Heady Topper, A Love Story
You always remember your first.
There are seminal moments in your life that are marked almost entirely by their newness: your first kiss, your first love, your first car. I remember all those things, and I’m lucky enough to believe I have fond memories affixed to them because of their quality in addition to their novelty.
While I consider myself a borderline early adopter to the craft beer scene, I was a late bloomer where a similar experience in my beer-life is concerned. This is not to say I didn’t enjoy my roaring twenties:
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I savored the malty sweetness of the Dogfish Head 90 minute IPA.
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I reveled in the unforgiving arrogance of one Stone after another.
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I stocked Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale for the entirety of December, sometimes to the exclusion of all else.
But until last year I didn’t appreciate that the game I had been playing was an easy one. These beers, as good as they were, could be obtained anywhere. At the time, Heady Topper was the name of an obscure phenomenon, something mentioned in passing by friends who spent time in Vermont. Having never tried it, I waved away their insistence that this was the greatest and one of the most sought-after beers in the country.
Eventually, I started doing some more serious beer research (thank you, Beeradvocate) and discovered two simple things: 1) there were hundreds of amazing beers out there that I had never heard of and 2) Heady Topper was at the top of the list. When a coworker mentioned that he planned on bringing some of the coveted microbrew back from a weekend visit to VT, I made sure I would be in the office.
My first impression, beyond the glamour of Alchemist-silver, was that this sleek can contained an incredible amount of hop power! This was a great IPA: a thunderhead of hop flavor with a creamy backend. Was it the best beer I ever had? I wasn't ready to make that kind of commitment. But you could have claimed it the top of the ladder and I wouldn’t have argued. After my 2nd or 3rd Heady, I was a converted advocate and proud member of the flock, preaching to all the uninitiated about the glory of the white whale.
Time passed. What started as a trickle became a flood; by expanding my consciousness to include recognition of this beer, I somehow found myself in a position to obtain it at an above-average rate. I was happy. We were happy.
During this lucky influx of Heady, I shared a can with my compadre and fellow beer hunter Sage, and unlocked something in him. A man who had formerly gravitated to brown ales and stouts was suddenly awakened to the possibilities of what a complex IPA could accomplish.
Not long after, we started our beer quest in earnest by expanding our search to local (and national) favorites like Jack’s Abby, Night Shift, Tree House and Trillium, and searching out top-rated beers from up-and-coming breweries like Singlecut in Brooklyn.
Though the love I felt upon first (or second) sip is still there, I can admit there are beers I like more than Heady. To name a few: Heavy Mettle and Mosaic Dry Hopped Fort Point Ale by Trillium, Green and Bright by Tree House, Goose Island Bourbon County Stout, and possibly Jai Alai by Cigar City Brewing (dark horse pick).
At the center of this entire odyssey there is one constant: much like your first love, Heady provides the template against which all others are judged. In this day of brewery microbursts and people jockeying to claim the next big beer, that’s saying quite a bit.
