Firestone Walker Velvet Merlin Oatmeal Stout

Like Anderson Valley Brewing, Firestone Walker is a fairly small California microbrewery with limited regional distribution. New this year to the Firestone repertoire is their oatmeal stout, Velvet Merlin. According to the packaging, "Velvet Merlin is also partially blended with Merlin that has been aged in bourbon barrels for a year. The aging adds even more complexity to this very rich beer. The use of US grown Fuggles gives the perfect hop flavor to this exceptionally well-balanced beer."

Let me begin by saying that Velvet Merlin is, obviously, a much more appropriate winter beer than Anderson Valley's High Rollers. This oatmeal stout is thick and creamy like any good stout should be. The usual roast grain, coffee, and chocolate flavors are present, but there is a strange, harsh taste that overwhelms the finish. Though Velvet Merlin is only 5.5% alcohol by volume, the harshness seems reminiscent of high proof liquor. Could this be the complexity added by the mixing of bourbon barrel-aged beer into the blend? Despite the harsh finish, Velvet Merlin is a nice addition to the Firestone Walker collection and reasonably priced at $7.99 for a six-pack.

Anderson Valley High Rollers Wheat Beer

Happy New Year! I've never been very interested in celebrating on new year's eve. This is quite likely the result of my tendency to want to be in bed by 10:30 PM. My scrooge-like disinterest could also be attributed to what happened the one time I decided to attend a new year's eve party with Davis thrown by a bunch of Grinnell College alums in the middle of Harlem. Feeling extraordinarily awkward having not attended Grinnell, I proceeded to drink more beer, rum, and whiskey than a D.A.R.E. officer could ever smile upon. My excessive consumption came back to haunt me in two distinct ways in the following 12 hours as I struggled first to enjoy having met my now ex-girlfriend and then, the following morning, attempted to avoid suffocating my now ex-girlfriend as my intestines rebelled. No matter the reason, I'm staying home with the cat and dog this new years and watching The Expendables.

Keeping with the tradition of drinking to ring in the new year, I'll be reviewing a couple of beers I have stashed in the fridge this evening. First up is an unlikely candidate: Anderson Valley Brewing Company's High Rollers Wheat Beer. I just bought a six-pack of this summer ale at a discount grocer for $5, as compared to the normal $9 price tag. The thought of drinking a wheat beer in December seemed absurd, but the price was right and I have a soft spot for Anderson Valley Brewing.

Why do I like Anderson Valley, you ask? Well, they have a large solar array that powers their brewery for starters. The crusty tree-hugging environmentalist in me likes that. The brewery also produces the Barney Flats Oatmeal Stout, which I can credit for helping me avoid therapy my first year of graduate school. Another plus is that all of the Anderson Valley brews reflect an effort to preserve the local culture of the quirky California coastal region. Settlers in the late 1800s developed a unique local dialect called Bontling that peppers the labels and names of the brewery's offerings. From this bottle: "It's a slow lope'n a beson tree," which translates to, "It's mellow and easy going."

Despite my appreciation for Anderson Valley, I have little affection for wheat beers. I have long considered wheat beers the ale equivalent of the Milwaukee Brewers' utilityman Craig Counsell. On all objective measures, both Counsell and wheat beers aren't very good. So, why do they stick around? Well, they are versatile in their respective unoffensive existence. Rather, they aren't very good, but are they really all that bad? I guess they both represent some sort of nostalgic notion of purity, too. Counsell is the unlikely awkward local kid who scrapped his way into the majors instead of attending a baseball academy in the Dominican Republic. Wheat beers are the iconic American summer brew that provide the background to barbecues, the Fourth of July, and, well, baseball (assuming we exclude the macro-brewed rice-based lagers).

Anderson Valley's High Rollers Wheat Beer lives up to my expectations. It's crisp and slightly lemony. There's a slight hint of sweet grain that makes itself about as known as Counsell's bat. Mostly, though, it tastes like Coors without the offensive metallic punch and a slightly higher 5.3% ABV. I can see the refreshing potential of High Rollers on a hot summer evening, but the price better be low... just like Craig Counsell.

North Coast Brother Thelonious Belgian Style Abbey Ale

I drink my Brother Thelonious Straight, No Chaser. Ugh, that's a bad joke that maybe only Ken Burns or my University of Iowa History of Jazz professor would chuckle at.

First, a big thank you to my friend Mark for getting me this 25.4 ounce bottle as a Christmas gift. Second, major point deduction for being the most difficult bottle of beer to open in the world. I spent a good 4 minutes prying at the cork with a corkscrew inserted before I was able to liberate the sweet libation. Third, I spilled a little bit of Brother Thelonious on my cat. He seemed to pretend that he didn't have beer all over his back at first, then proceeded to take great joy in licking it off. If Sig were writing this review, he would say something like "rrow yummy prrr."

Brother Thelonious is, apparently, one offering in the American Artisan Series. As far as I can tell, though, the only other offering is Le Merle Belgian Style Farmhouse Ale also brewed by North Coast. Unlike most Belgian beers, Brother Thelonious is subtle. Not subtle as a euphemism for not having any flavor, but subtle as in not drowning the drinker in a sea of coriander and orange peel and "spice." At first I taste mild cloves, which then fade into a sort of rasiny flavor. The raisins linger while a molasses and anise chord are struck. The finish tastes of peculiar rotten fruit; maybe the result of the beefy 9.4% ABV. I can't say that I'd dish out the big bucks to enjoy Brother Thelonious, but it is a great gift treat. The gift-giver can feel good about himself, too; part of the proceeds from each bottle of this abbey ale go to the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz.

Lagunitas Brown Shugga'

'Tis the season to drink high ABV barleywines and stouts! Though Lagunitas' "Brown Shugga'" Ale is neither (although it is apparently the result of a failed batch of Lagunitas' barleywine "Old Gnarleywine"), it's 9.99% ABV and limited seasonal availability make it a fitting beer for the times.

The bottle vaguely describes the brewing process by stating, "Feeding Brown Cane Sugar to otherwise Cultured Brewery Yeast is a'kin to feeding Raw Shark to your Gerbil." My experience with other alcoholic beverages brewed with raw cane sugar has been very mixed. Chicha, one of the most popular traditional drinks in Nicaragua, is made by adding bricks of unrefined brown sugar each day to feed wild yeast strains in a 5-gallon bucket of water and sprouted corn to yield a highly alcoholic "Chicha Bruja," or "witch's chicha." Some batches of chicha bruja are sweet, smooth, and fruity. Some batches taste like thick corn alcohol and give you the shits for two days after drinking just 8 ounces. Thankfully, the results of enjoying a 12 ounce bottle of Brown Shugga' are not the same.

Brown Shugga' is, as the name might suggest, very sweet. It isn't sweet like a malty stout. It is sweet like an apricot tart that had an extra cup of sugar accidentally dumped into the baking pan that caramelized all over the treat. The 10% ABV lingers quietly, but unmistakably behind the sugary sweetness. Not surprisingly given its origins, the grain palate is almost identical to a barleywine. Yep, Brown Shugga' is basically a super-sweet, caramely barleywine. A 6-pack will run about $10, but is a great way to get socially awkward crowds to open up a little bit.

North Coast Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout

Interesting anecdote about Rasputin: "Allegations of sexual misconduct were no doubt encouraged by his frequently embarrassing drunken behavior; on one occasion documented by a History Channel documentary he is said to have opened his pants and waved his penis in front of shocked diners at a Saint Petersburg restaurant whilst inebriated." It is only fitting, then, that a deliciously potent 9% ABV stout be named in his honor.

Old Rasputin has long been one of my favorite stouts. The alcohol content is high enough that a 12 ounce bottle will typically warm you up just enough to stave off the winter chills. The taste is that of roast grain and dark chocolate: slightly bitter, but rich and thick. I'm also a fan of the short, stocky bottles (also used by Sierra Nevada, Lagunitas, and other mostly west coast breweries) as opposed to the dominant 12 ounce long neck. A four pack will set you back about $7, but the warming effect of the brew will likely offset your heating bill by at least $2 per bottle, so you're essentially earning $1 each time you by a case. At least that is how I've rationalized my consumption...

Aventinus Wheat Doppelbock

Apparently, Aventinus brews this wheat doppelbock "according to the Reinheitsgebot." For those of you who are not aware (myself included), "Reinheitsgebot" translates roughly to "Bavarian Purity Law" and was historically used to restrict the German beer-making ingredients to hops, barley, and water. I did not know this fact at the time I purchased the Aventinus Wheat Doppelbock, but the large, foreign word impressed me enough to buy the 16.9 ounce bottle for $4.19.

The bottle claims that the beer has "received accolades for the perfect balance of fruity spiciness (banana, clove, vanilla) and notes of chocolate." Clove is definitely the most predominate taste, but an easily perceptible chocolate-Twizzler flavor accompanies the spice. As the beer warms and the effects of the 8.2% ABV manifest themselves on an empty stomach, the doppelbock begins to taste more and more like the scented candle aisle at Michael's or JoAnn's Fabric. Not such a good, or pure, way to end, but it was enjoyable until the last four ounces or so.

St Sebastiaan Golden Ale

Ok, I'll admit it. I bought this beer mainly because of the attractive limited edition silk-screened bottle and artsy booklet that was attached. I don't dislike Belgian style ales, but I rarely drink them aside from a Blue Moon at the burger place in Davis every now and then. So, doling out $12 for a 16.9 ounce bottle of St Sebastiaan's Golden Ale was, essentially, an impulse buy.

Like most Belgian ales, this one smells like peaches and tastes "like potpourri, but in a good way," according to my girlfriend. The typical coriander and citrus hit heavy with a clove-laced floral assault. My initial thought was that it tasted like a perfumey cleaning product, but the harshness fades and the complex flavor array lingers pleasantly and easily hides the 7.6% ABV. It's a bit too musky and heavily spiced for my liking, but St Sebastiaan's Golden Ale wouldn't be bad if it were $8 a pint cheaper.

The bottle is really pretty, though.

Ninkasi Oatis Oatmeal Stout

Back-2-back stouts! I had never heard of Ninkasi Brewing Company out of Eugene, Oregon until last week. The brewery was mentioned in one of the anonymous comments written in the monthly food co-op newsletter where people bitch about a low supply of fair-trade organic sustainably harvested filberts and that the energy efficiency of the dairy aisle could be improved by killing all dairy consuming beings. The response to why the co-op did not carry Ninkasi beer mentioned that their brews were "delicious," which of course piqued my curiosity.

After taking the dog on a hike north of Sacramento, we stopped at the Citrus Heights Beverages and More! to stock up on, well, beverages (but no more!). Though the co-op's beer distributor can't provide it, BevMo! had a hearty supply of 22 ounce bottles of the Ninkasi Oatis Oatmeal Stout for $3.99 a piece. Maybe if those filthy hippie Davis Food Co-Op patrons weren't so opposed to driving a few miles for tasty beer, they wouldn't have to complain about not being able to find Ninkasi in the monthly newsletter.

The stout lives up to the hype. Ninkasi's stout is slightly smoother and less acidic than the Rogue Chocolate Stout. There is still a roasted coffee taste, but it is more subtle than the Rogue version. The 7.2% ABV is completely hidden and gives Ninkasi a clear win in the alcohol:cost ratio category when pitted against Rogue.

Pairs well with 2-week old roast peahen stew.

Rogue Chocolate Stout

I don't often like to talk about how a beer smells, unless it wreaks of death or has a really crisp fruity nose. However, Rogue's Chocolate Stout smells good. Really good. Opening the bottle is like plugging in a Glade air-freshener that is roasted coffee, dark chocolate, oatmeal, and malt scented instead of something like "Spring Meadow."

The taste is essentially just like the scent. The stout is thick, but not syrupy. The acidity of coffee (I don't think there is actually coffee in this, but maybe the taste comes from the roasted barley) nicely accompanies the bitterness of the chocolate and the sweet malt. I wouldn't say that this is as good as the Sierra Nevada 30th Anniversary Stout or even Port's Old Viscosity Ale (review forthcoming), but Rogue turns in a solid performance on their $5.99, 6.3% ABV bomber.

PS- The other blog contributors need to drink and/or write more.

Sierra Nevada's 30th Anniversary Jack and Ken's Black Barleywine Ale

I'm always excited when I get a beer in a corked 25.4 ounce bottle. Not only does it bring back fond memories of other delectable beers, like Brooklyn Brewery's Local Number 1, but it's also just fun and sophisticated-feeling to pop open a bottle of beer. Having already thoroughly enjoyed Sierra Nevada's 30th Anniversary Fritz and Ken's Stout, I had high expectations for the 30th Anniversary Jack and Ken's Black Barleywine Ale. The brew did not disappoint.

The barleywine is nearly black and produces a thick, creamy head. My first sip inspired the comment, "holy shit, this tastes like a stout." Jack and Ken's Ale is super smooth and grainy sweet with a slight alcohol finish (which shouldn't be a surprise given its 10.2% ABV). It definitely tastes more like a barleywine as it warms, but it retains that stouty roast chocolate undertone in its flavor assault.

In summary, this beer is yummy. Quit pinching pennies and drop the $10 to buy a bottle of this and another $10 for the Fritz and Ken's Stout, if you can still find it.

Shipyard's Smashed Pumpkin mixed with Guinness Extra Stout

As mentioned in my previous post reviewing the Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale, Shipyard's Smashed Pumpkin Ale is one of my absolute favorites of the fall seasonal brews. A 22-ounce bomber will set you back about $6, but the taste is well worth the investment. Shipyard has managed to do what no other brewery can; brew a pumpkin beer that actually tastes like pumpkin and not just pumpkin pie spice. Sure, the cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg are present, but they are all bound by a sort of meaty-savory pumpkin undercurrent that other pumpkin ales lack. The hefty 9% ABV is very well masked by the complex flavors and textures.

The back of the bottle suggests that the consumer "try adding a little Shipyard Blue Fin Stout to Smashed Pumpkin for a fall warmer." What a novel idea! During my recent trip to Boston, I was tantalized by the availability of Cape Ann Brewing Company Fisherman's Pumpkin Stout. On a solo trip to the bar to watch the Padres bend over and give up a chance at post-season glory, I eagerly ordered a pint of the pumpkin stout. Just as the San Diego Dads disappointed, so did the beer. It was a decent stout, but there was no sign of anything having to do with pumpkins or fall or allspice. The resulting feeling of deception lead me to drink much more than one man should have ever consumed in a 3-hour window.

Unfortunately, Shipyard's Blue Fin Stout is not available in California. After consulting another amateur beer connoisseur with easy access to the stout, I decided that Guinness would provide the most suitable replacement. I love stouts, but I've never been fond of Guinness. I pleaded with my insider source to recommend a delicious chocolate or oatmeal microbrewed stout, but he insisted that a lighter dry stout would be more true to the Blue Fin taste. So, I dropped an additional $4 on a 22-ounce bottle of Guinness Extra Stout and waited for the 100-degree temperatures to subside.

The result of mixing 3 parts pumpkin ale to 1 part stout is delicious. The Guinness completely hides any lingering hint that you might be drinking a 9% ABV brew. The spice and pumpkin taste of the Shipyard ale are somehow accentuated, not dulled by adding in the stout. I'm not sure if I like the "fall warmer" any better than the straight Smashed Pumpkin Ale, but it's damn good nonetheless. I'd like to try this again with a slightly more chocolaty, less objectionable stout.

Stiegl's Lemon Radler

At the height of the Californian summer, my girlfriend, sister, and I ate dinner at a Burmese restaurant in Oakland. The food was fine, but the real highlight of the meal was the small pitcher of "Burmese Cooler" that we shared. The cooler consisted of a light pale ale mixed with lemonade and ginger to create an incredibly crisp, fresh, and dangerously chugable thirst-quencher.

Stiegl's Lemon Radler, brewed by Austria's largest private brewing company (or so it is claimed on the label), was recommended to me by another friend as something comparable to the "Burmese Cooler" that I had described. The Radler is made by mixing equal parts Stiegl Goldbräu Premium Lager and lemon soda in 16.9 ounce bottles that sell for about $4.50. There are apparently two other flavors, raspberry and grapefruit, that are also brewed by Stiegl. The resulting beverage is incredibly light, smooth, and bubbly. The lemon taste is subtle and not really sweet like you might expect a lemon drink (like Sprite) to be. However, the Radler lacks the crispness and refreshing zing that the ginger (and maybe the fresh-squeezed lemonade) added to the "Burmese Cooler." This brew is refreshing at first, but quickly becomes more like drinking a diluted citrus cleaning product as the bottle warms and the carbonation decreases. Ok, maybe it isn't quite that bad, but I'd be very tempted to treat a bottle of this as if it were Gatorade after a triathlon if I drink it again. No need to worry, shotgunning a Radler shouldn't even lead to mild intoxication since it clocks in at a featherweight 2.5% ABV.

Old Dominion Octoberfest! is not a party!

Yes, I know that Anheuser-Busch bought Old Dominion in 2007. Still, I enjoy their Lager, and their Oak Barrel Stout is not too shabby. So when I saw their Octoberfest! [emphasis theirs] at our local grocery store, I thought it was worth a try. I was wrong.

They describe it thusly, "Our Autumn Seasonal beer is a traditional Maerzen style lager. We use eight types of imported German malts and four hop varieties to create this copper-colored fest beer." All I taste is malt. There are hints of burnt caramel and an attempt at spice, but really it's just a strong malt flavor. At 5.6% ABV, it's slightly higher than your typical beer, but a six-pack will run you $8.99.

Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale

Despite the recent string of 104 degree days in northern California, fall is upon us. This means that the thick stouts and porters of winter are just around the corner. Before we have the pleasure of chewing those malty seasonals, we must endure the notoriously hit-or-miss pumpkin ale era.

For whatever reason (perhaps the lack of a legitimate autumn), the west coast seems to provide few pumpkin brews for review. Thankfully, I'm in Boston for a week for my girlfriend's sister's wedding and can dabble in some beer reviews while she is busy zipping dresses and curling hair. I've already inhaled a draught pint of the Dogfishead Punkin' Ale and have been tempted twice by one of my favorites, Shipyard's Smashed Pumpkin. My choice at the liquor store up the street, however, was Smuttynose Brewing Company's Pumpkin Ale.

I like my pumpkin ales to meet two simple criteria:

1. Be brewed with actual pumpkin, not just spices.
2. Not obliterate your senses with cinnamon, clove, and all-spice.

Smuttynose easily passes these two tests. The pumpkin taste is present, but not overpowering. The ale is smooth and crisp at first, but seems to develop a sort of skunky IPA taste as the bottom of the bottle approaches. Smuttynose certainly deserves entry into the upper tier of pumpkin ale brewers, but its 5% ABV $1.80 per bottle concoction pales in comparison to its east coast rivals like Saranac, Shipyard, and Dogfishead.

Earthquake High Gravity Lager

Since some of the blog contributors seem to be either missing in action or going on a crazy bender that will yield multiple reviews upon its completion, I decided to shake things up a little bit. Most obviously, I changed the layout and design of the page to convey more "drinking is enjoyable" and less "let's study 6th grade world geography." As would be my luck, I ran into an opportunity to further shake things up tonight when I found a tallboy of Earthquake High Gravity Lager for sale at the gas station for just $1.39.

Based upon the can design and the ridiculously high 12% ABV, I thought Earthquake was one of those malt liquor/energy drink combos that Davis is so fond of. Upon further research, it turns out Earthquake is brewed by the makers of Four Loko, so my suspicions were not unfounded. To my surprise (and delight), Earthquake is caffeine free and contains no guarana. My praises of this beer end there.

It's never a good sign when a brew is the same color as your piss is going to be the next morning. It's an even worse sign when it smells so strongly of rotten fruit that you gag. I should have stopped there before even tasting this travesty. However, I was determined to make up for the lack of reviews from other contributors and powered through.

Having consumed plenty of low quality malt beverages in my time (see Kiwi-Strawberry Evil Eye, for example), I decided to try to overwhelm my taste buds with a flavor other than stank liquor. With a mouthful of Flamin' Hot Límon Cheetos, I carefully took my first sip of Earthquake. The result was an inappropriately loud "BLECH!" Wow, this is awful! I can't remember the last time I actually considered pouring an open container of beer down the drain, but I certainly did tonight. Imagine what might happen if you were possessed to take a 40 of St. Ides, dump it into a large bowl with several rotten apples and two pounds of refined granulated sugar, then add just enough bleach to sear your throat before mixing up this witch's brew and canning it. What might happen? Earthquake High Gravity Lager just might.

Despite its clear and numerous flaws, this beer is clearly on the market for a reason. Here are some hypotheses as to what that reason may be:

1. To get you really drunk for really cheap (definitely feeling it after just 12 ounces).
2. To create a high level of toxicity in your body to help eliminate warts (will keep you posted).
3. To deter the poor bastards who buy this shit from ever drinking again.
4. To improve the sustainability of the apple cider industry by making use of below-grade product.

Unless you are an unwavering advocate of any of the movements possibly affiliated with theories 1-4, avoid Earthquake High Gravity Lager at all costs and save your money for a bag of California Earthquake Chips.

Bison Brewing Organic Chocolate Stout

As a general rule, I try to avoid organic beer. It has nothing to do with any objection to the agricultural practices behind the organic label; I'm employed by an organic farm. It has to do with the fact that all of the organic beers that I had tried seemed to rely solely on consumers' demand for an organic spirit to accompany their locally grown rutabaga/kohlrabi/beet salad with unpasteurized free range goat cheese. That is to say: they didn't taste very good despite being made with "premium" ingredients that inflated their cost to an obscene level.

In his stubborn insistence to find a beer at the store that I had never tried, AldeBeer managed to shatter my aforementioned organic beer rule. Bison Brewing's Organic Chocolate Stout is, simply stated, delicious. It's thick, creamy, sweet, and even manages to avoid bashing you over the head with chocolate and coffee flavors while allowing their subtly bitter influence to linger on the palate. I didn't buy the 6-pack, but I think it was about $9 for the 5.0% ABV stout. Thanks, AldeBeer, for challenging my beer biases and for kicking my ass at both racket and basketball.

Keystone Light

Sometimes an objectively offensive beer can be delectable if it can capture the essence of a pleasant moment from your past. I was hoping that Keystone Light would do just that for me this evening.

During the winter vacation that followed my college graduation and preceded my departure to Nicaragua by several weeks, Davis and I purchased a 30-rack of Keystone Light to enjoy with an unusual mix of Valley High School alum in my mother's home in Clive, Iowa. Unlike most graduates from the University of Iowa, I had tasted very few macrobrews at that point in my life. For those of you who aren't aware, I didn't start drinking until well after having turned 21. When I did start drinking, I limited my beer intake to local Eastern Iowa brews like Millstream's Wheat Ale. Davis blew my mind with the seductively fruity taste of Keystone Light. Not only did the beer reek of banana peels, it really tasted like one of those weird Laffy Taffy attempts to capture the banana flavor.

I wanted to indulge in that banana brew nostalgia this evening. Unfortunately, I ended up with a more-costly-than-anticipated $8 12-pack of tasteless crap. It certainly seems to live up to its slogan "always smooth," but that watery chugability comes at the cost of an abysmally low 4.2% ABV. Whereas Milwaukee's Best provides a crisp grain subtlety, Keystone Light's predominate taste is water. Props on the ergonomic can shape, but I think I'd have to drink all 12 of these to even feel a buzz.

"Smooth: A hot tub.
Smoother: A hot tub in the back of your limo."

At least I got this helpful life lesson out of the deal...

Lagunitas Hop Stoopid Ale

Any respectable west coast brewery needs a put-some-hair-on-your-chest super-hopped ale. Most of these IPAs brag about the ludicrous amount of hops used in each batch to boost the International Bittering Units measurement to 100 or above. The Hop Stoopid Ale from Lagunitas follows suit by serving up a double IPA with 102 IBUs and 8% ABV. But wait, where is the description of the 400 pounds of Chinook hops used per batch??? Instead of loading down the brew with hop cones, the folks at Lagunitas took a tip from the big macrobrewers and doused the Hop Stoopid Ale with hop extracts. I can't claim that my palate is refined enough to tell the difference without the aid of the text on the bottle. However, this double IPA seems a bit too smooth, a bit less earthy-tasting, and with a bit too much of a concentrated lip-puckering bitterness to be the product of a natural hop infusion. The subtle floral and fruity notes that are present in the other big west coast IPAs are largely absent, replaced with a generically sweet malt finish. Not bad for a $4.50 bomber, but both Lagunitas and the hop-addict can do better than the Hop Stoopid Ale.

Pairs well with Turbos Flamas chips by Sabritas.

Milwaukee's Best Premium Beer

My girlfriend and I just moved from the elitist college town of Davis, California to the blue collar county seat of Yolo County, Woodland, California. There are a number of obvious superficial differences between the populace of Davis and Woodland. There are more manicured goatees in Woodland and more unkempt Marxian beards in Davis. The vehicle of choice in Davis is a bicycle or a Prius, whereas the Woodlander vastly prefers the Ford F-250 with at least a 6 inch lift and a custom skid plate/bumper package. The cancer-averse vegetarians of Davis don't leave home without large sunhats to protect their delicate porcelain skin from UV radiation, while those in Woodland are either Hispanic or sunburned pink, doing true justice to the slang term "redneck."

No one enjoys moving, but everyone enjoys celebrating having finally finished relocating all of your belongings to a new place called home. That celebration should, of course, be paired with an appropriate beer that somehow embodies your new community. Exhausted from hauling boxes, I contemplated my libation options. A west coast über-hoppy IPA to honor the spirit of northern California agriculture? C'mon, too generic. Maybe a bold and fruity Belgian to represent the vast fruit and nut tree orchards that surround my new home? Too pretentious and expensive.

After much deliberation, I settled on driving my pickup truck down to Wal-Mart to buy a 12-pack of Milwaukee's Best Premium Beer for $5.99. I tend to purchase malt liquor when I opt for drinking macrobrews, largely because the taste, body, mouthfeel, and alcohol content of the big rice-based pale lagers are always disappointing. However, this beer lived up to its "premium" label. True, Milwaukee's Best is mostly water at a mere 4.3% ABV. But the thin mouthfeel and hydrating power of the brew make it ideal for gulping after a long day of work. Unlike other macros like Miller Lite and Icehouse that leave unpleasant metallic tastes in your mouth, Milwaukee's Best goes down smoothly and crisply with a subtle grain taste. Welcome to Woodland, folks! Unleash the beast!

Sierra Nevada - Tumbler Autumn Brown Ale

It is only 65 degrees in Chicago right now. Last night I walked home from a bar wearing a tank top and it was a windy 58º. I had enough Four Loko in my blood to keep me warm, but it still sort of sucked. What doesn't suck is the new crop of fall beers hitting stores. At least that's not what the Tumbler Autumn Brown Ale from Sierra Nevada leads me to believe.

The copy on the bottle heavily plays up the malt flavor in this beer, and it really is the star of this brew. The malt is strong and fresh but not overpowering. It features a back-of-mouth taste, with very mild bitterness and a caramel/smoky aftertaste. The sensation of drinking it is somewhat similar to eating a piece of crispy brown toast you made from a piece of expensive, freshly-baked multigrain bread (you know, the kind with sesame and poppy seeds on the outside of the loaf). Other images it evoked in my mind: flannel, cold wet dirt, and Iowa City on a hazy early Saturday morning. OK, enough of the flowery shit. Once you've come to terms with the fact that the summer of '10 is ending, I recommend you celebrate it -- with a sixer of the Tumbler Autumn Brown Ale ($9.99, 5.5% ABV).