Russian River Consecration Review

Tradition and propriety insist that in the event I visit Aunt Lois and Uncle Gene's house, I bring a bottle of wine. This particular gift is especially appropriate on Easter Sunday. I am a great fan of wine, of course, but I wanted to bring something a little bit different, something that I felt would be more a part of myself than a representation of the materialized blood of Christ. I brought Russian River Consecration.

I first tried this beer at the Big Beers, Belgians, and Barleywines Festival in Vail a few months ago, and my dad and I both agreed that it was one of the best we tried there. The fact that I remembered drinking it, having been the last person to get a sample before they ran out, was quite recommendation enough. As soon as it went on sale in Colorado, I bought a bottle and have been keeping it in the Beer Closet ever since, awaiting an appropriate occasion. Given my sense of humor and the need to bring something of approximately 750 mL volume and greater than or equal to 10.0% ABV to Gene and Lo's, I chose this particular jewel.

Backstory end.

We broke this baby out about two Old Fashioneds, a bloody mary, and two strawberry-filled mimosas into the day, which was (on a slightly more easily understood timescale) about an hour after dinner. Appropriately sized and shaped tasting vessels could not be procured, so wide shotglasses were used for the weak of heart. I used a tumbler. The assembled crowd was one that does not drink much more than Busch Light (which I don't personally really consider beer) or Guinness on a special day. It's always interesting to note the reactions of people who aren't ready for what they're about to be saluted for, so I will record those reactions first, and then my own personal review:

Everyone described it as "different". Nothing about this beer matched the majority expectation of beer, even though I told them that they would not know what to expect. It is similar in character to many other cask-aged beers I have tried, with that sour lactobacillus edge and the slight sharp alcohol blade.

Uncle Gene, the Busch Light man, actually came back for another taste, saying that he wasn't sure if he liked it or if he hated it. I think that the shock and the forwardness of the beer was too overwhelming for him to actually be able to judge any of the unique characteristics of the brew. It is not for the faint of heart.

Mom and Aunt Lois, the box-wine drinkers, did not like it. Each took a sip and made a face. Given the description of the beer as reminiscent of a pinot noir, I thought that it may be an avenue into the world of delicious brews for them, but I had forgotten the immediacy of cheeky effervescence that the tongue feels with this type of beer, as opposed to a wine. They will be converted, but possibly with something slightly less bold. Again, they couldn't describe anything of the taste or the mouthfeel. They were shellshocked.

Miles and his friend whose name I can't remember but who is friends with the founders of Huebert Brewing Company in Oklahoma (for which the website seems to have become defunct), each took two generous tastes, and looked pensive. This is a thought-provoking, very complex beer with a number of different dimensions. It gives a diversified sensory experience.

My dad and I, having always had similar tastes, discussed our experiences with Consecration and came to a general consensus.

The beer was probably poured at a temperature slightly colder than ideal, as it was allowed to warm at room temperature for only fifteen minutes after being taken out of the fridge. Because the proper glasses weren't used, it was hard to judge the head. All I can say is that the first two sampling glasses were mostly foam, but after a good pour got going, there was only a very thin head of foam, and sometimes hardly any at all.

The sour sharpness hits your tongue and the bottom parts of your cheeks (where you imagine squirrels hiding their nuts or, as a more human definition, where you might keep your chew if you don't have a big lip). This particular sourness is more embracing than the standard sour beer, though. It leaves almost immediately, and washes the tongue with a smooth, indeed wine-like flavor that stays on the back on the tongue and the uvula while the tip of the tongue still remembers the carbonation. The aftertaste changes over time, so I found that I wanted to wait at least a few minutes before taking an additional sip. When I was finished, I could continue to taste and breathe the changing profile for an hour. I felt the way that a high schooler feels when her crush brushes against her in the hallway and she vows never to wash that shirt again so she will always be able to smell him on it. I wanted to put this stuff under my pillow at night, hang pictures above my bed. As I mentioned before, the tastes were relatively difficult to describe (and I have a very, very limited taste vocabulary), but the ear-rushing, ultimately empowering feeling was definite and clear.