Curry and Coconut and Cumin. Oh My!

Over the past few years I've enjoyed most of what Ballast Point has put out. Their rums are amazing, and the vast majority of their beers are excellent.

I don't even remember where I picked up this bottle of Indra Kunindra. I think it was in North Carolina at Triangle Wine Company, a great couple of stores in the Raleigh area. All I know is that I never really paid attention to what all was in the beer. I just knew that a limited release Ballast Point had a very good chance of being good stuff. I wasn't disappointed.

Originally this beer was produced for the 46th anniversary of Holiday Wine Cellar, my favorite liquor store in Escondido, CA. Most know Escondido because of Stone Brewing, but I would argue that Holiday Wine Cellar should be a destination too. When I visited they offered me a sample of Lemon Hart 151 after I explained that I hadn't tried the new version after Lemon Hart pulled out of the United States market and then returned. The building itself fascinated me, with its funky mid century architecture, and when I walked inside I was blown away at how much awesome they packed into one small building. I could move into the wine cellar and be a very happy boy.

But enough about liquor stores. I'm here to talk about this beer.

I'm in the middle of a marathon rewrite session, trying to get my first and second book rewritten so I can begin submitting to publishers. By the end of today I needed a beer. This was the one I dragged out of the refrigerator.

I opened the bottle, still not having completely read the label, and poured it into my Great Divide snifter. As I poured I noted that it looked more like a porter. Not as thick or dark as a stout, it had little to no head and seemed quite watery. I was prepared to be underwhelmed.

Boy was I wrong. Lifting it up to my olfactory appendage I got huge notes of coconut. They don't even tout this beer as a coconut beer, like Stone does with their not-so-great R&R Coconut IPA. The text on the bottle that describes the ingredients is tiny. Crazy tiny for these old eyes. I still hadn't read it.

Then I took a big ol' swig and my tongue blew up. What the hell had just happened? My mouth was confused. I was transported straight to a place I'd never been. I assumed it was India, and I might have been right given that they called this an India-Style Export Stout. It might have just been Sitar (the best Indian food in Knoxville) but it didn't matter to me. Insanity is all I can say about this beer. I grabbed the bottle and read the fine print and immediately recognized the flavors I was getting. There was so much going on it was hard to single them out, but with the help of the list, I was able to do so.

Coconut. Cumin. A huge dollop of curry and a serious dose of cayenne pepper. Though not listed, I also got a bit of chocolate, but that's not so unusual in darker beers.

It was like I'd filled my mouth with vegetable pakora and tandoori chicken, minus the vegetables and chicken. My mouth was in ecstasy and my throat was on fire. I love Indian food, and I loved this beer.

This, seriously and without extraneous hyperbole, had to be the most challenging beer I've ever poured in my mouth. As it warmed the flavors melded even more. I finally began to smell the Kaffir lime, but only slightly. The heat slowly disappeared, but the curry flavor never went away.

I'd be very interested to see what this beer would be like if they went to an Imperial style. As it is right now, it's an export stout. I've never been all that fond of export style stout, as it's usually not very complex, but I must say that if all export stouts were like this I'd be drinking them on a regular basis. An Imperial would be terrifyingly exciting.

Currently a couple of stores in North Carolina have this beer in stock, so I'm going to have to see what I can do to get more. I could drink this with a big ol' helping of naan bread and just be one happy guy all evening. A liquid visit to one of my favorite local restaurants? I'm in.

Black, like his noir soul

The Traveler knew that there was a need for such a libation. Speakeasy's Payback Smoked Porter. Black, burnt and bitter, just like the souls of the women he had scorned so many times in his youth. It had to be. He wasn't quite sure why he knew, but he did. Such a drink was supposed to happen. It was written in the stars, so with resignation he withdrew the bottle from the depths of the refrigerator and set it down on his desk. It stared back at him, glance askance, menace in its soul. Payback time.

Approaching the vessel with trepidation, he ripped off the cap, wincing in fear of what the repercussions might be for his actions. The sound of gas escaping from the bottle mirrored his gasp of shock.

When he poured the dark, angry liquid into a glass he was stunned at the thick, luscious, creamy head that billowed from the depths. Craggy, with big bubbles and even bigger promise, it teased him as it beckoned. "Drink me," it moaned. "Drink me and all your troubles will be erased."

As he lifted the snifter to his trembling, dry, cracked lips, his nose was assaulted by the acrid scent of burnt coffee and the warm, welcoming smell of the bitter chocolates his long lost love had been so fond of. It reminded him of the inevitably burnt wheat toast that she would serve him when she wanted to break from tradition and do breakfast in bed the morning after.

The cool, dark liquid poured over his tongue in a wave of thick, dark flavor, shocking his senses back from reverie. Coffee again. This time with maybe a touch of cream. The campfires of his youth, back when Boy Scouts was about learning to be men instead of a popularity contest.  Burnt malts and sugar. Things that remind one of youth as well as later years. This kind of beer might scare off new members of the beer cult. Not something to be trifled with, it challenged his every preconception of what a smoked porter should be.

As he drained the glass of its last dregs he reminisced on what he had just experienced and lamented the passing of such a wonderful liquid. Had he to do it all over again, he might perhaps take a little more time to get to know it on a whole other level. Perhaps spend a few more minutes plumbing the depths of everything it had to offer. But tonight it was not to be. First impressions are the most important in this sad, angry world we live in, and this first impression was one that would stick with him for a long, long time.

Old Old Guardian

I never have denied that I'm a big fan of Stone Brewing's work. Over the past few years I've moved away from the absolute fanaticism I had for them, but that doesn't change the fact that I typically love what they're doing. Heck, you can take a look at my cellar (a work in progress. I still have a lot of databasing to do) to see that I'm definitely an acolyte.

My first trip to San Diego was in 2011, as I've mentioned before. In fact, it was my first trip to California at all. As soon as I was off of the plane and in my rental car I immediately set the GPS for Stone in Escondido, and wasn't disappointed by the trip. The Stone Brewing gardens are gorgeous and their the taproom/bistro is beautiful and busy. It was the perfect place to partake in my first taste of their 15th Anniversary Black IPA, not to mention a healthy pour of Bashah, one of my all-time favorite beers.

I have several Stone brews that have been sitting in the cellar for a while. Every once in a while I'll break one out and see how it's done as it ages.

The last time I opened an Old Guardian, it was a 2006 release that I brought out for an advance showing of Beer Hunter: The Movie that I hosted during Knoxville Craft Beer Week. To say I was disappointed was an understatement. It wasn't what I expected. It tasted like wood, was flat and was overall just not all that good. It had definitely gone beyond its prime.

So it was with trepidation that I grabbed the 2009 bottle I've had sitting in the back corner of the cooler since the 2012 Super Bowl. I had planned on doing somewhat of an incomplete vertical, but that never came of fruition, so I figured I'd try it .

As much as I was disappointed with the 2006, I was just as pleased with the 2009. The bottle says it was a "Limited Early 2009 Release." I don't remember how many bottles I bought. I know I have one bottle left after this one, and I'm glad I do.

I could see a fair amount of sediment in the bottom of the bottle, so was very careful not to disturb it as I took pictures and poured a glass. It poured a beautiful golden/ruby color, with a nice tan head that was about a finger's width. That head dissipated quickly but began leaving very nice lacing behind.

Sticking my nose down in the glass, I could smell malt, malt and more malt with a bit of booze, leather and hops backing it up. I was surprised to find any hop presence left 4 years after the bottle was pulled from the line, but it was definitely still there.

I detected the usual barleywine characteristics. Caramel. Brown sugar. Toffee. You know the routine.

As it sat in the glass I could see the bubbles rising very slowly, almost as if they were in a syrup instead of a beer. Lifting those bubbles (and their container, of course) up to my pie hole, I took a big ol' swig and swished it around in my mouth. As it rolled over the tongue there were two main sensations: Hops! It still had hop flavor! And booze. The warmth of the booziness of this glass of nectar could be felt all the way down my esophagus. Even 5 minutes after taking a healthy pull on the glass I could still feel that booze warmth.

At 11.3% ABV, the boozy nature didn't surprise me a lot, but most barleywines I've had tend to tone down quite a bit as they age, but I'm not sure this one did. It's 4 years old and still packs a wallop.

Letting my tongue rest, other flavors started poking their heads through the bitter booze. Fruit. Caramel. I still felt that resiny overtone throughout, but at least something else was trying to move up there to compete. I was left with a mildly laced glass and a sweet/bitter finale.

Mrs. Traveler's opinion: "It smelled good. It smelled very promising. It was just a little more sour than I expected. I could definitely drink more of it though. It's definitely better as it warms up."

That's a bunch of words by her, so I guess ultimately she liked it.

Overall it's a good bottle. I'm glad I have another one stashed, and will probably open it next year about this time to compare notes. I still have a 2006 as well, but I must admit I'm afraid to open it.

Cruising through the Bluegrass State

This weekend was our first (and perhaps last, but that's a later blog) time attending Fandom Fest in Kentucky, and when driving to Louisville I can't resist making stops along the way. This adventure was no different, but instead of distilleries we visited mostly breweries.

We left out of Knoxville on a Thursday after dropping our girls off at the vet's office for puppy camp. Lexington lies 2.5 hours north and is home to another of my many favored breweries, West Sixth Brewing, as well as one of my favorite liquor stores, Liquor Barn.

Mrs. Traveler: It comes in pints? Me: Yep. Diet Coke is now available in a tallboy. It's a sign of the apocalypse, I'm sure.

Over the past few years I've finally started relinquishing control of the wheel. I've grown to enjoy the scenery from the passenger seat instead of watching the world fly by while having to keep my eye on the road.

I first became aware of West Sixth Brewing from Lexington last year when I was in Louisville visiting a friend. I'm a big fan of their IPA, so I begged and cajoled Mrs. Traveler to take me there on our way.

The new West Sixth logo.

West Sixth is located in an old Rainbo Bread slicing and cooling building nicknamed The Bread Box. It's home to not only West Sixth, but also a bicycle coop, a local printing press and a flat-track roller derby team, as well as other development.

Lots o' space

Cool sculpture on the side of the Bread Box. Death Star motif FTW.

Their tap room is an extremely comfortable setup. It really is one of the nicest tap rooms I've seen in a long time. With a bar that seats about 15 people, several tables with very cool rocking chairs and a few couches, there's plenty of room for people inside. Outside there are tables, and there's even an area with picnic tables in an adjacent room that has a great view of the brewhouse. This last room, judging by pictures on the wall, has even been used for yoga classes and other events, so it's a great example of a multi-use space.

Pretty menu board

Mrs. Traveler being a goof. Dig the growler lampshades.

The couch area, with a cooler and TShirt/glassware/etc. sales area.

Brewhouse

The room I dubbed The Yoga Room

Thursday was Firkin Thursday, so I couldn't resist grabbing a glass of their Cocoa Porter. I'll apologize ahead of time for not having the copious notes that I usually take, but I was on a road trip and the last thing I wanted to do was grab a pencil or pen and start acting like a beer douche.

The firkin wasn't cold, so I got a nice room temperature pour. There was a very light, medium tan head and a big malt nose with a slight spiciness to it. Rolling it across my tongue there was a really nice cacao bitterness. Not as sweet as most cocoa porters, and I was happy with that. The carbonation was very fine and gave a tremendously satisfying mouthfeel. The hop backing lingered quite pleasantly.

Mrs. Traveler's notes: Good. Mild.

She's verbose like that.

Next up was their Smithtown Brown. Mrs. Traveler took the first sip.

"I like that. It has a tingy zing to it. A ting is a mild zing. Doesn't taste mass produced."

For me, I detected a mild, malty nose with a bit of brown sugar. The taste was of very light hops, malt and a bitterness at the back of the tongue. Just like the Cocoa Porter, this brown was not as sweet as many of the same style, which definitely moved it up the list on my chart.

After we left Lexington I programmed the ever-faithful TomTom to take us to Against the Grain Brewing, We made the drive in great time and pulled off of the exit to make our way to Slugger Field.

"Wait! Wait!" I yelled, scaring the living crap out of Mrs. Traveler.

"What?" she blurted, slamming on the brakes.

"There's Apocalypse Brew Works! Right there! Turn in!"

We pulled into the little bitty space, The Fallout Shelter, that houses Apocalypse. I'd heard good things about them, and had their RIP Rye IPA back in December, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

We got out of the van and wandered into the tiny, tiny, tiny little hole in the wall. One of the owners, Paul, was moving some kegs around and I smelled beer brewing.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"We were on our way to Against The Grain and saw you here."

"We're actually just stocking and brewing today. We're not open."

"Your website said you were," I said, pulling out my phone.

"Oh no. It does?" he asked, looking at my phone. "Oh. Wow. I'm glad that's not our website. I was about to freak out. That's Apocalypse out west."

"Aw man. I'm sorry," I said.

"No biggie. Where'd y'all come from?" he asked.

"Knoxville. We're headed to Fandom Fest."

"Well, if you don't mind us working around you I can serve you a beer."

"I don't mind at all. I like the smell of a brewery and I'm good about picking up my feet when I need to get out of the way."

He poured me a glass of their Smokin' Pyres, a smoked porter. Pitch black in the glass, it had a nice tan head. Heavy smoke and malt aromas wafted from the glass.

Taking a tug from the glass I was hit by a nicely balanced hop bitterness and sweet malt.

Mrs. Traveler, seeing my happy look, grabbed the glass from my greedy little mitts.

"Ohhh... That's good. More complex than the last couple. I like the bitterness."

While we were drinking the Brewmaster, Leah, came in with her two sweet dogs. It was nice to get a little puppy therapy and meet the other part of the brewery. We talked for a while about beer as I admired their unique brewing setup, then left them to their devices so as to not get in their way anymore.

Interesting brewing rig

Louisville can be a bit confusing if you don't have a GPS. It's easy to get turned around, and there always seems to be construction going on. After a couple of perplexing moments we managed to wend our way to Against The Grain (ATG).

ATG is attached to Slugger Field, a beautiful AAA baseball park that I became aware of through Zane Lamprey's Drinking Made Easy: Louisville episode. On a trip to visit JD last year he told me about the brewery and I had to check it out. This time I had to make sure Mrs. Traveler got to check it out too. I love the place. It's a gorgeous joint and you rarely get the same beer twice, since they don't usually repeat their recipes at ATG.

This picture doesn't do this beautiful field justice

Hint: If the Bats are not playing that day and there are no other events at the field, you can park in the field parking lot for free. JD and I didn't know this last time and wound up paying for a meter. This time we parked where we should.

Inside Slugger Field

Inside entrance to ATG

Neat drawing about how the brewhouse works

Three-story brewhouse

I ordered vegan wings and a flight of their beers, as well as a bowl of their vegetarian chili. I don't remember what Mrs. Traveler had. The vegan wings, which were made of seitan, were pretty good. I loved the texture, but they were far too spicy for me in general. The vegetarian chili was just too damned hot for normal human beings. I like Thai hot food and this was a whole other level of insanity.

This is how ATG denotes each of their brews. The chalkboard is where you find out each beer that goes with these names.

The chalkboard

Flight o' fabulousness

Satan's seitan. I didn't get a picture of the puddle of lava they called chili.

I hate to admit it, but the seven beers I had weren't even reviewed other than my Untappd notes, since I couldn't really taste as much as I would have liked. Top that off with the fact that my nose was running like somebody had turned on a spigot, so I couldn't smell most of the aromas of what has proved to be great beers before.

I've yet to figure out why people think that Vegetarian = Needs To Be Spicy Enough To Remove Rust From The Bumper Of A '47 Buick. It's a common problem and drives me nuts. They're not the only ones that I've experienced. I probably got an anomaly at ATG, because everything else I've eaten there is amazing.

The list is as follows:

Ionic Blonde. I couldn't taste this one. Very mild and just couldn't cut through the inferno in my face.

Citra Ass Down. All I could taste was hops and brimstone.


Dork Lard. A big ol' Barleywine. My notes consist of "Full bodied. Cuts the vegan chili heat quite well." Can you tell my tongue felt like I'd been licking Satan's sphincter?

Boob's Old 3600. I didn't make any notes on this one at all in Untappd, but I gave it 4 caps, so it must have been pretty good to my swollen tongue.

Sicherheit Wort. I recall liking this one pretty well too. The smokiness wasn't there for me, but that's probably because my whole head felt like it was smoking.

Oats and Hose. The lactose in this actually started cooling my tongue off. I saved it for right before the An Ale Stimulation when I realized it would probably help my cauterized taste buds.

An Ale Stimulation. Say that one fast. This was the last beer I had. By then I could actually taste it since the heat had started to subside after pushed the chili aside. It was an awesome Imperial Rye Stout. I still don't have any major tasting notes, but I liked the way the rye complimented the chocolate notes of the malt. It was also 11% ABV, so was quite the finisher.

Mrs. Traveler and An Ale Stimulation

After boxing up what was left of my beans, tomatoes and napalm we made a beeline for The Galt House.

The Galt House is a huge hotel that sits right across I-65 from the Ohio River. It consists of rooms, suites and apartments. We were lucky enough to score a cheap suite, so we were able to stretch out a while before JD got there.

Once JD arrived it was time to try and find something to drink again, as my buzz was starting to go away. What better place to go than Bluegrass Brewing Company? We wandered out onto the street, turned left and walked the block to BBC.

A lot of people knock BBC, but I actually really like a lot of what they do. Some of it is pretty middle-of-the-road, but a lot of it is pretty damned tasty. In fact, my notes on the Homewrecker Double IPA I had consisted of, "Damn that's tasty." Nothing like being succinct in your evaluations.

Half a glass of IPA left

I washed the bitterness down with a Raspberry Mead, a nice cap to my evening's beer experience. I didn't take any notes, but that's because I was enjoying the mead too much. I remember it being not-too-sweet. Sweetness, to me, is the problem with a lot of meads, and this one wasn't like that.

We closed our tab, but I wasn't done yet. It was time to stumble on over to Jockey Silks Tavern, one of my all-time favorite bourbon bars. With leather seats, a sunken bar (so you don't have to sit on a stool), a well-stocked jukebox and dark wood surroundings, it feels like a bourbon bar should.

Jockey Silks has about 150 bourbons in stock at any one time, so you're likely to find something that makes you happy. For me it's bourbon flights. We bellied up to the bar and I ordered 5 different whiskeys I hadn't had before.

WL Weller Special Reserve was delicious. I didn't do any fancy notes, since I forgot my notebook and my phone was about to die, so forgive me for these being a bit boring.

Old Granddad 114 - Powerful

Old Bardstown 90 Proof - Sweet. Mellow.

Big Ass Bourbon - That's damn good

Bulleit Rye - Mmmmm...

As you can see I was past the point of effusiveness, but was having a good time nevertheless.

We wrapped up the night by sitting in the hotel's Conservatory having water and a salad and watching the stars walk by who were in town for the convention. We were even seated a few seats over from Joey Lauren Adams (Chasing Amy) and Lew Temple(The Walking Dead), which made me happy, since I've liked Joey ever since seeing her in Dazed and Confused.

The first day of Con was unfortunately over, but it had been an epic trip for me so far. The rest of the week wouldn't prove be as eventful alcoholically, but it was eventful in other ways. I'll post pictures and a description of Friday, Saturday and Sunday shortly.

Not distributing to Washington? Say it ain't so!

In January, Russian River sent out a letter to their customers in Washington letting them know that they would be pulling out of the state. There were people who were angry and there were people who understood.

It reminds me quite a bit of the kerfuffle that happened when Dogfish Head pulled out of four states. I'll admit, I was pissed at the time. I swore I'd never buy another Dogfish Head beer, but I caved. Their beers are just too damned good for me to avoid.

We in Tennessee are about to get Dogfish Head beers again. They've recently completed an upgrade to their capacity, and they're going to be returning to the four states they left. We still can't get Russian River though, and now I've lost my Washington connection too. (For those who don't know, my entire immediate family lives in the Seattle area)

Have no fear though. My brother-in-law travels to Portland semi-regularly, and they're still going to be getting Russian River. I just have to hit him up to grab a few Plinys for me every once in a while. (You hear, me Oogie? I'm talking about you!)

So, as I mourned the loss of my connection while I was databasing my cellar today (Not even close to finished yet. 1 shelf done. 7 to go, plus two fridges) I decided to dig into the Russian River stash. Taunting me in a dark corner of the closet was a Damnation. My friend Chris, also known as Tiki 65, (Who is an incredible tiki artist. Do yourself a favor.) picked it up for me when he was at Tiki Oasis 12 last August and I promptly stuffed into a dark, cool corner of the hoard.

Bottled on 8/7/12, this one has had about a year to mature, and in its maturation I'm not sure it did as well. I had previously rated this beer as a 5, but I'm rating this one as a 4. It could be that my palate has matured (unlike me) or it could be that I used to give a lot of stuff a 5 and have changed my grading since I returned to Untappd. I don't know. This beer wasn't disappointing, but it wasn't a 5.

I love the ritual of cork and cage, so long as I can get the damned cork out. Russian River corks have always been easy. I untwisted the cage from the cork, leaned a little on the edge of the cork and *pop*, it opened without drama.

The artwork on corks fascinates me. I have hundreds of wine and beer corks, and as a general rule every vineyard or brewer does different artwork. Russian River's is no different. I love the suggestion to not use a shaker glass but instead pour it into a tulip.

I took their advice and snagged a tulip from the overhead glass storage.

As I poured the contents of the bottle into my Sweetwater 15th Anniversary glass I was rewarded with a golden, semi-cloudy liquid topped by big bubbles forming a 1" head which hung around forever, like groupies by the tour bus after a Kiss concert. It took forever to dissipate.

As the head settled down the aromas of the beer changed. Early on I got hops, pears and Belgian funk, but as the head finally decided to call it a day I began getting more the aromas of bread baking and rock candy, with perhaps a hint of bananas, though part of that may just be that I was hungry.

I tipped the glass up and took a tentative sip, swirling it around in my mouth like I was some kind of wine/beer expert. I'm not, but I like to play one on TV.

The taste was decidedly mild and the mouthfeel was crisp. Citrusy bitterness with a bit of peppery spice and grass. As it lingered on the tongue it became earthy and piney. That faded a few minutes later and left me with a mild sweetness on the tongue. Bubbles? We have plenty of them. Nice and full carbonation without being overpowering.

Overall, all the flavors played nicely with each other, but as it warmed up it just became boring. I hesitate to say it, but the warmer it got the more it tasted like a basic mass-produced lager.

I got so into the glass that I almost forgot to give Mrs. Traveler a taste. She got the last bit that was in the glass. Enough for about three or four tastes, which unfortunately was pretty warm. Her words? "Eh. Not something I'd seek out. It's not bad, but it's not good. Maybe my tastebuds are dying."

I wish she could have tried it colder. Maybe I can get another bottle or three at a later date. It's not going to happen for a while, though, since my Washington clan can't get it for me anymore. I guess I'm just going to have to keep hassling Oogie to hit the bottle shop.

A Road Trip and a Porter

Those of you who know me outside of the socioblogofaceosphere know I'm very fond of Asheville. More specifically, I'm very fond of downtown Asheville. It's a glorious place for those of us who love beer. Top it off with great food, one of the greatest independent bookstores I've ever visited and a dearth of bitchy people and it becomes a happy place for me.

Mrs. Traveler and I considered moving to Asheville when we left that failed experiment known as Florida, but we chose to move back to familiar stomping grounds. The great thing about that is that Asheville is still only 2 hours away, give or take a few minutes depending on tourist traffic.

I needed to pick up a box of beer from Bruisin' Ales, so Ratchet, Animal and I piled into the trusty Boozemobile and motored out. Traffic was heavier than I'm used to (I tend to go on weekdays and get to Asheville fairly early so that I can go to Malaprops - the bookstore I mentioned - first), but we still managed to get there just before Bruisin' opened.

While we were all surfing our phones a couple from Louisville, KY, showed up to wait for opening time too.

"We just need another couple of people and then everybody will think there's some kind of rare bottle release going on," Ratchet mused.

We picked up a few beers, loaded up the Boozemobile and set out in search of Appalachian Vintner. I'd never been and Ratchet swore by their selection and taps. I've still not been there. Well, technically I've *been* there, but I've still not perused their shelves. They're closed on Sundays.

By now Animal and I were a mite peckish, so the three of us headed to Wicked Weed Brewing, one of my favorite stops in Asheville. The food is always awesome and the beer is always amazing.

I was a smidge nonplussed, as it turned out there was very little vegetarian fare available, but the cheese platter sounded good. It was good. It was very good. Animal said his bison burger was good too. 

"It's what I always get when I'm here, and it's always perfect," he said between bites.

I ponied up for a snifter of their Black Angel Cherry Sour. Y'all know me and sours. How could I resist?

Dark colored with the taste of chocolate, plums, sour cherries and oak, this beer was damned good. I regret that I hadn't had it sooner, but one of the downfalls of getting to Asheville early is that most of the tasting rooms aren't open. Wicked Weed's upstairs opens during the daytime, but you have to wait until early afternoon for the basement, which is where their barrel aged and sour beers are located.

I decided to try an experiment. I snagged a chunk of the amazing blue cheese on my stave and chucked it into my gob to let it melt. Then I took another tug on the sour. It was like an epiphany. The sourness was tamed and the oak, plums and chocolate came bursting through.

"Hey Ratchet. Here's a chunk of that blue cheese. Coat your mouth with it and then pull on that sour in your flight." I moaned ecstatically.

He picked up the little piece of phenomenal cheese I grudgingly gave up in the interest of science, smeared it on his tongue and took a big ol' shot of the sour.

"Holy shit. Dude! Holy shit!" was about all I got.

"I know, right?" I said.

Well, I didn't actually say that, because I hate that phrase with the fires of a thousand suns, but you get my drift. I was too deeply in awe of the great combo to say anything much more intelligent.

That brings me to the next beer. Their bourbon barrel aged Infidel Porter. I'd had their regular Infidel on my last visit. I was very interested in seeing what the difference was, and I was not disappointed.

Pitch black on the pour, this baby tasted like the barrel. Bourbon, bourbon, bourbon. Sweet corniness, some chocolate and a mild booziness. It smelled like vanilla, chocolate and malt. A great example of a barrel aged beer, it satisfied my needs.

The day was over far too soon. We poured Ratchet back in the Boozemobile and headed into the afternoon thundershowers.

A day later I started digging around in the cooler and found a beer I had picked up at Bruisin' Ales on my first trip there. Cisco Brewers' Moor Porter. The label is pretty cool. Simple and direct, I dig it.

This beer poured a dark brown. Big bubbles formed the thick, luxurious head, hopefully indicative of a great drink. The lacing started up as the head subsided. It would prove to be one of the only impressive parts of this bottle.

Raising the glass to my nose I was immediately aware of the aroma of burnt chocolate, toffee and a hint of hops. It seemed promising at that point. Then I poured it on my tongue.

Disappointment. That's about the best word to describe it. I know porters don't tend to be all that complex, but this was beyond not complex. It tasted mildly like the burnt chocolate I smelled and it had a nondescript bitterness to it. That's all.

Mrs. Traveler's thoughts? "Bland. No aroma. Tastes kind of like something mass produced, like Lowenbrau Dark."

I agree. I'm not all that impressed. Either that or Wicked Weed spoiled me. I'm willing to bet it's a combo of the two.

Liquid Breadfruit. What a Cool Name.

I'm a bit of a tikiphile. I'm not talking about the Caribbean style of tiki hut so many are fond of. No. I'm talking about true tiki. I guess I should probably capitalize that. Tiki.

I attend Tiki conventions like The Hukilau and Tiki Oasis. Yes, you read that right. There are conventions dedicated to vintage Aloha shirts, lounge music, rum drinks and mid century-style debauchery. Everybody gets dressed up in their vintage best, yours truly included, and grooves to the dulcet tones of such greats as Arthur Lyman, Augie Colon, Don Tiki, Martin Denny and Les Baxter. DJs spin vintage vinyl and room parties go all night long.

I love Tiki so much that I built a bar in my basement that harkens back to the golden days of Tiki. Trader Scott's Tiki Bar & Lounge is 600 square feet of retro Tiki goodness, mixed in with my own personal style of escape. I spend a good deal of my time within its confines, blackout curtains pulled and classic lounge and jazz on the iPod. It only seems right that, when I'm in the mood for something other than a Mai Tai or Zombie, I should reach for something like Maui Brewing/Dogfish Head's Liquid Breadfruit collaboration.

Here's what the brewers have to say about it.

It's a cool name. Beer has been called liquid bread for centuries. Monks used to make it and people used to subsist on it before we figured out that bugs in the water did nasty things to our guts.

I picked this can up in Seattle (Tukwila, actually, but who's looking at a map?) and transported it all the way home. Thankfully it got here safely, because I was about to crack this baby open. I'm a fan of cans because they're easy to transport, easy to stack in my cooler and easy to collapse so that they don't take up as much room in the recycle bin.

Pouring this beer into my much-loved Trio Wine, Beer and Cheese tulip I was struck by the apparent turbid nature of the beer. It had a bit of a wheat beer cloudiness to it. The head was nice, even though I had to force it a bit by pouring down the middle, but it built up nicely then settled out within about five minutes. Bubbles were extremely fine and not all that prolific. No lacing whatsoever on the glass after it was finished, which kind of surprised me.

Grabbing a big ol' whiff of the stuff, I noticed a yeasty note first. Kind of like bread baking in your mom's house. A bit leathery, with an underlying sweetness and toasted nut aroma.

As I poured the beautiful elixir across my tongue, I was a bit shocked to get a mild tartness/sourness that I wasn't expecting given the nose. There was a smidge of maltiness, but not enough to really blow out the tartness. The carbonation was soft on the tongue, and my mouth was in tropical heaven. The body is much heavier than I would have expected from this beer. So much that I felt almost like I had a skim coat of oil on my tongue.

The Calypso hops they used linger at the end. You really don't get hit by them until after most of the rest of the flavors have gone away. I did detect a sweetness on the sides of my tongue that was doing battle with the bitterness of the hops, and it was a pretty nice little war.

As the beer warmed up the higher gravity became a bit more apparent, but not as much as some other 8% beers I've had. That hop bitterness I just mentioned also toned down some, allowing more of the sweetness to hang out in my mouth.

If I could describe a Tiki beer, this might very well be it. It's tropical without being too sweet. True Tiki drinks are never crazy sweet. (Hint: If your Mai Tai is pink, it's garbage. Send it back.) They evoke images of a Plastic Paradise that many in the '40s, '50s and '60s only dreamed of. This beer makes me want to visit Maui, and I guess that's what it's all about.

Here's a great recipe for a Mai Tai, as noted by Jeff "Beachbum" Berry, the premier cocktail archaeologist. I've made this recipe countless times and it never fails to make me happy. The mint is important. It adds another level to the drink.

In your shaker pour 1 ounce each fresh lime juice, Rhum Clément VSOP Martinique rum, and Appleton Estate Extra dark Jamaican rum; 1/2 ounce orange Curacao; and 1/4 ounce each orgeat syrup and sugar syrup.  Add at least 2 cups of crushed ice, then shake well for around 10 seconds.  Pour unstrained into a double old-fashioned glass.  Sink your spent lime shell in the drink, and garnish with a mint sprig.

Two Years and Still Going Strong

A couple of years ago I picked up a bottle of New Belgium La Folie, part of their Lips of Faith series, on the recommendation of the owner of the now-defunct Leaf and Ale.

Leaf and Ale was one of my favorite shops to hang out in. Their primary sales were cigars, and they had a decent selection of pipes and tobaccos. Their beer selection was always interesting. Mike, the owner, was passionate about what he did, and he surrounded himself with lots of other people who enjoyed what they did too. They could seem a little gruff and terse at times, but once you got to know them, they were great.

The same regulars could be found in the shop day after day, sitting in their usual leather chairs, which were arranged much like a round table, if King Arthur had done without a table, and had the leather easy chairs set in a rectangle. Sports or news were always on the TV, but nobody cared. The sound was muted, and that's the way they liked it. The banter would bounce from sports, to politics, to their military days, to whose daughter was out with whose son the night before. Usual stuff.

I would go in, peruse the pipe tobaccos, buy a tin of something new and then find a seat within that circle. The grizzled old timers would look at me as if to say, "What the hell are you doing? You probably don't even *know* who Eisenhower was. How the hell are we going to have a discussion about politics and the war with you sitting here?"

But then I would pull out a pipe that I had lovingly restored, pack a nice smokey English and fire it up. The conversation would immediately turn to my pipe and/or my tobacco, and through that we would find a common ground. I eventually was grudgingly accepted by that inner circle, and I grew to enjoy my evenings there, making a few friends.

That shop has since closed. Mike has moved on to something in the financial world. Somebody tried to reopen the store but it was a dim shadow of the past and it didn't make it more than a couple of months. I miss it and today I opened that bottle of La Folie - a bottle I'd held onto for a couple of years - and thought about Mike and Ed and Robert and all the other guys at Leaf and Ale.

A friend of mine, Tyler, was stopping by to pick up some old growlers that I had. We haven't seen each other in quite a long time and his wife is about to have a baby, so he'll have his hands full for a while. I, of course, asked him if he wanted to share a beer. I was met with an unequivocal yes, so I poked around in the cooler until I came across this bottle.

"Have you ever had La Folie?" I asked Tyler.

He pondered for a moment. "I don't believe I have."

"Well, neither have I. Let's do this."

And we did. Wrenching the cap off with my trusty beer club, I was delighted to hear a good hiss from the cap. Carbonation was going to be my friend today.

I poured both of us a tulip and quickly snapped a picture. As you can see, the beer held a very nice head. It had a nice craggy texture to it and was full of really nice aromas.

Putting the glass up to my nose I was immediately hit by the sour aroma. Much like the other sours I've had, that scent at first is a bit overwhelming. I decided to drink it down a bit and try a trick I learned from drinking  Scotch.

The taste at the beginning was of sour cherries. The bubbles were fine and really tantalizing on my tongue. A fine effervescence is something that I love, and this one did not disappoint. The bubbles were damned near perfect.

"Sour apple," Tyler mused. "It kind of makes me think of those Warheads candies from back in the day."

I laughed. "You know, you're right. It really does. Sweetness after the sour, but a real pucker upper at the beginning."

As the glass warmed I tasted a hint of dark chocolate, burnt malt and some of that funk that you'll always get in a Belgian style. Sweet, sour and a bit savory. The finish even had a touch of saltiness to it, which I found to be very interesting.

I set the glass down and gave it a swirl, then grabbed a card that was sitting on the bar, covering up the mouth of the glass. This is the trick I spoke of earlier. I learned to do this with whisky, building up the aromas in the glass so that when you uncover it you get a huge hit of scent.

After I'd let it sit for about 5 minutes I uncovered the glass and jammed my schnozz down into the tulip. Booze, burnt sugar, oak all came to my olfactory nerve.

Tyler took the card next and did the same trick. "It dissipated really quickly, but I definitely am getting wood aromas. I'm guessing it's the oak they aged it in. And I smell the boozy quality too. There's a bit of caramel in there as well."

As we sipped and the beer warmed up it got more astringent and woody, with a more plum-like quality, all the while keeping you well aware that this stuff was a serious sour.

When I asked Tyler what he thought overall, he said, "This is my first sour. I like it. It's refreshing, especially for a day like today. It's so hot out there. It definitely doesn't linger on the tongue, and I'm not sure that's a bad thing. I'm going to have to explore these sours some more. "

Another person turned on to the joy of sours. I'm going to try and pick a non-sour for my next review, but it's going to be difficult. There are so many good sours being made that I just want to keep trying them over and over again.

Ratebeer gave this beer an overall 100, with a 97 for the style. While I wouldn't place it that high up on the charts (Rodenbach Grand Cru still stands out as the best I've had so far. Given that the master brewer of La Folie came from Rodenbach, I'm not surprised), I will definitely say that it's a rockin' good sour. I'm glad I have a few more bottles stashed in the cellar, because I can't wait to see what it's like as it ages.

Citrus? In My Beer? Hmmmm...

When I was about 18 or 19 years old a Trinidadian friend of mine introduced me to the Shandy. She had spent her 17 years watching her parents drink them and ultimately learning how to concoct the drink for them whenever they were sitting out by the pool soaking up the sun, so the natural thing to do while her parents were out of town on a sweltering Texas evening was to mix up some crap beer that I got from the guy who ran the Circle K and some Minute Maid Lemonade.

The flavors of the Shandy remind me to this day of that beautiful young lady, her even more stunning older sister (whom I'd had a crush on for years) and the hot Houston summers of my youth.

It's hot out there right now, so it's high time I broke out this bottle. Hoppin' Frog Brewing Company of Akron, Ohio, has put out a lot of wild beers over the years. They were chosen as 17th Best Brewery in the World by RateBeer not too long ago and I believe they've definitely earned that reputation. Everything I've had by them has been solid.

This beer is my least favorite of the 15 different Hoppin' Frogs I've had over the last 2 years, but that's not saying I dislike it. As I previously mentioned, I dig Hoppin' Frog's stuff. This one just fell short of what I expected, but then again my expectations may have been too high and my memories of Shandys past too shiny and closely held to the heart.

I poured this beer to find absolutely no head. Not even the beginnings of one. Instead I got tiny bubbles, and precious few of those to boot. Rarely can I watch single bubbles rise up from the bottom of the glass, spaced about a half second apart, but this one was doing exactly that. The color was lemony yellow. Almost artificially yellow. It was actually quite pretty.

Lifting the glass to the nose, I found a strong lemon scent, almost overpowering the wheat scent I got. I could sense a bit of malt, but the lemony aroma is so far forward that everything else seemed to be an afterthought. I definitely was not smelling a Houston summer spent with beautiful Trinidadian ladies.

Tentatively I took a sip. Interesting. The lemon-lime flavor was strong, but the beer came through fairly nicely. There was hardly any carbonation on the tongue. The zing I got was from the acidity of the lemon. Getting a hair closer to that long-remembered summer, I thought as I closed my eyes and reminisced.

Ultimately, though, I set my expectations far too high. This beer isn't bad. I'd never call it bad. It's just not what I hoped it would be. I expected a Hallelujah chorus, visions of swimming pools and dark-skinned, bikini clad girls and a flash back to my youth. I should well know that I'm not getting any younger and that those days are long gone, but a boy can dream can't he?

I'd drink Turbo Shandy again if somebody offered it to me, but I don't think I'd seek it out.

Mrs. Traveler's reaction? Her first thought was that it was a mead. She tasted a lot of honey in it, but also thought it tasted like a cider. She didn't hate it, but noted that it was a bit too sweet for her.

That past summer was very sweet. One of the greatest summers of my life. This beer is sweeter, but I don't think I'll remember it as fondly.

Shandy recipe:

Fill a glass halfway with lemonade. Homemade is best, because you can make it as tart as you want.

Fill the rest of the glass with beer. Wheat beers, lagers and lighter ales work best. The less hops the better, in my opinion.

Sit by the pool and enjoy a taste of the Caribbean.

Chocolate Covered Cherries? Maybe.

I must admit something. I've grown to really like sours over the last few months. What used to surprise my tongue now is very welcomed.

I've grown tired of IPAs, though they are still probably my most common beer during the summertime. I find myself looking at the cellar wondering what I want to drink, and the barleywines, stouts, porters, browns and others just don't sound appealing. I've already finished most of the lagers, pale ales, IPAs and other stuff you associate with summer drinking. Mind you, I spend most of my time inside (I spontaneously combust in the sun. Blame the Irish on my mom's side.) but when it's hot outside I don't usually want a heavy, thick beer.

I was in the mood,  yet again, for a sour, when I grabbed tonight's beer, a Rivertown Barrel Aged Old Sour Cherry Porter. I was a bit wary. Porters are heavier. They're more of a fall beer for me. They're not heavy enough for winter. They just taste like fall to me.

Not this bad boy. Rivertown Brewing took an Imperial porter, plopped it into bourbon barrels for three months with some dark Michigan cherries and inoculated the whole shebang with lactobacillus delbrueckii. They let the cherries, porter and yeast hang out together for three months in those barrels, then transferred the resulting concoction to bottles, where it conditioned a bit longer.

Shortly after this beer was released I managed to snag a bottle. I grabbed it at Midtown Wine and Spirits in Nashville, a favorite stop for me when I'm in The Music City, while I was in town for the soggiest Jimmy Buffett concert I've experienced yet. That includes the rain that led to the apocalyptic flooding in downtown Nashville a few years ago. This stuff just didn't let up for 24 hours straight. It made for miserable times, but who really has a bad time at a Jimmy Buffett concert?

Rivertown's bottle text says that you can cellar this beer for up to five years, but I was not waiting that long. I have enough old beers sitting in my cellar. I wanted to try this one fresh, and boy am I glad I did.

I opened this bomber with my trusty beer club and poured a snifter. As it glugged out of the bottle I noted that it seemed a smidge thinner than some of the porters I've had, but not as thin as others. I'd call it middling thin, kind of like Christina Hendricks in Firefly. There's a slight ruby color to it as it streams from the bottle, but not significant enough to change the color once it's in the glass.

The head on this beer was a bit disappointing. I noted it was seemingly not building a head, so I intentionally poured down the center of the glass from a bit of a height, and all it did was foam a little, settling down and disappearing rapidly, much like a well-aged barleywine will do.

The scent of this beer is nice. Some sours will really punish your nose and others will just smell like fruit. This one wsa a bit vinegary, which I find nice in a sour. The cherry came through fairly prominently, and I got the vaguest hint of bitter chocolate.

Upon tasting it, it had a bit of a boozy quality, which would be the bourbon coming out. You can definitely get that bourbon corn taste. The cherries were tart on the tongue, almost like a sour cider, and the yeast made this even more pronounced. There also was a dark chocolate tinge to it. Kind of like sour cherries covered in thin chocolate. The malts do not overpower the sour, but they do tone down what I imagine would be a monster tartness without them.

The bubbles in the glass and on the tongue were small and not too prominent. They had a feel almost like a semi-flat champagne. I found the latter part of the taste to be a bit off-putting, as it degraded to a woody bitterness. It wasn't bad. It's just not what I would choose to linger on the back of my tongue for an extended period of time. There was absolutely no lacing left on the glass, which would probably owe to the high acidity I got on the sides of my tongue.

After the bottle was drained I noted a significant amount of sludge on the bottom of the bottle, but I never saw it during the pour. It looked a bit like the stuff that sits at the bottom of your hot cocoa cup.

Overall, I really enjoyed this beer. Mrs. Traveler? Not so much. Her tasting notes consist of "Vinegary. Eeeyeeww... Yucky. Tastes spoiled."

At least it leaves more for me. 

Rodenbach Grand Cru

It's Thirstday, so I figured I'd best do some quenching. Digging down into the cooler, I thought that a nice Belgian would do fine for this evening. I've been on an IPA/APA binge lately and decided that something completely different would suit my mood, and boy did I find something different.

Rodenbach Brewing has been around in one form or another for almost 200 years, and by goodness they've figured out what the heck it is they're doing. Even Palm Brewing buying them in 1998 probably didn't even put much of a hiccup in the process, because this stuff is just damned good.

Rodenbach Grand Cru, according to the bottle, consists of 33% "young" ale, with the rest being no less than 2 years old, having aged in oak barrels during maturation. I found this blending to be intriguing, as it reminds me of so many of my beloved whiskys. I'm not really familiar with Flanders Red Ales, but something tells me I'm going to become more familiar now. It's a 6% beer, so it could be sold in our grocery and convenience stores here in Tennessee. I can't see the local Food City removing Natty Light just to make room for some frou-frou foreign beer that ain't in cans, but a guy can dream.

As I pulled the cage off of the cork I noted that the cork looked a bit musty. Not bad, but musty. Like a cork that has sat in a cellar for quite a while, though it hasn't been in my cellar for more than a couple of months. I saw this as a portent of bad things to come, but I couldn't have been more wrong. The date on the bottle is 05-11-15, so I'm assuming the brewer would rather this beer be consumed before November 5, 2015, given European date nomenclature.

Picking up the cold 750 ml bottle and working the stopper, I was surprised when the cork blew off in my hand quite easily, which I would ascribe to the fact that it is the strangest champagne-style cork I've ever seen. I am not accustomed to them being as short as the one in the picture. When it initially popped I looked at it and then picked up the bottle, afraid that the rest had broken off in the bottle. It hadn't. It's just stubby. It's the cutest little mushroom-looking thingy you'll find in your cork jar ever. At least I hope it is.

When I pour a Belgian I'm oftentimes afraid that the head will be overwhelming. It's a hit or miss situation, but I'm always careful. There was no chance of this happening, I quickly realized. Grand Cru pours in an almost-watery stream, with not much body, creating a very small, finely-bubbled head. This thin head disappears quickly, leaving behind a dark ruby-colored liquid punctuated by very tiny champagne-like carbonation bubbles rising to the surface.

Putting the glass up to my nose I was immediately hit with cherry and vinegar notes. It was almost overwhelming, tickling my sinus cavities like an effervescent feather duster and making me sneeze. Little bubbles found their way up into my brain and made my eyes water, but I likened them to tears of joy. I'd found a good one. No doubts at that point.

I raised Brew Dog Abstrakt snifter to my lips and the crisp liquid trickled onto my tongue. It jumped in confusion and, eventually, joy. Sour, sour, sour at first and then the vinegar kicked in. The crispness of the brew reminded me of a nice dry champagne mixed with unsweetened pomegranate and cherry juices, with very little heaviness or oiliness coating my mouth. After the first few sips my taste buds became accustomed to the tartness and started to enjoy everything else about this beer. As it warmed up it became mildly peppery and woody, with a distinct wine note, like an oaked Chardonnay, but without the overall flavor of Chardonnay.

The finish iwas just as delightful as the nose and initial sip. I was left with a lingering taste in my mouth of sour cherries and rock candy, and was taken back to cherry cough drops for some reason, though this was lacking the tongue numbing qualities of those cough drops of my yoot. It's actually a very nostalgic flavor for me, and something I will definitely have to revisit.

Upon completion, the glass I used showed absolutely no lacing whatsoever. It was as if the beer hadn't even been there. But it had, and I'll always remember my first pour.

Edit: The Beer Hunter himself, Michael Jackson, called it "The Most Refreshing Beer In The World." I'm not sure I would disagree. This is a great one. I wouldn't hesitate to serve it in champagne glasses for my wine snob, non-beer-drinking friends, and I would definitely ring in a new year with a flute or three. I only hope I can find more of it soon to set back for special celebrations.