I was running late early on a Sunday afternoon when the obligatory traffic jam on I-95 caught me like doomed comet streaking toward the Sun and sudden annihilation. It took the sight of a wrecked Ferrari to remind me I'd forgotten my car. I was driving, yes, but the car I'd forgotten - like the aforementioned comet - was set in motion by gravity, not gasoline. Jack's Abby was hosting a pine car derby at The Hops Company in (quelle apropos), Derby, and I'd planned on making the campaign of my old car from Cub Scouts the B-story to this column. The lapse in memory had left me momentarily enraged until I remembered I'd just seen someone's red F430 Spider completely taco'd by the rear bumper of an 18-wheeler. Score one for perspective.
The Hops Companyis the work of Umberto Morale, who spent his early life in his native Rome before coming to the U.S. and bouncing between the restaurant scene, college, and Wall Street. He had the vision of an inclusive, German style beer hall in his head, and looked at properties all over the state before seeing the location in Derby and signing immediately.
I was using a sort of ornate hacksaw to part a hip ligament at the time, on my way to removing the whole leg.It was November of 2012, and I was taking a class in how to butcher a pig at what was then Saugatuck Craft Butchery. Owner Ryan Fibiger was making swift, clean cuts, demonstrating exactly what to do, his hands seemingly working on their own while his speech flowed. He was talking about the locally sourced Duroc cross-breed, common 40 years ago, but now made scarce in the quest for leaner protein; the importance of the way they were treated, the flavor which resulted from the pigs being free to forage. The terroir of meat.
"Everything we sell," he said at the time. "Comes from within a 50-mile radius of Westport."
This principle of local quality followed when the butchery became Fleishers Westport, and extends to their new Butchers Meat Brewers dinner series, which starred Stubborn Beauty Brewing Company for one night in February.
This March only marks a year since Kent Falls Brewing Company released their first beer, and somehow it doesn't feel too early to call them "renowned." The Litchfield County operation has already become one of Connecticut's most productive, releasing 37 different beers and variants in their first ten months. That level of output is preposterous, and all the more remarkable not just due to the high volume of recipes, but for their excellence. Small wonder then, that Little Pub in Ridgefieldchose to host the Kent Falls crew for a rare beer pairing dinner event early this February.
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.
One of the principle joys of live music is hearing familiar songs played in unfamiliar ways. An extended improvisation, a song's slow dissolve as band members explore different chords and reconnect through the voices of their instruments, the pure truth of an imperfect voice, the energy of a band and crowd playing off one another until every molecule in a room hums with energy... living, breathing creation. This is why we go, and why most artists aren't content to play the same songs over and over again the same way. Brewers are also creators and, once they have a formula down, start looking for a new way to express it. A new song is a new song, but what happens when you play with what you already have? What might evolve from here?
At this point, many of you reading this are already familiar with variants of existing beers like Ballast Point Grapefruit Sculpin, Founders Kentucky Breakfast Stout, even NEBCO Zapata-Bot (Gandhi-Bot aged in tequila barrels). This week we're going to take a look at a very few of the ways brewers are riffing on their beers, and what the results can be.
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.
I won't be mad if you tell me you don't like porters, but I will be disappointed. This is mainly because it robs me of the opportunity to order taster samples of this imperial, and that oatmeal version, and - oh man, you have to try this sour Baltic one... until you are half drunk from slamming six two ounce servings of 9% alcohol beer in four minutes, and the bartender hates us both. I am enthusiastic in my love for porter beers, and I want to share that joy. Being a pasty Irish dude, I am a natural ally of the darker, colder months, and the necessary extra layers of clothing work well in disguising the extra layers of me which come from downing 500-calorie pints two at a time.
You may notice something funny going on with the names of several of the beers we're looking at this week, after that intro so, first, a quick bit of knowledge: all stouts are porters, but not all porters are stouts. If you'd like to do a deep dive on the subject, you can do worse than this.
Connecticut Beer Week has officially begun, and CTBites is here to bring you a sampling of events and other news of note. This week is a celebration of both beers made in Connecticut, and the restaurants and bars who help our small state be such a big part of the national beer scene.
The hashtag for searching on social media is #CTBeerWeek, and a further list of events can be found here. Many links to further events and information are included below, and please let us know in the comments if there's anything we may have missed.
1. Kent Falls Debuts Shruggie - Kent Falls will drop its brand-newest IPA, Shruggie (¯\_(ツ)_/¯) this week, starting in Litchfield on Nov. 18. Kent Falls calls this part of their "bartender interaction series." I may have agreed to order one through interpretive dance. Their next event will be at J. Timothy's.
2. Get Beer'd - J. Tim's will host a Beer'd Brewing tap takeover Nov. 17, including Elihue, This Side Of Paradise, and Midnight Oil.
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.
"Herbert West needed fresh bodies because his life-work was the reanimation of the dead."
In the early 20th century, H.P. Lovecraft's fingers worked to create dread, revulsion, and hysteria. The son of a psychotic father, he was an early prodigy of letters, but more consumed with the hidden secrets being brought into society's focus through chemistry and astronomy. Now regarded as the father of modern horror writing, he was born in Providence, RI in 1890 - the same year and location as Narragansett Brewing Company.
When Lovecraft was a child of ten and fascinated with the cosmos, the solar system stopped at Neptune. That was the end of all known worlds, and the beginning of the black emptiness of space. He soon learned that what we thought we knew was wrong, and new discoveries only served to highlight mankind's total lack of understanding. Physics and astronomy were soon to open "terrifying vistas of reality, and our frightful position therein."
We can't always get what we want in Connecticut. Somewhere in the stone paved and torch-lit corners of our state's liquor legislation sit musty arcana which chased my beloved Avery brewing out of state, banned Festbier for two inexplicable years, and didn't allow Yeungling into town until at least fifteen years too late. It was the second decade of the 21st century before Connecticut blue laws - enacted circa 1655, and the scourge of mid-90s Jon Favreau - allowed Sunday sales, and package stores were allowed to stay open later than 8pm, in fear of a man who got the electric chair in 1960. "Steady habits," indeed.
When we couldn't get what we wanted, we took part in the grand American tradition of law-skirting, and just drove to New York. After all it's, like, right there. I was on no such quest when I found myself in midtown Manhattan a few weeks back with two hours to spare, and two blocks from The Ginger Man in the lower 30s. You want Hill Farmstead? They have Hill Farmstead.
Photography c/o Mike LauterbornIn America, the days of Oktoberfest are coming to a middle. The actual dates don't really matter to most of us, or anyway less than the communal enjoyment of Bavarian-inspired food and drink. The communal point may actually be the best part, I think, which is how I ended up sitting at The Spread in SoNo for their sechs gängeOktoberfest dinner on October 1st.
Those two be-umlauted words just mean "six course," as Chef Carlos Baez turned his attention to the blue checkerboard of Bavarian tradition for the open, ticketed event. Oktoberfest menus often include beer by the liter and schnitzel sandwiches the size of the plate they're served on, but the reasonable portion sizes of the tasting menu meant I didn't have to rent a surrogate stomach.
An Oktoberfest event without bratwurst is like a night without stars
Kawa Ni, Westport's izakaya by the river, has been both a haven of Japanese-inspired food and a boisterous drinking scene since its opening just over a year ago. The party is about to start earlier, as Bill Taibe and co. have announced the debut of their new happy hour menu of food and drink at the Bridge Square, starting now.
Izakayas are small taverns which cater to the occasionally raucous after work set in Japan, so the new menu, with its focus on a limited number of small bar bites backed up by almost twice as many drinks, is right on theme. The prices of food and drink alike are sharply reduced for the happy hour, which runs Tuesday -Friday 4-6PM.
We're going to ignore the seasonal background noise this week, and focus on the always topical subject of IPAs. Two of the beers we taste in today's Froth are Connecticut originals, and I'm also taking the opportunity to introduce the newborn Vital IPA from Victory Brewing. A single can of this last made its way into my sinister grasp a few days before its official introduction to the world, and your first look is below the jump.
First, though, I have to geek out about some Firefly Hollow trivia...
Firefly is located in Bristol, and run by partners Rich Loomis, Bill Collins, and brewmaster Dana Bourque. Two out of three at UConn grads, and I've mentioned their beers here before. A while back I had the opportunity to try another one of their beers, Lil Troll session IPA. As the name suggests, this one is just under 5% abv, and pours golden with a big head. The hop aroma is earthy, and maybe even a bit sour on the nose.
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.
Screw pumpkin beer and the sell sheet it rode in on. Screw it in September, and double-dog screw it in August, when I first start seeing it in stores. The fact I wasn't arrested for petty vandalism last month is a minor miracle. If you complain about summer being over to soon while ordering a late fall seasonal I hope you step in something wet while wearing socks. Such are the depths of my disdain.
I say all this, even though I don't dislike pumpkin beers as such, because the end of summer and early fall are excellent times for beer. Hops and grain are both being harvested this time of year, and I encourage you to take full advantage of the brilliant little season between light, summer beers, and the heavy, spiced beers of winter, because that middleground is fertile, delicious,and short-lived. Let's do this.
The summer wind-down is on us, but I am holding onto the season like a starfish attacking a clam. The days are starting their slow slide, and I've been thinking about light changing over to dark, so that will be our theme this week - day to dusk to demonic.
Day
Southern Tier Tangier is your high-noon-in-summer brew. It's a session IPA - light in alcohol and color - but heavily dosed with Azacca hops and tangerine peels to arrive with swirling flavor. Tangier pours a cloudy amber with a thick head. The flowery Azaccas pair excellently with the citrus in the creation of a very, very nice drink that is more IPA-ish, than straight up IPA. Sometimes a beer can get in its own way, and the heavier malting of other citri-fied IPAs like grapefruit Sculpin can sometimes lend them a bit of drag in some situations, but Tangier's weight and execution make it outstanding for hot, humid days.
I like beers from Otter Creek and Jack's Abby, but their collaboration beer, Joint Custody, is a can full of nope. Thankfully it's also exceedingly rare, so chances are you'll be spared from drinking one. I don't usually talk about bad beer experiences in this column - and feel free to skip down to the two contrasting examples I give below - but this one's been nagging at me.
The collective German heritage of the OC and JA brewmasters inspired them to seek out two newborn German hop strains, Huell Melon and Mandarina Bavaria, in the creation of what they call a Nouveau Pilsner. Joint Custody pours cloudy gold, and has a slightly odd lemony scent - both fine - and then you take a drink and taste fresh Band-Aid. There is the unmistakable pils malt underneath, but what in the hell with this plasticky flavor? In beer-nerd terms, we sometimes call this ortho-chlorophenolic, because it's a medicinal smell/flavor which usually comes from residual sanitizers, or using chlorinated water to make the beer. I don't think that's what happened here, we're dealing with seriously talented brewers, so the only remaining explanation is they've done this on purpose.
Does anyone else still listen to the radio, or am I just an evolutionary throwback? I guess both parts of that question can be true independently, but I still gravitate to the left of the dial. My own music collection, satellite radio, it can all get repetitive, but I turn on some indie NPR station like FUV in the lower numbers and I can hear Malagasy guitar, ambient chillwave, and Wavves after the news. I need those curveballs.
All this is to say some of us may be a little IPA'd out today. Establishments all over the area have been tapping India Pales all week before yesterday's climax, and hop exhaustion can be for real. This week I've picked three IPAs which may refresh and enliven numb tongues and jaded senses. All available in our area, outside the norm.
I was running late early on a Sunday afternoon when the obligatory traffic jam on I-95 caught me like doomed comet streaking toward the Sun and sudden annihilation. It took the sight of a wrecked Ferrari to remind me I'd forgotten my car. I was driving, yes, but the car I'd forgotten - like the aforementioned comet - was set in motion by gravity, not gasoline. Jack's Abby was hosting a pine car derby at The Hops Company in (quelle apropos), Derby, and I'd planned on making the campaign of my old car from Cub Scouts the B-story to this column. The lapse in memory had left me momentarily enraged until I remembered I'd just seen someone's red F430 Spider completely taco'd by the rear bumper of an 18-wheeler. Score one for perspective. 
