I’m not going to spend too much effort on this, other to say that the 2006 version of Jubelale was nasty. 2007 was gross as well. In this regard, the 2008 version does not disappoint. Just as cheek smashy, just as odd tasting, just as quickly down the sink. This year, even the wrapper was bad.
At least I didn’t have to pay for it. Except in watching the Charger game with the buddy who brought it over. But I’m not bitter, really. Jubelale on the other hand …
Widmer and I go way back. It began innocently enough with Hefeweizen. Pretty ubiquitous around the west coast, it taught me many years ago that there was beer that was actually good. Drop Top was decent for parties, and then came Snow Plow. When I first moved up to Beervana, I wish just giddy for the thick and tasty Snow Plow during the winters.
But as time wore on, and I tried more and more beer, I began to notice the flaws in Widmer. The Hefe was just a touch too bland and overdone. The Drop Top was well, not so great for parties anymore, and the Snow Plow tasted like a burned tree. And so, like that girl in college who pasted a “I didn’t really want to break up, I just wanted to scare you into being more serious” note to my apartment door, Widmer and I were done.
And so it was with Brrr. I wanted to give the local boys another shot, after all, the bottle wrapper was excellent. I poured a glass and drank. At first, it was good. Crisp, a little bite, but tasty. But then I drank more, and the bite continued. With one last swig I tried ot give it a go, and it had just turned undrinkable. I can’t explain exactly what it was. It may as well pasted a note as well, cause I just wasn’t able to take it any more.
I know I can be a cranky drinker, but this one at least is coroberated by Chris of Ruby McGowan, who caught me in the hall to remark that he too had a quick break up … and that he has a winter ale brewing as we speak.
So the lesson to take away is this, no matter how fancy her wrapper is, she has to be smooth on the inside. No wait. No matter how fancy her wrapper is, the second time down she’ll start to bite. No wait thats worse…er…dont drink bad beer.
Watch what you say ’bout my Widmer boys. Hef? Bland? I mean, name a better hefeweizen. Betcha can’t. Of course, it’s winter now and hef doesn’t sound good to me either. Besides, it’s my favorite time of the year (for me at least), IPA season! Drinkin’ a Bridgeport IPA as I type!
IPA season? Please, its dark and malty season my friend. Raven Mad Imperial Porter, now that’ll warm you up. And don’t claim such loyalty to Widmer…when you are drinking their clear superior as you type the comment 
I was surfing around looking for reviews on Brrr since my husband just recently did a review on it as well. And everyone seems to like this one. My husband couldn’t stand it either. Finally ran into someone who didn’t care for it. LOL! Enjoyed your post!
Hope you can stop by to check out my husbands review.
http://thejoereview.com/2009/01/02/brew-review-17/
And keep up the great work.
Ever had one of those beers where it feels like the flavor wraps around your teeth? Like its originating in your molars, wandering your bicuspids, then slowly slithering its way into that part of your pallete that makes you shudder. The kind where it’s a liquid, but you feel the urge to chew, and chew. HArd enough to kill whatever it was that was assaulting your mouth.
So goes Hibernation Ale by Great Divide. Someone in the brewery said, lets give it more flavor! And out came the funk dropper. The label says “Robust”. But what they really mean is “Really f*@$!ing Rubust”. Rubust like a sweaty sumo wrestler. And tasting the same too.
I recently had the opportunity to try this beer too. I have to agree with the eff-ing robustness of this beer. However, I enjoyed mine much more after some Jameson whiskey.
Of course, there are a lot more things that taste (feel, look, etc.) better with whiskey.
“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.
I came so close to buying one of those on that trip to Whole Foods. Now I’m glad I listened to reason and my empty wallet.
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.
I’ve swilled a few of these in my day and still have a soft spot for this beer. It’s not a chugger; it’s a sipper.
For me, maybe it deserves a 3.5. Damn wordpress is stifling my blog ratingness.
I may be scottish, but I still wasn’t a huge fan. To me, it tasted a bit too Orkney. Get it?…. I kill me.
…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.
It is like sucking on a hunk of cedar. (Great for keeping the moths away!)
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?
To me all browns test bad; so how do you make a finer distinction for ones that taste bad versus ones that taste bad because they’re hoppy. =P
You and I need to head to Rogue Brewery my friend. It’s time for you to join my Hazelnut Nectar addiction.
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.
Skylark are discussing. 
SwillJockey 10:35 am on January 19, 2009 Permalink
I think the 2008 “Quickly Down The Sink” mean give this stuff to Swill Jockey and make him live up to his moniker and drink it.
I’m scared, very scared. Someone hold me.
Frosty 10:46 am on January 19, 2009 Permalink
Misery loves company.