2. Belgian Beercycling 2000: Tournai warm-up, Cave a Bieres and Pays du Collines.

Back in 2000, the city of Tournai (Doornik in Flemish) seldom surfaced in prospective Belgian beer-hunting itineraries. The omission was understandable on the surface of it, though a closer look proved very beneficial for us.

This historic city of 70,000, famed for its Cathedrale de Notre-Dame and UNESCO world heritage belfry, possessed no working breweries.*

Furthermore, there was only one specialty beer café, La Cave à Bière**, deemed worthy of mention in the British writer Tim Webb’s essential guidebook of the time, The Good Beer Guide to Belgium and Holland.

Nonetheless, we elected to make Tournai our home for the first three days of the inaugural biking and beer-hunting Belgian holiday, a choice primarily reflecting the city's relative proximity to top-flight breweries in the countryside. Also, our choice of accommodations, the Hotel d’Alcantara, had inexpensive bicycles available for use in reaching these beer places.

Just how inexpensive soon became apparent.

We never regretted those Tournai days. Apart from brewery proximity, the city proved intriguing in its own right. Founded as a Roman settlement, Tournai was ceded, regained, swapped and passed around between various feudal and imperial powers for much of its history. The vibe was relaxed, with a pleasing mixture of new and old Europe.

Tournai suffered damage in both of the 20th-century’s European conflagrations, and in World War II, it had the distinction of being the first Belgian city to be liberated from the Nazis. In addition to the cathedral and belfry, there were plenty of shadowy back streets to explore, as well as the Escaut River's eclectic pathway through the city, which included a squat, massive 13th-century bridge we found fascinating.

The otherwise attractive Grand Place (central square) seemed to function primarily as a huge car park, though it had a strange on-again, off-again sidewalk fountain made possible by European Union economic development funds.

Photo credit.

The square was ringed by respectable, if not spectacular, pubs and cafes where the thirsty beer traveler might reliably find mid-range selections as well as predictably good espresso and snacks.

(My last visit to Tournai came in 2004. What's it like now?)

Roughly ten miles west of Tournai is the French city of Lille. We didn’t have time to visit Lille in 2000, but it was considered a center of northern French brewing even then, with many beer bars in the city center and breweries in its outskirts. I'm told it's only gotten better since.

The rural Brunehaut brewery is located ten miles south of Tournai; it dates from 1992 and makes several fine ales available locally and throughout Belgium. One beer that stood out from the rest was a specialty Brunehaut ale spiked with Genever, a distilled counterpart to gin, and indigenous to the Low Countries.

Twenty miles northeast of Tournai is the region known as the Pays du Collines, which is a rural area of low hills, towns, patches of woods, farms, and a recently renewed focus on ecotourism. With the invaluable assistance of a Hotel d’Alcantara staffer, we booked a guided mountain bike tour of the Pays du Collines for our second day in town.

Most importantly, ten miles east of Tournai there is an amazing concentration of classic, small breweries, each just a few kilometers from the others: Dubuisson, maker of the incredible Bush strong ale (known as Scaldis in the USA); Dupont, brewer of classic Saison ales; and Vapeur, the archaic steam-powered museum/brewery scheduled for a visit on Day Three.

Before mountain biking Friday and brewery schmoozing Saturday, there was an open biking day Thursday. We had plenty of raw adrenaline, but not much of a plan. Having examined the four bikes and found them to be rickety but serviceable, we chatted with the friendly hotel manager, who suggested charting a course for Mont St. Aubert, a few miles north of Tournai. This choice seemed as good as any, so we followed the manager’s directions.

Along the way, our quartet received an introduction to the joys of biking and bruising over dry cobblestone streets; wet cobblestones were yet to come and provided thrills of an even greater magnitude. These gave way to smoother paved roads as we left the inner city area and entered the more modern districts on the outskirts.

Following signs into the countryside, the hill could be seen clearly, looming ahead of us. Climbing it was a challenge, with each of us having only a handful of gears in operating condition, but we made it to the top and were rewarded with a spectacular view of Tournai and the surrounding region.

Actually, some of us made it in better condition than others. When you see Buddy Sandbach at the Public House, ask him the French pronunciation of “Ralph.”

Curiously, it’s almost the same as the American.

Bob Reed had thoughtfully procured a map of the area, and using it we rode off on country lanes, through the surrounding farmlands and their reassuring aromas of fodder and dung, eventually coming to the town of Pecq. From there we took immaculately groomed bike paths along the river back into Tournai.

It was unlikely that we rode more than 15 miles all day, but the historical significance of this inaugural bicycling foray simply cannot be exaggerated.

It didn’t matter at all that the bicycles were inferior. During the course of European travels dating back to 1985, I’d traveled by rail, bus, boat, automobile, and on foot. All of the previous experiences were special in their own way, but in the year 2000 – for the first time in years – I felt exhilaration and the pure joy of discovery. Perhaps rediscovery is a better word.

Kevin Richards and I had talked about it for months, and now we’d done it, and I immediately understood. I was hooked. Puffing up Mont St. Aubert, I knew Europe would never be the same for me.

We were judicious and kept the ride short the first day, devoting the remainder of the afternoon to walking through town, pausing to have a restorative ale in the street level café of the Hotel Europ (Bush Blonde, an easy-drinking, elegant 10.5% ale), then dining on beefsteak and fries at a nearby restaurant.

The aforementioned La Cave à Bière, then considered Tournai’s finest specialty beer café, opened at 5:00 p.m.

La Cave à Bière was revealed to be a variant of the “shotgun” bar, filling space below street level mere yards from the river in a venerable old European warehouse. The walls and vaulted brick ceiling were painted white, with a small bar, big wooden tables and chairs lining both sides of a central walkway, and Belgian brewing memorabilia nailed everywhere.

The café appeared to be run by a male head waiter and a female chef, perhaps husband and wife, perhaps not, but with the latter being firmly in charge of the proceedings. In addition to a bottled beer list of 75 to 100 choices, there were typical Belgian café snacks, and as we were to discover on Saturday evening, tasty full meals on weekends.

Settling in, I concentrated on regional ales: Brunehaut, Quintine and Dupont. Vapeur was available, but there’d be plenty of that on Saturday at the monthly brewing day in Pipaix.

On Friday morning following an exemplary hotel breakfast, it was time for yet another new adventure. Etienne, a teacher, coach and superbly conditioned all-around athlete, loaded us into his pristine van for the trip to the rural Pays du Collines for the day’s mountain biking excursion.

At a sparkling new athletic club in a town on the periphery, we were introduced to our snazzy fat-tired bikes and met Etienne’s bubbly aunt, who would be following us in her car and stopping occasionally to provide commentary in English.

Etienne confessed to speaking only French, but as usually is the case in such times, we were able to communicate wonderfully through gestures and snippets. With regard to mountain biking technique, Etienne showed us what to do, and we followed his lead.

Off we pedaled into the beautiful natural area for an unforgettable day. For Bob, Buddy and I, it was a first-time experience on a mountain bike, off-road in the rough – over steep hills in the mud, across dirt paths in wide, cleared fields, and through old railroad cuts in the woods. Kevin and Etienne bonded immediately, finding a common language in their love of sporting endeavors.

Along the way we stopped at a traditional farmstead to view an old mill under restoration, and visited a museum of local culture for an exhibit telling the story of the small workshops once common to Hainaut province, which made products like wooden shoes.

Two hours into the ride, Etienne took us to his mother’s rectangular brick farmstead for juice, coffee and pastries. Later, in the village of Ellezelle, there was a much appreciated re-hydration sag at the Brasserie Ellezelloise.

At the time of our visit to the isolated country micro/brewpub, its high quality ales in stopper bottles all were brewed in-house. Since then, production has been transferred to Brasserie Des Légendes, a brewery nearby. Hercule, an intense, high-gravity sweet stout named for fictional detective Hercule Poirot, remains the pick of the litter.

Etienne took care to point us in the direction of Ellezelle's pay-to-spray witch, squatting atop a waist-high pedestal, a regional symbol often compared to the Mannekin-Pis in Brussels by virtue of its ... plumbing. On normal days, one puts coins into the adjacent slot, and if you're unlucky, only water comes shooting out from beneath the witch’s skirt … but during magical times, beer flows instead -- or so we were told.

Just remember to bring a cup in case of magic.

At the end of the afternoon, we retired to the posh local club within the athletic complex and drank a round of Hoegaardens to Etienne, a superlative guide and true gentleman.

How many YMCAs in America even have bars?

For a second consecutive evening back in Tournai, the consensus choice for dinner was couscous (kews-kews), the North African ethnic delight as widely available in Tournai as Chinese or Mexican is in Southern Indiana.

Perhaps it should be noted at this juncture that my newfound joy in biking was not accompanied by unnecessary restrictions such as dieting or moderation in drinking.

After all, the whole point in riding hard during the day was justifying massive meals and fine ale at night. Thus acknowledged, couscous proved to be ideally suited for an exercise regimen like ours. The tiny rice-like granules are in fact pasta; grilled sausages and skewered meats accompany the rich vegetable-based sauce, all of it uniquely spiced and smothered with fiery harissa sauce. Chickpeas and pine nuts appear alongside raisins and dates.

The red wine? Also memorable, and proof of our versatility.

Finally returned to the hotel and sated, with a final round of ales safely beneath our belts, we slept well.

Saturday would be the highlight of the Tournai segment of the trip. There'd be a ride to and from the monthly brewing day at Brasserie à Vapeur (the steam-operated brewery), followed by televised Eurocup soccer in Tournai, then a special meal of lobster at the La Cave à Bière, and best of all, the delightful company of three dear friends from Denmark: Kim Andersen, Kim Wiesener, and Allan Gamborg. They were in Belgium for the Eurocup, and had booked rooms at the a’Alcantara to meet us for one evening’s dining and drinking.

Next: Would the novice beercycling team survive these rigors?

---

*  It appears that a brewpub exists there today.

** There seem to be no on-line references to La Cave à Bière since around 2013, which suggests that it's no longer in business.

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1. Belgian Beercycling 2000: From Brussels to the Tournai base camp in 15 drinks or less.

Buddy Sandbach.

Here’s to us.
May we never quarrel or fuss.
But if by chance we should disagree,
#%@* you, and here’s to me.
-- A toast to cycling togetherness, as masterfully articulated by Bob Reed.

I was stuffing bags into a coin-operated storage locker at the disconcertingly subterranean Brussels Central Station when suddenly Buddy Sandbach popped around the corner, having spotted Kevin Richards strolling through the concourse. Buddy was freshly arrived in Brussels from Amsterdam, where he had spent several days fulfilling his longtime dream of experiencing Holland’s many and varied species of, er, tulips.

Kevin and I had flown together from Louisville KY, via Atlanta. Buddy’s unexpectedly early debut in Brussels put us squarely ahead of schedule, always a bonus, because down the road it might translate into free time for an extra beer.

And free time for an extra beer almost always is a good omen.

After a pitfall or three in pursuit of a place to store Buddy’s various bags and prized bulbs -- these obstacles finally overcome in spite of the best efforts of an obstructionist baggage room bureaucrat named Eric -- the transaction finally was arranged, stairs were mounted, and we greeted the bustling streets outside the station.

Wayfinding signage and a handy public map determined a course for taking us to the famed Grand Place, an ornate central square pictured on jigsaw puzzles, coffee mugs and boxes of Belgian chocolate shipped worldwide.

One feels giddy enthusiasm when visiting a great city, whether returning like I was, or feeling it for the very first time as with Kevin and Buddy. The adrenaline makes it easier to ignore trifles such as garbage trucks emptying dumpsters filled with yesterday's fish parts, kamikaze taxi drivers and intermittent rain.

We dodged these impediments and rushed headlong into a bustling, vibrant urban environment filled with touristy restaurants and their multi-lingual menu offerings, the delivery vans of florists and family butcher firms, tacky souvenir stands, suavely attired Euro-businessmen and even the occasional tattoo parlor.

Would an artist really etch a genuine facsimile of the famed Mannekin-Pis-Boy into your virgin rump while you wait, cruelly intoxicated with Stella Artois if not life itself? I wasn’t eager to know, but too cynical to rule it out entirely.

The Grand Place remains the place for aficionados of gilded guild halls, and the ambiance was duly photographed even if it can be only imperfectly captured on film.

Random web pilferage.

When the clicking of shutters had subsided, I broke the news to my friends as gently as I could: From the beer traveler’s rarefied point of view, truly noteworthy cafes from which to view the splendid architectural setting weren’t likely to be found around the square itself, where rents are sky high and cautious sightseers demand predictable pilsners.

(Has this reality changed 16 years later? Let's hope so. It's been 11 years since my last visit to Brussels, and I'm all too aware of the lag.)

Nonetheless, there was time to kill before Bob Reed’s arrival at the pre-arranged meeting point at the front door at Maison des Brasseurs (a brewing museum), and the steadily escalating rain suggested that any nearby café would do in a pinch. Accordingly, we entered the café known as the White Rose, which had an above average beer list and provided the perfect vantage point to watch for Bob.

The uniformed waiter brought the first of three rounds to our low wooden table by a window open to the square. Through it wafted the echoes of scattered throngs in the square and the steady drumbeat of rain on cobblestones, and while the White Rose isn’t the best beer café in Brussels, it is by no means the worst.

My first three beers of the trip were Palm (a Belgian pale ale), Rodenbach (sour red ale from West Flanders) and Rochfort 8º (heavenly Trappist ale). They're three choices you’d love to have almost anywhere while mulling the meaning of life.

Many soggy tourists quietly crossed the expanse beyond our window, and among them we soon spotted the angular Mr. Reed loping across the pavement wrapped in a brilliant reddish-orange rain poncho. We motioned him inside and had another round. Soon the rain dissipated, and we were back on the streets in search of food and drink.

Historically, Brussels and environs are lambic country, and on previous trips to Belgium I’d begun to develop a taste for the funky nectar. The next two cafes we patronized both were located in the warren of streets beyond the Grand Place, and they yielded good examples of Belgium’s indigenous, spontaneously fermented specialty.

At Notredame, there was Timmerman’s Faro; although by definition sweetened, the characteristically tangy lambic character still was present. At Toone, a textbook example of sharp, sour and rigorously authentic lambic, Cantillon Gueuze, was chased afterward with a smooth glass of Antwerp’s signature De Koninck ale. Three hours, six beers, and a veritable cross section of Belgian brewing … all before dinner.

Our quartet’s quintessentially Belgian evening meal was composed of four pots of mussels, just as many baskets of crusty bread for soaking up the broth, and mounds of fries. After all, one must always eat vegetables for a balanced meal.

These delicacies were washed down with famously balanced, deceptively drinkable Duvel, Belgium’s signature golden ale. It followed a draft portion of forgettable Jupiler mass-market lager, allegedly “bought” for us by the restaurant’s street hawker as an enticement to eat there, and which served as a valuable calibration beer in the sense that everything else I drank the entire day represented an improvement on Jupiler.

Soon the mussels were gone, as was our afternoon in Brussels. It was time to return to the train station to reclaim luggage and board for the hour-long ride to Tournai, a city located in French-speaking Hainaut province chosen as our base for three days of cycling in the Wallonian countryside.

Blessedly, we were once again early, so there was the chance to have that extra, cherished, final beer -- remember, free time for an extra beer always is a good omen -- at a café across the street. Mine was Brugs Tarwebier, a citrusy, representative Belgian-style wheat ale. Blessedly, there was no orange slice to throw angrily at the server.

Rumbling through the suburbs aboard a nearly deserted train, our bountiful harvest of opening day libations suddenly became even more fruitful as Kevin magically produced a bottle of 40-year-old Noval port wine, technically a tawny port with indication of average age as pertains to the blending stocks, and not a vintage port as such, but no matter.

Kevin Richards had cleverly procured the bottle in advance from our fifth wheel, beer salesman Kevin Lowber, who was to meet us in Poperinge later in the trip. The Kevins having conspired, we resolved to drink the Port while still on the train, with only one small problem: There were no available drinking vessels.

But Buddy dug into his bag and produced two souvenir Parisian shot glasses, and with little choice except thumbing our noses at universally accepted decanting protocol, we happily took turns imbibing the sinuous, concentrated nectar from them, watching tidy fields and shuttered small villages fly past as dusk approached.

A taxi waited in front of the queue at the Tournai rail station, and two hundred Belgian francs later (Euros were yet to come), we were deposited at the gate of the Hotel d’Alcantara.

I don't remember it looking this plush.

This momentous first day in Belgium ended without a trace of bicycling, but with Chimay Trappist “blue” ales taken on the pleasant, landscaped terrace of the hotel, our base in Tournai. We drank deeply, toasting ourselves and the surroundings, which included neon blooms in hotel flower boxes and the lovely vista of a floodlit church spire. Then Kevin spotted four ancient bicycles.

They were chained together in the corner of the walled courtyard. In a few hours, these machines would be our introduction to European biking … and my travel world would begin to change.

In the next installment: Tournai, couscous, a beer “cave” and steam-powered beer.

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Remembering Kevin Richards as prologue to the tale of Belgian beercycling in the year 2000.

A more recent photo.

My friend Kevin Richards died on October 23, 2016. Cancer took him at the ridiculously young age of 58, and to be completely honest, I'm heartbroken.

We'd seen less of each other these past few years, but remained solid. I'm an only child, and especially for a period of 15 years or more, Kevin was what I always imagined a brother to be -- and so he will remain, forever and always.

Very different animals, Kevin and me, but in the way life often works, opposites attract. Our acquaintance began in the late 1980s at the package store where I worked, and was renewed when the Public House came into existence in 1992. He became a fixture there, and not only in my own three-sizes-too-small heart.

If the pub had a Mt. Rushmore, Kevin would be one of the four faces.

Beer obviously was a shared theme, and then a bit later, bicycles. Kevin often rode motorcycles, but human-powered transport was a better match for his innate, personal zen. Going for bicycle rides -- and refueling afterward -- suited him well. I helped get Kevin into better beer. He definitely got me into a bike saddle, and some of the best times ever.

A group of pub-going cyclists gradually came together, and one late summer's day in 1999, Kevin and I rode to the top of the Knobs via Corydon Pike's switchback grade. We stopped to sag at Polly’s Freeze, the venerable ice cream haven. An earnest discussion began. Might we venture a biking trip to Europe?

And -- heaven forbid -- have a few fine ales in the process?

The planning began. We booked hotels at three beer-oriented urban venues in Belgium, along with rental bikes for day trips radiating from each stop. Faxes (!) and e-mails were sent, and the itinerary came into shape. As the calendar turned to June, 2000, there were five of us ready to make the journey, and it proved to be a classic.

A beercycling group was born, and my European travel instincts were reborn. During all my previous journeys to the continent, I'd been dodging bicyclists while walking between train stations, never stopping to consider how much fun it might be to ride myself.

Correction: Actually, never stopping to consider that I could do it. Kevin patiently taught me the art of the possible on two wheels.

The 2000 trip proved to be the first of seven European bicycling adventures in nine years, with the last occurring in 2008. Kevin was with me for four of the seven, and without his guidance, I'd have lacked the confidence to "lead" the other ones, although in fact all these trips were genuine group efforts.

By 2003, I was able to take my bike apart and reassemble it, pack it in a hard shell case, ride it all the way from Frankfurt to Vienna (meeting friends along the way), and get the bike and me back home without incident after a month on the road.

As a humanities major with almost no technical aptitude, I've never been more proud of myself, and eternally grateful to Kevin for showing me how. He and I wrote, orchestrated and performed those beercycling trips together, and while the cast revolved, each time out we functioned as a band of brothers (and on a couple of occasions, sisters).

Last spring, standing in his usual nook position at the pub, Kevin began prodding me in his gentle but firm manner.

Had I been riding?

Was I going to?

What was my problem, anyway?

One day, Kevin notched it up. We needed to get the band together again, and start planning a trip. It might be a simple reunion, or perhaps even a finale, but we needed to do it soon, before we got too old. The chat lasted an hour, and I went right home and told Diana it was inevitable; there'd be another ride somewhere in Europe in 2017.

Alas, if there is one, Kevin won't be there. The cosmos had a different sort of ride planned for him. At this precise moment, I don't know what any of it means, except that my thoughts turn to past triumphs.

This story of Belgian beercycling in the year 2000 was first written for the old FOSSILS newsletter, circa 2001. With a few revisions, expansions and contractions, it was posted to Potable Curmudgeon in 2007, and later to NA Confidential. This time around, I'm scanning the photos for added spice, and will be reposting the series from October 24 through November 1.

My "After the Fire" weekly columns of October 24 and 31 are supplanted.

Next: A beer orientation in Brussels, and our arrival in Tournai.

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Iraq, Prohibition, and how religion interferes with the proper enjoyment of life.

Nice beer name. Photo credit here.

If "god" created everything and fermentation is a natural process ...

Iraq's parliament passes law banning alcohol (Associated Press)

Surprise move has angered many in the country’s Christian community who rely on the business

Iraq’s parliament has passed a law forbidding the import, production or selling of alcoholic beverages in a surprise move that angered many in the country’s Christian community who rely on the business.

The law, passed late on Saturday night, imposes a fine of up to 25m Iraqi dinars (£17,000) for anyone violating the ban. But it’s unclear how strictly the law would be enforced, and it could be struck down by the supreme court.

Islam forbids the consumption of alcohol, but it has always been available in Iraq’s larger cities, mainly from shops run by Christians. Those shops are currently closed because of the Shia holy month of Muharram.

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And now for something completely different: St. Benedict’s Brew Works beer and brewing retreat at the Sisters of St. Benedict in Ferdinand, Indiana.

Not only is this one of Indiana's most unique breweries. Surely it ranks high on the national list.

Located at 860 E. 10th St. in the Benedictine Sisters’ former art studio, St. Benedict’s Brew Works is believed to be the only U.S. craft brewery on the grounds of a women’s religious community.

St. Benedict's Brew Works (Facebook)

St. Benedict's Brew Works (web site)

But there's even more.

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Beer-brewing retreat Nov. 11-13

Sisters of St. Benedict of Ferdinand will offer a retreat, “Brewing with the Spirit: A Monastic Craft Beer Experience,” from November 11-13 at St. Benedict’s Brew Works, a craft brewery on the grounds of Monastery Immaculate Conception in Ferdinand, Indiana.

Brewery owners Vince Luecke and Andy Hedinger will share the history of beer and spiritual reflections on Gospel parables about grain, earth, yeast, and water. Participants will sample beers, learn beer terminology, and make craft beer.

The retreat begins at 6:30 p.m. Eastern time on Friday, November 11, and ends at 2 p.m. on Sunday, November 13. The first evening will be a social and a discussion of beer styles for the second day, which will be the actual brewing of the beer. The first night is optional.

The cost of the retreat is $320, including meals, abundant beer sampling, and two nights’ lodging at Kordes Retreat Center. The cost for one night is $270. Commuter cost is $200. The size of the retreat is limited to 12 people. Two other retreats are scheduled, from February 24-26, and March 3-5.

Register by calling 812-367-1411, ext. 2915, by visiting www.thedome.org/programs, or by sending an email to kordes@thedome.org. For more information on the retreat, contact Vince Luecke at 812-719-2301 or email brewing@stbenedictsbrewworks.com.

Luecke has a master’s degree in Catholic Thought and Life from Saint Meinrad School of Theology. He is the editor of two newspapers. Hedinger holds a law degree from Indiana University Mauer School of Law. He practices law full time and also owns and operates Monkey Hollow Winery and Distillery near St. Meinrad.

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My suggestion to Stone is Pogo: "We have met the enemy, and he is us."

"Quotes for Stone Berlin."

On October 9, I received this e-mail from Greg Koch, founder of Stone Brewing Company and a great favorite of mine. Has it really been nine years since Greg visited the Public House?

Hello Friends!

I would like to ask you for your quotes!

I need two types….

#1 – I am looking for philosophical quotes that relate to beer, ethics, and your personal philosophies. We are writing these quotes in various places at Stone Berlin. You can see an attached example from our friend Sam Calagione. I am open to both quotes that you have coined, as well as quotes from (other) famous people. If you give me a quote in German or other language, please translate it into English for me (although we’ll write it in its original language).

#2 – Many of you have already had a chance to visit Stone Berlin. I would love a quote from you of your experience, what you thought of the project, how you’d describe it to other people, or just an out-and-out testimonial. Anything you’d feel comfortable sharing would be appreciated!

So many of you have made a special trip to Stone Berlin already, or have one planned in the future. We appreciate your friendship!

Cheers,

Greg

A few days later, the Interwebz began chatting about layoffs at Stone California, and after a week, this story appeared of October 21.

Stone Brewing lays off about 5% of its workers, by Peter Rowe (LA Times)

Stone Brewing Co. announced this week that it has cut “approximately 5%” — about 60 — of its 1,200 employees, a sign of the growing pressures on craft beer.

Dominic Engels, who in August succeeded co-founder Greg Koch as chief executive of the Escondido, Calif., company, was not available for comment Thursday. But in a statement he said that despite these layoffs, “Stone remains one of the largest — if not the largest — employers in the craft brewing segment.”

Yet Stone is caught between global conglomerates and small independent operations. There are now 4,800 breweries in the country, including 130 in San Diego County, both historic highs.

Consolidation is also rattling the industry. Last year, New York-based Constellation Brands bought San Diego’s Ballast Point for $1 billion, and MillerCoors acquired another San Diego brewery, Saint Archer, for an undisclosed sum ...

I'd take a stab at telling you how I feel about it, but that's the point: I don't feel anything at all.


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"Against the Grain and Dauntless Distributing Announce Shelton Brothers’ Festival Events."

This press release is presented verbatim. If you're attending the Friday and/or Saturday evening sessions of The Festival, say hi, because I've volunteered to work both.

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Against the Grain and Dauntless Distributing Announce Shelton Brothers’ Festival Events

2011 marked the beginning of a partnership unlike any other in the beer industry. Kentucky’s most unique craft beer distributor, Dauntless Distributing, and Louisville KY’s first brewer owned and operated brewery,Against the Grain, opened for business and joined together to help in the expansion and evolution of the bluegrass beer scene.

Watch our video here. <---- font="">

That same year, world-renowned beer importer, Shelton Brothers, held their first beer festival. The Festival, as it’s simply named, is the world’s greatest and smallest artisanal beer, cider, and mead festival.

The 5^th annual Shelton Brothers’ festival will be held in Louisville KY October 28-29. This coincidence has made it possible for Dauntless and Against the Grain to highlight their unique five-year friendship and ability to host the world’s greatest beer festival. Together they’ve planned a host events leading up to the fest and a plethora of after parties during the weekend. They also brewed a beer with Mayor Greg Fischer to welcome brewers and attendees from around the world coming to Louisville KY for The Festival. The beer is a pale ale brewed with pineapple, as a symbol of welcome.

Shelton Brothers' Festival Events 

For more information surrounding The Festival events please reach out to Kayla Phelps atKayla@dauntlessdistributing.com.

For questions about events at Against the Grain please contact Katie Molck at Kmolck@atgbrewery.com.​

Piss off, Spike: Trojan Terrapin's baseball-themed "brew lab" is just another multi-national concept, isn't it?

There's the intended "craft" imagery, whether the exact word is used or not:

Brewery goes to bat with the Atlanta Braves (CNBC)

Terrapin Beer Company is stepping up to the plate.

The Athens, Georgia-based brewery is opening a taproom and "brew lab" adjacent to SunTrust Park, the new home of Major League Baseball's Atlanta Braves, which will open next season.

"To have the Braves behind us with their branding and their fan base, I'm very excited," said Brian "Spike" Buckowski, Terrapin's co-founder and vice president of brewing ...

Then there's what it's really about:

... The deal is part of a multiyear partnership between the Atlanta Braves and MillerCoors (NYSE: TAP), whose Tenth and Blake craft division purchased a full ownership in Terrapin in July after owning a minority stake since 2012. Terrapin produced 57,000 barrels of beer last year, up nearly 25 percent from 2014.

MillerCoors is no stranger to the brewery connected to a baseball stadium concept.

Another Tenth and Blake brand, Blue Moon Brewing Company, has operated The Sandlot Brewery inside Denver's Coors Field since 1995.

It's bad enough that SunTrust Park is a paean to suburban sprawl. Now it gets to be a shrine for mockrobrews, too.


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The band, not the beer: "Houndmouth: From the Hills to the Limelight."

Just before Christmas in 2012, NABC’s sales rep Richard Atnip (now with New Holland Brewing) asked me if it would be possible for us to do a collaboration beer with Houndmouth.

Naturally, I replied: “What is Houndmouth?”

Richard graciously supplied me with links to YouTube videos, and I did my due diligence. Not everyone in my company at the time was enamored of the idea, but a meeting was scheduled, and all four band members attended.

The meeting went well, and I thought it was worth doing. A sticking point was determining what style of beer to brew, and Richard suggested a hoppy American Wheat, rather like Gumballhead by Three Floyds Brewing. Brewer David Pierce created a formula, and we did a test batch at the smaller Grant Line Road brewhouse.

This small batch accounted for the initial release, but when the Iroquois Amphitheater sales opportunity (below) arose through River City Distributing, a batch was brewed at Bank Street Brewhouse and kegged for RCD.

The apex of Houndmouth (the ale) was at the Boomtown Ball in May of 2014, when NABC had Houndmouth during the festival and also at The Grand for the band’s show.

To make a long story short, Houndmouth Ale didn’t get further traction because there was no way NABC could package it properly (probably best in 12-oz cans or bottles) without contracting it with another brewery which could do this sort of package – and this was too expensive an investment without having multi-state distribution; otherwise, the beer couldn't follow the band.

Apparently NABC didn't brew Houndmouth for this year's Boomtown, but imagine the marketing tie-ins had the brewery done so for the opening night and first few weeks of this exhibition at the Carnegie -- which is right across the street from Bank Street Brewhouse. 

At least there'll be a few items of Houndmouth Ale memorabilia at the Carnegie (thanks AP). Here are links to two articles from 2013, followed by the Carnegie's press release.

All about Houndmouth, the band ... and the beer.

As band and beer, Houndmouth slays Iroquois.

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Houndmouth: From the Hills to the Limelight

The Carnegie Center for Art & History invites you to the opening reception for our latest exhibition, "Houndmouth: From the Hills to the Limelight" on Friday, October 28th, 6:00-9:00pm. Come out and wear your "Saturday night kind of pink" to be entered to win an poster autographed by the band! This reception is free and open to the public.

"Houndmouth: From the Hills to the Limelight" traces the success of the musical group Houndmouth whose members all hail from New Albany, Indiana. This special exhibition documents the remarkable rise Houndmouth has experienced from playing local venues to selling out concerts across the country. The exhibit will include personal memorabilia, concert posters, costumes, instruments, original videos, and much more. It will be on view through January 21, 2017.

Making a special appearance at the opening reception, Crosley will have their mobile record store "The Crosley Cruiser" at the Carnegie Center and selling Houndmouth related records and merchandise.

Also on view will be Kentucky College of Art + Design's "Digging in the Air" helium-filled sculpture, winner of the #IamPublicArt Rumble on the River installation!

Share your love of all things Houndmouth by posting photos on Instagram using the hashtag #HometownHoundmouth! Photos will be added to a live photostream and become a part of the exhibition! *Instagram accounts need to be set to "public" for images to appear at the Carnegie Center.

"Houndmouth: From the Hills to the Limelight" was made possible by the generous support of Horseshoe Foundation of Floyd County, Wesbanco Bank, and 91.9 WFPK. Thank you!

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AFTER THE FIRE: These old, old habits die hard.

AFTER THE FIRE: These old, old habits die hard.

A weekly column by Roger A. Baylor.

"Never be afraid of the obvious, because it's all been done before."
-- Noel Gallagher

Throw out the tired qualifiers, strained excuses and special exceptions. Any year we have the opportunity to travel is a very good year, indeed, even on those rare occasions when Donald Trump is running for president.

You may insert any relevant jokes about “running away,” “he keeps me running” or “running on empty” – or, conversely, just get the “runs” and be done with it.

Verily, whether a lush, teetotaler or embracing any state of bibulosity between these extremes, our collective electoral agony finally ends with Election Day, November 8. Speaking personally, I’ve already made my choice, and you cannot sway me.

It’s Sicily, and we leave shortly after the election. I know very well where I’m going to go when the volcano blows – Catania, at the foot of Mount Etna.

However, the object here isn’t to recap the year’s road trips. Nor will I dare explore the implications of a strange dream just the other night, in which Michael “Beer Hunter” Jackson turned to me and said, “If most Trump voters are white males, and if most craft brewers are white males, then isn’t it time to start over?”

Rather, it is to concede that whenever you hear me claim to be a drastically changed man in terms of personal habits, I’m stretching the truth just a bit, not unlike America’s major party political candidates.

In fact, while the Curmudgeon continues to soft-pedal his ties to beer and the brewing biz, it remains that these old, old habits die hard, and each of our travel opportunities in 2016 has been (or is being) preceded by a thorough examination of the best beer options nearest the destination in question.

Which is to say, I haven’t entirely stopped being fervently judgmental when calculating my discretionary spending decisions and exercising them for better beer, although I do my level best to avoid reading reviews at RateBeer, Beer Advocate or anywhere else.

If I can’t survey available options and make these critical distinctions by now, relying on my knowledge and experience, then those many years of liver abuse were plainly squandered.

The good news is the pace of that particular assault on my body definitely has slowed. Nowadays, thinking back on the exploits of three decades, it flummoxes me to have consumed so much beer. It wasn’t always drinking; it was sheer swallowing.

I’ll likely spend the remainder of my life trying to remember – first, to recall what actually transpired, these memories being frustratingly elusive, but moreover, pondering a consciousness once capable of impelling this powerful urge to imbibe. It’s hard to say why, now that I no longer feel that way.

Well … not very often.

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Returning to within earshot of my point, it seems to me that when you’re drinking far less beer overall, decision-making becomes more efficient and streamlined.

Spectacular arrays of Barrel-Aged Sour IPAs at multi-taps and other hyper-specialized beer bars eventually come to factor less into the selection equation. Having done my little bit historically to develop these concepts, I’ve nothing against them. It’s just that in the present time, a clean, well-lighted local spot with a good beer or two on tap suffices perfectly well.

After all, I’m probably only having two or three beers, anyway. That’s the great joy of a vicinity like Madison, Wisconsin, because even the VFW posts there have draft New Glarus Spotted Cow, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. It’s hard to find an establishment that doesn’t offer a few solid “craft” options.

This sensibility is less developed in metro Louisville KY, although it’s getting better. Consider a place like Vic’s Café in New Albany, an old school bar with quality food at reasonable prices, as well as bottles of Bell’s Two Hearted for three dollars, every day.

In short, no longer must we segregate ourselves in armored beer geek siloes, surrounded only by fellow IBU-counters. As better beer proliferates, so do our options for those times when we’d just like to have a good beer or two, an honest bite, and a seat in the real world.

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Returning to the notion of travel fulfillment, I’m a longtime advocate of walkability. Accordingly, my advance scouting usually means examining the Google Map in great detail without autos in mind, calculating the distance from hotel to beer bar or brewery, and poring over public transport options.

In a pinch, I’ll estimate the length of the drive – for purposes of a taxi, if nothing else. Naturally there are times when one must drive, and when this occurs, you go to New Glarus and fill up the trunk, making for many happy evenings on the porch once you’re back home.

For a beer lover, there are obvious dividends to urban wandering on foot, which simply cannot be replicated in a motor vehicle. For one, to walk is to be exposed to far greater detail than can be experienced in a car. More importantly, activity stimulates the metabolism. You can eat, drink and burn off calories during the walk itself.

Of course, walking doesn’t absolve the drinker from potential issues with perambulation while intoxicated, but these pale in comparison with drunk driving.

The ideal scenario for me is a looping circular stroll, beginning at home or hostelry, and meandering toward a brewery tap or beer bar, perhaps walking for an hour or two, maybe more, time enough for the pints and bites at my stop to be a genuine reward.

The way back can be a directional potpourri. At every conceivable byway, the more sessionable the pints, the better to augment my quota with an extra one for dessert.

At the end of the drinking day on the road, there are no right or wrong itineraries. For me, the ultimate goal of better beer always was to incorporate it within everyday neighborhood life, not sequester it in a gated community, aloof and removed.

This is my objective when traveling, too. Urban revitalization and palate renewal are birds of a feather, better observed afoot and awake.

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October 10: AFTER THE FIRE: The Great Taste of the Midwest is the best beer fest of them all.

October 3: AFTER THE FIRE: New Albany’s Harvest Homecoming occupation isn't alleviating my "craft" beer Twitter depression.

September 26: AFTER THE FIRE: The seasonality of Oktoberfest in time, beer and year.

September 19: AFTER THE FIRE: This week in solipsistic beer narcissism (2014).


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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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Brewers take note: Clarksville's redevelopment site has its own sewage treatment plant. Just saying.

A couple of months ago I had lunch with Dylan Fisher, the town of Clarksville's redevelopment director. I went to college with Dylan's dad, and it's always delightful to see the next generation rising.

Dylan is a sharp young man who speaks the contemporary urban language, and for a town about to pivot away from suburban-oriented development to a denser, multi-modal future, his knowledge base is a tremendous asset to the community.

He also likes good beer.

For those reading from afar, New Albany's on the west side, Jeffersonville's on the east side, and Clarksville's right in the middle.

It is no exaggeration to posit that given Clarksville's location directly across the Ohio River from Louisville KY, coupled with these sixty-plus acres of former industrial properties now open to adaptive reuse, plus the completion of regional highway and bridge projects and the Ohio River Greenway (which slices right through Clarksville's waterfront), the South Clarksville Redevelopment Plan represents some of the greatest redevelopment potential we've ever witnessed on this side of the water.

Specifically for those who may be considering the merits of brewery expansion in Louisville KY metro, the old Colgate property has its own sewage treatment plant. I believe it's currently unused, but could be restarted, and I needn't remind brewers of how important this one single fact might be (and already has become for many), not to mention the mothballed industrial and transport infrastructure already waiting there.

I'm not getting a commission for any of this, though a growler or two would be nice.

SATURDAY SPOTLIGHT: South Clarksville redevelopment captures waterfront appeal, by Elizabeth Beilman (News and Tribune)

"Right now, we are focusing on the waterfront," Clarksville Redevelopment Director Dylan Fisher said. "The waterfront is a big thing for us because we think it's not only a leverage point for development activity ... but preserving our waterfront and improving our waterfront was a big thing for the public."

A waterfront park would have a raised walking platform, fountain and three catwalks out to old fuel storage tanks that could be converted into piers. Along Riverside Drive, Fisher envisions restaurants and a hotel. More gates could be installed in the floodwall to make way for additional roads that will make access to the shore easier.

Fisher argues its the missing piece of Southern Indiana.

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Galloping very soon to the "undisputed queen of street food" in Catania, Sicily.

If you're planning on visiting Sicily (we are), and you have a friend in Italy (I do), then you ask him questions about vital topics like food and drink.

Earlier today I was chatting with Fabio, who runs a beer bar in Arezzo and has been very helpful during trip planning. He has pointed so far to a bottle shop and beer bar in Catania, our destination, and recently mentioned a pasta recipe using wild boar (not exactly a staple at Olive Garden). This led to further discussion about street food, and the revelation that among the admired specialties of Catania is carne di cavallo ... horse meat.

I used to joke about the likelihood of having consumed horse meat many times while beer-tripping and budget-eating in Europe, in the form of "mystery meat in gray sauce" specials at my favored dirt cheap proletarian cafeterias. It reminds me of the old W.C. Fields diner gag.

W.C. Fields (to waitress): "I didn't squawk about the steak, dear. I merely said I didn't see that old horse that used to be tethered outside here."

The link Fabio provided is in Italian, and of course this can be translated -- shall we say, imperfectly, but the meaning is fairly clear: If you wish to dine on horse meat without a side dish of political correctness, then the shadier the neighborhood, the better -- and here are the five most "disreputable" (read: best) places to do it.

Horse meat in Catania more the neighborhood is the most infamous is good ... 5 disreputable places, very recommended, by Mara Pettignano

Horse meat: bright red, succulent, from the undisputed taste trend with ten out of ten to sweet, to eat if possible to the blood. If you too are passionate to know that there is one place in Italy where it is sanctified, he adored, revered .

A city where horse meat is the only and undisputed queen of street food, become long tradition before the "street food " became a commonly used term.

That place is Catania, but if you want to enjoy the delicacy of this meat, net of ethical issues that can create eat it, you have to get your hands dirty: the places where you need to go are hardly reported by the Michelin Guide.

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Taco Steve has beer now. Tacos and beer. America.

It's the best six-can beer list in New Albany. Taco Steve is located in the rear of Destinations Booksellers at 604 East Spring Street, opposite the very nearly completed Breakwater apartment development.

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"The Kentucky Guild of Brewers has hired its first paid executive director."

Read about the release of Kentucky Proud beers.

Straight up: The Kentucky Guild of Brewers (KGB) has a paid director, and apologies for being way overdue on this one. We were in New England when the story broke, and it wasn't until I was researching my most recent Food & Dining Magazine piece (it's about HopCat and will appear in the next issue) did I realize what had happened.

So, all due props to KGB and Derek Selznick, and thanks to Derek for his quote for the article. From my days on the Indiana guild board, I know that this move is going to help Kentucky breweries very much, especially on the lobbying front.

Ky. brewers guild hires first paid director, by Bailey Loosemore (Courier-Journal)

The Kentucky Guild of Brewers has hired its first paid executive director with help from a national nonprofit that promotes American craft brewers.

On Monday, the local organization announced it has selected Derek Selznick for the newly created position, which will be funded by the Brewers Association. Selznick will begin the role Sept. 6, according to a press release.

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A couple of beers at Next Door Brewing Company in Madison, Wisconsin.

Borrowed from the Interwebz.

As a final Wisconsin trip note, a tip of the chapeau to Next Door Brewing Company, located in Madison on Atwood Avenue near Willy Street and right across from the weirdly distinctive St. Bernard Catholic Church -- is it the truncated non-steeple that reminds me of somewhere I've been in Europe?

We went to Next Door for the first time (ever) on Sunday afternoon after brunch at Great Dane and beers at Capital. I chose Porter as a restorative, and it turned the trick nicely. In the end, I'll always be a fan of Porter on such occasions. It isn't just a colder weather style.

The closer was a Berliner Weisse sans syrup, and it was another winner, refreshing and low gravity with textbook tartness.

For the sale of some salt, chips and salsa came in handy, but we were far too full to eat a meal. Next time in Madison, I'd like to do that. The barroom was modernist and comfy, and my only regret is we couldn't stay for a longer session.

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All hail Sunday: Liquid brunch at Great Dane Hilldale, liquid lunch at Capital Brewery.

During the time of our regular August visits to Madison for the Great Taste of the Midwest, we'd always try to hit the Great Dane's original Doty Street location for lunch on the day of arrival.

Later on, we discovered Sunday brunch at the Great Dane Hilldale, which is just off University Avenue roughly halfway between downtown and Middleton. With brunch from 10 to 2, and Capital Brewery's beer garden opening at noon, it's a leisurely drive with a definite purpose.

Capital's beer garden.

This time around, we didn't proceed directly to Great Dane on Thursday, but waited until Sunday for Hilldale. Is it the best brunch on the planet? Probably not, but fried chicken and ice cream is nothing to sneeze at on a Packers game day -- along with bacon, coffee, Eggs Benedict, tacos and beer.

Afterward, the ten minute cruise to Middleton brought us to the beer garden on sunny and crisp autumn day that screamed Oktoberfest, and Capital readily obliged.

Have I mentioned how much I love Madison?

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Cheers to our old friend at the Sheraton Madison bar.

I don't know the name of the woman who tends bar at the Sheraton in Madison, Wisconsin. All I know is that during those many years when NABC's crew stayed at the Sheraton for the Great Taste of the Midwest, she seemed to be working every shift. Many a nightcap happened there, within crawling distance of the elevators.

On Saturday during our weekend getaway to Madison, Diana suggested having a beer at the Sheraton for old times' sake. There we found our stalwart behind the sticks, skilled and professional like always. I was pleased to find two of the mass-market tap handles replaced by "craft" beers, not an uncommon occurrence in Madison -- but let's appreciate corporate entities on those rare occasions of responsiveness.

Oddly, the only dissonance came from the three Germans seated next to us at the bar. They ordered Budweiser ('America', my ass) in bottles and drank from them while discussing the outcome of a big cattle show with a fourth international bovine dealer, who at least had the good sense to drink bourbon. I almost wish they wouldn't have been conversing in English. Germany's a great beer drinking country, except when it isn't.

I had a martini and tried to ignore them. To the bartender at the Sheraton Madison: You rock. Thanks for the memories, and we'll stop by next time we're up your way.

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