Caldera’s Pilot Rock Porter transformed me into a curt, cigarette-smoking Frenchman with a penchant for espresso machiatto. The chocolaty ale poured past my lips as “Parfait, s’il vous plaît,” rushed back out. I don’t even speak French.
Caldera’s brewer, like some mystical alchemist, fashioned a way to put the essence of an ice cream parlor into an ale. The beer pours dark, semi-sweet colors with luscious tan cream. My mind, on first sip, echoed childhood and cold memories of seltzer, vanilla ice cream, and chocolate syrup.
The hopping holds just outside the fray of creamy flavors. Just enough to say beer, but not so much to stay planted in bitter adulthood. My explorative sipping eagerly converts to quaffing, and quaffing leads to my second and third draft. I feel like a kid again, I speak fluent French, and I want to move to Oregon tomorrow.
This will be a smart and useful blog for beer lovers. I hope you run with it.