If I could only choose one . . . .

beer to have, it might well be Budvar (labelled “Czechvar” in the U.S. due to ongoing disputes with Anheuser-Busch – though the latter recently entered into an agreement to distribute Budvar in the U.S.). Sure I love beers of all styles and strengths and origins, but nothing puts a smile on my face, and stirs my soul like an on-form Budvar.

And there’s the rub. It comes all the way to us from the fine folks in the Czech Republic, and is most commonly seen in six packs of the dreaded green bottles. Therefore, caution must be used in purchasing it to avoid the two dread of many imported beers – oxidation due to old age, and skunkiness due to exposure to light. Both can ruin a beer, particularly one that relies on subtlety and balance to work its magic, like Budvar.

Avoiding old age with Budvar is easy – each bottle in the six pack (don’t see the 500 ml bottles in these parts, so I don’t know how/if they’re dated) has a “best by” date on the back that’s dated a year out from packaging. The current lot I’m working on is best by 10/2007. The fresher the beer, the snappier the Saaz hop notes are in the aroma, and livelier the bitterness is on the palate. As it ages, the hops and malt engage in an amazing marriage where neither sticks out, but both are in an incredible state of balance – truly a seamless whole.

Avoiding skunkiness takes a bit more work – you can’t just pluck a six pack off the shelf. You need to either – take a six pack from an otherwise closed case (most good retailers I’ve met will be more than happy to accommodate), or, better yet, buy a whole, never-before-opened case. This is what I do. And I take the extra step of buying it from retailers who keep their full cases cold as well, to minimize the ill effects that heat can have on the beer (not much you can do about whatever abuse is dealt out in transit from the Czech Republic, nor any ill deeds the distributor may impose). Thankfully, taking these few precautionary steps results in Budvar that’s in excellent shape for me.

So what does it taste like when it’s good? Here is a datapoint from me, realizing that each batch, or bottle may be a little different, and that our own palates change from day to day due to myriad influences:

Deep gold, more than two or three fractions darker than most Czech pils. Bright white head, that never seems to stay around that long.

Nose is deep, soft, sweet crackery maltiness perfectly mixed with spicy slightly grassy Saaz. Tiniest touch of sulphur. So simple, yet so compelling. Utterly irresistable to this drinker.

Full side of medium in the mouth, with a slight sweetness leading the way. This quickly gives way to a rich, soft maltiness. The spicy hop flavor comes on in the mid-palate, seamlessly blending with the malt. Incredibly long finish that gently sees the hops move to the fore, and it is their bitterness that ultimately ends things. Sheer perfection.

Mouthfeel is so soft – the beer glides into every nook and cranny. I could easily accidentally drown myself in this one, and all I’d have is a big stupid grin on my face. God beer when it’s on. On a beautiful warm Spring night, four of these went down like liquid satin.

My undying thanks to the people of the Czech Republic who have resolutely maintained this brewery as a public entity owned by the Republic, refusing offer after offer from the Global brewing big boys, and stuck to methods of production that might be forced to change if profit were the sole motive. Na Zdraví!