Jun 6, 2007

Supporting the Goliaths: Episode 2

Editor’s Note The following feature was written by guest contributor JayBirdSlim. We make no claim to support his rantings nor do we acknowledge knowing him personally or his where abouts. Enjoy.

Series Recap

As people race to read about the most interesting, unique, and flavorful of beers around I sit and find myself wondering about those great giants of the industry — the ones the snobs have forgotten. I decided to stand up and defend the Goliaths giving them the due they justly deserve, as well as the claim to fame they so desperately seek.

I decided to embark on a fruitful and fact finding adventure to discover the true depth and breadth of mass produced, joyous frothiness! I’ll take a mind-bending journey through all the major amber beverages provided to us by such monumental icons as Coors, Budweiser, and even Miller.

That’s right, you heard me. I will only drink one mainstream brand for a series of weeks then analyze the overall effects, flavors and mindsets of those who consume it.

Below is the latest installment in my thrilling escapade.

A Time to Remember…

After the experience gained from my last adventure, I actually anticipated what could only be described as a childlike excitement aimed towards learning what new, enticing wonderment the miracle world of Coors long necks could bring me.

Roughly four months after cracking open the first bottle I finally finished the last tall frothy from the 12 pack I purchased at my local grocery store. Having taken all that I learned from the “King of Beers” my last go round, I made the executive decision to eliminate all alcohol (with the exception of cooking use) from my repertoire. This decision would soon be realized as a catastrophic and foolish lapse in judgment.

Three months may seem like a long time to drink 12 beers, but you will soon realize it was a monumental display of speed, endurance, and most importantly gastro-intestinal fortitude.

The Fear and Panic Set In Almost Immediately

The aroma is difficult to describe. Truly. It was so amazingly unique. I have, in my time, smelled any number of skunky beers and to be honest this was not a stereotypical skunk smell. It was a very acidic, tree bark sort of smell. It wasn’t at all rancid or spoiled in nature. The beer’s aroma was an unnatural yet very real assault on my nasal cavities. I simply cannot put into words an adequate description so we’ll move on.

My first beer during this horribly conceived experiment is always a stand alone brew. I like to see how the beer stands on its own prior to mingling with other, possibly more pleasant, tastes.

I will say, unlike Bud, there is a creative dance of flavor that is constantly in motion. Each gulp I forced (eyes closed and grimacing) down my angered gullet tasted truly original.

“As if each time I took a swig of this golden labeled ‘classic,’ little wood nymphs climbed from its urine colored liquid to randomly stab the inside of my throat with rusty surgical devices.”

I swear, I thought I was well prepared after my Bud escapade for an assault on my senses. In hind site, however, Bud’s consistency was something I could mentally prepare for with each taste. Coors has an entirely different story. Each individual pull from the long neck bottle is a complete mystery. I am not kidding in the least. It took me a solid hour to finish one bottle of beer.

Think about that for a second.

I was alone in my house, watching a movie and patiently waiting for the oven to get hot.


So then you may ask, how does it go with food? I’m so glad you asked!

Without a Doubt, This Beer is Absolute Poison

The list of meals attempted with this beer includes steak, breaded popcorn shrimp, ice cream, Lasagna, Country Fried Steak, Bacon and Eggs, Calamari, Grilled Cheese, and Chicken Pot Pie. Every single one of those things, all of which I love, was utterly decimated by the constant fear of what was going to chase it down. There are so many beers available that accentuate food. These beers are actually designed to go with certain types of food, and it doesn’t take a micro brew, or high priced import, to achieve this kind of effect. Coors acted in the exact opposite way.

I believe an analogy is in order. There is nothing worse to me than getting a big, succulent cut of steak complete with beautiful grill marks. An intense, char-grilled aroma wafts, steaming from the top of it just waiting to be cut into. Then the first bite you take from it, right in the middle, invisible to the eye is a huge honking piece of gristle. Not juicy flavorful fat but that hard, rubbery piece that contains no flavor or pleasant texture to speak of. The problem with it, to me at least, is its not that the steak tastes bad after that, but the experience is all but ruined, having lost every desirable aspect it once contained. That in a nutshell is what Coors did to everything I coupled it with.

It was the egg shell in that beautiful golden omelet; the uncooked patch of dough in that stack of fluffy delicious pancakes; the uncooked kernel nestled in with the light airy popcorn.

It was that one little thing that caused the complete experience to shift towards the nightmarish.

The point of this experimental series isn’t to slam or discredit anything. I am going into each experience as I would with anything I try for the first time.

I truly want it to be a good experience. I want to pull the bottle from my lips and say, “You know what, this actually isn’t half bad. I could see why people drink this.” But everything about Coors made me doubt my sanity. Pulling my lips away from the bottle was the easy part. Keeping from cursing myself and pouring out the remainder of the twelve pack was the hard part — let alone getting more of the vile stuff into my system.

Four months after the initial purchase, I can honestly say this is quite possibly the worst beer I have ever had.

My recommendation? Avoid it at all costs.