Separating the Wheat from the Chaff
I was perusing the drinks menu, unsure of what libation I wanted to accompany the late night hamburger I’d just ordered at the new Cosmopolitan Grill over on Wilmington Avenue. Beer or martini? Martini or beer? I just couldn’t decide.
That’s when David the bartender suggested I order both. A beer-tini. Yep, you heard me right. He calls it the Belgian Dude and he makes it by mixing Three Olives Dude vodka—a lemon lime concoction that tastes like Mountain Dew—and a Blue Moon Belgian wheat beer.
It sounded atrocious. But, as one who often relies on the advice of bartenders, be they shirtless or wearing a beret like David, I took the chance. He said I’d like it and you know what? I did.
At least my tongue did. My brain was having a harder time discerning whether this was a good taste or a bad taste. All I could think about were those concoctions whipped up back in high school when I didn’t know any better. Vodka and Coke. Whiskey and Dr. Pepper. You know what I’m talking about. Naive cocktails meant to be sipped in basements and in the backseats of cars.
I sent a text message to my brother in Brussels. He’s a bit of a Belgian beer aficionado and an insomniac. What did he think? The reply was almost instantaneous: ain’t right.
But it tastes pretty good, I typed back.
Don’t matter. Never mix beer and liquor. Never ruin a fine Belgian beer with vodka. And btw, Blue Moon, isn’t Belgian. Coors brews it.
Despite my younger brother’s purist disdain, it seems the beer cocktail is all the rage in certain corners of Brooklyn and San Francisco where enthusiastic young beer enthusiasts are pushing the boundaries of tradition and mixing the grains.
The concept, I’m afraid to say, isn’t particularly new. Pennsylvania steelworkers in the 19th century used to gather in bars after a long days work for a shot of whiskey and then a beer before heading home. Some ingenious fella somewhere decided to mix them: the birth of the Boilermaker.
During Prohibition many communities permitted non-alcoholic beer. Naturally, this led to spiked beer.
New York society writer, columnist, and dandy Lucius Beebe featured two beer cocktails in his seminal 1946 work The Stork Club Bar Book. Both were quite simple. The Shandygraff called for cold beer and cold ginger ale. Pour in a tall glass. No ice.
The Black Velvet recipe was a mix of one half Guinness stout and one half champagne. It was a heavy arrangement, Beebe said, one that either settled one’s nerves or resulted in a state of benign stupefaction.
Now I was truly intrigued. And I couldn’t help but wonder: Where else in Rehoboth were they experimenting with beer cocktails?
At Mixx, which prides itself on its specialty martinis, there were none made with beer. Ginger behind the bar, however, was game to mix something up on the spot. Responding to the hoots and hollers of a couple of ladies, she created a sort of dessert beer-tini with Godiva chocolate vodka, strawberry, and a hoppy, fruity beer from Evolution Craft Brewing Company over in Delmar, Delaware. Who knew they brewed beer in Delmar?
Two of my tasting companions didn’t particularly care for it. I thought it tasted much better than it looked. Another thought it was pretty darn awesome. Of course, she did. Once a Randy-Mac girl, always a Randy-Mac girl...
The next afternoon, I started fresh. First off, Dogfish Head. They brew their own beer and spirits and their motto is off-centered stuff for off-centered people. Surely they were pushing the bounds. To my surprise, I found not a one on the menu and when I asked one of the bartenders she looked at me as if I were crazy. The big gal in the flowered sundress at the bar inched further to my right.
The Purple Parrot didn’t feature one, despite serving all kinds of flavored vodka and rum drinks. The bartender, though, did mention something about an “Ocean City Martini” featuring Natural Light beer in a martini glass rimmed with Old Bay seasoning. He wasn’t sure if there was vodka in it. No luck either at Salt Air, Henlopen Oyster House, or Rehoboth Ale House.
In desperation, I ventured to the Back Porch to see Bartender Bee, one of the most knowledgeable mixologists I know. Bee was not hip to this trend. But, he told me some people ask for beer in their Bloody Mary.
As I pedaled home on my bike—somewhat wobbily—I couldn’t decide if this beer cocktail trend was lacking traction or whether it was just going to show up one day, sort of like those white sunglasses did. The beer cocktail: sophisticated or sophomoric? You decide.