How to Order a Beer if You're Middle-Aged

I was in a bar in Austin, and though it was only mildly crowded, I could not for the life of me attract the bartender's attention.

As time ticked by, and the situation became increasingly preposterous, patrons near me grew aware of the situation, expressing bemused solidarity and watching to see what I'd do.

"Middle-aged men are not supposed to jump," I announced to the small crowd. "It's almost assumed that we can't; that middle-aged femurs and hip bones won't, like, allow it. So it totally freaks people out when it happens. If I jump up right now, it would change the bar's energy. Conversational volume would dip 30%. And the bartender's attention would focus on me as tightly as if I'd pulled out a shotgun."

I gave my new friends a moment to digest this- to weigh it in their imaginations - and then, maintaining the most neutral, bored Depeche Mode expression on my face, I hopped a couple vertical feet in the air, calmly landing right back in my previous posture. As if it had never happened.

Everything proceeded as I'd predicted. And I immediately got my beer.


See also The "Rice Chex" Method to Standing Out in a Crowd and Two Strategies For Deflecting Cellphone Loudmouths

Southwest by South Trip Installment #1

Just did a $70 roundtrip to/from Dallas, courtesy of my usual source of airfare miracles.

All the great things you've heard about Austin food/beer apply much more to Dallas. Skip Austin, hit Dallas. My rant against hipster (i.e. Austin) food culture comes in a later installment, but for now, just know that Dallas is full of deeper pleasures. Quick hits before I drove (very far) east:

Bubba’s Cooks Country (6617 Hillcrest Ave; 214-373-6527). I've been noting this for years, yet I've never made a dent in a nearly universal misapprehension about soul food: great soul food is not heavy. Heavy soul food is lousy soul food. The good stuff is very, very light (consider: lard's applied to pie crust not to weight things down, but to lighten them up). Good soul food achieves two miracles:

1. Elevating cast-off cheap ingredients (ribs, neckbones, black eyed peas) to magnificence

2. Supreme lightness attained from gravy-soaked heavy foods cooked in heavy-seeming ways.

Bubba's nails all the miracles. It's a fast food place (order from the counter), but the linen napkins tip you off that this is so much more. I don't believe I've ever had a more consistently up-and-up version of this classic meal. And I didn't manage to get a photo of the banana pudding, which was still oven-warm, and pains me to even talk about. The biscuit, being merely very good, felt like an affront.

But wait till you see what I ate in eastern Mississippi. More next time!

Armoury D E (2714 Elm St; 972-803-5151) is a super cool, open-late Hungarian-tinged cocktail bar in the rocking Deep Ellum neighborhood. I had these superb oniony potatoes, the perfect thing for late night beery hunger pangs.

Bru City (13000 Trinity Blvd, Fort Worth; 817-510-6485). If this were merely a decent craft beer bar and bottle shop in a gas station in the worthless boonies of Ft Worth, Dayenu ("it would have been enough"). If it were all of that, and just 10 mins from the airport (where there's famously nothing good), Dayenu. If it were all of that, and had a really knowledgable bartender, who gives out raffle tickets for cool prizes, Dayenu.

But when it's all that, and also the loosest, coolest, best-stocked (beautifully, lovingly-chosen local brands, including many rarities, and fast-enough moving that nothing tasted old) beer bar/shop in town? Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

Craft and Growler (3601 Parry Ave; 214-821-1122) is my favorite Dallas beer bar. The only one with geeky bartenders I can enthuse with - who'll bring me up to date on new breweries opened since my last trip, and proffer endless samples. I love Bru City truly, but have a deeper, longer commitment to Craft and Growler. Around the corner, Eight Bells Alehouse (831 Exposition) is a bit flakey, and offers only a few lackluster taps, but there's always - always! - one impossible-to-find, magnificent beer on tap, seemingly by accident.

The Waxahachie branch of Campuzano's (which has other, more convenient branches I've never tried) seemed just a bit downhill, but still awfully good Tex-Mex, and, as always, whip-crack efficient service.

Here's what I wrote last time about Campuzano's, along with more Dallas tips.

I stayed at NYLO Dallas South Side (1325 South Lamar St; 214-421-1080). Should be $300/night, but it's on a weird edge of town (still adjacent to tons of good food and beer and nightlife, e.g. the Deep Ellum area two miles away) so it's more like $110-140, and you can get a stiff discount by booking last minute via the Hotel Tonite app (which I previously mentioned here). Great, fun, cool, nice people, stupendously crafted and miraculously spacious rooms (check out the amazing - and accurate! - room photos here). Free wifi, free parking during the week.

Fly Bar in Terminal E at Dallas Fort Worth Airport, right in the gate area, blasts good funk and soul music and poured me a meticulously fresh pint of Revolver IPA - a way better and more indie brewery than you'd ever expect to find in an airport. All just two gates from my departing flight (I watched the boarding line, jumping in at last minute). Peak experience!

En route from Austin to Dallas on my way back, I stopped, as always, at Lula Jane's in Waco (406 Elm Ave; 254-366-0862). Great bakery. Getting crowded these days, though. I had a slice of buttery lemon/raspberry chess pie, and it was old-school soulful yet starchily skillful.

Next time: "Drive East, Touch Mississippi, Come Back" (read it here).

Resistance to Winnowing: The Bud Problem

My posting yesterday, "Resistance to Winnowing", was a bit subtle, discussing a human effect neither recognized nor experienced by most people. But I thought of the perfect everyday example: bars that don't serve Bud.

You're sitting in a craft beer bar - a rare refuge for enthusiasts - and a new customer enters, orders a Bud, and is told "Sorry, we don't actually serve Bud, but would you like to try one of our quality light lagers?" It doesn't go well. Worlds are rocked. People can get loud. Most craft beer bars keep a few bottles of Bud around to pacify such situations.

99.999% of bars in America serve Bud (in fact, the damned stuff was actually called "America" for a while this summer). In most cities, you're rarely more than a 5 minute walk from a bottle of it. So what's the big deal if a microscopically tiny slice of venues prefers a different way? Why not vote with your feet, and head somewhere else, realizing that different places serve different people?

Again: people tenaciously and indignantly resist any effort to make them self-bifurcate - to go elsewhere to better align with their preferences. It infuriates people to sense - even subconsciously - that they're being in any way winnowed.


Let's turn it around. Say the most popular beer in America was Russian River's legendary "Pliny the Elder", rather than Bud, and I lived a happy existence as a perpetually plastered, somewhat functional alcoholic. And say a tiny beleaguered minority didn't like the big flavor, preferring Budweiser. And say I strode into a bar called "Blandsville Pub" and off-handedly requested a Pliny the Elder...and was refused. I have to imagine I'd be slightly surprised, but accept that this particular bar isn't for me. I could walk out and get what I want in literally every other bar in town (or else order a bourbon).

But here's the difference: I wouldn't feel winnowed. Maybe it hinges on coming out on a downward ladder position - i.e. pushing sensitized buttons re: Cool Kids Club.

A Clash of Beer Week and Gay Pride

I had an interesting experience in Philadelphia last week at wonderful, wonderful Philly Beer Week, where the country's best beer city steps up its game six notches and dozens of great local bars serve up keg after miraculous keg of rare and supernal spuds.

Philly Beer Week, strangely, coincides with Philly's annual gay pride celebration. Not my favorite scene; as I've written previously, I don't find public celebration of sexual preference a tasteful thing (one's preference for innies versus outies is supremely uninteresting; those who self-identify on that basis really ought to get lives).

But we ran into one fellow who seemed to span the gulf between both events, and at 1am in a dark specialty beer bar, where me and my blue collar buddies were goofily swilling esoteric Belgian brews, this fellow, an ardent home brewer, struck up a conversation with me.

My buddies (who are actually very kind-hearted), being wasted and goofy from drinking all day, got up, stood over the guy's shoulder, and started batting their eyes and making kissy faces at me. Unfortunately, the guy noticed and quickly left in a quietly dignified pique.

My friends asked whether I realized that he was gay and appeared to be "into me". My reply was that I didn't give a damn on either score, and that I was enjoying the conversation (he's a physicist doing fascinating research). Someone's sexual inclinations have no bearing on me or on anyone else. And if inclinations were indeed directed toward me (I hadn't gotten that impression, but I wasn't looking for it), what difference would it make? Lots of people are interested in lots of people for lots of reasons, few of which are pertinent to an interesting discussion about physics. If he'd chosen to make it pertinent, he'd have been politely refused, case-closed. So what, exactly, is the problem? Is gayness contagious? If that's the worry, then the problem would obviously be a crisis of confidence in one's own orientation!

That shut them up. And we went on to enjoy further carousing, but I felt a lingering dismay, having registered the guy's pain as he'd been essentially ridiculed out of the bar.

As I mulled it over, though, I realized this hadn't been bigotry or hate or anything so ugly. In fact, much the same happens to us all...frequently! Just a few weeks earlier, I'd enjoyed a riotous discussion with a 19 year old waitress who shared my love for corned beef hash. As we jubilantly swapped favorites, trying to one-up each other, her coworkers didn't hide their disgust toward the middle-aged creep shamelessly chatting up the hot young girl. Upon registering this, much to my horror (I do corned beef hash jams with strangers of every stripe; I hadn't even imagined anything romantic), I left in a similar state of quiet humiliation. Guys my age are not supposed to socially bond with younger people. It looks desperate and creepy. Lots of things look desperate and creepy when they're really just normal and friendly!

My experience with the corned beef hash waitress had been the exact same situation! Was I a victim of hatred? Were the other waitresses bigots? Was this prejudice or persecution? No. It was just normal stuff. There are times when our differences stick out, with humiliating results. Remember how I was made to feel like an escaped convict during my ill-fated sport jacket-buying trip to Saks?

Gay people have made enormous strides. Yet people still rank on them sometimes. Well, that's likely to continue. It's a part of coming to the table, rather than remaining hidden. Alienation and repulsion are unavoidable in human social interaction. It stinks, and I try to never do it, and I deeply wish my friends had shown some class (though, geez, who expects class at 1am in a beer bar?), but it's not hatred. It's not even bigotry, which involves actual malice and oppression. Neither of my friends is remotely capable of that.

Living in a multicultural society means being ranked on, condescended to, looked askance at, and generally called out for being different in some settings, and embraced for being like-minded in others. Perhaps those gay pride parades aren't so distasteful after all; everyone needs to swim with their school sometimes.

Why should gay people expect equal rights plus some idyllic condition of seamless dignity and indiscriminate welcome which none of the rest of us enjoys? This isn't a Benetton commercial; this is real life! So, to you, humiliated gay home brewing physicist, I'd say: it's not just you. Everyone experiences social friction from difference. Laughter stems from that same friction, and, in the end, that's okay (though a challenge to one's dignity), and quite far from hatred. See things for what they are - far less malevolent than you'd at first imagine. And don't ever quit talking to all sorts of people; we all need to show courage in this life!


See this follow-up.

Off-Radar/On-Radar

Here's how it always works: I find something great, fall in love, and quickly discover that no one else is paying the least attention to the obscure thing that's been captivating me. I'm forced to drive to the ends of the earth for my fixes, and everyone thinks I'm nuts for my devotion to something no one else cares about (as I wrote last month, "we're only supposed to go apeshit for the things we've previously been told to go apeshit about. Independent, uncorroborated apeshit-going is the mark of a crazy person").

Then, after a few years, the mainstream latches on, and for a brief moment, I enjoy easy availability and a profusion of kindred spirits. But soon after - right around the time the money and attention have begun to subvert things - it becomes yesterday's thing, and I'm left feeling ridiculous once again - this time for being one of those unfortunate people who cling cluelessly to stale trends.

Check out Triumph the Insult Comedy Dog ranking on the annoying legions of craft beer freaks, just as I was beginning to celebrate the mainstreaming of beer appreciation (ironically, I was a Robert Smigel fan long before he became popular):



I had a fantastic idea for a reality TV food show in 1994, before there was reality TV. By the time I was in a position to pitch it, I was perceived as just another sad wannabe trying to scratch his way onto the receding tail of a big trend.

Hey, it even happened with chowhounding!

Belgian Beer and American Jazz

Another golden oldie article has been added to the "Selected Writings" section of my web site. Belgian Beer and American Jazz compares European attitudes toward the latter with American attitudes toward the former. It's short.

St. Louis: Disneyworld for Beer Geeks

I've already recounted my food finds in St. Louis. Here's the beer side of things:

In my food roundup, I described the great mashed potatoes (and very good mahi-mahi tacos) at Schlafly's. Their beers are also winners: artfully crafted, with great balance and consistency across their long line of offerings.

Tasmanian IPA was a delightful evocation of New Zealand's aromatic, tropical fruity hops, and Tripel was as close to the classic Westmalle version as I've ever tasted from an American brewer. The beautifully balanced Single Malt Scottish Ale avoids the excessive booziness that's trendy in barrel-aged brewing, and the Barleywine's Tootsie Roll-ish mellowness ably cloaks its daunting alcoholic heat. And the Rauchbier, though just a bit light in the smoke, is eminently drinkable. Ask for Phil, the most knowledgable bartender; he loves to guide and discuss.

Urban Chestnut (3229 Washington Ave; 314-222-0143) is another local brewpub, this one run by a guy who's put in time at Germany's Weihenstephaner brewery, reknowned for its skilled lagers and characterful yeast. Yeast is put to good use here, too, and while a few English styles are available, I stuck to Germans and was impressed.

Their Hopfen is the first-ever "German IPA", and is one of the most creative beers I've tried lately. It's a full-bodied German lager with a big blast of hops...but there are no American hops. Instead, it's all Hallertau, so the result is nothing like hoppy American IPAs, with their citric hops and gripping bitterness. This one's delicious and utterly unique.

Urban Chestnut also makes what may be America's finest kellar beer, which they call Zwickel (served, appropriately, in pewter mugs). Kellar is an ancient style that's unfiltered, subtle, slightly earthy, and oh-so-drinkable, and their's is catching on; it's available all over town.

The only Urban Chestnut beer I didn't love (in fact, the only beer in St. Louis I didn't love) is their eponymous chestnut beer, which I found sweet and nebbishy.

Perennial Artisan Ales (8125 Michigan Ave; 314-631-7300) is yet another great local brewpub, this one an intense out-of-the-way spot for serious beer geekery. I got a laugh from the online reviews frowning at the lack of pool tables, TV sports, and fried foods.

Saison de Lis, brewed with chamomile flowers, manages to meld the slightly cloying aroma into a balanced, drinkable quaff rather than a mere novelty. It's the best chamomile beer I've had. Aria is a saison with just a touch of brettanomyces - lending funk rather than full-out sourness. Heart of Gold, an ultra strong wheat beer ("wheat wine"), is beautifully lush though still drinkable.

These are intense, mostly high-gravity beers, so you'll want to have a bite. The menu's not exactly ambitious, but I loved Prairie Breeze cheddar from Iowa's Milton Creamery.

I tried to hit The Civil Life (3714 Holt Ave; no listed phone), but was crestfallen to learn they close early - 10 pm even on weekend nights. These guys specialize in "session" beers - the term for friendly, lo-alcohol beers that can be enjoyed all night without getting blotto (not an issue for me on this trip, as I was trying tiny samples). Hence their name.

Mild needn't mean watery; marvelously tasty beers can be brewed at low strength. Their line-up of German kellars, alts, kolsches, and dunkelweizen, and British milds and milk stouts are supposed to be quite good.

It's a timely business model, getting in ahead of an incipient trend (in a year or two you'll see low-alcohol session beers trending everywhere). And it's also an indication of how far the craft beer market has come in the Midwest.

The first wave of local craft brewers specialized in big, bombastic ales in backlash to the insipid output of hometown villain Anheuser-Busch. A new market was established, but there was a hole, and the success of Urban Chestnut's Zwickel, and of The Civil Life, proves there's demand for subtler, mellower beers. Neophytes might superficially compare them to mass-market American lagers, but they have all the quality of fine craft beer. And since local beer lovers have grown savvy, local brewers no longer feel compelled to scream in their faces to stake out turf. No more proving yourself the "Anti-Bud". This means the market's maturing. Much more so than NYC, SF, Denver, and lots of other supposedly sophisticated markets.

I missed 4 Hands Brewing Co (1220 South 8th St; 314-436-1559), whose IPA comes very highly recommended.

It should be no surprise that St. Louis' beer is so good, given that the Midwest has, recently, transformed into an epicenter of great brewing. Nor is it surprising the town's so under-radar, with Anheuser-Busch casting its dark shadow of sudsy shame. But I know no American city boasting a better, broader, and more consistently delicious bunch of brewpubs. I really liked nearly every beer I tried (and I'm a hard-ass).

You won't find any of the listless blond ales, pandering apricot weizens, or ashy oatmeal stouts so endemic to most American brewpubs, nor any noxious beer snobbery. Terrific beer, cutting across all styles, in four very different settings, with serious beer geeks next to you at the bar, everyone friendly, easy parking, low prices, and some very good food. St. Louis is Disneyworld for beer geeks, and I'd recommend it for a special trip.

German Lagers Set Me Straight

After last week's troubling and trippy experience of having my aesthetics scrambled by a demonic glass of Budweiser in a dilapidated and nearly-abandoned pub in a suburban industrial zone rife with cat scat, I seem to have recovered my juju. The trick: German lagers.

The explosion of interest in beer in the 1990s was sparked by the popularity of strong, characterful Belgian ales. There followed waves of boldly hoppy American brews. But lost amid all the fervor have been subtle German lagers.

A few extreme Germans, such as the Schneider's potent Aventinus, have wrestled themselves into popularity, but most German beers are too subtle to create hysteria. In fact, many are too subtle to even make the trip across the Atlantic. Their delicacy makes them particularly sensitive to light and age. Stronger, bolder ales can withstand a bit of damage, but the more refined lagers have nowhere to hide.

But right now, German beer has been grabbing beer geek focus. The generation that first thrilled to discover huge, strong, dark, rich beers as blessed alternative to awful American mainstream drek has tired of extreme flavors. They're seeking out "session" beers, which can be enjoyed all night without overwhelming your palate. Gentle German lagers are "more-ish" - the finish makes you pine for another sip.

Last night, piano/theremin god Rob Schwimmer introduced me to Die Koelner Bierhalle (84 St. Marks Pl, just off 4th Ave, Park Slope, Brooklyn), which offers a few dozen esoteric German lagers on tap, all perfectly poured into the correct glasses.

I had an unpasteurized, unfiltered keller beer. This is the most humble, soulful, and gently seductive of Germany's many beer styles. I drank it in the proper stone mug, and it won me over. It reset my baseline. I think I'm good again.

I also tried Innstadt Passauer Hefeweizen, which is phenomenally drinkable in spite of its beautiful complexity.

Die Koelner's open kitchen is sparkling clean and the food (mostly wursts and such, but with serious artisanal touch) looks and smells good, and prices are great (see food menu at the bottom of this beer list).

My 5.01 Curse (and The Flavor of America)

I was driving around doing errands one night last week when I realized I'd skipped dinner. Not much was open nearby, so I decided to hit a dive bar that had caught my attention. A rickety cabin in an industrial zone, the place has a sign over the door touting "The Best Hamburger You Ever Had". Who wouldn't want that?

I've been in some pretty primordial bars, but this set a new standard for soul-sucking bleakness. The room was done up in moldering 1950's rec room paneling, the booze sat not on a shelf but in a cheap cabinet low on the floor, and the bartender emerged only a few times per hour from a back room where she indulges her video poker addiction. Somehow she always appeared on cue, though. They apparently have a video surveillance system allowing her to monitor for empty glasses and new arrivals.

On TV was a show called "America's Got Talent (sic)", which I could only stare at in numb disbelief. A few others sat at the far end of the bar, but I couldn't make out their faces, as their features were pixelated. When I asked for a bourbon, the bartender stared blankly and asked whether Jack Daniels is bourbon. So I did something I hadn't done in fifteen years: I ordered a Bud draft.

I'd like to tell you what a traumatic experience it was, but I was shocked at how non-awful I found it. It certainly wasn't good. There wasn't an iota of worth. But I could swallow it without feeling offended.

In my system for rating foods on a one-to-ten scale, a 5 is "utterly neutral. No particular urge to eat...or to stop eating." I had remembered Bud being more of a 3 ("lousy food you might eat if very hungry and without alternatives"), but I was finding my glass startlingly fivey. Actually, it was a tad better than that. While I felt no serious desire to imbibe, it was ever-so-slightly preferable to sip than not to. It just barely tipped the scale. It was a "5.01".

And the burger was a 5.01. As was the TV show. As was the bar itself. Walking out to a parking lot strewn with cat feces, it hit me like a shockwave: the flavor of America, outside my bubble, is 5.01. Just barely good enough to keep going.

But then it got scary. The following day, I had a chance to sample two rare and acclaimed beers: Firestone Walker's "Wookey Jack" and Two Brothers' "Cane & Ebel" rye beer. I eagerly sidled up to the bar for a half pint of each, but the beers filled me with ennui. They seemed barely worth sipping. Horrified, I realized I experienced them as firm "5.01"s - exactly like Bud. Something had gone deeply wrong. Something was broken.

The next night I was scheduled to meet some beer geek buddies at my "local" pub (which you won't be surprised to hear is a 45 minute drive) where a cask of Thornbridge's "Raven" had recently arrived. One of my favorites! On cask!!

Too trepidatious to chance an upsetting scene with the Raven, I figured I'd ease in with a merely good-not-great beer. But I felt nary a twinge. Hoo boy. I switched to sangria and, amid much anguish and gnashing of teeth, filled in my friends about my ordeal (consensus advice: I need to travel to California to seek beer therapy from Vinny, head brewer/visionary of the illustrious Russian River Brewery).

At the end of the night, with no one watching, I asked for a small sample squirt of Thornbridge Raven. I took a sip. And felt like crying. I could taste everything acutely, but there was no joy in it.

My friend Pierre, who knows everything, posits a behavioral underpinning. It's common to continue an activity, out of habit, long after that activity has failed to bring pleasure, without consciously registering the falloff. In a flash, one realizes one no longer likes that activity, and it feels like a sudden change of preference even though the progression was gradual.

For instance, you might watch a TV show for many weeks before realizing you dislike it. Certainly, relationships can work this way. And this explains how Pepperidge Farm has managed to degrade those large-sized cookies so steeply over the years....it's been so gradual that consumers haven't consciously noticed they no longer like them. This also explains the state of slice pizza in NYC.

But, no, I don't think that's it. I really liked beer (well, great beer, anyhow) just a short week ago, I'm sure of it. Beer and I weren't locked in joyless marriage. We were still in torrid honeymoon. I mean, just two weeks ago I wrote this!

No, something about my unsettlingly tolerable encounter with the King of Beers profoundly reset my baseline....and pinned me tightly to that baseline. I don't know how it happened or how long it will last.

Yesterday someone asked me how I'm doing with food. Truth is, I'm terrified to eat anything delicious.

Some Beers to Try

This isn't a list of "the best" beers. Just some beers you may or may not know about, and which I happen to be particularly fond of right now.

König Pilsener (German Pilsener 4.9%) should be bought only in cans, not in bottles. Cans are good now. They don't affect flavor. And they block light and other environmental nasties which harm most beers - especially delicate Pilseners, which are extra light and subtle. So König Pilsener offers a rare unblemished taste of excellent classic German Pilsener. And you can buy a four pack of tall 500 ml cans for under $6, which is considerably cheaper than Pabst Blue Ribbon. I don't understand it. But I like it.

I always have a bunch of these in my fridge. It's my house beer. I rejoice in the opportunity to drink German Pilsener in the wrong hemisphere and still have it taste just the way it should really taste, with all subtleties intact. Plus: cheap!

Before I found König Pilsener, my two house beers were:

Victory "Prima Pils" (German Pilsener 5.3%), is a very good German Pilsener made here in Pennsylviania. It comes only in bottles, so be sure not to buy ones sitting in light (in grocery displays, always reach back to grab a bottle from the middle of the pack (this is the way to buy all beer), or, even better, try to snatch bottles from a sealed case.

and...

Victory "HopDevil Ale" (American IPA 6.7%) is a good choice when you crave a nice bracing hit of bitter hops but are looking for drinkability above all (plus easy availability and low price).

Boulevard Brewing "Tank 7 Farmhouse Ale", 8%) from Missouri, is something you don't see everyday: a refreshing Belgian-style beer. Belgians aim for art with their beers, which makes most of them ill-suited to more casual consumption.

If I lived in Massachusettes (the nearest authorized state; it's not available in New York yet, though I hear Whole Foods may be working on it), and if money were no object (this isn't cheap beer), I'd make Tank 7 my house beer.

Buy it in regular-sized bottles, not the 22 ouncers; the larger ones are more for shared special occasions, but the smalls better suit the beer's casual spirit.

Uinta "Dubhe Imperial Black IPA" (American Black Ale 9.2%).
Uinta is a new-ish brewery from Utah that's just begun large-scale distribution. Darker, stronger beers are their specialty, and their Black IPA is one of the best examples of the style, which is dark as stout, but less creamy and chocolatey. It's hopped like an IPA, but be careful, as this is an extra strong IPA ("Imperial") at 9.2%.

Weihenstephaner "Vitus" (Weizenbock 7.7%) is the wheat beer for people who don't like wheat beers. Not terribly clovey/banana-y. Unlike most wheat beers, this one's got backbone. And it's way stronger than it tastes, so take care. It's full of rich German brewing character. I consider this one of the most under-recognized, under-appreciated beers currently available.

Weihenstephaner "Korbinian" (Doppelbock 7.4%), also from Weihenstephaner. Doppelbocks are concentrated, strong, sweet-ish, toffee-like affairs, and this is no exception. But the big difference here (aside from the mere 7.4% strength, very low for a doppelbock) is the finish, which is curiously, magically dry. This makes it very drinkable - and "drinkable" is definitely not a descriptor you'd apply to other dopplebocks.

De Ranke "Guldenberg" (Tripel, 8.5%).
I've been seriously considering selling off all my possessions, buying an RV, and driving around to bars tapping kegs of Guldenberg. Sightings are rare, so it would be much more involved than simply hopping between, say, Grateful Dead shows.

Describe it? Are you serious? How would one describe "love" to someone who's never experienced it?

De Ranke "XX Bitter" (Belgian IPA, 6.2%) is De Ranke's second best beer, and more widely known. As with Guldenberg, there's so much personality here that it's hard to pin down a description, or even a stylistic label. It's a sudsy world unto itself, mashing up (pun intended) flavor signatures from multiple beer styles. At least nominally, it's another Belgian IPA (i.e. Belgian ale zinged up with hops - in this case, grassy/British ones). It's quite bitter, in keeping with its name, but it's the furthest thing from some of the more astringent, tongue-scraping hoppy beers you may have experienced. You've just got to try it.

By the way, both XX Bitter and Guldenberg are good (though expensive) in bottles, too. But better on tap. Or [tears of imagined joy] cask.

Green Flash "Le Freak" (Belgian IPA, 9.2%) is a household name among beer geeks, because it was the first American beer in a style that's become an instant, much-imitated classic: Belgian IPA. Belgian IPAs are a hybrid, joining the full-bodied yeast and malting of Belgian ales with bitter, aromatic American hops.

Le Freak is yet another beer that's stronger than it tastes, and it's expensive (usually over $10 for a 22 oz bottle). But if you like complex flavors exquisitely balanced to the point where nothing sticks out and the elegant whole is far greater than the parts, this one's for you.

Sierra Nevada "Ruthless Rye" (American IPA, 6.6%) is not the best rye beer, but it's definitely the most widely-distributed. You can find this practically everywhere...and it's quite good.

Founders "Red's Rye" (Rye Beer, 6.6%) is a better rye beer, but hard to find.

Also great from Founders: KBS (Kentucky Breakfast Stout) (American Double / Imperial Stout 11.2%), Super strong (really for winter), and....

CBS (Canadian Breakfast Stout) (American Double / Imperial Stout 10.6%)
Powerful, jam-packed with flavor.

Thornbridge used to be my favorite British Brewer. Their ales are lovingly made, with the cheeky twist of New Zealand hops in the mix. New Zealand hops are eccentric, with wild, tropical flavors recalling things like mango and passionfruit. Thornbridge is still quite good (if you can find it), but not quite as good since the original brewer quit and went to work for...

Buxton Brewery in Bakewell, England.

How good is Buxton's beer? I spent a king's ransom to attend a hyper high-end beer tasting this summer where a stupefying quantity of the world's best beers were not only present, but poured by their actual brewers, all of whom had flown in specially. I should have been making rounds, tasting as much as possible. But I spent over an hour filling and refilling my tasting glass at the Buxton booth. I lacked for nothing.

Their beer is consistently great across the entire range. And, like Thornbridge (and unusual for Brits), they taste fully dimensional and alive even in bottles.

I don't believe Buxton's available in the US yet, but watch for it.

Finally, an enigma.

Courage "Russian Imperial Stout" (Russian Imperial Stout 10%), first brewed in the 18th century, is one of the most-loved classic beers of all time. It's always been brewed infrequently, and people have swooned over it when it's appeared, cellaring cases for years or decades, and spurring brisk trade on eBay. When Courage stopped making the beer in 1993, people wept (well, I did, anyway).

This stuff is huge, tangy, frothy, creamy, deep, luscious, spicy, fruity, chocolatey/coffee. I once forced a wine expert friend (who frequently poured '29 Bordeaux and '59 Vintage Port for friends, and insisted he had no taste for beer) to taste it, and he went cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs, ecstatically kissing the cheek of everyone in the room. It's that good.

When Courage stopped brewing it, and rebuffed inquiries about its future, one importer went to the length of cloning the recipe and selling it under a new brand. It wasn't as good, though. Nothing is as good.

And now, guess what? It's back! And it's still great (and will be even greater after a few years in a cool, dark cellar)! Yet I've not heard a word about it. No excitement whatsoever. Just me! I don't get it....


A few web resources:

Beer Advocate offers good (but extremely geeky) beer reviews

Beer Menus tells you where to find a given beer (in stores or bars), and offers current beer lists from bars. Not all data is reliably fresh, though, so be sure to check dates. And they only cover a few geographic areas.

The New York City Beer Guide is the grandaddy of beer web sites, predating Chowhound by two full years.

The Evolution of Beer Festivals

1980-1995: Closeted beer geeks - taste pariahs in a Bud Lite nation - thrill at the chance to sample lots of great beers all in one place. Brewers bring their best suds, bonds are formed. Food: pretzels if you're lucky

1995-2010: Beer geeks have gone mainstream, and therefore are jaded by omnipresent long beer lists. So beer festivals now mostly serve newbies, and are mostly drunken affairs. Brewers steer clear, sending sales reps with kegs of their most obvious and cheapest products. Food: crass, crappy mustards, novelty beer-flavored cheeses, etc.

2010 - : Hyper-geeky alterno-fests cater only to elite devotees, charging a prohibitive price to filter out drunks and riffraff. No obvious products are served - only the purest and most esoteric beer porn, selected by geeks who know more than you do. Food is awesome and surprising.

In New York, the new crop is best exemplified by New York's Get Real guys. These ever-creative organizers are trying something new, a Get Real NY Beer Bar Fest, on Saturday, December 10 at 404 10th Ave in Manhattan. Here's some P.R. (caution: despite what I wrote above, Rattle 'N Hum's food is anything but awesome...but I'm sure there'll be good stuff, as well):

WHAT: Get Real NY returns this December with its fourth festival – the Beer Bar Fest NYC. The Beer Bar Fest, a premiere craft beer and food event, will bring eight of the city’s best beer bars to one location. Long gone are the days when craft beer bars were known just for their exceptional craft taps.  Today, beer bars are launching serous food programs and awakening to the wonders of how well artisanal foods pair with craft beer. Beer Bar Fest NYC Attendees will relish small bites from each bar artfully paired with some of the finest American craft beer available. A cask and oyster festival will also take place on the second floor and educational seminars on beer and food pairing will be given throughout the sessions. 12% Imports, a premier Brooklyn-based craft beer importer, will be serving a carefully curated selection of their finest kegs during the VIP hour.

WHEN: Saturday, December 10, 2011 over two sessions: 1-4 pm and 7-10 pm. VIPs will gain entry at noon and 6 pm, respectively.

WHERE: 404 Space, 404 10th Ave at 33rd Street, New York, NY, 10001

WHY: The National Restaurant Association Chef Survey (results) recently cited “food-beer pairings/beer dinners” as the number four alcohol and cocktails trend to watch for in 2011 (“locally-produced wine and beer” came in at number two). New York City bars are integrating the enjoyment of exceptional craft ales and lagers with artfully crafted food. The Beer Bar Fest is designed to showcase the finest food and craft beer that New York City has to offer.

SAMPLE PAIRINGS: Rattle n Hum will be pairing its first dish - house ground sea scallops, tiger shrimp and cod fish with herbs and hop salt served with garlic mayo and basil on a toasted brioche bun - with the Stillwater Stateside Saison, a Belgian-style ale brewed in Baltimore. The Bronx Ale House will be serving braised short rib chili, which will be paired with the local Bronx Brewery Pale Ale.