Samuel Smith’s Organic Strawberry Fruit Ale (0/6)
Don’t drink this. Its terrible in a way that only bad fruit ale can be. Rancid sharp strawberry flavor, in otherwise fine ale. Admittedly, I didn’t expect it to be any good, but even I was surprised just how little I was able to drink before I had to pour it out.

Red Hook 8-4-1 Expedition Ale (1/6)
Your mileage may vary on this one, but I just didn’t like it. There was something about it that didn’t jive with my taste buds, and I was generally unhappy with the results. It’s not terrible, rather just the epitome of “That boy ain’t right”.

Full Sail LTD 02 (4/6)
Yay LTD! I just love this stuff. It’s on the maltier end of the Easy Drinkin’ spectrum, but it definitely qualifies as a cooler filler if the occasion arises.

Bridgeport Blue Heron Pale Ale (4/6)
Up to this point, Bridgeport’s Haymaker was holding the crown as one of my favorite Easy Drinkin’ beers. But now that I have had this, I think Bridgeport may have unseated itself. It’ll be perfect for the July 4th BBQ, when you force those family members who drink Budweiser products (…sorry I just threw up a little in my mouth…) to drink quality beer. Easy, non-offensive, tasty.

Great Divide Collette Farmhouse Ale (5/6)
I like Farmhouse Ales, but usually just for tasting. They tend to be a bit strong for a six pack or even a full 22. Collette, however, is an exception. This ale is great. And, although being farmhouse tasty (mmm…farm taste), its mellow enough to be had regularly. Or in large quantities *drunken stumble*

Widmer Sunburn Ale (2/6)
The blogosphere gave this beer a lot of happy thoughts recently, but I just didn’t see why. Widmer has decided to use some new “Citra-hop” variety of hops, which although novel, is super distracting to the taste. Its like beer flavored orange juice. Not a fan.

Dick’s Pale Ale (2/6)
Despite promising to do a huge run of Dick’s posts, I purposefully didn’t mention this one. Not because it’s bad, but just because it practically non-existent. It takes Pale to a new level by being the taste equivalent to translucence (see I know big words!).

Jonathan Edwards “Lost Finale” Lager (4/6)
I round out this blast of posts with a nod to our favorite local homebrewer Jonathan Edwards. Recently, he dropped this German Lager down on my desk, and I can happily say it was yet another notch in his impressive homebrew collection. Its crisp yummy taste helped drown out the sorrows of watching the Lost Finale. And made me buzzed enough to not care about the cheesy cork in the island scene. Prost!

And the result?  After all the build-up, the flavor is just as odd as you’d expect — and oddly, it’s the least flavorful beer I’ve ever had.  Of course any normal beer probably tastes oddly flavorless to me, after trying Budweiser’s Clamato — but even after correcting for my forever-damaged taste buds, this is a very subtle beer.  It’s almost refreshing, practically alcoholic mineral water, and would be a good beer to drink after a marathon, if for some reason you had to drink a beer instead of a sports drink.  (Try it!)  But after the subtle dignified label and the promise of exotic sorgham, I was ready for a complex spectrum of unusual and challenging flavors to process, for tastes and top notes and bouquets and aftertastes, but instead I had to consciously check midway through to see if it still tasted like beer at all.  In other words, this is a Radiohead album cover containing a compilation CD of soap opera background music.

You’d think I’d learn after trying an import from Poland (“cool!”) that turned out to be their Malt Liquor (“dag nabbit!”) that trying odd Eastern European imports with labels in foreign languages is a wild gamble.  But if you’ve been reading my posts so far, you now know that I never learn.  Those brain cells died in a puddle of Schlitz long ago.  This time, it’s from Mother Russia — Baltika Number 6, which is something called a “Baltic Porter”.  In keeping with my policy of never learning, I have also not done my homework to figure out exactly what that is, but I drink on, nonetheless.

Baltika Numero Six is not bad, just off a bit.  Not skunky, despite the intercontinental trip to Socal.  None of the flavors are bad, though there are a LOT of them.  Not too astringent, though I was expecting the first sip to dissolve my front teeth, as so often happens with extra-strong imports.  But it’s just… different — an odd mismash of flavors that don’t quite all work together.  Something’s just not quite right — maybe something’s lost in the translation, maybe this is what Baltic Porters are supposed to be, but I’m not buyin’ it.  Why not?  Check out their website – you can look up the Baltika’s official homepage for all their beers (they run from 1 through 9).  For Number 6, you’ll see a strange juxtaposition of hip, modern Russian youngster spinnin’ trax on the DJ set on the left, next to this description of Baltika No. 6 on the right:

“Baltika’s porter is one of the most eminent varieties of Russian beer with a long heritage.  Energy value: 60 kilocalories per 100 g of beer.  Nutritional value: not more than 6.0 g of carbohydrates per 100 g of beer.”

Wow — that has to be the most arid, scientific beer slogan I’ve ever seen.  Keep in mind, this is on their official website, where you’re supposed to sing the praises of your product, not post half of an AP Chemistry word problem.  And it about sums it up for Baltika No. 6 — like the emergence of Russian glam rock bands after glastnost, Baltika No. 6 is just a little too alien for my taste.

And the beer?  Well, I like my Smithwick’s as much as anyone else, but the beer in the kegs in the above photo is the actual best beer in Ireland:  Guinness.   Slainte!

Naturally, I had to pick up a bottle — just weird enough for me to drink. After popping off the cap, a dense wad of beer foam oozed up to say hello, at roughly the pace and shape of one of those black snake firecrackers that never fail to disappoint on the 4th of July. “That’s odd”, I thought, making a mental note not to make a “happy to see me?” joke about it in my beer review, since that would be unoriginal and lame.  Nearly as unoriginal and lame as naming an Indian beer “maharaja”…

At first, it seemed strikingly sour, but it turned out this was because I had just consumed the World’s Sweetest Drink In The World (in case you’re interested, the “creamsicle”: amaretto, triple sec, OJ, sour mix, tonic, and some dental fillings, because you’re going to need them), without adequately rebooting my palate. After a sip or two, it turned out to be surprisingly good. I was almost shocked — I saw a beer imported from India, picked it up expecting (even looking forward to) some serious skunkiness, but it tasted as fresh as an MGD. Compared to some of the skunky disappointments I’ve gotten from other parts of the world (like half the stuff from Ireland), this was a definite pleasant surprise. I guess there must be a lot more demand for Indian beers than Irish beers in my neighborhood.  Which I can live with.  Because this Irish dude is multiculturally sensitive, hyper-aware of the un-PC leanings of beer labels, but most importantly, much happier to live in a neighborhood with Indian food (“mmm, buttery garlic nan”) than Irish food (“huh — did they have to boil everything, even the check?”).

In an effort to brew something that satisfied both the night before and the morning after, they instead created what is officially the worst beer I’ve ever tasted.

And what’s with the deer-escaping-from-a-chess-rook logo?  The deer has a look of ennui about him, despite being consumed up to the neck by a castle turret while the ground to either side inexplicably sprouts wings.  Maybe he’s confident because he’s carrying a gunpowder horn around his neck.  What the hell?  At first glance the diagram passes for your typical old-world style coat of arms, particulary being rendered in black and white on a subdued beer label.  But it’s astonishingly surreal upon close inspection, and must be downright bewildering after drinking an entire six-pack of this stuff.

But I kid!  Before I make any more superficial, completely-beside-the-point complaints, let me just say that this a tasty little straightforward stout — no tricks, no bells or whistles, no chocolate or cumin or rutabaga.  Just a quality glass of pretty much exactly what you’d expect.  The randomness of my earlier comments attests to my difficulty in finding anything substantive to critique about this beer — Black Hart’s stout hit the spot in that coffee/chocolate/pleasant bitterness way of all good stouts.  Try it “Irish Style” with some smoked salmon in a smoky pub while it’s pouring rain outside, and you’ll feel a bit Irish, no matter where you hail from.  Unless you’re a deer — in that case, watch your step and keep your powder dry…

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.

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…

I’ll admit, I was totally gun shy after installment one. For no good reason, I cringed as I started to drink this beer. But you know what, it was good! Its a nice copper colored ale, with a real smooth drinkability. It has a bit of fruity wheat taste, kind of like the summer wheats I dig so much. All in all, quite enjoyable. Sort of the British equivalent to “Easy Drinkin’”.

In addition to the good taste, I also have to give kudos to the Brits for the bottle. It has that funny British bottle shape, but unlike their smelly southern neighbors, it holds 1 pint, 9 ounces. That my friends, is appreciation for the drinker. And just another reason why England won the war. I’m not sure which war, but damn it I’m sure they won.