beer

ASTROLIQUOR for May 11-17—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Expect to hear some nasty gossip about you and your family this week, Aries, spreading feverishly through your circle. So vitriolic is the rumor that it might take until July to refute it. Then in August you’ll find out who dissed you. You won’t be inviting this A-hole to your midsummer housewrecker! Too bad you’re so broke. You’ll be serving mainly leftover Malibu if you can get a friend to help you open the bottle.

Taurus, you need to keep a low profile this week, especially around decision makers. If you mouth off, you may find yourself on the curb holding a box of office supplies. Sadly this means you’ll have to go to work sober for a while. Wait until you get home to break out the giant box of red wine.

There’s not enough of you to go around, Gemini, but it’s flattering to have so many colleagues asking you for help. Your charisma and energy are high—it’s a good time to take the lead. Tell everyone to chill out about work and take a booze break. If you pool all the hidden alcohol in your office you should be able to find vodka, melon liqueur, and peach schnapps. Throw it into a bowl with whatever juice you can find in the communal fridge and voila: easy work day.

Time for something completely different, Cancer. Lose the TV remote and go outside with a picnic basket. OMG, you say, that sounds fantastic! What shall I put in the basket? Ahhhhh….

  • White rum
  • Sweet sherry
  • Tawny port
  • Drambuie
  • Gingerale (optional)

Now, we could mess around with proportions, etc., but I suggest just taking all the bottles and mixing them up in random ways. But be forewarned: this is the sort of picnic that attracts bears.

Leo, in every sense you are on this week. Work, love, and family are all thriving, and you can expect to attract a special new (platonic) friend this week. Make an effort not to be a tool and this person could become a lifetime friend. So don’t pretend that’s not vodka with amaretto in your flask. Share it around.

For some reason you’re being a jerk to a close friend, Virgo, even though you hotly deny it when accused. Like most neurotics you think you’re acting very rationally, but “rational” doesn’t usually go hand in hand with a headful of gin. Try to delay drinking until after work, then cut that gin with some tonic and peppermint schnapps. If, after that behavior mod, you’re still a jerk, you can blame the stars.

Libra, career is featured strongly, with management noticing your achievements. Just ignore the critics on the sidelines. Just because they can’t do a PowerPoint presentation while hammered on gin and blackberry brandy… As superheroic as you are at work, however, your personal life sucks! Try to at least be sober in the morning hours.

If you’re signing a new mortgage or financial contract, Scorpio, this is the time to get it done. Your stars shift to a sinister position within two weeks, and someone will try to con you. Exactly how this all shakes out is hard to picture right now. It’s hard to picture anything when you’re clinging to the bathroom floor after ralphing Jack Daniel’s and Goldschlager into the toilet.

Sagittarius, pay attention; there’s a Leo watching you with interest, and if you miss the signals you could miss out on a party. As inattentive as you seem to be about potential hook-ups, you’re even more oblivious to how well you’re doing at work. Congratulations—you’re in the career catbird seat and you don’t even know how you got there. Evidently Bacardi 151 makes you behave more professionally.

Go out every night this week, Capricorn, and you’ll be sure to make some new friends. One of these will stick and turn into a longterm friendship or even a romantic partnership. If this is too much pressure, load your brain up with vodka before going out. Just leave the car keys at home.

Aquarius, the chances of a relationship split are high right now owing to a weird constellation exerting more influence than usual. Whatever you might do that matters, do NOT do it on Thursday. In fact, don’t do anything on Thursday! Call in sick and pound some cheap Scotch. By the time you sober up and sort out your hangover (Saturday), the danger will have passed.

Pisces, try hard this week not to get swindled. You look gullible! No lending money unless you can afford to lose it. No picking up the tab for drinks, no matter how earnestly friends promise to get the next one. Your only ally this week will be a Capricorn who thinks you’re a dupe but likes you anyway. Unexpectedly this person may want to get with you, so ease off on the Kahlua, vodka, Bailey’s, and creme de menthe or you’ll end up just cuddling.

WHISKEY JACK ALE—5%, but still not for four-year-olds

It occurred to me today that Miss V is getting pretty strong.

Maybe she could help me open some bottles. Would it be so reckless to ask her?

Naturally our mum walked in the second I did ask her.

Where the hell are these kids’ parents?

I blamed Max & Ruby for corrupting us. Whatever those stupid bunnies had been doing on TV, it had reminded us of alcohol.

Even though my mother believes that Max & Ruby’s insipid plotlines and relentless gender stereotyping are definitively corrupting, she didn’t buy this excuse. If anything, Max & Ruby might suggest the Women’s Temperance Movement or the Tea Party. The show could lobotomize a child.

Thankfully it hasn’t turned V into a vegetable yet. She’s got some smarts about her, which is why—when my mother went out of earshot—I suggested we play mixology. She could measure and stir and shake and pour and add ice cubes…and open bottles with her strong little thumb-equipped hands.

I had this bottle in mind. I thought the preserved larva hanging out in the bottom would appeal to V. Just yesterday she stood spellbound watching ants attack a centipede. Why wouldn’t she want to get her hands on a mescal-saturated arthropod? She could play with it while I pounded its mind-altering marinade.

“Why don’t you stop being a pest and review another Whistler Brewing Co. beer?” said our killjoy mother.

Whether she wanted to wreck our fun or discourage V’s possible nascent interest in entomology I don’t know. She wouldn’t be able to handle a kid dissecting worms on the kitchen table, that’s for sure.

I didn’t really want to think about an amber ale like WHISKEY JACK ALE with our fridge crying out for a refill. Not with the mescal bottle so tantalizingly close. But here goes.

Another member of Whistler Brewing Company’s Travel Pack, WHISKEY JACK is a dark-amber ale with apeshit fizz and an ecru head that vanishes in seconds. The title is very appealing and suggestive, especially with INNIS & GUNN OAK AGED BEER lingering in recent memory, but upon pouring there’s no aromatic suggestion of barrel treatment.

I’ve come to think of Whistler Brewing Company beers as having a watery taste, and WHISKEY JACK is no exception. Billed as a session ale for those who like to convene with their beers rather than just drink them, this ale seems from the first sip to be missing something. Oak barreling certainly. Decent ABV indeed (it’s 5%). The smell is mildly wheaty/bready with a little caramel, suggesting more bakery than distillery.

In the mouth there’s a bit of disharmony between its sweet and bitter tones, with earthy hops pushing their way through the back of the palate while you’re still wondering about the oak. The mouthfeel is inadequate for an ale but refreshing nonetheless. If you’re thirsty, no complaints. If you’re having a session, you’ll probably bitch. Not that you would bitch, my fellow inebriates—you are all awesome.

What else can be said? Slightly puzzling but minor dischord among the flavors, thin-to-medium mouthfeel with aforementioned wateriness, and paltry alcohol. In short, well worth pounding a case all at once, and less likely to make you sick than a bottle of mescal.

WHISTLER BREWING COMPANY BEAR PAW HONEY LAGER—Unembarrassing, even if it won’t put hair on your chest

My dad has stopped tucking me in at night.

Now wait, you say. How many adult males tuck little bears into bed at night? Well, my dad for one. At least until last week.

Waiting to be tucked in

I wouldn’t be worried if he hadn’t omitted to do it four nights in a row. One’s not atypical; sometimes he falls asleep on the couch and then drags himself into bed without remembering. I get that. But four nights in a row? WTF, Dad??

So what difference does it make? you well may ask.

On lucky nights I’m too looped to notice. Other nights we’ve just watched something on TV—maybe a crystal meth dealer’s body being liquefied in an acid bath or some similar violent shit—in which case I stare at the wall all night afterwards, traumatized.

Up until last week, my dad used to get me settled for bed with the other bears he likes (plus Fluffy, who’s somehow gotten himself included). He used to make sure we were all comfortable and not too squished, then he’d put a blanket over us.

I’M NOT SAYING HE SINGS ME A LULLABY OR ANYTHING. HE DOESN’T FEEL MY FOREHEAD OR CHECK TO MAKE SURE MY NOSE IS MOIST. HE JUST USED TO TUCK ME IN!!

So what the hell, Dad?

Maybe running his own business lent itself to the sort of maverick mentality that says, I do what I want. Sure I tuck bears into bed—what’s it to you, mofo? And now he’s got this new corporate gig, he’s probably more like, I model and demonstrate best practices to help build accountability. His new coworkers play golf and video games while talking about their stereos.

Perhaps my dad is reassessing the machismo of tucking bears into bed.

But does this mean we’ll be buying more beer? I certainly hope so, and I’d be willing to trade my beddy-byes ritual for an extra case here and there. Perhaps another Whistler Brewing Company Travel Pack would be sufficiently manly for my dad. The four beers it contains are pretty mainstream (PARADISE VALLEY GRAPEFRUIT ALE being the one weird but good exception) and, while none of them will put a clump of hair on your chest, the collection is solid.

Naturally the BEAR PAW HONEY LAGER has extra appeal. Beer and organic honey make a win-win combo, even if their synergy occurs at only 5% alcohol.

The lager pours a crystal-clear copper with light foam that quickly dissipates. Honey is immediately apparent to the nose along with breadiness and faint hops. Taste follows smell without much surprise, supplying the expected honey along with some caramel notes and minimal hoppiness.

With a light-to-medium mouthfeel and reasonable carbonation, BEAR PAW HONEY LAGER is moderately refreshing but perhaps too sweet to pound endlessly (although I would without complaining). It has an unexpectedly long and dry finish, especially given its tendency to cloy at the front of the palate.

This would be an easy beer to disparage as too commonplace. It’s true the market is inundated with honey brews, but only because honey is such a delightful note to find in one’s beer. I’ve certainly experienced better versions of honey lager, but this one’s not bad at all. It’s certainly nothing for Whistler Brewing Company to be embarrassed of—not that anyone should be embarrassed of anything. Including my dad.