In addition to ensuring I have a few special holiday beer (like a barley wine or a nice tripel) for sipping at pristine moments, in the lead up to Xmas I also try to pick up some general drinking beer as well. Something more accessible that I can serve visitors if homebrew doesn’t suit and that I might be able to quaff when I don’t really feel like thinking about what I am sipping. As a general rule, I try to pick up something I haven’t tried before, just to give me some element of intrigue. Often it is a mixed pack from a craft brewery I respect, or a couple of six-packs of beer I hadn’t yet gotten around to trying.

This year on a whim I picked up a 12-pack of Stanley Park 1897 Amber. I knew going in that this wouldn’t be a world-beater, but I do have a commitment to trying every Canadian craft beer available, so it seemed a good time to do it. I would have preferred a six-pack, but what can you do?

When I got it home I pulled out a bottle and read that they call it a “Belgian-style Amber”. Uh-oh. Not a good sign. Not really a style, kids. They also claim to reach back to the origins of a Stanley Park Brewing formed in 1897. I suspect there likely was a Stanley Park Brewing in 1897, although I haven’t checked my history books to confirm (due to laziness). However, the bottle reads “originally established in the year 1897”. Yeah, not so much. My Minhas alarm went off as I read that tidbit.

The brewery also boasts to be Canada’s “first sustainable brewery”. This prompted a check of their website to see what they mean by that term, and, to be frank, their definition is loose enough to drive a tarsands front loader through. They have installed a small wind turbine to power the brewery, which is both admirable and impressive. But the rest of their claims seem to reduce to “we have great new technology”, which isn’t quite enough in my opinion to bill yourself the most sustainable brewery in the country. Besides, what Sierra Nevada, New Belgium and other American craft brewers are doing makes a mockery of Stanley Park’s boasts.

I also should note that Stanley Park is the creation of the Mark Anthony Group, owner of Mission Hill, many other wineries, and one of Canada’s largest liqour importers. Out of the same brewery in Delta they brew the discount Hell’s Gate brand (which, interestingly, makes no boasts about being sustainable). Some have argued that this disqualifies Stanley Park from calling itself “craft”. I disagree, as ownership alone should not define craft. However, the over-the-top marketing left me in a suspicious mood even before I opened the bottle.

And what of the beer? (I am well aware I have not even mentioned it yet). Well, it proves itself to be the pseudo-craft beer I feared it would be. It is a dark gold beer with a light wispy head that cannot muster enough to stick around long. It is bright, clear and lager-like in appearance. The aroma is clean with some biscuit malt and bready earthiness to it. I get a bit of light fruit, but overall the beer presents very much like a lager, rather than an ale (which, in the interests of accuracy, they never promised it to be – neither ale nor lager appear on the packaging).

The taste has a soft bready malt upfront, but it quickly falls away to be overtaken by a limp wateriness. I can detect some faint butterscotch and caramel notes struggling to get out, but not much else. We should put out an APB for the hops as they are missing in action. The finish is watery and thin. There is (and this shouldn’t surprise) ZERO Belgian character in this beer at all.

The beer reminds me more of Kokanee Gold than any other amber ale (or lager) I have sampled. And the Belgian label quickly becomes something of a joke, as this beer is no more Belgian than Peter Ustinov.

So, the beer was disappointing. Big surprise. It is likely my fault. I should have known better. However, I now have a second clear observation point to support my pseudo-craft thesis. Stanley Park is trying to cash in on the craft cache, but both the beer and its marketing give it away as a pretender.

Now I just don’t know what to do with the 11 other bottles sitting in my basement.