I’ve come to expect very little from Scottish ales. They tend to be overly malted and funky-sweet, like a batch of Old English gone wrong. Fearless’ aroma had me fooled too, with its typical malt heaviness, but everything changed the moment liquid touched tongue. Strange, it was like tasting something from another planet, with a delay while my brain processed the complex and completely unexpected flavors. I scrambled to comprehend the information sent forth from my palette: vanilla sugar—though not overly sweet, a vague oaky nuttiness, delicate malt balancing upon moist tendrils of buttery smooth gold—but there was more. I tasted an indefinable “fresh” flavor, like river waters passing over gleaming rocks. Then I realized it was actually brewed from water collected from the Clackamas River and it all made sense. On the can it reads, “Brewed just for you by Ken Johnson.” I can only assume that Ken Johnson did in fact brew this beer for me, placing it on the shelf where I would discover it and later consume on my patio, falling in love once again with my liquid ladylove. Thank you, Ken.
Learn more at: http://www.fearless1.com/