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My sister website (www.dannbrew.com) is currently unavailable. Boo-fucking-hoo. So, it's lucky this little black duck copied all of this blog posts so you can read it all on this page.
PS: Sorry for the loss of paragraphs. Clearly the copy/paste didn't do me any favours. :-(
so much for catching a water taxi back to hobart
posted on December 19, 2011 in BeerBlog
The sun finally broke through the clouds and trickled downward on the Derwent River like an ex-convict being released onto the streets after spending ten years in jail. Waves hugged the shoreline with ripples that could be heard from afar. A soft, gentle breeze that hypnotised even the most disheartened Australian cricket fan flowed through our casual, summer clothes. The air was fresh, the view spectacular and the people of Tasmania epitomised hospitality that was beyond excellent. The only drawback was that Australia had just lost to New Zealand on home soil for the first time since 1985, and we witnessed this at Bellerive Oval in magnificent Tasmania.
After the Test match Gary and I wandered somewhat aimlessly toward the ferry just behind Bellerive, with the intention of getting back to Hobart. As we approached the shoreline we saw a middle-aged couple quitely standing where we were, absorbing the beautiful scenery. “Excuse me, do you know where we can catch the Water Taxi back to Hobart?,” Gary politely ask. “Ah yes, you walk up this street – and do you see this street on your right? Well, go straight up there and you can find the Water Taxis around there,” came the reply from the middle aged gentleman. He continued “It shouldn’t be too far, I’d say about a 10 minute walk.” Not wanting to disturb them further I thanked him kindly and that I appreciated the information. Gary and I walked on.
“Actually,” he said “I can give you a lift if you like?” “We’re going to Hobart ourselves.” We were somewhat puzzled that an offer of this nature would be presented. How could he be sure we weren’t on Australia’s most wanted list for murder? Regardless, I had to decline. “That’s fine,” I said “we don’t wish to trouble you, we can walk it from here as it’s not that far. We could do with the exercise. Thanks anyway.” Our friendly gentleman insisted “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. We are already going there so feel free to join us.” He turned to his partner “Love, you don’t mind if they jump in so we can give them a lift to Hobart?” She didn’t hesitate one second and was joyed and being able to help us.
Both Gary and I thanked the gentleman and the lady for their kindness and the offer to take us back to Hobart. They both said it was a pleasure to help us out. As we hopped in the car I happened to notice that the steering wheel showed a BMW tag. I was now intrigued. No sooner had our seat belts been buckled in than the conversation turned to cricket. We talked about the Test match that just finished only minutes earlier. As it happened, the kind and generous couple were cricket lovers themselves and had also been to the Test match.
“We were in the members,” the lady replied. “We also had a luncheon with Glenn McGrath, we caught up and he gave me a peck on the cheek as we hadn’t caught up in a while.” I could see that Gary was somewhat shocked, but my jaw just dropped. “You got a peck on the cheek from Glenn McGrath?,” I quizzically replied as I picked my jaw up from the ground. “Oh yes, we’ve known each other for years as I travel with the Australian team. I’ve been to over 300 Test matches.” My eyes literally popped out of my head, and for a moment I looked like Marty Feldman. I was somewhat lost for words, but Gary managed to pluck a great question from absolutely nowhere.
“Are you the person that I read about in the paper that was the only fan to celebrate with the Australian’s back in 2001 when they won 16 Test matches in a row?” Her face lit up with delight “Well, yes I am!” Both Gary and I were both amazed and in awe. I knew of this particular feat, for lack of a better word, but had completely forgotten about it. She continued “Well, my name is Kay Leverington and you probably saw that in the paper.” Gary did. Our conversation continued, but Kay’s friend who was driving then made an equally extraordinary comment “I was actually Ricky Ponting’s accountant since he was 18, up until a couple of years ago.”
So, here we are sitting in a car with a lady that has seen over 300 Test matches, was only one of two fans to celebrates Australia’s World Record of 16 Test match wins in a row and her friend used to be Ricky Ponting’s accountant up until two years ago. Could you believe it? We certainly couldn’t. Unfortunately, in all the excitement I forgot to ask the gentleman’s name but I’m sure both of us could be excused just this once. Our ride to Hobart was the most fascinating insights of both Kay and her friend. She even managed to state that she was staying with the Australian team in Hobart, as she does with all Tests she attends.
After both Gary and I managed to pick ourselves up from the floor, I managed to conjure up a question that I thought would trigger some fond memories “Kay, if I may ask a question; over the three hundred Test matches you’ve seen what has been the best ground you’ve been to?” She replied with gusto “Oh, it would certainly have to be Antigua but that would before they worked on the stadium. Of course, I have to say the Adelaide Oval is a beautiful place to watch cricket, so too Cape Town. It’s just a beautiful place to watch cricket. Bellerive is very nice as well.” I felt honoured in being in the company of the most famous cricket fan in Australia, and that we managed to get a ride back to Hobart with both of them.
The short twenty minute trip seemed like time had stopped. Our conversations were about cricket, her experiences around the world was about cricket and everything in between related to cricket. She was blessed with having a life that meant she traveled the world seeing each Australian match. Her experience around the world and where to stay was very much unique. As we approached the drop-off point in Hobart, next to The Old Woolstore Apartment Hotel, we once again thanked Kay and her friend for providing a lift and being so kind. “Oh, that’s no problem,” she said. “It is right next to my hotel and we can thank our driver.” Gary asked “Kay, are you staying with the Australian team?” Kay responded “Yes, here at ‘The Old Woolstore’. At $300 a night it’s quite nice. I think i’ll go out and spend some money later tonight to keep the Hobart economy going.” With that both Gary and I shook her hand and thank her. She responded in kind.
As Gary and I continued to walk down the street heading toward Salamanca Place it dawned on us that we just had an experience of a lifetime. “So much for catching a water taxi back to hobart, huh,? I jokingly said to Gary. He laughed loudly. We both laughed loudly. We laughed more, and dare I say a few expletives came out simply due to the excitement and adrenalin rush. “To celebrate,” I said “let’s go to Bar Celona and drink all the craft beer we can and have a great feed. This is something that we need to chat about later tonight.” Gary agreed, saying “Correct”.
And with that, off we went to Bar Celona on the second last day of our Tassie trip. Well, a trip to Hobart and Bellerive Oval to be more precise. As the beers were flowing at Bar Celona we were still laughing and carrying on at what just happened to us earlier in the day. Australia may have lost the Test match but the experience we had in meeting Kay certainly made up for it. I mean, who would have thought that? But what we didn’t know was the overcast weather on Day one that saw the wicket more green than the Incredible Hulk, more green than Bob Brown and more green than Kermit the Frog. It was so green that it made Greenpeace blush. Even I had to pay attention as the wicket didn’t look too many shades different to the grass outfield alongside it.
I texted a mate back in Sydney saying that whichever captain won the toss would bowl first. I was proved correct. Australia’s captain, Michael Clarke, won the toss at approximately 10AM and elected to bowl. Gary and I were licking our lips. New Zealand didn’t stand a chance batting first, and it proved to be correct. Six wickets fell in the morning session. A phenomenal effort by Australia, largely helped by a pitch that had more swing than a 60’s jazz club. And so it proved for the next few days for the morning sessions. A minimum of 5 wickets each morning was on offer, something that is quite unusual. Six on the first morning, six on the second morning, seven on the third morning and five on the fourth morning.
And with Australia looking good at 0/72 on Day four and with only 241 runs to win it was looking like a relatively comfortable win. Even at that stage New Zealand were paying about 14/1 for the win, and I did consider putting $20 on for them to win. As the fourth morning progressed it was Australia looking the more likely to win. Being in the postion of 2/159, and with only 82 runs to win with eight wickets in hand, the betting for New Zealand catapulted to 44/1 to win the Test match while Australia were $1.10 favourites. Anyone walking through the gates on Day four would have said that Australia would win the game without a shadow of a doubt. It was that much of a certainty.
But that certainty didn’t mean much to New Zealand’s bowler Doug Bracewell who ripped through the Australian batting order and ended up with figures 6/40 (on top of the three first innings wickets) which certainly should have earned him the Man-of-the-Match award. Australia were cruising at 0/72 then at 2/159. It was at times like these that you would’ve hated to have gone down for some beers, because problems were just around the corner for Australia’s batsmen. Three wickets fell with no runs added to 159, leaving Australia reeling at 5/159. That included a Michael Hussey first ball duck. A further forty runs were added but another four wickets fell which left Australia in a hapless position of 9/199. That’s a disasterous loss of 7/40. Bracewell did the damage.
It meant Australia had to get 42 runs with only one wicket left. An impossible task. With David Warner playing only his second Test match and Nathan Lyon playing in only his seventh Test match it was going to have to be a mammoth effort to win. Warner, the opening batsman, and Lyon, the tail-ender, were trying to see Australia win the Test and the series. Warner opened up his shoulders and scored important runs, Lyon blocked and kept the ball out while doing his best to grab singles where he could. The Decision Review System was put in place twice, both times as New Zealand looked to wrap up the Aussie innings but both times were thwarted by the third umpire. Amazing scenes followed soon after when Bracewell bowled Lyon ending New Zealand’s 26 year drought in winning a Test match on Australian soil. The Kiwis were jubilant, and deservedly so. Lyon was inconsolable. Crouched down, head bowed and his hands on top of the bat that was a yard in front of him he just stayed there, shattered.
Warner ever so slowly walked up the pitch to gesture to Lyon that he did his best, but to no avail. Although the crowd was in shock, the New Zealander’s were not. They believed in themselves and pitched the ball in the right areas to make it swing and Doug Bracewell was the catalyst for Australia’s downfall with his superb bowling. The only problem was that Cricket Australia (CA) decided to have TV and smart phone app-users vote on their Man-of-the-Match (MOTM). At the post match ceremony Mark Taylor told TV and stadium audiences that the MOTM award as voted by the viewers was David Warner.
What a terrible decision that was. Only 30 minutes previously I had mentioned to Gary that Doug Bracewell should win the MOTM award should New Zealand win. New Zealand did win. It seemed pretty straight forward that he should have got the award. Problem was the viewers decided otherwise, to which Warner accepted the award but managed to state that Bracewell’s bowling was great. According to this article only 27% of the vote went to Bracewell while Warner had 58%. Surprisingly, CA chief James Sutherland thought this was a good idea. Personally, I think it was disgraceful. Sure, give the viewers a choice but when it comes to an actual award for the match it should be left up to the experts. I repeat; leave the selection of MOTM to experts! After the fact, James Sutherland corrected this error to mention in the interview with 3AW saying that “…we will definitely revert to an expert’s choice for that decision about man of the match.”
I’m glad he came to that view. But how can a sponser have so much power in allowing such a prestigeous award be determined by viewer results? How could CA even allow this to happen? Thank God they are going to dump this stupid idea. From what I can understand, CA will be ensuring that experts are allocated the task in determining future MOTM winners. But New Zealand weren’t the only winners on the day. Gary and I had been winners from day one of our trip to Hobart. While we were at Sydney Domestic Terminal waiting for our plane to depart, Gary decided to have a smoke outside. He came back full of smiles saying that he bumped into Tony Greig, the very well-known Channel Nine cricket commentator.
As we boarded the plan we both saw Tony Greig be one of the first to board. Of course, he’s in Business Class unlike Gary and I who were in cattle class. As we started boarding the plane (with Gary in front of me) I see Tony Greig reading the newspaper. He looks up and actually spots Gary. Tony Greig nodded and said hello to Gary. In situations like these you’d expect people like us to say hello to famous people, right? Well, this time Tony Greig said hello to Gary. Amazing! Yes, he did smile at me too, thankfully. But to make it even more interesting as Gary got to his allocated seat an older man got up to let him through. As the older man sat down I then realised it was Jim Maxwell.
Did Gary know he was sitting next to Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s famous cricket commentator, Jim Maxwell? I had hoped so. During the flight to Hobart (all of 1 hour and 45 minutes) I had been asking myself whether he knew it was Jim Maxwell or not. When we touched down I had exited the plane via stairs on the runway that simulated Barak Obama’s exit off Air Force One. Having more fun I duly waved to absolutely no one as I walked down the stairs like Queen Elizabeth, shouting in a royalty-type of voice “Hel-lo Ho-bart”. I managed to find Gary in the terminal and told him about who he was sitting next to him. It only became apparent who he was sitting next to, Gary told me, when Jim stood up to get off the plane and the ‘ABC Sports’ logo peered over the seats.
As we were waiting for our luggage to arrive, we both stood next to Jim Maxwell just so we could say ‘we saw him at the carousel at Hobart airport’. What we didn’t expect to see on the carousel at Hobart airport was a plaster cast statue of a Seal. Yes, a plaster cast statue of a Seal. It seemed to be going ’round and around far too many times on that damn carousel. It was quite funny to see even other members of the public waiting for their luggage to mention that damned Seal. What was even funnier was when for the umpteenth time the Seal came around again, still no one had claimed it. In the dolcitone voice of Jim Maxwell, he summed up the moment pefectly as the Seal came past yet again “There goes that Seal again!” I guess you just had to be there. By this stage I was getting thirsty. Thirsty for beer. Well, craft beer. Thankfully, before we headed off to Hobart I managed to do some research that showed the best spots for craft beer. It wasn’t too long after hopping off the plane and laying our travel bags down in the hotel room before we went in search of craft beer.
That search lasted all of 15 minutes. Both of us were keener than mustard to drink a schooner of beer. We pretty much walked into the first put we saw along Murray Street; Victoria Tavern. Nice, pretty modern and decore that saw flags of several countries pinned to the ceiling it seemed overly relaxed but not lazy-looking. There wasn’t much on tap. I was concerned. Apart from the local Tasmania brews; James Boags and Cascade the options didn’t look very good at all. Gary decided to go with the Cascade Pale Ale. I followed suite. Reluctantly sipping my beer like a child reluctantly eating vegetables, I was a little bit disheartened. Some chit-chat later and half a beer gone, Gary noticed something that even I had missed. “Look at all those bottles down there!,” he yelled. “Where?,” I said. “There! There!,” Gary yelled back as he pointed downward and in front of him toward the liquor cabinet.
My jaw dropped. That cabinet was the start of a journey we’d really appreciate during our trip. Lord Nelson’s Brewery, Stone & Wood, Weihenstephaner, Vale Ale, Moo Brew, Ironhouse. The list of local and overseas brews went on and on. I can’t even remember most of the bottled beers as, like meeting Kay Leverington, I was in shock. You should’ve seen me sink down the rest of the Cascade Pale Ale in readiness to drink a craftie! So, there began our journey of drinking craft beer during our trip to Tasmania. Well, Hobart. It continued with our next destination at Bar Celona, with both venues the main theme for our drinking experiences after the days’ play at Bellerive. It ended up that the last day of the trip, one day after the Test finished, we headed off to The Squires Bounty which was another restaurant/pub in the Salamanca Place area.
But even walking around Hobart was an experience in itself. The “peak hour traffic” was non-existant. I’ve seen more cars move in a Sydney car park than in the center of Hobart. You could literally hear a pin drop at 8PM in the dead center of Hobart. Sure, the odd car here and there but nothing else. Hardly no one was up and about with only the odd person wandering the streets like a lost puppy dog looking for its owner. But most of the time there were lots of the people in bars, just like ourselves. But even that was few and far between. No overcrowding. Nothing. The mornings were somewhat busy but, again, I’ve seen more busier streets where hookers are on street corners. The one thing that stood out most, and surprised me somewhat, was the kindness hospitality of the people of Hobart. They were overwhelmingly friendly.
So friendly that during our last day Gary wanted to go to a store to see if he could receive help with his sun glasses case. The casing had what looked like very fine grains sprinkled all over it, to which he couldn’t rub off or remove. We searched around for a shop until Gary picked one that looked like they could help out. While he walked into the store to talk about his sunglasses case, I waited outside thinking it’d only take a minute or so for Gary to buy a new case. I waited. I waited. I waited more. I could’ve sworn Haley’s Coment would have arrived more quickly. To me it seemed an awefully long time to simply get a new case for your sunglasses. But I need not worry. Gary came out smiling and he showed me his new sunglasses case. He immediately told me that he got them for free. “Free?,” I quipped. “Yep. Free!,” he whipped back.
Gary was adamant to pay for the case, but the nice lady at the store equally insisted that she give him a new case for his sunglasses. Gary pointed out that he had no receipt and that he couldn’t remember where he bought the case. He wanted to do the right thing and pay for the case. Somehow the lady in the store felt she needed to help Gary out by providing him with a case that wont cause any hassle in the future. Gary was stoked. He couldn’t believe the generosity. He was extremely pleased. I was pretty much in shock, yet again for the millionth time in Hobart. Another sign of friendliness and kindness from a complete stranger? You wouldn’t see that in Sydney or Melbourne!
But I guess that is what Hobart is all about. Something different, something unique. Hobart sure is all of that – and more. I couldn’t help but keep a close eye on the women. They were gorgeous and extremely attractive. I don’t know where they’re from but Hobart have gone some cracking women. But that story is for another day. Overall the trip was fantastic. What an experience we had. We deliberately went to Hobart to watch the Test match at Bellerive Oval. We had no other plans, apart from trying different craft beer. We weren’t disappointed. Apart from the fact Australia lost a Test against New Zealand at home for the first time in 26 years, the trip was fantastic that was full of fun, craft beer and plenty of women (but not Gary because he’s married!) for me.
As we took the shuttle bus back to Hobart airport, we arrived back to where the journey began. As we sat down at the bar we found a Moo Brew Hefeweizen to sip on and chat about the cricket and other things in general. Hobart is a great place full of friendly people and plety of things to do and see. We saw a Test match at Bellerive Oval and saw a fantastic game that went New Zealand’s way. One thing is for sure that I’ll be booking another trip to Tasmania, this time to explore a little bit more of what Tassie has got to offer. From what I can see it offers a whole lot more and I cannot wait to sink my teeth into that. Tasmania: a great place to see, a great place to drink craft beer, eat great food and meet beautiful women. What a magnificent place Tasmania is.
dann
After the Test match Gary and I wandered somewhat aimlessly toward the ferry just behind Bellerive, with the intention of getting back to Hobart. As we approached the shoreline we saw a middle-aged couple quitely standing where we were, absorbing the beautiful scenery. “Excuse me, do you know where we can catch the Water Taxi back to Hobart?,” Gary politely ask. “Ah yes, you walk up this street – and do you see this street on your right? Well, go straight up there and you can find the Water Taxis around there,” came the reply from the middle aged gentleman. He continued “It shouldn’t be too far, I’d say about a 10 minute walk.” Not wanting to disturb them further I thanked him kindly and that I appreciated the information. Gary and I walked on.
“Actually,” he said “I can give you a lift if you like?” “We’re going to Hobart ourselves.” We were somewhat puzzled that an offer of this nature would be presented. How could he be sure we weren’t on Australia’s most wanted list for murder? Regardless, I had to decline. “That’s fine,” I said “we don’t wish to trouble you, we can walk it from here as it’s not that far. We could do with the exercise. Thanks anyway.” Our friendly gentleman insisted “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. We are already going there so feel free to join us.” He turned to his partner “Love, you don’t mind if they jump in so we can give them a lift to Hobart?” She didn’t hesitate one second and was joyed and being able to help us.
Both Gary and I thanked the gentleman and the lady for their kindness and the offer to take us back to Hobart. They both said it was a pleasure to help us out. As we hopped in the car I happened to notice that the steering wheel showed a BMW tag. I was now intrigued. No sooner had our seat belts been buckled in than the conversation turned to cricket. We talked about the Test match that just finished only minutes earlier. As it happened, the kind and generous couple were cricket lovers themselves and had also been to the Test match.
“We were in the members,” the lady replied. “We also had a luncheon with Glenn McGrath, we caught up and he gave me a peck on the cheek as we hadn’t caught up in a while.” I could see that Gary was somewhat shocked, but my jaw just dropped. “You got a peck on the cheek from Glenn McGrath?,” I quizzically replied as I picked my jaw up from the ground. “Oh yes, we’ve known each other for years as I travel with the Australian team. I’ve been to over 300 Test matches.” My eyes literally popped out of my head, and for a moment I looked like Marty Feldman. I was somewhat lost for words, but Gary managed to pluck a great question from absolutely nowhere.
“Are you the person that I read about in the paper that was the only fan to celebrate with the Australian’s back in 2001 when they won 16 Test matches in a row?” Her face lit up with delight “Well, yes I am!” Both Gary and I were both amazed and in awe. I knew of this particular feat, for lack of a better word, but had completely forgotten about it. She continued “Well, my name is Kay Leverington and you probably saw that in the paper.” Gary did. Our conversation continued, but Kay’s friend who was driving then made an equally extraordinary comment “I was actually Ricky Ponting’s accountant since he was 18, up until a couple of years ago.”
So, here we are sitting in a car with a lady that has seen over 300 Test matches, was only one of two fans to celebrates Australia’s World Record of 16 Test match wins in a row and her friend used to be Ricky Ponting’s accountant up until two years ago. Could you believe it? We certainly couldn’t. Unfortunately, in all the excitement I forgot to ask the gentleman’s name but I’m sure both of us could be excused just this once. Our ride to Hobart was the most fascinating insights of both Kay and her friend. She even managed to state that she was staying with the Australian team in Hobart, as she does with all Tests she attends.
After both Gary and I managed to pick ourselves up from the floor, I managed to conjure up a question that I thought would trigger some fond memories “Kay, if I may ask a question; over the three hundred Test matches you’ve seen what has been the best ground you’ve been to?” She replied with gusto “Oh, it would certainly have to be Antigua but that would before they worked on the stadium. Of course, I have to say the Adelaide Oval is a beautiful place to watch cricket, so too Cape Town. It’s just a beautiful place to watch cricket. Bellerive is very nice as well.” I felt honoured in being in the company of the most famous cricket fan in Australia, and that we managed to get a ride back to Hobart with both of them.
The short twenty minute trip seemed like time had stopped. Our conversations were about cricket, her experiences around the world was about cricket and everything in between related to cricket. She was blessed with having a life that meant she traveled the world seeing each Australian match. Her experience around the world and where to stay was very much unique. As we approached the drop-off point in Hobart, next to The Old Woolstore Apartment Hotel, we once again thanked Kay and her friend for providing a lift and being so kind. “Oh, that’s no problem,” she said. “It is right next to my hotel and we can thank our driver.” Gary asked “Kay, are you staying with the Australian team?” Kay responded “Yes, here at ‘The Old Woolstore’. At $300 a night it’s quite nice. I think i’ll go out and spend some money later tonight to keep the Hobart economy going.” With that both Gary and I shook her hand and thank her. She responded in kind.
As Gary and I continued to walk down the street heading toward Salamanca Place it dawned on us that we just had an experience of a lifetime. “So much for catching a water taxi back to hobart, huh,? I jokingly said to Gary. He laughed loudly. We both laughed loudly. We laughed more, and dare I say a few expletives came out simply due to the excitement and adrenalin rush. “To celebrate,” I said “let’s go to Bar Celona and drink all the craft beer we can and have a great feed. This is something that we need to chat about later tonight.” Gary agreed, saying “Correct”.
And with that, off we went to Bar Celona on the second last day of our Tassie trip. Well, a trip to Hobart and Bellerive Oval to be more precise. As the beers were flowing at Bar Celona we were still laughing and carrying on at what just happened to us earlier in the day. Australia may have lost the Test match but the experience we had in meeting Kay certainly made up for it. I mean, who would have thought that? But what we didn’t know was the overcast weather on Day one that saw the wicket more green than the Incredible Hulk, more green than Bob Brown and more green than Kermit the Frog. It was so green that it made Greenpeace blush. Even I had to pay attention as the wicket didn’t look too many shades different to the grass outfield alongside it.
I texted a mate back in Sydney saying that whichever captain won the toss would bowl first. I was proved correct. Australia’s captain, Michael Clarke, won the toss at approximately 10AM and elected to bowl. Gary and I were licking our lips. New Zealand didn’t stand a chance batting first, and it proved to be correct. Six wickets fell in the morning session. A phenomenal effort by Australia, largely helped by a pitch that had more swing than a 60’s jazz club. And so it proved for the next few days for the morning sessions. A minimum of 5 wickets each morning was on offer, something that is quite unusual. Six on the first morning, six on the second morning, seven on the third morning and five on the fourth morning.
And with Australia looking good at 0/72 on Day four and with only 241 runs to win it was looking like a relatively comfortable win. Even at that stage New Zealand were paying about 14/1 for the win, and I did consider putting $20 on for them to win. As the fourth morning progressed it was Australia looking the more likely to win. Being in the postion of 2/159, and with only 82 runs to win with eight wickets in hand, the betting for New Zealand catapulted to 44/1 to win the Test match while Australia were $1.10 favourites. Anyone walking through the gates on Day four would have said that Australia would win the game without a shadow of a doubt. It was that much of a certainty.
But that certainty didn’t mean much to New Zealand’s bowler Doug Bracewell who ripped through the Australian batting order and ended up with figures 6/40 (on top of the three first innings wickets) which certainly should have earned him the Man-of-the-Match award. Australia were cruising at 0/72 then at 2/159. It was at times like these that you would’ve hated to have gone down for some beers, because problems were just around the corner for Australia’s batsmen. Three wickets fell with no runs added to 159, leaving Australia reeling at 5/159. That included a Michael Hussey first ball duck. A further forty runs were added but another four wickets fell which left Australia in a hapless position of 9/199. That’s a disasterous loss of 7/40. Bracewell did the damage.
It meant Australia had to get 42 runs with only one wicket left. An impossible task. With David Warner playing only his second Test match and Nathan Lyon playing in only his seventh Test match it was going to have to be a mammoth effort to win. Warner, the opening batsman, and Lyon, the tail-ender, were trying to see Australia win the Test and the series. Warner opened up his shoulders and scored important runs, Lyon blocked and kept the ball out while doing his best to grab singles where he could. The Decision Review System was put in place twice, both times as New Zealand looked to wrap up the Aussie innings but both times were thwarted by the third umpire. Amazing scenes followed soon after when Bracewell bowled Lyon ending New Zealand’s 26 year drought in winning a Test match on Australian soil. The Kiwis were jubilant, and deservedly so. Lyon was inconsolable. Crouched down, head bowed and his hands on top of the bat that was a yard in front of him he just stayed there, shattered.
Warner ever so slowly walked up the pitch to gesture to Lyon that he did his best, but to no avail. Although the crowd was in shock, the New Zealander’s were not. They believed in themselves and pitched the ball in the right areas to make it swing and Doug Bracewell was the catalyst for Australia’s downfall with his superb bowling. The only problem was that Cricket Australia (CA) decided to have TV and smart phone app-users vote on their Man-of-the-Match (MOTM). At the post match ceremony Mark Taylor told TV and stadium audiences that the MOTM award as voted by the viewers was David Warner.
What a terrible decision that was. Only 30 minutes previously I had mentioned to Gary that Doug Bracewell should win the MOTM award should New Zealand win. New Zealand did win. It seemed pretty straight forward that he should have got the award. Problem was the viewers decided otherwise, to which Warner accepted the award but managed to state that Bracewell’s bowling was great. According to this article only 27% of the vote went to Bracewell while Warner had 58%. Surprisingly, CA chief James Sutherland thought this was a good idea. Personally, I think it was disgraceful. Sure, give the viewers a choice but when it comes to an actual award for the match it should be left up to the experts. I repeat; leave the selection of MOTM to experts! After the fact, James Sutherland corrected this error to mention in the interview with 3AW saying that “…we will definitely revert to an expert’s choice for that decision about man of the match.”
I’m glad he came to that view. But how can a sponser have so much power in allowing such a prestigeous award be determined by viewer results? How could CA even allow this to happen? Thank God they are going to dump this stupid idea. From what I can understand, CA will be ensuring that experts are allocated the task in determining future MOTM winners. But New Zealand weren’t the only winners on the day. Gary and I had been winners from day one of our trip to Hobart. While we were at Sydney Domestic Terminal waiting for our plane to depart, Gary decided to have a smoke outside. He came back full of smiles saying that he bumped into Tony Greig, the very well-known Channel Nine cricket commentator.
As we boarded the plan we both saw Tony Greig be one of the first to board. Of course, he’s in Business Class unlike Gary and I who were in cattle class. As we started boarding the plane (with Gary in front of me) I see Tony Greig reading the newspaper. He looks up and actually spots Gary. Tony Greig nodded and said hello to Gary. In situations like these you’d expect people like us to say hello to famous people, right? Well, this time Tony Greig said hello to Gary. Amazing! Yes, he did smile at me too, thankfully. But to make it even more interesting as Gary got to his allocated seat an older man got up to let him through. As the older man sat down I then realised it was Jim Maxwell.
Did Gary know he was sitting next to Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s famous cricket commentator, Jim Maxwell? I had hoped so. During the flight to Hobart (all of 1 hour and 45 minutes) I had been asking myself whether he knew it was Jim Maxwell or not. When we touched down I had exited the plane via stairs on the runway that simulated Barak Obama’s exit off Air Force One. Having more fun I duly waved to absolutely no one as I walked down the stairs like Queen Elizabeth, shouting in a royalty-type of voice “Hel-lo Ho-bart”. I managed to find Gary in the terminal and told him about who he was sitting next to him. It only became apparent who he was sitting next to, Gary told me, when Jim stood up to get off the plane and the ‘ABC Sports’ logo peered over the seats.
As we were waiting for our luggage to arrive, we both stood next to Jim Maxwell just so we could say ‘we saw him at the carousel at Hobart airport’. What we didn’t expect to see on the carousel at Hobart airport was a plaster cast statue of a Seal. Yes, a plaster cast statue of a Seal. It seemed to be going ’round and around far too many times on that damn carousel. It was quite funny to see even other members of the public waiting for their luggage to mention that damned Seal. What was even funnier was when for the umpteenth time the Seal came around again, still no one had claimed it. In the dolcitone voice of Jim Maxwell, he summed up the moment pefectly as the Seal came past yet again “There goes that Seal again!” I guess you just had to be there. By this stage I was getting thirsty. Thirsty for beer. Well, craft beer. Thankfully, before we headed off to Hobart I managed to do some research that showed the best spots for craft beer. It wasn’t too long after hopping off the plane and laying our travel bags down in the hotel room before we went in search of craft beer.
That search lasted all of 15 minutes. Both of us were keener than mustard to drink a schooner of beer. We pretty much walked into the first put we saw along Murray Street; Victoria Tavern. Nice, pretty modern and decore that saw flags of several countries pinned to the ceiling it seemed overly relaxed but not lazy-looking. There wasn’t much on tap. I was concerned. Apart from the local Tasmania brews; James Boags and Cascade the options didn’t look very good at all. Gary decided to go with the Cascade Pale Ale. I followed suite. Reluctantly sipping my beer like a child reluctantly eating vegetables, I was a little bit disheartened. Some chit-chat later and half a beer gone, Gary noticed something that even I had missed. “Look at all those bottles down there!,” he yelled. “Where?,” I said. “There! There!,” Gary yelled back as he pointed downward and in front of him toward the liquor cabinet.
My jaw dropped. That cabinet was the start of a journey we’d really appreciate during our trip. Lord Nelson’s Brewery, Stone & Wood, Weihenstephaner, Vale Ale, Moo Brew, Ironhouse. The list of local and overseas brews went on and on. I can’t even remember most of the bottled beers as, like meeting Kay Leverington, I was in shock. You should’ve seen me sink down the rest of the Cascade Pale Ale in readiness to drink a craftie! So, there began our journey of drinking craft beer during our trip to Tasmania. Well, Hobart. It continued with our next destination at Bar Celona, with both venues the main theme for our drinking experiences after the days’ play at Bellerive. It ended up that the last day of the trip, one day after the Test finished, we headed off to The Squires Bounty which was another restaurant/pub in the Salamanca Place area.
But even walking around Hobart was an experience in itself. The “peak hour traffic” was non-existant. I’ve seen more cars move in a Sydney car park than in the center of Hobart. You could literally hear a pin drop at 8PM in the dead center of Hobart. Sure, the odd car here and there but nothing else. Hardly no one was up and about with only the odd person wandering the streets like a lost puppy dog looking for its owner. But most of the time there were lots of the people in bars, just like ourselves. But even that was few and far between. No overcrowding. Nothing. The mornings were somewhat busy but, again, I’ve seen more busier streets where hookers are on street corners. The one thing that stood out most, and surprised me somewhat, was the kindness hospitality of the people of Hobart. They were overwhelmingly friendly.
So friendly that during our last day Gary wanted to go to a store to see if he could receive help with his sun glasses case. The casing had what looked like very fine grains sprinkled all over it, to which he couldn’t rub off or remove. We searched around for a shop until Gary picked one that looked like they could help out. While he walked into the store to talk about his sunglasses case, I waited outside thinking it’d only take a minute or so for Gary to buy a new case. I waited. I waited. I waited more. I could’ve sworn Haley’s Coment would have arrived more quickly. To me it seemed an awefully long time to simply get a new case for your sunglasses. But I need not worry. Gary came out smiling and he showed me his new sunglasses case. He immediately told me that he got them for free. “Free?,” I quipped. “Yep. Free!,” he whipped back.
Gary was adamant to pay for the case, but the nice lady at the store equally insisted that she give him a new case for his sunglasses. Gary pointed out that he had no receipt and that he couldn’t remember where he bought the case. He wanted to do the right thing and pay for the case. Somehow the lady in the store felt she needed to help Gary out by providing him with a case that wont cause any hassle in the future. Gary was stoked. He couldn’t believe the generosity. He was extremely pleased. I was pretty much in shock, yet again for the millionth time in Hobart. Another sign of friendliness and kindness from a complete stranger? You wouldn’t see that in Sydney or Melbourne!
But I guess that is what Hobart is all about. Something different, something unique. Hobart sure is all of that – and more. I couldn’t help but keep a close eye on the women. They were gorgeous and extremely attractive. I don’t know where they’re from but Hobart have gone some cracking women. But that story is for another day. Overall the trip was fantastic. What an experience we had. We deliberately went to Hobart to watch the Test match at Bellerive Oval. We had no other plans, apart from trying different craft beer. We weren’t disappointed. Apart from the fact Australia lost a Test against New Zealand at home for the first time in 26 years, the trip was fantastic that was full of fun, craft beer and plenty of women (but not Gary because he’s married!) for me.
As we took the shuttle bus back to Hobart airport, we arrived back to where the journey began. As we sat down at the bar we found a Moo Brew Hefeweizen to sip on and chat about the cricket and other things in general. Hobart is a great place full of friendly people and plety of things to do and see. We saw a Test match at Bellerive Oval and saw a fantastic game that went New Zealand’s way. One thing is for sure that I’ll be booking another trip to Tasmania, this time to explore a little bit more of what Tassie has got to offer. From what I can see it offers a whole lot more and I cannot wait to sink my teeth into that. Tasmania: a great place to see, a great place to drink craft beer, eat great food and meet beautiful women. What a magnificent place Tasmania is.
dann
tricky wicket for cricket
posted on November 22, 2011 in BeerBlog
Besides brewing beer, Test match cricket is one of my passions in life. I vividly recall, as a young kid, being transfixed on the visions beamed through the television set of the 1981 Test match at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. I remember Dennis Lillee ripping through the West Indies top-order, with the famous footage of Lillee bowling Viv Richards. It left the Windies reeling at 4/10. To this day, that delivery from Lillee to Richards is burnt into my memory just like livestock being branded.
And similar to livestock being branded, back in those days Test match cricket had a unique identity. I remember it being mystical, powerful and colourful all at the same time. Back then it was well imprinted in every kid that playing Test match cricket was the highest accolade a cricketer could achieve. It was the peak of your career, the peak at which you were honored being selected, and you took pride in wearing the baggy green cap.
But it’s not only about any young kid in Australia wanting to wear the baggy green. It’s also about other cricketing nations and their young kids wanting to do the same; representing their country with honor and pride in Test match cricket. Shouldn’t that remain the ultimate cricketing goal? You’d think so. In fact, you’d hope so. The only problem is that the International Cricket Council (ICC) may have inadvertently killed off Test match cricket. You see, the fast and furious short version of cricket, Twenty20, is reaping the rewards of being short, fast and entertaining. Twenty20 looks good for the short term, but it be to the disadvantage of cricket itself.
That disadvantage was clearly shown in a recent BBC article. Former Zimbabwe player and current England coach, Andy Flower, was concerned at a “dangerous sign” that current players are foregoing their Test careers in preference to the shorter game with greater financial rewards. This was in direct reference to Sri Lanka’s pace bowler, Lasith Malinga.
According a related article, Lasith’s decision to quit international Test match cricket was simply due to a chronic knee injury. The only way to prolong his career was to give Test match cricket away, leaving him to play One-Day International (ODI) and Twenty20 games. But isn’t Andy Flower correct? Even if a player didn’t have an injury, would the player forego a Test match career to be part of the Indian Premier League (IPL), for example? The rewards of joining the IPL are remarkable and has seen many players earn a lot of money simply playing Twenty20.
But is Test match cricket dead? Is Twenty20 really robbing us of the game we all love? I’d say yes. I’ve always been a denier on the newly found Twenty20 cricket. It’s not real cricket. I’ve hated Twenty20 since its inception and I hate it now. Enough said. I wrote an article back in September of 2007 that took a swipe at Twenty20. Here is the first paragraph: “The International Cricket Council (ICC) has just finished staging the World Twenty20 tournament in South Africa. The whole thing is simply a money-making exercise and marketing ploy to bolster more support on a wider scale. I love cricket, but this Twenty20 business is a complete and utter joke. Simply put; it’s just not cricket.”
And it certainly didn’t seem like cricket when Australia played South Africa at Newlands, Cape Town recently. South Africa won by 8 wickets, no thanks to the appalling batting display in Australia’s second innings. The shot that spoke volumes of how the Australian’s batted that day is of Brad Haddin. Australia were 5/15 and in an absolute mess. Up comes Haddin who, on his third ball, skips down the wicket (shying toward the on-side) and tries to blast the ball over the boundary for six.
That six didn’t eventuate. Haddin got a nick on the ball and it went to ‘keeper Mark Boucher. A disgraceful shot given the circumstances. It ended up that Australia were all out for 47 runs. That was our worst innings in over 100 years of cricket. What an absolute disgrace to our Australian heritage to have witnessed this calamity of an innings, which was rubber stamped by that dishonerable shot by Brad Haddin.
But why did he play that shot? It’s the mentality of Twenty20 cricket. It’s a nothing shot. Where did the knuckling down go? The patience? The stamina? The skill? Where did it go? Test cricket is about playing for five days over a myriad of conditions that tests courage, indurance and ability of every player. I attribute this type of carnage that we saw to the new game of Twenty20.
Twenty20 doesn’t teach you anything. Nothing. All it teaches you is how to hit the ball as hard as you can. It doesn’t teach skill, temprament, knowledge of the wicket and other meaningful associations to Test cricket. Bowling is the same in that it doesn’t give you a real-life scenario on a true Test wicket over a five day period. Wind conditions, cracks in the pitch, grass on the pitch, the weather. All these are a true testament to the character of the Test match bowler, all lost because of Twenty20.
And here we have Shane Warne in Australia promoting Twenty20? People argue that it introduces the young kids to cricket in the hope that they like Test match cricket. In the “hope” that they like Test match cricket? What have the ICC done in allowing this monstrocity of a game to be allowed to infiltrate Test cricket? Oh, hang on. The IPL have greater power than the ICC so who cares? OK, that was tongue-in-cheek, but my comment still stands. You even see State grade cricketers within Australia playing in the IPL. Why? Well, the IPL sees a talented player and pick them up for, say, $500,000. That’s what it really boils down to, money.
The money offered by tournaments such as the IPL on a yearly basis provides a cash flow that no other market can provide. It’s played in India due to the large population and revenue opportunites for both the franchisee and players associated with the IPL. It’s a money spinner. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t argue that it is fascnating to watch, but allowing our international cricketing schedule to introduce Twenty20 into its own calendar is crazy.
Why is it crazy? Well, again let’s look at the recent tour Australia had against South Africa. Two Twenty20 games, three ODI’s, a tour match that only lasted three days and only two Test matches. Yep, only two test matches. Why? Why are the ICC allowing this? They are ruining Test match cricket by allowing the short form of the game to infiltrate the longer form of the game. To encourage Test match cricket you don’t show crowds T20’s and ODI matches. No. You extend the series from a two Test series to a minimum of a three Test match series. But, of course, the ICC don’t want to change its schedule.
So, if the ICC don’t want to change their schedule to concentrate on Test match cricket then we have a problem at the very top. The ICC don’t care, the IPL fracnise doesn’t care ’cause it’s making money, the players see dollar signs in front of their eyes and prefer the shorter version of the game. T20 is being marketed significantly here in Australia and has a prized asset of Shane Warne to do its marketing for them. Cricket right now is in a precarious position.
If you’re young enough, there really isn’t any need to worry. Cricket isn’t in a precarious position. All the young kids’ memories nowadays is that great shot over the boundary for six in a certain ODI, or that massive hoik to mid-on during a T20 by a certain player. They don’t have the memories of Test match cricket like I do, where it’s been branded like live stock. Our game is being dimished by an inferior product, and that is the branding in my brain that disturbs me the most.
dann
And similar to livestock being branded, back in those days Test match cricket had a unique identity. I remember it being mystical, powerful and colourful all at the same time. Back then it was well imprinted in every kid that playing Test match cricket was the highest accolade a cricketer could achieve. It was the peak of your career, the peak at which you were honored being selected, and you took pride in wearing the baggy green cap.
But it’s not only about any young kid in Australia wanting to wear the baggy green. It’s also about other cricketing nations and their young kids wanting to do the same; representing their country with honor and pride in Test match cricket. Shouldn’t that remain the ultimate cricketing goal? You’d think so. In fact, you’d hope so. The only problem is that the International Cricket Council (ICC) may have inadvertently killed off Test match cricket. You see, the fast and furious short version of cricket, Twenty20, is reaping the rewards of being short, fast and entertaining. Twenty20 looks good for the short term, but it be to the disadvantage of cricket itself.
That disadvantage was clearly shown in a recent BBC article. Former Zimbabwe player and current England coach, Andy Flower, was concerned at a “dangerous sign” that current players are foregoing their Test careers in preference to the shorter game with greater financial rewards. This was in direct reference to Sri Lanka’s pace bowler, Lasith Malinga.
According a related article, Lasith’s decision to quit international Test match cricket was simply due to a chronic knee injury. The only way to prolong his career was to give Test match cricket away, leaving him to play One-Day International (ODI) and Twenty20 games. But isn’t Andy Flower correct? Even if a player didn’t have an injury, would the player forego a Test match career to be part of the Indian Premier League (IPL), for example? The rewards of joining the IPL are remarkable and has seen many players earn a lot of money simply playing Twenty20.
But is Test match cricket dead? Is Twenty20 really robbing us of the game we all love? I’d say yes. I’ve always been a denier on the newly found Twenty20 cricket. It’s not real cricket. I’ve hated Twenty20 since its inception and I hate it now. Enough said. I wrote an article back in September of 2007 that took a swipe at Twenty20. Here is the first paragraph: “The International Cricket Council (ICC) has just finished staging the World Twenty20 tournament in South Africa. The whole thing is simply a money-making exercise and marketing ploy to bolster more support on a wider scale. I love cricket, but this Twenty20 business is a complete and utter joke. Simply put; it’s just not cricket.”
And it certainly didn’t seem like cricket when Australia played South Africa at Newlands, Cape Town recently. South Africa won by 8 wickets, no thanks to the appalling batting display in Australia’s second innings. The shot that spoke volumes of how the Australian’s batted that day is of Brad Haddin. Australia were 5/15 and in an absolute mess. Up comes Haddin who, on his third ball, skips down the wicket (shying toward the on-side) and tries to blast the ball over the boundary for six.
That six didn’t eventuate. Haddin got a nick on the ball and it went to ‘keeper Mark Boucher. A disgraceful shot given the circumstances. It ended up that Australia were all out for 47 runs. That was our worst innings in over 100 years of cricket. What an absolute disgrace to our Australian heritage to have witnessed this calamity of an innings, which was rubber stamped by that dishonerable shot by Brad Haddin.
But why did he play that shot? It’s the mentality of Twenty20 cricket. It’s a nothing shot. Where did the knuckling down go? The patience? The stamina? The skill? Where did it go? Test cricket is about playing for five days over a myriad of conditions that tests courage, indurance and ability of every player. I attribute this type of carnage that we saw to the new game of Twenty20.
Twenty20 doesn’t teach you anything. Nothing. All it teaches you is how to hit the ball as hard as you can. It doesn’t teach skill, temprament, knowledge of the wicket and other meaningful associations to Test cricket. Bowling is the same in that it doesn’t give you a real-life scenario on a true Test wicket over a five day period. Wind conditions, cracks in the pitch, grass on the pitch, the weather. All these are a true testament to the character of the Test match bowler, all lost because of Twenty20.
And here we have Shane Warne in Australia promoting Twenty20? People argue that it introduces the young kids to cricket in the hope that they like Test match cricket. In the “hope” that they like Test match cricket? What have the ICC done in allowing this monstrocity of a game to be allowed to infiltrate Test cricket? Oh, hang on. The IPL have greater power than the ICC so who cares? OK, that was tongue-in-cheek, but my comment still stands. You even see State grade cricketers within Australia playing in the IPL. Why? Well, the IPL sees a talented player and pick them up for, say, $500,000. That’s what it really boils down to, money.
The money offered by tournaments such as the IPL on a yearly basis provides a cash flow that no other market can provide. It’s played in India due to the large population and revenue opportunites for both the franchisee and players associated with the IPL. It’s a money spinner. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t argue that it is fascnating to watch, but allowing our international cricketing schedule to introduce Twenty20 into its own calendar is crazy.
Why is it crazy? Well, again let’s look at the recent tour Australia had against South Africa. Two Twenty20 games, three ODI’s, a tour match that only lasted three days and only two Test matches. Yep, only two test matches. Why? Why are the ICC allowing this? They are ruining Test match cricket by allowing the short form of the game to infiltrate the longer form of the game. To encourage Test match cricket you don’t show crowds T20’s and ODI matches. No. You extend the series from a two Test series to a minimum of a three Test match series. But, of course, the ICC don’t want to change its schedule.
So, if the ICC don’t want to change their schedule to concentrate on Test match cricket then we have a problem at the very top. The ICC don’t care, the IPL fracnise doesn’t care ’cause it’s making money, the players see dollar signs in front of their eyes and prefer the shorter version of the game. T20 is being marketed significantly here in Australia and has a prized asset of Shane Warne to do its marketing for them. Cricket right now is in a precarious position.
If you’re young enough, there really isn’t any need to worry. Cricket isn’t in a precarious position. All the young kids’ memories nowadays is that great shot over the boundary for six in a certain ODI, or that massive hoik to mid-on during a T20 by a certain player. They don’t have the memories of Test match cricket like I do, where it’s been branded like live stock. Our game is being dimished by an inferior product, and that is the branding in my brain that disturbs me the most.
dann
How to impress the reader: Here’s what to do.
posted on September 29, 2011 in BeerBlog
Well, for a start you write a heading like that! It made you click the link, right? That’s what the Sydney Morning Herald do. Come up with some absolutely crappy title and make it oh, so slightly interesting that you have to click on the link. And that’s exactly what they want you to do.
But it’s not only clicking on the link that they want you to do. They obviously want you to read it. But how can you read something that is absolute crap? I have a couple of examples taken from the 29th October, 2011 on the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald online edition:
* Long and short: The premier record for zero speeches.
* Is it all an act?:How jail has changed Amanda Knox.
* iPhone 5 launch: Here’s what to expect.
* Deep survival: Cheating death in extreme pain.
* Love no Moore? Tweets hint at Kutcher split.
Do you see a common agenda? It says: “Click me!” Of course, you click and read absolute tripe. This tripe, according to the Sydney Morning Herald, is called journalism. I don’t call it journalism, I call it absolute fucking lazy ass fill-in-the-gaps-cause-this-
Why isn’t this journalism, and why isn’t this a journalist? Well, take note of what was clearly quoted in the SMH article of: Long and short: The premier record for zero speeches. The SMH stated: “Zero speeches or questions from Ms Keneally have been recorded in Hansard since March, but in 2010 alone, she rose to speak 265 times…”
And? Is there a story here? Kristina Keneally clearly dismayed at this “journalism” clearly made the correct comment, retorting that: “It would be foolish of me to think the Herald would write a fair and balanced piece….” She got that right. It’s a non-story. I repeat, it’s a non-story. It’s a page filler, nothing else. No research involved, no investigation just lazy, dumb ass journalism from a newspaper that you’d expect more from considering the the Daily Telegraph do such a good job of non-stories themselves.
But who needs the Daily Telegraph’s help? Not SMH. They’ve done a wonderful job in creating the perfect non-story. It is a desperate attempt to get people clicking on their website, it’s a story that means nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s the column you have when you don’t have a column to write anything useful.
So, is there anything else useful in the other headline stories for 29th October, 2011? Yes! Hey, look! Moore and Kutcher split! Within a couple of sentences the articles states that: “With gossip website rumours swirling about Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher splitting.” Uhm, with gossip website rumours swirling? isn’t that the job of a tabloid newspaper?
But this is surely not a tabloid newspaper? Well, two out of the five “headline” stories have been just garbage. Pure and utter garbage. This is not newsworthy. I repeat, not newsworthy. But the SMH just want you to click, just like I did to find out what the story was about for the purposes of writing my own blog about them. I clicked, read and got bored. Another non-story that wasted my time.
So what else can waste my time with any of the headlines at SMH today? How about the iPhone 5 launch article? Should be interesting, right? Oh, wait. No. The first line of the article is: “This post was originally published on Mashable.com.” Oh dear. OK, I read the article and it gave for some interesting reading, only because I own a Samsung Galaxy S. I don’t begrudge this type of content one bit, but front page?
If I were holding the SMH paper in my hands I would not see this on the front page. It’d be part of the technology pages or thereabouts, somewhere in the middle. The online space is well presented, making you click on links for easy access across all genres and information. I can deal with that, but what I can’t deal with is lazy journalism and what they call a story. The only reason the iPhone 5 got a mention on the SMH site is that the people that have an iPhone and don’t read mashable are able to read it on SMH.
But why read the SMH for this story? It clearly stated at the bottom of the article that: “Mashable.com is the world’s largest blog focused exclusively on social media news.” Wouldn’t you think that people who are in the know would actually get their information directly from mashable, rather than reading a re-published article on SMH? I’m pretty sure the this is a non-story, too.
What else is headlines on the SMH? How about Amanda Knox? I read the first few paragraphs and yawned. Innocent, thinking she was free and currently in jail. She accuses someone else of murder and a lawyer of a man she unjustly accused said she has a “talent for lying”. That’s great to hear! The story had more fluff that my belly button on a cold winter’s day after I’ve worn a wooly jumper with no shirt. Sadly, the only sentences that mattered said this: Knox will know her fate within a week: She hopes to be freed after four years in jail, her accusers are asking the court to stiffen her penalty to life in prison.
That’s the only meaningful sentence in this whole article. All the rest is riff-raff, complete bum fluff. Lots of phrases that describe her emotions during court and plenty of quotes from everyone to make it seem like an impressive bit of journalism. Actually, it’s not. Yet more fluff, probably a bit like this article itself I suppose.
In fact, this article was just that; more bum fluff in a vague attempt to make you click on this link and read what I have to say. Impressed? Probably not. But I supposed my trick worked in some ways. I got you to think about the title and got you to click the link. You probably read the first few words and quit the site soon after. And that is exactly what I want you to do.
dann
But it’s not only clicking on the link that they want you to do. They obviously want you to read it. But how can you read something that is absolute crap? I have a couple of examples taken from the 29th October, 2011 on the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald online edition:
* Long and short: The premier record for zero speeches.
* Is it all an act?:How jail has changed Amanda Knox.
* iPhone 5 launch: Here’s what to expect.
* Deep survival: Cheating death in extreme pain.
* Love no Moore? Tweets hint at Kutcher split.
Do you see a common agenda? It says: “Click me!” Of course, you click and read absolute tripe. This tripe, according to the Sydney Morning Herald, is called journalism. I don’t call it journalism, I call it absolute fucking lazy ass fill-in-the-gaps-cause-this-
Why isn’t this journalism, and why isn’t this a journalist? Well, take note of what was clearly quoted in the SMH article of: Long and short: The premier record for zero speeches. The SMH stated: “Zero speeches or questions from Ms Keneally have been recorded in Hansard since March, but in 2010 alone, she rose to speak 265 times…”
And? Is there a story here? Kristina Keneally clearly dismayed at this “journalism” clearly made the correct comment, retorting that: “It would be foolish of me to think the Herald would write a fair and balanced piece….” She got that right. It’s a non-story. I repeat, it’s a non-story. It’s a page filler, nothing else. No research involved, no investigation just lazy, dumb ass journalism from a newspaper that you’d expect more from considering the the Daily Telegraph do such a good job of non-stories themselves.
But who needs the Daily Telegraph’s help? Not SMH. They’ve done a wonderful job in creating the perfect non-story. It is a desperate attempt to get people clicking on their website, it’s a story that means nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s the column you have when you don’t have a column to write anything useful.
So, is there anything else useful in the other headline stories for 29th October, 2011? Yes! Hey, look! Moore and Kutcher split! Within a couple of sentences the articles states that: “With gossip website rumours swirling about Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher splitting.” Uhm, with gossip website rumours swirling? isn’t that the job of a tabloid newspaper?
But this is surely not a tabloid newspaper? Well, two out of the five “headline” stories have been just garbage. Pure and utter garbage. This is not newsworthy. I repeat, not newsworthy. But the SMH just want you to click, just like I did to find out what the story was about for the purposes of writing my own blog about them. I clicked, read and got bored. Another non-story that wasted my time.
So what else can waste my time with any of the headlines at SMH today? How about the iPhone 5 launch article? Should be interesting, right? Oh, wait. No. The first line of the article is: “This post was originally published on Mashable.com.” Oh dear. OK, I read the article and it gave for some interesting reading, only because I own a Samsung Galaxy S. I don’t begrudge this type of content one bit, but front page?
If I were holding the SMH paper in my hands I would not see this on the front page. It’d be part of the technology pages or thereabouts, somewhere in the middle. The online space is well presented, making you click on links for easy access across all genres and information. I can deal with that, but what I can’t deal with is lazy journalism and what they call a story. The only reason the iPhone 5 got a mention on the SMH site is that the people that have an iPhone and don’t read mashable are able to read it on SMH.
But why read the SMH for this story? It clearly stated at the bottom of the article that: “Mashable.com is the world’s largest blog focused exclusively on social media news.” Wouldn’t you think that people who are in the know would actually get their information directly from mashable, rather than reading a re-published article on SMH? I’m pretty sure the this is a non-story, too.
What else is headlines on the SMH? How about Amanda Knox? I read the first few paragraphs and yawned. Innocent, thinking she was free and currently in jail. She accuses someone else of murder and a lawyer of a man she unjustly accused said she has a “talent for lying”. That’s great to hear! The story had more fluff that my belly button on a cold winter’s day after I’ve worn a wooly jumper with no shirt. Sadly, the only sentences that mattered said this: Knox will know her fate within a week: She hopes to be freed after four years in jail, her accusers are asking the court to stiffen her penalty to life in prison.
That’s the only meaningful sentence in this whole article. All the rest is riff-raff, complete bum fluff. Lots of phrases that describe her emotions during court and plenty of quotes from everyone to make it seem like an impressive bit of journalism. Actually, it’s not. Yet more fluff, probably a bit like this article itself I suppose.
In fact, this article was just that; more bum fluff in a vague attempt to make you click on this link and read what I have to say. Impressed? Probably not. But I supposed my trick worked in some ways. I got you to think about the title and got you to click the link. You probably read the first few words and quit the site soon after. And that is exactly what I want you to do.
dann
a cool bunch of numbers
posted on September 25, 2011 in BeerBlog
How many different beers have I tried over the past twelve or so months? That was the question I asked myself recently. To be honest, I really don’t know. I do know, however, that there are thousands of people out there that have the same passion, the same desire in trying different craft beers. Some people have had hundreds of different craft beers. I don’t have hundreds just yet, but what I do have is a very healthy start to this craze.
So, what I wanted to find for myself was how many I actually did have. I know this is going to be difficult as there were some beers I genuinely cannot remember having, as posted in a recent blog. What I will do is try my best and write down the beers I remember having via photos and other means. For those of you who are keen on reading what craft beers I’ve had, the list is as follows. (Please note there are probably a few that aren’t “craft beers”!)
Enjoy.
dann
PS: Hopefully I haven’t written down beers twice!
————————————
LIST OF CRAFT BEERS SINCE AUGUST 2010
————————————
1. Odell’s Original Gravity Black IPA (Odell Brewing)
2. Midnight Sun Sockeye Red IPA (Midnight Sun Brewing)
3. Surly Furious (Surly Brewing)
4. Pliny the Elder (Russian River Brewing)
5. Coffee Bender (Surly Brewing)
6. Boulevard Brewing: Double Wide IPA (recommended by James Spencer: www.basicbrewing.com in which we shared a glass)
7. Point 2012 Black Ale
8. Rogue Brewery: Dead Guy Ale
9. Fuller’s London Porter
10. Breckenridge Brewery’s Vanilla Porter
11. Bell’s Kalamazoo Stout
12. Long Trail Brewing Pale Ale
13. New Belgium 1554 Enlightened Black Ale
14. Alesmith Speedway Stout
15. Leinenkugel’s Fireside Nut Brown
16. Granite City Food and Brewery: Broad Axe Stout
17. Big Sky Brewing: Moose Drool Brown Ale
18. Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale
19. Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA
20. 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die IPA
21. Furthermore Knot Stock Black Pepper Pale
22. Victory HopDevil Ale
23. Summit Oatmeal Stout
24. New Belgium Ranger IPA
25. New Belgium Fat Tyre
26. Anheuser-Busch Wild Blue
27. Leinenkugel’s Berry Weiss
28. James Page Burly Brown Ale
29. Grand Teton Brewing: Bitch Creek ESB Ale
30. Diamond Bear: Pale Ale
31. Diamond Bear: Presidential IPA
32. Deschutes Black Butte Porter
33. Arctic Rhino Coffee Porter (Midnight Sun Brewing Co)
34. Alaskan Brewing IPA
35. Midas Touch (Dogfish Head)
36. Redhook ESB (Redhook Ale Brewery)
37. Spoetzl Brewery: Shiner Bock
38. Summit IPA (Summit Brewing Co)
39. Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat (Leinenkugel’s)
40. Goose Island Honker’s Ale
41. Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA
42. Summit Extra Pale Ale
43. Sierra Nevada Kellerweis Hefeweizen
44. Samuel Adams Summer Ale
45. New Belgium 1554 Brussels Black Ale
46. Sprecher Black Bavarian Schwarzbier
47. Bell’S Amber Ale
48. Big Sky Moose Drool Brown Ale
49. Founders Dirty Bastard Scotch Ale
50. Big Sky Montana Trout Slayer Wheat Ale
51. Boulder Hazed & Infused Dry Hopped Ale
52. Cinco
53. St. Pauli Girl Lager
54. Moosehead Lager
55. Breckenridge Vanilla Porter
56. Lagunitas Censored Copper Ale
57. New Holland Mad Hatter Ipa
58. Full Sail Amber Ale
59. Rush River The Unforgiven Amber Ale
60. Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout
61. Labatt Blue
62. Shock Top Belgian White (Michelob Brewing Co)
63. Horizon Red Ale (Summit Brewing Co)
64. Skinny Dip (New Belgium)
65. Burning River (Great Lakes Brewing Co)
66. Yeungling Traditional Original Amber Lager.
67. Canadian Molson
68. Steam Whistle Pilsner (Steam Whistle Brewery)
69. Bluebottle (Fusion Brewing)
70. Samuel Smith Old Brewery Tadcaster Taddy Porter
71. Furthermore Three Feet Deep
72. Warsteiner Dunkel
73. Leinenkugel’s Creamy Dark
74. Surly Cynic Ale
75. James Page Iron Range Amber Lager
76. James Page White Ox Wheat Ale
77. James Page Voyager Extra Pale Ale
78. Ayinger Oktober Fest-Marzen
79. Grand Teton Brewing Teton Ale
80. Grand Teton Brewing Sweetgrash American Pale Ale
81. Bard’s Original Sorghum Malt Beer
82. Paulaner Wiesn Blonde
83. St. Pauli Brewing
84. Spaten Brewing
85. Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat
86. Franziskaner Brewing
87. Beck’s Brewing
88. Snakebite (Guiness & Cider)
89. Rush River Amber Ale
90. Mojo IPA (Boulder Beer Company)
91. 5 Barrel Pale Ale (Odell Brewing Co)
92. Paulaner Oktoberfestbier
93. Bass Imported Pale Ale (England)
94. Surly Fest
95. Surly Bitter Brewer
96. Surly Bender
97. Woodchuck Cider
98. Blue Moon. Seasonal Collection: Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale
99. Odell’s Cutthroat Porter
100. Wychwood Scarecrow Golden Ale
101. George Killian’s Irish Red
102. Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout
103. Little Creatures Pale Ale
104. Leinenkugel’s Classic Amber
105. Schlitz “Tall Boy”
106. Odell’s 90 schilling
107. Lift Bridge Farm Girl
108. 60 min IPA (Dogfish Head)
109. Alaskan Amber
110. Abita Amber
111. Weihenstephaner Dunkel
112. La Chouffe Blonde
113. Abbey Ale (New Norcia, Western Australia)
114. Alpha Pale Ale (Matilda Bay)
115. Atomic Pale Ale (Cage Roads)
116. Bee Sting Honey Wheat (Barossa Valley Brewing)
117. Burleigh’s 28 Pale Ale “70’s Style” (Burleigh Brewing)
118. Stone & Wood Pacific Ale (the best pale ale beer in Australia alongside Rouse Hill’s Pale Ale)
119. Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse Dunkel
120. Erdinger Dunkel
121. Lord Nelson Three Sheets Pale Ale
122. Knappstein Valley Brewery Reserve Lager
123. Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier Dunkel
124. Adnams Broadside Ale
125. James Squire One Fifty Lashes Pale Ale
126. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale
127. Prime (Fusion Brewing)
128. Monteith’s Doppelbock Winter Ale
129. Endeavour Reserve Pale Ale
130. Leffe Radieuse
131. Kronenbourg 1664
132. Budejovicky Budvar
133. James Squire Sundown Lager
134. James Squire The Chancer Golden Ale
135. James Squire nine Tales Amber Ale
136. James Squire Stow Away IPA
137. James Squire Jack of Spades Porter
138. O’Brien Premium Lager – Gluten Free Beer
139. Storm Cloudy Ale (Mildura Brewery)
140. Tiger Lager Beer
141. Nirvana Pale Ale (Murray’s Craft Brewing Co)
142. Whale Ale (Murray’s Craft Brewing Co)
143. Vergina Lager Beer (Macedonian Thrace Brewery)
144. Endeavour Reserve Amber Ale
145. McCashin’s Stoke Amber
146. Redoak Organic Pale Ale
147. 4 Pines Pale Ale
148. 4 Pines Kolsch
149. Badlands Pale Ale
150. 4 Pines Hefeweizen
151. McCashin’s Stoke Dark
152. 4 Pines Stout
153. Kosciusko Brewing Co Pale Ale
154. The LIttle Brewing Co Wicked Elf Pale Ale
155. Timmermans Kriek
156. Hatlifter Stout (Grand Ridge Brewing)
157. ABC Extra Stout (Archipelago Brewery Company, Cambodia)
158. Black Panther Foreign Extra Premium Stout (Angkor Brewery, Cambodia)
159. Rouse Hill Brewery: Pale Ale
160. Rouse Hill Brewery: Dark Lager
161. Rouse Hill Brewery: Cerveza
162. Happy Goblin Brown Ale
163. Black Duck Brewery English Bitter
164. Murray’s Brewing Pale Ale.
165. St. Peters Brewery Stout.
166. Sleeping Giant IPA
167. Brew Dog Punk IPA
168. Schofferhofer Hefeweizen
170. Kilkenny
171. Old Style
172. Pabst Blue Ribbon
173. Schell’s Dark (August Schell Brewing)
174. Monteith’s Black Beer
175. Monteith’s Golden Lager
176. Anchor Steam Beer
177. Firefly (Fusion Brewing)
178. Leinenkugel’s Original
Updated 25th October, 2011 (Local TapHouse, Sydney):
179. Illawarra Brewing Wit – Witbier – Illawarra Brewing (NSW)
180. Seedy Goat Coffee IPA – Mountain Goat (Vic)
181. Barock Dunkel – Munich Dunkel – Weltenburger Kloster
182. Balmain Bock – Bock – Balmain Brewing (NSW)
183. Murray’s Best Extra Porter – Imperial Porter – Murray’s Craft Brewery (NSW)
184. Hightail Ale – English Amber Ale – Mountain Goat (Vic)
185. Seven Sheds Elephants Trunk – Belgian Strong Ale – Seven Sheds (Tas)
186. Mad Abbot Tripel – Abbey Tripel – Little Brewing Company (NSW)
187. Surefoot Stout – American Stout – Mountain Goat (Vic)
188. Saison Noir – Black Saison – Bridge Road Brewers (Vic)
189. Boston’s Mill Lager – Australian Pale Lager – John Boston Brewing (NSW)
190. Meantime London Stout – English Stout – Meantime Brewing (UK)
191. Bigfoot Stout – Russian Imperial Stout – Mountain Goat (Vic)
Updated 8th-13th December, 2011 (Hobart, Tasmania):
192. Moo Brew – Hefeweizen
193. Moo Brew – Dark Ale
194. Moo Brew – Pilsner
195. Seven Sheds – Willie Warmer
196. Matilda Bay – Bohemian Pilsner
197. Lord Nelson – Old Admiral
198. Mac’s Hop Rocker
199. Hazzards Ale
200. Mountain Goat – Steam Ale
201. Ranga – Red Ale
202. Ironhouse IPA
203. Van Dieman Oatmeal Stout
So, what I wanted to find for myself was how many I actually did have. I know this is going to be difficult as there were some beers I genuinely cannot remember having, as posted in a recent blog. What I will do is try my best and write down the beers I remember having via photos and other means. For those of you who are keen on reading what craft beers I’ve had, the list is as follows. (Please note there are probably a few that aren’t “craft beers”!)
Enjoy.
dann
PS: Hopefully I haven’t written down beers twice!
————————————
LIST OF CRAFT BEERS SINCE AUGUST 2010
————————————
1. Odell’s Original Gravity Black IPA (Odell Brewing)
2. Midnight Sun Sockeye Red IPA (Midnight Sun Brewing)
3. Surly Furious (Surly Brewing)
4. Pliny the Elder (Russian River Brewing)
5. Coffee Bender (Surly Brewing)
6. Boulevard Brewing: Double Wide IPA (recommended by James Spencer: www.basicbrewing.com in which we shared a glass)
7. Point 2012 Black Ale
8. Rogue Brewery: Dead Guy Ale
9. Fuller’s London Porter
10. Breckenridge Brewery’s Vanilla Porter
11. Bell’s Kalamazoo Stout
12. Long Trail Brewing Pale Ale
13. New Belgium 1554 Enlightened Black Ale
14. Alesmith Speedway Stout
15. Leinenkugel’s Fireside Nut Brown
16. Granite City Food and Brewery: Broad Axe Stout
17. Big Sky Brewing: Moose Drool Brown Ale
18. Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale
19. Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA
20. 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die IPA
21. Furthermore Knot Stock Black Pepper Pale
22. Victory HopDevil Ale
23. Summit Oatmeal Stout
24. New Belgium Ranger IPA
25. New Belgium Fat Tyre
26. Anheuser-Busch Wild Blue
27. Leinenkugel’s Berry Weiss
28. James Page Burly Brown Ale
29. Grand Teton Brewing: Bitch Creek ESB Ale
30. Diamond Bear: Pale Ale
31. Diamond Bear: Presidential IPA
32. Deschutes Black Butte Porter
33. Arctic Rhino Coffee Porter (Midnight Sun Brewing Co)
34. Alaskan Brewing IPA
35. Midas Touch (Dogfish Head)
36. Redhook ESB (Redhook Ale Brewery)
37. Spoetzl Brewery: Shiner Bock
38. Summit IPA (Summit Brewing Co)
39. Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat (Leinenkugel’s)
40. Goose Island Honker’s Ale
41. Sierra Nevada Torpedo Extra IPA
42. Summit Extra Pale Ale
43. Sierra Nevada Kellerweis Hefeweizen
44. Samuel Adams Summer Ale
45. New Belgium 1554 Brussels Black Ale
46. Sprecher Black Bavarian Schwarzbier
47. Bell’S Amber Ale
48. Big Sky Moose Drool Brown Ale
49. Founders Dirty Bastard Scotch Ale
50. Big Sky Montana Trout Slayer Wheat Ale
51. Boulder Hazed & Infused Dry Hopped Ale
52. Cinco
53. St. Pauli Girl Lager
54. Moosehead Lager
55. Breckenridge Vanilla Porter
56. Lagunitas Censored Copper Ale
57. New Holland Mad Hatter Ipa
58. Full Sail Amber Ale
59. Rush River The Unforgiven Amber Ale
60. Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout
61. Labatt Blue
62. Shock Top Belgian White (Michelob Brewing Co)
63. Horizon Red Ale (Summit Brewing Co)
64. Skinny Dip (New Belgium)
65. Burning River (Great Lakes Brewing Co)
66. Yeungling Traditional Original Amber Lager.
67. Canadian Molson
68. Steam Whistle Pilsner (Steam Whistle Brewery)
69. Bluebottle (Fusion Brewing)
70. Samuel Smith Old Brewery Tadcaster Taddy Porter
71. Furthermore Three Feet Deep
72. Warsteiner Dunkel
73. Leinenkugel’s Creamy Dark
74. Surly Cynic Ale
75. James Page Iron Range Amber Lager
76. James Page White Ox Wheat Ale
77. James Page Voyager Extra Pale Ale
78. Ayinger Oktober Fest-Marzen
79. Grand Teton Brewing Teton Ale
80. Grand Teton Brewing Sweetgrash American Pale Ale
81. Bard’s Original Sorghum Malt Beer
82. Paulaner Wiesn Blonde
83. St. Pauli Brewing
84. Spaten Brewing
85. Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat
86. Franziskaner Brewing
87. Beck’s Brewing
88. Snakebite (Guiness & Cider)
89. Rush River Amber Ale
90. Mojo IPA (Boulder Beer Company)
91. 5 Barrel Pale Ale (Odell Brewing Co)
92. Paulaner Oktoberfestbier
93. Bass Imported Pale Ale (England)
94. Surly Fest
95. Surly Bitter Brewer
96. Surly Bender
97. Woodchuck Cider
98. Blue Moon. Seasonal Collection: Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale
99. Odell’s Cutthroat Porter
100. Wychwood Scarecrow Golden Ale
101. George Killian’s Irish Red
102. Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout
103. Little Creatures Pale Ale
104. Leinenkugel’s Classic Amber
105. Schlitz “Tall Boy”
106. Odell’s 90 schilling
107. Lift Bridge Farm Girl
108. 60 min IPA (Dogfish Head)
109. Alaskan Amber
110. Abita Amber
111. Weihenstephaner Dunkel
112. La Chouffe Blonde
113. Abbey Ale (New Norcia, Western Australia)
114. Alpha Pale Ale (Matilda Bay)
115. Atomic Pale Ale (Cage Roads)
116. Bee Sting Honey Wheat (Barossa Valley Brewing)
117. Burleigh’s 28 Pale Ale “70’s Style” (Burleigh Brewing)
118. Stone & Wood Pacific Ale (the best pale ale beer in Australia alongside Rouse Hill’s Pale Ale)
119. Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse Dunkel
120. Erdinger Dunkel
121. Lord Nelson Three Sheets Pale Ale
122. Knappstein Valley Brewery Reserve Lager
123. Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier Dunkel
124. Adnams Broadside Ale
125. James Squire One Fifty Lashes Pale Ale
126. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale
127. Prime (Fusion Brewing)
128. Monteith’s Doppelbock Winter Ale
129. Endeavour Reserve Pale Ale
130. Leffe Radieuse
131. Kronenbourg 1664
132. Budejovicky Budvar
133. James Squire Sundown Lager
134. James Squire The Chancer Golden Ale
135. James Squire nine Tales Amber Ale
136. James Squire Stow Away IPA
137. James Squire Jack of Spades Porter
138. O’Brien Premium Lager – Gluten Free Beer
139. Storm Cloudy Ale (Mildura Brewery)
140. Tiger Lager Beer
141. Nirvana Pale Ale (Murray’s Craft Brewing Co)
142. Whale Ale (Murray’s Craft Brewing Co)
143. Vergina Lager Beer (Macedonian Thrace Brewery)
144. Endeavour Reserve Amber Ale
145. McCashin’s Stoke Amber
146. Redoak Organic Pale Ale
147. 4 Pines Pale Ale
148. 4 Pines Kolsch
149. Badlands Pale Ale
150. 4 Pines Hefeweizen
151. McCashin’s Stoke Dark
152. 4 Pines Stout
153. Kosciusko Brewing Co Pale Ale
154. The LIttle Brewing Co Wicked Elf Pale Ale
155. Timmermans Kriek
156. Hatlifter Stout (Grand Ridge Brewing)
157. ABC Extra Stout (Archipelago Brewery Company, Cambodia)
158. Black Panther Foreign Extra Premium Stout (Angkor Brewery, Cambodia)
159. Rouse Hill Brewery: Pale Ale
160. Rouse Hill Brewery: Dark Lager
161. Rouse Hill Brewery: Cerveza
162. Happy Goblin Brown Ale
163. Black Duck Brewery English Bitter
164. Murray’s Brewing Pale Ale.
165. St. Peters Brewery Stout.
166. Sleeping Giant IPA
167. Brew Dog Punk IPA
168. Schofferhofer Hefeweizen
170. Kilkenny
171. Old Style
172. Pabst Blue Ribbon
173. Schell’s Dark (August Schell Brewing)
174. Monteith’s Black Beer
175. Monteith’s Golden Lager
176. Anchor Steam Beer
177. Firefly (Fusion Brewing)
178. Leinenkugel’s Original
Updated 25th October, 2011 (Local TapHouse, Sydney):
179. Illawarra Brewing Wit – Witbier – Illawarra Brewing (NSW)
180. Seedy Goat Coffee IPA – Mountain Goat (Vic)
181. Barock Dunkel – Munich Dunkel – Weltenburger Kloster
182. Balmain Bock – Bock – Balmain Brewing (NSW)
183. Murray’s Best Extra Porter – Imperial Porter – Murray’s Craft Brewery (NSW)
184. Hightail Ale – English Amber Ale – Mountain Goat (Vic)
185. Seven Sheds Elephants Trunk – Belgian Strong Ale – Seven Sheds (Tas)
186. Mad Abbot Tripel – Abbey Tripel – Little Brewing Company (NSW)
187. Surefoot Stout – American Stout – Mountain Goat (Vic)
188. Saison Noir – Black Saison – Bridge Road Brewers (Vic)
189. Boston’s Mill Lager – Australian Pale Lager – John Boston Brewing (NSW)
190. Meantime London Stout – English Stout – Meantime Brewing (UK)
191. Bigfoot Stout – Russian Imperial Stout – Mountain Goat (Vic)
Updated 8th-13th December, 2011 (Hobart, Tasmania):
192. Moo Brew – Hefeweizen
193. Moo Brew – Dark Ale
194. Moo Brew – Pilsner
195. Seven Sheds – Willie Warmer
196. Matilda Bay – Bohemian Pilsner
197. Lord Nelson – Old Admiral
198. Mac’s Hop Rocker
199. Hazzards Ale
200. Mountain Goat – Steam Ale
201. Ranga – Red Ale
202. Ironhouse IPA
203. Van Dieman Oatmeal Stout
black dog of death
posted on August 24, 2011 in The Psycho File
The Psycho File
==========
email: dannbrew@gmail.com
A cold, miserable night makes one want to cry under the sheets. That feeling of not being warm enough to enjoy life, but not cold enough to freeze to death. It’s that deathly middle-of-the-road feeling that sees you watching the same black dog of depression (and ultimate death) straight down the eyes with pure hatred. That black dog has an evil stare, too. Its demeanor and angst taunts your every move. It grips you so tightly that suffocation seems like the only viable option. Dragging yourself out of this monster appears to be one hell of an effort. But all you need to do is look inside yourself, find that inner strength and forge forward. You must never look back.
If you do look back, that black dog of death will stare you down. It will drag you deeper into its lair. It entices you, but you must turn away. Your very life depends on it. You soul-search for answers, yet you cannot find them. You stare at the stars for clues, yet they are not there. You look around you for help, yet it’s nowhere to be seen. Everywhere you look there is a black dog. Your mind plays tricks on you, and you hear whispers. Those whispers are of unknown creatures toying with your mind, your pure consciousness. Treating your thoughts like disposable garbage, throwing out what’s bad and making the rest rot. You must be strong and fight it.
But if you don’t fight it, that black dog of death continues to hound and wail. Its evil cries send shivers amongst the living, and sends shivers amongst the already dead. It knows you have weaknesses. It pounds you until you bleed, until you are ready to give up. It mimics your dreams and turns them into reality. It frightens you into submission with stealth and guile. Seeking for your destruction, it will never give up. A constant menace penetrating your every living being. It will hunt you down until you bow in its presence. You fight the hard fight and you must never give up. Never. Ever.
It’s so easy to give up. So easy to be lured into traps and submit defeat. Learn to be bold. Learn to be strong. Learn to survive and thrive. Turn your angst into a positive. Release your fears and use it to your advantage. Begin the slow and winding track back to reality. Show that black dog you a ready to fight, and fight hard. Use the power of your being to rip shreds off bad demons. Learn to tighten the grip and thrust hard, right back at that black dog. It, too, has a weakness. A weakness that you could never see under its bravado. It, too, had a soul. It was once like you.
That’s how it become that black dog of death. It succumb to the hypnotic stench which is evil and death. It sold its soul to haunt and taunt you, for you to join it. That black dog needs helpers, and those helpers will recruit other helpers and form an army. An army of black dogs that combine to bring you to your downfall. But you’re better than that. You must defeat it. You must rip its heart out and kill it, for if you don’t it will certainly, and eventually, kill you. For that one brief moment in your life, you take that chance of power and multiply your anger in positive thoughts. Gradually, it becomes weaker and weaker. You become stronger and stronger.
But you must keep up the fight. Being strong doesn’t last forever. That black dog keeps reappearing. It trots off around the corner, turns and gazes in your eyes. It waits for a response, a sign of some sort of weakness on your part. Stare back. Stare hard. Concentrate. It will move on to find another helper, to find more recruits for its evil objective. You’ve won this time but you must beware. It will hound you down again and again. For now, with all your power think positive thoughts. You don’t need anyone to help you work it out. If you’re strong enough, you will win. Just remember, never look back.
==========
email: dannbrew@gmail.com
A cold, miserable night makes one want to cry under the sheets. That feeling of not being warm enough to enjoy life, but not cold enough to freeze to death. It’s that deathly middle-of-the-road feeling that sees you watching the same black dog of depression (and ultimate death) straight down the eyes with pure hatred. That black dog has an evil stare, too. Its demeanor and angst taunts your every move. It grips you so tightly that suffocation seems like the only viable option. Dragging yourself out of this monster appears to be one hell of an effort. But all you need to do is look inside yourself, find that inner strength and forge forward. You must never look back.
If you do look back, that black dog of death will stare you down. It will drag you deeper into its lair. It entices you, but you must turn away. Your very life depends on it. You soul-search for answers, yet you cannot find them. You stare at the stars for clues, yet they are not there. You look around you for help, yet it’s nowhere to be seen. Everywhere you look there is a black dog. Your mind plays tricks on you, and you hear whispers. Those whispers are of unknown creatures toying with your mind, your pure consciousness. Treating your thoughts like disposable garbage, throwing out what’s bad and making the rest rot. You must be strong and fight it.
But if you don’t fight it, that black dog of death continues to hound and wail. Its evil cries send shivers amongst the living, and sends shivers amongst the already dead. It knows you have weaknesses. It pounds you until you bleed, until you are ready to give up. It mimics your dreams and turns them into reality. It frightens you into submission with stealth and guile. Seeking for your destruction, it will never give up. A constant menace penetrating your every living being. It will hunt you down until you bow in its presence. You fight the hard fight and you must never give up. Never. Ever.
It’s so easy to give up. So easy to be lured into traps and submit defeat. Learn to be bold. Learn to be strong. Learn to survive and thrive. Turn your angst into a positive. Release your fears and use it to your advantage. Begin the slow and winding track back to reality. Show that black dog you a ready to fight, and fight hard. Use the power of your being to rip shreds off bad demons. Learn to tighten the grip and thrust hard, right back at that black dog. It, too, has a weakness. A weakness that you could never see under its bravado. It, too, had a soul. It was once like you.
That’s how it become that black dog of death. It succumb to the hypnotic stench which is evil and death. It sold its soul to haunt and taunt you, for you to join it. That black dog needs helpers, and those helpers will recruit other helpers and form an army. An army of black dogs that combine to bring you to your downfall. But you’re better than that. You must defeat it. You must rip its heart out and kill it, for if you don’t it will certainly, and eventually, kill you. For that one brief moment in your life, you take that chance of power and multiply your anger in positive thoughts. Gradually, it becomes weaker and weaker. You become stronger and stronger.
But you must keep up the fight. Being strong doesn’t last forever. That black dog keeps reappearing. It trots off around the corner, turns and gazes in your eyes. It waits for a response, a sign of some sort of weakness on your part. Stare back. Stare hard. Concentrate. It will move on to find another helper, to find more recruits for its evil objective. You’ve won this time but you must beware. It will hound you down again and again. For now, with all your power think positive thoughts. You don’t need anyone to help you work it out. If you’re strong enough, you will win. Just remember, never look back.
the moment has arrived
posted on June 27, 2011 in BeerBlog
Well, it’s taken six and a half months but I’m just about there. Earlier this year, a blog I wrote mentioned I wanted to get my all grain equipment by year’s end, 2011. Right now, it’s became a reality. Although I had to sell my treasured guitar and some recording equipment, my obsession with getting all grain equipment for my home brewing is almost complete.
It’s complete in the sense that I now have the money for it. But I’ve been doing so much research on the topic of home brewing equipment lately that I think Google have banned me for six months in fear of wearing out their search engine. I guess my thirst for knowledge and trying to get things right on the first approach has meant that Google has definitely been my friend, for sure.
But that sureness, that self belief of what I want has been a great learning curve. My good friend and fellow home brewer, Kyle, has been pivotal in keeping my feet on the ground by providing me with realistic and achievable outcomes. Kyle’s been a wealth of knowledge throughout my learning process, and for that I am eternally grateful.
So grateful in fact that he’s given me the confidence to start thinking for myself in what I want to achieve in twelve months to two year’s time. I mean, even reading forums from AussieHomeBrewer, for which I am a member, has been an enormous help. Trolling through hundreds and hundreds of threads, day after day has been every bit worth while.
In fact, it’s been more than worth my while. It’s given me great in-depth and insider knowledge of what to look out for, what is good (and not so good) and the general feel for brewing equipment on the whole. I did all this, don’t forget, so I could make an informed decision based on my very own needs and wants. I did this to become a better home brewer.
And with people like Kyle by my side, I am certainly becoming a better home brewer. I’ve picked his brains so much that I’m surprised he’s got any left for himself! Of course, I jest when I say that but you get my meaning. The comments I read from other people in forums also has enabled me to be better informed on the choices I make for my own home brew setup.
That setup, now, is taking shape at a steady pace. There are so many options available for the home brewer that trying to figure out where to start is quite daunting. There are so many people out there telling us that all grain is “easy”. Sure, I’d agree with that. You can make it quite easy, actually. However, there are some people out there that make it sound quite difficult.
But it shouldn’t be difficult. It should be easy. Full stop. Mash tuns, brew kettles, burners, chillers, pre-chillers, chill or no chill options, false bottoms, gravity fed, pumps, HERMS, RIMS. That’s just for starters. Each individual has their own special setup, depending on their needs and space available. It’s so personalised that knowing what you want and what each piece does is vitally important.
So important that I now understand the comment Kyle made a few week’s back: “To understand a thing, you must understand its parts and its purpose. But simplicity usually comes after some intensely creative thought.” Oh, how true that is. I’ve spent weeks agonising over almost every part, intensely going over every aspect in trying to understand each part and its purpose.
By understanding its purpose I’ve been able to be better informed on how I approach my home brew setup. Heck, I even got Kyle to draw me some pictures! But seriously, (actually, that was being serious. He did draw me some pictures) it gave me a visual on how I wanted to set up my equipment and how I could future proof it.
And by ‘future proof’ I strictly mean that when I buy my equipment now, how I will allow myself to expand when my experience grows in the future? I don’t want to do anything half-assed right now, only to find out I need to buy more equipment down the track because I didn’t make the right decision. I want to be able to have the opportunity to expand my brew day with my existing equipment. So it’s important I get this right. Now.
In fact, ‘right now’ is what I’m thinking. What fits into my budget ‘right now’, yet still allows me to grow for the future? Again, “to understand a thing, you must understand its parts and its purpose.” I have been religiously following that advise for weeks. It’s been with me like a blister on a heel during a marathon. I need to understand my equipment, which will enable me to make the right (future proof) decisions.
Those decisions have been quite interesting. I’ve been emailing several home brew stores and enquiring about certain items. Of course, I do my research first and then ask questions. But, as it turned out, my first batch of queries were related to gas burners. Hey, without heat you can’t brew! So, with that in mind I Googled myself silly and done a week’s worth of searching.
That searching lead to the following decision: I’d get the Mongolian burner. More research, and several emails later, I found out that the model I was after (23 jet Mongolian burner) was now discontinued. However, it turns out that the 32 jet Natural Gas (NG) burner could be sold for the same price as the 23 jet. Huh! Same price? More power? More heat? That’s future proofing!
So, with my pride well intact I managed to get a 32 jet NG Mongolian burner for the same price as a 23 jet (some $70 cheaper). What about a brew kettle? Well, knowing how I wanted to set things up now and for the future, I gave beerbelly a buzz via email enquiring about stainless steel (SS) kettles (they’ve come highly recommended from other brewers). Although there is another place cheaper, this mob had quality written all over them.
In fact, the whole process of communicating with them was quality. From my initial enquiry to the last one I had late last week, it’s been nothing but sheer quality customer service. It certainly was a refreshing experience. So, off I went and asked about their SS kettles. It turns out they can be specially made to spec. Impressive! So, the only choice I had to make was how big a SS kettle I wanted.
That was the tricky part. How big did I want the kettles? My decision, by calculating all the possibilities (and future proofing, don’t forget) allowed me to make a choice of x1 50L SS kettle and x1 70L SS kettle. I am still yet to order it, but will do so by the end of this week. I will use my 50L SS kettle as the Hot Liquor Tank (HLT) and the 70L SS kettle as my brew kettle. This way, I will future proof myself for larger batches as my experience and knowledge grows.
And as my experience and knowledge grows, so does my ability to temp fate: make my own mash tun. Surprisingly, I have now enough confidence to go about making my own mash tun, something I would never have thought possible at the beginning of the year. You see how much research can teach you? Amazing! But what’s more amazing is the price I can save doing it myself.
Unfortunately, that’s probably the only thing I’ll save on: my mash tun. Of course, I still need to get myself an immersion chiller but that decision was made easy after going through all the other options: counter flow chiller, immersion chiller (which I have chosen) and plate chiller. Three totally different methods to chill your wort, but the outcome is pretty much the same.
Although the outcome is the same (all making your wort chill quicker in order to pitch your yeast), but their methods varied. I will not go into technical details but I will say that I chose the path by talking with Kyle and checking out home brew forums. There were pros and cons for all methods, but I chose to go the immersion chiller. It just felt that it’d make my brew day all the more simple.
And that is how it’s supposed to be, simple. Brewing shouldn’t be made difficult. I’ve learned so much by talking to others, reading and Google searching that I’m now making the easy choices. I’m making my life simple, which is the way it should be. I’m now making the informed decisions, which will allow my obsession with getting all grain equipment for my home brewing just about complete.
dann
It’s complete in the sense that I now have the money for it. But I’ve been doing so much research on the topic of home brewing equipment lately that I think Google have banned me for six months in fear of wearing out their search engine. I guess my thirst for knowledge and trying to get things right on the first approach has meant that Google has definitely been my friend, for sure.
But that sureness, that self belief of what I want has been a great learning curve. My good friend and fellow home brewer, Kyle, has been pivotal in keeping my feet on the ground by providing me with realistic and achievable outcomes. Kyle’s been a wealth of knowledge throughout my learning process, and for that I am eternally grateful.
So grateful in fact that he’s given me the confidence to start thinking for myself in what I want to achieve in twelve months to two year’s time. I mean, even reading forums from AussieHomeBrewer, for which I am a member, has been an enormous help. Trolling through hundreds and hundreds of threads, day after day has been every bit worth while.
In fact, it’s been more than worth my while. It’s given me great in-depth and insider knowledge of what to look out for, what is good (and not so good) and the general feel for brewing equipment on the whole. I did all this, don’t forget, so I could make an informed decision based on my very own needs and wants. I did this to become a better home brewer.
And with people like Kyle by my side, I am certainly becoming a better home brewer. I’ve picked his brains so much that I’m surprised he’s got any left for himself! Of course, I jest when I say that but you get my meaning. The comments I read from other people in forums also has enabled me to be better informed on the choices I make for my own home brew setup.
That setup, now, is taking shape at a steady pace. There are so many options available for the home brewer that trying to figure out where to start is quite daunting. There are so many people out there telling us that all grain is “easy”. Sure, I’d agree with that. You can make it quite easy, actually. However, there are some people out there that make it sound quite difficult.
But it shouldn’t be difficult. It should be easy. Full stop. Mash tuns, brew kettles, burners, chillers, pre-chillers, chill or no chill options, false bottoms, gravity fed, pumps, HERMS, RIMS. That’s just for starters. Each individual has their own special setup, depending on their needs and space available. It’s so personalised that knowing what you want and what each piece does is vitally important.
So important that I now understand the comment Kyle made a few week’s back: “To understand a thing, you must understand its parts and its purpose. But simplicity usually comes after some intensely creative thought.” Oh, how true that is. I’ve spent weeks agonising over almost every part, intensely going over every aspect in trying to understand each part and its purpose.
By understanding its purpose I’ve been able to be better informed on how I approach my home brew setup. Heck, I even got Kyle to draw me some pictures! But seriously, (actually, that was being serious. He did draw me some pictures) it gave me a visual on how I wanted to set up my equipment and how I could future proof it.
And by ‘future proof’ I strictly mean that when I buy my equipment now, how I will allow myself to expand when my experience grows in the future? I don’t want to do anything half-assed right now, only to find out I need to buy more equipment down the track because I didn’t make the right decision. I want to be able to have the opportunity to expand my brew day with my existing equipment. So it’s important I get this right. Now.
In fact, ‘right now’ is what I’m thinking. What fits into my budget ‘right now’, yet still allows me to grow for the future? Again, “to understand a thing, you must understand its parts and its purpose.” I have been religiously following that advise for weeks. It’s been with me like a blister on a heel during a marathon. I need to understand my equipment, which will enable me to make the right (future proof) decisions.
Those decisions have been quite interesting. I’ve been emailing several home brew stores and enquiring about certain items. Of course, I do my research first and then ask questions. But, as it turned out, my first batch of queries were related to gas burners. Hey, without heat you can’t brew! So, with that in mind I Googled myself silly and done a week’s worth of searching.
That searching lead to the following decision: I’d get the Mongolian burner. More research, and several emails later, I found out that the model I was after (23 jet Mongolian burner) was now discontinued. However, it turns out that the 32 jet Natural Gas (NG) burner could be sold for the same price as the 23 jet. Huh! Same price? More power? More heat? That’s future proofing!
So, with my pride well intact I managed to get a 32 jet NG Mongolian burner for the same price as a 23 jet (some $70 cheaper). What about a brew kettle? Well, knowing how I wanted to set things up now and for the future, I gave beerbelly a buzz via email enquiring about stainless steel (SS) kettles (they’ve come highly recommended from other brewers). Although there is another place cheaper, this mob had quality written all over them.
In fact, the whole process of communicating with them was quality. From my initial enquiry to the last one I had late last week, it’s been nothing but sheer quality customer service. It certainly was a refreshing experience. So, off I went and asked about their SS kettles. It turns out they can be specially made to spec. Impressive! So, the only choice I had to make was how big a SS kettle I wanted.
That was the tricky part. How big did I want the kettles? My decision, by calculating all the possibilities (and future proofing, don’t forget) allowed me to make a choice of x1 50L SS kettle and x1 70L SS kettle. I am still yet to order it, but will do so by the end of this week. I will use my 50L SS kettle as the Hot Liquor Tank (HLT) and the 70L SS kettle as my brew kettle. This way, I will future proof myself for larger batches as my experience and knowledge grows.
And as my experience and knowledge grows, so does my ability to temp fate: make my own mash tun. Surprisingly, I have now enough confidence to go about making my own mash tun, something I would never have thought possible at the beginning of the year. You see how much research can teach you? Amazing! But what’s more amazing is the price I can save doing it myself.
Unfortunately, that’s probably the only thing I’ll save on: my mash tun. Of course, I still need to get myself an immersion chiller but that decision was made easy after going through all the other options: counter flow chiller, immersion chiller (which I have chosen) and plate chiller. Three totally different methods to chill your wort, but the outcome is pretty much the same.
Although the outcome is the same (all making your wort chill quicker in order to pitch your yeast), but their methods varied. I will not go into technical details but I will say that I chose the path by talking with Kyle and checking out home brew forums. There were pros and cons for all methods, but I chose to go the immersion chiller. It just felt that it’d make my brew day all the more simple.
And that is how it’s supposed to be, simple. Brewing shouldn’t be made difficult. I’ve learned so much by talking to others, reading and Google searching that I’m now making the easy choices. I’m making my life simple, which is the way it should be. I’m now making the informed decisions, which will allow my obsession with getting all grain equipment for my home brewing just about complete.
dann
it may be the end of the road, but something’s brewing ahead
posted on June 21, 2011 in BeerBlog
It all started way back in 1985, and for twenty five years now I’ve had a guitar in my hands. I’ve recorded albums, played in bands, had many wonderful live gigs in Melbourne and Sydney and have played with some talented musicians. Sadly, I have finally come to the realisation that, as I fast approach 39 years of age, it’s time to call it quits on my musical career.
My musical career carried me on so many highs. It also pelted me with extreme lows. It transformed me as a young boy into a young man. As that young man, I rocked and rolled, did drugs and a lot of other things that I certainly am not proud of. Music gave me a life, a spiritual meaning. It gave me a sense of what and who I was in this world. It is because of music that I am who I am today, for which I am very proud. I wouldn’t swap it for the world, and for that I am extremely proud.
But as proud as I may be, no more is there a burning fire within me in continuing to record and play music. In fact, the last song I wrote was for a friend while I was in the US in 2010. I came back from the US and felt my passion had faded. You see, once upon a time my passion for music was like a fiery hell that burned brighter than one hundred Suns. It’s now dwindled into nothing more than a dimly lit candle sitting silently alone, only for a subtle breeze to snuff it out. The passion, gone. The desire, gone. The music, now gone.
But with one passion gone there is always another that replaces it. For the past two years I’ve had the opportunity to learn about home brewing. Yeah, I know it’s crazy to some of you out there but it actually has taken over my life. It was the same passion I felt when I was 13 years old. I started out playing the guitar and my music blossomed from there. It was that fire, that desire. That utter coolness I felt when girls watched me play the guitar. I felt like I was a God.
That same feeling of God-like status now embraces me when I brew beer. It is that same utter coolness in brewing that makes me feel young again, like I was chasing those young girls to impress them. This time, however, I’m impressing my mates with home brew. This hobby soon crept up on me and turned into a devilish passion. Hey, it’s not a bad devilish passion to have! What I’m trying to say is that it has wrapped itself around me like a deadly octopus’ tentacles around its prey. I’m forever trapped in this monster.
Well, it’s not actually a monster. It’s probably more like being wrapped around several drop-dead gorgeous Mermaids. It’s so enticing, so luring that you mustn’t take your eyes off it. To me, brewing is like that; you mustn’t take your eyes off it. It’s such a beautiful beast that you have to watch it with every ounce of energy. You have to caress every moment, treasure every look and serenade each and every gesture. Being able to home brew has given me a new life, a new world. It’s given me a new meaning.
That new meaning is something to behold. I recall being over my parents place in Melbourne a few years ago. My music was somehow the topic of conversation. My mum popped out of the room, came back in a few minutes and put a cassette the cassette player and said: “listen to this”. I heard a young boy of about five years of age play the Ukulele. I asked mum who the hell that was. She said it was me.
Me? I cried right there and then. It was at that moment, that specific moment that gave my music new meaning. It prompted a raft of emotions, something I had rarely shown. It gave my music a new meaning from then on. I looked at my reflective self, something I hadn’t done much in music. I began to write songs about myself in a reflective way. Months later, my best mate was killed in a car accident. He was travelling to see me here in Sydney.
Being here in Sydney gave me more meaning, and it shed even more mystery over my song writing ability. I poured over 25 new songs within the same year my best mate got killed. I recalled the moment my mum played me that cassette of me, a five year old kid strumming the Ukulele and singing in the recorder. I cried. My best mate died coming to see me. I cried. I wrote so many songs about this same reflective moment that it gave my music a new meaning.
That’s how I now feel about brewing: it’s giving myself a new meaning, a new beginning. It has given me new challenges and given me the opportunity to create my own beers in the same way as I created my music, with a fiery passion that burns inside wanting to explode. So I guess it’s time for me to call it quits on my music. It’s served its purpose well, but from now on I’ll be brewing late into the night discovering life in a new way. Brewing is my passion, my life, my soul. It’ll be a while before I call quits on that.
dann
My musical career carried me on so many highs. It also pelted me with extreme lows. It transformed me as a young boy into a young man. As that young man, I rocked and rolled, did drugs and a lot of other things that I certainly am not proud of. Music gave me a life, a spiritual meaning. It gave me a sense of what and who I was in this world. It is because of music that I am who I am today, for which I am very proud. I wouldn’t swap it for the world, and for that I am extremely proud.
But as proud as I may be, no more is there a burning fire within me in continuing to record and play music. In fact, the last song I wrote was for a friend while I was in the US in 2010. I came back from the US and felt my passion had faded. You see, once upon a time my passion for music was like a fiery hell that burned brighter than one hundred Suns. It’s now dwindled into nothing more than a dimly lit candle sitting silently alone, only for a subtle breeze to snuff it out. The passion, gone. The desire, gone. The music, now gone.
But with one passion gone there is always another that replaces it. For the past two years I’ve had the opportunity to learn about home brewing. Yeah, I know it’s crazy to some of you out there but it actually has taken over my life. It was the same passion I felt when I was 13 years old. I started out playing the guitar and my music blossomed from there. It was that fire, that desire. That utter coolness I felt when girls watched me play the guitar. I felt like I was a God.
That same feeling of God-like status now embraces me when I brew beer. It is that same utter coolness in brewing that makes me feel young again, like I was chasing those young girls to impress them. This time, however, I’m impressing my mates with home brew. This hobby soon crept up on me and turned into a devilish passion. Hey, it’s not a bad devilish passion to have! What I’m trying to say is that it has wrapped itself around me like a deadly octopus’ tentacles around its prey. I’m forever trapped in this monster.
Well, it’s not actually a monster. It’s probably more like being wrapped around several drop-dead gorgeous Mermaids. It’s so enticing, so luring that you mustn’t take your eyes off it. To me, brewing is like that; you mustn’t take your eyes off it. It’s such a beautiful beast that you have to watch it with every ounce of energy. You have to caress every moment, treasure every look and serenade each and every gesture. Being able to home brew has given me a new life, a new world. It’s given me a new meaning.
That new meaning is something to behold. I recall being over my parents place in Melbourne a few years ago. My music was somehow the topic of conversation. My mum popped out of the room, came back in a few minutes and put a cassette the cassette player and said: “listen to this”. I heard a young boy of about five years of age play the Ukulele. I asked mum who the hell that was. She said it was me.
Me? I cried right there and then. It was at that moment, that specific moment that gave my music new meaning. It prompted a raft of emotions, something I had rarely shown. It gave my music a new meaning from then on. I looked at my reflective self, something I hadn’t done much in music. I began to write songs about myself in a reflective way. Months later, my best mate was killed in a car accident. He was travelling to see me here in Sydney.
Being here in Sydney gave me more meaning, and it shed even more mystery over my song writing ability. I poured over 25 new songs within the same year my best mate got killed. I recalled the moment my mum played me that cassette of me, a five year old kid strumming the Ukulele and singing in the recorder. I cried. My best mate died coming to see me. I cried. I wrote so many songs about this same reflective moment that it gave my music a new meaning.
That’s how I now feel about brewing: it’s giving myself a new meaning, a new beginning. It has given me new challenges and given me the opportunity to create my own beers in the same way as I created my music, with a fiery passion that burns inside wanting to explode. So I guess it’s time for me to call it quits on my music. It’s served its purpose well, but from now on I’ll be brewing late into the night discovering life in a new way. Brewing is my passion, my life, my soul. It’ll be a while before I call quits on that.
dann
Our very own Australian beer wars
posted on June 19, 2011 in BeerBlog
Australian beer wars? Looks like it. Recently, Foster’s pulled its stock from our supermarket chains Woolworths and Coles, which includes beers such as VB, Carlton Draught and Pure Blonde. Both Woolies and Coles were trying to sell the beer at lower than wholesale price. Foster’s deemed this practice as “loss-leading”, which is a way of deliberately selling a product at a loss, which then attracts customers around the store to purchase other products that haven’t been discounted.
But what was the discount by Coles and Woolies that made Foster’s scream? Many news articles suggest that its wholesale price for a carton of beer was $33. The normal retail price is about $38. What the supermarket chains planned to do was sell that at $28. That would have certainly paved the way for new and existing customers through the doors. Although the supermarket chains have the ability to spread the loss, it is something the independent liquor store cannot do.
Evidence suggests that those same independent stores are being ripped off by the breweries. They are being charged more for wholesale, which ends up meaning the customer is having to pay more. There is some evidence to suggest that what the independent liquor stores do to alleviate this has been to go to, let’s say, a Dan Murphy’s outlet and buy cartons of beer from them. It turns out to be cheaper than buying directly from Foster’s. They can then on-sell the product to the customer, leaving the independent to make a small profit.
But who is really profiting from this whole shamozzle? Surely it’s Foster’s? Reports suggest that anywhere from $40 to $50 per carton is about the average price. For this argument, let’s stick to $38 as an average. But why are Foster’s afraid to let Coles and Woolies sell their product for $28? I think I know the answer, and I’m sure some other pundits out there have come to the same conclusion: it cheapens the product and undermines their brand name.
That’s the issue: branding. Foster’s is a big mega-marketing company that sells beer, amongst other things. So, if you sell it for $28 when it normally retails for $38 (on average) at your local Coles or Woolies then you’d be getting mighty upset. How would you like to be seen as a cheap beer being flogged at cheap prices? Foster’s is a brand, and you don’t want to mess with the brand.
And not only is it about brand, but it’s about what Foster’s considers as responsible drinking. I’ve noticed this trend through the summer watching TV. Both Foster’s and Lion Nathan have been promoting their beer asking that we should drink responsibly. Somehow I don’t think that seeing a carton of VB for $28 is making people think to drink responsibly. Would you consider this to be asking the consumer to drink responsibly at those prices?
If I were to see a beer that I liked at $28 per carton then I’d stock up quick. How could I not buy extra? It’s at least $10 cheaper! So by blocking supply to the big stores it could be argued that they’re keen to keep the “drink responsibily” theme. On the other hand, the consumer could consider this anti-competitive. By Foster’s denying their stores to sell at $28, they save face helping to not lessen both brand and their campaign to ask us to drink responsibly.
But do the big boys in beer production want you to drink responsibly? I very much doubt it. What does “drink responsibly” mean? Think about it: drink responsibly. Now, say it slowly; dr-ink re-spons-ibly. Now slower; d-rin-k re-spo-ns-i-bly. Drink responsibly. OK, now I am sounding like Denny Crane from Boston Legal, repeating it so many times that it must be important.
Although the message is important, drinking responsibly has too many meanings. Too many people can interpret it differently. You could argue it simply means not to drink if you intend to drive. It’s a message that has been widely advertised: Drink. Drive. Bloody idiot. You could also argue that, like one particular advert has done, drinking in front of children leads them to drink in later years, thinking it’s OK to drink.
Well, it is OK to drink if you’re 18 years of age and older. Drink responsibly, right? I’ll leave that interpretation up to you. Any argument consumers have about why Foster’s is not willing to sell their product at $28 per carton will be based on cheapening their product and drinking responsibly. My interpretation can only further estimate that by dropping prices as low as was suggested would fly in the face of their “drink responsibly” theme.
But let’s forget about the drinking responsibly theme. Forget about the $28 per carton deal for Coles and Woolies. Let’s focus on the wholesale price, $33 per carton. $33 a carton? $33? Wholesale? That’s a heck of a price to pay for an ordinary beer; VB, Carlton and Pure Blonde. In fact, my good friend and fellow home brewer, Kyle, gave Pure Blonde a new name. It’s a name that really captures its true quality more effectively: Pure Bland(e).
And, really, that’s what all those beers are, bland. You’re essentially paying a relatively high price for a very, very, ordinary product. Until the craft brewers have a better excise tax system, or failing that a complete overhaul how beer is taxed (i.e. tax on volume, alcohol type, etc. Read this article for details: Excise on small brewers) we will continue to see conglomarites such as Foster’s and Lion Nathan dominate the market. And because they are also listed on the Australian Stock Exchange, shareholders will not see the funny side of allowing other breweries to expand.
But our craft breweries do need to expand. It’s vital that for the craft brewing industry here in Australia. Our current excise tax laws need to be revised, maybe overhauled altogether. Until that happens, Foster’s, Lion Nathan and breweries like them will dominate the way we drink beer here in Australia. We’ll continue to hear stories about loss-lending and stores trying to sell beer at lower than wholesale prices. A true beer wars, to me, is one that pits the craft brewing industry against our old and dilapidated conglomerate breweries such as Foster’s. When that happens, I’ll be the first to wave the flag for our craft brewing industry. Game on – let the true beer wars begin.
dann
But what was the discount by Coles and Woolies that made Foster’s scream? Many news articles suggest that its wholesale price for a carton of beer was $33. The normal retail price is about $38. What the supermarket chains planned to do was sell that at $28. That would have certainly paved the way for new and existing customers through the doors. Although the supermarket chains have the ability to spread the loss, it is something the independent liquor store cannot do.
Evidence suggests that those same independent stores are being ripped off by the breweries. They are being charged more for wholesale, which ends up meaning the customer is having to pay more. There is some evidence to suggest that what the independent liquor stores do to alleviate this has been to go to, let’s say, a Dan Murphy’s outlet and buy cartons of beer from them. It turns out to be cheaper than buying directly from Foster’s. They can then on-sell the product to the customer, leaving the independent to make a small profit.
But who is really profiting from this whole shamozzle? Surely it’s Foster’s? Reports suggest that anywhere from $40 to $50 per carton is about the average price. For this argument, let’s stick to $38 as an average. But why are Foster’s afraid to let Coles and Woolies sell their product for $28? I think I know the answer, and I’m sure some other pundits out there have come to the same conclusion: it cheapens the product and undermines their brand name.
That’s the issue: branding. Foster’s is a big mega-marketing company that sells beer, amongst other things. So, if you sell it for $28 when it normally retails for $38 (on average) at your local Coles or Woolies then you’d be getting mighty upset. How would you like to be seen as a cheap beer being flogged at cheap prices? Foster’s is a brand, and you don’t want to mess with the brand.
And not only is it about brand, but it’s about what Foster’s considers as responsible drinking. I’ve noticed this trend through the summer watching TV. Both Foster’s and Lion Nathan have been promoting their beer asking that we should drink responsibly. Somehow I don’t think that seeing a carton of VB for $28 is making people think to drink responsibly. Would you consider this to be asking the consumer to drink responsibly at those prices?
If I were to see a beer that I liked at $28 per carton then I’d stock up quick. How could I not buy extra? It’s at least $10 cheaper! So by blocking supply to the big stores it could be argued that they’re keen to keep the “drink responsibily” theme. On the other hand, the consumer could consider this anti-competitive. By Foster’s denying their stores to sell at $28, they save face helping to not lessen both brand and their campaign to ask us to drink responsibly.
But do the big boys in beer production want you to drink responsibly? I very much doubt it. What does “drink responsibly” mean? Think about it: drink responsibly. Now, say it slowly; dr-ink re-spons-ibly. Now slower; d-rin-k re-spo-ns-i-bly. Drink responsibly. OK, now I am sounding like Denny Crane from Boston Legal, repeating it so many times that it must be important.
Although the message is important, drinking responsibly has too many meanings. Too many people can interpret it differently. You could argue it simply means not to drink if you intend to drive. It’s a message that has been widely advertised: Drink. Drive. Bloody idiot. You could also argue that, like one particular advert has done, drinking in front of children leads them to drink in later years, thinking it’s OK to drink.
Well, it is OK to drink if you’re 18 years of age and older. Drink responsibly, right? I’ll leave that interpretation up to you. Any argument consumers have about why Foster’s is not willing to sell their product at $28 per carton will be based on cheapening their product and drinking responsibly. My interpretation can only further estimate that by dropping prices as low as was suggested would fly in the face of their “drink responsibly” theme.
But let’s forget about the drinking responsibly theme. Forget about the $28 per carton deal for Coles and Woolies. Let’s focus on the wholesale price, $33 per carton. $33 a carton? $33? Wholesale? That’s a heck of a price to pay for an ordinary beer; VB, Carlton and Pure Blonde. In fact, my good friend and fellow home brewer, Kyle, gave Pure Blonde a new name. It’s a name that really captures its true quality more effectively: Pure Bland(e).
And, really, that’s what all those beers are, bland. You’re essentially paying a relatively high price for a very, very, ordinary product. Until the craft brewers have a better excise tax system, or failing that a complete overhaul how beer is taxed (i.e. tax on volume, alcohol type, etc. Read this article for details: Excise on small brewers) we will continue to see conglomarites such as Foster’s and Lion Nathan dominate the market. And because they are also listed on the Australian Stock Exchange, shareholders will not see the funny side of allowing other breweries to expand.
But our craft breweries do need to expand. It’s vital that for the craft brewing industry here in Australia. Our current excise tax laws need to be revised, maybe overhauled altogether. Until that happens, Foster’s, Lion Nathan and breweries like them will dominate the way we drink beer here in Australia. We’ll continue to hear stories about loss-lending and stores trying to sell beer at lower than wholesale prices. A true beer wars, to me, is one that pits the craft brewing industry against our old and dilapidated conglomerate breweries such as Foster’s. When that happens, I’ll be the first to wave the flag for our craft brewing industry. Game on – let the true beer wars begin.
dann
beer: the taste for all seasons
posted on February 8, 2011 in BeerBlog
Travelling through the USA for 9 weeks was an awesome experience. I’d have to say that it was one of the major highlights of my life. From San Francisco to Minneapolis, Buffalo in New York, Las Vegas, Chicago, Bloomer in Wisconsin and to Arkansas. I was just about everywhere. I had the pleasure of visiting fantastic friends and travelling through some great places. I also had the great pleasure of sampling quite a few of the brews that the US had to offer. It was a beer experience of a lifetime.
And this is what this particular blog is about; a beer experience of a lifetime. It’s taken me a few months to write this, but I’ve let the thoughts flow through my mind and have allowed myself the opportunity to soak in memories of what was a great beer tour. I even have a tattoo to prove it! Of course, the US is full of craft breweries: August Schell, Leinenkugel’s, Surly, New Belgium, Anchor, Rock Bottom, Dogfish Head. The list is absolutely endless. I was lucky enough to travel to a few places and have the chance to try out all these different beers. What journey it turned out to be.
My journey began way back in August 2010 when we arrived in San Francisco (read blog:the united beers of america: part i (san francisco 1/2)). It ended up at the end of October at The Valley Pub & Grill in Eagan, Minnesota. In between that time I tried the best, and not so best, beers the USA had to offer. It’s actually hard for me to remember exactly what beers I had at what times, but I will do my best to recall them.
Well, I do recall taking lots of pictures of beer. I took as many as I could purely to document what I had tried. I can assure you that it wasn’t easy slipping out the camera and taking a picture of a beer. Some people thought it was quite strange. However, I freely admit to not knowing how a lot of them tasted, but I do know how the better ones tasted. Of course, tasting over 80 different beers allows me the excuse of not being able to remember every single one.
But I guess it wasn’t really about remembering every single one. Well, it wasn’t feasible for me to do so anyway. Going out, partying, shopping, golfing, seeing the sights, driving vast distances, taking planes across the country. It was full of excitement, lots of travel and plenty of partying with friends. My best bet was to showcase the better beers in my mind, so I could come back home to Australia and share my experiences with my fellow brewing buddies.
Those same brewing buddies were intrigued. I had a few people say that the US had crap beer. I’m actually in total agreement. I mean, I can rattle off a few right now: Coors, Coors Light, Bud Light and Miller Lite (the united beers of america: part iv (bloomer, wisconsin)). That’s what most Australian’s know about beer in the US. It’s crap beer, but with awesome commercials that gets coverage during things like the Superbowl which grabs our attention. Problem is that most Australian’s don’t look for that speciality craft beer, they don’t look for different tasting brews and do not dare to be different.
Hell, on this trip I chose to be different. That was my goal before I left. Due to the fact that I brewed my own beer I was determined to go out of my way and try different beers. I wanted to see what the US had to offer. And what the US had to offer surprised me somewhat. I admitted to that in my earlier blog (the united beers of america: part iii (inver grove heights/eagan, mn)), and I stlll stand by it today. The US has breweries that are commited to changing the taste buds of beer drinkers around the country.
Dogfish Head are one brewery that are commited to changing the way people drink beer. All you have to do is go to their website and see for yourself: Dogfish Head . In fact, if you have access to the US’s Discovery Channel then you’ll know there is a show called “Brew Masters”, which has Dogfish Head’s founder and president Sam Calagione. Dogfish Head dare to be different, and their motto is: off-centered ales for off-centered people. Their ales are not only off-centered, but are way left field. What a breath of fresh air that is!
And that is just one of the breath’s of fresh air seen in many breweries across the country. I noted a few earlier, but Wikipedia tells me there is “more than 1,500.” Well, thanks to Jimmy Carter’s 1979 legislation that deregulated the beer industry, craft brewers and home brewers alike flourished. It’s because of this that you see the resulting breweries now in 2010. The diversity this legislation created, the way we drink beer and what we expect our beer to be is all thanks to that change in 1979.
But Carter’s legislation in 1979 wasn’t the only thing significant. It’s the people who rose to the occastion and took the plunge in opening a brewery. They were the pioneers of the brewing back in those days. Thanks to them, I enjoyed the best 9 weeks of my life by being introduced to new tastes, aromas and flavours. I have to admit that one of my favourite flavours was that of Surly Brewing near Minneapolis, Minnesota. They have what they call a “Coffee Bender”, which describes itself as a: “Coffee flavoured American Brown Ale.” But it wasn’t only the flavour that interested me about Surly.
What also interested me about Surly was their motto: Beer for a glass. From a can. They actually put their beer in aluminium cans. I mean, I recall back in the mid 90’s when I was living in Melbourne buying cans of Victoria Bitter. Nowadays it’s not as common, with breweries preferring to use glass bottles instead. Nonetheless, Surly have tried something different and have come up trumps. You could argue that the conglomerates like Anheuser-Busch make beer in cans, too. The major difference here is that Surly actually make beer, rather than Anheuser-Busch making you believe that there is beer in their cans.
Cans aside, the vast variety of beer available at liquor stores is remarkable. It’s also dirt cheap (read blog: (the united beers of america: part iii (inver grove heights/eagan, mn)). Not only do you have a vast array of cheap beer, it’s like walking into a Bunnings warehouse here in Sydney. Some liquor stores are absolutely huge. Handymen buy tools at Bunnings, and they stay there for hours on end. Beer lover’s go to liquor stores in the US, and they stay long enough to wear out the tiled floors. The immediacy of what you’re looking at really does heighten your beer senses.
And I can assure you that through my travels my beer senses were always on high alert. My favourite venue was at Old Chicago (Old Chicago: World Beer Tour). You had over 100 beers at your disposal and you had the opportunity to “travel the world” and experience beers from different nations. I will admit, though, that I stuck to the US beers. It was a deliberate ploy on my part. It was the best way to try different beers from different breweries around the country. It was also the most convenient.
What I also felt most convenient, however, was my location: I was in the USA. I had all the opportunity in the world to experience different brews everywhere i went. I remember being in Buffalo, New York and the night when we arrived at a local bar. I hadn’t a clue what was on tap, so I asked the lovely bar girl to give me some advice on what was good. She told me to try the Cherry Wheat beer by Samuel Adams. It sounded nice, so I gave it a go. After the first few sips I knew I was in trouble. An overly sweet cherry taste was apparent. Unfortunately, I had to put that beer in the lower half of my list.
That list eventually grew, but it grew in a nice way. The more I travelled, the more beer experience I got. Thankfully, that same experience I got provided me with the ability to judge the difference between a good beer and a great beer. As it turned out I happened to meet up with someone who actually knew all about beer, let alone know how great a beer is. That someone was James Spencer. For those of you who know, he’s one half of the guys (the other is Steve Wilkes) from Basic Brewing.
Before I left for the US, I had been watching one of Basic Brewing’s vodcast episodes late at night. I am not sure who it was but either James or Steve pointed out that the weather in north-west Arkansas was hot. That jolted me like a thunderbolt from the sky. North-west Arkansas? Hell, I was going to Arkansas! This gave me an idea. I emailed James telling him I loved the show, loved brewing beer and I was a big fan. Of course, those details were as pure as the drive snow. I also mentioned that I was heading down to Hot Springs Village in Arkansas and wondered whether he’d be free to catch up for a chat when I eventually got there. I later found out that James and Steve lived near Fayetteville, Arkansas.
You see, this was fortuitous. I vaguely recalled going through Fayetteville on my last trip to the US back in April 2009. Although we only passed through it, I just so happened to take a photo of the sign as we went by. At this point I was in shock. I wondered then if I could arrange to meet up with him? Well, to cut a long story short I got the go ahead to meet up at a particular time and date with James. It ended up that we all arrived at the Mellow Mushroom over in Fayetteville. I had just been coming back from a trip to Hot Springs Village with friends (read blog:the united beers of america: part xvii (hot springs village, arkansas) and we all agreed that it was OK for me to catch up with James.
And when James arrived he brought along Andy Sparks. He’s a regular contributor on the Basic Brewing podcasts, and it was just so awesome to catch up with them and have a chat. Interestingly enough, James suggested we try the Double Wide IPA by Boulevard Brewing. It was a superb choice. What better way to share a great beer with James Spencer and Andy Sparks. But as time moved on, so did I have to move on. All of us were on a fairly tight schedule. So, to commemorate the occasion I got a photo taken with James and Andy (usa beer: august to october 2010) and said my farewell. It was a great honour and joy to meet the beer Gods themselves. It was simply a great way to end my beer tasting holiday.
And, really, my holiday was complete after that. It was the end of October and I was about to go home. The last morning before I left was with my good friend Trish. She took me off to The Valley over in Eagan, Minnesota. We had breakfast and we started drinking. It was just a brilliant way to end what was a fantastic trip. I ordered my usual Schell’s Dark by August Schell Brewing: a dark American lager that was just the perfect beer to have when you’re about to head back home to Australia. But what was perfect about this beer tour around the US was that I loved every single moment. It was the beer experience of a lifetime.
dann
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
So, do you wanna know what my Top Five Beers were? How about Great Beers To Try? What about Beers To Look Out For? Well, I’ve arranged a list specially for you (see below) that gives you an indication of just some of the beers I tried. Yes, there were way, way more beers that I drank. Unfortunately, some didn’t make it. Others, well, it’s best that you go to the US and try them for yourself. You’ll probably find that after all the rubbish I’ve been talking about that half of them you don’t even like. Hey, that’s what experiencing beer is all about: give it a go, try it and see what you think.
Enjoy my selection.
dann
Top Five Beers:
1. Odell’s Original Gravity Black IPA (Odell Brewing)
2. Midnight Sun Sockeye Red IPA (Midnight Sun Brewing)
3. Surly Furious (Surly Brewing)
4. Pliny the Elder (Russian River Brewing)
5. Coffee Bender (Surly Brewing)
Great Beers To Try:
* Boulevard Brewing: Double Wide IPA
* Point 2012 Black Ale
* Rogue Brewery: Dead Guy Ale
* Fuller’s London Porter
* Breckenridge Brewery’s Vanilla Porter
* Bell’s Kalamazoo Stout
* Long Trail Brewing Pale Ale
* New Belgium 1554 Enlightened Black Ale
* Alesmith Speedway Stout
* Summit Horizon Red
* Granite City Food and Brewery: Broad Axe Stout
* Big Sky Brewing: Moose Drool Brown Ale
* Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale
* Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA
* 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die IPA
Beers To Look Out For:
* Furthermore Knot Stock
* Victory HopDevil Ale
* Summit Oatmeal Stout
* New Belgium Ranger IPA
* New Belgium Fat Tyre
* Anheuser-Busch Wild Blue
(yes, I hate Anheuser-Busch but… this was the exception to the rule)
* Leinenkugel’s Berry Weiss
* James Page Burly Brown Ale
* Grand Teton Brewing: Bitch Creek ESB Ale
* Diamond Bear: Pale Ale
* Diamond Bear: Presidential IPA
* Deschutes Black Butte Porter
* Spoetzl Brewery: Shiner Bock
And this is what this particular blog is about; a beer experience of a lifetime. It’s taken me a few months to write this, but I’ve let the thoughts flow through my mind and have allowed myself the opportunity to soak in memories of what was a great beer tour. I even have a tattoo to prove it! Of course, the US is full of craft breweries: August Schell, Leinenkugel’s, Surly, New Belgium, Anchor, Rock Bottom, Dogfish Head. The list is absolutely endless. I was lucky enough to travel to a few places and have the chance to try out all these different beers. What journey it turned out to be.
My journey began way back in August 2010 when we arrived in San Francisco (read blog:the united beers of america: part i (san francisco 1/2)). It ended up at the end of October at The Valley Pub & Grill in Eagan, Minnesota. In between that time I tried the best, and not so best, beers the USA had to offer. It’s actually hard for me to remember exactly what beers I had at what times, but I will do my best to recall them.
Well, I do recall taking lots of pictures of beer. I took as many as I could purely to document what I had tried. I can assure you that it wasn’t easy slipping out the camera and taking a picture of a beer. Some people thought it was quite strange. However, I freely admit to not knowing how a lot of them tasted, but I do know how the better ones tasted. Of course, tasting over 80 different beers allows me the excuse of not being able to remember every single one.
But I guess it wasn’t really about remembering every single one. Well, it wasn’t feasible for me to do so anyway. Going out, partying, shopping, golfing, seeing the sights, driving vast distances, taking planes across the country. It was full of excitement, lots of travel and plenty of partying with friends. My best bet was to showcase the better beers in my mind, so I could come back home to Australia and share my experiences with my fellow brewing buddies.
Those same brewing buddies were intrigued. I had a few people say that the US had crap beer. I’m actually in total agreement. I mean, I can rattle off a few right now: Coors, Coors Light, Bud Light and Miller Lite (the united beers of america: part iv (bloomer, wisconsin)). That’s what most Australian’s know about beer in the US. It’s crap beer, but with awesome commercials that gets coverage during things like the Superbowl which grabs our attention. Problem is that most Australian’s don’t look for that speciality craft beer, they don’t look for different tasting brews and do not dare to be different.
Hell, on this trip I chose to be different. That was my goal before I left. Due to the fact that I brewed my own beer I was determined to go out of my way and try different beers. I wanted to see what the US had to offer. And what the US had to offer surprised me somewhat. I admitted to that in my earlier blog (the united beers of america: part iii (inver grove heights/eagan, mn)), and I stlll stand by it today. The US has breweries that are commited to changing the taste buds of beer drinkers around the country.
Dogfish Head are one brewery that are commited to changing the way people drink beer. All you have to do is go to their website and see for yourself: Dogfish Head . In fact, if you have access to the US’s Discovery Channel then you’ll know there is a show called “Brew Masters”, which has Dogfish Head’s founder and president Sam Calagione. Dogfish Head dare to be different, and their motto is: off-centered ales for off-centered people. Their ales are not only off-centered, but are way left field. What a breath of fresh air that is!
And that is just one of the breath’s of fresh air seen in many breweries across the country. I noted a few earlier, but Wikipedia tells me there is “more than 1,500.” Well, thanks to Jimmy Carter’s 1979 legislation that deregulated the beer industry, craft brewers and home brewers alike flourished. It’s because of this that you see the resulting breweries now in 2010. The diversity this legislation created, the way we drink beer and what we expect our beer to be is all thanks to that change in 1979.
But Carter’s legislation in 1979 wasn’t the only thing significant. It’s the people who rose to the occastion and took the plunge in opening a brewery. They were the pioneers of the brewing back in those days. Thanks to them, I enjoyed the best 9 weeks of my life by being introduced to new tastes, aromas and flavours. I have to admit that one of my favourite flavours was that of Surly Brewing near Minneapolis, Minnesota. They have what they call a “Coffee Bender”, which describes itself as a: “Coffee flavoured American Brown Ale.” But it wasn’t only the flavour that interested me about Surly.
What also interested me about Surly was their motto: Beer for a glass. From a can. They actually put their beer in aluminium cans. I mean, I recall back in the mid 90’s when I was living in Melbourne buying cans of Victoria Bitter. Nowadays it’s not as common, with breweries preferring to use glass bottles instead. Nonetheless, Surly have tried something different and have come up trumps. You could argue that the conglomerates like Anheuser-Busch make beer in cans, too. The major difference here is that Surly actually make beer, rather than Anheuser-Busch making you believe that there is beer in their cans.
Cans aside, the vast variety of beer available at liquor stores is remarkable. It’s also dirt cheap (read blog: (the united beers of america: part iii (inver grove heights/eagan, mn)). Not only do you have a vast array of cheap beer, it’s like walking into a Bunnings warehouse here in Sydney. Some liquor stores are absolutely huge. Handymen buy tools at Bunnings, and they stay there for hours on end. Beer lover’s go to liquor stores in the US, and they stay long enough to wear out the tiled floors. The immediacy of what you’re looking at really does heighten your beer senses.
And I can assure you that through my travels my beer senses were always on high alert. My favourite venue was at Old Chicago (Old Chicago: World Beer Tour). You had over 100 beers at your disposal and you had the opportunity to “travel the world” and experience beers from different nations. I will admit, though, that I stuck to the US beers. It was a deliberate ploy on my part. It was the best way to try different beers from different breweries around the country. It was also the most convenient.
What I also felt most convenient, however, was my location: I was in the USA. I had all the opportunity in the world to experience different brews everywhere i went. I remember being in Buffalo, New York and the night when we arrived at a local bar. I hadn’t a clue what was on tap, so I asked the lovely bar girl to give me some advice on what was good. She told me to try the Cherry Wheat beer by Samuel Adams. It sounded nice, so I gave it a go. After the first few sips I knew I was in trouble. An overly sweet cherry taste was apparent. Unfortunately, I had to put that beer in the lower half of my list.
That list eventually grew, but it grew in a nice way. The more I travelled, the more beer experience I got. Thankfully, that same experience I got provided me with the ability to judge the difference between a good beer and a great beer. As it turned out I happened to meet up with someone who actually knew all about beer, let alone know how great a beer is. That someone was James Spencer. For those of you who know, he’s one half of the guys (the other is Steve Wilkes) from Basic Brewing.
Before I left for the US, I had been watching one of Basic Brewing’s vodcast episodes late at night. I am not sure who it was but either James or Steve pointed out that the weather in north-west Arkansas was hot. That jolted me like a thunderbolt from the sky. North-west Arkansas? Hell, I was going to Arkansas! This gave me an idea. I emailed James telling him I loved the show, loved brewing beer and I was a big fan. Of course, those details were as pure as the drive snow. I also mentioned that I was heading down to Hot Springs Village in Arkansas and wondered whether he’d be free to catch up for a chat when I eventually got there. I later found out that James and Steve lived near Fayetteville, Arkansas.
You see, this was fortuitous. I vaguely recalled going through Fayetteville on my last trip to the US back in April 2009. Although we only passed through it, I just so happened to take a photo of the sign as we went by. At this point I was in shock. I wondered then if I could arrange to meet up with him? Well, to cut a long story short I got the go ahead to meet up at a particular time and date with James. It ended up that we all arrived at the Mellow Mushroom over in Fayetteville. I had just been coming back from a trip to Hot Springs Village with friends (read blog:the united beers of america: part xvii (hot springs village, arkansas) and we all agreed that it was OK for me to catch up with James.
And when James arrived he brought along Andy Sparks. He’s a regular contributor on the Basic Brewing podcasts, and it was just so awesome to catch up with them and have a chat. Interestingly enough, James suggested we try the Double Wide IPA by Boulevard Brewing. It was a superb choice. What better way to share a great beer with James Spencer and Andy Sparks. But as time moved on, so did I have to move on. All of us were on a fairly tight schedule. So, to commemorate the occasion I got a photo taken with James and Andy (usa beer: august to october 2010) and said my farewell. It was a great honour and joy to meet the beer Gods themselves. It was simply a great way to end my beer tasting holiday.
And, really, my holiday was complete after that. It was the end of October and I was about to go home. The last morning before I left was with my good friend Trish. She took me off to The Valley over in Eagan, Minnesota. We had breakfast and we started drinking. It was just a brilliant way to end what was a fantastic trip. I ordered my usual Schell’s Dark by August Schell Brewing: a dark American lager that was just the perfect beer to have when you’re about to head back home to Australia. But what was perfect about this beer tour around the US was that I loved every single moment. It was the beer experience of a lifetime.
dann
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
So, do you wanna know what my Top Five Beers were? How about Great Beers To Try? What about Beers To Look Out For? Well, I’ve arranged a list specially for you (see below) that gives you an indication of just some of the beers I tried. Yes, there were way, way more beers that I drank. Unfortunately, some didn’t make it. Others, well, it’s best that you go to the US and try them for yourself. You’ll probably find that after all the rubbish I’ve been talking about that half of them you don’t even like. Hey, that’s what experiencing beer is all about: give it a go, try it and see what you think.
Enjoy my selection.
dann
Top Five Beers:
1. Odell’s Original Gravity Black IPA (Odell Brewing)
2. Midnight Sun Sockeye Red IPA (Midnight Sun Brewing)
3. Surly Furious (Surly Brewing)
4. Pliny the Elder (Russian River Brewing)
5. Coffee Bender (Surly Brewing)
Great Beers To Try:
* Boulevard Brewing: Double Wide IPA
* Point 2012 Black Ale
* Rogue Brewery: Dead Guy Ale
* Fuller’s London Porter
* Breckenridge Brewery’s Vanilla Porter
* Bell’s Kalamazoo Stout
* Long Trail Brewing Pale Ale
* New Belgium 1554 Enlightened Black Ale
* Alesmith Speedway Stout
* Summit Horizon Red
* Granite City Food and Brewery: Broad Axe Stout
* Big Sky Brewing: Moose Drool Brown Ale
* Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale
* Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA
* 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die IPA
Beers To Look Out For:
* Furthermore Knot Stock
* Victory HopDevil Ale
* Summit Oatmeal Stout
* New Belgium Ranger IPA
* New Belgium Fat Tyre
* Anheuser-Busch Wild Blue
(yes, I hate Anheuser-Busch but… this was the exception to the rule)
* Leinenkugel’s Berry Weiss
* James Page Burly Brown Ale
* Grand Teton Brewing: Bitch Creek ESB Ale
* Diamond Bear: Pale Ale
* Diamond Bear: Presidential IPA
* Deschutes Black Butte Porter
* Spoetzl Brewery: Shiner Bock
walking on sunshine
posted on January 31, 2011 in BeerBlog
‘Tis the season for a heatwave, tra la la la lah la la la lah. It’s hot. Damn hot! Sydney is about to strike a heatwave and today’s the first day of it. It’s currently 35 degrees celcius right now, and it’s going to get hotter as the week progresses. I love summer, and this will be sure-fire way to test my love for it.
But really, my love for summer began when I was a kid. Playing cricket in the backyard, hitting a tennis ball on the garage’s brick wall or weaving between blades of grass with a soccer ball to mimic Liverpool’s Craig Johnstone. Summer brings back the days when things were much simplier, much easier.
But does life get any easier as you get older? Particularly when it’s hot? I wouldn’t think so. We complain about having to come into the office, but the fact remains there is free airconditioning. Surely that should sway us to haul ourselves in? But what about the transit to and from work? Our trains are notoriously bad when it comes to air conditioners.
The only air conditioned trains, I believe, are the Tangara’s and the Millenium’s. Other than that, a ride on any other train is like being stuck in the Mojave desert for 72 hours in an aluminum tube that has no windows. What happened to the fun in travelling, the fun in life during summer? For me, living in the south-west of Sydney means I loath catching the train in summer. It’s really testament to the poor service we get from RailCrap….I mean, RailCorp.
Instead of RailCorp, what about our Bus services during the summer? That’s just as bad. Up until a few years ago I used to live in the inner-west of Sydney. I’d have to catch the bus into work each day. During summer it was like being stuck in a sardine can. Worse still, the odours, the lack of space and bad breath was enough to make your hair go curly. Hell, I’ve even farted once and I can assure you that even I was gagging. Everthing that was bad about buses during summer reared its ugly head.
Mind you, my ugly head would even sweat in an air conditioned car. I’m even sweating just typing this email, and I’m in the office typing it! So where did all the fun go? Most of us have to work, most of us travel long distances and certainly most of us can remember all the good times growing up in weather like this. No wonder everyone appears to be cranky on public trasnport.
But we all get cranky, even if we aren’t on public transport. I haven’t driven a car in years, but I did manage to get cranky myself during one car trip. I was behind the wheel on a 30km road trip when it was hotter than the Devil’s kitchen. I saw myself getting crankier and crankier. Yep, I got cranky. Me, the coolest of cool people under pressure regardless of weather. Geeze, did this drongo prove himself wrong.
But what’s wrong is the fact that the people, like myself, aren’t given the opportunity to work from home. Wouldn’t it make us enjoy summer more if we were at home? Let’s be honest, the majority of people have got air conditioning. The fact that we’re not stuck on a train, bus or sweating our ballistics off in the car is a positive. Wouldn’t that bring some joy back in to summer?
But, alas, my work place doesn’t allow plebs like me to work from home. It’s a bummer, I know, but I have to live with it. OK, no problem. I can deal with it. Like every other challenge in life I can deal with it and move on. I still have to get out of the house in 35 degree celcius heat, walk to the train station, catch a train with no air con for 45 minutes and sweat my buttocks off in the process. I mean, I love summer but this is a sure-fire way to test my love for it.
dann
But really, my love for summer began when I was a kid. Playing cricket in the backyard, hitting a tennis ball on the garage’s brick wall or weaving between blades of grass with a soccer ball to mimic Liverpool’s Craig Johnstone. Summer brings back the days when things were much simplier, much easier.
But does life get any easier as you get older? Particularly when it’s hot? I wouldn’t think so. We complain about having to come into the office, but the fact remains there is free airconditioning. Surely that should sway us to haul ourselves in? But what about the transit to and from work? Our trains are notoriously bad when it comes to air conditioners.
The only air conditioned trains, I believe, are the Tangara’s and the Millenium’s. Other than that, a ride on any other train is like being stuck in the Mojave desert for 72 hours in an aluminum tube that has no windows. What happened to the fun in travelling, the fun in life during summer? For me, living in the south-west of Sydney means I loath catching the train in summer. It’s really testament to the poor service we get from RailCrap….I mean, RailCorp.
Instead of RailCorp, what about our Bus services during the summer? That’s just as bad. Up until a few years ago I used to live in the inner-west of Sydney. I’d have to catch the bus into work each day. During summer it was like being stuck in a sardine can. Worse still, the odours, the lack of space and bad breath was enough to make your hair go curly. Hell, I’ve even farted once and I can assure you that even I was gagging. Everthing that was bad about buses during summer reared its ugly head.
Mind you, my ugly head would even sweat in an air conditioned car. I’m even sweating just typing this email, and I’m in the office typing it! So where did all the fun go? Most of us have to work, most of us travel long distances and certainly most of us can remember all the good times growing up in weather like this. No wonder everyone appears to be cranky on public trasnport.
But we all get cranky, even if we aren’t on public transport. I haven’t driven a car in years, but I did manage to get cranky myself during one car trip. I was behind the wheel on a 30km road trip when it was hotter than the Devil’s kitchen. I saw myself getting crankier and crankier. Yep, I got cranky. Me, the coolest of cool people under pressure regardless of weather. Geeze, did this drongo prove himself wrong.
But what’s wrong is the fact that the people, like myself, aren’t given the opportunity to work from home. Wouldn’t it make us enjoy summer more if we were at home? Let’s be honest, the majority of people have got air conditioning. The fact that we’re not stuck on a train, bus or sweating our ballistics off in the car is a positive. Wouldn’t that bring some joy back in to summer?
But, alas, my work place doesn’t allow plebs like me to work from home. It’s a bummer, I know, but I have to live with it. OK, no problem. I can deal with it. Like every other challenge in life I can deal with it and move on. I still have to get out of the house in 35 degree celcius heat, walk to the train station, catch a train with no air con for 45 minutes and sweat my buttocks off in the process. I mean, I love summer but this is a sure-fire way to test my love for it.
dann
same dog, different haircut
posted on January 28, 2011 in BeerBlog
It’s the same old story; I go to a pub, look at what they’ve got on tap and order a beer. Problem is they don’t really have a wide variety. Well, if you consider Blue Tongue, Bulmer’s Cider, VB, Carlton, Tooheys New, Tooheys Super Dry, Fat Yak Pale Ale, Coopers, James Squire’s Amber and Golden Ale a variety then we certainly don’t think alike. Sure, there are a couple of OK beers but the rest are pretty ordinary.
Actually, ordinary is an understatement. Even more ordinary is the price. Recently, I went on a trip to the north shore of Sydney, Kirribilly Hotel. It’s a great place to relax and chill out. Pity about the beer, and its prices. In a previous blog (how to lose friends and discourage people) I talked about how the big companies force you drink crappy beer at outlandish prices at sporting venues. Well, thanks to Kirribilly Hotel I’ve learned that there is no end to the exploitation of beer prices in Sydney.
And the exploitation of beer prices make me sick in the stomach. I paid $6.40 for schooner of beer. A schooner of beer for $6.40!? Should when must I start forking out that much for a beer? And now that we’ve just had Australia Day, I can safely say that this is un-Australian! I can’t hide my disgust at hoteliers gauging clients left, right and center. Problem is people like you and me are all but willing to part with our hard-earned cash for the sake of some crummy beers at a pub.
But pubs like that should be careful. I’m not sure whether they charge those prices because they can, or if they have to pay the rent. Regardless, it will not be long before people are going to say enough is enough. I was in a shout, and three beers cost over $20. I was gobsmacked. I did this all night, with exception to when I wasn’t shouting beers. Each time one of the three of us went to the bar, it was a minimum of $20 for a round of drinks. That’s just crazy!
What’s even more crazy is the fact that we started drinking at 11:30am. You see, my good mate Luke had his birthday and so we decided to take the day off work from our respective employers and have some fun. We were joined with one of Luke’s work colleagues, Ash. So, the fun started at 11:30am and it continued until about 7pm. I can assure you when three males that love a drop of beer drink for seven and a half hours, the bill is going to be quite expensive.
How expensive? Well, let’s play it safe. Say we had two rounds each every hour, That’s two beers every hour for seven hours. That’s 14 beers each, at 14 rounds. Let’s make it simple and say we did one round extra during one hour, so it’s 15 beers each for the same amount of time. That works out to be a minimum of 5 shouts each, which equates to a minimum of $100 on drinks alone.
You seriously telling me $100 isn’t a lot of money? It’s huge! I know that adding up all those hours would equal a lot of money, but merely paying for one schooner is highway robbery. I guess that’s the reason why I brew my own beer. It’s cheap and tastes better. Enough said. And in these difficult and uncertain financial times it’s no wonder that many more people (I have got anecdotal evidence to prove this) are turning to home brewing.
Home brewing is an art, a science. It’s also a lot of fun. OK, I’ve probably mentioned all this before but at least now I don’t have to pay $6.40 for a schooner of beer. At best, I’m now paying $0.60 per schooner. That is a whopping $5.80 saving per schooner! It’s not only about the savings, though. You simply get better beer; no preservatives, no additives. Just lovely, fresh, better tasting beer and the types of beer you brew is only limited by your imagination.
But imagine this: you walk into a pub, you find 10 very different beers on tap, all from craft breweries and they are much cheaper than usual. Wouldn’t that be good? It may well be a dream, but I’m allowed to dream. I wont be going back to the pub any time soon and paying $6.40 for a schooner. Well, not if I can avoid it. The price was too high and the beer was pretty ordinary.
dann
Actually, ordinary is an understatement. Even more ordinary is the price. Recently, I went on a trip to the north shore of Sydney, Kirribilly Hotel. It’s a great place to relax and chill out. Pity about the beer, and its prices. In a previous blog (how to lose friends and discourage people) I talked about how the big companies force you drink crappy beer at outlandish prices at sporting venues. Well, thanks to Kirribilly Hotel I’ve learned that there is no end to the exploitation of beer prices in Sydney.
And the exploitation of beer prices make me sick in the stomach. I paid $6.40 for schooner of beer. A schooner of beer for $6.40!? Should when must I start forking out that much for a beer? And now that we’ve just had Australia Day, I can safely say that this is un-Australian! I can’t hide my disgust at hoteliers gauging clients left, right and center. Problem is people like you and me are all but willing to part with our hard-earned cash for the sake of some crummy beers at a pub.
But pubs like that should be careful. I’m not sure whether they charge those prices because they can, or if they have to pay the rent. Regardless, it will not be long before people are going to say enough is enough. I was in a shout, and three beers cost over $20. I was gobsmacked. I did this all night, with exception to when I wasn’t shouting beers. Each time one of the three of us went to the bar, it was a minimum of $20 for a round of drinks. That’s just crazy!
What’s even more crazy is the fact that we started drinking at 11:30am. You see, my good mate Luke had his birthday and so we decided to take the day off work from our respective employers and have some fun. We were joined with one of Luke’s work colleagues, Ash. So, the fun started at 11:30am and it continued until about 7pm. I can assure you when three males that love a drop of beer drink for seven and a half hours, the bill is going to be quite expensive.
How expensive? Well, let’s play it safe. Say we had two rounds each every hour, That’s two beers every hour for seven hours. That’s 14 beers each, at 14 rounds. Let’s make it simple and say we did one round extra during one hour, so it’s 15 beers each for the same amount of time. That works out to be a minimum of 5 shouts each, which equates to a minimum of $100 on drinks alone.
You seriously telling me $100 isn’t a lot of money? It’s huge! I know that adding up all those hours would equal a lot of money, but merely paying for one schooner is highway robbery. I guess that’s the reason why I brew my own beer. It’s cheap and tastes better. Enough said. And in these difficult and uncertain financial times it’s no wonder that many more people (I have got anecdotal evidence to prove this) are turning to home brewing.
Home brewing is an art, a science. It’s also a lot of fun. OK, I’ve probably mentioned all this before but at least now I don’t have to pay $6.40 for a schooner of beer. At best, I’m now paying $0.60 per schooner. That is a whopping $5.80 saving per schooner! It’s not only about the savings, though. You simply get better beer; no preservatives, no additives. Just lovely, fresh, better tasting beer and the types of beer you brew is only limited by your imagination.
But imagine this: you walk into a pub, you find 10 very different beers on tap, all from craft breweries and they are much cheaper than usual. Wouldn’t that be good? It may well be a dream, but I’m allowed to dream. I wont be going back to the pub any time soon and paying $6.40 for a schooner. Well, not if I can avoid it. The price was too high and the beer was pretty ordinary.
dann
a peck of pickled peppers
posted on January 24, 2011 in BeerBlog
As you know, I brew beer. I don’t accept not being able to brew a certain type of beer. In fact, I’ve been in the fortunate position of being able to brew anything I can think of. I’ve heard people say that “it can’t be done” or “you can’t brew that”, but I know better than to believe them. After my recent trip to the United States of America, my levels of testosterone has increased dramatically. I am now a true believer that I can brew anything that I bloody well please.
The fact that I want to brewing anything I bloody well please is a gratifying experience. I get an idea, I think about it in my head and then I brew it. Simple. I’ve had some people give me really whacky ideas, and I always mention that it can be done, if done correctly. I guess there are the odd potential recipes that don’t cut it, like the ‘bacon and egg’ beer. Sure, I can do bacon beer but I’m afraid egg is out of the question. Where would I start?
Well, in a previous blog I’ve already started by saying I’d love to do a bacon beer. I will not cover old ground here. Although I am still yet to do a bacon beer, I am happy to report that I’ve had many different brew ideas, apart from figuring out how on earth do I put egg in a beer? But more on that on another blog. What I can say is that when I came back from the USA, I kicked things off with a sweet potato beer. That was my first step into trying something not many people have done.
Sure, not many people have done a sweet potato beer but thinking of a process on how to brew it was great fun. I even tried my very own version of a dark German beer, sort of like drinking a Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse Dunkel but without the wheat. It obviously didn’t go near the Franziskaner, but my first attempt at making my own version that was similar to that was pretty cool.
In fact, most of my brews I’ve been brewing are pretty cool. One of the first cabs off the rank was the Mango and Macadamia Nut honey beer, Mongo. Some of you may already know that I’ve actually brewed this before, but this time there is extra Mango in it. The results have left certain people speechless. I had friends over a couple of weekends ago and, apart from trying other beers, by far they enjoyed the Mongo. It’s got ‘winner’ written all over it.
Unfortunately, not all winning beers are great. A recent watermelon beer seemed like a great idea. The same concept and principles were applied like with every other brew. What I thought was a winning brew that would taste great has turned out to be a bigger flop than Water World, starring Kevin Costner. But, you see, that is the luck of the draw. Some people would say that it was a wasted brew. I challenge that. I’d say it’s a brew that needs refining, a brew that needs more attention.
And I love paying attention to my beers. I just have a funny feeling that there was simply too much watermelon, and it was left in the fermenter for far too long. On the flip side, I (once again) asked my friends what they’d find interesting to brew. A pumpkin was mentioned, so I just had to do it. What interested me was I wanted to try racking this thing off into secondary fermentation. I’d never racked off to secondary before, as my recipe page states quite clearly.
But what I wasn’t clear about was the amount of time I should have my pumpkin in secondary for? I watched a Basic Brewing video some time ago, on a chilli beer, suggesting that three weeks was sufficient. Although I didn’t run the gauntlet, the pumpkin in secondary fermentation for 7 days seemed good enough for starters. It’s already bottled now and just over a week old, so it will not be long before I start cracking one open to see what it’s like.
That’s the beauty of brewing: cracking one open to see what it’s like. It’s like trying your Mum’s cake she just made, right out of the oven. It’s that first mouth-watering bite you take that gives you that lasting impression. Beer is a bit like that. Better still, beer gets better with age and the longer you store it the better it will get. You’ll discover that, over time, it will change its characteristics. It’s just like a human being; when it gets older it becomes more mellow.
Although my beers have become more mellow over time, my recipes haven’t. I continue to do different things. I’m now in the middle of fermenting an Amber ale that has its name as a chilli beer. It’s already fermented, and is now waiting for yours truly to get off his lazy ass and rack it into secondary. Thankfully, I was fortunate enough recently to find a store nearby that sold dry chilli. No more excuses, as it’s going to be an exciting time in waiting for this beer to be drinkable.
And I have to admit waiting for my beers to be drinkable is killing me. Every single time I get an idea, run with it and then brew it I am already drooling at the fact I can’t drink it straight away. An example of this is my banana/vanilla stout, which is my second attempt at this beer. The first, and failed version, was a complete debacle. If you don’t know the story, here it is in full: failing is part of being successful. I was so anxious to drink this that I was willing to sell my soul to the Devil himself to drink it as soon as I could.
But sometimes soon enough isn’t the best option. Patience, my friend. Patience. Thankfully, my patience of about 7 days had finally meant that I could taste it to see how good it was. So, late Saturday night it was decided that my flat mate and I crack open a banana/vanilla stout. Boy, oh boy. You could have had Claudia Schiffer at my place, dressed scantily and begging for me to kiss her passionately, or have the choice of another banana/vanilla stout. I would have asked her to leave so we could enjoy another banana/vanilla stout. It was that good.
So good in fact (no, there isn’t any deliberate Sanitarium or KFC pun intended) that it’s made all the more better knowing that I brewed it. It’s an experimentation that worked. It worked, dammit! No one said I could brew a Pear beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a Peach beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a Pineapple beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a sweet potato beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a banana/vanilla stout. I did it. I love proving people wrong, and that’s why I am now a true believer that I can brew anything that I bloody well please.
dann
The fact that I want to brewing anything I bloody well please is a gratifying experience. I get an idea, I think about it in my head and then I brew it. Simple. I’ve had some people give me really whacky ideas, and I always mention that it can be done, if done correctly. I guess there are the odd potential recipes that don’t cut it, like the ‘bacon and egg’ beer. Sure, I can do bacon beer but I’m afraid egg is out of the question. Where would I start?
Well, in a previous blog I’ve already started by saying I’d love to do a bacon beer. I will not cover old ground here. Although I am still yet to do a bacon beer, I am happy to report that I’ve had many different brew ideas, apart from figuring out how on earth do I put egg in a beer? But more on that on another blog. What I can say is that when I came back from the USA, I kicked things off with a sweet potato beer. That was my first step into trying something not many people have done.
Sure, not many people have done a sweet potato beer but thinking of a process on how to brew it was great fun. I even tried my very own version of a dark German beer, sort of like drinking a Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse Dunkel but without the wheat. It obviously didn’t go near the Franziskaner, but my first attempt at making my own version that was similar to that was pretty cool.
In fact, most of my brews I’ve been brewing are pretty cool. One of the first cabs off the rank was the Mango and Macadamia Nut honey beer, Mongo. Some of you may already know that I’ve actually brewed this before, but this time there is extra Mango in it. The results have left certain people speechless. I had friends over a couple of weekends ago and, apart from trying other beers, by far they enjoyed the Mongo. It’s got ‘winner’ written all over it.
Unfortunately, not all winning beers are great. A recent watermelon beer seemed like a great idea. The same concept and principles were applied like with every other brew. What I thought was a winning brew that would taste great has turned out to be a bigger flop than Water World, starring Kevin Costner. But, you see, that is the luck of the draw. Some people would say that it was a wasted brew. I challenge that. I’d say it’s a brew that needs refining, a brew that needs more attention.
And I love paying attention to my beers. I just have a funny feeling that there was simply too much watermelon, and it was left in the fermenter for far too long. On the flip side, I (once again) asked my friends what they’d find interesting to brew. A pumpkin was mentioned, so I just had to do it. What interested me was I wanted to try racking this thing off into secondary fermentation. I’d never racked off to secondary before, as my recipe page states quite clearly.
But what I wasn’t clear about was the amount of time I should have my pumpkin in secondary for? I watched a Basic Brewing video some time ago, on a chilli beer, suggesting that three weeks was sufficient. Although I didn’t run the gauntlet, the pumpkin in secondary fermentation for 7 days seemed good enough for starters. It’s already bottled now and just over a week old, so it will not be long before I start cracking one open to see what it’s like.
That’s the beauty of brewing: cracking one open to see what it’s like. It’s like trying your Mum’s cake she just made, right out of the oven. It’s that first mouth-watering bite you take that gives you that lasting impression. Beer is a bit like that. Better still, beer gets better with age and the longer you store it the better it will get. You’ll discover that, over time, it will change its characteristics. It’s just like a human being; when it gets older it becomes more mellow.
Although my beers have become more mellow over time, my recipes haven’t. I continue to do different things. I’m now in the middle of fermenting an Amber ale that has its name as a chilli beer. It’s already fermented, and is now waiting for yours truly to get off his lazy ass and rack it into secondary. Thankfully, I was fortunate enough recently to find a store nearby that sold dry chilli. No more excuses, as it’s going to be an exciting time in waiting for this beer to be drinkable.
And I have to admit waiting for my beers to be drinkable is killing me. Every single time I get an idea, run with it and then brew it I am already drooling at the fact I can’t drink it straight away. An example of this is my banana/vanilla stout, which is my second attempt at this beer. The first, and failed version, was a complete debacle. If you don’t know the story, here it is in full: failing is part of being successful. I was so anxious to drink this that I was willing to sell my soul to the Devil himself to drink it as soon as I could.
But sometimes soon enough isn’t the best option. Patience, my friend. Patience. Thankfully, my patience of about 7 days had finally meant that I could taste it to see how good it was. So, late Saturday night it was decided that my flat mate and I crack open a banana/vanilla stout. Boy, oh boy. You could have had Claudia Schiffer at my place, dressed scantily and begging for me to kiss her passionately, or have the choice of another banana/vanilla stout. I would have asked her to leave so we could enjoy another banana/vanilla stout. It was that good.
So good in fact (no, there isn’t any deliberate Sanitarium or KFC pun intended) that it’s made all the more better knowing that I brewed it. It’s an experimentation that worked. It worked, dammit! No one said I could brew a Pear beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a Peach beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a Pineapple beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a sweet potato beer. I did it. No one said I could brew a banana/vanilla stout. I did it. I love proving people wrong, and that’s why I am now a true believer that I can brew anything that I bloody well please.
dann
the (devonshire) tunnel of love
posted on January 20, 2011 in BeerBlog
Every single day I walk to and from work via the Devonshire tunnel. It’s a gateway underneath Central Station here in Sydney that gives you access to all the trains within the metropolitan area, including interstate train services. It’s also a place where muscians, ordinary at best, play with as much gusto as a hooker at Silvio Berlusconi’s sex party. What’s more, there is certainly a lot of noise pollution going on.
So much noise pollution that I dread walking through it every day. Sure, there is another route via the country platforms but that is a longer walk for me and I already run the gauntlet getting to work as it is. Do I really want to hear some half-assed, part-time muso strumming a few chords on a guitar? Worse still, there is a hat or some type of deep empty compartment where you throw money into, which I am sure those part-timers want you to do.
But I don’t want to throw money at these people. No way! Why should I pay these buskers? Hell, I play the guitar and play it fairly well. I know lots of songs and even record my own music. Do I go in the Devonshire tunnel, play some basic cover songs and expect to get paid for it? Hell no! Then why should I tolerate my ears being punished worse than two stray cats fighting and screaming over an open can of lemon-scented tuna? To be truthful, I shouldn’t have to tolerate it.
I wouldn’t mind tolerating it if it weren’t every single minute of every single day, and the same muso’s. But each and every day I tend to see the same ones line up, mercilessly playing the same tunes to some crappy version of a cover song. I’m sure you’re saying to me to ignore it and move on. Heck, you’re probably saying why not go via the country platform when your leaving work back to Central? I could do that, but that’d mean leaving earlier from work. I simply can’t do that.
What I also don’t want to do is hear that same trumped up garbage every time I walk through it. If that is not annoying enough, what about the beggars that ask for a “spare $2.” Yeah, like I have “spare” money to throw away at a drugged-up, good for nothing druggie who is already higher than Sydney Tower. I get asked for spare cash, have to wade through volumes of crap and amateurish muso’s playing the same songs, can’t hear myself think and after all that I am asked to put my hand in my pocket in recognition of the muso that he/she is playing an instrument?
Sure, I’ll pay the muso. I’ll pay them $50 to shut the f*** up! I’ll tell ‘em to piss off and go bug other people. Maybe they can go to an elderly citizen’s clinic and play music there? I’m sure they’d appreciate the company, despite the bad music. How about soothing the minds of the homeless? I’m sure they could get some solitude with some of the garbage that is heard in the tunnel. What about sending these muso’s to the zoo? I’m sure it’d send some animals to sleep?
Well, that music does send me to sleep. In fact, how about I record their music? I then write a late night television advert claiming that I have cured insomnia: a miracle treatment that sooths the soul using technology-rich techniques mastered by the quintessentially best noise-makers Sydney has to offer. I sell the first three CD’s for $19.95. But wait, there’s more! You also get a free 30 minute CD sampler that contains all the lines a druggie uses to try and get your “spare $2″ from you. That’s sensational value!
But just like a McValue meal at McDonald’s, you certainly get value in the Devonshire tunnel. Loads of people plying their trade, playing music and bursting my ears drums all at the same time. It’s fun for the whole family! That’s right, folks. Step right up to the infamous Devonshire tunnel where you will be blinded by noise, heckled by druggies and expected to part with some coins to put in empty hats. I hate that, and I hate listening to this crap. What I know is that there is a lot of noise polution going on.
dann
So much noise pollution that I dread walking through it every day. Sure, there is another route via the country platforms but that is a longer walk for me and I already run the gauntlet getting to work as it is. Do I really want to hear some half-assed, part-time muso strumming a few chords on a guitar? Worse still, there is a hat or some type of deep empty compartment where you throw money into, which I am sure those part-timers want you to do.
But I don’t want to throw money at these people. No way! Why should I pay these buskers? Hell, I play the guitar and play it fairly well. I know lots of songs and even record my own music. Do I go in the Devonshire tunnel, play some basic cover songs and expect to get paid for it? Hell no! Then why should I tolerate my ears being punished worse than two stray cats fighting and screaming over an open can of lemon-scented tuna? To be truthful, I shouldn’t have to tolerate it.
I wouldn’t mind tolerating it if it weren’t every single minute of every single day, and the same muso’s. But each and every day I tend to see the same ones line up, mercilessly playing the same tunes to some crappy version of a cover song. I’m sure you’re saying to me to ignore it and move on. Heck, you’re probably saying why not go via the country platform when your leaving work back to Central? I could do that, but that’d mean leaving earlier from work. I simply can’t do that.
What I also don’t want to do is hear that same trumped up garbage every time I walk through it. If that is not annoying enough, what about the beggars that ask for a “spare $2.” Yeah, like I have “spare” money to throw away at a drugged-up, good for nothing druggie who is already higher than Sydney Tower. I get asked for spare cash, have to wade through volumes of crap and amateurish muso’s playing the same songs, can’t hear myself think and after all that I am asked to put my hand in my pocket in recognition of the muso that he/she is playing an instrument?
Sure, I’ll pay the muso. I’ll pay them $50 to shut the f*** up! I’ll tell ‘em to piss off and go bug other people. Maybe they can go to an elderly citizen’s clinic and play music there? I’m sure they’d appreciate the company, despite the bad music. How about soothing the minds of the homeless? I’m sure they could get some solitude with some of the garbage that is heard in the tunnel. What about sending these muso’s to the zoo? I’m sure it’d send some animals to sleep?
Well, that music does send me to sleep. In fact, how about I record their music? I then write a late night television advert claiming that I have cured insomnia: a miracle treatment that sooths the soul using technology-rich techniques mastered by the quintessentially best noise-makers Sydney has to offer. I sell the first three CD’s for $19.95. But wait, there’s more! You also get a free 30 minute CD sampler that contains all the lines a druggie uses to try and get your “spare $2″ from you. That’s sensational value!
But just like a McValue meal at McDonald’s, you certainly get value in the Devonshire tunnel. Loads of people plying their trade, playing music and bursting my ears drums all at the same time. It’s fun for the whole family! That’s right, folks. Step right up to the infamous Devonshire tunnel where you will be blinded by noise, heckled by druggies and expected to part with some coins to put in empty hats. I hate that, and I hate listening to this crap. What I know is that there is a lot of noise polution going on.
dann
it’s lost in the reception
posted on in BeerBlog
Hello? Er….hello? Ah, geeze. Another call lost to the inept service that is Optus. The problem with mobile phone coverage nowadays is that Telstra, sadly, is the best phone telecommunications company within Australia. It hurts for me to say that. I am not with Telstra, personally, as they cost too much and don’t have the plan that I need. It’s atrocious! But if you think that’s bad, how about the poor Vodafone customers who are trying to slap a law suite on them? It mustn’t be easy dealing with companies like that.
Unfortunately, there are many companies like them. It’s just a sad fact of life. But going back to Optus, the reception I have around my place is so inconsistent it’s not funny. I am in the bedroom, lying on the bed and simply diddling on my Samsung Galaxy S when all of a sudden there is no service to my phone. I get up, move 90 degrees, point the phone in an upward direction and I get enough bars on my screen to indicate that there is minimal service.
That minimal service turns back into no service once I walk out of the room. I smoothly cross my tiled floor through the living room and into the kitchen, where all bars are showing suggesting there is great reception. That’s great! It’s enough for me to make a call without it being patchy. You’d think that with Optus, from what I can understand is the second-most recognised telecommunications company in Australia, would have better coverage than this? I expect a lot better from Optus.
But it’s not just Optus I expect better from. I mentioned Vodafone earlier, and many years ago I used to be a Vodafone Pre-Paid customer. A great friend of mine, Carmen, gave me one of her old mobile phones as I was “out of the loop”. Along with my other friends, I now carried a mobile phone thanks to her. She then told me to go with Vodafone ’cause “all of us are on it” and that “you will get free text and calls from Vodafone to Vodafone.” That sounded pretty good, so I went with Vodafone.
For a while, I was happy with Vodafone. I made calls, texted friends and it was a way for everyone to contact me when I was out and about. All seemed pretty good. I lived in the inner west of Sydney and lived not too far away from most of my friends, and the coverage was quite good. That was until one weekend I had planned to leave for Melbourne via Country Link (i.e. by Train). I was somewhere between Sydney and Canberra when, once again, no service was being received. I wouldn’t have worried too much, but the problem here is this happened consistently throughout my journey to Melbourne.
And that trip to Melbourne was a complete and utter pain in the ass. Forget about the Country Link train being an hour late hitting Spencer Street station, rather the phone coverage of Vodafone. It really did frustrate me somewhat, as I wanted to let Mum and Dad know that I was on my way safely but to expect a delays. I couldn’t even communicate something simple like that to them.
Fast forward a few years in terms of simple communication. Poor service, weak signals or no coverage nowadays with a company like Optus, as I am now living in south-west Sydney, isn’t acceptable anymore. I find it increasingly frustrating to walk to the kitchen just to have a simple conversation with my friends over the phone. So, the same issue I had between Sydney and Melbourne with no coverage in a lot of areas some years ago rears its ugly head again in 2011 in south-west Sydney? It’s a complete joke.
Mind you, the joke is on us if you think about it. We pay a lot of money to Optus providing telecommunication services, and yet we still sit here in 2011 with issues of poor service and bad reception. Telstra, on the other hand, have a great service range. I have been told they cover about 97% of Australia? What I do know is that when I bring my work phone home with me it never loses signal. Although I don’t pay for the Telstra phone (as it’s my on-call work phone), it proves that there can be good coverage.
But hold on. It may well prove Telstra can provide good coverage, but at what cost to the consumer? Have you seen some of the pricings for Telstra lately? Absolutely ridiculously expensive! I guess that is how they pay for the coverage, huh? Rorting clients to the hilt, making them pay exorbitant fees, etc. An example (without giving you exact figures, here) was when I was searching for home internet a couple of years ago.
I had moved into my new place and, after many months of using shoddy wireless internet, I decided to and get a proper connection to the world wide internet. I done some research via the internet at work that enabled me to make choices as to whom I would choose for my ISP. Firstly, though, I browsed a list of well-known ISP’s to give me an idea of what I was in for.
And what I was in for, so it seemed, was a plethora of ISP’s out there. But I stuck to the big names I knew off by hand; iinet, TPG, Telstra, Optus, AAPT, Exetel. I noticed some fairly good prices on most of the ISP’s, particularly Exetel, TPG and iinet. Unfortunately, I almost fell off my chair in amazement while looking at Telstra and what they charge. Why the hell would I want to pay $75 per month for on ly 5GB of data? That is outrageous!
So outrageous that compared to other plans this looks like you’ve been robbed by Ned Kelly, shot at by Mark ‘Chooper’ Read and had the Moran family help you decide a funeral director. What I ended up with was paying, at the time, $60 per month for 120GB with TPG. After all the researching, I worked out that the exchange I was connected to was only being served by TPG. I had no other choice in going with another ISP.
But, you see, therein lies the problem; what choices do we have? Optus? Telstra? Vodafone? 3 Mobile? I have a funny feeling 3 Mobile may have been bought out by Vodafone, but regardless of that there really isn’t much to choose from, actually. And with the choices we do have we are being surprisingly ripped off by the communication giants, and no one can do a damn thing about it.
Actually, millions of people did actually do something about it; they invested in Telstra. That was the big thing back in the mid to late 90’s, as it is still now. People invested in Telstra to make money, to make a profit. And when you’re listed in the ASX and have share holders to be accountable for, things do get quite interesting. By that, I mean on whose side are Telstra on? Are they now here to provide communications to Australia that includes rural and regional areas, or to make their share holders more money?
I tell you who made more money? Former Telstra boss Sol Trujillo, who despite anecdotal evidence suggests he argued with regulators and the government, cut thousands of jobs and had complaints rise drastically during his tenure and walked away with an extra $3 million to have his services terminated prior to his contract completing. Are you absolutely joking me? A $3 million severance payout? This is beyond resonable expectations by anyone’s standards.
You see, expectations means a lot when it comes to providing a telephone service. While board members, executives and the like earn millions, people like you and I have to put up with dodgy practices. Regardless of whether Telstra are the best network provider in the country, their rates are extraordinarily high. Optus, on the other hand, need to better their coverage and performance while Vodafone really just need performance sooner rather than later. Problem is, it’s not easy dealing with companies like that.
dann
Unfortunately, there are many companies like them. It’s just a sad fact of life. But going back to Optus, the reception I have around my place is so inconsistent it’s not funny. I am in the bedroom, lying on the bed and simply diddling on my Samsung Galaxy S when all of a sudden there is no service to my phone. I get up, move 90 degrees, point the phone in an upward direction and I get enough bars on my screen to indicate that there is minimal service.
That minimal service turns back into no service once I walk out of the room. I smoothly cross my tiled floor through the living room and into the kitchen, where all bars are showing suggesting there is great reception. That’s great! It’s enough for me to make a call without it being patchy. You’d think that with Optus, from what I can understand is the second-most recognised telecommunications company in Australia, would have better coverage than this? I expect a lot better from Optus.
But it’s not just Optus I expect better from. I mentioned Vodafone earlier, and many years ago I used to be a Vodafone Pre-Paid customer. A great friend of mine, Carmen, gave me one of her old mobile phones as I was “out of the loop”. Along with my other friends, I now carried a mobile phone thanks to her. She then told me to go with Vodafone ’cause “all of us are on it” and that “you will get free text and calls from Vodafone to Vodafone.” That sounded pretty good, so I went with Vodafone.
For a while, I was happy with Vodafone. I made calls, texted friends and it was a way for everyone to contact me when I was out and about. All seemed pretty good. I lived in the inner west of Sydney and lived not too far away from most of my friends, and the coverage was quite good. That was until one weekend I had planned to leave for Melbourne via Country Link (i.e. by Train). I was somewhere between Sydney and Canberra when, once again, no service was being received. I wouldn’t have worried too much, but the problem here is this happened consistently throughout my journey to Melbourne.
And that trip to Melbourne was a complete and utter pain in the ass. Forget about the Country Link train being an hour late hitting Spencer Street station, rather the phone coverage of Vodafone. It really did frustrate me somewhat, as I wanted to let Mum and Dad know that I was on my way safely but to expect a delays. I couldn’t even communicate something simple like that to them.
Fast forward a few years in terms of simple communication. Poor service, weak signals or no coverage nowadays with a company like Optus, as I am now living in south-west Sydney, isn’t acceptable anymore. I find it increasingly frustrating to walk to the kitchen just to have a simple conversation with my friends over the phone. So, the same issue I had between Sydney and Melbourne with no coverage in a lot of areas some years ago rears its ugly head again in 2011 in south-west Sydney? It’s a complete joke.
Mind you, the joke is on us if you think about it. We pay a lot of money to Optus providing telecommunication services, and yet we still sit here in 2011 with issues of poor service and bad reception. Telstra, on the other hand, have a great service range. I have been told they cover about 97% of Australia? What I do know is that when I bring my work phone home with me it never loses signal. Although I don’t pay for the Telstra phone (as it’s my on-call work phone), it proves that there can be good coverage.
But hold on. It may well prove Telstra can provide good coverage, but at what cost to the consumer? Have you seen some of the pricings for Telstra lately? Absolutely ridiculously expensive! I guess that is how they pay for the coverage, huh? Rorting clients to the hilt, making them pay exorbitant fees, etc. An example (without giving you exact figures, here) was when I was searching for home internet a couple of years ago.
I had moved into my new place and, after many months of using shoddy wireless internet, I decided to and get a proper connection to the world wide internet. I done some research via the internet at work that enabled me to make choices as to whom I would choose for my ISP. Firstly, though, I browsed a list of well-known ISP’s to give me an idea of what I was in for.
And what I was in for, so it seemed, was a plethora of ISP’s out there. But I stuck to the big names I knew off by hand; iinet, TPG, Telstra, Optus, AAPT, Exetel. I noticed some fairly good prices on most of the ISP’s, particularly Exetel, TPG and iinet. Unfortunately, I almost fell off my chair in amazement while looking at Telstra and what they charge. Why the hell would I want to pay $75 per month for on ly 5GB of data? That is outrageous!
So outrageous that compared to other plans this looks like you’ve been robbed by Ned Kelly, shot at by Mark ‘Chooper’ Read and had the Moran family help you decide a funeral director. What I ended up with was paying, at the time, $60 per month for 120GB with TPG. After all the researching, I worked out that the exchange I was connected to was only being served by TPG. I had no other choice in going with another ISP.
But, you see, therein lies the problem; what choices do we have? Optus? Telstra? Vodafone? 3 Mobile? I have a funny feeling 3 Mobile may have been bought out by Vodafone, but regardless of that there really isn’t much to choose from, actually. And with the choices we do have we are being surprisingly ripped off by the communication giants, and no one can do a damn thing about it.
Actually, millions of people did actually do something about it; they invested in Telstra. That was the big thing back in the mid to late 90’s, as it is still now. People invested in Telstra to make money, to make a profit. And when you’re listed in the ASX and have share holders to be accountable for, things do get quite interesting. By that, I mean on whose side are Telstra on? Are they now here to provide communications to Australia that includes rural and regional areas, or to make their share holders more money?
I tell you who made more money? Former Telstra boss Sol Trujillo, who despite anecdotal evidence suggests he argued with regulators and the government, cut thousands of jobs and had complaints rise drastically during his tenure and walked away with an extra $3 million to have his services terminated prior to his contract completing. Are you absolutely joking me? A $3 million severance payout? This is beyond resonable expectations by anyone’s standards.
You see, expectations means a lot when it comes to providing a telephone service. While board members, executives and the like earn millions, people like you and I have to put up with dodgy practices. Regardless of whether Telstra are the best network provider in the country, their rates are extraordinarily high. Optus, on the other hand, need to better their coverage and performance while Vodafone really just need performance sooner rather than later. Problem is, it’s not easy dealing with companies like that.
dann
the resolution when you’re not having a resolution
posted on January 11, 2011 in BeerBlog
Welcome to 2011. It’s going to be a year of fun-filled action and adventure. There will be plenty of drinking, lots of different brews and lots of brewing. But what New Year’s resolution did I make? Well, unlike many people, I haven’t had a new year’s resolution for about 15 years. It’s not that I don’t have one, rather I don’t think the new year is the best time to start.
So when is it the best time to start, I hear you say? Well, it’s a time when you feel most comfortable and not when it’s suits a fresh, new calendar year. OK, nothing new there that some of you haven’t done or heard before. I do know other people who say that they will go to the gym, eat better, wont drink as much or will stop smoking. You know, things like that. I mean, the list is endless.
So endless that I could probably type another blog called ‘resolution wonders’, featuring all the best and worst new year’s resolutions over the past 20 years. But that’d bore the socks off you, assuming this blog you’re now reading hasn’t already made you yawn? But let’s stick to this blog, shall we? I had set my aims and goals midway through 2010. It’s been a long haul, but I’m someway in getting there.
And when I say ‘getting there’, I mean I am on track in what I want to do for 2011: start brewing all grain. Technically, I guess it’s not all that difficult but saving money in getting all my gear is the problem. Heck, I have a home loan, am saving for another major holiday at the end of the year and bills and payments coming out of my wahzoo. I could get the equipment on the cheap, but I would rather wait that little bit longer and get something worthwhile.
That something worthwhile will cost me money, but I don’t mean a lot of money. I just mean it’s just gonna cost me to get it, but I did promise myself by year’s end I will have all my home brew equipment so I can do my first all grain batch. OK, I heard you kinda chuckle at this. I hear you say: Hey, Dann. Isn’t that a new year’s resolution? Well, I’d argue it isn’t despite the fact I promised I’d get it all within 2011.
But what is “all” by 2011? Wort chiller, brew kettle, mash tun, three-ring gas burner. That’s just for starters. I know people who have got this type of stuff for all grain and I know that you can make your own worth chiller, for instance. But I am absolutely hopeless with my hands. I can’t even pick my nose, let alone bend 3/4 inch copper piping in a circular fashion so as to coil upward to make a wort chiller.
OK, forget about the home made wort chiller. What about the mash tun? I know you can simply get an ice cooler or esky and convert it (quite simply, apparently) to a mash tun. I’ve seen enough YouTube clips to get the jist of it. But, you see, I am a kluts. I’m a dumbass when it comes to making things. My hands only have the ability to type on a keyboard, and even then it’s spelling mistakes and grammatical errors galore. So, what are the chances of buying the equipment on the cheap and doing it myself?
Doing it myself is about as likely as Osama Bin Laden going to a local Sydney Christian school and giving the Eucharist to Fred Nile. It just aint gonna happen. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll have to save a bit of money to buy all the fancy equipment so I can set myself up for a really semi-professional setup at home.
And setting this up at home will be fantastic. I just gotta make room for a new area, it being the new brewing arena. Yet another thing I have to think about and how to best place all this new gear in my apartment. Maybe that’ll be another resolution, but I don’t think the new year is the best time to start.
dann
So when is it the best time to start, I hear you say? Well, it’s a time when you feel most comfortable and not when it’s suits a fresh, new calendar year. OK, nothing new there that some of you haven’t done or heard before. I do know other people who say that they will go to the gym, eat better, wont drink as much or will stop smoking. You know, things like that. I mean, the list is endless.
So endless that I could probably type another blog called ‘resolution wonders’, featuring all the best and worst new year’s resolutions over the past 20 years. But that’d bore the socks off you, assuming this blog you’re now reading hasn’t already made you yawn? But let’s stick to this blog, shall we? I had set my aims and goals midway through 2010. It’s been a long haul, but I’m someway in getting there.
And when I say ‘getting there’, I mean I am on track in what I want to do for 2011: start brewing all grain. Technically, I guess it’s not all that difficult but saving money in getting all my gear is the problem. Heck, I have a home loan, am saving for another major holiday at the end of the year and bills and payments coming out of my wahzoo. I could get the equipment on the cheap, but I would rather wait that little bit longer and get something worthwhile.
That something worthwhile will cost me money, but I don’t mean a lot of money. I just mean it’s just gonna cost me to get it, but I did promise myself by year’s end I will have all my home brew equipment so I can do my first all grain batch. OK, I heard you kinda chuckle at this. I hear you say: Hey, Dann. Isn’t that a new year’s resolution? Well, I’d argue it isn’t despite the fact I promised I’d get it all within 2011.
But what is “all” by 2011? Wort chiller, brew kettle, mash tun, three-ring gas burner. That’s just for starters. I know people who have got this type of stuff for all grain and I know that you can make your own worth chiller, for instance. But I am absolutely hopeless with my hands. I can’t even pick my nose, let alone bend 3/4 inch copper piping in a circular fashion so as to coil upward to make a wort chiller.
OK, forget about the home made wort chiller. What about the mash tun? I know you can simply get an ice cooler or esky and convert it (quite simply, apparently) to a mash tun. I’ve seen enough YouTube clips to get the jist of it. But, you see, I am a kluts. I’m a dumbass when it comes to making things. My hands only have the ability to type on a keyboard, and even then it’s spelling mistakes and grammatical errors galore. So, what are the chances of buying the equipment on the cheap and doing it myself?
Doing it myself is about as likely as Osama Bin Laden going to a local Sydney Christian school and giving the Eucharist to Fred Nile. It just aint gonna happen. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll have to save a bit of money to buy all the fancy equipment so I can set myself up for a really semi-professional setup at home.
And setting this up at home will be fantastic. I just gotta make room for a new area, it being the new brewing arena. Yet another thing I have to think about and how to best place all this new gear in my apartment. Maybe that’ll be another resolution, but I don’t think the new year is the best time to start.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part XVII (Hot Springs Village, Arkansas)
posted on in BeerBlog
Hot Springs Village, Arkansas. It’s the biggest gated community in the United States. Out of all the places on earth to go, why Hot Springs Village in Arkansas? It’s certainly not part of any national tourism commercial on US television. And the reason why Dawn, Jenny and I left for Hot Springs Village is that I’m one of the lucky few that has great friends that live there.
Our great friends are Kevin and Vickie. They used to live in Minnesota, but are now living the life in Arkansas. And going to Arkansas means only one thing to me: road trip! Woohoo! The road trip began at 4:35pm in Eagan, Minnesota with Dawn at the wheel. Well over 800 miles, and well over 12 hours, stood between us and the trip of a lifetime.
Although I’ve done this trip of a lifetime before, I still consider it an absolute enjoyment to be part of. It’s not every day I get to travel the US, so being able to stare out of the window for hours on end and watch the sights was pretty cool. Those sights were beautiful as we exited Minnesota and entered Iowa. The banana shaped white moon shon as a backdrop in a picture-perfect cloudless blue sky, sitting seductively motionless.
But the moon wasn’t the only thing that appeared to have stood montionless. The trees that carried the coloured Fall leaves; brown, dark orange, maroon, yellow, bronze with a tinge of green were scattered like a pinch of salt on a soft, pink salmon ready for the oven. Some of the trees were even as naked as a child first born.
But the trees that weren’t naked were Pine trees. They were the exception to the rule with sexy dark green leaves standing still proud on their respective branches. And as the music in the car softly soothed us and the sunlight diming as every moment passed, we were going to experience something not all that pleasant.
That unplesantness was the aroma while driving through Iowa where farmhouses litter the countryside. For now, though, it was nothing but miles and miles of corn fields serenading the landscape. The lonliness and fear crept in for me in the knowledge that this was going to be a long ride. But as we kept riding, the fading sunshine exotically brightened corn fields into what looked like gold bulliens.
Those gold bulliens ending up being overtaken by the stench of cow dung. At that point I didn’t know what was worse; farting with the windows up after eating a dodgy vindaloo or smelling the wrecthed smell of freshly laid cow shit coming through the air vents? It was probably at that point, I guess, that I was lucky I didn’t have to choose.
One guess we couldn’t have picked was the sudden aroma of what we thought was McDonald’s french fries also coming through the air vents. Dawn, Jenny and I agreed that this was indeed the smell. And although I hadn’t had McDonald’s fries for a very long time, it’s something that is very distinctive. The combination of freshly laid cow crap and McDonald’s french fries is not something I’d like to endure.
The only thing we had to endure had been when Dawn changed radio stations and put on the seventh game of the series between New York Yankees versus Texan Rangers. As it just passed 7pm, and still having the whiff of crap in my nostrals, we all listened to a horrendous call that should have seen the Rangers go to four runs to nil.
And I tell you what, I almost had the runs myself. Only minutes later we had more horrific smells coming through the vents. This time it smelled like someone had crapped their pants after eating a dodgy pizza. I must admit that I didn’t experience this many smells since my last trip through this state, which proudly boasted that John Wayne was born here.
Thankfully, I wasn’t born here as I could only imagine that I’d be reeling off the distinct aromas I had just experienced, rather than blatantly trying to pretend what those smells were. Sure enough, whatever smells we experienced at the start of the trip had somehow stopped. Not long after we also stopped, but it was to re-fuel the tank, take a personal break and buy some much need liquids.
After taking our breaks and buying our liquids we slowly headed off after 9pm. It was at this time that Jenny and I were a tad sleepy. Not long after Jenny had a rest, and although I napped for about 10 minutes I was up all the way. The blackness of Iowa soon turned into the darkness of Missouri as we crossed borders without even realising it. Missouri was going to be the longest state to travel through.
So much so that it takes about 4 hours to go from top to bottom. Needless to say that the darkness of Missouri provided a little time for me to message Trisha (as she was going to arrive later in the week) on the odd occasion and play some much needed games on my Samsung Galaxy S. And as my battery was withering away, so too were the hours as we then crossed into the border of Arkansas at 1:25am.
Hitting Arkansas at that time meant we’d be in for another 4 hours of travel to Hot Springs Village, but we knew we were on the home straight. By now, Jenny and I had swapped seats and I was in the front and she was in the back sleeping. Doing my best to stay awake myself, Dawn and I kept a close eye on the road until we hit deep into Hot Springs Village territory.
And Hot Springs Village seemed miles away as every minute appeared to be like an hour. Tiredness crept in, and it was even impacting Dawn. But she is a trooper and I knew she’d keep us safe and well. All we had to do was look out for Deer running out from the forest, which happens to be a major factor in road accidents.
Thankfully, there were no Deer and we had no accidents. Staying awake and focused, Dawn done a great job as we finally reached Hot Springs Village at 4:50am. An amazing run of 12 hours and 15 minutes from the time we left to the time we arrived. We then had the privilege of meeting up with Kevin and Vickie, both up and awake in the anticipation of seeing us all.
And with that anticipation came excitement. We hugged, shook hands and even kissed. Not soon after we arrived we were offered some beverages. Of course, I had to have the local brew from Diamond Bear, Little Rock. The beer was called Presidential IPA. Heck, after a long trip like that and getting a beer straight away I certainly did feel presidential, but I was also getting tired.
So tired that after all of us chatted for some time, another beer for Jenny an I and we decided to go to bed. It was Dawn and Kevin that kept the party rolling for a while yet. But as the sunlight broke so did my ear drums as Kevin was up bright at early yelling at us (in a nice way, of course) to “rise and shine, you lazy bastards!” as we were missing “the best part of the day”.
To my way of reckoning, every minute with Kevin and Vickie was “the best part of the day”. I wasn’t too concerned what we did, so long as we did it together. Saturday was pretty much a day to chill and relax as we prepared for the Arkansas State Fair on Sunday.
The Arkansas State Fair isn’t the biggest in the world but it certainly was interesting. Among the attractions was a crafts building that housed many of the state’s talented artists items. From three year old kids showing they could draw, to the elderly showing how they can still sew a hat; it was all there for everyone to see. First place, second place and third place.
But it wasn’t about where those creative people finished in the craft contest. It was about contribution, and with that contribution were a heck of a lot of categories, and for all age groups. People from far and wide across Arkansas had made an effort to make something of this event. Although I’m not a “craft” type of person, certainly the brilliance and effort in the people that went to the trouble in doing all this deserve my respect and admiration.
That respect and admiration continued as we walked inside the grounds of the state fair. Kevin, Vickie, Dawn, Jenny and myself wandered aimlessly across the venue, and back again all within about 40 minutes. It doesn’t compete with the Minnesota State Fair (taking you 10 hours and still not see everything) but it was worth the venture. Surprisingly, the locals even had time to call me a redneck.
And that redneck jibe came from a clown sitting on a seat above a deep pool of water, where by you throw a ball and hit a target ensuring he sinks straight to the bottom. As we moved on, ate, drank and continued our state fair journey, it was eventually time for us to move on and out of the grounds and back home.
It really did feel like home. All of us having the pleasure of staying at Kevin and Vickie’s lovely house. And as the hours went by chatting away and drinking, the next day turned out to be our golf day. Granada golf course is beautifully set amongst the many houses and trees. It’s also where Kevin and Vickie live, right next to Hole 4 on Granada. So, a quick pit-stop on that hole gave us the opportunity (well, it was Kevin’s opportunity) to grab a cap and some drinks for the rest of the day.
And as the rest of the day meant hitting golf balls, it was an extremely relaxing day for all involved. The following day gave us the opportunity to sit back and relax, although that wasn’t the intention. It just ended up that Dawn, Jenny and myself watched the brilliant series Sons of Anarchy. A full four episodes later and we were on the edge of our seats. But the night was going to get interesting, as we had another person arriving from Minneapolis.
That person was our very good friend Trisha. From the get-go she’d wanted to come along for the ride, but due to personal reasons had to delay her departure until Tuesday night. Nonetheless, Kevin and I took the hour long drive to pick Trish up at Little Rock. But it was our ride to fetch her from Little Rock airport which was most interesting. Not even 100 yards up the road, fog was absolutely everywhere and it was evident right at the bottom of all the undulations we came across.
Thankfully, once we hit the freeway some 30 minutes later it was fairly clear. Arriving at Little Rock airport we had to wait for Trish to get off the plane. It was a long wait indeed, but well worth it as she was in joyous mood in the safe knowledge she was finally here and to have a fun time. As we drove back, along the freeway and along the same foggy road, it was time to catch up and have and catch up.
And we all certainly did catch up. Not only just that night, but every other night, too. More golf on Wednesday and Thursday, which included two huge Turkey-feast meals that signalled we were living the dream. Great friends, great company and absolutely the best time of our lives. It was made even more impressive as Kevin had a secret recipe for cheesecake, one which was actually eaten by former USA President John F. Kennedy.
If JFK likes it, then it’s good enough for us! It took Kevin about four hours to make it, and I can tell you now that this is THE BEST cheesecake the world has ever seen and eaten. I’ve had cheesecake over the years, but (no pun intended) this took the cake. The mere thought of pretending to eat it now makes my mouth water and my eyes bulge in anticipation.
And I should have anticipated a lot more fun as we had Pork and Beef ribs on Friday night. Mind you, I didn’t aniticipate that as I was probably hungover! Nonetheless, we continued our fun during and throughout the week. I guess I felt like I had a won a trip of a lifetime via a competition site and that it stated that it was going to be one big excitment extravenganza.
I guess the whole trip to Arkansas was one big excitment extraveganza. The things we did together; drink, have fun, talk, relax, appreciate our own company, eat well and sleep great are things we all dream about. At one point Trish, Dawn, Jenny and I agreed on how cool it’d be to live here all together and ‘live the dream’. But what we also recognised is that this ‘dream’ was going to end soon, and it was the only thing we were not looking forward to was actually leaving Kevin and Vickie in Arkansas.
And as Saturday afternoon came by it was sadly time for us to leave Arkansas. Hugs, kisses and goodbyes were extremely hard to take. Heck, even I had to walk away to compose myself. It was that emotional. So much so that had I have had the chance to cry I would have. But as they say; good things must come to and end, and so we left Arkansas to head back home to Eagan, Minnesota.
The journey back to Eagan, Minnesota started at 14:57. With Trish at the wheel we embarked on our trip back home, something that we were (at least, secretly) not wanting to do as we enjoyed being in the hands of Vickie and Kevin so much. Alas, our next stop was Fayetteville, Arkansas. In fact, this was a personal request from myself to Dawn. I am a huge fan of Basic Brewing, headed by James Spencer and Steve Wilkes and I was hoping to catch up with James.
With the greatest of admiration, James had told me earlier in the year (knowing I was coming all the way from Australia) that he’d be happy to meet me. So, as we were driving along back home I had sent a text to James advising that we were “on our way”. It was agreed that we’d meet at the Mellow Mushroom in Fayetteville, somewhere where we could enjoy a proper beer and have a chat.
I will admit that enjoying a proper beer and having a chat with one of my beer idols, James Spencer, was a huge pleasure. And as we finally arrived at Mellow Mushroom at approximately 17:55, nerves already started to take over me. Dawn, Jenny, Trish and I walked in, sat down and ordered food. I patiently waited for James to arrive. So he did at 18:20, and to my surprise so did Andy Sparks. I knew it was going to be a great chat.
Indeed it was great to chat to both of them. Knowing what they do and who they are (visit: www.basicbrewing.com should you not know) gave me goosebumps. Here I was talking (in person) to James Spencer! The legend of brewing around the world. I literally felt like a little kid looking up to a sporting icon. Nonetheless, as we consumed a few beers, chatted and had a few laughs it was time to say goodbye.
And if saying goodbye wasn’t enough, Andy gave me a “momento” of my visit to Mellow Mushroom in the shape of a stolen beer glass. Well, it wasn’t stolen rather it was “liberated from its current duties”. So as I was about to leave I also got a photo opportunity with James and Andy, something I will not forget in a hurry. And as I left Mellow Mushroom it was time for all of us to head back home to Eagan.
But going to Eagan with Trish at the wheel meant that we’d probably break some type of land speed record. I love her driving. She’s assured, confident and reminds me of Speedy Gonzalez. However, her race car driving skills managed to get us booked in Iowa by the local police. And with that the police officer asked who we were and where we were from. He heard “Australian” and asked about me, to which I spoke a few Aussie words enough for him to know we weren’t telling porky-pies.
In fact, don’t worry about lies. What didn’t lie was the speed in which he booked us at: 85 miles per hour in a 70 miles per hour zone. After some pleasantries from Trish, we moved on later to find out that it was only a $100 fine. Trish took it in her stride and was happy with the amount, considering that she had been speeding many times before without punishment.
If you think that was punishment, we drive on through Iowa needing a restroom break. I had placed the beer glass which Andy gave me between my legs on the front passenger’s seat. I wanted to keep it “safe”, as it was going to be a gift for my fellow brewing mate, Kyle, back in Australia. When coming back from the restroom, I hopped back in the car only to realise that there was junk left in the car. I decided to grab that junk and put it in the bin outside. Unfortunately, my left foot clipped the beer glass and it ended up crashing dramatically to the gfound. I was devestated. I knew then that crime doesn’t pay.
That is technically correct; crime does not pay. I am sure Trish would atest to that after being caught speeding. But despite our misadventures on our journey back home to that point, it was really smooth sailing from that moment in. As we got closer and closer to Eagan, our memories became more distant. It seemed so wrong to be going back home when we should be having fun in Arkansas.
But I guess the fun doesn’t stop in Arkansas. We finally arrived safe and sound, and with that Trish first went to her place and then Dawn, Jenny and I proceeded to go back home. The clock had just passed 7am. It was a long ride, but we finally made it. I had the most brilliant time, thanks largely to Vickie and Kevin’s overwhelmingly fantastic hospitality. I guess that where ever I am, regardless of it being in Arkansas or Minnesota I am honoured in the knowledge that I am one of the lucky few that have friends there.
dann
Our great friends are Kevin and Vickie. They used to live in Minnesota, but are now living the life in Arkansas. And going to Arkansas means only one thing to me: road trip! Woohoo! The road trip began at 4:35pm in Eagan, Minnesota with Dawn at the wheel. Well over 800 miles, and well over 12 hours, stood between us and the trip of a lifetime.
Although I’ve done this trip of a lifetime before, I still consider it an absolute enjoyment to be part of. It’s not every day I get to travel the US, so being able to stare out of the window for hours on end and watch the sights was pretty cool. Those sights were beautiful as we exited Minnesota and entered Iowa. The banana shaped white moon shon as a backdrop in a picture-perfect cloudless blue sky, sitting seductively motionless.
But the moon wasn’t the only thing that appeared to have stood montionless. The trees that carried the coloured Fall leaves; brown, dark orange, maroon, yellow, bronze with a tinge of green were scattered like a pinch of salt on a soft, pink salmon ready for the oven. Some of the trees were even as naked as a child first born.
But the trees that weren’t naked were Pine trees. They were the exception to the rule with sexy dark green leaves standing still proud on their respective branches. And as the music in the car softly soothed us and the sunlight diming as every moment passed, we were going to experience something not all that pleasant.
That unplesantness was the aroma while driving through Iowa where farmhouses litter the countryside. For now, though, it was nothing but miles and miles of corn fields serenading the landscape. The lonliness and fear crept in for me in the knowledge that this was going to be a long ride. But as we kept riding, the fading sunshine exotically brightened corn fields into what looked like gold bulliens.
Those gold bulliens ending up being overtaken by the stench of cow dung. At that point I didn’t know what was worse; farting with the windows up after eating a dodgy vindaloo or smelling the wrecthed smell of freshly laid cow shit coming through the air vents? It was probably at that point, I guess, that I was lucky I didn’t have to choose.
One guess we couldn’t have picked was the sudden aroma of what we thought was McDonald’s french fries also coming through the air vents. Dawn, Jenny and I agreed that this was indeed the smell. And although I hadn’t had McDonald’s fries for a very long time, it’s something that is very distinctive. The combination of freshly laid cow crap and McDonald’s french fries is not something I’d like to endure.
The only thing we had to endure had been when Dawn changed radio stations and put on the seventh game of the series between New York Yankees versus Texan Rangers. As it just passed 7pm, and still having the whiff of crap in my nostrals, we all listened to a horrendous call that should have seen the Rangers go to four runs to nil.
And I tell you what, I almost had the runs myself. Only minutes later we had more horrific smells coming through the vents. This time it smelled like someone had crapped their pants after eating a dodgy pizza. I must admit that I didn’t experience this many smells since my last trip through this state, which proudly boasted that John Wayne was born here.
Thankfully, I wasn’t born here as I could only imagine that I’d be reeling off the distinct aromas I had just experienced, rather than blatantly trying to pretend what those smells were. Sure enough, whatever smells we experienced at the start of the trip had somehow stopped. Not long after we also stopped, but it was to re-fuel the tank, take a personal break and buy some much need liquids.
After taking our breaks and buying our liquids we slowly headed off after 9pm. It was at this time that Jenny and I were a tad sleepy. Not long after Jenny had a rest, and although I napped for about 10 minutes I was up all the way. The blackness of Iowa soon turned into the darkness of Missouri as we crossed borders without even realising it. Missouri was going to be the longest state to travel through.
So much so that it takes about 4 hours to go from top to bottom. Needless to say that the darkness of Missouri provided a little time for me to message Trisha (as she was going to arrive later in the week) on the odd occasion and play some much needed games on my Samsung Galaxy S. And as my battery was withering away, so too were the hours as we then crossed into the border of Arkansas at 1:25am.
Hitting Arkansas at that time meant we’d be in for another 4 hours of travel to Hot Springs Village, but we knew we were on the home straight. By now, Jenny and I had swapped seats and I was in the front and she was in the back sleeping. Doing my best to stay awake myself, Dawn and I kept a close eye on the road until we hit deep into Hot Springs Village territory.
And Hot Springs Village seemed miles away as every minute appeared to be like an hour. Tiredness crept in, and it was even impacting Dawn. But she is a trooper and I knew she’d keep us safe and well. All we had to do was look out for Deer running out from the forest, which happens to be a major factor in road accidents.
Thankfully, there were no Deer and we had no accidents. Staying awake and focused, Dawn done a great job as we finally reached Hot Springs Village at 4:50am. An amazing run of 12 hours and 15 minutes from the time we left to the time we arrived. We then had the privilege of meeting up with Kevin and Vickie, both up and awake in the anticipation of seeing us all.
And with that anticipation came excitement. We hugged, shook hands and even kissed. Not soon after we arrived we were offered some beverages. Of course, I had to have the local brew from Diamond Bear, Little Rock. The beer was called Presidential IPA. Heck, after a long trip like that and getting a beer straight away I certainly did feel presidential, but I was also getting tired.
So tired that after all of us chatted for some time, another beer for Jenny an I and we decided to go to bed. It was Dawn and Kevin that kept the party rolling for a while yet. But as the sunlight broke so did my ear drums as Kevin was up bright at early yelling at us (in a nice way, of course) to “rise and shine, you lazy bastards!” as we were missing “the best part of the day”.
To my way of reckoning, every minute with Kevin and Vickie was “the best part of the day”. I wasn’t too concerned what we did, so long as we did it together. Saturday was pretty much a day to chill and relax as we prepared for the Arkansas State Fair on Sunday.
The Arkansas State Fair isn’t the biggest in the world but it certainly was interesting. Among the attractions was a crafts building that housed many of the state’s talented artists items. From three year old kids showing they could draw, to the elderly showing how they can still sew a hat; it was all there for everyone to see. First place, second place and third place.
But it wasn’t about where those creative people finished in the craft contest. It was about contribution, and with that contribution were a heck of a lot of categories, and for all age groups. People from far and wide across Arkansas had made an effort to make something of this event. Although I’m not a “craft” type of person, certainly the brilliance and effort in the people that went to the trouble in doing all this deserve my respect and admiration.
That respect and admiration continued as we walked inside the grounds of the state fair. Kevin, Vickie, Dawn, Jenny and myself wandered aimlessly across the venue, and back again all within about 40 minutes. It doesn’t compete with the Minnesota State Fair (taking you 10 hours and still not see everything) but it was worth the venture. Surprisingly, the locals even had time to call me a redneck.
And that redneck jibe came from a clown sitting on a seat above a deep pool of water, where by you throw a ball and hit a target ensuring he sinks straight to the bottom. As we moved on, ate, drank and continued our state fair journey, it was eventually time for us to move on and out of the grounds and back home.
It really did feel like home. All of us having the pleasure of staying at Kevin and Vickie’s lovely house. And as the hours went by chatting away and drinking, the next day turned out to be our golf day. Granada golf course is beautifully set amongst the many houses and trees. It’s also where Kevin and Vickie live, right next to Hole 4 on Granada. So, a quick pit-stop on that hole gave us the opportunity (well, it was Kevin’s opportunity) to grab a cap and some drinks for the rest of the day.
And as the rest of the day meant hitting golf balls, it was an extremely relaxing day for all involved. The following day gave us the opportunity to sit back and relax, although that wasn’t the intention. It just ended up that Dawn, Jenny and myself watched the brilliant series Sons of Anarchy. A full four episodes later and we were on the edge of our seats. But the night was going to get interesting, as we had another person arriving from Minneapolis.
That person was our very good friend Trisha. From the get-go she’d wanted to come along for the ride, but due to personal reasons had to delay her departure until Tuesday night. Nonetheless, Kevin and I took the hour long drive to pick Trish up at Little Rock. But it was our ride to fetch her from Little Rock airport which was most interesting. Not even 100 yards up the road, fog was absolutely everywhere and it was evident right at the bottom of all the undulations we came across.
Thankfully, once we hit the freeway some 30 minutes later it was fairly clear. Arriving at Little Rock airport we had to wait for Trish to get off the plane. It was a long wait indeed, but well worth it as she was in joyous mood in the safe knowledge she was finally here and to have a fun time. As we drove back, along the freeway and along the same foggy road, it was time to catch up and have and catch up.
And we all certainly did catch up. Not only just that night, but every other night, too. More golf on Wednesday and Thursday, which included two huge Turkey-feast meals that signalled we were living the dream. Great friends, great company and absolutely the best time of our lives. It was made even more impressive as Kevin had a secret recipe for cheesecake, one which was actually eaten by former USA President John F. Kennedy.
If JFK likes it, then it’s good enough for us! It took Kevin about four hours to make it, and I can tell you now that this is THE BEST cheesecake the world has ever seen and eaten. I’ve had cheesecake over the years, but (no pun intended) this took the cake. The mere thought of pretending to eat it now makes my mouth water and my eyes bulge in anticipation.
And I should have anticipated a lot more fun as we had Pork and Beef ribs on Friday night. Mind you, I didn’t aniticipate that as I was probably hungover! Nonetheless, we continued our fun during and throughout the week. I guess I felt like I had a won a trip of a lifetime via a competition site and that it stated that it was going to be one big excitment extravenganza.
I guess the whole trip to Arkansas was one big excitment extraveganza. The things we did together; drink, have fun, talk, relax, appreciate our own company, eat well and sleep great are things we all dream about. At one point Trish, Dawn, Jenny and I agreed on how cool it’d be to live here all together and ‘live the dream’. But what we also recognised is that this ‘dream’ was going to end soon, and it was the only thing we were not looking forward to was actually leaving Kevin and Vickie in Arkansas.
And as Saturday afternoon came by it was sadly time for us to leave Arkansas. Hugs, kisses and goodbyes were extremely hard to take. Heck, even I had to walk away to compose myself. It was that emotional. So much so that had I have had the chance to cry I would have. But as they say; good things must come to and end, and so we left Arkansas to head back home to Eagan, Minnesota.
The journey back to Eagan, Minnesota started at 14:57. With Trish at the wheel we embarked on our trip back home, something that we were (at least, secretly) not wanting to do as we enjoyed being in the hands of Vickie and Kevin so much. Alas, our next stop was Fayetteville, Arkansas. In fact, this was a personal request from myself to Dawn. I am a huge fan of Basic Brewing, headed by James Spencer and Steve Wilkes and I was hoping to catch up with James.
With the greatest of admiration, James had told me earlier in the year (knowing I was coming all the way from Australia) that he’d be happy to meet me. So, as we were driving along back home I had sent a text to James advising that we were “on our way”. It was agreed that we’d meet at the Mellow Mushroom in Fayetteville, somewhere where we could enjoy a proper beer and have a chat.
I will admit that enjoying a proper beer and having a chat with one of my beer idols, James Spencer, was a huge pleasure. And as we finally arrived at Mellow Mushroom at approximately 17:55, nerves already started to take over me. Dawn, Jenny, Trish and I walked in, sat down and ordered food. I patiently waited for James to arrive. So he did at 18:20, and to my surprise so did Andy Sparks. I knew it was going to be a great chat.
Indeed it was great to chat to both of them. Knowing what they do and who they are (visit: www.basicbrewing.com should you not know) gave me goosebumps. Here I was talking (in person) to James Spencer! The legend of brewing around the world. I literally felt like a little kid looking up to a sporting icon. Nonetheless, as we consumed a few beers, chatted and had a few laughs it was time to say goodbye.
And if saying goodbye wasn’t enough, Andy gave me a “momento” of my visit to Mellow Mushroom in the shape of a stolen beer glass. Well, it wasn’t stolen rather it was “liberated from its current duties”. So as I was about to leave I also got a photo opportunity with James and Andy, something I will not forget in a hurry. And as I left Mellow Mushroom it was time for all of us to head back home to Eagan.
But going to Eagan with Trish at the wheel meant that we’d probably break some type of land speed record. I love her driving. She’s assured, confident and reminds me of Speedy Gonzalez. However, her race car driving skills managed to get us booked in Iowa by the local police. And with that the police officer asked who we were and where we were from. He heard “Australian” and asked about me, to which I spoke a few Aussie words enough for him to know we weren’t telling porky-pies.
In fact, don’t worry about lies. What didn’t lie was the speed in which he booked us at: 85 miles per hour in a 70 miles per hour zone. After some pleasantries from Trish, we moved on later to find out that it was only a $100 fine. Trish took it in her stride and was happy with the amount, considering that she had been speeding many times before without punishment.
If you think that was punishment, we drive on through Iowa needing a restroom break. I had placed the beer glass which Andy gave me between my legs on the front passenger’s seat. I wanted to keep it “safe”, as it was going to be a gift for my fellow brewing mate, Kyle, back in Australia. When coming back from the restroom, I hopped back in the car only to realise that there was junk left in the car. I decided to grab that junk and put it in the bin outside. Unfortunately, my left foot clipped the beer glass and it ended up crashing dramatically to the gfound. I was devestated. I knew then that crime doesn’t pay.
That is technically correct; crime does not pay. I am sure Trish would atest to that after being caught speeding. But despite our misadventures on our journey back home to that point, it was really smooth sailing from that moment in. As we got closer and closer to Eagan, our memories became more distant. It seemed so wrong to be going back home when we should be having fun in Arkansas.
But I guess the fun doesn’t stop in Arkansas. We finally arrived safe and sound, and with that Trish first went to her place and then Dawn, Jenny and I proceeded to go back home. The clock had just passed 7am. It was a long ride, but we finally made it. I had the most brilliant time, thanks largely to Vickie and Kevin’s overwhelmingly fantastic hospitality. I guess that where ever I am, regardless of it being in Arkansas or Minnesota I am honoured in the knowledge that I am one of the lucky few that have friends there.
dann
techno-savvy for dummies
posted on December 21, 2010 in BeerBlog
I live and breathe technology. It’s part of my job. But there is one major problem here; I’ve never been one to buy the latest gadget. I’ve always wanted to express myself through writing, and never through a gadget. A few months ago, however, I ventured into the unknown and bought myself the rival to the Apple iPhone, Samsung Galaxy S.
The Samsung Galaxy S, as reported by my friends, is just another handheld device that does exactly what the iPhone does. I purchased it in August, which happens to be when I left for the USA. Now that it’s almost Christmas I think I’ve had a good opportunity to notice a few of the more sillier things this device does.
Most notably is the keyboard that presents itself on the touch screen phone. Granted, by typing emails, browsing the web and things like that it is a Godsend. In fact, the speed at which you can type is far superior than that of a normal keypad on your mobile phone. The problem with speed is that when you type you are prone to mistakes.
Those mistakes make me laugh, then cry, then get me frustrated. I’m in a gmail chat conversation with a friend, I start typing and somehow my words seem as warped as Officer Crabtree from ‘Allo ‘Allo! Now, if you’ve ever watched ‘Allo ‘Allo! then you’ll know what I’m talking about. His usual “Good moaning!” line, in his atrocious attempt to speak French, is very bad particularly when what he’s really trying to say is “Good morning!”. This is just one example.
To give you my example of what I typed to my friend in the USA: I thonk yoi wull guve me a free drunk when I retirn to the ISA. I mean, you just read my mistakes in this paragraph, right? I’ve obviously typed quickly (a strength on all touch pad phones), but the accuracy lacked somewhat. So, the phone that can almost make me a tea and biscuits via a download app has made me sound like Officer Crabtree.
It also made me sound like I’ve had a lobotomy the previous night. Did I wake up next morning, start chatting online to my friend with no memory of good grammar? Did I step on a nail, with the resulting hoping as pain ensued led to typing the way I typed? Either that or they think I’ve hit the bottle fairly early in the day (which in itself is a possibility, but a rare event).
But a more known rare event is my half-arsed attempt to use the ‘swipe’ function on the Galaxy S. What that enables you to do is while you have your finger actually on the touch screen phone, you move or ’swipe’ your finger, without it leaving the phone, to your next letter of preference. From there you complete your word.
But doing this more than once for words is confusing the crap out of me. I have this option of predictive text, which sucks more than a hoover vacuum cleaner. If I wanted to spell the word ‘there’, why bother after I already typed in the letters ‘ther’? It gives you choices, but it’s not what I want. I just want to type normally with no errors.
And as we all know typing with no errors on a smart phone is about as likely as the Minnesota Vikings winning the Superbowl (sorry Viks fans). It is, however, a device that allows us to roam free without the need to be at our desk, but still doing what we want to do in life. And when we do use the smart phone we use smiley faces, shortcuts in words and simply express ourselves to friends via the shortest means possible.
That ’shortest means possible’ tends to have another language altogether. For example; R U OK? I will c u l8r when I av 8n my dinna xxoo. I don’t know about you but when I use ‘pig latin’, as I say, it really makes me understand why the kids of today can’t read or write properly. Imagine your son or daughter consistantly using this type of texting language to talk to their friends? Do you see a problem here?
Well, you should see a problem. It’s about not knowing your own language. You see, I can string a few words together and write an article like this one. My guess is that people who use this ‘pig latin’ are knowingly doing it to save characters and being intuitive. Sure, you can say that but what then if it translates to general writing and business writing? What about if it impacts on how you write in general, be it with keyboard or pen?
The most powerful way to influence someone (apart from verbal communication) is via a keyboard or pen. You write, and you write persuasively. Writing is big business, and if your basic skills can’t enable you to put two words together in an articulate fashion then you’re a goner. Imagine your kids when they’ve grown up and have to apply for a TAFE course, a University course or just simply want information from the local council? Imagine if they ask how to spell a basic word?
But it’s more than just ‘basic’ knowledge of our English language. That’s what our smart phones don’t allow us to do anymore. We are a society of instant gratification, where we want things and want them now. The whole cultural structure of texting and messaging, which to me doesn’t mean socialising is a whole new ball game these days. Yes, for sure it’s a means to communicate. What it doesn’t substitute is for actually face-to-face socialising.
That face-to-face socialsing is an integral part of society itself. Imagine if I were at home and all I did was communicate with my friends via Facebook? Are they still my friends? Wouldn’t you consider actually catching up with the people you chat with locally in some physical way rather than just chat? OK, I’m probably digressing between writing and socialsing here, but my point is that using a texting language that is prone for shortcuts and character assassination (yes, a deliberate joke in that one) is really preparing our society for a bad future.
That bad future means that there will be many people out there who don’t know how to write. Moreover, they don’t know how to write properly. They will not be able to form words, phrases, sentences, use paragraphs or use appropriate grammar and spelling.
So I am kinda glad that it’s only been recent that I ventured into the unknown and bought my very first gadget, the Samsung Galaxy S. What I’m also thankful is I can express myself through this blog, which means I can write and put a few words together. Now if only I can do that on my Samsung Galaxy S. I wull do my bist and wull look unto ut.
dann
The Samsung Galaxy S, as reported by my friends, is just another handheld device that does exactly what the iPhone does. I purchased it in August, which happens to be when I left for the USA. Now that it’s almost Christmas I think I’ve had a good opportunity to notice a few of the more sillier things this device does.
Most notably is the keyboard that presents itself on the touch screen phone. Granted, by typing emails, browsing the web and things like that it is a Godsend. In fact, the speed at which you can type is far superior than that of a normal keypad on your mobile phone. The problem with speed is that when you type you are prone to mistakes.
Those mistakes make me laugh, then cry, then get me frustrated. I’m in a gmail chat conversation with a friend, I start typing and somehow my words seem as warped as Officer Crabtree from ‘Allo ‘Allo! Now, if you’ve ever watched ‘Allo ‘Allo! then you’ll know what I’m talking about. His usual “Good moaning!” line, in his atrocious attempt to speak French, is very bad particularly when what he’s really trying to say is “Good morning!”. This is just one example.
To give you my example of what I typed to my friend in the USA: I thonk yoi wull guve me a free drunk when I retirn to the ISA. I mean, you just read my mistakes in this paragraph, right? I’ve obviously typed quickly (a strength on all touch pad phones), but the accuracy lacked somewhat. So, the phone that can almost make me a tea and biscuits via a download app has made me sound like Officer Crabtree.
It also made me sound like I’ve had a lobotomy the previous night. Did I wake up next morning, start chatting online to my friend with no memory of good grammar? Did I step on a nail, with the resulting hoping as pain ensued led to typing the way I typed? Either that or they think I’ve hit the bottle fairly early in the day (which in itself is a possibility, but a rare event).
But a more known rare event is my half-arsed attempt to use the ‘swipe’ function on the Galaxy S. What that enables you to do is while you have your finger actually on the touch screen phone, you move or ’swipe’ your finger, without it leaving the phone, to your next letter of preference. From there you complete your word.
But doing this more than once for words is confusing the crap out of me. I have this option of predictive text, which sucks more than a hoover vacuum cleaner. If I wanted to spell the word ‘there’, why bother after I already typed in the letters ‘ther’? It gives you choices, but it’s not what I want. I just want to type normally with no errors.
And as we all know typing with no errors on a smart phone is about as likely as the Minnesota Vikings winning the Superbowl (sorry Viks fans). It is, however, a device that allows us to roam free without the need to be at our desk, but still doing what we want to do in life. And when we do use the smart phone we use smiley faces, shortcuts in words and simply express ourselves to friends via the shortest means possible.
That ’shortest means possible’ tends to have another language altogether. For example; R U OK? I will c u l8r when I av 8n my dinna xxoo. I don’t know about you but when I use ‘pig latin’, as I say, it really makes me understand why the kids of today can’t read or write properly. Imagine your son or daughter consistantly using this type of texting language to talk to their friends? Do you see a problem here?
Well, you should see a problem. It’s about not knowing your own language. You see, I can string a few words together and write an article like this one. My guess is that people who use this ‘pig latin’ are knowingly doing it to save characters and being intuitive. Sure, you can say that but what then if it translates to general writing and business writing? What about if it impacts on how you write in general, be it with keyboard or pen?
The most powerful way to influence someone (apart from verbal communication) is via a keyboard or pen. You write, and you write persuasively. Writing is big business, and if your basic skills can’t enable you to put two words together in an articulate fashion then you’re a goner. Imagine your kids when they’ve grown up and have to apply for a TAFE course, a University course or just simply want information from the local council? Imagine if they ask how to spell a basic word?
But it’s more than just ‘basic’ knowledge of our English language. That’s what our smart phones don’t allow us to do anymore. We are a society of instant gratification, where we want things and want them now. The whole cultural structure of texting and messaging, which to me doesn’t mean socialising is a whole new ball game these days. Yes, for sure it’s a means to communicate. What it doesn’t substitute is for actually face-to-face socialising.
That face-to-face socialsing is an integral part of society itself. Imagine if I were at home and all I did was communicate with my friends via Facebook? Are they still my friends? Wouldn’t you consider actually catching up with the people you chat with locally in some physical way rather than just chat? OK, I’m probably digressing between writing and socialsing here, but my point is that using a texting language that is prone for shortcuts and character assassination (yes, a deliberate joke in that one) is really preparing our society for a bad future.
That bad future means that there will be many people out there who don’t know how to write. Moreover, they don’t know how to write properly. They will not be able to form words, phrases, sentences, use paragraphs or use appropriate grammar and spelling.
So I am kinda glad that it’s only been recent that I ventured into the unknown and bought my very first gadget, the Samsung Galaxy S. What I’m also thankful is I can express myself through this blog, which means I can write and put a few words together. Now if only I can do that on my Samsung Galaxy S. I wull do my bist and wull look unto ut.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part XVI (Two Harbors, Minnesota)
posted on October 25, 2010 in BeerBlog
Two Harbors, Minnesota. Population: 3,616. A most breathtakingly beautiful town that is worth more than all the money in the world. A tranquil and stunningly peaceful place that sits a leisurely 30 minutes drive north-east of Duluth. Our cabin at Breezy Point on Lake Superior was now going to be our home for the next three days.
But before we reached our new home in Two Harbors, I had left “my” home in Eagan for a game of golf with Mary. She’s an avid golfer and loves getting around in the warmth of the Minnesotan sun. Our game at Como Golf Course was as glamorous as I’d expected. A beautiful course that had more green than the US paperback. Both Mary and I, on a lovely sunny day, played well enough to walk away happy.
Happier still that after the game I caught up with Dawn and Jenny. We were eventually going to Two Harbors, but on the way we had already booked a tour at Surly Brewing. Surly is located in Brooklyn Center, and it was with anticipation that Dawn, Jenny and I were relishing the fact in going on this tour. It is probably correct to say that we were all very, very excited.
But we weren’t the only ones excited. Upon arrival on the Surly Brewing grounds I noticed a stack full of people that had gathered outside the doors. I was amazed. I’ve done some brewery tours before but this took the cake. Hoards of people swarmed around the door like bees patrolling their hive. As we waited patiently to enter the heavenly grounds of Surly, the moment had arrived.
That moment was one of the Surly employees came out side and shouted to all of us to get ready, have our identification available to check, collect our five Surly tokens and drink some beer. At that moment, I had thoughts of a rushing stampede similar to the ones you see on the Discovery channel, as Wildebeests frantically jump over the deadly jaws of crocodiles.
But, alas, I didn’t see no one run like a Wildebeest jumping for life over a croc. I saw patient people slowly, somewhat cautiously, lining up and ready to take their tokens. I found that an experience it itself, considering the difficulty in actually getting on the tour. You have to book three weeks in advance, is only done once a week and only four people at a time can be booked in. Could it get any harder?
Thankfully, no. Actually, that is the hardest thing you have to do; book the tour. Once we got our tokens we were asked to enjoy the beer, right from the start. The Surly beer available on tap at the tour: Coffee Bender, Bender, CynicAle, Furious, Bitter Brewer and Surly Fest. I was severely licking my lips, as if I’d just won a ‘no holes barred’ night out with Claudia Schiffer.
Although my night didn’t have her in it, the mere fact I was going to try Surly beer was the next best thing. Both Jenny and I first tried the Surly Coffee Bender: a rich, coffee American Brown Ale that gets better every time you taste it. Next, Bender was just like the previous but without the coffee taste. Furious was the next beer, and this is my favourite. A hoppy beer that has more hop than a Kangaroo.
But as I drank the hop out of the Furious, Surly Fest was one I was most interested in trying. As described: a tradational Oktoberfest bier from Surly? Nein! They’ve simply brewed this beer as an inspiration by importing malted barley, rye and a German lager yeast strain. For me, it beats most of what the other German brewers do. Next up, Bitter Brewer. And this does have some interesting characteristics.
Described as: Pale orange in color, this ale gets intense toast and marmalade character from British malt and American hops. Dry-hopping brings the floral citrus aromas. It was an interesting beer, and it seemed to be the perfect way for me to end the taste testing tour. As we sneaked outside, Omar Ansari (the owner of Surly), was ready for his own tour of the brewery. He’s a fantastic story teller, so it’d be rude of me to say what he said. Best that you go and find out how good Surly is for yourself.
And although the Surly Brewing tour was absolutely fantastic, and so was Omar, all good things must end. It was time for us to pack up and go to Two Harbors. Driving up north was going to take a while, and since we hadn’t eaten much during the day we decided that we’d get a bite to eat halfway through. We ended up at Grand Casino Hinckley.
Grand Casino Hinckley is about an hour’s drive south-west of Duluth, so it was a good midway point for us to stop and eat. A buffet awaited us, and at $16.95 I wasn’t complaining in the slightest. As we stuffed our stomachs as much as a large Mafia drug lord’s duffel bag frantically being filled full of $100 bills, we steadily headed toward our new home, Two Harbors.
And our new home was only yards away from the foot of Lake Superior. Wooden in structure, this cabin held two double beds, an electric stove, bathroom, hot and cold water, a refrigerator and a round dining table. It was like stepping back into a time where things were less complicated, less demanding. A place where only the basics were given, but it gave a lot more in return.
That return was the gorgeous and awesome Lake Superior. A majestic, yet powerful, lake that has statistics that will blow your mind. It’s the largest fresh water lake in the world, could cover all of North America in water three feet deep and is 350 miles east to west, 160 miles north to south. It’s a lake that looked more like the Pacific ocean, had trees that looked more suited to a dense forest and wildlife that seemed more at home on an unblemished rain forest where only they live.
But where we were going to live for three days was undeniably the best spot, just feet away from Lake Superior. Although we could have stayed for weeks in the same spot, time was of the essence. We had to move and catch a glimpse of what northern Minnesota could offer. A short trip further north-east to Split Rock was our next destination. It was something to behold.
Split Rock was an awesome sight. The Lighthouse was built due to a huge, late November gale in 1905 that damaged 29 ships, the completion of the Split Rock Lighthouse in 1910 meant that it would become the focus for all shipping in the area for many years to come. It continued to run for 59 years before its demise (due to new technology making it obsolete) in 1969. A tremendous landmark that served the United States extremely well, which it still does today with many visitors making the effort to learn of its history and see its beauty.
But that wasn’t the only thing that showed its beauty. We headed further north-east to Palisade Head, Silver Bay. It was formed over a billion years ago from lava flow, which now is a large rock overseeing Lake Superior. A quite superb view-point allowed me to appreciate Lake Superior’s picturesque water even more than what I had earlier. Time eventually came for us to leave, and onto our next destination.
That destination was Gooseberry Falls. A beautiful way to view sensational water falls, have the opportunity to hike, see the wildlife or even ski (weather permitting). We decided to view the wonderful waterfall and do some hiking along the carefully laid out walk way. Of course, there were many to choose from but we decided to take it easy and appreciate what Minnesotan nature had to offer.
And what Minnesotan nature had to offer is why I love Minnesota. Up north you are constantly reminded of every animal known to the area. And that would really come home to roost a short time later. Once we left Gooseberry Falls it was time to head off to dinner and grab a bite to eat. As we hit Black Woods Grill & Bar, my heart almost stopped. Jenny pointed out that there was a Moose. I’d never seen a Moose before, so it was with disappointment to what I was going to see next.
Jenny pointed out the Moose, its bodiless head sitting in a rowing boat with antlers a good two foot long sticking out of each side. Was it real? On closer inspection I could see a sea of blood at the bottom of the row boat. It smelled like fresh blood, but not that I would know. I guess it’s like smelling freshly baked bread from the local bakery, you just know it’s fresh. It had that type of aroma to it. It wasn’t the most pleasant way to see my first ever Moose in real life, but reality here is that this is nature and it sometimes it’s not always pretty.
But as we sat at the Black Woods Grill & Bar, it wasn’t nature not being pretty that I was concerned about. I was more concerned about how the Twins would go against the New York Yankees. Dawn’s a Yankees fan (with Jenny and I Twins fans) and wanted to watch the game. So we thought that watching the game while we eat and have a few drinks was the best option for a relaxing night.
At first, the night was relaxing. Jenny ordered a Turkey sandwich, while Dawn and I ordered the Fillet & Shrimp. Things were going great until the Twins versus Yankees game was switched on. The girls ordered their favourite drinks (Captain and Diet) while I ordered Moose Drool, a drink I couldn’t help but picture to be the same Moose I saw in the row boat. Despite that, we all drank and watched the game.
As it turned out we were left perplexed. The Yankees pretty much dominated the game, but it was at the top of the eighth that we decided to leave and head back to the cabin. At this point the Yankees were in total control, so why suffer at the pub when we can get back to the cabin? When we arrived back home we had more drinks and enjoyed some Cribbage and Yahtzee. I only learned how to play Cribbage a week earlier, and quickly found I wasn’t any good. Yahtzee, on the other hand, you can’t beat me. After I gave Dawn and Jenny a Yahtzee butt-whipping, we headed off to bed in readiness for the next day.
Our next day ended up being a day of relaxation. First, though, we went off to the store to buy some goods. We decided it’d be a great idea to actually buy food and other items (campfire wood, matches, etc) for a bonfire on the tip of Lake Superior. We bought enough food and campfire items to be sure we’d last the night through. And as we settled a good hour and a half prior to dusk, the inspirational view on the shore of Lake Superior was unconditionally brilliant.
So brilliant in fact that we spent all night there. We used up our campfire wood, cooked up most of our food and drank lots of our (alcoholic) beverages. At one point I actually fell off my chair! It wasn’t because I was drunk, rather I was leaning over to the left putting my stick down after cooking a hotdog, and as I did that gravity did the rest. I don’t think I heard Jenny and Dawn laugh so much until that precious moment.
But it wasn’t the only moment that was precious. That whole night on the shore line of Lake Superior having a campfire was blissfully quiet. So quite that the gentlest waves kissing the rocks around you could clearly be heard. The heat from the fire, night sky glittered with stars, the night air as fresh as that found on Mount Everest. In fact, the whole trip was just magnificent.
That magnificence extends to every single thing I did in Two Harbors and Silver Bay. The opportunity to be a part of the wonderful northern part of Minnesota that a lot of tourists don’t get to see. I felt that I was privileged to have seen Lake Superior, Split Rock, Palisade Head and Gooseberry Falls. It was just a pity that we had to leave only after three days and go back home.
dann
But before we reached our new home in Two Harbors, I had left “my” home in Eagan for a game of golf with Mary. She’s an avid golfer and loves getting around in the warmth of the Minnesotan sun. Our game at Como Golf Course was as glamorous as I’d expected. A beautiful course that had more green than the US paperback. Both Mary and I, on a lovely sunny day, played well enough to walk away happy.
Happier still that after the game I caught up with Dawn and Jenny. We were eventually going to Two Harbors, but on the way we had already booked a tour at Surly Brewing. Surly is located in Brooklyn Center, and it was with anticipation that Dawn, Jenny and I were relishing the fact in going on this tour. It is probably correct to say that we were all very, very excited.
But we weren’t the only ones excited. Upon arrival on the Surly Brewing grounds I noticed a stack full of people that had gathered outside the doors. I was amazed. I’ve done some brewery tours before but this took the cake. Hoards of people swarmed around the door like bees patrolling their hive. As we waited patiently to enter the heavenly grounds of Surly, the moment had arrived.
That moment was one of the Surly employees came out side and shouted to all of us to get ready, have our identification available to check, collect our five Surly tokens and drink some beer. At that moment, I had thoughts of a rushing stampede similar to the ones you see on the Discovery channel, as Wildebeests frantically jump over the deadly jaws of crocodiles.
But, alas, I didn’t see no one run like a Wildebeest jumping for life over a croc. I saw patient people slowly, somewhat cautiously, lining up and ready to take their tokens. I found that an experience it itself, considering the difficulty in actually getting on the tour. You have to book three weeks in advance, is only done once a week and only four people at a time can be booked in. Could it get any harder?
Thankfully, no. Actually, that is the hardest thing you have to do; book the tour. Once we got our tokens we were asked to enjoy the beer, right from the start. The Surly beer available on tap at the tour: Coffee Bender, Bender, CynicAle, Furious, Bitter Brewer and Surly Fest. I was severely licking my lips, as if I’d just won a ‘no holes barred’ night out with Claudia Schiffer.
Although my night didn’t have her in it, the mere fact I was going to try Surly beer was the next best thing. Both Jenny and I first tried the Surly Coffee Bender: a rich, coffee American Brown Ale that gets better every time you taste it. Next, Bender was just like the previous but without the coffee taste. Furious was the next beer, and this is my favourite. A hoppy beer that has more hop than a Kangaroo.
But as I drank the hop out of the Furious, Surly Fest was one I was most interested in trying. As described: a tradational Oktoberfest bier from Surly? Nein! They’ve simply brewed this beer as an inspiration by importing malted barley, rye and a German lager yeast strain. For me, it beats most of what the other German brewers do. Next up, Bitter Brewer. And this does have some interesting characteristics.
Described as: Pale orange in color, this ale gets intense toast and marmalade character from British malt and American hops. Dry-hopping brings the floral citrus aromas. It was an interesting beer, and it seemed to be the perfect way for me to end the taste testing tour. As we sneaked outside, Omar Ansari (the owner of Surly), was ready for his own tour of the brewery. He’s a fantastic story teller, so it’d be rude of me to say what he said. Best that you go and find out how good Surly is for yourself.
And although the Surly Brewing tour was absolutely fantastic, and so was Omar, all good things must end. It was time for us to pack up and go to Two Harbors. Driving up north was going to take a while, and since we hadn’t eaten much during the day we decided that we’d get a bite to eat halfway through. We ended up at Grand Casino Hinckley.
Grand Casino Hinckley is about an hour’s drive south-west of Duluth, so it was a good midway point for us to stop and eat. A buffet awaited us, and at $16.95 I wasn’t complaining in the slightest. As we stuffed our stomachs as much as a large Mafia drug lord’s duffel bag frantically being filled full of $100 bills, we steadily headed toward our new home, Two Harbors.
And our new home was only yards away from the foot of Lake Superior. Wooden in structure, this cabin held two double beds, an electric stove, bathroom, hot and cold water, a refrigerator and a round dining table. It was like stepping back into a time where things were less complicated, less demanding. A place where only the basics were given, but it gave a lot more in return.
That return was the gorgeous and awesome Lake Superior. A majestic, yet powerful, lake that has statistics that will blow your mind. It’s the largest fresh water lake in the world, could cover all of North America in water three feet deep and is 350 miles east to west, 160 miles north to south. It’s a lake that looked more like the Pacific ocean, had trees that looked more suited to a dense forest and wildlife that seemed more at home on an unblemished rain forest where only they live.
But where we were going to live for three days was undeniably the best spot, just feet away from Lake Superior. Although we could have stayed for weeks in the same spot, time was of the essence. We had to move and catch a glimpse of what northern Minnesota could offer. A short trip further north-east to Split Rock was our next destination. It was something to behold.
Split Rock was an awesome sight. The Lighthouse was built due to a huge, late November gale in 1905 that damaged 29 ships, the completion of the Split Rock Lighthouse in 1910 meant that it would become the focus for all shipping in the area for many years to come. It continued to run for 59 years before its demise (due to new technology making it obsolete) in 1969. A tremendous landmark that served the United States extremely well, which it still does today with many visitors making the effort to learn of its history and see its beauty.
But that wasn’t the only thing that showed its beauty. We headed further north-east to Palisade Head, Silver Bay. It was formed over a billion years ago from lava flow, which now is a large rock overseeing Lake Superior. A quite superb view-point allowed me to appreciate Lake Superior’s picturesque water even more than what I had earlier. Time eventually came for us to leave, and onto our next destination.
That destination was Gooseberry Falls. A beautiful way to view sensational water falls, have the opportunity to hike, see the wildlife or even ski (weather permitting). We decided to view the wonderful waterfall and do some hiking along the carefully laid out walk way. Of course, there were many to choose from but we decided to take it easy and appreciate what Minnesotan nature had to offer.
And what Minnesotan nature had to offer is why I love Minnesota. Up north you are constantly reminded of every animal known to the area. And that would really come home to roost a short time later. Once we left Gooseberry Falls it was time to head off to dinner and grab a bite to eat. As we hit Black Woods Grill & Bar, my heart almost stopped. Jenny pointed out that there was a Moose. I’d never seen a Moose before, so it was with disappointment to what I was going to see next.
Jenny pointed out the Moose, its bodiless head sitting in a rowing boat with antlers a good two foot long sticking out of each side. Was it real? On closer inspection I could see a sea of blood at the bottom of the row boat. It smelled like fresh blood, but not that I would know. I guess it’s like smelling freshly baked bread from the local bakery, you just know it’s fresh. It had that type of aroma to it. It wasn’t the most pleasant way to see my first ever Moose in real life, but reality here is that this is nature and it sometimes it’s not always pretty.
But as we sat at the Black Woods Grill & Bar, it wasn’t nature not being pretty that I was concerned about. I was more concerned about how the Twins would go against the New York Yankees. Dawn’s a Yankees fan (with Jenny and I Twins fans) and wanted to watch the game. So we thought that watching the game while we eat and have a few drinks was the best option for a relaxing night.
At first, the night was relaxing. Jenny ordered a Turkey sandwich, while Dawn and I ordered the Fillet & Shrimp. Things were going great until the Twins versus Yankees game was switched on. The girls ordered their favourite drinks (Captain and Diet) while I ordered Moose Drool, a drink I couldn’t help but picture to be the same Moose I saw in the row boat. Despite that, we all drank and watched the game.
As it turned out we were left perplexed. The Yankees pretty much dominated the game, but it was at the top of the eighth that we decided to leave and head back to the cabin. At this point the Yankees were in total control, so why suffer at the pub when we can get back to the cabin? When we arrived back home we had more drinks and enjoyed some Cribbage and Yahtzee. I only learned how to play Cribbage a week earlier, and quickly found I wasn’t any good. Yahtzee, on the other hand, you can’t beat me. After I gave Dawn and Jenny a Yahtzee butt-whipping, we headed off to bed in readiness for the next day.
Our next day ended up being a day of relaxation. First, though, we went off to the store to buy some goods. We decided it’d be a great idea to actually buy food and other items (campfire wood, matches, etc) for a bonfire on the tip of Lake Superior. We bought enough food and campfire items to be sure we’d last the night through. And as we settled a good hour and a half prior to dusk, the inspirational view on the shore of Lake Superior was unconditionally brilliant.
So brilliant in fact that we spent all night there. We used up our campfire wood, cooked up most of our food and drank lots of our (alcoholic) beverages. At one point I actually fell off my chair! It wasn’t because I was drunk, rather I was leaning over to the left putting my stick down after cooking a hotdog, and as I did that gravity did the rest. I don’t think I heard Jenny and Dawn laugh so much until that precious moment.
But it wasn’t the only moment that was precious. That whole night on the shore line of Lake Superior having a campfire was blissfully quiet. So quite that the gentlest waves kissing the rocks around you could clearly be heard. The heat from the fire, night sky glittered with stars, the night air as fresh as that found on Mount Everest. In fact, the whole trip was just magnificent.
That magnificence extends to every single thing I did in Two Harbors and Silver Bay. The opportunity to be a part of the wonderful northern part of Minnesota that a lot of tourists don’t get to see. I felt that I was privileged to have seen Lake Superior, Split Rock, Palisade Head and Gooseberry Falls. It was just a pity that we had to leave only after three days and go back home.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part XV (Nordeast Pub Crawl)
posted on October 23, 2010 in BeerBlog
Minneapolis, Minnesota. We were on a pub crawl, the Nordeast pub crawl. Why is it called Nordeast? Well, it’s simply the Northeast community of Minneapolis in which there are a range or bars close enough together that you could cover them all up with a postage stamp. Justin, Jordan, Dawn, Jenny and I were all ready and waiting to start. When we arrived at our first bar we knew this was going to be an exciting night.
And an exciting night it turned out to be as we kicked things off at Tony Jaro’s. It’s home of the Greenie, a drink which has more secret recipes than a box full of KFC. You also had Pinkie (coloured pink) and, one would assume, a Bluey (coloured blue). As much as I wanted a Bluey (what Aussie doesn’t, right?) I stuck with the Greenie. I had been told it had Vodka in it but I wasn’t sure what the rest was. Either way it had more kick than an angry mule.
That angry mule kicked at exactly 5:47pm. It was the official time we got drinks. A wedding party seemed to have infiltrated the bar and it kinda felt like we were under dressed. Thankfully, we weren’t the poor suckers getting married….err, sorry, we weren’t the blissfully lucky souls getting married. Only a few sips into my Greenie and it hit me like a Japanese fast train. Was I already getting hammered and only a few minutes into this pub crawl? I was fearing the worst.
But I didn’t need to fear at all. A few laughs at Tony Jaro’s, more sips of the deadly Greenie and, surprisingly, I somehow kicked out of neutral and changed gears. Maybe it was the fact that the happy couple and their entourage began to leave, which made matters much more easier for us to handle. Sipping for a while longer allowed us to eventually finish our drinks and ready for the next move on our pub crawl.
That next move was to Psycho Suzi’s. It’s famous for its cocktail drinks, and we were all ready for the One Eyed Willy. The One Eyed Willy appeared, to me, to be a dangerous drink. Heck, even the description said so: A dangerous and deadly potion. Various rums, 151 rum, and some orange, pineapple & lime. Yep, this salty dog is served in a pirate mug. Down the hatch!
And down the hatch it went! Damn! I was sucking that thing like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. In fact, each one of us was enjoying it until Justine decided that it was just a little bit too much for him. As it ended up, Dawn, Jenny and I shared the rest of his drink. We were quite happy that this was the case and we left even more happy. Off now to the next venue on our pub crawl.
That pub crawl destination was at Nordeast Palace. A small pub that had plenty of locals, which happened to be as merry and jolly as the rest of us. It was there when Jenny pointed out to me the Grape Ape. I have to admit, this drink even looked like an ape. It was purple, had a grape flavour and had plenty of vodka in it. Actually, it looked like the father of Big Foot that had bruised head. Although hesitant, I just so had to have it.
As the order of the Grape Ape came in I genuinely had second thoughts on drinking it. It looked more angrier and meaner than I had expected. It looked as though it could have beaten me in an arm wrestle. And as I started sipping this purple monster I slowly understood its power and stealth. I almost felt an ice age could have come through and I’d still be sipping this sucker.
Unfortunately, I was the sucker on this day. As we finished our drinks at Nordeast Palace our next stop was at Grumpy’s. This is where things got a little messy. We actually bumped into a work colleague of Jenny’s, Patty. We all got introduced and Patty introduced her boyfriend to us, Chris. It was about now we knew this was going to be an extraordinarily great night.
So extraordinary that I decided that drinking vodka and lemonade was a great idea. One down. Two down. Three down. It seemed endless. It was becoming much more easier for me to drink these things, all the while my body was gaining momentum in slowly shutting itself down. The whole gang had a great time and although we could have stayed, the most intelligent thing to do was move on to the next bar.
That next bar was Gasthof zur Gemütlichkeit . As their website suggests: In Bavaria, Gasthof means a guest house where everyone is welcome. Gemütlichkeit is the warm, comfortable feeling one receives from pleasant surroundings and atmosphere! Well, I can assure you that things were not that welcoming when we got there. The line was 50 deep, and I started to worry.
I worried because I was in line at a restaurant to which I had no concept of how good (or bad) it was. I had been told by Jenny and Dawn that it was really good, and that the line is “normal”. Normal? Lining up at a disco is normal, but a restaurant? I was still yet to be convinced, and as we finally managed to get into Gasthof’s I still hadn’t been convinced. I was just hoping for that something special to make it worth my wait.
By some miracle of God, the wait was more than worth it. I had just finished my first drink (another vodka) at Gasthof’s where I saw my shining light; a Gasthof’s beer boot, all of two litres large and in the shape of a boot. My eyes popped out so much that I looked like Marty Feldman. I was in heaven. I now needed to order that beer.
I went straight to the counter and ordered the Paulaner Oktoberfestbier. This lovely piece of hunkyness made my mouth water, my nose sniffle, my heart skip a beat and my eyes weep like a tree dripping sap. I hugged it like it was my newborn, and drank it like the blood of a sacrificial lamb at a satanic cult’s monthly ritual. No one went near that beer, and I made sure of it.
Hell, I had to make sure of it! Too many people were noticing that I was drinking it all on my own, which was to me a surprise as I found out soon enough that this type of drink was supposed to be shared. An Australian male sharing a beer? That is about as funny as Seinfeld’s “best ever” CD set. I was drinking it, and was drinking it alone.
But as much as I drank it alone, we all laughed at the fact that I wasn’t aware this beer was to share with your friends. Knowing how great my friends are they simply let me be and were in awe of the fact this dumb ass Aussie was going to drink the lot. And as my memory started to fade at this point, we needed to move on after the big beer boot and onto the next bar.
And that bar was 22nd Avenue Station, an adult strip club where the music blares, the women dare and the dollar bills are smoking on the straps of strippers. A place where you can relax and see the sights, and the only sights you’ll see are the best of the breasts. After some much needed fun, we had to move on and hit the next place.
It ended up that this was the final place we went to, Jimmy’s. It’s at this time I have to admit knowing nothing of this trip. I was extremely drunk. I was just my normal, joyous self but with the added addition of when I woke up next morning I remembered nothing of Jimmy’s. All I know is that I shared a huge sandwich with Dawn, and apparently it was really nice.
But what was nice is that we all had a fantastic time doing the Nordeast pub crawl. We all had hangovers, we all had fun, we all had drinks and laughs. Isn’t that what life is all about? Just having fun with friends and simply enjoying time together. And that means a lot. To me, that means that the night we had together was as exciting as hell.
dann
And an exciting night it turned out to be as we kicked things off at Tony Jaro’s. It’s home of the Greenie, a drink which has more secret recipes than a box full of KFC. You also had Pinkie (coloured pink) and, one would assume, a Bluey (coloured blue). As much as I wanted a Bluey (what Aussie doesn’t, right?) I stuck with the Greenie. I had been told it had Vodka in it but I wasn’t sure what the rest was. Either way it had more kick than an angry mule.
That angry mule kicked at exactly 5:47pm. It was the official time we got drinks. A wedding party seemed to have infiltrated the bar and it kinda felt like we were under dressed. Thankfully, we weren’t the poor suckers getting married….err, sorry, we weren’t the blissfully lucky souls getting married. Only a few sips into my Greenie and it hit me like a Japanese fast train. Was I already getting hammered and only a few minutes into this pub crawl? I was fearing the worst.
But I didn’t need to fear at all. A few laughs at Tony Jaro’s, more sips of the deadly Greenie and, surprisingly, I somehow kicked out of neutral and changed gears. Maybe it was the fact that the happy couple and their entourage began to leave, which made matters much more easier for us to handle. Sipping for a while longer allowed us to eventually finish our drinks and ready for the next move on our pub crawl.
That next move was to Psycho Suzi’s. It’s famous for its cocktail drinks, and we were all ready for the One Eyed Willy. The One Eyed Willy appeared, to me, to be a dangerous drink. Heck, even the description said so: A dangerous and deadly potion. Various rums, 151 rum, and some orange, pineapple & lime. Yep, this salty dog is served in a pirate mug. Down the hatch!
And down the hatch it went! Damn! I was sucking that thing like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. In fact, each one of us was enjoying it until Justine decided that it was just a little bit too much for him. As it ended up, Dawn, Jenny and I shared the rest of his drink. We were quite happy that this was the case and we left even more happy. Off now to the next venue on our pub crawl.
That pub crawl destination was at Nordeast Palace. A small pub that had plenty of locals, which happened to be as merry and jolly as the rest of us. It was there when Jenny pointed out to me the Grape Ape. I have to admit, this drink even looked like an ape. It was purple, had a grape flavour and had plenty of vodka in it. Actually, it looked like the father of Big Foot that had bruised head. Although hesitant, I just so had to have it.
As the order of the Grape Ape came in I genuinely had second thoughts on drinking it. It looked more angrier and meaner than I had expected. It looked as though it could have beaten me in an arm wrestle. And as I started sipping this purple monster I slowly understood its power and stealth. I almost felt an ice age could have come through and I’d still be sipping this sucker.
Unfortunately, I was the sucker on this day. As we finished our drinks at Nordeast Palace our next stop was at Grumpy’s. This is where things got a little messy. We actually bumped into a work colleague of Jenny’s, Patty. We all got introduced and Patty introduced her boyfriend to us, Chris. It was about now we knew this was going to be an extraordinarily great night.
So extraordinary that I decided that drinking vodka and lemonade was a great idea. One down. Two down. Three down. It seemed endless. It was becoming much more easier for me to drink these things, all the while my body was gaining momentum in slowly shutting itself down. The whole gang had a great time and although we could have stayed, the most intelligent thing to do was move on to the next bar.
That next bar was Gasthof zur Gemütlichkeit . As their website suggests: In Bavaria, Gasthof means a guest house where everyone is welcome. Gemütlichkeit is the warm, comfortable feeling one receives from pleasant surroundings and atmosphere! Well, I can assure you that things were not that welcoming when we got there. The line was 50 deep, and I started to worry.
I worried because I was in line at a restaurant to which I had no concept of how good (or bad) it was. I had been told by Jenny and Dawn that it was really good, and that the line is “normal”. Normal? Lining up at a disco is normal, but a restaurant? I was still yet to be convinced, and as we finally managed to get into Gasthof’s I still hadn’t been convinced. I was just hoping for that something special to make it worth my wait.
By some miracle of God, the wait was more than worth it. I had just finished my first drink (another vodka) at Gasthof’s where I saw my shining light; a Gasthof’s beer boot, all of two litres large and in the shape of a boot. My eyes popped out so much that I looked like Marty Feldman. I was in heaven. I now needed to order that beer.
I went straight to the counter and ordered the Paulaner Oktoberfestbier. This lovely piece of hunkyness made my mouth water, my nose sniffle, my heart skip a beat and my eyes weep like a tree dripping sap. I hugged it like it was my newborn, and drank it like the blood of a sacrificial lamb at a satanic cult’s monthly ritual. No one went near that beer, and I made sure of it.
Hell, I had to make sure of it! Too many people were noticing that I was drinking it all on my own, which was to me a surprise as I found out soon enough that this type of drink was supposed to be shared. An Australian male sharing a beer? That is about as funny as Seinfeld’s “best ever” CD set. I was drinking it, and was drinking it alone.
But as much as I drank it alone, we all laughed at the fact that I wasn’t aware this beer was to share with your friends. Knowing how great my friends are they simply let me be and were in awe of the fact this dumb ass Aussie was going to drink the lot. And as my memory started to fade at this point, we needed to move on after the big beer boot and onto the next bar.
And that bar was 22nd Avenue Station, an adult strip club where the music blares, the women dare and the dollar bills are smoking on the straps of strippers. A place where you can relax and see the sights, and the only sights you’ll see are the best of the breasts. After some much needed fun, we had to move on and hit the next place.
It ended up that this was the final place we went to, Jimmy’s. It’s at this time I have to admit knowing nothing of this trip. I was extremely drunk. I was just my normal, joyous self but with the added addition of when I woke up next morning I remembered nothing of Jimmy’s. All I know is that I shared a huge sandwich with Dawn, and apparently it was really nice.
But what was nice is that we all had a fantastic time doing the Nordeast pub crawl. We all had hangovers, we all had fun, we all had drinks and laughs. Isn’t that what life is all about? Just having fun with friends and simply enjoying time together. And that means a lot. To me, that means that the night we had together was as exciting as hell.
dann
dannbrew.com
Australian Beer with BallsThe United Beers of America: Part XIV (Cannon Falls & Wabasha, Minnesota)
posted on October 13, 2010 in BeerBlog
Cannon Falls, Minnesota is conveniently located midway between St. Paul and Rochester. Our destination was Cannon River Winery, and it was going to be my very first trip to a winery. You see, I’m not a great fan of wine. If fact, give me half a glass of red wine and I’m under the table. Wine is something that really makes me sing.
And sing I did when after a 40 minute road trip we entered the winery with a pleasing: “Hello! Welcome!” from the winery staff. I was impressed by the decor, which appeared to have a fashionable rustic feel to it. I don’t know much about wine but it appeared to have an impressive collection of local wine on the shelves.
Those shelves projected being proud, self assured. Mary, Lori, Sue (Lori’s sister) and myself wondered around checking out the various displays. Some interesting variations of holders and glasses ensured that we were kept interested on how the wine was going to taste. It was when we were asked if we were here to do the wine tasting tour that we started to lick our lips.
And our lips were going to be in heaven. We all walked toward the bar and stood, waiting in anticipation. Our kind Cannon River Winery staff member all gave us wine menus and provided a quick “tour” of how she would deliver our wine (and the amount) into our glasses. She then advised us to mark off the following wines: Cannon River Reserve, Gogo Red, Nouveau, Mancini’s Levee Red and Honey Mead. We thought these were the wines we were going to try.
We all shook our heads in acceptance thinking these were the wines we were trying. In fact, our staff member advised us that these were not the wines we were going to try. We all looked at each other in surprise. If these aren’t the ones we are tasting, which ones are we tasting? As we sat silently, somewhat confused, our staff member colorfully said that we’ll be trying all the rest. All the rest? Wow! We counted the other wines on the menu. That total reached 15.
And by the time we drank all 15 we were almost totaled! There was a vast array of white wines, blush wines, red wines and reserve wins. Instead of our heads nodding in acceptance, our senses moved into overdrive in the simple knowledge that we’d be trying 15 different wines. Better still, we were given to opportunity to describe the sweetness level: dry, off-dry, semi-dry, semi-sweet and sweet.
I actually thought that this whole experience was sweet. Getting to try all this wine? Getting to understand how to drink it, how to smell it and how to describe it? I admit that I was feeling quite excited despite the fact that not a drop of wine met my lips. But that was about to change. She poured our first white wine, Classic White. My first attempt at doing this was fun, and the wine wasn’t all that bad.
It wasn’t bad, but the Classic White wasn’t my favourite. I decided that marking these wines out of 10 would be a good way, at least for me, to note down my experience with the wine. I marked it down as a 6. It’s in no way a professional listing, rather a way to determine what I liked within the list of 15 wines from our generous wine menu. Next up was another white wine, St. Pepin.
The St. Pepin was nice. Described as a semi-dry wine I felt this had more taste than the Classic White, so I rated it a 7. Onto the next, Graciela. This was a Reserve wine, and at $18 a bottle was slightly more expensive than the rest but certainly not the most expensive. A semi-dry premium white wine, this left little to my imagination and I marked it down as a 5. It wasn’t my type of wine.
Unfortunately, the next wine we tried was West 7th White and that wasn’t my type of wine either. Described as a white wine with pear, citrus, and tropical fruit flavors; crisp and refreshing it seemed that I wasn’t hitting any good wines. Don’t get me wrong, these wines probably are very nice but my sense of wine tasting has a lot left to be desired.
Oddly enough, Lorraine’s White was next and that was something I did desire. It was a semi-sweet wine with hints of honey, peach and apricot. This moved equal to that of St. Pepin as my top wines so far. On to Sogn Blanc, an intense peachy and pineapple flavour somehow managed to open my eyes on sweetness, but not enough to pip the my top two so far.
And so far we have only tried 6 wines, and only 9 more to go. Up next was Apple. I didn’t like this one at all. Well, it had a cider taste to it and I’m not really a cider fan either. It was nice in its own right, but the taste on the tongue wasn’t to my liking. Overall, the white wines weren’t all to my liking. Maybe I had to try the Blush wines to maybe see if there was anything I liked?
Well, on to Rosella which happened to be a Blush wine. This had a fruity (red berries, pear and apple), semi-dry taste to which I thought it was so great I gave it a 7. It was a high marker. Following that was the Sogn Blush, another sweet and fruity wine that got my nod of approval, but it didn’t reach the heady heights of the next wine.
That next wine was Irene’s Blush. I loved this wine, or was if the fact that by this stage I was three sheets to the wind? In my whole entire life I’d never drank so many different wines. It was going to my head real quick. Regardless, I pushed on for the good of the community and tried this magnificent wine. The strawberry and raspberry notes in this wine made this stand out from the crowd.
Not only did Irene’s Blush stand out from the crowd, but the red wines and reserve wines after that weren’t up to par with it. Gunflint Red had a hint of American Oak, not something I liked in the wine. The Minnesota Meritage had hints of tannins (a bitterness quality), just like if you were to squeeze your grain bag after steeping your grain. It, too, was aged in American Oak. It wasn’t a taste I really preferred.
Nor did I prefer the Mill Street Red, which had hints of vanilla and chocolate. Sure, I can have that in my beer (which really does taste nice) but, for me, in a wine? No, thanks. Cananon River Red was very dry in my opinion. Described as a medium body, dry wine aged in American and French Oak (yet again, another wine aged in Oak that I didn’t like) it had a taste that was familiar to the others.
But although the other wines weren’t to my liking, there was an upshot for the last wine on tour; Bootlegger’s Red. This was really, really nice. It had more kick than a Kung-Fu master and more body than Elle Macpherson. Described as a port that combines the flavours of red berry jams, nuts, chocolate, vanilla and licorice it was simply a joy to sip and take in.
And I certainly did take it all in. A wonderful selection of Minnesotan wines that you’d be proud to call your own. Mary, Lori, Sue and myself were all quite surprised at the quality (and quantity) of wines we tasted. Luckily for us we still had enough scruples to pick out our favourite wine, buy a bottle and support the local winery for a magnificent job they did in providing us the taste tour.
I will admit that my tasting of wine in that tour was a great experience. So much so that I ended up buying a bottle of Irene’s Blush. I had given it a 7.5 out of 10, which was the highest of all ratings in my taste-testing tour. We thanked Cannon River Winery, walked outside and got back into the car. Our next destination was Wabasha, Minnesota to visit a very unique and special place.
That special place was the National Eagle Center. Housing injured eagles, helping the community to understand eagles and letting them view and appreciate them was an opportunity not to be missed. Just over an hour’s drive from Cannon River Winery we were excited at the prospect of seeing eagles in captivity. Better still, I was just looking forward to seeing this majestic creature for the first time.
And what a first time it was. Entering the center gave me the immediate opportunity to see an eagle. The eagle was once an endangered bird here in the USA but it appears that the help of the National Eagle Center, the broader community and help from the government of all persuasions has resurrected this sublime national symbol. The eagle is a bird that should be treated with respect, dignity.
That respect and dignity was in full show as we were presented with a couple of eagles on our tour. I was astounded at the delicate and frail eagle being shown on display. I was actually in awe of this creature. How could a community just let such a magnificent bird, let alone a national symbol, become almost extinct? Thankfully, the good news is that after many dedicated years (through the community, volunteers and governments) it no longer appears to be endangered, with many eagles now soaring new heights around Wabasha and surrounding areas.
After our Wabasha experience it was time to head back home to Eagan. It was an eventful day full of firsts; the first time I had experienced a wine tasting tour and the first first time I experienced the majestic American eagle. As we headed back, I relished the moment when I opened that bottle of Irene’s Blush. My tune has changed; I now love wine. I know wine makes me sing, but this day was definitely worth singing about again.
dann
Note: The full listing of the wine we tasted at Cannon River Winery:
1. Classic White
2. St. Pepin
3. Graciela
4. West 7th White
5. Lorraine’s White
6. Sogn Blanc
7. Apple
8. Rosella
9. Sogn Blush
10. Irene’s Blush
11. Gunflint Red
12. Minnesota Meritage
13. Mill Street Red
14. Cannon River Falls Red
15. Bootlegger’s Red
And sing I did when after a 40 minute road trip we entered the winery with a pleasing: “Hello! Welcome!” from the winery staff. I was impressed by the decor, which appeared to have a fashionable rustic feel to it. I don’t know much about wine but it appeared to have an impressive collection of local wine on the shelves.
Those shelves projected being proud, self assured. Mary, Lori, Sue (Lori’s sister) and myself wondered around checking out the various displays. Some interesting variations of holders and glasses ensured that we were kept interested on how the wine was going to taste. It was when we were asked if we were here to do the wine tasting tour that we started to lick our lips.
And our lips were going to be in heaven. We all walked toward the bar and stood, waiting in anticipation. Our kind Cannon River Winery staff member all gave us wine menus and provided a quick “tour” of how she would deliver our wine (and the amount) into our glasses. She then advised us to mark off the following wines: Cannon River Reserve, Gogo Red, Nouveau, Mancini’s Levee Red and Honey Mead. We thought these were the wines we were going to try.
We all shook our heads in acceptance thinking these were the wines we were trying. In fact, our staff member advised us that these were not the wines we were going to try. We all looked at each other in surprise. If these aren’t the ones we are tasting, which ones are we tasting? As we sat silently, somewhat confused, our staff member colorfully said that we’ll be trying all the rest. All the rest? Wow! We counted the other wines on the menu. That total reached 15.
And by the time we drank all 15 we were almost totaled! There was a vast array of white wines, blush wines, red wines and reserve wins. Instead of our heads nodding in acceptance, our senses moved into overdrive in the simple knowledge that we’d be trying 15 different wines. Better still, we were given to opportunity to describe the sweetness level: dry, off-dry, semi-dry, semi-sweet and sweet.
I actually thought that this whole experience was sweet. Getting to try all this wine? Getting to understand how to drink it, how to smell it and how to describe it? I admit that I was feeling quite excited despite the fact that not a drop of wine met my lips. But that was about to change. She poured our first white wine, Classic White. My first attempt at doing this was fun, and the wine wasn’t all that bad.
It wasn’t bad, but the Classic White wasn’t my favourite. I decided that marking these wines out of 10 would be a good way, at least for me, to note down my experience with the wine. I marked it down as a 6. It’s in no way a professional listing, rather a way to determine what I liked within the list of 15 wines from our generous wine menu. Next up was another white wine, St. Pepin.
The St. Pepin was nice. Described as a semi-dry wine I felt this had more taste than the Classic White, so I rated it a 7. Onto the next, Graciela. This was a Reserve wine, and at $18 a bottle was slightly more expensive than the rest but certainly not the most expensive. A semi-dry premium white wine, this left little to my imagination and I marked it down as a 5. It wasn’t my type of wine.
Unfortunately, the next wine we tried was West 7th White and that wasn’t my type of wine either. Described as a white wine with pear, citrus, and tropical fruit flavors; crisp and refreshing it seemed that I wasn’t hitting any good wines. Don’t get me wrong, these wines probably are very nice but my sense of wine tasting has a lot left to be desired.
Oddly enough, Lorraine’s White was next and that was something I did desire. It was a semi-sweet wine with hints of honey, peach and apricot. This moved equal to that of St. Pepin as my top wines so far. On to Sogn Blanc, an intense peachy and pineapple flavour somehow managed to open my eyes on sweetness, but not enough to pip the my top two so far.
And so far we have only tried 6 wines, and only 9 more to go. Up next was Apple. I didn’t like this one at all. Well, it had a cider taste to it and I’m not really a cider fan either. It was nice in its own right, but the taste on the tongue wasn’t to my liking. Overall, the white wines weren’t all to my liking. Maybe I had to try the Blush wines to maybe see if there was anything I liked?
Well, on to Rosella which happened to be a Blush wine. This had a fruity (red berries, pear and apple), semi-dry taste to which I thought it was so great I gave it a 7. It was a high marker. Following that was the Sogn Blush, another sweet and fruity wine that got my nod of approval, but it didn’t reach the heady heights of the next wine.
That next wine was Irene’s Blush. I loved this wine, or was if the fact that by this stage I was three sheets to the wind? In my whole entire life I’d never drank so many different wines. It was going to my head real quick. Regardless, I pushed on for the good of the community and tried this magnificent wine. The strawberry and raspberry notes in this wine made this stand out from the crowd.
Not only did Irene’s Blush stand out from the crowd, but the red wines and reserve wines after that weren’t up to par with it. Gunflint Red had a hint of American Oak, not something I liked in the wine. The Minnesota Meritage had hints of tannins (a bitterness quality), just like if you were to squeeze your grain bag after steeping your grain. It, too, was aged in American Oak. It wasn’t a taste I really preferred.
Nor did I prefer the Mill Street Red, which had hints of vanilla and chocolate. Sure, I can have that in my beer (which really does taste nice) but, for me, in a wine? No, thanks. Cananon River Red was very dry in my opinion. Described as a medium body, dry wine aged in American and French Oak (yet again, another wine aged in Oak that I didn’t like) it had a taste that was familiar to the others.
But although the other wines weren’t to my liking, there was an upshot for the last wine on tour; Bootlegger’s Red. This was really, really nice. It had more kick than a Kung-Fu master and more body than Elle Macpherson. Described as a port that combines the flavours of red berry jams, nuts, chocolate, vanilla and licorice it was simply a joy to sip and take in.
And I certainly did take it all in. A wonderful selection of Minnesotan wines that you’d be proud to call your own. Mary, Lori, Sue and myself were all quite surprised at the quality (and quantity) of wines we tasted. Luckily for us we still had enough scruples to pick out our favourite wine, buy a bottle and support the local winery for a magnificent job they did in providing us the taste tour.
I will admit that my tasting of wine in that tour was a great experience. So much so that I ended up buying a bottle of Irene’s Blush. I had given it a 7.5 out of 10, which was the highest of all ratings in my taste-testing tour. We thanked Cannon River Winery, walked outside and got back into the car. Our next destination was Wabasha, Minnesota to visit a very unique and special place.
That special place was the National Eagle Center. Housing injured eagles, helping the community to understand eagles and letting them view and appreciate them was an opportunity not to be missed. Just over an hour’s drive from Cannon River Winery we were excited at the prospect of seeing eagles in captivity. Better still, I was just looking forward to seeing this majestic creature for the first time.
And what a first time it was. Entering the center gave me the immediate opportunity to see an eagle. The eagle was once an endangered bird here in the USA but it appears that the help of the National Eagle Center, the broader community and help from the government of all persuasions has resurrected this sublime national symbol. The eagle is a bird that should be treated with respect, dignity.
That respect and dignity was in full show as we were presented with a couple of eagles on our tour. I was astounded at the delicate and frail eagle being shown on display. I was actually in awe of this creature. How could a community just let such a magnificent bird, let alone a national symbol, become almost extinct? Thankfully, the good news is that after many dedicated years (through the community, volunteers and governments) it no longer appears to be endangered, with many eagles now soaring new heights around Wabasha and surrounding areas.
After our Wabasha experience it was time to head back home to Eagan. It was an eventful day full of firsts; the first time I had experienced a wine tasting tour and the first first time I experienced the majestic American eagle. As we headed back, I relished the moment when I opened that bottle of Irene’s Blush. My tune has changed; I now love wine. I know wine makes me sing, but this day was definitely worth singing about again.
dann
Note: The full listing of the wine we tasted at Cannon River Winery:
1. Classic White
2. St. Pepin
3. Graciela
4. West 7th White
5. Lorraine’s White
6. Sogn Blanc
7. Apple
8. Rosella
9. Sogn Blush
10. Irene’s Blush
11. Gunflint Red
12. Minnesota Meritage
13. Mill Street Red
14. Cannon River Falls Red
15. Bootlegger’s Red
The United Beers of America: Part XIII (Valleyfair, Minnesota)
posted on October 7, 2010 in BeerBlog
East of Shakopee, Minnesota. Valleyfair is the destination. Trisha and I embarked on a journey, and that journey was to have heaps of fun. We certainly did have heaps of fun, and this park had lots and lots of fun rides. I’ll admit it, though: I had an absolutely fantastic time at Valleyfair! The adrenalin was pumping from the first ride, and it is still with me days after the final ride.
And these rides are just oh, so awesome. Disappointingly, some of the rides were closed due to flooding and others were simply closed for operational reasons. Surprisingly, there was absolutely no one at Valleyfair. No one. There were no queues, no lines and certainly no worries in grabbing any ride you desired. There was also another side to Valleyfare; ValleySCARE!
Sitting inside Valleyfair was ValleySCARE. It had enough scary stuff to knock your socks off. As Trisha and I were walking into the park a zombie from beyond the grave (actually, it was a person dressed up in costume to the left side of me and not in my peripheral vision) came and scared the bejesus out of me. Once bitten, twice shy. I learned from that experience, but that wasn’t an experience I was looking for.
What I was looking for, however, was to have fun on these rides. We eventually got to the Power Tower. It’s about a 250 foot high tower, which you buckle up at the bottom taking you high up, then drops you down with sudden velocity. I didn’t realise how high it was until we reached the top. OH. MY. GOD. It was at this time my heart was racing.
And my heart raced well and truly moments later as it plunged both Trisha and I straight down. I don’t often scream like a girl but this was the moment I let my lungs loose and yelled. In fact, I reckon I yelled so loudly that I’m sure someone in central Australia heard it. Heck, you reckon you’ve heard thunderstorms that are loud? You ain’t heard me yell, have you?
I continued to yell at the next ride, Wild Thing. Sitting at the back, it didn’t seem like much of anything until you look down. Boy, was that a mistake! As the Valleyfair website suggests, Wild Thing “…..features one of the world’s largest weightless zones and a 200-foot, 60-degree drop!
I’m sure that wasn’t the only thing that dropped. My bones almost swooshed out of my body, all the while I was continuing to yell and scream louder than one hundred females at a Macy’s 75% off sale. Additionally, I could here Trisha laughing her head off, and my guess would be that she hasn’t heard me yell and scream like that either.
The excitement continued through to the next ride, Xtreme Swing. As it suggests, this swing isn’t for little kids. It’s for big kids who like to have the crap scared out of them. It goes forward and backward at a quick rate of knots (actually, 60mph) and at the top of the swing you dangle 125 feet in the air and a 45 degree angle. It was at this point when I was praying to God that the seat belts were securely fastened.
But I was certainly secure in the knowledge that both Trisha and I were having an absolute blast. To calm things down a notch we decided to play some games in the hope we’d win some prizes. We did OK. We threw a few footballs, kicked a few soccer balls, tried to get rings on top of glass bottles, and we played a few more. I won a teddy bear, we both got Vikings flags but we shared the pink, fluffy hat.
And I wore that pink, fluffy hat the whole time until such time as we went on another ride. And so back we went to Power Tower, only this time we were going to be pushed upward. The attendant suggested he’d do a countdown, and also suggested that he might ‘miss a few numbers’. I am guessing that this keeps the people on their toes so they don’t expect the expected.
But what I didn’t expect was to go on the Power Tower…..again. Yes, a third time. This time to experience that same rush of the first one; going down with such force that it would’ve taken a cap off a crown-sealed bottle. As we reached the top I heard Trisha mention that she didn’t realise how scared I was until this third time. By that stage, I was already yelling like those 100 women at a 75% off Macy’s sale.
Well, Valleyfair did certainly sell me, I was sold. We had more fun, a few more rides and the laughter never stopped. It was a brilliant night for one of which I will not forget in a hurry. Heck, even as this blog is being written four days after Valleyfair, simply bringing back memories of such a fantastic day has my adrenalin pumping once again.
And these rides are just oh, so awesome. Disappointingly, some of the rides were closed due to flooding and others were simply closed for operational reasons. Surprisingly, there was absolutely no one at Valleyfair. No one. There were no queues, no lines and certainly no worries in grabbing any ride you desired. There was also another side to Valleyfare; ValleySCARE!
Sitting inside Valleyfair was ValleySCARE. It had enough scary stuff to knock your socks off. As Trisha and I were walking into the park a zombie from beyond the grave (actually, it was a person dressed up in costume to the left side of me and not in my peripheral vision) came and scared the bejesus out of me. Once bitten, twice shy. I learned from that experience, but that wasn’t an experience I was looking for.
What I was looking for, however, was to have fun on these rides. We eventually got to the Power Tower. It’s about a 250 foot high tower, which you buckle up at the bottom taking you high up, then drops you down with sudden velocity. I didn’t realise how high it was until we reached the top. OH. MY. GOD. It was at this time my heart was racing.
And my heart raced well and truly moments later as it plunged both Trisha and I straight down. I don’t often scream like a girl but this was the moment I let my lungs loose and yelled. In fact, I reckon I yelled so loudly that I’m sure someone in central Australia heard it. Heck, you reckon you’ve heard thunderstorms that are loud? You ain’t heard me yell, have you?
I continued to yell at the next ride, Wild Thing. Sitting at the back, it didn’t seem like much of anything until you look down. Boy, was that a mistake! As the Valleyfair website suggests, Wild Thing “…..features one of the world’s largest weightless zones and a 200-foot, 60-degree drop!
I’m sure that wasn’t the only thing that dropped. My bones almost swooshed out of my body, all the while I was continuing to yell and scream louder than one hundred females at a Macy’s 75% off sale. Additionally, I could here Trisha laughing her head off, and my guess would be that she hasn’t heard me yell and scream like that either.
The excitement continued through to the next ride, Xtreme Swing. As it suggests, this swing isn’t for little kids. It’s for big kids who like to have the crap scared out of them. It goes forward and backward at a quick rate of knots (actually, 60mph) and at the top of the swing you dangle 125 feet in the air and a 45 degree angle. It was at this point when I was praying to God that the seat belts were securely fastened.
But I was certainly secure in the knowledge that both Trisha and I were having an absolute blast. To calm things down a notch we decided to play some games in the hope we’d win some prizes. We did OK. We threw a few footballs, kicked a few soccer balls, tried to get rings on top of glass bottles, and we played a few more. I won a teddy bear, we both got Vikings flags but we shared the pink, fluffy hat.
And I wore that pink, fluffy hat the whole time until such time as we went on another ride. And so back we went to Power Tower, only this time we were going to be pushed upward. The attendant suggested he’d do a countdown, and also suggested that he might ‘miss a few numbers’. I am guessing that this keeps the people on their toes so they don’t expect the expected.
But what I didn’t expect was to go on the Power Tower…..again. Yes, a third time. This time to experience that same rush of the first one; going down with such force that it would’ve taken a cap off a crown-sealed bottle. As we reached the top I heard Trisha mention that she didn’t realise how scared I was until this third time. By that stage, I was already yelling like those 100 women at a 75% off Macy’s sale.
Well, Valleyfair did certainly sell me, I was sold. We had more fun, a few more rides and the laughter never stopped. It was a brilliant night for one of which I will not forget in a hurry. Heck, even as this blog is being written four days after Valleyfair, simply bringing back memories of such a fantastic day has my adrenalin pumping once again.
The United Beers of America: Part XII (Shakopee, Minnesota)
posted on September 30, 2010 in BeerBlog
Shakopee, Minnesota. It’s time to visit the Minnesota Renaissance Festival. This Medieval theme park had it all: jousting, glass making, art, live acts, face painting, tattooing, elephant rides, the list just goes on. It was simply brilliant. In its 40th year, I was so glad that I decided to go. We had a fantastic and fun time. Located about 30 minutes west of Eagan, it was an experience that you just had to have.
That experience gave me a sense of excitement I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. My friend Trisha and her good friend from the Air Force (with his wife and two kids) all came away happy. But the morning started with me wearing green. Trisha told me to put on something ‘green’ so we could get a discount on admission.
And on entering the grounds, I clearly showed my green t-shirt before admission and I was promptly given the discount. Admittedly, even before entering the festival it was clear that this was going to be a unique experience. Everyone participating in the festival were dressed up in renaissance customs. It was hilarious.
So hilarious that even some of the public got in the action and dressed up. Every article within the festival had a renaissance feel to it. I kinda guess it’s a bit like stepping back in time, only that you know you’re in 2010. Better yet, it’s probably like watching That 70’s Show. It just brought you back in time.
As we wondered around in a time warp taking it all in we stopped over at Tomato Justice. A place where kids (and adults) can throw tomato’s at a wise-cracking, stand-up comedy guy whose head and arms stick out from an enclosure, enough for you to hit him with a correctly aimed tomato.
And those tomato’s were flying thick and fast his way, and so were his jokes: does your mum use the same cooking bowl to cut your hair, little kid? Even the adults got a spary: every time you step out into the sun up pops a new freckle (said to a red head). This guy was brilliantly funny.
But he wasn’t the only brilliantly funny act around the festival. Our next stop was a live act called Puke & Snot. A sensational display of laughter throughout just about burst my stomach wide open. Both kids and adults alike joined in on the fun. My jaw was certainly in pain with all that laughing.
And I’m not surprised I laughed so much. I have a snippet of a punch line they have:
Snot: My name was legend in these parts.
Puke: Big deal, parts of me are legendary too.
Snot: Yeah, he keeps them in a jar.
It was a variety of great comedy with adult themes, but not enough for parents to be concerned that their kids would hear it. Puke did mention that if there was anything that ‘you kids didn’t understand at the show now, you’re parents will gladly fill you in when you leave’.
But as adults were having such a great time we didn’t leave at all. Far from it. Trisha and I kicked on and went to another live act to see the Tortuga Twins. They were certainly an R rated show, but it was done with such class and hilarity that we were laughing so hard we cried.
It’s probably not best to talk about their act here on this blog, but I will say that the Tortuga Twins are absolutely fan-bloody-tastic. There wasn’t a second I wasn’t laughing, or laughing at someone else in the audience. It truly made for a great day at the festival, and the Tortuga Twins were like icing on a cake.
And as we began making our way home after the Tortuga Twins’ show, we made way for Renaissance Festival shopping and bought some souvenirs. It seemed apt that we buy something to symbolise the great experience we just had to have here at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival.
dann
That experience gave me a sense of excitement I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. My friend Trisha and her good friend from the Air Force (with his wife and two kids) all came away happy. But the morning started with me wearing green. Trisha told me to put on something ‘green’ so we could get a discount on admission.
And on entering the grounds, I clearly showed my green t-shirt before admission and I was promptly given the discount. Admittedly, even before entering the festival it was clear that this was going to be a unique experience. Everyone participating in the festival were dressed up in renaissance customs. It was hilarious.
So hilarious that even some of the public got in the action and dressed up. Every article within the festival had a renaissance feel to it. I kinda guess it’s a bit like stepping back in time, only that you know you’re in 2010. Better yet, it’s probably like watching That 70’s Show. It just brought you back in time.
As we wondered around in a time warp taking it all in we stopped over at Tomato Justice. A place where kids (and adults) can throw tomato’s at a wise-cracking, stand-up comedy guy whose head and arms stick out from an enclosure, enough for you to hit him with a correctly aimed tomato.
And those tomato’s were flying thick and fast his way, and so were his jokes: does your mum use the same cooking bowl to cut your hair, little kid? Even the adults got a spary: every time you step out into the sun up pops a new freckle (said to a red head). This guy was brilliantly funny.
But he wasn’t the only brilliantly funny act around the festival. Our next stop was a live act called Puke & Snot. A sensational display of laughter throughout just about burst my stomach wide open. Both kids and adults alike joined in on the fun. My jaw was certainly in pain with all that laughing.
And I’m not surprised I laughed so much. I have a snippet of a punch line they have:
Snot: My name was legend in these parts.
Puke: Big deal, parts of me are legendary too.
Snot: Yeah, he keeps them in a jar.
It was a variety of great comedy with adult themes, but not enough for parents to be concerned that their kids would hear it. Puke did mention that if there was anything that ‘you kids didn’t understand at the show now, you’re parents will gladly fill you in when you leave’.
But as adults were having such a great time we didn’t leave at all. Far from it. Trisha and I kicked on and went to another live act to see the Tortuga Twins. They were certainly an R rated show, but it was done with such class and hilarity that we were laughing so hard we cried.
It’s probably not best to talk about their act here on this blog, but I will say that the Tortuga Twins are absolutely fan-bloody-tastic. There wasn’t a second I wasn’t laughing, or laughing at someone else in the audience. It truly made for a great day at the festival, and the Tortuga Twins were like icing on a cake.
And as we began making our way home after the Tortuga Twins’ show, we made way for Renaissance Festival shopping and bought some souvenirs. It seemed apt that we buy something to symbolise the great experience we just had to have here at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part XI (Mall of America Field, Minneapolis)
posted on in BeerBlog
Minneapolis, Minnesota. Here I am at my very first NFL game at Mall of America Field, home of the Minnesota Vikings. What a magnificent stadium this is. I was actually here last year to experience the Twins versus the Blue Jays in the baseball, but now they have their own field: Target Field. Right in the heart of the city, Mall of America Field has one of the best atmospheres around.
Getting to the stadium was helped by Jenny who drove Dawn and I right at the front of the stadium. Both of us were going to this game, which was extremely important for the Vikings. So important that it was a must win for them. The game was against the Detroit Lions, another team that wasn’t doing all that well. If fact, both teams were 0-2: two losses from two games.
Those first two games by the Vikings weren’t all that inspiring. I had seen the first Vikings game at Buffalo Wild Wings Grill & Bar here in Eagan. That game was against New Orleans Saints, the current Superbowl champion. It wasn’t a pretty game, and certainly the referring in that game (assuming that the refs were actually watching the same game) didn’t leave much to the imagination.
And that imagination wasn’t even with the Vikings either. The next game against the Miami Dolphins was an interesting one. I didn’t get to see the game, but on our trip to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival (to which a blog will be out shortly) I was getting frequent updates by our friend. With that game also being a loss (now 0-2) it wasn’t all looking promising for the Vikings start to the season.
But we all knew it’s early in this current season, so there needn’t be any panic button pushed just yet. As Dawn and I eventually found our seat the atmosphere was one of confidence, one of pride. You could feel the passion and eagerness in the stadium. I know it’s a very cliche thing to say, but there was certainly a buzz that somehow possessed the whole crowd.
And that 60,000 plus crowd certainly got possessed when the national anthem completed and the game was ready to start. I’ve been to football grounds around the world, but this was a really special experience. Something in the air made me think that the Vikings had a chance at winning.
That winning feeling proved to the catalyst in my decision to pick the Vikings after only three tackles. The crowd roared mightier than 1,000 King Kong’s, and it was those three tackles that I leaned over to Dawn and said: the vikings have got this game won.
And win they did. It certainly wasn’t a convincing win by any stretch of the imagination, but great defense kept the Lions at bay. In addition to the fact the offense had somewhat of a good afternoon it paved the way for a magnificent atmosphere here at Mall of America Field.
dann
PS: Upon arrival at Mall of America Field, I had been wearing a Summit sweatshirt. So it was with irony that as almost every person in the stadium was buying cheap beer, I quickly stepped up to the Summit bar and ordered a Summit Extra Pale Ale. It was the only time since I’ve been here where I was not asked for identification.
I love you, Summit Brewing.
Getting to the stadium was helped by Jenny who drove Dawn and I right at the front of the stadium. Both of us were going to this game, which was extremely important for the Vikings. So important that it was a must win for them. The game was against the Detroit Lions, another team that wasn’t doing all that well. If fact, both teams were 0-2: two losses from two games.
Those first two games by the Vikings weren’t all that inspiring. I had seen the first Vikings game at Buffalo Wild Wings Grill & Bar here in Eagan. That game was against New Orleans Saints, the current Superbowl champion. It wasn’t a pretty game, and certainly the referring in that game (assuming that the refs were actually watching the same game) didn’t leave much to the imagination.
And that imagination wasn’t even with the Vikings either. The next game against the Miami Dolphins was an interesting one. I didn’t get to see the game, but on our trip to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival (to which a blog will be out shortly) I was getting frequent updates by our friend. With that game also being a loss (now 0-2) it wasn’t all looking promising for the Vikings start to the season.
But we all knew it’s early in this current season, so there needn’t be any panic button pushed just yet. As Dawn and I eventually found our seat the atmosphere was one of confidence, one of pride. You could feel the passion and eagerness in the stadium. I know it’s a very cliche thing to say, but there was certainly a buzz that somehow possessed the whole crowd.
And that 60,000 plus crowd certainly got possessed when the national anthem completed and the game was ready to start. I’ve been to football grounds around the world, but this was a really special experience. Something in the air made me think that the Vikings had a chance at winning.
That winning feeling proved to the catalyst in my decision to pick the Vikings after only three tackles. The crowd roared mightier than 1,000 King Kong’s, and it was those three tackles that I leaned over to Dawn and said: the vikings have got this game won.
And win they did. It certainly wasn’t a convincing win by any stretch of the imagination, but great defense kept the Lions at bay. In addition to the fact the offense had somewhat of a good afternoon it paved the way for a magnificent atmosphere here at Mall of America Field.
dann
PS: Upon arrival at Mall of America Field, I had been wearing a Summit sweatshirt. So it was with irony that as almost every person in the stadium was buying cheap beer, I quickly stepped up to the Summit bar and ordered a Summit Extra Pale Ale. It was the only time since I’ve been here where I was not asked for identification.
I love you, Summit Brewing.
The United Beers of America: Part X (Chicago, Illinios)
posted on September 27, 2010 in BeerBlog
Chicago, Illinios. Our six-hour road trip was going to be great, and we were all looking forward to going there. Like all of my trips so far it wasn’t a normal visit to Chicago. We were going to see Wrigley Field, a most famous ground that I had the privilege in going to see. I’m a Cubs fan, and I was so excited to be a part of the crowd that I almost peed my pants. But it wasn’t the only thing that excited me. Having not been to Chicago before, I knew this road trip was going to be an exciting one.
And the excitement started when we left on Thursday morning, 23rd September. Rudi, Mike, Steve and I all were looking forward to see the Cubs play. Well, Steve is an Indian’s fan so he doesn’t count. Mike, too, isn’t a fan but does follow baseball. Rudi and I, on the other hand, are fans. We could feel something special in our bones. Although it wasn’t the only thing my bones would feel those two days I knew it was going to be great in Chicago.
I had heard that Chicago was full of traffic jams and that it was called the ‘windy city’. Upon entering the outskirts of Chicago via I90 East via Wisconsin, our problems began. Our GPS kindly reminded us to ‘bare left’, where the joke was “is there a bear on the left again?”. Needless to say that baring left was the only thing we could do. We had just got stuck in the infamous Chicago traffic jam miles away from the center of the city.
That’s where we were heading: city center, or to be more precise downtown. Rudi had booked a room at Best Western and getting there during peak hour traffic had been as painful as a dentist pulling out teeth without anesthetic. It took about 90 minutes to travel about 15 miles. It’s about the only time in my life that I would’ve actually enjoyed watching paint dry. Hell, a three-legged tortoise with a chest infection could have beaten us to the hotel.
Jokes aside, after our long wait in traffic we really did relish the opportunity to get into that hotel and dump our stuff as quickly as possible. We also had the opportunity to relax for a few minutes before we decided to go to eat some dinner. It ended up we went to Gino’s East Pizzeria. It’s notoriously known for its deep-dish pizza, and with that type of notoriety it’s only fitting that all of us went and gave it a go.
And give it a go we did. But before we got a seat we had to wait in line. Gino’s East was extremely busy. It eventuated that there were two lines about 10 meters deep, waiting to be seated and served. After about 20 minutes (and a beer later) we managed to be ushered into the establishment. We then waited for another 5 minutes before again being ushered, this time, to our seats. Another beer was served and we were ready to order. Well, almost.
Almost in the sense that we knew what we wanted, but the size was the question. Was two small pizza’s good enough? What about one large? How about two mediums? It ended up we had two mediums; supreme and meaty. I’ve never seen what a deep-dish pizza looks like from Gino’s East, so after waiting a good 45 minutes (and several beers later) we finally got our deep-dish. When I saw it I almost fell off my chair. You seen the Grand Canyon lately? Well, image a pizza base as deep as that.
It was so deep that if Barry White was alive today he’d sound like Celine Dion on the high notes. I actually got scared looking at it. The meaty pizza looked meaty. The supreme pizza looked very supreme. Both pizza’s looked ominous. It worked out that sliced correctly we had three slices each. Easy, huh? Well, as it turns out we all struggled to eat three slices. That’s how heavy and thick the pizza’s were.
The fact that these pizza’s were heavy and thick made it more interesting when we left Gino’s East. Walking back to the hotel (which was about a 30 minute walk) still didn’t settle my stomach. It was like a builder putting wet cement in a mixer, but he didn’t plug in the mixer. It set in my fat gut and it didn’t want to move. I could’ve walked that same stretch of road a dozen times and I still wouldn’t have got rid of that food. The pizza’s were great but it was impairing my ability to drink more beer.
Although we found a bar to drink two more, it really did pave the way for us to decide that we were all ready to hit the hay. We were all in readiness for the Cubs game against the St. Louis Cardinals at Wrigley Field. We could feel the special moment in our bones, which was not the only thing our bones felt during our Chicago tour.
Chicago’s renowned for being the ‘windy city’, but when we woke up the next morning we found the it was blowing a gale. The window from our hotel room showed a strong wind blowing down the street. It was so strong that it could have blown a dog of its chain. The problem was we had to get out and catch the L, which was a couple of blocks up the road. Despite the wind we managed to safely get to the station and catch the L.
The L is essentially a rail service in Chicago that runs in a loop. We caught it at Roosevelt and got off at Addison, right next to Wrigley Field. Although it was a short 20 minute trip, the buzz I got from being on it seemed insignificant when I saw Wrigley Field. I was beside myself. A few photo opportunities later and we headed to the sports store, only to be gobsmacked at the amount of Cubs gear they have.
And believe me when I say they have a lot of gear. Had I have had false teeth, they would’ve fallen out. That is how much gear they had. But once again the dreaded ‘budget’ that I have (read the Vegas blog) was applied so going crazy in a sports store wasn’t something I could afford. What I did do was convince Rudi that a cool sweatshirt on sale for $49 had to be bought. So we ended up buying them together so we could be ‘brothers in arms’ for the Cubbies game.
But before we went to the Cubbies game we headed off across the road to the local bar. I was so excited that I didn’t even take notice of what this place was called. All I know is we got more beers and had a ‘Cubbie Blue shot’. By this stage I was already three sheets to the wind, and it was only 12:15 in the afternoon.
As the game started at 1:20pm we had time to finish our drinks and grab our seats. And as I sat down I felt a bit of history go through my veins. I felt very special to be there. And just before the game began I motioned for the vendor guy selling hotdogs to come my way. I purchased a Wrigley Field hotdog for $4.50. Not the greatest of meals, but it was one of those moments in time when you do as the Romans do. Added to that, I was given an Old Style beer. Now that is an interesting story to tell.
I heard rumors about Old Style. Nobody said too much about it, rather they just said you gotta try Old Style. Well, I ordered an Old Style with my hotdog and started hogging in to my food. A quick swill of Old Style and I knew exactly why those rumors never amounted to much of a description of the beer: it’s absolute crap. I tried Busch Light last year and my only interpretation of this beer was it just about took at the ‘worst beer’ competition, but I’d still say Busch Light just beats it.
But what I eventually found out was that there was a beer just slightly better that beat them: Pabst Blue Ribbon. Well, that’s what I was told what would happen. Going down to grab a plastic cup of PBR, I was happy in the knowledge I was getting a better beer. Unfortunately, bringing it back to my seat and drinking it made me realise one thing; it’s just as bad as Old Style. Much to my disappointment it was hard to distinguish which was worse. It didn’t make matters any better later on as the Cubs lost the game: 1-7.
I was lost, too. Where do we go for a good beer? But before we decided that we all agreed to go to Sears Tower and check it out. Mike and Steve chickened out. Rudi and I took the manly decision to go to the top and check out the view. It was also an opportunity to step on the glass outside the building. Well, it’s a glass pocket that sits outside and when you are on it you can see in all directions, including straight down; all of 103 floors.
It’s probably the first time in my life (apart from seeing that deep-dish pizza) that I was actually scared. I am afraid of heights and so it was a difficult time just to go up there. But holding enough courage both Rudi and I took the plunge and got a photo taken in that glass pocket. It’s an awesome picture once you see it and I’m glad I did it. All I know was that when I did do it that now was the best time to go fetch a beer.
While we were out of the building, we looked for the Elephant & Castle. Mike and Steve retreated to the warmth of the restaurant and waited for us. When we got there I had the opportunity to pick up the beer menu (as well as the food menu). Here was something I hadn’t tried: London Porter. It described itself as a Porter that had Chocolate and Coffee tones. I had to order one and try it, and I am happy to say that I was glad that I made that choice.
It kinda vindicated my choice to ride to the top of Sears Tower. It was the pinnacle of the night. A rich, chocolate, coffee-tasting porter/stout that complimented the whole day. A day in which I felt somewhat proud of my achievement. Better yet, I ordered a Shepherd’s Pie, which ended up being the perfect way to compliment that London Porter. Steve asked for a taste and he immediately liked it. So much so that he ordered one, too. We both agreed that this was a great way to end the day.
And as it turned out, the day ended pretty much on that note. A few more beers, an Irish Car Bomb and few more local brews (Magic Hat being one of them) and we were ready for bed. As the morning came, we had to go and so our road trip back to Minnesota began. Surprisingly, there were no traffic jams and not a breath of wind in sight. What I do know is that the road trip that we had in coming to Chicago was certainly an exciting one.
dann
And the excitement started when we left on Thursday morning, 23rd September. Rudi, Mike, Steve and I all were looking forward to see the Cubs play. Well, Steve is an Indian’s fan so he doesn’t count. Mike, too, isn’t a fan but does follow baseball. Rudi and I, on the other hand, are fans. We could feel something special in our bones. Although it wasn’t the only thing my bones would feel those two days I knew it was going to be great in Chicago.
I had heard that Chicago was full of traffic jams and that it was called the ‘windy city’. Upon entering the outskirts of Chicago via I90 East via Wisconsin, our problems began. Our GPS kindly reminded us to ‘bare left’, where the joke was “is there a bear on the left again?”. Needless to say that baring left was the only thing we could do. We had just got stuck in the infamous Chicago traffic jam miles away from the center of the city.
That’s where we were heading: city center, or to be more precise downtown. Rudi had booked a room at Best Western and getting there during peak hour traffic had been as painful as a dentist pulling out teeth without anesthetic. It took about 90 minutes to travel about 15 miles. It’s about the only time in my life that I would’ve actually enjoyed watching paint dry. Hell, a three-legged tortoise with a chest infection could have beaten us to the hotel.
Jokes aside, after our long wait in traffic we really did relish the opportunity to get into that hotel and dump our stuff as quickly as possible. We also had the opportunity to relax for a few minutes before we decided to go to eat some dinner. It ended up we went to Gino’s East Pizzeria. It’s notoriously known for its deep-dish pizza, and with that type of notoriety it’s only fitting that all of us went and gave it a go.
And give it a go we did. But before we got a seat we had to wait in line. Gino’s East was extremely busy. It eventuated that there were two lines about 10 meters deep, waiting to be seated and served. After about 20 minutes (and a beer later) we managed to be ushered into the establishment. We then waited for another 5 minutes before again being ushered, this time, to our seats. Another beer was served and we were ready to order. Well, almost.
Almost in the sense that we knew what we wanted, but the size was the question. Was two small pizza’s good enough? What about one large? How about two mediums? It ended up we had two mediums; supreme and meaty. I’ve never seen what a deep-dish pizza looks like from Gino’s East, so after waiting a good 45 minutes (and several beers later) we finally got our deep-dish. When I saw it I almost fell off my chair. You seen the Grand Canyon lately? Well, image a pizza base as deep as that.
It was so deep that if Barry White was alive today he’d sound like Celine Dion on the high notes. I actually got scared looking at it. The meaty pizza looked meaty. The supreme pizza looked very supreme. Both pizza’s looked ominous. It worked out that sliced correctly we had three slices each. Easy, huh? Well, as it turns out we all struggled to eat three slices. That’s how heavy and thick the pizza’s were.
The fact that these pizza’s were heavy and thick made it more interesting when we left Gino’s East. Walking back to the hotel (which was about a 30 minute walk) still didn’t settle my stomach. It was like a builder putting wet cement in a mixer, but he didn’t plug in the mixer. It set in my fat gut and it didn’t want to move. I could’ve walked that same stretch of road a dozen times and I still wouldn’t have got rid of that food. The pizza’s were great but it was impairing my ability to drink more beer.
Although we found a bar to drink two more, it really did pave the way for us to decide that we were all ready to hit the hay. We were all in readiness for the Cubs game against the St. Louis Cardinals at Wrigley Field. We could feel the special moment in our bones, which was not the only thing our bones felt during our Chicago tour.
Chicago’s renowned for being the ‘windy city’, but when we woke up the next morning we found the it was blowing a gale. The window from our hotel room showed a strong wind blowing down the street. It was so strong that it could have blown a dog of its chain. The problem was we had to get out and catch the L, which was a couple of blocks up the road. Despite the wind we managed to safely get to the station and catch the L.
The L is essentially a rail service in Chicago that runs in a loop. We caught it at Roosevelt and got off at Addison, right next to Wrigley Field. Although it was a short 20 minute trip, the buzz I got from being on it seemed insignificant when I saw Wrigley Field. I was beside myself. A few photo opportunities later and we headed to the sports store, only to be gobsmacked at the amount of Cubs gear they have.
And believe me when I say they have a lot of gear. Had I have had false teeth, they would’ve fallen out. That is how much gear they had. But once again the dreaded ‘budget’ that I have (read the Vegas blog) was applied so going crazy in a sports store wasn’t something I could afford. What I did do was convince Rudi that a cool sweatshirt on sale for $49 had to be bought. So we ended up buying them together so we could be ‘brothers in arms’ for the Cubbies game.
But before we went to the Cubbies game we headed off across the road to the local bar. I was so excited that I didn’t even take notice of what this place was called. All I know is we got more beers and had a ‘Cubbie Blue shot’. By this stage I was already three sheets to the wind, and it was only 12:15 in the afternoon.
As the game started at 1:20pm we had time to finish our drinks and grab our seats. And as I sat down I felt a bit of history go through my veins. I felt very special to be there. And just before the game began I motioned for the vendor guy selling hotdogs to come my way. I purchased a Wrigley Field hotdog for $4.50. Not the greatest of meals, but it was one of those moments in time when you do as the Romans do. Added to that, I was given an Old Style beer. Now that is an interesting story to tell.
I heard rumors about Old Style. Nobody said too much about it, rather they just said you gotta try Old Style. Well, I ordered an Old Style with my hotdog and started hogging in to my food. A quick swill of Old Style and I knew exactly why those rumors never amounted to much of a description of the beer: it’s absolute crap. I tried Busch Light last year and my only interpretation of this beer was it just about took at the ‘worst beer’ competition, but I’d still say Busch Light just beats it.
But what I eventually found out was that there was a beer just slightly better that beat them: Pabst Blue Ribbon. Well, that’s what I was told what would happen. Going down to grab a plastic cup of PBR, I was happy in the knowledge I was getting a better beer. Unfortunately, bringing it back to my seat and drinking it made me realise one thing; it’s just as bad as Old Style. Much to my disappointment it was hard to distinguish which was worse. It didn’t make matters any better later on as the Cubs lost the game: 1-7.
I was lost, too. Where do we go for a good beer? But before we decided that we all agreed to go to Sears Tower and check it out. Mike and Steve chickened out. Rudi and I took the manly decision to go to the top and check out the view. It was also an opportunity to step on the glass outside the building. Well, it’s a glass pocket that sits outside and when you are on it you can see in all directions, including straight down; all of 103 floors.
It’s probably the first time in my life (apart from seeing that deep-dish pizza) that I was actually scared. I am afraid of heights and so it was a difficult time just to go up there. But holding enough courage both Rudi and I took the plunge and got a photo taken in that glass pocket. It’s an awesome picture once you see it and I’m glad I did it. All I know was that when I did do it that now was the best time to go fetch a beer.
While we were out of the building, we looked for the Elephant & Castle. Mike and Steve retreated to the warmth of the restaurant and waited for us. When we got there I had the opportunity to pick up the beer menu (as well as the food menu). Here was something I hadn’t tried: London Porter. It described itself as a Porter that had Chocolate and Coffee tones. I had to order one and try it, and I am happy to say that I was glad that I made that choice.
It kinda vindicated my choice to ride to the top of Sears Tower. It was the pinnacle of the night. A rich, chocolate, coffee-tasting porter/stout that complimented the whole day. A day in which I felt somewhat proud of my achievement. Better yet, I ordered a Shepherd’s Pie, which ended up being the perfect way to compliment that London Porter. Steve asked for a taste and he immediately liked it. So much so that he ordered one, too. We both agreed that this was a great way to end the day.
And as it turned out, the day ended pretty much on that note. A few more beers, an Irish Car Bomb and few more local brews (Magic Hat being one of them) and we were ready for bed. As the morning came, we had to go and so our road trip back to Minnesota began. Surprisingly, there were no traffic jams and not a breath of wind in sight. What I do know is that the road trip that we had in coming to Chicago was certainly an exciting one.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part IX (Target Field, Minneapolis)
posted on in BeerBlog
Target Field, Minneapolis. The home of the Minnesota Twins is a place to behold. It’s in its first year of being the new home ground, and what a game we saw on Tuesday night. The Twins beat the Cleveland Indians, adding to the fact that the Chicago White Sox lost against Oakland the Twins were the newly crowned American League Division Champions.
OK, I have to admit it: the new crowned division champions didn’t get a look in. I actually had to Google the result. Yes, I was there but I was at the bar, which happened to be attended by one of our friends. And it was when my good friend, Dawn, and I were ordering drinks when she heard something very odd. There was another person ordering drinks, but this person had a funny accent.
That funny accent got me thinking; surely there isn’t another Australian in this bar? This, out of all places? I ask the person in question if he was from Australia, and I got a reply back in the most Aussie of accents sense on planet earth. I was extremely surprised. The fact I was surprised, it really seemed like I was meeting an old friend, a fellow mate.
I had met Daniel, a fellow Australian. He was here with his Dad, John. We all introduced each other and done the usual; where are you from, what are you doing here, why did you go to the Twins game, etc. After much pleasantries and catching up, beers started to pour, and pour they did.
Thankfully for us that our friend was behind the bar. Those drinks were being poured at a ferocious rate. Sure, there are heaps of people and we simply didn’t order from our friend all the time but it certainly came in handy. As the fun began we started reminiscing of all things Australian; AFL, NRL, Cricket and Billy Birmingham jokes.
Those jokes were funny. We rifled them off religiously and verbatim. We were in stitches. Those stitches of laughter turned into chanting to the Twins crowd: stand up if you love the Twins. Stand up if you love the Twins. Stand up if you love the Twins. Stand up if you LOVE THE TWINS! We saw someone stand up, and quickly (and jokingly) prompted him to stand down again. It was great fun.
It was so much fun that I wasn’t even paying attention to the score. Were the Twins winning, or were Indians? I absolutely no idea who was winning. All I know is that I got hold of a couple of Aussies and had a blast with them both. It really made for a great night all round as not only did I meet up with great fellow Aussies, but the Twins were the newly crowned American League Division Champions.
dann
PS: Yes, I can’t remember too much of the game. Did that Mexican dude spike my drink?
OK, I have to admit it: the new crowned division champions didn’t get a look in. I actually had to Google the result. Yes, I was there but I was at the bar, which happened to be attended by one of our friends. And it was when my good friend, Dawn, and I were ordering drinks when she heard something very odd. There was another person ordering drinks, but this person had a funny accent.
That funny accent got me thinking; surely there isn’t another Australian in this bar? This, out of all places? I ask the person in question if he was from Australia, and I got a reply back in the most Aussie of accents sense on planet earth. I was extremely surprised. The fact I was surprised, it really seemed like I was meeting an old friend, a fellow mate.
I had met Daniel, a fellow Australian. He was here with his Dad, John. We all introduced each other and done the usual; where are you from, what are you doing here, why did you go to the Twins game, etc. After much pleasantries and catching up, beers started to pour, and pour they did.
Thankfully for us that our friend was behind the bar. Those drinks were being poured at a ferocious rate. Sure, there are heaps of people and we simply didn’t order from our friend all the time but it certainly came in handy. As the fun began we started reminiscing of all things Australian; AFL, NRL, Cricket and Billy Birmingham jokes.
Those jokes were funny. We rifled them off religiously and verbatim. We were in stitches. Those stitches of laughter turned into chanting to the Twins crowd: stand up if you love the Twins. Stand up if you love the Twins. Stand up if you love the Twins. Stand up if you LOVE THE TWINS! We saw someone stand up, and quickly (and jokingly) prompted him to stand down again. It was great fun.
It was so much fun that I wasn’t even paying attention to the score. Were the Twins winning, or were Indians? I absolutely no idea who was winning. All I know is that I got hold of a couple of Aussies and had a blast with them both. It really made for a great night all round as not only did I meet up with great fellow Aussies, but the Twins were the newly crowned American League Division Champions.
dann
PS: Yes, I can’t remember too much of the game. Did that Mexican dude spike my drink?
The United Beers of America: Part VIII (Toronto, Canada)
posted on in BeerBlog
Toronto, Canada. This is where Stream Whistle Brewery rules the perch. A clean, crisp Pilsner beer that beats its rivals, hands down. Although I’m not a fan of the Pilsner style of beer, I can see that this is a quality beer with quality brewing processes. A quick tour of the brewery really heightened my awareness of the company and what they’re trying to do for the environment. Needless to say, Steam Whistle beer is a great way to start your day in Toronto.
In actual fact, our day started in Buffalo, New York. We had already went to Niagara Falls in Canada the day before, so seeing the signs as we were on Queen Elizabeth Way felt like deja vu. Nonetheless, the trip took about two or so hours to complete. It was somewhat of a quiet ride, but with the entry point from the USA to Canada not too far away things got interesting very quickly.
So much so that it felt like we had entered a car park when we reached the border. A sea of cars waiting patiently to enter Canada, with ours just being yet another car in the line. We waited for about 15 minutes when we finally got to the checkpoint, with a border guard ready to accept our passports. It was at that point we thought we were going to cross the border quite easily.
Unfortunately, ‘quite easy’ just doesn’t cut it with border officials. They had to press us constantly on questions on why we were entering Canada, if we were bringing any alcohol, where we lived, what we were going to do. Sure, probably normal questions that you may feel comfortable with but for me I found them quite annoying.
I guess annoying isn’t a great word to use, rather I found it inconvenient. As much as I understand they’re trying to do the right thing, can’t they do it in a more friendly manner? Regardless, after much questioning we moved on in to Canada and were on our way. The rest of the car trip was quite nice, as the day burned bright with not many clouds in the sky. We were in for a great day.
As it turn out the day was better than great. Our first stop (underneath CN Tower) was, unintentionally, the Steam Whistle Brewery. I was actually very surprised. I knew we were going to do a bit of sight seeing but I hadn’t expected to go and do a brewery in Toronto. It only cost $10 and it went for about an hour, probably a bit less. We also had a free beer and a bottle opener to go with the tour. It was really great.
To be truthful, I didn’t find the beer all that great. Yes, it was “good” in the sense of the word but I just couldn’t get my lips around the Pilsner beer they brewed. I noticed a few people around me talking about how good the beer was. I admit, I actually felt somewhat inadequate. I simply thought they knew more about beer than I did, and that is what made me uncomfortable.
But I needn’t be uncomfortable. I learned to appreciate the beer in front of me, without actually liking it. I appreciated the fact that they did their utmost to brew a beer Toronto was proud of, and that was certainly good enough for me. So, I have to admit I’m not a Pilsner man. In fact, I’d prefer to drink something else. Having said that, the tour was good and the beer also good. But it got even better after the tour of Steam Whistle.
So better that I was drooling at the next stop: Rogers Center. It’s where the Toronto Blue Jays play (baseball). We were greeted by a man who seemed to be a little too enthusiastic to give us a tour. Nonetheless, we bought tickets and lined up to do the tour. It was then we realised we got a tour guide that was at his brilliant best.
This tour guide was so brilliant that most of the group he was catering for were laughing at almost everything he said. One phrase we got to know very well was that if we left any personal items in any area in the stadium that: “you’d never, ever, ever, ever, EVER find it again as we will never, never, EVER come to the same place again. So, please pick up all your belongings and follow me”.
And follow him we did. Hell, I didn’t want to even leave bum fluff on the floor ’cause I was scared I wouldn’t be able to retrieve it later. But I have to give credit to this guy, he had a lot of things that normal employees lack; passion. He showed it through the tour and it came through to the group we were in, well it did with me.
Hey, I liked the guy. He looked more like the younger (and slimmer) version of Homer Simpson but when you’re showed as much enthusiasm as he did then it doesn’t matter what you look like. As the day drifted slowly out of our control, we decided to start heading off back home. Although I didn’t have another Steam Whistle beer, we certainly started and ended the day perfectly in Toronto.
dann
In actual fact, our day started in Buffalo, New York. We had already went to Niagara Falls in Canada the day before, so seeing the signs as we were on Queen Elizabeth Way felt like deja vu. Nonetheless, the trip took about two or so hours to complete. It was somewhat of a quiet ride, but with the entry point from the USA to Canada not too far away things got interesting very quickly.
So much so that it felt like we had entered a car park when we reached the border. A sea of cars waiting patiently to enter Canada, with ours just being yet another car in the line. We waited for about 15 minutes when we finally got to the checkpoint, with a border guard ready to accept our passports. It was at that point we thought we were going to cross the border quite easily.
Unfortunately, ‘quite easy’ just doesn’t cut it with border officials. They had to press us constantly on questions on why we were entering Canada, if we were bringing any alcohol, where we lived, what we were going to do. Sure, probably normal questions that you may feel comfortable with but for me I found them quite annoying.
I guess annoying isn’t a great word to use, rather I found it inconvenient. As much as I understand they’re trying to do the right thing, can’t they do it in a more friendly manner? Regardless, after much questioning we moved on in to Canada and were on our way. The rest of the car trip was quite nice, as the day burned bright with not many clouds in the sky. We were in for a great day.
As it turn out the day was better than great. Our first stop (underneath CN Tower) was, unintentionally, the Steam Whistle Brewery. I was actually very surprised. I knew we were going to do a bit of sight seeing but I hadn’t expected to go and do a brewery in Toronto. It only cost $10 and it went for about an hour, probably a bit less. We also had a free beer and a bottle opener to go with the tour. It was really great.
To be truthful, I didn’t find the beer all that great. Yes, it was “good” in the sense of the word but I just couldn’t get my lips around the Pilsner beer they brewed. I noticed a few people around me talking about how good the beer was. I admit, I actually felt somewhat inadequate. I simply thought they knew more about beer than I did, and that is what made me uncomfortable.
But I needn’t be uncomfortable. I learned to appreciate the beer in front of me, without actually liking it. I appreciated the fact that they did their utmost to brew a beer Toronto was proud of, and that was certainly good enough for me. So, I have to admit I’m not a Pilsner man. In fact, I’d prefer to drink something else. Having said that, the tour was good and the beer also good. But it got even better after the tour of Steam Whistle.
So better that I was drooling at the next stop: Rogers Center. It’s where the Toronto Blue Jays play (baseball). We were greeted by a man who seemed to be a little too enthusiastic to give us a tour. Nonetheless, we bought tickets and lined up to do the tour. It was then we realised we got a tour guide that was at his brilliant best.
This tour guide was so brilliant that most of the group he was catering for were laughing at almost everything he said. One phrase we got to know very well was that if we left any personal items in any area in the stadium that: “you’d never, ever, ever, ever, EVER find it again as we will never, never, EVER come to the same place again. So, please pick up all your belongings and follow me”.
And follow him we did. Hell, I didn’t want to even leave bum fluff on the floor ’cause I was scared I wouldn’t be able to retrieve it later. But I have to give credit to this guy, he had a lot of things that normal employees lack; passion. He showed it through the tour and it came through to the group we were in, well it did with me.
Hey, I liked the guy. He looked more like the younger (and slimmer) version of Homer Simpson but when you’re showed as much enthusiasm as he did then it doesn’t matter what you look like. As the day drifted slowly out of our control, we decided to start heading off back home. Although I didn’t have another Steam Whistle beer, we certainly started and ended the day perfectly in Toronto.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part VII (Buffalo, New York)
posted on September 23, 2010 in BeerBlog
Buffalo, New York. Not the first stopover of a tourist, but this was a special event that we were attending: The Buffalo Wings Festival. Held at Coca Cola Field in Buffalo, it’s a festival made famous by Drew Cerza who got the idea off a movie called Osmosis Jones. So famous is the festival now that thousands of people attend each year to eat nothing but chicken wings. And after this event, you can be sure you’ll be all chicken-winged out.
There are so many types of sauces at the Buffalo Wings Festival that it’d make your eyes water. After entering Coca Cola Field (where I accidentally “donated” $100) we bought $20 worth of food vouchers, which equated to 20 vouchers. For every two vouchers you could go to any stall and get three chicken wings, with any sauce you desired. One of my first wings was called: D.O.A. Yep, Dead On Arrival. I can assure you that eating that I did feel the need for an ambulance.
But the screaming of sirens from an ambulance wasn’t what I was hearing. I could hear the enjoyment of the crowd eating chicken wings. I could hear the sauce dripping off their lips, onto their fingers and falling onto the field. I could hear the Oohs and Ahs as each person tried to describe the taste of the hundred plus sauces available. The chicken wings themselves were absolutely gorgeous to eat, so much so that you could eat them all on their own.
Problem is that you wouldn’t want to do that. There are too many sauces to try: Garlic Parmesan, Thai Chilli, Homicide, D.O.A, Lemon Pepper, Taco Flavor, Coconut Caribbean, the list goes on and on. If that doesn’t make you shake your head in amazement, what about the competitions that they run? A skinny lady named Sonya Thomas became the champion of buffalo wings by eating an amazing 181 wings in 12 minutes. As it turns out that is 4.86 pounds of chicken wings. She beat previous champion Joey Chestnut, who ate 169 chicken wings at 4.55 pounds in 12 minutes.
Jesus, I couldn’t even eat 4.55 pounds of chicken wings in a week, let alone 12 minutes! How on earth do they do it? As I watched all 12 minutes from the grounds of Coca Cola Field, Sonya Thomas was smashing those wings down at a phenomenal rate. As I worked it out, 181 chicken wings in 12 minutes equates to just slightly under one chicken wing every 4 seconds. Now that’s either mad or suicidal, or was it the named of another chicken wing sauce?
In fact, just thinking about it now suggests to me that it was: suicidal. The name of a sauce that dared you to eat it. Better still, why not hold a competition near the hut from where it was sold and see who could eat the most suicidal wings? I would have given it a go had it not been for the fact that we actually saw one guy eat 26 of these things. I’ve seen sickly looks on faces before, but this was a look of abject despair and sickness. This guy couldn’t fit another sniffle of chicken wing.
Seriously, this chicken wing event was awesome. Everything is chicken wings. What you eat is chicken wings. What you wear is chicken wings; on your head, on your body, just about everywhere. It’s endless. If you want another chicken wing after this event then you didn’t eat enough chicken wings during the day. Had you been like me and ate more chicken wings than you wished to care for, your job is complete. I can guarantee that I am all chicken-winged out.
dann
There are so many types of sauces at the Buffalo Wings Festival that it’d make your eyes water. After entering Coca Cola Field (where I accidentally “donated” $100) we bought $20 worth of food vouchers, which equated to 20 vouchers. For every two vouchers you could go to any stall and get three chicken wings, with any sauce you desired. One of my first wings was called: D.O.A. Yep, Dead On Arrival. I can assure you that eating that I did feel the need for an ambulance.
But the screaming of sirens from an ambulance wasn’t what I was hearing. I could hear the enjoyment of the crowd eating chicken wings. I could hear the sauce dripping off their lips, onto their fingers and falling onto the field. I could hear the Oohs and Ahs as each person tried to describe the taste of the hundred plus sauces available. The chicken wings themselves were absolutely gorgeous to eat, so much so that you could eat them all on their own.
Problem is that you wouldn’t want to do that. There are too many sauces to try: Garlic Parmesan, Thai Chilli, Homicide, D.O.A, Lemon Pepper, Taco Flavor, Coconut Caribbean, the list goes on and on. If that doesn’t make you shake your head in amazement, what about the competitions that they run? A skinny lady named Sonya Thomas became the champion of buffalo wings by eating an amazing 181 wings in 12 minutes. As it turns out that is 4.86 pounds of chicken wings. She beat previous champion Joey Chestnut, who ate 169 chicken wings at 4.55 pounds in 12 minutes.
Jesus, I couldn’t even eat 4.55 pounds of chicken wings in a week, let alone 12 minutes! How on earth do they do it? As I watched all 12 minutes from the grounds of Coca Cola Field, Sonya Thomas was smashing those wings down at a phenomenal rate. As I worked it out, 181 chicken wings in 12 minutes equates to just slightly under one chicken wing every 4 seconds. Now that’s either mad or suicidal, or was it the named of another chicken wing sauce?
In fact, just thinking about it now suggests to me that it was: suicidal. The name of a sauce that dared you to eat it. Better still, why not hold a competition near the hut from where it was sold and see who could eat the most suicidal wings? I would have given it a go had it not been for the fact that we actually saw one guy eat 26 of these things. I’ve seen sickly looks on faces before, but this was a look of abject despair and sickness. This guy couldn’t fit another sniffle of chicken wing.
Seriously, this chicken wing event was awesome. Everything is chicken wings. What you eat is chicken wings. What you wear is chicken wings; on your head, on your body, just about everywhere. It’s endless. If you want another chicken wing after this event then you didn’t eat enough chicken wings during the day. Had you been like me and ate more chicken wings than you wished to care for, your job is complete. I can guarantee that I am all chicken-winged out.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part VI (Cedar Lake Speedway)
posted on September 22, 2010 in BeerBlog
Over an hour’s drive from Eagan, Minnesota the Cedar Lake Speedway in Wisconsin is a must for anyone wanting to have a great Friday night. I’m not that much of a racing car buff, but the fact that these cars roar with more power than a million Lions is testament to the growling sounds that echo across Cedar Lake Speedway. I guarantee you that you’ll have a blast if you happen to find yourself at this adrenalin-fueled event.
But it’s not only the adrenalin rush you get listening to the sounds of cars ripping through the circular dirt track. You get a buzz just from simply being there. A huge crowd with camper vans, trailers and other assorted home vehicles were present at the track to witness ferocious cars and the competitive blood that runs through the men that drive them.
And one of those men was the brother of our good friend Vickie who came along with her husband, and also my good friend, Kevin. Larry, who drove the number 41 car, had appeared to be in hot form in previous events, according to Vickie. Unfortunately, the night didn’t end up all that well for him and he is unlikely to be back racing for a while yet. Let’s hope his wait isn’t long.
You don’t have to wait long for each race here at Cedar Lake Speedway, though. It’s so fast and furious that there is always action aplenty. Even when I arrived, the sun was still out, dirt, mud and debris flew randomly across the track and into the crowds. It was action plus. The cars were digging deeply into the track on each turn. Depending on the wind direction, you’d cop a fair bit of dirt in your face.
It was not the only thing that was ‘in your face’ at Cedar Lake Speedway. I loved the atmosphere, and I particularly liked the lights as the day turned into night. As mystery deepened, the action got better and the power of the cars got bigger. A jet-like sound coming from the faster and stronger cars going around Cedar Lake Speedway was something to behold. You were literally hypnotised by the force that was Cedar Lake.
The force and power of the engines was made even more better by my choice of beer during the event. Prior to our departure to Cedar Lake Speedway, a trip to the local liquor store was taken. I don’t have to say that the choice of beer was made difficult due to the variety I saw in front of my eyes. As an Australian, you can go down to your local Dan Murphy’s and see a wide variety of alcoholic beverages. But this liquor store beat it hands down.
So much did it have it beat that I was in awe of the sheer variety and differences of beer. Yes, I drooled again at the opportunity in having to choose my beer. It was a tough choice but it was eventually made easy when my good friend Jenny pointed out that James Page had a variety 12-pack. I hadn’t tried beer from James Page so I felt it’d be a great way to celebrate my trip by trying this well-crafted local brew.
And it certainly is a well-crafted brew. It was just what I was looking for in the variety pack: Iron Range Amber Lager, Burly Brown Ale, Voyageur Extra Pale Ale and White Ox Wheat Ale. There were three beers of each, making the 12-pack. I just had this feeling it was going to be a great night, and it certainly panned out that way. Drinking a great beer at a speedway event: can it get much better than that?
Well, it could’ve got better had we of stayed for the whole weekend. Unfortunately, my good friend Dawn has been having huge issues with her back so we decided it be best to leave on the night so we could all get home safely. The night ended well, and we said goodbye to Kevin and Vickie. I was extremely happy, too, as all but three beers were gone and the adrenaline rush was still in my veins. I certainly did have a blast at this adrenaline-fueled event that is Cedar Lake Speedway.
dann
Cedar Lake Speedway
17SEP2010
But it’s not only the adrenalin rush you get listening to the sounds of cars ripping through the circular dirt track. You get a buzz just from simply being there. A huge crowd with camper vans, trailers and other assorted home vehicles were present at the track to witness ferocious cars and the competitive blood that runs through the men that drive them.
And one of those men was the brother of our good friend Vickie who came along with her husband, and also my good friend, Kevin. Larry, who drove the number 41 car, had appeared to be in hot form in previous events, according to Vickie. Unfortunately, the night didn’t end up all that well for him and he is unlikely to be back racing for a while yet. Let’s hope his wait isn’t long.
You don’t have to wait long for each race here at Cedar Lake Speedway, though. It’s so fast and furious that there is always action aplenty. Even when I arrived, the sun was still out, dirt, mud and debris flew randomly across the track and into the crowds. It was action plus. The cars were digging deeply into the track on each turn. Depending on the wind direction, you’d cop a fair bit of dirt in your face.
It was not the only thing that was ‘in your face’ at Cedar Lake Speedway. I loved the atmosphere, and I particularly liked the lights as the day turned into night. As mystery deepened, the action got better and the power of the cars got bigger. A jet-like sound coming from the faster and stronger cars going around Cedar Lake Speedway was something to behold. You were literally hypnotised by the force that was Cedar Lake.
The force and power of the engines was made even more better by my choice of beer during the event. Prior to our departure to Cedar Lake Speedway, a trip to the local liquor store was taken. I don’t have to say that the choice of beer was made difficult due to the variety I saw in front of my eyes. As an Australian, you can go down to your local Dan Murphy’s and see a wide variety of alcoholic beverages. But this liquor store beat it hands down.
So much did it have it beat that I was in awe of the sheer variety and differences of beer. Yes, I drooled again at the opportunity in having to choose my beer. It was a tough choice but it was eventually made easy when my good friend Jenny pointed out that James Page had a variety 12-pack. I hadn’t tried beer from James Page so I felt it’d be a great way to celebrate my trip by trying this well-crafted local brew.
And it certainly is a well-crafted brew. It was just what I was looking for in the variety pack: Iron Range Amber Lager, Burly Brown Ale, Voyageur Extra Pale Ale and White Ox Wheat Ale. There were three beers of each, making the 12-pack. I just had this feeling it was going to be a great night, and it certainly panned out that way. Drinking a great beer at a speedway event: can it get much better than that?
Well, it could’ve got better had we of stayed for the whole weekend. Unfortunately, my good friend Dawn has been having huge issues with her back so we decided it be best to leave on the night so we could all get home safely. The night ended well, and we said goodbye to Kevin and Vickie. I was extremely happy, too, as all but three beers were gone and the adrenaline rush was still in my veins. I certainly did have a blast at this adrenaline-fueled event that is Cedar Lake Speedway.
dann
Cedar Lake Speedway
17SEP2010
The United Beers of America: Part V (Las Vegas, Nevada)
posted on September 19, 2010 in BeerBlog
Our journey started at Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport here in Minnesota. We were travelling to Las Vegas, Nevada. It was a journey I was looking forward to for a long time. Boarding the Delta flight at approximately 06:20am, departing at 07:00am, wasn’t all that good. I mean, what idiot wakes up 4:45am to catch a flight to Vegas? Oh, hang on…..that idiot is me.
But I wasn’t the only one to wake up early to catch my flight. Three other mates were there, too: Mike, Dave and my flat mate Steve. I’d never been to Las Vegas, so it was with interest to hear everyone around me say that it’s going to be a really great trip. Although I was excited to go, something in the back of my mind thought otherwise.
I don’t know what that thought was, really. I only know that I knew something odd would happen. Nonetheless, we embarked on our three hour plane trip to Vegas from Minneapolis-Saint Paul. The flight was fairly inconspicuous throughout, but I did manage to find out that two of the four members of Human Nature were on the flight with us, and in economy seats!
My seat was also in economy, and it was an isle seat. I like isle seats. I refuse to sit anywhere else on a plane. I don’t know why but that’s just the way it is. Needless to say that the trip was fairly quick considering I had no headphones to listen to the in-flight entertainment. So, I put my mind at rest and in readiness for the trip that was Las Vegas.
A touch under three hours later we landed safely in Las Vegas. Local time was 08:50am, and it was already over 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The moment we got off the flight I saw a sea of slot machines. I honestly couldn’t believe it. What, I haven’t been here almost 10 seconds and I’m expected to bet already? Don’t you think it is a bit premature to be gambling, and at this hour?
Well, it doesn’t matter what hour you’re there you are almost always certain there will be a way to gamble. It’s Vegas, baby! But my concern wasn’t actually the betting side of things. I knew I was going to do that. My problem was the amount of money that I was going to use to bet. Sorry, I should not say bet, rather invest.
My “investment” into Las Vegas started the moment we checked-in at the Golden Nugget, downtown Vegas. It was only 09:30am and I’m already at a bar playing electronic Poker. Hell, I even ordered a beer! A $5 Heineken was the only thing that interested me, since I hate Coronas. But the more I bet the more complimentary beers I received. Hell, that was a good deal!
But, unfortunately, you don’t get many good deals in Vegas. I made up a motto when I was there: Vegas-built by winners, paid for by losers. I’m afraid to say it but many people go to Vegas full or dreams, and come back with vicious nightmares. I stood firm in myself and trusted my instinct to not bet over my head, but bet with it. So, I manly stuck to going to the Sportsbook.
And the Sportsbooks in the casinos were great. You can bet on pretty much everything. While you bet you are able to get complimentary beers, which is something I was very much looking forward to. It makes sense in Vegas for the staff to feed you alcohol; the more you drink the more you gamble, and boy do they want you to gamble and gamble hard.
But I wasn’t gambling hard. Far from it. I had a budget (that sounds funny when you say that in Vegas) of $US100 per day. That seems a lot in normal everyday circumstances, but here in Vegas you can blow that in seconds. I wasn’t about to be the 10 billionth person to do it. I stuck to my guns and bet sensibly, unlike the thousands of people around me.
Those same thousands of people, too, were receiving complimentary drinks; scotch, whiskey, bourbon, beer, cocktails and any other liquid Vegas staff could get you. So long as you were putting money through those damned slot machines, a free drink would be in your hands. Thankfully, I’m fairly tolerant of lots of beer, so I can drink that all day without too much of a worry without going crazy.
Sure enough we did go crazy on beer, but it involved a large bet. Steve decided very early in the morning after we played electronic Poker at the bar to put $100 on Red. The roulette table must have been calling him. We all looked at him as if he were some crazed lunatic that got released from the mental institution, but he stood firm and proceeded to find a roulette table.
And when that table was found he asked for a $100 chip, then placed it on Red. The Dealer flicked that small, white ball in the opposite direction the where the wheel was spinning. We all stood silence, and with great trepidation-with a touch of excitement. The ball hit the wheel, bounced several times and finally landed. It landed on Red. We cheered Steve and said the only thing we could say to him: you’re buying the beers!
Without delay we went to a bar and bought some beers. Ironically enough, the bar we went to sold $2 Heineken and Coronas. That’s where we bought the majority of our beer from. At $2 each, this was going to be a very long first day in Vegas. But I guess that’s what we were there for; drink enough so we could put money through Vegas.
Though Vegas seems to attract all walks of life it really does attract the “punter” in all of us. We hope to strike it rich on one push of a button. Heck, I’d love to win a few million dollars just by pressing a button, but going to Vegas isn’t the way to go. If cheap drinks and gambling are your addictions then you’ll get a real kick out of it, and all the alcoholic drinks you can manage to skull down are at your beck and call.
Though skulling drinks isn’t recommended, you sure as hell can drink to your heart’s content. I’m not a lover of much else other than beer, though I will indulge in some shots every now and again. And that’s the thing, being lured into drinking at Vegas is like having the best fly fisherman in the lake, and you’re the fat, greedy trout at the bottom being pampered and ready for the frying pan.
But you’ll need Teflon to keep me on the plate. I stuck to my guns and only spent what I had to. It was an exhilarating first day full of cheap promises, flashing billboards, signs, dancing girls and all the attractions that Vegas could offer. An unbelievable array of all things great, and to think we were only in Old Vegas.
And with Old Vegas’ day coming to and end we decided to head toward New Vegas and see the ’strip’ the following day. All we had to do was grab a bite to eat before going to bed and we’d be off and ready first thing in the morning. The only trouble was that this was the beginning of a long, hard day the next day. I got food poisoning, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
It certainly wasn’t pretty. My guts were churning round and round like that song: the wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round. You know that one? Well, they were like that; all day. Mike also got sick, and we’re guessing food poisoning again. Both he and I spent the next day lying sick in bed, and Mike spending a little bit more time hurling in the toilet. Thankfully for me, all my body did was ache, and ache it did.
But I was aching to go and gamble. For me to say that, it’s surprising. But I hated being locked away in a hotel room miles from nowhere and within yards of slot machines, Sportsbooks and other sections that enabled you to gamble. Was I turning into a gambler? Probably not, but wasting time in a hotel room being sick isn’t my cup of tea. So my thoughts turned to a more ‘mature’ nature.
I actually wouldn’t say ‘mature’, rather of a more striptease-type of nature. I admit it; a strip club would have been brilliant. I was sick as a dog and the only way to cheer me up was to go to a strip joint. Hell, there are quite a few in Vegas. The only problem was that it meant getting up and going somewhere, something I was in no position to do. So as I laid back in the bed, the TV flicked over to ESPN to watch NFL.
The first NFL game I watched was the Baltimore Ravens and the New York Jets. It’s been at least two years since I’ve watched a football game from start to finish. So, the reluctant nature of circumstances that happened meant I got comfy and watched a gutsy game, which Baltimore eventually won. I then got lucky and another game followed: Kansas City Chiefs versus San Diego Chargers.
The Chargers took the game early, but when they led 7-0 it was all Chiefs. They played some brilliant football after an initial slow start and their rookies were on fire. The game ended with the Chargers needing a touchdown to stay in the game, but as it turned out it wasn’t enough and the final pass went wide. After two games of NFL, the sleep in bed for the night wasn’t as bad.
In fact, it wasn’t all bad after all. I woke up the next morning bright as a button, ready to face Vegas and give it a good run for its money. Of course, money was the operative word there. I’d have to drink beer as well, as gambling and drinking go hand-in-hand. After agreeing we all go to New Vegas we had the opportunity to walk around and see the ‘real’ Vegas.
The ‘real’ Vegas impressed me only with its huge casinos and buildings. The strip was longer than an international airport’s runway and the people trying to give you tickets (we called them ‘clickers’) were annoying little bastards. They reminded me of mosquito’s trying to suck your blood. If only there was a spray-on deterrent that would make them go away?
But it was hard to make them go away. It’s just best to ignore them and move on. We did ignore them and move on, and it was a long walk up and down the strip. We eventually stopped at a few places that you are mostly aware of and eventually came back to Old Vegas.I admit that New Vegas was something to behold, but I was also glad to go to Old Vegas and be with a more relaxed bunch of people.
And I supposed that’s what I liked about Old Vegas, a more relaxed atmosphere where there isn’t anyone annoying you like a swarm of mosquito’s near a swamp. As we go back to the bar that sold $2 Heineken’s and Corona’s our thoughts become clear: we’re more at home in Old Vegas. The night continues with more beer drinking and gambling, to which I actually win money for the first time and Vegas doesn’t seem bad at all.
And so the Vegas trip ends with me winning some cash and with another early flight back to Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport. Our wake-up call is 04:20am, and the shower, although the water is warm, seems as cold as the US Army’s initiation batch. But what idiot wakes up in the wee hours of the morning ready to catch a flight out of Las Vegas? Oh, hang on…..that idiot is me.
But I wasn’t the only one to wake up early to catch my flight. Three other mates were there, too: Mike, Dave and my flat mate Steve. I’d never been to Las Vegas, so it was with interest to hear everyone around me say that it’s going to be a really great trip. Although I was excited to go, something in the back of my mind thought otherwise.
I don’t know what that thought was, really. I only know that I knew something odd would happen. Nonetheless, we embarked on our three hour plane trip to Vegas from Minneapolis-Saint Paul. The flight was fairly inconspicuous throughout, but I did manage to find out that two of the four members of Human Nature were on the flight with us, and in economy seats!
My seat was also in economy, and it was an isle seat. I like isle seats. I refuse to sit anywhere else on a plane. I don’t know why but that’s just the way it is. Needless to say that the trip was fairly quick considering I had no headphones to listen to the in-flight entertainment. So, I put my mind at rest and in readiness for the trip that was Las Vegas.
A touch under three hours later we landed safely in Las Vegas. Local time was 08:50am, and it was already over 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The moment we got off the flight I saw a sea of slot machines. I honestly couldn’t believe it. What, I haven’t been here almost 10 seconds and I’m expected to bet already? Don’t you think it is a bit premature to be gambling, and at this hour?
Well, it doesn’t matter what hour you’re there you are almost always certain there will be a way to gamble. It’s Vegas, baby! But my concern wasn’t actually the betting side of things. I knew I was going to do that. My problem was the amount of money that I was going to use to bet. Sorry, I should not say bet, rather invest.
My “investment” into Las Vegas started the moment we checked-in at the Golden Nugget, downtown Vegas. It was only 09:30am and I’m already at a bar playing electronic Poker. Hell, I even ordered a beer! A $5 Heineken was the only thing that interested me, since I hate Coronas. But the more I bet the more complimentary beers I received. Hell, that was a good deal!
But, unfortunately, you don’t get many good deals in Vegas. I made up a motto when I was there: Vegas-built by winners, paid for by losers. I’m afraid to say it but many people go to Vegas full or dreams, and come back with vicious nightmares. I stood firm in myself and trusted my instinct to not bet over my head, but bet with it. So, I manly stuck to going to the Sportsbook.
And the Sportsbooks in the casinos were great. You can bet on pretty much everything. While you bet you are able to get complimentary beers, which is something I was very much looking forward to. It makes sense in Vegas for the staff to feed you alcohol; the more you drink the more you gamble, and boy do they want you to gamble and gamble hard.
But I wasn’t gambling hard. Far from it. I had a budget (that sounds funny when you say that in Vegas) of $US100 per day. That seems a lot in normal everyday circumstances, but here in Vegas you can blow that in seconds. I wasn’t about to be the 10 billionth person to do it. I stuck to my guns and bet sensibly, unlike the thousands of people around me.
Those same thousands of people, too, were receiving complimentary drinks; scotch, whiskey, bourbon, beer, cocktails and any other liquid Vegas staff could get you. So long as you were putting money through those damned slot machines, a free drink would be in your hands. Thankfully, I’m fairly tolerant of lots of beer, so I can drink that all day without too much of a worry without going crazy.
Sure enough we did go crazy on beer, but it involved a large bet. Steve decided very early in the morning after we played electronic Poker at the bar to put $100 on Red. The roulette table must have been calling him. We all looked at him as if he were some crazed lunatic that got released from the mental institution, but he stood firm and proceeded to find a roulette table.
And when that table was found he asked for a $100 chip, then placed it on Red. The Dealer flicked that small, white ball in the opposite direction the where the wheel was spinning. We all stood silence, and with great trepidation-with a touch of excitement. The ball hit the wheel, bounced several times and finally landed. It landed on Red. We cheered Steve and said the only thing we could say to him: you’re buying the beers!
Without delay we went to a bar and bought some beers. Ironically enough, the bar we went to sold $2 Heineken and Coronas. That’s where we bought the majority of our beer from. At $2 each, this was going to be a very long first day in Vegas. But I guess that’s what we were there for; drink enough so we could put money through Vegas.
Though Vegas seems to attract all walks of life it really does attract the “punter” in all of us. We hope to strike it rich on one push of a button. Heck, I’d love to win a few million dollars just by pressing a button, but going to Vegas isn’t the way to go. If cheap drinks and gambling are your addictions then you’ll get a real kick out of it, and all the alcoholic drinks you can manage to skull down are at your beck and call.
Though skulling drinks isn’t recommended, you sure as hell can drink to your heart’s content. I’m not a lover of much else other than beer, though I will indulge in some shots every now and again. And that’s the thing, being lured into drinking at Vegas is like having the best fly fisherman in the lake, and you’re the fat, greedy trout at the bottom being pampered and ready for the frying pan.
But you’ll need Teflon to keep me on the plate. I stuck to my guns and only spent what I had to. It was an exhilarating first day full of cheap promises, flashing billboards, signs, dancing girls and all the attractions that Vegas could offer. An unbelievable array of all things great, and to think we were only in Old Vegas.
And with Old Vegas’ day coming to and end we decided to head toward New Vegas and see the ’strip’ the following day. All we had to do was grab a bite to eat before going to bed and we’d be off and ready first thing in the morning. The only trouble was that this was the beginning of a long, hard day the next day. I got food poisoning, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
It certainly wasn’t pretty. My guts were churning round and round like that song: the wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round. You know that one? Well, they were like that; all day. Mike also got sick, and we’re guessing food poisoning again. Both he and I spent the next day lying sick in bed, and Mike spending a little bit more time hurling in the toilet. Thankfully for me, all my body did was ache, and ache it did.
But I was aching to go and gamble. For me to say that, it’s surprising. But I hated being locked away in a hotel room miles from nowhere and within yards of slot machines, Sportsbooks and other sections that enabled you to gamble. Was I turning into a gambler? Probably not, but wasting time in a hotel room being sick isn’t my cup of tea. So my thoughts turned to a more ‘mature’ nature.
I actually wouldn’t say ‘mature’, rather of a more striptease-type of nature. I admit it; a strip club would have been brilliant. I was sick as a dog and the only way to cheer me up was to go to a strip joint. Hell, there are quite a few in Vegas. The only problem was that it meant getting up and going somewhere, something I was in no position to do. So as I laid back in the bed, the TV flicked over to ESPN to watch NFL.
The first NFL game I watched was the Baltimore Ravens and the New York Jets. It’s been at least two years since I’ve watched a football game from start to finish. So, the reluctant nature of circumstances that happened meant I got comfy and watched a gutsy game, which Baltimore eventually won. I then got lucky and another game followed: Kansas City Chiefs versus San Diego Chargers.
The Chargers took the game early, but when they led 7-0 it was all Chiefs. They played some brilliant football after an initial slow start and their rookies were on fire. The game ended with the Chargers needing a touchdown to stay in the game, but as it turned out it wasn’t enough and the final pass went wide. After two games of NFL, the sleep in bed for the night wasn’t as bad.
In fact, it wasn’t all bad after all. I woke up the next morning bright as a button, ready to face Vegas and give it a good run for its money. Of course, money was the operative word there. I’d have to drink beer as well, as gambling and drinking go hand-in-hand. After agreeing we all go to New Vegas we had the opportunity to walk around and see the ‘real’ Vegas.
The ‘real’ Vegas impressed me only with its huge casinos and buildings. The strip was longer than an international airport’s runway and the people trying to give you tickets (we called them ‘clickers’) were annoying little bastards. They reminded me of mosquito’s trying to suck your blood. If only there was a spray-on deterrent that would make them go away?
But it was hard to make them go away. It’s just best to ignore them and move on. We did ignore them and move on, and it was a long walk up and down the strip. We eventually stopped at a few places that you are mostly aware of and eventually came back to Old Vegas.I admit that New Vegas was something to behold, but I was also glad to go to Old Vegas and be with a more relaxed bunch of people.
And I supposed that’s what I liked about Old Vegas, a more relaxed atmosphere where there isn’t anyone annoying you like a swarm of mosquito’s near a swamp. As we go back to the bar that sold $2 Heineken’s and Corona’s our thoughts become clear: we’re more at home in Old Vegas. The night continues with more beer drinking and gambling, to which I actually win money for the first time and Vegas doesn’t seem bad at all.
And so the Vegas trip ends with me winning some cash and with another early flight back to Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport. Our wake-up call is 04:20am, and the shower, although the water is warm, seems as cold as the US Army’s initiation batch. But what idiot wakes up in the wee hours of the morning ready to catch a flight out of Las Vegas? Oh, hang on…..that idiot is me.
The United Beers of America: Part IV (Bloomer, Wisconsin)
posted on September 17, 2010 in BeerBlog
Bloomer, Wisconsin. An extremely quite town about 100 miles east of St. Paul, Minnesota. Bloomer has a population of about 3,000 and has a total of 11 bars. What’s to do in Bloomer, you ask? Drink at a bar, of course! You think I’m joking? Hell no! Last week was an experience that I will never forget, or at least one I’m trying to remember.
And what I remember of that trip was drinking beer, and lots of it. I’ve mentioned before that beer is cheap, but here in Bloomer it is dirt cheap. But as I was drinking dirt cheap beer a surprise found its way into my hands via another patron. He introduced himself and asked what beer I like. “I don’t like any of that light shit,” I replied. He pointed out that there was a Texan beer, and there was only one left in the bar.
That bar was Badger Hole. A small, quiet and friendly bar that had a few locals out on a Friday night. As I found out there was a lot of Coors, Coors Light, Bud Light and Miller Lite. I’d rather drink my own puke mashed in with some of my orange ear wax than drink that stuff. So it was fortuitous that was able to find out about this Texan beer.
The Texan beer was “Shiner Bock”. A quick Google search tells me that there is a place called Shiner in the state of Texas and that the brewing crew is Spoetzl Brewery. I was to find out that there was something else in the bar apart from that other stuff. As the Shiner Bock finally slid happily into my hands, a quick aroma test followed by a taste test provided me with enough ammunition to strike up a conversation.
Needless to say that the conversation wasn’t all that interesting, rather it was about how that beat the pants off most beers being served on tap at Badger Hole. Of course, most people don’t really care much for beer like that. They drink the Coors, Coors Light, Bud Light and the Miller Lite. So it was to my surprise that they found another Shiner Bock in the fridge.
And I found out that the fridge was for untouched bottled beer that nobody else drank. There was no lighting in or near the fridge, and the only way you could see into it was for the bartender to move in such a way that the sign outside shone light into the fridge so the right beer was taken. It was at that point when I realised that I wouldn’t be surprised if all Badger Hole bought was a 6-pack, and I was the only one drinking it.
But of course all good things must come to an end. We continued on well into the night at different bar locations within Bloomer: X-peditions, Happy Hour, to name a couple. After that, my mind is trying to remember what other bars I went to. It’s only a small town, but it’s big on bars and before you know it you’ll find it hard to remember where the night went.
dann
And what I remember of that trip was drinking beer, and lots of it. I’ve mentioned before that beer is cheap, but here in Bloomer it is dirt cheap. But as I was drinking dirt cheap beer a surprise found its way into my hands via another patron. He introduced himself and asked what beer I like. “I don’t like any of that light shit,” I replied. He pointed out that there was a Texan beer, and there was only one left in the bar.
That bar was Badger Hole. A small, quiet and friendly bar that had a few locals out on a Friday night. As I found out there was a lot of Coors, Coors Light, Bud Light and Miller Lite. I’d rather drink my own puke mashed in with some of my orange ear wax than drink that stuff. So it was fortuitous that was able to find out about this Texan beer.
The Texan beer was “Shiner Bock”. A quick Google search tells me that there is a place called Shiner in the state of Texas and that the brewing crew is Spoetzl Brewery. I was to find out that there was something else in the bar apart from that other stuff. As the Shiner Bock finally slid happily into my hands, a quick aroma test followed by a taste test provided me with enough ammunition to strike up a conversation.
Needless to say that the conversation wasn’t all that interesting, rather it was about how that beat the pants off most beers being served on tap at Badger Hole. Of course, most people don’t really care much for beer like that. They drink the Coors, Coors Light, Bud Light and the Miller Lite. So it was to my surprise that they found another Shiner Bock in the fridge.
And I found out that the fridge was for untouched bottled beer that nobody else drank. There was no lighting in or near the fridge, and the only way you could see into it was for the bartender to move in such a way that the sign outside shone light into the fridge so the right beer was taken. It was at that point when I realised that I wouldn’t be surprised if all Badger Hole bought was a 6-pack, and I was the only one drinking it.
But of course all good things must come to an end. We continued on well into the night at different bar locations within Bloomer: X-peditions, Happy Hour, to name a couple. After that, my mind is trying to remember what other bars I went to. It’s only a small town, but it’s big on bars and before you know it you’ll find it hard to remember where the night went.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part III (Inver Grove Heights/Eagan, MN)
posted on in BeerBlog
Roll up! Roll up! Enter the amazing liquor store filled with cheap beer! Roll up! Roll up! Got your attention? Good. You know beer is cheap in the US, right? Well, if you didn’t you sure as hell about to know it now. So cheap is the beer that they may as well give it away. I am not complaining about it, rather I’m so astonished at how prices can be so low.
They are so low that a lawn mower couldn’t cut it. But it’s not only the low prices that astounds me but the different beers on the market, too. A local liquor store called Trail Liquors in Inver Grove Heights here in Minnesota was one liquor store I wont forget in a hurry. It’s not all that far from where we are in Eagan, and it stores a solid variety of beer at the mercy of your fingertips.
And those fingertips really got a feel for what was on offer. Actually, forget about fingertips. What about my tongue? My tongue was hanging out like a dog, panting all the way to the fridge and simply drooling at the opportunity to try all these different beers. A very good selection of Samuel Adams, Summit, New Belgium, Labatt, Sierra Nevada, Goose Island and Leinenkugel’s, to name but a few. Heck, God forbid I say this but there was a nice beer from Anheuser-Busch! I’ll wash my mouth out later with soap and water.
Seriously, there is no need to wash out my mouth with anything other than beer. Well, at least beer that has taste and flavour. Yes, I did mention Anheuser-Busch. They brew a beer called Wild Blue, which is a Blueberry lager. If I recall correctly it’s 8% abv, which is a whopping strong beer. I don’t like anything that this mob brews but there is always an exception to the rule.
Sometimes rules don’t get you anywhere. My general rule of thumb here was to only try ‘craft’ beer. But when you walk into a liquor store that sells you a 12-pack of beer, say Summit Extra Pale Ale, for $US14 it is almost impossible not to purchase it. And that is how things get started, by allowing yourself to break the rules occasionally and just simply enjoy what there is to offer.
Realistically, what they have to offer could last me ’til next month. I had the opportunity to “build my own” 6-pack of beer. Build my own, I thought? Now that is interesting! Like a kid in a candy store I joyously looked around the fridge and indulged in my greatest fantasy (apart from the 6-foot blonde with the big…….ahem). Meanwhile, back at the ranch…….
And indulging every once in a while is really a relaxing experience. It was like being in a hot tub after a hard day at work. My only problem was which to choose in my six pack, which was difficult enough. But then I heard the words someone shouted at the other side of the room that made me reach ecstasy: you can have two build your own 6-packs! Did I just die and go to heaven?
If I were in heaven then I didn’t know they sold liquor! Regardless, the envious task of picking 12 different sorts of beers was mind-blowing. Following the yellow brick road to the fridge and picking out 12 beers wasn’t actually going to be easy. So I simply decided to just pick what seemed like good beers to try. Here is the list of what I got:
Leinenkugel’s: Sunset Wheat
Goose Island: Honker’s Ale
Sierra Nevada: Torpedo Extra IPA
New Belgium: 1554 Enlightened Black Ale
Summit: Extra Pale Ale
Leinenkugel’s: Berry Weiss
Anheuser-Busch: Wild Blue (Blueberry Lager)
Labatt: Blue
Michelob: Shock Top Belgian White
Summit: Horizon Red Ale
New Belgium: Fat Tire
New Belgium: Skinny Dip
With these beers now in hand I had the honorable duty of trying them all. As it happened, we had a bright, sunny day here in Eagan and it was a perfect way to try these beers with great friends. And as the party started so, too, did the taste testing of beers. I don’t dare jot down every single detail of each beer, but what I can do is give you a favourable list of beers that I liked from the list.
And although the list was 12 strong, I soon found myself pointing out the best of the bunch: New Belgium 1554 Enlightened Black Ale. Surprisingly, Leinenkugel’s Berry Weiss came second with the Summit Horizon Red Ale in at third place. Sure, my tastes are different to most other people’s but the important thing to point out is that is my mission was accomplished: 12 different beers were consumed with eyes wide open.
But eyes are not the only thing you need open. You also need to have an open mind. Sure, the beer was cheap but having the experience of trying all these different beers meant that I could go to sleep feeling happy. Not only did I get the full 12-pack experience, but I am also happy that the prices are so low that I still can’t believe it every time I walk into a liquor store. Now that is cheap!
dann
They are so low that a lawn mower couldn’t cut it. But it’s not only the low prices that astounds me but the different beers on the market, too. A local liquor store called Trail Liquors in Inver Grove Heights here in Minnesota was one liquor store I wont forget in a hurry. It’s not all that far from where we are in Eagan, and it stores a solid variety of beer at the mercy of your fingertips.
And those fingertips really got a feel for what was on offer. Actually, forget about fingertips. What about my tongue? My tongue was hanging out like a dog, panting all the way to the fridge and simply drooling at the opportunity to try all these different beers. A very good selection of Samuel Adams, Summit, New Belgium, Labatt, Sierra Nevada, Goose Island and Leinenkugel’s, to name but a few. Heck, God forbid I say this but there was a nice beer from Anheuser-Busch! I’ll wash my mouth out later with soap and water.
Seriously, there is no need to wash out my mouth with anything other than beer. Well, at least beer that has taste and flavour. Yes, I did mention Anheuser-Busch. They brew a beer called Wild Blue, which is a Blueberry lager. If I recall correctly it’s 8% abv, which is a whopping strong beer. I don’t like anything that this mob brews but there is always an exception to the rule.
Sometimes rules don’t get you anywhere. My general rule of thumb here was to only try ‘craft’ beer. But when you walk into a liquor store that sells you a 12-pack of beer, say Summit Extra Pale Ale, for $US14 it is almost impossible not to purchase it. And that is how things get started, by allowing yourself to break the rules occasionally and just simply enjoy what there is to offer.
Realistically, what they have to offer could last me ’til next month. I had the opportunity to “build my own” 6-pack of beer. Build my own, I thought? Now that is interesting! Like a kid in a candy store I joyously looked around the fridge and indulged in my greatest fantasy (apart from the 6-foot blonde with the big…….ahem). Meanwhile, back at the ranch…….
And indulging every once in a while is really a relaxing experience. It was like being in a hot tub after a hard day at work. My only problem was which to choose in my six pack, which was difficult enough. But then I heard the words someone shouted at the other side of the room that made me reach ecstasy: you can have two build your own 6-packs! Did I just die and go to heaven?
If I were in heaven then I didn’t know they sold liquor! Regardless, the envious task of picking 12 different sorts of beers was mind-blowing. Following the yellow brick road to the fridge and picking out 12 beers wasn’t actually going to be easy. So I simply decided to just pick what seemed like good beers to try. Here is the list of what I got:
Leinenkugel’s: Sunset Wheat
Goose Island: Honker’s Ale
Sierra Nevada: Torpedo Extra IPA
New Belgium: 1554 Enlightened Black Ale
Summit: Extra Pale Ale
Leinenkugel’s: Berry Weiss
Anheuser-Busch: Wild Blue (Blueberry Lager)
Labatt: Blue
Michelob: Shock Top Belgian White
Summit: Horizon Red Ale
New Belgium: Fat Tire
New Belgium: Skinny Dip
With these beers now in hand I had the honorable duty of trying them all. As it happened, we had a bright, sunny day here in Eagan and it was a perfect way to try these beers with great friends. And as the party started so, too, did the taste testing of beers. I don’t dare jot down every single detail of each beer, but what I can do is give you a favourable list of beers that I liked from the list.
And although the list was 12 strong, I soon found myself pointing out the best of the bunch: New Belgium 1554 Enlightened Black Ale. Surprisingly, Leinenkugel’s Berry Weiss came second with the Summit Horizon Red Ale in at third place. Sure, my tastes are different to most other people’s but the important thing to point out is that is my mission was accomplished: 12 different beers were consumed with eyes wide open.
But eyes are not the only thing you need open. You also need to have an open mind. Sure, the beer was cheap but having the experience of trying all these different beers meant that I could go to sleep feeling happy. Not only did I get the full 12-pack experience, but I am also happy that the prices are so low that I still can’t believe it every time I walk into a liquor store. Now that is cheap!
dann
The United Beers of America: Part II (San Francisco 2/2)
posted on in BeerBlog
Another San Francisco night saw the dawn of a new era: sampling beer. I know, it’s not a new theme but I’m not one to sample beer, ever. Since sampling North American beer was on the agenda it was nice to know that we had our options wide open. We hit Lori’s Diner once again in the search for that elusive beer that would make our tongues wag.
And the beers we finally chose certainly did wag our tongues. The list we decided to choose was: Alaskan Amber, Abita Amber, Mirror Pond, Racer 5, Brew Free, Black Butte. OK, you may not know what these beers are but that is exactly what our friendly bartender wrote down. I guess to know more about those beers we had to try them, but there was a neat description of all the beers from the menu.
The menu gave up for some interesting reading about all these beers. Unfortunately, all my notes that I wrote down about each beer has been lost, but I did take a few snaps of the description for future prosperity. So, without delay here is the full list and description of the beers we sampled:
1. Alaskan Amber: German alt style amber lager. 5.3%
2. Abita Amber Lager: Sweet, roasted caramel malts dominate, with some hints of nuts. 4.5%
3. Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale: Classic American pale ale with lush floral aroma. 5%
4. Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA: Intensely aromatic and hoppy amber. 7%
5. 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die IPA: Aromatic golden IPA, a nice citrus hop flavour with a bit of malt sweetness. 7%
6. Deschutes Black Butte Porter: Belgian dark ale with banana, chocolate, and toffee character. 6.2%
Here’s the tough part: do I recall how these beers tasted? No. Like I said, my notes for these beers have been lost. At best they have been misplaced somewhere. But the good news about these beers is that all six were actually great beers to drink. Each had its own characteristics and flavours. From my very vague memory I would say that both the Bear Republic and Mirror Pond were my favourites.
But those favourites aren’t on the top of my list. That list will be for another blog, part of the The United Beers of America. It is safe to say, though, that all six sample beers were wonderfully fine. It was an even better impression of my taste of North American beers. So fine in fact that the tongue was certainly wagging the mere thought of having more of these wonderfully brewed beers: the united beers of America.
dann
And the beers we finally chose certainly did wag our tongues. The list we decided to choose was: Alaskan Amber, Abita Amber, Mirror Pond, Racer 5, Brew Free, Black Butte. OK, you may not know what these beers are but that is exactly what our friendly bartender wrote down. I guess to know more about those beers we had to try them, but there was a neat description of all the beers from the menu.
The menu gave up for some interesting reading about all these beers. Unfortunately, all my notes that I wrote down about each beer has been lost, but I did take a few snaps of the description for future prosperity. So, without delay here is the full list and description of the beers we sampled:
1. Alaskan Amber: German alt style amber lager. 5.3%
2. Abita Amber Lager: Sweet, roasted caramel malts dominate, with some hints of nuts. 4.5%
3. Deschutes Mirror Pond Pale Ale: Classic American pale ale with lush floral aroma. 5%
4. Bear Republic Racer 5 IPA: Intensely aromatic and hoppy amber. 7%
5. 21st Amendment Brew Free or Die IPA: Aromatic golden IPA, a nice citrus hop flavour with a bit of malt sweetness. 7%
6. Deschutes Black Butte Porter: Belgian dark ale with banana, chocolate, and toffee character. 6.2%
Here’s the tough part: do I recall how these beers tasted? No. Like I said, my notes for these beers have been lost. At best they have been misplaced somewhere. But the good news about these beers is that all six were actually great beers to drink. Each had its own characteristics and flavours. From my very vague memory I would say that both the Bear Republic and Mirror Pond were my favourites.
But those favourites aren’t on the top of my list. That list will be for another blog, part of the The United Beers of America. It is safe to say, though, that all six sample beers were wonderfully fine. It was an even better impression of my taste of North American beers. So fine in fact that the tongue was certainly wagging the mere thought of having more of these wonderfully brewed beers: the united beers of America.
dann
The United Beers of America: Part I (San Francisco 1/2)
posted on September 16, 2010 in BeerBlog
No pun intended, but it’s been a long time between drinks writing on my blog. The last blog was in July, which meant that I was “being busy” getting ready for my trip to the USA. Well, what I can say now is that it’s the perfect time to write again about beer. I am now here in the USA sampling some of the fine, and not so fine, beers this country has to offer.
And what the US has to offer may surprise you. The first stop here in the US was in San Francisco, and it was a very warm San Francisco. So warm that I was in need of a beer the moment I stepped off that QANTAS flight from Sydney. So was my mate who came with me! When the baggage was dropped off at the hotel we decided to go for a quick feed and a couple of beers. But where? By pure chance up cropped Lori’s Diner off Sutter Street.
Lori’s Diner seemed inviting, but the stairs to it certainly weren’t. Nonetheless, we walked up the stairs and by the time we were at the top our thirst was more apparent. But which beer to try? As the menu was given to us by one the staff behind the bar, I looked in amazement. Over 40 beers on-tap with a great additional range of bottled beers. But as I was in San Francisco I knew about Steam Beer from Anchor Brewing. So, looking at the menu I found Steam Beer on-tap. Without delay, it was the first beer ordered.
And while we waited for our order, my expectations rose significantly. Suddenly the wait was over. The famous Steam Beer was right beneath my nose. I took a whiff of the beer, and I took another whiff. And as I took a sip the taste was smooth and unique. The bartender suggested that it was made using an Ale yeast at Lager temperatures. Well, that seemed pretty unique to me. It was quite appropriate to have a Steam Beer on a warm day as that beer went down really well. An extremely flexible beer that is enjoyable the more you drink it.
But although I wanted more Steam I had to try something different. So, the menu was given another look. This time the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale stood out. I had heard a lot about this beer in articles that I read or from people that had tried it. Our kind bartender, once again, went and got us some beers. The Sierra Nevada Pale Ale was a much stronger beer. A good beer on its own but one that failed to impress me on that warm San Francisco day. Don’t get me wrong, it’s taste was great but it had more bitterness than I expected and, to me, was best suited for drinking during the Autumn, rather than a warm Summer’s day.
And since San Francisco hadn’t experienced such warm temperatures since June it was about time to move away from the bar and venture back into the San Francisco warmth. Leaving Lori’s Diner behind gave me a sense of pride, a sense of achievement. I felt obliged to try the native stuff, and I came away happy. I know that doesn’t seem like much to you, but the first two beers I had in San Francisco certainly paved the way for the better beers the USA has to offer.
Until my next blog on: The United Beers of America.
dann
And what the US has to offer may surprise you. The first stop here in the US was in San Francisco, and it was a very warm San Francisco. So warm that I was in need of a beer the moment I stepped off that QANTAS flight from Sydney. So was my mate who came with me! When the baggage was dropped off at the hotel we decided to go for a quick feed and a couple of beers. But where? By pure chance up cropped Lori’s Diner off Sutter Street.
Lori’s Diner seemed inviting, but the stairs to it certainly weren’t. Nonetheless, we walked up the stairs and by the time we were at the top our thirst was more apparent. But which beer to try? As the menu was given to us by one the staff behind the bar, I looked in amazement. Over 40 beers on-tap with a great additional range of bottled beers. But as I was in San Francisco I knew about Steam Beer from Anchor Brewing. So, looking at the menu I found Steam Beer on-tap. Without delay, it was the first beer ordered.
And while we waited for our order, my expectations rose significantly. Suddenly the wait was over. The famous Steam Beer was right beneath my nose. I took a whiff of the beer, and I took another whiff. And as I took a sip the taste was smooth and unique. The bartender suggested that it was made using an Ale yeast at Lager temperatures. Well, that seemed pretty unique to me. It was quite appropriate to have a Steam Beer on a warm day as that beer went down really well. An extremely flexible beer that is enjoyable the more you drink it.
But although I wanted more Steam I had to try something different. So, the menu was given another look. This time the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale stood out. I had heard a lot about this beer in articles that I read or from people that had tried it. Our kind bartender, once again, went and got us some beers. The Sierra Nevada Pale Ale was a much stronger beer. A good beer on its own but one that failed to impress me on that warm San Francisco day. Don’t get me wrong, it’s taste was great but it had more bitterness than I expected and, to me, was best suited for drinking during the Autumn, rather than a warm Summer’s day.
And since San Francisco hadn’t experienced such warm temperatures since June it was about time to move away from the bar and venture back into the San Francisco warmth. Leaving Lori’s Diner behind gave me a sense of pride, a sense of achievement. I felt obliged to try the native stuff, and I came away happy. I know that doesn’t seem like much to you, but the first two beers I had in San Francisco certainly paved the way for the better beers the USA has to offer.
Until my next blog on: The United Beers of America.
dann
Being totally hungover, but not by drinking beer
posted on July 26, 2010 in BeerBlog
It’s over. It’s completely over. I’m lost. I’m distraught. Yes, I’m at the end of my tether. I have got the biggest hangover this side of the universe. Why? The 2010 World Cup in South Africa has finished. Spain win and become FIFA World Champions, Netherlands lose. Germany win a thriller against Uruguay to come third. I am a lost soul, one in which is being drowned in home brewed beer.
OK, I’m not drowning in it but I am doing a heck of a lot of work brewing it. You see, in a little over a month’s time I’m off to the USA. With that I’m brewing my guts off trying to do batch after batch. Thankfully my home brew is of decent quality so drinking it all when I come back wont be an issue. My issue has been since the World Cup has finished I’ve been on this massive downward spiral.
That downward spiral has lead to some crazy health issues I’ve been having lately. I’m not going to mention them here, but suffice to say that I’ve been feeling ‘hungover’ without a drop of beer touching my lips. It’s also not because the World Cup is over, too. But what I can probably say, as I type this, is the fact that having literally no sleep for a month on end has certainly taken its toll.
And that toll has lead to some odd experiences to say the least. None of which more so than believing I can make a Curry IPA. My good mate, Luke, has dared me to even approach the subject. Yes, I instigated the conversation but he’s brought on a challenge I haven’t seen since the “Bacon Beer” article. I don’t want to give away any secrets but I can’t help but think Turmeric may be an option for this IPA?
But it wasn’t just the IPA that gave me a sense of excitement. I just found out today from fellow brewer and good mate, Kyle, that I can use Vanilla beans for my next brew. That gets me to thinking I can do a Chocolate Stout with some Vanilla beans! Oh, how the mouth waters right now in the anticipation of brewing this beauty of a beer. And it’s that anticipation that gets my heart pumping.
Apart from my heart pumping, thankfully my brain is half functioning as well. During all this time, my ‘hungover’ state has allowed me to (for the first time last night, in fact) catch up on a solid night’s sleep. I went early to bed, thought nice thoughts and pretended I brewed some of my best beer. In fact, more accurately I dreamt that Netherlands beat Spain 4-0 and that I celebrated by drinking my way out of a pool of home brewed beer. Now that’s worthy of a real hangover.
OK, I’m not drowning in it but I am doing a heck of a lot of work brewing it. You see, in a little over a month’s time I’m off to the USA. With that I’m brewing my guts off trying to do batch after batch. Thankfully my home brew is of decent quality so drinking it all when I come back wont be an issue. My issue has been since the World Cup has finished I’ve been on this massive downward spiral.
That downward spiral has lead to some crazy health issues I’ve been having lately. I’m not going to mention them here, but suffice to say that I’ve been feeling ‘hungover’ without a drop of beer touching my lips. It’s also not because the World Cup is over, too. But what I can probably say, as I type this, is the fact that having literally no sleep for a month on end has certainly taken its toll.
And that toll has lead to some odd experiences to say the least. None of which more so than believing I can make a Curry IPA. My good mate, Luke, has dared me to even approach the subject. Yes, I instigated the conversation but he’s brought on a challenge I haven’t seen since the “Bacon Beer” article. I don’t want to give away any secrets but I can’t help but think Turmeric may be an option for this IPA?
But it wasn’t just the IPA that gave me a sense of excitement. I just found out today from fellow brewer and good mate, Kyle, that I can use Vanilla beans for my next brew. That gets me to thinking I can do a Chocolate Stout with some Vanilla beans! Oh, how the mouth waters right now in the anticipation of brewing this beauty of a beer. And it’s that anticipation that gets my heart pumping.
Apart from my heart pumping, thankfully my brain is half functioning as well. During all this time, my ‘hungover’ state has allowed me to (for the first time last night, in fact) catch up on a solid night’s sleep. I went early to bed, thought nice thoughts and pretended I brewed some of my best beer. In fact, more accurately I dreamt that Netherlands beat Spain 4-0 and that I celebrated by drinking my way out of a pool of home brewed beer. Now that’s worthy of a real hangover.
scoring plenty of goals
posted on July 5, 2010 in BeerBlog
I admit it: the World Cup in this household has been on the TV almost non stop. Late nights, sleepless mornings and I’m still ready to get out of bed and go to work. Unfortunately, it has now taken its toll: hardly no blogging on this web site about beer since it’s been on. What a terrible disaster it has turned out to be. Thankfully, the semi-finals are upon us, which has given me time to sprout about my “new” venture.
And this new venture has seen my flat mate and I wander down to our local Dan Muphy’s liquor store. That in itself is nothing unique but I’ve only only been to Dan Murphy’s about twice or three times in my life. If I do buy alcohol it’s down at my local liquor store, and it’s only a five minute walk from my place. But this time was different. Now that I’ve been brewing for just short of twelve months, how does our home brewed beer stack up to that of craft beer stored at Dan Murphy’s?
Well, to start off the range at Dan Murphy’s is damn good. It had an impressive array of imported and local beers at my fingertips. Trying to choose was actually a much more difficult task than I had thought. Nonetheless, a packed was made between us that seven of the same beers each would be enough to get us started. So, with that mindset we went out and went shopping. Surprisingly enough, the moment I went shopping I had the tune of ‘Sale of the Century’ in my head, that with Tony Barber doing cartwheels.
And that wasn’t the only person doing cartwheels. I spotted something that made my eyes water: Young’s Double Choc Stout. It sounded interesting, and potentially close to what we brew. One down, six to go. Our second was the James Squires Porter. I haven’t really tried a Porter before apart from one that a good mate of mine, Kyle, brewed: a Choc Porter. How fabulously delicious that was.
What was more delicious was the fact I saw a Newcastle Brown Ale. I know, nothing really fancy but the last time I drank that was back in April 2009 over in Arkansas, USA. I wondered whether it had a similar taste? Three down, four to go. I’ll admit to making this next selection as bordering on silly: Wychwood Hobgoglin Dark English Ale. The label was really cool, so I just had to pick it up.
With three more beers still left to pick up, it was crunch time for us and to get moving. I could’ve stayed there for hours simply drooling at the choices. I guess now I know what it feels like when people tell me they can go into Bunnings Warehouse and stay there all day. Alas, time was money as the more time we were there the more likely we would have spent Krzystan’s yearly GDP on my credit card.
Thankfully for me, mister credit card had run its dash a few weeks prior so no further damage occurred. As the search for the final three contenders continued, up came a quizzical find: a Pepperjack Ale from the Barossa region. I wouldn’t have thought they made beer in wine country but apparently they do. Now with two choices left we were hanging by a thread. Which one to choose? Another Australian beer was chosen: Mildura Brewery’s Mallee Bull, and we hoped it was as strong as one.
What we did hope was for was a strong and complete beer as our final one. Thankfully, the choice of a Barons Pale Ale somehow fitted well with the rest of our collection. So, all up there were fourteen craft beers (one of each) from Australia and overseas for both Steve and I to enjoy. As we left Dan Murphy’s I had waved goodbye to the store in the knowledge I’d be coming back for more craft beer.
And that is something I intend to do: buy more beer. Well, more craft beer to be precise. There is a web site called: www.beerstore.com.au that enables you to buy a truck load of local or imported beer, but for the moment going back to Dan’s is probably my first priority. However, when we got home all the beer was immediately put in the fridge. In the interim, home brewed bottles were cracked open and drank with as much vigor and enthusiasm as Henry VIII at a feast.
Admittedly our feast right then was of a liquid nature, but it was nonetheless a feast in its own right. Having now got the taste of beer into our system, the beer we put into the fridge earlier had a cool, fresh feel to it once you popped it into your hand. For the next few hours we’d be enjoying craft beer and comparing it to that of our own home brew. We were curious. We were excited. But were we expecting for these beers to beat ours hands down?
That what we didn’t want: to have our home brew fall terribly short of what we bought. I will admit that we have been accustomed to our own beer drinking tastes since home brewing. Our taste testing really isn’t nothing more than that: taste testing. What we did find though were some interesting results, which even surprised us quite a lot. It surprised us so much that we even declared then that going back to Dan Murphy’s to try more different beers was on the cards.
But was on the cards was our taste buds. They got a work out. Up first, the Young’s Double Choc Stout. It was too milky, too rich and too creamy. Too much like drinking a Milky Way or a Mars Bar. The James Squires Porter was odd. I couldn’t even detect an aroma. Well, my beer vocabulary, at least, couldn’t detect what aroma it had. It also tasted too bland. The Newcastle Brown Ale was something of a shock. A sweet aroma, but it was way too sweet in taste. This certainly wasn’t the beer I happily drank in Arkansas. Were we being too critical? Too posh? Either way, I was now hoping for a better tasting beer.
With good fortune, our next beer was just that: a better tasting beer. The Wychwood Hobgoblin was good. A fruity aroma, but not a ’sweet’ sweet taste. It wasn’t an overbearing sweet taste like the Newcastle, rather it was very nice on the palette and definitely had drinkability written all over it. The Pepperjack was up next with its faint fruity, sweet aroma. It had a very slight “sour” aftertaste to it but it certainly was a very nice aftertaste. With now only two left it was time to hit the road running.
And with the last two left we hit the road with the Mallee Bull from Mildura Brewery. Surprisingly, we were expecting a really bullish beer (yes, the pun was intended). Unfortunately, it had similar characteristics that of the Pepperjack. Lastly, the Barons Pale Ale had us intrigued. We recalled seeing billboards around Sydney advertising this beer, and the advertising on the TV. We were hoping for a unique flavour and taste, seeing that it was a uniquely branded beer.
What had been branded a unique beer was certainly that: a uniquely branded beer. It had a citrus-like aroma, something akin to a Passionfruit. it wasn’t too smooth, which was great but it had the taste of lemons that distracted it from its true qualities. This beer reminded me of our failed attempt to brew a Blonde beer with Lemon rind. That day we put in the rind of six lemons, but it was a dismal failure. However, the same characteristics of aroma, taste and flavour were evident in the Barons Pale Ale. That, to us, was indeed unique but certainly not a beer you could enjoy quietly all night.
And I guess that’s what we boiled it down to: which beer did we enjoy and could drink of all night (responsibly, of course)? Funnily enough, all the beers we tried were good. It’d be unfair to say which beer was good or bad as each individual person has different tastes. What we can say is that from our novice ratings and drinkability meter the Wychowood Hobgoblin was our favourite. Indeed, it wasn’t something we’d drink all night anyway, rather we could happily sit down and sink more than a couple.
Those couple of beers is the difference between winning and losing. We sat down further to that and enjoyed the last of our home brewed Choc Stout. It was a far cry from the Young’s but it was also nice to know that what we do brew is actually quite good compared to that of your craft beer that’s out there. And what is out there, too, is a sea of local and imported beer down at Dan Murphy’s. You will find what you like soon enough, but at least I know now that my “new” venture got some interesting rewards.
dann
And this new venture has seen my flat mate and I wander down to our local Dan Muphy’s liquor store. That in itself is nothing unique but I’ve only only been to Dan Murphy’s about twice or three times in my life. If I do buy alcohol it’s down at my local liquor store, and it’s only a five minute walk from my place. But this time was different. Now that I’ve been brewing for just short of twelve months, how does our home brewed beer stack up to that of craft beer stored at Dan Murphy’s?
Well, to start off the range at Dan Murphy’s is damn good. It had an impressive array of imported and local beers at my fingertips. Trying to choose was actually a much more difficult task than I had thought. Nonetheless, a packed was made between us that seven of the same beers each would be enough to get us started. So, with that mindset we went out and went shopping. Surprisingly enough, the moment I went shopping I had the tune of ‘Sale of the Century’ in my head, that with Tony Barber doing cartwheels.
And that wasn’t the only person doing cartwheels. I spotted something that made my eyes water: Young’s Double Choc Stout. It sounded interesting, and potentially close to what we brew. One down, six to go. Our second was the James Squires Porter. I haven’t really tried a Porter before apart from one that a good mate of mine, Kyle, brewed: a Choc Porter. How fabulously delicious that was.
What was more delicious was the fact I saw a Newcastle Brown Ale. I know, nothing really fancy but the last time I drank that was back in April 2009 over in Arkansas, USA. I wondered whether it had a similar taste? Three down, four to go. I’ll admit to making this next selection as bordering on silly: Wychwood Hobgoglin Dark English Ale. The label was really cool, so I just had to pick it up.
With three more beers still left to pick up, it was crunch time for us and to get moving. I could’ve stayed there for hours simply drooling at the choices. I guess now I know what it feels like when people tell me they can go into Bunnings Warehouse and stay there all day. Alas, time was money as the more time we were there the more likely we would have spent Krzystan’s yearly GDP on my credit card.
Thankfully for me, mister credit card had run its dash a few weeks prior so no further damage occurred. As the search for the final three contenders continued, up came a quizzical find: a Pepperjack Ale from the Barossa region. I wouldn’t have thought they made beer in wine country but apparently they do. Now with two choices left we were hanging by a thread. Which one to choose? Another Australian beer was chosen: Mildura Brewery’s Mallee Bull, and we hoped it was as strong as one.
What we did hope was for was a strong and complete beer as our final one. Thankfully, the choice of a Barons Pale Ale somehow fitted well with the rest of our collection. So, all up there were fourteen craft beers (one of each) from Australia and overseas for both Steve and I to enjoy. As we left Dan Murphy’s I had waved goodbye to the store in the knowledge I’d be coming back for more craft beer.
And that is something I intend to do: buy more beer. Well, more craft beer to be precise. There is a web site called: www.beerstore.com.au that enables you to buy a truck load of local or imported beer, but for the moment going back to Dan’s is probably my first priority. However, when we got home all the beer was immediately put in the fridge. In the interim, home brewed bottles were cracked open and drank with as much vigor and enthusiasm as Henry VIII at a feast.
Admittedly our feast right then was of a liquid nature, but it was nonetheless a feast in its own right. Having now got the taste of beer into our system, the beer we put into the fridge earlier had a cool, fresh feel to it once you popped it into your hand. For the next few hours we’d be enjoying craft beer and comparing it to that of our own home brew. We were curious. We were excited. But were we expecting for these beers to beat ours hands down?
That what we didn’t want: to have our home brew fall terribly short of what we bought. I will admit that we have been accustomed to our own beer drinking tastes since home brewing. Our taste testing really isn’t nothing more than that: taste testing. What we did find though were some interesting results, which even surprised us quite a lot. It surprised us so much that we even declared then that going back to Dan Murphy’s to try more different beers was on the cards.
But was on the cards was our taste buds. They got a work out. Up first, the Young’s Double Choc Stout. It was too milky, too rich and too creamy. Too much like drinking a Milky Way or a Mars Bar. The James Squires Porter was odd. I couldn’t even detect an aroma. Well, my beer vocabulary, at least, couldn’t detect what aroma it had. It also tasted too bland. The Newcastle Brown Ale was something of a shock. A sweet aroma, but it was way too sweet in taste. This certainly wasn’t the beer I happily drank in Arkansas. Were we being too critical? Too posh? Either way, I was now hoping for a better tasting beer.
With good fortune, our next beer was just that: a better tasting beer. The Wychwood Hobgoblin was good. A fruity aroma, but not a ’sweet’ sweet taste. It wasn’t an overbearing sweet taste like the Newcastle, rather it was very nice on the palette and definitely had drinkability written all over it. The Pepperjack was up next with its faint fruity, sweet aroma. It had a very slight “sour” aftertaste to it but it certainly was a very nice aftertaste. With now only two left it was time to hit the road running.
And with the last two left we hit the road with the Mallee Bull from Mildura Brewery. Surprisingly, we were expecting a really bullish beer (yes, the pun was intended). Unfortunately, it had similar characteristics that of the Pepperjack. Lastly, the Barons Pale Ale had us intrigued. We recalled seeing billboards around Sydney advertising this beer, and the advertising on the TV. We were hoping for a unique flavour and taste, seeing that it was a uniquely branded beer.
What had been branded a unique beer was certainly that: a uniquely branded beer. It had a citrus-like aroma, something akin to a Passionfruit. it wasn’t too smooth, which was great but it had the taste of lemons that distracted it from its true qualities. This beer reminded me of our failed attempt to brew a Blonde beer with Lemon rind. That day we put in the rind of six lemons, but it was a dismal failure. However, the same characteristics of aroma, taste and flavour were evident in the Barons Pale Ale. That, to us, was indeed unique but certainly not a beer you could enjoy quietly all night.
And I guess that’s what we boiled it down to: which beer did we enjoy and could drink of all night (responsibly, of course)? Funnily enough, all the beers we tried were good. It’d be unfair to say which beer was good or bad as each individual person has different tastes. What we can say is that from our novice ratings and drinkability meter the Wychowood Hobgoblin was our favourite. Indeed, it wasn’t something we’d drink all night anyway, rather we could happily sit down and sink more than a couple.
Those couple of beers is the difference between winning and losing. We sat down further to that and enjoyed the last of our home brewed Choc Stout. It was a far cry from the Young’s but it was also nice to know that what we do brew is actually quite good compared to that of your craft beer that’s out there. And what is out there, too, is a sea of local and imported beer down at Dan Murphy’s. You will find what you like soon enough, but at least I know now that my “new” venture got some interesting rewards.
dann
message in a bottle
posted on June 24, 2010 in BeerBlog
When home brewing, everyone’s heard of the ‘exploding bottles’ story. You know, the guy (or girl) who tried to over carbonate the beer and get that extra little bit of alcohol? Then, overnight – whooshka! Shards of bottles everywhere! Well, I’ve got several stories to tell you but it’s not what you think.
What you probably haven’t heard of is bottles exploding in the freezer. You see, there is a very bad habit in this household of putting room temperature beers into the freezer. I’m very guilty of this, and so is my flat mate, Steve. Reason? Well, I’m sure you know but I’ll tell you anyway. This is so they can be cooled quickly, which means they can be poured into glasses more quickly. Therefore, this means you can drink them more quickly. I’ve sworn I’d never do it again, but the dreaded ‘exploding bottles’ reared its ugly head yet again.
And I dearly hope it’s the last time it happens. Seven of the best beers (and I’m talking 750ml bottles) were placed in the freezer at approximately 4pm. As we do, Steve and I start with drinking previous bottles of home brew already in the fridge; very cold and ready to drink. This allows us to kick things off in readiness for the World Cup matches starting at 9:30pm. I immediately then switch on my oven timer for 80 minutes. The alarm then goes off and I take out the beers to put back in to the fridge. Easy, huh?
Well, it’s not so easy. You see, dimwit here forgot to put on the timer! And so the ticking time bombs were on a mission to explode from that moment on. It’s like watching a slow motion version of Mission Impossible; these beer will self destruct in several hours. Good luck, dann. Well, I certainly needed more than luck, I needed a bloody miracle! As we sat outside drinking both home brew and craft brews it was more apparent that we weren’t going to remember to take those bottles out of the freezer.
And my guess is that freezer somehow blew its cold air into our brains. Why? Well, my excuse is we continually went back to the fridge in order to get more beer. Did we not remember to take those beers out of the freezer? Hell no! The lovely, cold beers from the fridge froze our brains solid, just like those bottles that were surely doing the same thing over that same period of time. Neither Steve or I had the foggiest of ideas what was to come the next morning.
The next morning, I quietly admit, was pretty sad and funny at the same time. A seemingly normal morning turned into complete shock and horror. What gave it away was the brown, sticky liquid on the floor running away from the fridge from the top of the freezer. As Steve opened the fridge he shouted treacherous obscenities that would even make Gordon Ramsay blush. I raised my head, looked up and saw carnage of the highest magnitude. It was like witnessing first hand an apocalyptic event.
So apocalyptic in fact that I didn’t say a word. I was actually silent, a bit like a tornado that’s just ravished several US towns and all you can do is look on at the devastation. But just like those people that are left behind to clean up the mess, so were we. We not only cleaned up the mess but we also vowed not to do this again. Funny, ’cause I’ve got a few stories to tell you about that.
What you probably haven’t heard of is bottles exploding in the freezer. You see, there is a very bad habit in this household of putting room temperature beers into the freezer. I’m very guilty of this, and so is my flat mate, Steve. Reason? Well, I’m sure you know but I’ll tell you anyway. This is so they can be cooled quickly, which means they can be poured into glasses more quickly. Therefore, this means you can drink them more quickly. I’ve sworn I’d never do it again, but the dreaded ‘exploding bottles’ reared its ugly head yet again.
And I dearly hope it’s the last time it happens. Seven of the best beers (and I’m talking 750ml bottles) were placed in the freezer at approximately 4pm. As we do, Steve and I start with drinking previous bottles of home brew already in the fridge; very cold and ready to drink. This allows us to kick things off in readiness for the World Cup matches starting at 9:30pm. I immediately then switch on my oven timer for 80 minutes. The alarm then goes off and I take out the beers to put back in to the fridge. Easy, huh?
Well, it’s not so easy. You see, dimwit here forgot to put on the timer! And so the ticking time bombs were on a mission to explode from that moment on. It’s like watching a slow motion version of Mission Impossible; these beer will self destruct in several hours. Good luck, dann. Well, I certainly needed more than luck, I needed a bloody miracle! As we sat outside drinking both home brew and craft brews it was more apparent that we weren’t going to remember to take those bottles out of the freezer.
And my guess is that freezer somehow blew its cold air into our brains. Why? Well, my excuse is we continually went back to the fridge in order to get more beer. Did we not remember to take those beers out of the freezer? Hell no! The lovely, cold beers from the fridge froze our brains solid, just like those bottles that were surely doing the same thing over that same period of time. Neither Steve or I had the foggiest of ideas what was to come the next morning.
The next morning, I quietly admit, was pretty sad and funny at the same time. A seemingly normal morning turned into complete shock and horror. What gave it away was the brown, sticky liquid on the floor running away from the fridge from the top of the freezer. As Steve opened the fridge he shouted treacherous obscenities that would even make Gordon Ramsay blush. I raised my head, looked up and saw carnage of the highest magnitude. It was like witnessing first hand an apocalyptic event.
So apocalyptic in fact that I didn’t say a word. I was actually silent, a bit like a tornado that’s just ravished several US towns and all you can do is look on at the devastation. But just like those people that are left behind to clean up the mess, so were we. We not only cleaned up the mess but we also vowed not to do this again. Funny, ’cause I’ve got a few stories to tell you about that.
Proud to be an Australian
posted on June 20, 2010 in BeerBlog
Are you talkin’ to me? Can you move away from the TV, please? The World Cup is on! It’s an event that every football fan cannot miss. SInce I’m a football fan the chances of me missing this event were as likely as Hull City winning the English Premiership in 2011. I’ve tried my best to stay up and watch as many matches as I can, and it’s been tough. Having said that, it’s been very quite on the blog front due to the biggest sporting event in the world.
The World Cup brings everyone together. It’s something that even the mildly patriotic person will follow simply because their team is in the World Cup. It’s because of this reason that I’ve had a quite 11 or so days with no blogging. Surprisingly, sitting at home watching most of the games has been an unique experience. The first time I’ve watched a World Cup in a place I own, and the first time I’ve watched a World Cup while drinking the beer I brew. It’s quite a combination to behold.
And the combination of beers floating around the place is quite extraordinary. I’ll admit that I went to the local liquor shop to acquire some craft beer, but the main theme here is home brew. It’s just so much more satisfying watching England draw to both the USA and Algeria with a home brewed Chocolate Stout in your hand. It’s even more exciting when you have your infamous A-Team Amber Ale while watching the Ghana versus Australia game.
Haven’t Australia been somewhat disappointing so far? I’m not talking about the Ghana match when we were down to 10 men with only 3o minutes gone and still managed to get a great 1-1 draw. I’m talking about the fiasco of the Germany game. We’ve all read the reports, we’ve all had our two cents worth on what went wrong. Yes, Pim Verbeek made an organisational mistake. He admitted that, and that wasn’t something any fan could have missed.
Unfortunately, Germany didn’t miss either by clinically slotting away 4 goals. The goals were from precision-timed moves that somehow made Tag Heuer run like a Mickey Mouse watch on dead batteries. We all had hopes and dreams of a miraculous result, but it wasn’t to be. How were the Socceroos going to cope now? Yet more articles by journalists and more reading than the Pope reading to his disciples appeared in papers nationally. The post-morterm from many a reviewer clearly couldn’t understand why Verbeek did what he did. All us fans knew was a much better effort was required to have any hope whatsoever.
And that hope was restored against Ghana. A Brett Holman shot that rebounded off the ‘keeper via Mark Bresciano’s free kick made the score line 1-0 in favor of the Australians. It was nervous days for Harry Kewell, too. Sydney Morning Herald journalist, Mike Cockerill, blasted Kewell for reasons I don’t particularly agree with, but it was Kewell who holds an air of hope within the camp. He hustled and bustled is way around, created half chances and was a focal point in front of Holman. It was looking nice. It was looking good. Unfortunately, a driving shot from Ghana’s Mensah on 30 minutes hit Kewell on the arm right on the goal line. An immediate red card and resulting penalty was given; 1-1 read the score line. It was going to be a tough day playing with 10 men for the rest of the day.
But this is what we as Australian’s are; tough. A very tough group of individuals who pride ourselves on the work that we do and helping our fellow mates. We fought for our lives out there on the park and gave it 100%. We had that ‘never say die’ attitude, that ’show ‘em what we Aussies have got’, type of thing. It actually restored pride back in the team after the massive disappointment against Germany. It’s funny, though, that while the game was on I was sipping my A-Team Amber Ale. Just like the game, it was nice to put pride back in to Australian beer.
And just like the boys over in South Africa doing us proud, I’m proud of the fact my Amber Ale will be renamed after that spirited performance against the Ghanians; Aussie Amber Ale. The game reminded me of what my beer is all about; home grown, full of life, and passion showing through. I never doubted the Australian team couldn’t play good football, despite being a man down for most of the game. Never either have I doubted the Amber Ale, formerly known as A-Team Amber Ale. It’s something to be proud of.
In fact, I’m proud of both; our Socceroos and my Aussie Amber Ale. Regardless what happens to the Socceroos in the next game against Serbia, I’ll remember that night feeling glad to be Australian once again. Not that I never was proud, rather proud that we can play great football against not only difficult opposition, but in difficult circumstances. That’s why my home brewed beer has meaning this time ’round. The Australian team have given me something to cheer about, and write about, while I drink my home grown Aussie Amber Ale. It’s something I’m proud of, and all thanks to the biggest event in the world; the World Cup.
dann
The World Cup brings everyone together. It’s something that even the mildly patriotic person will follow simply because their team is in the World Cup. It’s because of this reason that I’ve had a quite 11 or so days with no blogging. Surprisingly, sitting at home watching most of the games has been an unique experience. The first time I’ve watched a World Cup in a place I own, and the first time I’ve watched a World Cup while drinking the beer I brew. It’s quite a combination to behold.
And the combination of beers floating around the place is quite extraordinary. I’ll admit that I went to the local liquor shop to acquire some craft beer, but the main theme here is home brew. It’s just so much more satisfying watching England draw to both the USA and Algeria with a home brewed Chocolate Stout in your hand. It’s even more exciting when you have your infamous A-Team Amber Ale while watching the Ghana versus Australia game.
Haven’t Australia been somewhat disappointing so far? I’m not talking about the Ghana match when we were down to 10 men with only 3o minutes gone and still managed to get a great 1-1 draw. I’m talking about the fiasco of the Germany game. We’ve all read the reports, we’ve all had our two cents worth on what went wrong. Yes, Pim Verbeek made an organisational mistake. He admitted that, and that wasn’t something any fan could have missed.
Unfortunately, Germany didn’t miss either by clinically slotting away 4 goals. The goals were from precision-timed moves that somehow made Tag Heuer run like a Mickey Mouse watch on dead batteries. We all had hopes and dreams of a miraculous result, but it wasn’t to be. How were the Socceroos going to cope now? Yet more articles by journalists and more reading than the Pope reading to his disciples appeared in papers nationally. The post-morterm from many a reviewer clearly couldn’t understand why Verbeek did what he did. All us fans knew was a much better effort was required to have any hope whatsoever.
And that hope was restored against Ghana. A Brett Holman shot that rebounded off the ‘keeper via Mark Bresciano’s free kick made the score line 1-0 in favor of the Australians. It was nervous days for Harry Kewell, too. Sydney Morning Herald journalist, Mike Cockerill, blasted Kewell for reasons I don’t particularly agree with, but it was Kewell who holds an air of hope within the camp. He hustled and bustled is way around, created half chances and was a focal point in front of Holman. It was looking nice. It was looking good. Unfortunately, a driving shot from Ghana’s Mensah on 30 minutes hit Kewell on the arm right on the goal line. An immediate red card and resulting penalty was given; 1-1 read the score line. It was going to be a tough day playing with 10 men for the rest of the day.
But this is what we as Australian’s are; tough. A very tough group of individuals who pride ourselves on the work that we do and helping our fellow mates. We fought for our lives out there on the park and gave it 100%. We had that ‘never say die’ attitude, that ’show ‘em what we Aussies have got’, type of thing. It actually restored pride back in the team after the massive disappointment against Germany. It’s funny, though, that while the game was on I was sipping my A-Team Amber Ale. Just like the game, it was nice to put pride back in to Australian beer.
And just like the boys over in South Africa doing us proud, I’m proud of the fact my Amber Ale will be renamed after that spirited performance against the Ghanians; Aussie Amber Ale. The game reminded me of what my beer is all about; home grown, full of life, and passion showing through. I never doubted the Australian team couldn’t play good football, despite being a man down for most of the game. Never either have I doubted the Amber Ale, formerly known as A-Team Amber Ale. It’s something to be proud of.
In fact, I’m proud of both; our Socceroos and my Aussie Amber Ale. Regardless what happens to the Socceroos in the next game against Serbia, I’ll remember that night feeling glad to be Australian once again. Not that I never was proud, rather proud that we can play great football against not only difficult opposition, but in difficult circumstances. That’s why my home brewed beer has meaning this time ’round. The Australian team have given me something to cheer about, and write about, while I drink my home grown Aussie Amber Ale. It’s something I’m proud of, and all thanks to the biggest event in the world; the World Cup.
dann
the hunt for beer october
posted on June 9, 2010 in BeerBlog
Are you able to help me here? I’m not sure about you but lately I’ve had the need to drink as many imported beers as possible. Maybe it’s just a fad? Regardless, I’ve just this weekend had the taste for it. My recent house warming party had seen a few of these European beers enter the fray. I’ve always loved European beers but just can’t afford the immense payout upon purchase.
Which is why I am grateful I didn’t have to pay for these foreign beers, as they were a gift for the party. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had imported beer that I felt unique. I mean, unique in the sense that it was like having them for the first time. You ever felt that way? Remember the beer you had years ago and when you drink it once again memories come flooding back? Well, it was a bit like that for me. Memories of an era when all things were nice and good.
And I tell you what, these imports were pretty good. As with everyone, I don’t like every single beer in the world but I do have my favourites. Nonetheless, it was nice to see my first foreign beer didn’t let me down (too much). It was a Stiegl from Austria. I could only describe it as Heineken on steroids. It did, however, have just that hint of aroma and taste like that of a DAB from Germany. What I can say is that it was definitely a Pilsner type of beer.
Yet another Pilsner type beer rolled in front of me, this time it was a Delirium Tremens from Belgium. To my surprise it was yet another example of a steroid-injected Heineken beer that had just had a major brawl with a Brown Bear, and won hands down. It also had that little bit of that DAB taste to it. Was I surprised? Actually, I was. Having these beers years ago meant something a lot more to me than it did now. Don’t get me wrong, these beers were very good but I had actually expected that little bit more.
And I got more of it, at least with the quantity of beer. Next in line was a Kozel Dark from the Czech Republic. A very sweet aroma, which, oddly enough, actually had a similar aroma to one of my dark ales I brewed recently. Not only did it have a sweetly smell, but it had the mouth feel similar to that of very soft marshmallows. For me that was a winner from the previous two, but it wasn’t all over just yet.
With the last of my foreign beers at the cusp of my lips, Efes from Turkey had its chance to shine. And shine it did with its unique taste. It was a far cry from the Stiegl or the Delirium Tremens. It’s taste, aroma and drinkability was far superior. It fitted perfectly to my palette on the day and seemed to have the ability to drag me in to another sip each time I did so. To me, it had that ‘just right’ feel.
But the most impressive beer on the night that was ‘just right’ for me actually didn’t end up being an import. Can you believe it? All the beers I tried, all the different types I had, it just didn’t have that bravado. After all the huffing and puffing going on about how I wanted to try foreign beer again, the likelihood of an Australian beer beating them was low. To my surprise I found out there was one beer that did that: Little Creatures Pale Ale. It had class, it had style. It had that je ne sais quoi about it. Nevertheless, it was something extraordinarily nice. Now that is much more within my price range of affordability.
dann
Which is why I am grateful I didn’t have to pay for these foreign beers, as they were a gift for the party. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had imported beer that I felt unique. I mean, unique in the sense that it was like having them for the first time. You ever felt that way? Remember the beer you had years ago and when you drink it once again memories come flooding back? Well, it was a bit like that for me. Memories of an era when all things were nice and good.
And I tell you what, these imports were pretty good. As with everyone, I don’t like every single beer in the world but I do have my favourites. Nonetheless, it was nice to see my first foreign beer didn’t let me down (too much). It was a Stiegl from Austria. I could only describe it as Heineken on steroids. It did, however, have just that hint of aroma and taste like that of a DAB from Germany. What I can say is that it was definitely a Pilsner type of beer.
Yet another Pilsner type beer rolled in front of me, this time it was a Delirium Tremens from Belgium. To my surprise it was yet another example of a steroid-injected Heineken beer that had just had a major brawl with a Brown Bear, and won hands down. It also had that little bit of that DAB taste to it. Was I surprised? Actually, I was. Having these beers years ago meant something a lot more to me than it did now. Don’t get me wrong, these beers were very good but I had actually expected that little bit more.
And I got more of it, at least with the quantity of beer. Next in line was a Kozel Dark from the Czech Republic. A very sweet aroma, which, oddly enough, actually had a similar aroma to one of my dark ales I brewed recently. Not only did it have a sweetly smell, but it had the mouth feel similar to that of very soft marshmallows. For me that was a winner from the previous two, but it wasn’t all over just yet.
With the last of my foreign beers at the cusp of my lips, Efes from Turkey had its chance to shine. And shine it did with its unique taste. It was a far cry from the Stiegl or the Delirium Tremens. It’s taste, aroma and drinkability was far superior. It fitted perfectly to my palette on the day and seemed to have the ability to drag me in to another sip each time I did so. To me, it had that ‘just right’ feel.
But the most impressive beer on the night that was ‘just right’ for me actually didn’t end up being an import. Can you believe it? All the beers I tried, all the different types I had, it just didn’t have that bravado. After all the huffing and puffing going on about how I wanted to try foreign beer again, the likelihood of an Australian beer beating them was low. To my surprise I found out there was one beer that did that: Little Creatures Pale Ale. It had class, it had style. It had that je ne sais quoi about it. Nevertheless, it was something extraordinarily nice. Now that is much more within my price range of affordability.
dann
In God we trust
posted on June 3, 2010 in BeerBlog
I believe in God, but it’s probably not the God you’re thinking about. I’m talking about the Beer God. OK, I just heard you laugh. Well, laugh all you want ’cause it’s just as ridiculous as any other crack-pot religious belief out there. At least my God graces this land giving us hops, grain and water. My God doesn’t hold any prejudices. My God makes everyone very happy.
So happy in fact that I worship the Beer God almost every day. Actually, not just myself but hundreds of thousands of people around the world worship the Beer God. It’s not as silly and childish as you think. Have you heard of Ninkasi? Probably not. Go on, I dare you to Google it. She is a beer goddesss, and a bloody good one at that.
The thing is that she is so good that I dream about my Beer God every day. Just like any other religion I take time in offering a symbolic gesture to my Beer God for good luck and prosperity. I hope you’re still not shaking your head at this article, are you? I hope not. The more you think this is silly the more I could disprove that thought. But I won’t do that now as all you have to do is read my previous blogs. That’ll show you how passionate I am about beer, let along my Beer God.
But what harm does it do to believe in a Beer God? None at all if you ask me. People of other religious faiths go to church, say their prayers and go in to a confessional to purge all their sins to the priest. I do something similar; I think about my home brewed beer when I’m at work. Sometimes a Tooheys New ad will get inside my head and rattle me silly. I am knocked senseless by this thought and then feel guilt inside. I go home, apologise to my Beer God, crack open a home brew and appease the masses by vowing not to blaspheme, as I lusciously pour down a deliciously cold Chocolate Stout. It’s that easy.
And it’s easy to think that religion is just that; a religion that has beliefs, which when one encompasses provides you with an inner sense of health and well-being. My Beer God is something similar; I believe that it has given me the opportunity to brew some of the finest home brewed beer this side of Sydney. It allows me to appreciate and love the hops, grain and water it provides. All I know is that my religion is my Beer God, and it makes me very, very happy.
So happy in fact that I worship the Beer God almost every day. Actually, not just myself but hundreds of thousands of people around the world worship the Beer God. It’s not as silly and childish as you think. Have you heard of Ninkasi? Probably not. Go on, I dare you to Google it. She is a beer goddesss, and a bloody good one at that.
The thing is that she is so good that I dream about my Beer God every day. Just like any other religion I take time in offering a symbolic gesture to my Beer God for good luck and prosperity. I hope you’re still not shaking your head at this article, are you? I hope not. The more you think this is silly the more I could disprove that thought. But I won’t do that now as all you have to do is read my previous blogs. That’ll show you how passionate I am about beer, let along my Beer God.
But what harm does it do to believe in a Beer God? None at all if you ask me. People of other religious faiths go to church, say their prayers and go in to a confessional to purge all their sins to the priest. I do something similar; I think about my home brewed beer when I’m at work. Sometimes a Tooheys New ad will get inside my head and rattle me silly. I am knocked senseless by this thought and then feel guilt inside. I go home, apologise to my Beer God, crack open a home brew and appease the masses by vowing not to blaspheme, as I lusciously pour down a deliciously cold Chocolate Stout. It’s that easy.
And it’s easy to think that religion is just that; a religion that has beliefs, which when one encompasses provides you with an inner sense of health and well-being. My Beer God is something similar; I believe that it has given me the opportunity to brew some of the finest home brewed beer this side of Sydney. It allows me to appreciate and love the hops, grain and water it provides. All I know is that my religion is my Beer God, and it makes me very, very happy.
…and now for something completely different
posted on June 3, 2010 in BeerBlog
A recent article from mX newspaper mentioned that over the million people surveyed, one in six Australian’s would leave their job because of their boss, not their jobs. That’s a lot of people hating their boss. But is the grass always greener on the other side?
That’s the thing. Just because you hate your boss doesn’t mean leaving will fix all your problems. Heck, over the years I’ve had some fairly ordinary bosses. Others have been quite good, just like where I am right now. But what if leaving does make the grass greener on the other side? Where would you go? What industry would you look to in order to turn your fortunes around? Me, I’d go straight into the brewing industry quicker than you can say Rumpelstiltskin.
So quick in fact that I wouldn’t have time to pack my belongings and take them home. But what to do in a brewery? There are heaps of opportunities just like any other jobs; marketing, communications, administration, team member, chief brewer, sanitiser, cleaner, bottler. Assuming that this change wouldn’t impact on any other financial matters it would certainly be an interesting position to take up.
And why wouldn’t you take up the offer? An exciting industry to be in, getting your hands dirty, multi-tasking, and even sampling the end product. Actually, that’d do me just fine. Sampling that product after a hard days work is just the ticket. Imagine getting a carton of the stuff each week as an incentive?
What more incentive do you need than to get fresh, tasty beer straight off the shelf? But do you see a problem here? Most breweries out there are the big conglomerates, and I’d prefer to work in a microbrewery. Imagine getting all the beer you can drink from Fosters? I don’t drink the stuff but I shudder to think who on earth I’d know to even pass it on to. What about Carlton and United Breweries? That stuff’s better but it’s something I wouldn’t drink any time soon.
What I would drink sometime soon is home brewed beer or anything from a microbrewery. Now that is a job and a half! Just think, working in a micro brewery like Dogfish Head. How about a job at Brewdog? Nice! Mind you, brewing your own beer at home doesn’t constitute leaving your job cause you ‘hate your boss’. It may be cool to do but it’s a road to disaster, unless you have some beneficiary lurking in the wind.
And one would hope that gust of wind is going to blow you away, right in the arms of a job you love doing; brewing beer. So as a home brewer and a full-time worker it certainly isn’t the best option to move into the brewing industry working alongside the big boys. It’s not about the pay. It’s about working in craft breweries. learning about texture, aroma, taste. Seems to me that working in a micro brewery is definitely greener on the other side.
That’s the thing. Just because you hate your boss doesn’t mean leaving will fix all your problems. Heck, over the years I’ve had some fairly ordinary bosses. Others have been quite good, just like where I am right now. But what if leaving does make the grass greener on the other side? Where would you go? What industry would you look to in order to turn your fortunes around? Me, I’d go straight into the brewing industry quicker than you can say Rumpelstiltskin.
So quick in fact that I wouldn’t have time to pack my belongings and take them home. But what to do in a brewery? There are heaps of opportunities just like any other jobs; marketing, communications, administration, team member, chief brewer, sanitiser, cleaner, bottler. Assuming that this change wouldn’t impact on any other financial matters it would certainly be an interesting position to take up.
And why wouldn’t you take up the offer? An exciting industry to be in, getting your hands dirty, multi-tasking, and even sampling the end product. Actually, that’d do me just fine. Sampling that product after a hard days work is just the ticket. Imagine getting a carton of the stuff each week as an incentive?
What more incentive do you need than to get fresh, tasty beer straight off the shelf? But do you see a problem here? Most breweries out there are the big conglomerates, and I’d prefer to work in a microbrewery. Imagine getting all the beer you can drink from Fosters? I don’t drink the stuff but I shudder to think who on earth I’d know to even pass it on to. What about Carlton and United Breweries? That stuff’s better but it’s something I wouldn’t drink any time soon.
What I would drink sometime soon is home brewed beer or anything from a microbrewery. Now that is a job and a half! Just think, working in a micro brewery like Dogfish Head. How about a job at Brewdog? Nice! Mind you, brewing your own beer at home doesn’t constitute leaving your job cause you ‘hate your boss’. It may be cool to do but it’s a road to disaster, unless you have some beneficiary lurking in the wind.
And one would hope that gust of wind is going to blow you away, right in the arms of a job you love doing; brewing beer. So as a home brewer and a full-time worker it certainly isn’t the best option to move into the brewing industry working alongside the big boys. It’s not about the pay. It’s about working in craft breweries. learning about texture, aroma, taste. Seems to me that working in a micro brewery is definitely greener on the other side.
I heard it through the grape vine
posted on May 25, 2010 in BeerBlog
It’s probably not a good idea to have the title I have writing about beer, but let me explain. It’s not long before I head off to the USA for a holiday and our Australian dollar is lower than a limbo dancer on the deck of a cruise ship. Just a few short weeks ago it was at a very eye-catching 93 cents. Tonight, it’s a lowly 83 cents. What more could go wrong?
I’ll tell you what else could go wrong. This crimps on my ability to spend more of my hard-earned money in the US. If I were to exchange my money now, I’d lose 10 cents for every dollar. That means $10 in every $100, and $100 in every $1,000. Can you see where I’m going with this? That is impacting on my ability to spend that money on beer, American beer.
I don’t mean those vomit-hurling American beers like Bud Light, Coors Light or Miller Lite. I’m talking more about the beers like Dogfish Head’s Midas Touch, New Belgium Brewing’s Fat Tire or Bell’s Brewery’s Oberon. The type of beer you can actually drink, and actually enjoy. You know, the type of beer that’s actually got taste.
And thanks to the exchange rate my taste for those beers is vastly evaporating. By the time my trip arrives who knows what our Aussie dollar will be like? I’m starting to panic that I wont get any bang for my buck. So, should I start investing in Ostrich farms again? Maybe putting money on Uri Geller telling James Randi he’s a fake? Unlikely on both counts. Maybe the sensible thing to do is to ride it out?
But riding this tidal wave out seems to be a daunting task. I don’t know where to turn, I don’t know what to do. I’ve got more chance of Obama coming to Australia than the Aussie dollar picking up. Oh, hang on. Err………, let me rephrase that. I’ve got more chance of Osama coming out to Australia that the Aussie dolloar picking up.
It better pick up, though. I’m not an economist, nor am I a financial investor. In fact, I can’t even use a calculator without swearing at it let alone working out how our Aussie dollar will perform. Perform? Gee, that sounds like it’s going to have sex under pressure and if it doesn’t ‘perform’ it’ll ruin the partnership altogether.
But I don’t want this partnership I have with the Aussie dollar to turn sour. I love the Aussie dollar, but I just want it to go higher so I can enjoy those beers over in the States. Is that too much to ask for? I see myself sipping an Oberon with an Outback Steakhouse meal. I see myself drinking a Fat Tire with an Aussie-style barbeque. But if the dollar doesn’t pick up, there’ll be no fancy beer for me. It’ll be back to the dishwashing liquid of Bud Light. What else could go wrong?
dann
I’ll tell you what else could go wrong. This crimps on my ability to spend more of my hard-earned money in the US. If I were to exchange my money now, I’d lose 10 cents for every dollar. That means $10 in every $100, and $100 in every $1,000. Can you see where I’m going with this? That is impacting on my ability to spend that money on beer, American beer.
I don’t mean those vomit-hurling American beers like Bud Light, Coors Light or Miller Lite. I’m talking more about the beers like Dogfish Head’s Midas Touch, New Belgium Brewing’s Fat Tire or Bell’s Brewery’s Oberon. The type of beer you can actually drink, and actually enjoy. You know, the type of beer that’s actually got taste.
And thanks to the exchange rate my taste for those beers is vastly evaporating. By the time my trip arrives who knows what our Aussie dollar will be like? I’m starting to panic that I wont get any bang for my buck. So, should I start investing in Ostrich farms again? Maybe putting money on Uri Geller telling James Randi he’s a fake? Unlikely on both counts. Maybe the sensible thing to do is to ride it out?
But riding this tidal wave out seems to be a daunting task. I don’t know where to turn, I don’t know what to do. I’ve got more chance of Obama coming to Australia than the Aussie dollar picking up. Oh, hang on. Err………, let me rephrase that. I’ve got more chance of Osama coming out to Australia that the Aussie dolloar picking up.
It better pick up, though. I’m not an economist, nor am I a financial investor. In fact, I can’t even use a calculator without swearing at it let alone working out how our Aussie dollar will perform. Perform? Gee, that sounds like it’s going to have sex under pressure and if it doesn’t ‘perform’ it’ll ruin the partnership altogether.
But I don’t want this partnership I have with the Aussie dollar to turn sour. I love the Aussie dollar, but I just want it to go higher so I can enjoy those beers over in the States. Is that too much to ask for? I see myself sipping an Oberon with an Outback Steakhouse meal. I see myself drinking a Fat Tire with an Aussie-style barbeque. But if the dollar doesn’t pick up, there’ll be no fancy beer for me. It’ll be back to the dishwashing liquid of Bud Light. What else could go wrong?
dann
welcome to the family
posted on in BeerBlog
This weekend that just passed got me thinking: what beers haven’t I brewed yet? I’m new at this game and have only been brewing for about nine months. In that time I’ve put down well over forty batches of beer. That’s quite a lot of beer, but it has been worth it. Nonetheless, I had to go through the detailed brew log book in order to see what exactly I had done.
And what I had done was a fair bit, thanks largely to my flat mate who is equally obsessive with home brewed beer. So what beers hadn’t been brewed yet? For a mere novice like myself, it became apparent that anything other than a Pale Ale, Amber Ale, Dark Ale, Stout, Wheat, Real, ESB or Bock was required to be brewed. Albeit I had many differing themes to those styles, I wanted something new.
That ’something new’ got me thinking again (and here I am thinking that one thought in a day was great!). Did I really want something ‘new’, say, like a Porter? How about a Belgian beer? A German lager, perhaps? Not this time, no. I reneged on my initial thought and went straight back to my brew log book and had another quick squiz. To my surprise there were two beers in that list that I only did once; one was an Amber Ale and the other was a Wheat beer. End of experimentation. How weird. They were the only beers I hadn’t brewed again nor tweaked in the slightest in all this time.
And this is a long time, nine months. So long, in fact, that it’s enough to have a baby! Well, technically speaking my beers are my ‘babies’ so they there is always new additions to the family. But I felt this one was special. That Amber Ale was actually my second attempt at brewing my own beer. The first, not surprisingly, was a Pale Ale. It’s taken me nine months to realise that in all this time I hadn’t brewed another Amber Ale. In nine months I didn’t tweak, fiddle nor fondle that Amber in any way, shape or form. It was a ’set and forget’ test beer. I’m sure of it.
So sure in fact that when reading my ‘notes’ on the beer it had lead me to believe that I had felt disheartened by the result. It read: “Lacks depth at the present moment. Alcohol content is apparent, however, has a watery taste to it. Simply lacks body and density and is slightly [sic] watery“. No wonder I didn’t brew it again. With a review like that I’m surprised David Stratton and Margaret Pomeranz weren’t somehow involved in it.
But the review was accurate, at least. So accurate that I had to right the wrongs of past indiscretions. Not to say this beer is going to be a kick-ass beer, rather it’s going to be a hell of a lot better than my first attempt back in September 2009. With new ingredients at hand (which can be viewed in the Beer Recipes section on this site) I rolled my sleeves up and was ready to rock ‘n’ roll all over this beer.
And without that rock ‘n’ roll approach this wouldn’t have even happened. It’s just so nice to have an idea, run with it, think of something else, run with that idea, forget the previous one and go with a gut feeling that you should do it to make you feel better. And, thankfully, now the Amber Ale is sitting quietly on the lounge room floor, fermenting its little heart out (or would that be CO2?). I now know what I’ve brewed so far and am in the safe realisation that I’ve introduced another family member to the stage.
dann
And what I had done was a fair bit, thanks largely to my flat mate who is equally obsessive with home brewed beer. So what beers hadn’t been brewed yet? For a mere novice like myself, it became apparent that anything other than a Pale Ale, Amber Ale, Dark Ale, Stout, Wheat, Real, ESB or Bock was required to be brewed. Albeit I had many differing themes to those styles, I wanted something new.
That ’something new’ got me thinking again (and here I am thinking that one thought in a day was great!). Did I really want something ‘new’, say, like a Porter? How about a Belgian beer? A German lager, perhaps? Not this time, no. I reneged on my initial thought and went straight back to my brew log book and had another quick squiz. To my surprise there were two beers in that list that I only did once; one was an Amber Ale and the other was a Wheat beer. End of experimentation. How weird. They were the only beers I hadn’t brewed again nor tweaked in the slightest in all this time.
And this is a long time, nine months. So long, in fact, that it’s enough to have a baby! Well, technically speaking my beers are my ‘babies’ so they there is always new additions to the family. But I felt this one was special. That Amber Ale was actually my second attempt at brewing my own beer. The first, not surprisingly, was a Pale Ale. It’s taken me nine months to realise that in all this time I hadn’t brewed another Amber Ale. In nine months I didn’t tweak, fiddle nor fondle that Amber in any way, shape or form. It was a ’set and forget’ test beer. I’m sure of it.
So sure in fact that when reading my ‘notes’ on the beer it had lead me to believe that I had felt disheartened by the result. It read: “Lacks depth at the present moment. Alcohol content is apparent, however, has a watery taste to it. Simply lacks body and density and is slightly [sic] watery“. No wonder I didn’t brew it again. With a review like that I’m surprised David Stratton and Margaret Pomeranz weren’t somehow involved in it.
But the review was accurate, at least. So accurate that I had to right the wrongs of past indiscretions. Not to say this beer is going to be a kick-ass beer, rather it’s going to be a hell of a lot better than my first attempt back in September 2009. With new ingredients at hand (which can be viewed in the Beer Recipes section on this site) I rolled my sleeves up and was ready to rock ‘n’ roll all over this beer.
And without that rock ‘n’ roll approach this wouldn’t have even happened. It’s just so nice to have an idea, run with it, think of something else, run with that idea, forget the previous one and go with a gut feeling that you should do it to make you feel better. And, thankfully, now the Amber Ale is sitting quietly on the lounge room floor, fermenting its little heart out (or would that be CO2?). I now know what I’ve brewed so far and am in the safe realisation that I’ve introduced another family member to the stage.
dann
the truth is out there
posted on May 24, 2010 in BeerBlog
This isn’t going to be about UFO’s. The truth is actually out there, but it’s more to do with brewing beer. Well, not so much brewing it, rather drinking it. A few of weeks ago I went to the pub with a few people. I had several drinks and things were going well. It wasn’t the best beer available but, alas, you have to put up with it. Needless to say the next morning I woke up with a headache bigger than the Grand Canyon.
So big in fact that the ever expanding universe couldn’t have engulfed my headache. It was that big. I struggled out of bed and had a shower thinking why on earth I had this headache when other times I drink it wasn’t a problem. I can assure you that I didn’t indulge. I’m sure it was the cloudiness of my thought processes that slowed my response, but it was a response worth noting: I don’t have headaches when I drink my home brew.
And my home brew is pure as the driven snow. No artificial colours. No artificial flavours. No artificial nothing. It’s so exhilarating to experience and enjoy a beer that doesn’t give you a whack on the head the next morning. It also shows that I haven’t had a ‘normal’ beer for ages for it gave me a throbbing head. So much so that I had to take some Panadol to help with the relief.
Thankfully, relief is at always at hand: home brewed beer. By no means did I sink home brews when I got home. What I’m saying is that home brewed beer takes away any of the guess work relating to pub beer. Drink normal pub beer at your peril. Personally, I’d rather sit back, relax and enjoy several home brews in the safe knowledge that I will wake up next morning bright as a button.
dann
So big in fact that the ever expanding universe couldn’t have engulfed my headache. It was that big. I struggled out of bed and had a shower thinking why on earth I had this headache when other times I drink it wasn’t a problem. I can assure you that I didn’t indulge. I’m sure it was the cloudiness of my thought processes that slowed my response, but it was a response worth noting: I don’t have headaches when I drink my home brew.
And my home brew is pure as the driven snow. No artificial colours. No artificial flavours. No artificial nothing. It’s so exhilarating to experience and enjoy a beer that doesn’t give you a whack on the head the next morning. It also shows that I haven’t had a ‘normal’ beer for ages for it gave me a throbbing head. So much so that I had to take some Panadol to help with the relief.
Thankfully, relief is at always at hand: home brewed beer. By no means did I sink home brews when I got home. What I’m saying is that home brewed beer takes away any of the guess work relating to pub beer. Drink normal pub beer at your peril. Personally, I’d rather sit back, relax and enjoy several home brews in the safe knowledge that I will wake up next morning bright as a button.
dann
if only Chocolate Stout could cure a high fever
posted on May 21, 2010 in BeerBlog
As you read this I am as sick as a dog. High fever, headaches galore, sore body and extremely tired. These are flu symptoms. Why I am writing this? Well, I’ve just woken up after a very long sleep. Actually, two days of this is getting me down. I can’t get to sleep again just yet, so maybe writing something will fill the void before yet another long nap. The unfortunate thing about this fever is that I can’t drink any beer while I’ve still got it. At least that’s the impression I got from my Doctor.
When I went to see my local Doctor he told me this: ‘Drink plenty of liquids; water, tea, cordial. You know, things like that’. Well, I didn’t hear him say I couldn’t drink beer. Beer is a liquid, right? Ok, nice try but my gut feeling says he didn’t mean it in that way. Problem is that as I thought I’d get away with simply taking aspirin for the next few days, he gives me a prescription. ‘Take this to the chemist and ask for this. It will help you get rid of your headaches, body aches and fever in a few days,’ the Doctor said. Sure, shouldn’t be a problem,I thought.
Actually, there was a problem. As I walked up to the chemist and asked for this prescription the guy over counter said; ‘Easy, peasy’. I remarked saying that if only getting rid of this fever was as easy as that! He chuckled and replied back; ‘If you take this twice a day for a few days it will be that easy’. I smiled, paid the bloke and walked calmly out of the store. As I started reading the label at the back it clearly stated: avoid drinking alcohol. I knew then it was going to be a tough few days.
It sure will be hell of a tough few days. That was only yesterday! Oh boy, do I wish a Chocolate Stout could cure a high fever right now. I’m busting to take the tiniest of sips. The minutest amount ever recorded in human history. OK, just one schooner of Chocolate Stout. Just one. I promise that’s it! Maybe I should take the advice of my Doctor and drink ‘liquids’. I shouldn’t believe everything I read, right? In any case, I might just crack open a Ginger Beer. Now, all I need is the Ginger and I’m done. Cheers!
dann
When I went to see my local Doctor he told me this: ‘Drink plenty of liquids; water, tea, cordial. You know, things like that’. Well, I didn’t hear him say I couldn’t drink beer. Beer is a liquid, right? Ok, nice try but my gut feeling says he didn’t mean it in that way. Problem is that as I thought I’d get away with simply taking aspirin for the next few days, he gives me a prescription. ‘Take this to the chemist and ask for this. It will help you get rid of your headaches, body aches and fever in a few days,’ the Doctor said. Sure, shouldn’t be a problem,I thought.
Actually, there was a problem. As I walked up to the chemist and asked for this prescription the guy over counter said; ‘Easy, peasy’. I remarked saying that if only getting rid of this fever was as easy as that! He chuckled and replied back; ‘If you take this twice a day for a few days it will be that easy’. I smiled, paid the bloke and walked calmly out of the store. As I started reading the label at the back it clearly stated: avoid drinking alcohol. I knew then it was going to be a tough few days.
It sure will be hell of a tough few days. That was only yesterday! Oh boy, do I wish a Chocolate Stout could cure a high fever right now. I’m busting to take the tiniest of sips. The minutest amount ever recorded in human history. OK, just one schooner of Chocolate Stout. Just one. I promise that’s it! Maybe I should take the advice of my Doctor and drink ‘liquids’. I shouldn’t believe everything I read, right? In any case, I might just crack open a Ginger Beer. Now, all I need is the Ginger and I’m done. Cheers!
dann
indulging in your (crazy) fantasies
posted on May 20, 2010 in BeerBlog
It’s now officially true. I’m certifiably crazy, although I don’t have any certification to prove it (yet). The other week someone prompted me, suggesting that I come up with a ‘fantasy’ list. This list contained the top ten things/items I would want if I happen to be stranded on a deserted island. Although I didn’t know what to say immediately, I thought it best to allow the other person to start off with theirs.
And their list consisted of what I would presume to be “normal” things/items. My friend “Phillip” (not his real name) told me that stuff like; have a beautiful girl, never ending supply of music to listen to, a cool car with all the petrol you can have. You know, things like that. It wasn’t a bad list, but I could tell there were many flaws in his selection process.
Those flaws allowed me to ascertain that he was trying to fulfill a dream that he hadn’t quite reached. A goal that hadn’t been fully achieved. You know that apple tree with the juiciest apple on it that you just can’t quite grab even though you’re on your tipi toes? Anyway, I can see the tremendous benefits of having a beautiful, scantily clad women at your fingertips, but I also saw a downside to many of his other options. Needless to say that each person is different, but when I read out my list to him the look in his eyes was one of: are you on drugs, pal?
No. I’m not on drugs, “pal”. It’s a list I reasonably conjured up and am quite comfortable with. My never ending list was: a fermenter (with lid), an airlock, grommet, tap, hydrometer, candy thermometer, stainless steel kettle (preferably 35Lt), gas bottle, grain crop and a hops crop. Now, that’s exactly ten items and it was something that got me the “you’re stupid” look.
But if you think about it, I’m not stupid. Stranded on a desert island with no beer? Are you crazy?! You can keep your beautiful women, as she’ll grow old one day. You can have your fast cars, as soon they’ll rust. You can have all the music in the world to listen to, as soon it’ll be out of fashion. All I want is to enjoy the never ending supply of brewing your own beer. Mind you, why do I want to be stranded on a desert island when I can do all this now? It’s because I’m already living the dream and still want more no matter what world, or otherwise, I am in.
dann
And their list consisted of what I would presume to be “normal” things/items. My friend “Phillip” (not his real name) told me that stuff like; have a beautiful girl, never ending supply of music to listen to, a cool car with all the petrol you can have. You know, things like that. It wasn’t a bad list, but I could tell there were many flaws in his selection process.
Those flaws allowed me to ascertain that he was trying to fulfill a dream that he hadn’t quite reached. A goal that hadn’t been fully achieved. You know that apple tree with the juiciest apple on it that you just can’t quite grab even though you’re on your tipi toes? Anyway, I can see the tremendous benefits of having a beautiful, scantily clad women at your fingertips, but I also saw a downside to many of his other options. Needless to say that each person is different, but when I read out my list to him the look in his eyes was one of: are you on drugs, pal?
No. I’m not on drugs, “pal”. It’s a list I reasonably conjured up and am quite comfortable with. My never ending list was: a fermenter (with lid), an airlock, grommet, tap, hydrometer, candy thermometer, stainless steel kettle (preferably 35Lt), gas bottle, grain crop and a hops crop. Now, that’s exactly ten items and it was something that got me the “you’re stupid” look.
But if you think about it, I’m not stupid. Stranded on a desert island with no beer? Are you crazy?! You can keep your beautiful women, as she’ll grow old one day. You can have your fast cars, as soon they’ll rust. You can have all the music in the world to listen to, as soon it’ll be out of fashion. All I want is to enjoy the never ending supply of brewing your own beer. Mind you, why do I want to be stranded on a desert island when I can do all this now? It’s because I’m already living the dream and still want more no matter what world, or otherwise, I am in.
dann
leave me alone you green bastard
posted on May 19, 2010 in BeerBlog
I got pulled up the other day about the environment. Some god forsaken twenty-something young girl with a white t-shirt, pretty blonde hair and more make-up than Marilyn Manson. Ugh! Sure, she was cute but what come from her mouth was just plain disappointing: ‘Excuse me, Sir. Would you like to help the environment? Help save the trees and our planet?’ A very flat ‘No’ was my response, as I continued to walk away. ‘Don’t you care about the environment!?,’ as the tone increased in her disappointment in my response. Oh, but I do care about it ‘Little Miss Greenie’. More than you actually want to know.
What she didn’t know is that I brew my own beer. But how does that help the environment, I hear you ask? That’s an easy question. I recycle. Isn’t that what this environmental jelly-head wanted to tell me? I’m sure it was, but nowadays some have ulterior motives on greenhouse gases, climate change and other long-winded agendas. I remember the days when just simply recycling products was helping the environment. What ever happened to the cash-a-can commercials with Pat Cash? They were all about recycling.
And that’s what I’m doing: I’m simply recycling. I recycle my bottles. I use and reuse my bottles day in, day out. I’m not one of those people that throw them onto roads and have the millions of shards poking out in order to cut peoples’ feet. I’m not the person that leaves empty bottles on street corners or pathways just for fun. I will, however, put a broken bottle into the recycle bin. Of course, that’s the proper way to deal with bottles that you don’t need.
But what I don’t need is dimwits on the street telling me about the environment. The fact that I don’t even drive a car, walk as much as I can, take the bus only when necessary and brew my own beer suggests that I actually do help the environment. How about reusing yeast? How about the grain used being replenished into the ground? Would our green friend have cared about that? Probably not, as I’m sure they have an agenda to push. So, please my green friends: piss off now and leave me alone. I actually do more to help the environment that you ever wanted to know.
dann
What she didn’t know is that I brew my own beer. But how does that help the environment, I hear you ask? That’s an easy question. I recycle. Isn’t that what this environmental jelly-head wanted to tell me? I’m sure it was, but nowadays some have ulterior motives on greenhouse gases, climate change and other long-winded agendas. I remember the days when just simply recycling products was helping the environment. What ever happened to the cash-a-can commercials with Pat Cash? They were all about recycling.
And that’s what I’m doing: I’m simply recycling. I recycle my bottles. I use and reuse my bottles day in, day out. I’m not one of those people that throw them onto roads and have the millions of shards poking out in order to cut peoples’ feet. I’m not the person that leaves empty bottles on street corners or pathways just for fun. I will, however, put a broken bottle into the recycle bin. Of course, that’s the proper way to deal with bottles that you don’t need.
But what I don’t need is dimwits on the street telling me about the environment. The fact that I don’t even drive a car, walk as much as I can, take the bus only when necessary and brew my own beer suggests that I actually do help the environment. How about reusing yeast? How about the grain used being replenished into the ground? Would our green friend have cared about that? Probably not, as I’m sure they have an agenda to push. So, please my green friends: piss off now and leave me alone. I actually do more to help the environment that you ever wanted to know.
dann
failing is part of being successful
posted on May 11, 2010 in BeerBlog
I failed. I brewed a 19 liter batch of beer and it didn’t work. I failed. Yes, I have to admit it went as belly-up as a beached whale. My Banana Stout was of pure genius. Einstein himself would have given it a thumbs up. Alas, what I thought was going to be a ripper of a beer turned into a disaster that’d make the Titanic look like a mini tug boat had sunk.
And boy did my beer sink. It sunk to new depths. Not so much the beer, per say, but rather the emotions going through my mind. How the hell did I stuff up? Was it something we did? Did we not follow all our protocols and procedures to that of others that were successful? I was at a crossroads.
Those crossroads led to me take stock and look at it from a different angle. I went through the process of going back to remember if the equipment was clean, ingredients were fresh, our processes properly followed and if there was any chance of contamination. Everything checked out fine. Except for one thing I had neglected to consider.
That consideration would lead me directly the source of the issue. One morning, hurriedly running out of the house to go to work, a quick peek at the fermenter found no water in the airlock. I didn’t bat an eyelid, rather it didn’t click that this was a problem on its own.
And the problem was I hadn’t checked for days on end if there had been water in that airlock. Stupid me. Anything from dust, germs, dodgy air particles and so forth could have entered via the airlock, into the fermenter and destroyed the beer by contaminating the yeast. Quite simple, really.
So simple in fact that I’m actually glad I failed. This failure has taught me a valuable lesson: check daily the amount of water you have in your airlock, for it may contaminate your brew. Failure may not be an option in some cases, but learning from ones mistakes will certainly put you in good stead to be very much successful in the future.
dann
And boy did my beer sink. It sunk to new depths. Not so much the beer, per say, but rather the emotions going through my mind. How the hell did I stuff up? Was it something we did? Did we not follow all our protocols and procedures to that of others that were successful? I was at a crossroads.
Those crossroads led to me take stock and look at it from a different angle. I went through the process of going back to remember if the equipment was clean, ingredients were fresh, our processes properly followed and if there was any chance of contamination. Everything checked out fine. Except for one thing I had neglected to consider.
That consideration would lead me directly the source of the issue. One morning, hurriedly running out of the house to go to work, a quick peek at the fermenter found no water in the airlock. I didn’t bat an eyelid, rather it didn’t click that this was a problem on its own.
And the problem was I hadn’t checked for days on end if there had been water in that airlock. Stupid me. Anything from dust, germs, dodgy air particles and so forth could have entered via the airlock, into the fermenter and destroyed the beer by contaminating the yeast. Quite simple, really.
So simple in fact that I’m actually glad I failed. This failure has taught me a valuable lesson: check daily the amount of water you have in your airlock, for it may contaminate your brew. Failure may not be an option in some cases, but learning from ones mistakes will certainly put you in good stead to be very much successful in the future.
dann
how to lose friends and discourage people
posted on in BeerBlog
I would like to congratulate all the big breweries in Australia. You’re work within our cities has been phenomenal in producing clear evidence that you like pissing off Australians. This news isn’t actually new. It’s old news, but it’s worth while just to reiterate how these idiots operate.
And how they operate makes me shake my head in disgust. For the last couple of years I’ve been unable to attend any sporting events due to monetary constraints. However, I have gone with friends when they’ve had a spare ticket or were kind enough to shout me a free ticket. Recently, I attended a sporting event with a mate. It was then I discovered the mother of all rorts.
That rort was this: paying $4.50 for a crappy beer in a flimsy plastic cup. I admit that I didn’t buy a beer, nor went anywhere close in obtaining one through other means. All I did was go and fork out money for some fish and chips with a bottle of water. That in itself was over $13. Yet another complete rip-off.
But the biggest rip-off was the beer itself. A simple Tooheys New. How you can justify paying $4.50 for a mediocre beer (at best) is beyond me. I am only guessing that it’s like the famous phrase: Why do dogs lick their balls? Answer: because they can. So my guess is that the reason why breweries charge that amount for dog piss is for that reason alone: because they can.
And they can do whatever the hell they want. The same people that purport to want your custom, want you to choose their beer and want you to continually buy their accessories. What a bloody joke! Thank God I brew my own beer and don’t have to choose. They provide an average beverage, charge a ludicrous amount and expect you to lump it. Well done Australian breweries for losing friends and discouraging people from drinking your product.
dann
And how they operate makes me shake my head in disgust. For the last couple of years I’ve been unable to attend any sporting events due to monetary constraints. However, I have gone with friends when they’ve had a spare ticket or were kind enough to shout me a free ticket. Recently, I attended a sporting event with a mate. It was then I discovered the mother of all rorts.
That rort was this: paying $4.50 for a crappy beer in a flimsy plastic cup. I admit that I didn’t buy a beer, nor went anywhere close in obtaining one through other means. All I did was go and fork out money for some fish and chips with a bottle of water. That in itself was over $13. Yet another complete rip-off.
But the biggest rip-off was the beer itself. A simple Tooheys New. How you can justify paying $4.50 for a mediocre beer (at best) is beyond me. I am only guessing that it’s like the famous phrase: Why do dogs lick their balls? Answer: because they can. So my guess is that the reason why breweries charge that amount for dog piss is for that reason alone: because they can.
And they can do whatever the hell they want. The same people that purport to want your custom, want you to choose their beer and want you to continually buy their accessories. What a bloody joke! Thank God I brew my own beer and don’t have to choose. They provide an average beverage, charge a ludicrous amount and expect you to lump it. Well done Australian breweries for losing friends and discouraging people from drinking your product.
dann
how to beat the beer blues
posted on in BeerBlog
I admit it. I’m at work and thinking about knock-off time and going home. I’m also thinking about what type of beer I should grab when I get there. You know that first, true beer in your mouth feeling? It sends shivers down my spine. My thoughts are rattling around like an aging Volkswagen engine.
It’s not only my mind that’s rattling, but my whole body. But how do I go about beating those beer blues? Easy. I indulge in a little game of ‘Pick that Beer’. It’s not a game that you, the reader, know of.It’s simply just a game to ease the pain in my half-arsed attempt to keep my mind occupied.
And keeping my mind occupied ’til knock-off time is paramount to my survival. So in order to beat my ‘beer blues’ I simply select a dark or light ale depending on my mood on the day. If I’m in a grumpy or agitated mood then I’ll go a Stout. If I’m in a lazy or nonchalant mood I will pick the light ale.
But picking ales on a cold, miserable day is difficult. I tried changing my mood at work once and it really put a dampener on things. I was feeling agitated all day, then someone asked me to do some work which required me to be busy for three hours. Heck, that three hours turned me into a lazy person. So, do I pick the ale when I get home?
Going home I’m often in a different mood, so choosing a beer is difficult. The only option I have in all this is dream up concoctions ‘on the fly’ during work, dream up sequences of what brews to drink and by the time I get home just crack open a bottle and start pouring. It may not be rocket science, but at least it gets my mind off work and start thinking about the more important things in life: drinking home brewed beer, no matter what it is.
dann
It’s not only my mind that’s rattling, but my whole body. But how do I go about beating those beer blues? Easy. I indulge in a little game of ‘Pick that Beer’. It’s not a game that you, the reader, know of.It’s simply just a game to ease the pain in my half-arsed attempt to keep my mind occupied.
And keeping my mind occupied ’til knock-off time is paramount to my survival. So in order to beat my ‘beer blues’ I simply select a dark or light ale depending on my mood on the day. If I’m in a grumpy or agitated mood then I’ll go a Stout. If I’m in a lazy or nonchalant mood I will pick the light ale.
But picking ales on a cold, miserable day is difficult. I tried changing my mood at work once and it really put a dampener on things. I was feeling agitated all day, then someone asked me to do some work which required me to be busy for three hours. Heck, that three hours turned me into a lazy person. So, do I pick the ale when I get home?
Going home I’m often in a different mood, so choosing a beer is difficult. The only option I have in all this is dream up concoctions ‘on the fly’ during work, dream up sequences of what brews to drink and by the time I get home just crack open a bottle and start pouring. It may not be rocket science, but at least it gets my mind off work and start thinking about the more important things in life: drinking home brewed beer, no matter what it is.
dann
hit me with your best shot
posted on May 3, 2010 in BeerBlog
Fire away! That was the phrase I used one day when told that an over the counter tap beer could beat my home brewed beer. Yeah, right! Are you mad? Well, the person that asked me certainly was. Either that or this person wasn’t as educated as I was. So, with all smiles I asked them to prove it. Suffice to say that they didn’t need a long neck to be a goose.
And it was a long neck that I brought out from the fridge that had the beer that could shake a nation. I could rattle the coins out of a salvo’s aluminum tin can. I had the beer that could’ve put hair on a bald man’s head. It was Australian beer with balls. The beer was that good.
How good? The ‘offender’ said that I’d be hard pressed beating a Heineken or a Blue Tongue. Failing that, there was no way it’d be better than a Kingfisher or a James Boags. Heck, I probably wouldn’t even stand a chance against the James Squires Amber Ale.
But my secret weapon beer wasn’t an amber ale. Not even close. It was a creation so cunning and so full of flavor that it was to blow even myself away. My recipe called upon was: Skippy (the bush Kangaroo). A stoutish looking beer that had more body than Elle Macpherson, more aroma than a florist stall and more kick than a badass mule. It was one rocking beer.
It was so ‘rocking’ that the person in question later conceded that my beer was better. By some margin, in fact. It was even contended that it was the best beer he had tasted. So, do you think you’ve got a beer from tap that can beat mine? Go on, I dare you to compare. Why don’t you hit me with your best shot?
And it was a long neck that I brought out from the fridge that had the beer that could shake a nation. I could rattle the coins out of a salvo’s aluminum tin can. I had the beer that could’ve put hair on a bald man’s head. It was Australian beer with balls. The beer was that good.
How good? The ‘offender’ said that I’d be hard pressed beating a Heineken or a Blue Tongue. Failing that, there was no way it’d be better than a Kingfisher or a James Boags. Heck, I probably wouldn’t even stand a chance against the James Squires Amber Ale.
But my secret weapon beer wasn’t an amber ale. Not even close. It was a creation so cunning and so full of flavor that it was to blow even myself away. My recipe called upon was: Skippy (the bush Kangaroo). A stoutish looking beer that had more body than Elle Macpherson, more aroma than a florist stall and more kick than a badass mule. It was one rocking beer.
It was so ‘rocking’ that the person in question later conceded that my beer was better. By some margin, in fact. It was even contended that it was the best beer he had tasted. So, do you think you’ve got a beer from tap that can beat mine? Go on, I dare you to compare. Why don’t you hit me with your best shot?
Ebony and Ivory. Perfect harmony?
posted on in BeerBlog
Forget world hunger. Forget the the Australian economy. Don’t worry about the increasing interest rate rises! Unlock those western-style shackles of democracy and engage in something more exciting. More daring. Let me introduce you to the topic that is on everybody’s lips: Stouts versus Pale Ales. Are they really the ebony and ivory of the beer world?
They may be ebony and ivory, but they certainly are chalk and cheese. However, they both have advantages. Look at the Stout; a firm bodied beer that sometimes has got chocolate overtones, possibly coffee. A Stout that has roasted barley or black grain. The distinctive aroma of a Stout that so much blows you away that the winds of Hurricane Katrina aren’t strong enough to pull you away from it. It’s great for the winter chill and given that it’s an over-bodied beer that you could technically eat, it serves a purpose in life. That is something the Pale Ale can’t do.
What it can do, though, is provide the floral aroma that makes you sing ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’. It glows with the yellow color of the Sun, so bright with texture and freedom that you’d wish Mary Poppins had left her umbrella in your lounge so, you too, could be lifted away into the clouds. What, it doesn’t do that to you? Ah, OK. Er-hem. Meanwhile, back at the ranch…..
OK, so you don’t think like that. Fine. I’m a believer that strong, dark, heavy beers are for winter. The so-called ‘lighter’ colored beers are for summer. There’s no scientific method in my reasoning, rather what tastes better during those months. And it’s what tastes better during these months is a major factor in brewing the correct beer. But what is the correct beer to brew, you ask?
Brewing the correct beer is easy. Just stick to your most favored beer during the winter and summer months. Period. Although I’d still ask you to brew a Stout in winter and an Ale in summer, I canot necessarily tell you what to brew. Suffice to say that they work both in winter and in summer for various reasons. You may not be fussy in which beer to brew, but brewing both during the correct times certainly provides a perfect harmony that everyone can enjoy.
dann
They may be ebony and ivory, but they certainly are chalk and cheese. However, they both have advantages. Look at the Stout; a firm bodied beer that sometimes has got chocolate overtones, possibly coffee. A Stout that has roasted barley or black grain. The distinctive aroma of a Stout that so much blows you away that the winds of Hurricane Katrina aren’t strong enough to pull you away from it. It’s great for the winter chill and given that it’s an over-bodied beer that you could technically eat, it serves a purpose in life. That is something the Pale Ale can’t do.
What it can do, though, is provide the floral aroma that makes you sing ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’. It glows with the yellow color of the Sun, so bright with texture and freedom that you’d wish Mary Poppins had left her umbrella in your lounge so, you too, could be lifted away into the clouds. What, it doesn’t do that to you? Ah, OK. Er-hem. Meanwhile, back at the ranch…..
OK, so you don’t think like that. Fine. I’m a believer that strong, dark, heavy beers are for winter. The so-called ‘lighter’ colored beers are for summer. There’s no scientific method in my reasoning, rather what tastes better during those months. And it’s what tastes better during these months is a major factor in brewing the correct beer. But what is the correct beer to brew, you ask?
Brewing the correct beer is easy. Just stick to your most favored beer during the winter and summer months. Period. Although I’d still ask you to brew a Stout in winter and an Ale in summer, I canot necessarily tell you what to brew. Suffice to say that they work both in winter and in summer for various reasons. You may not be fussy in which beer to brew, but brewing both during the correct times certainly provides a perfect harmony that everyone can enjoy.
dann
say it ain’t so, joe
posted on in BeerBlog
OK, no more Sarah Palin-isms. I promise! But what brings me to this is the famous quotes across the length and breadth of our land about beer. I’ve always wondered how us normal Aussie blokes go about obtaining a beer. Whether it’s over the bar, across the room or at a mate’s place for several bevvies.
Those same bevvies have an inordinate amount of explaining to do. They get us into trouble with the missus, they make us speak truths only other blokes know about and makes us hug other blokes for no apparent reason. But how do we get that beer? What’s the lingo used nowadays to get one?
Maybe if you’re in a pub you might simply say; ‘VB, thanks’. That’s simple enough. If you’re with mates you may need to say something like; ‘Two VB’s, a Carlton, one Reschs and a Tooheys,’ as you scream across a noisy bar. From across the room you might say; “Hey! A couple of schooners over here” (as you point to you and your mate). But this is the ultimate; grabbing a beer within earshot of the of the missus, which may go along the lines of; “Babe, you want a drink? I’m off to get a one as well,” as the eyebrows raise in innocence as if you cared what on earth she actually wanted.
But you should care. In fact, we all should care how we get a beer. I’ve never seen anyone successfully get a schooner by acting as drunk as a skunk that’s had a month of Sunday’s worth of beer. Apart from the slurred words, you’d probably knock something over while trying to get one, abuse someone you always hated and somehow manage to work out world peace all within the confines of a schooner glass.
And that schooner glass is something you treat well. You need not be angry when ordering. You need not be abusive, rather be kind and gentle. Treat it like your missus; be gentle, be informed of what you’re going to do, keep a cool head and speak positively. Asking for a beer need not be rocket science, rather an art form that needs to be carefully nurtured. Asking the right way will go a long way.
So long in fact that you’ll be able to fool your friends, family, loved ones and the people you hate most. Importantly, they’ll be so jealous on how you ask for a beer that they’ll end up saying exactly what you’re saying. In fact, they’ll even trust your verbal requests for beer and take them as gospel for getting one, and without fuss. The only problem is that if you start talking gibberish long enough you’ll end up looking like a goose. So, next time you order a beer just remember to actually mean what you say. The Sarah Palin exercise of talking complete gibberish with cheap, wannabe words will have nothing but disastrous consequences. Say it ain’t so, Joe.
dann
Those same bevvies have an inordinate amount of explaining to do. They get us into trouble with the missus, they make us speak truths only other blokes know about and makes us hug other blokes for no apparent reason. But how do we get that beer? What’s the lingo used nowadays to get one?
Maybe if you’re in a pub you might simply say; ‘VB, thanks’. That’s simple enough. If you’re with mates you may need to say something like; ‘Two VB’s, a Carlton, one Reschs and a Tooheys,’ as you scream across a noisy bar. From across the room you might say; “Hey! A couple of schooners over here” (as you point to you and your mate). But this is the ultimate; grabbing a beer within earshot of the of the missus, which may go along the lines of; “Babe, you want a drink? I’m off to get a one as well,” as the eyebrows raise in innocence as if you cared what on earth she actually wanted.
But you should care. In fact, we all should care how we get a beer. I’ve never seen anyone successfully get a schooner by acting as drunk as a skunk that’s had a month of Sunday’s worth of beer. Apart from the slurred words, you’d probably knock something over while trying to get one, abuse someone you always hated and somehow manage to work out world peace all within the confines of a schooner glass.
And that schooner glass is something you treat well. You need not be angry when ordering. You need not be abusive, rather be kind and gentle. Treat it like your missus; be gentle, be informed of what you’re going to do, keep a cool head and speak positively. Asking for a beer need not be rocket science, rather an art form that needs to be carefully nurtured. Asking the right way will go a long way.
So long in fact that you’ll be able to fool your friends, family, loved ones and the people you hate most. Importantly, they’ll be so jealous on how you ask for a beer that they’ll end up saying exactly what you’re saying. In fact, they’ll even trust your verbal requests for beer and take them as gospel for getting one, and without fuss. The only problem is that if you start talking gibberish long enough you’ll end up looking like a goose. So, next time you order a beer just remember to actually mean what you say. The Sarah Palin exercise of talking complete gibberish with cheap, wannabe words will have nothing but disastrous consequences. Say it ain’t so, Joe.
dann
what to do if you run out of beer?
posted on in BeerBlog
Don’t you hate it when there’s no beer in the fridge? It’s bad, isn’t it? I had one such night recently that indicated to me that I had to take drastic measures to ensure that it never happened again. It’s not that it was the end of the world with no beer being in the fridge. Well, actually it was. Regardless, it was an inadequacy that made me feel extremely uncomfortable.
And I don’t feel comfortable without no beer. You know the people that have these nagging idiosyncrasies? The type that can’t bear to live without an object or item. I’m not too sure what you call it but it’s a trait that I’m sure all of us (in some way or another) have it. Yes, I’m one of them. In fact, I know people who don’t feel comfortable if there is no one sitting to the left of them. Now that is very weird.
What’s even more weird is that fact that people like me struggle to cope with the situation. We may try our best to circumvent the situation and put all contingencies plans in place, but things don’t always work out as they’re planned. And when things aren’t planned correctly you end up with egg on your face.
Casting any food-stuffs aside, the mere fact that I had run out of something is a testament to my life in general. I use toilet paper, then I run out of it. I use dish washing liquid, then I run out of it. I use paper towels, then I run out of it. Yeah, I know it happens to all of us but my bone to pick here is that I never stock up on items. Ever.
Hell, I didn’t even stock up the fridge for crying out loud! My one and only true passion in life gone. Zilch. Not one enchilada. No beer, Goddamn it! Am I getting old? Am I getting stupid? (Actually, don’t answer that). What do I need to do? The only thing I can do is ensure I have a strategic plan in place.
Part of that plan is to send a message to you all out there that if you are a home brewer, be careful. Be measured in your approach in brewing beer and drinking it. If you don’t, you’ll end up like me with anxiety issues. From now on, to ensure I don’t run out I’ll fill the fridge up with twice the amount of beer! Problem solved.
And I don’t feel comfortable without no beer. You know the people that have these nagging idiosyncrasies? The type that can’t bear to live without an object or item. I’m not too sure what you call it but it’s a trait that I’m sure all of us (in some way or another) have it. Yes, I’m one of them. In fact, I know people who don’t feel comfortable if there is no one sitting to the left of them. Now that is very weird.
What’s even more weird is that fact that people like me struggle to cope with the situation. We may try our best to circumvent the situation and put all contingencies plans in place, but things don’t always work out as they’re planned. And when things aren’t planned correctly you end up with egg on your face.
Casting any food-stuffs aside, the mere fact that I had run out of something is a testament to my life in general. I use toilet paper, then I run out of it. I use dish washing liquid, then I run out of it. I use paper towels, then I run out of it. Yeah, I know it happens to all of us but my bone to pick here is that I never stock up on items. Ever.
Hell, I didn’t even stock up the fridge for crying out loud! My one and only true passion in life gone. Zilch. Not one enchilada. No beer, Goddamn it! Am I getting old? Am I getting stupid? (Actually, don’t answer that). What do I need to do? The only thing I can do is ensure I have a strategic plan in place.
Part of that plan is to send a message to you all out there that if you are a home brewer, be careful. Be measured in your approach in brewing beer and drinking it. If you don’t, you’ll end up like me with anxiety issues. From now on, to ensure I don’t run out I’ll fill the fridge up with twice the amount of beer! Problem solved.
Yes, Prime Minister (beer)
posted on April 30, 2010 in BeerBlog
Each time I brew a batch of beer I can’t help but think what I’m going to call it. Sure, if you brew a Blonde you call it a Blonde beer. If you brew a Stout you call it a Stout beer. But I like given my beer names, and I don’t mean names like ‘David’ or ‘Robert’.
I like to have names that appear fancy. Intellectual. You know, something that exceedingly high paid executives in marketing teams would name; Mongo, Wobbly Boot, Skippy and my personal favourite; Mick Jagger Stout. And that was named because it had brown sugar in it. (Get it?)
Although the beer with brown sugar could’ve been named differently, I have found a neat way to put a bit of laughter back in naming the beers brewed. How about a Sarah Palin Pale Ale? Nice body, but very light on the tongue. What about a St. Patrick’s Day Amber Ale Al Gore? Just whack a bit of green dye in it and you can also believe that you’re part of the ever growing list of environmentalists concerned about your planet.
OK, so I’m not an environmentalist and am really not interested in the planet. But what I’d like to do is call my next beer Rudd Light, after the Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd. He’s a great example of how to successfully market your beer. It can relate to all Australians on all levels of socioeconomic status, and it also can provide a pivotal selling point.
That selling point is this. Rudd Light is an ‘easy to swallow’ beer full of powerful enzymes that promise everything and deliver nothing. A fresh aroma from a stale body that bubbles at the first sight of an opening, but fizzes out after several seconds. It dictates to you (via snazzy labels on the bottle) what best accompanies Rudd Light whilst doing back-handed deals with the opposition.
The only opposition I dare to care for is that it’s very unpalatable for most consumers. In fact, the latest opinion polls suggest that Rudd Light has dropped five percentage points, which leaves it hanging on a shoe-string vote with 54% of consumers liking Rudd Light. What that says to me is that there is a potential of 46% of consumers that don’t like Rudd Light. What they may need is an Abbott Ale.
Abbott Ale is a more healthy alternative that has a lot more depth. It’s got a lot of character and, just like a good wine, gets better with age. However, leave it near a beach and you may have found it wandered across the sea, hitched a ride on a bike and then find it running a marathon in a pair of budgie smugglers. Abbott Ale is a reminder that you should be careful about what you do with it as it can be cause for concern.
And my only concern now is the potential name for my next beer. Sure, I thought I wanted Rudd but I kind of want Abbott. Maybe a Kristina Keneally Kilkenny? That sounds nice but it doesn’t travel well on public transport. Well, now I’m stuck. I’ve exhausted all my options on how to be fancy with naming the home brew. I think I’ll just stick with David. It may not be much, but it’s a goliath of a beer.
dann
I like to have names that appear fancy. Intellectual. You know, something that exceedingly high paid executives in marketing teams would name; Mongo, Wobbly Boot, Skippy and my personal favourite; Mick Jagger Stout. And that was named because it had brown sugar in it. (Get it?)
Although the beer with brown sugar could’ve been named differently, I have found a neat way to put a bit of laughter back in naming the beers brewed. How about a Sarah Palin Pale Ale? Nice body, but very light on the tongue. What about a St. Patrick’s Day Amber Ale Al Gore? Just whack a bit of green dye in it and you can also believe that you’re part of the ever growing list of environmentalists concerned about your planet.
OK, so I’m not an environmentalist and am really not interested in the planet. But what I’d like to do is call my next beer Rudd Light, after the Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd. He’s a great example of how to successfully market your beer. It can relate to all Australians on all levels of socioeconomic status, and it also can provide a pivotal selling point.
That selling point is this. Rudd Light is an ‘easy to swallow’ beer full of powerful enzymes that promise everything and deliver nothing. A fresh aroma from a stale body that bubbles at the first sight of an opening, but fizzes out after several seconds. It dictates to you (via snazzy labels on the bottle) what best accompanies Rudd Light whilst doing back-handed deals with the opposition.
The only opposition I dare to care for is that it’s very unpalatable for most consumers. In fact, the latest opinion polls suggest that Rudd Light has dropped five percentage points, which leaves it hanging on a shoe-string vote with 54% of consumers liking Rudd Light. What that says to me is that there is a potential of 46% of consumers that don’t like Rudd Light. What they may need is an Abbott Ale.
Abbott Ale is a more healthy alternative that has a lot more depth. It’s got a lot of character and, just like a good wine, gets better with age. However, leave it near a beach and you may have found it wandered across the sea, hitched a ride on a bike and then find it running a marathon in a pair of budgie smugglers. Abbott Ale is a reminder that you should be careful about what you do with it as it can be cause for concern.
And my only concern now is the potential name for my next beer. Sure, I thought I wanted Rudd but I kind of want Abbott. Maybe a Kristina Keneally Kilkenny? That sounds nice but it doesn’t travel well on public transport. Well, now I’m stuck. I’ve exhausted all my options on how to be fancy with naming the home brew. I think I’ll just stick with David. It may not be much, but it’s a goliath of a beer.
dann
Sweet Potato: Why is it so?
posted on April 27, 2010 in BeerBlog
I remember as a kid watching the wild and crazy antics of Professor Julius Sumner Miller on television. And it’s about now I start to realise that I’m experimenting just like him. Sure, he was teaching physics and I’m brewing beer but showing an audience the ‘how and why’ is one of my objectives.
Why? It’s so I can show anyone that beer recipes (thought out and researched correctly) can actually be achieved. How? By providing a resource and appropriate information in creating these beers it will show you what’s needed to actually brew them. More importantly, the ‘how and why’ should also provide some fun in the midst of all this.
And isn’t having fun the main ingredient in brewing beer? I mean, why bother brewing if you don’t like doing it? Hell, why have a hobby that you put money into if you don’t enjoy it? I may be presumptuous here but we all start off experimenting at some point. During that time we become overwhelmed with excitement and enjoyment about the product we produce. Experimentation has to be fun. I think my next brew of Sweet Potato beer will be more than a whole lot of fun.
I tried to Google ‘Sweet Potato Beer’ and only came up with a few results. Although those results were few and far between it certainly gave me enough impetus to give it a try. I understand spices such as cinnamon and nutmeg have been used, which was a surprise to me. What wasn’t surprising is the slightly more complexity that exists in brewing this beer. I just hope that whatever recipe I come up with it will be a good one.
But I’m sure no matter how good it could be the experimentation will continue to grow. Did you read my previous article? Bacon beer? If that doesn’t suggest to you, the reader, that I’m not experimenting then I’ll be a monkey’s uncle for 24 hours. I’m sure there’ll be a few people out there that will think that this isn’t really ‘experimenting’, but what I’d like to say to them given all of the above information is: why is it so?
dann
Why? It’s so I can show anyone that beer recipes (thought out and researched correctly) can actually be achieved. How? By providing a resource and appropriate information in creating these beers it will show you what’s needed to actually brew them. More importantly, the ‘how and why’ should also provide some fun in the midst of all this.
And isn’t having fun the main ingredient in brewing beer? I mean, why bother brewing if you don’t like doing it? Hell, why have a hobby that you put money into if you don’t enjoy it? I may be presumptuous here but we all start off experimenting at some point. During that time we become overwhelmed with excitement and enjoyment about the product we produce. Experimentation has to be fun. I think my next brew of Sweet Potato beer will be more than a whole lot of fun.
I tried to Google ‘Sweet Potato Beer’ and only came up with a few results. Although those results were few and far between it certainly gave me enough impetus to give it a try. I understand spices such as cinnamon and nutmeg have been used, which was a surprise to me. What wasn’t surprising is the slightly more complexity that exists in brewing this beer. I just hope that whatever recipe I come up with it will be a good one.
But I’m sure no matter how good it could be the experimentation will continue to grow. Did you read my previous article? Bacon beer? If that doesn’t suggest to you, the reader, that I’m not experimenting then I’ll be a monkey’s uncle for 24 hours. I’m sure there’ll be a few people out there that will think that this isn’t really ‘experimenting’, but what I’d like to say to them given all of the above information is: why is it so?
dann
Not Bad for a Hot Summer’s Day
posted on in BeerBlog
Having only started brewing beer since September 2009, it’s been a interesting ride to see how far I’ve come. From brewing a moderately drinkable Coopers Pale Ale, a very watery-style Wheat beer to a very ordinary Dark Ale; those first three to four batches were quite ordinary. Hey, that was to be expected. But by the usual ‘trial and error’ method from which hundreds of brewers go through, I was happy to continue until I corrected my faults and sorted out the basics.
Those basics kept me in good shape; keep all your bottles and equipment clean, and only put the required amount of carbonation drops into the bottles once Primary fermentation is complete. No more. Of course you have ingredients, measures and amounts to consider but that took a bit of time for me to grasp. As I progressed and settled into things I realised that only one fermenter wasn’t good enough. I had to do something about it. It was about at this time I noticed something happening.
Fast forward to March 2010, I decided to buy another fermenter. Not a bad idea, huh? Well, as it turns out that extra fermenter now means I have four in total. Yes, four fermenters. The story in between September ‘09 to March ‘10 isn’t anything more out of the ordinary to any other home brewer. I certainly wont write about it in this column. It’s more important to point out that as I’m learning, the process is being refined and the experimentation has significantly increased.
So much so that this weekend that one of my four brews was a Pineapple Blonde beer. Yes, a Pineapple Blonde beer. Will it work? Who the hell knows. But what I have found out is that since I’ve started brewing I haven’t really been keen on people telling me that “it can’t be done”. The other four batches were; Pear Blonde beer, Peach Blonde beer and a somewhat ‘normal’ Licorice Stout.
Even more ‘normal’ batches were completed the weekend before; Chocolate Stout (with Dark Brown Sugar and Dark Cooking Chocolate), Coopers Pale Ale (with Munich Grain and Safale US-05) and a Porter with my own creation (as in I haven’t seen this exact same recipe online?) of grains, hops and yeast. I’ve experimented much more (with great success), but these are the ones I will document here.
Speaking of yeasts, experimenting with them along with hops has been a great experience since I’ve been brewing. A recent Stout/Porter that got great reviews by friends, non-friends and colleagues has pushed me into doing this type of beer more. In fact, I’ve been asked by my work colleagues to brew more beer. They like it that much.
And brewing more creative, refreshing and aromatic beer is what it’s all about. Thankfully, I have my flat mate who helps out heaps and has done so since last year, which is why I chose to go with a fourth fermenter. Nonetheless, I may not be the best home brewer out there, but having mates over on a weekend saying that my home brewed beer is “not bad for a hot summer’s day” speaks volumes from the heady beginnings of September 2009.
Those basics kept me in good shape; keep all your bottles and equipment clean, and only put the required amount of carbonation drops into the bottles once Primary fermentation is complete. No more. Of course you have ingredients, measures and amounts to consider but that took a bit of time for me to grasp. As I progressed and settled into things I realised that only one fermenter wasn’t good enough. I had to do something about it. It was about at this time I noticed something happening.
Fast forward to March 2010, I decided to buy another fermenter. Not a bad idea, huh? Well, as it turns out that extra fermenter now means I have four in total. Yes, four fermenters. The story in between September ‘09 to March ‘10 isn’t anything more out of the ordinary to any other home brewer. I certainly wont write about it in this column. It’s more important to point out that as I’m learning, the process is being refined and the experimentation has significantly increased.
So much so that this weekend that one of my four brews was a Pineapple Blonde beer. Yes, a Pineapple Blonde beer. Will it work? Who the hell knows. But what I have found out is that since I’ve started brewing I haven’t really been keen on people telling me that “it can’t be done”. The other four batches were; Pear Blonde beer, Peach Blonde beer and a somewhat ‘normal’ Licorice Stout.
Even more ‘normal’ batches were completed the weekend before; Chocolate Stout (with Dark Brown Sugar and Dark Cooking Chocolate), Coopers Pale Ale (with Munich Grain and Safale US-05) and a Porter with my own creation (as in I haven’t seen this exact same recipe online?) of grains, hops and yeast. I’ve experimented much more (with great success), but these are the ones I will document here.
Speaking of yeasts, experimenting with them along with hops has been a great experience since I’ve been brewing. A recent Stout/Porter that got great reviews by friends, non-friends and colleagues has pushed me into doing this type of beer more. In fact, I’ve been asked by my work colleagues to brew more beer. They like it that much.
And brewing more creative, refreshing and aromatic beer is what it’s all about. Thankfully, I have my flat mate who helps out heaps and has done so since last year, which is why I chose to go with a fourth fermenter. Nonetheless, I may not be the best home brewer out there, but having mates over on a weekend saying that my home brewed beer is “not bad for a hot summer’s day” speaks volumes from the heady beginnings of September 2009.
Time To Breathe Again
posted on April 26, 2010 in BeerBlog
Take a deep breathe. That’s right, in and out. Do this slowly several times until you’re relaxed. Now, do this until you’re heart rate is at a slow, steady pace. Ready? You’re sitting down? Right. I know Dogfish Head make ‘off centered stuff for off centered people’, but the beer I’m about to venture into could be either a riveting success or a complete and utter shambolic failure.
It certainly can’t be a mediocre beer. There’s no room for that. The beer being attempted is a bacon beer. I’m hopeful it’s gonna be a rip-snorter! Ha ha. Get it? Rip-snorter? OK, jokes aside it’s something I’m very weary of attempting. My silent business partner in the home brewing department came up with the idea. It’s certainly way out of left field but that’s the way I like it. Enough of a challenge to make me think, but not enough of a disastrous calamity (well, not just yet anyway) to discourage the brave heart that I have.
And it will certainly take a brave heart to come up with a concoction to make this bacon beer taste nice. But what? No ideas are floating around in the rats maze I call my brain, however, the well-oiled cogs are being lubricated very well to squeeze out a recipe. Maybe baking the bacon in the oven just enough, then blending it and somehow putting that into the mix? Maybe grinding the bejesus out of it and putting it alongside the grain for steeping?
But I’m thinking it can’t be steeping, can it? How else do I approach a bacon beer? Should I ask Miss Piggy for suggestions? Do I give Porky Pig a quick email? At this stage it’s best to write down a plan of attack with my silent business partner to see what options we have. I’m thinking of an Amber Ale of sorts, which may work out with the bacon. Regardless of how you look at it I can assure you that Dogfish Head would be proud of two Aussie blokes doing something out of the ordinary. The bacon beer isn’t so much off centered, rather way off the mark. And that is enough incentive to give it a red, hot go.
dann
It certainly can’t be a mediocre beer. There’s no room for that. The beer being attempted is a bacon beer. I’m hopeful it’s gonna be a rip-snorter! Ha ha. Get it? Rip-snorter? OK, jokes aside it’s something I’m very weary of attempting. My silent business partner in the home brewing department came up with the idea. It’s certainly way out of left field but that’s the way I like it. Enough of a challenge to make me think, but not enough of a disastrous calamity (well, not just yet anyway) to discourage the brave heart that I have.
And it will certainly take a brave heart to come up with a concoction to make this bacon beer taste nice. But what? No ideas are floating around in the rats maze I call my brain, however, the well-oiled cogs are being lubricated very well to squeeze out a recipe. Maybe baking the bacon in the oven just enough, then blending it and somehow putting that into the mix? Maybe grinding the bejesus out of it and putting it alongside the grain for steeping?
But I’m thinking it can’t be steeping, can it? How else do I approach a bacon beer? Should I ask Miss Piggy for suggestions? Do I give Porky Pig a quick email? At this stage it’s best to write down a plan of attack with my silent business partner to see what options we have. I’m thinking of an Amber Ale of sorts, which may work out with the bacon. Regardless of how you look at it I can assure you that Dogfish Head would be proud of two Aussie blokes doing something out of the ordinary. The bacon beer isn’t so much off centered, rather way off the mark. And that is enough incentive to give it a red, hot go.
dann
Reading Between The (Beer) Lines
posted on April 25, 2010 in BeerBlog
I’m not sure what to think, but there are many people out there that dislike moving away from the status quo. I’m a home brewer, and my experimentation beers have created quite a stir. Unfortunately, there are the few detractors that really don’t like mixing things up.
Well, not so much detractors, per say, but rather extremely stubborn people that don’t like beers that aren’t the norm. You know the type? Tooheys, VB, Carlton Draught. Those frustratingly normal beers everyone loves.
And I can understand why they like it. The advertising of these beers (particularly Carlton Draught Tooheys and VB) are very good. I love the Carlton Draught ad, which has literally hundreds of people dressed in yellow and red robes saying “It’s a big ad. My God it’s big! Can’t believe how big it is! It’s a big ad! For Carlton Draught!” Hell, even the times I go to the pub I order Carlton Draught. Go figure.
But it’s not only just Carlton Draught pulling in the punters out there. It’s all the big, commercial breweries that roughly sell the same tasting beer despite them all trying to be different. Sure, you see yellow and red robes crossing a deserted mountain scape in the shape of a person drinking beer or the Stag being catapulted into the sky with hops and grain, and when it rains, it rains Tooheys New.
I’d certainly love to rain on their parade by saying that the majority of commercial beers are absolute crap. Brewing your own beer or supporting local pubs such as Lord Nelson Brewery (here in Sydney) is a much more exhilarating experience. Suffice to say that nothing beats a home brewed beer, be it at home or at your local micro brewery.
And the home brewers and micro breweries out there are the heartbeat of our beer community. They are creating a new breed of beer connoisseur, and I don’t mean in a toffee-nosed sense. Simply a person who appreciates and understands that there is more to beer drinking than scoffing down a VB or sculling down a Carlton. It’s so easy to sink several schooners after a hard day’s work, and given the amount of television and billboard advertising, those commercial breweries all have us by the short and curlies.
Being hamstrung by the big boys shouldn’t dampen your ability to enjoy a true tasting beer. It should give you reason to go out there and see what better brands there are or start brewing your own. There is so much more to beer than having the same old, same old. Go on, be daring. Be creative and be different. It’s a choice you’ll never regret.
dann
Well, not so much detractors, per say, but rather extremely stubborn people that don’t like beers that aren’t the norm. You know the type? Tooheys, VB, Carlton Draught. Those frustratingly normal beers everyone loves.
And I can understand why they like it. The advertising of these beers (particularly Carlton Draught Tooheys and VB) are very good. I love the Carlton Draught ad, which has literally hundreds of people dressed in yellow and red robes saying “It’s a big ad. My God it’s big! Can’t believe how big it is! It’s a big ad! For Carlton Draught!” Hell, even the times I go to the pub I order Carlton Draught. Go figure.
But it’s not only just Carlton Draught pulling in the punters out there. It’s all the big, commercial breweries that roughly sell the same tasting beer despite them all trying to be different. Sure, you see yellow and red robes crossing a deserted mountain scape in the shape of a person drinking beer or the Stag being catapulted into the sky with hops and grain, and when it rains, it rains Tooheys New.
I’d certainly love to rain on their parade by saying that the majority of commercial beers are absolute crap. Brewing your own beer or supporting local pubs such as Lord Nelson Brewery (here in Sydney) is a much more exhilarating experience. Suffice to say that nothing beats a home brewed beer, be it at home or at your local micro brewery.
And the home brewers and micro breweries out there are the heartbeat of our beer community. They are creating a new breed of beer connoisseur, and I don’t mean in a toffee-nosed sense. Simply a person who appreciates and understands that there is more to beer drinking than scoffing down a VB or sculling down a Carlton. It’s so easy to sink several schooners after a hard day’s work, and given the amount of television and billboard advertising, those commercial breweries all have us by the short and curlies.
Being hamstrung by the big boys shouldn’t dampen your ability to enjoy a true tasting beer. It should give you reason to go out there and see what better brands there are or start brewing your own. There is so much more to beer than having the same old, same old. Go on, be daring. Be creative and be different. It’s a choice you’ll never regret.
dann
Previously published works
Hi!
This page is dedicated to previously published works (the articles I can find, at least), albeit from several years ago in some cases. They are ‘as is’, and I’ve done my best to recall when they were first published.
Enjoy.
dann
==
Please note that this article was first published on 26th September, 2007.
Title: Can the real cricket please stand up?
The International Cricket Council (ICC) has just finished staging the World Twenty20 tournament in South Africa. The whole thing is simply a money-making exercise and marketing ploy to bolster more support on a wider scale. I love cricket, but this Twenty20 business is a complete and utter joke. Simply put; it’s just not cricket.
Not only isn’t it cricket, but now we have three forms of the game: Test Matches, One Day International’s and this freak show of a spectacle. Haven’t we got enough games during the year without the worry of more games? It puts even more pressure on players’ and places much more pressure on current cricket schedules.
And even before this hype had begun, there was already a scheduling problem with Twenty20. South Africa was to be invited by Billionaire Sir Allen Stanford over in the Caribbean to play his Super Team last year, only for the match to be cancelled. Sure, it was due to the current congested schedule, but it wasn’t for lack of money.
But how does this sound? The BBC reported that current Twenty20 champions India have been invited to play a match worth “£2.47m against a West Indies all-star side.” Is this what the world of cricket is coming to? Is it now all about money? I would seriously hate to think that this would ever, ever take over our One Day International’s.
Although ICC chief executive Malcolm Speed suggests that it would not replace the 50-over game, you get the feeling they are pushing it no end. I can’t help but think that they can attract more fans’ to watch the game by slipping Twenty20 matches into every nook and cranny they possibly can. But are they ruining the game by cheating on skill and tactical knowledge for explicit slogging and continuous cricket balls over boundaries?
Well, I certainly didn’t see any skill in the games I saw. Yes, I was curious in watching this phenomenon, but what I saw simply took my breath away. It was a batting paradise out there! All you needed to do was watch the ball, lift the bat and hit that leather ball as hard as possible, and hope it goes well over the rope. What’s so hard about that?
And if you thought batting was a worry, what about the bowling? Are you seriously telling me that the bowling showed in the tournament was setting higher standards for the game of cricket? I could’ve sworn that my mate’s dog could’ve farted a ball out of his ass better than some of the guys I watched.
But worst of all, it’s the players’ themselves that are doing a disservice to the game. Additionally, all countries are cheapening it by accepting this as important, and even making available all their best players. Let’s hope they all have the 20-20 vision needed to see that the Twenty20 concept isn’t good for the game at all.
dann
==
Please note that this article was first published on 26th June, 2007.
Title: The richness of oats doesn’t sit well in my stomach at all
‘Porridge’ may well be one of my favourite British comedy series, but it certainly doesn’t get any laughs from me at the breakfast table. I mean, who invented this dull and boring beige mud-patch of a thing? To me, it looks like a diuretic camel that just got rid of its constipation bout.
At a glance, porridge contains the things that I most dislike in cereals: whole grain oats and oat bran. Growing up, I honestly thought that this was the type of food horses ate each day. Who knows, they probably do? (Yes, I still don’t know what our thoroughbreds eat.) Either way, I am not going to start eating potential horse-feed each morning.
Really, what’s happened to the good old days of sitting on the kitchen table eating cereals like; Froot-Loops, Coco Pops, Nutri-Grain and Rice Bubbles covered with spoonfuls of Chocolate Quick? Oh, hang on – that’s why they invented Coco Pops, right? Actually, I think I put that over Coco Pops as well. But I digress.
Nowadays we have to be healthy 24/7, and all the cereals have got the attractiveness of a damaged cabbage patch doll in a $2 shop; Sultana Bran, Sustain, Weet-Bix, All Bran. Is there anything wrong with eating something that isn’t ‘high in fibre’? I felt there was something out there, so I had an idea.
To break this boring cereal cycle, I asked a friend in the US to send a couple of packets of Cheerios. I had assumed that this type of cereal wouldn’t be at all “healthy.” Even an after thought had emerged that my sugar intake would rise like a Japanese tsunami. But I thought I’d put my body on the line in the name of “science”. I was up for the task.
So after receiving the packets of Cheerios, an immediate urge to gobble them down, like the kid I once was, was high on my agenda. It was a great occasion. Visions of my childhood crushed forward like fans onto the ground having just witnessed their star full-forward score his 100th goal during an AFL season.
Every mouthful of those Cheerios was cherished. And once I managed to wipe the milk residue off the front of my t-shirt, I decided to check out the packet for its nutrition information. Had it not been for the empty bowl in front of me, I would have almost chocked on my next mouthful with what I saw; Ingredients: whole grain oats, oat bran. I’m not a religious person, but the good Lord’s name was mentioned several times (with expletives deleted here.)
Did I actually see correctly? Whole gain oats and Oat Bran? I rubbed my eyes in similar fashion to when someone rubs dice when playing Monopoly, in the hope they don’t go directly to jail. But, unfortunately, it read the same again. It was at this point I felt I had been duped. Not at my generous friend from the US, rather the makers of Cheerios, General Mills.
Have all companies jumped on the healthy eating, healthy living bandwagon? Who are these health junkies that are damaging my only time during the day that I enjoy some unhealthy food? Knowing my luck they’re probably the same people who actually work within the company and market the product like a coffee-crazed Peter Foster.
Yes, folks it’s all a con. We’re lead to believe that what we eat is enjoyable, but if you look more closely you’ll find it’s full of that stuff horses potentially munch on. So, now I am back to square one: what to eat for breakfast? Given this whole experience my thoughts lead me to only one conclusion: I’ll skip breakfast and wait for lunch.
dann
==
Please note that this was first publish on 2nd April, 2009.
I am guessing I am trying my poetry style?
Title: the f#$@ chef, Gordon Ramsey
What is it with this guy Gordon Ramsey?
He’s a pain the arse, that’s what I see
Nothing but a jock that shows no real class
As I keep saying, he’s a pain in the arse!
But what annoys me is his use of the “F” word
He sounds like a big twit and acts like a turd
But the one thing that makes me really not a fan
The damn fool comes from cold, wet England, man!
I mean, all they do is scream, whinge and complain
I really can’t stand that, to me it’s a strain
Again and again he talks about cooking food well,
and as far I understand he can go straight down to hell
All I want to do is enjoy a meal and eat with my friends,
’cause all he ever does is drive me ’round the bends
But let me say this; he does speak his mind
and with people like that, they’re really hard to find.
He speaks high, he speaks low and with a forceful, strong tone
But most of us who watch this crap just sit there and groan
The amount of swear words he uses is quite vile and foul
It makes me wonder why I just simply don’t throw in the towel.
The one thing I can say is that he does earn heaps of cash
Unfortunately for me, though, his talk gives me a rather nasty rash
But to end my frustration I must change the channel and try my luck,
At not being able to swear but, really, who gives a F#$*?!
dann
==
Please note that the following article was written and first published on 20th March, 2007.
Title: It’s almost time to show your voting colours
It’s election time. This weekend, the people of NSW will place their vote. I for one will leave the decision as late as possible: I’m a swinging voter. So much so that that every time any election comes around I feel like a struggling chimpanzee going from tree to tree in a jungle that seems to be void of any oxygen. I really don’t know who to choose: Labor? Liberal? Greens? How about a local Independent candidate?
While deciding on whom to vote for, a recent bus ride to work made somewhat of a mockery of one particular organisation. I saw two Greenpeace volunteers holding a cricket-like banner that simply displayed their website address. Problem was that there was a white, empty plastic bag flying gently past the two volunteers. Like royal guards in front of Buckingham Palace, they didn’t move and didn’t bother picking it up. That’s not really environmentally friendly.
So, now we get to the serious end of business on whom to vote for this coming Saturday. What about Labor? Well, since the start of their election campaign, I’ve had this quirky feeling that Morris Iemma is trying to do a ‘Bob the Builder’ job: Can he fix it? Yes he can! Well, he’s been part of the NSW Government for the past decade or so, and I would’ve hoped that he’s already fixed ‘it’.
What about the Liberal party? Peter Debnam reminds me of Ren Höek (from Ren and Stimpy), only that he is on prescribed medication. He wants to show everyone how big and mean he is and really wants to shout out ‘you eediot’ to Morris Iemma. Problem is that he’s bark is better than his bite.
What about the Greens? I really have no idea about this mob. I reckon Bob Brown is Charlie Brown’s uncle.
Wikipedia describes Charlie Brown as a ‘”lovable loser, a child possessed of endless determination and hope, but who is ultimately dominated by his anxieties and shortcomings.” I think that sums up Bob Brown to a tee. What about an independent candidate? Every time I think of the word “independent”, I can’t help but think I’m listening to a band who hasn’t signed up with a major record label. How frustrating it must be.
So, who will I vote for? I don’t know. But there is one thing I’m pretty sure of. If any political party out there have baked some scones, got a jar full of jam and a dollop of cream then send one my way. I’m sure that could swing my vote. Failing that, I vote for Flash Gordon to be our next Premier of NSW. After all, “he’ll save everyone of us.”
dann
==
Please note that this was first published in 2007.
Title: The four-star treatment arrives as the F word steams in like a city express train
Australian parents, read this: you are the cause of the contempt and disrespect our kids have in society when you swear. And you think I’m kidding, right? Hell no! Enough is enough! I am quite sick and tired of parents who swear in front of children left, right and centre. To think it even gets worse when you are using the public transport system.
The other day I went to catch a train to visit a friend, who was only a short distance away. I had time to spare so I thought it’d be a good idea to enjoy a relaxing ride. With ticket in hand, I stood waiting quietly and patiently. A family passed by; two kids aged about five years-old, three adults and a baby in its pram being pushed by her mother. It was the mother who started the four-star treatment immediately.
“Ah, f— off,” she barked out loud. “Give me a f—-ing smoke, will ya?” No sooner did they arrive on the platform than the swearing began. I really wouldn’t have minded so much if the kids were racing off in the distance, and not within hearing distance of an adult. Only problem was that this was all within a few feet, and seeing I was a few metres away I am sure the kids could hear.
And what those kids heard was the complete and unedited version of all the various forms the “F” word can undergo. Slip in the odd “C” word and a few other luminous phrases and you get a sense of what my ears were being punished to listen to. While still waiting for the train to arrive, I came up with a cunning plan to pass the time: let me see how many times they use the “F” word.
A quick glance at my mobile to see what time it was, I began to count. It was actually quite odd. I was hoping that these people would start swearing openly and freely for the simple amusement of my seemingly useless task. And it wasn’t too long before their use of the English language was more colourful than a male peacock trying to seek its female counterpart.
At one point, the swearing was so colourful that I had prayed that someone on the platform had a game of Scrabble on their person. But with only four and a half minutes gone I had to stop. I counted twenty uses of the “F” word, two uses of the “C” word and many industrious uses for “arse”. It was only due to the station announcement that stopped everyone in their tracks.
“Passengers on platform number two, please be advised that the 1:19 train to Strathfield has been cancelled,” said the RailCorp attendant over the loudspeaker. No sooner had the announcement completed, off again went the “F” words flying about like seagulls circling around a packet of hot chips.
And so to, my amusing task had begun once again. The timer started and we were off and racing. Somewhat surprisingly, it was a much less animated conversation than the previous effort. Nonetheless, within a seven minute period I heard fifteen counts of the “F” word. Quite an improvement, wouldn’t you say?
But what parents should really be improving is their language skills. They’re supposed to set an example to their kids, aren’t they? What the Mums and Dads of this world need to realise is that by doing what they’re doing they create sloppy attitudes. This could contribute to our very own children growing up to be just like them. Now that’s a sad indication on what our future society could be like.
dann
==
Please note that this was first published on 14th January, 2007.
Title: life is such an acronym
Life can be such an acronym if you’re not careful. The other day I tried to plug my PDA into my USB port on my PC that has XP as an OS. I logged onto my ISP and tried to get onto the WWW, but there was no DNS. All I wanted to do was FTP some documents and then do some surfing using IE. To make matters worse I didn’t have enough GHz, and my HDD somehow went AWOL.
Walking away in frustration I turned on the TV for some R&R. Unfortunately, the only half decent thing on was CSI. That’s not my thing. I then tried to put in a VHS tape in the VCR but it chewed it up. Knowing that I borrowed a friend’s DVD, I thought I’d watch a movie. Only problem was that it wouldn’t play as my TV wasn’t NTSC compatible.
Worse still, the LCD on my remote showed that the AAA batteries had just gone flat. So that I could buy new ones, I needed to get some cash ASAP. I got my debit card and headed for the nearest ATM. I knew this was going to be difficult as I’d never wandered this close to the CBD before. Along the way I realised that I forgot my PIN. This, I blame on my parents. They’re the ones who gave me this type of DNA. Off back home I go.
As I started to head back I became despondent. I was lost. With an ETA out of the question, I started to wonder what I could do to pass the time. Maybe I could hum a tune from my favourite CD? Maybe I could start reminiscing about last month’s edition of FHM? I had thought about whistling the theme tune to the BBC but it seems to end with some strange time zone, GMT?
My thoughts were rattling along like a VW engine on its last legs. A few ideas popped into my head but they were all BS. The more I walked, the hotter I became. I could feel the UV rays melting me like an M&M in the palm of my hand. I tried to look for a shop that had the A/C on, but no luck. Oh how I wanted a GPS to help me out.
Just as I thought all thoughts were dashed, I managed to ask someone for directions. “Just FYI, you’ll need to go in this direction,” as she pointed me toward safety. As I felt my way back to HQ, all I needed now was a cold VB and some TLC.
As I open the door to the flat, I sigh in the knowledge that I’ll be doing sweet FA for the rest of the day. Worst of all, I suddenly realise my card number was my last four digits of my DOB. It seemed like my IQ dropped lower than HIH shares at the ASX. Could the day get any worse? EOM.
dann
This page is dedicated to previously published works (the articles I can find, at least), albeit from several years ago in some cases. They are ‘as is’, and I’ve done my best to recall when they were first published.
Enjoy.
dann
==
Please note that this article was first published on 26th September, 2007.
Title: Can the real cricket please stand up?
The International Cricket Council (ICC) has just finished staging the World Twenty20 tournament in South Africa. The whole thing is simply a money-making exercise and marketing ploy to bolster more support on a wider scale. I love cricket, but this Twenty20 business is a complete and utter joke. Simply put; it’s just not cricket.
Not only isn’t it cricket, but now we have three forms of the game: Test Matches, One Day International’s and this freak show of a spectacle. Haven’t we got enough games during the year without the worry of more games? It puts even more pressure on players’ and places much more pressure on current cricket schedules.
And even before this hype had begun, there was already a scheduling problem with Twenty20. South Africa was to be invited by Billionaire Sir Allen Stanford over in the Caribbean to play his Super Team last year, only for the match to be cancelled. Sure, it was due to the current congested schedule, but it wasn’t for lack of money.
But how does this sound? The BBC reported that current Twenty20 champions India have been invited to play a match worth “£2.47m against a West Indies all-star side.” Is this what the world of cricket is coming to? Is it now all about money? I would seriously hate to think that this would ever, ever take over our One Day International’s.
Although ICC chief executive Malcolm Speed suggests that it would not replace the 50-over game, you get the feeling they are pushing it no end. I can’t help but think that they can attract more fans’ to watch the game by slipping Twenty20 matches into every nook and cranny they possibly can. But are they ruining the game by cheating on skill and tactical knowledge for explicit slogging and continuous cricket balls over boundaries?
Well, I certainly didn’t see any skill in the games I saw. Yes, I was curious in watching this phenomenon, but what I saw simply took my breath away. It was a batting paradise out there! All you needed to do was watch the ball, lift the bat and hit that leather ball as hard as possible, and hope it goes well over the rope. What’s so hard about that?
And if you thought batting was a worry, what about the bowling? Are you seriously telling me that the bowling showed in the tournament was setting higher standards for the game of cricket? I could’ve sworn that my mate’s dog could’ve farted a ball out of his ass better than some of the guys I watched.
But worst of all, it’s the players’ themselves that are doing a disservice to the game. Additionally, all countries are cheapening it by accepting this as important, and even making available all their best players. Let’s hope they all have the 20-20 vision needed to see that the Twenty20 concept isn’t good for the game at all.
dann
==
Please note that this article was first published on 26th June, 2007.
Title: The richness of oats doesn’t sit well in my stomach at all
‘Porridge’ may well be one of my favourite British comedy series, but it certainly doesn’t get any laughs from me at the breakfast table. I mean, who invented this dull and boring beige mud-patch of a thing? To me, it looks like a diuretic camel that just got rid of its constipation bout.
At a glance, porridge contains the things that I most dislike in cereals: whole grain oats and oat bran. Growing up, I honestly thought that this was the type of food horses ate each day. Who knows, they probably do? (Yes, I still don’t know what our thoroughbreds eat.) Either way, I am not going to start eating potential horse-feed each morning.
Really, what’s happened to the good old days of sitting on the kitchen table eating cereals like; Froot-Loops, Coco Pops, Nutri-Grain and Rice Bubbles covered with spoonfuls of Chocolate Quick? Oh, hang on – that’s why they invented Coco Pops, right? Actually, I think I put that over Coco Pops as well. But I digress.
Nowadays we have to be healthy 24/7, and all the cereals have got the attractiveness of a damaged cabbage patch doll in a $2 shop; Sultana Bran, Sustain, Weet-Bix, All Bran. Is there anything wrong with eating something that isn’t ‘high in fibre’? I felt there was something out there, so I had an idea.
To break this boring cereal cycle, I asked a friend in the US to send a couple of packets of Cheerios. I had assumed that this type of cereal wouldn’t be at all “healthy.” Even an after thought had emerged that my sugar intake would rise like a Japanese tsunami. But I thought I’d put my body on the line in the name of “science”. I was up for the task.
So after receiving the packets of Cheerios, an immediate urge to gobble them down, like the kid I once was, was high on my agenda. It was a great occasion. Visions of my childhood crushed forward like fans onto the ground having just witnessed their star full-forward score his 100th goal during an AFL season.
Every mouthful of those Cheerios was cherished. And once I managed to wipe the milk residue off the front of my t-shirt, I decided to check out the packet for its nutrition information. Had it not been for the empty bowl in front of me, I would have almost chocked on my next mouthful with what I saw; Ingredients: whole grain oats, oat bran. I’m not a religious person, but the good Lord’s name was mentioned several times (with expletives deleted here.)
Did I actually see correctly? Whole gain oats and Oat Bran? I rubbed my eyes in similar fashion to when someone rubs dice when playing Monopoly, in the hope they don’t go directly to jail. But, unfortunately, it read the same again. It was at this point I felt I had been duped. Not at my generous friend from the US, rather the makers of Cheerios, General Mills.
Have all companies jumped on the healthy eating, healthy living bandwagon? Who are these health junkies that are damaging my only time during the day that I enjoy some unhealthy food? Knowing my luck they’re probably the same people who actually work within the company and market the product like a coffee-crazed Peter Foster.
Yes, folks it’s all a con. We’re lead to believe that what we eat is enjoyable, but if you look more closely you’ll find it’s full of that stuff horses potentially munch on. So, now I am back to square one: what to eat for breakfast? Given this whole experience my thoughts lead me to only one conclusion: I’ll skip breakfast and wait for lunch.
dann
==
Please note that this was first publish on 2nd April, 2009.
I am guessing I am trying my poetry style?
Title: the f#$@ chef, Gordon Ramsey
What is it with this guy Gordon Ramsey?
He’s a pain the arse, that’s what I see
Nothing but a jock that shows no real class
As I keep saying, he’s a pain in the arse!
But what annoys me is his use of the “F” word
He sounds like a big twit and acts like a turd
But the one thing that makes me really not a fan
The damn fool comes from cold, wet England, man!
I mean, all they do is scream, whinge and complain
I really can’t stand that, to me it’s a strain
Again and again he talks about cooking food well,
and as far I understand he can go straight down to hell
All I want to do is enjoy a meal and eat with my friends,
’cause all he ever does is drive me ’round the bends
But let me say this; he does speak his mind
and with people like that, they’re really hard to find.
He speaks high, he speaks low and with a forceful, strong tone
But most of us who watch this crap just sit there and groan
The amount of swear words he uses is quite vile and foul
It makes me wonder why I just simply don’t throw in the towel.
The one thing I can say is that he does earn heaps of cash
Unfortunately for me, though, his talk gives me a rather nasty rash
But to end my frustration I must change the channel and try my luck,
At not being able to swear but, really, who gives a F#$*?!
dann
==
Please note that the following article was written and first published on 20th March, 2007.
Title: It’s almost time to show your voting colours
It’s election time. This weekend, the people of NSW will place their vote. I for one will leave the decision as late as possible: I’m a swinging voter. So much so that that every time any election comes around I feel like a struggling chimpanzee going from tree to tree in a jungle that seems to be void of any oxygen. I really don’t know who to choose: Labor? Liberal? Greens? How about a local Independent candidate?
While deciding on whom to vote for, a recent bus ride to work made somewhat of a mockery of one particular organisation. I saw two Greenpeace volunteers holding a cricket-like banner that simply displayed their website address. Problem was that there was a white, empty plastic bag flying gently past the two volunteers. Like royal guards in front of Buckingham Palace, they didn’t move and didn’t bother picking it up. That’s not really environmentally friendly.
So, now we get to the serious end of business on whom to vote for this coming Saturday. What about Labor? Well, since the start of their election campaign, I’ve had this quirky feeling that Morris Iemma is trying to do a ‘Bob the Builder’ job: Can he fix it? Yes he can! Well, he’s been part of the NSW Government for the past decade or so, and I would’ve hoped that he’s already fixed ‘it’.
What about the Liberal party? Peter Debnam reminds me of Ren Höek (from Ren and Stimpy), only that he is on prescribed medication. He wants to show everyone how big and mean he is and really wants to shout out ‘you eediot’ to Morris Iemma. Problem is that he’s bark is better than his bite.
What about the Greens? I really have no idea about this mob. I reckon Bob Brown is Charlie Brown’s uncle.
Wikipedia describes Charlie Brown as a ‘”lovable loser, a child possessed of endless determination and hope, but who is ultimately dominated by his anxieties and shortcomings.” I think that sums up Bob Brown to a tee. What about an independent candidate? Every time I think of the word “independent”, I can’t help but think I’m listening to a band who hasn’t signed up with a major record label. How frustrating it must be.
So, who will I vote for? I don’t know. But there is one thing I’m pretty sure of. If any political party out there have baked some scones, got a jar full of jam and a dollop of cream then send one my way. I’m sure that could swing my vote. Failing that, I vote for Flash Gordon to be our next Premier of NSW. After all, “he’ll save everyone of us.”
dann
==
Please note that this was first published in 2007.
Title: The four-star treatment arrives as the F word steams in like a city express train
Australian parents, read this: you are the cause of the contempt and disrespect our kids have in society when you swear. And you think I’m kidding, right? Hell no! Enough is enough! I am quite sick and tired of parents who swear in front of children left, right and centre. To think it even gets worse when you are using the public transport system.
The other day I went to catch a train to visit a friend, who was only a short distance away. I had time to spare so I thought it’d be a good idea to enjoy a relaxing ride. With ticket in hand, I stood waiting quietly and patiently. A family passed by; two kids aged about five years-old, three adults and a baby in its pram being pushed by her mother. It was the mother who started the four-star treatment immediately.
“Ah, f— off,” she barked out loud. “Give me a f—-ing smoke, will ya?” No sooner did they arrive on the platform than the swearing began. I really wouldn’t have minded so much if the kids were racing off in the distance, and not within hearing distance of an adult. Only problem was that this was all within a few feet, and seeing I was a few metres away I am sure the kids could hear.
And what those kids heard was the complete and unedited version of all the various forms the “F” word can undergo. Slip in the odd “C” word and a few other luminous phrases and you get a sense of what my ears were being punished to listen to. While still waiting for the train to arrive, I came up with a cunning plan to pass the time: let me see how many times they use the “F” word.
A quick glance at my mobile to see what time it was, I began to count. It was actually quite odd. I was hoping that these people would start swearing openly and freely for the simple amusement of my seemingly useless task. And it wasn’t too long before their use of the English language was more colourful than a male peacock trying to seek its female counterpart.
At one point, the swearing was so colourful that I had prayed that someone on the platform had a game of Scrabble on their person. But with only four and a half minutes gone I had to stop. I counted twenty uses of the “F” word, two uses of the “C” word and many industrious uses for “arse”. It was only due to the station announcement that stopped everyone in their tracks.
“Passengers on platform number two, please be advised that the 1:19 train to Strathfield has been cancelled,” said the RailCorp attendant over the loudspeaker. No sooner had the announcement completed, off again went the “F” words flying about like seagulls circling around a packet of hot chips.
And so to, my amusing task had begun once again. The timer started and we were off and racing. Somewhat surprisingly, it was a much less animated conversation than the previous effort. Nonetheless, within a seven minute period I heard fifteen counts of the “F” word. Quite an improvement, wouldn’t you say?
But what parents should really be improving is their language skills. They’re supposed to set an example to their kids, aren’t they? What the Mums and Dads of this world need to realise is that by doing what they’re doing they create sloppy attitudes. This could contribute to our very own children growing up to be just like them. Now that’s a sad indication on what our future society could be like.
dann
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Please note that this was first published on 14th January, 2007.
Title: life is such an acronym
Life can be such an acronym if you’re not careful. The other day I tried to plug my PDA into my USB port on my PC that has XP as an OS. I logged onto my ISP and tried to get onto the WWW, but there was no DNS. All I wanted to do was FTP some documents and then do some surfing using IE. To make matters worse I didn’t have enough GHz, and my HDD somehow went AWOL.
Walking away in frustration I turned on the TV for some R&R. Unfortunately, the only half decent thing on was CSI. That’s not my thing. I then tried to put in a VHS tape in the VCR but it chewed it up. Knowing that I borrowed a friend’s DVD, I thought I’d watch a movie. Only problem was that it wouldn’t play as my TV wasn’t NTSC compatible.
Worse still, the LCD on my remote showed that the AAA batteries had just gone flat. So that I could buy new ones, I needed to get some cash ASAP. I got my debit card and headed for the nearest ATM. I knew this was going to be difficult as I’d never wandered this close to the CBD before. Along the way I realised that I forgot my PIN. This, I blame on my parents. They’re the ones who gave me this type of DNA. Off back home I go.
As I started to head back I became despondent. I was lost. With an ETA out of the question, I started to wonder what I could do to pass the time. Maybe I could hum a tune from my favourite CD? Maybe I could start reminiscing about last month’s edition of FHM? I had thought about whistling the theme tune to the BBC but it seems to end with some strange time zone, GMT?
My thoughts were rattling along like a VW engine on its last legs. A few ideas popped into my head but they were all BS. The more I walked, the hotter I became. I could feel the UV rays melting me like an M&M in the palm of my hand. I tried to look for a shop that had the A/C on, but no luck. Oh how I wanted a GPS to help me out.
Just as I thought all thoughts were dashed, I managed to ask someone for directions. “Just FYI, you’ll need to go in this direction,” as she pointed me toward safety. As I felt my way back to HQ, all I needed now was a cold VB and some TLC.
As I open the door to the flat, I sigh in the knowledge that I’ll be doing sweet FA for the rest of the day. Worst of all, I suddenly realise my card number was my last four digits of my DOB. It seemed like my IQ dropped lower than HIH shares at the ASX. Could the day get any worse? EOM.
dann
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