My cousin David is a beer man, the sort of guy who was early on sours, unmoved by IPA mania,Ìęand able to explain the contributions of lactose to the perfect hazy—not to mention his mental map of the best brews worldwide. So, when he visited me in Montana several years ago, I sipped the samples he’d brought from Brooklyn’s boutique breweries and asked what felt like an obvious question. Had he ever thought about brewing his own?

He swallowed a mouthful of gose.

“No,” he said. “I’d never be able to match the quality of craft beer today. So, what’s the point?”

I chewed on that for a few years. My wife, Hilly, tended to agree with David. What was the point? We are living in an era of peak beer. In my town we can bike down to the neighborhood grocery store and buy premium six-packs for $10 from half a dozen independent local breweries. We’ve learned our favorites and venture into other styles as our palates expand. New varieties show up almost weekly. At our favorite tap houses, the options are overwhelming. The quality of this beer is the culmination of 6,000 years of humanity perfecting the craft. I had about as much to contribute to it as I would to the ceiling frescoes of the Italian Renaissance.

The only regular homebrewer I knew was my late father-in-law, who took up the hobby for two reasons: he liked to drink, and he was cheap. His recipe, scrawled out for my brother-in-law on the back of an envelope, called for amber malt, corn sugar, ale yeast, and honey, free to him because he was a beekeeper. He grew hops up the side of the barn and occasionally brewed with garden habaneros for an extra kick. His process was precise, but not exactly fussy. He fermented 15-gallon batches in a plastic garbage can in the bathroom.

And yet, when I think about his beer, I picture him walking into the house after a day’s labor and pulling from the fridge a weathered 32-ounce Tecate bottle that he’d brought back from Mexico to store his homebrew. He’d crack off the cap and pour a glass for anyone in the room who wanted one, the anticipating smile on his face of someone about to jump into water on a hot afternoon. The beer was fizzy, golden in color, crisp and sometimes a little sour. I’m not sure how a connoisseur would rate it, but if a beer is only as good as the people you share it with, then his was the best. Nothing in a can came close.

During the pandemic I learned, along with the rest of the country, to make sourdough bread, a process that began with an oven fire in the middle of my son’s kindergarten Zoom class. I tried again and failed again and then read an awful lot and eventually learned enough so that now, with just four ingredients—water, flour, sourdough, and salt—I bake two airy loaves for our family every week.

My confidence buoyed by that gateway drug of bread baking, I found myself thinking again about beer, my father-in-law, and my cousin David. I knew what David said was true: I would always be able to buy better beer than I could brew. Perhaps I shouldn’t be asking what I had to offer the world of brewing, though, but rather what the world of brewing had to offer me. After all, do you bother planting a garden when you can buy bigger, juicier vegetables at the farmer’s market? Do you ever string together a few chords on the guitar, knowing you’ll never sell out Madison Square Gardens? Surely, I thought, the process adds value to the product.

So this year I made a resolution to learn. The library books I checked out told me any idiot could do it. If you can make a simple soup, you can make beer. I went to our local brew shop and quickly dropped $100 on supplies including a fermenting bucket, some plastic hose, an airlock, sanitizing solution, and a hydrometer. I paid another $50 for two boxes of old swing-top Grolsch bottles that I found on Craigslist. A friend who had dabbled in zymurgy lent me some other equipment and gave me a copy of Charlie Papazian’s bible of beer: “,”Ìęwhose continual refrain to “Relax. Don’t worry. Have a home brew,” calmed my nerves. Papazian is a former schoolteacher and nuclear engineer who counts among his students the co-founder of New Belgium Brewing Company. His book is almost evangelical in tone. The question isn’t why should you brew beer, it seems to shout, but why would you not?

Like bread, beer is fashioned from four main ingredients: water, malted barley, hops, and yeast. (OK, five, if you count love.) For a homebrewer, though, I learned that what goes into your beer is less important than what doesn’t. If you’re not scrupulous in your procedure and cleanliness, you might accidentally introduce too much oxygen into the beer, or bacterial infections, or wild yeast, all of which can produce off-flavors as diverse as “buttered popcorn,” “cheerios,” and “used band-aids,” according to Papazian.ÌęToo much direct sunlight can render a beer “light-struck,” giving it the flavor of skunk urine, a fact that delighted my children, aged 10 and 7, who wondered if skunk urine, exposed to darkness, would take on the flavor of beer. Hazards lurked around every corner. Duly vigilant, I set to work.

My first batch was out of a beer kit I bought for $35. It was a Kölsch. I like Kölsch. It’s light, refreshing, and very un-band-aid-like. The first steps involved steeping a small bag of malted grain in a big pot of water, like a giant cup of tea. Then I added some hops and the malt extract, which nearly bubbled over into a sticky mess on the stovetop. This was my wort (pronounced wert), a cool new word I planned to use as often as possible. It boiled for an hour, giving our house the steamy, industrial smells of a brewery.

When the batch was almost done, I added a clarifying agent called Irish moss, and more hops for aroma. Then I cooled it, a long process involving an ice bath in our sink. When it was about 68 degrees, I poured it into my five-gallon fermentation bucket and pitched the yeast (cool new verb, check). I attached the airlock to the rubber stopper on the lid, and slid the whole thing into the closet, next to our vacuum cleaner. Within 48 hours I was thrilled to see bubbling in the airlock, proof that the yeast was alive and metabolizing the malt sugars into carbon dioxide and alcohol. I was on my way. Two weeks later, I siphoned it into bottles with a bit of corn sugar for carbonation, and two weeks after that, I gave it a taste. It was
.mediocre. It was much darker than a Kölsch should be, and had a funny aftertaste. Hilly didn’t love it, meaning it was up to me to finish off 37 bottles.

If you’re wondering, yes, 37 bottles take up a lot of space. So does all the other gear. Brew days are time-intensive, often stressful experiences that involve me banging around the house, cleaning buckets and pans in the bathtub and making a mess of our counters with bags of malt extract and packages of hops. Between batches,Ìęmy equipment takes up a not insignificant corner of our garage. I’ve taken to storing the bottles in two giant Styrofoam boxes in my kids’ room, next to a basket of stuffed animals on top of their dresser.

The hobby is mentally intrusive, too. Brewing beer made my self-doubt soar to new heights. I’ve started to worry in words I didn’t even know before. Have I adequately sparged my mash? Has my yeast flocculated? Is my beer properly attenuated? What should I do with the “trub” (troob), that inch-thick layer of yeast sediment at the bottom of the fermenter?

My head swirled late into the night. Call it the brewer’s burden. I’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling. “What are you thinking about?” Hilly would probe.

“Oh, nothing,” I’d say. “I just can’t decide if I should dry hop in secondary.”

Or, sighing in despair after a bad batch had to be poured down the drain: “I just had invested so much time and hope into it.”

“Well, you don’t learn much when everything goes right,” Hilly said cheerfully.

I rolled over, pointedly.

Often, my worries were well-founded. When I over-boiled some corn sugar in a batch of MĂ€rzen, I imbued the wort with the flavor of burnt toast. A quick chemistry lesson on the internet taught me the culprit was a process called the Maillard reaction. The beer was undrinkable. A total loss. But, as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained. When I moved on to a hop-heavy IPA, it came in below my expected alcohol content, which I calculate by measuring the change in density before and after fermentation. But the flavor of the beer was excellent; I’d be happy if I paid good money for it, which, in fact, I did. Next, I brewed a cream ale with flaked oats and cracked corn. The result was crisp and refreshing—the perfect summer backyard beer.

The beers I’m brewing aren’t perfect. They likely never will be. But they’re getting better. They might be getting cheaper, too. After my initial investment, I have what I need in equipment. I’m still using malt extract to brew, and with these recipes the beer costs about the same as it would at the store. When I muster up the courage to try an all-grain batch, it will get a lot less expensive. I still have much to learn, but I have the feeling that I’m going somewhere. Things are looking up. I have even felt a measure of pride in my handiwork.

What’s more, my beer isÌęenvironmentally friendly, in that it’s not being shipped anywhere farther than a friend’s house, and I’m reusing my bottles. It has health benefits, too. A bottle of homebrew has much more suspended yeast than commercial beer. Yeast is rich in vitamin B complex, which helps us metabolize food and maintain fluid levels. This may be why so many homebrewers say they get less of a hangover drinking their brews. So there. Brewing your own beer is better for the earth, and better for your body.

Homebrewing has taught me about physics, biology, math, chemistry, and, yes, beer. It’s also provided this bit of wisdom: if you want your life to expand, it usually has to get more complicated first. I think it’s good for my kids to watch me stumble through learning a new skill, too. Brew days in our house are a family affair. Hilly, an artist, carved a hip woodcut logo for what she thought should be my brand name: Tall Hop. (DM me for merch.) Our seven-year-old, Julian, controls the tap of our fermenter on bottling day and is also chief bottle organizer. Our oldest, Theo, loves the pop when he opens the swing-top bottles, and says things like, “Whoa, look at the head on that.” Both boys are my main morale boosters, too. My first batch was barely bottled before they were telling me I should start a brewery, and that they’d decided to save their lemonade stand money until they could contribute $100 toward my capital. My very own angel investors.

By now, the hobby has taken on its own rhythm in our house. I’m brewing about a batch every month. And it’s easily one of the best parts of the day when Hilly gets home from work, I close my computer and we crack open a cold bottle from the fridge, pour it between two frosted glasses, and play a game of cribbage, just like my father-in-law used to do. At these moments, neither of us is thinking about how much it cost or how long it took. It just feels like life well-spent.

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If you’re doing summer right, you’re on the go hunting swimming holes, hiking new trails, and making the most of the long days and warm weather. Fortunately, eating healthy, even on the move, doesn’t have to be complicated. Becky LaChance, a registered nurse, fitness coach, and nutritionist, says makes a great addition to smoothies and other on-the-go recipes.

Part of Glanbia Performance Nutrition, Isopure features a wide range of products to address all kinds of nutritional needs, with offerings such as Zero/Low Carb Protein Powder, Zero Carb Unflavored Protein Powder, Infusions Protein Powder, and Collagen Powder. Isopure aims for the highest standards of protein, made with simple ingredients—all without sacrificing taste. Isopure products can be found nationwide in specialty and mass retail stores, gyms and fitness centers, and most online retailers. To learn more, visitÌęÌęand follow the brand onÌę,Ìę, andÌę.

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Backpacking is work—fun work, but you still might want a drink when you’re done. A dehydrator isn’t just for meals; it allows for with unexpected ingredients that don’t compromise pack weight. Dehydrate berries and citrus for sunset sangria or limes for margaritas. Experiment with your favorite flavors or try this recipe on your next trip.

Backcountry Old Fashioned

Makes 2 servings

• A few drops of bitters
• 2 sugar cubes
• 4 orange slices
• 4 Bing cherries
• 100 mL bourbon

At home:

1. Add a few drops of bitters to two sugar cubes (enough to saturate but not disintegrate them).
2. Dehydrate the sugar cubes, orange slices, and cherries at 135°F.
3. Pack your cocktail ingredients with two 50-mL nips of bourbon.

At camp: Ìę

1. Divide the ingredients into two cups and add one serving of bourbon to each.
2. Stir vigorously until the sugar mix dissolves, and enjoy.

The post The Secret to a Great Backcountry Cocktail? Your Dehydrator. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

If there’s one thing skiers love almost as much as being on the hill, it’s aprùs-ski. The French term directly translates to “after skiing,” but a loose, and perhaps more accurate, translation is “hitting the chalet for drinks and talking about snow stuff.” It’s an important part of the social scene and camaraderie in snow sports, but like all things, it has experienced some changes over the years. The main takeaway from all that change is that tailgates, folding chairs, and BYOB are just as enjoyable as fireside fondue and extensive craft cocktail lists. These are the new rules of aprùs-ski, and they are making this beloved part of ski culture even better.

1. Now You Can AprĂšs All Day

Welcome to the Tailgate Bar, where the lines are nonexistent and the drinks are a fraction of the price. When you don’t have to plan your day around crowds and happy hour specials, aprĂšs can quickly turn into before, during, and aprĂšs-ski. Another surefire way to boost your aprĂšs quotient: ditch the booze.Ìę

“I have no time for a hangover,” says pro skier and aprĂšs-ski enthusiast Kaylin Richardson. “We came to ski, so let’s ski.”Ìę

Richardson, who happens to love craft beer, has a secret weapon when it comes to her alcohol-free approach to aprùs: . The brand’s nonalcoholic craft beers pack all of the flavor and satisfaction of traditional brews with none of the downsides. Taking it easy on the all-day aprùs means your quads will be the only thing holding you back from skiing first chair all the way to last chair.

2. Skip the AprĂšs-hensionÌę

Everyone who spends time on the slopes knows that coordinating a meetup is more challenging to pull off than sweaty, too-small base layers. You came to the mountains to be in the mountains, not indoors, stressing about overcrowded lodges and trying to track down Kevin, who never answers his phone. But collecting your group doesn’t have to push you to your wits’ end. Skip the social angst, grab a six-pack of , and meet your friends at the one place that always has plenty of space, never requires a reservation, and has an easygoing vibe—your back bumper. Bundle up, show up whenever, and hang easy. Your friends will always know where to find you (even Kevin), and a cold one will always be on hand. After all, reaching the top of Wit’s Peak is no tall task— just crack, sip, and ahhh


3. Ditch the Highbrow SnackageÌę

Gone are the bourgeois days of slopeside oysters, steak tartare, and canned air. Bratwurst cooked on a camp stove is pretty damn tasty and much more affordable. (Although if your tailgate game includes some of the finer things in life, hats off, my friend.) “Gimme some summer sausage, Ritz crackers, and cheddar cheese, and I’m golden,” says Richardson. “Even a deformed PB&J from my pocket is great.”Ìę

Shareable snacks that don’t break the bank are the preferred nosh of the New Age aprĂšs-ski scene. Bonus points if you pack a propane grill and a cooler stocked with enough and brats to go around.Ìę

Tip: pairs well with just about any munchie. It’s a light-bodied craft brew with a citrusy aroma and some spicy notes. Plus, it’s crafted to remove gluten* for all to enjoy.

4. Turn Friendship and Laughter Up a Notch

The aprùs-ski scene facilitates togetherness, laughter, and a chance to hear our friends’ crazy stories from the day. “Aprùs gives us this beautiful bubble, this container of the day,” says advocate and snowboarder Dani Reyes-Acosta. “That container is community. It’s where we can see and feel why we go skiing and riding in the first place.”

So crack open and get ready for another embellished retelling of the most epic cliff drop ever skied. Richardson sums it up best: “Enjoying the company of the people you love, who love the things you love, that’s what aprùs is all about.”

Founded in 2017, is the 13th largest craft brewer in America and the leading producer of nonalcoholic craft beer. Its brews are distributed in all 50 states and available at more than 50,000 retail stores nationwide. Athletic donates up to $2 million annually to protecting and restoring outdoor spaces across the globe via its Two for the Trails program. Athletic Brewing is a Certified B Corp. Its full-flavored near-beers and hop-infused sparkling waters are available on .

*Upside Dawn is fermented from grains containing gluten. The gluten content of this product cannot be verified, and this product may contain gluten.

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The brisk bite of autumn air always adds some pep to my step on my morning runs, but it also puts me in the mood for apples, which are just beginning to tumble off their branches. As we sink into fall, freshly-picked Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, Honeycrisp and more begin popping up everywhere, from farmers’ markets to bakeries to hot apple cider stands. In that vein, ’tis the season to remember one of the world’s most delightful and overlooked spirits, apple brandy, whose golden glow and heady apple perfume makes it the perfect sip on brisk autumn evenings.

Apple spirits are everywhere from New York state to California to the Carolinas; a welcome, trendy drink that becomes even more profound if you know a little bit about its crucial and complicated heritage on this continent. The bitter history that follows makes today’s rich apple spirits all the more sweet.

The Potentially Dangerous History of Apple Jacking

America’s original “favorite drink” was not bourbon or rye like you’d expect, but apple cider. The apple tree was key for settlers who tamed the rugged North American continent. As most people know, Johnny Appleseed was not out distributing seeds of Granny Smiths or Pink Ladies, but rather tart, indigestible apples. Although they don’t sound particularly appealing, these apples were grown to produce cider, a godsend that was safer to drink than water, and both cheap and easy to make . As delicious as they are, typical “eating” apples that we enjoy as snacks make bland cider. Bitter apples may be inedible, but via fermentation and distillation, effuse aromas and flavors vastly more complex and beguiling than anything you’ll ever get from a piece of raw fruit.Ìę

Apple cider is best turned to hard alcohol using a dedicated pot still. But these weren’t common in the early centuries of this country, hence the funny-sounding technique known as jacking. Alcohol freezes at a lower temperature than water, thus, in winter, when cider is allowed to freeze outdoors, chunks of ice can be periodically removed from the vat. This leaves behind a liquid of even more concentrated alcohol.

Alas, the process of apple jacking lacks precision. While the hard spirit in applejack contains methanol, a dangerous chemical (think blindness, kidney failure), is removed during the responsible, modern distillation of today, that wasn’t always the case with jacking. And at the end of the 19th century, the degradations on the health of American drinkers (and general drunkenness) made applejack the major target of the rising temperance movement, whose ascendance led not only to but also to the destruction of of apple orchards, effectively killing the apple spirits industry.

Cider apples never came back. In their place, farmers planted grain—cheaper, quicker to grow, and easier to distill—giving rise to our dominant domestic whiskey industry. The destruction of the American orchard had a cost beyond fruit. Lost too was the cornucopia of genetic material contained in apple trees that had adapted from their European roots to American soils and climates.

The Best Apple BrandyÌę

The original and, in my opinion, best apple brandy is called Calvados, which comes from Normandy in the northwest corner of France. Here, ancient apple (and pear) orchards thrive, and scores of different varieties are blended to create a complex, vivid spirit. Oak aging is key, as unaged apple spirits can be a bit harsh. Allowing a raw apple spirit to mature for years in a barrel, can make the difference between tart, unripe fruit and apple pie. Look for Calvados producers like Adrien Camus, Lemorton, and Roger Groult for examples of addictively good spirits. They still have a little bite, but also the warm, familiar, comforting flavor of baked apple. Longer-aged spirits are more expensive, but also more rich and complex.

Because of the loss of cider trees, a fair bit of American apple brandy comes from eating apples, which makes for a simpler, less exciting spirit. That said, America’s bourgeoning apple brandies are well worth trying. New Jersey’s , dating from 1698 and the oldest continuously run distillery in the country, is still the largest producer. Out west look for wonderful apple brandies from old-school distillers like Oregon’s Clear Creek and California’s St. George Spirits. But all over the country, newer craft distillers are also getting into the game. Black Dirt Distilling, Copper & Kinds, and Neversink from New York’s Hudson Valley make very flavorful stuff. Outfits like Saint Paul Farms from North Carolina are already producing good spirits, but also growing thousands of new, bitter apple trees whose fruit will be perfect for cider. Follow these spirits over the next few years—they will only get better and better.

So, as the weather turns colder and we all become more contemplative, warm yourself up with a little apple brandy and take in not only the beautiful present autumn moment but also the apple’s deep .

How to Drink Apple Brandy

For good quality, I recommend aged Calvados. I love to drink it neat in a little spirits tasting glass, tumbler, or snifter. If it’s over proof or simply tastes too strong, it’s perfectly acceptable to add a splash of water to tame the alcohol.Ìę

Calvados is also great in cocktails or even just mixed with a little soda water or tonic. For a simple, yet delicious fall Calvados cocktail, I might recommend an apple blossom. This version I adapted from the recipe on Difford’s Guide, which is adapted from the version in Trader Vic’s Bartender’s Guide, 1972 edition.Ìę

Apple Blossom Cocktail

IngredientsÌę

• 2 oz Calvados or Apple Brandy
• 1.5 oz Red Vermouth (I prefer Dolin)Ìę
• 2 dashes orange bittersÌę
• 1 dash of saline solution or a tiny pinch of saltÌę

Directions

1. Stir all the ingredients together in a pitcher filled with ice and strain into a chilled cocktails glass.Ìę

The post Apple Brandy Used to be Dangerous. Here’s Why. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

If summer is the season of refreshing drinks by the water, then fall is the seasons of cozy beverages by a bonfire or curled up in a quilted blanket. Whether you’re warming up at home after a long hike or settling in for an evening by the campfire, the perfect beverage pairing is essential. While we’ll never say no to a flask of Knob Creek, mixing it up a little can feel celebratory (and taste delicious).

For outside-the-box recommendations on what to sip this fall, we tapped four food and beverage professionals to get their take on the ideal fall cocktails.

Farm and Fish House Punch

Danny Childs, the bar manager at New Jersey’s Farm and Fisherman Tavern and the mind behind , an Instagram account that chronicles Childs’ constant exploration of the region’s foraged and farmed products, offered an Applejack-centered bourbon and rum punch. This sip should be prepared ahead of time, as the base requires overnight steeping. Oleo-saccharum is made by steeping lemon peels with sugar and spice overnight, or for at least eight hours. It has a strong taste of apple cider vinegar, albeit sweetened with sugar, and can be served hot or cold.

Get the recipe

Ivy Mix’s Fall Cranberry Spritz

Ivy Mix, who runs Leyenda, a pan-Latin bar, and Fiasco Wine and Spirits, both in Brooklyn, offered a cranberry gin spritz that somehow lands both refreshing and cozy, perfect for those still-a-little-warm fall afternoons. This spritz is like a spiced lemonade with a hint of tartness and a lot of cranberry. It’s intentionally low in alcohol, but you can add more gin if desired.

Get the recipe

Fall Espresso Spritz & Mezcal Negroni

Cybille St. Aude-Tate and Omar Tate, the husband and wife team behind Honeysuckle Provisions, a trailblazing culinary concept in Philadelphia, have opposite approaches to the autumn drink. Tate recommends an espresso spritz lightly sweetened with apple cider, which has a bit of caffeine so he can keep up with his kids. This drink mixed unfiltered apple cider with sparkling water so it’s still bubbly but the espresso gives it a nutty, lovely taste. On the other hand, St. Aude-Tate prefers to sip on a mezcal negroni during a rare quiet moment at the end of a busy day. Even though an ice-cold negroni isn’t what most people think of for a cozy fall drink, this classic cocktail is spiced up by using mezcal rather than gin.

Get the recipes here and here

Whatever your needs for a fall-weather drink, we’ve got something to suit your fancy all season long.

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As we dip our toes into fall (or go kicking and screaming), we prepare ourselves for crisp leaves, weather, and beer. There’s no better way to enter the season than taking a long hike and celebrating afterwards with a good brew.ÌęNotice how we said good, not expensive. Sometimes the simple cheap beers are exactly what we need after a tough excursion. Nothing too heavy or fancy, but a faithful beverage you can count on for exactly what it is – cheap and tasty.Ìę

“Cheap” means something different for everyone, so for the sake of our rankings, we capped the price of these picks at $10 and under per six pack.Ìę

, $5.99

One of the best things about this American lager is that you can drink a few without feeling too full or bloated. Rolling Rock is a cheap beer that doesn’t have a ton of bitterness and is light with a subtly sweet aftertaste – nothing bold or loud about the flavor. It’s also refreshing, which is great after trudging up and down mountains all afternoon.Ìę

, $6.99Ìę

If you want a pop of flavor – and nostalgia – to wake you up after your hike, an old-fashioned Schiltz might be a good choice. This cheap beer is considered by many fans as a meal drink, best enjoyed with a burger or some other savory meat to cut the citrusy tones. The one downside is that Schiltz can be hard to find (curses!) so scoop it off grocery shelves where you can.Ìę

, $7.99

This lager has an even balance of bitter and tart, making it extremely chuggable while not overpowering. The clean finish and light body make Montucky a crisp, snackable beer that doesn’t fill you up. Plus, the beverage company donates 8% of their regional distribution profits back to local charities, so you can feel good cracking a second one.Ìę

Our Editor’s PicksÌę

$9.99Ìę

“I sipped these cheap beers throughout my first summer living in Tennessee and was constantly asked what my little yellow can was. It’s technically a pilsner, but the Tiny Bomb has a surprising, subtle sweet note underneath notes of malt and wildflower honey.” – Mallory Arnold, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű associate editorÌę

, $6.27

“I once arrived to an Airbnb on Cape Cod after a sweltering 6-hour journey from NYC and found a six pack of High Life in the refrigerator. Anything cold and beer flavored would have tasted good at that point, but it tasted better than good at the time. I got the same AirBnB for the next two summers and found a much needed six pack of High Life in the fridge both times. I’m a long way from the cape these days but whenever I want a taste I can get it literally anywhere that sells beer.” șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű editor

, $9.99

“You don’t have to be a golfer to appreciate an ice cold light beer after working up a thirst outdoors. I reach for this cream ale from Back Forty Beer Co. in Birmingham, AL. Pulled from an icy cooler, it is light and smooth with just enough bitter bite to remind you that you’re drinking a craft beer. It’s perfect after an afternoon adventure straight from the can.” – Mary-Frances Heck, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű senior brand director

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Yeti is releasing the ($60) this fall. So, of course we had to get our hands on one to test. The Rambler is made with stainless steel, has double-wall insulation, and is described as nearly indestructible. If that sounds familiar, it’s because the shaker is quite simply a Yeti tumbler with a new cobbler shaker lid. The lid is compatible with other Yeti cups with the same diameter lip, and the shaker lid is sold separately for $25 if you already have a cabinet full of Ramblers.

Though it’s handy to pop the lid on whatever Yeti cup you have, this shaker reminds us of Mason jar shakers and other retro-fitted mixers that don’t necessarily reinvent the wheel. In our experience, however, Yeti doesn’t typically release products that don’t prove to be extremely tough, useful, or both, so we were game to test it out.Ìę

Why a Cocktail Shaker?

Bartenders and cocktail geeks are obsessed with the finer points of barware, and I can think of no item that is more talked about or controversial than the shaker. Most bartenders swear by a Boston shaker, essentially two tins (or, gasp, a tin, and a pint glass) that fit together, creating an open space for the ingredients and ice to build lots of momentum between smashes at either end. Alternatively, a Cobbler shaker is a three-piece style found on most home bars and consists of a base tin, a sloped centerpiece containing a perforated strainer, and a small, sometimes-shot-size cap.

Not all cocktails need to be shaken (I’m looking at you, James Bond) but cocktail canonÌę dictates that drinks containing fruit juice, especially citrus juice, must be shaken. Shaking cocktails emulsified their ingredients for a rich, slightly creamy mouthfeel, extra-cold serving temperature, and perfect dilution. When the ingredients and ice knock back and forth against the metal tin, small pieces of ice break off and chill the drink as they melt, diluting strong liquor and sharp citrus juice into something beautifully delicious.ÌęÌę

Oftentimes, cocktail recipe directions will say to shake “until the outside of the shaker is frosty.” However, this isn’t really a good indicator of when a drink is ready because the metal walls of cocktail shakers vary in thickness and insulation.Ìę

If you’d asked me last week or last year about my favorite cocktail shaker, it was hands down the . First introduced to me by Food & Wine’s Executive Wine Editor when I oversaw testing for the magazine, and at the stunning price of $468, I can promise it looks incredible on a bar and mixes a very impressive drink. And it is out of reach for nearly everyone I know.Ìę

Yeti’s $60 cocktail shaker isn’t cheap, so I figured there was only one way to see if it was worth the price: a proper cocktail duel with the Match pewter shaker.Ìę

Putting the Yeti Rambler to the Test

The cocktail: Tommy’s Margarita (2 parts tequila: 1 part lime juice: 1 part agave syrup)

The ice: Cubes from my refrigerator’s ice maker

The rubric: Shake for 30 seconds, strain, measure for volume as an indicator of dilution and temperature. Finally, taste (somebody’s gotta do it).

Results

Dilution: Tied. The drinks poured out at identical volumes, with fewer small micro chips of ice on the surface of the Maker, indicating the ice stayed in bigger pieces and/or didn’t make it through the built-in strainer. There were more visible ice chips, and also more creamy, foamy swirl on the Yeti-shaken drink.

Temperature: Yeti. I used my trusty kitchen thermometer to temp each drink at the bottom of the glass, away from any ice chips floating on the top. It clocked the Maker margarita at 37 degrees Fahrenheit, which is how cold I keep my fridge, AKA “beer temp.” The Yeti got the marg down to 35 degrees and was noticeably colder on first sip.

Flavor: Yeti. While the drink ingredients, number of ice cubes, duration of shake, and glassware were identical, the colder temperature and creamier texture of the Yeti-shaken drink made the drink taste more refreshing and ultimately more delicious.

The takeaway: Yeti’s cocktail shaker is uniquely good at shaking up incredibly cold drinks thanks to the rock-hard metal that obliterates shaken ice cubes and insulated walls that keep the drink near freezing temps. If you already own a Rambler tumbler, the $25 shaker lid is a nice upgrade and the set would make a great gift, though it might look a little sporty on a beautifully curated home bar. But if you’re like us, you’d rather take cocktail hour outside anyway.

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I used to be a coffee gal. Every morning, rain or shine, I started the day with a large mug of dark roast, no cream or sugar. My coffee ritual was less about drinking it and more about chugging it as quickly as I could without burning my tongue – a skill I’m honestly quite proud of mastering. Then I’d repeat the process two or three more times throughout the day. At the worst point of my caffeine obsession, it was tough to get through the day without my required 285 mg of caffeine. And even then, I felt like crashing by 5 p.m.

One weekend, my dear old Dad came to town and brought his powdered matcha. He’s been a matcha fanatic for years, and doesn’t go anywhere without it. When he started drinking it way back when, I was floored. This was a guy who used to drink copious amounts of Mountain Dew when I was growing up. I guess he switched to a different can of green caffeine.Ìę

While he was visiting, I snuck a cup. It was bitter, but not like coffee. Honestly, it sort of tasted like dirt and grass. But I decided then and there that I was going to try – for one month – to swap coffee with matcha tea. If my Dad could do it, I could.Ìę

What is Matcha?

Matcha is a type of tea leaf that grows from the same plant as other green tea varieties – Camellia sinensis – but matcha leaves spend a chunk of their lifespan in the shade. Around four weeks before harvesting, matcha plants are covered with tarps to prevent further photosynthesis. This creates a buildup of chlorophyll in the leaves and increases amino acids, resulting in a subtly sweeter and more nutrient-dense tea.

Most high-quality matcha grows in Japan.

“Japan has a long-standing history of producing matcha,” says tea master . “Though green tea originated in China, Japan created the harvesting and manufacturing process of matcha powder as we know it today. They are true experts in their field.”

Ye adds that she’s sampled many different matcha teas from Japan, China, and South Korea, but she believes that Uji, Kyoto has the best tasting matcha.ÌęÌę

Like Coffee, Quality Matcha is Worth the Price

While there was an abundance of matcha on the market to choose from (and you’ll see I tried a few others at the end of the article), I opted to start with , described as a rich, full-force tea. I picked this brand not only because of the endless praise from tea drinkers online, but because the flagship store in Kyoto, Japan, has been in business for 300 years. For 1.41 oz., I paid $31. I flinched at the price, but, nevertheless, bit the bullet for quality.

“A good, high-quality matcha will always be a rich, green green color and consists of purely the first harvested leaves of the season,” Ye says. “These are plucked first in May, depending on the harvest time, from the very top leaves. These leaves are reserved for ceremonial grade matcha – matcha that has traditionally been used in tea ceremonies.”

Chieko Yamamoto, president and CEO of , says, “Matcha tea leaves are only harvested three or four times a year,” she says. “And then after that, the trees rest. The matcha produced by the first harvest is of the highest quality.”

She also adds that high-quality matcha doesn’t taste bitter and should have a smooth flavor with rich umami.Ìę

“Lower grade of matcha has more catechins, so it often has a bitter taste,” she says. “It depends on how each person prefers their matcha, though. If they want to mix it with other ingredients, the bitterness sometimes gives a kick to the total flavor balance.”

Week One: A Caffeine Roller Coaster

To make sure I knew what I was getting into when making the switch from coffee to matcha, I had on speed dial. And thank goodness I did. The number one thing Ravella warned me about was the side effects of drastically lowering my daily caffeine consumption. On average, one cup of matcha contains 70mg of caffeine, compared to coffee’s 95-100mg.

“It’s best to decrease your coffee intake slowly. Trying switching to half-decaf and then full decaf first,” Ravella says. “Withdrawal symptoms can begin even after a half-day and include issues like headaches, fatigue, muscle pain, and irritability.”

So from June 1-3, I drank half-decaf, and then full decaf coffee. I found myself wanting to go to bed at 4 p.m. and being extremely grumpy. But by the time I started drinking solely matcha, I was almost too excited to have caffeine back in my life to notice any of the side effects.Ìę

My first cup of matcha was somewhat of a bust. Desperate for energy and wanting to make the drink as quickly as possible, I didn’t follow the directions on the back of the tiny canister, which was very specific that matcha is to be whisked in a small concentrated amount, then hot water is poured on top, and whisked again. Instead, I plopped a teaspoon into a mug of hot water and stirred with a spoon. This resulted in me drinking clumps of bitter powder for the next fifteen minutes, staining my teeth and having an overall terrible experience.Ìę

How to make matcha the right way by whisking it properly with a matcha whisk

Week Two: The Ritual of Making Matcha

I really wanted to get the most out of this month-long experiment and enjoy the ritual of matcha as much as my Dad. I did some research and realized matcha took a little bit of time to make and there were no shortcuts. I was so used to leaping out of bed and grabbing a cup of joe from our coffee pot – programmed to brew right before waking up so that it was hot and ready – that I didn’t consider matcha would have a different process.

Week two, I started off on the right foot by following the correct procedures:

1. 1. Sifting. You must, must, must sift your matcha into a mug or bowl before doing anything. Matcha, as I found out the hard way, clumps easily, so this will allow for more even distribution in hot water.Ìę
   2. Whisking. I purchased a simple, cheap whisk on Amazon for this next bit. Pour the sifted matcha into a small amount of hot water – not the full 6 oz. yet. To whisk matcha, to so from side to side rather than in a circular motion. I discovered, with a little victory dance in the middle of my kitchen, that when done properly, whisking will produce a soft layer of foam on top.
   3. Top it off. Pour the rest of your hot water over the concentrated matcha and whisk again.Ìę

Overall, the process took a painstaking six or seven minutes, which only heightened the ‘on-edge’ feeling I had from my lack of caffeine. However, as much as I hated to admit it, the second week I didn’t experience any extreme fatigue. Sure, my patience and temper was a little thin, but there were no crashes. founder explained.

“Coffee provides a quick energy boost, while matcha improves your energy levels more slowly,” she says. “It has L-theanine, a green tea amino acid that can . So it helps you feel more alert and relaxed with less chance of those caffeine jitters.”

Now that I knew how to make it properly, I found I really enjoyed matcha’s earthy flavors. It wasn’t exactly bitter, as many people described, but almost sweet underneath layers of concentrated green tea flavor. It felt more hearty compared to green tea bags I’d steeped before, with tons more flavor.

Week Three: Caffeine Withdrawal No More

This week, I started enjoying the matcha-making process. It forced me to slow down in the morning and do something with my hands first thing. I clicked on my favorite news podcast, and took extra time to sift, whisk, and stir my mugful. Suddenly it wasn’t about swallowing my morning drink in one gulp, because why would I do that when I took so much time to make it?Ìę

By now, I wasn’t experiencing any ill side effects of caffeine withdrawal. In fact, I didn’t miss coffee at all. The biggest physical difference I felt was how even my energy levels were throughout the day, compared to the highs and lows I felt with my daily dark roast. There were also benefits I couldn’t feel, but Ravella explained I’d appreciate in the long run.

“Like all green teas, matcha is loaded with catechins (which are polyphenols) like epigallocatechin gallate (EGCG), which may reduce inflammation in the body,” she says. “Matcha can help to prevent cancers, including prostate cancer, and heart disease. It can reduce headaches and digestive symptoms, help to promote weight loss, and improve brain function.”

Week Four (The Final Week): Never Going Back to Coffee

Toward the end of the month, I realized that my was just as proficient as distributing matcha into hot water as my whisk was, and it took half the time. While I still occasionally took out trusty old whisky, I used the frother when time was tight.Ìę

The last week of my experiment, I was not only comfortable with the swap, I was excited about matcha! I started to test out different varieties, first visiting the in Nashville to buy a matcha that the store clerk recommended called Shirakawa Uji Hikari Matcha. I then went online and ordered Ceremonial Blend Matcha, a blend a friend recommended. For good measure, I bought the matcha everyone talks about on TikTok, .Ìę

Each one tasted slightly differently, which, Ye explains, is due to the matcha plant’s growing region.

“We compare matcha to wine tasting,” she says. “We understand with wines, they have different taste profiles depending on the region. This is very much so with matcha. Different methods of farming and processing affect the flavors as well as the altitude.”

Below are my thoughts on each matcha variety.

Price: $35.95 for 40g

Ingredients: Kyoto Prefecture matcha blend

Notes: Kyoto grows high-quality matcha because of the misty climate, rich soil, and balance of rain and sun.Ìę

My thoughts: This matcha,was a perfect introduction to what matcha is supposed to taste like. It had a full, robust flavor that was almost – almost – sweet. It was one of the strongest flavored matchas in the bunch.

Price: $38.00 for 40g

Ingredients: Uji-hikari matchaÌę

Notes: Shirakawa, a zone located in Uji, Japan, is famous for its gyokuro production (a variety of shaded green tea), but has become an up-and-coming matcha producer for the last few years. Tea leaves are handpicked from unpruned tea plants.

My thoughts: This was a more mellow matcha, though I still enjoyed the subtle notes of citrus. The fruity undertones pleasantly surprised me and seemed to linger on my tongue longer than the other varieties.Ìę

Price: Was $17.99, but on sale for $15.99 for 2 oz.

Ingredients: Powdered green tea leaf blend

Notes: This blend is mostly ceremonial grade (high quality), but mixes in culinary matcha (lower quality and often used for baking) so that it’s a less concentrated beginner matcha. It was suggested I add frothed milk with this blend.

My thoughts: After buying expensive matchas, I thought I’d try a less expensive variety with Ujido. I frothed some warm oat milk, poured it on top, and added a drizzle of agave to create a matcha latte. This was delicious, but I lost that earthy umami flavor I loved with matcha.ÌęÌę

Price: $22 for 1.0 oz

Ingredients: Organic Japanese tencha leaves

Notes: Social media influencer and fashion enthusiast Emma Chamberlain developed her company, Chamberlain Coffee in 2020, making this the newest matcha on my list. It’s also certified organic by.

My thoughts: While I wasn’t expecting a lot after trying matcha made from practically ancient tea businesses, I enjoyed Chamberlain Matcha’s smooth flavor. The only problem I had was the lack of information about where and how the matcha was grown. The other varieties I tested could trace its roots to a specific region in Japan, whereas there’s not a lot of background with Chamberlain Matcha.Ìę

Should You Switch from Coffee to Matcha?

Lots of people might be wondering if making the switch from coffee to matcha is for them, and the answer is
 Maybe. Caffeine intake is personal and can be different for everyone. Some people have digestive issues after drinking matcha, as the catechins can temporarily upset the lining in our stomach. It’s also worth noting that, if you’re not used to drinking caffeine, matcha will make you just as jittery and anxious as a regular cup of coffee.

As for me? I haven’t had a cup of coffee since June 1, and I don’t plan on going back anytime soon. I’m not a coffee hater, but since ditching my three cups a day, I feel matcha better.Ìę

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Think about the most rewarding experiences you’ve had outdoors, the ones when you had to dig deep and fight for every mile: that rocky summit scramble, stormy hike, or sweltering bike ride. As conventional wisdom goes, the tougher the adventure, the sweeter the payoff. And it’s not some empty bromide meant to make you feel better about suffering. Psychological research demonstrates that struggle is over time. When you push yourself, you. Thus adversity has the power to make you stronger, bolder, and better able to unlock your true potential.

With wines, it’s much the same. Steep slopes and challenging growing conditions create beneficial stress, forcing vines to work harder and develop more character. The result is a wine with deep, complex flavor—not to mention a pretty heroic backstory. That’s why harnesses the power of nature, making wines that pair perfectly with an adventurous spirit.ÌęÌęÌęÌę

3 Reasons Wine Is the Best Post-șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Drink

Toasting the end of a long day outdoors is a beloved ritual. It’s about celebrating the good things and acknowledging the bad. It’s about beginnings, endings, and hopes for the future. So it only makes sense that your choice of drink should reflect your values and adventure philosophy. Through that lens, , which invites seemingly hostile vineyard conditions to bring out the best of each vine, quickly emerges as the best choice.ÌęÌę

1. Wine Grapes Thrive in Challenging Conditions, Just Like You

Most alcoholic beverages are distilled from grains, which require pretty cushy conditions (rich soil, flat ground, and mild temperatures). Wine grapes, on the other hand, are versatile. They can adapt to their surroundings. Give them fertile soil and plenty of sun and rain, and they’ll grow simple root systems, thick foliage, and fat, water-filled fruits. Stick them on dry, rocky slopes where water is scarce, or inhospitable locations lashed by wind and fog, and they’ll transform. The best coaches don’t coddle you; they make you push harder to reach your full potential. With more stress, the vines expend more energy to survive, undergoing a beneficial level of struggle, forcing the plant to get scrappy, fighting for moisture and nutrients. When it’s in survival mode, the vine diverts resources into the grapes, ensuring that the resulting fruit yields complex and flavorful wine.

2. Good Wine Imparts a Deep Sense of Place

We’re all shaped by the landscapes we explore. It’s often easy to distinguish a climber from a cyclist at a glance, or a swimmer from a distance runner. Likewise, a wine’s flavor is a direct reflection of the terrain, sun, and rain it lives in—yet another reason to feel a kinship to wines from Juggernaut.ÌęÌę

3. Wine Is Easy to Pack

Unlike carbonated beverages, wine is easy to repackage and store. It offers a great ratio of alcohol and flavor to volume—which means it’s not too heavy, and it’s not too potent. It’s also easy to drink with a variety of foods and in a variety of settings. Pack a chilled chardonnay into an insulated bottle for your campfire after a rewarding desert hike, or enjoy a red in the lodge after an epic powder day. Wine always pairs well with tired muscles, belly laughs, and tall tales at the end of the day’s accomplishments.

The Best șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Wines

Myriad grape varieties are grown in diverse climates around the world, and not every winemaker pays meticulous attention to identifying the ideal location for each specific varietal. Many choose to plant vines where they will thrive and produce the maximum tonnage of grapes each season. That means not all wine grapes are grown in the best place for them to reach their true potential.

Juggernaut, however, puts terroir front and center. A premium California winemaker, Juggernaut seeks out vineyards with growing conditions that challenge the vines and bring out their strongest flavors.Ìę

The is a case in point. Grown on hillside vineyards in premium California growing regions, these cabernet vines have to survive in nutrient-scarce, well-draining soils where they have to dig deep and fight for every drop of moisture and every inch of purchase. As a result, their grapes are small but intense and bursting with complex flavors. (Think: anise and black currant, with a rich, velvety feel.)Ìę

ŽłłÜȔȔ±đ°ùČÔČčłÜłÙ’s is also a solid bet. Grown amid the foggy weather and dry soil of Northern California’s Russian River valley, this red balances graceful notes of cherry and vanilla within a powerful oaky finish.ÌęÌę

If you’re more into whites, try the Juggernaut . These grapes reach their peak potential thanks to the rugged California coast, where they’re constantly buffeted by fog and cool winds. But year after year, they prove their resiliency, turning meager sunlight and nutrients into a bright, balanced wine. This chardonnay features flavors of vanilla, apple, and pear—which makes it perfect for toasting on summer nights.Ìę

Now go find a challenge out there and after a day of adventure, raise a glass to reward your determination and accomplishments.

Juggernaut Wines believes that overcoming challenges builds character, for both people and grapevines. Founded in 2018, Juggernaut Wines grows grapes in extreme conditions to create wines of untamed character and unrestrained complexity. Juggernaut Wines harness the power of nature to produce wines as expressive as the powerful alpha-predators adorning the labels. Visit.

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