At the turn of every year, the beer biz slides into a dead zone. No new
beers are released, no new brands launched, no ad campaigns mounted. Instead,
we all go home and drink a little beer. I decided to seize the
opportunity to do this and headed to the Burlingame Grocery, where I loaded
up a basket with a bounty of that most delightful of winter ales, barley
wine.
As is the case with most beer styles, the name "barley wine" is descriptive--though
whether we take the "wine" in the title to be an allusion to the strength
of the brew or to its quality is open to debate. Certainly, the alcohol
content of barley wines, ranging anywhere from 8 percent by volume to
12 percent and more, can prompt comparisons to their grapey cousin,
and indeed this is the usual interpretation. But, with their complexity
of flavor, fruity notes and smoothness, one might as easily argue that
they have some of the character of wine.
The flavors of barley wines are always intense. In order to balance
the sweetness of the malt, brewers employ lots of hops; the hop bitterness
is often barely able to compete, though, leaving one with the impression
that little was added. Abundant alcohol is also present, warming the
palate and encouraging small sips. Finally, time greatly changes the
quality of a barley wine, turning it from a biting, bitter beer to a
mellow, rich one.
Here follow the beers, from youngest to oldest.
Pike Old Bawdy, 1998
Old Bawdy has a crisp, almost raw quality
similar to that of fellow youngster Bigfoot and a kind of effervescence
that bites at the tongue. It's the lightest of body of all those sampled,
and the palate comes across with a very sharp, bitter almond note. I
detected a slight off-flavor of cabbage in the bottle I had. Though
no such flavors came through as strongly on the palate, the hot, medicinal
finish might have been related. Barley wines aren't usually at their
best so young, and Old Bawdy seemed to suffer for it.
Sierra Nevada Bigfoot, 1998
The prettiest beer of the group,
Bigfoot is a clarion ruby red in the glass. Its immense hop aroma is
detectable even inches away from the glass. Many brewers add as many
hops as they can fit in the brew kettle to battle the cloying malt,
and that seems to be the case with this green Bigfoot. Again, all the
flavors here are raw; the searing hop bitterness follows the beer from
nose to lingering aftertaste. The finish is hot and peppery, in part
thanks to the hops, but also because of the 9.6 percent alcohol. These
flavors will commingle over time, and the hops will lose some of their
intensity, resulting in a wonderful beer. Even in its youth, however,
this is a beguiling brew, something like an IPA on steroids.
I would happily drink it fresh.
Full Sail Old Boardhead, 1998
This is a '98 in name only. Aged
18 months before it's bottled, this barley wine hits the shelves pre-aged.
Still, it isn't bottle-aged, and the zesty hop aroma, almost gingery,
attests to this. The flavor hasn't arrived at the kind of mellow smoothness
I found in some of the older vintages, but this beer is surprisingly
rounded. The potent hops are sharper and more peppery than their aroma
would suggest, but the thick, rich malt competes quite ably. Finally,
the alcohol--a hefty 10.6 percent--gives additional richness and warmth.
I can't wait to see how Old Boardhead will taste in years to come.
Rogue Old Crustacean, 1994
Old Crusty is the darkest of the bunch
and pours out like syrup. I feared the worst until I tasted it. My theory
that hop bitterness mellows with time was tested with this beer, which
still has enough to pucker my mouth. It has a radioactive 120 IBUs,
so it may take a few more years for the bitterness to pale. Beyond the
hops, there is a fair amount of malting, with notes of leather and smoke,
to keep things interesting. Give it a few years.
BridgePort Old Knucklehead, 1993
In Old Knucklehead I found the
first beer truly to show its age. Starting in the sherry-like nose with
hints of chocolate, this beer is extremely rich and smooth. Very creamy,
it's a brew for malt lovers--variously smoky, nutty and chocolatey.
The hops are peppery on the sides of the tongue, but they're in the
service of the malt. With a very smooth finish and less alcohol than
you might expect, it's a wonderful sipping beer.
Eldridge, Pope & Company's Thomas Hardy's Ale, 1989
Michael
Jackson calls Thomas Hardy's an "old ale," but never mind--to the rest
of the world this is the standard for barley wines. First bottled in
1968, it's one of the beers more commonly found in past vintages, though
10-year-old examples are rare (tip: I found my 12-ounce bottle at Burlingame
Grocery for a shockingly low $5.80). It's a pretty red color, if a bit
murky, but it doesn't look out of the ordinary. Even the aromas of honey
and malt don't bode anything in particular. One sip, however, and my
tongue was dancing. To say that it's complex doesn't do it justice.
The brewery only uses two malts, but the depth of flavor is amazing,
with notes of dates, almond, plums and vanilla. It finishes with a sweet,
slightly acidic, vinous note. More than any other beer, there is a single-malt
scotch quality in this beer, a purity of barley alcohol. Extraordinary.
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Willamette Week | originally
published January 13,
1999
|
