That's What I'm Talking About

I'm on a business trip again. New Jersey this time. I met some old friends for a beer(s) and a burger. It was great catching up with my friends and re-telling old stories and laughing at them as if they were new stories. The evening was enhanced by several Victory HopDevil beers. This is the kind of beer that I feel is missing from the Portland beer scene: exquisitely hoppy but coupled with a strong enough malt back beat so that the result is a wonderfully flavorful offering. This is a great beer, and an example of why I've launched my protest (last post). Brewed in Pennsylvania and drunk in New Jersey, I was locavore compliant.

One Man Protest

With all the brewing talent in Portland, and, indeed, within the locavore confines, why don't we have an extra hoppy, assertive American or Imperial IPA option? We are too balanced! I want the big, bold, bitter flavor of a 90 minute Dogfish Head IPA--or the equivalent. Until we get one, I'm going to launch a protest: if the 90 minute IPA is available, and the other option(s) are limited to a more traditional English IPA, I'm going to drink the 90 minute, locavore be damned!

This is a bold move but the time has come. What the fuggles, bring on the intense hops IPA!

Today's Challenge

I'm going to get through the day drinking only three different drinks: black coffee (0 calories); water (0 calories); and beer (rumored to contain claories). I have 2 Geary's Summer Ales, 1 HSA, and one Allagash White (750 ml bottle) at home in the 'fridge. From a quantity standpoint, that should do it. I might want more assertive taste, however, so may need to stop and add to the mix.

Three different drinks in a given day is the bare minimum, I believe. Without coffee, the day would not exist. Without water, I would be improperly hydrated and therefore unhealthy. And life without beer? Perish the thought.

The Locavore's Delimma

I'm now in the second half of my year as a beer locavore. I've come across three significant hurdles to living the beer locavore lifestyle. These challenges have, at times, literally brought me to my knees. At other times, I have found myself in tears. The choices have been gut-wrenching. Sometimes, I have failed. As a result, I now view my strict locavore pledge as more a statement of high level principles. My strict locavore rules I now consider to be mere guidelines. Things change, we must adapt and move on.

Here's the three big challenges for a Portland, Maine-base beer locavore:

1. It's expensive being locavore. The other day, I found myself circling the Hanaford, a $10 18-pack of PBR (PBR has no breweries, extensive internets research neither proves nor dis-proves its locavore status) tucked under my arm. I tried to talk myself into buying it. On the third lap of the store, I started crying. I put it back, and bought an on sale 12 pack of Geary's HSA for $13. I dried my tears and moved on.

2. Things change. When I made the infamous pledge (now high-level principles), there was no Novare Res. There was no Prost! Now we have international beer bars. It's important to evolve as the situation evolves. Hence, guidelines, not rules.

3. The whole travel thing. Travel remains a huge challenge. There are many parts of this great nation which remain a beer blight on the horizon, suffering mightily at the hands of the beer fascists from A-B, Coors, and Miller. I refuse to be hamstrung by the evil-doer's tactics, and, when traveling, will opt for quality over shite.

What Makes it a Review?

There are brilliant beer, food, and restaurant reviews out there on our internets. For example, check here and here.

I have an issue, though. As a reader, I tend to read the first couple of sentences and then jump to the punchline. As a writer, I'm the same way, and I'm unlikely to change. Here's what you'll get at this blog: a two-three sentence description, and then a suggestion (go there/don't go there). That prevents my eyes from glazing over and your head from itching. If you want excessive details, though, they can be found. But you may have to switch internets.

So these reviews are quick, but should not be construed as a slight in any way:

1. Prost! International Tap Room: beautiful beer selection; lovely space with a fantastic bar; a somewhat confusing second room with an almost disco feel; I ate the sausages--they were great; the folks are still working out the kinks but they will; a great addition to the Portland scene.

2. The Grill Room: what a fantastic space!; love the silver bull hanging outside; can't wait to "really" eat there (I had a delicious steak salad lunch); the 12 beers on tap are a little disappointing in that they are fairly pedestrian; Chef Harding Smith is a big flavor advocate--the philosophy doesn't extend to the beer list.

3. Vignola: ignore the snooty barmaid and belly up to the beautiful bar and order a bottle of Curieux, comparatively under priced at $18 (psst--it's $17 at the Hanaford's); if you are hungry, order a margarita pizza; this is bargain dining in a lovely restaurant.

Meanwhile, Back to Beer

When one is a committed locavore, temptations abound: The sophisticated Europeans, the sexy Scandinavians, the festive Mexicans, the cultured cluster of Canadians, the cheap Chinese, and, of course, the free-spirited left coasters. The granola crunching Vermonters are off limits. Even the real stuff from Bar Harbor is out of local. I paced the bar and ogled the stock. Three times. And then I sat down and ordered a 420 IPA. I sipped it, deeply. I ordered again. An Allagesh Dubbel this time. Again the sipping. Twice this time--I'd slowed down--before setting my empty glass down. A calmness returned. My third and final beer, another Dubbel, went down smooth and easy. I'd gone in to the belly of the beast, Portland's newest beer bar, Prost! International Tap Room, and survived with local morals and ethics intact.

Traveling Violations

I was on the road again last week, and I fell out of locavore. I will report and await my punishment. First, a triumph of sorts, however. The highly regarded and award-winning Beer Haiku Daily selected my passing of the beer season lament as the May 28 daily haiku. You can read it here.

I was in Clark, New Jersey and opted for Brooklyn lager to wash down my pizza. Unfortunately, Brooklyn seems to be brewed in Utica, if one trusts the fine print.

On the weekend, I searched for ramen, and found two decent shops: Minca, in the East Village; and Ippudo, near Astor Place. I drank Japanese beer at both spots. In the West Village, I went to a nice little izakaya called Rockmeisha. There I drank Japanese beer but could not resist the temptation of their strange non-Japanese offering, Frank Zappa Lumpy Gravy, a malty Brown Ale from Lagunitas.