Sunday, September 30th was National Toast to Michael Jackson day. A small crowd of us went to Port Brewing/Lost Abbey and raised a glass of Mr. Jackson’s Malhuer in a toast lead by head brewer Tomme Arthur.

Here it is in all it’s video goodness:

Last week I wrote about a 10 year-old bottle of Olde English 800 Malt Liquor Molly and I were about to open, sample — and hopefully survive. Well, after standing at our bar for several minutes staring at that 40 ounce bottle we decided that something as special as this had to be shared with friends and true beer aficionados. So we put the beer back in the fridge and waited for Friday.

Friday night we wandered down to the tasting room at Port Brewing/Lost Abbey with our 40 ounce treasure packed safely in the ice chest. Waiting a day turned out to be an excellent decision. Head brewer Tomme Arthur was back after a week on the East Coast to attend the American Beer Fest and do a number of restaurant appearances. Assistant brewer Bo Winegarner was also in the house offering samples of a home brewed Doppel Bock he made a couple of years ago. And within a few minutes of our arrival, Tim Bulkley (aka: “the Beer Hunter”) and Ivan Derezin, owner of Churchill’s Pub & Grille, both showed with special beers in tow. To cap things off, Ken, a certified beer judge walked in a couple moments later.

All-in-all a perfect group to sample the special treat we had with us.

Ivan’s contribution to the party was a 24 ounce can of Bud Light “Chilada” currently being test marketed in Texas. Tomme had a 1990 Thomas Hardy he was itching to sip. Tim had a dozen or so stouts he brought in (thinning his “beer herd”) We, of course, had the coup de grace with the Olde E.

The Bad
The Olde E really demanded to go first, so Tomme donned his doo rag (a bar towel), and popped the cap on that sucker.

Surprisingly, no one died.

The bottle opened with a fizzy pop that satisfied us all that the seal was still good, and Tomme poured tasters for all present — including a little on the floor for the “homies” who were not present. Then, as head brewer and a generally fearless/stupid guy, he took the first sip.

Well, actually, he downed the entire glass in one fell swoop — just the way Olde E should be drunk.

We waited a moment. Surprisingly, he did not die.

So we all lifted our glasses and got a taste of a beer nine years, 11 months past its “freshness date”.

How did it taste? Well, I think Ken the Beer Judge said it best:

“Lightstruck and oxidized, but probably better than when it was young. Definitely better than I thought it was going to be.”

Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but certainly proof that a little aging can help even the cheapest of beers.

Tomme continued to fill glasses with the stuff and we handed it out to (often unsuspecting) others. And (not as) surprisingly, no one died.

Up next:
» The Clam Flavored

Greetings fellow beer lovers. Molly and I have been in Tucson exploring the beer offerings of southern Arizona the past few days (a fact you may have noticed by Molly’s posts from her nifty new camera phone (2 mexapixels and a full keyboard — pretty awesome).

After I’ve had a chance to weed through the photos, I’ll write up a post on the beers of that region (and the people who make them). In the meantime, I want to share a picture with you so you’ll know what I’ll be up to this evening… and understand if I mysteriously never post another story again.

This, ladies and gentlemen is a bottle of Olde English 800 Malt Liquor (aka: “a 40 of Olde-8″) lovingly craft brewed by the good folks at the Miller Brewing Company.

A good friend of mine, Junior, gave me two bottles of it in honor of a legendary (and/or notorious) weekend I will not speak of here.

That was June 21, 1997.

I have kept these beers carefully cellared for the past decade in anticipation of this day. Tonight, as the sun sets over the Pacific Ocean on the longest day of the year, we are going to crack the screw cap and drink the whole 40.

We may find this — a beer never meant to sit on a shelf for more than 14 days — to have mellowed well and offer rich notes of lemon, caramel, and bread.

We may also find that it causes blindness, madness and profuse bleeding from the ears nose prior to a fatal seizure.

Really, there’s just no way to tell at this point.

Before we drink, a good visual inspection and description of the Olde-8 is in order.

The beer is in a clear glass bottle the shape of a Polaris missile warhead. (Coincidence? I don’t think so.) The cap is a classic screw cap, gold in color, that both adds a noble touch and ensures easy opening without the need for a pesky bottle opener.

The content are a golden amber in color, actually darker than the Olde 800 you’ll see on the shelves today. (I don’t know if this has to do with a change in the brewing or the aging process.) A slight tip of the bottle reveals that magic “flavor crystals” have materialized in the beer during its aging process.

The cap appears to be well-seated with no leakage, and the tamper-evident collar still intact, demonstrating that it remains sealed for my protection.

I’m going to take the bottle and chill it now in preparation for the tasting at sunset (which is precisely at 8 PM here in San Diego). I’ll have tasting notes and a photo or two for you tomorrow.

Or I may be in the hospital having my stomach pumped.

Cheers!

Talk about coincidences. Thursday morning I read Al at Hop Talk’s post on Teri Fahrendorf, former Steelhead Head Brewer, now on a 10,000-plus mile journey across the U.S. as the Pink Booted Road Brewer.

Friday afternoon Molly and I wandered into Port Brewing to do our usual Friday night shift behind the bar in the tasting room. Vince Marsaglia is over at the bottle filler around the corner, so I stepped over to say hello and see what’s up. Next to Vince is a woman I’d never seen before running the bottle capper. I look down and — boom — Pink Boots!

So I said something obvious like “hey you’re Pink Boots, the Road Brewer!” (Mostly because I couldn’t remember her name — I’m bad at names, just ask my kids “Hey You”, “You” and “Not You, The Other One”.) Then we chatted for a moment, I went over to the bar and her and Vince finish bottling in peace. Once they were finished Vince took off for the day and we convinced Teri to hang out for a little while rather than go back over to her trailer which was parked over in Stone Brewing lot.

Good night to hang out in the tasting room too, as the place was jumping. Hop 15 was released in bottles that day so people were showing up to buy cases of the stuff. All the regulars were there for their weekend growler fills and it’s the beginning of vacation season, so a lot of folks from out of town (many of whom we see now and then) were dropping by to see what was new. Even Tim (aka “The Beer Hunter”) was in the house, fresh from a foraging mission in the upper Midwest/Great Lakes region.

Alas, head brewer, Tomme Arthur, was out of town to attend the American Beer Festival, but assistant brewer Bo Winegarner was kind enough to stay. Beyond being a fun brewery to visit for tours and tastings, Port is also an informal gathering place for homebrewers from all over. So with a brewing celebrity like Teri in the room, she was continuously peppered with questions (my favorite: where’d you get the pink boots?”), asked to tell stories, and so on. She has a wonderful personality, very down-to-earth, and likes people in general, so she ended up staying with us through closing.

After we closed up the tasting room, we took her over to Churchill’s Pub, one of our favorite haunts because of it’s amazing beer selection, and engaged in our traditional pub entertainment — playing Operation. (Yes, the game with the tweezers that zap you when you’re trying to connect the ankle bone to the kneebone.) Teri did pretty well, sampling a Kolch from Lightning Brewery (another San Diego local), and getting zapped as much as any of the rest of us.

Sidenote: It’s nice to know that some brewers are mere mortals when it comes to playing Operation. Tomme can pull a 12 hour brewing day, have a couple of double IPAs and still have hands so steady that even the Charlie Horse is no problem. (He’s not allowed to play anymore unless he takes his glasses off.)

At the end of the evening we all said our goodbyes and Teri was off to her trailer to rest up for a day brewing with the Stone folks. After Stone she’s off to Tempe, AZ and then a long haul up to Colorado.

You can see Teri’s full itinerary and a description of her experiences on her website at Roadbrewer.com. If you happen to see her (and her signature Pink Boots) at your local brewery, make sure to tell her that the Port Brewing gang says “Hi”. Then buy her a beer and make her play Operation with you.

Cheers!

Update: Hey, Teri wrote about her visit to Port Brewing. You can read it right here!

The International Herald Tribune has nice article today on what it refers to as “brewery hopping”, or what we all know as “a Pilgrimage” (i.e., visiting craft breweries and tasting the beer).

From the article:

Although beer lacks a major destination such as Napa Valley in California, many beer aficionados are taking vacations that are more like extended beer runs, visiting the nation’s many craft breweries, brewpubs and beer festivals.

I take issue with the first part of that quote. “Napa Valley” isn’t the only wine producing region in the country, it’s not even the best (Sonoma is much better IMHO) — it’s just the most heavily marketed. Beer has lots of great regions — Portland, the Great Lakes, Northern California (including Sonoma), and my favorite (because it’s home) — San Diego.

Real beer lovers, of course, know this, but because these regions don’t engage in all that fancy marketing stuff, “regular people” don’t. Molly and I haven’t taken a roadtrip and visited anywhere near the number of breweries we’d like to (work, kids, school, and life always seem to interfere), but hanging around the San Diego brew scene, we’ve met a lot (and I mean A LOT) of people who are doing just that. A conversation with Beer Pilgrims usually goes something like this:

ME: “So, are you from San Diego?”

PILGRIM: “No, we’re from (insert state/country here).”

ME: “Ah, so out here on vacation. So what have you had a chance to do so far? The zoo? Wild Animal Park? The beach? Sea World, Mountains? Desert? Mexico?”

PILGRIM: “No, none of that.”

ME: “So what then?”

PILGRIM: “We’ve done Karl Strauss, Ballast Point, Pizza Port - Solana Beach and Carlsbad, Green Flash, Oceanside Ale Works and Lost Abbey. Tomorrow we’re doing Stone, AleSmith, Lightning and San Diego Brewing. Then we’ll go over to Alpine.”

ME: “Excellent.”

I think San Diego beer tourism is terrific. For basically the cost of one day at a place like Sea World, you get to see pretty much the entire county — from the city to the beaches, over to the mountains and the desert just beyond. Plus you get to sample a ton of absolutely fantastic beers, meet a lot of interesting (and never pretentious or irritating) people, and generally have a great time.
It’s something I think every true beer lover has to do at least once.

Maybe it’s time breweries, brewpubs, restaurants and beer aficionados got together and started doing some marketing to the masses to promote beer tourism in their region(s) the way Napa, Sonoma, et al do. Some classy travel campaigns could go a long way toward eliminating the “lower class” impression the public has of beer and beer drinkers. (Heck, if the wine guys can make it respectable to drink a $2 bottle of wine, we should be able to make it respectable to drink a $9 bottle of beer.)

You can read the full International Herald Tribune article right here.

(They’ve also got a list and links to a number of breweries and brew festivals around the country.)

I’m going to miss the California Homebrewer’s Festival this year because I’ll be attending Port Brewing/Lost Abbey’s First Anniversary party instead. (And snagging my four bottle allotment of Cuvee de Tomme.)

So while those guys are all out at Vail Lake hootin’ and hollerin’, drinking their beers and not paying attention, I have a confession to make.

I am a lousy homebrewer.

Bad, really bad.

And it’s not for lack of trying either. I’ve brewed a lot of beer – pales, reds, browns, porters, stouts, IPAs - thousands of gallons of the stuff, and it is nearly always damned close to undrinkable. (I say “close” because I drink it, but I certainly wouldn’t subject my friends to it as I’m afraid they’d lose a kidney, have a seizure, go blind, etc.) I’ve read all the books, followed all the instructions, cleaned, sterilized, used only the best ingredients, taken the advice of other (home and professional) brewers. . . and the beer still sucks.

It’s not like I even have a good excuse for making bad beer. My father is an award-winning winemaker up in the Sonoma Valley and I’ve built a number of stills to make some awesome brandies and tequilas. So it’s not like I don’t know at least something about making good adult beverages.

And I’ve been making a whole range of award-winning herbal soaps based on my own recipes and machinations for more than a dozen years. (Yeah, yeah, stop laughing. Soapmaking ain’t that easy. You gotta heat and mix oils, blend it with sodium hydroxide and dry ingredients in just the right proportions. Go too far one way you get a greasy mass; too far the other and you’ve got a caustic brick that eats flesh and blinds you.)

But for whatever reason, I just can’t seem to get beer right.

So I live vicariously through folks like the boys at Monday Night Brewery, the homebrewers-turned-pro like Adam Avery and Tomme Arthur, and the cadre of friends and acquaintances who, for whatever reason, can actually make decent beer at home. And every Sunday, with those delicious beers in mind, I fire up the Turkey fryer, set on the big kettle and try again.

Most likely I’m just making another five gallons of snail and slug killer, but, who knows? This time could be THE time. (I am a “glass half full” kind of guy.)

Speaking of which. . . my glass is empty. Better go out to the kegerator and reload.

– Prost to all you homebrewers. You do the gods’ work.

We just learned last night that Port Brewing’s Josh Miner will be taking over as head brewer at Drake’s Brewing Co. in San Leandro, Calif.

Josh was head brewer at the Pizza Port in San Clemente, Calif. (where he brewed up many an amazing beer) before moving on to become the assistant brewer at Port Brewing’s Lost Abbey. However, years ago, shortly after he graduated UC Davis (where he studied — what else — brewing), he actually got his start in the craft brewing business at Drake’s. So in many ways he’s returning to his roots.

I know Tomme Arthur and company are going to miss him at Port Brewing, but I’m sure they’re also very proud of Josh. Josh said that he’s learned a lot about the craft after working with a brewer like Tomme (who likes to push boundaries), and he’s looking forward to putting some of that knowledge to work with his own creations. We’re looking forward to it too. (Plus I love Drake’s IPA, so now I have a reason to go up to the Bay area and score a few bottles.)

Let’s all raise a glass and toast to Josh and wish him the best of luck. Cheers!

When we were kids our lunch bags invariably included one of those little red boxes of Sunmaid raisins. I really didn’t like raisins to begin with, so as you might guess, by the 6th grade I hated raisins. Loathed them. Couldn’t stand them.

But being the clever individual I am, and hanging around with a fair number of other clever individuals, we always found things to do with our raisins. We crunched them into raisin wads and heaved them at each other like ugly snowballs. We stuffed them into drinking fountains like plumber’s putty. We stuck them in our nostrils and pretended to blow out boogers. We licked them and flicked them in the popular girls’ hair.

Oh, and we made kazoos out of the empty raisin boxes. (Try it, it works.)

Now jump forward about 30 years. I meet this brewer guy named Tomme Arthur, and guess what? He sticks raisins in all kinds of stuff — even his beer.

You know what? It’s pretty good.

Actually, it’s really good. Sample a little of his Lost & Found or his new one, Judgment Day and you’ll know what I mean.

And while you’re uncorking a bottle, read the story on how those raisins got in his beer instead of the hair of that cute girl that sat next him in social studies class.

» The Lost Abbey (aka: is that a raisin in your beer?)