The Discriminating Wino

Hofstettner bier Granittbock 2010 2010 A very good year. Or was it? I can’t remember. Obama’s first term was yet to be upset by the midterms (we hope history doesn’t repeat)* But it rhymes— the bitter fruit of other times syrupy malt of a bygone age yields ultimately to the faint hops faded from a self-assured European Union untouched by Greek bank collapse, Brexit, or the resurgence of ethnic nationalism. But the beer, man! How does it taste? - Oh, I thought I’d told you that. You want to try some? When I’m good and ready…now to compare it to a Trappist ale that had been sitting around growing flat and separating sediment, cut with pure blue water from the Danube would be a cop-out, but it wouldn’t be entirely groundless. Oddly enough, as I haven’t smoked since before the pandemic and never crave one, this beer would, I think, go well with a cigarette. Hard as granite Yet easy to drink What more can I say? I’ll shut my mouth now  (except to drink  the very last si...

  TRÖEGS—The Mad Elf Holiday Ale brewed with Cherries & Honey 11%abv   Those of you who have been lifting the elbow along with me for any time now know, Tröegs is among the very few American brewers I feel any enthusiasm for whatsoever; and as the ‘Long Oktoberfest’ has drawn to a close and the Holiday Season is fast upon us, it therefore being inclement and apropos to celebrate with some delicious winter beers (before we start spiking the eggnog and mulling the wassail) I offer my praise to The Mad Elf, sure to help Santa pack on the pounds and climb your neighbors’ rooftop.             At once sweet and tart, with every sip—the subtle bitterness of chocolate malt never o’erpowering the palate, neither the yeast which avoids oversouring—the perfect balance; quite rare in a beer this strong: comparable to the finest Belgian Trappist ales, truth to tell, meaning you can sip this slowly by th...

      Our clock must be running fast again -- I swore I wouldn't get to the liquor store early again this Sunday, but when I get there my friend inside informs me there are still three minutes till opening. So we stand with the door open and chat, about the nice October weather and his ten-minute bike ride to work, on this beautiful fall day.     Now I know I've fested Oktober to death; what with my original review of at least half-a-dozen brands, and then over the past two weeks partying with my friend for his birthday and draining two 5 liter mini kegs of Hoffbrau. But I've been wanting to enjoy Bitburger's charmingly inviting mix-pack, just 6 bottles of Festbier and 6 of their standard German Pilsner -- and they finally had them in the fridge so I grabbed a case.               Festbier 6.2% abv     More hoppy than malty, but not overly bitter; especially considering I just had coffee. Very...

       1st sip bubbling w/ fruitiness from the bottle (couldn't wait to liberate the cork) --                    got to have vino now,                    for the rain is falling --I then pour myself a glass to read Kerouac on the couch by the light of a beeswax candle and sudden flashes of lightnening. Did I say fruity? Yes on the tongue's tip; but dry as it washes over the palate, the sour earth of Italian countryside long before Aeneas paid a visit -- Bacchus may have brought his thyrsus and maenads from the East and ultimately set up a thriving vineyard colony on Greco-Phoenician ports of Gaul, but I think He always loved Toscana best.     Careful though, I'm not trying to get drunk, just inspired. It's still early. Whenever you wanna get tipsy you're facing some sweet or bitter liquid it's a chore to swallow, and now here I am too...

      Excited to try this as I've been a fan of Italian beer for years, but w/o many options to choose from.     1st sip--like Peroni but better; much, much better. Slightly gummy Bavarian aftertaste, the delicious subtlety of the hops; not at all sour. And at 4.8% the perfect lager for one of the last humid days at summer's end.

      Perhaps the best commercially available beer imported to the States. That fruity, bittersweet taste of Münich; the sentimental languor upon your palette, soft and luxuriant, yet crisp and masculine. Outdoes even Wihenstephan.     I sit here in the warm afternoon light of late summer, nostalgic for highschool, the long nineteenth century and the Middle Ages of our Lord before all this wretched progress. At least some things are done right.

      I am re-reading (I never finished it the first time, though) Van Wyck Brooks' Indian Summer, a retrospective of the literary renaissance in this area during the late 19th century. Chapter 2, my favorite, is about the great poets of Cambridge: my predecessors, as it were; of whom I am grossly ignorant overall. Chapter 3 goes out into Concord and Amesbury, and conjures a host of geographic names, some familiar, others less so - but one place, that I never thought of as a place, put me in the mood to drink (not that it takes much, these days.)                                                            Smutty Nose     Well, I thought you were just a beer. You are, aren't you? You Old Brown Dog, Man's best friend on this first full day of autumn, when the humidity suggests ...