Headlines from April 2018 on THE BEER BEAT.

This blog has gone on hiatus, probably permanently, and primarily because these days my thoughts about beer are being posted alongside my utterances about everything else, over yonder at NA Confidential. You'll find them there in reverse chronological order via the helpful all-purpose tag, The Beer Beat.

However, at the end of each month I'll collect the links right here. Following are April's (2018) ruminations, with the oldest listed first. Some of these posts are more topical than others. On occasion, there'll be references to beer in posts using "The Beer Beat" as a label, though not a title. I hope this isn't overly confusing.

Thanks for reading, if belatedly.

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THE BEER BEAT: "Bock brings the Germans rushing to the beer garden."

Doppelbock is the perfect example of a seasonal beer style redolent of history and faraway places, and yet deemed insufficiently sexy for narcissistic, hop-laden, shoe-gazing geeks.

No bitterness in this soul, mind you.

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THE BEER BEAT: Mad Paddle Brewery is coming to Madison, and there's a New Albany connection.

Having tickled the taste buds, let's have a glance to the northeast. If you ask me, Madison has always deserved a good brewery.

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THE BEER BEAT: Fest of Ale returns on June 2, so please allow me to revive an idea for pre-fest fun next year.

(New Albany Craft Beer Week) didn't come together in 2017 and probably won't in 2018, but if Andrew Nicholson and Kelly Winslow (especially these two) are reading ... there's always 2019. I'd be happy to give you both the rundown.

Meanwhile, 2018 will be the third year for Fest of Ale at the Riverfront Amphitheater. Gear up and get ready.

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THE BEER BEAT: This just might be the Pour Fool's greatest rant: "Open Letter to The Bud Sell-Outs: Cowboy Up, Whiners."

"There is one old saw that the 'owners' of these former craft breweries should take to heart and if any of you have never heard it, allow me ... 'You Made Your Bed, Now Lie In It.' "

Ladies and gentleman, give it up for Steve Foolbody (The Pour Fool).

It's the best summary yet offered, as truthfully attesting to the phenomenon of Trojan Zombie Afterlife Breweries and their former owners. Here's a relevant non-brewing history lesson.

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THE BEER BEAT: Pints for Parkinson's returns with Maibock, so let's have a look at Gordon Biersch, day drinking and TARC.

Spurred by the groundbreaking commuter research conducted by my friend Jeff, who works in downtown Louisville KY -- and with a wife who does, too -- I have belatedly grasped that the #71 bus eastbound from State and Elm in New Albany (a short walk from my house) travels all the way to Jeffersonville on roughly an hourly basis during the day, stopping a mere bloc

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THE BEER BEAT: Everybody wants to rule the world -- maybe "craft" beer will, too.

This is exactly what the world of beer commentary is sorely lacking: Beer with a Socialist. I'm grateful to Jonathan for the idea, and will owe him a beer of three is this goes anyplace.

Now, give it up for Lew Bryson and another thought-provoking (and fun) column at The Daily Beast.

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THE BEER BEAT: Photographing traditional Irish storefronts for posterity, like the Railway Bar.

The loss of storefronts in Ireland is a lamentable cultural atrocity. It isn't restricted to pubs, but of course I'm enraptured by one of the pubs pictured in the article.

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THE BEER BEAT: This humble plinth could be the spot where we memorialize the myriad victims of Prohibition.

It is imperative for the future health and well-being of the municipality that we embrace historical consciousness, hence my contention that the victims of the savage and deranged social experiment known as Prohibition -- surely America's second-worst idea ever, albeit well behind human slavery in terms of ramifications -- be memorialized, preferably adjacent to a watering hole that reminds us of what the heinous teetotalers tried to take away.

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THE BEER BEAT: Speakeasies here, speakeasies there, and not an original thought to be found anywhere.

It's far easier to be "magical" when your family has profited immensely from LEGAL liquor sales, the budget is unlimited, and you're not scraping for crumbs to implement good ideas -- but money can buy neither love nor an exemption from imminent prosecution for inexcusably pretentious word abuse.

The CJ's writer somehow keeps a straight face, this being a skill I never learned.

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THE BEER BEAT: "Putting the taproom first and building the rest of your business around an own-premise model gives a brewery unprecedented control, insight, and flexibility."

History is endlessly fascinating for a variety of reasons, among them the uncanny way that what goes around, comes around. In today, out tomorrow -- and destined to return when conditions change and the dialectic of trendiness (or purely efficient reasoning) ordains.

This whole craft brewing revolution began very locally. You trundled down the street with a metaphorical pitcher, had it filled with beer, and hoped to make it back home without drinking it all -- or, the way it was done back in pre-Prohibition times.

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LIVE TO EAT on THE BEER BEAT: A tribute to the late Rocky's Sub Pub and a question: What's happening at Jeffersonville's "restaurant row"?

It was announced today that Rocky's Sub Pub, on the riverfront in Jeffersonville, suddenly closed. Danielle Grady's newspaper coverage is linked below, but first, a short piece I wrote for LEO back in 2009, when Rocky's debuted its beefed-up tap system. Ironically, now both Rocky's and JeffBoat are gone.

Coming soon: "Pints & Union to open in New Albany, will be inspired by classic European pubs."

For more than a year, I've been working with my friend Joe Phillips on a pub project at 114 E. Market in downtown New Albany called Pints & Union.

On Wednesday this week, the cat slipped from the bag in the form of a fine write-up by Kevin Gibson at Insider Louisville KY.

Paraphrasing Robert Frost, we have promises to keep -- and miles to go before we sleep. The first link leads to Gibson's story, with a few thoughts of my own; the second offers some information about how we refer to drinking establishments; and the third provides an overview of my thought process in devising a revolutionary throwback old school progressive beer program.

As there is further information to report, I'll copy here from NA Confidential.

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THE BEER BEAT: "Pints & Union to open in New Albany, will be inspired by classic European pubs."

First and foremost, Pints & Union marks a return to the ethos that originally compelled me to go into the beer business. For this opportunity, all thanks to Joe Phillips -- and serendipitously, Taco Steve (Powell) ...

Pints & Union to open in New Albany, will be inspired by classic European pubs, by Kevin Gibson (Insider Louisville KY)

Leave your cellphone in your pocket, and if you want to watch the local college hoops game with some cheap wings, well, you’ll be going somewhere else.

Pints & Union, which owner Joe Phillips hopes will open sometime in April at 114 E. Market St. in New Albany, will be inspired by European-style (or “Anglo-Irish”) pubs, built for conversing over a pint — or five. Even the name reflects typical pub names in Europe and the United Kingdom.

“We’re going to resurrect the spirit of what a real pub is,” Phillips told Insider.

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SHANE'S EXCELLENT NEW WORDS: On taverns, pubs, Gaststätten and Bung -- with a Mencken chaser.

It's an understatement to say we have lots and lots of work to do, but it's good to have plans, goals and timetables. Until the grand opening, we might spend hours parsing the similarities and differences of pubs, taverns, bars, cafes and the like, as with this chat at Trip Advisor about three German-language descriptors: Gasthof / Gasthaus / Gaststätte ...

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ON THE AVENUES: Golden oldie classic comfort beers at an old school pub? Sounds like Pints & Union to me.

I’ve had enough of venues with 20 beers on tap, the inevitable majority of them IPAs, with the remainder Imperial-this, barrel-aged-that, most of universally high gravity. I’m driven to utter distraction when returning to the same venue two weeks later, only to find that 18 of them have changed, with a whole new crop of “what do you have that’s new,” which might actually mean something if there was an outside chance that the best of the new beers would reappear in less than a year ...

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Headlines from April 2017 on THE BEER BEAT.

Previously, I explained several reasons why this blog has gone on hiatus, and explained that my thoughts about beer will be posted alongside my utterances about everything else, over yonder at NA Confidential.

You'll find them there via the all-purpose tag, The Beer Beat.

However, whenever the urge strikes -- probably monthly -- I'll collect a few of these links right here. Following are April's ruminations, with the oldest listed first. Some are more topical than others, and I'm past the point of caring about it.

Having noted this, I found that writing about my favorite pubs made me feel good. There may be more of it.

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THE BEER BEAT: Indie, not craft, because "There is absolutely NOTHING 'independent' about AB/InBev."

I haven't gone cold turkey on the "craft" descriptor, and find myself using the word here and there (usually in quotation marks, as intended to emphasis the escalating irony), but zero tolerance is a worthy goal to which we might aspire.

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THE BEER BEAT: Retro and dive, tavern and free house. Stages of development. A rumination.

We’re approaching an important local anniversary in the saga of better beer, because at some point in the late summer of 1992, the first keg of Guinness was tapped at the Public House formerly known as Rich O’s.

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THE BEER BEAT: The Hibernian (Hi-B) Bar, one of my favorite pubs in the world.

It's been 30 years since I climbed the stairs to the first floor (in Europe, that's how they're numbered) and beheld the cramped majesty of the Hi-B. Somewhere up or down another set of stairs was the loo. The publican Brian O'Donnell was a legend even then, and as I write, it is my earnest hope that he's still alive and scowling.

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THE BEER BEAT: The Dolphin, one of my favorite pubs in the world.

Few such pubs can boast a semi-official house artist. The late Beryl Cook was a painter who moved to Plymouth after the retirement of her husband. They opened a guest house nearby, and gradually Cook gained fame as an artist. Because The Dolphin was her local, several of her paintings chronicle pub life.

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THE BEER BEAT: BrewDog's private equity $$$ bonanza: "Not bad for ten years of being rude about the rest of the UK brewing industry."

BrewDog's antics have entertained me for a long time. The company's success reminds us that while P.T. Barnum may have been an American, hucksterism never has been confined to just one country. I hope the founders of BrewDog make a mint, whether in dollars, Euros or pounds sterling. I'll be at a local establishment somewhere, drinking myself to sleep.

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THE BEER BEAT: Jim Koch ponders whether it's "Last Call for Craft Beer."

Just my two cents. It's hard feeling sorry for Jim Koch, though in some ways I do. Samuel Adams Boston Lager is one of the most important beers in American brewing history, whether "craft" or macro. It helped pioneer a whole segment, and it's still really good for what it is.

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THE BEER BEAT: St. Radegund Free House, one of my favorite pubs in the world.

Regrettably, my paean to St. Radegund Free House in Cambridge, England must begin with the sadly belated report that former landlord Terry "Bunter" Kavanagh died five years ago at the age of 75.

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THE BEER BEAT: A neighborhood dive bar for the post-craft beer world?

It's feeling like a lab rat, as though you're part of an ongoing experiment in anxiety escalation -- like an arms race, always hoppier, sourer, stronger and plain weirder; the wheel constantly is revolving, and there's nothing upon which to hang one's metaphorical chapeau for longer than one keg (a sixth barrel), lest another begin pouring the diametrical opposite.

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THE BEER BEAT: Sometimes compliance takes a labyrinth.

Attention, oppressed Indian(a) ATC permit holders.

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THE BEER BEAT: Valley Malt. Pioneer Valley. It all comes back to me now.

And, during two recent trips to Western Massachusetts, it never once occurred to me that Valley Malt might be located nearby, as in fact it is -- in Hadley, just a few miles from Diana's niece's family in South Hadley. We almost certainly were within minutes of the malting, and may well have passed it a half-dozen while driving back and forth.

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Last of my summer's patience: Walking holidays in the UK that lead to pubs.

The Craven Arms (from The Guardian).

One of my obsessions during the period spent contemplating my NABC-xit was the long-running British television show, The Last of the Summer Wine.

ON THE AVENUES: The last of the summer beer.

 ... It’s hard to imagine a more unfashionable concept in the milieu of the smart phone and driverless car, and perhaps that’s why I’m so attracted to it.

For the uninitiated, the series ran from 1973 through 2010, a staggering 37 years, with almost 300 episodes aired. Virtually all emphasize a timeless sense of place, with much location filming amid the workmanlike stone buildings and rustic, gorgeous rolling hills of Holmfirth, Yorkshire.

There is a basic narrative premise remaining unchanged throughout the program’s run: “A whimsical comedy with a penchant for light philosophy and full-on slapstick (following) the misadventures of three elderly friends tramping around the Yorkshire countryside.”

I actually stopped watching the show during last year's mayoral campaign, as it rendered me dreamy and inert, and no longer willing to read sewage treatment consent decrees.

Then, this morning, the missus pointed me to a piece in The Guardian about walking the English (and Welsh, Scottish and Irish) countryside and drinking real ale in the UK, and I dissolved into melancholy reverie. It is 9:00 a.m., and all I can think about it Ordinary Bitter.

Coincidentally, the Inspector Morse episode we watched two days ago contained a wonderful subtle vignette, wherein Morse and Lewis have retreated to a pub to discuss their investigation, and as Lewis speaks, Morse (a cask devotee) gazes soulfully at a pint of ale being sinuously drawn.

By the way ... get me the fuck out of here.

Please?

20 great UK walks with pubs, chosen by nature writers

Pull on your boots and enjoy the countryside in all its autumn glory. Ten of Britain’s best nature writers reveal their favourite routes – and where they like to refuel on the way.

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"Changing face of Britain's pubs as locals band together to save them from closure."

Granted, the UK is different from the USA with respect to the institution of the pub -- what the word means, ownership and legalities.

It seems a bit strange that these tips (below) need reminding. Then again, in a place where pub chains dominate, and the legal climate hasn't always been consistent, you can see the possibility of landlords losing sight of what should be a central concern: Pubs as community centers.

That's always been the ideal. It's what we wanted Rich O's Public House to be 25 years ago, emulating what we thought was taken for granted in locales like the UK.

First the lead ...

Changing face of Britain's pubs as locals band together to save them from closure, by Lewis Panther (Mirror)

Popping to the local in today’s Britain can mean a whole lot more than supping a pint.

With community spirit as much in evidence as the traditional whisky, vodka and gin, you can get a massage, have your bike mended or even find someone to stitch a ­wedding dress.

The trend might shock diehards. But with pubs going out of business at the rate of 29 a week, it is proving to be one way of saving this much-loved institution, the Sunday People reports ...

 ... then the list. Can someone around New Albany PLEASE be famous for best (meat) pies?

How to keep your local thriving

Pub is The Hub support group has this advice:

COMMUNITY: Befriend the vicar, council, clubs and sports teams. Get wi-fi and put the pub on Facebook and Twitter.

FOOD & DRINK: Be famous for best pies, pints – even cleanest loos. Work with brewers, farm and butcher suppliers on ranges and pricing – and they’ll help to promote you.

PROFIT: Stocktake regularly and know your income from every single thing you sell.

DIVERSIFY: If a post office, cash machine or library is closing, could you run it from the pub?

ENTERTAIN: Stage regular quiz, open mic, karaoke and fish & chip supper nights.

TRAINING: Keep yourself and your staff regularly drilled.

STAY LEGAL: Keep up to date with latest rules. There is a lot of free advice available.

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Peru: "The Rise and Fall of the World's Most Unlikely Pub."

I've been nowhere near Peru, but 25 years ago there was a day-long hike up into the High Tatras on the Slovak-Polish border. Roughly halfway through our 15 miles, my friend Jan and I paused for a lunch of bean soup and beer at a cabin perched on a cliff, with a great view of the abyss. Lager never tasted better. Later we passed a young man headed up the mountain, carrying a huge backpack -- more beans and more beer for the people passing through after us.

No cocaine, though.

The Rise and Fall of the World's Most Unlikely Pub, by Lauren Evans (Atlas Obscura)

 ... Imagine, then, the feeling of alighting upon the pub: It’s the end of your third day of hiking. You’ve just passed the Wiñay Wayna ruins, a marvel of Incan stonework featuring still-intact houses, fountains and cascading verandas, upon which a scattering of llamas nip unperturbed at the grass. Below, the Urubamba River cuts a fine line through the towering slopes of the mountains. The air is thicker here than it was yesterday, when you dragged yourself across the 13,800-foot Dead Woman’s Pass. The hard work has been done, and tomorrow, you’ll rise from your tent at 3 a.m. for the final six-kilometer push into Machu Picchu.

You may not have been expecting a beer, but you’re ready for one.

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"Pub-goers call time on screaming children."

It's easy to be strident when you don't have kids of your own, and so I'd choose to echo these words from the article: "Get them something to do. If the children are happy, the parents are happy.”

It's probably true that amok children and bad parents are in the minority, although unfortunately they can leave a sizable bad taste in everyone's mouth.

As I've always delighted in pointing out, while bulging alcoholic beverage code books in places like Indiana delight in stipulating ways of maintaining a separation between arbitrarily defined age groups, virtually every beer garden I've ever seen in Bavaria has a playground.

Pub-goers call time on screaming children, by Haroon Siddique (The Guardian)

The ambience of the British boozer is being ruined by screaming babies and children whose parents allow them to run riot, according to disgruntled licensees and customers.

Badly behaved, unruly children was the number one bugbear cited in a survey by the compilers of The Good Pub Guide 2016.

Another forgivable loan, another new indie food & drink business in downtown Jeffersonville.

In New Albany, we indies use our own money so that municipal government can make mad, passionate love to the industrial park.

But make no mistake: I'm a big fan of Tom O'Shea, and I wish these guys the very best in Jeff. It means we don't have to cross any bridge -- even the Big Four pedway -- for fish and chips and a long, cool pint ... and there's nothing whatever wrong with that.

(7:30 a.m. update: Steve Coomes covers far more of the more interesting details here, including Tom's "fast casual" concept and a few thoughts on the adaptive evolution of Patrick O'Shea's into an events venue)

RAISE YOUR GLASS: O’Shea’s to open on Spring Street in downtown Jeffersonville; Louisville-based pub to open between November and March, by Matt Koesters (News and Tribune)

JEFFERSONVILLE — Downtown Jeffersonville’s trend of attracting new restaurants and drinking establishments continued Monday.

The Jeffersonville Redevelopment Commission voted unanimously Thursday to approve a $50,000 forgivable loan for a new O’Shea’s location in downtown Jeffersonville. Commission members Derek Spence and Jamie Lake were absent from the meeting.

The restaurant and bar will locate in a space between Schimpff’s Confectionery and Perkfection Cafe on Spring Street.

“It’s really exciting to have them come into our downtown,” said Redevelopment Director Rob Waiz. “It’s going to be a big boost for us. With all of the other restaurants and having O’Shea’s come in, things are really coming together. With the walking bridge, with the new restaurants, with the microbreweries, it’s just really making Jeffersonville thrive.”

The PC: Last of the summer beer.

The PC: Last of the summer beer.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.

Lately I’ve found myself enamored of the venerable British television series, “Last of the Summer Wine.” It’s hard to imagine a more unfashionable concept in the milieu of the iPhone and Bitcoin, and perhaps that’s why I’m so attracted to it.

For the uninitiated, the series ran from 1973 through 2010, a staggering 37 years, with almost 300 episodes aired. Virtually all of them emphasize a timeless sense of place, with much location filming amid the workmanlike stone buildings and rustic, gorgeous rolling hills of Holmfirth, Yorkshire. There is a basic narrative premise remaining unchanged throughout the program’s run:

“A whimsical comedy with a penchant for light philosophy and full-on slapstick (following) the misadventures of three elderly friends tramping around the Yorkshire countryside.”

Reruns of “Last of the Summer Wine” have been showing on KET for as long as I can remember, and while the electronic media of today’s world enables one the selective luxury of binge viewing on-line, the series itself decidedly is not about today’s world. As such, I prefer the old-fashioned manner of viewing: Pouring a drink and sitting in front of the television at 6:30 p.m. on Sunday with the missus.

On those occasions when life gets in the way, there’s always YouTube to play catch-up.

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Just a few weeks ago, the chronological episode spool ran all the way back to the pilot, filmed in 1972 and aired in 1973. Astoundingly, plot elements subsequently enjoying a shelf life of decades are largely intact from the very start, except I’d argue that the word “elderly” isn’t really a valid descriptor of the primary male characters, at least in the very beginning of the series.

In fact, while the first trio (Cyril, Clegg and Compo) might accurately be described as redundant, pensioned or retired, the actors portraying them, as well as their fictional characters, are in their early- to mid-50s as the series begins in 1973. They get to be genuinely elderly, but what are the odds of a television series lasting almost four decades?

Because “Last of the Summer Wine” keeps going and going, there are minor changes, tweakings and cast turnover. The character of Cyril is replaced by Foggy Dewhurst, and then Seymour Utterthwaite; Foggy later returns, and is replaced a second time, by Frank Thornton’s Herbert Truelove. Bill Owen (Compo) dies in 2000, and so does his character. Peter Sallis’s Clegg ages the most; he appears in all 295 episodes and is still alive in 2014, in his early nineties.

However, in the beginning – insert a shocked “gasp” here – they’re my approximate age (53), or only slightly older. This, dear readers, boggles my mind, and it speaks to the endlessly convoluted mind games of time and history.

As an example, consider Foggy, who constantly exaggerates his experiences in the Asian Theater during the Second World War. When Foggy came to town in 1976, it had been only three full decades since the end of the war, which as we know initiated a post-war baby boom … which in England produced the earliest fans of a group like the Rolling Stones … who in 2014 are in the third year of celebrating the band’s 50th anniversary.

On one of the last of the newer (1991) episodes aired on KET before the rotation began anew, Foggy encounters a man on the street in Holmfirth using an ATM. By contrast, the 1973 pilot episode might as well have been filmed in the 1920s. Modernity in Holmfirth is relative. There is an absence of overall hurry, and few items are made of plastic. Anglicanism isn’t dead, and there are as many buses and tractors on the street as automobiles.

Into this compelling tableau steps Clegg, Compo and Cyril. Apart from wartime service, these former schoolmates never left their nowhere town. Now, with nothing to do, they wander about hill, dale and high street, reminiscing and philosophizing, indulging in harmless antics inspired by boredom, and more in keeping with children’s play than retiree community social scheduling.

In short, it is a worthy ideal, indeed. Where do I sign up?

The trio’s day invariably brings them to Sid’s Café for tea and sticky buns, and often includes extended sessions in various local Holmfirth pubs, including the White Horse Inn, Butcher’s Arms and Elephant and Castle. In these intimate bricks and mortar monuments to Real Ale when it really was real, they enjoy leisurely pints from the hand-pull while hatching the next scheme. Periodically there is disagreement over who buys the next round, but three more pints generally materialize in front of them, to be deliciously drained.

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Because the title character of the series “Inspector Morse” specifically addresses the virtues of traditional cask ale at regular intervals, he’s probably the foremost telly-centric exponent of traditional British ale-making virtues, albeit leaning a bit toward the geekier side of things.

“Last of the Summer Wine” also ranks highly, if for no other reason than its depiction of the pub experience in such affectionate fashion, as a daily component of the well-rounded ne’er-do-well’s life. Of course, this is the whole point of a pub, and I thank the series for making it.

Not only that, but I salivate and become all Pavlovian. I see the Holmfirth boys lifting their pints, and for the briefest of moments, the stress-ridden workaday routine disappears from view. There is simplicity.

In a daydream, I join my pals Mark and Graham in shuffling through the streets of New Albany, solving the world’s problems, and repairing to a clean, well-lighted place for liquid sustenance. We hector politicians, recall the good old daze, and toss a water balloon at a passing tractor trailer.

It can’t ever be the same, although a boy – and even an older man – can dream.

Or, he can watch “Last of the Summer Wine” and envision the art of the possible.

Children in pubs ... and beer gardens.

My travels have taken me to Central Europe more often than England, and more often than not, there is a fairly clear delineation between "family friendly" and "boozer." Certainly most beer gardens one visits in a place like Bavaria includes the equivalent of a children's playground.

On children in pubs, Katharine Whitehorn (Guardian/Observer)

Historically pubs wouldn't allow children on the premises; now they have family-friendly menus and positively welcome toddlers.

Note that we speak not of 21-year-olds behaving like children. My point simply is that maturity applies to adults as well as children, in the sense of positive reinforcement. If the atmosphere is good, with beer, food, music and fun, why wouldn't we want kids to learn about it, sans the prohibitionist idiocy that inevitably colors any such discussion in the United States?

In 1985, the Augustiner in Salzburg was my first genuine German-style beer garden experience. Although I didn't mention younger children specifically in my recollection, they certainly were there, too, carving up sausages and acting as part of the scene. Why not?

But it was out in the leafy beer garden that I fell in love with a way of life, one experienced for the very first time. At midday, hundreds of beer lovers were seated at tables, shaded by towering chestnut trees, surrounded by stone walls and stucco, virtually all of them drinking malty Marzen-style lager brewed and aged only yards away.
It was entirely self-service, or so I remember. You went back inside for sausages, salads and loaves of crusty bread, and then joined the line for beer. A cashier took Austrian schillings, as plastic was not negotiable and Euros didn’t exist, and handed back a receipt. Upon choosing a liter (33.8 ounces) ceramic mug from the freshly washed public stack, you ritualistically rinsed it in a fountain of cold water, handed it and the receipt over to aproned men who were pouring the deep golden beer from a tap embedded in a wooden barrel, and prepared for nirvana.

Teens drank alongside elderly men. There were playing cards, songs for singing, chicken bones and carts filled with emptied mugs. Strangers shared tables and bought rounds. Worldwide languages were spoken. I ate, drank, used the WC, drank some more, and returned the following two nights to do it again, each time walking 25 minutes back to my lodging, feeling perfectly safe and wishing we could do the same back home.

From Nov. 1, 2011: "Homes Away from Home."

I'm in reruns for a few days, posting past columns of note.

It really is a form of religion for me.

Homes Away from Home

We went for a stroll last Sunday and passed one of those fly-by-night evangelistic churches, this one occupying an old shotgun house.

A man I’d never seen before waved as we passed, and he called out, “One of these Sundays, why don’t you come to church with us?”

I thought about it, and answered: “Sure, as long as you’ll come to my church with me.”

He answered, “Where’s your church?”

“Any brewpub will do,” I replied, and walked on.

Chris Ritter: "Derby City on Tap."

The Paper may be going away soon, but there's an excellent piece on Louisville area beer, written by Chris Ritter, and featured in the current issue.

Derby City on Tap

In 2007, Andrew Dimery was fermenting his first batch of homebrew on a whim, having cashed in his tax return for the most minimal of required gear. Six years later he is the newest head brewer at the Bluegrass Brewing Company in St. Matthews.

“I loved the DIY aspect of it,” said Dimery. “I remember recycling was every Tuesday. And I’d go out to recycling bins and that’s where I’d get my glass bottles – clean them out really well and sanitize them. But I kind of felt like Gollum or something like that.”

A few articles and links of possible interest.

Partying at home? My fellow Food & Dining columnist Tim Laird has the complete plan, illustrated with photos by the inimitable Dan Dry, in this book: That's Entertainment!

But perhaps you're craving a change of scenery? The Curmudgeon always does, but isn't sure that an establishment accessible only by boat is the answer: Britain's most remote pub.

Also in the UK, mid-sized brewer Adnams seeks an end to small brewery tax break even though the company itself ranks the importance of its beer making operation behind both wine and kitchenware (?) in importance. Wankers.

For those planning to attend the Brewers of Indiana Guild's Indiana Microbrewers Festival in Broad Ripple on July 17, here is the story behind the next Indiana ReplicAle. Note that there will be no Friday evening brewers dinner function this year, but that the festival will expand in territorial terms on Saturday; more space, more beer.

Pizzaria owners are advised to short the public when it comes to draft beer pours, and I don't doubt the chicanery. At the same time, anyone taking advice about beer from Pizza Marketing Quarterly isn't the sharpest knife in the kitchen. Ask the Curmudgeon, people.

In Kentucky, a bourbon tasting bill is caught in a legislative fight, and the part that catches my attention is Rep. Clark noting that he doesn't want to see bourbon tastings in "every corner liquor store," although making exceptions for the Equestrian Games makes sense. Isn't the principle the same, either way?

I believe in beer, too.

Our friend and regular pub patron Amy posted this essay this morning, and I hope she doesn't mind my reprinting it here.

It's ironic. I regularly read accounts about how non-believers like me constitute a threat to peace of mind, Christian conscience and the American way in comprehensive terms, but I can't recall the last time I invaded a local church's physical space and demanded to proselytize about atheism.

Did I really use the word "ironic"? I meant "hypocritical."

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Separation of Church and Bar, by Amy Weatherford.

It is not everyday that I get into a religious debate with anyone... much less people at Rich O's. But my time had come to debate something loudly in the Couch area. There were two couples that came in from Meade Co. KY. One of them happens to be a Circuit Court Judge. The night started off well with the women ordering wine and the two men having Spaten and me drinking Alpha Naught. How religion was brought up into conversation is blurred to me now, but the topic arose.

Being a regular at Rich O's I know I should have just stopped right there and changed the topic but the Judge was persistent in his wanting to piss me off. I enjoy discussions about controversial topics with people that understand that there is more than one view point in the world and I sensed that there was only one view point for the Judge but continued anyway. Then the question came about...

"Do YOU believe in Jesus Christ?"

STOP... Amy do not answer. Change the subject now... is all I could think, but my recent smart ass came rearing its ugly head.

"Well what do you mean by... believe?"

"That Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior."

"I believe in the historical Jesus, but as to the hypostatic union... I don't know
if anyone can be for sure."

At this moment I can only think about the Big Lebowski and that a world of pain is coming my way by fucking with the Jesus. One thing lead after another. The Judge saying that he lives his life by the laws of God and me explaining that we "got" those laws from a book called the Bible that was written by man and man is fallible. And that the laws that he works within by being a Judge was written by men and that I hoped when he was on the bench "judging" that he remained in this earthly jurisdiction.

After me going through a short Theology lesson on the Bible. The rest of his crew chime in and say that its ok that I am conceitedly assertive and dogmatic in my opinions because I am YOUNG and the Judge informs me that he took a course in world Religions and that he "knew" everything about it.

This is where I lost it.... I did not throw anything... I did not compromise my good upstanding character at Rich Os. I stated clearly...

" I am glad you took one course in world religions when you were in college in
the 60's. I see that it has done you a lot of good. And apparently my 4 years of Theology and Political Philosophy courses that I took in the past 6 years count for nothing. The bottom line is there are different strokes for different folks and if I don't believe that Jesus Christ was our Lord and Savior... I guess I'll meet you in Hell."

I stand up and get another beer and they exit the couch area to return to Meade Co. one of them goes to hug me while whispering in my ear... "If you live with Jesus in your heart you will be ok. You just have to believe."

Me not saying any departing words, sat down on the couch with the cask in my hand and said "I believe in BEER!"

Cafe exteriors, Poperinge, February 2007.

While strolling through the Belgian hop capital of Poperinge, I snapped a few exterior shots of the town’s “locals” – the places where neighborhood regulars gather, the majority of whom can be spotted drinking Stella or Jupiler or Maes while having a smoke, watching a match, and chatting up their friends.

It was early in the morning, which accounts for the shuttered appearance of more than one.

It’s worth remembering that while “real” beer in Belgium remains a source of wonder, and increasing numbers of foreigners make the pilgrimage to Belgium in search of the obscure, interesting and delightful -- and average folks there certainly have a better rudimentary knowledge of beer styles and intents than their counterparts in metropolitan Louisville -- most of them drink Stella, Jupiler, Maes or another of many watery “pils” lagers on a daily basis.

The difference, perhaps, is that even if the cafes pictured here wouldn’t be the enthusiast’s first choice, there’s something inside, probably bottled, that would suffice for time spent waiting for a bus or the rain to stop falling. A Duvel would do fine, thanks.

Check back tomorrow for more on Monday’s Extreme Belgian beer dinner at Bistro New Albany. Spaces are available; call bNA at (812) 949-5227 to reserve your table.