Hip Hops: September 2007 Archives

For many epicureans, as with any other group of enthusiasts, there will always be archetypal representations of genre based perfection that are lost, or simply cease to exist. The fish that got away, is a typical lament for any manner of minutia masters and for the booze hound and the beer snob, these occurrences become rarer and rarer as the world slowly cruises closer to itself via the internet and the market. Most examples of these phenomena in our realm of dorkery pertain to small runs of super rare specimens that grace the shelves of a favorite beer monger for the briefest of moments, snatched into oblivion by fellow fiends and unknowing boozers. As our network expands, there are fewer and fewer beers that remain unknown, and those that were once impossible to find somehow grace the shelves of Wholefoods…

‘Le Trappe Quadrupel’ was the most coveted Belgian bottle to grace the shelves of one of our first perpetually amazing beer stores, Jubilation, in Alex’s hometown of Albuquerque. The beer, bottle conditioned in beautiful ceramic 750ml crocks, was the first brew to really push our early conceptions of Belgian ale. It was also consistently sold out up until the day that, until now, the beer disappeared from our lives. Many a night Le Trappe’s name was mentioned listlessly over glasses of both sub par suds and the best Belgian ales these four lips have sipped.

Today, after taking turns trying to pry the goddamn cork out, we tapped a gold mine. We swished and clicked and swirled and ogled the brew with the usual drive and attention. Then one of those sense-memory vortexes opened wide and threw us back five years. The thick cloud of a head, miniature hoards of bubble that tickle the underside of your tongue and the crystalline apple cider finish literally transported us 797 miles to a higher altitude and a drier climate where the sky stretched on forever. A time when expired Texan identities were our one trick ponies in a town whose punishment for underage drinking was death…

Here’s the problem: we have no idea where this bottle of glory was bought. It was one of the few interesting things left over in a cooler for the Great L.A. Beer Ride, and as such has an easily reducible pedigree. Who of our 8% and abovers knows where to find this loverly libation?

Find it. Even if you’ve never had the pleasure of the old ceramic bombers, this beer will make its mark on your mind.

Diary Pairy: La Tur, a soft ripened blend of Italian sheep, goat and cow’s milk.
Soundtrack: Agustus Pablo "This is Agustus Pablo"

Lagunitas is one of the few breweries that has taken our pitch seriously enough to send us a box of complimentary “review” beer. That was about, oh, a year and a half ago: A huge-ass cardboard box came via FedEx to the Hot Knives offices (back when we were a food and drink column for a newspaper and we had offices) and we jimmied it open to find the Frank Zappa tribute special release brew we’d asked for. The bombers went straight in the fridge and that weekend we popped ‘em on the porch after a bike ride, threw back some snacks and pontificated on the booze. After two bottles, we got stuck on how bad the label art was and we never got around to writing a proper review. Too bad too because the stuff ain’t bad. And no one has sent us free boxes of beer since then...

So, when on a recent 7-11 run we noticed that that Frank Zappa-tribute seasonal is back, we felt compelled by dirty karma to give this shit another shot. Same good beer, totally different — and even worse — label art!

There’s a big wavy head on the stuff at first pour, sort of a rocker hair version of beer foam. What’s better is the effie fucking carbonation bubbles that fizzle for the first minute and then dissipate; it’s a perfect carbonation level for a summery IPA. And yes, this is in most ways an IPA. It’s not terribly different from the straight-ahead Alesmith IPA or something: a session IPA that you could drink “1, 2, 5 or 10” of. After the initial hop zing, which is expertly balanced but not as nutso as you’d expect from a Frank Zappa tribute, comes a well-rounded mellowness. Back when we first glugged this beer, and now almost 18 months later, one after taste comes to mind: strawberry brioche. And not because it actually taste like it, but because it hints at. We can’t help but think that means something. To conclude: don’t let this label fool you, there’s a decent IPA chugger inside this mother.

Dairy Pairy: St. Pat
Soundtrack: Devendra Bahnhart’s “Oh Me, Oh My”

Quite literally the champagne of beers, Deus Brut des Flandres is light and sparkly and — if you ask some of the beefier beer advocates out there — for girls. (This despite the fact that it’s extremely challenging to not pronounce its name “deuce.”)

It was an unseasonably hot Sunday afternoon and we were gawking at our favorite 7-11 beer fridge when a guy we pegged for an unlikely beer coniseour started loading up a milk crate with bottles of Duvel, Three Philosophers and Golden Draak. The dude seemed grittier than most Belgian drinkers, sporting mud-splattered construction boots, Oakley sunglasses and heavy metal facial hair. After a long consideration he grabbed one last bottle, a Deus, and lugged his loot to the check-out counter. Standing behind him in line, we couldn’t help put pipe up, “Have you tried the Deus before? It’s totally nuts if you age it.” Turning first to his friend (backwards cap and smug face) and then very, very slowly at us, the dude scoffed and waited a moment before saying “That’s for my girlfriend.” As if to make clear that this was a ‘fuck you,’ and not just a statement of fact.

Well, let the dusch drink his Duvel while his lady friend sips the good shit.

Deus ain’t bombastic, despite its fairly high 10% ABV. That’s thanks to the fact that it’s literally brewed as if it were a champagne (aged 12 months in French caves, removed of its yeast the same way sparkling wines are). But it’s not easy on the pallet either. The smooth and curvy champagne-imitating bottle is a bit of a tongue twister too because you almost expect it to taste like wedding bubbles, that’s certainly what it looks like. On first pour, the foam threatens to spill over and the color is only slightly deeper than your average Dom P. The nose is an ambiguous spice and a very mild booze waft. It hits the lips tasting like some mad scientist mix between bergamot and chamomile, mildly reminiscent of a beer-scented lotion. What the deus?

It’s admittedly refined ($26 retail), a little floral, not altogether manly per say. But man, this stuff is rewardingly confusing, giving any Belgian a run for its money in the ‘complexity’ category. And like most special brews in this world, it gets better the more you drink it. Don’t get us wrong, this is not the stuff of ‘go home, need to crack a beer,’ it’s special occasion stuff. That’s why we only sip it in our best low-cut slips and pantyhose.

Dairy Pairy: Monte Enebro
Soundtrack: David Bowie’s “Velvet Goldmine”