Saison du BUFF is a collaboration between the brewers at Dogfish Head, Stone, and Victory. The three heads - Sam Calagione, Greg Koch, and Bill Covaleski respectively - formed Brewers United for Freedom of Flavor (aka BUFF) in 2003, and promptly did nothing for 7 years. Luckily, they came together again in 2010 to release this very limited collaborative brew. Let’s see how they fared…

Decanted into a small red wine glass, du BUFF pours pale copper with big eggshell pillowy head. Foam lasts and plenty of effervescence quickly rebuilds from the bottom what its losing on top. Aromas are hugely herbal. Sharp sage dominates, with some slight lemony citrus and a peppery, grassy hop somewhere in the background.
Flavor up front mimicks the aroma… spicy and herbal. sage & rosemary are present, as well as some lemon zest, basil, and even a bit of mint. Brief evergreen sweetness sneaks in on the middle of the tongue before being quelled by a peppery spice and some grassy hop character. Finish is a dry mix of the named herbs and some soapy hoppy astringence.
Alcohol is almost completely absent.
Saison du BUFF is big on the palate, but not heavy in the least. The huge spice profile, pale malt, and enormous effervescence lends a crisp refreshing mouthfeel that peels even the stickiest flavors off the tongue (Enjoying this with some leftover veal, spinach, & mozzarella… the beer is doing a wonderful job of cleansing).

Definitely a unique beer, and a successful one at that. It’s good, and not just crazy for its own sake (something Dogfish Head has a bit of a reputation for, and isn’t always the best). Bold, yet refreshing. This is one of those beers that I wish would see a more permanent rotation. Enjoy it while you can.

8.8/10

Poured into a tulip glass, Orval comes out enormously effervescent, initially almost entirely head. It settles slowly, revealing a deep golden liquid under a blanket of eggshell foam.
Aroma is tart-fruity, sour rasberry.
Flavor is markedly less sweet than aroma. Initial taste is grassy and spicy, with a definite ‘barnyard funk’. Bitter fruit rounds out the middle - lemon zest & orange rind.
A bit of tart date as the beer warms, offsetting the wild bitterness, yet overall it stays far from sweet.
Finish is super dry, with a big smack of earthy, hay-like hops and a slight medicinal tinge.
Feel is medium-bodied, though the huge carbonation gives Orval a nice fluffiness.

Not my favorite trappist, it took me a long time to warm up to Orval. I first tried it a few years ago, when I was just getting into beer. I think it was too soon. I was prepared for a big sweet Belgian Strong Dark, and instead I got a dry, hoppy, somewhat funky pale ale. Revisiting now, I appreciate it more. I appreciate the history and difficulty in producing such a complex, unique, nuanced brew, but to be totally subjective I still don’t like it all that much.
Let’s just compromise by calling it “very interesting.”

7/10

The History / The Style
The history of Anheuser-Busch has been documented enough, so I’ll spare you. ‘Chelada’ is AB’s macro take on the Michelada or Cerveza preparada, a beer-based mixed drink that originated in Mexico in the 1940’s. The name is either a portmanteau of ‘mix’ and ‘chela’ (chela, meaning ‘chill’ is a Mexican slang for cold beer) or a contraction of “Mi Chela Helada”, meaning “My cold beer.” Whatever the back story, the meaning is basically the same.
The definition of a Michelada is fairly loose, and there is no one correct version. The standard base recipe calls for beer mixed with tomato juice and lime in a salt-rimmed glass. Clamato, or a house made mix of tomato and clam / oyster broth can also be used, and adding spices such as Worcestershire, Tobasco, or chili powder isn’t uncommon.
In mexico, Micheladas are considered a good hangover remedy. Sort of a beer-based bloody mary for the working-class brunch crowd.
Anheuser Busch, always on top of their marketing, has apparently realized both the popularity of Michelada in the Latino community and the growing Latino community in the US, and saw no other option but to jump on the trend. Their version is a 4.2% ABV mix of Bud Light and Clamato (the proprietary version), with salt and lime (likely artificial) added. Seeing as a 24oz. can will set you back a measly $1.50, they’re not exactly marketing to the connoisseur crowd here.

The Tasting

Beer?

Pours translucent and fizzy… looks more like grapefruit soda than beer. Head is pillowy and white, but quickly deflates, leaving zero lacing and very little nucleation.
Smells like a bloody mary. Peppery tomato, a hint of celery even.
Immediate taste is salt water… lots of salt water. Diluted tomato soup and a brief peppery tinge push through the brine, followed by a barely detectable glimmer of that familiar spoiled bread Bud Light taste, a half-second reassurance that yes, there is beer in this. The somehow welcome adjunct-laden beer taste quickly gives way to an overly salty tomato juice finish. Aftertaste is long and acidic, inducing both a twisted facial expression and a bit of heartburn.
Mouthfeel… well I’m hesitant to hold this beer in my mouth long enough to properly gauge its feel. It’s thin, but the flavor is powerfully overwhelming. Somehow creamy and watery at the same time. My first thought upon taking a sip is how quickly I can swallow it just to get the taste out of my mouth.
I honestly don’t understand how anyone can drink this.

The Verdict
I’ve had plenty of beers that I don’t like, and a few I consider downright awful. In every one, though, I was able to see at least what the brewer was thinking, and grasp that there is indeed a market for that type of beer. With this, though, I just can’t imagine it being enjoyable. To anyone.
I’ll even go as far as to accept that there is a group who honestly enjoys a good Michelada after a rough Saturday night. I see enough weekend-afternoon Bloody Mary swillers to grasp the appeal of a good hangover cure (even though I personally don’t enjoy them). However, I can only see this mass-produced, low-cost, dare-I-say ‘corporate’ take on the style as the absolute bottom of the Michelada barrel.
Sorry if my words are a bit harsh, but I still have the taste of Cape Cod Bay at low-tide kicking around the back of my throat.

On the bright side, I no longer have to think when I’m asked “What’s the worst beer you’ve ever had?”

0/10

Hi Neighbor!

The History
Narragansett Lager began in 1890, when six business partners took a fortune made in fake-butter, built a brewery in Cranston, RI and began churning out their pale American lager. By 1914, ‘Gansett was the largest brewery in New England. Their initial success was cut short - as was the case with so many turn-of-the-century US brewers - by Prohibition throughout the 1920’s. After the 21st Amendment was passed, Narragansett was in rough financial shape, but were bailed-out by New England industrialist and awesome name-holder Rudolf Haffenreffer. Some capital, a brewery modernization, and a native-american mascot designed by a young Dr. Seuss helped save Narragansett from the fate seen by most of the rest of the beer industry post-prohibition. Growth throughout the post-war 40’s and 50’s would find Narragansett back on top of the New England beer scene, pushing past 1 million barrels a year by 1959. The next part I’m going to take verbatim from Narragansett’s ‘obviously-written-by-savvy-marketing-types’ website history, because… well, it’s awesome:
“By the mid sixties, the Narragansett Brewing Company was providing steady pay, good benefits and free beer to some 850 workers. The company culture not only spawned lifelong friendships and good times, but also encouraged beer drinking during the workday.”

Just like the BMC empire came into its current state by gobbling up smaller regional breweries during the mid-20th century, Narragansett was purchased by the rapidly expanding Falstaff Brewing Company in 1965. Ironically, Falstaff’s purchase of Narragansett spawned an anti-trust lawsuit that lasted into the mid-70’s and basically led to the company’s downfall.
Falstaff went corporate in 1975 when it was acquired by beer magnate Paul Kalmanovitz. As part of his major reorganization / consolidation of the company, production of Narragansett was moved to Fort Wayne, Indiana and the Rhode Island brewery was shuttered in 1981. A decline in quality - possibly caused by a change in the water source, but possibly by a lack of brand pride and quality control - caused sales to drop off dramatically through the 80’s, to the point where Narragansett as a brand was virtually non-existent.
Things sat dormant until 2005 when the rights to Narragansett were bought from Falstaff by former juice-guy Mark Hellendrung. Hellendrung (which is almost as fun to say as Haffenreffer, but not quite) brought back former Narragansett brewer Bill Anderson to recreate the original lager. Currently, Narragansett Lager (along with a light style, bock and porter) is contract brewed by the Genesee Brewing Company and (unfortunately only) available in New England.

So there you have it, the rise and fall and rise and fall and hopeful rise of the Narragansett Brewing Company. A bit long-winded, but I think the journey of this particular brewery is quite reflective of the state of the American beer industry throughout the 20th century. From an initial boom to the one-two punch of Prohibition and the Great Depression, through a post-war resurgence and into the corporate consolidation (and homogenization) culture of the 1970’s and 80’s, and finally into the craft renaissance we are currently enjoying. Perhaps it’s a bit romantic, but I’d call that the Great American Novel of beer.

The Style
Beer Advocate describes American lager as a “light bodied, pale, fizzy lagers made popular by the large macro-breweries of America after prohibition. Low bitterness, thin malts, and moderate alcohol. Focus is less on flavor and more on mass-production and consumption, cutting flavor and sometimes costs with adjunct cereal grains, like rice and corn.” Wikipedia is a bit more forgiving, attributing the origins of the style to the Czech Pilsner, but with a lighter color and body, and of course the use of adjuncts. Narragansett claims to use corn, which unlike rice can impart a slight flavor to the beer. This lager is 5.0% ABV, right down the middle for the style - which generally ranges from 4%-6%.

Not Oberon, just a logo glass.
Much respect to Bell’s, though.

The Tasting
Pours a clear straw color with a big fluffy inch or more of bleach white head. This is definitely a beer for a clear glass. Why let a red solo cup rob you of that beautiful clarity?
The beer smells of sweet malts and adjunct corn, not particularly strong… or appetizing
Flavor is much more enticing. Sweet malt, grains, and just a little apple. Cereal crispness. Not much for hops, but a slight spice manages to balance out the sugar.
Bubbly and light on the mouth, with a seriously clean, crisp finish. Fantastic carbonation that really holds throughout the beer.

The Verdict
This is really the only American adjunct beer that I would choose to drink. Sure, I’ll settle for a High Life at a friend’s party, or choke down a few Bud Lights after a kickball game, but if I’m going to spend money on an American Lager and afford it valuable space in my oh-too-tiny beer fridge, it’s going to be Narragansett. First of all, it’s got flavor …a characteristic missing from pretty much every other beer in the style. Yet it’s still light and crisp enough to be refreshing on a hot day or at a baseball stadium.
Small enough to technically be a craft-beer, shying away from the ubiquitous advertisements and sports-sponsorships of their BMC brethren, and devoid of the ironic hipster stigma that’s rendered Pabst Blue Ribbon a punchline, Narragansett has a welcome authenticity as a brand. And the beer ain’t half bad neither.

7/10

I’m always on the lookout for boundary pushing beers, so when I noticed a single bottle of Melchior on a shelf up in Boston a few months ago - “A belgian ale made with Mustard?!” - I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I didn’t buy it.

Upon opening, the bottle bubbled over slightly - conditioning for 6 months can do that. Decanted into a snifter, Melchior comes out a hazy burnt orange, with an enormous head that fills over half my glass in spite of my slow pour. Big soapy bubbles retreat to a healthy inch or so.
Aroma is faint. Maybe the brew needs a little time to warm (& I need a better temperature control for my fridge). Sweet malt, pepper, and what I assume to be mustard (power of suggestion?)
Yeast and spice flavor up front. Almost a wheat-like character, very bready with some bright fruit - melon, perhaps? Candi sugar is up next, which blends nicely with a very uncharacteristically big American hop taste. Bright citrus and sugar make an interesting finish. The mustard seed is sadly absent until long into the aftertaste, where a slight savory spice lingers on the back of the tongue.

Fantastic melting pot of styles - Somewhere between a Belgian strong, an English barleywine and a dry-hopped American ale. Oh, and mustard. The experiment paid off.

8.5/10