Olde School Barleywine - Beer with an identity crisis

There are an estimated gabillion beer styles on this planet.

Part of the fun of being a true beer fan involves the desire to try every style that’s out there, even if it means having to take a few risks. At best, you discover a new province in the world of beers. At worst, you suffer through the dreaded ordeal of the sink-pour (bad form, Smee…bad form).

For this week’s Exceptional Brew, I’m stepping outside of my comfort zone – I decided to try a style of beer that is completely alien to me, and one that many beer freaks might not be too familiar with: the barleywine.

Barleywine? Even the name “barleywine” is troublesome. So, is it wine? If it’s wine, did someone add barley to it? Or is barley used in place of fruit? The combination of wine and barley sounds disgusting.

I can assure you this: my pick for this week, Olde School Barleywine from Dogfish Head Brewery in Milton, DE, is NOT disgusting.

But it is the most puzzling brew I’ve ever had, and even as of this writing, I’m not completely sure of how to rank it.

Olde School may be a high-quality beer, but it has some issues. Mental issues.

Well, first, some background. Barleywine is not wine – it is a type of ale, originating in England, and has a stupidly high amount of alcohol.

To balance the dominant alcoholic bite that comes from a strong beer, brewers use super-sweet malts and tamer hops, which can often mimic fruit flavors and create a beer that is an awful lot like wine.

Most barleywines range from about 8.5 to 12 awesomeness-by-volume, or ABV. Your everyday beer averages at about 4-5 percent, while your average wine is around 12-14 percent.

Olde School boasts a 15 percent ABV.

See? Mental issues.

Upon opening the nifty 12 oz. bottle (pictured), I immediately smelled the near-noxious sweet fumes sneaking out of the bottle.


This is way fruity – raisins, grapes, plums, prunes, and apple cider – and the alcohol. I can actually smell the alcohol in this beer. Awesome.

Olde School is actually fermented with dates and figs, which explains the major fruitiness and makes me question why it’s so ashamed of being…well…a beer.

I poured Olde School into a pint glass and marveled at the thick, cidery body, and the fizzy golden amber color. The boozy fruit smell is almost intoxicating on its own.

And the taste…this is definitely unlike any beer I’ve ever had. It overwhelmed my mouth, and it took a while for my tastebuds to get accustomed to this new discovery. This barleywine is far from a beverage you can slug down on a hot day.

Olde School demands you sip it. It demands you take note of its syrupy sweetness, its raisiny tartness and the notable warmth you feel in your gullet after you swallow. It also demands you talk about whether or not Stockhausen was directly or indirectly influenced by Stravinsky.

This is freakin’ wine.

Is this a bad thing? I’m definitely not a wine enthusiast, but I do like a good glass of wine. I like to think of Olde School as a gateway beer, for those who are totally into the wine thing, but stay away from what they might perceive as the cheapness and non-complexity of beer.

I don’t know what to say about the malt presence in this brew – the fruit destroys any of it that I could possibly taste.

The hops are very subtle, but they rear their head once the beer sits on your tongue for a while, and especially when it starts warming to room temperature.

One other neat thing about this beer: the longer it sits out, the more complexity it throws at you. It actually becomes easier to drink and is more enjoyable. Let’s see Budweiser pull off a feat like that. But I guess Budweiser is beer.

And Olde School is freakin’ wine.

But aside from this beer’s obvious identity crisis, I found it a refreshing change of pace. This is for those of you who like your beers to be manly and muscular, with a saccharine sweetness to boot.

Oh, and with its ridiculous 15 percent ABV, one bottle of Olde School is enough to keep you from driving (legally). Enjoy it on those nights when you can’t decide whether to have a glass of beer, a snifter of merlot, or a shot of vodka.

Olde School is amazingly complex, uber-sweet, unabashedly alcoholic and completely boggles my mind.

I’m impressed.