beer tasting

ALHAMBRA LAGER—Happiness in a bottle (or at least some kind of ALHAMBRA brew, maybe not this particular one; you can blame my sweaty mother for not clarifying)

My Fellow Inebriates,

Everywhere she goes, my mother ends up conversing with strangers about alcohol. Sometimes she doesn’t even initiate it; people just mention beer or wine when she’s around. She must have a “lush” vibe.

The latest recommendation came in a Superstore lineup. To be accurate, it was addressed to the cashier, not my mother. The dude in line behind her, asked how he was, gave an actual answer, saying he was brilliantly happy—mostly because of his hobby: drinking unusual beers from around the world.

4460What was his favorite? The cashier didn’t ask, but he volunteered that it was ALHAMBRA from Spain. Presumably not being a lush herself, the cashier didn’t elicit which ALHAMBRA brew, and my mother, not having pushed her way into the conversation and being filthy and sweaty following a morning workout, didn’t either. But she did get showered and make a beeline for the liquor store that afternoon, where she bought the only ALHAMBRA brew on offer: the lager.

Based on the Superstore dude’s demeanor we surmised that ALHAMBRA must be happiness in a bottle. And we were all the more disposed to try it given that Spain has been rocking our world oenologically lately.

Another plus: 6.4% alcohol. Happiness in a bottle indeed.

ALHAMBRA LAGER’s first impression is a skunkiness not dissimilar to Grolsch’s. I don’t mind skunky beers but my dad—who wasn’t thrilled in the first place that a lager had come home—had reservations about it.

The color is rich gold with a generous creamy head. On the skunky spectrum it rates “intriguing,” stopping well short of “disturbing.” I couldn’t wait for the first sip.

Ahhhh! ALHAMBRA’s generous ABV gives it some welcome heft, making it more than a fizzy Eurobooze vehicle. Round and substantial with punchy carbonation, it strikes hard with sweet malt, corn, and moderate hoppiness. It’s not a one-note beer—maybe a three-note beer—and it’s weighty enough to be an effective “transition beer” for those months when the weather doesn’t know what the hell it’s doing and if you didn’t have a calendar you wouldn’t know it was April and not either March or June.

I doubt our fellow Superstore customer was talking about this specific ALHAMBRA offering in his ravings to the cashier (who said she preferred wine). Chances are our government-run liquor store buys the most mass-market variety ALHAMBRA brew. Which is fine because I was enchanted with the 6.4% ABV. I loved it, people, and it even tasted pretty good.

BLACKHEART OATMEAL STOUT—My heart is pure, but I’ll still take the cash

My Fellow Inebriates,

Today was a historical day for this blog. Did my fellow inebriates see it when I whored the site out with sold a piece of anchor text a couple of weeks ago? Did you all go madly clicking? Goodness knows, but today a deposit was made in my PayPal account, putting Liquorstore Bear officially into the black. Booyah!

My parents were duly impressed and offered me a purple balloon. I said no, I couldn’t possibly handle the disappointment Miss V experienced yesterday when she let go of her own pink balloon in the playground. In disbelief she watched it slip from her hand and then erupted with the most horrific caterwauling ever heard in Langley. Poor V—it was hard not to feel sorry for her. It wasn’t just a balloon; it was “Ballooney” and she’d hand-picked it from a bunch at her cousin’s 4th birthday party. Ballooney sailed upwards indifferently until only Mum’s polarized lenses and my plastic eyes could place it—for V it had already vanished. For us a pink pinpoint remained for a few tantalizing moments longer, and then suddenly it was not there.balloon copy

Meanwhile V was yowling like a damaged cat. She wanted Ballooney back. She demanded Ballooney back. And if you’ve ever met V…well, all you can do is give her a hug and wait.

So when my parents offered me a balloon, I told them they could go f*ck themselves. I had enough emotional scars, thank you very much, without shepherding a damn balloon until its inevitable demise.

V had been pretty demanding in the wake of her loss, specifying extra Easter eggs as a palliative and who knows how many games of Beat Your Neighbors. So I figured I’d ask for a beer.

blackheart oatmeal stoutIt worked. BLACKHEART OATMEAL STOUT was duly poured, boasting 5.7% alcohol and pitch-black with creamy foam. Redolent of roasted malt and coffee grounds (not unpleasantly so), its initial impression is more of a pick-me-up than a relaxer. The coffee aroma is serious. Coupled with a distinctive oaty note, those espresso lashings suggest breakfast—which dovetails pretty well with my general agenda for LBHQ. Surely such a coffee-like brew is appropriate first thing in the morning….

The first sip packs an espresso wallop. Yum, if you like coffee, blech if you don’t. I love coffee, but only if there are absolutely no other beverages available. As you drink BLACKHEART you get sweet malt and cocoa along with that coffee plus a nutty finish. The mouthfeel is substantial without being chewy, and the carbonation is pretty punchy for the genre.

Don’t get the impression BLACKHEART OATMEAL STOUT is a one-note beer. There’s plenty to enjoy—even mild metallic hints if you’re given to those. They remind you that you can pound this sucker if you feel like it, or you can “session it” so you don’t get too hosed.

With the remaining $35 from the LBHQ earnings pile, I might consider buying BLACKHEART again. Then again, there’s a universe of booze out there to be sampled, so maybe not—at least not right away. In the meantime, I’m not proud—consider Liquorstore Bear at your service if you have any anchor text you’d like to place. 😉

PHILLIPS BLUE BUCK ALE—The missing part of Family Day

My Fellow Inebriates,

What’s not to love about British Columbia’s inaugural PR-driven Family Day?

family dayThe day off work/school? For my dad it’s not much of a day off; all day long his phone continues to ring. For my mum, it’s more of an extra day on, given that everybody’s home. And for me it’s just terrifying. In addition to P & V running apeshit through the house, we also have their cousins C & R accompanied by Auntie H and Uncle B (who don’t know I call them that). It’s Family Day, so the family is together—whether it frightens bears or not.

My mum has already screwed up by suggesting a family bowling outing and then failing to call the bowling alley in time to book a lane. Every freaking family in Langley thought of bowling before her, so every alley for miles is booked all day. One idea per day is about my mum’s limit, so everybody’s at LBHQ, doing family things.

Even if bowling’s not on the menu, the kids are happy. Happy, that is, without turning their attention to yours truly. Instead, Auntie H has decided to examine me and ask, “Have you ever put him in the washing machine?”

“No,” says Mum. “He has only two brain cells; if he came out with just one he couldn’t write his blog.”

Says Auntie H, “R’s bunny has been in the wash tons of times. You could put LB in. If you used the gentle cycle and a delicates bag…”

And my mother says: “Hmmm.”

Hmmmmm!! OMFG, my fellow inebriates, it’s fine to love your family but you have to draw the line somewhere. This is the part where Mum should be kicking Auntie H and her brood out, don’t you think? But she is still reflecting:

“His ass is full of beans; they’d never dry out.”

“Bunny’s full of beans,” says Auntie H. “He does fine in the wash.”

OMG!!

pope-benedict-xvi-feb-2013-2Meanwhile, Uncle B is obviously not well. He looks like he’s fighting something off. He declines lunch, he looks tired, and only when my mum starts bitching about the pope’s resignation does he get a little animated. Mum is incensed that the Catholic Church’s head honcho, chosen by God and ordained to die in the saddle, would resign. She sees it as a big PR attempt to give Catholicism a makeover by allowing a pope with a chequered past to exit stage left before any more of his dirty underwear gets exposed. Whereas Uncle B and I think it might be good for Catholicism, and that flouting 600 years of tradition might be a sign of increasing adaptability to a modern world. To which my mum says, “The church doesn’t adapt.”

When you’ve attended a high school that once made you spend all day being a human rosary bead for a “living prayer” ceremony, you might carry this impression of the Catholic Church. But I’m hanging with Uncle B on this one—it might be good for the Vatican. If the Catholic Church gets the opportunity to revamp itself, it should take it. Pope Benedict is super-creepy—a real cosmetic liability that’s only going to get worse as whatever age-related condition he hasn’t disclosed deteriorates in his dotage.

But here’s where my solidarity with Uncle B ends. Get this: he’s allergic to alcohol. I didn’t even know this was a real thing until I googled it. According to the Mayo Clinic, “Alcohol intolerance is caused by a genetic condition in which the body is unable to break down alcohol. The only way to prevent alcohol intolerance is to avoid alcohol altogether.”

Holy crap, what kinds of people have alcohol intolerance? People with the gene ADH2*2, which produces a highly active form of alcohol dehydrogenase that tends to discourage heavy drinking. The gene is common among Ashkenazi Jews like Uncle B. Symptoms include flushing, racing heart, and a mean game of chess.

Which meant the beer didn’t flow this afternoon at LBHQ. We had to break it out later. No harm done…just minor DTs…

phillips blue buckAnd the beer? Once again, from our Phillips sampler pack: BLUE BUCK ALE. Once again, 5% alcohol, but we won’t hold that against it. The color is amber-brown with a light cream head. The nose is hoppy and slightly floral with some bready notes and background fruit in moderation. On the palate it packs middle-of-the-road satisfaction, middling mouthfeel, and a good mix of malt and hops—some toffee if you’re concentrating. Nothing overly complex going on here: just a damn fine beer.

Family Day would have been better if the family had got into the BLUE BUCK about eight hours earlier than they did. After all that talk of washing machines, I needed a beer. I say to R’s bunny, however many times it’s been through the wash, You’re a stronger animal than I am. Too bad you live with teetotalers.