FEATURES Vintage beers Go to a village or neighborhood bar in Italy, France or Spain and you will find the locals drinking wine made in the area, with no pretensions of great maturity. These everyday wines will vary a little from year to year, but no one will much care. It was the grand hotels and restaurants of Paris, London and New York that made an art of cellaring great vintages. Thus the notion of "good" years and "bad" years brings mystique and glamour to the world of wine.
Two elements are at work here: how beneficial was the weather in the year the wine was grown? and how much evolution has the wine experienced since? Both can also be applied to certain beers. The grape-growing countries remained rural longer than the grainy nations, and their wines better retained their roots in the soil. There are still some rural, variable beers in the odd corner of Germany, certainly in Belgium and in Britain, but a more industrial, scientific approach to brewing is more common. Most brewers strive hard for consistency from batch to batch. This has become an obsession among those brewers who see their products as brand names: Behind the label, the beer should always be the same.	Taste the vintages Chimay Grande Reserve Alaskan Smoke Porter Anchor Our Special Ale Rogue Old Crustacean Lee's Harvest Ale Affligem Noel Pike Street Old Bawdy BridgePort Old Knucklehead Samuel Adams Triple Bock Thomas Hardy's Ale
Grapes vary greatly from one year to the next. Grain differs, too, but less obviously, and with a more subtle impact on flavor. Likewise hops. Brewers usually blend raw materials, and adjust "recipes," to achieve that desired consistency. Most beers are made to be consumed immediately. They are too delicate in flavor and modest in alcohol to improve with age. The lighter styles of beer can only lose freshness and hop aroma, and gain oxidized, cardboardy flavors. If they have been exposed to light, they may also have become cabbagey or skunky. With the renaissance of beer, a handful of brewers have in the last two or three decades begun to produce beers that are intended to improve with age. Vintage dating -- and the laying down of beer -- has bought with it "vertical" tastings like this one, long popular in the world of wine. Beer connoisseurs would only seriously lay down beers that have three qualifications: they are strong; they have plenty of residual sugar; and they contain living yeast. If these "bottle-conditioned" strong brews are refrigerated, the yeast cannot work. Store them somewhere cool (50 to 60 degrees F) and dark, if you can find such a place. If they have corks, lay them on their side. This keeps the cork moist, preventing it from shrinking and causing air to reach the beer. Chimay, a famous producer of strong, bottle-conditioned ales, says that horizontal storage is not necessary with its compacted corks, but many are not convinced. The brewery worries that a truly laid-down bottle will gain corky flavors. What happens to a bottle-conditioned beer during aging? Thick maltiness and yeasty meatiness should diminish with a very slow and slight further fermentation over three months to a year or so. This further fermentation may also create additional flavors and aromas, sometimes reminiscent of rose petals. By five years, flavor compounds resembling port wine may develop. (Beers with this character are delicious with cheese.) Beyond that, sherry and Madeira notes may come into play (making for an unusual dessert beer). Grande Reserve by Michael Jackson This Trappist monastery brewery in Belgium is famous for its strong ales at three strengths: 5.5 percent alcohol by weight (7.0 by volume); 6.3 (8.0); and 7.1 (9.0). The strongest of the three is naturally the most suitable for long periods of bottle-maturation. Of all the beers I have tasted from around the world, I have found none that can develop such port-like characteristics, though it does also exhibit other winy notes. The longest-aged Chimay I have experienced was a lean, dry 21-year-old, rather like a maderised champagne. That was at the abbey in about 1980, with the renowned brewer Father ThŽodore. In this tasting for All About Beer Magazine, I sampled some younger vintages. Some lovers of Chimay believe the brewery has changed its yeast in recent years. Chimay says this is not so: its distinctive house strain is now "purer" than ever. The yeast was cleaned up after some problems in the early 1990s. These case with a switch from open fermenters to (very small, squat) conicals. I believe cleaning up, and the new vessels, have cost the beer some of its complexity and spiciness. It is still a great beer but lacks that extra dimension. My notes on a vertical tasting of Grande RŽserve: 1994: Cherry to dark amber color. Vanilla aroma. Toffeeish but very dry. Burnt sugar, slight phenol, medicinal. Warming, alcoholic finish. 1992: Slightly redder. The most aromatic by far of the three samples. More medicinal nose. Much more flavor: nutmeg, juniper, raisins, bitter chocolate. Chewy, rooty, woody finish. 1988: A big pop of the cork. Browner color. Less aromatic, but the biggest flavors of the three vintages. Oily, chocolately nose. Much more fruity and winy: port, zinfandel, passion-fruit, pepper. Spicy, very complex, teasing, appetizing finish. Much softer. Alaskan Smoked Porter by Stephen Beaumont My files describe the Smoked Porter as extremely well balanced, with a dominant smokiness that also complements the beer’s plentiful fruity and woody notes. In theory, at least, such qualities should set it up to age nicely. And at one year of age, it fares well. The 1996 Smoked Porter has a potently smoky nose, creamy palate and all of the balance described in my 1994 notes. A peachy fruitiness lurks just beneath the surface of the smoke. The two-year-old 1995 vintage, on the other hand, has a significantly reduced smoke aroma, leaving a more complex blend of fresh and dried fruits, smoke, and a bit of licorice. In the taste, however, the profile remains much the same, save for a reduction in the creaminess and fruit. Vintage 1994 sees a fairly radical change in the aromatics of the beer, as the fruit falls almost completely away, leaving a subtle blend of smoke, wood and dark chocolate, with tanned leather and prune notes. And although the thinned-out body still speaks to the character of the 1996 vintage, the fruity sweetness has notably dropped off, leaving the finish with a much more charcoally character. Oddly, the 1993 vintage, with four years of aging behind it, bears the closest resemblance to the 1996, with a return to the creaminess, smoke and fruit that characterized that beer. Even the aromatics are similar, the main difference being more charcoal and less fruit in the 1993 vintage. (I later found out from the brewery that this vintage had almost 7 percent alcohol by volume, close to 1 percent higher than normal. This would at least partly account for the well-preserved nature of the beer.) Based upon this sampling, I would have to say that although the Smoked Porter is a wonderful beer, deserving of all of the praise bestowed upon it, it is not really an ideal candidate for the cellar. Nonetheless, it might still be interesting to taste the 1993 again in about 10 years. If you can wait that long. Anchor – Our Special Ale by Gregg Smith Deliberately varying the types and intensity of spices from year to year, Anchor’s Our Special Ale usually presents a dark amber color and a nose that seems subtle when compared to the big malty taste, heavy mouthfeel and aggressive malt and hops. Most years, it finishes with a dry spiciness. It ages well; all bottles tasted were quite drinkable. The 1986 was cloudy. It poured with a large bubbled head that collapsed rapidly. Releasing a nose of prunes, sherry and underlying notes of vinegar, it drank much better than the aroma implied. Despite the slight sourness, it held up surprisingly well for an 11-year-old beer. Projecting a turbid appearance, the head on the 1988 rose to a much tighter crown than that from the 1986 vintage, and an inviting nose evoked memories of warm apple cobbler. Of medium body, it had a dominant clove-like taste with highlights of cinnamon and orange. For a younger beer, the 1990 seemed to hold up much less well than the ’86 or ’88. Contributing to its negative reception was a distracting aroma of green apples. Although cleaner in appearance than the previous samples, with a bright, deep amber hue, it rolled roughly across the tongue and finished with a matching harshness. Significant hops (Cascade) literally jumped from the 1992 bottle on opening and initially masked any spiced character. Of an inviting amber-copper color, it literally begged drinking. As it warmed, the spices emerged—nutmeg, clove and cinnamon rising to offset the generous hopping rate. Deep reddish-brown, the 1994 rendition was capped by an uncharacteristically light brown head. A strong malty palate led to the perfumey signature of elevated alcohol beneath which radiated an allspice, ginger, and orange character. Rather than a spice infusion, it appeared to be more a fermentation by-product. A bright medium-red color, the 1996 filled the bowl-shaped glass with a complex nose of mixed spice. Delightfully well balanced, the malt, hops, orange-water, clove and nutmeg seem to have reached an agreement to take turns in emerging, fading and replacing each other in the taste. Rogue Old Crustacean by Garrett Oliver To taste a barley wine is to get a snapshot along a journey of years, if not decades. No other beer style is brewed with such an eye toward aging, and even posterity. Old Crustacean's journey is one of the most interesting I've experienced. The 1997 is a beautiful, clear Beaujolais red with a very light carbonation forming a rocky collar. The wonderful nose is incredibly intense, with concentrated maple-ish malt, full of mango, peach and pear, backed up with a blast of citric hops. Gasp! Scorching bitterness up front, center and finish on the palate, obliterating almost all traces of malt. Bitterness hangs on the tongue with sharp claws. I've never tasted turpentine, but I imagine that this is fairly close to the mark. By far the bitterest beer I've tasted in many years, and frankly, I don't consider it drinkable. Damn! Now I'm a bit scared. The 1996 is a nice orangey-red color, slightly hazy with a thin collar. The aromas of hops and fruity malt are a bit melded now, backed with sherryish oxidation and a minty note. Bitterness jumps to the attack up front, coating the tongue, but then allows caramel malt flavor and sweetness to show through. The hops take over again in the finish, which is acrid, lingering and hot with alcohol. While the aromas have married, the flavors are still courting. A beer showing promise, but not one that I'd want much of. Similar color to the 1996, the 1995 is a bit hazier, with very light carbonation, barely forming a collar in the glass. The luscious spicy-fruity nose with hops merges into a sherry and port foundation. A pleasantly earthy mustiness has now developed, with a touch of molasses. The first impression on the palate is an almost salty, oily sweetness, followed quickly by a broad, gripping bitterness. Fruity malt shows through the center, full and complex. The hops still dry out the finish and then hang on intensely for a lasting bitter aftertaste. The malt flavors are now joined, but the hops stand apart, a separate entity on the palate. In color, the 1994 is slightly darker, halfway between the colors of tawny and ruby port. The carbonation is a bit brisker, and a bit of a rocky lace lasts over the liquid. The nose is fully married and it is hard to separate the hops from the powerful fruitiness of the malt. The nose seems more obviously alcoholic than the 1995. For the first time, malt dominates the palate. Round, soft and slightly sweet, it rolls across the tongue like honey. Both sherry and cognac come to mind, with the hops standing in for the cognac's alcoholic burn. Alcohol shows here, too, but not hotly. The bitterness is now largely in the finish, a mellow but puckering dryness with tannins clearly evident now, lingering. In the 1993, the original reddish color still shows, but browner and murkier now, still with a fine, light carbonation. The earthy fruit is fully developed and blended with the hops in the nose, but the aroma is darker, full of figs, dates, plums and honey with a oaky background. The palate is semisweet, with the overall balance of a fine tawny port. The beer is round, soft, silky and lusciously fruity. The hotness of the alcohol has faded. The finish dries out smoothly and what was previously bitterness has mellowed into a fine acidity. The tannic "grip" is still evident, but not at all unpleasant. Fruit lingers in the aftertaste rather than hops. The beer is finally whole, with all of its flavors and aromas fully married. This is now a beautiful beer. Interestingly, while Thomas Hardy's Ale, the granddaddy of barley wines, is drinkable at a younger age, Old Crustacean develops a true beauty at a younger age. Hardy's would need to be at least seven years old to match this, and maybe not even then. Well done and worth waiting for. Lee’s Harvest Ale by Roger Protz Harvest Ale is brewed by J. W. Lees in Manchester, the great industrial and commercial center of northwest England that is best known today for its world-famous soccer team, Manchester United. The brewery was founded in 1828 by John Willie Lees, a retired cotton manufacturer, and is run today by the fifth and sixth generations of the family. The current brew house dates from 1876, but it has been refitted and expanded to cope with demand for its splendid cask-conditioned ales, with their renowned orange fruitiness from the house yeast. Fermentation is in open copper vessels. Lees still employs a cooper, as half its beer is supplied to pubs in wooden casks. Harvest Ale is an annual vintage, mashed in October and released every December. Head brewer Giles Dennis brews his beer from 100 percent Maris Otter pale ale barley malt and East Kent Goldings hops that create 34 units of bitterness. Both barley and hops come from the year’s harvest, the barley cut in July and August, the hops picked in September. Maris Otter remains the finest malting barley in England, grown mainly in the eastern and southern counties of the country. While bigger brewers have switched to cheaper varieties with more tons per acre, many regional brewers have remained true to Maris Otter, as it produces a pure, sweet extract of malt sugars. House yeasts have been known to react violently if Maris Otter is replaced by a different variety. Harvest Ale has a starting gravity of 1120 degrees and a finished alcohol by volume of 11.5 percent (approximately 9 percent by weight). While only pale malt is used, the beer is a burnished copper color as the result of some caramelization of the sugars during the long copper boil with the Goldings. The beer is filtered but not pasteurized and will improve with age. Each vintage differs — often quite markedly — from previous years. It has a rich, fruity and vinous aroma balanced by peppery hops, and there is an enormous attack of bittersweet fruit in the mouth, with malt, hops and dark sultana fruit in the finish. At a tasting of one vintage, a beer writer suggested succinctly that the ale tasted like "sherry with hops." Affligem Noel by Stan Hieronymus and Daria Labinsky Laying down beers such as Thomas Hardy’s and Samichlaus is relatively easy because they are not ready to drink when you first buy them. Waiting to open a bottle of Affligem Noel is far more painful. The longest a bottle has lasted in our house is nine months; it was purchased at the end of one winter and consumed at the beginning of the next. We put the corked bottle on its side and stored it in the coolest corner of our basement (around 60 degrees F) and the result was a delight. Since few liquor stores will cellar beer with that care — and also because bottles of Noel are not vintage dated — if you really want to taste how this beer ages, the time to starting working on your millennium tasting is right now. We were reminded how fragile beer is when the 1995 vintage bottle that came directly from the brewery turned out to be almost flat. The beer tasted fine, showing no signs of oxidation, and was beautifully rounded, but it left a much more distinct impression of sherry that it would have otherwise. The 1997 and 1996 bottles were brimming with carbonation, so much so that the 1996 cork popped out of the bottle on its own as soon as it was freed from the golden wiring. The 1996 beer was almost amber, while the 1997 took on a reddish hue. All three vintages were quite alcoholic in the nose, but then this beer is a combination of tripel and dobbel and quickly envelopes you in an alcohol cloud. We started with the 1997, and didn’t take a sip along the way that wasn’t warming. While the 1997 hadn’t developed as much chocolate as the 1995, we soon tasted fruitcake, hints of sherry, a bit of licorice and plenty of Belgian yeast. The creamy mouthfeel made us feel like we were drinking silk. The 1996 vintage showed even more alcohol in the nose and more candy sugar but less yeast. It seemed drier and not as well rounded as the other two, with mostly alcohol coming through. While alcohol was apparent in the 1995, it wasn’t as in-your-face. Licorice was even more evident, and a little burnt caramel started to show through. When we mixed the 1996 and 1995, the best characteristics of both emerged, but the clear winner of the group was the 1997. As we sample it again during winter, we’ll probably wonder out loud how this vintage will taste with age, but we’ll also probably not show the patience to find out. Pike Street Old Bawdy by Fred Eckhardt Pike Street Old Bawdy would be right at home in a 19th-century bawdy house, but I doubt that any of that ilk would present something this luscious to its habituŽs. The brewery says: "…a high gravity beer brewed with peated Scotch malt. It has a deep golden bronze color with a fruity-rich taste, an aggressive, dominating hop character with smoky undertones…ages well." It has an original gravity of 22 percent fermentables, 9.6 percent alcohol by volume, and (a guess) about 75 bitterness from Columbus and Spalt hops, among others. The 1996 vintage is current (brewed September of that year), and we sampled that first. The color was darker than the deep golden bronze suggested, more like 23 srm (Standard Research Method). The aromatics were rich and caramelly, with definite peat smoke on the nose. The hops in the nose were also quite impressive. These all carried through in the palate, which was fruity, almost sugary, but that slammed against the aggressive, but loving, hop embrace. Did I mention alcohol? Oh, yes this is a definite strong point in the beer’s balance, but offset by the smoky character. This beer definitely needs more age, but is exuberant and entirely satisfactory and drinkable. The promise is there, but the hops dominate. The 1995 was next, and the color much paler, at about 16 srm. It still had a light smoky caress, but the richness is gone from the nose. Taste was mellower, not as bitter, with improved balance and some smoky character—a powerful beer. The 1995 was the best of the three vintages, with that lovely flavor Michael Jackson calls "toffyish," and memorable to the utmost. This beer demands a mature accompaniment. The 1993 was a little paler than the ’95. There is a genuine "deep golden bronze" color now, but not quite up to the ’95 in memorability. The nose is more mellow and lacks the smoky character of its predecessors. The taste is not up to the ’95, but there’s an improved balance and smoothness with very few smoky notes and increased overall complexity. The fruity character still lingers, along with the welcome bitterness. Except for the receding hop and yeast attributes, these beers seem as though they were each entirely different brews. Very interesting. BridgePort Old Knucklehead by Charlie Papazian Sampling five different beerages! You can call me a knucklehead rightabout now. Spanning eight years, these five great barley wines bore a credible amount of consistency throughout their individual journeys through beer time. Overwhelmingly, they all exhibited an alcohol accent that was both clean, clear and strong. Fusel and other complex alcohols were mostly absent. During their individual voyages, they each lose hop, malt and mouthfeel, providing a unique portrait of the art of brewing at several points along the way to maturity. The 1996 version was clean (as they all were), with just a slight suggestion of hop aroma. Its "style" resembled a high octane pale ale not overdone with any one ingredient, blended creating simple impressions, easily enjoyed. The balance of malt sweetness (without complexity), full body, and simple, clean bitterness provide an excellent balance and a full barley wine experience in the tradition of a kinder, gentler American barley wine, not excessively bitter, yet not of the sweet variety. As the years progress, hop aroma is the first character to subside. The 1995 still maintains a balance reminiscent of the 1996, but slightly drier, less full bodied and less sweet. By 1994, fruitiness emerges, having an initial impact on senses, yet there is still lingering sweetness followed by a bitterness beginning to isolate itself with an increasing dryness. The 1990 and 1989 really provide an indication of the ultimate direction where these barley wines are headed. Fruitiness is the principal theme, with the 1989 almost bordering on being acidic, perhaps contributed by a diminished hop-bitter character. The attenuation of malt sweetness leads to a thinness accenting both a dry, astringent bitterness (tasting as though it has emerged from the tannic nature of grains) and acidity. During these last two years, a nutty, fruity, sherry character also emerges to transform what was once a full malt, cleanly bitter, round-bodied ale to a different nectar all together. The sherry, fruity, alcohol character is portrayed immensely in the 1989. Though the latter years are interesting, I personally enjoyed the more recent versions with their round, overall balanced blend of beer character. Once a Knucklehead, always a Knucklehead. Samuel Adams Triple Bock by Kihm Winship More than any other beer, Sam Adams Triple Bock is a beer to age and await with patience, rather than fanfare. In its youth, it is clearly unsure of how to manage its own considerable strength. The critical rhapsodies that are already in print must be attributed to writers whose palates are sensitive to the point of prophecy. Neither a bock nor a tripel, Sam Adams Triple Bock is its own beer style, related to barley wine but taken elsewhere with maple syrup in the brew kettle, champagne yeast for fermentation, and long maturation in charred oak whiskey barrels. Totally uncarbonated and dauntingly full-bodied, Triple Bock has no head and pours like a cream sherry. The color is a deep, tea brown, with a faint tinge of russet when the glass is tilted. In creating Triple Bock, Sam Adam’s founder Jim Koch said he wanted a beer that "would do away with all preconceptions of the taste and flavors that can be found in beer." Appropriately, these samples showed no discernible malt or hop flavor. I tasted the 1994, 1995 and 1997 vintages. (There was no ’96, as the batch destined to fill this slot was aged longer, for 13 months, and issued in 1997.) It is best to begin with the 1995, because the other vintages are markedly better at this time. The ’95 is all fruit (and the primary fruit is the prune). It is at once astringent and cloying, with a finish that is strongly alcoholic and faintly sour. In the middle reaches, one also tastes a subtle bitterness of burnt walnuts or acorns, and a faint interplay of caramel. But what a difference a year makes. In the 1994, the elements are learning to take a bow and then step back. The fruit aromas have broadened and lightened, the flavor has mellowed, the sweetness has thinned, and harshness has softened. It’s still imposing, but growing more polite. Another year and it could be positively engaging. The 1997 overcame the drawbacks of the ’95 through 13 months of aging in the wood. A pleasant oak aroma, very similar to that you’d find in a dry white wine, comes right off the glass at first sniff, and sustains itself in an agreeable dryness throughout, balancing the monumental sweetness of malt, maple and alcohol that is the foundation of Triple Bock. With this sweet/dry balance already present, the 1997 should age beautifully, if allowed. Thomas Hardy’s Ale by Randy Mosher Outside of the obvious expectation that this tasting was going to be a blast, I was prepared to describe the gradual progression of rough, raw youth into burnished maturity, the smooth diminishment of sweetness, the fading of bitterness, and the orderly increase of sherrylike, oxidized overtones. I even had presumptions of being able to assign these vintages—tasted blind—into something close to their annual sequence. What I found was anything but that. Instead of a neatly vertical progression, I discovered a deliciously erratic jumble of beers, each with its own distinct mix of personality traits. All of them were enormous blasts of malty complexity, a candy shop full of dried fruit, nuts and caramel, but the balance, sweetness, oxidized character, carbonation and color were all over the place. How to explain this? Without insider’s knowledge of the Eldridge Pope Brewery, I can only speculate that differences in barley-growing weather, hop quality, brewing practice, storage conditions and brewer’s inclination can all cause the observed variations. For the record, I tasted all these beers blind, served at my current cellar temperature of about 60 degrees. I went through small samples of the whole bunch in one session. I took the remainders to a few appreciative beer geeks the following night, and they confirmed my observation on the lack of uniformity. 1995: A hint of carbonation and a medium amber color. Pretty even balance of sweetness to bitterness. Caramelly, Madeira-like overtones ending in a little lingering leathery sharpness. Much more mellow and more integrated than I had expected for a beer that is supposed to keep for 20 years. 1994: The tiniest suggestion of carbonation, a deep reddish-amber color. Pure malty joy, with a nicely complementary oxidized notes. Hints of peachy fruitiness, with a sugary-but-sharp middle and low bitterness. Enjoyably complex. 1993: Big fruity aroma, just a touch of carbonation. Fairly sweet; spicy, too, with touches of cinnamon or star anise. A nutlike character—like liquid pecan pie—with hints of cocoa on the finish. Fairly low bitterness. 1992: Dead flat. Tons of apricot fruit in nose, as well as evident alcohol. Balance is nice, with a certain salty sherrylike sharpness up front, giving way to a firm, bitter middle. 1991: Quite fizzy, and very reddish. Hot solventy notes, almost peppery, raspy. Huge taste, with plenty of bitterness right up front and all the way through. Even at six years old, it tastes like it could use a bit more aging. 1990: A touch of carbonation, pale to medium amber. A very nice aroma of toasted nuts. Moves from sherrylike nuttiness to firm, round bitterness, finishing with a chocolatey firmness. One of the most complex and subtly balanced of the bunch, to my taste. Could be starting to peak, though. 1987: Lightly carbonated, presenting a bonanza of fruitiness of the raisin and plum variety. Fairly sweet, incredibly rich with tastes of nuts and burnt sugar, finishing with a bit of "pitty" bitterness. 1986: Dead flat; by far the darkest of the bunch. A hot solventy nose with loads of raisiny, black cherry fruit. Gooey sweet maltiness, with little evident oxidized notes and just a bit of hop bitterness. All in all, aging very slowly. I would expect this year to improve for at least another 10 years. This article originally appeared in the January 1998 issue of All About Beer Magazine.