Bully Porter, Gray's Tied House

Today’s beer is from Janesville, Wisconsin, not to be mistaken for Jaynestown, Canton.  Very different places.  While the face associated with Jaynestown belongs to Adam Baldwin, Janesville is currently gaining notoriety in the U.S. as the birthplace of Paul Ryan.  I wonder if this beer will be like his national image...  It’s a porter, the beer of working class people, so that’s a start.  Let’s dive into Gray’s Bully Porter and see!

Mm...  Dark.

Nice looking dark beer.  The head might be a bit thin, but it’s definitely got that porter color and consistency.  The aroma makes you think of chocolate but the real culprit, and this becomes even more evident when you sip it, is caramel malt with a splash of chocolate malt (which contains zero cocoa, by the way).  The mouthfeel is kind of thin.  This is probably due to the variety of yeast they used, but the lack of black patent notes diverting your attention could be exacerbating it too.  It’s easy to drink this beer and think, “This just doesn’t kick enough!”  However, the company’s own description talks of a brew that is softer than other porters, so it’s not meant to punch you in the face.  I would say the most disappointing thing about Bully Porter is not the stuff in the bottle, but the bottle’s screw top cap, which keeps me from being able to refill it with my own concoctions.

Damn you screw top!

So, is this Paul Ryan’s zymurgic doppelgänger?  I’m going to have to say no. The small head may go with his just-the-facts motif, but the sweetness isn't becoming of a rough-and-tumble upstart.  It doesn’t hit you like inconvenient truths about national finances.  It doesn’t galvanise beer drinkers like a no-sugar-coating call to action.  You could argue that it is misleading, but the brewer acknowledges this up front.  Bully Porter is not Paul Ryan but maybe there is another.  Perhaps the oatmeal stout?  We’ll see...

Bitburger Pilsner

The city of Bitburg, near the border with Luxembourg, is home to about 12,000 Germans, 3,000 Americans and one very clever marketing slogan, “Bitte ein Bit!”  Bitburger Brewery was founded in 1817.  That makes it pretty old, right?  In 1817 Mississippi became the 20th U.S. state, Germany was putting itself together after the Napoleonic wars and most of India had yet to be colonized by the British.  That sounds old, but it’s really rather young.  A beer garden that hosted me several times predates it by over 200 years.

Since 1587.

That doesn’t even come close to Weihenstephan Brewery.  That operation traces its roots all the way back to 1040, over a hundred years before Genghis Khan was born! Anyway, enough with the old talk. Today's apparently young beer represents the style big breweries from the U.S. claim to be making, except it's actually very pleasant to drink. Bitburger Pilsner.

So clear you can see right through it.

Just like a drought-stricken sky, there is absolutely no cloudiness.  If I hold it in front of my face, I can clearly see the other side of the room.  This golden liquid puts off a very familiar smell given the ubiquity of its style in the new world.  Although it is missing a lot of the urine notes with which it usually comes.  The taste is also familiar but good this time.  This is the flavor America’s oft maligned brews first strove to achieve.  A sharp hop presence nicely complements the crispness of the mouthfeel.  It’s not a particularly dry beer, but it is quite effective at drying out your mouth.  I like it but I don’t feel the need to go out and buy a bunch of it.

They come in these a lot.

To be fair, I’m not too well versed in this whole “pilsner is good” thing.  Maybe I just need time to warm up to it.  Oh darn!

Matilda, Goose Island

The brewing process can be long.  You will at least have to wait about a month and may have to wait a few.  During this time many forces are acting upon your beer, growing it, shaping it, getting it ready for its debut.  Then you have to drink it all before it goes bad.  Who wants old beer, right?

Not me!

Well that’s not always the case.  Sometimes all that hard work sets the beer up for an even longer stage of aging.  Today’s beer claims it will age for up to five years.  Of course it’ll age longer, but then it would become more like the image above rather than the one below.  Here is Goose Island’s Matilda.

Little different angle from the usual.

Matilda is a Belgian, but you might not guess that by drinking it.  When we hear “Belgian” we think of funky yeasts that produce aromas like bananas and craisins.  The Matilda I had was almost devoid of these.  You could tell the yeast strain was from that part of the world by the fruitiness it did have, but it just didn’t throw off the usual explosions of tasty confusion.  It was very enjoyable, but putting your finger on anything specific was a challenge.  It hid the 7% ABV fairly well while still letting you feel its presence.  Rather tart and moderately dry.  The bottle I had was dated 2012 so I can only wonder what it’ll taste like in five years.

Like wines, many beers can be aged.  Malty and high alcohol beers make good candidates because aging mellows the brew, making it easier to drink.  Since bite is kind of the point with many pale ales and all IPAs, these usually don’t get cellar treatment.  What would Matilda look like after five years?  Well, the tartness would subside, letting the sweets and that subtle fruitiness shine forward a bit more.  The already well hidden 7% ABV could become almost mischievous.  Maybe it could even clear up a bit, but it’s pretty clear as is.  The only way to know is to try it. Oh darn!

Pale Ale, Southern Tier

Today I’m cracking open a beer I’ve had sitting around for a while.  Actually, since I bought it, Southern Tier has discontinued it.  I guess that makes a review roughly equal to worthless, but whatever, I’ll do what I want.  Here is Southern Tier’s Pale Ale.

Looks like a beer I'd get more of... if I could.

Looks good.  Nice head, cloudy yellow body.  Starts off with a delightfully bready aroma.  The slightly stronger than usual hop presence shows you a pale ale can still come with a bit of a kick without straying into IPAland.  Wait, what am I doing?  You can’t buy this beer anymore.  I can say whatever I want.  It’s not like you’ll ever be able to say, “I think that review was inaccurate.”  Okay, here’s the cuff.

Now I’m off it.  This beer tastes like rocket ships delivering bundles of bamboo to a giant panda hospital on Mars.  Every sip is a backwards somersault into fish with two tickets to the game where your cousin can’t believe it’s not butter.  Some day you’ll look back and say, “that was the beer that turned into a bear and made it so der Rock passt prima,” even though you still don’t know the difference between stupefacente and stupefacenti.  It’s really too bad they discontinued it because you’re all missing out on a brew that harnesses the power of supermassive black holes to transport you to an alternate reality where trees grow on money and days like this said there’d be mama.  I don’t usually do this, but on a scale from 1 to renaming frenched fries freedom fries, Southern Tier’s Pale Ale is definitely Crocodile Dundee in overalls and a bowler hat.

The real question raised by this beer is why I still have it.  Surely there can’t be anything else that old or older in my fridge!

Ketchup can be brown, right?

So I don't eat it often.  No biggie!

Or maybe not at all...

Milk Stout, Left Hand Brewing Company

In case the name didn’t give it away, today’s beer is a milk stout.  Now the idea of putting milk in beer may sound gross and probably conjures up images of Irish car bombs curdling in the hands of under-dedicated chuggers.  Don’t worry.  That’s not what “milk stout” means.  It means lactose, an unfermentable sugar found in milk, was added in the brewing process.  The biggest effect it has on the finished product is in the mouthfeel rather than the flavor.  True to the image of milk, it imparts a smoothness often missing from dark, British ales.  So you’re left with a stout that feels like a really heavy hefe.  Left Hand Brewing’s Milk Stout does a very good job representing the positives of this interesting style.

A bit weak on the head.
Oh darn, I guess I'll have to have another!

Chocolate.  Big chocolate.  In fact, the far-from-puny coffee notes seem to strengthen the chocolate rather than stand alone.  Come to think of it, that label does look a lot like something Willy Wonka would have designed...  If the job of the aroma is to get you excited about the sip, this beer’s smell is getting a fat performance bonus.  When it reaches your tongue, a wave of dark, roasty, woody flavors temper the initial chocolate impression registered by your nose.  This is a stout for sure.  But of course this is a milk stout, so the mouthfeel is smoothed accordingly.  Instead of letting you know when you’re drinking too quickly, Left Hand Milk Stout’s velvety presence leaves that job entirely to the heaviness of the beer.  That means listen to your stomach if you’re not in a hurry to load up!  Overall, this is a very solid beer.  If you are craving the flavors of a stout but don’t feel like dealing with the sharp dryness, pick up one of these and relax.  Maybe you can think of it as a stout for the summer.

On a side note, I saw a review for this beer that declared it sessionable.  Do not listen to anyone who says that.  As I have discussed in earlier posts, these people don’t know what they’re talking about.  Do not session this beer!  Besides, who would want to possibly have to rush a milk stout?

Celis Grand Cru

Celis Grand Cru is unique.  Not just the beer, which has a very interesting story (more on that later), but background research reveals several oddities.  From wildly divergent ratings to humorously awkward youtube reviews(Not only are they awkward, only the top two are reviews.  The rest are audiobooks!), you really don’t know what to expect when you pop the cap.  But hey, sometimes that’s the best way to taste a beer.

As you pour the beer, it doesn’t seem like it will form any head.  Then at the last moment bubbles rush to the top and present you with a half finger of white foam that dissipates quite rapidly.  Usually meager sudsiness is a big red flag for a beer, but this time it is worth waiting until you’ve stuck your nose in the glass.  Massive effervescence sends a surfeit of Belgian funkiness up your nostrils.  Clove, coriander, bretty yeast, it’s all there.  This is accompanied by a sharp prick of alcohol that continues to make itself known through the quaff.  This truly is the champagne of beers because you actually feel like you’re drinking champagne except for the smoother mouthfeel that comes with a grain based brew.  The sensation Grand Cru elicits on the tongue reminds me of a recent trip I made to a sushi bar where I had trouble getting myself to drink my water because that meant removing the taste of the rolled bits of heaven already occupying my mouth.  I do not wish to finish this beer for then it will be gone.

It is encouraging to know that a beer so European in its aroma and flavor can come from an American brewery.  But therein lies the last bit of uniqueness Grand Cru has to offer.  It doesn’t exist.  The man responsible for this wonderful brew is Pierre Celis.  Mr. Celis grew up in central Belgium and actually founded Hoegaarden before it had to be sold to Interbrew.  After emigrating from Europe, he founded a brewery in Austin Texas that eventually was bought by Michigan Brewing Company.  For the next ten years he worked for that brewery to ensure the quality of his recipes.  About a year after Mr. Celis’ death in April of 2011, Michigan Brewing went under and its assets were sold.  In June of 2012 the Celis family bought back the rights to the brand and now plan to breath new life into their forebear’s recipes in Austin.  Hopefully they will be successful because they already have step one down, a stellar product.

Ruthless Rye IPA, Sierra Nevada Brewing Company

What did the baker say when his loaf came out darker and denser than he intended?  “Something has gone a rye!”  I went to hear a comedian and found out he was just mutated grass, but it was all good because he had a rye sense of humor.  What do you call a beer with sharp, earthy flavor and hoppy bite?  A RyePA!  Actually, that one’s true.  I’ll lay down these ryeitous puns and review Sierra Nevada’s Ruthless Rye IPA for you.

The aroma entices you with a playful hint of sharp, hoppy bitterness.  Just enough to get you excited about drinking an IPA but not so much that it smacks you in the face and says, “I’m an American!”  Upon meeting your tongue, the true lesson of this beer hits you; rye and hops are meant for each other!  And just like when you learn how to properly use a semi colon, you feel enlightened by this new information.  Instead of the malt and hops balancing by cancelling each other, they work together like the congress for which we all yearn.  Of course the double teaming on the bite increases the drying effect on your mouth, so you’ll probably want to move on to another beer after a couple of these.  Or maybe alternate between two beers.  This is all starting to sound like quite a bit of beer.  Maybe it’s time to drink some water.  Some people may not like the dryness of Ruthless Rye IPA, but even for them the tasty notes of pine and, well, rye should be more than enough to overcome any shortfalls this brew from Sierra Nevada carries.

Full disclosure, the bottle I had was quite old and that very well could have affected the taste.  The longer beer sits around, the more mellow the hops get.  Since IPAs without their hoppy bites are pretty much just slightly darker pale ales, they generally don’t make good candidates for cellaring.  I can’t say if the bottle I drank for this review was noticeably different from the original but if it was, I would guess it enhanced the product rather than detracted from it.  IPAs are great, but sometimes they can be a bit much, am I ryeght? Okay, okay, I'm leaving.