Notes from the Beer Cellar -- Skank Beer
alestreetnews.com
With much the same feeling of anticipation as an archeologist
would have upon opening a newly discovered tomb, a small
group of beer lovers gathered at Eli Cannons Ale House in
Middletown, Conn., recently to uncork a chapter in America's
brewing past.
The idea for the tasting came about when my friend Bob
Birdsey, a brewania collector who I wrote about back in the
April/May 95 issue of ASN, casually mentioned that he had
some unopened bottles of American beer, dating from the-
1940s thru the '60s. Although I was well aware of the fact that
vintage crap beer has somewhat less of a cachet than old
Bordeaux wine, my optimism got the better of me. I called up
Chris Keller, the bar manager at Cannon's, and asked if he
would like to host a tasting.
"Most of these beers are probably older than you are," I joked.
"No problem," he said. "I'll reserve a table in the beer
garden.""Make sure you've got plenty of dump buckets," I
replied. "It could get ugly."
Also present at the tasting was local beer columnist Jim Zebora,
whose reporter's garb and notepad lent an air of respectability
to the affair. I will reprint the participants' comments. The beers
were served in the following order:
Naragansett Lager, in a classic imperial quart bottle.The beer
was surprisingly clear and carbonated, even after 40 years. The
smell was fruity and oxidized, but it was still drinkable in a
desperate sort of way. I guess they did things pretty good back
then in Cranston, Rhode Island.
Much reminiscing was given to the 43 oz. bottle. Bob, who's
pushing a very youthful 50, remembered buying them for a
quarter. Myself, who turned a not-so-youthful 40 more than a
couple of years ago, remember purchasing the same bottle for
about a penny an ounce in the early '70s. Chris said it reminded
him of the taste of "a swimming pool."
The second offering was dusty quart bottle of good old
Rheingold Extra Dry. This bottle was less than 40 years old,
because the label boasted of a 1958 gold medal. The taste,
unfortunately, was less extra dry than extra swimming pool,with
a good dose of algae thrown in.
The third beer in rotation was a rare Knickerbocker Dark. The
cap had practically welded itself to the bottle and had to be
removed in layers. The beer itself was totally flat, with hints of
maple syrup and roasted malt. "Smooth," someone joked.
Next was a Bohemian Lager Beer from Enterprise Brewing in
Fall River, Mass. The best thing about the beer was the "steine"
bottle, a classic, stepped pyramid-shaped glass container
rarely used anymore.
Also in a steine bottle was a second, slightly younger "Hey,
neighbor, have a 'Gansette.'" This one had a cork and silver
foil-lined cap. One of the best things you could say was that it
was cold.
At this point, it may be added, the shape of the caps and the
bottles were becoming more remarkable than the flavor of these
skanky beers. Although, in defense of these pasteurized old
warhorses, I must admit that none of the 11 beers tasted
displayed any signs of serious bacterial infection. Also missing
were signs of hops and malt. Oh well, back in my days as a self-
appointed beer judge, I tasted many worse homebrews.
Jim Zebora found the Ruppert Light, from either Orange, N.J., or
New York City, to be "thick, but not offensive." A growing
number of spectators, each gripping a sparkling radiant pint of
one of Cannon's dozens of fresh draft microbrews had gathered
around the table, but few had the guts to sample the real stuff.
I temporarily lost the nerve myself on a bottle of Fitzgerald beer.
According to Bob, this one was brewed in Willimasette Mass.,
although the brewery had originally operated in New York City. It
smelled so bad I couldn't get it past my nose. Someone else
remarked that."it probably wasn't even good when they first put
it out!"
We also had a dusty bottle of Fitzgerald Bock. "Undrinkable,"
Birdsey remarked. The beer seemed to have degenerated into
its original components of corn syrup and caramelized food
coloring. Was this a primitive black and tan?
The next two beers were the ones that had most excited my
imagination. The first, Trommer's White Label, supported an
IRS Tax Paid label, which made it at least pre-1950. This was
the legendary Brooklyn lager that boasted in its advertisements
to be made of "all malt." The beer poured thick, amber, and
completely devoid of carbonation.
"It pretty much sucks," Johnny the bartender said. "Chateau
Cochon," I agreed.
An even bigger disappointment were the two ancient bottles of
Newark Ballentine XXX Ale. The '50s neck label bragged that
the beer was made with Brewer's Gold hops, but any trace of
the herb had metamorphized into fool's gold. Oh, well, the
bigger they are, the harder they fall.
For dessert, the final bottle on the table was a filthy cobweb-
encrusted bottle of Old Tap Bock. No one was in much of a
hurry to open it, but finally someone anted up and gave it a try.
Chris may have summed it up best when he warned us. "Don't
choke on the chunks!" Indeed!Ron Page's career has headed
north, all the way to North Branford, Conn., where he is currently
employed as brewmaster-in-residence by Easy Flow Brewing
Systems.
By Ron Page
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