Craft vs. Commodity

A Tale of Two Taps illustrated by this pic for sure. See my lovely visage/reflection…

Just returned from camping in a state park here in Pennsylvania. Alcohol is not allowed so it keeps beer out of sight to some degree. It does not stop drinking but it does suppress the most egregious and idiotic aspects of over-consumption. I support the policy and as such, didn’t drink any brews while on the campground. Serendipitously,  there was an establishment, The Waterville Tavern, about 4 miles down the road that has stocked craft beer like the local streams and lakes have stocked trout.

Perfect place to hang-out after a day of kayaking and bike riding. Food is simple but great, too. Good mix of a local crowd and passers-through. I ran into a rowdy and rambunctious group of older bike-riders from New York who had peddled over 250 miles in five days and stopped by the tavern to refuel and b.s. I really admired their active lifestyle and it gives me hope that I won’t live for Monday Night Bingo when I retire.

I was pleasantly surprised that craft beer had made such inroads into rural Pennsylvania. I thought that big beer would reign and it was quite the opposite. The Waterville Tavern tilts way in favor of craft beer and I think it is a fairly good indicator that big beer is in trouble market-wise. Sure, they are snapping up some craft breweries like a big fish does to a smaller fish and that worries me. But, since I started this beer blog 7 years ago, the beer ecosystem has dramatically changed in favor of independent craft not commodity beer, “crafty” or otherwise.

There has been a five-fold increase in craft breweries here in Pa. since 2010. Of the 40 craft breweries profiled in 2010, all but two are still in business and I think one of them just switched a location rather than shut down completely. I speculate that even the people who work for the bigs actually keep craft hidden in their fridges at home. Or, they are so loyal that they keep their company’s beers in stock for job reasons. It can’t be taste because theirs has none.

In examining the history of beer in America, there has been three distinct eons (with Prohibition being a long pause button): 1) Shitty local beer or homebrew (Yuengling used to be awful); 2) Mass-produced big beer that took out the downside skankiness of local swill and brewed light, non-offensive lagers; 3) The craft beer movement. Although high abv IPAs reign currently, there seems to be a counter movement back to sessionable lighter beers across beer profiles or higher-abv brews like Belgians. In other words, the beer spectrum is becoming more complete and colorful with craft beer styles.

This is the line-up at the Waterville Tavern:

There are several big fish disguised as small. I hope that the bigs are not just attempting to crash craft beers by muddying the waters about who is who in the pond. Frankly, we are getting to a point where craft breweries like Dogfish, New Belgium. Sierra Nevada, and etc. are so big that they have outgrown their upstart profile. Corporations are not always self-serving sharks but I think a line is crossed when shareholders and Wall Street profits prevails over the workers and consumers. When quarterly returns and profits trump long-terms sustainability, US employment, and taste, then corporations have become predators and should be treated as such legally.

The owner of the Waterville Tavern is a humble man, not a big talker. A former home-builder in Berks County, he is the kind of man who is no longer the rule. Quiet, industrious, hard-working. I asked if I could  take a pic of him and he requested that I take a picture of his place instead. I respected his request and honored it.

On this Independence Day, July 4th, 2017, I salute The Waterville Tavern for its spirit of craft!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Return of St. Boniface

A Gose Currently On Tap. Usually Not A Fan of Goses But This Was Great. Tart But Not Too Vinegary 

OK, in actuality, I returned to St. Boniface last night. The Return of St. Boniface sounded more heroic and epic. “My grandpa, what big beers you have.” St. Boniface has always had a fairy-tale like vibe to me. Over the last ten years, I have witnessed St. Boniface go from two homebrewers of big ABV beers grow into a decently sized microbrewery, based in Ephrata, Pa.

I was there when they were starting, made a visit to their first beer brewing space in a defunct upscale clothing store’s basement, and now to their current facility. I think it used to be an ice cream manufacturing site. So, I thought giving an update on the state of craft beer was in order because St. Boniface’s story sits right in the center of craft beer’s resurgence.

Back when I started this 40/40 blog 7 years ago, and abandoned it for the most part at the end of the beer tour in Pa., there were under 50 craft breweries in Pennsylvania. Presently, the number is topping 250. So, the days of drinking beer at all Pa. microbreweries in 40 days–the original trek–appears to be over. A Beer Year, maybe? I think that this second wave of craft beer is essentially here to stay. The first wave was at the end of the 1990’s and a lot of places went boom then bust. Out of that first wave, the second wave came to shore. A few survived the storms, but now the conditions have changed.

It gives me hope that American men have not just decided to ride out their days lazily on their sofas ,like life rafts, drifting aimlessly in the seas of pacific apathy. Drinking neutered beer and living like castrated rats chomping pellet potato chips from their corporate overlords. Cable, keeping them chained to their big screens, caged in suburbia. I may be a rat but don’t put me in a rut.

The U.S. is the world-leader in craft beer and it has nothing to do with the present jackass in the White House. Sorry, I am as Conservative as they come and I find DT so odious as to delete any left or right leaning Facebook posts, either appalling him or applauding him. I just want to avoid him. I would have found Hillary equally as nauseating.

So, here is to all of the good beer out here in our land. We may be down but we are not out. Making America Great Again (one beer at a time).

A Collaboration Brew Between a Square One Kenyan Coffee and a St. Boniface IPA. Most Coffee Beers Are Dark Coffees and Stouts So This  Is An Interesting and Tasty Twist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Year-Round Yuengling. I’m Bock.

I am slowly adjusting my drinking profile a bit toward Session Beers.

It is not that I have sworn off higher ABV Craft Beers, I have just found that I have a difficult time reducing my beer drinking because of the higher ABV (Alcohol By Volume). Three beers of an IPA for example are hardly equivalent to three Lagers. That 3=3 assumption really needs to be recalibrated but it is very difficult to do mentally and practically.

Although, one could be honest with a cop at a checkpoint and state “I only had three beers” and the law enforcement official would probably reference Keystone Light or some other shitty beer. However, my cousin who is a NYC cop drinks Craft Beer. So maybe my assumption is incorrect about Cops having poor beer taste. Most blue collar types go for the cheapest beer they can. And then go about buttressing the beer gut with reinforcements.

The equation is something like this: Craft Beer Unit consumed (12 ounces) X 1/2 with time being a constant. C X 1/2 = T. In laymen’s terms drink 1/2 the Craft Beer in the same amount of time as a Session with the goal being an equivalent of four sessions at the most per evening. My math might suck. Sorry if it does. My Ph.D. is in Educational Psychology which is slightly more quantitative than social sciences in general but hardly Engineering or Computer Science.

Here is what I have been doing recently: I am defaulting to whatever seasonal Yuengling has out on the market as my primary go-to supplemented by the Black and Tan. I find Yuengling Lager just not flavorful enough to please my palate (see what Craft Beer has done to me?) but appreciate that I can have more than two without getting sluggish.

The adjustment that is working is to drink Yuengling Wheat in the Summer, Yuengling Oktoberfest in the Fall (which in my opinion should be available year round because it is so much better than the Yuengling Lager), Yuengling Black and Tan in the Winter (or the Porter), and Yuengling Bock in the Spring. It is across the spectrum. Choices, like crayons and Crayola, keep me interested. More coloring! I will typically work in a heavier tasting Craft Brew or Belgian in a one-third ratio to the Yuengling style. I try to avoid drinking during the day, too. Another upside is that I have been saving a bucket of money.

I purchased a lovely Rare Vos from Ommegang early in December and have barely touched it. I did get a case of Dirt Wolf Double IPA from Victory in January that guards the Rare Vos in the beer fridge. The Belgian is truly for a special occasion. Like buying diamonds for a lady, best to reserve such blandishments for special times such as anniversaries. At close to $70 a case, one had better have some lesser jewels in one’s beer crown. You can see the Rare Vos behind the Dirt Wolf is you look closely.

My Golden Mean is to drink four or less beers a night (usually the weekend but I do imbibe during the week at times because I have found abstention during the week tends to ricochet into over-consumption during the weekend. A beer with dinner during the week takes the edge off and releases pressure). I used to wait all week for beer like a dog for a treat and it was causing me to tear into the bag (case) once Friday night hit. I am learning Lord, I am learning.

I just read that Yuengling Lager is now the 19th best selling beer in America, and the only beer not associated with the Bigs in the Top 20. Although it is hard to argue that Yuengling is David to Bud’s Goliath. Considering that Yuengling is still a regional brewer, it has established an enormous market presence emanating from Pennsylvania outward down the Eastern seaboard and perhaps a bit into the Midwest. Although it stalled in Boston. Yuengling Lager just is not good enough to displace Sam Adams up in Beantown. Both Yuengling and Sam Adams tend to inhabit the same beer space. Better and more expensive than the Bigs, but not as good and expensive as the Craft. Yuengling is making a fortune off this Niche. As has Sam Adams.

Sam Adams is generally a better beer than Yuengling across the beer categories yet it does cost more. Yuengling tends to be in the lower range and Sam Adams tends to be in the higher range of the cost and quality continuum.

And you may ask what makes me a purveyor of such opinionated perspective? I have cred.

Back a couple of years ago, a buddy and I were Homebrewing an Anchor Steam out back and he commented how technically-minded I was about the process. It was kind of ironic because he is a high quality HVAC technician by day, an excellent Bassist by night (he is in like four bands), and brews a lot more than I do–although, at the time, I had probably brewed more batches than he. Since then he has far surpassed me in batches.

Although I did co-brew a fantastic Vlad the Imperial Aler Russian Stout last year that another buddy (co-brewer) and I cellared for a year and just previewed at a party down at the Candy Factory in Lancaster City, accompanied with Russian food, and a lecture from a erudite friend of mine who digs Russian Literature and Writers. That was super fun.

This wall wordings from the Candy Factory gives me hope that Craft Beer is here to stay and people are starting to pull away from the Death Star and Darth-like nature of the Big Brewery conglomerates like InBev (I think that is how it is spelled…I could care less if it is wrong).

The Empire is striking back. It always does. Yet, might doth not maketh right. One can hope that Craft Brewers continue to cooperate in the face of the common enemy. Fratricide is what the Buds and Millers want and we must stay focused on the strategy of deconstructing the oligarchies that reign. It is like the Military-Industrial Complex in Beer. Wasn’t that the point of Sam Adams deeds in the Boston Harbor with tea and tax?

My best friend and I had made a trip up to Boston in the Fall and happened to stumble upon Sam Adam’s Jamaica Plains Brewery where tours and testing of new recipes takes place. We were in town for a Fermentation Festival and this certainly and serendipitously colluded with the Festival even though there was no formal affiliation. Cool when that happens!

Verboten @ The Fridge

 

 

Yes, indeed, I am still alive and still drinking beer. Blogs wither and  wane. This blog lives if only in my dreams. One of the great developments since 2010 when the 40/40 blog was flowing like a kegger is that there are more microbreweries than ever in Pa. I recall about a decade ago that the Valley Forge Brewing Company was one of the first microbreweries in operation. I loved it tagline” “Join the Revolution!”

Alas, Valley Forge Brewery didn’t survive. Like most revolutions, it was one of the casualties. It was a large venue in an expensive retail location. The Fridge, where I visit on a fairly often rotation, is on the smaller side but it fits the scene in Lancaster very well. The Federal Taphouse in Lancaster City on the other hand seems doomed like a dinosaur. I just can’t see it making it over time. After the romance wears off of being the new place, establishments settle down to the status quo. And very large venues just seem poorly equipped to survive. Better to start small and then expand if the market seems to be catching onto the vibe.  Avoid the expensive lease and staffing costs. The whole “build it and they will come” is usually B.S. and really bad advice.

One of the few Micros that I never visited in my 40/40 travels was Weyerbacher. Located in Easton, Pa., it puts out bruising beers. Easton’s favorites son is former heavy-weight boxing champion Larry Holmes. Thus it is fitting that Weyerbacher packs a punch with its brews. I made a serious mistake a couple of years ago when I brought a sampler case from Weyerbacher to the Jersey Shore. Not summer beers. All more suited for deep winter. Not cool. I knew better. I couldn’t drink the beers until the sun went down, like Dracula. I have had the goal to get to Easton for a visit but I fear the drive back and there is not a whole lot else that I find interesting about Easton so I wouldn’t been keen about staying over. Since the beers are heavy, and the distance over two hours away, it just stays out of reach.

As mentioned, the other night I did grab the Weyerbacher Verboten at The Fridge. The Fridge is the local beer establishment favored by many in my circle. It has over 400 beers, mostly in bottles, available for consumption. It is like that old kid’s song, “How much is that puppy in the window?” The beers sit eagerly in the fridge behind the glass waiting to be picked. It is a great place to try stuff out. There is nothing less disheartening in the world of beer purchasing than buying a case where one does not enjoy the brew. It winds up becoming a marathon of drinking down the bottles in a reverse Chinese Water Torture. Every drip is painful. I am far to cheap to dump out beer, although I am thinking about pouring down the drain a Frankenbrew that I recently made.

I had bought a gallon beer kit at Staples of all places on the bargain table. It was like 24 dollars with all of the equipment plus the malt and hops. I decided to convert the Pale Ale to a Belgian Pumpkin by adding pumpkin filling like one makes pies out of, spices, and sugar. I wanted to hike up the ABV. Well, it turned out pretty bad. It is thick like soup. I am convinced that Pumpkin Beers are only a dash of vanilla, a slight amount of nutmeg, and maybe some pumpkin oil essence. Let me put it this way…the brew is so thick it doesn’t even filter through a cheese cloth, it literally just sits in the cloth like a bathtub. No drainage. None. Besides the thickness, the brew tastes decent. It is far hoppier that I imagined. I am thinking that all of the pumpkin sludge kept the hops in the brew rather than allowing them to filter out. When the wort was warm, the thickness had not set in but I think that the hops fused with the pumpkin and  caused the hops to stay in the liquid.

On the plus side, I discovered that Mason Jars make a decent container to carbonate the brew after most of the fermentation is finished in the priming tank. The jar top did buckle a bit but the seal held, the glass did not explode, and the jars are easy to clean and replace. So, I may use mason jars again in the future when bottling. It seems like the jar tops can be used again besides the slight kinking.

So, there you have it. The 40/40 blog is still punching and off the mat. Not knocked out, still swinging. Happy 2015. Long live the revolution!

 

 

 

 

Columbia Kettle Works

Very difficult to believe that it has been four years since I completed the Pennsylvania 40 Day 40 Craft Brewery Tour. Guess I am just never going to get around to writing that book. It will be on my gravestone as one of my great life’s accomplishments. Ph.D, Rugby Player, 40/40 Tour.

Back then four years ago, Lancaster County was a weak sister on the Craft Beer scene here in Pa. Now, she is bitchin’ (in a great way). Lancaster City is booming, besides the still dumb and unethical cops, goofy self-congratulatory (he really likes himself, it is obvious) bow-tied mayor, and some small city provincialism. Lest the reader think that my observations are unfair about the authorities in Lancaster City, let us just say I have had several issues where I personally experienced incompetence and even dishonest behavior from bottom to top of both the police department and the Mayor’s office where I was a completely honest party. There are consequences when those in power dismiss legitimate grievances and attempts for redress. Neither party (the police and mayor) were minimally ethical and competent.        

Lancaster is no Philly but it does not have to be. I can get to town in 12 minutes, always find free parking after 6, and then head back to the ‘burbs after the night is over. Many craft beer menus and venues.

Although I did get a parking ticket the other day for not getting my car off the street when the grimy asphalt  was being cleaned. “Sign, sign, everywhere a sign. Do this, don’t do that, everywhere a sign.” That is a long-lost lyric from some 70’s song. Felt like I should have turned in my Metro-Philly bred card. Rookie mistake. Twenty bucks down the sewer of city government. A bit stiff of a fine but not much I could do. Can’t fight city hall. Even a piker city hall.

I live in the western part of the county, officially in postal Columbia. Not the town but general vicinity. Within whiffing distance. Talk about a near miss, Columbia almost became the Capitol of the United States of America. If so, where I live now–a non-descript townhouse of lower middle class citizens–would probably be the setting for one of those non-descript Federal buildings that populate the D.C. landscape like bureaucratic behemoths. Instead, Columbia is a beat-up river town with a depleted manufacturing base and the working poor. It is a proud community but one that has seen better days. It is holding on, by an arthritic grip.

The Lancaster City newspaper recently wrote an in-depth piece about the past, present, and future of Columbia. The article touted the Columbia Kettle Works as perhaps a positive harbinger of things to come to the downtown. When you are the only new thing downtown, it is easy to be numero uno. Like those inbred Christian schools with three kids per grade, so being the Valedictorian or Salutatorian isn’t exactly a Darwinian race to the top of the intellectual food chain.

It is a long shot because the problems of Columbia are much deeper than a skin itch. They are structural in the bones and reflect the loss of manufacturing and craft in the United States. Pennsylvania is pock-marked with small towns that used to be vibrant. Local industries, or an industry, that paid decent wages so individuals and families could have a good life. Now, the Wal-Marts and convenience stores crush the middle. One end, the  ravenous merciless monster. On the other end, the weed-dwelling scavenger picking the bones for leftover meat, selling junk food/drink like a crack-dealer, ciggies, gas, and lottery tickets. Pennsylvania promotes the state lottery out of this dystopian trap. Roll the dice. Gambling going to save Pennsylvania? Righto! Wal-Mart’s recent initiative to invest in American manufacturing might be a case of too little too late. The country is in a coma and Wal-Mart and other big retailers have almost killed the mind, spirit, and body. Time will tell if we can bounce back.

Neither will craft brewing but it is legitimate fighting back with skill.

Here are the plusses of craft brewing:

– Better product, support local craft brewers keeping money in the community and not given to some corporate death-star sucking the life out of an area, cool venues (a lot of historic buildings, factories). Etc., Etc., Etc.

As far as I can tell, there are no downsides to craft brewing besides some people getting too big for their britches. Success has a way of breeding arrogance and some craft breweries are starting to develop that flavor. You can now stay in a Dogfish Hotel for a crazy amount of money ($ 250 plus a night in Lewes, Delaware) like Disneyworld. Really? Are you going to have little Dogfish Caps like Mouse Ears too? How about a mascot? And a trolley? And incessant tunes in the background with the “It is a Dogfish world after all.” Sorry Sam C., it is starting to look self-aggrandizing. Rocky with a manicure and perhaps a pedicure. The price just sounds pretentious. “Oh, I stayed in the Dogfish Motel. Aren’t I just the coolest dude?”  I will not be staying there unless the 90 Minute IPA comes out of the showerhead. I will still visit the brewpub in Rehoboth for sure.

Yet, for all of the success of craft brewing, here is one glaring problem behind the golden hues. Most of the equipment (i.e manufacturing) is not made in the U.S. We can make all of the beer we want yet until the process reaches into the hardware side of things, we are not geared to move forward literally.

Gearing is a good way to look at progress. As a community rebuilds, the various components mesh with one another and create momentum. In the end, there is still a lot of analogue in the world. Until we are Avatars in The Matrix, our connection to the physical world–even if accessed and mediated digitally–are boots on the ground. Try to eat your phone.  Or drink your Beer App.

I almost cried when I found out where the Columbia Kettle Works Stainless Steel tanks were made:

    

Ah, where else but that historical hotbed of brewing art and science: China. Most industrial strength and sized brewing equipment is manufactured in Germany or Italy from what I have discovered. Although these tanks are hardly like what Troeg’s or Victory have just recently had installed in major multi-million dollar upgrades, which came from Germany, these tanks are not trifling. They are good sized and will pump out a lot of product.

I get that the owners of Columbia Kettle Works need to cut cost as new entrepreneurs. It is hard, hard, work getting to profitability and frankly for many years, new businesses are fortunate even to just break even. Obama’s comment that “You didn’t build this” was half-correct but also half wrong. As one who doesn’t look like has ever worked in the private sector except for perhaps a throw-away teen job that financed his Pot habit, Obama has been tending the public trough for a long time. He is a smart dude, successful, analytical. Too Liberal and victim-oriented for my palate and he doesn’t have the air of a man who has ever had to carry an enterprise from start to finish based almost solely on his own effort. His being selected President was an attempt by the American electorate to escape the Republicans and Neo-Cons apparent insatiable hunger for war. Community organizing? That sounds like what the mafia does to collect its dues in a merchant district, just a governmental shakedown instead. I want my check!

True enough that these brewing tanks couldn’t even been bought from an American manufacturing company. Kettle Works by China…maybe should be Kettle Woks?

Another dark secret of American manufacturing. A lot of the machinery in our manufacturing is not made in America. So, Made in America is often only true in a physical placement sense. Until we have American machines being worked by American citizens on American soil, we are skirting the truth. Lower the tax rates for businesses, cut out all of the loopholes that allow corporations to discharge everything as business expenses–fancy dinners, fines wines, luxurious lodgings, etc. No one should be fooled by the self-indulgency behind the façade.

All of this ranting (but true) has got me thirsty. Here is their Coffee Stout:

I am usually not a big fan off coffee stouts because I don’t drink caffeine after 12 noon, even if it is encased in a tasty brew of both coffee and beer. But, I made an exception because I didn’t have to get to bed  early for work the next day, so I could pine late into the night. This beer was expert. Great taste. Two great tastes that go great together. The founders of Columbia Kettle Works are good friends who have worked together at some technology or engineering company for years. Their quantitative qualities comes out in their beers in their clean execution, simply décor, minimal menu designed for efficiency (not trying to be a gastropub which makes things much more complicated), and just general well-run vibe. It looks like every staff member have jobs to do, even if they are not getting paid, so the place hums along like a hive of worker beer bees.

The place has been a busy beehive when I have visited both times:

The crowd looks like a combo of townies and suburbanites. Or what they call in West Virginia, the creekers and the hillers. Just heard that yesterday on some discussion about a book about Ronald Reagan that he was both the hard-luck kid and hero, from both side of the tracks–when beginning decidedly on the wrong side. The California sunny kid, Teflon President, who told entitled American teens in the 1960’s to stop acting like a bunch of long-haired miscreants but did it in such a non-Nixonian manner that many of them voted for him as they returned from their drug and sex addled senses 15 years down the road when they too were parents pursuing the American Dream gone darker.

Reagan’s Alzheimer’s apparently manifested itself with him screaming that the team needed him in the locker room. A Gipper Pep talk. Never underestimate the encouraging words of another. We like to think words don’t matter and only actions count, forgetting somehow that words are actions in and of themselves.

Final Pic, just like it:

I love the life being symbolized coming out of a beer keg. It is a nice, thoughtful, and clever touch. May the Columbia Keg itself grow into new life.

 

Yuengling Summer Wheat

It has been an endless winter here in Pennsylvania. Soviet-Era Drago uttered to Rocky in whatever Roman numeral “I must break you.” Well, we have broken. I think Putin has found a way to bring meteorological Cold War to the East Coast States. 

You know when everyone in the office has caught the same Cold, that Winter has taken its bite out of our hide. So, when I heard that Yuengling was adding a Summer Wheat to its repertoire, I was giddy. Summer in a bottle, liquid sunshine. Keep your orange slice, give me the beer. Spring has come. I was at the local distributor the other day and what did I see, three cases of Yuengling Summer Wheat lookin’ at me. I want one.

I brewed a Wheat Beer once and it proved more volatile than a wild woman. Exploded my precious bottles. Never again. Best to leave the Wheat Beers to the professionals. The problem is that most Wheat Beers are expensive, like a Materialistic Girl. Blue Moon, a Coors offering, runs close to $ 40.00 diamond dollars. Craft Beers are around the same. Yuengling once again has filled a niche, a vacuum between the Big Beers that suck and the Craft Brewers that jack up the price like blackmail.

The Office portrayed Pennsylvanian’s like stupid oafs, downright weirdos. Like California should be pointing its finger. Yuengling once again shows that the old school has more cred. What is so very cool is that Yuengling is an old dog learning new tricks. I highly recommend this brew if you can get your paws on it.    

The Yuengling Wheat Beer is freaking awesome, a warm breeze, a premonition of sunny days ahead.      

 

Joe Six Craft

I am creating a new term. At least I think it is new. I don’t want to check. I would rather have the delusion of originality rather than the confirmation of conventionality.

It is Joe Six Craft. The origin was watching my cousin consume some Ithaca Flower Power IPA yesterday. My cuz is a New York City cop. As wide and big as a side of beef and street smart. He got into craft beer when he and his partner went off duty and bought a couple of craft brews. Flower Power. Cops and Craft with a Hippie Vibe.

He really gravitates towards the IPA’s. I do believe that the mass brewers are in trouble. When a cop in NYC passes on your beers, it doesn’t take street smarts to know that the ‘hood has changed.

Defining “Craft” Brewing

Just read this article from Time. In it, the writer details various levels of “Craft” brewing. Yes, there will be a quiz at the end of reading the article. Don’t worry. It will be an open beer exam. Crack a cold one and sharpen your pencils.

Revolutionary Ale

Yesterday, I rummaged around town foraging for food and drink like a driving bear.

First, I went to the Asian Market and loaded up on the requisite dumplings, wasabi, fish sauce, and the like. Then, bounced over to get some beer. And, then doubled back to an Indian store to get some curry paste and coconut milk. The order was supposed to be Asian, Indian, then Beer. But, as is usual, I missed the turn off to the Indian place and had to double-back.

After watching a slew of David Chang cooking episodes on Netflix yesterday (called Mind of a Chef), I was inspired to go on my romp. When cooking ethnically, two parameters are essential: The right ingredients and the right technique. The same deal for craft beer. Right ingredients with poor process ruins a beer. Bad ingredients with good technique never has a chance. Need both. Most Americans who cook ethnically don’t go to the right venues to get the best ingredients. Rule of thumb (pretty obvious), go where those of the ethnicity go to shop for the ingredients. Not the local supermarket. Or Walmart, for goodness sake.

I have made beer by hand and am trying to master Indian and Asian cooking. Or at least become decent. I may brew some more in the future yet find brewing to be much more arduous than cooking and better left to the professionals. A big issue is cost. I can save a lot by learning to cook my own Asian and Indian food. The margin of saving on making my own beer is considerably narrower unless I am making a Belgian Quad which is usually where I try to stake out my brewing repertoire.

I came across Yards’ Tavern Spruce Ale crafted from Ben Franklin’s own recipe at the Distributor. I had this brew awhile back at the City Tavern in Philly so I knew it was good although I didn’t recall the details. Interestingly, Ben–being the inventive individual he was–by necessity had to use molasses for malted barley and spruce tips off of evergreen trees for the hops, because both of the traditional ingredients where hard to come by.

The substitutes really work here and the brew has a great taste and not too sweet. Just enough to take the edge off the ale and spruce tips. It shows that one call still make a great beer (and food for that matter) if the substitutions essentially fill the same space.  But, it can’t be half-assed. Know enough to know when an alteration can happen.

I am very encouraged by the inventiveness and innovation of the craft beer movement. A consistent theme in 40/40 from the beginning is that if we can begin by taking back or beer from the corporate hegemons and autocrats, who knows where the cracks of liberty will continue.

Craftwomen at Dogfish

Here is a great article about women who work for Dogfish. Craft Beer should be an equal opportunity creator and imbiber. It makes the world a better place and anything that keeps men and women on the same side is a great thing. So pony up to the bar boys and girls, it is all good with gender and good beer….   

Around the Diamond: Lancaster City Craft Beer Scene

Back during 40/40 Pa. Brew Tour three years ago, the Craft Beer scene in Lancaster City was Lancaster Brewing Company and Iron Hill. LBC was more laid back and comfy. Iron Hill was tony and expensive. Iron Hill’s beers are definitely better. Very high quality. LBC is the most affordable around but you kind of get what you pay for…econo-craft.

The food at both place is typical pub fair. When either place tries to be fancy food-wise, it winds up being an over-stepping. Foot too far off base. Stick to the burgers and wings, you will be fine. Otherwise, strike out. Or at least hit a lot of foul balls and pop-ups. 

There are several new players in the city since then and Lancaster is becoming a mini-mecca for beers, a title which really doesn’t make given the Muslim prohibition on alcohol, yet things are definitely moving. So maybe sticking to the baseball analogy is better. Here we go around the bases for the new team members.

 Here is my quick run down on the newer places:

– The Fridge – Great selection in bottles, limited taps. Glorified pizza joint. Cozy and friendly. Has a grungy vibe with the cinderblock construction. Probably the best place to go if you want to feel part of the Craft Beer scene. It has an upstart feel to it.

Hunger & Thirst – On the outskirts of the city. Definitely has a Foodie vibe with its beer and gourmet food and gadgets store. Very diverse beer menu with about 25 rotating taps and big bottle selection. Food and beer is a bit pricey but the upscale quality is there to justify the cost. It appears as if the owners are doing their homework and bringing in unique beers, particularly international.  

The Taproom  – In the heart of the city, The Taproom has the best urban feel location. Food is cooked at an adjacent restaurant and is very good. The beer can be too quirky and gimmicky. Dogfish can pull off quirky, The Taproom beers are either hit or miss. More often, I do not like the concoctions.    

The Federal Taphouse – This is a large gastropub on North Queen. One hundred beers on tap, extensive bottle list. I wonder if the model of quality and volume will work over the long-term in Lancaster City. So far, it has been packed but that has been during the Honeymoon phase.  It is like a luxury liner. Definitely, the most expensive of the bunch but a good night out on the town.   

To save cash, I typically do not order food at these places. I favor more ethnic cuisine for both taste and cost. If I want a burger or pizza or wings, best to lower the standards a bit and go to places that are pretty much all over. Go for the beers….

    

Return of St. Boniface

If my Faiere (I think that is the Gaelic Spelling) Beer Mother was to appear and give me one wish within the beer fantasy realm, I think I would imagine a board like this. Sorry that is a little blurry. It is a dream after all.

This is St. Boniface in Ephrata’s current line-up. There are some heavy hitters here. Ruth, Gehrig, Hegemony. I had finished work for the week as of yesterday at 4:oo–we have a summer schedule with Fridays off–and didn’t have any major plans besides finalizing some issues with my book today. When I saw a post on Facebook about St. Boniface, it didn’t take Faerie Dust for me to hop in the auto up to Ephrata to pay ’em a visit. 30 minutes away to Beer Heaven.

Typically, I shy away from beer during the day. It is a good way to feel useless by early evening. But, the sun was shining, they had a food truck, out in the lot, and this was my first official day of vacation. Here is a picture of the food truck:

Something like Master of the Pork in English. Here was my dish-o-rama:

This was some Asian-inspired Pork Bun–like Dim Sum–which is a Taiwanese dish. Instead of being steamed, the rolls were baked with Pork BBQ on the inside. Like a Ding-Dong. Are they still making these? I heard Twinkies are coming back from the dead. Wait. They have been dead since the start. Sugar Zombies. There were mac and cheese and corn something of sides. Also chatted with the dudes who were the proprietors of the food truck and got into some Foodie talk.

I couldn’t help myself. I took a bite before I snapped the picture. I have poor impulse control.  I had two beers beforehand and was famished. St. Boniface makes heavy beers and one should not try to operate heavy equipment after excessive ingestion. Yuminugen.

I had a fun time chatting with other patrons and the staff. Good beer brings out the best in all as long as it is treated reverently and with respect. Like a sharp ax, don’t toy around with St. Boniface. Adults only, and not the “adults” who go to Porn Shops and the like. Real adults with sense and maturity to not over-do it.

I know that 40/40 has been Lagering in the cellar for a while with few postings. Now that it is Vay-Cay and my book is being published, my thoughts and dreams turn back to beer for a bit. I will try to draw a draft of a blog once a week. Promise. Maybe. I’ll try. Sort of. OK?

Interview with the founder of Dock Street Brewery

http://roadtripnation.com/watch/public-television/season-nine/follow-your-own-rules

Yuengling Lager

Just a note to the faithful. I am still drinking ggrrreaaattt beer like Tony the Tiger and Frosted Flakes. Just not posting much. Beer of preference: Yuengling Lager, the pride of Pottsville. 16 ounce pounders. Have also been sipping some Saisons. Of particular note is The Taproom’s in-house Saison. Hoppy as it should be. Delicious on a sunny Spring day. Make sure to do something to deserve it. Like work.   

Sick as a Dog to Drinking Dogfish

Yes, it has been a difficult Fall and Winter.

A little more than two weeks ago, I topped off a pretty challenging couple of months with a ruptured appendix. Emergency surgery, not being able to urinate without searing pain for days, having tubes in me like a tapeworm draining into a container, and ingesting some nasty antibiotics that precluded any beer consumption. In all, I was verboten to drink beer for three weeks. 21 days. That has to be a record for me.

When I first became a Christian, I stopped drinking beer for years at a time. Then, I moderated back to embracing spirits, albeit much less volume. I even ashamedly drank O’Douls. What a waste.

Reformers such as Luther and Calvin liked their beer so a very good case can be made that WWJD? (What Would Jesus Drink?) would include beer, wine, and perhaps even the stiffer stuff. Fundies who seem so committed to biblical literalism do quite the twisting of the Word to evade His first miracle. An enormous amount of wine. Something like 150 gallons. And it was good. No shitty Mad Dog. Or Bud Light.

Last Sunday, coming back from Church, I just happened to be passing my favorite beer beverage store. I don’t normally shop on the Sabbath, but it was along the way and I was saving gas and time by not having to drive back later in the week. Another biblical principle is to rest on Sunday and cease from commerce but like most principles there is a little leeway and give. Not a hard and fast rule. Exceptions do exist. I knew that I was going to be drinking on the following Friday.

As it was, there was no debate that I was going for a case of Dogfish. The only questions was what type of Dogfish was I reeling in. I decided on the Raison D’Etre. Ever since me and three buddies made a holy pilgrimage in the dead of winter to Rehoboth, DE,  to partake of the sacred brews, I have had a special place in my heart for Dogfish. Like a Salmon, I seek to return to her waters.

BTW, the definition of Raison D’Etre is the purpose for something as in “Art is his raison d’être.” I first heard this saying when it was employed by some pompous sounding woman in a college writing class dialoguing with the instructor. The professor also was acting all uppity so I promptly dropped the course figuring that I could find a better teacher than some hack who bandied about fancy terms with his pets in class like the silver spoon set playing tennis on grass in their white garb. No thanks. Writing is not fine china. It should be real and authentic. Sometimes jagged.

What is wonderful about Dogfish is that it is a beautiful brewery without being all uppity and snobby. It is clear Sam C. likes himself but that is not wrong in my book. He’s got some Rocky in him. People who work to accomplish a dream and make it happen are accorded the highest esteem in my eyes. No envy here. He has worked his ass off and is reaping the success. Good for him, good for us. Long live the dreamers in an increasingly dullard society that wants to be spoonfed.

This beer is a work of art indeed. Perfect for a cold wintery snowy night in Pennsylvania. As my  friends and I hoofed across Lancaster City last evening, while the flakes fell in the light of the streetlights as shooting stars, the Raison D’Etre warmed our hearts and bellies and cast a shiny glow on the evening. It was a wonderful first beer after three weeks of abstention. Amen, and Amen (really pious religious folk say Amen twice).

Seasons Change and So Should Beers

One of the truly pathetic elements of the Big Beers is that they are brewed, and I use that word charitably, to create (again, charitable) to sameness. There is little difference among the bigs, so if one were to line them up, they would all be 5 foot ten inches. Distressingly average. The statistical mean, not on a calculator screen, but in the glass. 30 packs in easy to carry handles. Hauling mediocrity to home the home to watch stupid shows on TV.

If these beers were Mood Rings, they would be translucent.  Or gray. Or nothing. Air, bubbles. However, my friend, Craft brewing is the big Crayola Box with the sharpener. Starts out light on the left, a summer beer, and then moving right, getting darker like the days. Click the image and take a read. Each picture is worth a thousand beers. Each one of these seasonal varietals is world-class. In the U.S., where we are getting our asses handed to us economically by slave states and/or other countries that are harder working and hungrier than we are, the Craft brewers are striking at the heart of Coporate fizz. It has no soul, and their beers tell you as much.

Keep your Bimbos and commercials that portray men as morons. Only morons drink your beers. It sounds like a perfect pairing.

Oktoberfest

Headed out to Pittsburgh for Pennsylvania Brewery Company’s Oktoberfest.

One day I want to get to Munich for the festival yet since I work in a school, the days just don’t add up.  Not enough days, too many miles. Plus, I doubt I’d get back to work not seriously in need of some sleep. Being an Eastern Pa. oriented dude, sometimes I forget that we don’t own the name Pennsylvania. I have always seen Western Pa. more as the Midwest, like Chicago.

Brother Steve and I got there early Early bird gets the beer and doesn’t have to wait in line.

The building is an authentic brewery. Tom Pastorious, the recently deceased Patriarch of Penn Brewery, bought the place and continued its tradition as a brewery. It is a beautiful building, traditional and European. I got to know him when on my 40/40 brew tour. He knew his stuff about beer. His spirit lives on.

Speaking of beer, here you go:

Appropriately, we drank the Oktoberfest. We started with it, we finished with it. It was so good that I had no need to stray. I hear the Pilsner is really good but I am not a lighter beer fan besides Wits.

Here is an obligatory shot of the Pittsburgh scene. Heinz ketchup factory is steaming away.

How about 57 Varieties of Beer? Now we are talking! Great with burgers.

Although not as chaotic as Munich, the place was packed with humanity. Good mix of young and old. I always find Pittsburgh folk to be friendly, although they seem obsessed with Steelers football.

We finally scored some seats inside after seeing that the food outside was basic but the offerings inside were more varied. This is a shot from our seats. It was like a beer haus aquarium behind the glass and all:

We had great seats to observe it all. Next, came the food. I had a breaded and fried Pork Chop, spaetzel (not sure I have the spelling right), it is a German mini-boiled noodle served with a sharp tasting gravy, and German potato salad (vinegar rather than mayo). Memories of when I was in Germany or eating at my Oma’s in New York City. My grandmother loved to cook. It is where she found her most happiness, so unmodern feminist was she.

The dish definitely captured the spirit of Germanic cuisine. When we think American food, meat and potatoes, we must remember that our cuisine is essentially German. We think we are of English descent. Not so. We are more German as a country more than any other nationality. And, we drink our beer cold like the Germans and lagers.

When we left around 9:00, I snapped a picture of the sign:

It was a glowing evening, well worth the trip out West.

Yuengling Oktoberfest

My brother and I, being of 3/4’s Germanic heritage (Mom’s side, been in US for centuries, Dad’s side, his parents immigrants from post war-torn WWI Germany–fresher Kraut) had a good laugh last weekend when we reflected on Germans holding Oktoberfest in September. How freakin’ anal and efficient.

Why not hold Oktoberfest in October? There might be a reason for this but it is probably uber-rational and efficient in that distinctive Germanic manner to the point where it simply becomes that the Teutons just can’t stand to be just in time, or God help them, late. Better to have a month’s cushion to prepare for disruption. I do thank the Lord that I have 1/4 Irish in our blood. Right brain has at least a minority stake in my consciousness, for one needs a touch of madness to stay sane.

Last weekend, I obtained a case of the Yuengling Oktoberfest from the local dive of a distributor. Ironically,, their prices are higher than the place closer to town but it is a quicker drive. I have been very pleased about how good this beer is. It actually is kicking sand in the face of the Yuengling Lager. It is fuller, maltier, and bigger. Although I am not sure how the pricing might compare to the YL, I assume it is probably a little bit higher. For the money, it is worth every penny.

In fact, as a session beer, it ranks among  some of the best beer I have had recently. Whereas the YL is a compromise of sorts, exisiting in-between the beers that suck and the craft beers at $ 30 plus a case, this Yuengling Oktoberfest delivers taste. The case I bought cost $ 24, but I figure that  at a less than wilderness outpost, one can probably get it for $ 22.

If you see a case of this, grab it. Before October.

Labor and Beer

When I did my Forty Day Forty Pennsylvania Microbrewery Tour two years ago (hence the name of the blog), it became a fairly predictable paradigm and pattern: Craft brewing, in old industrial towns, located generally in old repurposed factories.

Since Pennsylvania is one of the oldest states, I could practically chart the trajectory of the Industrial Revolution: craftsman, to factory worker, to white collar/white flight to the ‘burbs, to deindustrialization, and the rise of the strip mall. Think Harrisburg, Easton, Phoenixville,Bethlehem, Pittsburgh, Erie, Lancaster, Williamsport, Berwick, Philadephia, Chambersburg, etc. Kind of depressing and sad but with hope brewing. A faint pulse of innovation and imagination fermenting anew.

Mummified Main Street whose innards were sucked out by chains. Yet, now, a return of Craft. Full circle. Prior, very few breweries survived this spherical trajectory truncated additionally by Prohibition. Yuengling was one of the anomalies that did in Pottsville. Just far enough out of reach of the big boys, sheltered in coal country. Now, the largest independent in the U.S. The emergence of Craft brewing as a force to be reckoned with, ironically positioned above mainstream beers in both taste and price. Poetic justice.

The independent breweries before corporate suds domination were typically cheap and awful. We cannot romanticize how bad some of those beers were: Iron City in Pittsburgh, Schmidt’s in Philadelphia, National Bohemian in Baltimore, Knickerbocker in New York. The corporate model created consistency. Hard to love, but not nasty swill either. Inoffensive. Bland. But you wouldn’t go blind taste-wise drinking it.  Nothing to behold either. The light lager.

Craft beer now: Hands-on and high-brow. Out foxing the bigs with asymmetrical strategies. Taking the hammer and striking a blow for the working man who has been replaced by the machine. John Henry getting a good bit smarter, tools and techology, turned against the beer behemoths. What would Marx say? This development in beer gives me hope that getting smaller and smarter is actually how to grow opportunity.

We just have to stop giving our dollars to those who seek to deliver us mediocrity and tell us we should shut our traps and suck it down. Unthinking. Enough, enough, enough.

Row House Red

My friend Tom Becker runs a Christian think tank of sorts here in Lancaster Pa called “The Row House” where “Nothing Is Not Sacred.”  

First, Christian and Think Tank can work as a hybrid. Not all evangelicals are cultural Do-Do birds. Second, the forums and events are an eclectic mix of ideas and performances. I saw a band earlier in the summer sponsored by The Row House called Listener and they are still moving me with their profound lyrics and music. Check out this tune. It will mess you up. Third,Tom has a mission to reach the younger generation with culturally relevant art (music, writing, visual). Fourth, he likes beer.

Tom texted me to let me know that Philadelphia Brewing Company has a line of brew called Row House Red. It is not often that someone mentions a beer that I don’t know about. I am aware of Philadelphia Brewing Company as I am a Philly boy. However, the Row House Red had slipped under my Rocky Radar. I  stay attuned to what is happening in Philly even though I reside two hours west.

Tom was excited about the namesake and half-jokingly and half-seriously was getting fired up about sponsorship, taking the coincidence as perhaps a divine appointment for collusion. He checked with me about whether I had any cred with Philadelphia Brewing Company and I do not. I had a case of their Walt Wit earlier in the summer and that is the closest connection historically. I believe one bottle is still in the Beer Fridge. 

As a follow-up, Tom invited me to a brewskie party on Friday night with 20somethings. Thus, I went to my go to distributorship here in Lancaster called Wheatland (named after former president James Buchanan’s estate Wheatland a few blocks away) and they had the Row House Red in stock!  Philadelphia Brewing Company has an interesting price point. Their cases sell for around $ 28 which makes them more than the Buds but less than other craft brewers. It is not a bad place to be.

So, Tom and I headed to the party on the south side of Lancaster City. Since I was walking for a good bit, the beer got jostled quite a lot. So, when we opened the bottles, they were foamy. Unusually foamy. Just a tip, even when the bottles are stationary, they still have a lot of head no matter what. Pour in a glass and let it settle. Drinking it out of the bottle is just not wise and totally bloating.

The taste of the Row House Red is almost Belgian. It is brewed with Belgian yeasts and is quite malty. With the foam, it is almost a milk shake. It comes short of a Belgian but for the price, it is a contender underdog for that prize of a good beer at a good price. It has a puncher’s chance for the belt of beerdom.

At the brewskie party there was a beer trough (an actual trough) and a toilet. A Judgment Day of sorts of beer that was heavenly and beer that was hellish. The Row House Red, although not ready for sainthood, definitely did not belong in the john. Definitely recommend this beer for your edification.     

Happy Brux Day

In craft brewing circles, Russian River Brewing Company is considered the equivalent of a international supermodel who also has smarts. Stylish and innovative, they have been known to do unusual things to beer fashion and it works. Russian River’s Pliny the Elder and Younger are considered among the best beers in the world. Never had ’em.

In this Brux collaboration with Sierra Nevada, these California Girls come together to create a new taste. Think wine sensibilities on a beer stage.

In Brux, as is the case with many of Russian River’s beers, the Brettanomyces yeast is used in fermentation. Typically, this type of yeast imparts interesting flavors in wines and is often used in some Belgian styles of beer. Someday, Belgian beers will accompany fancy cuisine much as wine does today. The Brux’s subtitle is “Domesticated Wild Ale”, which seems to be an oxymoron, but the yeast is apparently very difficult to get out of the winery and brewery once it is given a chance to do its fermentation work. So, I suppose that is the wild part.

From what I read, Russian River did most of the ingredient design whereas Sierra Nevada did the actual brewing and distributed it through their national network. Russian River only distributes to one location on the East Coast which is in Philadelphia and then its brews are filtered out from there. Here in Lancaster County, there are no distributors on the list. The closet location is about an hour away east. So difficult to be in the beer wilderness. Although, civilization is finally coming.

A friend and I collaborated to celebrate his birthday at the Bulls Head Brewpub in Lititz. Although the salad was uncharacteristically lame (usually the food there is quite good), the beer rocked. Several days before I had seen a video online about the Brux so when I spotted in the fridge of the establishment, I thought it would be a nice present to share with my cohort. And since we can’t get Russian River in Amish country, the best we can do is the Brux.

We drank it down slowly. The taste and cost and ABV (8.3%) of Belgians make it wise to stroll slowly. If you want a session beer, don’t go Belgian. And don’t treat Belgians as sessions. We found the bottle to be at a high-level of taste where the flavor improved quite a bit and opened up once it got a bit warmer. Great beers don’t have to be chilled to the bone to be enjoyed or chilled because there is no flavor, where the coldness becomes the equivalent of Novocaine deadening the nerves of flavor.

Birthdays are once in a year events so I am glad we gave it a shot. We smoked some fine cigars while we sipped and solved many of the world’s problems.

Ruination and Redemption

As the muses would have it, after I composed my ode to Wits in the prior blog, my buddy posted on FB that he had two cigars and two IPA’s for any comer. It was Sunday night. I had no work on Monday. I posted back if there were no taker for his listed time at 8:30, I could come over at 9:15 PM for the smoke and drink. I got the invite. I was attending the Dawes concert down at Long’s Park (a local outside amphitheater) and wanted to see it through to the end. Great show. A band better than most these days. Laurel Canyon Rock it is called as a genre. Californian.

I hated the idea of him smoking and drinking alone. The finer things must be shared.

As anticipated, the Dawes show concluded at 9 or so, so I made a fast walk to the car to beat the crowd and arrived at my buddy’s place around aforementioned time. My buddy Dain has great taste in beers. Nothing bad ever in his fridge. I would take anything from his fridge and drink it carte blanche and blind-folded. Apparently, he had to hunt the bottle down in Central Pennsylvania like the Holy Grail. We are brothers in beer.

We also share a crazy parallel love for the same type of music. In fact, we got in a discussion about Pink Floyd’s Meddle. As it happened to be, the album was on his turntable. I brought the album up totally on my own. He didn’t initiate this draft of the conversation in the least. I did, and then we talked about how Pink Floyd was just such an important band, who crafted complex music without all the digital props available today in the recording studio. Analogue to the core, it had to be hands-on. No band today can hold a candle to bands like Pink Floyd.

Perhaps there is a positive relationship between liking craft beers and classic rock; the b.s. and machinery of cranking out musical drivel, the corporatization of craft to crap. Like Big Beer was in its ascendancy in the 1960’s and 1970’s, soon big music conglomerates followed suit and started a similar consolidation of sound into homogeneous garbage. Very few bands escaped the grinding up…you know when Gangsta Rap became mainstream with white boys in the burbs, that the scam was on.  BTW, if you have the opportunity to watch the documentary of how Dark Side of the Moon was made, watch it. It is available on Netflix as an Instant Download. Jaw-dropping.

Dain went down to his basement and brought the Stone Brewery Ruination Tenth Anniversary IPA from the bowels of the subterranean beer fridge.  Higher in abv and twice the hops of an already hoppy brew, this concoction is the Jolt Cola equivalent of brews, just much tastier. And won’t rot your teeth. Hops can act as a shroud for poorly made craft beer…where it hides a multitude of sins. In fact, it almost seems like a trade secret to add a lot of hops to mediocre brew and then posit that somehow it has been transformed like Midas into gold. Heineken anyone? No, it is still lead. The alchemy failed.

This Ruination, rather than being rank, exceeded all expectations. Well-done San Diego/Oceanside maestros at Stone. Very Dark Side of the Moonish (hops being darkness). This brew is bitter but it delivers taste redemption. Rather than spiral into a death cycle of taste buds, the flavors rises to astounding heights. Deliverance from the everyday rot. When the Jewish guy at the bar (see last Summer of Wit post) decided against a hoppy beer because “life was bitter enough” I think he is missing that bitterness addressed and consumed can sometimes be redemptive if it is done well and with well, craft. No one would accuse Pink Floyd of being soft on its take on life. In fact, its music was typically pretty sad and bitter, but performed extraordinarily and unusually proficiently.  But, it stands. Desperation may be the English way, but we are all desperate. Where to we go with it? Confirmation that we are not alone is comforting.

There is a transcendental transaction when a person seeks to embrace quality bitterness. Bitterness is a fact of life, all that we have are choices to make the bitterness beautiful or horrible. I am all in favor of avoiding pain for pains sake, yet pain is going to rain down regardless sometimes. Do you open your mouth and take it in or refuse to drink and die of thirst?

As it was, Dain and I got in a pretty serious conversation about life events. We even prayed. It was a holy moment, with the cigars being incense and the beer being elixir. Bitter & beautiful beer for a barren land.

New Living Translation (©2007)
A person who is full refuses honey, but even bitter food tastes sweet to the hungry.  

Summer of Wit

This summer I have been drinking mostly Wit beer. The best Wit thus far has been Lancaster’s own Diabolical Dr. Wit from the Tap Room/Springhouse Brewery. I might just be favoring the home team but I really like the balance of the brew. It has some citrusy elements without being too acidic, sweet, or bitter. It is balanced and delightful. 

By the title you might think that I have been particularly funny and urbane this season. Actually, the summer has been bittersweet–a combination of emotional malt and hops–trending more towards the bitter. So, my wit has suffered. I am starting to bounced back.

Speaking of bitter,  I was in Chicago last night at a Holiday Inn bar/restaurant/hotel where American Airlines graciously lodged me (I got bumped from last night’s flight and am now in possession of a $ 500 voucher to fly AA sometime in the next year), and some Jewish dude from New York City area decided against drinking more than just a sample of a hoppy beer by saying, “Life is already bitter enough.”

True enough…now that was witty. 

 

 

Sam Adams Boston Lager

I took the bait like a fish to the worm. Fourth of July around the corner. Needed beer. Something not too heavy but not seltzerish with alcohol. Re: Coors, Bud, Miller, etc. The Distributor had piled the cases of Sam Adams Boston Lager like chum in the waters. The decision was quick, no mulling about like a lost child for close to an hour weighing my options. Perhaps the fastest turn-around time in purchasing a case ever. Minuteman…the revolutionary theme and all.

Sam Adams is a craft brewer that has gone big like the proverbial fish that started as a small fry. Now, it is a formidable opponent to the King George’s out there who will keep churning out mediocrity as long as some poor suckers are going to buy it. Shall be interesting to see how the Bigs either swallow smaller craft brewers and rule these brands like fiefdoms from the throne or who go out and create their own like AB’s Shock Top. I had their Belgian White the other day. Pretty good. I see that Bud is seriously pulling  a Walmart predatory move like a shark in cutting its pricing for such cases far below the competitors. About 12 dollars less per 24. I am all for Free Enterprise but when one has big monopolistic players in the game, it is no longer free enterprise. Anyone who thinks otherwise has some moron in them that needs to get exorcised out of them as a demon. The SA Boston Lager did not disappoint. It is not a light lager. It has some umph. The hoppy-ness is also a bit unusual for a lager. It pours a deep amber brown like that super attractive girl’s long hair in high school. Boy, I am mixing metaphors right and left here. Fishing, fiefdoms, hot girls.

My brother and I commenced our consumption soon after a mountain bike ride.  He took a rather nasty spill and was quite winded trying to keep up with me. I work-out and don’t smoke. Decided advantages despite me being older by almost a decade. It was a very hot afternoon and the beers went down smoother than ice cream. After eating bacon-wrapped sirloin steaks from the grill, a huge piece of carrot cake (doesn’t that count as a vegetable?), watching that Steve Carrel “Crazy Stupid Love” flick in the man cave (truly bunkerish, bro), and a homegrown fireworks festival, I did finish the night off approaching midnight with a cool bowl of freshly made ice cream. Perfect ending.

I took my chances a drove home from the Philly region back to Lancaster, hearing on the radio on the way home that more people die in driving accidents on the 4th of July more than any other day in the calendar. That kind of spooked me…what was I thinking? The two other days were really odd, random. Not tied to a holiday or anything. Weird. Got home safe and sound.  And so it went…from the 4th to the 5th.

 

Yuengling’s Lord Chesterfield Ale

I’m back from a brief hiatus. Life has been hard the last few weeks. Only the strong survive. “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” Thus spaketh Nietzsche before he went nuts. Those German philosophers…so insufferable, so ponderous. Well, so German. But at least  they make good beer.

One problem about becoming a beer connoisseur (have to distrust that word because it is French)  is cost. The high suds mark in the glass gets harder and harder to beat without shelling out more Benjamins. Thus, every so often, I go lowbrow to reset the taste pallet. It is hard medicine but necessary. Thus, let me introduce the Lord of Lowbrow Lord Chesterfield:

Now, I don’t know what fiefdom Lord Chesterfield ruled over. I suppose I could Google his name and find out. This much is certain: Lord Chesterfield used to be the worst beer in America before Yuengling decided to make its beer drinkable to anyone outside of Pottsville’s city limits. I think it was 5 dollars a case and then money back with returnables. How bad? It could have killed roaches that survived a nuclear winter. So, when one is Lord of the Sewer, a climb up the ladder to daylight is massively noticeable.

A few years ago at the local distributor, Yuengling had a stand set up with samples of their brews. Fighting the past, I decided to take a chance on the Dark Lord and take a sip or two. It had a good result…I did not gag and convulse into drive heaves. The downside of the upside is now the cases of Yuengling run around 20 to 23 dollars or so. Plus, you have to find something else to kill the radioactive roaches it it ever comes to that.

So, I bought a case of the Lord Chesterfield the other day. Definitely hoppier than the Yuengling Lager. Not bad, not great. Drinkable. I think Beer Advocate gives it a “D.” At least there is a grade that can be assigned. Before, an “F’ would have been a gift and stood for “Foul” “Fiendish” or just plain old “Filthy.” Now it is just Feudal, worthy of the teeming masses. Far from being aristocratic, Lord Chesterfield has joined the League of Nations of acceptable beers that sticks it to the the Big Wigs. For that alone, it is worth drinking.

I wandered arou…

I wandered around the beer distributor on Friday night for close to an hour like a vagrant (Beer Distributor? It is a Pennsylvania thing, you wouldn’t understand unless you are from the state that is still working through the demise of Prohibition). Like a woman looking for the perfect top, I just couldn’t decide which case to buy. And no, I wouldn’t solve the dilemma by just buying both.

It was my buddy’s birthday and his wife reminded me that he favored either IPA or Stouts. Beer is just one of those universal gifts that most men who are not weenies go “Oh boy!” when he sees his case-bearing friend enter the door. It is a good gift but it is not without hemming and hawing. What to buy, what to buy? Should I be daring and buy a case of something that I have never had? What if it sucks and is expensive? I settled on an IPA for sure. It just seemed to fit the birthday vibe the best. Half the battle was done, the hard hand-to-hand combat remained.

BTW, I also gave a Triple Perfection Belgian liter to my buddy at his wedding reception yesterday. If you invite me to you celebratory events, there is better than average chance that I will bring beer. But, you will not know what type. I have to retain some mystery as to be alluring.

I kept flipping through the price binder at the Beer Distributor. I have no problem spending money but some cases are so egregious in regards to cost that one should have his head examined for profligacy if one were to buy. Although I love beer, I don’t want to become the equivalent of a wine snob, sniffing corks like dogs sniffing butts. It is not really about wine; it is about the Rolex factor. See what I can afford? Ask me what time it is.

I found that I was using the Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA as my gold-standard reference in my searching around and around. Hoping for revelation. A case that was in the mid-thirty dollar range, its tastes are exquisite without being snotty. Rocky mashed-up with Charm School. I continued to wander and wonder. Then it hit me, why not just buy the Dogfish? The heavens open wide and the angelic courses sang, “He is mighty slow but he finally has seen the light.” Old two by four on the side of the head, that’s me.

I hoped that my buddy would be giddy about the gift. In the back of my mind, I searched the records to recall if he was ever dismissive of the brand. I didn’t think it would be possible but one never knows. Nothing of the nature was brought forth from the abyss of my memory.

Needless to say, my buddy was pleased with my selection. We had a great night hanging out with a cool group of people, drinking some beers, eating some ribs. Smoking some hand-rolled cigarettes (tobacco, just to clarify). It was raining like the Dickens which just concentrated the essential energy of the party around the square table in the kitchen.

My mission had been fulfilled, my meanderings had turned out to be meaningful. My buddy texted me something on Saturday to the effect of being appreciative that I treated him well with the Dogfish Head Ale 60 Minute IPA gift as he was not likely to treat himself. He’s a humble and hard-working dude, not likely to sniff a wine cork anytime soon. Since birthdays are only once a year, taking him some 60 minute was a gift worth giving.  It is more blessed to give than receive.

Power of One (Beer)

I have been working off the “Asheville Ten”….the remnant of slabs of fat on my midsection from a vacation to that fine town in North Carolina over Christmas vacation. Most of my meals were some variation of deep fried something.

The great news is that I have lost the ten pounds and I am now in bonus time looking to drop another ten pounds. That means my beer drinking has slowed to a crawl. In fact, rather than drink more beer tonight besides the one Yuengling Lager I had with din-din, I am writing a blog about the near negation of consumption. And I have a beer blog.

The other night I went for a run, then I mowed the grass. I went to get my jar of water out of the beer fridge and spied  a Wit. I decided to drink it down without remorse. I have to tell you, that beer was mighty enjoyable. Sitting out back on the porch, I merged with the beer. There was a deep unity.  There is quite a paradox in life that restraint creates appreciation…sort of like “absence causing the heart to grow fonder” type of thing. Because my beer drinking is dropping like J.P. Morgan, one beer ascends to almost mystical levels of desire and consummation.

Want to enjoy beer more? Drink less. There is some Zen vibe to all of this. I can’t say that I have attained Guru status, yet every beer is precious. Treat it as a treat and discover the joy that comes from just having one. Or two.

UNIBROUE La Fin du Monde

I confess Father that my wife introduced me to Belgian Beers. Fair to say, I was much more of a beer drinker and she a wine drinker when we met. Belgian sort of became the middle ground where we consumed collaboratively. Belgians have a more sophisticated taste, come in cool 750 ml bottles, and are higher alcohol. In fact, kind of like the Vino.

I bought a sampler pack of UNIBROUE recently and I am going to profile them one by one in forthcoming blogs. The La Fin du Monde (The End of the World, in French) is a Triple-style Golden Ale. These Quebec brewers are among the world’s best and if you think Belgium is just a little too far and too much money, making a trek to Quebec is a pretty nice second place award.

I am still kicking myself for missing out on Quebec a couple of years ago. We stayed in Montreal and had a great time but I think we could have carved out a day or two further North. This beer is world-class. It is surprisingly clean tasting while still packing a hefty ABV. It almost seemed Wit-like, just fortified. Give it a try. Something French that you can love.

ABC

Last Sunday, we were in the city of Harrisburg to attend a church service where two of our friends were guest musicians. Harrisburg apparently these days is three times more dangerous than Philly. Yikes. I checked out a map of the most recent crime map to see if we were possibly headed for a Sunday morning stick-up. What the heck happened, what the heck is happening? The city of Harrisburg has become a hellhole. All the more reason for a church to be doing its work of preaching, teaching, and discipleship.  After the service concluded, we debated where to catch some lunch.

We hiked over to the Appalachian Brewing Company a few minutes away. Normally I am fairly reticent about drinking beer during the day. Leaves me sluggish. Yet, a relaxing brew or two with friends on a Sunday afternoon with a good burger is not a bad plan. I had a bit of an edge because I drank too much coffee that morning and wanted to chill with a cold one. I opted for the Trail Blaze Organic Brown Ale. Definitely hit the spot with the burger. Always good to have food with drink, it moderates consumption. Festive.

My dream one day is to make my own organic ale from the bottom up so this offering from ABC is a bit model for what that might look and taste like. I want to grow my own barley, malt it, harvest homegrown hops (I actually have the hop garden started), and cultivate the yeast. Off the grid, not for electricity, but for beer. Green beer. I tried to grow the barley last summer and it was doing fine, with intense watering, but when we left for California and Vancouver, British Columbia, last July for almost three weeks, the barley baked to brown and dead. Like straw.

Beer, like communities, is better when the ingredients are of a high-quality. The Brown Ale from ABC is a very good beer. Unfortunately, Harrisburg has a real bad element in the mix and it had better start raising up those qualities that enrich the community rather than cause it to become a desert of destruction and mayhem. The trail to Hell is also paved with bad intentions.               

St. Boniface – Bring on the Axe

 

I know, I know. I have been horribly deficient in posting beer blogs on 40/40. I have not however been bereft of beer. Just time. While my bierkergaard blog foams over into fandom, I have disowned my beer blog. 40/40? Never heard of it, her, him.

Maybe, probably, certainly–if you are not from Lancaster County, Pa.–Land O’ Amishmen and Churches and Outlet Malls (how does that happen, this odd confluence of piety and consumerist spirit unleashed?), you have never had the blessed occurrence of St. Boniface descending on your palate like Jehovah upon the earth is judgment. These dudes are Christians and they make a mighty brew. Show discretion Ye Drinkers!

A local pub was having a tasting “take over the taps of St. B.” It was righteous, it was mighty. Like John the Baptist declared to to the impenitent, “The axe is laid at the root of the tree.” Although John did not drink spirits, he would have to commend St. Boniface going after the Big Boy slothful makers of tame brew.

 

It Was A Dark and Stormy Day/Beer: Iron Hill West Chester Octagon

No, I am not going to plagiarize Snoopy’s opening line in my title (It was a dark and stormy night), but I will employ it as inspiration. All writers beg, borrow, and steal, others work.  Attribution, my reader, attribution.

Last Saturday in Eastern Pennsylvania, we slid back into some winter-like weather. It felt like late November or early December. It was cold, drizzly, dark, in the college town of West Chester. My buddy was holed up in a music shop testing out amps for his Bass, our wives were pumping money into the local economy through clothe purchasing, and I jumped around from shop-to-shop.

I bought some great smoked Gouda cheese at a gourmet food shop, toured several other establishments, but spent most of my time reading a book about beer in a discount book store. I felt guilty doing so, thus I bought a book by Garry Wills called “Head and Heart, American Christianites.” Originally, the price for the book hot off the press was $ 29.95…I purchased it for $ 3.98. The book about beer was interesting but hardly a deep read. The Wills had cooled off considerably since being taken out of the publisher’s oven. Like day old bread.

After my musician buddy had exhausted his musical muse, we connected out on the streets of West Chester. I was heading back to the music store and he was heading out. We decided to walk over to Iron Hill Brewery to sample the local drafts. Iron Hill permits its brewmasters some flexibility in styles beyond the Iron Hill standards. That consistency combined with creativity is a great balance. Don’t know why Raspberry Wheat is always on tap, though. Must be for the girlies and girly men. I don’t like fruit flavors in beer as a rule unless it is sour cherries in Belgian. If you want fruitiness, drink some sangria. The West Chester Iron Hill is right in the middle of town, unlike the Iron Hill in Lancaster that sits across from Franklin and Marshall College but not much else except a street of shops. Thus, the West Chester Iron Hill has more of a village pub feel rather than a strip mall.

I decided upon the Octagon. Picture above.

Octagon

OG: 1.105   Color: 14   IBU: 50   Alc by Vol: 9.9%

“Belgian Quadrupel. Rich, dark, malty and very complex. Belgian Abbey yeast, dark candi sugar and a huge assortment of specialty malts create layers of complex fruity aromas and a warming finish.” The chalk board at Iron Hill must have had the ABV wrong. It listed it as 14%. The website shows it to be different. I was going to draw and analogy between the firepower of the Octagon and the Pentagon. At 14%, the Octagon would be nuclear in power. Coming in at under 10% still makes it a formidable brew, yet not mushroom cloud in a glass. It was the perfect beer for a dreary day, warmed me bones and lifted the spirits. My buddy and I had some good guy time before our wives arrived. West Chester is a great town with a lot of cool amenities without kicking off a touristy vibe of  “give us your money and get the hell out.” Towns that turn too touristy and commercial, lose their souls. They become human zoos with cage like stores, designed to get visitors to feed the natives. A town should be able to stand on its own two feet without being fed by outsiders. Such sufficiency creates a spirit of life hard to duplicate when visitor dollars prop up the economy. Iron Hill for all its franchise savvy business sense and money making power (and it rakes in boatloads of dollars with its model), still has a heart. The I.H. plan is very head-like…strategic and extremely well-executed. The heart makes it a place where one wants to return over and over again. It is a friendly upbeat establishment no matter which one you happen to go to. I.H. has it down to a well-written book. More power to them…in a field of copycats who plagiarize others work, Iron Hill Brewery is an original.

Beers of Summer

It has been quite a while since I wrote a blog for 40/40. How long? I forgot how to post a picture. The WordPress format is all changed in term of the toolbars and the like. Times have changed.

Well, the hiatus from beer blogging is drawing to an end for a bit. My book about the college transition is its final editing stages. I have three writing priorities: The book, my bierkergaard blog that is growing in readership daily to new heights, and this poor neglected beer blog. Like a step-child, and a red-haired one at that.

Nonetheless, until the book comes back from my Editor-the-Hun (only joshing for he has done wonders for my work), I will blog about beer in the interim. Needless to say that my beer drinking has not abated, only writing about it has. I am still trying to lose the ten extra pounds I gained from too much food and quite enough beer in Asheville, North Carolina over Christmas Vacation.

Well, yesterday I pulled weeds for about two hours in the yard. It was brutal. Afterwards, I was hankering to have a beer or two. I first cracked open a seltzer to take some of the thirst edge off, then I drank in order a Walt Wit (above) from the Philadelphia Brewing Company, a Bass Ale, and a Yuengling Lager. Bass was my favorite of the evening, the Wit number two, and the YL (the ill) won the bronze. Let us be clear, Yuengling Lager is not particularly great beer, it just is quite a bit better than Bud, Miller, or Coors that have no flavor. Worse than the seltzer I started the evening off on.

I think most readers will recall the “Boys of Summer Song” from Don Henley. Substitute Beers for Boys. I am looking forward to a fun summer of yard work and beers afterwards. Always good to work for the drink.  

 

 

Stopping Blogging For A Spell

I am not going to be blogging on 40/40 for a spell. I am in the process of writing and editing a book and need to keep my focus. Be assured that I will be back at some point and in the meantime enjoy the posts already in the fridge.  Also, be assured that I will still be drinking great beer in the interim.  That is not something that I will be putting on hold!

Bringing Home the Baconnalia in D.C.

Yes, bringing home the bacon to my mouth was the impetus for a buddy and I making a 24 hour jaunt to a commercially-zoned  Truman Show-like shopping destination in the D.C. Metro area. The National Harbor is a two billion dollar behemoth of retails shops and restaurants south of D.C. See the map below:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/05/18/AR2009051803201.html?sid=ST2008041902202

Disney is in the town? Figures. Cuz, I am not sure if I can call it a town, for it seems to have no soul. Disney, like the Truman Show, is impeccably imaged.  I only learned of the Disney plans until after I returned home but it made sense. It is small world after all, because if it is going to give the impression of being perfect, it had better be miniature as a cover for its architects’ to project a glimmering and ultimately unreal world. The destination seems crafted to suck as much money out of the tourists’ pockets and purses as it can who are wowed by the bright lights and faux commercial chic. Sorry, give me the grit of Reading Terminal Market in Philly any day.

It is like Vegas without the gambling and sleaze but it still is all mirrors and glass and lacking in substance.  It is an odd and difficult drive to the National Harbor. My buddy, a professional photographer, knows the 95 Beltway roads well and a good thing too…our GPS Systems literally had no maps or directions to the destination, leading further to its mirage vibe. We had come to the locale for the Capital Bacon & Beer Bash with the bacon being various culinary emanations of all things bacon and the beer being shipped in from the microbrewery Heavy Seas.

Heavy Seas came to the event loaded with a vast array of their brews. One wonders how they can brew so many different type of beers like a brewery COSTCO without losing some eye on what main brews are going to be their flagships. To the credit of Heavy Seas, the beer is very good and sometimes even great. My favorite of the evening was the Christmassy Yule Tide, a Belgian Tripel. Tis the season for Belgians. The nights are cold and frightnen, but the beer is so inviting.

It look me a while to find this brew because of all of the other varieties around. Strangely, the only other brewery there was Heinecken, a truly average brew, overpriced, and also lacking any soul. I typically avoid events like this “all you can and eat” expensive affairs because I fight the desire to get my money’s worth without over-indulging. Buffets of beers are not generally a good idea.

Any honest person reading this blog knows that I a always advise moderation and going to a $ 55 Bacconnalian event puts the conviction to the test. I passed due to a very mindful alternation of beer and H2O, with a continuous grazing of bacon infused dishes. It could have been worse, my buddy got rooked for $ 75 since the price was hiked as the event got closer.

The bacon dishes were decidedly below average. Unlike the beer that passed muster with flying colors, the bacon dishes really were less than commendable. I gravitated to the bacon ketchup-sauced chicken wings that were like General Tsaos chicken. A truly amalgamated sino-american dish, pleasing to the American palate of sugar and grease.

Not exactly fine dining but finger licking good…

The vendors were set-up like a food court and the cuisine was food court quality. This dish below was a crazy and gnarled mess of bacon called FOOD OF THE GODS. It made me wonder if there was some dyslexia going on and whether the should have been called FOOD OF THE DOGS?

It came across as a HoJo’s breakfast buffet bacon in terms of taste. I am sorry to be so dismissive but for a high cost event billed as both “Bacon and Beer” the bacon should have been much better. There was another table of bacon that tasted as it it had been drenched in propane, lit on fire, charred, and then served up. With all of the burnt bacon, it tasted as if we were eating petrol-blackened swine.

I dubbed my pal the “King of Cupcakes” due to his voracious consumption of a bacon oil infused chocolate cupcake topped with peanut butter icing. At the end of the night, the proprietor autographed her sign and wrote a salutation to the Cupcake King. He said he  has a sweet tooth…needs to to be the plural “teeth” based on how many he took down.

Speaking of swine, the lowlight of the evening was the sawing (it had been promoted as “slicing”) of a whole pig by the chef where audience members were given 5 lb. huge slabs of pork to take home. That is, all of the pig but the head of the beast which sat on the cutting board for thirty minutes peering out on the throngs of party-goers, back-beated by a deejay and videos, and whose ultimate resting place is still unknown. I sensed that the oinkers’ head could wind up as part of a prank. It was all very Lord of the Flyish. Some lanky black dude upon hearing of the decapitated pig’s head, dropped and pivoted like on the low post in basketball, turned away and uttered, “I don’t need to see that.”

With all of nitrates being eaten, as noted previously, I made quite sure to quaff close to a gallon of water over the evening, to offset dehydration. It did result in me getting up hourly overnight to visit the loo but I woke up at 6:30 in great shape. The night could have gotten imbalanced based on the frat school vibe, abundant beer, oily grub, and a young crowd looking to leave work behind and party. Yet, it was all good fun, albeit greasy. We navigated the choppy waters without capsizing and hotel room was only a couple of blocks away. We stayed at the Residence Inn, a clean and well-run hotel at a half-price rate scored on Priceline. Hoping for a view of the Potomac River, we were chagrined to find our 7th floor hotel room overlooking a nearly vacant parking garage. Pretty sure that was a payback for being a Priceliner…

The National Harbor venture appears to be not living up to expectations because barren parking garages show that the builders of this enterprise envisioned a flowing river of tourists and not a trickling creek of out-of-towners on the eve of the Christmas season, already wise to the scheme and the scam. If I want to go to an overpriced mall, I will just head to King of Prussia. Localities looking to cash in on the tourist dollars had better be too-notch. And, if New York City and the National Mall are about the same distance away, give me the Big Apple rather than some shiny fake apple, all wax and no fruit. Even New York is inflated, but at least it has heart and an attitude.

I guess I was envisioning a more connoisseur type of event and it wound up being part post-college and pre-marriage crowd, and part older folks like us who wanted a tour of fine tour of bacon and beer.

After we departed the event, which concluded ten minutes early on the orders of the portly manager, we headed out into the cool night air. This was the last cache of brews buried as it were on the ocean floor:

It seemed cheeky to call it a night early because the event was billed as 5-9, but it was probably for the best. All of the other beer stations had run dry and a small party of revelers remained at the end on the final stand. The bartender was great…he had a exuberant personality. The staff in general were friendly and welcoming.

After leaving, we wound up at some pretentious Chinese Pan-Asian Fusion joint whose meals were inflated to high society 1% costs, with my buddy and I being hat-wearing occupiers and interlopers. The staff looked at us somewhat askance but seated us because the place was hardly even a quarter full. Hard times. I was quite surprised to find a ten dollar entree of a Korean Soup bowl among the higher-priced fair. It was a seafood and spicy stew. Absolutely delightful and a wonderfully zesty and tasty conclusion to the evening. The restaurant, with a fifty foot Buddha, really won me over in the end. The bowl was beatific and zen-like. A perfect antidote of the the oil-laden bacon dishes.

Mentioning antidotes, when I came home this morning, we left D.C. in a hurry to beat the traffic, I drank a quart of raw greens:

The smell of bacon remained on our clothes on the trip home. All in all a good time. Could have been better, but it was a blast being with a buddy, getting real in a place in need of some reality…

Ommegang Sampler: Christmas Come Early

My my my.  Gaze up this Ommegang Sampler. I scored two of these yesterday at a distributor off the beaten path than sometimes has some great offerings on sale. It being somewhat secluded creates space for people like me in search of gems in them stacks of cases.

I purchased this Sampler for $ 25 apiece. I think they would be awesome Christmas gifts but I am fighting the desire to keep them as mine, mine, mine. And my wife’s (need to add that). This sampler at that price is like getting a Van Gogh at a garage sale as far as I am concerned. And, on top of three liters of beer, a glass. I faced a moral test of sorts as I was waiting in the store for 15 minutes alone when the owner on an early Saturday morning was back in the shop and could not hear my petitions for help because of a delivery truck rumbling. I could have walked out of the store unimpeded with these two packs and otherwise. 15 minutes is a long time for mischief.

Sometimes writing this blog can feel like homework. Even though I only compose one blog a week, I don’t want my writing to suck. Quality before quantity in writing and beer. Rather have one paragraph glass of tasty words than a keg of mediocre verbosity. Diminishing the homework vibe is the obvious fact that I love beer and love writing. But, again, I don’t want to suck.

Ommegang is a great brewery. I love every offering they make. I am particularly interested in the Gnomegang, a collaboration between Ommegang and Brasserie d ‘Achouffe (on the left in the photo). Seriously, a gnome love child from the marriage of two of the best brewers out there of Belgian ancestry.  Crazy.  I know Chimay is often seen as the literal gold standard but I think that rep is no longer to be taken as a given. There are rightful claims to the throne.

Two summers ago my wife and I went to the Belgian Beer Fest at the  Ommegang Brewery near Cooperstown. Man, forget baseball, it was all about the beer. I decided to sample as many of the hundred or so Belgian breweries present. In the nine innings of the event, my wife stayed in the home team’s dugout of Ommegang. I wanted to try the away teams stuff, but in the end of the game had to admit that Ommegang was the big bat at the event.

The price of admission per fan was something like $ 75 dollars so people wanted to get their fill and make the most of the event. A Belgian Beer Buffet of sorts, which then created casualties (due to high ABV) strewn in the fields like after the battle of Antwerp. Fortunately, it was a beautiful summer day and not one of those hot and humid beasts that the East Coast can throw at you like a beanball.  The misery index thus was tempered.  I had some good to great beers that day, and a few that were downright bad. I had a Belgian from a brewery in New York that tasted too fresh…like unpasteurized yogurt or cheesecake. The brewery did not time it right. Belgians, like wine, need to have some time to settle down, to mature, to develop as a complete player.

If you ever find beers past their sell date, don’t be too concerned if they are ales, and be downright happy if they are bottle conditioned Belgians. They will change and improve over time given the proper storage. Lagers, being more temperamental and diva-like, drop off quickly–even when stored in a cool environment, and particular at beer distributors rooms temps. Buyer beware. Some distributors try to sell cases past there due dates. Yet, the big breweries have little good in them that will go bad. Kind of like a BHT laden Twinkie. It doesn’t go bad. Instead, it exists in a chemically-frozen arc of time and space. Bad today, bad tomorrow. Bad a year from today. But, frightening and cryogenically the same.

Go, go, go for Ommegang. Just in time for Christmas.  No ho-hum. Pure Ho-H0-Ho!

Went South with Natty Boh

This blog could sail in a lot of different directions today…I have much brew related fodder from the feedbag in the offing.  I’ve decided to go South in more ways than one.  “Went South” is a Civil-War laden term apparently, a losing cause idiom. In this case, South means Baltimore and its environs.

Yesterday, we headed down to the B-More area to watch some football with friends. The game was Michigan vs. Iowa and Iowa pulled out an unlikely win. I had no dog in this fight technically, but my wife and one of her closest friends who was the gracious host (with her husband) both went to the University of Michigan for their MBA’s, so I was shouting “Go Blue.”  When undecided, root for the team of those in your life root for…or one can always be antagonistic and do the opposite. Not particularly wise and a losing cause in itself. Even if the team wins.

I had brought a case of Baltimore-origin microbrew to the festivities….a sample pack from Heavy Seas. It was four styles, two stellar, one very good, one so-so. The Loose Cannon is one of the best IPA/heavily hopped beers out there on the oceans. Speaking of water, here is shot of the locale off the back porch of our friends house on a river that is a tributary to the Chesapeake Bay.

Twas a gorgeous Fall Day.  The next brew in the sampler that was excellent was the Saison. It is titled the Red Sky at Night and it was quite delightful.   Both the Loose Cannon and the Red Sky at Night are big guns in the fleet of the Heavy Seas Sunken Sampler pack. The Golden Ale was quite good. It is was a 2010 GABF Medal Winner  ~  2010 Gold Award, World Beer Cup. Sometimes those awards can be a bit esoteric, like winning the Gold in Fencing at the Olympics. Because the style is defined very specifically and only a handful of brews meet the qualifications for entrance, the victory is somewhat qualified by the selectivity of entrance into the competition. Maybe that is what happened here? It is 1:18 am Sunday morning and I don’t feel like being the sleuth. The Classic Lager was OK…not bad at all, but nothing to text home about.

Which brings me to a truly classic lager National Bohemian. A Baltimore legend but one whose spirit is broken. It is a local front for Miller Brewing Company and shipped by Pabst. Every big town in the Northeast had a brewery that only the locals could love. In Pittsburgh, it was/is (sort of, I think it is now brewed at Rolling Rocks old brewery in Latrobe and not PB) Iron City. In Philadelphia, Ortliebs, and Knickerbocker in NYC. The reality is that these local beers were pretty bad. I once had a quart of Knickerbocker and it was so bad it could have killed a rat.

Natty Boh was brought to the party by one of those guys who I will probably meet only once. He knows someone, I know someone. And our ships pass another, never to cross again…or infrequently. We just don’t sail the same waters, especially if he keeps bringing Natty Boh to functions. One NB is OK to drink, to say that you did–like swallowing a gold fish, but I didn’t dare drink a second. One is like a warning shot across the bow…two, and your sinking into the swamp of mediocrity. Frankly, Natty Boh as a brand should be sunk and left to rot on the ocean floor. It was never any good as a beer but at least it was local. Now, it is a rotting and termite infested ship that merely looks local and has a mangy crew of adherents who are holding onto the past that is gone.

Why not grab some Heavy Seas instead? It is so much better and it is actually made in the Baltimore area.  One of the astounding stories about beer in America is that many of the local brands were taken out back and shot during Prohibition. After that slaughtering, the consolidation and contraction occurred on a massive scale where only the biggest whales were left swimming and brands like Yuengling just scavenged around surviving. For the record, Yuengling used to really suck taste-wise as a brand of beers. Fortunately Dick  saved the day by making the beers drinkable. He righted the ship just in time. Then, in the late 1980’s, better-brewed locals like pirates began to sail waters around the big boys…ships that were like a Carnival fleet full of fat tourists and all you can eat buffets. And, now in the 21st century, the sleeker fleets of local microbreweries are starting to tear up the behemoths meal ticket. Heavy Seas is a nemesis geared for the battle and by all appearances, doing a fine job in its campaign in troubling the waters of complacency.

May the Buds, Millers, and Coors go south once a for all. This is no longer a fanciful wish…the Big Boys know that they cannot advertise their way out of this battle with commercials of stupid men and busty girls. The beer is going to have to get better or they are going to sink. Fire away Heavy Seas, fire away.

World’s Best Beers & Jack Daniels

I follow a blog of two brother who write about whiskey and beer. One could argue that whiskey and beer are really quite the same…add water and carbonation and hops and whiskey becomes a beer.  Maybe some sugar too. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that take the water and carbonation and hops out of beer, add some wood barrel flavors, and beer becomes whiskey.

I am not a whiskey aficionado. I texted a friend on Friday night and asked him what he was drinking–hey it was the beginning of the weekend, most  people are enjoying something spirit–and he texted back a name of something that didn’t sound like a beer. I figured out it was a whiskey and then searched it on the web. It was pricey! But, I was drinking a Rogue Ale and that is not exactly federal government free cheese either.

I am fine with sipping Jack Daniels on occasion and want to keep it in this price range. I am pretty certainly that a don’t want to become a whiskey snob on top of already being a beer snob and a coffee snob. It starts to be expensive to be a snob.  The Beer and Whiskey Bros recently posted this document of the World’s Best Beers (I have to give credit where credit is due).

Samuel Adams seems to come up big in the competition which makes me wonder if S.A. has now become such a big sun in the craft beer market that it is starting to keep the better beers of a local variety from shining. But give kudos to SA for still making quality beers at mass quantities.

Beer and Rugby

Friday night after eating entirely too much Italian food at Maggiano’s Little Italy in King of Prussia (nothing little about the place), we looped by the Beer Yard in Wayne to cop a case of Steinlager–a brew from New Zealand. We had plans to convene at a buddy’s abode on Sunday afternoon at 3:00 to watch the World Rugby Finals…France versus New Zealand All Blacks. Steinlager is the corporate sponsor of the All Blacks and we wanted to get into the spirit of the game.  We had high hopes for both the beer and the game.

Of course, we rooted for the All Blacks. Here is what the French coach said about his own players who went out and partied too much after eeking out a win over Wales:

“I told them what I thought of them,” he said. “That they’re a bunch of undisciplined, spoiled brats, disobedient, sometimes selfish, always complaining, always whining, and they’ve been (frustrating me) for four years.”

In other words, typical Frenchmen.

France didn’t start to play hard until the second half and New Zealand won the game while not playing particularly well. I played rugby for six seasons and went literally out with a bang my last game I played. I knocked three people out, and put one of them–a player on my own team–in the hospital overnight. Me…I had to get carted off to the hospital in an ambulance where I was diagnosed with a double concussion and had to get fifteen stitches above  my right eye. I can only really see out of my right eye so I figured I was tempting fate to play more. Thus, I sadly hung up my Adidas Steel Cleats and called it a career. It was very disappointing. So, I have little sympathy for the French not playing hard for a half. Such nonchalance is inexcusable.

Beer was always a big part of the post-game convocations. Part medicinal–it is hard to put into mere words how bad the body aches after 80 minutes on the pitch–and part fellowship. The ethos of rugby on the field is play hard, play fair, but leave it on the field. After the game, enjoy hanging out with the other team. Win or lose, it is a great time.

The game was so-so and so was the Steinlager. It is basically a light lager that has little flavor. Kind of like 7-Up. It is not offensive or anything but it is bland and nothing to write home about. We were all trying to convince ourselves that it was OK until my wife–acting as the little boy who observed that the “King has no clothes”–forced us to come to terms that we were drinking an average beer. That was also disappointing. Is there not a way to make the brew more adventuresome and daring? Why make something so so-so? Purely average.

We brought some Dogfish to the table to give us some taste and flavor. Although American rugby has a long way to go before it is world-class, good to know that our beers are among the world’s best.

Indian Summer

Last Saturday in Pennsylvania was the textbook definition of Indian Summer in October.  Above is a pic from patio central with the brew equipment ready to roll.

Temps were in the 70’s, the sun was shining, and a soft breeze blew. The two previous Saturdays, the weather was rather cold and raw, like whaling off of Nova Scotia. Brewing my Indian Summer kit just didn’t make sense when the weather was not in sync. I know I wrote about why I am calling it Indian Summer before…but here is a recap: I am brewing a California Lager “Steam” beer, that is fermenting with lager yeast at an ale temperature. This beer originated in California. Due to the warmer temps in Cali, and the lack of lagering caves and before refrigeration,  pre-surfer dudes did what they could considering the geography.

So, it is brew that should have been fermented cold and it was instead done warm out of necessity. Hence, Indian Summer.  The kit was malt-wise half extract and half actual malted barley. This is the first time I have brewed with any grain and it certainly required more time, equipment (igloo cooler with a screen), and attention. The malt-extract kits are like Betty Crocker cake kits. Just add eggs and and the like, pop it in the oven, voila a cake. The grain kit is like a cake made from scratch. The big difference between the malt-extract and the malted barley comes down to time, measurement, and a need for precision. I hope the taste reflects the additional investment. Along with the brew being organic, I am hoping for Indian Summer in a bottle.

My ultimate goal is to homegrow all of my ingredients for beer on my own land. I want to take my brew-making off the grid. I might still be beholden to Big Utilities for my energy, but I want my beer to be free of outside domination. Call it a moral stance. Not exactly practical yet it does have philosophical integrity.  Thus, I am taking baby steps to Beer Independence.

Prohibition: Paradise Lost

I have been watching Ken Burn’s documentary on Prohibition.   The Temperance Movement saw all alcohol consumption as damnable. It was clear– heaven or hell, saints or sinners, intoxication or abstinence.The beer above is Unibroue’s Maudite (the Damned). Some buddies and I enjoyed this last week. One of my bucket list items is to get to the Belgian-Styled Unibroue Brewery in Quebec. Quebec is a heck of a lot closer than Belgium. Not in favor of using demonic allusions, though.

First, I want to get something off of my chest: If I hear one more pseudo-sophisticate utter “You can’t legislate morality” I might just punch the TV. Murderers, Rapists, Child Molesters, maybe we should apologize for legislating morality on you. Please forgive us. The point of Prohibition is that society cannot legislate morality if it is not definitively immoral. Drinking alcohol can be wrong, it can be right. Depends on how much. Drunkenness is a sin. Drinking alcohol in moderation, not a sin. There is no doubt that drunkenness was a social problem before, during, and after Prohibition. There are a lot of reasons for this that I really don’t have the time to expound upon.

Briefly…hard lives, hard work, hard places…the desire to deaden the pain and promote pleasure. It ran amok as all pursuit of excessive pleasure does.

Although legislating morality is not as black and white as the purists still presume, there is little doubt that stupidity can be legislated. Prohibition aimed too high and as a result created a de facto industry of law-breaking below…it sought to use law to change hearts. Better to change hearts and the law will follow.   One of the cardinal rules of this jurisprudence is never create a law that cannot be enforced. All that happens is it takes a gray area and puts it into the black market. In trying to create heaven, it ushered in hell.

The rule of Not too much, by temperance taught. In what thou eat’st and drink’st.

• John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book XI, line 531.