Not Just a Beer: it's a Commitment

How can a beer so old (The Millennium in my glass tonight was bottled on February 19, 1998 -- I just couldn't bring myself to open my one remaining 1995), so huge (Millennium consistently tracks in around 10% ABV), and so crazy (Approx. 100 IBU, massive amounts of malt and honey, aggressive brewing)... smell so darned fresh and inviting?

Because it does, you see. This bottled power, chain lightning under a metal crown, is now sitting in a glass, looking like a plain old coppery pale ale with a slightly off-white head, smelling oh so nice -- from a foot and a half away! -- and just begging me to take a big ol' swallow. That, my friends, is brewing craft.

Ohhhhhh, but get it closer. Get your nose down in the Magic Inch, enclosed by the high glass walls. It gets rich in there, overpressure alcohol heat, thick malt vapors, and exotic fruitiness (fresh dates, melon, really juicy ripe pineapple). Those aromas of heavy-duty fermentation are the giveaway, like a hot door in a skyscraper fire: danger lurking here.

Well, let's get dangerous. Whew! Thick, powerful, and the hops live! Now I realize just what I've done, opening this bottle after my wife's gone to bed. No help, I've got to finish it, walk that lonesome valley (full of avalanches and volcanoes!) all by myself. I'm committed, because it would be truly sinful to waste a drop.

By the fourth sip I'm acclimated. I'm astounded at the tenacity of the hops, and just a little disappointed. I may have caught this one at a bad month. Millenniums (Millennia?) I've had in the past have either been green-hop fresh or way past the bitterness in a mellow malty retirement. Here's bitterness without much aroma or flavor, and it's not at its best.

Yet the potent sweet rush of the beer is still there as I suck it down, the malt sings in the background, and the first shot of the sip is sweet pleasure. Wow, you can feel the alcohol heat here. This is going to be a one-beer night. And the hop situation is getting better... or maybe my tongue's getting numb.

I believe I've always split these with someone before. That may have been a mistake, there's something to be said for full, unafraid gulping of Millennium. That rush of malt and alcohol, topped with wild fruits and butterscotch, has a lot to recommend it, and just isn't the same when you tamely sip. You just can't be afraid of this beer, or you'll miss some of the pleasures.

Millennium is, of course, Old Dominion's annual limited-release barleywine. It was first brewed in 1994 to commemorate the brewery's 1000th batch of beer, and was so well-received that the brewery made it an annual event, a single release, usually in February (though a special Millennium Millennium was released in late 1999 so there could be Millennium for the (calendar) Millennium). That idea was well-received as well, and every year my friends jockey to secure their Millennium, be it a single bottle, a sixer, or multiple cases (pigs!). Old Dominion makes other good, big beers (their winter seasonal releases chief among them), but Millennium remains the crown jewel.

Yo... ho... ho... Warmth perfuses me. I've put this beer away, and it's working diligently to return the favor. I'd better wrap up before I fall asleep on the keyboard.

Who should drink Millennium? Anyone who's up for a full-bore, take-no-prisoners barleywine that straddles the hop-monster American style and the malty mouthful British style. If you do get some, consider aging a few bottles up to four years. Don't waste your money if you've never had barleywine before or don't care for hops. This is extreme beer, no doubt. You can't dally with this beer, and I'll not have you open it and toss it away. Commit. Like marriage, the payoff is worth the price.



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