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Last night was the moment of truth. The first taste-test of my very first solo batch of homebrew. Oh, the anticipation! And since I had no one else to blame if it came out less than stellar, it worried me even more. Not to mention the blood, sweat, and beers (consumed the day of brewing) that went into this thing!
Although it’s intended to be a Dark Mild, I opted for my Duvel tulip glass for two reasons: one, because the shape of the glass helps funnel the aromatics upward for the swirl and sniff; two, because of the laser-etched Duvel logo at the bottom serves as a carbonation point, which is also supposed to help in the evaluation via nostrils. A vigorous pour yielded about a finger of short-lived, brilliant white head that appeared somewhat soapy. The beer was a solid russet color, with light getting in toward the bottom that illustrated its ruby highlights. Looked rather appealing if I do say so myself.
I figured it wouldn’t be too strong in the scent department, and I was right. But I did get a good dose of toffee and sweet caramel malt, along with a subtle grassiness, which I assume came from the East Kent Goldings and Glacier hops I used. There was also a soft pear or apple fruit trait in the beginning that came from the Burton ale yeast I employed for fermentation. Simplistic, but tempting notes indicated I was on track.
But above all else, how did it taste? Well, not bad. There wasn’t much to it, but that’s the point. As far as being a quaffable ale with fruity notes and some gentle earthy/floral hop character, it did its job. It’s got a light body with a clean finish and enough going on to keep the tongue’s attention without stealing the show completely.
The only thing is, looking back at my notes, I may have added too much malt syrup to the mix for my base, which perhaps bumps it slightly out of the “Mild” category. But the caveat was that it was an “American” Mild, so I guess by law it’s got to have at least one percent more alcohol by volume, right?
For interests purely scientific and journalistic, I ventured over to Capital Ale House last night to sample the wares they had on offer for their Black Moonday event.
After looking at their events calendar online, it struck me that this place is not only doing a lot of business, but it’s doing a lot of smart business. For one, they know how to bleed beer nerds (myself included) dry with special occasions such as last night. They’ve got beer and cheese pairings, as well as beer dinners, featuring famous breweries coming up. There are seasonal celebrations rolled into “Karneval”, a Valentine’s Day chocolate and Belgian beer pairing, and live music going on all the time.
In tough economic times, people still need entertainment, and are willing to spend what little disposable income they have on enjoying themselves. But what would keep them coming back out to the bar, paying higher prices for beer, wine, and spirits than they would from purchasing the same products in-store? Special occasions. It’s not enough to sit inside your own home; and Capital Ale is savvy enough to realize that by hosting these festivities, keeping things interesting and mixing up the mundane, they’ll be able to continue to draw patrons through their doors, recession or not.
But enough about that. You want to hear about the stouts, right?
Well, with several of the stouts clocking in at double-digit alcohol by volume percentages, it helped that they offered 3 oz. taster sizes for their beers. Sadly, the Blue Mountain Double Barrel Cherry Imperial Stout wasn’t available. For my first selection, I decided to give oak another chance and taste the Oskar Blues Ten Fidy Oak Aged Imperial Stout. It had a very subdued aroma of wet oak, with vinuous and fruity notes in tow. The body was slicker and drier than expected, with a nice balance that went way easy on the whiskey flavors. However, there didn’t seem to be much to this version of the Ten Fidy, so I wasn’t all that impressed after finishing my taster.
The Left Hand Smokejumper actually smelled like portabella mushrooms sauteed in balsamic vinegar, but in a good way. There was also a soft smokiness in the nose that didn’t overpower its other characteristics, and this translated well into the taste. Roasted coffee and smoked malt tones were rounded, and the high level of carbonation made it crisp and drier than the Ten Fidy. Nevertheless, it was quite drinkable and didn’t overdo it in the flavor department. My interest is piqued, as I picked up a bottle of this stuff not to long ago and would love to stack it up against the draft version.
Now we get to the heavy hitters.
Once again, Dogfish Head took center stage with their unabashedly “off-center,” high-alcohol style. Their penchant for the extreme inspired another twist on their creation: the sages at Capital Ale thought it wise to run their World Wide Stout through one Randall filled with a blend of cocoa and vanilla, and a separate tap featuring the same stout running through a coffee-filled Randall (which they did at Kerstbier Fest with Bell’s Expedition). Needless to say, this produced some very robust results. Amidst the confusion during a flurry of orders, the poor bartender who I’d never before seen working there had filled two full-size, what I assume to be 10 oz. pours of an 18% abv beer. For me. Trying to correct the order seemed to be fruitless, with all hands on deck dispensing and distributing both versions of this beer, so I opted to drink them both.
The coffee-infused version, which this time included a blend free-trade Espresso Tuscany and French Roast, proved to be quite a challenge. With a gritty, brown head and a bouquet of nothing but java, it jolted the senses from the start. As it warmed, the alcohol became much more noticeable, especially toward the back. After the big, sugar malt and coffee bean dominance, it was difficult to taste much else.
In contrast, the chocolate/vanilla variety featured what appeared to be cocoa and vanilla bean specks suspended in light beige foam. Despite tasting like a delicious chocolate milkshake, the alcohol content was evident from the start. Having such a large pour for both, I had to pace myself, which allowed the booze to come through quite strongly toward the end. So what follows it what I imagine the Jefferson Reserve Big Fella tasted like.
And what better way to round out a session that started with an oak-aged beer than to end on a similar note? Well, somewhat similar. The 3 oz. taster I received for this beer was quite enough. Although it’s rumored that this beer (yet another 18% abv offering!) totaled six casks in all, three remaining at the brewery and three being distributed, with Cap Ale getting one, I didn’t think it was worth it. First and foremost, I’m not a huge fan of the wildly popular Jefferson’s Reserve Bourbon Barrel Stout from Bluegrass Brewing, and I definitely can’t stand biting into tree bark. Well, this was what is wrong with barrel-aged beers in a nutshell. No balance, incredibly potent, and far too parching to be enjoyable. If you’re looking for a beer to sour you on anything put into bourbon barrels, this is it.
It was at that point that I realized it was time to call it a night. Other barrel-aged stuff such as Blue & Gray’s Minor Dementia and the Legendary Oak Aged Porter were being tapped, but I’d had my fill. After all that malt, oak, and alcohol, it was a wise decision to end it right there and head out. Thankfully, home is just up the street and my feet could still carry me.
Two quick items here.
Thought I might stir the pot a little and mention that a new Gordon Biersch location is expected to open in the Richmond area, out at the massive sprawl that is Short Pump. No official confirmation just yet, but my sources indicate that there’s a high likelihood of this going down. Loves me some Gordon Biersch.
Second, don’t forget about Black Moonday tomorrow night at Capital Ale House Downtown.
That was short enough to be a twit or tweet or whatever. Over and out.
So I’ve been hearing a lot of good things about Blue & Gray’s Minor Dementia lately, the oak-aged version of their Temporary Insanity imperial stout, but haven’t felt the urge to give it a try. For one, I’m a little burnt out on the whole barrel-aging concept with beer, and have been after tasting several offerings that go into oak overkill. When I find one that’s tastefully done, I like to stick to it or remember it fondly if it’s a special release that I won’t see again.
But there’s another reason I haven’t picked up anything from Blue & Gray in quite some time: quality control issues. There have been reports of soured bottles in certain batches and some of their lineup just hasn’t impressed me enough to keep coming back and trying new things. But times change, as do brewing methods, so I figured trying the Minor Dementia would be a great way to get reintroduced to Blue & Gray, and see what they can do with a barrel.
An undeniably pitch black, MD might be just what the doctored ordered for the winter months. And at 13% alcohol by volume, it’s definitely no light-weight. The nose is a mellow oak barrel Bourbon aroma, melded into the framework of the chocolate roasted malt notes. At the forefront is vanilla, and the aging doesn’t come across too strongly, which hopefully indicates they’ve done a good job with letting this one sit for a while and gain some character.
For a beer with such a high alcohol content, I expected a lot more body and fermentable sugars on the palate. Instead, it’s primarily light-bodied and dryly smooth, with an accent of crispness provided by a minimal amount of carbonation. Surprising, but welcome nonetheless. The sharpness of the barrel and the alcohol warm the tongue, and crescendo toward the finish. But in the end, the parching quality of oak finishes out the beer, and the other traits fade well before this appears, which only serves to amplify its unpleasant nature as it hangs around toward the back.
I can’t call myself a fan of this beer. While I appreciate the base approach of a high-alcohol stout that’s light on the tongue, the Bourbon barrel aging just doesn’t do it for me here. Without that feature, I’m wondering what the original Temporary Insanity would taste like. After today’s sampling, I’m not sure I’d want to find out.
I’ve recently received an email from a rather concerned US citizen (I assume) regarding the acquisition of Anheuser-Busch by InBev, which is now ABInBev. Normally, these kinds of emails get a quick read and head straight for the trash can. But this one in particular drew my interest for the plain fact that, long after the decision had already been made to swallow up Anheuser-Busch, who had willingly accepted the deal, there are still Americans out there furious over what has gone down.
Something we can all relate to, I guess; at times feeling completely powerless, having no say over things you hold dear. For instance, your beer. I often have to remind myself: not everyone enjoys beer the same way you do. Not everyone gets a conniption fit over a special release beer, or gets into the technicalities of homebrewing, or sets up their basement at the perfect temperature to cellar their prized possessions. Some people like their Budweiser, or Coors Light, or what have you, and they don’t give a damn what you think. They get their kicks out of grabbing a pitcher of macro lager and watching the game, or carrying six-packs to the beach and tanning in the sun.
My point is, this guy feels pretty passionately about his Bud, so I figured I’d hear him out and really ponder the subject for myself, stepping outside the narrow focus on beer in which I usually operate.
First is an overture to economic nationalism. The gentleman mentions the ”un-Americaning of America”, the central theme to the email in question. Now, I’m not here to debate globalization. But the fact of the matter is, economies around the world are intertwined for better or for worse. That InBev bought Anheuser-Busch, removing ownership and stewardship from the hands of American investors and the Busch family, is just one example of the fluctuations that are a by-product of the interconnection of markets. Toyota currently operates facilities in several US states, making cars and trucks right here in America, providing American workers with steady incomes. Are they any less Japanese? Perhaps. But for most multi-national corporations, their emblem is of monetary, not nationalistic, value.
But the hand that giveth also taketh away. When the new ABInBev decides to make cuts in a tough economic climate, knowing it was going to do so from the start, but especially after purchasing the company that garners roughly half of all beer sales in the United States, then consumers and employees may suffer, too. The email states that ABInBev has “fired over 1,400 workers, raised the prices, stopped giving out free beer at Busch Gardens…” which seems to be part and parcel of the nature of global capitalism.
The author then writes further that this new conglomeration is ”using their power as the world’s most powerful beer distributor to put the squeeze on bar managers to feature their brands, therefore limiting our choices of brews at our neighborhood pubs.” Again, nothing new here. We can’t say that Anheuser-Busch hadn’t been doing this before they were bought out by InBev, so who exactly is the real criminal here? When you argue on principle, it’s important you get your ducks in a row. Larger distributors of ABInBev or MillerCoors products often sweeten the deal by handling the installation and maintenance of tap lines, in addition to working with businesses to keep products from their portfolio supplied in restaurants and bars. It’s all part of the arrangement, and has been even before foreign ownership of American beer companies. Why? Because they can. And it’s highly effective.
In an effort to illustrate irony, the author mentions the advertising of Budweiser as an “American Legend” and the release of the actually pretty decent American Ale. But these products are still produced at facilities in the United States. The author may be upset to learn that Anheuser-Busch has already been producing beer in China with Harbin, and has a facility in the United Kingdom (at least for the time being). Perhaps these jobs were being taken by foreigners simply because the company itself created those opportunities there to cut down on shipping costs and to expand into new markets. Ownership is only part of the equation here, and not synonymous with geographic location. This is not to mention the investment stake in half of the Mexican Grupo Modelo and others, such as Tsingtao, which may also come as a surprise to him.
At the end of his email, the gentleman issues a plea to avoid purchasing any products brewed by what he now calls “Belgweiser” in the week before the Super Bowl. All this ties into the escalated beer consumption and marketing around this quasi-holiday, and advertisers never stop trying to break out the big guns on that big Sunday in February. Instead, he asks us to ”buy only American beers, made by American workers in breweries owned by American companies.” Last I checked, ABInBev has kept its infrastructure in place here in the United States, so these beers are still made by American workers, just not in breweries owned by American companies. And I’m guessing he’d like you to steer clear of Redhook and Widmer Bros as well.
Supposing such a boycott were wildly successful, wouldn’t this be putting more American workers out of work? Even Sierra Nevada and Sam Adams would struggle with supplying half the beer market if everyone switched to Celebration and Boston Lager overnight. While I like the idea of promoting and supporting the vast and varied brewing diaspora in this country, which has experienced a resurgence in recent history, I find this gentleman’s comments to be heartfelt, albeit misplaced.
I’ll agree with him though. Come Super Bowl Sunday, grab a cold one that comes from one of the many innovative breweries right here in the United States. If not for some sense of nationalistic pride, then at least for the mere purpose of finding flavor.
The views expressed by the author of the email, amongst several other topics, viewpoints, and attempts to get the word out on a number of random subjects, can be viewed at the Belgweiser Rebellion.
With Monday off I decided to brew up another batch of beer and test my creative abilities somewhat. I’ve been aiming to create some easy-sipping ales in my initial baby steps as a homebrewer. Oh I’m sure I’ll be throwing in ingredients left and right like a mad scientist in a few months, but for now it’s all about going slow and steady in an effort to get my “wort legs”, if you will.
This time around, I thought it wise to make a simple Porter, increasing the alcohol content from my last batch of what I can only describe as American Mild. (Sorry British brewers, but we’ve got to bastardize everything.) I stuck with the Pale Malt syrup I used last time as a base, in addition to the Crystal 60 and Chocolate in my specialty grains, but added some Black Patent for color and Roasted Barley to give it just a hint of roasty complexity.
On the hop side of the coin, I went back to East Kent Goldings and Glacier (my LHBS’s replacement for Fuggles), but upped the ante on each to balance out the malt sweetness and used a more staggered boiling schedule. After looking around at some different yeast strains, I went with the London Ale Yeast strain from White Labs, as I wanted to bring out a drier and maltier aspect, which I hope will get a certain Porter flavor I’m looking for. We’ll see how that turns out.
The one thing I’ve got to get the hang of is getting a proper gravity reading. On this venture, my starting gravity was much lower than the mild, which shouldn’t have been the case. I don’t think I’m getting the wort properly mixed with the sterile water in the fermenter when taking the reading, because after poking around online a bit, it’s clear that extract syrup will get you the sugars regardless. I guess I’m just worried about mucking around with the beer too much before and after pitching the yeast, trying to let it all “do its thing” and relax, not worry, and look forward to drinking a homebrew once my first batch is done conditioning. Now I’m just trying to think of what to call this baby.
Another thing is sparging the specialty grains. Using more of them for the Porter, the grain bag obviously took up more volume in the strainer (which sat atop the funnel that led into the carboy), and caused a backup in the flow that led to some wort splashing on the floor. No big deal; I’m just happy it’s only tile I had to clean!
The temperature in Richmond dropped down to seven degrees overnight, and since that led into the coldest day of the year thus far, I figured it was time to crack open that Dominion Baltic Porter that a friend gifted me at Christmas. At 7% abv, to go with the seven-degree weather, this packs a bit of a punch; just what you need on a chilly, wintry day, but not so much you go cross-eyed. The back label says it all: “[h]ints of licorice, toffee & chocolate mingle with German Pilsner, Crystal, Dark Specialty Malts & a touch of Rye…”
In the nose is that grainy and clean smell oft associated with lagers, which makes sense seeing as how they use bottom-fermenting lager yeast for this particular brew, and the aforementioned notes on the label. Also, that slightly biscuity malt character found in some porters is present, and the grainy traits of the Pilsner malt and Rye are on display as well. In addition, the “Dark Specialty Malts” impart an essence of roasted malt and coffee. The body is thin yet effervescent, which adds a crisp dryness to the overall experience. A touch of sugary malt lingers toward the back as the beer finishes, but not in an unpleasant way.
The Baltic Porter is balanced with a fairly light and clean profile, and thus very drinkable with the alcohol content not an issue at all in the flavor. The Baltic Porter genre itself is rather intriguing to me, and while I can’t say I’ve found any that are completely jaw-dropping, there have been a few head-turners. I’d count Old Dominion’s as one of them for its sensible approach.
Most of us go through trials and tribulations that, in the end, make us wiser, better people. The other night was a test from the brewing gods to see if I could come out a wiser, better homebrewer.
After much deliberation, I decided it was time to transfer to my bottling bucket from the primary fermenter and let it rest overnight so that I could bottle the next day with ease. I took the necessary steps: taking a Final Gravity reading, preparing some priming sugar mixture on the stove, and placing said mixture in the bottling bucket. Transferring went pretty well thanks to the Auto-Siphon, and I tried to make sure I sanitized everything that would come in contact with the beer. I had run some bottles in the dishwasher to sanitize them on the heat cycle, and was intending for them to dry overnight.
Once the liquid was settled in bottling bucket, primed and ready to rest, I went to put the airlock in the lid. While trying to ease the airlock in the hole at the top, the plastic grommet fell in the beer. After prying open the lid, I made one quick sweep with a strainer (also sanitized) to try and get the piece out of the beer, but to no avail. Not wanting to aerate the hell out of it, I left it alone and decide to go ahead and prepare for bottling to avoid contamination or other things that could go wrong.
Within a matter of minutes I had the tubing, bottle filler, caps and bottles sanitized and ready to go. There was still some condensation in a few of the bottles, but I did the best I could to air them out. No turning back; it was time to bottle this beast and hope for the best.
I’m now the proud father of 24 golden-capped “American Milds,” whatever that means. I’m hoping the bottle conditioning will round out the edges and make for a tasty, sessionable beer. And that’s also hoping that nothing got messed up in the frenzy.
I guess we’ll both know in a couple of weeks, won’t we?
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