Blasted for Breakfast

The other night I decided to dive into higher ABV beers, starting with the savory Founders Breakfast Stout. Thick, creamy, with a great coffee note and enough alcohol burn to remind you that you're drinking an 8.7 ABV beer, this is not for the feint of heart. I was mainly drinking such a high ABV because I'm trying to shed a few pounds and I figure if I can get blotto on fewer beers, I'll drink fewer beers. Perhaps I am gay. One Breakfast Stout is almost as much alcohol as three Miller Lites, and I'd bet it's fewer than twice the calories. Plus, Miller Lite sucks. Not as much as Bud Light, but enough about that.

The first stout went down like a good date and I don't know if it was a light dinner or what, but I could feel it. Oh sweet comfort coursing through my veins. I thoroughly enjoyed the blend of oatmeal and mocha - this beer could use a side of bacon! Is there a bacon-infused beer out there? Google tells me Brooklyn Brewery has one - something to look for the next time I hit an overly stocked bottle shop. But with no bacon beer in sight it was another round of Breakfast for me!

The second pint was still thoroughly enjoyable, but it was a slow-moving pint. It's a heavy beer that does not lend itself to quick drinking. I think it would be hard to stick with these for a long session without switching it up. So switch it up I did.

Meet Founders Maple Mountain Strong Ale. Sweet, sweet, sweet. Some people had a problem with this, but not me. Although I did only make it through two 9-oz glasses. The maple flavor comes through loud and clear and the monstrous 11 ABV is well-hidden. I believe this would be a good choice when you need someone to drink till you're pretty, because it was a popular drink with the ladies in my entourage. Especially Girlfriend vs. Beer, who I believe stuck with these all night long. 'Atta girl!

Ever since my PEI trip I've been thinking a lot on the delightful beer mixes they were inventing, and this inspired me to create something beautiful: The Maple Breakfast. I ordered a concoction of 3/4 breakfast stout and 1/4 Maple Mountain. A major win. The maple cuts the coffee flavor, injecting some sweetness into the brew and making it possibly a bit more session-friendly. I say possibly, because by this point I've already had four high ABV beers by this point, five after the mix, and I had to tap out. Boo midweek drinking. But give the Maple Breakfast a try and let me know what you think.

Gahan House, Cont'd

This is the much-anticipated continuation of my Canada trip. For the setup, read a few posts back. And click my banners on your way - I need to quit my day job you know.

The Mixes:
I had the good fortune of eating at the greatest restaurant in PEI and possibly the Western Hemisphere, Fish Bones. Fish Bones is the Gahan House brewery's sister restaurant, and as such the only beers they serve there are Gahan House beers. Win. Despite not being the actual brewery, they are a much better way to experience the Gahan brews because the food is phenomenal (I can still taste the salmon masala - yes curry in Canada) and because they have mastered the art of the Secret Gahan Mixes. As was explained to me in a chat with the head chef, who is currently my Favorite Male Canadian Not Named Matt Stairs, "The Gahan House takes themselves way too seriously and they would never do this. But the truth is, they're better this way."

He is in fact correct. It'd been a while since I had mixed beers, my Black and Tan phase having peaked somewhere around 2002, and to be honest I had kind of forgotten all about how good a mixed beer could be. I want to emulate these Canadian creations with some stuff on the homefront, so be ready to hear about some bizarre beer mutations on the horizon. Anyway, here's what they're drinking up there in PEI. Those lucky Canucks.

"Honey Brown" - half Honey Wheat, half Brown ale. This was my drink of choice, a perfect mix of honey sweetness and rich malty goodness with a smooth, refreshing body. The honey cuts through the thick flavor of the brown ale without taking away from the hops, sort of rounding out the overall experience into something much more friendly to the extended drinking session. And these sessions got extended. Especially when the Jagerettes marched into the restaurant in a surreal explosion of orange bob-cut wigs and black booty shorts, showering the crowd with shots of Jager and Jager goodies. I'm still a little bummed I didn't get one of the Jager-flavored condoms. My girlfriend doesn't seem nearly as upset about this, though I can't figure out why.

"Christmas in a Glass" - half Red Ale, half Brown Ale. This really did taste like Christmas - if I'm ever in PEI in the winter, you can bet I'll be living on these. It was warm and comforting like a Christmas sweater for your tongue, but not nearly as dorky or embarrassing. I wanted to sit in front of a fire, unwrap presents, drink about 10 of these, get into a screaming match with relatives over dinner, flip over the table, weep, then start hugging everyone. Ah the holidays.

"The Greatest Invention" - at least that's what we called it. Gahan makes their own root beer, and it is absolutely phenomenal with a double shot of Black Seal rum. This super-secret brew actually required the chef to trek across the street to the brewery since the restaurant doesn't keep the root beer in stock. I wonder why - I love microbrewed root beer. You can be sure that I'll be ordering Black Seal and root beer in the future, especially when I feel like freaking out a bartender. The sweetness of the root beer worked perfectly with the Black Seal, resulting in a light, refreshing taste with a little anise kick. And I'm not a licorice person, so my liking of this should be a testament to just how good it was.

I wonder if Fish Bones is hiring dishwashers.

Disappointment at West Chester's Iron Hill

I've never been crazy about Iron Hill Brewery's offerings, except for an oddly delicious dunkel weizen, but my most recent visit to the local chain brewery was a tremendous letdown. The beers ranged from bad to worse. At least the food was decent, although served at temperatures that left my greedy mouth completely burned. Talk about punishment for being a fatty!

Anyway, here's some beers to avoid:

Hoppy Hoppy Hefeweizen - Sub-par beer with an amazingly stupid name, but sadly the best beer I had all night. At least until I went to the next bar. With a name like this, I was expecting aggressive hoppiness straight out of the Stone brewery camp. It didn't have that. I think it wanted to have that, but it just wasn't happening. There were hops, sure, but it was not hopped enough to live up to its name, no matter how lame that name may be. Arrogant Bastard and other well-made overly hopped beers also have a lot of other stuff going on, subtleties that work to complement, enhance, and otherwise support the incredible amounts of hops. The Hoppy Hoppy Hefeweizen didn't. It was more just like "hey the new guy messed up and dumped a barrel of hops into the hefe vat, what should we do?" "Just leave it."

Something-Or-Other Saison - It doesn't matter what this is called. Don't buy it. Ever. Take your money and go get a bottle of Dupont's Saison or Foret. Or if you really want a Belgian Farmhouse Ale made by a mini-chain restaurant/brewery in Southeastern Pennsylvania, go to McKenzie's. Their saison is a surprisingly solid offering. I'm a big fan of farmhouse ales, but this was way overspiced. It's like the same jerk who dropped all those hops in the hefeweizen dumped a full rack of cloves in the Saison vat. At least I know now why Iron Hill recently had a Saison fest where they let their employees flavor the beer with whatever spices, fruits, or floor scraps they wanted - it's not like they could ruin anything. Saison? More like Failson. Zing!



The Ryesing - Iron Hill's (surprise) rye beer offering was, well, rye. It was very light and completely dry and I kept expecting some sort of character or flavor to develop, but that just never happened. My buddy Len, who writes his own beer blog which is very good and actually gets updated, had this to say: "it sort of tastes like vomit. Like the aftertaste of vomit." And he was right. I knew this beer reminded me of something: it tasted the way Mardi Gras smells in the afternoon. For those of you who have never been to Mardi Gras, try this simple simulation: find a dumpster outside of the grimiest bar in your neighborhood, wait until you've had at least five days of 85-degree or higher temperatures (22 or higher for our Celcius friends), chug at least 16-oz of grain alcohol, then stand next to the dumpster and take a big whiff. Preferably on the day before it's emptied. Then have friends throw beads at your head as hard as they can, while you pull your tits out. Congratulations - you're at Mardi Gras. And with this simple simulation, Mardi Gras can happen any time, my friends.

If this had been my first visit to Iron Hill, it was the sort of trip that would have me convinced never to return. But I've been to Iron Hill too many times to let one exceptionally awful outing keep me away. I'll just wait until their next batch of seasonals hits the taps, and I'll pray they're not equally atrocious. Either way, you'll hear about it.

Cheers!