Beeralicious day of nostalgia

“The first step of the cure is…a kiss.”

–Gene Simmons

It’s been a bloody good day.

I’m on the tail end of brewing my Ceremony Abbey Ale and am soaked in good nostalgia. For one, I haven’t brewed in a while. My last two batches were 10 gallons each and as your math skills might deduce, they’ve lasted twice as long as a fiver. So I’m happy about the variety that this day will bring me in a few weeks, all the more since I intend to double barrel half of this batch (bourbon and red wine).

This beer gets me nostalgic because I’ve got raisins in the fermenter and I can just taste Raison D’Etre (the thing I want out of life) in my head–I haven’t had that Dogfish Head elixir since I left Raleigh nearly a year ago. Been craving it lately. Calling Dr. Love…

The Raleigh thing is a little nostalgic as I’ve spent part of this brew day reading the tale of My Life on Craft’s tour de South. It’s been torture reading Mary’s adventures in some of my old stomping grounds (World Beer Fest, Flying Saucer, The Tavern, Raleigh Times, Jack of the Wood, Sam’s to name a few) and my old beers (Duck-Rabbit, Big Boss, Carolina Brewery, Foothills and Green Man to name a few). All those photos bring my only cringe of the day, as my camera recently hit the pavement.

Can I have a beer blog without a camera? Not a very good one. Can I presently afford a new camera? Not really. To remedy this situation, won’t you please send brewvana an email addressed to Wonderful Beer Wife asking her to help keep brewvana vibrant by buying me a new camera. If we are flooded with pleas, she’ll think I’m famous and important, and break down. I’m just sure of it.

This whole camera thing is made easier to bear today, because this entire brew day has been awash in the crackle of vinyl. My awesome Uncle Jake gave me his turn table, replacing this too-long hole in my heart. It has been Kiss’ Rock and Roll Over–over and over and over again–all day long. This is a big time sentimental album for me. It’s the first I ever owned–I got it for Christmas when I was six years old. My grandma still has a picture of me opening it. No one can air guitar this album like I can–they don’t know where the skips are. (It’s funny how not hearing something for a decade doesn’t matter; I’ve nailed every lick and every skip all day long.)

Great day. Great day. I may even fire up a batch of dandelion wine a little later.

You’re such a jewel in the rough,

Wilson

The Session #15–How did it all start?

My mom and dad met on a blind date. They married. I arrived.

I had the beer gene. That’s the long and short of it. But it’s always the long story that’s more interesting, right?

I always looked forward to drinking beer, way back when I was a kid. I wasn’t wooed by cartoon characters or curvy babes. I just thought beer looked right for me. I started in earnest when I was 15. Those imbibing days are a world away from today. Cheap beer in mass quantities. Multifacetedly sad, but true.

There was a time back in high school when a few of us discussed making our own beer. It’s probably a good thing that we didn’t, as we’d have been impatient, unsanitary and five gallons wouldn’t have been a big enough pay-off, given the effort involved. Worse, I may have been deterred from ever again giving it a go.

In college, getting into coffee and cooking in restaurants got me more tuned into flavor, so I started to show interest in a better beer. Ale seemed an illusive entity. I tracked one down here and there, though a college budget doesn’t allow much of that. I took an advanced public speaking course, and that’s where the light bulb flickered more brightly. One of my classmates did a demonstration speech on homebrewing. While my cheesecake speech wowed the class, his inspired me to strive for a new hobby as soon as I graduated and got a “real” job.

That’s what happened. I moved to the Navajo Reservation in Northern Arizona to teach, hit the homebrew shop in Flagstaff and began brewing right away. It was a German Altbier, and though I forgot to add the hops, it was bottled glory. Like every first homebrew.

My early commercial transition beers included the likes of Bass and Newcastle. And sampling at brewpubs revealed the beauty of stout. No more cheap beer. It was an exciting time. My inborn predisposition for loving beer was one thing. But it was choice that brought me Good Beer. But then I’ve also chosen to jump out of airplanes and off of cliffs, drive demolition derby cars and climb vertical rock faces. Some folks are going to need a little more prodding and massaging to make the switch. We converted have work to do.

Whatever I do, I try to do well. I partied very well, way back when. Now I drink well. There’s a big difference between drinking hard and drinking well. Life is better this way. Brewvana, even.

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Many thanks to Boak and Bailey for hosting this month’s Session!

Thirsty Thursday–Shoot to Thrill

Just last week I was going on about the particularly aggressive winter we’re enjoying. And wouldn’t you know it, this week I get to talk about another nuance of a Midwestern Winter: the part about the huge temperature variation.

One day it’s zero, and the next day it’s 50 degrees. One day it’s dull brown, and the next day it’s a foot and a half of snow. Then it melts and the back roads are a muddy mess. Then it’s colder than a well digger’s ass in the Klondike for two weeks straight.

Then it’s today. Sixty degrees, sunshine and the first day with the windows down and “Shoot to Thrill” blaring over the stereo. “Back in Black.” “You Shook Me All Night Long.” Ahhh, memories!

I accompanied that pleasure with my homebrewed bock. Life is good.

Have a drink on me,

Wilson

Grandma Beach’s idea of cough syrup

I’ve been dodging my boys’ bullets for the last week, but finally I’ve succumbed to a cold.

I’ve got all this beer lying around; how could I not have something with a cure involved? So I’ve got my wife’s great-grandma in mind today. Here’s her recipe for cough syrup. I take it like NyQuil, and sleep well. I need to get a batch going.

Grandma Beach’s Cough Syrup

1 part lemon juice

1 part honey

1 part “good” whiskey

This stuff is amazing when it ages for a couple of years. But I only take it medicinally.

More than 15 Things I Miss About Raleigh and NC

…in no particular order and not necessarily beer-related

1. NC breweries (especially Duck-Rabbit, Foothills, Pisgah, Green Man, Big Boss and Carolina Brewery)

2. A few beer bars (like The Raleigh Times, The Flying Saucer, Milltown and Barley’s Taproom)

3. Sam’s

4. CARBOY homebrew club and related people and shenanigans

5. A few specific beers that I can’t get here (Nostradamus, Rodenbach Grand Cru, stuff from Unibroue, Ommegang and Allagash, Midas Touch, Immort Ale, Avery’s Reverend and Czar, North Coast Old Stock Ale and a buncha other Belgians too depressing to mention

6. Heather and Paul

7. Old co-workers (some, not all, as you might expect, double missingness to those that are reading this without being pestered–Ken and Matt)

8. A few restaurants (like Sushi Blues, NeoMonde Deli, that Mexican place on Peace Street that’s changed hands so many times I can’t remember what it’s called, I Love NY Pizza and Lilly’s Pizza)

9. Miscellaneous food related: LocoPops in Durham, Eastern NC BBQ, Sweet Tea, The Third Place, warm Krispy Kremes on Person

10. World Beer Festival

11. The Mountains

12. Cat’s Cradle

13. mixing sound

14. Karen and Don Juan’s Oyster Roasts

15. My uncle and his family (Alan, Jane, Z, Eminemily and Lela)

Shut up about Shut Up About Barclay Perkins

I’m sure this is what my wife’s thinking. She’s always thinking something. If she’s anything like me, she thinks about porter. A lot.

Lest you were worried that I’d run out of topics for my blog, I wanted to point out that I’ve enjoyed reading Ron Pattinson’s Shut Up About Barclay Perkins for quite a while, but lately I’ve spent a lot of time there.

Why, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you, since I have the answer right here. The answer is porter. And stout. Numbers. I’m not good with numbers. As the art and science of brewing goes, I’m an art guy. But you gotta have the numbers. And grain. And hops.

Back in high school, I didn’t really care about history. But I liked beer. And rock and roll. One day, when I was a junior in college, I had an epiphany. Lord Byron was basically a rock star. When I realized that Coleridge was a junkie, I knew that books were alright. And I also epiphanied that Tom Petty is a poet. And so is Robert Plant. And a bunch of others. So to my collection of music, I started adding books. Some of them are old, and some of them are about beer. But unlike Ron, I don’t have a lot of really old books about beer. Especially the kind with numbers in them. If I had those I could analyze stuff over time. Like Ron does. Anyway, at some point I got interested not only in literature, but also history.

So, anyway, back to porter. I really love it. And lately, Ron’s been on quite a porter streak. He’s really informative. You can tell he really reads a lot, and ingests the information and takes notes. Or he’s really good at making stuff up. But I’m pretty sure he’s done the reading part.

Like did you know that stout is a porter, but porter isn’t necessarily a stout?

“Porter was used to refer to both specifically the weakest beer of the type and as a general term for all Porters and Stouts.

London brewers regularly made Porter and Stout from the same mash. I have examples of this that span pretty much the whole period I’ve looked at (1805 - 1955). At some periods Whitbread almost never brewed just one beer from a brew. At one time in the 1800’s all their beers - two Porters and half a dozen Stouts - all have exactly the same recipe, except for the quantity of water.

Guinness Porter and Guinness Extra Stout in 1883 had pretty similar recipes.

All the crap about them being two distinct styles has just been made up in the last 30 years.”

That’s just one example. I took that little nugget of possible truth from a comment on some post about porter. Rather than try and remember which post it was, I’d recommend checking out his whole blog, which is full of information. If you just feel like reading about porter, then click here. That’ll take you to all his porter stuff.

But if you’re going to check out Ron, I should tell you something. He’s opinionated. He might disagree with you. For example, he doesn’t care for the BJCP. If you click that link, you’ll smell sarcasm emitting from your keyboard. Hopefully you take time to read the comments, because it demonstrates better than the post that Ron’s not just obnoxious, but also that he has good and worthy reasons for his opinions.

“Time and place are vital elements of beer style. To ignore them is to deny much of beer’s diversity.

Taxation, regulation, demography, geography even geology all play their part. Beer is culture specific.

I’m explaining this very pompously and very poorly. Why should anything stay the same? Music doesn’t. Clothes don’t. Neither does food, or cars, or lightbulbs or children’s television (for us Noggin the Nog was a highlight). In just the same way as, even in this age of globalisation, pop music, children’s TV, food, sport - and I hope much more - aren’t exactly the same, neither is beer everywhere. Even if it bears the same style name.”

Lively banter here and there.

I once had an acting professor tell me to just go into an audition and go over the top. Make a bold statement and even if that’s not what the director has in mind for the part, he’ll remember you, and shape you into his plan for the production. That’s Ron, to me. He ain’t afraid to say what he believes. I reckon his fervency ruffles some feathers.

Not mine. I’m proud to say that I took the BJCP exam and made Certified. If I was better at numbers, I might have done better. I learned a lot as I prepared for that exam. And my learning didn’t end when I walked out the door. I’ve learned a lot just by reading Ron. From my perspective, the BJCP is doing its best to put together an education program that is generally good for Beerdom. It’s not an evil empire. It defines style parameters, but it also updates its work. It’s not perfect, and it’s not Gospel. To me it’s a tool. Until I die, I’ll continue learning. Revising. Epiphanying.

Some people that know a lot come off like they think they know everything. And Ron could be accused of that.

I should point out that Ron nearly apologized for his grumpy and comedic BJCP post.

I should point out that Ron continues to learn:

“I seem to remember posting something about Scotch Ale a while back. One of my main points was that the don’t-use-many-hops-because they-don’t-grow-in-Scotland story about Scotch Ale was just that: a story. Well, I’ve been poking around a bit more. Perhaps I was a little hasty in my assessment.”

I should point out that Ron asks questions about things he doesn’t know.

That’s a good thing. Learning’s a good thing, and Ron’s a part of it for me. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I encounter a whole homebrew club full of knowledgeable members. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I discover my buddy Ken Hilton. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I study for the BJCP exam. Just when I think I’m getting smart about beer, I stumble upon Ron Pattinson. It’s good every so often to get your stuck up self kicked back to kindergarten. I’d recommend that you check him out, if you don’t already read him.

I meant to take a picture of my bookshelf to prove that I have both books and beer in common with Ron, but I forgot. Please just take my word for it.

Tonight, I’m drinking porter, in honor of Ron Pattinson. And Barclay Perkins. And me.

Cheers!

The Session #11–Doppelbock, the Illuminator

Welcome to The Session (the brainchild of Stan, over at Appellation Beer) for Friday, January 4, 2008. Today, beer bloggers the world over will be discussing Doppelbock: the illuminator.

From my announcement:

I don’t feel like coming up with a bunch of rules and restrictions. I want to learn about doppelbocks, and so the sky’s the limit: write about doppelbocks however you see fit. History, reviews, pairings, pictures, poetry and experiences. All of it.

The first time I ever had a doppelbock, I was living on the Navajo Reservation, in Pinon, Arizona, where the pavement ends and the Wild West begins.

It was early in my own private Beer Renaissance. I had but a few homebrew batches under my belt, and my “local” brewpub was 2 1/2 harrowing hours away over washboarded, unpaved roads. Every month or month and a half, we’d make a long list and make our trip to Flagstaff to stock up our pantry, to eat out, to have a good cup of coffee, to get homebrewing ingredients and to track down a local beer or three.

Due to our livelihood, we became very close to many of our fellow co-workers. We helped each other move into our houses. We grilled out together. And since they also made that monthly trip “to town,” we cared for each others’ dogs.

So, once upon a weekend, I took care of The Ruddster’s dogs. He caught up with me Monday morning in the teachers’ lounge, offering some unremembered amount of cash for my troubles. I said that would not be necessary. He said it would. I said it’s one thing to pay the kids in the neighborhood for feeding, walking and looking after pets, but since I was an adult, friend and neighbor, I expected no payment.

I could see him stew internally. The Ruddster is a towering man. A jovial man. He looks like Howdy Doody with an Amish beard, and is generally of a temperament consistent with those two elements of his appearance. But he had an underlying hint of intensity that leaked to the surface occasionally. We argued the dollars back and forth briefly.

Then: “I have a six pack of one of my favorite beers that I brought back with me this weekend. I’ll give you that then.” I persisted slightly with a, “no, really, it’s okay, Rudd.” And then the intensity burst forth. In a raised voice, “I APPRECIATE WHAT YOU DID, AND I WILL BE OFFENDED IF YOU DO NOT TAKE IT.” There was specific emphasis on the word offended that bold, capitalized and italicized letters do not seem to capture. He meant it, and so to save our friendship, I agreed.

That beer was Spaten Optimator. And I loved it, still do. I’ve thought about Rudd  every time I’ve cracked one open since then, and that’s been a lot these last few weeks.

Beer is a lot of things to a lot of people. A thirst quencher. A social lubricant. Art. Science. Spaten Optimator that day became a negotiation tool, a part of the economy and a conflict resolution strategy. Yes, it’s glorious flavor and brewing talent, as well.

For me, it’s something of an Illuminator. Like many other beers, my first example of this style is a sentimental beer that makes me think of the bond between friends.

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It’s exciting to be hosting The Session today. I’m looking forward to reading all of the contributions that come in throughout the day, and I’ll post a round-up tomorrow. If you’re playing along, (1) post your contribution; (2) leave the URL to your post in a comment here OR send me an email: jwmongrel [AT] yahoo . com.

Peace and Pints!

Wilson

Even the losers get lucky sometimes

Even though I’ve said that I’m a loser of a beerknurd, that’s not exactly the case. Sometimes I’m a winner. This week, Alan, over at A Good Beer Blog, posted the results of his now annual beer photography contest.

While I didn’t score the honor of Global Grand Prize Winner, I got a nod for Best Picture of a Saison and a Field.

As Rod Stewart would say, “Every picture tells a story.” This picture of Foret and the field across the road from my circa 1900 farmhouse first appeared on brewvana back in October in a Thirsty Thursday post called “farmhouse musings.” That beer, that field, the noodles I made that week and that photo make me think of my Grandma Wilson.

I wasn’t trying to be all sentimental, but when you talk about food and your granny, sometimes it comes off that way. A week or two later, I got an email from my cousin. Turns out she hadn’t expected sweet stuff on the beer blog I had told her about. Beer blogs aren’t supposed to make you cry, are they?

I guess it depends on the picture, the post and the person doing the reading. In any case, if that picture was only worth 999 words when I took it, just trying to get a cool, farm-ish backdrop for a farmhouse ale, it was worth a thousand once I received Kelly’s email.

And now that Alan chose to recognize that photo, it’s worth a thousand and one.

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*I’d recommend checking out all the photos on Alan’s blog; there are a lot of really good ones. Just click the link above.

*If you entered (or if you didn’t) and have a beer photo with a story (but not your own blog to tell it) send it my way, and I’ll be happy to post it for everyone else to enjoy.

Cheers!

Granny’s Liquor Cabinet

It’s not like Grandma Johnston is a lush. Really. She isn’t. It’s just that she makes her own booze. She also played piano at church for years and years. She knits and works puzzles. She gets her hair “done.” Let’s not judge her or pigeonhole her. She is a fine, well-rounded person. And I have her recipes.

With the Coldness and the holidays around the corner, it’s good to have a little variety in the liquid diet. Every so often, November is a signal for me to check the stock of home-grown Kahlua. Last year cleaned us out. So time to get another batch in the works.

GRANDMA JOHNSTON’S KAHLUA

Ingredients

4 cups sugar

3/4 cup instant coffee

2 cups boiling water

1 pint brandy

1 vanilla bean, sliced and cut into 1-inch pieces.

Process: Mix sugar and instant coffee. Stir in 2 cups boiling water and cool. Add brandy and vanilla bean. Pour into half-gallon jug. Let stand 30 days in a cool, dark place.

I usually double this, as decanted into 16-ounce swingtops, it works well as a Christmas gift–but leaves enough for our own private stash. I’ve used it in a right yummy porter, mixed with coffee, and well, it’s good straight up.

Granny also makes good meatloaf and potato salad. And there’s nothing quite like frosting Christmas cookies with her. But there’s something awfully cool to have and use your grandma’s liquor recipes.

If you try this one, please make it a point to toast to my grandma’s health.

The Session # 9–Beer and Music

Music has always been an integral part of my life, an integral part of my being. My gramps, Joe Johnston, was a professional musician back in the forties. His impact on my life goes well beyond music, but today we’re here to talk about tunes.

While I’m something of a headbanger at heart, Joe has seen to it that I have a well-rounded musical education. My grandma has a picture of me tearing open Kiss’ Rock and Roll Over–a Christmas present when I was in kindergarten–but my gramps’ efforts to educate me haven’t fallen on deaf (or bleeding, remarkably) ears. Undoubtedly, I’m nearly as hooked on the likes of Stan Getz as Black Sabbath. I love the Blues, Grunge, Swing, Classical and face-melting rock. Well-rounded as I am, nothing beats the Mighty Zeppelin in my book.

Two of my prized possessions are Gramps-related music photos. That’s him, left, back in the day. Pictured below is none other than Mel Torme, sitting in with Joe’s band when the drummer took ill. Always the sideman, and never the braggart, Joe once turned down a Woody Herman job offer. He had a young wife on the road with him, so preferred week or two stints rather than the constant one-nighters of the big name bands like Herman. Besides that, they paid better. I’m proud to know that my gramps rubbed shoulders with the Dorsey brothers, Torme, Herman, Lawrence Welk and others (in real life, Welk didn’t have that accent). He’s taught me to appreciate music, but I’m no clone: I can’t believe that nut job turned down working with Woody Herman.

My non-Gramps-clone status has been confirmed further, just these last few weeks, for example. I’ve been working in what will be next year’s garden lately. Perhaps no one else in gardening history has grooved to Kid Rock like I have while wrangling a tiller. Then again, and to quote the Kid, “You never met a motherf–ker quite like me.” Joe probably doesn’t listen to much Kid Rock.

Though Kid Rock’s more likely to drink Mickey’s than the rockin’ stuff from his home state of Michigan, he makes a good segue to beer. The thing I like about Kid Rock is his depth and texture melded with arse-kicking bang for your buck. His influences range from country and Southern-fried rock to to hip hop and metal. That’s one complex grainbill. Couple that with some over-the-top dry hopping, 12% abv, a bourbon barrel swarming with brett and a couple of years’ worth of age, and you’ve got yourself a Kid Rockin’ Russian Imperial Stout if ever there was one.

This blending of characteristics is clearly why I’m such a Led Zeppelin fan. They rock. But a good measure of the time they’re  in a rocking chair swaying with an acoustic guitar or mandolin in hand. Blues and rock and folk. Willie Dixon and Joni Mitchell and Elvis Presley. With these influences, what need would my mom have had for concern? To me, they’re a malty old ale with some age and vinous oxidative notes. Warmth, raisins and dates. And a kick.

But you’re not always up for a band, or a beer, so complex. Cake is a good example of a one-dimensional band that’s good to drink. Kiss. The Ramones. Dick Dale. All good, but not so complex.

There’s a lot of lousy music out there today. Budweiser = Britney Spears. Fizzy yellow stuff moves a lot of product.

But there’s good stuff out there as well. The craft beer bands I spend a lot of time with these days are Flogging Molly, Izzy Stradlin, Old Crow Medicine Show, Buckcherry, Amy Winehouse, The White Stripes, The Arctic Monkeys, Lucinda Williams and Gillian Welch.

Of course, there’s that whole drinkin’ and listenin’ thing. That’s just a huge given. A huge pleasure. A huge slice of my life.

I’ve veered in many directions in my life, but like a good beer, music and my silver-pated grandfather have served me well, kept me grounded, kept me good.

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Not long after The Session #5–Atmosphere, I realized that I’d left out one of the most crucial parts of having a beer. I followed that post a day or two later with my own Session #5.5–Music, maestro. It delved into the old days of AC/DC, cheap beer and dirt roads. If you missed it, I’d encourage you to back up and check it out.

For the sake of tossing out other beer and music related posts over the last few months, I’d encourage you to hit these as well:

Brew Like a BB King (talks about the “less is more” approach to beer and music)

Izzy-inspired Living (talks about how one musician inspired me to quit my job)

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Many thanks to Tomme Arthur, from The Lost Abbey, for hosting this month’s Session.

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As a side note: Hey, Bailey, can you get me tickets for the Zep show at the O2? I didn’t get drawn in the lotto.

Cheers, all!