Founders Curmudgeon Old Ale

Brewery: Founders, Grand Rapids, Michigan

Style: Old Ale

ABV: 9.8%

Rating: 4.5 stars



Had a crabby day at work today, so I commiserated with a fellow curmudgeon. I've stepped away from the finer beers of late, substituting pound-able but passable basketball-watching suds instead. I'm also going through this phase where I'm overly possessed with proving to myself that I can go a night or two or three without a beer, and my tasting and rating has suffered immensely. Sadly, one of the only new beers I've tried in the last couple weeks was a Heineken Light. I guess I didn't taste much of a difference.

Anyway, this experiment has had a couple side effects. I feel fine on those nights I choose (practically force myself) not to enjoy a brew or two, and know I can do it. Stage one of alcoholism passed swimmingly. However, once I've tallied a few days of sobriety, I cut loose. For example, this past Friday was a forgettable and largely forgotten binge of garbage calories that led to a stone sober Saturday, which nobody wants. With that said, I feel great during the week. There's a void when it comes to finding a sense of accomplishment or achievement at work, so the sobriety, I guess, substitutes.

Am I doing this for health reasons? To slow the inevitable sinking of the gut? Or am I out to prove to myself that I still have willpower--that I can ignore the 30 delectable treats staring at me each day I come home? And if I'm flushing it all away when I am satisfied with the fasting, was the fasting worth it? I go back and forth, but right now, I'm back to where I feel I can treat myself nightly, and plan on starting tonight with this Founders.

I've a brain that rarely powers down, but this Curmudgeon should help.

The appearance is akin to the most pleasing barleywines; ruby turning to magenta to caramel. Not much head, and none of it lasts. When I swirl the glass, it rocks like a relaxes quickly, and doesn't seem like it will coat my mouth so that dinner winds up with a curmudgeonly aftertaste.

It's a bully of a sniffer. I dove in a half dozen times and each time found another layer. It's geekily layered; a Sufjan Stevens tune and a David Lynch flick. (Side note: you see what happens when I realize I'm no good at picking out specifics in a beer. I resort to wild metaphors and pointless side notes.) I'll try. There's brandy. Port wine. Obvious alcohol presence indeed. Sweet, intensely sweet, and more than just the clumped-together dark fruits and caramel. It smells stiff and warm, but has the life that a big stout might not.

I hoped the taste would recall memories of Bell's Third Coast Old Ale, and it does. It's just a beauty of a beer. Barleywine-ish? Yes, but this Old Ale business makes it sound so much more majestic and regal. The caramel (word of the review) stick is there, and it gets better as the beer gets warmer. Beer drinking for dummies advice of the day: let the beer warm. Drinking a beer at different temperatures is revealing and rewarding. There's the alcoholic surge that must exist in a nearly 10% beer, but it's delicately disguised. I feel it, know it's there, but can't find it. It passes the chug test, too. Drinking this one sip to sip is great, but a giant swallow doesn't overwhelm.

So easy to drink, this one. I planned on it lasting me through dinner, and it would serve as a wonderful dessert drink, but I don't think it will make it to either. Luckily, I've got a Fuller's Vintage I think I might pop tonight as well. Not sure what it is about this old ales; it's the combination of potency, drinkability and mystique that has me ball and chain. This one is dragging me.

Beer Madness

A full Saturday of basketball (after a full Thursday and Friday) seemed like the perfect time to spend a day boozing and blogging. You've heard of beer pairings with food, but today I'll be pairing beer with basketball, taking into consideration how my brackets shape up as the day progresses. Low percent hoppers when things are looking up, bog-downing stouts when the brackets kick me in the pants.

1:13 pm: After UCLA was blitzed by Villanova, I felt like punishing myself for overvaluing tournament guile and senior guards. No worse punishment than a lukewarm Bud Lite courtesy of a fridge-emptying friend. Off to a blazing start.

2:52 pm: Memphis/Maryland looks to be a blowout, but we've got UConn/Texas A&M on tap, with a diehard A&M fan on hand. Looking for something lightish but with some flavor to pick me up after a couple BL smoothies. Grab a Sam Adams White Ale from the mini fridge.

3:24 pm: Memphis 53, Maryland 33. UConn 29, Texas A&M 11. Games aren't shaping up as we'd like, so we've entered a pact to try as many different beers today as we possibly can. The three of us have each already tallied three, and there are serious talks of hitting a dozen. Meanwhile, the White Ale doesn't deliver what I expected it to, but recently my witbiers have been spicier than they have fruity. This is definitely more fruit than spice. Everything is subtle. It is refreshing, but in this couched-out, flatscreen basement, it's hard to get into a summer beer mood.


4:42 pm: Tipoff between Purdue and Washington, the most anticipated game of the session. Pairing that with a Southern Tier IPA. I picked up this one in Hudson, WI, because for some reason, the 12 oz Southern Tier beers don't come to Minnesota. We only get the big bottles, which are generally outstanding, but I wanted to try one of their standard offerings. Fundamentally sound game, sound balanced beer. Has a nice earthy quality that balances out the hops quite well.

With each of us starting our fourth beer, the prop bets/side action is picking up. We've agreed on ten pushups per dunk, and money has begun to make its way out into the open, a visible tease for any potential gambler.

5:04 pm: Almost done with the IPA. This one's smooth and drinkable. Too drinkable for a basement dudefest.

5:12 pm: Three consecutive Blake Griffin dunks in the Oklahoma/Michigan test. 30 pushups. Pretenders falling to the side of the road.

5:15 pm: Beer's flowin', pushups galore. Dudes posing in the mirror. Gettin' crazy at 5:15.

5:30-6:15 pm: MGD buffer.

6:38 pm: Beer #7: Stella Artois. Not a favorite, but running out of options to get to 12. Saving the good stuff for the gourmet dinner.

7:29 pm: Beer #8: Summit IPA. Not the hoppy California style IPA, this Euro recipe is meatier, creamier and sturdier. If you can allow yourself to break free of the hopped-out IPA mindset, it's a good sipper.

Monday evening: Never made it to 12 beers.

The Best of Late

Been watching too much basketball lately to dedicate time to post. This doesn't mean I've slacked on the consumption. My stash is dwindling, though, and I want to make it last as long as I can, so I've been leaning toward the wines and the liquors more as of late. With that said, I've had some great beers recently, including a well-respected beer that didn't disappoint. Here's a
mini rundown of the best stuff I've had recently.


New Glarus Wisconsin Belgian Red

Brewery: New Glarus, New Glarus, Wisconsin

Style: Fruit Beer

ABV: 5.1%

Rating: 5 Stars


One of the best beers in the Midwest, and certainly the best fruit beer available. I imagined it would be akin to a Belgian kriek-like cherry bomb. Quite wrong I was. New Glarus uses one pound of Wisconsin cherries for each bottle (not your 12 oz. sixer bottle, mind you) and it's evident in the pungent aroma.

I was slightly worried when I realized this wasn't going to be as tart as the sour beers, because I typically loathe cherry-flavored things. In fact, the Sam Adams Cherry Wheat was one of my least favorite beers I tried in 2008. But this cherry was different. It had immense sweetness, but not like a Popsicle or sucker. It was sweet like the gooey inside-the-pie cherries, a real richness that couldn't be faked by synthetic flavoring. There was enough tartness to keep the sweetness at bay, though, and the late sparkle scraped my mouth so that I was ready for another sip.

Kristie and I enjoyed this one together, and it's exciting to me that I now have a better grip on the types of beers she might enjoy. I wish they didn't cost $10 a bottle, but it's exponentially better to enjoy a beer with company.

This beer (and the myriad of other New Glarus crafts) are well worth the 45-minute drive to Wisconsin, and I plan on making semi-regular trips from here on out.


New Glarus Crack'd Wheat

Brewery: New Glarus, New Glarus, Wisconsin

Style: American Pale Wheat Ale

ABV: 5.95%

Rating: 4 Stars


Prior to my whimsical February jaunt to Hudson, I'd had only one New Glarus beer--the infamous Spotted Cow. Thought it was below average and not worthy of the hype I'd heard from my Madison brethren. I had no idea they had as expansive a line of reign-free beers as they do. This one sounded interesting, and both employees said they'd had it and were pleasantly surprised.

It's an interesting idea. It is, basically, a wheat beer. But it's also dry-hopped with amarillo hops. To dry-hop a beer means to introduce hops after the fermentation has begun. It's a way to give the beer an extra hop kick and bring out the characteristics of the specific hops used. It's a pretty common tactic, but this is the first I'd heard about a wheat beer being dry-hopped. Though gimmicky, the idea sounded quite interesting to me, especially because wheat beers generally all get lumped into the same clovey/spicy/orange-peely heap for me.

It tastes exactly how you would imagine. The smell is all spicy wheat, and wheat is obviously the base of the beer. But the amarillo hops kick in toward the middle of each gulp and leave the beer's lasting impression. The beer is bottle-conditioned, another common brewing practice meaning the beer finishes the fermentation process in the bottle. Always a plus, and it usually guarantees a large frothy head, which I happen to enjoy.

Potentially the perfect summer beer, though later tonight I plan to enjoy their Berliner Weiss, which I've heard is phenomenal. Light as a wheat with the bold hops of a pale ale. I foresee many more of these come July.

Stone IPA

Brewery: Stone, Escondido, California

Style: India Pale Ale

ABV: 6.9%

Rating: 4.5 Stars




It's all basically been said about IPAs. We love the citrus, love the dryness, love the hops, love the mouthfeel. This is no different, and it's an excellent representation of the style. I know I've had it in the past, before my tastes were honed, so I wasn't surprised to like it again. Had to go to Wisconsin to get it, which makes no sense to me.

Tuesday Night Hop Battle

Drank not a drop Sunday or Monday. In this economy, as is the catch phrase, a two-day hiatus deserves a reward. Since I'm a hop guy, I decided to try a couple of the hoppier options in my collection.

First, the Lagunitas Hop Stoopid. Lagunitas, as of a year ago, was fairly limited in Minnesota. Or maybe I just wasn't noticing them. Recently, however, their brews have been popping up everywhere. I liked the IPA, was lukewarm on the Brown Shugga, and could not handle the Maximus IPA.

The Hop Stoopid was the best of the bunch so far. The aroma represented everything I love about juicy hopped-up beers. The pungent citrus, in this case grapefruit and a strong passion fruit presence, gets me revved up to swig. I really took a deep sniff at this one, because I knew I grabbed something specific (the passion fruit), but it took me a while to realize exactly which of the 'fruit cocktail' canned fruits it was. For once, I knew I had a smell nailed, and it comes from 2.5 years at a preschool. Good-sized head on this one, with the lacing disappearing more than some. Looks like orange jello, which again, I can attribute to preschool experience.

The taste was exceptional. Big and sturdy on the front end, with the citrus holding sway. The key, though, was the back, when everything felt like it was being sucked out of your mouth and down the hatch via the bitterness. My mouth was full one second and dry, sticky and empty the next. I love that in a beer. Give me some boom right away, take it away and leave me wanting more at the end of every sip. This beer is sharp like a nasty cheddar cheese.

As the glass emptied, I felt a bit more metal in every taste, but I think that had more to do with the compounding bitterness than the deterioration of the beer. Overall, this was one of the more satisfying beers I've had this year. I'd put it at the top of the hops, at least.

Next, Founders Centennial IPA. This much-heralded brewery does not sell its beers in Minnesota, and I am ashamed that it took me this long to cross the border into Wisconsin to buy some. Oh, the places you'll go! (Dr. Seuss' birthday yesterday).

Nearly all Founders brews come highly recommended, and Centennial is no different. To be fair to the Hop Stoopid, I should have opened the Founders Double Trouble, but I wasn't sure I could handle another double IPA. Unfortunately, the Centennial IPA couldn't match Hop Stoopid's power.

Lately I've been tasting a lot of what I can describe no better than dust. It tasted dusty. Maybe that means the flavors weren't as clear or crisp as I'd like. Maybe that means the mouthfeel was a little fuller and stretched farther into the buds than most. Or maybe it means that I got a peculiar amount of mothballs in the flavor. I swear I tasted mothballs.

Don't misconstrue those words. Mothballs, yes, but the flavor was still good.

Still. I'm finishing the glass as I write, and the dust factor overpowers everything else. I wish I could express it better. I guess I'll have to head east again, but a couple more bottles, and try them next to a more favorable competitor. In fairness, it probably would have stacked up well next to the Lagunitas Maximus, and maybe even the Lagunitas IPA. It just couldn't hang tonight.

Saturday Snippets

I had been bracing myself for weeks for what was planned for last night: a trip into downtown Minneapolis' Shout House, one of my least favorite destinations in the cities. In fact, it's been quite a while since I've ventured downtown on a Saturday night; more recently than my college days, but not by much. It's just not a scene I particularly enjoy. So many obstacles. Who's driving? Where are you parking? Cab home? Bus? Designated Driver? How much is the cover? How packed will it be? And certainly not least of all, will there be any decent beer available? And no, Heineken doesn't count.

The Shout House specifically annoys me. I understand why it's a popular destination: Dueling pianos, rowdy atmosphere, central location. I just don't like paying eight bucks for the right to get sweaty waiting in line for a $6 Rolling Rock and be blown away by airplane-decibel, amusement park talent. Thus, to avoid tricky circumstances and careless spending, I volunteered to be the night's driver. I was ready for the challenge.

The call came at about 7:30 that the night's organizer had to bow out due to immanent illness. Since Kristie and I were already geared up for a night on the town, we didn't want it to go to waste. But without the ring leader, the Shout House was quickly eliminated from the itinerary.

After kicking around several potential destinations, we settled on the Lyndale/Lake St. part of town, where there are several decent options available. I was especially intrigued by the new sake brewery, Moto-i. Indeed, the first sake brewery anywhere in the world outside Japan. Reviews have seemed generally favorable and I knew their draught list was decent, so I imagined it might be an enjoyable and culturing experience.

We arrived about 9:30 to a fully-bellied bar and restaurant, and were told by the host we might be able to find a stray seat. We weren't, and were stuck in an awkward point of buoyancy; not committed enough to wedge our way between barstoolers, but not intending to order food and therefore denied a table upstairs. There was, however, a back room that was 75% empty. The tables were marked as reserved, but we asked the waitress if we could sit there anyway. She had no problem with it, but pointed us back to the host, who informed us that it was reserved for a private party. I said we would happily leave when the party arrived, but there were at least six available tables at the moment, and people were leaving the room already. Still he denied, with a half-assed smile and half-hearted apology. I guess I wouldn't turn away a customer these days, but that's me. I imagine if we had just sat down without asking, we would have been fine, but this is Minnesota, and people are generally accommodating if you ask.

We left, annoyed by insincere efforts and an overall haughty attitude by the hosts (there were at least three of them at the door). I hope this place succeeds, but it will not be because of my patronage. Shame.

We pressed on to the much more inviting, laid back vibe of the Herkimer. I often forget about the Herkimer as a local brewpub option, despite the fact that it's by far the closest to my house. Their beers are generally straight-forward and can be punchless, but they are interesting and a little more atypical than most. Plus, the food is outstanding (save the mini egg sandos). We had no problem ordering drinks, didn't feel uncomfortable standing around, and soon found ourselves a table, where we would be met by two friends.

I first tried the Alt, a style of beer that I'm utterly clueless about and formed no preconceived notions about appearance, smell or taste. I guess I'm still a bit unsure. Lighting is always an issue in a busy weekend bar scene, but the color appeared a bit coppery; not amber, but not pale either. They likened the beer on the menu to a German pale ale, and some of the classic German hoppiness was there, I guess. Overall, it was pretty bland. I wrote on a piece of scratch paper (I really need to be more prepared for these tastings), "very spiked dullness." Make of that what you will. It was like they wanted to blow dullness out of the park. Didn't leave much taste anywhere on the palate. I will say, however, as far as drinkability goes, it was a champion. Easily could have guzzled a few pints of these without thinking about it.

I moved next to the Sky Pilot Kellerbier, an unfiltered beer that I liked more than the Alt. Much more golden in color, with a much more present punch to all senses. Reminded me of their pilsner, but with a slightly more enjoyable hop for my taste. Good roundness in the mouth and carbonated well. Had a nice dry finish. Again, props to Herkimer for producing off-kilter beers and seemingly doing true versions of them. They are hard to place in my mental beer spectrum, and maybe I'm punishing them because I have no similar beers to compare them to. I really tried to figure out how to write the previous sentence with a preposition, but each version sounded laborious and unnatural. Does anyone follow that rule anyway?

Finally, we found ourselves at Bryant Lake Bowl, a Minneapolis legend and great spot to wind down for the night. They have a decent tap list, though I wish they had more seasonals. Kristie loves it because they have Ace Pear on tap (for $5.75, though!). I tried the Rogue seasonal, which the waitress called an anniversary beer. This is maybe my biggest beef with beer bars--not all, of course, and not every employee--but if you work at a place that could potentially attract beer geeks, you need to know the beers. I need to know the beers. When I had trouble pinpointing a Rogue Anniversary this morning, I called back to enquire further and was told it was the Rogue Anniversary Mogul.

This beer does not exist on Rogue's website. RateBeer has a Rogue Mogul Ale with 131 ratings, but the BeerAdvocate Mogul 2007 has just four. Still, Mogul is not listed on the brewery's website. Nevermind. Mogul Ale it is.

An American Strong Ale, apparently, and I'm not sure I like the style. It's sort of a wide category, though, but this one was malt heavy, and the sweetness that was prominent in my nostrils did not show up in my mouth. I was disappointed by that. For the malty power it had up front, it finished quite bitterly. It was a bit confusing to me. I like the dry, bitter aftertaste, but I don't know if I love it after such a hearty malt opening. I think most beer junkies would consider it the best beer I had all night, but I'd probably rather have the Herkimer Kellerbier.

Morals: Don't go to Moto-i expecting red carpet treatment. Don't go to the Herkimer expecting taste bud warfare. Don't go to Bryant Lake Bowl expecting precice beer identification. Go there, have a few decent, uncommon beers, relax, relax, and tip your waitress.

Blizzard Beer

Every morning, say 10 am, I tell myself, 'self, tonight is the night you skip the beer and just drink water.' It's only a few hours later that the frustrations of the daily grind on the job force me to cave into the dozens of beers that will be staring me in the face when I arrive at home.

I try, I really do, but I don't feel much guilt over having a drink or two every night; I've gotten more consistent in the last year--no weeknight binge drinking anymore. It's difficult on nights like tonight, when the Gophers lose a winnable road game and I spent two hours trudging through slow traffic and shoveling the heartiest, stickiest snowfall of the season.

And on that note, I wondered, what would be the perfect beer for a blizzard? The initial response, clearly, would be to nurse a deep, warming imperial stout. Something to burn the insides and satisfy the thirsty taste buds. I had several stout options, including Victory's Storm King and Bell's Expedition. But I wasn't in the mood for a stout. Perhaps because I tried my namesake Nils Oscar Imperial Stout Tuesday night and was disappointed. (The second Nils Oscar beer disappointment I've had with no successes). I decided a stout was not the perfect blizzard beer.

I fingered through the basement options: some Surlys, Tyranenas, New Glaruses; nothing that felt right for the moment. Finally, I settled on a mini vertical of Sierra Nevada Bigfoots. I picked up '07 and '08 bottles when I visited Dennis Brothers in Cottage Grove in early January, and had been saving them for no particular reason. A vertical tasting means comparing the same beer from different years to see how the flavors have developed over time. Not all beers should be tasted this way. Don't save your Bud Lights for years to see how the flavors mature. But for a complex, stiff beer such as the Bigfoot can stand up to a few years of aging.

This was the first time I'd had Bigfoot in a bottle; I first had it on tap at the Muddy Pig in early 2008, when I gave it 4.5 stars. I think my love of barleywines peaked in those winter months, because I remember thinking Southern Tier's BackBurner was the best beer I'd ever had, and when I tried it a few months later I thought my initial five-star rating was much too high.

With that said, it's hard to argue with a barleywine during a wintery blizzard. It's a full beer in the mouth, leaving bold flavors behind without completely drying you out, and giving you enough alcohol burn to move you in a promising direction. Most might argue, and I would agree, that it doesn't give you the swig-to-swig satisfaction that an imperial stout does, but the flavors are prominent enough to make it its own course.

As for this blizzard, the Bigfoot delivered. It had a more bitter finish than I remembered, but when I checked my original notes from March 11, 2008, I found: "Alcohol is present, but taste is dominated by bitter, bitter hops."

The 2008: Supremely rich, with as full of a mouthfeel as you're going to get from a beer. I doesn't disappear down your throat, it stays awhile. The taste is nutty, strong and creamy, but with just the right amount of offsetting crispness. The finish is, again, quite bitter and dry. Many people cite this beer as one to cellar and save for a few years, but I, after having this one, think I might find it hard to do so.

The 2007: In fact, better than the 2008. Which leads me to believe that the longer you let this one ride, the better. Has the thick caramel coating that the 2008 had, but the flavor lasts incredibly long. I ate half a raw tomato in between gulps of this one, and I still couldn't shake the massive flavor. The alcohol is more present in the '07, which I don't mind, as it burned my throat quite pleasantly on this most wintery night. The lacing (foam that sticks to the side of the glass) is pronounced. It was nearly crust by the time I finished the brew. Lacing adds another aspect to the enjoyability of a beer, as you get to see the progress you've made from swallow to swallow as you make your way down the glass. Just another reason why it's crucial that beer be consumed from a glass (the correct glass) and not its original container.

Barleywines, as I'm coming to realize, are a style of beer that I like while I'm drinking them, but in the hours after the tasting, the beer settles in, and I realize that they should be judged not only while they're being chugged, but for hours after. These Bigfoots eased the pain of knowing another shovel was on the Friday morning horizon. Maybe I'll make it a tradition: keep a couple Sierra Nevada Bigfoots in the basement, and when radar says 5+ inches of snow, have them at the ready.

Surly Mild

Had this on tap at the Blue Nile Saturday afternoon, the bridge between a weekend binge cleaning session and an extended family birthday gathering at the Mall of America. If you ask me, a beer or two is the least you can do to prepare for the megamall, as they say. Actually, it's probably not enough.

This was the first mild I'd had, though I can't quite be sure, because the style, from what I've gathered, is varied and the flavors many. I may have just broken an English language comma rule in that sentence. Anyway, this type of mild, the English Dark Mild variety, according to beeradvocate, is a British session beer characterized by low hops and low alcohol content. Well, if those are the conditions, Surly Mild qualifies.

To be fair, I dove into this one just after my first taste of a Surly Three, the third anniversary offering from the brewery. Three is classified as a braggot, brewed with 50% honey and 50% Munich malt, and let me be the whateverth person to say that the flavor is potent and delicious. In comparison, Surly Mild didn't stand much of a chance.

Maybe it was too early in the day (4:30ish), or maybe I was a bit too sick (stuffy nose), but I didn't get much aroma at all. Mild indeed. There certainly weren't a great deal of hops to wet my lips.

As for the taste, well, I can't much compare it to any other beer I've had, as it was markedly different. As a beer with 4.2% ABV, it lacked punch, but there was more taste than your average mass appeal 4.2% lager or ale. This is the part of the review where I'm reaching. I don't yet know enough about specific malts or how they taste, but what taste there was, I would surmise was due to the malts used. Al, when you read this, you can correct me. I got a very earthy vibe, not just the grassy hop flavor I get from many Euro beers, but soil and mineral flavors that give it a bit of depth without density.

Did I love this beer? No, certainly not. It's an easy drink, much easier than the palate-challenging beers we all love so dearly. And it doesn't make your face cringe like many low content beers would. It just doesn't have much to write home about. It's a bit plain.

So why does Surly make a beer like this? None of Surly's beers are mass appeal beers, I would argue, so they don't need to worry about pleasing a large sect of people. Mild isn't canned, and thus is available only to those diehards who seek it out. It certainly isn't a beer that would blow the diehards away. And frankly, it's not a beer I see the talented brewers at Surly finding enjoyment in pint after pint. I have one of these and think, OK, now I'd like to have any other Surly beer I've ever had.

Maybe it was a failed attempt. Maybe they wanted to show the Surly fans that they could make a simple, subtle beer. Certainly, not every beer a brewer tries can be better than the previous. And Surly has sort of dug their own grave on this one: why shouldn't a brewery be entitled to a couple duds? Mild isn't even a dud, but by their standards, it's pretty pedestrian. That doesn't change the fact that they've given us more than a handful of amazing beers.

Even so, there's a chance that Mild is a complete success. It's hard to imagine a beer more tightly fitting the name. I couldn't think of a better word for it, and by that standard, Surly Mild is a raging success.

Am I Strong Enough to Like a Bad Beer?

I've struggled with this concept my entire life, really. Some may call it lack of self-confidence or conviction, or a reluctance to openly go against the popular opinions. I guess I call it reassessment; forcing yourself to take another look at your own beliefs after gathering outside opinions to either validate or refute your initial response.

It basically boils down to this: am I comfortable enough with my own opinions to admittedly enjoy a product that has been widely panned? Will the experts write me off as a no-clue, inexperienced judge of quality? Will I be ostracized from the community of those who love and care and rate?

Mostly this happens in the arts; many might call them guilty pleasures, a term probably invented to make it ok for those like me to enjoy such atrocities in a half-joking, half-serious manner. Let's take music for example. I'll admit it: I enjoy listening to Hall & Oates. I sort-of half think I enjoy the spectacle and egocentric glamour of a Barry Manilow ballad. Most of the garbage pop of the 90s I could still regurgitate word for word. I will proudly and openly admit all of these things.

But still, there's a tint of really? in each of those admissions, and I am free at that point to say, "No, I don't really exercise to Michael McDonald's greatest hits, I just get a kick out of how ridiculous he sounds singing those crappy songs." It's an opt out clause.

Many people, including my much more free-of-society's-chains wife, don't have this dilemma. They like what they like, no apologies. To Kristie, there is no difference between a great song and a song she just loves listening to. Any appreciation, whether it be due to the technical wizardry, the bleeding-heart sincerity or the carefree exuberance, it all goes into the same pot of enjoyment. The same goes for movies. I can come out of a movie and say, "That was an amazing movie, but I didn't really enjoy it." I make the distinction, Kristie says why bother.

Let's bring this phenomenon to the world of beer. At this point, I thought I felt pretty comfortable with my own beer judgment, and was confident that my conclusions about any specific beer wouldn't fall far from the general beer nerd assessment. I know that the beer geeks love meaty stouts, layered with depth, and most enjoy the in-your-face hoppiness of an imperial IPA. I've also come to appreciate lambics and traditional Belgian sour ales, and know that while these are more of a polarizing blend, most beer lovers appreciate them.

Beer, like the arts, has its guilty pleasures as well. In my case, my guilty pleasures call back to my college days, when I was too poor to buy anything decent and spent a lot of nights hammering watery beer after watery beer. I have no problem stating my love for Grain Belt Premium, and if I happen to find myself at an Applebees, I'll probably order a Leinie's Honeyweiss. Do I actually like these beers? See, I thought I was at the point where I could say yes and deal with the consequences.

Then along came Chapeau Winter Gueuze. I've had a few lambics, krieks and sour ales, and have basically enjoyed them all. But this was my first real gueuze. Instantly, I could see the difference between this and the other lambics I've enjoyed. The color was unlike any I'd seen, a dark rust that lacked the fizzy bubble that I remember about the other lambics. The gueuze was nowhere near as tart, though it smelled as if it was. There was a massive sweetness that smothered the acidity; it tasted for a second like the sourness wanted to break through, but it couldn't penetrate the sugar forcefield. I didn't mind it. It reminded me a bit of a cider, with a decent amount of tartness, but more about the sugary sweetness. In fact, Kristie, who tries most of my beers and universally hates them, said this was the best beer she'd ever had. Looking back, that admission should have alarmed me. When I had finished the glass, I declared it a good beer and called it an "entirely pleasant experience."

This being my first gueuze, I just assumed that was how they were supposed to taste: sweet and sugary. How was I to know any better. It was nowhere near my favorite sour beer; I much prefer the unbalanced tartness of the more sour offerings. But I liked the beer none the less.

Then I found this. Uh-oh. Could I possibly like a beer rated in the 12th percentile? Let's look at it in reverse. Is it possible that I don't like a highly-rated beer? Sure, and many times I've confirmed this, though I'm too lazy to cite examples now. So maybe it's ok for me to enjoy this beer, no matter what my beer peers think. I guess spelling it out on a computer screen helps me process the quandary. I am comfortable enough to admit that I enjoyed a beer that almost no one has rated highly? Who cares. I mean, it's just a guilty pleasure, right?

The Beer Cruise: Puerto Rico

If I sound a little sharp in this entry, it's probably because I just watched my beloved Golden Gopher basketball team again look completely inept against a very average Michigan team. So there's that. And then there's this: I took in the game at Joe Senser's, a Twin Cities sports bar chain that fits a small, but widespread niche: dozens of wall-sized TVs and sporting events, greasy food and mass appeal beer. Not a favorite destination of mine, but it works well for a guys night out to eat.

Here's my beef. We arrived shortly before happy hour ended, and the $2.50 domestic tap special piqued my interest, only because Grain Belt Premium was on the (unpublished) tap list. After some minor inquiries, the waitress informed me that Premo did not fall under the "domestic" category, though it is brewed less than 100 miles away, in New Ulm, MN. Sure, Golden, Colorado is domestic, but classic Minnesota beer? Sorry. I ordered a Sierra Nevada and didn't bother asking whether the California-brewed cerveza counted as domestic. "That's not on special," the waitress made sure I knew. I nodded. "Yeah, I figured you knew that."

I sense a little beer snob oozing out of me. Most of the places I frequent these days offer coast-to-coast draughts, what one might call 'domestic,' and have a handful (if not more) of across the pond imports as well. Maybe it's too much to ask Senser's to change their happy hour wording from 'domestic' to 'garbage' for clarity's sake. I doubt their clientele demands the distinction.

Which leads me to Puerto Rico. If, hypothetically, a beer bar carried a Puerto Rican beer, would that qualify as domestic? I doubt it. I didn't plan on this segue, and it's a pretty rough one, so I'll end all attempts at a smooth transition here.

We arrived in San Juan, Puerto Rico, at about 5 pm of the second night of our cruise. I'd done some very brief research on the number of local beers produced at each of our destinations prior to departure, and wasn't expecting much of any of them. So when the only local beer offered at our first three stops was Medalla Light, I wasn't surprised. Call me crazy, but I gave it slightly higher marks than my peers at RateBeer, calling it "as drinkable, if not more so, than any domestic lite." It's important to note that no matter the integrity of a beer drinker, the circumstances under which a beer is consumed can make a difference. A Medalla Light on a cold February Minneapolis night probably would guarantee a spot on the year-end worst list. A Medalla Light in a courtyard cafe on a beautiful Puerto Rican evening rates a little better. I gave it a star and a half. It's clearly a terrible beer, but it tastes better in 80 degrees.

As we meandered back toward the ship, however, we stumbled upon a local brewery, Old Harbor Brewery. They offered five craft beers; the four staples included a light lager, pilsner, pale ale and stout, and the seasonal "taina" beer was a nut brown. I sampled all five, and when the bartender noticed me jotting down specifics and notes on a napkin, offered to send me home with some literature about the beers and brewery.

The Santo Viejo Pilsner was voted best pilsner of the south at the 2008 United States Beer Tasting Championships, and was quite nice. It was much sweeter than any pilsner I've had, and as one who isn't a huge fan of the typical pilsner hop, I enjoyed the contrast.

The Coqui Golden Lager was obviously their attempt to hit the modest needs of most social beer drinkers and I'm sure would do nicely in that regard.

Their signature beer, the Old Harbor Brew Pale Ale, was my favorite of the five. A delicate beer, one that required focused swigs to pick up the flavors. I do enjoy beers that have in-your-face flavor, but subtlety is almost more impressive when it's pulled off. This beer had a balance of floral fruitiness and mouth-sticking dryness, but didn't knock you over with either. It didn't blow your taste buds away; it required them to work a bit.

The Kolfresi Stout is the highest rated of the four standards on RateBeer, and it's not hard to see why. It has the depth that many serious beer drinkers need, but isn't a test of one's commitment to a task. You can drink a pint of it no problem. It struck me as a pretty standard stout, one you wouldn't necessarily tell stories of to your grandkids, but one I would have no problem drinking consistently.

The seasonal beer had been available for about a week when we visited, and is still unrated on RateBeer...I could be the first, which would be fun. I like nut browns, especially because they aren't easy to find. Yes, there's Newcastle, but the style does not have a lot of mass popularity. Maybe we'll see a boom in them in the next couple years, as craft breweries seem to latch on to the styles that are going unproduced at a particular moment in time. What I especially loved about this one was its smoothness. This was a beer that I think even the most casual beer drinkers could guzzle, because it doesn't overwhelm you with unfamiliar pop and it doesn't kill you on the back end. It isn't as complex as the meatiest brews, but if I wasn't in the mood for a hop bomb or a juicy stout, I think a few creamy nut browns would suffice.

It was a pleasant way to spend an hour in San Juan, and though I'll probably never return, I won't soon forget the experience of trying the best of what Puerto Rico had to offer.

The Beer Cruise: Part 1

I wouldn't necessarily call a cruise the best way to vacation, but after three uninterrupted months of Minnesota winter and a taxing day-to-day job grind, a cruise worked quite nicely. No, it's not exactly the way I like to travel--off the beaten path, eating street food and finding the non-touristy parts of touristy cities. You do get a bit funnelled in to a daily routine and programmed, pre-determined activities and specific, mass appeal cultural scenery. The drinks are a bit spendy, and far from stiff. The entertainment is, well...who am I to judge.

But a cruise is nothing if not relaxing. If you don't mind mingling with 50-somethings (and above--sometimes way way above), aren't too snobby to find enjoyment in an off-key, bad haircutted lounge singer, and can fend for yourself for a few hours in a dirty Caribbean port town, you might enjoy one. And you might be pleasantly surprised in the number of obscure beers you might get to try.

Counting the Minneapolis and Detroit airports, and including the four beers I nabbed during our one day in Fort Lauderdale, I chugged an astounding 22 new beers on this 8.5 day trek. Of course, once we left the continental United States, rarely were any better than average, but the cultural context in which the tastings took place evened up the score a bit.

So, sprinkled between the poolside pina coladas and the five-course dinner Italian wines were these islandy brews. I'll try my best to elaborate on tasting notes (many of which are still scribbled on food- and beer-stained napkins) with some general comments about that day's cruising events.

It must be noted that my trusty beer rating pen exploded on the plane prior to embarkment, and I was forced to use the crappy Costa Cruises pen for my reviews. Thus, many of my notes are brief, and frankly, after you've had a few Caribbean beers, there's not much more that can be said.

Day 1: Embarkment from Fort Lauderdale. The beer: Franziskaner Hefe-Weissbier. We boarded the ship at about 12:30, but couldn't check into our rooms until later that afternoon. What better to do, at that point, then check out the bar? Rhetorical. This would be my first chance to see the beer offerings on the ship. Not surprisingly, they were pretty limited. Mostly Buds and Coors, with a token beer from a few European countries that figured to be represented among the cruise's guests. This was a Costa cruise, an Italian ship that attracts many foreign-language speaking folk because of its multi-lingual entertainment and relaxed smoking policy. Maybe I was the only one who noted the latter, but to a no-smoking-anywhere-in-my-state Minnesotan, it was evident.

I'd had the Italian offering (Peroni--I was hoping for more), wasn't in the mood for something I knew I'd loathe (Beck's and Carlsberg), and didn't want to dive right into the unknown (Kotayk--we'll get to that later), so I took a stab at the weissbier. Without question, this was the best beer I had on the ship all week. I don't love wheat beers, and I have a hard time imagining one that would clearly outshine the rest, but there was no doubting the validity of the Franziskaner. It isn't weissbier weather in Minnesota, but when it's 80 degrees and sunny a wheat beer will do nicely. Let's put it this way: I'd choose a hefe-weissen over anything I've ever been offered in a slowpitch softball parking lot or on a lazy pontoon boat ride. The drinkability is usually high. As in, way higher than the self-proclaimed drinkable Budweiser.

Franziskaner is no different, and I particularly enjoy wheat beers that offer more spice than fruit, the anti-Blue Moon, if you will. This beer had good spice on the nose and lips and snaked down without skunky incident. (If my verbage has broadened, it may be due to the Hopslam I just guzzled.) Did this beer make me delve deep into my beer flavor vocabulary? Not really. Did it convert me to a full-time wheat beer guy? Definitely not. Was it worth the $5...plus 15% gratuity...plus 20% port tax? Because it meant I would be on a cruise for the next seven days, yes. It did, and it was. A solid 3.5 star beer.