Catching Up: Eddies: The Documentary and Other Business

Sorry I Took So Long Ed (and Michael)
I watched Eddies: The Documentary about a week ago with my son-in-law. We lounged around his place leisurely swigging some Session Black Lager. It’s really a terrific piece of work and I hope to do a more detailed write up at a later date but except for the fact that filmmaker Michael Peterson doesn’t delve much into the history of Big Rock Brewery, I can’t find anything not to like about the work. Beer drinkers and fans of the filmmaking craft – especially amateur filmmakers – will find a lot to like here!

One noteworthy aspect of the film is the fact that it covers contestants who manage to deliver entries of varying quality and even some who completely fail to come through, so at the end there is no suspicious feeling that Peterson has tweaked the content to provide a better filmic outcome. (Winning entries are evidently not actually aired on television and I thought the sequence near the end where Eddie himself considers running one of the entries in a television spot is especially humorous and a revealing look into the mindset of corporate folks at all levels.)

You need to go to the website Eddies Documentary and have a look at the synopsis and what other folks have had to say. One commentator states that by the end of the film you’ll want to make a film and you’ll want a beer. I’d echo that sentiment and will admit that I’ve already given thought to how I might acquire bottles of Big Rock product in order to conduct a film shoot here in Arizona, USA…but how, I don’t know. I’m pretty good at laying my hands on beer, but not a filmmaker.

Last of the Colorado Notes…For Now
I covered my nice visit to Breckenridge Brewery in Denver and in that post briefly mentioned a nice visit to Tommyknocker Brewery in Idaho Springs (where I grew up in the late 1960s and early 1970s). Well I stopped there on July 20th on the way back to Denver after a day in Clear Creek County. I ate a plate of their outstanding onion rings and had a pint of their Hop Strike Black Rye IPA (Cascadia Ale to some, perhaps. See my previous musings on this style here and here.) Tommyknocker’s version of this emerging style tips the scales at 7% abv, presents an opaque brown and smells vaguely (and rightly) of grapefruit. The taste is strangely nutty and hoppy at the same time and it’s one of the better examples of this new style that I’ve tried. The waitress told me it’s only been out a month or so.

To round out the meal I enjoyed a Pick Axe Pale Ale (which I’ve had in the past and which I would enjoy again later in the Colorado trip during a lunch with my nephew and his son in Georgetown - that's when the picture was taken). Finally, to put an exclamation point on the visit, I bought a six pack of their TundraBeary to carry back down the hill to Denver. (I enjoyed that immensely, bottle by bottle over the next few days.)

Old World. New Digs?
So I’m sitting here at BeerRant HQ, checking activity on my new Facebook page (which I’ve only had a week or so) and I see a note from one of my nephew’s who says something about Old World Brewery closing down and moving. WTF?

I go to the Old World Brewery website and it’s about as nondescript as ever, so (heh, heh, heh, I’m an insider now) I click on their Facebook link and find a string of comments intimating that they’ve closed down their operation on Lone Cactus and are relocating (much) further south to the area around 25th Avenue and Van Buren.

I’m bothered by this for reasons I can’t explain. Perhaps it’s simply that I no longer have a “local” brewpub in close proximity to my house. It’s sad.

Evidently the “New” Old World will open some time in October. Eh. End of an era.

Last of the 2009 Jubelale and Goodbye to a Great Man

Drank my last bottle of the 2009 Jubelale this evening and will have done so in honor of my Uncle Buff Rutherford who passed away yesterday - gone to be with my mom (his little sister) who went on ahead just this past May 29th. Buff was a man's man, a working man and by the work, you'd know the worker: rock solid and trustworthy. The world's a little less well off today for his loss.

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.

Racer 5 IPA: Tipped in Honor of Alan Kulwicki

I still owe you a write up on my visit to the Deschutes Woody Beer Wagon appearance at Whole Foods in Scottsdale but in the meantime, today is a special day to remember a champion.

UNDERDOG

On this date in 1995, Alan Kulwicki, the reigning Winston Cup stock car racing champion was killed in a plane crash en route to a race in Bristol, Tennessee. (Talk about a hideous April Fool's joke.)

Kulwicki will arguably be the last owner/driver in NASCAR’s top series to have meaningful success. (My apologies to fans of Ricky Rudd - of which I am one for sure - who made a decent go of it. My apologies to fans of Robbie Gordon but your deluding yourselves since Robbie is more interested in racing off-road. My apologies to fans of Tony Stewart who, although he is an owner/driver who could still conceivably win a championship, he won’t be held in the same esteem as the likes of Kulwicki who won the 1994 championship with a colossally under funded team. Indeed, Kulwicki was such an underdog, he scratched off the letter “T” in the word Thunderbird on the front of his racecar so that it read “Underbird.” Adding a flourish, he had an image of Mighty Mouse affixed to the front of the car as well. One more somewhat chilling bit of history: when one of Kulwicki’s cars was undergoing restoration several years after his death and after it had been run by another race team, workers found a Saint Christopher medal tucked inside the lining of the driver’s seat. The medal was later confirmed to have been placed there when Kulwicki owned the car.)

So today, I tip a mug of Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA in honor of Alan Kulwicki, a NASCAR champion taken out at the height of his success. In many ways, Alan is like so many craft brewers out there taking a big swing at the pinata for the little guy. God bless all of you.

It might have been more appropriate to tip back some Big Boss Porter in honor of Alan’s Polish heritage, but alas, there was no Big Boss available. We work with what were given here at Beer Rant HQ – just like Alan Kulwicki did.

Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA
Has a distinct piney/citrus smell. It’s bottle conditioned and you can see the sediment in the bottle, though my sample was from a ceramic mug, so I don’t have any information regarding color or clarity. Taste is sweet and candy-like. A decent representation of the IPA style but not sure I’d rush out to find more unless I was doing an IPA-tribute sampling because it only seems to be available in bombers.

Promise: A post on the Deschutes Woody Beer Wagon is in the works but in the meantime, Beer Rant’s mom turns 80 this weekend so you know where I’ll be!

"Good People Drink....Grolsch?" Really, Dr. Thompson?

February 20th marks five years since the death of Hunter S. Thompson.

Each year, as the Super Bowl approaches, occurs, then recedes into faded memory, I find myself giving a thought or two to the train wreck that was Hunter S. Thompson. This year, I’ve just finished reading the book Gonzo by Jann Wenner and some other dude whose name escapes me at the moment. Evidently, Thompson’s widow was not too happy with the book but I have to think it must be a pretty honest appraisal of the nutty Doctor since it includes dozens of recollections from his son Juan. Bottom line: Old HST was a lot of fun when he wanted to be, but damn he was a turd a fair share of the time, too. (Gosh, what middle-aged man hasn't said that about his own father a time or two.)

For those of you wanting to see last year’s screed on Doctor Thompson and a special beer dedicated to his good name and questionable legacy, click HERE!

In addition to knocking Hunter Thompson down a peg or two in my estimation, the book Gonzo also revealed what were, supposedly, Thompson’s favorite beers. Oddly enough, Heineken, Molson and Grolsch appear in the text as being on the good Doctor’s short list of yummy, fermented adult beverages. (Never mind that he was evidently a walking medicine chest of assorted illegal and legal drugs.)

So, while I’d planned to have another bottle of Gonzo Imperial Porter this year in honor of Hunter S. Thompson, I think it more appropriate that I knock back a sample of something he might have appreciated a bit more in his day. (Despite the quote attributed to Thompson: "Good people drink good beer.")

Grolsch Premium Lager

Let me just start by saying that no good beer that’s ever passed my lips had the words “premium lager” printed on the label. And let me add that no beer that I’ve ever seen sporting the handle “premium lager” has been without some sort of slick packaging whiz bang – usually a foil wrapped top. Grolsch is no different. Doc Thompson reportedly fancied Grolsch because of the nifty flip top bottles in which the beer is packaged. The fact that Thompson wasn’t a paragon of moderation leads me to ask, why he would care to reseal a bottle of beer, but I suppose when your hands are occupied with running an IBM Selectric typewriter, fending off inquisitive editors, firing up the odd doobie and popping the occasional hit of acid, it pays to have beer bottles that can be re-sealed.

The stuff pours a clear golden color with a thin white head. It smells sour and tastes of sour grain – perhaps corn. It’s thirst quenching and at just 5% abv a decent session beer if you’re not too hung up on taste or style. Currently, the swing top bottle is about all this one has going for it. Perhaps the marketing crew at Grolsch could capitalize on the fact that Hunter S. Thompson drank their beer. If nothing else, I plan to drop the folks at Flying Dog a note and strongly urge them to introduce a line of their Imperial Porter in flip top bottles. How cool would that be?

Postscript: The Very Crap He Would Have Despised.

Perhaps it’s a quirk of my nature that I’d rather read about famous writers than read what they’ve written. It’s true for Hemingway and Abbey and it’s definitely true for this nut job Thompson. It’s often difficult to divine meaning from their written word, but it’s a damned straightforward proposition to gather meaning (and sometimes inspiration) from their lives. As a result, my radar is far more acute in picking up references to the author and his persona than references to his works. Example: ambling the bright aisles of a local Target store I espied a strange little plastic skateboard (action?) figure with the handle “Hunter.” Given that this squat little plastic figure sported a slouch hat, Hawaiian shirt and a briefcase with “I (heart) L.V.” on the side, it was clear that what this was: a Hunter Thompson rip off! And all the more pathetic are the good Doctor’s words echoing from beyond the grave: “…nobody grows up wishing to be a comic strip character…” (I’m curious to know if the Hunter Thompson estate knows about this. The packaging doesn’t include any reference to Thompson or the Thompson post-mortem machine.) I bought the little dust collector because it was on sale and because it’s obviously meant to represent Hunter S. Thompson.

Maybe in the grand karmic scheme, it’s something of a punishment for the wacky Doctor Thompson, to be reborn as a plastic skateboard figurine in atonement for drinking Grolsch, Molson and Heineken. That and the drugs.

Here’s a recent Appraisal of Hunter S. Thompson’s legacy.

The revelations in Gonzo not withstanding, still hope to see you around, Doc.

For those of you with more than a passing interest, I’d strongly recommend Gonzo: The Life of Hunter S. Thompson by Jann Wenner and Corey Seymour. And don’t pay $30 for the damned thing either; it can be had for about 7 bucks if you look around.

Gonzo Imperial Porter: Honoring Doctor Thompson One Bottle at a Time

(Warning: This is a long post and it contains some editorial content. If you're only here for the beer, skip down and read the last three paragraphs, I'll understand.)

I’ll be the first to admit; I know damned little about Hunter S. Thompson. I think I read his Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas while I was in the army, maybe before. I know that I read his Hell’s Angels while I was in the army because I remember that my section sergeant asked to borrow it and my paperback copy is hammered from traveling inside an alice pack during field duty. I’ll also admit that for a time, Doc Thompson was an appealing figure to me. I aspired to be a writer at one point and I believed, mistakenly, that the road to literary success traversed a vast wasteland of drug and alcohol abuse. I bought into the notion that the likes of Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Thompson were great writers because of their addictions. Now, I know they were great writers in spite of their addictions and because of the times in which they lived. Thankfully, I managed to survive my little sabbatical from sanity having sampled nothing stronger than the odd guzzle of Everclear and MD20/20. Unfortunately, I didn’t turn out to be much of a writer either, but it isn’t because I wasn’t drunk enough or high enough; I’m just lazy.

I still have a warm spot in my heart for Thompson and I must confess to being mildly uncomfortable with the close connection between Flying Dog Brewing and Hunter Thompson – mostly because, like Elvis, Hunter Thompson is living somewhere else these days.

How is Flying Dog connected to Thompson, you might ask? Thompson, the alcohol and drug addled “gonzo journalist” evidently introduced “artist” Ralph Steadman to Flying Dog founder George Stranahan in Aspen, Colorado. You can read the details at the Flying Dog website here.

Monumental figures attract hangers-on like “free beer” advertisements attract drunks. Unquestionably a monumental figure, Thompson appears to have attracted his fair share of folks who seemed content to warm themselves in the reflected glow of his notoriety, picking up the odd scrap of fun and profit along the way. In my opinion one such example is Johnny Depp – whose hipster, cynic, doper-expatriate persona will never live up to his royal Gonzo-ness - but I won’t go into further detail regarding that except to say that when the likes of Johnny Depp can serve as a surrogate for a Hunter Thompson, we’re seeing a real dumbing down of coolness, folks.

So, “hanger-on” might be a way I’d describe the whole line of Flying Dog beers, but that would be wrong since most of the folks who are drinking Flying Dog products probably don’t have the foggiest idea who Hunter Thompson was – or is, depending on your propensity to buy into conspiracy theory. (Hell, Thompson is, this very second, partying with Jim Morrison in Africa!) It may be more apt to say that the Flying Dog people have used the Thompson persona as something of an inside joke, pulling back the beaded curtain just enough to let a few of us squares have a peek from time to time and their Gonzo Imperial Porter is perhaps the best example of that little trick.

And, in honor of this day in history, I offer my sampling notes for Gonzo Imperial Porter:
Smells like a stout in the bottle. No alcohol bite in the smell as I’d expected. Pours dark with a thin head and light lacing. Chocolate/sweet tasting with a thick mouth feel at first. Perhaps a hint of licorice in the finish. I expected an off-putting alcohol bite but I’m happily proven wrong. This beer is one I’ll try again.

Why honor this day in history? On February 20th, 2005, Doc Thompson, reportedly bummed because the Super Bowl had come and gone for another season and figuring his best days were behind him, and perhaps contemplating a sink full of dishes, took his life by shooting himself. Like Hemingway, but not like Fitzgerald. Not fade away, as the hipsters are want to say, right?

For something regarding Thompson’s “accidental outlaw” status, check this out. For more stuff on Thompson and the myth of Thompson, do your own search, but don’t futz around with that so much you forget to go out and buy some Gonzo Imperial Porter – perhaps like so many things associated with Hunter Thompson, it comes at a fairly high price but it’s worth it.

Hope to see you 'round, Doc.

I got nothin' to say.....

...but it just got a little less funny off in here.

God bless you, Bernie.