Beers Eye Drunk

2006-08-04T17:16:00.000-07:00

Beers Eye Drunk: Sam Adams Summer Ale Review

Sam Adam's Summer Ale: Parts 1-11 of 12

2006-07-17T22:33:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I had the worst ROI of any beer analysis conducted to date. I bought somewhere around $18 worth of beer, including the modestly priced Sam Adam's Summer Ale, on sale for $5.50 a six-pack. Through a series unfortunate events, I found myself drinking the beer rather quickly, taking little note of it at all.

I watched Germany get eliminated from the World Cup and most of the beers disappeared through the course of the game. I remember nothing about the beer or the game. I don't remember hating either. In retrospect, I could have been more present for both.... This is why I don't get very much out of life. I drift off, ignore details, and flop through life moment by moment with no real drive or interest in anything...

So, I bought six more of these Summer Ales thinking that perhaps the beer was so good and smooth I simply drank them too fast to recall them... Well, somewhere in this week's blur of job applications, interviews, and cover letters, five more of these beers got knocked down without so much as a scribbled post-it left behind. And the saddest part, for me and the beer, I don't really remember what the hell this stuff tastes like and can't even begin to describe it. And so there is now just one left, and it falls to the destructive power of video and the restorative magic of video editing to bring artistic merit back to the blog.

In the meantime, I have been craving a beer so bad I even drank four Lone Stars, which is the taste equivelent of flossing with a wet mules' ass hair. But still, I've been too lazy to set up the video camera and there are several lighting issues that I can't quite resolve. Mainly, I'm too lazy to put a new bulb in the living room.

Are we catching the general theme here?

I'm too lazy.... too lazy for the craft of studious beer drinking... instead, I'm a guy without a job, who invests large sums of his shrinking finances on beer, not because he cares enough about beer to even remember how it tastes... Nope. I am a man who drinks for no particular reason, every day I can.

It's really no wonder things didn't work out with me and work... When even beer is too much work, then you've got a serious problem. At least problem drinkers are aiming to get fucked up. I think the only reason I'm not is because it takes too long... I hope to have the second video beer blog up before Friday, anyhow... but I really wouldn't bet on me at this point.

2006-07-11T14:46:00.000-07:00

Beers Eye Drunk: Celis Raspberry Review

Whitbread Pale Ale: England Says Hold the Hops

2006-06-29T20:20:00.000-07:00

Part I:
A Discussion on the Differences Between American and English Beer and Warnings Against Dating While Intoxicated.

There are few things I've learned about the world through drinking beer. Amongst the most important, you don't stand a better chance with women when you're hammered and America is stupid.

Some reasons include:

America gives anything over a measly 6% alcohol the foul label of "malt liquor" and girls give my drunken breath the equally foul label of "get away from me before I kick you in the balls".

America's idea of Hefeweizen is flat, watered down and fruity compared to the European style, which can have a strong wheat smells, heavy carbonation, and a cottony sweet finish, and in the meantime, girls don't like it when you puke on them no matter what consistency or flavor.

America thinks that pale ales have to be incinerated with hops and thus lack subtlety, much like you, loaded with hops, who may stare directly at breasts from across the room for a solid five minutes before going over to talk to them.

Part II: Critical Information about English Ales, Bears

Whitbread Pale Ale is a good example of an English Pale Ale. And when I mention pale ales to anyone around here, they quickly assume that it's a hopstravaganza like Stone or Firestone or something other kind of rock. Even the most well-known pale ale imports, Bass and Harp, are fairly hoppy, though bare the a tad bit of the creaminess and style of some English pale ales. They don't do much to sway the "common knowledge" that pale ales are dry and bitter.

English Pale Ales tend to sit in a glass like beef gravy, rich and heavy, a warm brown liquid that dumps smoothly down the throat at a slightly warm temperature. There can be a good deal of surprises in English pale ales, from a floral smell to baked fruit. Most of the time, they're fairly creamy, fairly sweet, with a long lingering flavor; a crafted design rather than a head-splitting train wreck of hops.

Whitbread, though, will give you a headache for a different reason. At a cold temperature, this beer tastes like nothing but straight-up liquor. The overtones of alcohol pound a dirge into your skull after two sips. And I admit, I was pissed off, since I was expecting a heavy considerate mixture of flavor and not an unwelcome wallop to the brain. Though, after this beer has time to settle in the glass, other characteristics gurgle to the surface.

There's a sweet malty touch to it that's got a bit of a marzipan flavor. If you don't know what marzipan is, then you've got to go out and rent some Paddington Bear cartoons, because he was nuts about it. You could probably buy some at a candy store, but to really get the sense of it, you've got to see that bear. He's incredible. In fact, you're not going to understand much of anything in this world if you haven't seen Paddington Bear and that's all I'm going to say about it. In fact, I will go so far as to say people who do not know and love Paddington Bear should be swept of the face of the earth indiscriminately in some kind of ecological disaster and there's a hint of bitter cherry.

Summary Review of Whitbread Pale Ale

We've touched on a lot of topics... America, dating, England, Paddington... But through this journey, you may feel as though I've inadequately described the overall value of Whitbread. Perhaps, I've meandered off-topic and used too many colorful devices and thus sacrificed the straight-forward character that was the original charm of this beer blog. All right then, you smart asses, let's cut the chase then:

I don't really like it. The bitter start and unsavory malty middle makes me tired and bored, like listening Bea Arthur sing my tax return. It's not a bad beer, but it doesn't speak to me, or if it does, all it’s saying is that in fifteen minutes I'll have to pee. Depth and style are there, but I'm not. I'm watching the history channel completely distracted from the beer. And when the plumbing of Constantinople is overshadowing your beer, it can't be that good.

Samuel Smith's Organic Lager: Say What?!?

2006-06-29T20:14:00.000-07:00

I like to shop at Central Market sometimes. They have good soup and mostly hippies shop there, but it's expensive, so only executive hippies shop there; The kind that listen to jam bands nostalgically in their studio lofts, smoking pot in constant terror of a random office drug test.

The checkout clerk was a forgettable hippy, like most people in Austin, with a zit-ravaged mug caged in dirtlocks which look like the wad on miscellaneous gunk I sometimes find from behind the stove. It took me a full week later for me to actually hear what he said to me, since for me, conversation with strangers is like a sudden-death game of ping-pong on a very short table. I concentrate on fast reactions so I can end it as quickly as possible.

He had stated that Samuel Smith's is the best Organic Ale, he's ever had. And I probably recommended that he shower or try St. Peter's Organic Ale. He asked if they had it at Central Market, and I said I believe so, but later I found that they stopped carrying it. I felt a little bad about that, since I usually like to tell the truth. When I lie, I usually go all out and include Big Foot or UFOs, and it was a shame to have missed the opportunity. Still, I felt better when I realized that I had been somewhat duped by Sir Stinks-a-lot.

Samuel Smith's is an Organic Lager... not an Organic Ale. For you non-beer drinkers, that's like someone saying to you, I think Red Fire truck is the best Red Shoe I've ever worn.

Well, thanks hippy, because I'd have never tried this beer at all if it weren't for your suggestion... And I take suggestions from hippies for the same reason you might listen to a troll under a bridge. You know it's going to turn out bad, but you can't help yourself. It's enchanting, in a hairy sort of way.

Samuel Smith's, however, is the exact opposite of troll-ish, best described as pleasantly clean and crisp. Light in flavor, middle-weight in texture, and a little heavy in the glass, the organic lager maintains a brightness and obvious quality through a very pure flavor, a perfect combination of ingredients, with no overwhelming bitterness or alcohol.

Samuel Smith's is a tad bulkier than a typical lager, due to its full-bodied malt and hop mix, and could potentially disappoint Organic Ale lovers, seeking earthy aromas and fruit finishes, and lager drinkers, expecting something a little more livelily on the tongue. This beer doesn't take any serious chances, doesn't pander to any expectations, instead concentrating on a very pure and smooth blend. In fact, it's complete lack of discernable flavor notes, undertones, and scents, provide an incident free drinking experience. This can be quite refreshing with the right food combination.

. For those without a strong passion for lagers, specifically, I would imagine this beer going over fairly well. But it's like going to the store, asking for rock n' roll and someone giving you Kansas, rather than a Led Zepplin album. Something about that just doesn't sit right with me, which is why I'm not going to give a strong recommendation to this beer. All and all, there's not a whole lot write home about when it comes to this lager. Such a pure and smooth mix, it's like a muted easily digested, Top 40 hit, version of a lager beer. To keep with musical metaphors, Samuel Smiths is able to sing in key of beer, but never quite produce a symphony.

Fyi. If you're on a first date, it is not such a good time to demonstrate your ability to sing in the key of beer. It is considered rude in public places.

Fyi. Bigfoot says this is the best beer blog on the web.

St. Peter's English Ale: Real Good, Even if You're Not Real

2006-06-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

Many of you long-time readers of the blog know that St. Peter's is one of my favorite brewers. Of course, I understand you also probably also know a lot about faeries, snuffalupicus, and the lost city of Atlantis, because any supposed "long-time readers" of the blog most likely belong to the realm of fictional creatures. Since this fact turns the blog into a class of literature akin to a letter to Santa Claus, I won't feel bad about boring you with some trivial details before describing this latest beer selection.

As I sit down to write this article, I am being grilled, excuse the pun, for my inappropriate use of the George Foreman Lean Mean Fat-Reducing Machine. You see, I cook about two to three cheeseburgers a day on the machine as I am trying to gain weight for my pending career as a circus strongman. Until then, I have little to no use for this over-sized leopard-print loincloth I got used on ebay, which is okay, because I think I've only completed 9 of the requisite 47 washings before it is again wearable.

However, in the meantime, I'm getting a talking-to about the grill's complicated fat-trapping mechanism, which is an ingenious piece of plastic that fills with lard periodically. Apparently, lard and discarded cheese attracts bugs, which is bad, however, since I'll be making another cheeseburger in about five hours, I decided to let it sit in the dish choosing to clean it out later in the day... This decision was viewed as unwise by the powers that be, and thus the resulting lashing has put me off a great a deal from the spirit of this article.

I'm no longer in the mood to tell you about St. Peter's English Ale, especially since you the reader are not likely to even exist. So, accept this multiple choice quiz instead of a full review. By applying simple principles of logic, you will rightly guess the character of the beer for yourself. If you do not, and I have wasted your time, remember that you are a fictitious creature and time is likely irrelevant to you, due to the agelessness of your conceptual/spiritual nature...

1. Which of the following statements is false?
a. St. Peter's English ale contains organically grown hops, but is not the same as St. Peter's Organic Ale.
b. St. Peter's Organic Ale is English, but is not the same as St. Peter's English Ale.
c. 1 PINT is 0.9 FL.OZ
d. your mom

2. St. Peter's Pours Like Which of the Following?
a. a brick dropped from a helicopter onto a sidewalk
b. your fat, sweaty cousin rolling off the couch onto the floor
c. like leafy rain water out of a tire swing
d. mostly (c), a little bit of (b), but without the smell, and a tad bit of (a) but less fun

3. St. Peter's flavors and aromas did not remind me of...
a. A lightly sweetened spot of English Breakfast tea
b. Old Farmer Caruthers burning autumn leaves again out behind the barn
c. A wet German Shepard
d. the need to clean the fat trap on my George Forman grill

4. St. Peter's English Ale is...
a. Rich, smooth, but already in a relationship
b. Medium weight, derives its liveliness from complex flavor rather than carbonation, and is gay
c. even more flavorful at a slightly warmer temperature and knows how to kill you with a piece of paper
d. the secret ingredient in Central Market's bean and turnip soup.

5. St. Peter's English Ale is recommended to...
a. Everyone except people from Minnesota
b. Any who likes English style ales, beers with strong earthy flavor characteristic, while not overly filling like many porter/stouts.
c. Professorial circus clowns on sabbatical from Clown College
d. This guy:

Pinkus Muller: German Organic Hefe-Weizen

2006-06-17T12:02:00.000-07:00

Now, I'm very critical of Hefe-Weizens, mostly because they tend to be the favorite beers for brunch-eating, Mac-toting, journal-keeping Indie chicks who don't even like the taste of beer. Many commercial Hefes are watery, weak on flavor and carbonation, and basically exist as a garnish for a lemon wedge. Still, I'd much rather drink a boring hefe with a lemon in it than a hard lemonade.

Hefes can vary greatly in quality and overall effect. Some are very European in character, with a bitter cottony sugar content and heavy carbonation. Some are more lemony with a clean and watery character often chased by a bouquet of fruit flavors. The bookends of bad taste for the genre, though, would be the flavors of sun-throttled oranges and Ivory soap. Somewhere in this spectrum of ill, lies Pinkus Muller, a very disappointing Organic Hefe-Weizen from The World's First Organic Brewery in Munster Germany (the two dots above the U have been painstakingly removed by our editoral staff denoting a mindful lack of respect).

At first, I was very optimistic regarding Pinkus, since the label boasted more than the usual crisp and refreshing promises. It was certified organic. To put it in perspective, my feces is also organic, but I'm not sure it's ever been certified as such. And THAT I was sure would make all the difference. I was at least partially wrong.

Pinkus fell like an anvil flatly into the glass, retaining some lacing, and a powerful aroma that I could only describe as 50% lemon and 50% dryer sheet. The taste was nowhere near as dank and saturated with wheat as I expected from an unfiltered organic brew. It instead bore a mild wateriness that lacked any easily discernable flavor characteristics.

The beer's flatness and lack of flavor magnitude created nothing short of a dull experience. The soapy-lemon overtones were vaguely memorable, but by no means enjoyable. And this beer, I would imagine, is tolerable with a lemon wedge in it, may even be refreshing on a hot day, but so is a glass of water. Last time I checked I could buy a tons more lemons, water, and soap for the $3.00 I wasted on Pinkus.

Pinkus Muller was very disappointing indeed. Interestingly enough, I had an Alhambra before and after the Pinkus and there was no contest. Alhambra had more unique flavors, more liveliness, and a memorable character. German hefes are always a gamble, it seems, either straining to adopt the qualities of a high class pilsner or languishing in a flat uninspired wheat puddle. Spain crushes Germany in this round.

Alhambra: More Spanish Wasted On Me

2006-06-16T16:48:00.000-07:00

I am not a professional beer writer. Today's review is a perfect example of how much my skill has degraded and perhaps, how limited it has always been. My first Alhambra was not properly refrigerated and then, during a scuffle with the dog, it was spilled on the floor. The dog, when enlisted for emergency disaster control services, had tasted some of this beer and gave it an unfavorable review, leaving me to clean up the majority of the mess.

My second beer from the six-pack was accidentally left on the porch outside when I was distracted from my duties by a higher calling to help my girlfriend hang some picture frames. I swear to god whoever invented picture frames must be some rightwing nutcase who enacted his plan to make sure bums like me couldn't sit idol for two solid minutes, even whilst jobless and surely.

Now, I am at last alone, and I strain to find the words to describe the third Alhambra. I'm far too exhausted by my day of solid squalor to even comment on its ample carbonation or the wheaty smell and aftertaste. Nope. I haven't got it in me. This beer has a medium weight to it, with a sweetness that glides gently over the natural flavors of amazingly clear, clean water... But who gives a shit? It's not like saying so will pull me from my dismal state.

Sure, there was a delightful lacing in the glass after the head dissipated, and the beer called to mind some quality Italian brews I fancy... But is that enough to wrench this miserable day up by its balls back into some semblance of worth? No. Let's face the facts, shall we? Alhambra is a great tasting, smooth-beer, whose quality components create a clean and simple delight. Meanwhile, I've spent roughly eight hours picking my nose, festering on my ass in front of the television, wasting my life away. A professional would rise above it all to tell you that Alhambra is definitely worth a try, especially if you typically lean toward watery beers in summer, but would like to take on something a tad heavier and smoother, with no fruit-wedge necessary.

I am no professional. I am a lousy jack-ass, who hasn't taken a shower in three days and smells like moldy bread and stale arm pits. Just know that a positive endorsement from a man in such a reprehensibly miserable state is a fair sign that Alhambra's worth your seven dollars. If you're not convinced by my latest putrid attempts to review a beer, I suggest you promptly eat shit and die.

Ringwood's Old Thumper

2006-06-10T16:50:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been a little bored of beer. It's a good time to be bored of beer, though. I'm looking for a job and going to the gym. Beer-drinking really doesn't really fit into either one of those agendas. It doesn't help beer's cause any that the only beers I've had in the last week or so have been Bitburger in a can and Old Thumper.

Old Thumper is bubbly, a little heavy, and has a tactless smattering of hops and grain, which make it very similar to Miller Genuine Draft. Of bottled beers of a reasonable price, MGD has to rank somewhere at the high-end of the middle, but it's not the spirit any "extra special ale" should be looking to evoke. There's a tough, angry boar as the logo, and you'd think that'd mean the beer was something strong and powerful. After a few sips, I realized that the boar spoke more towards the kind of constitution the drinker would have to have to get through the bottle.

It's not bad, but it's not at all interesting to me. I will say that it's slightly more intriguing a few degrees warmer, which sets it apart from the swill it otherwise reminds me of. It's got some spiciness and ample carbonation. The aroma is lightly floral, and you don't get bells and whistles like that from a C grade mass-produced piece of domestic crap, but Old Thumper will sadly appeal to that crowd just on the flavor similarities alone. I fear, though, that this beer might still be too thick for the casual beer drinker.

I find I have nothing to say about beer lately. Crap like this doesn't inspire me. It takes up space in my fridge while I feel guilty as all hell for drinking it. This shit's been here for a week and it's depressing me. I hate this beer. It's not really the beer's fault. It's the fact that at this time in my life, I need a strong support system, and being stuck at home everyday to face this supreme waste of time is making my brain want to grow claws and dig itself a tunnel to Mexico where it can get better beer... Yes, Mexico!

ugh!

A few closing details:

Shipyard is responsible for this beer... See the side panel for details. I should have known.

Doesn't Old Thumper sounds like it came out of the same playbook as the Dirty Sanchez.. It tastes like it does, too. Btw, Ringwood sounds like something you can catch from too many Old Thumpers.

A follow-up on the Southern Tier beer, my uncles Dave and Dave thought it was the worst shit they've ever tasted... They'd probably sooner enjoy an Old Thumper, though.

Libation Elimination Tournament Delayed

2006-06-03T22:54:00.000-07:00

As many of you are aware, the very turbulent movie deal fell through officially the other day. There will be no movie based on the beer blog. The book deal was also pulled. We're looking for new management right now, and trying to keep our projects and intellectual capital very restrained until we acquire the best representation available.

The other day I bought Bitburger in a can. I thought it was a draft can with a widget. It was just a tall can. Lame. It was still good, though, and then I spilled it on the desk and now everything smells like a combination of oats and sweat sock.

Upstate New York Beer: The Impossible Dream

2006-05-20T18:45:00.000-07:00

In college, I was fortunate to live close to Cooperstown, which sported some awesome beers. I have fond, but very cloudily memories of our trip into the middle of nowhere to a brewery that was more or less a converted barn, which I seem to remember having hay on the ground. We were fortunate enough to load up a keg of the Pride of Milford. I seem to remember sleeping in the afternoon in the middle of my friend's stairwell after undertaking a personal mission to finish the keg myself when only a handful of folks showed up for our “big” party.

I remember this beer being about ten-grades higher in quality, but also hops, than anything I had previously in a keg, and it was strong as hell. Each plastic cup felt like Thor smacking me in the bridge of the nose with his hammer. Unfortunately, I was never able to return to Cooperstown to test the beer for true quality when it would not overshadowed by its quantity.

Upon my recent visit to the Finger Lakes area, I found it difficult to find any regional brews, other than Saranac, whose Pale Ale is still a favorite of mine. After plowing through six of those rich and hoppy amber gems, I was pretty well bored of the remaining offerings. I traveled from liquor store to super-Wal-Mart looking for something new... I found it in the most unexpected place... Aldi's.

For those of you who don't know what Aldi's is, I will elaborate. For those of you who do know what Aldi's is, yes, I'm dead freakin' serious, I found beer... new beer... at Aldi's.

Aldi's is a discount grocery store that cuts overhead costs by being characteristically filthy, leaving the food in crates with price signs someone printed on a dot matrix, charging people a temporary rental fee of 25 cents to use a cart, and offering rejected and strange varieties of existing products, such as the 6oz jar of mayonnaise or the bag of seven frozen, yet pre-sauced, BBQ chicken wings.

Admittedly, this Aldi's looked way better than it did a few years ago. The floor was relatively clean. The checkout girls were not mutants fresh from a toxic breeding pen, and for some reason they were selling things like portables DVD players and boom boxes. I was actually marginally impressed, and only one out of three people working there gave me that look which reminds me of when the people in the gooey cocoons beg to be killed in Aliens. I have to raise my grade of Aldi's from F- to at least a D+.

The beer I found was in a 12 pack that was sealed with clear packaging tape and had dents and scuff marks on it like it had been dragged by rope from a trailer hitch. Because it’s Upstate New York you can’t tell of that’s incidental or occurred after the fact as some kind unfavorable review. All the boxes were like that, so I picked the best looking one.

I had roughly eight hours to drink the twelve beers, and decided that I would only just try each of the four kinds in hopes not to be hung over the next morning for my lovely 6:00am plane back to Austin. Much to my surprise, none of the four brands gave me influenza. In fact, they were all astonishingly good. I won't go so far as to say great, but I'll definitely say they're worth having again. Impressive doesn't cut it, really. It was like David running over Goliath in his H2. This underdog brew came off a pallet on the floor of the discount grocery store and actually turned out to be fairly tasty.

Southern Tier Brewery is somewhere down towards Pennsylvania in an area that I've probably been to, but since it didn't include any less or more cows or rednecks than any other place else upstate, it didn't stand out.

Phin & Matts Extraordinary Ale stood out as the most interesting. There was an almost heavy fruitiness, while retaining a wealth of hops and carbonation. The combination of the hops and the beer’s strong head kept the malty sweet flavors from turning the beer into an un-lively syrup. Though, if you let this beer sit around or get too warm, that's definitely what you ended up with. I could only imagine how good this beer is at its freshest state. No telling how long it was sitting at Aldi's or what truck it fell out of on the way there.

Southern Tier's IPA wasn't bad at all, although I can't say it holds a candle to Saranac. I'm stuck on Saranac, and probably will be for life. With Pale Ales, it's like death metal. Sure it's all loud-ass, uncultured noise, blaring hops for the sake of hopiness... Once you get over the juvenile appeal, if you still like any of them at all, it's the one or two whose particular noise is on your chosen wave-length. I consider my liking of Saranac as akin to my preference of Pantera to Mettallica. We're not talking about picking your favorite symphony orchestra here, just which guys you like yelled at you. Southern Tier made a good IPA, but didn’t win me over.

Another surprise within a surprise was Southern Tier's Tripel, a Belgium style beer made in a place where if you could find Belgium on a map then you'd probably get beaten by the high school football team after school. The Tripel had some of the bells and whistles of the genre, a strong alcohol flavor with a girth of sweetness that's very much like coffee mixed with Jagermeister. Don't ask how I know that. In any event, the Tripel was a nice hail marry pass on fourth and long to say the least. I applauded the effort, but all in all, this beer had very little originally to warrant the gut space. While not a complete flop, it doesn’t stack up to the imports.

Southern Tier also made the obligatory Porter, which was what you might expect; dark, creamy, with aromas/flavors ranging from coffee to chocolate. The porter was so typical that it was almost genius, and a bit of wateriness to the consistency actually kept it from being too heavy. Highly drinkable, without too much to ponder, this is a perfect pub beer, but unfortunately I wasn't at a pub and I was on my parent's couch getting assaulted by their toy beagle who had eaten a large portion of my blanket the night before. However, I do imagine this beer would go over well in large quantities at cold temperatures with good friends. I live in Austin, and if I can get any of those things, let alone all three at once, I'll be happy to drink just about anything.

All in all, the beers got above average marks from me. I am typically very critical of microbrews since there's so damn many of them and they're so distracting from a wealth of high quality imports. It's just too damn easy to get dinged with a sixer of absolute uninspired crap, either a muddy, gritty excuse for a porter or an unbearably dry hop-tastify of an IPA. Very seldom do you see a domestic brewery that's bold enough to put a Tripel in a sampler pack and take respectable swings at both IPA and Porter without failure.

If you're ever in Western New York or Northwestern Pennsylvania or far upstate at a discount grocery store, definitely give Southern Tier a try. It's an experience that will be worth the 25 cents it takes to rent a shopping cart at Aldis...

No Beer This Week

2006-05-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

It is highly unlikely that I will find a beer to review this week while in central New York visiting the family. I did have a Saranac Pale Ale that was left in the fridge from my last visit. It was actually okay, but I threw it out since it probably had the plague growing in it.

Libation Elimination Tournament: Pre-Match Analysis

2006-05-02T20:44:00.000-07:00

The electricity is in the air. Today it even haled. And while it has very little to do with the tournament, you can expect similarly powerful and elegant elemental forces to collide on their collision courses as they violently complete thier paths right into one another followed by a sudden stop of some kind. And it will sound like "pow" only with more bubbles.

In the first round, in what is being dubbed as The Journey to the Darkside, fiesty black microbrew, Independence Bootlegger Brown Ale launches an assault on murky, smooth Mackeson Triple X Stout. Mackeson will try to rely on its rich flavor and milky consistency to slide ahead into the second round. Independence Brown Ale bares the distinct honor of being the only domestic microbrew to pre-qualify for the tournament. Will Indie bring the dark chocolaty pain down on Mackeson in the name of the good ole US of A? This is one match I'll be sitting down for, but perhaps on the very edge of my seat.

Also set to collide in a first round battle of dark beers, Xingu and Baltika will represent Russia and Brazil inverse-respectively. Now there is a very good chance that Xingu, being a fairly difficult beer to allocate, will decline the prestigious honor of a spot in the tournament. If this is the case, than the winner of a slug-fest between McEwan's and Belhaven will take it's place, if there's anything left of either one after those rough Scotts get completely pounded. Xingu vs Baltika is being haled as The Heart of Darkness in which the deep spicy jungles of Brazil unleash their near unholy onslaught of taste upon the powerful black alchol overtones of perhaps the most aggressive porter in the world.

Class meets Grass, when pristine pub ale Old Growler tries to take a bite out of St. Peter's Organic English Ale in a first round battle for the Briton Heavy-weight Championship. Either one of these beers is a shoe-in to win the entire tournament. And this first round clash of true titons is definitely the marquee match of round one. Old Growler is smooth, warm, articulate and still gruff and dank enough to put up a good fight in your mouth. Ounce for ounce, it could be the best beer on the market. And then there's St. Peter's Organic Ale, which boasts a peculiar color, smell, and bottle. But beneath those flashy entrapments there's a real unique style, with an earthy richness that's nothing short of devine. They've both got heart and talent, but only one will advance to round two. The other will become but a burp and a memory.

Old Speckled Hen is another favorite to go far in the tournament; a creamy reddish ale with a flawless drinkability. Though don't count out Hofbrau Maibock, the May brew with German engineering and an undeniable sweet and floral finish. Their colors may be similar in hue, but I'd expect something reddish to be spilled before this one's over. The Speckled One could get upset early by the Maibock, especially now that we're in May giving Hofbrau the home field advantage.

Konig Ludwig is the cinderella story of the beer blog to date. Picked up on sale with very little in the way of expectations, this supposed Hefeweizen turned a lot of heads with its uniquely European taste. Mostly it just titled head slightly backwards, but the impact was no less powerful. But the very first beer review by the blog, Erdinger wants to lay claim to being the best Hefe discovery of the passed three months. Konig Ludwig already has some successful parties and tastings under his belt, while little has been heard of Erdinger since the initial review several months ago. Ludwig's riding high on momentum, but will absense make the heart grow fonder of Erdinger?

Blanche De Chambly was the amazing Canadian upstart, cloudy sweet and perhaps unbeatable. Bischofshof 1649 was a nice, fresh and energetic brew, but it's a tall order for any tall and frosty beer to send the Chambly into a first round defeat. Unibroue's Canadian Crusher is likely to put the beat down on Bischofshof, unless 1649 can become a memorable year for extreme whoop-ass.

And of course, there are still four open slots in the tournament, which are likely to be filled with walk-ons. That could make for some dangers for our known players since there's still a lot of great beer out there yet to be reviewed by the blog. And it's very likely the best beer out there has yet to be tasted. A deadly new-comer could easily sweep the contest and go on to future glory and guzzling.

It's On! - Libation Elimination Tournament Update

2006-05-01T20:44:00.000-07:00

Here are the brackets for the tournament so far. There are four open spaces, a lot of hopeful beers out there and a lot of drunks who are already clamoring to participate. Click the picture and expand it to full size to see where we're at. If your favorite reviewed beer isn't here... well, that's because it sucked.

St. Peter's Cream Stout: Nice Bottle, Okay Beer

2006-04-27T18:12:00.000-07:00

The other day I was at a promotional event for the beer blog, and I needed a date. St. Peter's is always a good choice, never embarrassing, and makes me feel like the life of the party... Unfortunately, my first choice St. Peter's Organic English Ale was unavailable, and having already extended the invitation I found myself unable to refute when offered instead, St. Peter's Cream Stout.

"This ain’t my regula’ ho!" I exclaimed to myself. St. Peter and I have a imaginary trick-to-pimp relationship. I have the same thing going with Cap’n Crunch, who must slap them bitches hard, because they’re nothing but sweet when I get my hands on ‘em.

Now as you may recall from Chapter 57 of the yet unpublished (but often illegally downloaded) novel based on the movie based on the beer blog, I do not fancy Cream Ales. They taste like melted shoe and tapioca pudding.

But it's St. Peter's!?! Your friend! Your buddy!?!

And of course, since my inner dialogue occurred to me already in convincing italics, I was forced into a night with the Cream Stout. And really, I kid you not; I felt lonely and confused the whole time, as if my better half was missing. I kept looking around at all the happy people who got to bring the beer they love most. Meanwhile, I put distance between myself and the Cream Stout, so perhaps if another more tempting beer made itself available I would not appear otherwise engaged. Sure there were some nice intriguing microbrews out and about, but most of the time with those, intriguing just means bitter, hopped up, and lacking in unique flavor. Alas, I had to try the Cream Stout.

How bad good it be, right? Cream Stout is a genre I'm totally not into, but how bad could St. Peter's do? My girlfriend of three years sometimes sings Pat Benatar songs, and I still think she's great. Besides everyone was admiring the Cream Stout's bottle, saying how classy and cool it seemed. And I felt terrible for trying to distance myself without giving her a fair shake. Wouldn't you know it; she turned out to be much more stouty and earthy than creamy and icky. For those who like St. Peter's Porter, this Stout is very similar, though smoother with a great chocolaty aroma and no sluggishness or grittiness found in crummier dark beers.

Cream Stout really didn't float my boat overall, even though I was pleasantly surprised at the quality, texture, and drinkability. For a beer that's smooth and tastes a tad watery, it is extremely filling. It also lacks vigor and liveliness. Cream Stout was cool and intriguing, but spending an entire evening with her could really leave you tired, bloated, and bored. I'm glad she went with me, because I think we both had an okay time, but I really think she's more of the "stay at home, watch a movie, talk about what color to paint the living room" kind of beer.

If you like Guinness draft (for real, not just because it's the only thing you can think of to order when you go out because you're 17, have a fake id, and stuck a box of crayons up your nose when you were 8), then I'd venture to guess that this beer could possible be your new favorite. The two of you can stay home together, never go out to parties and have a happy life together, and guys like me who are still shopping around don't have to feel guilty leaving her behind.

I give this beer high marks and continue to think of St. Peter's as one of the best brewery retailing on the large scale in America from overseas. I have a feeling that St. Peter's is going to start gaining some serious national buzz after the movie based on this blog starts production. We're already throwing around names of people who could play St. Peter. The other day someone said Eric Roberts, and I pretty much had to walk out of the meeting. Some people say I'm being stubborn and that the film will never get made at the rate we're going, but I refuse to see my intellectual capital turned into some defunct USA network made-for-tv reel of poop.

My editors said that now would be a great time to apologize for the misspellings and factual errors in this blog. They often make suggestions and corrections and I delete them, because without me, they are nothing, and in order to keep their egos in check, I must not relent to their ideas of what "grammar" is or is not. However, I will acknowledge that there are 17 basic errors in punctuation or logic in this post alone. And yes, I do know that poop does not typically come in reels, but I'm still not counting that one, because I saw Jim Jarmusch's Coffee & Cigarettes so I know it can definitely happen.

Libation Elimination Tournament Announced!

2006-04-23T14:00:00.000-07:00

As discussed in previous posts, this blog is being made into a feature film and a full-length novel. A lot of other options have been put on the table, such as the musical, the Chap Stick, and the videogame. Yet, as the iron only seems to get hotter, I really see no real reason to rush things. However, I still feel the urge to be innovative. I mean after you pretty much pioneer the concept of reviewing beer on the internet, you're reputation is as much about being a trendsetter as it is about being a mildly eloquent drunk.

A few weeks ago, it came to me. Why not build an Ark? And then I realized, that like e-mail, you really should check you inbox for inspirations more than once every few decades, otherwise you have to sift through a crapload of outdated, unread messages. Apparently, I had the idea for Ipod a few years ago, too, but was just too damn busy to follow through with it. Mine was color first, by the way.

Finally, I got to the idea of having an elimination style tournament featuring beers in tasting competitions, highlighted by special beer challenges, in which this year's greatest reviewed beers will clash for a prestigious title.

The contests will very, the judgments will be harsh and final. There will be only one winner and someone will probably belch. I really can't think of anything better than that.

More details will follow. I will soon release the brackets and match types. There may be a few qualifying matches as this tournament will be very prestigious and only beers of high quality and relatively low expense shall be invited to participate. As for people, I'm only inviting industry insiders and renowned drunks. I'm sorry if that excludes any large percentage of my fan base, but this is serious work and I can't be weighed down by people who will either be smashed in the first round or start complaining that they're full.

Exciting times coming soon for the beer blog. Stay tuned!

Belgium vs Mexico: World Cup of Beer

2006-04-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

Leffe is a very proud and sparkling blonde and it takes pains to remind me of this fact over and over again on the label. I must say that I'm not too interested in blondes because there are a damn lot of them out there. For some who love blondes, the glut in the market is not noticeable, but I find myself discriminating against them as being too plain and average. This means for me to saddle up with a blonde, they have to go to great lengths to prove their quality to me. Touting the sheer "blondeness" of being a blonde comes off as juvenile, while simultaneously pretentious. Leffe even asked to be served in its own glass. Hello! High-Maintenance. To summarize, for Leffe and I, it was not love at first sight.

And it's very hard to build a new relationship especially if you have an old standard lingering around. This is where Mexico's Bohemia came in. And like most folks who would classify themselves as Bohemian, this beer is relatively cheap and easy. I've been partaking off and on for several years, and the combination of smoothness and fruity sweetness make for a very safe choice at the grocery store. Bohemia is a great fall-back beer, and perfect to have around in case your confidence is shaken by a very questionable pursuit of some new flashy blonde. The catch-12oz here is that you never really, fully, put yourself out there to love something new if you're hanging onto your old safety net.

So for the past week, Bohemia and Leffe have been warring for my affections. Leffe had a lightly sweet character and a tad bit more girth to it than the somewhat watery Bohemia. But the memorable flavor and abundantly sweet character of Bohemia made it hard for me to accept Leffe as an example of quality translating into greater satisfaction. Let's face it, who do you want to spend time with? Someone you're struggling to understand or someone you can get fucking smashed with easily for only a couple of bucks?

As the week went on and my supply of both dwindled, I held off making final decisions. I could always have Bohemia; probably would again throughout my life. And Leffe? Well, this might be my only shot to assess it's quality and appreciate its gracefulness. After Bohemia left, probably for some other guy’s house (we have a don't ask, don't tell relationship), Leffe and I had a nice quiet sit down in front of the TV. Neither one of us were really interested in watching it. But silence can be awkward.

As time passed I realized that Leffe wasn't juat an average blonde. No, she was classy, vibrant, and subtle. And while we didn't really hit it off, I managed to retain a measure of respect and admiration for her truly unique charms. Some may ask why I don't just find one good beer and stick with it. Surely, I'd be happy, right? Well, perhaps it's the will for adventure or the stubbornness at their being still so much more to learn. All I can say is that thanks to Leffe, I'll continue to stock my fridge with experimental brews for the sake of a deeper knowledge and thorough appreciation of all that is beer in this world.

Too Much Research

2006-04-08T12:07:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been drinking a lot of beers. Not just a lot in variety, but in quantity. This has stifled my ability to present quality drafts about drafts, leading to several disputes with my editorial staff. To offer the fans an overdue supplement, I would like to provide this assurance that the work I am doing now has some value, at least to me, in preserving a better future for myself and the beer blog.

You see, Nietzsche implied that in order to become the Ubermensch, we must first go under, go inward, become consumed with our chosen work, risking everything to become great, knowing that once we are on top, we will inevitability fall. And this is good. For me, it's a much less dramatic turn. I am headed under slightly, only to emerge later sufficiently atop a level of mediocrity upon which I will comfortably and greedily rest doing as little to no work as possible only to kick and scream little a baby when I begin to lose the triumph and semi-glory I no longer deserve.

In my dark days of all-consuming study, I have tasted the foul and the mighty of this world of beers. This week, I had Rasputin's Imperial Stout, which was heavy and dark like you'd expect, but lacking any chocolaty, burnt character, instead baring a powerful alcohol and spice combination which tangled my tongue in its complexity. Absent of the grittiness of an unrefined stout, it reminded me of a David Lynch film. You don't want to jump up in a room of your peers and say, "What the fuck!?! This isn't good! It's just messed up." Because you know they'll just roll their eyes and say, "You don't GET IT, man!" So you shut up, try to decipher the mystery and at some point you get a wicked headache and certain aspects of the experience haunt you for days and yet you still can't officially give it a grade as either good or bad. It's just there. I will say that you have to be in the mood for it, and since I can't identify when the hell that mood would ever strike me, I'm supposing that means this beer's a bit of dud. At least for me, because I don't get it.

In contrast, McEwan's Scottish Ale, haling from Scotland, is a beer that's simple to place. Yes, it kind of has that oddly wooden, medicinal taste like tongue-depressors, but I'd expect no less from any Scottish Ale. It's pretty filling, not entirely smooth, yet has a charmingly simple character. The two stand-out flavors defining this frothy dark brew are a punch of alcohol along side a burnt-fruity tone like baked bananas. McEwan's is no doubt a fair beer, which won't last very long as the weight and obvious flavor make it the perfect sit-down beer at just below room temperature. McEwan's has an aggressive force that you almost don't even notice. Like a weak old bartender with a crooked look in his eye that almost whispers "You will drink your paycheck here tonight or I'll jump over this bar and throttle you 'till you spit blood and shit your pants". Luckily, none of those things had to happen. In fact, if I had one suggestion for advertising for this beer it'd be the slogan: Quit Your Bitchin 'and Have a McEwan’s.

Now that my McEwan's is gone, somehow I'm in a daze so thick that Michelob Ultra managed to sneak into my refrigerator. There are a few Franziskaners left, but they can't hold off what's coming. At some point, someone has to deal with the situation. I think of it this way, though. I'm more of a Kung Fu master, bred to fight only when necessary and usually only in the big one-on-one final confrontations where people have been waiting the whole movie for me to step from beside the evil emperor and spin kick someone's head clean off. This is how I deal with beers. There's a special beer, a dark and dangerous foreboding beer, then you'd better call me, because I can deal with it using tack and diplomacy. I am not a barroom brawler. You can't drop me in the middle of a ratty 24-pack and expect me to go Jackie Chan on their asses. Maybe I was that guy in college, but I'm not that guy now. Still, perhaps my current lifestyle has afforded me too much luxury. Maybe I've forsaken my roots, forgotten that I am yet a young man, and that in this world, there is much work to be done. It may not always challenge my heart or my mind, but it still needs to be done. And the mark of a hero is not to squander his power and success, but to be ready, ever vigilant, to do what needs to be done for the greater good.

Perhaps the only thing harder to swallow than Michalob Ultra will be my pride.

Sam Adams White Ale: Better Than It Thinks

2006-03-31T20:38:00.000-08:00

With a low price of under $6 for a sixer, White Ale, one of many new flavors of Adams, still did not look appealing. For starters, it was the cheapest of the available styles and I kid you not, the label is actually advertising yet another beer, stating proudly that the Summer Ale is coming soon! What did I just buy, yeasts, grains, and chopped liver? Really, what kind of issues must a beer have to come out and advertise another beer on the label? Tack on the fact that the sampler pack of Sam Adams beers I got a few months ago was barely worth the snide remarks I gave it, and you can see why White Ale had barely anything going for it.

Though I don't know what the Summer Brew's going to be like, this White Ale is actually the first alternative Sam Adams style I've liked since Cherry Wheat. It's smooth, thirst-quenching, cloudy, and intriguing with just a hint of spice. Don't ask me what kind of spice. I couldn't tell you the difference between coriander and that stuff that makes your eyes glow blue in Dune.

I drank three of these in a sitting easily without getting too full, and each one was satisfyingly fresh. And probably the best part about it was how White Ale maintains a flavor very much a kin to the original Boston lager. The unique style with a familiar tone made for an overall positive experience. It was like meeting the look-a-like cousin of the girl who dumped you in high school. Sure, you don't know her all that well, but fooling around with her can help you relive some good memories and help put the bad ones behind you. And while it's probably inconsiderate of me to be with her, knowing I'm thinking about the original the whole time, I feel it is very good for me, therapeutic even. And in some way I'm owed this tasty little fling, because let's face it, that family has hurt me in the past, and while White Ale didn't teach me how to love again, I sure got my six dollars worth and what's left over I'm just kicking curb-side... into the recyclables bin.

Maybe it's the way I've treated White Ale and countless other beers, cheap and easy, that has contributed to her terrible lack of self-esteem. It is with some guilt that I recommend her to my friends, who will no doubt temporarily enjoy her, but never truly offer her love. Maybe someday, when White Ale learns to love herself, then we too will learn to respect her. Perhaps, we will never learn and the shame will forever haunt us. Thank goodness they're always making more beers so we never have to face any of the horrible truths of our existence.

Too Sick to Drink Beer

2006-03-18T20:19:00.000-08:00

Well, last week I bought two beers that unfortunately don't deserve to be given an article. One's a somewhat flat, dark microbrew called Turbodog, which tastes like salt water and ashtray. And the other was the somewhat disappointing seasonal Sierra Nevada called Big Foot Barely Wine Style Ale, a crudely bitter brew tasting of metal and perhaps Dial soap. I've had about three of each and haven't warmed up to either. Both are way too filling for their lack of deep flavor. While the Sierra is a somewhat memorable, snappy, yet uncouth hop-stavaganza, Turbodog is an ultra-typical microbrew that I'm sure will be impossible to recall in a matter of weeks.

I'd do more research, but I've caught the flu and it will keep me out of the beer tasting for this week. Hopefully my sickness will give me some to reflect, and maybe I won't buy whole six packs of questionable beers. Sure, there's a big payoff if one of them turns out to be good, but what seems to happen, more so with the microbrews, is I get stuck with six or twelve beers that I can barely stomach and a lack of fridge space for an emergency replacement.

I will go now and blow my nose for the seven-millionth time and then pass out somewhere with hot and cold flashes only to wake up sometime around 3am soaked with my own sweat suffering from a pounding headache. Yet, I still consider myself lucky to be incapable of having another gritty Turbodog. I'm such an ass when I'm sick.

Julius Echter Hefe-Weiss-Dunkel: The Unauthorized Biography

2006-03-05T13:00:00.000-08:00

To understand this beer, it is important to get to know the character of the man behind the brew. Julius Echter was one of the key names in German history for shaping the religious landscape during his time as Prince-Bishop of Würzburg. He was very ambitious at the start, and very goal-oriented; his goal being a full "ecclesiastical restoration" of his mostly protestant diocese. Can you believe that? The place was crawling with Protestants? Who dropped the fucking ball on that one?

Well history records it was probably a fall-out from the disposed Prince-Abbot Balthasar von Dernbach, whose reign produced nowhere near adequate amounts of inspirado to warrant a beer... not even a hard cider. Let it be noted, if you have a beer named after you, you've profoundly changed religious culture, and if you have a hard lemonade named after you then you're probably famous in your hometown for appearing on the Jerry Springer Show in an episode devoted to your penchant for sheep molestation.

Julius Echter was the driving force behind a new university, which taught all the important topics. With classes for Catholics like: Being a Better Catholic 101 and Catholicism in Everyday Life. And a few diverse offerings geared toward non-Catholics like: Eternal Damnation Workshop & Discussion Group and Protestantism & the Dangers of Burning in Hell 105.

Julius Echter was able to bring in over 100,000 new Catholics during his time, and in addition to the beer, he has a very fine set of towers and a really great hospital named after him. To sum it all up, people not currently burning in hell loved Julius Echter with a passion. And it's no surprise that the people would demand in his honor a beverage with a strong, lacy head, only mild bitterness, and some alluring fruity undertones.

Those unfamiliar with Echter, probably won't fully appreciate the raw historical significance of the flavors. You sort of had to be there, yah know?

So, whether you're at home being Catholic and despondent that you’re hopelessly Protestant golfing buddy is surely going to hell or you're at home being Protestant trying in vain to enjoy life despite the inevitability of God’s fiery wrath, grab yourself an ice cold Julius Etcher. It’s usually less than $2, and Julius, a notably responsible economist, would definitely agree with those numbers.

I have one little adjunct to this review, however...

This beer is kind of watery, a little stinky, and to be frank, who gives a crap about the lacy head or the baked banana undertones. Its main characteristics are that it's kind of watery and bares a somewhat foul sourness in the aftertaste. But hey, if you like Julius Echter the man, you'll find a way to like this beer. It's the same reason I love Mr. T cereal. And if I had the choice between Julius Etcher's hefe and Mr. T cereal mixed in a blender with some Coors, I've got to tell you, it's a toss up.

Mackeson Triple X Stout: Cares About Your Family

2006-03-05T12:59:00.000-08:00

Triple X means a lot of things to a lot of people. So, you could go into the tasting of this beer with a lot of expectations. Folks "in the know" may be expecting a sort of creamy, dark beverage often referred to as a milk beer. Others may be expecting some explosions involving Vin Diesel crashing semi-truck, only to escape death on a snowboard. Some, taking the label for a parental warning, may be swayed from giving this beer to thier children. And if you're in the habit of letting a beer's label dissuade you from giving it to your children, then that’s your parenting choice, and I will have to respect it.

With all that said, let me outline the honest-to-God truth about this beer: Triple X is, in fact, a heavy, almost soupy beer with powerful chocolate flavor and a spooky reddish hue. The beer is surprisingly smooth and lacks the grittiness or an overbearing alcohol taste found in many stouts. It's quite good, quite unique, a little filling, and what it lacks in carbonation and liveliness, it makes up for in drinkability.

Action-packed? - Nope. Not really. In fact, if Vin Diesel drank two of these, the only action sequence he'd be ready for is an inter-galactic battle on the planet Crapper, where it's not so much important that he save the world, only that he lights a match when he's done and maybe changes the Glade plug-in.

Too racy for the kids, though? - Well, if I'm to believe most beer commercials on television, then ALL beer is too racy for children, since it surely leads to irresponsible sexual relations with promiscuous bikini-clad women. The fact that I have not been able to personally substantiate this occurrence, however, furthers my belief that not everything I see on TV is true. Yet, I applaud the fact that Mackeson was tactful enough to put the warning letters on their beer anyway, just in case it may have the potential to corrupt our youth. There are enough things to worry about with kids these days. It's important that these labels are present to help guide us. Otherwise, when we innocently give alcoholic beverages to our children, the next thing we know, without any fair warning, Carmen Elektra could suddenly burst from the closet proceeding to bump n' grind against the side of their racecar beds dressed as a slutty cow girl. Do you really want to take a chance with something like that?

Thanks Mackeson, for looking out for our kids! And thank you for a noteworthy beer experience.

PS. I did not photoshop this picture. I actually found this shit AFTER writing the article. Holy Shit!

Wychwood's Hobgoblin Tricked Me!

2006-03-05T12:58:00.000-08:00

Alas! I was tricked by that rouge nave, Robin Goodfellow. And while he did not turn into a horse and take me for a dangerous joy ride, he did get me to spend eight hard-earned dollars on his beer. As I recall from my English lit classes, you're supposed to be able to make Hobgoblins do household chores for you for some outrageously cheap price like a bowl of cream. Seriously! Things have changed since then! I had Hobgoblin over at my house last night, and I'm not one to lay blame, but somehow the laundry didn't get done and my wallet's a whole lot lighter for it. This beer is false advertising at its most antiquated.

Oh well. Once again, I was tricked by a very, very cool label into buying a beer way out of my price range. And I admit, I almost didn't go for it since I was disappointed by Wychwood's Scarecrow. However, I am really rather glad I got this beer. While not exceedingly memorable or unique, it was brightened by mild hops, while smooth and flavorful. It's a beer with a lot of tiny details that are actually hard to focus the pallet on since it’s so gosh darn easy to kick one back. I went through a six-pack like it was nothing. And you should see the way I go through nothing. I go through nothing like it's nobody's business. And if there's anybody who can go through nobody's business, it's me. Hell, I'm practically been the Nobody's-Business Analyst for my company for the last three years, and I'm definitely through with doing that.

Hobgoblin would suite just about any person who enjoys beer. If you're looking for something that's wild with character and intrigue, then you may be surprised to find that despite a dark and mysterious label, this beer is just good beer. Not a whole lot more too it. No strange spices. No super high hop or malt content. Just a smooth, warm, lively beer that really hits the spot. And while I still think Hobgoblin took me for about $1.50 more than he's worth, I will try to learn from my mistakes. Now off I go back to the supermarket to make more beer selections purely based the coolness of the label.

Maudite: More Evil From Canada

2006-03-05T12:02:00.000-08:00

A long time ago there was an incident occurring when I entered the new Beverages & More in Costa Mesa where I found the beer aisles to be stocked with a ton of satanic beer labels, such as Unibroue and Arrogant Bastard Ale. The devil does not frighten me so much as his pairing with a large corporate beverage store. Throw in the fact that Unibroue beers are from Canada, the place that gave us Brian Adams, and you've got yourself an unholy beer trinity.

I got over that whole experience, because Unibroue, like sin, was pretty enjoyable. I did not succumb to the temptation to try their other brands, because like sin, they can be very costly, to my wallet and in turn, my soul. However, a great fan of the website, whom I have sex with out of wedlock, purchased Maudite for my research and I was faced with Unibroue’s demonic creature, once again, featured alongside a levitating canoe in a darkening red sky. Despite this warning, I expected the beer to be somewhat classy and smooth given the character of Blanche De Chambly. It turned out resembling brimstone in a bottle.

And I know I say that some beers are mean, either because they're super-hoppy or over-powering with alcohol. This beer wasn't really that down-home, angry guy on the porch kind of mean that you get from micro-brew pale ales. It was very refined, direct, and even somewhat sadistic with its brutal alcohol overtones. These overtones were so over, that the tiny undertones of fruit where damned into near subterranean-tones. A somewhat heavy ale with a sharp punch and a snap of bitterness, this beer is perfect for someone who's desensitized by a harsh life of IPA drinking and is looking for something a little heavier with a cold and aggressive kick. This beer is the unfeeling, vicious sniper of red ales with the flavor equivalent to a warm bag of glass.

I know that sounds bad, but this beer is of an extremely high quality. It's not intriguing or deep with a myriad of flavors. Yet, it's ruthless potency lends a shimmering aura to the red ale, which can be construed as awesome... in the old sense, like how if you ever saw God's face your head would explode from too much awe. Beware! This beer is spiked to hell with awe. So, should you choose to try this beer, and step onto the canoe with Satan himself, be ye warned! The stygian stream on which you travel is situated somewhere between awe-some and awe-ful.

St. Peter's Old Style Porter

2006-02-15T20:01:00.000-08:00

Many readers of this blog may recall I have been growing fond of porters. Many readers of my student loan bills may also recall I spent way too much money on beer this month. This means if I don't come up with some good writing about this St. Peter's, then I will not be able to justify any further beer-driven fiscal decline.

Oddly, though, there is very little to say about this porter. It was creamy, rich, but disappointingly flat. Porters can be a little heavy and lazy on the tongue, but usually a nice kick of alcohol is enough to perk up the senses. Not in this cases. The flavor is very subtle, refined, and somewhat elegant... in absolutely lame way, like when your highbrow friend takes you to a dance recital and your sensory appraisal leaves you too bored to even enjoy the pretty girls in tights. Sure, it's undeniably good, in that arty sort of way, but it does not really reach out and grab you... I want a beer like a 3-D cyborg action zombie movie staring Jackie Chan, a trained attack monkey, and a wise-crackin' two-headed transvestite attorney named Larry. This beer was more like a movie staring Colin Firth, Glenn Close, and a loquacious bail of hay with narcolepsy.

I'm really not in the mood to rubberstamp a beer just because they're nothing particularly wrong or bad about it. Frankly, I have always had high standards on just about everything, with notable exception of food, films, and female companionship (They all smell so nice (The Alamo Drafthouse serves food at the movies, which often smells nice, thus films themselves, though not producing an olfactory experience per se (except that one time when I was at the movies and Suburban Commando (the most watchable, and maybe only potentially watchable Hulk Hogan film ever made)got tangled in the projector and caught on fire), the experience of going to the movies can smell quite nice.)!)

Take that, high school English teacher!

Oh well. I've still got a lot of beer left to review. I purchased some Hobgoblin from Wychwood, and then I bested the faerie king whilst blowing upon my magic lute. I'll regale you with that tale of mirth and whimsy after I pour myself a glass and get in my prime sitting spot for the rest of the evening.

Take that, high school gym teacher!

Belhaven Scottish Ale

2006-02-11T14:45:00.000-08:00

Belhaven is a fairly common beer, but I've somehow managed not to have tried it all this time. I liked it. I haven't been able to think too clearly. So please excuse these random thoughts about this beer:

I found it smoky and in the beverage aisle of my local convenience store.

It kind of tastes like exhaust fumes from a 1988 Dodge Caravan, but in a good way.

It reminded me quite a bit of the McSorely's dark I had in NYC sans the yelling.

You can taste the roasted flavor of things that have been heated to x degree Fahrenheit and x plus 273.15 divided by 9/5 minus 32 Kelvin… Maybe?... Shut up! Like you assholes are going to check on that!

Not too dark, not too thick, not too malty... Not two, but six beers were in the pack, on a purely homonymical note. I invent words all the time.

For $6.99 this beer was filling, drinkable and interesting. I really wasn't expecting much, and while I wasn't bowled over by the flavor, it was pleasing and somewhat memorable. It's like when you go to the dentist and the hygienist turns out to be a hottie. You probably won't go back for it, but if you should happen upon it, it would be a nice plus side to getting your teeth drilled... And just think, you can drink this beer without having to get your teeth drilled, but only if you haven't been opening the bottles with your teeth like an idiot.

Smooth, yet lively, Belhaven is a joy to drink and a pleasure to have drunk.

Mississippi Mud: 1 Quart of Pain

2006-02-11T14:33:00.000-08:00

Last week I received my signing bonus from the studio that's producing the movie based on this blog. I have also optioned the rights to the unauthorized biography, which remains unauthorized only because I'm allowed to go visit the writer any time I want and sit behind his chair and shake it while he's trying to compose. I expect chapter four to have a big loogey in the middle of paragraph three, or at least a big black splotch after it gets back from the copiers.

I particularly enjoy irritating this poor schmuck, especially when my belly is hurting from drinking too much. Mississippi Mud is 1 quart of Black & Tan, which is slow-brewed. It's not as thick as you'd think. It's not as alcoholic as you'd guess since it come is a giant jug, which sort of says "hey, it's time to get smashed and play the banjo." It should have been like a wild log ride into drunkeness, but it was more like a gut-swelling waste of my time. The first sip was sadly like any typical canned light beer. After a while, I could almost taste the creaminess of a quality Black & Tan, and granted it was a hell of a lot cheaper than buying a Guiness and Harp. But if I'm going to ingest something so demanding, then I'm going to want it to fuck me up hardcore. Is it too much to ask of a beer that comes in a jug with a wide-mouth top to please help me forget large portions of my address? What the hell? I have a day job I’m trying to forget for God’s sake!

From a purely financial perspective, Mississippi Mud is a steal. It's a quart of beer for just as much as you'd typically pay for a really classy pint. And it is a grade above most beers you can find in sufficient quantities. By the numbers, Mississippi Mud is a worthy beer, but by my sore belly, uninspired taste-buds, and sadly sober mind, I'd have to classify it as boring. I spent all damned night watching March of the Penguins and drinking this beer, and all I got out of it was a deep appreciation for the trials of parenthood and the need to piss out my ears. Both were related chiefly to my temporary pregnancy with liquid hops and barley.

Rogue Dead Guy Ale: $8 of "I'm Stupid"!

2006-01-31T19:56:00.000-08:00

These days, I'm stupid for a lot of reasons. Eight dollars of that stupid comes from my purchase of a 22-oz. ale at the Alamo Draft House. I have heard that Rogue's Dead Guy Ale was pretty decent, so I figured I deserved a treat, because frankly I am feeling too lazy to foster real joy and excitement in my life and I find it much easier to try to purchase said happiness in the form of movie tickets and chicken strips. More stupid.

Dead Guy was good, a tad bitter, smooth, but actually kind of watery. There was a bit of a hint of warmth, alcohol, and maybe some malt. I read these reviews on the inter-web about people falling all over this beer and its surprising malt taste due to its Maibock recipe applied to Rogue's PacMan ale yeast... Bah! It was as hoppy as many weak-ass ales I've had. In fact, I probably wouldn't have had much recollection of it at all if it hadn't cost me eight hard earned American dollars. And no, I didn't taste PacMan either, which I imagine tastes something like processed ghosts.

All in all, Dead Guy was an okay beer, but it wasn't a memorable experience. And I need quality beer experiences in my life. On the plus side, when I find life disappointing, I can blame beers like this for not giving me a return on my ample investment. You see, in the business world, we'd call this a "drainer" beer, which instead of adding value to my life, drained my operational cash flow due to a lower than anticipated ROI. Given this occurrence, I was forced to have a long chat with my operations/support manager, and he mentioned some total crap about having trouble budgeting his time between my requested costs analysis and filing my underpants in alphabetical order. My advise to him as always is "Quit your bitchin'! If you want a see a REAL waste of your skill-set, fast-forward to five minutes after I fire your ass and you're back home picking your nose and watching Comedy Central, you lazy little priss!" He returned meekly to his cubical, where he shall forever remain a small and broken man who is lucky to suckle on the dregs of my success as a beer blogger.

It’s times like these I remember that although this beer blog employs hundreds of people, this company is fueled solely from my intellectual property. And while it’s okay to blame my other people and beers for my occasional pitfalls, the reality is that I’m responsible to my fans and my stockholders to make quality beer selections. My wasted money is their wasted money, and I must be respectful of that. Since Rogue set me back a bit, I’ll be forced to fire my marketing manager, who will probably go from touting the virtues of my beer blog to everyone he sees at the mall to telling everyone he sees in the men’s room that I suck balls for $99 a piece. Any publicity is good, right?

Dinkel Acker: Seriously. I'm Not Making This Up!

2006-01-28T12:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, today's beer is called Dinkle Acker. Only the Germans would be able to put "Dinkel Acker" on a beer with a straight face.

Wow. Really, what else do I have to say? What else can I say? Do you really want to know how this tastes? Or are you more interested in whether it lives up to the name on the way out?

Let me just say that Dinkel tastes a lot like Beck's Dark, maybe a bit stronger and cleaner. It's brownish, but it tastes like a light pilsner with a little less carbonation. I must confess I'm not a real big fan of this beer. It tastes a tad like an overbearing champagne. Despite a faint scent of apple, there's no honey-sweetness, fruitiness, maltiness or any other kind of -iness. And I'd expect at least one -iness out of a beer called, Dinkel Acker. It's marred with strongly over-ripe alcoholic flavor, like a bad box of wine.

It's not too awful for the $4.99 I paid for the six-pack, but really I'm starting to question these so-called German Purity Laws, which apparently account for everything except whether or not the beer tastes like the spit bucket behind a wine bar. Over all, I wouldn't touch Dinkel if I were you. Though, for folks who really can't handle the odd European-style funkiness of beers like Stella, this might be an acceptable substitute or training wheels for other more vibrant and interesting brews.

Though, I would like to take this opportunity to raise my fresh Dinkel to you all. Cheers and happy beers to yah!

Old Growler: Hurray-geous!

2006-01-27T17:21:00.000-08:00

I am so high right now. My girlfriend told me not to spray my shirts with Spray-and-Wash while I'm still wearing them. Dude! This stuff smells great! Like puppies fresh from the dryer, without the whimpering! It's put me in a great mood, which makes me fully capable of telling you that Old Growler is awesome!

It's great, lively and consumes your palate with a veritable Aurora Borealis of flavor. If you like chocolate stouts, then you'd probably like this. Though I must say, it's smoother than those sometimes murky, smoky, and gritty-ass stouts. If you like a dark lager, then you'd like this too. It has a real depth of flavor. If you like English-style pale ales, then you'd appreciate the smoothness and fruity overtones. And if you like Corona, you should probably die.

I think I taste pear… Why is that? Mysterilicious!

Old Growler is high-impact and delicious, and despite the boasting of some Trappist beers being "alive" in the bottle (which I think is freakin' creepy, in a Day of the Dead sort of way), this beer actually tastes alive, which is something I find uncommon in beers with complex flavors and real girth in your mouth. Yes, I like real girth in my mouth... from my beer. From my beer! Fuck you guys!

Anyhow, I give Old Growler my highest recommendation. Definitely the best beer I've tried in months. It's actually changed my life. I'm spending my off-hours pining for Growler, rather than twitching sporadically fighting the urge to make myself a pot of Maxwell House. I might just kick caffeine with the help of beer after all. Let's face it, I'm a beer drunk at heart, and this coffee drunkenness is only a symptom of my poor mental outlook*. And this Spray-and-Wash has totally corrected that! I may even love kittens now! Wait, nope, still hate 'em. I checked. I still find their pain amusing and never-you-mind how I checked.

Get some Old Growler. I see fairies! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

*Poor Mental Outlook 2005 is a registered trademark of the Microsoft Corporation, the makers of System Administrator - Your Mailbox is Full of Suffering and MS PowerPoint At the Boring Charts on the Wall While Scott Falls Asleep.

Real Ale: A True American Story

2006-01-24T16:42:00.000-08:00

I have been drinking more coffee at work, because it's free and it comes from a robot. And if I could I would suckle the teat of the robot coffee lord all day long until my eyeballs finally shoot out of my skull, but alas by 3:00 my jaw is clenched so tight with nervous energy that I can't even open my mouth to speak a full sentence let alone drink another cup of French Roast.

Needless to say, I can't sleep that well or accomplish simple tasks like laundry and most of the time I feel like having a seizure just to get all the caffeine out of my system and to really show my coffee table who's boss... You'd have to know the guy, but really, I can personally vouch for the fact that he's an asshole and he thinks he's better than everybody else. I won't get into the story about how he broke his leg and blamed it on me. I'm way off topic as it is. This sort of thing keeps happening to me since I upped the coffee intake and thus it has become imperative I drink some calming, soothing, and delicious beer to restore the delicate internal balance that gives me my super powers.

As I twitched and puttered around the apartment yesterday, my minions sought out beer for me to drink.

Centennial Liquor in Austin has almost no beer of note. It is a complete waste of time if you're looking for beer. Forget it. You'd stand a better chance at finding a quality beer by drinking the first four items you come across; proceeding to wake up in a dumpster which will probably contain a few remaining swallows of a much better and wider selection of brews. Suck on that review, Centennial! And get yourself some freakin' beer for Christ's sake! All they had that I haven't tried was Real Ale's sample pack, which was totally against my "No Lousy Microbrews" rule mentioned in one of the historical chapters of this blog. Nevertheless, rules are much like my coffee table, in that they're meant to be broken as part of my ill-fated attempts to practice for a future career in Lucha Libre.

Yesterday, I tried Real Ale's Full Moon Pale Rye Ale, which had a delightfully crisp aroma, and a extremely bitter, hoppy flavor. I was reminded quite a bit of Racer 5, but Full Moon Rye (wasn’t she a VJ on MTV2 or VH1?) actually has a lot more staying power as it seems to have a tad more carbonation. All in all, it's not the best or worst pale ale I've ever had, and is not a truly distinct one at any rate. It reminds me of that girl I dated. What's-her-name wasn't that memorable, but I can assure you that she's probably extremely bitter, too.

Moving on, I tried the Brewhouse Brown Ale, which was a chocolaty, dark beer lacking the gritty, smokiness of some Brown Ale's I've had. It didn’t really possess the depth and drinkability of Independence Brown. Yet, if you're looking for something a grade above Honey Brown, and you want it to have a hint of bitterness to keep you awake through the qualifying rounds of Olympic curling, let's say, then I could see recommending this beer. Again, not the best or worst of its kind, but not at all bad, either. It's just not unmistakably original. Like Boston or Styx or Bad Company… Can anyone tell those bands apart?

What's worse, though, is that I haven't been compelled or interested in either of these initial beers to warrant drinking the rest, which disables me from balancing out the exorbitant amounts of coffee I drink throughout the day. This is troublesome, because as mentioned prior, my excessive energy can have adverse effects on the coffee table's structural integrity. And don't think it's any coincidence that at work I kneel before coffee and at home I battle my coffee table for supremacy of the living room. You see, I have a love-hate relationship with coffee which has entrapped me in a vicious destructive cycle. I know what I must do, but haven't drank enough beer to accomplish the task.

I must slay the instant coffee robot. I must strangle him with my bare hands until he bleeds half-caff all over the breakroom floor. Can Real Ale help me re-kindle my love of beer giving me the strength to fight my addiction or will the evil robot coffee overlord continue to rule my life giving me just enough energy to stay awake through another grueling day of work?

Beer grant me the strength to fight all Evil.

Wychwood's Scarecrow: On Sale!

2006-01-15T17:05:00.000-08:00

The best thing I can say about Wychwood's Scarecrow is that it was on sale, enabling me to actually try it. I'm strapped for cash thanks to some serious ass-tasticism from my company. I was quite certain that my next entry in the blog was going to be a review of Michelob Ultra, and I was even toying with the idea of reviewing new Black Cherry Vanilla Coke, which tastes like Cherry Coke and Vanilla Coke mixed in one bottle... real creative stuff there. Luckily, H.E.B. had a sale on this beer I've been longing to try, but much to my dismay, it's not very good.

I'm sorry to say that. I really, really wanted it to be delicious. I like the label. I like Scarecrows. I like strange Pale Ales, and hey the promise of a so-called "Golden Pale Ale" made me fairly certain this was going to be one of the high-points of my beer-odyssey. Oh, but aside from the faint hint of apple in the aftertaste, this beer lacked anything of interest. And a flat, weak and unimpressive beer is the absolute last thing I need.

What can I say? I wasted my money at a time when I can't afford to waste money on beer. To make matters worse, I even planned for the worse, and my back up plan failed. I got myself a Sam Adams reduced price variety pack and all three beers, the Brown, the Black, and the Hef, all sucked. Well, actually, I'd say the brown ale was okay, but was kind of like a high school drama club performance of Shakespeare. It's a great script, but the execution was terribly lacking in maturity, subtlety, and sophistication. And that was the best of the three. The Hef tastes like I made it last night in the kitchen using cleaning products and ketchup packets mixed with Coors. The Black is a gritty insult to the its genre.

To put it in ever-popular football terminology, both Scarecrow and Sam Adams were called off the bench when I needed them most and they blew the big game. And I might be being a bit hard on them because money is tight, but hey, I'm an aficionado, which means that I have to use spell check a lot so I can make sure I don't look stupid when I try to use that word. It also means I am to beer, what Gandhi was to starvation. I make this look good. I own this turf and I don't have time for sissy beers no matter how cool the bottle looks.

Short of a major beeracle, which is like a miracle only it involves much more beer, I will be forced to review beers a little more sporadically. Pretty much the on-sale status of the world's finer beers will determine how often I am able to review them. I am currently writing a grant proposal that will probably be turned down... They're still upset about my other pending grant proposal to give the pope a face lift. I mean he's the pope. He's gotta look good for Jesus, right? See, no one understands me like beer does, and that's why I know we'll be back together again some day soon.

No Beer This Week

2006-01-13T16:23:00.000-08:00

I am poor and I have no beer. If you would like to donate beer to me, please do so. I have no beer. I may go to H.E.B. tonight and buy a beer and some soup. I am so poor.

Hofbrau Maibock: A Great Beer I Refuse to Enjoy

2006-01-05T18:05:00.000-08:00

Hofbrau Maibock is made from two words that are not English. With a sophisticated taste and a floral character, Hofbrau is very pleasant, like those home-schooled kids who always win the spelling bee. But, just like those kids, there’s something weird about Hofbrau that you just can’t put your finger on. It might be the slightly sour aftertaste or the nearly metallic finish, but maybe it’s just my own prejudice against this clearly savant red ale.

It’s color, weight, liveliness, and taste are superb. In fact, they’re so disturbingly good that I really have no right to pick an old standard like Killians in its stead. Yet, what I guess Hofbrau will always lack for me, no matter how superior it seems, is heart and personal history… how do you have memorable life experiences with something called Hofbrau? I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, you love what you love because you like the way it does what it does, right? It’s hard to love a fancy beer that slides in and does it all better than you ever thought possible. A part of your soul softens as if to say, maybe it’s all in the numbers and there’s really nothing left to chance... Maybe one day, everything you like will be replaced by something you can’t pronounce and have no memory of puking up in Kevin Denney’s sink. Am I fast approaching this sad, sad future?

No. I don’t think so. Because Hofbrau costs $2.25 and that’s fucking expensive. I don’t care how good it is. You can lick my sweaty nut sack if you think I’m going to pay that on a regular basis. Because life is about the memories we make, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve loved money almost as much as I love beer. And so keeping large amounts of both is vastly important. Go ahead and try Hofbrau. It’s awesome. And I hope the two of you move to Europe and act like you’re better than us, while you eat your crab cakes and be rude to the wait staff. I’ll be here with a $6.99 six-pack when you get back and realize what a jack ass you’ve been.

Piraat: Beer I Got For Christmas

2006-01-05T17:58:00.000-08:00

Before I launch into a large-scale review of Piraat, I think it’s important to pay tribute to a person who made this part of the beer blog possible. My girlfriend’s uncle Kenny, this week, became a patron of blog by making a generous and charitable donation to my highly important studies. Through making this outstanding contribution, my girlfriend’s uncle Kenny has earned himself a trusteeship at my prestigious and self-accredited institution, wherein my students will daily beg his forgiveness for their insolence and seek redemption by taking my recyclables back to the store and through prayer. Yes, I am hoping he has set an example for all who read this, because the steps you must take towards ultimate beer Zen are to first appreciate beer and second, to offer it freely to Scott.

Piraat, much like my power over you, is strong and fierce. It will hurt you if it doesn’t get what it wants. And it wants me drunk. This much it told me in our brief, but productive meeting last night. Piraat has a fruity taste, almost akin to a hard cider. It’s heavy and lacks in carbonation, but it’s strong enough to really pop to life in your mouth. Every sip is like getting hit in the face with a golden brick of tough love. If I had to summarize, I’d say it’s an elephant on roller-skates: Dangerous. This is why beers should be left to the trained professionals like me who spent 4 years and several thousand dollars at Hartwick College learning how to pee in the sink while essentially unconscious. I know what I’m doing, and it’s time you people all recognize it and send me your beer for your own protection. Without a warning from me, you could sit down one day with a glass of Piraat and end up not being sober enough to stop me falling asleep inside your refrigerator. And as you stir your left-overs from Mi Casa to remove the faint imprint of my buttocks, you’ll have learned a valuable lesson. Send me your beer or I will invite myself over and drink it anyway. Either way, it is mine by my divine right. If god can tell Bush he’s supposed to be president, I can tell you that God wants me to drink your beer.

Svyturys: The Girl Next Door

2006-01-05T17:44:00.000-08:00

In a world where flamboyant or overbearing beers dominate the weak of taste, Svyturys 1784 takes a refreshingly balanced approach, teetering on a precipice where splendor towers dangerously close to dullness and bowel-curdling boredom. Svyturys sounds like clitoris, though any taste comparisons would thrust us unduly into a realm of subjectivity from whence no value can be easily drawn. And also, there’s no telling what those tasted like in 1784… it’s a different world altogether now.

Svyturys is pleasantly salty and mildly sweet, but with no lumbering honey flavor as with many other golden beers. I strained pretty hard to sense any undertones, overtones, key tones, or ring tones. Nada. Svytyrys is plain and simple, like the girl you were waiting to ask to the prom, because she was a sure thing and you might still have a shot at the really hot girl. Don’t worry, though. There’s almost no chance of her ending up going with your best friend and showing up looking 100 times hotter than you ever thought possible, while you’re stuck with Bertha: The Wonder Horse from next door, who’s two years younger and 50 lbs. more interested in clasping her meaty arms around you every time there’s a Abba song she wants to sing/sweat along too.

It’s not really your fault if you pass up Svyturys, not realizing its potential to be a kind and supportive beer. It’s plain and may be lacking in character, but you can count on this beer for sure. You don’t have to worry about her discovering herbs in college and finally learning how to party… If it hasn’t happened since 1784, then it’s not going to happen. It’s your call whether you’re going to pursue something a bit wilder, but remember this: Those bitter, hoppy beers may seem exciting, but when you’re on the can the next day complaining about how much it hurts, you might wish you spent the night with someone a little more peaceful. And it also sounds like clitoris, which is as good a reason to buy a beer as any I’ve probably given on this blog.

Xingu: The Spicy Black Beer from Brazil

2005-12-11T19:24:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned earlier, my beer blog is being adapted for film by Orion Pictures, who for some odd reason wanted us to meet some members of production staff at a Brazilian restaurant. I took this as an opportunity to try a Brazilian beer. This route of discovery very rarely pays off, as I recall. The Moroccan beer at the Marrakesh is not noteworthy. The Italian beer at the Olive Garden is not very memorable. The McFlury at McDonalds didn't seem to have any Bailey's in it whatsoever, despite my thorough demands. I was in a mood to be disappointed anyhow, though, since I knew the film studio was probably shaving more dollars of the pyrotechnics budget for every helping of chicken heart they ate.

To my surprise, though, Xingu really hit the spot. And you couldn't have stacked the deck any heavier against it tasting good. It had to compete with a veritable meat-stravaganza starring lamb, liver, veal, sausage, fried bananas, sushi, and all manner of things I never knew could put on skewers and called Brazilian. Xingu stepped up to the plate with some an elegantly spicy flavor and aroma, which added just enough liveliness to an otherwise warm and comforting dark beer. Xingu is best served a little warm, I think, which prompted us to refuse to exchange our glasses for the ice cold ones the bartender kept giving us.

The evening was almost tolerable thanks to Xingu. I, myself was very depressed when they informed me that Jefferson Airplane refused to do the Progressive Rock style soundtrack I had requested for the film on account some personal animosity leftover from Rick Wakeman's New Year's Eve party at which I vomited. And I nearly slapped the meat juice out of the mouth of the assistant music director for mentioning REO Speedwagon as possible replacement. As if! Xingu, you're unexpected flavor and your dark charms could not be over-whelmed by any manner of foulness, man or meat. Cheers to you Brazil! You may keep you fried banannas, though.

All We Have is McSorely's

2005-12-10T09:56:00.000-08:00

I was in New York City the other day doing field research for the beer blog, which has recently been optioned as major motion picture for Orion Films. After our meeting will the company about what color rubber monster should be fighting with David Caradine in the movie, my executive producer and I were allowed some free time to visit New York's oldest pub.

"Hey, where's New York's oldest pub?" I asked New York.

New Yorker on subway: It is probably on the island somewhere.
New Yorker at Empire State Building: Which oldest pub are you looking for?
Waiter at Friday's in Time Square: Just go to 2nd street. There's lots of bars up there.
Cab Driver: There is no bar here.
Google from Blackberry 7100t: McSorely's. 15 East 7th Street

Thanks, Google.
Eat me, New Yorkers.

McSorely's: Imagine the underbelly of the Mayflower and the attic from The Goonies. Legal documents signed by LaGuardia. Framed newspapers so old they contain announcements of local military promotions. The only phone is a pay phone, which resides at one of the bar tables where drunk patrons are typically trying to give unfortunately slurred and inaccurate directions to callers. The place has a mostly young crowd with a few old fixtures who (and that) haven't been changed out in at least a half century.

To say McSorely's is lacking in sophistication is like saying God's lacking in communication skills. If you agree with the statement, but you're pissed off about it, it probably means you're a tool, and if you otherwise disagree, you're probably a crazy-pants. For me, I could care less if God's listening or if McSorely's doesn't care about putting a full-sized wall between its urinals and its patrons. The only feedback I need to confirm that both God and McSorely love me is two 8-ounch glasses of beer for $6 handed to me by a man wearing a garbage bag as an apron.

My associate and I walked in and asked for Guinness, thinking since it was an Irish pub and we were douche bags, we would order something obviously Irish.

"All we have is McSorely's. Light or Dark?" the grizzly, hunched over crazy-eyed man barked.

We went with the McSorely's Dark, which is a dark lager with a sturdy head. It goes down easy, tastes like beer, and will do a good job of getting you hammered. McSorely's Light, we later discovered, is light when compared to the Dark, but is at least as rich as a Sam Adams, with similar characteristics, though also quite watery. Both were very drinkable, served in two eight ounce glasses at a time or as I like to call it, "fun-size".

Much mirth and merriment were had, as well as about eight beers that some drunken girls abandoned when wrangled by their disapproving boyfriends. At one point, we were tapped to settle a marital dispute. From what I gathered, the man was an alcoholic and drunk. So naturally, his wife took him to McSorely's so he could sit and watch her get smashed, probably so he could observe a helpful example how not to drink responsibly. My colleague remarked that the man didn't seem too drunk for another drink at all. I added that there was hair in my glass. Before our meeting was officially adjourned, the patron had to perform his civic duty by answering the pay phone and giving incoherent directions to some poor putz trying to find the place.

All in all, McSorely's is the quintessential New York pub experience. The beer is simple. The objective is clear: Get drunk on the cheap or get the hell out. As a side-note I've found use for the word McSorely as an adjective used to describe my hangover. Enjoy your beers responsibly or else you'll be feeling awful McSorely in the morning.

Baltika 8: Wheaty, Fruity, Stinky

2005-12-05T20:50:00.000-08:00

I know earlier I said I was done with Baltika for a while, but when the budgetary constraints of the holiday season have me buying on the conservative side, it's hard to turn down Baltika's $1.49 ticket to loopy land. Throw in the fact that Baltika's 8 looks like it should be totally awesome. It's a murky, unfiltered yellow beer, which if my friends in college offered it to me would send off warning flags since it would have to be at least 43% urine. Though properly sealed and the Cold War being long over, I can be reasonably sure that Baltika 8 is not a jovial attempt to make me drink pee-pee, but the smell has me a little less than convinced. I wouldn't say it smells like damp wheat or hay or barnyard... No. I'd have to pick "like fresh tinkle" as the best olfactory description.

Well, at least I said fresh tinkle, the beer isn't entirely flat, although lacks any interesting liveliness or weight. The joy of this beer, which almost over-shadows its smell, is its strangely fruity overtones. For the most part, it has a malty flavor with an almost floral aftertaste. I couldn't really put my finger on it, but all and all, I was disappointed. You'd think an unfiltered wheat beer would have a lot of pizzazz, but really it was girthy, stinky and generally lazy on the mouth. It's a bummer, which I should have expected. I look at Wheat beers as the Romantic Comedy of the beer world; Sweet at times, almost ashamedly so, light and lively, cute and easy-going, but usually adored by total wimps and quasi-sensitive guys trying to sucker in chicks. And while I guess I was thinking that it being unfiltered and Russian I would get some kind of depth and intrigue from it, but instead it was kind of like casting Nikolai Volkoff in a leading role in Love Actually. I think even Roger Ebert would have to use the words fresh tinkle in his review.

Köstriker: Won't Make You See The Devil

2005-12-04T15:56:00.000-08:00

Köstriker, though fancied by the German poet Goethe, calls to mind no visions of demons. In fact, the aroma kind of reminds me of my father's socks. A dark and heavy lager, lacking in intensity, Kostriker is smooth and drinkable, despite a mildly unpleasant dank wheat smell and a bitter metallic aftertaste. The head on this beer falls flat in a matter of blinks, succumbing to the impenetrable black water through which you must strain yourself to grasp the flavor.

This beer is definitely for people who like a heavy, black beer, but also want to drink a lot really fast. Perhaps, taken in at a large volume, you may have an experience close to other-worldly. At most, though, I would only expect to have to take a poop which borders on the supernatural sometime around 8:30 AM the next day.

One of the guys who works at the super-market recommended this beer with a little plastic tag on it. I now thank Köstriker for reminding me that there are two kinds of people I can't trust, Germans and people who work at the super-market.

König Ludwig: Made in a Real Castle

2005-11-20T13:12:00.000-08:00

If you're like me, you know Bavaria as the quaint little region which makes those awesome donuts. Thus, I have been skeptical of their beers, because even though Dunkin' Donuts makes good coffee, it's not where I go late at night when I want to get hammered... It's where I go late at night after I'm hammered and want a donut. Well, suppose you're in Bavaria, and you're not really feeling the whole donut thing, but you start to think "when in Rome", right? So, you need to drink something to get you in the mood. If you decided to go with König Ludwig Weiss, you'd be in for an experience far richer than a fresh donut... In fact, you may forgo the donuts altogether an elect to spend a quiet evening of slow contemplation with this classy beer. You could think of important things, like how in the hell to get out of Bavaria. And where the hell is Bavaria, anyway?

König Ludwig boasts a 700 year tradition, starting from Duke Ludwig the Severe, who founded the brewery in 1260, which is about what I paid for this beer if you move the decimal point over a couple times. This beer claims to be a Royal Bavarian Hefe-Weizen, but it must have been brewed by people who only read about hefes or heard about them through some unreliable third party like a crazy uncle Jimmy or Lester, the bow-legged, homeless trumpet player on Ceasar Chavez. It's safe to assume that even in Bavaria, there's a Ceasar Chavez.

Anyhow, this beer taste clean and has a ton of carbonation. I have been writing here for five minutes and this beer still has bubbles trailing up the insides. It's like watching that part of the matrix where that guy is looking at all the code and he says he can actually see people in it, except all it looks like to me is an overhead shot of the H.E.B. parking lot two days before Thanksgiving. And that's only if you squint.

This beer is strangely more in the Pilsner school than anything else. It has that odd, stank you get in beers like Stella and Spatan, but would never expect from the average commercially available Hefe. Yet, it's got that golden hue with a warmth and slipperiness, which hides a nicely understated fruitiness. It may not be what you'd expect, but I do think its brilliant. I would recomend this to anyone who normally finds hefes to be watery and lacking in character. König is more appealing to those who like that strange rank, yet crisp European flavor, but may also want an excuse to put a lemon chunk in it.

So, if you can find this beer and are tired of the same old euro-trash, then give this a try. It's realitively inexpensive, so even if you don't like it, you can drink enough of it to develop a taste for some donuts. Either way, Bavaria retains your business and its people will thrive, thus leading to a cultural revolution leading to more interesting beers and creamy pastries.

A strange side-note: This beer is absolutely awesome with Chile's barbeque burger. It's completely unreal how the beer takes on this sweet and smooth honey quality. Barbeque sauce and Bavarian Hefe-weizen. It could possibly be the reason I was put here on this planet.

No Beer This Week

2005-11-17T20:42:00.000-08:00

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Baltika Revisted: Welcome to the dark side of the 4.

2005-11-11T14:48:00.000-08:00

Baltika 4 Dark Lager is a lightly sweet, moderately heavy beer with rich flavors. Strange hints of caramel and malt malinger in the cold delicious abyss. 4 has a unique power, but is perhaps not as brutish and imposing as Baltika 6. It is quiet. Insidiously so, perhaps. You can hear it plotting as the head dies down. Drink it quickly before it has time to make enact its plan for world domination or at least before it gets warm and sluggish.

Baltika 3 Classic Lager tastes like boring. There's really nothing else to say other than the high disappointment actually made me sweaty and miserable. I think that might just be Texas, but I can blame Baltika 3 for amplifying the experience. Anyhow, this beer is somewhat drinkable, but typical. It's a somewhat European style, but it's not really that strong, which puts it more akin to crappy American standards like Miller and Coors. Baltika 3 would probably be a godsend at a keg party, but is nothing short of drab in a $1.19 singles. I might as well get a Colt 45 and get shit-hammered. At least I'd have something more than just a bad taste in mouth to go along with the bad taste in my mouth.

I feel bad about saying such bad things about 3, when 6 was so good, and 4 tastes like its harboring some thinly veiled disdain for us all. Whatever the case, I will take a break from Baltika for the time being. In fact, since I fucked up my time-sheet at work, I'll be taking a break from all beers. Thus, my last beer note for this week is that Live Oak October Fest taste like Mr. Potatohead's gym shorts... and of course, cat pee... or rather, what I imagine those things may taste like... I have never actually tasted both... simultaneously, anyhow.

St. Peter's Organic English Ale: Come Away, O Human Child

2005-11-10T20:37:00.000-08:00

St. Peter's Organic English Ale has a brilliant blend of murky, herbal flavors. It's like a quality pub ale, mixed with a pureed bag of grass clippings from the Elysium fields. There's something magical and earthy inside, as if it were filled with dark early morning dew or beard trimming from Eric the Gnome. It’s utterly strange and unforgettable.

I've had this beer a couple times now, and I’ve been putting off writing an entry in this blog. You see, I wanted this entry to be a classic, because in my view, St. Peter's English Ale is a milestone in the investigative beer experience. Anyone, flirting with the oddness of strange beers, baring a compulsion for new things, will hit this beer someday and be floored. In fact, it kind of tastes like floor, but in a good way, but that's beside the point.

This beer is captivating and dank at the same time. It looks more like an old-timy whisky bottle than a beer bottle. Yet the murky amber is somehow regal in its apparent quality and freshness, a rare harness of the wild, fecund earth. Since this beer, I don't get mad at nature for all the crap it drops on the hood of my car. If nature weren't alive and kicking so hard, you wouldn't be able to taste its liveliness in anything, like you can in this organic ale.

I'm reminded somewhat of that Yeats poem, The Stolen Child. This beer is calling you away from your worldly weeping. Disappear with the magical faeries of intoxication into the dark and magical land of St. Peter's Organic English Ale.

Wexford Cream Ales Me So!

2005-11-10T19:52:00.000-08:00

Being a man, I can't turn down the primal allure of stuff 'n-a-can. A lot of my best memories involve cans, eating out of them or sitting on them, sometimes simultaneously. So, it's no surprise that when I saw Wexford Cream Ale, I didn't stop to ask myself if I like Cream Ales. I simply said, hey, it's in a can! And as if the can wasn't enough, there's a widget inside. Every man loves gadgets. Its hard not be as in enamored with the concept of the widget as with the draft-esque qualities of the beer inside. Perhaps, by the very nature of my being, I was doomed to be deceived. Alas, some fundamental truths can not be cloaked in a shiny can with a plastic doodad in it. I feel as though a little piece of my beer-innocence has died. You see, Wexfords is probably a fine beer... but I didn't like it... In fact, I don't like cream ales.

It's was tough to admit for me. Cream ales sound nice. Sounds creamy. Sounds Alcoholic. What's not to like? So, you go on a few dates, right? Feel each other out. I remember when I took Genny Cream Ale out to a picnic in Spring time, and we didn't really hit it off. I figured, maybe if I go a little further out of my way, spend a little more money on the occasion, maybe things would be different. Nope. Things went flat and lifeless pretty fast. There was no zest. No complexity. No spark. It made me long for a really painfully bitter stint with a pale ale. At least the bitterness would remind me I was having a beer in the first place, good or bad.

And that's kind of how I feel now. It's like I took a great looking girl to Disney Land and all she wanted to do was ride the tram. A sluggish, dull, watered-down, and generally un-appealing experience, but I want to make this clear to Wexford Cream Ale... It's not you, it's me, sincerely. Sure, you're distinct. You're something special. It's just that the two of us are in very different places right now, and you need someone who can appreciate you for who you are, and I need something that tastes less like wet hay.

I may try you again, when I've matured some, sewn my wild oats, or if I just plain get real desperate and feel I can delude myself into thinking we had some chemistry. Until then, I will go on with my life, a wiser, shrewder man, a tad more suspicious of things in cans with cool plastic thing-a-ma-bobs in them.

Baltika 6: The Red Dawn Is Upon Us

2005-11-01T21:16:00.000-08:00

To understand the dark, depths of St. Petersburg's Baltika 6, we need not look much further past its namesake. Named in honor of the number directly following five, 6 is a Porter, which is divisible by two and will give you a splitting headache if you drink it too fast. Six has seven percent alcohol, which equals yummy in the new math.

St. Petersburg exports many of these delicious numbers, but I count myself fortunate to have tried this one first. Baltika 6 is a flavorful porter with a strong head. It's a beer with true character, with none of the things so easy to dislike about those having too much character. Not bogged down by a heavy chocolate, malt, or burnt flavor, Baltika is surprisingly livingly and drinkable. If it were a friend, it'd be the one that watches the game with you and brings funions, and not that wacky guy who shows up at 3am and pees on your. If you’re looking for that guy, drink tequila. If you’re looking to be that guy, drink more tequila.

Baltika is synonymous with beer in Russia. On this website, it's also synonymous with Russian singles sites boasting beautiful 20-something women looking for love! Trust Mother Russia. They know what you want. Good luck finding this sweet Russian import, though. There's a fairly limited supply imported to the US. I will try to find other Baltika beers in the near the future, but like Russian nuclear arms, it'll be a difficult and rewarding process to track them all down.

For more information on 6, count backwards from nine for a little while.

Old Speckled Hen: I Can't Think, But I Can Love

2005-10-29T19:29:00.000-07:00

Honey-sweet smell. Creamy like a cappuccino. Delicious. Smooth. Not at all bitter. Packs a punch. English. They do things differently over there like how they ride on the same side of the street as drunk me.

What of it?

This beer blog is just for me so I can better remember what I've already tried so I can waste less money having the same crappy microbrews over and over again. If I were in a settling down mood, I could settle on Old Speckled Hen, as the most generally pleasing beer I can fathom. There's really nothing else I've had which would appeal to a broader scope of people.

And by the way, I would never drive drunk, because my girlfriend drives the car most of the time, because she knows the importance of my research and that I drive slower than Democracy in China.

Anyhow, try the Hen. It is well put together... unlike this latest entry.

Savannah Has Beer Outside

2005-10-25T14:00:00.000-07:00

If you are looking for a fun place to go and drink some beers, please don't come to my house. I only have a few beers and they're for me and my dog. I do not mind it if you should choose to go to Savannah, GA for some beer, where I was last week. While I did not have any really memorable beer, what was more than worth it for me was the ability to drink it outside in really tacky plastic cups. Hurray! Hurray!

Adventures in Beer: The Party Barn

2005-10-24T11:34:00.000-07:00

If a Viking warrior lives a noble life and dies in battle, he shall go to Valhalla. If you are sober enough to drive, you can go to the Party Barn. It's much easier than looting a small country and just as fun.

The selection is merely okay, but you can actual drive into this converted garage and have your car filled with beer or liquor, like you would gasoline or wiper fluid. Now that's service!

Party Barn is where I got Shipyard's Pumpkin Ale, which is mediocre, with a very unnatural pumpkin aftertaste. Mostly it tastes like beer with something vaguely wrong with it. And if you didn't know it was supposed to be that way, Pumpkinny, I think you'd mistake it for being on the experimental side of boring. But, hey, I sure did love visiting the Party Barn. And what kind of selection could you expect from people who work in a barn, anyway? I grew up in central New York state and the only connoisseurs who set foot in barns where usually looking for a different kind of party which often times landed them in jail on sodomy charges. Party Barn is nothing like that. The prices are reasonable, and if you're looking to load up on some tried-and-true commercial beers, they've got your ass covered. Ass coverage is very important, especially in barns.

Party Barn - 3300 Guadalupe StAustin, TX 78705

Independence Brown Ale - Way Better Than Doom

2005-10-23T16:42:00.000-07:00

Today I wasted good money on a terrible movie, but in the depths of hell I was luck enough to discover Independence Brown Ale, brewed in Austin, TX.

Independence Brown Ale is chocolaty, while Doom stars The Rock, which is a fitting name for the epic piece of feces which would best resemble this movie. No, I take that back. Crapzilla. That's the name.Independence Brown Ale is not too filling, while the experience of watching Doom was kind of like someone opening a portal to my brain and filling my skull to capacity with twelve year-old cottage cheese.

And another thing about this beer; There was no burnt aftertaste. Nothing at all unpleasant like the horrible images of poorly lit, pathetically executed slaughter burned into my poor poor retinas by that lousy excuse for a horror-action movie.

While Doom spits in the face of the Aliens and even makes Event Horizon look like a damned opera, Independence Brown Ale is a quality dark beer, which will please the pallet of anyone in the mood for the genre.

If there was some way I could destroy all memory of having seen Doom and replace it with the memory of drinking this beer, I would. However, I fear the two things will forever be connected in my mind. On the flip side, if ever a whole in the sky should open up above my head and ten-thousand pounds of raw sewage should inexplicably dump itself upon my head, perhaps, having had a similar experience, I will call to memory the delicious taste of Independence Brown Ale.

Bitburger - Appreciated Even By Me

2005-10-15T18:41:00.000-07:00

There's nothing I like more than keeping it real with my homies on the weekend. Being also somewhat German, I quite enjoyed Bitburger's German malt liquor. It's sweet, smells of honey, and will knock you on your ass if you have more than one. It's a little heavy on the tongue, but the punch it packs really distracts from any sensation of flatness. While not really the most exciting beer I've had in a while, I have actually had it, which makes it pretty exciting for me since I'm currently averaging at one exotic imported beer every month or so. What can I say? For me, keeping it real means sitting around, mentally exhausted from my mind-fuck of a job, too afraid to get drunk because of it might serve as the closing argument in a well-presented case for what a sub-par human being I am for having no culture, joy, or ambition in my life. Yeah and when I said "homies"... well, that's the name I've given to the crusty things I sometimes step on in the living room, which are probably just dried boogers I must have picked at some point subconsciously... or rather, conscious but ashamedly. So, yeah, for those of you with actual lives, who want to chill on the weekend with something sophisticated and you don't mind getting drunk, because during the weekdays you actually have a life with some semblance of meaning, then I implore you to try Bitburger, the German malt liquor which is probably wasted on a chump like me, but only costs $1.19 at H.E.B. So, whether you're trying to stay a couple notches above completely pathetic or if you're just attracted to the pale golden sweetness only Germany can provide, Bitburger will suit your fancy. Now that my fancy is suited, I will pick it out a nice golden yellow tie to match it and then I will fail miserably at tying the tie and after about four attempts I will give up and masturbate until I fall asleep hoping God is real and that he takes everything good in my life away from me so I don't have to constantly worry about how it's only fair that I lose it. Alas, my Bitburger is the first thing to go. So long delicious friend! Safe travels. May you destroy the brain cells enabling my futile attempts to write.

Sam Adams Cherry Wheat: Another Reason California Can Eat My Balls

2005-10-02T08:43:00.000-07:00

In college in upstate New York I drank a lot of beer I couldn't get elsewhere in the country. Schlitz, for bad example. Now, one thing I noticed that I had to explain to folks in California is that Schlitz does produce a beer in a can, not just the malt liquor. When they start to wrap their head around this idea, they almost always catch a little vomit in their mouth or at least pretend to. In addition, a few beers that I did enjoy for the flavor were sadly unavailable in California.

As I mentioned before Saranac beers were not around and neither were Cooperstown brews. Also, only the lamest of the Sam Adams specialty beers were available, like Light or Cranberry Ass. But I am proud to announce two amazing, life-altering events for me this week. I have moved to Austin, TX and they have Sam Adams Cherry Wheat.

While I personally don't think this beer really tastes much like cherries, I do believe whole-heartedly in the power of its wheatiness. However, smell the cherries! I can! Flavorful, thick, and smooth this beer is pleasing and quite memorable, if only somewhat cherry-esque. While it has nothing to do with the spirit of Austin, I could really give a terd, because I've been craving this beer for two years.

And while I should be hunting around to find the best regional offerings, I'm not, because it's 100 degrees out there and I have air conditioning and Cherry Wheat at home. Now yesterday I did have a beer from Peru, which tasted a lot like some other beers I've had and didn't leave much of an impact on me. I don't even remember what kind of beer it was. The only way I could remember it less is if I drank seventeen more of them and fell asleep on the patio of the coffee shop.

Well, that's not Cherry Wheat. I've actually been having one a day. Not just because that's the amount my wimpy stomach can fit after dinner... not because that's about as many beers as I can have on a weekday without my girlfriend giving me that look... Nope. I enjoy it. I savor it. I am a cheap man who wants to milk all the happiness I can suck out of this precious, wonderful $6.99 beer.

Let's hear it for Texas!

Blanche De Chambly - Like A Peaceful Canoe Ride... With Satan!!!

2005-09-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

A week ago I tried Unibroue's Blanche De Chambly, which translated into English means White Devil with a Chainsaw. That's what Babblefish told me, anyway. I didn't need a warning like that to make me suspicious, though. Sure, this beer is pretty good, but it's probably not to be trusted.
First off, let's examine the pour. Okay, I need you to go to the store and get one and then pour it into a glass and report back to me anything that strikes you as suspicious. We have to stick together on this. For my part of the research, I noticed this beer has a strong head, which fizzes down to a nice consistent, lacy ring… but why? Why go through all that trouble? What was he thinking with that large head of his and should we just assume now that he's subdued he won't come back again one day... and for no less than our very souls!?!?!

More peculiarities are concealed in the cloudy, almost white color of this beer. Something's in there for sure. Could be suspended Yeast. Could be chunks of Satan himself. You never know these things at first glance. One thing is for sure, Chambly is up to something.

And as if that weren't enough, it smells like soggy wheat, but it's actually quite sweet and refreshing, with a hint of citrus. And it's not heavy or sluggish at all. It's downright lively... a little too lively if you ask me.

Now to the vaguely interesting subplot which is the basis for my trepidation: They've opened up a new Beverages & More right down the street from where I typically get my beer. And it was filled to brim with crazy soccer moms who were strutting around with their red wine taking the invitation to participate in a Hanson's soda taste-test a little too seriously. I was in the beer section with some lugs who wandered back and forth looking at Trapist beers before finally settling on a 12 pack of Corona. The experience was a little disturbing, but I figured there was a good chance that Bev-Mo had something different even though it was a little bit corporate for my beer shopping taste. Of course, what did I see?

If you guessed Godzilla in a braw and panties, you're half-right, but if you guessed the devil in a canoe, you're completely correct. There he was paddling at me on a red-river of what was probably blood, in the middle of a row of Unibroue beers. The awful beer bottle graphic is further proof Unibroue has sold their souls to Bev-Mo. They had a whole section. Just like I can't put my finger on why Bev-Mo is wrong and should be stopped, I can't quite articulate the pure horror of seeing a horned devil gentling paddling towards me in a quaint little two-seater. Only Canada would pair a bad-ass hellion with one of the lamest excuses for transportation known to man. What's next Unibroue? Going to try to sell me beer using a picture of Mesostopheles on Segue?

You people are just plain sick!And sure, I may just be transferring my fears and suspicions of Bev-Mo over to poor Unibroue, who is merely an innocent bystander. However, the insurmountable evidence leads me to give Unibroue's Blanche de Chambly, a somewhat tainted endorsement. Proceed to flavor, quality, and intrigue, but proceed ever cautiously, less ye soul be spirited away by the netherworld at speeds of up to two miles an hour unless there's a log or something in the way then you'll probably have to paddle around it.... to your doom!

Bischofshof 1649 - A Year to Remember

2005-09-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

Often beer-tasting is a turbulent exercise is sifting through wild new upstart microbrews and dealing with rabid beer aficionados excited over swill that's more obscure than it is flavorful. Often, the experience can leave us weary with the new, longing for an old-time flavor that brings back memories of the good old days... such as those 365 wild days of 1649.

If you're like me, and you should be, you probably remember 1649 very fondly. The odd hints of tropical fruit in this beer call up fresh memories of when Oliver Cromwell declared England a 'Commonwealth', and raised England's prestige in Europe on the basis of an alliance with France against Spain, greater religious toleration and one wild-ass pool party with more chicks in bathing suits than I could count. It was a fortnight to remember! This sweet honey-flavored beer call to mind some of the sweeter moments of that magical year such as, when Robert Blake, who eventually caught a rare form of the crabs, was promoted to Admiral of the British navy and my roommate Paul was promoted to King of Beer Pong.

If there's anything negative to say about this beer, however, it's that the head dissipates far too quickly, and the overall taste can be a bit sluggish and lazy, much like my friends and I on the mornings after several of 1649's more famous blasts. Like the time when the Itilian city of Castro was completely destroyed by the forces of Pope Innocent X or when me and my buddies got completely obliterated after drinking three 30-packs of this awesome beer. Now I may be getting the 1849 mixed up in my mind with 1997, for obvious reasons, and the more apropos beer for that time is more likely to be Genny Cream Ale than Bischofshof. For some reason there are a lot of blank spots in both those years for me. But I can say with confidence that Bischofshof is a beer, and whether you're toasting someone's beheading or you happen to be heading to someone's place to get toasted, you'll probably find Bishofshof a semi-memorable part of an experience you probably won't remember.

Erdinger - Better Than That Crap You Drink

2005-08-29T15:40:00.000-07:00

To 90% of the people out there who like Heffs, I'd like to supply this summary review of Erdinger. Erdinger is better than that crap you drink. That dog-pee-yellow, supermarket discount water you so happily cram a lemon into every weekend is merely twice-removed second cousins, if it's even in the same family, with Erdinger.

Erdinger is a great, sit-down Wheat beat. It's thick and flavorful, but that can be a problem for the casual drinker who would rather eat a whole lemon than drink anything that tastes like actual beer. It can also be troubling for people, like myself, who enjoy a good watery Wheat beat which enables you to rip through a six pack in about a half hour and get abruptly wasted without feeling over-filled. If you're alone and you would like a classy clean wheat beer, this is much better than that crap you usually drink. Otherwise, Erdinger appreciates the invite, but he's much too cool for your lame-ass party. Stick to Pyramid and Widmer Hefeweizen, which are both good friends of mine who like to get trashed with me. Occassionally, I'll cram a lemon into them and it's usually a good thing all parties involved. I feel only moderatly guilty in the morning.

Pale Ales Maladies

2005-08-28T09:06:00.000-07:00

My first favorite beer was a micro-brew pale ale from upstate New York. Saranac was an extremely drinkable, but viciously bitter beer, which had an oddly purple hue to it when it came off a tap. I enjoyed it then, as I would now if I could get it, for its unmistakable flavor, which is like a cross between electric honey, antifreeze and wet log. Don't ask me why I find that delicious. Possibly because in upstate New York, you typically have some weak form of a cold gripping your nose and throat for about four months out of the year. You need the extra hops to blow a hole through to your taste buds.

All things considered, Saranac is still one of my favorite beers. However, I would like to officially announce the annulment of my longstanding marriage to pale ales. I am all hopped out. Stone IPA, Racer 5, Hopsickle, countless microbrews.... and after dozens and dozens of them, I am hard-pressed to make a recommendation. Perhaps, it is because the wounds are still fresh or maybe I am just in my rebellious phase. Mostly, I'm just sick of the way a Pale Ale comes over tears you up from top to bottom and leaves you with nothing but bitter memories.

So, I'm done with them for now. Don't ask me about them? If I show up at your party with something else, please don't give me crap about it or make a big to do about it. And yes, I may have a few flirtations with some skanky brown ales for a couple of months. Know that I'm just out there testing the water until I get my confidence back.

I have a lot of beers from this recent load from High Times (For the first and last time, High Times is not the magazine, it's a alcohol import and retailer where they have a wide variety of wine and beer). My roommate gets a super discount, because he is one of their official apron-wearing wine snobs. His friends are coming over tomorrow to watch Modovino, which I can only assume from the title is about gay biker sex. This really ruins my plans to test drive some of the new beers on the one of the finest tracks available, WWE Monday Night Raw. Wrestling in beer: A match made in heaven if I ever saw one.