posted on 10 May 2010 by tom
The Lager style is one of the most produced and consumed beers in the world. It may be known to you as your father’s favorite or an old stand by, but when it comes to beer, lager is hard to ignore. Often lager is considered to be part of the old guard of beer as it is the chief product of the macro-breweries that dominate the market, but it has a rightful spot in the expanding world of craft beer. Lager is a great bridge for those who are overwhelmed by the countless craft beer choices, as it is something nearly all beer drinkers are familiar with.
Lager became popular after prohibition since new technology made it cheaper and quicker to produce. Traditionally lager was differentiated from other styles of beer, such as ale, because it needed to ferment longer and at colder temperatures. In the 1950s the process of continuous fermentation came about and lager became one of the easiest beer styles to produce. Prior to this breakthrough it took nearly twice as long to produce a lager compared to ale. While continuous fermentation made it easier to brew large quantities for mass consumption it took away much of the distinctive flavor that set lager apart from other beer styles. Most of the American macro-brew lagers use adjunct cereal and rice grains to cut production costs, subsequently creating a heavily carbonated lighter beer with little malt flavor and low levels of bitterness. Thankfully the expansion of craft beers has allowed for a return to the traditional brewing process.
Once you have tried an imported or microbrews lager you can immediately taste how the time provided for malt maturation during the fermentation process creates a smoother distinctive malt flavor. Lager that is given the necessary time for fermentation has greater flavor nuance than its macro-brew counterparts.
Tags: 101, beer, lager
Category: 101, The Beer Blog | Comments (0)
posted on 26 June 2009 by dan
By which I’m not joking; so many beers come out with these fancy titles talking about “double espresso” this and “blueberry pie” that and for the most part, while the referent beers are often outstanding, the flavor itself is accurate only in a sort of secondary sense. It tastes like blueberry beer or chocolate beer or what-have-you. So, witness Southern Tier’s Creme Brulee Imperial Stout. It tastes like somebody melted down the custard, shook it up, and bottled it.
Whether or not that sounds appetizing comes down to whether or not creme brulee sounds appetizing in the first place. Me, I dig it thoroughly, but then I’d order the creme brulee off a menu at a chicken shack. If you’re like me, trust me trust me on this beer. Sip on it, close your eyes; you’ll swear you’ll need a spoon. The back of the label reading like a philosophical equation of history, the only clue to how S.T. arrives at the brew is the inlcusion of dark caramel malt and vanilla beans in the recipe. The sum is more than its parts. This ain’t your typical vanilla beer.
Tony and I sipped on a pint just to see if anything’s changed since it came out last summer. This year’s tastes almost the same as last year’s batch, except that its got this bitter kick on the finish that, in context, conjures up a dark chocolate glaze. The nose is just as intoxicating, that vanilla apparent as soon as the bottle popped. It’s that combination of smelly nose and thick vanilla stout that manages to mask the 10% alcohol in the bottle. Don’t be fooled: sweet, yes, but also brawny enough to lay flat the unaware.
We got this is in last year and couldn’t keep it on the shelf. Right now, we’ve got ten cases or so in the basement and a promise of further availability, but… well, future availability is enlightment: fun to talk about it, difficult to acheive without constant perserverence. Dig it while the diggin’s diggable.
Tags: beer, imperial stouts, vanilla
Category: Beer Reviews | Comments (0)
posted on 5 June 2009 by dan
At the Eastern Standard last weekend, I got in this conversation about local beer with Tyler (as in, Tyler “The Second Glass” Balliet - that’s him, there on the left with the winning smile). The Standard might very well be the ultimate cocktail bar in the city, but their beer list isn’t exactly inspiring any jealousy. A couple Harpoons on tap, Miller Lite, and Czechvar. That last option inspired this:
“I drink a lot of Czechvar here,” Tyler told me - the Standard’s right down the street from his house.
“Really? Czechvar,” I said. Not that there’s anything wrong with Czechvar, but given the option… Harpoon every time.
“You gotta understand,” Tyler said, “I’m from Wisconsin - I grew up, there’s breweries all over the place. There was a brewery across the street from my preschool. And we’re talking legit breweries, tiny little places, run by like an old biker and his daughter or something. Then I move to Boston, what’s here? Harpoon? Sam? I mean, they’re cool, but they’re not really… I don’t know.”
And I follow. I dig on Harpoon - the Leviathans are some fascinating, well-thought-out beers; I dig on Sam - their Summer’s one of my favorites and plus, how can you not respect the pioneers? But Tyler’s distinction is more than fair. These aren’t local, hometown breweries any more. They’re national now, players in a larger game and God bless ‘em for it, that’s the point, to grow. I’m proud to say Boston’s home to two forerunners in the craft world… but it doesn’t change the fact that drinking on either one of them isn’t a uniquely personal experience anymore. “And what else is there, really?” Tyler said, gesturing at me with his glass. “Everything else is out west, or in NH, or somewhere. Where’s the neighborhood brewery?”
Ah, the neighborhood brewery… The whole concept lies at the heart of what fascinates me most about beer, really. Tyler nailed it right on; he gets it. Yeah, yeah, the flavor profile - you go on, if you want, talk about the hops profile, about the quality of the head, about ABVs and IBUs and whether or not it compares to other IPAs or IRSs or what-have-you - and that’s cool. That’s what makes it so much fun to drink and think about and I talk about all that, too. But what makes beer truly compelling (and by beer here, I mean the concept of, I mean BEER, all caps) is the story behind every bottle you crack. Dig it:
All across the map, these breweries pop up, helmed by brewers (or brewesses(?)) backed by nothing but their own faith in their craft, persisting on sheer will and determination, curled fists shaking defiantly at the false idol that is watered-down macros… and they’re succeeding at their revolution, gaining ground every day. And why? Because of these communities that pop up around them that have the same faith in the brews as the brewers themselves. They support them to the bitter end. Say what you want about Wall Street and foreign conflicts and the electoral college; the heart of America lives and breathes in that kind of local pride, in a dedicated community rallying behind, believing in, the little guy and the little guy’s dream.
(of course, it helps when the little guy’s dream gets you drunk and tastes fantastic)
I don’t know any other culture quite like it, so nationally pervasive, but based on this fierce regional loyalty. There’s sports, I know, but that loyalty strikes me as divisive - Sooners fans knifing Longhorn fans, bar-fights in Chicago kicked off by kids in Cardinals hats. It ain’t like that here. I got turned on to Victory by my Philly friend; I turned him on to Berkshire. Because listen: all these breweries everywhere, with all their commonalities and all their distinctions, with all the fire of their hometown crowd… they’re all making beer, they’re all making BEER. And as a culture, we get that. We’re down to share and get shared at.
dJp
Tags: beer, czechvar, local
Category: The Beer Blog | Comments (0)
posted on 30 May 2009 by dan
Yeah, I know IPAs not an American original or anything, but still. The stateside brewers pretty much hijacked the style, for better or worse, by sheer force of will. We sure do loves our beers BIG here, and the style’s perfectly suited to BIGness, what with its natural hoppiness that we can just tweak and tweak to get even BIGger. It’s at the point now where foreign markets are brewing IPAs just to expand their US market.
For instance, Belgium. A country steeped in the brew tradition, the Belgian tastes run towards the subtler end of the spectrum. The IPAs we call fascinating, they might call over-hopped. But a few breweries over there have been experimenting with the style, largely for export - the Belgians won’t have it.
So dig this Gaspar, a Belgian IPA offering. It claims to be the hoppiest beer in Belgium, which is a loaded statement if there ever was one. I checked out the reviews on Beer Advocate, just to get a sense of what people thought about it. And it’s funny. The collective BA impression is that somebody must be lying to them somewhere along the line, what with the beer not being as bitter as the IPAs they’ve come to know and love.
Here’s the thing, though: this is a hoppy beer, no doubt about it. But the hops here aren’t the same American hops found in the US. These are Belgian hops, more citrus-y then flat out bitter. If you go into this beer knowing that, you maybe won’t set unrealistic expectations for it. You can sit back and just enjoy it on its own merit, rather than comparing it unfairly to something American.
And it’s easy to enjoy it, that bit taken care of. It bites your tongue with those citrus hops teeth, but it’s all wrapped in this coat of lingering sweetness. Most of the real bitterness comes at the finish, rebounding back over all that sweetness, so even after you’ve swallowed it, your tongue is teased with this rotation of alternating flavors. Very cool.
If you can get it out of your head that all IPAs are created with the same intentions, you’ll dig this beer. You’ll dig it for what it is, not for what you want it to be.
dJp
Tags: beer, Belgian, Belgium, IPA
Category: Beer Reviews, The Beer Blog | Comments (0)
posted on 15 May 2009 by dan
This whole organic thing is getting a bit out of control. Every other product hitting shelves these days, from beer to wine to spirits, announces itself as organic, bio-dynamic, blah, blah, and all that. It isn’t that I begrudge the movement itself; in fact, I’m all for it. Taking steps towards lessening the carbon footprint is not only respectable, it’s responsible and indicative of a business practice invested with a considerable amount of soul… something oft missing in Our Lady Commerce.
But that’s the thing: because people are starting to catch up to the green movement, the word “organic” has become a marketing buzzword, a bastardized, empty shell of a word that has less to do with any philosophy and more to do with attracting sales. Half of the breweries/wineries/distilleries out there meet the bare minimum of legal requirements necessary to print the claim on the label, caring not about the earth or this, that or the third. Oh well. I guess I should be happy some steps are taken, right?
But then there’s Eel River. Dig their website. Claims at achieving organic status first, which would mean they’ve been organic since way back in 1997, when it became a gosh-darn, honest-to-goodness legal term and that would mean that they’ve been organic since before it was a marketing buzzword. So, okay.
I’m drinking on the Raven’s Eye, their Russian Imperial Stout. According to the website, this brew’s won awards and awards before, and I can see why. The beer in the glass is dark with a swirling beige head that drifts around like astral patterns on its skin. The deep and dark color and the thick, roasted nose suggest a huge beer, but it’s really not all that huge. It’s nice and light on the tongue. Which isn’t to suggest that the flavors aren’t profound or complex; they in fact, are very profound and very complex, with the roasted espresso flavors bouncing off a subtle hoppiness. The dissonance between the body and the flavors is actually the most compelling aspect of drinking on this brew.
So, dig on the organics. Trust that this company is, in fact, committed to the organic movement in a way that perhaps others are not. But this beer stands up besides the organic label. It’s an organic beer that is both organic and beer, not some boardroom formula simulating both.
dJp
Tags: beer, California, craft beer, dark beer, eel river, imperial stouts, organic, stouts
Category: Beer Reviews | Comments (0)
