In a desperate effort to avoid real work, I did a little research (i.e., a single google search) regarding the etymology of the word “Grim.” Did it come, I wondered, from those fairy tales? Because I’ve heard that the non-Disney versions of them are pretty bleak, filled with children being turned to maggots and daughters having their intestines ripped out for disobeying their father’s curfew. In the real Snow White, Snow’s hair is made of worms and the talking mice are her enemies, not her friends.

Turns out, the two-m’ed “Grimm” is just a surname. And as German people apparently enjoyed their horror stories enough to share them with dozens of generations of children, they probably didn’t mean to imbue the name with any negative connotations. Plus, the English use of the term precedes the brothers’ fairy tale collection by a couple hundred years.

But still, this strikes me as an odd name for a company that brews spritely beers. I know they’re from Brooklyn, a land where meaning is utterly secondary to aesthetics, but the word is sort of hideous. It doesn’t roll off the tongue so much as it grates against the teeth.

Eh… I got nothing to connect this discussion to the beer. This is the third Grimm I’ve sampled. The first, Color Field, was underwhelming. The second, named after a Terry Riley piece, was quite good, but still contained some of the off cereal-flavored nodes that made Color Field not so great. This is free of all such nodes, and the result is fantastic.

Pours a thick, pale yellow. Smells about as fruity as most American gose’s but much more aggressively salty.

Throughout, the salt cuts fantastically into the sour lacto. The effect isn’t at all like a traditional German gose, which is like a tart pils with a light dryness to the finish. This is more like a seasoned mango soda pop. The oak conditions thickens the body while dulling the tartness even further, leading to a beer that’s wonderfully balanced even as it’s strange and adventurous.