NY Times Brews and Reviews White House Honey Ale

As you may have read, a few of us gathered a week or so ago to help Smitty brew his own, all-grain version of the White House Honey Porter, which is to be followed up by an extract version of the White House Honey Ale.

The New York Times has beat us to it, enlisting the help of a Brooklyn, New York brewer who brewed the Ale.  The NYT followed up with a positive review.  




I look forward to Smitty's improved, all-grain version made with his favorite grain, hops and the sweat and love of ATK.

UPDATE:  Over at Streak's Place, our friend is also brewing and bottling the Porter.  Too bad we live a half-country away and cannot do a back-to-back taste test.

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Bob's First Beer Review: Dogfish Head, Chicory Stout

Things here at aroundthekeg.com have been a little quiet lately, especially for an election year. I guess that is what happens when every one of the contributors here have a pack of kids, many of which under four years of age. We are also remodeling, buying homes, taking on new jobs, and all that stuff. We here still care very much about the politics, we just have a lot less time to bitch about it. We also still drink and brew piles of beer.

Not that long ago....OK it was like months ago....Smitty challenged the crew here at ATK to write more.

He even challenged me to do a beer review. That was pretty intimidating. I have half a nose and sure as hell have not been B.J.C.P. certified.  But, I will give it a whorl. I cannot tell you why a beer is funky, or what brewing method makes it great. But I can give you my opinion and tell you why I like the flavor of the week. Perhaps I will lead you to a new favorite brew, or keep you from wasting 3 bucks on a single microbrew that tastes like unpolished sterling silver. If you disagree, that is cool, let me know in the comments. Beer is as diverse as the people who brew it and we should celebrate it.

I hope you like what I write.

Beer Review:

Dogfish Head, Chicory Stout
5.2% ABV
Milton, Delaware
dogfish.com

Today’s beverage comes to us from the land of the favored state of incorporation, the home of the Biden, and the state that almost elected a witch to the U.S. Senate. It is also home to one of the finest breweries in the country, Dogfish Head. Their Chicory Stout is the first Dogfish I have tried outside of an I.P.A. I love Dogfish Head for their I.P.A.’s and I really don’t normally like I.P.A.’s at all. Their 120 minute I.P.A. is the brew of very special occasions.

What the heck is Chicory? According the Wikipedia, it:

“…is a somewhat woody, perennial herbaceous plant …cultivated for salad leaves, chicons (blanched buds), or for roots (var. sativum), which are baked, ground, and used as a coffee substitute and additive.”

Chicory Stout pours very dark, but not thick, with a quarter-inch thickness coppery-brown head. It has the deep smell of coffee with a sweet smell that makes me think of two sugars in a small cup of Joe. The taste itself isn’t sweet, but definitely like chocolate chips in a glass. You might think of dark chocolate morsels, but without the sugar hit of a Nestle chocolate chip. Instead, this beer has the finer satisfying, very mild aftertaste I associate with dark chocolate after it has melted away. That flavor is quickly washed away and you are left with a clean palate which is a reasonably good thirst quencher for a dark beer. It has a weak carbonation, no alcohol sting and finishes quite dry yet almost watery finish.

I struggled to give a better description of the malt or grains that provide flavors to the beer, but it is just not that complex. It’s a decent beer, but not even as complex or flavorful as some of the better brown ales. If you are a lover of stouts, this is not your stout. It's simplicity makes it OK for drinking two in a sitting.

I liked the beer and would try it again, but for everyone else, I describe it this way: If Guinness is the gateway to good beers, Dogfish Head’s Chicory Stout is one step past the gate. It is a seasonal brew, so get it while you can.

I rate it a 6.5 out of 10.

UPDATE: I would not say a 6.5 should be considered a "D" grade like a 65% would be in geomotery class.  This is Dogfish Head, so they might be graded a bit harsh becuase they make some great beers.

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The Malty Falcon

My latest beer review is up at Drink Michigan: Bastone Brewery's Saison Noir.

I tried to write this one in the spirit of a film noir script, given the name of the beer. I hope it worked, I hope you like it.

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Drink Michigan - Jolly Pumpkin Review

My 2nd official review for Drink Michigan is up and running today. This time, it's Jolly Pumpkin's iO. Go check it out!

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Drink Michigan

I posted last week about being asked to appear on Drink Michigan as a guest blogger/beer reviewer.

My first review is up today; go see it.

Also, too, Bob put a new link up at the top of our site, linking you to this and future Drink Michigan reviews.

Slainte!

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The Square Of Taste

Big, giant beers will always hold some sort of magic voodoo over me. I do, and always will, enjoy a well-crafted beer of nearly any style; Short's Bellaire Brown and even Michigan Brewing Company's Majestic Nut Brown are wonderful examples of a simple style done well...and enjoyed copiously. But there's this allure for me for these impossibly big beers. Perhaps it's my own predilection for larger-than-life? Plain bacon sucks; gimmie a bacon that smells and tastes like a camp fire. Folgers is crap; a Cafe' Americano is the lightest coffee I drink (and drink it I do...). While I appreciate subtlety and simplicity, it's bigness and boldness that really gets me going. I tolerate baseball and watch basketball, but love football and hockey. Subtle as a train wreck.

So when beer buddy Greg journeys to the far-off metropolis of Pittsburgh and returns with a beer from Terrapin Brewery's (Athens, GA) "Monster Beer Tour" series, I just can't help myself. He knows me so well.

This offering is Terrapin's Rye Squared Imperial Pale Ale. Add the word "Imperial" in front of your beer, and you've sold me; Imperial Anything holds the promise of ridiculously big flavors. I'm a sucker for marketing. Terrapin says "double the malt, double the hops, and double the flavor of the original Rye Pale Ale recipe." I'm verklempt.

Rye Squared pours a bright orange with an off-white, creamy head. The thick head leaves beautiful rings of lacing down my glass. Slightly hazy from the loads of hops that Terrapin drowned in this brew, the appearance of this beer alone is enough to convince me it's a beer I'll enjoy.

But I can't just look at a beer; that'd be a waste. I'll prolong my anticipation by taking-in the aroma first. Big huge citrus aromas hit me and remind me of my favorite West Coast IPA; all grapefruit, orange peel, orange blossom and tart apples greet my nose and promise me that I'm going to love this beer. And if evoking the memory of the best IPA I've ever had isn't enough, the huge malty sticky syrupy aroma behind the wall of Floridian fruits seals the deal for me. Gotta have some. Complimentary to the malty-sweet is just a hint of bread dough. But clearly on the nose, the hops win all my attention.

The taste doesn't disappoint. Hops and malt work in conjunction to bring me the beer I was hoping for: a sticky-sweet hop bomb. Big tangy citrus mixes with a northern Michigan pine forest to drive my tongue mad. Far from being all-hops, though, all of the sticky-sweetness of caramel and toffee are front-and-center, providing a great base for the huge hops to not overwhelm your tastebuds. I'll cast a few platitudes to breadiness and even some floral hops as well. Mild carbonation serves to cleanse the tongue between quaffs, helping enjoy this resiny, sticky beer without losing all sensation.

This Imperial Pale Ale bridges the gap between Pale Ales, Barley Wines and India Pale Ales of the highest order. It is truly a separate style from each of those three, deserving a class of its own to be sure. If you are a fan of giant Barley Wines or tangy West Coast IPAs, this is your beer. Surprisingly, though, it's not overwhelming. It's a do-able gateway to even bigger beers, even though it's a big beer in and of itself. And for this big beer enthusiast, Terrapin Rye Squared certainly kept me captive throughout the entire pint.

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Nothing To Lose Your Head Over

My name is Smitty, and I am a hop-head.

Took a while to get there. Maybe some day I'll document my journey from Bud and Icehouse to Labatt and Molson to the world of local breweries. Even after discovery of the unlimited tastes of "craft" beer, it took a while to embrace hops; my first foray into IPAs left me whining that the beer I tried tasted like a tin can. Funny: it's a beer I regularly enjoy now.

Once I figured hops out, though, it was all over from there. No wonder beer's forefathers eventually abandoned other bittering agents in favor of the almighty hop.

And so here I am today, blogging before you as a hop-head. And before me is a bottle of Terrapin Brewery's Hopsecutioner IPA.

Ooh, tantalizing! Hopsecutioner. Will hop-heads, erm, lose their heads with Hopsecutioner? Will its sharply-honed hops leave me senseless?

Hopsecutioner turned my pint glass a beautiful copper, slightly hazy, with a pure white, cloud-fluffy head. True to its name, this beer loses its foamy head quite quickly. Thick rivulets of lacing clung tenaciously to the pint glass as the essence of the beer drained quickly away.

Bready, biscuity malts merge with sweet apricots on the nose like marmalade on biscuits. Right behind this tea-time crumpet comes some complex - but still somehow subtle - aromas: damp cedar wood, pineappe-citrus. Juicy aroma if aromas could be juicy. Beautiful aromas, to be sure, but out of balance with what I 'd expect from an IPA. Sweet marmalade biscuits shouldn't be the first thing I smell in beers known for the hopiness.

The taste delivers what the aroma promises: bread dough and sugary-sweet malts compliment soft citrus fruits like pineapples and red grapefruit. Delicious, earthy hops mesh exquisitely chewy, juicy caramel. Hopsecutioner is well-crafted...but is off from an IPA. It is a hoppy beer, no doubt, but the hops don't dominate. Nor do they contribute as a major player. They're a partner in a beer where I expect them to be everything.

For over 7% ABV, I don't get that alcohol burn. It has a lovely, chewy, medium body, and finishes slightly dry and just a tad resinous from the hops. Maybe Hopsecutioner would be a great beer for someone who wants to try an IPA but is skeptical of everything they've heard about hops. The delicacy of the hops in this beer would shine if they weren't out-competed by the big malts also characteristic of an IPA. I do like this beer and will have no issue killing-off the rest of the 6-er; its subtlety makes it very sessionable and quaffing one after another is definitely on my agemda. But I can't say I'm going to lose my head over this beer.

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The Complication of Cows

Cows.

Uncomplicated. Simple life. Stand around, moo at one another, eat what's put in front of you, poop where you want.

What you see is what you get with a cow. They don't come in a massive variety of colors and shades. They are generally pretty docile. They don't appear to be especially brilliant.

And let's not forget: they're damn tasty.

I can think of no better way to describe New Glarus Brewing Company's Spotted Cow Cream Ale. Uncomplicated, simple, but still damn tasty. Here's what I mean:

Spotted Cow, like all cream ales, pours gold with a hint of copper. Make no bones...this beer just looks like beer, no more, no less. What you see is what you get. Moo.

Though mostly clear, there is a slight haze with a load of suspended particulate; Spotted Cow is a cask-aged ale so what you're seeing is yeast. The thin but fluffy eggshell-white head left rings of fine lacing down the glass, marking each quaff's progress down the pint.

This cow is sugary or corn-syrupy sweet. It has that hint of grassy, earthy aroma that goes hand-in-hand with a malty, grainy beer. But that's a cream ale. It's got grainy malts. It smells like grainy malt. What you smell is what you get. There is a scant clover-field floral aroma from the sparing use of hops. Grains? Clover? Is there a theme here perhaps?

That the flavor profile doesn't open-up new and exciting experiences is neither a surprise nor a fault. Grains and sweet syrupy malt dominate the taste. Spotted Cow, being cask aged, is slighty yeasty in that there is just a hint of sourness. It's not as sour as a Belgian; this is more of a hint that balances the grainy sweetness, giving you earthy-sweetness with a hint of sour to match. The reflective aftertaste is almost orange-zest. It's not that these "hints" and "almosts" are missed opportunities in a beer that could otherwise be great. For a cream ale, Spotted Cow is great. It's just...simple.

As its style, Spotted Cow's medium body and lower carbonation suggests a creamy feel, making it just that much more drinkable.

Here's the bottom line:

Cream Ales tend to be one-dimensional. If I had a one-dimensional stout or IPA, I would be gravely disappointed. But like a Kolsch, a Cream Ale's lack of adventure is exactly what you want when you want a beer for beer's sake. What gives a Cream Ale the edge over BudandMiller is the creamy texture and the fact that "malt" and "hops" actually have a presence in the beer as opposed to Honorable Mention on the label. In the realm of Cream Ales, Spotted Cow stands out as that one step creamier, one step maltier, one-step more complicated than the average. It's one of those "session beers" that you find goes down way too easy, one after another.

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Slacker Beer

Every now and then, I'll have a beer that inspires me to mediocrity; a beer so plain and underwhelming that I would choose to sit squarely in my seat and stare at my Blackberry. A beer that is unnoticed in the crowd. A beer I could fish out of a cooler at a tailgate (tis the season, after all...) and drink, repeatedly, without ever knowing its name (take that comment where you will).

That beer, over in the corner at the party reading a magazine, is Berghoff Prairie Lager, from Minhas Craft Brewery in Monroe, Wisconsin.

Opening the bottle and starting the pour, one knows right away what this beer is: another take on a standard German or Czech Pilsner. Think Pilsner Urqell, but with less personality and a passion for stamp collecting.

Amber waves of grain aptly describe Prairie Lager's color as I pour it into my pint glass. But make no mistake, it's not the romanticized vision. It's the one you see when you've driven through such a prairie for 7 hours on a road trip. Golden sunny yellow, bright and crystal clear, only mean something at the beginning of your trip. After a time, it's just another sunny prairie.

Sweet grains meet a slight skunky aroma from the use of noble hops, each in turn a slight nod to the splendor of the style of beer that re-created beer in Europe. It's a solid pils in its aromas, but more of a shadow than the real deal; a return of an echo rather than the source.

Noble hops, usually the center of attention of a great pils, are the New Kid at a prom. Grainy, husky malts and corn have an industrial feel; I don't want to paint an unappetizing picture, but the grains here have as much personality as mass-produced "all-grain" sandwich bread. Sweet malts sneak in the back door towards the end.

As a lawnmower or tailgate beer, this lager is fine; it still has flavor above and beyond what Bud and Miller produce every day. But for the style, this light-bodied, highly-carbonated lager is the kid picked last every time for the team. I am unsure of this even being a gateway beer" to hook non-craft drinkers into craft beer, because even many of them will drink a better pils than this if pushed.

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Best Anniversary Ever

How awesome would life be if a 16-day festival was held in honor of your marriage, and subsequently your anniversary, creating a tradition that has lasted now for 200 years?

Thanks to the marriage of Crown Prince Ludwig (later King Ludwig I) and Princess Therese of Saxe-Hildburghausen in 1810, we have a 2-week, 6-million person beer fest of most epic proportions. Now, I had a really fun wedding to a wonderful beer-loving, hockey-watching football fan named Mrs. Smitty. But our anniversary this year? I think we went out for dinner together or something. I can tell you this much: it wasn't celebrated along with 6 million drunks from across the world. Just two.

Another fine tradition of Oktoberfest, as if a beer tent that looks like the picture below isn't enough, is that a special beer was created just for the celebration, named, aptly, Oktoberfest! This Marzen-style beer, so named because it was brewed in March (Marzen), was stored throughout the summer (lagered), and busted-out in late summer. What remains is consumed at Oktoberfest!

A solid Oktoberfest is a beer I like to return to every September or so. It's one of my football beers. Knowing me so well, beer-buddy Greg, back from adventures in far-ranging Pittsburg, brought back a lovely Oktoberfest from Capital Brewery in Middleton, Wisconsin. The name, simply, is Fest.

Comfort poured forth from the bottle; bright, sunny copper with the slight haze you find on September evenings when the air cools a bit from the sweltering August heat. A puffy, bubbling cloud of eggshell-white formed on the top of the beer, bursting with aroma, yet dissipating as if in an early-Fall wind. Perfect weather for my own little festival.

Full, traditionally Bavarian beer aromas rise from the beer, carrying memories of a thousand brewmeisters. Nutty, roasted grains mingle with that most magical German Noble hop; sweet earth meets pungent earth yielding that characteristic Teutonic beer aroma famous the world over. Malty caramel provides a sweetener, ending on a gentle nutty aroma.

This beer is what I really like in an Oktoberfest. Gorgeous grains up front, husky, are balanced by Noble hops behind. Melt-in-your-mouth caramel is doesn't compete with that earthy, spicy blend of Hallertauer and Saaz hops; rather, they compliment one another. The result is a fine example of what our Germanic neighbors love to quaff about this time every year.

The beer has a few small flaws; it's just a tad watery and thin, and the malt, while sweet, is monotone. But this beer is more than drinkable; it'll be a regular addition to my beer fridge every Fall and at half the price of Spaten (which is imported all the way from the Fatherland), I am willing to deal with its minor flaws. I daresay they go unnoticed unless you look for them anyway. Fest differs from Sammy A's Oktoberfest, which is syrupy in its sweetness. This is much more of a throwback to the proud heritage of a crown prince's wedding anniversary.

Clean. Crisp. And best of all, traditional flavor.

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Sushi and Beer

The fact that one of my favorite meals contributes to fish de-population and over-fishing doesn't trouble me. Sushi doesn't trouble me at all; neither socially nor in terms of taste and texture.

What does trouble me are the beers you are usually forced to consume with sushi. Let me explain.

Even the freshest sushi is a tad...fishy. All those fishy oils that coat your tongue so lovingly tend also to mask all but the biggest, boldest flavors that beer can produce. Add to that the tastebud-searing wasabi dollops, fish-tank imbued seaweed paper and hyper-starchy sushimeshi (sushi rice), and I'll be damned if only beer you can taste is a massive Russian Imperial Stout. But of course, the huge alcohol, roasty-toasty and oil-slick molasses flavors of the stout will completely destroy any chance of tasting that lovely fresh fish.

What's a guy to do?

Most sushi bars suggest you go all-out Japanese. Since you're ordering slightly-endangered fresh fish and sitting at a knee-cramping table, you might as well also try some of Japan's finest beer "traditions." One of those is Kirin Ichiban.

This is a mistake.

Let's first discuss the finer properties of Ichiban, then let's chat about what you should do instead.

Strike 1: despite all of the kanji all over the bottle and the dragony-horsey thing, make no mistake. This beer is brewed by Anheuser-Busch right here in the U.S. False advertising? Could be.

For what it's worth, the beer looks good and refreshing. Great, sticky lacing clings all the way down the glass, leaving little rings down the inside to mark your progress. Kinda like the beer version of tree rings? Pale yellow, highly effervescent and beautifully crystal-clear. That's where the good part ends.

You know how you're driving down a country road late at night? You can't see that well. There's a lump in the road, which you easily drive around. Suddenly, without warning, the vents in the car emit that unmistakable nose hair-burning smell. Your eyes water. You gag just a bit. You try frantically to turn off your vents or turn of the recirculating air or open your windows or please God anything to get the smell to go away Jesus Christ my clothes are going to smell like this for a week!! That smell? That's what you get hints of in this beer. Ah, the fine aromas of skunk and cooked cabbage. What could be more inviting (to someone begging to die)? Under the layers of roadkill, one may experience a slight graininess and a hint of rice husk. But that takes a strong stomach to wade through all the carcass first.

A rice/grainy husk flavor upfront...oh who am I kidding? The grain and rice overwhelms what slight taste there already is to this beer. There is a puckery astringency (medicinal), the hop bitterness tastes like they strained any floral/earthy/grassy/citrusy flavors out of their hops and just kept the bitter. "Bitter" combined with "medicinal" yields a beer that is barely drinkable were I left alone in the desert.

Light body, highly carbonated, blah blah. Blech.

The beer tried to do one thing right: bitterness fights fish oil. Bitterness cleanses the tongue between sips, as does lots of carbonation. The problem is, Ichiban is so bad in and of itself that there is no compliment. It's merely to drink something (for your mouth's sake, pick water...) between bites. And even then, if you choose Ichiban to wet your whistle, you get what you deserve: a less than memorable dinner experience at what could have been a culinary delight.

This is exactly the opposite of what modern Japanese cuisine is attempting to do. Each different bite of fish yields vastly different flavors and textures. You drink a drink, then, that accentuates each flavor and cleanses the palate. This is why they put that pickled ginger shit on your plate.

If you go to a sushi place worth their weight, they'll have a nice IPA on tap (for example, San Su in East Lansing carries New Holland's Mad Hatter, which is a beautiful IPA). The heavy sweet malt provides a different flavor, and the hops, beyond simple bitter, provide their own flavors as well, along with cleansing your palate between different fish. The heavier carbonation in an IPA also serves to provide scrubby bubbles to your tongue and all in all enhances your sushi experience. A well-crafted IPA brings out all the flavors you want and helps get rid of the fishy aftertaste everyone tries to avoid with heaps of wasabi and pickled ginger. Imagine enjoying a beautiful chef's choice chirashi bowl; texture after texture, robust flavors and mild flavors, as naturally as possible without the mouth-searing condiments. You can! Just not every with Kirin Ichiban. Stick with water...and wasabi.

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Reason for the Saison

I have yet to have a bad beer from New Holland Brewing Company in Holland, Michigan. Heck, I haven't even had a mediocre beer from them. They are somehow able to take any style of beer and not simply brew it according to specification. They make it come alive. Their beers just have that extra...something that make them stand out over so many other beers. Maybe it's the addition of a malt or a hop that nobody has thought of, or some new take on an old style. But I think more than that, it's quite simply that their brewers love their beers. As cliche' as it may sound, the love and pride these guys at New Holland have for the process of brewing comes out in beers that exceed my expectations every time.

We've established that I really really like New Holland.

Let's move on to summer. It's 80 degrees. It's sunny. Slight breeze. I'm on a patio. I used to love nothing more than a tart Belgian Wit or sweet and tangy German Weiss. But then, a few years ago, I was introduced to the Saison.

A French Farmhouse Ale (saison if French for season...this is a true 'seasonal' beer), French farmers would brew and ferment these beers very hot (80 degrees or so). At the end of a long day working the fields, they would quaff a bottle of the fine beer. Sweet, tart, citrusy, this is the ultimate summer refresher.

And now for the confluence of both things I love - summer and New Holland - I give you New Holland Brewing Company's Golden Cap Saison, available in your favorite beer mecca fridges right now!

Golden Cap pours a nearly-clear, slightly hazy crystal yellow in favorite pint glass (reserved only for the best beers). Loads of effervescence race to the surface and form a thick, fluffy pure-white head of foam, carrying with it all the best aromas this beer has to offer.

Delicious aromas of pepper, lemongrass and wheat dominate the nose. The interplay of sweet citrusy spice sits on top of a bed of floral hops making the whole beer a cornucopia of summertime scents. A slightly funky, yeasty character, just scant hints, gives the beer personality (and reminds you that this is a pure, unfiltered, true-to-style beer) so it's not all flowers and lemons. It's not a furniture cleaner, folks. It's a damn good beer.

Where lemons and spice dominate the aroma, a beautiful bready doughiness dominates the flavor. Biscuity malt gives way to tangy wheat tannins. The wheat then prepares your tongue for a stunning mix of soft fruits: pears, apples, peaches. Is that a tad of honey I taste as well? Honey-covered pears and apples? The alcohol bite yields a peppery spice, and the beer's flavor ends where the aroma started - tangy-sweet lemongrass. What an amazing journey through flavors.

Soft on the palate with a bubbly tickle from the aggressive carbonation, Golden Cap comes across as creamy and smooth. It's slightly dry in the back light body. What's not to love about a beer in the summer on a deck that tastes like this? Citrus, sweetness, bubbly, clear, and served cold, New Holland Golden Cap is the ultimate summertime refresher.

UPDATE

Title changed, for Bob.

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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.

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Nobody's Fool

First, a discussion of Real Ale can be found here. For the lazy, the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) defines a Real Ale as

"beer brewed from traditional ingredients, matured by secondary fermentation in the container from which it is dispensed, and served without the use of extraneous carbon dioxide". The term "traditional ingredients" is designed, like the Reinheitsgebot, to prevent artificial preservatives or cheap adjuncts or chemicals from being used in the making or storing of the beer. The heart of the definition is the maturation requirements. If the beer is unfiltered, unpasteurised and still active on the yeast, it is a real beer; it is irrelevant whether the container is a cask or a bottle. If the yeast is still alive and still conditioning the beer, it is "real".

Just because, you should now go back again and check out CAMRA. It is the largest single-issue consumer group in the UK. Color me jealous.

I bring this up because today's beer is a Real Ale from Indigo Imp Brewery in Cleveland called Jester.

A real ale, as you saw above, is not so much a kind of beer as it is a comment on how a beer is fermented and matured. Thus, a brown ale can be a real ale, a stout can be a real ale, etc. Indigo Imp's Jester claims to be a Belgian Pale Ale (a classic example of this style is Trappist Westvleteren Blonde or the even better Orval Trappist Ale). While I have a hard time comparing any Belgian Pale to the likes of Orval, there is at least a solid set of criteria with which to judge Jester.

Like a good Belgian Pale, I got a glass full of a pale copper, slightly cloudy brew capped with a thin eggshell-white head, not dense but indeed thick with bubbles. Light effervescence floated up the middle of the glass, dissipating the head quickly but leaving a fine lace across the top of the beer. As beer goes, you do taste with your eyes first and this had all the right looks.

Biscuity malt and tart citrus aromas were what I was hoping for, and what I got to a certain degree. I had a "bonus" moderate banana-and-clove phenolic aroma, slightly inappropriate for the style but certainly never unwelcome in a beer with these aromas and flavors. Unfortunately, these really pleasant aromas were overpowered by a heavy sourness. More sour-smelling than some of my favorite Jolly Pumpkin ales - which are sour on purpose because of the oak barrels they are aged in - the correct aromas of citrus rinds and pepper and spice lost out.

The taste suffered the same. I got hints of what I craved: toasty malt, biscuit malt, pears, with a delicate peppery finish. But these were afterthoughts to the strength of the sourness. More than a Belgian-characteristic Brettanomyces sourness (present not so much in their Pales as in their Strong ales), this sourness almost hinted at something...wrong.

But then is occurred to me: this is an attempt at a Real Ale, and Real Ales are about the maturation process..."matured by secondary fermentation in the container from which it is dispensed." Was there something to this? Is this a beer aged in oak kegs - like Jolly Pumpkin is aged in oak barrels - and then pulled into this bottle? Could that be the source of my sour angst? A decent Belgian Pale aged in tannin-inducing oak? Could this be, then, the marriage of two concepts into one beer?

If it is the last question, then maybe it could be. Just not particularly artfully done. But looking to the bottle for a clue, I spotted that it is bottle conditioned. Still a Real Ale by definition, it is indeed fermented and matured in its dispensing container. But that wouldn't explain the puckery sourness.

Ultimately, I had to put the beer down. I was left wanting for a pure, clean Belgian Pale Ale. What I like about other attempts at adding a flair to a beer is that - like Jolly Pumpkin - it is done in a balanced fashion. The parent beer is there to reassure you while the new addition is there to challenge. In this case, I was either overwhelmed or confused. And confusion is not why I drink beer. I get enough of that at work.

Confusion, I mean.

I could always use more beer.

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Best Beers EVAH

Whilst big things are, literally, brewing at the Smitty household, including a 3-tap kegerator, entertain yourselves with the following article from Beer Advocate:

Top 100 Beers on the Planet Earth

Michigan-brewed beers appear 7 times on the list:
Founders Breakfast Stout
Founders Canadian Breakfast Stout
Founders Kentucky Breakfast Stout
Founders Black Biscuit
Bell's Hopslam
Bell's Burbon Barrel Aged Expedition/Double Cream Blend (aka Black Note)
Kuhnhenn's Raspberry Eisbock

Many of the beers on this list are easily found at most local beer meccas, including our favorite (but vaguely overpriced) Oades Big 10.

Get drinking. There will be a test.

UPDATE

My favorite site from which I purchase brewing supplies and gear, Northern Brewer, has launched a weekly web show called Brewing TV. The inaugura; episode is today!

Brewing TV - Episode 1.1 from Brewing TV on Vimeo.

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Bananarama

My good friend Greg is an enabler; every time he goes on a trip, he returns with several beers for me to try that neither of us have heard of. Some are horrendous (more on that in a future post; "Beers I Have Endured" is a feature I may bring to the blog), most are great and some are simply amazing. Greg is my favorite enabler.

While at his house last night, Greg presented me with a beer that could have been worrisome were it not for the fact that I'll try anything: the UK's Wells Brewery Banana Bread Ale.
(yes, that's the bottle for the pic on a table that includes my own tabletop gaming passion, Warmachine...not all dorks drink Mountain Dew all night; some of us drink beer)

My brain screamed out in terror: another fruit beer! Say it ain't so! From Cerise to Apricot Ale, fruit beers, with a few exceptions, tend to resemble alco-pops and wine spritzers more than fine balances between fruit and beer (Dogfish Head's Aprihop, Magic Hat's #9 and Unibroue's Ephemere are some of my favorite exceptions to that rule; Pyramid's Aprihop, Hilton Head's Blueberry Wheat and AB's Wild Blue Blueberry Lager are the worst adherents). But being of warped mind and tolerant body, I decided to dive in and give it a shot.

I am glad I did.

Wells offering pours like a loaf of homemade banana bread; golden brown, capped in a creamy fluff. Carbonation like the flecks of banana throughout. Lacing down the sides of the glass like the bits of sticky sweetness that hangs on to the pan. Looked tantalizing enough, and thankfully, none of that electric purple color you get in other fruit beers. Subtle like a Brit, this beer.

Blindfold me and I would swear this was a slice of banana bread. Banana taffy, sticky sweet, reaches out of the glass first. The beer bottle claims that organic bananas are used in every batch and I don't doubt it. Right behind that is caramel-toffee from lovely malts and even a walnut aroma from the interplay between malt and yeast. Not much in the way of beery aromas; the bananas dominate. But traditional British-style bready aromas work wonderfully with the bananas to fool any nose into convincing its accompanying palate into expecting bread instead of beer.

And fooled my palate was. Big bold banana taste, slight caramel, roasted nuts and toffee fill out the flavors in this beer. The banana is the star without a doubt. Maybe it's that bananas are more subtle and less powerfully-sweet (like berries or cherries can be), but I found that is wasn't overpowering. Like the aroma, my tongue swore (as it too often does) that this wasn't a beer at all.

My only criticism of this beer is that it is a bit of a one-trick pony; it's all banana bread and very little beer. It lacks the complexity of a truly world-class fruit beer. As a novelty, though, it's really well-done and I'd drink more than one on a night; it's not every day you drink a beer that makes you swear it's something else. If you don't like bananas or banana bread, I sure hoped you stopped reading at the title of the post! But if you want to try a nicely done, unique beer, give Banana Bread Ale a shot. What it lacks in intricacy it makes up for in tastes we all love from grandma's kitchen. In Yorkshire.

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Left-Handed Behavior

About 3 years ago, I tried and failed miserably at brewing a milk stout. By adding lactose, a milk-derived sugar, a beer gains a creamy feel and a residual sugary sweetness (lactose is unfermentable by beer yeast). On an especially roasty stout, the addition of lactose gives a coffee-and-cream impression that is just astounding when done right. This is what I failed to do!


That said, a brewery that has been quite successful at a milk stout is the Left Hand Brewing Company about 30 miles outside of Denver, CO, in the town of Longmont. I am generally quite happy with many of their selections, but my favorite one overall is their delicious Milk Stout. I don't think I'm alone in my enjoyment of their offering; they won the World Beer Cup in 2006 and 2008 for this delicious selection.

To the tasting.

Oh look! Another really dark beer in my fridge! Unsurprisingly, Left Hand Milk Stout pours a brown dark enough to be mistaken for black in my pint glass. Even in my basement's modest lighting, I saw lovely ruby-red highlights in the beer around the edges of the brown-black concoction. It was capped with a thick finger of creamy cappuccino foam. The beer as a whole could have been a glass of high-end latte as much as a fine beer. And as I drank, it left rivulets of lovely lace down the sides of my glass; sticky-sweet reminders of my too-quick progress through this pint!

So the beer looks, so the beer smells. The first aroma that hit my nose are coffee and cream. Left Hand gave me a big, bold roasted malt character topped with unmistakable sweet cream and chocolate. The sweetness didn't compete with the generous roasted character as much as cut it just enough to not be overwhelming. The aromas finished chocolaty and even just a little bready. But my nose can only play with beer for so long before my mouth wants a piece of the action (was that maybe a little dirty?).

While the roasted-coffee aromas played the dominant role on the nose, it's the cream and chocolate that play prominently on the taste. Beautiful sweet cream and chocolate malt play on top of the roasted coffee flavor like a cappuccino sprinkled with dark chocolate. Left Hand Milk Stout becomes a beery mocha latte; my tongue rejoices in its two favorite drinks becoming one! The stout finishes with hints of bready yeast and malts and a bitterness that comes from dark roasted malts more than from hops. I dare say that I didn't really detect much in the way of hops (there must be some in there somewhere!), but I didn't want them and I didn't miss them. The bitterness is like the kind you get from coffee; it comes from the roast and not some other foreign ingredient.

The silky, milky creaminess added a ton of body to this beer, making it borderline heavy, but without a heavy impression. Thick and creamy, not heavy and syrupy. The higher carbonation in this stout backs the body off just enough that this beer becomes easily sessionable without being too filling.

Everything in this beer just works right. Nothing seems out of balance and the shift from coffee aroma to creamy-sweet taste is pleasant enough that people hesitant to drink "dark beer" actually enjoy this one because it's not a huge challenge to the taste buds. Even novice beer drinkers are impressed with Left Hand Milk Stout's recognizable flavors and aromas. Pro drinkers (you know, everyone on this blog) love it for its complexity and adherence to a classic British style of beer so "nutritious" that it was historically given to nursing mothers. It has milk in it after all!

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Utopias

Tonight, I had the distinct pleasure and privilege of attending a rare Sam Adams Utopias tasting.
For those of you who don't know, Utopias is a beer from the Boston Beer Company (Sam Adams) that pushes the limits of what a beer is. For instance, Jim Koch (founder of Sam Adams), entered Utopias into a French cognac competition. In the blind taste-test, Sam Adams won. Jim Koch got up to accept the award...and admitted Utopias is beer, not liquor. He was nearly boo'ed off the stage. But that's how American brewers roll; we take your little drink and make it ours. We own it.

I believe the abv is in the ballpark of 27%, making the beer 54-proof. 54 proof beer. Not to be trifled with.

Some of the beer in Utopias has been aged for 13 or more years. Jim has been thinking about Utopias for a long time. What is so awesome about it is that Jim's vision is to provide an after-dinner cognac-style drink that's fermented as a beer instead of distilled like a liquor, and he wanted to provide one of the highest quality. A drink as sought-after as the best of the world's cognacs and ports. And by all means, as evidenced by his cognac award (for beer! ha!!), he has done it. Each Utopias is a new beer blended with previous batches until it achieves the exact flavor profile Koch is after.

This is a rare opportunity indeed. Nation-wide distribution of Utopias is a mere 8,000 bottles (roughly wine or cognac bottle sized). And tonight, Mrs. Smitty and I were among a mere 12 people who got to sample from 2 vintages; 2005 and 2009. The tasting was conducted at Dusty's Tap Room in Meridian Twp. (Haslett/Okemos for the yokels), and also included sampling from the Sam Adams 2007 Triple Bock.
Let's get down to business.

The 2005 Utopias was astounding. I actually lose vocabulary over how amazing this beer is. The first words that come to mind are maple syrup. Huge maple syrup aroma (though, to be fair, not a drop of actual maple syrup is used to make this beer) and taste. Big, thick, syrupy body. Not a single hint of CO2 (way too much alcohol and protein for fizz to survive!). White Oak, sherry and vanilla finish this sticky-sweet beer. This one was Mrs. Smitty's favorite.

A brief note on Mrs. Smitty: all I did at about lunch time was text-message Mrs. Smitty and tell her there were 4 spots still open at Dusty's for tonight's Utopias tasting. An hour later, I got a text back saying that she found a sitter and that I better make sure there were 2 spots still left. Mrs. Smitty wanted to go as bad as I did, and enjoyed it every bit as much, carrying-on an in-depth conversation with the Sam Adams rep about flavor profiles.
I won. The rest of you can go home.

Anyway, Utopias 2009 was a completely different beer. None of the maple syrup was present, and it was a few shades deeper amber than the 2005. This one was grainy on the nose, reminding you more than the 2005 that the 2009's progenitor is still indeed beer. Chocolate, slight coffee and a classic cognac oakiness round-out the 2009. Mrs. Smitty liked it less (and by less, she meant "I like double chocolate chip cookies less than I like double chocolate chocolate chip cookies") than the '05, and I personally liked both for completely different reasons. One is beer that tastes like a wholly different drink and the other is beer that nods towards beer but is still...not beer in its taste and complexity.

The '07 triple bock was equally delicious if not quite as ground-breaking. It still had traditional bock characteristics (grain, chocolate, full body), but was still a step above anything I have ever experienced as a bock. Deep plums, prunes, dried cherries and dark chocolate make this beer into another after-dinner libation. Unlike most bocks and doppelbocks, I don't see monks using this as food during lent lest they sleep for 40 days!

All in all, this is a night to remember. I am thrilled I got to be a part of it and I look forward to future tasting adventures at Dusty's.

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Flat Tire

No, not FAT Tire from New Belgium brewing company in Colorado.

No, I mean a FLAT tire. I blew a flat tire, metaphorically.

Yesterday morning, I lifted a cup of coffee to my lips, ignored all the warning signs, and apparently cooked my tongue in boiling liquid. Then, to make matters worse, while eating a beautiful bowl of soup for lunch...the same thing happened. My tongue nearly became a part of the soup.

The end result: my tongue is so burned, so scalded, that I can't taste anything but salt or overpowering amounts of sugar. I tried a beautiful bottle of Arcadia's Cocoa Loco yesterday evening for today's review, and for all I could taste of it the review would have read: tastes of air, wetness and foam.

According to some friends in the medical profession, it will take 4 or 5 days before my tongue is healed enough for my tastebuds to function. So no beer review for you today.

That said, I want to draw your attention to one of the greatest tools of the beer judging and tasting profession: The Beer Judge Certification Program. This is the "secret" website chock-full of beer knowledge to prepare mere novice beer drinkers for entry into judging. And it keep judges apprised of new styles, new expectations and growth in the beer industry.

The crown jewel of this web site, though, are the biannually-reviewed Beer Judge Certification Program Style Guidelines. This is the document judges use to judge beer. It has every style category, what each beer should look, smell, taste and "feel" like, and...here's the bonus...it provides commercial examples available on the market for every style.

These guidelines were developed to make beer judging fair. I look at it this way: I am not a fan of "Light Hybrid Beers" or "Pilsner." They bore me. But there is a chance, every time I judge, that I will have to judge those beers. I need a set of guidelines, then, for me to fairly compare and contrast beers that I honestly don't enjoy much; it doesn't work for me to fill out a scoresheet with the word "HATE" scrawled in huge letters for a brewer who tried hard on a beer and is proud of his or her submission.

The guidelines are used for the opposite as well; there are two beers that are everything you've ever dreamed of. How do you separate them? How do you pick a winner? Use the guidelines.

Check out the web site. But more importantly, check out the guidelines. It's a .PDF that allows you to go directly to the beer style in question simply by clicking on its category in the table of contents. It will help paint a picture of just how many beer styles are out there, and it will enlighten you, as it does to me every time I open them, as to how beers should be. And best of all, it gives you beers to go out and buy and try if a style sounds interesting.

Best I can do with a Flat tire.

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If Only Winter Tasted This Good

A gold-standard of brewing prowess for me is Samuel Smiths brewery in North Yorkshire in the UK. When I attempt to brew British-style ales, I use Samuel Smiths as my template. If only I could emulate their taste...I could open a brewery.

For Christmas, I was the lucky recipient of a four-pack of some of Sam Smith's best beers. Most of these beers, including the one today, are locally available at most "good beer" stores. You can't very well call yourself a good beer store without carrying Sam Smith's.

The lovely concoction I sampled this week is Samuel Smith's Winter Welcome Ale. This is the style of beer commonly called a winter warmer. You drink it because it gives you that lovely warm alcohol spice that warms the stomach and the spirit.

Winter Welcome poured an enticing dark honey, crystal clear and refreshing. As the thick, creamy-white head settled, an inviting effervescence bubbled up from the bottom of the Imperial pint glass. Each quaff left thick lacing down the sides of the glass and spoke of heavy malts yet to come.

The aroma held all those flavors you find in grandma's candy jar when you visit for the holidays: sweet caramel, toffee, and creamy, sticky butterscotch. The malty sweetness blended perfectly with a light, crisp grassy hop character. Under it all was a luscious honey sweetness. The hops, though light, kept this from being an overly-sweet malt bomb. They really pulled the beer towards a pleasant crispness that just became more inviting despite the cold.

The flavor stands up and delivers everything the aroma promised, and then some. Big honey-sweet malt blend with a gorgeous grain savor. Bready yeast, like rolls, balanced with a gorgeous buttery flavor that just makes the beer drip with sweetness and a thick impression. Cinnamon and brown sugar and plums, scant hints thereof, are in a delicate balance with light hops. The thing that brings it all home is this lovely alcohol warmth, which adds a peppery spice to all the sweet, bready flavors that Sam Smith's beers are known for.

Winter Welcome's medium body gives a soothing, refreshing impression despite the frigid temperatures outside my window. Crisp but smooth, refreshing but warming, Samuel Smith's Winter Welcome is the right way to enjoy Michigan's winters.

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