Sierra Nevada Bigfoot Barleywine
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(2 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)
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If Bigfoot roams the Sierra Nevada Mountains, he may be doing so in search of an earthy, powerful beer — a flavorful beer that can satisfy his craving for resinous hops but stiff enough to muffle the snowy mountain chill. Now, I’m not saying he exists . . . I’m just saying that if you ever come across an angry Sasquatch in the wilds of California, offer the beast a bottle opener and you may have a friend for life.
While many craft beers boast a single Great American Beer Festival Gold or Silver medal, Sierra Nevada’s Bigfoot Barleywine Style Ale has won Gold five times — going back as far as 1987. In fact, 2009 marks the 25th release of Sierra Nevada’s Bigfoot.
So I was expecting a good beer. But I wasn’t expecting a tremendously hoppy one, and that’s a nice surprise.
Bigfoot poured an electric amber, with toasted caramel color filling the lower half of a brandy glass. I had allowed the bottle warm on the counter for 20 minutes prior to opening, and the lightly chilled beer came up with a narrow tan head that lingered contentedly before gradually fading to sticky lace. It clung to the sides while I sipped, and with a quick swirl it fizzed up for another round.
Goose Island 312 Urban Wheat Ale
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Before it was poured into a tall wheat beer glass, my bottle of Goose Island 312 had quite an adventure.
If you hadn’t guessed, 312 is a Chicago area code. I used to live in the Chicago suburbs (the greater Chicago area is referred to as Chicagoland, which always reminded me of a theme park filled with corrupt elected officials), so I have made a few trips to the Goose Island brewery to enjoy its beer, root beer, and cream sodas. Now that I’m gone, I feel I didn’t visit the brewery often enough — as they say, you truly don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone!
A friend has been recommending that I try 312, but Goose Island beers aren’t widely available on the east coast. So while I was in Indiana a few days ago, I made a point to search out a 22 oz bottle of 312.
You can’t carry liquids aboard flights anymore so I had to check my bag ($15 checked bag fee!) and, of course, they lost my bag. I was convinced I would never see that bottle of 312 again. But yesterday, the prodigal carry-on returned. The Chicago beer I bought in Indianapolis had traveled to Detroit and Miami and finally Manchester, NH where it was driven to my house in Massachusetts. I may be drinking the most worldly and well-traveled bottle of 312 in the country. And it tastes pretty good, too!
Avery New World Porter
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May first is May Day, generally recognized as a world-wide labor day — a time to recognize the workers of the world. Since porter is considered the beer of the working class, I decided a porter was on order for May Day. Specifically, Avery’s New World Porter.
The label is attractive, reminiscent of old European world maps — the “New World” is shown, ringed on all sides by tiny merchant ships. It describes the beer as:
“A traditional porter — big, black, and bold — with a twist . . . it’s dry-hopped!”
A hoppy porter? Mmmm… You’ve got my attention!
Oskar Blues Ten Fidy Imperial Stout
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I’ve heard great things about the beers of Oskar Blues Brewery in Lyons, Colorado — one of the few craft breweries that cans its beers.
Canned beer makes me think of fizzy lagers and mowing the grass, drinking straight from the can and crumpling the alumninum when finished. So what a strange experience, to crack open a can of beer and pour a rich, syrupy oil!
Ten Fidy splashed up a dark, chocolate-colored head about an inch tall in my tulip glass. It had an body so dark it sucked the light from the room and pulled my nose in for a draw of its chocolaty, roasted, hoppy goodness.
Travel weeks cause me anxiety, because I never know what kind of beer I’m going to find. I have a stockpile of great beer at home, but on the road things are left more to chance (see my posts a few weeks ago from Texas!).
Yet, this trip to Indiana proved pretty fruitful — I enjoyed a good IPA in my old stomping grounds, discovered a new and very limited Imperial Rye Pale at a downtown Indianapolis brewery, and still managed to find a good beer at the airport before flying back home.
Indy has a new airport, with a huge concourse ringed by restaurants and shopping just after the check in counters but before the security checkpoints. I arrived about an hour and a half early, so I lingered in this concourse searching for a good beer.
The racing themed Indy 500 Grill had a busy bar on this Wednesday afternoon, so I walked over to check out the taps. They only had 5 taps, but not one of them said Bud, Miller, or Coors — I remember Sam Adams and Pilsner Urquell — but my attention was fully on the only local beer in the lineup.
“Excuse me, is that Upland Wheat?”
Indeed it was. I couldn’t get to the Upland again, but the Upland came to me.
