I think the first time I had a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, I was in Wrigleyville. That was, anyway, the first time I had more than one Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. I wasn’t new to good beer at the time; I was just back from a semester in Europe and keen to try everything I could get my hands on, from Breckenridge 471 IPA and Abita Turbodog to Dragon’s Milk and La Fin Du Monde. And so I found myself in a crowded bar before a Cubs game, and my options were various light lagers that didn’t appeal much either to my sense of taste or my newfound sense of adventure, and, well, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. The choice was immediately obvious, and the correctness of that choice was obviously very shortly thereafter. I had, I don’t know, four or so? Enough, in any case, to make Wrigley Field’s cans of Old Style palatable later that day. Keep in mind that this was in the days before buttchugging.

Out of the bottle, this pale ale pours a clear, warm burnt orange. Out of the can, it’s essentially same, but for some reason the canned beer comes with a lot of light-colored yeast sediment that collects at the bottom of the glass. That’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. It kind of freaks me out. I know, I know, yeast is essential to fermentation and it’s harmless and a bit of visible sediment isn’t going to hurt anyone, but… it just makes the beer look dirty, you know? It’s stupid, but this is probably the only beer I’ll buy in bottles instead of cans if I have the choice, and that’s the dumbassed reason why.

The beer smells of fresh bread and pine needles. It smells delicious, and I’m not going to hang around sniffing delicious beer when there’s delicious beer to drink. I struggled initially to describe the way this tastes. It tastes like an American pale ale, because American pale ale tastes like SNPA. The star ingredient here is the Cascade hops, which the Department of Agriculture developed as part of a breeding program in the 1960s and 70s so that American brewers wouldn’t have to depend on imported hops like Hallertau and Fuggle. This was an important national security issue at the time; foreign hops are known to have Communist leanings. Here, these hops produce notes of pine and citrus that blend seamlessly with the underlying cracker-like malt. The flavor as a whole is, above all, clean. SNPA’s English pale ale ancestors, and American recreations of them like Deschutes Mirror Pond, carry the distinctive influence of the English strains of ale yeast—biscuity, jammy, and to at least one friend’s palate, banana-like. That’s all absent here. Sierra Nevada’s yeast, despite its unsightly appearance in the canned beer, is not a big player in this beer. It’s content to eat the sugars, convert them to alcohol, and let the malt and hops do the heavy lifting.

When you drink Sierra Nevada Pale ale, you’re not just tasting this beer; you’re tasting a brewing philosophy based around flavorful American hops and clean, neutral yeast that set the tone for an entire generation of American pale ales and IPAs. You’re drinking history.

lady snow says: It tastes acidic up front, but in a good way. And then it transitions to bitterness. I really like that, I feel like I’m getting a full spectrum of flavors. It’s a very balanced beer.

tl;dr: Oh boy, are you in the wrong article.

Grade: I don’t think I have to tell you guys this, but since I’m at least in theory writing a review: This is great. Sierra Nevada’s been brewing it longer than I’ve been alive and I suspect it would still seem fresh and new and uncommonly delicious if they’d first released it just yesterday.

Enough from me. Let’s open up this beer table. Chico native Mike Wallace & Gromit is just the man to get us started:

It’s one of two glorious gifts to football from Chico, CA. The other being Aaron Rodgers. SNPA was one of the first local “microbrews” that I enjoyed. It wasn’t until moving out of Northern California (real Northern California, not the Bay) that I realized it had become a nationwide thing.

And King Hippo with a few more:

Ah, Sierra Nevada. It’s the universal “safe on draft” beer. Virtually anywhere you go, even if they don’t carry local microbrews that you want to try, you can almost always count on the solidly above average, clean tasting, not too belchy or hangover-inducing Sierra Nevada Pale Ale to be on draft. Shit, even most biker bars will have it.

My “corporate event bottled beer” version of this is Amstel Light, FWIW.

Cuntler has some welcome thoughts on SNPA’s versatility, especially as regards the Toronto Football Blue Jays:

My Sierra Nevada Pale Ale quip (“SNPA”): SNPA is delicious. The first time I had it was in the late 1990s, and I still thought the best microbrews were made by Sam Adams and Pete’s, producer of Pete’s Wicked Ale (RIP), which, in retrospect, were and are pretty average brown ales and lagers. I think Sierra Nevada was the first pale ale that was widely distributed that used Cascade hops from the Pacific Northwest (near Yakima in Washington State). Before that, the only hoppy beer I had quaffed was Bass Ale, which always tasted too sweet and grainy. Anyway, SNPA is a great gateway beer to the millions of IPAs that are flooding the market, and it is even better now that it is in cans because you can take it camping or chuck empties at babies attending Blue Jays games. Solid ‘A’ beer.

zymm found instant inspiration:

What I’m hearing here is that I should dip out of this conference early to go drink some Sierra Nevada and eat Chex Party Mix.

Blaxabbath, on the other hand, had a cautionary tale to share. Move over, Deadspin, because [Door Flies Open] is coming for your hookup failure story audience:

So my buddy is pretty introverted and, while not bad-looking or anything, does has a tough time kicking things off with the ladies. Plus he still hasn’t completely grown out of his Tourette’s so, you know, potential partners notice that. Anyways, after he finished college he moved back to our hometown (where I was finishing college) and starts reconnecting with people. He ends up setting up a date with a girl I kind of know through my circle of friends.

The day of the date, my buddy gets stuck at work late and doesn’t have time to swing by the house before they go out. He’s starving so, on the way, he stops by BK’s (arguably—and I would argue against it—the best Sonoran dog establishment in town) and orders like a taco, a dog, and hits up the condiment bar where he gets, not only salsa, but Zanahorias en Escabeche and Cebollas Curtidas (the trays of pickled carrots/jalapenos and bright pink picked onions most Arizona taco shops have out). Personally, I don’t like either of these items and, as you can guess, one does not typically consume these sides without noticing. Still, my buddy has quite the iron stomach and, if he can run around and play soccer after grubbing on them, I trust he can sit through an arthouse movie experience after consumption.

So he slams his meal, drives to the theater to meet the girl, and they head inside. Enter SIERRA NEVADA PALE ALE as he enjoys a couple bottles during the feature. Walking out, he notices the aggressive hoppiness of the SNPA is not blending well with the vinegary/picante features of his dinner. But, while the conversation is going well, she’s not necessarily trying to get close to him or anything but he’s sure he can land another date and get out of the evening without anything physical going down. They reach their cars, are talking, he’s kind of battling back some minor (but surely potent) indigestion, when she just lays one on him. She doesn’t immediately respond in the negative but it’s clearly a kiss-and-goodnight situation.

She ends up not returning his calls and, as I inquire through our mutual acquaintances (and, a year later, directly to her) she never mentioned his breath as the dealbreaker. As his support person, I relay this to him and explain that he may just be the worst kisser in the entire world but, to this day, he blames the SNPA for doing such a number on his stomach and curses that he did not just purchase a Blue Moon or Stella (but admits that he was trying to pick the “hippest” selection because, somehow, SNPA has some kind of street cred).

Downer, right? sunrisesunrise remembers better times:

I went to Chico for Halloween during my sophomore year of college. My ex-girlfriends roommate took me along because her two friends lived there and she didn’t want to make the drive from Monterey by herself. The first party we went to had a keg of SNPA. I was confused. Not Bud or Bud Light. Not MGD. Not Natty Light. But an actual beer. I had to ask how they got an actual keg of real beer. That’s when I found out that the brewery sold them for about the same cost as the stuff I was used to. Every time I have a SNPA, it reminds me of that weekend.

SNPA is a good beer that is just that. Good. It doesn’t strive to be more than that. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a good choice when everything else doesn’t appeal to you and won’t let you down.

Old School Zero accepts no substitutes, because his local joint won’t offer any:

There’s a restaurant in my neighborhood that is a real good deal for the money, and has good food and a good but small selection of taps. They always have SNPA. In fact, their constant special is two sliders, fries, and a SNPA—no substitutes. I never got that special for a while because I wasn’t an IPA or otherwise pale ale drinker until I started to find ones that I actually liked. So one thirsty evening I got the SNPA, and I understood.

Having grown up in America, there’s certain styles that come to mind when someone says ‘Beer’, typically a lager or pilsner. Many macro and micro styles try to taste like this, what I consider to be, Beer Flavor, but very few find that right balance all the way through. Most cheaper macros might taste like beer during some point of the experience—maybe that first taste on the first swig—but often die out mid-beer (or even mid-swallow). Another Sierra Nevada beer—the Nooner—is quite a good representation of Beer Flavor. What the SNPA got perfectly right to me is something I think is often totally overlooked in a micro culture that rewards big bursts of specificity in their flavors, namely balance. SNPA keeps its hops and malts and carbonation and everything else in a complete and perfect balance, from the first sip to the last gulp, all while taking that common Beer Flavor and making it truly delicious. It might not trip you out or blow your mind like something a bit fancier, but it will never let you down—and that’s special.

Pickett’s Charge has, as usual, plenty to say:

Let us say I were to incur the wrath of a vengeful witch by crossing her palm with false silver (as is my invariable custom in such matters. I’m not going to waste good silver on a witch, no matter how accurate her prophecies. There’s such a thing as husbandry, after all.) but my general haplessness touched her heart and she staid herself from condemning me to the worst of imaginable curses (having to argue about the GOP primary debates on Twitter for eternity). Instead, I am doomed to this awful fate: I can only drink one brand and type of beer for the rest of my life, and I must buy it myself.

I think that beer would be Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

It is not the best beer in the world. It is not necessarily even my favorite beer. But I cannot think of a time when I’ve wanted a beer that Sierra Nevada Pale Ale would not have been absolutely satisfactory if not better.

On a very hot day, SNPA, ruthlessly chilled and served in a cold glass (fight me, glass-temp purists!) is a boon to humanity, crisp and clean and as refreshing as having a tall mojito thrown in your face.

On a frigid evening, SNPA can be served warmer (hell, it’s drinkable at room temperature, which cannot be said of every pale ale under the sun), its full body and weight serving as comfort against the encroaching ice (the same can be said of your mom).

On all other occasions, it is as welcome as good news delivered by someone also bringing you a homemade breakfast burrito.

It is, to my mind, the essential standard against which other West Coast IPAs, and for that matter all American beers with aspirations to a national presence, must be judged: the first consistently excellent, widely available, and, critically, essentially affordable example of its kind. Were it developed today by a small brewery, it could easily be sold with aggressively artistic packaging for $11 a six-pack, and people would pay it. I have known it sold in varying quantities for less than a dollar a bottle, and have paid $3 for a pint of it as recently as 2013.

I do not remember having ever seen a televised advertisement for Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, although they may very well exist. I certainly have not had Sam Elliott solemnly intone its virtues to me, nor have I been subjected to the entreaties of simultaneously jocular and yet self-serious brewers who look like castoffs from Smashmouth telling me and each other about how seriously they take their art, but how much fun they have with it, too, as if the entire brewery were managed and staffed by Brett fucking Favre. For this alone I have cause to be grateful.

Sierra Nevada Pale Ale needs none of that. It is a relentlessly high quality beer, broadly available at a fair price. Were it the only beer I could ever drink again, I’d still look forward to my next one as much as I do right now.

So does Horatio Cornblower.  I hope I got this all down right. It was a bit muffled coming from inside that locker:

I’m 46, so I’m pretty sure that, with the exception of maybe Hippo, I’ve got a good ten years minimum on most of you. Which means that when I was growing up and trying to steal sips of my old man’s beer I was generally trying to steal sips of Budweiser, Miller and, god help me, Schaefer. It’s not that Dad had shitty taste in beer, (as we’ll see shortly), it was that in those days that was what you had to choose from. Sometimes someone would get real crazy and bring over a Löwenbräu, but that was really about it. Don’t like Bud, have a Miller, don’t like Miller have Schlitz, don’t like Schlitz, have a Stroh’s! The first 30-pack. Good old Stroh’s.

My Dad, for whatever reason, wasn’t satisfied with Bud and his buds. I guess you’d call him a beer snob except back then there was no such thing. Still, he did his damnededst. Around the early 80s I’d start seeing these odd beers called “Molson” or “Labatt’s”, from some far away and possibly make-believe land called “Canada.” When I went to college in the late 80s you’d start to see European beers, especially Heineken, becoming more and more popular. Of course I was in college, wasn’t legal and had no money anyway so I drank shit that made Budweiser look like Ballast Point put it together on a particular good day. Piel’s Lite! Narraganssett, before they changed the recipe! Something called Harley Davidson Heavy Beer, which I’m pretty sure was just motor oil with a dash of hops. It was all as good as it sounded.

In 1987 Samuel Adams started making noise with their Boston Lager. It was prohibitively expensive, damn near $6 for six and way out of my budget. But my Dad and I share a birthday so come that day I wrangled up $6 and got a buddy with an ID to pick one up and gave it to Dad. He liked it. I liked it too, finagling one out of him which, if I’m honest, had always been the plan anyway.

Now I can’t swear to this exact timeline because Dad may have been poking around the dustier corners of the package stores anyway as smaller brewers started to make some room among the red and white cases, but I think it was after that initial taste of Sam Adams that Dad started to really experiment. I’d come home and find things like Anchor Steam or Liberty Ale in the fridge. Some were good, some weren’t, some just weren’t right for a palate that to that point was more used to guzzling Haffenreffer 40-oz’ers before the RA showed up.

Then Dad stumbled on Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Not only was it one of the better looking bottles, but it tasted good, without being off-putting. It was also relatively easy to get for a smaller brewery; I’m not sure what their marketing plan was, (this is probably early to mid 90s if memory serves), but Sierra Nevada got a jump on a lot of the others in terms of grabbing market share. The advantage they had was that they also had a good product. Their beer was damn good but it wasn’t so distinctive as to be off-putting. You could, and I did, share it with anyone and they would like.

At the present time I like to think we’re in a Golden Age of beer; Ballast Point, Stone, Heavy Seas, Capt. Lawrence, the Willimantic Brewery just 5 stumbling miles from where I sit tapping this out. There’s really no excuse to drink bad beer. If you can’t find a beer you like nowadays you’re not trying hard enough. What people, including myself until just having the brilliant epiphany I’m about to share with you some two paragraphs ago, forget is that after the initial microbrews emerged things went kind of stale for a bit. Pretty much anyone could, and did, start making beer, slap a label on it and start selling it. Other brewers, (looking at you Koch), got away from what originally made them good and started trying to make a version of every beer variety known to man. Quality suffered.

Not Sierra Nevada. From start to finish their pale ale remained the gold standard for a really good, really drinkable, easy to get, not too snobby, beer. I don’t drink it as much as I used to simply because there are so many other great options out there, but I think that the next time I find myself in a bar or package store, (which, let’s face it, is going to be tomorrow), I’m going to remedy that right quick.

And Balls of Steel has a confession to make:

I have tasted well over 300 different beers over the course of my life. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is not one of them.

Take us home, yeah right.

I first tried Sierra Nevada when I was on business in San Francisco. This was about 1995 or so. I was staying on Van Ness Street right at the top of California Street where the cable cars turn around. First night of a 3 week trip I walked to the Hard Rock Cafe (don’t judge me, man this was 1995 and it was still edgy) and asked the bartender if he had any beer recommendations. He gave me a pint of SNPA. It was delicious. Clean yet still complex. I have always experimented with beers but this was the first time that I had tried something that was this hoppy. I was hooked. I went back every night of my stay for several pints per night.

My beer tastes have advanced since then and I am heavy into the IPAs and DIPAs and am fully immersed in the exploding L.A. craft beer scene but I will still drink a SNPA if it’s on tap. 

We have this cool chain of movie theaters in L.A. called The Arclight and these theaters have bars in them, you can even take your beer to your seat. Whenever I go to the Arclight here in the South Bay I always drink a bottle or three of Sierra Nevada both before and during the movie.

And just like that I want a sixer of SNPA.

Me too. Cheers!