So where does the name come from anyway?  In 1835, Texas, then a province of Mexico, sat on the brink of revolution.  As tensions rose, Mexico thought it best to reclaim a loaned cannon from the town of Gonzalez.  The town refused to return the weapon and, in defiance, rose a white flag with a painting of the cannon and emblazoned with the now immortal words, “COME AND TAKE IT.”

This moment holds a special place in the hearts of Texans even today and shirts, stickers and tattoos of the flag are common.  It’s that spirit of resistance that gave rise to the Republic of Texas for which the Lone Star means independence.

While the story behind the name is one of legend, the story behind the brand is not.

In Lewisville, Texas sits North Texas Distillers, the creator of 1835 The Lone Star and 16 other brands of spirit, 10 of which are vodkas.  Where are they all coming from?  Lone Star doesn’t have its own distillery or its own offices.  It doesn’t even have its own webpage.  So, what’s the story behind Lone Star?  If the ginger beer is any clue, it’s possible that it’s not much more than a wrapper.

The can will tell you the drink originates in Pilot Point, Texas, a tiny speck north of Dallas with less than 5000 people.  That’s the home of the Western Son vodka distillery.  Western Son crafts their own ginger beer too—previously reviewed—right there in town.  The highly distinctive ingredient list—consisting of rarities like high fructose corn syrup, caramel coloring and several additives and preservatives—sticks in the memory for its unusual nature.  It was a surprise to see it repeated on the side of the Lone Star can.

The can itself lacks inspiration, unlike the name.  A black field surrounds a grunge-framed white rectangle.  The logo floats within, comprised of a condensed western font.  A lone bronze star sits awkwardly in the lower right.  The design holds little presence and looks a bit budget, quite different from Western Son’s striking use of type—which is important because this is Western Son Ginger Beer in a different can.  No, not even a different can since the design is actually printed upon a plastic wrap hugging the can.  The liquid fills each blank can in a long train.  Then the cans get wrapped in livery based on however many of each are needed.

The Western Son review contains all the information but here’s a quick summary.  The darkly colored liquid holds a whopping 225 calories and tastes of sweet ginger and citrus.  It’s tart and tangy.  The development though is static, with little change in the experience throughout the progression.  There’s also the unfortunate (though mild) sensation of syrup pressing down on the tongue.  So while the flavor is nice, the texture isn’t. 

This ginger beer sees a much narrower distribution than its accompanying vodka so acquiring it isn’t easy.  That means stumbling across it is rare so it’s probably worth picking up to try it.  However it’s likely that adjacent to it rests another, more familiar selection that might prove a tastier choice.  Stick with what you know or go on an adventure: that decision is yours.

Final Decision: Third Tier – Enjoyable

Purchased locally at: Spec’s

Back to: All Reviews

With the renewed interest in the Moscow Mule, demand for ginger beer skyrocketed and visionary distillers like Western Son saw an opportunity to not only expand their bottom line but to showcase the spirit they’d worked so hard to create.  Enter Western Son Texas Ginger Beer.

The can design (printed on a plastic wrap and not directly on the can itself) builds off the branding of their vodka bottles with its bold type on a field the color of aged paper.  It gives the impression of an Old West wanted poster and catches, holds the eye.  Black rings the lower third of the can, providing a pleasing contrast.  Around back, the reason the drink exists is made plain.  It’s the recipe for a “Western Mule,” consisting of Western Son vodka and Western Son ginger beer. 

The uninspiring ingredient list also graces the back of the can.  Anything delectable sits locked behind the amorphous “natural flavors” while preservatives and additives get spelled out.  The list includes sodium benzoate, potassium sorbate, gum acacia and ester gum.  While sporting a couple of these is common, seeing them all is unusual.  What’s even rarer is the use of high fructose corn syrup as the sweetener.  A review encountered it only one other time.  Also present, caramel color richens the presentation.  Water and citric acid round out the list, which amounts to 150 calories for an 8oz serving, a staggering 225 for the 12oz can.

As expected, the liquid appears darker than most ginger beers with what seems to be a fine sediment suspended within it, not floating but locked in place.  Few bubbles ascend during the pour.  The nose detects a light ginger with a hint of citrus.  Tasting, a flash of sweetness precedes the almost immediate arrival of ginger and citrus.  A constant undercurrent of sweetness runs beneath the floating haze of the ginger.  The sharpness of the citrus is pronounced but not overpowering.  There’s a mild syrupy quality laying upon the tongue.  Heat never arrives.  The finish offers more of the same, tart and ginger running parallel.

Overall there’s not much of a progression.  What it is in the beginning is what it is in the middle is what it is in the end.  Other ginger beers play a bit more in the mouth but this is content to sit still.  The balance though between the ginger and citrus sets it apart.  It’s perfectly tuned and the two flavors complement each other well.  The energy here comes from the tang but it could use a touch of heat and a bit more carbonation to really make it dance. 

The mouthfeel is odd too.  The thick feeling pressing upon the tongue gives the sensation of drinking a flat soda.  It’s mild though and not a huge issue.  The citrus and ginger mostly make up for the concerns but that 225 calories equal a steep price for a flawed treat.  One of these is enjoyable but one of these is enough.

Final Decision: Third Tier – Enjoyable

Purchased locally at: Spec’s

Back to: All Reviews