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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Big Hoppy Monster

A beer I can drink all night long is a nicely-done Irish Red Ale. Not that fake Killian's stuff, but a real staple of Irish beer culture. A really great Irish Red is all caramel and roasted malts with just enough hops to separate it from its thicker, sweeter Scottish cousins.

So when I got a bottle of Terrapin Brewing Company's Big Hoppy Monster, billed as an Imperial Red Ale, I was intrigued. The "Imperial" moniker in beer connotes taking a style to its extreme. So while I eagerly anticipated an Imperial Red to be a malt bomb, its name (Big Hoppy Monster) threatened to put me off just a bit. But why anticipate it when I should just get to actually tasting it?

The Monster turned my pint glass a nearly-opaque copper red. The deep copper haze yielded enticing ruby highlights. The cap on this beer was a perfectly-level half inch of off-white foam that clung to the sides of the galss all the way down. Lacing like that screams thick, sweet malt.

The aroma is where I understand the "Big Hoppy Monster" name comes from. But even though hops are much more aggressive in this beer than a standard Red, there is a lovely trio at first: a balance of rich caramel, huge citrusy hops and an alcohol burn. There is also a beautiful roasted malt flavor that hangs out underneath the Big 3, and even the barest hint of pepper. The hops are the star here, mixing a bouquet of flowers with citrus-fruit rinds. But that sticky-sweet caramel strikes a great balance and reminds me of the root of this beer: Irish Red.

This is one of those beers where the aromas set the right stage for the flavors. Nothing is lost between the nose on the tongue with Terrapin's offering; in fact, I think some is gained. Big grapefruit flavors from the hops compete with thick caramel, bread and toasted malt...and in this competition, the hops lose, but not by much! The lovely, spicy alcohol burn enlivens he tongue and heats the throat, enhancing the malt-and-roast flavors typical of a great Red. But again, despite the aggressive hops in this beer, the malts still shine.

Despite the copious malts, BHM is a little lighter-bodied than I would have guessed. But the moderately-high carbonation gives the impression of lighter body.

What I liked most about this beer is how Terrapin Brewing Company enhanced the flavors and boosted the alcohol of a normal Red ale, as well as all those beautiful hops, without destroying the character of the base beer. It's a giant Red ale that I can still tell is a Red ale. With every brewer in the universe taking "extreme" beers to the extreme, it was refreshing to drink an "extreme" beer that remembers where it came from.

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God Bless Texas

A wise man once screamed something at the top of his lungs that Texas primarily produces two completely unrelated products that rhyme.

One of those two products that the gentleman alluded to was not beer, though strangely, that also rhymes with the other two primary Texan products. And after trying this week's beer that ATK-occasional Joel sent me, I think "beers" should definitely be added to the wise gentleman's list of Texan products/exports.

This week, we taste Real Ale Brewing Company's (Blanco, TX) Coffee Porter, a robust porter brewed with coffee.

Coffee Porter pours a medium brown, tending even a little towards red like some coffees I am familiar with and enjoy. The pour gave a thin parchment-colored head with tons of tight, effervescent bubbles. The head dissipated rather quickly (I am betting from the coffee's acidity), leaving a slight pool of bubbles that swam on top.

Even 6 inches away from my nose, there is no mistaking the coffee in this beer. I guess nobody ever accused anyone in Texas of being subtle or small...so I would go as far as saying (and it pains a Yankee to say it) that the coffee aroma isn't just big, it's (sigh) Texas big. Roasted malts are trying really hard to compete with the earthy, smoky, slightly vegetal aroma of the organic coffee that powers this pint. Chocolate and a scant whisper of vanilla are begging for rescue under the coffee avalanche.

Like my favorite A.M. pick-me-ups, Coffee Porter is bitter. Coffee bitter. The coffee itself is from Katz coffee in Houston, TX. Of that coffee, the Katz Coffee Company says:

This dark roasted Mexico Organic Fair Trade coffee is exactly what Real Ale uses in their seasonal Coffee Porter beer. This coffee tantalizes the taste buds with a slight smokiness. The full body and good acidity allow you to enjoy the lingering soft caramelized sugar aftertaste. The least robust of our Dark Profiles, this is a cup of coffee you can drink all day.

I imagine to get the soft caramelized sugar, you need to drink it coffee-hot. But the other flavors of this roast are there in droves: acidic, a hint of smoke, and a full-bodied coffee bitterness that I crave for my personal morning cuppa Joe.

There is also a lingering bitterness to this porter from roasted barley, which also gives the beer a sight grainy aspect. Though the bitter flavors are slightly out of balance with the sweet and roasted malty flavors normally found in a "robust porter," there is still a friendly ghost of chocolate throughout and a maltiness that begs for attention (were the not subject to a severe beat-down by the coffee!) The aftertaste calms down a bit and reminds you that indeed, this is a beer.

The body is slightly watery-thin with a lot of carbonation. It's not so much a palate-cleanser as it is a reassurance that I grabbed a beer and not an iced frappacappumochacino.

Instead of a porter with some coffee, this is like a gourmet iced coffee with some fizz and alcohol, and I would understand that some people would consider this beer markedly out of balance towards the coffee and bitter. Now, as a coffee drinker addict, I really dig the big acidity and bitterness of this beer, and the bitterness isn't the over-hopped Tripple IPA bitterness either; it's that dark-roasted-everything bitter you get in coffee and big stouts that don't rely on tons of hops. That kind of bitter isn't as invasive as some brewer's Extreme Beers. If you're adventuresome, or a coffee drinker, here's your beer. It's an homage to the beverage that makes mornings possible. But if you're not a coffee connoisseur, maybe try Atwater Block Brewing Company's (Detroit, MI) Vanilla Java Porter, an homage to porter with just a hint of coffee to make it interesting.

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Tommyknocker, Tommyknocker...

My first experience with Tommyknockers was Stephen King'snovel of the same name. Not a fan, really.

My second experience with Tommyknockers came 21 years later. This one come in a brown bottle from Idaho Springs, CO. The back of the bottle tells me that Tommyknockers are "mischievous elves who slipped into mining camps with the Cornish miners in the 1800s." This website spells out the legend.

I'll take the gnome legend; gnomes and beer just seem to fit together. And for this beer selection, the beer gnomes of Tommyknocker Brewery have created Tommyknocker Imperial Nut Brown Ale, brewed with pure maple syrup. Given that my own Michigan Maple Syrup Porter was a ridiculously-popular brew, I'll try anything with an ingredient native to my own home state.

Tommyknocker's Imperial Nut Brown poured a deep dark brown, like the deep brown of a Ghirardi dark chocolate. Lovely caramel brown highlights near the top gave way to a thin cappuccino-foam head. As the head dissipated, it left a thin swirl that remained throughout the beer. I always love how a beer looks; nothing makes me want to dive into a pint more than a beer that just looks enticing. Tommyknocker's beer gnomes, like little American leprechauns, really know how to lure me into their trap.

Big huge aromas played games with my nose, drawing me further into their little game. Chocolate blended with caramel, all on top of a nice cup of mild coffee. A gently roasted nut aroma gave the beer a chocolate mocha feel. Malty sweetness gave way to a slight alcohol burn, which wasn't enough to spoil the rest of the brew. And right at the end, like a reminder, was a slight hint of sugary maple syrup.

With the taste, I fell completely under the spell of the Tommyknockers; whether a trick or a trap, it no longer mattered. Maple syrup met chocolate and bready malt and made enough room for coffee to join in. All of the basic nut brown flavors were there to enjoy, including plums and a malty sweetness. The addition of the maple syrup added a sugary touch, and made the beer "imperial" in nature, complete with dangerous boosts to the normal style's flavors and a solventy alcohol burn. Big flavors to compete with the aromas.

The beer had a much lighter body than I expected from an Imperial brown. It was a little thin and watery, but not unsatisfying. The medium-high carbonation lifted the intense amount of sugars off the tongue to keep Tommyknocker Imperial Nut Brown from being cloyingly sweet.

This is a big beer for malt lovers. Sugary sweet, malty sweet, Tommyknocker gave me a delicious, challenging take on a basic Brit classic. As "Imperial"-style ales go, this is not the typical over-hopped, over-boozed, over-sugared "extreme beer" knock off. A gentle hand created this Imperial ale and allowed me to enjoy the robust flavors without having to fight through it or wear it as a badge of honor.

But at 9% abv, the Tommyknocker mischief certainly sneaks up on you!

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The Best Of Both Worlds

One of my very best friends recently took a well-deserved vacation with his lovely wife, and returned with beers for me to sample!

See, folks, this is the way to assure my undying loyalty. Greg figured it out.

At any rate, among the beers he handed me for review are a couple of samples from Terrapin Beer in Athens, Georgia. I have often heard very good things about this brewery, so I was secretly thrilled to pieces that some of my upcoming beer samples will be from this brewery. I had to play it cool, though, and not act all giddy-kid-at-Christmas about it.

Enough about me. On to the beer!
Terrapin India Brown Ale bottle describes this beer as a "head-on collision between a hoppy west coast IPA and a malty, complex brown ale." Thats what I cal a specialty beer. Hoppy west coast IPA? Some of my favorite beers. Malty brown ale? My favorite kind of "session beer." But an IPA and a brown ale at the same time isn't just an Odd Couple mismatch. This is Mozart meets Nirvana.

It poured a nutty, deep brown into the glass with just a hint of a ruby hue as the light on my bar shone through it. The dense, rocky latte consistency head stayed the whole glass, clinging tightly to the sides drink after drink. Translucent due to the color, it was still a crystal-clear beer.

I don't even know where to begin with the aromas in this beer, given the confluence of two completely different beer styles, which the bottle boasts as 5 different hop varieties and 7 malts. It is a no-holds-barred duel of all of my favorite beery scents: pepper leads-off with a mano-a-mano fight with caramel malts. Chocolate grapples with grassy, earthy hops in a battle neither will win. Bright, orangey citrus gets in a shoving match with a sweet maltiness. But all of this aromatic melee is more like a well-choreographed judo match than a nasty brawl. It's all beautiful, lovely art.

The taste is like nothing I have ever had before. It would be crass to say it was like one mouthful of two beers like a cheap frat-house beer bong mixer. No, this beer is a dance between unlikely but graceful partners. The closest I can come to describing this beer is to say that hop-wise, it's a strong IPA. But instead of the bready, doughy, thick-sweet malt to back up all the hops, I get a beautiful Brit nut brown ale malt flavor of the highest caliber. If you've ever had one of those high-end chocolates mixed with some sort of exotic pepper, you have tasted one of the essences of this beer. Complex hop flavors found in my favorite west coast IPAs like citrus, pine and pepper waltz with a sweet nuttiness, chocolate, and dried prunes and apricots and leave me dizzy but oh so elated. One sip leaves me with chocolate covered oranges. Another with pepper-coated apricots. I just want more.

This medium-bodied, well-carbonated beer is a true pleasure to drink. There are so many flavors to enjoy, and Terrapin beautifully merged two beers that I love to pieces. Far from a disaster, this beer is a trend-setter. There's a little something for every beer lover here; for some, it will be unique and different. For others, it will be a true pleasure. I think it's pretty clear where this reviewer falls.

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Strange Brew

My favorite in-state brewery is a close tie between New Holland and Founders. They each brew beers that are mainstays of my beer fridge. Founders, though, brews what is my favorite beer: the Breakfast Stout. There is, simply, nothing wrong with this beer. It is perfect in every way.

Then, on rare occasions, they brew their Kentucky Breakfast Stout, which is the very same stout aged in bourbon barrels. Clever, no? And muy delicioso.

In a recent conversation with their sales and marketing director, I found out that Founders is unveiling a line of specialty beers called "Founders Backstage." They make a limited amount of barrels of these beers (no bottles) and send them along to bars that are Founders-friendly. One of these beers is the Canadian Breakfast Stout. It's Breakfast Stout (oatmeal, double chocolate, coffee) with maple syrup added and aged, as I understand it, in maple syrup barrels. What's not to love?

And I found this elixir in one of my favorite beer bars, Dusty's Taproom, on my and Mrs. Smitty's anniversary evening this past Tuesday. Of course, we immediately each had a snifter. This stuff is incredible.

Our bartender handed each of us a pitch-black glass topped off with a rich, thick lather-like 3 finger head that yielded a lacing that stuck like glue to the glass as we drank it down. It just looked thick and heavy, and along with the lacing also left wine-like "legs" down the glass as we swirled it.

One long drawn breath was not enough to uncover all of the subtleties Canadian Breakfast Stout. I noticed the sticky-sweetness of the maple syrup right on top of everything. Along with it was root beer, vanilla, cinnamon, and cocoa. And of course, it wouldn't be Breakfast Stout with a nice load of coffee along with it. This beer just smelled like breakfast. It was inviting, warm, and comfortable. It didn't have aromas so heavy that it invoked fear. No...it was breakfast in a bottle. Bathrobe and slippers and a newspaper.

To say that the taste mirrored the aroma would be to minimize what this beer offered my tongue. Maybe because of the barrel-aging of the beer, there was a hint of bourbon throughout each drink. The maple syrup added a huge complexity to the beer. The maple flavor we all love on top of our pancakes and sausages was clear as day. But it really added a depth of flavor through sugary sweetness that gave this stout a dark fruit character (plums) that is otherwise missing in the flagship style of this beer. Cocoa, root beer, molasses, malted milk, and coffee all played along in this breakfast of champions, and a interesting caramel taste thrilled me on the finish. These flavors, especially the maple, really lingered on my tongue well after each drink, and as the beer warmed a bit, all the flavors get more pronounced. This is a beer for the ages.

From the oatmeal, this lovely beer is smooth as silk, except for a slightly dusty cocoa texture. At nearly 10% abv, I never felt the alcohol burn, nor did the alcohol take away from any of the other flavors. There was no "maple syrup mixed with jet fuel" feel to this beer. It was just smooth, sticky, sweet and delicious.

Canadian Breakfast Stout. Would I pour it over pancakes? I might. In fact, I may actually mix pancake batter with it. This is an after-dinner sipper. This is a beer to be as much contemplated as it is to be cherished and drank. This beer is a rich, thick stack of pancakes covered in pure syrup with a cup of black coffee.

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The Right Way To Put Orange In Your Beer

Some day, I am going to try and brew a mead. Looking a mead recipes, they are a good deal less complicated than a normal batch of beer, which is also not that complicated. Heat honey, add water, boil, cool, pitch yeast. The only thing that holds me back is the bottle conditioning period, which is somewhere between "when your bottles start collecting a good deal of dust" to "after retirement." Mead just gets better as it ages, and the character of the mead changes depending on the type of honey used (clover, fruit blossoms, etc.).

The beer I tried for this week's review is one that, intentionally or otherwise, looks to bridge a gap between mead and beer. This is Thomas Creek Brewery's (Orange Blossom Pilsner. Despite being brewed in South Carolina, it is subtitled "Florida's Honey Beer. The base beer is a Pilsner, with orange blossom honey added for alcohol and flavor. I've seen, and had, plenty of honey beers in my drinking career, so I am always happy to give them a try. The right kind of honey can add a nice flavor to a beer without affecting the body much, and it usually dries a beer out a bit.

This beer Thomas Creek's OBP poured a crystal-clear golden body with orange hues to it. Light effervescence yielded a thin, pure-white head which dissipated quickly. As I drank it, it did leave white wine-like "legs" down the glass.

Putting the glass to my nose, I did detect some "classic" lighter pilsner aromas: grainy, malty, with a smattering of floral and slightly spicy hops. The beer did have a honey-sweetness on top of it all, but not in such a way as to overpower the pils.

The taste was a decent blend of classic pilsner with noticeable honey sweetness added. It was grainy, slightly earthy and spicy, and sweet (malty and sugary). Interestingly, the lingering aftertaste was oranges. Not citrusy, like so many beers described on this blog, but very specifically orangey. The lightly-tart orange and honey sweetness grew as the beer progressed, along with the pleasant floral notes and mellow maltiness of a pils.

OBP was very light-bodied with moderate carbonation. It is a very quaffable beer, especially for hot summer days on your back deck. I have read some other reviews of this beer, and many of them are highly critical, given that this beer relies on a heavy adjunct (honey) to achieve its flavors and strength. Sure, Miller and those beers use rice and corn as a way to add fermentable sugar without adding color or other flavors. But to compare this beer, which is quite drinkable (though not the greatest beer I have ever tried), with those beers simply on the basis that the brewer used an adjunct is to miss what the brewer was trying to do. It's the South. Huge, black, roasty beers just aren't as popular down there. They grow oranges. They made a marketable, drinkable beer using what is considered the symbol of Florida (outside the stupid alligators). Again, while it's not an earth-shattering beer of immense creativity, I would definitely grab one of these on a sunny afternoon.

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