My head was spinning. Not because of the beers I was sampling, which all clocked around 11.5 percent, but because of the flood of information coming my way.
I was at Delilah's, sitting between Goose Island's Greg Hall and Mike Miller, the bar's owner and resident beer aficionado, and they were waxing philosophic about everything from oxidation to Brazilian distilleries. Two of the city's big guns had volunteered to talk shop over a sampling of Harvest Ale, an English barley wine that, taste-wise, has more in common with port than an icy Bud.
Delilah's is one of the few spots—worldwide, Miller says—that stocks all the vintages of Harvest Ale. That's right, vintages. It's not a term you normally hear associated with beer, which is more likely to display a "freshness date."
Harvest Ale vintages date back to '86 and are released each year on Dec. 1. J.W. Lees, a brewery in the north of England, produces Harvest Ale from that year's barley and hops harvest (get it?), which contributes to the uniqueness of each vintage—much like grapes to wine.
When you hear about cellaring or aging a beer (if you do at all; most beer is meant to be consumed immediately), you generally hear about Belgian beers that are unpasteurized and unfiltered, and mature in the bottle when they undergo a secondary fermentation due to the yeast and residual sugar. This makes the Harvest Ale vintages, which are pasteurized and filtered, all the more unusual. I couldn't wait to dive in.
We started with a side-by-side taste of the '98 and '01 vintages, each one of us sampling a 2-ounce pour from the same 12-ounce bottle. It made sense to drink it that way, not only because of the beer's high alcohol levels, but because this is a beer you'll want to sip in small quantities. And, if at all possible, it's a beer you'll want to sip fireside.
The '98 was just hitting its stride, Miller said, as we all took our first sip of the light-tan ale. It was very sweet, very malty and had strong notes of dried fruits, namely fig and raisin. There was almost no carbonation, no head, no hoppy bitterness and it had a chewy mouth feel similar to port. The '01 was similar, though with slightly more carbonation and slightly sweeter.
Next up were four Harvest Ales from '04, each one matured in a different wooden cask. The first was from a Lagavulin cask. (Lagavulin is a pungent, high-end Scotch from one of oldest distilleries in Scotland, located on the far western island of Islay.) I had expected the beer to share some of the Scotch's characteristics—smoky, peaty—but instead found it to have a strong berry aroma and taste. The ale from the calvados (a brandy distilled from hard cider) cask, tasted more in line with what I'd expect: apple aromas and notes complimenting the Harvest Ale. The two remaining ales—one matured in a port cask, the other in a sherry cask—offered only hints from the cask.
All in all, Harvest Ale is a very interesting beer. It's not an everyday beer. And it's not the thirst quencher you'll long for after mowing the lawn. Shoveling the snow, however, is a different story. It's got just enough alcohol to warm you up, and the slow sipping will help you relax as you sink into the couch.
Interested in trying a Harvest Ale for yourself? Miller suggests calling ahead and making a reservation for a specific vintage. "It's the only time we'll take a reservation here," Miller said with a laugh.
