Ask most people to describe Thanksgiving, and you'll probably hear of family and friends gathered around the table, sharing a bountiful meal and thanks for their good fortune. My recollection sounds more like a show on Animal Planet.

As far back as I can remember, Thanksgiving followed the same pattern.

Sometime before the Big Day, our parents undoubtedly visited the International Monetary Fund for a low-interest, Third World food loan to feed our familial nation of 10. They would then buy a turkey so freakishly large that it had to involve an accidental radiation release somewhere in the growth cycle. Strapping the frozen monstrosity to the roof of our rusty Pinto wagon, the weight squeezing away 6 inches of interior headspace, they would carry it home like triumphant neo-mammoth hunters. Mom would rise early Thanksgiving morning to cram 40 pounds of top-secret stuffing inside, slather butter on the outside, sew it up and lever the Franken-bird into the oven with tire irons and fervent, unspoken foul language.

The smell of the cooking bird would float through the house, attracting small, pajama-clad predators to the kitchen in the manner of sharks to the scent of blood in the water. By the time dinner rolled around, the entire family would be worked into a full-scale feeding frenzy, though weakened enough by hunger to minimize savage biting over the choice bits.

The leftovers, if there were any, resembled lion-kill on the African veldt.

Like hyenas with sandwich skills, we would dart in and out all day, piling our bread to ridiculous heights with scraps of meat and mustard. When only the bones remained, we would crawl on hands and knees, groaning, bellies dragging on the floor, back to our blanketed dens to grow 6 inches overnight.

It seemed like destiny then, a closing of a circle, for another beast, Rogue Ale's Old Crustacean Barley Wine, to appear at Cedar Falls Wine and Spirits in time for Thanksgiving.

Barley wine is, in all ways, a beer, because it is made from grain, not fruit.

The name merely denotes strong ale with complex, wine-like attributes, principally an alcohol content creeping into wine territory. The vast majority of choices are English or American, with the former at the malt end of the spectrum and many of the latter pushing the bitterness envelope with robust hops profiles. Don't be fooled by the "Barley-wine style ale" labeling on American varieties. It is barley wine, just not wine made from fruit.

A $16 bottle of beer generally calls for a special occasion and, in this era of costly heating, a sunny, 70 F day in November certainly qualifies. In celebration of our energy savings, my wife and I opened the black 750ml ceramic flip-top bottle and poured two samples, the color of light maple syrup, into small tasting glasses. The first sign of trouble was the look on her face as she had her first taste. Think giving medicine to your toddler, and you'll get the idea. Checking the label to make sure I hadn't mistakenly bought a family-sized bottle of cod-liver oil, I raised my cup to see what could cause such an expression in an adult.

The cause was blunt-force hops trauma to the taste buds, the 110 IBU (international bittering unit) well beyond what most people can actually taste. The bitterness pretty much shuts down any further perception of flavor. I knew I had impatiently served the first glasses colder than recommended, so I let the bottle warm close to room temperature before trying again -- solo this time. The warm-up allowed some herbal, citrus nuance into the bitterness and the malt, perceived more in the density of the body, does come forward, timidly, to add a faint hint of nutty sweetness to the balance. The alcohol content softens the blow further, leaving a pleasant trace of warmth in the nostrils between sips.

Old Crustacean is a hops-lover's dream, but I have to admit it was little raw for my taste. To quote the Beer Advocate Web site's highly accurate description, "A brew of this strength and complexity can be a challenge to the palate." It certainly was to mine, but the good news is that barley wine, like other strong brews and wine itself, can be stored for years, allowing flavors to mature and meld. I'm guessing a year or two of aging on this 2008 batch would go a long way to smoothing the bitter rough edges. As it is, serve it as an adventuresome after-dinner drink. Drink this beast with the meal, and you'll have to fill in the flavor of turkey and stuffing from memory.

Prost!