My Oregon Craft Beer Month: Pilsners, Presidents, and High School Glory

No matter what you’ve thought of my endeavor this month, or the posts connected with said endeavor, I ask that you consider this one plea: Please, stop drinking lousy beer.

This month I entered the jungle of craft beer and I drank deeply from those amber streams. I drank in the quiet of my living room listening to hum of the box fan. I drank with friends late into the night. I drank in ugly motel rooms, handsome pubs, and with throngs at the Oregon Brewers Festival. And I have been changed. I hate to say it, but I have.

I’m not saying I’ll never order a PBR again. That would be patently ridiculous. PBR is cheap, and sometimes my bank account necessitates cheap. But if I’ve got five bucks left to spend and my choice is between two PBRs and one decent micro? Well then, I’ll take that micro, because I believe in the palate. I believe that there’s more worth in drinking less and drinking flavorfully than drinking more and drink swill.

Take my beer tonight: Heater Allen’s Pilsner. I found the 22 oz. bottle, from the McMinnville brewery specializing in lagers, at Belmont Station for $4.54 (including five cent bottle return). From that bottle I was able to pour a (cheater) pint and a half.

At 5% ABV this little Pils is no slouch and beats PBR in that department by a smidge. From the bottle, it pours a lovely clear pale amber with a one finger head that dissipates fairly quickly. On the nose it’s mostly malt, a tad boozy and yeasty with the faintest hint of piney hops.

In the mouth, it’s a bit more full than macro pilsners. On the front end there’s a hit of bready fruit, a bit of cantaloupe from the yeast I suspect. This is followed quickly by a nice, full, expansive malt that is buoyed up by a little hoppy burn. On the back end there’s a bit of sour candy sweetness as the hops politely bows and fades away.

This is one hell of an expansive pilsner. As I sat on my porch tonight thanking whatever deities I could name for the cooling weather, I took a sip of the Heater Allen, sat back in my plastic Adirondack chair, looked up into the tree and just let myself sink into the malty depth of the beer.

Pilsners have always tasted like high school. But the high school experience in this beer is one of those idealized Hollywood high school experiences. One where you drive the hot American muscle car your parents bought you out to the summer lake with the cheerleading valedictorian class president. There, you crack an American lager and make out a bit under a sky crowded with stars before you slip casually from your clothes and run playfully into the lake for some night swimming. The future is far away. There are no repercussions. The water is warm and cradling, and the movements of your bodies as you swim create ripples that lap up against your skin, just slightly chilled in the cool night air.

This beer is like that. At least that’s the image that emerges after drinking the bottle on an empty stomach. Let’s see, I lost my train of thought here… Oh yes. Is it worth the money? Absolutely! Do I like it better than PBR? You’re an asshole for even asking.

So let the President drink his shitty foreign-owned light lagers. He’s drinking like a populist leader. Me? I’m drinking like a once and future king.