Beer 44: New Holland's Dragon's Milk

With a memorial photo of JoePa on the big screen, stadium lights turned shining bright and the low hanging clouds, Beaver Stadium served as a beacon in what felt like an exceptionally dark night last night.  At my house last night, miles and miles away, I couldn't help but notice how supernaturally light it was outside my windows even at 9pm.  Somehow that bright sky in Berwyn was lit -- at least in my mind -- by same light shining forth from Beaver Stadium.  I felt connected to Joe Paterno, Penn State, the students solemnly standing vigil, and thousands upon thousands of alumni despite the physical distance.

But that's how Penn State has been all my life.  Connected.  Sometimes simply. Sometimes in the most complicated way.  But I always felt connected.  Joe and Penn State will also always be connected.  You can't have a football coach -- who was never just a football coach -- impact a university in so many ways off the playing field and not have that be the case.  I guess that's why I feel like I knew Coach Paterno -- because he was always there.  He may not have known it, but I spent more Saturdays with him than I care to admit.  

I sat with my Dad, probably before I could even throw a football, cheering on Joe and his Nittany Lions during elementary school.  I've made the pilgrimage to Happy Valley countless times.  (And not just because I married a RABID Penn State fan.  I was watching Penn State football well before he showed up!)  Hell, Joe was my wake up call for most of those Saturday mornings.  I'd tell myself a 75-year-old man was probably awake and dressed long before my lazy ass was ready to roll out of bed and he was going to work hard that day while I was going to stand around, eat fried food and drink copious amounts of beer.  Years later, I'd think about the 80-year-old who was still showing me up on Saturdays and just this past season, Joe hits 85 and looks 65 and I hit 36 and feel 56 on some mornings.  

I assure you that next season I will be bounding out of bed on football Saturdays, ready to cheer the living legacy left by Joe Paterno, not quite believing that a chapter I never thought would come to a close in fact did.  I'll also spend the rest of my years with Coach Paterno serving as my inspiration...to be dedicated to education, to believe in something passionately, to give selflessly of my resources whether they be time or money, to love and be loved on a scale that's almost unimaginable.  

***

At this point the beer doesn't seem even remotely important but I promised myself I would review every night no matter what.  Didn't see this "no matter what" coming!  

Tonight I picked New Holland's Dragon's Milk.  I think somehow it was fitting for tonight since it is aged in oak barrels and somewhere in the pages and pages of reading about Joe Paterno, I read that he enjoyed a bourbon now and again.  Bourbon, oak barrels, Dragon's Milk, oak barrels.  See...I'm making connections.

Into my trusty tulip glass it went, black as night.  I'm not kidding.  There was no light penetrating this beer.  The tan head came and went - nothing remarkable about it.  It smells of vanilla beans.  It drank with a fantastic silkiness, lots of vanilla notes, a great oak flavor and a nice alcohol warmth (not surprising at 10% ABV).  This may be one of my favorite stouts.  

With that, I'm off to finish dinner, savor this beer and see if I can't get the army of dachshunds to start a JoePa-Terno chant.  They're typically the strong silent type, but you never know.  Cheers!