In a world of self-proclaimed wine aficionados, sometimes us beer lovers are unfairly judged as, shall we say, low brow. We're supposed to listen to country music and smash empty cans against our heads (not that there's anything wrong with that), while producing a hearty burp of satisfaction with our Bud Light.
It stinks to be stereotyped. Cute husband, who held my hand and showed me the way down Good Beer Lane, calls light American mass-produced beers, ahem, weasel piss. He quotes one H. Allen Smith, who, upon tasting his first American beer, said, "Put it back in the horse!" See, beer drinkers are snobs too.
Don't get me wrong I love wine (see previous long-winded posts about the heavenly glory of Louis Jadot Chardonnay), and I love tasting new wines, and can taste the difference. Seems like wine lovers and beer lovers in this country have stepped to either side of yet another dividing line. The wine lovers say, "I hate beer! Ha! Crap only has one flavor." And the beer lovers say, "Wine! Ha! Bunch of stuck up fools."
(Hmmm, it's just occurring to me now that maybe I'm just an alcohol lover.)
But anyway, I've been lucky enough to have beer lovers in my life who are the real deal. My mom taught me to love Moosehead; cute husband's parents took me to Rohrbachs in Rochester, New York for a brat and a brew when I was 22 and I've never looked back; cute husband is practically a professional beer taster, and (not so) little brother Alex has discovered so many tasty new beers, which he brings home, slaps down on the kitchen table, and says, "You've gotta try this one with me."
And the truth is, the really great brewers out there take just as much time and pride in creating their flavors as do those grape-crushers in California, Chile, and France. And it's time they got a little more respect.
Tonight we supped on my new favorite beer, called St. Lupulin, an extra pale ale. Aside from its complex (but refreshing!) flavor, it was the description on the side of the bottle that really had me at hello:
Extraordinary oils in this yellow resin provide this dry-hopped extra pale ale with an undeniably pleasing floral aroma and clean, crisp finish. One sip of this seasonal summer ale and you, too, will believe.
Odell Brewing also has a winter seasonal brew called Isolation Ale, that I can't wait to try come that time of year. Here's its description, via the website: Ever been in a warm, cozy cabin and had a secret desire to get snowed in?
(Me: Why yes Odells, all the time! Even in summer! How did you know?!)
To celebrate the winter season, we offer our Isolation Ale--a traditional winter brew made with premium malts imported from England. It's just one of the reasons Isolation Ale stands alone.
(I love any company that dares to pun.)
So wise up world, enjoy a pint with your loved ones. Preferably as the sun goes down on another day, and all that awaits for the rest of the night is renewed hope for tomorrow.