Monday, April 04, 2016

The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 4): Against the Grain Neckhole or Sho'Nuff.

4th of 6 previews.

Previously:

The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 1): Falls City Kentucky Common.
The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 2): Gordon Biersch Golden Export.
The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 3): Bluegrass Brewing Company Altbier.

---

Thursday, April 7 is Session Beer Day 2016 ... and since it's one of my favorite holidays of the year, I'll be celebrating it.


Join me on a Session Beer Day Brewery Crawl on Thursday, April 7.

On April 7, I'll start before lunch (circa 11:00 a.m.) and traverse downtown Louisville on foot, walking from brewery to brewery and having a session beer at each. Most usually have at least one 4.5% choice on draft. The brewery list, traveling roughly west to east, would be: Falls City (Over the 9), Gordon Biersch, BBC 3rd Street, Against the Grain, Goodwood and Akasha.


For all intents and purposes, session beer consciousness as we know it today originates with Lew Bryson's Session Beer Project.


For our purposes, 'session beer' is defined as a beer that is:

  • 4.5% alcohol by volume or less
  • flavorful enough to be interesting
  • balanced enough for multiple pints
  • conducive to conversation
  • reasonably priced


What can be said about Against the Grain that Against the Grain hasn't already said about itself? Well, there's this: In spite of the brewery's image as purveyor of crazed liquid extremities, it maintains a Session tap at its Slugger Field headquarters at all times.


Wanna drink some beer? No more should the light beer drinker fear craft brewed beers! At AtG we brew a beer for the session drinker, the light beer drinker, and simply, the new beer drinker. Our session beers typically contain no higher than 5 percent ABV, and feature a balance between malt and hop characters (ingredients) and, typically, a clean finish - a combination of which creates a beer with high drinkability. In short, one that does what it should. Our session beers are light bodied, delicious, and thirst quenching. Come on in and Drink up!




The AtG website currently lists two choices. Either of them works for me, although I lean toward the Belgian.


“NECKHOLE AMERICAN LAGER”

My advice to you is to start drinking heavily.

We remember the good ol' days, when beers were beers and titties were real. Ya know? With the good tan lines on 'em? Those were the days, and this beer takes ya there. Two-row American Pilsner malt and a hint of Munich malt lend a light, bready body. With just enough Citra to balance and add a hint of fruit, it's easy-drinking. It's uncomplicated. Don't over-think it, just pour it down your neckhole.

ABV: 4.8%
IBU: 70.2
OG: 11.0P


Ironically, I used to work for a brewery that produced a 4% "Tafelbier." It'd be nice to taste another version. By this point in the walk, it may be necessary to procure some pork belly on a stick.


“SHO'NUFF”

The Beer For Bad Mo-Fo's

This Belgian table bier is a traditional entry into the Session category. It is meant to be consumed with food but also stands well on its own. When you need to drink the whole meal and want something with plenty of flavor but don’t want to get shit-twisted from the alcohol, this is a great choice. Look for a smooth malty body with hints of biscuit and rye. The hops are subdued and mostly present as a bittering agent. The yeast plays a prominent role in creating bready and lightly fruity notes.

ABV: 4.0%
IBU: 13.5
OG: 10.8P


From Against the Grain, it's a long block east on Main to Goodwood Brewing Company.

___

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Birracibo’s local/regional “craft” beer percentage rides the bench.

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Birracibo’s local/regional “craft” beer percentage rides the bench.

A weekly column by Roger A. Baylor.

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I have nothing whatever against Ulysses “Junior” Bridgeman, although if I were the sort to nurse ancestral grudges, there might be bad blood.

You see, unlike many basketball fans nearby who pledge allegiance to the University of Louisville Cardinals, it was my good fortune to see Bridgeman play when he was in high school, even if I was only 10 years old at the time.

Junior Bridgeman’s senior year in 1970-71 ended with his East Chicago Washington squad crowned as undefeated state champion, arguably the finest team in Hoosier high school history. All five starters for the Senators received four-year college scholarships, including Pete Trgovich at UCLA and Tim Stoddard at North Carolina State. Interestingly, Stoddard subsequently lasted more than a decade in the major leagues as an above-average relief pitcher.

In winning the 1971 title, East Chicago Washington defeated my Floyd Central Highlanders by a score of 102-88 in the championship semi-final in Indianapolis. At the time, it was a record for most points scored by a losing team in the Final Four.

Bridgeman went on to Louisville, enjoyed a 12-year NBA career, and has had a very successful post-athletic business career, primarily as the owner of several hundred Wendy’s and Chili’s franchises.

Meanwhile, I became a professional beer drinker and went straight to hell in a bottomless, used peach basket – but that’s a fun story for another day.

---

My mornings do not begin with television or radio. Rather, I check my iPhone for updates from the world’s few remaining reputable national and international news sources (Economist, Guardian, New York Times), generally of the sort that don’t rate beers.

Local news comes from the Twitter feed and e-mail headlines. Among my many sources for local information are the Courier-Journal, News and TribuneInsider Louisville and Louisville Business First. The first two purport to offer comprehensive news coverage, while Insider and LBF typically compete to provide histrionic, breathless “scoops” for that saddest of all human archetypes, those among us who somehow derive erotic jollies from business and finance news.

Restaurant and bar items remain of vague interest to me. Concurrently, gleeful tales of housing prices, stock options and hospital groups have precisely the same effect as an ice-cold outdoor shower in January.

Accordingly, last week Insider Louisville contributed a pulse-quickening, purely sponsored press release from the cuddly Cordish Companies, collector of formulaic, cookie-cutter chain stores, and extractor of municipal economic “development” subsidies from sea to shining sea.

In this for-pay “news” release, I learned that there’s a new restaurant at Fourth Street Live, Louisville’s engorged Cordish outpost. I’ve edited the rhetorical carnage to omit flagrant, self-congratulatory rhetoric, both on the part of Cordish and its best political friend, Mayor Greg Fischer.


SPONSORED

Local business leader and sports legend opens Birracibo at Fourth Street Live!

The Cordish Companies and local business leader and former NBA and University of Louisville basketball player, Ulysses “Junior” Bridgeman, proudly opened Birracibo at Fourth Street Live! last month. The newest restaurant specializes in artisanal pizzas, wine, and craft beer …

… “We are proud to partner with the Cordish family to create a truly special restaurant for downtown Louisville,” stated Junior Bridgeman, President and CEO of B.F. South Inc. “Birracibo is committed to quality, local ingredients, and an artisanal food and beverage program.”

“Birra” and “cibo” translated from Italian mean “beer” and “food” respectively. Birracibo honors that namesake by showcasing the best local and regional craft beers, as well as a menu that will assuage sophisticated palates and casual diners alike.


I hope IL paid well for that one. How very, very dreadful to write such drivel.

---

Truthfully, we’ve long since pole-vaulted the critical juncture where bracketing “craft” is required, seeing as “craft” has ceased to have any coherent meaning. Though strictly provisional, my current preferred formula is this: “Craft Beer Is Dead; Long Live Indie Beer.” 

Because: As an identifier, “indie” is vital. It reconnects better beer’s conceptual origins to the small, local business revolution, something increasingly forgotten by the boastful white whale chasers. My personal beer values system tells me that it’s just as important to follow the money as to prattle on about quality, especially when hardly anyone can agree on what quality means in a time of raging personal subjectivity.

Of course, the problem with indie beer is that “indie” (and “alternative”) long since were victimized as concepts by the music business in precisely the same way as “craft” has been gutted and wielded by brewing multinationals.

At any rate, we’re told that Birracibo features “the best local and regional craft beers,” and so not unlike a Missourian, I looked at the drinks card, which helpfully is available online. I’ve unilaterally divided the Birracibo beer list into categories that are more truthful than the blanket term “craft.”

MULTINATIONAL/INTERNATIONAL (15)
By definition, neither local nor regional “craft.”

Draft
BIRRA PERONI // Italy, Lager - 4.7% ABV
BUD LIGHT // St. Louis, MO, Lager - 5% ABV
HOEGAARDEN // Belgium, Witbier - 4.9% ABV
STELLA ARTOIS // Belgium, Lager - 5% ABV

Bottles
AMSTEL LIGHT // Netherlands
BIRRA MORETTI LAGER // Italy
BIRRA MORETTI LA ROSSA // Italy
BUDWEISER // St. Louis, MO
CORONA // Mexico City
ESTRELLA DAMM DAURA // Barcelona
GOOSE ISLAND SEASONAL // Chicago, IL
HEINEKEN // Netherlands
MAGIC HAT #9 // South Burlington, VT
MENABREA LAGER // Italy
MICHELOB ULTRA // St. Louis, MO

ISN’T BEER AT ALL (1)

Bottles
ANGRY ORCHARD // Cincinnati, OH

“CRAFT,” BUT NOT REALLY LOCAL/REGIONAL (3)

Draft
NEW BELGIUM FAT TIRE // Colorado, Amber Ale - 5.2% ABV
GREAT LAKES BURNING RIVER PALE ALE // Cleveland, OH, Pale Ale - 6% ABV

Bottles
LAKEFRONT NEW GRIST GINGER // Milwaukee, WI

LOCAL/REGIONAL “CRAFT” (13)

Draft
ALLTECH KENTUCKY BOURBON ALE // Lexington, KY, Bourbon Aged Ale - 8.8% ABV
FALLS CITY ENGLISH PALE ALE // Louisville, KY, Pale Ale - 5% ABV
GOODWOOD LOUISVILLE LAGER // Louisville, KY, Lager - 4.6% ABV
GOODWOOD BOURBON STOUT // Louisville, KY, Bourbon Stout - 8% ABV
NEW ALBANIAN HOPTIMUS // New Albany, IN, Imperial IPA - 10.7% ABV
NEW ALBANIAN ELECTOR // New Albany, IN, Imperial Red - RHINEGEIST COUGAR BLONDE ALE // Cincinnati, OH, American Blonde Ale - 4.8% ABV
WEST 6TH IPA // Lexington, KY, IPA - 7% ABV

Bottles
BELL'S SMITTEN GOLDEN RYE ALE // Galesburg, MI
FALLS CITY HIPSTER REPELLANT IPA // Louisville, KY
FOUNDER'S BREAKFAST STOUT // Grand Rapids, MI
GOODWOOD WALNUT BROWN ALE // Louisville, KY
GOODWOOD RED WINE SAISON // Louisville, KY

Tossing aside the Angry Orchard (cider is not beer, is it?), we’re left with 31 beers on the Birracibo list. Stylistically, it makes no sense, but indisputably, there is a good core of local/regional “craft” beers.

Overall, the picture is less than pleasing. 16 beers genuinely rank as local/regional “craft,” and the remainder do not. The percentage works  out to 52% local/regional, to 48% multinational. Unsurprisingly, reality on the ground does not correspond with the press release’s gushing promises.

Yes, I know: It’s Fourth Street Live, and it’s an imported entertainment concept – so what?

Yes, considering what it surely takes to play ball with Wendy’s, Chili’s and Cordish, the act of appeasing AB-InBev’s monopolists with roughly 30% of an allegedly “local/regional” beer list makes perfect sense. It’s probably in the Fourth Street Live contract somewhere that a business must do so.

But everything I’ve read about Junior Bridgeman’s business career suggests that he’s always been uncommonly hands-on. He famously worked the Wendy’s shop floor before he bought one, and has continued to swoop into his franchises, even as they’ve numbered into the hundreds.

It’s the sort work ethic you’d expect from someone raised by the East Chicago steel mills, and widely admired for professionalism during his basketball playing days. I respect it, even if Wendy's isn't my idea of lunch, now or ever.

Allow me to suggest that the same work ethic – the same respect for what’s true, and the same nose for what isn’t – as applied to the beers carried by an establishment trumpeting an “artisanal food and beverage program,” implies a willingness to do a lot better than this list.

52% is a good shooting percentage, but if “craft” is to retain any palpable meaning whatever, all 52% should buy is a seat on the pine.

---

March 14: THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Two decades of Beer Corner barrels.

March 7: THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Can I get a “do-over” on Naughty Girl?

February 22: The PC: Beef Steak and Porter always made good belly mortar, but did America’s “top” steakhouses get the memo?

February 15: The PC: Swill in youthful times of penury and need.

When the Euro '85 series returns: Leningrad USSR, continued. 

_

Sunday, April 03, 2016

The Top 10 posts at Potable Curmudgeon, 1st Quarter 2016.

Vic's is Numero Uno.

The Potable Curmudgeon's top 10 posts for the first quarter of 2016 are listed here. These rankings are determined by numbers of unique hits, as reported by Blogger.


127 ... 02/05/16

I've resigned from the Brewers of Indiana Guild's board. Now it's YOUR turn to grab an oar.



128 ... 02/09/16

NABC's Gravity Head 2016: The full lineup is here.



136 ... 02/22/16

The PC: Beef Steak and Porter always made good belly mortar, but did America’s “top” steakhouses get the memo?



144 (tie) ... 01/12/16

Tony Beard's artwork for Gravity Head 2016: "Choose Your Own Adventure."



144 (tie) ... 01/18/16

Sadly, Three Pints Brewing Company has closed.



149 ... 02/24/16

"Your Gravity Head 2016 Opening Lineup."



158 ... 02/03/16

Come drink beer with me on Session Beer Day, April 7, 2016.



193 ... 03/17/16

Join me on a Session Beer Day Brewery Crawl on Thursday, April 7.



238 ... 03/07/16

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Can I get a “do-over” on Naughty Girl?



423 ... 01/07/16

Gravity Head 2016 begins at NABC on February 26.



719 ... 01/03/16

Vic's Cafe is profiled in the Courier-Journal.


___

The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 3): Bluegrass Brewing Company Altbier.

3rd of 6 previews.

Previously:

The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 1): Falls City Kentucky Common.
The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 2): Gordon Biersch Golden Export.

---

Thursday, April 7 is Session Beer Day 2016 ... and since it's one of my favorite holidays of the year, I'll be celebrating it.


Join me on a Session Beer Day Brewery Crawl on Thursday, April 7.

On April 7, I'll start before lunch (circa 11:00 a.m.) and traverse downtown Louisville on foot, walking from brewery to brewery and having a session beer at each. Most usually have at least one 4.5% choice on draft. The brewery list, traveling roughly west to east, would be: Falls City (Over the 9), Gordon Biersch, BBC 3rd Street, Against the Grain, Goodwood and Akasha.


For all intents and purposes, session beer consciousness as we know it today originates with Lew Bryson's Session Beer Project.


For our purposes, 'session beer' is defined as a beer that is:

  • 4.5% alcohol by volume or less
  • flavorful enough to be interesting
  • balanced enough for multiple pints
  • conducive to conversation
  • reasonably priced


Has it really been five years? I included the recently opened Bluegrass Brewing Company 3rd & Main location as part of my Food & Dining Magazine column in the 4th quarter, 2010 edition. The issue isn't yet available on line, but I reprinted it here in early 2011.


For the new Arena BBC (300 W. Main), directly south of the KFC Yum! Center, the ever industrious Hagans took on their most labor-intensive start-up project to date, and in a truly venerable structure. Dining, drinking and brewing space to the tune of $1.4 million now occupies the basement and first floor of the seven-story Louisville Orchestra Building, formerly known as the Kentucky National Bank, a splendid 120-year-old example of Richardsonian Romanesque architecture that is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.


This was so long ago that Against the Grain didn't yet exist. The AtG boys still worked for BBC, and Sam Cruz showed me the brewery at 3rd & Main.

Altbier is one of the most delightful experiences you'll ever have during German beer hunting, particularly in Düsseldorf. Trust  me. The late Michael Jackson provides background in an excerpt from his pocket guide.

For my purposes today, a comprehensive overview of BBC's Altbier isn't necessary. It should suffice to say that it has been a staple for a very long time, since David Pierce's original tenure at BBC, perhaps following our shared "Sticke" experience at Zum Uerige in 1995.



See? Best by 2001. Like I said, it's been a while  since BBC Altbier appeared. For a while, it was tagged as Amber. Now it's both.


BBC Altbier Amber Ale

Altbier, literally translated as "Old Style" beer, is a classic German ale. BBC Altbier is brewed with additions of Munich, wheat, caramel, and chocolate malts creating a delicate, but flavorful malt profile. This delicious amber colored session beer is balanced with additions of tradtional spicy German hops creating a light and floral bouquet to compliment its complex malt profile.
• ABV: 4.20% • IBU: 24


With Falls City, Gordon Biersch and BBC 3rd Street under my belt, a few long blocks east on Main Street will bring me to Against the Grain.

___

Saturday, April 02, 2016

The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 2): Gordon Biersch Golden Export.

2nd of 6 previews.

Previously:

The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 1): Falls City Kentucky Common.


Thursday, April 7 is Session Beer Day 2016 ... and since it's one of my favorite holidays of the year, I'll be celebrating it.


Join me on a Session Beer Day Brewery Crawl on Thursday, April 7.

On April 7, I'll start before lunch (circa 11:00 a.m.) and traverse downtown Louisville on foot, walking from brewery to brewery and having a session beer at each. Most usually have at least one 4.5% choice on draft. The brewery list, traveling roughly west to east, would be: Falls City (Over the 9), Gordon Biersch, BBC 3rd Street, Against the Grain, Goodwood and Akasha.


For all intents and purposes, session beer consciousness as we know it today originates with Lew Bryson's Session Beer Project.


For our purposes, 'session beer' is defined as a beer that is:

  • 4.5% alcohol by volume or less
  • flavorful enough to be interesting
  • balanced enough for multiple pints
  • conducive to conversation
  • reasonably priced


In 2015, I surveyed Gordon Biersch's Louisville location for Food & Dining Magazine. In recent years, I've come full circle, back to lagers -- and Biersch does good lager.


Consequently, unlike some other national brewery concepts, all Gordon Biersch house beers right here in Louisville, where chain or not, the company helped launch the Kentucky Guild of Brewers, working alongside the state’s independent small brewers.


Brewer Nicholas Landers tells me that a batch of Schwarzbier is on the way, and strictly speaking, it would make a better tipple for Session Beer Day at 4.3% abv (remember, I'm aiming for 4.5% abv and below). However, it looks as though my "certainly close enough for rock and roll" selection will be Golden Export.


Our lightest, most refreshing lager, delicately hopped with a clean, crisp finish. The demand was so high when it was first brewed in the 1870s, that it was "exported" to other regions.

Original gravity: 11.5° Plato
Alcohol by volume: 5.00%
Bitterness units: 17


The BJCP (2015) has this to say about German Helles Exportbier, and I concur: "Less finishing hops and more body than a Pils but more bitter than a Helles."

Oldtimers like me still think of "Export" in conjunction with brands from Dortmund (DAB and Dortmunder Union), though these aren't seen very often. Arguably the best known regional example of this style is Great Lakes Dortmunder Gold, out of Cleveland.



With Falls City and Gordon Biersch under my belt, next stop will be Bluegrass Brewing Company's 3rd Street location, across from the Yum Brands Arena.

___

Friday, April 01, 2016

The Six Session Beers of Session Beer Day, 2016 (Ch. 1): Falls City Kentucky Common.

1st of 6 previews.


Thursday, April 7 is Session Beer Day 2016 ... and since it's one of my favorite holidays of the year, I'll be celebrating it.


Join me on a Session Beer Day Brewery Crawl on Thursday, April 7.

On April 7, I'll start before lunch (circa 11:00 a.m.) and traverse downtown Louisville on foot, walking from brewery to brewery and having a session beer at each. Most usually have at least one 4.5% choice on draft. The brewery list, traveling roughly west to east, would be: Falls City (Over the 9), Gordon Biersch, BBC 3rd Street, Against the Grain, Goodwood and Akasha.


For all intents and purposes, session beer consciousness as we know it today originates with Lew Bryson's Session Beer Project.


For our purposes, 'session beer' is defined as a beer that is:

  • 4.5% alcohol by volume or less
  • flavorful enough to be interesting
  • balanced enough for multiple pints
  • conducive to conversation
  • reasonably priced


Within the past month, Kentucky Common has been added to the Falls City brewery's flagship roster. The brewery shares space on S. 10th Street with Old 502 Winery and Over the 9, a gastropub serving house beer and wines as well as a full roster of spirits.

Last year's revised BJCP guidelines include Kentucky Common as an historical beer, with perhaps the clearest description yet offered of a style that remains nebulous in the minds of many -- including me. For a very long time, I wanted to make a "sour mash" connection, but the evidence simply does not support it.


Modern characterizations of the style often mention a lactic sourness or sour mashing, but extensive brewing records from the larger breweries at the turn of the century have no indication of long acid rests, sour mashing, or extensive conditioning. This is likely a modern homebrewer invention, based on the supposition that since indigenous Bourbon distillers used a sour mash, beer brewers must also have used this process. No contemporaneous records indicate sour mashing or that the beer had a sour profile; rather the opposite, that the beer was brewed as an inexpensive, present-use ale.


Following is Falls City's own description.


Falls City Kentucky Common

What happens when bourbon lovers brew beer

The Kentucky Common is a style of beer that started in Louisville. At one point, more than 75 percent of Louisvillians drank Common before the style disappeared during Prohibition. Today we craft this rich, easy-drinking ale with corn, barley and rye -- just the way it used to be made.

STYLE: Pre-Prohibition Ale
HOPS: Crystal, Perle
ABV: 4.0%
IBU: 20
AROMA: Complex, malty, unique


It's the perfect choice to kick off this inaugural session brewery crawl -- historic, local and tasty.

___

Light beer? It’s from right here in New Albany.


The greatest New Albany story, seldom told, and one worth remembering.

---

LIGHT BEER? IT'S FROM RIGHT HERE ... by Roger A. Baylor.

In 1909, the German-language Louisville Anzeiger newspaper praised Augustus Tusch, a citizen of neighboring New Albany.

“Herr Tusch is a lager brewer of great repute whose cleanliness and quality is of the highest order, with barrels filled and delivered fresh within the astounding radius of ten blocks from his business address.”

It seems that Tusch was about to release a revolutionary new product. Who was this long forgotten New Albanian, and what was his plan to reorder the brewing universe?

Tusch was born in 1861 in Einenwitz, a Bavarian village internationally famous for the pureness of its drinking water. His itinerant father trained him to be a magician, but the young man changed careers in 1884, after a card trick went awry and injured a prelate’s eye. Fleeing town, he became a brewer’s apprentice in Lustigstadt, later eloping with his employer’s youngest daughter, Weitta, and relocating to Northern Germany.

The couple decided to immigrate to America. While working as a waiter in Hamburg to save money for the overseas journey, Tusch became acquainted with the city’s renowned Diät Pils, a low-strength, highly attenuated lager designered specifically for diabetics, consumptives and the chronically ill.

“Those poor, desperate drinkers are told that Diät Pils, which comes at a higher price, has less sugar and can be consumed in small amounts without detriment to their condition,” wrote Tusch, “but they still drink more of it because, they contend, it feels less full in their stomachs. Very interesting, this illusion.”

When the liner Teutonophilia left Hamburg for the United States, the Tusches had little to call their own. Their wooden chest contained earthenware beer mugs, a matrimonial pretzel mold, and – written in code – the secret technique for “triple hopping” that Tusch intended to use at his future brewery.

In 1902, Tusch’s dream finally came true, and a magnificent brewing plant was built in New Albany at the corner of West 8th and Water Streets. He immediately saw that while the older citizens preferred traditional styles, ensuing generations were stirring from ancient ways. Intrigued yet cautious, Tusch began ruminating.

There was German brewing, and then there was American marketing. He recalled his father’s magic tricks, and pondered:

“When the neighborhood men, these glassmakers and carpenters and blacksmiths, send their lovely rosy-cheeked children to me for growlers of beer, how might I convince them to pay for two buckets to hang from the handle bars of their bicycles, and not merely one?”

The answer finally came one late summer day, when Tusch accepted an acquaintance’s lunch invitation. Upon arrival, he was shocked – neither at the salad being prepared with vegetables from a patch by the street-side sewage ditch (in German, “Neuealbaneekanal”), nor the flank steak from the little butcher shop opposite Churchill Downs, but because the soup stock was none other than Tusch’s own Aecht Fett Tuscher Doppelbock.

“Scheisse!,” Tusch exclaimed. “My beer is so heavy that it makes barley soup!”

“The ancient monks were not speaking in riddles. Their beer really was liquid bread. Small wonder that my delivery wagons break down just a day after the thousand mile warranty is passed, and the children can convey only one bucket at a time to their toiling fathers. My Fett Tuscher weighs too much!”

Tusch’s conclusion was elegantly simple: “I must make light beer.”

He soon discovered that brewing light beer would require an entirely different technical approach. Previously, all beer had been dark in color, as stained by the inky residue of coal smoke in rusty kettles seldom cleaned. How to make this blackness into pale?

With the help of tanners at the nearby Moser firm, Tusch found that dark beer could be given a harsh lye bath, rendering it a bleached golden hue, and making it lighter in liquid weight by an impressive average of 25% per hundred barrels.

As for the “secret” triple hopping, Tusch discovered with considerable dismay that it actually was the norm in brewing circles worldwide, but anticipating the deceptive utility of the term for the purposes of salesmanship, he chose instead to keep the phrase and slash the hop presence in his new beer to almost nothing. Another 25% of weight duly vanished.

The result, dubbed Tuscher Leicht, clearly predates the modern light beer phenomenon by as many as fifty years. Ingeniously, Tusch had reduced the cost of production by half, and the beer itself, advertised as healthy in moderation, was so watery that drinkers could be counted on to consume even more of it at precisely the same price, without ever really thinking about the higher final toll on their wallets.

On April 1, 1910, the inaugural batch of Tusch’s new light beer emerged from the lagering cellar after ten days, was racked into massive wooden barrels, and loaded onto a brewery delivery wagon, much to the relief of a team of horses accustomed to far heavier beer. Numerous advance orders were waiting to be filled, and the forecast looked bright.

Alas, at this moment of triumph, the story of Augustus Tusch ends in tragedy.

When that very first wagon filled with Tuscher Leicht left the brewery yard, it struck Tusch, who had stepped outside to light his pipe, tripped when his boot caught a snag in the jagged, unrepaired sidewalk (the “Neuealbaneekranksteig”), and fell straight into the path of the unstoppable vehicle.

Tusch, the only man who knew the exact recipe for Tuscher Leicht, died later that day in St. Edward’s hospital, a doomed victim of the unbeerable erring of lightness.

_

Thursday, March 31, 2016

About an excellent brewery crawl in Bloomington, Indiana (March 30, 2016).

Knowing there'd be no chance of making the Bloomington Craft Beer Festival (April 9) this year, when a chance came to spend a day roaming this great Indiana city, I grabbed it. It was a cool, overcast day in March, ideal for walking.


First up was the Soma Coffee House on Kirkwood for espresso and short stories by Wolfgang Hilbig.


Just down the street toward campus is Bloomington Bagel Company, and a breakfast of an onion bagel with cream cheese and heavenly lox. I love the smell of cured/smoked/pickled fishies in the morning.


About this time, it occurred to me that there might be a walkable drinking pattern for my day. I resolved to walk first to Upland Brewing Company, where they were unlocking the doors upon approach. Campside Session IPA got things rolling.


Then it was all the way across town to Bloomington Brewing Company in Lennie's, where a Kirkwood Cream Ale tasted wonderful with a lunch portion of chorizo and potato soup.


In route to The Tap, I paused to observe Bloomington's parking meter regime. There were lots of meters, most of them with a car parked alongside. It's the best way to assign value to a necessary resource, but ultimately it didn't matter to me. I was on foot.


The Tap is located on the main square. It began as a beer bar and multi-tap, and later added a small brewery. My sampler included Berliner Weisse, Tripel, Oktoberfest and IPA. The beers were impressive, and I enjoyed my chat with a transplanted native of Buffalo NY.


The bartender at the The Tap helpfully reminded me that Quaff On (Big Woods) has a taproom sans brewery a stone's throw from Soma. My beer of choice was Hoosier Red Ale.



Finally, the place I wanted to go most of all, Function Brewing. It's on Sixth Street, just off the north side of the square. D did a sampler and ordered a Capriole goat cheese appetizer. My pint was Smoked Amber. There was time to chat with the Llewellyns, and then we set off for our evening meal at Esan Thai.


D47. KANG PHET KHAI KHOB
Crispy fried chicken or tofu cooked with red curry, coconut milk, pineapple, bell pepper, chili and basil. Spice level starts at 3.


Funny, but my road trips all lead to diets and/or detox.

__

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

"I don't want to open a brewery."



Follows an uncommonly well-stated cautionary tale.


I Don't Want to Open a Brewery (And Maybe You Shouldn't Either) at Beer Simple

If you brew beer, it's only a matter of time before you get this question: "So, when are you opening a brewery of your own?" For me, there's a simple (of course) answer: "Never."


Especially this. Trust me. You'll never have enough money, especially if it takes a while to get on track.


This is all, admittedly, just a layperson's perspective, but I've known, overheard, interviewed, and observed a lot of new brewery owners over the past several years. Some are succeeding despite their individual limitations - but a lot are struggling and/or failing because of them, too. Maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe you'll be able to fix things on the fly. But if it were me, I don't want this to come down to luck, and at least one local brewery recently went under because they were doing a little too much learning "on the job" and ran out of money before they could get things back on track. Don't let it happen to you. You might never get another shot at this, so make it a good one.


The worst shading of reality is the very middle. If you're too good to fail but not good enough to succeed ... it's very, very hard.

___

Monday, March 28, 2016

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Euro ’85, Part 31 … Leningrad in three vignettes.

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Euro ’85, Part 31 … Leningrad in three vignettes.

A weekly column by Roger A. Baylor.

(Thirty-first in a series chronicling my travel year 1985)

---

Leningrad, August 1 – more than a month past the peak nocturnal glow of northern lights, but with ample illumination to occupy roughly 70 hours in the USSR’s hero city.

Upon arrival the group was issued rudimentary maps, fed a brown bag snack and taken back aboard the bus for an orientation drive. We weren’t compelled to remain there. As adults, there were no restrictions on our activities, apart from remaining within city limits and refraining from illegality.

Consequently, as soon as opportunity came, Mark and I left the tour bus. By early evening, we were exploring the general vicinity of Nevsky Prospekt, Leningrad’s major downtown street.

Mark regaled me with tales of his travels. He’d bartended his way across the English-speaking world before diving headlong into continental Europe. In return, I spoke to him of Russian history. Ironically, we decided against finding beer, and set off for ice cream.

Ice cream was acclaimed as one item the Soviets invariably got right. We found some at a curbside kiosk, tucked away on a side street. It was very quiet, and two Russian women roughly our age were in the mid-sized queue next to us.

Waiting afforded the garrulous Australian an opportunity to chat with them, a task only slightly complicated by their limited English skills and his non-existent Russian.

This comical cross-cultural conversation continued as the four of us ate our ice cream. My friend’s ultimate aim was obvious, though it struck me as far too surreal to ponder.

There was a pause. Mark proposed a drink, and quickly took me aside, whispering: The petite brunette was his, the taller redhead mine, and the petty details – time, place, requisite small gift – all could be arranged quite easily once matters progressed a bit further.

Glancing over my shoulder, I could see a similar conversation taking place. The brunette doing was doing most of the talking, and I was flabbergasted. In a scant 30 minutes, after only three hours in an utterly unfamiliar city, Mark had pole-vaulted the language barrier to achieve instantaneous hook-up results. He was a handsome charmer, but this was beyond amazing.

Unfortunately, nothing about this carnal Communist four-poster of an ice cream-laden windfall appealed to me. I wasn’t a prude, but merely favored prudence.

“Let’s get to know each other” seemed solid advice any time, much less in a totalitarian country. Earlier in the summer, there had been an evening in Athens with the girl from Switzerland. We’d met at the hostel in Delphi, hiked to the ruins together, and shared seats on the train. She spoke English. We talked while she knitted. Pell-mell is not my default speed.

In Leningrad, Mark’s dazzling improvisation seemed like a transaction. I feared my disinterest would be a deal-breaker, except that in truth, my intended partner looked almost as unenthused. Perhaps she had come to the ice cream kiosk to eat ice cream, and not be randomly assigned a date.

The Australian was surprisingly conciliatory. It wouldn’t be a problem, he said. They left in search of alcohol, and I walked back to the hotel, viewing Leningrad in the gloaming, off the beaten path.

On Friday the story was told. The redhead went home to her children, and the brunette took Mark to meet her husband, who thoughtfully watched television in the main room of their flat, discretely drinking the bottle of vodka brought to him from hard currency shop, as she earned 20 dollars American … a week’s salary.

---

The Peter and Paul Fortress occupies an island in the Neva River. It is the birthplace of St. Petersburg from 1703, as commissioned by Peter the Great. Inside the fortress, the Peter and Paul Cathedral is one of Russia’s most important Eastern Orthodox churches, a landmark housing the mortal remains of numerous Tsars.

On Friday, two accredited Intourist functionaries accompanied the group for sightseeing. The ranking guide was a woman in her late fifties, and her assistant was a younger woman who served as English interpreter.

Among us was a quartet of Swiss high school history teachers, two men and two women. One of them looked rather like Phil Collins, 30-something and balding, and already his barbed asides had marked him as a man of considerable wit.

In short, Phil crisply supplemented the guide’s talking points with revisionist commentary of his own. Already that morning at the Winter Palace, he’d been overheard loudly correcting the official historical record, and consequently was a marked man.

There’s one in every capitalist crowd.

Now, inside the Peter and Paul Cathedral, our guide spoke about the Romanov imperial dynasty, scrolling through a list of kingly burials. Each was repeated by the interpreter: Nicholas I is buried there; Alexander II is interred here, and so on.

Are there questions?

Phil raised his hand. He was ignored. Two pairs of eyes darted left and right, hoping someone else would speak instead. No one did, and at last, Phil was allowed to make his inquiry.

“Can you tell us where the last Tsar is buried?”

It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that Phil took the Leningrad tour for the sole reason of asking this most politically incorrect of questions.

You see, while any Communist tour guide was happy to explain the symbolic necessity of deposing the imperial order as a prerequisite for social justice, in 1985 the Soviets had yet to come clean about the last Tsar’s messy personal end.

Nicholas II, his wife and their children were murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918, their bodies thrown into a pit near Ekaterinburg, perhaps 1,500 miles from St. Petersburg, subsequently renamed for V.I. Lenin, who gave the orders for the killings.

Amateur Russian sleuths apparently located the Tsar’s gravesite around 1979, but positive identification of the victims had to wait until after the USSR’s own demise.

Of course, the whole world always knew the truth. Phil’s question turned the interpreter’s face white and very hard. She turned to the guide and spoke Russian. The guide’s face became just as stony. Briefly, they both glared. There was a pause, and a collective shrug.

“He is not buried here.”

“I see,” said Phil. “Thank you for answering.”

---

It isn’t that Leningrad’s inhabitants didn’t dine out. Many received their main meal at lunchtime, as served at their workplaces, and they also took quick bites at any number of “people’s” or “worker’s” cafeterias, many serving soup, potatoes and dumplings.

As a guidebook colorfully stated, these eateries were “dirt cheap and dirty,” and in later years, I became enamored of their conceptual cousins in Eastern Europe. Parts is parts, sausage never scared me, and the cafeterias in Hungary punched far above their weight for the price.

Soviet “sit-down” restaurants comparable to the sort Americans were accustomed to seeing by the half-dozen at every interstate interchange were regarded by ordinary Russians as places for special occasions, like weddings and anniversaries.

Above a certain classification, formal restaurants had the reputation and appearance of being inaccessible to normal human beings. In essence, all their seats were reserved, always.

There’d be a sign stating the restaurant was entirely booked, even though a glance through the window showed most (sometimes all) seats empty. A doorman would guard the door as though he defended the vaults at Ft. Knox.

Only later did I learn the key to breaking the code, because in fact, anyone could phone the restaurant or visit earlier in the day and make a reservation. It was that simple. However, in the beginning this wasn’t evident. The game was all about bribing one’s way inside.

Hence the value of western cigarettes and toothpaste.

Saturday, August 3, 1985 was my 25th birthday, and when Mark found out, he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. A splurge was merited, and my meal was his treat. We’d heard about Baku, an Azerbaijani restaurant on Sadovaya Street, close to Nevsky Prospekt, and arrived there hopeful of somehow gaining entry.

Mark took the lead and was rebuffed by the doorman. He failed a second time, bruising the worldly Australian’s machismo. At this moment we were approached by two English-speaking Russian men (brothers, they said), who offered to help resolve the impasse.

I was wary, but a few words later and all four of us were inside Baku. Our new friends sat with us. They denied ulterior motives, and said eating was their only objective. It would be a rare treat to break bread with foreigners.

To this day, I’ve never had a clear understanding of who they were. No black market transactions were requested. We weren’t fleeced. The two men made no advances of any sort. Rather, there was wide-ranging and bracingly frank conversation over our meals and bottomless vodka – at least until the bottom fell out for Mark.

I recall the food as being fairly exotic, with actual green salads made from strange indigenous stalks, weeds and veggies, and a garlicky chicken dish as the main course.

The drinks list at Soviet restaurants tended to be slim; perhaps juice, mineral water, sparkling wine and vodka, though seldom beer. Vodka was the choice, leading to my first experience with timeless travel wisdom.

Attention: Do not try to keep pace with Russians drinking vodka.

You might die in the attempt.

They’ve been doing it since they were babies, via tubes inserted through their swaddling. That night at Baku, I watched as Mark ignored this axiom. He paid dearly.

Seeing the direction we were traveling, I resolved to keep a clear head. It wasn’t hard to do. At that stage of my drinking career, straight liquor of any sort was a touch too much for me.

In the end, Mark dissolved into an Aussie puddle of vodka-infused goo. Fortunately, our chivalrous Russian partners took nonchalant control of the situation, helping settle the bill accurately, getting Mark into the street for the necessary vomiting, then hailing a taxi to get us safely to our hotel.

Did these exemplary strangers really come with us to Mark’s room for a nightcap, or am I dreaming?

They simply had to be KGB. There is no other explanation.

Next time: Buses, boats, trains and the road back to Luxembourg.

---

Previously:

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 30 … Or, as it was called at the time, Leningrad.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 29 … Helsinki beneath my feet, but Leningrad on my mind.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 28 … A Finnish detour to Tampere for beer and sausages.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 27 … Stockholm's blonde ambition, with or without mead-balls.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 26 … The Hansa brewery tour, and a farewell to Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 25 … Frantic pickled Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 24 … An aspiring “beer hunter” amid Carlsberg’s considerable charms.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 23 … A fleeting first glimpse of Copenhagen.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 22 … It's how the tulips were relegated.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 21 … A long day in Normandy, though not "The Longest Day."

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 20 … War stories, from neutral Ireland to Omaha Beach.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 19 … Sligo, Knocknarea, Guinness and Freddie.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 18 … Irish history with a musical chaser.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 17 ... A first glimpse of Ireland.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 16 … Lizard King in the City of Light.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 15 … The traveler at 55, and a strange interlude.

The PC: We pause Euro '85 to remember the Mathäser Bierstadt in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 14 … Beers and breakfast in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 13 … Tears of overdue joy at Salzburg's Augustiner.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 12 … Stefan Zweig and his world of yesterday.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 11: My Franz Ferdinand obsession takes root.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 10: Habsburgs, history and sausages in Vienna.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 9 … Milan, Venice and a farewell to Northern Italy.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 8 … Pecetto idyll, with a Parisian chaser.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 7 … An eventful detour to Pecetto.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 6 … When in Rome, critical mass.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 5 … From Istanbul to Rome, with Greece in between.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 4 … With Hassan in Pithion.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 3 … Growing up in Greece.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 2 ... Hitting the ground crawling in Luxembourg.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 1 … Where it all began.

_

Saturday, March 26, 2016

"Whether you go for the pizza or the craft beer, you will be happy with both at Charlestown Pizza Company."

Charlestown Pizza Company garners well-deserved ink from Indiana On Tap. It's ironic, because just last week I had lunch with a friend and learned that he'd never been to CPC. It is an omission I urged him to remedy.

What do you MEAN you haven't been there, either? Do I have to charter a tour bus to Charlestown?


GREAT BEER & PIZZA IN CHARLESTOWN, IN? YOU HEARD US RIGHT! by Charlie Sasse (Indiana On Tap)

... Back to the business at hand: the beer and pizza. Let me start this off with I do not care for standard pizzas. If it gets delivered in 30 minutes or less chances are I ordered a sandwich or wings. When Shawn asked me what I wanted to eat, I told him to bring me whatever he wanted. I was surprised with a mashed potato pizza. Yes - MASHED POTATO PIZZA!!! Bacon, cheese, garlic, mashed potatoes, and well cooked pizza crust. It was like eating the best potato boats you have ever had, because they were in a crunchy and chewy pizza crust. It was 8 inches of delicious carb on carb violence. I paired it with a Saugatuck Brewing Neapolitan Stout and it was a glutinous 35 minute food vacation. The sweetness and roasted flavors in the stout played well with the savory pizza and was even better as the beer warmed up. Things like this are why I am fat, just in case you were wondering. This is what Shawn and Tajana wanted: a place in Charlestown with good pizza and beer where the family could all go together. And, they were tired of driving 30+ minutes just to get it.

___

Friday, March 25, 2016

In Colorado, "Company transforms disability into 'Brewability.'"

I have a social media friend named Loren. He's a musician, and works with the disabled. If we've ever met in person, it's been only brief, but he lives just a few blocks away, and I've learned a lot from him lately.

One of my recent civic preoccupations has been the casually neglectful way cities the size of New Albany treat their disabled residents and visitors, especially as it pertains to accessibility -- sidewalks, crosswalks, and the nuts and bolts of getting around, as it pertains to folks who don't find it as easy to get around as I do.

I don't know the best way to phrase it. The issue, whether it applies to bureaucratic functionaries or ordinary people, is the complete absence of recognition. That ADA ramp is necessary, not a place to park an earth mover while the crew has lunch. It makes me crazy.

Furthermore, the pervasive cluelessness isn't restricted to those among us who are disabled now. As Loren points out, quite a few of us will be there ourselves, at some point in our lives. I watched recently as my mom tried to acclimate herself to using a walker. She succeeded, and has greater mobility than before.

I don't want her to try and kick trash cans out of her path. Think, you idiots.

Anyway ... Loren sent me this link, which tells a story that is veritable salve on my jaundice about craft brewing's many excesses. Maybe there is hope yet.

Thank you, sir.


Company transforms disability into 'Brewability', by TaRhonda Thomas (KUSA 9)

DENVER - He’s been a maintenance worker, a landscaper, a bakery worker, a dishwasher, a hospital worker and a zoo employee. But 24-year-old Tony Fuhrman has never found in those jobs what he wants most: a full-time career.

“All of these jobs were a year or two,” he said. “I loved the jobs. I just couldn’t stay at them.”

That’s because they were either temporary or gave Tony no potential to develop a career. Living with several disabilities, Tony has seen employers who are hesitant to give him a chance.

“Not all employers are receptive to different kinds of folks,” said Tony’s mother Mary Fuhrman.

Tony is hearing-impaired and vision-impaired. His cognitive function is high, however “the joints and the muscles do not communicate consistently with the brain,” Mary said.

Looking for an opportunity for her son, Mary’s friend told her about a new company offering jobs and training to people with special needs. That company is focused on Colorado’s rapidly-growing craft brewing industry. Being not too fond of beer, at first, Tony was hesitant.

“I figured ‘you know what? It’ll get me working. I’ll go ahead and try it,’” he said. “It turned into the best thing I’ve experienced.”

Tony began working with Brewability Lab. The small brewery can employ up to eight people with special needs (age 21 and over), teaching them the brewing process from start to finish. Focused on removing the stigma of a disability, the company’s name is based on creating an ability… to brew.

___

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Craft beer, thriving communities and "winning back the neighborhood."

Here are two relevant essays about "craft" beer and community, representing a valuable component of one's better beer values system, and something that cannot be measured by the narcissism of beer ratings and crowd-sourced palaver:

"Take the selfie drinking THIS special beer, and you'll get laid!"

Whatever. This is my sweet spot: Neighborhoods, communities, and how breweries make our lives better.


Breweries are the mark of a thriving community, by Jeff Alworth (All About Beer Magazine)

... But breweries aren’t like the average industrial plant. They are people magnets, bringing folks in who are curious to try a pint of locally made IPA. In fairly short order, breweries can create little pockets of prosperity in cities that can (and often do) radiate out into the neighborhood. Pretty soon, other businesses see the bustle and consider moving in, too. It doesn’t hurt that breweries often find run-down parts of towns that have great buildings. Once a brewery moves in and refurbishes an old building, it reveals the innate promise of adjacent buildings to prospective renters.


The focus here is on how "craft" brewers optimize their own community.


Craft Beer vs. Budweiser: How Small-Brewers Are Winning Back the Neighborhood, by A.C. Shilton (Yes! Magazine)

Good beer comes from collaboration, not competition. By working together, small-brewers everywhere are giving corporations a run for their money.

... Since the beginning, craft beer has been about community. Before your neighborhood taproom started stocking hoppy IPAs, before most of us sampled nitro-infused coffee porters, before growlers were part of our dinner party lexicon—the craft beer movement was mostly a loose coalition of home brewers tinkering in their basements and sharing recipes over the beginnings of the Internet. And since beer brews in batches, they needed friends to help drink it. In living rooms and back porches across the country, the gospel of good beer was spread one kicked keg at a time.

___

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

"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.

___

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Bohumil Hrabal and a night at U Zlatého tygra in Prague.


Mr. Kafka and Other Tales from the Time of the Cult is a collection of short stories by Bohumil Hrabal (1914-1997), who surely ranks in the upper echelon of Czech writers in the 20th century.

Over the weekend, I finished reading these stories, which originally were written during the years immediately following WWII, when a Stalinist variation of Communism was being imposed on Czechoslovakia.

It got me thinking about all things Czech, especially beer.

Hrabal was a fascinating character, born in Brno to an unwed mother as a citizen of the Austro-Hungarian empire, raised in the interwar period of the free Czechoslovak Republic, then surviving repressive Nazi and Communist eras to die in the reconstituted Czech Republic, minus Slovakia. He outlasted them all, and followed his own muse.

Even more so than Havel, who briefly worked in a brewery as "punishment" for dissident activities, Hrabal's life seems to embrace beer. His mother and stepfather met in the Polná brewery (Pivovar Polná), and in honor of thise fact, the writer is buried in an oak coffin bearing the same brewery's inscription.

As an artist and raconteur, Hrabal is synonymous with the proud traditions of Czech pub life. The photo above shows Hrabal, Vaclav Havel and Bill Clinton at Prague's U Zlatého tygra ("At the Golden Tiger") tavern, and such was Hrabal's loyalty to it that to this very day, it devotes a section of its web site to him.

Hrabal, who was a firework of ideas and witty solutions, and who lived the glory and downfall of the cultural boom of the sixties, was surrounded by the best representatives of the intellectual and art world. This place was the intersection of the visits and visitors from all the Word. Everyone wanted to speak to Hrabal and look into the places where the plots of his novels are set.

The only beer U Zlatého tygra serves is draft Pilsner Urquell. One time in 1995, a half-dozen of us stopped there, despairing of being able to find a place to sit as a group. We spotted one man holding down a table, and I tried to ask him in gibberish Czech whether the seats were taken. He interrupted in English and invited us to sit.

No, it was not Hrabal. Our new friend was a native maker of documentary films, who had fled Czechoslovakia many years before but returned after the fall of communism. The filmmaker began explaining the history of the pub, then asked the man behind the counter if he could take us into the basement.

Off we went, threading down two flights of stairs to the cellar, where several dozen kegs of Urquell were stacked around an air conditioner of sorts, which brought the temperature down a few degrees from the subterranean norm. Back at street level, we proceeded to drain rounds of delicious beer. For all I know, Hrabal might have been in the room that night, although neither Havel nor Clinton were to be seen.

All of these memories came to the surface on Saturday, when I was killing time and amusing myself by examining the beer aisle at the Mejier on Charlestown Road.

In front of me on the shelf were twelve packs of Pilsner Urquell for approximately $17, tax included. That's a few cents less than a buck and a half for 11.2 ounces of what remains a fine lager, and maybe the best Pilsner in the world, in spite of its multinational enslavement.

I didn't pull the trigger, because I'd rather spend my money at Keg Liquors. The day will come, and quite soon. I might resume buying Urquell by the case, as I did 25 years ago.

Between Hrabal's storytelling, U Zlatého tygra's dungeon and those bottles of beer, there was a desperate craving for steamed dumplings, roasted pork and another glimpse of the Vltava.

Some sweet day.

__

Monday, March 21, 2016

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Euro ’85, Part 30 … Or, as it was called at the time, Leningrad.

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Euro ’85, Part 30 … Or, as it was called at the time, Leningrad.

A weekly column by Roger A. Baylor.

(Thirtieth in a series chronicling my travel year 1985)

---

In my early twenties, I was gripped by an interest in all things Russian. Significantly, this evolving infatuation was primarily bookish, not to be directly linked to the usual cultural suspects, like potent vodka, Slavic women, winter sports or taboo Communism.

Both hard liquor and girls were intimidating, and what’s more, they could be a dangerous temptation for an overly shy guy perpetually in search of liquid courage. This I'd learned the hard way. As for ice, snow, and frozen tundra, moderation is key; once in a while suffices, not six solid months. Small wonder the Russians drank so much.

To be fair, Communism was a demonstrable aspect of the attraction, albeit in a strictly voyeuristic sense, best assayed from afar, and not to be confused with any desire to live it. The Scandinavian socialist model struck me as a viable alternative. Just the same, I wanted to be able to say that I’d been there and seen the other kind. Professor Thackeray’s lectures on history had found a sweet spot, indeed. I was hooked.

What was it about the Tsarist Russia that managed to produce Lenin, Stalin and seven decades of so-called dialectical materialism, when even the Marxist revolutionaries themselves had been schooled to reject the possibility of it happening in such a backward place?

Yet, for all the poverty and reactionary tendencies, Tsarist times also gave the world Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tchaikovsky and Borodin; many were the nights I struggled drunkenly through passages of obscure Russian literature (in translation) while playing and replaying Rimsky-Korsakov’s Russian Easter Overture.

Then came the biggest question of all: After Russia’s catastrophe in the Great War – society’s meltdown, the Tsar’s murder, the bloody creation of the USSR – how did the country survive Stalin’s famines, purges and gulags, and still rally to bludgeon the Nazi dragon?

This was my father’s constant fascination, and I came to share it.

---

These many years later, it is impossible to point to a single epiphany, that one moment when the bulb was illuminated and the possibility of dipping behind the Iron Curtain as a tourist first took hold.

It took two years to save enough money to visit Europe, allowing plenty of time to plan, so it’s probably the same old story: I must have read about it somewhere.

Given that one of my essential texts was Let’s Go: Europe, a quick glance at the 1984 edition reveals a reference to the Travela agency in the chapter on Helsinki. That’s surely it, as Travela was highly recommended as an organizer of budget youth and student tours to Leningrad, the once and future St. Petersburg. I dimly recall sending for the brochure and pricing.

If memory serves, there were several longer guided Travela jaunts planned for 1985. There wouldn’t be enough time and money for any of those, and Moscow, Kiev and the Trans-Siberian railway would have to wait. However, one of several Leningrad motor coach excursions looked to fit my projected summer’s itinerary.

Thursday 1 August: Helsinki to Leningrad
Friday 2 August: Leningrad
Saturday 3 August: Leningrad
Sunday 4 August: Leningrad to Helsinki

It cost a scandalous $195, and would leave me with a very long haul from Helsinki back to Luxembourg for the flight home on the morning of the 8th. But, verily, I might not ever pass so close again. A few extra shifts at the liquor store was all it took to pre-pay my trip to Leningrad, and the wait began.

---

The only firm memories I have of Helsinki on the morning of departure involve all-consuming nervous apprehension. Tour documents listed the meeting place at Travela’s office in downtown Helsinki, easily reached by public transportation from the youth hostel. I got there early, and gradually, my fellow travelers trickled in.

It galls me to remember so little about them. Names and addresses from 1985 were lost forever in 1987, when the little blue book tumbled from my pocket in Vienna. Only broad outlines remain.

There were around 25 of us on the tour, which was expressly designered to be for English speakers. Many were Americans, but not all. The Finnish tour guide’s name was Ari. He was blonde, urbane and multi-lingual. I recall being surprised that a Mexican family was with us. Dad was a corporate executive on the cheap, just like the rest of us. They were charming.

A balding Swiss schoolteacher soon would have his star turn at the Peter & Paul Fortress. An Australian my age named Mark, who had been away from home for a year and a half, working his way across the globe, tried mightily to get me into trouble throughout our stay -- and almost succeeded.

The bus eventually loaded, and away we went. I experienced a thinly suppressed panic, borne of too many Cold War movies, upon arrival at the Finno-Soviet border, where several uniformed guards came aboard to examine passports and visas. The latter were procured by Travela, this being a prime selling point of such a tour; otherwise, the process was said to be exhausting.

Several pieces of luggage were removed and searched, but overall, it was slightly less of a hassle than I’d expected, although within eyesight was a VW van with West German license plates. It was parked over what looked like a grease pit, and seemingly was being disassembled bolt by bolt.

We made good time until the outskirts of Leningrad. Few cars were using the highway, and the landscape was rural and wooded, reminiscent of Michigan. There was a rest stop in the middle of a dreary town by the main road near Vyborg, in a region that once belonged to Finland before being extracted by Uncle Joe in WWII.

Our stopover offered a first glimpse at the bizarre institution of the Beriozka shop, albeit a poorly stocked example compared with the ones about to be plundered in Leningrad. At the Beriozka, only foreign currency was legal tender. Rubles weren’t accepted at all.

The reason we’d been discouraged from indulging in black market currency transactions on the street wasn’t so much their illegality (small-scale trading posed far greater dangers for Soviets than foreigners) as the plain fact that having amassed a fortune in rubles, there’d be absolutely nothing of quality upon which to spend them.

By designer, the quality goods went to the Beriozka, because the hard currency spent in the Beriozka went straight to the government, without grubby middlemen – capitalists, and all that.

When departing the USSR, you were not allowed to cash rubles back into hard currency without a receipt (which black market traders obviously didn’t give), and it wasn’t legal to export rubles.

This is the reason why foreigners indulging in black market currency swaps inevitably wound up splurging at better restaurants. At least there one could eat, drink and be exceedingly sloppy – and invite half the tour group along for the ride for what it would cost (in dollars) to dine at McDonald’s back home.

Whatever this place near Vyborg was called, it was a thoroughly depressing locale. Older buildings were chipped and faded, and newer ones built with pre-fabricated concrete sections that looked nothing like similar structures in Western Europe. It was my first good look at the “rabbit hutches,” as the Czech dissident Vaclav Havel described these ubiquitous housing towers.

There weren’t many people on the street, and the ones I saw didn’t hustle and bustle. They drooped and shuffled. My memory isn’t a perfect snapshot, but it’s a reliable recollection of moroseness. It was a shock.

However, there’s an important corollary, because these people surely were flesh and blood humans like us, not the ideological automatons depicted by the hardcore patriots back home. This counted for something, didn't it?

On the outskirts of Leningrad, the rabbit hutches began multiplying, appearing like M.C. Escher mazes viewed from afar. Near the waterway, industrial complexes squatted, their messy dishevelment punctuated by clusters of heavy work cranes.

Impenetrable propaganda displays appeared on billboards and buildings. Eventually, I’d learn the Cyrillic alphabet. In the interim, many of us aboard the bus practiced simple words and phrases: Please, thank you, beer and toilet.

Perhaps seven hours after leaving Helskini, maybe a bit longer, the bus finally stopped at the Hotel Sovetskaya. I found a more recent description of the hotel, which still exists under a different name.


The Sovetskaya Hotel is located on the south edge of the historical center of St. Petersburg, near the intersection of Lermontovsky Prospekt and the Fontanka River. Rooms on the upper floors of the hotel feature fantastic views of the city center with the domes of St. Isaac's Cathedral, the Trinity Cathedral and St. Nicholas' Cathedral dominating the skyline.


The hotel was reasonably modern, of 1960s vintage, and from the window of Room 1031 (exactly how did I merit a single room?), there was indeed a commanding view of downtown. St. Isaac’s Cathedral’s gold dome looked so close as to be just up the block, but as my feet were about to learn, it was two-to-three miles away by foot, as was Nevsky Prospekt and the other main historic sites.

The room was musty and bedraggled. Well, I’d seen worse. An old radio occupied much of a worn tabletop. It had two knobs, one to turn it on and off, and the other to adjust the volume. The radio dial was tuned to a single frequency. The channel could not be changed.

I clicked the button. Knowledge of Russian was not required to glean that these two men were talking about Lenin, primarily because after every couple dozen words, “V.I. Lenin” would be repeated. It was like listening to the Communist Gospel Hour, hypnotizing and metronomic.

There it was. I’d finally crossed a border too far, and was being brainwashed right there, in my hotel room. Would I become part of a secret cell, whispering passwords?

What if I wasn’t even allowed to leave the USSR?

Was my room phone bugged?

It didn’t matter. I never learned how to use the damn thing, anyway.

---

Previously:

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 29 … Helsinki beneath my feet, but Leningrad on my mind.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 28 … A Finnish detour to Tampere for beer and sausages.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 27 … Stockholm's blonde ambition, with or without mead-balls.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 26 … The Hansa brewery tour, and a farewell to Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 25 … Frantic pickled Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 24 … An aspiring “beer hunter” amid Carlsberg’s considerable charms.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 23 … A fleeting first glimpse of Copenhagen.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 22 … It's how the tulips were relegated.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 21 … A long day in Normandy, though not "The Longest Day."

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 20 … War stories, from neutral Ireland to Omaha Beach.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 19 … Sligo, Knocknarea, Guinness and Freddie.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 18 … Irish history with a musical chaser.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 17 ... A first glimpse of Ireland.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 16 … Lizard King in the City of Light.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 15 … The traveler at 55, and a strange interlude.

The PC: We pause Euro '85 to remember the Mathäser Bierstadt in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 14 … Beers and breakfast in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 13 … Tears of overdue joy at Salzburg's Augustiner.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 12 … Stefan Zweig and his world of yesterday.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 11: My Franz Ferdinand obsession takes root.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 10: Habsburgs, history and sausages in Vienna.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 9 … Milan, Venice and a farewell to Northern Italy.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 8 … Pecetto idyll, with a Parisian chaser.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 7 … An eventful detour to Pecetto.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 6 … When in Rome, critical mass.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 5 … From Istanbul to Rome, with Greece in between.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 4 … With Hassan in Pithion.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 3 … Growing up in Greece.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 2 ... Hitting the ground crawling in Luxembourg.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 1 … Where it all began.

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