Sierra Nevada Narwhal Imperial Stout

With a name like Narwhal, this beer must be... well, I have no idea what.  But, it's an imperial stout, so I'm going to find out.  I like stouts.  Narwhals are straight up hilarious for existing so I love them.  But I've never cared for Sierra Nevada very much.  2 out of 3, those are decent odds for liking a thing.  Plus, it has a bitchin' illustration of some hard-core nautical shit on it.

I poured it.  I looked at it.  I smelled it. I drank it.  I did not like it.  Not at first.

At first, it tasted acrid and bland.  There was a lot of noise and not much music.  Just kind of an unpleasant flavor din.  I was pretty sure that I'd hit on a fun reviewin' beer.  I could call it names and make fun of Sierra Nevada for being shit.  There would be quips and jabs, then I would sum up by saying some stuff that I thought made me sound witty.  I was thrilled by this and took another sip of my crap beer.  That's when this terrible beer turned sadly better.

Suddenly, the beer wasn't such a mess of bitter and brown.  Now there is malt, copper, raisins, chocolate, and alcohol (10.2%).  The flavors had started to settle out, taking turns instead of all trying to be the first noticed.  They stand in line, the raisins, the copper, the chocolate, the malt.  They stand in line and introduce themselves, almost politely.  I enjoy meeting them.  I'm half way through this beer, and I have sadly little to be snarky about.  I'd make a joke about the copper taste being so prominent, but I don't have any penny jokes right now.  At this point, I'd say this beer is just fine.  It isn't the best stout I've ever had, not by a long shot.  I have had worse, though.  Hell, in a pinch, I might even have this one again.

Lucky for me, in this town, I'll never be in a pinch for finding a good beer.  There is no need to settle for even this, a well intentioned and reasonably executed beer.  Because, while there is nothing technically wrong with the execution of this beer, it still feels sterile, safe, and unexciting.  Maybe Sierra Nevada, so secure in their one popular beer, doesn't have the corporate stomach to be wild or unafraid with their offerings.  That's too bad, really, because they seem to have the wherewithal to do great things and simply lack the nar-balls.

Strange Land Brewery The Old North Road English Strong Ale

"Brewed with vanilla, rum, and oak."  From Strange Land?  For me? Yes, please!

I've had a lot of luck with the fanciful beers of Strange Land Brewery, so this weeks' selection wasn't a big risk.  It has some IBU's and some ABV's.  The label is nice enough to be good, but not so nice as you'd notice.  It claims to be an English strong ale (whatever that means).  And absolutely none of that matters for more than a thought or two.  What matters is the putting of beer into my face.

I'm stuffed up right now, which makes the sniffing of the beer a less than detailed investigation, but even through the nasal mud, there is browns, sweets, and malts.  It's smells like sitting in a comfy wing-back chair, while wearing a smoking jacket and fez.  Yup, smells English-y as fuck.

It's dark.  It's frothy.  It's thick and an all but opaque dark brown.  This beer looks inviting, like it calls to me.  "Come here and drink me! Never mind those rocks, sailor."  While some cowards might lash themselves to the mast, or stuff their ears with cotton, I know that the proper action is to dive into the water and go drink that beer.

It is a very rich, very sweet, lightly coppery, heady, infused with that "barrel aged" goodness, and a very very slow drinking.  There is a sort of brutal directness to the strength and richness of this beer.  I'd call it a beast, but this guy demands to be consumed slowly, too slowly for quaffing.  Sipping is top speed for this guy.  I like a beer that makes me take my time and enjoy it.  I'm at hour 2 on this bottle.  Send help.

Drink it.  Really, drink anything from Strange Land Brewery.  There's no point in reviewing them anymore.  They make good beers.  I'm out!

Thornbridge Saint Petersburg Imperial Russian Stout

Hello Gorky Park!  I love your trees and knapsacks.  And your beer, I love your beer.  Damn it, I love me some Imperial Stout.  So malty, soo rich, sooo many ooooo's.

Thornbridge Saint Petersburg Imperial Russian Stout, from our brothers and sisters from other mothers and misters across the pond at Thornbridge Brewery, Bakewell, England.  It's dark, frothy, rich, comes in a big ass bottle, and has a reasonable 7.7% ABV.  The Brits are good like that

Here in The States (well, here in Texas) we respect the brewing traditions of the Brits, so when I see a style of beer I worship, like the imperial stout, brewed up by some Englanders, I say, "Bring it on."  It's a bottle conditioned beer, made with a focus on malt and chocolate.  The label says some bullshit about a subtle "peat smokiness", but I don't taste it.  Maybe the label guy just had nasty B.O.  Ugh, that sounds gross.  This is why I should never read the label; because someone might have had a repulsive personal stank when they wrote it.

The label on the other side of the bottle does feature a stony white chick, who looks topless, so that's nice.  On the neck of the bottle, the Thornbridge seal is pretty bad ass too.  I bet they have made out of iron at the top of an arch  that you can walk under.  Otherwise, the label isn't all that wonderful for distracting yourself.  I can't even peel it off when I get bored.  It's really stuck on there.

The label is a 5 out of 10, its OK to look at but won't pass the time.  The sweet boozy beer inside the bottle is like a 7 out of 10, which is actually better than it sounds.  I think the average beer is a 2 out of 10, most likable beers get the 5 out of 10 spot, 9 or 10 out of 10 are reserved for those gods among men of beers (I'm looking at you, Fifty/Fifty Eclipse Imperial Stout), leaving 7 and 8 for surprisingly good beers.  Really 7 out of 10 is a huge compliment.  You're welcome, Thorny.

Here's the thing, though: I miss the 9's and 10's.  Sure, a beer like this guy is satisfying, lovely, tastes great, and does it's best to fill that beer-shaped hole in my heart (never let your heart surgeon drink on the job), but sometimes a good beer mostly makes me want to be drinking a great beer.  That's what we got here.  This is a quite good beer, just good enough to make me wish I was drinking a better beer.  Maybe one with label writing from someone who bathes regularly.

Seguin Brewing Co., Honey Pecan cream Ale #5

Do you remember the excitement of trying a new beer?  I always get a tickle when I pull something new and exciting from the shelf, chill it in the fridge, get out my favorite beer glass, and pour a nice fancy glass of adventure.  Even if the beer is nothing special (or often terrible), I'm gonna have a good time finding out.  I am Yuri Gagarin, Tenzing Norgay, and a dude eating truck stop sushi all rolled into one.

Seguin Brewing Co. has offered up this Honey Pecan Cream Ale #5, and I, Yuri Norgay the sushi adventurer, am bored shit-less by it.  It isn't bad or anything.  If it was bad, I'd have something to write about.  It isn't good either.  It's just... well... it might as well be beige.  If someone told me I had to throw the rest of the bottle away, I could do it without a second thought.  It tastes like a medium bodied, honey tinged, generic ale-flavored ale.  It is perfectly acceptable and tastes just fine.  I'm thinking of having some chips.

I'm not even sure why it is so dull.  More than that, I super don't care.  As a beer lover (snicker snicker), I feel like I should have an opinion, be reminded of something, or give even a modest fuck about a new beer.  But, no.  I've watched 3 tv shows and part of a movie while writing this, I still have plenty of beer left, and not a single damn to give.

The lesson to take away from all this is simple: when life give you lemons, make lemonade, but when life gives you plain white sandwich bread, enjoy your dry toast.

Thor's Hammer Barley Wine Ale

"It smells like fruit." comments Diego
"Rancid Fruit ass." retorts Omar
"Carbonation OK, thick, good viscosity, tastes exactly like it smell, rancid fruit ass.  the aftertaste makes me thing I swallowed a fart!  Minda's gonna be pissed if I go home and kiss her with this mouth." ~ Diego
"More like Ass Hammer" ~ Omar
"It's Thomas' son's fault" ~Diego
"The only Esther I know is an anal retentive ginger who is into DAvid Bowie"
"The only Esther I know makes tacos."
"This clearly tastes like ass hammer that went through the sewer"
"I'd rather have joey shit in my mouth than drink this."
Now I owe Diego for mouth raping his beer face after a day of foreplay.
Worse than the watered down Guinness we had at the theater.
Goddamit, I hate this beer, After these a-holes all I can taste is fruit ass.
"Second to last thing we had was 13%, the last was 7.5% and the people next to us were a couple of Spanish folks." I couldn't hear the lisp, but Diego did.
Central City Brewers and Distillers, it's a fukkin' Canadian Beer, said Omar as he lost his shit.
They might kill me.
It had three golden balls, like James Bond's family crest! and rightfully so.  Balls!
Goddam Kanadian Beer.
"Might as well have a canuk stick his dick in my mouth."
"Doesn't taste like maple syrup." ~The Maple Avenger
"I should just brush my teeth with a curling broom." ~Omar
Diego is way ahead in drinkin', cause the Mexican in him won't let him leave a glass unfinished.  He's a chump.  We been drinkin' all day.
And now we're talking about gothic horror and Crimson Peak.  The word is that it's classic Guillermo Del Torro, beautifully crafted and poorly written.  The Alamo beer sucks, but the Mondo glass is cool.
It's a long way to the end of this glass, Diego says that is because it's a shitty beer.
And it is a shitty beer.
It is rich and full and very alcoholic (11.5% ABV), but it is blech lame.
It is too sweet.
It is too fruity.
It should have been mead if they were gonna call it "Thor's Hammer".  Those guys fucked me pretty.  Well, fuck them too!
I hate you, Thor's Hammer!
We will fight and I must break you like Drago broke Apollo Creed!  I MUST BREAK YOU!
They blame me.
They think I did this to them on purpose!
Omar and Diego are plotting against me.
They say I don't feed the cats, but I fee the shit out of these goddam cats!  They're fukkin elderly!  That's why they drool and shed all the time.  It's not me, it's just fate.
I hate my friends.  I will destroy them.  I made them drink bad beer and now they fear me.  You fear me too.
We have yet to get through one glass of this horse shit and it sucks sucks sucks.
Drink it and share our pain!
Diego finished his...
do you dare be half the man Diego is?  I don't.

Samuel Adams Honey Queen Braggot

I think we can all agree that Samuel Adams beers have had their day in the sun of craft brewing but are now fully part of the big beer establishment.  That's not say that there is anything wrong with a cold Sammy-A, they're usually just fine, not that I'm gonna grab a cold six any time soon.  So, yeah... I'm kind of surprised to see anything from Sam Adams in this blog.

Here's what happened: I was at the store, minding my own business, slobbering over the beer section at my local, when suddenly I see this weird bee-chick who is either calling me a, or identifying herself as, a "Braggot".  I don't know what I, or she, did to deserve this insult, but I do know that I would have spelled it "braggart".  Being so insulted and misspelled, I purchased this (*gasp*) Samuel Adams beer.  What choice did I have?

The label has all this bee-stuff on it, and a saucy lady giving me a "come hither" look (but she's covered in bees, so that's not gonna happen).  I like the wacky "Honey Queen" name.  The art is fun.  The back of the label has some words in a pleasing font.  All that stuff is pretty great.  So, Sam Adams name aside, I'm thinking this could be a fun beer.

Also, I looked it up, and, according to the internets, a "braggot" isn't an insult or a typo.  Who knew?

You'll never guess what this Honey Queen beer tastes like.  Go on, try.  Wrong! It tastes like honey.  A shit-load of honey.  Somewhere, there must be a field of small eviscerated plastic bears, because, wow, honey.  In fact, if I was the kind of guy who really talked himself up and commented often about my superiority, I might say my better-than-average sense of taste tells me that this stuff is like half beer and half mead.  I might point out how I, and I alone, can pick up on the distinct honey-up-front, beer-at-the-rear combo act of flavor.  That's just the kind of thing a braggot might do.  Lot's of honey, followed by beer, is all I'm sayin'.

It's pretty tasty, too.  A bit candy-sweet for my taste, but not at all bad.  I think I might have preferred just a 12oz bottle.  1 pint 6oz is a long way to the bottom for something this syrupy and rich.  I can see the broader appeal, and I'm sure many people will enjoy the crap out of this, but I think I'm gonna need some tums or something in a bit.  I am, as you know, a delicate flower.  At this moment, I am a delicate flower that is reminded why I prefer malt sugars to honey sugars.  Malt sugars aren't candy-like.  So, while I certainly like this braggot, I would really rather have a stout.

Personal tastes aside, I feel that I owe Samuel Adams, and, by extension, the Samuel Adams Brewery (a.k.a Boston Beer Co.), a nod for taking a risk, and making something that is far more interesting than it is marketable.  Way to go, you corporate beer shills, you really grew a pair with this and took back a cup-full of your Boston pride.  So what if it won't fly off the shelves, or start a new craze, you tried something different.  I'm proud of you.

But, I'm still not going to buy a six pack of your beers or one of your hoighty-toighty glasses.  I've got my pride too.

Dogfish Head Punkin Ale

I really hate pumpkin beverage season.  It is that part of the year when America yanks down it's pants and shines a pale moon on decency and taste.  Sadly, it feels more and more like I'm one of the few reasonable people left who didn't drink the pumpkin spice kool-aid.  The good folks at Dogfish Head, who's experimental beers have been both an inspiration and a disappointment, have put on their paper pants, shaved their heads and pledged their souls to the goddam gourd.  Hope is dead.

This week's beer combines the pumpkin I despise and the brewery I respect but don't like, Dogfish Head Pumpkin Ale.  I figured, why not kill myself with two birds while getting stoned.  Flawless plan, right?

So, here is how I screwed up my plan: I liked the beer.

Yeah, for seriously. Punkin Ale is a far cry from the best beer I've ever had (I miss you, Fifty/Fifty), but, dammit, it was just fine.  I might even say it was, amazingly, not bad.  The "punkin" is understated enough not to get my heckles in an upright and locked position.  The "ale" was mild, reasonable, and restrained, unusual in a Dogfish Head.  Combine those two and you have a drinkable, interesting, not hateful, beer.  You won't run back out for a six-pack, but you won't vomit a little in your mouth either.

When I realized I was kinda enjoying a pumpkin beer, then I threw up a little in my mouth.  A gastric expression of the shame I felt, tempered only by my ability to keep my mouth shut.  What do I do next?  I go and write a blog about it.  You're disappointed in me.  I'm disappointed in me.  Nobody is happy with the way this beer drinkin' turned out.  I was looking forward to drinking pumpkin-piss beer and spitting vitriol.  It seems that the hated seasonal squash and Dogfish Head Brewery have teamed up to rob me of my hate.  I finished the beer.  Maybe I even allowed myself to enjoy it for a second.  Now I feel 12 oz emptier, with a beer-size hole in my heart where my hate should have been.

Save yourselves from this existential nightmare, this fall stay away from all things liquid pumpkin, don't make my mistakes.

Some drinking thoughts at Strange Land Brewery and later at home with a bomber

Lately, I've been finding bombers from Strange Land Brewery all over the place in Austin, Texas.  I've written about a few of them, and I've generally thought good thoughts about their beers.  This weekend I had a few hours to kill and it turns out that they have a tap room.  So, I packed up Omar and away we went.

It turns out, I'm a dick.  They have a welcoming and pleasant set up, lots of seats, a great bar seating area, and one awesome dude behind the bar.  He was friendly, informative, pleasant, and remembered everyone's name.  Which is why I'm a dick: I can't remember his name.  Sorry, man.  My bad.

I started, after some deliberation, with the Root Beer Porter.  Seriously, though, they had a root beer porter.  That's cool.  And it certainly did embody the essence of root beer.  Which was also the big problem I had with it.  I like beer.  I like root beer (I'm looking at you, Thomas Kemper).  When you combine the flavors of beer with the flavors of root beer, however, you end up let down on both aspects.  It was interesting, and good for a few swallows.  About half way into my glass, the shine was gone.  By the bottom of the glass, I was glad to see it gone.  All the same, it was a valiant effort, and I salute it.

I went a little wild for my second choice.  Having a previous disastrous experience with a gruit beer, I was skeptical when I saw they had one of their own, so I went with that.  You may call me brave for this.  You may say I am a man among men.  Perhaps, even, you hope to tell your grand children-clones stories about my heroism.  I can certainly understand your feelings, but I'm far too humble to say anything.  The gruit was, in a word, extremely friggin' deliciously good.  I was expecting another lousy theory-beer, but, instead, got a new and exciting booze.  Whoever was behind the curtain on this one, pulled the right levers.  It is hard to describe the taste of it, but I'm told they used a collection of herbs or spices or something instead of hops.  It's weird, but good weird.

If you've never had a third beer with a quality Brit before, you don't know what you're missing.  We met David, a retired IT specialist with gift for gab.  David suggested I try the Dewi Sant, a dark beer with a honey kick.  The Dewi was sweeter than I usually go for, but really damn good.  In fact, the more I drank, the better and better it tasted (blame the 13.5% ABV).  I think I had two, but I was enjoying the conversation, the weather, the tap room, and definitely the beer too much to remember to take a picture.  It looked like beer, though, I promise.  If you find it, drink it.  If you find it along with a retired Brit, take both to a bar and enjoy your new, more perfect life.

I did, however, remember to take a picture of next beer I had, The Last Gentleman Bourbon Porter.  I bought it on the way home at the Flags Store on 45th and Duval.  I'm drinking it now, and it is sort of a mixed bag.  When I took my first sip, I wasn't very impressed.  There was a lot of metallic acidity getting in the way of the beer flavors.  Now, I'm about a glass in, the malt and sugars have elbowed to the front and started to dominate the conversation.  Things are getting tasty.  Sure, the acid and metallic flavors are still there, but, after two glasses, who cares.  The barrel aged body is all warm and gooey in my mouth hole, and I brain-think slippery blurred yummy thoughts.  It may be a sad-ish 6.8% ABV, but a bomber still gets the job done.  Drink this beer.  Alone if you have to, with a friend where you can, and definitely, definitely with a retired, good-natured Brit, if at all possible.

Buffalo Bayou Brewing Co., Bananas Foster, or When I Learned Not To Trust

If you order bananas foster, you have certain expectations regarding what you are about to taste.  If you buy a beer called "Bananas Foster" you have similar expectations: bananas, rum, brown sugar, vanilla, and maybe a bit of cinnamon.  What you wouldn't expect is a glass of dark, bitter, acrid, shit.  Or, at least, I didn't expect that.

Bananas Foster, from Buffalo Bayou Brewing Co. in Houston, Texas.  1 pint 6 oz, 8.6% ABV, brown-butter dark, no head to speak of, and complete horse piss.

The name is pure temptation, the bottle, large and inviting, the label, pleasant and fun, the waxed cap, a sign of care.  All of these things just claw at you to choose this bottle from the shelf, take it with you, and give it a good home in your belly.  But this beer is a changeling, a turd wrapped in gold foil.  Don't be fooled.  Don't repeat my mistake.

Here is what happened when I took my first sip: I smelled the dark, vinegar-ish odor, tasted the cold malt richness on the tip of my tongue, then the zip of copper to the sides, the bitter pucker at the back, and the air of rancid salad that settles over the whole experience like a gross rain on an already humid day.  It's nasty.  I gave some to Omar and he threw a brick at my head.  I think he did the right thing.

It is a horrible crime to toy with my (and to a lesser extent, "our") expectations.  To say to me ("us" again to a way lesser extent), "Here, have a bananas foster beer!  Remember how good the banana bread beer was? Well, this is bananas foster, so it should be equally good, and taste like bananas foster." and then to give me 1 pint 6 oz of young balsamic vinegar, malt, and disappointment.

I hate you, Buffalo Bayou Brewing Co.  I hate you for making me hope, giving me cause to feel excitement, dangling beauty in front of my face, and the ripping it all away.  I will have my revenge.  I will rage and thunder, I will burn the skies, I will pull a face and blow raspberries at you behind your back, but, rest assured, I will have my revenge.  You suck.

Hops & Grain Tap Room, 3 beers.

I finally made it to the Hops & Grain tap room before it was about to close. The nice guy bartender greeted my pleasantly and showed me the ropes. The beer tickets were 4 for $10 and mostly good for a beer per ticket.  Four beer for ten bucks... not bad.

The tap room was mostly empty. There were a few beer folk and post work bar slouchers like myself warming bar stools and bench seats. The menu had too many goddam IPA's, but I've come to expect that kind of treachery from craft brewers.  Still, the place smelled like malt, and was decorated mostly with beer barrel, like a sad polka.

Scanning the menu, I'd had the Zoe and the AltEration before. I ogled the bourbon barrel aged Porter (it looked sexy, but I decided on the Belgian pale ale to start, because I'm a coward and chickened out of diving into their Dispensary selection ("aggressively dry hopped").  Somewhere a Molly mocks me.

I waddled my beer to one of the many ubiquitous wooden benches that is required seating at tap rooms, and sipped into my first beer.

Belgian pale ale:

It was pretty tasty actually. I wasn't expecting that.
Floral but not heavy handed. Light, but with plenty of substance. 

It had a weight to it, like drinking it in the sun and heat would definitely result in passing out in a pool of your own vomit. You know the kind of beer I'm talking about. 

It left a metallic hops flavor coating on the tongue. I like it less the more of it I drink. It settles heavy.

 
A hop head or other weirdo would certainly be in love with this beer, but I'm a decent person, who sympathizes with the plight of the under-malted beer drinker.  I believe there is more to drinking than what some dumb-ass beer blog has to say.

Still, I drank it all to fortify myself. I'm going for the big ugly hoppiness next.

Imperial IPA: 

I asked the goodly barman for the baddest of the bad. The hippity-est of the hops. The most depraved of the immoral IPA's. From the super dry hopped Dispensary line, he poured me the Imperial IPA.

I was expecting to look like Preacher comic's fan-favorite character, Ass-face, but the pucker-factor was minimal. I was confused. 

This beer is round. It's like drinking a beach ball. That kind of round. Sure, hops and some bitter notes. Some floral. Some lingering tongue-salad herbiness. Fuck me, though, I like this beer.

It's like when the nerdy chick in the teen movie takes off her glasses and let's her hair down and suddenly she has a great rack. And at 10% ABV... damn. This beer just shoved it's flute up my teen sex-comedy reference.

Bourbon Barrel Porter: 

 Holy shit monkeys. I paid two fukkin' tickets for this beer, and it tastes like someone left raisins, prunes, bitter cherries, and booze in my delicious beer. Which is awesome.

I suspect some kind of demon has just traded me for my shriveled soul. Demon-chump! This beer is great. I wanna dunk my head in this tiny glass and live as a beer-fish. Is that still legal?

This beer is far too vocal to be this enjoyable. It's yammering on about all sorts of flavors and crap, but what about the flavors?! Ooohhh, such many tasty flavors. 

Hey drinky! Get off your ass and find this beer. It's mellow yet lively! Like a mongoose in a smoking jacket. 

I give up. Screw you blog, I'm busy drinkin'!

Texas Keeper Cider Weizen

Lets take a moment to appreciate good beer.

Mmmmmmm.... beer...

OK.  Did you do it?  You're a horrible bastard if you didn't, you know.  Beer, good beer more so, has done so much for us, you and me personally, that it deserves a moment of appreciation.  So, if you skipped it, take that moment now.

In the last few weeks, I have dunked my head in the finest of the world's beer rivers (pictured below).

The Fifty-Fifty Eclipse Imperial Stout, was,without a doubt, one of the finest beers ever aged in a whisky barrel and bottled for my personal joy.  I won't say much about it, except that it redefined what a goddam great beer is.  (Not available in Texas).

The Fifty-Fifty was so good, in fact, that I was tempted to try something... different for this week's beer blog.  A cider.  

I was conflicted at first: is it really a beer, does it have a place in this blog, am I being wild and brash, what are these feelings I'm feeling, do I dare do all that may become a man?  After a period of reflection and meditation, I decided to go ahead and try the cider.  What is the worst that can happen?

Texas Keeper Cider Weizen, cider made with fancy beer yeasts.  It is a dry cider, with an interesting idea behind it.  It is also horse-piss swill, and I don't even think that horse was a diabetic.  Sure I choked it down, but only to decide how much I hated it.  I hated it very many and super much.  

I have enjoyed many ciders.  Most of them were acceptable, some were even good, but there are always a few bad apples.  

"I'm funny as hell and deserve this award for Best Pun Of The Century."

~J. "Bad Apples" Dodson

9-2015

Pun Awards Dinner acceptance speech

This cider sucks, but mainly because it is a very dry cider.  I accept that some weirdos like dry ciders.  That's fine.  As long as they don't try to force their beliefs on me (I'm looking at you, IPA people).  If that's your bag, then by all means, chug away.  For me, I will continue to look for a decent and respectable beverage, something more in line with my system of beliefs.  I'm a decent person.  That's how I roll.

I hope that, if you take something away from this blog, you make an effort to drink good beverages instead of bad ones, and where bad ones enter your life, you have the good sense to recognize and shun them.  In that spirit, I invite you to join with me in a pledge:

"I, (state your name), pledge to drink mostly exclusively good booze, and will cast my vote

for the Author of this blog to win the Best Pun Of The Century Award, just as soon as I can."

Thank you

Erdinger Weissbrau Weizen Kristall

Wooooo! Beer!  You love it.  I love it.  We both love it.  But I love it better.  I blog love beer.  And one of my favorite kind-a beers, my best go-to beers, is a German Reinheitsgebot compliant weissbrau.  If I see a new one on the shelf at the store, I must have it.  Because I love it, and it loves me.  So lets get to it!

Erdinger Weissbrau Weizen Kristall, 1pint 9 oz, 5.3% ABV, from Erding, Germany.  Straw yellow and foamy for a minute and a half.  It's real pretty.

First it looks good, then the familiar aroma shows up one step ahead of the beautiful cold malty sweet wonder that the Germans deliver so well.  A funny thing happens when you take that first sip; your day gets better.  A good beer can make a crap day, better.

This beer, it isn't special, not particularly.  But it is good.  I don't know how a Kristall is in any way different from a Hefeweizen, and, thankfully, I don't care right now.  I'm just enjoying how this (not particularly special) beer is making my day particularly special.  You know what I mean.  You love beer too.

I don't think I'd buy 6 of these.  Bringing some to a party also seems wrong somehow.  If I hadn't picked up this beer to blog about, I might never have given it anything more than a happy thought for 1 pint and 9oz of my time.  All the same, my experience with this beer is summed up in this blog, and the next time I see this beer at a store, it will take me back to this moment.  This not special but good beer will, for me, remain locked in this blog.  I won't buy it again.  I will see it, remember what it was like to drink it and write about it, smile, and be inspired to try something else new and unfamiliar.  Because, like you, I love beer.

Buffalo Bayou Brewing Co. Black Raz

A few months back, I was at Wright Bros. Brew and Brew killing some time.  They usually have one or two interesting and unique selections on their board, and that day they had a Chai Porter.  Seemed interesting, I gave it a shot.  It blew my feeble mind!  I had at times imagined a chai beer, even tried to brew my own once, but I was unsuccessful at realizing this chimera.  Buffalo Bayou, however (and despite being in Houston), managed to do the improbable.  So, I decided to try one of their other offerings today.  I make a lot of questionable decisions.

Fantastic art and a black wax neck on a 1 pint bottle.  The label yammers politely about raspberries, cherries, vanilla, and dark chocolate.  8% ABV.  Dark brown and mostly opaque.  No head to speak of (so we won't speak of it).

Instead, let us speak of bitter fruits and chocolate.  It is a famous combo and has a lot going for it.  Is it what you might call "beer appropriate", though?  I'm not so sure it is.  I take a sip and taste the ras-cherry.  It is bitter (IPA bitter).  Then the chocolate steps up, mellow and smooth (think Miles Davis).  I dunno if I would choose to drink an IPA while listening to Miles.  I think he deserves a heavy stout or a barrel aged porter.  But, then I take another sip and change my mind.  Suddenly it tastes great pretty good.  Then crap.  Then great.  Then lousy.  And now I'm just confused.

If there was a time for this phrase, now is it: This beer is some tasty shit.  It is seriously either a decent good beer, or mediocre crap.  I think it's both.

I say that, but... I'm almost through with this bottle.  Pouring and drinking.  Sipping and writing.  I guess that I just don't know.  Is this what a challenging beer tastes like?

"I guess that I just don't know."

~V. Underground & J. Dodson

You should go buy a bottle and give it a swill.  Let me know if you think it's decent, because I'm confused.  Is this a good beer?

The bottle is pretty cool, though.  I like the wax, especially.

De Proef Brouwerij Saison Imperiale Belgian Farmhouse Ale

So, I hear this story about how farmhouse saison ales were originally made to give to the field hands as part of their pay.  You know, hot day, long hours, give 'em a bucket of beer, pay 'em, and everyone is happy.  That sounds like a good deal to me.  I wish I got a bucket of beer at the end of my work day.  I do question how much beer farmers had on hand, though.  Even if you're just hiring 5 or 6 folks to slap your rutabagas, it takes a hell of a stash of beer to give out 5 or 6 buckets of it a day, every day, each rutabaga slapping season.  So, maybe the story I heard is kinda bullshit.  Who knows?

Come to think of it, who cares?  Why do I give a rutabaga slap about why this beer was made when I could just be drinking it?

From the Brewmaster Collection, De Proef Brouwerij Saison Imperiale Belgian Farmhouse Ale, from Lochristi, Belgium.  750ml bottle.  8.5% ABV.  Slightly cloudy, darkish brown caramel color, solid head, and bottled up with a hugely obnoxious synthetic cork that does NOT want to exit the bottle.

I like it.  It's rich and flavorful, with lots of sweet malt, honey, some herbalness, and a present (but not excessive) hops.  Most saisons, and most farmhouse ales, are hopped to rat-shit hell.  This one shows restraint.  This one recognizes that not everyone want to have a nettle and beer-salad.

Omar says it is "kinda bland, not real note-worthy" and the head died too quick for his taste.  Omar don't take no shit off'a no beer.

Maybe he's right.  I was looking forward to trashing a farmhouse saison, but,with this one, I can't.  For a traditionally big beer, this is pretty small, so there isn't much to get worked up about.  It's like the beer is teasing me or trying to lure me in.  This beer is a trap!

OK, the movies say that the first step in avoiding a trap is knowing it exists.  I gotta tread carefully with this beer.  First I'll establish trust and diffuse the situation with my smarm.  Wow! What a boffo beer!  I really like it.  It isn't wimpy or a shameful representation of its pedigree at all.  Next, I'll distract it.  Look over there! It's Batman... and he's got a great pair of tits!  Finally, the for the home stretch, I'll make sure it can never trap anyone else ever again.  By drinking it.

That's the funny thing about trying new beers: you're taking a big risk.  Maybe you'll get lucky and have a fantastic new brew to slug down, or maybe the beer will be a depraved bottle of pure evil.  You can't know until you try.

This is why beer-drinking is the greatest and most dangerous of all adventures.  Mountain climbers know how their mountain is shaped and can plan their routes.  Explorers can study maps and encyclopedias for months before ever leaving their living rooms.  Astronauts have teams of great minds planning for every possible problem they might encounter.  But we beer drinkers, we hoppy few, we fans of brewers, we are the only true adventurers left.  What starts out as payment for murdering vegetables can eventually become a deceitful bottle of sweet malty lies.  Could NASA's wizards have foretold that?

Meanwhile, we sober on.  One bottle to the next.  We are adventurers, we are farmers, we are drinkers, one and all.

Strange Land Brewery Atholl Brose Scotch Ale

Well, holy shit, that's a good beer.  It's sweet and malty.  It chews back at you like you were making out with a starving hyena.  It comes in a big damn bottle, so there's plenty more.  Nice friggin' work, whoever-the-hell Strange Land Brewery is!

OK, so look at this picture over here.  Burn the label art into your memory banks, hard drives, cloud servers, and gelatinous meat-brains.  Now go buy some.  Then drink it.

Assuming you followed my instructions, you are now a much happier person.  A happier person who is currently enjoying a bouquet of fancy flavors like fresh bread, sweet honey, caramel, raisins, and fuckin' good beer.

Here are a few fact about this beer and how much I give damn about each of them: my bottle came from batch #2 (I don't give a shit), it is bottle conditioned (more fun than being gassed, but I don't care), it derives its name from a whiskey which derives its name from when the Earl of Atholl poisoned a well (OK, I actually think that is pretty cool, but it has nothing to do with enjoying this beer), it registers a fancy 16 IBUs (part of my brain just hanged itself out of boredom), 8.9% ABV (good to know, but not impressive enough of a number to make me care), and it says it is "hand crafted" (... just fuck that guy, to whoever spawned that bullshit phrase).  I hope you learned something about this beer from those facts, and I hope you learned something about skipping the trivia and just drinking the damn beer, too.  Drinking beer is a good thing, maybe the best of things.

I'm two glasses into this beast of a 22oz bottle, and the going is getting rough.  Sure, I've had four beer earlier today, but not within the last hour.  Yes, I ate a big tasty cheeseburger and fries for dinner.  Certainly I'm feeling shooting pains down my arm.  Dammit, I'm short of breath.  And, of course, I'm dizzy and nauseous.  But, none of that is important right now.  The most important thing right now is to keep drinking my tasty tasty beer. It is a struggle, but I'll stiffen my lip, gird my loins, stand up straight, clutch my chest, and soldier right on down to the bottom of this glass!  It's gonna be a long trip though.

As good as this beer is, and despite my normal position that a good beer should be horded, this would be a great bottle to share with a friend.  You'll both have plenty of tasty drinky-booze but not enough to land you in the cardiac wing.  It would be great shared between two people on a comfy couch watching some baaaaad asssssss blacksploitation cinema or a grainy kung-fu, Shaw Brothers epic.  Try it, you'll see.

This beer has balls, but it also has class.  If you've been jonesing to swallow some classy balls then this is just the thing for you.  So, go on, get out of here.  Have some fun.  Drink too much.  Take a cab to the bedroom and watch the world spin.  Do me a favor, though: when you're drunk and talking too loud, don't turn to a stranger near you and slur loudly, "Atholl Brose".  I like your nose just fine the way it is now.

Big Bend Hefeweizen

Outdoor drinking has two very important components: booze and dedication. You need the booze to have something to drink, obviously. But you need the dedication to get you through the compromises you will need to make.

I have chosen Big Bend Hefeweizen as my booze today. It looked light, flavorful, refreshing, and thoroughly Texan. Also, I thought it might make for a decent supplemental beer blog. It's 5.5% ABV, comes in a pleasing looking can, and spews some "Hurray! Texas!" crap that is always fun to read. It's chewier and creamier than I thought it would be (or should be), but has an overall pleasing taste. If they'd called it a cream ale I would have no complaints. But in general, I'm happy to drink it. Outdoors. Because I have dedication, dammit!

The compromises of outdoor drinking are serious. How much comfort are you willing to sacrifice? Can you carry as much as you want to drink? How warm is cold enough for your booze? What is your plan when you have to pee? Can you deal with sunscreen sweat mixing with your drink? Ants? Fucking Ants?! You'll almost certainly need non-booze hydration, and that's going to affect your hard-earned buzz. I don't know what your limits are, but here is how I packed to go to Blues On the Green with a few other folks:

1 large insulated shopping bag 1 smaller insulated shopping bag
1 pocket sunscreen
1 collapsible chair and carry bag
1 bag lime ranch chips
6 pack Big Bend Hefeweizen
6 pack diet Dr. Pepper (beer calories only)
500 ml Rex-Goliath box chardonnay
1 liter bottle water
1 extra bag for empties and other trash

The chilled liquids go in the smaller bag, which Russian nesting-dolls into the larger bag along with the chips. No ice! Not only would ice add weight, but would also result in needing to dry out my grocery bags once the condensation puddles. The pocket sunscreen goes in a pocket. One bag and one folding chair are portable enough to get me to a shady spot comfortably, even with cane taking up my other hand. The chair folds out. The shoes come off. A beer is cracked. Sunscreen if you're pale. And begin.

Buffalo Bayou Brewing Co., 1836 A Copper Ale

"If you have to ask what 1836 stands for, please put down this beer and leave our country."

This Houstonian beer has a request.  You probably read what that request is.  I wrote it down, in bold and italics, centered, as the first line of this week's beer blog.  It's right up there at the top.  Go read it again.

So, what does 1836 stand for?  If you aren't sure, don't know, or know exactly what the fuck it stands for, then you are probably right.  I looked it up*.  Let me just say this: whatever you think or don't know at all, more than one thing happened that year.

I'll go into details at the end of the blog, but first, let's all raise a glass to the hopes of one day razing Houston (the city that shares a slogan with Bruges) to the ground.  If you toasted that disgusting swamp with this 1836, then you already know that you are holding 12oz of 5.7% ABV of "handcrafted" (whatever that means) ale from the good people at Buffalo Bayou Brewing Co.  And you also know that it isn't half bad.

This is a very clean beer.  While mostly balanced, and certainly with a solid malty chewiness, the flavor finishes towards a slightly citrus-y and mildly bitter hoppiness.  There are no frills, no bells or whistles.  Excitement and exceptionalism aren't the point of this beer.  This a beer for a beer drinker, and the aficionados can go to hell.  I'd drink this in a bar with my friends, and I'd be having a good time doing it.

One glass in, and no signs of slowing down.  I was worried the malt might get heavy, or the hop finish might turn my sour stomach, but, no.  I think I need a six of this in the fridge.  I'm glad that I'm drinking this Hoth-cold.  It seems right.  I don't think this a beer that would still work as it warms up.

Hey!  Ben Mallott's Shotgun Suzy just came on, and it might be just the perfect pace and tone to fully enjoy the 1836.  Go find it**, crack a can, pour, sit, sip, and listen.  I think you'll agree that your life is now a slight, but important bit better.  See if your local beer DJ can't hook you up.

But, back to the elephant on the label: 1836.  Did you think of the Alamo?  How about Texas independence from Mexico (because fuck you, Mexico, with your sovereignty and slaveless-ness)?  Did you perhaps conjure images of Charles Darwin and the Beagle returning to Englad?  Well, I don't know what this can was thinking specifically, but it has an old-time-y looking map and a fringed-sleeved arm lofting a rifle, so probably either the Alamo or Texas independence.  For the sake of shitting in Buffalo Bayou's breakfast cereal (for the crime of lacking specificity), here is a short list of some of the notable events of 1836:

Jan 5th - Davy Crockett arrives in Texas, just in time for the Alamo
Feb 23rd - Alamo besieged for 13 days until 6th March by Mexican army under General Santa Anna; entire garrison eventually killed
Feb 25th - Samuel Colt patents 1st revolving barrel multishot firearm
Mar 2nd - Republic of Texas declares independence from Mexico in Columbia
Mar 5th - Samuel Colt manufactures 1st pistol, 34-caliber "Texas" model
Mar 6th - Battle of the Alamo: after 13 days of fighting 1,500-3,000 Mexicans overwhelm the Texans at the Alamo, killing 182-257 Texans including William Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett
Mar 16th - Texas approves a constitution
Mar 17th - Texas abolishes slavery
Apr 14th - Congress forms Territory of Wisconsin
Apr 20th - Territory of Wisconsin created
Apr 21st - Battle of San Jacinto, in which Texas wins independence from Mexico
Jun 15th - Arkansas becomes 25th state of the Union
Jul 4th - Wisconsin Territory forms
Aug 30th - The city of Houston is founded by Augustus Chapman Allen and John Kirby Allen
Sep 5th - Sam Houston elected president of Republic of Texas
Oct 2nd - Darwin returns to England aboard HMS Beagle (after 5 years)
Oct 22nd - Sam Houston inaugurated as 1st elected pres of Republic of Texas
Dec 7th - Martin Van Buren elected 8th president
Dec 14th - The Toledo War unofficially ends.
Dec 28th - Spain recognizes independence of Mexico
Dec 30th - Lehman Theater in St Petersburg catches fire; 100s die

Did you guess right?  Do you have to put down your beer and leave the country?  Either way, Houston sucks and you don't have to do anything they tell you to.  But do try the beer because I tell you to.  S'good beer.

*Googled it

**https://youtu.be/h1JMp0_Yjvs This is not the best recording, so go buy the album you pirate!

Magic Hat Stealin' Time Summer Wheat while watching Alien3

What happens when you combine Magic Hat's Stealin' Time summer wheat ale with a few hours watching Aline3?

It wasn't the best Alien movie.  It isn't the best beer.  But I have an evening to myself and nothing to do but write about beer.  So, I started the movie and cracked my first beer.

The beer was cold when Newt and Hicks died.  By the time Ripley woke up and the dog was clearly going to be in trouble, the bottle had started to sweat.  When the bodies started dropping the crispness of the cold wheat beer was cutting through the heavy handed set designs and color palettes, No beer will ever be enjoyable when a dog is killed (theatrical or not, that was a cute rottweiler).  And by the cafeteria scene I was on beer number 2.

Like I said, this isn't the best beer ever, but it is a good beer.  Pretty much everything Magic Hat puts out is good.  They do some excellent work and keep up a fun and light-hearted corporate nature.  This particular beer is a quality wheat beer.  Do you like wheat beer? If so, you'll like this one just fine.  You won't write home about it.  You won't taste the  tears of god in it.  You certainly won't need a change of pants after drinking it.  But, you'll like it just fine.

And similarly, the movie sure ain't getting a 100% on Rotten Tomatoes (it has a 44%).  The plot is half-assed and regurgitated.  Two thirds of the cast the fans wanted died before the opening credits rolled.  People keep on making fucking speeches and speeches and more goddam speeches. The only real saving grace for the cast that is in this movie is that most of them die horribly.  But, there are some decent performances.  The set design and photography is pretty good.  The whole thing would make a great Doctor Who episode (with barely any rewrites needed, just a few name changes).  Alien3, for all its many faults isn't totally without merit or entertainment value.

You know, by beer three, it's really easy to get into this flick.  I care about how viciously the xenomorph will demolish this prisoners.  And now that the company men are on scene, I want to down this beer to make sure I have a very cold, very crisp beer for when they get theirs'.  Oh, how I hope they get theirs'.

Beer says "F' yeah! Bishop!"  But, human Bishop is bad.  He's a bad bad man.  Magic Hat and Ripley don't trust human Bishop.  Aw, snap!  Human Bishop is a dirty company-man, a repulsive

hold on, need a new beer...

Anyway, he's a shit and Ripley just Terminator 2'd herself.  Perfect form too.  So, yeah... fluff Weyland/Yutani and their bio-weapons division.  And, fluff me, I drank a few beers and have to pee.

That movie mostly sucked, but the beer was mostly good.  I'm going to rename this beer Wastin' Time, because "stealin'", my ass.  This is a time wastin' beer.  I'm glad I wasted time with it, and you will be too.  Go for the 6-pack.

Saint Arnold Brewing Co., Icon Amarillo Hefe

Hey! You want a nice clean and pleasant beer?  Then go grab the hell out of this Icon Amarillo Hefe.  It's like drinking a beer flavored air conditioner, and who hasn't dreamed of doing that?

This bottle of cool beauty has a number of things going for it.  First off, the label is slick as shit.  Matte black with green foil, damn.  Secondly, there is some stupid shit printed on the under-side of the cap.  I think it said, "What's cooking?" or "What's brewing?" or some dumb shit, but, still, it's fun to find a little bottle cap note.  Third, it tastes great.  It was more fun to drink it out of a glass but the same taste-joy can be achieved straight from the bottle (if pretentiousness isn't your thing).  Finally, and this is in many ways a generic claim, if you say "Diet" before "Amarillo Hefe" is has fewer calories.  That last one is a lie, but it is totally true.  I'm digging this beer.

Seriously.  Look at that beautiful bottle.  So dark, so mysterious, so full of promise.  Often a good looking bottle is just a last ditch effort to make a bad beer more marketable (I'm looking at you, Shiner Blonde).  But they just did this beer up proper, soup to nuts.

It has this rich malty flavor, with a nice chewiness, without being overly heavy, and maintaining a light but layered flavor.  It smells a bit like summer, but the hops just sings harmony.  It's like they wanted to step back from the trend of going balls-out in one direction or the other, malty or hoppy, and really put in the effort to make a balanced beer, a good beer.  Who knew Houston could produce anything but horrible shit?

Houston, which has taken to much precious from us all and returned nothing but filth and hate, has finally produced something the rest of the world can approve of, or, dare I say, can even like.  All it took to begin to redeem Houston was Amarillo.

Drink the beer.  You'll enjoy it.  Or, if you don't enjoy it, you are un-American, and the ghost of Senator McCarthy will wait for you under your bed.

No Label Brewing Co., Forbidden Lavender

Ain't it cute when the Grim Reaper sneaks some plants into your beer?  That is the surface of the question posed by the label art on this interesting bottle from No Label Brewing Co. in Katy, TX.  I'll gloss over the part where there clearly is a label, and just point out what seems very odd about it.


You can see at first glance, it's not so bad.  Actually, it's sort of a pleasant label, good fonts, nice pleasing colors, mostly legible.  It has a femininity to the art and an overall curious appeal.  So, you buy it, take it home, chill it, and eventually pour yourself a glass.  But while you're pouring this refreshing beverage, you give the bottle a little twist.  The lines draw your eye to the right, following that strange curve to its terminus.  And then what the fluffy hell are you looking at?  It's the goddam Grim Reaper seemingly stuffing flowers in your beer.  Or is it?  Scratch that surface even a tiny bit, and what you've got there is a picture of the Grim Reaper stroking his bone and jizzing all over the name of the beer.

Go look for yourself.  I'll wait.

You see that shit?  What the hell, No Label Brewing Co.?  Was this lable worth abandoning what is clearly the basic conceit of your brewery?

And look at that smirk on Grimmy... He knows.  He knows you're looking.  He knows what you see.  And he loves it.  Now that he caught you staring, he's going to "finish the whole bottle," if you get my meaning.  What a perv.

Surprisingly, the Jizz Beer of Death is pretty good.  Maybe long-holing those stems is a great way to pack some flavor into a beer.  The methods are clearly questionable, but the results are great.

The label describes it as a "wit style ale brewed with lavender," which doesn't really describe what's going on here, flavor-wise.  The fist thing to hit you is the smell, light, but defined lavender (slightly on the soapy side).  Next the flavors of sweet malt, herb-y lavender, and maybe even a bit earthy on the finish all float across the palate on little happy bubbles.  It's good.  I like it.  Be warned, though: this is definitely a chick beer.  This is even more of a chick beer than Dos Equis, which is the very definition of a chick beer.

My plan is to one day buy another bottle of this Forbidden Lavender, chill it good and cold in the far-far-Narnia-back of the fridge where no one will ever see it, turn out all the lights, and pour my beer into my chilled glass under cover of darkness, sneak into my waiting pillow fort and enjoy another one of these beer as quietly as possible.  You can join me, if you don't tell nobody, OK.

Monchshof Kellerbier

If there is one thing that understands me, it is German lagers.  Which is good, 'cause I sure as hell don't understand them.  I mean, what the fluff does "Kellerbier" even mean?  Does anyone even know?  It's just a random collection of letters, like "Monchshof" and "German."  One thing I do know about German lagers is this: I like 'em.  They taste like good beer.  If I had to die tomorrow I'd want to go out drinking German Lagers, rolling nude in my Skittles pool, spoiled nasty from a lifetime of riches and excess, and surrounded by my spurned and disowned loved ones.

Did you know that the Germans are legally barred from putting any weird shit in their beer?  It's true.  I read about it on the interwebs (those things you are on now)!  The Germans, I believe, hate both weird (non-sex related) shit and bad beers, and I show my approval by drinking their good beers to excess.

Monchshof Kellerbier, from Kulmbacher Brauerei,  is some tasty (non-sex related) beer.  There is a malty perfection, and smoothness of smokey beer liquid in my face.  It has a good body and nice legs.  Not so much by way of tits.  Two out of three, though...  Yup, good beer.

I'd like to wax poetic and ramble on about it if I wasn't so busy drinking.  So, clearly, good beer.  Drink this beer.

The Wild Beer Co., Somerset Saison

My beer, it's looking at you.  My beer is angry with you.  Look at those beerfull eyes, feel the heat.  The label says, "Crisp + Zesty + Spicy," but those eye say something far more menacing.  They say, "Woodland hate."

Somerset Saison, no more.  I rename this beer Woodland Hate, and you are only allowed to drink it after you win a staring contest with it.  Let me tell you a story.

Passing through the aisles at my local, my mind roaming innocently, I felt an intense burning on the back of my neck.  It was just as if some demon's cloven claw-fang snagged on my soul and killed everything I ever loved.  I turned and bravely met the cold gaze of my spiritual assassin.  The hart and I were locked in combat, our wills pressing at the boundaries of each other existence.  BANG!  My hand, faster than reflection, peeled through the onion skins of time and experience, to wrap itself around the beast's neck.  Freed from the ice cave that gave it power and persistence, we fought to the death, and victory was mine.  I possessed my demon and brought it home.

The hart of the Woodland Hate bubbled and foamed an anger that lasted.  Its golden pelt settled into the cage I made for it.  Then I consumed it.  It tasted wild at first, sour, but when we understood each other the rage died as quickly as it had first frothed over.  I was left bitter.  Maybe the disappointment I felt was the curse those eyes whispered to me when I first walked past.

Basically, this beer is jut OK, if you like saisons.  There is also a cool illustration on the label.