I recently met a man from planet gorgeous. One of those otherworldly creatures who seems to have an unfairly low body fat percentage, criminally chiseled features, and twinkly blue eyes that could probably get him out of jail. He also happens to be incredibly nice, friendly, and pretty smart. So it was a bit of a shock to me when Mr. Way Too Perfect seemed to be flirting with me the other night out. In fact, it was so outside of the realm of possibility in my mind that it didn’t occur to me until after I hugged him goodbye (his words, “well, give me a squeeze”) that what had occurred that night was, in fact, some expression of interest on his part. I’m still flabbergasted. You see, I’m not ugly. I’m a solid B+, in a world without grade inflation. I’m not the definition of “cute”, but I could be used as a further example for people who were having a hard time understanding inherent nuances of the word’s meaning. I come from a planet populated by the lumpen proletariat, and I’m fine with it. The prospect of his attraction was so far outside the realm of possibility in my mind that I just didn’t notice.
I will now admit to you what I did notice, an admission that I’m sure will make any thinking woman categorize me as a hopeless idiot deserving of my failure to get laid. I noticed the beer. While spending time with Mr. Tall and Outdoorsy, I had a few excellent, really incredible beers. An outstanding Double Mountain Viennese and a Caldera Dry Hopped Orange. The Viennese was smooth and slightly sweet, and the orange smelled like a Christmas tree and tasted like wild herbs. And, as usually happens with excellent, herbaceous beers, I thought, “Man, this would be good with turkey!” I am hopeless.
Beer isn’t any more American than wine – like a lot of alcohol, beer seems to have been invented by notoriously alcoholic European monks - but somehow beer just seems more ‘mmirican, in a flag-sticker-on-a-ford-truck way. The Pilgrims had beer on the Mayflower, fer chissakes. American beer manufacturers have made beer their own, with brewmasters across the nation honing a plethora of unique and complex beverages. All in all turkey with all the accessories and beer are both ultimately American but also pretty darn ‘mmerican.
You can go in two directions with your beer choices: herbaceous or sweet and smooth. Any herbaceous beer will act as a counterpoint to the richness of the gravy and bring out the wonderful herbs used good stuffing (and yes, in my book Pepperidge Farm is good stuffing). Ask your local beer geek for something “hoppy,” even if that makes you feel like you are shopping for an Easter bunny. A sweet and smooth beer will accentuate the butteriness in your mashed potatoes and the richness of your turkey. Ask your beer man for something medium dark and smooth, he won't think you are coming onto him.
If you want more specific recommendations, I offer the following, highly personal list of good thanksgiving beers:
Herbaceous:
1. Craftsman Brewing Company’s Triple White Sage: This is the first beer that ever made me think of Thanksgivings and is, in a word, amazing. Unlike other “infused” beers, the Craftsman Brewers use a light hand with their herbs and actually add the herb listed, in this case California White Mountain Sage, instead of some predistilled “essence”. The beer is light, clean, and has white sage, which is less aggressive and more complex than regular cooking sage. Watch out, though, this is a higher alcohol beer.
2. Caldera Brewing Company’s Dry Hop Orange: A beer good enough to make a girl on a dry run not notice the man from Planet Gorgeous. Hate me, love the beer. Citrus and cypress notes and a tangy quality that will cut right through that last bite of gravy, clearing your palette for that next mouthful of sweet potatoes.
As for smooth and sweet beers, well, I haven't investigated as much, but I've got a six-pack of Celebration Ale in my fridge and I'm going to give it a try.
