(1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
Belgian-style beer is easy to love — and in Portland, ME, Allagash brews up plenty worth loving.
According to the Brewery History on the Allagash website:
From the very beginning, Allagash has strived to produce the finest Belgian-style and experimental ales this side of the Atlantic. It began as New England’s original Belgian-style brewery and has grown into one of the industry’s most distinguished and well-respected brands. Following the time-tested brewing traditions of ancient Belgium, Allagash now produces a broad-ranging portfolio of artisanal beers with uncompromising quality.
I’ve been looking forward to trying Allagash. Despite moving to New England a few years ago, I’ve somehow missed out of this great brewery — until now.
Things didn’t go exactly according to plan. I’ve been mapping out a couple of Belgian beer weeks, in which I would try out several Belgian beers and then move on to Belgian-style brews from the US. But when I got home around 11pm on Saturday night (I’m writing this from notes on Sunday), only one bottle in my fridge interested me.
After a week spotted by Busch and Michelob, I decided there could be no better time to break out the Allagash Grand Cru. I brought the beer up to serving temperature and finished the 12 oz bottle right at 11:59.
Hop Hound Amber Wheat
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(2 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)
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You could say I was tricked into drinking this Michelob. Perhaps tricked is too harsh a word — misled may be more fitting — but you try drinking one and only one beer a day and then see what word you use when your waiter recommends “a great micro-brew from St. Louis”.
My first clue should have been his inability to make a wine recommendation. Since restaurant beer selection is usually shoddy, and because I prefer to drink my one beer a day without food as a palate influence, I’ve only rarely ordered a beer when I’ve been out to eat so far this year. That leaves me to explore the wine menu with wild abandon.
Kenneth, my waiter, was at best less than helpful — “That’s a white wine,” he said of a Chardonnay — and when pressed he could only equivocate, such as, “It has some spiciness to it, but it’s kind of bland. I don’t like red wine so you would have to tell me.”
Two beers were listed on draught as specials. One was an oatmeal stout from a good, local brewery. The second I had never heard of — Hop Hound Amber Wheat. The menu described the beer as “an unfiltered amber wheat ale with caramel sweetness and a refreshing citrus note”.
“What do you know about this beer?” I asked Kenneth. Considering how little he knew about the wine menu, expecting him to know more about the draught specials was probably akin to taking candy from a stranger in a van. But I’m too trusting. Afterall, it was the special of the night. He probably had a cheat sheet somewhere.
Belhaven Scottish Ale
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(2 votes, average: 4.50 out of 5) Loading ...
Belhaven has been brewing beer in Scotland since 1719, and they’re not done yet.
I’ve been keeping my eyes open for the Stout, and found the Scottish Ale instead. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the Scottish Ale, so today seemed like as good a time as any to reacquaint myself with this Belhaven staple.
The bottle of Scottish Ale describes the beer as, “a fully rounded ale, a complex mix of malt and hop producing Belhaven’s easily recognized malted and nutty flavour.”
Belhaven pours a rich copper color with a persistent off-white head. The resulting aroma is very mild — creamy, buttery notes mix with soft, sweet malt.
If the aroma is easy going, then the taste is even more mellow.
Belhaven Scottish Ale is malty, buttery and smooth, with occasional undercurrents of roasted malt and yeast. It was chilled when I first served it, but I stretched my session out over an hour as the ale warmed in my hands. Delicate flavors emerged, including a touch of peat smoke, and hops became more apparent. Bitterness rested quietly at the back of my tongue — these hops were content to punch the clock and pull up a chair, just too relaxed to make any fuss. Overall mouthfeel is creamy, though the body began to fade away toward the end of the glass.
Back in December, I picked up a variety pack of Dundee brews. They’ve been sitting in the fridge for three months — longer than they probably should be stored — so I’ve decided it’s high time I drank one.
The Dundee Porter seemed an appropriate response to last night’s watery lager, so I grabbed the bottle and popped the top.
It had a nice pour — a dark brown beer with a tan head and chocolaty aroma. But while the label describes the beer as having a robust flavor, I found it pretty mild.
Malt dominates the flavor: mild chocolate, light roasted espresso, and very little bitterness. Nothing steps forward to lead the taste, and the result is a mild, very drinkable but largely unremarkable porter. The body is slightly watery and a touch chalky. All in all, not a terrible beer.
Since I’ve been of legal age to do so, I’ve been in the habit of drinking a Busch beer on St. Patrick’s Day. Busch beer may seem like a strange choice for St. Patrick’s Day; and I’ll agree — in too many ways, it is.
Busch was the first beer I ever drank. I was 7, and I asked my dad for some of his beer. He had chicken on the grill and a can of Busch in a cozy, but he left me to mind the the grill while he went into the house. When he came out, he was carrying a juice glass.
He poured me some of his beer. It was a hot summer day in northern Florida, and while the beer wasn’t warm, it certainly wasn’t cold.
If you want to ensure your child hates beer, make sure his or her first taste is of luke Busch.
I didn’t spit the beer out — some right of passage that would have been! — but it was truly my final interest in beer for many years. In fact, I didn’t pick up another beer until I was in my early twenties.
