My Fellow Inebriates,
Others have reviewed this nice organic ale much more thoughtfully than I, and even taken their own pictures. My mum bought it because it was $3.50 and she didn’t feel like using her debit card “to bootleg for animals.”
The label and marketing remind me a bit of Marks & Spencer; the bottle has that generic big-corporate-entity feel to it, like the beer you can buy at Trader Joe’s or Costco in the States. It’s not totally evil though—the beer is organically produced on land administered by Prince Charles as part of a charity project now 20 years strong.
I was a charity bear once, so I’m gladdened to know some of the profits get skimmed off to help people in need. And just as cool, OLD RUBY ALE is produced sustainably. Even a hedonistic bear with an apocalyptic bent can appreciate that no one’s raping the land to create beer.
It’s also nice to know that if I get a head-splitting hangover from OLD RUBY ALE it’s because I drank enough to get thoroughly shitfaced—not because of chemical additives.
But how does it taste?
My tastebuds are Canadian, so essentially they’re ADHD tastebuds—they need beer to crackle and fizz and spark in the mouth like so much microscopic bubble wrap. I can’t crack a beer without automatically anticipating fizz. So when our bottle of OLD RUBY ALE opened not with a burst but a sigh, I sighed also. But I still wanted to drink it very badly. I had some bad-ass DTs to manage or at least get down to a dull roar.
The low carbonation was less disappointing than you’d think. After all, a lot of Canadian swill needs to be hyper-carbonated to mask its offensive flavor, so you have to hand it to a less fizzy beer like OLD RUBY ALE for strutting its stuff without that effervescent crutch.
It had a lovely auburn color in the glass. It wafted malt and slight breadiness in nice harmony. First sips hinted initially at bitterness but morphed into sweetness—a bit simple on the palate. It felt thin in the mouth and, while never offensive, failed somehow to deliver much beyond those first impressions. And, of course, it was flat.
My Fellow Inebriates,
I have a new favorite person in my life, which is too bad for Julia Gale of Broker’s Gin, with whom I was thoroughly enamored until she advised me to cross the border into the U.S. to buy her fine product (although she did clue me in to it being 47% proof rather than the 40% I’d find in Ontario).
Nope! Not Blackie. Safe for another day, buddy.
Why I fear traveling to the United States
I can’t imagine I’d be welcome in the States. The border guards couldn’t fingerprint me, and my sewn-up rectum precludes a cavity check. Not to mention, as a bear and therefore technically wild game, I’m frightened as f#ck to even share a continent with Alaska, and the knowledge that Chuck Testa has stuffed a bear almost identical to my bro Blackie Bear keeps me up at night. Basically paranoia and angst, plus my inability to reach the gas pedal of a car, will keep me out of that great nation to the south.
So toodles, Julia, and hello Pixie! Yes, my new favorite person is named Pixie. Yesterday Pixie, touched by my pleas to replenish the liquor cabinet, sent my dad home with a lovely bottle of California Cult Classics chardonnay and a freaky skull-shaped bottle of vodka.
My dad has kept his acquaintance with Pixie a big secret from me for several years, probably because he thinks I would stalk her, which I intend to.
This is exactly how I imagined LB headquarters operating, with a healthy influx of booze to keep me from feeling unloved, and two new products that await thoughtful tasting.
My deepest thanks to Pixie, not just for caring about my inventory and keeping the enterprise going, but for believing in me and touching my heart with her generosity. I am going to get totally wrecked on that chardonnay and chase it with the vodka.
Liquorstore Bear 