Sunday, April 10, 2011

A Noble Spirit Embiggens the Smallest Pils

This photograph was taken in southern New Jersey at a Famous Dave’s Barbecue Restaurant. When my brother ordered a Sam Adams Noble Pils, the rotund waitress leaned in and said, “Are you sure you want that one, hon? It’s pretty hoppy.” When she waddled away, we had a good laugh at New Jerseyites and their unrefined palates.

There’s nothing wrong with the Sam Adams Noble Pils. It’s a perfectly cromulent beer, and Sam Adams has a solid history with the style (their Imperial Pilsner is one of the best American examples). But…I just can’t do it.

I spent a year living in Prague. When I left, I was big into huge, experimental beers. You couldn’t put enough hops, fruit, or alcohol into a beer to satisfy me. The weirder the ingredients, the more I loved it. People kept telling me I would love the Czech beer. “Best in the world!,” I kept hearing.

But when I went over there, I found out there are essentially two types of beer in the CR – dunkel and pilsner. What is this shit, I thought as I hammered Budvar. It’s glorified MGD!

As the year went on, however, two things happened. First, I discovered Czech brewpubs, which are producing some truly wild shit (Nettle beer, anyone? Haha, I’m kidding, it’s fucking terrible). Second the whole pilsner thing began to sink in. I don’t remember exactly when, but one day I got home from a long 5-hour work day and thought, damn. A Bernard would be perfect right now. And after that I couldn’t get enough. I guess when you’re having seven a day, you grow accustomed to them, but I like to think that my own unrefined palate matured to the point where it could appreciate a more subtle style.

Which brings me back to Sam and to America. Ever since I returned, I can’t drink non-Czech pilsner. Hell, I couldn’t even drink other European pilsners (Munich was wasted on me). I just can’t do it. And people don’t understand. They take me aside and ask me quietly if I’ve tried Victory Prima. Sigh.

So I apologize, Noble Pils. I want to like you but I just can’t. When it comes to pilsners, I’m like that Hemingway character who returns from WWI and can’t find pleasure in any of life’s normal activities. Which one was that again? Oh, that’s right – all of them.

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