Month: August 2018

Reno, NV. August, 2018

Warm sun, not hot.  Clear blue skies, broken only by the bright orange ball flying high over the park’s grassy expanse.  The contagious thrill of a dog at full speed sprint, laser focused on biting down into that ball with everything she’s got.  She runs it back and, nearly hysterical with anticipation of the next throw, she pleads with me to repeat it all again. When she is finally too exhausted to run another step, we walk lazily to a bar with tables outside on the sidewalk.  The dog is brought an ice cold bowl of water. I am brought this cold brew and we are equally thankful. But after lapping away at her bowl she eyes my glass.

“This is not for you,” I remind her, “this is truth serum, meant only to pry confessions from reticent uncooperative criminals.”

She is skeptical.

Hazy IPAs are becoming very popular very quickly.  This is only the third I have sipped, and I consistently find them a bit too sweet and fruity for my taste.  Also, the all devouring western wildfires have made “hazy” a hated word for me of late. But as the day is warm, and my company is lovely, it is the perfect beer for this moment.

Las Vegas, Nevada.  August, 2018.

I don’t understand why House of Blues feels the need to put their name on a wine label.  It seems…off brand at best. They put so much effort into making a sort of Disneyland version of a dirty rock and roll bar that offering a house labeled red wine seems to counter that.  As labels go, it was graphically appealing and let you know what you were in for, and I appreciated its honesty.

Once opened, the aroma was a blend of stainless steel, grape sno-cone, and bar floor at the end of the night.  I didn’t have to wonder about the alcohol content, because it said 13.6% in print so bold and pronounced it was only missing an exclamation point. I tried to share it with Mark and David, but neither got past their first sip, so it wasn’t a very social drink.

I think the atmosphere of ceaseless slot machines clanging and beeping, the windowless inner world of the casino, and the slow stream of burnt out gamblers passing by, cow eyed and lost, made an honest review of the drink difficult.  As red wines go, it could not compete with almost any mediocre bottle. The main notes were sugar and whatever Gallo had left over. However, the House of Blues, in a startling act of generosity, gave it to me for our show, so it was free.  That is worth at least a point. Plus it had alcohol in it, so it gets another point.

Sip score = 2/5

Boise, Idaho.  August, 2018.

The owner of Edge Brewing, Marcus, invited the band to stop in for some lunch and, despite it being 11 a.m., immediately brought out sampler trays of the many beers he brews right there in house.  Given the time of day, my eye was caught by the word “Breakfast” and so I dove right into this amazing stout.

Idahoans are a hardy lot, and the cold winters have made them great appreciators of a muscular stout.  Edge’s Breakfast Stout satisfies the locals, and that’s no easy task. It’s an oatmeal stout and has the thickness you’d expect from one, along with plenty of locally roasted coffee bean flavor to give you the idea that the beer you’re drinking will somehow imbue get-up-and-go.  My feeling was more of a get-up-and-sit-back-down.

This stout has a wild beard, bushy eyebrows, a thunderous laugh, and scars from a cougar attack it survived three winters back.  It doesn’t shake hands, it hugs.  Chuck Norris once tried to fight this stout when he was in Boise shooting a movie and forfeited at the first sip, saying, “Fighting is stupid” ending his career. 

It was high on the list of the tastiest stouts I’ve tried, and it filled our conversation that morning with stories of our various travels, the sign of a great stout.  I gave it a 4, but only because I personally don’t gravitate toward coffee in beer. The malt and hops do it all for me, but I thoroughly enjoyed it, coffee and all. If you’re in Idaho, give Edge Brewing’s Breakfast Stout a taste and see for yourself.  

Sip score = 4/5

Nevada City, California.  August, 2018.

Nevada City is struggling with smoke filled air and the nervous tension of a town surrounded by forest as hot and dry as tinder, sitting just on the outskirts of the apocalyptic California wildfires.  It feels like the whole world is burning and it’s only a matter of time until the scenic old west town is ashes.

But when I step into Ol’ Republic the owner, Simon, is all smiles. Every bit of him the barkeep who holds the town together.  When he greets me I have already ordered the Fresh Kicks IPA because it says right on the menu that it’s made with local “Dr. Rudi and Loral” hops.   It’s hot, I’ve been driving for about 6 hours down smoking stretches of mountainous highways, and the beer is a 5/5, though some of its perfection might have just been my gratefulness for it. Who can tell?  It’s a beer that does a fantastic job of being easy to drink on a hot day, but also flavorful and not too light.

While in the tap room I hear from a number of people about their homes being burnt down, and the depressing reality of smelling wildfire smoke day in and day out.  Some are full of steely resolve to stick it out, others sadly shake their heads and contemplate moving away.  My heart goes out to California.  Beer flows on.

Mark and David are with me, enjoying the Dark Matter ale and the Clouds of Jupiter IPA, when Simon stops by to chat and welcome us to his taproom.  When I hear Simon’s accent I know my next round has to be the Pub Ale.  There is a swirl of dusky malts dancing around in this beer and I immediately regret getting the short pour.  If you’re looking for a killer pint of good old English style bitter, this will make your day. Not everyone loves this style beer, but to my grateful tongue Ol’ Republic’s version of a classic Pub Ale is perfection. 5/5.

Oakland, California.  August, 2018.

If the idea is to taste the local drink, what choice do I have when I’m in Oakland and it’s called “Straight Up Oakland” but to give it a shot?  I feel just slightly challenged by the name.  The bartender at Spice Monkey sympathizes, as bartenders have done since before time, and pours.

In stark contrast to the stout that Mark is enjoying, it’s a very light brew, with a strong taste of fresh apples. Side by side the two drinks look like polar opposites, eyeing each other with uncertainty.  Crooked City boasts only two ingredients in this cider, fermented apple juice and yeast.  It’s not the best cider I’ve ever tasted (that honor still goes to Double Mountain Brewing for their dry cider) but the simplicity and willingness to aim for a very dry cider is admirable, and it’s got that ancient quality that fermented apples have, which I love.

It’s a bit on the sweet side for my taste, but I know a lot of cider fans like sweet brews.  As ciders go, this leans away from the sweetness, which I appreciate.  It’s not PJ Harvey, but it likes her music, and that’s pretty great on its own.

Does Billie Joe Armstrong break his sobriety when facing a pint of Straight Up Oakland cider and a crowd of fellow locals challenging his street cred?  Or does he fling the glass to floor, punch his fist in the air and tell them all to fuck off?  That remains a mystery only he can answer. 4/5.

Bend, Oregon.  July, 2018

The very idea of drinking straight, room temperature gin from a glass put me off.  But, in the adventurous spirit of the traveling taster, and since I was in Bend, I knew there was some gin sipping on the horizon.  It had to be the local brew because there is so much Juniper, the essential ingredient for gin’s distinct flavor and aroma, growing wild all around eastern Oregon.  With all that juniper there for the taking, how could they not make gin?

So, along with my caution, I swallowed my first sip.

I am not, in general, a fan of gin.  I usually prefer my martini with vodka. But on a hot day, a gin and tonic with a lime wedge on ice can be damned good medicine.  With that in mind I allowed the gin to perfume its way around my mouth, drifting up into my head. It conjured up images of the high desert, stretching out to dusky purple sunset skies, and local distillers kicking up puffs of dry dirt as they plucked from the junipers to infuse their gin.  This gin was a devastatingly gorgeous femme fatale with an Oregon juniper flower in her hair, singing in my guts like some boozy old west Lana Del Rey.

I mentioned this to the owner, as well as my affection for any booze that is local, and she let me know that in fact they use juniper from the east coast instead, so that it will taste better.  

My heart sank.  

To be totally fair, they do use “some” Oregon pine and sage to give it “a hint of Northwest flavor.”  I wanted to give it more points because, honestly, it is god damned delicious.  But since the traveling taster’s credo is all about the local stuff, I had to take one point off for ruining my fantasy.  I still tip my hat to them for making an amazing gin.  Also for somehow convincing me that a glass of straight gin can be a good thing.

Sip score = 4/5

What is “Sip” anyway?

The feeling of being a stranger in a strange land, pushed out of the familiar and into the unknown, is what makes travel such an adventure.  Experiencing other cultures and new flavors is a big part of experiencing the world for me.  Local beer, wine, cocktails, they say a lot about where you are and the people who live there. Herein I scribble notes about what I taste while traveling and sipping the local drinks.  It is one way in which I expand my world and experience the broader world we all share.  This is not required reading and there will not be a quiz.