I think most people know in a very cursory fashion who Nosferatu is. I asked my 13 year old son, a voracious reader and fan of the genre, and he was familiar enough with the name to make the connection between Nosferatu and Dracula. I will admit, I didn’t know much more about the story than that either.
But the story, like this red ale, goes deeper than that.
Nosferatu was a film of the silent film era, released in 1922. It was a blatant knock off of the Bram Stoker “Dracula” novel, with character names changed in order to avoid copyright infringement (spoiler alert: it didn’t work, they got sued, and the movie production company never made another film due to the lawsuit).
But, also, Nosferatu was way uglier and creepier than Dracula. Like Harvey Weinstein, without the nice suits.
Contrast that with Dracula, whom, thanks to cinematic portrayals, has often been given a cinematic luster of romance and sensuality. From Bela Lugosi, to Christopher Lee, to Gary Oldman, Dracula in films was meant to be a monster, but, also, simultaneously, a suave, debonair, neck licking Lothario.
Hell, I think even Count Chocula has that same reputation in the cartoon world.
And don’t tell me that Count von Count (that’s his real name! I checked) from Sesame Street isn’t smashing copious amounts of puppet on his own time.
Here are some of the pertinent details, I’ll let them do the talking.
I’m not new to beer drinking (I had my first beer in 1987) but I am new to beer blogging, and new to looking at my beers with a more critical eye. I’ve knocked back my share of red ales over the years, too, without giving much thought to what makes them red.
Going in to this post, I was like 87% sure that it’s not blood (though a Nosferatu beer isn’t helping tilt that number in the right direction).
So, let’s learn something today, kids! (Author’s note: Kids should not drink beer).
According to the very authoritative sounding Craft Beer Club web site, red ales are red due to “specialty roasted malts that create a unique complexity within the finished beer and gives it a sweeter, butterscotch or caramelized flavor. The use of American hops varieties gives the brew very bold hops characteristics and tends to leave a dry finish.”
In other words, not blood.
<sigh of sweet relief mixed with notes of disappointment>
The long and short of it is, I recommend this red ale. It’s devilishly delightful and it will suck the sobriety right out of you, neck-first.
When you see a can of Other Half in the wild, you buy it, and drink it.
Other Half Brewing, if you don’t know, is a very highly regarded brewery in Brooklyn, New York. They make a lot of beers, though they’re primarily known for their IPAs, and many of them are of the hazy New England style. These leads to lines, and hype, and all that jazz. I’ve been twice myself, both times just to drink in the tap room. The second time I did manage to purchase available cans, but they were ‘just’ a Kolsch, because those just don’t go as fast, despite it being an amazing beer.
So barring that odd adventure out to Brooklyn, I don’t get to drink these IPAs that often. They don’t distribute cans as far as I know, so it’s always odd when you stumble across a fresh can of Double Dry Hopped Space Diamonds in a store, as I did this past weekend. The ethics of this are questionable. The beer I purchased obviously isn’t funneled through the normal ways alcohol is distributed in New York, despite being only a dozen or so miles from Brooklyn. Other Half probably doesn’t know the beer is there, they have no idea who it is that’s selling it, what condition they’re keeping it in, and if it’s properly representing the brewery the way they wanted it to. This beer wasn’t in cold storage somewhere, it was out on the counter by the cash register by itself, not even as part of the typical 4-pack. Someone probably went down to Other Half, waiting in line, bought as much beer as they could, and brought it back to sell.
The beer was priced at roughly twice what it actually would’ve cost at the brewery. I purchased it. This isn’t the first time I’ve bought a single like this that I suspected wasn’t on the up and up, but for me, the drinker, this is my only chance to actually taste that beer, barring trading for it on the secondary market which in many ways is the same thing. Having purchased it merely 16 miles from the brewery versus someone possibly packing and mailing it across the country, in the summer, in a warm truck, for a beer trade is almost definitely fairer to the beer.
It’s an interesting catch-22. I understand breweries like Other Half having a desire to control their distribution as much as they can, trying to insure that the beer is as close to the way the brewer intended when it reaches the drinker, something that’s a huge concern across the industry. While this obviously subverts that process, it’s also not putting their beer into someone’s unsuspecting hands. Very few people are going to pay that second-hand mark-up without an understanding that there is no guarantee it didn’t sit in a hot trunk all day before being transported to Long Island.
So did the Double Dry Hopped Space Diamonds by Other Half hold up? Is it as the brewer intended? I like to think so. I haven’t had this one at the brewery, but it tasted the way I would expect it to taste, matching similar beers I’ve had there, matching the tasting notes others have made. In short, yes, it was delicious.
The aroma trended orange. Oranges and mangos were what hit me first, particularly the riper, or danker, part of that spectrum. Like if you turned that orange or mango over and found it soft on the other side.
The taste matched, for the most part. Very boozy with some of that hop burn that’s typical of strong NE IPAs. I know you’re supposed to taste pineapple with these galaxy beers, but I think it’s a stronger flavor than that. Like a tart mango or something tropical. There’s a lot of spicy/phenol flavors going on too. Plenty of layered flavor making this a delicious concoction that I downed faster than I should’ve.
It’s very New England obviously. The mouthfeel is soft and the ‘juice’ is everywhere, on the nose, on the palate, on the trip down your throat. You won’t mistake this one for a V8 with vodka though, it was a beer full of hops strongly expressing fruit flavor and aroma.
“That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.”
—Charles Bukowski, Women
(This post was written in the wee hours of Tuesday, September 11th, 2018).
Say what you will about Bukowski, but the man was a expert on the subject of drinking. An earnest examination of the reasons we drink are central to the thoughts I’m trying to get out of my brain in this particular writing. We drink to be social (or antisocial), to help us relax or to be gregarious or to be any other thing we’re not when we’re sober. We drink to get a little buzzed or even a little drunk, or maybe just because we love how whatever we’re drinking tastes. It seems we drink to change our current plight from whatever it is to something… else. Same for you?
I write about beer on the internet (thanks for having me, dudes!). But this is a piece about not drinking beer and the funny hole it can leave in the life of someone who is accustomed to drinking beer. And then finding a suitable reason to drink a beer anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ There is a beer review at the end of this, I promise. But it’s likely that review will have little to do with this post. Or maybe it will, who knows.
My girlfriend and I love our neighborhood brewery (and a few nowhere near our neighborhood). The modern craft beer culture has given birth to a new varietal of community hubs, these great taprooms we all love. Talented people making delicious beer that doesn’t taste like the beer in the next city over. It’s uniquely local in taste and culture and style. Neighbors, with their kids and dogs in tow, all congregating on patios in the sunshine, talking about things going on in our lives and our communities or on the block where we live. Over a beer. In some ways and for some people, the craft beer taprooms are the new piazzas, a 21st century place of congregation for neighbors.
I could count on one hand (or maybe two) the reasons I should probably drink a little less than I currently do. But this particular self-imposed beer hiatus is purely vanity and gut-related. Six weeks to lose a few pounds and the two biggest things I figured I could cut to help my progress were beer (duh) and olive oil (for real!).
As I am a human and therefore flawed by design, I’ve not chosen a route of sobriety for these 6 weeks, but opted to substitute wine (and the occasional whiskey) for beer in the evenings, or with a meal. Carbs, man.
The first day was a Saturday that went like any other Saturday. But when the bright orange New Mexico sun started to wane, the brain’s default entertainment choice was to head to Bosque or La Cumbre or another one of our local favorite breweries for a tall, cold beer to extinguish the dying embers of the warm, late summer day.
But hold up, I’m not drinking beer.
What the shit am I supposed to do to entertain myself? Watching the Mets will only make me want to drink more. I am allowing myself wine, but how many craft beer taprooms near you serve wine? I don’t know either because I always have the beer.
I think we binge watched the new season of Ozark and a week went by. And when that week was up, like Bukowski, I had a beer to celebrate! To celebrate a week of not drinking beer! I’m currently drunk on irony.
Today is a day that again challenges one’s notion of “the why”. For a lot of my friends that I’ve met through our shared love of the the New York Mets – east coasters and New Yorkers mostly – September the 11th is truly not like any other day. The sadness of losing a family member or spouse or loved one is a guttural, haunting pain, but still somehow different than the hurt of thousands of your neighbors (and maybe friends and loved ones, too) being killed in an attack on the place you live. That morning of September 11th, 2001, I was on a Mets message board receiving news from a lot of those east coasters and New Yorkers I still communicate with today over all the same things we did back then – Mets baseball, politics and music, and yes, beer.
I lived in Long Beach, California in 2001 and call Albuquerque home now, so while I can lend my heart to any of those friends if they needed it, they touched an experience that day that I could never understand in the same way. Still, the gravity of the day makes me want to drink something, not to forget, but just to not feel everything quite so much. Or maybe to feel it all a little more, I’m not sure.
Today is also my father’s birthday. But before “9/11”, September the 11th was already a somber day for my dad, as his brother had died on his birthday. Can you imagine losing your brother on your birthday? And then years later, on your birthday, which is also the anniversary of your own brother’s death, fucking September 11th happens? As you’ll understand, my dad didn’t celebrate anything on his birthday and when he remarried, his new wife’s birthday was September the 9th, so he quietly shifted his back towards hers, and they’d celebrate both their birthdays together, a couple days before they each had to navigate their own sadness, I’m sure.
My dad died on February 27, 2015. That’s a sad day on its face for the obvious reasons. When the anniversary of that day comes, I remember where I was when I got the call that he had a stroke, I remember when we all met in San Antonio at the hospital to be with him, and I remember how I cried as we waited for him to leave this earth after his breathing tube was removed. His birthday should be something happier but it’s just not. There’s too much sadness in the nearest concentric circles of people in my life, but the sadness gets louder and heavier as the circles expand outward to people I don’t know and will never meet because of the pain of what this day represents. Happiness or conviviality is a feeling that just doesn’t fit with today, even if I’d desperately like to feel something like it.
So I wanted to celebrate something this evening. Or forget something. Or both, in my own peculiar way. Bukowski, where you at?
I type this now while drinking a red wine and trying to stay true to my stupid diet in a way that makes little sense, but my girlfriend and I did share a beer tonight. Like our neighbors at our favorite breweries, we congregated, talked about things in our lives that remind us that we’re, in fact, still alive, and we shared a moment over a beer as strange and unique as today is.
Warning: Actual beer review ahead.
In February, she went to Europe and somehow managed to bring a few unbroken bottles of beer back to America. I think one or two still remain, but tonight we cracked the Põhjala Virmalised, one of the finest IPAs in all of Estonia. Brendan Fraser approved, no doubt.
Reviewers online have things to say about it, like this:
“Samea, kuparin oranssi väri. Ei juuri vaahtoa. Tuoksussa raikas sitrus. Maku melko kepeä, raikas, vähän katkera.”
I cannot, with any integrity, say that I disagree.
We did drink it after the “best before” date of July 22, 2018, but today, for me, is about appreciating things that have expired anyway.
It was strangely sedimenty, a little bitter, a little floral and a little hoppy all at the same time. A bunch of components that might not work on their own, but they conspired to make this thing – an Estonia-made American IPA – a pretty good thing. Seek it out next time you’re, well, in Estonia.
We had one 12-ounce bottle. We shared it and raised a glass to my old man. And this strange little beer somehow fit in nicely on a day when nothing else seemed to.
Happy September 11th, everyone. Whatever happiness you can find, hold onto it. Maybe drink it up.
Note – at the time of this writing, the author, clean of beer and olive oil, has lost 4 pounds, but is questioning his sanity and his current dietary roadmap.
We returned to the Hops Spot recently, and, despite the confirmed and re-confirmed greatness of the poutine, I decided to veer off to another part of the menu for my lunch and beer choices.
First, the warm up beer, a beautiful hazy sumbitch (read “sumbitch” in your best internal Jackie Gleason as Buford T. Justice voice).
This, my friends, is an Industrial Arts Wrench New England IPA, or NEIPA as they are sometimes abbreviated. I know from Ceetar’s instagram posts that he’s had at least one of these in his fridge.
This yummy thing, ITBMCBB*, is “A pithy explosion of aroma and flavor, beyond hazy, and loaded with Mosaic and Citra to the point of stickiness.” So, for the record, I did not spill any of it on myself, so I will not venture a guess beyond assuming it’s not any stickier than any other beer that isn’t congealing on Ceetar’s floor.
It is, however, tart and fruity and delightful. Much like the sours and goses I’ve been enjoying of late, it’s just got a nice bite to it.
Served in a 10 oz. glass, but with a 6.8% ABV, it’s got a decent amount of punch and I would partake of it again.
(I’ve decided, of late, that when having two beers and lunch all in one shot, to try and reach out into more of the 10 ounce portions, just because it makes for a long afternoon otherwise. Life strategy, courtesy of the Barley Prose).
And now, a hiatus, from the beer talk, to turn Barley Prose into Burger Prose. This is the Hops Spot’s Smokehouse Turkey Burger, served with bacon, provolone, aioli mayo and a side salad of mixed greens and grapeseed oil vinagrette dressing. You’ll note that the tiny red puply objects in the lower right of my tray, banished there due to their being disgusting and vulgar.
New glossary term alert! In the “Two Beers, One Lunch” theme, the two beers will be referred to as the ____ and the ____. Readers, please, I need input in the comments section on a good duo to use as aliases for these bookends.
Back to our review!
The second beer of the meal was the Carton Brewing Company East Coast Double IPA (7.8% ABV, 80 IBU).So, to my chagrin, a double IPA is not an IPA twice as large as a regular IPA. That would be the shit, were it so. But it ain’t.
What is a double IPA?
A double IPA, loyal reader, is an American style of beer where double the hops are used, and then additional malts are added to balance out the flavor.
This was my first double IPA, and, so, I was surprised that it was not hoppy in the way that a normal IPA is. Still delicious, but more of a balanced flavor, to be sure. Again, ITBMCBB*, this drink will take the imbiber on a journey, where they shall “find dank green resinous hops popping over orange, mango and papaya aromas, with just enough sweetness of body to make the long finish a pleasure to have around.”
Um, yep! Abso-damn-lutely! I know, from my own end, that’s more “barely prose” than “barley prose,” but that’s my style. I appreciate you’re continued reading, clicking, commenting and co-beveraging.
There’s more goodness still to come. The Hops Spot routinely has 40+ beers on tap, plus tons of other menu choices (though, to be honest, I yearned and still yearn for more of the classique poutine). We will be back.
The decisions that lead us to determine what things we love in this life are (a lot them anyway) swimming in bias. A book recommended by a good friend, or reliably tasteful media source? Yeah, I’ll buy it because I trust. A new Wilco record that I know I’ll love before it’s even released? My own stupid (but correct!) bias.
But how do you taste and fairly evaluate a beer that many have asserted is the best beer in whole stupid world? How do you tell your brain to not lend any credence to the beer’s assumed greatness simply because of its world-class rep? Conversely, any beer that heralded is definitely not gonna live up to the hype, so how do you not dock points simply because it doesn’t taste otherworldly? What if it just tastes like a good beer?
The Westy 12 had all the OG hype that you’d now find swirling around a beer like Pliny the Younger. Similar to that out-of-print record I don’t give a shit about until I learn it’s out-of-print, the Westy 12, a Belgian quad, is not available at your liquor store or mine so that (artificially?) drives the demand. It’s made by Trappist monks at the Saint Sixtus Abbey in, you guessed it, (West) Vleteren, Belgium. This is not a beer that gets pumped out to anything resembling mass production. They make enough to keep the monastery open and running and that’s it. You have to get it in person, or pay a criminal amount online ($150 + shipping for a 6-pack anyone?) and then hope it all shows up in one piece. You also have to hope what you find online is not fake Westy like reported here or maybe here. It’s less shopping for beer and more like collecting rare stamps.
I didn’t have to drop a bunch of Bitcoin buying bottles on the dark web or take out a second on the house to put a few in the fridge. I got mine from my little brother who was living in Germany while working for the US Air Force. He’d successfully mailed two bottles my way in 2016, and when he and the wife and fam moved home to the US this year, they brought a few more back with them (at about €20 for a 6-pack at the Abbey, btw). Fortunately, a couple of those bottles found their way to my home.
You wanna talk hype? Dig this bottle. Paired with the proper Westy glassware, it looks like something the grail knights from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade should be protecting.
No label. Just a dark, chocolate-colored bottle with “TRAPPISTEN BIER” worked into the neck of the glass.
The cap is gold, features the logo, identifies the beer as 10.2% and lists a stamped-on “best before” date. The Westy I’m about to drink was bottled on 27 Oct, 2016 and is “best before” the same date, 2019. Today will do just fine.
Descriptions of the beer online read like letters to the editor in the back pages of Thanksgiving Food Porn magazine (which probably exists). A sampling:
“Aroma of fresh bread, raisins, hints of clove and allspice.”
“…flavors of brown sugar, dates, figs, caramel, chocolate, and spice.”
“Rich aroma with dark fruit, nutty malts, mild caramel/toffee, light Belgian yeast and a light herbal spice.”
Makes you wanna #GravyBoatAndChill no?
The internet and the hype machine have informed me that this beer is wonderful and I love it. If I’d paid $150 for a 6-pack, I’d likely force my brain to only accept that it was great, maybe for no other reason than to justify the financial drop.
A quick aside – I once had a chance to drink Pliny the Younger. I was in San Diego county and a friend who worked at a brewery told me a place in town had a keg. We called and they confirmed they did have it. $14 for a 6-ounce pour, and there was already a 45-minute line out the door. How do you properly appreciate that? How do you not make up your mind that it’s the best thing ever, or it’s totally overblown?
Back to the present. This Westy poured beautifully and looks like a thing you want to brag to all your friends about (me, right now). Without going full beer-nerd, I fully back the deep fruit notes described by the thanksgiving food porn guys. And while a decent comp, in my opinion, is the St. Bernardus 12, this particular Westy 12 is way boozier. Hype or no, this beer, with all its dark, bursting fruit is phenomenal. A richer, fuller-bodied beer would be hard to find on any continent.
If you’ve got a trip to Belgium coming up, then definitely go to this place (duh). If it tastes this good in my living room, I can only imagine how much better it would be in the monastery with all the vibes set to “Optimal”. If Belgium’s not in the immediate future, but you can find the beer and the price is whatever “fair” is to you, then I still highly recommend it. Otherwise, get that St. Bernardus 12 at the liquor store and enjoy a different delicious beer instead.
One final note – It’s advisable to not search electronic bay dot com for rare and/or out-of print vinyl after drinking rare and/or out-of-print 10% beers. Your Chase card (and maybe your significant other) will likely hate you for it.
I mean, just because no one else has a thing, does it make that thing any better?
It looks like this, in its simplest and most delightful form.
Now, you might think that a person would have to travel to the great white north, AKA Canada (sometimes affectionately known as “America’s Hat” or “America Jr.”) to find a proper plate of poutine.
But if you thought that, you’d be wrong, and, possibly, oblivious. I can forgive you. Let’s not let it ruin this fantastic thing that we have going here.
No, the dish of poutine pictured above was served up right here in one of Syracuse’s newest eateries, The HopsSpot.
I visited this place with a few buddies recently and had me a big ol plate of poutine. I washed it down with a couple of delightful beers from their excellent beer list, in another installment of my running “two beers, one lunch” motif.
The beer list can be found on their web site and when dining there in person, on paper menus (they run 4+ pages long), with over 40 choices of draft and can/bottle beer to choose from.
Those who’ve read this blog before will know that I have a penchant for a brown ale. They speak to me, in fact, I can think of very few brown ales that I have not enjoyed.
There’s something comforting about them, smooth and inviting, like wearing my granddad’s sweater. Except, in this case, I’m stuffing that sweater into a pint glass and then wrapping it around some poutine that’s landed in my gut.
This particular brown ale (6.5% ABV, 29.5 IBU) is particularly tasty. The web site doesn’t provide the usual floral descriptions, or mention hints of any particular flavors, so I will describe it as being the resultant product of a love affair between a Canadian lumberjack and an Egyptian belly dancer, sprinkled liberally with pixie dust and magic brown slurpiness.
I moved on from the Dog to an IPA, this time going with the Troegs Independent Perpetual IPA (7.5% ABV, 85 IBU). I do pick my drinks out often based on the “maximum punch” process, preferring higher ABV choices to lower ones and 16 oz. servings to the 10 oz “specialty” sizes. So this bad boy fit the bill on both counts.
This IPA, ITBMCBB*, “emerges rife with sticky citrus rind, pine balm and tropical fruit.” Now, pine balm would be a hard flavor to identify on my best days. I have pine trees growing behind my house, though I’ve never balmed them or sought balm from them.
Nor can I claim to taste tropical fruit, or sticky citrus rind.
That doesn’t mean that it’s not still a fine, fine choice. It’s hoppy, sure, but in a fun, delightful way, like when the neighbor’s kid gets too many pixie sticks in him and starts hopping up and down the street like he’s on a pogo. You don’t care, it’s someone else’s child, let him get all hopped up.
The Hops Spot has a menu full of good looking choices – burgers, salads, and several other varieties of poutine, all of which I hope to sample in the upcoming weeks and months. Not to mention another 38 or so beers, most of which are new to me (though I was pleased to see them carrying choices from the Buried Acorn on their list, among others).
For those not local to Syracuse, go out and find yourself some equivalent poutinerie (yes, that’s a real word, it’s on the Hops Spot web site after all) and dig in to this northern delicacy.
As a regular diner at this establishment, I can tell you that you can’t really go wrong on the lunch ordering. On my most recent visit I partook of a cheeseburger and fries, pretty standard fare, but I can tell you that their brisket and pulled pork sandwiches are also top drawer. I’m not much of a wings or ribs guy but those are also well spoken of.
And what do all of these things have in common? Savory barbecue flavoring? The ability to make the middle of your body look like a bean bag chair? Yes, that too. But that’s not what I’m going for here.
They all go down delightfully with a pint of ale.
This is the Barley Prose blog, after all, not an ode to bean bags.
On to the beer.
This beautiful reddish concoction, pictured above, is one of the regular beers served on tap at the Dino.
It is the Jam Band Berry Ale, made by Boulevard Brewing. Sold nationally but based out of Kansas City, MO. I have a friend who goes way back on this beer, her being from Kansas, and I saw her slurping one down as we tailgated before a concert this past summer at the Lakeview Amphitheater and made a mental note to go try one.
So, on to this one (IBU 6, ABV 5.9%). For the record, ITBMCBB*, this beer is marketed as featuring “…blueberry, raspberry and tart cherry play in perfect harmony to create a slightly tart ale that sings with ripe, bursting fruit flavor. Aromas of dark berries, citrus and melon open the show, bridging to zippy fruit flavors that meld into an easy-drinking summer beer worthy of an encore.”
And doesn’t that sound nice? I personally missed the comedic duo of Cirtus and Melon, and their stylings, but, you know what? I have the palate of a barely evolved chimp.
I happened to drink one of these with my burger and fries just the other day, served up by one of the Dino’s very lovely servers. She brought me a beer, so, of course, I love her!
And, boy oh boy, what a treat of a beer this is. Tart, and sweet, and fruity, but, unmistakably still a beer. Sweet, and delightful. Goes with all kinds of things. It’s like if an ice cold beer made love to a peanut butter sandwich, and birthed a 16 oz love baby into a pint glass and found a buxom Asian gal to bring it to me in a bar-b-cue joint.
I see from public web sites that these bad boys go for a very affordable $10.99 for a 12 pack of 12 oz cans. That’s a solid price point.
I’m a man with many ideas. Some of them are more practical than others.
One idea I had recently was a line of greeting cards where every message, happy or sad, was followed by the phrase “ya jackass” or “ya big idiot.” Because the juxtaposition of emotions is, of course, wildly funny.
“Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary, Ya Jackass!”
“Condolences on your Family’s Loss, Ya Big Idiot.”
I’ll let the reader judge the value inherent in that concept.
Another idea I had was for a brewery to open here in Syracuse where I live, only, instead of being downtown, where parking is at a premium, and requiring more driving time to get to, instead, that brewery would open in the northern suburbs, perhaps even adjacent to one of my regular running routes, and serve up all kinds of delicious local beers.
Well, lo and behold, this second idea has come to pass! In the form of the brand new Buried Acorn Brewery and tap room. The tap room features “16 draft lines pouring Barrel-Aged mixed-fermentation sour Ales, classic and long-forgotten Farmhouse styles, as well as some monogamous hopped up offerings.”
Sixteen draft lines. That’s a respectable set of choices!
Open since July 13th, I meandered down to the new joint after work and after a humid four mile run, thirst buds locked and loaded for a sudsy replenishment. The initial beers available at the time (a few more have since been added) is shown below.
I decided to start my de-thirsting by ordering a pint of the Oatmeal Stout. They have both a regular and Nitro-charged version on tap; I went with the regular only because I failed to notice the Nitro until after my order was in.
The bartender was prompt and friendly and, of course, I love her! She gave me this! (Reasonably priced $5.50 pints, by the way, not too much of a crotch kick to the wallet…)
I have had a few other oatmeal stouts and they all speak to me. I’m an oatmeal guy, it’s one of my go to breakfasts, and the mellow sweetness of the other oatmeal stouts I have had (Ommegang’s, for one, and also a cappuccino oatmeal stout by the Blue Moon folks) have all been a treat.
I think of it as a “breakfast beer.” Not that I’m drinking beer with my breakfast, I mean, I have things to do! However, on nights where my family and I are having the ever popular “breakfast dinner,” scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon, etc., then the oatmeal stout is a winning choice.
This particular oatmeal stout (5.5% ABV, 23 IBU) is excellent. Rich and creamy and cold and frothy. It also contains, ITBMCBB*, “notes of chocolate and coffee,” though, I mostly just taste the deliciousness. If it were any more oatmealy, I’d be topping this with maple syrup and a pat of butter.
I then moved on to the Alpha Bender IPA (7.3% ABV, 23 IBU).
It’s a golden, delightful treat, much like a Disney princess’ hair. This particular IPA is described by the Buried Acorn site itself as being full of “soft bitterness with ripe tropical fruit on the nose and a crisp dry finish. Crafted with NY State grown hops and barley while employing revolving hop editions from around the world.” Doesn’t that sound pleasant?
To me, and perhaps this is why I’m not writing copy for breweries full time, the IPA tastes like “what it must taste like if a mythical dragon pee’d a rejuvenative cold mythical magic dragon pee drink into a pint glass.”
The bar is also hosting other local brewery products on some of their 16 taps.
I am likely to try the Critz Farms Pig City Porter on my next visit, as I’ve had that one in cans before but not in draft, and know it to be a treat as well.
The Buried Acorn is also now selling cans of some of their beers, to go, as well as growlers. I’ve not ever purchased a growler of beer in my life but those branded ones are pretty slick.
The tap room itself is also a very pleasant joint in which to sit down and beer up. They have bar and table seating, and board games, and the service was prompt despite there being a good sized weekday crowd present.
And the chairs have a delightful “assfeel” to them.
I’m looking forward to returning to the Buried Acorn and sampling some of their newer choices (the Ghoster Blanc and Hot Whip were not ready at the time of my initial visit, but now show on the company’s web site).
Well, let’s get one thing clear, right out of the gate.
And if we can’t agree to this basic premise, then, well, I’d suggest you go off in search of a blog about knitting, or dressing up tiny dogs to look like celebrities, or dressing up stuffed animals to look like tiny dogs.
The premise is: beer is delicious.
Having said that, I am privileged enough to live near a Wegmans. And one of the great joys of Wegmans is the “Craft Your Own Six Pack.” For $10.99, a shopper can choose from over one hundred various porters, stouts, sours, ales, lagers, IPAs, hard lemonades and ciders, and so on, and get six new beers to try. Many of my reviews will be obtained in this fashion.
(And, don’t tell anyone, but, theoretically, a shopper could just grab a beer from a united four/six pack and place it gently in their own “crafted six pack” and add to their possible choices. I wouldn’t do that, due to the Judeo-Christian ethic and Big Brother and such.)
So, a number of the Brooklyn Brewery beers are available and made available via this fine program. This is how I came across the Brooklyn Brown Ale.
This ale, if the brewmasters can be believed, (or ITBMCBB for short, as I intend to use this acronym again, hey, Ceetar, let’s get a glossary going!), is a “blend of six malts, some of them roasted, [that] give this beer its deep russet-brown color and complex malt flavor, fruity, smooth and rich, with a caramel, chocolate and coffee background.”
Now, that’s just fancy brewer speak, to me. I can tell you is that it’s dark brown and sweet and delicious. I tend to pair this with beef dishes, when serving it up at the ol’ KilgoreStout residence.
I would describe this as what it would taste like if you were to make out with a unicorn that ate nothing but pancakes and maple syrup.
Perhaps the greater joy is that a six pack of these beauties goes for just $8.99 at my local food jobber, a good $2 less than the sampler sixer. Which means that, when I am pressed for time or energy and don’t feel like I can find six new, interesting beers to try, I’ll grab a 6 of this and a six pack of another Brooklyn Brewery beer, one that pairs better with fish and chicken, and which I shall review at another time.