Hat Trick

Many thanks to the folks up at Magic Hat Brewing Company, who may or may not have thumbed their Vermont noses at Tennessee liquor laws by shipping a couple of bottles of #9 ale to the Scene. Maybe we shouldn't have taken receipt of the package, but how were we to know the plain-brown box contained such boozy contraband? Hell, it wasn't even addressed to us. So now we've got the USPS on our asses too.

In any case, we cracked open the bottles in the newsroom, and as the fruity aroma of apricots mingled with the virtual stench of blog ink, a couple of reporters swooned with recent olfactory memories of Bonnaroo, where, apparently, the #9—along with Magic Hat's Circus Boy and Lucky Kat—was pouring like the sweat running down an aging hippie's bra-less cleavage.

We may not have been in the emerald hills of Manchester, Tenn., but we did start drinking at 10:30 a.m., and our taste-test did have a hint of festival merriment—that is, if you were at a festival of cubicles, stale coffee and outdated Dell computers that lasted from approximately 10:30 to 10:42 a.m. In that qualified carnival atmosphere, our taste-testers made the following observations:

“It's really fruity—maybe too fruity for me.”
“But it would be a great beach beer.”
“Dude, it's from Vermont.”
“I got some dish-washing liquid, right before the finish.”
“Yes, soap. Me too, but it's not bad.”
“It's no gateway drug. I mean, don't really like beer, and this is not the one that's going to win me over.”
“Yeah, It's no Boone's Farm.”

So it is in the opinion of the Nashville Scene tasters that Magic Hat #9 is our favorite beach beer from Vermont that doubles as a spring-scented non-abrasive detergent.

You can try it yourself at the concession stand of the Belcourt Theatre. The only local theater to serve beer with Bergman, the Belcourt began offering Magic Hat #9 this week.

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