"Good People Drink....Grolsch?" Really, Dr. Thompson?

February 20th marks five years since the death of Hunter S. Thompson.

Each year, as the Super Bowl approaches, occurs, then recedes into faded memory, I find myself giving a thought or two to the train wreck that was Hunter S. Thompson. This year, I’ve just finished reading the book Gonzo by Jann Wenner and some other dude whose name escapes me at the moment. Evidently, Thompson’s widow was not too happy with the book but I have to think it must be a pretty honest appraisal of the nutty Doctor since it includes dozens of recollections from his son Juan. Bottom line: Old HST was a lot of fun when he wanted to be, but damn he was a turd a fair share of the time, too. (Gosh, what middle-aged man hasn't said that about his own father a time or two.)

For those of you wanting to see last year’s screed on Doctor Thompson and a special beer dedicated to his good name and questionable legacy, click HERE!

In addition to knocking Hunter Thompson down a peg or two in my estimation, the book Gonzo also revealed what were, supposedly, Thompson’s favorite beers. Oddly enough, Heineken, Molson and Grolsch appear in the text as being on the good Doctor’s short list of yummy, fermented adult beverages. (Never mind that he was evidently a walking medicine chest of assorted illegal and legal drugs.)

So, while I’d planned to have another bottle of Gonzo Imperial Porter this year in honor of Hunter S. Thompson, I think it more appropriate that I knock back a sample of something he might have appreciated a bit more in his day. (Despite the quote attributed to Thompson: "Good people drink good beer.")

Grolsch Premium Lager

Let me just start by saying that no good beer that’s ever passed my lips had the words “premium lager” printed on the label. And let me add that no beer that I’ve ever seen sporting the handle “premium lager” has been without some sort of slick packaging whiz bang – usually a foil wrapped top. Grolsch is no different. Doc Thompson reportedly fancied Grolsch because of the nifty flip top bottles in which the beer is packaged. The fact that Thompson wasn’t a paragon of moderation leads me to ask, why he would care to reseal a bottle of beer, but I suppose when your hands are occupied with running an IBM Selectric typewriter, fending off inquisitive editors, firing up the odd doobie and popping the occasional hit of acid, it pays to have beer bottles that can be re-sealed.

The stuff pours a clear golden color with a thin white head. It smells sour and tastes of sour grain – perhaps corn. It’s thirst quenching and at just 5% abv a decent session beer if you’re not too hung up on taste or style. Currently, the swing top bottle is about all this one has going for it. Perhaps the marketing crew at Grolsch could capitalize on the fact that Hunter S. Thompson drank their beer. If nothing else, I plan to drop the folks at Flying Dog a note and strongly urge them to introduce a line of their Imperial Porter in flip top bottles. How cool would that be?

Postscript: The Very Crap He Would Have Despised.

Perhaps it’s a quirk of my nature that I’d rather read about famous writers than read what they’ve written. It’s true for Hemingway and Abbey and it’s definitely true for this nut job Thompson. It’s often difficult to divine meaning from their written word, but it’s a damned straightforward proposition to gather meaning (and sometimes inspiration) from their lives. As a result, my radar is far more acute in picking up references to the author and his persona than references to his works. Example: ambling the bright aisles of a local Target store I espied a strange little plastic skateboard (action?) figure with the handle “Hunter.” Given that this squat little plastic figure sported a slouch hat, Hawaiian shirt and a briefcase with “I (heart) L.V.” on the side, it was clear that what this was: a Hunter Thompson rip off! And all the more pathetic are the good Doctor’s words echoing from beyond the grave: “…nobody grows up wishing to be a comic strip character…” (I’m curious to know if the Hunter Thompson estate knows about this. The packaging doesn’t include any reference to Thompson or the Thompson post-mortem machine.) I bought the little dust collector because it was on sale and because it’s obviously meant to represent Hunter S. Thompson.

Maybe in the grand karmic scheme, it’s something of a punishment for the wacky Doctor Thompson, to be reborn as a plastic skateboard figurine in atonement for drinking Grolsch, Molson and Heineken. That and the drugs.

Here’s a recent Appraisal of Hunter S. Thompson’s legacy.

The revelations in Gonzo not withstanding, still hope to see you around, Doc.

For those of you with more than a passing interest, I’d strongly recommend Gonzo: The Life of Hunter S. Thompson by Jann Wenner and Corey Seymour. And don’t pay $30 for the damned thing either; it can be had for about 7 bucks if you look around.

Gonzo Imperial Porter: Honoring Doctor Thompson One Bottle at a Time

(Warning: This is a long post and it contains some editorial content. If you're only here for the beer, skip down and read the last three paragraphs, I'll understand.)

I’ll be the first to admit; I know damned little about Hunter S. Thompson. I think I read his Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas while I was in the army, maybe before. I know that I read his Hell’s Angels while I was in the army because I remember that my section sergeant asked to borrow it and my paperback copy is hammered from traveling inside an alice pack during field duty. I’ll also admit that for a time, Doc Thompson was an appealing figure to me. I aspired to be a writer at one point and I believed, mistakenly, that the road to literary success traversed a vast wasteland of drug and alcohol abuse. I bought into the notion that the likes of Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Thompson were great writers because of their addictions. Now, I know they were great writers in spite of their addictions and because of the times in which they lived. Thankfully, I managed to survive my little sabbatical from sanity having sampled nothing stronger than the odd guzzle of Everclear and MD20/20. Unfortunately, I didn’t turn out to be much of a writer either, but it isn’t because I wasn’t drunk enough or high enough; I’m just lazy.

I still have a warm spot in my heart for Thompson and I must confess to being mildly uncomfortable with the close connection between Flying Dog Brewing and Hunter Thompson – mostly because, like Elvis, Hunter Thompson is living somewhere else these days.

How is Flying Dog connected to Thompson, you might ask? Thompson, the alcohol and drug addled “gonzo journalist” evidently introduced “artist” Ralph Steadman to Flying Dog founder George Stranahan in Aspen, Colorado. You can read the details at the Flying Dog website here.

Monumental figures attract hangers-on like “free beer” advertisements attract drunks. Unquestionably a monumental figure, Thompson appears to have attracted his fair share of folks who seemed content to warm themselves in the reflected glow of his notoriety, picking up the odd scrap of fun and profit along the way. In my opinion one such example is Johnny Depp – whose hipster, cynic, doper-expatriate persona will never live up to his royal Gonzo-ness - but I won’t go into further detail regarding that except to say that when the likes of Johnny Depp can serve as a surrogate for a Hunter Thompson, we’re seeing a real dumbing down of coolness, folks.

So, “hanger-on” might be a way I’d describe the whole line of Flying Dog beers, but that would be wrong since most of the folks who are drinking Flying Dog products probably don’t have the foggiest idea who Hunter Thompson was – or is, depending on your propensity to buy into conspiracy theory. (Hell, Thompson is, this very second, partying with Jim Morrison in Africa!) It may be more apt to say that the Flying Dog people have used the Thompson persona as something of an inside joke, pulling back the beaded curtain just enough to let a few of us squares have a peek from time to time and their Gonzo Imperial Porter is perhaps the best example of that little trick.

And, in honor of this day in history, I offer my sampling notes for Gonzo Imperial Porter:
Smells like a stout in the bottle. No alcohol bite in the smell as I’d expected. Pours dark with a thin head and light lacing. Chocolate/sweet tasting with a thick mouth feel at first. Perhaps a hint of licorice in the finish. I expected an off-putting alcohol bite but I’m happily proven wrong. This beer is one I’ll try again.

Why honor this day in history? On February 20th, 2005, Doc Thompson, reportedly bummed because the Super Bowl had come and gone for another season and figuring his best days were behind him, and perhaps contemplating a sink full of dishes, took his life by shooting himself. Like Hemingway, but not like Fitzgerald. Not fade away, as the hipsters are want to say, right?

For something regarding Thompson’s “accidental outlaw” status, check this out. For more stuff on Thompson and the myth of Thompson, do your own search, but don’t futz around with that so much you forget to go out and buy some Gonzo Imperial Porter – perhaps like so many things associated with Hunter Thompson, it comes at a fairly high price but it’s worth it.

Hope to see you 'round, Doc.