Tagged with beeeeer

catch the wave.

(Subtitled: Or some other marketing bullshit.)

When I made my rounds on Friday, I picked up a bottle of Iron City’s newest burst of brewing genius — IC Light Mango. My beer folks had been waiting for this one since news of it came out a few weeks ago, and, yeah, I need to try one — one — just out of morbid curiosity.

And tonight was the night.

I had already had a solid western Pennsylvania kind of evening — brats from Parma in the Strip, with a glass of White Magick from Voodoo in Meadville — so something from Pittsburgh’s oldest brewery — sort of — was the perfect capper, right?

Heh.

Here we go. The bag was appropriate, I thought, probably more than the Penn Brewery glass. Let’s take a closer look.

Hm. Looks like a funky Coors Light. But I’m committed here, so let’s see what it looks like in the glass.

After a hard pour, that head held on for a while, thereby exceeding my expectations. But even more important than the look? The smell. Holy mangoes, Batman — the powerful fruit on the nose promised something that would taste like fruit juice. Maybe not so good for a beer, but I was hopeful.

But that’s not what I got.

The nose promises a fruit bomb, but the flavor doesn’t match the nose; in fact, it doesn’t even come close. Going in, I didn’t expect to like this, but I was expecting a cloying, fruity mess, and what I got instead was actually just kind of dull: a hint of the promised mango flavor, and nothing that suggests that any hops or barley had anything to do with the production of the beer.

Here’s the odd part. I hate this kind of marketing crap, when a brewery blindly follows trends in hopes of scoring a winner. But while I wouldn’t recommend IC Light Mango, I didn’t hate it. It is bland, inoffensive and will probably sell by the truckload for the rest of the summer.

And that’s probably my biggest problem with IC Light Mango — there are a bunch of people who will buy this and think they’re being adventurous. And that’s a bummer, especially when there are so many really good fruit beers out there to try. The next time East End releases one of its berry-rye concoctions, get yourself to the brewery in a hurry; they go quick, because they’re that good.

If you want to try IC Light Mango because you’re curious? Fine — go have a taste and see what you think. But please think twice about rushing to buy a case, just because it’s the newest thing from Iron City — you’d be much better off spending your money supporting brewers that put some thought and care into their beer, rather than those that chase marketing numbers instead.

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#ohiotour (sunday).

Besides that night’s show in Cincinnati, I had one thing on my mind when we got up Sunday morning — breakfast.

And that’s when the day got weird.

Mrs. Crappy found a place in Fairlawn called the Sweet Pea Cafe that had a fabulous-looking breakfast menu and sparkling reviews on Urbanspoon and Yelp. I had taken a cursory glance at the menu the week before and hadn’t noticed the corn-and-bacon pancakes — please allow me to repeat that: CORN-AND-BACON-PANCAKES — and I was stoked when we placed our order. The wait certainly would be worth the payoff, right?

Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Um.

Unfortunately, I can’t answer that question. We arrived in time to spend about 45 minutes on breakfast before we headed southwest towards Cincy, and while I didn’t expect breakfast to hit our table Pamela’s fast, I also didn’t think waiting for our meal would eat up that entire 45 minutes. When we finally gave in, we were met with a shrug from the owner, who made us wait to ask him about the wait for our order.

No food. Indifferent owner. Sweet Pea Cafe outside of Akron? Avoid.

And while we gamely made do with our day-old Giant Eagle subs for breakfast, we got lost in Akron. We found the nastiest rest rooms we’ve seen for years in a gas station-Subway combo south of Columbus. We had to switch hotel rooms in Mason — our Cincy-area stop — because the bathroom in our first room hadn’t been cleaned. We encountered horrid traffic outside of Riverbend. We even had to move once we got parked because the kids who were directing traffic weren’t bothering to direct traffic.

But once we finally kicked back in the lot with a beer or two, the crap of the day started to melt away. It wasn’t as hot in Cincinnati has it had been at Blossom. We met an excellent dude from Louisville who works as a brewer for New Albanian in southern Indiana, who was happy to give us a taste of his excellent APA before we went inside.

And then there was the show.

I loved the set list from the start, but I have to admit that I was still feeling a little clenched from everything else that happened that day — so the band sort of snuck up on me a bit. I hadn’t heard a Punch You In The Eye before; I hadn’t seen a Twist in a couple years. But when Mound started up, I finally started paying attention. A smooth Jibboo, a Fee that Mrs. Crappy almost missed and Backwards — still my favorite song from Joy and one that’s turning into a monster live — wrapped up the first set, with a cool breeze and a stunning sunset to top it off.

The second set started with an indication that the band wasn’t fucking around: Carini. Bam. My first Tweezer, a Crosseyed that rivaled the one we saw at Star Lake in 2003, a Boogie On that might not have been in the ideal place in the set — I was awfully happy to hear it nonetheless — and the capper: a raging Julius into a perfect YEM. Encore? Loving Cup and a thunderous Tweezer Reprise.

Maybe with the exception of Steam, this show had a different feel than the one the night before — a little darker, a little more intense. Blossom was an explosion of energy; Riverbend was about plumbing the depths. Different shows, yes, but the band was near its best both nights.

We didn’t make the same mistake at Riverbend that we had at Blossom — this time, we found food in the lot before we left. Mrs. Crappy found a guy selling the ubiquitous veggie burritos: still warm, beans, zucchini, carrots, peppers, rice and cheese. It couldn’t possibly be more cliché; it also couldn’t have been any better at that moment.

We had a 30-minute drive from Riverbend back to the hotel, and we kept passing exits along Cincinnati’s outerbelt that teased with gleaming White Castle signs. I drove past them all, full, tired and happy.

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tapped (the video).

If the previous post didn’t convey how much fun we had at the Big Tap In, this should.

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tapped.

We arrived in Ohio around noon on Saturday, just about an hour before the start of the VIP session of the second-annual Big Tap In. This was my Christmas present from Mrs. Crappy, who had heard enough good things about last year’s festival that she thought we shouldn’t miss this one.

After a quick lunch and a few minutes to check into our hotel (which, thankfully, was right next the hall), we jumped in line for the first session, which featured special beers from nearly all of the 7,365,839 breweries set up for the show.

There were some spectacular beers throughout the day, but one of the best parts of the days was finding that about half of the city of Pittsburgh made the hour drive up for the show as well.

Friends? Check. Beer? Hooboy. Between the two sessions, we tried dozens, but there were a few that stood out: a cask of Great Lakes’ Nosfaratu; the bourbon-aged Ol’ Red Cease and Desist from Erie that the SIDT boys scored for their table during the VIP session; my first tastes of  two Ommegang beers, Gnomeagang and BPA; a luscious double ESB from Tall Grass Brewing in Kansas; and a firkin of The Poet from New Holland.

And there was this:

Yeah, I know. But it worked well: A swirl of coffee and chocolate up front and a subtle peanuty thread under the more prominent flavors. Wow.

When the second session ended, a pretty good number of the people walked the short distance from the hall to Vintage Estates, Boardman’s fabulous beer and wine shop which organizes the show. It didn’t take Mrs. Crappy and me long to score a table on the front patio, and from that point on we saw a steady stream of friends, flatbreads and yeah, more beer, including what probably turned out to be the best beer of the day.

Years ago, Sickpuppy picked up a gigantic bottle of Stone’s Double Bastard, and I’ve pestered him for as long as I’ve known him about finally cracking that sucker open. And with the fifth anniversary of the SIDT show coming up this month, the bottle made the trip to Boardman, where it chilled in VE’s cooler while the festival was going on .

It got passed around a bit.

Holy crap. My evening was turning a little fuzzy by the time I got a taste, but I’ll never forget it:  a syrup-like consistency and carbonation that had long ago been beaten into submission, flavors ranging from a woody backbone to rich fruits and although this bottle had several years to mellow, the alcohol’s heat still lingered in the background. A spectacular beer, and definitely worthy of the occasion.

We went back to VE late this morning, after Spoon Twitpic’ed one of the breakfast flatbreads, more than enough temptation for us to stop there one more time before making the longest hour-long drive ever back to Pittsburgh.

There will be video of some of this stuff over the next few days, but I’m still beat, so I’m going to sum it up: a day full of fabulous beer, friends old and new and enough food to keep us from dying. Congratulations to VE’s Phil and Sandy for pulling off a great festival and to Doug and Brad for the impending fifth anniversary of their show. And a special thanks to Mrs. Crappy, for having the forethought in December to get us to Boardman four months later.

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whew.

Let’s take a moment and consider what would have happened at the end of the Sixth Annual Uncle Crappy NCAA Final Four Challenge (Brought to you by Bocktown) if I had followed through with my original intention for the tiebreaker numbers.

I initially thought we’d use The Price Is Right rule: Closest without going over. I actually had typed that when I wrote out this year’s original AUCNFFC post — and for some reason, reconsidered.

And after seeing the 53-41 final score in last night’s game, I realized how completely screwed I would have been with The Price Is Right rule in effect.

As it turned out, Tim not only picked the correct champion — one of just two to do so — but he also envisioned a fairly conservative title game; his predicted final score was 57-53. Enophiledude, who claims he knows nothing about college basketball, also picked UConn as the champ, but he went with a more reasonable final score prediction: 85-79.

Those of us who watched the game without any rooting interests probably would have better appreciated Enophiledude’s score, but this was the year for ugly basketball, and that’s what Tim had predicted.

Tim? The Bocktown gift card is yours, and I’m told it’ll be ready for you at the bar within a day or two. Congratulations.

Thanks to Tim, Enophiledude and everyone else who entered this year’s AUCNFFC; you guys once again made this a fun way to watch what turned out to be a supremely frustrating tournament.

And special thanks goes to Chris at Bocktown, whose prize donation seemed to bring a lot of eager contestants here again this year. I’d tell you how wonderful the food, beer and service is at Bocktown but most of you know that already. Thanks, Chris.

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22. brewing.

This stuff...

...goes in here.

Extract.

Right after I added these, I had my one boil-over of the whole process. I got it cleaned up before Mrs. Crappy got home, though, so it doesn't count.

Cooling down.

See you in a week.

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