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Dumb Beer Marketing of the Week: Beck’s Vier

19 Nov

“Beck’s Vier: German precision at 4%.”

WTF?

This advertisement is all over London now. I can’t understand how or why this would make anyone want to drink Beck’s Vier. The sleek, vaguely industrial-looking glass of beer is in no way enticing. Drinks are supposed to look delicious and perhaps refreshing, not aerodynamic. And “German precision”? I can understand the concept behind this, that of associating German beer with a generalized idea of German quality derived from Germany’s reputation for engineering… but wow, that’s quite a stretch. Besides, when was the last time you took a sip of German beer and exclaimed, “Wow, that’s so well engineered!” or “Mmm… now that’s precise.”

I mean WTF?!

Marketing idiocy rating:

Two Budweiser Frogs.

Carlsberg Special Brew

18 Nov

Chocolate stout with Danish marzipan, Vienna lager with Norwegian salmon, smushi… I can’t keep up this level of pretension forever!

So tonight, after a somewhat stressful day at work (i.e., at home), I opened the fridge and pulled out the least classy thing therein, the last of the super lagers that our friend had brought over last week: Carlsberg Special Brew. The tallboy that contains this barely-drinkable ogre of a beer comes dressed in a charming San Francisco 49ers uniform: gold and maroon and ugly enough to be a fashion accessory for Brooklyn hipsters. It still boasts the same dubious endorsement that all Carlsberg products boast: “by appointment to the Royal Danish Court.” I wonder if the regents of Copenhagen know what kind of crime and destruction they’re party to on the streets of London via this foul and exceedingly inexpensive lager.

Just like Super Skol and Tennent’s Super and other super lagers, Special Brew is weirdly good-looking, strawberry blonde wtih a bodacious plaster-white head. Good retention, espceically for the style, the ABV, and the glass I poured it into.
It smells (or perhaps stinks) of adjuncts and impure alcohol, full of corn, honey, and apple juice, and it wins points for an absence of skunky or sulfuric notes. On the palate it is light and beery with a grimace-inducing undertow of rough fusel alcohol.

Special indeed.

For Dessert: Svaneke Choko Stout and Marzipan

17 Nov

Chocolate stouts are some of the most sublime drinks on planet earth. They are ever so decadent, so sweet and yet so sophisticated. If memory serves, I’ve never met a chocolate stout I didn’t like – I adore the offerings from Young’s, Rogue, Stone, Ommegang, Amber, Sanktgallen, and now Svaneke.

It smells of malted milk, toffee, butterscotch, vanilla, figs, and chocolate chip cookies. I tastes of espresso, dark chocolate, grapefruit, and caramel. It is sweet but well-bittered with burnt grain and hops; it is exquisite!

Beer geeks often recommend chocolate stouts, or any rich, sweet stouts, as a pairing for chocolate. Personally, I think this convention ought to be called into question. Sometimes the pairing works beautifully, but in my experience, more often that not the chocolate in the beer and the chocolate in the dessert cancel each other out, interrupting the overall impact of both food and drink. It’s akin to Pollock’s turbulent masterpiece, “Choko Convergence.”

Just like our sense of sight, our sense of taste responds to contrasts and struggles with similitudes. When you pit chocolate against chocolate, they lose focus, they get all muddled up and sometimes even clash. So I tend to avoid pairing chocolate stouts with actual chocolate. Instead, I pair them with foods that are quite different but still complementary, like desserts based on vanilla, nuts, berries, or caramel, or even strong cheeses. Tonight, I’m drinking Svaneke Choko Stout with Danish marzipan, and the match is superb! The sweetness in the marzipan contrasts with the beer to emphasize its bitter cocoa and coffee notes, while the beer somehow makes the marzipan taste more nutty, more like actual almonds. The taste sensation is something like Klimt’s classic “Choko Kiss.”

(With apologies to Pollock and Klimt.)

Speaking of Smørrebrød: Svaneke Classic

17 Nov

svanekeclassic

“Caramel. It’s all about the caramel, Tim.”

This is what my flatmate said after taking a first sip of Svaneke Classic, a smooth, easy-drinking, copper-colored Vienna lager. And he’s right: upon tasting this beer, it becomes obvious how caramel malts got their name. Buttery and bittersweet, it almost tastes like a flan – but one spiked with resinous, leafy hops with a cress-like bitterness. Though the style is Austrian, the character is more British; in fact, I initially thought it was an ale. Full flavored and savory but dry in the finish, this is a superlative choice for pub grub – or, better yet, traditional Danish food.

I received a package of delicious Danish food that I had ordered off the internet last week, and on Friday I decided to prepare a feast of smørrebrød for my flatmates and myself. The table was set with pickled herring, salmon from Scotland and Norway, sausage from Germany and Sweden, fresh dill and chives, two Danish cheeses, remoulade, Svaneke beer mustard, raw onions, capers, butter, and of course, the staple rugbrød. It was a glorious spread… but one of diverse flavors, difficult for pairing. Could Svaneke Classic rise to the challenge?

Amazingly, the beer’s caramelized malts and crisp, green hops linked up nearly perfectly with everything on the table – including both kinds of fish, which is no mean feat! In a way, the hops have an almost dill-like quality: leafy, fresh, and delicate enough not to make the salmon or the herring taste fishy. I was very impressed, especially since I had never considered Vienna lagers as a potential match for seafood.

What a delightfully versatile beer! I look forward trying it again with all manner of food.

Skol Super

13 Nov

skol

Great Britain’s answer to malt liquor is the super lager: industrially brewed, adjunct-laden beasts that attempt to disguise very high percentages of rotgut under a veneer of pilsneresque refreshment. In my review of Mocne, a Polish example of the super lager style, I wrote:

The problem with this style is that it was basically developed to try and answer the demand for beer that will get you drunk fast, slake your thirst, and cost you next to nothing.

In trying to answer this demand, flavor falls by the wayside. The best you can realistically expect from a super lager, is a beer that will give you a buzz after one pint without making you cringe.

Tonight we had a friend over, and he brought over a delightful selection of swill for us to try, including Tennent’s Super and Carlsberg Special Brew. I reached for the Super Skol because I’d never had it before – there was Red Stripe as well, which I like, but I cannot resist an opportunity to try something new. (It’s a compulsion.) As it turns out, Super Skol is just about as good as it gets when it comes to super lagers. It only made me cringe a few times.

Many of these strong European lagers are way more attractive than they need to be, considering most people will just glug them straight out of the can anyway. Skol Super is no exception: clear and sort of amber-gold with a fairly large, sturdy white head. It smells mostly of corn and vodka; the closest thing to praise that I can give it is that it’s not off-putting. Sweet on the palate with sugar and caramel corn, a bit of odd pear-like fruitiness, and a medicinal surge of alcohol, which makes up almost a tenth of the beer’s volume. Dry and soapy in the finish with a quinine-like aftertaste.

It’s not bad for what it is, really, but it’s still a good reminder that I should just save my money and my liver and drink better beer. The can virtuously orders: “ENJOY RESPONSIBLY.” Is that even possible?

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