the session

Welcome to The Session #10, hosted this month by Ted at Barley Vine. The theme “Let it snow, let it snow, Winter Seasonal Beers” does not leave us wanting for choices.

Lest there be any doubt: Don Russell offered a combined history lesson/shopping list last week, a Baltimore Sun panel tasted a whopping 52 winter beers, and you’ll find many more lists on the Internet (here, here and here – for starters).

Clearly there isn’t enough time to drink all the beers, and we should accept that it is a good thing so many are local and will be drunk not far from where they were brewed. But I do sort of miss the days when it was sport just to find enough “Christmas beers” to keep us interested through the season.

The choice for today isn’t the winter beer we’ll drink most of &#151 that would be Sierra Nevada Celebration &#151 nor is it one that is so hard to find or expensive, say De Ranke Père Noël, that we’ll likely have just one during the season. Great Divide Hibernation is a favorite and a regular, one we associate with full winter season because for several years we had to wait until January and a trip to Colorado to play in the snow before we could find it.

Only in the last couple of years has been Hibernation been available in New Mexico, although other Great Divide beers have been around since we moved here in 1998. But there still wasn’t a year we failed to track some down.

It’s arrival in New Mexico pretty much coincided with the attention afforded beers such as Titan IPA, Hercules Double IPA and Oak Aged Yeti Imperial Stout. A little “beer cred” never hurts.

At 8% abv, Hibernation is no small beer. It’s won awards as a Strong Ale/English-Style Old Ale and is described at the beer rating sites as an American Strong Ale. I think calling it a Winter Warmer and spending zero time fretting about style suits it fine.

It’s equally enjoyable when it first becomes available (Great Divide brews it in July but doesn’t release the first batch until November) or after a year in our “cellar” (no bottle has made it to two years). My first thought is always the same: “How is this different than last year? It is, I think, but that was a year ago, and I’m not going to worry about it.”

Despite its heft, Hibernation is brewed with the same sensibility &#151 call it continental restraint, or appreciation of balance &#151 I find in all the Great Divide beers, even the ones coveted by those chasing “extreme beers.”

It’s at its best in a small tulip glass or snifter, because it’s a beer to linger over and new aromas will emerge as it warms. Lots of chocolate and spice early, with roasty character (both nuts and hints of coffee beans) on the nose and in the mouth. Caramel and dark fruits, also, their sweetness are nicely balanced by an earthy/husky mouthfeel.

Ted promised extra credit for a food pairing or recipe. Quite honestly, we like this beer on its own, maybe with a fire. But after active day in the snow (and at altitude) Hibernation and a plate of cheese (be sure to have a nutty gouda in there) make a dang fine dinner.

A good night’s sleep is guaranteed.

Before jumping into a bookish week here — reviews plus the requisite holiday suggestions — a few beer links to kick start your week. Don’t forget that its ends with The Session #10: “Let it snow, let it snow, Winter Seasonal Beers.”

– Concern about the carbon footprint of older appliances, particularly refrigerators, is quite valid. But headlines like “Beer fridges guzzling too much power” would seem to blame this on beer. In most cases these are second refrigerators not refrigerators dedicated to beer. An example of how slang, and the fact that any newspaper story will be better read if you put beer in the headline, may tarnish beer’s image.

– Yep, I’m a little disappointed readers didn’t join in last week to answer the question “Who would you invite to a fantasy beer dinner?” Just a list (perhaps you were intimidated by the impressive narratives provided by here by my guests) would have been OK.

A new book, The Last Supper, asks chefs a similar question: How they envision their last meal on earth (guests, menu, who cooks it, etc.). Beyond noting a “last supper” seems like less fun than an ongoing series of beer dinners, I’m happy to leave a review to Stephen Beaumont at World of Beer. He find the “fascinating concept almost ideally executed,” with an exception or two.

Most disappointing to me is the near-complete lack of respect good beer receives from chefs who presumably otherwise care a great deal about the foods they ingest. Jamie Oliver, for example, chooses to sup Hoegaarden, of all things, with spaghetti all’arrabiata, ignoring that the chilies in the dish would render the beer almost flavourless.

Beaumont’s own “Last Supper” beverage list includes beer.

– ‘Tis the season. Jon at The Brew Site is reprising his Advent Beer Calendar.

And Alan at A Good Beer Blog has brought back the Yule Photo Contest and partnered with Stonch’s Beer Blog to make it international. They’ve assembled quite a lineup of prizes, with more rolling in all the time.

This is my contribution to The Session, hosted this month by Tomme Arthur and titled, “Beer and Music – The Message in a Bottle.”

Great beer should be alive. The best music is live.

That these two don’t always show up at the same place at the same time can be OK.

Since I couldn’t tell this story Sir Arthur ask for as well, I’ll quote directly from something my favorite beer and travel writer, Daria Labinsky (I’m her husband), wrote for Touring America a dozen years ago:

“You hear the sweet strains of a waltz as you step from the car into the dusty parking lot of Fred’s Lounge. Open the door to the tavern in the tiny town of Mamou, Louisiana, and you’re greeted with a surprising sight: Dozens of people are jammed into a dark space not much bigger than the average living room.

“In one corner is the band, whose gentle fiddling and French lyrics are pouring into a microphone and out over the airwaves of KVPI Radio. Glittery Mardi Gras decorations hang from the ceiling tiles; photos and poster of Cajun musicians line the raspberry-colored walls. Couples twirl on the minuscule dance floor, the older ones swirling with grace despite their lack of elbow room, the younger ones mostly just rocking back and forth. The crowd around the bar is three or four deep and ranges from French-accented farmers and their wives to kids in college sweatshirts.

“With the next song, a two-step, you notice the female bartenders following the beat with their feet as they uncap beers and fill glasses. Someone enters with what looks like a bakery box, but instead of doughnuts, it’s filled with chunks of boudin, a spicy rice-and-meat sausage. A bartender whose shirt reads “Tante Sue from Mamou” passes the box around to patrons, and everyone shares.

“You sip your beer and sink your teeth into the tasty boudin. So what if it’s 9:30 in the morning? Right here, right now, it seems like the perfect thing to do.”

We were drinking Miller Genuine Draft.

And there’s more to the story. When we left Fred’s we realized we had time to get to the weekly Saturday jam at Marc Savoy’s music store outside of Eunice before it ended, though we’d need to make a quick stop. We knew that guests were expected to bring something to share — as I recall the guidebook suggested doughnuts — so we pulled into a general store along Highway 190 and grabbed the most expensive 6-pack of beer we could find. Old Milwaukee.

At the jam, we put the beer on the communal table — sure enough, somebody had brought doughnuts and somebody else boudin — and found a seat.

After a song or two, Savoy wandered over and grabbed a can of Old Milwaukee.

“Who brought these?” he asked, almost as if he were checking to see if it were OK to pop the top.

I raised my hand a bit, a little embarrassed.

He nodded, opened the can, took a sip. “Very generous.”

Nice to be the ones who brought the good stuff.

(With a tip of the hat to Joe Sixpack: This post was written with the Savoy-Doucet band playing in the background.)