Brooklyn Katz’s Ale

ABV unknown, on tap

(Earlier today a VB commentator wrote:  “why, oh why, is this becoming just another beer blog?… get ye into the streets and find us adventure!”  Though this post will be “just another beer blog” post, mea culpa!, I want to assure this kindly man, or woman, that I will be back with a vengeance immediately after this post with an onslaught of adventure posts.  Be ready.)

And here is one of the great things about living in New York.  In most cities, you’re drunk at 3, 4 AM, you better hope you got a frozen pizza at home.  Maybe you can hit an all-night Taco Bell for “fourth meal.”  You live in one of the major, major cities on this planet, you can probably find some good pizza, a good burger, a cheesesteak, or other local delicacy late night.  But in New York, man, drunk at 3 AM in the morning, you can have one of the finest sandwiches in the world at the finest deli in the world.

Tired of dealing with summer interns and youthful morons corrupting the Lower East Side as we bar-hopped last Friday, my friend looked at me at around 2:30 and said, “You know, fuck it.  Fuck drinking any more.  Let’s go get a pastrami sandwich.”  Genius!  I had never heard of a better idea.  And a nice pastrami and corn beef on rye, schmear of spicy mustard, with a side of matzo ball soup…well, that’s better than any cramped bar, any overpriced bar tab, and picking up any miserable woman to spend the rest of your night with.

I’m not going to give a Katz’s itself a full-scale review…yeah, it’s a tad overpriced, yeah it’s cash only, yeah it has the harshest lighting this side of standing five feet from an angry cop’s halogens, yeah it has a surly staff, and yeah it has the occasional tourist taking a dopey picture of the “When Harry Met Sally” spot.  But, despite all that, the sandwiches are heaven on earth.  As good as meat between bread can be since the day the Earl of Sandwich came up with the idea.

And though we’d already said, “Fuck drinking” by this point of the night, while in line I had an epiphany.

“Hey, wait a second, Aaron, didn’t you read that Brooklyn Brewery makes a special beer for Katz’s?” the Vice Devil on my left shoulder whispered in my ear.

My friend disputed it.  No way.  How ridiculous!

He shouldn’t have.  Garrett Oliver seemingly makes a unique beer for every goddamn restaurant, venue, stadium, and food stand in the city.  He is truly the hardest working man in brewing.  The motherfucking James Brown of beermaking.

I am nothing if not a cheerleader for Brooklyn Brewery, an avowed religious worshiper and evangelical trumpeter of Mr. Oliver and his magical beers.  I give them hosannas left and right, but it would be pure bias not to review the rare Brooklyn beer that I absolutely did not care for.  Maybe it was because it was 3 AM and I was somewhat drunk, maybe it was because I had just eaten a pound of cured meat, maybe the pounding overhead lights were making me dizzy, it’s hard to say, but I simply think this is not a good beer, and a totally inappropriate beer to pair with deli.  Which is odd, since Oliver is the beer pairing master par excellence.  Hell, he even wrote the book on it!  (Highly recommended.)

Katz’s Ale is an overly syrupy and malty brown ale, more like a dopplebock on the mouthfeel, and I simply could not choke it down.  It wasn’t unflavorful, necessarily, it wasn’t bad, exactly, it was just not good, and a terrible match for what I was eating.  Unfortunately, I could barely finish it.

Still, I’m grateful to have tried one of the rarer drafts in New York.

B-/C+