Non-Alcoholic

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.

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.

Get ready for a shock.

Are you ready?  I mean, are you braced for it?  Yes?  Okay, here goes…

I like this stuff.

Okay, I know my accumulating months of brewski self-depravation may be causing some sort of dementia in my brain, but Sharps is not bad at all.  I doubt I would have said this in December 2009, but here, now, I’m saying it. 

What’s doubly strange is that I like it even though I can sum it up with these three words:  Tangy Barley Water

As with other non-alcoholic reviews I’ve been posting, please bear in mind I am not comparing this to actual beer.  Sharps, such as it is, is not bad.  It’s tangy, has some good satisfying carbonation, and gives you a nice barley flavor spiked with hops.

Not a whole lot of hops, but enough to enjoy.

You could also think of it as beer flavored water.  In a pinch, or in my cause, a drought, it does the trick.

As often as not, that’s all that’s required.

I had this a few nights ago with a really nice cut of rare steak, some potatoes, and asparagus.  During this excellent meal, Kaliber tasted almost exactly like a Guinness Stout.  I was in heaven.

Without the meal, drinking it all on its own, is another story.

When you pop the top and take that first sniff, all is well.  It has that familiar and welcoming scent of dark roasted malt and yeast.

Raising it to the lips, taking that first swig, the illusion holds for about 18 seconds.  Maybe.  I think.  Could be that I’m giving it the benefit of the doubt, because the more I think about it, the more it seems like 12 seconds.

There’s a rush of dark toasted malt with strong hints of rye bread.  That part is all good.  Then it fades to a disappointing burnt taste that reminds me of blackened bread crust.  Yeah, you know … been in the toaster too long?  The carbonation is thin and disappears almost instantly, leaving it about as flat as it can be without actually being flat.

All this sounds very negative, and that’s not really fair.  For a non-alcoholic brew, it’s not bad at all.

With a good hearty meal, it’s excellent.

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.