While the holiday season is all about tradition, here's one to break: serving wine with dinner. Craft beer's varied styles and flavors mean you can match any festive meal to the perfect brew. Here's our hop-filled primer on Thanksgiving entertaining.
As guests snack on crunchy crudités and crackers and cheese, crack a pleasantly hopped pale ale such as the release from San Diego's Stone. The brewery's version contains a malty, reserved bitterness that complements the hors d'oeuvres without overwhelming them. If Stone's unavailable, Stoudt's American Pale Ale is a great biscuity, citrusy selection. (The appetizer can apply to every holiday.)
Nowadays, liquor store shelves sag beneath with double IPAs and imperial stouts -- flavorful, potent brews with ABVs that often hit 10 percent and above. But these beers are as innocuous as apple juice when compared with Samuel Adams' Utopias, which clock in at a liquor-like 27 percent ABV.
"This is the Starship Enterprise of beers," says Jim Koch, founder of Sam Adams. "We're taking beer where beer has never gone before."
While cool, blustery fall weather stirs longings for steaming cups of apple cider, beer lovers have a reason to drink to the season: fresh-hop beer, a libation that's as fleeting as it is delicate.
August and September signal harvest season for hops, the flower cones that provide beers' bitter flavors. Generally, plucked hops are dried and sent into storage, losing aromatic oils and resins in the process. But a small portion of fresh hops are hustled to breweries in a race against time -- like grass clippings, the hops quickly degrade and decompose.
"Our hops come in by truck, typically in the middle of the night, and we begin brewing within an hour of arrival," says Bill Manley, communications coordinator for Sierra Nevada. "We don't stop brewing until all of the hops are gone, 24 hours a day -- our kettles actually begin to warp toward the end of the week from the constant heat."
But the potential destruction is worth the payoff: Harvest Wet Hop Ale, now in its 13th year of altering drinkers' perception. "Wet-hopped beers can sometimes take a first-time drinker by surprise," Manley says.
The average Asian beer is feather-light and forgettable, the equivalent of drinking seltzer doctored with food coloring and a splash of alcohol -- look no further than brews like Vietnam's 33 Export and Singapore's Tiger Beer. But every blue moon, a cookie-cutter lager can shake our belief in mass-produced suds. To wit, Taiwan Beer, brewed by the government-owned and totally totalitarian-sounding Taiwan Tobacco and Liquor Corporation.
"The beer is purer and more flavorful than many other Asian beers," says Anna Zhang, operations manager for art-filled Shanghai restaurant TMSK, which sells loads of Taiwan Beer.
We can hear microbrew lovers loudly tsk-ing their disapproval. However, hear us out: While Taiwan Beer may pale in comparison to, say, Full Sail's full-bodied Session Lager, it more than holds its own owing to a recipe incorporating locally grown Ponlai rice, which provides a semi-sweet component.
Since 1987, California's hummingbird-themed Nectar Ales (founded by Humboldt Brewing but bought by Firestone Walker in 2004) has focused on super-quaffable session brews such as the caramel-hoppy Nectar IPA and its flagship, the full-bodied Red Nectar amber ale. These are beers that focus on flavor, not a high-proof punch that sends you sprawling.
But Nectar Ales has finally busted its low-alcohol template with its coffee-infused, bourbon-barrel-aged Black Xantus imperial stout (named after a Mexican hummingbird species). It's the brand's inaugural over-the-top, 22-ounce release.
"We have been working on this stout recipe for four years, patiently tweaking things until we were satisfied," says head brewer Matt Brynildson. "I've also spent time with the folks at Joebella Coffee, who are our local roaster. After learning about the agronomics surrounding coffee and the art of roasting, the lightbulb went on."
Like many of the world's finest epicurean delights, the secret ingredient in the microbrews from Quebec's À l'abri de la Tempête is salt. The brewery is located on Les Iles-de-la-Madeleine, a 50-mile-long archipelago of untamed beaches in the Atlantic Ocean. The sea breeze leaves its traces in the locally sourced barley, imparting a delicate salty profile.
"It's a signature for all our products," says head brewer Jean-Sébastien Bernier. Despite À l'abri de la Tempête's watery locale and diminutive size, it's made waves with its smoky, spicy Corps Mort barley wine and its standout, the Corne de Brume ("foghorn") Scottish ale. Unlike the average North American Scottish ale, which overdoses on sugar to even out a heavy booze load, Bernier naturally takes his cues from overseas.
"When you taste the classics from the Old World, they are more on the dry side," he says. "We put in lots of work to keep that dry, caramel-bitterness and alcohol well balanced."
We adore our double IPAs and super-charged Russian imperial stouts as much as the next craft-beer geek, but sometimes we like drinking a microbrew that doesn't hit us as hard as a right hook in Mike Tyson's Punch-Out!!
So in lieu of quaffing another deliciously inebriating 18-percent ale like Dogfish Head's 120 Minute IPA, we instead look to the lower end of the alcoholic spectrum. Allow us to introduce the Berliner Weisse, a wheat beer that's barely boozier than water.
Sacrificing ABV need not mean sacrificing flavor. The Berliner -- which was, duh, born in Berlin -- is typically tart and straw-hued, with the lactobacillus culture providing a sour, citric edge that's as invigorating as just-squeezed lemonade. "The Berliner weisse is such a low-alcohol beer that it can appeal to the most hardcore beer geeks and to those who don't like beer," says Patrick Rue, head brewer and owner of Placenta, California's the Bruery.
While the Bruery specializes in unfiltered, Belgian-style ales such as the rustic, earthy Saison Rue and spiced Orchard White witbier, it channels Germany for its 3.1 percent ABV Hottenroth Berliner Weisse. It goes into the goblet a pale, hazy yellow, with rapid bubbles and a fast-diminishing head. The nose is all citrus, wheat and barnyard funk, while the Hottenroth drinks prickly and crisp -- if the tartness is too much, you can sweeten the beer with raspberry or woodruff syrup.
This is one beer you won't sour on too soon.
Do you like a nice Berliner Weisse? Come on, drop your thoughts in the comments.
October's chilly winds are causing us to reach for beers that warm our stomachs. And what better beer to stoke a belly fire than one that, well, smells like fire?
So we turn to rauchbiers, an ancient German style in which green malts are roasted over beechwood flames. This imparts a deep, profound smokiness -- imagine a flannel shirt after roasting marshmallows by a campfire. These flavored malts are the building blocks for the beers of Bamberg, Germany's Schlenkerla, a leading rauchbier practitioner.
"They make world-class smoked beers. They set the standard," says Matthias Neidhart, of B. United International, the beer's American importer. Schlenkerla's brews range from the light Helles Lagerbier to what Neidhart calls "the most intensely smoky version": the Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier Urbock.
Elementally, bocks are strong lagers -- beers designed to combat the cold weather with extra alcohol. And the Urbock is no exception, clocking in at a robust 6.6 percent ABV. Equally stout is the complex aroma, a rich mixture of sweet smoked meat (mmm...bacon) and a touch of tobacco and chocolate. Needless to say, vegetarians will likely crinkle their noses. But drinkers who dare decant the ruby, translucent Urbock are rewarded by a surprisingly smooth ride, the smoky-malt flavor revealing nuances of oatmeal and even the odd hop or two.
But let's not sugarcoat things: Urbock is a little bit like drinking a BBQ dinner.
Care for rauchbiers? Think they're crud? Spill some science in the comments.
When fall hits, kids get giddy about the mother lode of Halloween candy to come. But adults, too, have reason to celebrate the harvest season -- namely, pumpkin beers.
These vegetable-influenced ales are as varied as jack-o'-lantern carvings. They range from Cape Ann's smooth and chocolaty Fisherman's Pumpkin Stout to Dogfish Head's Punkin Ale, a rich ale dosed with brown sugar and pumpkin flesh. But our favorite Halloween sipper hails from Lakewood, N.Y. -- Southern Tier.
Since the western New York brewery's humble 2004 beginnings, it has spread across the country like kudzu, reaching more than 20 states. The rapid success is due to burly brews like the ludicrously hopped Unearthly Imperial IPA (11 percent ABV!), the dessert-like Crème Brûlee Imperial Milk Stout and the Pumking.
It takes a strong man to wear pink. It takes an even stronger man to heft a frothy pint of pink beer, like the rare-burger-hued Rosée d'Hibiscus, from the genre-busting Canadian brewers at Dieu du Ciel! ("god of the sky").
Since 1998, these mad fermentationists have crafted head-scratching, tummy-pleasing beers like the Equinoxe du Printemps, a strong Scotch ale made with maple syrup, and the Clef des Champs, a floral rye ale flavored with heather and mugwort. Naturally, there was no way that Dieu du Ciel would make a conventional wheat beer.
One day, head brewer Jean-François Gravel was watching a TV documentary on western Africa, which included a discussion of bissap -- a tea made from an infusion of hibiscus flowers and sugar. Gravel re-created the drink at home, realizing the flower's floral profile and acidity would complement a tangy blanche (a wheat bear).
Too often, fruit-based beers are cloyingly sweet abominations, the beer world's equivalent of Bartles & James wine coolers. The fruits -- be they blueberries or apricots -- whip the malts into meek submission, creating little more than watery, carbonated beer smoothies.
So how do you tastefully infuse a beer with a fruit's delicious flavors? Dan Kahn had a serendipitous solution. Back in the 1990s, Kahn toiled at Riverside Brewing in Riverside, Calif., a SoCal city famous for its orange groves.
In honor of Riverside's Orange Blossom Festival, the town official contacted asked Kahn to brew a special beer. He plucked a few fistfuls of aromatic blossoms (an ingredient common to desserts and Middle-Eastern cuisine), then steeped them like tea and incorporated the concoction into a brew batch: "It wasn't like a fruit beer, where the fruit clashes with hops," Kahn says. "It added an extra characteristic that other beers just don't have."
Until a couple of weeks ago, if you wanted to pound a pint of Captain Lawrence's Captain's Reserve imperial IPA, you either had to pay a visit to the Pleasantville, N.Y., brewery or pray to a boozy deity that your local saloon was serving the ludicrously aromatic elixir.
Your prayers have been answered. The medal-winning Captain's Reserve has ditched its draft-only status, and the brewery's brand-new bottling line has begun humming. However, the Captain's not capped in the usual 12- or 22-ounce glass carafes, but instead the squat pint.
Classically, wheat beers are as cloudy as a late-March afternoon, with a tart, yeasty edge that lends itself well to a squeeze of lemon. These easy drinkers are ideal for sipping by the pool or beneath a leafy canopy, as summertime sweat trickles down your cheek.
Unsurprisingly, Munster, Indiana's Three Floyds Brewing didn't get the message. Since 1996, these rule-breaking brewers have attracted a ferocious following with gonzo beers like the mango-y Dreadnaught IPA and the culty Dark Lord, a monstrous Russian imperial stout brewed with honey, molasses and coffee. (It's only sold once a year at the brewery, bringing out crowds before dawn).
Naturally, Three Floyds dared not design a wimpy wheat. Summer seasonal Gumballhead is crafted with gobs of red wheat, then infused with oodles of Amarillo hops, creating an intoxicating nose that recalls strolling through a grove of grapefruit and lemon trees. And though the scent is more in line with a mouth-puckering IPA, Gumballhead hardly drinks like a hop monster.
Belgium Tripel fans dig burly, nuanced brews cut with candy sweetness. American pale acolytes savor smooth ales with a hoppy edge. The suds' styles are as different as cats and dogs, but Pennsylvania's Weyerbacher brewing has unleashed a hybrid that could cause both beer-loving camps to drool.
For its latest summer seasonal, Zotten (rhymes with verboten), Weyerbacher has taken a super-drinkable (why hello, 6 percent ABV) American pale ale and given it a Belgian tweak via the abbey-yeast strain employed in the brewery's medal-winning Merry Monks' Tripel.
But don't mistake the bottle-conditioned Zotten (Flemish for fools) for a chug-a-lug pilsner or lily-livered lager. Zotten slips from the bottle a glowing rusty orange, perfumed with a bloom of tropical fruit, Bubble Yum sweetness and enough pungent hops to imitate an IPA. Surprisingly, Weyerbacher's liquid magicians keep rampant bitterness at bay. The hops provide a springboard for Zotten's rich flavor constellation of pepper, coriander and yeasty bread, before closing clean and crisp with a lingering spicy bite.
The Belgian ale. The American pale. Two great tastes that taste great together. What's your favorite hybrid beer? Spread some liquid gospel in the comments.
With much of the country smothered by a hot, damp quilt of humidity, drinkers need a brew suited for combating the unrepentant sun. While mowing-the-lawn beers like the Brothers Light (Bud and Coors, that is) may slake thirst, they're like fizzy tap water. A finer alternative is the flavorful German Hefeweizen.
Classically, the cloudy, unfiltered ale (examples include Jolly Pumpkin's sour Weizen Bam and the classic Schneider Weisse) possesses heaps of wheat, creating a lively beverage with a banana aroma and tangy edge.
"When I'm looking for the perfect thirst-quencher, I want a beer with a light body without being watery," says Jonathan Lafortune, the president and brewmaster behind Quebec's Les Trois Mousquetaires."[I like a] beer with a slight acidity that gives me a refreshing sensation and a little bit of spice."
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