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..