Drinking with Claire

Claire was in town(!), so we went out for beer.  She said, "You're the expert: you pick a place.  Surprise me."

So I did.  I chose.  I kept it to myself.  And I drove her to 6th Street.

My plan was Easy Tiger, but Claire, historically, has little faith in my choices; so when she saw a lonely sign pointing to "Pub," we followed the arrow to the Waller Creek Pub House.

I had the "Mr. Pineapple."  That's -- Mr. Pineapple -- to you.

Mr. Pineapple is a low-ABV, wheat beer "infused" with fresh pineapple; but more to the point, Mr. Pineapple is fruit juice.

I tell Claire it is a girly beer. She doesn't like the sound of that and winces at my "lazy, gender-driven description."  But what Claire misses, in her ever-vigilant feminism, is that, for this beer, I'm happy to be a big girl.

Let's take a step back.  Just to be clear: Mr. Pineapple is not beer.
Mr. Pineapple is a Caribbean fantasy.  It is a wimpy, boat-drink -- meaning, its low alcohol content is perfect for peeing-out in the ocean while snorkeling.

I like it.

I ask Claire her thoughts.  She says, "It tastes like bananas."  She is incorrect.  It tastes like a boozy pineapple -- Mr. Pineapple, that is.

I recommend this beer.  More specifically, I recommend this beer to flip-flop wearing, sandy-toed, day dreamers who find themselves side-stepping discarded gum and soggy cigarette butts on 6th Street.  Sorry folks, I feel for you.

Next up is the Squatters Outer Darkness because -- what a name!

Squatters is a Russian imperial stout from Outer Darkness Brewery that, on first sip, tastes a lot like Sriracha.  (I had just eaten half a plate of fries drenched in mayo and Sriracha -- was fun, but mostly gross.)

Of the beer, Claire says, "It tastes like it got stuck in the toaster too long."
(She had the fries, too, by the way.)

After washing down the fries with a (mediocre-at-best) bacon-lettuce-tomato-avocado-mostly bread sandwich, we take another sip.

This time it is toasty and dark, like it has something to hide.  Chocolatey smooth and just a bit nasty - this beer is Ursa Kitt from Batman meets Faith from Buffy.

Claire is grossed out that I sexualize beers.  Claire doesn't understand beer.

People of the world: drink this sexy beer.

I forgot to take a picture of the beer, so you
can have a picture of my fat, lazy dog instead.

The last beer is unpronounceable: BFM La Saison (square root of) 225.

The bartender says, "La Saison is..." -- I tuned out -- some kind of anniversary thing or some other thing.  I dunno.  Whatever.
It's a beer.  It's a sour beer.  it ain't the most sour ever, but it's still Saison-y.

Since Claire is new to sour beers, I guide her with a few taste prompts:
Malt Vinegar?  "No."
(Why is she so terse sometimes?)
Salad?  "You are incorrect."
(I have no idea what she means by that.)

Claire usually has opinions, so I give her time.

Here's what she finally says about BFM La Saison (squa... fuck it, 15)

"This beer tastes like defeat... or resignation... probably more like resignation."

I do believe my friend thought she was being helpfully descriptive, even as her elbows slid out under the weight of her head, and she turned into a human puddle of defeat right there on the counter.  But -- I'm sorry -- are we not being a bit depressive and existential about beer right now?! And so early in the evening too.

Buck up, Claire, you goddam buzzkill.
Let's blow this joint.

Next stop: Easy Tiger
Claire: "Wow! This place is cool.  Why didn't we come here first?"

Asshole.

*This post has been viciously edited and brutally reworded by Claire, who cares deeply about where commas are supposed to go and other shit like that.

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.

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.

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.

NBBCo Mexican Cannon

I smell like bug spray, sweat, and sunshine.  The temperature is a brisk 91. I've got a special Mariachi Puro radio playlist on the speakers.  The lawn is mowed, and it is time for the second installment of post lawn mowing beer reviews.

In honor of Omar's love of Texas history, his current absence from the city, and how he can't drink booze while he's on some meds, I have chosen New Braunfels Brewing Co.'s Mexico Cannon, a "hand made wheat ale."  It was brewed in honor of a cannon given to the colony of Gonzales blah, blah, blah, some other stuff, blah... beer.  Omar does that history shit.  I focus on drinking beer.

I've set the scene for you, so now I take a sip, aaannnnnd... this beer is horrible.  It sucks on a Dyson cyclone technology level.

Have you ever received a present that looks super cool in the wrapping, but when you open it, is really just a punch in the balls?  It is an overrated experience, and best avoided.  But if you're looking for the thrill, this beer is for you.

The label talks about a "briskly sour [taste] with a puckeringly salty lime punch [in the balls]."  It tastes like I dropped my rancid margarita in the gulf, tried to scoop it back into my glass, then took leave of my reason and drank it.  When I read the label at the shop, I thought it could be good.  I still think the idea is sound, but holy hell, this is aweful.  This beer has tainted my post-mow beer ritual.

A part of life's beauty is now dead.

On principle, I'm going to finish this wretched bottle of salty malted shit.  Afterwords, I'll probably have to blow a ship-full of sailors just to get this horrible taste out of my mouth.  I like to think the worst that can happen if I try a bad beer is that I have a beer, which ain't so bad.  After this bad beer, however, I will have to re-mow my lawn just so I can drink a decent post-mow beer.  That may seem extreme, but this beer is seriously terrible.  Now I have to get the lawn mower back out and hope to hell that I have a modelo in the fridge.

Les Fleurs Du Mal

Les Fleurs Du Mal (The flowers of Evil)

What a name!  And its got skulls on it, and a scribbly pen kind of text, and crappy flower drawings, and "evil"!   Ooooooh... Stick a fork in me.  Make it a pitchfork.  Taking this guy off the shelf was a no-brainer, it looks way cool.  So, who wants to try a "saur" beer?  

Les Fleurs Du Mal, from New Braunfels Brewing Company.  16.9 oz, 5.74%ABV.  Honey-straw in color with a pleasing but brief head. Hefenweizen? Saur ale?  Saur wheat ale?  I dunno, s'beer I think.

I love the name of this beer.  The design of the label is pretty kick-ass, too.  Tucked up on the left edge of the label it says, "sans cesse a mes cotes s'agite le demon" or, according to Google translate, "always by my side stirs the demon."  Then, like I said, about the skulls and inky pen letters, and half-assed flowers, it is mostly good good stuff.  Even the company logo is pretty spiffy.  But they ruin it with some bull-shit text about good and evil, and why they put lemongrass in the beer.  I read it, and now I am questioning the way I decide to spend my time.  I won't write it out, but it's crap (there is a picture at the bottom, but don't look at it).  Also, it has some weird capitalization choices going on.  I've spent some time looking at it now, and all I can see is that stupid blah-blah crap now.

For context, New Braunfels is a dull town.  Once a year they have an out-of-this-world pork chop on a stick, but the rest of the time, its is just a bathroom-stop on the way somewhere better.  So, I can understand if they were bored and thought no one would notice the vomit-stain of text on part of the label.  Still, though... what a way to ruin an otherwise terrific label.  I'm not trying to insult New Braunfelians, mind you.  Those people know they live in a shit-hole tourist trap.  Power to 'em, I say.  I'll even grant you they have some very accommodating bathrooms located right off the highway.  All the same, making poor decisions about where to live does not excuse polluting an otherwise solid beer label with that crap.  

The beer, though... the beer is surprisingly drinkable.  I'm not usually a fan of the sour beers, but kudos to those guys.  Sip one was a bit of a punch, but this stuff grows on you super quick.  It has this kind of floral sweet/tart thing going.  There is very little of what I usually go for in a beer to be found in this bottle, but, damn, I really like it.  It isn't so much a contemplative beer as it is a fantastic beer for just tasting.  It makes you want to be a snotty-snot and start talking about hints of this and notes of that.  I'm feeling excited to get to glass 2, and I can't even blame the wimpy ABV.  Still, as much as I am enjoying this, I think I might enjoy it more if I was illiterate.  I really hate that stupid text block.  I should keep drinking and see what happens.

Glass 2 and the snotty-snot tasting time.  First the smells: a big sour tinge, just after the sour comes a mildly floral balsamic vinegar, then a bit of that lemongrass they ham-fistedly mentioned.  Now the taste: cool and tingly bubbles become dried apricots and sour cherry, then a wave of vinegar, all while honey sits Fonzie-esque in the back and just hints at its presence.  All of this happens in a field of summer wild flowers while eating a caprese salad.  I know that right now, you and I both kind of want to punch me in the face for saying that, but try the beer.  It could make a lousy poet out of anyone.  The overall effect of a sip of this beer is an electrical storm on a sunny day.  Maybe that is why they throw out all this "evil" and flowers with skulls.  It makes a kind of sense.

I gave this brewery a lot of crap about their label and about being from New Braunfels, but, to be fair, they deserved it.  However, they have made a really good beer.  It is a saur that I could drink a six pack of (if it comes in six packs).  The last time I had a saur beer I would have liked to kill it with fire, also the saur before that, and the one before that too.  Me and this beer, thought, we're friends.  Despite our many faults we like each other and get along great.  Way to brew New Braunfels!  I wonder if they would let me visit the brewery?  I bet their bathroom is great.