Let’s face it, we love lists. Regardless of the subject, they are fun to analyze, dissect, and critique; then we criticize the author for not including our special favorite. My personal “dream team” case of beer is not necessarily a listing of the twenty-four best beers in the world. The task of defining what makes the “best beer” is itself reason for debate.
The reasons why we drink a certain beer are many. If you are in a bar, socializing with friends, you probably wouldn’t be pounding down those brews with a high alcohol content. Rather, you’d opt for something a bit lighter.
If you are planning your meal, then a compatible selection or two might be needed. An cold night before a fire calls for a fuller beer, perhaps something that renders some alcohol warmth. So the ideal beer today may not be the best choice tomorrow.
Nevertheless, I have created a case of beer that should appeal, at least to some degree, to aficionados as well as those who always wanted to see what the “good beer” revolution is all about. No special thought was given to specific places or origin or availability. Keep in mind that most breweries are quite small and do not distribute outside their immediate geographic area. That’s why it is essential to check out what is being produced within your region. You may be pleasantly surprised.
In any event, if I could create one remarkable case of beer, this would be it. And that brings up a point worth mentioning. In some states, you cannot buy single bottles of beer, but must purchase larger quantities. Where you live determines where you buy your beer. It may be a grocery store, convenience store, gas station, state-owned business, or privately owned liquor store. Additionally, the specific laws pertaining to the amount of alcohol in beer that can be legally sold vary from state to state. There is more than one state that places a cap on a beer’s strength, meaning that there are scores of world-class beers that never have been lawfully sampled there. Do these same restrictions affect other adult beverages? Well, these concerns probably could serve as topics for future books, but I’ll save them for a later date.
The twenty-four beers I’ve selected are among the best of their style. No distinction was given to the place of origin, cost, or distribution. Some may not be available in all regions, but most are. Included with each is the category.
In Germany, smoked beers have the name rauchbier. The style was practically nonexistent in America until revived by the Alaskan Brewing Company in 1988. Before brewing, the malts are smoked over alder wood, native to the region.
Alaskan Smoked Porter is a seasonal, meaning it is brewed only at a certain time of the year, in this instance autumn. As a porter, its color is dark brown. Don’t think the smokiness is all there is in terms of flavor. There is also malt sweetness, and I’ve detected a slight fruitiness near the end.
As for food pairings, the obvious choices would center on blue cheese and smoked salmon. Other dessert pairings would prove effective, including berries or cheesecake. It is a fine seasoning to sauces, as well.
Smoke serves as a preservative in this beer, and the company projects it to age well. They claim the smoke fades into the background after the first year or two, with flavors of currant, sherry, and raisins emerging in years three or four. By the fifth year, there’s a resurfacing of the smoke to the forefront.
Some people have been known to host tastings of differing years of Alaskan Smoked Porter, in an attempt to pinpoint the flavor development, much as with wines. This is known as a vertical tasting.
You’re probably wondering what a California common beer is. You’re not alone; so are most people. There are a ton of stories out there as to the beer’s origin, but the one that refuses to go away dates back to the time in the nineteenth century when steam was a moniker for beer brewed in California without the benefit of cooling. Consequently, there existed no established method for chilling the beer down to lager-style-fermentation temperatures. A brewery would open the roof to expose the beer to the cool air blowing in off the Pacific Ocean. From the outside, you could see a well-defined cloud of steam as it left the building—hence the term steam. The term Steam Beer is trademarked.
When I was having dinner with former brewery owner Fritz Maytag some time ago, I asked him to confirm the accepted story of how he’d acquired the brewery. In the mid-1960s, Maytag was a graduate student who frequented the Anchor Brewery because he loved the beer. Hearing it was about to close, he purchased 51 percent of it, then bought the remainder a few years later. By the middle of the next decade, he had brewed to capacity and has been successful ever since. I recall hearing Fritz speak to a group of journalists, when he opened his speech by saying, as he held up a bottle of Anchor Steam, “You see this beer? It cost me a million dollars to get it to you today.”
Anchor Steam is an American original. It’s copper-colored with a rocky white head. There’s a balance of toasted malts and citrus from the hops used. No taste sensation is overpowering, in my estimation the sign of a nicely crafted beverage. The alcohol content is only 4.9 percent alcohol by volume (ABV).
If the name Maytag sounds familiar, well, it should. Fritz is a part of the company known for home appliances. What few people know is that Fritz is the chairman of the board of Maytag Dairy Farms (ever had Maytag blue cheese?) and the owner of York Creek Vineyards in California.
In the late 1990s, the late legendary beer writer Michael Jackson spent a couple of days with me touring. On a Tuesday morning, I awoke to find him seated at my kitchen table eating breakfast. I poured myself a cup of coffee and joined him. He said, “Come join me here in an hour or so, I have a beer I want to review with you.” It was The Reverend.
A brief history of the beer is worth mentioning. The Reverend is a tribute to the grandfather of Tom Boogaard, Avery’s sales manager, an ordained Episcopal minister. The company states, “True to both our ‘small brewery, big beers’ philosophy and to the spirit and character of the departed Reverend, this beer is strong willed, assertive, and pure of heart, a heart of candy sugar.”
The style, Quadrupel, is a very strong abbey-style ale. In the case of The Reverend, double digits are reached (10 percent ABV). You’ll taste tiers of fruit, such as cherries and currants, along with a bit of spiciness. Hop presence is negligible. Needless to say, there is an alcohol warmth.
High-octane brews such as this make candidates for maturing. Avery suggests that you can cellar this for up to four years.
The word bock is derived from the German town of Einbock, where the style gained recognition. Records of it go back to the early part of the fourteenth century, when the beer enjoyed immense popularity. What many don’t realize is that the type actually started at a monastery in northern Italy, but was quickly introduced by Bavarian brewers to compete with bock. Here’s a little tip: Doppelbock names end with the suffix –ator.
The earliest bocks were bitter, unlike the modern versions. They were brewed in the winter and consequently were housed in chilly conditions, where the lagering (storing) helped smooth out the flavors. Doppelbock literally means “double bock,” but this is a misnomer. It isn’t twice as strong as a regular bock, it’s only slightly more intense.
Ayinger Celebrator is thought of as a celebratory beer. It’s dark in color and full-bodied from half a year’s aging. There’s a slight smoky dryness in the finish. But don’t mistake the brew; you’ll note the fruitiness coming from the malt and whole hop flowers.
Pair this with roast goose, cured ham, smoked duck, turkey, and pastries. A good serving temperature for it is fifty degrees.
I had the privilege of first trying this beer at the 2007 Atlantic City Beer Festival, when a company representative gave me a sample of the first iteration of the beer, in comparison with the final product several batches later. Needless to say, the beer that was selected for release is completely different in taste from the original, something not too surprising.
For a new beer to be considered a “must-have” says something about the beverage itself and the brewer, Garrett Oliver. In fact, I understand it cost the company six figures to bring this baby to fruition.
The beer is highly carbonated and reminds me of Duvel (see later in this chapter). I’d recommend a tulip-shaped glass to help capture those champagne-like bubbles. Oliver, himself an accomplished author, employs a process called 100 percent refermentation, meaning the beer goes into the bottle with no carbonation, although added sugar and yeast create the natural effervescence.
The bottling takes place strictly in 750ml bottles, which are both corked and caged. By the way, the bottles were designed in Germany specifically for Local 1.
As for the aroma and taste, there is a potpourri of fruit, including figs, raisins, and plums. The beer is remarkably complex, meaning you’ll savor various things at different times, be it the initial sip, the middle, and the aftertaste.
The alcohol content hits 9 percent ABV, so treat this with respect. Local 1 should be a candidate for aging.
Not only does this Trappist abbey produce three types of beer, but they also make exquisite cheeses. Under the supervision of monks who give most of their earnings to help people in need, you’ll identify their three beers based on the color of the label.
Chimay Red comes in at 7 percent ABV, Chimay White adds 1 point to that figure, and Blue, also known as Grande Reserve, takes the measurement to 9 percent ABV. All are winners, but Blue probably is considered as the standard, based on its fresh yeasty aroma and roasted malt taste. You can purchase it in 11.2 ounces, 25.4 ounces, or magnum sized at 51 ounces. If you opt for the latter, consider inviting a friend to partake or consider calling in sick at work the next day.
This is a good contender for cellaring, given the proper conditions (away from sunlight, constant cool temperatures, no jostling of the bottle). Be aware of the fact that this beer is bottle-conditioned, meaning you’ll find a layer of yeast at the bottom of the bottle. Some people choose to leave an inch or so of the beer in the bottle during the pour; others choose to decant. Personally, I go for the first possibility, but do not discard the small amount left in the bottle. Recognize that that last taste will be different from the initial one based on the accumulation of the yeast.
Developed by a Czech brewery dating back to the thirteenth century, this beer has had various names at various times. In North America, it is called Czechvar, but much of the rest of the world refers to it as Budvar or Budweiser. Do you see the problem? So did the courts. In the early part of the twentieth century, it was decided that Anheuser-Busch could use the Budweiser name in North America, but Budvar would be called Czechvar. Simple, huh?
In early 2007, the two breweries reached an agreement that permits Anheuser-Busch to serve as the American distributor for Czechvar, a move that has increased availability. There remain, however, disagreements as to the naming of both beers in other countries.
Regardless, Czechvar is a premium lager, aged for no less than ninety days. The foam is thick and golden. There’s a good balance between bready malt sweetness and hop bitterness. You may notice a bit of a lemony punch interspersed.
Have one or two … or three. These go down really easy.
A beer with origins that go back to 700 bc? That’s the premise behind Midas Touch, created as a joint effort between the University of Pennsylvania School of Archaeology and Anthropology and Dogfish Head Brewery. Patrick McGovern, an archaeochemist at the museum, found evidence of an alcoholic beverage that apparently was served at the funerary feast of King Midas, a ruler in central Turkey. Drinking vessels, 157 of them to be exact, were discovered at the site, including a vessel used for serving a beverage at this occurrence. Dr. McGovern learned that the residue within the containers held a “cocktail” consisting of Muscat grape wine, beer from barley, and mead (fermented honey).
Upon his discovery, Sam Calagione, founder of Dogfish Head in nearby Delaware, was commissioned to re-create the drink, based upon findings. Test batches were fashioned and, after some time, Midas Touch was introduced. I was present for the initial tasting, where Calagione, representatives from the museum, and beer expert Michael Jackson explained how the “beer” came to be.
Identifying the drink was the initial problem. Was it wine, mead, or beer? Because it is fermented, it is classified as a beer, although drinking it (9 percent ABV) might give you reason for doubt. If you concentrate on it and your sense of taste is at its peak, you’ll detect elements of all three. There is a definite grape presence as well as sweetness from honey, merging with grain. Oh, and saffron—a remarkably expensive spice derived from the saffron crocus flower—is in the recipe as a slight bittering agent. It may have been used prior to the discovery of hops. Ask a chef about its cost and you’ll learn that it easily can run up to sixty-five dollars for a single ounce.
Calagione compares Midas Touch to Chardonnay; Jackson likens it to champagne and suggests serving it in a fluted glass. It’s not the sort of drink you’d want to drink over and over, but for a completely unique treat, this is one well worth your search.
The first time I tried this beer, I thought I had reached nirvana. What impressed me initially was the billowy layer of white foam atop a golden, highly carbonated liquid. My first sip confirmed my hopes; this was a classic and would join my Hall of Fame. It weighs in at over 8 percent ABV, so don’t get mesmerized by the enticing light color. And those bubbles never seem to go away.
As for the taste, well, you’ll note a host of sensations. The malt sweetness never really dissipates, but lingers delicately while you get waves of bread yeast, hop bitterness, and alcohol warmth as you swallow.
Do be careful in your initial pour. The company recommends their own glassware, of course, but a widemouthed tulip will do. Angle the glass as you pour slowly along its side. Stop when you get about two-thirds of the way filled, as that enormous head will take over.
The meaning of the word Duvel? It’s “devil” in Flemish. And that’s because it is a devil of a good beer.
I first became acquainted with this Hawaiian brewery not long after they opened in 1995. At the time, I received a bottle of a limited-edition beer and fell in love with it and the company. Longboard Lager, first released in 1998, is fermented and aged for five weeks and has a subtle, spicy hop aroma that balances the maltiness you might expect from an all-grain lager.
You might refer to this as a “session beer,” meaning that it is satisfying enough to have a few. That’s not something you might do with those big beers that approach double digits in alcohol. Longboard Lager weighs in at 5.5 percent ABV. There’s a slight bit of wheat in the recipe, giving it a creaminess. The finish is dry and filling.
Longboard Lager should prove to be fairly flexible when it comes to food pairings. Light dishes will work, but so will some heartier foods, such as pizza or chicken.
If there ever was a beer designed for dessert, this is it. I recall once hosting a combination beer/wine dinner at an elegant restaurant located near Atlantic City. I worked with a wine expert in pairing the beverages for the evening. A couple of weeks prior to the dinner, we met at the restaurant. The entire meal was served to us to help us to determine which drinks to choose. Although we talked about the food and drink possibilities, neither of us tipped our hands as to what we might offer for the diners to drink. As it turns out, the chocolate-based dessert was matched with Lindemans Framboise, meaning “raspberry,” and the wine critic selected a raspberry wine. When the two beverages were served, the only way to tell them apart was the slight head on the beer.
The customers voted as to which drinks created a better match and Lindemans won by a three-to-one margin. It’s worth mentioning that the majority of clients that evening were wine drinkers. Hey, why preach to the choir?
The brewery is located in the Flanders region of Belgium, where lambics are well known and appreciated. The Lindemans Farm Brewery probably is the yardstick for producers using spontaneous fermentation—a process by which wild yeast from Belgium’s Seine River Valley ferments locally grown barley and wheat (the percentage of barley is 70 percent, with wheat making up the remaining 30 percent). Aged hops are used because bitterness is not a trait that is sought. After the beer is aged in oak barrels, fresh fruit is added, generating a secondary fermentation.
As I mentioned, a pairing with a chocolate dessert is unbeatable, but I’ve also drizzled a bit of it over a dish of sorbet. The alcohol content is only 4 percent ABV. If you like this flavor, try some of their others, including kriek (black cherry), pêche (peach), cassis (black currant), and gueuze (traditional).
This British brewery had faced its share of problems in its close-to-two-hundred-year history. A fire in 1876 destroyed the facility, causing it to be rebuilt. In the 1970s, it was felt that the plant simply had outlived its usefulness. The bulk of its customers came from the pubs in the Stamford area. Fortunately, the company reorganized itself by 1994, when a return to time-honored brewing traditions was embraced. Fresh fruit became the seasoning, a throwback to the days before hops were used both as a spice and a preservative.
There are similarities in production between all the Melbourn Brothers products (which include apricot and cherry as well as strawberry) and Lindemans. Both are spontaneously fermented, both use fruit, and both pair fabulously with desserts or certain cheeses. Yet there are noticeable differences between the two drinks. Flavors of sweet and tart balance each other, and they go down far too easily. Thank goodness there’s less than 4 percent ABV in each bottle, because folks tend to drink them like soda.
Be aware that these beers aren’t the easiest to obtain and can be very costly. You’ll probably buy them as singles. I highly recommend trying all three flavors at some point.
If you’ve gotten the impression that I love Belgian ales, you are on target. Brewed and bottled at the Orval monastery founded in the eleventh century, this beer’s unique flavor comes from triple fermentation using three different malts, two types of hops, and two strains of yeast.
The beer is orange in color, and you’ll take in a lemony aroma and a tart, dry flavor. As with many beers of this ilk, foam retention is extraordinary. The concentrated carbonation creates the impression that this is a bigger beer than it really is. In fact, the alcohol level is just 5.4 percent ABV.
I like drinking this out of a chalice (Orval makes a beautiful gold-lined one). Beers that are fragrant and bubbly reach their peak in containers such as this. It also is visually quite appealing.
By the way, look for what is known as “Belgian lace” as you are drinking Orval—a distinctive pattern of bubbles that cling to the sides of the glass as you drink.
Check out the shape of the Orval bottle, introduced in 1929 and described as “skittle” or pin-shaped.
The brewery recommends pairing Orval with bread, fresh pears, steamed mussels, clams, oysters, smoked salmon, and trout. Cellaring is favored; the company feels the beer will be good for up to five years. With a beer as good as Orval, do you really want to wait that long?
This may be one of the most atypical styles of beer you’ll ever encounter. It is a derivation of Rodenbach Original, which is a blend of new and aged ales. Grand Cru is the matured quantity. By now, you may be wondering if this isn’t just a ploy to pawn off old beer on the consumer. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Grand Cru gets its sharpness and sourness from aging the beer for up to two years in oak barrels. The remaining bacteria in those barrels impart the acidity in this beer. The slight level of fruit can lead drinkers to believe the beer is a red wine; it is not uncommon for Grand Cru to be a special favorite of wine connoisseurs.
Alcohol content is moderate (6 percent ABV). Not surprisingly, there is no noticeable hop presence. I’ve been in the presence of those who love Rodenbach Grand Cru despite professing to not liking the taste of beer. Then again, this is hardly what one might expect from a “traditional” beer.
A distinctive brewery, to say the least, based in Oregon. They’ve carved a niche for themselves by doing some experimental brews, most of which hit the mark.
What makes an American stout, as opposed to the Irish type? Look no farther than the recipe. Rogue Shakespeare Stout’s is distinctly American and includes the citrusy Cascade hop.
The beer pours black in color and develops a creamy head. Because of the use of chocolate malt, you’ll get a chocolate aftertaste.
Note the following. Porters and stouts tend to feel “chewy” as you drink them, meaning there is substance to the brews. Think about the experience of eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich: The peanut butter feels thicker than the jelly. In beertalk, that’s called mouthfeel. Porters and stouts have more mouthfeel than light domestic lagers, for example, which nothing to do with the amount of alcohol in each. In the case of Shakespeare Stout, we’re talking about 6 percent ABV.
Some people like blending this beer with another of Rogue’s specialties, their Dead Guy Ale, creating a concoction playfully referred to as a Dead Poet.
Ask five experts to describe a saison and you probably will get five different answers. Literally, saison is the French word for “season,” and that might explain the origin of the style. In history, these were working-class beers, produced at a farmhouse. They were brewed in the winter, prior to refrigeration, then aged until consumption the following summer. Saisons had a low alcohol content, perhaps in the 3 to 4 percent range, because they were designed for hydration—back then, much of the drinking water available simply was not potable. And let’s face it, we know what happens to one’s ability to work once too much alcohol has been consumed. Today’s versions, however, have about twice the alcohol.
Eventually saisons reached a point of near-extinction, but their popularity has reawakened in the United States, leading to an appreciation of those from northern France and Belgium. In the case of Saison Dupont, the home is Wallonia, a French-speaking section of Belgium. And it truly is a working farm; you can buy eggs there as well as beer.
If you’re among the uninitiated, the smell of a saison could be enough to lead you to think it had spoiled. Saison Dupont is earthy and yeasty. You might take in a musty straw aroma. Uninviting traits to some, but most desirable in beers of this type.
As you pour, you’ll notice that the beer is cloudy, because it’s unfiltered. Don’t be afraid; it’s nothing more than yeast, which is high in B vitamins. Filtration would remove much of the flavor, which is tart, somewhat fruity, spicy, and bread-like. Intricate to say the least.
One national American magazine named Saison Dupont as the best beer in the world. I don’t know if it is, but it’s certainly one I wouldn’t want to go without for long.
Beer for dessert? Is nothing sacred? Chocolate Bock originally was brewed to celebrate Valentine’s Day a few years ago, but it was a huge hit—all fifty thousand bottles sold out. What separates this beer from most others is how it’s made. It is a bock, meaning it’s a lager that lifts weights, with a fuller malt sweetness and dark color.
Ah, here is where it gets interesting. The Scharffen Berger chocolate company created a blend of chocolate for the Boston Beer Company (the actual name of the brewery). The beer aged on a bed of “nibs,” the center of the chocolate bean, rendering a rich flavor to the beverage. There’s a bit of vanilla added to hold it all together.
The packaging is hip. The label on the 750ml bottle—the only size in which this beer is packaged—is pewter.
Is this the sort of beer you’d want to guzzle? Hardly. It does, however, team up well with chocolate desserts, cheesecake, and fruit. I’ve taken a scoop of vanilla ice cream and filled the glassware with Chocolate Bock, making one heck of a float.
Name the beverage that matches the following characteristics: It’s 27 percent ABV (that’s 54 proof), it’s served in a brandy snifter in two-ounce increments, it should be consumed at room temperature, it’s “still” (not carbonated), a bottle of it retails for over a hundred dollars, some have sold for several hundred dollars, various types of yeast are used including a variety found in champagne, only a few thousand bottles are produced, and it tastes like a fine cognac, sherry, or vintage port.
Probably the last response you’d give here is beer. Yet that is exactly what Utopias is, falling into a relatively new class of beers under the banner of “extreme”: brews with an extremely high alcohol content that also use nontraditional brewing ingredients.
Even the “bottle” of Utopias is nontraditional. It resembles the copper kettle used by brewers for so many years.
It speaks volumes for the beer-buying industry that, given the popularity of low-alcohol beers, the market for extreme beers is powerful. Granted, they (including Utopias) aren’t for everyone, but if you are ready to go to the last level in beer tasting, Utopias is the Utopia.
Coming from Yorkshire’s oldest brewery, founded in 1758, this beer’s attraction stems in part from its water source. The brewing water is high in natural minerals and is drawn from the original well sunk over two hundred years ago. The yeast strain has remained unchanged since the beginning of the last century.
The fermenting system of Nut Brown is known as “Yorkshire Square.” Trying to summarize it in a limited amount of space is difficult, but think of it as a two-leveled process in which the cooling beer is fermented on the lower compartment while the yeast rises to an upper chamber. Sporadically, the beer from the bottom is pumped up to the yeasty head, then is allowed to settle and cool at the bottom.
Brown ale is one of England’s oldest styles of beer and has been mentioned in literature as far back as the sixteenth century. Samuel Smith’s has a walnut color and a taste of hazelnuts tempered with aromatic hops. This is a beer I recommend for those who are in transition from drinking strictly light-colored brews, but are afraid of porters or stouts. Consider matching this with a barbecued dish, Chinese food, and certain cheeses. The alcohol content is 5 percent ABV.
A Hefeweizen is a German wheat beer that is unfiltered. When you look at it, it will appear cloudy. As we’ve seen previously, this is nothing more than yeast. The prefix hefe is German for “yeast.” Weizen or weisse signifies a white beer, or a wheat-based beverage. The amount of wheat can fluctuate, but up to 50 percent wheat or higher is not uncommon. Wheat is light and refreshing, a nice warm-weather drink. Another aspect of wheat beers is creaminess. When you’re pouring one into a glass, do so slowly or risk having it run over the rim. Head retention is great. Hey, this is a cool-looking beer!
I love serving this at a tasting, especially to those who never have had a hefeweizen. The beer is redolent of cloves, bananas, nutmeg, and pepper. Take your first sip and notice how those fragrances carry over into the taste.
At some pubs, the server may ask if you want a wedge of lemon added. I recommend you try it without. The lemon cuts the yeastiness, but it also adulterates the flavor as intended by the brewer. If aesthetics are important, know that the acid from the fruit cuts through the layer of foam like a hot knife through butter.
One of the original players in the microbrew revolution, Sierra Nevada started back in 1980 in Chico, California. Since then, their pale ale has become recognized as the benchmark for American pale ales. Open the bottle and pour a few ounces. Get a whiff of the aroma and take your first sip. That biting, citrus feel you get is what makes this an American take on a British style of beer. Cascade hops are employed, a favorite of the new breed of brewers, especially on the West Coast. Despite their popularity, though, these hopes are still seldom used to any degree by major breweries.
I once visited a new brewery that was developing its American pale ale and was privy to tasting various trials of it as it was being refined. When I asked the lead brewer if he had a flavor profile in mind, I recall him saying that he was molding his beer to replicate that of Sierra Nevada.
Beers that go overboard with hops tend to be one-dimensional. Sierra Nevada’s adaptation has a definite hop presence, but the malt crispness is what makes this so special. Lingering sugars will come out near the finish, and the beer ends delightfully dry.
The beer is bottle-conditioned, in theory implying that it may have a prolonged shelf life. But hops lose a lot over time. My experience has been to drink this beer as fresh as possible and not worry about cellaring.
I’d match this with spicy dishes and salads. Hoppy beers tend to stimulate the appetite, so many choose to start off a meal with this brew. Alcohol content is 5.6 percent ABV.
Stone Brewing’s promotion for this beer says a lot: “This is an aggressive beer. You probably won’t like it. It is quite doubtful that you have the taste or sophistication to be able to appreciate an ale of this quality and depth. We would suggest that you stick to safer and more familiar territory …”
The beer is a reddish brown and extremely fragrant. At your first sip, you’ll get a blast of malt sweetness coupled with caramel and roasted flavors. Then the alcohol kicks in (it reaches 7.2 percent ABV). Finally, you’ll get a blast of hops, but it helps to balance the initial sensation. I really appreciate complexity in a beer, as opposed to so many of those one-dimensional brews.
Along with beers from companies like Anchor and Sierra Nevada, Stone Brewing’s beverages typify the notion that West Coast beers are inimitable. If you like Arrogant Bastard, check out their Oaked Arrogant Bastard, aged in oak chips. This features a bit more complexity with the addition of a vanilla, woody aroma, and flavor.
Coming from Quebec’s remarkable Unibroue, La Fin du Monde weighs in at 9 percent alcohol by volume (ABV), but that level is amazingly masked by the complexity of the beverage. Golden, with a never-ending layer of foam, this beer offers waves of spice, fruit, and hops.
This beer first came out in 1994 after eighteen month of research. The beer’s name translates to “the End of the World,” a reference in honor of explorers who had thought they had reached the end of the world when they had discovered America.
This is another high-octane beer. The company says you can age this for eight years or more, but why wait?
The Westmalle Abbey, located north of Antwerp, Belgium, is one of only seven Trappist breweries in the world. Founded near the end of the eighteenth century, the brewery is recognized for having defined the dubbel (or double) and tripel (or triple) styles. There are misconceptions surrounding these types of beers. Some believe a Dubbel to be twice the strength of a “regular” beer and a tripel to be three times the potency. In reality, a dubbel generally has an alcohol by volume content of about 6.5 to 7.0 percent, and a tripel approaches 9.0 percent.
The color of each type varies also. Dubbels are dark amber; tripels commonly are golden. This flies in the face of the belief that dark-colored beers contain more alcohol. Why the color variation? Tripels use a pilsner malt and added white candy sugar.
As for Westmalle Tripel, you’ll note the malt sweetness coupled with an herbal aroma that increases as the beer warms a bit. I find it remarkably flexible and have had this beer as an accompaniment to my main dish or with various cheeses.