An Awkwardly Titled Review of The Bruery Brewing Company

There are many different approaches to brewing. Some brewers enjoy finding ways to whittle a hallmark style down to its purest essence, while others look for innovative ways evolve a style. The Bruery seems to take the less strategic approach of blindly swiping ingredients from Whole Foods and tossing the lot into a brew kettle. Here’s a quick tour of the ingredients they have beerified, plus one I’ve tossed in just to be smartass. I defy you to identify it:

• truffle salt
• yams
• turnips
• maple syrup
• thai basil
• pecans
• juniper berries
• cardomom
• your mom

That’s right, it was “turnips.” Hey, don’t look at me like that. Take it up with your mom.

Beers like this, for better or worse, are not hurting for character. Still, The Bruery folks insist on going the extra mile to be cheeky and clever with their names as well. Again, try to pick out the fake in this group:

• Run BMC
• Steve Perry
• Snicklefritz
• Tart of Darkness
• Bierbauch (translating to “beer belly” in German)

“Steve Perry” was the plant in this set, which confuses and saddens me. I mean, what part of this doesn’t make your mouth water?

It’ll happen someday for you, Steve. Don’t stop believin’.

The Bruery has no qualms about doing things their way. We’re talking about a west coast brewery that doesn’t even make an IPA. That borders on sacrilege. Thankfully, courtesy of my pyromania, I seldom need full-blown sacrilege to justify torching the defiler’s place of business.

9 out of 10 enraged townfolk agree with my methods

The Bruery churns out a ton of special blends and limited runs. They even have a beer called the Loakal Red made especially for their Orange County customers. While I appreciate their devotion to their hometown clientele, I think the GPS-enabled exploding proximity collar they package the beer in is a tad extreme.

“Pour gently so as not to disturb the yeast or turn your house into a smoldering crater.”

Enough profiling. Let’s see how these free-wheeling, convention-bucking brewers stand up to the rigors of a seasoned Internet writer. That’s right, The Bruery, you SHOULD be afraid.

Saison Rue (8.5% ABV)

This swampy, tangerine-tinted saison smells of tropical fruits, ginger and graham crackers. The taste is an equally complex melange of green grapes, white pepper, apple, rye and a handful of that Belgian funk that’s sooooo hot right now. The best way to describe it would be chewing on a warm mouthful of old wet hay that inexplicably adds an interesting (even occasionally pleasant) dimension to the beer. Those wary of some funk need not apply.

“Y U NO LIKE FUNK?”

This is undeniably a nuanced beer with layers upon layers of flavors. My main complaint is that the yeasty farmhouse element dominates it overall, snuffing out some of the subtler flavors. I want Belgian funk to add an undertone, not mimic the experience of mopping the stall of the farm’s sweatiest horse with my tongue.

“If that hay doesn’t sparkle when you’re done my I’ll use your colon as a legwarmer.”

Grade: B

Mischief (8.5% ABV)

This luminescent golden Belgian ale has a creamy white head resting atop it. The nose is a peculiar mix of pears and oregano, which certainly gets points for originality.

Mischief is a pretty good name for this beer because its flavor profile is so oddball I’m starting to wonder if I’m being pranked on some niche version of Candid Camera. It’s a dry, herbal and peppery quaff with fruity undertones of melon and grape. The mouthfeel is a little fizzy, but still finishes with a moderate resin. It leaves an impressive uninterrupted mist of lacing in the glass.

This beer takes full advantage of the permissive and adventurous craftbrew lover. I’m having a nerdgasm from its complexity, which is not to say that I’m relishing every sip. The flavors just strike me as a bit dissonant, but a lot of that may just be personal preference. If nothing else I’m happy to give this honorable mention, though I’m not likely to run out and snatch this one up again.

Grade: B