It smells of molasses, yeast, and honey.

It tastes of WOW-holy-jeeze-this-is-freaking-GOOD.  Blurted out all at once.  My brain has problems separating and processing the flavor.  It’s complex and it comes at you in a rush. 

Other beers will have a wave of this, a rising of that, a hint of so-and-so.  Not this one.  It’s like Flying Dog loaded all the flavors into a shotgun shell and blasted it into your mouth.

Let me take another sip and try it again…

First impression is sweet.  Then molasses, then hops brown sugar medium malt…

I lost it.  Another try…

There’s a nuttiness in there somewhere.  Not walnut or pecan, more like a hazelnut.  Just a hint, a ghost.  Here and gone in an instant.

Another try yields nothing.  It tastes like what it is:  Flying Dog’s take on a Barley Wine style ale.  And it’s absolutely awesome.

This isn’t my first try of it.  I must admit, I’ve been drinking it for about two months now.  It always disappears before I have a chance to review it.  This is my last bottle.

That’s why I’m reviewing it, now, before it’s gone and … I have no idea if I can get more.  These specialty beers come and go.  You have to make the best of them while they’re around.

To summarize, I have to proclaim this as a Holy Beer Contender  and rank it rather high, 9.7 even, on the Holy Grail Scale.  It’s just behind the other premium Flying Dog brew I’ve fallen in love with:  their Gonzo Imperial Porter.

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This brew has the distinction of being the first one which featured Ralph Steadman’s artwork.  According to Flying Dog’s website, the beer itself was blessed by none other than Hunter S. Thompson.  It’s also the bottle that featured the tag “Good Beer, No Shit,” which got them into a bit of a First Amendment tussle.

Personally, I think Flying Dog is leaning a little too heavily on Thompson’s ghost.  They can stand on their own.  They don’t need a dead outlaw journalist’s support.  I mean, I understand his connection to the brewery, but, whatever.

I pop the top of this road dog, and take a sniff.  I’m expecting a lot.  However, I don’t get it.  There’s not much of a scent.  It smells vaguely of yeast with a hint of dark malt.

First taste:  Subtle.  Thin.  Burnt toast, dark chocolate.  Hints of black licorice.  Bitter finish. 

Joyless.

Especially considering their outstanding Gonzo Imperial Porter, this is an immense letdown.  I finish the bottle without enthusiasm.  I have no desire for another. 

It could be that with the other beers they produce, they’ve set the bar rather high.  My expectations were up, and this didn’t meet them.

Checking online I see that others are giving this high marks.  If not an “A” grade, at least a “B.”  Should I give them the benefit of the doubt?

No.  Why?  I didn’t like it.  So no, I’m not proclaiming it groovy.  I’m moving on to the next beer.

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I already know I love this beer, but how much do I love it?  How good is it, really?  I’ve been drinking it for about a month now – for pleasure – and am just now getting around to reviewing it.  So let me put on my professional beer reviewing hat, and let’s jump right in…

Popping the top and giving it a sniff: It smells of molasses with a dark undertone of yeast and toasted malt.

Taking that first wonderful swig:  Sweet dark malt, molasses, pecan and walnut notes, sting of hops, smooth bitter finish.  One of the best Porters I’ve ever had.  But, dare I say, is it better than Okocim Polish Porter, which has been up until now my favorite beer in the world?

Let’s test!  Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a bonus section!  Here, for the first time ever, I bring to you the GroovyBrew.com Head-to-Head Porter Smackdown!

Gonzo: Lighter. More fizz.

Okocim: Thicker and richer, not so much fizz.

Gonzo: Better high notes.

Okocim: More complex tail end, sweeter finish.

Gonzo: Sweeter up front, more black coffee at the finish.

Okocim: Definitely smoother.

Gonzo: More for swilling, more likely to drink one after another.

Okocim: More for sipping and savoring.  Less likely to down one after another.

Gonzo: 12 oz. bottle for about $2.50 (Chicago area price).

Okocim: A bit over a pint (500ml) for about $2.50 (Chicago area price).

Gonzo: 7.8% alcohol.

Okocim: 8.3% alcohol.

Gonzo (final impression): Would happily drink it every day.

Okocim (final impression): Would save it for an occasional treat.

WINNER BY A MARGIN: Flying Dog Gonzo Imperial Porter!

Seriously, they’re both wonderful beers, and I love both of them, but all in all I’d have to rate the Flying Dog “.1” more.  So since I’ve given Okocim a 9.8 on the Holy Grail Scale, I must then award Flying Dog’s Gonzo Imperial Porter a 9.9!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the closest to the Holy Beer I have yet found!

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“D.O.R.I.S.” stands for “Double Oatmeal Russian Imperial Stout.”  According to the bottle, its stated purpose is to “overwhelm, satisfy, and destroy your taste buds.”

That’s a pretty bold statement coming from a “hoppin’ frog.”  Let’s put it to the test.

I pop the top of this bad boy.  It’s a tall bottle, 1 Pint & 6 oz., and I decide to pour it into a mug instead of imbibing it directly from the bottle.  But first I take a sniff to see what we’re dealing with here.

It smells like hops and dark roasted malt, and it pours like well-used motor oil.  I’m not kidding.  This brew is thick, viscous, and absolutely black, with a dark brown head.  (I don’t remember ever seeing a head this dark.)  I have no choice but to wonder: What the hell am I getting myself into? 

It’s either going to be outrageously good, or abysmal.

First sip.  Initial taste is sweet black coffee.  Smooth, heavy, and rich.  Sting of hops, quickly pummeled by the taste of oatmeal with brown sugar.  That reigns for a good long while until it fades under a layer of burnt toast, and then finally the resurgence of a strong wash of hoppy bitterness.

Not only is this a groovy brew, it’s a very groovy brew, and I grant it a outrageously high 9 (nine!) on the Holy Grail scale.

I also have to rate it as a OMFG beer.  “Oatmeal freaking good,” of course.  Heh.

Consider me destroyed.  After downing this entire bottle of 10.6% (roughly 21 Proof) ale, I can no longer feel my face.

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Okay, pardon me for a moment, but I have to geek out a bit. Microsoft Word 2010 just automatically removed the background behind the bottle for me. It just knew what to remove, and pow, I have a naked bottle sitting there.

That’s just freaking awesome. Why can’t my photo program do that? I mean, come on, a word processor is showing up professional photo software! Corel, please, get your act together. Microsoft is kicking your pants.

Okay, back to the ale. This ale is awesome. Someone recommended it to me and I am glad I took them up on it. From the masters at Hook Norton Brewery in Oxfordshire comes this, a traditional English ale, with the motto: "Where progress is measured in pints."

Pop the top, take a whiff, and you smell golden malt, a drift of hops, and a touch of yeast.

Take a sip, and it turns to a gulp. I’m having to sound the gulp alert on this one. It tastes so smooth and refined that your body just automatically says, "Okay, open up, we’re taking it all in one go!"

Force yourself to stop. Take a cleansing breath. Sip.

It’s fruity, smooth, refined, and smooth. Did I mention refined? And smooth? It’s those things. The crystal malt is coming from somewhere on a higher plane. The beer sings, either that or it melted my brain. One of the two, or perhaps both. Exquisite is about all I can come up with.

I hereby proclaim this to be a groovy brew and a holy beer contender, and rate it a high 8.0 on the Holy Grail Scale. Also, I’m wishing I’d gotten more than one bottle.

But, really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s better that I didn’t.

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I remember trying this beer back when I was in my early twenties, and telling everyone it tasted like "beer syrup." It’s a Doppelbock style beer from Kulmbacher Brauerei AG in Kulmbach, Germany, highly rated and somewhat hard to find. Binny’s in Glen Ellyn Illinois has it, along with a zillion other “hard to find” beers. The place truly is beer heaven. I saw the EKU 28 on the shelf and decided to see how it stacks up against my memory.

Popping it open, I give it that obligatory first sniff. It smells yeasty and sweet, so much so the scent overpowers just about everything else but the faint undertone of malt.

I raise it up to my lips, tip it back. Tastes just how I remember it. Beer syrup. On the initial sip all you really notice is how heavy and thick it seems, and the taste is a neutral grain alcohol flavor that sinks smoothly under a wave of citrus maltiness. That gives way to a mild bitterness that has a woody quality to it, reminding me just a bit of bourbon.

Actually that’s a good way to describe it. If you ever have a dark beer with a bourbon chaser, that aftertaste is quite a bit like EKU 28. The chaser is included.

Indeed. This brew is 11% alcohol by volume, and it hits you quickly. You don’t want to drink too many of these in a row, unless you like waking up naked in the meridian of a major freeway, or hanging from a tree by a bondage outfit you have no recollection of buying.

I have no choice but to proclaim EKU 28 as a groovy brew, but I don’t really feel it rates as a holy beer contender. It’s good and it’s fun but it doesn’t cause angels to sing.

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I’m writing this on an Apple iPad in a screened-in porch at sunset. Why? I don’t know. Just because I can, I guess.  That, and it seemed to be a nice place to take a picture of the bottle.

O’Doul’s Premium, which comes in a green bottle, does indeed taste different than O’Doul’s Amber, which comes in an amber bottle. One tastes amber and the other one tastes green.

Okay, it’s kind of cold out here on the porch. I’m going inside.

There. Much better. Now I’m sitting in a recliner writing on the iPad. And I’m still drinking this O’Doul’s.

What do I mean it tastes "green?" Well it just does. It tastes like it’s coming out a green bottle. It’s psychological I guess, but really, that’s what it tastes like to me. Green glass beer.

It smells weakly of green hops. It tastes like green hops, too, and watery. There’s a bit of a bite from the bubbles and, for a few seconds, the brain is fooled into thinking this might be a Michelob. But it fades quickly to a rather disappointing barley water flavor, followed by a muted surge of weak bitterness.

If I had to choose between O’Doul’s Premium and O’Doul’s Amber, I’d choose the amber. If I had to choose between this and water, I’d choose O’Doul’s, either color. It’s better than nothing. Not much of an endorsement, I know, but that’s as good as you’re going to get from me.

O’Doul’s Premium is better than plain water.

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Long a denizen on the more portable iPhone and iPod Touch, the Beer Judge Certification Program Style Guidelines are now available for the Apple iPad, where it’s much easier to read.

A touch here, a touch there, and you’ll find out everything you want to know about a certain style of beer.

I absolutely love it, and for those of you with an iPhone/iPod Touch, the same program works on those as well – you don’t have to buy another copy.

More info:  Beer Judge Certification Program website and BJCP Styles on Apples App Store.

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This is O’Doul’s Amber.

Oh yes, amber.  Not to be confused with O’Doul’s green.  The color distinction is more in the shade of glass than the brew – but, whatever.

This one really does smell like beer.  So much so, it’s got my pen-hand shaking.

Hmm.  Not good.  I mean, for me.  If I miss the stuff so much that a sniff of it starts me to shaking…  Well, let’s not go down that path right now.

The first sip fools my taste buds for maybe four seconds, the taste masked behind a very beer-like effervescence. That fades to a barley-water taste that’s devoid of even the hoppiness – weak as it is – of Sharps.

A surprise here:  I like Sharps better!  I don’t know why I thought I’d like O’Doul’s better, but I did expect I would, and I don’t.  Quite the contrary.

This is watery but not with a thin mouthfeel – the specific gravity seems fairly heavy.  And, well, I’m not going to pour it out.  It’s drinkable.  But compared to Sharps, I’d take the Sharps.

I’m still surprised by that.

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I’m renting this wonderful little place on a corner lot … on an island.  Think about that for a second.  A corner lot on an island.  It’s where the beach turns a corner.

On the very corner of this island is another little island, just big enough for a medium sized tree and a hammock.  I am on that hammock.

There are no big waves on this side.  If there were, it might take me out.  But it’s nice and calm, and instead of booming and hissing, the water here is calm and makes little wet lapping sounds.  In the distant there’s the occasional cry of a seagull, about once every 92 seconds, like clockwork.

Popping off the cap with the opener on my key chain, I relax here, taking in this calm Zen moment in the whirlwind of my life, and take a deep sniff of the Green Flash Barleywine.

Nothing.  I can hardly smell anything.  I don’t know if that’s because of this brew, or if it has something to do with the functioning of my nose at this moment.  (Or should I say, non-functioning?)

I take a deep breath, clear my mind, and raise the heavy bottle to my lips.  The first sip is wonderfully malty – it tastes of toasty malt, very much like a biscuit, all swallowed up in a wave of tingly bubbles.  Next is a passage of a vodka, alcohol taste, something to let me know this brew means serious business.  Then again, this is barleywine – if it didn’t have a serious alcohol punch, there’d be something wrong with it.

After that, it finishes with a nice rising tide of hoppy bitterness.  Very good.  Indeed, it’s delicious.  And it’s perfect for enjoying on a hammock on the sea shore.

I’d give this a decent 6 on the Holy Grail scale and proclaim it an official groovy brew.

This review transcribed from handwritten notes taken in 2009.

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