Brew Brain Blog

I submit tonight’s beer review as my entry for this month’s Beer Blogging Friday, where beer bloggers the world over gather electronically to write on a topic selected by the host. Although this is Session #7, this is my first submission. The topic this month is The Brew Zoo, and our host is Rick Lyke over at Lyke 2 Drink.

So, I’m to write about beer with an animal theme, eh? Not a problem. I just so happen to have a beer that I’d love to write about - Black Dog Ale from Spanish Peaks Brewing. I’m actually pretty surprised I have not reviewed this particular beer for my blog until now. It would have been a logical choice to open my blog with. You see, Black Dog Ale is the beer that got me to really and truly appreciate good beer, and Spanish Peaks was my first favorite brewpub.

Do you remember where you were the night of Monday, March 2, 1992? I remember where I was. Sort of. My night ended rather unceremoniously under a light post in the middle of the Spanish Peaks parking lot. I was a college student at Montana State University in Bozeman, MT. It was my 21st birthday. Spanish Peaks was probably the third, maybe fourth (and definitely final) stop of my birthday night. Spanish Peaks was only several months old. It was a very nice brewery on one side and a very good restaurant on the other, separated by a wall. Of course, on the brewery side there were plenty of tables where you could sit and enjoy calamari, fried cheese sticks, etc. It was a really fun place, usually busy with students arriving back from the ski slopes to drink beers with college professors whose classes had been largely skipped by those same ski bums.

On my birthday night I walked into Spanish Peaks with a group of friends. A few more people came by soon after. I was well and truly sauced by the time my butt thumped down onto a stool up at the bar. A sample tray was ordered on my behalf. I dutifully downed each sample beer and chose the stout to fill a pint glass. Why the stout? I could taste the stout. This night was about to get bad.

Rules had been bent for me at earlier drinking establishments. At the first place, the “two to a fishbowl” rule was set aside by the management (or maybe the new waiter) and I sucked down a cool-aid flavored bowl of six shot punch. At the second place, I broke my “no tequila” rule and allowed several of my friends to celebrate my birthday with me, shooting the Cuervo with them one by one. I was in a very happy place.

And now I had a big foamy stout in front of me.

Soon, I felt the need for fresh air. Early March nights in Bozeman are in the “fresh” category. I went out the door and around the corner for some privacy as I contemplated the not-so-fresh feeling in my stomach. I leaned against the wall and proceeded to get violently ill. A nice Spanish Peaks employee came out and rushed up to me with a wet rag. Now this is service! Well, sort of. But not for me. You see, unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly a wall I was leaning up against. It was a window. And, it seemed this particular employee didn’t think the people eating calamari in the booth on the other side of the glass wanted to watch me vomit any more. Sorry ’bout that, folks! That probably didn’t make their night. Anyway, I was duly and properly moved to a remote spot under the light post in the middle of the parking lot.

My relationship with Spanish Peaks improved from that point. The bartender even knew my name on my next visit! Folksy folks there I tell ya. My beer of choice became Black Dog Ale. I don’t know how many gallons of the stuff I consumed between my 21st birthday and the day I left for my new job in California, but it was a bunch. Upon my arrival in California, I found that untold hundreds of similarly awesome beers were now available to me. Even though I’ve seen Black Dog on the shelves on many occasions since, I never again picked one up. Until tonight.

I found myself almost nervous that I wouldn’t like the beer any more. I don’t have a backup “Session” topic picked out, and what was good beer way back in Bozeman may not be good beer now. Maybe I’d be better off not knowing that my old favorite beer was actually watered down skunk juice. Na, couldn’t be. Could it?

I popped the cap and took a deep whiff. Hm, smells really nice. It’s got a nice rich malty scent to it and a little spiciness. This is starting out very good.

The beer pours a very attractive clear dark brownish amber color. Not much head up top.

Ah, the taste test. And it is wonderful. The flavors are a perfect balance between sweet caramel malts and a spicy hops flavor. It starts out sweet and maybe a little woody and bready with a touch of dark fruit. The hops kick in late with a touch of spice and it finishes slightly bitter and a bit nutty. I’m thrilled!

This is a medium bodied beer with excellent balance between malts and hops. It is smooth and extremely drinkable with a clean, refreshing finish. I could definitely see myself killing another night on a stool up at the Spanish Peaks bar.

Unfortunately, that will never happen. Spanish Peaks as I knew it closed its doors several years ago. At least the beers are still brewed and distributed in bottles. One thing is for sure. I won’t wait fourteen years for my next bottle.

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