Because of my work, the commute and the fact that there are chefs at work who are far better at preparing a meal than I’d be at home, I tend to eat what the chef decides is a decent meal. I seldom spend any time cooking.

This time was a bit different. I’d been preparing a glazed roast beef, honey, lemon, ginger, anise, apple and onion, slow roasting in the oven — just enough to turn into a lovely shade of red, served with a saffron risotto, hot, smooth and creamy. The food was delicious, and my apartment still smells of the anise/honey mix — a sweet liquorice-inspired smell that is likely to stay with it for quite some time.  

As I was settling down to eat, I pondered the drink to go with it. Unable to really decide, I picked a small bottle from the fridge at random — a decision that turned out to be a bad one.

I hate that beer now. Trust me, you would too. Here was this lovely meal — stunning, quite complex and worked through, along with a very hungry diner settling down to enjoy it.

And what happens?

Well, let me tell you.

A single sip of that cursed beer, and I no longer remembered what my food tasted like.

It blew me away completely. There was coffee, cream, sweetness, roasted, near pepper — deeply balanced and continued into an alcoholic flavour, only to disappear almost without bitterness, leaving a sweet roasted sensation on my tongue.

What was that food? I know I put the beer aside; the food just couldn’t stand to match it. Here was this meal I had been toiling for hours to produce, and in comes a sloppily picked bottle which manages to reduce a meal to something you throw into your mouth so that you can settle down with the contents of the bottle and savour it in peace.

I drank water with the quickly devoured dinner, disposed of the plates, and then sat down, closing my eyes and smelling the dark contents of my glass. I knew there was anise in the air, but I couldn’t smell it anymore. There were only the strong, rich flavours of the beer in front of me, the hints of espresso and brown sugar that was covering the slight sweetness of alcohol behind it.

This was the real deal; this was Imperial Porter as it should be. Perfectly balanced, dominating without being aggressive, fruity, flavours of nuts, coffee, bitter, roasted, chocolate and a tone of wooden storage somewhere in there. A lingering aftertaste that dissolves without ever becoming bitter.

Perfection in a bottle.  

I was in awe — completely floored by this thing. And I really must blame it for ruining my dinner. Yet, I can’t help but love it.

The beer that left me stunned to the point that I forgot to put its name in the first draft of this text:

Mohawk Blizzard Imperial Porter, Winter Edition 2010

Label reads: “Mohawk Blizzard Porter is an extreme beer. It is brewed with ten types of malt, dark cane sugar and honey, and eight different kinds of hops. All to contribute with complexity while still give an elegant balance. Drink it now, or save some bottles for next christmas and experience how the seasoned flavours of a strong wine and nuts add yet another dimension to this beer.”