HOYNE SUMMER HAZE HONEY HEFEWEIZEN—Too mellow for hooliganism

If I were a 100-meter sprinter (LOL), I’d want my name to be Usain Bolt. I mean, bolt, people. What a fantastic handle. And today the dude broke an Olympic record to win the final.

But who knew some guy would throw a beer bottle on the track just before Bolt bolted to victory? Seconds before the starting gun, a man hurled some verbal abuse followed by a beer bottle, prompting his immediate arrest. Bolt was so focused on his 9.63-second sprint that he didn’t even notice the bottle.

American Justin Gatlin did notice the distraction, even though he achieved a personal best of 9.79 seconds. Perhaps the beer bottle helped?

I think beer bottles always help, with everything, particularly when they contain a yummy hefeweizen like HOYNE SUMMER HAZE HONEY HEFEWEIZEN. I doubt this is what hit the track field in London (what sort of macro beer would an Olympics hooligan toss…anyone?). Hailing from Victoria, BC, brewmaster Sean Hoyne can probably rest assured he had no influence, even lepidopterally, on the 100-meter outcome, but he does brew one wicked wheat beer.

And that’s a big statement at LBHQ, where we’ve been disappointed by many a hefeweizen, mostly because they tend toward citrus, banana, or just general weirdness. SUMMER HAZE avoids these pitfalls by balancing the expected wheaty lightness with that delicious honey that we bears go apeshit for. Prefacing this lingering sweetness is a crisp and malty aroma. Nicely balanced, SUMMER HAZE hits the tongue with an enveloping maltiness, dramatically contradicting the sharp expectations I had for it. Mid-palate the honey redoubles satisfyingly and holds into a marvelous finish. Ahhh!!

We can thank Christine (once again) for SUMMER HAZE. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I think she brought it over because bears like honey, and I certainly loved this slightly cloudy, mildly hopped brew. Unlike an IPA, this beer couldn’t possibly make you angry or ornery; it’s too docile and friendly. You wouldn’t, for example, chuck it on an Olympic track just behind the soon-to-be gold medallist who’s about to school everyone on sprinting. And he wouldn’t even notice anyway.

There’s a time and a place for hooliganism, my fellow inebriates: my house, after we move on Wednesday. We’ll take the door off its hinges and you can hurl bottles everywhere. You can wreck the place.

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