Leffe Blonde

Perspicacious.  That’s an interesting word.  I used to know what it means, I think.  I should look it up before it drives me crazy all day.  Un momento…  Ah, there we are!  Perspicacious: having keen mental perception and understanding; discerning.  Okay, I’m back in the knowing-what-perspicacious-means game!  Hold on, what’s this?  Often confused with perspicuous.  Hmm…  Perspicuous: clearly expressed or presented; lucid.  I can see how those are similar.  Most perspicacious people are likely also perspicuous.  Of course the former is more difficult than the latter.  Someone who is perspicuous could be clearly expressing drivel.  Or is it?  Someone with a connection to the autistic spectrum would probably disagree.  And I have witnessed very thoughtful people with keen insights get crushed in debate by deft rhetoric.  I guess we should strive for them together but be content with either and hopefully never fall short of both.

I should just let my musings sink in and then apply them to my reviewing and writing styles but I like to use them directly in a kind of zymurgic personification.  How does Leffe’s Blonde exhibit keen mental perception and how does it lucidly express it?  Concretely it doesn’t.  It’s water and sugar and alcohol after all.  But I can imagine.  If a baby can recognize faces on inanimate objects, I should be able to assess the cognitive abilities of a drink!  If it doesn’t work, no harm done.  If it does, I can call a psychiatrist.  Either way I get a beer.  Here is Leffe Blonde.

Well the color is clearly expressed!

That aroma does not beat around the bush.  It pops up right away saying “I’m Belgian and you love me!”  Sure there’s complexity in the nose between mild notes of astringency and banana, but they all point with one hand.  The flavor speaks of the joys of non-fruit Belgian beers.  It briefly mentions alcohol bite, yeast funk and horse blanket but never delves into any on them.  It even gives a small hint of that quintessential dry mouthfeel in the aftertaste.  Definitely perspicuous.  Short winded and prosaic.

As for its perspicacity, I’m drawing a blank.  It could have just hobbled the flavors together and chanced upon a good combination or it could have very particularly chosen every ingredient so as to exemplify the beer making tradition to which each is wed.  If I had to choose one I’d go with the latter simply because it’s more optimistic and optimism always makes life happier.  But I can’t seem to get inside the head of Leffe Blonde.  I guess my psychiatrist will have to spend today alone, sitting on the couch perspicaciously thinking about other people’s problems.

Curve Ball, Pyramid Breweries

The curve ball.  The spin bowl.  Whatever you call it in whichever form of bat-to-ball sport you play, it is the tricky secret weapon you either delight in or dread depending on what end of it you find yourself.  It is also a big part of the culture and lore of the game.  These mischievous deliveries tap into our seemingly universal propensity to fancy ourselves as the underdog.  We dream about utilizing our brain to triumph over the brawn of some Goliath out to destroy us.  Pyramid Breweries’ Curve Ball blonde ale embraces this imagery in its name.  The question is if this is a brew to be enjoyed or dreaded.  I guess it depends on whether we’re pitching/bowling or batting.

I guess it's a dirty blonde.

This beer’s slightly darker hue combines with a mild cloudiness to take any definition off the edges of objects you’re viewing through the glass.  I almost imagine it as a liquified version of the sandlot or dusty pitch.  A bready nose carries with it faint citrus flavors that come out more on the tongue.  The wheat presence in this beer is a nice touch, producing a soft mouthfeel that’s kind of like eating fluffy pillows or cumulus clouds.  Actually, water vapor and down feathers aren’t particularly tasty.  I’ll go with Japanese tofu instead.  Drinking this beer is like eating Japanese tofu... except made of barley and wheat... and it has alcohol... and you drink it... and it tastes like beer.  Right.

Curve Ball doesn’t surprize you or confuse your expectations, so you’re not on the receiving end of the throw.  Maybe it’s the feeling you have after fooling the batsman/batter and slipping the ball right past him.  As the Umpire yells “steeerike!” or the wicket flies into pieces, you feel like the cool cat on the field.  Smooth.  Skilled.  You have nothing left to prove, so there’s no point in drinking a hop bomb or pounding a wee heavy.  This blonde from Pyramid is what you drink when you’re secure in your masculinity but don’t feel like having a wine cooler.

I don't drink wine c...
Fuzzy Navel?  (glance left,
glance right, lean in)
I'll have one.