I think we’ve already established that Lagunitas is one of my all time favorite breweries, so I may tend to be a bit biased. This however is not my favorite of theirs.

The labels states, and I quote: “Thanks for choosing to spend the next few minutes with this special homicidally hoppy ale. Savor the moment as the raging hop character engages the Imperial Qualities of the Malt Foundation in mortal combat on the battlefield of your palate!”

And indeed it does.

The IPA (not to be confused with their Maximus India Pale) hits immediately with a sweet hoppy scent the moment you pop open the bottle. The ale is light and a bit weak, and too bitter for my tastes. Not to say it isn’t good — it is — but I definitely prefer their Maximus. It reminds me a bit of the Henry Weinhards Private Reserve I used to drink in the early 80’s. A good everyday beer … though, it’s a taste I’ve grown away from.

If you prefer your beer with a wild hoppiness (which is very good for you, don’t forget) I suggest you try it … as Lagunitas “Special Prosecutor” Tony Magee says, it’s the best-selling India pale ale on the West Coast, and there has to be a reason for that.

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After being disappointed by Westmalle’s Dubbel, I wasn’t expecting much from their Tripel.

I’m happy to report that I was pleasantly surprised.

The problem I had with the Dubbel was the taste faltered and fell on its face. This Tripel did no such thing. I actually finished the bottle over twenty minutes ago and I’m still left with a pleasant singing of hops and malt, like echoes from a really good party.

The ale has a distinct walnut taste, lightly sweet with a touch of tart. The aftertaste has hints of brown sugar amidst the hops and dark malt. I like it, a lot, so much so it’s made it as a holy beer contender. I place it as a solid 6.3 on Holy Grail scale.

One of these days I am going to have to fly to Belgium and talk to some of these monks. Being that I’m writing a book about beer, and am actually running a website about it … you’d think I’d be able to write it off, right?

Sounds like a plan to me.

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Um. The first sip of an ale shouldn’t make you wonder what the heck you just put in your mouth.

It hits the palate with an unusual sweet and sour double whammy, finished by a low key malt taste that is so smooth that it might be completely missed if you’re not looking for it. The aftertaste is like a long, distant beerish echo, pleasant but so removed it’s like a ghost haunting an old cave.

Every sip hits the same way. Very odd.

It’s an ale, yes, but the closest thing it reminds me of is a mead my fiancée had me try a few weeks back. This traditional Flemish brown ale, top fermented, Champaign corked, has a distinct honey sweetness. It’s not unpleasant. It’s rather good. But…

See, I have a sweet tooth. No denying that. But for an ale, this is too sweet for my tastes, so that’s very sweet, my friends. I found it cloying. So as good as this stuff is, and despite it being rated a world-class champion, it’s not making the Holy Grail scale.

I’m happy to have tried it, but I won’t be going back for another.

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Um. The first sip of an ale shouldn’t make you wonder what the heck you just put in your mouth.

It hits the palate with an unusual sweet and sour double whammy, finished by a low key malt taste that is so smooth that it might be completely missed if you’re not looking for it. The aftertaste is like a long, distant beerish echo, pleasant but so removed it’s like a ghost haunting an old cave.

Every sip hits the same way. Very odd.

It’s an ale, yes, but the closest thing it reminds me of is a mead my fiancée had me try a few weeks back. This traditional Flemish brown ale, top fermented, Champaign corked, has a distinct honey sweetness. It’s not unpleasant. It’s rather good. But…

See, I have a sweet tooth. No denying that. But for an ale, this is too sweet for my tastes, so that’s very sweet, my friends. I found it cloying. So as good as this stuff is, and despite it being rated a world-class champion, it’s not making the Holy Grail scale.

I’m happy to have tried it, but I won’t be going back for another.

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Um. The first sip of an ale shouldn’t make you wonder what the heck you just put in your mouth.

It hits the palate with an unusual sweet and sour double whammy, finished by a low key malt taste that is so smooth that it might be completely missed if you’re not looking for it. The aftertaste is like a long, distant beerish echo, pleasant but so removed it’s like a ghost haunting an old cave.

Every sip hits the same way. Very odd.

It’s an ale, yes, but the closest thing it reminds me of is a mead my fiancée had me try a few weeks back. This traditional Flemish brown ale, top fermented, Champaign corked, has a distinct honey sweetness. It’s not unpleasant. It’s rather good. But…

See, I have a sweet tooth. No denying that. But for an ale, this is too sweet for my tastes, so that’s very sweet, my friends. I found it cloying. So as good as this stuff is, and despite it being rated a world-class champion, it’s not making the Holy Grail scale.

I’m happy to have tried it, but I won’t be going back for another.

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I first discovered 211 High Gravity Steel Reserve on December 21^st, 2002.

I know this because I liked it so much I wrote it down.

As one of only two beers I enjoy out of a can instead of a bottle, I always buy the 24 oz. size and I only buy one at a time, lest I be tempted to drink more than one. See, this stuff is nice and strong, and I am — believe it or not — a lightweight as far as alcohol goes. Just one of these is enough to get my boat rocking, and two will push me off into that never-never land of wanting to keep drinking until I can no longer walk.

So, I limit myself.

The reason I originally picked up this can was because of the term “high gravity.” As a science fiction writer, this caught my attention. I write about high and low and zero gravity a lot. Antigravity, even. Especially antigravity. But I digress.

I’ve never regretted discovering this beer.

It bills itself as a “slow brewed” lager, and refers to “extra malted barley and select hops for extra gravity.” To me, though, it has the distinct tang of a malt liquor, specifically reminding me of a refined version of Old English 800. I can hear people gasping all the way from this side of the Internet, but, yes, I like malt liquors. At least, I’ll drink a malt liquor way before I drink something as piss-water as a plain Budweiser. I mean, I’ve been poor before. I’ve had to choose from the bottom of the barrel. That’s where I’m coming from.

211 High Gravity is surprisingly smooth and has a great blend of hops and barley, and like Tecate, the aluminum taint of the can actually enhances the flavor in a positive way.

I highly recommend this for fishing trips, and back yard barbecues especially if you’re eating something spicy.

As I said on a blog nearly five years ago, it kicks ass.

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It just occurred to me that at lunch today I had a regular old Boston Lager from Samuel Adams, and I had not reviewed one yet. It’s a shame! This is one of the best common beers you can get in America. It’s sweet, smooth, light yet with good body, decent hoppiness and the malt undertones really rock and roll.

It’s a good freaking beer. You can’t go wrong with it, especially as a draft. Which is what I had. At a restaurant (Bennigan’s). Which is why there’s no picture.

Why even bring it up? Because it’s a holy beer contender, ringing in at a solid 4.0 on the Holy Grail scale.

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Drunk-dialing: When you get really sloshed and then decide you NEED to call your ex-lover and express your sorrow for no longer being together.

Drunk-writing: When you’ve finished a significant quantity of barley-wine and try and write a review of it.

Both are bad ideas.

Like one of the little pink piggies on the Avery label, I’ve sprouted wings and am flying at about 42,000 feet, heading vaguely S-SW at 130 knots, landing gear only half-retracted. I don’t even remember my first taste of the stuff, other than it physically assaulted me with barley. Less a taste and more like having it hand-stuffed into your mouth by someone who’s in a hurry. The malt is present with each swig, but then takes a back seat. Not a back seat in a car, either, but the back back seat of a bus, the very last one. Filling the rest of the bus is the barley and hops, and man, they are having a party!

Why? Because of all the damn alcohol!

Barley has a boom-box thumping out some serious hip-hop, while the hops have their own boom box pumping out wild jazz-rock fusion. The bus is chaotic, and the driver is asleep. No one is steering. It doesn’t matter, because the whole thing is up at 42,000 feet with me holding on to the luggage rack with both hands, while the wind is trying to rip the feathers out of my little piggy wings.

Who needs pink elephants when you have pink piggies with wings? I mean really. The label for this stuff is perfect.

I guess this is hog heaven? Yes, I believe it is.

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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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Drinking beer in moderation — one a day for women and two a day for men — can deliver protection against heart attacks, stroke, hypertension, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, cancer, and dementia.

We’ve known about the benefits of wine for years, but studies are now showing that beer is even better, and it’s because of the ingredients.

One of course is the alcohol, the benefits of which it shares with wine.

Another is vitamin B6. Beer drinkers show a 30% increase of vitamin B6 in their blood. Wine and other spirits also give you a B6 boost, but not quite as much, and for not as long.

The real clincher is the hops. Hops contain a unique anti-cancer micronutrient called xanthohumol which hinders tumor growth, inhibits enzymes that activate cancer cells, and also helps make other unhealthy compounds more water-soluble so that your body can get rid of them … instead of having them hanging around and causing you health problems.

The best beers are usually ales, porters, and stouts, because they have more hops and therefore much higher levels of xanthohumol.

Oregon’s microbrews rank particularly high in this regard.

So rejoice my fellow beer lovers! Your beer drinking is no longer a vice — that is, as long as you can keep it to one or two beers a day.

Any more than that and the health benefits are outweighed by the risks of overindulgence.

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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 had a great chat today with Grant Wood, the Brewing Manager of the Samuel Adams Boston Beer Company. He’s the man in the know and the keeper of beer secrets.

I’d done a bit of research and discovered that Grant went to Siebel Institute of Chicago, oldest among America’s brew schools, and was also a native of Irving, Texas — not far away from where I live now. The idea of a School of Beer had me intrigued, and that was the first thing I asked him about. “So, what is it like? Is it a studious experience or more like a scene from Animal House?”

He laughed. “No. Not quite like that.” Grant went on to say they spent most of their 12 weeks in lectures about the various ingredients, methods, etc., as one would expect in any learning environment. But he says the highlight of the experience was the field trips to various breweries and pubs of the area, to see different methods of brewing and, of course, to go beer tasting. He learned a lot and made good connections — some of his fellow classmates went on to hold high positions at other large breweries across the country.

“I’ve noticed that at my local beer heaven,” I said, “all the beers now have cards showing what beers go with which foods. Is this an industry wide thing?”

“I’m not sure if it’s industry wide, but it makes sense.”

“Do you believe beer goes better with food than does wine?”

“Yes,” Grant said, “I do. It does, and for a variety of different reasons.” He went on to talk about how beer’s large variety of ingredients make a much more diverse array of flavors. More flavors mean better matches with different foods. “Also, because there’s less alcohol content, the flavors in the beer compliment the food instead of overwhelming it. Not only that, there’s the carbonation which serves to scrub the pallet.”

“I always felt beer went better with food than wine,” I told him. “I just didn’t know why.” I went on to explain about how I’m searching for the Holy Beer for my novel, and asked what he thought it was that makes some beers extraordinary.

“Complexity, and depth of flavor,” Grant said. “A really good beer hits the pallet with a succession of flavors, similar to notes in a song. And like in music, these flavors have to be delivered rapidly and in harmony, without sounding any discordant notes. When the beer is finished, the very last taste should fade pleasantly. It doesn’t matter how good a beer is if — when you’re finished with it — it leaves you searching for something to remove the final taste from your mouth.”

“The Westmalle Dubbel Ale I had the other night did just that,” I said. “It finished up bitter and nasty, kind of like a cigar butt.”

Grant laughed. “No, that’s not something you want to have happen. Ideally at the end of a beer its flavor should leave you wanting another.”

“You guys are good at that. Especially the Old Ale. The one from your LongShot pack — I loved it.”

“Yes. Don Oliver did a really good job with that one. That’s a good recipe.”

“I’ve got one final question for you. What do you see for the future of beer? Any new directions, new types of beer?”

Grant said he couldn’t speak for the brewery, but from a personal perspective he thinks we’ll see a more blurring of lines. “Jim Koch wants to push the envelope of what a beer can be. We see it already with fruit beers and barley wines, and in the future I think the market will see more hybrids. People want new flavors — but at the same time they still want a sense of authenticity.”

“Hybrids such as those ‘buzz beers’ on the market today?”

“Well, yes, but hopefully something more elegant. We’ll probably see beverages where you’re not really sure if it’s a beer or a wine. Things that really push the envelope.”

“How about packaging? With the big push to be ‘green’ I was wondering if the industry might resort to reusable bottles and the like?”

“We’re experimenting with that. There has to be a balance between a container that can be reused and still looks good enough to put your product in. We’re doing some of that now, trying to use recycled glass and also paper in our packaging.”

With that, I thanked Grant and told him I didn’t want to take up any more from his busy day. After all, the beer must flow. Once we said our goodbyes and hung up, I opened up a bottle of their Brown Ale — the next beer on my list to review — and thought about Grant’s musical analogy for beer’s flavor.

Each flavor a note, each beer a different song.

I like that.

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For my lunch break today, I walked over to the “Men’s Grooming Center” next door, and found them a bit pricey — but the barber pointed out “We serve free beer. All you can drink.”

I got me a haircut!

The place is called Roosters, a part of a new chain of shops where they try to bring back a more traditional style of American barbershop — or at least a 21^st century version of it. You don’t get “just a haircut” here. You can get just about everything you can at a woman’s salon, except with and extra side of testosterone. Hair coloring, hi-lighting, waxing, facial shaves, and even a “MANicure.”

…why are you looking at me like that? No, I only got a haircut!

(And beer.)

They hand you a tall cold glass of brew, set you down and proceed to give you the royal treatment. Their normal haircut includes neck shave, hair wash, a hot steam towel for your face, a brush of powder around your neck, Bay Rum aftershave, and even a head massage.

If it were guy barber I would have passed on the massage, but considering she was a she (and a quite attractive she at that) I said, yeah. Sure. Okay.

And all this while sipping on a beer. Heck yeah it’s worth the extra price. It only set me back about $10 more than usual, and you know … even a guy needs a little pampering every once in a while.

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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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You just have to love innovation, though this is not something you’ll find hitting the mass market anytime soon.

Tired of having to get up to get a beer in the middle of an important sporting event on TV? Well, a very clever engineer named John W. Cornwell devised a refrigerator that brings it to you … via special air delivery, no less.

Inside, a can is brought up and out of the fridge by an elevator, where it’s then transferred into the business end of a catapult. The catapult swivels around and tosses with amazing accuracy to where ever you’ve aimed it.

Don’t take my word for it, watch the video.

This groovy piece of homemade hardware is controlled by a car’s remote. Pressing the “unlock” button starts the catapult and it spins around until you press unlock again. Press “lock” and the beer is in the air.

If you think about it, the gizmo not only makes it effortless to get a beer, it also limits how many you can have. When you’ve passed the point of drunkenness where you can no longer operate it properly, or lack the eye-hand coordination to catch the flying can, the beer hits you in the face, knocking you out, and thus preventing you from imbibing further.

The only thing I’d do differently is fill it with a different type of beer.

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Now this is cool. You are here, now, reading the very first post on this website. Remember this day. Years from now you can say, “Yeah, I went there before there was anything even published there! And now look at it!”

You, my friend, are definitely ahead of the curve.

You’re here because you love beer. This website is here because I love beer. Beer is good. Beer is even holy (I know, because I have some in my fridge that was brewed by monks).

This is yet another website about beer. But as there is no such thing as too much beer in the world, I say, there’s room for yet another website about it.

One thing I can tell you to expect … one of these days I’m going to try an experiment I found on the Internet, where you can brew actual beer in a coffee pot. I don’t know if it really works. I don’t know if, after I drink the stuff, I’ll die or end up with brain damage. But by Gods I am going to try it!

Thanks for showing up, my friend. Please bookmark this place and check back from time to time.

Sincerely yours,

Jerry J. Davis
Fellow Beer Lover

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