Guests are given a sample glass, a set of tickets and a list of the beers on the agenda. The list includes a description of the beer, but as anyone familiar with language knows, describing taste is like describing . . . well, taste. In the world of beer, one man's pungent is another man's poison.
The rating system devised by movie reviewers Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert was simplicity itself, reducing most reviews from four or five stars to two digits, the opposable thumbs separating man from ape. I devised a system of my own which, although more complicated, is more nuanced in keeping with the subtle flavors, malt character, balance of hops and citrus fruits, lingering aftertaste, and strength of IPA and CPA and IRS and FBI.
Just kidding. As everyone knows, there's a granite wall of separation between the government and breweries, unless they make a profit, or produce anything stronger than baby formula.
On the favorable scale:
One check - Meh, I wouldn't spit it out. Could I get a shot of bourbon with this?
Two checks - Hey, I'd drive to the store for this. Is it in stock, do you think?
Three checks - Gimme the keys! I'm driving across town to pick up this stuff!
One X - Don't you have some something better, like Keystone Light?
Two X - Was this strained through a used baby diaper? Do you have some Keystone Light to rinse out the taste?
Three X - Gaah! I wouldn't let this pass through my urethra!
Baseball fans will catch the allusion to Reggie Jackson famously referred to as “Mr. October” for his penchant for stepping up his game during the pennant race leading to the World Series. And, of course, beer and Oktoberfest go together like sauerkraut and sausage.
This beer is dark enough to pass for Guinness Stout, only without the chunks of meat floating in it. It seemed a bit sweet, but then I had just eaten some chocolate, and I might have accidentally dropped some in the frozen pilsner glass. That would account for the dark color. Anyway, I would gladly take one to my seat at a baseball game in October. Which is just perfect, because this beer is made only in October.
The Texas Leaguer Brewing Company is in Missouri City, just down the road a piece. No, not MISSOURI Missouri, but the de-facto Houston suburb. I like keepin’ it local. Better get one before the season ends. Baseball. Octoberfest. One or the other. - October 16, 2021
LIVING IT UP SATURDAY NIGHT
The Coogs played out of town on this week. They were in Tulsa, which is a little out of my way for a tailgate. No tailgate, no beer.
Just kidding. Ever since I discovered life in a bottle outside of the corporate-approved weak brews, I always pick up some oddball cans and bottles in the craft beer aisle to make my own six-pack. And there’s always a six-pack of St. Arnold Elissa in the refrigerator. I don’t drink often, but when I do, I want to make it worthwhile. Let me take a moment to thank the hipsters for making all this possible. I promise I won’t make fun of your goofy hair if you just keep cranking out the good stuff and keeping the East End pubs open.
I haven’t read any books to report on lately, so I had to make up an excuse to drink beer. Well, I could report on beer. Here’s what passed through my urethra lately.
No Label produces beer. A LOT of it. So many labels, in fact, I couldn’t find the picture to go with this Oktoberfest. I guess they change the can every year. This year’s No Label label bore “PRETZELS + BRATWURST + BEER + THESE GUYS + DEFINITELY MORE BEER.” All I got was the beer. The novelty label caught my eye. The taste caught my tongue. I’m intrigued. What else you got behind the counter?
The Spirit of Houston tailgate for the UH/Navy game offered a coolerful of Mountain Fork: Sneaky Snake/Belgian, Rooster/Mexican, and some other stuff. The Belgian brew was beatific! The Rooster? You know you’re a close friend when you can swap out a can of something you already drank from because something didn’t turn out like you hoped. Thanks to old friends, I didn’t have to pour this on the ground. WIN-WIN! And WE won! Final score: UH 28, Navy 20. Whooose house?! Coooogs’ house!!! – October 2, 2021
I don’t remember where I picked this up. Probably the pick-and-choose beer aisle at the HEB on Blackhawk. I guess the catchy name caught my eye. Before I opened the can and poured it in my frosty pilsner glass from Saint Arnold, I drank a 16-ounce can of light beer to cleanse my palate of all the white cheddar popcorn I had eaten an hour ago.
I like to say that lite beer is an oxymoron. Putting this cowboy stuff in a can and calling it beer is another sarcasm. You know it’s piss-poor when the lime wedge is the best thing in the glass. What Helles are these so-called cowboys from anyway? The Miller Brewing Company? Oops. That’s the beer I drank first. Did I inadvertently mix up the cans? Nope. The Miller Lite can was already in the recycle bin.
Oh, well. I still have my go-to brew handy to rinse out the bad memory – Saint Arnold Elissa. Plus, I’m finally getting to listen to a CD by the Bangles I had lost a year ago and just replaced. There are no bad songs on this thing! If only beer were like that in a variety six-pack. – July 1, 2021
HIPSTERS VS BOOMERS
For as long as I’ve been sipping beer and slipping in and out of micro-joints, I’ve noticed most of the people slapping down the bills and slurping the bocks are not of my generation. Yes, folks, I’m old. Worse, I’m a member of the newly-reviled Baby-Boom Generation.
So help me, I had to ask my kids what it means when someone directs “Okay, Boomer” my way. Oh, it’s an insult? Does it matter if I came in at the tail end? I didn’t go to cowboy movie matinees, and I was too young to remember where I was when JFK was shot, but I was old enough to remember when his brother was, and my father took us to the chapel to pray for him.
This is a lot of “by the way” arcana to report on a beer. The name triggered a few thoughts. If you know me, you also know I have a great deal of fun at the expense of hipsters. And their retro clothing, retro beards, and retro technology.
It turns out I have more in common with these anachronistic specimens than I care to admit. Yeah, they have those silly glasses, but they also have some kick-ass stereo systems with – are you kidding? – turntables. Vinyl is back. I’d fit right in. I challenge any of the plaidest-wearing of them to a 33-1/3 collection. Heck, I still have a few 45s. Take THAT, you atavistic bum, you!
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Beer. The can has a picture of a fish wearing a top hat and a handlebar mustache riding a 1910-era bicycle. Is there a challenge to be even more retro? The text on the can reminds us that “All the cool kids are drinking those IPAs these days.”
Look, if you have to remind people what “cool kids” are up to, you’re like that “cool mom” who knows the lingo, but will never fit in. Oh, you’ll let the girls borrow your photo ID to buy this beer, but your pom-poms are out of shape.
Drop the shtick. The beer is good enough for this Boomer, and should be good enough for you, man-bun and all. - May 12, 2021
The Paws That Refreshes
I went to HEB to pick up few items, and turned into the beer aisle. Is it a coincidence it’s next to the aisle with chips and tortillas? HEB puts the “hops” in “shops.” Imagine my delight to find the 8th Wonder Brewery offers Cougar Paw. The can is mostly red with the image of a cougar on the label. It’s a red ale. Surprised?
As beers go, it’s decent. It’s a little sweeter than I care for, but nothing a few tortilla chips and salsa won’t fix. Has to be red salsa, not green. This is HOUSTON, not Tulsa!
The can helpfully advises that it’s designed to enjoy “while rooting for the Coogs!” Maybe the 8th Wonder Brewery will help out the Spirit of Houston tailgate come roaring back to life next year. – November 22, 2020
I Barley Made It On Time!
I accompanied my daughter to the Spindletap Brewery in a part of town I couldn’t find in the daytime. Fortunately, Sara is better at navigating than driving. An old high school friend of hers (and former student of mine) operates a food truck with her husband on the premises of the brewery. We arrived just after dark and was offered a can of Hop Crusher. Hoo-wee! This stuff has more hop than a kangaroo with ADD.
A pleasant evening suddenly turned into a dream as Liz set a 2X4 with four holes drilled in to hold four mini-glasses of a variety of craft beers. “Wait – you were serious about me writing a review of the beer?!” It reminded me of an episode of Cheers! when Norm! got a job taste-testing beer. I love writing, and you know how I feel about beer. If I got a job doing this and got paid in beer, I’d never ask for anything else in life. Except maybe a side-job in a chocolate factory. Mind you, I don’t have the palate of a professional. I mostly go by how I’m feeling as I’m tilting the glass and my head.
Well, the “boss” expects a review, so here are the four in descending order - not that I knew any better by the time I got to the last one:1. WIAB – I had no idea what the initials stood for, so my working name was “Wimmen with Attitude, B*****!” Actually, the letters stand for “Where It All Began.” It looked like that pineapple beer my kidneys wouldn’t touch the last time I was at a bar with my drinking partner. A splash of grenadine sauce and you’d have a Tequila Sunrise. Never mind. It has an 8% alcohol content, and I was looking at three more glasses. I felt really good, so my first impression was the equivalent of winning a prize after knocking down all the pins on my first throw at a carnival.
2. El Jugo – This bad boy has an alcohol content of 9.1%. That makes this a sippin’ beer. Is this even legal? Making a boilermaker with this would be redundant. How does it taste? Who cares!
3. Bull Rush – This must be a new product. It’s not on the web site, but I may have gotten the name wrong. I was distracted by a crispy pizza with copious amounts of cheese. The beer was good. So was the pizza. Actually, it was a “quesadizza” – quesadilla plus pizza. Get it? Beer. Pizza. Free. Why are you out of focus? Did someone smear Vaseline on my glasses?
4. Faded comes in a can with barbershop stripes. My earliest memories of getting a haircut bring back memories of no-nonsense men with flat-tops sitting around smoking Lucky Strikes. To open a can of beer back then you needed a “church key” and a tattoo on your forearm. This is the kind of beer they’d drink if the store was out of Falstaff or Pearl. - September 29, 2019
Have you ever eaten or drunk something that was enhanced by the context? I mean, sometimes something even as bland as Coors Light (light beer = oxymoron) is improved by the company you’re with. Conversely, something you enjoy may leave a bad taste in your mouth because of the memories it conjures up.
My daughter called late Thursday night during the 6th inning of a close Astros/A’s game. She was frantic because her mutt – I mean, purebred dog –turned a routine tinkle in the front yard into an hour-long search when Bo took off to explore the ‘hood. Sara was in the front waiting for me. We meandered around a few blocks. Within one minute, we spotted him sniffing around a ditch.
I was relieved, and Sara was so grateful that she got her driver’s license so she could buy me a beer at a local bar. On the outside, it looks like a run-down joint frequented by bikers. On the inside, it looked like a run-down joint frequented by bikers. Oh, there were some hipster-looking folks, too. And there were plenty of big screens with the Astros game, now at the top of the 8th inning. It seemed safe enough.
I ordered an Abita Andygator. The bottle claims it goes well with crawfish (It’s brewed in Louisiana. Go figure.) with “a subtle fruit aroma,” although I didn’t hold that against it. It was okay. Compares with Shiner Bock. And Shiner, Texas, knows about crawfish, although most of them have a Czech, not Cajun, accent.
Speaking of fruit, Sara ordered a large bowl of some kind of pineapple beer. As far as I’m concerned, the only fruit that belongs in beer is a small wedge of lime. I knew it was going to be awful when my nose got a whiff of it. This is some concoction a chick made for other chicks who think apple beer is not sweet enough. I looked it up. Most pineapple beer is brewed in Austin. I’ve seen their men. Most of them wear ponytails and socks with sandals. And that’s not including the ones on campus at a large university there. I wouldn’t even want that stuff passing through my urethra.
It was an adventure all around. Bo got to see the neighborhood unleashed, and I got to spend time with my daughter at a dive. Except for the fact the Astros left two men on base and lost by one, it was a pleasant evening, after I rinsed out the swig of pineapple beer with real beer. - September 13, 2019
|Prosit! Oops! I mean, salud!|