Honest Pints and the Strong Arm of the Law

In the last week and a half I've had two conversations about whether THE LAW should be involved with the notification or regulation of the discrepancy between the amount of beer nominally dispensed in a glass, and the ofttimes unsuitable amount actually dispensed. The first was with a well-known whisky and beer writer with whom I had the pleasure of entertaining at my pub last Friday. This was the point at which I first became aware that our elected lawmakers were even considering generating paper, perspiration and poo-poo over over this issue. Shortly thereafter I received a phone call from a writer for the Eugene Register-Guard over the same topic, which resulted in an article in the Register-Guard and a subsequent expurgated version on Fox News.

I had been aware of the Honest Pint Project for some time. It seems that a large proportion of beer vendors dispense a measure inferior to the stated amount. I know this is true, because a cursory scan of the standard shaker glass (16 oz. American pint) often reveals a large glassy bit at the bottom and a whitish foamy bit at the top, neither of which qualify as one of our favorite liquid refreshments (although the foam does contain trace elements). Maybe this is OK for some, such as the pitcher punters unaware that there is no volumetric definition of a pitcher, but for me it is just plain dishonest. Who, after all, would be satisfied with 19 gallons of gas for the price of 20, or a perceived inferior ratio of the so-called "berry" to the little yellow sugary pillows in my Cap'n Crunch Crunchberry box.

At first I was afraid that the State Gummint busybodies were going to attempt to turn this kind of behavior into a crime, much like the OLCC prohibiting me from enjoying a pint (proper, in a lined glass) of my own ale produced in my own brewery after closing time while I do the till, or allowing a youngster to come up to the bar and ask for another creme soda. If they were to take that approach, then the liberation of the proverbial worm-laden can suggests a tsunami of honesty legislation. Or maybe manners mandates? Hmmm. Now we're talking. I would love to have a law requiring customers to be polite, read signs, and say "Please" instead of "I'll have...". Violators would be clapped in irons without bail and sent to the pokey for three years until they can learn to wait twenty minutes for their food.

The second twang of uneasiness in the stomach was that they (The Gummint) might force every one of us to use exactly the same size glass. This would spark my own personal revolutionary insurrection. I already have a significant investment in my glassware, which I had custom-printed in the spirit of the British Imperial Pint, notably the 23 oz. overisized, lined glass. I like my glassware. I REALLY like my glassware. It feels good in the hand, and I know exactly how to fill it. It is eminently grippable and painfully honest. It is not to be messed with, Gummint or otherwise.

As I understand it, though, the proposed legislation takes the approach of certification. If your dispensed volume equals the stated volume, if you walk the talk, then you get a sticker or something. That might be alright, as long as I don't have to pay for it or otherwise waste taxpayers' money. I admit to really appreciating the Cask Marque designations at British pubs, but then I'm a snob for real ale and don't want to wander into a pub bereft of my favorite beverage. So, I'd put a sticker on my door, provided that it was free, large, and colorful.

Sadly, though, I'm not sure the American consumer, for the most part, really cares. Some do, though. My hope is that an awareness and appreciation for honesty and friendliness, for civility, for decent pubs and real ale and good music and nice slow-cooked meals, will continue to grow. Honesty is self-regulating, and the customers that appreciate these things will find us, Gummint or no.

A Short Blog Entry Concerning Excessive Monetary Extraction

It is not the purpose of this blog to furnish negative commentary on fellow breweries/brewpubs, but two separate conversations delivered over the bar yesterday were still in my slowly decaying cortex even this morning.

It seems that a certain brewery establishment in Newport is charging $6.75 (!) for a pint, which may or may not even contain 16 oz. depending on which piece of glassware was apprehended for the job. In case you missed that, that's six dollars and seventy five cents (another !). Anyone have a problem with that?

And, a limp fragment of trucked-in fish the size of a McDonalds hash brown freed up $13 worth of space in the patron's wallet. Why?

Chemistry and Physics

It was a week ago when I took off to Portland for the Firkin Fest at the Green Dragon. The festival was Saturday, but I wanted to go up early, not only to get the stillage and casks set up the day before the festival, but also to have some time off. As is typical, when I return I find that all the work has piled up such that it takes several days before I can find a moment or two to write. The nice part is that a number of empty casks had piled up over the weekend, which means that I needed to brew more ale. The not so nice part is that there is mounting desk work, including taking a peek at the ol' bank account to see how it might stand up against the stack of bills.

As the Local 180 was the only brewery dispensing out of handpulls, we were sent over to a corner like a naughty schoolboy. I was quite happy about this, as there was adequate space to rest two firkins and to set up the portable pub pulls, and to have elbow room for schmoozing during the festival. The other casks were all lined up on the bar and dispensed by gravity. I was in early Friday morning for the setup, as I needed to make sure the casks could settle before tapping. I returned Friday evening to vent, tap and taste. When I arrived Saturday morning for the final check I discovered, to the horror of anyone setting up a proper real ale festival (especially in the UK), that the firkins had been rolled on mere hours earlier. In fact, they were being tapped less than an hour before the festival opening. I suspect that none of the ales were true real ales, but were instead production brews destined for kegs which were simply drawn off into traditional firkins. Someone please correct me if I'm wrong. The keystone broke on one of the casks during tapping, and the offending vessel was hauled out into the street for keystone replacement. Another left it's mark on the ceiling when the spile was driven home. Fun.

There were two open sessions with space for 200 participants. The first session seemed about half full, so it proceeded at a nice pace, and I got to work the entire three hours pulling beers and flapping my gums. For the second, an enthusiastic volunteer took over for me for the last hour and a half so I could do some sampling. This is the part of the story where I must resist the temptation so say I liked so-and-so beer, or that Widget Brewing Company's Numpty Porter was rubbish (although Bridgeport's Raven Mad Imperial Porter was scrummy, and I don't even drink much porter). Instead, what captivated my little gray cells was how much better all the beers I got to sample were when liberated from the cask at a reasonable temperature and without all the gas. I have much praise for American brewers' understanding of the chemistry of brewing. The variety of styles and flavors is outstanding. The trouble I'm having, though, is with the physics of beer. For ales, there is much lost in insisting that they be served cold and full of giant, obnoxious bubbles. This simply numbs the palette and rules out any hope of appreciating the subtleties and mouthfeel. It is my continuing hope that an appreciation for real ale will increase, and I'm attempting to promote the style one proper pint at a  time.

While not dealing with the festival, I trolled around looking for real ale outlets in Portland. The offering from Tugboat was quite nice. The pint of Racer 5 I had at the Horse Brass, while a banner pint when I had it in December with Dave Bailey of the Woolpack Inn, had lost most of its conditioning - still nice to have though. I finished at the Rock Bottom, where there were two offerings on cask. I noticed that both casks were equipped with breathers. I can't remember the style of the first pint I had (no jokes please), which was delightful to come across in keg country, but I recall that the stout I had second was starting to turn just a little. The barkeep merely nodded at me when I mentioned this, and I imagined him ticking the snob checkbox on my entry in his POS.

Before and after the main Portland segment of my trip, I stopped at the Highland Stillhouse in Oregon City. I love this place. In my book it rivals the aforementioned Horse Brass pub in its likeness and atmosphere to a British pub. I have hopes to someday drive up a firkin or two for a mini-festival.

Some other nice commentary of the Firkin Fest can be found here and here.

Six Months Old

NO! Not the pub - the pub has been open more than seven months. This is about an old friend of mine who recently has made her appearance. (HIS appearance? What gender is beer?)

I had promised to roll out the last cask of Tanninbomb, my oak-aged old ale, on St. Patrick's Day. This is cask number eight out of eight, and has survived over six months with 2 oz. of oak chips drifting about aimlessly in the firkin. ABV is 6.2%, prior to casking. I wonder what it is now.

Anyway, I tapped it a bit before the appointed date so my sister could taste it on her visit before she left to go back to NY. Yep. That's the reason; so my sister could taste it. I might've had a wee dram myself just for history's sake.

It is delicious. Another nameless individual, being a pub member, had a sample last night during Scrabble madness from the unmarked pump handle and made the comment that the flavor was flirting with the qualities of a liquor. This has caused me, nay, even forced me, to have another sample while I write this blog entry.

I wonder how long it will last. I estimate that there are about 60 to 65 imperial pints left in the firkin. While it is a Tuesday night, which are generally slow, I will be curious to see if there will be a statistically significant draw.

So why the two bottles in the picture? It is because I was shamed into bottling some for posterity, and also for additional incentive to someday return to Cumbria when I am, for the first time in my life, flush with cash.

Muscles Flexed at the Firkin Fest

It's big beers again; I have to admit to being a little disappointed. Not that the beers listed aren't going to be any good - I'm sure they will be spectacular mostly - but whatever happened to subtlety in this country? What I'm talking about is the Oregon Brewers Guild Firkin Fest 2009 in Portland next weekend. It was nice that I was asked to participate, since this is what I do - authentic British cask-conditioned real ale, liberated naturally from 9 UK gallon firkins.

Check out the list. It's all typical big muscle stuff that we've come to expect from the Pacific Northwest, and this comes across to this ale snob as out of balance. Let's be different, but not just for difference's sake but for the sake of authenticity and variety. Not only are we the only participants with ABV's below 5%, but we get to bring two (!) casks. Other differences that I hope will become apparent to the punters is that the owner and brewer is serving (instead of volunteers), and that beer engines with <gasp> sparklers will be employed. This will be a lot of fun. I haven't had a day off since the 19th of January, so I'm due for a little breather away from the daily spectacle.

But, alas, subtlety. Sigh. I had hopes for a nice pint of a dark mild, or a fruity bitter, or a simple porter that doesn't have to posture about with a mocha-laden 5.2% ABV. I think I'm due for a trip back to England - anyone want to run the pub for a few weeks?

I've Been Thinking

Yep. Again. The brain is awhirl. This time with the idea that I might update my website because a) I haven't and b) it sure needs it. But that takes time, of course, and who has that? But if I tinker with it a little it might appear more brilliant, or less not-brilliant. So, I think the News page is going to go away and become my blog instead. Then I can post more stuff on the blog and appear more prolific.

Here is today's news item. The last cask of Tanninbomb, the oak-aged old ale, is going to be tapped on St. Patrick's Day. It will be six months in the cask, with an ABV of 6.2%. Actually, it will be tapped and vented a couple days before, and then made available to the public on St. P's. I will be taking late night sips to make sure it is just right beforehand.

Experimental Results

Every night, after closing, someone pulls the Z off the primitive Casio till and peers at the numbers. This is myself, whether primarily or ultimately; I like seeing if we made any money, for one thing, but also how the grand experiment is progressing. Grand Experiment, you say? Yes - how is the real ale selling?

I sometimes view this project, the Oakridge real ale pub and brewery, as having two parts. The first is that, for some crazy reason, I want to run a pub and brew and drink real ale. The second, for equally crazy reasons, is that I want to see what happens when you stick with your guns and do all the things that you were told not to do but which you believe in anyway. It's for this second reason that I really enjoyed Sunday night's Z from the till; and this is a fairly typical example:

REAL ALE QT 50

36.36% $163.75

CO2 DRAFT QT 3

3.33% $15.00

etc.

What this means is that 50 servings, whether pints, halfs or 5 oz tasters, were served, as opposed to 3 servings of keg beer. 36% of the sales came from the stuff concocted in the back of the building. I do get to enjoy a happy moment from time to time.

Next time I post I'll be sure to find something to complain about.