​Read in the Chronicle today that The Ginger Man is shuttering for good, as per its owner, Rice University, which purchased the property last year.  I spent a lot of time there over the years, if much less so in the last several.  It will still be greatly missed, both for easy enjoyment it engendered with a few friends and a halfway pleasant afternoon or evening, and its contribution to the country’s beer culture.  The Ginger Man, after all, was the first beer bar in the contemporary sense.  Something like this seems so obvious, but it wasn’t when The Ginger Man started in the 1980s.
 
Below is what I penned some years ago for a gastronomic journal about it.
 
The Ginger Man in Houston
 
The nicely appointed watering hole at 11 E. 36th Street in Manhattan, not too far north of the Empire State Building, is smartly decorated and appropriately polished.  It sports an intelligent selection of beers that is resplendent with and oft-quirky Belgian labels, well-made regional and European lagers, and numerous aggressively-hopped and alcoholic domestic ales that recently styled beer aficionados are quick to champion.  It is the fitting setting for one of the nation’s best beer bars. 
 
Though it certainly seems that it could be, this location of The Ginger Man is not the one that introduced the concept of the “beer bar.”  These bars, in turn, helped to raise the interest in quality beers and abetted the growth of what were called microbreweries in the 1980s and 1990s.  That first beer bar is nearly 1,500 miles away in Houston, the very first Ginger Man (or Gingerman in deference to the great late Mr. Jackson).  In a city that is always looking forward and almost never backwards, this fact is largely unknown by most locals, even those who scribe about matters gustatory, vinous, and otherwise alcoholic.
 
“Houston has The Gingerman (5607 Morningside), one of the best beer-bars in America.”
– Pocket Guide to Beer by Michael Jackson, 1991
 
The tidy commercial developments covering about a dozen blocks a few miles southwest of downtown, collectively known as the Rice Village, is heavy with clothing stores, ethnic restaurants, and parking spaces filled mostly by very late model vehicles.  Near a cluster of bars catering to twenty-somethings, and set rather unobtrusively in a single story wood-frame house fronted by a tidy patio, The Ginger Man celebrated its quarter-century anniversary last year.  It has long been regarded as one of the top venues for the beer enthusiast in Houston or any city, for that matter.
 
It is a modest place.  Extending to the sidewalk, its inviting entrance is filled with several long picnic tables, some with umbrella, and a porch flanking the front door.  Inside, the small house is a comfy interior of several partitioned spaces and, most prominently, a long wood bar backed by 75 tap handles (there is almost double that number in bottle selections).  It’s a quick traverse to a mostly shaded back patio seating around 100 on additional long wood benches and tables.  A side wall is largely covered by a 25- by 6-foot mural of festive, plump Bavarians parading in seemingly orderly fashion into the countryside with the Alps in the distance; artwork that once graced the side of a Paulaner beer truck.
 
Unpretentious, relaxed and long sought out by beer lovers, and anyone interested in a conversation-heavy entertainment in the area, it has remained popular since fairly soon after inception.  That it is in Houston is surprising.  Its early road to long-term popularity is even more surprising.
 
According to founder Bob Precious, it was good luck rather than planning that was responsible for its direction and the success.  The Ginger Man’s predecessor was a scruffy neighborhood bar with the rather unfortunate name of Chuggers.  He was then a bartender at the English-themed Red Lion on Main Street, a once long-standing Houston favorite about a mile away.  After finishing a shift, he would often stop in to wind down with their “50¢ Heinekens.”  The owner, “an old Texas gal…took a shine to me,” he explained, and eventually, after spending many nights there on a barstool, “gave me the keys to the bar…because she couldn't stand being in the joint another day.”  Precious was thirty-three at the time with a wife and child and a second on the way living in a small garage apartment.  Though he might not have believed he “needed another opportunity to demonstrate how talented I was at screwing things up,” he decided to make a go of it, accepting the keys and assuming the lease.
 
That serendipitous event was in 1985.  Chuggers was a beer bar, though definitely not one in the current sense.  In addition to the Heineken stocked for him, “Chuggers had two drafts, Bud and Miller Lite, and a selection of can beers, four or five, and Pearl, in all its glory, in a bottle.”  Precious decided that J.P. Donleavy’s comic first novel, whose protagonist was a drunken lout, would make a more appropriate name than Chuggers.  This would pay dividends the next year.
 
1985 was well before the gentrification of the area.  The bar was at the edge of a forlorn retail district.  Across the street were broad expanses of usually empty asphalt parking.  A block across the parking from its entrance was a rather uninviting adult theater nearly adjacent to a rundown toy store.  But, Precious had the good fortune that his neighbor immediately next door was Scott Birdwell’s full-service home-brew shop, DeFalco’s, the heart of Houston’s homebrew universe.  It was there he received a tutorial about beer.  “I didn't have any customers for the first year, I had lots of time to talk with him and get acquainted with this thing called beer.”  That relationship led to an invitation on Birdwell’s suggestion to famed British beer writer Michael Jackson.
 
“He was just about to cancel the rest of his Texas dates as there had been zero interest or respect for what he was doing at the time, but said he would give The Ginger Man a shot because he liked the book.  It was a big night, and it really changed everything.  After that I went nuts on the beer, turned the kitchen into a walk-in cooler and had about twenty beers in no time.”
 
At that time, another local bar, The Richmond Arms west of the Galleria, was broadly similar, but it was British.  The Ginger Man was consciously American in feel and attitude, and served a global variety of the some of the best beers that might make it to this country.  The number imported then was a fraction of what it is today.  This was also a time when about the only really interesting American beers to be found in Houston were from Anchor and Sierra Nevada.  Sam Adams had just started in Boston that year.  There was not even a decent beer brewed in the entire state of Texas.  All of this was reflected in the number of taps, which were a third of what they would become.  Those two dozen taps were pouring mostly British and German beers “and a great pint of Guinness that flowed from and old yellow refrigerator in the back room with a shank poked through the door.”
 
This different new bar generated interest from the father of the nascent microbrewery movement:
 
“Fritz Maytag sent four of his top guys over from Anchor Brewing in San Francisco with, for the first time anywhere, all of the beer he was making on draught (five types). They hung out for days and became part of the scene… and when they returned to San Francisco we heard that they told anyone who would listen that there was something going on down in Houston that was new and probably a little insane.”
 
The Ginger Man in 1986 was then something truly unique in this country.  “We had about 25 taps by mid '86.  Better beer history minds than mine tell me that would make it the first in the country, if not the world,” Precious recounts.  It matured quickly from there, adding taps and labels.  “I went to Belgium and got into that weird ale world… And, of course to Germany, and to London to visit Michael [Jackson].  So things that we were doing by the end of '87 were very new and fresh, but we had a definite purpose and trajectory at this point.”
 
At the time, the country’s most famous bar dedicated to beer was probably the Brickskeller in Washington, DC.  It had been around since the 1950s and featured hundreds of beers.  Their beers were still nearly all in bottles and cans even in 1987.  It was a rarity, also.  There was the Peculier Pub in Manhattan.  Across the country, Seattle had the Irish-tempered Murphy’s and before the end of that year, the Latona Pub.  Father’s Office in Santa Monica was also lauded by Michael Jackson a few years later.  But, it and the others were laggards to The Ginger Man when it came to pulling numerous drafts.
 
Even before the wide selection of interesting beers, Precious had the knack for creating an inviting atmosphere.  “I do remember thinking I'd died and gone to heaven when I found the Ginger Man one Saturday afternoon,” reminisced Bill Marchbank, a British transplant to Houston, who missed his native pub culture, about his first visit in the mid-1980s.  Though quality beer has been key to its success, attracting discriminating beer fans since the start, it’s been more than that.
 
Though most of its seating is outdoors, in Houston, which suffers from at least four months of subtropical summers, The Ginger Man is somehow very comfortable.   That a good part of it is outside, its casualness and intentionally low-key nature are necessarily reinforcing.  The back patio works as a beer garden that seems properly Houstonian, ephemeral and diverse, rather than German, the prominent artwork notwithstanding.  The crowd is usually mature and well-behaved, and mostly professional that can “get crazy, but not too crazy.”  Warren Jones, a business consultant, has been a regular since moving to Houston in 1992, “when the only Range Rovers you'd see in the neighborhood were likely driven by Englishmen who were inside drinking.” Explaining the draw, “what brings me back now is the same thing that brought me back the first time; it's a unique, comfortable, friendly place.”  Located a few blocks from Rice University, however, its students have never been that big of presence.  More so has been the nearby Texas Medical Center and its thousands of employees.  A soused and stumbling doctor in scrubs is not an unknown sight, though thankfully rare.  The Ginger Man has long been a place to enjoy a well-made beer and banter inspired or slurred, or both, during the course of a visit.
 
When the summer air is thick and hot, the large fans in the very back churn furiously, its outdoor tables are filled with tall glasses of hazy yellowish beer with a slice of lemon perched at the lip or lazing at the bottom of the glass.  The Ginger Man has arguably done more than any place in the country to popularize wheat beer; Houston’s heat and humidity pairs perfectly with it.  Though the Bavarian versions predominant now, the Flemish style white beer from Celis found a special home on its patios during the 1990s when it was brewed in Austin.  The other Celis beers were also quite popular.  This was helped, in part, by the bar’s creation of the Cruberry.  This is an overly-easy-to-consume beer cocktail featured a splash of refreshingly sweet Celis Raspberry on a base of deceptively alcoholic Celis Grand Cru.  It spelled a quick evening for many patrons.
 
The Ginger Man has done brisk business for two-and-a-half decades, but this first-of-a-breed is in Houston is still a little odd.  Though the city is the country’s fourth largest, and one with a large foreign-born population including a good number of pub-ready ex-pat English and Scots brought by the energy industry, Houston has lagged behind other areas in terms of developing as robust a beer culture like Portland or Denver.  What The Ginger Man helped start could not really be built upon.  Restrictive state distribution and labeling laws that have both stifled the growth of brewpubs and small breweries and have limited the range of beers to be found locally.
 
The Ginger Man concept certainly was one that worked.  The foresight of founder Bob Precious, unquestionably much more than luck, is remarkable.  Each of the half-dozen bars he has started is still in business.  Even the ones he has inspired, too.  His next venture after The Ginger Man was another unfussy beer bar, The Brewery Tap in 1987, which resides in part of what was the expansive Magnolia Brewery that once spanned across the Buffalo Bayou in downtown Houston.  Then came The Volcano, or more properly, Under the Volcano, focusing more on cocktails, but, like The Ginger Man, was named after another well-known work of literature featuring a booze-laden protagonist.  The Ginger Man concept itself was successfully transported to Dallas in 1992 and then Austin in 1994.  In 1996, following Precious’ move back home to the New York area, a more upscale and Belgian-focused version of The Ginger Man opened in a lonely section of Midtown Manhattan.  It too, has been a huge success, “the only reason to visit the no-man’s land between Murray Hill and Koreatown,” according to New York magazine.  In the late 1990s, former employees, brothers Steve and Chris Black, using The Ginger Man as a model, opened The Falling Rock Tap House in Denver, the best beer bar in the Mountain Time Zone.
 
As the Manhattan location necessitated much of Precious’ attention, he decided to sell the Texas branches in 2000 to owners who aptly carry on the rich tradition.  These pubs have not skipped a beat, remaining true to tone set by the original.  They have since added similar bars in Fort Worth, and the Dallas suburb of Plano.  Precious’ longtime colleague opened ones in Connecticut in Greenwich and Norwalk.
 
In the second decade of the second millennium, The Ginger Man rolls on, feeling both fresh and even slightly historical (though thankfully without the aroma of soured beer).  It’s still one of the best beer bars in America, in Houston and elsewhere.
 
The Ginger Man
5607 Morningside, Houston, Texas 77005
(713) 526-2770
gingermanpub.com

​American in this case means North American, and the beer is La Fin du Monde from Quebec’s Unibroue brewery.  I was reminded about the beer last night as it caught my eye on the list of bottled beers.  After pouring most of the contents of into the tulip-shaped glass, its wonderful aroma, redolent of hops with pleasant citrus notes, was hard to miss.  Though the beer had obviously been sitting around for a while and its flavors were quite dulled, the reminder of what it had been was quite strong.
 
La Fin du Monde is a Belgian-style tripel ale that I believe is one of the top beers brewed either here and by our neighbors to the north, and in the same league as the very best beers of this type from Belgium.  The tripel refers to a strong, pale yellow-colored beer that’s generally dry-tasting brewed in the style of the Tripel of the famed Westmalle Trappist brewery in Flemish Belgium, which originated the style in the early 1930s.
 
Described by the brewer, fairly accurately – though necessarily corrected to the more proper U.S. American grammar:
 
“La Fin du Monde is…a deluxe beer made by triple fermentation and a unique way of straining the yeast. This method produces an unexpectedly subtle flavor. With its champagne-like effervescence, it has a vigorous presence in the mouth, which accentuates its strong personality. Slightly tart, with the balanced flavors of wild spices, malt and hops….”
 
My former next-door neighbor, a well-traveled Belgian beer aficionado, certified beer judge, and unrepentant hop-head, introduced this brewery and this beer to me years ago, claiming it as one of the highest quality versions of this style made in the world.  He was absolutely right, as he usually is about Belgian-style beers, and La Fin du Monde has stood up very well in at least a couple of tastings with numerous Belgian and Belgian-style beers that I’ve helped to coordinate. 
 
Though complex and a very serious beer, it is probably more approachable than many other high alcohol beers.  La Fin du Monde is 9% alcohol by volume.  This is due to its subtle hop characteristics and slight sweetness.  Medium-bodied, it is a nicely well-balanced and flavorful beer that is obviously extremely well-made.  And, with its refinement, it can be a gateway beer for those uninitiated to the wonders of strong Belgian-style beers.  
 
As for the name, which means “the end of the world” in French; “This beer is brewed to honor of the great explorers, who believed they had reached the end of the world when they discovered America.”  For what that’s worth.  More so, “La Fin du Monde” sounds cool to pronounce, especially after a beer or two, even in terrible French like mine.

​When I was younger, thirstier, and certainly much cheaper – thinner, too, to be honest – I relished finding a bar here that served its beers in the traditional British imperial pint glasses.  At 568 ml versus 473 ml for the far, far more common American pint glasses, which were actually created to shake cocktails, I also was very happy to receive an additional 20% more malted and fermented goodness for a price that usually erred on the side of the imbiber.  The larger imperial pint glasses are what are used in the pubs in the U.K. and Ireland.  The domestic bars aiming to create a more traditional British or Irish pub atmosphere often opted for these, almost always to my enjoyment.  My old regular haunt, The Brewery Tap downtown, with a succession of owners from Ireland and England cheerfully carried on the welcome tradition until its Harvey-induced demise a year-and-a-half ago.
 
Now, the number of establishments in Houston using these bigger beer glasses has dwindled to just a trio.  While many places do use the imperial pint glasses for pours of Guinness – only for Guinness in only Guinness glasses, of course – the three bars that serve the vast majority of their beers in imperial pint glasses have a certifiable British or Irish heritage: The Richmond Arms, McGonigel’s Mucky Duck and The Red Lion.  I certainly do enjoy imbibing at these places, as I have over the years, but I cannot begrudge other establishments for not following their lead.
 
It really makes sense not use imperial pint glasses here.  This country does not have the tradition of the larger imperial pint glasses; there is absolutely no demand for them outside of British- and Irish-themed bars that have been using them for years.  There are financial factors, too: larger imperial glasses are more expensive than the American pint glasses and more difficult to replace; and the extra size that should necessitate an additional cost might be tough to fully pass off to customers, as pint prices could approach the $10 mark.  With mad growth in the number of breweries around the country in the past decade, many beer bars have been turning away from even the 16-ounce shaker glasses, as many of the small brewery beers are highly alcoholic – even 16-ounces can easily be seen as too much for a single serving – and the beers that they brew taste better in other, smaller glasses.
 
Though I really do believe that these are good trends, my inner cheapskate – I mean, as an intermittent Anglophile and certifiably longtime CAMRA-sympathizer – does miss the more frequent imperial pint sightings. 

​Last week my brother texted that he had just spotted the Austin-brewed Celis Raspberry at his local HEB in Katy for the first time, but did not see their Grand Cru.  I responded that I hadn’t seen it in the area since I had it just over a year ago at an event at The Hay Merchant with owner Christine Celis to publicize the introduction of the relaunched brewery’s products into the Houston market.  The Grand Cru was absolutely delicious that evening, even better than I had remembered during the Celis’s initial go-round in the last decade of the last century.
 
I was surprised to happen across Celis Grand Cru in cans yesterday at the Spec’s flagship store on Smith Street, the first time I had seen the beer in Houston, either in stores or on in bars or restaurants since that release party.  I had to pick up a six-pack. 
 
I’m especially glad that I did, as I ended up having few friends over in the afternoon.  Along with the Grand Cru, I had several beers from other small breweries to share.  The Grand Cru was wide favorite among all four of us, and clearly also the best made beer to me.  Fittingly described by the brewery as featuring “a combination of full rich taste with fruity and spicy accents,” it tasted like a true and delicious Belgian tripel, with a hint of citrus and tropical fruitiness and a welcome subtleness and complexity, finishing with a long, smooth aftertaste.  Made with plenty of light malts to bring it to a substantial 8.6% alcohol, in line with the style, but it nicely doesn’t taste nearly as hefty.  The combination of Saaz and Cascade hops add some aroma and spicy bitterness – it’s only around 20 IBUs – and the ground coriander seeds and dried orange peel add to the fruit notes.  It’s also “made with the same special yeast strain used in the original 1965 recipe,” helping it retain some of the character of its predecessor, Hoegaarden Grand Cru, that Christine Celis’s father, the legendary brewer Pierre Celis, created a half-century ago.  Famed beer writer Michael Jackson called that beer “outstanding” and “a liqueur of the beer world,” which might well apply to its newest incarnation that’s now available in Houston.
 
Celis Grand Cru
$9.78 per six-pack at Spec’s   

​Beer cocktails might not be the most exciting of beverages.  Beer is usually meant for unadulterated enjoyment.  And when mixed, like in its most common form these days, the taqueria-favorite michelada, it’s identified as simply a working-class concoction.  Of course, there are some exceptions including the Black Velvet that magically combines Guinness and champagne into a clubby London stalwart, and somewhat obscurely, but deliciously, the Cruberry.  This involved a couple products from the initial go of Celis’s eponymous Brewery in Austin in the 1990s and was invented by Steve Black, a co-owner of the terrific Falling Rock Tap House in Denver while he was managing The Ginger Man in Houston.
 
There seems to be at least another one, too.  After returning from a trip to Paris, a beer-savvy friend quickly e-mailed about a drink he and his wife really enjoyed there, something brand new to them, Bière Picon.  It’s something I had also never heard about – neither had any of the very knowledgeable local bar operators I soon asked – I was very intrigued to investigate given my friend’s enthusiasm and, more so, after learning it was a beer cocktail featuring a French version of bitters.  As my tastes have embraced more bitter flavors as I have matured, like a good portion of the country’s imbibing public in the past decade, and buttressed by a number of trips to Italy, I had become a fan of bitters, at least the Italian version, amaro that is usually consumed as a digestivo. 
 
I found a recipe for Bière Picon (or Picon Bière as they call it) from the online drinks magazine Punch that is essentially:
 
Amer Picon – 3/4 ounce
Pilsner beer – 5 to 6 ounces
Ice – A few cubes
Orange slice for garnish
 
Pour the beer and Amer Pico into Collins glass over a handful of ice cubes and garnish with the orange slice.
 
Unfortunately, Amer Picon, the French spirit that makes a mixture a Bière Picon, is not sold in America.  This is quite odd given the explosion in the range of spirits in the past decade and that Amer Picon is owned by the beverage behemoth Diageo.  Though Amer Picon is not available, there is a fine substitute according to liquor and cocktail historian David Wondrich, which is widely available, the Italian amaro CioCiaro.  The unusual name refers to the region where it is made in the province of Lazio, about 100 miles southeast of Rome that takes its name from the distinctive sandals long worn by its inhabitants.  Milder and smoother than most yet more flavorful, it’s also one of my favorite amaros. 
 
Using CioCiaro, the best ratio I have found is one part of that to eight to ten parts of a well-made light- or medium-bodied lager like a fresh-enough Czech pilsner or a Munich Helles beer.  Karbach’s Love Street, which tastes like a lighter version of a traditional Helles, can work well, too.  Belgian-style white beer like Celis White does a very good job, too, for different, more citrusy taste.  Ice is silly with this, and a garnish doesn’t fit into the mold of a beer cocktail as something unfussy and to be concocted with a minimal amount of effort.  Here is my version ready for state-side consumption:
 
Birra CioCiaro [BEER-ah cho-CHAR-oh]
 
Amaro CioCiaro – 1 ounce
Helles, pilsner or Kolsch-style beer – 8 ounces
 
Pour in a pint glass.  Stir a few times to combine amaro and beer.  It should then drink quickly.  It did for me, and maybe too quickly.  The concoction was certainly beer-like, but it did not taste like the Czech pilsner it was made with.  The Saaz hop characteristics of the beer were muted, but the drink was still slightly bitter, and had a touch of sweetness from the CioCiaro. 

This works well as an aperitif, though I’ve found that one was very enjoyable, but sufficient for my palate.

As the weather has turned crisper and the days are moving inexorably towards Christmastime, I remembered this exchange, as it is an especially appropriate time for this wonderful beer.  In the evening  of a recent Christmas Eve, I received a text from a friend in the Boston area who was enjoying a terrific version  of "Belgian Champagne" with another mutual friend, a beer that I had touted them on the past.  I was glad to have done the groundwork for them.

Excellent beer is the cheapest of the gourmet indulgences. That goes especially so for the strong beers of Belgium.  One of the countless excellent Belgian beers is a somewhat unusual one, and it is easy to find in Houston, Karmeliet Tripel.  At least it is seemingly always at the main Spec’s in Midtown and the bigger of the area H-E-Bs, and likely the terrific D&Q Mini Mart.
 
I drank a bottle of the golden-colored beer not too long ago, and I was very impressed yet again by quality of this beer.  I don’t drink it enough, seemingly once a year for some reason, enough time to forget how outstandingly enoyable it is.  Featuring subtle aromas and a fairly crisp and complex taste with a touch of sweetness – like a muted bit of honey – it concludes with an extremely long, dry finish. It is both easy-to-drink and immensely satisfying with layers of flavor.  Late beer guru Michael Jackson wrote, “Karmeliet has great finesse and complexity.” Wonderfully balanced, it is delicious beer, with a smoothness and delicacy masking its 8.4% alcohol by volume.  
 
Karmeliet is also a different beer, even in the amazingly wide-ranging Belgian beer universe.  It is made with three grains.  Not just the familiar barley malt – from 3-row barley in Karmeliet’s case – but also wheat and oats.  This is typical for the lighter Belgian white beers like the once-great Hoegaarden White and its offspring Celis White, but not for the stronger beers.  But, Karmeliet does even more; the three grains are used in both malted and unmalted forms.  This grain mixture, a restrained use of the central European Styrian hops and a well-suited house yeast helps make for an interesting and multifaceted beer.
 
The use of three grains – actually six types of grains if you count both malted and unmalted versions – is not what makes Karmeliet unusual, though.  It is unusual because it is so very good and so very approachable.  It is a beer that might appeal to a wide range of drinkers, even those who might usually drink mass-produced light beers.  This is because of its relatively light and subtle flavor that can be easily appreciated.  Karmeliet is not just for beer aficionados, but it is perfectly situated to be a gateway for those to become one. Karmeliet should be a maintstay, too.
 
Karmeliet Tripel is around $14 for a 750-ml bottle and $8 for a 11.2-ounce one, both well worth the tarrrif.

So tasty....

Unencumbered much by geography or topography, Houston, the nation’s fourth-largest city, has been sprawling in nearly every direction for decades and has long been without a true city center until somewhat recently. So, it might be a little odd that one of the country’s very best nexuses of interesting and high-quality restaurants occurs along a stretch of road that’s a shade over a mile-long not too far from downtown in Houston; especially odd since Houston is the only major city in the country without zoning and one dominated by the automobile. But, as the growth has occurred along the edges of the metro area, a growing concentration of restaurants and bars has also taken place in the last dozen years or so in the area between downtown west to the 610 Loop, the innermost of city’s three, increasingly distant concentric roadways.
 
Westheimer is one of Houston’s main thoroughfares, and one that runs twenty miles to the west. Soon after its humble beginnings, when Elgin turns, and turns into Westheimer via a name change less than a mile southwest of downtown, is where many of the city’s best and most exciting restaurants, ambitious cocktail bars and worthwhile coffee joints call home.  Awards and nominations from the James Beard Foundation abound on this part of the thoroughfare. The Houston area is known as the most ethnically diverse area in the U.S., and some of that is also on display in the eclectic collection of often ambitious, high quality establishments along this part of Westheimer.
 
Driving west from its start along the nearly-too-narrow four lanes, the old two-story house on the left-side at 219 Westheimer, now the home of a catering business, is where lower Westheimer began as a culinary destination twenty years ago, when the area was fairly dicey.  The address was the home of Chez Georges that served well-reviewed traditional French fare and was one of the city’s best. In the spring of 2008, Feast moved in.  A modern British restaurant known for its superb snout-to-tail cooking with one of the city’s best chefs Richard Knight in the kitchen about which Frank Bruni, the former restaurant critic of the New York Times, wrote had “no real peer in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles and other major cities.” Even with a surfeit of critical attention, the superlative Feast shuttered in 2012, but this part of the city continued to grow as a dining hub.
 
Nearly across the street from the former Feast is a restaurant of note that is actually open, Bistecca, a beautiful, upscale steak joint with central and northern Italian dishes scattered on its menu that is headed by one of the region’s finest Italian chefs, Alberto Baffoni. He might not get the national attention he did years ago when he was at Simposio near the Galleria, but still directs a kitchen that turns out usually excellent fare. Nearly next door is the sleek, brand new Avondale, a unique wine shop-cum-restaurant from the well-regarded Olivier Ciesielski, once Tony’s top toque, which recently scrapped its eponymously-named French concept that might have gone a little stale. A stone’s throw away is two-story outpost of El Tiempo, the city’s top Tex-Mex that excels both with AM and PM fare in numerous guises. Their potent margaritas might flow more freely here than at their other spots.
 
A block further west is Dolce Vita from Marco Wiles, who has other places of note along the way.  It’s easily the best pizzeria in Houston, as it’s been since opening in 2006, whose thin Italianate pizzas, menu of interesting small plates and a well-chosen all-Italian wine list earned it the number three spot among Italian restaurants in the very last of the Zagat surveys. Next door is Indika, an upscale, contemporary Indian restaurant with a flair for fusion that was once named one of the best Indian restaurants in the country by Travel + Leisure magazine among its many accolades. It doesn’t get the press that it once did after Chef Anita Jaisinghani sold it to concentrate on her Pondicheri restaurants in 2017 but the new Nepalese owners have kept things the same, including high quality. The low-slung stand-alone structure next to Indika houses Aqui from Austin’s James Beard Award-winning chef Paul Qui. It does an outstanding job with an array of pan-Asian-inspired refined small plates including sushi in a differently designed, comfortable space with a useful patio that faces Westheimer.
 
A different kind of enjoyment, much lower-key than Aqui but one that’s far easier on the wallet, is found across the street in a strip center typical of Houston, if not of this part of Westheimer. The counter-service Pappa Geno’s is a local mini-chain that serves the city’s best cheesesteaks and some of the best, hot, messy casual sandwiches of any ilk. It’s delicious artery-clogging decadence. After that Westheimer begins to twist slightly right as you continue west, and about a block away is where another small plate place of interest from Marco Wiles, Poscol.  Named after the main thoroughfare in his hometown of Udine in northeastern Italy, this serves dishes, salumi and cheeses, mostly from the provinces well north of Rome. Not incidentally, it was named the best cantina, or Italian wine program, in Houston by the Italian publication Gambero Rosso earlier this year.
 
Not too many steps from Poscol is the busy Katz’s, a present-day rendition of New York deli that never closes. A block away sits a third restaurant whose roots, improbably, also lie in Austin. Serving a creative take on modern Japanese food and known for its sushi and sashimi preparations, Uchi is a version of the most acclaimed restaurant in Austin that won Chef Tyson Cole a James Beard Award several years ago. It quickly became part of the restaurant firmament in Houston soon after opening in early 2012, and remains a top destination for sushi and seafood. Around the corner, at the busy intersection of Westheimer and Montrose, is Aladdin, an inviting and welcoming oasis of very well-prepared and appropriately clean-tasting Lebanese food served cafeteria-style amidst the car and foot traffic, which offers of the best dining values to be found in the Houston area.
 
A block west of Montrose is a trio of establishments that are part of the Underbelly Hospitality restaurant group, a local collective of innovative bars and restaurants led by star chef Chris Shepherd. The first is Blacksmith that occupies a squat brick building and appears in numerous lists of top coffee shops in the nation. In addition to its roasting and brewing capabilities, its savory fare, like Vietnamese steak and eggs, help make it popular brunch stop, too. Travel + Leisure, again, included it as one of its fifteen “Best Breakfast Restaurants in the U.S” a few years. Shepherd won a James Beard Award for Best Chef Southwest in 2014 and he is a big reason for the quality of the food at Blacksmith. 
 
Across from Blacksmith is another one-story building, though bigger, that is shared by the new Georgia James and Hay Merchant.  This is the structure where Shepherd rose to national prominence with his creative cooking at Underbelly that opened in late 2010. Underbelly essentially decamped earlier this year a few blocks away in a smaller space to what is now called UB Preserv while Georgia James took over the original Underbelly with a steak concept opening in October of this year. Houstonians love steak. It got a few-month trial run as the terrific One Fifth Steak a couple years ago. Georgia James is certainly the most interesting steakhouse in Houston and among the very best. It can the most fun, too. On the eastern side of Georgia James is Hay Merchant, a beer bar with an interesting kitchen of its own, and one of the most serious and capable craft beer bars anywhere.
 
Another lauded chef has a place across the street in old Tower Theater at El Real. Bryan Caswell got some national airtime a few years ago as Next Iron Chef competitor and was also one of Food & Wine’s best new chefs before that. El Real is a temple to traditional Tex-Mex largely courtesy to involvement of the city’s best food writers and critics, Robb Walsh. It can be very good, but has been maddeningly inconsistent since opening. Mala Sichuan, a far more attractive version of its original location on Bellaire Boulevard, is about door down. With its traditionally and authentically spicy and vibrant fare from Chengdu and environs, the Mala Sichuan outlets have been regarded as the top Chinese restaurants among non-Chinese, but also a big favorite for folks from China, including my co-workers.
 
Easy for a pre- or post-meal stop from one of these recently aforementioned restaurants is Anvil, a few blocks west at 1424 Westheimer. Almost popular as it is proficient, it was Houston’s first bar dedicated to artisanal cocktails and was a James Beard Award finalist for the Outstanding Bar Program earlier this year. It might be impossible here to order a cocktail that is not terrific – my experience in a number of visits – and there always over one hundred on its ever-changing list. Just around the corner, as Westheimer bends to the right, sits Da Marco and the luxury vehicles that crowd its small parking lot, Marco Wiles’ temple to Italian gastronomy. Very adept at replicating top trattoria and ristorante preparations mostly from the northern regions of Italy like the classic Venetian take on calf’s liver and onions, Da Marco had the top food score from the last Zagat Surveys. Casual counter-service Ramen Tatsu-Ya is across the small street north of Da Marco, about 20 yards and visible from Westheimer, a sister restaurant in Austin was nominated for a James Beard Award this year, it’s possibly the top ramen restaurant in Houston.
 
About a block west is the city’s most accolated Mexican restaurant and on most lists of the best Mexican restaurants in the country, upscale Hugo’s serves modern preparations on a tempting menu that takes inspiration from throughout Mexico. What’s one the plate is serious, but Hugo’s can be fun and loud, especially during the weekend brunches. Led by James Beard Award-winning chef Hugo Ortega, it’s only serious competition for best Mexican restaurant in Houston is its two siblings, Xochi and Caracol.
 
Nearby is UB Preserv, the successor to Underbelly.  Set in the space that once housed Poscol it opened in the first half of 2018 and burnishes the phrase, “The Story of Houston Food” – now also “Without Limits.” Its kitchen incorporates not just products but flavors from the disparate cultures that are part of the Houston mosaic that are combined in non-traditional ways, and it nearly all succeeds grandly. The vast land of Chinese is a bigger component of the mix, as is seemingly the vast dining landscape of New York City. David Wong, an alumnus of David Chang’s kitchens and Grammercy Tavern in Manhattan (and also Cal Berkeley), is the chef de cuisine at this inviting and comfortable, if serious restaurant. With UB Preserv Shepherd had the stated pre-opening goal of creating the best Chinese-style dumplings in the country. They weren’t quite there during an early visit, but the puffy rice salad served during brunch has got to be at the head of the list in some “best of” category.
 
A half-block north of Westheimer from UB Preserv, Goodnight Charlie’s is a contemporary honky-tonk featuring mostly Texas musicians with a clean-lined, contemporary setting that has a partner in David Keck who is one of the city’s top wine professionals, a Master Sommelier, and who is also a former opera singer. Even with that wine expertise, it only has three wines, a red and white on tap, and a rose in a bottle; a great selection of bourbons, though. The food is mostly tacos during the non-brunch times, with the corn tortillas made in house starting with corn – not masa – from a chef who staged for a year-and-a-half at Osteria Francescana in Modena, Italy named again as the best restaurant in the world, before coming to Goodnight Charlie’s.
 
Heading further west just before Dunlavy is One Fifth Mediterranean, the current and third of five 11-month iterations of the space from Chris Shepherd and team. This one is Shepherd’s “interpretation of the flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean and Northern Africa” that features numerous small plates including some of the most incredible hummus and airy pita bread that you will likely ever encounter, larger plates of lamb, fish and chicken, all with light pure flavors in greater complexity than found elsewhere here. The restaurant has struck a cord with patrons who have roots in Levant and Persia, seemingly a testament to its quality and faithfulness in the ethos of the various dishes.
 
Last among the notables is across Dunlavy, is Common Bond, a serious bakery, both boulangerie and pâtisserie in the French tradition, which publicly aired aspirations to be the best bakery in the country and it very well might be. No doubt. With amazing croissants, terrific baguettes and delicious breads and French sweets in a variety of renditions, it’s the best bakery in the city, at the very least, and a nice, popular little restaurant and coffee shop, too. 
 
The best Tex-Mex, pizza, cheesesteak sandwiches, sushi, coffee, beer bar, steakhouse, Chinese, cocktail bar, Italian, ramen shop, Mexican, Middle Eastern and bakery might be found along this dynamic 1.1-mile stretch of asphalt. Though two dozen establishments are highlighted, there are others worthy of a visit here, and there are more on the way. It and Houston, keep getting better and better, and more interesting. And, with a concentration of spots, people can actually be something that is still rare here and visit more than one place on an evening without a car: a pedestrian.

The highlights of lower Westheimer:

1. Bistecca – 224 Westheimer
2. Avondale – 240 Westheimer
3. El Tiempo – 333 Westheimer
4. Dolce Vita – 500 Westheimer
5. Pappa Geno’s – 515 Westheimer
6. Indika – 516 Westheimer
7. Aqui – 520 Westheimer
8. Poscol – 608 Westheimer
9. Katz’s – 615 Westheimer
10. Uchi – 904 Westheim
11. Aladdin – 912 Westheimer
12. Blacksmith – 1018 Westheimer
13. Haymerchant – 1100 Westheimer
14. Georgia James – 1100 Westheimer
15. El Real – 1201 Westheimer
16. Mala Sichuan – 1201 Westheimer
17. Anvil – 1424 Westheimer
18. Da Marco – 1520 Westheimer
19. Ramen Tatsu-Ya – 1722 California (twenty yards north of Westheimer)
20. Hugo’s – 1600 Westheimer
21. UB Preserv – 1609 Westheimer
22. Goodnight Charlie’s – 2511 Kuester (a half-block north of Westheimer)
23. One Fifth Romance Languages – 1658 Westheimer
24. Common Bond – 1706 Westheimer

 

A dish early in Aqui's tenure

​I have made it a point to tell friends that I really haven’t had beer in my refrigerator for over a couple of years now.  And, that has been true, with a handful of exceptions along the way, like when I have been gifted a nice Belgian ale or the six-pack I received at Christmas.  As much as I enjoy beer, I have been avoiding keeping it at home in an effort to reduce my caloric intact.  That’s worked somewhat even if my waistline hasn’t shown the results of this minimal effort.  But, I do have a few beers in my refrigerator now, though these would be long gone – happily consumed – if I wasn’t still battling a flu bug.
 
These beers are the Praga Premium Pils.  I bought them to tailgate before a December Texans game with a buddy who is also a big fan of Czechoslovak pils beers.  Praga is from the famous brewing town of České Budějovice, Budweis in German, and is brewed at the oldest of their breweries, Samson, that has been in operation since 1795.  This heritage and skill shows through this excellent example of the style.
Featuring a deep golden color typical of the Bohemian pilsners, and supple expected bitter aromas from the style Saaz hops, then medium body with a dry taste a long, refreshing finish with a complexity of slight flavors including nuts and toast. It’s very well made, refreshing and tasting like a top, fresh Czechoslovak pils should taste like.  Though Praga is more specifically a Bohemian pilsner, with Bohemia being the home to the style that originated in the town of Pilzen with Pilsner Urquell, very similar, and typically terrific pilsner beers are made in the regions of Moravia and Slovakia, the latter now an independent country.  I’ve been fortunate over the years through some travel and the travels of family to visit extended family there and bringing back beer gifts, to sample a number of pilsners soon from the source, the pilsners have been uniformly excellent.  Actually, all of the beers.
 
For the tailgate, I purchased the funner-sized half-liter cans of Praga, which only came in a twelve-pack at the big Spec’s on Smith Street, and for only $12.99 or so.  Unfortunately, the tailgate fare, kolaches from the Kolache Factory, were terrible, though the Praga did help wash them down.  The twelve-pack size was better suited for the tailgate in case we were thirstier than usual or had anyone else joining us.  The cans have the added benefit of protecting the beer much better than the green-colored bottles that Prage Premium Pils is also sold in.
 
If you are a fan of Czechoslovak style pilsners, do yourself a favor and pick up some cans of Praga Premium Pils, if the beers are in decent shape, you will be happily rewarded.

​Back during my formative beer drinking days, beer combinations were far more popular, the Black-and-Tan and the Half-and-Half mostly, but some others, too.  Last night at one of the release parties announcing the return of the Celis beers to Houston, proprietor, brewer and namesake Christine Celis introduced me to one that I had surprisingly not heard of, one from the days of the original Celis, some twenty years ago.  It was the White Lightning, a combination of two-thirds of a glass filled first with Celis Grand Cru and the other third with Celis White.  Tasting of a stouter and even drier version of the Celis White, it drank quickly, possibly dangerously so, as the trippel-style Grand Cru is 8.6% alcohol.  It was delicious.  The beers, that Christine was quick and proud to note, are made according to the same recipes that her famous father Pierre used in the original incarnation of the Celis Brewery, one of the best breweries to ever exist in this country.
 
You can now order the Celis beers at selected bars in the Houston area, though you will likely have to tell the bartender how to make a White Lightning.  Celis is being distributed by Silver Eagle, so it should be widely found at bars and restaurants in the not-too-distant future.  The brewery will begin bottling in early March with cans for Celis White to follow.  Christine also mentioned that Gueze and other lambic styles will follow.  It will be even more fun around here to be a Belgian beer lover.  

​While at D&Q Mini Mart on Saturday to try to help salve my mother’s fino sherry fix – true – I asked the knowledgeable owner about the status of the Celis Brewery’s schedule to finally distribute to Houston.  He smiled and went back into the cashier’s area and lifted one of three bottles of Celis that he coincidentally had on the counter and said that they should be available in Houston within a month or even earlier.  Though I am drinking – or at least loudly trying to do so – less beer, I can’t hardly wait until Celis is back in town.
 
The new Celis Brewery in Austin, finally opened earlier this year.  This Flemish beer specialist – glorious, robust yet refreshing and slightly sweet white in the Belgian tradition was, and is, their standard-bearer – is a re-boot of the famed Celis Brewery that brewed in Austin during the 1990s before succumbing to financial issues, selling out and then disappearing from the scene.  Celis White and outdoor seating at The Ginger Man during one of the many warmer months seemed like an almost perfect pairing.  The Celis brand was somewhat sullied by the small Michigan brewery that held the label most recently with beers that never quite tasted as the original Celis, and often much worse.
 
Christine Celis, the daughter of the legendary Pierre Celis is heading the brewery this time.  She worked at the initial one.  Hopefully, the company will be better managed then before.  And, even more, that beers taste as good as they did in the past.  A friend in Austin who used to drink an obscene amount of Celis reports that they are very good and seemed like they once were.  During Pierre Celis’s tenure, Celis White and the estimable Grand Cru were not Belgian-style beers; they were Belgian beers, just brewed in Texas.  Unibroue in Quebec and Ommegang in Cooperstown, New York are current breweries that come close to that mantle, but are not as good as Celis was.  And, hopefully is once again.  

​Pumpkin flavors – including pumpkin spice, whatever that is – are the rage this time of year, as we approach Halloween then Thanksgiving, and maybe cooler temperatures.  Small brewers have taken advantage of the popular pumpkin season almost ubiquitously in recent years.  As much as I live pumpkin pie, and eat too much of it when around, I have not been a fan of pumpkin beers, the vast major of pumpkins, at least.
 
So, with just a little trepidation, I made it to one of the Pumpkinator release events a couple of days ago at The Richmond Arms to join a friend who was going, and, importantly, offered to buy me a beer before the ‘Stros game.  Brock Wagner, the owner and a founder of Saint Arnold, was to be in attendance.  Knowing Wagner a little for a long time, it was also good to be able to say “hi” since I hadn’t seen him in a while. 
 
After the friend had brought over the beer, I took a couple of quick sips, as it was very enjoyable.  Deeply and darkly colored, full-bodied but not at all heavy and featuring a very pleasant, but subtle array of autumn-appropriate spices – ginger, allspice, clove and more according to Wagner – along with a backbone note of molasses.  Balanced and quite flavorful, with judicious use of Cascade and Liberty hops, and not at all overpowering in any aspect, it was delicious.  In nearly no time I finished the 8- to 10-ounce glass before being told that this version was something like 11.9%.  It is did not taste like that at all.  If I would have had to guess, I would have proffered 6 or 6 ½ percent.  The cask version at 12.7% or so was similar in that respect and even slightly more enjoyable.  Though there is a lot going on, and a lot in it – the brew is the most expensive one that Saint Arnold has ever made – terrific balance in both versions.
 
Wagner told me that part of the success with the beer was due to the fact that it was built on the chassis of a hearty Imperial stout, something that can stand up to the spicing and other flavors.  It certainly does in both versions.  This is rarely done by other small brewers who use a medium-bodied beer like their baseline amber ales and add the spicing, and which rarely can enjoyably hold up to it, and the final result is usually mediocre or worse.  We were on the same page concerning most other pumpkin beers.  Thankfully, Saint Arnold’s is a far cry from those, and truly enjoyable, something that even those not inclined to pumpkin beers or pumpkins, in general.  The pumpkin flavors and spicing are subtle.
 
All of the Saint Arnold Pumpkinator has already been brewed for the season.  Get it while you can in 22-ounces bottles or on tap while it lasts.  Actually, a bottle will last for a while.  Wagner told me that the brewery entered a year-old version in a recent contest to great, gold effect.  To note, the cask version might only be only be available at The Richmond Arms now.  

The Wall Street Journal’s version of Dear Abby, “Ask Ariely: Dan Ariely” recently led with a question from a beer lover:  "Dear Dan, I’m a fan of craft beers, and when I hear about an exciting new one, I’ll get a case or two and invite some fellow aficionados to share the experience. But as we open the new beer and sample it, I almost always find myself disappointed. Why does this happen so much?"  Ariely responds that “Your latest beer may just not be that good, but I think something else is probably going on here….the trick to happiness (with beer as with much else in life) is to tame your expectations.” 
 
That’s true, but I have a basic, if more blunt explanation: the vast majority of beers from small breweries, especially new ones, rarely make it to the level of mediocre; the beers are often plainly bad. Most are flawed with a noticeable off-putting aftertaste from the yeast, noticeable flaws elsewhere, are not particularly flavorful to begin with, or are unbalanced with surfeit of hops or alcohol.  Plenty of hops covers a lot of flaws, which I learned as a homebrewer long ago.  And, when good ones are made, the brewery can find it difficult to make it taste like that on a consistent basis.  My most recent experience with a new local brewery, which I wrote about in my previous post, confirmed this.
 
I still had fun there, and that is real draw with these new breweries and brewpubs.  As the friend I went with, a former beer bar owner, said last night over beers to his friend, a current beer bar owner: “we had a great time at this new brewpub, which had nothing at all to do with the beer, of course.”  It was a fun, relaxed atmosphere, with a very friendly staff behind the bar and an interesting and fun crowd on a pleasant evening.  It was tough to finish the two beers we each had, though, but a very enjoyable visit nonetheless.
 
I believe that it’s the enjoyment of the brewhouse visit for a great many rather than the quality of the beers.  Visitors to a brewery or a brewpub always seem to be in a good mood, as there is something in the aroma of the malt and hops and knowledge that fun alchemy resulting in a pleasing, intoxicating and inherently fun beverage is happening on premise.  The noticeable presence of good moods and fun vibe have been my experience in visiting numerous breweries and brewpubs across the country over the years.  My thoughts about enjoyment of the visit rather than the quality of the brews as the prime reason for the popularity of visits to breweries I believe is shared with a couple of friends, a couple, both of whom work at a local brewery, one full-time the other part-time.  They are also avid visitors to all the breweries in the Houston area and really enjoy doing so, mostly because they love breweries – I believe that they have hit everyone by now.  Though when queried about the quality of the beers, they are usually tepid in their responses, and both are much more open to the styles these new breweries make than I.
 
Though making good beer on a consistent basis is very difficult, a visit to almost any brewery can be fun.  Just don’t have very high expectations as the Journal columnist recommends, though I would recommend having very low expectations and you are likely to enjoy yourself more.  And the quality of beers can improve as the brewmasters and breweries become more experienced and more skilled.   Can.


The Karbach version of the saison was absolutely fantastic, one of the very versions I have ever had.  The first output from the Trappists in Massachusetts was not good at all.  Hopefully it has gotten better and will further improve as these monks get better at brewing.

​Yesterday I visited a brand new brewery, well, brewpub.  It was fun.  The beers were, predictably, not good at all, with both of the two I had featuring the slight, but easily noticeable, clunky aftertaste I associate with home brewing.  I was actually a homebrewer, and an award-winning one at that, some time ago, and I am quite familiar with that taste that afflicted most of my beers, which is all too common with many small, especially small and new breweries.  Other than that off-putting aftertaste of the beers from this new brewery, the flavors of each were not pleasing.  These were beers to be tolerated not enjoyed.  Two was more than enough.  Again, it was to be expected.
 
One brewery that I certainly don’t expect to find these problems is the new Celis Brewery in Austin, which finally opened earlier this year.  This Flemish beer specialist – glorious, robust yet refreshing and slightly sweet white in the Belgian tradition was, and is, their standard-bearer – is a re-boot of the famed Celis Brewery that brewed in Austin during the 1990s before succumbing to financial issues, selling out and then disappearing from the scene.  Christine Celis, the daughter of the legendary Pierre Celis is heading the brewery this time.  She worked at the initial one.  Hopefully, the company will be better managed then before.  And, even more, that beers taste as good as they did in the past.  A friend in Austin reports that they are very good.  Celis White and the Grand Cru were not Belgian-style beers; they were Belgian beers, just brewed in Texas.  Unibroue in Quebec and Ommegang in Cooperstown, New York are current breweries that come close to that mantle, but are not as good as Celis was.  Unfortunately, I don’t believe that the brewery expects to expand distribution to Houston this year.  A brewery trip to Austin is calling.
 
Founder Pierre Celis of the original brewery was one of the world's greatest brewers, but he was not a great businessman, likely not even a decent businessman.  Phenomenal brewer, though.  Seemingly less so, his son-in-law and daughter, who actually ran the brewery.  Though having excellent products is only one aspect of a successful business, it seems the other necessary parts were not in place, including a brewery that featured beautiful copper tanks from Belgium but was expensive to build for its capacity and difficult to expand.  It also began operations brewing substantial amounts of a light lager beer, which was quite good, but whose comparatively long production time initially tied up too much of the brewery's capacity, and a VP and Chief of Operations (the son-in-law) who, reportedly, on at least one occasion, was so drunk during an important daytime business meeting that he urinated on himself to the consternation of his potential business partners.  The deal fell through.  Unfortunately, this was not a recipe for long-lasting success.  I can only hope Celis 2.0 has much better success.

​The other day I saw my friend Mel who reminded of one his favorite beers when he lived in the London area a few years ago, Hobgoblin, which also is available in town.  Where once, in the early days of the beer bar, British beers were a common sight, these have had a tough time in recent years gaining traction among the newly minted beer lovers, who tend to go for brews with huge hop profiles featuring the citrusy and resin-y notes from the bold Cascade and Liberty hops and a fair amount of alcohol.
 
British beers, top-fermenting ales like most of the hoppy domestic craft beers, are different from those.  When done well, these are typically subtle with a mild but interesting level of hop bitterness, and quite flavorful and balanced with a nice interplay of hops and malt along with a touch of fruitiness, plus a usually modest amount of alcohol, from 4.5% to 5.5% alcohol by volume.  This comparative subtlety – and considerable nuance for fresh versions of the best ones – has worked against the British beers in the American market with a large percentage of customers demanding more aggressive flavors. There is also the fact that the beers are typically tastier and certainly more interesting when served from unpasteurized casks, i.e. real ale, as these often are in pubs in England, which necessarily do not find its way to this country.
 
But, these British imports can be good beers to sample for a change, or even enjoy regularly, including or especially Hobgoblin.  From the brewery that can explain its product in more flowery prose (that is still pretty accurate, too, I’ve found):
 
“Hobgoblin is strong in roasted malt with a moderate hoppy bitterness and slight fruity character that lasts through to the end. The ruby red coloured Hobgoblin is full-bodied and has a delicious chocolate toffee malt flavour balanced with a rounded moderate bitterness and an overall fruity character.
 
ABV: 5.2% in bottle & can, 4.5% in cask [which you won’t find around here]
Bottle: 500ml
Hops: Fuggles and Styrians
Malts: Pale, Crystal and Chocolate”
 
Hobgoblin is available at Spec’s, where a four-pack costs $10.52.

In the evening on Christmas Eve, I received a text from a friend in the Boston area who was enjoying a terrific version  of "Belgian Champagne" with another mutual friend, a beer that I had touted them on the past.  I was glad to have done the groundwork for them.

Excellent beer is the cheapest of the gourmet indulgences. That goes especially so for the strong beers of Belgium.  One of the countless excellent Belgian beers is a somewhat unusual one, and it is easy to find in Houston, Karmeliet Tripel.  At least it is seemingly always at the main Spec’s in Midtown and the bigger of the area H-E-Bs, and likely the terrific D&Q Mini Mart.
 
I drank a bottle of the golden-colored beer not too long ago, and I was very impressed yet again by quality of this beer.  I don’t drink it enough, seemingly once a year for some reason, enough time to forget how outstandingly enoyable it is.  Featuring subtle aromas and a fairly crisp and complex taste with a touch of sweetness – like a muted bit of honey – it concludes with an extremely long, dry finish. It is both easy-to-drink and immensely satisfying with layers of flavor.  Late beer guru Michael Jackson wrote, “Karmeliet has great finesse and complexity.” Wonderfully balanced, it is delicious beer, with a smoothness and delicacy masking its 8.4% alcohol by volume.  
 
Karmeliet is also a different beer, even in the amazingly wide-ranging Belgian beer universe.  It is made with three grains.  Not just the familiar barley malt – from 3-row barley in Karmeliet’s case – but also wheat and oats.  This is typical for the lighter Belgian white beers like the once-great Hoegaarden White and its offspring Celis White, but not for the stronger beers.  But, Karmeliet does even more; the three grains are used in both malted and unmalted forms.  This grain mixture, a restrained use of the central European Styrian hops and a well-suited house yeast helps make for an interesting and multifaceted beer.
 
The use of three grains – actually six types of grains if you count both malted and unmalted versions – is not what makes Karmeliet unusual, though.  It is unusual because it is so very good and so very approachable.  It is a beer that might appeal to a wide range of drinkers, even those who might usually drink mass-produced light beers.  This is because of its relatively light and subtle flavor that can be easily appreciated.  Karmeliet is not just for beer aficionados, but it is perfectly situated to be a gateway for those to become one. Karmeliet should be a maintstay, too.
 
Karmeliet Tripel is around $14 for a 750-ml bottle and $8 for a 11.2-ounce one, both well worth the tarrrif.