A student of mine who had developed a taste for craft beers on a trip to the States told me about this new beer from Hite Jinro: Queen's Ale. He was quite enthusiastic about it, and I was cautiously skeptical. This is the same company that makes Hite beer and Jinro soju, both of which I find barely potable, always headache inducing, and never pleasant. Koreans generally love these beers the same way 'Mericans love their Buds and their Coors. When the larger beer companies back home try their hand at making "craft" brews, the results are mixed, and for the hard core craft brew purists, the idea of big batch breweries making a craft brew at all is ridiculous, if not scandalous. Many would claim that a good craft brew must come from an independent, locally-owned (as in where the brewery is, not where the beer ends up), small-batch-ish brewery. That being said, Hite's Queen's Ale is not truly a craft ale. But it is something different, and that in itself is a good thing. It means there is a burgeoning demand beyond the usual choices of Hite or Cass.
Let me say, that although I was skeptical, I really wanted to enjoy this beer. I went into this experiment with an open mind and a ready palate. It took me a while to actually find the beer. After over ten different stops at convenient stores around my neighborhood, I was pleased to finally find them at a 7-11. I wasn't, however, happy with the price. They were priced just the same as the import beers, the larger 500ml cans were 4,100 won. It makes sense, though. In Korea, most businesses follow the model that if you want to be respected as a quality brand, you have to start off with high prices. High price= quality in the eye of the consumer.
I got the beers home and decided to begin with the lighter blonde. The color of this beer was definitely darker than your average lager, but the head was fizzy, unlike most good ales. It did not have that pillowy, cloudy top that I like to see on ales. The first taste was very nice and promising-- it has this very citrusy, floral taste that portends to be rich and full-bodied. But after swallowing, the richness quickly evaporated, and I was left with the same taste of the yeast used in Hite beer. It was a very weak finish. And as I drank more, that initial hit of flavor even began to fade, not toned down as it does as you drink a nice IPA, but going away altogether, leaving only the taste of the yeast. I finished it quickly, and wasn't so excited to dive into the Extra Bitter recipe, thinking that it may also be disappointing. Overall, this beer wasn't that bad. It is better than the normal recipes, but it falls way, way...way short of the boldness of a craft beer. For the faithful drinkers of Hite beer, this is not a far departure from its cousin, as the finish was nearly identical.
I waited a couple of hours before I cracked into the Extra bitter. This one immediately caught my attention, not with the color, which is a cut from the same cloth as the blonde, but with the head. It was much more frothy and lumpy, and even had a tinge of color to its cloud-like surface. Bigger bubbles formed in it and I got excited to dig in. And bam, the first taste was a mouthful of hoppy delight. It wasn't an IPA or double IPA feeling, but it was genuinely quite hoppy. I let my mouth enjoy that momentarily and then I swallowed, waiting for the disappointing finish to rear its weak taste. But, it didn't. It went down and left a nice taste in the back of my throat, the hops still continuing to tickle the palate. Okay, I thought, here we go, we might have something here. As I continued drinking, the normal toning down commenced as my taste buds acclimated, but about a quarter of the way through, I could again taste that Hite recipe coming to the top, leaving a rather flat taste for the rest of the beer. The finish was disappointing, but the extra hops did help to prolong the disenchantment.
The good, the bad, and the headache: The good-- this new beer is a sign of the changing times. With the successes of the various microbreweries growing out from the Itaewon region, and the introduction of more and more imports into grocery stores, Korean beer drinkers are demanding more beyond their normal choices. Queen's Ale is a response to that demand. The bad-- it is improbable that a giant, mass batch brewery will make a through and through quality product. This beer masquerades as a quality beer with its initially exciting flavors, but ultimately disappoints with the overall recipe. The headache-- I woke up today with an actual headache that occurs alongside all the other Korean beers that I've ever had. There's just something in the water that doesn't bode well with my overall constitution.
Verdict: I'll stick to the imports and the Seoul craft beers until something better emerges.
Kimchi Shock
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
In the Early Morning
In
the early morning,
between two worlds
battling
over me
action or dream?
ideas
flood in
bringing down the levy
a
world submerged
in swimming ideas.
In these
ideas
are a truth from beyond
manufactured
by
whom or what?
Angel
whispers or
God’s booming instructions
full
of clues
yet un-deciphered.
In
my mind
I am speaking,
holding
council with Spirits
a board of trustees,
shepherds
of decision.
myriads of choices,
people
to love,
addictions to harness.
In
the early morning
between two selves
Who
dreams and simply does,
the wise
council
evaporates
in the light
of the sun,
the day
and
leaves but a residue
in
the wake of the flood.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Saint Francis Climbs a 14'er
Salvation! At 14,000 feet.
Grace floods in colors
filling the thin, rich air.
God visited the earth, and
it overflowed.
Creation! Look, there’s a
river like an artery.
It fills the ice blue
alpine lake
Where Elk take the
Eucharist, and are regenerated.
Breathe your breath, on
trees like brush strokes.
Reveal your face in
billow clouds and contrails.
And in the distance there
is El Diente, orange
And copper, like a sunset
basilica.
I’ll keep climbing
mountains!
Sweat is a blessing, slow
scree-field steps
Attesting to glory, this
pinnacle,
This sentinel of the
ether.
Stand watch to
thunderstorms that
Saturate the green valley,
leaving rainbows
And promise, a Colorado
covenant.
And below is the San Juan,
Crystal rapids cover
purple stones,
Boulders jut forth and
make eddies
A place to pause, a
Sanctuary, where
I submerge, a mountain
baptism,
Unsullied, mountain clean.
And night! There’s Hesperus
Alpha and Omega navigating
the firmament
Charting its eastward
course
Against stars like words
in the good book
Writ glowing on the black
and purple.
Campfire theology:
There’s Genesis, Proverbs,
The Gospels.
There’s fire-eyed
Revelations
And the new heaven and
earth of dreams
Asleep under Venus’s
flight.
Awake to coyotes, speaking
in tongues.
Songs of haunting praises,
urging the creeping
Pinks of morning from the
east.
Awake to new blue
revealing outlines of
Quaking aspens, shaking
off the chill
Frozen breath and cowboy
coffee
Warm whispers, and words
Written on my heart.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Going Out West Again
Going Out West Again
J. Barbaree
Going out west again
gasoline and means to get me there
spirit cleansed and forgiven sins
lungs absorb the rarefied air.
Big sky rounded like a bowl
expanding blue and wispy white,
resplendent light swallows me whole
as I drive straight into spectral night.
A long highway before my eyes
path bathed in halogen glow.
I follow the blazed, yellow lines
praying that they carry me home.
Piloting the sturdy machine
onward, where the light last glowed
caffeine and cigarette dreams
carry me to late autumn snows.
Miles recede, ideas evolve
the road climbs on to higher thoughts
elevation mingled with resolve
lessons which the highway taught.
Arriving at my mountain home
just as first light begins
I look to where it is not yet dawn,
and know I will go west again.
For M
For M
We had a good run.
gritty, real
and
plenty foolish
like when you drew on paper
a thousand laughing faces
a static hallucination
we tried to reel our minds in from
the primordial lake of cosmic thoughts.
and when we drank the music
dancing rituals to bellowing guitar
circling youth’s flame
worshipping life itself
and spilling red wine, rich blood,
from full vases.
We traveled over clouds
and continents to the darkest
night in Bahia, Bacchic devotions
on cobble-stone hills, learning the city’s
darkness and her shadows in our hearts.
We hid some things, too.
I, divided and lost, struck blind;
converted by lightning.
You, with anxious thought turning in on itself
a look inward, untaken
a change unhappened, swallowed by medicine.
You, the drunk
I, the ascetic
You, the celebrant
I, the repentant.
Each, sinners,
both missed the mark:
That spot of beauty.
That point of truth
like a distant light
miles away
and we run still.
Maybe lessons are learnt
once we’ve forgotten to learn
no longer feigning control
of our spiraling saunters
only to find
not what is sought
but in the seeking,
that life is sacred
lived a million ways
all forgiven
all rejoicing.
We had a good run.
May your run continue
healthy and true
may your steps to the kingdom
unveil the simple mystery
the kingdom is within you.
And I Know
(How many such stories begin this way?)
slight fever, mighty tired
I‘ve nothing in me that will last
gonna get fed, go to bed
for the rest of the day I rest,
that’s the best that can come to pass.
In the subterranean station
waiting for the train delayed
I look up,
eyes rise with the vapors from my cup
and there you are
and the space between us warms
with your smile of recognition
and your approach
I swear, hemmed in
by light.
I have only three stops to work this out
this mystery of corporeal light
that you do emit
that falls upon me in a grip
and my heart squeezes
a little bit tighter, even I both ill and tired
down in my depths, there sparks a fire.
We make plans later for coffee,
What medicine can this be?
the panacea called desire,
the fleeting prophesy of potentials
of something that may transpire!
Coffee time, I bring that
silly gift of leftover cheese cake
you think me odd and a bit of a cheapskate
You say, Wow! with your tongue in your cheek
My smooth operator was always a bit weak.
We talk books, we talk travel,
we talk dreams and defeat
We talk life
and our eyes meet
and the fire grows
Your hand touches
mine
and I know.
I watch you board the bus,
in those jeans, (those legs!) and you turn and wave
in a way that says what words can’t say,
at least not on a very first date:
they say I could be yours.
I could be yours.
and I could be yours, too.
And I walk that familiar street
it is altogether a brand new place
feeling your silk electric fingers
hearing the tessitura of your voice
and seeing the indelible vision of your face
as your guard broke momentarily with a smile
the beauty of laughter colored just so with pretty pain
some shadows still remained, but there is a light
still lots of light, and it follows you still
and it lights my way home tonight.
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