beer

Bears are where it’s at

Bourbon Bear-Ale Brothers Porter.

There’s something about bears and beer. Is it just the way the words get confused when you’re blasted? You tell me.

The end is near!

My Fellow Inebriates,

My friends the Beer & Whiskey Brothers have the right idea with their question of what beer to drink before a city-block-sized boulder hits us tonight. My fur’s been quivering since I read about this asteroidal mutha, and if it indeed has our little planet in its sights, there’s nothing to do but drink, people.

But I don’t advise sipping.

The prospect of our little blue marble getting plowed by an asteroid is so bowel-emptyingly fearful that you need to render yourself insensible for the impact. So here’s a list of non-sipping beers you can pound or shotgun as you brace yourself.

  • Budweiser
  • Labatt Blue
  • Molson Black Ice
  • Kokanee
  • Corona

You see, on the brink of an apocalypse, your tastebuds are just about useless. The fight-or-flight response galvanizes your body—your heart pounds, your lungs heave, blood rushes from your stomach, your pupils dilate, and you get a metallic taste in your mouth.

You’re ready to freak out, but you’re not the best judge of beer. This is why I RECOMMEND racing to your local booze shop to buy any or all of the aforementioned brews.

If this is the end, I’ve enjoyed getting wasted with you in cyberspace. Be strong, humans, and drink up.

KILLER BEE Dark Honey Ale

My Fellow Inebriates,

For a bear, anything with “honey” on the label is an instant sell. My dad actually picked this beer out for me, which surprised me so much that my fur is still standing on end. He said since I was being pretty consistent about writing reviews, it was time I had something off the beaten path.

It’s true that bears love honey. My friend Scarybear claims that when he’s in the wild he sticks his paw right into any old hive he finds, pulls out globs of honey, and devours it bees and all.

(This is as stupid an image as I can conjure in my furry head, given that the Scarybear I know spends hours on the couch watching reruns of Stargate and begging his humans to order pizza.)

That aside, when beer and honey intersect, alcoholic bears get excited. The Tin Whistle Brewing Company, in business since 1995, specializes in English-style pale ales, and KILLER BEE Dark Honey Ale is crafted with four types of specialty honey.

Only I can’t taste honey in it. Swirled in a glass, KILLER BEE wafts cocoa and molasses up front, with toffee following. First sips are roasty, toasty, malty with chocolate predominating but not cloying. There’s almost a peatiness to it, an earthy, deep quality that hints of an Islay whisky. Think deep, sonorous tones if you’re into musical analogy.

KILLER BEE is almost stoutish but not quite. (It’s almost a lot of things, including honey-flavored.) While the mouthfeel is full, it’s surprisingly crisp. Initially the carbonation struck me as low, but a few sips convinced me that the Tin Whistle people really hit it on the money.

I am really freaking scared of killer bees, and I totally admire Tin Whistle for courting them so dangerously with this dark, intriguing offering. At 6% alcohol, KILLER BEE is boozy and warming—the perfect sipper while sitting on the couch watching TV. But the flavors are so dessert-like that one’s enough—you need to have something else ready to drink when you’re done with your KILLER BEE. I RECOMMEND it more as a curiosity than as a beer for pounding.