“Who is more foolish? The fool, or the fool who follows him?”
-Benjamin Kenobi

Juan de la Cueva may have been a loon. For some reason in 1575 he wrote about some dish that combined Jalapenos and ale. Crazy? Maybe. But the real fools in this instance are the guys at Rogue Brewery who decided that this obscure story would make for a great beer.

Have you ever tasted a shoe? No? Well, I’m not sure I ever have either, but immediately after taking a sip of this beer I was convinced it tasted like one. Then the shoe flavor left, and the real horror crept in. Repeat after me: Peppers do not belong in beer.

The aftertaste was so wrong, completely awful on so many levels, that I was convinced I couldn’t really have tasted that. I tried again. I had Grandpa Goodbeer try it. All to no avail. This beer is gross. As soon as the otherwise odd flavor goes away, Rogue Chipotle Ale attacks you with the nuclear bomb of all Aftertaste Attacks. Dry, tangy, salty, throat scratchy, gross old jalapeno flavor. Its actually much worse than it sounds, if you can believe that.

On the other hand…

I did have to give it a 2. It worked pretty awesome as a marinade for Tilapia.

I applaud Rogue for trying new things, I really do. But much like that random hallucinogen I tried in college, not all experiments are a good 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.

…aka Aftertaste attack, OMG the aftertaste…did I mention the aftertaste?

Some time ago, Skylark was waxing poetic about this brewery in Eugene, Oregon called Ninkasi. It had something to do with the brewmaster but I can’t remember whether he met him, slept with him, stole his dog or what. He spoke with a salvating tone about the opportunity to try one of these hard to find beers.

So imagine my delight when I saw a bottle at my local beer pusher. ‘Here’s my chance to see what all the fuss is about’, I thought. I’ve often been a big fan of the red ales (Karl Strauss Red Trolley was an early favorite), so I decided to grab the intriguingly titled “Believer Double Red Ale”. From the bottle:

The ancient Sumerians worshipped the beer they made, and praised the Goddess Ninkasi for the miracle of fermentation. Beer is a staple of civilization. Worship the Goddess.

Well, my friends, count me among the non-believers. ‘Cause OMG the aftertaste. The shame is that the flavor of the beer as you drink it is actually pretty good. Its when you stop that all hell breaks loose. Its like it alive. The face twisting after taste literally feels like it wandering around my mouth, punching every taste bud it finds. I’ve had cheek smash before, but this is more like cheek ultra-violence. “Like rubbing a piece of cedar on your cheeks”, the wife says.

I’m not ready to write of Ninkasi just yet, as they have some good sounding beers in the stable. Instead I just warn you to proceed with caution, its “that time of the month” and  this Goddess is vengeful.

I like Nut Browns. Anyone who has ever tried Rogue’s Hazelnut Nectar can attest to its total awesomeness. Even perennial disappointment Deschutes Brewery makes a pretty tasty Brown.

So you can imagine my total shock and dismay when I took a swig of Hale’s Irish Style Nut Brown, and immediately cringed with an intense cheek smash. Hale’s Brewery best never go to the Emerald Isle, because apparently they consider “Irish Style” to mean “tastes like crap”.

You see, where I was hoping for a nice nutty flavor, possibly with a hint of “brown tang”, I was met instead with an insane amount of hoppy teeth kick. Admittedly, I don’t like IPAs all that much (even when they taste like crotch), but I don’t even think IPA guys would like this. Its like a beer that can’t decide what to be. I can only imagine the brewers sitting around … “We can’t get this to taste right, lets just throw a bunch of hops in it”.

To their credit, Hale’s only offers this as a seasonal brew. I mean, why offend the Irish all year round?

Frosty and I took our buddy visiting from Texas, B-rad, to our local McMeniniman’s. The Cornelius Pass Roadhouse is a great place to take visitors. The antique timbers, local artwork, and proximity to the Silicon Forest make it an easy way to give someone a taste of Portland.

We sat down for some good pub grub and conversation and ordered a pitcher of Starfire IPA. Frosty had the Summer Wheat or something because he is a hater. The IPA was distinctly different on the first sip. Both B-rad and I immediately blurted out  salmon. Puzzled, Frosty took a sip and came to the same conclusion. Smoked salmon to be specific. It was nice, kind of mellowed out the hops. It was almost like someone dropped a piece of charred cedar from a smoke house in to the hops.

Pleased with our choice in beer and our interpretation of the flavor we continued to dig on some cajun tots. After a while I took a deep swig from my now half empty glass and caught a distinct whiff of  B.O…. you know, body odor, man-stink. And not just any B.O. I’m talking a true ripeness. Ball-sweat. Taint-drip. Mary Catherine Gallagher neurotically shoving her hands in her pits and thrusting them in her face.

It was the unmistakable smell of your Grandpa’s BVD crotch after a strenuous game of Texas Holdem… and he didn’t come away ahead. You know what I mean? Yeah you do… he was clenchin’ those cheeks all the way to the River.

In the end, however, I learned something about myself. Turns out I can appreciate a good ball-sweat. I mean, I think I am going to refrain from getting it right from the source. That might have some unintended consequences and perhaps a slightly different aftertaste. No, definitely not but I guess what I am really saying is that it didn’t ruin the beer entirely. The unique smoked-salmon flavor really set it apart. I would simply request that those hippy brewmasters down at McMeniman’s refrain from throwing their sweat-soaked frisbee golf uniforms in with the hops.

“Woah” I said as I took my first swig. And I didn’t mean a good woah.

I was feeling adventurous, so I decided to grab this rather cool looking bottle and try something from our friends down south. Apparently “Carnivale” isn’t the only wild and crazy thing in Brazil, cause this beer is wacky. The odd initial flavor, and ass-y aftertaste is difficult to describe. Fruit? Wheat? It is “Unfiltered Wheat Doublebock”. Apparently what they didn’t filter out was the “funk”.

I give it a 2, cause I made it through at least 1/3 of the glass before the inevitable sink pour.

I’m not sure I should be reviewing beer. I don’t seem to be qualified. I mean, I paid almost $5 each for two beers at Fred Meyer. I have heard a lot about Hair of the Dog but had never tried one of their brews for myself. They’ve got a cool logo after all, and we all know I am a total sucker for good branding.

I was not in the mood for a whole six pack and although $4.79 or something a bottle made me think twice, I also thought, “this is going to be some NICE beer!” As I poured the beer in to my pilsner glass (I thought it would be fitting) I was sure my thinking was right. The beer was dark with a beautiful head. I mean, gorgeous. My mouth watered in anticipation.

But before I talk about the first sip, let’s talk about Hair of the Dog. Their reputation precedes them. This is real beer-o-phile beer. The first, called Fred, piqued my interest with the name alone. Fred Eckhard, famed beer reviewer and historian had recently passed away and although I had never heard of the man, I quickly became a fan albeit posthumously. The label on the beer paid tribute to Mr. Eckhardt, sighting him as one of the inspirations for getting in to the beer biz. Cool.

Cool, that is until the first sip. Jesus. Satan? My face contorted and I forced it down. My wife gave me a sideways glance. Typical burnt-chocolaty taste, but this time followed by a finish laced with the distinct flavor or vomit. Yes. Vomit. Not kinda vomit, or vomit-like, or faintly reminiscent of vomit. V-O-M-I-T. If this is a tribute, I’d hate to see what they do for people they hate. Fred Eckhardt is spinning in his grave. Or maybe not. Maybe its me.

I soldiered on. I was determined to enjoy this beer and count myself among the true beer lovers. I screwed up my face and worked through the rest of the pilsner glass. Worked through it like hard labor or passing a kidney stone. Again, sidelong glances from the wife asking, “why?”

On to the second glass. Surely the second glass will be better. This one, Adam (not sure which departed soul this one is meant to offend), offered the same thick brown head and chocolaty aroma. It also unfortunately included the same bitter-vomit taste. I was able to withstand about half the glass. Withstand is the key word here.

So, maybe I should turn in my gun & badge or login credentials or whatever. Maybe Fred Eckhardt would give me a good brow-beating for dogging (pun intended) on his namesake. Maybe. But until Mr. Eckhardt comes down from heaven and tells slaps me on the head, I’m sticking to my guns.

This beers sucks. If this is how we honor our fallen beer lovers then I’m thinking we need to stick to simple burials. The next time I spend $4.79 on a beer it better either be good or accompanied by some good house music.

This beer made me so sad. Up to this point, Alaska Brewing had been batting 100, scoring with the Amber, Stout, and Summer. Endlessly long winters however, seem to have taken their toll on the brewmasters. This beer advertises itself as being brewed with spruce tips..which should be your first warning. When I think of good beer flavor, somehow trees just don’t come to mind. But I was feeling adventurous.

How this beer really tastes is indescribable, since it assaults you with so many flavors you can’t really decide what it tastes like. Except for gross. On the upside, the overly powerful taste worked great for a marinade. Saved from a 1 by the mighty spruce.

They say “a picture is worth a thousand words”. And if you take a close look at the picture on the left, you will see something that perhaps tells you more about this beer than even a thousand words could. Can you see what it is? For the astute, you will have noticed that the cap is still on. And that’s the way the remaining bottles of this icky stout will remain.

There are many stout makers that really get what a stout is all about: Black Seal Stout at the Rock Bottom in La Jolla, Snow Plow by Widmer, and our Patron Saint, Guiness to name a few. But then there are the others. Bison Chocolate Stout, Boone Valley Oatmeal Stout, and this one. “Stouts” from brewers that seem to think that burnt wood is a flavor people would like in their beer. I want to believe that they made it taste like this on purpose, but even so it doesn’t make it better. You get some yummy stout flavor on first sip, but then the rest of this bottle is like “juice of firepit log.” Steer clear.

You know how when you taste a particular nasty flavor, it just sort of sticks with you? You may have only had it once, but you instantly recognize it when you taste it again. I can say the same about beers like Coors and Budweiser. Brewed heavily with rice, they have this kind of “crappy beer” twangy aftertaste that screams wifebeaters and mullets.

Unfortunately, the same can be said for Red Hook’s SunRye. The packaging is top notch (cool bottle shape even), and the promise of a yummy summer beer is inviting. But once you have that first light sip… I’d swear this was a Coors in a fancy wrapper. I wanted to like it, I really did, but damn that aftertaste.

It almost meets the criteria for a 3, but my total disappointment, and the fact I don’t want to drink the 4 remaining bottles in my fridge smack it down to a sad 2. If they could kill the post sip twang, this would be some good stuff. But until then, I don’t want to feel like I’m back in high school, drinking Bud or Natural Light in my buddy’s garage while his parents are out of town. Blech.