As you might remember, a few months ago my friend Ryan and I threw some water, barley, hops, and yeast into a big bucket and made our first batch of beer. This experiment produced a Belgian-style tripel, which typically showcases high ABVs and golden, effervescent bodies. As you can see in the photo, mine turned out a little different. But it’s still richly flavored and potent as all hell — and, best of all, it doesn’t taste like dishwater!

Stats:
Brewery: Me, baby!
Style: Tripel?
ABV: around 9-10%
IBU: No idea
Glassware: Snifter, Tulip, Goblet
Serving Temp: 60°F
Price Range: $30 for like 40 bottles! Ah, homebrewing.

REVIEW:

What I notice first is the foam. The last time I saw my beer, it was sloshing around in its fermentation vessel, a syrupy mess buoying a few large, lazy bubbles. But now, weeks later, the cap pops off and mist glides out.

A foamy knoll builds as it pours. Beneath it, the beer comes into view: It’s an inky, earthy brown with crimson edges that emerge in the light. I like the looks of it, but not because it resembles a tripel; most tripels are bright and bubbly, whereas this brew has more in common with an American strong ale like Stone’s Arrogant Bastard or a “dark tripel” like Gulden Draak, which Beer Advocate lists as a strong dark ale.

So how’s the smell? A bit like bubble gum and flowers soaked in alcohol. On the first sip I taste the rich, malty caramels I’ve come to expect from Tripels, but they’ve been amplified and augmented by a dry bite and some earthy hop bitterness. These are unusual for the style, but they’re not unpleasant, even if the delicate hops seem strained under all that malt. Still, not bad!

As it aged, my “tripel” began developing a weird tomato undercurrent (this was after two months or so in the bottle), but the crisp carbonation; earthy, oaky bitterness; and intense sweet flavors held things together and masked these oddities. For the most part.

So, my first beer was pretty good, albeit slightly weird for the style. All in all, it tasted more like a lightly hopped American strong ale than a Belgian tripel — when it was younger (read: minus the tomatoes) it even tasted a little like Dogfish Head’s Immort Ale. Thus, as a strong ale, it held up fairly well under my practiced palate; as a tripel, however, it left me dissatisfied. I consider it both a success — because it tasted nice (for a while) — and a failure because I have no idea why it turned out the way it did, and once it got there it didn’t age particularly well, despite the high ABV.

Next time, I’m aiming for a stout. I hope it doesn’t come out tasting like a pilsner.

Food Pairing:

Because I had so many bottles, I drank my beer with almost every food type that springs to mind, and it paired well with most of them. But I don’t know why I’m offering recommendations, because you can’t buy my beer in stores (yet), and I’ll never be able to recreate this. Which makes this whole review seem a bit pointless. Bah!

I bought the following gear:

• Two 5-gallon buckets (one primary fermentation vessel, one bottling vessel)
• One 20-quart stainless steel pot (for boiling the wort)
• One racking cane/hose and one bottling cane (for siphoning wort/beer)
• One hydrometer (for measuring gravity)
• Forty-eight 12-ounce amber glass bottles
• One Brewer’s Best recipe kit for a Belgian-style tripel
• Other assorted items (bottle brush, thermometer, bottle capper, etc.)

I found this stuff at What Ale’s Ya, the homebrew supply store I mentioned in my first Beer Pioneer article. After rushing these new toys home, I called my beer brother Ryan to come over and help set up. We poured 2 gallons of drinking water into the 20-quart pot and started steeping the aroma grains. Next we removed the grains and brought the water to a boil — or tried to. After two hours on high heat, however, our water still refused to boil. Confounded, we began hunting for the cause of this conundrum like bloodhounds on a scent. Upon realizing that we were neither Sherlock Holmes nor Batman, we gave up and called What Ale’s Ya. Turns out their pots have raised bottoms. And my stove has flat glass burners. D’oh.

The friendly folks at What Ale’s Ya refunded my money for the pot and replaced the grains. We acquired a new vessel – this one 22 quarts and flat-bottomed – and tried again. Things went much more smoothly … until we had to cool the wort. This is a heavy, sweaty job, and our wort just wouldn’t cool quickly enough. To avoid bacterial infection, we cooled it as much as we could, pitched the yeast, sealed up the fermentation bucket, and prayed those little guys weren’t roasting in their own private hell-sauna.

Twelve hours later, the water in the airlock – a small device that lets co2 escape while keeping air and bacteria out – was bubbling jovially. The yeast survived! Fermentation had begun. By the second or third day, each new bubble smelled of tripel. Eureka!

Next comes bottling, which we’ll probably do a day or two after I post this, when the initial fermentation has ended. Then we’ll melt some priming sugar; pour that sugar into the bottling bucket; siphon (or rack) the beer from the primary fermentation bucket into said bottling bucket; and fill the bottles, where that new sugar will trigger a secondary fermentation. A third of my 12 ounce bottles will age for 3 weeks; two thirds will age for 6 weeks; and a single bomber will sit in storage for 9 long weeks. I’ll report back here with mini reviews of each — assuming the first set doesn’t taste like sewer water.

Nope. Beer is remarkable. It’s a complex, versatile, nourishing beverage. And it deserves a party. In this case, the party is the 10th Annual Arizona Strong Beer Festival, an event that showcases beers with serious ABV firepower. So, after paying my admission and receiving my wristband ($35 for 15 samples and a commemorative tasting cup), I entered and started sampling beers from around the world.

A lot happened during the ensuing hours, so I plan to split this article into three parts, following the familiar Good, Bad, Ugly formula established by people who like cliches and spaghetti westerns (like me, apparently!). Today’s portion, the Good, is somewhat self-explanatory; tomorrow’s Bad will describe aspects of the festival that disappointed me; and Thursday’s Ugly will recount certain odd events of the day that resembled plot points from The Hangover.

The Good

1. BEER BEER BEER

At the park, tents had sprouted up like bushes in neat rows, the denizens of which chirped eagerly to distribute their alcoholic creations. By day’s end, the soil had been speckled with imperial stouts, double IPAs, barleywines, and many other uncommonly strong beers. I doubt they helped the grass grow.

A few of my favorites included The Bruery’s Trade Winds, a Belgian-style tripel with Southeast Asian spices; O’Dell’s Bourbon Barrel Stout, a malt monster with hints of bourbon and vanilla; and Firestone Walker’s outstanding Abacus barleywine. To be honest, I can’t remember every beer I tried, because my friend Ryan and I cracked the 15-sample system by sharing. I do, however, remember that several surprise favorites came from

2. Local breweries

Local breweries brought their big guns to this festival (unlike some others, whom I shall chew out tomorrow). Four Peaks, Papago, Sun Up, Sleepy Dog — solid breweries with outstanding beers. I loved Four Peaks’ Double Knot, a citrusy double IPA that I hope to find in bottles soon, and my heart broke when I drank the last drop of Papago’s Coconut Joe, a sweet stout with over-the-top coffee and chocolate flavors.

Arizona isn’t best-known for its beer, but these breweries — the vertebrae in the state’s beer backbone — obviously respect their responsibility to Arizona drinkers. I encourage everyone to sample these beers in their natural habitats. And, at those brewpubs, you’ll undoubtedly meet a few

3. Beer People

As usual, good people ensured a good festival. Otherwise it would be a bunch of beer sitting in cups, waiting to be drunk but going flat instead. That bums me out. Hard.

Thankfully, the park was filled with people. But not just any people — beer people. They wore pretzel necklaces and brandished temporary tattoos. They talked and laughed and drank. Then they drank and laughed and laughed and slept. But before the sleeping, there was beer comradery, a phenomenon unique to beer nerds. In other fields, experts often feel the need to compete with other experts. Wine connoisseurs even practice spitting. But with beer, even the snobs usually just want to enjoy the beverage — and the company of those who share a passion for it. And yes, this was true before everyone got drunk.

Perhaps the best example was Left Hand’s booth, where I spoke to (and received beer from) Valerie Smith of World Class Beverages and Crescent Crown Distributing. She was not only extremely knowledgeable, but also treated visitors like long-time friends, explaining in detail the brews at her booth — most notably 400 Pound Monkey, an English-style IPA — and recommending numerous beers from other booths. I definitely walked away with Left Hand on the brain.

In summary, the good parts of this festival nearly blew my mind. But some other parts blew chunks, which is why this article still has two more chapters.

At home, I tear my trophy from its brown paper coat. The cork pops, and mist burbles out. Definitely a Belgian-style tripel; it paints my goblet amber and gold and coats the rim with creamy foam. The head exhales vanilla (a result of oak aging) along with hints of bright fruit and white wine. One sip reveals a hefty alcohol presence—understandable at 11% ABV—but spicy fruit, caramel, and the omnipresent vanilla balance things out. On the palate the brew feels full and creamy, even a bit buttery, like drinking carbonated silk. As it warms, the vanilla makes way for smoky bourbon, an unusual transition that sets my buds ablaze. This one’s a sipper.

OK, I drink Belgian ales like nobody’s beeswax, but Curieux surprised me. It pummeled my tongue with sugar and smoke, and with it Allagash has given me a new favorite among tripels. Did paying half the price make the beer seem twice as tasty? No idea. But I savored every sip, because at $16.49 a bottle, my next taste might have to wait until flying pigs make the cows come home.