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

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.

Boston Brewing – Samuel Adams Utopias (2012)

BEHOLD, one of beer’s most totemic brews: a nearly 30% ABV strong ale produced by Boston Beer, bottled in a miniature copper brew kettle and sold for $200. Is it a marketing gimmick, excuse for a snazzy packaging, coup of brewing science, or actually good beverage? Let’s say all of the above. After marveling at the skill and patience necessary to bring forth such a beast, the easiest way to cut through the fuss about Utopias is to evaluate it not as beer but rather a fortified dessert wine. Barely carbonated and hardly hopped, its aged fruit aromas and viscous body becomes much easier to fathom when compared to tawny port than, say, English mild.

The 2012 vintage pours a deep but clear brown with a scarlet tinge, casting sluggish legs up the glass with each swirl. Its aroma is heady and wonderfully complex, marring the big vinous notes of younger sherry with the mild oxidation, plummy sweetness, and cellar warmth of mature port. The entry to the palate is extremely smooth, thick like creme, molasses, maple syrup, or even pecan butter. Utopias foundation in malt grains does eventually reveal itself, invoking nutty, earthy, and somewhat chocolaty flavors a little more than overripe berries, but the distinction is hazy at best—Utopias still has plenty of fig, raisin, and other such dark fruits as make dessert wines so succulent. After lingering lazily on the palate for as long as you’ll have it, Utopias begins to subside with some cherry liqueur sweetness and a touch of pepper tingle—the shadow of its hops, perhaps? It’s obvious that this is a seriously strong beverage, but the ABV is apparent mostly in finish warmth, not cognac heat or any prickly aroma. Carbonation is not to be discerned, nor any bitterness. It is delectable sipping, to be sure. Don’t dream of serving it chilled.

Yet however well Utopias compares to port in flavor, it stumbles over one thing: price. Certainly world class dessert wines can command premiums far above Utopias—which must count among world-class beers for uniqueness alone—but sherry and port of comparable quality can be had for much less than this. Even acknowledging that Utopias’ recipe (i.e. the massive malt bill necessary to ferment up to this strength) distorts its economy, why pay $200 for inefficient beer when $40 would earn the same satisfaction from grapes? For love, perhaps, of malt or magic. Each has merit.

Served: 2012 Vintage

Rating: 93

Lakefront Brewery – Bridge Burner Strong Ale

LAKEFRONT BREWERY has a penchant for voluptuous, occasionally even gluttonous beers. Sometimes a beer’s stylistic framework is robust enough to bear Lakefront’s interpretation, and sometimes it flounders beneath a surfeit of sugars. Bridge Burner, assigned to that most nebulous of categories, ‘strong ale’, seemed destined for the latter course of excess, but instead emerges as an appealing winter-is-coming warmer.

Taking its fiery moniker to heart, Bridge Burner has a warm amber color and solid head the color of wet wood. Its aromas continue the arboreal theme, layering toasty caramel on a pronounced pine hop backbone. Both are also prominent in the flavor and manage to combine, not collide, with the generous prickle of carbonation. The body is rather full but the assertive hops make it seem lighter, while a dose of its 8.5% ABV heat counters a sappy residue that lasts on the lips. The finish is a little one-note and the beer overall a bit unrefined, but it remains is a commendable choice for a fireside evening at the cabin.

Served: On tap (Beer Hoptacular, Chicago)

Rating: 88

Alltech’s Lexington Brewing and Distilling – Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale

BOURBON BARRELS are far and away the most popular sort for aging beer and spirits alike, since by law they can be used only once in their original roles before being discarded. Yet despite being the bourbon capital of the world, Kentucky has yet to produce a wealth of barrel-aged beers. Into that void about a decade past stepped Alltech, a brewing and distilling concern that purports to speak for “bourbon country” at large with their Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale. They decline to specify the source of their barrels and cite an aging process of “up to” six weeks, but neither vagary has stopped the brand from medaling in esteemed competitions like the Great American Beer Festival and World Beer Cup.

This praise is perplexing. In striving to be the paragon of beer and bourbon’s unique union, Alltech overshot their goal dramatically. The bourbon qualities supposed to define and elevate this beer end up as almost parodies of themselves and the ale itself is rather hard to pick out. The brewery’s use of the word ‘subtle’ to describe Bourbon Barrel Ale’s flavors is risible.

It’s nominally an English strong ale or somesuch, but pinning it down too precisely is a pointless exercise. Suffice to say it’s a malty amber-colored ale of around 8.2% ABV, modestly carbonated and immodestly sweet. The brewery promotes it as a digestif or late evening sipper, and it is indeed rich enough to serve for dessert. Yet it goes too far, invoking less of bourbon’s vanilla, oak, and rich grain crackle and more of confectionary like bubblegum or cotton candy. Perhaps also marshmallows or cookie, but those are too simple and pure a sugar for this sticky concoction. Though a number of traditional malty ale qualities are present early on the palate, their relatively thin presentation is enveloped by the sweetness in the nose and finish alike. English hop cultivars, technically present, are hopelessly overmatched. The actual beer here is just not robust enough in either body or mouthfeel to bear the weight of its adornments, which seem to impart more ‘flavoring’ than ‘flavor’. In other words, toppings instead of substance. Fluff instead of form. In small doses it may seem a satisfying indulgence for some cool autumn evening alongside a saucer of pecans and Camembert, but in retrospect it increasingly feels like sipping sugar from a snifter.

Served: On tap (The Village Idiot, Lexington)

Rating: 70

Southern Tier Brewing – Compass

IF SOUTHERN TIER’S 2X Steam were to play the straight sweet malt rhythm for a West-by-East Coast take on Belgian tripel, all the jazzy licks and spicy lead notes would come from Compass, their imperial summer seasonal. Generally termed an American Pale Ale, Compass is more specifically a rose hip-sweetened ale bottle-conditioned with a champagne yeast. The result is a highly effervescent, light-bodied, and playfully tart beer that reflects some of Belgian beer’s appealing zest without the yeasty side flavors. Compass pours a muted honey gold with bountiful carbonation visible throughout its translucence and a respectably silky head draped on top. Its aromas show a little pepper, clove, and the gentle tart florals of the rose hips judiciously slotted into the background. Centennial hops were used for bittering and dry-hopping but contribute only secondary notes. Southern Tier can occasionally go overboard with their adjunct flavors (Crème Brûlée, Pumking), but had a lighter hand here and it served them well. Biscuit—a Southern Tier staple—is again prominent on the palate, nicely cut by some lemon citrus and a little pine from the hops that sneak in towards the back end and remind us that this is an American ale after all.

Also customary to Southern Tier, alcohol is not a bold flavor even at 9%. True, Compass is a fine beer already, needing no additional flavors to make it one of Southern Tier’s most complete offerings, but a little more assertiveness in the finish would seem appropriate for a strong seasonal brewed with champagne yeast. Either way, this Compass is one worth following. Or its polarity is true. Or some other hackneyed pun of good-natured but not overwhelmed approval.

Served: 22 oz bottle

Rating: 88

Mendocino Brewing – Eye of the Hawk

SIMILAR TO THEIR RED TAIL and based on the same basic formula, but with more malt in the bill to beef up the body, slip the hops (Cluster, Cascade, Saaz) and spice a little further back, and kick up the alcohol content to 8%. Sometimes termed a ‘strong ale’ for its ABV, but Mendocino more often refers to it simply as ‘rich-bodied’, which is fair. A coppery shade darker than the Red Tail, the Eye’s flavors are led by hearty caramel malt and wrapped up neatly in a dry finish that has a tang or two of yeast unusual in West Coast ales. Alcohol is perhaps even less notable than in the Red Tail, even as the carbonation is a little lower. Little nondescript, though.

Served: 12 oz bottle

Rating: 85

Dogfish Head – Palo Santo Marron Strong Ale

DEVIOUS, DANGEROUS, DECEPTIVE brown ale between oak and cola in color. Though full in body and decidedly a little slick on the back end, it would still be difficult to fathom that this ale was 12% ABV without reading as much first. Its color, moderately froth, dark tan head, and viscosity suggest a barleywine, but it lacks for the bitterness or carbonation expected from that arena—rather, it has a tremendously smooth mouthfeel and modest dark fruit overtones (raisin, plum) along with a modest dose of dark malts and maybe a bit of sassafras. The eponymous wood used for the aging process is perhaps a bit oversold as marketing fluff, but there is undeniably a little something unique about the warm and soft edges of the finish that sidestep the typical vanilla and oak notes of a bourbon barrel-aged ale. Hops are rated at 50 IBU, but don’t much show up. Pleasurable without being too heavy-handed. Are brown ales ever bold?

Served: 12 oz bottled 8/13/12

Rating: 88

Stone Brewing – Arrogant Bastard Ale

A WEST COAST CLASSIC. If Sierra Nevada sparked America’s love affair with Cascade hops, Stone upped the ante with their take-no-prisoners approach to both brew strengths and marketing sass. In the nearly two decades since their launch in 1996, Stone has muscled to the fore of California’s craft scene, and today is the living manifestation of Marlon Brando slouching over his Triumph—the Wild One then, a cocksure iconoclast, and still admired today by jetsetters of the next generation.

Perhaps no beer embodies Stone’s culture better than their Arrogant Bastard Ale. True to its name, the beer raises hackles even before the cork is popped with an elitist manifesto in place of any substantive description of flavor. Unveiled in 1997, the beer may not hold the title of ‘flagship’ (that’d be the Pale Ale, surprise), but the Arrogant Bastard has grown to be something more: a mission, a mindset, even a mascot of sorts in the form of that ever-present smirking gargoyle. ‘Liquid Arrogance’ is the creed, Arrogant Bastard its consecration.

Enough with the fluff. Under all the clever bloviating on the bottle, the beer inside is a steadfast icon with its own personality, depth of character, and an unexpected balance that (relatively) quietly earns its acclaim. The pour is a dark amber with a deep foaming head, initially reminiscent of its Sierra Nevada forebears but with a couple doses of hop aggression swapped out for smoothing caramel malts. Though still fairly bitter, the Bastard is a Strong Ale, not just an American Pale, and thus is based around its 7.2% ABV, leaving the hop onslaught to the likes of their Ruination IPA. Stone doesn’t try to hide the beer’s strength—the Bastard demands a “sophisticated” palate, not a coddled one—but neither do they accentuate it, instead allowing the interplay of roasted malt, caramel, and dark bread to lead the finish without having to stuff the grain bill and overload the palate. The result is a hefty set of flavors well-balanced throughout a medium body. Less swaggering overall than its name might suggest, the Bastard’s stalwart sensibility is the sweet that substantiates Stone’s sourness. “You’re not worthy,” the slogan scoffs, and that may be. But it surely is.

Served: 750 ml bottle

Rating: 93