nutrasique.com
I don’t get up early enough to verify this, but apparently the morning ritual around here involves the kids begging for “honey spoons”—spoonfuls of honey that precede breakfast. Any bears who are up at that time have to suffer, watching them gobble up the precious stuff. Even though I don’t really do solid food, honey makes me salivate as all good bears do when they catch sight of a beehive, but in my case it also makes me think of SLEEMAN HONEY BROWN LAGER.
I’ve mentioned this elixir before as a good go-to beer that measures favorably against a host of craft-beer variations on the honey brew. I like it, peeps; it’s refreshing and clean-tasting, with just enough weight and a nice long finish.
But beer wankers disagree with me. They disparage it!
What do they dislike about SLEEMAN HONEY BROWN LAGER? Well, wankers say it reminds them of high school, that it’s so “macro,” and that it doesn’t taste good warm—i.e., they can’t have a long, drawn-out beer-wanking “session” with it.
I didn’t know what “sessionable” beer was until I read beerbecue’s skewering (ha!) of the term. His contention that “session beer” is a pretentious term elicited 19 comments—more than he likely would have netted had he proposed adopting a Soylent Green policy or suggested we all kill a puppy.
If you’re not familiar with the idea that a <5% ABV qualifies a beer for a “session” during which tasters may sip and consider its qualities without getting thoroughly trashed, check out the article. But for alcoholics like me and probably some of my friends, a word like “sessionable” is utterly meaningless. A beer session for somebody like me goes on until the beer is gone or I pass out. If the beer is COORS LIGHT the process takes a little longer, but it still happens. I only weigh a few ounces, my fellow inebriates, so I don’t emerge from any drinking session unscathed, and nothing—save an abomination like O’DOUL’S—dilutes the eventual drunkenness that is in fact the express purpose of opening a bottle of anything, sessionable or not.
Being a live-and-let-live bear, I don’t mind what terms are bandied about concerning beer. But when the house is dry, I tend to surf the net and read about beer. And what I see is my fave daily beer being trashed by “session” beer drinkers. OMG! They say they wouldn’t have bought it but “it was in the house” (magically) or “someone brought it over” (lucky) or they “thought they’d give it a chance” (decent of them).
Here’s the skinny on SLEEMAN HONEY BROWN LAGER. It’s a gorgeous, clear amber with off-white foam and some lacing. The scent is slightly malty with honey up front, an aroma that pays off as this effervescent brew hits the tongue. Generous caramel notes open up as the fizz settles in the mouth with a crisp, quenching mouthfeel and a nice balance between sweet and bitter. The taste lingers satisfyingly, making for an interesting taste experience that categorically differs from most so-called “macro beer” experiences.
Yes, it is a mainstream beer with a reasonable but not bottom-shelf price. It’s refreshing in summer but weighty enough for winter (unusual for a lager)—and therefore ideal for spring and fall too. I totally love SLEEMAN HONEY BROWN LAGER.
But supposedly honey itself is almost more awesome. Did you know that honey is a natural antibacterial agent? Scientists are testing its potential to combat hospital-borne strep infections (constantly evolving to be one step ahead of even the most powerful antibiotics) and finding that honey kills off most strep cells. Wow!
Admittedly, I prefer SLEEMAN HONEY BROWN LAGER slightly to honey, which means that if I ever get a strep infection I might be an idiot and make a poultice with beer instead of honey—and end up as bear meat for flesh-eating disease. Wouldn’t that be disgusting? And then it would travel to my brain and turn me into a beer wanker.
Liquorstore Bear 