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The business magazine Florida Trend highlighted a few Florida breweries in today's Daily Pulse, including our very own Swamp Head (with a very nice photo of cofounder Luke Kemper):
 

Swamp Head started when Luke Kemper returned to Gainesville from beer-crafty Colorado and wound up starting a brewery with a family friend who was a skilled home brewer. He now sells from Jacksonville to Sarasota. And there's honey — from local bees, it brags — in a few brews. 

  I've been more than slack lately on sharing my beery news, but my friends and I did attend Swamp Head's special event, Saison Saturday, where they sold their first-ever bottled offering, Saison du Swamp. I bought two of the limited-release bottles and have drank one so far. It is delicious! I know I should keep the second one, but I'm afraid I'll won't be able to hold off. Dry but still fruity, with that saison funk, it was definitely easy to drink.

  Swamp Head's tasting room is nicely-sized, with a bar and three high-top tables that looked like they were made from slices of cypress knees. They're open Wednesdays-Fridays, 4-8 p.m. and have beer on draft and growlers to take home.

  On a fashion note, I also bought a t-shirt, purple v-neck with the Swamp Head logo on the back that is made of the softest, eco-friendly cotton. LOVE IT. 

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The fine folks at Gainesville's own Swamp Head Brewery have opened a tasting room! Starting yesterday, Wednesday February 23, the tasting room is open on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays from 4-7pm. It's important to note that for now, it's CASH ONLY.
 
They plan to start offering growlers in the future! Yay!
 
Swamp Head Brewery LLC
3140 SW 42nd Way
Gainesville, FL 32608
(352) 505-3035

  You can find Swamp Head beers served at several bars and restaurants around Gainesville (and other locations throughout Florida), but they're often serving only one or two styles. To have the full option available directly from the brewery is exciting. If you're in the area, you should come out and support your local brewer. 

 
I first tasted Swamp Head beers at a Children's Miracle Network fundraiser at a hotel my friend Kelly works with (Residence Inn, new and nice--no, really). When my friend Gail got married about a year ago (with a reception at that same hotel--thanks, Kelly!), Swamp Head provided the brew.

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Walgreens is now selling their own private label beer and wine. Not surprisingly, it's really, really cheap. Like, Natural Light-cheap.
 
Delish.com reports (and provided the photo above) that the beer, Big Flats 1901, is brewed by Genessee in upstate New York for Walgreens. Now, I've actually had Genessee Cream Ale, and it's not good. Not that I ever imagined a beer by Walgreens would be good, but now knowing the origin, I'm positive.
 
As if any more proof was needed that this is going to be a terrible beer, the photo does it for me. THAT'S BEER? It's not even yellow. It's ... I don't know. There's a pinkish cast to it.
 
Being a former Natty Light drinker, I can attest to the attraction of really, really light beer. It's perfect for, say, post-yard work. You come in from the 98-degree heat of summer, just finished with mowing the lawn, and the lightest beer possible is a quenching drink. But THIS? This looks like bad water.
 
On the up side, it's apparently being sold at $2.99 a six-pack. Which is exactly what a sixer of Natty Light used to cost. FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.
 
If it becomes available locally, I may have to try it, just in order to know of what I trash-talk.

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Beer writer Andy Crouch has a thoughtful post up on his blog, titled "Is It About Beer or Beer Politics:  The Brewers Association's Baby Step." The Brewers Association (BA), whose stated purpose is to "promote and protect small and independent American brewers" is changing their definition of "small" as it relates to craft brewers. From the press release:
 
"In the BA's craft brewer definition, the term "small" now refers to any independent brewery that produces up to 6 million barrels of traditional beer. The previous definition capped production at 2 million barrels."
 
The press release goes on to mention that this change allows the popular and still-growing Boston Beer Company (maker of Samuel Adams beers, many of which I love, by the way) to keep its membership in the BA as a craft brewer. I don't know if this is the only reason for the change, but they're the only brewery named. In his post, Mr. Crouch writes that there's a sizable portion of the craft brewing community that doesn't think Boston Beer Company belongs, and equates them with mega-brewers like InBev (makers of Budweiser beers and much, much more). He, on the other hand, applauds the Brewers Association's decision, calling it inevitable. "Like a woman who is perpetually turning 29, Boston Beer has been coyly telling everyone that its beer production numbers were below two million barrels per year for at least a few years after many people believed it likely blew past that number." Mr. Crouch goes on to talk about the definition of "small" and "craft beer," as well as the rising voices of pro-exclusionists.
 
While I don't always agree with Mr. Crouch (mostly on his snobbish attitude towards us common-folk bloggers), I do agree with him on this matter, and think he lays out a good, readable argument for including Boston Beer (and other craft brewers associated one way or another with "big beer") in the craft brewing club. I think it's worth a read.
 
As for me, who am I to say what is and isn't craft beer? I suppose that's why we have groups like the Brewers Association, because somebody has to draw the line. Or do they? I wonder when "craft beer" became a defined thing as opposed to an adjective, like "good beer." If craft beer is beer that's made well, with as much thought given to the quality of the ingredients and effort into production as to how much money can be made off it, I think Sam Adams still counts as a craft brew. And frankly, I've had some "craft beers" that tasted like bottled Bud with an artful label. Not to mention that Boston Beer has done a lot to promote the idea of quality-over-quantity-beer for a long time. Kicking them out of the club isn't a very nice way to thank them.
 
It's hard, when you find something and fall in love with it, and find a small group of like-minded individuals, to not become possessive. It's hard to let your special thing become mainstream. Why? Because in all honesty, that love is self-serving. Your membership in a tiny clique of people appreciating this thing made you cool. If everybody likes it, you're not cool anymore! You're just another person who likes this thing.
 
I always think back to my phase in middle/high school when I LOVED the Cure. I owned their Goth-phase stuff like "Boys Don't Cry" and "Standing on the Beach." I had Cure buttons on my backpack, a Cure poster on the wall. And then in 1989, the Cure released "Disintegration" and it all blew up. There were pop-chart hits, hugely popular videos on MTV, the prom-ready single "Lovesong," and all of a sudden, everybody liked the Cure. I mean everybody. For chrissakes, cheerleaders liked the Cure! It was ruined! I quickly shed the buttons, pulled down the posters, and sneered at all the latecomers, as me and the other "misunderstood" kids ranted about how the Cure "sold out" or whatever.
 
This (somewhat embarrassing) story reminds me of the craft beer snobs and their pro-exclusion attitude. They don't want craft brewers to succeed and gain wide appeal, because craft beer "belongs" to them. Only they understand how to appreciate it. But if you truly love something, shouldn't you want it to succeed? We have to let go of craft beer as our badge of coolness, let go of this idea that craft beer is a club that can pick and choose who can join. Don't we want more people opening up their palates and trying something new? Don't we want to share good beer with our friends, our family?   

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"I wish you a Malty Christmas
And a Hoppy New Year,
A pocket full of money
And a cellar full of Beer!"
 
--Anonymous
 
To quote a suave Christmas crooner, it's the most wonderful time of the year. And not just because it's the holidays. Some beery goodness came to us in the past few days, including the Samuel Adam's Winter Classics Pack. As in the past, it includes the delicious Old Fezziwig Ale, that I must admit I love as much for its name (inspired by the young Scrooge's generous and jubilant employer in Dickens' "A Christmas Carol") as I do for its tasty profile. Malty, chocolaty, spicy (but not too spicy), and a wee hint of citrus peel, it's a tasty holiday beer.
 
But what makes this year's Winter Classics Pack AWESOME is the inclusion of their Chocolate Bock. This is a fantastic beer. Roasted malts and chocolate - what could be better to a dark beer lover's palate? Only slightly sweet, the brew is aged on chocolate nibs (from some fancy chocolatier in San Francisco, TCHO) and a touch of vanilla is added. It's smooth and very rich. And, if you hadn't figured out yet, I freaking LOVE IT. I first came upon the Chocolate Bock a few years ago, sold in single 22-oz. bottles at our local ABC liquor store. I figured it was a one-time only thing, what with its silver metal "label" and all. So to see two bottles of it in the Winter Classics was a very merry present indeed.
 
The other beery goodness? Well, you'll have to come back for that one...
 

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Last week I finally got around to opening the Southern Tier Creme Brulee Imperial Milk Stout. This is part of their Blackwater Imperial Stout series, and is a summer seasonal (!?!). Imperial stouts are typically higher in alcohol than other stouts - as is this one, at 9.6% abv - and are sometimes finished in liquor barrels, like whiskey or bourbon. Milk stouts include lactose, a sugar derived from milk. Beer yeast can't convert lactose, so the sugar sticks around to add sweetness to the beer. To the Creme Brulee Imperial, Southern Tier added vanilla bean and dark caramel malt.
 
I was especially excited about this beer. I absolutely love stouts, and I love sweet stuff. This seemed to be the perfect combination.
 
I poured my Creme Brulee into a pint glass (my reward for running the beer-less Tipple's Beer Run). Only after pouring did I realize the bottle's label instructs the drinker to pour it into a chilled snifter. Which is just as well, as that's the one glass I don't own.
 
The beer is used-engine-oil black, with a dark tan head that lasts quite some time. The aroma will knock you over - it is SWEET. Holy moses, is it ever. You could put this out when your Vanilla Cupcake candle from Yankee Candle burns away. To be fair, if you like sweet, that's not a bad thing. It's a delicious, caramelly, yummy aroma.
 
I took a sip, and to misuse a metaphor, the carpet matches the drapes. Good Lord Almighty, SUGAR RUSH. After the sugar, somewhere in there I tasted roasted coffee, and finished with a hell of a lot of booze. This is dessert in a bottle.   
 
Surprisingly, I found myself having a hard time finishing it. This is a lot of SWEET for one sitting. While the initial sips were delicious, I do believe this is too much of a good thing. I never thought I'd say it, but this is just too sweet. At 22 ounces, the Southern Tier Creme Brulee Stout would make a great after-dinner drink with someone snuggly--IF they like sugary booze.
 
I've had other milk stouts before (Left Hand Milk Stout). Perhaps I should try another type of imperial stout. This is my first one, so others might be different. I don't think it's the booziness, per se, as my beloved Belgian browns are pretty high in alcohol as well.

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  But I was so pleased to see Ladies of Craft Beer founder (and president) Stevie Caldarola give a little shout-out to Tampa, Florida brewery Cigar City, reviewing (along with several other beers) their Big Sound Scotch Ale, I had to share:

Let me just start off by saying that Cigar City may just be my favorite brewery.  These guys have yet to fail me on a brew- everything that they offer is well thought out and really delicious.  Big Sound stays true to my word on this.  The beautiful cloudy cherry mohagony brew had one of the biggest noses of the night with a chewy toffee bread flair, similar to that of Panera’s Cinnamon Crunch Bagel.  Monkey bread, a bready peel off cake dish smothered in toffee, caramel gooey-ness.  Cherry rock candy meets toffee cookie in this huge and complex brew.  Yum!

  You should check out the LOC blog, by the way - even if you're not a lady. These dames know their beer.

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For the record, I didn't drink this beer - my husband did. I mistakenly bought it for him thinking it was an IPA. Left Hand Brewing's Sawtooth Ale is an ESB. I had to go look that up - "Extra-special beer?"
 
Nope, ESB stands for Extra Special/Strong Bitter. It's an ale (and, incidentally, ESB is an actual brand name is England). It's like a pale ale, but--despite the "bitter" in its name--it's not as hop-driven as an American IPA, which is why my husband was a little disappointed with it. I asked him to compare it to his standard - Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.
 
"It's not as complex as Sierra Nevada. It's very smooth; it's not bad." We also both noted the lack of hoppy aroma that a typical American IPA will smack you with. I took a sip, and he was right - it was smoother than an American pale ale, and definitely didn't have as much going on in a mouthful that Sierra Nevada does. But I suppose it's not fair to compare it to an IPA if that's not what it is, right? I'll have to ask him to compare it to Red Hook ESB, another beer he likes. I think it will compare more favorably with another ESB. The Alstrom Bros like it, after all.
 
I bought myself a big 'ol bottle of Southern Tier Creme Brulee Imperial Milk Stout. Since we were leaving soon after I arrived with our bounty from Dorn's, I haven't opened it yet - at 22 ounces (and 9.6% ABV, yikes!), I want to be able to enjoy the whole thing, not swig it down and rush out the door. So I'll be back with my thoughts on that one. 

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My husband and I recently visited friends in New York. Well, they actually live across the river in Teaneck, New Jersey, but we spent most of our time in The City. I was hoping to try several different kinds of beer while I was there, but most of the places we went to serve the standard Stella, Guinness, Blue Moon, and the typical light American lagers.
 
One exception to this rule was McSorley's Old Ale House. Even if you've never heard of it before, you'll know walking in that it's the oldest continuously running bar in New York City - because it says as much on the front: "This is our 156 year and ale is well," plus "We were here before you were born." If this place hasn't been used as a set for a period piece, it probably wasn't from lacking of effort on the director's part. I'm pretty sure the decor hasn't changed since it opened - simply added to. It's basically one big room, with a bar up front and big, family-sized tables in the back (along with a fireplace). I couldn't tell you much more because the place was PACKED to the gills with people. But the walls are covered with memorabilia - photos, articles about the bar, art (including several prints of the bar by noted artists and illustrators); you could barely see the walls. This must be from where Applebee's and Chili's stole their interior design aesthetic.
 
We were lucky to get four seats at a table with some friendly young men (who later would lead us in some sort of raucous soccer cheer/song). A rather grizzled, middle-aged man walks up:
 
"Dark or light?"
 
That's it - those are your choices at McSorley's. Nothing but ale. They are house beers, brewed for the bar by ... someone. The bar's web site says Pabst, Beer Advocate says it's no longer brewed. It was originally brewed by a local brewery, Fidelio, up until World War II. The McSorley beer was then made by several more breweries, each getting bought out by a larger one, the last being Pabst, states the web site.
 
But anyway. There's a light lager-looking beer and the dark-ish ale we ordered. A very dark amber color; hold it up to the light, and it's almost purple. They serve beer in small glass mugs, two at a time. And they only take cash. I suppose when you've been around for over a century, you pretty much get to make up the rules.
 
The dark ale is very good - lighter than a stout, but with nice flavor. And it goes down easy (probably too easy). Did I mention they just keep bringing them, un-asked, until you holler uncle?
 
I loved the place - loud, cheerful, I felt at home. And the history is undeniably alluring. Being a drinking establishment, and thus a man's retreat from the world, women were not allowed in McSorley's. Even when ownership fell to the adult daughter of the third owner (and first non-McSorley) in 1939 - she never entered the bar except on Sundays when it was closed. She handed day-to-day management to her husband. It wasn't until 1970 that women were permitted entrance, thanks to Faith Seidenberg and Karen DeCrow, attorneys for the National Organization for Women, who sued for sexual discrimination in 1969 and won.
 
I, for one, am thankful for that.

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It occurred to me while in the grocery store recently, that while my efforts to be cost-conscious and buy my beloved Cheap Beer are good for my budget, they weren't helping promote my efforts to write a beer blog. I mean, I love me some Miller Lite, but even I wouldn't read a Miller Lite Blog.
 
This epiphany came at just the right moment, too, because what should appear on the beer cooler's shelves but the autumn seasonal from Sierra Nevada--a brown ale called Tumbler. I didn't even pause to read the description - brown ale? Hell yeah!
 
I'm a sucker for labels. I keep my favorites (that St. Somewhere Saison bottle is still on the kitchen windowsill). While Tumbler doesn't live up to sill-worthiness, it is a very pretty label. Lovely fall colors, a scene right out of New England--or some other fairytale place where the leaves actually change color and the air turns cool and crisp.
 
It poured with a lot of decent head; I tended to dinner (lasagna) while I waited to finish pouring the bottle. And it's the prettiest color: deep brown, but not completely opaque. After the head settled, it actually looked like a slightly flat Coke.
 
I was pleased with how malty it was. Of course it was still a bit hoppy--it is Sierra Nevada, after all; hops are their crack, I think--but not nearly as herbal-perfumey as their pale ale. Very smooth, pretty damn delicious! Out of all the Sierra Nevadas I've tried, this Tumbler is my favorite by far.
 
I first thought to write, "What a shame that it's a seasonal!" But as with the seasons, and more so the holidays, the anticipation and waiting for something truly heightens my pleasure of finally experiencing it. Christmas all year long would be a drag; but I look forward to the holiday season (that I officially put at Halloween, screw the marketers and their September pumpkins/costumes/candy). That could be part of the reason Sam Adams' Octoberfest didn't quite feel right in AUGUST, even as I drank it in my local watering hole anyway. So while I'll be sad when the winter Celebration beer takes Tumbler's place on the shelves in a few months, it will give me something to look forward to in next year's dog days of summer.
 
(Which, this being Florida, are actually still upon us. It's been in the low 90s during the day here. Although it seems to be warm Up North as well. Heck, it was warm enough in Philadelphia last night to make the players of the Atlanta-Philly game sweat their asses off. Damn Phillies.)
 
**********************************************************************************************************

P.S. I hear (via the Brookston Beer Bulletin) that Guiness Foreign Extra Stout is finally returning to the U.S. - I will very interested in trying it, although with a description like "GUINNESS Foreign Extra Stout (FES) is brewed with the highest hop rate of all the GUINNESS variants," I'm a little wary.

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  So, on the sunny side, let's give some big congratulations to Cigar City Beer in Tampa for its Humidor India Pale Ale, which won a Silver in Wood- and Barrel-Aged Beer (out of 32 entries in this category)! I have yet to try any of the Cigar City Beers, although their Bolita Brown sounds interesting.

  I did just come back from New York City (cue the cowboys: "New York City?!?!") where I didn't get to try as many beers as I would have imagined. I ended up drinking Guinness more often than not (oh, poor me, I know). I'll have to get my notes together for a real post on my trip, because I did get to try one very interesting beer...

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My parents go to Maine every year for two weeks to visit my mother's family. If you've never been to Maine, put it on your list of "Beautiful places in the United States I Should See Before Spending Tons of Cash on Europe." In my humble opinion, it's the most beautiful place in the world--in the summertime*. 
 
I've been hinting to my husband that we need to go to Maine, but he's not really good at picking up hints of things he's not particularly interested in (strange, what husband doesn't want to be trapped in the boonies with in-laws he's never met?). So when my parents told me they were heading up, I got a wild hair and booked a flight. Just me, a couple of days, during the week, Sky-Mile-ing-it.
 
I would be at the mercy of my parents, so I didn't have much choice on activities. I had but one request: on the day we headed back to Portland for my flight out, I wanted to stop by the Allagash Brewery. I've been hearing awesome stuff about their beer for some time, and have been wanting to try it, even before I realized it was brewed in Maine. It's Belgian style! It's bottled conditioned! What's that, you ask?
 
Bottle conditioning involves adding yeasts to the beer once it's bottled, sometimes with added sugars for the yeast to feed on. It's not filtered or pasteurized, like most mass-produced beer. This is "living beer," and it actually allows the beer to last longer than filtered/pasteurized beer. In fact, some bottle-conditioned beers are meant to age for a while, allowing the yeasts to change the character of the beer.  It also adds natural carbonation to beer. There's a good article on Tastings, the web site of the Beverage Tasting Institute.
 
So excited was I! And my parents were intrigued (they drink a beer here and there, especially while on vacation). Little did I know that a storm was brewing--literally. Hurricane Earl was threatening the East Coast and many projected paths had it hitting Maine on Friday. The day I was scheduled to fly out. Portland (and thus its airport) is right on the coast. Delta was offering travelers the chance to reschedule flights free of charge. Reluctantly, I rescheduled to fly out a day early--squashing any plans of brewery tours or tastings. Of course, as we know now, Earl petered out and became a tropical storm, dumping rain and churning up the sea, but nothing worse. Figures.
 
So I had just one full day in Maine. We went to Camden, a lovely coastal town, and hung out with Jim (one of my three uncles) and his girlfriend. If you only have one day to do Maine, this wouldn't be a bad way to spend it - lobster roll and beer at Bayview Lobster Company on the wharf, perfect view of Camden Harbor, strolling around the quaint shopping district, another beer at Camden Deli on their rooftop deck - another fantastic view.
 
It was at the Camden Deli that I had my one local brew: Geary's Summer Ale. Geary's is also based in Portland. Here's their description: "full bodied with a spicy hop tang and a rich, crystal clear golden color." This reddish-blond ale was definitely full bodied--a little more than I'd care for in the crazy, unseasonably hot weather Maine was experiencing (in the upper 90s!). Maybe a little too spicy? Perhaps it's my Florida summer palate, but this struck me as a beer to be savored in slightly cooler weather. Then again, who in Maine would make beer for 90-degree heat?
 
Geary's calls their Summer Ale a kolsch-style. Kolsch (there should be two dots over the "o" there) is an ancient German style of brewing. In fact, only beer of this style brewed in Cologne, Germany is allowed to be called Kolsch (the name of the town is actually Koln, again with the two dots over the "o" - Cologne is the Anglicized way of saying it). I'd never really heard of this style before. It's made with all barley (no wheat), and is very light in color and flavor. Unlike the ubiquitous lagers, there should be a subtle fruity or tangy aftertaste. The German Beer Institute website has an excellent entry on Kolsch, and Carolyn Smagalski at Bella Online has a great article, "The Seductive Style of Kolsch" that includes a list of American kolsch-style beers, including Geary's Summer Ale.
 
 The Beer Advocate folks don't think Geary's Summer Ale adheres to the Kolsch style very well; I'd have to agree. It's more amber than gold in color and a little too full bodied. Not that that's a bad thing. It's a tasty beer.
 
Interesting label note: Geary's asks Maine College of Art students to submit entries for each year's summer ale marketing and awards the winner a scholarship. That's pretty cool, even if I wasn't too impressed with this year's effort. (The photo on Beer Advocate is of a different year - cuter, in my opinion).
 
* That last part is very important, especially for Southerners. I spent much of my childhood summers in Maine--my mom, little brother, and I would spend three months with my grandparents in BFE, Maine, whilst my poor father toiled away in the sweltering heat of Florida. Hey, somebody's got to work! Anyway, Maine is fan-freakin-tastic in the summertime - warm during the day, cool at night, dry. It's covered in nature, from the rocky coast to the gorgeous forests. HOWEVER. It is cold as hell frozen over any time not called "summer." I went up in March/April a couple years ago for my grandmother's funeral--may she rest in peace--and it was FRIGID. I was MISERABLE. ALL CAPS MISERABLE. I went again a few years later for my sainted grandfather's funeral in October - guess what? FRIGID.
 
 

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Happy September! (Can you believe it's September? Where'd the year go?)
 
A couple weeks ago, I was at a friend's house, celebrating his upcoming 30th birthday (yes, I hang out with the chil'rens). He's a bit of a good 'ol boy: hunter, owns a big truck and has several dogs running around, and is a proud fan of Natty Lite. But for some reason, he always seems to have one or two bottles of unusual brew hanging out in his refrigerator. I'm not sure how they get there; he doesn't drink them. But true to his oversized heart, he's happy to share.
 
So it was with great excitement that I discovered, lonely and forgotten in the refrigerator door, a bottle with a familiar image on the label. Looking handrawn, it was of a snail standing (yes, it has legs; it's a cartoon snail) in front of a lit candle set in the ground.
 
One of my favorite beers ever is Nostradamus, a Belgian brown ale from Brasserie La Caracole, in southern Belgium (the Wallonia region). At 9.5% ABV, it's a heady, sweet beer. It's also the only beer I've ever seen from Caracole.
 
But here, in my friend's refrigerator, was a beer labeled simply "Caracole." It was 8% ABV and lighter in color, a Belgian amber ale (the label says as much). Not as sweet as the Nostradamus, it still had that sherry-like alcohol taste. It was a little like a heavy wheat beer - I definitely tasted citrus and spice.
 
While I couldn't find a web site for the brewery, D&V International, an Belgian and French beer importer, has a good deal of information on Caracole. From their web site:
 

BRASSERIE CARACOLE

Truly artisanal Brasserie La Caracole is located in a small village Falmignoul, Province of Namur, Wallonia in southern Belgium, close to the French border.  All styles are bottle conditioned (second fermentation with yeast in the bottle), unfiltered and unpasteurized. The recurring theme on each label is that of spiral snail shell from which the brewery takes its name. Apparently the snail is the emblem of Namur and the word for a snail in local Namurois dialect is "Caracole".

  The only retail establishment I've found Caracole's Nostradamus in is The Wine & Liquor Shoppe of Jonesville, right on Newberry Road. And they didn't actually have it, they ordered it for me. This is not a beer you find just anywhere. Stubbies in Gainesville has had it on tap before. So where in the hell did my friend find this one bottle of Caracole amber ale? I asked, and he had no idea how it showed up in his refrigerator.

  Foiled again. Oh well, at least I had this one. I'd love to have another.

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How is it that I had never heard about this? I was reading the Brookston Beer Bulletin, an awesome beer blog based in San Francisco/ Northern California (and thus constantly teasing me with all sorts of cool beer and cool beer events), and beer writer Jay Brooks was doing one of his regular "beer birthday" posts, where he features a notable beer person on their birthday.
 
"Today is also the 41st birthday of John Pinkerton, founder and brewmaster of Moon River Brewing in Savannah, Georgia. John is also involved in Beer America TV. He also brews some terrific beers and is great fun to drink a beer or three with. Join me in wishing John a very happy birthday." (from Jay Brooks' August 16 post on Brookston Beer Bulletin)
 
Beer America TV? I had never heard of this thing. Some of this is because I don't tend to watch video online much. But still! How has this escaped my attention? Anyway, birthday boy John Pinkerton and Paul Leone, whose background is in TV/video production, are the hosts, and most of the episodes are them drinking a beer and talking about it. They also do some "go to the brewers" interviews and such. It seems pretty cool: laid-back, with a brewer and a "regular guy" who like beer, talking beer. I can dig it.
 
The most recent one was about Lazy Magnolia's Indian Summer Spiced Ale. They really like it. But what struck me most was, when Paul Leone talks about how great it is that there are more choices for summer beers by craft brewers now, he admits to once drinking Miller Lite during the warmer months.  Of course, he knew, even before uttering the words, that he was out of line.
 
"I would actually drink..." Here Leone pauses and looks at Pinkerton apologetically, "I'm gonna say it - Miller Lite in the summertime."
 
John Pinkerton, the professional American craft brewer, was shaking his head before Leone could finish the sentence.
 
"Wow," Pinkerton chuckles. 
 
You could see the subtext all over his face--"Wow" equals "I can't believe you actually said that out loud. On a beer vlog. About American craft beer." But it was all in good fun, and I couldn't help but laugh. Especially when Leone goes on to say, "Because it was ice-cold, watery, you can just throw it down..."
 
Which is EXACTLY why I love Miller Lite. I'm not sure if I've said this yet, but I love me a cold Miller Lite during the summertime.
 
You sit in the sun at Ginnie Springs in North Central Florida on a Saturday in August for a couple of hours and see what you feel like drinking. Not, as Leone said, "some ten percent beer." No, you want a light American lager. It's refreshing! It's delicious (when ice-cold). It's the beer drinker's, well, water.
 

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My friend and fellow blogger, the Sassy Crafter, shared an article with me that she found online about a Tarpon Springs, FL-based brewery, Saint Somewhere. They're tiny and specialize in Belgian ales, which I have recently discovered. So it was with great delight that I found a bottle in my local beer shop, Dorn's. To add to the excitement, it turned out to be a saison - a style of beer I have only just heard of and of course had never tried. Two birds with one stone: Florida brewery AND new style of beer!
 
First, what's a saison? Brewed in the French-speaking part of Belgium, it's a "farmhouse" style ale, meaning in the "olde" days, ye regular folk made this type of beer in the winter and had it ready to drink by summertime. Don't think this means "lightly refreshing summer beer," in the style of a wheat beer or--heaven help us--a Bud Lime. According to beer god Michael Jackson, a saison is a "sharply refreshing, faintly sour, top-fermenting brew, sometimes dry-hopped, often bottle-conditioned, 5.5 - 8 by volume."
 
Being the kind of girl who buys wine for the pretty labels, I have to admit that the label on the Saint Somewhere Saison Athene made it all the more appealing. A pretty girl-fairy soars over a Southern-looking locale (evidenced by the palm and citrus trees, and well, the fact they're based in Tampa). Very Mucha, Belle-Epoch-looking stuff. You can (sorta) see from their web site that their other brews have similar labels.*
 
This is a big bottle - I got almost four pint glasses out of it. And it's not "light," per se - 7.5% (for comparison, a Sam Adams summer ale is 5.20%). And the taste?
 
Daaaaaaammmmmnnn.
 
Not that I had any expectations, but ... I guess I must have, because this wasn't what I expected. Very sour, like a fuzzy, beery lemonade almost. With a lot of different flavors thrown in the mix for good measure. This is one complex brew. It kind of reminded me of a lambic - another Belgian beer. Very distinct, not at all "hoppy," even though hops are used. But I think, like lambics, this beer's hops were dry, because I didn't get that herbal, perfumey taste that I get from the popular American "hop bombs" (Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, as an example - to me, anyway; I'm not sure a "hop head" would think Sierra Nevada Pale Ale was sufficiently hoppy). What I did get was . . . funky. And I don't mean that in a necessarily bad way. Just really, really, really different.
 
Would I buy it again? No, not anytime soon, only because there are a lot of other new styles of beer I want to try. This is unusual enough that I wouldn't add it to my everyday repertoire (as I have, say, the Wacko summer ale).
 
* - The Saint Somewhere web site is all Flash (boo!) - which explains why I couldn't see anything when I first tried to look at it via my iPhone. The images are all very pixilated and they don't give individual descriptions of each style of beer they're currently brewing, instead relying on Beer Advocate reviews! What? You can't even simply type out what's on the back of the bottle? Even that would be better (wish I had the bottle here with me while typing this, actually). Not enough "story" on the brewery, either. At least it didn't have music.

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I just got back from an amazing conference on web design. Absolute gods of the web Eric Meyer and Jeffrey Zeldman started An Event Apart, and it featured them plus a host of other web design rock stars. It's two days of intense, mind-blowing knowledge about standards-based web design. Can you tell I'm still swooning?
 
Anyway, while I was there, there were several chances to drink beer, thanks to sponsored mixers after all the mind-blowing. At the newish (and very cool) Subo, I chatted with the friendly staff and had a couple beers. First up was a Minnesota beer, Sheephead Ale by Brau Brothers. Subo lists it as a "red ale," and it is a copper color, but it's only called an ale by the brewery. It was very nice, evidently marketed as a pale ale, but the bartender told me it wasn't very hoppy, and he was right. This is a good thing to me, as I'm not a hop-head. Kinda zesty and light. I would have had another, but I saw a familiar label - New Belgium! 
 
I love New Belgium's Fat Tire (a truly amber ale), but can't seem to find it in Florida. This was not a Fat Tire, but their summer beer, Skinny Dip (also the name of an excellent Carl Hiaasen novel that I highly recommend). Turns out this beer is their "mascot for water advocacy," a subject that any brewer should be interested in. One of the specific programs New Belgium supports is Save the Colorado, a river dear to my own heart, thanks to a week of rafting down in it in the Grand Canyon. (If you have any interest in conservation and/or the Colorado river, check that site out - it's lovely.)
 
Where was I? Oh yeah, the beer.
 
It's a blond ale, very light. I would compare it to Sam Adams' summer seasonal, although it has a little less spice and a little more citrus (New Belgium mentions lime leaves). This is a beer, much like Fat Tire, but even more so, that I would urge a Bud Light/Miller Lite/Coors Light drinker to try. It has the summer beer qualities a hot Floridian would want - it's refreshing, it's light - and then adds actual flavor and interest. I think this is what the Beer Advocate forum fellers would call a "session beer" (meaning you could happily drink more than one), although they rate it rather poorly. I don't think I have the same palate as BAers. I would buy this in bulk. Delicious stuff, especially for warm weather.
 

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The first-ever beer bloggers conference! Doesn't that sound awesome? If you're a beer blogger, that is?
 
Beer Bloggers Conference
 
And it's in Boulder, Colorado, making it even cooler in my mind. Of course, it's in November, so I'm guessing it's going to be really friggin' cold. At least to a Floridian. But I have gathered--some from reading about beer, brewing, and breweries, but mainly from looking at the label on the neat beers I've tried and seeing where they come from--that Colorado is up there in the ranking of Cool Beer States.
 
There will be speakers, including the co-founder of Stone Brewing, but what got me excited is that there are media professionals speaking about writing. Beer writing, of course, and that's something I could definitely learn a thing or two about. I can write, and I can surely drink beer, but that doesn't mean I'll be a great beer writer.
 
Two sessions that interest me in particular are Julia Herz from the Brewers Association: “Why Beer Bloggers Further the Revolution” and Jessica Daynor from Draft Magazine: “Beer Journalism: Beer Bloggers & the Print Media.”
 
Of course, the dinners at Oskar Blues Brewery in Lyons and Boulder Beer Company are rather intriguing as well.
 
I'd really like to go to this. I could learn a lot (okay, a ton), meet some interesting people who are even more passionate about beer than I am, and make some good contacts.
 
However.
 
One thing that struck me on the conference blog was a post about five things the event organizers had learned from their other conference - one for wine bloggers:
 
"2. Making Money – Offline – From Wine Blogging: We learned loud and clear at the first Wine Bloggers Conference that most bloggers do not make more than pocket change from their blog and probably never will."
 
But this conference costs money. Maybe not a lot to some, but it's enough to give me pause. After all, I have a spouse whose input is needed, a home with items in need of repair/replacement, a dog with a healthy vet bill, etc. And this? This beer blogging thing? Not only am I just starting out, but it's not a money-making endeavour.
 
As an MBA dropout, I can't help but think . . . what's my ROI? How will this conference help me? My family? I have to ask myself - is this an indulgence?
 
That being said, the Beer Bloggers Conference looks like a great idea and any beer blogger, aspiring or otherwise, should at least consider attending. I mean, I'm still thinking about it...
 

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