The Local: 39th St Sports Pub

“Gonna walk around and drink some more”- the Hold Steady

You know, Terminal Gravity’s IPA has a crispness at the end that works for this beer. Still quite bitter but the finish is lightened by the crisp quality. 

The 39th Street Sports Pub. Or Tom’s Bar. The bartender just ran out after a customer she knew to ask him a favor and give him a hug. It’s a human moment in a bland space.

So I’ve gone local for the next series. After a year of needing transport coupled with some recent thoughts I’ve had on staying local, I decided that the thing to do next would be to go to bars that were within walking distance of my house. I’m quite fortunate in that I live near Portland’s infamous ’stumble zone’ where there are ten places to get a drink in a three block area, not counting the liquor store. So that ought to keep me busy. 

In addition, walking distance for me isn’t quite walking distance for most other people. I like to walk, especially at night and so there are more bars within my walking range than what most people might consider walkable. Either way, I reckon this ought to keep me busy for a little while. I probably won’t have the range of beers to try as I did before because even in Portland, sports bars are dominated by more well known beers but I’ll do my best to mix the drinks up as much as the spaces I visit. 

Oh, and there will still be bad photos. 

Tom’s bar makes good use of its length, with the three pool tables at one end and four televisions around and above the bar, it’s the kind of place you could almost play catch in. Surprisingly, there doesn’t seem to be a scent here. Odd because it’s connected to a restaurant so I’d think there would be food cooking but perhaps everyone here is thirsty instead. 

It’s spacious though and I like that. There’s room to spread out and stretch your legs and you don’t have to worry about bumping into someone at a table while you’re shooting pool. 

Sadly, there isn’t much personality to this bar. It has that inoffensive lighting and all the traditional neon signs. One Ducks schedule up, Coors Light sports flags and lights emblazoned with the Camel logo hang around and on a night like tonight, where it isn’t crowded, there isn’t a motivation to sit near strangers to absorb how they give the bar some zing. The TVs encourage absorbsion into the sports world and  the only way someone could have a semi-private conversation would be if it was loud enough to cover the noise from the next table. At that point, though, it’s loud enough that you’re practically shouting anyway so that kind of defeats the purpose. 

I suppose that’s why I’m a bit down on this space; it is devoid of personality or a point of view. Why aren’t there awesome posters on the wall, memorabilia, or little statuettes of victory? Is there a team this place hopes to see win, hopes to see in crushing defeat? 

This is the problem with most sports bars, I find. I could be anywhere in this country once I’m inside this bar. Arizona, Ohio, Minnesota; it wouldn’t matter. I could be in the middle of butt fuck Egypt and it would have the exact same decorations. Sure, there’s some local color with the presence of some misfits at a nearby table, NW style outsiders in puzzle-piece layers and flannel but after that? Nothing. What’s the point of going to your local if it doesn’t give you that local buzz? 

I’m suddenly tired, in the ‘whoa I could use a nap’ way. At 7:30, it’s a little late for a nap so perhaps it’s just time to go home.

More news

I was going to take Friday off but I stumbled upon this article at the Washington Post about extreme brewing. Some readers have probably heard of some of the beers mentioned (Brew Dog’s Atlantic IPA, for example) it’s still a great example of how many different roads there are to go for brewers, how many options they have to craft their drink.

At the Beervana blog I read about Pabst going out of business and the attempts to make it a community owened brewery. In this case I’ll just leave the humor to the experts.

Disasterpiece

So much went right with this beer. I can tell in the nose, which is sweet, and the toffee flavors that ride right through the beer that I was on the right track. Not as hoppy as I might’ve liked but the hops I’ve been using are starting to get a little old, so it’s understandable.

Then the aftertaste comes in. Like someone who shits on the carpet at the end of your party, so this nasty flavor comes up and ruins an otherwise good beer. Acridly bitter at first then phenolic after that, this aftertaste becomes the beer. Think bandage adhesive and you’ve got the phenolic flavor.

This is the beer I bottled a few weeks ago when my racking cane broke, leading to an unfortunate chain of events where I had to replace it. My best guess is that the beer got oxidized when I attempted to bottle it but it’s also possible that the new equipment just wasn’t sanitized enough and the result infected the beer.

I am going to retry this beer at a future date because 90% of it is right. It’s just the last 10% that kills it and I’m sure I won’t make the same mistake twice.

52 Weeks 52: Terminal Gravity Foursome

Now that I’ve sold out to get the kinky sex crowd, (’cause you just know that a whole new group of people will stumble on this blog because of the word ‘foursome’ and I can’t turn down readers) let’s get this party going.

“First of all I’d like to thank my connect,”-Jay-Z.

A heartfelt thank you to Geoff and the other staff at Bailey’s who’ve served me drinks. I’d mention them by name but I don’t wish to presume a familiarity upon them and I certainly don’t want to forget someone, which is always a danger at times like this. I took their time and certainly my share of space but they were all unfailingly helpful and pleasant. 

I’m drinking a flight of Terminal Gravity beers; two old ales, Festivals from 2008 and 2009, then two barleywines, Bucolic Plague from ‘02 and ‘06. As one might expect, the ‘09 old ale is smoother and fuller, more roasted and mature in flavor. I haven’t gotten to the barleywines yet. 

I’m in the back chamber again-it’s been redesigned since I sat here last. The table is this big chunk of wood-maybe even a former railroad tie- that’s been cleaned up and smoothed out. It’s shiny and dense and it feels like the kind of thing to put your beer on. It’s almost a place to stand at. You can lean on the wood, rest your drink in front, and enjoy…if you’re about six inches shorter than I am. Maybe four.

This area isn’t quite done yet, I’m told, but it’s going to be a hell of a space when it’s done I promise you that. The space is just wide enough for beers, so it encourages your hands being free; a bonus for someone like me who tends to gesticulate when he speaks. 

Sparky; this moment is for you. 

And now it’s done. (Sparky  had asked, months ago, to be mentioned in the final post and I said I would oblige him.)

Oh man. That 2002 Bucolic Plague is so good. Like alcoholic caramel, warm from a street vendor, with a buttery nose and a fierce heat to it, fighting the winter off with a battleaxe. I think this beer may be solely responsible for the unseasonable warmth of today. 

I have to confess, I’m looking forward to becoming a customer again. A regular customer, that is; someone who can sit at the bar and visit or just people watch without having to both internalize the situation and externalize it for readers. Don’t get me wrong; next week there will be another post, a new (if similar) theme and I look forward to doing that but our favorite spots are favored for a reason; they are shelters where we don’t have to present our external selves all the time. We can smile in crooked ways and people understand that our laughter is still straight. 

That isn’t to say I won’t ever blog from or about Bailey’s again; I undoubtedly will. But I’m part of the scenery here now and that changes things. I’m going to take some time to figure out what that means. I’m going to take some time to just enjoy the space I’m in.

I suppose if I’ve had a theme this year, time has been a key part of it. Or at least the idea that I ought to inhabit the space I’m in as much as I can, enjoy it, or at least be in the now, this has been a recurring idea. 

There’s been a shift change; I can tell because in the middle of Duran Duran’s Rio (which I like quite a bit) the music has cut out and shifted to a song I don’t immediately recognize. I almost think I should’ve asked if I could play my iPod tonight. It would be all Pelican, all the time. If my choices are Duran Duran, some kind of hip-hop and heavy fucking metal, then…
/short laughter

The 2006 Bucolic Plague is a bit different, a touch more sour than it’s older sister. Not quite as much body; an interesting brew but I think I would’ve preferred to finish with the ‘02. Ah well; that’s life.

I’ll see everyone next week, bad photos and all.

Localization

So, after last week’s post on the Iron Horse Brewery, I got to thinking about the troubles Iron Horse may be having. In the comments someone from the brewery says that it’s a size issue and that they’re scrambling to supply the markets they already have. This seems like a good problem in some ways but I remember talking to someone from Ninkasi Brewing last year and having him tell me the same thing; they had a five year business plan that was being met in two years and they were desperately trying to keep up.

Again, this seems like a positive until one takes into account the potential difficulties with scaling up an operation quickly. In addition to having to suddenly build more of the basics: fermenters, chillers, etc, problems like storage and transport start to loom, but I have a guess what the biggest issue would be.

Quality control. The bigger you are, the harder it becomes to ensure that your product is what you expect it to be. Hell, just look at Microsoft: Windows has been plagued with issues for years and will likely never be an entirely smooth operating system. Yes, yes, there are lots and lots of reasons for this but certainly size and demand play into the difficulties of making a rock-solid operating system. So I think a basic question still remains; how do you meet the demand and satisfy the quality (which is the reason for your demand) in a timely fashion?

In the middle of all this I begin to wonder; does Iron Horse have any obligation to ensure their product gets to me?

No, they don’t. Their obligation, as I see it, is to produce the best damn beer they can. If that means that their beer stays local then good. Do I miss out on a tasty beer? Yes and that’s unfortunate. But there’s a silver lining too, in my opinion.

Now I have a reason to travel.

We’re pretty fortunate, as Americans, to have access to almost any kind of food we want, whenever we want. The more research I read about that, however, the more I think that maybe we shouldn’t have that luxury at quite the level we have it at. It’s bad for the environment, bad for your health, and frequently just doesn’t taste as good. Yes, bananas are good for your prostate but do you need them twelve months of the year? Perhaps it’s better to have local things as often as possible, expanding one’s diet based on what’s around wherever you go. Certainly an easy way to appreciate the local culture when you travel, too.

Granted, Ellensburg is a little over 200 miles from Portland so that’s not far. In the US that distance could certainly be called local-but how far does local go? Idaho? Sure. California? I don’t know; San Francisco or San Diego? Montana?  Vancouver, BC? I’ve pined for beers from Vancouver and Victoria ever since visiting last year; yes it’s international but could you call it local? Both those cities are closer than San Francisco.

It’s certainly more local than the beers I can get from Japan, England, Belgium or Germany. But what’s the cutoff distance? Is it Kansas? Mexico City? The Atlantic?

I don’t know and I certainly don’t wish ill towards Iron Horse’s attempts to satisfy the markets they are in. I like their beers and would love for nothing more than to find them at my local store. At the same time, if I had to go to Seattle (which I visit regularly) or Tacoma to find their beers, doesn’t that just increase the value of my trip?

My personal feeling is that it does. Yes, I have access to beers by Meantime and Brew Dog but the selections are limited. I’d have to go to England to investigate the depth of their selections.

Which I’m totally up for. Sure, it would be nice if all their beers were in Portland but if they were then what’s left to make England special?

And yes, I realize that’s a loaded question but I’m trying to ask it in a broader sense; if everything comes to you then why go anywhere?

If your reaction to that question starts with “Because…” then good. This is my point. We go to places to experience them and all they have to offer. On the other hand, if that means that I have to go without some things that I like then there can be positives to that as well. It gives me a chance to look around and see what is right in front of me and unearth the wonders of what’s right here. I doubt I would have found the Natian Brewery at all if I wasn’t in Portland so there are clearly new worlds to explore without having to go far from home.

I can wait for Iron Horse to make its way down to Portland. I believe their success is coming because they make a damn good beer and people like me are exhorting the praises of their efforts. If that means that I have to be patient so that they can grow their business in a smart, positive way that allows them to stay in business because they’ve been focused on making a damn good beer, then I will be patient. They can stay local and make my trips north more prized through their presence there.

Historical Potables

Once again, my friend Ed alerted me to this story on beer. The short version: a firefighter at the Hindenburg disaster found some beer that survived the event and a bottle is going up for auction now.

In a related tale, explorers have discovered some of the whiskey that Ernest Shackleton left behind on his failed journey in the Antarctic.

One interesting difference between these two stories is that the whiskey might still be drinkable. Granted, this is partly due to storage conditions and the preservative agents in whiskey vs. beer but to me this is also about the culture. Beer just isn’t meant to be kept forever; you sit down with people and you share it.

Whiskey, especially good whiskey, has that ’save it because it’s precious’ vibe that has most people waiting for that moment. There are some beers that do this too; I’m thinking especially of the hype (and oh man, the HYPE) surrounding Deschutes’ Abyss stout, but other winter ales frequently inspire a ‘collector’s’ vibe to them too.

The difference between the first two stories and the collector’s vibe, to me, is simple; the former are historical artifacts. They tell us about the past and with study could further inform us about the effects of time upon these things. Collecting food just to have it strikes me as an act of the starving. Some people do store beers like Abyss (which is a fine stout, I just tire of the hype) so they can do ‘vertical tastings’ that is, samples from a beer over a range of time to see, for example, how the ‘05 stacks up to the ‘09 and these tastings are usually done in groups but I’m not sure what they prove.

On the other hand, they don’t have to prove anything, they can just be fun. My hope is that people are collecting for just such a tasting, as an excuse to get together and enjoy not just horde for another day.

52 Weeks 51: Bayern Doppelbock

Technically, I think I’ve gone over. Borrowed time, if you will. I know I missed one week due to weather and I believe I missed another because I was ill. A year has passed-if the calendar is the only thing that matters. Let’s pretend it isn’t. 

This doppelbock has some red wine tendencies; a faint grape-sour nose, maybe even something tannic on the back end. Gives the beer a dryness that I wouldn’t have expected. It’s sweet in front though, so it all works out. 

I’m here early. You may have deduced that from the photo. The pub is quieter, for the most part and I get to have a nice conversation with a longhaired dude who knows a thing or two about music. He’s from Wisconsin and is about to go home for Thanksgiving. As a matter of fact, there’s even a reasonable crowd of people here  for 4:30. 

I don’t remember it being quite so lively this early a year ago. This may just be a random impression; anecdotes are not data, right? Still, glad to see one of my favorite bars doing good business. 

I unwisely chose Heater Allen’s Pilsner after my doppelbock and I just can’t make out the subtleties of that beer. Usually it doesn’t matter but I may be fending off a slight cold. A sore throat at least, so my senses may not be as sharp as I’d like. A good beer I’m sure but everything has context, right? Serenity  is a fantastic movie if you’ve seen Firefly. If not, then it’s just a decent sci-fi movie. So it is with a pilsner post doppelbock. Sort of. 

Hurm. I seem to be a little scattershot today. Maybe it’s the time but I think it’s more likely that the pressure of doing something is there. As a matter of fact, I know it is; I can feel it, alien-chestburster-like, (images not for squeamish and may be frowned upon at workplaces) the feeling that I should say something important or…well, I guess that’s what I’d have a chance to do here, right? Say something important.

However, what I’ve realized is that change is primarily about changing the focus of your energy. So things won’t end, they’ll just shift for awhile. Why say something big and ‘final’ if things aren’t going to end? I’d be like the guy who screams that the nukes are coming and then emerges sheepishly the next day from a bomb shelter, humbled by the beauty of a sunrise and a city that hasn’t changed at all. 

Next week will be the final 52 Weeks post (at least the final of this edition) and I can’t say I have something special planned for next week. I believe that’s how it ought to be. Like I said; I’m on borrowed time already, so I might as well just enjoy. I’ll be done with the writing by 8:30 though, so if readers would like to come and have a drink, feel free to come down.

Fresh Hop Ale

Sometimes things work out better than expected. Although we lost part of the garden this year-notably, the part of the garden where the hops grew-I was able to use some of them in an IPA.

The beer in the picture is a little bit more effervescent than most of the bottles I open but it’s not an extreme exaggeration. This beer is a touch sweeter than is appropriate for the style but the sweetness comes from a different angle; there’s a green quality to it that I can only presume comes from the Galena (and touches of Willamette) hops that I picked and used that day. They generally say that hop plants won’t produce much in the first year but I got quite a few from the Galena. Maybe the hops don’t produce much in the way of bitterness their first year: I just don’t know enough botany to say. I can tell you that this IPA doesn’t have the strong bitterness qualities that are typically associated with NW IPAs, so it might make a good ‘gateway’ beer. The malts are a little overpowering though, so it might be too sweet for some people.

The nose is a soft one; this IPA is probably closer to a pale and maybe should be drank as such. A solid beer though and one that makes me wish I had more hops to look forward to next year. As it stands, I’ll have to take stock of the condition of the garden before making any plans.

Recipe for Fresh Hop IPA, 9/7/09
Steeping Grains
6 oz Munich 100
6 oz Munich
11 oz Caramel 80
Fermenting Sugars
7 lb Light malt extract- dry
Hops
3.5 oz Galena (fresh) @ 60
5 oz Santitam pellets @20
Yeast
2 packets Rogue Pacman (new packets)
OG 1.082
FG 1.018
Put into secondary 9/17, bottled 10/8.
From my notes:
8.38% ABV! Wow. Be careful with this one.

The waystop just got better

When I was younger, my family often took road trips to Seattle. En route we would usually stop at Ellensburg to refuel the car and stretch our legs, occasionally hitting a fast food joint for lunch before moving on. This is what people knew Ellensburg for; a city you passed through to go somewhere else.

The Iron Horse Brewery is going to change all that for those who love the pints, if it hasn’t already.

The High Five Hefe has a honey tint that is just delicious. The nose doesn’t betray any sweetness, so the flavor comes as a real surprise. Instead, the nose is doughy and almost a touch sour, like celery. A surprising beer for me, because I find many hefes to be uninteresting but this beer was complex and tasted great.

The Quilter’s Irish Death however was the hit of the party for me. A real eye-opener because it says it’s a dark ale and as a general rule I don’t like dark ales. But this beer has a velvety quality to it, almost like a stout, but without the density of stouts or the bitterness that a stout or porter ought to have. I really, really liked this brew a lot and recommend it.

Or, I would if I could find the beer. Ellensburg is probably four hours north from me and I have the damnedest time finding Iron Horse’s beers in my vicinity. I don’t know why it’s so difficult to get beers from smaller breweries in Washington, or beers from Vancouver, Canada in Portland but my searches are frequently fruitless and in the case of Iron Horse that’s a shame, because people ought to know how good this stuff is. Fuz can find them but apparently it’s much more difficult to get beers to Portland than Tacoma.

That sentence should never have to be written in a just world.

52 Weeks 50: Great Divide Stout Trio

I’m cheating a little bit, tonight.

A few days earlier, I came to Bailey’s and played a few rounds of cards. Through the graciousness of my friends (thank you Jim + thedrowningman) I was able to try the delectable group of Yeti stouts from Great Divide.

Usually when I come to do my 52 Weeks post, novelty is important. As a matter of fact, one of the reasons I chose to post from Bailey’s is that I was able to try new beers and discuss them, however peripherally.

Truth be told, I damn near  had Ninkasi’s Transcendent Golden Ale. It was even recommended to me by someone (although I have to confess I do not remember whom: such is the nature of drink, yes?) and I like to try things based on someone’s suggestion. Not that I doubt Ninkasi; they do good stuff.

For those who are interested, I am drinking the Espresso Stout first, followed by the Chocolate, and finally the Cask Conditioned. Most favorite last; I like the oak flavors that are imparted to the stout best and coffee flavors least. Not a surprise if you know me; I’ve never had a taste for coffee, ever.

I’m also sitting in the back corner at a table that is too high for me to write on comfortably. No, I don’t like it, but I felt it was important to come back here and sit, drink, and exist in this space that I usually ignore. Across the street from me are two shops that have closed recently; one a record store, the other a locksmith shop. I have to say; I worry when stores close, especially small ones, that provide local services that aren’t fungible. Making keys is important. Providing vinyl for trance and hip-hop shows as well as being a space that is welcoming to those cultures (via flyers, t-shirts, etc.)  is an important service.

They’re gone now. Something else will take their place I’m sure, I just worry that it will be another restaurant, an establishment that Portland is glutted with, instead of a more diverse business.

I worry because I am out of work.

I know, I know, last week I said I wasn’t going to focus on the negative. But the best laid plans of mice and men, yes?

I had a rough week, last week, and positives are harder to see when blankets of misfortune cover the couch of your life. Sure, you can throw off the blanket but is it so the warmth of the morning can be felt, or is too early and night’s grinning chill can make its way up your toes and into your undies?

Do you really want to risk getting a chill in your undies?

Of course, the chocolate Yeti fights off a chill something fierce, so there’s a reason to drink stouts in the winter, folks. It’s yummy and warming like hour three chocolate cake.

Theory #402: beer makes life’s risks more acceptable. Chill in the undies doesn’t seem so bad if there’s stout.

Let me tell you about the back corner of Bailey’s.

In the computer light I cast a glow in the window; ghostly and muddled. My reflection is doubled somehow, making me look a little like a 3-D drawing, only in washed out colors of streetlight peach and laptop gray. The conversation of the Brits to my right is funneled down to me, unlike the main area where sound gets obfuscated by walls, music and hanging mobiles. I can’t make out what they’re saying-but I’m not trying to either.

It is the spot to make deals in, the spot for dark talk skullduggery style, the spot for sweetness that nuzzles your neck, the spot where you tell your friend that yeah, you’re bonded to her, that you’ve got his back, or you become bawdy and loveably raucous. It is a wonderfully private space in an otherwise open pub. It is a moment where you can be raw and nobody else will mind.

I’m onto the oak-aged stout now, and let me tell you it is fyyyne.
/I’ll probably hate myself tomorrow for doing that, but what the hell. I’m cheating.

Edit/Correction: I’m told the record store is still there (the papered up windows just fooled me) and the key store has gone mobile. So things aren’t as bad as I thought. Lesson of the evening.