Beer tasting

Back again after a successful brew day. The American Pale Ale that I brewed is resting in the primary, the temperature is a steady 19 C, and the yeast is multiplying and getting ready for the all out party that is to ensue for the next 2-5 days.

So while it's doing that, and before I give you the full report, I thought I would give an update on some brews that I've recently had the pleasure to imbibe.


I visited Baird Brewing's Harajuku Taproom the other night. I found it not only closer to my house, but also quite a bit more appealing and inviting than the Nakameguro joint. Perhaps it's because it has more of a traditional 'izakaya' feel to it. It's darker overall, with dark, rough hewn stone walls instead of wood. However, like the Nakameguro taproom, wood is the general theme. The balance of dark and cold (stone) with deep and warm (wood) creates a nice dynamic that enhances the drinking experience.


But nevermind that. How is the beer? Well, I reprint here the notes that I took "in real time" on that special occasion!


First up, I had to try the Carpenter's Mikan Ale:

Now, the story goes that the same dude that does all of Baird's wonderful woodwork (and it is wonderful), also has a line on a grip of mikans, or for the uninitiated, 'mandarin oranges' (but don't go saying that around here). Last year or the year before it seems, he unloaded a bunch of them on ol' Brian Baird in Numazu, and said in his usual throaty carpenter's voice, 'Y'know thems might not make a bad ale, son.' To which, it is reported, Mr. Baird promptly answered the call. He rallied the troops, peeled about a quarter of a ton of small oranges, and added them to the secondary. I'm sure my story is completely off the mark, fact-wise, but I stand by the fact that Mikan Ale does indeed contain real mikan fruit in some form. Let's see how the flavor stacks up:

Well, as you can see it's a very light, clear beer. It has a slight orange tinge that's not very apparent in this crappy photo. Also very slight is the mikan aroma and flavor which hits you at the back (front? side? who knows,) of the palate. I found it enjoyable and easy drinkin' but I had to wonder...why. Why, especially, in the middle of winter. This is a refreshing thirst-quencher beer, suitable for the broiling summer months, nevermind that the mikan is a winter fruit. Now, I've heard first-hand Mr. Baird's brewing philosophy, and in principle I completely agree: natural, in-season ingredients only, and no short cuts. But in this case I must protest, though very mildly. Extremely mildly in fact, for I did enjoy this pint very much. I only found it a bit out of place in this dark, dusky, middle of winter, huddling to keep warm amid the cold stone and warm woody atmosphere of the taproom kind of night. Note to the brewer: forget about 'mikan ale'; re-release this stuff in July under some summery sounding name, and you'll have a winner.

But that goes against the Baird ethos, and I know it will never happen. Nor should it. Sometimes ethos beats aesthetics.

OK, I didn't really write that all on my iPhone. So what's next? Oh, also that same night I had this one,

which was pretty good. Let me explain. You can only get this at the Harajuku Tap Room, and it's called...Are you ready? 'Harajuku Real Ale'! Damn, you're thinking, that's some pretty big cojones on that Brian Baird, calling it 'real' ale, right? Well simmer down, pardner. Turns out, back in the olden days our (American people like my) British forefathers (or fore-persons) cherished their ale much the way we (present day knuckle-dragging Americans) do our Gatorade or our double decaf frappalattechinos, and they were *pritty-pritty-pritty* particular about the way it was served. OK? You following? Now perhaps my knowledge of history is about to fail me at this point, but suffice to say, it became necessary at 'some point' to distinguish between 'real ale' and 'that other stuff' that 'somebody' was peddling, who I obviously don't know about, but who with a mere flourish of the mouse hand, any one of us Internet users could go read up on, were he/she/they/it so inclined. Anyway, back to real ale, and the whole point of this here story.

Real ale means, according to anal retentive Brit beer people everywhere, that ale which has arrived at the cask entirely of its own volition, without the help of any mortal man, woman (manservant, maidservant, mule, or other pack animal), etc. and first and foremost, has not been aided in its carbonation by any other than 'natural' means. OK? So, means no fizz in this stuff. It's flat.

BUT! As this writer so eloquently put it upon quaffing a snoutfull or two:

"Smells piney! Like pine sap. Pine-sappy! Hazy. Medium dark honey color. Clean, slight black tea taste, with a foamy head. A pleasant drink, the best 'real ale' I've had."

However, as good as it was--and it was good--I couldn't help wanting that little extra bit that a bit of the ol' CO2 gives it. The black tea thing was really nice and unexpected, and with just a bit of fizz, it would have been a very nice pint indeed. Of course, then it wouldn't be 'real' but...just...real good. Ale. Yes.

OK, from the Tap Room we move East, back to my stomping grounds in the old town area of Ryogoku, to that venerable Tokyo establishment, Popeye. The first taste of the evening being...

Nogne Aku-aku Lemongrass Ale. This comes straight outta Norway. Some of you may already have seen the cool vids that Stone Brewing have up, where they go over to Norway, and between brewing sessions trek to the misty peaks, go spear-fishing for Bowhead whales, barbecue wolverines, and generally enjoy themselves. To me, Norway and Alaska (where I'm from) are pretty much the same, except one place is full of reasonable people and the other is full of people who elected Sarah Palin. But both places do value good beer, and so I forgive my country men (and women) for their provincial short-sightedness in political matters. Ahem. Back to the beer.

Here's what this expert had to say, post-swig, about Aku-aku: "Sweet ginger aroma; dry and perfumey on the tongue. Interesting but... can't see the point of having a pint of this."

Yow! He pulls no punches! Actually, the brewing process seems to have turned the lemongrass ale into ginger ale. No problem there really. But...again, I have to file this under, "Do we hafta?" It did inspire me though. I want to make a run up to my aunt's house and grab the pot-pourri out of her john to throw in the secondary on my current pale ale. OK, kidding. It was pretty nice, and definitely well crafted. But the little 4 oz. glass there really was enough to get the picture, and made me think you know, beer is just four things: water, malt, hops and yeast. And some other stuff. But the other stuff shouldn't just be any ol' other stuff if we wanna keep calling it beer, and especially if we want to drink more than 4 oz. of it. My 2 cents. By the way, Nogne is pronounced 'neuirg-neh' kind of. Sort of. I couldn't find the 'O-with-a-slash' key on this keyboard.

Then it was on to...

Preston Brown Ale. OK, I don't know a lot about this brewery except that they are located in Japan, and they make pretty good beer. Some jibeer people I know don't care for them, but I forget why. Anyway, then.

Let's talk about their brown ale, shall we? Here's what this writer had to say, after being 3 or 4 sheets to the wind at this point:

"Beautiful, clear amber color; sweetish raspberry or black currant aroma; slight tartness that makes it a refreshing light drink. Would be good for summer."

This really was a unique beer, and if you didn't know it was classified as a brown, you'd swear it was a fruit beer, especially if you did one of those blind-folded pepsi-or-coke taste tests. It really didn't have the body one might expect of a brown ale, and was so crystal clear and reddish. Very pretty and light. So that makes two beers in one night that I feel like I should be sipping out on the back porch in late July.

Up next was...

Rogue Brewing's Brutal Bitter. And I quote myself:

"Smell: Holy Moley! Taste: Hot damn! Aroma is misleadingly caramelly, but promising lush hoppy goodness. One taste and the dream is dispelled by the sharp reality of the bitter, woody Glacier hops. I'm gonna say...Scents of No. 2 Ticonderoga with a birch bark backbone. Better than it sounds, actually. A very well-crafted beer."

Yeah, this was quite the taste sensation. Very unique and sophisticated, to the point that anything I think to say about it just makes me sound like a rube. So I'll shut up about it, and urge you to get your hands on a pint to try it for yourself.

(By the way, I was too far gone by this point to remember to take a photo, so that is some unknown Internet person's pint of Brutal Bitter above. Same for the next one, below. Apologies, unknown Internet people.)

And to round things out, a lovely snout full of...

Speakeasy Double Daddy IIPA. Cool daddy-o! Let's see what the experts say.

"Nice, candy and floral aroma. Burnt caramel taste in the back of the mouth with good alcohol warming. Lingers! A big beer. Very light, clear color is misleading."

 Yes, this monster is another that is expertly crafted to be extreme without going over the top. It manages the caramelly thing without tipping over into sweetness, which I found pretty impressive. The hops too are big without destroying all the other subtle things going on in this beer.

I don't think I'd necessarily order this again, frankly. Not my cup o' suds. But I can readily acknowledge it's a well brewed beer, and that's what separates the connoiseurs from the corny sirs.

There you have it. My 2 cents or so on a few of the offerings at two of Tokyo's finest craft beer establishments. Next time tune in for news of brew #4, 'Anticipation Pale Nut Ale.' It's gonna be Dyno-Might!