Here’s the deal: My b-day is September 5, so if there’s a beer you want me to review, feel free to buy a bottle for me. You have less than a week, so hurry up! (Just kidding … I won’t mind if it gets here a little late.) Any beers I receive will be reviewed the Monday after next in a gigantic birthday-beer extravaganza. I might rank them, too.

You may be wondering why you’d want to send some Internet weirdo a birthday present. Well, you get two prizes outta this: 1) your very own beer(ein)stein review of  a beer you love (or hate) and 2) the knowledge that you made a poor beer nerd very happy (and probably a little drunk) on his birthday.

By the way, to send a beer, simply e-mail me with something fitting in the subject line, e.g., “birthday beer” or “imma buy you beer, foo,” and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Or you can simply recommend a beer; I might have birthday cash.

Next Monday: I’ll answer the beer questions in my inbox. I’ve only received a few so far (thanks to those who e-mailed!), so if you have a question, head over the the Contact page — there’s a good chance I’ll answer it on the site!

No, the weirdest thing about this story is that each bottle of The End (BrewDog only made 12) was wrapped in the skin of either a squirrel or a stoat.

Taxidermied road kill, of course — they didn’t go all Buffalo Bill on random fuzzy-wuzzies just to decorate their beer. I can’t say anything about the blonde itself (I doubt I’ll ever try it; as I said, only 12 bottles were made, and those sold out within hours — for nearly 800 bucks a pop), and I admire BrewDog for pushing boundaries (and for making fantastic beers), but come on guys, this is super creepy. To be fair, I think creepy was their goal, and they certainly pulled it off skillfully if that’s the case, but it still raises some questions about the relationship between animals and beer. BrewDog may have been kind to animals in bringing about The End of History, but can other brewers say the same?

Well, you won’t find ground beef on the back of many beer labels, but some brewers do use animal by-products — which range from innocent by-products such as honey to nasty stuff like charcoal derived from bones and substances found in fish bladders — as adjuncts or tools of filtration. After they’re used in or on the brew, these materials sometimes leave traces behind, making that beer an unacceptable choice for vegans (or anyone who thinks fish-bladder juice in their beer sounds gross). Yet brewers are not required to list ingredients. The good news is many breweries don’t use these methods (and some, like Rogue, do list ingredients). Here’s a list of mystery-meat-free beers.

Uh ... okey dokey.

But even beers without by-products can hurt animals. For example, it’s a bad idea to give beer to your dog; hops can apparently give some canines a nasty case of malignant hyperthermia. And alcohol is toxic to cats. But even if you’re 100% sure your animal isn’t sensitive to these substances, be careful about deciding to share your brew: Most pets are smaller than their owners, which means the effects of dehydration and alcohol poisoning will affect them much faster. So please, don’t fill your goldfish’s bowl with beer. If he wants to party, use an eyedropper.

OK, enough lecturing. Some animals love beer (or, more accurately, the sugars in it) and drink it without worrying about that pesky dying business. Elephants in India and Asia have been known to raid villages en masse and bust into the vats of rice beer. But I guess death does get involved: In the past, villagers have died during these pachyderm beer runs. (I’m not sure I believe the reports that these rampages are “drunken,” as a full-grown ‘phant requires at least a couple of liters of pure ethanol just to get buzzed.) Bears, however, are typically quite a bit smaller: In 2004, employees at a Washington resort hotel found a black bear passed out on their lawn with the empty contents of a stolen cooler at its side. Apparently the bear was picky, too — it only drank the Rainier, ignoring the Busch after sampling a single can. I guess the title “beer snob” is no longer limited to humans.

Next Monday: I’ve been wanting to do a question and answer session with my readers for a while – you know, less lecturing, more discussing — so I’ll do one next Monday. Please, send me an e-mail to ask about anything you’ve pondered these past months. It can be anything from what’s my favorite beer (which would require some serious thought) to a bone you want to pick with me about my writing style. I’ll pick three to five questions at random and answer those in those in the article after next (which will be posted on Tuesday, since I’m posting this so late).

EDIT: Forgot to include my e-mail for the write-in questions thing. D’oh. It’s on the Contact page.

Top Photo — Model: Mesha the Chihuahua. Photographer: Erin Miller, of course!

Bottom Photo — BrewDog Press Pic

Ryan enjoyed this beer so much we couldn't even snap a picture of it before it was gone! OK, OK ... I lost the bottle.

I’m accepting other written contributions if you feel a sudden urge to scribble something down about a beer you love. Now here’s Ryan!

Given the fact that I am a guest writer for this blog, I thought it fitting to at least give a brief biography of myself, more specifically the history behind my newfound passion for that sudsy, refreshing and intoxicating liquid that is beer. When I first started drinking it wasn’t for the taste, rather it was for the fact that it made my head feel funny and I liked it. But it was because of that limited scope that I didn’t have any idea of the ocean that awaited my taste buds. I first began to branch out from the college beer staple of Budweiser after I met an Olympic shot-putter when I was employed at Home Depot (yes this is a true story).  It was through him that I tried Rogue’s XS Imperial Porter and was delighted and in awe of its unique taste; after that I went to my first beer festival and from then on the rest is history.  Now my best friend and beer brother  Scott and I enjoy countless brews that give us that starry-eyed feeling as well as leave us wondering what some people were thinking (I’m looking at you, Chelada!) We’ve gained a considerable amount of experience and knowledge about this wonderful world of malts and hops, as many of you can tell from his amazing blog (I promise I’m not brown-nosing), and that world is our oyster … or drink … or beerster? Either way there’s a lot more drinking to be done.

With that history lesson behind us, it is time to delve into my first review of a beer, and I must say it’s a very delectable one — the beer I mean.  It’s Alaskan Brewing Company’s Baltic Porter, and it’s arguably one of the better porters I have had in a long time.

Baltic Porters have a reputation of being higher in ABV than other porters; this is due to the fact that it had to be shipped across the North Sea, so naturally a more robust version had to be created to withstand the long trip.  It was dubbed the “Baltic” Porter because it was brewed in Eastern Europe in countries such as Latvia and Lithuania, but it is said that it was also introduced by Britain in the 18th century, which leads to a bit of confusion as to what its origin actually are. It was a top-fermenting ale when it was first introduced, but by the 19th century, when breweries began to brew more beers with lager yeast, the porter was made through bottom-fermentation.  It wasn’t until the late 20th century that German breweries relaunched the Baltic Porter, which had faded from existence because of World War II, as a response to an import porter renaissance of sorts.  Either way it is thanks to our friends in Europe and all of their brothers and sisters that we are blessed with this very complex, unusually drinkable beer that enraptures the senses and is generally easy on the wallet.

On to the tasting!

I managed to procure a bottle of this amazing porter at the local Total Wine which by most accounts is a beertopia, if you’ll excuse the hyperbole.  It cost me about $7 which isn’t too bad for a bomber of porter, and then it was taken home and put into my refrigerator because unfortunately it wasn’t time to drink until a couple of days later.  But let me tell you it was definitely worth the wait! The first thing Scott and I noticed was the color as it poured into our glasses; it was like black coffee.  Although common with porters, this particular variety had dark, reddish mahogany edges, which when held in front of a light source is surprisingly beautiful.  It had a very peculiar head in that it wasn’t long-lasting, but it persisted as a dark brown film that floated on the beer.  Next was the smell, which was multifaceted.  Beginning with breaths of licorice and intense cherries, the smell flowed into my nostrils followed by brown sugar and  robust molasses. Although some of its aroma was similar to other porters I’ve tried, it was unusually sweet, which added to its uniqueness. The taste was exceedingly more complex than most in that its first touch to the tongue greeted us with cherries, candied sugars and licorice, which together provided a very drinkable beer and, given its ABV, that is definitely hard to find. What we noticed next was a very prevalent oakiness that gives it a smoky aftertaste, which then coupled with a smooth vanilla and the familiar malty punch of a porter. As it warmed it remained as sweet as it was on the first taste, but the cherries became more pronounced; it’s almost like drinking a maraschino porter, which is pretty amazing in itself! The sweetness was offset by an earthiness that was very subtle at first but became more noticeable as it had a chance to sit.

Altogether Alaskan Brewing Company’s Baltic Porter is an extremely enjoyable craft beer that will excite lovers of the style and grab newcomers as well.  It is a juxtaposition because it succeeds in being sweet and tough at the same time, almost like a body builder with a heart tattooed on his shoulder.  I’m sure there are better and more profound analogies, but to put it plainly, it’s just a damn good beer.

And thus ends my first foray into the agony and ecstasy of beer reviewing. I hope that there is more in store because the world of brews is constantly changing, and I intend to change with it!

-Ryan Martinson

Next Monday: I dunno. It’s my first week at a new job, and I’m pretty busy, but I’ll think of something. Something unrelated to porters, hopefully. This is Scott again, by the way.

First, the simple: Apparently, the only modern distinction between porter and stout is the spelling and pronunciation of their names. Aside from that, they’re both dark ales with typical flavors of coffee, chocolate, and roasted malt. That’s about it. Some insist that each must be brewed using certain ingredients, such as unmalted roasted barley for stout — black patent malt, however, is not allowed, for it would ruin the stoutiness. Well, I hate to contradict these purists (because they’re usually an uppity bunch), but I’ve “field-tested” plenty of beers that refute their claims. Nowadays, brewers experiment with these styles like drunken mad scientists, blurring the historic lines between them and creating some fantastic beers in the process.

This leads to the complicated answer, which is a bit confusing even to me. It’s a historic answer, and I was born a few centuries too late for accurate fact-checking beyond books and the Internet, so take this short history as my humble attempt to aggregate things I’ve heard and read, many of which disagree with one another.

It’s clear that porters and stouts were different at one point. Or rather, each began as variations on the same idea: a dark beer brewed with roasted malt, which possibly gained footing because its bitter, burnt flavors and impenetrable hue could mask off-flavors and visual defects. Thus it could be made and shipped cheaply, and few would notice. Most scholars point to porter as the older beer. The style supposedly began as a blend of three other beers, “three threads” they called it, and it thrived in London in the early 18th century, owing both its name and its popularity to the burly working men who drank it. Soon people began asking for stronger, darker porters, and brewers responded with “stout porter” and “brown stout” — slang that would eventually be shortened to just stout. Even Guinness originally made a porter, then an Extra Stout Porter, then an Extra Stout. According to Zythophile (a far better beer-historian than I am), literature from that era references “pale stout” as well, suggesting that the word applied to strong beer of any style.

By the beginning of the 20th century, competition was mounting against our mild-mannered portagonist. The full-bodied porters known as stouts were gaining popularity, as were pale ales, which British brewers had perfected during the previous century. After World War 1, a slew of weaker, sweeter stouts took the porter’s place, and people began to assume that porter was inferior to stout. Finally, during the 1940s, commercial porter production seemed to halt entirely.

Then, in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, craft brewing exploded in America, and the mighty porter made a comeback. Now it sits triumphantly next to stout on most store shelves! But if there’s no real difference between the two anymore, why do we continue addressing them by different names? Better yet, how do we know which is which?

Let’s try a blind taste test. I bought two pairs of beer from two breweries — a porter and stout from each. Samuel Smith and Sierra Nevada. One British, one American. I’ll start closer to home.

I mark the bottom of each glass and then pour the Sierra Nevadas. Next, I convince my wife to play Two-glass Monte while I gaze at something shiny on the wall. Upon looking back, I have no idea which is which; the beers appear to be identical! A slight difference in the head, perhaps, but both are pitch-black. I hold them up to the light and see that one is actually lighter and ruby-hued — the porter, perhaps? It fits the traditional description. I take a sniff, which reinforces my guess that the lighter-colored beer, which smells sweeter than its roasty brother, is the porter. Sipping this beer reveals sharp, bitter malt and dark fruit, whereas its counterpart features far more roasted earth and smoke. I’m going to say the sweeter beer is the porter and the smokier the stout. A tilt of each glass confirms my guesses.

Now I’m going to try Sam Smith’s Taddy Porter and Oatmeal Stout, which are considerably different both from each other and from the previous two. Once again, I can guess from the smell which is which, but it’s less immediate this time; the oatmeal stout’s smooth sweetness drives it closer to porter-town. Still, the subtle roasted malts (not to mention the pronounced oat flavors) tipped me off.

The rule of roastiness works well in identifying many porters and stouts, but not all of them. So how do the folks who name the beers tell the difference? Perhaps they don’t. Perhaps they, like members of every other industry, design their product names with the consumer in mind. The word stout evokes fullness, heaviness; if you’re hankering for a meal in a bottle, pick up a stout! Porter, however, summons images of older days, of smoke-filled London pubs and longshoremen draining pint pots. I suppose it comes down to this: Beer styles change like language. They develop as our tastes do, in the same way slang becomes law as speech evolves, and a word like stout, once used to describe a strong porter, transforms into another ale altogether and sprouts numerous sub-styles of its own. Don’t worry. If you think about it too much, you’ll get a headache. Just sit back and enjoy the beers.

Speaking of beers (I should start every paragraph on this blog that way), porters and stouts aren’t the only dark brews  out there. There’s also schwarzbier, a smokey yet refreshing lager whose name means “black beer” in German; there’s dark IPA, which tastes like stout with an extra helping of hops; there’s New Belgium’s 1554, a dark Belgian-style beer that uses lager yeast and chocolate malt to produce roasted flavors with a crisp, clean finish. My list could go on, but my fingers are starting to ache. Just remember, the next time you see a glass filled with something that looks like Quaker State, go ahead and take a sip. You might taste something great.

Unless you’re at a mechanic’s house. Then you might want to ask first.

Next Monday: Sticking with this month’s unplanned theme of Porters and the People Who Love Them, I’ve got a guest review of a Baltic Porter lined up.

*Just kidding. I typically avoid Wikipedia for stuff like this.

Well, almost everything. A few weeks ago, I heard about a new pizzeria in my area called Mellow Mushroom Pizza Bakery. My informant said they had every Rogue beer on tap. Now, I’ve been to Rogue’s brewpub in Newport, and their beer menu is a huge wall-mounted whiteboard filled edge to edge with lists of beers, so I had my doubts about that claim. But curiosity dragged me to the Mellow Mushroom anyway.

The selection was indeed impressive: They have about ten Rogue beers on tap, plus twenty or so from other breweries. I started with Old Crustacean and Hazelnut Brown Nectar — two old favorites. Then I saw “Morimoto Imperial Pilsner” printed on the menu. I’ve always wanted to try this beer, but its $17 in-stores price tag set up a sizable road block. At Mellow Mushroom it was cheaper, so I ordered a small glass.

It smelled nice. Sweet and floral like any pilsner, only amplified. Then I took a sip. An odd mix of perfumey sweetness and strained hop bitterness flooded my mouth, creating something so cloyingly sweet and obnoxiously bitter that it can really only be described as urinal cake flavor. I hate to say it (because I really do love Rogue), but after that night, I made a vow to avoid this lager as if it really were a urinal cake.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop throwing money at Rogue for their other beers. Keep reading to find out why.

Stats:
Brewery: Rogue Brewery
Style:  Porter
ABV: 8.2%
IBU: 78
Glassware: Pint Glass, Mug
Serving Temp: 45°F
Price Range: $10-13 per 750 ml bottle
Food Pairing: Chocolaty Desserts, Barbecued Beef

REVIEW:

First, let’s discuss the bottle. It’s painted. I love this. Paint keeps out light; light skunks beer. Plus the paintjob just looks snazzy. It evinces the time and effort these brewers put into their beer. And, for a bottle this size, the price ain’t bad. Remember, 750 milliliters is the standard size for wine bottles, and getting a world-class wine for 10 bucks is a great deal.

But you’ll forget all about the bottle as soon as it lets loose its pitch-black ale. Mocha foam bubbles up and stays there. This porter looks fantastic. The choco-coffee aromas aren’t terribly strong for a beer with “double mocha” in the title, but I do detect roasted malt; alcohol; and hints of bitter coffee. Despite the subtlety of the smell, I definitely want to drink whatever’s making it.

At first all I taste is sharp, bitter roasted barley, but then other sensations emerge. Coffee and chocolate dominate all else (of course), but I also uncover some rich, dark, earthy flavors, especially in the aftertaste. These linger on the tongue for quite some time. As it warms, alcohol battles with the bitter earth and brings out some truly bombastic flavors. It reminds me a bit of Great Divide’s Espresso Oak Aged Yeti, but with a personality all its own thanks to the smooth, sweet flavors of the Pacman yeast.

Like most Rogue beers, this ale is more than full-bodied; it just tastes full. You get the feeling you’re imbibing something with substance, something that’s drinkable yet nourishing. I enjoyed this beer so much that I actually grabbed another bottle a week or two later, and if I see it again, I’ll buy it again (if I have the cash). This is unlike me, because I’m almost always snootily searching for new beers to try, but Rogue’s Double Mocha Porter has earned a permanent spot in my regular rotation.

Next Monday: I’ll explain the differences between porters, stouts, and all the other lagers and ales blacker than the midnight sky.

“We had no idea this was happening, and we immediately removed them from sale as soon as we learned of it last week. We work with Russ Bruhn, a local guy who owns a company called Carlsbad Gourmet to supply the mustards; Russ then contracts with another company to produce them. It is this company that we have found failed to put the beer in the mustard. What they did with the beer, we’re not sure. We sent them full kegs and they sent us back empty kegs … one can only imagine where it might have gone.”

Drunken mustardeers aside, this mishap saddens me. As soon as I read about it, I started craving beer mustard, which as you probably guessed is mustard with beer in it. Stone insists that these products are now “instant beer mustards — just add beer!” So I suppose I could make my own, but who wants to go through that hassle? That’s why peanut butter and jelly come in a single jar now. On the other hand, I’d get to drink the remaining beer.

You might be wondering, Why is this relevant? Well, a lot of breweries use beer to cook or season food — especially if they run brewpubs. For example, you’ve probably seen beer-battered somethings on a menu before. As the title suggests, they mix beer into their standard batter to add extra flavors (although I always picture two bottles with bats thrashing some helpless potato or chicken strip in an alley behind the restaurant), but what happens if they don’t actually put the beer in the food? If I missed out on those unique flavors, I might sink into a deep depression and do something stupid. Something to hurt myself. Something like chug a Chelada.

The relationship between beer and food just makes sense. Beer has more in common with food than many other beverages, even those used in cooking — two of beer’s base ingredients are grains and herbs, after all — so this stuff matters to geeks like me. Cooking with beer has even blossomed into a full-time profession. Just look at beercook.com, which features links to recipes, pairing suggestions, and a list of real-life beer chefs.

Now that my overwhelming knowledge and wit has convinced you (play along), let’s talk recipes. One of the famous beer-food hybrids is beer can chicken. I’ve always assumed that a canned craft beer from a brewery like Oskar Blues or Surly would produce better flavors than an everyday macro-lager, but a friend reported that he tried it and could barely taste the beer. This made me wonder if these heavier beers required specific recipes, so I did some research and unearthed a debate questioning the safety of the beer can! Most aluminum cans are lined with a plastic coating that, when heated, can release potentially harmful chemicals. It’s the same reason many plastic containers have “Do not microwave” stamped on their backsides. On his Examiner page, beer icon Charlie Papazian suggests filling a stainless steel cooking can with the appropriate amount of beer, just to be safe. As for a recipe, I found one that sounds great over at Billy Brew (even though it contradicts my previous point about the dangers of cooking on the can). It even uses Old Chub, one of the best canned beers available. I’ll try it out and report back in a future article.

Aside from chicken, you can use beer in breads, sauces, desserts, and so much more. You can even make beer floats, which usually involve plopping a scoop of ice cream into a hearty stout. Trust me, it tastes better than it sounds! Most of the time, anyway — I once read that Stone owner Greg Koch made a beer float using Stone’s Imperial Russian and bacon ice cream. Even I’m not sold on that.

The Internet is rich with beer-based recipes. Check out the creatively named Amazing Ribs, which involves slow-cooking pork ribs in porter. I guess the name is accurate at least, because that certainly sounds amazing. You can find more recipes here, here, and here. I even found a few cookbooks on the subject.

But that’s not all. Brewers don’t just use beer to prepare food; they sometimes do things the other way around, throwing unusual foods into their beer! I already wrote an article explaining the utter weirdness of the chili beer, but there are many other examples, especially when it comes to porters and stouts. These dark ales are often brewed with coffee and chocolate as adjuncts to enhance the mocha flavors that occur in them naturally. In fact, next week I’ll review one such mocha beer — only this one’s on steroids.

Monday: Yep, I’ll be posting that review on Monday. I just acquired a full-time job, so I’m cutting my posts down to one a week. This way I’ll be able to put more time into each post. See you then!

Anyway, I had to reinstall Windows and thus had little time to write an article. So, instead, I’m going to do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while: post some beer(ein)stein wallpapers! Now you can show off your affection for beer(ein)stein on your desktop. I’ve only made a few (three sizes each), so if you have a different size or photo to suggest, please e-mail me with your info (or simply leave a comment), and I’ll see what I can do. Enjoy!

Oh, and once again, credit for the photos themselves goes to my wonderful wife, Erin Miller.

Click on the links below the sample image to see the full-size version, then right click and choose "Save As" or "Set as Desktop Background."

Banner Widescreen – Large (1920 x 1200)

Banner Widescreen – Small (1280 x 800)

Banner Fullscreen (1600 x 1200)

An oldie from one of my first articles! Now featured on the homepage.

Darkness Widescreen – Large (1920 x 1200)

Darkness Widescreen – Small (1280 x 800)

Darkness Fullscreen (1600 x 1200)

My homebrewed beer, fermenting on the bottle.

Bottles Widescreen – Large (1920 x 1200)

Bottles Widescreen – Small (1280 x 800)

Bottles Fullscreen (1600 x 1200)

My homebrewed beer, ready to be drunk. Or get you drunk. Or both.

Homebrew Widescreen – Large (1920 x 1200)

Homebrew Widescreen – Small (1280 x 800)

Homebrew Fullscreen (1600 x 1200)

Thursday: I’m not sure. It’s been a busy week. I might have to wait till Monday to do that beer and food article.

Also my new template wigs out when I put too many photos in one article or whatever. As you can see, it’s dangerously close to wigging out even without the scores. OK, first beer!

1. Samuel Adams Boston Lager (Boston Beer Company)

This may be the most well-known brew I’ve reviewed yet — aside from Game Day Ice, of course. Ugh … I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Boston Lager pours like diluted honey and builds a decent head. Scents of sweet malts and bitter earth emerge from the glass. The flavors are coarser than those found in most mainstream beers, possibly because it isn’t a Czech pils; it’s a Vienna-style lager! A nicely balanced one, too. You can taste earthy hops in every sip, but sweet malt sneaks in and lifts this beer above other mainstream lagers by making it complex and drinkable. This is a good option for beer nerds who find themselves in ale-literate joints like Applebees.

Wow. That pun rocked.

Others to try: Double Bock, Noble Pils, Cream Stout, Blackberry Wit … Boston Beer makes a ton of solid beers. Just pick one; you might like it!

2. Alaskan Amber (Alaskan Brewing Company)

I see a reddish brown ale with a thin, swirling head. I smell aromas of soft, sweet malt. I taste simple, sweet, malty flavors. Nice look. Nice smell. Nice taste. But nothing particularly remarkable. Then again, not every beer needs to be remarkable.

Alaskan’s Amber is the quintessential tastes-like-a-beer beer. But that’s not a bad thing. It mixes things up a bit with some spicy hops and toasted grain, but overall this is an unabashed session beer — which isn’t surprising, given its wide distribution, reasonable price, and easygoing flavors. Nonetheless, I doubt I’d buy it all the time. But then, I’m a picky weirdo who loves trying something new and different almost every time I drink. If you’re the opposite kind of beer lover, and you’re in the mood to drink a solid beer (and lots of it), Alaskan Amber certainly won’t compel you to go online and write a review like this. Or this. OR THIS.

Others to try: Smoked Porter, Baltic Porter, Stout — apparently I like their dark beers! They make good beers in other styles too, though. Their ESB is worth a try. Which leads me to our next contender:

3. Anvil Ale ESB (AleSmith)

AleSmith. What a badass name for a brewery.

As I pour this ESB, a rocky beige head heaves skyward like a meringue sail swelling over a surprisingly dark sea. It smells overwhelmingly of pears. Sweet, fruity, intense.

I need a machete to cut through all the foam, which is so retentive I’m forced to taste the head before the beer: It’s sharp and nutty, like sunflower seeds. After the foam finally retreats I taste the pears again, along with peanuts and toasted wood. A gentle, deliciously smooth beer, Anvil hits the palate with a delicate bitterness that’s impossible to resist. You won’t find a better introduction to AleSmith’s lineup.

Others to try: Start with this one. Then move onto their IPA. Then Wee Heavy. Then Speedway Stout. In that order. If you love mouth-melting imperial stouts, take on that list in reverse.

And the Golden Godzilla goes to … AleSmith’s Anvil Ale ESB!

Monday: I’ll discuss beer and food — not only pairings but also beer as an ingredient and cooking aid!

This Fourth of July, however, my good friend Dave informed me that the tradition of beer being brewed by breweries is changing. He told me about a new beer that launched in April. He said I should review it on my blog.

“Oh?” I asked, unaware of the sword swinging above my head.

“Yep,” he said. “It’s called Game Day. It’s 7-11’s new store-brand beer.”

That’s right. 7-11. The convenience store chain. I’ll post the beer’s stats while you try to scrub away that mental image of the man with the broken broom handle stirring a dumpster full of wort in the alley behind his store.

Stats:
Brewery: City Brewing Company, LLC
Style:  Adjunct Pils
ABV: 5.5%
IBU: Not gonna bother tracking this down.
Glassware: Leave it in the can.
Serving Temp: Cold. Ice cold.
Price Range: $6.99 per 12 pack
Food Pairing: Whatever keeps it down.

Yes, yes, I was wrong: It doesn’t say 7-11 Brewing Company up there. An actual brewery brews Game Day. Don’t get too excited. City Brewing Company’s website states that “Our facility has been transformed from a historical brewery into a facility capable of manufacturing and packaging beers, teas, soft drinks, energy drinks and other new age beverages.” Cool, I guess, if you think annihilating historical breweries to make more Red Bull is a best-practice worth bragging about.

The label reads “traditionally brewed with only the freshest ingredients,” but I don’t think I trust a beer so cheap that upon brushing a can against the soft, foamy seal around the fridge door, the aluminum exploded, spraying beer everywhere. Although if you need to get your hands on the freshest yellow dye number five available, I suppose 7-11/City Brewing has the hook up (props to Ben K. for the basis of that joke).

Forgive me, I had to work that snark outta my system. I mean, a 7-11 beer called Game Day Ice?! Come on! Sorry, sorry — I should probably review the beer now. And I want to be fair, so … ten-second head start?

I empty the can into a pint glass and immediately wish I hadn’t. It’s pale and fizzy, which I expected, but there’s something eerily lackluster about it, as if even the beer itself has lost the will to effervesce. Actually, it fizzes like crazy for the first few seconds, but then the foam falls faster than a diet coke’s. A few lazy bubbles keep struggling toward the surface, but after a minute or so it starts to look like apple juice.

The smell is a mix between flowery malts and something from a feline urinary tract. Ignoring my flight instinct, I take a sip. It’s pretty weak, yet somehow over-sweet and over-carbonated, like beer-flavored soda. My friend also bought some Game Day Light, so I tried that too. It was similar but less flavorful — a little like drinking old seltzer water.

I think this beer comes in a can out of necessity, because it’s one of the ugliest I’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t smell great either. You might want to start with a slightly better beer and move on to this one as your palate becomes less responsive. It becomes more drinkable when you can’t taste anything.

Game Day’s main selling point is its price, but after drinking too much of it — and the price encourages people to drink too much of it — you won’t just have a stomachache: Your soul will ache as well. Drinking this beer makes you feel disappointed in yourself. It makes you rethink each decision you’ve ever made, because even if that choice seemed brilliant at the time, in the end it led you one step closer to Game Day.

Just to be clear, you will have a stomachache. The human body seems to take great joy in expelling this stuff.

And now, back by popular demand, I will transcribe my tasting notes, written in an increasingly incomprehensible scrawl as I drank more and more of this horrid beer. Let me remind everyone that I hardly ever drink to get drunk, but this beer deserved to be reviewed in its natural habitat, so to speak. We drank responsibly, and no one who’d had a Game Day drove anywhere (mostly because we assumed it would make them go blind). Below is my second batch of tasting notes, which I wrote below the non-inebriated review batch. Drunk-Scott began with the caps-lock on:

“THIS BEER TURNS YOU INTO A SUPER VILLIAN.”

Um, OK … next.

“I drank three beers tonight

The first one bums you out. The second makes you angry. The third makes you wonder why you got so angry.”

I guess number 3 holds true, because I don’t remember writing that. Nor this, but I believe it:

“Game Day burps = RANCID.”

And now, my surprisingly coherent final evaluation:

“After a while, it just tastes like beer. Eventually it becomes nothing more than a device to get yourself drunker. Which is kinda sad. One star starter beer. Three star finisher.”

I think drunk-Scott was being generous.

Thursday: I’ve gotten a bit off schedule this week, so I’m going to start fresh on Thursday with a new edition of Fighting Flagships!