How to Tank Spectacularly in the New Market

Update. By some cosmic serendipity, Patrick and I went to Corvallis yesterday to record an interview with Tom Shellhammer--a hops researcher and professor in the Fermentation Sciences program at OSU. As we were touring their test brewery, he mentioned how supportive BridgePort has been, and that Carlos Alvarez had cut them a check for $100,000 to support their projects. This doesn't change any of my analysis below, but it certainly adds an important layer to the BridgePort story.

(l-r) John Foyston, Dick Ponzi, Carlos Alvarez

Over at Willamette Week, Matthew Korfhage has an article about Oregon's tightening beer market. The story is an Oregonized version of one we've seen applied to the national market a number of times over the past couple years. Thumbnail: in a tightening market, it's harder for the biggest players to maintain their barrelage even while small and mid-sized breweries continue to post big numbers. This is, in fact, what you'd expect in a mature market and it's not particularly surprising. Korfhage's case-in-point in the article is BridgePort, which is busy imploding before our eyes--but I think this illustrates a different lesson: in a tightening market, a brewery can no longer make a series of stupid decisions and expect to avoid tanking spectacularly.

We have to go back a ways to tell the story. BridgePort is Oregon's oldest extant brewery, and was for the first 20 years of its existence synonymous with the city of Portland. Its flagship beer was named after the city's beloved bird (Blue Heron), it had one of the best pubs in the city--a pilgrimage site for beer travelers. It cemented its connection through things like Old Knucklehead, a barleywine that featured a prominent local beer guy on the label. And then, in 1996, the brewery released its IPA, a beer that changed the course of brewing in Oregon. BridgePort was, ten years ago, one of our healthiest; it sold 24,000 barrels in Oregon, making it the third-largest seller in the state.

But it was about that time that the consequences of a decision made a decade earlier started to become evident. In 1995, Gambrinus, a Texas-based Corona importer, bought BridgePort. It took owner Carlos Alvarez a while before he started tinkering heavily with the direction of his Portland acquisition, but the first real danger sign came when he renovated the pub, turning it into a generically upscale restaurant and destroying one of the company's chief assets.

His next step was to begin tinkering with the beer lineup (only one beer, IPA, survives from a decade ago). This was inevitable and smart, and most breweries have followed a similar course. But BridgePort's approach was haphazard and bizarre.* They killed off brands like Old Knucklehead and Blue Heron that had strong niche followings. They introduced a series of random beers that had no native connection to BridgePort's identity. Some were good (Hop Czar), some not (Cafe Negro) (seriously, that was one of their great ideas). They let the IPA languish. The approach seemed to be: let's release whatever's a year out of fashion and hope to catch the dregs of a wave. 

How's that working out? Here's their Oregon sales numbers, via the OLCC:

Three years ago, Alvarez and his executives came up to Portland for a dog and pony show celebrating the 30th anniversary. It was without a doubt the weirdest event I've ever been to. Alvarez was aggressively out of touch with Portland and seemed to go out of his way to emphasize that we were doing it wrong. The restaurant chain Chili's came in for a lot of praise, and that seems to be the model he's attempted to place on BridgePort. He was happy to trademark the word "Beervana" and promulgate the slogan "keep Portland beered," but he seems to dislike anything actually weird. I doubt "Portlandia" occupies a lot of space on the Alvarez TiVo.

In my review of the newly renovated pub back in 2006, I wrote this, rather more hopefully than subsequent events warranted:

But it is not a classic, nor does it reflect anything intrinsic about the brewery or Portland. Styles will change and so, presumably, will the brewery. In ten or fifteen years, as aesthetics have changed, it will have the dog-earred, slightly embarrassing aspect trendy restaurants inevitably acquire. And then Gambrinus can update it. I hope, for the sake of the brewery and the city, that the company recognizes the beauty and history resident in the massive beams that still span the old warehouse and restore some of the old Portland funkiness. That may seem a long wait, but hey--I recall the brewery of 1991, and it doesn't seem that long ago. The beams will still be there.

It turns out that wasn't a one-off; it was a signal of the future direction. And indeed, the pub hasn't aged well.

Craft breweries have to connect to their local market to succeed. There are a few rare exceptions--Rogue sells 84% of its beer outside the state--but even breweries like Widmer and Deschutes depend enormously on local sales. The Texas-based ownership of BridgePort has not just neglected its home market, but seems actively antagonistic to it. Until recently, it was possible for BridgePort to bumble along and still hang onto its local volume, which was basically flat from 2006-2013. But mature markets are not kind to bumblers. Why is anyone going to gamble on a six-pack of ORA (Oatmeal Red Ale) when there are twenty other much safer bets at the store? They're not. The numbers starkly demonstrate this point.

Ten years ago, BridgePort was one of Oregon's best and best-selling breweries. It had the kind of credibility you can't manufacture. It was indelibly connected to the city and seemed to be one of the most stable, reliable breweries in the country. Today it teeters on the edge of failure. If we were running a dead pool now, it would be at or near the top. It's main function now seems to be as a cautionary tale about how not to run your brewery.

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*Based on conversations with people inside the brewery and direct observation of the way Alvarez treats his employees, I think this comes entirely from San Antonio. I have long admired the work people do at the brewery, who have to turn out quality products in spite of the terrible leadership from above. My criticism is for the decision-makers, not the brewers.

Lessons From a 25-Year-Old Beer

Last night a group of friends and I cracked open the first bottling of Old Knucklehead from BridgePort--a beer dating back to 1989.  Back in the day, Old Knucklehead (OK) was a wonderful tradition.  The brewery honored a local codger (some famous, some not) by putting his visage on a little nip bottle.  It combined localness, particularity, and tradition all in one lovely little package.  (The brewery would do well revive the tradition, methinks.  It's hyper local tradition and wouldn't account for many barrels in absolute terms, but it would get a ton of press and continue a beloved tradition.  It's also perfect for the social media age.)

I have no idea who's on that first bottle--I think it was a regular at the old brewery.  Labeling standards were different then (no government warning, for instance), and the ABV isn't listed.  If memory serves, OK was a relatively low-alcohol barley wine--nine percentish.  All of which made analyzing it more dependent on what our senses could tell us. 

One thing you could tell right away was the clarity--even in the bottle.  That was a good sign.  When we cracked it, the bottle let out a nice pssst, and bubbles sprang to the surface.  Old Knucklehead was bottle-conditioned, and there was a thick layer of now-black yeast at the bottom.  Bottle conditioning is great for aging beers in the shorter term--the yeast harvests oxygen while refermenting in the bottle.  But it also raises the risk of autolysis (yeast cell degradation). 

 Twenty-five years is a long time, but amazingly, the beer had little flavor of autolysis and also not a ton of oxidation.  For those who like the effect of oxidation on high alcohol beers, this was an argument for the prosecution.  A tinge of paper, but mostly a rich, sherry-like note.  There were no hops left, but the beer was not overly sweet.  Some bread pudding and raisin, but balanced by the sherry note. 

The beer probably would have been better a decade or two earlier, but it was still surprisingly fresh and tasty.  People often ask me how long you can store beer before it's a lost cause, and I've always been reluctant to answer.  My data set--like most people's--is not flush with examples.  But 25 years is quite a test.  And this bottle, which was well cared-for in that quarter-century, held up remarkably well.

Bright and effervescent after 25 years.

How BridgePort Got Its IPA

BridgePort IPA was released in 1996, which doesn't exactly place it at the front of the hoppy American ale line.  In 1996, I was already a hophead, and I got my fix through assorted offerings, the majority of which were not called "IPA."  But as I sat in the Gypsy across from Cinema 21 killing time before a show 18 years ago, I first encountered the flavor of the future.  Bitterness would soon become the rage, and an "arms race" followed, each beer more violent than the last.

BridgePort, though, foresaw the post-war period, when bitterness would give way to a different kind of intensity made of saturated flavors and aromas.  Hopping has now moved down the line, from the front of the boil to the end and after, in the conditioning tank.  (Sometimes breweries now skip the front of the boil altogether.)  I don't know that we can draw a direct line of causality directly backward from beers like Boneyard RPM all the way to NW Marshall, but BridgePort IPA was indeed the earliest example of these contemporary hoppy ales in the Pacific Northwest.

Last week, the man who first brewed that beer talked about it.  Appropriately, he's not from around here.  Sometimes it takes an immigrant to point out to locals what they have right in front of them.  Here's Australian brewer Phil Sexton describing his inspiration for BridgePort IPA.

Considering BridgePort at 30

Last week, the folks from Gambrinus organized a day-long retrospective of BridgePort Brewing.  It seemed partly to be for the benefit of the eight or ten media folks, and partly for members of the management who may not know the story of the last three decades.  The agenda called for speeches from some of the historical figures and a trip down to Goschie Farms to see where BridgePort sources most of its hops.  The idea was to focus on the brewery's hugely influential IPA and use that as a launchpad for visualizing the future.  We were meant to walk away thinking about BridgePort as the brewery of hops, past and future.  Instead, I was left with a much different impression. 

The Past

BridgePort is now Oregon's oldest brewery.  Perhaps more importantly, it was the first brewery to successfully fuse its identity and Portland's, owning the unofficial city beer, Blue Heron.  Its line of beers, including Pintail and Coho Pacific, were the most Oregonian of the early beers, and BridgePort banked a ton of local cred.  In 1989, they introduced Old Knucklehead Barleywine, with a different local beer legend on each year's label.  They also had the ur-brewpub, a an old rope warehouse lined with worn wood that helped define modern pub style.  When people took their relatives out for a quintessential Portland experience, they went to BridgePort.  (For a great history of this period, I direct you to Pete Dunlop's fantastic Portland Beer--a book that should be on the shelf of every Oregonian.)

In 1996, the brewery released IPA, a beer that predicted where the market would be headed a decade and a half later--toward mid-bitterness hoppy beers saturated with flavor and aroma.  It was not the first American IPA, but it was the most influential here in Portland.  Hops had been gaining among the geeky fringe but hadn't yet burst into the mainstream.  BridgePort's hazy, sunny IPA became a sensation and fixed expectations for what the Portland style should be.  (It's one reason why pedants distinguish Pacific NW IPAs from San Diego IPAs.)

(l-r) Carlos Alvarez, Dick and Nancy Ponzi, Phil Sexton,
and Jeff Edgerton

But this was also the moment the Ponzis decided to get out of the beer business and focus on their first love, wine.  They sold the brewery to Carlos Alvarez and his Gambrinus Company. Gambrinus was a nine-year old Corona importer that had purchased the Spoetzl Brewery (Shiner) in 1989.  It began the period when BridgePort began shedding its Portland-ness.  They dumped all the old beers (a backlash convinced them to bring back a retooled version of Blue Heron), replacing them with generic style-named beers: ESB, Porter, and so on.  A decade after he bought the brewery, Alvarez decided to do a complete renovation, and out went the old warehouse and in came a sterile, generic restaurant that got poor reviews from old-timers.

The Present
All of this has mystified me for the better part of two decades.  Why take a a brewery with so much local brand capital and slowly leach it off for little appreciable gain?  After having met Carlos Alvarez, I think I have an answer.  The guys in Texas have no interest in keeping the Portland weird in BridgePort.

Before the official program started last week, I chatted a bit with Alvarez, who emphasized the difference between a regional brewery and small, idiosyncratic brewpubs.  He likened it to the difference between a Chili's and the corner Ma and Pa restaurant.  This isn't an uncommon view--larger breweries often highlight with pride how they focus on quality control and consistency.  It was only later, as Alvarez addressed us in his speech, that I began to consider the restaurant example he used in that metaphor.  As he spoke, he talked a lot about his own journey, from his experience as the son of Corona distributor in Mexico to his arrival in Texas.  BridgePort became a part of the narrative of his life.  In fact, he talked more about and old fish warehouse nearby and how he wanted to make fish tacos instead of pizza at the pub.  It was a running joke, but it was instructive.  Alvarez wasn't interested in finding out what made Portland tick so he could keep BridgePort at the front of the local zeitgeist; he wanted to rid it of all that.

Craft brewers have spent three decades talking about the virtues of local beer.  It's baked into the cake of the American craft identity, so much so that any brewery that's tainted by the wrong owners is drummed out of the club.  That's a dubious benefit of localness, but this isn't: local breweries are attuned to the mores and preferences of their customers.  When they exist at the community level, their hyper-local focus can appear almost inexplicable to outsiders.  You see this in Cologne, Brussels, and Bamberg--and you see it in Portland and Oregon.  The breweries that attend to locals sell more beer to locals, and the ones who sand off the cultural edges to sell to a wider market (Rogue, BridgePort), sell less beer to locals. 

Alvarez clearly doesn't realize he's sanded off those edges.  He trademarked the word Beervana and has tried to associate the brewery with the Portlandia vibe in the recent "Keep Portland Beered" campaign.  No brewery is less weird than BridgePort, though, and the notion that a brewery would try to trademark "Beervana" is a miscalculation only a non-native would make.  Gambrinus removed the actual markers of localness that we would recognize and replaced them with slogans.

In 2006, BridgePort sold the 3rd most beer in Oregon, with just under 24,000 barrels.  Last year they sold 176 fewer barrels in Oregon than they did in that year.  They have since been supplanted by Ninkasi, Portland Brewing, and Full Sail, and 10 Barrel will likely overtake them in coming years.  Alvarez told me that BridgePort is available in 20 states, and maybe the de-Portlandizing of BridgePort helps sell beer in Texas. It seems pretty clearly like a miscalculation here, though. 

The Future
Despite all that, BridgePort has identified its remaining key asset: IPA.  In our tour last week, the brewery brought in Phil Sexton, the Australian brewer who created the original recipe.  They are laser-focused on this heritage (so much so that the mention of Karl Ockert, the founding brewer who helmed BridgePort for twenty years, was verboten), and this year will release something like seven or eight different hoppy ales--the large majority of their line.

Phil Sexton

Gambrinus is fortunate to have Jeff Edgerton making the beer, even if he appears to be on a very short leash, recipe-wise.*  Jeff is a talented brewer who manages to bring character and individuality into his beers.  The Citra Hop Czar and especially Trilogy 1 were both exceptional beers.  There's every reason to believe the brewery will continue to put out great beers.  Alvarez may not get Portland, but he gets good beer, and lets his brewers make a quality product.

I've rattled on so long now that I doubt many of you are still with me.  I'll wrap it up by saying that I think the odd place BridgePort occupies in the beer world will eventually look a lot less odd.  It's a brewery of the future, more corporate and generic, less tied to place.  It's not a bad brewery by any stretch--indeed, it's a very good brewery--but it's not very distinctive.  Alvarez spoke glowingly of Chili's, and whether you think of that as fortunate or not, that appears to be the model for BridgePort's future.

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*  When he was describing the development of Trilogy 3, which is a collaboration with the students at OSU, he mentioned that he has veto over the final beer.  And from the back of the crowd, Alvarez shouted that he had a second veto.  The interjection had enough pepper on it that there weren't many chuckles--he didn't appear to be joking.

All the New Beers

The release of new beers has an unpredictable quality.  Some years it seems like breweries collectively stand pat, while in others they issue a torrent of fresh suds.  This year is shaping up to be a torrent.  No single beer tells much the tale of the market, but if you look at them collectively, you can start to get a sense of where things are headed.  Saisons had their day, tarts, black IPAs, gluten-free, and organics.  So what's new in 2013.  Cue the ray of sunshine and the angelic choir, because it appears to be session ales. I have been flogging the joys of small beers for half a decade, and even, in one bright, shiny moment, helped to get a festival of sessions off the ground.  So obviously I'm psyched about this boomlet. So let's have a look at what's out there. 

Redhook Audible Ale and Deschutes River Ale
I received bottles of these beers on successive days in the chill of February.  I don't totally understand the superstructure around Audible's release--it has something to do with sports broadcaster Dan Patrick--but the beer is straightforward enough.  A lithe 4.7% beer, it is "brewed for crushability with lots of flavor," in the inexplicable language of the brewery.  ("Crush" apparently means "drink.")  Deschutes River Ale is just 4%, and the brewery even goes so far as to admit it's a session ale--no shilly-shallying around.

The contrast between them is the difference between old-school American craft and old-school English bitter.  While many breweries have shifted with the times, Redhook is a bit of a throw-back brewery, making very clean, bright ales that ignore the IBU arms race.  Audible is much in this vein.  Deschutes, by contrast, is a dead ringer for a nice bitter, with a rounded body, biscuity malt flavor, and bright citrusy-crisp hops (Cascades and Crystal).  I even thought I detected a touch of diacetyl, which brewer Brian Faivre confirmed: "We are targeting a low level of diacetyl, 30-40 ppb, as we feel that it lends a positive flavor attribute to this beer, similar to that nice character found in traditional English style ales."

It will come as no surprise to readers that my palate inclines toward the Deschutes.  Audible is a bit less complex than I would like, and there's a hint of roast in there that puts me off.  Deschutes River Ale, though, is a beer I would love to find on cask in a pub where I could spend a couple hours getting to know it.

Widmer Brothers Columbia Common
The name of this beer is instructive.  "Common" is, of course, the non-trademarked reference to San Francisco steam beer.  They get the hybrid character by using their regular yeast and a lager strain.  (Steam beer was made by fermenting lager yeasts warm in the age before refrigeration reached the wilds of California.)  The Columbia refers to a type of hop bred simultaneously with Willamette.  Budweiser was looking for a domestic replacement for imported hops and a couple of varieties were bred largely from Fuggle stock to grow well in the US.  You know how this ends: Bud chose Willamette, consigning Columbia to the scrap heap of forgotten strains. 

In fact, Columbia Common uses a variety of hops--the Widmers' standard Alchemy blend for bittering, and the sisters, Willamette and Columbia, together in later additions.  For the hop nerd, this is slightly frustrating--I'd love it to be a single-hop beer so I could get a sense of the flavor.  But there's no arguing with the results; it's really a wonderful beer.  I had it at the Rose Garden first, and it tasted really fruity, making me think the hops were quite a bit different from their Fugglish sister.  But in subsequent samplings from the bottle, I've found the "grassy, spicy" flavors the brewery promised.  In fact, the hops are a lot more German in character than English, and I was reminded of some of the helles lagers I had in Bavaria.  It's got a wonderful copper color (Widmer used chocolate malt for color but didn't get any roast, just color), and is a perfectly crushable 4.7%.  I really enjoy this beer and wish it would stick around through the summer.

Other Releases
Not all beers are sessions.  BridgePort has a new chocolate cherry stout called Bear Hug that is every bit as decadent and dessert-like as it sounds.  It comes in a 22 ounce bottle, so I'd be sure to invite a friend along before you pop the cork.  Full Sail has their latest vintage of Barrel-Aged Imperial Stout out.  Every year, the brewery alternates between a big porter and a big stout they age in bourbon casks, and every year the vintage is on one side or the other of excellent.  This year's is spectacular--akin to one they had out back in 2010 (maybe?).  An amazing balance of chocolaty roast blending into vanilla-y bourbon.  Double Mountain has its usual rotation of new one-offs, and I'd like to draw your attention to Project 48, a double IPA that really sings.  For me, double IPAs work best when the sweetness of the malt harmonizes with the flavors of the hops to accentuate bitterness and frame the lush aromas.  It's hard to pull off, which is why so few double IPAs stick around.  Project 48 does that in spades.  I think you probably will only find it in Hood River, but if you're up for the drive, you could do worse.

BridgePort Takes a Rye Turn

I'm beginning to think Jeff Edgerton likes rye.  When he replaced Karl Ockert as BridgePort's brewmaster, he brought in a new slate of beers that included Kingpin--now a stalwart--which had among its selling points the inclusion of rye.  Now comes Smooth Ryed*, a single-hopped pale/IPA with 10% malted rye. 

Rye is a funny grain.  It is invariably described as "spicy," but in real-world situations you may get tannic, minty, soapy, or wheat-like.  I have not made a careful enough study to know how breweries evoke these different flavors--rye comes in various forms and can be used in the mash in various ways.  But whatever they're doing, it seems to result in different flavors.  I enjoy the spicy, minty, and wheat-like, but I'm not so hot on the soapy and I hate the tannic.  Picking up a bottle of rye beer is like spinning the roulette wheel.

Breweries have been using rye forever, but it seems like it has lately become even more the trend.  (Rye whiskey is having a moment as well, so maybe there's something to that--or maybe Sierra Nevada's Ruthless Rye is the culprit.)  It can be brewed dark, hoppy, sour, or light--or combinations of the above.  Jeff seems to like the way it interacts with hops, and in both Kingpin and Smooth Ryed I get an astringency that dances very close to the overly-tannic line.  They do frame the hops, and in the Centennial-bomb that is SR, this isn't a bad thing.  Smooth Ryed is a seriously juicy beer, more energetic and less severe than Kingpin.

Last week I mentioned the sad fortunes of MacTarnahan's/Portland Brewing, which has been casting around for decades to locate its voice.  BridgePort has had similar troubles at various times over the years.  Since Jeff Edgerton has taken over the reigns, though, BridgePort has become a more cohesive line.  Kingpin and Smooth Ryed are closer kin to the flagship IPA--along with pre-Edgerton Hop Czar--than were beers like Ropewalk and my beloved ESB.   They are also tacking a lot closer to where the beer geek lives than to whatever a marketing person might think the masses want.  Smooth Ryed is a burly 6.3% with 55 IBUs of zing (and with tons of late-hopping, it seem hoppier than that).  The rye is a further step in the direction of character instead of compromise.  An interesting development.

(Full disclosure: BridgePort sent me a sample of Smooth Ryed.)

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*Horrible name.  You really need the image of the motorcyle on the label to jog your mind into reading it as "ride" rather than "wry-ed."  Smooth Ryde would have been better, but actaully, quickly abandoning the play-on-word concept would have been the best of all.  It's so bad I wonder if the name itself jeopardizes the beer.  For some reason rye causes breweries to make puns, and they should probably consider knocking it off.

It Has Come to This: a Black Pale; Plus Two New Ones From Widmer

BridgePort's new beer is called Dark Rain. It is a hoppy brown ale or, in the fashion of the day, a black pale ale. But let us not dwell overlong on the terrible collapse of the English language.

Instead, let's consider the beer, which is actually damned nice. The whole black pale is meant to suggest something, and Dark Rain delivers. Pale ales feature the toothsome marriage of lightly sweet malts and pleasant, aromatic hopping. American pales are usually at turns caramelly, citric, and floral. So a black pale would suggest those characteristics but also a roasted note balanced right on top of everything else. Which is a pretty good description of Dark Rain, a roasty-smelling, tangy beer. The roast does have a tinge of that thin, metallic bitterness you find in a cup of Starbucks, but otherwise, this is an interesting, unusual beer and a good one.

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If it's January, it's time for a new Widmer W' Series beer. The Brothers now have lots of non-core side projects: this one, the Rotator IPAs (see below), the Brothers' Reserve, and seasonals. Last year, Widmer brewed sixteen different brands, and this year it will be 23 [!]. The '12 W beer is a Dark Saison, brewed with Wyeast's French Saison yeast, about 10% wheat, and some malts dark enough to stain but not deepen the beer. I attended a release party, and the assembled crowd of writers was largely ho-hum about the beer (I think--we can watch the blogs and magazines to see), but I think it is pretty nice. Brewer Joe Casey fermented it at a relatively low 75 degrees, which meant the esters never really got revved up. Nevertheless, it does have a fair amount of zesty character. The series gets a nationwide release, and so it will be the first saison many Americans taste. If they move on from it to Dupont, say, they will note the family resemblance. W '12 isn't the most characterful saison on the market, but it's tasty and authentic.

We also got a chance to take the next Rotator IPA out for a test drive. The brothers reached out to QUAFF, a San Diego homebrew club to do what was in effect a collaborator beer. The beer they ultimately chose was Spiced IPA, made with a chai blend from Tao of Tea. In a reverse of the saison experience, the room lit up with this beer--while I found it a bit ... spicy. Actually, the spices are mainly aromatic. It was the asharply-astringent tea itself which I found off-putting. Weirdly, no one I spoke to could even taste it. It's made with a black tea and an assortment of spices--ginger, star anise, cardamom, clove, and black pepper. These are infused into water which is then mixed with the beer in the conditioning tank at a rate of a pound per ten gallons. A fascinating experiment. I will be interested to hear how it's received.

The Far Reaches of Beerdom

When you're an old man like me, the pace of change sometimes takes you by surprise. Last night, I had BridgePort's latest, Summer Squeeze. It has come to the place where if a brewery doesn't throw something exotic into the kettle or conditioning tank, drinkers will wonder: what's the point? Summer Squeeze is a pale with lemongrass added to the hopback and Yuzu fruit juice (an East Asian citrus, though Yuzu is the Japanese word) in the conditioning tank. I mean, if you're not throwing Asian fruit into the tank, you're not really trying. As a bonus, it's hopped with super-obscure Auroras.

A fascinating beer. I was sure there was a wheat base, but the brewery makes no mention of it. The beer is otherwise a pilsner blond with a huge citrus nose. In this case, the word "citrus" is not evocative or metaphoric, but quite literal. Brewer Jeff Edgerton describes it as Mandarin, but I get more a lemon note (but perhaps that's the lemongrass, confusing me). I expected something like a shandy, but actually, it tastes more like a Mexican beer with a huge squirt of lime. The citrus is assertive and resinous enough to stick around long after you've swallowed. I'm not sure what to make of it. Very crisp and refreshing--like a soda with a twist of citrus--and no doubt perfect on a summer day. But I do wonder, at what point will we have transgressed beyond the essential beeriness of a thing and into a different category altogether? I'll be considering that well after the next three trends come and go.

I had another beer last night, too--actually, just a single swallow. It was also an extreme and strange beer, but if Summer Squeeze was a future visitation, this one came from the distant past. The style of beer was Burton Ale, one I've read a great deal about but never had occasion to try.* That's not a surprise: Burtons haven't really been brewed since the Second World War--and even then they had gone through some substantial change. Burton is an old style, and it seems old-timey to our modern sensibilities. They started out as brown in their proto-phase, and then got amberish by the 19th century. They were brewed at massive gravities, but then finished out quite high, too. They were extensively hopped to balance the inevitable sticky sweetness. The result? Here's Martyn Cornell:

But while they had some success with the recipe as brewed for the Baltic in pubs in places such as Liverpool, Manchester and London, "those who admired its flavour and its purity, and who wished to drink more of it," according to the journalist John Stevenson Bushnan, writing in 1853, "found it too heady, too sweet, and too glutinous, if not too strong. Indeed it was so rich and luscious that if a little were spilled on a table the glass would stick to it."

The one I had was a homebrew, and it was made very much in this vein. It was hugely rich and very sweet, though a decent wallop of hops were trying to balance things out. The balance point was well beyond modern palates' preferences for drier beers. It was disorienting. I would have liked a whole glass to savor, to see what the long-term effects were.

Of the two beers, I would say the Burton, a famous style once brewed for centuries and sent on ships to far countries, was the wildest. Yuzu is one thing, but man, Burtons are wild, strange beers.

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*Writers like Cornell insist that certain beers brewed today are roughly in the Burton style, but I am not convinced. The beers they write about from the 18th and 19th century were different beasts than the kind of beers brewed today.

PHOTO: FOXEARTH AND DISTRICT LOCAL HISTORY

BridgePort's New Beers: Café Negro, Kingpin, and Nightcap

Post updated below.

With the introduction of Cafe Negro and Kingpin, Oregon's oldest brewery continues what has been a very quiet reworking of almost its entire line. This is the second time they've scrapped most of their line-up and tried to rebrand themselves, though this time they've approached it very differently.

Historical recap. In 1995, Texas-based Gambrinus bought BridgePort. At the time, it had a line-up of well-regarded Northwest-inflected English ales. More than that, they were beloved of the city that was just beginning to call itself "Beervana." The flagship, Blue Heron, had prett decent claim to being the city beer of Portland. No matter; Gambrinus went a different direction, scrapped all the beers and built a new line of classic English ales. (In a colossal blunder, they even decided to scrap Blue Heron, which then accounted for 50% of sales.) The new line was keyed around their then-ground-breaking IPA and included Amber, Porter, ESB, and Blackstrap Stout. To their great credit, they also tried to promote cask ales, and plastered the motto "firkin good beer" all over the city. When an outrage about Blue Heron threatened to swamp the relaunch, the brewery decided to keep the name around, though Karl Ockert created a new recipe.

That line was more or less intact until a few years ago, when new beers began to supplant the old: Haymaker and Hop Czar, and now Kingpin and Cafe Negro. Only IPA and Blue Heron remain from the previous line. Gone are the English ales, in are Northwest ales. The last time BridgePort reworked its line, it abandoned its strength within the city. With this reworking, it seems to be trying very hard to reclaim that image of "local." The beers are big and hoppy (or caffeinated), and the branding is all about the newly acquired Trademark "Beervana." A fascinating (if low-key) development. Of course, beer drinkers mostly don't care about the business end. For them, the question is: are the new beers any good?

Here are my thoughts.


Kingpin
A double red ale is an odd choice for a new beer, but one that hints at the success of Hop Czar, BridgePort's boozy hop bomb they elevated from Big Brews to six-pack mainstay. Like Hop Czar, Kingpin is very big (7.5%) and hoppy (65 IBUs, nowhere near as hoppy as the Czar). In an email, new master brewer Jeff Edgerton--who replaced founding brewer Karl Ockert last year--described what he was shooting for:

This beer resulted from my wanting to do a beer that had a unique look and featured a hop variety that I really like, Liberty. Liberty hops are grown in Oregon (some in Washington, too) and we already had a relationship with one of the local hop farmers that grew it. So we contracted to purchase a large quantity of Liberty hops and designed our recipe to be a double-red, triple-hopped (kettle, hopjack, and dry-hopped) beer that uses rye in the grist to give a unique mouthfeel and flavor to this beer. I’m really pleased with this beer, and I consider this to be my personal first (as brewmaster) year-round recipe with BridgePort.

Liberty hops are one of the old-generation low-alpha American hops, developed in the early 80s from a Hallertau Mittelfruh and unnamed male. To get a sense of it, related hops include Mt. Hood and Crystal. They're mild, lightly spicy, and generally deployed in noble-hop-using lagers. I've heard some brewers say they have a "traditional" flavor, by which I think they mean a less funky American quality typical in that first generation of US hops.

The beer is brewed in a style I once called "Big NW reds" because about four years ago, they seemed to be everywhere. The pace of releases has slowed locally, which makes Kingpin an interesting choice--tt's a bit behind the curve in terms of trends. But then again, hoppy 7.5% beers are always in style in Portland.

Tasting Notes. There are beers you like and those you admire. This is one I admire. Big reds are on the outer edges of balance, with hops overwhelming the malts (which seem mainly to exist for their beauty and booze-producing qualities). Kingpin has a higher purpose. The spice in the liberty hops and rye malt (a hearty 20% of the grist) create an intentional resonance and provide depth beyond pure IBUs. Unfortunately, in beers this intense, it's difficult to appreciate the subtleties you might find in a low-alpha hop and interesting grain bill. I would love to try a 5% version of this beer. It is a beautiful pour--a vitreous crimson with a snowy head--and it's getting some love from the bloggers (here's Bill and Brady). No love from me, but an appreciative B rating for the craft behind the beer.


Café Negro
The second beer is also an interesting choice--a coffee porter called Café Negro. Dark, coffee-infused beers are tasty, but there are already at least three regularly on the market (Kona Pipeline Porter, Oakshire Overcast Stout, and Laurelwood Portland Roast). Here's what Jeff wrote about the genesis of this beer:

Karl and I reformulated our base Porter a few years back and were always hoping that we could find a way to distribute the beer to a wider audience. After Karl left, our owner asked if we could do a coffee porter based on our pub porter recipe. So we bought a bunch of coffees from local roasters, figured out a cold-infusion process, and tasted a bunch of coffees infused into our Porter to figure out which coffee would compliment our beer the best. We settled on blend from World Cup Coffee (on NW 18th and Glisan) and established a relationship with them to begin buying freshly roasted and ground coffee. We made minimal changes to the Porter recipe and then had to design a “system” for cold infusing coffee in our existing tanks. This is much more difficult than one might think. But we figured it out and the result if Café Negro.

Whether there's room for one more dark coffee ale on the market remains to be seen. Before moving onto the notes, though, I would be remiss in not mentioning the name, also a bold choice. The word "Negro" here means black and is uncharged in languages like Spanish and French. In American English, however .... Language is funny, and emotional resonances can produce unintended consequences--or not. Anyway, an interesting choice.

Tasting Notes. Beautiful, densely black beer with a lovely head. BridgePort uses Sumatran, a wonderfully smooth, medium-roast bean, and I was surprised to find that it was a bit harsh here. I had to confirm that it was cold-brewed. I was also surprised that it offers only a general "coffee" flavor, not the distinctively Kona-like flavor in Pipeline or rich semi-sweet espresso in Oakshire's. As expected, Café Negro mostly tastes of coffee, with just a bit of malt sweetness to indicate beer. And since it does, these underwhelming qualities of the coffee bring Café Negro down a bit. I'm afraid I won't be seeking out another pint very often and will have to give it a C+ on the ratings scale.


Nightcap
This final review involves a beer outside the year-round line. But of all the recent beers, it may be the one to show the way to the future. It's a great beer, unusual, and very drinkable. Of the three new beers BridgePort has on offer, this is the one that kept popping up in my mind days after I drank it. Here's how Jeff described the backstory:

Nightcap was an idea that started with the fact that when I was Karl’s Asst., I filled some empty bourbon barrels with some excess Ebenezer that we had, mostly to keep the barrels hydrated. We kept the beer for nearly a year, and when Dan Wecker asked for something special for an account that he had, we racked off some of the beer into kegs. Everyone loved it. So last January we filled about 38 Maker’s Mark barrels with beer and held them until this past fall. We were looking for a winter warmer type of big brew, so I suggested that we brew an amped-up version of Ebenezer and blend with the strongly bourbon-barrel flavored beer that we had in the barrels.

Tasting Notes. Pours out a murky russet, which I considered promising--the look of something rustic. Ahough overall the aroma is subdued, there are some biscuit and caramel notes in the nose, a touch of bourbon. The palate is sweet and malty, with strong overtones of wood (cedar more than oak) and bourbon. Slight cherry note and coconut, perhaps produced by the wood tannins. Also a bit of spice, perhaps from the Chinooks. The sweetness is balanced fairly nicely. More winter warmer than old ale. Blending the beer provides the character of the barrel-aging, but without being bludgeoned by bourbony booze. High marks: A-.

__________

I'm not sure what the new line adds up to. BridgePort seems to be headed sort of in the Ninkasi direction: high-octane hop bombs. I wouldn't be surprised to see some more changes down the line as BridgePort learns what works and what doesn't.


Update. Bill Night has done a great follow-up on BridgePort's line change, including this bullet list:

• ESB: gone
• Stout: gone
• Porter: replaced by Cafe Negro
• Ropewalk Brown Ale: gone
• Haymaker Extra Pale: no longer bottled; still on tap in the Pearl

There's more from Bill, so go read the whole thing.

The Karl Ockert News

Yesterday afternoon, John Foyston sent the intertubes a buzzing with this story about founding BridgePort brewmaster Karl Ockert:

Karl Ockert founding and longtime brewmaster at BridgePort Brewing Co., and the man who helped make Portland an IPA town is leaving the brewery on July 30.

(A longer version of the story appeared in today's print edition of the paper but is, as usual, not online.)

While I was stunned when I first read the news, it's actually not too surprising. Karl helped found BridgePort nearly 30 years ago. He's had the same address (minus one short period away from the brewery) for all that time. Very few people stay in positions that long. A few of the old-timers who own breweries are still around, but it may be unprecedented for a brewer to have such a long tenure--at least among craft breweries. When you think of the people involved in the beer world when Karl entered, pretty much only the Widmers and McMenamins are still active. Gordon Bowker and Paul Shipman have long been out of Redhook. Art Larrance is at a different brewery and Fred Bowman is out of brewing. Bert Grant died and his brewery is gone. John Harris in onto his third brewery.

I think the news is shocking because many of us appreciate the continuity Karl represents. There's something comforting about having one of the founders still around brewing beer. On the other hand, it makes all kinds of sense. With the new gig, Karl moves on to a new challenge, but still gets to stay in Portland. For him, it's continuity and change.

I don't know how many people relate to BridgePort as the old city brewery like I do. Most think of it as a more impersonal holding of a Texas concern (Gambrinus, which bought BridgePort back in the 90s.) My relationship to the brewery has always been a function of Karl's tenure there. Yeah sure, the guys writing the checks changed, but Karl's the guy brewing the beer. For me, that made it more or less local. After Karl leaves? Hmmm. I guess we'll cross that bridge soon enough.

In any case, good luck, Karl--

Expanding the Definition of Beervana

BridgePort has two new videos out (they're called TV spots, but about where they're airing, and when, I can't say) that are very close to each other. Here's the second one--see if you notice anything interesting.



I'm actually pretty cool with an expanded definition of "Beervana." I know it properly refers to just the city of Portland. I'm also cool with that. But if you look at regional culture, the Pacific Northwest constitutes a single zone. Portland and Seattle have far more in common than they have in contrast.

Now, about that video. The visuals are cool and the music is tolerable (though not ideal). The voice-over? Not good. One has the sense that BridgePort's trying to hard--way too hard. Too bad they didn't just trust the images. They tell the whole story on their own. A longer and better version--with two seconds of pretty racy material--is here.

The Death of BridgePort Stout

I learned last night that BridgePort plans to discontinue its venerable Black Strap Stout. In one way, I'm surprised it survived this long. When the brewery first released the beer something like a decade an a half ago, it tasted more like stout-tinged molasses. Trying to drink a whole bottle was a rugged test of will. Even when brewers dialed back the recipe, the molasses still contributed a distinctive note--and not one of my favorites. With so many stouts available, BridgePort's always got lost in the crowd--this odd duck at the end of BridgePort's line. Black Strap Stout was never a big seller, but it must have had a loyal audience to survive this long.

These things happen. Beers come and go. (And who knows--maybe the stout will enjoy a revival.) In any case, go grab a pint if you want to have a final taste before it passes this world.

Monday Morning Review: BridgePort Highland Ambush

Long ago I drank a bottle of BridgePort Highland Ambush and have been long remiss in reviewing it. This is not entirely due to circumstances. Highland Ambush, as its name suggests, is a Scottish ale, in this case a bourbon-barrel-aged wee heavy. Here's the thing about wee heavies; I've found they come in three general categories. The first are failures, brewed too warm or with the wrong malt and are heavy, treacly, and worty. The second are warming and malty, a fine tipple but nothing much to get you dancing around the room. The final are sublime--dense, rich, and creamy, with complexities that draw out smoke and nut, dark fruit and caramel. In this latter camp are very few--most are in the middle camp.

Highland Ambush was first brewed in the 1980s, an homage to the heritage of then pub manager (and now famous whiskey guide) Stuart Ramsay--who, I can use this opportunity to mention, just started a blog. This year's reprise was a blend of two batches, the second aged in Maker's Mark barrels. (The label says 2/3s to 1/3, but on this Brewpublic video Jeff Edgerton says it was really 50/50.) The result is, I'm afraid to report, a second-camp wee heavy, albeit one with more character than most.

Aging a Scottish ale in bourbon barrels poses an additional challenge--you combine a sweet beer with a sweet whiskey. I won't call Highland Ambush cloying--actually, it's pretty impressive how dry it is, considering--but it's a sweet beer. There is a bit of peaty smokiness to add dimension, but you also get a pronounced vanilla note. It's interesting, that note actually has a bit of banana in it, and I'd love someone to tell me where it comes from (is it the same isoamyl acetate ester you find in hefeweizens?).

The line that separates the good from the great wee heavy may be past the ken of adjectives. It's more one of those "know-it-when-you-taste-it" things. There's something in the balance and complexity that makes a great one pop. Although Oregonians should like Scottish ales, given our somewhat similar climate, we don't. They resist our hop lust. When I try to foist a Scottish on an unsuspecting Beervanian, I am usually greeted with impatience. Life is too short to drink underhopped ale. I have had luck with Skull Splitter (though it may have been the name) and Traquair House, but few others. I fear Highland Ambush would leave them similarly unimpressed.

Be that as it may, Karl Ockert tells me it's selling well, which is good. I'm always pleased to hear a beer is selling well. Maybe it's sample bias--I know too damn many hopheads. That would explain a lot, actually.

Stats
Malts: Pale and Carmel Malts
Hops: (Few, but...) Kent Goldings
ABV: 6.8%
IBU: 40
Availability: Through the spring
Rating: B-

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A Final Word on Old Ales

To complete the circle, I wanted to mention that I sent BridgePort brewmaster Karl Ockert the results of the two polls I ran on the blog last week. Karl had okay-ed my proposal to poll readers here to see what style of beer they'd like BridgePort to brew for the open slot in the "Big Brews" line next spring. In the first round I polled you on ten styles, and the faves to emerge were 1) big NW red, 2) Old Ale, and 3) Strong Rye. In a run-off, you favored the old ale with a clear plurality of about 40%. The red just nipped the rye for second place.

I sent the results to Karl, and he will take them under advisement. Apparently some of the brewers there cotton to a strong lager, though Karl said " I am on the fence but the Rye sounds appealing to me."

It was a fun exercise, and I appreciate your votes. I actually think you all are a great cross-section of the target audience for the "Big Brews" line. Those types of specialty beers are aimed squarely at the beer geek, as is this blog. I was surprised to see how poorly some of the original ten fared (Cascadian Dark Ale only got 4% of the vote; wheatwine, which I thought might poll strongly, just 9%). Based on your voting, I'm prepared to predict that any of the top three beers (or the odd-beer out, the imperial stout, which also polled strongly) would sell well.

And, since I can't rely on BridgePort to brew the old ale, I took matters into my own hands and whipped up a batch over the weekend. Old Codger, a beer as cranky as its brewer.

BridgePort Big Brew Poll - Final Round

Earlier this week, I asked you to vote in a poll about which beer BridgePort should make for its "Big Brews" line this Spring. Karl Ockert and Co. were interested to see what you all thought. From an initial list of ten styles, we have winnowed it down to three: Big NW Red (20% in initial polling), Old Ale (17%), and Strong Rye (14%). For the majority of the period the poll was open, old ales were out in front. A late push gave big reds the edge in the end. But can they hold the edge in a narrowed field? The answer lies with you. I'll include a description of the styles below the poll.



Big NW Red. This is a style that just started appearing--Laurelwood, Roots, Ninkasi, and Widmer have all brewed versions of the style. Those versions all had certain qualities in common beyond the reddish color. Similar to IPAs, but the malt base is a bit sweeter, almost candyish, and not nearly as full bodied. These are beers designed to showcase hops: the malt is there to look pretty, but not much else. They are generally sharply bitter, but many are also dry-hopped or strongly aromatic.

Old Ale. Rich dark amber in color to a very dark brown; near black. Tamed aromatics. Although bittering levels can greatly vary, expect common fruity, vinous, intense malts and sharp alcohol characteristics. The often racy but mellow attitude of the beer may also include acidic notes, raisins and black currants. Vintage varieties may have a low level of oxidation. Stronger versions may have similarities to a port wine. Brewers may also inoculate a portion of the batch with Brettanomyces lambicus and age for an extended period of time to achieve an old-school acidic character. (BeerAdvocate)

Strong Rye. Rye isn't a style (except for roggenbier), it's a grain. As an ingredient, rye contributes a spicy, tannic, sometimes earthy tone. If it occupies too much of the grain bill, you end up with a harsh, unpleasant beer. Hit the mark, though, and it adds wonderful, unique character. Brewers have discovered that rye goes well with hops, so a strong rye beer would probably feature a fair amount of our beloved humulus lupulus. But that would be up to BridgePort.

I'll leave this poll open a couple days and then send off the results to BridgePort on Friday afternoon. Please vote!

The Novelty Curve

One of the best things about living in Oregon is the variety. Yesterday I posted a piece talking about four new brewery/pub openings slated for this year--make that five if you include Coalition. Nearly every week a new beer is released, and if you include brewpub-only beers, it's more like a dozens every week. I constantly have a backlog of beers I mean to try, and let's not even get into the question of national and international offerings.

There is a downside, however.

Another of the many interesting things to emerge from that conversation with Karl Ockert was a comment he made about the "novelty curve." It arose when we were talking about the question of selling BridgePort IPA, an ancient beer by craft brewing's standards, one released way back in 1996. It is truly one of the best beers brewed anywhere in America, and one of my all-time favorites. But how often do I buy a sixer? Once a year, twice? (I have it in restaurants more often because it's often the pick of a small litter.) The beer hasn't lost any of its interest to me, and yet, because it's a familiar old standby, I usually opt for something I haven't tried--and there's almost always something I haven't tried.

If you look around at all the premier brewing regions, they are known in part for a stable of landmark beers that have been around for decades. In forty years, when I'm a doddering old man, I want to be able to get a bottle of BridgePort. The thought of it vanishing is something I'm not prepared to entertain. But the market thrives on novelty. Here's Karl:

“Every beer that comes along goes through a novelty curve, and ours is no different. [Brewery X] is the current big one on the streets. They’re going through a novelty phase where people are out there trying and sampling. All breweries go through that. If I left BridgePort now and went out and started a new brewery, I could do the same thing. I could take tap handles right and left and get a lot of sampling. But it’s that “stayability”—being able to develop loyalty. That’s the tough part.”

Certainly, BridgePort IPA has earned some loyalty--according to Karl, it's still the best-selling IPA in Oregon (though no doubt their slice of the total pie has declined since '96). When you are an established brewery, there's always a wave of novelty coming at you. Since BridgePort IPA was released, great breweries like Laurelwood, Ninkasi, Roots, Double Mountain, Hopworks have entered the Portland market, all bringing their own IPAs along. With each one, BridgePort still had their same-old, same-old, never mind that it continued to be one of the best on the market. Looking forward, there will be scores more breweries opening in the next fifty years. And with each one, BridgePort will have to continue to coax consumers and retailers back to theirs.

As markets mature, this novelty curve will come with a sharp edge. I don't expect BridgePort IPA to go away anytime soon, but it's a good example because it is so beloved. As consumers, we love new beers, but in the long run, we love some of the old ones even more. As the market gets more crowded, we'll have to watch out that benign neglect doesn't nip some of our old faves.

File Under "Things Have Changed"

I spent a couple hours with founding BridgePort brewer Karl Ockert yesterday afternoon talking about his first 25 years in the business. Although BridgePort already celebrated its 25th Anniversary, it is really just coming up--they sold their first beer in Novermber 1984. That anniversary is significant not only for BridgePort, but also for Oregon craft brewing. We have come to the top of a mountain, and it's a nice opportunity to look back and see how high we've come.

In service of this theme, here's a teaser from the interview. It goes to show how things have changed. Karl has just returned from a trip to Europe, and when we were talking about America's status, he offered this insight.

"[T]he brewing world used to completely dismiss American hops—and now those American aromatic hops are highly sought after by brewers from all over the UK. The ones in Europe are a little bit stuck because they’ve really painted themselves into a corner—this is what pilsner tastes like. This is the problem with lager beers; they’re so well-defined. When you make a pilsner, everyone knows exactly what it should taste like. When you start putting Cascades and Amarillos and Simcoes in there, it’s not a pilsner anymore—it’s something weird. You better call it an ale at that point, because nobody’s going to know what it is.

"I went to Schneider Brewery a couple weeks ago and the lab guy was showing us through, and he absolutely loves this kind of stuff. I sent him a case of our IPA, our Hop Harvest, and our Hop Czar. I just got an email back from him and he said, “Oh my God, this stuff is just great—it’s like nectar. Right now we’re all sipping your Hop Czar, and it’s like nectar.” They can’t get that [kind of beer].

"[In 1984] we were copying their beers. I think the future of craft brewing in America is that we’re in the driver’s seat. We’re not in the back seat trying to copy someone else. It’s fun to see."

It's a little mind-boggling to think of the men at Scheider tippling a Northwest beer. I have had a similar reaction to Schneider Weisse, but I never expected the reverse to be true. Goes to show the importance of local culture in producing beer. Twenty five years and they're enjoying BridgePort in Bavaria!

BridgePort Fallen Friar

Ah, tripels. Eventually, every brewery feels the call. A burly yet beatified beverage, it has the virtue of a velvety hammer of alcohol but the respectability of Catholic abbeys. (I almost went with "hammer of hooch," but we were at near toxic levels of alliteration already. See what tripel does to you?) I think brewers in particular are drawn to try their hand at a tripel--there is little in the beer world as tasty as one of the world-class versions. (There's never been a blockbuster abbey ale in the American market, so owners may be less interested in the style.)

But here's the rub. While it's pretty easy to make an adequate tripel, it's damn hard to make one that rivals the best. With enough alcohol, a brewer can conceal some sins; but to make a big beer like a tripel harmonize--that's no easy trick. A pale tripel immediately recalls Westmalle, which is perhaps the highest pinnacle for the style. Westmalle is a lush, creamy ale that manages to combine strength with sweetness, never sacrificing either. In this way, it's a dangerous, alluring ale.

BridgePort's Fallen Friar is the final seasonal in their Big Brews series, and the most straightforward in terms of style. Except for having been aged in pinot oak, BridgePort has gone for a classic tripel.

Tasting Notes
Things don't begin auspiciously. Fallen Friar pours out limply, rousing only a tiny skiff of instantly-disappearing head. The golden, honey-colored body is attractive, but the lack of head doesn't bode well. The aroma, too, throws me off. A bit bready, a touch of spice (phenols?), but then a rather pronounced apple note. Fortunately the apple fades and the spice opens up as the beer warms. But still.

The flavor is--I hate to say it--adequate. The lack of effervescence causes the beer to cloy; I find it thick and syrupy. At some point, I'm going to have to make a serious study of the effect of pinot casks. My sense is that quite a bit of wine gets into the beer, adding substantial sugar, but the sample size is still too small to know if that's what's happened here. It could just be the character of the yeast.

It wouldn't be a bad idea to put a bottle away. The yeasties may still be doing their thing in a few months, which could do this beer wonders. As it is--well, the monks at Our Lady of the Sacred Heart aren't yet quaking in thier boots.

Stats
Malts: German pilsner and Northwest wheat
Hops: Czech Saaz and Hallertauer
ABV: 8.2%
Available: 22 ounce bottle, through the Spring.
Rating: C+

Fallen Friar

BridgePort bottled the latest in the line of BridgePort's "Big Brews" series today. Here's the skinny:

Fallen Friar, the newest 22 ounce BridgePort Big Brew is one sinister temptation. With an ABV of 8.2%, don’t turn your back on this Tripel. An Abbey Style Ale, it demands the respect from Brewers of the Highest Order. Fallen Friar packs the ultimate punch of spicy Belgian yeast flavors. Aged in bourbon and pinot noir barrels, it’s a fallen angel you will admire.

Fallen Friar combines German pilsner malt and PNW wheat malt with German Hallertau and Czech Saaz hops. But the secret lies in the cloves, banana and spice attributes found in the yeast strain. BridgePort has brewed a miracle of malt. And this very special brew will have you blowing graciously in no time.

So far, the brewery's got a pretty good batting average with this series, and it's one of the bigger bargains of the beer world. Of course, there was the Stumptown Tart experiment, so I'll go ahead and try it before I make any final decisions.

Slightly tangentially, it's interesting how different the labels for the big beer series have been. I recall when the brewery was trying to create a coherent brand image by making all the labels the same (ridding themselves of some of the prettiest labels in brewing). That was some time ago, apparently long enough to have run the experiment: a "unified family" look apparently has its limitations. Below the fold I'll include some of the iterations of BridgePort branding.

Click to expand and continue reading...

The original look.


The current, regular line-up look.


Big Brews series - Stumptown Tart


Big Brews series - Hop Czar


Big Brews series - Raven Mad

Bust Out Your Hop Czar

Back in the summer, I picked up a couple bottles of BridgePort's Hop Czar. Generally speaking, you shouldn't age hoppy beers. Hops contribute evanescent flavor and aroma, and like fresh fruit are best sampled at their peak. Hop Czar, though, was one of those big beers I found extreme to the point of distortion, particularly the hops. I decided to gamble and see what six months would do. Turns out, a good throw of the dice.

Everything has come into balance--and focus. It's a beautiful beer, bronze and frothy, and the aroma is spicy and citrusy, with clearer, more articulated notes. Six months ago, it was a muddle. Chinook hops have both a citrusy note but also a wonderful earthy, spicy quality; in the greener version these were lost in the din of bitterness. The alcohol, too, was a little overpowering. Now they're all hitting at the right level. If you've put away a bottle, I'd consider breaking it out. Maybe for the Super Bowl?

(BTW ... go Steelers.)