This is BIG

Hi there. 

I know, I know: nothing for years. The blog is dead, long live Twitter.
But you know? Some things deserve more space. 

And this...is BIG.

No, literally, look at the label. I was digging in my Beer Fridge today, looking for two bottles of proper beer to make carbonades Flamandes (more on that later) on this disappointing snow day, when I found two bottles of Brimstone Big, a Maryland-brewed barleywine from the 1990s that we cherished back in the day. The brewed date on the label: October 1998.

Actually, there were three bottles, and one, not pictured, was actually older, and had been brewed at Brimstone. See, Brimstone was a great little Baltimore brewery, but things got tough for microbrewers in the mid-1990s (they did, despite what revisionists may tell you), and Brimstone was failing.

They got bought by Frederick Brewing, who made this in their large brewery outside Frederick, Maryland. Frederick also bought long-time Maryland microbrewer (I'm deliberately using period terminology here) Wild Goose, while continuing with their Blue Ridge brands. I visited Wild Goose on the Eastern Shore with my new wife (she's still my wife) back in 1991, when we were expecting our first child. We took a vacation to the Outer Banks to celebrate being just us one more time. It was a great week, though except for that stop at Wild Goose, and a quick stop at Weeping Radish, so-so for beer.

Anyway, all of this would eventually fail. Frederick was operating on a shoestring, owing back taxes, courting buy-out partners (at least one of which failed themselves, rather spectacularly). They were finally bought by Flying Dog out of Colorado in 2006, who saw the value in this large, sadly underutilized (and again: not a fan of "utilized," but this is an absolutely proper use of the word) brewery. Flying Dog invested in the brewery, and eventually moved all of their brewing operations there in 2010. Last I heard, they were expanding. 

All of that...is just to put this in context. Brimstone, and this bottle of Big in particular, is an American craft brewing fossil, a relic. As is, I suppose, my Beer Fridge (which I got for free from someone who was upgrading back in 1993; it was old then, but has never stopped running), and me, to hear some people talk. 

But I saw this bottle, and then I opened it, and smelled it, and...for some reason I just had to blog. I dunno, old habits, I guess. So let's talk about this fossil. 

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As you can see, it poured tremendously bright, largely thanks to sitting upright for at least sixteen years, I suppose. The bottom was covered with a well-compacted layer of, as we always called it, mung.

It had an oxygen-scavenging cap, but the beer is beautifully oxidized, in that sherry/dried fruit way that barleywines get, not the wet cardboard smell that lesser beers develop. Sherry, dried cherries, a touch of old-school hair tonic, and even some clean malt. Amazing, really, and a testament to Marc Tewey's brewing (and packaging) skills...and maybe that cap technology. There's persistent carbonation; 20 minutes after the pour, there are still small, steady streams of bubbles rising. I kinda wish I'd saved this till I was with Will Meyers at Cambridge Brewing; this is his metier indeed. 

Time to taste. The fruit is big, the malt is subdued. I remember Big as a fruitbowl of a barleywine; this fruit has dried, and soured just a touch. Definitely oxidized, but again, in a good way. There's no cardboard here, though there is a slight puckery astringence. No bitterness at all, but Big never was that bitter. The carbonation is firm, if not fizzy; it's one of the most pleasing parts of this. 

The body is about medium; I think there's been some secondary fermentation going on, because Big used to be, well, big in body as well as flavor. The finish is velvety, but the bubbles keep it from being clingy. 

If I had to ding this one, it would actually be on being a bit too sweet. I like the touch of tart, but there's too much residual sweetness, it's not balancing. Still, I'm looking for trouble, really. This is as solid a 20 year old beer as I've ever had, and I've had the chance to have quite a few. 

Which brings me back to the carbonades...you know you're living life right as a beer guy when you go to the fridge to get a bottle of beer for adding to beef stew -- even an exceptionally delicious Belgian version -- and you see a bottle of Westvleteren XII, and you think, 'Yeah, that'd be good to pour into a pot of meat,' and grab it without flinching. I'm putting a bottle of pre-AB Goose Island Peres Jacques in there, too. We're eating well tonight.

Huh. Might have to come back here more often. I see the lights still work. Just need to dust a few things off. See you around. No promises, but...see you around. 

"CHU Canada, Coordinated Universal Time, Twelve Hours, Eleven minutes..."

Ours looks much like this; more battered.

When I was young, quite young, I'd listen to my father set his watch. He set it by firing up a big, wooden Grunow tube set multiband receiver we had -- my grandfather's house radio -- on the shortwave setting, and tuning in CHU Canada, the Canadian government's time station. We'd listen to the beeps, waiting for the blank spot at 30 seconds, and then the taped announcements of the upcoming minute would come just before the minute hack, alternately in English (first on the even minutes) and French (odd minutes). CHU set their time by atomic clocks, and my father wanted all the clocks in the house to be as accurate as possible, and his watch was always set to CHU (he considered the time signal from KYW, the Philly news AM station, to be passably accurate, but really relied on CHU).

My father didn't have an external need for accurate time, no job or medical reason that things had to be done precisely. My dad was a mild OCD type, a recorder, and I didn't realize how much of one until after he died in 2010. I put a new battery in the kitchen clock for my mother a few weeks ago, and found, taped to the back, a list of all the times he'd re-set the clock, and how much it was off by...according to CHU, no doubt.

What's all this have to do with beer, or whiskey? Well, I was thinking about this today when I was checking the time for an interview appointment. Used to be I'd know which clock in the house was on, and I'd check that one, knowing that I'd set it to a reliable source (honestly, KYW was plenty accurate for me) relatively recently...but most of the rest of the clocks only got set when they were way off or when it was time to Spring Forward or Fall Back. Cathy keeps her clock at bedside 10 minutes fast to jolt her awake in half-asleep state (I don't know how that kind of self-delusion works, but it does for her). Not to mention, we still have some of the cheap battery-operated clocks Cathy and I accumulated as we were growing up, and the hands wobble, and they don't have numbers, and...they're intrinsically inaccurate.

But now? I just look down in the corner of my computer screen, or pop on my cell, and I've got fiendishly accurate time, checked against atomic clocks, and it's not only easy and available, it updates automatically. I can have accuracy my father only dreamed of at a glance, with no continuing effort at all.

Bought craft beer lately? Let me be an old fart. Back in the 1980s, when I started drinking out of the mainstream, this wasn't easy. We drank Guinness and Bass (usually old Guinness and Bass), we drank Heineken (usually skunked; my first draft Heineken was surprisingly good!): they were easier to get. When craft started to peek its head up, I would drive three hours to buy some. Truly, we did that. You kids today with your "I drove six hours to get Dark Lord!" We would drive two hours just to get a sixpack of porter. Plain old amber ale. I would drive two hours through traffic and over mountains -- literally -- to get to a brewpub that had three beers: gold, amber, and porter. And when I got home, I'd set my watch by CHU Canada.

Whiskey? Back in the 1980s, most American distilleries didn't bottle anything but standard stuff; no small batches, no single barrels no super-aged Pappy. Many Scottish distillers didn't do single malt bottlings, it all went to blends. If they did singles, they weren't available except in specialist stores. And no one knew a damned thing about them or how they were made. Same thing with beer, really.

Flick on the cellphone, tell me the time. I can hop on my bike, ride ten minutes to Manny Brown's, and get a glass of good craft beer. Ride ten minutes more, and even Store #0909 of the Stupid State Store System can offer me a selection of whisky that would make what I could find most places 25 years ago look sick.

Are the prices higher? Yeah, and you're paying for monthly cell service and your internet connection; CHU is free. Rather do that? There are places you can't get cell signal; okay, there are still places that have crap selections. It's not a perfect analogy!

But really? These ARE the good times. We not only have it so good, we have it so easy. The Web makes it ridiculously easy to find good drinks, and to share that knowledge. The Web also makes the spread of ticker snobology easier, but that's simply something to deal with. I'm just glad I got over that phase when I was still limited to a notebook with really tiny printing in the back.

I think we're going to get over the obsession phase, and soon. It's going to collapse under its own weight, or it may blow up into such a huge balloon that it will lift up and float away, leaving the rest of us at the bar, drinking good stuff, lots of good stuff, that you can get every day (or every season) for a reliable price. All within an easy distance, all with the ease of looking at a phone.

Coordinated Universal Drinks Time. It's here.