Fun With Beer - Berliner Weisse

I spent the waning, sunnny hours of the evening last night at the Pilsner Room enjoying a Berliner Weisse. Chris's Summer D-Lite is assistant brewer Chris Haveman's wonderful entry in the "Brewer's Share" program at Full Sail. I've enjoyed Berliner Weisses in the past, but never as they're served at the Pilsner Room--and in Berlin--with accompanying woodruff and raspberry syrup.

The style, noted for its dry, tart lactic character, is at least 400 years old and may date back to the Huguenot migration into Germany. The Huguenots were Flemish-French protestants, so could the style have passed through, say, the Zenne Valley? A hypothesis I consider with relish. In any case, the style is, for sourheads, a joy. Beers are sour in different ways; a good Berliner Weisse should be sharply tart, like a fresh lemon. They aren't punishingly or funkily sour, just tart, and therefore perfectly thirst-quenching, like a fresh lemon soda.

I have always been intrigued by this passage from Jackson, and have regretted that I'd have to go to Berlin to enjoy the experience:

"I have only ever seen the summer versions, with a dash of the herbal essence of woodruff (Waldmeister) or raspberry syrup. This is now the familiar face of Berliner Weisse.

"The syrup colors the head as well as the beer, the woodruff making for a vivid lime-cordial hue and the raspberry looking more like peach. Everyone knows the flavor of raspberry, but what about the essence of woodruff? Sampled on its own, it is heavily fragrant, with notes of hay, lemon grass, and cough drops. The herb grows in the forests around Berlin, and is also used to make a soft drink and to flavor mineral water. When Berliner Weisse is served in this way, the idea is that the drinker first tastes the sweetness of the syrup, then sense the acidity of the beer.

"Whenever I asked for a Weissbier in Berlin, the server has demanded: "Red or green?" If I have requested it without either, to sample the beer in its native state, I have sometimes been viewed as a madman. The syrups are considered necessary to moderate the intensity of the acid..."

You get something like this experience at Full Sail. Instead of--or in addition to--the query "red or green," you may hear "raspberry or marshmallow?" (Marshmallow? See below.) I wanted to taste all three variants, so I ordered the syrup on the side. My experience with the style isn't vast--there just aren't very many examples available in the US--but this version seemed like a perfect example. Berliner Weisses are not designed to be complex; they depend on the clarity of the tart note. It has to be very fresh and clean and have that citrus-like thirst-quenching quality. These beers are made with some wheat, a flavor evident particularly in the finish, but not a dominant one. All of these things describe Chris's Summer D-Lite. It's spot-on. Germans might find a beer like this too intense, but those of you who like sour beers of Belgium will find it quite approachable.

The syrups surprised me. Added to the beer, they recall some long lost fountain drink, like a phosphate. (For those who don't like to stray too far from sight of a hop, these are a distant wander to foreign land--a word to the wise.) The raspberry wasn't too weird--hold your mouth right and you could imagine a fruit lambic. But the "green" was something else. I didn't get "marshmallow" from it. There's a strong vanilla note, and something herbal behind that. Hay isn't far off, but with a tiny touch of anise. The syrups are heavier than beer, and you need to stir as you go along, or you'll end up with two fingers of weird Fanta. I recommend getting them on the side so you can add to taste. Just a touch and they add some flavor without much sweetness. Go hog wild and dump the whole thing in if you want a wild ride.

It was one of the more entertaining times I've had drinking beer in the past decade or so. Don't miss it--you'll regret it if you do. (Or end up having to go all the way to Germany. Not bad, but inconvenient.)

Widmer '08 - Crimson Wheat

Did yesterday's 60-degree, sunny weather put you in mind of something other than a Jubelale? ('Twas actually a bit nippy in the wind, but still.) Right on cue, a number of the spring seasonals are starting to hit the shelves--Deschutes Buzzsaw and BridgePort Beer Town browns and Full Sail's LTD 02. And of course, Widmer's newest "W" series.

Each year they brew up something new and different, and offer it for six months or so. Last year was the remarkable Summit-hopped pale, which I had hoped and expected to see make it into regular rotation. But nope, once they're gone, they're gone.* A cool system: it allows the brewers a chance to regularly whip up something new and interesting, and it's on the shelves long enough for everyone to try it--but it's unique and evanescent. A bit brewpub-by that way.

Two years ago it was one of those big NW reds, last year it was that pale, so naturally this year they go for ... an American-style wheat. I'll give 'em this much--I didn't see that coming. But it's not a hefeweizen, and it does come quite highly recommended by the Great American Beer Fest, which gave it a silver in October.

The style of beer has broad latitude and has not typically yielded many interesting beers. The malt bill is made up of a third to three-quarters wheat, but the palate is typical for a light ale, with a touch of fruity esters and not a whole lot else. Notes taken from wheat, yeast, and hop are all minimal or absent.

So what did Widmer come up with? Color, for one thing. The style usually yields a more golden affair, but with caramelized, red, and dark wheat malts, the Widmers managed to come up with a fruit-juice red and a lovely white head. A striking beer. But the palate is limited to what they have to work with. It's a very nice example of the style. The malt produces a candyish sweetness that's drawn out by fairly subtle hopping toward a crisp finish. It's creamy and mild, and the wheat adds to the effect. But despite the good execution, Crimson Wheat remains an American-style wheat. For most in Beervana, that simply won't do.

Stats
Malts: Pale, red, caramel, and dark wheat, caramel, malted rye, Black and chocolate malt
Hops: Bittering, Alchemy; finishing, Sterling
Alcohol by volume: 4.1%
Original Gravity: 12.2° Plato
Bitterness Units: 22
Available: Through July '08
Rating: B

________________
*Or maybe not. Rob Widmer, in an email, tells me, "We’re right with you on Summit hops and will definitely be doing a re-brew [of the W '07] at some point." I'm holding you to that, brothers W.

Neener Neener - Notes on Two Bourbon Ales

I score little swag. When I was writing for Willamette Week, it was like a glorious faucet of free beer. Somehow, though, breweries regard this blog as a less valuable organ of promotion. (Jon is constantly getting freebies, but I'm not sure how.) Anyway, I bring this up because I have scored a rare coup--over the weekend, I had a chance to sample BridgePort's bourbon-cask-aged Old Knucklehead, not available to the public until tomorrow.

The context of my tasting was a party, so I took no notes. Credit the beer with leaving a strong enough mental impression to do a review from memory. Bourbon casks are a little tricky to work with--sometimes they impart too much bourbon flavor, and (more rarely) not enough. The trickiness is enhanced when you introduce barleywines, because they border on being too heavy, too alcoholic, or too sweet (or some combination) in the first place. Age one in a bourbon barrel and you just increase the likelihood of exacerbating the problem.

Old Knucklehead manages to adroitly dodge all these potential pitfalls. It is quite dry for a barleywine, and relatively light on the tongue (no barleywine is light in absolute terms). It doesn't have any of the stickiness of some barleywines. The bourbon contributes some flavor, but little sweetness--the effect is almost like caramelized sugar. Finally, it finishes with a peppery note that helps draw out the dryness, so that it finishes cleanly. The bourbon is present as a flavor note, but it's subtle. I'm not a huge fan of barleywines, but I like this one quite a lot.

Now, having warned of the dangers of over-heavy, sweet, and intense bourbon-aged beers, allow me to contradict it all and tell you about a beer I had yesterday, during the Superbowl-- Full Sail's bourbon-aged Top Sail (again, no notes). This is one seriously intense beer. Topsail begins with a lot of oomph--it's a thick, rich, roasty beer. (Trivia quiz: what's the difference between an imperial porter and a stout? No really, I'd like to know.) I have described the regular Top Sail thus:

It is an absolutely gorgeous beer, pouring out with velvety viscosity, a dense chocolate shake head piling up (and lasting pretty well, despite the high alcohol content). It has a mild, Tootsie Roll aroma; I could detect no hops. The flavor is a wonderful blending of intense, dark-chocolate bitterness, with notes of roasted coffee, and fruit-sweet notes that fall halfway between plum and blackberry. The sweet notes are unusually fruity, but you have to turn your attention to them; otherwise, the creamy, slightly chalky bitterness carries you away.

The bourbon both accentuates the chocolate note and contrasts it; the result is like a toddy. I would have liked just a bit less bourbon up-front, but I wonder what this beer might have turned into in a year. It's definitely an after-dinner beer, and it would certainly accompany a desert nicely.

(I created a firestorm the last time I condemned 22-ounce bottles, but at the risk of opening old wounds, this is a crazy lot of beer. It took three people and two days to get through our bottle, so don't open it blithely--plan ahead.)

Schwag and the Rise of the Micro Macros

At my Bailey's stop, I eschewed all the beers I would normally try--hoppy, rare, exotic, etc.--for Ninkasi Schwag, the latest experiment in a craft-brewed light lager. It follows the now roaringly-successful Full Sail Session and a spate of summertime brewpub offerings; it's not exactly Busch Lite, but at 10 IBUs, it ain't exactly Total Domination, either.

A number of questions arise: why are breweries bothering?; who's drinking this stuff?; is it any good?; does this signal the end of civilization? All worthy of response, and I shall come to them in due time. But first, let's review why these damnable beers exist in the first place.

The narrative, bits of which are probably apocryphal, goes like this: in the early 1900s, beer was good. Brewing was a regional craft, and the diversity of styles and quality mirrored that of Europe. In 1910, there were 1,568 breweries in the US. Then came prohibition, which landed a sucker-punch to the industry's breadbasket. When brewing was back again in 1934, only 756 breweries remained. Thus did consolidation and the loss of styles really begin to change American beer.

With canning (1935), refrigerated trucking, the loss of male drinkers (1941-'45), and the industrialization of brewing, beer became a commodity, not a craft. Consolidation followed precipitously: in 1950 there were just 407 breweries; in 1961, just 230 (140 independent). By the end of the 70s, there were 51 companies operating 80 breweries. Throughout this entire period, the number of styles decreased, and the remaining dominant style became weaker and less flavorful. There is now so little hop bitterness in a can of Bud that it is imperceptable.

But joy--the market works! Into this void stepped people of vision who foresaw a world of flavorful beer. You know the rest of the story--the craft beer revolution has produced a rennassiance in brewing and resulted in a number of breweries rivaling pre-prohibition numbers (1400, giver or take).

Which brings us back to the question: why on earth are breweries backsliding into this tasteless muck? Well, turns out a lot of people enjoy a mild, fizzy beer from time to time. Some of them like decent beer but don't like ales and find most micros too strong; some of them recall their misspent youths--shotgunning Hamm's, say, not that I'd know anything about that--and have a nostalgic feeling for the flavor of liquid tin. Not to mention the cultural resonance of some of the old advertising. And some, while they dislike Bud, don't like ponying up $5 a pint or $14 a half-rack. So there's a funky niche market there.

While I think Full Sail probably ran the numbers and saw some profit in Session, I think a lot of brewers like retro, and the idea of brewing a light lager is a challenge. So few ingredients--is it possible to make something that's actually tasty? I actually think it's less the end of civilization than evidence of the diversity of beer in Oregon. So robust is the market that there's room for even a light lager. I would place long odds on this becoming a trend among micros.

And that leads us inevitably to this: is it any good? Well. One hesitates at such a question, and a certain appreciation for Bill Clinton dawns as the thought arises, "what's 'good' mean?" Schwag is what it is: a light lager with 10 IBUs. Brewer Jamie Floyd employs the same strategy Jamie Emmerson did at Full Sail--squeeze some aroma and flavor out of your hops without boosting the bitterness. The malt bill is all-barley, evident in the richly golden color, and it has a semi-sweet, biscuit quality. The hops are fruity if somewhat indistinct (being so few). My pint wasn't quite as effervescent as I would have liked, but that's a quibble. It was a well-made beer with a little less character than Session but far more character than anything you'll find in a macro. I appreciate it far more than I actually enjoy it. And I will never, ever have another pint when confronted with the bounty of Bailey's.

Two Reviews

Pyramid Imperial Hefeweizen
As I alluded to in an earlier post, this proves you can have too much of a good thing. A standard German hefeweizen will be rippling with wonderful flavors, all delicate and breakfast-gentle. Pyramid makes one of the oldest American examples of this style, with perhaps less character than Schneider or Paulaner--but far more than Widmer. So they know what they're doing.

However, the intention to imperialize this delicate beer leads one to wonder: what was Pyramid aiming for? What results is approximately what you'd expect. It is cloudy and cider-colored, and fairly glops out of the bottle. The head is nice and thick, but can survive the onslaught of alcohol--and not the only thing. Delicate cloves, tart yeast character, crisp finish; all of these are mugged by the wrenching alcohol. A wee bit of spiciness persists, like a single peppercorn in a winter stew. The beer is thick, alcoholic, and without much character. It's drinkable, but not much more can be said. The inevitability of the experiment seemed clear. So, what was the brewery thinking?

Malt: 60% wheat, pale
Hops: Nugget, Tettnang
ABV: 7.5%
IBU: Not many.
Available: Sept-Dec
Rating: C

Full Sail Vesuvius
Ten years ago, no brewery in Oregon--possibly on the West Coast--and few in the US could make a decent Belgian ale. Generally a brewer would brew a variation on a regular recipe, deploy a few obvious adjuncts--coriander, candi sugar, bitter orange peel--and call it good. Yeast character--overwhelmingly the most important aspect of a good Belgian--was uniformly ignored. So it is with great enthusiasm that I welcome beers like Vesuvius, a respectable Belgian-style ale.

Last year, Vesuvius led the vanguard of Belgian strongs that have lately appeared across the state. (An odd style to crash Beervana's hoppy gates, as it happens. Unlike English strongs, Belgian strongs are approachable and sweetish. Widely appreciated, they are nevertheless not the types of beer you typically find in a Portland pub.) I am slightly reluctant to give an honest review, because Vesuvius is a rare and interesting enough beer that everyone should go buy a bottle. Still, it cannot meet the standard set by Duvel, Delirium Tremens, et al.

It looks the part--beautiful spun gold, frothy bead, dense, white head. Softly sweet of palate, with a faintly biscuity maltiness; a slight bubblegum note (phenols), and alcohol warmth drying out in the finish. One criticism: the body is too light; it goes watery just when it should be supporting the heft of the style.

ABV: 8.5%
IBU: 24
Available: August-November
Rating: B

Review - Deschutes 19th Anniversary Ale

For it's 19th anniversary Deschutes celebrates with a Belgian-style golden ale. It is an energetic experiment and a bit of a high wire act: 60 IBUs, 8.7% alcohol, ingredients unfamiliar to the brewery, including candi sugar and Curacao bitter orange peel. It is the first Belgian the brewery has attempted, and ... well, it shows.

Age is a funny thing. Nineteen years in the American market make Deschutes one of the venerable oldies. But compared to the breweries of Belgium that brew the original golden ales, it's not much time at all. Those world classics have resulted from refinements over the years or generations; one imagines the first batch of Orval wasn't the transcendent elixir it has become.

So 19th Anniversary Golden feels like the first draft of a very good novel, but it could use a little bit of editing.

Tasting Notes
It looks fantastic. A slightly hazy golden ale with a vigorous bead, it pours out like a beer from Brussels. The effervescence is a good sign that Larry Sidor got the yeast right--it hasn't been overwhelmed by the alcohol (later, the liveliness on the tongue will confirm this). The Curacao is evident in the nose, though the hops are somewhat subdued. There's a touch of volatility from the alcohol, and a wee bit of hard candy.

The palate is unrefined, however. Tibetan monks have a chanting technique known as "overtone singing" which allows them to produce multiple frequencies at the same time. The Golden Ale left me with that same impression. The high note is hops, which are sharp and peppery. Down below is the strong alchohol note, which has a liquor-ish heft to it. (Not to mention a licorice quality, but that's a different matter.) What I want is for these flavors to become stewed together, so that the alcohol strength is balanced by the hop bittering.

My guess is that this would be an entirely different beer had it rested for six months before bottling. I'll buy a couple to cellar, but the quality won't be the same--the beer will oxidize in the bottle (which aren't bottle-conditioned) and though the flavors should still come together, they'll be different that a matured batch would have been.

As I was drinking it, I was thinking that for a 19-year-old brewery, the economics of laying a beer aside for a year may not make sense. For a more established operation, it may not make sense to release a green beer so soon. Age is funny that way.

Stats
Malts: French pilsner
Hops: Czech Saaz, Slovenian Golding, Liberty, Brewers Gold
Alcohol by volume: 8.7%
Original Gravity: N/A
Bitterness Units: 60
Other Notes: Special Belgian yeast strain, candi sugar, and Curacao orange peel
Available: Through September '07
Rating: C+

Three from Far Shores

Over the past week or so, I got on a little import jag. Herewith are my findings on the three I tried. Deschutes' Anniversary is in the fridge, so a report on that soon, too.

Cantillon Organic Gueuze
The appellation "gueuze" looks unpronounceable and pretty much is, and its etymology is unclear, so I wonder whether we'll have a new name in English sometime. "Blended lambic," for example. For the record, you can pronounce it just about any way you like: gooz, gooz-ah, gerz-ah. Jackson describes it as being very similar to "cursor," but he's a limey and who knows what that means. I opt for gerz-ah.

Cantillon's offering is a blend of young, middle-aged, and elderly lambics (1-3 years in the cask). The blending allows a certain consistency of flavor, as the brewery combines different ages in combinations to produce the right level of sourness and complexity (lambics get funkier as they age). Resting in the cask, lambics tend to go "still" (flat), but Cantillon's gueuze was extremely lively. In fact, as it poured out, straw-pale, bubbly, bright, and white-topped, it looked distinctly like a pilsner. Only a very slight haze hinted at the wheat used in the grist.

What an intense beer! I'd love to bust this out on unsuspecting guests I'd just reeled in with a Duchesse de Bourgnogne, just to watch their eyes pop out. Despite the mellow appearance there is a wicked nose--sour and distinctly cheesey. A sweaty, been-sitting-on-the-counter fo a coupla hours cheesey. If anything, however, the nose understates what's to come. The two strongest notes, and they compete like prizefighters, are a withering crabapple sourness a bark-like medicinal bitterness which is evoked by thinking about some of the harsher grapefruits you might have tried. You can find other notes--anise, lemon--but they appear between the sharp sour and bitter jabs. This is a beer for those who like extremes in brewing. I thought it was extraordinary and would drink it occasionally--but only just. Like a nice Islay malt or jalapeno, it's something you need to be in the mood for.

Young's Oatmeal Stout
I want to like Young's, the venerable old London institution that pre-dates Shakespeare. I buy bottles, thinking that I will be transported to the roots of brewing, as when I have a beer from their city rivals at Fuller's. But each time I am disappointed, and so it was with this new version Young's offers.

Oatmeal stouts are generally creamy and light, a touch sweet and eminently drinkable (the opposite, perhaps, of gueuze). Young's is none of these. It is burly and chalky while not being particularly creamy. The brewery touts its use of roasted barley--maybe they're trying to attract Guinness fans--but it's this ingredient that fouls the beer up. Roasted barley can be harsh and tannic, and it is here. It doesn't dry out the palate like a nice Irish stout, though. The brewery seems to have cadged the worst elements of each stout variety and highlighted them in this recipe. Not good.

Brasserie Caracole "Nostradamus"
I'm not entirely sure why I picked this beer up. It's a wintery sort of tipple, brown, rich, and very strong at 9.5% abv. Somehow my hand was drawn to the bottle, though, and I tried it out. Fortunately, it's been kind of wintry in Portland lately (69 as our high yesterday), so I didn't mind and out-of-seasonal.

Caracole is a new company, but like so many in Belgium, the residents inhabit an ancient brewery. Located in Wallonia, near the French border in Falmignoul, Brasserie Moussoux was founded ten years before America was born. In the year the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the name was changed to Brasserie Lamotte before eventually becoming Caracole in the year Clinton was first elected. The brewery is proud of its artisinal heritage, and still brews the old-fashioned way, over a wood fire.

Two things I didn't expect about this beer: it had an enormous, fluffy head that persisted to the final sip (amazing for a beer of this potency) , and it had a distinct hazelnut flavor. I looked at the website after I bought it to see what I'd gotten (the label was terse), but they offered this useles information: "piquant in the mouth with liquorice, mocha flavors, pear and toasted bread background." Which makes me wonder--do they even try the beers, or just select adjectives at random?

For me, this was a strong nut ale, neither piquant or bearing pear. The strength and thickness of the beer demanded a slow, sipping experience, but the hazelnut note was sweet and approachable enough that I was almost drawn to quaff. I suspect a good part of the sweetness comes from caramelization that occurs over the wood stove. I wouldn't describe it as an incredibly complex beer, but it is quite pleasant. I will have to remember to try it during the actual winter, perhaps in front of a fire.

_______

All of these beers are available at Belmont Station. The Caracole and some Cantillon offerings (but not Organic Gueuze) can be found at the New Seasons on Division.

Ode to Blue Dot

It might be an interesting experiment: the metaphor beers. Take an abstraction and brew the beer to suit it. For example, Earth Day. Lesser innovators might offer a uninspired metaphor, digging through existing styles for one that is most (pick one: green, earthy, natural). Thus might you end up with an organic lambic, say (spontaneously fermented from natural, wild yeasts!).

Hair of the Dog did far better. The brewery's take on Earth Day is Blue Dot, so named for the wee speck of azure floating in Alpha Centauri's sky. But HotD pretty much exists in the realm of stylistic abstraction (contasted to German precision), unable to brew a beer to style if their lives depended on it, so this was perhaps not the most challenging task.

Blue Dot, of which I managed to taste about four ounces before all extant bottles vanished from the face of the earth, debuted last year to the usual commercial pandemonium. This year, brewer Alan Sprints offered up more of the precious liquid bullion at a dock sail, and I think he was getting six hundred dollars a case. (Kidding.) I managed to score a few precious bottles from Belmont Station, though I have no confidence they have any left. You could stop by and have a look--who knows? It might be interesting just to see what they would charge you.

I cracked my first bottle last night (the other two will remain, probably forever, since I lack the will to crack aged beer, in the larder) and was stunned by what poured out. It was not a beer so much as a liquid paean to life, saturated with glorious, resinous flavor, metaphor for wild vitality. I can't review it, so I'll do the next best thing. If you chance upon a bottle, buy it and damn the price.

Ode
Blue Dot is a tincture of hop, an alcohol solution of mild acidity saturated with the essence of green. It is vita, it is sustenence; distillate of joy. Soil terroir, root seed leaf, fresh stream water. Balance harmony cycle.

Drink, ye who love the jade wolf, and be restored.

Review - BridgePort Haymaker

Many people like light-bodied, mild beers. (Few of them read this site.) Many, many people. Anheuser-Busch sells them oceans of it. But there are a few people who hanker for a light-bodied, mild good beer, and in Beervana, their choices are limited. Periodically, a brewery decides to take up the gauntlet and brew such a beer, one worthy of the company's name (and able to command eight bucks a sixer) but as light an refreshing as an August breeze. Turns out, this is no easy task.

When you're working with fewer ingredients, you have a far smaller margin of error. Mistakes are amplified in the absence of massive hopping and dense body. A little too much of anything ruins the beer, a little too little and it's Bud.

So into this void comes BridgePort Haymaker, an "extra pale ale." The marketing department, much to BridgePort's shame, was allowed to write the copy, which reads:

Make Hay. It's an old, old phrase from a much simpler time. It's optimistic. It's positive. And it's the two words that sum up Haymaker Extra Pale Ale, the newest brew from BridgePort Brewing Company. Haymaker is a refreshing, extra pale ale that is simply sunshine in a bottle! It's a distinct blend of four malts and three varieties of hops that create a slightly complex, crisp and bright ale. So enjoy often and "Make Hay!"

I love the early language there, which seems to have come out of a pitch meeting and accidently got left in the description. "It's optimistic. It's positive. It's the kind of beer you take home to meet your Mom!" And later, the "slightly complex" comment is a strange miscue. (Isn't the first rule of marketing never to weaken descriptions?) However, I guess it clears up why there's a rooster on the label. Sort of.

All right, I'll lay off the marketing, which in fact belie an impressive effort at a mild beer.

Tasting Notes
The brewers at BridgePort gave themselves a little more oomph to work with, brewing Haymaker from a 12.8° P recipe for a beer that is slightly bigger, at 5.3% than Mirror Pond (5%). However, they restricted themselves to a paltry 15 IBUs, just a third of Mirror Pond's 40. Nevertheless, they get a fair amount of flavor out of the hops they do use. (The less time hops spend in the boil, the less bitterness they contribute; however, they add more aroma and the flavor comes through more perceptibly.) Haymaker's are spritely and fresh; definitely a minor note, but they give the beer critical interest.

What emerges is a crisp, light beer that recalls kolsch rather than a light pilsner. It lacks the fruitiness characteristic of most West Coast ales; instead, it's dry and seems to have a faint acidity I associate with kolsches. Perhaps the brewers finished it so that almost no residual sugars remain. And one thing about the hokey ad copy is right--it looks like sunshine in a bottle. I have attempted to capture this in a crude phone cam photo, but perhaps language will render it more accurately. It's not actually extra pale; it's a rich, bright golden that captures light and refracts it into liquid sunshine.

My guess is that most people will find this beer underwhelming. Since it's the same price as BridgePort's IPA, and essentially the same strength, many people will find it a beer to admire (at most), not enjoy. I do enjoy it and admire it. I'll be careful about whom I recommend it to, though.

Statistics
Malts: "four"
Hops: "three varieties"
Original Gravity: 2.8° Plato
IBUs: 15
ABV: 5.3%
Available: Western states, through the summer

Also, the brewery is hosting a release party on Wednesday. From the press release:

BridgePort Brewing Co. is inviting the community to make hay and come to the brewery on May 3, First Thursday, from 6 to 9 p.m. to celebrate the launch of Haymaker Extra Pale Ale. Admission to the event is free. The Haymaker launch party will feature complimentary samples of Haymaker, food specials, and live knee-slapping bluegrass music by The Josh Cole Band, a group of self-described flat-picking hooligans. Inspired by the pure, time-honored stylings of The Stanley Brothers, Josh Cole's heart-of-gold voice and the group's hard driving instrumentation are a perfect fit to celebrate the release of Haymaker.

Henry Weinhard's Organic Amber

There appears to be an imposter on grocery shelves. In Oregon anyway, a hard line divides micro and macro, and "gourmet" beers like Michelob are kept in their place (with the Hamm's, where the belong). Starting about two weeks ago a sleek sixer bearing the name "Henry Weinhard's" started appearing on the micro section of the beer case. It migrated just a foot, but there it is, like a Sooner on land grab day, on the other side of the line. So, what gives? Did Henry's finally game the system? No: in this case, appearances are misleading. Henry's had made a real micro-quality beer, and it has earned its place among the good beer, a rather remarkable development in industrial brewing.

Before the review, some speculation on what Henry's is up to. Ambers have evolved to become the classic "crossover" beer--an inoffensive style that non-beer (or tin-can-beer) people can tolerate. MacTarnahan's has managed to eke out a marginal place here, but other challengers to the throne continue to pop up--F[l]at Tire, Mac and Jack's, Alaskan. (Full Sail's Amber, which was the first, is too strong, hoppy, and ale-y to fit in this category.) If Henry's was going to mount a charge on this market, they chose a beer that might possibly appeal to their current customers.

But clearly, Miller (current owner of the Weinhard brand) has a more ambitious goal. By crafting an organic ale--and advertising on OPB--Henry's is aiming for a share of the Whole Foods segment. It's a canny move. Ever since Weinhard found a home at the Full Sail plant, it's fallen back into the good graces of Oregonians. For over 30 years, it has had the reputation of being a higher-quality beer than national brands, so trying to move it up the quality ladder is smarter than scrambling for the Pabst market.

And the price point is fully micro--I paid $5.99 for my six-pack, and it was on sale. It's possible they'll keep it marginally cheaper than other micros, but 50 cents isn't going to cause someone to abandon Mirror Pond. Henry's is going to have to compete on taste. Which takes me to . . .

Tasting Notes
It pours out a warm copper-amber, which was the first surprise (I had Blue Boar "Ale"--which looked like every other macro-lager--in my memory). It had a viscosity that you'd expect in a micro ale; unfortunately, the head dissipated rather quickly. Aroma is mild--nutty malting and a fleeting floral essence. In flavor, it's akin to Fat Tire, with an emphasis on malt. It's a little flaccid in the middle, with a cereal-malt-like quality. This is standard for the style, though not thrilling. The hops are detectable, but just. They balance the malt, but don't offer much in the way of actual character. I suspect that in a blind taste test, it would beat Fat Tire and Mac and Jack's, but lose out to MacTarnahans, which has about 50% more bitterness and a lot more hop character.

In terms of commercial prospects, I think the horizon is clear. No bets, but this is a very interesting experiment. Amber- and Hefeweizen-dependent breweries don't have to panic just yet, but they're probably breaking a sweat. We'll see.

Stats
Malts: Pale, Crystal
Hops: Mt. Hood, Simcoe
Alcohol by volume: 5.3%
Original Gravity: NA
Bitterness Units: 21
Available: Year round, on your micro shelf at the grocery store

Rating
Good (for style).

Two Pales for Winter - Widmer '07 and Dick's IPA

When last I was standing in front of the beer cooler at Freddy's, I selected a couple of bottles that would more properly served in May. Maybe it's the same problem that infects holiday marketing--you want to get an earlier and early jump on things, so Spring beers come out in January.

Never mind the season, there's something to learn here: the two beers form a nice little binary set. Both are good examples of Northwest brewing: they are loose, funky variations on a style, done in a sort of grungy garage-band style. One succeeds, one fails. Why this is so becomes an object lesson in brewing.

Widmer '07 Pale Ale
Each year, Widmer releases a beer in it's "W" Brewmasters' series. Two years ago it was an IPA and last year a strong red. This year they ratchet back the oomph and give us a very summery pale ale with an amazing depth of hopping. They have used four different types of hops in various additions throughout the boil and after (it's dry-hopped), to create a sublime aroma that is sweet and citrusy, but with a distinct lemony note. On the palate, the hops comingle with the malt to draw out the sweetness--at 34 BUs, it's not actually very bitter.

The beer is a becoming reddish-pale; a strawberry blonde? Crowd-pleasingly approachable, but with lots of flavor. I sometimes find dry, slightly grating quality in the Widmer yeast, but this is purely sweet and hoppy. It reminds me of some of the beers I've tasted by younger brewers who are filled with exuberence--they want to use every hop in the house. It is certainly not the kind of beer one would expect from the largest, second-oldest brewery in the state: W '07 is of the more surprising bottled offerings from the Widmers in recent memory.

Stats
Malts: Pale, CaraVienne 20-L, Caramel 80-L, Carapils
Hops: boil - Alchemy, finishing - Alchemy, Summit, dry-hopping - Summit, Chinook
Alcohol by volume: 5.4%
Original Gravity: 13° Plato
Bitterness Units: 34
Available: Through July

Rating
Excellent.

Dick's IPA
Thanks to our winter ale tasting, Dick's has now entered my radar. I was pleased to see it getting some shelf space, and had high hopes when I poured out the cloudy golden bottle. Alas, Dick's is a textbook example of a rowdy beer gone wrong. At just 5%, it's far from a true IPA (most standard pale ales are stronger), but who's slavish about designations? The problem is that it's hopped like an IPA, producing a brutally aggressive beer with no legs to support itself. Hops can be a good thing, and some nuclear recipes have the layered hopping and malt backbone to support 75+ IBUs (by "layered" I mean hopping that contributes flavor and aroma along with alpha acid bitterness). But Dick's isn't balanced, and it seems like an amateurish effort.

Northwest beers are test their mettle with hoppy beers--not so much for the dollars as for bragging rights. Dick's has come out swinging, but they've shown that hops ain't enough for bragging rights--the entire recipe has to sing.

Stats
Malts: Unknown
Hops: Chinook, Tomahawk
Alcohol by volume: 5%
Original Gravity: 1.055
Bitterness Units: Unknown

Rating
Average.

Sierra Nevada IPA

I was in the store the other day, and saw a sixer of Sierra Nevada IPA, a beer listed on the brewery's webpage as a "specialty draft." Apparently a seasonal, but I know nothing more about it. However, it was mighty tasty, so here's a quickie review (more on the style here, if you wish a backgrounder).

Tasting Notes
Sierra Nevada has gone for an English IPA, distinct from the Northwest version by virtue of hops. You notice it first in the nose (the appearance, golden orange, looks like Inversion)--nothing citrusy about this beer. It has an aroma I finally settled on as cedar, reminiscent of strongly-hopped London ales I've had.

The flavor is also woody, with an intense, resinous hopping. I am particularly (pleasantly) sensitive to Goldings, and these really pop. The beer is sharply effervescent and has a hard-water crispness. The aftertaste leaves your mouth coated and lips smacking. It reminded me quite a bit of Fuller's ESB, though I don't know if they would taste alike side by side.

Given that there are a million IPAs on the West Coast, it's a nice change-up to find an English style. I really enjoyed this one.

Stats
Malts: "English malts"
Hops: Boil - Magnum; finishing and dry-hop - Golding
Alcohol by volume: 6.9%
Original Gravity: N/A
Bitterness Units: N/A

Rating
Excellent.

__________
PHOTO: SF Fred

BridgePort's Beertown Brown

Brown ales are having their moment. Last year, Deschutes released Buzzsaw Brown and this year BridgePort has introduced Beertown Brown. Even the New York Times is hip to the trend. Browns are a worthy and neglected style, one of the only traditional English ales that hasn't made a dent in American brewing. But why now?

In the Jan 22 New Yorker, Eric Konigsberg describes the trend in colors, and maybe there's a hint here. Colors, as you know, follow the mood of the age (you do know that, don't you?): flamboyant and pschedelic in the drug-washed 70s, metalic and gray in the techno-greedy 80s. The aughts, it appears, are gloomy:

"I see an influence from the military situation, and I think it's going to be with us for a while," [pigment specialist Catherin Wunch] said. "I kind of see colors for 2008 as being grayed." Wunch, who has short hair in a square a businesslike cut, passed around a handful of color chips, in gray blues, gray browns, and a grayish pink....

Jill Liebson, a designer for a fabric-printing company in Florida, seemed to agree. "I think we're going to go much deeper than before, because we aren't living in optimistic times," she said. "And in the home people want deep safety."

So, brown ales. Safe and comforting, a touch sweet but not overwhelmingly so--Ovaltine for the soul. This appears to be what BridgePort had in mind with Beertown Brown, which the brewery describes as "an easygoing, drinkable beer." It's not designed to challenge, but to soothe.

Tasting Notes
I love browns, if such a thing can be said about this modest style. They are comforting and, when they're well-brewed, can be a symphony of minor notes. It's not a style that will knock your socks off, but you can be quietly impressed.

Such, sadly, is not the case with Beertown. With mild styles, the line between good and insipid isn't wide, and I'm sad to say that it is on the wrong side. In every way, it fails to measure up: the color is faded, the head fizzy and weak; it is thin of body, and the malt notes are hollow; the hopping is far too mild to provide any interest. It's a watery beer without a distinguishing character. It is not an impressive beer.

But don't take my word for it. The Denver Post gave the beer a mini-review, and they were underwhelmed, as well:

"Beertown is a bit thinner on flavor than its British forebears, with a good malt aroma but not much behind. True to the style, there's just a hint of hops in the finish. It has 5.2 percent alcohol (by volume)."

(You know a beer is timid by Northwest standards when it is regarded as a lightweight in Colorado.)

There may be reason to hope for improvement, though. I got wind of a rumor that BridgePort
may be tinkering with the recipe. Let's hope so--with some more body and 50% more hops, Beertown could easily cross back over the line into subtle excellence. And, if I'm going to manage in the face of all this gloom, I'll need the extra body and hops in my comforting brown.

Stats
Malts: Unknown
Hops: Unknown
Alcohol by volume: 5.2%
Original Gravity: 13.2° Plato
Bitterness Units: 20

Rating
Average.

Full Sail Limited Edition Lager (LTD Series)

With Limited Edition Lager, Full Sail extends its foray into lagers and overwrought x-games language. It is the first of their "Livin' the Dream" series (aka LTD), and the packaging--not so much the bottle, but the sixer box--drips with, like, gnarly rippin' verbiage, dude. It is the least palatable aspect of the brewery's new direction, but I've always been happy to ignore what the marketing department's doing and go straight for the beer. So let's do that.

Tasting Notes
It is an impressive-looking beer. A striking russet, and clear as a winter night. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't russet. It has a characteristically lager-y aroma, like a marzen, sweet with a touch of aromatic noble hopping.

There are two pronounced flavors in this beer, candy and spice. The initial impression is of sugar--it's perhaps the sweetest beer I've ever tasted. Candy sweet, though, not thick and malty like a barley wine. It is fairly effervescent, and I also get a cola note, which makes the whole affair taste, at first blush, like a Pepsi. But then the hopping comes in, and pretty robustly. It's peppery-spicy, and it doesn't balance the cola so much as draw your attention away from it. The finish remains sweet, but the hops do stay with you.

At first I thought it was going to be a fairly standard lager, something like a big marzen (it goes 6.4%). But this is entirely novel. I tend not to appreciate lagers as much as my wife Sally, so I studied her reaction and took a few quick notes. Said she: "I really like it. It's eeeeasy drinkin'; sweet and tasty. Hey, it even says easy-drinking on the label."

I'm not going to knock myself out looking for this beer, but I think it may appeal to some of the same people Session appeals to, but draw them further into the quicksand of good beer--from which, I hope, they will never escape. If it does that, well, that'd be rippin' gnarly, dude.

Stats
Malts: Caramel, chocolate, wheat
Hops: Czech Saaz, Hallertauer
Alcohol by volume: 6.4%
Original Gravity: 16 degrees Plato
Bitterness Units: 26
Other: A "secret sauce" (brewery's words)
Available: Everywhere, until the Spring when LTD 02 will be released.

Rating
Good.

The Abyss - Deschutes

When I saw John Foyston's article about Deschute's new "brewmaster's reserve" beer, I instantly went out and bought it. Deschutes almost never brews bad beer, and this one hit my stylistic sweet spot:

The Abyss is the second of the Deschutes Brewery's Reserve Series launched last year with oak-aged Mirror Mirror, which was based on a double Mirror Pond Ale. The Abyss is an imperial stout -- 11 percent alcohol -- aged in French oak and bourbon casks.

Well, I cracked a bottle last night, and I am sorry to report that it's a little green. "Little" as in Kansas has a little corn.

It may be that in a year the flavors will ultimately coalesce, but for now, it's an overly strong, harsh beer. Unlike the Storm King I reviewed last week, The Abyss is unpleasantly bitter and aggressive. Dark malts are alternately burnt and tannic, overwhelming the creamy body and subtler notes of bourbon and oak. Imagine unsweetened chocolate.

I will stow my bottles in the basement and let them age at least five years. It's not a sure bet, but my guess is that these flavors will change and produce an exceptional beer. If you are/were lucky enough to score a bottle, cellar it and check back in 2011.

Statistics
All the brewery tells us is the alcohol percentage and the method of aging. Everything else is up to your palate.

Available: Bottles: Belmont Station, Liquid Solutions, selected New Seasons. On tap: Concordia Ale House, Horse Brass, Oaks Bottom, the Mash Tun.

Rating
Average

All Hail the King

Among the macho style of beers--doppelbocks, stong ales, barleywines--perhaps the greatest (mucho macho?) is the imperial stout. This is partly due to its strength and profile (huge, oily, black), but also its history: as early as the late 1700s, British brewers were shipping it throughout the Baltic region and as far as Tsarist Russia, from whence came the name, Russian Imperial Stout.

Original gravities range from 1.075 and go up past 11, with alcohol from 9% and up. When you brew an imperial stout, you throw about everything you can think of in it, including more hops than even extreme hopheads think is a good idea--to balance the malt, you need electric amounts of alpha acids. For me, the most characteristic quality in a good imperial is the narcotic effect it gives, a warmth that radiates right into the hypothalmus. It induces a sense of wellbeing and an insensitivity to chill winds.

Based on my informal glances in pubs across Portland, Beervanians drink a lot of stout, and this is supported by my (highly scientific) sample of friends and acquantances--a few of whom only drink dark ales. So I was both interested and not particularly hopeful when I picked up a bottle of Victory Brewing's Storm King. Fantastic name, but what could a Pennsylvania brewery hope to offer a dark-hearted Webfoot?

Tasting Notes
The information about Storm King is scant (malt: "2-row barley," hops: "American"), but there seems to be something special in the beer. It pours out like motor oil and from its viscous surface rises the aroma of peat. It's a smoky, earthy smell, and I wondered if the brewery somehow managed to peat-smoke some malt.

I was shocked to discover that the lovely aroma actually understated the complexity of Storm King. It's the kind of beer you could swirl around in your mouth for five minutes just to suss out the different elements. Its central characteristic is a deep bitterness, at times like coffee or very dark chocolate, but other times like a nice scotch. That's the impression I finally took away from this beer, too--it had the kind of satisfying intensity of a peaty Islay malt. It was one of the most extraordinary beers I've had recently. I have generally considered Rasputin to be the standard of imperial stouts, but I'm afraid we have a new contender.

I'd love to see an Oregon brewer consider this Pennsylvania gauntlet and see if it can be matched.

Statistics
Hops: "American whole flower"
Malts: Two-row pale and ... ?
Alcohol by Volume: 9.1%
Original Gravity: Unknown
Bitterness Units: Unkown.
Available: Belmont Station.

Rating
A classic

Two More Winter Ales

I continue to work my way through the winter beers, but there is such a bounty that I have my work cut out for me. (Not like it's ditch-digging or anything.) Two of my recent samples hail from Oregon and are a mixed bag.

Full Sail Wreck the Halls
Since Full Sail already had one winter seasonal, John Harris's cult favorite is called a "brewmaster's reserve." But make no mistake, with a name like "Wreck the Halls," you know it's a holiday beer. After Sierra Nevada's Celebration, Wreck the Halls may inspire the most fervent devotion of any winter ale, but of the two, it seems more worthy to me.

Tasting Notes
Pours out a warm bronze with a pretty white head, and bursts with aroma. Bursts, as in an orange, sending its citrus into the air like a freshly-peeled fruit. Almost every winter ale will be better six months or a year after it was bottled, but this is the exception--you want to get a bottle while those hops are still so energetic.

There are two central varieties of winter ale, and Wreck the Halls comes from the minority variety, a lighter, IPA-ish ale that is headed down the road toward barleywine. At 6.5%, Wreck isn't that strong, but it manages to produce the kind of thick, candied quality you like from this style. Perhaps because of the citrus nose, it reminded me of a traditional winter desert from a norther country--with dried fruit and the suggestion of liquor. I don't get the love of Celebration, but Wreck the Halls could inspire devotion.

Rating
Excellent (with room to grow)

Siletz Winter Warmer Ale
This was not a great beer. It was flat pouring out, an indistinct brown with not much in the way of a head, and had a slightly sour, cidery aroma. The flavor wasn't awful, it just wasn't anything. Very little in the way of hopping, but the malt didn't come forward, either--it lacked mouthfeel or texture or any of the kind of qualities you'd like from a malty beer (nutty flavor, creaminess). I've brewed a few batches of homebrew that have this indifferent quality, and I didn't regard them highly.

Rating
Average (at best)

Winter Beers - Never Winter Ale

I am pleased to see David Zuckerman's signature on the label of the poorly-named Never Summer Ale from Boulder Beer. It is a tip of the hat to the person who is arguably Colorado's finest brewer working for inarguably its best brewery. Boulder has long given a little too much weight to the marketing department, who come up with names like Never Summer Ale. Witness the language on the bottle:

Welcome to Never Summer Ale, our version of an aggressive winter seasonal and the 3rd release in our Looking Glass Serious of specialty beers. Deep ruby red, assertively hopped and brewed with dark caramel malt, Never Summer Ale makes even the coldest Colorado peaks seem warm. Thanks for picking up our winter favorite. We invite you to discover all of our award-winning beers at BoulderBeer.com. Celebrate the long nights of winter. Cheers and enjoy!

I have no doubt Dave never laid eyes on this text, but nevermind the label, the name, or the fake homey text. (I think the signature is real.) This is a Zuckerman beer, which is good news for Webfeet--Dave honed his craft at BridgePort and makes great beers.

Tasting Notes
Despite the overwrought language, this isn't a crazy beer. It is in what I think of as the "classic" NW style of winter ales, ala Jubel and Wassail. It pours deep red with a white head--candy cane seasonal. The hop aroma is coupled with a candyish sweetness. It smells like a classic winter ale.

It falls on the lighter end of the winter spectrum (6%), but tastes robust and hearty. I was first put off slightly by the thin body--some winters are thick and creamy, frothed for warmth--but the flavor is as deep and rich as I was hoping for. Nice balance, a promising underlayment of alcohol bite, and a long, slow finish. The website claims there's an unnamed spice in the beer, but it apparently only draws out the hopping; anyway, I can't identify it. Extra points if you know, super ultra extra points if you can identify it with your palate alone. Great beer.

Statistics
Hops: Nugget, Willamette, Cascade.
Malts: Two-row pale and dark British caramel
Alcohol by Volume: 6%
Original Gravity: 15 degrees Plato
Bitterness Units: unkown.
Other: "Top secret brewmaster's spice"
Available: Belmont Station.

Rating
Excellent

Chinese Beer

The last three weeks have been relatively unbeery as I made my way from India to Hong Kong ... but not completely so.

Never mind India Pale Ales, the subcontinent is a dead zone for beers. Once Mountbatten left, so did all the good beer (actually, I have no idea how long the Brits continued to line their hulls with ale). With names like He-Man 9000 and Knock Out, you devine quickly what the Indians are after. (There's an export market for beers made but not available there, but that's a different post.) In any case, I skipped the He-Man.

On to Hong Kong, famously urban and urbane city where the night life hums with action. No doubt a haven for at least one local brewer, right? No. There are exactly zero breweries on the island--except possibly for a brewpub, mentioned only obliquely (and without an address) in my guide book. You'd think that a former British colony would have beer, but in this case, you'd be wrong. Locals drink San Miguel, the poor Filippino beer, or hard liquor. Since San Miguel is available here, I skipped it, but did decide to pop into a grocery store to see if anything interesting was available there.

Turns out China has a number of breweries, and a few products are shipped to the Island. If you've been to Asia or tried Tsingtao (pr. "Ching Dow," at least on local commercials), you're probably familiar with the pale, very light lagers generally available. That's the case with the two Chinese beers I tried, one from Dali (大理啤酒) and another from Shenzhen Kingway (金威啤酒).

Kingway had a boring label, but beguiling copy: "With the best malt and Germany technology." Reading a little further, I found that rice was one of the ingredients--just like they make it in old Berlin. The beer was incredibly pale and light bodied. It was the closest I've ever had to tasting flavorless beer (Bud might take note). It was crisp, though, and had no cheap, offensive flavors. It may well have had no alcohol, either.

I bought the Dali Beer because the label was wholly in Chinese (I'll try to get a pic--I dragged the bottle home because it was so cool). The brewery is named after the city in Yunnan Province where it's brewed, and they apparently produce a number of different beers. The one I got was called "Wind, Flower, Snow, and Moon," which is apparently also a nickname for the city. The beer reminded me a lot of Singha, with that characteristic yeast note it has. Call it metallic, but in a good way. (Singha is one of my favorite pale lagers.) It was slightly soft and floral, and a rather nice beer. It was also surprisingly cheap--just a buck for a large bottle (seven dollars Hong Kong). The prettiest and the cheapest, and a good beer to boot. Cool.

Two other beer-related discoveries. There was a Turkish restaurant in the little town we stayed in (Mui Wo on Lantau Island) that had Efes Pilsener. Another very nice pale lager, and apparently the Budweiser of Turkey. It has a slightly sweet, noticeably hoppy palate--more character than I'd expect from an industrial beer, and better than anything you can get in a can in the US.

Finally, the little corner market also stocked the original Budweiser from Budvar, and so I picked up a bottle for the collection. And no US warning label!

On Tap Around Town

Whenever we go out to eat, I look for unusual beers, and recently I encountered a couple to recommend. The first is Caldera IPA, which is on tap at Taqueria Nueve, just North of Burnside on 28th. The restaurant is haute Mexican, with smallish portions and biggish prices. It's a great restaurant and worth the price, but if you're used to spending three bucks fitty on two-pound burrito, it can be a little disorienting. Bolster yourself with the Caldera. It's a magnificent beer.

The second offering is just around the corner, the Screen Door on Burnside and 24th. Unlike Taqueria Nueve, there's almost no chance you'll walk out hungry. The food is Southern, which means deep-fried or butter-soaked. Mighty tasty, but don't wander in when you're only peckish. The beer menu includes Roots Red--always recommended--and Turbodog, from New Orleans' Abita Brewery. Consulting the webpage, I see it's actually an ale, but it tastes more like a dark lager. Cryptically, Abita writes of its yeast: "We culture our own yeast from strains developed by German brewers." So maybe it's an alt strain. In any case, it's a malty beer with a slightly strange, unidentifiable flavor that really complements heavy, fried foods. Not unlike Negra Modelo, but tastier. Go have yourself some red beans and rice and a pint of the 'Dog.