Barley
   Boom
    



Michael Murphy  







































 







Stateside, beer lovers are enjoying the renaissance of flavorful,
"made-in-the-USA" beers, but one of the most noteworthy achievements of
the current microbrewery boom is the commercial appearance of beer's
high-alcohol king,  barley wine.  In the hands of a dedicated
band of experimental brewers, "barley wine-style ale" has become
America's behemoth of beers: An ale with as much fire and finesse as a
great Cabernet.




















Christened "barley wine" by English homebrewers in the late 1800's,
this ale's unique brewing method has survived through the ages, due in
part to its yearly cycle.  Brewed to require aging, barley wines tend to
be produced in the summer and early fall, so they'll be drinkable when
the weather turns a chill.  Also referred to as "winter warmers," barley
wines pack substantial spirituous warmth, and can be quite potent,
ranging from 6-12 percent alcohol.


Inspired by such English progenitors as Bass' "No 1," Eldridge Pope's
"Thomas Hardy's Ale," and Young's "Old Nick Barley Wine", Americans have
revamped the process and lavished it with highly acidic American hop
varietals.  New hop species such as Centennial and Chinook dominate, and are
typically finessed by the craft brew workhorse hop, Cascade.  Handfuls
of these high-powered flowers are strong enough to cut through the malty
wort and give beers such as Sierra Nevada's Bigfoot its
bitterness and floral charm.
 



































  


First brewed in 1975, Anchor Brewing Company's Old Foghorn is
the mainstay of American barley wines.  A frequent medalist at the Great
American Beer Festival, Anchor's 1997 offering has a surprisingly thin
body.  Sedate and easy-on-the-way-down where other barley wines are all
heat and brimstone, Old Foghorn is the grandfather of the genre - a
refined beer with a great malty aroma and lip-licking sweetness.



















 
 
  



If Old Foghorn is the landlord of American barley wines, Rogue's
Old Crustacean is the crotchety guy who lives in the basement -
and is anything but subdued.  Brewed by master brewer John Maier,
Crustacean explodes with hops, malt, and alcohol.  Back tongue
bitterness, incredible molasses sweetness, flavors of iron, pine, and
candy all bang around in your mouth and continue slamming about even
after you've swallowed.  Flavorful, but not cloying, 1996 Crustacean is
an economical sipping beer, and like most young barley wines, could
stand to lay down for another six months or so.  (You guessed it, these
beers get better with age.)





























  

















	If one beer that straddles the line-in-the-sand drawn by
Miller Brewing's recent "anti-micro" advertising, it's Sierra Nevada's
Bigfoot.  A true "macrobrew" (conceived long before an ad-agency
splashed the term), Bigfoot is what beer connoisseurs refer to as "a big
beer." It might sound lowbrow, but it's whispered with worshipful
respect.  Brewing the perfect barley wine is no easy task, and Bigfoot
is as close to perfect as can be.



	Its seasonal release is greeted with great anticipation. 
Last year, the Chico, California brewers found themselves in a PR
nightmare when they decided to release Bigfoot only to the greater Chico
area.  Usenet posts cried foul, and many collections still have holes. 
(You guessed it, passionate hop heads organize vertical tastings of
Bigfoot's recent vintages. And the truly dedicated trek to San Francisco
for The Toronado's annual barley wine celebration.)






 



















	Labeled with a hokey illustration of a gold miner coming across bigfoot tracks (with reluctant donkey in tow), and crowned with a cap that has a mysterious fireside graphic on its underside, drinking a bottle of Bigfoot is a mythic, encompassing experience.  Intense and fruity, Bigfoot smells a little like Oregon in August; floral, grassy and hot.  It possesses a larger mouthfeel than Old Foghorn, and is warm but not rough-around-the-edges like Old Crustacean.  It's hoppy, but not offensive; malty, but not sticky sweet.  Creamy and lasting, Bigfoot is without a doubt the finest offering of barley wine an American brewery has made to the beer gods.  And that's no small feat.







































Michael Murphy also writes for Zymurgy, a magazine dedicated to beer, and has recently
been earning a paycheck helping large American breweries develop
"micro-style" beers. 





























      
Micro-minds or macro-pinheads?  

      What's your favorite brew, Dick?