No country in history has had quite the impact on the world as England. America tried: even after the Monroe Doctrine has faded into the annals of history, we still treat most of the Caribbean islands like orphaned nephews that need a watchful eye, going so far as sending in the Marines on one of them as recently as the 80’s; and our own 50th state is a reminder of a messy overthrow of a sovereign nation, a scenario all too similar to our treatment of the American Indians a century after we thought the shame of the trail of tears and other atrocities was behind us. But England didn’t just mull around in some self-declared imperial backyard: they built an empire. As if Mary Worth raised an army, their conquering and meddling altered the course of nations and cultures on every continent, leaving an impact that, even after the sun finally set over their horizon, will be felt for centuries to come.
India is perhaps the most interesting of the English conquests, because despite having nearly four centuries control over the land inhabited by one of the world’s oldest cultures, England became more Indian than India became English. Besides simply borrowing from the Indians’ ways outright, leaving a curry shop on every corner in London and turning tea into a national drink, the English made their own innovations to adapt, even within that greatest of English pastimes: getting shitfaced. The gin & tonic grew out of an effort to prevent malaria, essentially adding alcohol to bitter medicine to make it worth drinking and keeping at it even after more effective alternatives were developed, and the India Pale Ale was created to keep beer fresh on the long, hot voyage around Africa. Before the mechanics of spoiling were understood, English brewers found that two parts of beer could prevent it: hops, a natural antibiotic, and alcohol, a natural anti–pretty much anything. Shortly after the booze inventors were able to control the roasting of barley accurately enough to create a clear, pale ale, they made another variety for export that was higher in alcohol and included much more dry hopping, a technique that adds the hops in the later stages of fermentation, producing a beer that, while certainly altered in flavor, doesn’t include all of the bitterness of the hops while still enjoying their bacteria killing properties. So the Brits figured out a way to get beer to India, the Brits stationed in India got a taste for the stuff and wanted to keep drinking it when they got back home, and thus was born the India Pale Ale, the IPA.
Fast forward to today. The British empire has collapsed, the world is recovering from the new threat of nuclear annihilation that overwhelmed international relations for the last few decades, and prohibition is now a dim enough memory for American brew crafts to finally emerge, creating a new culture bored with beer of the like so valiantly sought by Burt Reynolds and looking to traditional styles for inspiration. The problem is that we Americans tend to make a hash of anything we touch. In the case of the IPA, American brewers too often turn it into a pissing contest with hops the metaphorical penis. It’s a challenge to make the most unenjoyably hoppy pale ale that can be produced.
Like David and Chris, I don’t appreciate a glass full of lawn clippings. This doesn’t mean, however, that I dislike all modern attempts at an IPA: I don’t wholly reject bitterness, or even excessive hoppiness. My problem with IPAs is one of balance. One of my favorite IPAs, the Dogfish Head 90 Minute, named for the amount time spent in the dry hopping process, I appreciate because, despite weighing in at nearly 100 IBUs and a 9% ABV, it’s very dry. The hops are countered with not too much malt, and in all it’s an appropriately complex, bitter and enjoyable beer. The problem I have with most IPAs is that they manage to make both the hops and the malts overwhelming, creating something at once syrupy sweet and unpleasantly intense. And all of that leads me to Saturday’s selection:
Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA
This beer is IPA machismo at its worst. Even while pouring it the smell was nothing but bitter hops, no hint of sweet barley or spice or anything else. The taste had a little more to say, but not much good. The sensation reminded me of one time that I ate a spoonful of a habanero salsa: the flavor was something amazing, lemons and limes teaming up with the sour parts of tomatoes and dancing across my tongue, carrying with it just a hint of soapy cilantro and a faint suggestion of cinnamon. And after about half a second my mouth felt like it was going to explode. When this beer hit my mouth I felt a strong taste of lemons and oranges and spice, but before I could even decide what was happening I was attacked by an onslaught of grassiness and thick, heavy malt. As the beer made its way to the back of my throat it turned to ash and bile, leaving a lingering bitter taste that made my tongue recoil and took several glasses of water to erase.
The taste of the hops started to fade as the alcohol numbed my tongue, which gave me an opportunity to think about everything wrong with the malts. The sweet, caramel taste of the barley is anathema to the bitter goal, and there’s no effort to balance the two flavors. This is a bad beer. I don’t know if anyone local still reads this, but if you do, feel free to claim the other five bottles in the pack. If you don’t they’ll probably find their way into a stew.
Way to go, Sierra Nevada. You won. Now fucking knock it off.