Brewed Musings

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pot of Chinese Green Tea

This morning as I sit in the local coffeehouse with my morning coffee, this time actually tea, and a book of poetry of Seamus Heaney, the Nobel Prize winner from Ireland, it struck me that poets are actually brewers, or farmers, or skyscraper builders, or even blacksmiths. To understand this, you would have to read the words written by Heaney from his poem “The Forge.”

All I know is a door into the dark./Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting;/Inside, the hammered anvil’s short-pitched ring,/The unpredictable fantail of sparks/Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water./

Or take for another example this excerpt from Sandburg’s “Prairie”:

The frost loosens corn husks./The sun, the rain, the wind/loosen corn husks./The men and women are helpers./They are all conrhuskers together./I see them late in the western evening/in a smoke-red dust.

These are my favourite poets. The ones who can make sounds out of words. The ones who can bring to life the forge. They can turn the soil, build a city from bare hands, take grain and water and hops and brew some of the finest thoughts in the world and in the end no one would know they are reading poetry. Instead they are standing in the fields surrounded by cornstalks, or they are in the streets staring up at the buildings. They can smell the sulfur in the refinery. They can hear the hiss as the molten steel cools. They are the forgotten framers, often ignored because they speak a different dialect, but the feelings they invoke are boundless.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

(The following poem was inspired by the works of Seamus Heaney and is merely a first draft. I hope one day I will be not only a brewer of beer…)

Walking along the train tracks
in the valley, back of the house.
David and I jokingly state,
“If you put your ear to the rail
you can hear if a train approaches,”
knowing full well the train ceased
running on this line, oh, twenty years ago.
Jeff put his ear to the rail eager
for the sensation of approaching cars.
“I hear one coming!” he shouted
excitingly as we elbowed each other,
chuckling under our breath.
In the distance, a whistle blows,
leaving us all in stunned disbelief -
Were we liars or he a magician?

Brewed Beverage of Choice:  Hair of the Dog Adambier

To give you an idea of how beer crazy Portland is and why this town is sometimes called either Beervana, or my personal favourite, Munich on the Willamette, I submit to you the Hair of the Dog Anniversary Sale yesterday.  Every year one of the best and most ecclectic breweries in town, Hair of the Dog, opens its doors for the release of its barley wine, Doggie Claws.  From 10 am to 4 pm you can hang out in the brewery, sample all of his wares, hang out with other beer geeks, and purchase some of the best beers you will ever have.  So tell us, oh confucian brewer, how is this an example of Portland’s brew-craziness?  Patience…

Last year I took one of my friends to the sale.  He was so amazed at the turn out that it has become part of our local lore.  This year he and I along with a couple of our other friends made the trek.  We arrived to the cars parked many blocks away with their owners putting their cases of beer - transported to their cars on dolleys…yes…dolleys.  It was only 11 am and the sale was going on strong.

Aside from Doggie Claws being released, the brewer was also selling a bottled version of his Fredbier that had been aged for 6 months in oak.  Remember I said the sale started at 10am?  And remember when I said we arrived at 11 am?  The Fred in the Wood as it was called was sold out before we had arrived!  In fact there were already many items on the list that were sold out.  So as we stood in the brewery and tasted all his great brews we decided to pick up some of the litres of this years Doggie Claws.  Good thing too!  By the time we made it through the line the litres were sold out as well.  This is by noon.  Freaks!

The great thing about Hair of the Dog beers is that they are brewed to be aged.  I never in my life thought I would be excited about aging beers, but here I am with a bottle of 2005 & 2006 Doggie Claws and a special edition of the St. Bernardus Abt 12 from Belgium.  The only problem with it is that I have essentially hide the beer so I do not open it.  So there it sits in its aging closet ignored.  Like I said…Freak!

I have taken the tour of Lakefront Brewery in Milwaukee and they are the closest example of how crazy we can get about beer.  But only in Portland will you find beer geeks standing in line on a Saturday morning and dropping on average about $70 for some beer.  And now…back to my Adambier…Mmmmmm…

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Cup of the finest Stumptown Costa Rican coffee

About a week ago I had two options for the evening: go to see a movie at the local moviehouse where I can have a brew whilst watching a good movie, or go to Powell’s and get some books that I have been meaning to purchase. So I decide to do the former of my options. But I walked up to the box office to find that the movie I wanted to see was sold out. I guess I am going to Powell’s

First off, let me just say that I love living in the town that Powell’s calls home. There is no other book store like it and it is true, you can spend the whole day there getting lost or getting lost in all the books you want to buy. And where else in town can I go and spend $30 on three books including one for a mere $5?

I went to Powell’s to pick up a book of Thomas Aquinas’ writings on Philosophy. Thomas was the patron saint of our parish in Waterford and it hit me, while reading the book about Mumford, that I never really learned about the man that gave his name to my grade school. But as many who have gone to Powell’s knows, you cannot go and get just one book.

In the same philosophy/theology section I found a book called Benedict’s Dharma: Buddhists Reflect on the Rule of Saint Benedict, which has 4 Buddhists discussing the similarities of Buddhism and the Benedictine sect of Catholicism. (I wanted to get this book out of sheer interest and because the Trappist monks - a more strict sect of the Benedictines - make some of the best beer in the world.)

The other book I purchased was a $5 used version of part 2 of Carl Sandburg’s autobiography, Ever the Winds of Change. This is not your usual autobiography reflecting on the important things or events overcome in one’s life. It is more of a “What I did on My Summer Vacation” sort of book but in Sandburg’s own eloquence. It covers the time between his return from the Spanish American war and his time at Lombard College in Illinois. If you ever see this book, get it because it is quite entertaining.While I am in the poetry section I decide I am going to thumb through the 2007 edition of The Poet’s Market Handbook. I did not go to Powell’s with that in mind. In fact had I not gone into the poetry section, I would never would have thought twice about it. But for whatever reason, I thumbed through this book and found a magazine that actually publishes tanka type poetry, which is the bulk of my work over the past few years. The result is the excitement to try and get published again: something I have not had since 1997. It takes a certain amount of courage to try to get work published and thanks to the movie being sold out, I realized I finally have that courage again.

The night and following days get even more eerie. As I am on the bus going home excited by my purchases, I start to page through my books like a child on Christmas morning. While going through the book by Thomas Aquinas I found the following inscription:

I bought this Feb. 21, 2002 at Barnes & Noble in H. Dartmouth, MA (unreadable signature)

So four years ago on my birthday this man/woman bought Selected Writings by Thomas Aquinas in a book store in MA. And somehow on November 3rd, 2006, in a bookstore on the opposite side of the continent, I find this very book on a shelf and purchase it. I wish I knew who printed the inscription to tell them I now have the book.

The next three to four days Portland and Oregon was hit with the remnants of a Typhoon, the worst storm in the history of the state since at least 1994. My trip to Powell’s seemed to foreshadow this storm which would keep me indoors with nothing else to do but read.

Now I am not one to believe in pure coincidences, nor am I one to believe that everything happens for a specific reason. We have gone over the latter before. I believe everything happens due to specific reasons, but not for a specific reason. If the movie had not been sold out, I would not have gone to Powell’s that night. I would not have found the magazine, American Tanka, and found the courage to get my works published for the first time in 10 years. I would not have found the $5 autobiography by Carl Sandburg that would be my best friend during a terrible storm which kept me indoors for a great deal of time. And, I would not have found a book that was originally purchased on my birthday in 2002 and made its way across the continent to be purchased by me 4 years later.

Does it mean anything? If it does, it does not mean much. But it shows how one small incident can affect a life in a meaningful way. Wow! I think I got a little deeper than I thought I was. Whew! I need a beer. And so do you.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A pint of Sierra Nevada Celebration Ale (Get it!!!)

I would like to think that the clearing of the skies after two days of the worst storm in Oregon since at least ‘94 was a portent, an omen of what was to come in the election this evening. I would like to think that tonight was the first sign that we as Americans have finally pulled our heads out of the sand and were able to show our anger. And after coming home from walking the dog, some of the news confirmed my hope. And the coincidence of the clearing skies has now brought me the hope I have not had for many years.

For those of you who care, it seems that the Governor of Oregon will maintain his office which is good for the state because his Republican opponent had his hands in the wrong pocket. Unfortunately, the people of the state were taken in by the slick ads of the insurance companies and voted down a ballot measure to bar insurance companies from using credit scores to determine insurance rates. I dare someone to show me the correlation between someone’s credit score and the likelihood that they will get in an accident.

A lot of people who know me think I am not very political. I can get my way through an election and have my personal beliefs. As a child growing up in Wisconsin we learned you did not speak about politics in our household. I remember asking my mom who she voted for, Reagan or Carter, and she responded by saying that you do not reveal who you voted for in the election. I still do not know who she voted for that year. I would like to think it was Carter, but have a feeling it was Reagan because everyone voted for Reagan.

Mostly I am happy that the 30 second lies will finally be off the air. I am very adament that there should be NO campaign ads on television or radio. 30 seconds is not enough time to explain anything in great detail to sway voters. So thanks heavens they are over…and I voted and have the right to complain for two more years…and I did not “throw my vote away” because I did not have a Socialist candidate for whom to vote. Now is the time to celebrate!!!

Prost!

the confucian voter

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of Oatmeal Stout from Goose Island

While perusing my list of blogs to read I came across this story worth reading.

CAMRA’s attempt to save local community pubs

or CAMRA’s story link

The vision of my brewpub, when I get the chance to open it, is similar to those local community pubs in the UK. It will stress more involvement in the community and be a place for the locals instead of being just another brewpub. Many of my fondest memories as a child growing up in a SMALL farming town in Wisconsin were spent in the local pub/bowling alley.

Unfortunately the pubs are following the trend of other business by becoming a “consistent”, large business aimed at pleasing a wide variety of people. Rock Bottom comes to mind. The beauty of the local pub is it is a mirror of the people and visions of the community surrounding the pub. For example, I live in Buckman in Portland. It is a blue collar , somewhat liberal neighbourhood just outside of downtown. The pubs, bakeries, and coffee houses try very hard to be “players” in the neighbourhood, and the locals thank them by going to their establishment.

In the small towns this is more important. I am saddened by the fact that Hardee’s/Carls Jr, Pick ‘n Save, and Starbucks have invaded the peace of Waterford, Wisconsin. Now my hometown has the same feel as Burlington and East Troy and the surrounding communties. It is not the same. Of course this falls into a greater philosophic argument that I do not have time for right now.

Please support your local businesses and farmers! They are far more important to your community than a Fast Food chain.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice: Uber-geek Altbier on tap at CPR (my signature ale at the brewery)

He who drinks it for the very first time might experience its true delight only after the third or fourth sip. We are referring to the spicy, bitter Dusseldorf altbier. To Dusseldorfers, this top-fermented beer is a drink from the gods. - Dr. Paul Kauhausen 1950

As Americans we are in love with the excessive especially when it comes to our beers. Give us the big and hoppy! This is at least true in the Northwest. But across the states, most of your standard microbrews weigh in at 5+% alcohol by volume. If said beer is below that 5% or has some strange name, we look down upon the pint and refuse to partake in it. This is unfortunate for some of the best beers in the world fall into the former category and are underappreciated by most of the beer-swilling American public. And it is here we find the Dusseldorf Altbier.

Alt, the German word for old, simple refers to the time in Germany before the lager (bottom-fermented beers) took over the brewing landscape. It is a medium amber or brown in colour with a pleasant spiciness and bitterness - similar to the bitterness of an E.S.B. from Britian - and a wonderful fruity/floral aroma. Its flavour is a complementary mix of this bitterness and maltiness with hints of fruit notes. But what sets the Alt apart from the E.S.B. is how it is fermented. Both are top-fermented, but the Alt is fermented at lower temperatures (60-64F) and lagered (aged in cold storage) for 1 to 2 months giving it a crisp, clean finish. The Alt is also served in a 200mL Becher and meant to be consumed quickly before it warms. As a geek and a brewer, the alt is one of my favourite beers to make and drink.

From my research and what I have been told, my familial roots come from the Westphalia region of Germany - the area which includes Cologne (Kolschbier) and Dusseldorf, the home of the Alt. And while I was not raised in a traditional German background, Westphalia has always been flowing through my veins. Plus as an historian, the style particularly speaks to me because of its historical traditions.

Not every brewer can make an alt. As a brewer, this is my greatest and most favourite challenge. Alts are an art form in patience and creativity. Determining the best malts and hops as well as a keen, clear mind are the key factors in creating this misunderstood ale. When I go about brewing my altbier I make sure there are little distractions; I have great attention to detail; and I make sure I tap into the Westphalian genes to give it my own stamp.

For those of you who want to seek out this pleasurable quaff, you must be ready for adventure because you will not find this beer on your local grocers shelf. Every big city in America has a great bottle shop and will carry a good selection of altbiers. Whole Foods here in PDX has Diebels in the bottle. For those of you in the Northeast and the Midwest, alts will be easier to find at your local brewpubs and drinking establishments because of the vast German-American heritage.

There are some perfectly good American versions of the Alt such as Alaskan Amber (a perfect example of changing the name to sell beer…it is called amber rather than alt) or Schell’s Schmaltz Alt…Or if you are in Hillsboro, Oregon, you may partake in my Uber-Geek at the Roadhouse. But the best examples of this style come from the Continent. I have already mentioned Diebels, but the freshest, cleanest example is Uerige Alt. There are two versions on the market right now: the original and the sticke (secret). (If you want to know more about some of the hisorical traditions, including the secret alt, or if you find a good American example I may not have tried, email me at confucianbrewer@confucianbrewer.com.) Uerige comes in an unusual looking bottle with a ceramic flip top.

The underappreciated beers like the Dusseldorf Altbier are usually the most satisfying because of the adventure involved in finding them, the art it takes to create an alt, and because they stress flavour over alcohol content. So now it is time to set you kiddies on your merry way to enjoy a becher of altbier. And have one for me as well.

Prost!

the confucian (altbier) brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of Brother Thelonius Abbey Style Ale from Northcoast Brewing

The past few days have been some of the most creative and thought-provoking ones in recent memory. First, I finally finished the biography of Lewis Mumford giving me a grand total of 1500 pages of material read and studied since the middle of August. To give you an idea of how grand a scale this is, 1500 is greater than the number of pages I have read and studied from January 1st to the middle of August.

Second, I am beginning to have dreams again. There are times in our lives where the dreams just end…they do not come whilst we sleep and we go on with our days regardless. But the past two days I have been shaken awake by the dreams I have been having. I am not to the stage of writing ‘em down yet, that will come soon enough. But I do know one of them involved snakes, which would be the second time this year I have had a rather surreal dream about snakes. (Something I will get to the bottom of, rest assured.)

Finally, during the course of my transits to and from work and walking the dog, I have spontaneously had poetry pop in to my mind. Creativity of this magnitude just sort of rumbles in like a summer storm in Wisconsin and passes just as quickly. It is something I have gotten used to in my 35 years wandering. And so without further ado, the poetry harvest (minus the one I did today…) brought by the storm of transit musing.

Poem #1

Through the brewery window
The autumn sun peaks
Enticed by the pleasant aroma
Of the morning mash
and the engaging company.

Poem #2 (thought after reading a book about Trappist Monks in Belgium and listening to Thelonius Monk)

The time spent mashing -
My morning meditation.
Diz, Billie, and the Monk -
My bop-harmony chorus.
No finer mass can be found!

And the last poem needs a bit of an introduction. The night prior to writing this particular piece I was watching the news (for whatever reason.) On it the visage of President Bush appeared. His stump speech, in so many words, was about how if the Democrats win in this election then “the terrorists have won.” The first thing that came to my head is, “How the hell can he get away with saying something such as that?” The second thing was, “How can there still be people in this country who actually believe that statement?” The most terrifying thing about that statement is that HE believes what he is saying.

President Bush Makes A Lousy Farmer!

We are calves
Waiting to become veal,
Chained to the floor by lies
And fear, held in place
Under the lazy eye
of Farmer Brown.