Rogue Ales | Shakespeare Oatmeal Stout
This past weekend, New York celebrated the annual Brooklyn Book Festival – which is basically book nerd Christmas. During the end of September, you celebrate the first stiff breezes of fall while running around the old Brooklyn courthouse discovering new writers, learning about your favorite authors, and getting all your favorite works signed. Over the years it’s become my favorite holiday, but besides my constant renewing of the website until the schedule of events is posted, it has no rituals. To correct this oversight, I decided to dedicate the weekend to the arts by trying a beer after the bard whose influence is inescapable in writing of the Western World: Rogue’s Shakespeare Oatmeal Stout.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. It’s clear that the Shakespeare stout has been perfect from day one as it has pulled down at least 1 major award every year between 1994 and 2013 (including four World Beer Awards).
The beer pours ink black and fills your glass with a dark cocoa-colored head. It gives off an aroma of bakery during morning rush, filling your nostrils with the smells warm roasted nuts and breads. The stout starts off with a nice bit of heft without being too overbearing and heavy. There’s a tinge of acidic taste that melts quickly into a veritable liquid breakfast of champions.
The main body is properly made oatmeal, not the instant stuff you mix with lukewarm water to get through the mornings when you’re in a rush. The warm the taste of fresh oats made with thick cream and garnished with maple syrup and brown sugar overwhelms your senses so much that your tongue and cheeks can feel the phantom weight of the porridge.
Insanely, there’s still more to come. As last taste of sweets is sweetest last, Rogue finds the space to pack in an aftertaste of bitter, pure chocolate with a smidge of coffee. This aftertaste holds on for a good while longer than you’d expect, making the moment it leaves that much harder. Truly it’s parting is such sweet sorrow.