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Have Fat Weasel, Will GuzzleJul 13 '00 Write an essay on this topic.In our family, I drink beer, my husband drinks wine. This has led to some lightly amusing moments in restaurants as cocktail waitresses become hopelessly brainlocked over which of us ordered the cabernet sauvignon and which the Killian's draft. I'll admit it, I always found something snooty about wine, beer is just more real to me. This in spite of the fact that my beloved aunt worked for some of the best limited production wineries in Napa Valley and so I had access for free to gold medal wines that wine connoisseurs would scalp people to buy. Sue me, I should have been born in Canada. You just can't watch a hockey game with a glass of wine. With this attitude, I refuse to be a beer snob. However, I refuse to drink watered down urine in a can as well, which is what you get from most major American breweries, so I turned to microbrews. Here was the solution, small-batch beers with unique names and artistic labels that made for an interesting wall display of empty bottles. Everywhere I went I sampled the local offerings, finding microbrews to be, if not consistently outstanding, at least consistently interesting. One beer stands above the rest, however. I first chanced upon this in the aisles of Trader Joe's, my most frequented source for entertaining brews. There it sat, a six-pack of brown bottles with black labels, a portly island-clad weasel making off with a mug cartoonishly drawn on a turquoise oval. Fat Weasel Ale, it proclaimed itself in bold yellow lettering. I pondered it for a while, having no idea what might await the consumer inside the bottle. Did I ask one of Trader Joe's experts? Never. I'm the adventurous sort and must find out for myself. I plucked up the six-pack and placed it carefully between my stock of tinned oysters and peppercorn crackers. That evening, all three joined me for a hockey game. I studied the bottle again, smiled at the absconding mascot, and cracked it open. No glass. I use a glass at a table, when plowed out in front of a Red Wings game I drink it straight from the bottle. Told you I should have been born Canadian. I was expecting something perhaps overpowering, heady. Something that would indicate a fat weasel had marked the bottle as his territory. Yes, I always start with a suspicious palate. That first sip surprised me. Fresh, tingling.. this was an ale? A few more sips revealed to me the finest pale ale I'd ever allowed to linger over my tongue, with a crisp and light swallow that reminded me more of pilsner done right than ale. There was a bite to it that indeed did confirm its ale classification, but no aftertaste that threatened to overwhelm my tastebuds and prevent enjoyment of the next plug. All this in one little brown bottle shipped out from St. Paul, Minnesota. I was in love. I of course next sampled it in a glass. Oh, the heaven! The color is a perfect gold that beckons one to gaze into its depths, but allows one to watch an Yzerman goal through it. The head is light to moderate, but clings wonderfully to the edges of a frosted draft mug. And that taste! This is a beer that's at home with anything from lobster to pizza. And believe me, I've had it with everything from lobster to pizza. I still sample microbrews. It's a hobby, and I've always got to get another bottle for my beer wall. I've found some gems, some skunks, and some usual fare. But when I reach for a six-pack rather than a single bottle, you can guarantee it's going to be full of Weasels.  |
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