By Ryan Martinson

I’ve actually had this tasting in notepad form for a couple of weeks now and have finally had a chance amidst the jetsetting life of a RadioShack sales associate and being swept away into the suspended disbelief of nerddom, i.e., video games and movies, to write it down. I’ll preface this review with a bit of history as to how this particular beer came to be, and if I do say so myself, it’s rather intriguing and heartwarming.

Collaboration beers aren’t really anything new in the craft beer community; in fact breweries tend to enjoy “keeping it all in the family” when trying to come up with interesting concoctions. Dogfish Head and Sierra Nevada aren’t strangers to this practice and have mixed it up with countless other breweries to create some truly unique brews. That being said, their Life and Limb series, consisting of two beers so far, definitely succeeds in making a truly wonderful beer.

The story behind the creation of the first Life and Limb beer is rather warm and fuzzy. Both breweries are family-owned and operated and have an extended family of coworkers that share the same closeness despite their lack of blood relation. The two breweries wanted to celebrate their shared familial beer bonds with the world by creating a beer that would represent those very special connections and show their appreciation for the breweries and the beer enthusiasts that make up the craft beer family tree. The beer was so popular that it sold out in two weeks, so they decided to release it again with the same recipe but a different package to rejoice the fact that craft beer is still alive and kicking. From their website they describe what the two words Life and Limb mean when it comes to the ingredients of this delicious alcoholic potion.

Life: This beer is naturally carbonated to enhance complexity, refinement, and shelf-life; the family of yeast cells in every bottle working in vibrant unison.

Limb: The two syrups used in making this beer (maple and birch) contribute to its unique and earthy flavor and symbolize the collaboration between Sierra Nevada and Dogfish Head.

All the ways this beer was made illuminate the importance of family and friends and how those networks help to create some truly amazing things. Now with the history of this beer behind us, we move on to the tasting, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

Pouring the color of maple syrup, this beer is absolutely gorgeous with a small yet retentive head, and as it hits the glass my nose is treated to hints of that maple and birch syrup marriage. Robust malts drift into the nostrils as roasted coffee rounds out an intriguing mixture of smells. The taste mirrors its scent-sense compatriot as taste buds will undoubtedly pick up that sweet syrup flavor and coffee aftertaste. This beer is incredibly complex though surprisingly easy to drink, and given its 10.2 ABV it’ll leave you feeling light on your feet.

It comes in a 750 ml bottle, so I was overjoyed in knowing I had another glass of it left to drink. In the second tasting the robustness is more pronounced and the flavors are more intense as candied sugars imbue already overloaded taste buds with more sweetness. This is definitely a beer to be enjoyed and patiently sipped because of its changing flavors and enjoyably complex taste. I definitely enjoyed this beer, and I recommend it to anyone looking for something different that exhibits a variety of delights for the senses. I don’t know if I have the power to give it a score, but if I did I’d give it 4 bottle caps out of 5! Drink happily, my friends!

A few weeks ago, a coworker of mine walked into the office and asked if I wanted a bottle of beer. I said yes, of course, but reminded him that company policy suggests we refrain from drinking at work if we prefer to not be beaten with sacks of doorknobs. Nonetheless, we went to his car and he showed me the bottle. It was a Burgermeister beer — which hasn’t been sold for nearly 40 years.

My reaction was a mix of “WHAAA?” and “holy crap, awesome!” I’ve been wanting to try an aged beer for as long as I can remember. There’s plenty of evidence that some mature extremely well, and plus it would be cool to drink a little piece of history. Unfortunately, all the beers I’ve tried to age have mysteriously disappeared after a month or so. I think I have ants. Big ones. They can carry 10 times their body weight, you know.

Anyway, I got the beer home but decided to do some research before cracking it open. Since the bottle says it was brewed in San Francisco, I decided to start there and let my old friend the Internet fill in the blanks. Apparently, the building where this beer was made had been pumping out beer (in one form or another) since the 1800s. According to American Breweries II by Dale P. Van Wieren, however, it didn’t become Burgermeister Brewing until 1959, and in the ’60s actually became a division of Schlitz. Then it was bought by Meister Bräu, once the most popular beer brand in Chicago, which by that time was going bankrupt. As a result, Burgermeister was soon purchased by Falstaff Brewing Corporation. After that, who knows? It seems to have closed down in the late ’70s, but I couldn’t find much more info. I’m sure it’s out there, but based on my Google intel, this beer simply disappeared.

Except for bottles like this one. One last thing before I open it — don’t confuse California Burgermeister with the pilsner of the same name brewed in Illinois around that time. (It was nicknamed Burgie beer, even though this bottle has Burgie on it too. Now I’m seriously confused.) From what I saw online, the San Francisco Burgermeister also made ales, so I have no idea what kind of beer this will be. Should be an adventure.

I grip the bottle and pry off the cap. It comes loose a little easier than expected. Beneath it, the rim is encrusted with nasty brown stuff, which doesn’t instill a ton of confidence. Nonetheless, I lift it to my noise and smell … nothing. Just blankness, even though I can feel something sloshing inside. I tilt the bottle above my glass, and crystal clear liquid pours out. Huh. No foam or anything. What the hell?

Maybe it turned to vinegar? No … beer vinegar isn’t clear like distilled white vinegar, and besides, vinegar has a fairly distinct nostril-searing smell. Whatever. I’m sick of wondering. I lift the glass and take a sip.

Water. Pure, clean water.

Well … that was unexpected. So what the hell just happened? I like to think it’s some kind of twisted joke. Some guy from the ’70s conceived this diabolical plot to make me suffer. I can almost hear him trying to explain it to his friends.

“Wait, wait, you guys don’t get it. I drink this beer, right? Then I fill the bottle with water, reseal it, and put it away for years. It’ll probably get passed around a lot, and then finally, decades from now, craft brewing will become huge in America and give birth to a new generation of beer lovers … and one of them will track this bottle down, open it in a fit of pure excitement … AND IT’LL BE WATER! OH MY GOD! By the way, what did you call these drugs again?”

“They’re Pixy Stix, and you aren’t supposed to snort them. Also, you’re a total dick, Bob.”

Bob. What a dick.

In all fairness, if the beer was a pale American pilsner, maybe all those years finally pushed it out of the canoe and turned it into water. Or this could’ve been the result of a weird mishap where someone drank the beer and decided to reuse it as a water bottle. No, wait, that’s the stupidest idea ever. You’d have to take a bottle opener, unused caps, and a resealing device with you wherever you went. I don’t know how to explain this. The whole thing baffles me. All I know for sure is that I’ll have to keep waiting to try that aged beer. But I guess that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?

I almost can’t believe I’m typing this: For the first time ever, Westvleteren brewery will be shipping its beer to the United States. If you don’t understand why this is big news, don’t worry, I’ll explain. These beers, brewed by Trappist monks in Westvleteren, Belgium, are some of the most coveted on Earth — either because they taste like liquid awesome or because scarcity has driven up demand. Until now, they’ve only been (officially) sold at the brewery itself. You know, in Belgium.

I’ve tried the stuff, and I stand resolutely in the “tastes like liquid awesome” camp. That’s why I’m psyched that in April 2012, nearly 8,000 “gift packs” of  Westvleteren beer will be imported and placed on U.S. shelves. Head over to BrewBound for more information. I’m too excited to be bothered with the details.

My excitement, however, may not last. This shipment seems extremely small considering how many U.S. beer geeks would gladly trample their friends and loved ones to purchase Westy beer without paying outrageous grey market shipping costs. And, because Arizona rarely gets anything good, I doubt any of my local liquor stores will be on the distribution lists. It’s a disheartening thought — but it won’t stop me from keeping my eyes open come April.

That’s Right, Penis Balloons

I know everyone has been waiting to see this since I mentioned it last week, so here it is, a penis balloon at rest in its natural habitat:

OK, maybe not that at rest. They were everywhere (along with — I’m not joking — vagina balloons). I probably should’ve expected something like this, given the prevalence of bros and their female counterparts (brodettes?), but I didn’t realize that such a specialization existed in the wide world of professional balloon art. I might’ve had different feelings about it (maybe even mirth!) if only there had been other shapes, but no, I spent most of the evening walking through a forest of flesh-tone balloon porn. It creeped me out a bit. And emphasized the lack of focus on the beer.

Past His Bedtime?

Except for this guy, who was clearly focused on beer. I’m not sure what I can say about him and his … um, “special” pajamas, so I’ll let the photo do the talking.

Yep, he’s wearing Budweiser pajama pants. I’ll give him credit for going with beer-themed clothing, but Bud seems symbolic. It’s the quintessential lazy beer: light, easy to drink, a good choice for parties and sleepy summer afternoons. Well, the event was on Saturday, so maybe he started early.

Samson and Delilahs

Like pajama-pants-in-public guy, this next gentleman displays a special kind of confidence by not only sporting a mullet in 2011, but also sporting the one mullet to rule them all through the power of ’80s buttrock majesty. Check it out.

I called it his mullet, but I think he might actually belong to it. Or at least be fueled by it. You know, like Samson. I mean, look at the women it attracts, the power it contains! At times, it even seemed to glow.

This wasn’t a comprehensive list, but I’m getting sick of writing about this festival. So … that’s all, folks. Good night.

Over Almost Before It Began

We arrived a few minutes after the beer fest started — just in time to see the line snaking out into the parking lot. About 30 minutes later, we entered and started sampling. We weren’t hurrying, but we set a good pace from booth to booth, so when the tents started closing mere hours later I was unpleasantly surprised to see how many tickets I still had.

If not for my stomach full of free food, I would’ve felt a little cheated. This is probably why so many beer fests last all day (or even for multiple days). It might also be why I heard another patron, undoubtedly a poet of unsurpassed eloquence, utter the following verse:

I Gotta Get Buzzed, Bra

I’m thinking he knew the event would end early, and if I’d kept listening I would’ve heard something like, “Do not misunderstand, my good bra; I am loath to indulge in unnecessary inebriation, but imbibe we must, and with furious haste, for the festival ends at half past nine!” If not, his original statement baffles me. The cheapest tickets available were $40, and although a little drunkenness is expected at beer festivals (and even encouraged via DD discounts), if getting wasted is your primary goal you might as well spend that cash on 90 cans of Natty Ice and get the job done economically. I had hoped this remark was an isolated incident, but it turns out I’d entered…

The Broman Colosseum (Yep, Best Pun I Got)

Every frat house in the city must have emptied for this festival, making it seem like a block party with better-than-average beer.

I would’ve been OK with that if it hadn’t adversely affected the tone of the event. But I saw people downing their samples like shots, smoking cigars while drinking (which wrecks the palate), and even pouring out beer on the ground. The entire festival gave me the alarming impression that, at least in terms of attendee priorities, enjoying beer came in a distant second to “WOOOOOO CHUG!!!”

Speaking of Beer

The selection wasn’t as awesome as it could’ve been. As I mentioned before, I did find some diamonds in the rough, but by and large the breweries that actually showed up (several on the guest list didn’t) only brought their ubiquitous brews, perhaps realizing that this was actually a brofest and that nobody would care. Deschutes, for example, brought Mirror Pond, Obsidian Stout, Inversion IPA, and Black Butte Porter … all great beers, but you can buy them almost anywhere. I don’t need to pay for a beer fest to drink those. I had a bottle of Black Butte in my fridge while I was at the festival, for crying out loud.

Can I Get Some Oxygen With This Beer?

Even with the modest selection, I enjoyed drinking the beer because it meant I wasn’t breathing: There were no designated smoking areas. If the areas were there and I simply missed them, it’s because all the smokers missed them too. If you want to smoke, that’s fine — it’s your decision, after all — but as an asthmatic, allergy-stricken nonsmoker who wanted to not only smell and taste my beer but also breathe, I would’ve appreciated the ability to make my own decision to not get clouds of carcinogens blown in my face every five seconds. In the end, this is the reason I’ll stay away from The Great Tucson Beer Festival in the future.

I can’t stop thinking that I’m missing out on the real great beer festivals in America. I have these mental pictures of green fields filled with beer-loving men laughing and sipping and stroking their beards as beer-loving women do the same minus the beards part … but no, I get stranded in a stadium with noxious air and bros wearing phallic balloon animals.

That’s right. Phallic balloon animals. And with that, I give you … the ugly. Next time, that is.

You Mean Everything’s Free?!

This was my first time at Tucson’s biggest beer festival, but my favorite part wasn’t the beer. No, the best part was that once I was inside, my ticket played the part of a good date and paid for pretty much everything. It was amazing … vendors were practically throwing hotdogs and chips at people as they walked in, and it only got better from there. Local restaurants were dishing out gourmet samples that, coupled with all the beer, added up to full meals quickly.

Hell, even bottled water was free! I think the people running this thing slept through the first day of Event Planning 101 — the class that explains how to trap people inside a stadium (or other fenced-in area) and then gouge, gouge, gouge for basic necessities. But hey, I’m not complaining. It was awesome.

Oh Yeah, There Was Beer Too

The beer, surprisingly, was a distant second. A lot of vendors did show up (not as many as I would’ve liked, but that rant’s for next time), and a few of them even brought exciting beers. Stone showcased its Belgo Anise Imperial Russian Stout (an imperial stout brewed with Belgian yeast), Odell brought its Isolation Ale winter seasonal, and Lagunitas served its Bavarian-Styled Doppel Weizen, a delicious combination of banana and spice that I need to try again with a fresh palate.

Hmm, Let’s See, What Else …

Well, there was … no, not that. Maybe, um …

Seriously, Hold on, I’ll Think of Something

Oh, I know! The 25th Annual Great Tucson Beer Festival … gave Ryan and me a chance to brew a batch of stout. I know, not much of a compliment for the festival itself, but our plan is to age the stout with whiskey barrel oak chips, so if all goes well, it’ll be glorious enough that it’s worth mentioning.

But really, that’s all I got. Even Ryan, who tends to take a more laid back, turn-the-brain-off-and-enjoy approach to this stuff, seemed extremely underwhelmed by the festival. In my next article, I’ll explain why.

But the city could use a nickname. Turns out it does mean “hidden” in Spanish, but even so, the city popped right up on my Google home detective kit. Plus they’re slapping the name on beer bottles now. This place could have been a haven for ninjas, but no, they just had to start bragging about how hidden they are.

What was I talking about? Oh, right. Stone’s 15th Anniversary Escondidian Imperial Black IPA.

Stats:
Brewery: Stone Brewing Company
Style: Imperial Black IPA
ABV: 10.8%
IBU: 100
Glassware: You’re looking at it.
Serving Temp: 50 degrees
Price Range: About 6 bucks for a bomber.
Food Pairing: I didn’t try anything with it. Probably a rich, chocolaty dessert.

Review:

In the store, the bottle catches my eye immediately. Stone’s gargoyle is printed on it, issuing a winged-demon salute with its mug held high. Not sure why that sold me, but it did.

The beer itself pours like liquid obsidian. Cappuccino-colored bubbles rise up in an effervescent oil fire. As the foam settles into a creamy cap, it leaves a sticky honeycomb on the glass. This beer is gorgeous — but in the same way as pictures of black holes. There’s something potent and dangerous about just the sight of it.

It smells like an imperial IPA crossed with an imperial stout: Piny hop oils are prominent but balanced by sharp licorice and, as the beer warms, coffee. The intense division between the styles is instantly obvious, but even the potency of the smell can’t touch the taste.

Stout flavors come through first: dark cherries, licorice, and a bit of port wine. Somewhere along the line, serious hoppy bitterness creeps in, blending sweet with bitter like a genetic hybrid of grapefruit and pine cone.  I also taste dark chocolate and smoky, roasted malt. The flavors are delicious, and more than enough to mask the high ABV, but as it warms they become so intense it almost gets hard to drink. Almost. I didn’t have trouble finishing it or anything.

Escondidian is a fantastic beer, one of the most flavorful I’ve ever drunk; however, it isn’t exactly the most drinkable brew on Earth, so it’s best saved for nights of revelry and celebration. Fortunately, beers of this caliber can be their own reason for celebration.

Source: Accredited Online Colleges

At The Big Board, the word “theme” means more than some Oliver Stone movie posters and a few Rolling Stones tracks on repeat — well, it might have those. I have no idea. The bar’s real draw, though, is fluctuating beer prices. If you keep buying your favorite brew, prices could drop as you drink it. Keep reading to get an in-depth explanation from the owner.

“The Big Board is slangy way to refer to the stock market and we are going try something a little different as it relates to beer prices. The difference is that the prices will only go down from their set menu price and will be based on what people are ordering. We have never planned on that extending to the kitchen. We see it as fun way to get customers involved and have them decided what our specials are based on what they are ordering. As with Wall Street, there is always the risk of a “market crash” where the original prices will reset.”

I don’t know how you feel about Wall Street, but I sorta dislike the idea that a group of dual-phone-wielding lunatics making educated guesses about invisible money can unhinge the world economy. Thinking about it always makes me picture a room full of people punching a blindfolded grizzly in the mouth and then acting shocked and indignant when it starts randomly murdering them. Maybe that’s why they call it a bear market.

I do, however, like the idea of exchanging liquid assets for liquid bread. Seems like the hustle and bustle of Wall Street could be greatly improved if those day traders hung up their phones and sat down for a beer or two. It might even help them work things out with all those protesters.

Actually, I haven’t had a house. A one bedroom apartment can be a home, but it can’t be more than what it is. It typically has a small kitchen, one that’s way too cramped for maneuvering five-gallon buckets and big steel pots. Speaking of big steel pots, I hate big steel pots. Especially on electric stove tops — you know, the kind you find in one bedroom apartments. Fill it more than a few gallons and the water never boils. Trust me. I’ve tried. Then you need to store it somewhere cool and dark … you get the idea. Brewing your own beer when you have virtually no space and inadequate appliances isn’t impossible, but it’s definitely a pain in the ass.

But there is hope, according to this article I found on food website CHOW. (If that’s an acronym, I have no idea what it means, so let’s go with, uh, Chewing … Hogmeat … on … Weekdays? Sure, why not.) The article explains how to make extra small batches of homebrewed beer. It uses equipment I either already have or could easily procure, and it doesn’t require tons of extra space or a fancy stove that’s fueled by the sun. There are downsides, of course, such as only having gallon jugs of the stuff lying around (as opposed to the 12-ounce bottles in the photo), which would need to be emptied once opened (wait, this is a downside?), but overall this sounds like something I’d definitely like to try. I’m even looking forward to the condescending stares from hipsters at the homebrew store.