Meet the New Belgium (not) the Same as the Old Belgium

Looking back, the Lips of Faith bottles were big culprits in my obsessive beer bottle collection. Of course I blame my friend (who started soaking off labels not long before I) and my obsessive nature, but this photo endeavor was the result of the accumulation of bottles which were too rare, or the labels too fragile, or in most cases, such as with New Belgium, printed labels.

I have a special affinity for printed bottles. I would say they speak to me, but if they do, I know it's time to put it down. They showcase a pure sort of design, limited to shapes, text and lines above a certain thickness and a set number of colors, but not limited by the generally rectangular shape of labels, they do look great on a shelf. Perhaps not my shelf, given the difficulty of photographing transparent subjects and the tendency of such setups to showcase the amount of dust that resisted my efforts to remove, microfiber cloth or no.

New Belgium's Lips of Faith somehow maintains a sort of visual cohesion over the years, spanning many different design themes, some literal, some abstract, and flavors.

Most of these came out around when New Belgium first entered my market; I remember Clutch being a dark sour when such things were new to me, Biere de Mars as being similar to Sam Adams Summer (which if you know me, is among the highest of praise I can give), and Tart Lychee being outstanding as a light-bodied sour on both occasions I happened to drink it.

Or was it the one with the rooster on it that was like Sam Adams Summer? De Gardes and de Mars and crisp malty saisons sort of run together for me. Cocoa Molé was great as well; if you're looking for a substitute, I recommend El Molé Ocho from New Holland, which is around the same price point and comes out seasonally.

What the hell is a yuzu? This was the question on everyone's lips,  but once that beer passed between those lips (of faith?), all doubts were cast aside. Fantastically light and tart. The coconut curry was a singular experience.... I promise it worked. The pluot probably tasted like pluots, but I didn't care for it or the Paardebloem. The Cigar City Collaboration I don't really recall.

La Folie is New Belgium's perennial Grand Cru of Oud Bruins (dark Flemish sours). I think I liked the 2014 the best, but I didn't end up getting a bottle. The tripel was quite tangy (unexpected, but delightful), and I recall the quad being delicious, especially for the price.

Beer and Loathing in Vermont - Part 9

I watch a butterfly in the front window of a gallery. I wonder if it knows it's just an impression. The sentiment, but not the substance.

The second teashop of the trip to interdict cellphone use is Dobra, and I wonder if I'll ever get a chance to look up how to get this inkstain out of my pants (Editor's note: the internet's best suggestion is "scissors". I end up dying the pants navy blue, they come out lavender without hiding the stain, and I eventually donate them to charity.)

No info so far about how to fix my pen either, though it still seems to write. Mightier than the sword, but not the floor of the Mule Bar in Winooski.

I order a gaiwan of Jin Xuan (milk oolong, which does not contain any milk). It smells great and tastes good too, and as promised, it has a slightly different texture. I switch to a Zhao Li Qiao. If you keep it pretty light, under a minute or gongfu, it has a lovely complexity while avoiding mustiness. Woody with some clay, hints of brown sugar, and subtle earthiness.

 Outside, a young woman walks past with brightly-dyed hair and a dirndl, which I find interesting to see incorporated into modern street fashion. I see her again at the Vermont Brewers Festival later that evening.

I'm taxing my tolerance as I hit the pu'erh again. I wonder if the floor is uneven or just the tea. I may need some food soon. I hear about a Dunham beer which is a smoked helles with pu'erh, which sounds like my favorite beer of all time, and that I have missed it as it had sold out the night before. Pity.

Beer and Loathing in Vermont - Part 8

Alexander Keith's IPA
Free at the hotel reception.
Smells vaguely like corn, like a macro beer. Tastes kinda floral. Quite effervescent and refreshing if otherwise unremarkable. For the price, it's not like I as going to ask for a refund.

I wander in the 'underground city' late at night when everything's closed only to discover that it's an overgrown train station that adjoins a shopping mall and we leave Montréal the next morning.

The ice cream factory we tour filled with overcaffeinated children and the noise drives the sanity from my head. The tour wasn't my idea, but I can only drink so many beers in a day (despite my immortal reputation), and I'm too sleepy from lunch to resist.

Lunch, by the way, was a burger whose patty was literally 50% bacon. Which, I suppose, puts the 'ham' in 'hamburger'. It made me feel simultaneously as though I were truly living and truly dying.

At dinner, I nose out some Heady Topper, which I drink straight from the can (the preferred way). It's big and hoppy, but "so drinkable it's scary." Kinda citra-y. Exactly the kind of beer I'd normally avoid, but it's just too good to ignore. Like a big, balanced hop salad, but it makes my head hurt.

I get a Hill Farmstead George at the Mule Bar across the river. It's a dry porter with some backing chocolate and maybe some walnut or hazelnut; nutty chicory as it warms.

I also got a Brown's Whiskey Porter, which is mellow and smooth with something I can't read because this was about the time when I dropped my pen on the floor of the bar, leaving my mark, so to speak, in chemically indelible ink, and bending the nib.

Biére et Ennui en Montréal - Parte Sept

At long last, a chance to try these 'dames'; Blonde de Chambly is not (widely?) distributed in the US, but in Quebec it flows like rain. Cheap, delicious rain. It's gold tinged with amber and lively in carbonation. The signature Unibroue yeast comes through in the smell and the taste is light and crisp with a trace of green apple. It's not one of their 'bieres forts,' but it is refreshing. Both cheaper, better, and less damp than wandering around the wrong side of Montréal in search of a decent 'pression.'

Biére et Ennui en Montréal - Parte Six

After a visit to an obligatory cathedral, we light on a restaurant for lunch which defies my initial skepticism by having a beer list with a massive inventory of Québécois Biéres, including several I would like to try, and at least one dish which I find acceptable, which is really enough, when it comes down to it. My agenda is Camellia Sinensis (premier tea joint) and Brasserie Dieu du Ciel (producer of fine beers). I get a Brasseur de Montréal 'Rooibos', made with the African herbal tea. Smells like slightly tart wheat. The rooibos is subdued, but it adds an interesting dimension, adjacent some spice. My compatriot has ordered a Unibroue Raftman, but their signature house yeast seems absent.

At last I arrive at Camellia Sinensis, and switch gears to 'Tea and Loathing,' and evidently start writing in pidgin French. I order the 1992 Meng Hao Pu'erh in a gaiwan. I'm sweating q'un cochon, and they mercifully give me some water as well. The tea is okay, but tastes more like charcoal than bois or cuir. Smells very woody though, and further steepings reveal more woodiness and nuttiness. None of the promised fruit flavor from the menu; it was promised to be similar to a sheng pu'erh. It came in a candy-apple red gaiwan anda  not-quite-matching kettle. I should've asked for yixing clay. Finally I start to notice the lichen and blueberry from that menu description, but it's a  bit of a long shot. Eventually some orange, but still tastes mostly like clay.

I get pretty much left alone because it's not clear what language I speak, beyond that I clearly can't speak French.

The Metro uses an NFC chip and seems designed to make me look like a moron. I have missed the train anyway, so I suppose it doesn't matter.

I get to Dieu du Ciel and ordere a Lanterne Rouge on cask. Mignon? Petit? Un glas? I try to order a small. Oui. Kind of foamy from the sparkler if a bit dulled for being on cask. It's a hoppy brown, slightly floral.

I switch to a Rosée d'Hibiscis, which I evidently pronounce correctly. Everyone speaks French to me. I regret being unable to return the favor.

The Rosée smells and tastes great. Floral, almost English. Faintly tart with a head just shy of pink. Citrus here as well—like a tangerine? Or a kumquat. Or have I been staring at the Disco Soleil poster for too long?

My third is a Clef du Champs which I fail to pronounce correctly, but at least I try. (Hint: "clay doo shomm") It's a gruit of sorts, and hard to tastes after the Hibiscus and the Lanterne. I am however filled with a definite joie de vivre. It's earthly with a bit of spice.
Dans le terroir avec un petit peu de l'espices et l'herbes. Ordinaire je comprende en Français mais je ne parle bon pas. Ce soir c'est vraiment. It's an accessible gruit. And it's darn good.

I keep using inkblots as inkwells... I really need to work on this pen. Beer improves my spirits and my French, but not my penmanship. It's nutty, but almost has that Belgian 'bubblegum' yeast character.

Biére et Ennui en Montréal - Parte Cinq

I wander into a late-night bar and order a Belle Geule Hefeweizen—it kicks, so I have to wait for a fresh keg. And a glass of water, though I could wring it out of my shirt at this point, wandering as I have been through fog literal and metaphorical. Zep blasts on the stereo. I fail to fool the bartender into believing that I speak French, and my beer comes on a Moosehead coaster despite a stack of Belle Geule coasters adjacent. Not to tout the beer's virtues; it is thin in flavor and a bit disappointing though I hadn't expected much. I intend to patronize the  24-heure joint down the block and make my way back to the hotel after this beer which it turns out, has been fantastically expensive. This bar seems to be a haven for English-speakers.

Being as it is after 23.00, when I bring my bottles to the counter, the clerk takes one look, shrugs, and, seemingly in reflection upon my entire evening, sighs: "Desolée."

Beer and Loathing in Vermont - Part 4

From the parking lot:
Grandmother: "Do you still have the giggles?"

Child: <snrk>!

We pull over to admire the homes of the druids. At a restaurant bathroom, I re-set the feed on my pen for improved inkflow. We pull over again, and this time I get some St. John's Wort tea and some herbal chew. It's like chewing tobacco, but doesn't have any tobacco, so you can eat it. I ponder how terrible of a precedent this might set for actual tobacco chewing in the future, but remember that I never wanted to chew tobacco in the first place, making me wonder in turn, why the hell I bought it. I am nearly assaulted by an obese corgi whose leash turns out to be just long enough. For lunch, I have a sandwich with turkey and maple syrup—the Vermont-e Cristo. I duck into the bathroom again to re-fill my pen.

We finally arrive, and the people in Montréal speak French in funny accents. It's already 19.00, so everywhere is closed, but we luck into a public bathroom anyway. It's late and everyone is hungry, and I wonder how the Canadians can be so happy and trendy and not-having-to-work-late and I wonder if it has anything to do with their Obamacare, which I suspect is better than mine.

We dine, late, at a restaurant with real silverware and no beer lost; I almost don't bother, but then I get a St. Ambroise 'Dark'. It is superior to the blond, which I originally receive by mistake. My notebook is covered in inkblots, and I take it as a Sign that the tablecloth is not.

Beer and Loathing in Vermont - Part 3

I emerge from the sauna a new man, but decide to steal my old identity anyway. I meet some people who were in town for a funeral. The deceased was aged 106, and I was booked in room 107—as always, one step ahead of the Old Man in Black. I lighten the mood with the pink ape man story. That always goes over well. I try to encourage my computer into action, but it seems steadfastly determined against it, so I keep the Faith and write the Good Words on paper.

Beer and Loathing in Vermont - Part 2

I don't think there's a beer in the world with the tasting recommendation: serve at mini-fridge temperature; pour into small paper cup and enjoy, but I need to down these before I try and cross the border. This Howler Old Barn Ale smells like a big bubblegum Belgian yeast strain. To drink it, it tastes of wheat and maybe a little coriander, which lingers. The Hallertau hops mentioned on the bottle are subdued; it's not a very hoppy beer. It has an orange aftertaste that lingers like the white foam on the white cup.

The Foley Brothers Native Ginger Wheat has a pretty big hop/coriander bitter component, but a little ginger hidden away in there. Not spicy, and with the hops, kind of suggests mango. Maybe not my thing, but definitely a thing, and probably someone's thing.

Beer and Loathing in Vermont - Part 1

I duck behind a door to refill my water bottle at an industrial sink. The door is marked "Employees Only," twice, and in English both times, but I'm thirsty. You've got to stay hydrated when traveling, so I buy a couple of bombers and some seltzer as well. And some beef jerky; it's good country for jerky. A relatively uneventful start to a trip, taking slightly longer to fly than it would have to drive, just to admire the anthropological spectacle of the airport. And besides, driving is so pedestrian.

Bearing down on the back of a CD case, I am using an fountain pen with completely indelible ink which will, in the coming week, make only two small spots on my pants, but they will still have been worth the dollar I paid for them. I tell myself I will figure out how to make them serviceable again, whether by dying them or converting them to Daisy-Duke-style cutoffs. I also do not know at this point that this is about the best the pen is going to handle over the course of the trip. we pass a naked man fanning a bonfire and a cop clocking traffic as my pen jams again and I attempt to use an inkblot as an inkwell.

I eject a load of ink onto the pavement and I'm ready to go again. We arrive at the hotel, and briefly deliberate whether to check in or not, for reasons unclear to me. We dash off to photograph covered bridges 'before it rains,' which it does not. In haste, I nearly lose my gray card and we have to turn back, bringing the empty threat of rain ever closer. My homemade bay run cologne seems to attract mosquitoes; I should have been more specific when I designed it to make me 'irresistible.'

We pull up to a church and follow signs to Robert Frost's grave.

"Is he the 'miles to go' guy?"

"I think he's 'road less traveled.'"

"I knew it had something to do with roads."

We meditate on this as we traverse the exceedingly well-worn path to the headstone, denoted by signs.

Anywhere You Go, Beer You Are

It's about that time... cramming a pared-down subset of worldly possessions—good practice for the road ahead. I eagerly await a week of calling non-billable hours 'vacation.' I sit at the table and steep some tea, a Christmas gift I gave a while back. It is stale now, either forgotten or unwanted, but I try not to be ungrateful as I regift it to myself. I smile like I'm surprised, anyway.

Fool Me Twice... You Don't Get Fooled Again

I rebel against this beer by prizing off the twist-off cap with a corkscrew. It gives off a full white head that gradually dissipates as I read the label: Shock Top Honey Bourbon Cask Wheat. What is that, a laundry list? Regardless, those crazies at Shock Top have once more brewed a beer that sounds really interesting. I should've learned after the Midnight Wheat; fortunately the world did not in fact end that December.

It smells like honey. Like, from inside of a plastic squeeze bear, but it's unmistakable. There's vanilla as well. It's maybe not subtle, but it's definitely not wrong.

It doesn't taste very good though. It's sort of thinnish seltzer water with honey and vanilla extract stirred in. There's maybe a slight off-flavor that might be the "bourbon cask staves" (a totally plebeian way to age beer) The after taste is the same cheap honey from the smell. It just doesn't taste good.

Even for the money, there's plenty of other beers I'd rather drink.