Skunked Experiments

"This beer's been skunked!" Most of us have heard this, or even exclaimed it ourselves. There is an easy litmus test for determining whether a beer has been skunked. Smell it, and if smells of skunk, it's been skunked. But what causes it? It is intentional? How can I avoid it?

Beers can become skunked, or light-struck, when isomerized alpha-acids (which derive from hops) are exposed to visible or ultraviolet light. There is no other way for a beer to get skunked. Fluctuating temperatures cannot do it, and while some brewers try to produce this skunk aroma and flavor, they don't get there by skunking their beers.

Skunking happens when these acids react with light and sulfur-containing proteins in the beer that creates 3-methyl-2-butene-1-thiol, a stinky sulfur chemical that is exactly the same chemical a skunk produces to make it's awful olfactory defense. So to keep your beer from getting skunked, simply ensure that it doesn't get exposed to light. It sounds simple enough. Kegs and cans, being impenetrable to light, offer the only real protection. Brown glass bottles absorb most of this deleterious light, protecting the beer inside adequately well. Green bottles only absorb green light, leaving the rest of the spectrum to penetrate and skunk the beer. White bottles offer virtually no protection, and are by far the worst option for beer.

So why don't brewers eliminate green and clear bottles? Because their customers are accustomed to the existing colors. And who would trust a Heineken in a brown bottle? (See below)

So brewers come up with other methods to hide their skunky beers. Some try to hide the skunkiness, while others alter the chemistry of the beer itself. Just think about all the beers you know that are served in clear bottles. Take Corona, which is typically served ice cold in a clear glass bottle with a lime jammed into the top. The ice cold temperature hides the taste of the beer, and the lime jammed in the bottle prevents the smell from escaping and masks the taste. It's almost as if they don't want you to smell or taste their beer. But, honestly, I've never had a Corona, so you can all be your own judge on that. Another method to avoid skunking is practiced by the Miller Brewing Company. They have replaced hops with tetra-hops, which are chemically different from normal hops and cannot be light-struck.

If you really want to experience the full range of skunkiness, you can try what I did. I purchased a six-pack of Heineken in the trademark green bottles, a six-pack of Heineken in the funky shaped cans, and a six-pack of the Heineken Dark Lager (in those sketchy-looking brown bottles) for good luck. The Heineken bottles were stored at the store in a well-lit case, which almost certainly already initiated the skunking process. I took them home, put five of them in our dark mini-fridge, and one on our window sill to get truly skunked.

Come Friday night, myself and three others are prepared to explore the skunky world of Heineken. We started with the green bottled variety, poured into pilsner glasses to showcase the color. Before sipping, we passed the brews around for each other to smell. When you drink Beer with Ben, that's the type of experience you'll get. Of the four, only one did not have any appreciable amount of skunky aroma. My beer was a typical, slightly skunked, yet still drinkable Heineken. It had both a nice hoppiness and bitterness, but the skunk flavor overwhelmed the other flavors.

We moved on to the canned variety, and one of us commented in surprise, "It's a different drink entirely!" The difference was obvious; the skunk smell and flavor were completely gone. The hops and slight bitterness were now the primary flavors, and while it still is a somewhat restrained pale lager, it was absolutely a step up from the bottled variety.

Before we dared open the window-sill bottle, we tried some of the Heineken Dark Lager. It poured surprisingly dark, and smelled of roasted malts and hops. Most of us in attendance were stout fans, so we all liked this Dark Lager over the previous Heinekens. But if we were faced with almost any other stout or stout-like brew, we would surely choose that over the Heineken Dark Lager.

Finally, we were prepared for the window-sill bottle. I poured it into a pint glass and it looked the same as the other bottled Heinekens, but the skunk smell was immediately apparent. We passed the glass around, hesitantly sniffing with pained looks on our faces. Even the non-beer-drinkers in attendance took a whiff, and were repulsed. Those daring enough to sip it were glad their previous beers weren't stored on our window sill, as the skunk taste really overwhelmed and ruined the beer.

So don't let people tell you that beers are supposed to be skunked. It might be expected in some instances, but people are not naturally attracted to this flavor. If you've developed a taste for skunked beers, then by all means continue drinking them. Just not within smelling range of me and my beers.

Young's Double Chocolate Stout and Peg Leg Imperial Stout

If you like the stouts featured last week, but are looking for more of an extreme experience, there are three stouts that I think are good for you. T tried an Oatmeal Stout, a Sweet Chocolate Stout, an Imperial Stout, and a recreation of a Scottish Seaweed Ale, while not technically a stout, fits in with these others quite nicely.

The oatmeal and chocolate stouts are both creations of Young & Co.'s Brewery in London. The Oatmeal Stout was brewed with oats to give in a nice, smooth feel and a slightly sweetened taste. Coming in at 5.4% ABV, the stout is a good one, but I'd rather have Young's Double Chocolate Stout.

This one clocks in at 5.2% ABV, and has a wonderful smooth and chocolate taste. The additional sugars counter the generally roasted malt character that gives stouts their signature taste, but not enough to eliminate it entirely.

I'll include the Peg Leg Russian Imperial Stout, brewed by Clipper City Brewery in Maryland. Right from the beginning, I could smells the malts and the alcohol. It tastes more smooth and with a more roasted malt flavor, the Peg Leg ends up being a very good stout. A good counterexample of what a stout can be; rather than sweet and chocolaty, it's malty and one can really taste the alcohol.

To wrap things up, I'm going to include a non-stout, but I think it is of the same family. When I saw a Kelpie Seaweed Ale at Beers of the World in Rochester, I knew that I had to try it, simply for the sake that it was made of seaweed. Upon further inspection, I learned that this Scottish Ale was brewed as the ancient Scottish brewed their ales, with their barley grown in seaweed beds. It gives it a distinctive, and hard to define, taste. It had a bitterness that resembled a good dark chocolate, but also some of the smooth and deep roasted malt flavors. Since it clocked in at 4.4% ABV, it is only fitting that it comes in a 500 mL bottle.

On a more pressing note for all microbrewery beer lovers, we will be facing a boost in prices for our microbrewery beers in the next couple of months. It is largely due to the fact that the recent increase in demand for corn ethanol is causing some farmers to grow corn rather than barley or hops, which in turn boosts the prices of these crops.

That means that there are less hops in the market, which means that some breweries may not be able to purchase the hops they have in the past, or at least not at the same prices as they have before. For us, the end result is a boost of about one dollar on a six pack of microbrewery beers. Now, that's not enough to cause massive disruption of our drinking habits. Those of us who like hoppy beers are not going to change our ways with a price boost like this. However, it does show how vulnerable our overall agricultural system is, and how a disruption in one sector has alter the prices and availability in another.

Next time: when skunked is good and when skunked is bad.

Golden Monkey - by Victory Brewers

Bought individually because of the winning beers produced by Victory Brewers (HopDevil and StormKing Stout), I had high hopes for Golden Monkey. I am not disappointed. Very cloudy, golden yellow (like a golden monkey!) with the bottom of the bottle pouring with darker brown sediments. Smells a little malty, more spicy, and not particularly hoppy. Tastes of strong malts, and that same orange peel and coriander that I liked so much about the Magic Hat trial beer. The strong malt flavor completely hides the 9.5% ABV, which is impressive.

It is a Tripel, which gets its name from the fact that they use more than three times the usual amount of malts than usual. Tripels are usually sweet, malty, spicy, and sometimes high in bitterness, although (according to Beer Advocate) the bitterness flavor is often hidden by the malts and hops.

It is a good beer. I will buy it again.

Guinness Extra Stout and Rogue Shakespeare Stout

Most American beers are designed to be thirst quenching, consumed relatively quickly and in large quantities. You see this in the ads and commercials and general drinking habits of most Americans. This is all well and good if you are playing beer-pong or other alcohol oriented games, but the beer styles that are appropriate to this environment pale in comparison to truly worthwhile beers.

And they especially pale in comparison to stouts. Looking at a pint of stout is like looking at a pint of press pot coffee: black with a deep brown foamy head. They generally smell of malts and have a deep and almost burnt grain aroma. And they all have a similar, roasted or burnt taste, due to the use of roasted barley, rather than malted barley. The American stouts can sometimes have a hoppy flavor, or they can echo the bitterness found in good coffees. Many have a deep, hidden chocolate flavor and some actually have chocolate as an ingredient. This week, I'm going to look at two epitomic stouts: Imported Guinness Extra Stout and Rogue Shakespeare Stout. Next week will feature more specialty stouts, and true chocolate stouts.

The Guinness Stouts are brewed in Ireland, and are by far the most popular and most common stouts available. You can find them in almost every bar, pub, or restaurant, bottled or on tap, and can be found at any beer store and at most grocery stores. The Guinness Extra Stout is an Irish Dry Stout, which is lighter than the typical stout, but it retains all of its good qualitie. It comes in a 12 fl. oz. bottle, and looks, smells, and tastes like a stout should: black with a deep brown head and smooth, roasted and slightly bitter. The Guinness Extra Stout is lighter that most stouts, which gives it a high drinkability and increases its popularity. This is why it melds perfectly with the atmosphere of bars, pubs, or festivals. It's a good stout for those of you who haven't tried stouts before, and is an old, reliable beer for almost every occasion, in every setting.

The Rogue Shakespeare Stout, brewed in Oregon by Rogue Ales Brewery, stands at the other end of the stout spectrum. The bottle was almost twice as big as the Guinness bottle (in fact, I’m pretty sure if you could bend space and time you could fit the Guinness bottle inside the Shakespeare Stout bottle). The smell is more intense, with chocolate and malt and that roasted smell that makes stouts so darn good looking.

The head on this Shakespeare Stout was remarkable. It was a deep, chocolate brown with a hint of red, and reminded me exactly of a good cup of press pot coffee. The stout tasted of roasted, almost burnt malts, some alcohol, and a slight flavors of chocolate and hops. The flavor of this stout was so powerful as to require only small sips at a time, the quintessential sipping beer. Coupled with the large bottle size, this beer lasted me all night long.

I want to exemplify by comparison the differences between stouts and the typical college beer. College beers are often consumed in those red plastic cups, and beer presentation plays no part in this environment. Stouts, on the other hand, when poured properly in a pint glass, with proper pouring to accentuate the deep brown head, is an experience in and of itself. As for using stouts in a game of beer pong: blasphemy! The mere thought makes generations of brewers weep.

So I implore you, next time you have a stout, be it the reliable Guinness or a specialty stout, do not drink it out of the bottle. Do not drink it out of plastic cups. Pour it lovingly, and carefully, into a clear pint glass or stein, savoring the beauty of its black body and brown head. So smell it first and sip it slow.

Blue Moon, Full Moon: Why Molson Coors isn't necessarily being deceitful

When I say Blue Moon, what's the first thing that comes to mind? For some, maybe the second full moon in a month, but for most of you, it is the beer served with a slice of orange in a pilsner glass. Labeled as a Belgian-style wheat ale, it is a good example of a witbier (white beer) with its cloudy appearance, orange and coriander taste and smell.

Now, who brews and distributes Blue Moon? The bottle and website (www.blumoonbrewingcompany.com) both claim it is the Blue Moon Brewing Company, but nowhere on the bottle or on the website will you find the name of the true brewer: the Molson Coors Brewing Company.

This isn't an accident, Molson Coors doesn't want you to know that it makes Blue Moon. It's their attempt to cut into the craft beer market, by downplaying the inclusion of their name in anything associated with the beer. Now they're not being deceitful (depending on how you define the word), they're just not providing you with information most of us don't care about.

Similarly, that iconic orange slice that comes with the beer is also a gimmick, not necessarily deceitful, but certainly skirting the edges of honesty. It was the idea of Keith Villa of Moslon Coors that thought people would purchase their beer more if it was advertised and served in bars with a slice of orange. It even says so on the bottle, “Bring out Blue Moon's natural spices by serving it in a Pilsner glass with an orange-slice garnish.”

Citric acid tends to destroy the beer's head, and is not needed to enhance the flavor of the beer. But people associate Blue Moon with a slice of orange, Keith Villa's gimmick worked, and Moslon Coors sold nearly half a million barrels of Blue Moon last year.

Now, I would probably be angrier if I didn't like this beer. It is refreshing, tastes of citrus and coriander with a little hoppy bitterness, and is readily available. Try it if you haven't already, or if there are slim pickings for alternatives. But forget the orange slice.

Luckily for me, Molson Coors gives me a reason to get angry: their Full Moon Winter Ale. “An Abbey ale...brewed with roasted malts and Dark Belgian sugar for a perfectly balanced taste,” they advertise on the bottle. This time, Molson Coors it trying to get a cut of the Belgian beer lover market.

It looked good when I poured it, with a dark red or amber appearance, minimal head, and smelling tantalizingly like malts.

Sadly, it falls far short of being a decent Belgian beer. It smells and tastes slightly malty, increasingly as it warms a little, but does not approach the sweet, malty level of good Belgian beers. I was disappointed, especially since I liked their Blue Moon. It seems that Molson Coors wasn't willing to stretch too far from their mainstream beer roots, and it really shows in this beer. All it really did for me was make me want a real Belgian Beer.

Molson Coors has other seasonal beers, including a Spring Ale with lime, an Autumn Harvest Moon Ale which is flavored with pumpkin, and a Honey Moon Summer Ale. I'd be willing to give them a try, but I'm not going to hold my breath with the knowledge that it's a Molson Coors beer, and when I know that the actual beers they are trying to mimic are out there.

Next week, I'll try out some stouts.

Why Germany's Reinheitsgebot is Oh, So Good.

Just like last week's Belgian beers, this week's German beers have a fascinating and delicious history. And I'm thankful that I don't have to read this to anyone, because I would fail miserably at a majority of the pronunciations. I got a hold of two Bavarian Lagers, both brewed by Privatbrauerei Franze Inslkammer in Aying, Germany. They both follow the rules set by German law in 1516, called Reinheitsgebot, which promulgated that only water, barley, and hops was allowed to be used in beer production. This was a regulatory law, intended partly to reduce competition within Germany between brewer and bakers. Wheat and rye were used in beer production, but were also used by bakers in their bread making. Not wanting bread prices to rise too high, barley was declared to be the only grain allowed in the making of beers.

For those of you who have read this column in the past, you'll notice that there is one primary ingredient not mentioned as allowable under the Reinheitsgebot. Come on, I'm sure you know what it is. Anyone? Bueller? It's yeast. Without yeast, there will be no alcohol production, or carbonation, or beer, for that matter. Now for some bonus points, who first discovered the existence of microorganisms, and therefore yeast, and when? Now I know it's a beer column, but I don't want to insult your intelligence. It was Louse Pasteur in the 1860s. When Reinheitsgebot was written, no one know that yeast existed, or that they were a critical part of brewing. Instead, all that German (or any other) brewers knew was that they needed to either take some sediment from their last batch to their new batches, or simply let the vats sit for awhile (this allowed natural yeast to settle in and bloom). Once yeast's function was known, Reinheitsgebot didn't change, but neither did the German methods of beer production. They just now knew what they were doing.

The first German Bavairan lager I tried was the Ayinger Jahrhundert Bier, which is a light Munich Helles Lager (“helles” is German for “bright”). This beer, like other beers discussed here, is a response to new beers being produced in other countries. In this case, in the mid-1800's, München brewers feared market usurpation from Czech lagers, so they responded by creating the Munich Helles Lager. Slightly more malty than their feared competition, and tasting light, smooth, and relatively uninteresting, the Helles Lagers are, while still good, not the best beers to come out of Germany.

I then tried a Ayinger Altbairisch Dunkel, which is a Munich Dunkel Lager. Unlike the “bright” lager above, the Dunkel Lager is dark, beautifully brown, and deliciously malty. With a good balance of bitterness and sweetness, and tiny hints of more complex flavors, the Altbairisch Dunkel is a great purchase, and I will certainly get it again. It's flavors are well balanced, and it is a very smooth, enjoyable, and satisfying (and in no small part to the fact that it comes in a 500 mL or 16.9 fl. oz. bottle).

So if you don't like hops, I would recommend giving a good, hard to pronounce German beer a shot. It will at least make you think twice before you chug down some sad, desolate, light American lager.

[Footnote: There is a correction on last weeks column. I stated that IPAs took a trip across the Pacific Ocean to reach Belgium from the United States. But indeed, as we all should know, the Atlantic Ocean lies between us and Europe. Whoopsie.]

Hop Devil and Urthel Hop-It

The history behind India Pale Ales (IPAs) is long and fascinating, and are of particular interest to hopheads like myself. Originally brewed in India in the 1700s, these IPAs were shipped by boat to England. Since they didn't have refrigeration, they needed some alternative to keeping the beers from spoiling. Their solution was hops and alcohol, which both prevent microbial growth. Since then, IPA breweries left India, set up shop in England, withered and almost disappeared, and then experienced a resurgence in the USA.

The Dogfish Head IPAs discussed last week are the extreme result of IPA development in the United States, being referred to as American Double or Imperial IPAs. More common, and generally more popular, is the American IPAs. In this category is my current all time favorite beer: the HopDevil IPA. Brewed in Pennsylvania by the Victory Brewing Company, the HopDevil is, as the name implies, a very hoppy beer. It has a deep reddish appearance and smells overwhelmingly of hops, and I am disheartened to find that I only have one of these treasures left. To make matters worse, I am unable to find HopDevil in the Potsdam area. Perhaps a road trip is in order.

Drinking this beer is like being walloped in the face by a kangaroo. Small at first, but then coating your entire mouth and throat, the hop flavor is the primary and almost exclusionary character in this beer. It sticks to the top and back of your mouth and throat, and has excellent aftertaste. Slightly more refined than the Dogfish Head IPAs, HopDevil remains, in my opinion, the best of the American IPAs.

However, the IPA story gets even better. As if the history of IPAs wasn't exiting enough, moving from India to the UK, where it almost withered away, and then being revived by America, IPAs tooks one more trip across the Pacific Ocean to Belgium.

Belgium itself has a wonderful beer history. In 1919, the Vandervelde Act prohibited spirits from being sold in Belgian pubs. In response, Belgian beer brewing exploded with high-alcohol beers. Although the Vandervelde Act was eliminated in 1983, Belgian beers continue to be generally high in alcohol content, and are often considered some of the best beers in the world.

After seeing the success of American and Double IPAs in the USA, Belgian began brewing their own brand of hoppy beers for the US market. Dubbed Belgian IPAs, they are generally more refined with the high-quality Belgian malts, which adds more complicated alcohol flavors and aromas. I got my hands on some Urthel Hop-It, brewed by De Leyerth Brouwerijen (Urthel) brewers in Belgium. And representative of the Belgian IPA style, this beer has a high ABV of 9.5%, and has a more complicated and malty flavor than American IPAs. You must be careful when you pour any Belgian beer; I wasn't careful and ended up with 2 inches of beer and 3 inches of white frothy head. The head looks and smells wonderful, and seems to stick to the sides of the glass forever. The beer itself is light brown, slightly cloudy and tasting of equal part hops and malt. As with other strong hoppy beers, this beer is another treasure, meant to be enjoyed slowly. An important thing to note is that many of the tastes in beer are masked by ice cold temperatures. With all of these hoppy beers, the hop and alcohol taste becomes more prominent the less frigid it gets.

The Urthel Hop-It is the best of both Belgian and American beers, as usually happens with hybrid efforts. However, considered too hoppy for the hard-core Belgian beer drinkers, Urthel Hop-It is primarily sold in the United States. I hope to get my hands on some more Belgian beers in a few weeks, so we'll explore Belgian beers more thoroughly later.

For next week, I'll be taking a look at German beers and their Reinheitsgebot.

Dogfish Head 60, 90, and 120 Minute IPA

For the next two weeks, I am going to review and examine beers that showcase the power of hops. Before I can explain why hops are important, I need to quickly run through the process it takes to make beer. Beer has four ingredients: grain, water, hops, and yeast. There ingredients combined in a complicated process, but in general, beer is made by first taking the starches in malted grains and converting to fermentable sugars. This first step results in what is called mash. The mash is then boiled and hops are added and the mixture is now called wort. The wort is then separated from solids, yeast is added and the mixture is allowed to ferment, in which the yeast converts the sugars to carbon dioxide (for carbonation), alcohol, and flavor. The process is more complicated that, and variations in the process result in the large variety of beers that exist today.

The hops play their largest role in the boiling process, where hops are usually added twice, at different stages of the boil. First, they are added at the beginning and the boiling extracts the acids from the hops and provides flavor, which is generally bitter. Hops are added again towards the end of the boil to either add more flavor or aroma, depending on many different factors. There are significant variations to this process, but for our purposes, that's all you need to know.

The longer the hops are allowed to boil, the more bitter the beer. As a hophead, I particularly enjoy hoppy beers, and the penultimate hop experience comes from the Dogfish Head Craft Brewery. They have a variety of India Pale Ales (IPAs) that showcase the differences in hop intensity. I bought the 60 Minute, 90 Minute, and 120 Minute IPAs, which specify the length of time that the hops were allowed to boil. For a 12 oz. bottle of these three IPAs, the 60 Minute set me back $2.85, the 90 Minute cost $3.85, and the 120 Minute cost $10.85 (the reasons for this price difference will soon become abundantly clear).

Everything about these beers is sequential. First boil time, then cost, and also flavor, color, aroma, and alcohol content. Lined up in a row in glasses, the color rangers from light amber-orange for 60 minute, dark orange-red for 90 minute, and a brownish-red for the 120 minute. The ABV was 6%, 9%, and 21% respectively, the hop flavor was mild for the 60 minute, intense, but very satisfying for the 90 minute, and extreme for the 120 minute.

For me, the 60 minute wasn't hoppy enough. Don't get me wrong, it is a good beer, in fact better than most beers out there. But I like my beer with a strong flavor that coats the mouth and throat, and lingers well after the beer is swallowed. The 60 minute did not provide this; the hop flavor was there, briefly, and weakly, and then was gone. If you haven't tried many hoppy beers, or aren't particularly fond of hops, then I would recommend trying the 60 Minute IPA.

But if (when) I buy these again, I will buy the 90 Minute and 120 Minute IPAs, and not the 60 Minute. The 90 Minute IPA is pretty much a perfect beer. Great taste, excellent hop flavor and aroma, excellent color, just the right amount of lingering aftertaste, just a hint of the alcohol, and not too expensive.

However, the 120 Minute IPA deserves special attention. Expensive, available in limited quantities, and with a ABV that could classify it as a light liquor, it almost transcends what could be considered a beer. As the name implies, the wort was boiled for two hours, whilst being continuously inundated with hops chosen for their bitterness, and then, and this is the clincher, the beer dry-hopped daily for one month and then aged for another month. Dry hopping is one of the variations on the typical brewing process, where hops are added after the beer has fermented and been cooled. Dogfish Head Craft Brewers advertised the 120 Minute IPA as the “Holy Grail for hopheads”, and is wonderful, in small amounts and on special occasions. The high alcohol content is obvious when tasted, and the overall effect was almost too much. Almost, but not quite. I want to applaud the Dogfish Head Craft Brewers for their magnificent creations.

Once you've tried the 90 Minute and 120 Minute IPA, you'll find it difficult to return to the ever-present and ever-disappointing light beers you've most likely consumed in the past.

But here's a twist: if I was forced to make a choice (what a horrible choice it would be!) between hoppy beers, I would pick two other hoppy brews over this week's selection. These two will be featured next week.

Magic Hat

Hocus Pocus. Circus Boy. #9. Summer Mystery. What do these all have in common? If you actually read labels before you gulp them down, then you would probably recognize these as the four beers found in Magic Hat Brewery's Summer Variety Pack. The next question is then, can you identify the differences? What distinguishes on from the other? Are any of them actually worth consuming?

I had the privilege of visiting the Magic Hat Brewery this summer, located in a corner of South Burlington, Vermont. The building looks like a factory that has been raided by overzealous art students, and the inside feels like some real-life version of the Nightmare Before Christmas. If you can make your way through all of the merchandise, including backpacks, playing cards, and condoms, you'll find the beer sampling station. It is here that Magic Hat tests its new creations, and I was pleasantly surprised with several of these unusual brews. My personal favorite was an experimental beer with coriander and orange peels, which has a taste approaching that of a good tea. Sadly, it is doubtful that this beer will ever be circulated, but I still figured that the Summer Variety pack was worth a shot.

I will go from lightest to darkest beers, and start with the seasonal Hocus Pocus. Magic Hat advertises it as “equal parts delirium and divine intervention.” Sadly, this description has nothing to do with either taste, appearance, or quality of the beer. Yhe Hocus Pocus beer is actually a typical American Pale Wheat Ale. Made with pale and wheat malts, this beer has moderate bitterness, and only a slight taste of fruit. I find this beer unsatisfying at best, and a waste of time at worst.

Next up, and only slightly more satisfying is the Circus Boy beer, available year round. Yet another American Pale Wheat Ale, the big difference is that this one is left unfiltered, giving it a slightly cloudier appearance. It tastes, again, moderately bitter with small traces of flavor, this beer is ultimately flat and unsatisfying. If you've had either of these beers before, you've probably forgotten, and for good reason. Both these beers clock in between 4.5% and 5.4% alcohol by volume (ABV), putting them on par with the multitude of forgettable beers that lack flavor and craftsmanship.

Next up is the #9 beer. Advertised as a beer whose “mysterious and unusual palate will swirl across your tongue and ask more questions than it answers.” And what's up with the name? Magic Hat Brewers respond with “Why #9? Why indeed.” Returning to reality, #9 does taste unusual, with a difficult to define fruitiness. And this makes sense, being that it is a Fruit Beer, where fruits are added to overpower the bitterness or hoppiness that would otherwise dominate beers like this. Apricot is the dominant fruit, with traces of other, less easily defined fruits as well. This beer is much more satisfying than the American Pale Wheat Ales, but is ultimately too weird for its own good.

The final beer included in the Variety Pack is the Summer Mystery Beer. Significantly darker than the others, with flavors that linger in the mouth, this beer is almost worth the fancy labeling and overly creating advertising that Magic Hat packages it in. Classified as an American IPA, it has resounding citric and herbal flavors, complimented by a malt base. And clocking in at 7.5% ABV, the Magic Hat Brewers have stumbled upon something that is original, and almost worth drinking.

So overall, the Magic Hat Summer Variety Pack was nice, but disappointing. There are so many other good beers out there, some of them brewed by Magic Hat, that I almost felt cheated. As for their confusing and meaningless descriptions of their beers, I feel like the only people who can truly appreciate their meaning are those who came up with them in the first place.

Next week: Hophead Heaven.