1, 2 . . . Many: Yuppie Destruction

Behold!  Another new feature on this here blog.  Titled "1, 2 . . . Many", it will present real stories from my life, reader's lives, and the lives of those chronicled shirtlessly on COPS, to remind us all that while beer can be a delicious escape from whatever tragic shit you have going on in your life, the purpose of this blog is to encourage savoring.  One too many (get it?) can lead to a seriously sad evening (or morning.  Or wedding.)  Please feel free to get in touch with me and share your stories.  I am happy to keep you totally anonymous, although any of your friends who read it will immediately recognize the story.  I mean, how many people have they had to bail out of a Sri Lankan prison?  Yeah that's right.  I know all about that.

As curator and de facto Master of Effin Ceremonies here, I should kick things off.  One night some friends and I headed over to an Upper East Side sports bar we like.  A girl I work with is from a sad and dismal state known as "Oklahoma" which I'm told is somewhere in the middle of the country, but I can't say for sure.  The only thing I know about Oklahoma is that, despite having no people or buildings, they managed to field quite a good college football team from whatever lepers and man-beasts roam their blighted, rotting land.  They were playing in the BCS Championship Game on this night against Florida, the place that has stepped up to graciously bury your grandparents.  The game was going fine and, as the bar is cool and the game was huge, the place was bumpin'.

Now for future reference, I don't like yuppies.  They fuck up everywhere they go and are currently in the process of ROYALLY fucking up New York.  And let's be clear: a yuppie wearing a Grizzly Bear t-shirt is still a yuppie.  But I digress.  Just keep in mind the context of the night: big game, sports bar.  Some yuppie dude rolls in with his trophy girlfriend.  This guy has a soul patch.  A fucking soul patch.  Worse than that, he appears totally oblivious to the fact that sporting events even exist, let alone the fact that they are being celebrated vigorously before him; he just wants dinner. 

Unsurprisingly, the waitress is SWAMPED.  This guy cannot comprehend why, on national championship  night at a well-known sports bar, his food is taking so long.  So you know what this dink does?  HE STARTS YELLING AT THE WAITRESS. 

                                                     
                                                                      

                                          Above, yuppie herbs.

Naturally, the waitress says there isn't much she can do about the food taking a long time, it's a big game night, and she is doing the best she can.  She goes to deal with another table while Fluster McEmbarassHisGirl huffs and puffs about service.  We all go back to the game, snacking and drinking.  A few minutes later, we hear a rustle and look over.  The Yuppie has been grabbed by the collar and is being held in the tight Welsh death-grip of the owner. 

"Say 'what' again!" the owner yells.  "Say 'what' again!"

Yuppie guy, not unexpectedly, wusses out, assuming it is okay to hassle a young female waitress without accepting the vicious grown-man United Kingdom beatdown he has just earned.

"Hey man," he says like a wuss wussing out completely like a baby whining to his mommy while he wusses out.  "I didn't do anything."

This didn't fly because, as it turns out, he had been giving the waitress grief all night and when Mr. Owner decided to confront him, he gave further sass-mouth.  It is at this point that the owner exclaims, "You don't talk that way to my employees," pulls dude up, and drags/tackles him into the next room in a miasma of gasps and shattered glasses.  The cat is dispatched and the owner returns.  Where was his woman in all of this?  Sitting across from him doing pretty much nothing while he got his business handed to him.  Her expression went from mild concern during the confrontation to "Oh no not again" when the owner politely asked her to take her man's lame ass home.  Turns out dude had some serious alcohol on his breath and it seems like he had put down quite a few even before rolling in.

It's all fun and games until a Welshman shoves your huge phone deep inside you.

When the owner returned he was greeted with applause and some good news: a few of LI's finest were in the house and said they would vouch for the owner if anything went down.  Then, in what can only be described as sweet, delectable justice, the owner proceded to hand out free shots of Jack Daniels to the entire joint.  Which we enjoyed responsibly before tipping our waitress. 

Alehouse Heroes: Uber Tavern - Seattle, WA

Welcome to Alehouse Heroes, soon to be a recurring feature on the site where we spotlight a bar, brewer, chef, or anyone who strikes me as particularly intriguing in the blossoming beer climate.  We will provide some info, toss out some thoughts, and most importantly, interview some of the associated VIPs.  Now, I'm not an interviewer by trade, so forgive me if this turns into some sort of beer-drenched "Chris Farley Show".  "You 'member when . . . um . . . you made that brown ale . . . yeah . . . that was AWESOME."  Our focus will be on the entrepreneurial side of running a beer business, as well as beer's burgeoning companionship with high-end food.  I hope to shed some light on this magnificent culture by talking directly to the people making it happen, whether that be the brewpub in your neighborhood or the brewer 3,000 miles away.  I can promise you we have some incredibly well-respected craft pubs, top-notch breweries, and maybe even a celebrity guest(!) lined up for the future.  On a personal note, I'm geeking out.

We start with Seattle's small but mighty Uber Tavern.  Boasting nearly twenty taps, somewhere in the neighborhood of 150 bottles, special ordered kegs to go, and (this is key) take-home, refillable-on-the-cheap growlers, Uber Tavern is a worthy watering hole for those eager to soak up the immensely active West Coast brewing scene.  Most important though is the supportive and friendly regulars that will vouch for this place high and low across the interwebs.  (As someone in the restaurant industry, I can personally attest for how wonderful you feel to have a group of people willing to publicly go to bat for you.)  Uber Tavern's fantastic manager Mr. Charles Whedbee took some time from his busy schedule to answer a few questions about his bar, their friends, and a fantastic explanation for why it's so damn easy to grab a good beer on the left coast.

I Have Purchased the Brooklyn Brewery

Okay . . . well, not really.  Since New York State just gave Brooklyn Brewery $800,000 to jumpstart their expansion and we have 19,000,000 residents, I own about 4 cents worth.  But I'll tell ya, it feels good.  From the NY Post (eww . . . ) and spotted at the great (they are being modest) A Good Beer Blog:

The state government last week awarded $800,000 to the Brooklyn Brewery to jump-start their $6.5 million expansion in Williamsburg. The company, along with its signature Brooklyn brands of ale, lager and beer, is converting 13,500 square feet of vacant distribution space into a beer fermentation facility, and increasing brewing capacity from 8,000 to 50,000 barrels per year. The plant is located at 79 North 11th Street. The grant came from a competitive process, yielding a total first-round $7.8 million that will eventually total $35 million to revitalize the downstate area, and grow the job and tax base.

I don't know exactly how I feel about this.  I guess since I run a beer blog I should be psyched, but honestly, $800,000?  NYC can barely pay for brakes on their trains. (Tuck and roll everyone.) Frankly, I think Brooklyn Brewery still owes me $9 from the Local 2 I had to choke down before I knew any better.  Well, I guess technically they now only owe me $8.96.  Bill's in the mail, fatcats!

REVIEW: East Coast 1, West Coast . . . -5,000,000

Now look.  I love West Coast brewing.  Green Flash IPA is my jam, Stone Smoked Porter makes me want to listen to jazz music, and when we got Elysian Night Owl Pumpkin Ale at work, I literally drank it for breakfast.  But Sunday, my girlfriend and I made a shopping trip in preparation for a day of football and a little beer sampling.  We picked up a bunch of new beers and decided after a few snacks (and suitable palate-cleansing . . . calm down) to try a couple.  What we were in for was quite the roller coaster.

So, yeah . . . Little Sumpin' Extra Ale is apparently brewed by California's Lagunitas Brewing.  Now, I don't know how the people feel about them in Cali, but here they get some respect.  I was psyched for this beer.  It was a seasonal just about to head off the shelves, had the nice hearty alcohol content perfect for a crisp fall day, and an IBU level not so far through the roof that I got intimidated.   For the newbies, IBU stands for International Bitterness Units and is exactly what it sounds like.  They run from 0 for say, pure water to around 100 for say, hops sauteed with sour balls.  72 IBUs prepared me for decent hops, but didn't prepare me for ONLY hops, which is what this beer brings to the table.  What is most unfortunate about that is, based on the aroma, Lagunitas got their hands on some pretty choice hops.  We were so excited to lean in and catch a whiff of lemon meringue, grapefruit, and orange sherbet.  A predominant citrus and cream scent.  Just wonderful.  However, the HUGE citrus-y hops absolutely overwhelm whatever else is in this beer, which for the life of me I couldn't tell you.  It is lightly carbonated which is unsurprising given the gravity and alcohol content, and that could have aided in some smoothness.  However, the bitter hops make this one of the most dimensionless beers I've ever had and I was forced to toss it into the pile of "I'm a macho American craft brewer so I have to pour hops all over you to prove how cool I am" beers.  I have EATEN hops raw and this beer was almost as difficult to deal with.  There is a twinge of an orange sweetness, almost orange zest, that had me seeking out extra levels, but there was little to be found.

Oh but there was more to the day.  We soothed our screaming tongues with some honey wheat pretzels, chilled out, swished with some water, and moved to the next beer.  The wonderful Tasting Beer by Randy Mosher mentioned this beer: Dogfish Head's Midas Touch.  The backstory goes thusly: a bunch of people dig up the tomb of Midas and discover party favors from his funeral.  One is a drinking goblet.  They do analysis on the residue and discover saffron, honey, and grapes as part of an ancient fermented-drink recipe.  To commemorate this, they have a party, commission Dogfish to make the beer for the party, and Sam Calagione whips up a beer with those ingredients in it.  Does it taste like what Midas drank?  Maybe not.  Midas probably had virgins standing in his beer to steal their youth.  But is this beer the BOMB?  Yes.  Yes it is.

One thing I hope to get at with this blog is the memories or feelings beer can bring up.  This is a perfect beer for that kind of analysis.  The pour is beautiful and it produces a nice head for packing 9% alcohol.  The beer is medium golden.  It is immediately tasty and warm on the tongue.  The mouthfeel is light and reasonably carbonated, yet substantial.  If that sounds difficult to comprehend, that's a testament to the complexity and balance of this beer.  The grapes and honey are strongly present, but there are tones resembling sherry, melon, and even something in the neighborhood of cotton candy.  The color and visuals compliment the sweetness perfectly.  To compare it to a white wine is perfectly acceptable.  But the main thing we got was memory.  This beer took us back to family times.  My girlfriend AND her sister both swore it reminded them of their Bubby, and we all agreed that it would be the perfect accompaniment for a Passover dinner.  A piece of matzoh with some butter and swiss cheese from my childhood would be a devilishly simple and wonderfully appropriate pairing.  I will say I picked up a bit of sharpness and tang, but I am senstive to that and my girlfriend who loves tangy foods didn't get it nearly as much as I did, so factor this into the tasting.

If you are somewhere without Dogfish Head, your life is poorer for it.  It is just this kind of beer, simple ingredients taking you to a family dinner, inspiring not only great sensations but plans for future togetherness, that reminds me of everything great to taste in the world.   

Rock Art vs. Corporate Assholes: Settled!

I thought I would dispatch our first OFFICIAL post with something uplifting.  Yeah, I know, this happened a week ago, but still.  How often do we get to bask in something like this?  For those unaware, here is the backstory.

Rock Art is a Vermont-based brewery, who makes a barleywine called the Vermonster.  It comes in a 22 oz. bottle and is 10% alcohol.  Hansen Beverages is a California-based beverage maker who seems to specialize in natural juices, but also puts out Monster Energy Drink which comes in a big roided-up can perfect for crushing against one's head to prove you are the dominant male of the herd. 

Hansen Beverages, in an effort to jockey for America's Worst Legal Department, sent tiny Rock Art Brewery a cease-and-desist saying they were infringing on the Monster name, and that Rock Art's Vermonster could cause brand confusion.  Just so you know, anyone who has ever drank 22 oz. of barleywine can tell you that it is anything but an energy drink.  Also, Vermonster is made with hops and malt, while Monster is made by filling a can with the tears of orphans and abused women. 

Thankfully there is a happy ending.  After the internet caught wind of this, shit went crazy and Hansen was inundated with calls from Rock Art fans, beer lovers, and people who just plain like justice.  Stores in New England even yanked Monster from their shelves.  Hansen Beverages caved and dropped their adorable little lawsuit-y thing, although in a brilliant display of face-saving negotiation, they made Rock Art, a BREWERY, promise not to sell ENERGY DRINKS.  I think that went something like this:

Hansen Beverages Lawyer: Hey . . . um, so . . . what's up?
Rock Art: Don't play dumb.  You're getting crushed.
Hansen: Your face is getting crushed.
Rock Art: What?
Hansen: Okay look . . . can we have $10,000?
Rock Art: No, you lost.
Hansen: $50 and we call it a day.
...
Fine, just promise not to sell energy drinks, okay?

Then the lawyer shed a single tear, and drowned his sorrows in the Vermonster Sundae at Ben & Jerry's.  Check the video out below, and if you can find it, snag a bottle of some fine Rock Art product.  Word to the little guy.

Our First Post: Ingenuity and Ingredients

My name is Allen Arthur.  I'm a restaurant manager in NYC who loves food, my girlfriend, and beer. 

That's right.  Beer.  I love beer. 

The problem with that statement is twofold. 

The first problem is "love".  The second problem is "beer".

When people hear you say that you "love" beer, they make assumptions.  Are you a frat guy?  Are you an alcoholic?  Have you ever met another person?  I can, after much soul-searching, assure you: No, no, and yes. . . several.  Also, apparently the line between booze connoisseur and "guy who drinks moonshine with threadbare mittens around an oildrum fire" is even thinner than normal when it comes to beer.  People just seem to think you must not KNOW any better.  That reveals our archaic notions not just of beer, but of alcohol in general.  We are still a conservative nation in many ways, and in few places is this more prevalent than with drinking.  You can see it in our spirits laws, our minimum age, our depiction of drinking on TV and in films.  Drinking is for partying or the easing of demons. 

Tragically, this comes not only from the usual morality patrol, but from the industry as well.  Parent/conservative groups seem to believe we are all alcoholics lying in wait, untrustworthy to moderate our own habits.  Even worse is Big Booze.  These companies insist on shilling the belief that alcohol somehow leads to having tons of friends and beautiful women.  They make men look like doofuses and women like objects who for some reason love doofuses.

So it is easy for me to forgive friends and acquaintances when they don't quite get my beer hobby.  Why WOULDN'T they think it all tastes like swill Budweiser?  Why wouldn't they think I'm chasing what is sold in the commercials?  So, for all us heads, we have to explain.  Somewhere there is a brewery, there are HUNDREDS of breweries and more every day, where an artist sits and carefully calibrates a recipe that will take you back to Thanksgiving dinner, or guide you on a late-night walk through the woods through ingenuity and ingredients alone.  The craft beer explosion in America is no fluke.  People are upset that the thing they love has so many awful connotations around it and with each barrel shipped are hoping to rebelliously change people's minds. 

Thankfully, it seems to be working.  Breweries and craft beers are finally being held to intense quality standards not just by themselves but by ever more discerning and educated consumers.  World-class chefs are cooking and even pairing top-notch dishes with beer.  (Umm . . . gasp.)  All of this has led craft beer to become one of the fastest growing businesses in the country.  The irony is that somwhere in Belgium, there's probably a dude so sick of brewing that he wishes his family had just died in a barley blaze rather than spend another day on a centuries-old brew for the gods.  But, America is rapidly catching up and craft brewers from around the globe are putting out arguably better product than our age-old European institutions.  At least those Belgians are finally getting their props. 

So we are here to say that we love beer.  Unabashed, unashamed, with responsibility and dignity.  We study it.  We learn about it.  We share it with those we love as an expression of ourselves as one might share a song or a joke, and as the brewers themselves have shared it with us.  Our beer family is growing and we should be welcoming them in.  We were welcomed in ourselves one day.  Hopefully, this site will aid in building our community.  It will not be snarky, but a shot might be fired here and there.  Satire is practically guaranteed.  The information will span reviews, interviews, news, and any tangentially-related whatnots that strike my fancy about beer.  Sometimes the content will be advanced and sometimes I will cover basics so that people just learning have a place to start.  Sometimes I will talk about a beer's gravity, or start a debate about color classification, and sometimes my girlfriend will say a beer "tastes like a vomit burp".  But hey, that's beer right.  And we love it.