This has been a bad week for my stomach.  First, we went to the county fair, where I had — you better sit down for this — 1) a deep-fried twinkie, 2) deep-fried oreos, 3) deep-fried Spam, and best of all, 4) a deep-fried WHITE CASTLE BURGER.  I believe these are coincidentally the forms that the four horsemen of the apocalypse will take when they reappear on earth.  Fortunately for us all, I neutralized them with my stomach.  Then, I found this beverage.  It was a moment that will forever live in infamy, a moment that will have entire chapters devoted to it in my children’s high school history textbooks, a moment that as we speak is forming the foundations of new religions.  The moment that I found…   Budweiser and Clamato.   Yeah, that’s right — Budweiser, a perfectly normal, profitable company, has put out a product that consists of a can, a can that contains beer, tomato sauce, and clam juice.  The resulting concotion is salmon-colored, cloudy, and carbonated.   And it looked just as disgusting as it sloshed down the kitchen sink drain as it did sitting on the shelf in the store.

 Clamato, as I read in wikipedia, is a mix of reconstituted tomato juice concentrate, reconstituted dried clam broth, and high fructose corn syrup.   Oh, and MSG.  Who the hell decided they needed to add beer to the mix?  It’s apparently very popular, particularly in Canada, but it is easily THE WORST BEER I’VE EVER TASTED.  And keep in mind, I’m the guy who actually finished forty-ounce bottles of Schlitz, King Cobra, and something called “Country Club”.  I managed two sips of this abomination before I had to eat a mop to get rid of the flavor.  It takes quite a lot to disgust me, and the fine folks at Budweiser have done it.  I raise a glass of Tums to you in salute.

 Sadly, I had poured it all down the drain before I realized I had not maximized the potential of this drink — clearly, what it’s meant for is dipping sauce for deep-fried White Castles.  Maybe next year, unless I wise up before then.  If I could give this drink a negative six, I could, but let’s just say that my digestive system will never be the same…

Old Milwaukee… just sounds delicious, doesn’t it? This beer dates back before they named brews after snakes. I’m not sure if this is technically malt liquor or merely cheap beer, but I drank it from a 40-ounce bottle shaped like a Saturn rocket booster, so I’ll refer to it as the malt variety. Once Frosty hires a fact-checker for us, I’ll be more diligent in my terminology.

This one was not terrible, but it really stands out for fizziness. The “beer” was astoundingly carbonated. Just so much bubbles, fizz, and accompanying bloated feeling, that I wondered how much actual beer there was in the bottle along with the CO2. If it’s warmer this month than usual, blame my beer review for doubling the global warming effect. Malt liquors in general are more carbonated, and oddly carbonated, than regular old beer — you can tell that whereas a homebrewed beer, for example, contains bubbles from natural fermentation processes, malt liquors contain bubbles thanks to the support of some scary industrial surfactant. Needless to say, I was absolutely charming in the eyes of Mrs. Liquor that night, with my horrible beer breath and need to burp every 3 seconds.

What’s this I see on the label? Lo and behold, Old Milwaukee is brewed and distributed by Schlitz, which makes my least-favorite malt liquor to date. Given the flavors of both, it seems that Old Mil is the upscale, high-quality product, the Lexus to Schlitz’ Toyota. I’d drink this over Schlitz, but not much else — I really can’t recommend it for taste. If you’re entering a burping contest in the next 30 seconds, or you need to inflate a lot of backyard jumpy toys by hand this evening, I heartily recommend it. Otherwise, save your money, and save our world from more global warming!

Whats the only thing better than drinking beer? Drinking beer someone gives you! Ok, so maybe there are a few things better than drinking beer, but its sure nice when a generous coworker comes wandering by with a bottle of home brew for you to try. In this case, the brave soul was our own British expat, Jonathan Edwards. I had the pleasure of sampling one of the last bottles of dear Mr. Edwards Birthday Bitter, named in honor of both his birthday, and the birth of his cute little daughter Elizabeth.

Now, some of you who know me well may be wondering about me using the words “pleasure” and “Bitter” in the same sentence. I have been know in the past to strictly avoid Bitters, every since Grandpa Goodness had me try one that was the beverage equivalent of being punched in the teeth. So it was with a bit of trepidation and politeness that I geared up and gave Jonathan’s freshman brew a swig.

And wouldn’t you know it, as it turns out, Mr. Edwards has no idea how to brew a tooth punching Bitter. And I love him for it! This beer was really good. Despite its depressingly low alcohol content (2.6%!), it was a perfect complement to the Disney character shaped pasta the little Frosties and I had were having that evening. Full flavored, with a touch of hoppiness. After finishing it, Mrs. Goodness and I both remarked that it was very close in flavor to some of the Red Ales I enjoy. Kudos Jonathan, for renewing my faith in “Bitter” as a term not indicative of the experience of drinking it.

April is my birthday month and I am lucky enough to have good friends and family who love me. Sometimes people show their love and/or friendship in different ways. Some give kisses, some hugs, some bring the hard rocking. I am here to say nothing says love like the gift of beer. Frosty delivered a surprise package of three Ninkasi point twos (thanks to Liddell I know what that means). I’ve enjoyed the three distinct brews over the last few days.

In part one I’ll cover my favorite of the three; the Ninkasi Tricerahops Double IPA. But first, a little background on Ninkasi and my introduction to it.

I first heard of Ninkasi at John Barleycorn’s tavern in Tigard. I sat at the local McMenaman’s with my friend Ken listening to him, a fellow beer connoisseur, rant about how mediocre McMenaman’s beer is. Personally, I’ve never had a problem with a nice Rubinator (Terminator and Ruby) but I have encountered some interesting flavors in the past. In the end, I respect Ken’s opinion and like him, will continue to drink the swill the McMenemin brothers are serving.

As we were talking, Ken motioned to a nearby table interested in the conversation taking place. Evidently, the table guests were made up of some McMeniman’s big-wigs and the brewmaster from Ninkasi. Ken wondered what they could be talking about and pondered who it would be better for, McMenemin’s or Ninkasi. After a few minutes Jamie Floyd, Ninkasi brewmaster and owner, came over and said hi to Ken. Being fellow Eugenians they had met before. I was struck by how Jamie talked about his brews. He described them the way an artist talks about a series of paintings. He described them with beauty and vision. I had to try his beer. Its taken a few months and an especially painful close call at the Ship (in Multnohmah Village) but Frosty delivered Ninkasi to my doorstep.

So how does it taste damn it! Tricerahops Double IPA doesn’t disappoint. The first thing that took me was the complexity of the flavor. Hops for sure, but not just hops. Many brewers think they can create a great IPA  just by doubling or tripling the hops. Lagunitas and Rogue have been able to do it successfully but most fail with thundering cheek-smash.

Ninkasi Tricerahops Double IPA is a work of art.

This is Chris McGowen. Everyday that you go to work and your computer doesn’t die a horrible death from viruses and botnets (assuming you use McAfee), you should be thanking Chris.

Personally, every time I’m thirsty and am looking for solid alcoholic beverage to chill with on the patio, I thank Chris. Cause by golly, does this guy brew some tasty beer. Not just tasty, but in a true nod to the comfort in his manliness, a fruity beer. Very fruity, and perfect for a warm evening BBQ, or for boozing up your lady for a night of lovin’.

Chris’s entry was a tasty ruby ale that we at the Goodness have name “Ruby McGowen”. The name makes me think of one of those waitresses you’d order pie from in a Texas diner. Sweet, but with a hint of sharpness if you push her. In this case, Ruby had a cool, sharp flavor on first sip, then went down with a mellow fruitiness.

And unlike some fruity beers I’ve had, it had no sugary aftertaste to sicken the palette. (McMenamins!!) All in all a worthy brew that I hope I can con Chris into giving me some more of.

As an aside, I would like to acknowledge my restraint on not making a joke after I wrote the words “went down with a mellow fruitiness”, as well as give a mild taunt to the one called “Jilot”. Mr Packer, along with Chris himself, claimed that Ruby was overly “heady”. Well my friends, take a look at the picture of this pour. I call it skill. Or perhaps a testament to how much I drink…

Welcome folks to the first installment of a new series here on Frosty Goodness, the “He brews beer” collection. Quite a few of our fellow drunkards have begun brewing beer of their own, and we would be remiss if we didn’t highlight the ups and downs of their foray into garage speakeasies. So without further ado, lets begin.

This is Doug Boyer. Doug is a great guy, and when not coming up with ways to make our livers swim, is actually in charge of shaping our future as a big wig at a local school. Doug’s submission into the always dangerous hands of Frosty Goodness was a dark and tasty porter that we at the Goodness have officially named “Boyer Bathroom Porter“. (More on the name later)

Many of you no doubt know that I am no real fan of porters. They tend to have this “gristle” taste to them, as if someone just shoved a bunch of junk in a pot and cooked it until it stopped wiggling. I have had in my day, a few good ones. But until I sat on an empty stomach in Doug’s kitchen and drank 20 or so ounces of this beer, it had been really shaky. Kudos to Doug then for curing my fear of the dark yummy roast. BBB as we’ll call it for short, was super drinkable, had a yummy “toasty” flavor, and gave me a wicked buzz that carried all the way up to me putting my swooning head to bed. Luckily for me, if not for my liver, I walked away with “one for the road”.

In revisiting from above, why the name “Boyer Bathroom Porter”? Well, I really hope it had it’s brown color before the fermentation process. Because as it turns out, Doug did his fermenting in the downstairs family bathroom. Which as I told him, is a statement that is really a joke in itself.

After reading about Frosty’s “Stump Tart”, I went on a swilling run to Haggen and raided their beer stash.

I didn’t find any of the fruity Bridgeport swill in stock, but I did stumble across two nice surprises:

Fraoch Heather Ale - I expected horrible things to happen in my mouth when thinking about tasting this, but my love for Celtic culture made me ignore my misgivings.

It turns out that I was correct to not listen to my brain when selecting beers. This stuff is fantastic; even at $4.50 a bottle! It’s very well balanced and easy to drink. You can almost taste a little bit of the heather flowers this stuff is brewed with. So, if Frosty can go fruity, I can go flowery and call it a good day of swillage. The world takes all types, flavors, and colors.

Coopers Brewery Sparkling Ale - The sparkly name on this puppy (paying homage to Frosty’s shiny beer choice recently), and it’s decent single-bottle price tag made it worth a shot to try. Another blast over the outfield fence here.

It’s not quite as “clean” as the Fraoch stuff, but it’s still infinitely drinkable and tasty. It’s got a little bit of yeasty funkiness, but it works well in a beer this clean tasting. It’s Australian even.

My two forays into the world of other-worldly, or other-country-ly, beers was a distinct success and renewed my faith that there are still great, if previously unknown, beers to try on the shelf at your favorite swill emporium. Both worked well with the smoked salmon spread on crackers that the wife and I had for a late-night TV viewing snackfest. Both even tasted good with the apples & caramel dip wehad for dessert.

If you had to choose only one of these two beers as your choice for a dying wish beer, go for the Fraoch Heather Ale! You’ll die with a foamy, Heathery smile on your face, even having never been with Heather Graham before your demise.

This Swill Jockey was glad to have hopped in the beer saddle last night. Two solid 5s here.

For a change, before buying this, I actually felt with it and hip. If it hadn’t been for some pressing home matters, I would actually have been at the “release” for this brew. Or at least the tasting. So much was my surprise when I went by the wall of beer and saw a nice big bottle of Stumptown Tart sitting there. I mean look at her, how could you not grab that bottle.

In stark contrast to Walt’s testosterone fueled bottle art, this label not only wouldn’t kick your ass, but would most likely do something entirely different to it. But since this site needs to stay SFW, let’s move on.

The first pour of this told me how good it was going to be. The color alone was inspiring. Ruby-purple. I mean come on. I may be gushing a little too much because I just drank the whole big bottle, but I loved this beer. It takes fruity to the next level.  In all fairness, it’s probably closer to a lambic than an actual “beer”, but its damn good. It’s like drinking an alcoholic carbonated fruit juice.

My only semi-complaint about it, which may seem sort of nit picky, is that the serving size is too big. Because of the size of the bottle, and the desire not to have flat gross day old beer, you feel compelled to drink the whole thing. But man, is that a lot of sweet. I like a good tart as much as the next guy, but there can be too much of a good thing (chaffing?).

Still, super kudos goes to Bridgeport, who currently hold a 6 and a 5 on this site. I’ve been wary in the past since they sell beer at Trader Joes … but hey, everyone is allowed one mistake in life. With this and Haymaker, Bridgeport have climbed the mantle and can now hold on to the coveted “Frosty’s Official Portland Brewery” medal.

In closing, I bid you all to key an eye out for this sweet tart. And when you find her, grab her gently, take her top off, and wrap your mouth around … uh, er … you get the idea.

This is a beer whose artwork can Kick Your Ass, Burn Your Village, and Decimate Your Culture for Decades To Come (and will Later Become the Mascot for a Football Team). This beer’s artwork scoffs at the so-called “badass” artwork of Colt 45, King Cobra, and the like. This beer’s artwork eats Steel Reserve for breakfast. I can’t even get into how it lays waste to the Country Club.

And yet the beer itself didn’t quite live up to the label — maybe I’m unfairly comparing it to Samischlaus, the 28-proof brewed-only-once-a-year uber beer I just reviewed. If I’d been drinking Coors all week, I’m sure SkullSplitter would have knocked me on my shield (which is oddly shiny and clean, for a Viking). This is definitely not a weak beer, and I’m sure it earns its name the next morning after drinking a six-pack. My wife (Mrs. Liquor) took one sip and her appendix burst (not really, but same facial expression), so it might be me. I may have to conclude that I’ve broken my taste buds. I also inexplicably taste licorice in all Scottish beers, including this one, leading me to think I can’t be trusted to objectively rate beers anymore. And why does a Scottish beer have viking iconography? Historical glee at how the Vikings were one of the few cultures to subjugate the British, subjugators of Scots, Irish, Welsh, India, and the rest of the world?

It’s not a bad beer, though, and definitely packs a wallop in alcohol. It has a vaguely thick fruity taste, strong initial bite, not bad aftertaste, and possibly discovered America hundreds of years before Columbus. I would in fact judge it to be about halfway between McEwan’s and Samischlaus (though I haven’t tried enough other Scottish beers to really fill out the coordinate system there). If not quite conjuring up feelings of gnawing on a giant roast wildebeast leg at Valhalla, it’s an interesting beer experience and worth a swig or two.

Before I begin, I would like to point out that written on this label are the words: “Original Bayrisch Gfrorns”. Preach on, shiny nonsensical bottle, preach on.

Trips to the store with Lil’ Frosty have proven fruitful in the past, so as I stood confused at the wall of beer, I once again deferred to the toddler for my ticket to inebriation.

“Get that shiny one!”, I was told. Putting my faith in the hands of someone who eats boogers, I picked up the overly shiny bottle and brought it home.

My first impression was that someone spent a lot of time on this label. Some like, say, Liberace. I do applaud it though. Despite the garishness, there is something appealing about a bottle that takes risks, and isn’t afraid to adorn itself with nonsensical sentences.

Unfortunately, the cliche’ about “overcompensating” proves itself true here again. I honestly didn’t quite know what to make of the beer itself. It was a bit overly fruity, but not too offensive, and thankfully was pretty free of cheek smash. But despite that generic assessment I just gave, the only way I could describe it was that I just didn’t like it. You’d think that something with virtually no hop flavor would be a big hit for me, but alas. It was like the anti-Easy Drinkin’ beer. By the time I was 3/4 of the way through it I had to pour it out.

I found myself having to force it down, drinking it had become a chore. Like that time in college when the beer goggles wore off, but you still weren’t ‘there’…not that I’ve had any experience with that sort of thing…