Beer from Finland: American Expat Conducts Taste Test, Violence Ensues

You know who’s really awesome? My German wife. She’s a Gymnasium teacher here in Hannover, and every couple years she travels with a group of visibly hormonal high school students to Finland on an exchange program. And you know what this beautiful, wonderful, magical woman brought home for me on her last trip to the Land of a Thousand Lakes? A “Big 4 Sun” sampler box of Finnish beer.

Inside were four, half-liter cans of beer from the Pyynikin Craft Brewery, each of a different variety: ale, pilsner, saison and IPA. Oh, and just so you know what kind of beer drinker you’re dealing with here, I tend to lean toward reds, ambers and anything strong enough to anesthetize a member of mid-1980s Mötley Crüe. My absolute favorite beer of all time is Double Dead Guy Ale from Rogue Brewery, and my absolute least favorite beer of all time is Voodoo Doughnut Maple Bacon Ale, also from Rogue Brewery. (Seriously guys, what the fuck.)

Anyway, here’s the first brew I pulled out of the box:

With 4 half-liter cans — a combined volume of 2 liters of beer and an average alcohol content of 4.7% — I expected this Finnish sampler pack to help me get a pretty decent swerve on.

But before I even get started with the taste test, I really must make one thing absolutely clear: I love the fact that Pyynikin Craft Brewery has the balls to venture out into the land of craft beer. See, I’m from Portland, Oregon, meaning I was born in a microbrewery and baptized in a keg of Triple-Nut Nipple-Twister Sugar-Beet Ale. I have more craft beer running through my veins than actual blood, which my doctor keeps telling me is “unhealthy,” the pussy. Also, I’ve been living in Germany since 2012. Although I adore German beer, I’ve been drinking nothing but pilsner, generic light beer (Helles), dark lagers, and the occasional hefeweizen ever since. (And by “occasional hefeweizen,” I mean when I can find absolutely nothing else on the menu to get me drunk and take away the generalized anxiety and existential dread which haunts my every waking minute.) So these craft beers from Finland were like a breath of fresh, intoxicating air to me, and for this, I must already award the Pyynikin Craft Brewery with a brave 4 our of 5 Merkel Diamonds:

Alright, so with my gratitude clearly stated to my German wife, the brewery, and by proxy the country of Finland as a whole, let’s begin the taste test…

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What in god’s holy gobstopper is this fizzy poison? I was expecting an ale, here, not the half-retarded lovechild of an IPA and a sour, tongue-stabbing hop-golem. Jesus H. Tits, I love the artwork on the can and all, but this hoppy skullfucker could strip the spray paint off the Berlin Wall. Fuck you, Ruby Jazz Ale; you were supposed to be my favorite, and yet here I am trying to unpucker my anus as I reach with shaky hands for the next practical joke from Finland.

I award Ruby Jazz Ale with a pimp-slapping 2 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds:

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Christ on a cracker, why does this pilsner smack of nutty lemonade? Drinking it was like deepthroating a lime-flavored dildo with a hot walnut ejaculate. I’m not saying it should have followed the stringent guidelines for a proper German pilsner or anything, but I suspect the brewers might have shown up to work that day and just said, “Fuck it, let’s see if anyone notices Luukas has been pissing in the kegs again.” Still, cool can and all, and much respect for the effort, but god damn; I can’t award this uppity squirrel piss with anything more than 3 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds:

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Okay, okay — I understand saisons are supposed to be both fruity and French — but that is no excuse for this lemony, panhandling street orphan from the intersection of Hefeweizen Blvd. and Tugjob Ave. It’s like licking the lime juice from Dionysus’ pendulous nutsack. The next time I have a thirst for some prancing sugar juice, I’ll just head on down to the nearest brothel and ask for a Raspberry Enema with Yeasty Breathplay.

God dammit, Cloudberry Saison, that’s a nancy 2 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds for you:

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“American IPA,” you say? Why, that sounds promising. IPAs are currently all the rage back home in Portland. Perhaps I have misjudged the good brewmasters at — oh wait, no; by the stiff nipples of Uncle Sam himself, I declare this IPA the sourest, most aggressively hoppy shartwater I have ever tasted. My testicles are still huddled in fear against the soothing warmth of my taint, begging me never to consume such bitter venom again.

God damn you, Session American IPA. You deserve even less than 1 out of 5 Merkel Diamonds, but I am lazy and forgot to make an absolute zero Merkel Diamonds graphic:

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Okay, so that wraps up my highly professional and totally objective taste test of the “Big 4 Sun” sample pack from Pyynikin Craft Brewery. Thank you to my lovely wife for this gift, and thank you, Finland, for getting me both drunk and angry on a random Monday night. Keep up the good work!

And to my awesome readers: Thank you for visiting and please come again soon. You’re the best.

Have an awesome day!

— OGM