Call it a "bloody beer," and I will have you flensed. An associate from Oklahoma calls them that, and his entire recipe consists of V8 and Gas Station Lite, like some sort of godless swine. I call it a michelada when I drink them, and you should, too. This sounds prescriptive, and it's intended to, because it's best to be forewarned and forearmed when we encounter a new specie.
I have long been a fan of the bloody mary - in fact, I credit her with saving my life many a time during the Great Patriotic Keg Wars of my early 20s, but 30 was stealing up on me like Trotsky's assassin before I was swept up in the red coup of the michelada, and I've been a member of the party ever since, comrade.
Mistakes were made along the way, of course. 'This is a recovery drink,' I remember thinking. 'A sort of tremens-drip for the drinking class. It stands to reason that the more vitamins, minerals and other assorted Earth-stuffs, the better, yes? V8 is packed with many of the vegetables I hate, ergo it's bound to be good for me/this drink.' Ice, hot sauce, salt, pepper and beer went into the glass with the red fluid from the colorful bottle, and the results more successful than The Great Leap Forward only in that no one actually died. It was like drinking carrot juice from a storm drain.
Despite expert credibility having recently taken several cannonballs below the waterline, and 60-degree sweater weather remaining in abundance,summer - they tell us - has officially arrived. The days are near their longest, and the months start with “J”, so we must grudgingly accede they have a point. This time each year, in a migration as timeless and majestic as the great herds of the Serengeti - Nutmeggers can be seen dragging our coolers to beaches and backyards. What are we drinking? Hard seltzer! NO! I mean, yes, but also: shut up.
We are drinking:
Very cold.
Easy drinking.
Usually Mexican lager. Corona, Pacifico, Modelo, ET C.
Why do we drink these? Because 1&2, but also... it’s what we’ve always done. Why are you thinking about this?
BECAUSE I’ve been noticing Connecticut brewers have been trying out the style in increasing numbers, they are delicious, and more people should know, which has always been the entire point of this column.
Anyone who's ever hit happy hour and subsequently remembered they hadn't eaten dinner while staring into a beer at another location sometime around midnight can probably feel the pain of the next morning right now, as you're reading this. Remember that? Well, let's not let that happen again, or allow ourselves to slap late night drive-thru - the FlexTape of Shame - over the leaky bucket of our decisions.
What we need is food with our beers, whether we're adding plates to pitchers and pints at the taproom, or exploring flavor combinations at home. Inspiration struck while I was at my first beer pairing dinner in over two years at The Little Pub in Fairfield, hosted by Greg Radawich, director of brewing operations at New England Brewing Company in Woodbridge. I'll get into what you can have from the brewery and pub, plus a few more ideas to serve as springboards for your own dives into brews and foods.
And if you missed this beer dinner, Little Pub will be hosting another beer pairing dinner with Fat Orange Cat brewery at Little Pub, Fairfield on Tuesday, March 1.
One of life's principle joys is an unexpected bulldog. There you are, mind preoccupied and steps ahead of whatever you should be paying attention to in the moment you're actually living, and boom: giant smiley meatball of joy out of nowhere. How could that not improve any day? Last September, in the Before Times, I went to a Connecticut farm to find out about hop growing, and discovered a newborn brewery instead. At the time, Stewards Of The Land in Northford wasn't finished, not quite ready yet for the outside world. So now, just as the eyes of the world are cautiously blinking open again, I returned to sit on the farm brewery's patio and, yes, there was a bulldog.
I'm not just making an allegory here: Guinness (that's the name he came with, give head brewery Alex DeFrancesco more credit for creativity than that), was cooling off on the stone patio, set with chairs outside the New England tavern style brewery, above a field of sprouting row crops - the hillside and lawns swaying here and there with bluish stalks of heirloom rye. I squatted down and scruffled Guinness' huge head behind his ears. He had it right. This is a place to stretch out and relax.
The bar where my initials were once carefully poured into the foam crown of a Guinness every time I called, with a place setting waiting both in case I wanted a snack, and to save my favorite spot, is gone forever. It was my first local, a place close by where reliably stopping in and not causing too much trouble develops into an earned mutual welcoming. The place feels like a friend's living room - you know where to sit, they know what you like, and everyone slips easily back into the conversation you shared last time you stopped in. The whole experience, whether as a relief from the day, the glow of alcohol, whatever brought you back through the doors - it just feels warm. Like I said at the start, it's gone now. The place I mention hasn't been open for years, but what about your place? What about so many of these shared environments whose doors we'll never walk through again? What will it be like at the old regular tables and spots we used to take up now the ones who lived through America's epidemic experience may reopen? "Everything's changed," they tell us - but can anything be the same?
Beer: it's not just for beer drinkers anymore. Seriously. New or casual drinkers can steer themselves safely away from anything resembling what would have been considered an actual beer even five or six years ago, and still be paralyzed with overwhelming options. Wine drinker? There's a chance I've already converted you through the deft application of a gose made with grapes, or a raspberry lambic. Are most beers too: bland/malty/hoppy/bitter, or sour for you? No problem! Because brewers can load your pint with so much lactose they call it a milkshake, and you can drink actual donuts. That's between you and your pancreas.
Brut IPAs - the actual champagne of beers - are a very new, entirely American style. They're sweet and dry, beginning to show up all over the place, and I thought this week I'd do an explainer and review a few brewers' early efforts. Drinkers of the bubbly, drinkers of the murky, and Connecticut craft beer fans in general: you may just be about to have a new summer fling.
Like oncoming headlights appearing out of a foggy night, genetics are indicators which don't tell the whole story. Heredity may lay out a path, but time and observation tell where it leads. Phil Markowski helped launch New England Brewing Company in 1989, and decades later did the same as the master brewer at Two Roads. In the last Froth I talked about how NEBCo's dandelion head was spreading seeds all over Connecticut - from new beers under their current brewer, to Counter Weight Brewing in Hamden from his predecessor, and a tip about the inaugural tapping of beers from Tribus in Milford, the newest offspring of the ancestor brewery. This week, for the first time anywhere, we'll take a look at Tribus and its beers to see where this is all headed.
Have you ever looked down into the swirling foam at the top of a freshly poured beer and thought "that looks like a galaxy"? Ever had your mind blown by a Carl Sagan quote? Do you like New Haven pizz- OK, unless you're a CAPTCHA-bot, of course you do. The point is, whether you've watched the original Cosmos ten times, or you just wonder how far away the stars are, BAR in New Haven has re-started Astronomy On Tap, where beer, pizza, and cosmology come together.
Astronomy On Tap is a a global event series where professors, PhDs, and grad students talk about their areas of expertise at bars full of anyone who's interested, and it's free.
Being a beer writer, as you'd expect, has its perks. For a few years one of these was being chosen to serve on a panel of expert judges at the Connecticut Blind Beer Awards, a competition between a dozen local beers which takes the popularity contest aspect out of the equation by serving each from unlabeled, color-coded taps. The event is held each year at the Blind Rhino in South Norwalk, and while brewery representatives are on hand in case their brewery wins one of the awards, they are sequestered away from public view in the bar's basement to bottle share, play beer pong, and perform impromptu interior decorating with some cans of spray paint they found, until the Experts Choice and People's Choice are handed out. I had no formal connection with the awards this year, attending instead as a civilian, and drank all twelve of the CT beers on tap. Here is how that went.
The shadows seem to be growing this January. Winter daylight is all too brief, darkness glooming in through a window you swear was sunny the last time you walked by. It suddenly feels like it's gone dark all the time now. Maybe you feel it, too. And how long to go before the next sunrise? Ugh. The days ahead seem so stretch on to the invisible horizon. Maybe you could use a drink, a 16oz. weight to hang from time's pendulum to speed those dark hours on their way. Make it a strong one, because maybe we can clip off some of tomorrow's darkness while we're at it. Gravity shapes space, as we all know, and space is tied to time, so let's grab a few high gravity beers, and bend the long arc.
Fresh beer isn't always the best beer. As arguments for freshness go, you could make one for juicy, resinous IPAs, and you certainly don't want to drink any hot can of Busch Light which rolls out from underneath a car seat, but as the American craft beer industry matures, it's beginning to make beers meant to do the same. Stone, the Escondido, California brewer of undeniable arrogance, will shy away from claims of being the first to put "born on" dates on their bottles and cans, but they were the first to use "Enjoy By" as the actual name of a beer. The Enjoy By series of IPAs (followed by a date on each) was to be taken so seriously Stone would come and retrieve any unsold beers from retailers.
This is why it was so interesting when Stone Enjoy After 10.31.16 hit shelves - in 2015. This week I opened the bottle I bought over a year ago. Here's what happened.
You may have noticed we've been playing around with the structure of Friday Froth for the past several months. This space has been everything from event coverage, to brewpub openings, to a travel diary, but this week we're going back to something more like a classic Froth. I began writing this column way back in ye olden days of 2009 with the idea of expressing a renaissance.
The growth of American craft brewing was every bit as compelling as the culinary scene in terms of new ideas, personalities, and dedication to ingredients and flavors, but most people were still pretty lost when it came to picking out something new to try. Glance at the patrons in front of the craft case at the rare well stocked liquor store at the time, and they'd be wearing expressions like someone at MoMA trying to decide if what they were looking at was the intentional work of an artist, or construction debris. I started Froth just to give people a heads up. So, without going on too long I hope, that's what we're doing today.
New Belgium Brewing Company of Fort Collins, Colorado, is now a month into making their beer available in Connecticut for the first time. Thanks to an extremely effective initial round of distribution, I've seen their canoe-shaped tap handles popping up all over Fairfield and New Haven counties. Not too long ago, before New Belgium built their new brewery in Asheville, NC, the beer was only scantily available much east of the mountain time zone. It was during this time that I went full-on Smokey And The Bandit and made a beer run from Georgia to Colorado and back again. It started with a heartbreak.
My trip to Colorado, like that of the Conquistadors, began with an expedition to Mexico. Specifically, an airline ticket to Cancun for spring break. The father of one of my friends in the history program at the University of Georgia was pilot, and I could afford the ticket to Mexico because it was free. The five of us who were going planned to spend the savings by investing in cheap accommodations, cheaper booze, and lasting skin damage. I was hard at work polishing my lustrous C average in college Spanish all the way up to a gleaming B-minus when my hopes were torched like ships of Cortez. The promised five tickets materialized as two tickets, and I hadn't made the cut.
Feel free to argue with me in the comments, but New England Brewing Companyis currently the biggest whale in Connecticut. Unlike the white whale which drove Ahab mad and dragged him to his doom, no number of obsessive trackers will soon be bringing it down. NEBCO finished doubling the capacity of its brewery over the winter and in short order released a huge batch of its more sought after beers to multiple bars just in time to coincide with St. Patrick's day.
My base of operations that night was Walrus+Carpenter in Black Rock because they were having a Van Morrison tribute band, and the list of things I will fight you over is not long, but it includes "Astral Weeks." I was several Supernauts and a long awaited Gandhi-Bot deep when I sensed a disturbance in the force, as if thousands of apps had fired up at once, and looked up to watch a steady trickle of bros and bro-ettes flow in, order no drinks, and peruse not a single menu. They just waited. These, then, were the Untappd zombies. Cannibalistic brain-eating being so 20th century, the horde was utterly uninterested in music, roast pig, fried chicken, or a tap list filled with excellent beer - they wanted cheeeeeck-iiiiinnnnsss. It was five minutes before the hour, and the tap was about to open on Fuzzy Baby Ducks. Thumbs hovered - twitching, aching - over phones.
This week will be an all Connecticut-brewed, and intensely hopped version of Friday Froth. We start by wishing happy birthday to one of our state's early modern craft brewing pioneers, Olde Burnside Brewing Company, which turned 15 years old this month. Olde Burnside was initially highly visible due to selling their Ten Penny Scottish Ale in 64oz. growlers at retail in area liquor stores, which was 1) a great deal, 2) useful for refilling with anything you chose, and 3) garnered a $1.50 reimbursement when returned, if you weren't so inclined. This came in handy during the years when Connecticut had around five breweries, instead of our current 30ish, and growler filling stations were rare as sober nights at Owl Farm.
Hello! Welcome back to Friday Froth, 2016 edition: the semi-weekly beer column eagerly awaited by literally tens of people. This week, as in most weeks, I will start off with discussion on a topic which has nothing at all to do with beer. Continue reading at your own peril.
I have a friend who moved to Germany because of a girl. I think we can all agree emigrating from the country of your birth to one across a large ocean whose language you don't speak while relying on an intimate interpersonal relationship for success and happiness with no fall-back plan usually works out perfectly, and I'm sure you'll all be relieved to learn that has been precisely the case with him. If anything, he has more hair on his head than when he left - a fact about which we can all be magnanimous, and definitely not introduce small amounts of arsenic into the care packages of American peanut butter and bourbon whiskey we send him, because we are not envious monsters.
Two sessions, fifty breweries, and over a hundred different beers - the second annual Beer CONN poured all day and into the night in Bridgeport. Separate afternoon and evening sessions and a limit on the number of tickets sold maximized elbow room and kept things easy just over the ice in the arena.
Out of state breweries like Stone, Shiner, and Jack's Abbey were represented, but the focus of the one day beer fest was on beers from the Constitution State. I attended the second session, which was not without surprises, including Brewscuits: dog biscuits made from spent grain used in brewing, and the Growler Getter, from Woodbridge, Conn. - a hard plastic tote capable of holding two 64oz. growlers, or three 32oz. growlitos.
Reykjavik and Atlanta usually don't have anything in common besides yours truly, but we've all come full circle this week. The daisy chain works like this: I love Iceland, and have done some work for the country here in the U.S. which allowed me to to visit the land of fire and ice, eat hákarl, and learn the correct pronunciation of Eyjafjallajökull. I also have a degree in history from the University of Georgia, where I became acquainted with Sweetwater Brewing Company. Just recently, Two Roads and Evil Twin conspired to produce Geyser Gose, using Icelandic ingredients, and Sweetwater made their Connecticut debut. Hell yes.
Ernest Hemingway told us to always do sober what we said we'd do drunk. "That will teach you to keep your mouth shut," was his lesson. I don't get space here on Fridays for keeping my metaphorical mouth shut, and a few weeks ago I could be found pleading with you to hold off on All Pumpkin Errthang, and take the limited time we have at summer's end to enjoy the brief grunion-run of harvest ales.
The same day Froth published, I went out, slapped my modest gains on a counter, and walked out, brown bottles with orange labels in my hands. I've found some good ones for you, so here's a sampler.
Southern Tier Harvest special ale is an Extra Special Bitter, and pours with a golden ruby color. Decent head foams up at first and settles into thickish ring. The first whiff is bready malt, bouncing with hops. Rich and bitter, but mellow, Harvest is a hedge fund divorcee on xanax. It is also terrifically easy to drink, which means the robust 6.7%ABV tends to sneak up on you. The world is not exactly full of beers which aren't heavy, or beset with fruits or lactose, and still manage to feel like a treat, but Harvest is the exact recipe. It is decadent despite a deceptively simple formula, and a prototypical autumn beer.
