Recently, I had the good fortune to land a pretty fantastic freelance gig. The assignment: go to Antwerp and find out what beers are currently popular among Belgians. Along with my friend Marie, I spent a weekend in the city touring pubs and drinking some of the finest brews in the world.

I consider the experience a chance of a lifetime. Here's the story, all 1900 words of it, over at The Good Life Report.

Labels: beer, Europe

My friend "M" carted a bottle of Kopi Luwak Beer to Oregon from the Netherlands during her visit back in June. If you've never heard of the tasty but unusual Kopi coffee bean, you're not alone. It's become a pricey delicacy in cafes throughout Europe but, as far as I've been able to discern, it can only be found in metropolises like Los Angeles and New York in the states.

The beans are made from berries that have passed through the digestive systems of Asian Palm Civets, which are cat-sized mammals that hail from the Philippines and Indonesia. Click here to have a look at one of these little critters.

If you can get over the fact that Kopi Luwak is, essentially, crap that can cost $50+ a cup, you're in for a treat. The beans are pretty dang divine. I broke out the bottle during a graduation party in SE Portland earlier this summer and passed out samples in Dixie cups. The attendees were fascinated by this "monkey poop beer." We did a toast to the graduates in a attendance and downed the stuff.

All in all, it was a pretty solid coffee stout, probably the best I've ever tasted. It was rich and frothy qne I'd recommend it. Oddly enough, the bottle contained enough beer to provide 14 people with a taste test. It was magic. Just like Jesus!

This past Saturday, I visited the bottle shop in Leiden where M picked it up. Unfortunately, they were all sold out of Kopi Luwak beer, which was released by a small Dutch brewery in a limited edition of 750 bottles. It's not the first of its kind though. A brewery in California came out with a Kopi Luwak "Speedway Stout" a year or two ago. Here's hoping that "monkey poop beer" will spread across the land and that its exquisite, brown goodness will flow through the streets like rainwater.

Labels: beer, monkeys

A review from Barfly Magazine:

There's actually plenty of reasons to frequent Tony's - for even those not 86'd by every surrounding establishment - though, y'know, every bar has its niche. Their cigarette machine beats mini mart prices, six-packs are sold up til 2:29:59, the pool table's generally vacant, they have a real juke box (that's really good!), they open at 7 AM, and regulars have been long inured to glammier tourists. Cleaner than you'd expect (excepting the regulars), the shotgun tavern wouldn't even be considered all that divey a few miles east though a lingering reputation ensures, post-Beavers games, it's the only staggerable option with guaranteed seating.

I think that hits the 16 ounce can of Hamm's on the head. Plus, there's a creepy rabbit statue behind the bar (see above). Tony's can be found near the corner of 19th and West Burnside.

Labels: bars, beer

A few weeks ago, I admitted that this sign at the corner of 4th and Burnside had convinced me that someone somewhere was brewing a Blazer-themed beer. It turns out that I wasn't wrong after all. Even better, the brewer isn't a domestic powerhouse, it's the Hopworks Urban Brewery over on Powell Boulevard. Here's a description of their new Terry Porter porter:

In celebration of the Trailblazers making the playoffs (after 6 long years) we've dedicated our seasonal robust porter to one of their all-time great players, Terry Porter.

Terry Porter features a roasted, caramel malt aroma assisted by floral and citrus hops. The flavor is all business, medium bodied with roast and chocolate flavors, followed by a distinctive smooth style.

During his decade-long tenure in Portland, Porter went to the NBA Finals twice and continues to hold the NBA Finals single-game record for the most free throws made, none missed - 15. In 1,274 career games, Porter averaged 12.2 points, 5.6 assists and 1.24 steals during a career that included two All-Star berths (1991, 1993), two trips to the NBA Finals (1990, 1992) and 15,586 career points. He is 11th on the NBA's all-time assist list (7,160).

6.0% ABV 14.2 Degees Plato 45 IBU

Ok, I'm sold. The Blazers are heading to the playoffs for the first time in six years and I need to celebrate. I could use a gallon or five but I'm assuming it's only currently available in pints at the brewery.

Labels: beer, Blazers, sports

I found myself in the middle of a debate about this other night. What's the correct recipe for one of the most offensively-titled drinks of all time? Or at least one of the most politically-themed, offensively-titled drinks of all time?

Here's the recipe for all of the "Irish Car Bombs" I've enjoyed on various St. Patrick's Days in the past. First, fill a pint glass 2/3s of the way full of stout. Then find a shot glass, put in a little cream, fill it to the top with whiskey, set the whiskey on fire, drop the shot glass in the pint glass and then chug the whole mess quickly before the cream curdles.

Now I'm told that this isn't the correct way and that fire shouldn't be incorporated at all. The internet confirms this, stating that a proper Irish Car Bomb should be made with Baileys instead of cream and that a flame should come nowhere near the whiskey. WTF? Where's the fun in that? I say that the lack of fire takes the "bomb" right out of the mix. Call this concoction what you will but, in my book, no fire = no Irish Car Bomb. This version might be better dubbed the "Wussy Wuss Bailey Wannabe Irish Car Bomb Wuss Fest That Isn't Actually an Irish Car Bomb."

Your thoughts?

Anyway, happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody. I'll conclude this post with my favorite Irish toast: "may the best of your yesterdays be the worst of your tomorrows."

Labels: beer, Booze, holidays

Back in 2005 when I was an intern at Willamette Week, one of the editors called me into his office and asked me to contact a lobbyist from Alaska. He was in town trying to get any local journalist that would listen to him to write an article about his efforts to increase the state beer tax. Supposedly, this lobbyist had successfully convinced the state legislature in his home state to jack up their beer tax and now he was down in Oregon to do the same thing here. At the time he was up against Karen Minnis, the then Speaker of the House, who was, in his words, "completely in bed with the beer industry."

He claimed his motivations were primarily fueled by a desire to discourage kids from drinking and finding a revenue source for the prevention and rehabilitation of alcoholism in Oregon. I can't remember what third party was funding his efforts. After the would-be lobbyist caused a bizarre ruckus at the capitol building in Salem with another advocate, the editor nixed the story and I never heard another word about their proposal.

I didn't support the lobbyist's relatively modest proposal, which would have supposedly increased the average pint of beer in Oregon by eight cents and I certainly don't support the insanity that is HB 2461, a piece of legislation that would jack up the beer tax to $49.61 for every barrel (roughly $1.00 to $1.50 a pint at your local tavern). Several state blogs, the editorial pages of local newspapers and drinkers quaking in their boots over the possibility of $6.00 pints are all up in arms over the proposal.

I have no idea who's pulling the strings behind the five state lawmakers pushing for this latest increase but why are they doing it? Well, the state is running low on dough but statewide drug and alcohol addiction services are also hurting for revenue.

Nevertheless, the bill is a sin tax, pure and simple, and the links above can provide a much more informed denouncement of it than I can. So here instead are my proposals for some other things around here that could also use some taxes:

McMansions

Ironic mustaches

Greg Oden's knees

Sam Adam's libido

That Merritt Paulson guy

Also: the state business tax could probably still use some work. Didn't Intel pay a grand total of, maybe, $5.00 a few years ago?

Labels: beer, politics

Who knew that a snow drift could double as an excellent beer cooler? Ok, well, I didn't. The drift kept these "stubbies" of Session Lager ice cold without actually freezing them despite the fact that the temperature dropped into the low 20s last night.

One drawback. I left two bottles out there and four inches of new powder has fallen since. I know they're out there somewhere....

In other news, when, dear God, will the snow stop falling? It. Just. Keeps. Coming.

Labels: beer, snow

How will the Horse Brass Pub (AKA "Portland's haziest drinking establishment") handle the smoking ban that's set to go into effect on January 1st?

This week's cover story in The Mercury has the answer to this and other pressing ban-related FAQs.

Labels: beer, cigarettes

Almost every summer I go to the Oregon Brewers Festival and almost every year I stand around thinking, "Wow, 20 minute long lines for tiny plastic mugs of beer. This is so incredibly lame. And do all these jackholes really have to go 'wooooo' every 5 seconds?"

And then I start drinking. And then I'm suddenly assimilated into the fest's mob of roaming beer snobs, all of us waiting and drinking and yelling "woooo" between attempts to come up with new sexual puns for "hoppiness," the newly arrived glaring at me in the same manner I had glared at those who had come before me.

This year the watermelon beer is what got me over that initial hump o' skepticism. Some might write off a beer with a name like "Come Hell or High Watermelon" as a cheap gimmick but I'm sure the same was once said about things like pumpkin beer and adding lime wedges to Corona, which effectively turns an otherwise crap beer into liquefied manna from heaven. So here's what a watermelon beer looks like:

It's mighty tasty and this statement is coming from someone who would rather blow one up than put any part of a watermelon in my mouth. It's too bad that the nearest place that sells the stuff is most likely in the Bay area.

The alcoholic ginger ale was also a pleasant surprise. A second trip to the festival on Saturday also made me the proud new owner of a pretzel necklace and a business card for something called "utilikits" (link).

The necklace was sold to me by a brilliant entrepreneur who rode up and down the waterfront selling them over a fence to attendees with the aid of a fishing pole. Also included: a large pretzel medallion, all for the low, low price of 3 bucks. In hindsight, I wish I had taken a photo of the necklace instead of the utilikilts card.

Until we meet again, Brewers Festival.

Labels: beer

Imagine a bar with driftwood tables and peanut shells on the floor- a bar where nicknacks cover every available surface, making it look like a Red Robin after a truck full of antiques crash-landed through a wall. A Double Big Gulp-sized, mutated neighborhood hangout with bras stapled to ceiling where chain-smoking ex-fratboys and truckers laugh their asses off when the DJ plays Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal." The sort of place where you half-expect vampire strippers to jump out of the walls at any second ala From Dusk 'Till Dawn.

Would you ever want to set foot in such a joint like this? Ok, probably not but curiosity might get the better of you when you hear its name:

Wanker's Corner Saloon and Cafe- located in lovely Wilsonville, just a 15-minute jaunt down I-5 from downtown Portland.

I don't know if the term "wanker" meant something different way back in 1933 when it opened in its original location. According to Wikipedia, the story goes that the bar originally sat at an intersection dubbed Wanker's Corner in Clackamas County, named for a local resident's surname. Regardless of whether or not the whole thing is a decades' long gag, which I'm sure it is, the current owners encourage the theme. Have a look at Wanker's Corner's kangaroo mascot on the bar's website. I guess that's funny, in a Mad TV, t-shirt-at-a-truck stop-kinda way.

I'm a lilly-livered Portland liberal but I've set foot in plenty of places in this state where I shouldn't have: Ted Nugent concerts, monster truck rallies and, well, eastern Oregon. Despite being only a stone's throw from the metro area, I don't think I've been anywhere in Oregon where I've felt more out of place than at Wanker's Corner.

A colleague and I fled for the door after a round, only to find ourselves trapped by a small army of Axe Body Spray-types pouring out of a stretch Humvee. To put it one way, that damn thing was like a clown car for douchebags. They just kept coming. Once we were out of there, we spent another five minutes penned down in the parking lot because the Humvee had our car blocked.

Still, I'm glad to know Wanker's Corner is out there. The staff didn't cop an attitude, despite the fact that we clearly didn't belong there, and I'm not about to turn my nose up at free peanuts. It's exactly what a place like this should be and at least one step up from a Hooters. I'm sure the food is better and the beer menu is head and shoulders above what you'll find at one of those chain restaurants that serve "legendary" wings that, quite frankly, taste like sawdust.

Live long and prosper, Wanker's Corner. Y vaya con Dios.

Labels: bars, beer, Wilsonville

Last month, a few friends and I decided not to attend a microbrew festival at the Oregon Garden after running into a twenty minute wait at the entrance. Inspired by this, we instead decided to stage an impromptu wine beer tasting back at their place. We grabbed around twelve different beers from all over the world at a nearby market ranging from a Budweiser energy drink to a few oversized bottles from Bavaria.

Much like a proper wine tasting, we took notes and tried to gross each other out with vivid descriptions of the lesser brews. Amazingly enough, the Budweiser wasn't the worst thing we picked up. That honor would go to a strange peach beer from Holland, which I'm pretty sure I described as tasting like "the diarrhea-covered ass crack of a goat the night after it raided a farmers market." If the brewers of that particular beer come across this, I'm perfectly willing to allow them to use this short review in their marketing.

By the end of the night, we had a large bowl full of leftovers in the center of the table. Why leftovers? Well, you're not technically supposed to swallow the stuff during a tasting, not that didn't stop us in most cases, but some of the selections were nah-ass-tay. Also: I had to drive back to Portland that night and was trying to be at least somewhat responsible.

After all the bottles were empty, two of us decided to give the mix in the bowl a shot. Surprisingly, it was better than the peach brew. I gave that a one. The bowl mix? A three. Unsurprisingly, a good amount of what was in that bowl wound up on the table.

Labels: beer

The Tuesday edition of the Portland Tribune has a cover story on Bud Clark and the Goose Hollow Tavern, the local watering hole he's owned for nearly four decades. On Friday, the tavern will host a birthday celebration.

I need to get one of those "still my mayor" stickers.

I've frequented the Goose Hollow since I moved back to Portland after college. I've taken many people down there over the past few years. Some of them instantly get it while others can't understand the appeal. The booths are small, the beer selection is lackluster by PDX standards, there's a creepy photo of a naked baby on the mens room door and the crowd ranges from undergrad to a few steps away from being underground. The Goose Hollow isn't cool, the interior looks like a beach house rec room littered with mementos and, despite the porch, it apparently doesn't warrant a mention in the Mercury's belated summer drinking issue (just released last week. Tbbbbbbbbt!).

But it's the tavern that served as a sanctuary during a time when I was working 70+ hour weeks between a day job and an internship. It's out-of-the-way while still close to everything. All roads lead to the Goose Hollow. It's a place where I don't have to yell to hear myself speak and can quietly kill an hour on a sunny afternoon. The Goose is low-key without being a dive bar, the prices are reasonable and it's hard to feel out of place. If I were more creative, I could come up with a term for the tavern. I think it's a place that deserves its own term.

The Goose Hollow's ability to cater to all age groups continues to amaze. With the exception of, maybe, a McMenamins, I can't think of a place in town where great-grandparents can throw back beers besides people 1/3 their age. On a recent afternoon I sat on the porch near an elderly man chatting with a friend about his dog and a group of PSU students discussing battle scars earned during a previous night's booze/cokefest.

When people from out of town arrive in Portland, where do we wind up? The big, round table at the back of the Goose. The one by the cooler that requires everyone to get up when the staff needs to grab something. Where did I go the night I turned down a rewarding career in DC in order to remain in "the best city in the world"? The Goose. Where did I create a revolutionary/controversial way to enjoy a Guinness and a Corona at the same time? The porch at? Where? The Goose. Where have I spent hours and hours but have yet to see the disco ball spin? The Goose. Where did I go after giving up on Zoobombing after a single run down the West Hills? The Goose. Where have I spent too much money over the past five years? Powell's and...er, uh, that's right, now I remember, the Goose.

Happy birthday, Goose Hollow Tavern. May you live to be a hundred million billion years old and may the best of your yesterdays be the worst of your tomorrows.

Labels: beer, Portland