The March 31st Snowstorm

I was able to find a sixer of Snowstorm lurking in the back of the liquor grocer’s cooler and decided to pick it up. No wonder it was sitting alone on the shelf. I poured it down the middle of the glass and got nary a bit of head out of it. After settling for 15 seconds, there was no carbonation whatsoever. The taste was flat to boot. In fact, it tasted like I was drinking it out of a soiled pair of Sorels.

I had last year’s Snowstorm and remember being quite impressed by it. Well, no two snowflakes are alike. This much is true. I could pick up the raisin aroma after it warmed up a bit, but the overall flavor was as bland as a fratboy’s musical tastes. I kinda wish I had left that sixer sitting on the shelf. And so it goes.

Subtle Perfection

A couple years ago I stopped drinking Summit Winter. Well, not completely. I would have one or two each year, and then hang it up. “This is just a brown ale,” I would decry. My friends and I would swear that Summit Winter used to be a spiced up porter, full of ambition and hope, and that a couple years ago they went soft

But now I’m not so sure. (Was it me? Did they change the recipe?)

I can’t get enough of this years’ brew.

Maybe it’s my palate, or maybe it was the Summit Winter on cask I had right before Christmas, smooth and creamy, reinvigorating my belief in Summit. That happens every so often; I get bored and worn down on Summit, and then I have a particularly fine pint of EPA, or try a limited release stout with brettomyces, and it’s like falling in love all over again. 

This year’s Winter is like that. It pours a creamy mahogany, exactly what I want on a cold night. I’m thrilled by it’s subtle perfection, and even more thrilled that it’s Summit that brought it to me.