If you long for the soda fountain, jukebox and drive-in theater, chances are one of the things you don't miss is the beer that accompanies those ""Happy Days"" memories of the 1950s. That's for good reason, too, as back then people were drinking limp-wristed swill to accompany their diner corn dogs and fries. But with their ""Supper Club Lager,"" Capital Brewery has joined the trend, and its results are not promising.
Supper Club's bottle makes it look attractive, if a little hokey. Old-school drug store lettering adds to the image of a classic car with typically large 1950s fins to tell you this beer is all about nostalgia. Perhaps Capital Brewery is trying to downplay expectations with its label, which gives the beer such high praise as calling it ""not bad."" Slow down, guys. Let's not get carried away with the exaggerations!
Pour the beer and you can see why it inspired such a tame slogan. The beer is crystal clear and golden, hardly a sign of great flavor and with little to separate it from macrobrews like Bud and Miller. Take a smell and, again, it's unimpressive—sure, there are some sweet notes to appreciate in there, but other than that the beer is a whole lot of nothing.
The first sip does little to suppress those concerns. This beer is almost entirely lacking in flavor. Maybe it is ""not bad"" in that you won't cringe and put it down after trying it, but it's certainly not good, as you would be hard-pressed to find anything resembling flavor in this brew.
Perhaps this is why Cap Brewery referenced the '50s so much on the label: Anyone longing for the bland, flavorless beer of yesteryear is bound to love this lager.
To see just how bland Supper Club is, the Beer Board put it to the test in a blind taste test with Pabst Blue Ribbon. After pouring the beers into indistinguishable cups, the results were disappointing. The brews looked almost identical, and it was the Pabst that seemed to have more flavor going on than the much more expensive microbrew.
We derive no satisfaction from poking fun at Capital Brewery, which is one of Wisconsin's best beer makers. But when they bottle something with all the flavor of a macrobrew but the price tag of a micro, there's something terribly wrong.
Best served: Ice cold, from a soda fountain
Best enjoyed: fending off your mother's advances in the back of a Delorean.
