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.

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'!

Real ale Baltic porter

A quick drop of insight.
This Real Ale Baltic Porter served at the Alamo Draft House Lakeline bar is tasty, malty, bitter, and dribbles down my chin like a drunk fisherman.
And now you know.

A Birthday Beer Bonanza

It is important to start off your birthday with a bit of your favorite booze.  I started with a sip of the Bruichladdich favorite, the Classic Laddie.  My scotch was the perfect start to what would turn out to be a fantastic birthday.  I would try many new beers, enjoy a day out-doors, drink and eat with my friends, overindulge appropriately, and really roll around in the one day a year that I don't have any responsibilities or cares.

One very important element in a carefree day is to get someone else to drive.  As luck would have it, I have a very good friend who was willing to haul my ass around all day.  Diego is good like that, and we set out for Jester King Brewery just before noon.  I don't know if you've ever been, but I'll assume you have.  Do you remember how the traffic was oddly terrible driving out there?  No changes to that yet.  One minute you're in heavy traffic, then less so, rinse and repeat.  The brewery is still way the hell out there, and traffic is the only real point of interest on the drive.

The place opens at noon, and by the time we got there at 12:40 it was already packed.  They waved us to the overflow parking field where we got to look in to one of the greatest mysteries of all time.  Take a look at the picture below:

That is a big nearly empty field.  So nearly empty it could be passed off as a mere overflow parking area.  But, is it?  No, that thingy in the middle:

This thingy...

Vent for a nuclear silo/fat-cat bunker.  Sure, they dressed it down to keep the riff raff away, but we know.  We know.  When the bombs start falling, this field is destination #1 to watch our mighty retaliation fly and then duck and cover.  It is just that kind of advanced observation and comprehension skills that earned me the nickname "The Sherlock of the South."  It's true.  Ask anyone.

But onto the brewerying, and the satellite bars of many joys.  When you, for your birthday, go out to Jester King, don't get roped into the disturbingly long and slow line for the pizza/beer bar like we did.  Well, like Diego did.  I'm a cripple.  I got's privileges, yo. I camped, lump-like, at one of the many picnic table in the main beer hall, while Diego double-kneed it through the line to get us started.  You will not be so gullible.  You will head straight for the quietly pleasant...

Where the beer flows like beer.

Diego slogged through the line, Atreyu-like, suffering the loss of his own personal Artax (dignity), and my first wish was granted.  I named it

Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ale: Oro de Calabaza

From Dexter, MI

8% ABV

Biere de Garde (French for "Fancy Pants")

This beer had every chance to suck completely.  I has a pompous name.  It is French-sounding.  It is available in half-pints.  All the red flags of snob-brew.  The first thing you taste is the distinctive sourness, then the hops do a little dance, you make a face, did someone see your sour face, but, the catch is, you kind of like it.  The next sip is better still.  I would call this a mildly challenging beer.  By the bottom of the glass I was pretty into it.  But I knew I wasn't going back for seconds.

We sat.  We talked.  We saw twin albino kids playing in the sun without hats on.  An Asian child (with a hat on) made a break for the parking lot when his mother wasn't looking.  Several usurpers were celebrating their birthdays there too.  Imitation is the least profitable form of flattery.  It was my turn to buy the beer.

Clever me, I hobbled attractively to the Pasture Bar, with its short line.  The dice were rolled on a stout.

Prairie Artisan Ales: Limo Tint

From Krebs, OK

5.65% ABV

Milk/Sweet Stout

"What is life without challenge?  What value is success without struggle?"

~said the gimp carrying two beers~

The Limo ain't half bad.  Dark, cold, and smooth with a milky and velvety follow through.  But, a bit thin for my tastes.  Diego found it to be like a porter, but a lot thinner and very carbonated.

Towards the bottom of the Limo Tint, Thomas, Katie, and the wee-baby Thor rolled in.  So did our pizza coincidentally.  It was a tasty combo of tomatoes, arugula, and bacon.  Very yum.  The crust was just the right kind of chewy.  The kind that makes you ask:

"Chewy, is that you?"

~J. Dodson (Superfly)

After a lifetime of sexual deviance, Thomas can no longer eat a pizza.  Katie joined us for a slice while Thomas braved the line, returning with garlic knots and another beer.

Revolver Brewing: Blood and Honey

From Granbury, TX

7% ABV

Pale Wheat Ale

It is very possible my experience with this beer was unduly influence by uninspired dish-washing, because my first thought on putting this one in my face was, "soap."  After the soap, there was a light malt, then light and sweet orange and coriander flavors.  This is a very drinkable beer.  Easy to find around town, and pretty enjoyable.  Also, it has a kick-ass name.  It doesn't have much of a "wow" factor.  Does that matter?  I'd drink this again any time.  Not sure that I'd buy a six pack for the house, though.

The scene was set for the cake that Diego had bought and inscribed with friendly sentiment.  We had painstakingly smuggled in this beast of a confection past the watchful "No outside food or beverages" sign.  Yep, we bad!

I went back for another stout.  With family, music and and beer, I play favorites.  And me and stout, we got history enough for favorites.  Stouts first opened my eyes to the world of beer beyond wimpy, down-stream lagers.  It was the search for an elusive stout that lead me to home brewing.  They are my go-to brew.  At the bar I had seen an impressive name:

 Bear Republic Brewing Co.: Big Bear Black Stout

From Healdsburg, CA

8.1% ABV

Imperial Stout

As you can see, this is an impressive looking brew, like a mason jar of espresso with a kiss of creme.  And that name, Big Bear Black Stout, it wears that name like it was a lumberjack's codpiece (plaid flannel, with the sleeves rolled up).  The flavors are fundamental, malt, chocolate, coffee, and *goddamit* soap again.  But it is all sound and fury.  This beer doesn't deliver on the in-your-face big flavor the name implies.  Diego summed it up as run of the mill, was certain he could take it in a fight, and renamed it "Sickly Cub."  

Around this beer, Team Reidy threw in the spit-up towel.  I eventually found the can with its unforgivable man-trough, and later we captured an escaped chihuahua. Diego and I eventually packed up the table and headed for one of the other satellite bars.  The one with the barrel aged beers.  

Jester King: Coquetier

From Austin, TX

7.5% ABV

Brandy Barrel Aged Farmhouse Ale with Cubeb, Anise, and Lemon

At this point, my jotted-down notes become a little unclear, so I will quote the full text of what I have for this beer.

"coquetier

-puppy dog drink = diego

-sour, zesty, cirtus [sic], sour, omar in belton, lemon (citrus)"

Make of that what you will, but I think I means I was really enjoying myself.  I didn't finish, and didn't want to finish this beer.  It would have been a very long trip from the top to the bottom and I didn't have the heart for it.  I enjoyed drinking what I did drink of this beer, but don't remember liking it.

It was time to leave.  I needed leeks and onions for a soup, so we thought we might go by Central Market and have a beer and a nosh while we grabbed my groceries.  We ate our snacks and drank our beer.  We watched the people as they went about their day, we sat, and we talked.  I had a bottle of Lone  Star, so, for those of you who are interested:

Afterwords we hung out at the house for a while.  We might have watched some TV.  Omar eventually joined us.  And then, I made soup.

 Happy Birthday, me.

Moylan's Chelsea Moylan's Porter

I like porter! Porter, porter, porter!  Let's all raise a glass to porter, and then you all shut up while I drink.

I came across this big-ass bottle of porter with its fancy celtic-y knot, a fun little blurb about how those Dublin brewers gave up the "Porter Style" in the mid 1970's, and what the Californians decided to do about it, at my favorite beer store (45th and Duval, behind the flags).  So you don't have to trouble yourselves, the surprise ending is that they brewed porter in California.  It was a great idea.

Moylan's Chelsea Moylan's Porter from Moylan's Brewing Company, Novato, CA.  5% ABV, 1 pint 6 fl.oz. Porter-dark, porter-rich, porter-malty, no porter head. Porter, porter, porter!  If I keep saying it, eventually someone will help me with my bags.

This bottle makes some promises.  I choose to ignore the "Love~Loyalty~Friendship" promise, because all booze promises that, and I've learned to ignore things like the World Beer Championship Gold medal from 2009.  The promise that shows the most promise was the espresso coffee and bitter-sweet chocolate malt flavors.  Who wouldn't want to drink a bar of that?  Having tried the beer, I can say with certainty that the choco/coffee is a "yes", the beer championship is a "who cares", and the feel-good crap doesn't seem to be working, although I am more handsome and a better dancer.

What I like best about porters (and stouts) is that super-big malt and layers of rich flavors.  It's like bobbing for apples in a tub of chocolate followed by a nice cup of coffee.  We've all done it, we like it, and we can't wait to do it again.  At first sip, this Moylan's comes off a bit thin, but it soon fills out and then switches quickly to flavor-mode.  A cup of coffee and a bar of dark chocolate parade through.  Finally the metallic tinge that had been lingering in the background ramps up and reaches a crescendo, then the whole thing fades rapidly leaving a ghost malt on the tongue.  This is a good, solid porter.  It hits all the right notes in all the right ways.  It doesn't have a huge set of balls on it, but I don't think the were going for showy.  I think this is a love-song to porters.  I think this was someone's effort to do it right.

I also like that this comes in a big damn bottle, one I don't have to share with anyone.  It is fun to settle into a beer, kick off your shoes, switch on some tunes, and just enjoy.  Do it enough and you'll eventually blog all over your laptop, but life has its risks.  Porter, porter, porter!

Lake Monster "unfiltered"

I look forward each week to writing this blog.  I have a process that I get a kick out of: first I pick a store that I know has a decent beer selection (often my local HEB), then I scour through the onesies for something that meets my criteria (never had it before, looks interesting or unique, and won't break the bank), it gets home and goes straight into the fridge, before the week is out, I find a quiet few hours, grab my favorite reviewing glass, crack my beer open, pour, take a pic, then take a sip.  There is some crap about reviewing the beer in blog form after that, but that part is mostly bullshit anyway and not worth wasting time on.  The thing I was thinking about while taking that first sip today was the pure joy I get from this process.  I don't know about you, but, for me, taking the first sip of a new beer is like remembering that things aren't all bad.  The beer may be great or it may suck balls, but the worst thing that happens at that moment is that I get to try a new beer.  Plus, little known fact, if you blog about the beer you drink, the calories don't count and it improves muscle tone.

"So, I got that going for me."

                      ~C. Spackler

This week's beer got my attention (and became the first canned beer I've reviewed) by a notable absence, any kind of helpful description of its contents, what-so-ever.  The can says "Lake Monster/Unfiltered/Produced one batch at a time".  So many questions... What the hell kind of beer is in this can?  Why won't they tell me?  "Unfiltered" what?  Why is "OTXBC" spelled out in stars?  I have to have answers.  Too many secrets.

So OTXBC stands for Oasis Texas Brewing Company.  That's an easy one.  Meet, Lake Monster (Unfiltered), a dark, creamy, and outwardly undescribed beer.  There is no notation of ABV, type of beer, flavors, or any other damn thing.  All we learn from the label is that it has single-batched pride, comes in a 16oz can, and finally an ominous warning that "Lake Monster be not for the faint of heart. It pushes the boundaries of the brewers art."  The label has some fancy art bits, paying homage to its titular creature, the spooky night-ness of its referenced genre, some iconic water towers, some Austin bats, a UFO, and general what-nots.  There is a lot of fun in a beer label that wants to be a 50's monster movie.  Doesn't give away much about the beer, though.  It seems all the answers to this mystery can only be found... within.

The first sip of this beer is pretty good stuff.  I have to admit, I wasn't expecting a good beer.  I generally think that a beer that doesn't want to describe its self most likely has a reason to hide (Dr. Doom style shame?).  But it is rich and dark and creamy and smooth.  Oooh, also there are many bubbles.  Really good bubbles.  The only problem I have with this beer is that it's what I would call a "Bar Beer", the kind of beer best enjoyed saddled up to a bar, a jukebox playing, dimly lit, with some god-dammed peanuts!  I cannot fully enjoy a beer like this without some honey-roasted peanuts.  All I have with me are some fantastic, but not quite perfect, sugared peanuts from Singapore, sweet but not salty.  This damn Lake Monster will put its grippy tentacles on you and make you crave sweet salty freedom.  I would be in pure bliss if only my room wasn't as well lit ,my chair not so comfy, and my sweet nuts saltier.

British "people", I have heard, drink their beer at room temperature for a number of reasonable reasons, but I like my beer cold, Hoth cold (I know).  Cold beer is like an unsolicited wink from a sexy stranger, it just makes you feel good.  As darker beers warm up, they give up richer aromas and flavors and I'm two glasses and several degrees warmer into this one.  It is still cooler than room temp, though, (so I'm not British gross or nothin') when player 2 enters the game.  Suddenly nuts.  Well... nuttiness.  After eating a handful of peanuts, I taste a distinct nutty aroma.  I also taste everything one might expect to find in a stout or a porter or a Lake Monster.  It is dark and malty, but instead of the familiar metallic tinge there is a nice alcoholic vapor that lingers in my mouth.  Booze, malt, cream, caramel, and bubbles make this a solid sipper.  

Whatever the ABV of this beer is, it is a heavy hitter.  I'm feeling it at oz 14.  So, go, when you find a moment to slip away, and find a bar that serves this beer.  Sip is quietly and play something good on the jukebox, and think fondly of my sweet (but not salty) nuts.

Viven Smoked Porter

Belgium, it would be great country, if only it weren't in Belgium.  I dedicate this weeks blog to that fantastic film, In Bruges.  This beer is not from Bruges, though (which is sad, because it means fewer movie references), this beer is from a place so small, you can't even read the name on the label.  No kidding, it may be late and the lights low, but even in better light, good luck passing that eye exam.  The front of the label has no such issues.  Meet Viven Smoked Porter, a product of Belgium.

Ask yourself, "What is Belgium famous for?"  Chocolates and child abuse, mostly.  Did you know they also make beer?  They make many wacky beers, with crazy wild yeasts and often thumb their noses at German purity laws (perhaps a low-carb strawberry beer called She-Wolf?).  They also make the full range of more traditional ales; doing up my malty dark favorites proper.  Here we have the art of Flemish brewing, from a brewery dating back to the dark ages of 1999, producing one of those fun-if-you-can-find-them smoked ales.  I am glad Belgians learned to make beer, because they only invented the chocolates to the to the kids.

Viven Smoked Porter, 11.2oz bottle, 7%ABV.  Opaque deep brown, a small head that dissipates quickly.  Label best appreciated by a discerning drunk, mid-stumble.

The label grabbed my attention right away.  Huge text, shouting out, "Hey Drunkie! Over here! I am definitely a smoked porter!"  So forceful, yet helpful.  The faux-aged look is fun.  I don't care what anyone thinks, give me a stock parchment from Istockphoto, some old-timey fonts, and a crest: I'm good to go.  The front label has may enjoyable things to look at and read while you sit at your favorite bar. I love that.  I don't know what the hell is going on behind the shield on the crest.  If you find out, please tell me.  The back label makes me regret what I just said about the parchment, fonts and stuff.  That rear label is made only of hate and contempt for the honest drunk.  I can't read print that small, and I'm not going to try just so this label thinks it got one over on me.  Screw that back label; it is stupid and I hate it's stupid face.  Lets move on, the back label is a shit-hole anyway.

At glass one, I can safely say, this beer and I are going to be friends.  We have so much in common!  We both have depth and character, we both smell good, and neither one of us is Chinese (a very different movie reference).  It was a surprisingly short trip to the bottom of glass one.  Despite the respectable (but not excessive) ABV, this guy is smooth and easy.  As far as smoked porters go, Viven's is well put together.  It is not trying to be fancy, just good.  See?  Just like me.

The smell of this beer is gooooooood.  Don't you just love the smell of a smoked beer?  I mean, a porter smells good, but a smoked porter... Well, you just don't pass that up.  Unless you are driving or operating heavy machinery, one should always make time for the bouquet of a lovely smoked beer.  So, it smells good, how's it taste?  Have you ever sat in a large, cushion-y wing-back chair?  Ever had a nice glass of red wine and watched the rain fall outside the window?  I could say words like malty, rich, bitter chocolate, coffee, smoky, yeasty,  and the rest of the crew.  But you already know what a porter tastes like, and a smoked porter as well.  What is notable about this fellow, is how well it works.  Most beers will have a few notes that disagree with me.  Not this one.  Viven just makes it work.  Crappy back label: forgiven.

If you find this beer, buy it. Then hide from your friends and loved ones, wait until you are alone, fluff up your favorite comfy chair, and enjoy.  If you need a place to hide, there are a lot of alcoves in the Astridpark.  You use this word, "alcoves"?