Truly, one toes a very fine line being a beer snob; while we aspire to see craft beers ascend from their relative obscurity to the lofty heights of more lauded beverages, neither do we wish to see appreciation of a wholesome brew become muddled by the effete language of the white-gloved wine-taster, who, while sipping delicately at a snifter of beer, might be heard to announce that the flavor is reminiscent of juniper berries with a dash of bergamot, though the aftertaste is purely Indian Rosewood with a hint of herring. Such esoteric observations prompt in the lay drinker sensations of confusion, anxiety, and ichthyophobia.

Like Diogenes, who wandered the streets of Athens with his lantern in search of an honest man, I too shall ceaselessly seek out good beers, though probably with a Maglite, or possibly a small laser pointer with which to amuse cats. Thereafter I will pen with moderate self-indulgence a "review" of said brews, in hopes that others will seek them out or, if they suck, avoid them with a ten foot pole.

"But Keith," you quaver, "How can we adequately gauge the awesomeness (or lack thereof) of any given beer without a clever numerical rating scale?"

Fear not: all has been considered. I shall, in fact, employ the "industry-standard" method of scoring beers. There are five categories, rated on a scale of One (an immediate trip to the local Vomitorium) to Five (the Rapture). Obviously, my scores are a very personal interpretation, and the mileage of others will certainly vary. Due to my penchant for the sardonic, always consider a substantial margin of error, here.

Appearance: This will involve getting fancy: pouring the beer into a clear glass and making cryptic observations about the way it looks. Color, clarity, and head retention. This is purely aesthetic stuff, and probably has little to do with how good a beer is, unless I happen to visually perceive, say, a whole strip of bacon floating in my glass.

Smell: This evidently involves the nose. Certainly, the scent of food and drink can alter the way it tastes, particularly if the scent is that of thrice-passed Heineken.

Taste: Um, I forgot what this one was. Will get back to you.

Mouthfeel: The sexiest of our rating categories. Emphasis here tends to be on levels of carbonation. Carbonation actually stimulates your pain-centers; this means that if you enjoy carbonated beverages, you are really a short step away from zipper-masks and the cat o' nine tails, and frankly, I'm getting uncomfortable even being around you.

Drinkability: The question here is, "Would you have another?" If the answer is no, it doesn't necessarily connote a bad beer. It might just be overwhelming. If the answer is "yes," but you happen to be drinking from an ice-luge at Phi Gamma Slamma, please continue to drink until you are permanently sterile from alcohol poisoning.

Overall: This is merely a mathematical average of the aforementioned categories, tabulated by a roomful of autistic savants kidnapped by the government and faxed to me from their secret bunker.

Now! Let us dispense with the technical jibba-jabba and proceed to this week's review:


Burton Baton (oak-aged Imperial IPA, 10.0% abv)
Brewery: Dogfish Head (Milton, Delaware, USA)
Format: Bottle
Cost: $13.99/4-pack
Bought at: Julio's Liquors (Westborough, MA)

While Harpoon probably makes the benchmark IPA for the Northeast, Delaware