Wild Sour Ale from the New Glarus Brewing Co. is a lovely beer. It’s one of owner/brewmaster Daniel Carey’s “let loose” brews that he makes “in a very limited edition and we make no promises to ever brew this style again.”

Jesus, Dan, don’t scare us like that! Wish I could find a good supply of it to tuck away, for emergency use only.
Now, if you’ve never heard of sour beer or you have but the very idea turns you off as your tastebuds conjure up bad memories of buttermilk or pickle juice, I am fine with that.

If more people know about sour ale and enjoy it, that’s less for those of us who adore it. I hate to sound piggish about it, but there just is not enough to go around if everyone likes it. There are not that many sour beers makers, certainly not in America, and few places carry the Belgian sours and other Euro sours, such as Berliner Weiss (which Carey also makes at New Glarus Brewing).

Here’s what the label says about Wild Sour Ale:  “Naturally soured by farm valley winds blowing wild yeast into our oak casks. Finally, after a year and a half of patient coaxing Wisconsin dark malts whirl in a kaleidoscope of cedar, caramel and tart green plum exuberance.”

Well, I’ve never had a green plum, but I’ve had plenty of tart purple plums and can imagine how much the tartness would be turned up if the plum were green, so, yes, a tart green plum seems right, but it is a greenness that is so incredibly, breathtakingly refreshing. And deep within that greenness is the sweet caramel mentioned above, tucked in the very center like a liquid candy bar.
The world seems smarter and the future brighter when I’m drinking a Wild Sour Ale. If only it were true, or, at least, if only my glass would never empty.


Brother Thelonious

is a delicious beer made in honor of Thelonious Monk. It’s a Belgian-style abbey ale. Monk. Abbey ale. Get it?

What would Brother Thelonious think about this tribute beer from North Coast Brewing (makers of an old favorite, a Russian imperial stout called Old Rasputin)?

I think he might dig it.
I shared this beer from my cellar (the bottom of my refrigerator) with a friend, ’round midnight.

I know it’s been there for at least 18 months. Could be longer. I quit writing down the dates on the bottles quite a while back.

This is a corked, rather than capped, brew. There was little pop when, after a prolonged struggle, I removed the cork, and the burnt umber-colored beer poured out still, looking more port-like than beery. It tastes of raisins and turbinado sugar.

Apparently sales of the beer support jazz education through monkinstitute.org. That might be one reason to track it down. Another might be that it is a lip-smackingly delicious brew, and when I say lip smacking, it is because your lips stick together if you don’t smack them while drinking Brother Thelonious.

I’ll take mine straight, no chaser.