The Beer We Grew Up With

Posted on by oahuzer0

If you’re like me then at times you get hit with a spot of nostalgia. For that one time you did that thing with that group of people, for that time you had the best view of the world with your favorite person, or when you had craft beer for the first time and it changed your life. And if you’re like me, then you would love to be there again in this very moment.

I was lucky enough to live in a time where craft beer was a thriving landscape of creativity and universal middle fingers to the big three, and it was good. Like all things must, craft beer has since grown, evolved, and even suffered through its evolution leaving it almost unrecognizable compared to what first drew us in. I dare you to find one of those beers now that hooked you then and not have an existential crisis.

One brewery that prompted this teary eyed look back is, was, Stone Brewing. The pioneers of unapologetic. The beers that punched you in the mouth and made you ask for more. The essence of craft beer in a time where everyone was trying to be seen, to stand out in a room of repetition and the mundane. We were lucky to have Stone, to stand on the scorched earth that blazed the trail for all others to follow. That trail has cooled, and Stone has all but disappeared, not from shelves, but from the front of the pack, and upon revisiting what I hoped was a great memory turned into disappointment.

I noticed Stone IPA on tap and did not hesitate to have one brought my way. As soon as the glass hit the table it was in my hand and headed to my mouth. I let out a tired breath, almost as if I was trying to release the disappointment via exhale. It tasted old, not special, and most discouraging, lazy and uncared for. To be fair, I was ordering this at a Dave and Buster’s so take that as it is. Regardless of the venue I had expectations based on history and fond memories. It appears, that is all I have left of Stone.

It would be unfair to place all the blame on Stone. A brewery running on pure adrenaline and gargoyle blood for years would eventually run its course in an industry that only survives by change. The people’s palates have evolved, and Stone is one of the focal points of that evolution. But brewers kept pushing, innovating, hopping on the next trend (pun nailed), and Stone rested on their once shiny, brass knuckle shaped crown as if being king was forever. Have you watched Game of Thrones? Kings only last as long as their subjects love them. And I did Stone, I promise you that I did. But you’re not king anymore, and I promise you, I am sad about that. 

My Cup Runneth Over at the Great American Beer Festival

Posted on by oahuzer0

When I look back upon my life I will undoubtedly have regrets, wins, and everything in between. I will wonder what decisions I made, had they been different, would have landed me very far from where I am. Far from my deathbed I find myself at a rare moment of lucidity, where I know that the path I am on has led me to rejoice in the now.

This year I attended the Great American Beer Festival, not just as a casual patron, but in representation of the beer that these hands created. As a brewer for Ninkasi Brewing in Eugene, OR I wore that responsibility with pride and honor. I was not however, prepared for the overflowing cup that was the gratitude from those in the industry that have suffered and grown stronger together. As I attached myself to Jamie Floyd, one of the founders of Ninkasi, like Peter Pan’s shadow I watched as he floated from space to space, stopping seemingly every 20 feet to greet yet another long time friend. Every face, joyful. And every one of them embraced. I could only sit back and be envious as I witnessed over two decades of contributing to this culture bring so much positivity.

That’s what defines beer to me. More than just water, hops, grain, and yeast, but time. Passion. And more than that, people. The beer is what gets the foot in the door, but when you see who makes it, you understand the beer so much more. My heroes fueled my desire to be where I am today, and are driving me in the future to be more than just the paintbrush, but the artist. So I tell Jamie who my heroes are, and he promptly tells me “Oh yeah, we go way back…” My intentions were only to give a window into the soul of who he had brewing his beers, maybe to set his mind at ease if he had any lack of ease at all. He does not. So the night progresses and like all nights of excess good times were had. We wandered from booth to booth like drunken gypsies, meeting brewers and wetting whistles, talking beer and loving life. I don’t know if it gets better than this, but as life has shown under spotlight, I know very little if anything at all…

Night two, I explore the floor before the masses are released from their stanchion prison as brewers and volunteers set up and I feel a presence pulling me towards a glowing light. Okay so there was no actual light, but life seemed a little brighter as I approached the booth of Russian River Brewing out of Santa Rosa. And there was Vinnie. Brewer, normal guy, philanthropist, hero. I don’t travel outside of my box very frequently and I was not nearly lubed up enough to be brave, but something nagged at me, “What would Jamie do?” And it hit me, we are all brewers. That love is the same. So I waved him over, introduced myself and where I brew my beer, followed by the most embarrassing fan boy moment of my entire life to that point. Notice I said “to that point…” So after exposing my jugular by telling him that his beers and business practices have inspired me to be the brewer I am today he graciously allowed me to leave with my quivering pride and an invitation to come back and grab a beer whenever I needed one. I did, and he noticed.

Other icons pass through our booth as the night progresses, like Jeremy Marshall from Lagunitas, who was dressed like a drunk disco ball, and looked fabulous. I had mentioned that one of the true north directional and biggest influences of my career was Justin Crosley and the Brewing Network, and like the gods were listening, who walks up two feet from me? Yep. Mr. Floyd smiles, looks at me, turns to Justin and introduces me, “This is my brewer Dana, and he has something he would like to tell you…” I’ll spare you the shaky voice and red faced fawning, but I said what I needed to say. The BN did so much more for me than make me laugh and give me information about my life direction, they gave me the courage to do something about it. For that, I will always be grateful.

The final day of the festival, much needed hair of the dog during the awards ceremony before the last stretch. WeldWerks Brewing was dangerously close to our booth which I took full advantage of, not to mention Three Floyds and their Dark Lord which was probably the best beer I had at the whole damn thing. I don’t know if things could get better than this… and the universe reminds me of how dumb I actually am. Up walks the great Shaun O’Sullivan, El Sully, Big Red, of 21A fame (RIP) and I lose. my. shit. He of course being of great character introduces himself as if I have no idea who he is. I interrupted him and told him that I know exactly who he was and that he was on my Mount Rushmore of brewers and inspirations. Yes, I was properly lubed for this interaction. He smiled and fully engulfed in his humility gave me a hug and thanked me. No, thank you Sully. Justin shows up again and I force feed them my beers, talk out of my ass, and as they walked away to enjoy the rest of their time I float away with Jamie smiling from ear to ear because he knows I am on the mountain top. I am fulfilled.

The festival winds down, the crowd thins, the retrospective creeps in. Where do I go from here? The mountain only goes so high, right? This mountain does, but this is not the mountain that will define my life. I am reminded of the goal, amongst the heroes that have annihilated my liver throughout the years, the clouds disperse and and I see them beckoning me forth. I didn’t get into this to be the brush. I am the artist. And you all will know my name before too long…

Live In The Now

Posted on by oahuzer0

I, like many of my generation, have always felt like I have been existing on borrowed time. I used to say that I’d never see past 30, but alas, 30 came and went and now I’m knocking down the door of middle agedom. As cynical as my Cobain-esque outlook on life can sometimes be, I find myself at times more and more it seems, stopping to smell the flowers and enjoying this life. How it happened, when it happened, could probably be boiled down to a who or what, but I find it best not to ask why the good times happen, just to be in the moment when they do, and maybe be thankful.

There’s no search for perfection here. I know that dragon I’ve been chasing is not real. But moments can feel perfect enough to get you through the day, whether it be a conversation with a loved one about your day or a beer that goes surprisingly well with a shower. I’m finding the moments within the moments that give me peace, a feeling that eluded me for a time and wasn’t even sure I deserved. But times have changed. The world has tossed me a couple softballs and I took a full swing. Do I boast of my fortunes or do I humbly occupy my slightly higher than you seat in the world behind this quiet half smile? I think I shall boast.

I found the love and support of a good woman that legitimately wants me to be the best I can be, for me and no one else. It took me time to understand that this was okay. I, like many of my generation had no self worth so happiness was based on pleasing others which often meant sacrificing stimulation of my own pleasure center. I will pause as you visualize my pleasure center……. Nice, isn’t it? Now I make it a point to have a pint, to do something for me everyday, no matter how small, to Hell with the impossibilities. There is now peace where the was once chaos, and chaos where it is needed. There is a poetic irony in the turn of events where I felt like the lucky one to catch such a catch, and she made me realize eventually that I too, am a pretty decent fish.

I also brew a pretty decent beverage. If you aren’t hip to what this whole excuse for me to word vomit is about by now then I don’t have a clue why you are even here, but for the uninitiated I do the beers. I drink them, always Upright, I brew them, I would swim in them if they would let me. Admittedly took too long to get here, but alas I am here and I’ll be damned if I ever stop. I appreciate every day that I get to go to work and that is something I do not take for granted.

I take the time to cook a good meal, evident by my cushy midriff and mushy cheeks. I will spend a couple minutes in the car just to wait for a good song to end. I make sure to say goodbye to our dogs when I leave in the morning and hello when I get home. They have yet to say anything back, but I hold out hope. I keep the hiding places in the kitchen stocked with candy because I am an adult and can do whatever I want. I have spaghetti for breakfast and eggs for dinner, because. I have a beer, but you already knew that, that’s what turns me on about you… your attention to detail. I don’t want to pound the point too much harder. If you haven’t got the overall gist then I can do nothing more for you. Be happy. Recognize those moments of joy. Create them for yourself. Share some smiles with good people. You deserve it, no matter what I’ve heard about you!

I Did It…

Posted on by oahuzer0

I start everyday with an alarm. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture plays until my sleep filled eyes can find the snooze button. But then, the morning lifts me up and pushes me out the door to start my day. I lived the entirety of my life searching for that snooze button, with little enthusiasm if any for a job that I HAD to go to. Behind these waking eyes I had a dream, although nothing so grand as Dr. King but from my heart nonetheless and as most things that should be it became a relentless need to one day become a reality. I get to brew beer.

It started as simple as any other obsession. A friend extends an invitation to come over and brew a beer in his garage as if we were a high school band rehearsing punk versions of boy band songs… which of course is just a hypothetical example and needs no further evaluation. With brewing beer came drinking beer, and with drinking beer came the “what ifs” and the “we shoulds”. After the “Yeah, that’ll happens” and the beers were consumed we put our labor of love to bed in its fermenter and ventured home to find that snooze button for another day. Little did I know that our little garage rehearsal would change the trajectory of my life to my every morning Tchaikovsky snooze and smile.

Years passed and the time spent as a retail slave had stretched me thin literally and figuratively, so the time had finally come to stick my neck out and get this dream moving. Like anything worth doing, this was not the easiest thing to make a reality. After some outright cold shoulders and near misses my spirit was taking quite the beat down, so I took what I could get in the industry in distribution. Not the dream, more like a mirage, but like all things in the pursuit of greatness I was to treat it like a learning experience that would hopefully lead to the ultimate goal. It did not. Like a forgotten flapjack my dream was pushed to the back burner while I destroyed my body for the distribution of one of the big three that shall not be named, and if you think I was ashamed to pedal such wares then you would be correct. But we do silly things in the search for something true, something real. Like retail, distribution was not for me and eventually was no longer an option, so I left.

As the years ticked by the dream would peek its head out from time to time and would lead us to massively sauced sessions of beers, brewing, and battlestar galactica. Memories were made and wiped on those days, and the dream was fed big plump virgins so that it would one day live. Surprising successes like my jalapeño scotch ale called Rowdy Roddy Pepper to my almost great but ultimate failure in The GIMPerial IPA made everything very real, the good and the bad. Real is the enemy of ambition, and if you let it, can be the reaper of that dream. My dance with the reaper has been a long and slow ass grabber under the mirror ball and strobe lights but in the end I persevered. No means no you reaping sumumabitch.

What did I do you might ask? As fate would have it, as the distribution door closed, the door of hope cracked open to let this fly in. A couple job postings at breweries and my fingers never worked as fast on an application as they did that day. I would have been happy with either job, and that’s pure honesty, but if I’m being completely transparent there was one that I was hoping for more than the other. I was called in for a “working interview” to one of my favorite breweries in Oregon. What the fahk is a “working interview” I thought, but was nonetheless ready, willing, and able to do whatever it took to prove to them and more importantly myself that this was what I was meant to be doing. As interviews go I have to say, best one ever. We brewed a beer. Like all those years ago in my buddies garage and every backyard batch in between we added grain to water, hops to boiling wort, yeast into fermenter, and pride swelling in my chest. I was asked what I thought and with restrained jubilation I got the words out that it was everything I hoped it would be. To which my future boss told me that the job was mine if I wanted it. The responses in my head were both loud and vulgar, but I managed to get out a composed acceptance of the position. I sat in my car in disbelief where someone must have been cutting onions, and immediately let the important people in my life know of what just happened. The first step has finally been taken towards the dream. I get to tap the snooze button every morning with a smile. I get to climb into my car, drive to a brewery and open the door with my key. I get to start my day brewing beer. Dammit, is someone cutting onions again?

The Great American Beer Festival 2019

Posted on by oahuzer0

There it was, bright and bubbly, as if shrouded in neon, the Denver Convention Center beckons the thousands of thirsty Uprighticans into its boozum. This has been the top of the mountain for me. The last drop in the beer filled bucket list, I was finally there, and now that its over, I don’t know what else to do with my life. I am talking about of course, The Great American Beer Festival.

I could spend a few paragraphs on beer reviews but it would seem that a vast majority of these beers were brewed specifically for the festival which means I can tell you about the heavenly lights and singing choirs at first sip of, lets be honest, some truly mantastic brews but that wouldn’t be fair to you. If I’m anything at all, its fair. Okay, I’ll give you one. Utopias from Samuel Adams, or Sam Adams as he is called by his friends. It was an event within the event. The countdown to pour, the jubilant and undulating crowd, the fireworks and dancing go go girls… Okay I made that last part up… or did I? They did good. They got me excited for a room temperature, flat, high ABV, cough syrupy beer(?). And I was excited, from pour to lips, from wide eyes to smiles, they had me laughing to myself at the alcohol burn that was masochistic. I would expect nothing more than this kind of experience from the greatest American beer festival of all time. Would I pay $200 to $300 for a bottle of Sam Adams Utopias? No. Do I have an alcohol burn in my loins for another chance at trying it? You’re damn right I do.

From the preparations beforehand, making our pretzel/jerky/peanut butter cracker necklaces, the inaugural bagpipe entry, to the inevitable black out in the Uber heading back to our AirBnB, I can honestly say that GABF gave me all that I expected and then some. And its the “then some” that reminds me why the dream is the dream. Forget that every brewery you could have ever wanted to visit was at your fingertips. Forget that you’re surrounded by Instagram influencers and noise cancelling dance floors. Okay so they had this dance floor where everyone had on headphones while they danced with each other so that it seemed they were all just moving to no music. I don’t know why, but I loved this so much. But this is not why I am here. I crawled my way out of despair and complacency for the thing that seemed to have been ripped from my very being. I came to find my passion again, and they had it in liquid abundance.

I find the most inspiration in venturing outside of the norm, the per verbal box of crushed dreams and mediocrity. What I found in the midst of this glorious festivus was hard work, heart, and some damn good outside the box beers. Which brings me to the booth that had me coming back, again and again… and again. WeldWerks Brewing out of Greeley, CO had a whisper in the crowd that was like a beacon to a mountain top. Find this booth, I must. And found we did. The beers of reputation that had us in search of said booth had already been tapped for the day, but we didn’t get dressed up for nothin’ so in line we stood for what would inevitably be exactly what I have been searching for. Their Tropical Milkshake had me muttering to myself like an extra on One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The expletives and elated beams shooting from my eyes were easily read by passers by as they followed me back into line to taste the obvious euphoria that I was experiencing. Then the Hot Sauce Barrel Aged Taco Gose confirmed what I had already started to suspect, that WeldWerks embodied all that I wanted to be. Not all that I wanted to drink, though don’t tempt me with a good time, but the passion that was so prevalent in their beer that I could taste it in my soul. It didn’t hurt that they served it with a taquito but that wasn’t the reason, and for those of you looking for a route to my soul, tacos werk.

Meeting Sam Calagione of Dogfish Head

WeldWerks showed me that they loved what they were doing. They showed me that they worked hard and poured heaps and hops of passion into their labor of love. The joy that was on the faces of everyone who got to partake was a testament to the dreams come to life in filled glasses, raised in praise. When it comes down to it, this is why I came to the Great American Beer Festival, whether I knew it or not, to fill my spirit back up. WeldWerks, among the many others, had me blessed with an overabundance.

Great Notion, A Great Love

Posted on by oahuzer0

Portland. Where the weird thrive and the beer flows like wine. Any walk around this beautiful city will yield you an infinite array of culinary delights and wonderful spectacle. It is one the few cities in the country that has the honor of being called “My Happy Place” and with so much as 15 minutes lost in its abnormally clean city streets it just might become one of yours as well. If on your walkabout you stumble across Great Notion Brewing then do yourself a flavor (that’s right, I said flavor) and stumble inside. You might find the piece of your heart that you’ve been missing.

While the hazy IPA scene is East Coast dominated this Oregon house of hops and glory is making a case for supremacy, and in this debate, haters gonna hate while the lovers gonna love. I have had my liver liberally doused in the likes of Other Half, Trillium, Tree House, among others and can say without any hesitation that Great Notion holds a candle to the east coast behemoths and sets them on fire. I have no guilt in roasting my marshmallows on that fire and parading my s’mores in front of my east coast brethren. So let me take a minute, or many and try to put into words the depth of my adoration for the copious mouthfeels and Disney-like glee I get when I find my seat at their Alberta brewpub. Where the beers are a plenty and the food gives you chest pains… #worthit

So lovingly printed on their cans is the credo “With a Passion for Hops and the Patience for Sour”, which translates to the thirstiest of Uprighticans as a promise to satisfy, not only the lupulin painted palates but the jaw tightened thrill seekers of sours as well, and everything in between. And when I say everything, I’m not just whistling Dixie, mainly because I have no idea what that means, but also because whenever I visit my home away from home I tend run the gamut on the tap list. They serve up breakfast in the form of Double Stack pancakes, a big sumumabitch of a stout brewed with enough maple syrup to give you the diabeetiss and whole bean Sumatra from Clutch Coffee Roasters to keep you buzzzing through the sugar surge. At 11% ABV you’ll be happier sooner than later and feeling no guilt for having pancakes before noon. No shortage of healthy options if you are in the mood for something juicy. Juice Box, Juice Jr, Space Invader, and voted one of the best IPA’s in Mrrrica… Ripe IPA, all take your palate to the farmer’s market for a fruit filled basket of “F@%k Yeah!”

I’m gonna need something to get a little more emotional about so my next lips smacking libation must be a sour. I gaze upon a menu item that might as well have been lit with fireworks. Blueberry Muffin? Yes please. Take a whiff, reflect, tell me where you are right now. I am smack dab in a bakery or in a country kitchen neck deep in muffins a la blueberry, and I mean spot on. Sips turn to puckers, and empty glasses turn to smiles as it goes down with ease and elation. Truly a singular experience and one of my favorite sours, period. Until… these maniacal expectation destroyers decide they want all their eggs in one can, so they haze up a strawberry sour, or maybe they sour up a hazy IPA, either way they do it, and in doing so claim my liver for their own. The Luminous v.03 was a journey. Sweet and tart, hazy and refreshing, drink and drunk. If I had a third eye, it would have been a flood with tear. We’re talking Bambi’s mom dying, Rose letting Jack sink to the bottom of the ocean, stub your toe on the coffee table tears. I will forever yearn for that beer, no shame.

Give me the time and I will peel back the layers of love for this pot of gold at the end of my own personal rainbow. But I don’t have that kind of time. Time is wasted if you’re not at least dreaming about visiting this Portland house of hops and happiness. I don’t waste time anymore. I drown in it.

Reflections, My Craft Beer Year

Posted on by oahuzer0

Another year comes and goes, and the ever changing world of craft beer delivers copious moments of glee, disappointment, and the occasional “meh”. Expectations were high. The status quo is an often looked upon bad word with breweries fighting tooth and nail to stand out amongst the emerging and in some cases the declining. We have been blessed with an over abundance and it has been my genuine pleasure to over indulge. As I sift through the hazy memories (pun not intended, but pun totally nailed) I can’t help but be optimistic that this train has no intention of slowing, and I’m setting up shop on the tracks. So where to start?….

The Tried and True Award

One thing that all enthusiasts appreciate is consistency. How many times have you been at the bottle shop and been stumped? What are we having tonight? This is the “First World Problem” of too many to choose from that it becomes difficult. So thank the beer gods for the no brainer, the always a good choice, like warm apple pie go-to beer/brewery that damn near guarantees smiles as opposed to the status quo “meh”. Locally here in Eugene you can go no wrong with anything from Ninkasi Brewing. Their staples are as good as they were when I first laid these lips upon them and their seasonal/special releases like Ground Control and the Megaladom give me the fizz in my special liver parts. Oh yes, they are special…

Favorite Beer Fest(s)

Still haven’t made it to a GABF, sue me. But I have made my way through the crowds of the massively lubricated and I can’t say that it wasn’t a fantastic time. A bucket list destination for me was Drake’s Brewing’s Hopocalypse Day and it did not hesitate to demolish my expectations. Mythical beers like the whale of a brew, Black Label Hopocalypse was my entire focus, and no one, not Ninkasi herself could have kept me from acquiring the “One Beer” to rule them all. I told my crew that they could come with me if they wanted but I was heading straight to the line to get my bottles. They came with, cuz… you follow obsession when it leads to oblivion it seems. I got my bottles and proceeded to douse my liver in a tsunami of hops and smiles provided by the Bay Area’s finest. It was a good Hopocalypse…

I would not be able to forgive myself if I didn’t mention my favorite Oregon beer fest. The Bend Brewfest was a spectacle of epic proportions. You know all of the stories you hear about Oregon beer? Put all of that in a field of tents, taps, and tokens and say goodbye to your friends and loved ones, because you’re home, in craft beer heaven. Rest In Pieces…

Biggest Surprise Beer

My liver is spoken for. When I yearn for beer the first brewery that comes to mind is Great Notion Brewing out of Portland, OR. Those who know, yearn with me. Those who don’t, I pity you. I found myself spending hours driving to the brewery just for a chance to pick up my allotment of cans for one of their Saturday releases, but what I was not prepared for was the mind f@&k that their sour IPA Luminous v.03 was about to unleash. This was a gateway beer to obsession. Strawberry, hops, haze, tart, eyes wide open and with a solitary tear of elation streaming down my cheek. I told others, “You have to try this!” They would ask if I could send them a can. I could not. I was not willing. And now I yearn. Is this my karma? So be it. I would do it all again. If you know then you understand, and if not… then I pity you.

Biggest Disappointment Beer

This one hurts. The first beer I remember loving was the Punkin Ale from Dogfish Head out of Delaware and the long distance affair has been strong throughout the years, however my affections have apparently wavered (as of this year anyways). Let me be clear, my heart is still strong for the Head of Dogfish, but when something you depend on gives you less than what you expect after years of dependability then it hurts on a much deeper level. The beer was good. Please do not let this rant say anything else if not that, but I have been accustomed to great when it comes to Sam and Co. I pray the punk rocks its way back into the light of praise this year. If not? I can live with a broken heart…

Best Beer of the Year

Astoria, OR is known for a few things. First, a little film called The Goonies. Ever hear of it? Second, Arnold insisted to his kindergarten class that it indeed was not a tumor. And most importantly, Fort George Brewing has been pumping out amazing brews that would cause any truffle shuffling adventurer seek them out. Their yearly collaboration beer, the 3-Way IPA always promises justified hype with the year before being the coming together of minds from Great Notion and Rueben’s Brews. So the follow up had some pretty big glasses to fill, and fill they did. They brought in SoCal innovators Modern Times and Seattle’s beer equivalent to a religious experience in Holy Mountain Brewing for this last years 3-Way and proceeded to make sweet, sweet love. This one, I was less stingy with and spread it far and wide, the way a 3-Way should be. I can’t wait for this years collab as I sit with these dirty thoughts.

Best Brewery

What do you consider a great brewery? Is it all about the people? Is it the beer that pumps its way into our glasses and helps us forget? Is it the atmosphere, the ambiance, what the French call a certain… I don’t know what? I don’t know Lloyd, the French are assholes, and I know how Great Notion Brewing out of Portland made its way into mine, and the hearts of many. There’s almost nothing worse for an ex-punk-ish hombre than the status quo, lemmings off a cliff, “lets do what everyone is doing” attitude, so it was indescribably refreshing when a brewery was doing hazy IPA’s, big stouts, and juicy sours with little regard to the norm. They’re tap lists on whatever day you may visit reads like a Willy Wonka wet dream. In the mood for pancakes? Brownies? Passionate for passion fruit? Enjoy hazy days on the citrus train? Like puckering them cheeks? All are welcome here to drink as you please with not a dilly dilly in sight. You’re going to drink a bit, more than likely a few liquid refreshments will pass through our lips to liver, and the menu is a smorgasbord of heart stopping munchies to soak up stout to sour. It’s nothing if not exciting for me as I approach the doors and find my seat. This place makes me feel like I am winning at life, and lets face it, we all need that as often as we can get it.

Most Anticipated Beer

There are beers that we look forward to coming out every year. Pliny the Younger is a yearly obsession that I will be happy to indulge until the well runs dry or nuclear Hopocalypse claims us all. KBS, B-Bombs and Dark Stars, Hunahpu’s, Bourbon County (you damn well know you look forward to that one too), and many more that have become old reliables will hit shelves for minutes if that, but what I find myself frothing at the mouth for are perched safely in my own cellar. Bottles of puckering Rare Barrel, de Garde greatness in great abundance, stouts and barley wines and sours, oh my. But the holy grail for hop heads takes up the most coveted shelf space. I’m talking about the copious amounts of 120 Minute IPA’s dating back to 2011 waiting for vertical consumption. Granted we are two years off from what promises to be the vertical to end all verticals, but I cant help but feel the excitement in the now. I imagine it will happen on the annual trip to The Bay for my Pliny, which those days will make for stories we will tell our grandchildren, if we can remember of course… or survive.

It’ll All Be Okay…

Posted on by oahuzer0

It’s been awhile since I have felt the draw to the pen. If I can be honest, and with you all I feel I must be, the reason is purely selfish. After the death of Anthony Bourdain, the voice in my head that moved these fingers so swiftly to scribe the wonderment of the world of beer has all but vanished. On the outside all is as it was and as it should be, but every day that I attempt to exist within the void I find myself deeper in the lost. To say that his death made me evaluate my own demons would be understated dangerously. But I fight. Through the tumbling outlook and heavy heart I try to make sense of it all, because if I can’t take the lessons of another’s misfortunes and better myself from them then that would mean I don’t really want to get past it. I would be solely, narcissistically baiting the hook for attention. That’s not me. I mean sure, who doesn’t appreciate being the center of someone’s world for a minute? But I want to make my way out of this cave with more to offer than a plea for help or a hug.

Everyone’s response to a rough day for me is to have a beer. My reputation precedes me. Maybe I ran with it. Maybe I can keep giving people what they want. Maybe the best way to battle these demons is to turn this finger Upright and find who I am, who I want to be. I admittedly lost who I was and he may be gone for good. That’s fine, I obviously never cared for him anyway. At the end of the day I hope I can find the simple things to be enough again. That would be a good start to reaching for something extraordinary, eventually. Until then, with a beer in my hand and my heart on my sleeve, I will be here, for anyone else struggling, for whoever needs a shoulder or an ear, to find the lost. Sometimes all we want to hear is this… it’ll all be okay. Cheers.

Claim 52 Brewing

Posted on by oahuzer0

Unless you are not hip to the beer trends of the industry then you must have had a New England style IPA by now. Or maybe you’re one of those dirt water swilling freaks that preaches “domestic” superiority for the Three That Shall Not Be Named. And by the way, there is nothing more domestic than a local brewery putting out craft beer that was brewed down the street from your house. That’s like, literally domestic. But anyway, the hazy IPA is here, spreading like a colony of feeding yeast, and every brewery is having a go at what used to be exclusively an East Coast thang. To be honest, it appears that they are missing the mark when compared to the likes of Other Half, Treehouse, LIC, and the plethora of other East Coast breweries, to which I should point out that there has been no comparison, until now…

I am no authority here. I am just a fortunate Upright Drunkard who has swam in the spectrum of the many legit and bogus. My understanding of this relatively new IPA style is based on the mass consensus and my own personal research (nights of many lined up hollow vessels that were home to the haze), so when I wrapped my lips around a West Coast brewery doing something I have only experienced from the other side of the country then I was immediately skeptical, intrigued, confused, introspective, and delighted. The brewery that cracked the code was Claim 52 Brewing out of Eugene, OR (pause for collective scoff and disbelief)…

The first hazy concoction that caught my attention was their Kickin’ Jeans IPA (8/10 on the UrD scale). The advertisement poster for this brrr was a couple of people in Canadian tuxedoes doing Chuck Norris style kicks. Yeah, I am going to order that. It was one of the first times I remember a citrus smack in my palate complimented by a perfect hop presence. Hazy and citrusy, solid and fluid, drink and drunk. Only on tap, I went back three days later for more with the impression that this brew was an anomaly, something special that was the closest thing to the likes of Other Half on this side of the land, and I wanted it before it was gone forever. Little did I know, Claim 52 was just getting started…

Then along came Fluffy. If my heart was broke into a million pieces, Fluffy (8.75/10 UrD scale) could glue it back together. There was a sense of relief after my first mass consumption of it, knowing that I didn’t have to agonize over whether or not I had to wheel and deal for east coast citrusy libations. It was here, down the street from my home, and I felt like I had won. Not a prize. Not a lottery. Through all the BS in the world, I had just won at life. And with the way the world seems to always shine a brighter light on the winners, Claim 52 pumped out Dances With Hooves, Super Salad, Cryo Fluffy, and Goats In Pajamas. Not a typo, Goats. In. Pajamas. All amazing, and all winners.

If you can do no wrong then why not push the boundaries a bit more. That’s what important brewers are known for, being restless, a “so what’s next?” attitude that breeds greatness. They decided to give us their version of the milkshake IPA, which to be honest, had me in fear that they were sinking their own ship. They did not. Purple Panda came out of nowhere and while it wasn’t an identical interpretation of a Tired Hands milkshake IPA it was distinctly their own, and it was thoroughly satisfying (8.75/10 UrD scale). They followed PP up with Bird Up, Snail Down, Teaches of Peaches, and their holiday treat in Jolly AF that put me in a sugar cookie coma that I long for to this day. The beer, not the coma… maybe.

When it all comes down to it, the search for the best beer often doesn’t result in you finding it, but it finding you. The case being made for one of my all time favorite Claim 52 beers when I stumbled fortuitously into the brewery on the most fortunate of whims to find Private Eyes. Clicking all the boxes for the hazy IPA it cemented their status in my mind and liver as the one of the premier NE IPA producers, not just in Oregon, not just the west coast, but period. I bought what I could afford, and went back for more on payday. A great beer keeps you coming back, and back I came, and kept coming. 9/10 UrD scale.

I tend to gush. When something infects your heart then that tends to happen, and I give myself completely to it as that is how I am built. This place is deserving of my adoration and I pass that enthusiasm on to anyone and everyone who will listen and enjoy a beer with me. And at the end of that conversation and hopefully many many empty glasses, there’s more love in the room for your life and this brewery that provides the canvas for better possibilities. Sounds a lot like hope and optimism, doesn’t it?

Reflections, Another Year In Craft Beer…

Posted on by oahuzer0

The craft beer world changed this year. We witnessed our hearts breaking and the fall from grace of one of our favorite breweries in Wicked Weed with the selling to AB InBev. We also saw the retaliation from the craft world with the “Independent” movement in the wake of the sale in the form of the label signifying breweries as such, or as the Three-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named saw it, a big middle finger attacking them for doing nothing wrong. Nothing indeed. You know what you did… Anyway, this year I saw myself taking a step back from massive consumption and trying to focus on quality and the rare. That went out the window pretty quickly and the focus turned to whatever I could get from the east coast. That followed through the aforementioned window soon after and the focus was then supporting local. Mix that all together and you get the craft beer drinker we have today.

So this year I have decided to go about this whole categorized awards thing differently and soon after, throw it all out the window. So again, here are some of my opinions, my experiences, my favorite moments, and even some heartbreak. Here are my reflections…

Favorite Tradition

I have yet to make it to a GABF, or do a brewery tour of Brooklyn, but I have made it a mission over the past few years to make the journey to the Bay Area for the release of a beer that along with the brewery has a special place in my heart, deep in the cockles, Pliny the Younger. Nothing like braving the early morning frost of a Bay Area February in order to be in line for first wave sips of what has become one of my favorite beers ever. Is it one of my favorites because of its exclusivity? Because of its cult like following, or perhaps its ability to seriously impair your good decision making skills? Or maybe it’s actually just that damn good, and as with all good beers is even better when shared with friends over great food. That’s a trip to Russian River Brewing in a nutshell, and I am one big nut.

Biggest Surprise Beer

The landscape of amazing beers produced many oohs and ahs this year, but are there any that I still dream about, even long for? Okay, there are quite a few but one above all stole the show this last summer. Fort George out of Astoria, OR gave us their highly anticipated collab beer, the 3-Way IPA. The collaborating breweries being Great Notion out of Portland and Reuben’s Brews out of Seattle and boy did they ever collab! GN and FG have been able to corral the nuances of the New England style IPA better than most and gave the west coast a dream of what they have been missing. This beer stacked up toe to toe with the likes of Other Half and Tree House like it was a real contender. Cue “Eye of the Tiger”…

My Favorite Beer(s) of 2017

Okay, so asking a guy what his favorite beer is might be like asking him to narrow down his favorite breath of air, so as it happens I cannot bring myself to pick just one. First stand out that took my liver away was Mylar Bags from Other Half. In a lineup of outstanding east coast hop juice, on a frosty night in Poulsbo, WA, everything was beginning to run together. Other Half, Trillium, Tree House, all the heavy hitters and there was only so much my palate could take… or so I thought. The hazy beast was poured and the aromas popped like a citrusy dream with an army of hops to conquer my soul. Something perfect about this beer, and I like me some perfect.

Then there was this whole milkshake IPA thing. Skeptical I was. But then I was fortunate enough to win in a game of chance, much like Jack in Titanic, a ticket that would change my life. For the better in my case (I still maintain that there was plenty of room on that floating door) and I was blown away by the Extra Vanilla Double Milkshake by Tired Hands. A mouthful to say, and an even better mouthful to… fill your mouth with? As I expected, my tastebuds were a-flurry with confusion at first, but with each succeeding sip the layers peeled back every detail until they all came together in a cacophony of harmony and discord. The vanilla mellowed the hops and vice versa like a dance on my palate which resonated long after the can and glass went dry.

Biggest Disappointment

This is hard. A gut check to my morales and maybe even a calling out of my craft beer ideology. I, because of this one vice, am a hypocritical lump on the log of a conflicted belief system that I will defend forever, and compromise when it suits me. The beer that causes such an unrest within is Goose Island’s Bourbon County Brand Stout. To be clear, my disappointment is not with the beer but with myself. Not because of the beer, which is the pioneering bourbon barrel aged stout that is nothing if not consistently awesome, but because of its affiliations. The business practices of Goose’s parent company are deplorable, instilling actual outward frustration and even anger. So why do we flock every Black Friday to find our allotments worth if we do not support where it is coming from? I don’t have an answer. I don’t have the logical reasoning to support my actions. What I do have is my shame, and nothing drowns shame better than a BCBS…

Best Brewery

Let us not bicker. Let’s understand that we all have our sentimental attachments to both the local and abroad. So it makes sense to highlight both, in my opinion of course, and state the drunken obvious. Let’s be real. No “Best Brewery” conversation can be had without bringing up Other Half out of Brooklyn. And rightfully so. Their growth in popularity is undeniable. Their dedicated drinkers are also campers (lining up the night before for a chance to score some sweet cans is fanatical). And the excitement that I have experienced after receiving beer mail of these beautifully hazy concoctions is just about unrivaled. They get it. They obviously love what they do which shows in their product and their rabid fanbase. There’s legitimate love there, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

Locally, I have been smitten. I am in deep smit. Claim 52 out of Eugene, OR has been consistently raising my eyebrows in delight for the course of a year or so. Like Other Half they have a focus on the New England style of brewing, and dare I say do it just as well, if not better at times than some east coasters. Home is where the heart is, and my heart is cemented in the foundations of that amazing house of hops. All I can say is thank you…

Most Anticipated Beer

I have made it a mission in my craft beer life to obtain and consume those beers that I once thought not possible to obtain, the whales if you will. Like Joe Dirt says, you can’t have “no” in your heart. So what do I want, nay, need this year? There in lays the problem. Everything is at the fingertips of the modern craft beer drinker and trader so the exclusivity factor has taken a major hit. Exclusivity makes a beer taste better. Call me a liar. Something you had to search out, pay up the wang for, fight, claw, do unmentionable things in truck stop bathrooms for always tastes of victory. So allow me to crave for an experience over “a” beer. The Great American Beer Fest is my new “White Whale”. One beer? More like I’m gonna need another liver. It’s the top of the mountain, and I can’t wait to take in the view. Maybe I’ll see some of you there? I’ll be the only drunk crawling on the ground, somehow, still Upright. Cheers you silly suds!