Gone Magazine

History of Old Chub: Old Chub is brewed by Oskar Blues Grill & Brew in Lyons, Colorado. According to the company Web site, http://www.oskarblues.com, Oskar Blues started brewing and canning their own beer in 2002, which made them the first U.S. microbrewery to do so. I find this statement a little hard to believe, after all, weren’t Sierra Nevada, Pete’s Wicked Ale and Virginia’s own, Dominion Brewery, in business way back in the 90’s? Don’t they brew and bottle/can/whatever their own beer? But I’ll leave that discussion for another piece.

Oskar Blues started out small; working by hand, they produced their beer two cans at a time. Initially they found the idea of their beer being “squeezed into a little can” downright hilarious. Apparently, it made them “laugh for weeks.” Personally, I don’t find anything funny about Old Chub. I’m deeply afraid of this beer.

Oskar Blues goes on to assure us that “the modern-day aluminum can and its lid are lined with a water-based coating, so the beer and the can never touch.” They also assert that “cans make it easier for beer fiends to enjoy great beer outdoors, where a fine brew is especially satisfying.” You should definitely, absolutely, positively never drink Old Chub inside (more on that later). Finally, Oskar Blues tells us that they experience “big pleasure” when they witness somebody getting “goosebumps on their back” for the first time ever after drinking their beer from a can. Did I mention how afraid I am of Old Chub? Apparently I’m not alone.

Dale, one of the proprietors of Oskar Blues, claims to “love the way people’s heads spin around after they try one of [his] monster canned beers.” Oh, your head will spin, alright. Old Chub will spin it real good!

Review: Old Chub is a Scottish “strong” ale that contains seven different malts, U.S. and U.K. hops and “a dash of beechwood-smoked grains imported from Bamburg, Germany.” Old Chub proudly boasts that it “contains no rice”, and that it is 8% alcohol by volume.
I first encountered Old Chub Scottish Style Ale while on a weekend sailing trip on the Chesapeake Bay. With me were four other hardened sailors, and a few landlubbers, all with impressive drinking credentials. The captain’s daughter brought a six-pack of Old Chub, and as we were running low on Coors Light (the skipper’s beverage of choice), one sailor thought he’d give the Chub a try. He read the can, noted that rice was not an ingredient, and made a wisecrack about his Scottish heritage granting him the propensity to enjoy a rich, dark beer. He cracked it open, and took a sip. Next thing we knew he was making a sour face, and spitting up over the rail.

Being a competitive group by nature, we all had to take a turn at the can. Next one to go was my husband, Matt. Matt is a former football player from Kansas, who comes from a healthy mix of Irish and German stock. He can drink some beer, but he couldn’t drink Old Chub. He joined sailor #1 in heaving over the lifelines.

The captain’s daughter, Vanessa, feeling a bit guilty for bringing this pox upon the crew, felt she owed it to everyone to try it for herself. She took a sip, wrinkled her nose and promptly spit over the side.

At that point, I couldn’t resist. I reasoned that all of these girly-types, who couldn’t handle a thick beer, need step aside and let a *professional* sample the brew. I sipped. I swallowed. I swallowed again. My mouth started watering uncontrollably. I kept swallowing. I finally leaned over the side and spit-up like the others.

The last one to go was the skipper. He didn’t partake in our little competition, he simply waited until the Coors Light ran out, and then figured it was time to move on to whatever else was in the cooler. He cracked open his first can of Old Chub, took a sip, and made a terrible face.

“Oh man! That’s an awful beer,” he exclaimed. He took another sip. Turned, spit over the transom, turned back to his daughter and said, “Where the hell did you get this? Don’t ever bring this beer on board, again. This is dreadful!”

For the rest of the trip we made jokes about Old Chub. A particularly run-down boat would be dubbed the “Old Chub”, or a slow boat that thought it was fast, the “Chub Express.” The other four cans were hidden in a locker (no need to waste perfectly good ice keeping them chilled), and designated as tools for punishing wayward crew and hazing new sailors. It was even suggested that the Old Chub could be used to reign in the consumption of an “over-served” sailor.

“Just give him an Old Chub, that’ll sober him up quick!”

After that trip it was several years before I encountered the Chub again. A friend and her husband attended a beer and bratwurst tasting, where apparently the husband was served an Old Chub. I couldn’t resist asking him what he thought of it. He made a face and merely stated, “I did not finish *that* beer.”

The next weekend we were invited to a party. The party provided the perfect opportunity to unleash the Old Chub on a group of unsuspecting young men (all experienced beer drinkers). I set my six-pack, appropriately attired in a brown paper bag, on the kitchen counter and dared someone to try it. They couldn’t resist the challenge, and every, single one of them spit up after the first sip.

Then there was the “emo” guy down by the campfire. He was way too polite to speak the truth. He pretended to like the Chub, and volunteered to finish a whole can by himself. About an hour later he came up to me, still-full can in hand, and asked if, “by any chance,” the Chub came in a bottle, because he was finding the canned version “tough to swallow.”

Puke Factor: HIGH. To my knowledge, nobody has ever finished an Old Chub. Typically, the drinker spits-up after the first sip, and abandons the can.

Hangover-ability: Not much chance of getting a hangover from the Chub. You’ll never keep enough of it down to experience the after-effects.

Compatible Dining: Grab just about anything that is nearby to help get the taste out of your mouth.

Glassware: We tried pouring Old Chub Scottish Style Ale into a large, glass beer stein, in the hopes that it would make it more appealing. We presented “emo” guy with Old Chub in a mug, and he blanched before admitting that “it really isn’t very good at all”, and asking, ever so politely, if we would mind terribly much if he simply poured the whole beer down the drain.

Things to Think About: Old Chub Scottish Style Ale makes an excellent gag gift. It is also a quality addition to fraternity hazings, and other “coming of age” events. However, if you are hosting the party, you might want to provide a bucket, and/or serve the Chub in an outdoor setting to avoid an extensive, post-party clean-up experience. Know that after exposing friends and family to Old Chub, you will need to watch your back for the next several months, as they will likely be planning some sort of revenge-themed taste-testing project for you.

Final Thought: Old Chub is gross. It’s sickly-sweet, dark as cola, and is generally not a nice thing to serve to your friends. Old Chub should never be served on a boat, as it can cause dramamine patches to fail unexpectedly. That clunking sound you hear in the bottom of the can may, or may not, be a widget designed to maintain optimal carbonation of the beverage. I suspect it to be a spent cigar butt collected from an ashtray in the Oskar Blues brewpub. That would explain the tobacco aftertaste.