It's Easy to SVR FLVR!

NOTE posted 7-8-26: I guess when you get samples in May, write about them immediately! Sad news: It sounds like Untitled Art is no more. Oh, well.

Let's put it this way, what Untitled Art's line of non-alcoholic beerish (more on the need for the -ish soon) pours, FLVR!, lacks in vowels it makes up for in...well, you can probably guess. I was lucky enough to get shipped a couple of taster six packs to see what's up with the product line that used to be called NON (as in non-alcoholic), and am pleased to report deliciousness on all fronts. And we're talking diverse fronts--sure, there's a West Coast-Style IPA and a Juicy IPA to make the never-out-of-fashion hopheads happy, but then there's a Chocolate Dark Brew, an Italian-Style Pils ("style" might seem to be adding up as a hedge word but I promise it's not in the glass), a Mango Dragonfruit Sour, and a Grapefruit Radler.

Those two IPAs are certainly IPAealing, the West Coast doing a bit of the dank thing, the New England, uh, I mean Juicy, giving the squeeze of citrus. So you get what you'd expect, which is just what you want, as the less successful low-abv beers often don't seem to achieve their style at all, hoping to bamboozle you in a wash of bubbles and foam. I'd put them both up with the ever reigning king of NA's, Athletic, to the point I should probably do a side-by-side to decide who would win out.

The Pils also delivers that nifty mix of malt and hops levity you want in such a beer. It's supposed to be something you can suck down, and enjoy, while doing yard work on a summer's day, even if that yard work is reading in a hammock, not mowing the back 40. And it is. The Chocolate Dark Brew hits you with cocoa the moment you pop the can, and is surprisingly complex for an NA, kind of "chewy" in a good way, even if it might lack the lingering finish a stout with some alcohol can. Think of it as an after dessert drink that won't make you sleepy.

And then there are the-ish pours, and I don't sling that suffix as a slight in the, uh, slightest. Both the fruity offerings are less beer-like than just tasty, with the fruit being featured dominating the flavor profile and the hops gently raising its hand demurely in the distance. The Mango Dragonfruit takes you straight to somewhere tropical--what a fine Maui poolside pour it would be--while the Grapefruit Radler does that cool "I quench you as I make you thirsty" thing that isn't an issue because you could zip through a six pack and still drive home (if you were sure to hit the head before the drive--that'd be a lot of liquid, your bladder mileage might vary). 

On a day when the Los Angeles Times' lead guest editorial (subscription required, so the ideas shouldn't be that life-threatening) asserts "alcohol should be marginalized like smoking," it's easy to be left fuming if you feel most evenings tend to call for a potent potable or two, especially in our current beleaguered times of Trumpiness. What's coming-out of Wisconsin from Untitled Art can help you scratch that itch without pouring any alcohol on it, so to speak. So here's a huge HRY!* to FLVR! 

*If the sometimes Y rule is in play, please shorten that to HR!, even if that makes it sound like I'm rooting for home runs (that's ok) or Human Resources, the suck-ups whose job it is to allow the bosses to do whatever they want to the employees and give it the veneer of "fairness." 

So let's just say HOORAY! then.

Give Me Liberty, or, Goddam....

 

Let's save the crap business part (almost always the only kind of business part) for later, and first pour one out for the end of a brewing icon. After 127 years, Anchor Brewing will soon be no more. It's tough to remember now, given in a city like San Diego you can't throw a rock without hitting a brewpub, but in 1980, there were 8 craft breweries in the entire country. I mean, you could count them on your fireworks-damaged fingers. So what Fritz Maytag managed to do by reviving the often stumbling Anchor brand in the late 1960s and 1970s was revolutionary. 

Leading that revolution was Liberty Ale, arguable the first India Pale Ale made in America. Sure, it might "just" be a pale, certainly by today's standards when its 33 IBUs seems almost quaint. (For comparison, Pliny the Elder from Russian River, admittedly a double IPA, packs 100 IBUs.)  But that was a heck of a lot of hops in 1975 when the beer was released in honor of the 200th anniversary of Paul Revere's ride, and they even drop-hopped, too, so when that bottle cap popped, you got tickled in the nose with hops. Unbelievable. Five years later Sierra Nevada debuted its Pale Ale and every last West Coast IPA needs to bow down to both these beers.

This will be no surprise to regular George Eats readers, but I was a picky drinker from the get-go, and my go got going sooner than many as the drinking age way back when was a mere 18 and I was tall and mothers had just barely begun to get MADD. Eschewing Bud and the like (Lite?), I looked to Europe and became a fan of Heineken (Frank Booth would have beat my ass), Bass, Belhaven. Stuff with flavor. (Yes, Heineken was a flavor choice. Simpler times.)

Eventually landing in California in 1994 meant I arrived just at the beginning of the microbrew boom. Stone would whip up Arrogant Bastard two years later, asserting "fizzy yellow beer is for wussies." But first I was able to get Anchor and Sierra Nevada regularly, and that seemed like a dream. In 1995 I even got to take the Anchor Brewing tour in their stylish art moderne location Potrero Hill in San Francisco. At tour's end, they let you drink as much any of their beers as you'd like straight from the production line for a half hour. That Liberty Ale sang to me, easily the best beer I'd tasted to that time in my life, so fresh, crisp, and bitter, to the point you could never quite quench the thirst it drove. I still wish I could repeat that sudsy epiphany.

Soon that will be no more. The typical mamby-pamby press release--sent out at nearly 2 am, as if it were a last call message--cited all the insincere reasons you'd expect: competition, Covid, San Francisco is crazy, man! You'd think Ron DeSantis had a hand in writing it. True, sales were dropping, but that's been an industry-wide issue. The real disaster is Anchor got bought out by Sapporo Holdings Ltd. for $85 million in 2017, part of that wave of crazy investments in smaller brewers by large conglomerates. Practically none of these have turned out well, because giant businesses exist to, if I may mix ugly money metaphors, always be closing. If profits don't increase significantly every cycle, someone's head is going to roll. And no doubt it didn't help that Anchor's workers unionized and got their first contract in 2020. Nothing pisses off the suits like the workers actually getting their fair share. 

 Well, they've shown the workers what's what now.

Be sure to drink up the last of Anchor, as they sell all their inventory off, as you can. Tastes great, more history. And toast to whatever it takes not to sell out.

Sip This: Good Bar Special Grapefruit IPA

When tasteful, enterprising people get together, especially over a few drinks, expect good things to happen, like this collaborative effort between M.Special Brewing Company and The Goodland in Goleta. While far from the first or most famous grapefruit IPA (here’s toasting to you, Ballast Point), it’s hard to deny how well citrusy hops and citrusy citrus play together, and the grapefruit is strong in this IPA — timed perfectly as the weather warms up. It was as if they were thinking you should drink it around The Goodland’s pool.

Want to read the rest then do so at the Independent's site.

Sip This: Alpine Beer Company's Nelson

Alpine Beer Company’s Nelson: Long a favorite of hopheads, the brews from Alpine in the picturesque mountain hamlet of the same name east of San Diego are at last seeing wider distribution thanks to a partnership between Alpine and Green Flash (the Alpine beers even come in Green Flash 22 oz. bombers).

Want to read the rest then do so at the Independent's site.

Sip This: Bell's Two Hearted Ale

Bell’s Two Hearted Ale: Sure, this is California, land of IPAs so brilliant they could numb your tongue permanently with hops, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t welcome one of the U.S.’s most wonderful IPAs: Bell’s Two Hearted Ale. This Michigan ale has long been considered one of the country’s best, and at last it’s available in Santa Barbara County.

Want to read the rest then do so at the Indy's site.

But What If I Do It Every Day Anyway?

In case you didn't know, it's #IPA Day, so, at last, Twitter has served some useful function.

Georgeeats is particularly fond of IPAs, and not really just the hoppier the better, although I positively swill in the ale of the big boys. But balance, my friends, balance. You need that malt, the depth, the sweet, to make the bitter sing its terrifically trebly part. Plus hops is half as fun on the nose--forest of pine, groves of citrus. So if you want to make quick work of #IPA Day and opt for a double, you can never beat the best Russian River Brewing's Pliny the Elder. Not that Alpine's Pure Hoppiness or even, if you want to go local, Firestone's Double Jack, are anything to sneeze at (they are something to sniff at, though--breathe deep before you quaff).

As for single IPAs, it's hard to beat Hollister's Hippie Kicker, as fresh as its playful name.

On a side note, does anyone else find it funny that Wikipedia illustrates its IPA page with a photo of Fuller's IPA, when Fuller's flagship ale is its ESB? Oh well. Drink while we can, as the economy is only going to go further and further into the shitter thanks to dirty deeds done debt deal deep.

You'd Be a Turkey to Pass the Pork in These Buns

Sure there was turkey this weekend, but then there were also delectable these, the steamed pork buns from The Neighborhood in San Diego. I promise they don't really glow red--that's just the odd lighting from the red ball on the table in the dark room--but they do leave the person who devours them with a pleasing glow, both from their rich deliciousness and the Sriracha. And then there's the stunning fact they bring out three of them, as if you'd eat three regular burgers, which is what they more appear to be than steamed buns. For while the dough is steamed-bun soft and chewy, it's sliced, not stuffed. So that means you might have a rogue wild mushroom, expertly cooked, sneak out of the sandwich on you. Or, preferably, on your plate. And you will pick it up and eat it, every last bit. As for the pork, it's perfectly tender and rich from it's soy and apple cider braising, perched on the exact spot you want the sweet/sour teeter-totter to be.

If you need more balance, of course, The Neighborhood offers more fine beer than one can drink in an evening, but you certainly can't go wrong enjoying a Russian River IPA with these buns--the hops sharpness playing off the pork richness in a magnificent sensual symphony.