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beer

Beer review: Dogfish Head's Palo Santo Marron

The primary blogging purpose among my age group is reviewing. I have been neglecting this task something shocking!

In Delaware sits a 9,000 gallon barrel made of ironwood, the South American frankincense. The dense, fragrant palo santo wood was harvested from a Paraguayan forest at unusual cost and fuss. Unusual fuss is pretty much what the absolutely fucking insane Dogfish Head brewery does and elicits, which is why they were building the biggest beer barrel in post-Prohibition America out of one of the world's most difficult woods. If I had a flagship brewery, a favorite among favorites, it would be Dogfish Head, whose Midas Touch once turned a normal day at the wine shop where I worked into a drunken celebration that spilled out into Monroe Street. For most of my beer-drinking life since then I'd answer "Raison D'Etre" if you asked me for my favorite beer (it has since reverted to Bell's Two-Hearted, since my tastes have returned from the sweet and malty to the crisp and hoppy). I love DH's experimentation with form and flavor-- I won't necessarily drink everything they put out but I'll love them all the more for their oddities. Dogfish Head makes beer taste like something.

This great New Yorker article about Dogfish Head's mighty barrel and its subsequent beer (along with other fine beer observations) came to my attention courtesy of my friend Bill, whose attention to the intricacies of imbibing is nearly unmatched. When I read the article I loved Dogfish Head a little bit more (if that's even possible) but never anticipated that I'd shortly come nose-to-box with a four-pack of the Palo Santo Marron in my own local liquor store. It seemed too rare to hope for, too unusual to anticipate. But here I am with an open bottle in front of me and a keyboard with which to force my reactions upon you.

The Palo Santo Marron, like most of DH's other brews, appeals to the sugar addiction of our American palates. This fantastically educational pdf boasts of 92 pounds of malt per barrel. It's a thick beer -- if you were tending toward unkindness you could reasonably call it viscous -- and there's a lot of sugar in there, from malt and unrefined cane sugar for sure and maybe other sources. (The last beer I brewed was a clone of Dogfish Head's Indian Brown Ale, and it started with caramelized brown sugar, required dry and liquid malts in addition to the mini-mash, and begged for corn syrup and molasses. Although it tastes as full and rich as I could have hoped for, the sugar content sure warned me off frequent consumption.) Right off the bat you need to know if you like thick, sweet, dark beers that are like a meal in a glass. If not, great; I don't need to share my remaining three bottles of the Palo Santo Marron with you.

I know it's terrible beer review form to head straight to the finish, but the lovely bittering hops caught me on the first swallow. It's the only way to handle that sweetness. As a hop lover I'm delighted with the counterpoint. They use Palisade, Warrior, and Glacier hops, though I thought I tasted Cascade, which tells you exactly how seriously you should take me as a beer reviewer. Hmph.

I tried the Palo Santo Marron cold, room temperature, from the bottle, and decanted in a Riedel beer glass. At 12% ABV this level of patience proved challenging. Warmer, it offered up some of the coffee notes I read about in DH tasting notes as well as the fragrant spices I expected from aging in the exotic wood. A savory nutmeg tone is one of my favorites. Chocolate and raw vanilla on the middle palate lead into nut-like tannins, which might be the bittering hops and might be the palo santo wood. (Tangent-- how cool is it to get to talk about tannins in a beer discussion? I love Dogfish Head.) I catch a lick of cloves on my tongue, but that might be wishful thinking. The overall impression is less exotic than I'd hoped but definitely pleasing to a variety of tastes.

Bill, the one person who needs to taste this, is having trouble finding it where he lives. So I raise my glass to him and suggest you dedicate a swallow of your own Palo Santo Marron to the poor beer geeks who live without access to Dogfish Head's kooky, brilliant experiments.