Verbatim: Emerson’s Pilsner. The other organic offering from Emerson’s (together with the previously-noted Oatmeal Stout) so they made something of a nice pair as First Drinks for George and I, having installed ourselves early in the pub.
The Pils is a slightly-hazy glowing gold, with a very white-winey kind of a feel to it; nice and complex, drawn-out flavours. Not as sharp or as dry as a pilsner might often be, but in this case, all the better for it.
Afterthoughts, November 2010: Very rare, even for a ‘Lazy Facebook diary entry’ that I’d take a snap and have a wee ramble about someone else’s beer. But there you have it. I guess it was out of pure enthusiasm for this delicious stuff. I hope you understand.
Emerson's Oatmeal Stout (overseen by Wolf Blitzer)
Verbatim: Emerson’s Oatmeal Stout. This is how I started my day, at 10.00am, watching CNN for coverage of the U.S. Presidential Election. As we all know by now, the Good Guy won.
It pours as absolute darkness in a glass, and is ludicrously smooth to drink, with a great big chocolatey afterglow that tickles the brainstem a few moments after each sip. If Barry White were a beer, this may well be him.
Afterthoughts, November 2010: That line about Barry White was very useful. I tend to describe beers very idiosyncratically — I’m much more of the impressionistic style than the fine-detailed sound-like-a-wine-wanker sort. (Though the latter does have its place.) I loved this beer, and recommended it by saying that it was Barry White reincarnated in beer form; big, black and deeply sexy.
And yes, past tense; “was very useful”, “loved this beer”. Emerson’s sadly ‘retired’ this beer, and I mourned. You suspect I’m not even being metaphorical, don’t you? Well done.
Verbatim: Founders Generation Ale. An all-organic brewery, and organic farming/whatever is something about which I could not give a toss. So: no points on for that, from me. But: indifference also means no points off. Provided the beer is good.
And the beer is good. Straight up and down nutty brown ale. Which develops some fairly serious nuttiness (in a good way) by the time you’re done with a half-litre of it. But it’s smooth and satisfying and uncomplicated.
Afterthoughts, November 2010: Founders Brewery is another one of those ones with a strange relationship with the apostrophe. The labels say ‘Duncans Founders Brewery’, which seems to me to need at least one apostrophe, somewhere. Maybe there needs to be a Good Use of Grammar and Punctuation certification regime, like there is for all this organic produce malarky. Since Founders were the first Australasian brewery out of the gate on the organic front (the number is now approximately oodles), maybe they’d be willing to take the lead, here, too.
Verbatim: Harrington’s ‘Big John’ Special Reserve. Something relatively random that George apparently forgot he’d picked up somewhere along the way. It’s a strong dark ale, matured in Bourbon barrels. As you can see, it pours with quite enthusiastic bubbles, and they definitely hold a very strong whiskey nose. Almost disconcertingly so; it just smells like a big glass of that, rather than beer. But the taste is refreshingly beery, and very smooth. Nice maltiness, chocolate roastiness, and a bit of a caramelly kick — like a great big melted Toffee Pop. Soaked in whiskey.
Afterthoughts, November 2010: From memory, the ‘Special Reserve’ bit came from the fact this was actually Bourbon barrel aged; the regular stuff is Bourbon infused, methinks. And it’s another great example of how some beers are tricky to pick, in terms of their official style. The RateBeer.com nerds have the former as a Scotch Ale and the latter as a Dunkler Bock. If I had to put a sum of my own money on it (or, more to the point, if I had to tag a blogpost one way on the other), I’d think the Bock guess was right; the body and the finish seem more lagery than aley, but we’re in pretty stab-in-the-dark territory here, I’ll freely admit.
Verbatim: Renaissance ‘Stonecutter’ Scotch Ale. Partially because of a long day, partially because it’d go well with sitting and finishing off a couple of books, partially because of the easier-going one I had in Melbourne, and partially because I didn’t yet have a photo of it, I had another one of these. And oh my god do I love it to bits. Absolutely huge malty fruity flavour to it. Big and dark and smooth and a little bit Christmas cakey, it hides its 7% booze worryingly well, and often proves itself surprisingly popular with the “I don’t drink beer” crowd, once we just plonk a taster in front of them and insist they have a go.
Afterthoughts, November 2010: The books, incidentally are, 1) Irreligion, by John Allen Paulos and 2) The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs. Both are utterly excellent in their very-different (althought thematically-related) ways. And it’s only just occurred to me that a beer named after the Freemasons-lampooning sect on The Simpsons makes an extra-good accompaniment to such reading material. Aren’t I (accidentally) clever?
Verbatim: Emerson’s Dunkelweiss. I’d sold too many of these without yet trying one, and so went halves with another bartender. Very glad I did. It certainly deserves the “Caramelised Chocolate Bananas” notation on the label, and has a gorgeously smooth long-lasting flavour with a nice side of wheaty liveliness.
Also, note the ghostly apparition of our bar manager Scott, in the top-right corner of the frame. He showed up late to a long-exposure shot.
Afterthoughts, November 2010: It takes me ages to convince people that Scott really is visible in that photo. Even he had trouble recognising himself as a near-ghost, intially. Seeing-faces-where-there-aren’t-faces is an occasionally-hilarious thing, to be sure, but I promise you this one’s legit. Scotty ain’t no Virgin Mary, and the Malthouse wall ain’t no grilled cheese sandwhich.
3 Ravens 55 American Pale Ale. “55” because of five hops and five grains, apparently — and first made for the occasion of their fifth birthday as a brewery. It’s made from barley, corn, wheat, oats and rye — which makes me want to say that it feels more “American” at the expense of being less “American Pale Ale”. The grains do make for a really nice mix and a good full body, but they’re driving very much more than the lively American hops you’d usually expect. Possibly another case of peculiar branding of a beer that’s doing what it is doing very nicely, whatever it’s called.
Diary entry #61, 3 Ravens '55
Verbatim: 3 Ravens ’55 American Pale Ale. 7/10/08 $3.5 @ Markets 5.5%. 5 hops + 5 grains (Barley, Corn, Wheat, Oats + Rye), so more American, but less APA: not hugely hoppy in the nose again. The grains make a nice mix, but drive more than the floral hops. Maybe our NZ hops are distorting our PAs. (Bottle cond.)
Afterthoughts, November 2010: This borderline-numerology stuff does crop a bit in brewing circles, actually. It seems a common trope to jig the number of ingredients, or the ABV, or IBU, or something to match some relevant number. I suppose that just shows you that obsessiveness and nerdery are common traits among craft brewers. And that’s got to be a good thing.
Meanwhile, that’s a terribly-focussed photo. The two strong beers previous must’ve blunted either my ability or my perfectionism, or both.
Another recommendation from the guy in the markets, and he’s two for two. Which also backs up my earlier praise for the James Squires people. Fairly heavy at 7%, it’s a very appealing golden amber, and smells utterly gorgeous — all flowery, fruity and citrusy. The taste is fresh, with a slight metallic zing (not in a bad way, like you get in a Becks or whatnot), and has apricotty and grassy flavours kicking around in there. Toby compares it (favourably) to wandering around a sunny field, chewing on wheat. And I’m fairly sure I’ve been to the monastery where it’s matured, in New Norcia, WA — Karen and I drove past it on our way up to her family’s farm for her birthday party, methinks. (A quick look at Google Maps left me feeling able to upgrade from the “I think” in the paper diary to an “I’m fairly sure”.)
Diary entry #60, Malt Shovel Abbey Ale
Verbatim: Malt Shovel Abbey Ale. 7/10/08 $4 @ Markets 7%. Another recommendation. And M.S. = James Squire’s. Smells gorgeous; flowery, fruity, citrusy. Nice golden amber. Tastes fresh, with non-bad metal, apricotty, grassy. Like chewing wheat. And I think I’ve been to the monastery in New Norcia, WA.
These guys are a popular “little” Victorian brewery, but I was distinctly underwhelmed when I tried their stuff during my years in Melbourne. This bottle in particular, though, was recommended by the guy in the South Melbourne Markets. Actually, he didn’t so much recommend as insist. And took care to apologise on their behalf for the utterly hideous label. Godawful packaging, great beer, he promised. And damn, was he right. Pouring a nice, slightly cloudy amber, it doesn’t have a hugely hoppy nose but that’s because they’re all hiding in the taste. Which is good and big, with stonefruity bits all over the place. And it weighs in at 7% booze, so it earns its name, as well as excuses its own ugly bottle.
Diary entry #59, Jamieson Beast IPA
Verbatim: Jamieson ‘Beast’ IPA. 7/10/08 $3.5 @ Markets 7%. Recommended by the Swords guy. Hideous label, great beer, he said. Nice slightly cloudy amber. Not a hugely hoppy nose, but it’s all in the mouth. With stonefruity bits all over the show, too. Big + grunty. So excuses/earns the label/name.
Afterthoughts, October 2010: Yeah, yeah; books, covers, trite moral lessons. All learned, don’t worry about that.
Truck outside Little Creatures Dining Hall, dispensing good advice and exuding awesomeness
I do love the Little Creatures, and heard, not long after I moved out of Melbourne and back to Wellington, that they’d opened their own bar in Fitzroy. Which elicted some complex emotions: joy, that they were expanding and obviously still doing well; sadness, that they hadn’t managed it while I lived there; and wanderlust, because I was dead keen to visit a.s.a.p..
I didn’t have a lot of time to hang out there on this trip, but I poked my nose in, had a wander around and took a few pictures. And instantly fell in love. Happily, I was able to have myself a longer stay on my next visit, about six months later.
