At a Bar, Nothing Like a Creamy Stout

By Doug Blackburn

ALBANY, N.Y. -- Many a glass of Guinness will be raised this time of year. Even non-Guinness drinkers are likely to indulge in a pint of the ubiquitous export, a traditional salute to St. Patrick's Day or anytime Irish tradition is invoked.

Like most people who enjoy beer, I am fond of a pint of Guinness. I don't much care for the bottled Guinness available in supermarkets and beverage stores, but a truly fresh pint poured well is one of life's great pleasures.

I enjoy its velvety softness, the creamy head that refuses to wilt, the coffee-like aftertaste that comes from the roasted barley that is at the foundation of almost all stouts.

I also appreciate how well-marketed Guinness is, how for many Americans it is synonymous with stout.

Yet stouts are an amazingly diverse style of ale and Guinness represents just one type of stout: dry, or classic Irish.

Stouts can be low in alcohol (Guinness is a good example; it is less potent than Budweiser) but they can also be knock-you-off-your-stool potent. (Rogue Imperial weighs in at about 10.5 percent alcohol; more than double Guinness.)

They can be laced with chocolate ( Brooklyn's Black Chocolate Stout) or chicory (Dogfish Head) or they can be so dominated by oatmeal (Samuel Smith's is the gold standard) that you feel like you're drinking a breakfast cereal.

Thanks to Guinness, stouts are regarded as an Irish specialty, right up there with corned beef and cabbage. This is another example of Guinness and the brewers at St. James Gate in Dublin clouding our understanding.

Stouts evolved out of porters. The emergence of this new style of ale began in London in the late 1700s and, like so many inventions, its mother was necessity and the desire to save money.

Brewers were being taxed for malted barley but not roasted barley. As a result they began substituting roasted barley in their porter recipes, producing what was first called a "stout porter" and which quickly became known simply as stout.

Stouts today have eclipsed porters. It's unusual to find a porter on tap at most beer bars, but you're likely to find anywhere from two to a half-dozen stouts available. It's the same story in beverage centers. Stout choices outnumber porters by at least three to one.

The Tap Room at Brown's Brewing Co. in Troy, N.Y., boasts two stouts among its selections, including an oatmeal stout that last year won a gold medal at the World Beer Cup competition.

The three basic categories for stouts are dry, sweet and imperial, but there are so many variations within each category that it can be confusing.

Milk stouts, for example, are considered sweet (Keegan's, from nearby Kingston, is a first-rate example). Oatmeal stouts (Magic Hat's Heart of Darkness is unmatched) are also regarded as sweet, but they are as different as can be from milk stouts. They are thick and teeming with the twin flavors of roasted malts and, of course, oatmeal.

Imperial stouts are another animal. Originally brewed in England for Catherine the Great, they were made extra strong in order to survive the journey across Europe to Russia. Imperial stouts have the kick of a barley wine but rarely do they share the same malty sweetness. What you are more likely to taste is roasted malt and barley, not alcohol.

Dry stouts, with Guinness the best known example, are the easiest to identify. Beamish, O'Hara's and Murphy's are all brewed in Ireland and belong to this category, but they are not as well known.

Guinness' magic -- other than its marketing -- is rooted in the so-called Guinness faucet. This refers to the nitrogen system Guinness demands taverns employ for pouring Guinness.

Because Guinness is poured with nitrogen it is only lightly carbonated, making it softer than many dry stouts. The nitrogen is also responsible for retaining the foamy head atop the beer. I've heard it said you can float a quarter on top of a well poured pint of Guinness, though I have neither witnessed this nor tried it myself.

I know Guinness takes great pride in its product, and its reps regularly visit bars serving Guinness to insure that the nitrogen system is being properly maintained. That said, there are plenty of places where the Guinness kegs sit like unwanted Christmas trees.

How can you tell? Easy. If the foam is uneven in texture or it's darker than off-white, the keg has been around too long. What you want is foam that's the color of fresh snow and deep, more than a half-inch and ideally a full inch deep, resting comfortably atop the beer.