The Tippling Point
For certain drinkers, there arrives a tippling point when getting drunk on Budweiser is as appealing as chewing kitty litter. The change-typically paired with a ballooning paycheck-opens eyes wide, allowing Enlightened Drinker to glimpse microbrewed trees in the big-brewery forest.
But what to imbibe? Though drinking beer is much like ogling porn-an end result is an end result-the ride can either be rough or smooth as a freshly picked apple. One Indian summer Saturday, in the name of enlightening your consumption, I sacrificed myself to the beer gods at the third-ever Brewtopoia. It's a Roman orgy of microbrewed beer, vomitorium not included.
Brewtopia was situated on Chelsea Piers' scenic Pier 60, overlooking not-so-scenic New Jersey. More than 300 beers were on tap and bottle. A daunting number, especially for a columnist unable to say no. Getting out of hand, however, is out of the question at Brewtopia. "This is a tasting event for people who love beer and want to learn more about it. This is not a drunkathon!" the Web site warns. "Security will be on hand to make certain you comply with this festival rule."
Check and check. Upon receiving my taster shot glass, I test the high-alcohol waters. If you're thirsting for a knockout punch, may I recommend Unibroue's La Fin Du Monde. It's a tart and smooth golden ale that's bottle-fermented, resulting in a 9-percent right hook. "It's the end of the world, but it's coming back!" shouts Caesar, the chest-hairlicious beverage salesmen. Equally potent is California's Lagunitas Maximus, a double-hopped India Pale Ale that arm-wrestles your tongue to the ground, stunning it at 7.5 percent.
On the less-incapacitating yet more delicious tip we find Dale's Pale Ale. It's a "huge, voluminously hopped motha of an ale," according to the slogan. "We like to use lots of words that we don't know what they mean," confides the ball-capped salesman. Dale's will soon appear in NYC-and surely surprise drinkers. This Rocky Mountain ale comes in a can, and it doesn't make you feel like a frat boy. Dale's is a smooth hopped beer with a creamy head, the type of sud you could slurp till the world splits in two.
My Pennsylvania favorite is Weyerbacher's Merry Monks. It's an abbey-style Trippel that's like drinking golden fruit. Also delicious are offerings from Portsmouth, New Hampshire's Smuttynose. While I've long been a fan of their Robust Porter and IPA, I was, quite literally, blown away by their Big Series. The brewers create limited batches of lights-out suds. "They're stah-rong," says the Smutty rep. He pours me Wheat Wine, an 11-percent-alcohol beer tempered by sweet notes of vanilla and oak. Just as Smirnoff Ice is a malt, not a vodka drink, wine is but a euphemism.
With winter whistling in, it's time to sip beers as dark as 6 p.m. in December. Standouts included Vermont's Rock Art Brewery's Stump Jumper. 'Tis a rugged stout with chocolate notes you want to gnaw like ribs. From Maine we find Gritty McDuff's Black Fly Stout. It's a peculiar beer. If you warm the glass with your hands, a beige head forms, releasing soothing mocha scents. For an algebraically complex flavor, order Dark Star Brewing's cask-ale Porter. Cask, for the uninitiated, is slightly-below-room-temperature beer with natural, fizzles carbonation. It's akin to drinking wine, minus the giddiness.
This liquid list could go on-and I'd be remiss not to mention Cricket Hill's Hopnotic, Magic Hat's Saint Gootz or Long Island's Blue Point Toasted Lager-but a beer fest's beauty is its downfall. At 3 p.m., I feel like 4 a.m. I tuck away my taster glass and trudge to the bathroom. "You don't buy beer, you only rent it," says a sage drunk sidling up to the urinal. I step beside him and deposit my payment. n
To pick up some suds, try:
Bierkraft, 191 Fifth Ave. (betw. Berkeley Pl & Union Sts.), Brooklyn, 718-230-7600New Beer Distributors, 167 Chrystie St. (betw. Rivington & Delancey Sts.), 212-604-4360American Beer Distributors, 252 Court St. (betw. Baltic & Butler Sts.), Brooklyn, 718-875-0226