Smooth, Stylish, Salacious, Succulent, Saporous - St. Ambroise (Oatmeal) Stout
Written: Nov 19 '06
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Product Rating:
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Pros: Preach the word!
Cons: Silence speaks mountains.
The Bottom Line: Guinness is old and busted. St. Ambroise; the new hotness.
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| headlessparrot's Full Review: St Ambroise Oatmeal Stout |
When most people – those non-beer geeks in our midst – think “stout,” I'd venture to guess that the image they conjure is one of a tall pint of Guinness, its nitrogen-forced creamy head barely eking out over the top of the glass, and its dark – perhaps even intimidating – body. This is not necessarily a bad image to behold in one's mind. Or, at least, it would not be, save for two important factors: the first, that such an image is often accompanied by the thoughts of a heavy, unpalatable, high-alcohol, high-calorie beer. The second, that while Guinness Draught is an excellent marker for Irish Dry Stouts (simple, but tasty and effective), it ignores the fact that there are perhaps as many variations in the world of stout as there is in the world of lagers or lighter ales (hyperbole, perhaps, but there is no denying the wide variety of techniques applied to the production of this vital, perhaps even deceptively healthy, style of dark ale). The first preconception is easy to dispute, for not only is Guinness actually lighter in alcohol than most major brands of popular American lager (4.2% ABV compared to a range of 4.6%-5.0% ABV in the world of American lager), but it is also lower in calories as well (according to numerous web resources, only one calorie more per ounce than Miller Lite). Stout was once even recommended to nursing mothers for its richness in nutrients.
But then, perhaps this point is contradicted by the fact that Guinness stout is, metaphorically, just the beginning – for, to be fair, while Guinness has unfairly earned the reputation of a heavy, high-calorie “liquid-meal,” there are probably stouts that are deserving of the title (not that that's a bad thing in the least, for those are often the richest, most flavourful ones). Irish Dry Stouts like Guinness are somewhere on the mild side of the stout style-equation, with (Russian) Imperial Stouts taking up the banner for the more extreme – heavy malt, high-alcohol, and huge flavour profiles. Somewhere between those two ends of the spectrum lie everything from milk stouts and chocolate stouts to oatmeal stouts, of which St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout may very well be king.
The common thread between all stouts is – obviously – the dark colour, and the roasted flavour that comes from the presence of roasted barley. Oatmeal stouts, then, are the same, but they are emboldened by the addition of (you guessed it) oatmeal, which lends the resulting stout not only an absolutely amazing smoothness of body, but also a touch of sweetness, and a long-lasting, full head. The marker for this relatively uncommon style is undoubtedly Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Stout, who re-introduced it in 1980 after discontinuing it from their line-up some thirty years prior. And while it is a spectacular beer in its own right – undoubtedly five stars – it simply cannot hold a candle to McAuslin Brewing's St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout, a hearty drink that is not just one my favourite stouts, but one of my all-time favourite beers (its only real competition, of course, being another stout, and a dark ale, both offerings by the small, little known-but-masterful Wellington Brewery in Guelph, Ontario).
Like Unibroue, the other great Canadian craft beer brewery, McAuslin is is a Quebec institution, though its history only goes back a scant seventeen years to 1989, when the newly formed brewery opened shop in Montreal and began peddling its St. Ambroise Pale Ale. Two years later, with success at hand and a cult following for its flagship brand, the company introduced the now-legendary Oatmeal Stout, which has since garnered (as both other reviewers have pointed out) a pile of medals in competition, most notably a platinum medal and second place finish at the 1994 World Beer Championship. And for good reason, as is plainly visible.
St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout is the beneficiary of distribution through traditional channels, given the high-profile benefits of its availability at the Beer Store in Ontario, where a six-pack of 341-ml brown bottles costs $11.25 Cdn. - this sounds like a high price, and it is, but not as high as you'd think because of heavy taxation on alcohol. As is usually the case, you will pay for it if you want the best (I would imagine more so if you are outside of Canada), but its price tag thankfully still places it well within reach of the average consumer; compared to Corona or Stella Artois, for example, you will be paying over a dollar less per six-pack (and, in the case of Canadians, you also get to feel good about buying domestically, which is becoming increasingly difficult with the internationalization of beer conglomerates). It is also available on tap, though depending on your geographical locale, you may be hard-pressed to find it – I know of no locations in my hometown which carry it, only two in my current home of Waterloo (both in designated 'beer bars,' and likely as a result of the college-town atmosphere), and only a handful, even in Toronto. Nevertheless, it is well-worth seeking out from the keg, for even though it uses the same forced nitrogen pour as Guinness (which increases the beer's smoothness and head retention at the cost of some flavour), it benefits from additional freshness and from the (admittedly subjective) delightful experience and character of a good pub atmosphere. In fact, you might find as I did, that many of the pubs serving St. Ambroise made the switch directly from Guinness.
As one of my personal favourites, I tend to nearly always have at least a few bottles of St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout at the back of my fridge; each bottle (as well as each six-pack) contains a clear and simple freshness dating code, and the sample I'm reviewing from is good for several months still (though I would venture to guess that, as a somewhat 'bigger beer,' St. Ambroise would – at the very least – stay good for longer than the freshness dating would indicate). I opened the bottle after allowing it to warm a bit (darker ales are at their peak at well-above fridge temperature) – twist-off caps, though remarkably stubborn ones – and poured its thick body from the bottle into my standard pint glass and beheld the St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout in all its glories:
To describe this stout as black would be to do it a grave injustice – it is not simply dark, it is utterly and completely devoid of any light (at least in its center); jet black, ink black motor oil black – whatever word that you might use to capture its essence. Perhaps just a hint -ever so subtle – of the faintest ruby challenging the black-hole darkness around the very edges, in only the brightest light. This rich, ink-blast body is capped by two-fingers of mocha-coloured head (for which we can thank, in part, the oatmeal); a thick layer that, though it begins to dwindle, remains at about a finger for most – if not all – of the drink (on the nitrogen-forced keg version, this head is perhaps slightly lighter, but lasts in thicker gobs and for even longer), accompanied by an exceptional amount of lacing coating the inside of the pint glass. While many people don't care for darker beers, I am sure that there are those who will understand when I state that a pint of stout – and St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout is no exception – in a glass, waiting to be consumed, is an aesthetic object of pure beauty.
But this is nothing compared to the nose of this stout, which is absolutely heavenly, separating it even from the also-incredible Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout. Brewed from 40% dark malts and roasted barley, the dominant scent is a wonderful, sweet, espresso-like character, augmented by a long list of delicate, rich treats; coffee, mingling bitter and milk chocolate, sweet toffee, molasses and licorice. Also obvious is the toasted oat (which adds a very nice, subdued sweetness), a certain smoky character, and even a gentle waft of grassy hops – a surprisingly well-hopped beer for a stout with such an emphasis on the rich, roasted character. As the drink continues to warm, the smells become even more powerful, to the point where I often find myself sitting with a pint and not drinking it, but simply nosing it, over and over again.
The taste is, at least initially, exceptionally smooth (thanks in no small part to the effect of the oatmeal on this beer's body) and sweet (also due – though in a much smaller way – to its toasted oat content), revealing a world of taste evocative of the brew's nose – gently smoky, with espresso and milk chocolate at the fore, accented by licorice, toasted oat and toffee, some indistinct dark malt toward the back accompanied by the somewhat overshadowed grassy hoppiness. After a few seconds in the mouth, however, the hopping becomes more assertive, distinct, and well-defined, and the stout takes on some gritty bitterness - especially in contrast to the rich sweetness that greets the tongue and the middle of the mouth - as it finishes (though this bitterness is as much a result, I think, of the roasted barley as it is the hops). This bitterness is, at least at first, a little disappointing given what came before it, and it will no doubt turn away many prospective drinkers (especially beginner beer lovers, who are naturally turned off by the heavy bitterness that tends to crop up once you leave the major brands), however, it is ultimately something that lends St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout an undefinable sort of character. It is further accompanied, we should note, by a gentle aftertaste recalling the chocolate and espresso, making the mouth water for one more sip (which is all well and good until you've finished the bottle).
To top things off, St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout's mouthfeel is absolutely exceptional – the level of carbonation is low, just about perfect in my mind (slightly – but just a touch livelier than Guinness, comparable to Samuel Smith's interpretation of the style) – and the oatmeal contributes a silky smooth body that is absolutely unreal, and an absolute treat to drink. Drinkability, likewise, is good – though it's bitterness might slow down beginners (I often find myself consuming two and then unconsciously seeking out water or juice to cleanse the palate), it is otherwise hard to find a fault – any fault - with this beer.
Perhaps the only thing that I can say in regard to St. Ambroise's shortcomings is its (apparent) limited availability outside of Canada; I must say, however, that this is only fair, because Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Stout is to Canada what St. Ambroise's is to the United States – that is, a challenge to obtain, but a treat to drink. But, all things considered, I'll take the trade-off. Samuel Smith may have the side of history on this one, but St. Ambroise undoubtedly has the taste. By a narrow margin, perhaps, but there it is. All factors considered, St. Ambroise Oatmeal Stout is a five-star beer by any rating system. It is not perfect – no beer is – but it is as close as I have ever come trawling the brand board at the Beer Store or the beer cooler at the local LCBO.
Recommended:
Yes
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Epinions.com ID:
headlessparrot
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Member: Bryan Jansen
Location: Ontario, Canada
Reviews written: 171
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Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?
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