You probably noticed that the bottle in the picture is empty. That’s because I couldn’t wait to drink it.

One of my friends over at my local beer heaven had suggested I try St. Peter’s Cream Stout about a year or so ago, and I loved it, and bought several more bottles. Then … I forgot about it.

Yesterday another friend there suggested it to me again, and I picked the distinctive bottle up, held it for a moment, then exclaimed, “Oh! I’ve had this before! It’s wonderful.”

This is a good beer for someone with a sweet tooth. It even smells sweet. I’d use it as a cologne, especially if I were back in college.

Tip it up to your mouth, take that first long swig. It’s ultra-smooth, goes down like water. You have to watch yourself or the bottle will be gone before you know it. Not much carbonation at all. The taste is rich and creamy but it sneaks up on you. The sweetness on your tongue is subdued, as is the bitterness, making a perfect balance. There’s a low, subsonic malt beat under high lingering hoppy notes.

If this beer were music it would be Swan Lake. It gives me visions of ballerinas in white tights dancing on their tip-toes, and an orchestra pit full of violins, cellos, and oboes.

Of course that’s probably just me.

As good as it is, it doesn’t quite make it as a holy beer contender. It’s a bit too elegant. Yet, I’m not opposed to keeping a few in the fridge for a quiet Sunday afternoon.

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Been out of town, now home on the weekend, and looking for something to chill with as I decompress. Picked up an Anchor Bock from San Francisco, a place I love. Popped the cap, took a sniff. Sweet. Almost caramel sweet.

Licking my lips, I take a swig.

Hoppy bitterness up front. Light on the tongue, light but tingly carbonation. I can taste the wheat — it gives the beer a pleasant cereal flavor. This mingles with a complex maltiness throughout the entire bottle.

I remember walking up and down the streets of San Francisco. It’s a place where you don’t need a car. They have real, true pubs there — neighborhood hangouts where you can go and spend a good portion of your income and generate a lifetime of happy memories. This is where I first tried Anchor beer, a brewery so tied in with the city that it’s literally part of San Francisco’s history.

Drinking their Bock here, now, a half-continent away … makes me a bit nostalgic.

The hop bitterness prevails, well balanced, finishing the beer so that I’m refreshed and ready for another. It’s not a holy beer but it’s a good one. But alas, I didn’t buy a six pack, just a single.

T’was a mistake!

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“You know what’s funny,” said my 20 year old daughter, “you get to write all these reviews while you’re buzzed on the beer you’re reviewing.”

Well, yeah! Isn’t that the point?

Tonight’s beer … um, I’m going to have to start rating the labels as well as the beers. A good label will sell a beer at least once. This one sold me: Arrogant Bastard Ale. Underneath it reads “You’re not worthy.”

Maybe I’m not. Maybe I am. I will tell you this: their arrogant ale is rich and strongly hoppy. The taste of the hops romp like little demons across the top of the beer, doing wild and vulgar break dancing over the solid chocolate malt foundation.

“Demons?” you say. “Why demons?” Well, look at the label. Yes demons. Little arrogant bastard demons.

The beer itself is thick, smooth, and has a lingering bitter aftertaste … a little more bitter than I’d like, which knocks its rating down. Still, it did make the Holy Grail scale, weighing in at a respectable 5.3.

As for that label, let me quote a bit of it … it’s hilarious: “This is an aggressive beer. You probably won’t like it. It is quite doubtful that you have the taste or sophistication to be able to appreciate an ale of this quality and depth.” It goes on to slam people who drink Bud and Coors, etc. Not by name, but by implication.

Yeah, it’s definitely not for everyone, and the brewers are definitely arrogant bastards!

Me? I make no claim to taste or sophistication … well, maybe a bit … but yes I liked it. And no, I don’t like Bud or Coors.

Does that make me an arrogant bastard? Or just a buzzed writer with a publishing company, writing a crazy novel about beer and the Holy Grail?

I guess we’ll have to let history decide on that one.

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Ah yes! San Miguel Dark, an old friend of mine from the Philippines … t’was my favorite beer as a teen. I stopped drinking it in the 80’s because, for some reason, they started giving me a headache. I wondered if it was because it had formaldehyde in it or something.

I’m sure that isn’t the case.

AND I’m happy to say that today’s return to my childhood didn’t include a San Miguel-induced headache. It’s as good as I remember, though somewhat lighter on the tongue. First taste blossomed into dark chocolaty goodness, mildly sweet and only a faint hint of bitter. The carbonation is light, though still satisfying. It left me with a nice toasty malt aftertaste.

This beer elicits fond memories, like sitting with my old friend Don in his room, swigging away as we worked on the thousands of pages of a novel we never finished. Or sitting in the front yard of my dad’s house in lawn chairs at midnight, firing pistols in the air and screaming “Happy New Year!” at the cars that raced off down the street in terror.

Kids, don’t try that at home. And don’t drink beer until you’re of legal age. Me, I’m lucky to be alive.

Here I sit an hour after the beer. Still a good aftertaste. Still no headache.

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It’s a pretty bottle. I mean, it’s just pretty. Am I right or am I right? Dark brown, black, gold and red. It’s gorgeous.

When I was a teenager I kept a collection of beer bottles, keeping one of every different beer I’ve ever had. My room was filled with them. By the time I was of actual legal drinking age, though, I finally had to get rid of them all. I mean, there was hardly room for anything else.

This bottle sorely temps me to start all over again.

Too bad the beer doesn’t taste as good as the bottle looks.

I popped it open while cooking tonight, poured some into the spaghetti sauce I was making. Took a swig, felt disappointed, then poured more into the sauce.

I found this brew rather light in body and taste for such a dark ale. Now, like in some of my other reviews, I’ve got to point out that this beer does not suck. It’s quite good, actually, but it’s not the outstanding taste the bottle promises. It’s light on the hops, and has a medium malt tone. I detected distinct citrus notes, more tart than sweet, and a pleasant coco aftertaste. Being bottle fermented it featured more fizz than I’m used to.

I don’t know. An ale should fire off rockets of flavor in the mouth, but this merely bubbled pleasantly and urged me to pour more and more of it into the pot on my stove.

Of course the sauce came out freaking wonderful.

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My good fellows, and Ladies, I bring to you this day a tale of a beer.

Oregon is home to a wealth of fine microbreweries and also one of the world’s biggest Shakespearean festivals. It is only natural — nay, inevitable — that one of them shall produce a beer named after the famous bard himself.

Upon opening I took myself a whiff, and my friends, this beer even smells good. A sweet smell, telling a story of hops and yeast. It pours dark and just as the bottle advertises, gives forth a rich creamy head.

The first sip upon my lips impressed a mildly sweet earthy taste hinting of wood smoke, with prominent malty tones, followed by a nice chocolaty aftertaste.

This is a beer drinkers beer. I should go to say that this beer is very beer. Beer with a lot of r’s at the end … “Beerrrrr.” Ye old Oregon hops are strong in this brew, and it boasts a deep barley undercurrent, not to mention a strong alcoholic kick.

Yea, this is a good beer my friends. Not the Holy Beer, but really satisfying.

It goes well with IM’ing your distant girlfriend. And toward the end of the bottle I was professing such love to her, that I said I’d live without broadband Internet access if I had to, just to be with her.

We then lapsed into Shakespearian verses…

I remember little from that point.

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There is no way I’m going to give a bad review to Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale, even if it sucks. After all, as the label says, it’s “Tempered over burning witches.”

Besides, what self-respecting website that’s searching for the Holy Beer would pass this up? How could you ignore it? The GR in grail is crossed out, after all. It says “Holy Ail.”

And so, is it?

Is it the Holy Ale?

No. Sadly, the wee bunny with the big, sharp, nasty pointed teeth must have killed the alchemist who had the Holy Ale recipe, so the brewer — Black Sheep Brewery of Yorkshire — pulled this one out of a bottom drawer somewhere.

The novelty of the label alone will sell the beer. Why put any effort into actually making it good?

Like I said, though, I’m not going to give it a bad review, because to tell the truth, it does not suck. It’s not wonderful, and it’s not Holy, but it’s not that bad. It won’t turn you into a newt.

It’s dark, rich, a bit rough, and a bit too bitter for my tastes. A nutty flavor prevails. There are some nice hoppy notes, which is good because that lets you know you’re drinking something that prevents cancer. The malt drives a heavy bass beat underneath. The more you drink the better it tastes.

It’s only got a bit of rat in it. And it goes really well with SPAM.

My friend at the local Beer Heaven told me more people buy this bottle to keep unopened on a bookshelf than they do to actually drink it. I can see that. It looks great next to your Monty Python DVD collection, just to the left of the penguin.

You know, the penguin on top of your telly?

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, and you have no idea what happens to this penguin, then don’t bother buying this beer. Otherwise the knights may say “Nee!” to you, or the French people with the outrageous accents may taunt you a second time.

Wink wink, nudge nudge. Say no more!

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It’s a good thing I keep notes.

I had a four pack of this Barbar Blonde, and drank the first three recreationally. I wrote down this about the first sip: The spices hit first, quickly followed by honey, then hops. It finishes with the orange peel. Very well balanced. Solid 6.0 on the Holy Grail scale.

I distinctly remember thinking about how much I liked it, and how I’d give it a rave review. 6.0 on the scale is high praise from me.

Tonight, on bottle number four — which I saved to drink while writing the actual review — I’m not liking at all. I don’t know if it’s because of something I ate earlier or if it’s because I’m drinking this out of a glass instead of straight from the bottle. But the pictograph on the carton clearly states to drink from a glass at 40° F.

The ale has an interesting history, at least according to the packing text. “With Barbar you are going back to the beginnings of the brewers art. During centuries, the only sweetener known in Europe was honey…” It goes on to tell about it being an early version of a barley-beer, brewed with artesian well water in the south of Brussels using a secret recipe containing a harmonious mixture of yadda yadda yadda.

Damn. I just wish this one tasted as good as the other three. I don’t know. It’s weird.

Anyway, I’m ignoring tonight’s bottle, and finishing this review on a positive note. This ale went very well with Chipotle chicken fajita burritos and Jack Black’s movie Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny. I daresay the ale enhanced the movie, not the other way around. I enjoyed both immensely.

I’m honoring my notes and leaving Barbar Blonde at 6.0 on the Holy Grail scale.

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By pure chance I’ve picked a good beer to end Samuel Adams week here at GroovyBrew.com. The Hefeweizen is still cloudy with yeast, which sounds a bit gross, but it’s not. It’s not like it’s going to give you a yeast infection. Indeed, it’s crisp and light and very hoppy, hitting you with a sweet medley like a happy jazz riff (thanks again to Grant Wood for that music simile — it really works).

Doing my homework, it’s said that Weissbier (from which Hefeweizen came) may be one of the oldest styles of beer. This puts it down as a candidate for the Holy Beer just by definition, and the taste supports it. There’s a quality to it that I find really hard to describe, some late mid-riff notes that scream for a word that unfortunately I lack. It’s a positive word, whatever it is. It’s very good.

The Hefeweizen finishes clean and leaves the mouth watering for more. And … yes fortunately enough, I have more. The second is as tasty as the first, and so I suspect would be third.

I give it a 4.7 on the Holy Grail scale.

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I popped open a bottle of this beer right after chatting on the phone with Sam Adam’s Brewing Manager, Grant Wood. We’d just been talking about beer as music, and in the spirit of that thought, this beer is rock and roll.

It hits with a nutty flavor like a loud, buzzing power chord played on a guitar with the amp cranked to 11. Drums pound out a malty beat that drives the beer along. Then there’s some guy in back with a bassoon or something, playing this weird note and turning the whole thing a bit bitter.

It’s not bad. I mean, it’s not awful. It’s not great, either. It’s probably a question of personal taste, but I much preferred their Black Lager, and I really enjoyed their Old Ale.

Sadly, this Brown Ale is the least favorite of any of their beers I’ve sampled this week.

Fifteen minutes after the beer is done, my tongue’s “ears” are still ringing from this performance.

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It’s violent thunder and lightning right now outside my window. A wall of air and vertical rain just blew all the furniture off my patio. So what do I do?

Grab a beer and enjoy the show.

This afternoon’s beer is Samuel Adam’s Black Lager. As I listen to the sound of emergency sirens wail between the cracking and rumbling of thunder, I pop one open and take that first reverent sip.

Yum! Rich and smooth, it’s got a thick malty taste with a dark nuttiness that is bold but not over-powering.

I’ve been drinking beer since I was about 5 years old. My brother and his high school buddies handed me a tall can of cheap brew and laughed at the face I made. Drinking that crud, it’s a wonder I ever learned to like it. Tasting the brews that I drink now, I find it hard to even call that other stuff “beer.” It’s more like bitter alcoholic tea.

I like dark beers, beers with some real flavor. This Black Lager has it. It’s not the best, and I wouldn’t consider it even a candidate for the Holy Beer. It’s solidly good but not outstanding.

And it goes really well with a lightning storm.

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Okay. Samuel Adams hasn’t disappointed yet. This, the third beer from their LongShot mix 6-pack, hits ye olde taste buds with a thick, rich wave of malty goodness that to me has a definite overtone of honey — though not overly sweet. As flavorful as the other two were, this is my favorite of the pack, and it is a tempting candidate for the Holy Beer taste for which I’m searching.

Another winner of the 2006 American Homebrew Contest, this recipe is the creation of Don Oliver who hails from my old home state of California. According to the label, he says this is a “full-bodied, heavy ale good for a winter night by the fire.” Yes indeed, it is, but I could also imagine drinking it after dinner on the back deck of a boat, or even cuddled up with my sweetheart during a good movie. The 10.6% alcohol by volume might even facilitate a romantic mood.

What is it that famous poster says? “Beer: Helping ugly people get laid since 800 A.D.” Something like that.

Yeah. Anyway, I’m finishing the first bottle right now, and by the time I down the second, I’m not going to want to be driving anywhere. This is good, strong “old” ale is best enjoyed at home.

I give it a 6.5 on the Holy Grail scale.

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The first thing that hit me with the initial swig is, this is not a beer! It tastes more like one of those beer-based flavored wine cooler things. But no, the aftertaste tells you quite clearly you’re drinking a beer and a good one at that. Sweet, strongly fruity, it’s light yet has a satisfying wash of hops. I like it.

Another 2006 Homebrew Contest Winner, this recipe is from Ken Smith of Colorado and is found in the Sam Adams LongShot mix 6-pack. Ken is actually an employee of the company, and he describes the beer as (and I’m quoting the bottle) “…a refreshing light taste and cereal crispness…” It also goes on to state this is not a beer, but an unfiltered ale.

It finishes clean and my mouth says, “More please.” Happily I have another, and so off I go to the fridge.

The second one goes just as fast as the first, and my mouth is still saying, “More please.”

Bummer. I only had two. 🙁

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It’s Samuel Adams week here at GroovyBrew, and this just happened to be the first beer I pulled out of the sample pack. I popped it open and took my first sip, and it turned into a really long sip. Mmm … beer. Beer good. Mmmm… Of course I’m like that with just about all beer, so, onward.

I can’t stop drinking it, and it’s nearly gone, and I’ve hardly written anything. Of course that has a lot to do with my teenage daughters being right behind me, poking each other and screaming “OW!” at the tops of their lungs, then laughing hysterically. By the way they’re acting you’d think they were the ones drinking.

This light lager is not the Holy Grail beer, but it is tasty. Rich, almost chocolaty, with a lightly sweet edge, the taste is followed by a dancing bitterness. Afterwards, you’re left with a nice smoky aftertaste … and an urge for another.

Fortunately for me, I have another!

Home brewer Bruce Stott’s recipe is one of two who won a competition over 1500 other entries, which is how this beer ended up in Samuel Adam bottles. You’ll find it in the LongShot mix 6-pack (along with others which will be featured here this week). Presumably that’s Bruce’s smiling face there on the label.

Halfway through the second bottle I’m noticing the sweetness has faded, leaving the bitterness in control. Still good, but I don’t think I’d drink more than two before moving on.

Which it is now time to do!

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Okay, so I’m writing this fantasy novel about the beer that was in the Holy Grail, and for this novel I have to do research. Part of the research is finding a beer so good I would say that it’s The Beer, the Holy Beer. Today’s candidate is the Westmalle Dubbel Ale brewed and bottled by the Trappist Monastery of Westmalle in Belgium.

I bought one bottle. I just opened it. Is this the beer? Pouring the dark amber brew into a glass, I’ll tell you one thing, it looks delicious.

Hold on while I take that first reverent sip…

It is good! Very good! Sitting here savoring the aftertaste, it’s getting even better. This ale has a complex flavor that hits you smack dab in the middle of the tongue, a chaotic combination of fruity and mocha, and a deep malt double-whammy that brings on — at least in me — a rush and an afterglow.

So now I’m just sitting here smiling. Is it the beer of God? Could be. It’s definitely a contender. Let’s have a moment of silence and I’ll meditate on it.

…several moments of silence later…

Hmm. No. It’s not the Holy Beer. It’s good, and it’s brewed by monks for God, but … sorry guys, it’s not the beer I’d put in the Grail. Toward the end of the bottle the flavor starts to fail. Sad, but we don’t have a winner.

So the search goes on.

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When I’m not writing about beer, or coffee, or lizards, I write science fiction and fantasy, and in the fantasy novel I’m working on now my character is searching for the beer that had been in the Holy Grail. In this story they discover it was beer, not wine, that Jesus drank, and there’s a 2000 year old conspiracy by the wine growers to hide that fact.

Like I said it’s a fantasy, and darn it, it’s my fantasy. Beer was in the Holy Grail.

Tecate was not that beer.

I’m not saying I don’t like Tecate. No, I love it, and that’s weird. To me Tecate is very unique in that it’s the only beer I actually prefer in a can instead of a bottle. I like it with lime and salt on the rim. I’ll drink it straight but I prefer it all set up as if it’s tequila.

The beer that was in the Holy Grail would have been … correct me if I’m wrong, you experts out there … a dubble style, dark and rich. That is normally what I like, something with a lot of flavor. A heavy beer with history.

That’s not Tecate.

Again, it’s weird that I love it so much. I am in fact drinking some right now. It’s a light lager with some decent flavor, a subtle one, much like finding the flavor in some delicate Asian food … where you almost have to meditate on it. The after taste is tangy, and you get that metal edge from the can which — again weird — is in this case pleasant.

So if you add up what I’m saying, I find Tecate a delicate Mexican zen beer that goes better in the can, and which is enhanced by lime and salt.

Weird. And definitely not something you’d get from the Holy Grail. But still, good.

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