Troubles With Travel

If you were to name the four or five hottest breweries right now, measured in beer geek coolness points, Boston's Trillium Brewing would have to be on that list. They are makers of many different types of beer, but are famous for being one of the charter members of the New England IPA movement, with all the requisite rarity and excitement. Well, despite having failed to find any of their rare offerings when I was back in New England in November, I got to try my first can when friend-of-the-blog Mason Astley spent his hard-earned time and money securing Fort Point Pale Ale and sending one my way.

I was very excited about this because, while I think there's no special style* to be found here, I have been mighty impressed by the work New Englanders have been doing with hops. Places like Maine Beer Co, Bissell Brothers, and Hill Farmstead understand our little friend, Humulus lupulus. Maybe not uniquely (I could point to a few guys around here who have passing familiarity), but decidedly. And by all accounts--including Mason's--Fort Point is one of their best beers. (Not that these things matter too much, but it is a top-ten pale as rated by BeerAdvocates).

So it was to my surprise and disappointment to discover this waiting for me:

So murky as to be dark pouring out. Very much a pond water rather than Orange Julius cloudy. Poor head, gone in 30 seconds. Aroma is orange passionfruit with a hint of sweat underneath. Flavor is fairly sharp bitterness with a rindlike astringency. Mouthfeel is fluffy to gritty. The tropical notes present far more on the nose than palate. Very little malt character. Slight burnt rubber aftertaste. 

Those are not the tasting notes of a world-beater. Those are not even the tasting notes of a particularly good beer. I sent them to Mason last week and he was surprised and chagrined--this was not the beer he knew. There's no accounting for taste and I could just be missing the subtle genius of this beer. I don't think that's what's going on here; I believe were Mason to have tried this beer, he would more or less agree with the notes. So what's going on?

Beer is inherently unstable. Brewers tease chemical compounds into an arrangement that will not last. They begin interacting with each other and that particularly nefarious enemy oxygen will begin to stale the flavors. This happens in all beers, but not at the same rate. Some beers are incredibly fragile, ready to collapse like a house of cards into a pile of decomposing, once-brilliant flavors. Among the most delicate elements are hop flavors and aromas, which are driven by volatile compounds that begin degrading immediately even in the best circumstances. Send a beer across country, where it may be subjected to temperature fluctuation and agitation--two accelerants to degredation--and even a relatively young can might well end up like the one I received.

This is an important cautionary tale about modern IPAs. So much of the hop character comes not from the more stable iso-alpha acids formed during longer boiling, but volatile compounds in the oil. We know how evanescent those flavors and aromas can be from observation, but I don't know how much study has been done on trying to stabilize them in the package. Moreover, we're in a realm of brewing that is out in front of the science. When we were in Corvallis last week, hops researcher Tom Shellhammer mentioned that perceived bitterness and astringency may also come from other sources (polyphenols?--I can't find the passage from our interview) than iso-alpha acids. How do these astringent elements change with time, agitation, and heat? I was picking up sharp, prickly notes that had a quality of astringency, like citrus rind. Was that present in the brewery-fresh version?

The category we now call IPA is hugely broad, and at one side of the spectrum can be made so that it's pretty shelf-stable. But on the other side--the side that tickles the beer geeks' fancy--it's not clear that this is the case. What happens when a brewery like Trillium scales up and has the capacity to start sending their beer around the Northeast? Can they find a way to package the freshness so that it lasts even 30 days? I have my doubts. And interestingly, I kind of hope it's not possible to stabilize this. If breweries have to sell their beer at the source to ensure these flavors and aromas survive, that means people will have to continue to patronize them there. That means I won't be getting any brewery-fresh Trillium in Oregon, but I can live with that if it encourages a market for hundreds of small breweries nationwide serving fresh beer.

The Beer There: Olde Mecklenburg (Charlotte, NC)

Periodically--too infrequently, if you want my opinion--a friend of the blog will feel inspired to send me beer from their distant location. When breweries send me beer, I make no promises to review or ever even comment on them (though I will drink them; I'm not a halfwit), but when a person spends hard-earned cash to purchase and send beer from a brewery, my hard and fast rule is: always review them.

Today we have three beers sent from Daniel Warner, who lives in the far Carolinas (I use the plural because while I believe he lives in South, he regularly drifts to North). Daniel and I have developed an e-bromance over our shared love of German and Czech beers, and one of his go-to breweries is Charlotte's Olde Mecklenburg. They make not a single IPA or cucumber sour; in fact, the only beer not drawn from the German oeuvre is a Baltic porter--which is not much of a heresy as those things go. This is interesting if not quite unheard of--our own Occidental and Heater Allen follow the same prescription. What is unusual is their success with this model:

"OMB started to build a dedicated following that’s never really stopped growing. Today, in a new, larger space that features a spectacular eight-acre German-style Biergarten, a state-of-the-art 60-barrel Brewery (largest locally owned craft brewhouse in the state), and a dine-in Brauhaus."

That says ... something about North Carolina, though I'm not sure what. Even Urban Chestnut has conceded hoppy ales to their customers, and St Louis is about as lager-friendly as you're going to find. And to add further intrigue to this mystery, their flagship beer is an altbier. What in the blue hell? North Carolinians, I do not get you.

All right, enough with the anthropology--let's move on to the beer.

Copper (altbier)
The flagship, I hate to say, would not be mistaken for a Düsseldorf alt. It looks like one: its a gorgeous beer, with a deep copper and perfect clarity that seems to make it almost glow from the inside. But in flavor profile, it's distinctly American, with a slightly syrupy caramel note offset by rather sharp hopping. In Düsseldorf, the alts are characterized by a downy softness and even in the hoppy Uerige, the bitterness is rounded and lacking bite. The real key to a altbier is a minerality that I believe comes from hardened water; Daniel obscurely believes this to be a function of the yeast (feel free to debate that in comments); whatever, it ain't here. It's a nice beer, but a bit too bimodal for me--thick caramel offset by sharp hops, rather than a harmony between the two.

Capt Jack Pilsner
This is an interesting and unusual pilsner. It has a surprisingly sweet malt note up front, and this is balanced by pretty assertive hopping. I don't recognize the malt, which is more candylike and less grainy than is common. It is perfectly clear again--I'm beginning to get a sense of the house preference here--and pale as January sunlight. Olde Mecklenburg gives zero info about their beer, so I'm left to guess at the last element--a touch of diacetyl. I would guess this is an intentional homage to Plzeň, and it is both nicely integrated and subtle. But that's only a guess. Definitely a cool little beer and unusual, which is what you want with a style that can seem generic if handled badly.

Hornet's Nest (hefeweizen)
One should always save the best for last--and this was my fave of the three. I forgot to rouse the yeast and it had of course settled, so I got just a haziness rather than dense cloudiness. (User error.) I was also surprised at the low level of effervescence, which is far lower than the Bavarian examples. These are quibbles, however--it's a wonderful beer. Very spicy and almost absent banana, which is my preference. I speculated that they don't use the Weihenstephan yeast, which produces banana like a Panamanian jungle, but Daniel replied that he believes they ferment very cold, which would suppress ester production (the banana comes from isoamyl acetate. The spice is, additionally, intriguing in its complexity. There's definitely clove there, but black pepper and something that reminds me of apple tannin. It has the soft, fluffy mouthfeel you want and expect. It is, over all, a wonderful beer and my fave of the lot.

Based on photos, the place looks like a spectacular, very German, beer hall and it will be my first stop if I ever make it to Charlotte.

The Beer There (A Brand New Feature???)

Source

A few weeks back, something remarkable happened. Eric Samuelson, a beer fan who lived for a time in Oregon but who relocated to the DC area, sent me a package of beer. For no particular reason other than he wanted me to try some of the good beer he was tasting there. I would very optimistically love this to be a regular feature. I encourage everyone from around the country--nay, around the planet--to send me your good, locally-brewed beer. And, if you do that, the least I can do is offer a few comments on what I've received.  (I don't expect it. I would be a lot of money against it. But you never know. Email me and I'll give you my mailing address.) All right, then, onto the beers.

Patrick and I reviewed two of these on the Beervana Podcast--Cigar City Hot as Helles and Port City Optimal Wit. Since I received the package, Cigar City has sold out to private equity, anticipating Eric's comment ("Enjoy it before they get acquired by ABInbev.") It is not a DC-area beer ("I just had it sitting around and it fit in the box") and it was the least impressive of the batch. A helles lives and dies by malt character. If there isn't a subtle symphony of flavor, it's just a boring little lager, and I guess I'd put this beer in that category. The malts were sweet, and generically so. We've got another Port City down below, so I'll mention Optimal Wit with it.

On the wings of Armageddon  (DC Brau)
This was the beer that precipitated the care package. Eric comments, "I think this is the DC area’s version of Heady Topper or Pliny the Younger." DC Brau used the Falconer's Flight hop blend exclusively in the beer. My notes: "Wonderfully fruity aroma--orange, mango, and something slightly dank/savory. Pretty thick mouthfeel. Lots of flavor, not a ton of bitterness. Strong hoppy beers have a strange acidity that seems to singe my mouth." It seems like a wholly worthy member of the crowd of sticky modern hop bombs, though I didn't personally love it. That's not surprising since I love only a tiny number of these kinds of beers. They strike me as too intense, too crowded, as if an addled writer kept using the same page of notebook paper to write a novel. But you'd probably love it.

Fruit Basket (Champion)
Eric comments that it is, "well regarded, but I thought it was only OK." My notes were similar. "A well-done fruit IPA, with the actual fruit flavors (orange and grapefruit juice, "citrus" zest) fading more towards bitter rindiness. The zest provides a dry, bitter finish, but otherwise the fruit my be hidden. A bitter spine. Nice but not sublime." 

One comment I'll make here interstitially is that the above two beers are good examples of why the designation "West Coast" no longer has any meaning. They are typical of the beers I found around the country last fall. Basically, the American interest in hops has become universal, and we're all making them the same way now. And please do not mention Vermont.

Vienna Lager (Devil's Backbone)
Eric's comment: "DB makes wonderful beer in general and this is their standard bearer." I agree about the brewery; it's one I admire a lot, and they're cited in the Beer Bible. But I've been underwhelmed by this beer, and was again. My tasting notes: "Beautiful amber-copper. Toffee malt aroma. A bit too sweet, and the malt character is generic. I would like a distinctive flavor in these malts, and a drier, crisper finish." Like helles, this style depends on distinctiveness in those subtle elements. The brewery uses several malts, and that may actually be the problem: with fewer, the flavors might shine through more brightly.

The last two come from Port City, and they were the two best beers (by my lights) in the pack.

Optimal Wit (Port City)

Eric's comments: "This is my neighborhood brewery. They have a great line up; this is on tap everywhere around here..." I don't have notes--listen to the pod!--but it was really superb, dominated by crisp freshness, and only accented by spices (as opposed to being oppressed by them). It contains grains of paradise, and I hate grains of paradise. Usually. The spice is so strong it's almost always overused. Clearly, though, when used in the right amount, it can be great.


Colossal Five (Port City)
Eric hadn't tried this yet, but said it was getting great reviews. I see why. It is their fifth anniversary beer, an English-style old ale. My tasting notes. "Wonderful aroma of stewed fruit with a bit of toffee. Smells like 19th century London kitchen. Bread pudding. Great malt character; sweet, but leathery. Very rich. Lovely beer." This was one of those rare and wondrous beers that shakes you out of analytic objectivity and puts you into a mood of poetry and metaphor. You are searching for flavor descriptions and find your mind wandering off into smiling reverie. I would love to have a steady supply of this beer--and I'd love to see what it would taste like if inoculated with a bit of Brettanomyces Claussenii. Really exceptional beer.

Thanks for the beer, Eric! And thank all of you future participants in this ongoing series.

(Hey, you can't blame me for trying.)