There was a stark contrast on those shelves. Near chest
level (For me. Closer to eye level for your average person.) was that imperial hard seltzer
made by somebody who pushed a few buttons on a Jetsons-like food synthesizing machine
which filled a vat with water and them dumped in corn syrup and yeast. After a
few cycles a robotic arm gently lifted an eye dropper and dipped it into a
bottle of flavor and applied liberally. This was then put into cans and sold
for $17.99.
Unless you are so short that you have to stand on a box to kick a duck in the ass, you'll have to bend over or crouch down to get a view of the shelf near the bottom of the cooler to find the beer which was the product of monk-like dedication to the art of brewing. I refer to stuff that was imported from an exotic, faraway place - Chicago - and not simply shuttled over from across the lake. The crew at Dovetail lovingly crafts their beers the old fashioned way – sans flavoring solution – and infuses the terroir of Chicago into every batch by letting their brews lounge in a coolship. And the love was available for a comparatively paltry $9.99.
That choice was clear. I squatted down to see if Dovetail
had loosed any Rauchbier upon us but, alas, they hadn't. Instead there was a very
tasty Kölsch(-style ale), a wonderful Helles – both of which I'd tried – and a
hefeweizen which I had not yet poured into my maw. Which to choose?
I went with the hefeweizen but you know this already because
it's in the title of this blog post and there are pictures of it too. I did so mainly
because my dearly departed brother loved the style and I'd been thinking about
him a lot in the days before walking into that store. Truth be told, he always
comes to mind when I see a hefeweizen whether it be in a cooler, on a menu, or
in a glass. My brother did not drink a lot, but when he did, it was always a
hefeweizen. I can still see him pouring a Weihenstephaner Hefe Weissbier that last
time we enjoyed a brew together. And so Weissbier brewers have that sentimental
marketing advantage over me. "Buy me…it's what your brother would have
wanted…you know it is…"
I was further gratified that there wasn't much clove taste and
rather more banana and some bubblegum. And a yeasty/bready wheat flavor. These
were all complemented by a firm fizziness and one of the more overlooked
aspects of the hefeweizen: its tartness/lemony taste. I've never
understood the desire to serve this bier with a slice of lemon because that
taste is already there. It's like bringing your own Gideon's bible to a hotel. Dovetail
endowed its hefeweizen with a slight zesty lemon flavor. I think that it and the
bubbles conspired to give it a bit of an astringent bite.
That banana/bubblegum combo hung on after I swallowed as did
some wheat. It was fairly dry at the end with a bit of spicy hop bitterness.
After taking a tentative sip, I rather eagerly quaffed this
stuff because it is excellent. I've had heavier versions of the hefeweizen (Lust, for example, from the now defunct Saint Francis Brewing Co.)
and lighter ones (e.g. - Hatha-Weizen from Ale Asylum) and this hit a comfortable spot
in the middle. It's 4.8% A.B.V. and was light enough to ardently sip on a hot
day yet wholly satisfying with its rich, full flavor.
My brother was a Chicagoan through and through. Had he lived long enough to see Dovetail open its doors, I have no doubt he'd have enjoyed drinking this beer from our hometown. Prost, mein Bruder.
Junk food pairing: Dovetail's hefeweizen goes well with cheese popcorn, especially white cheddar. If you're inclined to go off the beaten path, try a spicy hot cheese popcorn such as Jays O-Ke-Doke variety for that authentic Chicago experience.
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