The Session #1: Left Hand Milk Stout

The SessionHope you’re in a stout mood today, because you’re going to read a lot about them in various blogs in the first round of The Session. The theme today is “Not your father’s Irish stout.”

By Monday I will summarize posts on this topic from here and there and provide links.

As the instigator of this event I felt an obligation to make a good choice. I don’t mean the most spectacular stout I could find, but one that sets a tone for how I intend to approach this on a regular basis.

I thought first about a New Mexico beer, because I believe you should drink local and we have some excellent stouts in our state. But unless you come visit then you aren’t going to have much of a chance to find one of these. So I picked a beer from the region, from a brewery I know well, and one I’d certainly call “a good home”: Left Hand Milk Stout.

We (Daria and I) met Left Hand Brewing founders Eric Wallace and Dick Doore not long after they opened in 1994, introducing ourselves at the Great American Beer Festival because my aunt Gretchen lives in Longmont, where Left Hand brews. It took us three more years to get by the brewery, and it was the 50th for our daughter, Sierra. She was taken with the red-and-white Left Hand logo we brought home, and it’s likely one of the reasons she learned her left from her right early on.

Left Hand BrewingAlthough Left Hand distributes its beers in New Mexico, we often could find seasonals only in the Longmont area (this has changed, plus the Milk Stout is available year round and at a nearby grocery store). Left Hand produced just 20 barrels of Milk Stout the first year it was brewed and we missed it.

The second year our timing was better, so we were in Longmont about the time it was released. On the way to my aunt’s house we stopped at a liquor store. When I headed directly to the cooler and pulled out Milk Stout the man standing next to me – surely the one whose large motorcycle we had parked next to, given his leather garb and tattoos – nodded in approval.

“It’s smooth man,” he said.

It is, but like that biker not too smooth. The addition of milk sugar (lactose) provides a constant creamy sweetness that balances an abundance of aromas and flavors. Typical for Left Hand, the beer is made with five malts plus flaked oats and flaked barley. It proves a brewer can pack impressive depth and complexity in beer not much stronger than Budweiser (5.2% abv vs. 5%).

The nose is chocolate and burnt toast, with more rich chocolate and coffee flavors in the mouth. The finish is relatively dry, leaving a memory of coffee and sweet cream.

Michael Jackson writes extensively about milk stout in his Beer Companion. Its London inventors sought a patent in 1875, they deemed the deemed the invention of a milk beer so unique. Jackson reports that by 1936 Mackeson’s Milk Stout was available nationally and the style began to be included in the range of most breweries.

The Mackeson’s label included the rather bold claim: “Each pint contains the energizing carbohydrates of ten ounces of pure dairy milk.” That didn’t last long.

Jackson concludes his history lesson with this thought: “For those with a lifestyle sufficiently leisurely, or eclectic, to permit a mid-afternoon or early evening restorative, a glass of sweet stout and a piece of cake is an innocent pleasure.”

A toast to Berkshire Brewing

Berkshire BrewingHere’s an example of what I mean by beer from a good home: Berkshire Brewing in South Deerfield, Mass.

Ann Cortissoz profiles the brewery in today’s Boston Globe (free registration).

Co-founders Gary Bogoff and Chris Lalli began selling beer in 1994 after friends helped them rehab on old cigar factory. They coaxed 6,000 barrels a year out of a seven-barrel system (that’s what you find in a medium-size brewpub) and bottled by hand until they were selling 10,000 barrels annually.

The sell almost all their beer within 100 miles of the brewery, but this year will likely “grow out” of microbrewery status, surpassing 15,000 barrels. About 60% of sales are draft and 40% of the bottled sales are growlers filled by hand. Berkshire only sells 22-ounce “dinner size” and the 64-ounce growlers.

“When we were bottling by hand there never was a question (about six-packs). Then we when we did the comparisons we saw there was no way we could compete with breweries like Sam Adams. It really worked out well. We’ve got our own little niche.”

They aren’t going to get very big without packaging beer in six-packs and selling it all the places six-packs are available, but that’s OK with them.

Berkshire self distributes – “99% of our beers is handled by our people,” Bogoff said – from three separate warehouses. Berkshire began selling beer in Connecticut in 2005 and also works with a distributor in Vermont. “We’re living by our own destiny. It’s a little more involved but at the end of the day you can claim full responsibility for the beer,” he said.

And, yes, it’s good beer.

A drinking note for Drayman’s Porter (6.2% abv), tasted last April for All About Beer magazine:

The label says “fresh” and “local” and the image of a horse-drawn beer delivery wagon accentuates the point. Deep brown to black – though mahogany highlights decorate the edges – with a billowing brown head, this might look like a beer to age. Don’t think about it. The big chocolate, roasty nose hints of coffee and further suggests freshness, while perfect carbonation adds to the luxurious, sweet, chocolaty palate. More straightforward than complex, with just enough hops to accent roastiness again at the drying finish.

Congratulations, Ballast Point

Hop fieldEnough about session beers, at least for the moment. Let’s get back to hops.

Jay Brooks has the results of the Bistro’s 7th (yes, seventh, this is no fad) Double IPA Festival in Hayward, Calif.

The winner was Dorado Double IPA from Ballast Point Point Brewing, an old friend. We go back to when it was called Crystal Pier and was already winning at the Bistro’s festival.

In 2003 the guys at Ballast were nice enough to put some of Cyrstal Pier into 22-ounce bottles (they sold it only on draft) and ship it to New Mexico. The American Society of Brewing Chemists gathered in a resort north of Albuquerque for their annual convention and I helped Mitch Steele – then of Anheuser-Busch, now with Stone Brewing – round up beers for a seminar on styles.

At that time almost none of the 30-plus brewing industry employees in the room had ever had an “Imperial IPA” (or were ready for other beers like New Belgium’s La Foile and Cuvee de Tomme).

It was an eye-opening experience for me. These guys (meaning men and women) are focused. Many worked for the world’s largest brewers or companies that supply them. They are worried about shelf life, foam stability, stuff like that. No detail is too minute. And they can spot off flavors, and tell you why they are there, at perhaps three miles away.

We asked them to provide comments about the beers they tasted and I just drug those out of a file. I started out looking only at the Ballast Point beer, and that’s all I’ll write about today, but soon was reading more. Within the week I’ll post more notes about some of the other beers.

Only seven of the 28 who left comments said they’d buy Cyrstal Pier in a store.

One wrote: “Tongue scraper requested. Malt is still good.”

On the other side (and I know this was from somebody who worked in packaging at A-B): “Multitudes of flavor! Awesome – I love this new style.”

Maybe my favorite: “‘Savage’ flavor but not taste. Hoppy. Hoppy. Hop. Hop.”

You get the point.

When the context is a desert island

Having not been asked for two days what the heck Appellation Beer means I’m able to once again put off adding that explanation to About the Site.

SandBut I will write that one thing I want it to mean is that context makes a difference. Before you fire off another what the heck question, look at the contest Alan McLeod has invented at A Good Beer Blog. It illustrates the value of context.

Desert island beer lists. They’ve be around forever. A thread at Realbeer.com still lives after two years and is up to 10 pages. Fun to look at, but I’ve never been tempted. Really, and not just because even if you put a gun to my head I couldn’t list my five favorite beers.

But this contest has context.

Instead of just any old three bottles, put one of the beers a keg that never goes dry or sours and the other two in bottles, one of which you can access on Friday in reasonable volume and one you can access on Sunday in a contemplative amount. In my life, I expect to be stuck on that Island a good long time and, yet, expect to maintain regular work week and also my northern European vague religiosity.

Fun to think about (over a beer), so I’m going to come up with an entry. You should too.

One pre-beer thought for now. Saison.

A heck of a hell

In a weak moment while responding to Lew Bryson’s comment in the X Beer discussion I seem to have promised to write something nice about helles.

Not tough duty. I warmed to the task by drinking a glass of Class VI Golden Lager from Chama River Brewing in Albuquerque. It’s almost always the first beer I order when we’re at Chama. I usually forget and just ask for a “helles,” then explain I want the Class VI when I get a blank look from the server.

The aroma is fresh and bready, just what you expect from German pilsner malt. The flavor is rich but not distracting and the finish spicy and dry. It’s a beer that doesn’t get in the way of conversation; with an added benefit of being less than 5% abv.

Augustiner

I don’t usually spend much time thinking about beer when drinking this beer, since there are matters of conversation and ordering food. But if I do it’s not hard to imagine myself standing in the malting halls at the Augustiner brewery in Munich, two flights below the brewery yard. The air is damp and smells thick, like a field of grain after a solid rain.

At the other end of the hall a machine churns to life – chug-a-chug, chug-a-chug, beating out a rhythm, squeaking from time to time as it advances toward me. It is gently turning the malt, which is spread a shallow 12-15 centimeters high.

Augustiner brewery(Given that eyes adjust better to dark conditions that my camera, the photos here don’t quite portray what I saw. The top one shows the hall, the one to the right the machine from a long ways away with the light “turned up,” the next a chalkboard that tracks the status of a batch of malt. The image at the bottom shows that Augustiner has left some tradition behind – picturing when malt was turned by hand.)

Malting boardAugustiner is the last brewery in Germany with its own malting facility, and its floor-malting is one of only two left in the country. Augustiner bills itself as the “keeper of the tradition” but this is about more than tradition. Most agree that floor malting produces superior malt. By maintaining its own maltings Augustiner also has the option to pick from different barleys, sometimes using older varieties of that malt suppliers no longer offer.

Augustiner also controls the degree to which the malt is modified. Its brewers prefer it less modified because they conduct a decoction mash for each of their beers, a practice pretty much abandoned by the other Munich breweries.

Which brings us to Lagerbier Hell, a delightful expression of pilsner malt and Hallertau hops wrapped in a 5.2% abv package. Another fresh and bready beer, with a satisfying hop quality. Does decoction make a difference? That’s another discussion – many brewing scientists will argue not in a way that can be measured; others maybe agree, then say they can still taste difference.

For whatever the reason, Lagerbier Hell has an extra layer of flavor. You notice it when you first taste it and you might again if you revisit the beer in a thoughtful way. Otherwise it becomes willing background to conversation – perhaps at one of the long communal wooden tables in the restaurant on the brewery grounds.

Augustiner