Beerlandia: Triple C White Blaze Winter Ale

A can of Triple C White Blaze sits on a mossy log in the woods.

Every year, more than 3,000 crazy people attempt to walk the 2,190 miles between Spring Mountain in Georgia and Mount Katahdin in Maine via the Appalachian Trail. They don’t do it in the winter for fairly obvious reasons. That’s why I found it kind of interesting that Triple C Brewing out of Charlotte, NC decided to honor the AT (which is really cool) with the little-known beer sub-genre of the winter warmer.

Several years ago, when my ambition still outweighed my hiking experience several times over, a buddy and I decided to hop on the AT in February. Well, we didn’t pay too much attention to the forecast and woke up to half a foot of snow.

Needless to say, it was slow going, and we could have really used a winter warmer after that. I’m going to stop wondering why this isn’t a pilsner or wheat beer and crack it open with that lovely memory in mind.

 
 
 

Beer: White Blaze
Brewery: Triple C Brewing
Country: Charlotte, NC, USA
Style: Winter Warmer
ABV: 6%
Beerlandia Advisory: Much like mulled wine, the winter spices reveal more of themselves after every sip.

 
 
A tulip glass of Triple C White Blaze glowing with the light of a nearby lamp.
 

Before we go further, we need a crash course on what a winter warmer is. The foundation for this seasonal hoppy treat is an English strong ale that isn’t quite as dark as a stout. With that in mind, let’s proceed with the investigation. I emptied the 16oz can into my trusty New Belgium tulip glass to observe a thick, creamy, almost tan foam that lingered for several minutes. White Blaze poured an opaque auburn color that became a beautiful deep ruby red when held up to the light. Ample lacing blazed a trail all the way to the bottom of the glass. This beer makes you feel full just looking at it - something that you’d like to nurse for a while next to a campfire.

“Much like mulled wine, the winter spices revealed more of themselves after every sip.”

The red glow was already hitting some important holiday notes but did this warmer deliver where it matters most? It’s subjective I suppose, but for me, this time of year is all about the smells rather than the flavors. Light a pine-scented candle, and it’s Christmas as far as I’m concerned. Everything I wanted from this beer was delivered as soon as some of these crucial aromas began wafting up from my glass. A strong presence of cinnamon and clove stood on a foundation of musky malt. I was content to just smell the damn thing.

You can only smell a fresh batch of gingerbread cookies for so long until you take the next logical step. The thing had still been foaming ever since I poured it, which meant this wasn’t going to rest lightly on my stomach. Bitter, earthy flavors greeted me first, followed quickly behind by cinnamon, raisin, and vanilla. Much like mulled wine, the winter spices revealed more of themselves after every sip. Eventually, I couldn’t detect any bitterness at all. The holiday spice took command, but it didn’t jingle my bells too hard. I’ve had quite a few holiday beers that are just too syrupy and sickly sweet to be enjoyable, but White Blaze is more subtle. This beer isn’t meant to be quaffed down quickly, however. As a viscous, full-bodied beer, this would pair well with a roast, rack of lamb, or any other hearty meat-and-potatoes meal.

 
 
 
 

Does winter on the trail work?

Since I was so bewildered by Triple C’s choice to celebrate the Appalachian Trail with a winter warmer, I decided to keep an open mind and prepare for the review by bushwhacking an area behind the house that I hope to convert into a semi-permanent dispersed campsite. After an hour or so of finding things to hack with my machete, I had worked up a thirst. I grabbed my last can of White Blaze - perfectly cellar-cooled in the brisk, not quite freezing air - out of the bottle holder of my daypack and cracked it. The initial earthy bitterness gave way to vanilla and spice just in time to join the sweet petrichor of light rain hitting the dry leaf litter of the forest floor. You know what? I was wrong. It works. ◉

Written by Seth Barham

 
Previous
Previous

You Need a Content Writer in 2022

Next
Next

2021 in the Rearview