time. A 15 year old beer was to meet its fate, brewed to be consumed, not cherished like a collectors' item or ignored.

First, a glimpse of the bottle. The container alone created an atmosphere; dark blue bottle made black by beer, gold script and a cork are the details that Jim Koch uses to let people know that while he cares about his beers, this is one he really cares about.

As I peeled the wrapper from around he cork, I could smell Samuel Adams Triple Bock before I even removed the stopper. Already, hints of chocolate, plums and molasses peeked from around the cork and reminded me more of a cognac than a beer. The anticipation was almost too much.

I finally uncorked the bottle (notice the cork, dark with molasses-y beer), pouring it with a certain amount of reverence into my pint glass. Triple Bock poured like syrup (funny, it's brewed with maple syrup), leaving wine-like legs down the sides of the glass. There was no head; too much malt. Opaque dark brown, no foam, no effervescence, this beer was more liqueur than brew.

The aroma nearly knocked me off my feet. Brown sugar met molasses and chocolate, lingering long and beautifully. Plums and dried cherries worked around a cloyingly sweet malt backbone, telling me to forget hops. There were better things afoot here.

With the same emotion reserved for Christmas morning, I hoisted the glass to my lips, hesitated, and drank. The taste was almost overwhelming; had I not figured in my own mind the power of this beer, I might have been overpowered by it. The flavors weren't delicate hints at tastes. They were full-on robust flavors. A huge aged-beef steak dinner to other beers' fish dish. Maple syrup coated brown sugar. Fine cocoa melted over dried sweet cherries. Smokey grains bathed in thick, sticky-sweet caramel malt. No bitterness tried to shine; any attempt at it would have been a farce to this massive malt monster. Even long after each drink, plummy malts and chocolate clung to my tongue like a sweet memory.

Like a full-bodied cognac without the alcohol burn, each flavor simply got deeper and more complex as Triple Bock warmed. The beer was everything I anticipated and more. Massive flavors didn't compete, they complimented. They were each a part of a whole picture and honestly not one flavor dominated over the others. The whole beer was dominant as a whole.

Part of the magic of this beer was the wait; time only added complexity to a master work. Would it have been the same beer 5 years ago? 10? Ultimately, it doesn't matter. Triple Bock is so well-brewed that accidentally choosing now to open the bottle only added to the whole experience. It's an experience I'm glad I had.