Check it out! Another beer-loving animal. Must-see movie.
My Fellow Inebriates,
When the water hose came out today, we bears hid. I don’t know where the other animals went, but I’m currently hanging out beside an empty wine bottle of SIBARIS RESERVA ESPECIAL CARMENERE (2010). Named for the ancient Sybarites who sought pleasure to the highest heights, this wine was my parents’ contribution to our weekend tastings. Sandwiched that evening between a glorious cask-aged beer and a brown ale that hit all the right notes, SIBARIS had a tough go. One of its only advantages was that, being wine rather than beer, it would not have to endure apples-to-apples comparison.
Another assist came from a palate-bashing meal my mother inflicted on everyone just as we switched from grain to grape. This effectively reset everyone’s tastebuds, giving SIBARIS a chance to shine. How did it fare?
We were all in the mood for a big, mouth-filling wine. Carmenere, the signature grape of Chile, is often used as a blending grape because, while it’s full and lush, it lacks the tannic profile of Cabernet and has low acidity. But with careful vinification this varietal can rock a wine bottle all by itself, and that’s what we’ve been seeing increasingly at our neighborhood booze shop.
Perhaps my dad had an inkling that SIBARIS would only just live up to its $16 price tag. “We’re gonna let this one breathe in the glass,” he said, dumping it into Reidel stemless ware. Immediately the wine released juicy black plum and spice aromas. Despite not having decanted it, my dad let it sit awhile before tasting, but you know how alcoholics are—I dived in at once. Medium-bodied and plump on the palate, SIBARIS delivered flavor to the palate exactly as promised to the nose: intense yet accessible, easy to drink and yet not perfectly behaved. “Spunky,” said my mother, and Christine confirmed it was a “little barnyardy.”
Now, the barnyard is not always a negative, and this case SIBARIS walks a fine tightrope, albeit not entirely smoothly. SIBARIS is more than earthy; somewhere in its fruity, berry background is a persistent hint of gaminess. But just a hint. A terribly slight hint. In fact, if no one ever mentioned spunk or barnyardiness or caca, SIBARIS might have come and went without a hiccup. But once the suggestion was out, it was out, and we all detected a faint whiff of copros in the distance.
Still, for fifteen bucks this is a very decent wine. No one’s glass was left half-finished—despite the beckoning of a Shiraz Christine brought over in her canvas bag, which, an hour later, would completely trounce SIBARIS. But there are a lot of very nice $16 wines out there, so this one probably won’t be a repeat purchase at LBHQ.
Five days after drinking it, the empty bottle smells pretty darn good. Let’s just hope the empty patch is a good hiding place from the kids.
When my girlfriend Dolly saw yesterday’s thong pictures she disavowed any connection with me. Not for the first time, of course, but this time she was explicit.
Cuddly and reasonably innocent
Obscene
And with that she was looking at Fluffy Bear again. Pointing out that the kids could just as easily have put Fluffy in a thong as yours truly didn’t acquit me. She said I’d attracted the thong. That I’d sent out a thong vibe to the universe. That nobody ends up in a thong who doesn’t really want to be in one.
Of course I wanted to crawl into the bottle immediately. Not because I was sad but because my ass was chafed from the makeshift g-string. Even the kids, after fashioning it, had had second thoughts about the project and abandoned it. I waited for my dad to get home and rescue me, but when he arrived he was too preoccupied to notice. Finally my mum released me from the thong, but not before snapping some pics.
This insult came after my parents declined a Canada Day barbecue featuring Grey Goose and lemonade. Their weekend was too hectic, they said, and they couldn’t make it. Nor did the sound of distant fireworks compel them to open our last bottle of wine.
So I hope my American friends are having a more festive celebration today than we did on July 1. Let’s hope you’re not in the grip of a thong or recovering from wearing one, and that you have some good hooch to celebrate the day with. For my wonderful American readers, a suggestion from California:
This is another tasting I owe to the incomparable Christine and her canvas bag. Brewed in Healdsburg, CA, PETE BROWN TRIBUTE ALE pours a deep rich brown with a gorgeous, languorous tan head and big, thick lacing. Immediately it bodes greatness.
I should mention we sampled this brew on June 30, long before any thong notions had developed. (Were the kids even thinking “thong”? Who knows?) We’d just tasted OLA DUBH and followed it up with a decent but slightly barnyardy Carmenere, so while PETE BROWN TRIBUTE ALE had a tough beer act to follow, our tastebuds had been brought back to earth somewhat by the wine (plus my mother’s weird cooking). Would this second beer hold its own?
First olfactory impressions are of malt and caramel with toasty nuts and brown sugar. These aromas are generous and presage a substantial and generous mouthfeel. Even if, for the sake of argument, you had premonitions that you’d be wearing a thong a couple of days later and that the rope would cut you between the cheeks, this ale’s heady redolence would be enough to short-circuit those negative fears and envelop you pleasantly.
At 6.3% alcohol, PETE BROWN TRIBUTE ALE is a big beer. The initial shot across the palate is bready with mocha and caramel. My dad used words like “good” and “nice”—but let’s remember my dad is a guy who couldn’t be bothered to notice my ass being flossed for several hours. PETE BROWN TRIBUTE ALE coats the tongue with deliciously smooth malt and punchy fizz that settles down creamily as the beer transits to the back of the mouth, where it delivers a long-finishing mild-hop finale to complete a marvelous flavor arc.
Wearing a thong? We’ll never know for sure.
This beer rocks, people, and if you can get your mitts on some in time for the fireworks, you definitely should. Just remember that some beer stores don’t permit patrons to buy beer while wearing a thong.
Once again my infinite thanks goes out to Christine, who chose this particular brew because of the bear on the label. Not only does Christine have exquisite taste in booze, but I’m certain:
May your Fourth of July be flowing with beer and free of thongs*.
Liquorstore Bear 