To begin this post, I would like to quote a stanza from the Byrds’ 1965 song Turn Turn Turn:

• To everything, turn, turn, turn
• There is a season, turn turn turn
• And a time for every purpose, under heaven
• A time to be born, a time to die;
• A time to clean up exploded beers, a time to finally find Hoegaarden in Vegas.

And so on. This afternoon I rolled over to Lee’s Discount Liquor (the last word is pronounced “Lic’ah”) for some of the Ayinger Brau-Weisse I had planned to review today (great hefe BTW, I’ll do it next). As I have done the past 69 trips to Lee’s, I forlornly scanned the shelves for a hint of that elusive Belgian Wit I came to love last spring in Florida, and have been unable to find in Nevada thus far. And what to my wandering eyes did appear, but four six-packs of the sweet sweet Hoeg, which I instantly snatched up and absconded with like Gary Sinise kidnapping Mel Gibson’s son in Ransom. On that note… what the hell, Mel? Seriously, what the hell?

Hoegaarden is what I would call your benchmark Belgian Wit (which means white, by the way, anyone who tells you it means wheat you punch them squa’ in the face and then steal their wallet and shoes). As mentioned above, I became a fan about a year ago when I was stuck in Florida for three months trying to learn how to fly a new airplane. Spring was blossoming all around and the workload was surprisingly light (“here are the keys to your new jet, don’t f#ck it up” kind of act) and I recall coming back from many a long afternoon run to a cool Hoegaarden (then another… and another) and thinking, this is just about right. Despite its 4.9% ABV, Hoeg is a beer you can get what I call Accidentally Drunk on. As in, “whoah… I’m feeling kind of drunk! When did… what did… how did that happen?”

Oh yeah, the review…. Hoegaarden arrives in a 330mL (11.2 oz) bottle, so if you’re stingy about that last 0.8 oz, reference my earlier comment about the definition of “Wit.” The beer pours a bright, springtime yellow, barely opaque and with a head that naturally seems to rise to just the right size. The aroma is fresh and crisp, just a touch of yeast and citrus fruit. The taste, like the scent, is crisp and refreshing. Lighter than many Belgian white beers but with plenty of complexity. You can definitely detect the bready yeasty flavor but it is not oppressive at all. Then there is a hint of coriander mixed with a splash of orange and lemon. The mouthfeel is light and the aftertaste is basically more of the same bucolic enjoyment. To sum it up, everything is balanced to provide the perfect, refreshing brew for springtime, or any time. And it is finally mine… again.

Sigh. You know that movie you love from childhood? Like, take certain Mel Brooks films… some are still hilarious (Spaceballs, Blazing Saddles) some I watch now (History of the World Part I) and I can’t believe I—you know, I’m going to stop there. That could become a pretty volatile choice of filmography to use as an example.

But you know what I mean, right? Yeah you do. You so do. And I bet you know what I’m getting at, eh? I drank this brew a fair amount in college. Not a whole lot, but enough to where it was something of a staple. It was locally brewed (which may be part of its situation here on the west coast) and available in the charming little shop a stone’s throw from my Boston apartment. Damn I miss Boston. Sigh. Anyway, this is a good beer. But as I cracked my first Wachusett Blueberry in years, I was expecting a great beer…

It’s just too much fruit, dammit! The aroma is very nice—maybe the nicest thing about the brau* actually. You smell a light maltiness and a whole lotta blueberries. Then time for a sip… if you’re very thirsty and slurp back a good deal of beer, you will be refreshed, I tell you. You will be refreshed. But if you’re looking for some complexity in your brew, you may be out of luck.

The malt character is pretty low. As are the hops. There is a little bit of hop in the finish, but not quite enough. Put all the pieces together: aside from blueberry, there’s not enough flavor. Not enough BEER FLAVOR, man! Fruited brews are supposed to be just that: beer with added flavor from fruit. It shouldn’t taste like juice with added beer. Now I’m not saying it’s quite that serious of a situation here, but… it’s less than ideal, friend-o. Have an Long Trail blackberry and call it a night. (Plus there are charming bears on the label! Bears! Waaaaaaaaaa-hoo!)

*from the German for “stoicism.”

Friends, those last few sips in the bespectacled, goatee-d and uh, pastel hatted Captain’s glass are Trader Joe’s Dunkelweizen. I was initially critical (this is years back, I’m talkin’) of Trader Joe’s beers. But then I started drinking them. By in large, they score. It still seems odd to me that a grocery store craft brews, but they do, and they do it pretty well. Sergeant Stout came by yesterday and we sampled this ‘lil weizen (along with various fine homebrews, of course) and it’s fine indeed.

The Dunkelweizen has the right chops—pours out into a nice, deep amber/light brown, cloudy brau. The head is a light tan and held up pretty well throughout the first half of the beer. (If you poured it fast, I betcha’d get a glass o’ foam.) Here’s the low-down: 3 types of malt provide the body—2 caramelized, roasted wheat malts and 1 pale barley malt. The prevailing aroma, flavor and finish is a sweet, wheaty, malty whathaveyou. The beer is actually a bit too sweet for me, but not by much, and I don’t fault it as it’s totally a personal thang. It’s not crazy-sweet. The hops are pretty light; detectable in the finish, and surely doing their part to balance the sweet malt character, but subtle. At 5.2% A.B.V. it’s pretty easy to have a few of these fellahs. It was chilly here in the Metropolitan Los Angeles area yesterday, and this is more of a 72 degree Spring beer, but hey—worth trying, and I bet you’ll like it.

Bam! Right backatcha, beervolk! Number 2 of my 4 part Widmer review jam session thang. And THIS brau, buddy, is a solid beer. I wish it were a regular fixture and not a one time (well… one year) release. But sadly, try this lovely red beer in 2008… because come ’09, you can mumble, put on your Sunday best, lie down on the tracks and cry yourself up a song, but all that will do is really… really freak me out. And not get you more of this beer. To re-cap, freak me out yes, more Crimson Wheat no.

T H E B E E R ! . . .

Look at that deep, red color. On the right up there. Big light blue arrow? Yes that one. Nice, thin-ish head if you’ve poured the brew carefully (which I did). That ruddy goodness is the product of three—count-’em-three!—different wheat malts. And why, who the hell could tell us about those malts better than the good folks at Widmer themselves? No one the hell! That’s who (the hell)!

“The three different red, caramelized, and dark wheat malts give this beer an intense red color that runs as deep as the flavor…”

True. Totally true. In true wheat-beer fashion, the hops are pretty relaxed in this beer. A bit of crispness in the light finish, the littlest sharpness creeping through the body. Also in true weizen fashion, the alcohol is only 4.1% by volume. That’s kinda nice. Let’s the good Captain suck back a few of these babies. I recommend this beer more for the Spring or Summer, as it’s refreshing and light, but any time will do, friends. Any time will do.