Are They Ever a Good Idea?
In the early 2000s, the boardroom folk at the then Big Three beer companies (now Big Two), realized they were hemorrhaging alcohol market share as wine and spirits were gaining—more so for the latter category. The big question on every executive’s mind was: How do we stop the bleeding? The big answer: Let’s go after spirits drinking occasions. It would have been great if they had just stopped there. But “occasions,” for many, meant “formats.” And for spirits, that meant cocktails.
At the time it wasn’t uncommon for a food and beverage journalist to get invited to luncheons hosted by Anheuser-Busch—in the days before InBev swooped in, cut every conceivable cost, and frowned upon its employees needlessly spending money on silly things like nutritional sustenance. One such event was designed to get media types to convince their readership to think differently about beer. And that event was a cocktail mixer.
Servers greeted attendees with champagne flutes garnished with sprigs of rosemary. In those flutes: Michelob Ultra. Of course, that’s fairly basic and barely qualifies as a full-on cocktail, but it speaks volumes on how laughable a task it can be to try to turn beer into something it’s not.
Many purists might cringe at the notion of mixing beer with anything. If it’s good, it’s good on its own. Period. But that doesn’t mean using beer as the base of a cocktail is always ill-advised. For instance, look at the Mexican tradition of cervezas preparadas (prepared beers). The most basic of those is the michelada, which combines a brew with tomato juice—sometimes Clamato—some hot sauce, a rim full of spices, and usually a shot or two of lime. The more involved affair is the chavela, which incorporates a lot of those same elements but often throws in things like shrimp cocktail. It’s not like anyone’s using an imperial stout as the base. These are usually built on standard, refreshing Mexican lagers.
There are certain beer cocktails that always have seemed to get a pass from the beer-drinking public. Think about the Black-and-Tan, for instance. The classic version involves mixing a stout—usually Guinness, because it’s so damn ubiquitous—with a basic lager (often something like Harp, because of the whole Irish thing and the fact that they’re both owned by Diageo.) Some bars have gotten creative and have updated the concept for the craft generation, even going so far as to mix an imperial stout with an IPA (though the lager, low-ABV dry Irish stout route is still the most popular—just with more artisanal brands). A lot of purists will deride the thought of adding anything to their beloved beer, but come March 17, they briefly change their tune.
And it’s not just the Black and Tans. Many don’t bat an eye when a bar dyes a lager green on St. Patrick’s Day; nor do they seem to balk at the notion of an Irish Car Bomb: a Guinness base with shots of Jameson Irish Whiskey and Bailey’s Irish Cream dropped in it. It’s an ethnically specific—and, perhaps, mildly offensive—variation on the Boilermaker: a beer with a shot of whiskey in it. (Sometimes the shot is served separately and the beer is used to chase it. But why bother drinking a whiskey that’s so bad it needs a chaser? Digression over.)
Another minor abomination in the face of all that is good and holy is the Saké Bomb. It’s pretty much an Irish Car Bomb/Boilermaker, except it uses saké instead of a spirit. And that one’s not just cringeworthy, it’s actually kind of sad. Adding a 40-proof spirit to a beer is ridiculous, but it almost makes sense from a pure intoxication standpoint. If drunkenness is one’s goal (and it rarely should be), at least a shot of Jameson is going to get the person there a bit faster than with beer alone. The Car Bomb wasn’t invented for its flavor.
But among the many misconceptions about saké—admittedly a far less familiar beverage in the United States and therefore more prone to misinformation—is that it’s a spirit. It is not. It is fermented like beer. And while it’s considerably stronger than the average beer, “considerably stronger” means a total ABV of 15 percent (on rare occasions 18 or 19 percent). Trying to booze up one’s brew with saké is about as effective as doing so with white wine and only slightly more so than doing so with unspiked Kool-Aid.
You can’t blame the Japanese or the Irish for adulterating their respective beverages. Those are largely stateside inventions. (The conventional claim is that the Saké Bomb was invented by the occupying US forces in Japan after World War II, but there’s really no documented proof to verify this.)
But you’ll be surprised to learn that the citizens of a country that is synonymous with good beer in most people’s minds are actually responsible for adulterating their most revered beverage.
Case in point: the Berliner Weisse and its red or green schüss. Doesn’t that technically make it a cocktail? It certainly looks like one, especially when there’s a straw involved.
It’s not just the Berliner Weisse, though. Germany is also responsible for contributing the word “radler” to the liquid lexicon. Radler is usually a beer with a shot of (often carbonated) clear lemonade in it (Austrians are known for using cloudy lemonade with an orangeish hue). The concoction is very refreshing and very low-ABV (usually around 2.5 percent). It actually gets its name from the German word for “cyclist.” After a long day pedaling on the pavement, riders would cool off with the sugar-and-citrus-enhanced brew.
Then, of course, there’s the shandy, whose origins are British. It’s not unlike the radler, except it can involve sweet kicks from things like carbonated soft drinks—often ginger ale and the like—and fruit juice.
The Brits also get the credit for creating the Snakebite, a refresher that’s equal parts beer and (alcoholic) cider. The classic version involves lager and some sort of crowd-pleasing cider (usually of the sweet to slightly dry variety). But the cider renaissance that kicked into high gear around 2011 got the creative juices flowing, and bars have gotten more experimental with their Snakebites. Some will mix a stout with a very dry cider, or even something like a cyser—a cider/mead hybrid combining fermented apples with fermented honey. The Brooklyn BrewShop, purveyor of all things home-brewable, suggests topping it off with an optional shot of black currant syrup.
For the most part, many of those classics (well, semi-classics) in a lot of ways had the effect of weakening or masking the flavors of the beers being used. But are there any options out there in which all of the components enhance and complement each other?
Indeed there are. And some of them involve ice cream!
Drinkable Desserts
Among the best dessert-y concoctions involving our favorite fermented beverage is the stout float. Even better is the imperial stout float; imperials tend to have a lot of boozy complexity and more intense coffee and chocolate notes going on, and what says dessert more than those elements? Brooklyn Brewery brewmaster Garrett Oliver published a recipe using the brewery’s Black Chocolate Stout:
• 2 bottles of Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout (or comparable imperial stout)
• 1 pint of ice cream
• 1 spiced Mexican chocolate bar, such as Mast Brothers Serrano Chile, or dark chocolate
• glasses, teaspoons, straws
The first step is to pour the beer. It’s tempting to pour the beer over the ice cream, like it’s Hershey’s syrup going on a sundae, but that’s only going to make a huge mess. Once the contents of the beer bottle are emptied in to glass, you can carefully scoop the ice cream into it. To top it off, take a grater and grate some chocolate on top of the foam. Insert straw and enjoy before it melts.
Fruit beers are especially dessert-ready. Famous New York City chef David Burke has partnered with Boston Beer Company for many years on everything from pairing dinners to recipes including beer as an ingredient. Among those recipes was the Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat Milkshake:
• 1 cup of vanilla ice cream
• ½ cup of milk
• 2 tablespoons of sugar
• 1 tablespoon of malt powder
• 3 tablespoons of Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat.
Throw all of that into a blender and serve.
When you think about it, though, dessert beer is borderline food. When it comes to beer cocktails for cocktails’ sake, things get a little trickier (and often incredibly creative). Anthony Burgess, the author of A Clockwork Orange (which Stanley Kubrick adapted into a movie), tends to get the credit for popularizing the Hangman’s Blood, a drink that sounds about as deranged and chaotic as young Alex, the humble narrator of the classic work of fiction:
• 2 fingers of gin
• 2 fingers of whiskey
• 2 fingers of rum
• 2 fingers of port
• 2 fingers of brandy
• 1 bottle or can of stout
• 1 splash of champagne
Pour each of the spirits into pint glass. If that’s not enough to sharpen someone up and get them ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence, then nothing is.
For a little less insanity involving Champagne (or sparkling white wine produced in another region that isn’t allowed to use the Champagne appellation), another classic is the Black Velvet. It’s also probably one of the quickest and easiest drinks to make:
• ½ flute of sparkling white wine (The dryer the better, but that’s just one opinion.)
• ½ flute of stout (If it’s disappointing having such a small quantity of a beer that’s only 4 or 5 percent ABV, why not try using a Russian Imperial stout?)
The sparkling wine adds something of a refreshing element to a beer that’s not conventionally thought of as “refreshing.” But for something that is the very definition of refreshment, Chow.com touts a concoction called the Summer Hoedown. As the name suggests, it calls for Höegaarden Belgian witbier (white ale), but there are plenty of wits that would work just as well, if not better—see the aforementioned Allagash, Hitachino Nest white, or Ommegang Witte, for starters. Of course, that would render the name null and void, but really, what’s in a name? (And Hitachino-down kind of has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?)
• 1 seedless watermelon, around six pounds, give or take, rind removed and diced into large pieces
• 2 tablespoons of granulated sugar
• ¼ cup of maraschino liqueur
• 4 12-ounce bottles of white ale
Begin by putting a fine-mesh strainer over a large bowl and set that aside for a moment. Put half of the watermelon into a blender and blend until liquefied. Pour through the strainer into the bowl, push the juice through with a rubber spatula or wooden spoon until there’s only pulp left, and then get rid of the pulp. Repeat with the second half of the watermelon. Add the sugar to the juice, stir until dissolved, and refrigerate until chilled. When it’s cold enough, transfer the juice to a three-quart container, add the maraschino liqueur and beer, and stir to combine. Instant summer refreshment!
For lovers of stronger beers and stronger spirits, there’s the Green Devil, invented by esteemed Toronto-based beer writer Stephen Beaumont. First, a bit of backstory. When Duvel Moortgat Brewery’s flagship beer (the core ingredient in the mixture—accept no substitutes!) was first brewed in 1923, the initial reaction was that it was like “the devil” because it packs quite a punch at 8.5 percent ABV. It was, therefore, named Duvel, which means “devil” in the local dialect spoken in the brewery’s immediate area. (The traditional Dutch spelling is “duivel.”)
And though many drinkers haven’t had absinthe—it’s only been legal in the United States since 2007 (long story)—most are probably at least vaguely aware that its most popular nickname is the “Green Fairy.” So when a Satanic-sounding brew meets a sprightly spirit, the marriage produces the offspring known as the Green Devil. (There’s also a botanical interloper known as gin.) And it all makes such logical sense, given the fact that Duvel’s flavor profile can veer on the herbal, floral, and earthy side, much like gin’s botanicals and the essential ingredients of absinthe (wormwood, et al.):
• 1 ounce of gin
• ½ teaspoon of absinthe
• 1 11.2-ounce bottle of Duvel
Handbasket for subterranean journeys not included.
Okay, one more spirit-based craft beer cocktail before we completely change the subject.
Gose is one of those esoteric German styles that had fallen under the radar when industrial pilsners took over. The style, which alternates between tart and slightly salty, became popular in the city of Leipzig, and it’s the main reason international beer travelers make a beeline to that city when they find themselves in what was once East Germany.
American craft brewers have more than held their own with their interpretations of the style, which is climbing the charts of US drinkers’ favorites. And it’s spawned a cocktail that’s a hybrid of sorts with the most popular mixed drink to come out of Mexico (well, at least Mexican-American restaurants). Its name, predictably enough, is the Goserita. This particular recipe comes courtesy of Anderson Valley Brewing Company:
• 1.5 ounces of tequila
• 4 ounces of gose beer (Anderson Valley recommends its own, Holy Gose.)
• 1 ounce of agave nectar (Tequila’s distilled from the stuff, so it’s more of an appropriate fit than white-sugar-derived simple syrup.)
• 1 ounce of lime juice
• Ice
Shake the tequila, agave, lime juice, and ice, and then strain. Pour in the gose. With Mexican, German, and American influences, this one’s as international as they come.
Occasionally, beer cocktails are born out of necessity. Not every bar or restaurant gets a full alcohol license. Those that have only a beer and wine license might feel a bit left out as their regulars start singing the praises of the local mixology scene. Fritzl’s Lunchbox in Brooklyn is one establishment that gives more spirited venues a run for their money with its innovative liquor-less concoctions. Its Morning Beer cocktail features house-made kombucha (the fermented tea beverage that’s supposed to be quite good for the ol’ gut) combined with an IPA from Grand Rapids, Michigan’s Founders Brewing Company. It also reinvents the shandy with a combination of Sixpoint Brewery’s The Crisp lager and brown sugar limeade.
No one who’s really into beer is likely to fall in love with a cocktail made from it. And more likely than not, most will continue to turn their noses up at the idea, and that’s okay. Good beer is always going to be better on its own. But there’s no harm in observing, from time to time, whether it plays well with others.