by Brett Yates
updated
Mon, Dec 19, 2011 07:59 AM
I've never eaten raw, unseasoned pumpkin - because that would be
disgusting - but at times, while carving jack-o'-lanterns, I've
been almost curious enough to try it. Without the cinnamon and
nutmeg, would pumpkin really be much different from any other
squash? Would it yield even a hint of sweetness?
Sometimes, in pumpkin-flavored dishes, the spices overwhelm the
base, and I can't actually remember how pumpkin itself is supposed
to taste. Yet when pumpkinized food is done right, and the
seasoning somehow draws out the pumpkin flavor instead of obscuring
it, it's so wonderful - earthy, soft, and sweet - that one has no
choice but to rank it among the most unique and lovely ingredients
in cooking. It tastes like autumn itself, the season condensed into
a vegetable.
And wouldn't it be great if we could bottle all that, make it
drinkable? That's the appeal of pumpkin ale - having that rich fall
taste at your fingertips. Nowadays, just about every craft brewery
worth its hops ships out truckloads of jack-o'-lantern-adorned
six-packs in September, but finding a beer that uses pumpkin
effectively isn't easy, so this year I consumed eight different
bottles of pumpkin ale, with a goal of finding the perfect one.
Though I'm no beer critic, I thought I could recoup some of the
cost by writing about them.
The first thing I should note about this year's batch of pumpkin
ales is that, when you pour them out, you'll find that none of them
is bright orange. Maybe the brewers thought that carrot-juice-hued
beer would seem gimmicky and that beer connoisseurs would rebel,
but to me, this was a disappointment, a portent that the breweries
weren't really committed to creating a strong pumpkin
experience.
The first beer I tried was the Weyerbacher Imperial Pumpkin Ale,
and it turned out to be the spiciest of the bunch. I mean that in
sort of a terrible way, though: you could probably replicate the
Weyerbacher experience by pouring yourself a glass of seltzer and
dumping in a few teaspoons of cloves, nutmeg, and ginger. You not
only can't taste the pumpkin; you can't taste the beer.
My enthusiasm for this project now somewhat diminished, I was
cheered slightly by the Post Road Pumpkin Ale from the Brooklyn
Brewery. This time, I could sense the pumpkin - a mild, vegetal
sweetness - more than its seasonings. Nice, and I liked the touch
of vanilla - but, then, after a while, the beer began to seem a
little too mild, too thin, lacking the sort of hearty boldness I
was looking for.
If, however, my overall impression was that the Post Road was a
little boring, that was only because I had yet to try the Uinta
Punk'n ale from Salt Lake City, Utah - which I'm convinced is
really just Bud Light with a dash of cinnamon. Unsurprisingly, at
4% ABV, it had the least alcohol of any of the beers I'd bought -
actually, I think it had the least everything, except maybe
water.
My next brew, New Holland's Ichabod, had more substance, but I
drank it not long after having a couple cavities filled by my
dentist, and for the whole day everything I ate or drank had,
consequently (I guess), a weird, bad metallic taste - including the
beer. Bad call on my part not to wait for this one, maybe, but we
have deadlines at this newspaper, rain or shine.
The Harvest Time Pumpkin Ale by Big Boss Brewing was the only beer
of the bunch whose label didn't advertise the presence of any real
pumpkin in the bottle (only spices); Big Boss's website claims the
stuff's in there anyway, but it's certainly not overwhelming. This
beer felt thick in my mouth and seemed undercarbonated, and thus it
reminded me, strangely, of a lot of the flat, near-undrinkable beer
I consumed during my trip to England when I was 20.
Finally, on my sixth try, I found a beer that I really enjoyed:
Southern Tier's Imperial Pumking, which, thankfully, came in a big
22-oz. bottle. It tasted like a good pumpkin pie - sugary, yes, but
not saccharine, with plenty of pumpkin goodness, aided but not
overtaken by the usual cinnamon et al. On the other hand, it does
such a good job mimicking the pie - rather than creating its own,
unique pumpkin experience - that afterward you might wonder why you
didn't simply eat a slice instead of drinking a beer that, though a
fine imitation, obviously can't replicate the textural sensations
of the real thing. On the other, other hand, baking homemade
pumpkin pie is a lot more time-consuming than opening a bottle of
this stuff.
Next came Dogfish Head's Punkin Ale, which, though not as
"decadent" (a Food Network term that I officially can't stand) as
Southern Tier's dessert-brew, was probably the most estimable beer
of the lot. Like pretty much all the Dogfish Head beers, it's
flavorful and complex; at times it didn't taste all that different
from some of their other offerings, but when it hit my tongue at
the right spot, the pumpkin and spices came rushing through very
pleasantly.
I finished up with some Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale, which had been
brewed (lazily, I presumed) with pumpkin puree rather than fresh,
hand-cut pumpkins. In fact, the whole enterprise here gave off a
whiff of laziness, from the generic name ("Pumpkin Ale") to the
cheesy autumn-greeting-card photo on the label (the other beers had
cool cartoon pumpkins), but as it turned out, the beer wasn't bad.
It was a lot hoppier than the average pumpkin ale - almost like a
spiced IPA, which was cool after all the malt-heavy beers I'd
consumed, but at the end of it, I once again had trouble
remembering what, exactly, pumpkin was supposed to taste
like.
It seems possible that pumpkin ale, like cayenne-infused
chocolate, is one of those food-concepts that's more appealing in
theory than in practice. In any case, I need to go carve my
jack-o'-lantern; maybe I'll take a bite this year.
Tagged:
generation y, Gen Y
