Top Shelf Thursday, October 2013

Fall is a great season for beer, & next to Christmas, Halloween is probably the holiday that lends itself best to brew.  Fall seasonals are Halloween-appropriate, but what’s even more fun is that there are so many beers with sinister or downright evil names & motifs,  enough to constitute an entirely separate blog entry.  Our October Top Shelf Thursday centered around a general Halloween theme, featuring pumpkin beers (a no-brainer), chocolate beers (trick or treat!), & the afore-mentioned wicked brews.

 

We started off with a one-two pumpkin punch, though the beers were light enough they might be better likened to a playful slap.  The Pumpkin Lambicus, from the Belgian Brouwerij Timmermans-John Martin, was unique in that it was the only pumpkin lambic anyone had ever heard of.  Semi-sweet & generously spicy, the 4% ABV lambic was reminiscent of a fall cider.  The slightly heftier (at 4.4% - holy!) Great Pumpkin Ale from Cambridge Brewing started with a sweet aroma of baking spices that belied the light, crisp, & bitter taste within.  Some compared the beer to a light lager, but found an interesting exercise in tasting some pumpkin ales that strayed from the norm.

Our first ominous beer of the evening, The Bruery’s Tart of Darkness, really hit the right notes for fans of sour ales.  Tart of Darkness begins life as an American stout, but radically transforms through aging in oak barrels with wild yeast & other tart-ifying bugs, & comes out resembling an intensely puckering Flanders ale with little stout character to speak of.

Things really took a turn for the unusual with Telegraph Brewing’s Obscura Cacao, from Telegraph’s Obscura series of small-batch, experimental beers that frequently use wild yeast strains.  Obscura Cacao is made from a sour mash with Dominican cacao beans from a local chocolatier, as well as cacao in the boil, to give it a taste that’s both tart & chocolatey.  Some liked the brew, others not so much, but everyone agreed it was one the most anomalous beers they’d ever tried.

A perfect fit for a Halloween-centric tasting is Russian River’s Damnation.  Inspired by the quintessential Belgian golden ale, Duvel (itself the Flemish word for ‘devil’),  the light body & creeping alcohol are indeed seductive.  Russian River’s Vinnie Cilurzo cites Duvel as one of his favorite beers, & Damnation is a solid homage. 

Rogue’s Dead Guy Ale is well-known for its idiosyncratic name & label – the Double Dead Guy is, apparently, twice as dead as THAT Dead Guy (does that make him undead?).  Rogue ramped up their maibock/ale hybrid into a sweetly boozy strong ale.  They give the same treatment to their Chocolate Stout to create – you guessed it – Double Chocolate Stout!  In this writer’s opinion, the Chocolate & Double Chocolate Stouts are some of the best Rogue has to offer, with rich, round chocolate notes.

Another smaller batch, experimental brew was offered from DuClaw Brewing in their X-1, the first in their eXile Series.  X-1 combines chocolate & rye in an imperial porter, pairing the sweet chocolate with the subtly spicy rye for a tasty balance.

The wicked juices kept flowing with Dark Hollow from Blue Mountain Brewing.  Not messing around, Blue Mountain took a 10% ABV imperial stout &aged it in whiskey barrels for a big, complex brew that did not disappoint.  And the devil was certainly in the details with Founders’ Devil Dancer Triple IPA.  12% ABV, 112 IBUs, & dry-hopped with ten different hop breeds over a period of 26 days, this massive, bitter brew brought some to their knees in adulation, others in despair.  And the label is pretty devilish,  too.

All in all it was another fun Top Shelf Thursday, & the second to be based around a holiday (the first being Valentine’s Day which, coincidentally, also incorporated chocolate beers).  Half the fun of curating &, hopefully, participating is the interpretation of the theme, & this was no exception, with plenty of room for creativity.  One might think there’s more beer that exploits its reputation as a vice, but there’s also the holy & reverent – think of all the abbey ales, doppelbocks, etc.  Just once in a while we like to embrace the dark side of life.  It’s what Halloween’s about, & who doesn’t love a dark beer?  As always, thanks to those who joined, & to those who missed this month, hope to catch you next time.

Craft with a Capital "C", Part 2

A few weeks ago I offered some much-belated opinion on the Brewers’ Association’s attempt to draw a line around craft beer, basically naming who’s in & who’s out.  I tried to make it clear that I understand the BA’s need to make this distinction & see the value in doing so.  On the other hand, I think how they chose to draw the line is what so many reacted negatively toward in the first place, & I take some issues with the criteria myself.  I get that the line needs to be drawn somewhere, but parts of this manifesto left me scratching my head.

“An American craft brewer is small…”  That makes sense.  Years ago, “microbrewery” & “microbrew” were the prevailing nomenclatures for small brewers making something off the beaten path.  However, the term “microbrewer” had a specific volume attached, to the tune of 15,000 barrels per year or less.  Safe to say most of the well-known & “definitive” craft brewers do not fit this scale.  Dogfish Head is not a microbrewery, nor are Stone, Troegs, Allagash, Southern Tier, or many, many other purveyors of some damn fine beer.  The BA’s ceiling for craft brewers used to be 2 million barrels annually, until about 3 years when it raised that ceiling to 6 million.  It was no secret that this change was to accommodate Boston Beer Company’s expanding production, & many cried ‘foul’ at what they saw as a cynical move to keep this power player in the BA’s camp.  Sam Adams still has a ways to go to reach the 6 million barrel mark, & even this titan accounts for a mere 1% of American beer sales.  Still, if this specific figure were eliminated as a defining feature, I doubt you’d find any craft beer drinker in America who’d call Sam Adams ‘small’.  Same goes for many of the well-established craft brewers out there, despite being dwarfed by the big internationals.  That being said, there are still plenty of smaller (at least relative to the big boys), old school regional brewers a la Yuengling & Straub that fall well below this line, too, but don’t qualify as craft brewers.  Just like the square/rectangle relationship, all craft brewers are small, but not all small brewers are craft.

“…independent…”  This makes sense to me.  The BA seeks to represent breweries that don’t have the financial & political clout of the big boys.  But, the definition states that “Less than 25% of the craft brewery is owned or controlled (or equivalent economic interest) by an alcoholic beverage industry member who is not themselves a craft brewer.”  Why not 0%?  Why not go for complete independence?  I’m not sure who’s aided by this loophole, but it seems to me the most glaring ideological inconsistency in the definition.

“…and traditional.”  This part strikes me as just downright arrogant.  By the BA’s definition, “traditional” means that a craft brewer produces an all-malt flagship (read: no rice or corn adjuncts used in their biggest seller) or uses adjuncts to “enhance rather than lighten flavor”.  This prevents the afore-mentioned Yuengling & Straub from inclusion, as both use adjuncts in their lagers, as well as plenty of brewers that have been making lager this way since way before the recent craft era.  Corn & rice have misunderstood &, consequently, vilified places in the history of American beer – I’m tempted to go off on a tangent on this topic, but will save it for another post.  But regardless of their demonization, adjuncts are more “traditional” & have a longer history in American beer than, say, Cascade hops.  Sure, adjunct-based beers are far from perfect, but if craft brewers are all about innovation (as is stated further in the BA’s manifesto), then don’t also hang your hat on the hook of tradition.  And claiming all-malt as traditional ignores the much longer history & evolution of beer worldwide; is a slippery slope toward a modern Reinheitsgebot, the high water mark of brewing restriction.

So yeah, it’s seldom as simple as this-side-or-that.  I still say the BA’s absolutely in the right for trying to defend the borders & reputation of craft, & since the days of “microbrewers” is all but over, there needs to be some clear definition somewhere.  Just seems that the current definition has a way to go before it’s watertight.  It’s certainly served to piss off plenty of folks who were left out in the cold, or who thought the line was too hard.  Just some thoughts, the pros & cons.  Here at The House, we’re happy to let the drinker make up their own mind.  As always, drink what you love, but think when you drink.

Send in the Gnomes

To a Belgian beer nut like me, the Ardennes region seems like a dream.  The Ardennes lies largely in Belgium, covering much of the French-speaking Wallonia territory, but stretching into Germany & France as well, comprised of lush forests & rolling hills with villages tucked all along the way.  The geography is inspiring, & not coincidentally, the area holds some great Belgian breweries.  Three of Belgium’s Trappist breweries are here: the Abbey of Notre Dame, Scourmont, makers of the worldwide ambassador brand, Chimay; the well-cloistered Abbey of Notre Dame de St-Remy, makers of the Rochefort beers (which, in my opinion, rival those of Westvleteren); & an abbey with its own share of historical mysticism, the Abbey of Notre Dame d’Orval, makers of the idiosyncratic Orval.  The town of Hoegaarden lies here, with its own mark on the evolution of Belgian beer.  Cult favorite Brasserie Fantome  haunts the Ardennes, with its family of funky farmhouse ales.  Brasserie Caracole, with its cutely quirky snail-adored labels, brewers of Saxo, also reside in the region.  And there are at least a half-dozen others I don’t even recognize & would love to explore & discover for myself.

An Ardennes-based brewery that holds a special place at The House is Brasserie d’Achouffe.  Named for the nearby town, you may recognize d’Achouffe by its mascot Chouffe, the gnomes that legends tells of populating the surrounding woods.  D’Achouffe has seen international success following its humble beginnings in 1982, when it was founded as a hobby by brothers-in-law Chris Bouweraerts & Pierre Gobron, who built out the brewery gradually from an 1805 farmhouse.  Within a few years, both men quit their day jobs to focus full-time on brewing their flagship golden ale, La Chouffe.  Since then, they’ve produced a cozy but solid stable of excellent ales, like the Scottish-inspired McChouffe; the Christmas staple N’Ice Chouffe; & my personal favorite, their American-inspired Houblon Chouffe, an American-hopped Belgian IPA.  Pictures of the brewery now are idyllic: farmhouses, white fences, nestled in the rolling green mountains of the Ardennes.  I love the section on Brasseries d’Achouffe in Michael Jackson’s Great Beers of Belgium.  Jackson tells of the brothers-in-law meeting him on a hillside at 7:00 AM, where they demonstrated their electric hobby plan, sporting a Chouffe on a bike!  It’s this playful spirit that continues to define the brand, even since their sale to Duvel Moortgat Brewery in 2006.

Gnomes invade The House this Saturday, when we tap their collaboration with Moortgat brethren Brewery Ommegang, aptly named Gnomegang.  Then we reprise last year’s World’s Smallest Toast by toasting with those sweet red elf hats, tiny glasses, & mentally whisk ourselves away to the beer-making, gnome-inhabited wonderland of the Ardennes.

Craft with a Capital "C", Part 1

If you’re into beer writing/news/periphery enough to be reading this blog, chances are you’re savvy enough to have caught some of the hubbub surrounding the Brewers’ Association’s “Craft Vs. Crafty” proposition late last year.  It was a bold statement that drew a distinct perimeter around the craft beer camp, clearly delineating who’s in & out of that camp based on specific criteria.  There was a lot of backlash to that statement, & many basically likened the Brewers’ Association to a Caesar, giving a thumbs up or thumbs down that may seal the fate & determine the identity of pretty much every brewery in America (at least partially American, anyway). 

The fervor has largely died down, but with time I’ve found myself thinking more & more about the BA’s move.  In my mind, I’ve mulled over whether I should share my opinions on it, but hesitated because the story has been relatively cold; most of the commentary has come & gone,  I didn’t want to come across as a day late & a dollar short to the public forum.  But it gnawed at me.  Each day, I see “craft beer” touted more & more as a selling point by those getting in on the game.  I drive by a retail distributor each day with a sandwich board on its sidewalk that reads “Craft beer here” (I’m probably paraphrasing).  What breweries are listed on the sign?  Goose Island, Kona, Landshark, & Magic Hat.  84 Lumber is throwing a “Craft Brew Fest” – yes, that’s what they’re calling it – in a few weeks.  Who’s atop the list of breweries in attendance?  Magic Hat.  In case you were guessing at my point in mentioning these, all the breweries listed so far do not meet the BA’s standards for a craft brewer. 

Why do I care?  It’s all about the quality of the beer, right?  As usual: yes & no.  I don’t condemn or condone a beer based on who owns or makes it.  Goose Island Bourbon County Stout is still one of my top TWO favorite beers, despite the fact that they’re now owned by Anheuser-Busch InBev.  Far from screwing them up (as many predicted), A-BInBev seems to have done pretty well by Goose Island, allowing them continued creative control & release of some really well-done niche styles.  Conversely, as many great craft breweries as there are - & there are many, many great craft breweries – there are too many mediocre to straight-up bad breweries in that circle, too.  The craft label does not equate to a level of quality, necessarily, & there are exceptions on both sides of the line.  BUT, I generally feel that it correlates, & I can count on one hand the number of true craft beers I’ve truly regretted drinking. 

What I really care about is that craft beer is hot right now, & thus more are trying to jump on the bandwagon.  I don’t blame those who want to get in on the game, & the public’s exposure to more quality, small, independent brewers is good for the industry as a whole.  Too many who’ve jumped in, however, appear to have a weak grasp of who it is they’re representing with the “craft” moniker.  What doesn’t help, also, is that too few consumers are aware of what the label means, either.  “You know it when you see it”, right?  Maybe.  One of the BA’s biggest beefs with big breweries who present craft-adjacent brands is the lack of transparency in branding: few bottles of these “crafty” brands indicate that they’re made by one of the big boys.  It may be cynical, but it’s not hard to figure out why – people want to buy craft because they think it’s an alternative to the multi-national corporations, & the big guys want to conceal where they’re made because it’s less favorable to the market they’re trying to capture.  Sure, some consumers are in the know, but many aren’t who might actually care. 

I can understand the points of the critics who poo-pooed the BA’s line-drawing, but I also understand why the BA feel they have an imperative to draw that line.  Craft beer means something, something specific & distinct.  Many are uncomfortable with the term because it’s either too vague OR too specific – Sam Adams: IN; August Schell: OUT, for instance.  Many simply say they favor “good beer”, regardless of politics or status.  And make no mistake: the craft designation has become a political signifier.  It bears less reflection on the quality of the product than the process by which it’s made & who controls it financially.  Again, craft beer doesn’t automatically mean *good* beer, though I’d personally assert that the overwhelming majority of good beer fits under the craft criteria.  It doesn’t define form, just like “indie rock” doesn’t dictate a specific sound.  Sure, you know indie rock when you see it.  But is it truly independent, or does it just sound/look/taste like the little guy?

As can happen sometime, I’m getting a little long-winded & may have bitten off more than I can chew with this topic.  Plenty more related thoughts to follow, to be continued.  Politics or no, you can’t go wrong with drinking what you like.  But there’s nothing wrong with thinking about what you’re drinking.  

Bad Moon Rising?

Man.  People get passionate about beer. 

A few recent House blog posts have talked about the definition of craft beer, who’s in & who’s out according to the Brewer’s Association & their guidelines.   We discussed the need for a definition & a clear demarcation, as well as what might be perceived by some as imperfections in the definition as it stands.  Who are the Brewer’s Association trying to guard the craft emblem against?  The big boys, obviously.  It used to be that you knew the big boys when you saw them, because they all made the same kind of beer, a product viewed by many the craft rebels as inferior, corrupted by greed & laziness. 

But then things started changing.  The big boys realized that these little upstarts doing weird stuff weren’t going away – in fact, they were showing beer drinkers something better.  They were even getting the attention of wine & spirits drinkers who thought they didn’t like beer.  First the big boys tried dismissing the craft brewers.  I can’t remember for the life of me which beer it was for, but I remember years ago a big-time American lager advertising itself as “classic, not trendy; friendly, not pretentious”, which I read as a swipe at the character of the craft “trend”.  When they realized they couldn’t trivialize craft, they decide to get in on the action & up their own game a little bit, brewing up some more flavorful alternatives to the mainstays, while not going too crazy: wheat beers, fruited beers, even the occasional stout or pumpkin – what most would consider “gateways”.  To further hone in on craft’s action, the big boys started buying out reputable craft brewers like Redhook, Pyramid, Magic Hat, the biggest boat-rocker being Goose Island.  If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em – or get them to join you.

What’s happening more lately is that craft beer’s lines are being blurred, which is what caused the BA to so violently wrench the wheel to try to get things back on course.  When people speak of “craft vs. crafty”, the biggest culprit, seemingly the biggest threat to craft beer’s integrity & distinction, is Blue Moon.  People are passionate about beer, & Blue Moon seems to really piss the passionate off.  When the Discovery Channel aired Brewmasters, beer geeks decried that Blue Moon was a sponsor.  When some new Blue Moon products were promoted on our Facebook page earlier this month, it drew some unfavorable responses.  One commenter drew a thumbs down.  Another derisively pointed out that Blue Moon is made by Coors (which it is).  BrewDog summated the sentiment in their blog: “Why do we need a definition [for craft beer]?  Three words: Blue Fucking Moon.”

Blue Moon is the big boys.  But guess what?  Blue Moon’s been around longer than BrewDog.  It’s been around longer than Stone, Russian River, Founders, Troegs, & Firestone Walker.  Coors launched it in 1995, a time when “craft beer” was still known as “microbrew”, way before the recent crisis over craft co-opting, before the era of imitation & acquisition.  Sure, plenty of transparent craft imitators have come along (SHOCKing, huh?) & plenty have gone the way of the dodo (anyone remember Bare Knuckle Stout?).  I may get tarred & feathered by the hardliners, but I’d go so far as to say that Blue Moon helped pave the way for the rise of craft.  If you’re over 30 & live in the US, I’m willing to wager that your first non-lager beer was either Blue Moon or Guinness.  Craft is all about choice & flavor, having an alternative, & Blue Moon showed a lot of people that not all beer is the same.  Many of those brew neophytes went on to become the seasoned beer geeks that…well, read this blog.  Maybe we’d all do well to don some humility, look ourselves in the mirror, & admit that a corporate product may be partly responsible for growing us up.

And here’s another lidblower: it’s not a bad beer.  One of the BA’s biggest beefs with the “crafty” brands is the lack of transparency about who’s actually making what you’re drinking, & again, Blue Moon is the go-to culprit: the bottles only mention “Blue Moon Brewing Co.”, not Coors.  I agree that people should be informed as to who their beer money goes to support.  But part of me wonders, though, if the BA is threatened by Blue Moon because it’s actually a decent product.  Obscuring the brewery’s identity, while maybe dishonest, helps level the playing field & allows the drinks to stand on its own merits rather than be judged by who makes it (though, sure, very few are in the dark about this relationship).  I’m not going to lie & say it’s the best, but it’s survived where a lot of others have floundered because it’s legitimately…not bad.

All that being said - Blue Moon is still not craft beer in the strict sense of the term, & we can all make up our own minds about how much we care about supporting the small dogs or the big boys.  I’m just saying give a little credit where it’s due: like it or not, it’s got more credibility than the in-crowders care to admit.  

Concept Beer

A little over a month ago, I posted a blog entry on beer ‘E.S.P.’.  Using Westvleteren XII as an example, I proposed the argument that ‘tasting the rare’ is a valid experience, & that one’s perception of a beer can be enhanced by knowing that it made a long & circuitous journey to reach its drinker’s lips.  This idea of beer E.S.P. has been a fascination of mine for a while, & it extends beyond the rareness factor.  The question pops up among beer geeks from time to time: Is beer art?  This begs the question of what makes art art.  Call me a heathen, but I tend to veer toward ‘no’ – my definition of art is that it is functionless & serves no purpose, has no objective other than its own being.  I consider beer more craft or design in that it’s a fusion of form & function – it has an objective (taste good, slake thirst), & while it can be elevated beyond simply that function into higher aesthetic realms, it’s always grounded by its raison d’etre.  Man, do I sound like a blowhard.  Also, art exists according to its own criteria & can’t be judged or scored (judging & critiquing are two different things).  There’s no equivalent to the BJCP that I know of in the world of art.

The common sense, mundane argument to beer E.S.P. is that it’s what’s in the glass that matters.  As always, my left brain agrees with that.  My right brain, however, sees an element in the beer world that speaks to beer’s artistic leanings: process.  I’m not talking about ‘mash-lauter-sparge-boil-pitch’, etc. etc.  That’s the craft of beer, no doubt, & that process is very much perceptible in the quality of the final product.  You can taste it.  I’m talking about the intangible part of the process.  It’s the concept of the beer that’s baked into the final product, that you wouldn’t even know about without some accompanying context.  It’s a window into the history of the beer’s life & the intention of the brewer. 

This first struck me a few years ago, when East End released S.W.I.L.L., an acronym for Stimagtized Wholly Indigenous Local Lager.  It was their first lager, modeled after pre-Prohibition lagers & made with local corn.  Yep, corn.  It was an adjunct lager, the kind inherently stigmatized by beer geeks.  I bet most who tasted it didn’t think much of the flavor, but the concept was part of the final package; to appreciate that package, one had to take into account that extra-sensory aspect.  Dogfish Head is another who plays on the concept fantastically.  Take Pangaea, on the surface a well-made Belgian-style golden ale.  But the concept & process are half the fun!  They take an ingredient from every continent to create it: ginger from Australia, water from Antarctica, rice from Asia, sugar from Africa, quinoa from South America, European yeast, & North American maize.  You get the beer & what it presents sensorily, but put yourself in the headspace of drinking a beer representing all seven continents & it elevates the experience.  Their Ancient Ales series effectively does the same thing – there’s the beer, & then there’s the concept & intention.  On some level, the two are separable, but why deprive yourself of what the brewer considers a vital ingredient?  Austin’s Jester King makes an imperial stout called Black Metal.  While fermenting, they blast death metal for the yeast.  Does this affect the finished beer?  Who the hell cares – it’s an awesome idea!  Cambridge Brewing Company made a beer called Om, a Belgian-style pale that they, well, get this:

While resting in French oak chardonnay barrels for one year, the barrels and their contents were vibrated using therapeutic tuning forks and Tibetan chanting bowls at a frequency of 136.10 Hz. Studies have shown that vibration affects the crystalline structure of liquids and that water has the ability to ‘memorize’ frequency information and hold sound at nearly five times the magnitude of air. From Plato to Pythagoras to Kepler scholars have experimented with ways in which we define the sound of the universe and how it is relative to our own existence.

Again, does that affect the final product.  Who the hell cares?  I want some! 

I’ll repeat the caveat that, yes, it’s the beer that matters.  Sensory perception is king, taste holds the final trump card.  But this is where I see the intersection between art & craft lying in beer, what can transcend the function & give it a life beyond what’s just in the glass.  This recreates the brewer as artist, & intention as an aesthetic on its own merit.  Maybe there’s more in the glass than meets the tongue.

Credit to artist Tom Marioni, whose set for The Act of Drinking Beer with Friends Is the Highest Form of Art appears above.  An excellent concept, to be sure.

Love Live the King!

It’s that time of year again: pumpkin beer!  Okay, fine, it’s been “that time of year” for about a month-&-a-half already.  Yeah yeah yeah, seasonal creep & all that - “You can’t drink pumpkin beers before fall”.  Next you’re going to tell me you can’t wear white after Labor Day.  Whether the ever-earlier release of fall seasonals has you cheering, booing, or just shrugging, it’s happening.  Pumpkin beers are, without a doubt, the most popular seasonal style out there, so no wonder there’s a race to get the suckers on the shelves.  Don’t shoot the merchant - we’re not on a mission to please the crotchety tweeters, bloggers, & facebookers (like yours truly) who cry “Too soon!” the minute the first snaggle-toothed jack-o-lantern is spotted on a label.  The brewers brew it, ship it to the distributors, & we order it because it’s there!  People love it, & we love giving people what they love.  If you’re that bent out of shape about not enjoying pumpkin beer before cool weather, buy it, shelve it, forget about it for a few months.  It’ll keep. 

Anyway, enough kvetching & onto the good stuff.  As exponentially as pumpkins’ popularity rises, there’s one standout whose demand is on an even steeper curve.  Each year, Pumking Imperial Pumpkin Ale, from Southern Tier Brewing, is on more & more people’s lips – in more ways than one.  When’s it coming out?  Who’s got it?  How much did they get in?  What’s a bottle going for?  It’s gotten that it’s broken through the craft ceiling & has become a phenomenon amongst the beer “commoners”.  I feel like such slime saying it like that, but it’s true – people who could give two shits about craft beer otherwise are onto it, & love it as much as anyone.  In the picture above, you’re looking at approximately 500 bottles of the stuff, & that’s not all of the supply we had.  And guess what?  It’s sold.  We’ve already sold all of that, in less than two weeks.  Why?  Because it’s delicious.  I’ve long been a fan of pumpkin beers, & while most are good, some okay, some lousy, this was & is the first one I’ve ever called great. 

Pumking has long intrigued me, & maybe has won its popularity, because I find it qualitatively different from other pumpkin beers.  Most vary in quantity…err, quantity of quality, if that makes any sense.  I mean that most pumpkin beers have some variation on a fairly predictable formula: some combination of cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, ginger, in a brown or mildly malty base.  Some are good (e.g. Dogfish Head Punkin’, Brooklyn Post Road), others in the middle or bottom of that pack.  But most stick generally within that range, with the variable being how well they are made.  There’s something about Pumking that seems to really set it apart, very reminiscent of buttery graham cracker pie crust.  One tweeter disparagingly said it “tastes like buttered popcorn & sugar”, & while I disagree that this is a bad thing, the description is somewhat on.  Brown sugar maybe, but yeah.  There’s something there that really hits home & is more evocative than most other pumpkin beers, which is what I think sets Pumking ahead of the pack, for me at least.

The funny thing is that, my suspicion tells me, this is technically a flaw.  DO NOT QUOTE ME ON THIS, but my hunch is that Southern Tier intentionally allows the development of diacetyl in the beer to give it a buttery flavor.  Diacetyl is an organic compound that’s produced naturally by yeast – it’s what’s used to flavor margarine & oleo.  Normally the yeast “cleans it up” by basically sucking it back up at a certain point during fermentation, but it’s possible that the brewers permit it into the beer to give it a buttery or butterscotch flavor.  Diacetyl’s acceptable in a few styles, but  overall frowned upon in the beer world, & Pumking may have capitalized on it in a huge way.  Again, I’m just speculating & mean in no way to libel Southern Tier, but it’s been a theory of mine for a while.

On the note of “qualitatively different” pumpkin beers, sure there are some outliers.  There’s the pumpkin pilsners put out by Elysian & Rock Bottom.  There’s La Parcela from Jolly Pumpkin, essentially a funky wild ale made with pumpkin spices.  I’m sure there exist pumpkin made with just pumpkins & sans spices…mmm.  Those may be some interesting experiments, but are far enough afield that it’s doubtful they’ll catch the eye of the mainstream of craft.  Pumking remains the pick of the patch for me, & it’s clear that a lot of folks out there agree.  If you missed it in bottles, we’ve got it on draft, & will likely see more bottles.  Love live the king!