Aloha! ...Oregon?

One of the nice things about my fiancée is that she likes beer. It's nice to have someone to try a bottle of beer with, or to kick back and have a beer with, or shop for beer with. It helps when you also think that person with whom all that beer is happening is really cute.

Another nice thing about my fiancée is that her dad likes beer, and they have cool things in their house including beer from bygone eras. What follows is one such beer.

A True Oregon Experience?

Behold, Star Brewing Company's Pineapple Ale. You know you're in for a treat when the interwebs note that it's been closed since 1996. Says a positively ancient article from the Portland Business Journal, "Wayne Anderson, president and chief executive officer of Star Brewing, said the company expects to close its Portland brewery by late September and move the operation to Phoenix. The company will be reborn as Phoenix Ale and Lagering Co. and consumers in the Southwest could start quaffing its brew by February 1997." However, that proved to be too optimistic: Star never made it to Phoenix, and shut down instead. A quick google search reveals that Wayne Anderson is now the chief sales manager of Oskar Blues, so at least he's landed on his feet.

I don't know why 1894 is featured on this bottle.

But back to the Pineapple beer. There's indication then that this beer is around 15 years old, since an article in Country Living from 1996 notes that the Pineapple Ale was added at that time. Here's a quote from the article: "Though Star features such high-flying comets as an Alt, I.P.A., and an Imperial Stout, it is the Raspberry Ale that puts ink on an account ledger. "It's an abomination to mankind," [Owner Scott] Wenzel overstates, "but it represents 44 percent of our sales." Star has just added a Pineapple Ale to its line." The art is screened onto the bottle directly, so it's held up nicely. As my future father-in-law opened the bottle (with significant trepidation, I might add), we were all shocked to hear the breaking of a potent seal.

Real live bubbles. Who'd have thought?

Bubbles! Actual carbonation survived for 15 years in this bottle. Impressive indeed. The aroma was all sugary sweetness and while I wouldn't have been able to pick "pineapple" out of the aroma if asked directly, I suppose after a while I started to detect some hints of the ripe tropical fruit on the nose. It wasn't a bad pour either - good ruddy copper color and a fluffy head that stuck around a while.

"Surprisingly tart" is not a descriptor I would use.

Flavor was really out there. True to its aroma, this was a super sweet beer. I tasted none of the Perle & Willamette Hops that were so lovingly highlighted on the bottle. Nor do I think I got much of the 2-Row, Munich, or Carastan 30-37 malts. What I got was sugar and maybe some very sickly-sweet pink bubblegum.

A Vacation In A Bottle!

In my dream vacation, I'm drinking a different beer.

When I was a kid, my Dad used to crack open cans of Dole pineapple chunks to put on cottage cheese. I, being wholly uninterested in the cottage cheese, would spoon the pineapple juice / syrup out of the can. The flavor here was not far removed from that sensation, and it left me in much the same state: speedy sugar high followed by crash.

Sediment. Not nearly as much as a beer this old should have had.

We were totally impressed that this beer had held up for as long as it had. Between the four of us, we ended up finishing a nice tasting of this bottle, though I'm pretty sure I was given the lion's share. This beer went down quite easily, I have to say, but it sat weirdly in my stomach and I would not recommend it again in case another bottle is somehow found.

Whirlwind

As you can see, I've been clearing out the notebook for a while. After a flurry of once-a-day posts, I'm moving to once every few days. I hope not to fall into the once a month funk that engulfed this blog for the majority of last season. Readers have been very good at getting on my case about more frequent posting. You know what would help, readers? Send me beer. That'll get me posting more often, that's for sure.

Of course, at the moment, I'm hunkering down for Hurricane Irene, and we'll see how that goes. One of the things I've enjoyed this past week is having an excuse to pull up weather maps. I'll admit it: I'm a sucker for geography. I used to be able to spend hours just staring at a globe or a map or an atlas. I could blow a whole afternoon exploring on Google Maps or Google Earth. So Sam Adams' Latitude 48 IPA is really just pandering to me.

The 48th Parallel North is what Sam Adams calls the "hop belt," a narrow band in the Northern Hemisphere in which hops flourish. I've come down hard on Sam Adams before for their excessive use of hops, but here (in an IPA) I'm pretty open to liberal interpretations of balance.

Good looking pour.

There's a really thick head on this beer, and it laced down the glass rather attractively. There's wonderful grassiness and a lot of grapefruit on the nose, but the aroma isn't bitter the way some other IPAs sometimes are. There's actually an undercurrent of sugary sweetness in the nose, which I found very pleasant.

Even prettier lacing.

The sip was a little harder to get behind. It's an IPA, so I do expect to be smacked in the face with a pine cone. Oddly, instead of pininess, I got a lot of bitter citrus (lemon and grapefruit) and some weird tinny metallic flavors as well. There was a decent malty backbone that did balance out the beer so as not to lean toward puckeringly or bracingly sour. Nonetheless, that metal flavor was rather off-putting.

Dinner was less than thrilling, sadly.

I ate it with a dish of cold sesame noodles and some roast chicken, two flavors that should have really complemented the IPA. They didn't: too bad.

Chunky beer

One of the descriptors I use in writing and talking about beer is that it's "thin," and I thought perhaps that bears some clarification. It could be a function, I suppose, of viscosity, but more than that, it's the way the flavor sits on the tongue. A thin beer washes out and leaves very little taste to savor after it's done. By contrast, a nice complex, deep, and full flavored beer has layers of different flavors to dig through. Sometimes what I want is a thin, uncomplicated beer, like a Sam Adams Light (a review for another time) or even a Budweiser. But I had to go pretty far back in our blog archives to find a thin beer that I actually enjoyed - most of the time, I want something that tastes beery, that tastes of grain and hops and malt and sometimes of vanilla, coffee, or dark chocolate.

This next beer is one that, in truth, I had a tough time with. I've liked Abita Beer ever since being clued in to their existence by a law school friend from New Orleans. What gets exported to up north is often a mystery, but much of what I've had (Amber and Turbodog) are quite nice. Purple Haze, not so much.

Not a bad looking beer, and quite a nicely designed label.

Anyway, they brew a series of Harvest Beers designed to highlight, as they say, "the finest Louisiana-grown ingredients." One of these is a Satsuma Harvest Wit. Satsumas are delicious: they're little mutant oranges with loose skins and amazingly sweet juice. My girlfriend's mother grows them atop a hillside outside of Los Angeles, and they are without a doubt some of the best citrus I have ever tasted. Amazing. So when I saw beer made with Satsumas, I was intrigued.

It poured a very hazy gold color, with not a lot of head. There's an orangy aroma, but lacking in the brightness that differentiates a satsuma from, say, a navel. Definitely also a characteristic sourness on the nose that wheatbeers can sometimes take on.

The first thing I noticed was that it was very highly carbonated, which surprised me, given the lack of head. The second thing I noticed was that the flavor of the citrus didn't come through at all. The aroma was what pushed the flavor into the realm of oranges: without smelling a clearly orange scent, I don't think I would have automatically thought of satsumas while tasting this beer. Otherwise, kind of a middling beer.

OK, that's just gross.

I tend to pour pretty aggressively, and I like a bit of sediment in my beer, as I think there's quite a lot of flavor to be had in spent yeast (just ask the good people at Marmite). But I was unprepared for exactly how "chunky" this beer was. On a lark, I held the beer up to the light. Shocking.

Victory is mine.

Sometimes it's good to have a nice, light beer. Something that's not too heavy, something that's not too aggressive. Something flavorful, but which plays nice with others.

A few of the most recent beers I've written about are not those kinds of beers. Those are beers that obliterate the food with which they are enjoyed, and they blow out the palate pretty aggressively. That's not always a bad thing, but sometimes it's nice to taste your food too.

Especially when the food is a nice, juicy, perfectly cooked burger at Mel's Burger Bar by Columbia University. I went with my brother and was very pleasantly surprised to find a pretty fantastic burger and tater tots. I'm totally a sucker for tater tots.

Pennsylvania's own Victory Brewing Company makes a wonderful pilsner called Prima Pils, which I've seen in stores but never purchased. Pilsner lagers aren't always that appealing to me: I tend to like darker beers with more oomph behind them. But that day, I was in a lager-y mood and just wanted something refreshing. And the Victory Prima Pils was damn near perfect and full of surprises.

Sometimes I'm so thirsty, I forget I need to take a picture before drinking half the beer.

I got a lot of grass, hay, and flowers right up front as I approached the beer. The aroma was pretty heavy, which is another thing I don't tend to find with a pilsner. It was a clear golden pour with a thin head (what you see in the picture is after a wait for the burgers), which didn't last long (nor did it lace at all). Pre-burger, I tasted a lot of hops and honey, with maybe an undertone of sweetness. It made the tater tots pop as well, since the grassier flavors and aromas of the beer accentuated that lovely golden-brown caramelized potato goodness. And with the burger, the hops were strong enough to cut through the juicy fat of the meat. Overall, couldn't have asked for more.

Heavy

Yesterday, I intimated that the "more equals more" trend in brewing may have been distinctly American. I didn't mean to imply that at all. I *do* think that American brewers tend to be more aggressive with their hops profiles, which does throw things out of balance. But a different trait that is shared on both sides of the Atlantic is a "more equals more" philosophy as it pertains to alcohol content.

Wine critics have been on this bugaboo for years, bemoaning the rise of big and punchy California red wines with tremendous alcohol contents. They say that the alcohol flavor masks the subtle nuances of the wine while the burn of the alcohol aftertaste scorches the palate. They're not wrong.

In beer, the movement toward higher alcohol contents has been going strong, and while the first "tripel" was invented in Belgium (of course it was), the genre has been enthusiastically adopted by brewers from Alaska to Scotland. Although one of these days, I'll have another Westmalle, the tripel that started it all, I recently had the pleasure of trying two of the strongest brews I've had in a while.

The Harpoon Leviathan series is designed to mess with people, or at the very least, to seriously mess people up. While most of Harpoon's other offerings are well-balanced and refreshing, the Leviathan series takes its cue from its namesake: they are big, bold, truly "one is enough" bottles.

Barleywine. It's got a kick, but it's still well-balanced.

The Barleywine (10.00%) poured a deep chestnut brown, with a wispy head that dissipated quickly. I poured it into a goblet-shaped glass, as I wanted it to warm a little and release some of its aroma. That aroma ended up being a very enticing caramel, with the alcohol hit of a red wine. The flavor was intense: a lot of ripe dark fruits (figs, raisins, cherries) and yeasty, like a heavy English bread. The alcohol, as expected, was incredibly spicy, which was nicely balanced by the toffee / brown sugar flavors. Outstanding. I definitely felt it by the end of the first glass (I got one and a half servings out of that 12 oz. bottle), and I definitely cannot recommend that anyone should have more than one bottle of this at a time. Still, it's quite tasty, and makes for a nice treat.

Quad. A little too much.

I wish I could say the same about the Leviathan Quad (11.75% ABV). I actually drank this one first, which was why I made the mistake of pouring the whole thing into a tall pint glass. Nice head retention though. This allowed the beer to warm too fast, and the whole affair got sour pretty quickly. I found this one less balanced - the sweet ripe fruit flavors and spicy alcohol kick were unmistakeable, but there wasn't enough backbone to stand up to it. I like my Quadruppels a good deal warmer and rounder - the alcohol in this one was angular and hot. I did appreciate the extra flavor of vanilla, but that was an extra flavor that didn't quite mesh with the rest of the sip.

Harpoon makes a Leviathan Imperial Stout as well. I've had it before but can't remember much of it. Perhaps another one to try.

More is... more?

A typical complaint I've had over the years is a reaction to the idea, especially in American brewing, that more equals more. Hops add flavor, so if we consider that American macrobrews (Budweiser, Miller, Coors, etc.) lack that flavor, then more hops equals more flavor. Sam Adams runs an ad that says they put a full pound of hops in every batch of their (I think) Boston Lager. But of course, there are other things that add flavor besides hops, because more hops will probably only mean more hops flavor. On the far end of this spectrum are beers that end up drinking like pine cones.

Hold still: I want to beat you about the face with this branch while you chew on a pine cone.

Among these is the Goose Island IPA. Out of Chicago, Goose Island picks up on a great Midwestern brewing tradition, though they've been in the news of late for moving productionof their signature 312 Wheat (named for Chicago's area code) out of Chicago entirely.

Now, I'm not here to pile on Goose Island for their business practices. I'm here to drink their beer. And drink it I have. The IPA pours a hazy dark gold with a nice fluffy head that traps a lot of wonderful grapefruit/lemon hops oils. That haze isn't a function of leaving the beer unfiltered: rather, this is probably due to the sheer amount of hops that are added. I also smell some pine as well.

Not a bad pour. And a classic looking label too.

The flavor is instantly bitter and sharp, like sticking my face into a pine forest and licking the branches. It's refreshing, in as much as being smacked in the head with a Christmas wreath could be refreshing. I honestly couldn't taste anything else after finishing half a bottle. With that in mind, I ended up drinking the rest of the bottle. And then another, and then another. Genius marketing strategy, Goose Island. I'M ONTO YOU.

Summer Beer Gone Awry

I've written before about my contempt for Leinenkugel's Summer Shandy. I hadn't heard of Shandy until I went to the UK - it's basically a mix of dry lemonade (a lemon soda that's got very little sugar in it, like an un-sugared 7Up) and cheap lager. Shandy, when made well, is refreshing and delicious: it's low alcohol, and the lemon flavors do elevate the lighter grassier notes of the lager.

Leinenkugel's on the other hand, sucks. A friend of mine ordered one over dinner while I went to the men's room. Why she did so is quite beyond me - we have had previous problems with Leinenkugel's products before. I seem to remember her and her roommate trying desperately to pawn off Leinenkugel's Honey Weiss to no avail, and eventually throwing out the remains of the case someone had purchased. It's pretty terrible.

Looks gross. Smells gross. Tastes gross.

Don't order this beer.

So this Shandy. Good lord. First of all, it came in the Boston Beer Co.'s glass for Sam Adams Lager, but it wasn't helped at all. Secondly, as you can see, it poured the color of dirty dishwater. The aroma was all sour lemon and white bread. In a normal shandy, one should smell a sweet lemon perfume. Here, it was like the lemon smell of churning stomach acid reminiscent of an aggressive college night out.

Flavor? Beer mixed with lemon pledge. Not pleasant at all. Gross.

Beets Suck

I'm usually a pretty big fan of Magic Hat. Their #9 is a nice pale ale with an apricot twist, and it's a good local beer (yay Vermont) so I can take comfort in that when I order it.

I was intrigued by the tap pull of the Wacko, which featured what I thought was a heart with weird vines behind it. I saw it from pretty far away, but decided I'd order it. When it came to the table, I wasn't sure if I'd been given the right thing - it was a really bizarre magenta color. Turns out, that's no heart. It's a beet. Holding a guitar and microphone. It's a thing out of a nightmare.

A giant beet with hair. Truly the stuff of nightmares.

Wacko is brewed with beet sugar, which gives it a hot pink color. I'm not sure you can taste the flavor of beets (I mean, this beer didn't taste of dirt, so that's a start), but I'm really not sure the beet color does the beer any good. It's freaking pink, and the last time I saw a pink beer, I was mocking a table of Philadelphia Phillies fans at Boston Beer Works.

Funny side story - my buddy Russell and I were going to try getting walk-up tickets to a weird interleague Red Sox game: Philadelphia at Boston. If tickets were not an option, then what we would have spent on tickets would go to beer at Boston Beer Works across the street. Well, no tickets. Boston Beer Works has some strange brews on hand, and one was a blueberry ale with actual fresh blueberries in it. It functioned like a poor man's lava lamp: a blueberry would sink to the bottom of the glass, become the nucleation point for a bunch of bubbles, and then float to the top, where the bubbles would detatch, making the berry sink. Cute, but not for me. The aforementioned Phillies fans? Big table of 'em, all drinking pink beer with watermelon spears stuck in the glass. Gross.

It's bad when beer is the color of vomit, though it does remove some of the guesswork after of a long night out.

So anyway, what I didn't like about the Magic Hat Wacko wasn't just its ridiculous pink hue, but the flavor, which was quite middling. You could smell the grassy earthiness of the beets, but the beer itself just tasted of grain sugar, much like an American Macrobrew. Thin on the tongue, not bad, but not good.

Beer should not look like gatorade, even a little.

And that color. I still can't get past that godawful color. I bought a single bottle of it again just to grab the label. As an illustration, here's a cherry gatorade next to a glass of Wacko. That's just disturbing.

Feel the burn.

Another painful day at the gym yesterday; another day of nursing my poor aching joints. My goal has been to sort of get my body used to being warm, as I am headed to Hong Kong in a couple of days. It's been my experience that as my body gets used to being warm, I tend not to react so poorly to heat when I'm in it. And Hong Kong is hot and humid. Severely.

I wish I were going to Hong Kong under better circumstances, but it's for a family funeral. My grandmother died a couple of weeks ago, and I'm off to the funeral this weekend. But of course, because it's on the other side of the world *and* I cross the International Date Line, I end up leaving on Wednesday morning and touching down at 7:00 pm on Thursday night. I'll line up a few blog posts, I hope, in the next two days. If not, well, it's not like prolonged absence is new around here.

I thought it might be nice, since I'm headed back to the old country, to try a beer that's a conscious echo of a different old country. Back in January, Mayflower Brewing from Plymouth, MA (duh) released a limited edition Imperial Stout. I wish I could link to something more definitive, but it's off of their website already.

Not a bad pour. This is a big bottle of a very big beer.

Mayflower Imperial Stout is strong stuff. It's a really dark pour that my camera doesn't do justice because the iPhone camera sucks at low lighting situations. A weak wisp of bubbles is about all this one could muster.

So the "Coopers Series" is all about reusing old barrels for aging (this is etymologically unsurprising), and the pedigree on this one rivals even my own. The barrels used to hold bourbon. Then they held Sam Adams Utopias. And then, Mayflower's own Barleywine, before they made the Imperial Stout. Pretty fantastic stuff. ...on paper.

Close-up of the bottle.

I wish I'd enjoyed the beer more, I'll be honest. I found the alcohol content distractingly high (10% abv). You can smell a lot of vanilla and caramel aromas left over from the bourbon and barleywine. Each sip is infused with a lot of bourbon flavors that do complement the deeply caramelized sugars of the roasted malt. It wasn't the flavors that were the problem at all. It was the alcohol burn. It felt really hot on the tongue, and the aftertaste of each sip was really warm. What we had here was a total lack of balance - the sip itself was pretty delicious, but the alcohol really got in the way, which doesn't always have to happen. Too bad.

Knock-offs

In a previous post, I derided Japan's Coedo Brewery of appearing to knock off the Chimay brand. I'm not linking to their website because it's full of flash and other infuriating website crap. However, here's a screenshot of their lineup:

My apologies on the size of this screenshot.

From left to right, that's Kyara, Ruri, Shiro, Shikkoku, and Beniaka.

It's got the same stubby bottle feel, same general color scheme, same luxurious feel. Same undersized pour too. Anyway, that red one, the Beniaka, was actually pretty good. So I had high hopes for the other two.

I tried the Shikkoku next. It's a schwartzbier, and I've had mixed successes with those. Sometimes they're insanely sweet (Xingu); other times, they're perfect (Full Sail Session Black).

Jet black pour

Apparently, Shikkoku is named after Japanese black lacquerwork, and it's pretty apt as an inspiration. This beer poured a very deep black, with a lot of roasted, almost charcoal qualities in the aroma. It had a very creamy head that lasted to the end of the beer, which wasn't terribly surprising given how small the beer was.

I should mention, without snark, that it was also really easy to drink. A lot of that had to do with the 5.0% ABV and a surprisingly dry finish for a schwartzbier. More of that had to do, unfortunately, with a very thin mouthfeel. I got some weak coffee flavors, maybe some brown sugar as well. But the nice aromas and inky blackness ultimately promised more than the flavor could deliver.

Two nights ago, I tried the final in the three (yes, there are two more out there in the world, but only 3 were available in my Japanese megamart. This was the white-label Shiro.

Shiro bills itself as an an unfiltered wheat beer with a "bright, smooth, slightly cloudy appearance." For an unfiltered beer, there's an awful lot of clarity in the glass. Otherwise, it was decent in its presentation, but once again, a wretchedly small pour.

That's a pint glass. Seriously. Maybe this beer is targeted toward people with Asian glow?

When I'm drinking a wheat beer, I try to find some banana or clove flavors, sometimes even bubblegum. It should be crisp and tart, without going too far into "sour." This guy didn't deliver on any counts. I got a lot of sour apple and a lot of just non-descript "beer" flavors with an alcohol bite that a 5.5% abv beer shouldn't have displayed.

There were two strikes against this beer, I think. The first was that it wasn't terribly fresh, and I think it may have just gotten manhandled in transit. The second was that I don't think I was eating it with a complementary foodstuff: fresh cherries. The cherries have been plentiful and cheap and sweet in NJ, so I've been enjoying them a lot this summer. But when paired with the beer, the cherries took on an astringency that negated any apple sweetness that I had managed to coax out of the beer. As a result, all that was left was a chemical bitterness. Small beer as it was, I didn't finish it - I ate the rest of the cherries instead.

Field Mouse's Farewell

I'm definitely a sucker for a cute label, and the Pretty Things Beer and Ale Project out of Somerville, MA has some of the folksiest and most lovely labels around. I mean come on, how can you resist a little mouse with a satchel slung over his shoulder? Of course the beer has to taste good too, and thankfully, Pretty Things makes some amazing beer.

This camera doesn't really do the beer justice.

The Field Mouse's Farewell poured a nice cloudy golden color, with a fluffy white head and an enticing aroma of light brown sugar and apples. It actually did look a little like a pale unfiltered apple cider. All of that sweetness in the nose gave way quickly to a bracingly (and unexpectedly) bitter sip on the tongue. Pretty Things gets a little wordy in their description of this beer though. "The hops are Strisselspalt from Alsace and Bramling Cross from England. We combined Belgian and English yeast strains (inspired by the proximity of Calais and Kent?). Oldy woldy worldy." Really? Oldy woldy worldy? Stick to beer - your writing is weird.

I will say, though, that the hops profile really gave this beer a huge kick of flavor. Unfortunately, the larger bottles in which this beer is sold means that by the end of the first glass, my tongue was crying out for something to cut the bitterness. I wish that this beer had been a little more balanced - maybe some sweetness in with all of that hops bite. I do, however, commend Pretty Things for varying up the hops profile: a lot of American hoppy ales are pretty one-note, like drinking a pine cone. Field Mouse's farewell delivered a lot of citrus, some pine, and quite a lot of pepperiness too. It might have gone well with some smoked cheese or cured meat: something with richness and oomph that could stand up to the flavors of the hops. I liked it, but next time I'll try to find a friend to share it with.

I swear this post was going to be timely.

The following is a reprint, in full, from the Boston Globe's Op/Ed page on July 23, 2011. I was still trying to figure out how to appropriate it for this blog's purposes when its timeliness ran out. So as a next best thing, I'm just re-running it in full, but here's a link. Enjoy.

It wasn't the shuttered state parks that prompted Minnesota’s governor and legislature to resolve a budget impasse. Nor was it the 22,000 furloughed state employees or the disruptions in services for the needy and the disabled. In the end, it was all about the beer.

The Minnesota state government shut down July 1, after Democratic Governor Mark Dayton and Republican legislative leaders failed to reach a budget deal. And for days, there was no end in sight. But on July 12, the Minneapolis Star Tribune reported that hundreds of bars would no longer be able to serve alcohol because state permits were set to expire. With no one on hand to issue new permits, there’d be no beer. The 10,000 places that sell liquor in the state were starting to see a depletion in stock, as inventories cannot be resupplied without a distributor tax stamp. The state had stopped issuing those.

And then, the unthinkable: Brewing giant MillerCoors was told to pull 39 of its brand labels from all shops, bars, and restaurants because it did not process its registration paperwork in time. The registration was set to expire on July 13.

Suddenly, Dayton and GOP lawmakers were willing to make compromises. The final budget deal, not much different from where the parties were before the shutdown, was negotiated less than 36 hours later, on July 15.

Coincidence? Maybe members of Congress, facing a much larger budget problem, should take a breath and have a beer. And thank their lucky stars that they can still have one.

I'm proud of Massachusetts as well for having seen the error of its ways on a new regulation passed last week. It would have required that brewers licensed as farmer-brewers grow 50% of the grains or hops they use to brew with. Without that distinction, Massachusetts brewers would be classified under the Federal rules enacted after prohibition, which mandate a three-tier industry of brewer to distributor to retailer. A brewer can't sell retail directly, so the rules mandate, unless it's a brewpub or a brewery tour, or, as in Massachusetts, a brewer-farmer. Here's the problem: the Commonwealth of Massachusetts doesn't have the field capacity for all of the brewer-farmers to purchase or grow 50% of the grains or hops needed. They just don't. Of course, the brewer-farmers licenses are a LOT cheaper than the regular brewers licenses, but I'm sure that didn't have anything to do with it.

So here's to Massachusetts for overturning that ridiculous rule. And here's to the New England Patriots. Football's back, baby.

oh dear...

Well, clearly, something went wrong... It would seem to the world that I enjoy drinking beer much more than I like writing about it, and that's not entirely true. It's just that hard work often pays off after time, but laziness always pays off now.

This same thinking, incidentally, might be why I kind of let all of July go in terms of going to the gym. There's a little counter on the gym login computer that shows the number of times I've logged in for the last 60 days. The highest I got was 30 - that was during Lent. Yesterday and today, the counter read 5, which means that the last time I was there regularly was about two months ago. Ouch.

What have I been doing instead? My colleague and I have been enjoying some good times at a Newark establishment called Port 44. We became regulars - the bartender would ask whichever of us showed up first where the other one was. One of my favorites: Siren's Wheat.

That's a good looking glass of beer.

Here's a beer that's drinkable on a hot day (of which, Newark has more than its fair share). It's a pretty low alcohol content (4.2% perhaps?) so it's great for a session, and because it's not too dark, it's pretty dry. I've found the darker the beer, the sweeter the beer (thanks to the Maillard Reaction). Siren's is good and dry - refreshing. And I don't need a lemon slice, thank you. It also goes to a good cause. Port 44 is owned by former cops, and 25¢ from each glass goes to fund a scholarship for the children of Police Officers, Firefighters, and EMTs. Not bad.

I say that Port 44 is owned by former cops, but that may not be for much longer. One of the few bright spots in Newark has been this pub, and now, it's for sale. Anybody want to sink $2.1 million into downtown Newark? Anybody?

Damn...

Anyway, for the next couple of days, I'm going to try to clear the notebook. It's a big notebook, and it's gotten pretty thick, so I hope you'll bear with me. As for Mr. West Coast? Maybe he's just out having too much fun.