The Snow Man Cometh

A lot of people have been wondering what happened to this blog, and I'm going to tell you the truth. It all started with what was possibly the worst blizzard we've seen in a decade (at the time, soon to be outdone by what just hit us this weekend and what is coming down the pike tonight). A lot of people worry about milk and bread when a blizzard comes, but these people are fools and these things are tertiary at best. Beer is all you need.

The beer I was snowed in with was "Winter's Bourbon Cask Ale." Its got a big malty flavor and the logo is a jolly snowman in dark sunglasses - what more could you ask for? Oh right - a pleasant $25 price tag on the case. What quirky local brewery was pumping this stuff out? The quirky local brewery called Michelob. Surprise!

As far as macrobrews go, Michelob is probably my favorite. But this beer is really a feather in their hat. It's got a definite small-batch feel, with lots of character and an unusual taste. The beer pours a dark caramel color, and the flavor is loaded with nutty sweetness. "Bourbon casked" isn't just a clever name either - it's right there in the taste. Bravo to Michelob for putting out a bourbon casked beer.

Ah, but how did this jolly beer lead to a month-plus disappearance of Man vs. Beer? There was a problem to being snowed in with the Snowman. Although I really liked it, I found it hard to keep pounding them down in the sort of extended drinking session that a foot of snow demands. Also, heavy snow has always made me a little cagey. If we're ever in an airplane and it goes down in the Alps, you can bet your ass I'm eating you first. For all I knew, this snow might not stop for days. The weathermen are not to be trusted.

Stuffing my pockets with a few bottles of the Snowman, I bolted for the front door, leaving my girlfriend behind in stunned silence. She'll be okay until I return, I reasoned, and doesn't have the sort of stomach for what must be done. I leap from her front porch, my fall broken by the cushion of accumulated powder, and headed east towards the corner bodega in search of sustenance. Despite the snowfall, the bodega was open. I didn't trust this - people should be hunkered down at home waiting for the end, not running corner shops! I smashed through the window. The clerk started shouting something in Spanish, but I was on him immediately. I sunk my teeth into the warm, soft meat of his throat and he was soon silent. I felt simultaneously the pangs of remorse and the jubilee of triumph - this would be enough meat to keep me through the worst of the storm at least, but what a terrible fate nature had cast upon me. I offered a brief prayer on behalf of my fallen prey, and there amongst the various Mexican candies and delicious baked goods I ate my fill of the flesh of man.

My belly full, I found the thick malty goodness of the Bourbon Cask to be ideal at washing away the heavy taste of raw meat and the metallic tang of blood. After polishing off the bottle, it was time to bring home my quarry and ensure the others trapped inside the house would have food enough to weather the storm. I rigged up a makeshift sleigh from a jacket and several loaves of bread, loaded it with the dead Mexican, and started my trek home.

I was only a few paces from the door when I heard an unexpected sound - the unmistakable drunken laughter of a group of people leaving a bar. My interest piqued, I trudged through the snow towards the sound, sled in tow. As I rounded the corner, I saw the local bar was open and crowded despite the weather. If the bar was open, what I did in the bodega was pointless. I could have just gotten a cheeseburger. And maybe some wings. What have I become? How can I live with myself?

I rushed for home, chugging another beer as my ragged sled and its grotesque charge skipped across the ground, and... are you even still reading this? This is ridiculous. I give up. I'm writing a shitty blog, not a goddam Victorian werewolf novel. Why even bother trying to write my way out of this corner? There's no point. The beer is good - if you see it in a bar grab a pint but don't rush out to buy a case. The end. I need a beer.

Montana - Not Just for Raising Dental Floss

I am a grown man with a salaried job and very little debt. Therefore I have a roommate. And my roommate's dad loves to hunt. He's killed animals in all different parts of the country, but it seems like over the past few years he has harbored a special grudge against the animals of Montana. I'm not sure what they did to him, but every few months he's packing up the truck and heading out there to settle some scores.

It's rumored that my roommate's dad was some sort of covert sniper back in '69, really out there in The Shit, and that back then he answered only to the codename Wild Boar. Having known the man for many years, I believe this is true. I also believe that he is still under contract in some sort of Blackwater alphabet soup agency mercenary troupe, and that much of the mule deer sausage I've stolen from my roommate's side of the fridge over the years has actually been made out of human flesh. Be that as it may, Wild Boar's latest trips to Montana have been rewarded with something even greater than the usual pounds of processed manburger: bottles from Big Sky Brewing Company.

Big Sky is a great microbrew with a penchant for outstanding beer names and labels. Note to wannabe brewmasters out there: it was Moose Drool's name that first caught Wild Boar's eye... and his heart. The label has a glorious illustration of exactly what you'd expect, done in a colorful retro style reminiscent of Long Trail's label art. When I first saw Moose Drool, I have to admit I didn't have very high expectations. I mean, yeah it's an ideal name for a beer, but neither my roommate nor his father are exactly beer snobs: I've seen them willingly consume Iron City. But it turns out Moose Drool's pretty good! It's not bringing anything new to the brown ale party, but it was smooth and tasty. Malt, nut, and all the typical brown ale flavors abound, plus you'll look way cooler than the average schmuck sipping a Newcastle.

Similar comments can be made of the Pig's Ass Porter, which was the clear winner of the best label contest for its well-dressed, pantless, Victorian-style pig anthromorphs crowded around an old-timey bar. I felt the porter tasted a little thin, but it was definitely drinkable. My judgment of this beer is a little jaded by my recent discovery of Troeg's Dead Reckoning porter, which my friend Nathan describes as "the Best American-Made Porter" in what might not be an overstatement. But I don't care how good Dead Reckoning is, neither the name nor the label art comes close to Pig's Ass. This beer is worth buying just for the label art, and the fact that it's tasty is pure icing on the cake.

As far as flavor goes, I found Big Sky's Troutslayer Ale to be my favorite even though the label was rather mundane. I could easily see myself knocking back a barrel of this stuff by a lake somewhere, if only it were summer and I ever went fishing. This is a beer that begs you to drink more, with a really pleasant malty wheat aftertaste that reminded me of Molson Canadian. This beer has more heft to it than Canadian, but I still think you could pound quite a few of these without feeling the bloat. It is also a considerably better beer than Molson Canadian, and it has the word 'slayer' built right into the name, which is pure metal. Although a pale ale, it tasted and felt more like a lager, and I like lagers. A lot. If you're into that bread/biscuit/delicious malted grain flavor, grab yourself a Troutslayer. Just don't grab one of Wild Boar's Troutslayer's, because you might wake up with an arrow in your chest. And then I'd probably have to eat you.

Making Enemies of Beer Snobs

I spend a lot of time on this blog making fun of light beer, and with good reason. But there is a time and a place for everything, and when it comes to playing beer pong in a smoke-filled VFW, well, a selection of fine Belgian craft ales just doesn't fit the bill. One expects such pallette-pleasers as Natty Ice or Milwaukee Beast in a setting like this, but what I found in the keg at a recent throwdown was way better than that. PBR? No - I had drank a full red Silo cup without shitting myself, so this was not PBR. And don't fret, hipsters, I'm not saying that I don't enjoy the taste of PBR; I do. Well, sort of. It just has a special way of liquefying my guts like nothing else I've ever encountered. I could probably mainline Dulcolax and fill fewer toilet bowls than I would after a sixer of PBR. It's amazing, really. But I digress.

It turns out the the ket was filled with Michelob Light. And Michelob Light made the party. Michelob Light and me, of course, because I'm a lot of fun. A whole lot of fun. As much fun as the couple sucking face at the bar we went to later that night (after getting booted from the VFW), where she had him straddled with his flannel unbuttoned to the navel and her fingers wrapped in the tight curls of his chest rug as she tried to remove his Adam's apple with her tongue. I'm that much fun, and so is Michelob Light.

The beer had that classic "drink me by the case" body and a taste that compelled me to keep washing it down. I would have guessed the ABV at 3.5, but the Great and Powerful Internets declares it 4.3, which still falls into the category of "it takes a crap-ton to get drunk off these." That can be a good thing, like when you realize that your beer pong skills are covered in about 7 years' worth of rust, but the guy you're playing against insisted all the cups be about 3/4 full and you still have 6 hours of partying left to do. On a side note, I love Beer Pong. It's a true "gentleman's sport" and if I owned a bar it would have a beer pong table.

The smooth, easy-drinking taste of McLight was just as good while inverted for a kegstand. While I realize I am about 10 years too old for that shit, but so was everyone else and I did what had to be done to make sure that barrell went back empty the next day. Speaking of the next day, despite hours of pretty focused beer consumption and sleeping in a room where a menacing, oversized toy pony stared at me all night long, I awoke with no signs of headache or hangover whatsoever. Thanks McLight - I'm going to assume this is from your superior ingredients and quality control!

I have a lot of respect for Michelob and have been a fan of theirs for a long time. AmberBock is a good, solid beer, and Shock Top is probably my favorite of the macrobrewed wheat beers. I even have to admit to having some McLights hiding out in my beer fridge at this very moment, although they're not quite so good out of the can as they were on tap. Yes, I have a collection of exquisite 750ml Belgians quietly aging in my cellar and cans of Michelob Light in my fridge. I'm versatile. But when it comes to American macrobrews, I think Michelob is an often overlooked provider of Actual Decent Beer. So next time you want to hit the clubs and do a little Jersey Fist Pumping, don't say Miller or Bud, say Michelob. Obey me without question.