Aleheads is a blog solely dedicated to the world of beer…oh, and other stuff. Like sports. And movies. And cookies.
Aleheads is not a substitute for good beer sites like BeerAdvocate or RateBeer. Our blog is written by a group of jackasses who know just enough about beer to be annoying in a bar, but not enough to be accurate or insightful in any way.
Aleheads has Beer 101 for novices, information about brewers and breweries, and tasting notes for a wide variety of beers. Nothing on this site is informative, helpful, or relevant. It is, however, poorly written and edited…and in some cases it may be blatantly offensive and/or profane. That’s an Aleheads guarantee.
But more than anything, Aleheads is a blog for the music makers and the dreamers of dreams. And drunk people.
ABOUT THE ALEHEADS
Brother Barley McHops: Brother Barley was abandoned as an infant in a vat of strong ale in the catacombs of a monastery. Rescued by the kindly Trappist monks dwelling within, he was raised on a strict diet of roasted malts, dry hops, and brewer’s licorice. When he came of age, he was given a magnum of Quad and sent off into the world to make his fortune. When that plan failed, he started a beer blog. Brother Barley is the most prolific and verbose of the Aleheads and his rambling, stream-of-consciousness posts have been called “Faulkneresque…if Faulkner had no talent and nothing of interest to say.”
Dr. Ripped Van Drinkale, III: Not much is known about the good Doctor, as most encounters with the wily beer veteran tend to end at the bottom of a glass where all memories fade away. Legend has it that Ripped had an unfortunate run-in with some local yokels which left him in a prolonged slumber after one too many drinking games. He seems to be stuck in the past, maybe a touch slower than most, so please bear with him as he ambles through his prose. He may not have a lot of “credentials” or “training”, but as the most knowledgeable beer expert amongst the Aleheads, Doc is the go-to guy for obscure brew info.
Baron Sudsy Von Brüe, Esq.: The Baron is a bit daft, wildly eccentric, and fabulously wealthy. He funds the entire Aleheads operation from his gloriously dilapidated, Gothic castle in Bavaria. The Baron has a keen legal mind and an even keener nose for hop profiles. A true beer snob, Von Brüe spends most of his non-working hours seeking out the finest brews the world has to offer…no matter the cost. He thinks nothing of jaunting off to Timbuktu in his Fokker Triplane just to sample some seldom-seen suds. As the most well-traveled and worldly Alehead, the Baron tends to focus on international brews and hard-to-find “prestige” beers.
Mr. Slouch Sixpack: Slouch is most at home in a mustard-stained tanktop and a pair of torn jean shorts. He’s the beer-swillin’, burger-grillin’, ‘possum-killin’ everyman amongst the Aleheads. Mr. Sixpack serves as the “reality check” for the rest of the Aleheads and often reminds them that most of the world doesn’t care about what variety of noble hops went into the Double IPA they just spent $20 on. He revels in his role as contrarian and has threatened to murder the Baron on multiple occasions. Still, ol’ Slouchy loves a good beer as much as the rest of the boys and he serves as the resident IT and social networking expert for the group.
Sir Magnus Skullsplitter: Magnus spent most of his life as a humble peat cutter, toiling in the muck and mire of Islay. After rescuing Prince Harry from a nearly fatal bog accident (Harry + Laphroaig + Bog = Bad News), Magnus was knighted by the Queen and became the toast of London-Town. With his new-found fame, Sir Magnus relocated his croft to the isle of Manhattan where he spends his days scouring the city for obscure and complex brews. The sophisticated Scot is a malt maven with a particular predilection for strong stouts and Scotch Ales (though in truth, Sir Magnus has never met a beer he didn’t like).
Professor pH Lager: Professor Phineas Humulus Lager is one of the most well-respected voices in the “brew-it-yourself” field today. Phineas graduated as valedictorian from the Brewniversity at Fuggles-upon-Goldings, UK. He then went on to receive his PhD at Ale University in New Haven, CT where he wowed the esteemed faculty with his dissertation entitled, “A Phenomenological Study of the Effectiveness of Kitchen-Sink Brewing in Subverting the Dominant Paradigm”. Though multiple carboy explosions have left the Professor a bit off-kilter, it hasn’t affected his ability to serve as the Aleheads’ leading home-brew authority.
Lord Mashtun Copperpot: As a young lad, Mashtun worshipped his grandfather, Chester Copperpot, the fabled treasure hunter. When Chester died seeking riches in Oregon, Mashtun set out to find his hero’s remains and embark on some thrilling quests of his own. Unfortunately, the bumbling young man failed miserably and almost got himself killed multiple times. It was during these misadventures in the Pacific Northwest that Mashtun discovered a deep and unshakable love for American craft brewing. After inheriting his grandfather’s title and fortune, Lord Copperpot quit exploring and now focuses on his true passion…drinking.
Beerford McBrewin’: Beerford originally hails from a tiny hamlet deep in the Cascade Mountains which staunchly refuses to give allegiance to either California or Oregon (its citizens insist that they live in the “State of Jefferson”). Since neither Oregon nor Cali have ever felt like disputing the issue, it remains to this day an isolated oddity. Their only export is a peculiar weed whose odor is somewhat reminiscent of piney hops, which has no known use. As a teen, Beerford wandered off into the mountains one day, discovered both civilization and craft beer, and taught himself to read so he could figure out what the hell he was drinking.
Commander Pint O. Chug: After being booted from the National Guard for not meeting their minimum height requirement (though he swears it had more to do with his “authority problem”), the Commander moved to flyover country and took up with one of the Midwest’s ubiquitous amateur militias. He was kindly asked to leave when he was caught urinating on another militia member’s wife, and after a beer-fueled interval he calls his “dark period”, Pint O. was recruited by the Alehead Army to serve as their chief rabble-rouser. He has since served with distinction and was recently awarded a Purple Heart after accidentally swallowing a tap handle.
Herr Humulus Hordeum: Herr Hordeum, the renowned adventurer, gentleman-scholar and ornithologist has harbored a dark secret throughout his extraordinary life — he’s the younger brother of one of history’s greatest monsters: Slouch Sixpack. Try as he might, Herr Hordeum couldn’t escape his brother’s belch-laden siren song and he was eventually sucked into the muck and mire of the world of amateur beer blogging. Along with his far, far better half, Lady Jay, Herr Hordeum’s unique voice, worldliness, and keen scientist’s eye add a level of sophistication to Aleheads that offsets his older brother’s inherent jackassery.
Czar Vladibeer S. Bootin’: A descendant of the Mad Monk, Grigori Rasputin, a young Vladibeer often cited his ancestor’s tenuous connection to the Romanov throne in attempts to install himself as the Emperor of Russia. Unfortunately, in the USSR, these proclamations frequently forced him to take “vacations” to Siberia. After perestroika, Vlad discovered uranium deposits on his father’s rutabaga farm which he quickly sold to some investors in the DPRK. With his new fortune, the self-styled “Czar” moved to NYC, purchased a controlling interest in Aleheads from the Baron, and “requested” that he be added as a contributor.
Kid Carboy, Jr.: Despite his tender years, Kid Carboy Jr. has been hailed as a beerscribe of
some no repute in the cutthroat world of print journalism. His true passion, however, is amateur inventing, which recently led to the fruition of his life’s work—a functional time machine. Unfortunately, the Kid failed to note that the machine only functions in reverse, and is currently stranded in Earth’s prehistory. Thankfully, he is still able to taste new craft brews sent back through the same device by Brother Barley, who also checks a certain cave in Tunisia every few months for crudely written tasting notes painted on the walls. Kid Carboy Jr. hopes you will bear with him and the inconveniences of his temporal displacement.
Smiley Brown: “Downtown” Smiley Brown is the thinking man’s drinking man. He pounds the pavement (and his keyboard) looking for all of the latest and greatest beer stories to share with his fellow Aleheads. The most upbeat member of the crew, Smiley has a knack for tracking down the stories the other guys miss. But don’t let his gleaming, perpetual smile and impossibly sunny disposition fool you…underneath that shiny, happy exterior lies an unhinged, cold-hearted sociopath. Many a hapless bar patron has accidentally grabbed Smiley’s glass of beer only to find a jagged bottleneck mercilessly shoved into their eye socket. But if you leave Smiley’s beverage alone, well…he can be a friend to you.
Jimmy Hoppa: Jimmy Hoppa was born James Tiberius Hoppington, III. The scion of an affluent industrialist family, Jimmy was raised on cognac and port and was told by his distant, cold parents that beer was a beverage “for the unwashed masses”. While attending University overseas, Jimmy became enthralled with both beer and the plight of the working class. He severed ties with his family, changed his last name to Hoppa, and became a fervent champion of the working stiff. He loves bashing Big Beer and promoting the little guys in his quest to convert the proletariat into an army of craft-beer zealots. Jimmy is also the Aleheads’ man in LA and he reports on all things beer-related in sunny SoCal.
Piels: Piels is a riddle, shrouded in mystery, then wrapped in enigma. Apocryphally linked to transnational brewing cartels as well as Asian crime syndicates, Piels obtained his vast personal fortune speculating on malt and barley futures. The worst-kept secret amongst brewing executives is that if you need a job done requiring a degree of moral or legal ambiguity, Piels is your man. Currently splitting time between New York, Amsterdam, and Bangkok, Piels’ propensity for craft beer consumption is the stuff of legend: His Gulfstream G-550 has over 40 brews on tap…and you wouldn’t believe what the stewardesses look like. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find him, maybe you can hire Piels.
Mother Gueuze: In 1994, a shadowy government operative kidnapped a group of 12 young children and formed a mysterious group called “The Collective”. His goal was to create an unstoppable army of super-soldiers to release on the world. But when a bumbling lab assistant accidentally replaced a beaker of radioactive serum with a bottle of lambic, the end results were a group of know-it-all beer geeks with lethal martial arts skills. They ended up slaughtering one another during a vicious debate about what the proper term for a hopped-up black ale should be. The only survivor was a young woman who managed to escape the training ground and now seeks revenge against her captors. Her codename: Mother Gueuze.
Lady Jay: Whimsical. Goofy. Adorkable. These are the adjectives slung about whilst describing Lady Jay. The paramour of Herr Hordeum, Our Lady of Puckishness is a Wes Anderson movie come to life. She flits through this world like a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, listening to somber alt-rock on oversized headphones and talking to her cat Meatball in a lilting child’s voice. But when beer enters the picture, Lady Jay’s countenance turns dour and all the sparkle fades away. For Lady Jay, craft beer is a serious business with no place for antics or shenanigoats. Her tastings are conducted in grim silence with Meatball next to her, coiled like a spring, waiting to slash the first fool who dares interrupt his mistress. Like I said, adorkable!
Commodore Simcoe Hoppberg, KBS: Contrary to popular opinion, the Commodore is not now, nor has he ever been a member of the United States Navy. His mother actually named him after a popular brand of underpowered, 1980’s home computers. He did, however, truly earn his “KBS” honorific when he smuggled a four-pack of Founders’ Kentucky Breakfast Stout across the Canadian border in his rectum. The purpose of this act was never ascertained, but Simcoe was quite proud of himself so the other Aleheads patted him on the head and gave him a cookie. Other than that inscrutable occurrence, he has no known skills, talents or value. The Commodore is a simple goon…’twas always thus, and always thus will be.