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!

Excerpts directly from the BrewDog Brewery website: “This blond Belgian ale is infused with nettles from the Scottish Highlands and Fresh juniper berries. Only 12 bottles have been made and each comes with its own certificate and is presented in a stuffed stoat or grey squirrel. The striking packaging was created by a very talented taxidermist and all the animals used were road kill. This release is a limited run of 11 bottles, 7 stoats and 4 grey squirrels. Each ones comes with its own certificate of authenticity.”

“The End of History: The name derives from the famous work of philosopher Francis Fukuyama, this is to beer what democracy is to history. Fukuyama defined history as the evolution of the political system and traced this through the ages until we got the Western Democratic paradigm. For Fukuyama this was the end point of man’s political evolution and consequently the end of history. The beer is the last high abv beer we are going to brew, the end point of our research into how far the can push the boundaries of extreme brewing, the end of beer.”

“This 55% beer should be drank in small servings whilst exuding an endearing pseudo vigilance and reverence for Mr Stoat. This is to be enjoyed with a weather eye on the horizon for inflatable alcohol industry Nazis, judgemental washed up neo-prohibitionists or any grandiloquent, ostentatious foxes.”

See the whole thing direct from the source:  The End of History

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.

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.

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.

Because you know, after all, the future’s uncertain and the end is always near.

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.

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.

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.