Lagunitas – Lagunitas Sucks (Brown Shugga Substitute Ale)

BY NOW MOST fans of Sucks probably know the story behind the name. They should, too, since it’s a good one—classically irreverent and whimsical as only Lagunitas can be. Since the beer’s apologetic launch in 2011 as a substitute for the seasonal Brown Shugga, Sucks has earned a legion of fans (many of them self-described addicts) and now ranks America’s most highly-regarded Double IPAs.

An improbable arc, perhaps, but one that makes sense in context. Lagunitas is quickly conquering the nation, led by a flagship I.P.A. that is becoming America’s next iconic craft beer (alongside the likes of Fat Tire, Pale Ale, 312, and Boston Lager). Flanking support from the likes of Hop Stoopid, Lucky 13, and Maximus satisfy more lupulin-tolerant palates no longer tweaked by the brand’s core offerings. Yet 100 IBU bombers are not quite apropos of everday consumption, so when Sucks arrived it was instantly embraced as an ideal compromise. With 60-70 IBUs, approximately 8% ABV, and a taste bud-bursting bushel of hops, Sucks has enough flavor to satisfy West Coast veterans while remaining approachable to those more accustomed to DayTime. Case closed?

Not quite. There’s a final piece to this puzzle—an underlying feature of the beer that might do more to explain its fans’ fierce cravings, rhapsodic praise, and recurring urge to bathe in the beer like the nectars of Eden. Sucks is sweet. Literally. Broadly a pale American ale with plenty of hops and alcoholic oomph, yes, but even more so a sweet easy-drinker that taps into our primordial mind and satiates its reservoir with sticky indulgence. This in itself is no great feat, of course: marketers have long known that consumers crave sugar, and sweet beers are brewed by the thousand every day. But in the wide world of ales there are, broadly speaking, two camps—malty (i.e. ‘sweet’) and hoppy (i.e. ‘bitter’)—and declared devotees of one camp rarely cross into the other. Sucks’ real magic, then, is having the looks, smell, and specs of a hoppy beer while delivering an amped-up dose of sweetness that delights fans of either persuasion.

This grand theory may overstate Lagunitas’ ‘evil empire’ ambition, but the fundamentals of sweet seduction are sound. A related phenomenon is playing out in the red wine world where talking ‘dry’ but delivering ‘sweet’ has won fans in droves for such blends as Apothic Red. In fairness, it’s not that Sucks misrepresents itself as a hop-bomb. And it should in fact be celebrated for demonstrating that ‘hoppy’ doesn’t always mean ‘bitter’. So in that sense Sucks may well be a masterpiece. And yet….

Sucks pours an inviting clear gold with a pure white head of soapy froth and mild persistent bubbles. Lacing is outstanding, and the thin residual foam layer can always be easily swirled back up into a solid finger’s width. Copious dry-hopping makes the aroma heavily resinous and ripe, invoking such hops as Galaxy, Simcoe, or maybe Mosaic. Speculative tasters often guess Citra but Lagunitas says them nay, and indeed there’s little mango to be found here. The focus is more on honey, nectar, tropical and less citric fruits; melon, papaya, and pear come to mind before grapefruit and lemon, for instance. A few floral notes work into the mix here and there, but overall the impression is virtually of a pale tropical punch.

This decadent overlay is easily borne by a body thickened by cereal grains, counting wheat, rye, and oats in addition to pale malt. Such a bevy of adjuncts, highly uncommon for a pale ale, accounts for the above-average head retention, weirdly high final gravity (1.025 or so), and generously medium body. Using less fermentable grains allows the beer to retain its bulk without resorting to specialty malts, smooths the mouthfeel substantially, and also helps keep the color bright (enabling its perception as a hoppy pale ale). Used in moderation, these grains also contribute fewer flavors to the mix than kilned malts, so for all its girth Sucks has only the lightest notes of toast and equally little caramel. Alcohol is very well hidden throughout and the medium-plus carbonation nestles in almost unnoticed. There’s a brief temptation to think of Sucks as mild for its lack of kick but its flavors are still quite big—just rounder and more seductive than bracing.

Still, the beer is 60+ IBUs and a handful of leafy and piney bitterness eventually fights through the body and hop flavors, peaking just before the midpalate and returning in the aftertaste. Its lingering presence staves off a critical mass of sweetness while still using a much lighter touch than most Lagunitas beers. Swirling and warming will also draw out more traditional CTZ or Nugget characterstics (earthy, a little piney, and almost astringently herbal in great quantities) that are a welcome extra dimension. They don’t last for long, though, and soon enough Sucks rolls back to its old ways—sweet, succulently satisfying…and subversive, too.

It makes sense how some view this beer as a godsend for the ages and count the days until its release. Indeed, when in the right mood Sucks would surely be a list-topper. But it’s appropriate to remember that Sucks stepped in for a beer called Brown Shugga, during a season known for full-bodied and sweeter beers. So perhaps it’s best that Sucks remains a seasonal, since even in liquid form candy is still just a sometime food.

Served: On tap (Clementi’s, Arlington Heights)

Rating: 88

Green Flash Brewing – Le Freak

LE FREAK, apropos of its name, never quite finds its fit. From the first impression of its appearance through the lingering aftertaste, it vacillates between pros and cons, rarely notching more than a couple in a row on either side of the scales before shifting back again. Fortunately, the beer’s basics are appealing enough (albeit extreme)—joining sweet Belgian tripel-style yeast to an assertively-hopped West Coast pale ale, roughly similar to Lagunitas’ A Little Sumpin’ Wild or Stone’s Cali-Belgique. So for all its ambivalence Le Freak is still rather good. It just could have been so much better.

Very few Green Flash beers pour much lighter than 8 or 9 SRM and Le Freak is no exception; its dense orange color could easily be mistaken for Green Bullet or the West Coast IPA. Its head is slightly subpar, especially when compared to the magnificent fluffy crowns found on traditional Belgian tripels. But it wins back some points on the first nosing through a complicated interplay between citric hops and that Belgian signature—lightly candied, yeasty, with a touch of biscuit. The fuller aroma takes a step back, though, once the dry-hopping unfurls and leafy, piney, and pungent West Coast hops run a little roughshod over the yeast’s delicate fruit esters.

The first flavors replicate the aroma plus another layer of complexity from an herbal zip and bit of baking spice—almost cinnamon, though clove/coriander is likely closer to the mark. The malt character is present but restrained, showing pale grains, a little orange, clearing room for the yeast (more responsible for the biscuit tones) and hops to define the beer’s flavors. Green Flash calls Le Freak ‘zesty’, and there are indeed some Belgian-style phenols that give a piquancy and faint medicinal edge to the mix. But they are a little too tame to be particularly notable in the full context.

No sugar was used in the brewing process, as would be expected in a tripel-style beer (even a hybrid). Still, a high ABV of 9.2% was achieved without leaving excessive traces of malt or caramel in the flavor. Refermented in the bottle, the beer does also have some residual yeast, if not enough to dramatically alter the texture or aftertaste. Effervescence is quite elevated, more suitable for the style, and the body neatly straddles the lighter side of a double IPA and heavier tripels.

Massive bitterness ratings are a calling card of Green Flash’s, but even so this beer would have benefitted from more modest dosing. Le Freak’s hopping rate of 101 IBUs is just too aggressive to integrate with a Belgian tripel, a style rarely hopped beyond 40 IBUs. The beer we end up with is still a tasty twist on Green Flash’s typically pungent and almost savory hop assault, but overall it just seems to have missed the point.

Served: 22 oz bottle best by 9/18/15

Rating: 85

Anchor Brewing – Liberty Ale

LIBERTY ALE was originally released in 1975 to coincide with the 200^th anniversary of Paul Revere’s ride. Yet Anchor also emphasizes the beer as a source of innovation, calling it the first “modern” American IPA as well as the first to be single- and dry-hopped. Each accolade on its own would be enough to enshrine any beer in brewing history, much less one that claims all three. And Anchor does have room to make such claims, given their track record for pioneering (or at least rediscovering) American craft brewing at large. But the modern craft drinker doesn’t generally regard Liberty as an IPA and might even be surprised to hear it described as such. It’s the reverse situation of another old-school Cascade-driven pioneer—Sierra Nevada’s Pale Ale, commonly called an IPA but actually classed as an APA.

The distinction would be merely academic if Anchor’s weren’t on the cusp of releasing a six-hop beer actually called IPA that deliberately targets the category’s explosive growth and constant redefinition. Few breweries have been around long enough to see that landscape shift beneath them, and fewer still produced a recipe continuously since the days of the Vietnam War. So how has Liberty Ale kept up?

In short, pretty well. Though less assertive than modern drinkers expect American IPAs to be (not least those from California), Liberty is a refreshingly bright pale ale with distinct citric aromas, light body, and crisp finish. More than a ‘gateway’ beer, Liberty is a textbook case of how clean and pure flavors (often marketing euphemisms for bland and icy lager) can be compelling in an ale. Admittedly Liberty won’t satisfy the lupulin cravings of modern hopheads—nor has it aged quite as well as other first wave Anchor beers like Porter—but it retains its dignity and relevance today on the outskirts of beer’s most competitive category.

Liberty has a clear amber color, filtered for perfect clarity, with a thin fluffy white head and lasting percolation of bubbles. Dry-hopping yields a gently floral and citric bouquet: not the overwhelming hop farm aroma of some beers, but rather something pleasantly refreshing and approachable. The single hop used here for both the boil and dry-hopping is Cascade, the iconic cultivar of American brewing and still its most popular. The malts supply subtle support with a touch of honey, caramel sweetness, and undertone of fresh yeast, despite the filtration.

The beer’s flavors dovetail perfectly with its aroma—fully refreshing without being aggressive—led by Cascade’s lemon and lime, supported by the faintest hint of biscuit, and with moderately high but still gentle effervescence that derives naturally from completing fermentation in casks. The finish is clean, slightly leafy with only moderate bitterness, and touched lightly by soft water. The 5.9% ABV can maybe be sensed as a whiff in the aroma but not in the flavor at all.

By today’s standards (especially those of an IPA), Liberty is perhaps a touch too focused on Cascade’s citric notes. In comparison, the aforementioned Pale Ale also draws out the hop’s pine and florals as well as more assertive bittering, making for a more complete and complex experience. Indeed, from Liberty’s lightness one can see how hop resins and more assertive bitterness developed to complement Cascade’s nearly tart lemon/lime edge. Many modern IPAs also have more robust grain bills, too, supplying a little more malt complexity beyond Liberty’s gauze of 2-row pale. These personal qualms notwithstanding, Liberty is a compelling recipe that executes to perfection—its clarity and fine lines are as refined as anyone’s.

Served: 12 oz bottled December 30, 2013 (3D3)

Rating: 88

Green Flash Brewing – Palate Wrecker

IMPERIAL IPAs are known to stake their claim to grandeur: Hoptimum, Dreadnaught, Hop Stoopid, Ruination, Hopslam, Rampant…the list goes on. Few, though, have thrown down the gauntlet as bluntly as Green Flash does with the name Palate Wrecker. The glossal equivalent of the Tsar Bomba, this beer is 9.5% ABV, 100+ IBU (How much of a plus? Does it matter?), and hopped with a whopping six pounds per barrel. Its color, like most of Green Flash’s imperial pale ales, is a dense but clear amber approaching bronze when the glass is full—perhaps 10 SRM, with a reasonably strong pale head and decent retention. But no one is drinking Palate Wrecker for the wraparounds—the liquid here is really all that matters.

True to its name, this beer has a serious hop density, saturated from front to back with resin, florals, citrus, and a bit of spice—probably drawing heavily from the usual ‘C’ suspects (Centennial, Columbus, etc.). Yet it actually doesn’t have as much pure hop leaf aroma as expected, instead blooming with a concentrated fruit mélange almost akin to a crushed packet of Smarties—lemon, orange, grapefruit, and further tropical tones all mixed in together in one package. Once on the palate some other qualities come forward—spice and pine, most notably—though considerable sweetness lingers throughout thanks to dense dollops of caramel in the medium body. The persistence of that malt presence in the face of such hopping rates likely stems from the ‘double’ brewing method, whereby a portion of boiled wort is used for sparging the mash, thus introducing kettle-caramelization (and hops) to the mix very early and emphasizing a unique density that crystal grains and single infusions can’t precisely replicate. This approach also ensures a high gravity, allowing the beer to reach its nearly 10% ABV without fermenting below a solidly medium mouthfeel. More spice and a bit of dry herbs rises late, along with some crackle from a 9.5% ABV that penetrates the finish and nearly overpowers the moderate carbonation.

Indeed, Green Flash weren’t far off when they dubbed this beer Palate Wrecker. But ye who seek unmitigated hop wreckage should look elsewhere. This beer’s dominance is achieved more by fatiguing the palate from all quarters, overwhelming it through attrition instead of a surgical, slaughtering strike. Still sound appealing? Then enter the lists—your adversary awaits.

Served: 12 oz bottle

Rating: 91

Green Flash Brewing – Green Bullet Triple IPA

THOUGH GREEN BULLET is a tasty and unmistakably imperial-class pale ale, calling it a Triple IPA smacks just a little too much of the shaving razor race. Once upon a time three blades did just fine, thank you very much, until the likes of Quattro started crowing the virtues of four. And then came five, and six…and twenty-two. Does this race to infinity technically increase the output? Usually, sure. Does it also increase utility, though? That’s less clear.

Simply ‘Green Bullet’ is a better name, reflecting the brewery’s name, highlighting the New Zealand cultivar that defines this beer (along with Pacific Gem), and presaging the massive slug of 100 IBUs that explodes from the glass. The sheer volume of hops delivers a stemmy pungency on the nose, but once that wave passes Green Flash’s New Zealand connection becomes clearer. The Green Bullet hop is more akin to Green Flash’s standard profile (e.g. their West Coast IPA)—high on the alpha-acids and Myrcene oil, piney, citric, and rubbed with onion—but a little sweeter overall. Pacific Gem, despite an even higher alpha acid content, goes further down that route (melon, sweeter stone fruit) and effectively links the beer’s aggressive bitterness to the lurking malt midsection.

Green Bullet’s label declares it full-bodied, and this is true in comparison to numerous other West Coast imperial IPAs. But overall it is more modest, providing a clear dose of caramel and orange to the midsection and enough heft for strong carbonation to glide from its midpalate peak into the finish as the malts subside neatly as tropical hop sweetness comes to the fore. Alcohol of 10.1% ABV is apparent as a background fume in the aroma as well as a complicating texture in the aftertaste, where that bump of sweetness subsides beneath a tide of clean hop bitterness.

But at no point does Green Flash become expressly the territory of desensitized palates and daredevils. It’s robust, citric, pungent, a bit spicy, and faintly dank, but also sweet at times and altogether more pleasantly sippable than one might expect. And perhaps this follows, considering that many preeminent Double IPAs are renowned for their flavors instead of their bitterness, spanning the light-bodied and hyper-hopped (Pliny the Elder) to the sweet and girthy (Double Crooked Tree, which literally doubled everything but the water). If such a range can be comfortably covered by the simple designation Double, where does this leave the Triple designation? In the marketing department wastebasket—at least until 13+% ABVs are common territory. Until then, Green Bullet packs enough punch to not need any window dressing.

Served: 12 oz bottle

Rating: 90

Green Flash Brewing – Hop Head Red India Pale Ale

IT’S NOT WHAT one would expect from the palate wreckers at Green Flash, but until 2011 their Hop Head Red ale sported only about 6% ABV and sub-50 IBUs. Downright modest by their contemporary standards. But tastes change with the times and so today Hop Head’s profile is more aligned with its synonymous tribe: 7% ABV, 70 IBUs, and copious Amarillo dry-hopping for a pithy grapefruit bloom as soon as it hits the glass.

Equally liberal additions of Columbus and Nugget hops in the boil anchor that citric bouquet with a dense herbal dankness in both aroma and flavor. With its sticky head and medium-plus copper body, Hop Head then counters its hop punch with caramel, faint edge of roast, a spiciness that hints at rye (but probably comes rather from the hops), and slightly warming alcohol. The grain bill reportedly includes a touch of Carafa to underscore its deep red color and hone the edges of the malt center. The beer’s pungent first impression subsides near the midsection where pine and caramel run neck-and-neck before a spike of grapefruit comes through for a zesty punctuation and refreshing twist. Carbonation is rather elevated throughout, as is appropriate; much less and the hop resins, persistent pine, and size of the body would start running together. Yet the finish is unexpectedly clear—still bitter, but not harshly so and with a hint of dryness implied by that small addition of dark grains (whatever they may be). Thus Hop Head may take its foot off the gas towards the end, but it’s a welcome downshift after setting a breakneck pace from the get-go. While remaining a highly assertive beer entirely consistent with the brewery’s MO, it’s also the smoothest point of entry for those not yet accustomed to Green Flash’s need for speed.

Served: 12 oz bottle

Rating: 90

Lagunitas – Brown Shugga’

LAGUNITAS IS GOOD at getting things wrong. Back in 1997 the brewers were attempting a batch of Gnarlywine when they realized their wort was far below its target gravity. On the instruction of founder Tony Magee they raided local grocery stores for every ounce of sugar available and tossed it into the fermenter, hoping to boost the final ABV to a level more apropos of the style. The beer that emerged was indeed strong, but its relatively light body was inappropriate for the target recipe and style. Fortunately, the brewers recognized their inadvertent discovery as a recipe worth repeating and dubbed it Brown Shugga’ in honor of the not-so-secret ingredient. In the ensuing years it returned as a winter seasonal and today is considered one of Lagunitas’ signature brews.

Of course, Belgians had been adding sugar to their recipes for generations before Lagunitas, so the idea was hardly new. But the technique wasn’t too popular in the States at the time and Brown Shugga’ has amassed a devoted fanbase while standing out amidst Lagunitas’ broadly Reinheitsgebot-compliant lineup.

The beer pours with a large plume of a slightly yellowed head with excellent lacing, though it subsides to a shadow of its initial glory in fairly short order. Its color is an enticingly bright copper with plenty of residual yeast visible in the otherwise clear body.

West Coast breweries often favor clean fermentations that leave little yeast signature, but several Lagunitas beers share a house character. For example, although appreciably different than A Little Sumpin’ Sumpin’, Brown Shugga’s aroma has comparably cake-like yeast notes. (The two also share some wheat in the grist.) Actual brown sugar is not as large a component of the fermentables as one might guess—most of the sweetness comes from several kinds of caramel malts that make up nearly 10% of the grain bill. And they come through prominently, supported by citrus and pine with some slight booze fume. At warmer temperatures there’s also some hazelnut and a bit of diacetyl, the latter having survived the warm rest that occurs near the end of fermentation.

Shugga’s flavors follow suit, opening with lightly kilned but densely saturated malts. A little citric pith spikes up for relief later on, but the combined influence of brown sugar and piney hops leaves a maple syrup impression too sticky to dispel. The relatively mild Willamette hop was used as the primary bittering addition, with a large dose of hop extract helping elevate the final IBU to around 51. Thus Brown Shugga’ has an almost syrupy quality to its hoppiness, more liquid and mouth-coating than leafy, lively, or prickly. (Hop Stoopid is another beer with hop extract, which in high IBU-recipes are used to control vegetal off-flavors as well as to save space/money in the brewing process.)

Bitterness is clearly present in this beer, but it is synchronized with the malts in a single wave of flavors instead of separate tides. Relatively low effervescence also refrains from riling up more bitterness in the finish. The body is full as befits a ‘failed’ barleywine, but the use of sugar to boost the ABV means that the final gravity is not especially elevated: at around 5-6 Plato, it’s  sticky and round instead of genuinely chewy.

Minerality is slightly pronounced, subtly providing some framework for the gooey malt center as well as aiding in healthy fermentation. Confronting a 1.110 OG and fermenting to nearly 10% ABV, the yeast could certainly use the backup. Alcohol slickness in the finish clears out a bit of the toast and the bitterness that peaks around the midpalate.

Shugga’ is a rather well-apportioned beer, despite its strength and slipshod origins: commendations are due to Lagunitas for recognizing the virtues of an accident. Appropriately, the fates paid them back in a few years when Brown Shugga’ was the cause of another successful failure—Lagunitas Sucks. But that’s a different story.

Served: 12 oz bottled 10/17/13)

Rating: 89

Note: All recipe facts and figures drawn from an interview with Lagunitas brewmaster Jeremy Marshall conducted by CanYouBrewIt.

Anchor Brewing – Porter

AMONG ANCHOR BREWING’S many pioneering brews the most famous must be their Anchor Steam. It’s a style they’ve trademarked, after all, and have been brewing for more than a century. Indeed, the bond between steam beer and San Francisco is arguably America’s best answer to such inseparable pairings as Vienna lager, Czech pilsner, Dublin stout, London porter, et cetera. Anchor itself is also recognized as a craft trailblazer dating back to 1965, when Fritz Maytag rescued the company from bankruptcy and launched a new era. Since then Anchor has helped develop numerous American styles including barleywine, Christmas seasonals, India pale ale, and porter. Several were the first of their kind to be brewed since Prohibition; more than 40 years later, some still rank among the nation’s very best.

One such recipe is Anchor Porter. A robust and full-bodied beer, its color is a scant couple shades from black, tinged just enough with deep brown to make it look more like cocoa than espresso. Head retention is not too strong, but lacing is substantial and the texture quite creamy while it lasts. The aroma is heavily skewed towards malts, blending dark bread, cocoa powder and milk chocolate both, nuts, and eventually some lesser suggestions of coffee and roast. Those darkest malts are not particularly prominent in either aroma or flavor, helping distinguish this porter from stout and keeping its overall impression quite velvety.

The mouthfeel is correspondingly generous, sweetened with chocolate and licorice, then undergirded by those black malts to imply a little crunch—like a piece of bread toasted enough not to turn soggy when spread with Nutella. And while Northern Brewer hops are not very clear in the mix they do push back somewhat in the aftertaste, effectively countering the panoply of malts without demanding attention. A classic approach.

And somehow also balanced: the mouthfeel is big and soft, full-flavored yet somewhat mellow, not sugary but still a little sticky on the lips, and showing some creamy carbonation late that’s overall fairly subdued. A light spreading alcohol sensation appears in the finish, although the 5.6% is by no means elevated. The finish offers renewed notes of dark bread, less roasted than is usual in a beer this dark and again standing clear of stout territory. If ever one wondered at the difference between the two, Anchor’s Porter should stand as exhibit number one.

Indeed, Anchor’s porter is quintessential. Newcomers have updated the style with stronger roasted flavors or more aromatic hops—Black Butte, for instance, or Founders’—and deserve to be recognized. But aside from Great Lakes Edmund Fitzgerald (and to a lesser extent Sierra Nevada), Anchor’s is the most tried and true porter that exists on American shores.

Served: 12 oz bottled 11/7/13 (3NF)

Rating: 93

Anderson Valley Brewing Company – Wild Turkey Bourbon Barrel Stout

BEERS WITH THIS long a name usually have a little more going for them. Anderson Valley do deserve credit for attempting a sessionable beer (6.9% ABV) in a category swarmed by behemoths in the teens, and this effort is far from poorly made. But such sizeable doses of alcohol do more than just go to one’s head—they can also deepen a drink’s complexity and bear up its flavors. And that’s precisely what’s missing here.

The beer’s nose leads with corn, thankfully derived from the bourbon and not brewing adjuncts, and a touch of charred oak crackle. From there it settles down, revealing the qualities of the baseline beer—oatmeal, a bit of cream, smooth chocolate from the roasted barley—that blend well with the milder barrel notes of vanilla and a little smoke. Though the beer spends several months in those Wild Turkey barrels, they don’t leave an especially pronounced impression, imparting more of the sour mash than bourbon residuals. (As an aside, Anderson Valley’s own site gets muddled over the value of Wild Turkey, attributing the bourbon’s quality both to high-proof and low-proof distillation techniques.)

Bitterness overall is understated (14 IBUs), with some earthiness from Mt. Hood hops late. More on this front would have been welcome to give the latter half of the beer some extra force, especially given the limited role of alcohol in the finish. Carbonation is fairly elevated for the style while the body is slightly lower—still full, to be sure, but not exactly like biting off a mouthful of bread.

This is a reasonable debut for a barrel-aging program, but Anderson Valley will have to do more if they intend to keep up in the business. Tweaking their baseline recipe would be a place to start, for one—perhaps by increasing the roasted barley component of the grist and stepping up the Columbus hops for a more robust baseline product. But as of now it almost takes more time to pronounce this beer’s name than to digest it.

Served: 22 oz bottle

Rating: 82

Russian River Brewing Company – Pliny the Elder

TWO DECADES since their half-accidental birth, double IPAs continue to scrape the stratosphere. Regularly breaking new boundaries of alcohol strength, bitterness, and robustness, young breweries strive to outdo one another in this most American of beer styles. Even though most human palates can hardly discern bitterness beyond 60 IBUs, the threshold of 100 is now routinely smashed. For what purpose? Fleeting glory before the next mathematical wonder comes along to trample it? When Mikkeller released a beer called 1000 IBU not long ago, the self-acknowledged gimmick seemed only half in jest.

Amidst this turmoil an aged philosopher stands composed: Pliny the Elder, created by Vinnie Cilurzo of Russian River Brewing Company. Regarded by many as the greatest double IPA on the planet, it is also one of the first—after a fashion. Though Pliny itself only dates back to 2001, Cilurzo is generally credited with the style’s invention when, on his first day as a commercial brewer in 1994, he produced a beer called Inaugural Ale for Blind Pig Brewery in California. With 30% more malt and 100% more hops, Inaugural quite literally doubled the IPA’s signature ingredient and made it a perennial local hit.

Cilurzo eventually moved on to Russian River, assuming ownership of the company in 2003, and with several refinements has turned his recipe into living legend. Thus while Pliny the Elder is not an exact recreation of Inaugural Ale its pedigree is of the highest order. And likely even finer, by Cilurzo’s own account. More than just a bittering bomb, Pliny showcases the hop flower’s aromatic and flavor potential through an exacting regimen of mid-to-late boil additions and copious dry-hopping.

The hops in question are Amarillo, Simcoe, Centennial, and ‘CTZ’. This latter refers to Columbus/Tomahawk/Zeus, distinct names for the same powerful bittering hop often used as the basis for stronger IPAs. Amarillo, meanwhile, is quite forward in the aroma (thus more a late-kettle addition), recognizably grapefruity but also showing milder stone fruits like peach. Simcoe is the beer’s signature hop, according to Cilurzo, but thankfully it is not given free reign. Simcoe running wild can be overwhelming—pungent, catty, with a piney funk—but here is balanced against the Amarillo, giving Pliny a weighty but not unwieldy presence.

All of the above are further tempered by the softer side of Centennial. The resulting bouquet is semi-tropical, almost akin to Citra, which wouldn’t appear on the market for nearly another decade after Pliny’s launch. Rather citric on its own but in this mixture comparatively sweet, Centennial serves here as the perfect bridge. Like lemon honey or tangerine nectar, it drizzles in to fill the gaps and erase nearly every seam.

But not all. The final act is where Pliny performs the coup de grace and departs from its theme of seductive balance. Especially when the beer is swirled or at higher temperatures a sprig of mint will sift up in a refreshing contrast. It’s Pliny’s strongest nod to ‘green’ hoppiness (i.e. pine, leafy, herbal, stemmy) before we arrive at the finish with its slightly spirituous dissipation and hint of fume from the 8% ABV. Alcohol warming is not too pronounced, yet still showing rather more than in some other DIPAs of greater strength. The final impression is of spring cleaning, with a refreshing bitterness sitting softly towards the back of the tongue and not the back of the throat where it tends to chafe.

Cilurzo is of the opinion that malts should be inconspicuous in double IPAs, and they do indeed play a purely supporting role in Pliny. But they are not undervalued as the essential foundation that allows hop flavors to ebb and flow in the appropriate sequence. The malt bill is predominantly 2-Row Pale with a modest addition of caramel malts for color and texture. Cilurzo then boosts the OG with sugars, ensuring a higher ABV while keeping the final gravity quite light (estimated 1.008-10 FG). Restrained carbonation and some of the denser fruit flavors make it seem a touch fuller. Fermentation is exceptionally clean with hardly any yeast qualities coming through—this beer’s complex flavors stem overwhelmingly from the hops.

That moderate carbonation is lower than first anticipated but in retrospect sits at just the right level to be a facilitator, just like the malts. Any higher and it’d have become a prominent feature, siphoning attention away from the hops. Towards the same end, Russian River force carbonates Pliny instead of conditioning it in the bottle, which obviates the need for any further cellaring (for effervescence to develop) and allows it to be consumed more freshly. The beer’s color remains rich and faintly hazy, though, like a chunk of amber shot through with air pockets. And those bubbles keep going, even in a glass nursed for an hour or more. The head is a snowy white frosting sticky with hop residuals but still slick enough to follow the beer down the glass. Its retention is simply perfect, never subsiding below a solid layer and giving each sip a slight dollop of cream.

Unassumingly plain at first, Pliny’s label is bordered with exclamations inveighing the reader to drink it fresh. The argument is a worthy one, since hop aroma is the first thing to fade in a beer, followed by flavor and finally bitterness. And Pliny’s calling card is not its exceptional bitterness, but rather its paean to hops’ more palliative qualities. Experiencing this beer after those have departed would be to miss its gospel utterly. Indeed, for its balance Pliny seems almost not to exist in the same class as West Coast DIPAs anymore, where such ales as Green Flash’s Palate Wrecker, Stone’s Ruination, and Lagunitas’ Hop Stoopid lay siege to the palate, some more tactfully than others. Those looking for such aggression from Pliny will surely be let down.

But Pliny’s aim is more farsighted and its appeal more enduring. Yes it was extreme for its day, but if garish stats were Pliny’s only distinction it would have long since been dethroned. Cilurzo is more concerned with balance and ideal satisfaction, deriving the most flavor from the smoothest profile possible. 20 years after its preamble and more than a decade since its arrival, Pliny remains a worldwide exemplar, eternally chased but not yet exceeded.

Served: 510 ml bottled 12/2/13

Rating: 99