I’ll be up front before this even gets going. I kind of enjoy a Samuel Adams Boston Lager every now and then. My older friends who guided me into a love of fine beer would probably turn their noses up when offered a bottle, but they’re not here and I think I’ve come far enough to know what I like and what I don’t. Even though it’s more of an American standard than I normally go for, there’s a distinct flavor to it and I’m not ashamed to be seen with it like I would be a more standard domestic. Sure it’s not the cheapest beer on the shelf, but one can sense a commitment to quality in the wide variety of brews this company distributes.
That being said, it’s never my first choice when browsing the selection at my local beer store. I think there’s an interesting reason for this, though. I never feel the urge to pick up a six pack of Sam Adams Boston Lager because I always know I’ll wind up at a restaurant or a bar with a crummy beer selection. You know the drill, the kind of place that for some ungodly reason has a draft selection consisting of the most boring beers known to mankind. But for some reason they’ll probably have Sam Adams, at least in bottles in the refrigerator behind the bar. So I wait it out for those moments, and usually I’m satisfied. So long as old Sam and I have not hung out for a few weeks or months, we usually get along swimmingly. It’s a tried and true system that has yet to let me down.
I appreciate their bottling system because it’s always easy to tell whether the beer is fresh. Some companies these days get all cryptic and make you feel like you’ve got to do a math equation to discover when the beer was born. With Samuel Adams it’s right in front you, notched in the label. The alcohol content isn’t amazing, but at 4.75% I’ve seen worse. It’s balance and flavorful lager at the end of the day. It’s got some toasty malts, a hint of sweetness, and just the right amount of bitterness to keep me coming back when I can’t find anything from a smaller brewery to satisfy my specific need.
