This combination of radically different flavours, textures, and fat content is enough to give anyone other than a world-class Sommelier nightmares.

For a beer connoisseur, it’s easy – give me a good Saison or French Farmhouse ale, and we’re done.

The explosive carbonation lifts the fats off your tongue – goodbye butter. There’s a sweetness in there that plays nicely with the turkey and the sweet potatoes (and brown sugar or marshmallows, depending which way you like to make it).

There’s a sharp acidity in there that laughs at the cranberries, and there is a final sharp snap of bitterness from the hops that scours your tongue, leaving it refreshed and waiting for the next bite.

Wine with my Thanksgiving meal? No thanks! Give me a Saison and I will give thanks

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Beerlicious articles by Stuart Carter, stuart@beerlicious.net is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Got the orange and brown food groups covered.

The food was fore-ordained.  In the course of conversation over the weekend, a friend recommended pot roast with sweet potatoes instead of white potatoes.  Said it made the roast sweet.  Sounded good to me; when I was buying a few necessities Sunday I picked up a roast, some sweet potatoes, carrots, and a sweet onion to throw in the crock pot.  Sliced the onion and sweet potatoes this morning before going to work and threw them in with the roast and the baby carrots.

I had no recipe to work from, so I just added a few random things in hopes of achieving a good end result: water, olive oil, a splash of vinegar, some oregano, steak spice, plenty of salt, and some Tabasco.  Set on low, give it 9 hours or so.

Extra Special Bitter! Not "Early Spring Beer," jerks.

The end result was pretty good, but not quite what I’d hoped.  I didn’t think the roast tasted any different from the many times I’ve made pot roast with white potatoes.  Pretty much identical, really.  So that was a disappointment.  But pot roast is inherenty a tasty food, so it was enjoyable, of course.  And the sweet potatoes actually became savory over the course of the extended slow cook.  There was hardly any sweetness left.  My wife appreciated that, though.  So different strokes for different folks.  The Tabasco did add a nice mild kick that helped things without being overkill for the little ones.

Beerwise I really debated on whether to go very sweet and malty to compliment the flavors in the food, or sharply bitter to contrast.  I went somewhat in between.  ESB’s have decent malty punch, but are still quite hoppy.  Pretty good call.  Enjoyable pairing.

Sierra Nevada releases their ESB as a Spring seasonal, thus the “Early Spring Beer” tripe they put on the label.  But ESBs are not traditionally released in the early Spring.  Looks like they took a page from Redhook’s playbook and just wanted to get “extra” and “bitter” off the label.  I guess it turns some people off.  But it pissed me off when Redhook changed to “extra special beer” and this is pretty annoying too.  ESB is a noble style with a rich history.  Pretending it’s something other than “extra special bitter” detracts from that history.  Bah.

But the beer is good.

Around 2pm today I received an email from the wife informing me she’d been to Whole Foods to pick up some essentials and also bought a prepared meal: cajun turkey, sweet potatoes, green beans, and (mixed greens with balsamic vinaigrette) salad.  Nice.

You might not be worthy.

I gave it a little thought and decided to run with some Lindemans Cuvée René with this meal.  Which, by the by, is now available in Alabama.  I’ve no idea how long that has been the case, but it was previously unavailable here in spite of its mere 5% ABV because it was only sold in 750 ml bottles, so our crass 16 oz container limit was keeping it out.  But now they are putting it in 12 oz bottles, and that is the state in which my wonderful wife found it at the Western in Mountain Brook just a couple days ago.

A word about the Cuvée René.  It’s a gueuze, a style that is unfamiliar even to many who enjoy craft beer, and little understood.  It’s a lambic in the truest sense of the style, with no fruit used in brewing.  Many people are familiar with Lindemans sweet fruit lambics such as their Framboise and Peche.  I’m not a fan.  There is a debate among lambic purists with some arguing that the Lindemans fruit lambics don’t fit the historical style norms.  I’m not particularly interested  in arguments among purists over whether a particular beer qualifies for a style descriptor.  I am interested in flavor.  And I’m not fond of the excessive sweetness in the Lindemans fruit lambics.

But Cuvée René.  Ohh the Cuvée René.  What I have heard is that René Lindemans brews everything else for some degree of mass appeal, but this he brews for himself, popular tastes be damned.  It’s his masterpiece.  And it’s very sour and acidic.  Not for the faint of heart.  Or those easily susceptible to heartburn.  It is spontaneously fermented with various wild yeast and bacteria.

The pairing here was excellent.  The “cajun” turkey was only cajun at the skin.  Any bites lacking skin were almost flavorless, so I added a little of the vinaigrette to the turkey to make things interesting.  Considering the vinegary nature of the beer, it magnified the acidity of the dressing.  The sweet potatoes and beans were incredible though.  The sourness of the beer was a perfect contrast to the sweetness of the potatoes.  The green beans were some sort of variety I’ve never had before, and they were off the charts.  Remarkably similar to asparagus in size and texture, but without the stinkiness.   They offered a savory character to the meal, then the salad piled on with more loads of acidity from the vinaigrette.

The acidity was a bit punishing, but I kept coming back for more.  Not entirely unlike extremely spicy foods, which are also punishing but addictive.

You’ve got to know what you’re getting into and be prepared for some sensory overload at times, but this is something I’d repeat.