Ask the Beer Guy

Q: What's a good beer to order at a bar with limited selection (coughBW3cough) if you're trying to impress someone of the opposite sex?

If you're really trying to impress someone of the opposite sex with your beer selection, start by avoiding places with limited selection. I don't mean this to sound snarky, but no one is going to fall head-over-heels for you because you ordered a pitcher of Leinenkugel. Your only shot is with someone who knows little about beer, in which case they probably don't care enough about the subject to be awed by your mad skillz.

But I'm avoiding the question. Assuming your premises (limited choices and a beer-conscious date), the key is to drink something you're passionate about. Any schmuck can pick the fanciest sounding beer from the list and rattle off some pre-fab line to attempt to sound worldly ("You know, the Guinness in Ireland tastes nothing like the Guinness they have here. It's the gypsum in the Leffey River that gives it that unique character."). But the thought and care you put into explaining why you like the beer you chose will go a lot further with someone who is actually interested in you.

For example, my fallback beer at BW3 is the Magic Hat #9. It's not a great beer. It's low in alcohol, light in body and aroma, and it tastes more like apricots than malted barely. But it's also made in the same Vermont town where I spent my college years. It was one of the first beers I learned to drink out of a pint glass rather than a solo cup. It launched both my appreciation for all things beer-related and my passion for supporting local business. To this day, drinking it fills me with a sense of community pride and makes me long for the Green Mountain State. That's the sort of story that gets you laid (especially if you choke up just a bit during that last line). In all honestly, though, you only need to remember one rule: It's not what you drink, it's why you drink it.

Q: What beer will be waiting for you in heaven?

Oaked Arrogant Bastard Ale. It is probably the single-most difficult American beer for a beer novice to appreciate, but it has also been the most rewarding beer for me to learn to love. Anytime, anywhere.

Q: What is a high-gravity beer? Is gravity important?

Specific gravity is a measure of a beer's density, and it requires two readings to tell you much about the beer itself. The first reading, taken pre-fermentation, is called the Original Gravity or OG. It tells a brewer the beer's potential alcohol content. The second reading, taken at the end of fermentation, is called the Final Gravity and tells the brewer how much of the sugar content of the beer was not converted to alcohol. In this sense it is a very handy metric for brewers to monitor the progress of their beer, and the viability and efficiency of their yeast.

Recently, however, some brewers have begun to market beers as "high-gravity," by which they usually mean only high alcohol (although a well-brewed beer often offsets the alcohol with high residual sweetness). Because the phrase high-gravity is ambiguous, it doesn't necessarily tell you anything about either the alcohol or the residual sweetness (only that there is likely to be a lot of one, the other, or both). In addition, although a high Final Gravity is associated with a thick and/or syrupy brew, carbonation plays such a significant role in perceiving mouthfeel that you can't predict that character until you taste it (for instance, Guinness has all the qualities of a typical "Lite" beer--low original gravity, and low calorie and alcohol content--but is regularly described as "thick" or "heavy" on the palate). Thus, for consumers, "high-gravity" proves to be a relatively meaningless descriptor (along with terms like "Imperial" and "Double").

Beer You Should Know: English Bitter

To me, English Bitter is the quintessential beer. It is the style that comes first to my mind when someone says the word "beer." Not simply for how it tastes (which is fantastic), but also for what it represents about beer culture.

The first thing you need to know is that English Bitter is not objectively bitter. Bitters got their name to distinguish them from English Mild, a sweet brown ale with almost no discernable bitterness. Bitter is both lighter in color and hoppier than Mild, but is quite mild in comparison to their closest beer relatives: English Pale Ales, American Pale Ales, and certainly India Pale Ales.

The earliest Bitters were nearly indistinguishable from English Pale Ales (such as Bass). In England, most Bitters were served on draft and were dry hopped in the cask. As such, they have a distinct fresh hop aroma. English Pale Ale was traditionally the name for the bottled version of the beer. Since it couldn't be dry hopped in the bottle, hop aroma was added at the end of the boil, lending a different, cooked aroma and a subtly stronger hops flavor. In addition, because English Pale Ales were not "real ales," they had higher carbonation levels. Because of these differences, the two styles diverged over time, with Bitters becoming even more mild, and Pale Ales becoming more assertive.

There are now three common subtypes of Bitter. Bitter is the lightest and most mild. Special Bitter is slightly darker, more alcoholic, and slightly more bitter. Extra Special Bitter (or ESB) is the closest in character to the modern Pale Ale - more alcohol, drier, and the most bitter. All three types share some unique characters, however. First, the beers should be light in color (anywhere from light golden to copper is acceptable) and light in body. Second, the predominant malt flavors should be of caramel and biscuit. The distinctive traditional flavor was in part a function of the high sulfite content in the waters of Burton. Many modern brewers still try to replicate this flavor by treating their brewery waters with sulfites. Third, English Bitters should make liberal use of traditional English hop varieties. Unlike American hops, which tend to be more citrusy and potent in flavor and aroma, English hops offer subtler, earthier flavors and much lighter aroma. English ale yeast also adds a slightly fruity nose. Finally, and most importantly, English Bitter is a low-alcohol beer.

Why is the lack of alcohol the most important aspect of English Bitter? Because English Bitter is the cornerstone of sessioning, an approach to beer drinking that is not often embraced in America. We've all known the person (or have been the person) to boldly proclaim, "If I'm going to drink, I'm going to get shitfaced." Implicit in this statement is the idea that drinking is little more than a vehicle to a destination, and probably an unpleasant vehicle at that. Sessioning offers precisely the opposite ethic. It embraces drinking as the goal itself, with significant intoxication a consequence to be avoided. The idea behind a "session" beer is that you enjoy it enough to have seven or eight pints over many hours at your favorite pub with your closest friends. It need not--indeed should not--be too big, bold, or assertive. It should not draw your attention away, but rather should serve as your trusty ever-present companion. This is why Bitter, as a style, is so near and dear to my heart. It was designed to be a beer you enjoy without thinking about enjoying it. It is truly a beer without pretention.

If you get a chance to give Bitters a try, I strongly recommend the following:

Victory Uncle Teddy's Bitter (light, crisp, and fruity).
Rogue Younger's Special Bitter (malty and rich).
Rogue Brutal Bitter (ESB) (strong and hoppy).
Young's Special London Ale (ESB) (the paradigm)

Really? Really?!

I promised Cale Johnson that I would review a beer that he was kind enough to share with me during a quick game of poker the other night. The brew: Sparks Light Malt Beverage. Twenty ounces and many hours of deliberation later, I'm still not sure how to begin.

Although it is technically beer (despite the common misperception that malt beverages or malt liquors are something else entirely), Sparks Light has none of the qualities of a beer. Indeed, that's a selling point. Served in a tall aluminum can, Sparks proclaims to be an energy drink that just so happens to be alcoholic. Its taste is true to that goal - a cross between watered-down Orange Julius and chewable Flintstones Vitamins. Nothing that could be described as either malty, hoppy, or alcoholic could be detected. Given the aim of the makers, it would be unfair for me to review it as if it were trying to be anything else.

The only comment that I can think to offer is this: This is the flipside to this column, and why it exists. Just as local brewers are expanding the boundaries of what traditional beers can be, leading a renaissance of beer appreciation, beer innovation is also working to capture those who enjoy being drunk but who (understandably) dislike the fetid offerings of commercial breweries. While I write to convince you that, despite your bad experiences, there are many beers worth learning to appreciate; Sparks exists to convince you that learning to appreciate beer has become unnecessary. I'll leave it to you to choose your path.

Thank you to everyone for reading!

We appreciate the fact that Ben's made us better beer drinkers - hopefully we won't lapse back into our old, incredibly cheap ways under the pressure of finals or in his absence next year!