Bare Bottle - Baby Unicorn Dust

Tall Tales from the Bar

“Because they’re not just regular Mosaic Hops!” cried the bartender.

I had asked a simple question about the beer in my hand, Barebottle’s Baby Unicorn Dust Pale Ale. The brewers print the whole recipe right on the can, and I’m familiar with all the hops, but I’ve never tasted another beer quite like it. I hoped this bartender might have an answer.

“That’s why it’s so fruity and flavorful without a lot of bitterness,” he went on. “You’ve got those Citra Hops, the Meridian, the El Dorado…all great hops, but it’s the Mosaic Hops that are magic.”

I took a long sip from my beer and let the waves of stone fruit, mango, and citrus wash over me. It’s a damn good beer; one I seek out whenever I’m in San Francisco. Maybe this guy knew something I didn’t.

“Magic hops? How so?” I asked. He leaned in close and cast a sideways glance down the bar.

“Well” he said, his voice just above a whisper, “it’s because of the unicorns.”

I grinned and took another swig of the Hazy Pale in my glass. It certainly tasted like magic.

“See,” the bartender continued, sounding like the narrator from a Disney flick, “each autumn, when the hops are heavy on the vines, baby unicorns appear in the Yakima Valley to frolic amongst the hop fields and spread their magical dust. They always choose the Mosaic!”

“Alright,” I said, and smiled at him. “I know I’m a tourist here, but I’m not an idiot.”

“It’s true! The guys from Barebottle go up there every year and pick the hop cones with the most dust on them. That’s where the name comes from, and that’s why it tastes so good.” He leaned his hip against the bar and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m dead serious, man. Baby. Freaking. Unicorns.” He turned and started pulling glasses from the dishwasher.

I chuckled, shook my head, and took another sip. An older guy with a gray beard slid down the bar and settled in beside me.

“You know he’s full of crap, right?”

“Yeah,” I grinned, “I figured.”

“It’s not the Mosaic,” he said. “It’s the El Dorado. Those unicorns love the El Dorado. That’s where the best dust is.”

This time I burst out laughing. The old dude looked at me without a hint of a smile.

“Hand to God,” he said, “it’s the El Dorado.” Then he drained his glass and walked out.

I took another sip of Baby Unicorn Dust. There really is something about it, something ephemeral, maybe. Something a little bit magical. I knew I’d want some when I got back home, but it’s tough to find outside of San Francisco.

I took another sip and smiled, silently thanking the unicorns that I could get it on Tavour. It’s still a damn good beer. Even if I can’t figure out how they make it so magical.

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