beer

Beer Ramblings

beer ramblings

  • IPA’s

What delectably bitter libations!  liquid grass for some, but the freshness…ahhh!  Some like the hops on top, nosey, and some like the peppery undertones with citrusy implications.  One of the best moves of microbreweries these days is to make a delectable session IPA.  Keep the bigness, but have two (or three).  I love the anticipation of beer-thirty when I know I have a home-brewed IPA in the fridge.  It is a type of peace that is rarely found anywhere else.  Big grain bottom with the heaven of nature: all in one glass.  Try some of Great Divide’s offerings, but if you can find it, Hall’s Farmhouse IPA  is the way to go!

  • Pale Ales

These often looked to ales are the base for so many others.  The lowly Pale often plays second partner to the more speciality brews, but if one takes time, better yet: brew your own, the Pale is a patient partner.  Be picky here as these brews range from “meh…” to “Why!  WHY!?”  When that sweet taste of liquid gold is needed the Pale will come through.  Malty with numerous levels of moderate hops are the basis’ of many a fine glass.  Again, Hall’s makes a great Red Ale (a Pale of a different color).  Experiment with these, they are patient and often very satisfying basic beers.

  • ESB’s

While the Pale Ale is a basic beer, its grandfather is probably the ESB.  Ah, what malty goodness awaits anyone with an Extra Special Bitter in mind.  Beside the IPA, I would probably cozy up to one of our home-brewed ESB’s.  Not too cold!  Let the malty goodness speak volumes and it will, especially when shared with friends!

  • Porters and Stouts

Oh these black beauties… often mistaken for being heavy handed and alcoholic.  Not so!  Smoky characters they are, and perhaps they take time to get to know.  But once a true friend is made, you will have a friend for life.  I don’t cotton to the coffee varieties, pure malty black magic for me.  Also, keep the vanilla in the ice-cream.  Although these beautiful and mystical beers can hold up to the adjuncts that we often add, it is a shame to miss out on their simple goodness.  Equally good on a hot summer’s day or cold winter’s night.

  • Lagers

Cold-hearted as they may be, lagers are the fresh morning dew on the grass; early in the morning just as the birds are beginning to wake.  You might not want to drink one at that time, but the freshness of a good lager is bound to quench the thirst of anyone after a hard day of simple living.  Clear, with nothing to hide, sometimes wheat-natured and often abused by the industrial-aged beer magnates.  Don’t bother, there are much, much better beers to be found if you look around.  Oskar Blues’ Mama’s Little Yella Pilsner is a good one.  Better yet, brew your own, but make sure to have a cool place to let it get going. It’ll put a smile on your face and ideas in your head if you’re not careful!

  • Drinking beer?

In my humble opinion, beer is a nectar that is too often diluted by adjuncts: water, grain, yeast and hops are all that is needed.  Savor the taste of the beer you drink; like life, the bottom of the glass comes sooner than you think.  Don’t complicate things, keep your thoughts pure and your wants simple.  Take pleasure in picking the beer you will drink and drink the beer you pick with a conscious and deliberate state of mind.  Smile and nod, but don’t always listen.  This is your time, and your beer will draw those precious seconds out just a little longer!

More Beer Please

beer

Haven’t brewed beer in awhile. This is a problem! The garage fridge, although not completely empty, does have shelf space and in the world of home brewing this is not good. I bottle my beers (simplicity and all that), and on top of fridge space I have an ample supply of empty beer bottles awaiting the next nectar to fill their empty spaces. It seems I cannot go into the garage without hearing their pleas to be filled.

It’s not just the logistics of beer that is problematic. The act itself is important. I’ve put wheels (with locks) on my brewing tables and stands that haven’t been tested yet. I have not heard the hiss of the propane burner under aluminum pots in while. I have not smelled the delicious aroma of mash and wort. I’ve not taken in the beauty of my home brew system in all its homemade, rough-hewn glory. I’ve not wondered at the tubs of hot water and cleaner, the chemist’s tools, and the tubes…oh the tubes.

Brewing beer is, well, more than just brewing magic. It is also drinking home brew early in the morning. It is finding local barley, and using homegrown hops. It is note-taking and smelling. It is breakfast and talk of the beer to come. It is realizing that sometimes what we think is most important is not. In beer brewing, that realization comes with the act of cleaning constantly. It is an all-day brew and feeling tired after you’ve done something that you know is good. It is also watching the carboy for baby bubbles and waking up the next morning to a foam-filled breather and the smell of bananas with a smile on your face.

Brewing beer is not just the day of the brew. Its pleasure continues. I think that brewing beer is one of those things that never end. It is much like music: a musician never gets good enough. I like the process and the realization that the process is ongoing. Bottling the beer, the waiting game begins. And finally…finally the first taste, the anticipation and worry; pouring over your notes and writing tasting notes, I like to share the first taste: more taste-buds the better, and anyway what is beer without friends.

I plan to rectify the problem soon. What better way to bring in a new year than to brew some beer!

Stories From the Road: Beer, Blues and the Backseat of a VW Beatle

lone star

The beer had to come which meant that the passenger seat must come out; which meant that George was to sit in the backseat with his feet propped up on the white cooler that took the place of the passenger seat.  Everything had its place.

I never knew that the seats of my 71’ VW Beatle (that I had christened ‘Hitler’s Revenge’) were stuffed with straw.  Springs hold the straw in place under the black vinyl.  George didn’t know this either, but was soon to find out.  For the time being, however, he sat comfortably with his feet propped up on the cooler.

It was hot!  It was Texas, and it was in the middle of July.  Hitler had no air-conditioning as it could barely pull itself without having to run a compressor.  Stevie Ray Vaughn was playing in Dallas, and we were hell-bent on being awash in his amazing prowess with a guitar.  We were also hell-bent on drinking the two cases of Lone Star beer we had brought.

We bounced in the downtown traffic, stopping at traffic lights and sweating like whores in the Texas heat.

“Goddamn, it’s getting hot!” yelled George over the blaring blues we had going.

“No shit, Sherlock!” I yelled back.

“No! I mean I think I’m on fire.”

We sat at the light and George began bouncing around, getting more and more anxious, yelling all the time about the heat.

“What the fuck are doing?!” I yelled.

“Dude! I think there’s a snake back here and I think I’m bit!”

“You’re crazy…”

George wasn’t crazy, but there was no snake.

We were parked on a four-lane piece of cement under a bridge some ten minutes away from beer and blues and George began trying to crawl out the side window, yelling and screaming.  I saw smoke wafting from ass of his jeans as he fell out of the car and began running around under the bridge, smoke making a curly tail as he ran.  Then I noticed the billowing smoke coming from the back of the car.

The car was on fire, and so I screamed and threw the keys (Yes, threw them.  I don’t know why) at George who was still running around cussing and screaming at the side of the road.  Smoke billowed out of the car door windows and traffic began backing up from us.  I reached in the car and pulled the backseat out.  By the time I had the seat out the straw had made a nice inviting flame.  The cars around us continued to back up at a more and more alarming rate.

It was really easy.  I just threw handfuls of dirt in the backseat and the flame went out.  George finished with his sideshow dance and showed me the newly burnt hole in the ass of his jeans.  I put the backseat back in, but George sat on the cooler for the duration of the ride.  After some searching I found the keys and we started the car up, having the road to ourselves for the time being.  Stevie Ray never sounded so good with an ice-cold Lone Star beer in hand.

The Mediocre World

I don’t believe anyone makes it a goal to be mediocre, but somehow it seems that so many people have accepted mediocrity as the norm.  If none of us make mediocrity a goal, then how is mediocrity a norm?  There are some possible answers to this somewhat rhetorical question.   First, mediocrity is not the norm.  Secondly, mediocrity is the norm because most people lower their expectations of themselves and then others.  Lastly, we are simply defining the normal state of affairs as mediocre.  I am a philosopher at heart, but I also realize that philosophical analysis (a love of mine) is not necessarily a love of others.  Therefore, I will use an analogy (is this the entrance to mediocrity?) of beer to make my point.

First, perhaps mediocrity is not the norm.  For most of this nation’s (USA) history, micro brewing was the norm until the likes of Adolphus Busch created Budweiser in 1876.  When beer-making met with the industrial revolution, mediocre beer was born.  But what is mediocre beer?  If Budweiser is mediocre beer, then mediocrity is the lack of local specialty, a high level of consistency at the cost of special considerations, and a product made for a reason other than the reason for the product; this last one is interesting: Budweiser (it can be argued) is not made for the love of beer, but for the love of profit as its sell to In-Bev has proven.  If this is truly the definition of mediocrity, than it is a hard argument to make that mediocrity is not the norm.  All, including Sam Adams (the largest of microbreweries) microbreweries make up a whopping 5% (app.) of all beer sales.  It would seem that most people are being sold a bill of goods called mediocrity.

Secondly, perhaps mediocrity is the norm but only because people have lowered the expectations they have of themselves and others.  This is sad, but seems to be more often true than not.  However, back to beer!  Budweiser has outsold its nearest competitor by a long shot until recently.  This could have two implications: that people have raised their expectations of themselves, or that mediocrity (in beer at least) is shifting from Budweiser to something else; that something else being microbreweries since they are they only growing beer-market currently.  But beer snobs consistent point to all of the mediocre beer drinkers (translated as Bud, Coors etc…) as mediocre and themselves as having higher standards of beer tastes.  This has serious implications for us beer snobs!  This reason seems to fail as more and more micro and nano-breweries pop up across the nation.  Both drinkers and brewers seem to be expecting more and more from themselves and others.  However, this may not be the whole story.

Lastly, maybe we are simply defining normality in a way that lends itself to mediocrity?  Budweiser was the most “normal” choice of beer drinkers for decades, and now it seems that as a nation we are beginning to define “normal” choices of beers as micro brewed concoctions.  There is a caveat to this line of thinking… PBR.  Pabst seems to have made a comeback with those “in the know”, but let’s face it: Pabst is not a good beer.  Bland, unmistakably lacking in any special characteristic, highly consistent and certainly not brewed for the love of beer Pabst is a staple at most bars that make it their business to cater to the “in” crowd, a crowd that consistently does not deem themselves as the “norm”.

So where does this leave us?  With beer?  With mediocrity?  Well… I don’t believe anyone makes it a goal to be mediocre, but somehow it seems that when enough people accept something as normal, that thing becomes mediocre, and those that accept it become mediocre.   I think that this is the fault of those people that accept the thing as well as the fault of those people who try to fill that desire.  I define “Truth” as a relationship between the idea of a thing and the thing itself (sorry for the philosophy?).  In that case, perhaps mediocrity is simply a low-quality relationship or understanding?  I’m sure that Budweiser didn’t start out as a mediocre, bland tasting concoction, but as Adolphus realized the riches to be had brewing his beer, his reasons for brewing Budweiser changed and with it the quality of the relationship between the idea of Budweiser and the beer itself?  Maybe he gave up on his ideal of beer in order to make a buck or a billion?  Maybe to be a true beer snob and not just another snob, one must truly love, study, taste and understand beer, and when we brew (or drink) for a reason other than that, we become mediocre?  If that is the case, then even us mediocre home brewers are making nothing but amazing, love-filled bottles of bliss.  Cheers!