If breweries are rock bands, Dogfish Head are Zappa and the Mothers, the undisputed kings of taking a jumble of weirdo shit and making it something worth the experience. Their concoctions have included elements ranging from those used building the Great Pyramid, human spit, and the highest ABV of any beer at market. They are not just the crafters of a mere libation. They make art, pushing the boundaries of what a beer can be. Worth noting: their beers are fucking delicious.
I got my hands on a Sixty-One Minute IPA based on name alone, having a fondness for its predecessor. What I experienced was exactly what was intended. I drank this beer in a dark room, unaware of the information on the label, yet the first line of my notes includes “grapes” and “red wine?” The bottle lists “grape” and “syrah.” Close enough. I was not sure what I was drinking. Sixty-One is an IPA, but it’s predecessor’s hoppy reputation had been left to eat Sixty-One’s dirt. Had I not known better, I would have guessed I was drinking a Belgian dubbel, going by the berry notes, the light carbonation and the delightful mouthfeel, which kept the body from overwhelming,. The center of my tongue absorbed the joy that the rest of my mouth could not. While the other largely-present flavor was the alcohol, I did not miss an up-front sweetness, nor a lingering bitterness.
A powerful piece of art makes you think about not only the piece itself, but the context surrounding it from your own experience. Sixty-One left me shaking my head: what did I drink? Was this an IPA? Was it more Belgian? Does it matter? When the questions had ceased, only one thing was sure: I had even begun to question myself, and that experience is something to be truly savored.
Pete Salomone (interj.) condition centered around over-consumption of coffee, bourbon.
Went to some schools. Worked at some places. Wrote some stuff, read some things, watched some other stuff. Threw it away, started over. Thinks too much, sleeps too little, wonders just the right amount. Part mechanical, mostly imaginary, unfortunately human. Bleeds red. Breaks bread. Eats lead. Zed’s dead.