Beer + Bites: Pairing Wings, Calamari, and Crab Cakes With the Right Pour
Why Beer Is the Right Conversation Partner for Bar Food
Wine gets the formal dinner. Cocktails get the opening act. Beer gets the moment everyone actually looks forward to — the table covered in shared plates, the game on in the background, the kind of eating that involves fingers and napkins and no particular ceremony.
But the casualness of that setting does not mean the pairing is arbitrary. Beer has a flavor range wider than most people realize — from the thin, crisp neutrality of a cold lager to the roasted darkness of an imperial stout, from the citrus-forward brightness of a hazy IPA to the stone fruit complexity of a Belgian farmhouse ale — and within that range, some pours meet bar food at exactly the right angle while others talk past it entirely.
Wings, calamari, and crab cakes are three of the most ordered dishes at American bars and casual restaurants. They are also three of the most instructive subjects for understanding how beer pairing actually works, because each one presents a different set of flavors, textures, and structural challenges that call for different solutions in the glass. Understanding why the right beer works with each of these dishes is understanding the fundamentals of beer pairing in general — and those fundamentals travel to every other plate on the menu.
The Principles Before the Plates
Before breaking down each dish individually, it helps to understand the three mechanisms through which beer interacts with food. Every successful pairing works through at least one of them.
Carbonation as a textural reset. Beer’s dissolved carbon dioxide does physical work on the palate that still wine cannot do and that spirits largely skip. The bubbles scrub fat and coating from the tongue between bites, re-exposing the taste receptors to full sensitivity. This is why any fried food — anything with a batter, a crust, a coating, or a crisp exterior holding in fat — benefits structurally from a carbonated drink alongside it. The beer does not need to match the food’s flavor profile to earn its place at the table. It earns its place by keeping the palate fresh.
Bitterness as a counterweight to fat and richness. The hop bitterness in an IPA, a pale ale, or even a moderately bitter lager creates a contrast effect alongside rich, fatty, or heavily seasoned food. Bitterness amplifies the perception of other flavors rather than suppressing them, which is why a bitter beer alongside a rich wing sauce makes both the sauce and the beer taste more vivid than either would taste in isolation. This is the same principle behind the Italian aperitivo tradition — bitterness before or during a meal heightens appetite and sharpens perception.
Malt sweetness as a bridge to bold flavors. The caramel, toast, and biscuit notes in amber ales, brown ales, Scottish ales, and certain lagers create a bridging effect between the beer and dishes with char, smoke, caramelized crust, or deep savory seasoning. Malt sweetness does not sweeten the food — it creates a shared vocabulary of warmth and depth that makes transitions between sip and bite feel cohesive rather than disjointed.
Every pairing that follows draws on at least one of these mechanisms. Identifying which one is doing the work is the analytical skill that allows you to transfer these principles to dishes not covered here.
Chicken Wings: The Full Spectrum Problem
Wings are the most demanding subject in this group for one reason: the sauce. A naked wing — roasted, crisp-skinned, and seasoned only with salt and pepper — is a relatively straightforward pairing target. The fat in the skin, the savory depth of the meat, and the textural crunch of a well-cooked exterior all point toward the same general class of beer: something carbonated, moderately bitter, and not so complex that it competes with a subtle flavor profile.
But wings are rarely eaten naked. They arrive in sauces that range from the vinegary heat of a classic Buffalo to the sticky molasses depth of a Korean gochujang glaze to the throat-clearing intensity of a ghost pepper preparation, and each sauce changes the pairing equation dramatically.
Buffalo Wings: The Vinegar and Heat Problem
Classic Buffalo sauce is built on hot sauce and butter — a combination of sharp, vinegary acidity and rich fat that creates a coating on both the food and the palate that is equal parts pleasure and challenge. The heat activates capsaicin receptors on the tongue, and the fat in the butter carries that heat and extends it. The vinegar brightens the whole preparation and adds an acidity that cuts through the richness slightly, but not enough to fully clean the palate between bites.
The beer solution here is a West Coast IPA or a session IPA — something with assertive hop bitterness, moderate to high carbonation, and enough citrus or pine character to push back against the Buffalo sauce’s acidity without amplifying its heat. This is an important distinction: alcohol amplifies capsaicin perception, which is why a high-ABV beer alongside very spicy food often makes the heat feel more intense rather than less. A session IPA in the 4 to 5 percent ABV range gives you the bitterness and carbonation you need without the alcohol that would turn the heat up.
What does not work with Buffalo wings: anything malt-forward. A brown ale, an amber ale, or a Scottish ale will bring sweetness to the table, and sweetness amplifies the perception of heat in exactly the wrong direction. A single bite of a sauced Buffalo wing followed by a sip of a caramel-heavy amber produces a heat spike that the beer invited rather than managed.
What also does not work: a heavy, low-carbonation stout. The reduced carbonation means the fat stays on the palate longer, the roasted malt character fights rather than complements the vinegar, and the higher alcohol adds to the heat problem. Stouts belong elsewhere on the menu.
Korean BBQ and Gochujang Glazed Wings: The Sweet Heat Problem
The Korean-style wing — lacquered in a sauce built on gochujang, soy, garlic, sesame oil, and some form of sweetener — presents an entirely different pairing challenge. The heat here is deeper and less immediate than Buffalo, building slowly rather than arriving at the front of the palate. The sweetness in the glaze is pronounced. The umami from the soy and gochujang creates a savory depth that lingers.
This preparation calls for a beer with malt character rather than aggressive hop bitterness — specifically, a Vienna lager, a Munich Dunkel, or a märzen-style amber. These are German-tradition lagers with moderate carbonation, toasty malt sweetness, and a clean finish that does not fight the sauce’s complexity. The malt in these beers creates a bridge to the caramelized, slightly charred notes in a well-cooked gochujang glaze while the moderate carbonation handles the fat.
A hazy IPA also works surprisingly well here — the low bitterness, tropical fruit character, and soft carbonation of a hazy NEIPA complement the sweetness of the glaze without amplifying the heat, and the juicy quality of the hop profile echoes the sesame and garlic notes in the sauce. It is not the conventional choice, but it is a good one.
Lemon Pepper and Dry-Rubbed Wings: The Fragrant Seasoning Problem
The lemon pepper wing — unassuming, frequently underestimated, consistently one of the better wing preparations available — asks for something that can honor both its citrus brightness and its herbaceous black pepper character without overwhelming either. The absence of a heavy sauce means the wing’s natural fat and the delicacy of the seasoning are the dominant flavor elements, which calls for a beer with finesse rather than force.
A Belgian witbier is the right answer here: wheat-based, lightly carbonated, brewed with coriander and dried orange peel, with a soft body and a fragrant character that mirrors the lemon pepper seasoning in kind rather than in contrast. The citrus note in a good witbier and the citrus note in a lemon pepper rub speak the same language — they reinforce each other without competing.
A crisp Pilsner also works well — the clean, slightly grassy bitterness of a Bohemian Pils complements the black pepper and allows the lemon character to read clearly. This is the pairing that rewards restraint on the beer side. The wing is doing something subtle, and the beer should let it.
Calamari: The Fried Seafood Equation
Calamari is almost always served fried — rings and tentacles in a light seasoned batter, cooked hot and fast until the exterior is crisp and the squid inside is just barely tender. It arrives at the table with lemon wedges and some version of dipping sauce, usually marinara, aioli, or both. It is, structurally speaking, one of the most beer-friendly dishes that exists.
The reason is simple: fried calamari is all about texture. The pleasure of the dish is the contrast between the crackling batter exterior and the tender squid interior, amplified by a squeeze of lemon and a dip into something acidic or rich. Beer’s carbonation is the ideal textural counterpart to that crisp exterior — the bubbles reset the palate between each piece, keeping the experience of that first bite’s crunch available throughout the plate rather than degrading into a uniform softness after the third or fourth piece.
The Classic Pairing: Crisp Lager
A cold, highly carbonated lager — a Mexican lager, a Czech Pilsner, a Japanese rice lager — is the universal pairing for fried calamari, and the universality is earned. These beers do exactly what the dish needs: high carbonation scrubs the batter’s oil from the palate, the low to moderate bitterness provides a clean contrast to the savory seasoning, and the neutral malt character stays out of the way of the calamari’s delicate oceanic flavor.
The lemon wedge that arrives with the plate is relevant here: a squeeze of lemon over the calamari increases the dish’s acidity, which makes a hop-bitter beer taste less bitter by comparison and a malt-forward beer taste richer. If you are squeezing lemon generously, a slightly hoppier Pilsner or a light pale ale handles the acidity well. If you are using the lemon sparingly, a Mexican-style lager with its very low bitterness and high carbonation is exactly right.
The Elevated Pairing: Saison or Farmhouse Ale
For calamari preparations that lean more sophisticated — a squid ink aioli, a smoked paprika seasoning, a preparation with preserved lemon and fresh herbs — a Belgian saison or farmhouse ale brings a complexity that a standard lager cannot match.
Saisons are dry, highly carbonated, moderately bitter, and built on a yeast character that produces notes of spice, citrus peel, and light earthiness. These qualities mirror the Mediterranean flavor profile that the best calamari preparations draw on — the same geography that produces good olive oil, good lemons, and good squid also produces the flavor vocabulary that saison yeast expresses. It is a pairing based on shared terroir in the most abstract sense.
The high carbonation in a saison also manages the oil from the fryer effectively, and the dryness of the finish means the palate is clean and ready for the next piece without the lingering sweetness that a malt-forward beer would leave behind.
What to Avoid
Two beers that consistently underperform alongside calamari: imperial IPAs and stouts.
Imperial IPAs have too much alcohol and too much bitterness for a delicate fried seafood preparation. The intense hop character overwhelms the calamari’s mild flavor, and the high ABV creates a warmth that pushes the experience in the wrong direction — away from the clean, refreshing quality that fried seafood demands and toward something heavier and more aggressive.
Stouts and porters bring roasted, coffee-adjacent flavors to the table that have nothing to say to a squid ring. The darkness of these beers belongs with preparations that have their own dark, roasted, or smoky character — not with the pale, delicate, ocean-adjacent flavors of well-made calamari.
Crab Cakes: The Richest Target
Crab cakes are the most demanding pairing subject in this group because they combine two of the most challenging flavor elements in bar food: delicate, sweet seafood and rich, fatty binding — breadcrumbs, egg, mayonnaise, sometimes cream — that holds the cake together and creates the crisp exterior on the pan or in the fryer.
The crab itself wants something that will honor its sweetness and oceanic character without overwhelming it. The fatty binding and crispy exterior want something with carbonation and either bitterness or acidity to cut through them. These two demands point in slightly different directions, and the best crab cake pairings find beers that satisfy both simultaneously.
The Complementary Approach: Wheat Beer and Hefeweizen
A Bavarian Hefeweizen — banana and clove from the yeast, moderate carbonation, soft wheat body, low bitterness — is one of the most food-friendly beer styles available, and it performs particularly well alongside crab cakes for a specific reason: the yeast’s banana ester note creates a soft, fruity sweetness that echoes the natural sweetness of fresh crab meat without competing with it.
The low bitterness of a Hefeweizen is critical here. Hop bitterness suppresses the perception of sweetness, and the sweet, oceanic character of good crab is exactly what you want to taste in a crab cake. A bitter beer strips that quality away. A soft, lightly sweet wheat beer amplifies it.
The moderate carbonation handles the fatty binding well, and the soft body of the beer transitions cleanly between the crisp exterior and the tender interior of the cake rather than jarring against either texture.
The Contrasting Approach: Dry Irish Stout
This is the counterintuitive pairing and the one that most consistently surprises people who try it: a dry Irish stout — think Guinness draft, or any of its craft American counterparts — alongside a well-made crab cake is one of the better matches in bar food.
The mechanism is roasted-note contrast. The coffee and dark chocolate character in a dry stout creates a sharp contrast with the sweetness of the crab that functions the way a squeeze of lemon does on fish — the bitter, dark note makes the sweet, light note beside it taste sweeter and more vivid by comparison. This is the pairing principle of complementary contrast, and it works most powerfully when the contrast is dramatic.
The nitrogen carbonation in a draft stout also produces a very fine, soft bubble structure — finer than CO2 carbonation — that sits gently against the delicacy of the crab rather than scrubbing it aggressively. The result is a textural pairing that is softer and more contemplative than a lager or IPA alongside the same dish.
The catch: this pairing requires a quality crab cake. A crab cake that is mostly filler — too much breadcrumb, too much mayo, not enough actual crab — will not have the sweetness and oceanic character that the stout’s contrast depends on. The stout pairing is the one that most rewards using it as a quality test for the kitchen.
The Celebratory Option: Oyster Stout or Cream Ale
For a crab cake preparation that leans upscale — a jumbo lump crab cake with a remoulade, a fine dining version with a citrus beurre blanc — an oyster stout or a cream ale both elevate the experience in different directions.
Oyster stouts are brewed with actual oysters added during the brewing process, producing a beer with subtle brininess and minerality that creates an oceanic bridge to the crab. It is a pairing based on shared ingredient category — the sea note in the beer meeting the sea note in the dish — and it works with a quiet elegance that more assertive pairings do not achieve.
A cream ale — pale, lightly carbonated, very low bitterness, smooth and approachable — takes the opposite approach: it gets out of the way entirely and lets the crab cake speak. Sometimes the best pairing choice is the one that imposes the least on the food, and for a genuinely exceptional crab cake, a cream ale is that choice.
The Table as a Complete System
When wings, calamari, and crab cakes arrive at the same table simultaneously — as they often do, since all three are natural shareable plate companions — the beer pairing question shifts from individual dish matching to managing a table as a complete system.
The practical answer is two beers rather than one. A crisp, highly carbonated lager or Pilsner functions as the universal baseline: it works acceptably with all three dishes, performs particularly well with the calamari, and keeps the palate fresh throughout the meal. A second beer — a session IPA for tables heavy on Buffalo wings, a witbier for lemon pepper preparations, a Hefeweizen if the crab cakes are the table’s centerpiece dish — addresses the most demanding flavor profile at the table more specifically.
This two-beer approach is not an indulgence. It is the same logic a wine pairing dinner applies when it chooses different wines for different courses. The dishes on the table are different, they make different demands, and the glass in hand can honor those differences or ignore them. Honoring them, even casually, makes the whole table taste better.
The Larger Point About Beer and Bar Food
Beer and bar food belong together not because they are both casual — though they often are — but because the structural properties of beer address the structural challenges of fried, fatty, sauced, and spiced food more directly and effectively than any other beverage category.
Carbonation manages fat. Bitterness creates counterweight to richness. Malt sweetness bridges to char and caramelization. Yeast character adds a fragrant dimension that mirrors the herbaceous and citrus notes in the best bar food preparations.
These are not incidental alignments. They are the reason beer and fried food have kept each other company across every culture and every century in which both have existed. The pairing is not a trend. It is a relationship built on genuine compatibility — and understanding why it works, rather than simply accepting that it does, makes every plate of wings, every basket of calamari, and every crab cake that lands on the table more interesting to eat.
About Tartan of Redlands
Since opening on April 15, 1964, Tartan of Redlands has been a well-known local restaurant recognized for its classic steakhouse dishes and welcoming atmosphere. Founded by brothers Velmer, Al, and Art Ctoteau, the restaurant was built on the idea of serving great food with friendly service.
Over the years, ownership has changed while the restaurant’s traditions remained strong. Larry Westin later joined the Ctoteau family in running the restaurant, and after his passing in 2003, his son Larry Westin Jr. continued operating it until 2015. Today, Jeff and Lisa Salamon own and manage the restaurant.
Jeff Salamon, a Marine Corps veteran from Boston, continues to maintain the restaurant’s focus on hospitality, tradition, and community.
The menu includes popular steakhouse favorites such as Saturday prime rib, quality steaks, and the Redlands Tartan Burger, along with a full bar.
Often called the “Cheers of Redlands,” Tartan is known for its relaxed setting, attentive service, and loyal guests, offering both indoor and outdoor seating year-round.
