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In 1985, a "1984" time capsule was buried in Pioneer Courthouse
Square. Inside, with a pair of Nikes, a boom box and a "Frankie Says
Relax" T-shirt, went two bottles of Henry Weinhard's ales. Henry's was,
after all, Portland's premier local beer in the same year BridgePort,
Widmer and McMenamins all opened. As long-cellared beers go, a 4 percent
ABV Light Irish Ale in a green bottle wasn't promising. But, after
signing a waiver agreeing not to sue the city or the Oregon Historical
Society, I was allowed to sample it. The metal cap split on the side as
it was opened, and the carbonation was long gone, but the beer kept a
clear, uncloudy golden hue. It smelled of sweet, dirty earth—like
low-gravity bum wine stirred with a garden trowel. Though not a red ale,
it had the same musty cardboard sweetness you'd expect from a
half-empty Killian's discovered behind the shed a month after your last
party. They're reburying the capsule later this year; having survived
this round, I vote for including a wax-dipped bottle of Deschutes Abyss.
WWeek 2015
