Month: March 2007

Have you ever seen the movie “American Pie” where the one girl phrases her whole life by referencing “this one time at band camp.” Well, two weeks ago, I was presented with an amazing opportunity to sample a beer bottled in 1869. With this in mind, I have decided that from now on, all of my stories will be started with this in mind. “Man we brewed a batch of Double IPA last week that almost killed me. Still, it had to be easier than those guys who brewed that beer from 1869. How about last week when I found myself in a conversation. “You know, this one time in 1869…” Hopefully you get the picture. To most historians,1869 is a very important year- include me on that list.

So follow me as we go back in time through the pages of history. It’s 1869. A civil war has recently ravaged our country. Think North vs. South. That’s what our history books have always led me and my Manifest Destiny brethren to believe. Yet, lately I become much less American Centric in my views of history. Stepping off planes, trains and buses in Europe has a way of shaking the foundations of importance and the educational system of our country that views our history above all else. I suppose it’s due in part to not having been bombed or marched through as part of a longer running timeline?

Out West, we forget that our country, the one we currently occupy, started innocently enough in 1492. That is if you believe that Columbus was the first to land on our shores. So way back in 1492, we were “discovered.” Yet looking towards Europe and England around the same time period, we’re left considering a whole separate world of discovery on the doors of a church.

But really you’re thinking. Enough of the history. Let’s talk beer. Well, 1869 is now an incredibly important to the life of Tomme Arthur as it frames the oldest bottle of beer that I have ever had the privilege to taste. And for the record, I would drink water from 1869, if I didn’t think it would kill me. Just so that I could see how miserable it was.

Prior to this bottle of beer from 1869, the oldest bottle of beer that I was able to sample was a Thomas Hardy Ale from 1968. Thanks to the generosity of Tom Nickel of O’Briens Pub and Dr. Bill Sysak, I had the opportunity some three years ago to sample not one but three vintages of this epic ale. As a brewer, I considered myself incredibly lucky to have sampled the entire vertical of the Thomas Hardy Ales. It was another once in a lifetime opportunity.

But let’s get back to the beer from 1869. Recently, our great friend Mark Dorber of the famed White Horse in London, acquired some incredibly rare vintages of Vintage Bass Ales. The 1869 was rumored to be part of this stash and Mark indeed received 15 bottles. I had heard this to be the case and figured “I need to taste that.”

It’s one thing to want, it’s another to need but sometimes, you just have to beg the crack dealer to give you some dope when you need it. And I was in need of some serious 1869 smack.

So it was, that when our European adventure was being planned, Mark ask innocently enough if there was something that we might “fancy” in the realm of English Specialty beers. As a publican of one of the best bars known to man, I didn’t doubt his ability to acquire this beer. Also, I didn’t ask for one beer as to seem overly needy so I started with a request for some JHB (Jeffery Hudson Bitter) that I fell in love with many years ago. This was a slam dunk even for white British guys who have no leaping abilities.

Next, I lobbed a mid grade request for something cask conditioned and vintage. The White Horse is famous for things in its cellars. To tell you the truth, I don’t even recall what it was. Last time we were there, it was Theakston’s Old Peculiar with Brett that was indeed Peculiar and Awesome!

In closing my email, I instructed Mark that he better have not one but TWO bottles of the 1869 Ratcliffe Ale waiting for us. We were important Americans and one bottle wouldn’t suffice. I didn’t actually expect that we would get to taste this beer but I was to be pleasantly surprised.

That Thursday night after our mini pub crawl through London, we dined at the White Horse. After dinner, and prior to the stinky cheese platter, we followed Mark downstairs into the infamous White Horse Cellars. Like a proud father, he presented us with a decanter full of a ruby liquid. Immediately, I thought we were sampling some sort of dessert wine.

Mark procured a set of glasses and we were left swirling and sniffing history. None of us knew it at the time. He had conveniently left the bottle stashed. None of us correctly guessed what we were drinking nor were we even close on our dates. My best guess was something that was 20-30 years old. Certainly missed by “oh, I don’t know a hundred years!”

The beer was dark ruby red with streaks of mahogany racing through its depths. Obvious signs of oxidation were present but then again, they were not destructive in their character. The standard caramelized notes of staling beer were well into a fifth realm that turned the flavors to Sherry. I detected a pervasive smokiness and there was a rawhide quality to the beer as well.

The first sip was an explosion of confusion (under my breath thinking the whole time…”no known pathogens can live in beer- I will not die from drinking this beer”)! There was a tremendous amount of acidity but the tartness presented itself before giving way to the huge overbearing caramel notes. I’m not sure how much of something like this you are supposed to drink. But in my world, when someone opens something so scarce, you make like you are baking brownies at home and ask with politeness in your voice and a glisten in your eye “would it be acceptable to lick the bottle clean?”

Now, I have met some of the largest certifiably nuts beer enthusiasts in the world. And the thing that always amazes me about them is how magnanimous they can be with their beers. It’s very endearing. I suppose this happens in the wine world as well with oenophiles wishing to display their collections with stunning brilliance?

But here’s the rube, Mark is probably (without fail) sitting on thousands of pounds (that’s dollars) of beer. He mentioned that only 15 bottles of this Ratcliffe 1869 Ale were found. There’s no way to predict what these bottles are worth on ebay but, we’re certainly not talking about Stone 02.02.02 either.

I’ve got to believe that these bottles would easily fetch north of 5K per bottle if not more. Somebody, would have to have them. And price would follow accordingly. I have to say this was a surreal experience. It’s not that often you can touch the past in such a tangible way.

One hundred years from now when I am dead and stiff, I can only hope that the 2 cases of Angel’s Share that I have stashed will be unearthed and in sufficient shape that it will be coveted and written about. History can be pretty cool like that. Especially when it finds you 750ml at a time.

It starts simply enough. There is no finer Road Soda in the world then Duvel. As a fan of Belgian Beers, I make it a point to keep at least three beers on my drinking radar at any given time. They are Duvel, Saison Dupont and Rochefort 10. They each serve my taste buds in their own special ways and are readily available.

Duvel may be the quintesential Belgian Beer of the three. At the very least, it demands to be held in such regard. Atypical by most conventional understandings of beer(think Homer Simpson and Duff style lagers), Duvel is one of the greatest beers in my estimations. This is found in its ability to belie the senses. It acts like a merry pranqster sent from the Devil himself. It is a pale as the blandest lagers while at the same time presenting itself as a kind wolf in sheep’s clothing. And for all of this, I am thankful.

Two weeks ago, I started an incredible journey through London, Belgium and back on the East Coast for a quickie visit to our nations capitol. We left San Diego and arrived in London with a scheduled dinner at the world famous White Horse pub in Parson’s Green. Our good friend Mark Dorber is leaving after many years of serving as head cellarman for Suffolk and his own pub.

Mark and his staff were more than gracious in their reception of 6 Americans with Jet Lag but we more than made up for it drinking everything that landed on our table. Sufficient libations always ensures that conversations remain and friendships prosper. As we were well satiated and lubricated as an American in London can be, we made nice and began our journey back to the hotel. The beauty of leaving a bar where you have recently engaged the sympathies of a great publican can be found in the time honored tradition of the “Road Soda.”

For those who are unfamiliar with said tradition, it works thusly. At the point that a group of people decides it is time to leave an establishment, invariably one or more of this larger group is not ready to retire. Fighting the urge to rally against the dying light, a round of “Road Sodas” are procurred.

In most circles(at least mine), there is but one beer that I request when it is time to walk and talk. My prefered road soda is almost always Duvel. It has amazing drinkability, potency and sensibility to spank me in the morning and not on my way home. Mark being a proper publican(or wanting to get rid of the riff raff) offered our group of 6- four road sodas(I didn’t want to push our luck).

I’m not sure what time we actually left the White Horse but we suddenly found ourselves standing on the platform for the tube with Two Duvels and Two Hommel Biers from Poperinge being passed around. Sucking on Duvel after four hours of cask conditioned ales must be somewhat akin to mother’s milk for a nursing child. Incredibly rewarding to say the least. And at the very least it can get you to temporarily shut up.

Yet, like a great mother, Duvel also is known to act as a parent punching you silly should you get out of line. The next morning, I was reminded( if only slightly) that Duvel is a fun loving Jester one moment and Jekyl and Hyde the next seeking exacting revenge for indescretions. Or, was it the Jet Lag that made me feel so the next day?

Fast forward to Saturday in Brussels, Belgium and our last night in town. Contemplating my good friend Belezebuth and his progeny, I unflichingly ask the waiter for one Duvel, two Duvel’s and why not finish with one more? He’s probably laughing on the inside at the American who’s about to meet his Dark Lord Maker. The joke was on him as I stood confidently from my chair having conquered my fears and the marble floors of our hotel. That’s one point Good Guy and one point Duvel for those keeping score at home.

On Tuesday, we collectively decided we should ring up our friend Mr. Hedwig Neven who is the Technical Director for Moortgat- simply known to most as Duvel. We arranged for a 2:00pm visit for the next day. In many ways, this is a scary journey. You are heading directly into the depths of hell to look squarely in the eyes of our midnight maker. Repeat after me, “I am strong, I am young, I must be effin Stoopid.”

We are met thusly at Duvel by Mark the QA/QC Director who has been instructed by his boss Hedwig to give the Americans a tour. “Well, any great tour starts and ends with a beer,” Mark decrees. I shoot back, “I didn’t come here to drink pils,” and suddenly we are staring at 5 of the most gloriously fresh Duvel’s imaginable.

We also sample our way through the Maredsous line of beers that are produced here. At this point, Mark points out a new building under construction over yonder where they will be installing the 480 Hectoliter brewing system this summer. WOW!!!

Mark takes us up to the current brewhouse explaining their brewing process and we make the first of numerous discoveries. On the brewhouse floor are numerous boxes of Warrior Pellet hops… Later, we pass a pallet of Tomahawk Pellets. It’s soon clear to us that Duvel must be working on a new pilot batch of Double IPA to ensure they aren’t left behind when the fad gets really big.

Soon, we’re standing outside the lagering hall staring at rows of lagering tanks that look somewhat like giant washing machines at a laundromat. “Hey did anybody else see those tanks of Hennepin slumbering away? Oh that’s right, the sign outside said “Shhh hier ripien Hennepin.” Leaving the lagering area, we are off to the fermentation area. A great conversation about pitching temps, cell counts and bottle refermentation has me scrambling for a pen. It’s too bad the welder wouldn’t part with his sharpie, I could have used it. I find myself mumbling under my breath, “damn this is a great tour…” Perhaps, I am being seduced by the sirens of hell?

Mark offers us a chance to taste Duvel from the fermenter and before I can feel all that special, he announces that those on the regular tour get this chance as well. So much for VIP treatment. I’m outta here. It was great to sample the beer in its raw state and we all noted elevated levels of SO2 present.

On our way to the bottling hall, we pass a chemical storage area with some very sticky and resinous chemical bins. “They must be doping the employees with black tar heroin around here,” I am left musing. Or, could it be they really are serious about a Double IPA beer? Dunno but there was alot of said resin hanging out. In the bottling hall, we are shown the ridiculous high speed line capable of 55,000 bottles per hour of Duvel. Um, O.K. last time I checked, GOD didn’t have a line that ran that fast. Score one for the thirsty sinners then.

Bottles explode around us as they are bottling lager and my head is spinning watching the 176 head filler cycle bottles like a well oiled machine. I am instantly reminded that back at home we fill 4 bottles per cycle and in a good hour, we can make 960 bottles of Sharkbite Red in that time. Technology is everywhere in Hell and the Devil makes his presence felt everywhere.

We’ve now seen everything there is to see except the dry storage and warm conditioning areas. As I alluded to earlier, the warehouse visible from the highway says: “Shhh hier ripien Duvel.” NO KIDDING!!! Everywhere we went, there were massive amounts of Duvel waiting to be cellared and sold. We framed up for a few pictures and soon we were back at the new tasting bar area.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia suddenly rips off in my head as if Charlie Daniels and the boys were playing fiddles in the corner calling out my soul. I look around and there’s no one in sight. I must be hearing things. Mark offers, ” A beer and conversation then?” To which I firmly reply with My God as my co-pilot, ” I have come to the house of Captain Badass himself. Let’s Dance!” We’re easily through the first round(our second Duvel of the day) when Mark intimates we clearly must have another. Damn his Minions, they can be so convincing.

Granted, hell hath no fury like a liver scorned. There’s no time like the present. Pick any Euphemism- “We’re doing God’s work here!” We are angel’s of the lord sent to be tempted by the Duvel himself and God willing, we will be saved(we will won’t we)? Duvel # 3 is easily dismissed and signs of leaving present themself. Mark has a 7:00pm appt. that he must keep. But thankfully, this angel of hell has gone recon on our asses and brought in the closer Fast Freddie who is the Head Brewer who has recently returned from Africa. Apparently Freddie specializes in anchoring the Devils’ Four man drinking team along with Hedwig, Mark and Belezubuth himself. Duvel #4 presents manifests itself with nary a whimper from God’s children.

I quickly survey the situation knowing full well, God has armed me and my team with some epic livers and we nod in approval with an air of confidence. It’s not like you go on a pilgramage without expecting some sort of crusade against your health to ensue. If we’re lucky, we’ll only catch shrapnal and we’ll make it out alive with minimal damage.

At the end of beeer #4, I am convinced today I will be losing my 6 pack Duvel Virginity in one sitting- all in the name of research. In my short but illustrious drinking career, I have coddled up to Lucifer himself many times but 6 in one setting seems ludricous. My liver trembles in anticipation of the battle we’re waging knowing full well that all battles have winners and losers. Yet, he and I had that conversation this morning and I know too well, he’s a man of his word and we’re marching on like Napoleon himself.

Empty and parched(it’s hot in hell), Freddie offers a half round of Duvels which we sensibly oblige. He’s starting to see a weakness in my eyes or my speech is slurring. Either way, I’ll never know. After slogging back Duvel number 5.5, I can honestly say that I have survived. The fiddle playing comes to a soulful ending and we are alive- Numb, but nonetheless, alive.

Handshakes ensue. We are worthy of the good fight it seems. There is talk of us reprising the generous hospitality in San Diego during the Craft Brewers Conference in 2008. If Mark or Fast Freddie should be so kind as to accompany Hedwig to our town, we wil break dance our own personal Double IPA styled dance all the while trampling their souls in an opiatic jihad of sorts far away from the lupulin desert that is known simply to many as Belgium. And when this happens and they are running naked through the streets of our town. We will then and only then be able to look at the scoreboard and take note of the score:

God’s Children 1

Duvel 1.

Bring on the grudge match I say.

I have been brewing professionally for almost 11 years now. Inevitably I get asked that oh so fun question. “What is your favorite beer.” Like a proud father, I respond…” They are all my children and I like them equally as much.” Of course this is the PC answer but I am also an Uncle in real life and I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that I most certainly have a favorite niece. Does this mean that I am entitled to have a favorite beer? Absolutely although you most likely won’t hear me speak about it publicly.

Yet, if you want to know what beer a brewer likes the best, ask them what they drink when they’re not working. On a side note, I can’t believe I just wrote that. Anytime a brewer is at their brewery, they are inevitably working no matter what time of day or week it is. More often than not, when I was brewing in Solana Beach at the Pizza Port, I could be found coaxing the life out of Seaside Stout our homage to the Irish Dry Stout.

It started out easy enough. I was sitting at the Santa Barbara Brewing Company one day enjoying a pint of their State Street Stout. In true session beer fashion, it weighed in at a whopping 3.8% ABV. And it was everything delicious that a dry stout should be. At first, it was creamy like a cocoa frosting. It was instantly more acrid with a hint of burnt bitterness that ended in a smooth rounded finish of espresso without heading off into that territory of beers that finish with all the panache of an ashtray at last call. But this beer was a revelation that low alcohol goodness was possible even in Southern California.

I spoke with my good friend Eric Rose who was responsible for making this beer. A recipe was developed for the Pizza Port in Solana Beach and we were on our way to low abv riches. We released the beer to coincide with St. Patrick’s day a few years back and the tank lasted less than a month. This is an incredible achievement for Stout beers AND more so for low alcohol beers as well. Apparently, we were on to something?

Later that fall, we entered the beer in to the Great American Beer Festival. Seaside Stout was awarded a silver medal in 2003. The next year, it won the Gold and the following year another silver. Last year marked the first time in four years that Seaside Stout did not win a GABF medal. Was I bummed? Absolutely. You see, no matter how many esoteric or exotic styled beers I make, I will always have a soft spot for the everyday dark beer that is Seaside Stout. It may not be talked about in brewing circles but that doesn’t mean it is without merit.

Many people call my brewing style innovative, envelope pushing and at the forefront of American Brewing today. While these are certainly great things to be called. I would hope that consumers recognize the value of our range of beers from top to bottom. Seaside Stout was knocked off the GABF podium last fall. We’ll make sure that beer finds its way back to the top. Still, I can still sleep at night knowing full well that another beer we brew around 4.0% called Dawn Patrol Dark is on a great streak as well having won two medals at the GABF in 2005 and 06 as well as another at the World Beer Cup in 06 where it hit the top of the tote board.

So next time you want to know what a brewer considers to be their favorite beer. Step back and examine what it is they are drinking. If you’re lucky enough to see them order or pour themselves a second pint, you may have your answer. AND, if that brewer happens to be me and our drinking paths cross in Solana Beach, you won’t even have to squint to make out the heart of darkness that is Seaside Stout which is always by my side.