Grizzly Growler

Barrel-Aged Belgian Brown Ale at Blacksmith Brewing Company

In the “golden age” of beer, as one of my friends has dubbed the current beer epoch we’re living in, you sometimes stumble on a little bit of classical art in a world of experimentation. As brewers throw every imaginable concoction into whiskey barrels or red or white wine barrels, we’re all learning together what seems to work now and what needs a little more time to whet our imaginations.

On a short bicycle trip in the Bitterroot Valley with my wife and daughter on Sunday, I had this moment of clarity while drinking a Barrel-Aged Belgian Brown Ale at Blacksmith Brewing Company. It wasn’t an epiphany of any sort, more of a fuzzy thought banging around my brain for a while that finally settled long enough to be thought.

In a time when brewers are redefining what beer even is, and where style guidelines are being tossed out the window as fast as the next batch has matured, it’s good to come back to the basics as a grounding zone to withstand the onslaught of tastes and styles currently available.

When I sipped that Belgian Brown Ale aged in whiskey barrels, it brought me back to what is right about beer. That it’s essentially grains, hops, water and yeast but much like our American government, there is a 4th Estate. The aging process could be broken up into several different categories, but if I could rewrite the rules, I would add it to the basic ingredients of beer. Water, grains, hops, yeast and aging.

Yes, some beers are served with minimal aging, just as some beers are served with minimal hop presence or low alcohol. Aging plays such a huge role in what beer tastes like today, especially as our palates continue to work into the unimaginable depths of the taste possibilities in beer.

This particular Barrel-Aged Belgian Brown Ale was a testament to the ability of a good brewer to create an impossibly well-balanced mix of brown ale, always a good choice for blending, souring or barrel aging, and a subtle whiskey flavor complete with a woodsy, sweet vanilla characteristic.

I’ve tasted so many whiskey barrel aged beers that it’s difficult to keep track, but a majority tasted too far in one direction. Not enough wood or whiskey or too much wood and alcohol heat. in some cases, I really enjoy the big, power-packing punch of an overly whiskeyed beer. Most of the time the flavors of beer and whiskey play together briefly, promising so much more than just friendship.

In this case, I believe I witnessed a marriage, of sorts. I’d hate to think of it as a one-night-stand, so I’ll use marriage or perhaps I should go with engagement. Regardless, this whiskeyed beer taught me a lot about what I’ve been trying to process regarding our obsession with breaking limits. To establish a classic, you often have to break every barrier surrounding it in order to establish it as a classic.

I think of Dom Pérignon Champagne and the barrier breaking monk whose name it bears. It’s a classic, but it wouldn’t be without a monk who busted the wine-making theology of the day to create a drink so noble as to become synonymous with celebration.

So, to all the brewers out there breaking boundaries and edging ever closer to whatever it is that will redefine the beverage we know as beer, keep up the good work. And remember, sometimes a little balance goes a long way toward punching out those final boundaries.

Prost,

GG