Okay, okay, so I’ll admit that I’m a certified Beer Geek, and damn proud of it, thank you very much.  But while I revel in my geek-dom purely because I enjoy thinking, drinking, and talking about delicious brewed libations of (almost) every style, flavor, and form, I try to approach the subject of beer critiquing objectively and sensitively.  In sum, I try not to judge.  The only problem is, I do, rather frequently, find myself mid eye-roll at the predictability of certain beer drinkers I encounter on a regular basis.  As a server at a bar that happens to sport a rather impressive beer list, I can’t help it.  It’s just there in front of me every day.  I find myself biting my tongue as (almost always male) customers yank their beer out of my hand and insist on pouring it themselves, either because they are trying to save me the trouble, or more likely, because they do not think I have any business pouring their beer.

Nothing could annoy me more, or send a sharper sting shooting up my spine.  But I’m a professional, so most of the time I don’t say anything and I simply walk away.  Even though I know I probably have more business pouring a beer than 95% of my patrons.  This fact is especially true when it comes to hefeweizens, whitbeirs, or any type of Belgian-style ales.  There is a method to my madness, and yes, you need a glass with that.

Now, I chose specifically to talk about Tucher because that just happens to be the only hefeweizen we sling at my job, although I have tried other, tastier versions of this popular German wheat ale.  For starters, I would like to say that there is a stigma surrounding people, especially guys (sorry guys!) that drink Tucher.  For those in the know, Tucher has been popular ’round these parts for the better part of ten years, so when a rather new-on-the-scene beer drinker saunters up to my bar and orders a “Tucker,” or worse yet, when a young woman flips her hair in my direction, points her nose in the air, and orders a “Tooshier,” it takes every ounce of my will-power just to smile and say, “Tucher. Would you like an orange in that?” (Of course you would.)  When what I would really like to say is, “Hey. Stupid. Tucher’s overrated.  Why don’t you try something new?”

To be clear, (pun intended,) Tucher is not a bad beer.  It’s just that it’s so tired, so popular, and so trendy that it simply doesn’t have the chops to hold its own against the hype.  This brings me to another issue: Tucher is not the same as Blue Moon, and Blue Moon is not a good beer either and I’ll tell you why.  There is a very easy mantra which can be put in place here, and it goes like this: All white ales are wheat ales, but not all wheat ales are white ales.  Now I know it can be tricky at first, but this is simply a tool which can be used to remember that there is indeed a difference between these types of beers, albeit not a huge one.

Hefeweizens like Tucher are German in origin and require at least a 50% wheat to barley malt ratio.  Whitbiers are Belgian in origin and, while also brewed with wheat and barley, are always flavored with some combination of orange peel, bitter orange, and coriander.  Both beers were referred to as white ales back in the day, because they were historically lighter than other  beers.  But since a hefeweizen must have the 50% wheat ratio, and are not flavored traditionally with the same spices as whitbiers, they remain separate but equal.  Both beers, because of the use of wheat and the presence of suspended yeast, appear cloudy in color and are thick in body style, (which is achieved through the top-fermentation process of ales.)  Now do you get that pun from before?

Anyway, if you really want to know more about the technicalities of hefeweizens vs. whitbiers,  a quick trip to Wikipedia will fill you in, (I even took a quick refresher course before I wrote this–just in case.) But there is a bigger point to be made outside the realm of brew process, and that is, to simply know what you are talking about–at least on a basic level. I’m not gonna school you in front of your girl, whom, by the way, has far more acceptable reasons to order that extra orange with her beer, since being female somehow makes it okay for chicks to like all things sweet and fruity.  As a bro, not so much.  And it’s not in my better interest to make you look foolish.  I just wish more people knew what they were saying before they immediately lump beers like Tucher and Blue Moon together.  Which, brings me to my beef with Blue Moon.

Bad: Blue Moon is made by Coors.  Worse: Coors calls Blue Moon a Belgian white ale.  Worst: Blue Moon is neither Belgian, nor a good representation of a Belgian-style white ale.  It is far too fruity, too floral, and too sweet.  But that doesn’t mean you can’t like it.  Cuz you can, and I’ll live with that, but first.  Please.  Just know what a true Belgian white ale tastes like.  Think Hoegaarden.  Think Whitterkerke.  Try those first and at least understand what a  true white ale is supposed to be, and then, by all means, you can go on loving Blue Moon all the livelong day.  Just don’t get me started on Shock Top.

I have one more gripe, and then you can resume drinking that delicious beer I know you’re holding in your hand, in the proper glassware no doubt.  Betcha can’t guess what that last gripe is.  Yep, you got it: Glassware!   When one is imbibing a delightfully thick and frothy libation like a hefeweizen, one benefits from the tool of the glass, because releasing the beer’s natural flavor and maximizing its potential is what glassware is all about.  (Alright, you caught me–it also makes the beer look pretty.)  All that thick, foamy yeast sticks to the bottom of the bottle, which is why you see bartenders either roll the bottle on the side before it is opened, or twist the bottle around while it is being poured.  The more CO-2 gets swished into that bottle, the more it helps break up that delectable yeast and build a nice, frothy head, which should always be about 1 1/2 to 2 inches thick.  Adding a squeeze of orange is mainly an American thing, derived from the practice of squeezing a lemon, which not only enhances flavor, but adds a healthy dose of citric acid to break up the density of the hefeweizen body style.  I don’t recommend it, but, at least you’ll get your daily dose of vitamin C.

Now that all of this soap-boxing has cut into your precious, precious drinking time, I would like to end by saying that I am not trying to condescend here.  Knowing and recommending beer is simply my job, and i have nothing else going for me, dammit.  So, I gotta take what I can get and run with it.  I also am not as big of a snob as I might first appear, since I enjoy my fair share of domestic guilty pleasures, and I’ll prove it to you by writing about some of my favorites in my next piece.  There are miles of memory lane to cover when it comes to fizzy canned brew designed to be slugged twelve at a time, so I invite you to join me in my stroll.  And don’t forget to bring a couple cold ones along for the trip.

5 Responses to “The Trouble with Tucher”