When American hops moved west

I knew that the US hop industry was initially centred on the East Coast, mostly in New York State. Then later mostly on the West Coast. But when did it move?

Luckily, I’ve come across some numbers that answer the question. God, I love numbers. Sometimes I think they’re my only true friends.

The last year when more than 50% of the US hop crop came from New York State was 1892. The percentages I’ve calculated myself.

Estimated hop production of the United States, 1889–1899.
Crop.	Pacific coast		New York		Total
	Bales	%	Bales	%	Bales
1889	106,157	48.78%	111,461	51.22%	217,618
1890	105,619	51.56%	99,229	48.44%	204,848
1891	94,000	45.19%	114,000	54.81%	208,000
1892	105,000	47.09%	118,000	52.91%	223,000
1893	143,000	53.36%	125,000	46.64%	268,000
1894	179,500	56.18%	140,000	43.82%	319,500
1895	180,300	62.11%	110,000	37.89%	290,300
1896	103,000	57.87%	75,000	42.13%	178,000
1897	152,000	66.96%	75,000	33.04%	227,000
1898	151,950	70.04%	65,000	29.96%	216,950
1899	182,000	75.83%	58,000	24.17%	240,000
Total 11 years	1,502,526	57.92%	1,090,690	42.04%	2,594,216
Source:
"Hop Culture in California" by Daniel Flint, 1900, Government Printing Office Washington, page 25.

There’s the when taken care of. What about the why? The same pamphlet has some more detailed numbers by state and they seem to provide the answer.

I’d always assumed it was because of disease on the East Coast. But there’s another reason that leaps out from these numbers:

Acreage, yield, and value of hops in the United States in 1889.
States.	Acres.	Bales.	Value.	bales per acre	price per bale
New York	36,670	111,461	$2,210,137	3.04	$19.83
Washington	5,113	46,185	841,206	9.03	$18.21
California	3,974	36,374	605,842	9.15	$16.66
Oregon	3,130	20,076	322,700	6.41	$16.07
Wisconsin	967	2,381	51,983	2.46	$21.83
Other States	358	1,141	27,829	3.19	$24.39
Total	50,212	217,618	4,059,697	4.33	$18.66
Source:
"Hop Culture in California" by Daniel Flint, 1900, Government Printing Office Washington, page 24.

The two rightmost columns are my own calculations from the other numbers. A bale was 180 lbs, in case you’re wondering. The bales per acre is what tells a story. The yield on the West Coast was way higher than in New York. Though someone must have liked the New York hops as the price per bale is higher.

The numbers for 1890 are similar, except the price of hops was much higher.

Acreage, yield, and value of hops in the United States in 1890.
States.	Acres.	Bales.	Value.	bales per acre	price per bale
New York	35,552	99,229	$6,068,163	2.79	$61.15
Washington	5,282	49,348	2,284,955	9.34	$46.30
California	3,796	31,761	1,521,847	8.37	$47.92
Oregon	3,223	21,174	1,047,224	6.57	$49.46
Wisconsin	871	2,556	142,198	2.93	$55.63
Other States	238	780	41,037	3.28	$52.61
Total	48,962	204,848	11,105,424	4.18	$54.21
Source:
"Hop Culture in California" by Daniel Flint, 1900, Government Printing Office Washington, page 24.

I don’t quite understand why the price of hops had trebled when the total produced wasn’t that much less. 

Home

I check out of my hotel and get a cab directly to the airport. No time to do anything else. My flight is at 13:50.

As always, I’ve a plan. Noticed a food court airside when I flew to San Diego. Seems a good place to fill up on carbs before the flight.

Before I go through security, I remember something. That food court was in the domestic departure lounge, not the international one. When I see something similar landside I decide to eat there. No knowing what awaits airside.

I choose a trayful of dim sum. That should keep me going until Amsterdam.

There’s a humungous queue for security. That’s a bit of a bummer. The wait is seriously eating into my bourbon-drinking time. By the time I’m through, there’s less than 30 minutes to boarding time. And I haven’t found a bar yet.

According to the map, there are some possible bourbon-fuelling locations close to my gate. The first couple prove unsuitable, not having full bars. My last chance, right at the end of the pier is a pizza place. . . . with a proper bar. I sit at it. Giving my gut one last chance to be chummy with the furniture.

“A double Maker’s Mark, straight up. And an IPA.”

My IPA lasts four doubles. It’s ticked around to boarding time and I really need to get going. Though I can afford to be one of the later boarders. I’ve very little hand baggage and an extra legroom seat. So not quite cattle truck class.

A couple of wines later I wander off to slumber town. For a few hours.

A taxi home and I’ve time to change clothes before heading off to work. It’s going to be a fun day.



Firewood Café
Terminal 3 Boarding Area F

Farewell to Sandy Ego

Before checking out, I finish off the beer I won’t be taking home with me.

Grant’s Bohemian Sommerbier is the perfect breakfast drink: tasty, but not too overpowering. Sets me up nicely for the day.

Bags dumped at the hotel, I dawdle downhill downtown-wards. A couple of possible destinations in mind. Fortunately ones that open before lunch. Beer Co is my first choice.

Beer Company was my first choice. I don’t quite make it all the way there. The Local tempts me in with its gypsy eyes. And a row of tap handles. I’m a fickle fucker. Time for introductions. “My gut - meet the bar.” They embrace like old friends. Which I suppose they are.

Almost fucky-off time. Time to reflect. Let the good times roll, as Jimmie said.

Did I mention I once, several seeming lifetimes ago, I lived in the US? I must have bored you with that. “Shut up, dad. Yes, you lived in New York. Not interesting. Can I have 10 euros?”

This is a weird as a weird stick platter doused in weird sauce. A thought so weird I’m going to have to lay it down on the pavement, walk away and consider it from a safe distance.

I can imagine living in the US again. I never thought I’d say that. Never going to happen. Family knots, work bondage, age. Age, that’s the one. Too old for that crap.

Alpine Nelson (IPA) 7% ABV, $8
Hazy shit. Man. Not quite sludge, but pretty thick. Mmm . . . Tastes better than it looks. Tropical fruit on the nose, very bitter at the back end. Better than the hue would suggest.

Looks very new, this place. Barn-like with loads of TVs. The toilets are very nice. Very clean. Though the pictures of muscly wrestlers on the walls are a bit disconcerting. I wonder what’s on the walls of the ladies?


They seem part way through installing a brewery at the back. At least if the packing crates are anything to go by. Very handy for the tram here. The one line that they seem to have.

I didn’t really plan coming here. I was walking by and in a fair need of a piss. I blame the growler of Sommerbier I drank before checking out of my hotel. A day of damp, stinky kecks or an unscheduled comfort break? No choice at all, really.

Mexico yesterday was super, super cool. Grant’s a grand bloke and he introduced me to some great people. I can’t remember when I last had a meal as good as lunch. Top, top nosh.

How’s the trip been? The main event was a total fucking disaster. Especially considering how long it had been in the planning. On the other hand, I got to meet old friends, have some great chats, flog a few books, see Mexico and San Francisco. Overall positive, I’d say.

I should maybe eat soon. Not eaten yet today and it’s 12:15. Though I did eat a load in Mexico yesterday. It’s odd, now I think about it, that I didn’t get the full fingerprint thing on the border coming back in.

Now I’m getting further down my pint it has some of the weird shit I didn’t like in a Mosaic-hopped beer.

Just ordered a short rib burger. Meant to eat at the next stop, but hunger got the better of me. Or was it good sense?

Mission El Conquistador Session IPA 4.8% ABV, $7
Not quite so murky, this one Washing up liquid in the gob. Pretty bitter on the finish. And won’t have me falling over too soon.

They have malt vinegar. Brilliant! Put some of that on my chips. Saturday in San Diego. My belly is full and I’ve a fair buzz on. And there's malt vinegar. Things could be so much worse.

Hess Habitus Rye IPA 8% ABV, $8
Another pretty murky one. Citrussy nose, caramelly gob I wonder what the ears and hair will be like? This is a heavy beer. As pot-bellied as the glass What’s the phrase? I couldn’t drink six pints of it Quite a pleasant tangy orangey finish.

I’m surprised at how many cocktails they’re serving. I suppose it is early afternoon.

I’m watching England play Mexico in the women’s World Cup. Another punter is complaining about the lack of goal-mouth action. He has a point. But international football is all about tension, not action.

BNS Revolver (IPA) 6.5% ABV, $8
Yippie! One that’s clear. Almost. Can’t be that trendy a beer, then. Pretty run of the mill IPA.

I’m chatting a bit with Jemma, the barmaid. She’s married to an English bloke from Chester. And doing a pretty good job with the bartending, keeping everyone’s glass nicely filled. I appreciate that sort of thing, impatient pisshead that I am.

The Bud anti-craft ad is on. Showing on a TV above a row of craft taps. Surreal.

I need to move on. The guy next to me just said “propane barbecue” and I first heard it as “cocaine barbecue”. I suppose that’s al fresco cooking for rock bands and film stars.

I stumble out into the sunshine and the short distance down the street to Beer Company. It’s not all how I imagined it. It’s a bit dark and old-fashioned looking. I’d expected something more like The Local.

Elimination IPA 7% ABV, $6
This is suspiciously too clear. God I’m a contrary bastard. Moaning all day about my beer being too cloudy then complaining when I get a crystal clear one. Sparkling pale amber, no head. The aroma is pretty good, fruity-wise. Am I turning into an IPA drinker? OK, I suppose. Elimination IPA, I mean. Not me turning into an IPA drinker. That’s definitely not OK.

Glad I spent most of the day in The Local. Nicer atmosphere, though the beer is a bit cheaper here.

Broadway Brown 5.4% ABV, $6
Has the harsh roast taste all American dark beers seem to share. Why is that? Because they don’t use sugar? I’d like me some sweetness in a Brown Ale.

I’m still feeling a little peckish so I order some onion rings. I won’t be fed on my flight. I need to fill up now.

There are two types of traveller. The I’m going to turn up 5 minutes before I have to – just to prove I can – type. And me. Exercise is, generally, a good thing. A thrombie threatening sprint to the gate, I’m not so sure about. Done it a few times. Rather stay on this side of premature death. That’s why I get to San Diego airport with plenty of time to spare.

Enough for me to have a drink in the Stone Pub airside. An Enjoy By IPA. No need to get a bourbon, too. There will be whisky galore on the plane. I’m travelling first class again.

Stone Enjoy By IPA 9.4% ABV $7.70
Lovely fruity smell. Yum, yum. A really nice IPA. Wonder how much it’s going to cost me? There are no prices on the menu. Oh yes there are. 11 bucks*? I should have looked more closely. I suppose I’ll make it last. I should do, really. I’m slightly wobbly. Could the mescal I had instead of breakfast be the reason? No, that’s just silly talk.

It’s getting quite late by the time I check into my hotel, almost 10 PM. I’m staying more centrally than before, but there don’t seem to be a bunch of pub options nearby. There’s Café de la Presse, which seems to be part of my hotel. But that’s not very pub like. Not somewhere I want to drink at all. What to do?

I spot a liquor store up Bush Street. Where I invest in a small bottle of bourbon. Looks like I’ll be partying in my room. Or something like that. It’s a slightly anticlimactic end to my last evening in California.





* That was for 23 oz. (a size weirdly popular in airport bars). My 16 oz. serving was a reasonable $7.70.



The Local
1065 4th Ave
San Diego, CA 92101
United States
Open  11:00 am – 12:00 am
http://thelocalsandiego.com/


Beer Company
602 Broadway
San Diego, CA 92101
United States.


Stone Pub
Terminal 2, San Diego International Airport
San Diego.
http://www.stonebrewing.com/airport/




Excuse me for being an idiot. I should be reminding you to purchase my excellent book. Every copy signed*:





The Home Brewer's Guide to Vintage Beer
http://www.amazon.com/Home-Brewers-Guide-Vintage-Beer/dp/1592538827






* potentially - I'll sign any copy presented to me.  

Mexico

Grant is a little late. I’ve been hanging around on the porch for 20 minutes when he trundles up.

He comes bearing gifts. In beer form. The best form there is. There’s a growler of Bohemian Summer Beer and a bottle of East India Porter. Both my recipes. Notice how many Lager recipes of mine have been popping up in San Diego. There’s a reason for that. Which I may tell you one day. When the scars have healed.

It doesn’t take long to get to the border. We’re quickly through. A border guard checks our passports and looks in the boot. A dog comes a sniffing. Then we’re in Mexico. Directly into the chaos of Tijuana.

We take to the motorway which runs right up against the border. It’s pretty eerie. The twin fences, no-man’s land a proximity of a built up area conjures up an image from the past. The Berlin Wall. Except this one is to keep people out rather than keep them in.

We’re headed south. To Ensenada where there are a couple of breweries where Grant knows the brewer. The landscape is much the same as the other side of the border. The buildings are very different. More random. Shacks and palaces intermingling like a cosmopolitan football crowd.

Part of the route is lined with shops selling ceramics a weird metal statues of dinosaurs. What exactly do you do with a 2-metre tall T. Rex? Is it meant for in- or outdoors? I'm weirdly tempted to buy one. Just as well it's 100% impractical.

I’ve been to a lot of breweries in the last few years. In all sorts of buildings. But never one assembled from containers. As Aquamala is.

It’s owned by a friendly couple, who show us around and feed us beer. It’s a fairly small operation. In the taproom on the first floor there’s a view of the Pacific and a cooling breeze. It’s cool in both senses of the word. The garden leading to the sea supplies various ingredients for their beers. I’m impressed by their blackberries. Already ripe.

Water can be a problem. They use the town supply and that’s pretty erratic. Which is why they have a large tank filled with water. So they can still brew when the mains water is cut off. I can see brewing this side of the border brings extra challenges. Though water is likely to a problem soon in California, too.

Next stop is Wendlandt, also in Ensenada. It’s a bigger affair in more conventional business premises. The brewer shows us around and pours us beer from the conicals. It’s pretty nice stuff. Even the one hopped with Mosaic. A hop I thought I didn’t like.

“Why is the brewery called Wendlandt?” I ask Eugenio, the owner and brewer. It doesn’t sound very Spanish. “It was my grandmother’s surname.” That’s fair enough.

Eugenio suggests we grab some lunch at a restaurant in the fish market, appropriately enough in the fishing harbour. A couple of his friends are drinking beer outside. The restaurant is popular. Too popular: we’ll have to wait more than an hour for a table. So instead we go to Boules, a restaurant owned by another of his friends.

The people we met outside tag along. More friends and family turn up. Including Eugenio's wife and cute baby son. Eventually we’re a party of nine, sitting in a garden restaurant. there's no menu crap. The waiters just bring out a series of dishes that we share. One of our party who own a vineyard pours wine from unlabelled bottles. Pretty nice stuff, deep red and powerful.

The meal is a combination of meat and seafood. Crab, oysters, steak, lamb shank, wonderful sausages wrapped in vegeables and a flour tortilla and suaces. Three sauces: hot, hell and Hiroshima.

That's the hot one.

It’s one of the best meals I’ve eaten in years.

This isn’t the Mexico you see on TV. It’s a much calmer, more relaxed place. When I ask the population of Ensenada I’m told: “It’s a small city. Just half a million people.” Odd how the perception of town size varies. Someone in North Carolina was shocked when I called Newark, with a population of 35,000, a small town. She considered that pretty big.

On the way back to Tijuana, Grant suggests we stop at a grocery store he knows. It has a huge selection of tequila and mescal. It sounds like the perfect place to pick up a present for Andrew. The shop is bizarre. From the outside it just looks like a little grocery store. But hidden at the back there’s another room. Crammed with every type of booze. Un smacking my gob takes a while.

After much hesitation, I grab a bottle of mescal. It’s not something you see much of in Amsterdam. I wonder about how I should pay for it, as I don’t have enough pesos. Then I notice that the Mexicans in front of me pay with a combination of pesos and dollars. Seems to be perfectly normal. I do the same.

We’re going to drop by a couple of places in Tijuana. Grant has no satnav, but a brewer has drawn a simple little map. We just need to find a roundabout with a statue of Moctezuma. From there it should be a doddle. As long as we can find Hot Water Boulevard. A plan which seems in a city that finds street signs optional hugely optimistic.

Tijuana is a big city, with a population of well over a million. Amazingly, it works. We find Moctezuma and from there it’s not too difficult. I can't believe it. Hours of hopeful, but ultimately futile, city circling was my expectation.

First off is beer bar BCB. Inside it’s dark, upmarket and with a crowd of staff filling up the space behind the bar. The selection of beer – mostly US and Mexican, but with stuff from all over the world – is impressive. And not too pricey. I’m slightly surprised at Grant’s choice of an Imperial Stout, given that he’s driving.

We only stay for a couple before crossing the road to Verde y Crema, a rather nice restaurant. We sit at the bar and chat with the owner and barman. It has a decent beer selection, mostly fairly local Mexican stuff. I’m rather surprised to see Tennent’s Scotch Ale in the fridge. I didn’t realise they still brewed that.

We don’t eat much. Lunch was too large and too recent for that. But the food is again excellent. It seems Baja California has reinvented itself. Now American tourists, on the hunt for cheap booze, don’t come in the same numbers, the region has concentrated on becoming a culinary destination. Better-off Mexicans from other parts of the country come here for it excellent food and wine. And beer. It’s an eye-opener. Mexico is very different in real life to its image in the media.

Finding the border is a challenge. The signs indicating where it is seem designed to make you drive around in circles. We pass the same roundabouts several times before we finally make it. The queue is like an outdoor market, with people selling everything from hats to hammers. It’s quite late and we don’t need to wait long. Thankfully. I’m feeling pretty tired.

Tomorrow I fly back to San Francisco. But not until the evening, leaving me several hours to full somehow. What could I possibly do?




Cervecería Artesanal Aguamala
México 3
22760 Ensenada, B.C.
Mexico
http://aguamala.com.mx/?lang=en


Wendlandt Cerveceria
Boulevard Costero,
Carretera Federal  1 248,
Zona Centro,
22870 Ensenada, B.C.,
Mexico.
http://wendlandt.com.mx/



Boules
Moctezuma 623,
Ensenada 22800,
Mexico.


BCB Tasting Room
Orizaba 10335,
Neidhart, Centro,
22020 Tijuana, B.C.
Mexico.


Verde y Crema
Orizaba 3034
Col. Neidhart
Tijuana, B.C.
Mexico
http://verdeycrema.com/

Dossing with Diego

I rise late. Very late. Far too late for breakfast.

I’m not up to late nights any more. Cocoa at 9 PM is more my style now. I watch some crap TV while attempting to recover my humanity. It takes a while.

I’ve an appointment in the evening at Coronado again. But plenty of free hours before. What to do? If only there were some sort of place I could sit for a few hours, possibly with some kind of refreshment. I think I might recall just such a spot from last year. And not too far from where I am now.

One section of the way is disconcertingly steep. That’ll be fun on the way back. I’ve chosen a hotel on a hilltop again – Banker’s Hill in this case.

Last year my first evening in San Diego I spent on a session in Ballast Point. Seems a good place to start again. It has lots going for it – lots of room, good range of beer (they had Dark Mild last time), decent food and most importantly of all, not too far away. Oh, and they have cask beer. Always a draw for me.

I slot myself between fellow barflies at the bar and peruse the tap list. Who am I kidding? I know where I’ll start:

Dorado with watermelon (cask) 10% ABV, $5 for 8 oz.
"Could I get a pint, please?" I ask when I’m given a half-full glass. Only to be told a half is the maximum size they’ll sell. Because of the strength. Probably a good idea, really. (I remember what happened after I insisted on drinking an Imperial pint of Storm King in New  York.) It’s a bit too strong for a full pint even for me, really. I can’t believe I just wrote that. But it is only 12:30. I can’t spot the watermelon. Not surprising, given the levels of hopping and booze. Pretty nice, but not something I could drink all afternoon.

Slightly disappointing event last night.What will happen tonight? Anything? I'm not optimistic. And I'm usually Mr. happy trousers. Good to see Grant and Sheldon. And to have a proper session afterwards. However hazy my recollections of it are. A beach, brewing kettles, a taxi home.

I’m so excited about Mexico tomorrow. Grant has set up a really cool itinerary.

Black Marlin 6% ABV, $5 for 16 oz.
This fun. Just me and you (metaphorically), sitting at the bar. Nothing to do and nowhere to go. A Porter, black as a miner’s kecks and beaded with condensation staring back from atop the bar. The sexy curves of the glass inviting an embrace. You cheeky temptress. I’m going to wait a while before succumbing to your seduction. Which I inevitably will. I’m only flesh and blood. First I smell your perfume, ashen as cinders. Then that first long kiss as you roll around my tongue. You naughty girl, you must smoke. Ok, this has gone far enough. Quite a pleasant Porter.

There’s a real black-eyed beauty with her beau at the bar next to me. Buying a growler. Not sure why I’m telling you that. Other than it being a great opportunity for gratuitous alliteration.

The prices are very reasonable here: $5-7 for a US pint. It puts Amsterdam to shame.

The barmaid has just had a crafty drink, knocking back a quick couple of four ouncers. Can’t say I blame her.

Sculpin 7% ABV, $6 for 16 oz.
Pale and clear – no fucking murky sludge here. I’m going to have to keep some photos of San Diego IPA to show to twats when they try to tell me a beer should look like cream of chicken soup. That’s really nice – very zesty. I think I’m starting to get this IPA thing. I’ve heard good things about this beer but don’t believe I’ve drunk it before. Effing bitter, but effing nice, too.

I can’t believe it. I’m cold. There’s a real draught coming in through the door and I don’t mean a pint of Tankard. I’m almost in Mexico, it’s June and I’m feeling cold. Bloody global warming. The barmaid has put on a thicker top. Wish I had one with me. For some crazy reason I was expecting it to be warm.

I like the Sculpin so much, I get me another one.

I’ve worked up a bit of an appetite. Time for a burger. The one I had here last year was pretty good. It’s my first food of the day. Unless you count the liquid food I’ve been slurping down.

Dorado (cask)
It’s a bummer I can only get a half. But it is dead good. And 10%. Probably just as well they limit me.

I want to finish with something different. What about an IPA using an experimental hop?

IPA Experimental hop 06277 6.4% ABV, $7 for 16 oz.
Smells like tea. Not as good an aroma as the Sculpin. Mmm. Not sure I like this hop. Tea and earth come to mind. But not in a good way. This hop is never going to make it. Horrible flavour.

I just heard someone utter the immortal: “What’s the lightest beer you have?” I’d serve them a glass of water.

My thing at Coronado is even quieter than yesterday. Only the the chance to chat with Peter Symons saves it from total futility. That and the tacos from the food truck.

Ballast Point Tasting Room & Kitchen Restaurant
2215 India St
San Diego, CA 92101.
http://www.ballastpoint.com


Coronado Brewing Company Tasting Room
1205 Knoxville St
San Diego, CA 92110
http://coronadobrewingcompany.com/locations/tasting-room/

A busy day in San Diego

I finish the last of the barbecue before checking out. Jellied joy.

My taxi driver is thick, squat Russian, probably about my age. Which makes me feel much better about my own paunch. He talks on the phone the whole journey.

We pass several construction sites. New apartment blocks seemingly built from plywood. The word flimsy comes to mind. Not sure I’d want my book collection housed in something made of cardboard.

The area around the airport hasn’t got any prettier since my arrival. I’m flying United and get dropped at their economy checkin. Only when approaching the checkin machine do I remember that I’ve got a first class ticket.

I’ve been given TSA pre again. Great. Shorter queue, less of a striptease required. I’d contemplated a fry up airside. But I’m not really that hungry. No rush to get to the gate, as I’ve a first class ticket. How on earth can I pass the time? Bourbon.

Bourbon is my greatest airport chum. Though nowadays there’s often an IPA trailing behind him. Decent beer is getting pretty common in airport bars.

Did I mention that I’ve a first class ticket? It wasn’t hugely more expensive than economy. Taking into account that I’ve two checked in bags which would have cost $25 a pop. And the dozen whiskies I plan necking during the flight. "Not really more expensive at all, Dolores."

The flight is packed. As pretty much every United flight I’ve taken recently has been. But the squalor is safely out of sight behind the first class curtain.

Surprisingly, I can remember San Diego airport from last year. Why surprisingly? Because I’ve been through so many airports, they’ve all blurred into one. The baggage reclaim is right by the exit. Just a few steps from the taxi rank.

Finding a hotel in San Diego was a nightmare. Most were either too expensive or too scummy. Finally I settled on the Britt Scripps Inn. It continues the historic theme on my San Francisco hotel, being a Victorian banker’s villa. The staircase is gorgeous, carved wood illuminated by a leaded glass window.

The house was built in 1887 and is furnished in period. Which makes the downstairs look like the set for an Edwardian costume drama. And that my room has a rolltop bath and no telephone. What would I do if I needed a wake-up call?

I have to hurry. I’ve arranged to meet Kris Ketcham, brewer at Stone Liberty Station, at 4 PM. There are a couple of reasons why. He’s a nice bloke. And he’s recently brewed a recipe of mine and I’d like to try the beer.

I’d almost forgotten the humungousness of Liberty Station. And the oddly positioned the main entrance. The waitress seems to be expecting me and seats me at the bar. Soon a glass of Murder She Rotte is in my sweaty hand. It’s a lovely shade of brown, as you’d expect from a Beiersch. It’s a tasty drop. I’m pretty pleased. Pretty, pretty pleased.

Kris turns up. His beard longer than ever. Longer even than those of Lexie’s classmates. What is it with brewers and beards? I give him a bottle of Jopen Dark Gerste No. 1. It’s the little brother of Kris’s beer, Heineken’s cheap and cheerful Dark Lager from before WW I. He puts it in an ice bucket so we can drink the two side by side.

I have to admit a certain perverse glee in getting Stone to brew an old Heineken recipe. Kris doesn’t seem to mind and is happy with the finished beer. We chat a little, but I can’t linger long. At 18:30 I’m being picked up from my hotel.

When I’m in the taxi I realise that we forgot to open the Dark Gerste. Damn. I’d have like to have compared the two.

Sheldon Kaplan turns up on the dot. I met him last year on the sweltering afternoon a wild fire swept to within a couple of hundred metres of Stone’s Escondido brewery. We’ve kept in touch since.

I’ve never been much far north of the city centre before. I’m surprised to discover that the original Spanish town was here, on the river, quite a distance from the current downtown. There’s the odd adobe building, sometimes original. How did I manage to be totally unaware of this part of town?

I’m not quite sure what to expect or what’s expected of me tonight. The original plan was for me to talk about Lager. I realise immediately that isn’t doing to happen the taproom is inside the brewery and activity in the brewhouse is pretty loud. Looks like it will just be meeting people.

I spread a few books on a table and I await punters, beer in hand. Not just any beer. It’s the final one in the set. Which set? Heineken Rotterdam’s Dark Lagers from 1911. This one is the Bok and, if I’m honest, it’s my favourite of the three.

People appear and chat with me. Amongst them Grant Fraley of ChuckAlek. Someone else I met on my last visit. He’s driving me down to Mexico on Friday, something I’m dead excited about. It’s not a huge crowd. A few books dribble away from the table. When that dribble runs dry, me and Sheldon take our leave.

He’s promised to take me to Pacific beach. To, er, walk on the beach. Then take in a couple of beer destinations nearby. A long night gets even longer as we linger at length. In Amplified Aleworks a young woman sitting next to asks where we’re from. She must have heard our accents. Mine, obviously, is English, Sheldon’s a confusing mix of Aussie and South African.

She’s been stood up and decides to tag along on our drunken evening. We move on to another place nearby the TapRoom, which stays open later. We loiter until all the other losers leave. The latest I’ve been out by far this trip.

Sleep jumps on my back as soon as I undress. Without the help of Mr. Laphroaig.







Britt Scripps Inn
406 Maple Street
San Diego, 92103 CA
http://www.brittscripps-inn.com/


Stone Brewing World Bistro & Gardens - Liberty Station
2816 Historic Decatur Rd #116
San Diego, CA 92106
http://www.stonelibertystation.com/


Coronado Brewing Company Tasting Room
1205 Knoxville St
San Diego, CA 92110
http://coronadobrewingcompany.com/locations/tasting-room/


ChuckAlek Independent Brewers
2330 Main St, Suite C
Ramona, CA 92065
http://www.chuckalek.com/


Amplified Ale Works
Promenade at Pacific Beach Shopping Center
4150 Mission Blvd #208
San Diego, CA 92109
http://www.amplifiedales.com/


The TapRoom
1269 Garnet Ave
San Diego, CA 92109
http://www.sdtaproom.com

Freewheeling in Frisco

No need for breakfast angst today. Plenty of congealed barbecue in the fridge.

This is my last day in San Francisco. Tomorrow I’m off to San Diego for three nights. With a side order of Mexico. When did I last visit a new country? That’s a good question. Almost three years ago when I went to Canada for the first time.

What’s plan for the day? According to my itinerary document, I’m free until 6 PM. I just have to fill my time until then. If only I could think of something to do. I know – maybe I could drink beer in a bar. That would make a change.

My itinerary also has a list of beery pubs not too far from my hotel. Most I’ve either already visited or don’t open until too late. Leaving a single candidate: Jasper’s Corner Tap & Kitchen. Which supposedly has 18 draught beers. That’ll do. I put on my walking shoes* and head East.


It’s nicely overcast and not too hot. Lovely weather for a walk. Partly through what I call the Piss Quarter. Dodgy hotels with grand names and liquor stores line its streets. People sit on its pavements. I wouldn’t, given the smell. I’m even tempted to hose down the soles of my shoes on return. A dazed girl with matchstick legs seems to be making a drug deal with two well scummy blokes. I love this city.

Jasper’s isn’t at all what I’d expected. Much more modern and upmarket. And rather bland. All the excitement of a 1960's airport bar. The dullest sort of modernity imaginable. As drab as John Major in monchrome.

I’ve no excuse. I could easily have checked on the internet. It’s on the ground floor of a hotel. Rather swanky looking, in fact. Well, swanky in comparison to the piss palaces I’ve just passed.

As usual, I park my fat sorry arse at the bar. It’s pretty quiet, despite being midday. A solitary suited gent to my right, a middle-aged couple to my left. All drinking wine. Not a great sign. At least I don't have to look at the sorry seating from here. In front of me is a proud army of spirits.

The friendly young bearded barman (aren’t they all nowadays) tells me it’s Taco Tuesday, they’re tasty and cheap. Mr. suit to my right seems to agree. He’s tucking enthusiastically into a row of three. “Maybe later,“ I tell him, “I need to work up an appetite first.” I start on that straight away.

Pine Street Atom Splitter $7
Ah yes! Here’s the murk! Hazy copper. Not much aroma. A subdued citrus thing going on. Like music played several doors away. I guess it’s a PA rather than an IPA (the internet confirms this). OK, but nowt special. What Do I care? I just want something wet and alcoholic to fill the afternoon.

Looking at the prices here, I realise Toronado is dead cheap. I could have gone there again today, but it’s a bit of a walk. I’m getting a bit tight as I try to pay for everything with cash from my book sales. I only spent $30 yesterday and had two pints of Pliny!

There’s a Golden Corral ad on the TV. It makes me want to vomit. Literally. Bad associations from last year. Best have another beer.

Anchor Zymurgy Luxardo $8 6% ABV
Reasonably clear, very dark amber colour. Smells a bit like it’s got Goldings in it. But ingredient guessing is a mug’s game. Not so keen on this. Has a boiled sweet flavour and a weird caramel twang**. Luckily I’ve a side order of Buffalo Trace. That’s really nice: sweet, spicy and with a touch of lemon. Dead good.

Last night with Brian was dead cool. We chatted away like crazy all night He’s a great guy and brews brilliant beer. Odd how you can only meet someone a couple of times but become good friends.

Stone Enjoy By 9.4% ABV
Pale yellow, clear (once you wipe away the condensation). Yippee!. Smells absolutely fucking lovely. Every sort of citrus. That’s what I call an American IPA*** – juicy as a sexually aroused lemon.

I do believe my appetite has just walked through the door. It was worth waiting for him. I get a taco. $3 and pretty damn good. Especially with a good dousing of hot sauce. I’m tempted to get another.

I’m a lucky git. Getting to visit all sorts of places and meet all types of people. Even though this trip isn’t working out exactly as planned, I’m having all kinds of legal (and morally acceptable) fun. Not travelling every other day is relaxing. I’ve had chance to look around and get to know San Francisco a little. Not that I’ve seen any of the sights. Other than Toronado and the Haight.

Stone Enjoy By 9.4% ABV
Again. Say what you like about Stone, they brew some dead good beer. And I don’t say that just because I’m meeting one of their brewers tomorrow. I hope. The whole San Diego thing has gone pretty much tits up. But, hey, if you don’t try failure is inevitable.

I’m a bit buzzed. Unsurprisingly after those Double IPAs and bourbon. Time to walk home and have a bit of a lie down.

A bloke sat next to me at the bar in Toronado complimented me on still writing on paper. Is it really any different from writing on a computer? I’m not convinced. I think I write the same whatever the medium. Except with handwritten stuff I sometimes can’t read it all. I guess I am more honest in my notes. Some stuff I’ll never publish. Like . .

[Redacted section]

Luckily the walk back is pretty flat. Except for the last chunk of Sutter street. No getting around that. Next time I’ll try to find a hotel that isn’t on the top of a hill.

21st Amendment, the brewpub location of tonight’s event, is downtown. I get a cab with what I think is plenty of time to spare. Except I have to cross the Financial District. And it’s rush hour. We inch from one traffic light to the next. I’ve barely time to grab a beer before the fun starts.

I’ve been invited by Chris Cohen to speak to the San Francisco Homebrewers Guild. A, er, home brewers’ club. About brewing historic beer. It seems I’m an expert on the topic. How did that happen?

The brewer talks a little before I’m on. He’s miked up. Just as well because it’s loud. We’re in a small first floor section, while below in the main bar a raucous after work crowd roars and bellows, glasses clink and chairs rumble.

It’s always a bit odd, these few minutes before I go on. Especially for unscripted chats like tonight’s. What exactly am I going to say? “Hello, I’m Ron Pattinson, beer historian. Buy me a beer.” Once I start, the words are always there, somehow. But there are always a few moments of doubt before.

How long do I speak for? 30 minutes? 45 minutes? I’ve no idea. I genuinely completely lose track of time. That’s how much I enjoy listening to my own voice. Home brewers are a good audience because they ask good questions. OK, there’s the occasional annoying smart arse, trying to show off how much he knows. Thankfully not tonight.

I shift a few books and chat beer when my talk is done. I don’t stay too late. My flight tomorrow is at 10:15 AM. Meaning I’ll need to be checked out by 8 AM. A couple of beers keep me company until it’s time to put out my lights. Something that takes little effort. Especially after Mr. Laphroaig has paid his nightly visit.





* My only pair of shoes. Not just the only pair I have with me, but the only pair I own.
** Actually it contains Maraschino cherries. Could explain the sweetness.
*** According to Stone it’s a Double IPA.

Jasper's Corner Tap & Kitchen
401 Taylor St
San Francisco, CA 94102
United States
Open  6:30 am – 12:00 am
http://jasperscornertap.com/


"Brewer's Loft" at 21st Amendment brewery
563 2nd St,
San Francisco, CA 94107
http://21st-amendment.com/


The San Francisco Homebrewers Guild
http://www.sfhomebrewersguild.com/

The Haight

No breakfast worries this morning. My doggy bag of BBQ contains more than enough for the rest of my stay in San Francisco. Possibly enough for the rest of the month.

With my taxi bill cosying up to Dolores and threatening to kick me out of my home, I decide to walk.

I should tell you where I’m going, I suppose. Or maybe why first. Or when. Or how.

Why? Because it’s in walking distance (see previous comment about taxi bill). And I’m getting the hang of getting about in San Francisco: don’t walk up a hill unless you have to.

When? Just before midday.

How? To the right. I’ve only ever turned left on leaving the Majestic so far.

I should have explored more. There’s an offie much closer on turning right. And more. Japantown.

Whenever I travel, I have you’re a fucking idiot Ronald moments. This is one. I could have eaten here rather in that spookily-empty Chinese.

I’m learning about the history of the city, as well as of my own stupidity. My hotel I know predates the earthquake and fire.  Lots of the houses look Victorian. Then I find one with a date: 1878. Doesn’t look like the fire troubled this hill.


Almost forgot. Where am I going? Hippy central.

Having read the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers as a small child, and the classic “Needle Sharing on the Haight” as a sociology student, I couldn’t drop in San Francisco without dropping by its old hippy heaven. And Toronado. A legendary boozer.

The sun is shining almost as much as the arse of my kecks. That’s a bad thing. Not a huge fan of hot and sticky. Unless it’s a barbecue sauce.

Drugs Free Zone? Confiscating pensioners’ prescriptions are they? What total shite is that? You may as well declare an Air Free Zone or Dirt Free Zone. Ain’t never going to happen.

Despite the uphill section at the end, the walk is quite fun. In a sweaty really wishing I could afford a taxi sort of way.

Not sure what I expected of Haight Street. Fat Freddy, probably. He was always my favourite. The sort of chav to suck down suds with in a dive bar.

I’m surprised by how small an dive-bary Toronado is. That’s a pleasant surprise. The barman, a sort of burned out old hippy, is convincingly surly in his service. I’m warming to this place already. This is my natural habitat, gut leaning on the bar, my mind freewheeling. Nothing to do but drink and watch and listen. I love pubs.

Now isn’t that a coincidence? There are several Moonlight beers in their extensive cask list. The owner, Brian Hunt, is a friend. And a shit-hot brewer. Whom I'll be meeting later. I start with one of his classics:

Moonlight Death and Taxes $4
Nearly black, tanish head. Just noticed they have two cask Moonlight beers. Damn. Oh well, I wanted to try this again, anyway. Slightly metallic, smoke coffee and toffee. Chocolate, too.  This is nice. Fucking nice. Have a second pint nice.

Bum, bum, bum. I just filled my camera’s memory card. And I can’t work out how to delete images, old technophobe that I am.

God it’s cheap in here. Even cheaper than the prices on the menu. Must be some sort of happy hour because there’s a dollar off all the draughts. Cash only, mind you. Pay as you go. I do the leaving the change on the bar thing that I picked up when living in New York.

Time for another beer.

Moonlight Twist of Fate Bitter (cask) $4
Pretty dark for a Bitter. Just about in Dark Mild country. Fairly decent head and it’s in reasonable condition. I was a bit worried about that. Biscuity malt, a pleasant undertone of bitterness, carbonation as soft as a wimp’s handshake. Very drinkable.

Moonlight Bombay by Boat (cask) $4
Much paler than the last beer. More hoppy, unsurprisingly, similar carbonation soft as fresh puppy shit. Bit of citrus. Nice tasting bitterness again. Very nice. Again. Brian really can brew.

Pliny the Elder $5
Very pale yellow, fuck all head. I can smell it from here. Has than lemon washing up liquid thing going on. That is nice. Loads of hop flavour. I can see why people go so crazy over it.

It’s been a bit like a Brian tribute session – all his beers except Pliny. And that has a connection with him, too. It’s what he brought over for me last time he visited Amsterdam.

The barman is pretty cool in a Big Lebowski sort of way. Just asked him if they have Guinness American Lager. They don’t, so I’ve made do with another Pliny. That shows the power of advertising – I’ve seen TV ads for Guinness Lager.

I really like this place. The barman is starting to warm to me, even chatting a little. So different from the full-on trendiness of the Mikkeller Bar. And with much lower prices. 5$ for a US pint of Pliny – how reasonable is that?

I bravely return by foot. By a flatter route. I’m getting the hang of this San Francisco walking lark. In a boring, illogical European city, the streets would follow the contours of the land. And avoid unnecessary inclines.

Back in my room, I quickly unload images from camera card to flip flop. Want to do a bit of snapping tonight. I’ve a dinner date. With Brian Hunt. I couldn’t visit the Bay Area without seeing him. A cool bloke and talented brewer. As today has proved.

The traffic has him running a bit late. I don’t mind. The evening air is cool outside the hotel. And my mind can freewheel with no obligations other than having a good time.

Brian is as bearded, opinionated and fun as ever. We bumble back Haight-wards in his van. This time the venue is that Magnolia.

A very nice young lady gives us a tour of the brewery in the cellar. It’s pretty cramped, as you’d expect.

As I noticed yesterday, Magnolia is big on cask. Thinking about it, most of the places I’ve been to in the US in the last year or so have been. But perhaps that’s self-selecting. Brewers of English-style cask Ales are more likely to get in touch with me.

We sink a few pints, eat and chat. Mostly the latter, as I’m trying to keep my belly from resembling a hippo’s. And Brian has to drive home.

I pick up another couple of Racer 5s as a nightcap. To wash down my eye-closer Laphroaig. Sleep rushes towards me like a runaway train full of drunken soldiers.

Tomorrow I’ve an event with home brewers. Should be able to shift some books there, shouldn’t I?

Toronado

547 Haight St

San Francisco, CA 94117

United States

Open  11:30 am – 2:00 am

http://www.toronado.com/

 

Magnolia Brewery

1398 Haight St,

San Francisco, CA 94117

http://www.magnoliapub.com/