Beer Lists

Greg, a friend of mine out in Chicagoland, introduced me to a really cool website earlier last week.  RateBeer.com is something I’ve been looking for, on and off, for quite a while now - a place to keep track of and evaluate the beers I’ve sampled.

Part of it, I guess, plays into my love of lists.  I attain a great bit of satisfaction from putting items into order - debating within myself (or with others) the merits of each particular item, ordering them, and then fine-tuning the list.

As an aside, my friend Sean (yes, the one who recently became a daddy) and I took the majority of an afternoon at work hashing out, in our minds, the greatest rock bands of Classic (1960 - 1985) and Modern (1985 - present) times.  This was brought on by our discovery that Syd Barrett (the founder of Pink Floyd) had died, and we actually wound up staying late to use the entire white board in our office to write out lists and eliminate candidates.  We went about this quite dispassionately, and I may or may not eventually post our findings.

Back to the subject at hand, I’ve spent part of the last week rating the beers that were at my immediate disposal.  My fledgling list (some of the guys at rate beer are up in the thousands of beers) is just what has been at hand for me to try, and neither comprises staples of my larder (Alaskan Amber) or beers I’ve specifically grown to dislike (any Anheuser-Busch products).  I’m also pretty excited about the site because it’s going to allow me to really pinpoint my tastes in beer.  There are a few hard and fast rules that I’ve already established, such as wheat beers generally making me sleepy, but part of the lure of the site will be learning more about myself.

If any of you are already using the site, or if you’re interested in joining me over there, let me know.

Tallahatchie Bridge

Remember the 1967 Bobbie Gentry hit “Ode to Billie Joe”?  One of my most vivid memories from early childhood is hearing that song for the very first time.  The song has always haunted me, and I’ve always thought the Tallahatchie Bridge looked something like this.  I bring this up because the song became a massive hit in late July of 1967, and as such, birthday wishes are in order.

A Plug

I’ll occasionally peruse Arts & Letters Daily, which is a a great place to find some of the best thought-stimulating writing available on the Interwebs.  On tap today: 27,000 year-old Modigliani-style cave paintings, why we secretly hate Garrison Keillor (which was interesting for me to read for my own purposes), why we read the novels we do (which features this quote: “We found that men do not regard books as a constant companion to their life’s journey, as consolers or guides, as women do… They read novels a bit like they read photography manuals.”), and finally, The Tyranny of Blog: Enemy of Thought.

I’ll see you all here Monday morning.  Hope you’re having a great weekend.

I’m just going to throw a few off hand thoughts out here today since it’s supposed to be a relaxing occasion and all. I imagine the majority of you won’t read this until Wednesday anyway, but if you’re stopping by on the Fourth, Happy Independence Day to you.

A long time ago, way back in history
When all there was to drink was nothin’ but cups of tea,
Along came a man by the name of Charlie Mops,
And he invented a wonderful drink, and he made it out of hops.

- “Beer, Beer, Beer,” a traditional Irish drinking song

Like George Carlin, I subscribe to the idea that there are interests, and then there are hobbies. However, I generally view hobbies as an intensive activity one does - woodcarving, building model airplanes, gardening, whatever - which comes at an expenditure of time, money, and concentration. Interests are concepts which amuse a person - painting, for example, which may not involve activity at all. It doesn’t take much to appreciate a fine painting, but if you’ve set out to make one, well, that’s when your interest has become a hobby.

I think there is a third category there, though, somewhere in the mist-shrouded middle ground. I’ve termed that category “enthusiasms,” and they combine characteristics of hobbies and interests in rather equal amounts. The best thing about enthusiasms, however, is that you can do other things while enjoying them.

Take food, for example. Food isn’t, and never could be, a hobby. Growing food could be a hobby (though it sounds suspiciously like work to me), but it certainly could be an interest, especially if one approaches food from a chemical standpoint. But what about cooking? It could be an interest, but that would mean you’ve never rolled up your sleeves and done it before. It’s not a hobby by virtue of the fact that you can do other things at the same time. You can entertain, you can dance, you can sing along to your favorite Billie Holiday records, you can even combine it with another enthusiasm, like watching baseball.

On TV, of course, unless you’re one of the lucky bastards who own a restaurant inside one of those newfangled ballparks they’re building all over these days. In that case, I hate you.

Moving on.

One of my enthusiasms, then, is beer. Specifically, the making, naming, and drinking of beer, along with beer-related dalliances in music. I’m not particularly interested in hard alcohol anymore because my stomach really can’t handle much beyond 34 proof (Irish Cream whiskey, if you’re wondering) without irritating the lining. I do enjoy port and other desert wines, but they’re far too expensive for me to indulge in, and I’m really a bit more blue collar in outlook than that. So it’s beer for me.

My trusty beer, while American, isn’t made in the Lower 48. It comes from Alaska, which I had never associated with beer until I tried Alaskan Amber. It’s got a nice malty taste and drinks well regardless of the weather. In fact, all the Alaskan beers are pretty easy drinkers, with great flavor that doesn’t overpower your mouth after three or four (glasses). There is also an Alaskan Pale Ale, a Summer Ale, a Winter Ale, an IPA, a (oatmeal) Stout, a Smoked Porter, and an ESB (Extra Special Bitter). I’m not a particular fan of the ESB, but the others that I’ve had have been wonderful. I just hope I can find them when I move back from the West.

The drinking aspect of beer has been more recent development of my enthusiasm when compared to my fascination with the naming of beer which was developed at a very early age.

The first beer I can remember with any clarity is Pig’s Eye. My dad was having some of his friends over (I can’t recall why, but I’m guessing card playing was involved), and one of the beers that was in the fridge was good ol’ Pig’s Eye. I was probably all of four or five, and not knowing what exactly beer was, well, I was a bit leery of such a thing. I knew my grandpa was fond of beer - I think his standby was Old Milwaukee back then - but the idea of drinking something called Pig’s Eye really unsettled me.

Oddly enough, the next beer I came across was Moosehead, which didn’t nearly freak me out as much as Pig’s Eye. I’d seen deer mounted on people’s walls by that point (I got my introduction to Wisconsin-style decor a bit later than most), so the thought of a moose head wasn’t quite as bad as a Pig’s Eye. Sure enough, these days I like Moosehead quite a bit, but I still haven’t dared try Pig’s Eye.

The first beer I remember laughing at was Schlitz. Saying “Schlitz” as a kid was hilarious because it was tantalizingly close to saying a word you really shouldn’t. I’ve never drank Schlitz (with a name like that, who would want to?), but I wouldn’t mind having a Schlitz sign to hang in my garage.

Schlitz has a companion brew that I have sampled, however, and it’s called Blatz. The thing about Blatz is, you don’t want to drink too much of it, lest you come down with the dreaded condition called the “Blatz Splatz,” which usually occurs the morning after a long night of Blatz-downing. I’m sure you can get a similar malady from other beers, but nothing is so iconically onomatopoetic as the “Blatz Splatz.”

After all those gross and rather impolite sounding beers, you might not want me to bring up Moose Drool, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t. Moose Drool is made by the Big Sky Brewery in Missoula, Montana, and I suggest you go look for some the next time you’re at a store with a decent beer collection. It’s really toasty and yet easy enough to drink in a session, which is an advantage, because you’re going to want to drink the entire six pack.

I hope you all enjoy yourselves today. I’m not a huge Independence Day fan (the fireworks and BBQs are nice, though), as I think December 16 would be a bit more interesting day to celebrate, activity-wise. Still, I won’t begrudge the folks out enjoying themselves today, as long as they’re not the people scaring my girlfriend’s cats with mini-explosions.