Breckenridge Brewery - Off On a High Note.

I’m sorry to have begun the Colorado recap on a down note, posting a “Beer Jerk” entry about Golden City Brewery. I’ve had a positive bit of feedback from a patron of theirs and that’s heartwarming. Nevertheless, my sentiment remains the same: real beer folk offer a smile and a kind word to all who enter their establishment. (That’s the operative word here, folks. The door was open. An open door signifies something in this world. I’ll let you all do the math.) What part of "Publick House" is unclear?

Now, on a more positive note, I’m at that stage where I’m mentally summarizing the things, places and people I saw in a week of Rocky Mountain memories, returning to the high mountain town where my mom was born and raised in order to allow her brothers and citizens of the town she loved so much an opportunity to say goodbye one last time in a church from 1876.

1. Everything seems smaller each time I return.
2. The summer weather, no matter how hot, entices me to stay forever, but I always know what comes around in late October.
3. A minister with a southern drawl and three missing fingers on his right hand is a fellow I want to have as the leader of my church, any day.
4. There is never enough time to see all the family.
5. Sadly, I feel more and more like a tourist each time I go back there.

I hopped off a plane about 10:30 on a Monday morning, picked up a rental car and headed toward my sister’s place on the west side of town. I’d done a bit of preliminary reconnaissance to determine that the Breckenridge Brew Pub was along the same alignment of 6th Avenue as my sister’s place, so knowing that everyone else would be at work, I made a detour to a little place on Klamath Street just south of the 6th Street alignment.

I pulled into a small side parking lot and snapped a few pictures of the outside of the building - wondering if perhaps I was too early to find them open. (Given later events in the trip, the colossal irony of this now nearly knocks me out of my chair.) The door was indeed open and I entered to find the place empty save a barman and a fellow working in the kitchen (Initially I didn’t see the back of the plant where the bottling line was chugging away mightily.) I hopped onto a stool at the bar and over the usual pleasantries the barman supplied me with a beer list and a menu. I pondered the options, perhaps too long, and settled on a pint of their Ball Park Brown and I ordered bowl of a meat soup that really turned out to be more of a stew that might easily have crossed the table in your mom’s kitchen. The Ball Park Brown presented a dark brown with a thin beige head and a thin mouth feel. It tasted a tad sour, not unlike some manifestations of Old World’s Dark Knight Porter (ah, I love the unpredictability of microbrews, don’t you?)

My host, the barman, was Stuart and, perhaps seeing my interest in the operation, he offered to walk me into the back of the building to see the tanks and the bottling line. Sweet! I gazed upon the tanks and had a peek at the bottling line, where they were just then in the process of bottling up their Vanilla Porter. Stuart stepped around to the line and, plucking a fresh bottle off the line, presented it to me as a memento of the visit. That was nice.

We returned to the bar where I had my lunch and a pint of their Oatmeal Stout. As a lead up to the pint, Stuart explained that they’ve got their stout in a nitrogen “fortified” version and a non-nitrogen version. He poured me a side-by-side sampling and the fortified version is altogether more appealing to the eye for sure and frankly the taste difference is amazing as well. The nitrogen infused stout is a good deal smoother than its non-nitrogen cousin. Stuart told me that they no longer offer growlers of the nitroginated stout because it just doesn’t pour the same once people get it home and they get a lot of wastage trying to pour it from the tap into a growler. To which I offered my theory that a growler beer requires an aggressive pour if a cash and carry customer hopes to come close to replicating a pub pour at home. Stuart seemed to agree.

As Stuart diligently went about the tasks of the typical barman (counting bottles, jotting notes, interacting with the bottling crew and trying to field the inane questions of a visitor) I finished my lunch and beers.

It was altogether a terrific first stop on the Colorado trip and a personal exchange for which I’m grateful. I mentioned the purpose of my visit and we commiserated briefly on the vagaries of life and Stuart offered condolences; all the things one would expect from any public house worth its salt. Made me wish I lived just up the street.

I just wish I’d gotten a chance to go back before catching the flight home a week later. Next time.

Golden City Brew-Ha Ha. Gimme a Coors.

Wherein a native Coloradoan gets a lesson in just how much has changed in 33 years.

I’ve returned from a trip to Colorado and, by and large, it was a nice, if somewhat poignant visit for me. Nevertheless, from the standpoint of new beers sampled and new places visited, there was one significant negative experience that I’ll relate now to get the ugliness out of the way.

Last Friday I went out of my way to find their establishment and, arriving to find an adjacent beer garden full of laughing patrons, I entered through the open front door and approached the counter where I enjoyed the pleasure of being ignored by two or three folks for a couple of minutes, while a line formed behind me – a line occupied by at least one individual who was obviously past the point of intoxication.

Eventually, a woman washing dishes in a back room leaned around the doorframe to ask, “Have you been helped?”

“No,” says I, finally hopeful that I’d gotten in with the right person in the joint. I quickly stated that I’d like a glass of stout.

“We’re closed,” came the reply from the dishwasher. The stunned look on my face must have provoked her into adding that they were only filling containers or some such. (Remember, the beer garden outside is FULL of people.)

I was still attempting to register this nugget of knowledge – and I’m sure the dumb expression on my face told the story – when a second woman, similarly clad in a red t-shirt, sauntered into view. She cast a look toward me and based on her expression I felt the impulse to further explain myself (I frankly don’t recall if she bothered to ask my business). I restated my request for a beer and then trailed off saying, “….but I understand you’re closed.”

The snotty tone of her monosyllabic reply echoes in my head even today, a full week later: “Yeah,” she said, with a sort of rising inflection at the end that implied, “what are you, a moron?”

I stammered something about the price of a t-shirt and said maybe I’d buy one, though in my mind I knew immediately that I’d never, ever purchase another Golden City Brewery product again in my life. I took the brief walk of shame toward the door and out into the fading light of a Colorado evening. My hopes of sampling a local stout dashed.

Golden City Brewery touts itself as the second largest brewery in Golden, Colorado. For now, my money will go to support the biggest brewery in Golden, Colorado because, for all their big business, stomp-the-little-guy swagger, Coors still makes decent beer and their staff aren’t wankers – at least not in my experience.

In closing, let me state that before heading over to Golden to be ill used by the staff at Golden City Brewery, I sampled a bomber of their Mad Molly’s Brown Ale. Here are my notes, verbatim (remember, I jotted these before heading out to find Golden City Brewery):

Smells of chocolate in the bottle. Pours whiskey brown with a thin but respectable head. It’s either too carbonated or I’m using the wrong glass or both. Slightly nutty, vaguely chemical. Thin mouth feel means it works on a hot day. Not great. 4 or 5

So the one GCB beer that I did manage to purchase (at a liquor store) was okay – let’s say mediocre. But get this straight: It’s okay to make mediocre beer, perhaps it’s even okay to make bad beer if you behave like a decent human being, but if you make mediocre beer and you and your staff are jackhole’s to boot, we’re going to have problems.

Check back soon; I’ve got nice things to say about Breckenridge Brewery and Tommyknockers Brewery!

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.

American Craft Beer Week

Let me see. Last year I started off American Craft Beer Week (ACBW) with a plan to taste a new craft beer each day of the week. I promptly fell ill and didn’t finish out the effort.

This year, I’ve neglected the first day, really. I did have a Bridgeport Brewing IPA with lunch here at Beer Rant HQ but my real effort was focused on tending a couple of grandkids and helping them make a birthday present for their mommy. (Shhhh. Don't tell.)

I guess you could say I got a jump on ACBW. Friday evening I had occasion to travel to Tucson for an event at the Arizona Historical Society and luckily, Gentle Ben’s brewpub was not more than about 500 feet from the Society museum. So, after my event was over, I strolled over to Gentle Ben’s with a couple of friends and sampled their Red Cat Amber and I took a growler of their Porter home. I’ll simply say here that the Red Cat Amber was passable, but not extraordinary. The Porter on the other hand was terrific and I’ll give it a more detailed post later – perhaps later this week.

I see that Arizona’s ACBW events are primarily centered at places like Rockbottom and BJ’s around town. I’ll probably not get out to any of those venues during the work week but I do have some rare and unusual limited edition beers in the fridge, which I may crack open. (A couple of them are produced in locales that have recently proclaimed a boycott against Arizona, so they may be the last of their kind I sample here at Beer Rant for the foreseeable future – sorry, I can be just as spiteful and petty as the next fellow.)

You can look up Arizona ACBW events at the American Craft Beer Week website.

We’re looking down the barrel of our first 100-degree day here at Beer Rant HQ. The weatherman says Wednesday. I’ve got some winter seasonals hidden in the back of a closet here. Maybe I need to crack those open this week in honor of our hitting the century mark.

Of Hangovers, Work, Golf and the Common Cold

Been under the weather the last week or so. Had a marathon session of work-related (read: non-beer) presentations to give at a local conference in the midst of feeling a cold coming on. I didn’t help my cause any by overindulging at the local brew house a little over a week ago. All this to say I’ve shied away from the barley pop the last little bit. I even gave my free drink ticket to a co-worker during the after conference reception – not simply out of a self imposed sense of sacrifice, but because it’s not a good idea to drink in front of the bosses. Right?

I did join some fellows from work for 18 holes of golf this past Saturday – perhaps the last decent weather day we’ll have in the Phoenix area for a spell. I’ve played golf exactly once before – when I was in the Army, at a little par-3 course outside Gowen Field in Boise, Idaho. It sucked back then, but I must say I enjoyed the most recent outing and I sampled my first Blue Moon and Fat Tire from cans. I have to say I preferred the Fat Tire in the can over the Blue Moon in a can. That’s just me. The golf? I put two in the water, one in some guy’s backyard and still managed to keep a good humor.

Make That A Cascadian, Mac.
The detectives over at The Full Pint put the word out on Cascadian Dark Ale. There’s that emerging beer trend we were talking about. I note with interest that the bottle dating is a “best before” date, which means I’m even more inclined to find a small refrigerator to cellar all these creations.

Rare and Unusual
I’ve got three dandy looking prospects in the fridge waiting to be sampled: Avery’s Brabant Barrel-Aged Wild Ale, Deschutes 2009 Abyss and Sierra Nevada’s 30th Anniversary Stout. The Abyss may have to wait a spell but I’m eager to pop the top on the Sierra Nevada anniversary stuff. As for the Avery, well I bought it on false pretenses at Total Wine – not knowing it was 9 bucks for a 12-ounce bottle until I’d already checked out. Probably my last big beer fling if things keep going the way they have been. Look folks, the economy’s in the crapper, the whole nation is down on Arizona, I’ll likely have to resort to drinking only Arizona beers in retaliation and lately it seems I’m drinking more and enjoying it less that ever before. I need to back up and regroup a bit here.

Maybe that’s just the Alka-Seltzer night nurse talking.

Work Yet To Be Done...

Yes, I’m going to get ‘round to posting a review of Eddies: The Documentary. Oh hell yes, I will.

Old World Beers Out in the Big World!

I neglected to mention that during our recent foray to the Scottsdale Whole Foods Market a few weeks back, I espied bottles of Old World Brewing product on the shelf.

Hmmm. What do I see on that shelf, cozied up next to the likes of Pabst Blue Ribbon, Rogue's Dead Guy, and Sonoran Victory IPA, Corona and Bud Light Lime? Why it's Old World's Irish Red Ale, Nitro Blonde Ale, Old World Wit and Dark Knight Porter. Literally a style to suit any taste.

I guess that little brewery just off the airstrip at Deer Valley is really coming into its own. Reminds me, it's been a month or more since I stopped in for a glass of something cold. That's too long. But if I continue to see their beers on more store shelves around town, will I drop into the tap room as frequently if I can just buy bombers at the store? No worry there. Seems like the best of both worlds.

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL BREWER!

"Cascadia Dark Ale," people! Let's hear it!

I wonder if Germans in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries were aware of new and emerging beer styles. Given that in those days people were often born, lived and died without having traveled more than a few miles from their homes, I suspect that folks just drank what they were given and they liked it or hated it without much regard for what was “emerging” elsewhere in the country or on the continent. (I use this period and location as a general illustration; certainly the same could be asked about folks living in England, Ireland, Scotland – anywhere.)

We’re a lot more plugged in now – for better or worse; I have to remind myself to shut off the 24-hour news when I’m around Beer Rant HQ. A phrase or expression dropped in friendly conversation can find its way ‘round the earth in no time and don’t get me started on the whole viral video thing. It makes an old-timer’s head spin. I sometimes wish I could have been born, live and die within a few miles of where I was born.

In any event, a phrase from the Deschutes Brewing Brand Ambassador a couple of weeks ago, has stuck in my mind and, I’ve stumbled onto it again in my Internet travels. I’m a little late to the party, but dare I say that I smell an emerging beer style on the horizon.

First, a related Quick Riff:

Widmer Brothers
W ’10 Pitch Black IPA
Dark coffee color but not opaque with a robust beige head. Smells faintly of grapefruit but not like an IPA. There is a balanced maltiness and hoppiness. Looks like a stout, labeled like an IPA but really neither.

I’ll admit this isn’t much of a review but bear in mind that this sampling was done on March 14th, 2010, before my conversation with Erik Frank, the Deschutes Brand Ambassador. In that brief discussion, Mr. Frank made mention of a new style akin to a dark IPA and he used the term “cascadia.” Hmmm.

Go back to my comment that Widmer’s Pitch Black IPA is neither a stout (though it looks every bit the part) nor an IPA (though it did have hints of hoppiness and a grapefruit smell).

Now, jump over to a post that Lisa Morrison recently made at Hop Press. Ms. Morrison – in very few words – sums up the emerging “Black IPA” or “Cascadia” style and she makes an excellent argument for enshrining this as a distinct style. I don’t cotton to the label “Black IPA” since the name IPA already comes with a shipload of baggage (not the least of which is the dubious history behind the origin of the style). Is the Cascadia style ready to be set apart as a separate style for beer judging – I don’t think so, yet – but if it’s dark but not a stout, and it’s hoppy but not an IPA, then what the hell is it?

I vote “Cascadian Dark Ale” or any name that includes “Cascadian” or “Cascadia.” If the danged thing originated and “emerged” in the Pacific Northwestern United States, then for heaven’s sake, call this new beer “Cascadia” something or other.

And, to bring this little commentary full circle, I’ll just say I feel like some simple blacksmith somewhere in Germany just tasting a rauchbier for the first time, or a dimwitted carpenter in Ireland who’s just taken a quaff of his first pilsner. Where do I go from here? Lord only knows, but I’m ready.