It’s difficult to tell people that a beer float is the best dessert they’ve never tried without them trying to intervene. For example:
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In fact, it’s difficult to tell people about beer floats at all. Put the word beer too close to ice cream and people will shiver. A beer float sounds like something you’d have to drink at a fraternity hazing, and as someone who’s had Miller High Life and ice cream together, I can tell you that it would fit. But with nonbodega bottles–gems like Belgian fruit lambics and massive American stouts–the beer float puts its straight-edge sister, the root beer float, to shame. The chemistry’s similar: the foam in a float comes from the combination of carbonation and a protein in the ice cream that stabilizes the bubbles. But beer has protein too, producing a more stable, sumptuous foam. And the beer float has other advantages over the root beer float:
(1) It has a taste besides sarsaparilla.
But a Lindemans framboise float is worthy of a pastry chef–think vanilla ice cream, fresh raspberries, and seltzer water blended together. The taste is replicable with any Belgian fruit beer that’s not sickly sweet. And although American stouts don’t always work–like the Rogue, they tend to be overhopped for our purposes–Bell’s Expedition Stout is a marvel. Its spice-cabinet complexity–coffee, cocoa, caramel, an orchard of dried berries–fills the float, just harsh enough to be refreshing. The chocolate stouts cold-shouldered the ice cream, but the Expedition is affectionate and argumentative–the beer and ice cream clash then meld like lovers in a spat.
