Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat Beer

After a four hour drive to Michigan (where we decided to skip lunch to beat holiday traffic) our first instincts were to find a place to find that had which we craved most: food and beer.

Our choices were limited to a local Biker Bar or an Applebee's, the Applebee's won because I don't like getting hit in the head much and I can probably take the average Applebee's patron.

The bar at said chain restaurant was stocked with a good deal of stuff I'd never had before, so it proved to be an excellent choice. After hearing the long draught list, I ordered a Sam Adams Cherry Wheat.

Why I did that: Sometimes I am still an eight year old and the thought of "cherry" makes everything better, it's hyper sweet taste improves cola, cough syrup and sundaes, so I am programmed to order it when I hear it.

After I took my first sip and discovered what cherries and beer taste like together, I remembered Dennis Leery's infamous Christmas beer rant from "Lock N Load" (transcribed below):

“Hey man, look what I got you for Christmas.”“What’s that?”“Special Sam Adams Christmas beer dispenser, man.”“Oh really?”“Yeah, it’s six different flavors…”“Y’know what? Put it in the fridge. Put it in the bottom of the fridge and bury it.”
“So months go by, of course, right? Now I’m eating pretzels and I’m thirsty. I go and open the refrigerator, I see a beer out of the corner of my eye. I grab it, I open it up SLUUURP! PHBBBBBT! Cran..berry ale. Cranberry nut crunch fucking ale! Let me tell you something, folks. Cranberries and beer do NOT go together, okay? One’s for bladder infections, one’s for getting drunk! I take a look at the label of my beer; you know what’s on my beer label? Santa Claus is on my beer label. I swear to God! Why don’t you put the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy on there, too. Call it ‘Pussy Ale’ while you’re at it, go ahead.”

After about three sips, the cherry stopped punching me in the face so much and perhaps it was the effect of a beer on an empty stomach but it became a tolerable beverage. For the second round I chose something different because honestly, I couldn't do two in a row.

The bottom line is, this tastes like Sam Adams and cherry juice mixed together, I did not find it offensive but it's not a taste I find myself craving either. To each his own I guess.....

_BRaIN

Aecht Schlenferla Rauchbier

Being a sucker for pretty packaging (as well as being unable to read German), I picked this one up at random from the LCBO last night. Perhaps there is something to be said about purchasing foreign beers without any idea of what they may contain, as this one was one of the weirdest concoctions yet reviewed. Upon arriving at my cousin's house, further study of the product found this on the label:

Original Schlenkerla Smokebeer. Following time-honoured malting and brewing traditions, the strong smoky flavour of Original Schlenkerla Smokebeer is achieved by exposing the malt to the intense, aromatic smoke of burning beechwood logs at the Schlenkerla malthouse. After the brew in classic copper kettles, it matures in the historic cellars deep underneath Bamberg to become a unique smoky beer experience.

Being a lover of fine single-malt Scotch whiskey, I am quite familiar with the practice of smoking barley with peat prior to brewing and distilling good Scotch, but why would anyone try this with beer? Would it prove to be a unique, tasty beverage, or another nightmare to be sinked? Nervously, I uncapped it and poured it into two glasses. The dark ale was clear and smelled like beef jerky, which gave rise to Rob's cry of "ach, das schtinkant!" Pushing through the smoky aroma, we raised our glasses and drank. This stuff literally tasted like beef jerky soaked in Guinness, with a very long smoky finish. Aside from the novelty of being smoky and "beefy", the taste was extremely one-dimensional, and was reminscent of a smoky OXO cube dissolved in water. The hardest part about drinking this was the smell. While smoky Islay Scotch has a pleasant smoky scent, this stuff reeks like the shell of a burned-out Flint, Michigan housing project. If you can get past the strong smell, it is an interesting novelty but not one I would like to experience again soon. Fans of beef jerky might actually enjoy this, but in my experience this is more suited to daring your friends to chug at drunken frat parties.

Chimay Red Belgian Beer

A while ago, I was talking with a coworker about beer when he asked me if I had ever tried Belgian beer before. After stating I had never had the inclination to try it, he remarked "you should. All the real beer drinkers are drinking it." Having no idea what qualifies one as a "real" beer drinker (I personally consume untold gallons of the stuff), I dismissed his comments as the symptom of yet another pretentious marketing trend. I have since tried Leffe, Hoegaarten and Stella Artois, and if this is what "real beer" consists of I'll pass. Stella was the only one worth drinking and is mediocre at best - certainly not worth the price they charge for it. The others, quite simply, are keif.

Which brings me to the subject of tonight's review. Chimay Red is a Belgian beer that has been the subject of yet another pretentious marketing trend. Made by Trappist Monks since 1862, the beer has actually been touted as "the world's best". Lofty words for a product made in a country that seems to know little more than France about the brewer's art. Evidence of this is the wine bottle the product is packaged in, complete with a champagne cage and cork to seal it with. Seriously, who sells beer in wine bottles besides the French? And why would a beer need a champagne-calibre stopper? We would soon find out.

I removed the wire cage from the cork and gave it a gentle push with my thumbs. The cork took off like a rocket, smashed into the wall and bounced back, nearly strinking me in the face. At least I had the foresight to point it away from the television. "Beer isn't supposed to do that," stated Brian as we got our second clue that Chimay is a little different from our average brew. Brian had selected a couple glasses and we poured the beer into them. The colour was a murky brown, probably due to the fact that Belgians are apparently too lazy to filter their beer. The only unfiltered beer style that is excusable is weissen, and this was far from weissen as you can get. The head was adequate, but Brian's glass foamed up way to much and had to be sinked and refilled. As he went about getting his refill, I noticed champagne-style bubbles in the murky darkness in the glass. I started to wonder if they actually use champagne yeast to make this stuff. One can never tell, but thus far I had not seen anything close to brewing genius from Belgium - especially when they seem to have confused their beer and wine.

Undaunted by this mysterious turn of events, we raised our glasses and drank. The strong flavour of this ale was not unexpected, as I had counted on a strong flavour based on its colour. However, the initial palate was immediately overcome by what tasted like strong coriander. Who in the hell puts coriander in beer? Brian was not at all impressed with the herbal finish, and stated he was not sure if it actually was coriander, but it certainly did not belong in a beer bottle. I concurred with this reasoning and concluded that based on my experience, the Belgians are utterly clueless when it comes to brewing. Chimay may be an interesting novelty, but I could not see myself drinking more than two bottles of this stuff without feeling violently ill. The only way Chimay Red could possibly be "the best beer in the world" is if the only other contenders was a skunky Grolsch and a piss-warm Schlitz. The flavour is simply too spicy to even be considered beer in my books.