Half and Half makes for a half-hearted start to November

Tapped out: An introduction to the heightened flavor of unfiltered lagers

I’ve been noticing “unfiltered” and “raw/live” beer a lot on the menus in Moscow. It turns out that this no-filtering thing is a whole trend in beer brewing and not just on Instagram, so here are my thoughts and some information on cloudy, murky, living, breathing beer. Intrigued? Disgusted? Read on.
Disclaimer: This article is less practical and theoretically useful to Bowdoin beer drinkers. I’m sorry to say that I couldn’t find a concrete brand or bar to recommend that’s available in Brunswick, although I bet you could probably find unfiltered beer in Portland. If you were depending on me as your lifeline for beer, you could even try this thing called wine (or water) until my next article! Even your beer columnist spent the other evening at a bar called “I Love Wine,” (which I admit was stellar).
My first unfiltered beer here was a lager at “Beer Time” (I swear I’m not making up these bar names). Beer Time is a small, cheap, dingy and wonderful place filled with Russian bros plus one Asian girl. I didn’t really know I was ordering an unfiltered beer, because the name was written in small text and it was the cheapest option. When my beer appeared, it did not look appetizing. There was barely any foam on top, but the whole glass was filled with a dirty yellow liquid that had stray wisps of stuff floating around haphazardly. I had no idea what exactly was in my murky beer and only found out after I drank it (not recommended), but the taste definitely made up for its looks. Never judge a beer by its cover.
Fans say that the taste and aroma of unfiltered beer are more complex. There are also some opinions on head retention that vary from critic to critic. From my limited experience, the smell seemed average—I won’t lie and say I sniffed my beer extensively—but the taste was, indeed, complex. Although I usually prefer the fuller flavor of ales, my particular lager was very taste-filled. I can’t categorize the taste of all unfiltered beers because they vary wildly, but in general the extra yeast content lends another layer of flavor. That flavor, in turn, enhances the taste of other ingredients such as hops. Basically, try it if you want to heighten your beer flavors. It will not transform a beer completely into a whole new creature—my lager was still definitely a recognizable lager—but it makes it into a 2.0 version, if done nicely.
As much as I liked the flavor, it’s reasonable to be thrown off by the unusual mouthfeel. The unfiltered lager had more of a substantial texture when I drank it; while I couldn’t physically feel the little wispy things (just yeast, don’t worry) in my mouth, the beer did feel thicker. I didn’t mind, but I’m not a reliable source on this front—I grew up drinking kombucha, which has wisps of slimy-feeling fungus floating around. I did like the amount of carbonation in the beer, though, despite its lack of foam—it was the right amount of bubbly. All in all, I’m now a newly minted fan of unfiltered beer. Although it is not a life-changer of a beer, it’s still a pretty great blessing on a Wednesday night.
The website www.homebrewtalk.com sums up the factual differences of the unfiltered beer pretty simply: “Not exactly a beer style but a technique that can be applied to any style, Unfiltered Beer refers to any beer that is intentionally served with yeast remaining in the cask, keg or bottle. Most mass-produced beers are filtered to give them a bright clarity. An unfiltered beer may use the yeast to...contribute to the flavor or mouthfeel of the beer” among other factors. Because unfiltered beers are more “alive” (more yeasty), they’re not mass-produced and usually only served on tap, as far as I know. Fun fact: fish bladders are a common beer-filter; who knows, maybe the next trend will be cold-brewed, fish-bladder-filtered coffee (just kidding, coffee doesn’t need yeast filtration).
Additional Notes:
Tonight's Soundtrack: A sports match of some sorts; loudly drunk guys
Tonight's Toast: "There were quite a few toasts at Beer Time but I forget them, so here's a random one that has no connection whatsoever to this article. 'Noroc,' pronounced 'na-rok'—cheers in Romanian. (@Costin, I didn't forget this, here is proof.)"
Conclusions on my unfiltered lager, whose name I also forget but isn't available in the USA so ultimately is not relevant to this Orient column:
Appearance: 0/0
Smell: 4/5
Flavor: 5/5
Mouthfeel: 3/5
Overall: 4.5/5

Tapped out: Lenin's beer may be hard to pronounce, but it's easy to get down

Please note: personal opinions on things other than beer, such as American politics, below.
Guess what Vladimir Lenin’s favorite drink was? Contrary to stereotype, it was not vodka. When I visited Lenin’s well-kept estate where he died (I was in the room where it happened), I learned that Lenin did not care much about food but loved a good beer. His favorite: the Russian-brewed brand “Жигулeвское,” or “Zhigulyovskoe.” It was practically the only mass-produced beer during Soviet times and is still very popular in Russia. Zhigulyovskoe is available pretty much everywhere here, although unfortunately not in America. Lenin’s beer was too interesting not to try.
I bought one liter on tap from the local beer shop in a very utilitarian, undecorated plastic bottle (it was also very cheap—hooray). Pouring it into a glass, I was struck by how thick the head was and also by its light golden color. I was a little worried that the thick foam would get in the way of drinking later, but it was actually not a problem. The smell was probably the best part about the beer; it had a strong, lovely aroma that resembled caramel. This sounds strange, but was true. If this beer were a cereal, it would certainly be those Shredded Wheat squares. It’s light and sweet, with a strong taste of toasted wheat. None of the flavors are over the top and, overall, it goes down easily. The amount of carbonation was perfect, although maybe because it was on draft.
However, I could understand how the sweetness could get annoying if you don’t like sweeter beers. Although it wasn’t spectacularly special, I personally found this beer pleasant, smooth and surprisingly delicious, especially for being one of the cheaper beers—perhaps equivalent to Budweiser or Heineken. in the United States. Go Lenin—although it’s not my favorite beer of all time, I approve of your choice in alcohol.
I actually didn’t plan to write about Lenin’s beer this week. When I was searching for topics to write about, my first Google search was: “beer to drown your sorrows in.” I thought it was appropriate. But then I realized that this was not productive in any way, either for the article or for myself (although I did find out that there is a “Black Galleon Drown Your Sorrows” ale brewed in England and a “Spiteful Brewing Dumb Donald” IPA).
There’s no denying that last Wednesday was shocking and difficult for many. Here in Moscow, it’s both easier and harder to process my distress over the election results because I am not reminded of it every moment. It was an ordinary morning on Wednesday; of course, most people knew about the results, but it was very possible to not be as aware of the consequences. Maybe that’s the hardest part of it all. I need to remember that not only am I, as a Korean woman, my friends, and the U.S. directly impacted, but that the whole world is impacted by a Trump presidency—and that this really is our new reality. I need to be aware—and for me that means, at this moment, I need to be terrified, confused, sad and upset. And awareness is essential, always, in order for any kind of forward action to happen.
So, reader of mine, I propose a toast (and I presume that you will forgive my clichés): here is to not drowning our sorrows. Here’s to swimming in our sorrows. Here’s to remembering. Here’s to mourning, to fearing, to protesting. Here’s to not running to Canada. Here’s to liquid courage found at the bottom of your beer glass. Here’s to still dreaming drunkenly of hope.
Lastly, as always, here’s to drinking responsibly.
Additional Notes:
Tonight's soundtrack: Started out with "Red" by Taylor Swift (in honor of Lenin), but switched over after 47 seconds to Bob Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks"
Tonight's toast: see above
Conclusions on Zhigulyovskoe:
Appearance: 3/5
Smell: 3/5
Flavor: 4/5
Mouthfeel: 3.5/5
Overall: 4/5

Tapped out

Half and Half makes for a half-hearted start to November

This piece represents the opinion of the author:

Jae-Yeon Yoo

Columnist

November 4, 2016

Dear Readers: Half and Half, apparently, is not just for your coffee, much like #nofilter extends beyond Instagram. I’m learning so much from writing this beer column. Anyways, Half and Half is also the name of an all-beer cocktail made by layering a lighter beer under a darker stout, usually Guinness. I believe it’s actually only called Half and Half in Ireland and more commonly known as “Black and Tan” everywhere else. The etymology of this beer cocktail is rather interesting if you care to look it up sometime (can you tell I’m an English major?). I’m usually not a fan of cocktails, unlike my friend Anya, who “likes anything with a parasol stuck in it.” Anya thought I should give beer cocktails a try and I obliged—after all, the ingredients are all beer, so it sounded like it was hard to get wrong.

What you need to make a Half and Half/Black and Tan:

1 clear glass (the dining hall ones should work okay)
½ glass of Guinness
½ glass of pale ale/lager, ale preferred
Recommended: 1 tablespoon
An obligation to try to find material for the next article in your beer column

Instructions:

1. Pour half a glass of the pale ale; don’t worry about a thick head (in other words, it’s okay if there’s a lot of foam) because it supposedly helps separate the layers.

2. Pour the Guinness slowly into the glass. If you have a tablespoon lying around, try pouring the Guinness over the back of the spoon. The spoon will help create a perfectly-separated beer cocktail.

3. At the end, you ideally have two layers of beer in your glass, with the darker layer of Guinness floating on top.

4. Drink.

I was supposed to use a pale ale (if I did it in the US, I think I’d go with the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale), but I was trying to be economical and bought a cheaper pale lager. However, I did buy Guinness, even though I really don’t love canned Guinness, and I even did the spoon thing. I trickled the Guinness over my tablespoon as slowly as I could, feeling simultaneously dedicated and silly, but was disappointed to find that none of my promised layers formed. Instead, I was left with a coffee-colored mixture that looked more like Coke than anything else.

Not so easily discouraged, I proceeded onwards. The smell was not bad; in fact, it was a kind of intriguing mix of toasty stout and slightly sweet lager. The first sip was not awful—kind of like what I expected, a lager and stout in one gulp, but nothing special. Then, the more I drank, the more I regretted doing this. Why would anyone waste two perfectly decent beers and mix them to create a hybrid of a thing that didn’t satisfy anything? Maybe it would have been better if I had used more bitter ale and actually accomplished the layers. Regardless, I did not see any point of having this beer cocktail; mixing the two did not enhance any flavor whatsoever. It was not disgusting and was ultimately drinkable (I managed, in true college student fashion, because I spent money on this beer), but it was not something I would drink again unless it was to see if I could manage to get two perfect layers of beer. I suppose one plus is that the mixture made Guinness less heavy and easier to chug, but why would you want to chug a wonderfully tasteful Guinness? I think we can call this an overall failure. Forgive me for the pessimism; I think the Russian winter melancholy is kicking in. But I shouldn’t complain too much, because, Reader, I drank it.

Additional notes:

Tonight’s soundtrack: The sound of snow falling – it has been snowing every single day for over a week here in Moscow. Oh and also Christmas carols – wouldn’t you, if it were snowing and you were drinking a sub-par beer cocktail?

Tonight’s toast: Let’s go with “Kanpai,” which means “Dry the glass” in Japanese, as far as I remember. The glass was dried, although it took us a while to get there.

Conclusions on Half and Half/Black and Tan:

Appearance: 0/5 (where are my layers, tablespoon??)
Smell: 3.5/5
Flavor: 1/5
Mouthfeel: 3/5
Overall: 1.5/5

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