Hey Molson-Coors, What Do You Have Against Taste? - April 2005
Sharp-eyed readers of World of Beer will have noticed last month that the world's fifth largest brewer by volume, the Can-Am behemoth known as Molson-Coors, surpassed even big brewery standard for questionable "innovation" when they introduced their latest marketing ploy in the guise of a draught tap that pours beer at a temperature below freezing. Christened Molson Canadian Sub Zero, the tower was billed in its introductory press release as having been designed to appeal to "beer drinkers who told us that they enjoy Molson Canadian more when it's really, really cold."
Casting aside my healthy skepticism - while in Ireland a few years back, I had the misfortune of accidentally experiencing Guinness Extra Cold, which pours at below 3 degrees Celsius, and was decidedly less than impressed - I resolved that I should not condemn the Sub Zero tap until I had experienced it, and so went in search of a glass of frozen Canadian lager at a roadhouse-style bar in Toronto called Jack Astors. It was the first truly spring-like day in the city, gloriously sunny and warm, so conditions for my experiment could hardly have been better.
Pity the same cannot be said about the beer, though. While my first sip left me wondering what all the hoopla was about, by my second and third swallow I started to wonder if the ice-cold beer was out to do me harm. The more I drank, the more uncomfortable I felt, with a persistent chill developing in my throat and chest until, about half-way through the 12 ounce glass, I was experiencing the same sensation one gets after having swallowed an ice cube. I stopped at this point to make tasting notes - virtually no apparent aroma and little flavour other than a vague, grainy sweetness and slight sensation of alcohol - and elected to leave the lager that remained in my glass unfinished. When the bartender asked me what I thought of the beer, my response came in a single word: "Stupid."
Stepping back into the daylight, I began my walk home wondering just what it is beer company executives have against the flavour of beer. They claim to like it, of course, and even pretend to promote it from time to time, using vague descriptives like "crisp," "smooth," and "cold," but every step they take seems designed to eliminate it. From sickly sweet, caffeinated brews to beers so light they might as well be alcoholic mineral waters, every new mega-brewery brand that hits the market these days seems specifically designed to taste less like beer than the one previous. And if there is going to be any beer taste remaining, then the approach seems to be to freeze it out, as with the ubiquitous frozen beer mugs in chain bars and Molson-Coors' highly questionable "innovation."
In the end, I was reminded of the question that kept recurring during a series of radio interviews I did in the wake of Molson-Coors and Labatt both announcing new caffeinated beers in the vein of Anheuser-Busch's B-to-the-E. "Instead of going with these new gimmicks," interviewer after interviewer would ask, "why not simply brew better beer?"
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