Atlanta

The day starts with a fry up. The same bacon and egg combination I had a few days ago.

The same waitress serves me. And clearly remembers me, as she can recall some of my preferences. Which is quite cool. As is eating bacon after a couple of days without.

My flight isn’t until 2 PM. I’m planning on hanging around in my hotel room until checkout at noon. With one little excursion. To the liquor store on Main Street.

The weather is quite pleasant and it’s not that far. It lets me see a bit more of the town. To be honest, I’ve seen bugger all of it, other than the inside of my hotel. I walk past the Edgar Allen Poe Museum, which is in an old stone cottage.

I head straight for the bourbon section, but on my way there am distracted by the moonshine display. Now there’s something that would interest the kids. And very reasonably priced at $9.99 for a half bottle.

Once I’m checked out, I grab a cab and head for the airport. Where I pick up my boarding pass and dump a bag. It’s all very routine.

I spot a Sam Adams pub on the way to my gate. Seems a good enough spot to kill some time. My waitress looks a few years older than me. Her colleague could be her mother. They certainly let the old work here in the US. I feel slightly embarrassed about making her run around serving me. I order a Stone IPA. And a bourbon.

I feel like eating a little something.

“Could I have a portion of onion rings?”

“I’m sorry, we’re out of those. What about some fries instead?”

“OK, that’ll do.” It’ll have to. For a while.

I don’t go too crazy in the bar. I still have stuff to do today.

I breeze out of the airport pretty quickly, not having had too long to wait for my checked in bag. I’ve been lucky so far with that. Unlike in the summer in San Diego, when my bag went missing. And when it arrived, my clothes were soaked in bourbon.

I wonder why the driver hasn’t switched on the meter. “How much will it cost to downtown?” I ask, nervously.

“$32. It’s a fixed fare.”

That’s cool. No need to worry about what route he’s taking.

My hotel isn’t the nicest I’ve ever stayed in. Probably the grottiest US hotel I’ve had in a decade or two. It’s all a bit rundown. The bathroom fittings look like they need replacing. And why are there cars parked virtually under my window? I’m on the 7th floor. Oh, right. My view is of a multi-storey car park. Great.

Pretty much as soon as I’ve unpacked my laptop and fired off a quick email to Dolores, I’m on the move again. I’m already a little late. I’m supposed to be meeting Mitch Steele and Stan Hieronymus at 6 PM and it’s already a little past that.

I quickly grab a taxi and head for New Realm, Mitch’s new brewery.

Despite being fairly huge, the brewery is quite well hidden in an industrial estate. I don’t fancy searching through the whole place for Mitch and Stan, so I ask one of the staff if they know where he is. Just as well I did ask, as he’s out on the patio. Probably the last place I would have looked.

In addition to Stan and Mitch, there are a few other people from New Realm and Daria, Stan’s wife. They already have beer and food. No wonder, as I am a bit late. I order a beer and a steak. Haven’t had one of those in a while. Steak, I mean. It’s only been a couple of hours since my last beer.

It’s good to catch up with Mitch and Stan. We chat about beery stuff, obviously. One topic is preservation of contemporary American brewing records, something I’ve discussed with Mitch before. I fear that should anyone attempt the type of research I do in fifty years’ time, there won’t be much left to look at.

Stan and Daria have tickets for a concert and can’t stay too long. After they’ve left I adjourn to the bar with Mitch for another beer. Always good talking to him. And drinking beer, obviously. The New Realm ones seem pretty decent, based on the ones I’ve tried here.

Again, I don’t leave it too late. I’m getting vaguely responsible in my old age. I watch a bit of crap TV, drink some moonshine and then crash. Sleep stalking me from the shadows.




Virginia ABC
2026 E Main St,
Richmond,
VA 23223.
https://www.abc.virginia.gov/stores/180
Tel: +1 804-225-2705


New Realm Brewing
550 Somerset Terrace NE #101,
Atlanta,
GA 30306.
https://newrealmbrewing.com/
Tel: +1 404-968-2777

Richmond again

Paul and Jamie are driving me back down to Richmond. Also fitting in a visit to a friend with a meadery in town. They’ve some European meads to give him.

We’re a little late setting off. We had meant to be on the road by ten. It’s closer to eleven by the time we’re on the motorway.

The roads are very busy. Where the hell is everyone going? Why are they all going out of town? Probably some outlet mall is their destination, according to Jamie.

I spot a huge Confederate flag adjacent to the motorway. Lovely.

We roll up at the Black Heath Meadery. To find that their friend, Bill Cavender, has popped out. We decide to take the opportunity to have lunch. Jamie asks the barman what he would recommend that’s close by.

“Lunch or Supper.” He suggests. Well, lunch obviously. What a strange thing to say “It’s just one and a half blocks away.” Ah, Lunch or Supper is the name of the place. That’s confusing. At least it’s dead close.

It’s a sort of barbecue, southern cooking sort of place. It looks quite full. One of the staff tells us that it’s a 20-minute wait if we want to eat inside. While we can be seated outside immediately. We opt for that.

Once we sit down we realise that it’s colder than it looks. Out of the sun and in the wind, it’s quite chilly. Even with the outdoor heaters. I’m not wearing my coat, stupidly. But I’m from the North. I’m going to grin and bear it.

Fried chicken and waffles seems a popular choice. It looks really weird, being topped with breakfast gravy, that strange white sauce stuff they have in the South. It seems an odd combination with waffles. I manage to resist that and order instead a rather modest pulled pork wrap. With hash browns.

They have a reasonable beer selection. I go for a Trapezium Lucky 46, a New England IPA. It’s fine. If you like that sort of thing. Sadly it’s served in a stupid jar thing with a screw thread. Really crap for drinking from. Why on earth do places use such crap glassware?

Paul and Jamie, perhaps wisely, both order tea. Though Jamie’s mint tea turns out to be iced. Not so great, given the temperature.

When we get back to Black Heath, Bill still isn’t there. Though he does breeze in through the back door a couple of minutes later.

We’ve already got ourselves a sampler tray of meads, eight in all. A couple are traditional, that is just made from honey and water. The others are flavoured. I quite like the ginger and raspberry ones. Silk Road, with eastern spices, is oddly savoury. Not quite sure what to make of that.

“He’s an old hippy.” Is how Jamie described Bill. He certainly looks the part, with his tie-dye T-shirt, headband and long, grey hair. He’s a fun bloke and very enthusiastic about mead. Which I guess is handy if you own a meadery.

Time is getting on and Paul and Jamie need to get back to Washington. If the traffic is anything like as bad as on the way down, it may take them a while. It’s about 6 PM when they drop me off at my hotel downtown and we say our goodbyes.

After checking in there’s just one thought on my mind: beer. Not being in arsing mood, I decide to try the Irish pub I didn’t quite make it to when I was in Richmond a few days ago. It’s not far.

Inside, it’s fairly big and much like any other Irish pub. Not very busy. Just a few punters at the bar watching American football and the odd table of diners. I squeeze my gut between barstool and bar, then survey the beer options. An Oatmeal Porter looks the most interesting, so I order that. With a side of Jack Daniels.
   
Half way through the beer I get a bit peckish. I don’t want anything too big. That crab cake sandwich should do.

The two blokes to my left are dead into the football game. The Washington Redskins are leading by three points, but their opponents have a field goal attempt with seconds to go. It hits the post and bounces out. Then it becomes obvious why they’ve been watching so attentively: they both have quite a bit of money on the Redskins.

After a couple of drinks, I wander back the short way to my hotel. Which is a rather nice one. I lounge around in my room. Watching something on TV for a while. Until sleep slides surreptitiously under the door.




Black Heath Meadery
1313 Altamont Ave,
Richmond,
VA 23230.
https://www.blackheathmeadery.com/
Tel: +1 703-582-0856


Lunch or Supper
1213 Summit Ave,
Richmond,
VA 23230.
https://www.lunchorsupper.com/
Tel: +1 804-353-0111


Siné Irish Pub
1327 E Cary St,
Richmond,
VA 23219.
https://www.sineirishpub.com/
Tel: +1 804-649-7767

Richmond here I come

The trip starts with the usual bus to the airport. Or rather, two buses: first the 15, then the 397.

Changing at Haarlemmermeerstation has become no fun since they started redoing the bus station there. All the buses have to stop at the same spot, and you virtually have to stand in the road. Dead crap. Especially if, like me, you have luggage with you. But the route is the quickest – and cheapest – way to get to Schiphol from mine.

Once at the airport, I quickly dump my bag and go through the security crap. It’s great having silver status with KLM. No need to queue up with the plebs. Amazingly, security doesn’t pull out one of my bags for closer inspection. That almost always happens to me at Schiphol.

I don’t have a huge amount of time before boarding starts – around 45 minutes. So I quickly get the extra security check over with. The flight is departing from pier D and that means one thing: a trip to Murphy’s Irish pub. After a couple of quick Jamesons, I head to my gate.

Boarding is already underway. Not that it worries me. I’m not in any rush to get to my seat. There’s still quite a while before take-off. I’ve got extra legroom, as usual. I like my comfort.

I’ve remembered to bring lots of extra batteries for my noise-cancelling headphones. I ran out on the way back from Hong Kong. About 95% of the way through Ocean’s 8. Which was slightly frustrating. Even before the plane takes off, I’m getting into a crap film. That’s my standard plan: watch unchallenging stuff to make the journey whizz by. It’s worked pretty well so far.

My route is an odd one. Even though I’ll be spending most of my time in Washington DC, I’m flying into Richmond, via JFK. Not a route I would have picked. But I wasn’t buying the ticket. It was bought for me by Colonial Williamsburg.

Let me explain, I was going to be speaking at a historic brewing conference in Williamsburg. They’d already bought my ticket when the event was cancelled. Leaving me with a return flight to Richmond. It would have been a shame to waste it.

I quickly rejigged my trip, arranging to stop with friends Paul and Jamie in Washington. Maryland, to be totally accurate, though still in the DC metro area. And also arranging a couple of events during my time there.

I’ve only 1 hour 40 minutes between my flights at JFK. Much shorter than I would have liked. I usually avoid making connections. My preferred option is to always stay on the night of arrival; and night before departure in the city I’m flying to. I’ve been on too many flights that were delayed and fellow passengers missed their connections.

And the last time I had a connecting flight on my return from Chile last year a delay meant that I missed my onward flight to Schiphol and had to spend 8 hours at Charles de Gaulle, one of my least favourite airports. Pretty grim.

We seem to be on time, so I’m not fretting too much yet. The last few times I’ve arrived in the USA, I’ve breezed through immigration pretty quickly. But that wasn’t at JFK.

The fun starts after getting off the plane. It’s a long walk to immigration. A really long walk. Which eats into my time. Good news is that they’ve the machines. Which, as a returning ESTA passenger, I’m allowed to use.

The machine takes my fingerprints and a photo of me. Then spits out a slip of paper with an X on it. Evidently there are two types of slip: one with an X, the other with an O. Those with an X have to join the queue for human immigration officers. Great. It’s quite a long queue.

Eventually I get to the head of the main queue and am directed another queue in front of one of the counters. When I’m half way to the front of this queue, the counter closes and I’m directed to the back of another queue. Wonderful. Time is ticking away.

By the time the officer has stamped my passport, I’ve only 35 minutes before my next flight. That should be long enough, shouldn’t it?

It’s a bit of a walk to the baggage hall, too. Though at least my bag is already there. I dash through to airside and drop at the luggage transfer desk. And join the security queue. Luckily, I’ve got TSA pre, which means I should get through quicker.

In theory, it should be a shorter queue. But it doesn’t seem to be. I’ve now only 25 minutes left. And damn it if they don’t pull out one of my bags. Fucking magic.

By the time they’re happy with my bag, I’ve 20 minutes. I should be OK. I’ve a checked in bag and they can’t leave with that and without me.

D43 is the gate. Which doesn’t sound good. I’m at D1.

D43 is a s far away as it sounds. After 10 minutes brisk walking, I’m still just at D30-odd. This is a good way to give myself a thrombie, this stressed rushing about. Hopefully my flight is a bit late. Then I should be fine.

When I get to D43, there’s no-one around. This isn’t good. Then someone from Delta appears. The flight hasn’t left the gate yet, but the doors are closed. No way I’m getting on. “You’ll need to go to our service desk to arrange a later flight.” Fanfuckingtastic.

An Italian bloke trolls up. He’s missed the flight, too.

“What about my checked in bag?”

“That should be waiting for you in Richmond.”

Looks like they have flown it without me.

At the service desk, the lady tells me that I’ve been rebooked on the next Richmond flight. Which isn’t for another five hours. It’ll be after 9 PM when I eventually land in Richmond. Just as well I don’t have anything arranged in Richmond tonight.

This is going to be a long day. I’ll need to get some food down as by the time I get to Richmond it will be getting too late. I find the closest bar and park my arse at it. Blue Smoke, it’s called. I order A Shiner Bock and a double Jack Daniels.

With a beer and a bourbon in front of me, things don’t seem quite so bad. I sip on them slowly and read Private Eye to pass the time. I don’t think I’ve tried Shiner Bock before. A bit metallic. And caramelly. OK, I guess. Not sure I’d have another.

After a while, I invest in some food. Nothing too big, but enough to tide me over until tomorrow. A crispy chicken sandwich, if you’re interested.

The day drips by as I drip drink into me. At least I’m not in Charles de Gaulle.

My flight appears to be on time. Which is good. I should get to my hotel before it’s time to sleep. Before we pull away from the gate, they announce that we’re having to wait a while for a take-off slot. It takes half an hour. When we do set off another announcement tells us that we’re at the back of a long queue of aircraft. It’ll be another half hour before we’re in the air.

The flight is uneventful. But an hour late. Bollocks. Doesn’t look like I’ll be seeing much of Richmond today.

I look for the Delta baggage office to see about picking up my bag. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, but I spot my bag standing outside it. I grab it and head for the taxi rank.

The bloke in front of me in the taxi queue suddenly gets out of the taxi again.

“What was all that about?” I ask the driver.

“He’s come to the wrong Richmond. He wanted to go to Richmond, California.”

“Wow, that’s quite a mistake.”

Fortunately it’s not too far from the airport to my hotel downtown. I’m soon checked in and looking on the internet for a nearby bar that’s open. I had looked up some beer-oriented places back in Amsterdam, but they’re a bit too far away. There’s an Irish bar further down the street, I notice. I head there.

But before I reach it, I notice a hot dog place that’s open. Peering through the open doorway, I notice that they’ve several beer taps. That’ll do. And there’s baseball on the TV. Perfect. I get myself a beer and bourbon. And the world suddenly seems a better place.

The crowd is pretty young. And drinking with admirable enthusiasm. I get chatting with one bloke, who’s a hotel worker. Most customers seem to work in the hospitality industry. This is obviously where they tip down when their shifts are done. A bit raucous, but quite friendly.

I leave at midnight, just after last orders. And am soon safely tucked up in bed. Where I’m smothered by sleep. I’ve been up almost 24 hours.


City Dogs
1316 E Cary St,
Richmond,
VA 23219.
Tel: 804-343-3647
https://www.citydogsrva.com/

Historic Williamsburg day three

It’s me Paul, Jamie and Martyn Cornell for breakfast again.

I won’t bother telling you what I’m having. You know by now. Here’s a hint: it may contain bacon. It takes a while again. Meaning for the second day in a row we’re a bit late hitting the auditorium. Except for I’m-just-having-a-muffin Cornell.

I’m on today. But luckily there are several speakers before me. Starting with Frank Clark, who works at Colonial Williamsburg and set up the conference. Working here, Frank gets to wear 18th-century gear. Always good to have at least one speaker in costume.

After Frank it’s Martyn’s turn with a look at the industrialisation of London’s brewing industry in the 18th and early 19th centuries. It’s a topic very dear to my heart. Though, as usual, Martyn comes up with some stuff I’ve not heard before.

After a quick coffee break, Martyn is followed by Mitch Steele, who discusses the history of IPA. Another one of my pet subjects. And very entertaining the talk is. He mentions that he suspects 19th-century IPAs shipped to India contained Brettanomyces, though he has no evidence other than suspiciously low FG’s. Ah. I think I can help there.

Now it’s my go. In a departure from my usual talks, this one isn’t full of tables and numbers. It’s mostly about people. But I break from my scheduled gumph to tell Mitch that Brettanomyces was found in Bass IPA in the 1930’s. Thought he’d like to know that.

When I say my talk - International Cooperation in the 19th-Century Brewing Industry – is mostly about people, it’s about a few specific characters. Gabriel Sedlmayr, Anton Dreher, Michael Thomas Bass. It’s difficult to overestimate the influence of Sedlmayr on world brewing. He was key to the spread of modern brewing and specifically modern Lager brewing throughout the globe. Intrigued? Get me to come and give the talk.

I always enjoy presenting especially when I get a few laughs. I’ve timed it well and finish just about spot on time. Not that it matters so much as lunch is next.

Though me and Mitch can’t directly go and eat. We’ve a book signing to do in the museum bookshop. A few people drift up and we scrawl in their books. I doubt anyone can ever read what I write. I probably couldn’t.

Once the punters have dried up, we head over to DoG Street Pub for some food. It’s nice to have a chance to chat with Mitch. I’m particularly fascinated with life within a macro brewery.  Mitch has some good tales of labour relations in different AB plants, prompted by me recounting the disaster of Bass’s Runcorn brewery.

Mitch has to pick up his family at the airport and unfortunately misses the remaining presentations: Brewing Historic Beers for a Modern Market by Tom Kehoe of Yards Brewing Company in Philadelphia; Brewing History by the Pint by Tanya Brock of Carillon Brewing Company, Dayton Historical Park; and, to end the event, The Past and Future Beer by Randy Mosher. And we’re done.

Even though my hotel is booked until tomorrow, Paul, Jamie and I are driving back to Washington this evening. It’s handy having the room still, as I can tinker on my computer and pootle around in privacy for a little longer.

We meet up with some of the other in the hotel bar for refreshment before leaving. While my laptop tries to download several hundred Windows updates in my room. It turns into a frustrating experience. Having joined a table of people who had just settled up, the waiting staff don’t seem to think I need serving. Moving to another table where they’re still actively ordering doesn’t improve affairs much, I end up having my tongue hanging out for upwards of 40 minutes. I think my second longest ever wait for a drink*.

I eat a hamburger, drink Devil’s Backbone from jam jar, and say many farewells. Then we load up our stuff in Paul and Jamie’s car and hit the road.

It’s late when we get back to Pail and Jamie’s. I’m totally knacked and go straight to bed. Tomorrow I fly back to Amsterdam.





* Hofbräuhaus in Munich, at well over an hour, is easily top.




DoG Street Pub
401 W Duke of Gloucester St,
Williamsburg, VA 23185.
http://www.dogstreetpub.com/

Historic Williamsburg day two

I meet Paul and Jamie at eight for breakfast. Martyn Cornell joins us.

Yesterday my breakfast arrived pretty sharpish. But it’s more crowded today. We have a bit of a wait. Other than Martyn, who’s just having  muffin. While I insist on a full set of fried stuff when on holiday. We’re not finished until after the first presentation has started. Which isn’t great.

It was a shame we miss the start of Travis Rupp’s presentation about brewing in ancient Greece. But at least our bellies are filled with grease. It’s a topic I know bugger all about. I knew they had a word for beer, but I’d always thought of the ancient Greeks as wine drinkers. I mean, Homer doesn’t go on about the ale-dark sea, does he?

Stan Hieronymus is up next. With look at indigenous beer and whether there is such a thing in the US. I think you can argue both ways. On the one hand, American styles are clearly derived from a couple of European brewing traditions. On the other, there are beers unlike anything brewed anywhere else. Things like Swankey and Steam Beer.

After a quick coffee, Karen Fortmann of White Labs analyses the family tree of yeast. It’s at times like these when I realise how narrow my beer knowledge is. That’s what it is, beer knowledge. I know bugger all about hops, yeast or even malting. And, being realistic, I’m never going to be an expert in those subjects.

We break for lunch at noon and a bunch of us head over to DoG Street Pub again. But it’s already crowded with conference guests. So we try next door at Trellis instead. We’re quite a large group, but just about manage to squeeze in.

It’s not a beer specialist place by any means. But they still have 7 decent draught beers, including the Vienna Lager from Devil’s Backbone, which is a cracking beer. Though I go for something IPA-ey instead. And a sarnie.

We continues after lunch with a talk from Fredrik Ruis from The Netherlands about the history of brewing with hops. He has some fascinating maps showing where evidence of  hops was found in archaeological sites. It’s a surprise to me that a lot of the early finds were along the Baltic and North Sea coasts.

He has an interesting new theory about the nature of gruit. That it wasn’t just a blend of herbs but also contained some sort of concentrated wort syrup. I’m not totally convinced, but it isn’t something I’ve investigated at any depth.

Next I’m up. Doing my narrating bit for Andrea Stanley of Valley Malt and John Mallett of Bells. Frank Clark, the conference organiser, gives me a funny look as I edge my way towards the podium. I guess they haven’t told him I’m taking part as well.

The talk, called Maltster-piece Theatre, is really a play. Andrea and John, both in costume, play two female brewers and maltsters, one from England and one from the American colonies. A very clever piece, it uses quotes from original sources and mixes historical fact with humour. It’s a big hit.

Frank tells me later that he thought I’d gone crazy and had forgotten that my talk is tomorrow.

The day ends with former Guinness man Ed Bourke talking about the history of brewing in Ireland. Obviously, with a fair emphasis on Guinness. He makes some interesting points about the colour of Guinness in the late 18th century. They must have been getting some colour from something other than malt. He speculates that it could have been from charred barrels.

Looking at the grist, he has a point. A Stout grist for 1796 is 30% brown malt, 70% pale. That’s not going to yield a very dark wort. Where were they getting colour from? I can’t see how charred barrels will do the job. The beer wouldn’t be long enough in trade casks to pick up much colour. And for long storage Porter was in huge vats, where little beer was in contact with wood.

My bet would be either some sort of burnt sugar, liquorice, or a combination of the two. Ed did remark that Dublin brewers used ingredients which weren’t allowed. It would be interesting to see how long they boiled, too. They could have been darkening the wort through a long boil.

There’s a beer and food pairing thing back in my hotel. With just enough food for me not to bother with dinner. Then there’s one of the most exciting part of the weekend:  the old beer tasting.

It came about like this. Chris Bowen, Martyn Cornell and I reminisced in the weeks before the conference about the Arctic Ale tasting at Martyn’s a couple of years ago. Someone suggested we bring along old beers to the conference for a tasting. And so we did. Others. Too.

We all tipped down to Paul and Jamie’s room, bringing along our precious old booze. I brought 20-year-old Liefman’s Goudenband and Cantillon Rosé de Gamrinus and Hertog Jan Grande Prestige of a similar vintage. And a 1930’s Truman No. 1 Barley Wine. Chris had some John Smiths nips from the 1950’s, including the Coronation Ale I’ve written about. Martyn had Whitbread Celebration Ale and other goodies.

It’s amazing how many people you can cram into a hotel room when there’s special beer on offer. About half the conference attendees were there. What a fun time.

A quick Michters Rye closes the day. It’s a big one tomorrow. Day, I mean. When I do my talking thing. Can’t wait.








DoG Street Pub
401 W Duke of Gloucester St,
Williamsburg, VA 23185.
http://www.dogstreetpub.com/


The Trellis Bar and Grill  
403 W Duke of Gloucester St,
Williamsburg, VA 23185.
Tel: +1 757-229-8610
http://www.thetrellis.com/

Historic Williamsburg day one

I’ve arranged to meet Paul and Jamie after breakfast in my hotel.

I scour the lobby, but can’t spot them. Then I hear a female voice say: “Ron!”. It’s Andrea Stanley, my favourite maltster, and her family. The full set this time, not just her and husband Christian. It’s good to see them again. Especially I’m supposed to be participating in Andrea’s talk.

Paul and Jamie appear with Brian Hunt, brewer at Moonlight, who they’d bumped into at their hotel over a particularly disgusting breakfast. They hadn’t met before but seem to be getting along fine. I get a feeling the day is going to continue in this vein.

There are a few things on today’s schedule. Like registering for the conference. And a technical rehearsal in the auditorium. I’m no too concerned, having spoken there before.

I pick up the bumph at registration and bump into Craig, another one of the crew from Washington. It’s getting close to lunchtime, so we wander over to DoG Street Pub with a few others. Though we’ve managed to lose Paul and Jamie. I’m sure they’ll feed themselves somewhere.

The name DoG Street Pub has nothing to do with our canine friends. It comes from the name of the street it’s on: Duke of Gloucester. We can’t get a table, so we sit at the bar. Which is a good place to admire all the taps. I’m soon wrapping my chops around something IPA-ey. Just what I needed. It’s the first beer of the day.

It bills itself as an unpretentious gastropub. Which I guess isn’t far from the mark. It’s light and airy inside, with high ceilings and a long bar running almost the length of the building. I’ve been here before. I had a couple of resolve-strengthening whiskies here before the last time I spoke.

I troll back to the auditorium for my technical rehearsal. It doesn’t take long. It’s basically just a question of copying my powerpoint and making sure it works. I slip back to DoG Street for a couple more beers. There’s almost an hour before the first event of the weekend, a beer tasting at Chownings Tavern Garden.

DoG Street Pub just outside Colonial Williamsburg proper, in a commercial area on its western edge. While Chownings is a part of Colonial Williamsburg, being a reconstruction of a 1760’s tavern. A pretty suitable place to try some recreations of 18th-century beers.

As you know, historical recreations are my thing. I stand eagerly at the bar waiting to be served. But I must have accidentally put on my invisibility cloak. The barman serves customers to my right and left while looking through me. Those serves he wanders off to do something else behind the bar. It takes a frustratingly long time to get a Stitch (a type of strong Brown Ale) in my hand.

Everyone and his dog is at the tasting. It’s hard to know who to talk to. Not leaving me much time for any actual beer tasting.

Once the tasting is over, we hurry back to the auditorium for Randy Mosher’s keynote address. He’s a confident and fluent presenter, but has a few timing issues. Not so much of a problem today as he’s the only speaker.

The reception that follows gives me a chance to catch up with Stan Hieronymus, Martyn Cornell, Chris Bowen and Mitch Steele. It’s not often you’ll see those three in one room. I’m certainly not going to pass on the opportunity.

I’ve one more appointment. In the hotel bar, with Andrea and John Mallett, her presenting partner. We’re running through their talk, which is in the form of a play. I’m the narrator. It goes pretty well. Especially after Andrea fetches some whiskies. Everything goes better with whisky

I don’t stay up late. Tomorrow is another busy day.





DoG Street Pub
401 W Duke of Gloucester St,
Williamsburg, VA 23185.
http://www.dogstreetpub.com/



Josiah Chowning's Tavern
109 E Duke of Gloucester St,
Williamsburg, VA 23185.
Tel: +1 757-229-2141