Category: Drink

What you eat or drink affects your brew

In sort of a famous family incident several years ago during a get-together at a restaurant, my dad complained about the Wachusett Country Ale he was drinking. He didn’t like it. The flavor wasn’t quite right.

As the brew is one of my staples and frankly, unarguably, one of the least offensive brews on the planet, this concerned me. Was it skunked? Did the bartender accidentally give him the wrong beer? Was something wrong with my father?

After a little investigation, he admitted he had popped an Altoid just as he was drinking the beer. Look, I’m not going to question the big guy. He must have needed a breath mint. But I feel sure the brewers at Wachusett Brewing Co. didn’t brew any of their beers to be enjoyed with an Altoid.

The point is, juxtaposition matters when it comes to beer.

This is not an article about pairing food with beer. This is some commentary on at least considering how one thing might impact another. It’s also about encouraging people to give beers another shot — in a different context, you might find different results.

If you’ve had a couple rich, smooth stouts, and then you make the jump to an amped up double IPA, well, it might work but the bitterness might be a lot to take on the first sip.

Recently I was enjoying a delicious Velvet Moon Milk Stout by Mighty Squirrel Brewing of Waltham, Mass., just savoring the rich coffee flavor and decadence of the brew. Then I followed it up with a much drier stout. It was not a good experience and left me disliking the second brew. I even bad-mouthed it to a friend.

I gave the brew another shot several days later and it was a completely different, completely pleasurable experience. I’m glad I came back to it.

Juxtaposition matters, of course, when you’re making a dramatic shift from one style to another, but it also matters when you’re sticking with the same style. If you’re enjoying a bunch of IPAs, sometimes the combination of hops from the next brew can hit you right or wrong.

Food has an impact as well, potentially bringing out the right or wrong flavors from the beer you’re drinking.

Just keep it in mind. If you try a beer and you don’t like it, you might just not like it, but consider the possibility that other factors have impacted how you feel about it. Try it again in a different context.

Here are three random beers that can probably be enjoyed in succession but I don’t really know.

ArrrVP Oak-Aged Robust Vanilla Porter by Great North Aleworks (Manchester)

Great North Aleworks takes its terrific Robust Vanilla Porter (RVP) and ages it in rum oak cubes, which accentuates the vanilla in the brew and gives it a little “bite,” while the beer maintains a dry finish. At its core this is still RVP, just a little different. The ABV is pretty low at 6.6 percent, making it approachable too.

Blueberry Ale by Wachusett Brewing Co. (Westminster, Mass.)

Just a coincidence that I referenced Wachusett earlier in the piece, but when you have had more IPAs than you should, this is a perfect choice. The subtle sweetness from the blueberries and the light body provide the perfect counterpoint to all that hop bitterness.

Unraveled IPA by Founders Brewing Co. (Grand Rapids, Michigan)

This is good stuff: very juicy but also smooth, if an IPA can be that. It’s also a crystal clear pour, making it very unique for this style. It also has big citrus aromas.

What’s in My Fridge
60 Minute IPA by Dogfish Head Craft Brewed Ales (Milton, Delaware) I hadn’t had this in forever and I’ll tell you what, this brew, now nearly 20 years old, absolutely stands up to today’s super-hoppy IPAs. Cheers.

Featured photo: ArrrVP by Great North Aleworks

Early on in the Covid lockdown, I decided to take ice cream to the workers at my dump. I wanted to do something for someone in essential services and I have a lot of respect for people who do hard, thankless work.

Every week during hot weather I would swing by the general store in our town on the way to the dump and grab them some ice cream bars or cold sodas. A small gesture of thanks.0

So I was at the dump transfer station, dropping off our trash and talking with one of the guys there, telling him some sort of stupid joke, something like:

Q: Why did the dolphin flunk out of ballet school?
A: Poor poise.

My friend laughed loudly enough to get the attention of one of the other guys working behind a giant stack of cardboard.

“IS THAT THE JOKE GUY?”

“YEAH!”

“DID HE BRING ICE CREAM?”

I’d kind of like that on my grave: THE JOKE GUY. HE BROUGHT ICE CREAM.

Anyway, one of my friends at the transfer station gave me a gift one week, a 1963 copy of The Barmen’s Bible — a well-worn cocktail manual from the time when bartenders could reasonably be expected to wear bowties.

This week, I was looking through The Barmen’s Bible and ran across a drink recipe that stopped me cold. Under a section devoted to “coolers” was something called a Honolulu Cooler — a solid name. A promising name. Until you get to the Southern Comfort.

Crushed ice — check

Lime juice — check

Pineapple juice — check

Southern Comfort … ?

Really, Oscar Haimo, President of the International Bar Managers Association, circa 1963? Southern Comfort?

As my wife pointed out, though, this drink is obviously called Honolulu because of the pineapple juice. It doesn’t necessarily have anything more to do with Hawaii than that. It could have been invented in an Elks Club in Akron.

So, this is what I figured. I’d make this clearly awful drink, figure out what was wrong with it (the Southern Comfort), then reformulate it to taste better.

As it turns out, there was a flaw in that plan.

The Honolulu Cooler is a solid, tasty drink. It’s shockingly good. You would think that Southern Comfort and pineapple juice would be cough-syrupy sweet, but the fresh lime juice keeps them on a leash. “Shhhh, boys,” it says, “these are our friends; be nice.”

It is refreshing and delicious. You could easily drink an injudicious number of these.

Honolulu Cooler

Juice of half a lime, about 1 oz.

1 jigger (1½ oz.) Southern comfort

Approximately 5 oz. pineapple juice

Fill a tall glass with cracked ice.

Add lime juice and Southern Comfort

Fill to the top with pineapple juice

Stir with a bar spoon.

A little research on this drink hints that it was actually invented and served in a large hotel in Honolulu. The more I thought about it, the more this made sense. It would be incredibly fast and easy to make for wide-eyed tourists and the use of a name-brand alcohol would allow the hotel bar to bump the price by a good 30 percent.

Of course, the fact that this is a perfectly good drink already did not stop me from reconfiguring it anyway.

My version uses lime syrup instead of lime juice, which would make the drink too sweet, but I countered that with the bitterness from Campari and a bracing note from gin.

Existential Luau

1 oz. lime syrup (see below)

1 oz. Campari

2 oz. gin (I like Death’s Door)

4 oz. pineapple juice

cracked ice or tiny ice cubes

Fill a tall glass – a pint glass or a Collins glass – with ice.

Add lime syrup, Campari, and gin.

Top off with pineapple juice.

Stir with a bar spoon.

This drink is pink, but not bubble-gum pink. It’s the color of a sunset. An apricot that someone has whispered a dirty suggestion to. The color of contentment at the end of a hot, trying day. The ingredients have a tendency to separate very slightly, so the Luau starts out a little bitter-sweet, then becomes more limey as you drink it.

As do your thoughts.

Lime Syrup

Juice of 3-4 limes

An equal amount (by weight) of white sugar

Zest of 2 limes.

In a small saucepan, bring the lime juice and sugar to a boil. Stir until the sugar is completely dissolved, about 10-15 seconds, once it’s boiling.

Remove from heat and add lime zest. Let it steep for 30 minutes.

Strain the zest from the syrup, so it doesn’t get bitter.

Label your jar so you won’t have an awkward moment a week from now, when your wife wants to know what’s in that jar in the door of the fridge. Or maybe that’s just me.

Featured photo: Photo by John Fladd.

Veggies and seafood pair well with white wines

Grilled steak or spaghetti and meatballs call for a robust wine such as a cabernet sauvignon or a Chianti. Easy enough. But when the dishes are lighter fare, such as a baked or broiled fish or seafood, a salad, a cheese plate, the selection of the wine becomes a bit more complicated and can result in either a perfect pairing of flavors and richness or sheer disaster.

Often wines for these dishes tend to be white wines, although a bright, light red pinot noir or Beaujolais can be paired with some seafood, such as grilled salmon, grilled scallops and tuna, or a mushroom risotto. White wines can be light and crisp or fuller in body with some creaminess to the mouth. They span the spectrum from the dry citric notes of sauvignon blanc of Bordeaux to the less acidic notes of whites from the Venezia district of Italy, to Alsatian whites with their minerality, to California chardonnays, with their full mouth feel along with the possibility of oak.

The first wine is Bertani’s 2018 Velante Pinot Grigio (originally $14.99, reduced to $7.99, at New Hampshire Liquor & Wine Outlets). As the name suggests, this may be considered the “Italian white wine” as pinot grigio is the most imported variety of wine in America. The grape variety is indigenous to Burgundy but is now grown throughout northern Italy and has migrated to the rest of the world. In Italy it is found in Veneto, Trentino, Friuli, and south to Umbria and Emilia-Romagna. This wine is mildly acidic, with a low alcohol content of 12.5 percent. The grapes come from the Venezia Giulia region, grown vertically trellised, harvested, and fermented in steel containers for three months, followed by another three months in bottle maturation.

To the nose it has an aroma of green or golden tart apples along with the subtle sweetness of pear and peach. It remains light and crisp to the tongue and to my palate is a bit like an unoaked chardonnay. This wine is perfect with light plates like a salad with greens, oranges and nuts, or broiled fish, pasta dishes and risottos. It is a pleasure to be enjoyed when cooled to 45 to 50 degrees.

Our second wine is Substance 2019 Washington State Chardonnay (originally $18.99, reduced to $14.99 at state stores). Charles Smith, winemaker and former rock concert tour manager, respects hard work and puts that hard work into his wine. This is a chardonnay that is aromatic with some citric, apples and flowers to your nose. The mouth is rich and creamy, with oak and vanilla and a bit of yeast that you would find in a Champagne. At 14 percent it is higher in alcohol than the pinot grigio, nudging the alcoholic content of rich cabernet sauvignons.

The wine is sourced from several vineyards in the Columbia Valley, all at elevations from 1,350 to 1,650 feet above sea level. Interestingly, the high elevations allow the vineyards an extended growing season as early late-summer harvest frosts can settle into the valleys before reaching the hillsides. This results in a higher sugar content in the grape and a full, rich flavor that excels beyond the citric notes a less mature chardonnay would have. This is an excellent wine to pair with lobster or salmon, but it can also hold up to a Caesar or vegetarian Cobb salad, and perhaps a simple green salad of lettuces and herbs, with a creamy and not too acidic dressing.

Beer can be a critical component to pair with Netflix

The problem is that when one episode on Netflix ends, you’ve got less than five seconds to shut off the television before the next episode starts. If you haven’t made a conscious effort to have the remote in your hand the second the episode ends, you have missed your chance.

And once the next episode starts, forget about it.

That’s where I’ve found myself over the past couple weeks, cranking out episodes of the show Broadchurch on Netflix as if my life depended on it, as if I were playing a crucial role.

I couldn’t stop. The plot, the characters, those amazing British accents — the show had full control over me. (Did I watch it with subtitles because sometimes, just maybe, I have trouble understanding what exactly is being said with those heavy accents? Maybe. I don’t regret it.) The show first aired on ITV in Britain between 2013 and 2017.

I’m a sucker for murder mysteries, in show or book form, and I just feel that Netflix really takes advantage of me. Every night I’m thinking about how I can maximize my viewing time and considering just how much sleep I really need — or don’t need.

Anyway, binge-watching shows isn’t a new concept but I think it’s safe to say the practice has become more commonplace as we’ve all maintained a heightened state of isolation in our homes over the past year.

I think you need some beer to help you watch. Still, you can’t binge-watch an intense murder mystery show and drink a bunch of beers. Well, OK, you can — I’m not the boss of you — but the characters are relying on you to help them solve the case and you’re no help if your senses aren’t sharp.

I think you do need a little something to help you deal with the intensity. For me, that means a nice, rich stout or porter that I can sip slowly as I try to predict whodunnit. You might be in for a long night so you don’t want something that’s going to just knock you out. You just need something to take the edge off.

If you’re binge-watching something more lighthearted, like, say Schitt’s Creek, I think you can be a little more liberal with your drinking. But, frankly, I don’t think you binge-watch a comedy in the same way you just can’t stop watching something more serious. But that’s really your call.

Here are five beers to support you through your next binge-worthy show.

Smoke & Dagger by Jack’s Abby Craft Lagers (Framingham, Mass.)

This is lighter than you’d expect but it is packed with layers of richly flavored roasted malts. This is perfectly balanced and welcoming.

Geppetto by Schilling Beer Co. (Littleton)

This milk stout brewed with coffee is a decadent brew that hits you with big notes of chocolate and a little bit of roasted coffee too, as you might expect. It’s got a little sweetness as well.

Boneshaker Brown Ale by Moat Mountain Brewing Co. (North Conway)

This is a wonderful brown ale featuring notes of chocolate, roasted nuts and caramel in a fairly light package.

Maritime Lager by Newburyport Brewing Co. (Newburyport, Mass.)

You don’t have to think about this beer; you can just drink it and enjoy the show, and sometimes that’s all you need.

Oatmeal Stout with Honey by Throwback Brewery (North Hampton)

Don’t let the honey throw you off; while this has just a touch of sweetness, this beer is really all about delicious roasted malts and big notes of chocolate.

What’s in My Fridge
Budweiser by Anheuser-Busch Am I allowed to drink Budweiser without people throwing things at me? I’m not sure. It’s been a long time and the Budweiser drinking experience was pretty much as I’d remembered it — crisp, clean, not especially flavorful, but also not at all off-putting. It’s a beer. Relax, everybody, it’s a beer and it’s fine. Cheers.

Featured photo: Photo by Jeff Mucciarone.

During the 1920s and 1930s, if you were young and had the means, Paris was the place to be.

The war had ended — at least everyone thought so. In the boom times of the Roaring Twenties the arts flourished like they never had before. The French embraced jazz, experimental art and edgy literature. Unencumbered by Prohibition, Parisians were extremely open-minded about cocktails (and indeed, many other fun things as well). American authors and artists moved there in droves.

They stayed through most of the ’30s. The Great Depression hit France as hard as anywhere, but things seemed just as bad at home, and again, there were cocktails. And if you were young, and beautiful, and American in Paris in the 1920s and ‘30s, the place to be was Harry’s New York Bar, on the Rue Daunou. Hemingway drank there. George Gershwin composed An American in Paris there.

And then there were the drinks. Harry’s claims to have invented the bloody mary. Also the Sidecar and the French 75. And this one.

What’s that? What’s it called? Um — er —

HEY! Look over there! Is that an oscelot?!

Anyway, the thing to keep in mind when you are making this particular drink — Excuse me? What’s it called? Darling, let’s keep this pure and special. Let’s not complicate things with too many questions.

As I was saying, the thing to keep in mind when making this particular drink is that while it is, at its core, a relatively straightforward cocktail, it lends itself to more and more elaborate ingredients and techniques. It is easy to slip down a rabbit hole of obsession. As I did.

The Recipe:

1 1/2 ounces mid-level gin (I’ve been drinking Death’s Door lately)

1 1/2 ounces fresh squeezed tangerine juice (OK, you’re going to use orange juice. You know it. I know it. All I’m saying is that I made this with tangerine juice and it is good that way.)

1/2 teaspoon absinthe (Seriously, no more. Absinthe is a very serious player and she is not here for your nonsense.)

1/3 ounce (2 teaspoons) Oleum Saccharum — see below. (Again, let’s face reality. You’re going to read about OS, nod, then probably not make it. Admittedly, it’s a bit of a project. You can replace this with the same amount of grenadine, which will also give your final drink a lovely color.)

1 ounce lime juice (This was not called for in the original recipe, but this drink benefits from extreme cold and a little extra acidity.)

1) Shake all ingredients over ice until skull-shrinkingly cold.

2) Strain into a chilled coupé glass.

3) If you insist on a garnish, then apply one high-octane cocktail cherry with stem. (I’ve been liking Luxardo lately).

This is a lovely cocktail that looks sophisticated and paces itself well. In spite of having just a few ingredients, its flavor is complex. It takes thought and reflection to sort out the fruitiness of the juice and the licorice notes from the absinthe. It lends itself to thoughtful consumption. Is it too sweet? Is it sweet enough? Seriously — licorice? Is the tangerine juice assertive enough? Should I have gone with the orange juice that Harry suggested? What if I played around with ruby grapefruit juice? These questions are to be expected if you’ve made this well. I like to think of it as an intellectual’s cocktail.

And that, my friend, that is how you make a Monkey Gland. Yeah, I know. Would you like another?

Oleum Saccharum
Oleum Saccharum is at its heart a homemade syrup of citrus oil and sugar. It requires you to use a technique called maceration, which is not as naughty as what you’re thinking, but in this case just as self-indulgent. It is the name for extracting juice or oil from fruit with sugar.
Using a vegetable peeler — the Y kind works better for me than the type that looks like a paring knife with a glandular condition — remove the outermost layer of rind from some well-scrubbed citrus fruit. In my case, I used a combination of tangerine and lime rind. (See above.) If you can, try not to get any of the white pith that is beneath the rind; it will add a bitter note to your syrup. (Unless you’ve gotten sucked down the rabbit hole and want to play around with bitterness. In that case, you’re on your own.)
The recipes I’ve found call for 200 grams of rind to 150 grams of sugar. I never have that much fruit rind available; just use a 4:3 ratio (that’s 1 to .75). Alternately, if you are the type of person who plans and thinks ahead, you could save rind in your freezer until you’re ready to make a batch of this.
Combine the rind with sugar and let it sit for about six hours, stirring or shaking occasionally.
After letting it macerate (stop giggling), use a small funnel to pour your oleum saccharum into a tiny bottle. If you leave the rinds in the funnel to drain for an hour or so, you can get a few more precious drops. Store it in your refrigerator until you’re ready to use it.

Featured photo: What’s in a name? Photo by John Fladd.