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/

Chelsea

I didn't quite go straight home after leaving the Half Pint. I made a couple of emergency stops.

The first was at a liquor store on 7th Avenue. It was on the way to the subway station at Christopher Street. It had a jaunty red neon sign. How could I resist?

Inside it looked just like the ones you see in films. Usually when a couple of armed, masked men burst through the door and ask for all the dosh. It wasn't quite like that. A couple of Japanese girls were running their eyes of the American wines. I was only interested in what was behind the counter. Bourbon. Just a small bottle. I'm not an alcy. The salesperson slipped the bottle inside a brown paper bag. How quaint. I considered drinking from it on the subway just for the pose value, but managed to restrain myself.

I'd only had that pie to eat since breakfast. Getting more food seemed a sensible idea. A gourmet deli lurked between 23rd St. subway station and the hotel. Quite upmarket. Dead upmarket. Towards the back was what I was looking for. The cold meats counter.

There was in impressive display of meats. So impressive I started to photograpgh it. "Are you trying to take a picture of me?" the server asked. "No, the meat", I replied. "That's not allowed." Land of the free, eh?

Just when I was on the home straight I was seduced by more bright lights. My favourite type of bright lights. Ones attached to a pub. I've started to believe what I tell the kids. That it's bad luck to walk past a pub that's open without having a beer.

My time in the States had been so filled with work that I'd had no time to do the ordinary boring things. Like go to a supermarket. Or visit a normal bar. Jake's seemed to fit the bill on the latter count.

I'll not pretend that it's a wonderful hidden gem. It's a pretty bog-standard bar. Maybe slightly flasher, by a tiny little bit. I didn't care. There was a stool at the bar with my name on it. They stocked something called Jake's Ale. I ordered one. And another. I won't bore you with tasting notes because I didn't take any. It was inoffensive enough, let's leave it at that.

There was a row of large tellies behind the bar. One was showing footie. What turned out to be Big Phil's last game in charge of Chelsea. How weird. I was sitting in Chelsea (the New York one) watching Chelsea (the southern bastard ones) play. I don't think anyone else noticed.



Jake's Saloon
23rd Street & 7th Ave.
206 West 23rd Street,
New York, NY 10011.
Tel: 212 - 337 3100
jakessaloon@gmail.com
http://jakessaloonnyc.com/jakessaloon23rdstreet/jakeshome.php