I can swear there’s a freaking werewolf howling outside. It’s a long drawn out, deep, full blown howl, like out of a monster movie. It’s so unnerving that I actually poked my head outside to see if I can tell how far away it was.

The moment I open the back door, the one that faces the woods, the howling stops. There is, of course, a full moon above. It’s bright enough to see the wooden porch and a ways into the forest, but beyond that the forest has become a tangle of dim light and a million dark shadows. Above, in the big old oak that towers over my place, an owl hoots. Not a friendly hoot, either — it sounds like it’s telling me off.

I duck back inside, shut and locked the door (like locking it makes me safer from a werewolf) and … you guessed it … the howling starts again.

Okay. Fine. Howl away, damn werewolf. I’m getting a beer.

I root around the fridge and pull out this Utenos Porter. Fitting, somehow. Sounds like the perfect name for a beer to drink while there’s a werewolf outside.

Remember, beware the moors.

I pop the top and give this bad boy a sniff. It smells strongly of sweet dark malt and molasses.

I raise the bottle to my lips, tip it back for that first sip. It’s both milder, and thinner, than I’d expected. The taste of the alcohol is strong. There’s a good balance between sweet and dark bread. And, somewhere, there seems to be some hops thrown into the mix.

Very good. Not outstanding, but good. A solid, yummy brew.

Outside the howling has stopped again. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not — I’m half expecting to hear it right outside my window.

Beware the moors!

I’ll give this a 4.4 on the Holy Grail scale and proclaim it to be a groovy brew. As I sit here and finish it, I’ll be thinking about the fact that I have no gun in the house, let alone any silver bullets.

This review transcribed from handwritten notes taken in 2009.

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Not everyone can drink alcohol.

Me, personally, I’ve taken a year off.  I know, horror of horrors, no alcohol for me in 2010.  But this website must go on, and so I’ll do my best to track down and review every single non-alcoholic malt beverage I can find, plus throw in a few reviews I still have scribbled on paper, scattered around and buried in piles.

I’ll start this off with Clausthaler Premium, an import from Germany which I still think of as “beer” — but that’s not technically correct.  Still.  It’ s sold in the beer aisle at the store, and — at least here in Illinois — you still get carded for it.

It smells like beer.  In fact it smells a lot like Lowenbrau.  Just by sniffing it you can’t tell that it’s a non-alcoholic brew.

Upon first sip, which for me turned into a gulp, it tastes like the real thing.  Smooth, bitter with hops, lightly carbonated and just a bit watery, it’s not that much different than a mass-produced import.  Where the illusion fails is in the aftertaste.  Alcohol has an aftertaste that is missing here.  Then on the second swig, the illusion starts breaking down even further.  You can tell something is missing.

Let’s put all that aside, though.  It’s not fair to put this up against a real beer.  What is important is, does it satisfy?  How good is it?

Pretty darn good.  It satisfies the craving for those who are missing the real thing – and believe me, I am – and it is undoubtedly the best of the brews I’ve had so far since beginning this sobering adventure.

Obviously I can’t nominate it as a Holy Beer contender but I have no problem proclaiming it as a groovy brew.

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Let me try and set the scene…

I’m sitting in a pretty much round room, looking out a huge curved window at palm fronds swaying in the island breeze.  My attention is torn between the beer sitting here on the desk, and the beautiful water in front of me, swirling in light and dark patterns as gentle swells wash the sand of the lagoon.  Some of the palms lean far out over the water, looking like they might just drop over.  Over on the side of the building are four full-sized replicas of moai monoliths (you know, those big, creepy-cool Easter Island heads).  If I look out a side window, I see one staring back at me.

To say that the beauty here is surreal would be an understatement.

Add to that, the radio behind me is playing this really odd, yet catchy dance song, with a clearly mechanical robot voice chanting “disco dance in your sexy panties” and “wear your sexy pants just for me.”

I tear my eyes away from the view, pop open the beer, and walk out to the porch with a pad of paper and a pencil.

It smells like molasses and vodka.  Now, that may not sound like a good combination, but in this case it is.  It smells interesting, and I mean that in a positive way.

I take the first sip, tilt my head back and savor it.  The first thing that hits me is the taste of well toasted oats and barley, aerated by light but satisfying carbonation.  It finishes off with a nice bitterness that reminds me in an odd way of the charred skin on barbecued chicken. 

Later, the bottle empty, it leaves me satisfied and happy.  In all, the flavor is well balanced, and I enjoyed so much I’m awarding it the status of Holy Beer Contender and rating it 2.3 on the Holy Grail Scale.

This review transcribed from handwritten notes taken in 2009.

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It’s Saturday evening, far warmer than usual in the Chicago area.  My windows are open, and I’ve been typing on my newest manuscript on and off most of the day.  I’m currently recovering from the Swine Flu, which didn’t hit me very hard.

Anyway, I decided it’s time for a break, and so I’m going to crack open this Baltic porter and do a quick review.

I pop the top and take a sniff.  It smells sickeningly sweet and yeasty.  Suddenly I wonder if I should be drinking a beer while coming down from the Swine Flu.  Hmm.  Oh well, here goes nothing.

Zero carbonation, but the flavor isn’t bad.  It would be better if it didn’t seem so flat.  Seriously.  It’s like it’s been open in the refrigerator for two weeks.  Not stale, mind you, but utterly devoid of carbonation.

The taste is fruity and oddly light while at the same time as being dark and heavy.  Hard to verbalize.  I taste a strong molasses and coffee mixture, with a hint of wheat bread.  There’s a dark chocolate aftertaste that I really like.

It’s not bad.  Give it some fizz and it would be even better.  I’m not going to proclaim it as a groovy brew, but I won’t steer you away from it if you like Baltic porters.  It’s worth a try.

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I didn’t get the chance to sniff this one after popping the top because I experienced a foam episode. 

You know … the dreaded foam episode.  Followed by paper towels and the changing of a shirt.  And that spot on the rug that’s now going to smell of stale beer for a few weeks.

Speaking of smelling, I now finally give the post-foam bottle a few sniffs, but this brew doesn’t have much of a scent – it’s very subtle, just a mild aroma of hops and a tiny hint of light maltiness.  But the taste – wow!  Very different.

The first thing I noticed was that it’s tangy, followed by an odd, wet bitterness, subdued but still prominent.  That settles while the hops take over, but it’s not just hops … I suppose it’s the chipotle I’m tasting.  It must be. 

I’m at a disadvantage because I’m not really sure what chipotle tastes like.  I’ve never stuffed any in my mouth all by itself.  (Why does that bring to mind a horse standing there, chewing on a mouth full of hay?  Chomp, chomp, chomp – that would be me with a mouth stuffed with chipotle.)

MMMmmm, chipotle, put some in my ale.

Actually it seems to go very well with ale.  Also, in reading the bottle, I’ve discovered it contains smoked jalapeno peppers.  Interesting!  So that’s what chipotle is … I didn’t know that.

There’s also a dedication:

“Dedicated to Spanish author Juan de la Cueva, who, in 1575, wrote of a Mexican dish that combined seedless chipotles with ale.

“This ale is deep amber in color with a rich malty aroma, and delicately spiced with smoked Jalapeno Peppers to give it that extra bite!”

It definitely has that!  This beer has a wonderful bite to it, but it’s not, you know, hot – not like you’re drinking Tabasco sauce, or something like that – it’s actually very refreshing as in that it’s different, but yet still very good.

I’m going to proclaim this as a groovy brew, but not a holy beer contender.  What it is really good for, I think, is to shock you out of a slump when you’ve started getting jaded in your brew tasting adventures.  I don’t think I’d drink this every day, and I don’t think I’d drink one after another — just one every so often.  I can see that being a good thing.

And very groovy.

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Rest your eyes.

You can listen to this review.

It’s the first ever GroovyBrew podcast!

Brought to you by Lagunitas Brewing and the Firesign Theater, not to mention the Zoom H2 Recorder, and featuring music by TranceVision.

Just for the record, this is one wildly groovy brew, and also a solid Holy Beer contender.

It rates a 7.77 on the Holy Grail Scale.

It’s most definitely a groovy brew.

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This beer is called “Delirium Tremens” as opposed to “Delirium Tremors” – which is what I thought it was when I picked it up.  It turns out (and please excuse my ignorance, all you out there who already knew this) is the formal term for the DTs: a physical condition, caused by drinking too much alcohol over a long period, in which someone shakes uncontrollably and sees imaginary things.

This beer came highly recommended by my good friend Dan, and so I promised I’d review it here.

Sadly, this is not going to be a good review.

After popping the top, it doesn’t smell very good; it gives off a sour yeasty scent.  Or maybe a yeasty scent over sour malt.  Either way, it’s not appetizing.

So I take the first sip, and am not impressed.

Highly carbonated.  Muted barley taste over old hops, rye bread notes, and all that fades to a dull bitterness.

It’s rather … yuck.  I guess I’m just not that into Belgian ales anymore.

Also, maybe I got a bad bottle.  I don’t know.  It’s pure stubbornness that forces me to finish the whole bottle – otherwise I’d pour it out.  Sorry Dan, I don’t like it.  If the brewery or distributer would like to send me a fresh sample of it I’ll be more than willing to try again, but until that happens, I have to let this review stand.

Delirium Tremens:  not groovy.

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UPDATE: This is my current favorite.  Of. All. Time.

I am pretty sure I saw this Polish beer when I was in Helsinki earlier this year, but I didn’t try it.

Now here I am in Chicagoland and, well, I can’t resist a good Porter.  I just hope this is a good Porter.

Smells good.  Deep, dark, sweet, slightly yeasty.

First sip:  Delicious.

There’s a smooth, umber richness that is hard to pin down.  It’s sweet and malty, not much if any hops, and the carbonation disappeared almost immediately.  There’s a citrus edge that mellows into a walnut taste, riding over that Porter sweetness that is like beer candy.  It’s not really chocolaty as much as it is a kind of roasted caramel.

I love this stuff.  I think I’ve finally decided that Porters, especially a Baltic Porter like this one, is my favorite type of beer.

I’m going to proclaim Okocim a Holy Beer Contender, and give it a extremely high 9.8 on the Holy Grail Scale. I am really, truly close to just calling this the Holy Beer.  But, no.  I have other groovy brews to try.  Best not to be over enthusiastic, and to give it more time.  But at the moment this is definitely my favorite beer.

Life is good.

Drink good brew.

Groovy.

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Hoppin’ Frog Brewing Company of Akron, Ohio dares to call this a smooth Porter.

It may technically be a Porter, and it is somewhat hoppy, but it’s not what I would call “silk” smooth.

I know I’m kind of jumping the gun here, but I’ve been drinking some extremely good Porters lately, and this isn’t one of them.  If it didn’t actually say “Porter” on the label I never would have guessed that is what it is supposed to be.

Being that Porters have a distinctive flavor, this doesn’t bode well for Hoppin’ Frog’s brews.  It’s the first one of theirs I’ve tried and it may well be the last.

To be fair: compared to most mortal beers, those mass produced in giant factories squeaking with mechanical parts and puffing with steam, this would by comparison blow them away.  It starts off with a mild but distinct hoppy bite, quickly subdued by toasted malts and then a swelling of muted caramel.  A final note of bitterness finishes the taste, which – again, by industrial brew standards, would be smooth – and then the palate is left somewhat clear, and ready for the next.

Were this a cheap beer (which it isn’t) I would cut it quite a bit of slack.  But since I paid a good chuck of cash for it, I won’t.

It’s good but not groovy, and definitely not a Holy Beer Contender.

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It’s another Polish Porter on my plate!

Right up front I’ll say I don’t like this one as much as I did the Okocim.  It’s not as smooth nor as sweet.  But unlike the other, Zywiec seems to have some hops in it.  It tastes of robust, burnt rye, black roasted malts, caramel syrup, and toasted wheat.

And hops.  There are definitely hops in this one.  They give it a sharp, bitter ping right up front, fading to a hint of clove and a clamoring background of more hops bitterness.  The burnt malt taste rises somewhere in the middle of this, cresting with a sweetness, before falling back to the bitter.

A complex taste, yes.  And I don’t like the hint of clove.

Clove does not belong in beer.

That’s my opinion.

Had I not been already spoiled by the Okocim I would probably have rated this Porter higher, but as it stands I would still mark it down as a Holy Beer Contender, but only give it maybe a 5.6 on the Holy Grail Scale.

I mean, it’s still good.  No, still delicious.  Even with the hint of clove.

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