Speedway

As I promised myself, I rise fairly late. After a good, long, deep sleep. It’s done me a power of good.

While I’m in the bathroom I hear a crash. The light next to the door has fallen down. I’m glad I wasn’t standing underneath it at the time.

Having spotted a Rock Bottom brewpub just past that huge column, I trawl along there about noon. I’m not meeting Rick until 2 PM.

On the way, I take a good look at the monument. It commemorates Indiana citizens who fought in a whole series of wars, some obscure and some of which I haven’t heard of. Most interesting is what isn’t represented: WW I and WW II. I suspect the reason was that there was no space left.

They might not offer the most exciting beers in the world, but Rock Bottom brewpubs are pretty reliable, not stupidly priced and have OK food. Good enough for me. Especially as I plan on having a late breakfast here.

Mm. Don’t really fancy any of the food for breakfast. I’ll just have a double bourbon instead. Almost as nourishing as a fry up. I’m sure I’ll be eating with Rick soon, anyway. What’s the worst that could happen?

The footie is on the telly. And the Arses are getting whipped. Teehee.

Rick picks me up as arranged at 2 PM. Our first stop is at Daredevil. Which is out by the speedway. Which we go and take a quick look at.

The speedway is dead impressive. Mile-long stands, it looks like. Unfortunately, it’s pissing it down again. I’m not getting out to take snaps. You’ll have to look it up on the internet. I’m sure it has way better photos than I can take in this gloomy weather.

Daredevil is a cavernous modern space. Brewery one side, taproom the other. It’s a pretty standard layout. That I’m seeing copied a lot in Europe.

We chat with Michael Pearson, head brewer and founder, and drink a couple of beers.

Before leaving, I’m given a couple of cans. That’s a relief. I dare put these fuckers in my luggage. My faith in crown corks has been broken. And I’m sure those cans will come in handy, sometime*. When I don’t fancy lugging a bottle along,

Next stop is Sun King. Who are fairly well-known, I hear, over here.

The weather hasn’t improved. But the colourful muriel lifts my mood. Though really it’s my stomach that needs lifting. I really should have had some breakfast. Still, what’s the worst that could happen?

Excuse me if my brewery descriptions are turning to total crap. I’ve seen so many. Adored my reflection in so much stainless. I’m getting breweries out.

A brewers shows us around. But I’m feeling a little vague. We have eaten haven’t we? I fear not. Still, these beers aren’t that strong, are they?

Why am I lying on my bed fully clothed? Must have nodded off. I blame low blood sugar.

In the lobby I find an almost inedibly dry sandwich and a bag of crisps. Almost inedible. I manage to force it down.

At least they’ve fixed the busted light while I was out.

Where was it I had breakfast again?






* They do, indeed, come in handy.






Rock Bottom  
10 W Washington St,
Indianapolis,
IN 46204.
Tel: +1 317-681-8180
http://www.rockbottom.com/locations/indianapolis-downtown


Daredevil Brewing  
1151 N Main St,
Speedway,
IN 46224.
http://daredevilbeer.com/


Sun King Brewing  
135 N College Ave,
Indianapolis,
IN 46202.
Tel: +1 317-602-3702
http://www.sunkingbrewing.com/


Buy my new Scottish book. It's why I was in the USA.

Let's Brew Wednesday - 1914 Adnams XX Mild

While it’s still May I suppose I should come up with some more Mild recipes. Like this slight oddity.

Why is it odd? Because of its strength. Or maybe I’m just too used to looking at London beers. This beer was originally brewed just as WW I was breaking out. At the time, a standard London X Ale had and OG of around 1055º and an ABV of 5.5%. With a gravity of just 1042º, Adnams XX looks more like a 1920’s Mild.

But maybe  I shouldn’t be do surprised. Before WW I, breweries didn’t really compete on price. The cost of a barrel of beer of a certain type was the same whichever brewery you bought it from. Large, efficient breweries, such as those in London, instead of discounting the price simply made their beer stronger. As quite a small, rural brewery, Adnams wouldn’t have been able to brew as efficiently as Whitbread or Truman.

The grist is pretty simple, though there are three types of malt: pale, crystal and “medium”. For the latter I’ve substituted mild malt. Other than that, there’s a bit of flaked maize and sugar. The latter mostly in the form of “cane blocks”, but also a little tintose, which was presumably a type of caramel used for colour corrections. Not sure what colour that was 5000 SRM is a guess on the dark side.

The hops I only know to have been from Oregon and East Kent. I’ve interpreted those as Cluster and Goldings, respectively. You could replace the Goldings with Fuggles or some other appropriate English hop.

1914 Adnams XX
pale malt	2.75 lb	30.32%
mild malt	4.00 lb	44.10%
crystal malt 80 L	0.50 lb	5.51%
flaked maize	0.50 lb	5.51%
cane sugar	1.25 lb	13.78%
caramel 5000 SRM	0.07 lb	0.77%
Cluster 105 mins	0.50 oz
Goldings 60 mins	0.50 oz
Goldings 30 mins	0.50 oz
OG	1042
FG	1008
ABV	4.50
Apparent attenuation	80.95%
IBU	23
SRM	25
Mash at	152º F
Sparge at	170º F
Boil time	105 minutes
pitching temp	60º F
Yeast	WLP025 Southwold

Indianapolis

My flight from St. Louis is quite early. And the weather is dreadful – a heavy thunderstorm. So we leave for the airport in plenty of time. But at least all my clothes are clean.

Stan and I say our goodbyes and I do the airport formalities of check in and security. Once again it’s pretty much empty and the whole process only takes a few minutes.

Time for some breakfast. I look around for options. Some of the restaurants aren’t even open yet. But I can see one that is. The Budweiser Brewhouse. They do breakfast. The fatty bacony kind I love.

I plonk my bum on a barstool, as usual. I assume they have some decent beer from one of the acquisitions. But the taps I can see only offer Bud variations and Belgian stuff like Stella and Hoegaarden. Not going to drink them in the US. Sam Adams Boston Lager looks the best bit. Only when it’s already been plonked in front of me do notice the taps on the other side of the bar. Featuring a distinctive long-necked goose. Bum.

The breakfast isn’t the best I’ve had. But it’s greasy enough to slip down without much problem.

I notice a Hudson as I’m walking to my gate. Ah, I remember I need a pen. Should be able to get one here. I can. But it’s a St. Louis souvenir pen that costs over $5. I must remember to stop shopping in airports.

The weather is still filthy. It’s announced that our flight will be delayed by 10 minutes. Not good. My change in O’Hare was already tight. It’s now positively claustrophobic. I try not to fret. I’m sure everything will be fine.

It’s a pretty small aircraft, two seat on one side, one on the other. But it’s full. We pull away from the gate, but just hang around ion the tarmac. The crew are negotiating with the tower about their route. Can’t use the original one because of the weather.

The minutes tick by. Then the pilot announces that were too heavy for the new route. We’ll have to return to the gate so someone can get off. Did I mention that this is a United flight? You can imagine the sort of jokes my fellow passengers make. I pity the poor flight attendant. The jokes and comments must get wearing after the first couple of hundred times you hear them.

I prepare to dig in my heels and be dragged into early retirement.

Back at the gate the attendant announces. “There’s an employee on board so we’ll be removing him.” They’ve just been playing with us. They must have known this all along.

We’re running over an hour late when we finally take off. I’m in full fret mode now. Will my connection also be delayed? I console myself in the knowledge that it’s far more serious for some of my fellow passengers. The lass sitting next to me is going to Singapore.

Getting off the plane is a drama. We pull up to the gate, but they can’t connect the air bridge. The plane backs out and tries again. After some fiddling around, the air bridge is finally secured, but another 15 minutes have ticked away. Will I get a flight to Indianapolis today?

I go to the United rep at the gate. While we were in the air, they rebooked me onto the next flight. Which is due to board in 10 minutes. I’ve just about got time to walk to the gate. I’m reluctantly impressed by United’s service.*

Why are there racing cars all over the airport? That’s a bit weird. Then I twig. I’m in Indianapolis. They have some sort of car race here, I believe.

I worry about whether my back was redirected to my new flight. I needn’t have. It soon pops out onto the carousel. A few minutes later I’m in a taxi heading towards my hotel.

Doesn’t look too bad, Indianapolis. Not totally effed up like some cities. St. Louis had some wrecked streets. Not as bad as Detroit, but still pretty depressing. Can’t spot any of that here. And look, they actually have some shops in the city centre.

Just before arriving at my hotel, I notice an enormous column. Judging by the date on it, I assume it’s a Civil War memorial. And a pretty damn massive one.

I don’t have long to rest in my hotel before this evening’s event, which is quite a way out of the centre, in Broad Ripple. Not having eaten since breakfast, I need some food. Something simple, like a sandwich. I consult the computer and spot a sandwich shop, Pot Belly, just around the corner. It overlooks that huge column so isn’t much of a challenge to find.

I quickly eat the sandwich back in my room. Roast beef, if you’re interested. With lots of chili on the top. Nice and spicy.

“Can you call me a cab?” I ask at the hotel desk. “There should be one outside.”

There indeed is. In fact there are several. I head towards the one at the front, but the drivers all start waving at me. It’s not that one’s turn, but the next to last one in the queue. Explain that system to me? How was I meant to guess that?

We head north but when we get close to our destination, my driver seems to get confused. He’s overshot, but then has trouble finding his way back. He switches off the meter “I’ll only charge you $20. That’s the right fare.” Very fair of him.

When we pull into Broad Ripple’s car park, there’s quite a crowd there. As soon as I step out of the cab, one of the crowd comes up to me: “Hello, Ron.” It’s my contact here, Rick Burkhardt. He’s a trim and active-looking retired police detective, with a beard that is in no way ironic.

At the bar, I’m introduced to the owner and founder, John Hill. His grey beard and musical northeast tones – still strong after 50 years in the USA – immediately conjures up my father. Who, like John, left his native Northeast as a young man. Except my father returned, John never did. Marrying, settling and eventually building his own pub, so he’d have somewhere to sit in his retirement.

I admire his long-term thinking. He also put in a brewery to make sure he could get the type of beer he likes to drink. It was the first brewery to open in Indiana for many decades.

I’ve ordered a cask ESB, but John warns me “Get something else. It’s not ready yet. They’ve put it on too early. Have a Wobbly Bob.”

I do. Though because they’ve run out of imperial pints, I get it in a 16 oz. glass.

John looks at my glass strangely, then explains: “It’s named after my Dad. He could be a bit wobbly at times.”

I spot a plate of scotch eggs being hurried to a customer. Now there’s authentic for you.

There’s a crowd of about 40 when I start to talk. Then it gets chilly. Someone goes inside and returns with a blanket to shelter under. The wind has picked up and the sheet functioning as a screen is flapping about like crazy. Slightly challenging circumstances. But I soldier through.

Once the questions are over, we adjourn inside out of the chill. Where I set up my impromptu book stall. I flog a good few books again. And sign some of mine people already own.

Bookselling done, I chat with Rita Kohn, legendary local beer writer. All I can say is that I hope I’m still as mentally sharp when I’m her age. Dolores already thinks my natural forgetfulness is the early onset of Alzheimer’s.

I don’t leave it too late. After eating my burger, Rick gives me a lift back to my hotel, along with his brother and a friend. We get talking about music and am surprised to find myself in the company of fellow punk fans. We talked punk all the way back to my hotel.

I don’t have to be in bed too early tonight. Rick is picking me up in the early afternoon. I can rise whenever I please.


* They even sent me an email while I was airborne telling me about the rebooking.


A-06 Budweiser Brewhouse
Lambert International Airport


Potbelly Sandwich Shop  
55 Monument Cir,
Indianapolis,
IN 46204.
Tel: +1 317-423-9043
https://www.potbelly.com/stores/23244


Broad Ripple Brewpub  
842 E 65th St,
Indianapolis,
IN 46220, USA
Tel: +1 317-253-2739
http://www.broadripplebrewpub.com/




Buy my new Scottish book. It's why I was in the USA.

Big boys and little kids in St. Louis

Another busy day ahead. But one really important task first.

Loading my dirty clothes into Stan’s washing machine. I’d always planned a laundry drop here, but now it’s really needed. I’ve a couple of pairs of rinsed and rescued socks that aren’t that aren’t too smelly and some undercrackers that just about pass muster. Clean shirts I’m totally out of.

Stan knows a great place for breakfast, Southwest Diner. A diner, er, that sells food from the Southwest of the USA.

Stan used to live down that way and understands the food. On his recommendation I go for a meal that combines Southwestern and St. Louis cuisine, a Southwest Slinger. A slinger is a St. Louis dish consisting of breakfast potatoes, two burger patties, melted cheese, topped with two fried eggs. The Southwestern twist are the dollops of green and red chili. Dead good. It warms me up a treat.

Civil Life is our first stop. Another single-story industrial building, though in this case surrounded by a beer garden. There are even little serving hatches so you don’t have to go inside to fetch beer. Though there’s no-one in the garden at the moment. It’s too early. And it’s raining.

The brewery concentrates on British-style beers. Which is, I guess, why Seymour, the brewer was at my talk yesterday. Soon he’s pressed a glass of Wee Heavy into my heads and we head into the brewery at the rear.

It’s pretty compact and boasts all the usual shiny tanks, tuns and fermenters. It doesn’t take that long to tour. It isn’t huge. We do our best to keep out of the way of the working brewer. A young woman who also attended my talk, who’s fiddling with pipes and valves.

Before leaving, Seymour offers us some of his cask Bitter, served by handpump. It’s not bad at all. Stan gets the keg version as well, so he can compare the two. He’s surprised at how different they are.

We can’t stay too long. Lot’s still to do today. We need to make our next appointment. Which is at a slightly larger enterprise: AB.

It’s still raining when we get there. Stan drops me at the beer garden while he finds somewhere to park. I roam around it looking for Rob Naylor, someone else who was at my talk yesterday. He runs the pilot brewery here. Now what did he look like? Rob appears at the same time as Stan.

Rob has his two small children in tow. It’s bring your kids to work day. They’re about six and eight years old, a boy and a girl. Much better behaved than my kids at that age. Mine would have kept trying to run off. Rob’s follow him around obediently. Where did I go wrong?

The pilot brewery isn’t such a small affair. It’s a 15-barrel plant. And is designed to replicate the processes of the big kit. It has a couple of purposes. Principally to brew control batches of Budweiser, Bud Light, etc. So they know that what they brew on the pilot replicates that of the full-size kit.

It's also used for scaling up the recipes of AB’s craft purchases, such as Goose Island, to the large production facilities. That probably makes some of you a little uneasy. I can’t say that it worries me.

They also produce trial and experimental batches, which sound like more fun.

After tasting, most of the beer they make is thrown away. Though some of the experimental beers are sold on draught in the beer garden.

One of Rob’s experimental brews was an historic Scottish recipe of mine. I hoped I’d be able to try it today. Unfortunately they couldn’t get the yeast in time and the brew is behind schedule. Bum.

Just a couple of times Rob asks me not to take photographs. Like, for example, in the hop store. I’m fine with that. It’s his brewery. And I’m a nosy bastard.

I’m dead jealous of the perfect little brewery he has. Complete with an enormous lab, stuffed full of expensive equipment.

Once we’re done in the pilot brewery, we take a quick spin through the main old Brewhouse. Which is absolutely gorgeous. Who takes the trouble and expense to build breweries like this anymore? Most are just sheds full of equipment.

Dodging the rain, we meet the archivist, Tracy Lauer, for a look around the museum. Lots of cool old photos and advertising stuff. Whatever you may think about AB’s products, the brewery has played an important role in brewing history. Ignore the big boys and you miss a big part of beer’s story.

Perennial Artisan Ales is our final brewery stop for the day. It’s in a large industrial building that once produced soft drinks. The upper floors are now loft apartments, the ground floor a mix of businesses, though Perennial is gradually taking over more and more of the space.  With two complete brew houses, they need a fair amount.

Brewer Jonathan Moxey is there to meet us. Impressive beard, is my first impression. They aren’t open yet, but staff are scurrying around in preparation.

Would I like something to drink? Sure. I opt for Cave Torch, their flagship fruity IPA. Which also comes in actually fruited versions, I see from the menu. It’s pleasant, in a fruity murk sort of way.

We look first at the original brew house, which is where all their sour beers are made. Unsurprisingly, there are many oak casks and a couple of larger vats.

The new brew house – where all the clean beers are brewed – is on the other side of the tap room. I think I’d have left a little more space between the two. Closer to 50 km than 50 m. What can I say? It’s full of shiny stuff, like every brewery.

We go to a barbecue place for dinner. Pretty nice and it makes a change. Then head on to the final brewery of the day, 2nd Shift Brewing. It’s a bit out of the way. Literally on the other side of the tracks. We have to dodge a huge coal train that’s blocking one of the roads.

It’s another shed, split in half with the taproom on one side and the brewery on the other. Not the most atmospheric of places, but my beer is fine. Stan’s Pilsner, on the other hand, is a bit weird. And far too dark for the style. It turns out to have been a brewing mistake that some customers liked the taste of.

We only have the one. Though I do manage to sell a book to an acquaintance of Stan’s we bump into. Yeah, another book gone.

We have another beers back at Stan’s, but don’t stay up late. More travelling tomorrow. I’ve two flights on United. Including a 45-minute change at O’Hare. Looking forward to that. Let’s hope they drag me off the plane and I never have to work again.



Southwest Diner  
6803 Southwest Ave,
St. Louis,
MO 63143.
http://southwestdinerstl.com/


The Civil Life Brewing Company  
3714 Holt Ave,
St. Louis,
MO 63116.
http://www.thecivillife.com/


Perennial Artisan Ales  
8125 Michigan Ave,
St. Louis,
MO 63111.
http://www.perennialbeer.com/


2nd Shift Brewing  
1601 Sublette Ave,
St. Louis,
MO 63110.
http://www.2ndshiftbrewing.com/



Buy my new Scottish book. It's why I was in the USA.

Dresden yet again

After we got back into the city centre, we looked in vain for somewhere else to drink.

We soon gave up and resorted to the hotel bar. It's difficult to describe the atmosphere of an Interhotel bar to someone who never esperienced it. A bit like a 1960's estate pub, but without the charm. This particular one only sold bottled beer.

Obviously, being an Interhotel, it didn't sell just any old stuff. Oh no. It had the DDR's posh export beer: Wernesgrüner Pilsner. It might not have been the perfect circumstances for my first taste of the beer. After several days drowning myself from the inside out with top-class Czech Lager, Wernesgrüner was a big disappointment. I wasn't impressed.

I've had it once or twice since. And I'm still not impressed. Give me some of the DDR-period Thuringian beer any day of the week. Far better stuff, most of it. Despite not being all-malt like Wernesgrüne. Just goes to show what a false sign of qualityan all-malt grist is.

St. Louis

I awake feeling rough. Like the Bonzos. Even the Session IPA couldn’t save me. I need some food.

I breakfast in the rather stylish hotel restaurant. They don’t offer my usual grease packet. I order a brisket hash instead. At least it contains two fried eggs. Though I’m not keen on the ketchup in the hash. Not usually on the list of things I eat.

I don’t feel much better after eating. Which makes packing rather a chore. And finishing off the beer I’m afraid to take on the plane. Who would have imagined drinking beer could be so little fun?

Kristen is taking me to the airport. I’m pretty early for my flight. But I don’t like being pressed for time at an airport. Too stressful. We chat away like crazy all the way. Not exactly been many lulls in the conversation. We say our goodbyes at the kerbside.

Yahoo! Checking in my bag just takes minutes and I sail through security. This is how air travel should always be.

I consult an airport map. It tells me to take the driverless train thingy to my gate. It isn’t that far, but fuck walking.

There’s not much here. I just need somewhere for a pre-flight beer. After consulting another map, I find somewhere. A Twins-themed bar. The staff are all wearing Twins baseball jerseys. It’s quiet, so they’re quite chatty. I order a Surly Furious. Seems only fair, seeing as how I missed out yesterday at Surly. And was pretty furious about it.

There’s in-flight entertainment so I watch some crap and/or weird TV. The flight isn’t long so no time for a film.

As I head for the baggage carousel someone says: “Were you going to walk right past me?” It’s Stan Hieronymus, who’s picking me up. And putting me up. We wait for my bag at the carousel indicated, but it doesn’t show up. This is the last thing I need. We ask at the Delta desk and they direct us to a different carousel. Where my bag is duly making the rounds. That’s a relief.

Stan takes me to Urban Chestnut, an industrially-sized beer hall with a brewery around the back. Being early, it’s not that full. But rather echoey. We’re met by some of the brewery staff who quickly get a beer into my hand. Then take us around the shiny stuff in the backroom.

What can I say? Modern breweries from Manchester to Mexico look much the same. At least, if they’ve started with some money behind them. The cobbled-together ones are more idiosyncratic.

One of those showing us around is Florian, a German, though you’d be hard pressed to notice, given the smoothness of his American-accented English. He used to work in hops at AB. That’s a recurring theme in St. Louis: people in new breweries who formerly worked at AB.

On the way to our next destination we drop by a drive in to get me some food. A sort of light lunch of seafood. It’ll keep me running for the next few hours. I hope.

I’m speaking at Earthbound Brewing. A tiny brewery not far from the AB plant. It’s on a street of tile-fronted shops that look like they date from the interwar period. A little reminiscent of older Marks & Spencer stores. Many of the buildings look like their better days are behind them, though a few trendy businesses indicate this is an area on the up.



When I say tiny, I really mean tiny. The building isn’t even really a full-width single shop unit. The brewery is in what looks like a broom cupboard. The bar area could maybe hold 20 people, at a stretch.

But this isn’t where I’ll be speaking, thankfully. They’ve acquired a four-storey brick building at the end of the street. Appropriately enough, it used to the stock house of the Cherokee Brewery. When the renovation is complete, it will house both the brewery and a taproom.

It’s still a bit of a mess, with building materials and bits of equipment strewn around. But at least they emptied the cellar of rubble. It had been filled from floor to ceiling. I can imagine just how much work it was removing it by hand. You can read more about the building’s renovation here:

https://www.stlmag.com/arts/history/earthbound-beer-s-renovation-of-the-old-cherokee-brewery-reveals-a-lot-about-19th-century-st-louis/

Home brewers roll up with coolers and kegs. One even has an aluminium pin. They ask me to tap it. After a dozen or so futile taps, I hand the hammer over to someone stronger. Who duly bashes in the tap.

A wide range of Scottish recipes have been brewed.

1898 William Younger XX
1913 William Younger 160
1989 William Younger H 60/-
1868 Younger no 2
1898 Younger XXXX
1912 Thomas Usher IP
1909 Maclay OMS 63/-
1859 William Younger No. 3
1920 Drybrough 8d PA

I notice the 160/- from William Younger. I immediately gravitate towards the higher gravity beer. I need a bit of a wakener before start my spiel. But there’s some interesting stuff in there. Especially the Maclay OMS. I’ve been wanting to try that recipe for ages.

The equipment is all working and connected. I always worry about that one.

I seem to be getting the hang of this particular talk and get through to the question time in around the hour I intended. There are quite a lot of questions, from both the home and professional brewers. I don’t mind. Always happy to talk beer.

Questions and chat continue after the formal formalities have been concluded. It’s a knowledgeable crowd. Thankfully. No stupid questions. And I sell quite a lot of books. Just as well, given the New Ulm disaster.

After an hour or two, the crowd begins to fade away.

But we don’t leave things there. I’m nothing if not game*. We head off to Nick’s Pub. Bit of a beast to find a parking spot. Then we notice there’s a $5 cover charge and it’s mobbed with young people. Stan suggest we try elsewhere – SOHA.

It’s a single-storey, strip-malley sort of building. Though it’s cosy enough inside. And they sell loads of beers.

There’s baseball on the TV, a buzz of conversation and I’m with friends. Happy? Think of a pig and excrement. I drink some stuff, talk some stuff and generally enjoy myself in a thank fuck all the stress is done for today sort of way.

Then Stan drives us back to his. Where I’m quickly whisked off to nodland.

Hope my laundry is done. Tomorrow could be a smelly otherwise.




* Don’t know when to stop, according to Dolores.


Urban Chestnut Grove Brewery and Bierhall  
4465 Manchester Ave,
St. Louis,
MO 63110, USA
Tel: +1 314-222-0143
http://urbanchestnut.com


Earthbound Brewing  
2710 Cherokee St,
St. Louis,
MO 63118.
Tel: +1 314-769-9576
http://www.earthboundbeer.com/


Nick's Pub
6001 Manchester Ave,
St. Louis,
MO 63110.
Tel: +1 314-781-7806
http://www.nicksirishpub.com/


SOHA Bar and Grill
2605 Hampton Ave,
St. Louis,
MO 63139
Tel: +1 314-802-7877
http://www.sohabar.com/



Buy my new Scottish book. It's why I was in the USA.