These Are a Few of My Favorite Things: Beer & Cheese!

Posted on November 13, 2014 by Llalan

That about sums it up.

As a pair, beer and I have been going strong for many years now. Few couples have experienced the same level of success we have. Over all it’s been a smooth ride, with only the occasional hiccup. But beer is not my first love! World, there’s someone else I want you to meet: cheese.

Cheese and I have been through a lot together: the Amish string cheese of my childhood, the Behold the Power of Cheese campaign in the late ‘90s, Papa John’s cheese sticks and the Freshman 15 in college, those little cheesy crackers with pecans my mom makes every Christmas that are as addictive, if not more so, than your standard crack.

For the longest time, though, I thought beer and cheese were incompatible, like those two friends you have that each think slightly less of you for liking the other one. I have never grown used to that sort of cattiness, having had the same loyal and honest friends since before I knew what beer was. So it was always with a little dismay that I kept the Jarlsberg tight in the meat and dairy drawer when I pulled an IPA out of the fridge. The manchego, too, waited for me to buy a cheap bottle of syrah. Why couldn’t we just all be friends?

Eventually I caved under the pressure of struggling to keep them apart. Dammit, you’re both such wonderful calorie delivery methods: just get to know each other! And lo, they got along swimmingly and the three of us have kicked some culinary ass ever since. Continue reading →

Strip Clubs & Craft Beer: Keep It Classy, Ohio!

Posted on October 29, 2014 by Llalan

John Glenn, Ohioan & First Hunk in Space

By now you know I’m pretty proud of my little heart-shaped state. Ohio has a long list of firsts that contributes to my high opinion. I mean, we invented the hot dog, for goodness sake! (And many of us use the phrase for goodness sake often and without irony.) We also claim first in flight, which is hotly contested by those who actually give a hoot. We definitely were first to orbit the earth with John Glenn, who was also, much later, the oldest person in space — and this neatly conforms to my cartoon image of Ohio as a cantankerous old man who still won’t let anyone else shovel his damn driveway and always wears black knee socks, even in summer.

We recently earned another achievement: first state to have a combined microbrewery and strip club. Yeah, I know, right?! I made that face too! Though to be honest, strip clubs always make me more than a little squeamish, and it isn’t because they don’t characteristically have great beer selections, or even the nearness of naked bodies to open drink containers. But the issues I have with patriarchy and the commercialization of the female body can wait for another column, another day. Until then: what if someone looked at your sister like that?

Oops! I dropped my dignity in this giant mug of beer!

The Pinups & Pints gentleman’s club features one beer brewed there plus, “Daytons [sic] hottest entertainers.” Their logo is a cute pinup girl in a Air Force uniform of sorts — heralding back to Dayton’s history in flight — holding a frothy mug of beer. According to a column on The Beer Blog, a daily-updated blog about Ohio beer, the business started brewing out of necessity. The owner was getting a liquor license to save the floundering club, but wanted to stand out from the crowd — watching gyrating nudes while drunk on Bud Light just ain’t gonna cut it any more, I guess. Continue reading →

There’s Only One Way to be a Beer Snob and You’re Doing It Wrong!

Posted on October 15, 2014 by Llalan

This is the kind of bad attitude I’m talking about! But we could…

My husband and I, who both consider ourselves solid beer snobs, took a trip to beer Mecca last year: Vermont. We had a very tightly packed vacation schedule, which looked something like this:
To Do & See
1) Beer

While in Burlington, we took a beer tour of the city, visiting at least four breweries that I remember. Somewhere after the third beer the other couple on our tour invited us to come with them later that night to visit the brewery that makes Beer Advocate’s top rated beer: Heady Topper, an imperial IPA from The Alchemist. They are located in Waterbury, Vermont, a bit of a drive from Burlington. When Ben and I both admitted we’d never had the beer, the woman let out a somewhat inappropriate moan as her eyes rolled back in her head.

Numero Un

While she recovered her husband let loose a long string of superlatives to describe The Alchemist’s beers that gradually took on a British air. “Oh dear,” he fussed. “My accent comes out when I’ve been drinking!” Ben asked if he was from England, to which he answered, “no, but my grandfather was born there.”

The further into the tour we went the less either of us wanted to be stuck for hours with these people in a confined space. They epitomized every stereotype of beer snobbery that I hope dearly I do not myself embody. They breathlessly turned red in the face telling me everything they knew about any beery topic at hand. They started many of their responses to me with, “Well, actually…”. They snubbed certain beers and breweries that did not somehow live up to their vertiginous standards. (Except Magic Hat? Posers.) Continue reading →

I Feel the Need, the Need for Mead

Posted on October 1, 2014 by Llalan

Mead: it’s really old!

One week ago I stood in my pjs and wielded a red suede loafer against the hoard of evil flying, stinging bugs who welcomed me that morning. Ben was asleep until I stepped on one and was stung in the arch of my foot: “*&^$! BEES! #*%@ these BEES!” Ben sat up straight in bed as I howled and was immediately stung in the arm. A blue cloud of foul language hung low over our apartment building that morning.

And as the bugs did me a wrong, so did I bees, for in fact, those were yellow jackets and not bees at all. (For wasps, they sure were impolite!) Sure, bees can sting you, but they also do other wonderful things those flying vermin from Hell cannot: namely, make honey. And from honey, we make mead.

Mead is simply honey fermented in water, so it has only three core ingredients: honey, water, and yeast. There is this ongoing debate over whether mead is wine or beer, when really it’s obviously neither. It’s good and all, but I’m not going to get in a twist over it when I could be enjoying a real beer instead. I do give it a bit of respect, though, as it is thought to be the first alcoholic beverage EVER. Continue reading →

Go Browns! An Homage to the Beer and the Hometown Team

Posted on September 17, 2014 by Llalan

O-I-H-O! …Wait a minute.

I’ve never been a follower of The Ohio State University’s sports: didn’t go there; don’t care. But everyone assumes I’m a fan because I exist within 60 miles of their stadium. In the fall it’s perfectly acceptable for a complete stranger to invade my space and hoot, “O-H!” gesturing wildly like a confused Village Person. They expect the proper response, which is not, I’ve discovered, “F-U.”

Football madness also rages strong 60 miles to my north in Cleveland. In the Browns stadium there is a section reserved for The Dawg Pound. This section is known for its rowdiness, excessive alcohol consumption, and for its population of tirelessly enthusiastic men in Browns jerseys and rubber dog masks. This all sounds suspiciously like the antics at an afternoon in the OSU Horseshoe, but I’m here to tell you that Browns fans are different. They maintain magestic reservoirs of hope and optimism and, having been dragged through the mud many times before, retain this loyalty and the there’s always next year mentality through the worst of seasons.

In the Dawg Pound

It is hard to be a Browns fan. We don’t win all that much. I was thinking of this just the other day as I stood in the craft beer aisle looking for a brown ale. Nothing. Not even that Honey Brown crap we considered to be “the good stuff” in college. It was all IPAs and pumpkin beer. The next store, more of the same. I couldn’t win. The third store had one kind of brown ale, Bell’s Best Brown out of Michigan. Score. Continue reading →

All We Can Do Is Hop: Growing Beer in Your Garden

Posted on September 3, 2014 by Llalan

This is the “safe” ladder

“Dad, that ladder is in miserable condition! You can’t stand on that; it won’t work!”
“It should work.” My father said, nonchalantly twisting one broken leg out from behind another. There is no convincing this man of safety sometimes, so I kept my distance and stayed on the same side of the hops arbor as him in case that ladder finally gave way.

My father and I spent part of this Labor Day together harvesting hops off the plants Ben and I planted in my parents’ garden last year. Considering the stress of being transplanted and the the half-assed way in which we watched over them, they weren’t doing all that bad. Aside from a Hindenburg-sized bag worm colony in the upper left corner that somehow everyone missed until just then, things were going well.

I learned earlier that hop vines are sticky and prickly and leave behind long pink welts on the inside of your arms, so I was wearing gloves and delicately snipping off each hop cone with a pair of scissors. My father grabbed at each cone with his hand, tore it off and tossed it in the direction of his bowl, much to the entertainment of our loud audience of stray cats.

Hops as big as my head!

These plants had thrived for several years at my in-law’s former home. At this point, we can no longer say with any accuracy exactly what variety each of our five plants is. They start as anonymous little sticks — or rhizomes, to be fancy-pants — that magically grow when you shove them in the ground. My husband is certain that when they were planted they had four different kinds: Cascade, Centennial, Golding, and Perle, which sound suspiciously like stripper names to me. Continue reading →

The Potable Tomato

Posted on August 26, 2014 by Shannon

Tomato juice that comes in a can is nasty stuff. This opinion of mine, I think, has its roots in a childhood aversion to the sight of it coating the inside of a glass. My favorite aunt regularly drank V8 for breakfast, and though I loved that woman dearly, the memory of a red, viscous mess being poured down her throat that early in the morning is, even now, enough to make me queasy. No amount of vodka and olives can make up for what is wrong with canned tomato juice. No Bloody Marys for me.

But some time ago, Roger (a.k.a. Godfather of Cocktails) suggested that I would warm to the drink if I made my own tomato juice or, better yet, since it would eliminate the coating sediment, tomato water. This past weekend, between taxing bouts of sunning myself on a dock and sunning myself in a hammock, I finally gave it a try and was not disappointed in the results.

Here’s what you do: you core and quarter about six large tomatoes and throw them in a blender with a little salt. Puree those babies and then put them through a cheesecloth. (You can either put a wooden spoon over a pitcher and tie the cheesecloth to it, or, if your pitcher is sturdy, you can just use a couple clothespins to suspend the cheesecloth from the side of the pitcher.) After it strains, you can drink the juice straight, and it’s liquid summer sunshine. But let’s be honest. What you should really do is put some vodka in it. Continue reading →

Small is the New Big: Drinking Local

Posted on August 20, 2014 by Llalan

Courtesy The Brewers Association

The other day I was enjoying a beer on my porch when my neighbor, who lives a luxurious ten feet away, came out of his garage lecturing his friend about the evils of Wal-Mart. His friend, who floated lazily behind him on a skateboard, remained silent. My neighbor went on to say he hadn’t shopped there for years and stopped going to McDonald’s as well, since they were epitomes of capitalist nonsense (I’m paraphrasing). His friend attempted an ollie in the driveway.

His fervor surprised me because it’s not the usual rhetoric I hear spouted in neighborhoods like mine, which is to say, poor ones in central Ohio. It cheered me to hear someone outside my little blue bubble of artist friends who understood what megagiagantoconglamamarts do to the local economy. The word is spreading, my friends. And just as the buy local and eat local movements are gaining ground, so the drink local fad is rapidly becoming not a fad.

Allow me to share some statistics directly from the Brewers Association, a nonprofit trade association that supports small and independent American brewers. They will blow your hops off! In 2013, there were a total of 2,822 breweries in the US. Of those, 2,768 were craft breweries. That’s 98%! Continue reading →

The Belgian IPA: a Compromise We All Can Swallow

Posted on August 6, 2014 by Llalan

For the longest time I treated it as a fault, a failure of some sort. I tried to hide the fact from others and went to great lengths to avoid situations that could have revealed my failings. My tastes were a disgrace, especially for one who called herself a beer snob.

Now that I’m solidly in my mid-thirties, though, I feel old and wise enough to say What do you care? Shut up and drink your beer. So: I don’t like Belgian beer. ThereIvesaidit! So far, no not-so-merry monks have run into the room, robes a-flutter, threatening to bludgeon me with oversized wheels of cheese.

I’ve been drinking long enough to know that it is not the Belgian part of Belgian beer that I don’t like. That unique, expansive taste of Belgian yeast is delightful! Rather, it is the lack of hops that gets me. I need the dryness, the bitterness, the kick in the pants that is a well-hopped beer. And then I discovered the Belgian IPA.

Sweet mother of fermentation! Where have you been all my life?! My first Belgian IPA was a tulip glass of The Audacity of Hops in Boston’s Cambridge Brewing Company. I was suspicious. My favorite cute bartender with the Buddy Holly glasses served it to me and I eyed it sideways, its perfect head and cloudy orange hue suspect. But then I took a cautious sip and was hit with a face full of hops. I was instantly converted. Continue reading →

In Search of Lost Time, Episode of the Pale Ale

Posted on July 24, 2014 by Llalan

It’s true.

With apologies to Proust, I reflect on my history in beer. A long, meaningful, and eventful relationship.

In the small town where I live, everyone knows everyone. People who don’t know my name know my profession, and I answer to “Hey, Bookstore Lady,” on a regular basis. Without fail, the second thing people remember about me is that I like beer. A lot. Most of them do not know that my memory is stored in six-packs and cases like so many bottles of beer at the corner shop.

Time and devotion have ingrained beer in my life. The way others can mark their history by food or travels, I can with beer. The taste of certain beers will take me back to a memory as fast as any smell or song can. One sip of Labatt Blue and I’m a senior in college again, Thursday night pitchers with a basket of unshelled peanuts for $6 at the CI. Toss the shells on the floor, carve your name in the table.

A Harpoon IPA shuttles me to Boston faster than a speeding Chinatown bus. It was my go-to beer at every less-than-fine establishment I frequented. Its high hoppy buzz reminiscent of every dinner I drank at Charlie’s, a diner a block away from the bookstore where I worked. It reminds me of every boy I sat next to at the counter there, wishing they would just kiss me, and the black-and-white tiles, the chrome, and the lobster tank in the corner.

One night in Boston’s Publick House, I drank five Great Divide Hercules Double IPAs, much to the astonishment of my friends, and realized I wasn’t going to marry the man who had stayed at home that night. To this day it tastes of revelation. Continue reading →

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