BeerADay.net's Aimée at the Great Dane

I saw beyond the pint sized town and cow décor in Madison and entered the city with big barley hopes of having intimate access to unique craft breweries and a college town brewery culture that was said to rival my personal standard of excellence -– Bloomington, Indiana’s Upland.

Day one in Madison showed its malty muscle as I waded through the ocean-sized sampler at the Great Dane. The Great Dane Pub & Brewing Company opened one block off the state capitol square in November 1994 and became the first brewery to operate in the city of Madison after the closing of the Fauerbach Brewery in 1966.

When my sampler came, patrons glared, wondering if anyone else would be joining me and my large wooden paddle of brews. I had never seen such a bevy of brews in a beer platter, which decidedly dwarfed my table for one. That day I learned that at the Great Dane, you can order different numbers of samples and if you generically order The Sampler you will receive at least 10 beers! Be warned or be smitten. I was just happy that my sampler sophistication quotient had jumped a notch –- I’ll be ready next time!

Those first (many) sips of Madison’s Great Dane left enough of a finish for me to bring my husband, Marc back for a visit which we achieved as part of a thoughtful detour en route from a family wedding in Iowa last month. This time, The Sampler arrived without traces of shock or shame.

She Said:

It’s no secret I have a penchant for porters. If I do not exercise restraint at a beer tasting, I will jump to the darkest, deepest beers first, destroying any attempt at tasting purity that comes from starting with the lightest brews and working down to the darkest. So naturally, I wanted the Great Dane’s Black Earth Porter right when we sat in our cozy bar booth. Even the mood of the Great Dane put porter on the mind -– dark mahogany bar, restored brickwork on the walls, and a glimmery golden view of the brewery vats.  The slight chill in the air didn’t help –- a porter sounded perfect with an accompanying cup of the Dane’s West African Chicken Peanut Stew.

But I waited.

Marc and I selected 10 beers to sample from the wall-sized chalkboard of current brews, mostly written in fluorescent chalk with other “always” brews permanently painted on glossed wooden signs. I use a brewery’s lightest beer as a litmus test for its overall brewing quality and creativity. The Great Dane exceeded expectations with its Landmark Lite — emphasis on the landmark. The Landmark Lite offered a dynamic combination of freshness and flavor richness, even for a porter princess on a cold day. It was such an impressive beginning to the sampler experience and in the end, turned out to be one of my all time favorites.

What should impress a beer lover the most about the Great Dane is its consistent quality and creativity across products. It doesn’t have just one or two great brews; it has enough to please the palate at any season, with any food, and in any mood. This is the first brewery where my two favorite beers have sat on opposite ends of the tasting spectrum. I give The Great Dane mega Porter Props and Landmark Love in thanks for a Dane Great experience.  

He Said:

Aimee’s description of this place gives you a sense of what I had been hearing –- incessantly — for the three years between her first trip there and the time I finally had an opportunity to sit down for a sampler and a pint.  Whenever we discussed brewpubs, Aimee would promptly bring up the Great Dane with a look in her eye that is usually reserved for when she talks about kittens or Bill Clinton. 

I was nervous when we walked in. Aimee talked this place up so much -– what would happen if I hated it? I know it would break her Hop-loving heart. Thankfully I didn’t have to deliver any bad news. As soon as I started in on the Sampler, I knew I was in for a great microbrew experience.

Most of the small scale breweries have a difficult time of crossing what I call the hop/malt divide — meaning all the beers will either be hoppy or malty regardless of the style they attempt.  I’m sure you all have been there –- too much hop on the porter, or so mild a hop on an IPA that you wonder if the waitress brought you the wrong glass.  The Great Dane, however, had no trouble crossing this line, and did so repeatedly.

From the ten, I too settled on something I rarely order — the “Irish” red.  This beer had all of the initial sweetness you’d expect from an Irish red, however soon after it departed from a Killian’s into a nice malty middle with just enough hop on the finish to prevent any negative lingering effects of the initial sweetness.  All in all, a great pint and, whenever I end up in Madison again, surely the Dane will be my go-to spot.

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While neither Aimee nor I fear beers that describe themselves as “big, dark and scary”, this one had us running for the hills. Only now — some six weeks later — have we mustered the courage to tell our tale.

He Said:

Lagunitas has a history of brewing up some rather . . . ah . . . unique beers, but that is why we loved them.

I’ve always viewed Lagunitas as the West Coast’s answer to Delaware’s Dogfish Head — both wildly creative and not afraid to hold back even under the harsh light of commercial appeal. A 2Pac to the East Coast Biggie, if you will.

When we got to our favorite neighborhood pub, we sat down and ordered up this novel Lagunitas. Right from the first sip, I realized the line had been crossed. The headless beer had a malty complexity which quickly gave way to an outright sugary sweetness rarely seen outside of a Yoo-Hoo. The sweetness was so severe, that my stomach started aching almost as much as my heart upon realizing I had found a beer that was almost undrinkable.

Halfway through the tasting, I realized that Aimee wasn’t saying much — which, if you know Aimee, is never a good sign. A look of shocked resignation was all I could elicit from her as we peered helplessly into our pint glasses.

As we soldiered on, the beer became slightly less sweet, either because it sensed our severe disappointment or because our taste buds finally succumbed to the shock of it all. But alas, the alteration was too little, too late. So hard was I bitten by this dog of a beer, I doubt that I’ll ever have the fortitude to try another cappuccino stout again, regardless of the brewer.

She Said:

I must shame Starbucks for inviting association with elegant European espresso drinks by any concoction with “frap” strapped to its name. If the authentic cappuccino were getting play because of its association with its sugar daddy, the Frappuccino, I may be less jolted by this pressed alliance. But it seems the association between the two has turned more people into frap-boys than has inspired interest in the original delight.

So why does a beer lover even care about this?

This weekend I learned that shameless association with fine espresso drinks does not stop with coffee. Sunday’s Cappuccino Stout should have had a “frap” strapped to its name as a matter of full-taste-disclosure. There was less bean and more bon-bon to the bite of this brew. I rolled the silly sugary gloss over my tongue and was instantly transported to Wednesday in grade school — chocolate milk day! I almost asked for a straw and some crayons to pass the time with my paper placemat.

Basic ruling on the Cappuccino Stout – total misnomer! Judging by the name and the description on Hackney’s beer menu, I looked forward to the muddy coffee beans and special espresso sensation I get from other “coffee” related stouts such as North Coast Brewing Co’s Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout, Guinness, and Smutty Nose Imperial Stout. Instead, I got a mouthful of melted whoppers from the bottom of my grade school backpack.

Enough slam, the Cappuccino Stout may be appealing to some — but only to the Frap-boys, not the true Studs of Stout.

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She Said:

Faux-graffiti and hot colored portraits of Gumball Head and Alpha King greeted us at the door of Three Floyds Brewing Company. In a corporate park off a busy highway, I welcomed the retreat from prim, slate swank sensations of our common corner pub in Chicago’s Loop. I missed the pungent scent of honest beer – the moist mixture of hops, wheat, malt, and grains that keeps you keenly aware of where you are and inspires moments of marveling at the magic of the craft beer you’re sipping.

To my teeth-tingling delight and no real surprise, the sampler was saturated with Hops. I reconfirmed Alpha King, defined as a “Big American Pale” at 6% ABV as my favorite with its deep orange hue and balance of bitter and sweet but I give a special nod to Robert the Bruce for being the best Valentine’s Day beer. Robert the Bruce provides a tender, malty sweetness and not-so-subtle hints of chocolate. As a Scottish, Dark Brown 7.2 ABV, Robert the Bruce is lot like the kind of guy you’d want to be your Valentine – strong but with a pleasantly surprising sensibility for sweetness. I imagine Robert a burly bloke holding a bouquet of flowers for his love.

I may not be able to wait until next Valentine’s day to visit Three Floyds Brewing again. They were out of the Red Tendon Porter, which is the Three Floyds version of a Baltic Porter. I was eager to see how a brewery with an almost Warrior Hops quality would execute a porter. Overall, my enthusiasm for Three Floyds continues and I “Dreadnaught” my next trip to imbibe in the brews still yet to be enjoyed.

He Said:

Perusing the Three Floyds beer list, I was immediately struck by what must be the brewery’s mantra — variety is the spice of life — which provided a bit of irony for our Valentines’ Day tasting. Regardless of Floyd ale delectability, the pub shamelessly flaunted a range of amazing beers by the pint and by the bottle from other locales, tempting us to stray from the namesake brews. Tired of Robert the Bruce’s Scottish-inspired sweetness? Then tuck into an exotic Japanese espresso stout. Dreadnaught IPA a little too bitter? Reach for the neck of an aged Vertical Epic from California’s Stone Brewing. It made my romantic side twinge with pain. Just as I was about to storm out in accusatory fashion, an epiphany hit.

Now, I’ve been a fan of Three Floyds for almost as long as I’ve known Aimee (nine years and counting!), so I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary from our visit. But, as I worked through a sampler of Floyd’s four mainstays, I was struck by the underlying harmony between each beer and the next. Though all were very unique, you could actually tell that they were made by the same loving hand without it being painfully obvious. I had honestly never felt that way about a brewery’s line-up before. Man, it’s no wonder Three Floyds is ranked as one of the best breweries in the Midwest. It just goes to show that no matter how well you think you know someone . . . err brewery . . . the good ones always have a way of surprising you in ways that make you love them all over again.

And isn’t that what Valentine’s Day is all about?

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This week’s “He Said, She Said” beer was Dogfish Head’s Pangaea, a ginger-infused malt beverage with an alcohol content so high that drinking the entire 25oz bottle would be enough to call it a night.  Fortunately, two can play at this game — and on “He Said, She Said” that’s kind of the point.  With the bottle split down the middle, we had a fair shot at finishing off this beer before it finished us.

Pangaea is named for the tireless effort of DFH staff to pull ingredients from all corners of the globe. Probably the most herculean stunt was brewing the beer with water straight from Antarctica. However, despite its unifying global message, this week’s beer split an opinion wider than the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.

He Said:
Without a doubt, this was the first malt liquor concoction I’ve tasted that could be respectfully served outside of a paper bag and without a jolly rancher. It was distinct, it was gingery, and it certainly was something I could see breaking out for a crowd appreciative of the wide world of craft beer. I appreciate Pangaea’s uniqueness and raise a pinky-salute from my glass to this classy malt beverage fave.

However, no matter how gingery the beer tastes . . . I would fight the urge to mix in vodka for a Moscow Mule. Not that I’m speaking from experience.

She Said:
With all due respect to my tasting colleague and husband, this ginger-infused misfortune gave me no sense of the good will he offers. The best I could provide as I frowned at the monolithic bottle was regret that “Pan-gee-I-wish this wasn’t my first beer to review.”

It was a sad and soggy series of sips for a long-time lover of Dogfish Head’s Raison D’Extra and the multi-minute IPA sequence. Adding upset to my expectations was the belief that the rich copper color that Pangaea glowed would provide the same pleasant hop-malt balance I expect and enjoy from similarly colored brews. I learned yesterday, however, that my favorite color of beer can also taste like damp mothball tang.

There is one logic-leaping explanation for our divergent reviews – the rules. Dogfish Head’s Pangaea suggests you sip this malt beverage out of a wine glass. I balked and used a pilsner glass picked up after a tour of the Coors brewery while my tasting colleague uncharacteristically followed the instructions. He enjoyed it, I didn’t.

So I will leave you with a fair warning – if you’re going to drink this malt beverage, I highly recommend offering it in a fancy glass to distract you and others from the (god forbid) honest tasting experience I endured.

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