Lightning Strikes

Seems we've moved from Summer directly to Fire Season. A series of storms that blew through last week set some fires south of Oakridge, in steep and wooded terrain. The fire info guy drops by the maps and the update every day, and we keep it posted at the pub. Last year it was the fire crews that helped us through a slow first-year October, when the crews of 25 or 30 would drop by on a quiet Tuesday night and stress the kitchen. We've only seen sporadic groups so far - nothing to overwhelm. From what I have been told today, from one of the upper layer people in the Interagency Fire Team, the crews are required to be "well-behaved". Unless they are off duty. It's really hard to be ready for this.

With my main bar staff gone for eight days to Interbike in Las Vegas, I'm on the bar straight through from Sunday to Sunday. I have some sporadic part-time help in the middle of the week, but otherwise the thirsty punters will have to enjoy my good looks and witty banter on a regular basis for the time being. This does cause the problem, though, of getting to the brewery to prepare for when the fire crews DO get their break. I have safely tucked away Tanninbomb in the cellar, to be tapped the first week of December, but I have a bitter in the fermenter that needs to be casked up in a day or two. The tenants upstairs may have to suffer through the sound of a mallet knocking in shives at 1:00 AM. We're also just about out of Union Dew, AGAIN, and I won't be able to tackle the problem until next week.

American Mild

I don't get out much these days, as has been readily observed by my nervous tick and slumped shoulders, but am down in Eugene to run errands. Most importantly, one of the antique steamer windows that serves as doors to the keg beer coolor broke the other day is getting replaced with lexan. Also, food and bar stock is being acquired, including another box of pens for the bar that seem to disappear at the rate of one a day. As a reward for driving the around the Big City, I get to sit at the High Street Cafe and have a pint or two while handling all the computer-related work that comes with the job. I am pleased that the new brewer here, Chris, is turning out some refreshing quality and variety. Other than my place, this is the first time in a coon's age that I've been able to enjoy a mild. It is billed as an American Mild, which maybe means that it is brewed with domestic pale malts and served at 35˚ an a 16 oz. shaker glass. Nice on the palette. I wish it could've been on the one beer engine instead of the Wheat.

2 Daves

I've had this batch on the pumps for several weeks now, and there are only two casks left in the cellar, so come and get your pint before the next guy does. It is based off a recipe that is based off a recipe. In the classic nature of handed-down news, I suspect what I have going on here is much different than from the originator of the homebrew recipe, Dave A (on the right). In fact, I know that it is different because I have had the original dispensed from the kegerator in his garage. It was called Zippy IPA at the time.

A bottle of original made its way to our sister pub the Woolpack Inn a couple of years ago, nestled in a sock inside a backpack inside the belly of a United Airlines jet. It took a year, but the bottle was discovered lurking in the cellar and summarily consumed, causing Dave B (on the left) to inquire about the origin of the bottle. This led to the acquisition of the recipe, and its subsequent modification into a number called Zippy Red IPA.

I decided to have a go at it one day, and called Dave B for the recipe. There was some confusion as to crystal malt color designations, as the British like using arcane units of measure, but I just used 120L crystal for whatever was specified as crystal. Upon tapping, we discovered this lovely dark red stuff that had nice balance and a subtle hop aroma. Would I call it an IPA, like Dave A and Dave B did? Nope. It wasn't pale, for one thing, and it wasn't destined for India. It was just a dark red hoppy ale, albeit yummy, so I've been using the official style designation "Dark Red Ale". I think the official style designations have gotten a bit silly and out of hand, so I can make up my own; it's my pub.

This whole IPA thing has gotten out of hand. I like the occasional hop bomb, but for a nice night out at the pub I, generally speaking, don't require a hammer that large. I'm even getting more touchy about people stomping up to the bar and demanding (not "please" or "may I have") an IPA, without even looking at the beer list. Of course I can't appear touchy, what with the diminishing quality of customer service that this entails, but I'll talk about you when you leave, and you know who you are. The other one I often get is "What's your hoppiest?". This could mean several things. Are you talking about the finish; or about the number of IBU's; or what about that massive amount of bittering that doesn't translate into aroma. I have a nice bitter on right now that's nice and hoppy, what with the 0.3 Kg of Fuggles dumped in at flameout. It's sure hoppy by many standards, but its 3.5% ABV and lack of citrus confuses the unwashed masses.

2 Daves certainly is "hoppy", double quotes intended, but three of the handy imperial nonics will serve you nicely for an evening session at the Local 180. See you there.

It's Too Early for the Slow Season

School has started already. The idea of them going to school before the Labor Day weekend has been a hard adjustment, as this weekend is a holiday weekend and already the trade has slacked off dramatically. This last week at the pub was heralded by the plaintive sound of crickets.

August was very good to us. Last weekend was the first Oakridge Keg & Cask Festival, which, for an inaugural event, was a great success. Thanks to Angelo for a nice write-up on Brewpublic, but for the record the credit for this event really goes to our local Danielle Bowerman who organized it, and all the volunteers that made it all happen. All I did was throw out some opinions, help with the logo design, and try to keep a pub up and running. Everybody seemed to be happy, the music was great, and the Oakridge Food Bank and the Oakridge/Westfir Chamber of Commerce made off with some cash. Some pictures are here.

The week before that was another Mountain Bike Oregon event. The August event was bigger and better than the July event, and the pub and the other beer sponsors gave away copious amounts of refreshment. The pub had its busiest day ever on the Thursday when all 500 or so participants arrived into town.

But it's now September. Trade is slacking off. Vacations are over. School has started. I had hoped to stash more cash away during the busy Summer, but any extra money was earmarked for covering back bills from the slow Spring. I do so look forward to pulling in some income someday and achieving positive cash flow, but for the time being we'll just have to tighten our belts and look forward to ski season. Perhaps we'll be pleasantly surprised, though, as we do have a year behind us and the fan base is growing. Come October we will be shortening our hours, which will include closing on Tuesdays this Winter.

Expect some new ales soon. I just brewed yesterday, with the assistance of a visiting professional brewer, a hoppy West Coast style IPA, balanced for cask rather than the extremes that are appearing on keg all over the place. The first cask of batch 10 of Union Dew is in the pumps right now, and it's chock full o' yum. Next weekend a firkin of Cumbrian Moor, a porter, will be appearing. This is based off last year's recipe, but hopefully with more body. Sometime next week I will be working on mashing 295 lbs. of grain for our winter Tanninbomb, which will be appearing after Thanksgiving with all it's oak chip goodness.

See you at the pub.

Kegged Dew

When the last batch of Union Dew, our Sorachi Ace hopped IPA, was casked up a couple of months ago, there was a wee bit left in the fermenter. It was decided that this might do (dew) just fine racked off into a corny keg and gassed up like a proper real kegged ale. It's now on the bar, pushed with a fine batch of West Coast extraneous CO2 and served cold.

It ain't the same, say the few locals who have been taking samples. I find that many of the interesting flavors have been subdued (subdewed) by the temperature and the busy bubbles. All-in-all, a valuable lesson in beer physics.

It's nice to hear the folks eager for the cask version, which should be back in the pumps in a week and a half.

Warm Beer

Just back in time for the first pub superannuation after four days of just plain not being here. While not working the bar until this evening, I did personally perform the quality control job of sampling the cylinder of each of the pumps before opening to remind myself how nice it is to have a well-kept cask ale.

However, spankings are in order for the Fish Brewing Company in Olympia, which serves their single cask offering at room temperature. The poor waitress, when queried on the matter, said she was "told to serve it that way". Humph. Some ales can be just fine right up to ambient, but not their hoppy IPA. How could such a well-established and obviously cash-rich brewery give either the appearance of not knowing better, or simply not caring? It certainly would put many off real ale, and I suppose contributes to the notion that I often hear that real ale is warm and flat.

Pelican, another biggie in the industry, does the same. Their cask sits behind the bar and is gravity dispensed. At the end of the day, when I was there, the ale had sought out the ambient as well. If they were to take it seriously, and they certainly have the money to do so, then they could easily build a small cellar under or behind the bar. They get a Humph as well.

Pike in Seattle gets an A and will avoid a Humph for the time being.

In the Proper Real Keg department, the Lompoc Strong Draft on nitro at the Hedge House in Portland was superb. Perfect temperature, perfect mouthfeel, and a nice malty body with a hint of smoke. Recommended as the ideal pint to dry off soaked motorcycle gear by.

Superannuation

The 13th is the pub's first superannuation. Since I'm not much of a party planner, and the duties of just keeping this place afloat seem sufficiently adequate for the consumption of one's time and energies, I can boldly claim that there is not really going to be much going on. I do have it on good authority that the esteemed Porkesus shall be returning, our winged, prodigal, porcine pal, for a visit of cluck, swine and sauces from around the galaxy. Other than that, come down and have a pint. "Quid Hoc Sibi Vult" should be pouring, and possibly "Leftover Fuggles".

And for you doubters out there, PORKESUS IS REAL. REAL, I TELL YOU. JUST LIKE THE VELVETEEN RABBIT.

I think that if we've made it this far, through our first year, amidst poor financial and economic times, then we have a passable chance of a go at another. Or go silly crazy mad. And so, to stave that off, I'm strapping a tent and sleeping back atop Fair Chromio for a few days of just not being here. I hadn't been out for a good escape since the middle of May, so I'm due. See you on Thursday.