Because we should probably say something about the Goose Island news

Of the two of us MBB bloggers, I'm probably not the person to be commenting on today's big beer story that Anheuser-Busch has acquired Goose Island--mainly that I'm indifferent to the news, both as a consumer and general observer, but I'll share what little I have to say before the story goes stale.

As a beer drinker, I'm not terribly concerned how the acquisition will affect the quality of the product because a) I expect its change to be minimal and b) I don't think much of it to begin with. Yes, some of Goose Island's specialty brews are quite good--in fact, I gave a very positive review of one in my last post--and I suppose it's possible that these will be lost or ruined. But I doubt this very much for reasons I'll mention in a second.

If you're worried about the quality of the flagship brews, you should have already moved onto better beers anyway. I don't say that as a snob but as a friend. I've had worse dishwater wheats than 312, but that's the best I can say; to cop the tired pizza analogy, the IPA is the Papa John's in the heart of Dagoville; and don't get me started on Green Line. For Chicagoans who lament the loss of a local brand, the alternatives are hardly lacking. (With--shill alert!--another on the way.)

But that's all beside the point that $39 million is a whole lotta wort, or yeast, or whatever, and if I had great brand recognition and a so-so product in a market with a swelling pool of competitors, I'd be looking to cash out too. Ironically, craft beer going mainstream is as much Goose Island's doing as it stands to be its undoing the more the palate of the beer-drinking public matures. In the meantime, it's still a nice bridge between A-B's current market and their future.

Anheuser-Busch knows that commercials and stadium contracts can't protect them when taste and choice trump image, as declining sales have already proven. They've seen the trends in food and dining and realize that the only way to survive is to diversify, or at least straddle the hoity toity-hoi polloi divide. A high-profile craft was missing from that portfolio; now they have it. Good for them.

For Goose Island, the timing seems appropriate, with competition creeping up and their microbrew cred bordering on gone. I don't know their motivations, but if ambition means accepting when you've become the establishment, maybe that's what Goose Island's done by selling the brand.

Goose Island Dominique, tap

When I'm this far up in my head, I shouldn't even try to be social. My work, the weather, my sleep, my food supply--not much room for human interaction. Tonight I tried because I thought I needed it. Brixie's is a grounding spot, usually, but I couldn't find the handle. Thoughts wouldn't form words; I spoke out of turn; I stared; I didn't even notice I was biting my nails until I started to make them bleed and had to stick my hand up in my undershirt because blood's not a great palate cleanser. I don't think the staff or regulars noticed. The last thing I want to do at a bar is seem drunk or sinister because I'm neither. But what can you do--at least I got out.

Dominique is a Belgian sour, a slow-sipper that doesn't taste very Belgian and only a little sour. The aroma is oaky with some fruit--cherries or cranberries. It reminded me of the Frank's Nursery and Crafts I worked at in high school--fake flowers and wicker baskets. The taste was similar but with a bourbon kick. The tart, cherry notes stick out; maybe some apple too and a vague hint of celery or turnip. It's mildly sweet but boozy first, bitter second. It's 8.5% ABV but tastes like more--surprisingly not a bad thing. The twelve ounces lasted a good eighty minutes; I bet I tilted the glass twenty-five times by the time I was done, but that's probably an exaggeration.

Grade: G, for gripping. You won't let Dominique get too far out of sight once it's in front of you, and it'll stand out after the fact. Drink this on its own when you have plenty of time. Calmly. Never when you're anxious. Trust me; it's pretty good.

Great Divide Hibernation Ale, bottle

Sometimes you wanna go where.... well, you know. But this week I just wanna hide out. Light and noise sensitivity are high, and I'm certain that my own thoughts are more interesting than whatever they're talking about at the bar right now. 

This is what the fridge stash is for, and tonight's lucky chosen one is Hibernation Ale--if properly branded, a perfect beer for a recluse on a cold night.

Great Divide is an underrated brewery, which is to say that I don't hear it talked about much here. I consider it the Colorado analogue to Sierra Nevada, and I promise that I drew the mental comparison well before the mountain thing occurred to me. What I mean is that they each brew many different styles--common styles, traditional styles--and do them all quite well, albeit at the expense of inventiveness. It's an approach I loathe in music, but I don't mind it with beer.

Having said that, Hibernation is a mess. But don't take it from me; take it from the snobs on Beer Advocate who give it... an A-minus?! I usually believe in the wisdom of crowds, and 824 reviewers can't be wrong, except this time, because they are. 

Well, no, maybe I was just looking for something different. But when I think "hibernation," I don't think double-IPA, which is almost what I'd consider this. Yes, it has a creamy head and some subtle toastiness to it, but it's bitter and citrusy as any I'll-be-damned-if-this-isn't-Stone west-coast hopped-out bullshit. What the fuck, Denver? I don't know a ton about bears, but if this is what hibernation tastes like, my tongue is on its own circadian cycle.

I'll admit that it holds the 8.7% ABV remarkably well, and the hops are deliciously aromatic, if overpowering to the taste. But seriously, this is supposed to be a winter beer? I think with the moderate temperatures and the year-round snow they get out there, those Denver folk don't really know their seasons apart. Just a hunch.

Grade: M, for misleading. I wanted to sleep tonight. Hibernation has nothing to do with this beer. In fact, it's one of the more stimulating beers I've ever had. Like Bengay. Now I'm wide awake, and I can't even finish this. Extra nutmeg in the bedtime oatmeal tonight! Thanks for nuthin', Great Divide.

Southern Tier Imperial Oat, tap

A month or two ago, John, one of the bartenders at Lunar, decided to start a new weekly draw, "Vinyrial Tuesday," in which patrons are encouraged to bring in their vinyl records, and we take turns playing album sides. So far it's been a bonanza, as the previously nondescript slow weeknight has given way to a full bar each week.

There's a group of younger guys that usually bring in new stuff I've never heard of while I'm left to wonder whether the '70s and '80s shit I nabbed at Value Village in college will be cool with them. But tonight--Christmas vinyl night--my collection was king. It starts and ends with the most unintentional and hilarious unintentionally hilarious album cover I've ever known:

This one never made it on the turntable tonight, but Goulet's "Do You Hear What I Hear?" is honestly beautiful:



We did listen to Christmas with Chet Atkins, which is beautiful in its own right. If The Beverly Hillbillies ever had a Christmas episode, this should have been the soundtrack.

The real prize of my collection is the New Kids on the Block's Merry Merry Christmas, featuring the signature hit "Funky Funky Christmas," which brought John and a few other folks to dancing:



For good measure, here's a live version from Arsenio:



While things got funky, I was sipping Southern Tier Imperial Oat, an impressive imperial stout that let me calm my stomach with a few quick sips while leaving enough of a challenge to slow-sip my way through the next hour. It's intended to be served in a nine-ounce glass, but I'm pretty certain John gave me twelve. No harm--it's good enough to be interesting for the full serving.

There isn't anything terribly unique about this beer, but it should satisfy expectations for an imperial stout--viscous, thick head, flavorful malts, slightly sweet, boozy finish. The aroma was pretty typical for what I've come to expect from an imperial stout--some coffee, musty basement, and chocolate. The flavor was smoky with a bit of dark fruit like cherry or raspberry, and bourbon at the finish. I don't know how many tilts this took me to finish, but if you don't lose count, you're probably drinking it too fast.

Grade: H, for hearty. Very rich, very flavorful--the kind of beer you can chew. You may not discover anything you didn't already know by drinking this beer, but you'll be satisfied if you're craving a good imperial stout.

Sprecher Dopple Bock, bottle, poured into mug

Rolling along with the dopplebock theme, tonight's offering comes from the suburbs of that other great Wisconsin city. And while I'd love to say the Milwaukee-area product beats out Madison's, Sprecher Dopple Bock just doesn't measure up to the Capital Imperial.

That's a shame because the bottle's been enticing me every time I open the fridge for the last few weeks. I mean, for starters, it's a fat pint, which bellows "drink me" louder than any other container I can think of. Also, I love the Sprecher labels:

This one features a great description on the neck label:

This dark, rich, and mildly sweet lager was originally brewed as liquid bread to sustain Bavarian monks during Lent.

Who says Catholicism isn't great?

The pour gets you in the mood for sure. It's darker, creamier, and more viscous than I'm used to in a bock, and the aroma is very pleasant--molasses and prunes or dates, mostly, and maybe just a little chocolate. The malt isn't as strong as most bocks, I don't think.

The taste didn't quite do it for me, and, well, that being the most important part, the brew overall was a mild letdown. My complaint is the same one I've had with other bocks--too syrupy and boozy up front and not enough earth to temper the sweet. It took four or five sips for the sweetness to dull, and even then, this tastes a little too boozy for a dark, thick beer that's only 7.9% ABV. The Capital held it's 9% much better, as I recall.

Truth be told, the Sprecher gets better midway once you acclimate the sugary punch. The date flavor dominates, but my favorite part is the finish, which is a little bitter and vaguely smoky.

Grade: C, for comforting. It's not the greatest beer, but it's a slow sipper with nice after-hours flavors that make it easy enough to drink. Still, it's potent enough to remind you that you're getting buzzed as it goes down, which isn't a bad thing as long as you're in the mood. For as much as the pint bottle excited my former booze hound, I'd rather drink it in two sittings if I were to have it again.

Capital Imperial Dopplebock, bottle, poured into mug

I now interrupt this long hiatus to bring you a beer review.

In my last post, just over a month ago, I mentioned my beer "allergy" and my doctor's recommendation to abstain for three months. If you interpret my inactivity as following that advice, you would be wrong. I've cut back a little--no second pints and the occasional beerless night--but that's as far as I'll go.

That said, I have a very important professional exam at the end of this month--I'll let you guess which one--so my time has been at a premium, relatively speaking. That doesn't mean I'm spending every free moment studying--that would be an awful way to live--but it has made me less willing to stay up that extra half-hour after leaving the bar to tell my banal anecdotes (and perhaps mention something about the beer I drank).

But tonight, insomnia reigns. Sixteen hours in the office wasn't enough to wear out my conscious brain, but maybe this Imperial Dopplebock can finish the job. Either way, I'm having a delightful time drinking it.

Have I mentioned that great cold-weather beers come from cold-weather states? Yes, all the time. Capital makes me reconsider my declaration of bocks being my least favorite beer style because right now, that simply isn't true.

This is a perfect fall beer, smelling of dates or figs, wood chips, and something vegetable--either carrot or broccoli. As you'd expect, the malt is the predominant flavor, which is just the right amount of sweet--again, dates and maybe a little honey. The sip finishes a little smokey--more like a cigarette than a barbecue.

The taste is thick to match the texture, and I'm surprised this is 9% ABV. I'd guess 7.5% if the label didn't tell. For best results, drink this outside on a fall night, where the air will keep the beer cold, and the booze will keep you warm. Just a half-ounce per sip, and swish it around thoroughly.

Grade: W, for woodsy. I first tried this beer last month up in the woods of northern Wisconsin, and it felt like the perfect beer for the setting. But I can confirm that it's still excellent if you're lying around your bedroom in your boxers.

Sprecher Black Bavarian, bottle, poured into inappropriate glassware

This morning I received the unfortunate and somewhat bewildering news that I'm allergic to brewer's yeast. Of course, this diagnosis--I mean, opinion--begs two very important questions:

1) How reliable is this testing method, anyway? Surely it must be totally, horribly wrong.

2) If I really am allergic to brewer's yeast, what constitutes a food allergy? I drink beer on a daily basis and have never so much as broken out in hives from drinking beer.

Whatever the case, my doctor told me to avoid beer for three months--a most disheartening prescription. Still depressed tonight, I decided I needed a beer.

I always say, if you want good cold-weather beers, start with a place that actually has cold weather. And, as I also say, if you want good German-style craft beers, start in Wisconsin. Black Bavarian? Check and check.

Black Bavarian pours with a high, fairly creamy head that smells of molasses, malt, dried figs, raisins, and a little whiff of chocolate. The taste generally matches the aroma, with the malt and molasses most prominent and some bitter stale coffee on the back end. The feel is more foamy than I'd hoped but still appropriate for a dark German, and at 6.0% ABV, there isn't the slightest taste of booze. You can enjoy this as a slow sipper if you're feeling dainty, but you can just as easily take it down in swishy two-ounce gulps if you're a burly German dude.

Grade: H, for hearty. It has a strong body but isn't heavy or overly dense. The molasses and dry fruit flavors make this a good desert beer, but it would make just as a good a mid-afternoon beer or complement to a blandly spiced meal with bitter vegetables. Black Bavarian is a Wisconsin German-style beer that holds up the conventional wisdom.