Evil Twin Molotov Lite

Apparently I am supposed to try all of the Evil twin beers in the most unusual scenarios possible. First there was the Nomader Weiss which suggested I drink it in some New York City Park at night, yet my first sip came in a Louisville Asian bistro which featured a tempura fried Twix desert.
Now comes the Molotov Lite which I had to drink at an end of year Daisy party.

You are probably asking yourself, what is Daisy party? Is it cool? Are they every Friday? Can I dress up like a llama?
The answers are: 1) Daisys are the warmup for young lads in the Girl Scout system. They can graduate to brownies and eventually full on Girl Scouts. Don't ask me what the differences are between each stage of Girl Scoutdom, all I now is my daughter got patches (one for attending a Daisy dance) and did have to sell cookies which meant I had to sell cookies. 2) As far as 7 year old parties with no birthday involved go, it was cool. 3) Maybe they are every Friday. It would be weird if I knew the answer to that. 4) No, you cannot dress up like a llama. But I've only been to one Daisy party so, I'm not confident that you cannot dress up like a llama.
Anyway, while the girls celebrated the end of the year which included meeting ONCE A MONTH, I decided to it was time to find the other Dads. This wasn't the easiest task. As you probably suspected, with no one in a llama suit in attendance, the Daisy party doubled as a Moms eating pizza and talking about the Daisy party.
Fortunately, the house where it was held included a man living in it. And this man likes beer. He was under strict orders though that A) if he were found, under no circumstances was he supposed to be offering alcoholic beverages to other adults and B) Well, I assume there were other rules, we just didn't have a conversation that would have given him reason to disclose those.
There are plenty of reasons not to potentially inebriate a bunch of people at a party for 6 and 7 year olds, and handing out beer I guess could fall into that category. But then again, once I saw the 8.5% alcohol content warning on the can of the Molotov Lite, I now understood that our hostess might have been onto something. It's one thing to responsibly get lightly buzzed at the Daisy party, but an unsuspecting sloshing could lead to a lot of rumors for next year's Daisy party.
Good thing you can really taste the booze here. I love beer. Overly alcohol flavored beers aren't exactly my thing so I did the responsible thing, and poured a little of it down the drain. Sorry Evil Twin.

It wasn't that it tasted bad, it just wasn't my flavor and having to drink it in some dark corner while watching 6 and 7 year olds from a window felt, well, a little weird. I didn't want to start any marriage problems for our pizza eating Daisy hosting hosts and, well, I didn't like it enough to be an asshole. So the circumstances to actually try to enjoy this beer were far from ideal. I did appreciate the can explaining that "in dark days" when beer was "tasteless," led to a creation of this sort.
So again, I think I owe the Evil Twin an apology for not adhering to his rules of beer enjoyment, but sometimes life takes you to a Daisy party and we just have to do the best we can.

Pinner Throwback IPA

So I'm at Tyler's new place in West Hartford attending his 4 year old son Samson's birthday party. It morphed into a super hero water fight which was..... Fine..
Tyler's Dad is Ron Ronald who owns City Steam in Hartford (just read the post on Innocence IPA for more background) blah blah blah blah..
OK, so as you might expect, I'm not the only friend Tyler has who A) likes discussing the various new beers out there and B) has a 4 year old who thinks being in a Super Hero water fight is the coolest thing on planet Earth.
So the tour began through a number of City Steam varieties (assuming you read the earlier post as directed, I shouldn't have to explain why this is a likely outcome) which included an amazing *Export Lager and a new one from the new brewmaster Sam that involved 110 pounds of fresh raspberries. And yet somehow it didn't taste like a Bartles and James Cooler.
One friend brought a Belgian red and a separate European sour. This isn't my thing. But then again I didn't think Gose was my thing either (I found out they pronounce it with one syllable even though the Internet says otherwise) and I was surprised.
But I'd already tried three different City Steams so by the time we got around to the Belgian Reds, I was ready to use "driving my kids home" as an excuse to stop. Disclaimer time: I don't drink my kids drunk, ever. Seriously. Clearly I like to day drink but most of the time they aren't there or I'm not at Tyler's house where the beer is too good to pass up.
OK, where was I? Oh yeah, more drinking as I explain to my wife that she'll be driving them home. So Tyler pulls out Pinner Throwback IPA which says on the can is made in North Carolina, but he says started in Denver and is "about to blow up." The timing of this next sentence was crucial: "It's low alcohol." Bingo. Daddy drunkard just got himself what we in the biz like to call "an excuse."
I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call 4.9% "low" but when in Rome with heavy laden alcoholic beer drinkers..

Tyler says it is one of his recent go to varieties and I can see why quickly, the aroma is just fresh. You think Colorado when you smell it, mountain air and the like. It's kind of like walking outside at a mountainous lake town and taking that first deep breath.
The smoothness is almost unreal from start to finish considering that IPA is included in the description.
I smelled and even kind of tasted some banana in there but I was wearing a Viking hat at this point and was openly rooting for a child dressed as Captain America to win the birthday battle. So my state of mind wasn't exactly in diplomatic relations with Iran mode. Which made me immediately go buy a six pack of it and, upon being beer one, still remained smooth and satisfying.

*Lesson learned about lager and why the craft boom hasn't quite swung this way. Tyler explained to me that it takes a considerable amount of time longer then say an IPA for that beer to be ready to be distributed. Thus making it more expensive. Throw in the "people think of Bud and Miller" as lager and you can understand why educating that lager can be of a different quality is a tough sell on the people who want to make beer their business. Point is, if you are in Hartford and find yourself at City Steam, ask if they have some of the Export Lager. It helps change those opinions quickly.

New Belgium Fat Tire

Airlines got it wrong with the bag fees. The generation below me will only know this as the norm, but me: frequent traveler knows there was a time not that long ago that all the airlines charged you nothing to check your bags. Zero.  #NeverForget.
Southwest Airlines remains the lone hold out of the majors. So let me start by saying that I love Southwest if for no other reason I don't have to swipe my credit card to get them to take my bag and I know that I won't be dealing with 38 yahoos who didn't check their bag and are going to try to squeeze it between by femur and the 4 inches of leg room provided in 23 B all for the sake of saving $25.

So Southwest makes me happy because swiping a credit card just to get on the plane you already paid to ride is a behavior I'll never overcome. #NeverForget. 

Here's another huge plus for Southwest, if you do want to fork over a marginal fee, you can get into the first 3 rows on the plane. And while there are no free drinks and no extra leg room, you still get that feel of being in better then economy class. I like this because like most pampered Americans, I feel like I have a right to be treated better then everyone around me AND not pay for that! 

Here's the downside to Southwest if you are like me (rarely paying for that upgrade) and don't think about checking in online at exactly 24 hours before my scheduled departure. You end up with a boarding pass in the back of the line. Get that dreaded "C" and you know you are going to have to pick and choose who is going to hate you for not passing them over and selecting that other middle seat. It pays to be fat and ugly with an "A"boarding pass. The only people who'll "want" that middle seat next to you are the people who are left with no choice. 

Anyway, I got a high "B" for this flight to Baltimore. We'll be less then an hour in the air, so while I know I'm probably settling for a middle seat, it won't be for an unconscionable amount of time. Now the question is, who is the unlucky sucker who lost their precious space because I picked their row? 

As a Southwest Airlines vet, I now have a good guesstimate of whether I can steal a back of the plane window or aisle before scanning my boarding pass so my game plan turns to surveying the first 5 rows for anyone dumb enough to pass over an easy exit for a roll of the dice in the back. After plesantries with the welcoming flight attendants (which I assume is mandatory at Southwest based on their kitschy nonchalant announcement Schtick) I'm in full on game mode. Within 20 seconds I have spotted my row, my victims. And now I must in the most pleasant and apologetic tone, explain that there are no more Windows or aisles and I am forced to make a middle seat selection and today, my friend, is not your lucky day. "If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else," I'd tell them with the look of, hey, I'm pretty thin, pleasant and clearly have acceptable hygiene. Don't complain. 

The first reaction tells you everything you need to know about your neighbors. Complete eye aversion as they let you get settled is a sign of dissapintment and complete dislike for you and everything you stand for. Some give you the "I understand, come on in, this is a safe place, but it won't be where we talk about life." And then there is Mara, the woman I selected to give up her middle seat freedom. She was welcoming, almost to the point of wiping down my seat so I'd feel like this would be as close to a spa experience as possible. Jackpot.

Mara is a friendly people person. I didn't know this when I picked her row, but was happy to know my instincts about which row to pick were spot on. 

I gave Mara the whole, "I hate being the bad guy" spiel in dissapointing her into that feint belief that she'd get lucky and have that row for her and the silent person staring out the windows in seat A. Mara didn't care, seemed happy to have company and started chatting. She works in the medical industry. I don't pay close enough attention to people so I couldn't tell you if it was a device or pills she was hawking or if she was working on teaching a new procedure to help with some awful ailment. I think it was the latter, regardless, it sounded like she was doing good in the world about something I'd care to think about as little as possible. So I'm good at faking that I'm not a shithead. Whatever. 

Mara and I hit it off in the way that plane mates hit it off. A feigned interest in where each other is heading and what they are doing there, what are families are like and whatever else a broadcaster and medical specialist can possibly talk about for 15 minutes. That's when the drink cart made it's way to us. 

That's when Mara turned to me and offered her Southwest free drink coupon. Another point in the pro column for this airline. They give away drinks the way I used to give away the bar when I tended it on our special fraternity night at the Georgetown spot  that literally didn't care how old you were to get in. 

I accepted gracefully and asked which beers they had. Pretty standard selections: Miller Lite, Heineken, something else like that and, shockingly, Fat Tire. 

I have a special place in my heart for this beer. It might be the first beer I encountered where I realized that not all beer has to taste like... (I'm not going to say it because I appreciate the Millers and Anheiser Busch's of the world too much but you know what I mean).
Sam Adams may have enlightened the casual drinker to what Craft beer can be. Fat Tire was the one that I happened on during my travels out west (when you could only get it west of the Mississippi River) where my eyes and taste buds were opened. This was eons ago.  So I have a nostalgic feel about it, like it was my first beer girlfriend. My long distance relationship with a beer I could never have with me 24/7.
Things have clearly changed for Fat Tire becoming one of the selections on a major airline beverage cart.
Having been on a beer journey with the craft explosion, I wondered for a moment before taking that first Southwest sip whether I'd still appreciate or like it as much as I used to. I hadn't had a Fat Tire in years. You can find it on the east coast readily now but based on the amount of craft options, going for new, younger varieties has more appeal. So it has been a while since me and one of my first loves had a real moment. This was our time. In Row 3 B, next to Mara on our way to Baltimore, discussing medical maladies and the merits of having a dog versus having a child (Mara's dilemma)
Was it as good as I remembered? Frankly, no. But that seems to fall in line with any relationship with anything. That old long distance girlfriend probably won't have that same appeal 20 years later. Neither does the McRib or Mardi Gras.
But it's still wonderful. I appreciate the goal of setting an American  standard in Belgian style brewing. It's deep orange color is close to the shade of the Texas Longhorns logo. It's aftertaste is sweet. The amber ale is very smooth. There is an orange tinge to it, but like a version where the fruit isn't exactly ripe yet.
But there ultimately is not a lot of distinction to it, but that has more to do with the amount of competition it has then it's sheer quality.
Fat Tire was a game changer in my beer drinking experience. A right of passage from the days of drinking Mickeys Big Mouth and the garden variety big brands. Here's hoping it's remembered for a legacy is helped set whether you are drinking it in the Rocky Mountains or flying over them in 3B next to your carefully chosen flying companion. #NeverForget

Two Roads Evil Twin Collaboration Geyser Gose

So back to Vermont where I had the showdown of Treehouse versus Sip of Sunshine. We'll call that one a draw. The wild card in the whole shin dig was the introduction to Gose (pronounced Go-zah or Go-Zay, or who the fuck knows really). I've never had a Gose before. Keep reading asshole. It's not like this is right next to the 12 packs of Natty Bo. In fact I never heard of a Gose before this night. Keep reading asshole. Do you know what Tempranillo is? You don't. Now shut up.

So, while this night turned into the "Treehouse is the unicorn of beers versus groovy groovy groovy Sip of Sunshine," the Gose was the most memorable thing probably because, as you the asshole already know, it's as unique a beer as one can find. And good thing the first version I tried of this was the Evil Twin Two Roads Collaboration Geyser Gose, because it is one of the most memorable beer experiences I've ever had.

It's an ale brewed with Icelandic Moss (can't be easy to procure. "Hi Sir, and what aisle could I find your Icelandic Moss?"), herbs, kelp (I didn't even know kelp was a real thing, always thought it was slang), and sea salt. Let me tell you something, that sounds awful, like the most awful thing ever put in a glass.

Once poured, it smells like the Atlantic Ocean, specifically the areas where you'd find a ton of stringy seaweed covering the sand At sunrise. It was extremely salty to the nose as well, kind of like walking around Portland Maine.
So you have to get over the description and the smell because this basically is nothing like beer, it's like something you assumed the Vikings forced their young to feed on. So, I closed my eyes, considered pinching my nose and took a sip. And it was... Great.  It's wildly unique like eating a fresh oyster for the first time, briny, salty, really unusual. But it's strangely like an aphrodisiac. It's crisp and has this vague touch of Sunkist Orange soda.
It's a burnt orange in color with the head almost disappearing as quickly as it is poured, kind of like low tide.
The salt really overwhelms the beer but ends up clean and extremely palatable. That first sip is like that unique scotch where you question how you could possibly like this but then it grows on you fast.

So the Evil Twin has done it again, forced me to like something that borders on the bizarre. I now know that Gose isn't as rare as it would seem to this good ole American drinker, but it is certainly a massive change up to whatever your or my flavor of the week happens to be. And it turned the Treehouse v Sip O Sunshine debate into a 3 party race.

Sip of Sunshine

Seth and I became fast beer friends. Our competitive sides have emerged through beer, specifically, which one tastes best. It's not a Floyd Mayweather and the guy who head butted him type of competitiveness. It's the friendly kind. But it's real. I learned this early. My wife Heather knows Anna, Seth's wife. Heather likes to introduce me to husbands, but fortunately not every husband. She has a pretty good sense of which husbands I will like and which ones I'll be nice to. Seth fell into the category of a "couple find" for Heather. And as usual, she was right.

Seth and I see eye to eye on a lot of things. So much so, he invited our family to his ski house in Vermont despite the fact that I've skied once in my life. But I merrily went because I don't mind falling down in snow AND because I knew a showdown was coming.. 

Seth and I had that type of I know that you know conversation about beer the first time we met. It turned into a raid of his fridge and a night that eventually ended on the subject of bourbon (which I take way too seriously). He introduced me to Michters (one of the original American bourbons) and I told him all about Widow Jane (New York made-don't judge) that is a hot newcomer the bourbon scene. 

The invitation to Vermont led me to Treehouse, the current pound for pound craft beer champion. I secured all I could get, 12 cans of two of their varieties and figured I'd shock Seth into beer submission. I'd be in his house, probably using his skis and have won. But Anna found out that I went to Treehouse and told Seth who mobilized to acquire a variety of the best beers Vermont has to offer. And when it comes to traveling with beer, Vermont crushes Connecticut. So when I got to Seth's place, he wasn't just ready, he was armed.

The first thing Seth says is he heard I went to Treehouse and proceeds to open the refrigerator which is stocked with an array of cans I'd never seen before. And he went for the home run in his first at bat by forcing a can of Sip of Sunshine into my hand. I had to hold back my laughter. The can is a groovy yellow and it's produced by a group that describes it's beer as "fine liquids." What is this crap? But I knew Seth wouldn't have opened this day up with something low rent even though the can gave me flashbacks to sucking on helium balloons and eating yummy yummy grilled cheeses in a nondescript parking lot before the Grateful Dead show. 

Never judge a beer by it's can. Sure the beer might have been brewed by Cheech but it's possible that Chong knows what the fuck he is doing and in the case of Sip of Sunshine, they beyond know what they are doing, in fact, I'm not sure I've had a beer I like better. 

The can demands that I "pour it mindfully and inhale it deeply." Again, cut the new age Bullshit. I get it, the beer is good, so good you might forget you drove your SUV to your second home in a upper crust ski village. It also tells me that I will be "enjoying a tropical vacation in a glass." No I'm not. I'm in Vermont. It's never a tropical vacation in Vermont. 1) There are no black people 2) Am I seriously ordering a whole red snapper baked in Carribean spices in Stowe Vermont. No I am NOT. 3) I'm skiing right now. The genius of the Jamaican bobsled team is the absurdity. 

But I did pour mindfully and they were right about that part. There are a lot of bubbles, almost like the skim over the clear blue Carribean waters Mon. The aroma is intoxicating. I don't think I've ever had a beer that wasn't clearly marked with "This thing is made with fruit" that had a better natural smell. It was tropical: passion fruit, sweet grapefruit, mango. It was almost a magic trick. 

The color of the beer is burnt orange, but be careful, the pour can turn it quickly into a giant glass of head. 

It's smoothness is what really tuns this thing into a lollapalooza. You can taste all of the fruits and it becomes refreshing in a way beer rarely can be. I felt like I was at some Marriott breakfast buffet in St. Thomas. 

And then there is the kicker, this little groovy fruity smoothie packs a whallop: 8% alcohol. So I finally get it. Drink a few of these and suddenly that can maaaaaannnnn is starting to make a lot more sense maaaaaaannnnnn. 

The big news was Two Roads, my favorite emerging behemoth in Connecicut is distributing Sip of Sunshine for the Brewers who are originally from central Vermont, a town called Warren. So it appears I'll be able to have as much Sip of Sunshine as I want. 

Round one, Seth by split decision. But I have a feeling the rematch is coming soon. One day, remind me to tell you about the party at Seth's house where we drank so many different beers between 4-6PM, I had to hold in vomit so my children couldn't see how drunk Daddy got. 

City Steam Innocence

I'm biased here. Tyler is my friend and because he's my friend I got into drinking "his" beer expecting to like it and laud it and talk about how life changes when you drink it.
Tyler's dad Ron Ronald (not making that up) is a dude among dudes. Ron Ronald hosts an annual Octoberfest at his chateau (not an exaggeration) in West Hartford and my family has been lucky enough to be invited 4 years running. The yard behind the chateau surpasses all expectations of a backyard on your typical suburban street where property is under a half acre. His chateau opens up to an actual beer garden with what could be but isn't lighted path, perfect substations for food and beer and pours out into a larger then usual, yet privatized back area that is perfect for the random fire pit or the inevitable 7 year old games of chase with sticks.
Ron likes to drink. He'll have 4-7 taps running in this back yard, a full table of whiskeys and wine and when I say full, I mean the glass is literally covered with bottles. And if you want to hang out inside, the kitchen has 3 taps running too. Ron has that good times look to him, the kind where it appears like he went to a house party in 1976 and never left. He's the original LMFAO, except that he's white, doesn't wear neon glasses and isn't faking a second of it.
Ron's friends are characters too. My favorite is someone who either goes by "Bull" or "Rhino" or something like that. He's rotund, smiley and has the perfect Octoberfest handlebar mustache. He also likes to sing traditional European drinking songs (or I just made up that part of the description of them). But doesn't Just want to do it, he wants to be asked. At some point around 4:35 PM, you'll hear "Bull" loudly pronounce that he just can't sing today and it takes about 13 seconds of light arm twisting for him to be warmed up enough to belt out some German jams. And he's for realz good, so by the time he's gotten his just due of "please please pleases," he's singing.
Bull and his other pals also cook, like homemade freshly ground kielbasas that are ridiculous.
In all, Ron Ronald and his son Tyler and all the people who congregate at Ron's house define good people, fun people.
Ron is a part owner of City Steam Brewery in downtown Hartford. It's a huge space connected to a hotel that probably was killing it when the Whalers played a block away but now caters to those who actually hang out in downtown Hartford. And that scene ain't what it used to be.

Tyler is the type of guy who didn't fall far from the tree. He's a free spirit, fun and interested in good beer. He and I have discussed my dream of having a destination brewery in a mountain setting. A vineyard experience for beer lovers. We brew, we bring in our favorites, we hang out. The problem is, I don't know anything about the business of making beer let alone the actual process of making beer. All I know is I like drinking it and being in nice places when I drink it. So Tyler said to come with him and he proceeded to introduce me to Sam, the new young brewmaster at City Steam. Sam objected to the particular glass I was enjoying and demanded I try his IPA that he recently created for the brewery, Innocence. It was great. He was lit. We talked. Upon Tyler's pushing, he agreed to let me come to City Steam one day and watch him brew and I did and it was fascinating.
He explained the process, the science behind it. I saw the grunt work of the cleaning process and we talked about why having your own pub selling your own beer is about the only way to make my kind of real money worth being in the beer business. Cool. I'm not trying to become a subsidiary of Miller. I just want the coolest brewery spot in the Shenandoah Valley.
So I'm biased because Ron, and Tyler and Sam and their crew are cool and fun and nice and generous and they also happen to make some of the best beer in central Connectciut. Sam was right, his creation Innocence, an IPA might be the best of that bunch.

It's light and crisp, the hops come way late in this one and stay with you. It's got quite a bitter edge to it. But Sam openly admits he loves hoppy beer. The hoppier the better so apparently he's putting his beer where his love is. The bitterness washes away quickly though leaving you almost refreshed. In that regard, Innocence felt a little like drinking sparkling water, but clearly packed with flavor. It has a strict beer aroma and is bronze in color. The pour I gave it left me with a pretty good head but that said there is a trick to Ron's taps that took me three years to figure out or end up with a glass of foam. All in all, Innocence was great.
City Steam's signature beer, The Naughty Nurse, (I know, amazing name) is distributed pretty widely in the area. So City Steam, while a landmark is also a pretty good purveyor. And if you stop in or happen to find yourself with one of their beers, in particular Innocence, you'll thank me.

EvilTwin Nomader Weiss

I'm having this beer at a sushi spot in the hip part of Louisville on the eve of the Kentucky Derby. The word "hip" is being used loosely here, but that's not meant to piss all my Kentuckian friends off. I don't know whether Kentuckian is a word, but it should be as in: I might as well have a doctorate in bourbon and horses which makes me an honorary Kentuckian.
Anyway, the day was spent at Churchill Downs scanning the fashion and races through some cheap RayBan sunglasses that I borrowed from a woman. Long story.
I was there for work with the Jockey Club which is the marketing arm of big time horse racing. Here's the link to what we came up with from the 2016 Derby the following day.

https://www.americasbestracing.net/videos/2016-abr-wired-bram-weinstein-kentucky-derby

OK I'm done giving you the me me me me crap. So we're at a place that specializes in sushi and other moderately Asian items. So I'm concerned the people I'm with are not culinary experts. It's hit or miss in this sport. A friend described a Derby through the lens of Hall of Fame jockey Mike Smith by saying it's the only event where you can meet the Queen of England and Ron Jeremy outside a pot-o-potty. The last part happened this past Saturday.
The group I'm having dinner with swore by this place even thought the menu demanded you have to save room for the tempura friend Snickers bars.
Look, I'm thinking about seersucker suits and smoking expensive cigars. I'm in no mood to slum it Kentuckian style.
And the beer list scared me. I think I mentioned in a previous post that I almost can't eat sushi without beer and in most cases, some kind of Japanese fare. The list I got had a bunch of craft things which suggested this place was so scatter brained it didn't know it's audience. Who thinks the perfect meal is  a rainbow roll, deep fried Twix and a Miller High Life?
I did recognize one brewer, which as those who travel know becomes unusual when you aren't in your region of expertise. I was in Cincinnati one night and had a beer by Rhinegeist and it was great. I assume I'll never ever see it again.
But my eyes stopped on the EvilTwin who makes insane beer out of Connecticut and the one I landed on was one I'd never had. The Nomader Weiss.

I'll get to the EvilTwin's Gose soon, but let me just tell you that one of his major partners Two Roads in Stratford CT is becoming a force. And if the EvilTwin has made it out to Kentucy then it's possible my beer neighbor is about to go global.
As for the Nomader Weiss, while I'll describe it as good, I have to admit was nowhere near the level of great I'd come to expect.
The Nomader Weiss had no head on it and the can (bizarre looking to start with) demands that I "store it in the dark."
It actually kind of tasted like a cheap champagne, like Brut or Martinellis sparkling cider that was on the verge of going flat.
It was a touch sour, almost Granny Smith Appleish (I don't know if that's a word either) and was really crisp like you just bit into it.

The can instructed me also to drink this "when I'm near Madsion Square Park in New York." OK, well, um I'm in Louisville, eating sushi after spending the day hallucinating that I'll one day own the Derby winner.

As far as the EvilTwin goes, maybe I needed to drink this at night in the NYC Park, because otherwise I'll be inclined to pass on this one for another variety. Or maybe it's just that I was in Louisville, eating sushi (and the tempura friend Snickers bar) after spending a day wearing women's glasses pretending I'm going to be one of the sport's kings.

Golden Road 2020 IPA

So my friend Saul is letting us stay in his house in Santa Monica. This is not unusual for Saul. His neighbor, who we met tonight best described him as "a wonderful man," 13 times. I'm not exaggerating. he just kept saying it as if he couldn't finish a sentence without saying that like, "If you want a great breakfast burrito, go to the place on the corner of 20th and Pico. Saul sometimes goes there, he's a wonderful man."
Now when I say Saul is letting us stay in his house, you should know he's letting my entire family stay which includes a 6 year old girl and 3 year old boy and is aware that we have a lot of extended family which means his pool might have multiple children all quite capable of urinating in his pool at the same time. But Saul (who doesn't have any children of his own) doesn't care. He is indeed a wonderful man. So wonderful I don't even know why I had any pause asking if I could stay in his house this week because I knew his answer would be yes. Saul is the type of wonderful where it doesn't even occur to him to even think about something like that. He doesn't even consider the thoughts of whether the 3 year old would shit on his couch (a distinct possibility since the 3 year old is at the stage where peeing in the toilet is a no brainer, but pooping is akin to being waterboarded).

Saul's house is an adult house with art, and nice coffee tables and things made of glass. Any parent knows what this means. We don't know what is going to break, we just know something is going to break. Saul doesn't care. He's the type of person that really couldn't give a shit if the vase he brought back from Istabul gets destroyed. And that's why Saul is a wonderful person. And it's why he won't care that I drank his beer.

I just saw it in the fridge, took it out and didn't think twice about guzzling it down. Well, I guess I did because I'm writing about it but not because I have any regret. Saul wrote on his 3 page instructions of how to utilize every facet of his home that he wanted us to take anything we needed, including booze. So I've been staring down the Tres Generaciones Tequila and Woodford Reserve wondering if drinking either of those without him is actually a step over the line? Taking his beer felt on some level assumed.

As far as I know Saul doesn't read this blog. And it wouldn't make a difference anyway, he'd think it was great because he's a wonderful man. He's so wonderful, a neighbor who Saul admits he doesn't know well told us he's wonderful.

Many people agree with Saul's neighbors sentiments. If asked if Saul is A) A wonderful man B) a good dude C) eh or D) Who is Saul?, overwhelmingly they'd pick A. In my 20's I loved and hated Saul for this. Because I know if my best friends were given that same multiple choice test about me, the majority would not pick A. My closest friends are stuck between good dude and eh but strangers swear by Saul like he's the Dalai Lama. Now in my 40's, I've come to appreciate the fact that one of my best friends is a wonderful man in the eyes of so many. So I drink HIS beer in HIS honor!

One of the reasons I took out the Golden Road 2020 IPA from HIS refridegerator was that it is made in LA and since I live on the east coast, the chances of me running into this again is slim. And also because I'm the kind of dick who not only asks to stay in your house with children who defecate publicly, but I open their fridge and drink their beer with giving it two thoughts.

It's an amber ale, almost red-ish. The head is the light coating with a million mini bubbles. It's also refreshing. No mistake the hops are present but like many of the east coast IPA's I've happened upon in recent months, the aftertaste vanishes rather quickly. I wouldn't say it has a ton of discernible flavor. That's not to suggest it is bad by any stretch. It's really drinkable, but there isn't anything that makes you go, "Ooh that's -----." There is also very little aroma. In the end though, I enjoyed this beer because it was a beer in the traditional sense. It didn't smell like a mango or taste like a pineapple but that doesn't make it any less enjoyable.
So it gets a thumbs up, although admittedly part of the positive vibes are because I'm drinking it while thinking about Saul. How could any beer Saul drinks not be wonderful right?
So if I were the Golden Road brewing company, I'd send Saul stuff. Looks what happens when you associate yourself with Saul, wonderful things happen.

Detour Double IPA

I just love the can. It's got an RV on it. They point out that this beer was brewed with renewable power, wind and solar. It comes from Salt Lake City, which despite it's religious backdrop, seems like the type of place where they'd only drink good beer. Like, I assume when Mitt Romney parties, it includes a really good carved prime rib station.
I drank Detour Douple IPA with a grilled Chimichurri chicken I found on Epicurious (who as an aside should really hire me to do a web series about the average Dad who has become quite the chef). It was not the perfect compliment. So on that front, it wasn't exactly fair to judge Detour based on the pairing.
I don't picture Mitt Romney eating chimichurri, in fact I bet if I asked him what chimichurri is, he'd say a small yippy dog.

So I had to drink a second one when I wasn't thinking about Mitt Romney or grilled chicken or small dogs for that matter.

Detour Double IPA is really good. It's not heavy, but it's not light. It's got that amber Bass Ale look to it, almost red. Basically there was no head on it. The hops crash onto the back of your throat with that signature bitter splash but it doesn't last and the aftertaste is pleasantly soothing.
The aroma was a little indecipherable. I asked my wife what she thought and she said "Beer" and made an "ick" face. She's not on the IPA train. In all honesty I am only along for this ride because the brewmasters seem to have decided to make this and only this style for the time being. I'm not complaining but when German witbeers become the rage, I'm gonna party like it's 1999.
As for my nostrils, I sensed a little black licorice, not as noticeable as jagermeister but it was there.

I'd drink Detour Double IPA again and next time I'd do it with something that is from the American's chef speciality cookbook. On the beer scale of 5, I give it 4 Romneys.

Yona Yona Ale

I went to Koi, a Japanese restaurant near Grand Central terminal last night. The scene is very New York, like Stephen Hawking took an Andy Warhol painting and threw it into a rectangular room with steps. It also doubled as what the Redskins new stadium might look like, an amoeba.
So Koi is known for sushi and with sushi I drink beer. You might think, considering I blog about every beer I get my hands on that I must be drinking beer with everything I eat. Not true. I don't drink beer with breakfast, although I've considered it.  80 percent of the time I'm not drinking beer at lunch either. I did work in professional environments where that was frowned upon. It's not even a certainty that I'll drink beer with dinner for that matter.
At this point, I assume you are probably A) bored with this topic. It's obviously going nowhere and has nothing to do with the beer I will review or the sushi restaurant I ate at, B) Are sitting there like, I hate you, C) Are really curious why I'm admitting that, D) None of the above or E) All of the above. Anyone who picks E is an imbecile.
Anyway, the point is, that being the case it may come as a surprise to you that as long as it's not a sushi lunch with a workplace being the next stop after, I am almost exclusively drinking beer with sushi. Japanese beers, in particular the German style lagers like Sapporo or Kirin seem to perfectly match with a great cut of Salmon or Yellowtail. I almost can't drink anything else when I am eating good sushi.
So here we are at Koi and I'm going to get a beer and the Sapporo people will be happy to know that my go to is typically the 22 ounce can. I like to share that or if the other party isn't drinking, keep it for myself. But that's when *Bonnie, our waitress explains she has Japanese craft beers on her menu, one described as, "just like Blue Moon," and another that well, wasn't.
So I went for number 2: Japanese craft beer with unknown description. I immediately regretted this. You see, Donald Trump has it all wrong. I still think America is great, so great that I assume a "Japanese Craft Beer" would taste like ass because no one does craft beer like we do craft beer. Am I right bitches????? U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!
But considering that Sapporo is as good as any lager we have and their Japanese whiskeys are scary close to a good Scotch, I should have known better.

Anyway, what I received was Yona Yona Ale. It came in a yellow can and looked like it belonged in the aisle at the off brand grocery store where they keep "Mountain Lion" soda. I know I'm being mean, I'm just an American asshole. And proud of it biiitttttccchhheeesss. U-S-A U-S-A U-S-A!
Clearly I'm biased. I want this beer to suck. I want to crow that finally we have something better then them. Keep your TV's, we don't watch them anymore! Wow that Toyota is great. Have you seen the Tesla? Steve Jobs was the creator of my computer AND phone fool? Step off.
But, turns out the beer was pretty good when I stopped having these odd hallucinations about a fake competition I believe the United States is in with Japan.

It was gold in color, but Leopard shirt thinks the lighting of the place had something to do with that. You know New York restaurants think everything needs an Instagram filter. Yes, the person I ate dinner with  wore a leopard shirt on a Monday. It was very Gronk.

The beer was quite light which for "craft" beers was unusual but for Japanese beers, at least the ones I've had previously fell in line with the norm. It wasn't very deep either which, in our craft world where sometimes I feel like I'm baselining hops, felt unusual for the word " craft" to be associated. And it was not overly flavorful. Turn off three. Done right? Wrong.
Maybe it was the sushi talking but it complimented the fish well. One of the Koi dishes we got was a "crispy rice" appetizer with either yellowtail or a spicy tuna on top. It was a deep fried small rectangle of rice deep fried so it was particularly crispy on the outside with a glob of the fish on top. And Yona Yona turned out to be a nice finishing touch.
It has almost no aftertaste,  only a mild burst of hops which lately was welcome. The burst reminded me of the poppers at Pinkberry. I realize only people with six year olds who take those six year olds to Pinkberry  probably know what I'm talking about. It's when you eat something that has a gel in the middle and it gives you that little burst of flavor.
Leopard shirt said it had the aroma of honey and she was right on.
In all, I liked it. Maybe more for the story but I liked it.Iit's not like I'll be demanding to know where I can get a six pack of it. But next time I'm at Koi and someone fries up some rice and throws some fish on top of it, I'm not going Sapporo. I'm taking Yona Yona for the ride.


*How did I know my server's name was Bonnie? Well I didn't when she told me the beer options which is among the first interactions you have with wait staff. I just want you to know I'm not one of those people who immediately ask for the servers name if that person doesn't immediately offer it. I'm not saying that's wrong or weird. Actually I am. It's weird. It's why I don't do it and why I think I had to tell you that I don't do that. The reason I know her name is because it was printed on the check. You don't see many Bonnies anymore so I turned to my dinner companion and said "Guess her name. It's realllllllllyyyy exciting." The names the other person will throw out will tell you a lot about them. If someone is like, "Is it Jennifer?" You now know this person is probably a " Kendra on Top"  fan, i.e. someone you should never devote watching TV with for the rest of your life. Why would someone assume I want to play this game if the name of the server is a name you hear 15 times a day? Now if your guest says "is it Iman?" and the server is a 5 foot 2 inch white brunette with a few extra rolls in the midsection, well you have found yourself eating sushi with a keeper.

Jack's Abby Excess IPL

I brought this beer to Easter Sunday brunch. I'd never tried it before. I'm also Jewish and don't know what to do at Easter anyway so who gives a shit right? I mean, I figured I'd bring over the India Pale Lager because if for no other reason it would seem to be as weird as my excitement over egg hunts. Someone would have to ask the burning question, "what is an India Pale Lager?" And I would get to answer: "I'm not sure. Anyway, what's the big deal about eggs filled with candy? What does that have to do with a resurrection?"
I'm 43 and Jewish. My parents weren't as cool as me. I didn't go to Easter Sunday brunches partially because no one in my family celebrated Easter and apparently no one who wasn't Jewish invited us to their house on Easter. Whatever. I'm not pissed about it.  My parents did let me paint real eggs with Pas which wasn't that fun and makes no sense at all. Now we can't eat the eggs (I'm unsure whether my mother actually hard boiled the eggs we painted or not). Who wants to eat a pastel pink egg? Anyway, as I learned, no one eats the eggs anyway. That's not part of the deal. Which brings me back to the eggs and finding them and then realizing they are made of plastic that wasn't painted. It's just another reminder of how Judaism has a marketing issue. Passover is coming up. We're going to eat fish balls that have been floating in an indecipherable jelly and be commanded to consume horseradish by itself AND with an apple nut mixture. The apple nut mixture is delicious except that you must be reminded that it represents mortar used by slaves to build houses for evil Egyptians. Oh and the youngest person will have to ask why someone in the family is so stupid they don't know how to ask questions. And then we'll drink terrible wine and even worse overcooked brisket. No egg hunts, no trees with twinkling lights. Nope, just a 3 hour "dinner" about slavery.
Whatever. Easter is pretty fun. I photobomed a honey baked ham holding a can of Jack's Abby Excess IPL, whatever the hell that is. And I'm proud of it.

As for the beer- On his site, Jack describe it himself as an outrageously HOPPY beer which makes sense on Easter. Am I right? Am I right? I tried an Easter joke. Sue me.
It was not an overstatement about the hoppiness. Like it is overwhelming at first. You have to get to sip four before it settles down and I was actually able to make a yay or nay judgment about the Excess IPL. I'll go with, pretty good. No rushing to buy it again but certainly unique. So it you want a pile of hops shoved in your cheeks, you'll freaking fall in love with this.
It has an almost apple juice like golden color. Not much of a head on it. But that was the one my wife poured. I drank it out of the can. Ever since my brush with Heady Topper (who demands you drink his beer out of the can) I have to admit I feel like I should drink a lot of beers out of cans if they show up in cans. I know that's stupid. Shut up.
As for the taste, once I got past sips 1-3, what happens is it's like a wave of hops crashing into the back of your throat but settles very quickly and recedes like a wave on the Eastern shore.
Jack goes on to say that so many aroma hops are used that you'll find hints of passion fruit, guava, mint, pine, lime and about 10 others. Honestly, I didn't really get a strong sense of any of those. Plus, come on, 15 different aromas? What is this a nursery?
Anyway, this may come off as a thumbs down, but it's not. It was unusual which seems to perfectly fit my day eating ham and hunting for fake eggs with smarties in them. I'm 43 and Jewish.

Green

I Really want to hate Green, one of the featured IPA's from Tree House, the Massachusetts brewery that hit the beer lottery. They don't distribute, because they don't need to distribute because they are selling liquid gold. I'm not going to go through the whole rigamarole again of what happens at Tree House: the traffic cop, the rules, the soup nazi atmosphere. So go back to the Alter Ego post for more on that. What I will focus on is why I wanted to hate Green.

Listen, I have spent more then half my life being on radio or TV or some media outlet. So I understand ego with the best of them. But I got nothing on the brewers at Treehouse who actually wrote this on the can: "You are fortunate to be holding Tree House Brewing Company's Galaxy Hop Filled American IPA." Now the message goes on about how juicy it is and how many fruits you'll taste and why if you share this with your friends you might get laid, but come on: "You are Fortunate.." Am I????? Really?????????

The truth is, I am fortunate to be drinking this beer for a number of reasons: 1) It's Fucking great. 2) It's scarce (by design of course) 3) Because when I do share this with company especially company who know beer and you are trying to one up, god damn this is the bees knees. It's the LeBron of beers. 4) The lengths I had to go to to get this with no promise that I'd actually get it is worth being proud of.

Still, did they have to rub it in everyone's face? Do the Monks who make Chimay silently refer to everyone as beotches? It's a little much.

As for the Beer- it does have one of most distinct aromas on Earth. "Pineapple, Tangerine and Orange Sorbet,"says the evil can message. But it's true, all of them are wafting. Now you'd think: "Am I really fortunate to be drinking a beer that doubles as a Hawaiian Creamsicle?" The answer is yes. The aroma rivals that of a fine wine in it's complete uniqueness. The Head is thin but present and the consistency is that of a gold wheat beer. It has the look of an amber German Wit. Like Alter Ego, Tree House has somehow figured out how to have that typical IPA bite disappear quickly and not stay with you in the aftertaste. It is remarkably smooth and for me, I taste the pineapple. I have a feeling others would lean more toward the orange. In essence, I'm guessing this is a particularly complex beer. So no wonder the palate lords are in love with it. And for that, I guess I have to admit I'm fortunate to have it. It's just that I enjoy being the one who does the complimenting instead of being the person who begs to have a sip of the golden nectar.

Anyway, if the people of Tree House read this, I'll deny I was the one who wrote it and claim my blog was hacked. Love- Fortunate One

Schneider Weisse Wiesen Edel-Weisse Tap 4

It's just so fun to scream in whatever your favorite German inflection is: SCHNEIDER WEISSE WEISEN EDEL-WIESSE TAP 4!
Mine sounds semi-angered although I regret that falls in line with every possible stereotype of Germans.
My wife hates this about me, repetitive screaming in mildly humorous bastardized accents. I'm certain no one in Germany sounds like this yet this is how I believe Germans speak because this is how Hollywood explained their cadence.
Why would anyone scream out loud: SCHNEIDER WEISSE WEISEN EDEL-WEISSE TAP 4 in real life? Not even G Schneider and "Sohn" (Does that mean son? I don't know, obviously I don't care about being accurate about German culture at all) would be as exuberant about their amazing ale.

The story told on the back of the tall pint glass tells an interesting tale. For this portion I'm summoning the disposition and speech pattern of Christoph Walz in Inglorius Bastards.. Begin.

During World War II, George Schneider's master Weisse Brauhaus im Tal Munich was destroyed. The original recipe for the brew was revived by the fourth generation George Schneider during the Munich Octoberfest of 1942. For 57 years the beer was dormant until the family brought together a select group of brewmasters to revive WEISEN EDEL-WEISSE TAP 4.

And scene..

OK. SILENCE.

Time to review the beer which should never have been dormant for 57 years. Lets start with my love affair with German beers in the fall of 2015. How? Why? I don't know but I knew I needed a break from the Belgian run I was on and was out in New York one night. Yada Yada Yada, next thing you know I'm at the Beergarden next to the Standard way downtown and drinking some German Witbeer which hit the spot and all of the sudden I'm demanding my beer buddies at the local spot where I buy to show me the German aisle. Weisen Edel-Weise Tap 4 was among the suggestions. And it was a good one. Yes, it's a Wheat Beer, but it has the look and feel of what it states itself to be, an ale. It has a copper color and almost no head so it lacks that familiar witbeer foam. But it has that same smooth finish with the added incentive of the sharp ale bite. But this is far from the British ales where the bite stays with you. This is more like a nibble demanding you to drink it faster then many of the German Wheats I'll get to at some point.
Weisen Edel-Weisse Tap 4 goes well with the spicy red Asian chicken dish I just ate. I know that's absurd. Whatever. I scream in a bad German accent A LOT. I have found it to pair well with many dishes as it became a go to for me this fall. The bottle retailed for about $4.50 at my beer shop.

Now if I can only get a grip on why when I drink it I refer to my 3 year old as a "small Bavarian child."

Alter Ego

Gary knows what he's talking about when it comes to food and wine and beer and bourbon. Gary knows these things because he works in the best restaurant in West Hartford, Connecticut, Vinted. It's not particularly hard to be the best restaurant in West Hartford, Connecticut because West Hartford Connecticut doesn't exactly house the people who demand culinary excellence. An average sushi/hibachi place goes out of business and is replaced by another average sushi/hibachi place. And the whole world continues to spin on it's axis.
But Vinted is different. It's actually good. Actually, that's not fair. It's great. There are veal cheeks on the menu and they are perfectly cooked. And the wine, well, the place isn't called Vinted because it's ironic.
Every time I'm at Vinted, Gary is there and Gary is cool. Laid back. Wants to answer questions about the menu. Is quick to offer advice and he likes sports. I know this because he knows me from TV. And I like talking about great food, better bourbon and phenomenal beer. And Gary knows about all of that. So we are friends and friends help each other.
So one night, as Gary was introducing me to Widow Jane, a bourbon from New York (don't judge) that, and I may not remember this right because I don't remember which number drink this was, has it's barrels dragged down the Hudson River so the liquid splishes and splashes in the name of quality. I'm convinced this is a fable told by many distilleries but whatever, I believe it.
Whatever, it's good. Anyway, Gary then shares a bit of information that is transformational. It's not really, but in West Hartford Connecticut, you need to find adventure.
Gary tells me the number one rated craft brewery in the country resides about 40 minutes from here. In Massachusetts. Somewhere. He couldn't remember exactly where but he knows how to get there and he knows the rules.
Yes, the rules. Treehouse doesn't distribute. Creating multiple world class varieties lets you do that I guess. Gary emphasizes they were rated as 99 point beers. I don't know what that means but I was transfixed. It's like the quarterback rating: no one really knows what 98.5 means but it sounds good when said with impressive tone.
As for those rules: pretty simple really. 1) Show up early during weekdays. They open at noon otherwise you might have to wait in a long line and potentially get nothing. They run out, it's that popular. 2) You'll get what you get. Treehouse makes a number of different kinds of beer but you likely won't know which ones they are canning until you show up. So you'll get what they give you. And what they will give you is 12 cans. No more. Don't ask. 3) Don't even consider opening one on the premises. Drinking it there is strictly prohibited. 4) They don't sell food and don't want you eating anything on their property. Basically it's get the beer and fucking leave. Be thankful you were allowed to even have it.
Gary proceeds to tell me that my GPS might have issues where we are going so we should meet first for lunch. The place opens at noon and who knows how many people will be there so we should eat first just in case Treehouse has become Krzyzewskiville.

A week later, he invites me to meet him and his girlfriend Amber at a Portuguese restaurant in a nondescript town 10 miles away from Springfield Massachusetts. Amber is good company but she also doubles as our mule. With a third person, we can appeal to Treehouse to give us a third 12 pack of beer to which Gary explains that means I'll get to go home with 18 beers, not 12. He says this in such a sheepish way, you'd think we were planning a bank heist. I'm sitting there going, dude, it's a Wednesday at 11:30 in the middle of nowhere Massachusetts. It's February. It's raining. It's cold. We aren't going to Mecca. But Gary knows because Gary is always right.

The trip to Monson, Mass takes us through large hilly terrain. There are homes on farms, or what could be farms or could be just a bunch of open space. I don't know. I don't care. I just want the fucking beer already. I like Gary but this is turning into some kind of bizarro Willy Wonka fantasy. 20 minutes later, he slows down as we reach Treehouse. And there is a traffic control person there with an official orange baton waving cars in and out and pointing out open spots. It's a rainy cold Wednesday at Noon in February and it's lollapalooza at this joint.
Treehouse has a nice brewery, they just don't open much of it to the public so a long line snakes outside and people are ancy waiting for their allotment. I feel like I'm in rural Russia hoping to get a slice of bread. But I'm astonished. It's a rainy February Wednesday at noon and people are eagerly waiting outside to get 12 beers or in our case, 18, muh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Muh ha ha ha ha ha.

Gary starts immediately apologizing. Not for the wait and not to his girlfriend who he's subjected to this (numerous times I learn soon thereafter) but because their signature beer, Julius, isn't one of the varieties available that day. He feels like he's let me down and I won't get the true reward I came for. But, the Green and Alter Ego (the one I'm taking forever to tell you about) were the options and they are both great. 99 pint great, whatever the fuck that means.
The wait was short after we discussed for 15 minutes the sheer audacity of a brewery who makes beer that is this good yet refuses to distribute it. Gary simplifies it for me. They are probably going to sell about 450 cases of beer and they charge $3.50 for a 16 ounce can. Do the math. That's their slow day. It's like they are selling gold bars.
Everything that happens next is exactly how Gary prepared us for. As we near the transaction zone, we witness the beer literally being canned in front of us. A cardboard box that could hold a case but only has a 12 pack, has six cans of each available variety and people swipe their credit cards, start grinning and leave. No questions. No discussion. Just get the beer and get the fuck out of the way. It's the soup nazi of beer lines. Gary then explains that Wednesday is the best day because this is the day Treehouse won't fill growlers which apparently causes people to wait in line for upwards of 3 hours for. That makes no sense but none of this does really so whatever.
We have now made it to the transaction zone. I let Gary speak. I don't want to fuck this up. I did get so excited I bought two Treehouse glasses, one of which my wife pointed out was slanted. I didn't care. I still don't. I was so caught up in the moment like I was seeing the Beatles or something. It was moment of truth time. We wanted 36 beers despite the fact that only two of us are paying for the beer. Gary points to Amber. The humorless beer tycoon nods that this is acceptable. We all start breathing again and it's over. We're done. The stern stares of the overwhelmed parking officiant makes us subconsciously rush from the premises. I'd text Gary later.

So is it THAT good? The short answer is yes, yes it is. I'll tell you about Green, the other beer we got in another post, but Alter Ego is a fantastic American IPA. It's color is a burnt orange and it's rich. The foam will never quite leave the top or the edges of the glass and remains like a clear white cloud cover. It's not a thick beer but it has the feel of a German Witbeer. It's 6.8% alochol by Volume so it's not weak but it's not going to hit you either. In the case of both of the beers I've sampled, the aroma is memorable. There is almost a hint of orange in it but the distinct smell is that of beer (wish there was another way to put it). It's smooth and earthy and for an IPA, it's aftertaste is smooth. Of the two varieties, it was the one I preferred but I think Gary and I differ on this point which probably makes me wrong. As for the taste: it's not overwhelming. It has that IPA bite, but it quickly dissipates. There are few fruity undertones to this one, which likens it more to a beer version of a deep scotch then an American whiskey. It's the type of beer I could see as versatile, a great compliment to a medium rare rib eye. It also stands alone as a great beer to enjoy, not down.

In the end, Gary was right. Again..