Beer Moment: Cold Beers on a Hot Patio

I’ve subtitled this as a “beer diary” from the start and with that title comes the fact that from time to time there will be some heavy baggage to carry here – or I can stop posting and cash in my chips, I guess.

I’ve been out of the loop for a month or so.

I’m growing my beard out some these days, which isn’t too unusual for me given that I try on the beard now and then just to see how gray I’m getting. (I think John Steinbeck wrote that growing a beard is the only thing a man can do better than a woman.)

Difference this time ‘round is that I’m keeping the beard for now because it’s the way I would have last appeared to my mom as she lay sick and dying in a hospital bed.

Mom passed away very suddenly on May 29th. Just about 2 months after a wonderful 80th birthday party, at which we were all blessedly oblivious to the cancer that was even then taking her away from us.

I haven’t been drinking heavily as a form of painkiller as I thought I might under the circumstances; though I have had some beers for sure. I’ve had occasion to stop off at mom’s place a time or two in the last few weeks and I always take a moment to have a cold beer out on her patio – just one, maybe two – never too much to count me out for the hour long drive back to my place. (I had coffee and donuts one morning, too by the way.) It’s good therapy, there in the shade, with the incessant heat licking at the edges of the patio cover and at the edges of my soul; watching the wildlife.

Mom was a lot of things in her life but never a quitter. She lived in France shortly after the war, she worked in the then traditionally all-male banking industry, she nursed more than one dying husband and she wrote a book. She was awesome and largely under appreciated. She’d probably be a bit disappointed that her youngest son chose to first eulogize her on a beer blog. “You learned to drink in the army,” she once admonished me.

At times like this, I think the tendency is to make wild promises about how one will lead ones life going forward. “I’ll go to church every Sunday.” “I’ll give more to charity.” “I’ll stop swearing.” “I’ll never drink again.” “I’ll only cheat at cards if I plan to give the profits to charity, while not drinking or swearing.” You get the picture.

For now, I’ll just keep the beard. Beyond that, I am what my mom made me and I’m sure that at some point she’ll tell me what needs changing. I'll get myself straightened out and post some more here soon.

Beer Moment: Carbon Footprint. Winter Beer in Summer Climes

That stash of Norwegian Nogne O Winter Ale that I picked up for a song is living out its last days in a cabinet in the garage, but alas, the temperature here at Beer Rant HQ is consistently hitting the mid 80s and it won’t be long before the remaining Winter Ale migrates inside the house to be hidden in the back of a dark, relatively cool, closet.

On the drive home this afternoon I figured I’d better pop the top off one of those Winter Ales and once home I promptly placed one into the freezer for a prompt cool down while I proceeded to work in the yard, waiting.

I’m dry setting some pavers in a shady corner of the yard. The Japanese boxwoods that once were there are gone – failure to thrive. I figure this little niche is a nice nook for the grandkids to play and cavort and a few pavers will make a nifty little flat spot for them to do whatever 4- and 2-year olds do when they’re visiting Papaw. (Turns out I'm better at cultivating grandkids than I am at cultivating Japanese boxwoods.)

It’s pushing 86 degrees in the backyard and I’d imagine that’s as far from Norwegian climes as I’m likely to be ever in my life this time of year – dry setting pavers in the desert southwest, waiting eagerly for that dark, licorice Norwegian goodness. I didn’t finish my work – the prospect of cold beer was too enticing.

Gee, we’ve got it good in this country. Fresh bananas in northern Washington in the winter and dark, robust Norwegian Winter Ale in Arizona in April with the thermometer pushing 90 degrees!

Please spare a prayer for the folks in West Virginia – you know which ones I’m talking about – then thank God every day if you don’t make your living underground.

Beer Moment: Mr. Fix-It

I want to be that Papaw who can fix anything. I’m not, but luckily, I’m in the middle of that several year span in my grandchildren’s lives where they seem to think I can fix anything.

Today I returned home from my work as a low-level government functionary where I labor at tasks that rarely result in a satisfactory result and where I seldom seem to fix anything. With an eye to salvaging something of the day, I set to cleaning up the backyard, putting away the toys scattered during this past weekend’s visit. There in the lawn lay the broken end of a small scoop shovel, like the kind kids play with at the beach. I remember seeing it get broken Sunday afternoon and I remember calling Mrs. Beer Rant on her cell phone to ask if she’d please try to find another beach shovel during her shopping trip. True to form, Grandma found not just a replacement toy shovel; she found an indoor/outdoor soccer set and a toy barbecue grill. She’s a terrific grandma.
So here I stood this afternoon with the working end of a broken toy shovel. This, I can fix. I rounded up a short section of plastic irrigation hose and a tiny carriage style bolt with its appropriate little nut. I retired to what passes for a workbench in my garage with a freshly poured glass of Deschutes Obsidian Stout, one of my favorite beers.

In a minute or two the little shovel was serviceable again and with the tool boxes put away and the bench light turned off, I took the remains of my Obsidian Stout and flopped down at the kitchen table to sort the day’s mail, satisfied in a (small) job well done and satisfied in my choice of beer.

Tomorrow morning I’ll get up at 3:30 and head back in to work. I’ll spin my wheels for a ten or eleven hour shift and then head home where I can do some real good. All the while, I’ll know that in just a few days, the grandkids will return and the toy shovels will come back out and we’ll get down to the real business at hand. And I think those little rascals will be tickled pink to see the newly repaired shovel. Grandkids appreciate the little things you do for them.

Beer Moment & Closing The Book

Weather has taken a turn for the cool around Beer Rant HQ, Halloween is here and before we know it Thanksgiving will be here. Beer-wise, this is probably my favorite time of year.

Beer Moment: A Beer On The Rim
From recent posts you might gather that I’m something of a traveler but that’s not so; I usually manage one or two decent trips a year either for family fun or work related stuff. This year has been a bit different in that I’ve gotten to Oregon (for the first time) and to Utah and to Colorado but that’s probably going to be it for 2009. Quick on the heels of the Colorado jaunt was a one-day quick trip up to Grand Canyon to meet family members intent on celebrating a birthday by taking a helicopter ride

We did our visiting while strolling around Grand Canyon Village on the South Rim and my nephew, who is something of a beer geek in his own right bought me a glass of beer from Grand Canyon Brewing at the bar in the El Tovar Lodge. He’d gone on at some length about a Grand Canyon Porter or Stout he’d tried the night before at a bar near their hotel in Tusayan. One would have thought that we’d have spent that brief, quiet time comparing notes on all things beer related but we didn’t. We quietly downed our pints with an offhand comment about the bar décor and a brief comparison of the pilsner at hand to the stout my nephew had tried the evening before. It was as if we were meeting for a routine pint after work. I don’t see my nephew or the rest of my extended Colorado family nearly often enough but the ease with which we simply slide into a familiar routine is comforting to me in a way.

Incidently, the beer we tried at El Tovar was a pilsner from Grand Canyon Brewing. It wasn’t all that noteworthy, but the setting and circumstance more than made up for what the beer might have been lacking!

Closing The Book
I filled up my first beer notebook a week or so back. The first entry is dated May 9, 2008 and was written during a visit to the Yardhouse where I noted my first sample of Old Speckled Hen. The final note is dated October 18, 2009 and indicates I was rounding out the notes with a Deschutes 2009 Jubelale. (Excellent beer, as always.)

I’ve debated whether or not to even start a new beer notebook. Frankly it’s a bit of an obstruction to actually enjoying the beer: the sniffing, the sipping, and the rabid jotting of notes. The Brits seem to have a term for folk who do this; they’re called “tickers,” and I’d liken them to those really ate up bird watchers who let their lives go to hell while they’re out looking for yet another bird to add to their life list. I don’t want to become a ticker, but I think I have.

On the other hand, without a notebook, I won’t have any way to document what I’ve done beer-wise and thus, no way to post comments on this blog. To lose the notebook would be to lose the Beer Rant blog, which in life’s large scheme wouldn’t amount to muck (another British term, I think). But I need to write, even if I don’t write all that well, and for now, blogging is writing for me.

So, I have purchased another book for beer notes. It’s the same style Sokkia Engineer’s Field Book that I just finished up with; they’re sturdy, somewhat waterproof, brightly colored so they’re not easily misplaced and they’ve got plenty of room for notes. My dilemma now is to decide what form my notes will take this time around. I don’t believe I’m going to be going into as much detail regarding color, head, smell and taste because doing so seems to slow down my process and usually that information isn’t even used here at Beer Rant anyway. I subtitled Beer Rant as a “beer diary” so, moving forward, I’m going to try to document more of the Beer Moments in this second beer notebook. We’ll have to see how that translates to what appears here at Beer Rant.

Finally, my thanks to those silly few of you who’ve chosen to “follow” Beer Rant. I’m planning to put together a post that acknowledges as many of you as I can, with links to your blogs or websites, but in the meantime, I appreciate your stopping in from time to time and I enjoy seeing your comments posted.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Beer Moment: For Openers...So Long, Buddy.

I spent part of last Saturday helping my best friend Jon load his possessions into a pickup truck for his move to Oregon. I’m sad to see him go, but happy that he’s moving to some place cooler and thrilled that he’s going to enjoy a vastly deserved retirement in close proximity to his son.

For fun, I brought a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Summerfest and a six-pack of Four Peak’s Kilt Lifter, mostly for his son and I, because Jon doesn’t drink much. The process of packing and sorting a lifetime of possessions was a bit stressful for Jon and I’ll admit he probably could have used more than just the swig or two of Summerfest that he had.

At one point as we stood in the driveway looking for a way to pop open one of the Sierra Nevada’s, my eye lit upon a nifty old bottle opener hanging in the shed. It proved handy and, having asked Jon if I could have it, and having been told that I could, I dropped the thing in my pocket. It’s cool. It’s a Schmidt’s Beer opener and it’s already proven its worth back here at Beer Rant HQ.

I miss my buddy Jon. I’ve already called him (at 12 noon I managed to wake him from a nap) to see how he’s doing and he seems to be unwinding from the packing and moving. Temperature there the day I called was in the 70’s. Must be nice.

The bottle opener now hangs in my garage and when I see it, or use it, I’ll think of Jon who’s living someplace cooler now and deserves every bit of happiness he can get. Hope he’ll keep a spot on the floor open for me if it ever gets too hot down here!

(The Kilt Lifter went back to Oregon with Jon’s son. I hope he likes it.)

Beer Moment: Barrett-Jackson and Beer

I attended the Barrett-Jackson collector car auction in Scottsdale this past Friday. My oldest brother comes in from out of state every year with some buddies and he’s always let me in on the fun while they are in town and it’s never a disappointment. Here’s a shot of some of the guys discussing the finer points of a particular Ford Mustang as it waits in line to go on the block.

Their credentials allow them access to the bidder’s bar and we all make liberal use of the products dispensed therein. Here’s a shot of the bidders bar – they offer the usual fare in addition to Stella-Artois and Bass Ale.

Initially I opted for a simple Bud Light and here’s a look at what happens when you stand too close to the Ford Drifting exhibition with an open cup of beer. Look closely and you’ll see tiny bits of rubber floating in the top! Nothing like a bit of fiber with your beer, right?

Only later did I discover that Bass Ale was available and I switched to that. Here’s a shot of my beer cup, sitting quietly on the auction floor as I watch cars roll across the block.

A 1950’s era military jeep (restored) went for about $100,000 this year, which I thought was pretty cool and not too much below the selling price for a racecar driven by Dale Earnhardt when he was still alive and racing.The fun of this for me is not simply the beer (which is a plus anywhere I go) but the experience of getting to see my older brother admire and enjoy all these cars; he and his buddies are experts in all the finer points of classic car restoration and to walk around with them is like having your very own personal museum guide in what must be one of the largest displays of rare and unusual automobiles anywhere. Yeah, the beer was okay but the company is what can’t be beat.

Beer Moment: Christmas Eve 2008

I’ve been told that the reason we put up with raising our children is so that we might enjoy the thrill that comes with having grandchildren. I believe that is true and I often question whether I actually deserve the joy that has come from having grandchildren. In any event, I try to stop and notice the special times.

This Christmas Eve I had a special grandparents moment that coincided nicely with a beer experience and thus the whole tableau melded briefly into what I’ve been referring to as a “beer moment.”

Several weeks back I purchased a bottle of Sam Adams Chocolate Bock and have been storing it away all this time, waiting for Christmas Eve. I had to work Christmas Eve, but all day long the thought of enjoying that Chocolate Bock brought a smile to my face and within about 30 minutes of arriving home, I’d poured the bock and jotted down some notes, ready to sample the rare brew on the back patio.

Well, I cannot set foot out on our patio without our oldest grandchild inviting herself out as well and I’m always happy to consent to the good company she provides; she’ll busy herself with her outside toys while I sit comfortably in a chair. This Christmas Eve was no exception and, as I sat sipping the Sam Adams Chocolate Bock I made a point to consider my great fortune not simply in being able to afford a single bottle of beer priced at over $15 when so many of my fellowmen have nearly nothing but also my luck to be there at that place at that moment with a child of just two years and eleven months who, for whatever reason, right or wrong, thinks the sun rises and sets in me (as I do her).

So there, in our tiny Christmas Eve mutual admiration society, we sat as the western sun hung low in the sky, fading from a Christmas Eve to a Christmas morn full of the promise of doll houses and toy guitars and I couldn’t help but think that no one could possibly be luckier than I. She’s too young and will likely not remember this Christmas Eve. I’m old enough to hope I never forget.

Beer Moment: A Day At The Track With The VFW

Yesterday was my son-in-law’s birthday. As it happens, NASCAR is in town and, as it happens, the track offered a special corporate ticket package sponsored in part by Kevin Harvick Racing and the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW). I, my son-in-law and a buddy from work spent the day at the track with the VFW.

As part of the ticket package we got to tour the pits, eat good food and drink all the Budweiser products we cared to. I’ll admit, I put away my share of the Bud and Bud Light. I figure beers were going for $7 a can in the grandstands. I'd estimate I drank about $42 worth of free beer during our approximately 12-hour visit to the track. But there's more to it than just the beer and the bargain. I was honored to spend time in the presence of some of our nation’s finest men and women, active and inactive and retired military veterans.

Beer? Sure, the beer was pretty good. Heck the beer was free. The company was priceless.

Beer Moment: A Fall Ritual

I did something this week that I have never, ever done before. I burned leaves in my backyard. Yeah, big deal.

I think its something of a legend from the eastern states. I imagine parts of New England where they figure everyone in Phoenix carries a six-shooter and I’ve always harbored this mental picture of folks raking leaves in the fall and burning same. Environmentally I suppose this old annual chore is probably frowned upon these days – if anyone ever actually burned piles of leaves outside of a Rockwell painting. This past weekend I mustered up some gumption and tried it myself.

The ash tree in the yard doesn’t usually drop its leaves until December or January, but this year the leaves fell early for some reason. So, even with the daytime temperature hovering in the mid-90s, I raked and burned the leaves, all the while expecting a nosy neighbor to call the police or fire department.

Whether it’s actually done in the eastern United States or not, I’ve learned that there may very well be a therapeutic aspect to an annual leaf-burning ritual. The leaves crackle as they light, the fire roars up only to die slowly into black ash, greenish-white smoke billows up as a new handful of leaves are dumped onto the smoldering pile and there’s a brief lull, a pause, while the heat builds and then the fire flares up again. It strikes at something primitive in a person. I think it might be a sort of antidote to the impending cabin fever that a person must know is coming as a result of winter’s months cooped up inside.

For me, the beer of choice was just something I had leftover from a day or two earlier: a glass of Deschutes Pale Ale. It seems I think that I’ve had more beer from Deschutes than any other brewer this year. They are my new found favorite, I think. I also like burning leaves in the fall, but since my neighbors, the police and fire department will probably put a stop to the whole leaf burning ritual; I think I’ll just get accustomed to enjoying my Deschutes in a lawn chair on the porch. Ah, therapy.

Yes, I've got a post in the works for Utah. Sampled a couple of beers from Wasatch Beer. Bear with me.

Beer Moment

You might call this one Beer Moments

I’ve had two distinct pleasures over the past approximately 11 months. (Oh, I’m sure there were others, but two are distinct.) There was the pleasure of having my daughter and granddaughters stay with the missus and I while the son-in-law visited a lovely country called Iraq. More recently, I had the slightly more distinct pleasure of helping the kids move happily and safely into a new home just under 30 minutes away from where the missus and I live.

Lately, any effort around here winds up involving beer – usually as a nice after action refreshment so to speak, but occasionally as a middle-of-the-job pick me up as well. I hauled an early load of household goods over to the kid’s place a week or so before we rented a u-haul for the big move. I’d provisioned their fridge with a six-pack each of Rolling Rock, Mirror Pond Pale Ale, and Black Butte Porter. The Rolling Boulder is for my son-in-law who prefers lighter refreshment, the Black Butte is for me because I know my son-in-law will leave it alone and the Mirror Pond is a nifty compromise that we both can enjoy once our own favorites are gone. (Have I mentioned that I have liked every beer that Deschutes puts out? That’s an amazing fact, I think. It indicates a level of consistency that is probably important in the brewing business, right?)

With the move complete, I set about helping the kids make those little adjustments that are always needed in a new home; bracing shelves, hanging curtains, and so forth. In the process I sampled some of the beer from the fridge of course but I also picked up a six pack of Sierra Nevada Summerfest, which proved to be a good beer to sip while working, but not one of those beers you want to waste much time pondering over.

Now, with much of my work winding down at the kids place, I’m gearing up to perform some of those neglected tasks around my own place – there’s lots of yard work to be done and it doesn’t help that the temperature here is now hitting 110 degrees daily. My son-in-law is coming over this morning to help me knock out a bunch of tree trimming before the sun gets too high. Suppose we’ll have a cold beer or two as well.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel at their moving out, but I know I’ll miss having the girls staying with us. It’s certainly been quieter here and I don’t find myself stepping on toys the way I once did. The flip side of it is that I’ve got a bit more peace and quiet to enjoy my beers. Ah, who am I kidding? I’m going over to the kid’s place for a Mirror Pond.

The joy of having grandchildren around....

"Take a picture of my cup, too, Papaw!"

Beer Moment

I’m getting old enough to see trouble before it’s fully brewed….

For the past couple of weeks I’ve had a bottle of Four Peaks Kiltlifter Scottish Style Ale parked in the refrigerator waiting for the tasting, but I happened to bump into it on tap beforehand. Consequently, you won’t be reading a review of Kiltlifter here at Beer Rant any time soon.

I’m in a two day training session at the Arizona National Guard armory on McDowell Road – no, I’m not a soldier (not any more – that’s a young man’s business). Anyhow, they cut us loose a bit early today and I’d spied a promising watering hole on the morning drive in, so I cajoled Johnny Southside to follow me there after class for a glass of something on draft.


The place turned out to be J Heads, a punk bar. Just as well. I haven’t actually had a real draft beer since, well, maybe since I visited the Coors Brewery in Golden several years ago. We stepped from the bright afternoon sun into the dimly lit interior to find ourselves the only patrons. J Heads is a lot like my prototypical favorite bar: low ceiling, pool table that was carried out on the last chopper to escape Saigon in the early 1970s, and all manner of stuff pinned, stuck, pasted and otherwise attached to the walls and ceiling.

Tap handles showed a couple of worthwhile prospects including Top Down Ale and Kiltlifter. I opted for Kiltlifter, Johnny Southside choosing likewise. A few quarters for the pool table and we were all set.

J Heads (formerly Jugheads – voted Best of Phoenix punk bar in 2007) is the sort of place that used to cause me a lot of trouble and I walked a fine line between finishing my single glass of beer and going home on the one hand and, on the other hand, hanging around until 9 pm, only to wander home covered in glitter and smelling of smoke and strange perfume.

We shot two racks of pool – Johnny Southside won both – and we drank our beers. I chatted with the barkeep, mentioned my blog, and asked him some questions about J Heads, and then Southside and I stepped back out into the afternoon sunlight to head home. I’ve no recollection of the Kiltlifter except that I liked it and thought about it all the way home. The visit to J Heads wasn’t a tasting, but a beer moment.

Once home, I popped the top off of that bottle of Kiltlifter that’s been hiding in the refrigerator and sat quietly in my backyard, enjoying the beer, not covered in glitter, not smelling of smoke and strange perfume and not thinking about the tasting, but instead, watching my two year old granddaughter laughing and playing. This wasn’t a tasting either, but yet another beer moment. Wow, two in one day.



Think I might go back to J Heads tomorrow.
Did I mention that Johnny Southside won both rounds of pool? Geez, I’m slipping.

Setting and Circumstance

The first beer’s for tasting, the second beer’s for drinking.
---Ian Postlewaite-Smythe

I suppose professional beer tasters, and beer critics don’t need to consider their surroundings when they taste a new beer. I figure the professionals have a beer laboratory they work in, or they get invited to the tap rooms of the breweries where they sit, tasting notebook in hand to taste and rate the newest creations. Novices, posers and wannabes like me don’t have the luxury of working in a sterile, quiet, unhurried setting, consequently we should consider adding information about the setting and circumstance when we taste and rate or review a new beer.

What do I mean by “setting and circumstance”?

I’ve coined the term “setting and circumstance” and used it here a few times in the past. I’ve included it in many of my reviews in an effort to impart a degree of honesty to what I’m writing. There are so many variables that can alter or impact a beers performance or taste from one sitting to the next. (Indeed, from one setting to the next as well.) As geeky as it sounds, the way a beer is poured can have a marked effect on the way it looks and tastes. Thus, the pour is a feature of setting and circumstance.

Location and atmosphere are part of what I call setting and circumstance, for sure. Was the room crowded and noisy as you worked through the tasting process? Did you actually taste the beer? It’s obvious that there is a difference between drinking and tasting beer. Postlewaite-Smythe said it succinctly enough when he noted that the first beer is tasted, while the rest go a’ drinking. In a crowded room, I’m sometimes too self-conscious to take the beer tasting seriously, fearing that someone will think I’m a beer snob. I try to taste new beers when I have the house, or at least the kitchen, to myself. Sometimes, I’ll buy just a couple bottles of a particular beer solely for the purpose of tasting the stuff and offering comment. Other times I might have the beer laying around and simply be enjoying it – drinking it. Sometimes I like to quickly down a cold one right after mowing the lawn – if I do that, it’s not a beer tasting, but there may be some aspect of the experience that warrants a blog posting here. In some cases, I’ll refer to that setting as a “beer moment” that stands not as a review so much as a remembrance of the beer and the occasion.

To date, all my reviews (I’m refraining from actually rating beers on Beer Rant.) have been done at home but I suppose there will come a day when I’ll venture to a local tavern to sample something and write about it. In that case, my posting will reflect that fact. I have tried thus far to also indicate how a particular beer was poured and if it was poured and tasted twice with different or similar results. I’ll continue to stick to this method since the exercise is as much for my satisfaction as anyone’s.

Will “setting and circumstance” become a standard part of the beer tasting process in the future? Beats me. I think it would be cool if that happened, but in the meantime, I’ll use those criteria when they are appropriate and when they offer something for the reader or for my own personal future reference. Furthermore, if necessary, I’ll explain it all again when I understand it myself.

Thought you ought to know.

Beer Moment

Not a great beer, but maybe the best beer he’s ever had.

My son-in-law shipped out for Iraq last August and it seemed a different world last summer when we were packing up my daughter’s household goods to bring she and my granddaughter back to Arizona from Camp Pendleton. A sense of foreboding was certainly there with us as we worked.

Cleaning out the refrigerator was simple enough: anything that wouldn’t make the trip as road food was tossed out or packed for restocking the pantry in Arizona. I considered the lone bottle of Miller Lite that my son-in-law had left behind in the refrigerator. Not knowing what the future would bring but wanting some link to the time, I salvaged that bottle and carted it home in the back of the U-haul truck, explaining that I planned to make my son-in-law drink it upon his safe return from overseas.

The lonely bottle of Lite resided in my refrigerator for a time, was exiled to the garage for a spell, and then rather unceremoniously dumped into a cooler of ice this past weekend following my son-in-laws safe return to the United States. He spent an uneventful few months at a place called Al Asad and came home in one piece. Thank heaven. Now mind you, this bottle of Lite wasn’t the first beer we shared upon his return, but rather the last beer we popped open right before he packed up to head back to Camp Pendleton.

I’ve had warm beer. I’ve had skunky beer. I’ve had stolen beer and beer that was paid for out of my pocket and out of the pocket of others. I’ve had lots of Miller Lite. This particular Miller Lite was nothing to write home about if you consider it solely for it’s taste value, but if you consider the story behind this particular bottle of Miller Lite, I guess you might say that, for one of us at least, regardless of the quality, this beer must rate right up there as a lifetime best.