McSweeney's Presents

Today, one of McSweeney's Reviews of New Food is so spectacular that I have to rip it in full:

My Brother's Entry for the LongShot Samuel Adams American Homebrew Contest

Submitted by Joseph Love

When he was about 10, my brother put milk in a Popsicle tray. How bad could his beer be?

He canned the stuff in antique Mobil 1 cans, the tops soldered with a coat hanger and a car battery. Though submissions weren't to be canned, I kept quiet.

The can he set aside for me had been spray-painted with a stencil to say "Joe's Brew."

"How do you open it?" I asked. He stabbed two holes in the top with a screwdriver, Hawaiian Punch–style.

Once, when I was mountain-biking in Indiana, a friend asked me, "Man, do these woods smell like semen to you?" I sniffed. Those woods, mushroom cellars, and my brother's beer all smell like semen.

Maybe his wife, irritated, shook the can, because thick bubbles began to creep slowly through the holes. They advanced like snails made of foam. We took the can to the sink. After five minutes, we had something that looked like a giant head of black broccoli dripping into the drain.

I scraped the foam into the sink and drank. It tasted like the grease trap that hangs under charcoal grills. Charcoal, of course, was the dominant flavor, with a follow-up of beef and pork. There were hints of chicken and burnt kabob vegetables, especially sugary onions. The tannins were well-developed, though unexpected, and I could have done without the ashy aftertaste. Also, swallowing was a bit difficult, not something I'd expected from a liquid.

"Um, what kind of hops did you use?" I asked.

"Is beer a hops?" he asked.

"Not ... um, no."

"Well, I just poured a 24-pack of Miller High Life into a bucket of molasses. Anyway, I hops it wins."

When he played T-ball, he'd wrap his bat in aluminum foil and step up to the plate shouting, "Let's play FutureBall!" Once, I admired his creativity. Now, it seemed to be giving me the gout.