Chillingly good Halloween and autumn beers

The autumn air was crisp and cool as we pulled the Oldsmobile up to the cabin that night. Eerie clouds passed below the brilliant full moon while a mist began to fill the surrounding forest. A deep howl broke the dark air and sent chills down our spine.

Inside, the cabin was bright and cheery- a wooden Polynesian fellow greeted us as we walked in. Tiki was the theme, which seemed strange since we were up in the mountains. The beer began to flow, and all five of us began to imbibe in the Halloween spirits.

We heard a knock beneath and noticed the cellar door was ajar. Down below we found a book, the Brewnomecron Ex Mortis — or the Beer of the Dead. Bound in cask wood and inked in porter, this ancient Sumerian text contained bizarre beer recipes, funerary incantations, and demon resurrection passages — it was never meant for the world of the sober. The book awoke something dark in the woods, perhaps a stout…

Faint scratching and a subtle but bloodcurdling howl became audible. A silent uneasiness settled amongst us and we began to feel that we were not alone. We locked the cellar door behind us…

A couple of hours went by and as the old stories were told and liquid nectar went down, we began to feel comfortable again.

Then all hell broke loose…

We could see something out the rear window plodding toward the door. There was a pounding in the cellar that grew louder with each step. He broke through the back entrance like it was made of cork. This undead man went after me and for a minute I thought that I wouldn’t live to tell this story. Thankfully, instead of my lightweight brain, he wanted my beer. “It’s Rogue’s Dead Guy Ale — a German Maibock brewed with Rogue‘s proprietary Pacman Ale Yeast,” I told the zombie like creature. “It’s golden and hazy, with caramel malts hitting the tongue first followed by vanilla and nutty malt notes that linger on the finish.” He groaned in approval (I think) as I threw him another, “It’s complex but very drinkable, a solid 8.5/10.” He left the way he came in and we locked the door behind him.

Next, a loud knock came from the front door and, for some reason, we decided to answer. A large, mountainous man walked in — he was pale green and the brute looked both formidable and childlike. Likely from these hills he had fragmented speech and appeared to be a little slow. “Frank thirsty,” is all he had to say as I instinctively handed him a Brooklyn Monster Ale. “Hey Frank, a guy your size needs a big beer. This Monster is a Barley Wine and a potent 10.8% ABV. It was brewed in 2010 and has been mellowing in the bottle ever since.” He took a sip and said, “Frank like.” I added, “It’s hazy dark amber in color and smells of dark malt and alcohol. Burnt caramel malts are the first flavors recognizable followed by plenty of thick, chewy Euro malts. It’s bitter throughout, particularly on the finish. Powerful and bold, certainly not for the faint-hearted, I’d give it an 8/10.” Frank left, along with the rest of the Brooklyn Monster.

As the soirée resumed, a pale, handsome man with black hair seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was a charming chap with an eastern European accent — about six feet in height and dressed mostly in black. As he opened his mouth to speak, his fangs revealed his true identity — as a creature of the night. We stood up and backed away, looking for anything that could become a makeshift weapon. He spoke as we trembled in fear, “I vont to drink yer beer.” I reached back for a brew, a real good one — it would be in our best interest not to disappoint this guest. Southern Tier’s Unearthly IPA was the logical choice. As I was handing him the yellow-orange colored beer, I told him, “You’ll like this one Mr. Fancy Pants, this Imperial IPA smells of citrus, spruce, and wet soil. The flavor is all hops — grapefruit initially, with flowery hop notes kicking in mid-sip and finishes with a blast of pine. It‘s bitter throughout. A crescendo of bitterness with a tongue-bruising encore.” He nodded in approval so I relayed to him, “It’s a big beer, 10.8% ABV. The substantial malt backbone helps balance the Goliath but this bad boy’s all about the hops. Polished and dangerous, just like you count. I‘d rate it a 9/10.” I asked if he wanted another but he said, “Thank you, but it’s getting late.”

An ominous howl came from the front lawn. In the yard was a huge muscular creature walking on two legs, he had fangs and too much hair for his own good. We were weary from all these suds sipping monsters so I threw him a Blue Moon Grand Cru. “This one’s for you wolfy, it’s a potent 8.2% ABV Belgian Wit. It’s like a regular Blue Moon on steroids but it’s soft and easy to lap. Orange peel and coriander spice notes combine with the high ABV for a spicy, boozy finish. Not bad, probably a 7.5/10.” He gave a loud satisfying howl as he bounded off into the woods.

The sun was coming up soon, we were exhausted and inebriated. We slept until noon and then left, vowing never again to visit that evil cabin in the woods…