May 10, 2008
Damn. That’s how I’ll start this post. Damn. Off came the cap. Down went the pour. A bourbon aged flavor hits you in the face. Another bourbon aged beer. Another beer in the hip line of bourbon aged beers. Everyone wants to age their beer in bourbon barrels. Age. Age! Age! But who the hell cares anymore? Damn hipness. Damn.
If it’s not yet clear, this beer moved me. Dark and rich. Strong taste of bourbon. That taste produces a “damn” with every sip. Brewed with elderberries. Elderberries? According to one popular online source of information, elderberries are mostly eaten by birds. They have a strong “field” smell. Damn.
What motivates a brewer to throw some elderberries (or anything else) into the mix? The desire for intensity. We are drinking this beer in one of the least intense seasons, the early stages of spring when the farmer’s market is getting back on its feet. our teaching ends, and rain falls regularly, and we are experiencing one of the most intense tastes we’ve had in some time. Earlier today, my wife put John Lennon’s Greatest Hits in the player (I suppose for the sake of our little girl, who gladly bounced up and down to “Instant Karma”), and I felt everything but intense. I felt complacent. I love Lennon, but he doesn’t have intensity. “Woman” is not an intense song, no matter how good it may be. The day drifted on, and I felt less and less together. Then I opened this beer. Damn. Intensity.
Damn. The Nor’ Easter is fantastic. That’s about all I have left for description. Damn.
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May 8, 2008
Reaching into the back of the fridge tonight, I found her. The last Bell’s Java Stout. She’d been there for months. Waiting. How did I forget her? Pop. Cap off. Poured. Like a soda commercial. My head falls back. Ahhhh. In Waiting for Godot, no one shows up. For the beers of my fridge, no matter how far back you sit, I will show up. And I will drink you. Beers, you cannot run from me. You have no legs.
Don’t let the image on the label fool you. He cannot run. Look at that happy cup of coffee dancing around on the label. The coffee splashes out. He does a little dance. Dance away! Your days are numbered. In a good way. A good way for me.
Java Stout and I go way back: Michigan. Detroit. Merchant’s when it was in Royal Oak. Holiday Market. Those deep chocolate flavors. The heavy pour. The roast. This is a beer from the D. And I was from the D. For five years. I’m a kind of Detroiter, a Detroiter in spirit.
I’m grateful we can get Bell’s here in the Show Me State. Brewers, take note. We buy your beer here too!
Thanks for waiting for me Java Stout. I’ll catch you next winter when you get back on the store shelves again (though I think a few of you are still hanging around the HyVee still….). And I will drink you!
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May 3, 2008
Anyone in CA want to send some love my way by sharing some Supplication? Maybe you want some of St. Louis’ best in return? I can try, can’t I? I suffer from Russian River envy. I envy those lucky bastards who can get it whenever they want. Maybe I hate all of California for keeping its best beers to itself.
Otherwise, there were some dips into the stash this week. A Bear Republic Black Stout. Rich and chocolate. Wonderful.
I still have a few stouts left in the stash that must go as the weather warms. The wife refuses to join in. So I go alone…
The same for my barley wines. This Full Sail had passed the six month rule and its time had arrived. Malty. Alcohol taste lingers. Very rich. Also wonderful.
And at Sycamore last night, a Southern Tier Unearthly Imperial IPA. Our whenever we can get a baby sitter getaway to Columbia’s finest is always a treat. Sycamore runs the best beer list in this little city. A big bomber of Southern Tier matched the short ribs nicely. I might call such trips my virtual stash since they depend on being elsewhere. And in Columbia, your options for elsewhere are limited. At least we have Sycamore.
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April 30, 2008
How did it all start for you?
At 15, working in the yard, my dad asks: Want a beer? Heineken. The green glass. The musty taste. Even if it isn’t good now, it felt good then. The thrill of drinking an import. It came from another country. What is more exotic than that idea: it came from elsewhere. When you are 15, elsewhere is where you would like to be.
At 16, underage drinking. Moosehead. Why Moosehead? In the words of Bluto, why not? Canadian (to a Miami kid, that seemed exotic). A moose on the bottle. You could buy a t-shirt, too, with the moose on it. All early drinking that is good is based on either being drunk or the exotic. We got drunk on Bud. I felt exotic with Moosehead. No one else knew what it was. No one but me. My earliest impressions of beer: this is something you don’t know about, but I do. That feeling will carry over until today.
In Gainesville, in grad school. a beer called Dead Guy. Rogue. It tasted better. It looked better. Was it better? There were few choices in Gainesville back then. We also had Tucher. Rogue won out. I no longer drink Rogue.
But are any of these the moments when it started? Was it the trip to The Map Room in Chicago when I tasted Duchess? Was it the homebrew club meeting in Micanopy CBD took me to? Was it when I moved to Michigan and tasted Bell’s? Was it when I entered the world of Belgian beer via Chimay? Is commonality my moment? Experiencing what everyone before me had experienced? “There’s a beer called Westmalle….Wow.” Yeah. We know. Did I follow in the footsteps, as the Buddhist saying goes?
Maybe there isn’t one moment when it started. This obsession has grown with me. It inches up on me. It slowly absorbs me. And all of this process has been going on for a long time now. Even last year, after we moved to Missouri, I discovered online shopping, and what was already a take over my life obsession got worse. West Coast beers. East Coast beers. What was not available is now available….for a price I usually am willing to pay. The year before we moved, I convinced my wife to take our honeymoon in Belgium. Was that the moment?
Every trip we take, I pack just enough to bring back bombers in the suitcase. When someone mentions a place they are from or have been to, I say: “Such and such beer is from there.” When someone tries to relate to me and speaks of a beer I find inadequate (like a friend of the family relating having Fat Tire on tap and how great that was), I keep my snooty mouth shut. There is no one moment. There are moments. And the moments continue as each year I learn and taste more.
A moment? Or many moments. Piles of moments. Gatherings of moments, as Bruno Latour might say. These moments continue here, in this space, on the Web, in this post, as words gather, and memories and thoughts and desires for that beer I still have not tried accumulate….
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April 24, 2008
The holiday is coming to an end soon, and already the lineup is ready for the upcoming week. We have to get back into beer shape. We are ready to drink beer again. With a trip to Seattle soon and relatives bringing back goodies from Bruisin’ Ales next month, re-enforcements are on the way. Until then, a few things for the weekend and beyond:
- Brooklyn Local No. 1. Brought back from Michigan by friends last year. It has been forgotten in the stash. Not a new beer to me, but one to open this weekend. Plus, the six month rule is kicking in. Time to open.
- A couple Avery bombers. Again, not new. But seeing them today in Columbia for the first time was a nice sight. Now we wait for Southern Tier to arrive (it’s already in St. Louis). Like Avery, Southern Tier is a beer I drank every now and then when it was always available. In Missouri, we get excited when anything new and good arrives on the scene.
- Victory Baltic Thunder. The weather is getting less and less cool. Must crack this one that I brought back from Atlanta last month.
- Smuttynose Baltic Porter. See above. I’ve been wanting to try Smuttynose for awhile now. With a bottle in the stash finally, it won’t be stashed long.
- No rush on the rest of the stash. Except, maybe, a few other things.
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April 20, 2008
Every year, in memory of the Exodus, Jews celebrate what is often called in these blog circles “no beer week.” Along with other staples of life (bread), beer is put aside so that we may drink wine and eat matzah. That’s our religion. Nothing against the beer. It’s mostly a statement about yeast, fermentation, and anything that appears to rise. In the words of Aqua Teen, “Arise chicken, arise.” Though that quote makes no sense, there is an arise association. In the age of postmodernism, off the cuff online writing depends on associations.
Before the week kicked in, we enjoyed the last bottle of Collaboration Not Litigation we had. Batch No 2. Sweet and malty, it gave us a perfect final beer for the week. Enjoyed with a lamb salad, the afternoon drifted lazily into the evening’s Seder. The empty plates in the photo attest to our consumption. The beer took longer. Later that evening we emptied more plates and some flourless chocolate cakes I made (along with our hosts’ wonderful brisket).
And now, no beer for a week.
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April 15, 2008
News of a new online source, Canals, that shops East Coast darlings had me spending a few bucks I didn’t intend to spend. Good thing I pimped myself out to a few publishers recently. Smuttynose? Southampton? And, of course, Captain Lawrence. All are East Coast must haves. Captain Lawrence is a beer that is always on the ISO threads (In Search Of) in beer trade forums,. It enjoys a bit of a mythical reputation (as do many, many West Coast beers). Beers hunting is about myth chasing. In search of. Could it be. I want. These are the phrases of the beer hunter.
Xtra Gold. The wrapper was slightly wet and some must have leaked through the cap during shipping. No cracks. No breakage. Why the leak? Not great. And not great since it’s the first time I’ve used Canal’s. First slight shipping mishap in the nine months I’ve ordered online. But not a loss. Three days later, I open it and the taste is fine. A strongly hopped tripel with candy flavor and even a touch of funk.
Golden. A bit sweet. Nice. Still, maybe it would be better without the slight leak? Mystery tastings makes us cling to the what if and even the continued mythology. A nice beer. A good beer. More evidence of quality East Coast drinking. Supposedly, Souther Tier is making its way to Missouri soon. Another beer I once had excellent access to but bought only seldom. Now it is rare. Wanted. Needed. The mythology of beer hunting continues….
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April 14, 2008
The recaps are starting around the Web. The three of us arrived in St. Louis for what my wife called “the broventure” and Bradley’s wife called “the man date.” For one day, we left behind kids and wives for beer. We each drove a little farther than the next: 2 hours, 3 and a half hours, 4 hours. Here’s a little rundown with pics.
- The hotel manger is flustered because someone called and said the hotel’s phone number is a sex number. She flips through the phone book to check. “We’re not even in the phone booth,” she yells. “My owner is going to be mad.”
- The cab driver from the hotel (we ain’t driving when we are drinking) got lost. He had no idea how to get to Bottleworks. At one point, he asked Bradley how “much weight you lift?”
- He gave us his card. We threw it out.
- I was excited for New Albania. I follow the brewpub’s blog (amazing draft lists) and have heard good things about the brewery (I also followed a Louisville gourmet bulletin board thread once; New Albania’s owner got into a fight with local chefs about beer offerings). The Hoptimus is the beer I want to buy once a week. Floral. Great aroma. A type of Hop Slam or Hop Wallop kindred spirit. The Thunderhead was a rich, maybe too rich with cherry/stout intensity. The Imperial Pilsner was hoppy, but just right. And I don’t like Pilsners. Only when they get Imperial. Hail the empire.
- Three Floyds didn’t bring what I really wanted. But I still had 2-3 Alpha Kings for old times sake.
- Brugge and Mad Anthony offered pleasant surprises. A tripel that was caramel-y. An oatmeal stout that was rich and dark. Those are “respectively” mini-reviews.
- We ate venison chile for lunch. And I ate a bison burger. Bars are judged by their beer, of course. But brewpubs are also judged by the ways their food comforts. We felt very comfortable at the Bottleworks. As I made my way through the long bathroom line, I thought: I should take the wife here on our next trip to St. Louis. Then some ladies giggled because the men’s room had a line. Finally, they thought.
- The wind and cold cut through the tents. I’ve been fighting being sick for almost a month now. The cold didn’t help.
- Square One was a letdown.
- Rabbit. Braised rabbit.
- We drank a slightly aged La Folie at Chocolate. The waitress failed to tell us Eric’s Ale was also on tap. It wasn’t on the menu and wasn’t with the main taps. Only after she saw us drinking our sour tastes away did we get the news. We got to sample some Eric’s in the end, so all aligned. Eric’s is not nearly as sour as La Folie, but it is nice. Now I have two New Belgiums I like. When I can get them, that is.
- By 33 I had reached my limit. I just can’t do the noon-midnight routine anymore. Thomas and Bradley had no problem, but I was finished. I had brought a bottle of the Abyss to share, and we didn’t get to do that. That was my other disappointment. Filling to the point of no more; not sharing. Even broventures can falter. If this was a movie, we’d have our crash into a tree or falling out, and then we’d recuperate. We did. Or I did, at least.
- Around Lafayette Park, hipsters and the young professionals come out and play. The area reminded a lot of Detroit and Merchant’s Row. The rebuilding. The architecture. The young ones out for fancy drinks. The elevation of cool and the urban. Lafayette may be the kind of place Richard Florida dreams about.
- When I drove home, it was snowing.
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April 7, 2008
A message board note alerted me to the Left Hand tasting I missed at the local grocery. Left Hand? In Columbia? I won’t have to rely entirely on St. Louis trips for some Left Hand? We still only get two Avery styles here. No bombers. I drove to the store on the pretext we needed baby food. A few six packs were hidden in the back of the beer section. The beer manager pulled out the Milk Stout. No Sawtooth? No. Stout it would be.
Milk, cream, alcohol. Such were John Lee Hooker’s words. The things that doctor put you on. It’s only 9:30 PM, and the baby is waking up for the first time tonight. Normally, we’re save until midnight or one in the morning. That doctor might have the remedy for V. Milk, cream, alcohol. “We used to rub bourbon on your mouth,” my dad told me tonight on the phone. I would do it, but the wife won’t go for it. “The bourbon’s for us,” she’d say. “It ain’t cheap.”
Spring is almost here, and I still have all these stouts: Left Hand Milk Stout, Duck Rabbit Milk Stout, Duck Rabbit Russian Imperial, Bear Republic Big Bear Black Stout, Sweetwater Happy Ending. I found a Bell’s Java Stout in the fridge the other day. Tucked in the back. Surprise, surprise, surprise. I might have another one left over back there. It felt rich and good when I opened it just prior to the trip to New Orleans. I had to hold those tastes in for three days. New Orleans is not a beer town.
What to do with all these stouts and the hot weather around the corner? Stout tasting? A night of rich goodness. Chocolate. Roast. Alcohol. Someone say yes and bring a few I don’t have. Or say no and let me drink alone. That Hooker song: Serves me right to suffer. There are worse ways to suffer than a fridge or stash of stouts. There’s milk, cream, and alcohol.
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April 6, 2008
Somehow, Missouri won the Shorts contest for distribution. As a former Michigan-resident, I know this would be a step up for Missouri. When I lived in the Detroit-Metro area, I remember Shorts only as a guest tap at the Royal Oak Brewery. At that time, distribution was still not great in-state. In Missouri, Michigan is represented only by Bell’s and Arcadia. Overall, Michigan is often underrated for its beer. Even in-state that is true. While other states may go out of their way to showcase local beer, in Detroit, most places do not carry local or much local. The state breweries are scattered and known by reputation as much by taste.
Missouri is still ripe for distribution. With only a few quality breweries present (many of them now new) and with distribution still trickling in from St. Louis to other areas, there is plenty of room to capture much of the market. Come on in, Shorts. Make yourself at home. Whether by tap at Columbia’s Sycamore or in the long aisles of Lucas in St. Louis or even in the gas station at Arena in Columbia, you will find buyers.
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