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.

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.

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

Moa Imperial Stout

Moa Imperial Stout has an impressive bottle.  Damn thing has a champaigne cork for some reason, and black on dark brown labelling with bright yellow accents.  Like Dexter to a killer, once I saw this guy, I had to have him.  The look caught my eye, and the details sealed the deal.  This is from a New Zealand brewery, Moa Brewing Co., and is aged in pinot noir barrels.  It is bottle fermented and conditioned, so I assume the barrel aging happens first.  Or maybe they are just stuffing the full bottles into barrels.  Oh, also the bottle has an embossed emu on the neck.  Drink the bird!!

So, let's start with the dirty details: Moa Imperial Stout, from the Moa Brewing Company, LTD., Marlborough, New Zealand. 12oz, 10.2 ABV, very dark brown, not much head to speak of (which makes the champaine cork pretty pointless).

The label brags about a few Asian and Australian medals, and it certainly looks like a winner.  Looks were clearly a priority with this bottle.  New Zealand must have some well lit drinking holes, though, because with anything less than bright lights, this beer looks like it is called "Imperial Stout" and won some awards.  A different aproach, but different can be good.

I pull the cork, I pour a glass, and I take a sip.  The expectations for an imperial stout are for something thick, rich, malty, boozy, and a little metallic at the end.  Moa checks all those boxes right off the bat, in all the best ways.  There is another layer, of course.  The label says it right up front, pinot noir barrels.  It is there, in the beer, waiting patiently for me.  I'm going to change my relationship status on facebook to "complicated".  So, I pour a second glass and put on my tasting face.  It smells a bit like pennies in soy sauce, just a bit, with vapors of alcohol, yeast, and carbonation.  The first taste is thickness, then a wave of acidity, malt, yeast, sweet and bitter all in a row, finally lingering on the soft palate and dissipating on the back of the tongue.  Oz Clarke says to taste hops in beer on the burp, but he posesses senses vastly beyond mine (I wonder what I have been missing out on).  When I give this a burp taste, I just remember lunch.  A stout rarely talks about it's hops much anyway.  Maybe silence is Golden (get it?).  I tried a sip from a bottle of pinot noir I haven't yet finished, and, sadly, I don't taste it.  I get the wine barrel tones, more subtle and sweet than whiskey barrels or the like.  All the same, I would never be able to Sherlock my way backwards from a sip to the pinot.  I enjoy this beer more as an imperial stout than as a wine barrel aged imperial stout.

Moa makes a pretty fine stout, from the first look to the last sip, a real pleasure.  If you come across a bottle, drink it.  It is familiar and a bit surprising, but mostly it is tasty.  I don't know about beer culture in New Zealand (tiny hobbit pubs, I hope), but, if this is any indication, NZ must be a great place to get sloshed.