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).