Alex’s birthday two years ago started the way they all do: we drove to the industrial armpit of north Pasadena that holds Craftsman Brewing. There we found an especially tasty treat awaiting us. The owner/head brewer (of our hearts) Mark Jilg handed over an icy 5-gallon canister of oyster stout. “That’s the laast of this stuff for a while,” Mark said. His oyster stout‘s a black velour concoction with a hint of bivalve seasoning from some oyster shells thrown into the mix during the brew.
You read right; we’re talking ‘bout drinking living critters on a vegan/vegetarian blog. We belong to the camp that believes sustainably harvested oysters are a delicious protein that thou shall not equate with fish, fowl or land mammal for the purposes of a righteous diet. Bivalves ‘till we die.
That birthday we broke out pint glasses and party lights and tapped the keg next to the empty swimming pool in the backyard. And we pushed the oyster stout hard. Not everyone warmed to it; some idiots had the balls to say it was a gimmick and probably oyster-less. By midnight we coaxed Ryan Sweeney to swill the stuff despite his shellfish allergy. And there was our proof: Ryan went home fine that night but spent the next day in the emergency room (Sorry, mang). No oysters our ass. Good oyster stout rules for the same reason good stout rules: its the color of a daunting black wave crashing on your face and has the slight sea-salt kiss of a fisherman’s candy. The actual oyster note is but a far-off whale mating call lost in the swells. It’s subtle. It’s not like you wanna slurp up an veiny globual on your last sip. (For the record: Alex likes this idea (immensely).)
It was with our palate set to the bivalve that we thought for sure we sensed that subliminal crustacean flavor in a recent four-pack of Green Flash Double Stout. We didn’t of course, don’t worry this one’s vegan and kosher, but it feels just as aquatic. The dusty cocao-foam head that subsides slowly like the fizz on a wave; that dry, salt bite of a hardtack biscuit and a mysterious lack of any semblance of malt sugars. Every detail of this beer is classic from running your digits over the engraved glass to the powerful alcohol drip of each sip, which works immediately like the comforting cloak of hard liquor against the elements. We might as well be sea captains or east coast hobos seeking out body heat and minerals in liquid form. Sweet sweet salt.
Dairy Pairy: Von Trapp Farmstead’s Oma
Soundtrack: Wire, “I’m the Fly”
so pleasant to read this entry, as my old man and I have just this month finally realized that the kind of beer we like is STOUT. For years I have thought I could not drink beer, for sick and bloated did it always make me. Hops and bitterness I do not enjoy. Finally somebody was like “here, try this Old Rasputin” and I FELL IN LOVE. It makes me feel great, not sick. I would like another entry on stout–what makes it stout? How can you tell which kind will be darker/thicker just from looking at the label? am I really supposed to drink it room temperature? How come it’s so healthy–nursing mothers are doctor-recommended to drink a pint a day!!!!! STOUT
COCK KNIVES! Can I borrow your stupid plaid short shorts? Just kidding, I don’t dress like an asshole.
how can you hate on nevernude shorts? c’mon! really?!
(the sound of a thousand tears dripping down my fashionable facial hair)
while it makes me cringe every time i see a so-called vegetarian come up with a justification for eating sea life, that doesn’t hamper my excitement to try this beer. thanks so much for posting about a vegan-friendly oyster-style stout.
…and never stop wearing plaid shorts! <3