Breweries these days are finding all sorts of interesting ways to do business. Nano-scale, alternating proprietorships, and taproom-only sales are all part of the brewery landscape. These business models allow a brewery open with minimal up-front capital or to reap the full profit from every pint sold.

Contract brewing is also still very much a part of the picture; a brand-holding company paying another brewery to make their product. It’s a controversial practice that has fierce adherents on both sides, who fling arguments both pro and con. Are these entities actually breweries? Are they just leeches trying to cash in on the boom without making the commitment – both financial and physical – to the cause? Whatever you think, the practice is here to stay and it’s here in a big way. You probably drink and love many contract-brewed beers without even knowing it.

The controversy spills over to the alternating proprietorship arrangement in which two or more fully-licensed entities share a brewing facility. Although each one is responsible for their own label approval, ingredient procurement, tax reckoning, and all the other nitty-gritty of running a brewery, in some cases all of the beer is actually brewed by only one of them. Often one of the breweries isn’t even on site when the beer is made.  It may even be headquartered in another state. Aren’t these really just contract brewers? Or is this really something else?

And what are we to make of gypsy brewers, also called tenant brewers. Beer makers like Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project, Mikkeller, and Minnesota’s own Blacklist Brewing have no physical brewery. They move from place to place, making different beers at each one. In the case of Mikkeller, these landlord breweries are spread out all over the world. The idea of migrant brewing sounds romantic. I have even heard Mikkeller praised for the practice. But doesn’t this make Mikkeller just another contract brewer? Does that even matter if the beer is good?

Here’s my notes:

Big Worse
Mikkeller at De Proef Brouwerij, Lochristi-Hufte, Belgium
Style: Barleywine
Serving Style: 12.7 oz. bottle

Aroma: Round and rich caramel malt. Pleasant, floral alcohol cuts through the caramel sweetness. Hop aroma is low to none. Some sherry-like oxidative notes. Underneath, smells of vanilla custard and candied oranges add depth. Three Cs – custard, caramel, and candied oranges.

Appearance: Full head of creamy, ivory foam. Very good retention. Mahogany red and clear.

Flavor: Flavors very much follow the aroma, with gentle hop bitterness and citrusy hop flavors thrown into the mix. Caramel malt and fruity esters lead – those candied oranges again. A sweep of bitterness rolls in shortly thereafter to keep the sweetness in check, but with a delicate touch. The buttery caramel makes a comeback at the roof of the mouth, joined by bright notes of citrus –lemons – as well as some darker fruits – dates.  Alcohol is in there too, perhaps a tad intrusive. The beer goes out semi-dry with lingering bitterness and oranges.

Mouthfeel: Medium-full body – remarkably light for 12% ABV. Carbonation is medium-low. Creamy. Warming.

Overall Impression: The luscious aromatics draw me in, beckoning me to sip. But I just want to keep smelling. The palate is rewarded by that sip, though. This is a remarkably drinkable 12% brew. Light almost. Neither clinging like some strong English barleywines, nor tongue scraping like many of their American counterparts.