Beer's  Unfamiliar Quotations  

by Dan Hodge 

"Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy". These well known words, ascribed to that Father of Liberty,

Benjamin Franklin, have been emblazoned on many a T-shirt and are well known to beer drinkers all over this great land. Other

quotes from American history concerning our beverage of choice have been duly reported in various beer magazines and even in small books containing nothing but quotations about the subject.        

I started wondering how many beer references that are not so readily available were made by other famous Americans. In

doing a little research I discovered that some pretty famous patriots made statements pertaining to beers and ales, sometimes as a new inspiration, ala Franklin, often as a precursor to a more famous quote and occasionally borrowing words from a previous statement. I even unearthed a few situations where the more famous quote was , in fact, a misquote, with the actual wording probably having been amended at the time to reflect a more patriotic slant.

"I have not yet begun to fight", words immortalized by Admiral John Paul Jones on the deck of  his BONHOMME RICHARD while heavily engaged in a battle with the British man o' war SERAPIS, were only the germ of an idea uttered several hours later. While bemoaning the sinking of his ship over a dozen tankards of old ale, he was asked by his First Officer if perhaps he had had enough and should possibly slow down, to which Admiral Jones replied: "I have not yet begun to drink!"

One famous quotation that has come down through history as completely unfounded concerns the hanging of Nathan Hale by the British. My research has finally enabled beerfans to be clear on this issue. Mr. Hale was actually captured in Fraunce's Tavern, locally known for brewing it's own outstanding porter. While standing on the gallows, shortly before the hangman pulled

the hood over his head, Mr. Hale uttered the words that, until now ,have been entirely misquoted by historians: "I regret that I

have had but one life to spend in a brewpub".

Our past, great President Ronald Reagan while standing at the Berlin Wall, made the speech that is generally considered to be

the beginning of the end of the Cold War. But how many people know that those words were tested a full ten years previously? After addressing a trade convention of the National Brewers Association at the Coor's plant in Golden, Colorado, then Governor Reagan was handed a glass of an experimental product , eventually to become "Coor's Light", and asked to be the honorary first sampler of the brewery's newest offering. He took a sip, grimaced, spat out the beer and forcibly suggested; "Mr. Coors, Tear down this brewery"

Theodore Roosevelt never made any reference to carrying a big stick. Instead his unfamiliar quotation had to do with his

youthful days as an Indian fighter. Ordering scouting parties to move stealthily and keep well hydrated, he would stop at the ale

barrels on his way off the post and advise his troopers to "Speak softly, take a big sip, and you will go far"

Shortly before his passing in 1964, American Ceaser, General Douglas MacArthur hosted a military mess night for his old comrades in arms. Because of a wine distributor's strike, several cases of barleywine ale had been ordered in for the traditional post dinner toasts. Comparing the ale to the sherry  which was usually offered at these events, the General took a sip, borrowed some words from his speech to Congress thirteen years before, and reflected: "Old barleywines never die....they just fade away"

Because of his tragic assassination, President John F. Kennedy was never credited with inspiring the legislation that eventually was signed into law by Jimmy Carter ,years later. President Kennedy saw no reason why Americans should be prohibited from brewing their own beer and in fact addressed a gathering of then illegal homebrewers where he beseeched them to continue to ply their craft with the memorable words; "Ask not what your country can brew for you. Ask what you can brew for your country"

In September, 1864, while burning everything in sight on his march to the sea, General William Tecumseh Sherman observed that midway between Atlanta and Charleston, a small factory building had been left standing and a whole company of his men were carousing around it. Until now unknown even to beer historians, it was in fact, the first satellite brewery, a small trial plant established by Anheuser Busch in an attempt to expand their market to the Confederacy. Although he frowned upon the

inebriated state of his soldiers, the general was not a teetotaler and happened to be a little thirsty himself. His aide de camp

offered him a large stein of Budweiser. Upon tasting, General Sherman proclaimed the words that for one hundred and forty

years have been misquoted:" Bud is Hell".

Rightfully offended by the fact that Madison Avenue had always excluded African Americans from their ad campaigns, the

Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King  wished for equality in this field  a full four years before his more famous speech on the National Mall when he said " I have a dream that one day my four little children will live in a nation where their beer will not be judged by the color of it's advertising, but by the contents of it's bottles"

During the Battle of the Bulge, General George S. Patton's Army captured the Grumbacher Brewery, which had been

experimenting with producing "lite"beer. Rather than distributing the spoils of his victory to his men, Patton justified the

withholding of the brew by saying "Don't be a fool and die drinking lite beer. Let the other sonofabitch die drinking lite beer!"       

Colonel William Prescott is remembered as having advised his troops at the Battle of Bunker Hill to not fire "until you see the

whites of their eyes". School children have been taught this erroneous quote for hundreds of years. My research has uncovered what really happened. Contrary to recorded history, Colonel Prescott did not lie in wait for the advancing Redcoats. Instead, his forward observers supplied the intelligence that a whole battalion of British  troops had stopped for lunch on the grounds of the New England Arms, a pub noted for it's pints of bitter ale and pastry pies. Ordering his men to surround the tavern and figuring that they could take more accurate aim when they could discern what the Redcoats were actually eating and drinking, he further ordered them to "Don't fire until you see their pints and their pies" .

Lastly, and also in a military vein, General Anthony McAuliffe is incorrectly remembered for his terse response of "Nuts" to the

German request for his unconditional surrender. Actually, the German commander asked if McAuliffe would like to join him in a

beer AFTER his surrender and if he would like anything to eat, to which McAuliffe answered "Beer Nuts" .

I hope that this research has helped to broaden beer drinkers' knowledge of American history and dispel any false notions they might have had. As President Harry S. Truman said ,when gifted with many cases of the various brews of the Heurich Brewery and exhibiting his preference for darker beers "The bock stops here!"  

Cheers and happy 2026!

Dan

No Waffling on Belgian Beer!

by Dan Hodge

The only reason my wife works part time at Continental Airlines is the ability to fly (usually in first class) anywhere in the world at little or no cost. She loves to travel and I love beer, so my acquiescence to the globetrotting, which I tolerate stoically, is rewarded by the destinations eventually selected, usually because of the great beers to be sampled on their home turf. With

a week off for spring break, she asked me where I would like to go and even suggested Belgium , having occasionally heard me bore her to death with my dissertations on the wonders of Belgian beer. It seemed like a fine idea to me, so, armed with Michael Jackson’s “The Great Beers of Belgium”, we set off for Amsterdam , where we were to spend a day before entraining for Brussels .

The Amsterdam stop was to enable us to visit the Kuekenhof, the most expansive, beautiful and unbelievable display of spring flowers to be seen anywhere in the world: acres and acres of gardens, and fields stretching toward the horizon, filled with every

color imaginable of daffodils, hyacinths and tulips. Even I, who likes flowers but am not particularly passionate about them, was awed by the  Kuekenhof gardens. Strolling through the beautifully landscaped pathways and observing tens of thousands of  varieties of flowers was made even better by the beer stands placed conveniently throughout the park. Beer stands which

sold Leffe, Hoegaarden, and other great beers , all permitted to be consumed while walking around the park. This is one area where socialistic Europe definitely beats my beloved and formerly free USA . It’s hard to imagine any place in America where law abiding citizens would be allowed to stroll through a park with legal beers in their hands. In fact, it’s probably in the not too

far distant future when, if the Obamas and Pelosis have their way, you won’t even be allowed to have one in your own backyard if children are present.

Walking around Amsterdam that night allowed for a couple of pub stops at which some interesting local and craft brews were discovered. I may be the only beer hunter to have visited Holland and not added Heineken and Amstel to my beer log, but DeKonnick’s , one of Roger Protz’s “300  Beers to Try Before You Die” andHertog Jan Lente Bock definitely made the list.  Although you might easily get run over by the millions of bicycling Hollanders, Amsterdam is a great walking town, and our

walk included the mandatory tourist trip to the Red Light District where I observed prostitutes in all their semi-clad splendor, posing in their windowed, curtained cubicles, in their attempt to attract business. Some were reasonably attractive, but more than a few suggested ten pints of  Heineken to dull the senses or payment of a couple of Euros to lower the curtains without a business transaction to ease the agony on the eyeballs. Although I’ve never tried or had any interest in marijuana, the Amsterdam evening stroll provided  a close-up experience. Legalized pot is everywhere, as is the ugly and depressing graffiti, a

definite downer for a visit to this beautiful but extremely liberal city.

Belgium appears to be a more conservative and well maintained country. And the Belgians are passionate about their beer! Every pub we stopped in seemed to have at least thirty or forty beers available. Each beer store tries to outdo it’s competitors in the number of beers available, one boasting 400, and it’s neighbor dragging you in off the street with promises of 800. For

those pursuing the “1000 beers in a year” achievement, one visit to a Belgian beer purveyor is all that’s necessary.

Upon arrival in Brussels , we checked into our hotel and freshened up before visiting the Cantillon Brewery, a family establishment brewing only lambics. Admittedly, lambics are my least favorite style, and in the past  I’ve unabashedly expounded on the distastefulness of gueze, a specialty of the house at Cantillon. But in the ambiance of open fermentation, cool ships, wild yeasts, spider webs, slatted windows and wooden casks, gueze seems to be the perfect brew. The museum at Cantillon is well worth the walk through a seedy looking area of town to get there. It’s actually a self guided tour that brings you extremely close to the production of this working brewery. At the end of the tour, good sized samples of three of their beers are offered, gueze, kriek and framboise, poured by the brewer himself. While lambics will never be an everyday beer for me, drinking them at Cantillon was a memorable experience and a perfect piece of local color.

Dinner near the Grand Place was the first brewpub visit of the trip and the first opportunity to try “mussels in Brussels ”, recommended by friends and travel guides. The outdoor Brasserie de Grand Place offered blonde, dark, trippel and two guest beers, Ramee Kriek and Westmalle Dubbel. Just beyond this pub is the “little pisser”, a must for every visitor to Brussels , although I expected much more. The “little pisser” is a tiny statue of what looks like a wingless cherub urinating. Actually a

small fountain  spewing water from it’s crotch, it’s perhaps the most ridiculous and touristy trap anywhere. But we took our obligatory photos and moved across the alley to the Pochenellekelder  outdoor pub where sixty kinds of beer were available, and where we spent an hour conversing with a couple from Jersey City . It was a lovely evening, talking to folks from our own

state, trying new beers, and observing hundreds of tourists mugging and smiling in front of the “little pisser”.

Perhaps the “little pisser” is an appropriate lead in for another Belgian tradition: pay toilets. The oceans of beer require a need for an occasional or urgent visit to a restroom, which even in such public places as train stations require a half-Euro, paid to a vigilant stormtrooper seated at a table near the entrance. Shortly before departing for the airport, I found it necessary to

visit the facilities. Only having forty cents to throw in her tray, I ignored the cries of “You MUST pay” and proceeded to the urinal side of the restroom, to which she followed me, tapping me on the shoulder and demanding the additional ten cents. The poor lady missed her calling. In an earlier era she’d have made an excellent prison camp guard.

Right on the Grand Place is the Belgian Beer museum. I was the only patron during my visit, so I quickly breezed through the few displays and sat down to watch a short film on the history and production of Belgian beer in some language other than English. It was only after another couple came in and pressed a button I hadn’t seen that the sound track changed into German. I started watching the film again, clueless as to what was being said, but mercifully the German couple left before

the end, allowing me to press the button in order to view the thing for the third time, this one in English. When the film ended I stopped in the bar area to get the free beer that went with the admission ticket and observed a serving process I had never before seen. Absolutely delicious Leffe Bruin was poured into a stemmed glass until the head ran down the sides, atwhich point the bartender used an old fashioned foam scraper to level off the head before immersing the entire glass in water almost up to the brim and swirling it around to remove the sticky beer from the sides. I had seen foam scrapers used extensively in Amsterdam , but never the immersion process. Sort of like baptizing one’s beer!

A day trip to the medieval city of Bruges led us to the chocolate museum. Belgians are as much into their truffles as they are to their trippels. There seemed to be as many chocolate shops as there were pubs and beer stores and there were plenty of those. The most exhaustive brewery tour I’ve ever experienced was at the de Halfe Maan (Half Moon) Brewery. The girl giving

the tour must have been raised by mountain goats: Up something like 230 steps, across catwalks, down ladders backwards, back up, back down and finally ascending to the roof, which offers panoramic views of Bruges for those who, unlike me, do not fear heights. The guide was seated on a railing which to me appeared to be several miles above sea level while giving her

extremely informative talk, not only on the Half Moon brewery, but also on the traditions of Belgian beer drinking. According to her, Belgian pilsener and gueze style beers are served in glasses rarely seen in the US : medium sized tumblers resembling something from which a child would drink milk but with vertical ridges at the bottom where your hand is placed on the glass. She informed us that Belgians like their beer very cold and the ridges allow less of the warmth of your hand to come into contact with the glass, thereby keeping the beer colder. She asked me what I thought of this unique Belgian idea. I politely replied that I didn’t really have an opinion since my beer never really stays in the glass long enough to get warm.

Although our stay in Belgium lasted only five days, I was able to add thirty eight new beers to my log. The visit wasn’t long enough to really delve into the Belgian beer scene, so I wouldn’t mind returning to taste some farmhouse and Trappist beers in their own birthplaces.

Cheers, 

Dan

                                 “Flick Lives……. At the Libertine Brewpub!"

                                                       by Dan Hodge

Way back in 1955 I received a small Webcor AM radio as a First Communion present from my grandmother. That night I discovered Jean Shepherd and for the next twenty plus years I was a dedicated listener to America’s favorite raconteur.

In high school other “Shep” fans would discuss the previous night’s show with enthusiasm rivaling that of rabid Mets’ fans. Even while stationed in Virginia during my Marine Corps years, WOR radio’s 50,000 watt signal could easily bring Shep to the Quantico area.

When his Playboy articles began appearing, I actually bought the magazine to read his stories, ( well, maybe not ONLY for that)  The publication of his books “In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash” and “Wanda Hickey’s Night of Golden Memories and Other Disasters” made for many more pleasant hours of reading and re- reading. Later his TV shows “Jean Shepherd’s America” and “Shepherd’s Pie” showcased his wonderful humor in another format.

Fortunately, even those too young to have heard his late night broadcasts or Live at the Limelight Saturday night shows are familiar with what has become a Christmas tradition: the annual marathon of his movie, “A Christmas Story” played for 24 hours straight, beginning on Christmas eve. A whole new generation of Americans has taken delight in Ralphie’s obsession with

obtaining an official Red Ryder BB gun (with a compass in the stock!)

Shep has been sorely missed since his passing in 1999, so it was with great joy that I learned of the opening of a new Shepherd-themed brewpub by a fellow mourner, fully 26 years after Shep's passing.  This sounded like a “must go at any cost” sort of thing and I didn’t feel like delaying my initial visit, so I called Draught Board 15 beer club CiC Vince Capano, also a

Shepherd devotee, and asked him if he felt like going for a ride. Asking Vince if he’d like to step out for a beer is like asking a democrat if he’d like to raise taxes (some questions are answered before they’re asked) and with the added inducement of experiencing Shepherd nostalgia, we eagerly set off on a Saturday afternoon to see what it was all about.

The Libertine Brewpub, named after Shep’s 1957 novel “I, Libertine”, is located in Washington, NJ, where, in the 1970’s Shep had a summer home on the banks of the Musconetcong River. As the Libertine Pub is about a 45 minute ride from the Union-Essex area, the drive afforded some reminiscing about the old radio monologues.

Arriving at the location, we were able park directly in front of the 19th century building housing the pub, and entering, we heard the sounds of The Bahn Frei Polka, Shepherd’s theme song, playing softly in the background. We stepped up to the bar and were greeted by the owner/bartender, Joe Roberts with a hearty “Excelsior, you fatheads”. Oh yeah…this guy was a real Shepherd fan, all right. Sitting down, we each ordered a sampler of the beers produced in Joe’s seven barrel brewhouse by brewer Otto Reisdorf, newly arrived from Austria where he most recently brewed at the Kaltenhausen Brauhaus in Salzburg.

While Joe was pouring the generous six ounce samples, we looked around at the décor and were favorably impressed by the attention to detail taken to provide an authentic ambiance for the Shepherd theme.  1930’s era Atlas-Praeger Beer and Ovaltine advertising signs adorn the walls, Red Ryder BB guns hang on gun racks, posters for “A Christmas Story” are prominently

displayed.  There's even the front fenders, grille, and seats from a 1938 Graham-Paige which serve as one of the cozy booths along the wall to the left side of the bar, which is worth a trip to see all by itself. According to the owner, the bar and back bar are from the original Bluebird Tavern in Hammond , Indiana. If it could talk, what stories that bar could tell!

Joe delivered the samplers which consisted of six regular house brews and a current seasonal on a tray resembling a gravy boat. Even here the Shepherd theme is not forgotten as the presentation brought back memories of “Leopold Doppler and the Orpheum Gravy Boat Riot”, one of Shep’s more memorable stories.

First we tried FLICK’S PALE ALE, namd for one of Shep’ s boyhood pals, the flagship beer and largest seller for the pub. This is an American style pale ale reminiscent of Sierra Nevada but slightly maltier.

The BAHN FREI WEISSBIER is easily the equivalent of the great Bavarian Hefeweizens with notes of banana and clove and a refreshing effervescence and yeasty flavor. Vince is not a huge fan of hefeweizens but even he agreed that BAHN FREI is well worthy of a four star rating.

The RALPHIE’S BROWN ALE was disappointing as it was a little too thin for my taste, but in view of the other uniformly great beers offered by this pub, it might have only been a one time problem. On my next visit, I’ll certainly give it another try.

EXCELSIOR IPA is a great example of the west coast style of American IPAs, very hoppy with a deep amber color and beautiful head. This is easily my favorite. The next two darker beers were tried side by side to more fully appreciate the differences between porter and stout. THE OLD MAN PORTER is definitely sweeter than the FATHEAD STOUT, even though the FATHEAD is creamier, due to its being served on nitrogen. Either is highly recommended for dark beer lovers.

The last offering on the sampler was the seasonal DOPPLER’S DOPPELBOCK, named for the aforementioned Leopold. This beer is truly liquid bread: full flavored, chewy and heavy on the alcohol at 8.6%. If we hadn’t had to drive home, a full pint would have been in order, but keeping reasonable, we finished up with a pint of the 5.9% Excelsior while we chatted with Joe.

He informed us that he’s been a Shepherd fan since 1958 and he’s always been fanatical about beer, so upon retirement, this former CFO of a major pharmaceutical firm decided to go into the brewpub business as a venue to continue his devotion to beer and to pay tribute to his radio hero. He did some research, visited over a hundred brewpubs, talked to the owners, collected Shepherd and 1930’s memorabilia, selected a location and convinced Otto to relocate from Salzburg.

Although only open for three months business has been good and has been picking up as word gets around. Otto says he plans to stick with the six standard house brews with a rotating seasonal and an occasional special brew. Plans are in the works for “BOUGHS OF HORRY” Christmas Ale, “SCHWARTZ’S SCHWARTZBIER” in October and “TONGUE TO THE LAMP POST” Winter Warmer.

A big celebration is planned for Shepherd’s birthday on July 26th, featuring special pricing, a Shepherd trivia contest and giveaways. Otto is planning on a one time only special brew, HAIRY GERTZ’S CRAPPIE LAGER, a "lawnmower” type beer based on a conglomeration of recipes used to make Atlas-Praeger and Pabst Blue Ribbon, two of Shep’s old man’s favorites.  I’ll be there for the bash. I’d love to try a half and half: half The Old Man Porter and half Hairy Gertz’s Crappie Lager.

Vince and I didn’t dine this time around but the menu looked good, offering the usual pub grub, with some twists: a fried crappie sandwich with fries, Josie’s Boiled Cabbage and of course meat loaf and red cabbage. One bar patron advised me to be sure to try the Shepherd’s Pie, paired with a Flick’s Pale Ale.  

Cheers and ……Excelsior, you fathead!

Dan 

“Rhine - Gold"

by Dan Hodge

To celebrate my wife’s retirement from her primary employment she expressed a desire to take a European

river cruise. Unlike my usual aversion to globetrotting, this trip looked promising for several reasons. One is

because she’s still working her secondary job at United Airlines, so the transportation to Europe would cost

nothing. Second is that due to the expertise of “Captain Mike”, another airline employee who doubles as a travel agent, we had to do nothing to book the cruise. He handled it all, especially making the recommendation that we use Ama Waterways as the cruise line.

Although this was our first experience with a river cruise I doubt very much if anything could equal the staff,

service or  amenities aboard the Amadante. Third, of course is that most of the cruise and ports of call would be in Germany, making for a great beer experience, since the Germans regard beer as an essential part oflife, as do I!

The beery aspect of the trip began on a high note as I discovered Demented Brewing Scarlet Knight on tap in the airport. United serves Goose Island brews on it’s flights, so after boarding, some Goose IPAs and 4 Star Pils were downed to make the seven hour flight more bearable.

We arrived in Frankfurt in the morning and bought railroad tickets to Luxembourg City from whence we

could connect to the ship. Walking around Old Town and seeing the sights and hundreds of outdoor cafes

made us a little thirsty, so we stopped for drinks at Duke’s Pub and added Bofferding Pils( LOVE that name),Battin Extra and Battin Gambrinus to my beer log.

The next morning we took a train to Wasserbillig , where the ship was docked on the Mosel River. We

arrived a little early for checking in, but the staff offered a light lunch which included the first of many Bitburgers to be downed in the week ahead. We took advantage of the free bicycles and rode around Wasserbillig, which I soon found out is NOT the place to be if you’re thirsty. Stopping at an outdoor pub, we waited for fifteen minutes watching a waitress hustling amongst the tables and completely ignoring us. My wife gave up and went back to the ship and I biked to another outdoor pub where the waitress was more attentive but with a definite attitude. I ordered a Die Kiercher draught and she returned with a Coca-Cola. When I pointed out that I wanted  a beer, she threw up her hands in exasperation and left to get the brew, which she slammed down in front of me. Since there seemed to be an aura of slamming in the air, I slammed down the Die Kiercher and got the hell out of there.

Back on the ship I discovered that European river cruises don’t differ too much from typical ocean liner

cruises when it comes to food. I wonder why they don’t just puree all the chow and force it into you with a

bellows. One day we were offered fruhstock (breakfast) which in Germany means cold cuts and weissbier along with traditional American fare, then at 11:30 fruschoffen (sausage, pretzels and more beer). Believe it or not, after that came LUNCH, followed by a culinary tour which included stops at a bakery, a candy shop, a cafe noted for it’s curry sausage and half liters of Lowenbrau Buttenheim, from a small microbrewery owned by a friend of the owner.

The best stop of the day was the Schenkerla Brewery, where all tour goers, even those who don’t like beer,

were given gratis half liters of Schenkerla Rauchbier. My reputation as a beer geek caused several of the

unwanted steins to be placed in front of me, and although I made a heroic attempt to prevent waste,

even I couldn’t finish all the suds. To top off the day, dinner was served immediately upon our return to the

ship.

Touring the cities of Trier, Bernkastle, Cochen, Koblenz, Rudesheim, Mainz, Wertheim, Bamburg and Wurzburg included wine tastings at three different venues so my wife’s boredom with the beery aspects of the trip wassomewhat alleviated. The visiting of Cathedrals, museums, and other places of interest was pleasantly interspersed with stops at outdoor pubs and cafes which allowed me to add thirty eight new brews to my log. Such wonderful Teutonic names as Kapuziner Kellerbier, Wurzburger Hofbrau, Zischke Dunkel Kellerbier, Kausen Weissbier Hell, and Distelhauser Helles made their way onto the list.

Sailing to Wertheim included a glass blowing demonstration by a man who could have been the German counterpart of Donald Trump. His artistic creations were accompanied by frequent and lengthy

dissertations on the evils of governmental regulations.

We arrived at Wertheim without having any politically correct police making any arrests and after walking

around town for a bit we went back to the ship where Judy took a nap while I opted for a bike tour. I was up

for a nap as well, but the bike tour promised a stop at an authentic German biergarten. The guy leading the

tour must have been a former six day bicyclist. We took off at a healthy pace, increasing steadily and slowing only to go up the many hills. Mercifully, the biergarten appeared just as I was about to drop. And what a garden! It seemed like about an acre of long tables on a floor of gravel with many trees providing shade and six or seven tap handles to fill your choice of mass(full liter) or half. I cheerfully selected a liter of Augustines Helles and sat down with fellow bikers from the trip to happily discover that two of the female bikers had been too enthusiastic in their selection of liters. After taking a sip or two they realized their thirst was not quite so bad as they thought and their almost full steins were slid over to yours truly.

Absolutely the best part of the trip was the Saturday afternoon spent on the upper deck and seeing scores of castles on the Rhine. Due to the low bridges on some parts of the cruise the upper observation deck was

often closed to passengers, lest they get decapitated while enjoying the sights. But the Rhine segment of the cruise encountered no low bridges, so we lunched and downed more than a few Erdinger Weissbiers, local Reislings and Rudesheim coffees while enjoying the beauty of the home of the Lorelei.

One interesting edifice we passed was the Kloster- Schenke Church/pub. The narrator pointed out that this

was a church whose only entry and egress was through the attached pub. Sounds like a great way to summon up religious zeal for lapsed Catholics. Have a mass after Mass!

Sadly, we reached the end of our portion of the cruise in Nuremberg at 6:00am, and thanks to the efficiency of German railroads and transatlantic jets, we were back in Newark at 3:40pm. But a beer lover not only pairs beer with food. He also pairs it with pleasant experiences , so it was off to the liquor store to pick up some Bitburger to remind me of the wonderful time aboard the Amadante!

CHEERS!

DAN

“Czech Out These Beers!"

by Dan Hodge

In the five years that she has been working for Continental Airlines my wife has visited more than thirty

foreign countries. Her globe trotting knows no bounds but many of those destinations are places I wouldn’t go on a bet. (India and China, for example).  However, I am always induced to accompany her when the destinations are those that have a decided “beer culture”. So, when she suggested Prague, in the Czech Republic for a brief getaway, I put aside my hatred of flying and eagerly looked forward to five days in the biggest per capita beer drinking country in the world.

The trip started off badly when we were unable to get standby seating on the flight to Frankfurt from where

we were to connect to Prague, but quickly took an upturn when we obtained business first status on an

Amsterdam flight with a wide open connection to Prague on Czech Air which offered a free Gambrinus Pils from it’s beverage cart, my first introduction to Czech beer.

Czech breweries have nowhere near the variety of American, English or even German beer, mostly just

offering the choice between svelte(light) and tmave (dark) with the occasional polotmave(amber) and cerne

(black), but they all are uniformly excellent: refreshing, full bodied and most importantly sessionable. Almost all of the twenty or so Czech beers I tried are in the 4.1% to 5% ABV range, so while walking around the beautiful city of Prague it’s possible to frequently pop into one of the thousands of pubs and have a quick pick-me-up without ever obtaining a buzz.

The Czechs DO like their beer. The first couple of taverns we tried didn’t even give you a chance to order.

The Zlateho Tygra (Golden Tiger), highly recommended as an excellent example of an authentic Czech pub, quickly taught us how things are done in the Czech Republic. We entered and were instructed to find two empty seats at the long tables, which we did, and as soon as we sat down two half liters of Pilsner Urquell were set in front of us with two pencil marks slashed on the place mat and the waiter rushing off to serve some more thirsty patrons. My wife doesn’t drink beer so I stoically (yeah….sure) vowed to down hers as well.. Only after two more steins were delivered  and two more slash marks made by the disappearing waiter did we figure out that if your glass is empty it sends out a signal for an unsolicited refill unless a coaster is placed on top of the stein!

Now that we knew how things worked we headed for dinner at the U Fleku Pivovar (brewpub) and Restaurant, oldest brewery in the Czech Republic, brewing beer at the same location since 1499. Again the long communal tables and again a “beer guy” whose only job is to walk around with a huge tray of half liter steins of Flekovsky Tmave Lezak (dark lager) and place them in front of you, whether you want one or not.

Now being a seasoned Czech drinker, as soon as he slammed one in front of me I raised my hand to stop

him and requested a white wine for my wife just as he was about to force feed her a Flekovsky . Success! She got her wine.

The dinner was excellent and the ambiance of this 500 year old pub was European perfection: an accordion

player accompanied by an enthusiastic and athletic tuba player (he would occasionally play a few bars with the instrument upside down) playing Czech folk songs as ell as The Beer Barrel Polka and Cielito Lindo with the patrons raising high their steins, singing and rocking back and forth to the music. It simply doesn’t get any better than that. Just outside the pub is a large public pump. I’ll let the reader imagine what is dispensed when the handle is activated.

The next morning we entrained for Pilsen and a tour of the Pilsner Urquell brewery. Unlike American brewery tours this one is not free but the small charge is justified by the exhaustive tour which includes a movie, bus ride and walking tour of the entire facility, from mashing to packaging and ending with a trek through the damp underground tunnels leading to samples of unpasteurized, unfiltered Pilsner Urquell poured directly from a huge wooden cask. Having a wife that doesn’t drink beer comes in handy, not only for the occasional need for a designated driver, but especially during brewery tours when her samples get tasted by yours truly.

After a walk around Pilsen’s Easter market we had a late lunch at believe it or not….a brewpub, which we could see from the bridge above it, but couldn’t access because of all the building going on around it. It was

only after circling the construction site a few times that I found a break in the fence which enabled us to enter and get a couple of seats at the outdoor tables.

All the walking made for a powerful thirst, so the Lotr Helles, Lotr Dunkel  (made on premises) and

Waldschmidt Weissbier were welcome thirst quenchers and excellent compliments to the “Brewer’s Platter”. This entrée was presented on a large wooden board and consisted of four or five kinds of wursts, pork, ham, red cabbage and what I thought was some kind of cole slaw, but which, after I swallowed a huge forkful, turned out to be shredded fresh horseradish. Thank God the Waldschmidt Weissbier was handy!

The next morning found us back in Prague and ascending the side of a mountain to get to Prague

Castle, overlooking the city. Also on the mountaintop is the Strahov Monastery and Pivovar. Although the

resident monks at one time did their own brewing, the wonderful St. Norbert beers are still made at the

monastery but by a commercial brewer.

With lunch I had an excellent polotmave (amber) and tmave (dark), but I especially loved the Easter beer

which is only available during the week before Good Friday. An anomaly to traditional Czech beer, an IPA

which I eagerly ordered, had kicked only that morning. The waiter assured me that another batch would be

ready in one week’s time, but since we were leaving in two days that information did me no good. Now I have a valid reason to return.

The Easter market in Prague offers booths purveying all kinds of Czech fare from wurst to goulash to beer and some kind of delicious rolled pastry which unbelievably seemed to called “turdlos”. In addition there were stands selling local craftware including the ornately decorated Czech Easter eggs. In the Czech Republic they are still “Easter Eggs” and not “Spring Spheres” as some politically correct jackass in Ohio decreed that they be called. Also in the politically incorrect vein, another entrepreneur was selling beautiful toy tank trucks, entirely made of wood except for the tanks, which were fashioned from Staropramen, Budvar, Kozel and Pilsner Urquell beer cans. I can only imagine what MADD would have to say about that in the good old USA.

Spending hours walking around the market and sampling suds from the various stands eventually

generates the need for a head call. As is usual in Europe these calls are not free, but the Czech Republic,    which outdoes other countries in outrageous charges for the use of its facilities, does offer a nice alternative to the usurious costs. Just off the market square is a public toilet staffed by a mean looking woman seated in a small booth with windows on either side like a priest in a confessional. One side for the ladies, the other side for the gents and a sign listing the “menu” as it were: 50 kroners for the ladies, 20 kroners for the gents, unless the gent requires a seat wherein the price escalates to 50 kroners.  

I stepped up to the booth, was slid a pad of what appeared to be sandpaper, and had 50 kroners demanded of me. When I protested and explained that I only needed to stand, the sandpaper was withdrawn, the price was lowered to 20  kroners, admittance was gained, and relief was achieved. But here’s where the pleasant alternative presents itself. The average price of a beer in a pub or restaurant is anywhere from 40 to 80 kroners, so for approximately the same cost as a public toilet you can get a brew with free “tinkling” included! Perhaps this explains why the Czechs drink more beer than anywhere else. It’s a sort of self perpetuating proposition.

The last pub stop of the trip was the Novometsky Pivovar where some tables are actually adjacent to the

wide open brewhouse. The hop vines on the ceiling coupled with the overwhelming aroma of freshly boiled

hops and the liter steins of svelte beer make this place a paradise for beer lovers.

One place we didn’t have time to visit was Chodovar, about a two hour train ride away, which is, for lack of a

better description, a “beer spa”, featuring beer baths into which you can submerge while being served a cold one. Along with the St. Norbert’s IPA I just missed, Chodovar gives me TWO reasons to go back and Czech out more beers! 

CHEERS!

DAN

Hey, Gecha Cold Beer

by Dan Hodge

Perhaps the best beer advertising slogan of all time is the title of this article. It refers, of course to the

Ballantine brewery of Newark, NJ, long time sponsor of the New York Yankees on radio and television. Anyone who grew up in the 1940s, ‘50s or ‘60s remembers announcer Mel Allen yelling about a “Ballantine Blast” every time another hated (by me, anyway) Yankee hit a home run. Occasionally the camera would even catch Mel reaching into a nearby cooler for a frosty can or bottle to wet his whistle during the broadcast.

Peter Ballantine, a Scot who immigrated to Albany early in the 19th century, moved to Newark in 1840 and

opened his brewery, making a brew that would eventually become “America’s Largest Selling Ale”.

Ballantine XXX ale became the brand which first us the three ring logo. Supposedly, Mr. Ballantine observed three interlocking circles made on a table top by a wet glass and was inspired to create the “three ring sign” with the three rings representing “purity, body, and flavor”. ( He must have polished off the glass in three gulps, otherwise Audi and the Olympics might have had to come up with different trademarks).

In 1943, the brewery acquired their neighboring competitor, Christian Feiganspan Brewery (famous for

its P.O.N., or “Pride of Newark” brand) and utilized the Feiganspan site as plant #2 until it was closed in 1948. Ballantine continued to brew an economy brand, “Munich”, under the Feiganspan name until Ballantine itself was closed in 1972.

But prior to its closing, Ballantine rose to become America’s third largest brewery in 1950, behind only

Anheuser-Busch and Schlitz, producing Ballantine Beer, XXX Ale, Ballantine Bock, Real Draft, Ballantine IPA, Burton Ale and the aforementioned Munich from the single facility in Newark.

Ballantine Burton Ale, to the best of my knowledge, was only brewed twice, on May 12, 1934 and May 12, 1946. The beer was then stored in huge wooden vats until drawn off for bottling to be given away as Christmas presents to employees, friends and dignitaries. It was never available for sale during the brewery’s heyday, but amazingly, almost fifty years later, full bottles can still be found on E-bay at amazing prices. (See Vince Capano’s Adventures in Beerland article “You Spent $93.75 on a

f*****g 62 year old bottle of beer?”).

Ballantine was the first legal beer I ever drank, and why wouldn’t it be when it was selling for ten cents a

bottle on the Quantico Marine Base where I happened to be stationed on my twenty first birthday. And Ballantine had another close tie to the Armed Forces: on a brewery tour in Newark, the brochure given as part of the tour said that Ballantine produced enough beer in a year to float the entire US Navy 7th Fleet. Its probably a good thing that the 7th Fleet wasn’t really floating in beer. If it had been, it might have been left high and dry by sailors of the 7th Fleet quenching their thirsts on a liberty weekend after a six month deployment!

The brewery’s advertising slogans and jingles were always my favorite. Who can forget “Make the three ring

sign….ask the man for Ballantine”, “Golden mellow from the golden harvest”,  “That’s ale, brother” , “m…m…m…, the wonderful flavor that chill can’t kill”, or “You get a smile every time”. (Every time you drink a Ballantine, that is). TV commercials in the 1960s included Mel Brooks as the 2500 year old brewmaster and the very politically incorrect Chief Totem Home Plenty who advised Yankee viewers between innings to “Totem home plenty Ballantine”.

An advertising idea unique to this brewery was their sponsorship of the Ballantine Brewers Senior Drum and Bugle Corps in the mid sixties. Northern New Jersey was a hotbed of Junior Drum Corps and the Brewers, seen in many parades and competitions in the area,with the brewery’s logo prominently displayed on the bass drum, provided another venue for those who wanted to remain active drum corps participants after “graduating” from Blessed Sacrament, St. Lucy’s or any other of a score of great junior corps in Jersey.

Unfortunately, Investor’s Funding Corporation, who bought the business from Carl and Otto Badenhausen,

the last real owners of the company, didn’t have a clue about the brewing industry, and closed the brewery in 1972, with the brands being sold to Falstaff who continued to brew Ballantine in their Cranston, RI

brewery. Then in 1985 Pabst bought the Falstaff company and its brands and Ballantine production was

moved to Ft. Wayne, Indiana, where it remained until 1991 when the “Bally’s” labels were moved to other

Pabst facilities.

Sadly, around that time Ballantine IPA disappeared. Even though a short lived brew, Ballantine Twisted Red

Ale appeared in the early 2000’s, the IPA was no where to be found. Those who were fans periodically

bemoaned the fact that Pabst quit making it and wondered why. Barroom conversations developed

several theories including that Ballantine was now known as a “cheap” brand that wouldn’t fit with the iconic India Pale Ale, that the craft beer movement had created hundreds of other IPAs all competing for the beer dollar and shelf space, and that today’s nouveau youthful beer drinkers had never even heard of Ballantine, certainly a downer for any sales campaign.

Then one day my son called me from Virginia to say he was watching some TV news which featured a piece about the return of Ballantine IPA! I was astounded and immediately called my friends at the Gaslight who happily informed me that not only had they also heard this great beer news, but had already ordered several cases of 750ml bottles and  a KEG of the brew. I tried the bottled version as soon as it arrived and it brought back many happy memories.

Pabst’s head brewer said that he had tried to reconstruct the original formula from incomplete paperwork, recollections and experimentation. As far as I’m concerned, he succeeded. In spite of the  thousands

of craft brews, seasonals, imports, etc. Ballantine IPA is my go-to beer. I couldn’t wait until the draught version came on. But oh no! The ceremonial tapping at Gaslight was scheduled for when I was going to be in Virginia for my grandson’s birthday! As much as I like Ballantine IPA, I like my grandson much, much better so it was off to Virginia I went, hoping against hope that there might be a drop or two left by the time I returned. My hopes were for naught as the keg had kicked shortly after its unveiling, leaving me crestfallen and unfulfilled. But Gaslight brewer DJ suddenly e-mailed me to tell me he had “found” another keg deep in the brewpub’s basement. See….? There IS a God!

On tap its even better than the bottled variety. Try some when you have the opportunity and remember:

“To be crisp a beer must be icily light, 

Full of flavor, precisely right! Golden mellow, crystally clear!

The crisp refresher, Ballantine, Ballantine Beer!

Hey, getcha cold beer

Hey, getcha Ballantine

Hey, getcha cold, cold beer  

Getcha ice cold Ballantine beer”

      Cheers!

            and make the three ring sign!

                                       Beer Rules!

                                                        by Dan Hodge

Just a couple of years ago "Something Rules" was the slang expression for proclaiming something to be t

best of a class of things to be judged, as in "the Yankees rule" (meaning no other baseball team was

better), or "Jeter rules" (meaning he was the best of the Yankees). A beerfan might certainly use the expression when comparing his favorite beverage to wine or distilled spirits, but unfortunately "beer rules" can have a completely different meaning, a meaning which puts restrictions on where, when, and how we can partake of that wonderful libation.

Governments, of course, as in every aspect of life, are the biggest institutors of rules and regulations and beer is no exception to their "nanny state" idea of governing. More than 20% of the states have laws against beer sales on Sundays and if suds are running low at a Christmas celebration in Michigan, forget about

restocking, since that rust belt state outlaws beer sales on December 25th, Sunday or not. I'm surprised the

American Atheists haven't been heard from on that one!

New England states help to protect us from ourselves by not selling beer after 8:00 pm in Connecticut, nor

before 11:00 am on Sunday in Massachusetts. On a recent trip to the Bay State for a parade, our band had

to restock the bus for the return trip and with plenty of time before the parade, decided to pick up some beer

before the job so as to not waste time getting home. Entering a supermarket at 10:45am, we found the beer

section covered with large tarpaulins and a crowd waiting for the 11:00 o'clock unveiling. At eleven the

people watched eagerly as a clerk removed the tarps with a flourish like a matador swirling his cape. The only thing missing was a trumpet fanfare as the thirsty beer buyers surged forward.

This scenario is not to be found in Rhode Island, where no beer can be had on Sunday, no matter what time of day it is. Both Maine and Vermont have laws with serious fines for unregistered beer kegs.( But possibly

not as serious as Idaho, where an unregistered keg can result in a $1000 fine and land you in jail for six

months.)

Even "Live Free or Die" New Hampshire contributes to the silliness with its law which requires one to be sitting down while drinking a beer. I guess if you attend a ballgame that's "standing room only", you'll watch the game beerless.

To be fair to New England, other states have even crazier laws. In California, for example, beer can be sold

but it can't be displayed within five feet of a cash register in store that sells both beer and motor fuel. I

suppose the reason for this regulation is so a motorist who has just filled his gas tank and gone inside to pay at the register won't be able spot a display of Budweiser and impulsively buy  a case or two to drink on the way home. Of course, the law will not be able to  deter a motorist with superior vision who is able to see the legal display positioned sixty one inches away from the register.

The Midwest is not exempt from inane beer laws. In Indiana it is illegal to carry a drink from the bar to a

table, so when your table is ready, slam your beer down the hatch and order another upon arrival.

Missouri prohibits drinking beer from a bucket while seated on a curb. I'll have to do a little more research to

find out if it's okay to do some curbside imbibing  while drinking from a can or bottle, or if it's legal to swill from a bucket while seated on a bench.  If it IS okay to  sit on a curb and drink beer from a can , don't throw the can in the garbage if one of your children's chores is carrying out the trash, as the" Show Me" state has

made it illegal for anyone under 21 to carry out garbage with even one empty beer can in it. I defy anyone to

"Show Me" why this makes any sense!

Nebraska prohibits selling beer in a bar unless the bar also makes soup, and North Dakota bans the sale of

pretzels where beer is served. The food police giveth and the food police taketh away!

Pennsylvania promotes friendship and camaraderie with its stupid law requiring beer distributors to sell only

cases at a time, thus making it impossible for a beer lover to try a sixpack of a newly offered beer unless he

travels with at least three of his friends. Each then buys a case of different beer and the group divides them up. Mission accomplished!

Even the animal kingdom is protected from beer by our fearless legislators. In Fairbanks, Alaska it is illegal to serve beer to a moose. Keep this in mind if you take a vacation to the Last Frontier and wish to share your Alaskan Smoked Porter with the local wildlife.

One city in Missouri has found it necessary to make certain its citizens don't give beer to elephants (maybe

Rogue Ale makes for a rogue elephant?), and fish in Ohio are helped to maintain a state of sobriety by

legislators who have made it against the law to get a fish drunk. This begs the question "How do we know if a fish is drunk or not?" Certainly he can't be given a Breathalyzer, since he never takes a breath, he can't be

made to touch his fingers to his nose, since he has neither fingers nor nose and he can't be asked to recite

the alphabet backwards when he can't even say it frontwards. I'd love to know what prompted that bill to

be proposed and passed.

The strength of beer has always been a great venue for lawmakers  to further restrict our freedom. Some states mandate beer at only 3.2%  alcohol. In Oklahoma and Colorado beer over that limit must be sold in a liquor store, while in Utah, only draught beer is required to meet that standard. One of the best examples of

legislative stupidity is the law which requires beer over a certain percentage to be labeled as "ale", as though ale, by definition, is stronger than lager, which it is not.

But it's not only government that restricts our pleasure. Some beer rules made by private entities easily rival the insanity of government regulations. A year ago, on a DB 15 trip to the Newark Bears baseball game, I was asked to show identification to prove I was over twenty one. At sixty one, I was damned sure I could "pass" without ID and told the eighteen year old vendor I refused. She replied "That's our policy, so you ain't gettin' no beer!". I slowly came to the realization that we no longer reside in a free country and that management apparently had a very low opinion of its employees' ability to use any common sense, whatever, so I flashed my driver's license which she didn't or couldn't read, received the brew, and watched the rest of the game while wondering whatever happened to common sense.

A tavern my father and I used to stop in forty years ago, by its own choice would not sell draught beer on

Sundays. I never understood that rule since storing, opening, pouring and disposing of empties makes a lot

more work for the innkeeper. But a beer rule is a beer rule, so we sadly looked at the idle tap handles while

pouring from our bottles.

Some bars and brewpubs cut down on the size of the glasses for really high gravity beers. This a rule which

has at least some basis in sense since an 8 or 9% beer can easily sneak up on you and the ingredients are more costly. But just recently I was in brewpub that served such a brew only in half pints, but amazingly cut the price in half as well! So what's the point?

Similar to this was a beer rule which I found on another band trip to Massachusetts. We were staying in a

bar-less hotel far off the beaten track. But mercifully, next door was a "99s", the Massachusetts equivalent of a Ruby Tuesday's or TGI Fridays. A few of us ventured in and were pleasantly surprised to find a decent array of tap handles including Guinness, Bass, Sam's Octoberfest , and Berkshire Steel Rail Ale.

When the barmaid gave us a choice of a 22 ounce or 16 ounce stein we naturally chose the 22. After a couple of rounds we were informed that company policy dictates no more than two 22 ouncers can be served to any one customer at any one time. When she saw the look of desperation on our faces she said it was not to worry because we could just switch to the 16 ounce steins and have as many of those as we liked. When I asked her if we had started with the 16s could we then have a couple of 22s later in the session, she replied "I guess so..why not?".

So theoretically a person could drink eight or nine 16s, have two 22s and switch back to the 16s. Yeah!! THAT sure limits the alcohol intake. Since I don't ever "do shots", I didn't ask whether the two only 22 ouncer policy figures shot downing into the mix. If not, I suppose a person could drink several highballs or mixed drinks before having the allowable two 22 ounce beers. Go figure!

My own beer rule is "never write a 'Beer My Way' column without finishing up with a brew. But I get to pick my own size glass!!

Rails and Ales

by Dan Hodge

As much as I love the sound made by the uncapping of a fresh bottle of beer or the happy chatter of a great

brewpub, so do I love the clickety- clack of a steel wheel on a steel rail or the unmistakable hum of an old Pennsylvania Railroad GG1 pulling into Newark Penn Station. The romance of riding the rails has always inspired pleasant memories for me, especially when accompanied by a glass of beer. Although beer

has been around for over 5000 years and the American railroad for only slightly longer than Yuengling’s, these two bits of Americana have always been linked in the minds of those who love both.

The first major role railroads played in the history of American brewing is a “:good news, bad news” sort of

relationship; the good news being that the development of refrigerated freight cars (or “reefers”) enabled large brewers to market their products in much larger, even national, distribution areas, creating household names such as Anheuser-Busch, Schlitz, Pabst and Miller. Milwaukee brewers were making regular rail shipments to inland areas by 1852, and in 1879 the Chicago and Alton Railroad was delivering kegs of Pabst to Kansas City and returning empties to Milwaukee for a dollar apiece. The larger brewers even

organized their own roads for delivery. The Western Cable Railway was a wholly owned subsidiary of St.

Louis’ William Lemp Brewery, a distribution idea copied by Anheuser-Busch.

The “Beer Line” was a six and a half mile branch line of the Milwaukee Road, built in 1854, which began in the Schlitz railyards and also served the Pabst, Miller, and Blatz breweries. At the high point of it’s existence as many as 270 carloads a day brought malt , hops, and empties to Milwaukee and sent hundreds of thousands of barrels of liquid gold to thirsty consumers all over America. However, when “Blue Ribbon” and “High Life” began to penetrate far away markets, local brewers, who had previously had a lock on beer sales in their areas, began to fall by the wayside in their efforts to compete with the big boys, which resulted inonly a couple of dozen local breweries still functioning by the !970’s. Perhaps it’s only fitting that by the early 1980’s , and the demise of Schlitz the “Beer Line” ceased to exist.

There are whole websites devoted to collecting model train “beer cars”. One site I visited listed over 170 HO

scale cars available, advertising almost any beer you could think of. Because of the fanaticism of the anti-

drinking crowd, manufacturers are offering less and less of these beautiful toys, making those that remain

highly collectible. I may be old fashioned, but I don’t understand why anyone would think that a seven year

old, running his Lionel set around the Christmas tree with a Genesee car in the consist could develop into a

drunkard because of it.

Railroads are a great source of names for brews. “Altoona 36 Lager” featuring a Pennsy K4 locomotive

on the label and “Horseshoe Curve” were two products of the defunct Altoona Brewing Company. ( Probably

defunct because the same Pennsylvania Railroad was able to bring oceans of Budweiser into Altoona around the same Horseshoe Curve on a train pulled by the same K4) Every year in March I look forward to the Berkshire Brewing Company’s “Steel Rail Ale” during my band’s trip to perform in the Holyoke,

Massachusetts St. Patrick’s Day Parade. The Karl Strauss Brewery’s “Red Trolley Ale” and Lone Tree’s

“Iron Horse Dark Ale” are other examples of “rails and ales” but the best is the Railway Brewing Company of

Anchorage, Alaska, where brewer Ray Hodge(no relation) turns out “Gandy Dancer Hefeweizen”, “Scottish Rail Ale”, “Railway IPA”, “Steel Rail Chili Ale” and “Iron Horse Nut Brown” from a brewery located in Alaska Railway’s depot building. Over 300,000 visitors a year pass through the depot since the Alaska Railway

offers the only land route to some of Alaska’s most scenic destinations. Interestingly, in order to gain traction on wet rails, this railroad fills it’s locomotive’s sand boxes with crushed beer bottles instead of Wisconsin sand. “Hurry boys!!! Drink up!!! She’s slippin’”!!!!

Foggy Bottom (railroad bridge), Mill City(three tracks) Sweet Georgia Brown(civil war era locomotive) and

Devil Mountain(2-8-2 loco) are examples of recent packaging depicting trains or railroads on the labels.

All late nineteenth and early twentieth century brewery pictures show trains and/or trolley cars in the

foreground, but the king of this type of ad was the Jacob Best Southside Brewery in Milwaukee, whose

calendar picture shows no less than eleven tracks heading into it’s grounds! This was probably an

exaggeration since the old brewery pictures alsoexaggerated the actual size of the brewery, which was

always featured as the dominant edifice, towering many stories above the surrounding buildings and

landscape.

A recent enhancement to rail travel is the “Beer Train”. Usually these are one day excursions on restored

scenic short lines featuring microbrew tastings, such asthe annual trip from Anchorage to Portage, Alaska, a

joint venture between the Glacier Brewhouse and the Alaska Railway. However, Amtrak’s Keystone route

also is fondly referred to as a beer train because one can depart from Philadelphia after visiting the Yards

and Independence Breweries and travel to Downingtown, home of Victory Brewing Company. Next stop is Lancaster where one can detrain for a couple of Lancaster Brewing Company pints and board the next westbound local for Mt. Joy and Bube’s Brewery before arriving in Harrisburg for the Troeg’s and Appalachian Breweries. California’s “Caltrain”service has a beer train that runs from San Francisco to

Gilroy and offers a brewpub within walking distance of every stop.

While we in the Garden State don’t have an official “beer train’, it’s not too difficult to start one’s own.After a couple of frothy pints at the Gaslight, a two minute walk brings you to New Jersey Transit’s South Orange Station on the Morristown line. A fifteen minute ride to Newark’s Broad Street Station and a connection via the new light rail to Penn Station allows easy access to the Northeast corridor line and the twenty minute ride to New Brunswick. The Harvest Moon Brewpub is only a short walk from New Brunswick Station, and a boarding of the next southbound local speeds you to Princeton Junction. Detraining there and boarding the “Dinky” or “PJ&B” ( Princeton Junction and back) for the three mile ride to Princeton finds you only a couple of blocks from the Triumph Brewpub on Nassau Street. For the really thirsty, reversing the route back to Rahway enables a connection to Jersey Coast line and a stop at Woodbridge Station, next door to JJ Bitting’s Brewpub, with a later destination to Red Bank and Basil T’s. Never mind “Anaheim…Azuza… and Cuc…a monga!” These days it’s “All Aboard for Barleywine, IPA and Hefe…weizen!

My favorite family vacation took place a few years ago when we took a three week Amtrak trip around the

country which presented the scenic grandeur only the American west can offer and almost unlimited

opportunities to sample local micros unavailable on the east coast. One of my fondest memories was riding

the “Coast Starlight” from Seattle to San Francisco in a restored 1950’s Santa Fe domeliner, complete with

swiveling , upholstered arm chairs, classical music, fruit and cheese and Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, sipped as

we made our way through scenic Oregon. Riding the “Sunset Limited” from Tucson to New Orleans afforded me time to try two beers from Colorado’s New Belgium Brewing Company, picked up shortly before

we boarded. The “Sunset”, America’s only truly coast to coast train, is always hours late, but who cares when you’re relaxing in a family bedroom on a Superliner with a cooler full of Fat Tire Ale and New Belgium Trippel.

The only place I have ever seen Pacific Ridge Pale Ale, Anheuser-Busch’s answer to Sierra Nevada, was in the bar car on the “San Joaquin”, running between San Francisco and Bakersfield. Even if this beer never

becomes available on the east coast, I’ll always remember the ones I had while riding the rails. It shows A/B can make great beer if they really want to.

The Erie-Lackawanna’s multiple unit cars were equipped with neither bathrooms nor bar cars, but they did offer an end of the business day treat for suburban commuters leaving Hoboken Station. On some of the trains, a man would place a plank over the tops of two adjoining seats and set up a mini bar from which he dispensed cocktails and Schlitz “Tallboys”. One “Tallboy” would just make Maplewood Station on the Morristown Line, but two would have been more suitable for the ride to Denville or Dover. Unfortunately, the “Tallboy” has gone the way of the old green Lackawanna MUs, but New Jersey Transit does allow alcohol consumption on it’s trains so it is possible for commuters to brown bag it for the ride home.

The caboose, or “cabin” in railroad terminology, was the last car on a freight from where the conductor

oversaw the operation of the train. I can’t think of a better end to this article than to relate my dream of

someday having enough money and space to own one of these retired pieces of rolling stock and turn it into a little private pub to which one could retire and drink good ale.

Cheers!

Dan

A Trip to the Grocery Store

 (or Reinheitsgebot, Mein Arse!)

by Dan Hodge

Our up coming Rhine River cruise (with beerincluded in the cost of the trip) caused me to reflect on

“Rheinheisgebot”, the German purity law defining malt, hops and water as the only ingredients to be used in

the brewing of beer. The origins of the law date from the fifteenth century in the Duchy of Munich, but after

unification on April 23, 1516, the law was adopted all across Bavaria.

Slowly the rules spread to the rest of the country and , in fact, Bavaria insisted upon it’s application all

throughout Germany as a condition of it’s unification in 1871. But two years later, because of opposition from Northern Brewers, additional ingredients were merely taxed rather than banned. Not until 1906 was the law consistent throughout Germany and the term was not even formally used until the Weimar republic in 1919. Several changes in the law have been made over the years including having it apply only to lagers and allowing adjunct ingredients as long as the end result was not labeled “beer”. In spite of the changes, the term Rheinheitsgebot continues to be used as a marketing ploy, not only in Germany but also by such

brewers as Gordon Borsch in California.

With Reinheitsgebot firmly ensconced in my mind, I went to the liquor store on a sweltering day in search of

some German style brews for hot weather drinking. I had a powerful hankering for some helles or weissbier,

but was very dismayed to realize that there aren’t a   heck of a lot of American craft brewers who hold

Rheinheitsgebot in the same high regard as the Germans. The summer beer aisle contained not a single

helles and very few unflavored weiss or witbiers. I saw blueberry wheat, blackberry wit, raspberry wheat,

watermelon wheat, pineapple lager, chili pepper beer, peach lager, and even apple flavor ale. Who needs this   when so many ciders are available?.

I thought to hell with the summer beer idea; I’ll just pick up a few pale ales and IPAs to enjoy on the deck. Alas, again I felt like I was back in the produce section of the local Shop Rite: grapefruit IPA, mango IPA, apricot pale ale, orange peel IPA, blood orange IPA, passionfruit pale ale, tangerine IPA, hibiscus ale and lemon zest IPA were all proudly displayed. I had to search hard to find the only six pack of Ballantine left.

I fared no better in the dark beer section where raspberry, chocolate, coffee, and black currant stout

were offered and maple, caramel and coconut porter lined the shelves.

I have read of Dogfish Head’s Scrapple beer, Well’s Banana Bread beer, many companies brewing peanut

butter beer, a pizza beer (I actually tried that one, after having been given a gratis bottle….nasty, indeed), and there's always the onslaught of pumpkin brews which, for almost the entire fall season, will monopolize the retailers’ shelves, making still less room available for Rheinheitsgebot inspired brews.

Shortly after the last trick or treater knocks on the door comes the advent of Christmas or (for the politically

correct morons amongst us) “holiday” beers, with every imaginable spice you can think of to tickle your palate while sitting by the fire or celebrating around the tree: nutmeg, cinnamon, clove, coriander, and allspice to name a few. Considering all the Christmas spices along with the oregano, chili pepper, Old Bay, sage, Grains of Paradise and other spices used in other seasonal brews, if prohibition ever comes back (God forbid!), I wouldn’t be surprised if the McCormick spice company went belly up along with the brewers.

So far we’ve only visited the produce and spice departments, but the supermarket is vast and varied. A

stop at the seafood counter makes us wonder why Flying Dog’s use of Old Bay seasoning in it’s Dead Rise

Summer Ale doesn’t inspire them to take the extra step and brew some Crab Cake Ale as an alternative to

Oyster Stout. The unbelievably horrible Bud and Clamato would make even the most dedicated craft beer

aficionado long for a plain old Bud.

The snack aisle is next. Beer and pretzels are a long standing tradition. Surely some enthusiastic brewer can combine the two for a really chewy Pretzel Lager, thereby killing two birds with one stone.

The dairy section offers a few possibilities for off-the- wall breweries. Cheddar Ale and Limburger Rauchbier

come to mind, along with cream ale.

Condiments are required for savory dining and if Sierra Nevada can make various mustards flavored with beer, I see no reason why they shouldn't make beer flavored with mustard, as it would seem to pair well in a side by side tasting with Pretzel Lager. With so many brewers producing gose, a detestable drink, and gose tasting strongly of salt, another example of condiments in beer is evident.

Some brewers have turned to the supermarket bakery in order to seek out new ingredients. Forgotten

Boardwalk’s Funnel Cake Ale, Odd Side Ale’s Granny’s Apple Pie Ale, Sprecher’s Hard Apple Pie Ale and

Lancaster’s Shoofly Pie Porter are some examples. Many brewers make rye ales. Triumph’s Jewish Rye Beer tastes just like it sounds. Can Corned Beef Altbier be far behind?

That brings us to the last stop on our grocery shopping trip: the meat counter. There are many on-line controversies raging about whether or not Guinness uses meat in it’s production. Perhaps in the middle ages a rat or two may have found their way into the beer before packaging (see….rats are intelligent!) but modern disputes about this are unfounded and ridiculous. However, while researching the question I did find out that a brewery in Colorado had made some Rocky Mountain Oyster stout, brewed with bull testicles, and also uncovered an English recipe for Cock Ale, brewed with chicken broth. That beer might be a big hit at the Sunnyrest Nudist Beer Festival!

All this discussion of non-Rheinheitsgebot beers makes me realize that a trip to the grocery store may never be necessary. A visit to the liquor store may be all that’s required to sustain life. (But give me a Pabst Blue

Ribbon any day!)

   Cheers!

Dan

                                                         BONNIE SCOTHLAND  

by Dan Hodge

All was well with the world when I left the Gaslight on the night of my birthday: three pints of delicious Gaslight brews warmly settling in my belly, Mets’ pitchers and catchers reporting to spring training in only two days, and, after mass the next morning, nothing pressing to do all day. Happily anticipating a nightcap of my own home brewed oaked imperial stout for a

nightcap, possibly with a classic old flick on the tube, I entered the house to find my wife seated at the computer looking at “United.com”. This could mean only one thing: a little globe trotting was being planned for the upcoming President’s weekend.

Guardedly, I asked the question “What are you looking at?” I wasn’t too surprised to learn that I was to be one of the trotters and I steeled myself for the destination.

Hating the preparation for a trip and flying in general, I was somewhat relieved to find out it was Scotland. I hadn’t been there in almost thirty years and anticipating some great brews, I actually started looking forward eagerly to the brief getaway. (But still put off packing a bag until an hour before leaving for the airport). but then, a sudden horror crossed my mind! I had recently decided to eschew the drinking of beer for Lent, and Ash Wednesday was only two days before our scheduled departure. How could I POSSIBLY travel in Bonnie Scotland beer less?

I had given up only beer, so Scotch whisky was a distinct possibility, but I LIKE beer. I don’t particularly like Scotch. I mulled over this disturbing dilemma and came up with a couple of reasonable justifications for granting myself a dispensation for the duration of the trip. One, with all those Presbyterians in Scotland, my catholic God would probably be more worried about getting them back into the fold than about me having a pint or twenty. And two, if it’s true that God loves us and wants us to be happy, and nothing makes me happier than trying new beers, He probably wouldn’t care if my Lenten abstinence went on hold for a few days.

So it was off to Glasgow on the overnight flight, and after catching a couple of hours sleep at the hotel we walked around to see a few sights and scout out a few pubs. Being a piper, I was ever on the alert for the skirl of the pipes and hearing some around the corner, went to check them out. Like no other pipe band I’ve ever seen, these guys reminded me of Mel Gibson in

Braveheart. Long beards, long, wild hair, and the bass drummer, who was carrying his drum as if it were a snare, jumping around bare-chested in February. But they were pretty good and I tossed a pound into the hat being passed around.

The piping whetted my appetite for some chow and Scottish suds, so a brief train ride brought us to the Clockwork Brewery where we had dinner and I had a sampler of Clockwork brews: a lager @ 4.8% and the only non cask conditioned beer offered, a red alt @ 4.4%, an amber ale @ 3.8% and the strongest, Hopscotch Ale @ 5.1%. A guest pint of Deuchar’s IPA @ 5% was also tried. With these very low alcohol numbers and the non-gaseous character of cask conditioned real ale my introduction to Scottish brews demonstrated that these were beers you could drink all night. So I did!

On the way back to our hotel we stopped at Sloan’s Tavern, billing itself as Glasgow’s oldest pub, for pints of Kelburn Brewery’s Red Smiddy and Goldihops. I was reminded from thirty years ago that barmaids look somewhat askance when you lay your pounds on the bar and stand there holding your change until you reach out your hand to accept it. But I soon got used to this practice and come to think of it, a good idea for a future “Beer My Way” article might be “Paying for Your Beer”.

Back at the hotel, still off kilter from jet lag and two hour mid morning naps, I found myself wide awake and having had the foresight to stock our mini fridge with Hatherwood Premium Bitter, Marston’s Pedigree Pale Ale and Shepherd Neame Spitfire Ale, I sampled a few more

British beers while watching John Wayne in “Fort Apache”. The Duke is popular everywhere.

After a Scottish breakfast of haggis, black pudding and what passes for bacon in Scotland (thank God for the great fresh fruit and cheese table) we walked to Queen Street Station for the hour ride to Edinburgh. As in every place in Europe, the trains are clean, comfortable,

frequent and on time. Our hotel in Edinburgh was located right on the Royal Mile, so named because it’s about one mile (strange they don’t call it the Royal Kilometer) on the main drag between Edinburgh Castle, the original home of Scottish kings, and Holyrood Palace, where the queen stays while visiting Scotland every spring.

We checked in and quickly boarded another train for Stirling, the town described as “the brooch that clasps the highlands to the lowlands”. The exhaustive trek up to Stirling Castle generated a need for a stop at #2 Baker Street Pub for a refreshing pint of Orkney Raven

Ale at only 3.8%. This was a perfect example of a Scottish pub in February, with folks quietly enjoying their pints and reading their papers, but I guess this all changes during the tourist season. I was disappointed to hear the bartender say to his assistant-in-training “It’s not this quiet in summertime when busloads of Americans come in to visit the castle”.

I quickly turned around my Marine Corps ring and hid my American flag lapel pin before ordering another pint (not really), but wondered how much of that lad’s income is generated by those busloads. Actually, he was the lone exception to the unbelievable friendliness and

hospitality of all the Scots we encountered in three days. If you ask for directions, for example, many folks will LEAD you to your destination.

Back at the hotel we asked the concierge for a typically Scottish place to have decent pub grub and good beer for dinner. He directed us to the World’s End, about two blocks away, a very cozy little place where we were told “there might be a bit of a wait”. However, the wait

didn’t last long enough for me to finish my pint of Belhaven IPA, before we were led to a table near a window that looked as though it were four hundred years old, which it probably was.

The steak and ale pie, washed down with pints of Belhaven World’s End Ale and St. Andrews Ale, is highly recommended. The World’s End is a must for anyone looking for casual dining and great beer in an authentic pub on the Royal Mile.

An after dinner walk around “Auld Reekie” brought us to the Brewdog Pub which provided an alternative to the low gravity real ales to which I had now become accustomed. A flight of house brews, all on tap, included Hardcore IPA @ 9.2%, Jackhammer Ale @7.2%, Libertine Black Ale @7.2% and Leichenstein Pale Ale @5. 2%. The barmaid, Dani, from Manitoba, who worked a summer job in Wildwood, NJ (small world), informed us that all Brewdog employees must attend Beer School to learn all the ins and outs of the product they were serving. (Why wasn’t that school available when I was a student?) She also gave me a gratis taste of Paradox Isle of Arran Imperial Stout at a giant 18%.

Two other big beers were available although I opted not to partake. The Tactical Nuclear Penguin @32% and Sink the Bismarck at an incredible 41% would have sunk ME. Even huge beer aficionado Vince Capano, who never met a big beer he didn’t like, wouldn’t have been able to add those brews to his session beer roster.

The Brewdog is also renowned for having brewed the extremely limited (only twelve bottles produced) End of History Ale @55%. But even if it were still available poor Vince, a vegetarian, wouldn’t have been able to try it, since for some reason the bottles were stuffed into the preserved bodies of dead squirrels. Possibly the wild pipe band I saw in Glasgow might be into something like that but I went for an Innis and Gunn Rum Barrel for a bedtime brew.

An extensive tour of Edinburgh Castle conveniently ended at the Ensign Ewart Pub, closest pub to the castle entrance. A pint of Flying Scotsman Best Bitter (LOVE that name) @4% was the perfect refresher fortouring the kilt making place next door. Later, we had a lovely dinner of fish and chips in Deacon Brodie’s Tavern, part of the Nicholson chain of historic British

pubs. The fish and chips were nicely complemented by the excellent Nicholson’s Pale Ale and Peterson’s Porter, both delicious session beers with nary a dead squirrel in sight.

Strolling around the Royal Mile after dinner and passing the many little pubs was another thirst inducer, so a stop at the Mitre Pub provided me with “pint pots”, (not the usual Nonick glass) of Moorhouse Pride of Pendle Ale and Orkney Dark Island.

I needed a brew for the usual nightcap at the hotel so stopped in a store and discovered a beer with a name that would never get by the censors at ATF in the U.S., Sheepshagger Ale. What’s next? Bestiality Bitter? Vince would love this one, not because he’s into animals or

because it’s a big beer (only 4.5%) but because in 2019 it was voted Beer of the Year by the Scottish Vegetarian Society and continues to be “vegetarian approved”, bottled version only. Makes me wonder what goes on in the brewing of the draught version. Dead squirrels,

maybe?

The next morning it was time to return home and start seeking out more places in which to find hand pumped, cellar temperature, low gravity beers. I could hardly waito begin the quest. But……..Oh No! Going home meant the four day Lenten dispensation was coming to an end!

Oh well, Easter Sunday is only three weeks away! 

For a Beer Guy, it’s Only About the Beer

by Dan Hodge

In 1970 there were only 89 breweries left in America and these were operated by only 40 different companies, all making relatively the same kind of lager. It was a very dark time for serious beer lovers, who, therefore had to reply on imports for really different tastes and styles. But by 2024 there were 9,736 breweries in the United States with the very positive upside of introducing the beer guy to many new as well as time honored styles and having almost incalculable venues in which to try them, but also having two definite downsides:

1. With so many to chose from, where does one start? 

2. Very little shelf space left for imported English , German, and Belgian brews and with so many breweries, brewpubs and beer bars competing with each other for the beer guy’s buck, many have resorted to enticements other than just beer to lure the thirsty customer inside the “swinging doors”. 

For some people these enticements to the pinting session are indeed welcome, but for the serious beer geek they are not needed and many times are a simple pain in the neck, detracting from the pleasure of the beers. I’ll detail a few in this article.

First, many breweries think music is necessary in order to attract drinkers, but most times the bands they hire have never heard of the musical term “piano” and insist upon playing their “music” at “triple forte’, or so loud you can’t hear yourself think, let alone conduct a conversation. My only trip to the Five Dimes Brewery in Westwood offered some very nice brews, but on the Friday night I visited, the four piece band plus singer was playing so loudly I found it almost impossible to even order a beer, let alone ask any questions about the available brews. Almost as bad is the solo performer usually seated on a barstool and singing songs of his/her own composition while strumming on an amplified guitar. The guitar is always too loud and his/her mouth always too close to the microphone. The “songs” generally have no melody, instead being just sort of a rambling, whiney, musical poem, punctuated by an occasional scream or extra accented chord on the guitar.

Worse than both of those musical offerings are the Karaoke nights held by some breweries in which mostly talentless people mouth words to popular songs, again at a decibel level exceeding the roar of the crowd at Citifield after an Alonso home run. The disc jockey one occasionally finds at a brewery encompasses all the negatives of the three previous musical “entertainments”.

But it isn’t only music that the beer guy finds unnecessary. Games of all kinds are commonly found at brewery tasting rooms, including “trivia night” where a moderator asks stupid questions like “Lake Hopatcong is one of the Great Lakes, Ttrue or False?” Or “What was Ralph Kramden’s occupation?” Ping pong is sometimes found, as is “Beer and Bingo”, “Stacking Blocks” and , especially in warm weather, Cornhole. On my first foray into the Double Nickel brewery in Pennsaucken, as soon as I entered I was hit directly in the head by an errant cornhole sack, possibly tossed by someone who’d had too many of the excellent Double Nickel brews. Thank God it wasn’t Dart League Night.

“Open Mic Nights” and “Movie Nights” are available at some breweries for those patrons for whom beer is not enough. “Ugly Sweater” parties do not particularly detract from the beer drinking experience, but they certainly not necessary for the beer guy to enjoy his brew.

For the athletically inclined, some breweries offer yoga classes. The serious beer guy wisely wonders where the hell do you set your glass when assuming the position of “Downward Facing Dog”?. I don’t currently know of any, but I’m sure some crazy brewery owner is contemplating instituting calisthenics sessions to induce more customers who will justify their downing a few pints by spending a half hour doing jumping jacks.

Charcuterie workshops at some breweries at least offer the beer guy something to munch on while he savors his beer, and the Blue Stallion Brewery of Lexington, Kentucky outdoes everyone with its promotions of ‘speed dating”, flower arranging classes, “plant shop and swap” and the “hobby and craft exchange”

For me, NONE of the above are ever necessary for me to visit a brewery. I much prefer a quiet venue where I can enjoy the beers engaged in conversation with a fellow beer guy or two or maybe even the brewer, or perhaps just sit quietly with a book or newspaper.

If I want music I go to band rehearsal or a concert. If I want a movie I go to a theater or just get one on Netflix, and if I want yoga (I can’t imagine that I ever will), I’ll join a yoga class. But if I want  beer I go to a brewery.

It’s Only About the Beer!

Cheers,

Dan

Taps Knobs....(Tap Snobs)

by Dan Hodge 

We craft beer lovers have a certain air of snobbishness about us when consuming our favorite beverage: proper style for the occasion, proper glassware for the style, and propeserving temperature, for example, are variables to be considered to complete the beer drinking experience; variables which are completely

unimportant to the average canned Budweiser drinker. To him, we're probably considered nuts, (and to us he's considered unenlightened), but , as in everything, there are those who take our side to the extreme, and I'd like to present some examples of same, so the average crafbeer lover won't be considered a "Tap Snob".

The appreciation of beer goes beyond aroma and taste. Appearance is equally important to us. There's not much fun drinking a big IPA out of one of your kids' Donald Duck plastic cups. A clear glass allows us to see the beautiful color and frothy head before actually sniffing and tasting the beer. But even the ultimate beer

expert, Michael Jackson, who forgot more about beer in the last days of his life than I'll ever know, carries this aspect of beer appreciation to the extreme. I have a video in which "The Beer Hunter" puts his nose to the rim of the glass, holds it aloft to view it prior to tasting, then inexplicably turns the glass around to look at

the other side! Could the beer possibly look different on the other side? Did he spot a small swimming object? Or was he examining the glass for a lipstick smear? We'll never know and the guy drinking Bud from the can (certainly not a Tap Snob) needn't worry about the answer.

At a beer festival a few years ago I became engaged in a conversation with a nerdy looking beer guy who was holding a glass of Sticke beer, a variation of Alt brewed only occasionally by Dusseldorf altbier brewers  to a greater strength than the everyday alt.  Stickebier is therefore very limited in availability.  In the

thousands of beers I've sampled in my life, Idon't know if I've had more than two. But this early twenties Tap Snob remarked to me that the beer he was holding was one of the best stickebiers he had ever tasted.

It reminded me of a restaurant review I once read in which the reviewer commented negatively on the "Hunterdon County goat cheese" she had been served, denouncing it as "one of the lesser Hunterdon County goat cheeses" she had tried. How many Hunterdon County goat cheeses are there? Are they that

substantially different from Somerset or Sussex County goat cheeses? I realize that Hudson County probably doesn't have an entry in the goat cheese wars, but with twenty other New Jersey counties to choose from, how in hell could she possibly determine from whence the goat cheese came, let alone it's standing in competition with other goat cheeses from the same locality? Perhaps a little bit of snobbish

pretension there, similar to our stickebier maven.

But I digress. Back to beer. At another festival I observed what I first thought was a Secret Service agent, quietly whispering into a lapel mounted microphone, but which actually turned out to be a high-tech Tap Snob, making his comments and tasting notes into a hidden recorder. It's certainly more efficient than

jotting down some notes in a notebook or on the back of an envelope, but the shoulder mike might be a little much. Reminds me of Dick Tracy's "two way wrist radio" being applied to the beer world.

Beer guys are generally divided into different classifications: malt lovers, "big beer" lovers, "session" beer lovers and "hop heads" to name a few. This last one always intrigues me. To be sure, there are certified beer judges and brewmasters who are schooled in the art of distinguishing particular hop varieties and how

those varieties help to create thecharacteristics of a particular style. I look upon such people with wonder and envy. But there are other "hop heads" who pose as experts with little more than an amateur's knowledge. At yet another festival, a tipsy beerfan, slurring his words after forty or fifty 4oz. tastings, announced that he really liked the mittelfrueh hop character of the beer he was trying. Similar to how salty Bosun's Mate Farragut Jones so aptly put it in "Don't Go Near the Water", when griping about his

pompous ass captain's inability to identify a bow anchor, "He wouldn't know a mittelfrueh hop from a goat's balls!"

My good friend and fellow Mummer, Joe Rennick, who has adopted Germany as his second home, in good part because of the Teutonic rigidity in the serving and drinking of beer, has aggravated many an American

barmaid with his explicit and detailed instructions on how to properly pour his beerThere is a right way and a wrong way, but when fighting through a five deep press at the bar of a stop on the annual St. Patrick's Day Mummers Pub Crawl in Springfield, MA, who cares? Nobody of course, except a Tap Snob.

Nothing is worse than a wannabe Tap Snob showing off before company. One such individual walked into the Gaslight, sat at a table with some friends he was trying to impress, and ordered a "lager". When the waitress brought him a Black Bear Lager, the house offering in the schwartzbier category and

the only lager on tap, he loudly proclaimed it to be obviously a stout and sent it back  with a request to "just bring me a Miller", a sure indicator of his very refined beer palate. When the Miller arrived and proved to be a Miller Lite, it too was sent back with the loud pronouncement "I don't drink lite beer".

At this point the unhappy and still thirsty beer expert was asked to hit the bricks and find a new venue in which to demonstrate his propensity to be a Tap Snob.

A common sight at beer festivals and tastings is the "dump bucket". Occasionally beerfans discover a brew that's not palatable and must be dumped. More often, they realize that in order to sample as many brews as possible, some must be dumped after the initial taste to maintain sobriety and a clean palate. Hence, the "dump bucket", which also affords a perfect vehicle by which a Tap Snob can morph into a Tap Slob. At a well attended Draught Board 15 meeting a while ago, standard two quart pitchers were provided to serve as dump buckets.

As I recall there were about twenty beers to be tried that day, so the responsible members made frequent use of the pitchers to dispose of unwanted beer. By meeting's end the pitchers were three quarters full of twenty different beers of a variety of styles, along with wads of chewing gum, bits of crackers, bottle caps and "backwash", making the ultimate blended beer.

As several of us were straightening up, we noticed a now former member who fancied himself a Tap Snob, pouring himself a pint of this eclectic blend. From Tap Snob to Tap Slob in one easy gulp!!

Retching at the thought of that scene brings an end to this discussion of Tap Snobs. Even a dedicated drinker of canned Meisterbrau would eschew the dump bucket!!

Cheers,

Dan

   Beernexus.com proudly presents....DAN HODGE, brewer, historian and raconteur. Only on the Nexus!

 Troubleshooting Beer 

by Dan Hodge

Recently, I bought a new toaster, and with nothing else to do, I actually started leafing through the little instruction/warranty booklet that came with it. As always, there was a page entitled “Troubleshooting”, providing tips and pointers on how to solve any problems with the appliance, the first being “toaster does not heat up” and offering the recommended solution “be sure that it’s plugged in”.Obviously, this would seem like a no-brainer to any sensible person, but upon reflection I realized that probably 50% of the US population would actually NEED that tip in order to have toast for breakfast.

Further evidence of this was the helpful “tip” I read in an article about planning fo an auto trip vacation which recommended that the gas tank be full before setting out. Not to be forgotten was the “tip” provided by the booklet for my new snow blower advising me to “don’t put hands into chute or under machine while machine

is running”. Without that valuable advisement, one could quickly become fingerless.

With those tips in mind, I realized that with all the beer I’ve consumed in my life, I was never provided with any tips to make make my consumption more pleasurable, other than instructions on how to use a church key on an early Pabst can in my collection of breweriana .

Therefore, I figured that 50% of the population might possibly need assistance in drinking beer and herewith proudly present “Beer My Way’s”  “Troubleshooting Beer Guide”, listing all the problems with and recommended solutions to enjoying a brew.

     PROBLEM                                             SOLUTION

1.   Beer is too cold                                      Let it warm up

2.   Beer is not cold enough                         Put it back in the fridge

3.   Not enough beer                                    Buy or make some more

4.  Too much beer                                        Drink it faster

5.   Can or bottle doesn’t pour properly       Pop the top on the can or remove bottle cap

6.  Home-brew is  under carbonated            Mix it 50/50 with Michelob Ultra Light

7.  Home-brew is over carbonated             Make container as cold as possible, stand  it in a sanitize pail and                                                                 open

8. Local brewpub makes bad beer                Don’t go there

9. Local brewpub makes great beer             Go there often

10. Closest brewpub is too far from home         Move closer.                                              

11. Case of beer is too heavy to carry               Buy 12 packs.                                             

12. 12 Pack is too heavy too carry                 Buy 6 packs,                                 

13. Prohibition makes a comeback                 Learn to home-brew

14. Doctor tells you to cut out beer                 Find a new doctor

15. Can’t decide between cans or bottles of same beer       Buy both

16. Michelob Ultra is the only beer available    Buy Coca-Cola

17. Blizzard prohibits driving to liquor store       Walk there instead

18. Too long a line at beer festivals                  Look for a shorter line

19. Not enough porta-johns at a beer festival          Find a tree

20. You lose your love of beer                           See a psychiatrist

Hopefully, these handy tips will ensure a trouble free, happy life for beer lovers.

                                                      Cheers!

                                                Dan 

"When St. Peter sees him coming, he'll leave the gates ajar; for he knows he's served his hell on earth as theman behind the bar". My late, great friend, Charlie Cybulski, long time professional bartender at Newark's Treat Restaurant and Union's Swiss Chalet (formerly Walton's Union Tap Room) never tired of quoting those lines from a poem by unknown author Hasty Peter.

Hours of searching the web found no information as to the identity of Mr. Peter, but evidently Charlie thought he had hit a home run with his poetic tribute to the noble profession of bartending.  Mr. Peter's epic, "The Man Behind the Bar" can be found in its entirety at the end of this article. Any reader familiar with Rudyard Kipling will easily see that the creator of Gunga Din must have had an influence on the writings of Mr. Peter).

Charlie was one of the great ones, always personable, immaculately groomed and ever attentive to the empty glass. He was from the old school in that he believed strongly that bartenders should always wear ties, long sleeved shirts and vests while behind the taps. If one happened to be a regular, most often your drink was in place in front of your usual stool as soon as you came through the front door. Charlie occasionally used corny old bartender jokes to amuse the patrons, one of which caught me the first time I saw it, and feeling foolish at the time, I was vindicated later when I witnessed dozens of other newcomers fall for the same gag.

Charlie would make sure all glasses were full before he'd announce to those within earshot, "I'll be right back...I'm just going downstairs to tap a new keg". Then he would start at one end the bar, and walking with knees ever more bent, would appear to descend an nseen flight of stairs with less and less of his body visible until his head completely disappeared at the opposite end. Many drinkers would rise off their stools and crane their necks in order to get a glimpse of the hidden staircase, only to see sixty year old Charlie squatting on his haunches and laughing like hell.

Charlie also had the usual gripes about absentee management, drunken patrons and penurious tippers. His biggest complaint was that after forty years of tending bar in "nice" places," a twenty one year girl with big boobs and no brains can earn more tips in an hour than I can in a night".

Another of the good guys was Heinz Muller, for manyyears the head man at the Spaeter Club in Union, and also a subscr iber to the tie and vest bartender attire theory. Heinz was either extremely smart or very forgetful because after downing several steins of imported German beer the amazed regular often found himself with nineteen dollars change out of twenty. On the other hand he was either very stupid or very loyal because after being pistol whipped by two robbers who emptied the cash drawer shortly after closing time, his first call was to Gerhard, the owner who lived upstairs. When Gerhard came down to find the till empty and his bartender bleeding, Heinz handed him a roll of bills and said "Here boss...I managed to save the twenties".

The first bartender I ever dealt with on a regular basis was the late Harvey Gillespie, Sunday night man at the Rahway Inn. He was the first because he didn't believe in making his friends wait until twenty one before enjoying Pabst Blue Ribbon, usually served with a wink and the statement "this is with the owner"!

Jeff Levine, my current "man behind the bar" at the Gaslight, can't possibly have my drink ready before I'm seated because with the dozen or so excellent house brews and guest beers available I never know what I want without a little thought. Jeff however comes very close to that level of service when he shakes my hand while holding an empty "cocked" pint in his left and looks me in the eye with bated breath as he awaits my decision. If something is running particularly well such as Thursday night freshly tapped cask conditioned ale, in hushed tones he'll reverently suggest "have the cask....it's good". A good bartender in a beer place absolutely must know and love beer. Jeff does both!

There are always a few bad innkeepers to deal with. One in particular was right here in Union. About twenty five

years ago , when the craft beer movement was in its infancy, a local pub, which no longer operates and shall

remain nameless, took an ad in the local weekly paper which said something to the effect of "Who is the Ale Man?" (borrowing a line from 1960's Ballantine advertising), an informing readers that "ale men" could find  Pete's Wicked, Sierra Nevada, Guiness, Sam Adams Boston Ale and a couple of others on tap. It sounded good to me so one Saturday night I ventured into this tavern which I had previously avoided because of the crowd, filth and lack of decent beer.

I ordered a Pete's, which tasted fine but noticed that neither the clientele nor the cleanliness has changed along with the taps. The grossly over endowed barmaid, who was eating chicken wings behind the bar, asked me  if I'd like another. After I requested a Sierra Nevada, she wiped her greasy fingers on her T-shirt and actually stuck three fingers inside my glass. With her thumb pinching the outside, she carried it to the tap tower to be refilled. I was out the door before she turned around. So much for Charlie's theory of big boobs generating large tips. Maybe she used the Sierra for a finger bowl!

Another long gone (no wonder) Union pub was the perfect example of an "old man's bar". It was a few doors down from the bank where my new bride worked and I stopped for what I thought was to be a quick beer while waiting to pick her up at quitting time. walking in, I saw no patrons and what to me at the time was an old man (late fifties?) watching an afternoon  soap on TV. Taking a seat and checking out the taps I decided on a Rheingold and waited patiently for "mein host" to acknowledge my presence. I coughed, shuffled my barstool around, lit a cigarette, dropped my keys on the floor, drummed fingers on the bar and did everything short of leaping over the Bar and making off with the cash register (not that there would have been anything in it). Finally, I called loudly, "Excuse me! Can I get a

beer?" To which this gracious host replied "As soon as the program's over". Must have been a hell of a happy hour.

I've cited a few of the "good" and a couple of the "bad". Time for the "ugly". Midway between the home I had just bought and the apartment we were renting a few blocks away stood the Cabin Grill, a shot and beer joint offering nothing that interested me except proximity and Ballantine Ale on tap.

Each night after work I'd go to my new house and slave away, cleaning, painting and making it livable after having been vacant for three years. And each night I'd stop at the Cabin to have a growler filled with Ballantine to enjoy at home. This nightly growler was filled by a nondescript bartender who was neither particularly friendly nor particularly unpleasant. He was just "there" filling my growler. He did have , however, a small growth over his left eye which appeared to be more than just a mole, and which each night seemed to be larger. After a couple a months it was enormous, almost entirely covering the eye. At that point I'd had enough of the Cabin. I couldn't enjoy the ale after charting the daily progress of the tumor and with all sympathy to the unfortunate man, I couldn't believe that anybody would want to be served with that huge thing staring them right in the face.  

Some time later I felt like a draught Ballantine and stopped in . A new man was behind the bar and I inquired as to where the other guy was, and was asked "you remember that thing on his head?..well...it killed him!"

Thus ends this little discourse on dealing with bartenders. Check below for Hasty Peter's saga of how bartenders deal with us.

Cheers!

DAN

====================

  The Man Behind the Bar

 You have read in song and story of the man behind the gun,   

How he battled for Old Glory and the victories that he won                              

 Oh the rattle of the battle was but music to his ears,                                         

 And we hail him as a hero and welcome him with cheers.

 We also sing the praises of the man behind the plow,                                    

 For we can't live without him, that's a fact we must allow.                

But there's one whose praises I would sing, and sing them near and far,                 

 He's the hero of all heroes, is The Man Behind the Bar.

Now the man behind the gun I know has done some wondrous deeds     

And so hast the man behind the plow who sows those wondrous seeds.              

Each in his own peculiar way has served his country well                                    

But each expects to get his pay for what he has to sell.

  The soldier gets his pension and the plowman gets his due                             

 And neither ever knows or cares who pays the revenue.                                     

 But when the country needs a coin to carry on  a war,                                            

 They always put a tax on The Man Behind the Bar.

 He must pay the highest license, he must pay the highest rent,                   

He must settle with the agents though they don't take in a cent.                         

And when it comes to paying bills, he's Johnny on the spot.                                  

He'll pay for what he sells you whether you pay him or not.

 Yet the preacher in the pulpit and the lecturer in the hall                                   

Will tell you that the churches are against him one and all.                                

But when the church decides to hold a raffle or bazaar,                                      

They start in selling tickets to The Man Behind the Bar.

  And when you walk into his place, he greets you with a smile                       

 Be you worker dressed in overalls or banker dressed in style.                      

Be you Irish, English, Dutch or French, it doesn't matter what                                 

He'll trust you like a gentleman unless you prove you're not.

 He  must listen to all arguments that happen in his place,                                       

And he shows no partiality for any creed or race.                                     

The bunch outside can knock the King, or Kaiser or the Czar                                

 But he has to be neutral, does The Man Behind the Bar.

  It matters not the aches and pains and hardships he endures                 

He doesn't tell you all his troubles, though you can always tell him yours              

And if the weather's hot or cold or turns from rain to snow                                     

 It's up to you to tell him so, he ain't supposed to know.

 Should he sit down to read the news, some fool with half a bag                            

Pulls up a chair beside him and begins to chew the rag                           

 Though Job, they say had patience, a more patient man by far                          

Then Job could ever hope to be is the Man Behind the Bar.

  He deserves a hero's medal for the many lives he's saved                             

 And upon the wall of honor his name should be engraved                              

He deserves a lot of credit  for the way he stands the strain                         

And all the bull he has to swallow would drive most of us insane

 Yet the time will come when he must shuffle off this mortal world                        

Hang up his coat and apron, on this earth no more to toil                             

 When St. Peter sees him coming, he'll leave the gates ajar                     

For he knows he's served his hell on earth as The Man Behind the Bar!

                                                                   Hasty Peter 

Beer Paradise

by Dan Hodge

Unlike a Muslim terrorist who envisions Paradise as a place where he will get to sample the favors of seventy two virgins after he blows himself up, a beer enthusiast can equate Paradise to a place where he can sample more than seventy two new, untried beers and remain living in order to seek out still more.

For those of us in New Jersey, Beer Paradise can easily be defined as Central New York, specifically the Finger Lakes region, usually noted only for it’s wineries. For a beer lover who doesn’t want to waste money on airfare or drive thousands of miles up and down the east coast in search of new brews, Beer Paradise is only a couple of hours and a tank or two of gas away. Depending on whether he’s driving a “Smart” car or a Ford Expedition). There are literally hundreds of breweries in this famous wine area.

My wife expressed a desire to celebrate her 65th birthday by renting a lakeside bungalow on Seneca Lake,

largest of the Finger Lakes. Thanks to the Internet and Air B&B, one was found at a reasonable price for the week we wanted. And so, on a Saturday morning we set out in her new Beetle convertible to begin a week of touring, wine tasting and brewery visiting.

Our first stop in Oswego, NY, eliminated the need for an immediate second stop for lunch. The Farmhouse

Brewery tasting room in downtown Owego (the brewery is actually several miles away) offered not only flights of their dozen or so available beers, but also free hot dogs and snacks to tide us over until we reached Watkins Glen at the foot of Seneca Lake and home of Roosterfish Brewery, where another flight or two was sampled.

A trip to the local Walmart to stock up on provisions for the week ahead enabled me to procure my least expensive and favorite acquisition of the trip. After driving three hours in an open convertible, I needed a cap to deflect the rays of the sun, my Ballantine IPA cap having been forgotten in the coat closet when packing for the trip. A patriotic display of caps in the Walmart caught my eye, and being an ex- jarhead (are there really any EX-marines?), I fell in love with a cap that proclaimed “US Marine Corps Veteran” with the eagle, globe and anchor logo on the front, “Proudly Served” on the bill and “Semper Fidelis” on the adjustable strap at the rear. I say least expensive, because it only cost $5.99, but even that cost was defrayed. Later that evening, in the Scale House Brewery, while having a flight of Scale House brews with the hat proudly displayed on my head, a man came up to me, shook my hand and said “Thank you for your service. Can I buy you a pint?” This scenario was repeated a few days later at the Bandwagon Brewery. I

never took advantage of the GI Bill, VA loans or VA hospitals, so finally I’m beginning to reap the benefits of my Marine Corps service. With free pints a possibility, the hat rarely comes off my head.

With all the breweries nearby, I had planned on growler fills for my beer needs while in the cabin, but it’s a little tough to bob around in an inner tube on the lake with a pint glass, so I picked up a couple of twelve packs of cans at the Walmart, one of which was Pabst Blue Ribbon, which, in addition to accompanying the lawnmower, is a perfect “inner tube beer”. The other twelver was a sampler pack of four different Trouble Brewing Company beers from Rochester. My daughter, who was down from Buffalo for the weekend, looked them up and discovered that they are a product of the Genesee company, brewed as a house brand for Walmart, and that some misguided fool was suing Walmart for having marketed them as “craft” beer. What a jerk! The twelve pack cost something like $12.47.and all four tasted pretty good. A lawsuit because he was misled? Give me a break! If he didn’t like them he could have simply poured them out and redeemed the empty cans for sixty cents, or better yet, donated them full to an appreciative, homeless wino.

 One day we drove to Auburn for lunch at the Prison City Brewpub. Auburn is also home to Auburn Prison, site of the world’s first electrocution in 1889, and boasts Swabby’s Pub, current (no pun intended) home of the very electric chair in which that execution was carried out. After an excellent outdoor lunch at Prison City (I especially liked the Lockdown Brown Ale, served both on tap and cask conditioned), we walked around the corner to Swabby’s only to find out it doesn’t open until 4:00pm, so I wasn’t able to view the furniture in which William Kemmler drew his last breath this time around. But many more trips to Beer Paradise are planned, and a stop to look at Old Sparky will be on the agenda.

The Finger Lakes Brewing company in Hammond- sport has a huge collection of growlers from other breweries. I wondered out loud to my wife if there were any from Jersey. I grabbed my pint, walked over to one of the walls where the growlers were displayed and was astonished that the first one I saw was from my “local”, The Gaslight, in South Orange. Small world.

The Wagner Valley Brewery and Winery, probably the largest in the region, makes the best beer. I liked every one I tried, although I must admit I didn’t try the sours. If this nouveau style ever becomes the only style available, I’ll give up drinking beer forever.

 Beer Paradise even offers a venue for those who won’t drink anything but cask ale. Beerocracy, tasting room for the Seneca Lake Brewing Company in Rock Spring, on the western shore of Seneca, serves nothing BUT English style cask conditioned ales. The Cranley’s Old Ale was my favorite.

The only drawback to the trip was made worse by the fact that we had planned for it to be the highlight, a “last night” dinner in Watkins Glen at Captain Bill’s Restaurant, a vastly overpriced and terribly staffed place at the foot of Seneca Lake. The food was just passable (or terrible, if the price is taken into consideration), the ambiance of swatting at gnats at the outdoor table where no ceiling fan or any other type of repellent was provided was horrendous, and the long wait for pint replenishment was intolerable. A drink order was taken when we sat down and twenty minutes later the drinks arrived and our order was taken. After about a half hour the entrees arrived, and my pint being empty and

unnoticed for twenty minutes, I immediately ordered another. That one arrived ten minutes after we had taken our last forkful and 874 dead gnats later. I sent it back, even though by this time I was dying of thirst. Thankfully, the Roosterfish brewery is almost directly across the street.

 I hate to end this article on a sour note, so I’ll relate an as yet not mentioned VERY positive aspect of Beer Paradise. For those beer lovers like me who are married to wine tasting beer haters, many of the wineries offer taps of local brews for antsy husbands waiting for their wives to complete their tastings and practically ALL of the breweries have local wines available for wives who don’t want to sit idly by while their husbands sample flights.

 A trip to the Finger Lakes Beer Paradise should be on every hophead’s bucket list.

                                         Session Beers

                                          by Dan Hodge

Musicians have their “jam sessions” at which they demonstrate their improvisational skills to a live audience, and singers have their “recording sessions” so their talents can be preserved for anyone to listen to at any time. Various organizations have “am” and “pm” sessions to accommodate as many people as possible to whatever it is they are doing, and elected representatives have their “legislative sessions”, which usually result in further erosion of liberties for formerly free Americans. We beer lovers have our own sessions which serve no purpose other than advancement of our own pleasure and enjoyment. I refer, of course, to the drinking of “session beer”, without too much concern

for “hop character”, “nose”, drinking vessel or any of the other variables usually connected with the beer geek’s evaluation of the beer in hand.

The usual reason for where the term session beers came from is that during World War One in England pubs were only allowed to open from 11:00 am to 3:00 pm and again from 7:00 pm to 11:00 pm at which time the dreaded “Time Gentlemen” was announced by the publican. The resulting two short sessions therefore created a need for beers that could be quaffed rapidly. Rapid consumption of beers that were too strong would result in rapid intoxication, so English pubs regularly served milds and bitters which were no more than three or four per cent alcohol, allowing for the consumption of many pints without getting sloshed.

Today’s session beers are usually defined as less that 5% and noted beer writer Lew Bryson writes of a session

beer project at which no beer served exceeded 4.5%.

Session beers have relatively the same definition for me, but with some extra qualifications. First, the beer must taste good. The low in alcohol description is not enough to satisfy my thirst for a session beer, thereby eliminating virtually all “lite” beers, low calorie beers, “ultra” beers and other such watery slop, devoid of taste.

Michelob Ultra, therefore, is definitely NOT a session beer in my book despite it having 4.2% ABV,, but Guinness Draught Stout, also low in alcohol, definitely is. About a year ago I tasted a beer at The Ship Inn, a wonderful English style brewpub in Milford, NJ. Their Farmhouse Ale was listed at less than 4% but was full bodied and flavorful, literally a beer “you could drink all day”. The Gaslight’s Prince of Darkness, although the name implies something stronger and mysterious, is a beer of similar quality and drinkability.

My second qualification is that the beer must not have any residual effects (headache or hangover). Most mass

marketed American beers, while usually not exceeding 5%, are not necessarily session beers to me because I

find that downing  them in quantity results in a session headache, although I don’t seem to have the problem

with Straub’s or Yuengling.

After a parade in Tamaqua, Pennsylvania a few years ago our Mummers Aqua String Band was invited back to the local firehouse where several kegs of fresh Yuengling Premium were on tap. We stood around for quite a while

with the firemen drinking “Ying Yangs” (as they called it) with no loss of faculties or ensuing headache. A great

session beer!.

Lastly, in order to be classified as a session beer, a beer must be just plain old beer! No lambics, oak-aged chocolate porter, vanilla stout or any other flavored beer, whether 5% or not. Such beers are enjoyable one at a time, but I defy anyone to drink a sixpack of Saranac Maple Porter, for example, in one session. It would be like drinking a couple pints of maple syrup, neat!

While I believe that America now produces most of the best beers in the world, too many American micrbreweries are trying to outdo each other with “double”, “triple” and even “quadruple” IPAs, “Imperial” lagers and other styles with a high alcoholic content. Samuel Adams even has an Imperial Wit. Witbier is supposed to be light and refreshing, ala Hoegaarden. Who need the alcohol content to be spiked”?

It’s not uncommon to walk into a beer bar, find a dozen tap handles and only one or two session beers available. The rest are taken up by 8.1%, 10% and even 12% beers, seriously limiting the amount one can sample and still get safely home. They may be great craft brews to taste and rate, but who wants to actually spend an evening DRINKING them? Give me a real session beer any day. This is one area in which European brewers leave America in the dust. The real ale of Great Britain and the everyday beers of Germany or the Czech Republic are great session beers.

The only thing “Imperial” about most British beer is the Imperial pint glass, allowing for 25% more drinkable beer with each pour than the American counterpart. Germany’s masskrugs and other oversized glassware are perfectly suitable for serving the oceans of pils, helles, and dunkel popular in biergardens and brauhauses. Spending an evening drinking beer at long tables and listening to the oompahs definitely calls for a session beer. After a couple of masskrugs of Golden Monkey or Brooklyn Chocolate stout the beer lover wouldn’t know whether he was in a brauhaus or an outhouse.

To be sure , there is a time and a place for enjoying such beer, but forced to decide between one or the other, I’ll take the session beer every time! 

Cheers!

Dan

Celebrating 66 With 66 On 66!

by Dan Hodge

To celebrate her 66th birthday, my wife thought of the idea of renting a car and getting our “kicks” by driving on old Route 66. We looked at the map and decided that the section of the “Mother Road” between St. Louis and Albuquerque would be perfect for the week we had to spare. I embellished the idea by thinking I could add 66 new beers to my log while traversing 66.

Before we left I started looking up breweries at which to stop and discovered such websites as “The Ten Best Breweries in Springfield, Missouri” which generated questions in my mind like “10 best?”, “How many are there?” and “What about the ten worst”.

At any rate, with information like that at the ready, we flew to St. Louis to begin our journey, and as an added benefit, picked up brew #1, GOOSE ISLAND NEXT COAST IPA, aboard the plane. This turned out to be the least expensive beer of the trip because the credit card machine was inoperative. Observing this, I slyly popped the top on the can while the flight attendant was fooling around with the card reader lest she ask for it back. They don’t accept cash and she was benevolent: I got the can on the house.

After arrival in St. Louis we went to pick up our reserved SUV and discovered that the rental company had a brand new (only 900 miles on it) Mustang convertible available for a couple of hundred dollars more. I thought “why not do 66 in style?” and agreed to the upgrade, a wise choice since the weather for the next week looked perfect and there’s no way to summon up pre-interstate appreciation of America than by seeing it in an open ragtop.

We checked into our hotel to freshen up before heading to dinner at the Urban Chestnut brewpub, a German beer hall type pub which ultimately became my favorite of the trip. #’s 2, 3, and 4, ZWICKEL BAVARIAN LAGER, BEARTHDAY BOCK, and OXNBRAU DOPPEL- BOCK perfectly complimented the bratwurst and kraut I had for dinner. I picked up a 4 pack of #5: URBAN CHESTNUT DORFBIER BAVARIAN DUNKEL to take back to the hotel.

We arose early the next morning and , after breakfast, made the mandatory stop at the St. Louis Gateway

Arch. I hadn’t been there since 1970 when I played a few tunes under it with the Quantico Marine Band and

remembered nothing except that it was very big. It was a warm day with some oppressive St. Louis humidity, so I was elated when walking back to the car we found the Morgan Street Brewpub, with it’s pleasant outdoor tables, only fifty yards away. Their MAIBOCK, BLACK BEAR LAGER, MARZEN, RIVER OTTER PALE ALE, GOLDEN PILS, and HONEY WHEAT became #’s 6 through 11 of my 66 beer quest.

The Route 66 trip then started in earnest as we headed southwest and passed the St. James Winery in St.

James, Missouri. I wasn’t the only person making the trip so a stop was made to slake my wife’s thirst with

gratis tastings of six of their twenty or so available wines. How convenient that directly next door, sharing

the same parking lot, was the Public House Brewing Company. I wasn’t about to get that close without

popping in so #’s 12 through 17, ROB’S CREAM ALE, BIRD and BABY MILD, HIDE and SEEK HEFEWEIZEN,

FRISCO 1501 AMBER LAGER, ELUSIVE IPA, and LEVEL 2 Fall Risk Imperial IPA went down the hatch.

Old Route 66 seemed to disappear , so we hopped onto I-44 to Springfield, Missouri and dinner at the

Springfield Brewing Company. PAUL’S PALE ALE, GREENE GHOST IPA, WALNUT STREET WHEAT, CLOVE

HITCH HEFEWEIZEN, BULL CREEL BROWN ALE, and MEX-y-CALI COPPER ALE  became #’s 18 through 23. A

little better than a third of the way to 66 on day two!

After breakfast the next morning we did a mandatory touristy stop for photo ops at the World’s Largest Fork. I figured if Clark W. Griswold can entertain his family by traveling a hundred miles out of his way to view the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, the least I could do was stop at the fork, which was right on the way to that evening’s destination in Tulsa, Oklahoma. This was the most interesting part of the ride, since so many relics of old 66 still remain.

We stopped at an old Sinclair station at which the pumps displayed the price of 23.9 cents per gallon,

probably the accurate price for the ’48 Ford sedan that as parked at them. A ’46 Nash police car, a ’53

Packard, a Model A Ford, an old Studebaker truck, and several other automotive examples of Americana were parked around the property. Vintage Coca Cola machines, Mail Pouch tobacco and Burma Shave signs

added to the decor. The proprietor took notice of my Marine Corps veteran cap and turned out to be a former Marine sergeant himself. When my wife asked the price of a Route 66 pin she wanted to buy he said “No charge-from one sarge to another…Semper Fi”.

A few miles up the road we came across a relic leftover from the days after the repeal of prohibition. On a vine covered cement block building you could just make outthe faded lettering “We have 5% beer”, apparently a 1930’s big beer after so many years of prohibition followed by 3.2% suds.

Continuing on the old “Ghost” part of 66, we went through Joplin, Missouri, then Mickey Mantle’s home- town of Commerce, Oklahoma, which looked exactly like I imagine it did in 1935. The next town we

passed through was Miami, Oklahoma which only a day or so before had been completely under water. It was depressing to smell the water logged air and mud and see the streets full of people’s ruined possessions, but spirits picked up when we found a roadside table to refresh with a glass of wine and #24, BOULEVARD PALE ALE.

We got a beautiful room in a Holiday Inn Express in Tulsa, had a dip in the hot tub (GOTTA get one of those

things) and went to dinner at the Bricktown Brewery there brews # 25 through 31 were added. OLD KING

KOLSCH, (love that name!), BLUEBERRY ALE, WILEY’S ONE EYED WHEAT, MILLIE MAC FADDEN’S RED RYE

ALE, THREE GUARDSMEN IPA, SINGLE STRING STOUT and a guest beer, SANTA FE HAPPY CAMPER IPA, served in a can, made the list. The house beers were average to even good, about what you’d expect from a chain, which I later found out Bricktown is, with fourteen locations throughout Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas.

The next morning we headed for Oklahoma City and a very moving stop at the Murrah Building Memorial. The main theme of the memorial is row upon row of iron chairs, positioned where each of the 168 people who died in the 1995 bombing were at the time of the blast. When I questioned the park ranger about why some of the chairs were smaller, he said they represented the 19 children who died in the day care center that was part of the building.

After that sobering experience we stopped at the Anthem Brewery for #’s 32, 33, 34 and 35. THE RED

KIND SAISON, RAD HOMBRE LAGER, OK PILS, and IPA made up a flight I thought I might never get. There

were only two other patrons, two girls who couldn’t make up their minds about which beers to order on

their flights. They kept saying “may I have a taste of the coconut saison?”, which the bartender would dutifully pour, and they’d sniff, swish around in their glasses and their mouths before making a negative decision and asking for another taste of something different. At one point, the mango pale ale or some other such concoction kicked, forcing the bartender to disappear while he went in search of another keg. Remember, these agonizing decisions  were only for a flight, not a pint, and I was sitting there beerless for what seemed like a half hour while all of this played out. Finally, their eight beers were selected and poured, allowing the man behind the bar to turn his attention to me. I said “just give me the first four on the board”, downed them and was out the door in less than two minutes, while the girls were still sniffing and swishing.

We stopped at a table by a lake to have the leftovers from the previous night’s brewpub and #36 ANTHEM

RYE’D or DIPA, a canned version of the brewery’s double IPA. Arriving in Shamrock, Texas , we checked

into another Holiday Inn Express before heading into the only venue in town for having dinner, Big Vern’s

Steakhouse. As the name would indicate, Big Vern’s features mostly steaks, but the specialty of the house is Texas Fried Calf Fries, a dish we did not opt for. Some call them mountain oysters and some call them fried balls, but whatever you call them they’re still testicles. I had a gigantic glass of #38, Shiner Bock and a bottle of   #39, Lone Star, which would have been a perfect beer for pairing with Texas testicles had we ordered them.

An early start the next morning brought us to our next destination, Amarillo, which, when arriving from old 66, makes Route 1 in Elizabeth look like a tropical paradise. Although we paid a few hundred extra for a convertible, we seriously thought about putting up the roof and locking the doors. This was definitely not a nice looking part of town. However, we eventually made it to downtown and a light lunch at the Six Car Brewery, so named for the #6 streetcar line that once ran in front of the building in which the brewery is located. The lunch was accompanied by #’s 40 through 44, MAKE CHOICES IPA, SUD PUDDLES KOLSCH, THUNDER BOCK, STONED WHEAT HEFEWEIZEN, and LOCAL AMERICAN LAGER.  

On the road to our final destination we stopped in Santa Rosa, New Mexico. The desk clerk at the Hampton Inn informed us that “Joseph’s” was really the only place in town to get dinner and drinks so it was off to Joseph’s, which offered #’s 45, 46 and 47, RED DOOR VANILLA CREAM ALE (terrible), LaCUMBRE ELEVATED IPA, and a bottle of ABBEY BIG MONK’S ALE. Abbey beer comes from a monastery in Albuquerque, which sadly, no longer admits the public to tour and sample its excellent brews because the crowds distracted the brothers from their monastic life. Another dip in the hotel’s hot tub reminded me again that I’ve gotta get one of those things!

The next day we noticed signs for “pre 1937 old 66”, which led us to Santa Fe even though it was out of the

way to Albuquerque. I’ve previously written about our beer experiences in Santa Fe so I’ll not say too much

more except that a stop at the Noisy Waters wine bar enabled me to have #48, LaCUMBRE SLICE of HEFFEN HEFEWEIZEN while my wife sampled and left her undrinkable sweet berry wine. We had lunch at the Blue Corn Cafe, downtown outlet for the Blue Corn Brewery, located on the outskirts of the city and which we had visited some years ago. The Southwestern taco lunch was accompanied by #’s 49 through 54, ATOMIC

 BLONDE LAGER, 40K HONEY WHEAT, ROADRUNNER IPA, END OF THE TRAIL BROWN ALE, GOLD MEDAL

OATMEAL STOUT, and GATEKEEPER IPA, all good but not particularly noteworthy beers, except for the stout, which, as the name implies, won two gold medals at the GABF.

The drive to our final destination took us through Bernalillo, New Mexico, home of the Bosque Brewpub

which brought my quest for 66 on 66 up to sixty. The BOSQUE LAGER, SCOTIA SCOTCH ALE, IPA, BREWER’S BOOT AMBER LAGER, SUMMER IN HALLERTAU PALE ALE, and PISTOL PETE’S 1888th ALE were all excellent and true to style.

We arrived in Albuquerque with me six shy of my 66 on 66, and dinner at my second favorite brewery of the trip, the Quarter Celtic Brewpub, afforded only a four beer flight. #61, an IPA was excellent, #62, a HELLES was even better, #63 a MARZEN was also excellent as was #64 COAXIUM IPA. I explained to the waiter about my quest for 66 on 66 , told him I was up to 64, with no days to go, and he brought me two flight sized pours of #65, DORTMUNDER and #66, CRIMSON LASS RED ALE (outstanding).

Success was achieved: #66 0n Route 66 only 6 hours before our scheduled flight back to Newark. (The

standby flight to Denver and standby connection to Newark went off without a hitch, enabling me to make

my regular Thursday night stop at the Gaslight for a couple of new additions to the log. But that’s another

story.)

Cheers!

Dan

Beer Inanities:

Myths, Misconceptions, Misinformation  and General Stupidity about Beer 

by Dan Hodge

Since the birth of the microbrew revolution beer has been steadily achieving rightful recognition as a beverage worthy of the same homage paid to wine. Craft brewers, with their seasonal offerings and resurrected styles, have created an awareness that beer is much more than Bud, Miller and Coors, even among those who don’t share our love of the beverage. Food and drink sections in newspapers, regional magazines and even the electronic media frequently feature articles on pairing food and beer and styles of beer to match a particular occasion.

But all the positive press about beer also results in excellent examples of the old adage “a little knowledge is a dangerousthing”. Some people read the occasional piece about beer and immediately fancy themselves mavens on the subject, passing along misinformation and perpetuating myths.

One of the biggest beer myths, and one which never seems to go away, is the misconception that breweries clean their  equipment in the spring and, using the residue left from the cleaning process and the previous year’s brewing, create bock beer. One man I met at a party INSISTED that this is true, supported by the information that his brother-in-law’s neighbor’s father, who had worked a summer job at Ballantine’s in the early sixties, told him so. He even informed me that it was called “buck” beer (he didn’t even get the name right) and that it sold for a dollar a case because of the lower cost of the ingredients. Would this then indicate that doppelbock (double bock in English) meant the mash tuns were cleaned twice and that the resulting brew sold for two dollars a case? Most bock beers are actually brewed in the fall and lagered for several months until spring, when this fuller bodied “liquid bread” sustained monks during their Lenten fasts. Since they made it themselves, they didn’t even have to pony up a dollar a case.

Many folks who are out of the beer loop observe a pint of Guinness and remark “I could never drink something like that.It’s too heavy and too strong”, furthering the myth that dark beer is stronger than light beer. This fallacy is fairly easy todispel by means of a drinking contest. The logistics are simple: a dozen pints of draught Guinness for the knowledgeable beer fan and maybe four bottles of Baltika Extra Nine or Victory Golden Monkey for the believer that darker is stronger. At the sound of the gun start downing the beers and see who hits the deck first. Light wins every time!

A similar delusion is that “ale” is stronger than “beer” (with no acknowledgement that ale IS beer), an idea continued by ignorant lawmakers in some states that require malt beverages above a certain alcohol level to be labeled as “ale”, apparently without a clue that the difference between ales and lagers has nothing whatsoever to do with the alcoholic content of either. Another testimony to the stupidity of some of those who call themselves our leaders.

Not long ago I attended a dinner at which the usual insipid bottles of Bud and Coor’s Light were all that was offered.

Never being one to let my feelings go unannounced, I remarked to a co-worker that I wished real beer were available. She responded by asking what beer I liked best. Obviously hard to answer, this was a question akin to asking a democrat politician what kind of voter he’d rather pander to. Far too many choices. But without thinking, I replied with the statement “maybe a Guinness” which she immediately corrected by informing me that Guinness isn’t beer, it’s stout.I tried to explain that stout is merely a style of beer, but she shot me down with the indefensible argument that she should know because she was of Irish extraction and Guinness has it’s roots in Dublin. Sure….and being partly English I’m practically on a first name basis with Prince Charles. “Hey Charlie, what say we knock back a few pints at the George and Dragon this weekend?”

The subject of stout reminds me of last March when, seated at the bar of a pub in Massachusetts , I witnessed a thirsty fellow who, apparently after reading somewhere that Guinness is an appropriate drink for St. Patrick’s Day, ordere done. Only he pronounced it “Gweeness”, positive proof of his beer expertise.

California Common is a style of beer most often enjoyed by homebrewers trying to duplicate Anchor Steam beer of San Francisco , to my knowledge was the last commercial brewery to make the stuff. Displaying no knowledge of the style orbrewing process, a man once explained to me that he’d never try Anchor Steam because he didn’t like “hot” beer.

Ignorance can sometimes best be demonstrated by the printed word, since the ‘hard copies” can be saved for posterity. Reviews of the Gaslight Brewery on Pubcrawler.com afford two perfect examples of this. One disgruntled person, posting his displeasure after a visit that found eight house brews and four guest beers on tap, a cask conditioned ale on hand pump and at least twenty five bottled varieties available, rated the Beer selection as “so so”. The Gaslight doesn’t sell Anheuser Busch products but maybe if they had offered Michelob Ultra Light his review would have been upgraded to “average”. Another person with a grudge to bear stated with emphasis that the reason he rated the Gaslight beers of poor quality was because they were “obviously brewed with yeast”.  Duh….I guess the reason I didn’t like last night’s spaghetti was because it wa s“ obviously made with pasta”.

Stupid questions are not to be ignored in this discussion of beer inanities. When I tell people I’m a homebrewer some

people respond with the query “Does it taste any good?”, to which I usually give the sarcastic response “No! I spend thirtyor forty dollars on ingredients, three or four hours brewing and cleaning equipment (maybe if I only cleaned once a year I could make buck beer and lower my initial cost) and another hour or so bottling the fruits of my labors because I’m attempting to make something that tastes like hell and that nobody would want to drink.” The proprietor of the Gaslight informs me that he has been asked this question hundreds of times by patrons who are oblivious to the fact that they have entered a brewpub.

In beer discussions over the years several people have told me about Ballantine’s “Indian” ale, evidently a reference to the great but no longer brewed Ballantine IPA or India Pale Ale. The Paper City Brewery of Holyoke, Massachusetts helps to perpetuate this misnomer by calling their IPA “Indian Pale Ale” which features a picture of an old Indian motorcycle on the label.

The biggest beer myth of all is one promoted by the temperance crowd which decries beer as being bad for you, when in fact most studies concur that beer in moderation, especially darker beers, is good for you. So, I think I’ll do my constitution some good and go have a beer.

Cheers,  

Dan 

BEERS TO YOUR HEALTH

by Dan Hodge

Rheinheitsgebot, the German purity law defining water, hops, malt, and yeast as the only ingredients to be

used in the brewing of beer, was written by lawmakers who must have had the health of the German

population in mind. Even today we are urged to drink eight glasses of water daily, and sleep on pillows stuffed with hops in order to clear the sinuses. There’s no question that barley malt is a tonic and magazine ads in the 1930’s were advising readers to eat several cakes of Fleischmann’s yeast a day in order to regulate the bowels. In addition, the most commonly used brewing adjuncts, corn, rice and various fruits all promote good nutrition. It would stand to reason, therefore, that the health benefits of those individual ingredients would extend to the conglomeration of them all: BEER!

In the nineteenth century, noted brewer and third President, Thomas Jefferson, is quoted: “beer, if drunk in moderation, softens the temper, cheers the spirit, and promotes health”. In the twenty first century, studies have shown that beer, which contains no fat or cholesterol, decreases the chance of blood clots, promotes higher levels of HDL ( “good” cholesterol), and reduces stress. (But we really don’t need a study to prove that. Anyone who has undergone a stressful day at work already knows that a few cold ones are second to none at helping one to unwind.

Beer is an excellent source of vitamin B6, and in moderation reduces the risk of stroke, heart attack and vascular disease. The positive effects of beer consumption are especially important to the elderly. Several publications have alluded to the sleep-inducing quality of beer for senior citizens, and adults over 65 who drink six beers a week have a much lower risk of dementia, although it must be noted that six beers a day might well cause the senior citizen to act demented if he doesn’t react to the sedative aspect of beer and fall asleep in mid-sentence. The same study, which found that beer improves blood vessel dilation, also reported that beer is invaluable in promoting urination for older people, although personal experience has determined that this positive is not limited to seniors, as evidenced by the long lines of twenty and thirty year- olds for the men’s room at beer festivals.

Hopped malt extract, which is beer minus the water and yeast was promoted unabashedly by brewers, not only or it’s restorative powers, but, with prohibition looming, also because with the addition of water and

yeast could be used for home brewing. According to it’s advertising, Rheingold’s Teutonic Malt Extract contained “a greater amount of nutritious matter than any other and was heartily recommended for convalescents, nursing mothers, insomniacs and sufferers of dyspepsia. Schlitz malt extract also offered relief from those disorders, but included “nervous instability” and “stomach troubles in it’s curative promises. Pabst advertising from the late nineteenth century was inspirational in it’s efforts to sell Pabst Malt Extract.

An ad from 1896 advised that by taking PME “you will drop off to restful slumber the minute your head touches the pillow…….it brings strength, quiets the nerves, rounds the form, and builds, braces and lifts the body and brain from weakness to power…gives youthful vigor…to win back your health Take PME, which is vivifying, and gives vim and bounce” .In October of 1905, Mr. and Mrs. F.T. Allen of Salem, Ohio, sent a photo of their eleven month old son to Pabst with a note on the back: ”This baby has been nourished by Pabst since birth and we consider it invaluable to nursing mothers”.

Malt extract aside, the real thing was heavily promoted as healthful in pre-prohibition ads. Weidenmayer’s brewery of Newark hyped it’s product as a digestive aid in an ad which featured a stocking-capped toddler on a chamber pot grinning like Jon Corzine after dreaming up a new tax, saying “I drank George Weidenmayer’s beer”. The next photo showed the same kid grimacing like Chuck Schumer after finding out there wasn’t a TV camera within 500 miles. The kid says “I didn’t”. Beer…better than Ex-lax.

The German-American Brewing Company of Buffalo called their Maltosia brand “the pure food beer”, and Park Brewing of Providence claimed that their product was “clean and pure”. Philadelphia ’s Hohenadel was acclaimed as “the health beer” and Gowdy’s was “the medicated beer”. Beadleston and Woerz Imperial Beer was “healthful, invigorating and refreshing and should be considered for it’s digestive properties. Because of it’s proximity to Waukesha Imperial Spring, Waukesha Brewing’s product was called “Imperial Health Beer”, similar to Harvard Brewing Company’s beer being touted as “America’s Health Beverage” (sold in dining cars, steamships and first class grocers).

New Jersey ’s own Peter Doelger, proud brewer of “First Prize Beer” was hailed (by them) as “A pure beer for the whole family(toddlers included?), a natural food product, every drop laden with body building, healthful food substances”. Doelger’s was certified as “veritable bottled energy, absolutely free from germ life”. Not quite so verbose were the Mueller Brothers of Owassa, Michigan whose embossed bottles simply stated that their beer contained no drugs or poison.

Both Greenway’s IPA of Syracuse and Muhlenberg Beer of Reading were recommended by leading physicians, one of whom must have been Charles H. Porter, M.D., who, in testifying to the quality of the beers brewed by Albany’s McKnight’s Brewing, was quoted as saying “…as such I can confidently recommend it to the public as an agreeable beverage and to physicians as a desirable article for medicinal use”. My kind of doctor!

If, after all the restorative, digestive, preventative and curative  qualities of beer had failed and one found himself ill enough to be hospitalized, Alexian Brothers’ Hospital of Elizabeth , N.J. was the place to be for beer lovers. This medical facility had a brewery in the basement, headed by brewmaster Karl Feichter, which produced 600 gallons of beer every three weeks.

According to Donna Dahl, (for her prompt response to my request for information, she’s definitely a doll), Director of Alexian Brothers provincial archives, the German order of monks who ran the hospital produced this beer for their own consumption and also for the patients, who, if their doctors gave the nod, were served beer with lunch and dinner. Mostly because of religious tradition but possibly because of the healthful properties of beer, the Federal Government granted permission to the brothers to keep brewing all during prohibition. (Surprising that Al Capone, Dutch Schultz, Joe Kennedy and the like didn’t just open up hospitals and staff them with monks!)

The brewery also produced bock beer in the spring and an interesting note is that this brewery, which operated until 1949, used water from it’s own well and also supplied water to the commercial Rising Sun Brewery a couple of blocks away. According to Brewmaster Feichter, he made better beer than Rising Sun, accounting for the  Alexian  Brothers’ brewery outlasting the former by eleven years.

I’d better stop here. I feel a little dyspepsia coming on and my home brewed doppelbock sounds like exactly the right remedy. Beers to your health!

Cheers,

Dan

Crazy Eddie Isn’t the Only One Whose Prices Are Insane!

by Dan Hodge

During the 1970’s and ‘80s, TV watchers in the metropolitan area were subjected to what seemed like endless commercials featuring DJ Jerry Carroll playing the part of Crazy Eddie, screaming “Crazy Eddie’s Prices Are INSANE!. Eddie was actually Eddie Antar, a businessman who used many fraudulent practices to undercut his competition in selling electronics equipment. Eventually, his schemes were exposed and he wound up fleeing the country before he was extradited to the US and brought to justice.

  I hadn’t thought about Crazy Eddie in years but a recent trip to Total Wine to restock my beer fridge triggered my memory. While perusing the aisles of craft beer I soon discovered  their prices are also INSANE. I realize that Bidenflation has much to do with the extremely high cost of craft brew and certainly “Shrinkflation” (most craft beers are now sold in 4 packs rather than 6 packs) contributes to the problem, but I think greed might have something to do with it. For example, why can excellent German beers, brewed 5000 miles away, transported on ships to America and then go through the ridiculous “three tier system” where everybody has to take a cut, be sold in 6 packs for considerably less money than some craft beers brewed less than 20 miles away?

I saw shelves of NJ craft beers holding many four packs of various styles for prices ranging as high as $22. The average was probably in the $14 to $16 range. The shelves of individual bottles held scores of varieties as high as $6.95 for a 12 ounce bottle (or $84/6pack). But right across the aisle, Warsteiner, Hofbrau, Paulaner,Hacker-Pschorr and Bitburger could be had for $11/ 6pack or less. Of course, another aisle had the “everyday” beers like Yuengling Premium for $16.99/case and Pabst Blue Ribbon for $19/30pack.

Craft beer has priced itself out of existence for me. Why in hell should I pay more than bar prices for beer that I might not like or even hate that I will drink at home? At least in a tavern or brewery I can have a taste of a beer to determine if I want it before actually ordering one. Buying a 4/pack does not offer that benefit. In addition, there will be no ambience or interesting conversation when popping the top of a $5 can of brew at my kitchen table.

 So, I’m done with craft brew. I don’t include Sierra Nevada, Sam Adams, Yards, Troeg’s or other well established, larger craft breweries in that statement that still offer great beer at fair prices, but most of the startups are now off my shopping list.

One might think that the INSANE prices of smaller craft breweries will be the end of smaller craft beers, but because most of it is bought by “nouveau” beer drinkers who cheerfully wait in long lines to pay exorbitant prices for things like “Sour Apple, Maple Walnut Infused Nutmeg Imperial Stout”, they will probably survive for at least a few more years. This is because the “nouveau” drinkers  do not understand and perhaps have never even seen MONEY. Many do not even use credit cards. Their whole lives are conducted by and dependent on their cellphones, so they just (hopefully) pay their bills at the end of the month without a clue as to how much they spent on what.

But for those of us REAL beer drinkers, who still prefer REAL beer and don’t want to spend an INSANE amount of money, I have a solution: Use a large glass and blend a can of an $18 6/pack with a can from an $18/case of Yuengling Premium and enjoy the best of both worlds! (See “Beer MY Way” article ‘That’s a Stretch”)

Cheers,

Dan

Beer And The Young At Heart

by Dan Hodge

Note: This article requires a little disclaimer. In no way am I promoting nor do I advocate underage drinking, however it does occur and when nobody gets hurt some of the occasions are funny.  

That being said, personal experience is the best way to start. Being exposed to the draft and a possible trip to Viet Nam caused my first flagrant violation of New Jersey’s minimum drinking age of 21. New York’s Staten Island with its much more sensible 18 minimum was only ashort hop over the Outerbridge Crossing and thus weekly trips to quench our thirst helped to ease my and my friends’ angst over the uncertain future ahead.

But the love of beer did not always require a trip to Staten Island. Perpetually seated on a curb at the rear

of our own local liquor store was “Mooch”, an elderly wino ostensibly paid a meager stipend to keep the

parking lot clean and who, for a pint of Night Train or the equivalent, would enter the store and purchase our six packs of Pabst. Nobody in the store ever questioned why on weekends he’d sometimes buy as many as a dozen or more six-packs (as well as his daily two or three pints of Night Train).

In 1966 my mummers band was engaged to perform on a whistle stop train ride for the unsuccessful US Senate campaign of Warren Wilentz. Each car on the train was provisioned with large coolers of Ballantine Beer, XXX Ale, Ballantine Real Draft and Ballantine Bock. Nobody was doing much supervising (imagine that today!) so those of us who had not yet reached legal age could help ourselves to any amount of Ballantine we wanted.

However, being conscientious musicians, we had to police ourselves in order to execute a respectable

performance, but saw no reason why all that Ballantine should just lie there getting cold only to be gobbled up by the train cleaning crew. So when the gig was over we detrained with our instruments in one hand and our “empty” instrument cases in the other. It’s quite a struggle to climb down off a train with a baritone sax hanging off your neck and trying to carry a baritone sax case full of full Ballantine cans but we managed and nobody wondered or cared why we didn’t just encase the instruments beforehand. That train ride saved a couple of trips to Staten Island but prevented Mooch from earning several bottles of Night Train!

My mother-in-law once took her Brownie troop to visit the Iroquois Brewery in Buffalo, certainly a change from visiting a barnyard or other usual Brownie destinations. That excursion didn’t include a stop at the tasting room, but closer to home another class trip did that and more.

Some years ago I read an account in the Star-Ledger of an incident in Lakewood, New Jersey, home to a huge Hassidic Jewish community. It seems that a debating team from the local Yeshiva had won their debate and as a reward, their bus driver, himself a Hassidic rabbi, thought it a splendid idea to stop the bus, pop into a liquor store and buy several cases of Rheingold to show his appreciation for their debating skills. They’d have gotten away with it, too, if the victorious debaters hadn’t started throwing the empty cans out of the bus windows. Oy Vey!

During our first visit to Munich’s Hofbrauhaus, my wife and I were astounded to find a group of high schoolers sitting next to us and going over their homework while downing mass steins of maibock. Lucky for them Germany’s beer drinking age is a liberal 16. Staten Island would be a hell of a trip!

Behind the house in Colonia where I grew up is “the creek”, a small stream where many dams were built,

many frogs were caught, and many feet were soaked and frozen when we stepped on too thin ice. It was also a place where my father would occasionally throw bundles of twigs or leaves during yard clean up. While doing so one day, a glint of something shiny caught his eye, and brushing away some leaves and undergrowth, he discovered two brand new sixpacks of Schaefer party bottles.

I know they weren’t mine (I was over twenty one by that time anyway and had no need to hide them near

 a creek), but to this day none of my three younger brothers has claimed ownership. However, later that

evening their mouths must have been watering as the watched Pop sitting at the picnic table and enjoying a few Schaefers in place of his usual Iron City.

Previous Beer My Way articles have made reference to the healthful aspects of Wiedenmayer’s beer, but their late nineteenth century advertising is worth repeating as a testimony to beer and the young at heart. The print ad showed a picture of a toddler seated on a chamber pot , grinning happily, and saying “I drank George Wiedenmayer’s beer”. I’m certain that MADD would have something to say about such an ad in 2024.

Only now that they’re in their thirties and now that Farcher’s Grove, our local watering hole has long been

closed can I relate my experience of stopping in after work and after ordering a Hacker-Pschorr Oktoberfest, and having the bartender tell me “this one’s on the guys at the end of the bar”. Raising my glass in that direction to say thanks, I found myself looking at my neighbors’ kids, who were about seventeen at the time. Did I rat them out? Did I tell their fathers? Did I decline their

offer?  NO! I did none of those things. I did what barroom etiquette demands. I bought them a round in

return.

Not too far from Farcher’s and also long gone was a tavern that did a huge Sunday morning business. As an

added inducement to stop in they even kept copies of local church bulletins on the bar so that thirsty

husbands could bring proof of church attendance home to their doubting wives.

One Sunday, a friend of mine, feeling a bit of religious zeal and with skeptical admiration from his wife, decided to take his three year old son “to church”. Armed with a bulletin from St. Anne’s, he returned home and would have pulled it off if the suspicious wife hadn’t found a stack of Krueger’s coasters in the son’s pocket. He’s still nursing the lump on his head.

That’s it for now. It’s time to go have a pint and peruse the dozens of fake driver’s licenses displayed on the wall of the Gaslight, testimony to the Young at Heart being denied their beer! 

Cheers!

Dan

 "Beer is Only Rented"

..... is a line all beer drinkers have heard in public restrooms, along with "I've got to tap a kidney".  Previous "Beer My Way" articles have all dealt with the culture of beer as it relates to history, music, travel, health and other positive aspects of America's favorite beverage, in addition to its actual ingestion. However, as we all know, ingestion of enough of it soon causes a definite need to relieve oneself and therefore a need for an article about that necessary

requirement of drinking beer.

One of the biggest beer drinking states is Wisconsin, fittingly, home of the world's largest urinal, described in the June 2022 Beer My Way article, "Big Beers". It's prodigious size earns it arightful place in the proud history of New Glarus, but no matter how large it's still only a "single".

The tremendous troughs in the bleachers at the old Polo Grounds accommodated many more Schaefer drinkers than New Glarus' claim to fame could ever hope to. But even those lengthy troughs paled by comparison to the temporary comfort station set up at Broad and Washington for the New Year's Day Philadelphia Mummers Parade that I proudly marched in.

We Mummers like to drink beer and the Mummers Parade lasts from 8am to well after dark, creating a need for such a convenience at the approximate halfway point. But mummers also wear huge feathered backpieces, making the use of porta-johns impractical and which would be too time consuming to remove. Hence the erection of a four sided, roofless, plywood structure with V-shaped troughs on all four sides running downhill into the street. Thus, parade participants were able to unload rented beer without delaying the parade.

Needless to say, even during the glory days of the parade in the 1950's and '60's, there weren't a lot of spectators seated on the curb at Broad and Washington.

Under the bar urinals, the most practical way to tap a kidney, enabled beer drinkers in pre-prohibition Pennsylvania to save time and energy by doing so without leaving the bar. Although I like history and tradition, this is one aspect of beer history I'm glad is gone.

Some tavern owners thoughtfully place the sports pages above the urinals in their men's rooms so their patrons can check out the scores while performing their beer-induced bodily functions. Such thoughtfulness is particularly useful to the sufferer of an enlarged prostate who has not yet discovered Flo-Max!

Another men's room diversion was a little pinwheel in the urinal which, if the kidney tapper had a good aim, would spin and reveal his fortune. Thirty years ago, my little boy loved this attraction at the Dutchman's Brauhaus near Long Beach Island, NJ. The Dutchman's serves a great selection of on tap German beer, which alone is reason enough for

a visit in addition to the outstanding German and Jersey Shore cuisine.

After a day on the beach, my wife and I stopped in last September after a hiatus of almost ten years. I was happy to see that some things never change: the little pinwheels were still there. The reader should know that I had three huge steins of a variety of beers from Germany, but only I know how many times my fortune was told!

Male beer drinkers are not the only sex requiring tapping of the beer-filled kidney. Two examples of distaff beer renters were experienced by my male-only mummers band. This past spring, while on the annual St. Patrick's Day Mummers Pub Crawl, several band members, dodging the line for the men's room, went out into the alley at the rear of the pub on the latest stop, and were immediately greeted by a row of pub-crawling ladies who apparently had the same idea.

And in Dusseldorf, Germany, while waiting for a parade to begin, we were amazed to witness an all girl band emerge from their restroomless bus, squat down, and begin to examine the tires in broad daylight. When ya gotta go...ya

gotta go.

Eliminating rented beer offers a venue for bragging rights, as in the two Texans, who after downing a dozen cans of Lone Star, found themselves peeing over the side of a bridge. One braggart remarked to his buddy "Gawd, that water's sure cold", to which his partner replied "Yeah.... and deep, too!"       

In addition to bragging rights, emptying the bladder of rented beer offers beer drinkers a great opportunity for political commentary. Shortly after September 11th when the French, who have contributed nothing to the betterment of the world since Lafayette, refused to allow our planes in their airspace, craft beer lovers at the Gaslight found replicas of the French flag in the same location as the Dutchman's pinwheels.

That's all for now.....time to tap a kidney!

Cheers

Dan

Accidentally Discovered Treasures

by Dan Hodge

In my quest for the perfect pint I have visited over 350 breweries and brewpubs. Almost always, they were with a definite destination in mind, but occasionally some were discovered purely by accident, sometimes even on the way to a different brewery. That being said, I’d like to expound on a few of those discoveries, their beer, and how they were discovered, with special emphasis on my wife’s eagle eye.

 Most recently she and I were on our way to the Good Nature Brewery in Hamilton, N.Y., when she spotted a sign in the middle of nowhere for the Foothill Brewery and Hop Farm. Naturally, I stopped and sampled the outstanding brews they offered. The brewery is run by a husband and wife team who operated a hop farm, which eventually led to fulfilling his long desire to own a brewery. It’s a very cozy little place with many old local artifacts complementing the decor. Their flagship beer is Kung Fu Ale, and when I asked why, Kate, the very personable wife, related how, when they were getting started and she had made some minor error on the computer, her husband jokingly asked “Kate, you No Good F—- Up! What did you do?” Hence, Kung Fu. The original destination, Good Nature paled by comparison.

  Also in New York State my wife’s superior vision enabled stops at the Lunkenheimer Brewery in Weedsport (LOVE that name), the Battle Hill Brewery in Fort Ann, the Hopshire Brewery in Freeville, the Hothouse Brewery in Cicero, the Stumblin’ Monkey Brewery in Victor, and the Erie Canal Brewery in Canastota, which has been visited many times, since its only a fifteen minute drive from our lake house in Sullivan. All of those places were found by accident on our way to somewhere else, all produce some very good beers and all would have been missed if not for the eagle eye of my wife.

 However, her “nose for brews” is not limited to New York State. With some time to kill before boarding our ship for a river cruise to Normandy, we were walking through Paris to visit the Eiffel Tower. Amazingly, she spotted the Frog XVI Brewery , whose Burton Ale rated five stars on my rating system. If I had to choose just one beer to drink for the rest of my life that one might well be it.

 A very interesting accidental discovery was made by me when our ship docked in Bratislava, Slovakia on a Danube River Christmas Cruise. As my wife was preparing to rest her eagle eyes for a brief nap, I looked across the river and spotted a large barge with a sign hanging over it that said “Pivovar”. Any serious beer man knows that “pivovarl” is Slavic for brewery, so with directions from the cruise director and help from a trolley bus, I managed to cross the river and walk a half mile to the barge. Upon entering, I asked if they did flights, to which the man behind the bar replied “Vas iss dis flights?” I explained that it was to try all three brews they offered. A minute later, three tall glasses were placed in front of me and when they were finished I asked “how much?’, to which the response was “No, you vas only tryink”. Can’t beat that!.

I’m not much for amusement park rides, so I avoid them, especially ones that involve height, so some years ago when the kids were small and we visited Action Park( some called it Traction Park because of the injuries that could be sustained while “enjoying” the rides), I opted to wait for my wife and kids to get off a waterslide, found an empty picnic table and sat down to watch people scraping their knees and elbows and breaking wrists and ankles while riding downhill on a cement runway on what looked like unsteerable creepers. I then noticed off to my left a small building which housed the now defunct Vernon Valley Brewery. A couple of pints greatly enhanced the pleasure watching the medical response team attend to the victims of the “rides”.

 An auto trip on old Route 66 from St. Louis to Albuquerque afforded visits at several accidentally discovered breweries. After visiting the St. Louis Arch and walking back to our car, some recently started street construction forced us to take a slight detour on Morgan Street, allowing us to walk directly in front of the appropriately named Morgan Street Brewery and enjoy a refreshing flight and pint in the sweltering St. Louis heat. Later that afternoon, my wife’s superior vision spotted a winery in St. James, Missouri at which she desired to stop. As a way of thanking her for her excellent brewery scoping vision (she doesn’t drink beer), I ungrudgingly pulled into the winery parking lot, only to find out I was parked directly in front of the Public House Brewery, which shares the lot. She went to the winery. Guess where I went?

 The Route 66 trip also include stops at the 6 Cars Brewery in Amarillo, the Anthem Brewery in Oklahoma City, the Bosque Brewery (Scotia Scotch Ale was memorable), in Bernadillo, New Mexico and the Quarter Celtic Brewpub in Albuquerque. To be honest, the above weren’t exactly discovered accidentally. Rather, they popped up when asking Alexa “Take me to the nearest brewery!”

Traveling around the Finger Lakes of Central New York to find breweries isn’t actually accidental, either. Since there seems to be a brewery every half mile or so, stopping in one or twenty can’t really be called an accident.

But what definitely was an accident , however, was visiting the Central Market House in York, Pennsylvania, where I had spent many happy Saturday mornings with my grandparents, and finding that in addition to the sausages, scrapple, shoe fly pie and other Pennsylvania Dutch goodies, the market now offered the Mud hook Brewery, accessible either from the street or from inside the market house and conveniently located near the rest rooms and a stand featuring cheeses and soft pretzels.

Two of my favorite accidentally discovered breweries are at almost opposite ends of the world from each other. On a trip to the Canadian Rockies we got lost trying to find our hotel in Edmonton, Alberta, so with safety in mind, I pulled into the nearest parking lot to read a map and get our bearings. While my bride was using her superior skills at map reading, I happened to look up and notice that I had parked directly in front of  the front door of Brewster’s Brewpub. As it was now lunch time, the map reading was tabled and we chose to eat there and down a flight or two. There were excellent food and brews to be had,  but what made the stop even better was when she found out I wrote for Beer Nexus.com, the very pleasant manager presented me with a 12 pack sampler of their beers and informed us that we no longer needed the map because our hotel was just around the corner.

 And in Salzburg, Austria, after an exhaustive day-long walking tour around the beautiful city, dog tired, we decided to take a different trolley bus route back to our hotel. I couldn’t wait for a hot shower and clean sheets to rest up for the next day’s Austrian adventure. However, that idea was put on hold when the bus driver announced that we had arrived at the stop closest to our hotel and we should disembark. So we did…..right in front of Kastner Schenke brewpub!

Happening upon a brewery when least expecting it is a great pleasure, and with so many opening right here in New Jersey almost weekly, it’s possible to put the key in the ignition, start driving and find one without trying. Especially if you have a wife, like mine, who has eagle eyes!

Cheers, 

Dan

 Troubleshooting Beer

by Dan Hodge

Recently, I bought a new toaster, and with nothing else to do, I actually started leafing through the little instruction/warranty booklet that came with it. As always, there was a page entitled “Troubleshooting”, providing tips and pointers on how to

solve any problems with the appliance, the first being “toaster does not heat up” and offering the recommended solution “be sure that it’s plugged in”.  Obviously, this would seem like a no-brainer to any sensible person, but upon reflection I realized that probably 50% of the US population would actually NEED that tip in order to have toast for breakfast.

Further evidence of this was the helpful “tip” I read in an article about planning for an auto trip vacation which recommended that the gas tank be full before setting out. Not to be forgotten was the “tip” provided by the booklet for my new snow blower advising me to “don’t put hands into chute or under machine while machine is running”. Without that valuable advisement, one could quickly become fingerless.

With those tips in mind, I realized that with all the beer I’ve consumed in my life, I was never provided with any tips to make make my consumption more pleasurable, other than instructions on how to use a church key on an early Pabst can in my

collection of breweriana. Therefore, I figured that 50% of the population might possibly need assistance in drinking beer and herewith proudly present “Beer My Way’s”  “Troubleshooting Beer Guide”, listing all the problems with and recommended solutions to enjoying a brew.

     PROBLEM                                             SOLUTION

1.   Beer is too cold                                      Let it warm up

2.   Beer is not cold enough                         Put it back in the fridge

3.   Not enough beer                                    Buy or make some more

4.  Too much beer                                        Drink it faster

5.   Can or bottle doesn’t pour properly       Pop the top on the can or remove bottle cap

6.  Home-brew is  under carbonated            Mix it 50/50 with Michelob Ultra Light

7.  Home-brew is over carbonated             Make container as cold as possible, stand it in a sanitize pail and open

8. Local brewpub makes bad beer                Don’t go there

9. Local brewpub makes great beer             Go there often

10. Closest brewpub is too far                      Move closer.

      from home                                               

11. Case of beer is too heavy to carry           Buy 12 packs.

    to carry                                                

12. 12 Pack is too heavy too carry                 Buy 6 packs,                                 

13. Prohibition makes a comeback                 Learn to home-brew

14. Doctor tells you to cut out beer                 Find a new doctor

15. Can’t decide between cans

    or bottles of same beer                               Buy both

16. Michelob Ultra is the only beer available    Buy Coca-Cola

17. Blizzard prohibits driving to liquor store       Walk there instead

18. Too long a line at beer festivals                  Look for a shorter line

19. Not enough porta-johns at a beer featival   Find a ttree

20. You lose your love of beer                           See a psychiatrist

Hopefully, these handy tips will ensure a trouble free, happy life for beer lovers. 

Cheers!

Dan

"The Local Taproom"

by Dan Hodge

A disappearing entity in our fast changing New Jersey suburban climate is the neighborhood tap room. What was once a mainstay of the city and inner suburban landscape is being replaced by chains catering to the after work crowd with "drink specials", impersonal barmaids in short shorts, and menus with pictures on them.

The drinking establishments that are still locally owned and operated have, for the most part, become "sports bars", with 27 televisions turned to 16 different games, all competing for attention with the juke box, which is usually played at a decibel level exceeding that of a 747's engines during run up.

Both of these types of saloons offer the usual "variety" of draught beers such as "Nocarb Bud Lite Ice Draft ", which are served in a mug so encrusted with ice as to completely obliterate whatever minimal taste they might have once had. A beer lover's delight these places certainly are not. The relatively recent appearance of brewpubs and "beer bars" have somewhat offset the absence of local taverns, but they are too rare to solve the problem of having a couple brews and still being able to efficiently get home .

While the traditional neighborhood bar was not exactly a beer fan's heaven, there was something very pleasant about sitting in its dim , cool atmosphere, sipping a Piel's or Rheingold from the standard seven ounce glass, watching the Mets or Yanks(certainly not BOTH) and being able to request a refill in a normal tone of voice from the bartender at the far end of the bar.

In my neighborhood we had Farcher's Grove, which offered even more. While not exactly a neighborhood tap room, it was a "tap room for the neighborhood". In addition to the bar, it was home to several German American clubs, and offered a catering hall, picnic grove and soccer field. But the bar itself had all the attributes of a local and more.

Upon entering ,you were immediately greeted with the smell of bratwurst and old sauerkraut left over from the previous night's "Fest". There was always an excuse for a fest at Farcher's: Oktoberfest, Springfest, Holiday fest and Fest for no particular reason. As you seated yourself at the bar a secondary aroma assaulted the nostrils as someone emerged from the men's room: the unmistakable scent of stale beer and mothballs piled into the floor length urinals. When the olfactory senses were sufficiently stimulated you checked out the tap handles and happily realized you

weren't goig to be forced to chose from Bud or Coor's Light, because Farcher's had Dortmunder, Beck's, one or two other German lagers, Paulaner Weissbier and  on tap all year round.

You made your selection and here the real fun began. Since the bartenders were older Teutonic men who didn't look particularly good in short shorts and tight tank tops, they had to rely on a more time-honored method of generating tips: giving away the owner's beer. It was sometimes possible to lay a twenty on the bar, drink three or four glasses of great German beer and find that you still had $18.50 remaining from which to leave your gratuity. The business was

owned by fifty or so members of something called the Elizabeth Sports Club, who, according to the bartenders, were so busy stealing from each other, they didn't notice how much the employees were stealing from them. Bad for them, good for the thirsty patron!

Some of these losses were recouped by the"Youth Movement". Other taverns in the area ignored a whole marketing strategy that Farcher's took advantage of, that being the sale of beer to minors. Whereas some bars serve underage patrons in uniform and justify it  by saying "If he's old enough to fight for his country, he's old enough to drink in my bar", it seemed as though sometimes Farcher's took the attitude that "If he's good enough to get a "B" in Social

Studies, he's good enough to get a beer in here"!

One  promotion at Farcher's stands out in my memory. To increase the sale of Paulaner Weissbier, the product was poured into beautiful, traditional German weissbier glasses bearing the Paulaner logo and a gold rim around the lip. Taking lessons from the bartenders, the customers began to steal them in great numbers. To cut down on the thefts, the management began to require a three dollar deposit for a glass of this frothy stuff, but also offered them for sale at ten dollars per. Even though stealing them now cost three dollars, an astute drinker could easily determine that by doing so he could save himself seven dollars off the purchase price!

Unfortunately such shenanigans eventually contributed to the demise of this great institution. Even though a plastics factory now occupies the site, a little piece remains close to me physically. A few days before it was bulldozed, I ventured into the picnic grove, dug out all the hostas and rhododendrons I could find and transplanted them into my yard where all summer long they remind me of a great neighborhood stop. Sometimes, when the atmospheric

conditions are just right, I can still hear the oompahs! 

CHEERS!

Dan

“Don We Now Our Beer Apparel" 

by Dan Hodge

In addition to drinking it, beer lovers can evaluate it, read and write about it, attend festivals and tastings,

sing about it, watch movies about it and collect all sorts of beer related items and advertising. This month I’d like to devote a little space to another possibility for beer fans: wearing it!

Basically there are two types of beer duds: apparel made strictly for advertising purposes and clothing that

serves the practical purpose of aiding one in his consumption of the beverage. The former is a more

evident usage so we’ll start with articles of clothing that we see almost every day.

Perhaps the most common is the beer T-shirt, promoting almost any brand of beer imaginable, from

Alaskan Amber to Zywiec Polish beer. When bought at a novelty clothing store or brewery gift shop they can usually be purchased with the proper fit in mind but when given away, as most are, at a beer promotional event, they are invariably distributed only in “X large”, possibly because the brewery rep wants to help recipients to hide their beer bellies. This is not an attractive offer for a slightly built girl of tiny stature, but if she dons the free shirt she creates another article of beer clothing, the Beer Tent!

Next on the most commonly seen list are beer hats of several kinds. Baseball caps displaying the Brooklyn

lager or Bud logo are seen everywhere but generally one must attend a beer event to see other specialty pieces of beer headgear such as the combination knitwear and flattened beer can watch cap or the large and boxy helmet style made from empty 12 pack cartons. Both of these fashion statements are available on line, the last at the bargain basement price of $20 plus $7.9shipping and handling.

To properly clothe the opposite end of the anatomy from the head we have beer shoes, again offering

footwear for any occasion from canvas tennis shoes with a Pabst Blue Ribbon logo for casual wear, to the

high end ladies’ dress shoe featuring spike heels fashioned to look like upside down tall neck bottles for

really dressy occasions.

A variation on this exquisite design is the “pilsner glass complete with head” spike heel, particularly popular at the annual banquet of dedicated Walmart shoppers. Beer socks, both generic and brand specific, for

everyday use and stockings for the spike heels with a small beer glass pattern are available for those wishing to complete the lower half of the beer ensemble.

Beer walking shorts, beer lounging pants, beer pajamas and beer dresses advertising brands or just generic

cans ,bottles and glasses are nice additions to a beer wardrobe and serve to put the rest of the world on

notice that a beer lover is passing by.

Fourth floor! This floor for men’s undergarments and ladies’ lingerie! No male beer geek should be without at least one pair of beer boxer shorts, (I have three, thanks to my kids and Father’s Day) and certainly a

must for the distaff malt beverage fan is the beer thong proclaiming “I’m Here for the Beer….Beer Goddess!”.

Also for the ladies, a more modest beer nightie makes for a restful night’s sleep and, for the gents, “A” shirts, more commonly referred to as “wife beaters” or “Guinea T’s” can be had with either beer logos or inane questions like “Where’s my Beer Bitch?”

To complete any outfit, accessories are always necessary and here again, the beer geek has numerous

options. Belts, ties, tie pins and clasps promoting various beers are practical indeed. Nothing like a Miller

High Life belt to hold up your Budweiser walk shorts or a Yuengling tie clasp to keep your Genny Cream tie in place. Beer watches and sunglasses are other practical examples of beer promos.

Jewelry is not to be forgotten. One website offers over 3000 styles of beer cuff links. I am partial to the tiny Red Stripe beer bottle earrings I found on another.

If it gets chilly, beer windbreakers, scarves, hoodies and sweatshirts help to keep out the cold. My Buffalo lager sweatshirt is perfect for raking leaves but my “Brew Crew” hoodie with my Molson scarf is more appropriate for shoveling snow. And it’s never too early to start appreciating beer. Beer themed “onesies” are perfect for keeping infants warm and toasty.

The above wardrobe items, while attractive and practical do nothing to enhance the drinking of beer, so it’s on to the most USEFUL applications of beer dress.

Previous” Beer My Way” articles have made reference to The Drinking Hat, a piece of headgear holding two cans with a tube extending to the mouth allowing for gravity fed, hands free drinking from the top of one’s head. Optional accessories for this hat are the beer holster, holding one to six reserve cans, worn around the waist, or the twelve can “ammo pack”, worn over the shoulder like an infantryman’s bandolier of extra bullets. The Drinking Hat itself may be purchased “no frills” or , for an extra charge, with a built in electric sign that enables the wearer to express his opinion on the beer or anything else at all, similar to the destination sign on a bus. For those unfortunates who don’t own a Drinking Hat and have to use their hands, the wearing of beer gloves keeps the beer cold and the hands warm.

An appropriate item for Halloween is a beer keg costume with a working tap helmet and pump. I only

saw this interesting piece of apparel on line so I can’t testify as to whether or not it actually works, but if it

does, why would a beer enthusiast need any other clothing?

As practical as is the keg costume, so is the beer bra which turns any A cup into a double D and dispenses

beer by means of a tap and spigot. I haven’t seen this in operation either, but I imagine that as the beer flows, the double Ds would revert back to As, causing anyone appreciating the cleavage to stare in wonder as it disappears.

While some refer to beer koozies as “beer condoms”, they’re not really worn and so shouldn’t be mentioned

here. But what occasionally IS worn is a REAL beer condom. I have in my collection of breweriana a Rogue

Dead Guy Ale condom. The name seems like kind of an anomaly, though, since “Dead Guy” is an entirely inappropriate name for those occasions when the condom might actually be worn!

But that’s enough for now. A glance at my Pabst Blue Ribbon watch tells me it’s time to don my Yuengling windbreaker and depart for band rehearsal 

A Guy Walks Into A Bar  

by Dan Hodge

Thousands of the world’s funniest jokes have started with that line. The guy may walk in alone or he may be accompanied by a horse, a midget, an alligator or a duck, but whether solo or with friend he always makes for a good story. However, you don’t need a joke to relate barroom shenanigans because the real

characters and events that are everyday occurrences in the local taproom provide far more laughs than the

manufactured jokes.

Having spent more than an hour or two soaking up the ambiance and suds in local taverns , I’ve seen

some things and met some characters that back up this argument and would like to share a few with  

readers of “Beer My Way”.

The nicknames of pub patrons rival the colorful names given to Mafiosi in originality and appropriateness.

Over the years I’ve shared brews with such UNfamous people as Tommy Tow Truck, Chris the Cabdriver,

Sudsy, The U-Boat Commander, the Rebel, Bulldozer Freddie and the "Perfessor" (Not to be confused with

Professor John Sweeney of Seton Hall and piping fame. This prof was so named because he knew everything there was to know about anything and always made sure his drinking companions were aware of this). Allhad real names but were never referred to by them.

The nicknames  are catchy and descriptive but not only nicknames make for a good character. Often a

barroom regular will have a little idiosyncrasy that sets him apart from the rest of the drinking field. I have

seen people bark, fall off their barstools, weep and wail, talk to the TV as well as to patrons and bartenders who are unwilling to listen, and finally, in an unsuccessful attempt to attract an audience, to themselves. One guy, who used to frequent Farcher’s Grove, a famous watering hole in Union , NJ , would have whole arguments with himself, taking first one side, then the other, and never quite settling thedispute. Oblivious to the jukebox, bands, ballgames or normal two party conversations, the debate would go on night after night, fueled by shots of Jagermeister for the “pro” side and steins of Dortmunder for the “con”. Although Farcher’s has been gone these last eleven years, I’m sure the  argument still rages in a replacement pub!

The Clam Broth House in Hoboken, NJ, featured a bar which offered free clam broth, clamshells all over the

floor, and huge steins of Ruppert Knickerbocker beer , allowed no barstools and, until the mid 1970s, NO

WOMEN! The crowd was eclectic to say the least. One could belly up to the bar between a corporation lawyer on one side, a longshoreman on the other and a winoaround the bend. While enjoying a Knick one late afternoon, an Ivy League, preppy looking young lad came in, stood around looking confused before he

caught the  bartender’s eye and asked for a glass ofwater, to the astonishment of “mein host”, who responded to the request by saying “What the hell do you think this is? The public park? Have a beer!”

Another by-gone Union pub, The Spaeter Club, was a home away from home for German expatriates and

featured the inimitable Heinz Muller behind the bar who’d march around the huge circular bar to a recording of “Alte Kammaraden” rendered by the Third Panzer Division Band roaring out of the juke. One regularwore white turtleneck sweaters under his double breasted Navy blazer, and with his neatly trimmed

goatee and close cropped pate, looked exactly like his nickname, The U-Boat Commander. The Commander

was rather fond of the good old days in the Fatherlandand let everyone within earshot know it. According to

him anything German, including any mass produced German lager, was infinitely superior to anything

American, including the best craft brewed American microbrews.  He’d have no problem getting Mother

Teresa and the Pope to be at each other’s throats in no time!

Keeping with the Teutonic theme I am reminded of one of my own experiences walking into a bar. After an

overnight red eye flight with my Mummers band to Luxembourg and a visit to General Patton’s grave, we

finally arrived dog-tired at our quaint hotel in Rudesheim , Germany on the Rhine river. Most of our entourage collapsed into the comfortable accommodations to rest up for our scheduled Fasching celebration parades throughout the Rhineland . But not me!! I thought to myself,” I didn’t come to Germany to sleep. I want local color”. Ziggy, a German born Philadelphian who was our translator on the trip and who could quaff unbelievable amounts of Bitburger, had advised us prior to departure on the proper etiquette in German saloons: correct glass for brand and style of beer, keeping track of downed beers on the back of coasters and most importantly to always order two beers at a time.

The German insistence on order and being precise demanded that the beer must exactly correspond to the line on the glass with the head forming above that. Since this requires a time delay, the two at a time is a

great way to stave off future thirst. Armed with this information, I set out to find a suitable Gasthaus and

after a short walk found one that looked promising and which could have been taken from the pages of a

German travel magazine: leaded glass windows, ancient arched oak door, and painted hop vines on the

stucco front.

I could picture an elderly, portly man named Hans behind the bar, just waiting to pour me two steins of

Bischoff’s, the local pils, to be enjoyed whiled listening to the oompahs. With eager anticipation I pushed

open the door and entered while thinking “I’m getting a leg up on my resting companions. I’m gonna see the REAL Germany before they do!”. I eased up to the barand had my dreams dashed when I observed the

innkeeper wearing a kilt and T-shirt that proclaimed “Drink Guinness”. I had wandered into the local Irish

pub. The only thing missing was Crosby on the jukebox.

Closer to home, two great barroom stories have been handed down to me by my father and grandfather,

both dealing with Rudy’s, a small bar in Newark’s Vailsburg section run by a Mrs. Posdech, who my

grandfather insisted upon calling  “Mrs. Poopdeck”. From the the 1940s through the mid 1960s the annual

“Miss Rheingold Contest” was a high point in metropolitan area tavern life. At one point the number of votes cast for Miss Rheingold were surpassed only by the numbers cast for President of the United States.

Customers could vote for their favorite as often as they wished at any establishment that sold Rheingold.

One of the regulars in Rudy’s was Mary Duffy, a local gal who liked her Rheingold. In fact she liked it so

much that another regular thought it would be a spectacular idea to initiate a write-in campaign for Mrs.

Duffy, an idea greeted with much enthusiasm by the rest of the patrons.

Happily the Rheingolds went down as the ballot box was stuffed, and though  Mary did not become Miss

Rheingold of 1951, an honor bestowed upon Elise Gammon, she did garner more votes than Miss Gammon in Rudy’s, one of the larger polling precincts!

Also a fixture at Rudy’s was “Hooley” , a diminutive Irishman who sustained life on a diet of shots and beers and who had an unequalled talent to instigate fights when he was in his cups, which was usually

twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Never actually getting into the brawls, he would sit quietly in

his starched collar and tie and start them. One snowy evening, as Hooley was being particularly obnoxious,

my father stopped in and was asked by Mrs. Poopdeck if he would be so kind as to drive him home. (In her

words, “Please get him the hell out of here”).

After a brief protest Hooley acquiesced to my father’s offer of a ride, and wipers blasting snow off the

windshield, my father proceeded west on Mt. Vernon Place about five blocks to the corner of Reynolds Place, where Hooley lived. Pop dropped him off on the corner and instead of turning around, he turned north intothe one-way Reynolds Place for two blocks before turning east on Woodbine Avenue for five blocks and then heading two blocks south on one-way KerriganBoulevard in order to return to his parking spot on Mt. Vernon Place, in front of Rudy’s and headed in thedirection of home.

Unbeknownst to him, Hooley, after disembarking from the car, saw a golden opportunity and quickly boarded the #54 Public Service bus, heading east on Mt. Vernon Place and thus was able to beat Pop back by about four blocks worth of time. My father reentered, anticipating a couple of freebies from Mrs. Poopdeck for his services, only to find Hooley, seated on hisusual stool, arguing over the recent Eisenhower- Stevenson election campaign. That evening Hooley didn’t hit the bricks until closing time, my father having chalked one up to experience and Mrs. Poopdeck having waved the white flag of surrender!

Walking into a bar can provide some tremendous laughs, but so can walking out. Some of those I’ll save for a later column. 

Cheers, 

Dan

“Leaving on a Bad Note" 

by Dan Hodge

“A guy walks into a bar”…..the opening line of a thousand jokes. But for the thousands who walk in,

there’s never a mention of those who eventually must walk (or crawl) back out, so I’d like to devote a little

space to leaving a bar.

Most responsible beer folk and drinkers of other adult beverages usually just pay their tabs, make their goodbyes and leave the premises as if they were exiting a bakery, drugstore or any other business enterprise. But leaving a tavern is not always done in such a routine manner. Indeed, over indulgence in the products offered sometimes make for far more dramatic exits.

Every old western always showed someone leaving a saloon by being punched through the swinging doors or

front window, but one need not return to the glory days of the Old West to observe such athletic departures. On

my first return to Buffalo, NY after my marriage to celebrate Thanksgiving with her family, my new wife and I decided to take an early morning walk around her old neighborhood, heavily blue-collar working class and Polish, with one or two tap rooms on every corner. As we were passing by the appropriately named Stash’s Bar & Grill we were almost hit by the flying body of a third shift foundry worker who had stopped for a few boilermakers after work on the beautiful holiday morn. He was propelled by a large man wearing an apron who could only be Stash, himself, and who was issuing the command “Ged the @#%$!%$ oud an dunt gom beck no more”.

An even better example of the bum’s rush occurred at my 1980’s local, The Swiss Chalet. When an arrogant

patron decided to vent his displeasure at being “cut off” by throwing his change at gentlemanly bartender Charley Cybulski.  Sixty year old Charley vaulted over the bar, grabbed the coin tosser by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants and forcibly ushered him out the door to the sidewalk where the tipsy fool unwisely decided to fight back, forcing Charley to kick him to the ground. As I was attempting to pull Charley off the unhappy evictee, two other regulars pulled up directly in front of the action on the sidewalk and seeingCharley engaged in fisticuffs rather than tending bar, without so much as batting an eyelash, said “Looks like we’ll have to wait a while for our first beer”.

One leaving a bar doesn’t always have to be propelled by the innkeeper in order to land on the sidewalk. A former Gaslight (my local in South Orange, NJ) regular used the sidewalk as a landing strip after too many “Tom Specials” and after missing the three front steps upon leaving the vestibule. He didn’t lose an inordinate amount of blood, but what he did lose was about 80 proof.

A bit more speed and sobriety are required for another way of “leaving on a bad note”: running out on one’s tab, or even worse, running out on one’s tab with your neighbor’s change. Innkeepers have superior memories so this particular exit can never be used more than once in any one tavern.

Occasionally, due to over indulgence or a more serious medical problem a patron may leave the bar on a stretcher, surrounded by EMTs and tubes. Not a good way to leave , but certainly better than leaving in a body bag as has been happening lately in a nearby city. A bad way for ambulatory drinkers to leave is in handcuffs.

Again in Buffalo, after my wife’s school reunion at a posh country club some of her old classmates suggested traveling back to their old neighborhood and stopping at Casey’s Bar & Grill. It was a sultry summer night and evidently this caused some tempers to flare. While we enjoying pitchers of Old Vienna in the back room, several of the locals in the front open bar area began to argue and fight. I was fascinated that in the two hours we were there the police were summoned no less than three times and at least four debaters were escorted to the station house in handcuffs via a paddy wagon.

Way back in the 1970’s I was having a beer in a pub that had a back entrance and front door, similar to the Gaslight. The most interesting bar exit I ever saw happened there. A popular craze in the early seventies was “streaking”, or removing every last stitch of clothing and running through crowds. This sport was very popular with the college crowd. No one saw them enter from the rear, but everybody seated at the bar couldn’t help but notice the stark naked couple as they made their au naturel exit through the front door. They didn’t even stop for a quick brew and that was most likely a good thing. They didn’t appear to have their wallets on them!

Enough about leaving a bar. I much prefer to enter one. So I think I’ll pop over to the Gaslight for a pint of their excellent, not to be missed HJS cask conditioned IPA. 

Beer Stuff 

by Dan Hodge

Drinking beer is a pleasure actively pursued by millions. The “beverage of moderation” has served a valuable purpose in quenching thirst, steadying nerves, inspiring song fests, building up courage, fortifying sides in an argument, and reducing stress, to name a few. (True, there are downsides such as losing driver’s licenses and gaining waistlines, but this an article about the POSITIVE aspects of our favorite drink).

However, while actual consumption of beer is the foremost reason for its existence, the brewing industry has contributed to American culture and nostalgia in many more diverse ways through its advertising strategies. I can think of no other single American product that has so many varied and novel ways to get a company’s name before the public.  

Madison Avenue jingles are the most evident example (Schaefer …is the…one beer to have….when you’re having more than one!, eg.) but many more practical advertising ploys have been used over the years and have generated a whole new cottage industry: the searching for and collection of beer related items, popularly known as “breweriana”.

In addition to the bottles, labels, caps and cans that every beer drinker automatically obtains when he purchases beer to be consumed at home, there are scores of other items which have been used for over a hundred years to promote brewery or brand name recognition: serving trays, glassware, advertising signs , bottle and can openers, foam scrapers, match book covers, articles of clothing and head gear, tip trays, calendars, rulers, coasters and coaster holders, place mats, switch plates, clocks, postcards, lamps, record albums, sports team schedules, swizzle stick holders, statuary, beer koozies, coins, wooden cases, tap handles, and  salt and pepper shakers, all of which had

very practical household uses in addition to keeping the brewer’s name in front of your eyes. Beer truck driver’s

uniform patches, toy trucks and model railroad cars have also proudly displayed the name of a brewing company. Perhaps Rogue Brewing Company outdoes them all by distributing Rogue Ale condoms. Hopefully, the practicality of this item is on a one time only use basis and the brewery’s name is only viewed by two people at a time.

Many breweriana collectors have beautiful collections worth thousands and thousands of dollars and which are worthy of display in museums of American memorabilia. Magazines put out by collectors’ associations feature articles and beautiful pictorials highlighting collectible items of breweriana and histories of the breweries that issued them.

Businesses dealing exclusively in beer antiquity exist both traditionally and on line. Any serious collector can visit an on line breweriana website and find almost anything he wants if he is willing to pay the price, but as the title of this article suggests, the average beer guy is more into beer “stuff”. By this I mean items of a beer related nature that he just finds in his daily routine. Grabbing some new coasters off a bar, finding a Stegmaier stein at a garage sale, tripping over an old Ballantine wooden case while inspecting a basement, or even stuffing promotional literature into a bag while attending a beer festival are wonderful ways to begin a sizeable collection of beer “stuff” that anybody other

than a beer guy would think is merely junk. To be sure, laudable items such as vintage trays and coasters can also be found this way, and the pleasure of doing so is greatly enhanced by the fact that little or nothing was paid for them.

Over the years I have amassed thousands of coasters, labels, caps and cans, and hundreds of openers, trays and glasses for relatively very little outlay and which have given me hours of pleasure organizing, sorting and reminiscing about where I obtained them (always while having a brew, of course).

Recently, another pleasure was giving almost a thousand duplicate coasters away when I realized I had to make room for more. Years ago I had a “beer tray room” in which every square inch of wall space was covered from floor to ceiling with trays that generated reverberating acoustics when the TV was turned up loud. Alas, when more kids came along and the house had to be enlarged, the beer tray room had to go. But every tray was stored away in anticipation of the day when I have the time and wifely approval to begin converting the finished basement into a “beer tray/beer

can/beer glass and beer “stuff” room. Hopefully, this will happen before all my beer stuff goes the way of yesterday’s coffee grounds.

My wife and kids, who share none of the joy I get from my beer stuff, have jokingly assured me that it’ll all follow the coffee grounds within fifteen minutes of arriving home after my funeral. One man’s treasure is another man’s junk and vice versa, so it would behoove any reader who is also into “beer stuff” to follow the obituaries and check out my garbage cans on the next garbage day. And my pleasure would continue as I look down (hopefully) from Beer Heaven and see the joy on the face of a beer stuff collector who discovers a dozen albums of beer labels, neatly alphabetized and sorted, according to country! 

CHEERS!

Dan

   A Revolting Development……   

by Dan Hodge

Beer appreciation column should be about the positive attributes of beer. Mine usually is. There are times , however, when negativity about our favorite subject should be addressed as well, for a variety of reasons.

One extremely important reason is to warn fellow enthusiasts about pitfalls in our eternal struggle to search for the perfect beer. Many an eager brewfan has been tricked into spending seven or eight dollars on what he believes will be an important ingredient to his evening’s relaxation only to discover he has brought home a six pack of skunky, oxidized swill that would make even Dr. Frankenstein recoil in horror. Negative reviews taken seriously may help to prevent such a calamity.

Another important consideration for including unfavorable comments about beer is so that readers who don’t share our love of the malt beverage can readily see that we can be objective, and not just grinning, belching sots who can’t distinguish Brooklyn Chocolate Stout from St. Ide’s Malt Liquor.

Lastly , there are people who nothing about beer but who know much about what is “in” or fashionable. These types cheerfully stock up for their soirees and barbecues with Corona, Budweiser, or Coor’s Light, thinking they’re offering their guests a “choice”. Of course, theses same gracious hosts, if they spot an impossibly expensive display of microbrews, will pick up a case or two to really impress their guests.

Possibly some honest negativity in this column regarding these types of consumption will deter people from forming incorrect opinions about beer that this type of sampling would assuredly cause.

A recent negative experience I had addresses all three of the above scenarios. Over the last several months, in the liquor store I frequent, there was a large display offering cases or six packs of THOMAS

JEFFERSON TAVERN ALE and GEORGE WASHINGTON TAVERN PORTER. An examination of the bottles supplied the information that they are products of the Yards Brewing Company in my favorite city of Philadelphia. A sign above the display proudly proclaimed that these brews were offered at $14.99/six pack or $59.96/case. There are two many other great brews available at half the price, so I passed this “deal”by.

My interest was piqued, however. A visit to the Yards website revealed that these beers were marketed as “Ales of the Revolution”, were based upon recipes from that era and were brewed in October with alcohol contents of 8% and 7% , respectively.

Now my interest was really aroused, but I still balked at the idea of thirteen bucks a six pack. I questioned the proprietor about the sale of individual bottles, to which he responded in the negative. Each week on my trip to the store I’d see that display and notice that neither the stock nor the price had decreased.

Finally, while checking out the stock of individual bottles as I always do, I discovered that the “Ales of the Revolution” had indeed been given a place of honor at $3.75/bottle. Although the price was even greater than the $59/case I figured that I could spend five bucks to try a bottle of each.

I rushed home to put them in my beer refrigerator (every beerfan has a fridge exclusively for beer, no?) to cool while I did some yard work and took a bike ride. Returning home I showered, got out my favorite beer glass, took the “Ales of the Revolution” to the deck and sat down to read Larry McMurtry.

With great anticipation I opened the THOMAS JEFFERSON TAVERN ALE and was immediately reminded of British style French fries, onto which a copious amount of vinegar had been splashed. Only half the bottle could be poured into the glass since the over-carbonation caused a great , frothy head to rise to the top and cascade down the sides and onto the pages of the McMurtry book.

A special bonus of this beer is the “secondary” head! This one came out of the bottle neck like an oil field gusher, and went through the cracks in the picnic table top onto my shoes. Holding the bottle up to the sunset, I noticed what appeared to be snowflakes racing madly around the inside. If the Yards company had had a little more foresight, they could have installed little houses or reindeer in the bottoms of the bottles and marketed this crap as snow globes at Christmas time.

I figured that anything that costs $59/case has tobe good and I probably just got a bad bottle, so I dumped the remainder into the window boxes of imp atiens ( the flowers around the deck seem to thrive on the dregs of last night’s beer bottles) and uncapped the GEORGE WASHINGTON TAVERN PORTER. Unfortunately, ditto, except that due to it’s darker color it was harder to see the snowflakes. The flowers has a good night.

“Ales of the Revolution” is an appropriate slogan because the average drinker would easily be revolted by this awful stuff. I think the Continental Army gave barrels of this slop to the Redcoats, who took a sip, promptly surrendered, and returned to England in search of drinkable ale. The rest is history.

At the 8% alcohol level this beer should last longer than the seven months since it was brewed. I’ve had trouble with Yards beers in the past. Sometimes they’re good, often they’re not drinkable. So unless, like the Pubcrawler reviewers of “Gettysbrew”, you want to see for yourself, RUN…..DON’T WALK, away from any display of “Ales of the Revolution”! 

CHEERS!

Dan

What Goes Around, Comes Around!

by Dan Hodge

 When I first became of age to legally drink beer, there wasn’t much choice. In the New York metropolitan area Rheingold, Ballantine, Knickerbocker, Piels, Schaefer, Krueger, Hensler  and Schmidt’s were  readily available and national brands like Budweiser, Pabst, Miller and Schlitz could be found anywhere, either packaged or on tap. There was a lot of fun to be had traveling to other areas on the East Coast and sampling brews like Ortlieb’s, Yuengling, Stegmaier, Narraganssett and National Bohemian, and all these beers were good, reasonably priced, had marketing ideas and commercials unique to themselves, and offered thousands of possibilities for collectors of breweriana. The most outstanding feature they shared , however, was that THEY ALL TASTED PRETTY MUCH THE SAME, leading to the belief of beer experts that American beer could not compare to the imports from Europe, which usually cost more, but again were pretty much limited to golden lagers, all tasting very similar.

There were brewers who offered more to the American drinker, such as seasonal bock beers and the iconic Ballantine India Pale Ale, but these brews accounted for a mere fraction of a brewery’s income and were completely unknown to the average beer drinker. Then in 1977 the first “craft” brewery, New Albion of Sonoma, California appeared. Although this brewery, under the direction of founder, Jack McAuliffe, only lasted five years, it won many awards and was the inspiration for other early entries into the craft beer market such as Pete Schlossberg’s Wicked ales and Jim Koch’s Samuel Adams brands.

Many beer lovers began to forego the national and regional brands with their rather bland lagers and began to savor the porters, stouts, maibocks, weissbiers, pale ales and IPAs offered by the smaller breweries. Now one didn’t have to drive to Pennsylvania to sample and determine the differences between Koehler’s and Kaier’s (none) , for example. He could just enter his local liquor store and find scores of interesting and widely varied brews that offered a vast difference from the rows of Bud and Miller cases stacked ceiling high in anticipation of a holiday weekend.

Most of the new craft brews were so good that nobody had a “go to” beer any longer. After having a six pack of Sam Adams Boston Ale, he might think that was his “go to” beer until he uncapped the first bottle of Brooklyn IPA, in which case that became his “go to”, and so forth and so on, ad infinitum.

For a couple of decades a serious beer drinker had the equivalent of nirvana, with thousands of small breweries, tasting rooms and brewpubs springing up almost daily. There was no limit to how many different beers he could try. Adding to his euphoria, many local taverns, which previously had two or three taps dispensing Bud , Pabst or Schlitz, now tried to outdo each other with how many tap handles of craft brew they offered. Almost every pub had at least two craft brews on, and it was not uncommon to walk into a pub and find a dozen or more tap handles to choose from.

Then a few years back, things began to change slightly. Small brewers discovered there was a definite market for sour beer and weirdo stuff like pizza, peanut butter and even scrapple beer. The serious beer man avoids this stuff at all costs, but fourteen years ago a sinister new style began to rear its ugly head and became the “in” thing for people who fancy themselves to be beer mavens. I’m referring to hazy “New England IPAs” in general, but specifically to brews like “Heady Topper”, which actually has fools lining up and camping out for two days in advance of its release and chasing beer trucks around in order to purchase some. 

This NEIPA “hazy” craze has taken over some brewers who, on their chalkboards, list 2, 3, or even 4 hazy IPAs out of their 8m or 10 available brews. The hazy IPA is just that: very hazy, (the late great beer guru, Michael Jackson, would have a hard time looking at the other side of the glass as he was prone to do, because you can’t see through it), very hoppy and generally, at least in my opinion, extremely unbalanced with ho malt character, whatsoever. You might as well toss a bunch of hops into a glass of grapefruit juice and drink it with a vodka chaser. It is a style I avoid,  especially since the last one I tried, “Founders All Day West Coast IPA” (an anomaly), is a particularly horrible beer. Ostensibly the “all day” designation means you can drink it all day, but I really believe it means that after you taste it, the watery bitterness plagues your taste buds for the rest of the day!

Just like their ancestors that were available to drink 50 years ago, today’s hazy and NEIPAs all have one thing in common:  THEY ALL TASTE EXACTLY THE SAME! 

What goes around, comes around, so rather than jump on the bandwagon with this latest hazy craze, give me a good old Miller High Life, any day.

Cheers, 

Dan

That's A Stretch 

by Dan Hodge

The word “stretch” as used in the title, means exaggeration, such as someone saying “Mayor DiBlasio was a great mayor” and someone else sarcastically replying “That's a stretch”. It can also mean stretching the muscles as we are cautioned to do before strenuous exercise. It can be a nickname for a tall person like Archie Bunker’s oft quoted friend from the loading dock, Stretch Cunningham, or slang for a prison term in an old George Raft movie: “He did a stretch at Sing Sing”.

 I have a favorite use of the word stretch and, as fitting for this article, it relates to beer. For many years people have been blending beers; making “black and tans” for example, and professional brewers blend different batches of brew even before they are packaged in order to achieve uniformity. Before the company offered them the public, I was making Yuengling Black and Tans by simply mixing a bottle of their Celebrated Pottsville porter with a bottle of Yuengling Premium. An even better drink was the porter mixed with a bottle of Chesterfield Ale. I happened on this idea in the early seventies when I was merely a beer drinker and not a serious “beer geek”. 

A coworker had given me almost a whole case of Guinness Extra Stout that was leftover after a St. Patrick’s Day party at which, apparently, no one liked it. At that point in my beer life, neither did I, preferring what was mostly available in this years: Pabst, Rheingold, Piel’s, Knicker- bocker, Schaefer, etc. The Guinness, to my uneducated palate, didn’t taste like “beer”. However, I certainly didn’t want the Guinness to go to waste, so I got the idea to cut it a little by adding some Blue Ribbon, making the overbearing taste of the Guinness more palatable to me. It worked and became my earliest introduction to dark beer and possibly the first step on the road to becoming a beer connoisseur. Many subsequent blendings were made, but those were only because I may have had only a bottle of Pabst and one of Schaefer in the fridge and figured “Ah, what the hell” and just dumped them together into a small pitcher. Perfectly drinkable , but not too interesting.               

“Stretching” my beer came about at the Christening party for my daughter. Because her baptism was in October, we decided to throw an Oktoberfest for the post baptism party. Blue and white checkered Bavarian pennants were draped around the deck and the yard, ten LP albums of German oompah music, picked up at an estate sale for a deceased German, were at the ready, and five kinds of wursts were procured from the local pork store, with sauerkraut, German potato salad and potato pancakes completing the menu. The only thing left was the beer.

 At the time, 29 years ago, half kegs of Hacker-Pschorr Oktoberfest were selling for something like $170. My pockets were not deep enough to justify that price, so I came up with a suitable and far less costly solution with which to wash down the “kraut und vurst” . I bought a half keg of Pabst Blue Ribbon and two cases of Yuengling porter, total cost, about $60. I was handling the tap and the pouring of pitchers (never want to stray too far from the tap), so I filled the pitchers about three quarters full with PBR and then poured a bottle and a half of the porter into them, making a suitable replacement for a marzen style and “stretching” the beer for economic purposes. Nobody had any unfavorable comments on what was poured from the pitchers into their solo cups, and the fact that the keg floated just as the festivities were coming to an end was proof enough for me, that I had conceived a tasty and economic brew for the occasion.

Lately, I’ve found another way to stretch beer. Double IPAs are delicious indeed but they have two definite downsides: they are expensive and their ABVs do not sit well with an entire evening of drinking beer. Recently I bought some double IPA brewed by a Western New York brewery for about $14/six pack and at the same time picked a full case of Yuengling Premium for $16, or less than one third of the cost of the IPA. Yuengling Premium, although a perfect, everyday “lawnmower” beer (in fact, my go to beer of the style), does not have the full flavor or alcohol content of a double IPA. I experimented by mixing the Yuengling and the DIPA one to one, and discovered a very drinkable, tasty, full bodied brew. The Yuengling offered the beautiful creamy head as only Yuengling can, and the DIPA loaned its hoppy flavor and higher ABV to the mixture. This type of “stretching” would save about $33 when buying a case of each.

 But not only economics is reason enough for stretching and blending. It’s fun to experiment with different brews and styles to see what kinds of tastes you can come up with on your own. And it’s not just limited to home consumption. Just the other day, my wife and I stopped at “Beers and Brats” near Trumansberg in the Finger Lakes of New York, and discovered that, in addition to their excellent selection of local brews, their beer menu also included five or six blends of some of them.

 It’s time for a nightcap, so I think I’ll get a bottle of my home brewed Belgian triple from last Christmas, and “stretch” it with a Yuengling. The triple is warm, the Yuengling is ice cold from the ice filled Coleman cooler, pressed into service during our current (no pun intended) power outage, so the result should be a cool beer with a creamy head and all of the flavors of a Belgian tripel, without the 10% ABV. Should I only have one? That’s a stretch!

CHEERS!

Dan

====================================

The Beer Hat

by Dan Hodge

A hat is an important part of almost everyone’s wardrobe. A hat may be worn to keep one’s head warm and dry, to protect food preparers’ hair from falling into the food they are preparing, to identify a person of authority such as a policeman, or simply to enhance the image of the person wearing it, bringing to mind the milliners of bygone days. There are many types of hats which protect one from injury as in football helmets or “hard hats” seen at most construction sites. (Although that type of hat is also worn for merely image enhancement purposes when it is donned by a slimy politician or  bureaucrat like “Mayor Pete” while posing for a photo op).

To be sure there are so many types of hats and purposes for which they are worn that it’s impossible to list them all, but some of the more popular are fedoras, derbies, beanies, cowboy hats, Sherlock Holmes “deerstalker” hats, homburgs, fezzes and turbans. Hat are even subject to fads and crazes. The Davy Crockett coonskin hat comes immediately to mind. All of these hats serve a definite purpose directly related to the hat itself.

But one type of hat that really has nothing to do solely with protection, beauty, fads, warmth or keeping dry is the Beer Hat! Rather, the Beer Hat does all of those things, but in addition SAVES YOU MONEY!

I’m not talking about beer hats which have been worn to advertise a brand of beer, that have been constructed from 12 pack carriers, or even the beer hat made famous by the Weekly World News when they published a photo of Albert Einstein wearing a cap holding two cans of beer on top with feeding lines leading to his mouth, as an illustration accompanying their article “Beer Makes You Smarter”.

What I AM talking about is a simple baseball cap displaying an Eagle, Globe and Anchor logo on the front surrounded by the wording “US Marine Veteran”, with “Proudly Served” written on the bill and “Semper Fidelis” embroidered on the adjustable strap at the rear. I own several of these hats and because I drive a convertible, seldom go anywhere without one on nice days. I estimate they may have saved me a couple of hundred dollars worth of beer during the time of ownership and thus the name “Beer Hat”.

My first one was bought at a Walmart in the Finger Lakes of New York when I drove there with the top down after forgetting my trusty Ballantine IPA at home. That very evening, as my wife, daughter and I (with the hat on), were standing at the bar of the Scale House Brewpub, a stranger came up to me, thanked me for my service and asked if he could buy me a pint. Of course I replied in the affirmative, and was soon enjoying a pint of the brewery’s excellent Ivy League Cream Ale. The very next day I was a solo visitor to the Bandwagon Brewery where almost exactly the same scenario took place, except this time the Bandwagon High Step Weizenbock was the savored pint.

This has been repeated at least a dozen times in breweries from New York and Pennsylvania to Missouri and Oklahoma, but the two most memorable happened right here in New Jersey. After a gig with my Mummers band at Peddler’s village, I stopped for a beer and a burger at Capitol Craft, a large beer bar in Greenbrook with a very impressive selection of draught brews to choose from. I sat at the bar enjoying my burger, fries, a flight and two pints. As I prepared to leave the barmaid told me the bill was “taken care of”. I asked by whom and she replied that the couple who had been sitting next to me but had left, had paid my tab and told her to thank me for my service. When I tried to offer her a tip, she said no , that they had been specific in including her tip, and she wouldn’t accept anything more. The Beer Hat strikes again!

Most recently, in fact only last week, I drove the convertible (top down, hat on) to Atlantic Highlands for my first ever visit to the Carton Brewery, at which the tasting room is located upstairs. The girl who directed me there followed me up the stairs and said “his tab”, pointing to me, is on Mike. I attempted to explain that she must have mixed me up with somebody else, but the bartender said not to worry, Mike is paying and said it was because of the hat. I have never found the Carton packaged beers to my liking, but they have many on tap which I have never seen before and all I tried proved to be excellent. A quick return is “on tap”, accompanied, of course, by the Beer Hat, although I don’t know if Mike’s (whoever the hell he is) benevolence extends to a second visit. Who cares? I’d like to make a second trip even if I have to pay!

Convertibles and the Beer Hat…..perfect together!

Cheers,

Dan

SUDS AND THE SILVER SCREEN  

by Dan Hodge

Recently, The New York Daily News ran a feature article about a customer poll taken at the Heartland

Brewery to determine which are the greatest “beer movies” of all time. Most of the dozen they chose are

quite a stretch and a couple of them leave me puzzled as to why they are even considered to be beer flicks in the first place. I have no problem with the number one selection, “Animal House”, or number six, “Smokey and the Bandit”, but definitely raise my eyebrow at the inclusion of “Titanic”, “ET”, “The Graduate” and “All About Eve”.

I suppose a slight case can be made for the beer swilling Rodney Dangerfield in “Back to School”, the savoring of Stroh’s Bohemian Style Beer on the roof of the laundry in “Shawshank Redemption” or Clark

W. Griswold and his son philosophically sharing a can of beer while lost in the desert in “National Lampoon’s

Vacation”. But these flicks hold no reverence for the serious beer connoisseur. Beer doesn’t come close to

figuring in the central theme of the movies and the minor references to beer all allude mostly to imbibing

vast quantities of American Standard in order to achieve a buzz with no consideration for the more esoteric qualities of suds.

“Googling” beer and movies on the internet provided pretty much the same fare and I realized that previous thoughts about beer movies must have all been written by people who don’t know beer. Simply

swilling draught doesn’t cut it! I began to think about what makes a great beer movie and came up with

three scenarios, any of which would qualify a movie as such. One, that the entire theme of the flick must

revolve around beer, however there are a scant few films in this category. Second, more than a passing

reference to beer must be made. A scene must name a brand or style, or have a reference to the drinking

of beer other than as a means of getting drunk. Third, my own favorite qualification: In order to be a

great beer movie, a flick MUST  contain some aspect of the first two conditions, but in addition, it must be a movie that a serious beer geek would find ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE TO WATCH WITHOUT A PINT IN HIS HAND!

That having been said, I hereby offer my favorite beer movies, in no particular order, except for number one, which I’ll save for last. I don’t know how the poll respondents at Heartland could have ignored “Take This Job and Shove It”, unless they were some kind of cosmopolitan wimps who don’t know a great beer movie from  a swine’s hindquarters, or, more likely have never even heard of David Allen Coe or Johnny Paycheck. In a small Midwestern town Charlie Pickett, (Art Carney) sells his Star Brewery to a conglomerate who changes the formula, name and packaging, and lays off workers to produce more beer at less cost. The tale has a happy ending when a former coworker, who now is employed by the conglomerate, organizes a co-op to brew and reintroduce Star to the thirsty area.

“To the Inn We’re Marching” is the first number we hear after the arrival of Prince Karl Franz (Edmund

Purdom) at Heidelberg in the movie version of “The Student Prince”. On the first day of term, the students march to Herr Reuter’s Inn, accompanied by a horse drawn beer wagon from which a keg is sneakily tapped and from which the corpsmen takeprodigious gulps. “Come Boys” is the next tune, sung by the beautiful Kathy, (Ann Blythe) as she swirls her dirndl while serving beer from six huge steins held in

each hand. When the Prince is sent by his mentor to dine in the Gasthaus with the commoners, Kathy

offers him knockwurst and beer , which he downs with great delight, and thus stimulated,  standing with one foot on the table, a military kepi on his head and a liter stein hoisted high, he lip syncs  the voice of Mario Lanza singing “Drink, Drink, Drink”. For a beer man, there is no greater thirst generator!!

“Aye, it’s quite cozy”, says Colonel Jock Sinclair (Alec Guinness) as he’s led by his pipers into the lounge bar of the hotel in a small Scottish town, home to Sinclair’s Highland Regiment in the film "Tunes of Glory".  Since this particular pub has no whisky available, the Colonel orders “exports” for his companions. All of the late winter pub and barracks scenes in this 1950’s British film suggest a pint of 80 Shilling or a Wee Heavy.

Also in the British vein, “The Shillingbury Blowers”,released in the US as “And the Band Played On”, (not

to be confused with the AIDS epidemic film of the same name), is about a tone deaf country village ban in England. The musicians don’t care what they sound like, as long as their beloved bandmaster and raconteur, “Saltie” Wicklow, (Trevor Howard) is in charge. When the local government replaces Saltie with a young, recently graduated conductor who relates no stories about the music, but who somehow manages to make the band sound like the Band of the Royal Marines, the bandsmen rebel by “tipping the notes”, to make him look bad at the village band competition. The English countryside, the beautiful British accents and wonderful pub scenes where the rebellion is hatched after band practice make the urge to quaff a cask conditioned bitter almost unbearable.

Moving across the Irish Sea to Innisfree, John Ford’s classic, “The Quiet Man” features several scenes in

which ale plays an important part. When retired American fighter, Sean Thornton (John  Wayne) ventures for the first  time into the House of Cohan, the local pub, he orders “one of those black beers”, which Mr. Cohan identifies as “the porter”, the same drink that is later slapped from the hand of Michaeline Flynn (Barry Fitzgerald) by Squire Will Dannaher (Victor McLaglen) at the engagement party of Thornton and the Squire’s sister, Mary Kate. A pint of Guinness is a necessity while watching the fight scene, especially when Thornton and Dannaher take a break from the fisticuffs, pop into Cohan’s for a little refreshment and request a drink .

Mr. Cohan considers this request briefly before deciding “Oh Yes! Porter! Porter’s the very thing!” and expertly pulls two pints. The ensuing argument over who should be allowed to buy ends with the squire

throwing his pint into Thornton’s face. The fight resumes when Sean requests a bar towel to dry his

face before punching the squire through the frontdoor. However, all differences are cast aside when the

two, many pints later, return to Thornton’s cottage to happily share dinner and a pitcher of “the very thing”.

I love to watch the dwarves and midgets walk UNDER the swinging doors and drink beer from steins that

appear to be as big as they are in “The Terror of Tiny Town”, a 1938 western featuring Jed Buell’s midgets,

small ponies, and, for some inexplicable reason, full sized everything else. Several pints of anything are

needed to just get through this one!

To the best of my knowledge, the ultimate beer movie was never released in theaters and is probably not

available in video stores, but “American Beer” is easily obtainable via the internet. It’s a long documentary

about five lads who pile into a van with the objective of visiting thirty eight breweries in forty days, and

their adventures on the journey. Everyone from Fritz Maytag, to Dick Yuengling, to our own local Dave Hoffman of the Climax Brewery is interviewed with beautiful brewery scenes in the background, suds

sloshing everywhere, and pints in everyone’s hands.

There is no plot, no continuity, no costuming, or choreography, below average photography and sound

and no mass market appeal , but to my mind it remains the ultimate beer flick. You’d better have

more than one or two fresh IPAs on hand if you want to watch this one from start to finish!

Last month I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day in proper fashion but I just realized the next one is only 11 months away, so I’ll have to stop here. Time to grab a Guinness and sit down to watch “The Quiet Man” for the 169th time!   

Cheers!

Dan 

Things You Can Learn From a Beer Can

 by Dan Hodge

Recently, after finishing a St. Paddy’s Day parade with my pipe band, we gathered in a parking lot to do a little post-parade tailgating, with sandwiches and beer supplied by the band. One of the beers thoughtfully purchased by the man in charge was an imperial stout brewed by Forgotten Boardwalk. At 10.3% it wasn’t exactly a thirst quenching style beer, but I chose it because I’d never had one before. It turned out to be not only refreshing, but a source of newly learned information as well. On the side of the can was a short piece about where its name, Gravity Road, had come from. According to the can and for inexplicable reasons, the beer was named for a section of the Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company railroad, a short line that operated between Summit Hill and Mauch Chunk (now Jim Thorpe), Pa. from 1828 until 1932. When not actually in use for hauling coal, the railroad sold rides to passengers who rode down by gravity without the benefit of a locomotive, said to be the forerunner of Coney Island’s first roller coaster.

Over the years I have been called by many to be a “veritable fountain of useless information”, therefore I filed this tidbit away in my mind, while thanking Forgotten Boardwalk for having broadened my knowledge by putting their railroad story on the side of their beer can.

Settling down and popping the top of a more sessionable Narragansett Lager, I began to think about what other information of a practical, historical, geographical or general nature could be found on a beer can, and came up with quite a few to enhance the wisdom of the devoted beer fan.

First, of course, would have to be the Gottfried Krueger Brewing Company of Newark, which first introduced canned beer in 1935 in a test market in Richmond, Virginia. This novel packaging required instructions on how to actually open it and what better place to print them than right on the side of the can. Complete with pictures, it showed how a church key could be deployed to gain access to the contents. Valuable facts about canned beer itself could also be gleaned from the sides of Pabst Bock, Neuweiler Cream Ale, and Grand Prize Beer cans which informed drinkers and readers about the benefits of canned versus bottled beer: no light struck skunkiness, easier to stack, didn’t need to be returned for deposit and stayed colder.

But other valuable information, unrelated to the can itself, was and is available on the sides of cans. A few years ago the price of a six pack (6 for 89 cents) was printed on the cans of a few brewers. I remember buying (Weidmann’s, I believe) in Virginia during my Marine Corps years with that price printed, preventing an unscrupulous retailer from greedily marking up his profit.

During the can collecting craze of the 1970’s, in honor of the bicentennial, the Falstaff Brewing Company issued a “Presidential Series” featuring the Presidents of the US with a short biography and notable accomplishments of each. Learning about our nation’s history while quaffing a cool Falstaff beats hell out of a musty textbook in a dusty classroom.

The Pittsburgh Brewing Company, producer of Iron City Beer, was probably the most prolific of beer can information distribution. Over the years they released many series of Iron City cans, including my favorite, points of interest in New Jersey: the Twin Lights at Atlantic Highlands, the Great Falls at Paterson and the Atlantic City boardwalk to name a few, all giving a little interesting blurb about the attraction. They had a similar release of cans featuring points of interest in Pittsburgh such as Three Rivers Stadium, the Cathedral of Learning (learn about it from a beer can) and the Pittsburgh Inclined Plane.

For those not particularly interested in geographical or historical attractions, Iron City offered other diversions while drinking their beer. Cans devoted to the Pirates, Penguins and Steelers increased a sports fan’s knowledge of baseball, hockey and football. Some cans even had team rosters, World Series results and box scores to entertain and enlighten thirsty fans and no doubt settled some baseball arguments: “Bill Mazeroski’s homer beat the Yankees in 1961”, one barroom regular might have claimed. “Like hell” came the reply. “It was in 1960; it says so right here on the can”.

Many breweries sold their beer in cans commemorating a single person or event , if not actually issuing a series. Ortlieb’s of Philadelphia marketed a special “Mummers” can in honor of the Philadelphia Mummers Parade, introducing America’s oldest folk parade to people who had never heard of it but managed to procure Ortlieb’s outside of the metro Philly area. Another Philadelphia brewer, Gretz, issued a set of cans with the lyrics to old songs printed on the sides, possibly inducing many a wannabe Mitch Miller or Perry Como to drink Gretz, a marketing ploy plied also by the Walter Brewing Company with their “Sangerfest” brand.

Who needed “Trivia Night" at taverns in the 1950’s when Gretz and Esslinger , also of Philly, offered sets of “trivia” beers with questions of and answers to various subjects on the sides, adding to the encyclopedic knowledge of a bright and thirsty Gretz or Esslinger drinker.

Carling testified to the safety of their brewery by issuing a can which proudly proclaimed that they had reached over 1,000,000 man hours of labor without a serious accident, possibly planting the idea that some of that good fortune could rub off on Black Label drinkers.

While not actually imparting any knowledge, many brewers relied on pretty girls to adorn the sides of their cans, Liebmann Brewery’s “Miss Rheingold” being the most prominent.

One girl, not so pretty, was Fatima Yechburgh, better known as Miss Old Frothingslosh, spokeswoman for the Pittsburgh Brewing Company’s special brand. In addition to her picture, the can provided information as to why she won the coveted title: “Fatima Yechburgh, winner of the 1969 “Miss Old Frothingslosh Contest” was chosen on the basis of beauty, talent, poise…….and quantity. She is the woman who best symbolizes Old Frothingslosh, the pale stale ale with the foam on the bottom. Now she’s the girl all others look down on” .

As can clearly be seen, reading the information on the sides of beer cans greatly increases a beer drinker’s sports, geographic, historic and general knowledge.

Beer…..quenching your thirst and making you smarter!

Cheers,

Dan

Drinking beer is a pleasure actively pursued by millions. The “beverage of moderation” has served a valuable purpose in quenching thirst, steadying nerves, inspiring song fests, building up courage, fortifying sides in an argument, and reducing stress, to name a few. (True, there are downsides such as losing driver’s licenses and gaining waistlines, but this an article about the POSITIVE aspects of our favorite drink).

However, while actual consumption of beer is the foremost reason for its existence, the brewing industry has contributed to American culture and nostalgia in many more diverse ways through its advertisin strategies. I can think of no other single American product that has so many varied and novel ways to get a company’s name before the public.  

Madison Avenue jingles are the most evident example (Schaefer …is the…one beer to have….when you’re

having more than one!, eg.) but many more practical advertising ploys have been used over the years and have generated a whole new cottage industry: the searching for and collection of beer related itemspopularly known as “breweriana”.

In addition to the bottles, labels, caps and cans that every beer drinker automatically obtains when he purchases beer to be consumed at home, there are scores of other items which have been used for over a hundred years to promote brewery or brand name recognition: serving trays, glassware, advertising signs , bottle and can openers, foam scrapers, match book covers, articles of clothing and head gear, tip trays, calendars, rulers, coasters and coaster holders, place mats, switch plates, clocks, postcards, lamps, record albums, sports team schedules, swizzle stick holders, statuary, beer koozies, coins, wooden cases, tap handles, and  salt and pepper shakers, all of which had

very practical household uses in addition to keeping the brewer’s name in front of your eyes. Beer truck driver’s

uniform patches, toy trucks and model railroad cars have also proudly displayed the name of a brewing company. Perhaps Rogue Brewing Company outdoes all by distributing Rogue Ale condoms. Hopefully, however, the practicality of this item is on a one time only use basis and the brewery’s name is only viewed by two people at a time.

Many breweriana collectors have beautiful collections worth thousands and thousands of dollars and which

are worthy of display in museums of American memorabilia. Magazines put out by collectors’ associations feature articles and beautiful pictorials highlighting collectible items of breweriana and histories of the breweries that issued them.

Businesses dealing exclusively in beer antiquity exist oth traditionally and on line. Any serious collector can visit an on line breweriana website and find almost anything he wants if he is willing to pay the price, but as the title of this article suggests, the average beer guy is more into beer “stuff”. By this I mean items of a beer related nature that he just finds in his daily routine. Grabbing some new coasters off a bar, finding a Stegmaier stein at a garage sale, tripping over an old Ballantine wooden case while inspecting a basement, or even stuffing promotional literature into a bag while attending a beer festival are wonderful ways to begin a sizeable collection of beer “stuff” that anybody other

than a beer guy would think is merely junk. To be sure, valuable items such as vintage trays and coasters can

also be found this way, and the pleasure of doing so is greatly enhanced by the fact that little or nothing was

paid for them.

Over the years I have amassed thousands of coasters, labels, caps and cans, and hundreds of openers, trays and glasses for relatively very little outlay and which have given me hours of pleasure organizing, sorting and reminiscing about where I obtained them (always while having a brew, of course).

Recently, another pleasure was giving almost a thousand duplicate coasters away when I realized I had to make room for more. Years ago I had a “beer tray room” in which every square inch of wall space was covered from floor to ceiling with trays that generated reverberating acoustics when the TV was turned up loud. Alas, when more kids came along and the house had to be enlarged, the beer tray room had to go. But every tray was stored away in anticipation of the day when I have the time and wifely approval to begin converting the finished basement into a “beer tray/beer

can/beer glass and beer “stuff” room. Hopefully, this will happen before all my beer stuff goes the way of yesterday’s coffee grounds.

My wife and kids, who share none of the joy I get from my beer stuff, have jokingly assured me that it’ll all follow the coffee grounds within fifteen minutes of arriving home after my funeral. One man’s treasure is another man’s junk and vice versa, so it would behoove any reader who is also into “beer stuff” to follow the obituaries and check out my garbage cans on the next garbage day. And my pleasure would continue as I look down (hopefully) from Beer Heaven and see the joy on the face of a beer stuff collector who discovers a dozen albums of beer labels, neatly alphabetized and sorted, according to country!

 Cheers!

DAN

All Aboard!…..for BEER!

Four of my brothers and sisters and I like to get together a few times a year at a local brewery to talk, argue and reminisce while enjoying a few craft brews. Our latest gathering was at one of New Jersey’s newest brewery/tasting rooms, the Oak Flower Brewing Company in Millington, open only since the end of November 2022. Oak flower is a smallish but nice venue offering the usual overabundance of IPAs, although their Morava Pils, my favorite, was a welcome alternative.

The thing that impressed me most about this place, though, is that its literally directly across the street from Millington Station on New Transit’s Peacock Gladstone branch, offering an efficient and safe way to get home if too much beer tasting has occurred. That got me to thinking about all the possibilities of beer runs by rail and came up with four in the northern New Jersey area. The only qualification is that the brewery must be within only a five or ten minute walk from a station, thereby eliminating some really excellent breweries that are not really “train friendly”. That being said, here are four different routes enabling a thirsty rail rider to quench that thirst without having to worry about driving home:

First up is New Jersey Transit’s Raritan Valley Line. Start at Local Newark Brewery on Broad Street. After enjoying a pint or two, walk across the street to the Washington Park Light Rail station to board a car for the five minute ride to Newark Penn station. The Raritan Valley line stops in Roselle Park, only a short walk to Climax, New Jersey’s oldest craft brewery. Here you can stand right in a working brewery surrounded by pallets, sacks of grain and forklifts, while listening to owner Dave Hoffmann give a “tour”. At this time of year (February) his Snowplow Ale is well recommended.

       The very next stop on this line is Cranford, where a three block walk will bring you to what may be New Jersey’s worst brewery, the Yale Terrace Brewing Company. If, after trying one of their brews you don’t try to throw yourself under a train, (their beers are certainly not to die for, but well may be ones to die FROM), quickly board the next westbound for a stop at Westfield, home of the Lion’s Roar Brewery, only a couple of blocks from Westfield station. Lion’s Roar has a very varied selection of ales and lagers, possibly the most extensive of any new brewery in the state, a refreshing change from the oceans of NEIPAs offered by others.

Continuing on into Somerville, detrain and pop into the Village Brewing Company, a fully licensed brewpub serving food, wine and spirits as well as some very good beers. Staying on the train to the end of the line in High Bridge requires almost no walk at all to get into the High Rail Brewing Company, IF it’s open. Not long ago I read that it was closed due to an elderly man having driven his Mercury Grand Marquis into it. I had an interesting experience on my only trip there, prior to the demolition derby. I asked the man behind the bar for a flight and was told that I couldn’t have one because all the five ounce flight glasses were in use, but I could have a ten ounce glass if I didn’t want a full pint. Of course I asked why he couldn’t just fill the ten ounces up halfway and was given a non intelligible response, so I settled for a ten ounce pour of pils. It was only after I saw a party of four exit after leaving their empty flights (16 glasses) at the end of the bar, that I again asked for a flight but was told he was too busy to wash all those glasses, but I could wash them myself! No thanks!

The Morris and Essex Line departs from Hoboken Station, ten or twelve blocks from Hoboken Brewing Company. This line makes a different stop in Newark, this time at Broad Street Station, three or four blocks from the aforementioned Local Newark Brewery. From the station the train makes a stop at Orange, practically right on top of Four City Brewing Company. Have a pint or two and hop on the next train to South Orange and the wonderful Gaslight Brewery and Restaurant, my home away from home. Full liquor license, great food, OUTSTANDING beer and always a great variety of guest beers, both bottled and draught to choose from. Next stop is Summit Station and a five minute walk to Bull and Bear Brewery. Bull and Bear is a very small venue, but makes very decent beers and is well worth the stop bedore continuing on to Morristown and the Glenbrook Brewery, a quick hike from Morristown Station, very different from Bull and Bear because by comparison, this place is huge. My single visit (so far) there afforded some very nice brews. This rail line ends at Hackettstown home to both Man Skirt and Cziegmeister Breweries, both of which are housed in very different venues; ManSkirt in an old bank building, complete with vault, and Cziegmeister in an old automobile dealership. Both were very enjoyable. Heading back to Summit, one can change for the brief ride to Millington and the Oak Flower Brewery.

Next is the Northeast Corridor Line, America’s busiest railroad, again starting at Local Newark, with a quick light rail ride to Newark Penn and a twenty minute ride to Rahway Station almost directly across the street from Wet Ticket Brewery, so named for the platform on which sensible politicians (rare breed, they) ran to end prohibition. I’ve been there many times and the beer is always very fresh and very good, although in my opinion, they don’t brew enough lagers; no Oktoberfests, Doppelbocks, etc, although they do brew a nice pils. Their Imperial Oak Stout, aged in bourbon barrels and marketed in wax sealed bottles won first prize at a Draught Board 15 meeting which was a tasting of fifteen brews of that style. Boarding the next southbound takes you to New Brunswick Station only a block or two from Harvest Moon Brewpub, another fully licensed establishment offering almost nothing in the way of parking, so the train ride is almost a necessity. 

Next stop is Princeton Junction and boarding the “dinky” or PJ&B (Princeton Junction and Back) for the three mile ride to downtown Princeton and the original Triumph Brewpub. This place has been closed for some time but is scheduled to reopen in the near future at a new location and from what I understand, even closer to the station.

The last beer route I thought of is the North Jersey Coast Line, once again starting at Local Newark and continuing to Wet Ticket in Rahway, where the train leaves the main line and headsnsouth on the coastal route making it’s first stop at Woodbridge Station, a half block from J.J. Bitting’s Brewing Company, another fully  and licensed brewpub. This line continues on to Red Bank, home to Birravino and Red Tank breweries, Asbury Park, home to a couple more, then Bradley Beach and the Bradley Beach Beer Project, before making its last “beer stop” in Belmar and the Beach Haus Brewery.

This is by no means a complete list of breweries accessible by train or even a list of good breweries. But all of these listed require no athletic legwork to visit and no buzzed driving to get home. So… next time your hear the conductor shout “All Aboard”, think BEER!

Cheers,

Dan

Beer Versus Wine - American Style

Beer is the most popular alcoholic drink in America finishing far ahead of wine, distilled spirits and numerous other types of beverages such as hard lemonade and other equally horrible tasting stuff. This month I’d like to point out a few of the reasons for this by comparing the malt beverage to the product of the grape as they relate to several aspects of American life. Whiskey has been left out because in general distilled spirits are not considered to be beverages of moderation. For every lover of single malt scotch, for example, there is a stocky Slavic type urging you to “Dringk! Dringk! You like? Taste goot, hah?”, and forcing you to take a sip of a colorless liquid that burns the lips, tongue, esophagus, and stomach, while he slaps you on the back and offers another slug. Such booze is akin to liquid fire and doesn’t belong inour informal beer versus wine bout.

Although there are many excellent wines produced inNorthern Europe , that area is predominately a “beer” region, and although the Mediterranean area is noted for it’s wines, good beers come from there as well. But there is no place like the USA that produces so many examples of each, so there’s no better setting for our tongue in cheek beer versus wine match.

First to be considered is the basic difference between the two libations: beers are primarily made from malted barley, while wines are made from grapes. Even though there are other primary bases for both of these beverages (wheat, for example, for beer and elderberries, blackberries, dandelions and the like for wine), the basic difference remains the same. Even weiss beers contain at least some malted barley, whereas some types of wine contain no grapes at all.Score one for as being truest to it’s roots.

  Beer 1……Wine 0

In America , beer is considered to be a more manly drink. Can you just imagine Matt Dillon saying to his sidekick “C’mon, Chester , let’s go over to The Long Branch and have a glass of Beaujolais ”? The great American pastimes of baseball, Nascar racing, Friday night fights, fishing and lawn mowing wouldn’t be as "red, white, and blue” if accompanied by a feminine sounding Chardonnay. Beer drinkers proudly hold high  heir drinking vessel, be it a can, bottle, pint glass, stein or plastic cup. I’ve noticed that wine drinkers seem to extend their pinkies while holding their glasses by the stem, so as not to “bruise” the wine. The only “bruising” that accompanies beer is when some

unlucky soul is hit over the head with a beer bottle in a barroom brawl.

 Beer 2……Wine 0

Beer, in addition to being a vehicle for relaxation, is a great thirst quencher. They don’t call “lawnmower beer’ for nothing. A frosty can of suds can definitely slake one’s thirst and leaves one thinking about another. For me at least, wine doesn’t do anything for thirst and in fact only makes me thirstier. (For beer)

 Beer 3……..Wine 0

Beer is meant to be drunk immediately upon tapping or opening a bottle or can, thus instantly solving the

problem for which it was opened in the first place. Red wine is supposed to be uncorked and allowed time to

“breathe” before consumption. A beer drinker would never waste time in this fashion. In fact, I knew a guy who would punch two holes in the top of a can, raise the can to his lips and in three seconds suck the can dry. No time for “breathing” there, either for him or the beer. While the red wine connoisseur was getting antsy watching his bottle breathe, Old Fred could have downed a whole six pack of Schaefer. Decidedly less time consuming.

 Beer 4……..Wine 0

At one time wine enthusiasts looked upon screw cap wine bottles as something to be spurned ,containing a cheap drink for the masses, as opposed to traditional bottles requiring all sorts of implements to remove the corks, which were then snobbishly sniffed, in order to demonstrate one’s expertise on the subtleties of the wine. Beer guys, on the other hand, welcome all sorts of things like pop top cans, screw caps, EZ taps, in fact anything that helps them get to beer faster. Positive proof that beer drinkers are more modern and welcome innovation. (In addition, they don’t sniff the caps!)

 Beer 5……..Wine 0

The USA and it’s eternal ally, Great Britain , favor beer.France favors wine.

Beer 6……..Wine 0

With it’s advertising signs, trays, tap handles, coasters, logo glassware and countless other items, beer offers many opportunities for collectors of “breweriana” to enhance their pleasure. Collecting wine related items pretty much starts and ends with corkscrew.

 Beer 7………Wine 0

Other than Ernest and Julio Gallo and the Bartles and James guys, there aren’t a heck of a lot of memorable wine commercials. Television beer ads and jingles have traditionally been among the best advertising on the tube. A lot of them are even better than some of the insipid network shows. People remember beer jingles from forty and fifty years ago. No one remembers a wine jingle.

Beer 8……..Wine  0

A cooler packed with ice and cans or bottles of beer makes a prettier picture at a picnic than a bottle of

wine.

Beer 9………Wine 0

As explained in previous “Beer My Way” articles, there are all kinds of things one can do with beer besides

drinking it. ( washing hair, killing slugs, etc.) and thepackaging of beer allows us to make potato guns, targets, and  dog poop scrapers, balance uneven table legs, and arm street gangs, to name a few. What thehell do you do with an empty wine bottle other than stick a candle in it?

Beer 10……….Wine 0

Beer wins by a 10 to zip shutout over wine!!!!! 

 Christmas Cheer and Beer

It has become somewhat of a tradition over the past few years that, between Christmas and New Year’s, some friends drop by to sample the latest available Christmas, “Holiday”, and Winter brews.  While this little session pales by comparison to Christmas itself or to my other passion, the New Year’s Day Philadelphia Mummers Parade, it certainly beats the hell out of the other activities that occur during the week between those two big events: the returning of un-wanted and ill-fitting Christmas gifts an attempting to figure out in what order I accumulated the reams of credit card receipts stuffed into my jacket pockets during the preceding month.

This year, four of us , all named Brian or Dan, got together on December 30th to sample twenty five different holiday beers. First, my brother, Brian Hodge, a “Draught Board 15 Certified Beer Judge”, which, if the truth be known, is not the equivalent of agenuine certified beer judge. Brian’s qualifications for this designation stem primarily from three factors: One, he clerked part- time in a liquor store in his youth and can distinguish Miller Lite from Sierra Nevada Bigfoot every time. Two, he was given asupply of “Certs” breath fresheners for the ride home,hence his “Certification” and most importantly, three, he had nothing else scheduled that evening.

Also in attendance was Brian Lynch, nationally acclaimed “Beer Poet”, so known because at one time, while seated at the Gaslight bar, he recited a limerick having something to do with  “a man named Jock”, “drinking a bock”, and another word which completed the limerick rhyme scheme correctly.

A welcome newcomer to the event was Dan Soboti, gracious host of the Gaslight Brewery and Restaurant, and world renowned beer taster. Dan is primarily noted for for his love of cask conditioned ales, and , although there were none on the list ofbeers to be sampled, he displayed his dedication to the serious work at hand by making the sacrifice and forging ahead to render an opinion on all twenty fivebeers tasted.

Finally, yours truly, a man who has happily dedicated a good portion of his spare time to appreciation of the brew master’s craft. In spite of the fact that I have rarely met a beer I didn’t like, I promised to be as objective as possible in order to pick out a couple of bad ones. It wasn’t easy, but it was with a great sense of accomplishment that I finally managed to do so.

As in previous years we used our own rating methodin which we scored each brew 0-3 for appearance, 0-4for aroma, 0-10 for balance, mouthfeel and aftertaste, and 0-5 for our personal overall impressions. With only two exceptions, we all knew what we were drinking. Six of the beers were ”vintage”. Even thoughsome of the panel are not professionals, they still knew what they like.

For the second year in a row we found Sierra NevadaCelebration Ale to be our favorite, with all of us giving it high scores in three categories. Although some thought it maybe a little too hoppy for our “session” tastes, we gave it a near perfect in that department ,as well. A very close second was Clipper City’s Heavy Seas Winter Storm Ale, which was new to all of us. When the significantly lower price compared to many craft beers is figured in, it’s probably the equal of  the Celebration in value.

The two blind tastings were Sam Adams Winter Lager, which finished 16th and my own homebrewed WinterWheat Doppelbock, which tied for 9th with Otter Creek Alpine Ale and Stoudt’s Winter Ale. Last yearthe Stoudt’s was rendered undrinkable, due to oxidation.

Gales’ 12% Golden Jubilee(2002) and Thomas Hardy’s (2010) were two vintage beers that scored pretty wellat 4th and 6th, respectively. The other vintage beersdidn’t fare so well. Brooklyn Chocolate Stout (2006), Sierra Nevada Bigfoot (2005) and my own Hodge’s Hoppy Holiday (2008) had all seen better days and finished toward the bottom. There was some discussion as to whether or not Sam Adams Triple Bock was even beer. It certainly looks and tastes like sherry and that being the case, why not just drink sherry? It’s a lot cheaper and you don’t have to keepit for ten years!

The two beers that finished way behind the others were Saranac Season’s Best and Samuel Smith’s 2021-2022 Winter Welcome. The Saranac was very out of character with the usually outstanding Saranac portfolio, having been judged to have no discerniblebouquet and a bland appearance and taste. Nobody seemed to like it…..it was just “beer”. A Coor’s Light fan would probably love it. The Sam Smith’s was dead last and practically undrinkable because of skunkiness , probably caused by the brewery’s insistence onusing clear bottles. If you can procure this beer in good condition, it’s usually excellent.One interesting result is that five Sam Adams beerswere tried and they all finished exactly next to one another in positions 12 through 16. I guess that must be some sort of tribute to the brewery’s consistency.

I haven’t had a chance to give some of these beers a second shot as yet, because as of January 2nd, I’m attempting to shed a few pounds.   I'm on a diet that is popularly known as the South Beach Diet, butwhich I refer to as the (expletive deleted- you can't say that Dan...editor) Diet  since the first two weeksof which allow for no beer at all.  What was I thinking about?

Seriously , after twenty five beers, even though the samples are only two or three ounces, I wonder how objective an opinion can be? They probably begin to taste alike. Therefore, I’ve come up with an innovative solution to this distressing problem. Next year , perhaps we should schedule three nights, reversing the order of the beers to be tasted on the second night and and starting from the middle on the third.

Sounds like a workable plan! 

Cheers!

Dan

Flights Of No Fancy

by Dan Hodge

In previous articles I’ve expounded on beers savored, and brewpubs and breweries visited, most of which were memorable because of happy experiences. However, as in everything else, there are always some downsides and in perusing the list of over 300 breweries visited and always ordering a flight, have come up with some worthy of a poor review for a variety of reasons. So without further ado, in alphabetical order, here are a dozen or so, where the ordering of a flight stands out for other than pleasant memories:

The Anthem Brewing Company of Oklahoma City had fairly decent beers but the wait of almost 15 minutes to be served was intolerable. There were only two other patrons at the time, two girls who were insisting upon “trying” (read..free sample) each beer before selecting those they wanted for a FLIGHT!  At one point a keg kicked and the bartender went to tap a replacement before acknowledging my presence, let alone pouring me a flight. As I recall, the girls were pretty good looking and perhaps he was only trying to impress them with the possibility of a future date, while ignoring me. I finally got my flight, downed it, and left while the girls were still agonizing over what to pick for their second round.

In the Banff Brewpub in Banff, Alberta, Canada a 6 beer flight was presented without benefit of any identification. Some were easy to distinguish, (stout versus wit, eg.) but when I questioned the waiter as to which was the helles and which was the pils, he actually, UNBELIEVABLY, picked up a glass, took a sip, and rendered his decision. You can’t make that shit up! A similar scenario happened a few days later at the Grizzly Paws Brewpub in Canmore, Alberta, but at least in that case the waitress said she didn’t know which was which and left me to my own devices.

A couple of years ago, on my way home from Norfolk, I stopped at the Barley Oak Brewery in Berlin, Maryland. The most memorable things in the open windowed, screenless tasting room were the size of the flies competing with me for sips of my flight.

The freight Yard Brewery in Clay, NY had a very nice “steampunk” atmosphere, however the average beer was served in solo cups (NO flights “due to Covid”…..Covid knows the difference between plastic and glass and the size of each). Definitely a downer. Ditto the Sunken Silo Brewery in Lebanon, NJ.

A different reason for “no flights” was found at the High Rail Brewery in High Bridge, NJ. When I asked for a flight of what eventually turned out to be above average beers I was told no flight sized glasses were available, but instead of a full pint I could order a 10 ounce glass. Since the flights consisted of 5 ounce pours, I asked why couldn’t he just fill 10 ounce glasses up halfway. This obvious solution to the problem was rejected, so after I ordered a 10 ounce glass of pils, I observed 4 patrons returning their trays of empty flight glasses and departing the premises. When I questioned if I could NOW have a flight, he said he was too busy to wash the glasses, but I could get the flight if I cared to wash the glasses myself. I did not.

Jack Russell’s Brewpub in Bar Harbor, Maine offered a 6 beer flight of beers ranging from very light (wit) to very dark (Russian Imperial Stout), but which, other than color, were indistinguishable from one another. Perhaps the brewer has stepped out for a beer during style class at brewing school.

Long gone Maxwell’s Brewpub in Hoboken, NJ had no problem with serving flights since they only offered one very average beer.

The only drawback to another defunct brewery, Jersey Jim’s of Bridgewater, NJ. was that after the 20 mile drive to get there I was told I’d have to pay a cover charge to have a flight. I have never paid, nor will I ever pay a cover charge to drink a beer. Raise the price if you must to pay for your always too loud band, but don’t ever think I’m going to pay directly for something I don’t want to listen to in the first place.

The recently out of business Raritan bay Brewing Company in Keansburg, NJ required a hand stamp to prove you had “taken a tour” in order to have a flight. The 4 beers I had weren’t bad, but I couldn’t try the other 4 they had on tap because the bartender was too busy mopping the floor behind the bar. The mopping was taking place directly in front of a large jar labeled “tips” into which I deposited nothing after failing to obtain a second flight after a 10 minute wait. At least the floor was clean!

Wayne, NJ. Is home to the Seven Tribesmen Brewery to which I traveled on a delightful Sunday afternoon. As I was attempting to enter, an employee informed me that it was closed for a private party, but the biergarten, which I would have preferred anyway, was open. When I asked if they did flights he responded in the affirmative. So I happily repaired to the biergarten where the man who seated me said someone would be with me shortly. 15 minutes later “someone” turned out to be him, who then informed me that no flights were available in the garden. So again, the lousy Solo cups but this time with a twist. They came with lids that were on so tightly that when you tried to get them off, the beer slopped all over everywhere.

The South 40 Brewery in Edison, NJ had a flight which included two different but similar beers: “I Fu……d Up Barleywine”, about which the brewer admitted making a mistake and “I Didn’t Fu… Up Barleywine”, in which the mistake had supposedly been corrected. (It hadn’t)

 And speaking of “I Fu….d Up”, saving the best, or worst, for last is the Yale Terrace brewery of Cranford, NJ. I absolutely defy any knowledgeable beer fan to go there, order a flight and finish it. It can’t be done!. See Beer my Way article “The Charge of the Flight Brigade”

All that being said I think I’ll go create my own flight from the 15 or so different beers currently in my fridge!

Cheers, 

Dan

       Beermageddon

             (or, The Saints and Sinners of Beer)

The Book of Revelation makes reference to Armageddon, or the place where the final battle between the forces of good and evil takes place just before Judgement Day. There are those who think that America’s Armageddon may be occurring right now as the forces of evil attempt to destroy our history and culture by tearing down statues, deifying

criminals, satanizing police forces and driving an obvious wedge between its citizens.

Beer lovers have been dealing with their own Armageddon for years, but our “beermageddon” is a win, win situation. If good triumphs over evil, we win, and conversely, if the forces of Satan defeat the armies of God, we also win. But the forces are so evenly matched that there will be no clear winner, except for the beer geek.

The “good” side of beermageddon is led by the saints of brewing: St. Bernardus, St. Feullian, St.Jozef, St. Hubert, St. Bernard of Clairvox, St. Sebastian, St. Christopher, St. Benedict, and St. Peter, with Saint Arnold, the patron saint of brewing at the head of the legions of Belgian Abbey and Trappist beers. Fighting right alongside them we find America’s contributions to the war effort, “St. Stan’s” from Modesto, California and the Saint George brewery of Hampton, Virginia, ably assisted by those fighters who have not as yet achieved sainthood: Anderson Valley’s “Brother David Dubbel,” Shepherd Neames’ “Bishop’s Finger”, and Avery’s “The Reverend”.

 While the armies of good in beermageddon are overwhelmingly Christian, we must not forget Schmaltz Brewing Company’s “He’Brew”, “Messiah” and “Jewbelation” brews pitching in to destroy the forces of evil. The Supreme Commander of this whole army is Du Claw Brewing’s “Sweet Baby Jesus”.

As a child, I was read Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairy Tales, one of which was “The Girl Who Trod on a Loaf”, about a mean, vain little girl who, rather than soil her new shoes, threw her mother’s fresh loaf of bread into a mud puddle to use as a stepping stone. As soon as she did, she was sucked directly down into hell, where the “Marsh King” had a

brewery. The accompanying illustration depicted a glowering, unkempt, heavyset king surrounded by a huge spider web occupied by an even bigger spider with a leering human face, both faces glaring at the five year old reader as the king raised a moss covered stein to his greenish lips.

That picture caused me to think of breweries as dark, evil places, and even though I have happily come to the realization that they are not, many modern brewers draw upon that image to promote their products. Because of this, the opposition to “Sweet Baby Jesus’” army is powerful and not to be taken lightly. Its malefic leader is Belgium’s “Satan” biere and to confuse the army of righteousness, he assumes many different guises and names: Young’s “Old Nick”, Wychwood’s “Hobgoblin”, Southern Tier’s “Krampus” (Christmas devil), Weyerbacher’s “Old Heathen”, Flying Dog’s “Old Scratch”, Midnight Sun’s “Arctic Devil” barleywine, Rock Bottom’s “Black Peter” and the 13% “Bezelbuth” ale. Whatever his name, he leads an army of Unibroue’s “Maudite” (accursed) on its “Deathly” (pale ale by Reagan Ales of California) mission to defeat the “Blind Faith” (Magic Hat) of “Sweet Baby Jesus’ “ army.

The fight rages on as it will for as long as there are beers and brewers, and on any given day the beer lover can settle down with a glass of Asylum Brewery’s “Ambergeddon”, and take one side or the other, secure in the knowledge that no matter his choice, he can’t lose! 

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A Revolting Development .....

By Dan Hodge

A beer appreciation column should be about thevpositive attributes of beer.  Mine usually is. There are times, however, when negativity about our favorite subject should be addressed as well, for a variety of reasons.

One extremely important reason is to warn fellow enthusiasts about pitfalls in our eternal search for the perfect beer. Many an eager brewfan has been tricked into spending ten or twelve dollars on what he believes will be an important ingredient to his evening’s relaxation only to discover he has brought home a six pack of skunky, oxidized swill that would make even a wino recoil in horror. Negative reviews taken seriously may help to prevent such a calamity.

Another important consideration for including unfavorable comments about beer is so that readers who don’t share our love of the malt beverage can readily see that we can be objective, and not just grinning, belching sots who can’t distinguish Brooklyn Chocolate Stout from St. Ides Malt Liquor.

Lastly, there are people who know nothing about beer but who know much about what is "in” or fashionable.   These types cheerfully stock up for their soirees and barbecues with Corona, Coor’s Light, and Budweiser,  thinking they’re offering their guests a “choice”.  Of course these same gracious hosts will, if they spot an impossibly expensive display of microbrews, pick up a case or two to really impress their guests.   

Possibly some honest negativity in this column regarding these types of consumption will deter these people from forming incorrect opinions about beer that this type of sampling would assuredly cause.

A recent negative experience I had addresses all three of the above scenarios. Over the last several months, in the liquor store I frequent, there was a large display offering cases or sixpacks of Thomas Jefferson Tavern Ale and

George Washington Tavern Porter. An examination of the bottles supplied the information that they are products from Yards Brewing Company in my favorite city of Philadelphia.  A sign above the display proudly proclaimed that these brews were offered on sale at $12.99/sixpack or $48.99/case. There are too many other great brews available for much less, so I passed this "deal" by.  

My interest was piqued ,however.  A visit to the Yard’s website revealed that these beers were marketed as “Ales of the Revolution”, were based upon recipes from that era, and were brewed in September with alcohol contents of 7% and 8% ,respectively.

Now my curiosity was really aroused, but still I balked at the idea of thirteen bucks a sixpack.  I questioned the proprietor about the sale of individual bottles, to which he responded in the negative.  Each week on  my trip to the store I’d see that display and notice that neither the stock nor the price had decreased.  

Finally, while checking out the stock of individual bottles as I always do, I discovered that the “Ales of the Revolution” had indeed been given a place of honor at $2.50/bottle.   Although the price was even greater than the $49/case I figured I could spend five bucks to try a bottle of each.

I rushed home to put them in my beer refrigerator( every beerfan has a fridge exclusively for beer, no?) to cool while I did some yard work and took a bike ride. Returning home I showered, got out my favorite beer glass, took the “Ales of the Revolution” to the deck and sat down to read Larry McMurtry.

With great anticipation I opened the Thomas Jefferson Tavern Ale and was immediately reminded of British French fries , onto which a copious amount of vinegar had been splashed. Only half the bottle could be poured into the

glass since the over carbonation caused a great, frothy head to rise to the top and cascade down the sides and onto the pages of the McMurtrybook.  

A special bonus of this beer is the “secondary” head! This one came out of the bottle neck like an oil field gusher, and went through the cracks in the picnic tabletop onto my shoes. Holding the bottle up to the sunset, I noticed what

appeared to snowflakes racing madly around the inside. If the Yards company had had a little more foresight, they could have installed little houses or reindeer in the bottoms of the bottles and marketed this crap as snow globes at

Christmastime.

I figured anything that costs $49/case, has to be good and I probably just got a bad bottle, so I dumped the remainder into the window boxes of impatiens (the flowers around the deck seem to thrive on the dregs of last night’s beer

bottles) and uncapped the George Washington Tavern Porter. Unfortunately, ditto except that due to it’s darker color it was harder to see the snowflakes. The flowers had a good night.

“Ales of the Revolution” is an appropriate slogan because the average drinker would easily be revolted by this awful stuff. I think the Continental Army gave barrels of this slop to the Redcoats, who took a sip, promptly surrendered, and returned to England in search of drinkable ale. The rest is history.

At the 8% alcohol level this beer should last longer than the seven months since it was brewed. I’ve had trouble with Yards beers in the past. Sometimes they’re good, often they’re not drinkable. So unless, you want to see for yourself, RUN….DON’T WALK, away from any display of “Ales of the Revolution”! 

 Although I had always liked beer, my induction into the United States Marine Corps and subsequent

assignment to the Quantico Marine Band greatly enhanced my appreciation of the frothy beverage, not

only because I became of legal age during my enlistment, but also because the travels of the band opened up a whole new world of regional brews. Our duties as "musical ambassadors" took us to many areas of the northeast and Midwest which allowed for sampling beers  unheard of back in New Jersey.

Hudepohl and Falls City became entries on my beer log when the band traveled to the Louisville area. Details of how are related in my September 2021 article, "A Love Affair With Beer".

I will never forget the taste of the pitchers of National Bohemian (locally referred to as "Natty Boh") we had after playing at a county fair somewhere on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The people who had engaged us invited us back to a large outdoor deck featuring newspaper covered picnic tables, mountains of 

steamed crabs and pitchers of Natty Boh. While the scenario and cuisine were a perfect example of Eastern

Shore local color, for me , at least, eating crabs is a pain in the neck: too much work for too little reward. But the Natty Boh made me forget the aggravation and served as a perfect example of why National Bohemian was advertised as brewed in the "Land of Pleasant Living".

Not long after that trip we played in the Miss Wisconsin Pageant Parade in Oshkosh. We were billeted

in a large dormitory on the campus of a local college and immediately after settling in, headed for "town" where we discovered "Peoples" beer and the local favorite, "Chief Oshkosh". Hours later, full of Peoples and Chief Oshkosh, we returned to the billets to discover that the contestants in the pageant were quartered on a different floor in the building. More about that at some other time!

In 1969 the 2nd Marine Division held a reunion in Boston for which the Quantico Band was to supply the

music. We played a parade, a couple of concerts and some ceremonial stuff, and then headed out to check

out Boston. But Faneuil Hall, the Old North Church and the USS Constitution were not on the itinerary that

evening. History and culture could wait until  later as we made tracks for the "Combat Zone", apparently a

version of New York's Times Square former offerings of strip joints, sleazy bars and other attractions for the twenty one year old mindset.

Several of us entered a club which featured ladies two and even three times our age who would cheerfully

remove their G strings for the bargain basement price of a dollar. The only problem was they had it wrong: we were handing them the dollars so they'd put the G strings back on. But the place did offer frosty bottles of Narragansett, and in an attempt to ease the agony on the eyeballs, many 'gansetts went down the hatch.

An elderly DC-3, piloted by the last "flying sergeant" in the Marine Corps took us to St. Louis , where we were to play the National Anthem at a Mets-Cardinals  game. Questioned as to the safety of traveling in an aircraft that old, the Master Gunny assured us that a DC- 3 could be flown into a mountain and the wings would stay on. Very good to know if you ever want to have an intact DC-3 after flying into a mountain! But we obviously got there safely and even though St. Louis is home to the "King of Beers", I was first introduced to Falstaff in that city, and in Granite City, Illinois, where we were staying at a small military base, a little tavern had Hamm's on tap. I can still see the back bar electric sign showing a canoe being endlessly paddled from one side to the other across a sparkling lake. The Hamm's WAS  "as refreshing as the land of sky blue waters"!

After a parade and concert in Mannheim, Pennsylvania, we were divided into groups of four and invited to stay in private homes.  I and three others stayed in a large old Pennsylvania house with a lovely family, and after spending a few hours chatting in their living room, our host at last asked if perhaps we would like to accompany him on a trip to his local club, in those days "clubs" being the only venue for having a beer on

Sunday in Pennsylvania.

I honestly can't remember if it was a VFW or American Legion hall or even a Knights of Columbus or Elks club, but I do recall that Reading beer was abundantly on tap and that marines wearing blues never had to dip into their pockets to buy one. (thankfully....the pockets were all sewn shut, anyway!).

So many Readings were served that our gracious host arrived home that evening being carried at each

extremity by a Marine only slightly more mobile than he. Speaks well for Reading beer as a vehicle to strengthen the relationship between civilians and the military.

A Marine band is always preceded in parades by a color guard made up of local recruiters. The band is led

by an enlisted drum major and the band officer marches to the right of the right guide trombonist in the front rank. The officer is generally responsible for calling the numbers to be played. Such was the scenario for a parade we did in Hudson, New York, at the end of which was a Rheingold truck with tap handles protruding from its side dispensing steins of Rheingold Extra Dry for thirsty parade participants.

As we neared the field where the parade was to disband, the captain called for The Marine's Hymn. While

he was doing so, the drum major called for "Six Bits" (nickname of John Philip Sousa's "Semper Fidelis", so

called because legend has it that Sousa sold the copyright to his publisher in 1888 for seventy five cents) over his left shoulder. Half the band heeded the drum major while the other half launched into the Hymn.

The resulting cacophony caused the captain to vent his displeasure by making us play the Marine's Hymn

again....and again.....and again....! When hearing the Hymn all Marine's must come to attention and so did the color guard, who after furling their flags, had quickly repaired to the Rheingold truck for some refreshment.

 At the first notes of the hymn they properly set down their steins and assumed the position until the Hymn

ended, at which point the steins were again raised to their lips only to be put down yet another time when

"From the halls of Montezuma..." started in again. This was repeated several times before the captain, evidently also feeling the pangs of thirst, relented and led the charge to the Rheingold truck.

But the band didn't have to travel far to enjoy a brew. As in any military town, Quantico had many watering holes and although most just served up the usual Bud, Pabst and Schlitz, it was also home to theGlobe and Laurel, a pub owned by Major Rick Spooner, who gave lectures on the History and Traditions of the Marine Corps and who was the only Marine I ever saw that actually carried a swagger stick.

On a few occasions the band stopped in after a gig to play "The Commercial" (Semper Fidelis and The

Marine's Hymn) and to enjoy a brew. The Globe and Laurel has relocated to Stafford Virginia, just south of

Quantico and proudly serves Leatherneck Lager, brewed by Old Dominion Brewing Company.

On the Quantico base was the "7 Day Store", military equivalent of a 7-11, selling bread, milk, soda,

cigarettes and beer. At one point during my enlistment it was selling Ballantine's for sixty cents/six pack or ten cents/bottle. Since beer was banned in Marine Corps barracks the trunk of my '63 Galaxy convertible was packed to the limit in anticipation of the end of the sale. Even the spare tire had to compete for space. Many cases of Ballantine were delivered to my grandfather in York, Pa. and an equal number made it back to their birthplace in NJ on weekend swoops.

One of my best memories of the close relationship between Ballantine's and the Marine Corps was on St.

Patrick's Day, 1970. We had played a job that morning and had the afternoon off. For some reason I can't

remember, but probably because of a scarcity of funds, I found myself standing on the banks of the Potomac drinking trunk-cooled Ballantine in a drizzle with SSgt Enrique Perales, a Mexican-American from Brownsville, Texas, Cpl. Don Neal, great friend and African-American from Monroe, La. and LCpl John Galuska, Polish- American from Fall River, Mass., certainly an eclectic and unorthodox blend of Paddy's Day revelers. Now that's one great way to promote race relations when you have the Marine Corps, common sense, and Ballantine!

Semper Fid-Ale-is and Cheers,

Dan 

Leaving On A Bad Note

by Dan Hodge

“A guy walks into a bar”…..the opening line of a thousand jokes. But for the thousands who walk in, there’s never a mention of those who eventually must walk (or crawl) back out, so I’d like to devote a little space to leaving a bar. 

Most responsible beer folk and drinkers of other adult beverages usually just pay their tabs, make their

goodbyes and leave the premises as if they were exiting a bakery, drugstore or any other business enterprise. But leaving a tavern is not always done in such a routine manner. Indeed, over indulgence in the products offered sometimes make for far more dramatic exits.

Every old western always showed someone leaving a saloon by being punched through the swinging doors or front window, but one need not return to the glory days of the Old West to observe such athletic departures. On my first return to Buffalo, NY after my marriage to celebrate Thanksgiving with her family, my new wife and I decided to take an early morning walk around her old neighborhood, heavily blue-collar working class and Polish, with one or two tap rooms on every corner.

As we were passing by the appropriately named Stash’s Bar & Grill we were almost hit by the flying body of a third shift foundry worker who had stopped for a few boilermakers after work on the beautiful holiday morn. He was propelled by a large man wearing an apron who could only be Stash, himself, and who was issuing the command “Ged the @#%$!%$ oud an dunt gom beck no more”.

An even better example of the bum’s rush occurred at my 1980’s local, The Swiss Chalet. When an arrogant patron decided to vent his displeasure at being “cut off” by throwing his change at gentlemanly bartender Charley Cybulski.  Sixty year old Charley vaulted over the bar, grabbed the coin tosser by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants and forcibly ushered him out the door to the sidewalk where the tipsy fool unwisely decided to fight back, forcing Charley to kick him to the ground. As I was attempting to pull Charley off the unhappy evictee, two other regulars pulled up directly in front of the action on the sidewalk and seeing Charley engaged in fisticuffs rather than tending bar, without so much as batting an eyelash, said “Looks like we’ll have to wait a while for our first beer”.

One leaving a bar doesn’t always have to be propelled by the innkeeper in order to land on the sidewalk. A

former Gaslight (my local in South Orange, NJ) regular used the sidewalk as a landing strip after too many

“Tom Specials” and after missing the three front steps upon leaving the vestibule. He didn’t lose an inordinate amount of blood, but what he did lose was about 80 proof.

A bit more speed and sobriety are required for another way of “leaving on a bad note”: running out on one’s tab, or even worse, running out on one’s tab with your neighbor’s change. Innkeepers have superior memories so this particular exit can never be used more than once in any one tavern.

Occasionally, due to over indulgence or a more serious medical problem a patron may leave the bar on a

stretcher, surrounded by EMTs and tubes. Not a good way to leave , but certainly better than leaving in a body bag as has been happening lately in a nearby city. A bad way for ambulatory drinkers to leave is in handcuffs.

Again in Buffalo, after my wife’s school reunion at a posh country club some of her old classmates

suggested traveling back to their old neighborhood and stopping at Casey’s Bar & Grill. It was a sultry summer night and evidently this caused some tempers to flare. While we enjoying pitchers of Old Vienna in the back room, several of the locals in the front open bar area began to argue and fight. I was fascinated that in the two hours we were there the police were summoned no less than three times and at least four debaters were escorted to the station house in handcuffs via a paddy wagon.

Way back in the 1970’s I was having a beer in a pub that had a back entrance and front door, similar to the

Gaslight. The most interesting bar exit I ever saw happened there. A popular craze in the early seventies

was “streaking”, or removing every last stitch of clothing and running through crowds. This sport was very

popular with the college crowd. No one saw them enter from the rear, but everybody seated at the bar couldn’t help but notice the stark naked couple as they made their au naturel exit through the front door. They didn’t even stop for a quick brew and that was most likely a good thing. They didn’t appear to have their wallets on them!

Enough about leaving a bar. I much prefer to enter one. So I think I’ll pop over to the Gaslight for a pint of the excellent, not to be missed HJS cask conditioned IPA.       

Cheers,

Dan

A Glass Of Beer  

by Dan Hodge

Just as a wine connoisseur wouldn’t think of pouring his vintage sherry into a washed out jelly jar, a true beer enthusiast eschews anything but the proper vessel for his beer.

There are many styles of the malt beverage other than what the uninformed simply refer to as “beer” and each has its own type of glass which complements the style and enhances the taste as well as the obvious benefit of better appreciating the appearance of the beer.

Gone are the days when 90% of the beer that was available to Americans were standard golden lagers, invariably served in shell glasses, footed or stemmed pilsners or steins (these last occasionally frosted….. yeccch!). Little by little American taverns are imitating their European counterparts with a variety of glasses suitable for the particular beers they’re serving.

Most often seen today is the standard “shaker” pint, so named because it resembles nothing so much as a cocktail shaker. This glass is fine for pale ales, IPAs, brown ales and porters, but to drink a plain old lager out of them makes me long for the old days of pilsners and steins. Too many establishments use shakers for everything from Coca-Cola to hefeweizens, but a really knowledgeable tavern keeper selling good beer will also have several other types of glasses to be used for serving his available beers.

To pour a “proper pint” of Guinness into anything other than a British Imperial pint glass is as wrong to beer geeks as making any sense is to Nancy Pelosi. Unfortunately, because of all the Guinness lovers who come out of the woodwork in March, for the next month we’ll also be forced to drink our Guinness out of plastic cups when the St. Patrick’s Day celebrations cause the pubs to run out of glassware.

A special glass to be used for only one style is the traditional tall German hefeweizen glass, and hefeweizen is one style for which there is no substitute glass. As much as I love that beer on a sultry summer day, I’ll do without rather than drink it out of something else.

I like to drink imperial stouts, barleywines and Baltic porters out of snifter glasses. Such beers are meant to be sipped and savored and the snifter is a perfect vehicle for appreciating the nose while allowing  the warmth of your hand to bring a too cold beer closer to the temperature at which it can best be appreciated.

Ornately decorative German steins with hinged lids are always pictured with a smiling and obviously satisfied fat man gazing at his beer, usually with a bunch of radishes or a dead goose on the table in front of him. In addition to their beauty and collectability such steins are also practical: the hinged lids were meant to keep the flies out of your beer. But to me they’re a pain. The raised lid always hits me in the eye when the stein is raised to my lips. Besides, who’s to say a fly can’t get trapped IN your beer by a closed lid?

In Germany, doppelbocks (and some other styles) are traditionally served in earthenware mugs of varying sizes. I’m not a fan of this type of glass, which doesn’t allow you observe the color or size of the head of the beer you’re drinking, but its traditional and, being a “traditionalist, in my house any beer with a name ending in “ator” goes into one.

Also found in Germany is the “boot” glass (sometimes referred to as the “glug glug” glass). This is a glass shaped like a heeled boot which requires some expertise or at least practice to drink from without sloshing the suds all over your chin. Watching some young revelers passing a giant sized boot glass around the table next to us at a pub in Rothenburg inspired some members of my Mummers band to order one. It was great fun watching the beer slop into their faces and cascade down their chests as they tried to master swallowing the last gulp from the boot glass. I stuck to my masskrug.

Although some drinkers don't  like the masskrug because they feel the beer gets too old and warm by the time this one liter stein is emptied, the masskrug has the obvious advantages of delivering more beer with less work and cutting down on dry spells during a beer session.

For those who merely don’t LIKE the masskrug, they're certain to DESPISE another size German stein, rarely

seen because they’re too hard to lift. On the same German trip at which we witnessed the boot glass partyers, we stopped for lunch at a restaurant/butcher shop kind of place serving fresh meats and luncheon fare to local farmers. The portion of wiener schnitzel was more than I could eat in a day, so I should have not been surprised when the waitress asked if we would like glasses with the large beers we had ordered. We declined the offer and said “No…just the beers would be fine. Just bring the beers….LARGE beers.” She returned in a few minutes lugging four steins which looked more like cauldrons. This type of stein contains not one but THREE liters, delivering the equivalent of more than an eight pack of beer to have with your lunch. Even I couldn’t finish that one.

The “triple masskrug” was just a memory until a couple of weeks ago when I noticed several of them on display in the front window of Helmer’s, in Hoboken, a great stop for lovers of German cuisine and beer.

As long as we’re on the subject of steins, another type that was popular a few years ago and sometimes still seen is the pewter mug with a glass bottom. Everyone in my family had one and they all eventually began to leak, but they made nice Christmas presents, especially when engraved with the recipient’s initials. I suspect the real reason for the glass bottom was so an over imbibed drinker who was on the verge of escorting home what he perceived to be a beautiful drinking companion, could look through the bottom while draining his last dregs of the evening and come to his senses. The glass bottoms had a sort of truth feature that transformed what he thought was Cameron Diaz back into Rosie O’Donnell. Yes! The girls all get prettier at closing time unless you’re looking through the clear glass bottom of a pewter mug.

There have been many unconventional types of glasses ranging from the “Yard of Beer” (most often seen at historical restorations and re-creations like Williamsburg or Smithville) and upside down glasses to what I’ll refer to as the “Leute” glass, most of which are for gimmick purposes only and do little to enhance the taste or appearance of beer. But they are uniquely a part of beer culture and so should be mentioned if not in a positive vein, at least negatively.

A couple of years ago my beer club CiC and BeerNexus colleague Vince Capano presented me with a gift package of Leute Bok, consisting of a bottle of the excellent Belgian beer brewed by the Van Steenberge brewery and a round

bottomed glass that came with a small wooden stand with a concave depression for holding the glass, “Leute” means joy in Flemish and it was with great joy that I anticipated my first sampling of this beer. I waited for just the right moment: a cold winter’s night with sleet pelting against the widows, the cats reclining in positions reminiscent of Chinamen in an opium den and the dog resting comfortably at my feet.

I set the little wooden stand conveniently close to the beer book I was reading at my desk, uncapped the bottle, filled the glass, took a sip and carefully set it into the stand. Flipping through a few more pages ,the sips were repeated and the glass set back into the stand uneventfully. Unfortunately, some bit of beer trivia in the book really piqued my interest and, after the next sip, I distractedly set down the round bottomed glass onto my desk top without benefit of the stand. The glass did a sort of roly poly action before unloading its contents onto the desk, and eventually, the floor. At this point the cats and dog quickly awakened from their lethargy and began to investigate the spillage. Perhaps they can give a more informed rating than I on the drinkability of Leute Bok.

From now on it’s flat bottomed glasses only for me and there’s no better time to start than right now. So for now……

CHEERS! 

Dan

Big Beer 

by Dan Hodge

Until recently, in America “bigger” was always better, as in big cars, “big” hair, big oil, Big Macs and King

sized everything. But lately, nutritionists, tree hugging environmentalists and bean counters are crazed about downsizing everything, from the cars we drive to the food we eat. Although the astronomical rise in the consumption of “lite” beer would indicate that beer is also following this trend, for those of us who truly

appreciate the beverage, bigger is still better.

In craft brew circles “big beer” means beers that are aggressively hopped with more body and high alcohol

content. Craft brewers are outdoing themselves with “double” IPAs, Belgian “quadruples”, 12% barleywines

and even “Imperial” lagers. The difference between these styles of “big” beers and the watery “lites”

offered by larger brewers is akin to the difference between Kool-Aid and Johnny Walker Black: night and

day!

But not only craft brewers are into big beers. The relatively recent introduction of the “forty”, containing

forty ounces of high gravity malt liquor has afforded another example of a big beer. Although there are no

“big” hops or body, this style of beer does offer it’s consumers a very economical big drunk. “Midnight

Dragon” isn’t sold in nips for nothing!

Over the years, brewers and retailers of every day American lager have always adhered to the bigger is

better theory. For off-premises consumption beer has been sold in half gallon picnic bottles, gallon cans, “tall boys”, “beer balls”, and anything else that gives the consumer a bigger bang for his buck. In taverns, it’s increasingly difficult to find the old standard seven ounce glass. Most on-premises consumption is now via pint glasses, large steins, pitchers and the occasionally seen “yard” of beer. Even one of the last vestiges of the nip, Rolling Rock, is served in buckets. The bottles may only hold seven ounces but a dozen of them in a bucket equal more than a six pack. The beers may be small but the results are big.

Right here in New Jersey we had the world’s biggest beer bottle which stood for many years over the

Hoffman/Pabst brewery in Newark . This sixty foot tall landmark, is sorely missed by beer lovers and Garden State Parkway motorists, but since it’s been safely placed in storage, who knows, it may rise again, making for the world’s biggest resurrection of a beer bottle.

In Toronto , above Dundas Square , hangs what is probably the world’s biggest dancing beer can. The

thirty foot tall can, which sways back and forth, supposedly would hold the equivalent of 437,000 cans

of Labatt’s Blue, if filled with beer. Undoubtedly, this would result in the world’s biggest keg party if the can

could be tapped.

Labatt’s dancing can may be big, but of course it’s only one. La Crosse, Wisconsin can easily claim title to

the world’s biggest six pack, now painted as LaCrosse cans, but for many years they were proudly labeled

Heileman’s Old Style, as they stood outside the Heileman brewery. Also in Wisconsin , the small town

of Potosi offers beer travelers the unequalled vista of the world’s biggest cone top can, left over from the

days when cone tops were popular with smaller breweries like Potosi that couldn’t afford a separate

bottling line.

But these super sized cans, bottles and six packs pale by comparison to the vat constructed by the Meux

brewery of London . In 1814 the vat, which held 860,000 gallons of porter, burst, thereby creating the

world’s largest beer flood in which twenty Londoners perished, some by drowning, others by over

intoxication and even some who died when the morgue to which they had brought tickets to view the corpses of the drowned, collapsed.

Other aspects of beer history are big as well. Dr. Glendon Bogdon of Wisconsin (the state crops up

frequently when researching beer….they must drink a lot of it there) is the proud owner of the world’s

biggest bar towel, measuring twenty feet by ten feet and which he made by sewing 185 normal sized bar

towels together. Such a towel probably would have come in handy during the beer flood of 1814.

American Ron Werner has managed to amass the world’s largest collection of beer bottles. His total of

11,644 includes 7,128 that are unopened. If he were to throw a little party and offer each attendee three

beers over the course of the evening, he’d have to invite almost 1200 friends in order to run out of beer

before the night was over. Big crowd!

With over 5000 employees the Anheuser-Busch brewery in St. Louis is the world’s biggest brewery.

Unfortunately for me, Budweiser usually gives me the world’s biggest headache, so I try to avoid it.

The Blatz brewery of Milwaukee, Wisconsin at one time employed the world’s biggest beer salesman, Cliff

Thompson, who, at eight feet seven inches tall, looked down on everybody, whether they ordered Blatz or

not. Cliff left the beer selling business to enter Marquette University ’s School of Law . From world’s

biggest beer salesman to world’s biggest shyster in four short years!

The biggest single beer drinking day occurs in our own country. Super Bowl Sunday beats every other day in amount of beer consumed , but the Oktoberfest in Munich is the world’s biggest beer event with over a

million and a half gallons of beer served during the two week period.

The references to big, bigger, biggest and the state of Wisconsin all lead to a fitting end to the discussion of

“big beer”: although drinkers who have downed their beers in close proximity to the Atlantic Ocean might

disagree, it is generally believed that the Glarner Stube restaurant in ,where else, New Glarus , Wisconsin is home to the world’s largest urinal. “Glarner Stube” loosely means “living room of New Glarus, but perhaps a more appropriate name would be “bathroom of New Glarus”.  Due to the size of the urinal, it’s pretty hard to miss, but the dimensions also make it easy to fall into, so be careful how many big beers you have if you visit.

                                                       Cheers!

Dan 

====================

  300! 

by Dan Hodge

The number 300 can represent many things, such as the Gerald Butler movie about the Battle of Thermopylae, the standard for a good baseball batting average, the nameplate of the classic Chrysler sedan or the number of times the average politician lies during a campaign. For a beer lover it can mean a reference to Roger Protz’s “300 Beers to Try Before You Die”. (On that, I have to step up the pace. I consider myself to be a great beer fan and have logged almost 10,600 different beers in my beer drinking life, but I’ve only had 128 of Protz’s 300 and at seventy four I still have 172 to go). But 300 for me stands for a different personal achievement. 300 represents the 300th brewery I’ve visited since July, 1972, when I first toured the huge Anheuser Busch complex in Newark. (Legend has it that tours are no longer given there because they included free tastings at the end of the tour and Newark’s wino population became fond of taking daily tours). 

  In the quest for the perfect pint, I’ve visited breweries in 26 states, 15 foreign countries and 7 Canadian provinces. There were large industrial breweries with official guided tours, craft breweries with informal tours, brewpubs, where food is served along with the beers they brew, small craft breweries with no tasting room or tour, (instead standing right in the brewery next to a fermenter or bright tank with your pint) and breweries with attached biergartens. But no matter what the venue, for the most part all served excellent fresh brews, and no beer is better than a fresh one. To be sure, there were a few which were below average or even horrible, but this article is about pleasant memories, so those few will be saved for a later piece, when I’m in a particularly foul mood. 

  I’ve picked out a dozen or so which were positively memorable, either because of outstanding beer, outstanding ambience or some other idiosyncrasy that set it apart from all others. 

  First and memorable only because it was the first is the aforementioned Budweiser plant in Newark. Nothing wrong with Bud. I just don’t like it. 

  A sentimental favorite was a trip to Pottsville, Pa. And the Yuengling brewery, special because of the classic 19th century brewery building with its stained glass ceiling, and also because my 5 year old daughter lost her stomach perilously close to the mash tun. 

  Before I even knew what craft beer was, my new wife and I celebrated our first anniversary by walking around New York City. We didn’t get stabbed, shot, or pushed in front of a subway train, but did manage to stumble across the now defunct Manhattan Brewery, memorable because of the delivery draft horses that were stabled next door. Shortly thereafter, on a visit to her hometown of Buffalo, we had dinner at the Buffalo Brewpub, my first experience with a restaurant that made its own beer. It offered good beer, good pub grub, peanut shells all over the floor and great examples of old Buffalo breweriana. 

  A perfect example of a brewery with a biergarten was the Augustiner Abbey brewery in Salzburg, Austria. Entering the vast biergarten, we were directed to a room containing shelves with scores of mass and half liter steins. You select a stein, move to a wash rack, then present the newly rinsed stein to a guy sitting next to a large, wooden gravity fed keg, who fills it with Mullnerbrau, after which you select a couple of seats at the long tables under the trees and enjoy. A perfect way to spend a beautiful spring afternoon. 

 I don’t like sour or gueze beers, but as long as we were in Brussels, we had to stop at the Cantillon Brewery which only makes those styles. The ambience of open fermentation, cool ships and a tasting hosted by the brewer himself made for a memorable experience. 

Smoked beer is not a particular favorite of mine, either, but what made our side trip from our Rhine River cruise to the Schenkerla Rauchbier Brewery in Bamburg, Germany memorable was that several of the people we were with weren’t crazy about it as well and slid their untouched steins over to me. Crazy about rauchbier or not, it was as fresh as you can get and I hate to see to see good fresh beer go to waste. 

 A tour for which we had to pay was at the Pilsner Urquell brewery in Pilsen, Czech Republic. The nominal charge was offset by the exhaustive tour which included a movie, bus ride, walking tour through the brewery and packaging plant and of course, a tasting in the dark underground cellars of fresh Pilsner Urquell dispensed right from the fermenting vessel. Also in the Czech Republic, dinner at the oldest brewery in the country, U Flecku Pivovar in Prague, afforded the opportunity to see how beer is dispensed at the 500 year old brewery. You grab a couple of seats at one of the long tables and a guy comes around with a large tray of U Flecku Tmave(dark) brews and slams one down in front of you whether you ask for one or not. Saves time on worthless conversation such as “Would you like a drink?” and “I’ll have a beer. What do you have on tap?” 

The smallest brewery I was ever in had to be the Duke of Duckworth pub in St. John’s, Newfoundland. Primarily known for having the largest selection of taps in Newfoundland, when I was there they also had their own, brewed in what looked like a five gallon homebrew system. It was only average but there were 20 other great brews to choose from. 

 I never imagined France would be a place where I could find a great brewery, but last fall, while walking to the Arc de Triomphe, my wife’s eagle eye spotted a smallish sign on the other side of the street indicating the home of the Frog Brewery, an appropriate name for a brewery in France. Naturally, a stop was made and their version of Burton Ale was so good that if we hadn’t had to board the ship for our cruise to Normandy, I might still be there! 

  A different river cruise on the Danube, found us pulling up to a dock in Bratislava, Slovakia. As my wife was settling in for a nap before dinner, I looked across the river and saw a floating barge sporting a sign that read “Dunajski Pivovar”. I know hardly anything about Eastern European languages, but I DO know that “pivovar” means brewery, and I quickly figured out how to get there without swimming across the Danube. After a lengthy walk and trolleybus ride I arrived at the brewery, discovered they had three brews to choose from, and inquired as to whether they offered flights. “Vas iss dis flights?” asked the man behind the bar, and I told him I’d like to try them all. Forty five seconds later three 8 ounce glasses appeared in front of me, each holding one of the three available brews. When I had finished them and asked the cost, the man replied “No! No! You vas only TRYINK!” Since I had just received 24 ounces of beer for no charge, I felt obligated to buy a pint as well and left on a happy note. 

 A memorable brewery in the US that I recently visited is the Hothouse Brewery in Cicero, NY, near our vacation home. This brewery makes very nice beer and is actually connected with a garden center and greenhouse allowing you buy spring hyacinths along with your IPA. 

The Climax Brewery in Roselle Park, is the type with no official tasting room. You buy a ticket and redeem it for one of the Climax Ales or Hoffman Lagers that are always fresh, and can be drunk next to forklifts, pallets, bottling machines, sacks of malt and everything else that goes into making a brewery. 

I saved the best for last. The Gaslight Brewery and restaurant in South Orange, my home away from home, offers great beer, great food and ,for me, great ambiance since the owners are personal friends. There are always at least six brewed on premises beers available as well as outstanding guest beers, some of which are exclusive to the Gaslight. The cask of Manchester Star bitter which sold out in under an hour was the only one available in the US. My beer appreciation club, Draught Board 15, meets in the upstairs private room and is responsible for many memorable meetings, homebrew competitions, and club sponsored trips such as the annual excursion to TAP New York, featuring hundreds of beers from New York state breweries. 

 The “300” total has already been surpassed since I started writing this piece, so I’ll have to set a new goal. With the numbers of new breweries surging as fast as the latest variant of covid 19, it shouldn’t be too hard to strive for 500. 

Cheers,  

Dan 

Pints of Non-Perfection 

by Dan Hodge

Some years ago the Horlacher Brewing Company of Allentown, Pennsylvania marketed a beer named

“Perfection” in an obvious ploy to induce those seeking a perfect pint to search no further. The “Perfection”

brand was sold in the same package as the Horlacher brand with the only difference being the substitution of the name. Even the script was the same. Although I never drank Perfection, in my early days as a beer

drinker I had a few Horlacher’s and therefore can vouch that if the cans of Horlacher and Perfection held

the same contents, “Perfection” was NOT an appropriate name.

Part of the joy of beer drinking is the eternal search for the perfect pint while secretly hoping it’ll never be

found, giving a justifiable reason to keep trying more and more beer. Searching for the perfect pint is similar to traveling the Yellow Brick Road on the way to the Emerald City, for while the ultimate goal is a highly desirable prize, the snags and pitfalls one finds on the beer quest are equally as horrible as the Winged Monkeys or Wicked Witch of the West.

Bad beer experiences can be classified into several different categories: cheesy marketing, bad taverns,

bad breweries, personal prejudice, spoiled beer and mistakes. I’ve had a few rounds with all of the above

and will therefore digress from my usual admiration for the sudsy stuff to relate a few here.

First: beware the Christmas season! Starting in late October when all of us begin to anticipate the huge and warming beers of winter, brewed by dedicated craftsmen in microbreweries, unscrupulous “beer marketers” begin to cackle and rub their greedy hands together while getting ready to foist their undrinkable swill on the unsuspecting public. These are beers cheaply contract brewed for a marketer who knows nothing about beer, and come with ornate labels, little pamphlets explaining the finer nuances of beer styles and special “holiday” packaging such as small wooden crates stuffed with four bottles of beer and wood shavings for special effect. These things look great under the Christmas tree, but they are best kept intact and unopened to be part of Christmas decorating for years to come. The contents are bland and sometimes undrinkable due to aging.

Sometimes brewers have good intentions even though they don’t know what they’re doing. Any beer lover

looking for a couple of laughs over a pint or two would do well to visit Pubcrawler.com and type in “Gettysbrew”. I’ll say no more. Read the reviews for yourself.. I haven’t had the misfortune of pinting at Gettysbrew, but on a trip to Acadia National Park a few years ago, I did manage to have a lovely dinner with my family at Jack Russell’s Brewpub (aka, Main Coast Brewing Company) in Bar Harbor, Maine, where the excellent food, beautiful “downeast” atmosphere and efficient service could not make up for the sampler of beers presented before dinner, from which I usually select the pints to be had with the meal. These were, without a doubt, the worst tasting beers I’ve ever had. A blonde hefeweizen was indistinguishable from an Imperial Stout. The lemonade I had with dinner tasted pretty good.

Some beers are properly served and are huge sellers but we beer geeks look upon them with disdain. I refer, of course, to the mass produced “lite” beers that are promoted by pit bulls, frogs, and leggy volleyball players in skimpy bikinis. Taste and body are non- existent. I had always thought that nothing could have less taste than Coor’s Light until a year ago, when at the Newark Bears’ opener, I tried an Anheuser-Busch World Select Lager. After a sip I ran back to the concession stand and asked if they had mistakenly filled my cup with Poland Spring. They replied that the

Poland Spring is only dispensed in plastic bottles so what was in my cup must have been the A-B World Select. No matter what world I came from , I wouldn’t select this! It’s definitely the one beer to have when you’re having more than none!

Right here in New Jersey we had the largest brewery ever to make uniformly horrible beer, the Eastern Brewing Corporation of Hammonton, marketers of hundreds of economy, off-brand, and defunct label beers. The flagship brands were Old Bohemian, Old Bohemian Ale, and Old Bohemian Bock which seemed to be differentiated only by the amount of food coloring added to each.

On Staten Island was the R&H brewery, independent before being absorbed by Piel’s in the early fifties. Although I was far too young to have imbibed any R&H before it’s demise, my father assured me that R&H were not the initials of Rubsam and Horrmann, founders of the brewery. He was of the opinion that R&H stood for “Rotten and Horrible”.

Just recently my wife and I spent a few days in Antigua where I discovered Wadadli beer, brewed by the island’s local brewery. It was our first experience with an “all inclusive” resort which meant that one could quaff as many Wadadlis as one wanted , all included in the price of the stay. This was a good thing because Wadadli was just another of the thin Carribbean lagers one finds on these islands. Wadadli is definitely the one beer to have when you’re having more than a hundred. (Editor's note-I will now be checking Dan's expense account very closely.)

Brewer’s attempts at “something new” often lead to disastrous results. At beer festivals we’ve all tasted apricot, cherry, strawberry, and other assorted forays into the fruit and specialty beer field. But twenty years ago, when the craft brewing craze was just getting underway, I bought a bottle of, if you can believe it, mentholated beer from a brewery of which I can’t even remember the name. Trying to get a beer drinker to down this stuff would be harder than than getting a Camel smoker to light up a Kool.

My worst experience with spoiled beer was when my neighbor, an elderly Albanian who had just lost his wife, took to calling me at odd hours for moral support. Answering a request at two a.m. to come over and keep him company resulted in my leaving my warm sack to go next door to be neighborly. To show his appreciation for my nocturnal services he offered me a beer, which turned out to be a bottle of Hensler, last produced in 1957. I actually took a sip, which was enough to make realize that I should have declined the offer. The cap and label

are now part of my collection. The beer fed a nearby African violet!

I’m always amazed that some people in the business of purveying beer in a public house are so clueless about what they’re selling. Last summer I stopped in a nearby pub and discovered that they had McSorley’s Winter Ale on tap. Even though it was July, I stupidly ordered one and immediately realized that the beer was probably not left over from the previous winter, but maybe even from the one before that. When I voiced my displeasure to the barmaid she swapped my pint for something more palatable while saying “I don’t like beer but it tastes OK to me”.

A style of beer I consider to be undrinkable is Gueze, a Belgian style fermented by wild yeasts in open fermenters with cobwebs hanging around and spider droppings falling into the beer. Though there is no proof of this, I believe the word “gueze” is derived from two old Flemish words: “Gue”. meaning “goat”, and ‘Ze”, meaning “piss”. How anyone could like this stuff is beyond my wildest dreams!!

I don’t have to go far to report on brewers’ mistakes, the best of which occurred right in my own backyard. About ten years ago my wife and kids traveled to DC for President’s weekend and I found myself with a whole day on a warm February Sunday to brew what I anticipated to be two batches of beer. I set up my Cajun cooker on the deck, assembled all the necessary ingredients and equipment and got ready to go. Watching the brew kettle while wrestling with the Times puzzle was very pleasant until a breeze arose. The breeze suddenly turned into a heavy wind and

began to blow the flames out from under the brew kettle. Homebrewers being inventive, I went to a neighbor’s garbage and retrieved a large box in which a new dryer had arrived, in order to set up a windbreak. I was quite pleased with my invention and filled in a few more spaces before the phone rang. upon my return to the deck I discovered a scenario that could have been disastrous, but in retrospect was just another funny incident contributing to the brewing of bad beer. 

The wind had blown my cardboard windbreak into the flame, setting it on fire. This conflagration then not only scorched the deck, but also burned through the rubber hose connecting the Cajun cooker to the propane tank. A beautiful flame was shooting out the end of the hose and scorching the leg of the picnic bench. Of course the burning cardboard fell into the brew kettle, which not only doused the flames, but also created the world’s first smoked IPA, if you will. The deck needed only minor belt sanding and refinishing, and the beer only needed to be strained before fermenting, so all was not lost. As for the smoked IPA, it wasn’t too bad if not exactly true to style, and there was actually no hint of the “cardboard” taste associated with over-aged beer. (Probably because the cardboard had been reduced to ashes before it’s accidental inclusion into the wort).

All this talk of rotten and horrible beer has generated a great thirst for a good one, so I think I’ll pop over to the Gaslight for a pint of the new delicious Hopfest! 

“Buying Beer"

by Dan Hodge

Unless you steal it or brew your own, if you want a beer you generally have to buy it. Of course there’s always the freebie provided by the guy who says “This one’s on me”, but since barroom etiquette demands you return the favor , what have you actually gained? In fact it may even cost you more because if you only stopped in for one and some acquaintance on the other side of the bar instructs the bartender to “take it from here”, you now have to buy him one in return, and since it’s impolite to force  him to drink it alone, it requires  having another one yourself. Obviously this could go on all night, which is why I prefer to buy my own beer. My departed former father- in-law also preferred to pay his own way and when going out for a pint with him, I have heard that Virginia gentleman reply to the offer of a beer in his slow Richmond drawl “Thank you, but if you buy me a beer then I’ll have to buy you a beer and I really don’t want to buy you a beer, so I think I’ll just sit here and have a beer with my Yankee son-in-law”. Right to the point!

But whether the beer is paid for by you or someone else, in America it’s price is usually taken from cash

laying on the bar or running a tab and settling up at the end of the pinting session. A recent trip to Scotland reminded me this is not standard practice everywhere. In British pubs you hand your money to the bartender and extend your palm for any change. Almost never do you see money on the bar.

In Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic beers are just delivered to your table and marks are made on the back of your coaster. No money changes hands until it’s time to leave and the checkmarks are tallied. But the table waitresses have eyes like hawks and memories like elephants so don’t even think you’re ever going to get away with anything like playing musical coasters!

Some, thankfully not all, beer festivals in the United States issue little strips of tickets with your tasting

glass for the admission price, with one ticket being good for one sample. This is probably because some imbecilic nanny state legislator thought this system would help to curtail excessive tasting. But at some festivals I have attended, when your tasting ticket is handed to the pourer, it’s deposited into a large bowl in front of the taps with hundreds of other redeemed tickets eagerly awaiting reincarnation in order to be handed to the next brewer down the line and then taking another rest in his bowl. So much for nanny state mentality attempting to curtail ingenuity.  

Bavarian Oktoberfests in this area also generally use the ticket system but the rigidity of the Teutonic mindset makes certain that “VUN TICKET ISS GUT FOR VUN DINCKELACHER UND DOT”S ITT!!” No tickets are needed, however, for buying beer in Germany from beer vending machines, conveniently located in airport cab stands, railroad stations, parks, museums and highway rest stops.

A precursor to the ticket system of buying beer was the beer token, a wooden nickel proclaiming something like “Good For One Stoney’s Beer”. These tokens could be redeemed at any tavern featuring Stoney’s on tap, and actually became a form of “illegal tender”. A housewife, glomming a Stoney’s token from her sleeping husband’s pants pocket, might barter for some green beans from a thirsty grocer who felt like stopping for a cold one after a hard day’s work.

A modern day example of the beer token is provided by the resurrected Christian Moerlein brewery. This

brewpub, located next to the Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati, in order to recognize a great tradition from the original brewery’s past, offers a pouch of five coins, minted by a local private mint for $25, with each coin redeemable at the pub for one of their house brewed craft beers.

These coins are seemingly inflation proof, making them worth more than US coinage, but I wonder if there’s some sort of disclaimer. If the brewery survives fifty years and a guy walks in with a Moerlein coin purchased for $5 in 2013 attempting to a buy a $30 pint of Saengerfest Lager with it, will the coin be honored? Or will the coin be worth more than the price of a pint to a 2063 breweriana collector? Only time will tell.

One of the strangest systems I’ve seen for buying beer was many years ago on the Canadian side of the

Thousand Islands in a place called The Beer Store. Upon entering you noticed twelve packs of a large variety of Canadian beers displayed on a large wall. You either told the attendant or pointed to which one you wanted, he pressed a hidden button and the desired twelve pack suddenly appeared at the bottom a nearby roller chute. Luckily, my Labatt’s IPA came correctly as ordered, but if a twelver of Mooshead had arrived incorrectly was I going to be expected to push it back up the chute?

Airports are notorious for their usurious charges on everything so I wasn’t too surprised when I was

charged $4 for a Pabst Blue Ribbon forty years ago at Newark. But what was amazing to me at the time was HOW I was charged. The frosted stein was place under a tap, a button was pushed, the suds flowed into the glass, shut off when full and “ka-ching” was automatically heard from the cash register.  At $4 for a

PBR in 1973 I wasn’t going to have another anyway, but certainly flight delayed folks who wanted more than one sure as hell weren’t going to get one on the house.

A great way to buy beer was one I was not lucky enough to have experienced. In Will Anderson’s “Beer

USA” is a full page photo of the Texan Hotel Drugstore in Dallas. On the front of the building in addition to two signs informing potential patrons that prescriptions could be obtained within, were FOUR signs proclaiming “Look! All the Schepp’s Beer (aged in redwood) you can drink….60 cents per hour”. But this was not as good as it seems. The picture appears to be circa 1935. A minimum wage was not introduced until 1938 and then it was only a quarter an hour, so a drinker would have to spend about two and a half hours worth of pay to drink an hour’s worth of Schepp’s.  The average price of a beer in 1935 was a dime so at least seven glasses would have to be downed to make the hour worthwhile. And there’s no mention of overtime possibly costing time and a half!

For all those who buy beer there are also some who DON’T buy beer. There are always the sneaky change

stealers thinking no one is watching while they move bar cash from in front of you to in front of them. But

sneakier than the change stealers was the former Gaslight regular who, although he was willing to buy his

own, ( on a house tab, of course) had just been cut off due to over- imbibing. Undaunted by this sad turn of events and desiring more beer, while I was engaged in conversation, he simply poured the contents of my pint into his empty glass. Somehow, you have to admire that kind of spunk.

The Richmond, Fredricksburg and Potomac Railroad runs through the Quantico Marine Base and separates the base from the town of Quantico, home to a number of drinking establishments, one of which was located only forty feet or so from the tracks. Occasionally, cashless Marines, finding themselves thirsty a few days before payday, would wait until a train stopped, blocking the main street. Timing their getaway, they would wait until the train barely started to move again, madly race out of the saloon and duck under the train while running out on their bar tabs. By the time the train was gone, they were gone.

But that only works once and is extremely dangerous so it’s a pretty poor way to not buy beer, especially in

light of the fact that Ballantine beer could be purchased on the base for a mere sixty cents a sixpack.

Recently I stopped in a pub which shall remain nameless for a cold beer on a sweltering summer afternoon. This pub is known for its very decent selection of craft taps and it’s open air front. I just wanted one and laid a twenty on the bar while the barmaid was pouring my pint. Setting the glass in front of me and picking up the twenty, she asked if I had anything smaller to which I replied in the negative. She then told me she had no change, possibly hoping I would say “keep it”.

Since I was only having one, that certainly wasn’t going to happen, so I offered my credit card, but she pointed to sign that said “minimum credit card charge $10.” We were at an impasse, but not wanting to be a deadbeat and not blaming her for her boss’s failure to provide her with a cash drawer, I went next door to a bank to make change so I could buy my beer. What a way to run a business!

Thinking about that incident makes me a little thirsty, so I think I’ll go buy a beer. (After making sure I have various denominations of money in my kick).

Cheers!

It’s Getting Hard to Keep Up!   by Dan Hodge

For a beer lover that especially likes to try new brews and breweries, the age we live in is reminiscent of a kid in a candy shop: so many choices. With new breweries opening almost weekly, it’s extremely difficult to keep up. In fact, New Jersey, alone, a state which lagged way beyond most of the other states in numbers, is now home to over 130 breweries. And that doesn’t count the score or more which have opened and closed; Uno’s, Port 44, Raritan Bay, Jersey Jim’s, The Ship Inn, and Demented to name a very few.

I’ve visited ninety or so Jersey breweries and , as to be expected, found some outstanding, most average, and one or two, horrible. Some are very customer friendly and few seemed to care less whether you stopped in or not. Some follow the letter of the law regarding “tours”, music, etc. while others completely (and thankfully) disregard many stifling governmental restrictions. Some have opened with ambitions of operating a distributing brewery with a tasting room, while others have gone into business with the sole intention of running a taproom to sell beer in direct competition with local liquor license holders.

All that being said, during the horrible “covid year” of 2021 I managed to visit eighteen new breweries which either just opened their doors or which opened before 2021, that I hadn’t as yet gotten around to visiting.

There’s no better place to start than January, so on January 3rd I went to the Bull and Bear brewery in Summit and found some very good brews, with service being a little slow and no bar to sit at, making conversation somewhat difficult if you’re alone. Also in January, I drove all the way to the Sunken Silo in Lebanon, only to discover that they don’t do flights “because of covid”. Covid knows the difference between a 5 ounce sampler glass and a pint? Therefore I was only able to try two beers which probably would have tasted better if they hadn’t been served in a crummy solo cup. (Covid can also differentiate  plastic from glass).

In March, on the way home from antiquing in Easton, PA, we stopped at Invertase in Phillipsburg. I had two quick pints, both of which were pretty good, especially the Fox Paws Bohemian Pils. March also allowed for a stop at Red White and Brew in Audobon, which offered average brews that were made tastier by enjoying them with a half dozen fellow Mummers after a parade. The ambiance is wonderful.

April and May were dry months for trying new breweries, but in June, I and another fellow Mummer stopped in at Conclave in Flemington (Raritan Township) after a parade. This brewery is outstanding. They don’t do flights, either, but they offer eight ounce glasses at a pretty low price. Especially memorable was their English Rain ESB. Several more post-parade stops have been made.

A brewery I visited for the first time in July despite the fact that it’s the closest to my home and had been open for many months prior, is Lion’s Roar in Westfield. The reason for the delayed visit was that when they first opened, one was expected to call ahead and make a reservation to block out ninety minutes of time. A little much just to drink a beer to my way of thinking. But finally they opened in a normal way, so I gave them a try. The Count the Teslas Kolsch was excellent. I stopped in again a couple of weeks ago and had two flights, both excellent, and foresee popping in many more times in the future.

August brought something like the best of breweries, the worst of breweries. After a day of sun and surf at Island Beach I stopped at Tom’s River Brewery on Rt. 37. The Oktoberfest and the Dublin Workingman’s Porter were very solid. I’ve been back twice. But also in August, I took a Sunday afternoon drive to Wayne and the Seven Tribesmen Brewery. The trip was memorable but not for particularly good reasons. After I had parked and was walking in the door, a member of the staff stopped me and said there was a private party inside and that I would have to sit in the biergarten, which I would have preferred, anyway. I asked if they did flights, to which he responded in the affirmative and led me to a table in the garden. He handed me a beer list and said someone would be with me shortly. Fifteen beer-less minutes later “someone” appeared and it turned out to be him. When I asked for a flight, he said they only do flights inside and not in the biergarten. Recalling the amount of time required for “someone” to arrive at my table , I wisely ordered two pints in order to stave off thirst after the first was kaput. After about ten minutes the pints arrived, but in Solo cups with lids put on so tightly that a good portion of the beer wound up on the tabletop when I attempted to remove them. The beer was okay, but not worth a second trip.

In September, I met my ex-neighbor and good friend at Alternate Ending Brewing in Aberdeen, one of the very few startups that is also a brewpub, offering pub grub as well as outstanding beers. I’ve subsequently been there several times and highly recommend the Day After Yesterday Barleywine when it’s available. After a parade at Glassboro College I stopped at Neck of the Woods Brewing in Pitman and particularly liked the Oktoberfest and Chuppta IPA. It’s located in an industrial park and therefore parking is easy and plentiful. That same day I tried Human Village Brewery for the first and last time. Last, because the beers were not good and also because they’ve shut their doors for good as of 12/31/2021.

October afforded visits to three new breweries, two of which just opened and one that has been around a few years, but which I had never been to. Old Hights Brewery in Hightstown, open only a month or so, had two excellent brews: Engine 6 Scottish Ale and Tree Hugger Red IPA. Seven Sons Brewery in Howell had eight beers on tap and six of the eight I considered excellent with the Kats in Maus Hefeweizen being outstanding. My sister and I traveled an hour to Tinton Falls to visit Jughandle Brewery, a trip which would have been better if we hadn’t made it. The beers were just average and the ambiance lacked any character at all.

Parades, or driving home from them are great excuses for stopping at breweries. So it was that after the first Christmas parade of the season in November, I stopped at Ashton Brewery in Middlesex, housed in the former home of the aforementioned, now closed, Demented Brewery. It was a little pricey, but the Fraximus English Barleywine was worth it. Also in November and much closer to home is the Glenbrook brewery in Morristown, a huge venue with an extremely personable and likable owner, who seemed to be the only staff around on my visit. But that made no difference, as his service was superior to many places who have servers that were trained by the US Postal Service in the discipline of speed.

December saw visits to three more brand new Jersey breweries. Again after a Christmas parade, the route home took me right past the Readington Brewery and Hop Farm on Rt. 202 South in Neshanic. Well, maybe not RIGHT past, since I was heading north. But the two U-turns required for the visit were well worth it. It will be even better in summer when the hop vines are growing, but in December it’s a beautiful place anyway. It’s a brand new building, built to house a brewery and tasting room, there’s plenty of parking, a picnic area next to the future hop farm, and I found three of their beers, Liberator Barleywine, The Patriot IPA, and the 1814 Irish Stout to be excellent, with the stout getting four stars on my personal rating system. Not so excellent was the South Forty Brewery in Edison, located in what looked to be the same industrial park, Raritan Center, as Cypress Brewing. Nine beers were available, none of them very good, with one being undrinkable. What made it interesting is that the brewer decided to name it “I F——-Up Barleywine”, as the reason why it was terrible. The girl working the bar told me the reason but I must admit I have forgotten it. Suffice to know that it was an excellent example of being f——-up, and the counterpart, “I Didn’t F—-Up Barleywine”, a beer in which the error had supposedly been corrected, wasn’t much better.

The last new brewery in 2021 is one that I sincerely hope succeeds because it’s in my hometown of Newark, but I’m sure it’s location on high rent Broad Street, coupled with NO parking and Newark’s partially undeserved reputation for being dangerous, make for a tough road ahead. My first trip, just before Christmas, was a little hectic , dodging hundreds of busses and trolleys and traversing a dozen one way streets trying to find a place to park. Thirty minutes later, I parked on University Avenue, just off Orange Street and walked the seven or eight blocks to 538 Broad, directly across from the Washington Park light rail stop. Their website advises that it’s only a three minute walk from the Newark Museum and you can park in the museum lot for a fee, but if you’re not afraid you can always park where I did and witness a car-jacking, mugging, and rape during your walk. (ONLY KIDDING….it’s a perfectly safe area). The guy behind the bar was very friendly and informative and when I asked why there were no dark beers, he said a porter would soon be up. When I stopped in a month later, he remembered me and asked if I had returned for the porter, which was freshly tapped and excellent. I wish them luck.

New breweries are a definite positive for the local economy and the beer lover, and with the spate of new ones opening, it’s definitely getting harder to keep up. But it’s great fun trying!

Cheers, 

Dan

Almost daily we hear or read about America's problem with obesity, usually blamed on fast food, overeating, and our largely (no pun intended) sedentary lifestyle. To help alleviate this problem millions of dollars are spent on gym memberships, personal trainers, exercise equipment and nutritional supplements. All types of diets and other regimens of self sacrifice are practiced with spotty results, often, when the anticipated goals are not immediately achieved, causing many of the dieters to despair and just give up. This feeling of hopelessness is the result of no immediate reward for their sacrifices.

Beer drinkers, however, have an alternative way to stay fit and be instantly rewarded for their efforts. "Beer My Way" now proudly takes this opportunity to show readers how to shed a few pounds by simply drinking more beer and performing a few inexpensive "beer exercises".

"The Beer Stepper"

Most lazy Americans struggling with extra poundage just open the refrigerator door when they're thirsty for

a brew, which requires hardly any energy at all. But an astute and weight conscious beer man always makes use of a beer stepper by simply situating his beer fridge on a different level in the house than the one on which he intends to drink the beer. By doing so, another beer

requires at least thirteen steps up or down and back.

If friends are visiting he only retrieves one beer at a time. The friends may temporarily miss him, but they've got each other to talk to while he's busy running up and down the stairs. A great way to burn calories at no cost! For those who live in a ranch house with no basement, a six foot step ladder placed in front of the fridge serves the same purpose if one always remembers to scale up one side of the ladder and down the other when getting another beer.

 "The Keg Lift"

This is a no brainer. Just throw frequent keg parties, always buy half barrels, and hand carry them home from the liquor store. Excellent for arm and back strengthening and cardio vascular training.

"The Case Schlep"

This exercise requires an occasional motor trip to Pennsylvania. Drive to a beer distributor in the Keystone

State and pick up four cases of Stegmaier's, Straub's or any beer still sold in sixteen ounce deposit bottles.

Bring the cases home and carry them to the garage. Set two aside for drinking and place the other two, one on top of the other, on the floor in front of a five foot high shelf. Keeping the back straight and bending the knees, pick up the top case and place it on the shelf. Repeat with the bottom case and place it on top of the already shelved case, then reverse the operation until both cases are returned to the floor. Fifteen or twenty repetitions are an excellent workout for the upper arms, legs, and back.

 "The Mass Hoist"

This exercise is great for conditioning the biceps and forearm, especially for those in training for arm wrestling competitions. Always drink your beer from a liter size or "mass" stein, keeping the forearm level with the bar when raising the stein to your lips. This type of workout has instant gratification, but lest one arm gets stronger than the other, it's recommended to switch arms with every other beer.

 "The Digital Rejuvenator"

Most people never consider the fingers or hands when working out but without fingers there is little one can

accomplish in life. That's why beer drinkers constantly exercise the hands and rarely suffer from carpal tunnel syndrome. Using the forefinger to pop the top on a can, the thumb and forefinger to unscrew a screw cap, wrapping the hand around a stein during the Mass Hoist and manipulating church keys and bottle openers are great ways to keep one's fingers and hands in shape.

  "The Dune Walk"

Perhaps the most exhausting beer exercise is the Dune Walk and the requirement of a partner to perform it is proof of this. Load an eighty quart Coleman cooler with a case and a half of cans of your favorite session beer and a chopped up twenty five pound block of ice. Drive to Island Beach State Park (or your own favorite seaside) and park at one of the smaller, non-guarded beaches. Place the cooler on the ground and on top of it stack a beach blanket, umbrella, two beach chairs, a radio, some books and bag of sandwiches and sunscreen. With you on one side and your partner on the other, pick up the cooler by its handles and begin the quarter mile trudge in the blazing sun over the burning sand of the dune. Every fifty yards or so it will become necessary to switch arms before continuing the trek. Be especially careful at this juncture since the heat of the blinding sun often causes the arm switchers to become disoriented and actually start heading back towards the car.

Occasionally the extreme effort required by the Dune Walk makes the Dune Walkers say to hell with it, throw the chairs ,umbrella,  and other stuff off to the side, open the cooler and start downing brewskis without ever catching even a glimpse of the ocean. But dedicated and persistent Dune Walkers soon find

themselves oceanside, enjoying salt water and liquid gold and feeling great after a tough workout.

 "Beer Biking"

Bicycling is a great moderate exercise enabling the cyclist to observe things not readily visible when

speeding by in an automobile. But too often cyclists just aimlessly cycle around with no definite destination in mind. The beer biker, however, just heads towards his favorite brewpub, accomplishing a workout both before and after enjoying a few pints. And he doesn't have to worry about driving home!

"The Ale Swim"

Take a vacation at a resort that has an "underwater" bar or at least a bar located near a pool. Position your

chaise lounge as far away from it as possible and take frequent swims to the bar for an ale using any vigorous stroke such as the Australian Crawl or breast stroke. An excellent way to work the muscles used in swimming with a definite and rewarding purpose in mind.

"The Rolling Rock Climb"

This isn't as dangerous as it sounds, since it doesn't actually require one to climb up a rock. Just go on a

picnic and station a cooler full of icy Rolling Rock nips on top of a steep hill near your picnic spot. When you want  beer climb up the hill and get one. Getting more than one at a time defeats the purpose, so be sure to make frequent trips up the hill for a good cardio workout.

"The Beerobic Dance"

The final workout is one that's  necessitated by performance of the preceding beer exercises and one which puts all parts of the body into active and vigorous use. When the first inkling of a need for a trip to the

men's room becomes apparent, hold off as long as possible, preferably until the last second. Then race

madly to the facilities and get in line. The Beerobic Dance works out the legs as you hop from

one to the other, the knees as you squeeze them together, and even the teeth and jaw as you wince in

pain. In addition , to quote Satchel Paige, the "jangling" of your arms really "gets the juices flowing!

It's time for a little workout. I think I'll go do a couple of

Mass Hoists. 

Cheers and Happy New Year!

=========================

Have Yourself A Beery Little Christmas by Dan Hodge

The highlight of the year for all beer lovers has to be the Christmas season. For generations breweries have brewed special Christmas beers as a way to enhance the celebration of this most festive of seasons, and as a result, perusing the seasonal displays of the liquor stores makes a beer fan feel like a kid in a candy shop. Christmas (or, for the politically correct, “holiday”) beers can be anything from spiced ale to imperial stouts and porters, to winter warmers, or even imperial lagers. But in spite of what style it is, a Christmas beer is meant to be savored in the special ambiance of a Yuletide gathering.

Many Christmas beers have appropriate names to designate them as such without having to resort to the

generic “Christmas Ale”, “Holiday Brew”, or other equally bland titles. Portland’s “Santa’s Little Helper”, Rogue’s

“Santa’s Private Reserve”, Troeg’s “Mad Elf”, Diamond Knot’s “Ho! Ho!”, Bateman’s “Nosey Rosey”, Shelton Bros.’ “Pickled Santa”, DeRanke’s “Pere Noel”, Full Sail’s “Wreck the Halls” and Sam Adams’ “Old Fezziwig” can all be identified as special Christmas beers without ever seeing the word “Christmas”. Britain’s Ridgeway Brewing

outdoes them all. I have had five of their beers brewed especially for the Christmas season: “Bad Elf”, “Very Bad Elf”, “Seriously Bad Elf”, “Insanely Bad Elf” and the ever popular (except in states where the idiot label police have banned it), “Santa’s Butt”.

In my opinion, the greatest Christmas beer ever made was the iconic “holy grail” of beers, Ballantine Burton Ale. Brewed only twice, on May 12, 1934 and May 12, 1946, the super strong (for that time) brew was then stored in huge wooden vats in the brewery’s basement until being drawn of at Christmastime to be bottled with a special Christmas label denoting the bottling date and for whom it was bottled, and given away as presents to dignitaries, employees and friends of the brewery.

I recently spoke to a man who worked at Ballantine’s and he related how the US Secret Service was present to oversee the bottling of several cases labeled specifically for President John F. Kennedy. This beer is still available via E-bay and a few years ago our beer club bought one for a princely sum. (See Vince Capano’s Adventures in Beerland article “You Spent 99 $#@%& Dollars on a Bottle of Beer?)

But modern day beer fans don’t have to spend quite that much. Thanks to the expertise and inquisitive historical mind of Pabst (they now own the rights to the Ballantine brand) head brewmaster Greg Duuhs, 2015 marks the first time this beer has been available to the general public. But unfortunately it’s no longer for free.

I had my first taste on tap at the Gaslight Pub, proudly serving what was perhaps the first ever Burton that was paid for. But a week or so later I ventured into the Liberty Tavern and discovered the holy grail on tap there as well, served in a FROSTED full pint. Probably NOT the intention of Mr. Duuhs, nor any other knowledgeable beer geek.

A childhood Christmas tradition in my house, like many others, was leaving a snack for Santa and his reindeer, but with a different slant. My father, known to close friends as “Iron City Bob”, felt that after visiting a billion homes and downing milk and cookies in most of them, Santa most likely desired something a tad stronger to sustain him through the rest of his stops, so the Hodge children always left a bottle of Iron City and a plate of cheese and crackers for Mr. Claus and occasionally some pretzels for the reindeer. Proof that Santa had visited was offered not only by the mounds of presents under the tree, but also by the empty beer bottle and cleaned plate!

I have previously written about Christmas decorating with beer, including tree garland made from pop tops

and miniature beer can ornaments, not to mention the “tree” made from beer bottles I observed at the Steigel brewery in Salzburg, Austria. But just this afternoon as I was trimming my tree, the beery aspects of Christmas decorating came much closer to home. Among the hundreds of ornaments I was hanging were pilsener glasses, frothing mugs, little lederhosen-clad German men hoisting steins and frauleins holding six of them in each hand. Gazing at the tree with a beer in your hand while people in the tree with beers in their hands are gazing back makes Christmas celebrating much more pleasurable.

Unfortunately, as in many other areas of our consumer- driven society, brewers are not immune to rushing the

season. It’s now customary to see the first Christmas beers appearing on the retailer’s shelves in October, and

therefore some of the most sought after versions have to be purchased then, because by Christmas Eve they’ll be gone. But while Santa is busy loading his sleigh, you can probably buy all the “spring ales” your heart desires.

Two highlights of the beery Christmas season happen very close to home. The Gaslight’s Victorian Christmas

Dinner is a gourmet seven course meal with each course complemented by a beer and wine specially paired to

what’s being served. The dinner is preceded by a “cocktail” hour featuring new and vintage Christmas beers as well as mulled wine for those unenlightened folks who don’t appreciate great beer.

Very close to home, in fact IN it, is the annual Hodge Christmas beer tasting at which draught Board 15 cask

Commissioners and an occasional guest drinker assemble around my dining room table between Christmas and New Year’s to taste and rate varied examples of Christmas, Holiday, and “winter” brews. We have had as many as 62 on one occasion but usually we are in the 40-50 range. The tasting is done blind so as not to unfairly prejudice the palates of the tasters and even though after 40 or 50 some people might think we know not what we’re drinking, amazingly Sierra Nevada’s Celebration Ale and Clipper City’s Winter   Storm always finish in first and second place.

This should prove that despite sampling 50 beers, the Cask Commissioners are discriminating beer connoisseurs who really know a good one when they taste it. But this year maybe I’ll put off serving those two until the end. That way, we’ll know for sure whether or not they’re really the best.

Have yourself a Beery Little Christmas and by the way, clusters of hops make a nice substitute for mistletoe!

               Ho, Ho, Ho --  Cheers! 

DAN THE BAPTIST  by Dan Hodge

Just as John traveled around baptizing future Christians in water, so have  I spent some time and taken great pleasure from baptizing future beer geeks in beer. Of course, to equate the two is ridiculous and belittling to John the Baptist but there is a similarity in the degree of satisfaction achieved by both of us in bringing newcomers into the fold.

I had long wondered (and still do) how so much Coor’s Light can be sold while the craft beer aisles grow by leaps and bounds, with new breweries and brews appearing every day. Obviously a good part of the reason is that few persons have spent the time necessary to convert the unsaved and field the retorts of potential converts, figuring that it’s just not worth the aggravation, even though the conversion process invariably involves the drinking of beer.

To be sure, not all Coor’s Light drinkers can be made to see the light and even those that do occasionally have to be converted in stages. Offering a can of Yuengling Black & Tan to a thirsty Coor’s man is perhaps a baby step on the road to craft beer but you have to start somewhere, and once he’s received his first communion with Yuengling, his confirmation with Sierra Nevada or Victory will be much easier. But sometimes, even if the original baby step is taken, the prospective convert will get mired in the Yuengling and never make the final transition to “real” craft beer, as in the case of my first novitiate, my friend Ted.

Ted was addicted to Stroh’s in its iconic blue cans. We usually took turns wandering into each other’s

backyards to see what the other was up to and the wanderer was always greeted with the words “Do you want a beer?” That question was always answered “Yes”, but if I happened to be the wanderer my positive response would be fulfilled with the Stroh’s which tasted like Coor’s in which someone had soaked rusty nails for a couple of weeks. But when Ted wandered into to my backyard he invariably was offered something much better than Stroh’s, perhaps a Cricket Hill Hopnotic IPA or Berkshire Oktoberfest. So, in order to even the playing field, I had to get Ted to stock something that would provide me with suitable beer when I entered his backyard and the obvious way to do that was to

convert him.

Little by little, stimulated by the always excellent craft brews I provided for him, his palate began to revert back to his German heritage and soon I was offered bottles of beers such Hacker-Pschorr Oktoberfest and Paulaner Hefeweizen.  However,Ted himself did a little backsliding and now rarely drinks anything other than Yuengling lager, a good every day brew and certainly many steps ahead of Stroh’s, but definitely not a craft beer. He’s made his first communion, but is still years away from confirmation.

A Friday afternoon ritual in our suburban neighborhood was watching the Paul , my across the street neighbor, exit his car after work toting his “suitcase” 30 pack of Budweiser cans. Here too, was a man who was not to be diverted from his devotion to Bud. That is until I invited him (and Ted) to accompany me to a Friday night “tour” of Cricket Hill Brewery.  Downing a half dozen pints and purchasing a case of East Coast Lager to enjoy at home was proof positive that this was a man who was ready to repent.

With further encouragement from his friend, The Screwy Brewer, (innovator of a homebrewing website of the same name) his beer revival was in full swing and the final conversion may well now be complete. Just a week ago he announced to me that he hadn’t had a Budweiser in months and when preparing for a party at his home, he handed his son $100 and told him to go get some good beer for the festivities!

With friendly persuasion and occasional badgering by me, ALL of my siblings are now craft brew enthusiasts. Even my sister Jane, former fan of Coor’s light, now makes sure that decent brew is always available for family gatherings at her house.

Sometimes in the conversion process Satan rears his ugly head and fights tooth and nail to keep beer

drinkers in HIS fold. Recently, on our annual St. Patricks Day four day sojourn in Western Massachusetts my Mummers band was fulfilling one of its obligations by playing a concert at Smith’s Billiards in Springfield. Smith’ s has a wide and varied selection of craft brews available on tap. (See Beer my Way article “Mum’s the Word…for Beer!”).Looking at the board on which the beers were

listed, and respecting my well known penchant for craft beer, long time member and friend Tom Maminski said “Okay, Hodge, I’m ready to try something new. What do you recommend?” I was astounded! I had never seen Tom drink anything other than Bud Light and on many occasions had even heard him expound on its goodness. Surely, here was a man ready to see the light and be saved!

Not wanting to overwhelm him with an Oaked Imperial Stout, Belgian tripel or Quadruple IPA all of which were prominently listed on the board and which could easily make him revert back to watery Bud Light, I studied the offerings for just the right beer for his first foray into the world of craft and decided on a nice, unassuming saison. We ordered it and I was pleased to see that it was poured into a proper stemmed glass. I carefully advised him how to smell it, observe its color and taste it, looking for all the flavor notes a saison should have. He did all that and said “Hey! This isn’t bad!” I figured I

had brought another errant lamb back into the fold. But I was hasty. Satan must have been working on him also. Shortly after playing our next set, I noticed Tom ordering another of the scores of Bud Lights he would consume that weekend. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink!

My proudest achievement in the conversion process is my new neighbor Matt Chuchla, native Buffalonian and active duty member of the US Coast Guard. When Matt moved in two years ago I welcomed him to the neighborhood by engaging in conversation over the fence between our yards. After a short while we got talking about beer and Matt informed me that having grown up so close to the land of the maple leaf, he was extremely partial to Canadian beers. He praised Molson, Sleeman’s, Moosehead and even the bland Labatt’s Blue. Obviously this was a new challenge for Dan the Baptist.

I had just returned from a trip to restock the beer fridge and had probably 10 or 12 different brews

available in addition to a couple of homebrews. Several hours later, legless and wavering, Matt returned to his abode with his belly full of Victory Hop Devil, Lakefront Big Easy maibock, Sam Adams Boston Ale, Dog Fish Head Raison d’etre and Hodge’s Raj IPA. It was almost too easy. I wondered if perhaps the great onslaught of craft brews would confuse him and make him long for the comfort and familiarity of Labatt’s Blue. But my worries were needless. In fact, I may have created a monster. Matt eagerly became a dues paying, card carrying member of my beer club, theDraught Board 15, and a regular patron of the local Gaslight Brewery who wonders why their “Governator” Vienna Lager is only available once a year.

Matt has accompanied me on  a few Friday night visits to Climax brewery, was a very early sign up for the New York TAP beerfest trip and I haven’t seen an empty Molson bottle in over a year. It’s not unusual for him to say “I just went to store and got a case of Sam Adams Cold Snap. We’ll have to have a few later”. This fall he drove himself crazy trying to find more Flying Dog Dead Rise Summer Ale with Old Bay seasoning. It was heart rending having to explain to him that it was a summer

seasonal and it wouldn’t reappear before next summer. Just a short time ago I was listening to the Mets at my picnic table and he came into view carrying a large bottle of Ommegang Brewery’s Three Philosophers Quad. A few of those and you’ll be down for the count by the seventh inning stretch!

Hallelujah! If I ever decide to put up a tent and hold a beer revival meeting, Matt will definitely be called upon tooffer the first testimonial! Amen, brother! 

   Church Keys Don’t Really Open Churches!

by Dan Hodge

Normally, when  speaking of beer  “adjuncts”, we are referring to corn, rice, herbs or other ingredients added to beer in defiance of Reinheitsgebot, the German purity law which defines water, hops, malt and yeast as the only four  things allowed in the brewing of beer. However, the brewing industry extends far beyond the serious business of just

making and drinking the stuff, and here , too, adjunct uses for the other factors in the industry come to the forefront of consideration.

Before revealing some of those adjunct uses, however, as an addendum to last month’s article detailing alternative uses for beer itself, I’d like to present yet another valuable reason why beer is so widely loved and appreciated!.  Somehow I forgot to mention that beer can be an effective unit for the measurement of time and distance. Although this use is not recommended (in fact definitely DISCOURAGED) in today’s politically  correct and temperate society,  

not too long ago a group of fishermen, planning a weekend trip “to the lake” and asked by a newcomer how long of a drive it was, might answer “about five beers”.  “Swooping” home on a liberty weekend from Marine Corps Base, Quantico, Va. to Jersey required about three and a half hours, ten gallons of gas @ 29 cents/gallon and five Ballantine’s @10 cents/bottle. Ballantine was a more economical fuel than Gulf No- Nox!

But I digress. Back to the alternative uses of beer marketing’s adjuncts: A whole industry has been born around the non-ingestive aspects of beer.   Memorabilia concerning the beverage, better known as "breweriana”, has spawned many national and international clubs whose members meet regularly to buy, sell trade and covet millions of dollars worth of brewery advertising, that for the most part, was given away gratis by beer salesmen to induce retailers into bigger orders. Members of these organizations have been known to go into cardiac arrest when unearthing an “Amana” beer can at a garage sale, resort to violence over who saw a pristine Ebling’s beer tray first at a flea market, and trade away their wives for a patch ripped from the sleeve of a pre-prohibition Esslinger’s beer truck driver. In addition to the collectability of these items, all had other uses than that for which they were originally produced.

Canned beer , first introduced by the Gottfried Krueger Brewing Company of  Newark, enabled retailers to cram more beer into less space, imbibers to drink colder beer with less chance for spoilage, and brewers to eliminate the need for washing and refilling deposit bottles. In the seventy years since, in addition to being drained for liquid refreshment, billions of cans have been collected, shot at, and pyramided in dormitory windows, the obvious adjunct uses of this wonderful marketing innovation. But there are more: In the good old days of steel cans I remember  some parties ending with “grown ups” stamping around the cement backyard in Newark with empty cans of Hensler or Knickerbocker securely attached to their shoes, emulating James Cagney dancing to “Yankee Doodle Dandy”.

In the same spirit of The Glorious Fourth, it was possible to blow one’s fingers off in a more American way than by using fireworks imported from Macau. Five steel beer cans, with the tops and bottoms removed, except for the bottom can, taped together with duct tape and primed with a squirt of lighter fluid, would produce a sound like a Howitzer when a Zippo was ignited near the end. I am told that these pieces of breweriana artillery will even shoot a potato for

quite some distance, although I have never seen this done nor do I know why anyone would wish to do so.

Every so often, one reads in the Feature section of the paper about someone named Lester G. Suggins in Pschittwhole, Nebraska, who has sided his barn using ten thousand flattened Budweiser cans. In addition to the barn, the accompanying photo usually shows Lester, grinning happily and holding what will soon become  part of the casing for the hatch to the upper hayloft. Obviously drinking more beer will help to protect the infrastructure of one’s estate.

Thanks to the internet, many an urban legend about the value of pop tops has been widely circulated. Over the years, thousands, even millions of school children, cub scouts and lushes have been induced to save these small pieces of packaging in order to provide heart/lung machines, dialysis, wheelchairs, artificial hearts and kidney transplants for long suffering patients. Funny, but when my doctor’s bills are received, I’m always instructed to pay in US legal

tender and not in pop tops.

Beer cans created an immediate need for their own adjunct, hence the invention of the “church key” to enable thirsty consumers to more efficiently open their chilled cans  of Pabst Blue Ribbon. PBR cans originally had printed instructions on the side to inform users how to apply the church key to the can in order to release the beer. It is unknown if anyone actually ever read the instructions, since the skill required to open a can using a church key is about as technical as how to turn an electric light off and on by means of a switch. As usual the church key, which is

fast disappearing because of the pop top revolution, had other uses such as picking old grout out of ceramic tiles and arming 1950’s street gangs. Before the advent of the Crips, Bloods, and AK47s, the church key was an important part of the arsenal of many a Jet or Shark!

Thanks to the influence of the British beer engine and it’s long handled hand pump, most American draught beers are also dispensed by means of long , elaborate, theme oriented tap handles. But it wasn’t too long ago that the gears of a ’49 Olds or ’52 Nash were shifted by a small round Schlitz or Schaefer tap knob, screwed onto the shift lever in place of the boring, stock  plastic. The closest thing to drinking and driving that’s legal!

A trip to the Philadelphia Zoo will reveal the polar bears happily playing with bobbing beer kegs. I guess the kegs are empty, due to their buoyancy, but I really don’t know if the kegs of Ortlieb’s are provided that way, or the bears’ playful state is attributable to the kegs being delivered while full!

Several years ago I had a tremendous pain in my left foot, which was eventually diagnosed as Plantar’s Fascitis. A sinking feeling arose in the pit of my stomach when the examining physician questioned if I drank beer. Surely, I despaired, he’s going to tell me to stop drinking beer and I began to weigh which was the greater pain, the foot or the prospect of a beerless life. Imagine my joy and relief when he advised me to roll an empty beer bottle under my foot

while watching TV in order to relieve the condition!. What a great doctor. And what a great adjunct use of beer packaging! 

Also along medical lines, foam scrapers, no longer used for sanitary reasons and because the oceans of Coor’s Light that are served today don’t require them, played an important part in saving many lives. The cry of “Is there a doctor in the house?” summoned many a medical man to the emergency. The doctor, oblivious to possible

malpractice claims and finding he had left his medical bag at home, often requested a foam scraper to be used in place of a tongue depressor. Was the life saved because the patient didn’t swallow his own tongue or because the droplets of Guiness left on the scraper stimulated his recovery?

According to leading beer writer a hundred beer caps, nailed one by one onto a board make an excellent tool for scraping dog poop from one’s shoes. This device is certainly more efficient than a stick or a curbstone, but since it can really be used only once, it’s somewhat labor intensive. 

There is available on the internet a little booklet entitled “101 Uses for Beer Coasters” so I’ll not duplicate them here. Suffice to say I’m writing at a desk which is nicely balanced by four Rheingold coasters under the left rear leg.

These have been a few of the more popular uses of marketing adjuncts. If  anyone has any more we’d all

like to hear about them  

Cheers!

Dan 

My Love Affair With Beer  

by Dan Hodge

I've had a love affair with  beer for all of my adult life and even back to my kidhood when, as a lad of eight or nine I would read about Robin Hood and his Merry Men quaffing "goatskins of good October brewing" and Rip Van Winkle succumbing to the grip of "humming ale". While a boy of that age has no business actually drinking the stuff, I do recall on many occasions begging my father ( who, after the Hensler Brewery closed in 1957, subsequently became fondly known as "Iron City Bob") for a "sip", and even at that tender age began to notice differences in various brews, especially those that came home after 8:00 PM or on Sunday when the liquor stores were closed. These beers were of the draught variety and were poured from cardboard containers dispensed at the local taproom. The "sips" were small but served to whet my appetite for what was to come: the aforementioned life long love affair.

In the past forty years or so I've sampled hundreds, possibly even thousands or more beers, collected beer memorabilia of all kinds, read thousands of pages on the subject, written many  reviews, lectured about it, visited

brewpubs all over the country, dabbled in making it and even induced the officers of my string band to do "Rhapsody in Brew" as our theme in the 2001 Philadelphia Mummers Parade.

One thing I've never tried is writing about it, so when I was asked if I'd like to do something for the Beer Nexus ,I thought "Why not?" I've got fifty years of reminiscences about it, so maybe I can share a few of these with others.

One which stands out in my memory is the time a case of Hudepohl saved my sergeant's stripes and therefore

presents us with still another example of how the malt beverage benefits mankind. In the spring of 1970, I and fifty other members of the Quantico Marine Band embarked on a two week parade and concert tour to boost publicity and recruitment for the United States Marine Corps. Due to the length of the trip we traveled by Greyhound instead of our usual USMC bus and thus we were able to stop, once safely off the base, to stock up with sufficient quantities of brew to see us through to our first destination: Louisville, Kentucky. ( Not only is beer on a USMC bus verboten, while the Greyhound company had no problem with it, but in addition, the Greyhound had a restroom into which we eventually transferred all the cases of Schlitz we had brought aboard.)

Upon our arrival in Louisville we did a parade and a concert after which we repaired to the hotel bar to have a

beer and do a little "jamming", to the delight of the other patrons, one of whom was the president of the Falls City

Brewery and who, as a token of his appreciation, presented each bandsman with a case of his tasty product. Who says there is no God?. By the time we reached North Vernon, Indiana (a town famous for nothing save being the birthplace of President Nixon's mother), the Falls City was ,alas, gone. On a beautiful Sunday evening we played our concert and while the last notes of "Semper Fidelis" and "The Marine's Hymn" were still echoing in the high school gym, we set out on our eternal quest to find the local watering hole. 

Only then did the grim realization that Indiana was as dry as a bone on Sunday set in. No amount of begging, cajoling, bribery, or threats was enough to procure us a brew. Miserably we sat, still dressed in our dress blues, on benches and watched pick-ups and custom "rods" circle endlessly around the town square. Finally one driver pulled to the curb to find out why we were there. When we asked him if there were any place to get some beer he replied "Sure!   Ohio!  Hop in". Quickly passing a hat, we soon amassed enough money to slake our thirst as well as buy some gas for our new found savior. I and another guy took off with him and returned a couple of hours later with ten cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon and an equal amount of Hudepohl. Neither of us had previously heard of this flavor but it sounded good and the price was right.

As the beer was being unloaded into our motel room, the Band Officer, a captain who also had become painfully

aware of Indiana's Sunday prohibition, wandered by to check on things and noticed that our blues jackets were

unbuttoned, revealing about a square foot of our T-shirts, which are the only clothing worn under the "Blues blouse". His first reaction was to utter the dreaded words "See me when we get back to the barracks!". The crime of a Marine appearing in public with his blues blouse undone is tantamount  to remaining seated and laughing hysterically during The Marine's Hymn.....a definite no-no!. Those words meant at best a week of "chipping wax" and at worst a reduction in rank, depending upon the whim of the accusing officer. After our great success in procuring the goods necessary to make our day complete, we were devastated to learn of the possible cost, but being resourceful marines, we quickly found the obvious solution.

As the captain was making his mental notes vis a vis our lapse in proper dress and our envious supply of suds, we

asked if perhaps he would like a case for his own personal use in his quarters. He considered this proposal for about

three quarters of a second before he decided to cheerfully accept the offered case of Hudepohl and disappeared

behind his motel room door. Seconds later, before we could even pop the first top, he reappeared said "Forget

about seeing me back at Quantico, just keep your blouses buttoned from here on. Semper Fi!" And thus was I able to end my hitch with sergeant's chevrons securely in place.! Hudepohl and Bribery....perfect together! 

Twenty Memorable Beers    by   DAN HODGE

Frequently, when discussing beer with someone who is not into the subject as much as him, a beer connoisseur is asked the question, “What is your favorite beer?”. Of course, any beer geek who has drunk thousands of beers, brewed them, read about them and devoted his life to appreciating them for purposes other than getting drunk, knows that this is a question that’s impossible to answer: too many choices, places and reasons for which to quaff a brew to determine a favorite. However, in the minds of serious beer men, certain beers can be classified as “memorable”, not only because they are good, but also because of the location, occasion or other variable which causes them to be set apart from everyday, mundane brews which are drunk just because somebody asks, “Do you want a beer?’. That being said I thought back over my 56 years of serious beer loving and have come up with twenty memorable brews, covering the range from great taste, to ambiance, and other reasons why I remembered them. The twenty are:

1. Absolutely the most memorable on the list is the sixtel of Manchester Star Best Bitter, the only one ever imported into the US and served cask conditioned on hand pump at my local, the Gaslight, about 15 years ago. My opinion of being great was evidently shared by more than a few others as the sixtel sold out in less than a half hour.

2. Number two on the list has to be a rather run of the mill American lager, Pabst Blue Ribbon. But in this case the ambiance of the pinting session was the reason. After nine weeks of Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island and not having had so much as a cup of coffee as an intoxicant during that period, the cooler full of PBR my father had packed was a wonderful reprieve from those nine weeks of hell. Sitting at a picnic table on Graduation Day under trees dripping with Spanish moss, drinking PBR and savoring my mother’s picnic lunch made DIs, PT, and sand fleas seem very far away.

3. A great teen age memory was traveling to Staten Island and downing seven ounce PBRs without having to worry about not being twenty one.

4. PBR was also my first fully legal beer, enjoyed in the Sportsman’s Tavern in Quantico, Virginia after my assignment to the Quantico Marine Band. Sipping a few cold ones while watching the Senator’s game on TV, put me completely at ease , a feeling I had not been able to experience since I started visiting the Sportsman six months prior to my twenty first birthday and always wondering when the proprietor or an MP would suddenly ask to see my ID card.

5. Combining great taste with location makes me fondly recall the Ruddles County Best Bitter I had for my first ever cask conditioned brew in London during my honeymoon.

6. On that same trip we stopped in Colchester to visit a distant relative of my wife and wound up the evening sitting by the fire in a tiny pub drinking Flowers Best Bitter from a large gravity fed cask while watching snow pelt against the windows. The ambiance surrounding this brew made it particularly memorable.

7. As long as we’re on the subject of best bitter, the trip also included several days in Yorkshire and a few stops at the Hayne’s Arms in Northallerton and downing many pints of Worthington’s Best Bitter, served after hours by a truly gracious host, Geoffrey Worthington Hart. (No relation to the beer). Memorable indeed!

The next four memorable brews all involve one of the country’s formerly biggest brewers, P. Ballantine and Sons, of Newark.

8. Ice filled barrels of Ballantine Beer, Ballantine Bock and Ballantine XXX Ale were an excellent way to quench eighteen year old thirst on the whistle stop train ride for the senatorial campaign of Warren Wilentz for which my Mummer’s band supplied the music. That nobody seemed to care (just imagine that nowadays) about our underage status made these beers stand distinctively apart from other ways of obtaining brews at age eighteen.( fake IDs, trips to Staten Island and bribing elderly winos to buy them for us).

9. When the brewmaster of Pabst, which acquired the rights to the Ballantine label after the brewery closed, decided to bring back the iconic Ballantine IPA and the Gaslight was to be one of the first pubs to pour the beer, I was devastated to learn that initial tapping would occur while I was away on vacation, but overjoyed when I heard from Gaslight brewer, DJ, that he had miraculously “found” another keg in the basement which was freshly on tap. What a memorable way to end a vacation.

10. Every beer fan knows about Ballantine Burton Ale, brewed only twice and stored in huge wooden vats to be given away as Christmas presents to dignitaries, employees and friends of the brewery: the “Holy Grail” of beers. Particularly memorable was the bottle of Burton Ale my beer club obtained fifty years after bottling (see Vince Capano’s article “ You Paid $100 for a bottle of $%$$#@$& Beer”) and had a celebratory tasting at my house. Tasted like hell, but memorable indeed!

11. Better than the above was the revival of Burton Ale by Pabst brewer, Greg Duuhs. When I discovered it on tap at the Liberty Tavern for only $6/pint, it became a very important inclusion in my beer memories.

12. Finishing a parade in Tamaqua, Pa. on a miserably hot, sticky day with my Mummer’s band, we were invited back to firehouse of our sponsor, where kegs of Vitamin Y (Yuengling Premium) were available. Drinking the “Ying Yangs”, as the firemen called ,them was a memory that will last forever.

13. Also after completing a parade in Mannheim, Pa. , this time with the Marine Band, we were billeted, four at a time in private homes. Sitting for what seemed like eons in the living room of a lovely family made me and my three bandmates wonder if this guy would EVER ask if we’d like a beer. Finally, at long last, he asked if we’d like to accompany him to his “club” (Pennsylvania being dry on Sundays at the time). No beer was ever so tasty and thirst quenching as the Old Readings pouring from the club’s taps.

14. My intro to dark beer game about when visiting a beer distributor in York, Pa. with my grandfather. We spied cases of Kaier’s Beer on sale for $5.99/case. We quickly picked on up and toted it home only to discover a sticker on the side of the case that said “porter brewed”. At that time neither of us had much interest in anything that wasn’t plain old Pennsylvania lager, but we managed to put quite a dent in the case, creating my first memory of dark beer.

15. Certainly a very memorable beer was the one I and my friend and next door neighbor had after visiting the Alementary Brewery in Hackensack. We purchased a couple of six packs to bring home with the intention of splitting them up so we each could have a few of each style. While attempting to separate the cans, Matt mistakenly punched a hole in the side of one, causing the beer to come spewing out. Rather than waste it, the two of us idiots took turns swilling the spouting suds in my driveway on a frigid February evening. A great, if somewhat questionable beer memory.

16. On my 70th birthday my wife presented me with a kegerator, enabling me to keg my home-brews and saving me many hours of bottle washing, sanitizing, etc. Not actually knowing much about the kegging process, I was happily surprised with the results of my first effort. The IPA stands out as a great first time draught beer.

17. After snowstorm delays and the resulting almost twenty hour trip to Munich, I can still savor the taste of the Hofbrau Dunkel on my first trip to the Hofbrauhaus.

18. A very memorable beer was the fresh Pilsner Urquell poured from a large wooden cask in the caverns below the Pilsner Urquell brewery, made better by the fact that my wife, who doesn’t drink beer, gave her samples to me.

19. Attending a Norfolk Tides AAA baseball game with my son, compliments of his company, complete with admission to their luxury boxes, afforded great views of the game, a wonderful and varied menu of food and seemingly bottomless kegs of Straub Beer on tap. As luck would have it, that night was part of the promotion introducing that great western Pennsylvania beer to the Tidewater area.

20. Not all beer memories are good, and there are many of those. However, nothing could even begin to compare to the bad memory evoked by a visit to what shall remain a nameless local microbrewery. The beers tried on the first visit were terrible, those on the second, horrible, and being crazy enough to give them a third try, found the beers nauseating. No thanks for the memories here!

 But thanks for all the GOOD memories and 

Cheers, 

Dan

 Beer Inanities:

Myths, Misconceptions, Misinformation  and General Stupidity about Beer

Since the birth of the microbrew revolution beer has been steadily achieving rightful recognition as a beverage worthy of the same homage paid to wine. Craft brewers, with their seasonal offerings and resurrected styles, have created an awareness that beer is much more than Bud, Miller and Coors, even among those who don’t share our love of the beverage. Food and drink sections in newspapers, regional

magazines and even the electronic media frequently feature articles on pairing food and beer and styles of beer to match a particular occasion.

But all the positive press about beer also results in excellent examples of the old adage “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing”. Some people read the occasional piece about beer and immediately fancy themselves mavens on the subject, passing along misinformation and perpetuating myths.

One of the biggest beer myths, and one which never seems to go away, is the misconception that breweries clean their equipment in the spring and, using the residue left from the cleaning process and the previous year’s brewing, create bock beer. One man I met at a party INSISTED that this is true, supported by the information that his brother-in-law’s neighbor’s father, who had worked a summer job at Ballantine’s in the early sixties, told him so. He even informed me that it was called “buck” beer (he didn’t even get the name right) and that it sold for a dollar a case because of the lower cost of the ingredients. Would this then indicate that doppelbock (double bock in English) meant the mash tuns were cleaned twice and that the resulting brew sold for two dollars a case? Most bock beers are actually brewed in the fall and lagered for several months untill spring, when this fuller bodied “liquid bread” sustained monks during their Lenten fasts. Since they made it themselves, they didn’t even have to pony up a dollar a case.

Many folks who are out of the beer loop observe a pint of Guinness and remark “I could never drink something like that. It’s too heavy and too strong”, furthering the myth that dark beer is stronger than light beer. This fallacy is fairly easy to dispel by means of a drinking contest. The logistics are simple: a dozen pints of draught Guinness for the knowledgeable beerfan and maybe four bottles of Baltika Extra Nine or Victory Golden Monkey for the believer that darker is stronger. At the sound of the gun start downing the

beers and see who hits the deck first. Light wins every time!

A similar delusion is that “ale” is stronger than “beer” (with no acknowledgement that ale IS beer), an idea continued by ignorant lawmakers in some states that require malt beverages above a certain alcohol level to be labeled as “ale”, apparently without a clue that the difference between ales and lagers has nothing whatsoever to do with the alcoholic content of either. Another testimony to the stupidity of some of those who call themselves our leaders.

Not long ago I attended a dinner at which the usual insipid bottles of Bud and Coor’s Light were all that was offered. Never being one to let my feelings go unannounced, I remarked to a co-worker that I wished real beer were available. She responded by asking what beer I liked best. Obviously hard to answer, this was a question akin to asking a democrat politician what kind of voter he’d rather pander to. Far too many choices. But without thinking, I replied with the statement “maybe a Guinness” which she immediately corrected by informing me that Guinness isn’t beer, it’s stout. I tried to explain that stout is merely a style of beer, but she

shot me down with the indefensible argument that she should know because she was of Irish extraction and

Guinness has it’s roots in Dublin. Sure….and being partly English I’m practically on a first name basis with Prince Charles. “Hey Charlie, what say we knock back a few pints at the George and Dragon this weekend?”

The subject of stout reminds me of last March when, seated at the bar of a pub in Massachusetts , I witnessed a thirsty fellow who, apparently after reading somewhere that Guinness is an appropriate drink for St. Patrick’s Day, ordered one. Only he pronounced it “Gweeness”, positive proof of his beer expertise.

California Common is a style of beer most often enjoyed by homebrewers trying to duplicate Anchor Steam beer of San Francisco , to my knowledge the only commercial brewery still making the stuff. Displaying no knowledge of the style or brewing process, a man once explained to me that he’d never try Anchor Steam because he didn’t like “hot” beer.

Ignorance can sometimes best be demonstrated by the printed word, since the ‘hard copies” can be saved for posterity. Reviews of the Gaslight Brewery on Pubcrawler.com afford two perfect examples of this. One disgruntled person, posting his displeasure after a visit that found eight house brews and four guest beers on tap, a cask conditioned ale on hand pump and at least twenty five bottled varieties available, rated the Beer selection as “so so”. The Gaslight doesn’t sell Anheuser Busch products but maybe if they had

offered Michelob Ultra Light his review would have been upgraded to “average”. Another person with a grudge to bear stated with emphasis that the reason he rated the Gaslight beers of poor quality was because they were “obviously brewed with yeast”.  Duh….I guess the reason I didn’t like last night’s spaghetti was because it was “obviously made with pasta”.

Stupid questions are not to be ignored in this discussion of beer inanities. When I tell people I’m a homebrewer some people respond with the query “Does it taste any good?”, to which I usually give the sarcastic response “No! I spend thirty or forty dollars on ingredients, three or four hours brewing and cleaning equipment (maybe if I only cleaned once a year I could make buck beer and lower my initial cost) and another hour or so bottling the fruits of my labors because I’m attempting to make something that tastes like hell and that nobody would want to drink.” The proprietor of the Gaslight informs me that he has been asked this question hundreds of times by patrons who are oblivious to the fact that they have entered a brewpub.

In beer discussions over the years several people have told me about Ballantine’s “Indian” ale, evidently a reference to the great but no longer brewed Ballantine IPA or India Pale Ale. The Paper City Brewery of Holyoke, Massachusetts helps to perpetuate this misnomer by calling their IPA “Indian Pale Ale” which features a picture of an old Indian motorcycle on the label.

The biggest beer myth of all is one promoted by the temperance crowd which decries beer as being bad for you, when in fact most studies concur that beer in moderation, especially darker beers, is good for you. So, I think I’ll do my constitution some good and go have a beer.

Cheers, 

Dan

 IN HEAVEN THERE IS NO BEER!

by Dan  Hodge

The joys of drinking beer are many and varied, from quenching one’s thirst with a frosted mug of “lawn- mower beer”, to relaxing by the fire with a glass of old ale, to pouring from pitchers of draught while

playing shuffleboard in the local tavern. For pure enjoyment, a glass of beer is unsurpassed as a way to put aside the cares of the day and needs nothing in addition to complete the experience, though the

pleasure is often enhanced by the addition of a good meal or just a handful of peanuts or bag of pretzels.

But not everything to broaden the drinking experience needs to be ingested. Beer and music go together

very well indeed, and as varied as are the styles of beer, so are the types of music that pair with those

styles.

Country music has been the best example of how beer relates to music. Cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon or

Schlitz just seem to fit so well with the sounds emanating from Southern jukeboxes. They probably

don’t serve too many matinis, olive, straight up in Luckenbach, Texas. The glass in Webb Pierce’s “There

Stands the Glass” (…it’s my first one today) more likely contained Dixie Lager than Remy Martin, and

Johnny Cash reminds us that it doesn’t necessarily have to be twelve o’clock somewhere in order to enjoy

a brew. The beer he had for breakfast wasn’t bad so he had one more for dessert, as explained in “Sunday

Morning Coming Down”. That country star Hank Thompson was the best example of the relationship

between country music and beer is best demonstrated by the titles of his hits:

1. “On Tap, In the Can, or In the Bottle

2.  I’ve got time for one for the road and a “Six Pack To Go”

3. “What Made Milwaukee Famous “ (has made a loser out of me)

4 “Bubbles in my Beer”

5. “Oklahoma Home Brew”

6. “A Broken Heart and a Glass of Beer”

And my own particular favorite: ( there’s no place that I’d rather be than right here with my “Red Neck,

White Socks and Blue Ribbon Beer”

In the seventies, Tom T. Hall explained why beer and country music are such a perfect match with his great

tune, “I Like Beer”. (Whiskey’s too rough, champagne costs too much, and vodka puts my mouth in gear….

so let me explain, with this simple refrain, as a matter of fact I like beer)

But country isn’t the only music that pairs well with suds. Nothing makes a pitcher of beer go down smoother than listening to Stella Kowalski and her Polka Five banging out “The Beer Barrel Polka” in the

back room of an American Legion hall, or pounding the tables to the Polkaholics frenzied rendition of “In

Heaven There is no Beer”

Although most devotees of classical music would more likely be wine snobs, even in this genre beer raises it’s beautiful head. I never tire of watching Edmund Purdom mouth the unbelievable tenor of Mario Lanza

singing “Drink, Drink, Drink”, while hoisting a liter stein in the movie version of Sigmund Romberg’s, “The Student Prince”. And , yes, it’s tough to view that scene without such a stein in one’s hand! My

favorite foray into the world of classical music and beer occurs every Christmas eve, when the rest of the

family has retired after returning from Midnight Mass. I sit by the tree and slowly sip Anchor’s Special Ale

while listening to The Nutcracker Suite. For that half hour , life seems perfect!

Songs of brew even extend to children. Of course they can’t drink it, but how many kids have not

returned from a class trip singing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” in the back of the bus?( Today that

would be politically incorrect and the kids would have to submit to counseling before returning to class)

As quickly as the Irish lapse into poetry and break into fights over pints of Guiness, so do the Germans

break into song over steins of Oktoberfest. There are literally thousands of German drinking songs that are

incomplete without the hoisting of schteins in addition to the oompahs.

American breweries have relied heavily on music to promote their product. “Hey! Getcha cold beer”,

“Schaefer is the one beer to have when you’re having more than one”, “The Trommer Polka, and “Ah! Ah!

Sittin’ pretty….All together in Schaefer city” are a few examples of jingles that have become standards in

brewery advertising history. In some cases the jingles are better known than their origins. How many people

other than Gaslight patrons Augie Helms and Jack Sweeney and Sigmund Spaeth, the “tune detective” ,

know that “Rheingold is my beer the dry beer”, is actually Emile Waldteufel’s classical waltz “L’Estudiantina”, which always sounds better when accompanied by a glass or two of Rheingold.

For over forty years I’ve been a musician in the Aqua String Band of the Philadelphia Mummers, wearers of

sequins and ostrich plumes and makers of great banjo playing, beer drinking music. When asked by

people over the years where the name “Aqua” came from, I relate the truth: In 1919, when the band was

organized on the eve of prohibition, the founders had no beer with which to toast themselves, (Yeah…….

sure) only water, hence “Aqua”. Over the past 87 years the has always traveled to all of it’s gigs with generous quantities of brew packed into the bottom of the bus along with the instruments and backpieces.

Currently , Yuengling’s is the musical staff of life, but in the past prodigious quantities of Ortlieb’s, Pabst,

and Miller were loaded as fuel for as many as five consecutive parades on the Fourth of July. For a while

in the seventies we were sponsored by Schmidt’s of Philadelphia in many parades which featured a Schmidt’ s beer wagon at the end , offering commemorative glasses with unlimited refills of the” Eeeaasy Beer”. It required a tremendous effort to induce the bandsman to board the bus for the ride home. The fresh draught from the beer wagon tasted so mush better than the traveled cans on the bus.

The band’s journey to Germany’s Fasching celebration is a whole beer story in itself, but one anecdote can

be related here as an illustration of the close relationship between the musical mummers and the malt beverage. When met by our tour bus in Luxembourg for our ten day trip through the Rhineland, we dis- covered that the trip’s organizer had been a little too enthusiastic in his preparations for the tour. Although we managed to cram in the instruments, there was no room for the luggage due to the forty cases of Bitburger that had been pre-ordered and loaded!  In heaven there is no beer!!! 

PBR Me, ASAP

Once in a while, all micro brew fans (ie. Beer Snobs), need a break from the endless discussion of style, IBUs, original gravity, color, type of serving glass and the many other points to be considered when searching for the perfect brew. Every now and then we need just a plain ,old, beer. That being considered, when I suggested to the Commander in Chief of my beer club, Draught Board 15, that we might dedicate a meeting to the country's fourth largest marketer of malt beverages, he readily agreed. 

Our meeting was scheduled to be a tasting of the products of the Pabst Brewing Company, which, interestingly enough, no longer owns a brewery, all of its beers being contract brewed. Pabst Blue Ribbon has always been a sentimental favorite of mine since I was eighteen, when I magically became of age. halfway across the Outerbridge Crossing, on the way to the wilds of Staten Island.  There  we would go to a little shot and beer joint with a glass fronted refrigerator behind the bar which contained rows of PBR in tall neck bottles, arrayed like soldiers on dress parade. 

Being partial to John Philip Sousa, the Fourth of July and patriotism in general, the red, white, and blue labels caught my attention, and I became a dedicated Pabst drinker, until I discovered Yuengling years later.at Pauly';s Tavern, on South Orange Avenue in Newark, NJ, almost in the shadow of the Big Bottle landmark.  Pauly's  provided fresh steins of Pabst which were a delight every modern day microbrew fan should have been able to experience. The beautiful color, frothy head and ever so slight sour aroma made for one of the best American lagers ever brewed. 

The closing of the brewery in Newark marked the end of my Pabst allegiance and probably close to twenty years passed before I tried another. However, the new ownership of Pabst had hit upon a novel marketing ploy which has now rocketed the company back to number four in sales. During the twenty years of my Pabst Drought they had been busily buying and selling breweries, acquiring rights and brand names of former national and regional brewers, and instituting the idea of retro beers to market their products. Former giants Schlitz, Stroh's, Ballantine, and Schaefer are all brewed by Pabst, and their portfolio includes formerly famous regionals such as Old Style, National Bohemian, Piel';s and Carling. They are even the purveyor's of Mc Sorley's Ales, widely known as the only brews served at Mc Sorley's Old Ale House in New York City.

I volunteered to do the procuring for the meeting and set out on a Friday night to see how many Pabst products I could find in two hours. The ;mass market beer aisle at my regular store presented a vista of floor to ceiling stacks of Budweiser, Coors and the other usual suspects in the headache and hangover line. I usually avoid this section, so it took a few moments before I began to notice the ;cheapies, stashed away to the rear. Virtually all of these retro beers are available only in cans, and then usually in only in 12 packs, cases, and thirty packs. Even though this meant buying significantly more beer than necessary for the tasting, it was not an economic disaster because a case of Piel';s, for example costs far less than a for or six pack of some of the top of the line seasonal craft brews. A thirty pack of Stroh's was offered for $11.99. I suspect that if the average American drove a fork lift, some of these beers would sold by the pallet!

 I picked up twelve packs of Piel's, Carling Black Label, and six packs of Old Milwaukee and Ballantine Ale. My next stop unearthed Schaefer and Schmidt. After this, the real fun began as I ventured into Irvington in search of such classics as Colt .45 and St. Ide's malt liquors, which are also brewed by Pabst. At this point the thirty pack marketing strategy was not a problem, as these stratospheric gravity beers are sold by the individual 24 oz. can and 40 oz. plastic bottle. I rounded up one or two and moved on as I still hadn't located PBR. This was going to be harder than I thought! 

I stopped at a small corner store where a man named Harshad, speaking from behind bullet proof glass, informed me that he had never heard of this beer, but was able to offer me a couple of 24 oz. cans of 9.6% ABV Pabst brewed malt liquors at the bargain basement price of 99 cents a can. Since both the alcohol and liquid contents are nearly twice that of the average beer, one can easily obtain a bigger bang for the buck by purchasing these "malternatives". I call them malternatives because they DO include miniscule amounts of malt and also because they are an alternative to sniffing aerosol cans of spray paint. 

A couple of more stops finally located Blue Ribbon and Schaefer, and the only bottled variety I found, Mc Sorley's. I returned home in under two hours and happy in the knowledge that I had obtained the equivalent of almost four and a half cases for under fifty dollars. All of these beers should be served much colder than craft brews, so they were delivered to our meeting at the Gaslight Restaurant a day before the meeting and packed away under a lot of ice. Artificial refrigeration just doesn';t cut it for these beers. Only ice will do! 

At the meeting, each group at a table was provided with samples of each and left to it's own devices as to how to organize the tasting. As the beer began to flow, the Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous ;What'll ya Have?,Old Time Flavor, Hey Mabel!...Black Label!, and Make the Three Ring Sign - Ask the man for Ballantine, came roaring out of my memory. 

When the Piel's was tasted I recalled TV ads of thirty years ago featuring Jimmy Breslin advising us that "Piel's is a good drinking ;beah". Thirty years later I'm still wondering what uses Piel's had besides drinking. Polishing silverware? Flushing out drains? Also what exactly is "beah"? A new style, or just Breslin's New York City attempt at saying beer? 

With all due respects to Schaefer, ALL of theses brews are the ;one beer to have when you're having more than one,  All, which are mighty similar, were served in the usual three or four ounce tasting glass, which really doesn't do them justice. A frosted stein or 16oz. picnic cup is the only answer. The malt liquors, which, with the exception of Colt .45, were unspeakable , were unfairly treated as well. A fuller appreciation of these brews requires them to be consumed directly out of the can, disguised in a brown paper bag, while standing on a street corner. In fact , the owner of the store where I bought it who knows his clientele and their tastes, offered me just such a bag at the time of purchase.  After some thought, I declined  

In all seriousness, the meeting's popular favorites were Pabst Blue Ribbon and Old Milwaukee. The undrinkable were the malt liquors. Piel's was deemed watery and Schmidt's (the former North Central, USA version, not Schmidt's of Philadelphia) was described as harsh to the taste. As would be expected by a bunch of craft brew enthusiasts, Ballantine Ale and McSorley's were determined to be closest to our thing. 

While this venture into the world of retro beers was appreciated by all members present a couple of Gaslight pints welcomed many of us back into the real world. Of course there's no comparison, but when the days grow long, the air grows steamy and the lawnmower gets noisy, I have no problem with crying out PBR ME ASAP!!

Iron City Bob

Not too long ago the deaths of Carrie Fisher and her mother, Debbie Reynolds, reminded me that in my large collection of 1950’s and ’60’s LPs were some of their respective father’s and ex-husband’s recordings. I put them on the turntable, grabbed a brew , Great Lakes Turntable Pils, and sat back to enjoy his rich, resonant tenor. And what a voice he had! No wonder he was the biggest recording star of the early fifties. “If I Ever Needed You”, “Anytime”, and “Lady of Spain” echoed throughout the house as I sipped my brew, listening happily and wondering what in hell ever happened to melodic pop music. One of his biggest hits, “Oh My Papa”, recorded in 1954, brought to mind my own father, the greatest man I have ever known.

My old man never achieved fame, a large financial portfolio, or any of the other measures by which modern society defines success. He didn’t finish high school but was never without a book or crossword puzzle in his hand. He was self educated and knew more “stuff” than anybody I ever knew. But even that is relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things. A wise man once said “It matters not how much money or fame one has achieved. A man will best be remembered by whether or not he made a difference in the life of a child”.

Pop sired six of us between 1948 and 1960 and certainly made a difference in our lives. His refinement, grooming, work ethic, responsibility, patriotism and love of his children were passed on to all of us. No doubt my five siblings have their own particular ideas of how Pop impressed them, but what molded me the most were his loves of New Jersey, baseball and beer. I couldn’t live anywhere but the Garden State, and starting in late October I actually start counting down the days until Mets spring training opens. My passion for all things beer related speaks for itself.

I owe that love to my father. From the time I was old enough to remember anything, I recall him coming home from work (as an insurance man, he always worked evenings) with some brew. He would sit at the kitchen table and have a few with cheese and crackers. In the early days it was invariably Hensler’s beer, brewed, of course, in Newark, and on special occasions Ballantine XXX ale, also brewed in Newark, appeared on the table. The darkest year in Pop’s life must have been 1957, which saw both the closing of Hensler’s brewery and the defection of his beloved New York Giants and Willie Mays to San Francisco. For the next few years Krueger’s, brewed  of course in Newark, was his brand until that brewery closed in 1960.  Until the Mets (sponsored by Rheingold, brewed in Orange)were launched in 1962, his only venue for baseball was the hated Yankees, but they were sponsored on TV by Ballantine, so at least he could listen to Mel Allen yelling about a “Ballantine Blast”.

At some point in the late fifties Pop started a beer opener collection. These were generally passed out free of charge by retailers who had been given a supply by distributors as an advertising ploy: you can’t drink a beer without opening it and what better way to open a bottle of Knickerbocker than with a Knickerbocker beer bottle opener. He amassed scores of these things and I well remember him sitting at his desk/workbench in the cellar sorting and polishing them, always with a frothy stein close at hand. The collection was passed on to me and thanks to Pop’s influence, has been enhanced to over 400 and grows each time I visit a brewery, beer fest, antique store or garage sale.

From Pop I learned to NEVER drink a beer from it’s original container. At least I never saw him do so. Again, thanks to Pop, over 400 beer glasses of various types take up space in my house and I always think of him when filling one up.

Having six kids under the age of twelve and a stay-at- home mom, we were the typical 1950’s family: split level home in the suburbs, Ford station wagon in the driveway and generally a larger version of “Leave it to Beaver”. Of course Ward Cleaver would never even THINK of drinking a beer, so in that aspect of 1950’s life we somewhat differed. The other difference was six kids as opposed to two. The larger number demanded a limit on how much household income could be afforded for suds. But in the early 1960’s Pittsburgh Brewing Company infiltrated the metropolitan area with Iron City Beer and it’s three quarts for a dollar marketing strategy. Pop took immediate advantage of this tremendous money saving opportunity, even though it wasn’t brewed in New Jersey.  His devotion to Iron City was enhanced by the fact that they sponsored the Pirates, and instead of listening to Mel Allen’s “Ballantine Blasts” he heard Bob Prince’s “Pour on the Iron” when Bill Mazeroski put the final nail in the despised Yankee’s coffin and ended the 1960 World Series.

After my brothers and I became involved in a mummer’s band, Pop, who couldn’t play anything, joined as quartermaster, taking care of equipment, costumes, instruments and icing down the post-parade brew. I don’t recall exactly who it was, but someone in the band, knowing of his preference for IC, coined the nickname “Iron City Bob”, and thus he was known even though Pabst Blue Ribbon, of course brewed in Newark, later became his beer of choice. (“Pabst Bob” doesn’t quite have the same ring, and nobody ever thought of “Blue Ribbon Bob”.

But back to Iron City. Beer and baseball have always fit well together. There’s nothing like a cool draught during the 7th inning stretch (or 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, or 6th innings as well). Sorry no 8th or 9th inning brews, due to the stupidity of those who rule major league baseball. But today, too many nouveau, “designer” beers flood the market. Who wants to watch baseball with a footed pilsner of gueze in hand? Or a cooler full of mentholated porter? No thank you!  Iron City was and is the perfect style for the National Pastime, and I know that if he were still around, Iron City Bob would like nothing better to relax in the Garden State, watching the Mets with an IC close at hand.

And there’s never been anyone I’d rather share one and the Mets with!

                                                                        Cheers! 

Dan

I’ve previously written about “Beer Paradise”, or the Finger Lakes Region of Central New York, and, thanks to my wife’s urging ,have spent a few vacations there, renting cottages on Seneca Lake.

They were memorable times, with kids and grandchildren all enjoying a week or two, bobbing around in the lake and me enjoying the scores of breweries in the area. A week is plenty for me, but my wife desired

something more, and soon she was spending a few hours on the computer each day, looking for lakeside homes with the intent of possible purchase.

Sometimes, when one looked good, a trip would be made to inspect it in person, and those trips would unveil pluses and minuses of a particular property. Pluses such as only a mile or two from the nearest brewery and minuses such as 187 steps down rickety stairs to the water’s edge. (Not so bad, but what goes down eventually must come back up, and 187 steps down means 187 to climb on your way back. Other pluses were reasonably priced properties located at lake level (no steps) with the corresponding minus of requiring flood insurance , which seemed to cost as much as the house. All the inspection trips meant eating lunch  n the area in which we were looking, and a brewpub was always available to satisfy hunger and quench thirst.

Finally, my bride found a property on Oneida Lake, the “thumb” of the Finger Lakes. (Finger Lakes run north and south, Oneida runs east and west). The location was perfect, the price right, the house was in good shape, with city water, sewers and natural gas. All those pluses were enhanced by what I discovered after we closed: a seemingly unending list of brewpubs, breweries and beer bars in the immediate area.

On the day we took ownership we had a light lunch at the Hot House Brewery in Cicero, NY, which actually is a brewery situated in a greenhouse. This arrangement allows one to purchase all kinds of ferns, potted plants and flowers, along with brews having such eclectic names as Daylight in the Swamp Amber Ale, Grandma’s Sweater Pale Ale and Rattlesnake Gulch IPA. The brewery is only about a fifteen minute ride from our front door, so I envision another trip or two while at the lake.

Scouting the area on the weekend we moved in and driving through Canastota, NY, home of ex- middleweight champ, Carmen Basilio, and a boxing Hall of Fame, I slammed on the brakes when a sign above one of the storefronts identified it as the Erie Canal Brewing Company. Several visits have already been made to fill growlers and sample their excellent brews (the Irish Red is outstanding) and those offered under the Seneca Street label, their sister brewpub.

The Oneida Lake Brew Haus is another stop only fifteen minutes from home. Although they don’t make their own beer, this tavern always has thirty two rotating taps to choose from in the beautifully decorated pub. Our server explained that the taps frequently change, with some old standbys such as Utica Club always available, as are flights of anything you want to try.  According to her, Tap #32 is always a stout and

ordering is done by number, so dark beer lovers should keep the number 32 in mind, and for those who like their beer very cold, the Brew Haus sign sports a message claiming that “Our beer is colder than your ex’s heart”. They have a beautiful outdoor deck with a wonderful lake view, so a few summertime stops are eagerly anticipated.

Just a little past the Hot House Brewery is the Freight Yard Brewing Company which has decent beer in a very nice steampunk atmosphere, but which, in my opinion, gets a little too enthusiastic in their Covid

precautions. “Because of Covid”, it was explained to me why flights were not available at the time we visited and their beer is served in crummy solo cups. Apparently, according to Freight Yard, Covid is able to

distinguish between both the size and composition of the drinking vessel.

The best venue for enjoying a brew while at my new vacation home may well be the Lucky Dog Pizzeria and Taproom, a stark but spacious tavern less than half a mile walk from my front door. The fish and chips

and burger we had were inexpensive and very good and the chalkboard listed more than a dozen craft brews on tap, including such beers as Bell’s Christmas Ale and Kentucky Breakfast Stout.

A place I haven’t tried as yet is the White Water Tavern, about eight minutes away and which looks promising because of the Brooklyn Lager neon sign in the window. And, of course, Syracuse, home of the AAA Mets, and only a twenty minute drive away, is home to more thantwenty breweries and brewpubs just waiting to get checked out by yours truly.

Some folks say a definite plus when buying a home is a plumber next door. I say substitute brewery for plumber.

                                                            Cheers!

                                                    Dan