The goal, for those really really old Greeks, was to reach Elysium, for only the truly worthy enjoyed their final resting place in Elysian Fields. For beer enthusiasts, rather than dying there, good beers are born there.
Wednesday at the Toronado spelled the introduction of Seattle's Elysian Brewing, tapping six beers. Most, like the Wise ESB, represented straightforward ambassadors of the style. One, the Jasmine IPA, posed the question of whether you want an already hoppy beer to be partnered with the added jasmine-y perfume. And then, behold, Dragonstooth. How do I know what they all tasted like? Jesse ambitiously populated our li'l table top with one of each. This stout weighs in at 7.2% ABV. Resplendent and a new go-to beer for me at the Toronado.
Not only was Elysian's head brewer Dick Cantwell on hand for the occasion, but it seems the National Beer Wholesalers Association (NBWA) was in town and in walked some big machers in the brewing world such as Sam Calagione from Dogfish Head and Kim Jordan from New Belgium, two characters I encountered on my beer odyssey. Greg Koch let it be known I erroneously left him, Stone, and San Diego out, but he makes a cameo on page 154.
It was good to talk to Greg, Kim, and Sam, but my favorite part came when Dick agreed to host a book signing at Elysian in Seattle on November 11. Sweet! See ya there.
September 20, 2008
September 11, 2008
September 2, 2008
The only way to enjoy Bud Lime...
...is as a chaser for Bud "Chelada."
True enough, Anheuser-Busch is releasing Budweiser American Ale, but the "King of Beers" that made its name with lager has two other drinks on the market that, well, no need to opine, I'll just get to the tasting; a masochistic sense of just having to know what they taste like coupled with my friend Eric's actual affinity for them.
First up: "Chelada." This 24-oz tallboy is part Budweiser lager,
part Clamato. We're already off to a bad start, since Clamato is part tomato juice, part CLAM. Who the hell thought bivalves and vegetables would pair nicely as a juice? I'm already not a huge Bloody Mary drinker, but the thought of adding actual clam juice to it makes me wretch. And why end there? Why not a whole line of mollusc-mary cocktails like Bud, pureed oyster, and V8?
Allegedly, Bud Chelada--targeted to the Latino market and instead of having copy and ingredients on the can in English and Spanish has it in Spanish then English--is the best-selling beer at Dodger Stadium.
It pours a reddish-orange with a thin carrot-colored head. The initial taste is clam, the middle flavor has the tomato and spices coming through, oh, but wait, there comes that clam again in the aftertaste. Eric delighted in drinking both tallboys. As my punishment for not enjoying the Chelada, he made me finish the entire bottle of Bud Lime.
Poured from a 12-oz clear bottle, the bright yellow beer poured no head to speak of, reeked of citrus, and tasted something akin to Lime-Ade. I occasionally like Mexican beers with lemon, anything but Corona. This tasted like Corona with an entire lime juiced into it and maybe some extra corn syrup to take the tart edge off it.
Let's see how those Belgians at InBev make Bud American Ale taste.
True enough, Anheuser-Busch is releasing Budweiser American Ale, but the "King of Beers" that made its name with lager has two other drinks on the market that, well, no need to opine, I'll just get to the tasting; a masochistic sense of just having to know what they taste like coupled with my friend Eric's actual affinity for them.First up: "Chelada." This 24-oz tallboy is part Budweiser lager,
part Clamato. We're already off to a bad start, since Clamato is part tomato juice, part CLAM. Who the hell thought bivalves and vegetables would pair nicely as a juice? I'm already not a huge Bloody Mary drinker, but the thought of adding actual clam juice to it makes me wretch. And why end there? Why not a whole line of mollusc-mary cocktails like Bud, pureed oyster, and V8?Allegedly, Bud Chelada--targeted to the Latino market and instead of having copy and ingredients on the can in English and Spanish has it in Spanish then English--is the best-selling beer at Dodger Stadium.
It pours a reddish-orange with a thin carrot-colored head. The initial taste is clam, the middle flavor has the tomato and spices coming through, oh, but wait, there comes that clam again in the aftertaste. Eric delighted in drinking both tallboys. As my punishment for not enjoying the Chelada, he made me finish the entire bottle of Bud Lime.Poured from a 12-oz clear bottle, the bright yellow beer poured no head to speak of, reeked of citrus, and tasted something akin to Lime-Ade. I occasionally like Mexican beers with lemon, anything but Corona. This tasted like Corona with an entire lime juiced into it and maybe some extra corn syrup to take the tart edge off it.
Let's see how those Belgians at InBev make Bud American Ale taste.
August 22, 2008
A day at the office: Tommy's Joynt
12:46: Pint of Anchor Steam. I love Tommy’s Joynt for a wealth of reasons, but the wall of beers is chief among them. Around 110 bottled beers from around the world, but today I’m starting with a pint of the homegrown stuff.
I’m going to share a pastrami on rye and a turkey on sourdough roll with Half Pint. The ceramic jar of hot mustard—they’re so not kidding about the hot—is calling my name. Mara, the designated “pickle fetcher” ever since her star debut on (an upcoming episode of) the Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives” was filmed here, is heading toward the (secret) pickle jar.
The delicious carved meats. The tankards and steins adorning the walls. The chatchkes adorning the beams and ceiling. The barflies at the bar. It’s a good day.
1:28: “It was lip-smacking good,” says the white-haired man in the XL Hawaiin shirt to his wife on their way out. I wonder if they had my favorite, the buffalo stew.
Absolutely no one has left the long wooden bar. Jose in his Giants cap and TJ’s baseball 3/4s ringer is pouring mostly beer, but I see a guy with an orange juice based cocktail and another guy with a vodka rocks.
2:02: Looking over the list of wordly beers, for now I skip the offerings from Armenia and Australia and go for the Maredsous Triple from Belgium. I know that for my next round, I’ll at least skip over the beers from Brazil, Canada, and China (though it would be fitting for the final day of the Beijing Olympics). Thanks, Marissa (the new waitress).
2:09: Wonder how much Tommy’s collects from the condom vending machine mounted on the bathroom wall.
3:23: One guy at the bar asks Jose for another pint of Fat Tire, then asks where it’s from. Jose knows it’s from Colorado, thinks it’s from Golden. Another guy corrects him and says it’s from Boulder. I try not to chime in, but the 10% Belgian triple I’m still nursing makes me hand each dude one of my postcards as I say New Belgium’s from Ft. Collins. Mr. “Boulder” says he’s not talking about that, he’s talking about Fat Tire. This same person soon gave me shit for originally being from LA, when he’s actually from Aspen, the Beverly Hills of the Rockies. But pretty soon we’re happy compatriots at the bar until a tasty blond walks in and stands directly between us. Once she gets a book of matches, she’s off, and Boulder/Aspen and I have nothing left to say.
5:19: On second thought, I WILL try an Armenian beer. I ask to look at both bottles. The Erebuni appears to be a standard industrial lager, but the Kilikia Jubilee has a more captivating appearance. Both come in 500 ml green bottles, but the Jubilee label shows four gold medals including, and I only know this because I read Cyrillic (Russian), a medal from the 2002 Sochi (the Hawaii of Russia, not that they’re comparable) beer competition. Swan-kee.
Sam, Susie’s son and therefor representing Tommy’s Joynt’s third generation after Susie’s Uncle Tommy founded it in 1947, before her dad took over in ’55, told me a funny story. He was in Jerusalem trying to open a bottle of beer. Wait, I’m not at the funny part yet. So he’s looking around for a way to open it when this Orthodox Jew with the black hat and the sidelocks and the long beard walks by, grabs the beer, opens it with his teeth then hands it back and just keeps walking. I doubt if you hang out in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania with a bottle of brew, no Amish dude would do that for you.
6:00: Mike Lattig shows up and joins me at the bar. He gets a Tusker from Kenya. I get a Spaten Oktoberfest. We enjoy the drunken banter from our neighbors.
7:15: Half Pint returns. Mike’s wife Jen shows up. Mike gets the corned beef platter. I get one of my favorites—the massive turkey leg. Yeah, a whole giant turkey leg, little stuffing, some gravy, period. I know I’ll barely have room for the pickles. Oh, and a slice of chocolate cake, which is rare, since I usually go for the carrot cake.
7:50: A barrage of foreign students or tourists show up and don’t quite get the concept of lining up for the cafeteria-style service. They organize themselves in a cluster. Works for me, since my primary means of organization at home is a strategy I like to call piles.
I ask for the special bottle I had another bartender put on ice for me since they didn’t have any chilled. I know it’s August 28, 2008, but oh my, they’ve got some bottles of the 2007 Anchor Christmas Ale left. It wasn’t as good as the ’06, but I love it and it goes with chocolate cake.
9:45: It’s been eight hours. I put in a full day’s work at my “office.” Time to punch out.
I’m going to share a pastrami on rye and a turkey on sourdough roll with Half Pint. The ceramic jar of hot mustard—they’re so not kidding about the hot—is calling my name. Mara, the designated “pickle fetcher” ever since her star debut on (an upcoming episode of) the Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives” was filmed here, is heading toward the (secret) pickle jar.The delicious carved meats. The tankards and steins adorning the walls. The chatchkes adorning the beams and ceiling. The barflies at the bar. It’s a good day.
1:28: “It was lip-smacking good,” says the white-haired man in the XL Hawaiin shirt to his wife on their way out. I wonder if they had my favorite, the buffalo stew.
Absolutely no one has left the long wooden bar. Jose in his Giants cap and TJ’s baseball 3/4s ringer is pouring mostly beer, but I see a guy with an orange juice based cocktail and another guy with a vodka rocks.
2:02: Looking over the list of wordly beers, for now I skip the offerings from Armenia and Australia and go for the Maredsous Triple from Belgium. I know that for my next round, I’ll at least skip over the beers from Brazil, Canada, and China (though it would be fitting for the final day of the Beijing Olympics). Thanks, Marissa (the new waitress).
2:09: Wonder how much Tommy’s collects from the condom vending machine mounted on the bathroom wall.
3:23: One guy at the bar asks Jose for another pint of Fat Tire, then asks where it’s from. Jose knows it’s from Colorado, thinks it’s from Golden. Another guy corrects him and says it’s from Boulder. I try not to chime in, but the 10% Belgian triple I’m still nursing makes me hand each dude one of my postcards as I say New Belgium’s from Ft. Collins. Mr. “Boulder” says he’s not talking about that, he’s talking about Fat Tire. This same person soon gave me shit for originally being from LA, when he’s actually from Aspen, the Beverly Hills of the Rockies. But pretty soon we’re happy compatriots at the bar until a tasty blond walks in and stands directly between us. Once she gets a book of matches, she’s off, and Boulder/Aspen and I have nothing left to say.
5:19: On second thought, I WILL try an Armenian beer. I ask to look at both bottles. The Erebuni appears to be a standard industrial lager, but the Kilikia Jubilee has a more captivating appearance. Both come in 500 ml green bottles, but the Jubilee label shows four gold medals including, and I only know this because I read Cyrillic (Russian), a medal from the 2002 Sochi (the Hawaii of Russia, not that they’re comparable) beer competition. Swan-kee.
Sam, Susie’s son and therefor representing Tommy’s Joynt’s third generation after Susie’s Uncle Tommy founded it in 1947, before her dad took over in ’55, told me a funny story. He was in Jerusalem trying to open a bottle of beer. Wait, I’m not at the funny part yet. So he’s looking around for a way to open it when this Orthodox Jew with the black hat and the sidelocks and the long beard walks by, grabs the beer, opens it with his teeth then hands it back and just keeps walking. I doubt if you hang out in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania with a bottle of brew, no Amish dude would do that for you.
6:00: Mike Lattig shows up and joins me at the bar. He gets a Tusker from Kenya. I get a Spaten Oktoberfest. We enjoy the drunken banter from our neighbors.
7:15: Half Pint returns. Mike’s wife Jen shows up. Mike gets the corned beef platter. I get one of my favorites—the massive turkey leg. Yeah, a whole giant turkey leg, little stuffing, some gravy, period. I know I’ll barely have room for the pickles. Oh, and a slice of chocolate cake, which is rare, since I usually go for the carrot cake.7:50: A barrage of foreign students or tourists show up and don’t quite get the concept of lining up for the cafeteria-style service. They organize themselves in a cluster. Works for me, since my primary means of organization at home is a strategy I like to call piles.
I ask for the special bottle I had another bartender put on ice for me since they didn’t have any chilled. I know it’s August 28, 2008, but oh my, they’ve got some bottles of the 2007 Anchor Christmas Ale left. It wasn’t as good as the ’06, but I love it and it goes with chocolate cake.
9:45: It’s been eight hours. I put in a full day’s work at my “office.” Time to punch out.
August 18, 2008
Beer Dinner II: Locavores
For the second installment of the Beer Dinner, we went with local beer (as opposed to la cerveza loco, the crazy beer). High-minded pairing be damned, I just filled the fridge with offerings from throughout Northern California, and one tipple only those present can smack their lips and reminisce fondly.
The opening round called for Butte Creek's Organic Revolution Imperial IPA (Chico) paired with crudite (I called a plate of veggies crudite), hummus, and three cheeses: raw, 16-month aged “San Juaquin Gold,” smoked gouda, and an awesome and stylish cheddar Irish porter, which I didn’t bust out my lone bottle of Anchor Porter, mainly because I was so digging the Imperial India Pale Ale, and that's not really like me. Everyone agreed it was a winner to wake up our taste buds.
Second bottle to be uncapped was MateVeza's Yerba Mate Ale (Chico) And to complete the Chico trifecta, I poured what Jesse called the farthest local beer possible: Sierra Nevada’s Southern Hemisphere Harvest Fresh Hop Ale. (But now how will the Kiwis hop their brews?)
For K’ro’s creation, she concocted a broccoli-riccota-chive dip (with beer) and we fashioned a recipe for sundried tomato, pimento-stuffed olives (and beer) bread into a thick crust for something akin to pizza using fresh mozzerela, roasted chicken, and a bottle of bbq sauce that we pilfered yesterday (scroll down for previous post!).
Jesse & Eliana arrived toting the pieces de resistance (or as Gavin is fond of saying, amuse bouche). Our intrepid homebrewer flaunted his bottle-conditioned Belgian Triple with Vanilla Bean, which astoundingly complemented the alumna of the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) Eli’s empenadas. Two kinds: lentil veggie and North African spiced lamb. When it comes to beer and nosh, they rocked the Casbah.
Richard, who I think wasn’t quite prepared for the depth of a beer dinner, brought a cheese pizza pie and his conversational reparte, such as his analysis about his current reading selection, God Against the Gods.
I then busted out a bomber I guess I picked up down in Banana Slug country: Santa Cruz Ale Works’ Hefeweizen. Not exactly a show stopper/dinner topper. So sue me.
Lora, one of my oldest friends who is out visiting from NYC, is scratching and clawing and julienning her way into the culinary world. I won’t even get into all the tasty vittels she made in my “test kitchen,” but will simply say this for her offering: Chocolate bread pudding with a Pyramid Apricot Ale reduction topped with farm-fresh raspberries. Pouring: Chocolate Stout from Bison Brewing (Berkeley, ergo organic). Delicioso. (Lora’s special friend Dan poured the last of the Belgian Triple and along with it, the vanilla bean. Unlike the worm, it’s not recommended drinking.)
Two last libations were brought out: Eli’s homemade apple (and pear) cider and El Toro’s Oatmeal Stout that, were it not for the fact that it’s from Morgan Hill and pretty tasty, is hardly worth mentioning after that cider.
Now I need to figure out the theme for the next beer dinner; fortunately this feast should last me until then.
The opening round called for Butte Creek's Organic Revolution Imperial IPA (Chico) paired with crudite (I called a plate of veggies crudite), hummus, and three cheeses: raw, 16-month aged “San Juaquin Gold,” smoked gouda, and an awesome and stylish cheddar Irish porter, which I didn’t bust out my lone bottle of Anchor Porter, mainly because I was so digging the Imperial India Pale Ale, and that's not really like me. Everyone agreed it was a winner to wake up our taste buds.Second bottle to be uncapped was MateVeza's Yerba Mate Ale (Chico) And to complete the Chico trifecta, I poured what Jesse called the farthest local beer possible: Sierra Nevada’s Southern Hemisphere Harvest Fresh Hop Ale. (But now how will the Kiwis hop their brews?)
For K’ro’s creation, she concocted a broccoli-riccota-chive dip (with beer) and we fashioned a recipe for sundried tomato, pimento-stuffed olives (and beer) bread into a thick crust for something akin to pizza using fresh mozzerela, roasted chicken, and a bottle of bbq sauce that we pilfered yesterday (scroll down for previous post!).
Jesse & Eliana arrived toting the pieces de resistance (or as Gavin is fond of saying, amuse bouche). Our intrepid homebrewer flaunted his bottle-conditioned Belgian Triple with Vanilla Bean, which astoundingly complemented the alumna of the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) Eli’s empenadas. Two kinds: lentil veggie and North African spiced lamb. When it comes to beer and nosh, they rocked the Casbah.Richard, who I think wasn’t quite prepared for the depth of a beer dinner, brought a cheese pizza pie and his conversational reparte, such as his analysis about his current reading selection, God Against the Gods.
I then busted out a bomber I guess I picked up down in Banana Slug country: Santa Cruz Ale Works’ Hefeweizen. Not exactly a show stopper/dinner topper. So sue me.
Lora, one of my oldest friends who is out visiting from NYC, is scratching and clawing and julienning her way into the culinary world. I won’t even get into all the tasty vittels she made in my “test kitchen,” but will simply say this for her offering: Chocolate bread pudding with a Pyramid Apricot Ale reduction topped with farm-fresh raspberries. Pouring: Chocolate Stout from Bison Brewing (Berkeley, ergo organic). Delicioso. (Lora’s special friend Dan poured the last of the Belgian Triple and along with it, the vanilla bean. Unlike the worm, it’s not recommended drinking.)Two last libations were brought out: Eli’s homemade apple (and pear) cider and El Toro’s Oatmeal Stout that, were it not for the fact that it’s from Morgan Hill and pretty tasty, is hardly worth mentioning after that cider.
Now I need to figure out the theme for the next beer dinner; fortunately this feast should last me until then.
August 17, 2008
"Get a napkin": All-U-Can Beer & BBQ
If it's true that you are what you eat, I'm a huge, fat drunken pig. Slathered with sauce. Hooray for the Stumptown Brewery & Smokehouse's 6th Annual Revival.
30 breweries. 30 bbq pit crews.
Best beer of the day: New Belgium's Lips of Faith: Eric's Ale
Best bbq team name: The Masterbasters.
Most apt insult flung at me all day (when attempting to grab a sample from Moonlight Brewing Co."Dude, Get a napkin!"
As if having a bbq-encrusted face didn't fit in with the motif for the fest.To clean up afterward, I simply plunged into the Russian River, and I wasn't alone.
Brew Hope for LA, and beyond
As I like to point out why I moved from LA to SF last year--
Breweries in the 310: 0
Breweries in the 415: 8
But if there's any hope for the tide turning, it's Blue Palms Brew House. Founder Brian Lenzo has proven he can bring good beer to La La Land, now Angelenos have to step up to the mash tun to prove themselves worthy of choosing good beer. With two dozen stellar selections on tap and another handful of bottled beers, I hope this beer bar is the second step (proper respect must be paid to Father's Office, even if, in true LA fashion, residents didn't start respecting it until they started having to wait in line just to get in) to turning the second largest city in America into a beer town. The blogger duly notes that Pasadena supports a great beer scene in terms of production (ie: Craftsman) and sales (ie: Stuffed Sandwich, Lucky Baldwin's), but that's because they're Pasadenans. Back to Blue Palms.
I believe Lenzo to be a malthead like myself, which is why they stock so many great dark, malty beers including, and I can't promote this beer enough if you've never tried it, Ola Dubh 30... ON TAP. The symbiotic relationship between Scotland's Harviestoun Brewery and Highland Park single-malt scotch, over 20 years and 200 years old, respectively, this "Black Oil" beer aged in said famed whisky barrels is a snifter to behold. And as with all beers aged in spirit casks, it'll getya.
If you're in or heading to LA, check out. Or better yet, stop by around Nov 2 for my LA book signing party there, as the plan goes.
As for scoping out the beer scene "beyond," K'ro and I happened upon Central Coast Brewing, founded around 2003, in San Luis Obispo. For anyone who recalls SLO Brewing, home of the first blueberry ale I'd ever tried, this is no relation, as that brewery is now in the hands of Firestone-Walker.
We pulled into the parking lot in front of CCB after 4 p.m, which is to say less than an hour before they stop pouring samples. Nevertheless, Jim behind the bar helped us squeeze in the full gamut of their brews and we walked away with our two favorites, Chai Cream Ale (yes, it tastes like chai) and Drunkelweizen, so dubbed because it's dark (dunkle), wheaty (weizen), and'll get ya drunk. Beer people come up with the best names.
CCB is also a BOP (Brew on Premise) and they'll help you brew any of their 150ish recipes. Stop in to brew your own batch with your own custom-made labels. Or better yet, stop by around Dec 2 for my SLO book signing party there, as the plan goes.
Breweries in the 310: 0
Breweries in the 415: 8
But if there's any hope for the tide turning, it's Blue Palms Brew House. Founder Brian Lenzo has proven he can bring good beer to La La Land, now Angelenos have to step up to the mash tun to prove themselves worthy of choosing good beer. With two dozen stellar selections on tap and another handful of bottled beers, I hope this beer bar is the second step (proper respect must be paid to Father's Office, even if, in true LA fashion, residents didn't start respecting it until they started having to wait in line just to get in) to turning the second largest city in America into a beer town. The blogger duly notes that Pasadena supports a great beer scene in terms of production (ie: Craftsman) and sales (ie: Stuffed Sandwich, Lucky Baldwin's), but that's because they're Pasadenans. Back to Blue Palms.
I believe Lenzo to be a malthead like myself, which is why they stock so many great dark, malty beers including, and I can't promote this beer enough if you've never tried it, Ola Dubh 30... ON TAP. The symbiotic relationship between Scotland's Harviestoun Brewery and Highland Park single-malt scotch, over 20 years and 200 years old, respectively, this "Black Oil" beer aged in said famed whisky barrels is a snifter to behold. And as with all beers aged in spirit casks, it'll getya.
If you're in or heading to LA, check out. Or better yet, stop by around Nov 2 for my LA book signing party there, as the plan goes.As for scoping out the beer scene "beyond," K'ro and I happened upon Central Coast Brewing, founded around 2003, in San Luis Obispo. For anyone who recalls SLO Brewing, home of the first blueberry ale I'd ever tried, this is no relation, as that brewery is now in the hands of Firestone-Walker.
We pulled into the parking lot in front of CCB after 4 p.m, which is to say less than an hour before they stop pouring samples. Nevertheless, Jim behind the bar helped us squeeze in the full gamut of their brews and we walked away with our two favorites, Chai Cream Ale (yes, it tastes like chai) and Drunkelweizen, so dubbed because it's dark (dunkle), wheaty (weizen), and'll get ya drunk. Beer people come up with the best names.
CCB is also a BOP (Brew on Premise) and they'll help you brew any of their 150ish recipes. Stop in to brew your own batch with your own custom-made labels. Or better yet, stop by around Dec 2 for my SLO book signing party there, as the plan goes.
August 5, 2008
OBF: Honorary Mayor of Beertown
It all started with the Brewers Brunch at Portland’s PGE Park, where local mavens Kurt and Rob Widmer (think Hefeweizen) perched incognito as the line for the sold-out event streamed in. The brunch is also where I met my new crew for the day, consisting of a benevolent bunch of locals, Aly, Jay, Christian, Sarah, Dean, Brit, Katie and not timid girl from Phoenix, Sara. The rep for Widmer Bros. showered us with schwag to hand out during the parade. Yes, a parade.
The route ended at McCall Waterfront Park where the inaugural cask (I heard it was Widmer’s new Half Nelson Imperial India Pale Ale, but it seemed to lack the kick of an IIPA and was more likely the regular Broken Halo IPA) was tapped by the mayor of Portland. Not only did I meet Mayor Tom Potter, and not only did he wear one of my new Red, White, and Brew stickers* on his shirt, he put his "Mayor of Beertown" sash on me when we posed for a picture. I felt like Charlie to Mayor Potter’s Willie Wonka. We talked for a while about the joys and merits of being the mayor of Beervana, and it seems that it’s always been in the family, in that he has long enjoyed German brews and sausages whenever he visits his wife’s family in the Rhineland.
I spent my first wooden chip (buck-a-piece) on the Surfer’s Summer Ale from the Pelican Brewery, located on the Oregon coast. On a scale of 1 to 5, I’d only give in a 2. So I went in the opposite direction, both beer-wise and geography-wise, and went for a Bell’s Porter from Kalamazoo, MI. Paydirt! Other noteworthy concoctions included MacTarnahan’s Slingshot Extra Pale Ale (Originally Portland Brewing Co, Mac’s is now owned by Pyramid, which is now owned by Magic Hat in Vermont, so how come there wasn’t any Magic Hat at the fest?); kooky local brews like Caldera’s Ginger Ale (yes, ale with ginger) and Roots Organic Brewing’s Calypso Ale (unbeknownst to me, it was a spicy chili beer), and, from Idaho, Laughing Dog’s Rocketdog Red Rye, which had a surprisingly zingy bitter kick. It was good because sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t want ginger or peppers in your beer.
The day ended with a post-fest round at one of the McMenamin’s brewpubs, founded by Mike and Brian McMenamin . Which one? I don’t rightly recall, such was my wherewithall 12 hours after my first beer. That night, I attempted to sleep at my hostel, but the guy in another bunk had snored like a hibernating bear wrapped in a mauled wild boar’s last gasps for air being chased by an Unholy Thing.
I couldn’t spend four days in PDX and not hit one of my all-time favorite brewpubs, the Lucky Lab on Hawthorne.
With The Manager finding her way to town to join me, we took a short leave of absence from the fest to walk over the Hawthorne Bridge and cool off. Irish Stout on the nitro tap for her, Black Lab Stout for me. Add several real live Labradors and other breeds out on the back porch and it made for a fine afternoon. Best part: for barely more than the price of a pint, they’ll hand fill a 22 oz bottle of your choice for take-home.
One unexpected highlight for me was running into Electric Dave from my official beer odyssey. (Seriously: click here.)
As someone who could barely make his way from his home in Bisbee, AZ to nearby Tucson, I couldn't imagine what brought him to Portland. The next day, I met "The Other Dave," and I understood why they were in town. Bottom line: Electric Brewing has officially changed hands, but Electric Dave is staying on. It is a tale of two Daves. I wish them both good luck.
Finally, I met so many cool people, but will end with a political canvasser named Miles Greengard from Michigan. When I told him about my visit to Bell's there, he offered: “In Michigan there are two holidays that people celebrate: the opening of deer hunting season and the day Oberon drops. Nobody goes to class the next day.”
The route ended at McCall Waterfront Park where the inaugural cask (I heard it was Widmer’s new Half Nelson Imperial India Pale Ale, but it seemed to lack the kick of an IIPA and was more likely the regular Broken Halo IPA) was tapped by the mayor of Portland. Not only did I meet Mayor Tom Potter, and not only did he wear one of my new Red, White, and Brew stickers* on his shirt, he put his "Mayor of Beertown" sash on me when we posed for a picture. I felt like Charlie to Mayor Potter’s Willie Wonka. We talked for a while about the joys and merits of being the mayor of Beervana, and it seems that it’s always been in the family, in that he has long enjoyed German brews and sausages whenever he visits his wife’s family in the Rhineland.
I spent my first wooden chip (buck-a-piece) on the Surfer’s Summer Ale from the Pelican Brewery, located on the Oregon coast. On a scale of 1 to 5, I’d only give in a 2. So I went in the opposite direction, both beer-wise and geography-wise, and went for a Bell’s Porter from Kalamazoo, MI. Paydirt! Other noteworthy concoctions included MacTarnahan’s Slingshot Extra Pale Ale (Originally Portland Brewing Co, Mac’s is now owned by Pyramid, which is now owned by Magic Hat in Vermont, so how come there wasn’t any Magic Hat at the fest?); kooky local brews like Caldera’s Ginger Ale (yes, ale with ginger) and Roots Organic Brewing’s Calypso Ale (unbeknownst to me, it was a spicy chili beer), and, from Idaho, Laughing Dog’s Rocketdog Red Rye, which had a surprisingly zingy bitter kick. It was good because sometimes, just sometimes, you don’t want ginger or peppers in your beer.The day ended with a post-fest round at one of the McMenamin’s brewpubs, founded by Mike and Brian McMenamin . Which one? I don’t rightly recall, such was my wherewithall 12 hours after my first beer. That night, I attempted to sleep at my hostel, but the guy in another bunk had snored like a hibernating bear wrapped in a mauled wild boar’s last gasps for air being chased by an Unholy Thing.
I couldn’t spend four days in PDX and not hit one of my all-time favorite brewpubs, the Lucky Lab on Hawthorne.
With The Manager finding her way to town to join me, we took a short leave of absence from the fest to walk over the Hawthorne Bridge and cool off. Irish Stout on the nitro tap for her, Black Lab Stout for me. Add several real live Labradors and other breeds out on the back porch and it made for a fine afternoon. Best part: for barely more than the price of a pint, they’ll hand fill a 22 oz bottle of your choice for take-home.One unexpected highlight for me was running into Electric Dave from my official beer odyssey. (Seriously: click here.)
As someone who could barely make his way from his home in Bisbee, AZ to nearby Tucson, I couldn't imagine what brought him to Portland. The next day, I met "The Other Dave," and I understood why they were in town. Bottom line: Electric Brewing has officially changed hands, but Electric Dave is staying on. It is a tale of two Daves. I wish them both good luck.Finally, I met so many cool people, but will end with a political canvasser named Miles Greengard from Michigan. When I told him about my visit to Bell's there, he offered: “In Michigan there are two holidays that people celebrate: the opening of deer hunting season and the day Oberon drops. Nobody goes to class the next day.”
July 3, 2008
Inaugural beer dinner: Stoutstanding!
Ages ago, when I was still in the early stages of "researching" my book, I dreamt of hosting some sort of beer tasting event. A few nights ago, I began what will hopefully become a tradition. Pairing beer with food--all the rage. From restaurants such as Monk's Kettle to books such as He Said Beer, She Said Wine to my very own b-day dinner with the notorious Beer Chef (oh, just scroll down a post), everyone's doin' it. I asked chef Bruce Patton if, instead of doing a beer dinner focused on just one brewery, if he'd ever thought of doing it with just one style of beer, it took him practically no time to reject that idea. Wouldn't work. I'm no Thomas Keller, no Garret Oliver, but I did have an overabundance of stouts in my fridge and figured an all-
stout dinner was just the trick to lighten, if you catch my drift, my fridge. And in doing so, five friends and I agree that the Beer Chef doesn't get the final word on the matter.
The evite called for Sunday, 7 p.m. So K'ro and I hit a schmancy Berkeley grocery store on Saturday, which is when I started making my award-winning* 24-hour chili.
(*For reals. At the Kenpo Not- so- annual Chili Cook- off.) Thick bacon, 5 lbs. of chuck beef (cubed), and a bottle of Indian Wells Brewing's Piute Stout (unless you live in the Mojave Desert, you are unlikely to find their beers. It was an old bottle, so I was afraid to serve it, but not too afraid to take a few swallows).
Seven p.m. rolled around and Jen, Gavin, Mara, Matt, and K'ro were all poured a beer of their choice as the only non-stout of the evening. I'll add that Matt had to sacrifice some of his Rogue Smoked Ale to the root veggie surprise, which made both an excellent side dish and chili topping.
To truly kick things off, Jen prepared three dips/spreads (a creamy smoked trout with horseradish, a savory tomato- onion
chutney, and a sweet cranberry- orange- fennel chutney) with a hearty German brown bread, and a plate of 3x cream brie, a smoked German cheese, and sliced stonefruit. Paired with Terminator Stout procured from a recent stay at the McMenamin’s Kennedy School in Portland, followed by Organic Devout Stout from Santa Cruz Mountain Brewing., which I picked up after a half marathon down there.
For the main course, I first paired the chili with El Toro’s Imperial Stout. Though my chili didn’t have the heat I wanted it to (Gavin’s British and I didn’t know if his taste buds could handle it), I also cracked open Dick’s Oatmeal Stout. I happened upon this at the Bier Stein, a great deli and bottle shop in Eugene, Ore.
Finally, for dessert, I had a rare opportunity (or motivation) to bust out my crème brulee torch, which my sister regifted to me years ago. I figured, if I could think of it, someone’s already done it AND put it on the Interweb. Hence, I wound up making a chocolate “crème brew-lee” using Young’s Double Chocolate Stout, which was complemented by Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout.
Number of stouts used/drank: 7
Number of diners who thought the all-stout dinner went a'ight: 6
So, whether I pick a single style, brewery, or perhaps country to feature next time, at least I know I finally have my beer tasting tradition I’ve always wanted.
stout dinner was just the trick to lighten, if you catch my drift, my fridge. And in doing so, five friends and I agree that the Beer Chef doesn't get the final word on the matter.The evite called for Sunday, 7 p.m. So K'ro and I hit a schmancy Berkeley grocery store on Saturday, which is when I started making my award-winning* 24-hour chili.
(*For reals. At the Kenpo Not- so- annual Chili Cook- off.) Thick bacon, 5 lbs. of chuck beef (cubed), and a bottle of Indian Wells Brewing's Piute Stout (unless you live in the Mojave Desert, you are unlikely to find their beers. It was an old bottle, so I was afraid to serve it, but not too afraid to take a few swallows).Seven p.m. rolled around and Jen, Gavin, Mara, Matt, and K'ro were all poured a beer of their choice as the only non-stout of the evening. I'll add that Matt had to sacrifice some of his Rogue Smoked Ale to the root veggie surprise, which made both an excellent side dish and chili topping.
To truly kick things off, Jen prepared three dips/spreads (a creamy smoked trout with horseradish, a savory tomato- onion
chutney, and a sweet cranberry- orange- fennel chutney) with a hearty German brown bread, and a plate of 3x cream brie, a smoked German cheese, and sliced stonefruit. Paired with Terminator Stout procured from a recent stay at the McMenamin’s Kennedy School in Portland, followed by Organic Devout Stout from Santa Cruz Mountain Brewing., which I picked up after a half marathon down there.For the main course, I first paired the chili with El Toro’s Imperial Stout. Though my chili didn’t have the heat I wanted it to (Gavin’s British and I didn’t know if his taste buds could handle it), I also cracked open Dick’s Oatmeal Stout. I happened upon this at the Bier Stein, a great deli and bottle shop in Eugene, Ore.
Finally, for dessert, I had a rare opportunity (or motivation) to bust out my crème brulee torch, which my sister regifted to me years ago. I figured, if I could think of it, someone’s already done it AND put it on the Interweb. Hence, I wound up making a chocolate “crème brew-lee” using Young’s Double Chocolate Stout, which was complemented by Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout.Number of stouts used/drank: 7
Number of diners who thought the all-stout dinner went a'ight: 6
So, whether I pick a single style, brewery, or perhaps country to feature next time, at least I know I finally have my beer tasting tradition I’ve always wanted.
June 25, 2008
"I had dinner with the Beer Chef"
Perhaps save for "Playmate Quality Control," is there any job more desirable than one with the words “beer” and “chef” in the title? Lucky Bruce Patton is the Beer Chef and his office is an easy walk from me at the Cathedral Hill Hotel in San Francisco. Ever since I heard about his beer pairing dinners, I'd been dying to go. K'ro answered my prayers with a surprise birthday dinner for me.
She tricked me into thinking we were popping into Tommy's Joynt for a beer before dinner. It’s my favorite SF institution. But instead, she yanked me into the hotel with the cocktail hour underway where we each met a glass of Belgian-style witbiers concocted by Craig Cauwels, brewmaster at Schooner's Grille & Brewery in Antioch. (Yeah, I didn’t know where it was, either.)
We took our seats after filling our bellies with beer and hors d'oeuvres and unwittingly sat at a table with Craig and his wife, Mary. Rounding out the table, to K'ro's left sat Renae, Schooner's manager, and to my right, Jay Brooks, celebrated writer with a beer blog of his own.
The way Bruce does it, and he’s got it down pat since the San Fran native has been doing this for over a decade, is he gives a spiel about his menu and the beers from the brewery featured that night. Then Craig got up and spoke. Then we ate and drank.
First course: Caprese salad, using housemade mozzarella and replacing tomatoes with farmer’s market fresh yellow peaches, opal basil, all on a bed of dried cherry vinaigrette. The beer? “Vindication.” Oatmeal stout aged in brandy barrels with cherries. The magic “critters” Craig employed, eschewing traditional brewers yeast, were a colony of Brettanomyces (“Brett”). No standard kriek beer, a style I find too sour and too, uh, cherry-y, this delicious creation struck me as a dessert beer, but life is short and I’m a proponent of having dessert first. Also, it’s 11% ABV.
I’d like to go on about the rest of the dinner, but did I mention how strong that last beer was and that it wasn’t my first or even second of the night? All I know is, the pork tenderloin was terrific, the Irish stout served up my favorite way—on nitro—was outstanding, and next thing I knew, everyone at the table was all kinds of happy.
In case you forgot, this was my birthday dinner. I’d forgotten, too, until, after Bruce spieled the dessert course (butterscotch bread pudding), then that li’l devil busted out a huge, chocolate cake of my own. I wanted to share with everyone present, which entailed me visiting every table, and in doing so, I met some other guests, including fellow beer bloggers, Joe and Todd.
I hope to dine with the Beer Chef again. And I’m now on a mission to make my way out to Schooner’s as soon as possible. Not because I'm eager to see the end of the BART line, but because Craig's creations are out of this world.
She tricked me into thinking we were popping into Tommy's Joynt for a beer before dinner. It’s my favorite SF institution. But instead, she yanked me into the hotel with the cocktail hour underway where we each met a glass of Belgian-style witbiers concocted by Craig Cauwels, brewmaster at Schooner's Grille & Brewery in Antioch. (Yeah, I didn’t know where it was, either.)
We took our seats after filling our bellies with beer and hors d'oeuvres and unwittingly sat at a table with Craig and his wife, Mary. Rounding out the table, to K'ro's left sat Renae, Schooner's manager, and to my right, Jay Brooks, celebrated writer with a beer blog of his own.
The way Bruce does it, and he’s got it down pat since the San Fran native has been doing this for over a decade, is he gives a spiel about his menu and the beers from the brewery featured that night. Then Craig got up and spoke. Then we ate and drank.
First course: Caprese salad, using housemade mozzarella and replacing tomatoes with farmer’s market fresh yellow peaches, opal basil, all on a bed of dried cherry vinaigrette. The beer? “Vindication.” Oatmeal stout aged in brandy barrels with cherries. The magic “critters” Craig employed, eschewing traditional brewers yeast, were a colony of Brettanomyces (“Brett”). No standard kriek beer, a style I find too sour and too, uh, cherry-y, this delicious creation struck me as a dessert beer, but life is short and I’m a proponent of having dessert first. Also, it’s 11% ABV.
I’d like to go on about the rest of the dinner, but did I mention how strong that last beer was and that it wasn’t my first or even second of the night? All I know is, the pork tenderloin was terrific, the Irish stout served up my favorite way—on nitro—was outstanding, and next thing I knew, everyone at the table was all kinds of happy.In case you forgot, this was my birthday dinner. I’d forgotten, too, until, after Bruce spieled the dessert course (butterscotch bread pudding), then that li’l devil busted out a huge, chocolate cake of my own. I wanted to share with everyone present, which entailed me visiting every table, and in doing so, I met some other guests, including fellow beer bloggers, Joe and Todd.
I hope to dine with the Beer Chef again. And I’m now on a mission to make my way out to Schooner’s as soon as possible. Not because I'm eager to see the end of the BART line, but because Craig's creations are out of this world.
June 22, 2008
Hopmonk: Not just a sidetrip, it’s a destination
Sometimes it’s difficult to head somewhere beyond my neighborhood, so to Mapquest my way to Sebastopol (60 miles north of San Francisco) is saying something. Eager to return to Hopmonk Tavern, which just opened this year courtesy of Dean Biersch (yes, of Gordon-Biersch fame), I first experienced it three weeks ago.
I love a good beerfest. A more obvious statement I cannot make. Simply titled "Beerfest," this small gathering on June 7 in Santa Rosa attracted an amiable 2,000 fest-goers and 35 mostly-local breweries from Russian River (Sonoma County) to Eel River (Humboldt County). The former’s rock star, Vinnie, was not spotted and I don’t know what Ted Vivatson from the latter even looks like. Advance tickets were $35 and all the food was included. Brilliant. So instead of shelling out an extra $10 for a gristle-heavy tri tip sandwich, we were treated to samples of pulled pork sandwiches, sausages, a buffet of fresh fruits and veggies and, from Hopmonk, spare ribs braised with what I'm pretty sure was a mole bbq sauce.
That is what enticed K’ro and I to hop over to check out the gastropub. Once there, we were rewarded with a dynamite beer list (I tried Mendocino's Spring Bock (hoppier than is usual for the style, and a definite winner), an inviting atmosphere with both indoor and outdoor seating, and a visit from Dean himself.
Yesterday was a scorcher in The City, so a cold brew was the order of the day. Of course, no sooner than we’d crossed the Golden Gate Bridge than we saw the thermometer climb from 88 to 101. Hooray for convertibles. Once we arrived, the idyllic patio was too good to pass up and, though an ale enthusiast, I promptly ordered a house lager, a Kellerbier, which is an unfiltered pilsner. Per-fecto when it’s in the 90s ‘neath a shady umbrella. Once again, there was great live music and the food was top-notch, too. (We shared a smoked tomato quesadilla, and that was just the starter.) And, lo and behold, another chance to enjoy the biergarten with Dean who, like the central water fountain, is a fixture here.
We mentioned seeing a crack-up billboard in The City, depicting his partner Dan Gordon with the slogan, “Never trust a skinny brewer.” Dan loves his work. In fact, Dean told us how Dan is presently in Taiwan at the opening of their first international brewpub. In trying to make sure Dean’s new venture operates smoothly during its infancy (it does. They have the best wait staff around, which isn’t ridiculously common throughout the Pacific Northwest) and keep his three kids in check to boot, he didn’t fly out for the Taiwanese launch.
G-B brewpubs are also open in 17 states and our nation’s capital. But there’s only one Hopmonk.
Cheers!
I love a good beerfest. A more obvious statement I cannot make. Simply titled "Beerfest," this small gathering on June 7 in Santa Rosa attracted an amiable 2,000 fest-goers and 35 mostly-local breweries from Russian River (Sonoma County) to Eel River (Humboldt County). The former’s rock star, Vinnie, was not spotted and I don’t know what Ted Vivatson from the latter even looks like. Advance tickets were $35 and all the food was included. Brilliant. So instead of shelling out an extra $10 for a gristle-heavy tri tip sandwich, we were treated to samples of pulled pork sandwiches, sausages, a buffet of fresh fruits and veggies and, from Hopmonk, spare ribs braised with what I'm pretty sure was a mole bbq sauce.
That is what enticed K’ro and I to hop over to check out the gastropub. Once there, we were rewarded with a dynamite beer list (I tried Mendocino's Spring Bock (hoppier than is usual for the style, and a definite winner), an inviting atmosphere with both indoor and outdoor seating, and a visit from Dean himself.
Yesterday was a scorcher in The City, so a cold brew was the order of the day. Of course, no sooner than we’d crossed the Golden Gate Bridge than we saw the thermometer climb from 88 to 101. Hooray for convertibles. Once we arrived, the idyllic patio was too good to pass up and, though an ale enthusiast, I promptly ordered a house lager, a Kellerbier, which is an unfiltered pilsner. Per-fecto when it’s in the 90s ‘neath a shady umbrella. Once again, there was great live music and the food was top-notch, too. (We shared a smoked tomato quesadilla, and that was just the starter.) And, lo and behold, another chance to enjoy the biergarten with Dean who, like the central water fountain, is a fixture here.We mentioned seeing a crack-up billboard in The City, depicting his partner Dan Gordon with the slogan, “Never trust a skinny brewer.” Dan loves his work. In fact, Dean told us how Dan is presently in Taiwan at the opening of their first international brewpub. In trying to make sure Dean’s new venture operates smoothly during its infancy (it does. They have the best wait staff around, which isn’t ridiculously common throughout the Pacific Northwest) and keep his three kids in check to boot, he didn’t fly out for the Taiwanese launch.
G-B brewpubs are also open in 17 states and our nation’s capital. But there’s only one Hopmonk.
Cheers!
June 19, 2008
Honorable mention
I am remiss in not paying K' Ro her due respect and awarding her HM for all things Beerodyssey.com-related and for expressing my gratitude in helping with the impending schwag. Schwag? Oh yes, Red, White, & Brew schwag. Look for her at Bay Area beerfests and look for me on the road come October.
June 18, 2008
Encouraged by the Beer People
While this blog update serves mostly as a test, I must say, I'm encouraged by all the Beer People that exist out there, nameless and faceless on the sidewalks and in the elevators, but instant compadres atop the barstools.
I say "test," because when I tried to register "beerodyssey" as my blog name, I confoundingly learned that the name was taken. By whom? By me. Two and a half years ago, when in the nascent stages of writing Red, White, and Brew, I evidently posted a blog about attending GABF (Great American Beer Festsival). It was my foray into the awesome world of beer, and now I'm looking forward to returning to GABF this fall, to promote said book. Like drops of beer from a draft tap, so are the days of our lives. Or something like that. Anyway, I'm happy to be reunited with my blog and have lots of events to write about, from last week's double-header Beerfest in Santa Rosa, Calif. + inaugural trip to Hopmonk in Sebastopol, Calif. to my upcoming first (in what I hope becomes a permanent series) of beer dinners at the Bierhaus (that's my apartment).
As for the Beer People, in recent weeks, as R,W, & B inches closer to publication, I've been delighted with the response I've gotten from those who have read pre-pub drafts and those that have simply heard about it. Thanks a million to Chris O'Hara and Maureen Ogle, venerable beer authors, for offering kind words. Thanks to Ethan, random dude at Toronado on Haight St. for his wealth of knowledge on all things brewed (from Pliny the hop-cultivator to distinguishing Firestone-Walker's small beer as truly more of a Saison.) And all I know is, my sales rating on Amazon went from 1,300,298 to 344,500 overnight. If Ethan bought 100 copies, I'm so buying him a pint at Toronado.
Cheers!
I say "test," because when I tried to register "beerodyssey" as my blog name, I confoundingly learned that the name was taken. By whom? By me. Two and a half years ago, when in the nascent stages of writing Red, White, and Brew, I evidently posted a blog about attending GABF (Great American Beer Festsival). It was my foray into the awesome world of beer, and now I'm looking forward to returning to GABF this fall, to promote said book. Like drops of beer from a draft tap, so are the days of our lives. Or something like that. Anyway, I'm happy to be reunited with my blog and have lots of events to write about, from last week's double-header Beerfest in Santa Rosa, Calif. + inaugural trip to Hopmonk in Sebastopol, Calif. to my upcoming first (in what I hope becomes a permanent series) of beer dinners at the Bierhaus (that's my apartment).
As for the Beer People, in recent weeks, as R,W, & B inches closer to publication, I've been delighted with the response I've gotten from those who have read pre-pub drafts and those that have simply heard about it. Thanks a million to Chris O'Hara and Maureen Ogle, venerable beer authors, for offering kind words. Thanks to Ethan, random dude at Toronado on Haight St. for his wealth of knowledge on all things brewed (from Pliny the hop-cultivator to distinguishing Firestone-Walker's small beer as truly more of a Saison.) And all I know is, my sales rating on Amazon went from 1,300,298 to 344,500 overnight. If Ethan bought 100 copies, I'm so buying him a pint at Toronado.
Cheers!
February 25, 2006
Great American Beer Fest 05
It seems to me from people’s beer-drinking habits that it doesn’t matter if a brew is good or bad, just that it is. I think you can divide beer drinkers into two camps: those who love a great tasting pint of suds for which they’ll pay a premium price, and those who love to down can after can of brewski so ya might as well drink the cheapest stuff available. An aspiring beer snob, I place myself in the first group, so it was an irony-laced moment when, faced with 1,669 different beers all free for the asking, I went with the Schlitz Malt Liquor. What’s with the all the beer, you ask? Let me back up just a tad. Tuesday, I found out about the Great American Beer Festival, the Brewers Association’s 24th annual. Wednesday I cancelled all my plans and booked a ticket (sorry, Mom, I’ll make up missing your birthday to you later). Thursday I arrived in Denver, thirst in tow.
If I’m going to write a book on family-run breweries in America, I’ve got to dedicate myself to my research. This was purely a fact-finding mission, y’see. I’m willing to thrust myself into the trenches, and if sampling beer from more than 380 U.S. breweries is what I’ve got to do, then I become a martyr I shall. Which brings me back to the Schlitz Malt Liquor. In the mid 19th century, breweries were at an all-time high with over 4,000 in the U.S. There was a mass exodus from Germany and they mostly sailed to the New World. Breweries were entirely regional and the thought of selling their craft outside their city limits was unthinkable. Many of these Prussian emigrants settled in Milwuakee and Minnesota and if there’s one thing you can say about them—they know their beer. It may seem like a joke now, but the biggest and best breweries around there, around then, were Pabst, Schlitz, Strohs, and Best (as in, Milwuakee’s Best). At some point, they were all interconnected through mergers and marriages. Later, they all fell under the umbrella of Miller Brewing Co. Today, there’s not a single Pabst or Best or Miller involved in the brewing. Philip Morris Co. bought out Miller in 1971 and South African Brewing Co. took it over in 2002 for over $5 billion. SABMiller puts out scores of beers, everything from Amstel Light to Zubr (a Polish Lager). With the media pass I wangled from the Brewers Association publicist, I was allowed into the Denver Convention Center early and watched as reps and volunteers scrambled to set up their tables with all the breweries arranged by region. I found myself shaking hands with Bob, brewmaster at Pabst. He was sad that he couldn’t be more help in finding a family connection for me, although there is an August Pabst out there who at one point worked in the brewery from which we all enjoy our PBR today. Seems like I’ll have to expand the scope of my project beyond families with a brewing heritage. Then there was a great clamor, it was 5:30, and the taps were opened. I requested a sip of the “Tragicallly Unhip” Schlitz Malt Liquor (they’re own admission which they emblazoned on their stickers) and can now say from experience why I’ve never had it before.
I say I had “a sip,” because it is fest policy to only pour one ounce samples. All the tables even have buckets in case you don’t want to finish it. One ounce. Sixteen hundred and sixty-nine beers. If you could sample each one, you’d drink 100 pints of beer and you can imagine what would happen with the 69 ounces leftover. Every kind of beer imaginable was represented: lagers; ales; stouts; and porters. They had one of my perennial favorites, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (Chico, CA was in the house) but they had some outrageous beers that knocked my lederhosen off. Natty Greene’s Brewing Co. from Greensboro, NC brought an amazing smoked porter. Pitch as night but not sweet like most porters, this smokey concoction could quench my thirst anytime. From Lexington, the Kentucky Brewing Co. poured the one new beer I’ll never be able to forget. Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale. They ferment this ale in retired bourbon barrels and the result is one whiskey and beer fans should both agree on. Although the brewery was founded in 1794, it has undergone all sorts of changes of ownership and is run by a local yeast company since 1980. While it’s not family-owned, it’d be a hell of a great excuse to visit the bluegrass state on my roadtrip. Maybe I’ll suggest to them a mint julep ale.
Each year the festival surpasses its own Guinness World Record for most beers tapped in one location. An odd thing about this variety is that breweries sometimes bring their seasonal selections, so it’s a bit disconcerting to taste a summer ale, Oktoberfest ale and holiday ale all at the same time. The difference is usually just the way they roast the barley or stew up the hops. One question reps like to ask when pouring for inquisitive or just wishy-washy tasters is if they like hops. I apparently don’t because I’ve never been a fan of India Pale Ales which are hoppier than your standard ale. So when I saw the amount of Double IPAs available…well…that’s just too damn hoppy for me.
There were a lot of fruity options available, brewed with varying degrees of success. No fear of being labeled poofy, the Mash House Brewing Co.’s peach hefeweizen from a brewpub in Fayetteville, NC was deliciously refreshing. The Widmer Bros. Brewing Co., on the other hand, actually credited with brewing the first hefeweizen in America, bombed big time with their Cherry Bomb, a Belgian-style ale so tart and nasty, it tasted like a beer filtered through a sour cherry pie.
The mountain west contains as many craft breweries as the north central plains and north east coast and Coors Brewing Co. is the granddaddy of them all. (I’m currently reading Citizen Coors which is absolutely fascinating. The way Adolph Coors and his offspring changed the brewing industry time and time again is incredible and the Coors men are equally worthy of respect as well as the title “supreme assholes.”) The first brewery in the Rockies opened in 1859. Coors’s opened in 1873. It wasn’t until 1979 that the Boulder Beer Co. opened, which is now the oldest microbrewery in Colorado today. Perhaps it was the ounce of their Hazed & Infused that pushed me toward the bathrooms for the first time of the night. I’d say two full hours of sampling beer is not bad bladder control, but of course with an expected attendance of 28,000 imbibers, I didn’t find relief until almost 8.
To justify this trip as a tax write-off, I dutifully took notes (with increasingly decreasing legibility) while most of the other fest-goers dutifully got faschnockered. Whenever someone dropped his or her plastic tasting glass, everyone hollered “Whooooooooo.” By night’s end, the whoos were so frequent and scattered; if they were visible they would’ve given someone with epilepsy seizures. Seasoned attendees wore homemade pretzel necklaces. One girl who forgot this fashionable and pragmatic accessory walked up to the Yazoo Brewing Co. table while I was chatting with Linus Hall, founder and brewmaster who upgraded from homebrewing to microbrewing in Nashville in 2003. He poured me some of his gold-medal winning hefeweizen (earned at last year’s GABF, which is not a bad way to introduce yourself your first year running) from one of the four pitchers in front of him. “Is this the Tennessee Brewery? Where’s all the beer at?” the girl asked. Linus and I both looked down at the table and I said, “It’s not like they’re hiding it” to which she responded, “I dunno. I thought maybe they were Jewish in Tennessee.” I mused to myself that whoever bought this blonde her big, fake tits could’ve made a wiser investment.
In a far corner a stage was set up for bands. There was another stage set up in the middle for cooking lessons—cooking with beer! By the time I decided to try something solid since my breakfast pizza at LAX that morning, they were on dessert. Dessert with beer?? Hell yeah!! I missed the demonstration, but arrived just in time to get a plate of something like bread pudding with chocolate chunks in it a la mode. The ice cream was cinnamon ice cream with pumpkin ale adding further nutmeg and allspice flavor to it. Then it was topped with bananas flambéed in more pumpkin ale and—now this isn’t just all the beer talking but maybe it is—it was fucking goooooooood.
Beer makes people happy. Astronauts at the space station must’ve been wondering what that glow was emanating from the Rocky west.
The Papago Brewing Co. from Scottsdale, AZ was pouring a barley wine with 9.6% alcohol. It had nothing on Chimay, which was originally brewed by Trappist monks in Belgium, but it was good. I enjoyed my shot of Sierra Nevada’s Bigfoot Barleywine, too, which kept me warm while I waited around a bit to shake Jim Koch’s hand. The founder, brewer, and spokesman for Samuel Adams was pouring his new Black Lager (schwartz lagers were somewhat popular at the fest) between bouts of signing autographs and chit-chatting with judges. He wrote down his marketing director’s contact information for me and said that when I roll into Boston, he’d be happy to sit down with me for my book. It’s true that he developed Samuel Adams Lager from an old family recipe he found.
My last introduction for the night was with Sam Calagione who was signing copies of his new book, Brewing Up a Business. Sam started Dogfish Head Brewings & Eats in 1995 in Rehoboth Beach, DE, the first state’s first brewpub. It’s grown leaps and bounds through brewing great beers and insanely brilliant marketing. If you’d like to try America’s strongest beer, pass up their Raison D’Etre and go straight to the Raison D’Extra. Ranging from 17-21 percent alcohol by volume, this 40 proof beer will floor you on the drop. My buddy won some when his team placed first after going undefeated last month at Dogfish Head’s first annual costume bocce ball tournament. I can’t wait to tell you more about them after I cruise into the beachside brewpub where Sam said he’ll have a cold one waiting for me as we work on that chapter.
Then the lights got a bit brighter. A tide of inebriation started flowing toward the exit. One girl exclaimed “I’m in hhhheaven” as she stumbled away—or intentionally did a little jig. I walked all the way back to my hostel (drunk dialing everyone I know along the way). There were two people about to head out to a diner so I joined them. After telling them all about this book I’m working on, they both mentioned that they’re in AA but no longer in CA. Over eggs, homefries, pancakes and toast, I told them about how my road trip will work; over coffee and cigarettes Ann told me that she can’t vote because she went to prison for drunk driving. I promise to be safe. For the rest of you, reading my book will be the only time when drinking and driving mix.
Robert Newman, Brewmaster from Pabst, interlude:
Pabst brewing is owned by a charity in CA.
“August Pabst lives in Oconowoc, WI. He was employed at the brewery when I worked there until the charity owned Pabst. But he was more of a figurehead for the last 10 years more than anything. Even in the ‘60s Pabst wasn’t owned by the Pabst family anymore. It was owned by a businessman in Chicago. He owned the controlling stock. And now, nobody owns it. It’s not a stock-owned company. It’s operated by the charity.
Basically the mergers & acquisitions in the 60s, 70s, and 80s is what did it. Even the Stroh family sold out to Pabst in 1999.
There’s a book out on Pabst that I think was written in the 70s (Pabst Brewing Company).
That brand’s contracted out. (SAB)Miller makes 99 percent of our beers.” And with that, a gentleman of no discerning taste asked Bob if the can in front of him could be opened and enjoyed, and the brewmaster obliged.
Men’s room quote interlude:
“Hey guys, flush twice. It’s a long way to the Coors brewery.”
If I’m going to write a book on family-run breweries in America, I’ve got to dedicate myself to my research. This was purely a fact-finding mission, y’see. I’m willing to thrust myself into the trenches, and if sampling beer from more than 380 U.S. breweries is what I’ve got to do, then I become a martyr I shall. Which brings me back to the Schlitz Malt Liquor. In the mid 19th century, breweries were at an all-time high with over 4,000 in the U.S. There was a mass exodus from Germany and they mostly sailed to the New World. Breweries were entirely regional and the thought of selling their craft outside their city limits was unthinkable. Many of these Prussian emigrants settled in Milwuakee and Minnesota and if there’s one thing you can say about them—they know their beer. It may seem like a joke now, but the biggest and best breweries around there, around then, were Pabst, Schlitz, Strohs, and Best (as in, Milwuakee’s Best). At some point, they were all interconnected through mergers and marriages. Later, they all fell under the umbrella of Miller Brewing Co. Today, there’s not a single Pabst or Best or Miller involved in the brewing. Philip Morris Co. bought out Miller in 1971 and South African Brewing Co. took it over in 2002 for over $5 billion. SABMiller puts out scores of beers, everything from Amstel Light to Zubr (a Polish Lager). With the media pass I wangled from the Brewers Association publicist, I was allowed into the Denver Convention Center early and watched as reps and volunteers scrambled to set up their tables with all the breweries arranged by region. I found myself shaking hands with Bob, brewmaster at Pabst. He was sad that he couldn’t be more help in finding a family connection for me, although there is an August Pabst out there who at one point worked in the brewery from which we all enjoy our PBR today. Seems like I’ll have to expand the scope of my project beyond families with a brewing heritage. Then there was a great clamor, it was 5:30, and the taps were opened. I requested a sip of the “Tragicallly Unhip” Schlitz Malt Liquor (they’re own admission which they emblazoned on their stickers) and can now say from experience why I’ve never had it before.
I say I had “a sip,” because it is fest policy to only pour one ounce samples. All the tables even have buckets in case you don’t want to finish it. One ounce. Sixteen hundred and sixty-nine beers. If you could sample each one, you’d drink 100 pints of beer and you can imagine what would happen with the 69 ounces leftover. Every kind of beer imaginable was represented: lagers; ales; stouts; and porters. They had one of my perennial favorites, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (Chico, CA was in the house) but they had some outrageous beers that knocked my lederhosen off. Natty Greene’s Brewing Co. from Greensboro, NC brought an amazing smoked porter. Pitch as night but not sweet like most porters, this smokey concoction could quench my thirst anytime. From Lexington, the Kentucky Brewing Co. poured the one new beer I’ll never be able to forget. Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale. They ferment this ale in retired bourbon barrels and the result is one whiskey and beer fans should both agree on. Although the brewery was founded in 1794, it has undergone all sorts of changes of ownership and is run by a local yeast company since 1980. While it’s not family-owned, it’d be a hell of a great excuse to visit the bluegrass state on my roadtrip. Maybe I’ll suggest to them a mint julep ale.
Each year the festival surpasses its own Guinness World Record for most beers tapped in one location. An odd thing about this variety is that breweries sometimes bring their seasonal selections, so it’s a bit disconcerting to taste a summer ale, Oktoberfest ale and holiday ale all at the same time. The difference is usually just the way they roast the barley or stew up the hops. One question reps like to ask when pouring for inquisitive or just wishy-washy tasters is if they like hops. I apparently don’t because I’ve never been a fan of India Pale Ales which are hoppier than your standard ale. So when I saw the amount of Double IPAs available…well…that’s just too damn hoppy for me.
There were a lot of fruity options available, brewed with varying degrees of success. No fear of being labeled poofy, the Mash House Brewing Co.’s peach hefeweizen from a brewpub in Fayetteville, NC was deliciously refreshing. The Widmer Bros. Brewing Co., on the other hand, actually credited with brewing the first hefeweizen in America, bombed big time with their Cherry Bomb, a Belgian-style ale so tart and nasty, it tasted like a beer filtered through a sour cherry pie.
The mountain west contains as many craft breweries as the north central plains and north east coast and Coors Brewing Co. is the granddaddy of them all. (I’m currently reading Citizen Coors which is absolutely fascinating. The way Adolph Coors and his offspring changed the brewing industry time and time again is incredible and the Coors men are equally worthy of respect as well as the title “supreme assholes.”) The first brewery in the Rockies opened in 1859. Coors’s opened in 1873. It wasn’t until 1979 that the Boulder Beer Co. opened, which is now the oldest microbrewery in Colorado today. Perhaps it was the ounce of their Hazed & Infused that pushed me toward the bathrooms for the first time of the night. I’d say two full hours of sampling beer is not bad bladder control, but of course with an expected attendance of 28,000 imbibers, I didn’t find relief until almost 8.
To justify this trip as a tax write-off, I dutifully took notes (with increasingly decreasing legibility) while most of the other fest-goers dutifully got faschnockered. Whenever someone dropped his or her plastic tasting glass, everyone hollered “Whooooooooo.” By night’s end, the whoos were so frequent and scattered; if they were visible they would’ve given someone with epilepsy seizures. Seasoned attendees wore homemade pretzel necklaces. One girl who forgot this fashionable and pragmatic accessory walked up to the Yazoo Brewing Co. table while I was chatting with Linus Hall, founder and brewmaster who upgraded from homebrewing to microbrewing in Nashville in 2003. He poured me some of his gold-medal winning hefeweizen (earned at last year’s GABF, which is not a bad way to introduce yourself your first year running) from one of the four pitchers in front of him. “Is this the Tennessee Brewery? Where’s all the beer at?” the girl asked. Linus and I both looked down at the table and I said, “It’s not like they’re hiding it” to which she responded, “I dunno. I thought maybe they were Jewish in Tennessee.” I mused to myself that whoever bought this blonde her big, fake tits could’ve made a wiser investment.
In a far corner a stage was set up for bands. There was another stage set up in the middle for cooking lessons—cooking with beer! By the time I decided to try something solid since my breakfast pizza at LAX that morning, they were on dessert. Dessert with beer?? Hell yeah!! I missed the demonstration, but arrived just in time to get a plate of something like bread pudding with chocolate chunks in it a la mode. The ice cream was cinnamon ice cream with pumpkin ale adding further nutmeg and allspice flavor to it. Then it was topped with bananas flambéed in more pumpkin ale and—now this isn’t just all the beer talking but maybe it is—it was fucking goooooooood.
Beer makes people happy. Astronauts at the space station must’ve been wondering what that glow was emanating from the Rocky west.
The Papago Brewing Co. from Scottsdale, AZ was pouring a barley wine with 9.6% alcohol. It had nothing on Chimay, which was originally brewed by Trappist monks in Belgium, but it was good. I enjoyed my shot of Sierra Nevada’s Bigfoot Barleywine, too, which kept me warm while I waited around a bit to shake Jim Koch’s hand. The founder, brewer, and spokesman for Samuel Adams was pouring his new Black Lager (schwartz lagers were somewhat popular at the fest) between bouts of signing autographs and chit-chatting with judges. He wrote down his marketing director’s contact information for me and said that when I roll into Boston, he’d be happy to sit down with me for my book. It’s true that he developed Samuel Adams Lager from an old family recipe he found.
My last introduction for the night was with Sam Calagione who was signing copies of his new book, Brewing Up a Business. Sam started Dogfish Head Brewings & Eats in 1995 in Rehoboth Beach, DE, the first state’s first brewpub. It’s grown leaps and bounds through brewing great beers and insanely brilliant marketing. If you’d like to try America’s strongest beer, pass up their Raison D’Etre and go straight to the Raison D’Extra. Ranging from 17-21 percent alcohol by volume, this 40 proof beer will floor you on the drop. My buddy won some when his team placed first after going undefeated last month at Dogfish Head’s first annual costume bocce ball tournament. I can’t wait to tell you more about them after I cruise into the beachside brewpub where Sam said he’ll have a cold one waiting for me as we work on that chapter.
Then the lights got a bit brighter. A tide of inebriation started flowing toward the exit. One girl exclaimed “I’m in hhhheaven” as she stumbled away—or intentionally did a little jig. I walked all the way back to my hostel (drunk dialing everyone I know along the way). There were two people about to head out to a diner so I joined them. After telling them all about this book I’m working on, they both mentioned that they’re in AA but no longer in CA. Over eggs, homefries, pancakes and toast, I told them about how my road trip will work; over coffee and cigarettes Ann told me that she can’t vote because she went to prison for drunk driving. I promise to be safe. For the rest of you, reading my book will be the only time when drinking and driving mix.
Robert Newman, Brewmaster from Pabst, interlude:
Pabst brewing is owned by a charity in CA.
“August Pabst lives in Oconowoc, WI. He was employed at the brewery when I worked there until the charity owned Pabst. But he was more of a figurehead for the last 10 years more than anything. Even in the ‘60s Pabst wasn’t owned by the Pabst family anymore. It was owned by a businessman in Chicago. He owned the controlling stock. And now, nobody owns it. It’s not a stock-owned company. It’s operated by the charity.
Basically the mergers & acquisitions in the 60s, 70s, and 80s is what did it. Even the Stroh family sold out to Pabst in 1999.
There’s a book out on Pabst that I think was written in the 70s (Pabst Brewing Company).
That brand’s contracted out. (SAB)Miller makes 99 percent of our beers.” And with that, a gentleman of no discerning taste asked Bob if the can in front of him could be opened and enjoyed, and the brewmaster obliged.
Men’s room quote interlude:
“Hey guys, flush twice. It’s a long way to the Coors brewery.”
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