Relentless Thirst

Diageo has announced that it will pump €650 million into the Guinness brand to update the brewery at St. James’s Gate and set up a new brewing facility close to Dublin. With any extra land that may result from shifting the locations of other facilities around, they might be going into the real estate business. What could be more appealing than to set up, say, a restaurant, right next to one of the most tourist-drawing establishments in all of Ireland?

The BBC article cites Diageo claiming that “increasingly competitive market conditions” are a reason for this move, and it seems that some breweries are consolidating, perhaps for the better. And I’m not talking malt and hop prices, either. I’m wondering if the economy as a whole is affecting the long-term outlook of these companies, not solely the price of raw materials. Not to mention the constant shapeshifting from mergers, buyouts, and the like. Because it’s one thing if a small microbrewing outfit is concerned for the time being, but it’s another thing altogether when huge international brands under Diageo are showing trepidation.

Anyway, I know this isn’t groundbreaking news, but I figured The Beer Nut would want to know since I’m sure he’s been dying to find a place he can get an ice-cold Harp.

Just to let you know, these posts may begin to slow to a mere drip in the coming weeks, possibly petering out altogether for a brief hiatus. Fear not, I’ll have plenty to yammer on about when I return from Europe. I’ll be in Prague, Vienna, Budapest, and Venice over the course of two weeks, and I doubt I’ll even have time for a post. Instead of seeking out internet cafes, I’ll be looking for those of the beer variety in my spare time. I should be back around the beginning of June, if I return at all!

Other than that, I’ve been trying to keep it beery around here. This past weekend, I snatched up a keg of Bell’s Two Hearted Ale for a good friend of mine who’s moving out to Colorado. We decided to throw him a party, and I couldn’t think of a better beer to accommodate the varying tastes of the crowd and the seasonably warm weather this time of year. When I got around to returning the keg today, the owner of the establishment (Corks & Kegs, if you must know) asked if there was any left in it with a knowing smile. I gave him a “no” response. “Yep, that’s the only one that always comes back empty,” he said. The party was a success, a lot of it having to do with that particular beer. I’m sure somewhere down the line, when I open up a bottle of Two Hearted to relax for the evening, I’ll recall the good time I had that night, and a few others I’ve had over the course of my better beer drinking days. Funny how a good beer can really bring you back.

Nevertheless, aside from preparing for that trip (or trying to anyway), I recently got a promotion. So tonight, I’m staying in, being somewhat non-productive, and sipping on a Harpoon Firth of Forth Ale from their 100 Barrel Series. The packaging for this stuff always impresses me, I’m not sure why. Come to think of it, the label designs for all Harpoon offerings never cease to appeal to me visually. This one’s billed as a “dark scotch style ale” according to the print, so let’s see what she’s made of.

A translucent, russet-colored beer it is, with roughly half a finger of ecru head on top that leaves circular clusters of foam behind. Notes of toffee, toasted and bready malt, with a negligible hint of bittersweet chocolate are present in the nose. Palate is mostly a malty toffee flavor, rounded and subtle, that dries out with a little hop bittering balance towards the finish. There is a sweetness that’s evident in the aftertaste, which lingers gently, but not cloyingly.

Not an amazing beer by any means, and not to disparage the entire line, but I normally like the labels better than the beer inside. Still, Harpoon is prone to making a solid beer, not a spectacular one, and for this I salute them. Sure, it’s not the most inventive or astounding special release, but perhaps that’s what is influencing my critique. Were this to be an everyday beer, I might be more impressed due to its understated nature. Plus, it’s just nice to sit down to a milder and smoother beer that’s easy to drink, without complex flavors ripping your tongue out. Harpoon is known for making easy sippers, and this one is no different. And at the moment, that’s the kind of mindset I’m in.

What, in the beer world, would be the equivalent of wine’s sommelier? Is there any system set in place to become an officially recognized beer expert, lending your extensive knowledge of fermented grain beverages to the general public?

There is, and Cicerone is its name. Well, that’s the certification program started by Ray Daniels, as well as the name of the “beer sommelier”. On May 2nd, the organization announced its first five to pass the exam to become Certified Cicerones. They are as follows:

Rob Gerrity - Sierra Nevada Brewing Company
Scott Kerkmans - Four Points by Sheraton
Ron Kloth - Papago Brewing Company
Andrew Waer - Unaffiliated
Neil Witte - Boulevard Brewing Company

Congratulations to these individuals on passing that grueling exam. Now the Chief Beer Officer at Four Points is also a Certified Cicerone, so that should lend some credibility to his operations over there.

Looking at the Cicerone website in the past, and even taking a sample quiz to test some of my beer knowledge, I came across the certification levels, which include the price list. It’s $50 to become a bonafide Beer Server, $295 to be a Certified Cicerone, and $495 to become a Master Cicerone.

As far as I can tell, the syllabus is made available to the hopeful inductee, and they have to seek out as much of this knowledge as possible to become certified. Then, and only then, do you pay the handsome fee in an attempt to be official in the eyes of the program.

I’m not sure how I feel about this. While a certified beer expert seems like it’d be a classy step up, I don’t know about the program itself. Doesn’t sound like there’s a whole lot of available training offered by the Cicerone program, not to mention paying good money to have an organization certify you. How can you be sure your $495 doesn’t go to waste on an exam that has unqualified standards?

As it stands, I don’t think many people are clamoring to have a Cicerone offer them food pairing advice or select a suitable beer for them from the restaurant’s beer list. Frankly, not many places have enough of a beer list to warrant such an expert (or a menu to match), and the ones that do have both are a scant few in only the country’s largest cities.

Part of the effort to certify people as Cicerones, according to its website, appears to be granting credibility to the beer world and its denizens of varying expertise. With that comes a price tag, and the end result may not be something that the beer world wants or needs.

Miller Lite in a can.

Yeah, I’d say that’s about right. I must have been not even ten years old when the love of beer struck me square in the face. Am I the product of bad parenting? Maybe, but if that’s the case, I probably drove them to it. Regardless, after begging to taste whatever the grown-ups were drinking one balmy summer day, my request was granted.

Looking back, I realize that the purpose of this exercise was to sour my outlook on beer in hopes that I’d never ask for it again. At present, it seems to have had the opposite effect.

I’ll never forget the unique flavor qualities it possessed: bubbly, grainy, and unlike anything I’d ever tasted. Years later, a trip to the Busch Gardens theme park in Williamsburg, Virginia, afforded me the opportunity to tour the nearby Anheuser-Busch brewing facility. At such a young age, I was fascinated by this beverage that I wasn’t allowed to have, the intriguing processes that created it, which, in turn, made me all the more curious.

My urge to taste more beer didn’t culminate until years later, however. Whether it was a party or just an evening spent with a small group of friends, beer was sometimes available. We weren’t tipping back tulip glasses filled with your finest Old Ale, pinkies extended; it was more like drinking straight from a bottle of Yuengling, and eventually, graduating to Boddingtons and Guinness into pint glasses.

The latter three seem to be the main culprits that turned me onto better beer. After having rudimentary experience with various run-of-the-mill American macro lagers, Yuengling opened my eyes to a dash of flavor, a wholly different take on what an easy-drinking beer could be. Then, Boddingtons and Guinness helped me see the nuances of body and beer style, two exotic brews from distant lands.

Better still, some of my friends were eventually old enough to buy beer before I was. I can recall prom night, which had later been enhanced by bottles of Delirium Nocturnum and Reissdorf Kölsch in the company of friends. There were occasions when a longtime buddy from the neighborhood would pick up strange bottles featuring Germanic font, like Franziskaner Dunkel-Weisse, and this enticed me to learn more about what we were drinking as we whiled the nights away with our group of friends.

When able to peruse the beer aisle of a store, I was able to read some labels, find out more information on a beer, and have someone eventually pick it up for me. Now, of course, I can do this on my very own, and this manner of beer exploration still continues to this day, thanks to the help of beer lovers around the world on the internet, in addition to knowledgeable shop-keeps. Essentially, that’s what I did: discover better beer my own way, with a little help from my friends. Sure, there were the tip-offs about what would be a good beer to buy, but a lot of that may have been based on alcohol content. No matter, I discovered what I liked through trial and error, often times urging others in my circle to branch out as well.

Nevertheless, beer with slightly higher alcohol by volume began my foray into the world of Belgian and American craft beer. For me, it was the taste that clinched it, because trust me, I’m no stranger to Steel Reserve, but I’m not eager to get reacquainted with it anytime soon.

A tip o’ the hat to Boak and Bailey for hosting this month’s Session. By the way, this is also my 100th post. For those who’ve been reading this thing for a while, sorry for wasting your time like that.

There’s an ongoing dispute in the beer world divided along the lines of “extreme beer” and, well… non-extreme beer. Perhaps “traditional” or “balanced” would be an apt label? Call it what you will, it’s a desire to return to the more accessible and familiar styles that Europe has conjured up over the last 500 or so years, and to get away from the high-alcohol, massively hopped segment of the beer market.

I seem to recall a conversation regarding the lack of restrictions on American brewing, how style and tradition had less of an importance in the States due to our fairly young beer culture. For the life of me, I don’t have an trail back to that exact place in cyberspace, but it’s one I’ve had and heard many times in the past. Even the article by Peter Rowe included a quote from Alex De Smet, who made the implication that some of these styles are hundreds of years old, and that “…it takes time to balance a beer.”

But “extreme” is everywhere. Would De Dolle Brouwers, Brasserie Fantôme, or Brouwerij De Regenboog be considered completely contrary to “extreme”? They’re using unorthodox methods and ingredients to create off-the-wall beers that may only be appreciated by a small segment of the beer drinking market. So what’s the verdict there?

In my opinion, the craft beer market has grown in the United States by double digits in the past year because people are becoming more aware of these kinds of flavorful beers, which some may categorize as “extreme.” A while back in a BeerAdvocate forum, Garrett Oliver aired his concerns over the extreme beer trend and labeling beer as such, claiming that it actually hurts the craft brewer financially in terms of marketing. I’m not so convinced, seeing as how there are gateway beers that many discover before taking the plunge into something more esoteric. This would explain the popularity of Sam Adams and Sierra Nevada, but would also indicate that breweries like Stone and Dogfish Head are growing exponentially because of this.

Maybe it’s the fluidity of terms in the beer world, such as “craft” or “extreme,” but the article points out that even Mr. Oliver has admitted to liking beers that could be categorized as “extreme.” It could just be a matter of personal semantics, but there is no definitive answer to these uncertainties yet, so we all may just be reading from different sheets of music.

Pivní Filosof made a recent post about an Italian beer tasting that included a discussion with Evan Rail about trends in the Italian beer market. Apparently, these microbrewed craft beers are targeting the gourmet consumers, or trade-uppers:

“…all beers come only in 750ml bottles. Many are sold at luxury restaurants as well as at specialist or deli shops. All beers are made with ingredients of the highest quality, and their goal is to compete with wines.”

So while the Italians are unrestrained by the rigors of tradition, they still keep things classy. Some of the beers they produce that have made it to the States illustrate the complexity and innovation that are part of the rise of Italian microbrewing. The way I see it, these brewers are attempting to compete with wine in the sense that they’re trying to gain the respect that wine has, not become them. There’s a fine line between classifying something as a luxury item (which beer is), and jacking up the price on something because you want to give the impression that your product is more luxurious. That’s not necessarily competing so much as it is tilting your nose skyward.

Others have had knee-jerk reactions to anyone warning of beer snobbery, perhaps because they don’t share the same inclusive, social experience that beer has to offer, and prefer to drink by themselves. That’s fine, but it is pervasive, and can hurt craft beer just as much as the “extreme” label.

So let me lay my cards on the table. I see both sides as equally important: I can appreciate the drinkable session brew just as much as I can a well-balanced Double IPA. To me, extreme beer is innovation from tradition, not merely upping alcohol or hops, and some brewers that have been burdened with this tag have proven that’s not solely what it’s about. Respect should be given to the noble tradition of brewing and beer itself, but at the same time leave an open door for new drinkers and new approaches, not become an exclusive club trying to be the “new wine”. 

What’s the answer? Should we be concentrating on returning to a simpler, more traditional approach to beer, or constantly search for the most extreme ingredients and aspects of brewing? Can there be elements included from either side? 

Looking down at where my cards have been laid, I see there’s room at the table for both.

I had planned to post an overview of a few special Alts I’ve enjoyed earlier, but time hasn’t permitted that. Suffice to say I’ve been keeping busy with a host of other non-beer related things called “life.” Well, that and transferring the Belgian Dubbel me and Steve cooked up to secondary fermentation.

Anyway, I had this little review session in mind before I got to try the Uerige Doppelsticke on cask at Capital Ale House, so here goes…

Long Trail Double Bag

A moderately vigorous pour produces roughly a centimeter of brilliant white head that doesn’t stick around for too long before its merely a few colonies of bubbles on top of a completely transparent, copper-amber hued beer. But this one is more than just eye candy. The aroma is complex yet subdued; hints of sugary fruit, butterscotch, caramel converge with a nutty malt backbone. Despite the myriad of estery notes, the beer still retains a clean profile as well.

The well-rounded malt character makes the Double Bag a palate-pleaser up front. Toffee and toasted malt notes are featured at the outset, with a slightly warming alcohol feel toward the middle. At this point, the hops enter the picture, providing ample but restrained bitterness alongside the alcohol, which truly isn’t that noticeable and blends into the background. The finish is immaculately clean, as lagers tend to do, but also leaves a bit of sweetness and hop bitterness lingering for a rather pleasing aftertaste.

Apparently, Long Trail modeled this after the Sticke, or “secret”, Altbiers of Germany, which were intended as special releases for those in the know, making for a well-balanced yet complex secret I’m glad to be in on.

Zum Uerige Sticke Alt

Burgundy and russet hues fill the glass, growing more amber at the bottom when held to light. Just over a finger of tightly-bubbled head forms at the top, leaving a thick web of lace around the sides as it gently recedes. The much-fabled Zum Uerige Sticke Alt is in my glass, and I couldn’t be more excited to try it.

Giving it time to warm up a few degrees, I begin to think of the prestige and weight this beer carries, especially in its home city of Dusseldorf. Breathing in the aromatics, I instantly notice several characteristics that indicate a complicated beer. An earthy hop aroma seems to intertwine with a layer of Pilsner malt, that grainy and bready scent mingling further with toffee, dark fruit, and a hint of licorice perhaps. There was something there that indicated an acidity, which was more like tart berries, in a sense.

Caramel and that grainy Pilsner malt combine for a schizophrenic introduction, but one that provides immediate balance. This leads to a juicy center where the earthy hop and toasted, toffee-like flavors are left to ease delicately off the palate. There is a drying quality to the finish, as hints of molasses and spice make a brief appearance during the exit. As the beer warms, the malt profile makes itself more apparent, becoming almost chewy and more viscous.

I’m quite surprised at how this beer changes, even over the course of less than five minutes. The drying, Pilsner feel begins to take a backseat to the sweet, malty tones that lie beneath. I can understand why this is a classic, and why some wish to keep it a secret.

Zum Uerige Doppelsticke Alt

Ah, time for the Doppel. This dark beauty pours a flat, hazy mahogany hue, with russet and copper highlights toward the bottom of the glass. One centimeter of white head forms on top and leaves as soon as it came. In the nose, there’s the aroma of figs or dark fruit combined with caramel malt, a hint of earthiness, and, maybe it’s just me, but I still pick up that boozy, Old Ale-esque fragrance.

The tongue reflects the aromatics with one exception; again, just like its sibling, this beer has a hoppier-than-expected side. But that’s not a bad thing by any means. In fact, that unsuspecting bitterness lends character to this beer, and illustrates the beer’s complexity when stacked up against raisiny, fig-like flavors. On cask, the same characteristics come through, only with a more “alive” feeling but at the same time a muted one, like that of a Real Ale.

To me, this sort of takes some of the best elements of other beer styles and conjures up a wholly different taste, and it shows. For some reason, it feels like Alt’s northern German roots, especially when it comes to Sticke, has an element of style influence from other countries, such as Belgium and the United Kingdom. And for some reason, I don’t seem to want to stop drinking it.

Ancient Egyptian symbols? Corny, unconvincing magic trick? No! Pyramid and Magic Hat Breweries plan to merge.

The 7th and 13th largest “craft” breweries in the country, respectively, are strongly considering taking the plunge together. Originally, Vermont’s Magic Hat approached Seattle’s Pyramid with an offer, which now includes the former taking on the latter’s incurred debt as well as $2.75 per share. When all is said and done, it looks to be about a $25 to $30 million operation for Magic Hat.

This maneuver has sparked some interest and debate over at BeerAdvocate. I don’t have any desire to get into the fray, but feel free to peruse some responses if you will.

This weekend I made the trek down to Virginia Beach to visit family and friends, but also to celebrate, since my dad’s birthday is on Tuesday. As usual, there were plenty of things to keep me occupied, but I managed to slip beer in between the important stuff… especially the night before I left.

First came Friday afternoon. End of the work week, and I’m ready to sip something special. As it just so happens, Capital Ale House opened a new location on the Southside of town, in the little village of Midlothian to be exact. The soft opening was Thursday night, and while I was desperate to go check out the newly-built Beer Mecca, I couldn’t make the drive. So I settled for Friday right after work, which was a good way to spend the evening before I left town the next day.

Fearing they had no Ola Dubh 30-year left, which was featured on tap, I made it out there as quickly as possible. My fears were allayed when I was able to start off with a snifter of it, and soak up all the deliciously boozy Scotch notes. Actually, woody Bourbon notes came to mind as well, which makes sense seeing as how single-use Bourbon barrels are normally used for aging Scotch whisky. Once they’re used for aging Scotch, they’re used again and again, and can have a rather extensive lifespan in this capacity, even undergoing repairs over the years.

There was a minimal, almost non-existent, level of carbonation, but a viscous, roasted malt Old Ale quality that made it an absolute treat. The beer itself was as black as night, which makes sense, seeing as how “Ola Dubh” means “Black Oil” in Gaelic. What a privilege it was to be able to try this stuff. I’ve got a few bottles of the 12- and 16-year sitting in my cache, which I’ll have to give a whirl in the future.

Turns out, Friday night was perhaps a more lucrative night to attend. At 6pm, they tapped a firkin of cask-conditioned Uerige Doppelsticke! After a messy attempt to open it up, the staff began pouring, and yours truly was able to get his hands on a glass. The beer poured a nice, hazy dark amber/copper color, and there were noticeable hoppy and boozy notes in the nose. My tasting notes wouldn’t do it proper justice, but suffice to say, the flavor was a bit muted, yet at the same time more naturally appealing. Another beer that I consider an honor just to be able to taste and enjoy.

More on the Alt goodness to come, but for now, I’m gonna kick back with a fresh beer and call it a day.

Spotted this link to a Washington Post article on Knut Albert’s blog regarding barrel-aged beers. One of our area newspapers has highlighted a growing trend in craft brewing, and this is a good omen for beervangelists here in the States. Recently I mentioned Blue Mountain Brewery in Afton, Virginia and their own barrel-aged concoction.

The article also features a couple of regional craft brewers: Ashburn, Virginia’s Old Dominion (now a brand of Coastal Brewing Company) and their deliciously chocolatey Oak Barrel Stout, and Milton, Delaware’s Dogfish Head and their Palo Santo Marron, which I’ve been dying to try. Good to see some regional coverage on this sort of thing!

So while I’ve recently celebrated cooking up my first batch of homebrew, I picked up some troubling news via Stonch. Apparently, following the article on Free the Hops and homebrewing that appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Alabama Alcoholic Beverage Control has come down on Scott Oberman.

His brazen attitude and full disclosure could cost him in the courtroom. It may not get to that point, but it’s still absolutely ludicrous nonetheless. The guy can’t go out and buy a beer over 6% abv, eliminating several excellent options from his reach, so he decides to brew his own and spread the beery goodness. Yet that makes him a criminal.

According to the article at Fermentarium, Anheuser-Busch and Southern Baptists have rallied together on this issue to block the efforts of Free the Hops, while stalled legislation to raise the state’s abv cap to 13.9% gathers dust. So they may slap Oberman with a $2,000 fine and a year in jail, but will most definitely put his homebrewing on hold. All this just for brewing up a batch of beer.

Yesterday I took the plunge. On that day, I jumped head-first into homebrewing.

I’ve sampled some offerings from area homebrewers before and have truly been impressed. Come to think of it, right around Christmas of 2006, I discovered that my upstairs neighbor had brewed a holiday ale with her uncle in New York state, and had brought some back to share. I was blown away at what one afternoon and some cheap supplies could do. So while everybody else was downing Miller Lite, I was nursing some savory homemade beer, enjoying the evening.

Well Sunday was my first go-round with the actual hands-on part of the process, but it helped to have my hands on some beer at the same time, too.

Steve and I met up around mid-day at his house, where he had all the equipment lined up and ready to go. We set out to brew a Belgian-style Dubbel, so naturally we cracked a Collaboration Not Litigation from 2006 to get things off on the right foot and got straight to work. First came the sanitizing, a crucial first step. He’s brewed before, and told me the horrors of not properly cleaning just one item. This is a story I’ve heard from other homebrewers who’ve also made sure to avoid that mistake with an ounce of prevention.

After we made sure everything was clean and good to go, we got the wort kits ready by softening them up in some hot water on the stove. Then, we poured them into some water and stirred thoroughly for the boil. Following that, we cooled that sucker down in the sink with some ice water.

In the meantime, we sampled some cave-aged Gruyere and French country bread with a Pierre Celis Grotten Bruin. Once the beer had properly cooled, we transferred that sweet nectar into the primary fermenter. As an aside, the place smelled absolutely delicious! I could’ve drank the wort without fermentation and had a blast, but we had to give that fancy yeast an opportunity to do its thing.

So with the proper addition of water, we pitched the yeast, White Labs Abbey Ale yeast to be exact. Then, after sealing the ol’ Ale Pail, there was only one thing to do: Stanley Cup playoffs and some 2006 Pannepøt! The Red Wings and the Predators were playing in Nashville, which made for an incredible game, despite the extended interruption from tornado coverage by the local NBC news affiliate. The Pannepøt was a great way to cap off a fun day of homebrewing.

So now, to commemorate the homebrewing occasion (which will probably become more than just an occasion in the very near future), I’m cracking a local Virginia beer. This time, it’s this year’s foreboding Dark Hollow by Blue Mountain Brewery.

Dark Hollow is just that, a completely opaque black that produces only a thin layer of small bubbles around the edges where the ominous liquid touches the sides of the glass. This Imperial Stout has had the privilege of resting in oak bourbon barrels, this year’s is Jim Beam to be exact, for 100 days. It certainly shows.

Coming as no surprise, the bouquet is quite woody and boozy, with a light touch of chocolate, which I expected to be stronger. The sharpness of the liquor is noticeable, and it’s got me thinking about what the Wild Turkey barrel-aged version will taste like next year.

Sipping the beer, I notice more of a roasted coffee malt profile rather than chocolate, which is great because it tempers the alcoholic kick of the bourbon that lies on top. That slightly parching oak flavor enters toward the middle, and dries out in the finish, leaving an aftertaste that’s closer to Beam than it is beer. This doesn’t bother me, because it clearly and smoothly transitions, so it’s not all bourbon and oak like some barrel-aged offerings.

There was nothing like sampling this at the brewery, with the tanks right in the window behind the bar, and the scenic vistas of Afton all around, but this seems to fit my local outlook today. I’ve been reading more and more about people sticking to their local selections lately, and I thought I might add a little something to the local mix myself. Good to see area brewers going out on a limb with interesting methods like barrel-aging or exotic beer styles.

For a while there were rumblings in the beer world, mostly locally, about the arrival of a British IPA that was unlike many of its kind. After hearing many mixed reviews, I figured that I’d have to try this thing myself and see what all the fuss, or lack thereof, was all about.

A thin layer of soapy bubbles form on top of this hazy, orange and copper-colored beer. Floral hop notes take over the nose, which intertwine with the aroma of sweet, bready malt that displays a soft hint of caramel. The smell alone is absolutely delicious, and if the taste is anything close, I’d say we’ve got a winner.

The well-appointed label mentions that the beer employs “five of the US Pacific Northwest’s most citrus-flavored, aromatic whole cone hops” in addition to English floor malts, implying that this is a hybrid-style India Pale Ale. Although, I’ll say that I’m not getting much of the citrusy flavors here, and I love that. Instead, there is a fruity, floral hop presence that doesn’t slay the palate with bitterness, and it lets the introduction and middle take on a juicy character.

The balance of this one cannot be understated. At just the right moment, the hops enter the picture toward the finish to balance out the sweetness of the malt up front, and never overpower. While I can taste a muted citrus note, it’s way in the background, and to me that’s superb. It’s almost like a wet-hop harvest beer: keep the aromatics and the floral character, but use minimal bitterness for balance. Also, the carbonation doesn’t get in the way, adding an appropriate amount of bubbles but letting the smooth texture take precedence.

As the beer finishes, it washes out cleanly, leaving a calm, delicious aftertaste that fades evenly. To me, this is the benchmark for the word “drinkable.” I doubt hopheads would be a huge fan of this beer, but if you’re anything like me, you’ll love the aforementioned qualities it possesses and will want to grab a second one.