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.
