The Swill: Moe's Backroom Amber Ale
The Still: Contractor: Tap Room Brewing Company
Rochester, New York
Contractee: City Brewing Company
LaCrosse, Wisconsin
http://www.citybrewery.com
The Drill: Amber Ale, 12oz bottle, 4.8% ABV
The Spill: This beer's label claims it was brewed to celebrate the repeal of prohibition in 1933. Apparently, the beer that was made immediately after prohibition ended was weak and watery, as if the thirteen years during which alcohol was a banned substance in the U.S. made everyone forget how to make good beer. A contract brew, the credit goes to Tap Room Brewing Company, though the beer is actually made by City Brewing Company, LLC, who, on their website, claim to be one of the largest commercial breweries in the country. Any devoted reader of Bill's Beer Wall knows that good things come in small packages. The converse of the argument is also true. 'Nuff said.
Says Bill: It was a month ago that I tried this beer. My best friend Dave was playing host for his girlfriend Sara's 30th birthday party at their house. Sara's birthday is May 6th, the same as my father's, and the party was on the 9th. I showed up late, having come from a rehearsal with the band I sing in. Dave picked up a 12-pack of this beer at the grocery store across the street from where he lives, intrigued by its nostalgic label, affordable price, and the fact that he'd never seen it before. Upon trying it before my arrival, he was disgusted and dismayed, as were the other people who had reached for it instead of the Sam Adams he also supplied. Apparently, a conversation took place in my absence where everyone agreed to convince me to try this beer so they could eagerly await my review. When I got there, Dave was the first to greet me, and he played out his role to perfection. He ran outside and grabbed a cold, wet bottle from the washtub he was chilling all the beer in, found me a church key, and waited with bated breath while I popped off the top and poured it into a glass. Just then, my wife entered the kitchen, and performed just as convincingly, grateful that she was there to witness the moment of my first taste. Then, Frank walked in. And Margaret. I took my first sip in front of four witnesses. I held the beer in my mouth, waiting for something--anything--to register, then sadly swallowed what felt and tasted like nothing more than slightly fuzzy water. I looked at Dave, still eager to hear my reaction, and searched for the right words to tell my best friend of 13 years in my own sorrowful way that he had lost his edge when it came to knowing a good beer from an awful one. Then Marisa walked in. My friend Marisa, common-law wife to Frank and Margaret (explanation to follow in later blogs), is not a beer drinker. She despises anything that tastes like beer. Anything remotely beer-flavored, or for that matter, even remotely masculine, registers as an immediate turn-off to her. She looked at me as I was taking my third sip of this sorry excuse for what should have been a holy elixir and said:
"Oh. You're drinking the water-beer."
It was then that I knew that I'd been had.
Nearly everyone at the party was in on the joke.
Big-time prank on the beer guy.
Get everyone to sell him this beer, say it's a delight and a pleasure to drink, and make him think he's crazy for not agreeing with you. Maybe it's he who's lost his edge. Maybe it's because he smokes too much and his palate is deadened by the severe effect of the tobacco. Maybe he's drunk too many stouts to appreciate a good amber, and his views are skewed too far to the extremes to appreciate a mellow summer ale.
Bullshit.
Everyone who had tried this beer, afficionados and non-afficionados alike, had declared that it was completely lacking in character, and they couldn't wait to hear what a self-proclaimed expert would say upon his own first blush. Margaret herself has confessed to reading this blog religiously, solely in anticipation of my review of this one beer. Well, Marg, here ya go. You and everyone else who was in on the joke, even my dear friend Dave, who has the least amount of acting experience among the lot of us, yet was the one person above all else who convinced me of this swill's potential merit...you're all motherfuckers.
Except Holly. Calling her that would be grounds for a divorce, which I don't want. Coming from her, it's kinda cute.
Refill?: Who gets the last laugh? Dave, you're the asshole who spent the money to buy it: 0 taps out of 5.