Back on the Solstice...Up To Selin's Grove

Steve and me at the front door

Selin's Grove Brewing is one of my favorite places; not just favorite brewpub, or favorite bar, but favorite places. It's cozy, it's friendly, the beer and food are exceptional (and the food's largely locally sourced), and it's been that way for years. Which is why I like to be there for their opening-day anniversaries when I can; their anniversary falls on December 21, which is usually the day of the Winter Solstice, making it easy for me to remember. There was one year when I found myself in Harrisburg around 5 PM, finished up with business and wondering where to go...when I realized it was the solstice. Up the river I went!

Just a few weeks ago, I took the day off and headed up the river with three very important women: my mother Ruth, my wife Cathy, and my daughter Nora. We had some Christmas shopping planned, though that would mostly go astray: the shopping in Selinsgrove eluded us. Still, we stopped at Weaver's Market & Bakery in Port Trevorton (thanks again, Carolyn!) and did find some good stuff: whoopie pies, bread, apples, a rug, and some Amish-made sauerkraut that went right into the roaster on New Year's Day. Up the river we went, and soon we were parking above the pub.

Co-owner/brewer Steve Leason was down at the front door, handing out the traditional little gifts handed out on the anniversaries. This year it was a pin in the shape of their running dog logo. We shook hands, talked biz a bit (he assured me that they had no current plans to sell to A-B InBev (nor plans to buy them)), then the ladies and I headed inside.

Have you been to Selin's Grove? It's in the basement of a 200 year old stone house. You enter through the barroom, where you find the fireplace, the small bar, the tiny kitchen (our walk-in closet is bigger), and three other tables. Pass through into the main room, where there are about six other tables. We sat by the window, watching the people come and go outside.

And then, of course, we got beers. I started with a dunkelweizen (I've rarely gone wrong choosing a dunkelweizen), then after a taste of Cathy's choice, followed that up with a Solstice Dubbel. By then we were into dessert, and it was growler time. I got half-gallon jugs of the Dubbel and the Stealth Triple, and a quart 'grunter' of the superb Framboise. The Triple was not overly sweet, and scarily drinkable at just over 9%; the Framboise was densely fruity and delicious.

We had to head home (Nora drove), down the cold Susquehanna valley. But I think I'll be back for the 20th next year; we might have to get a room.

Stoudt's: wrapping up shooting, and a nice little festival

Wish I had some pictures for this, but...we were busy!

Cathy and I went up to Stoudt's last night to wrap up shooting for American Beer Blogger. It was low-key; just the two of us and two of the guys from Green Leaf Productions, Mike and Dave. We got there at 4:30, had a quick talk-through about what we were looking for (during which Cathy was volunteered to handle releases, which she did -- of course -- with style and efficiency), and hit the bar. While the guys got the equipment, Cathy and I settled in at the corner of the bar with a glass of American Pale Ale and Karnival Kölsch respectively, and started looking around for likely subjects for the shoot...and came up empty at first. These were mostly folks who were just there for a couple beers and some dinner.

Then, just as Mike and Dave were getting set up, we ran into a younger couple, Brian and Lauren from Queens, who were on the last day of a five-day beer tour (a birthday present from her to him): Dogfish Head (the brewpub in Rehoboth and the big brewery in Milton), Burley Oak in Maryland, Max's on Broadway (where they caught the leftovers -- about 60 taps worth! -- from Max's huge Belgian event, which I have got to get to one of these years), Lancaster Brewing...and now Stoudt's, for the Winter Fest that night.

They were excited, they were big on craft beer, they were articulate: they were perfect. Cathy got releases, Mike and I prepped them for what we were going to do, Dave flipped on the light...and away we went. Great, and then we did another take with a different trajectory, and that was great, too, so much so that as we walked back to the bar from our "Let's go to the fest right now!" walk out of frame, Brian said, "Let's do another take!" It can be fun, for sure!

As I was settling the tab, Mike got to talking to a couple of men, one an older guy, and said he wanted to talk to them as well. Okay, we set up, loosely blocked out what we'd talk about, and we rolled...and about a minute into it, the guy drops the bomb that he's former Stoudt's brewmaster Mark Worona's father! How cool is that! Mark's a great guy, a good friend, and I still run into him at places like GABF. So we had a good chat, and wrapped that one up...and then we really did head over to the fest.

The Winter Fest is smaller than the other fests they do; about 550 people, and eleven breweries were there, and a pretty hot blues band. Cathy and I did a quick recon of the breweries represented at the event, and picked Mudhook and Evil Genius as our two best, most interesting breweries to talk to (partly because they're pretty new, partly because the brewers were actually there...and partly because the light was really good there).

I talked to Kate and Tim Wheeler at Mudhook; Tim had brought his Deep Sea Stout, and I was taken by it: a big (7%) stout, kind of in the export stout vein, with a lot of flavor, and real ale yeast esters, a beer that hadn't been sanded and polished to the point of effeteness; I liked it, and told him so.

Then we wandered over and talked to Trevor and Luke at Evil Genius, where I sipped a glass of their Good and Evil kölsch. They were really enthusiastic about brewing, and why they do it, and how they're getting ready to jump from contract brewing to getting funding together to do their own place. That was good stuff too.

We wrapped up at the bandstand, a big "Hey, that's our show, we'll be going to more breweries, bars, and festivals, watch for us, I'm gonna go blog now" and a big wet kiss for craft brewing and the folks who love it. Then Mike got his laptop from the car so we could get some shots of me typing away, and...well, I promised I'd blog about it, so I'm blogging. And the show...will be on air soon. More about that shortly. Cheers!

Happy Mother's Day! What did you get your mother?

Cathy was far away today, but she's on her way home now, and when she gets here, I'll greet her with this "Gin Bouquet" I made. I should have clipped more of the Eastern Red Cedar greenery for decoration, didn't realize how flat it was. There's six different gins in there, a bottle of Martini & Rossi vermouth, Rose's Lime Juice, Fentiman's Tonic, Schweppe's Tonic, limes, and pickled onions. No glassware, we've got that coming out our ears!

My mother was a bit easier. I got her a live rosemary bush (she likes herbs) and took her out for dinner: an Italian hoagie at her favorite sub shop. Mum's pretty casual.

So...what'd you get your mother -- of yourself, or of your children -- for Mother's Day? Anyone else buy them booze?

I'm Back

Hope everyone (in America) had a good Thanksgiving holiday; hope the rest of you had a good weekend. The family and the dogs and I went to my parents' for Thanksgiving (the pies were great, and I made a batch of scalloped oysters, too). Cathy and I took off Friday morning for a rental along the Potomac River outside of Sharpsburg, MD; we were celebrating our 20th anniversary. Didn't do much except read, do crosswords, and drink East End Brewing Toaster Imperial Stout in the hot tub. We hiked around the Antietam battlefield a bit, and did some shopping in Shepherdstown, WV, then went out for dinner at Brewer's Alley in Frederick last night. Good pilsner, very good English-type IPA (a 2009 GABF Bronze), and a delicious dessert of Blackfrost barleywine. Then the cottage ran out of water...but that's another story.

Anyway, we're home now, so it's blog-biz as usual. Miss me?

Turkish fish and such

Forgot to put this up last Friday. We were going to go down to the Grey Lodge for Christmas in July, and I figured when Cathy got home, we'd head down into Philly for a quick dinner, just the two of us, and then get beers at the G-Lodge. (Not that I don't like the food there, it's great, but I wanted a chance for Cathy and I to spend some time alone.) I started free-associating a little on Yelp and Chowhound and Google, checking reviews on the local food blogs, and came up with Kilyos Fish & Grill, in Bustleton, a Turkish seafood place. I was intrigued.

I was also wicked pleased. The place itself was nothing to look at: a storefront in a small strip-plaza on Bustleton Ave. But Riza Canca, the owner, greeted us at the door, a very soft-spoken and gently friendly man (he greeted everyone at the door; we were just diners, not reviewers (or drinkers: Kilyos is BYOB, and we didn't BYO, figuring we'd save room for the Christmas treats at the Lodge)), and showed us to a table in the simple, quiet dining room. He explained that the restaurant specialized in simple grilled fish, very fresh, but also had meat and salads.

It smelled wonderful, and we quickly ordered: zucchini pancakes with garlic yogurt sauce (the remnants of which you see above; creamy-rich, with a cool but punchy sauce), eggplant with tomato sauce (if only we knew how to get such a concentration of flavor in eggplant, and what a smooth, melting texture; it could have been less cold, though), and for our meals, St. Peter's Fish (tilapia, filleted and grilled, simple and excellent, without the plastic flakiness I've found in so much tilapia) and grilled lamb patties (juicy, tender, and knock-out aromatic; real lamb what weren't afraid to taste like lamb). We wanted the baklava, but we were both gorged, and promised to come back another time.

God bless the Internet. A storefront in Bustleton, called "Fish & Grill"? (The 'Kilyos' part was hard to find on the sign.) We'd never have found it. So...keep posting reviews on sites like Yelp. It helps. Thanks to everyone who did so for Fish & Grill. It made our Friday.

(Wait, a small rant. Keep posting reviews, but don't be one of those people who bitches about "this waitress" or "the mean bartender." That's not really helpful. If you go back, and service persistently sucks? Okay, mention it, but separate it from the food. I'm willing to put up with crap service if the food's good. Besides...maybe it's you.)

Oh, Christmas in July? Excellent. The Mad Elf alone was worth it, though I went off-topic and got a New Holland Golden Cap Saison, and that was pretty damned good, too.

Brauhaus Schmitz soft opening

Cathy and I went down to the soft opening at Brauhaus Schmitz tonight...ah, Germanness. Teutonicity. It's a nice space, and yes, that's wood at the entrance, right on South Street (there's a nice little concrete fresco on the sidewalk as you enter, too).

We were greeted by Doug Hager, clearly overjoyed to finally be open. He welcomed us, told us to sit anywhere, but we took the opportunity to walk around a bit: the bar, the taps, the interesting 2nd floor with its low ceiling (like a rathskellar on the 2nd floor) and balcony overlooking the bar. Then we sat in the front, and Jess and Amy, our dirndl'd waitresses, took care of us.

I had a Schlenkerla Helles (draft, beautiful), Cathy a crisp glass of Jever. (The beers are not cheap, the 0.5 liter helles was $7.50, but look, you're on South Street, and Philly's not cheap any more; besides, at least it's an honest half liter instead of a 13 oz. shaker "pint.") We got obatzda (cheese butter with caraway and rye bread, done quite well and with enough bread for the spread) and potato pancakes (crisp, light, not oily).

There was also a bread plate, and God bless Doug and Kelly for that: I think it is one of the Crimes of Food that German bread is not fawned over like French bread. Germans have almost as many breads as they have sausages, and it's great. Go, get bread (remember: soft pretzels are bread, and every city's pretzels are different).

Entrees: Cathy got the Gemüsespatzele, spatzele with asparagus and cheese (and other stuff, don't press me), simply delicious. I had the Zigeuenerschnitzel, a crisp yet tender schnitzel with a pepper and onion sauce; sides were rotkohl (maybe a bit too flavorful) and potato salad (where was the speck?). Very good, even better with our second round of beers: a bottle of Augustiner Maximator for Cathy and a liter of Brauhaus Hausbrau (Stoudt's Gold) for me. We split an apple strudel, and groaned as we left.

Overall? 8 out of 10. A couple of small things could be improved, and we told Doug about them. But the space? Great. The menu? True German. The beers? Excellent, draft and bottle. The location? A bit weird when we left, like walking out of Munich into South Street.

I'd suggest doing what we did: toddling around the corner and down 7th St. to Chick's. Walked right into the bar, and said to Phoebe: we have time for one cocktail, what should it be? She rose to the occasion, asked a few questions, and made one, right on the spot, with Laird's Apple Brandy, Grand Marnier, Canton ginger liqueur, and her own Phoebe's Heart of Darkness bitters (strawberries, cacao nibs, and orange peel). Very nice, not sweet (which was one of the things we determined in the cocktail interview), and for a bespoke cocktail...very reasonably priced.

But...it was also quite hefty, and it quickly became apparent to me that it would be best if Cathy drove home.

Brauhaus Schmitz (and Chick's) are going to be on My List. Schmitz won't be open tomorrow, but keep an ear out; they'll be open for good soon, Monday or Tuesday. Go. Drink. Eat. Enjoy.

You Can't Stop the Goat

We did get to the Sly Fox Goat Races on the 3rd. I hustled out of church (had to do 10:30 mass, I was the cantor), got home and changed (and waited around for Cathy to change...), and took off for Phoenixville...slowly. It was pouring rain (little did we know it was just the start of another week of the stuff), and we were wondering if the crowd would be as large or friendly as last year. "We can probably park on-site," I said optimistically. "We'll cruise by instead of going straight to the shuttle lot."

Wow. The size of the crowd in the parking lot made it clear that we were not going to be parking on-site. (But Sly Fox is organized: we took a shuttle bus from satellite parking, and didn't wait more than 3 minutes for it.) The rain had barely dampened the ardor of goat fans. The number estimated by Sly Fox was around 1500, down a bit -- okay, down a quarter -- from last year, though last year was a picnic afternoon on Olympus compared to this wet and raw rainfest (although we did have roving beer service this time). But do you get it? 1500 people came out in the rain to drink bock beer and watch goats race. Amazing.

Still, as I said, this is an important day for beer and while having all those good Sly Fox beers on hand must have helped, I believe that what really brought people out was the good times. People actually complained because they couldn't see the goat races!

The beer was pretty awesome, though. We ran into William Reed right away, and he insisted on getting us two cups of Vienna Lager (great, malty but not thick, wish they'd make more of this). I tried to return the favor with the superlative and much-welcome Charles Bridge Pilsner, but he'd wandered off into the crowd and I gave it to Richard "Victory" Ruch. The Maibock (destined to be named DAX after the winner, shown here in the center of a long shot on his victory strut) was gorgeous, beautifully drinkable, and if I hadn't been at the edge of silly at that point, I'd have had another. I did get one sip of one of the eisbocks, and it was scary good.

The cool kids were definitely in attendance -- brewers, publicans, and others of us in the biz -- but they were by far out-numbered by the general populace: I ran into my kids' elementary school music teacher (and her husband and two toddlers). There were still plenty of very well-behaved kids this year.

That's what had a somewhat blissed Brian O'Reilly and a very happy John Giannopoulis so pleased when I ran into them. The Goat Races was not only still big in the rain, it was still big with the same kind of crowd. Folks brought their families, they watched the silliness of racing goats, they ate good food (really: we had bratwurst, I got some Shellbark Farms chevre), and some of them had really good beer, too. It was a really normal kind of thing; wonderfully so.

Eventually we had to go, before things had wrapped up. We got back on the shuttle bus, went to the car, and I let Cathy drive. But we had one more wonderfully normal thing to do...and I'm going to tell you about that over here. Because it's much more appropriate.

Beer Before Liquor: never slicker

Cathy and I caught a morning flight to San Francisco yesterday, but not before being accosted by two hooligans in the terminal: Don "Joe Sixpack" Russell and Origlio craft/import genius Jim Meiers. They were on their way to Denver for GABF. After a few laughs over Sara Palin's "Joe Sixpack" remarks and how every damned news outlet in the country's been calling Don for an official statement, we headed to our respective flights (funny: Don's actually going to SF from Denver for Sunday's Eagles game...by which time we'll be back in Philly).

After a long flight, we touched down about fifteen minutes late (thanks to some schmuck who insisted on getting up out of his seat while we were taxiing on takeoff), took forever to get our luggage, and then took BART into town, which delivered us half a block from our room at the Marriott Downtown. By the time we were checked in, and had refreshed, it was 3 o'clock, and we had reservations for our traditional "night before the Fest" staff dinner at 21st Amendment. Clearly, we'd have to hustle to squeeze in some other beertime.

Hustle we did: we got back on BART, just timing the train, and went across the Bay to the Downtown Berkeley stop, which is just about two blocks from the beautiful sight you see here: Triple Rock Brewery. I really wanted to get here last year, but it just didn't work out. This year it was by God gonna work out, and it was worth it.

The last time I'd been to Triple Rock was in January, 1988, when I was living in Salinas. I loved the place, the vibe, the juke, the beer! And here I was, back again, with the girl I started dating only six months after that first visit; we even sat in the same seats that my friend Bobby Gryce and I had sat in back in '88. That may sound like a set-up for dashed expectations, but I'm happy to report that Triple Rock lived up to every one of them. The service was quick, smart, and sassy (thanks, Jesse...er, at least, that's what you said your name was to those two road-tripping girls), the grilled veg quesadilla was hot and gooey-delish, and the beer rocked.

On Jesse's recommendation, we had the Harvest Ale (a fresh hop wonder that just reeked of resin, huge hop nose) and a great big stout their last brewer had hammered together as his last brew (very rich, restrained bitterness, chocolate notes, and way too drinkable for the advertised 11% ABV). We got stuck into those pretty quick -- first beer of the day! -- and got another round: Titanium Pale Ale (wickedly drinkable at 7.4, living up to its brilliant "Light but strong!" motto, and really refreshing, too, not whackedly hopped up) and Dragon's Milk (a dry-hopped brown ale that was almost like a dark IPA, quite an assertive beer). I kind of tore into the jalapenos on the quesadilla and needed one more: I wanted to get the Black Rock Porter I'd had 20 years ago, but it was out, so I got another Harvest Ale.

What we didn't get -- and I'm regretting it already -- was a bottle of Monkey Head Arboreal Ale, one of which you see in the pic. They only serve it on Thursdays, and you have to drink it there. I wanted to, but it's 9%, and by the time we got the idea, we only had about 20 minutes left before we had to leave. Maybe next time, because the idea of a beer that's only served on Thursdays intrigued me. Meantime, we got into a very nice conversation with a woman who came in and grabbed the stool next to Cathy, who turned out to be a cancer researcher, and they were talking shop a mile a minute. Me, I just relaxed and drank in the vibe. Triple Rock was just how I remembered it, and that's a wonderful thing.

We hustled down to the BART station and once again timed the train on the button -- dumb luck, or as Cathy called it, "the Brother System," explaining that her brothers never planned anything and things just always fell into place. Hell of a system! We got back in time to meet everyone at the hotel, and Amy whistled up a limo (I swear, the woman's addicted to limos) to take us to 21st Amendment...which is going to have to wait for another post, because it's time to walk and grab breakfast before doing set-up for the festival.

WhiskyFest, here we come

Cathy and I are leaving for WhiskyFest San Francisco this morning. We'll do the usual: hit a few bars, drink a few drinks, see the sights, and help put on the best whisky event in the world. More to come...

The Session #20 -- Beer Memories

It's The Session, beer blogging on a common topic, and this month it's "Beer memories." See all the links soon here at Bathtub Brewery.

"Beer memories" could, I suppose, be memories of beers. Most of the really good beers I've had, though, have been with people around; beer's like that, it's social. So there are beers for many of the important people in my life. I'd like to introduce you to some of them.

Genesee Beer: My wife, Cathy. I fell hard for Cathy the second time around...it's a long story. But I laid my heart open for her one weekend in the Catskills with our gang of college friends, about 20 of us tubing on the Esopus Creek. She needed time to think about it; I was anxious but trying to seem nonchalant. So while everyone else went off to a swimming hole, she and I and our friend Bobby retired to the bar. The only beer they had was Genesee, and Cathy ordered three, clinked the cold bottles with us, and drank with gusto. I was in love, and my girl liked beer. I'll never, ever forget that beer, that moment, in the bar at the Antrim Lodge in Roscoe, New York. We've had a lot of really great beers together since then, and a few before that, but that's the beer I think of with her, cold and fresh in the first bloom of love.

Spaten Optimator: Cathy's oldest brother, Chris. I grew up with one sister, just the two of us. When I started dating Cathy seriously, I got to know her three younger brothers. One weekend, Cathy and I were up at her home, east of Poughkeepsie. We didn't have anything to do, so we went and toured some Hudson Valley vineyards, and Chris, similarly at loose ends, came along. We had some really gross sweet wine -- Niagara semi-sweet red, almond-flavored champagne -- saw some great scenery, and wound up in Beacon. We stopped in a little store, and found a sixpack of Optimator. We went down to the sandy beach at Little Stony Point, across the broad Hudson from Storm King Mountain, and in a windy skirl of light snow, drank the Optimator. We didn't say much, but I felt, that day, that I'd been accepted...and for the first time in my life, I had a brother. It was a good day, and a damned good beer.

Samichlaus: Cathy's middle brother, Curt. Cathy's family lived in Dover Plains, New York, and the beer choices in the early 1990s were pretty damned limited. There was a store about half an hour away, though, that had a decent selection, so about 1 on Saturday afternoons, Curt or Chris and I would head down there and stock up. One cold day all three of us went, and we got four bottles of Samichlaus along with a couple sixers of Saranac. Chris was driving, but Curt and I decided to open a Sami. We passed it back and forth, kind of like taking turns stepping behind a mule to get kicked, and got jovial real quick. Curt had always been -- and still is -- taciturn, but under the Swiss hammer, he got red-faced (we were onto a second bottle by now), laughing, and almost chatty. That was the day I finally got to know Curt. Thanks, Sami.

Okocim Porter: Cathy's youngest brother, Carl. This was a more somber occasion. Carl was living in Virginia by now. It was a rough time; Cathy's father was dying of cancer. Cathy was already up at the home; he'd been moved home by the hospice (who were great, and we still send them money every year) and the end was coming close. Carl drove up to our house from Virginia late on Friday night, in February, I think. My parents came down to watch Thomas and Nora (very young at the time), and Carl and I left early Saturday morning. When we got near Harriman, we decided to get off for coffee, and happened on a farm market. Impulse buy: we got a bar of horseradish cheddar, coffee, and some donuts, then got off the Thruway and headed east on Rt. 6 into the state park. It was snowing by now, so we decided to pull off rather than eat cheese while driving. One thing led to another, and I pulled out a big brown bottle of Okocim Porter. We stood back in the woods, silent, and passed the heavy, sweet, roasty beer back and forth as the snow drifted down through the trees. He and I remember that well, a day when we felt the years coming down on our backs, when we were becoming older men as the torch passed. Okocim is a beer I don't approach lightly; it is wrapped in memories, and opening one stirs them up.

Victory Root Beer: my son, Thomas. I got laid off when the company I was working for crashed and burned in early 1994. I was on unemployment for four months before finding work. One morning, Thomas, who was three at the time, said to me, "Daddy, why don't you go to work any more?" I felt about that tall. Fast-forward to 1996, when the writing was really starting to pick up, and he and I are sitting at the long bar at Victory, him with a Victory root beer, me with a HopDevil. And suddenly I smiled, and said to him, "Do you remember when you asked me why I don't go to work any more?" Yes, he said, puzzled. "Well," I said, and spread my arms wide, "here we are at work!" That was the day I knew I'd found what I was going to do, and realized that I really could do it.

Sierra Nevada Pale Ale: my best friend and Thomas's godfather, Tom Curtin. I moved to California in August of 1987, driving from Kentucky in a Volvo diesel station wagon. TC, a solid college friend who I'd spent many a crazed moment with, flew out to Denver to join me for the trip. We drove across Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada, crazy driving of miles and miles and miles, and when we got to Lake Tahoe, we were ready for a break. We rented a boat, and went out on the lake; it was a great day. It was also the day I had my first Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, and that was great, too. All cemented in my mind and memory, inseparable.

My last homebrew: my daughter, Nora. When Cathy was pregnant with Nora, I brewed up a batch of peach ale with the last ripest peaches of the summer. It fermented, I racked it, and it sat in secondary for two months. I bottled it -- "My Little Peach" -- about three weeks before she was born in January. A month later my company fell apart, two weeks after that my father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer. I remember sitting at home, not spending money, watching the snow fall as I held my beautiful sleeping baby girl in my arms. And I never homebrewed again. I had become Mister Mom, and I just didn't have the time or inclination.

Beer takes me back to memories sometimes. Just seeing a label, just taking a sip, just thinking. Sometimes, most times, actually...it's just a beer. But you never know when you might be making a memory. Cheers, to my friends and family, and to all those with memories of beer.

Brewer Matrimony

Saturday, Cathy and I went up to Stoudt's for the wedding celebration of Whitney Thompson and Larry Horwitz, who are, besides being our friends, brewers at Tröegs and Iron Hill North Wales, respectively. We had a great time -- other than the experiences Jack and I had with numb bartenders, first at Union Barrel Works and then at the Holiday Inn -- and Jack has done a surprisingly jovial job of recounting the evening at his blog. Go have a look. It was a fun time, and I did love the drinks card at the party: long and loving descriptions of the Tröegs and Iron Hill beers available, followed by one line at the bottom:

"Wines -- Red, White, and Pink."

How's it feel to be the trivialized ones for a change, grape punks?

Speaking of vegetables...

We got this goofy-looking eggplant in our CSA box yesterday. It's got a nose on it, kinda looks like Jughead from the Archie comics...only dark purple, of course.

So I shared a picture of Cathy modeling it. Hey, it's summer, it's silly season, and I'm trying to crank out three stories before I leave for a trip to visit A-B's maltings in Idaho Falls and some barley farmers. I just finished one of the stories, and I'm taking a break. Think of it as a promise of better stuff to come.