Beer necessities

Belly up to the Bear

By Mark Klimek

SO MANY BEERS: so little time.

My editor called the other day with the assignment I’d unknowingly been preparing for my whole life: “Go drink beer and write something about it,” he said. My inner Homer screamed, “WOO HOO!”

Unfortunately, there was a bit more to the task: go “around the world” at the Great Lost Bear by drinking the styles and brands crucial to a well-rounded beer education.

The Great Lost Bear offers some 50 beers on tap representing nearly 25 styles and four countries; I needed some help from the experts, so I enlisted Bear co-owners Dave Evans and Chip MacConnell as well as Mike Dickson, overlord of the Bear’s beer list, and David Geary, Maine’s original microbrewer, to drink lots of beer and devise the best way to get through this somewhat intimidating list. They were happy to oblige.

We began by identifying six beer categories that simply had to be addressed, and agreed to go from the lightest style to darkest (to avoid “taste fatigue”). We then found at least one beer that represented each style’s classic characteristics, occasionally sampling a modern-day interpretation. We selected Maine and New England brewers whenever possible.

The three-hour tasting started off with pilsner, a dry, crisp, straightforward lager (i.e. it’s brewed using a bottom-fermenting style yeast; ales employ top-fermenting yeasts). Anyone who drinks major label beers is most likely drinking a pilsner. Pilsner is marked by a slight bitterness that comes from being lightly hopped (hops are the ingredient that give beer its bitterness, spice, and aroma).

The classic pilsner is the original, Pilsner Urquell, brewed in the Czech Republic. Casco Bay Pilsner is the closest the Bear gets — and it’s pretty close according to Geary, who marveled over the beer’s light golden color and harmonious balance of malts (which influence a beer’s color, character, and flavor) and German hops.

Next up was a series of wheat (or white) beers, made with wheat, fruit, and spices. All were unfiltered — there’s yeast floating around in the kegs — creating a hazy appearance in the glass and a smooth, easy-drinking texture. A great wheat beer is medium-bodied and often relatively low in alcohol, with scents of flowers and ample amounts of fruit and spice.

Mike directed us to a German offering for a true wheat experience: one whiff of Paulaner Hefe-Weizen filled my nose with intense floral and fruit aromas; one sip revealed effervescent, slightly sweet characteristics contrasted by the spicy touch of clove and crisp citrus flavors. Our other favorite was local hero Allagash White, brewed with orange peels and coriander, which boasted an even stronger clove quality than the Paulaner.

Fuller-bodied beers were the next at bat. The Bear offers more pale ales than any other style, an indication of its popularity among Portlanders. The English version of pale ale is copper-hued, bitter, and lively, with a medium body and mild acidity. The greatest pale ales (think Bass) are richly flavorful, balanced beers that go down smoothly.

Which one to pick? Geary calls Sierra Nevada Pale Ale “the best craft beer in America,” so chances are you’ll like it. This California offering balanced acidic, hoppy, and malty characteristics. Sierra Nevada uses domestic hops, resulting in a milder interpretation of the classic style — still, no discriminating beer drinker should pass by this one. (By the way, Geary rates his Geary’s Pale Ale the second best beer in America, so try that one, too. It’s a spot-on version of English pale ale.)

MacConnell wouldn’t let us continue without sampling India Pale Ale (IPA). Pale ale’s bitter cousin, it’s either loved or hated for its aggressive hoppiness (it’s quite dry and bitter) and relatively high alcohol content. The English used to ship IPA to its troops in India, so it had to be brewed with more hops (which act as a preservative) to protect it during the long sea journey. The Bear’s best, according to Dickson, MacConnell, and Evans: Sebago Brewing Company’s Frye’s Leap IPA.

“It’s the hoppiest, so I think it’s the best representation of what IPA should be,” notes Evans. Lone dissenter, Geary thought it needed more malt to balance the hops. He favored Shipyard’s Fuggles IPA, which offered an attractive blend of malt, spice, and bitterness.

Our taste buds were alive and kickin’ at this point, so it was time to bring out the big guns. We reached for the stout — five glasses brimming with black gold. Dickson took me through a checklist of what makes a classic dry stout: deep black color, thick and chewy mouthfeel, plenty of hops, and a dry finish with roasted nut qualities. Sweet or specialty stouts, by contrast, are creamier, less bitter, and somewhat lighter colored.

We opted for Guinness, the Cadillac of stout. I was impressed with the Bear’s selection of left-of-center stouts: Gritty McDuff’s Black Fly Stout, for example, featured an amazing chocolate nose and a rich, malty zing not present in classic dry stout. The Samuel Adams Cream Stout and the Sebago Lake Trout Stout were very rich, hoppy, and sweet — tasty, but it’s tough to imagine drinking an entire pint.

For dessert, we sampled the Bear’s cask-conditioned ales. Cask-conditioned beer is unfiltered, uncarbonated, and served about 10 degrees warmer than most beers. This brewing process imbues the beer with a full-bodied flavor that is hard to find in traditional keg beer — although new cask-conditioned drinkers don’t always see it that way. “I hear, ‘It’s warm and flat’ from people all the time,” says Dickson.

In fact, the Bear’s cask-conditioned ales are so intense that they overwhelm your taste buds, making them a good final stop on our beer world tour. Case in point: Geary’s cask-conditioned Hampshire Special Ale, a smoky, malty beast that reveals its flavors slowly as it glides across the tongue, just as a single-malt Scotch does. If you like the Hampshire out of the bottle, you’ve got to try it from the cask. Likewise, the Shipyard cask-conditioned Old Thumper Extra Special Ale was as complex as a fine Cabernet Sauvignon. Evans and I were stunned by the layers of spice and black licorice present in this beer.

One final note: Our approach toward navigating the list worked pretty well — but so would just about any old way. As Geary likes to point out: “It ain’t brain surgery, folks.”

Mark Klimek can be reached at writeco@maine.rr.com.