Once again I brave my fear of swing-tops (not so much a fear, but the other week I opened a swing-top bottle of Flensburger and it vomited itself all over my shirt just before I went out on the tiles) and the aroma, while not as loud as the thankfully-shirt-sparing decapping, is certainly towards the rowdy end of the scale. There is fat lime and lemon already half squeezed as the smoke escapes the bottle neck. I breathe it in like a man rescued from a burning house takes in oxygen.
The pour is hazy amber. With a light behind it it becomes ancient gold, and the thick, tiny bubbled head teeters at the rim of the glass, toying with the drinker. "Will I or won't I force you to wipe your dresser down after this review?" it asks.
Bitter, grassy scents meet the inhale halfway, rising like a relief pitcher at the game's all-or-nothing point. This is the best-smelling of the Schwaben Brau beers this reporter has drank this week, the grassy aroma slathered with lime notes
Thicker on the mouthfeel than the VolksfestBier, it feels a more satisfying and filling drink, and the bitterness rounds out and loudens as the glass approaches that terrifying state of emptiness that can only be remedied by another beer, and quick.
The foamy head is strong and ebullient all the way to the last mouthful, the glass gloriously laced with the foam that got away.
Some beers suit certain moments perfectly. It is early Autumn. The skeletons of Hallowe'en are still deep underground and only beginning to stir. The dark ales that comfort us through this pumpkinny time are waiting for their starting gun, the first night we turn our heating back on. At this turn of seasons, this harvest time, this misty, citric beer played a blinder.
And with the sun low in the sky, we have one more of this brewery's beers to drink. See you all tomorrow night!