Unibroue Edition 2004

Ale on Less
Unibroue, Chambly, Quebec, Canada
750 mL corked bottle
10.5 percent Alcohol by Volume
Bottled: March 4, 2004
Sampled: March 25, 2007

As the sediment in the bottle attests, this ale sat for three years before I uncorked it on a placid Sunday. Edition 2004's body is coppery red with a thin foamy halo and innumerable flecks of yeast leftovers floating through it.

It was hardly worse for the aging.

The nose give away both an intense fruitiness and high alcohol content. The beer tastes tart, with a slight roasted feel; though not a typical pair, they dovetail nicely. The roasted flavor evolves into a slight, welcome smokiness in the finish.

Cellared beers follow wildly disparate paths, and not having sampled a younger bottle of Edition 2004, I can't compare youth and maturity.

But the overall fruitiness is intense here. It rises to a quick, effervescent crescendo in the finish, which also has notes of grain and the yeast (after 3 years on the shelf, it's inescapable).

Tastes include lemon, apple and some spiciness. You cannot avoid the sediment, but it shies away from the flavors rolling through every sip.

Edition 2004 seems to throw everything it can at the Unibroue drinker, albeit in an orderly, complementary fashion. The finish's incredible facets really round this ale out.

It's well worth the wait - what you should not do if you spy it still sitting on the beer store shelf. Three years is a world of change for a beer, and the yeast's work in the bottle pushed Edition 2004 to high regard.

Rating: 9/10

Dogfish Head Aprihop

"A serious India Pale Ale brewed with real apricots"

Dogfish Head Craft Brewery, Milton, DE
12 fl. oz. bottle
Bottled: Feb. 28, 2007
Alcohol by Volume: 7 percent
Sampled: March 22, 2007

Whew (wipe the brow) ... for a minute there, I thought Dogfish Head might have brewed it with artifical apricots, imitation apricot mystery fruit or an apricot flavor created in a laboratory.

But an IPA with real apricots mixed into the brewing process?

Don't bother telling me, brother, I'm already there.

So are the apricots, but not with the bold, tartness of a lambic; this is a much mellower ale than those naturally-fermenting freaks of beer-nature.

Aprihop has a nose far less flowery yet more fruity than a mainline IPA. Rather than pursue the "hop till you drop" mentality ruining far too many microbrewed ales, the Aprihop is well-rounded, with the hops and malt complimenting each other well. Try adding some fruit instead of shooting for the IBU ceiling, hopheads!

While the apricot flavor is not immediately apparent and mostly mild, it charges out in the finish, stepping to the front of the palette but not to an obnoxious level.

Dogfish Head's experiments are a mixed 6-pack for me, some odd and excellent (Midas Touch, 120-Minute IPA), while some receive unearned praise (Raison D'etre) or qualify as absolutely wretched (Immort Ale).

With the Aprihop, they've succeeded with a refreshing spin on the IPA formula that doesn't involve heaping gratuitous amounts of hops and malt into the brewing process.

Most beer snob won't tolerate a slice of fruit anywhere near their beer, but Aprihop should open horizons for a fruit-IPA collaboration.

Rating: 8/10

Beer snob lost in an ocean of green beer

I had to scold Jim at Bob's for what he served prior to my Smithwicks --- a pint glass of green beer.

St. Patrick's was not as hard when I chose more mainstream selections at the bar; go with the Guinness, and never go wrong.

But I make no apologies for turning up my nose at the green piss people pour down their gullets on St. Patrick's Day. If I peed in a cup and added green food coloring, would that make it Irish on this day? Because it would probably taste about the same. Sorry to get graphic, but the idea that green beer is Irish has always rankled me.

It seems as if the sole purpose is the stream of green vomit that often concludes the night of green Coors Light.

Any pale straw American lager suddenly becomes an essential part of the holiday with a pinch of green ... I'll just keep sipping my Murphy's Stout and not mention a word to these merry nowhere men (and women) about what they're missing.

For the ages

If one of these new jobs comes through, my first nonessential purchase will be a beer refrigerator.

I'm a novice at the beer cellaring game, with my cellar consisting of a few wine cases loaded with beer bottles in the rear of my coat closet. But now that I've got 17 bottles and one year of aging behind me, it's time to catalogue what I'm hiding:

The oldies (one year or more): 3 750 mL bottles of Chimay Grand Reserve, Trader Joe's 2005 Vintage Ale, Rochefort 10, St. Bernardus Abt 12

The fledglings (six months or less): Grotten Flemish Ale, Ommegange Abbey Ale, Ommegange Hennepin Ale, Ommegang Three Philosophers, Unibroue Edition 2004, Urthel Tripel Ale, Abbey Val-Dieu Brown Ale, Koeningshoeven Tripel Trappist Ale, St. Bernardus 60th Anniversary Edition Abt 12, Brewmaster's Collection Lozen Boer, Gouden Carolus Grand Cru of the Emperor 2006.

I don't know what flavorful paths these beers will take in the coming years. A bottle of Allagash Tripel Reserve I aged for a year took on a champagne-like effervescence that when combined with its standard burnt orange flavor could have stood well in for a mimosa. It's too bad I have to wait to find out.

It's Grand Cru time again

After another painful date with the Red Cross, I soothed my rage at the inept technician (this was the second-straight donation where she fiddled in my vein a little too long) with stroll through the aisles of Palmer's Beverage.

And another tradition has been upheld as a result.

With seasonal beers, they become common for rare beers like Gouden Carolus' Grand Cru of the Emperor. Gouden Carolus, or Carolus D'Or, is one of Belgium's oldest breweries, dating back to documents from 1369.

This strong and dark Belgian ale can be cellared for up to 10 years, and grows with age. It's dark fruit flavors and dryness hoist it up among Belgium's best - a bold accomplishment.

Last year I tasted the 2000 version, and have also sampled the 2004 and 2005 versions. There's subtle, tasty differences between them, and this time I plan to age one for years before touching it.

I first stumbled upon it at Sam's, the giant alcohol warehouse in Chicago, and let it sit for nearly a year before I gave into temptation. Later bottles fared less well in my beer closet (I'll post a review within a few months, once I've got a second bottle for the cellar).

Though the Grand Cru of the Emperor (brewed to honor the birthday of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, who was raised Mechelen, where the beer is brewed) can sit for a decade before drinking, it doesn't last long on the shelves.

Aventinus Weizen Eisbock Ale

G. Schneider & Sohn, Kelheim, Bavaria, Germany
Bottle # 2006/11781
11.2 fl. oz. bottle
ABV: 12 percent
Sampled: March 11, 2007

I admittedly had no clue what I got myself into by pouring Aventinus Weizen Eisbock into a glass for tasting. When I stood up after finishing and wobbled, I knew all too well.

Eisbock is created by partially freezing a bock, then removing the ice, creating a stronger, more concentrated beer. Aventinus gave no indication to alchol content on the bottle, so I had no idea I was facing a beer with an 11-12 percent ABV. According to the label, Schneider & Sohn accidently froze some Aventinus in the 30s and discovered the variant beer, but it only resurrected the experiment recently.

On first taste of this accidental brew, I prefer it to the standard Aventinus, an adventurous wheat doublebock. The molasses-filled nose is more muted, and the raging, mighty doublebock flavor is smoothed out with a more alcoholic taste.

The finish is thick and sweet, with a lemon flavor triumphing over the maltiness. Some gloppy sediment stuck the the bottle's bottom, but

I'm almost speechless with this beer. Drank with minimal refridgeration, its complexity rivals that of a strong Belgian ale (a Trappist quadruple like Rochefort 10 or Chimay Grand Reserve) yet it lacks the thicknes of those beers or of a standard doublebock. For the alcohol content, it's strangely and dangerously drinkable.

Though it's frozen under controlled brewery conditions, this Eisbock is tasty enough to make a beer snob wish winter held on a little longer. As it is, we've got a few weeks left, so track down a bottle and sip gently. Schneider & Sohn might not give up the alcohol content, but it will hit you quickly.

Rating: 8.5/10

Skunkily ever after?

Mass-produced American beer, you are dead to me - and I couldn't be happier.

But last night I discovered how much deeper it ran about two sips into a Czechvar (aak The Real Budweiser) at Bob's. It tasted pretty foul, whether from light damage allowed by the bottle's green glass or an oxidized cap.

This lager was a far scream from the tasty, hoppy version we finished in the Hotel Alfa lobby in Munich. Maybe I erred in picking the green-glass 12-ouncer over the 22-oz. brown bottle which Bob's does not stock.

I tried a microbrew, Presque Isle Pilsner from the Erie Brewing Company - something that almost qualified as local. Its buttery finish and wannabe bitter hops bouquet had me racing to finish to see if my beer reflexes had been forever ruined by Bavaria and Austria's fresh, preservative-free lagers and hefeweizens.

I had one more in me, and I wasn't going to give Blue Moon the chance to sour me on wheat beer for all time. Luckily, the Stella Artois (as Beer Advocate calls it, a Belgian beer by only the thinnest margins) on tap, served in the proper glassware put me back on track (drinking from the bottle - another habit Bavaria tore down).

So apparently, I'm down to draught beer and anything brewed locally. Glad that leaves the Elevator, Barley's and CBC as options.