Back in San Francisco

It's WhiskyFest season again, and I've been running around the Bay Area since Wednesday evening. The Malt Advocate staff, all six of us, landed around 5 local, just in time to get the news of Doc Halladay's epochal postseason no-hitter. We were pumped for the evening. The women headed out to dinner, John and Jamie and I headed for Toronado and a rendezvous with beers and Dave "Big Daddy" Keene.

We found 'em. I got stuck into a Moonlight Death and Taxes schwarz right quick, then Brian's Twist of Fate and Bombay by Boat, both on cask. We got sausages from Rosamunde next door (got my usual Merguez, awesome, and had a bite of a "spare" Thai chicken with slaw and satay; outstanding), then moved into the back room to try four vintages of Cable Car (sigh...), and dove into the big Duvel you see Dave holding up here (that's Jamie in the background). We wound up heading out to the Pi Bar (more Death & Taxes and a couple slices), then closed the hotel bar (Trumer Pils, always welcome).

Dang. I thought I'd get more written -- about lunch with Jay Brooks at Triple Rock, Beer Revolution,  vegan soul food (really), Angel's Envy, a beautiful mojito at Zuni Cafe, and a dram of 35 year old Ardbeg this morning with Rachel Barrie...but I've been watching the Blue Angels roar through the amazingly blue sky over the city, and Thomas called to let me know he got part of his birthday present (a fog gun, because 19 year old guys need toys too), and, well...I'll write more later. Gotta go to WhiskyFest right now!

WhiskyFest San Francisco: the wrap-up

As I said, Friday morning Jamie Fox and I walked up to Dottie's True Blue to get breakfast. We stood in line for about 20 minutes (and the line just got longer and longer), talking to some people from Harrisburg, then got two seats at the counter: front-row on the action. I went simple this time and got an omelette with bacon, mushrooms, and spinach. Yum, but the buttermilk dill toast was the absolute kickass part of the meal.

Kind of frittered away much of the rest of the day. Walked around the area a bit, did a little shopping (needed a new charger for my mp3 player, trinkets for the family, suchlike), then went back and watched the Phillies till it was time to get showered and dressed for the fest. We went California casual this year: sportscoat, no tie, and it felt good.

The fest went very well. We increased the number of tickets by almost 50% (1800) and sold out! We'd also increased the size of the ballroom, and the crowd density was just about perfect this time. Wish we could hit that balance with WhiskyFest NY. The seminars, my responsibility, were all well-attended and smooth. We only had one 'over-refreshed' patron; he was taken care of courteously by the hotel staff.

Whisky? I never have time. Had a very nice Caol Isla that Lorne Mackillop suggested -- thanks for that! -- and a Dalmore 15 with Willie Tait. Hmmm... couple Glendronachs, and a High West Rendezvous Rye. Enough! The Fest was over, and after John and I made a beer run (Sierra Nevada Anniversary, pinot grigio, snacks and nuts), we had a short after-party in John & Amy's room, then called it a successful night. Had to get up early for the flight home; uneventful, and made it in time to sing in a 7:00 concert, which was successful too.

Going on the Drinko: Day Two in San Francisco

I never did get back to you on the rest of the trip to San Francisco. After puttering about, showering and getting dressed, some e-mail, some reading I had to do, and such, I called Jamie Fox -- husband of long-time Malt Advocate staffer Kathy Fox, and a good friend -- and asked him if he had anything planned for lunch. How about we go across the Bay and hit two brewpubs in Berkeley, I temptingly offered. He quickly accepted, and we grabbed a BART train at about 11:15 for the trip to Berkeley Downtown.

Jupiter is right across the street from the station, intriguingly close and signed with a script neon that had called to me last year...but I had no time then. This year I did, and Jamie and I crossed the street and went in. They'd just opened, and the bar still smelled a bit of sour beer from the night before, so we wandered out back into a lovely little beer oasis, with a fountain pool that had a gas flame firepit in the middle; quite Elemental. We sat under the arbor, relaxed, and it was good.

Even better, so was the beer. I had a very nice glass of helles, which pleased me immensely: a brewpub lager, in California, and it was delish! I hadn't had anything to eat yet, and quickly ordered the Asian chicken skewers (good, and the peanut sauce was good, but not tremendous). Mostly we just relaxed and enjoyed the moment, the beautiful weather, the peaceful spot, and the friendly attentions of our waitress, Elizabeth. When the time was right, I ordered my lunch, a Galileo pizza: artichoke hearts, mushrooms, cheeses, garlic, spinach, and diced fresh tomato. And a porter, which was also quite nice; just a touch chocolatey, very drinkable.

Eventually, we left, though not before discovering that I'd apparently lost four credit cards! Luckily I had plenty of cash, and paid up with that. (I would eventually learn that the cards had dropped out of my wallet in a cab the night before; no harm, no foul, just a bit of angst.)

Up Shattuck we walked to Triple Rock. So comfortable, so welcoming, so friendly. I stuck to porter, and enjoyed it, and enjoyed the interplay of bar patrons. Nice people at Triple Rock, an older crowd -- at least, during the day when I've been there the last two years -- and Jamie was happy with it. After our first round, we noticed that our time was running down -- had to get back to the hotel to do some WhiskyFest work -- so we got right to the business we'd come for: a liter bottle of Monkey Head Arboreal Ale, a specialty beer brewed for Triple Rock at Drake's and only available on Thursdays; I don't know why, but I missed it last year and I wanted it.

Well...it was okay. It was good, it was solid, but it wasn't compelling. I was saddened, but not enough to put a dent on this great afternoon. The credit card situation was maybe preying on my mind a bit, to be honest. We pulled stakes and got back on the BART to the hotel.

A little work, and then we went out to see Parker Beam and the Heaven Hill folks at Rickhouse, a new bourbon bar: John and Amy Hansell, the hard-working Joan McGinley, and myself (we supposed Jamie was under the drink flag, but it was actually Kathy who was napping!). Good time, but hot up in the upper balcony/mezzanine. Delish drinks: a punch made, I believe, with Bernheim wheat whiskey, or maybe that was in the second drink, a smash with a blazingly fresh and aromatic mint leaf on top. I got into a conversation with a rep from Bols, who was shocked to learn that not only did I know what genever was, I was a fan, and had five different bottles at home, none of which were her product. What can I say, I like the stuff.

After that, we headed for Magnolia Pub & Brewery, where we were to be met again by Dave Keene. It was hopping, and we put our names in for a table and headed for the bar. At least, John and I did; we thought Amy and Joan were with us, but we lost them. We had headed in different directions (why would you head in any direction other than the bar?). We hadn't gotten the bartender's attention yet when a waitress said she had a booth open that she could put a chair to; would that do? Sure! We sat, and quickly ordered pints of cask Marin IPA. By God, they were just about perfect.

Unfortunately, we would have problems getting more of them, as our waitress at that point seemed to get very confused, and would bring us Marin Mt. Tam Pale Ale every time thereafter, despite John's telling her, This is not the beer I ordered. She brought him another Mt. Tam, and we gave up. It was good, but it wasn't the IPA. I short-circuited the problem by ordering cask Cole Porter, a house beer, and it was good.

The two women had rejoined us at this point, and Dave had arrived, so we fell to our dinners, which were excellent (rare burger, heavenly). When dins was over, we walked out into the warm early evening (it was actually quite warm, and a bit muggy, and no one has AC in SF...), looked up and down Haight, and thought about options. Amy and Joan grabbed a cab and headed for Bourbon & Branch; Dave and John and I decided to walk up Haight to Alembic. We were all thinking cocktail, something light, cool, sippy, and sophisticated.

However...Alembic was jammed (and hot), so we reluctantly went back out to the street, and caught our own cab to Bourbon & Branch. What's the password, the doorkeeper asked. WhiskyFest, we answered, and he said, that'll do. We went to Joan and Amy's table, tucked into the back room, and ordered drinks...which arrived just after we left on a tour of the whole place, including the Library and the new cigar bar. Great tour, fascinating bar with a lot of history, and a lot has been put into making it just so. Unfortunately, when we got back, our drinks had been sitting for almost half an hour, and they were limp and exhausted. The waitress got us fresh ones, but we weren't knocked out by them.

Hmmm...lemme see the menu. I was hot, which was part of the problem, so I looked for a tall drink, something more refreshing. How about this: a Democrat, bourbon, peach liqueur, honey, and fresh lemon juice in a collins glass full of ice. Sounds great! Best of all, I quipped, it's a Democrat: someone else will pay for it! (just a joke, folks...) It was delicious, cold and refreshing.

It was also the end. I walked back to the hotel -- everyone else took a cab, and only beat me by about minute -- and hit the hay. Jamie and I had planned to hit Dottie's True Blue for breakfast Friday morning, and I had to get rested!

Drinking San Francisco

I've been doing the drinko in San Francisco since we arrived in town for WhiskyFest on Wednesday afternoon. (The six-hour flight was just barely tolerable...thanks to my new 3 oz. flask! Nothing like some bourbon on ice to ease the tedium and put a new perspective on how much six hours in a toothpaste tube sucks.) We landed about 1:30, and shortly after that John Hansell got on the phone to call David Keene, the owner of Toronado, about meeting us for a beer at the bar. Hey, David says, I'm just 15 minutes away, I'll come pick you up. And he did, in a monster Ford F-150 Platinum.

There was an odd moment; we had to get gas, and pulled into a station...and there were motorcycle cops all over, and two huge, plainly bullet-proof limos, a couple Suburbans with weird antennae on the roofs, and what sure as hell looked like a bomb disposal truck...all with Maryland or DC plates. Strange vibes, and we got the gas and got out. I didn't take any pictures. (Sure enough, we found out the next day, Obama was to be in town, and we'd filled up with his convoy.)

So Toronado was having a little fresh hop beer fest, and David started pouring beers. First one was Speakeasy's Big Daddy, and the fresh hops put the aroma over the top. Next was Port Brewing High Tide, which did not blow me away; not a lot of aroma on this one. We took a break and ran next door to Rosamunde's for sausage; I got the Merguez with onions and mustard, very good, solidly meaty. Then I took a break from IPA and got the glass of English Ales Black Prince Porter (cask) you see above. Very nice, chocolatey, good condition, and I enjoyed it quite a bit.


Then we adjourned to the back room, where we got another round of fresh hop -- Dempsey's 707, which was quite lively, dry, had a bit of a dandelion wine character -- and David started getting out the crazy stuff. We were soon drinking three vintages of Port Brewing Cable Car, the Toronado beer that makes beer geeks pee themselves. Distinctly different; the 2007 vintage was now quite soft, the 2008 had some creaminess and sharper funk going on, and the 2009 was strikingly more carbonated, with strong citrus notes. John couldn't help himself; he started blending, and soon came up with a blend that was more than the sum of its parts. We got some Sierra Nevada Estate at this point: delish, better than the bottle I'd had earlier in the week. Draft was more aromatic.

More craziness: a bottle of Russian River's Toronado XX anniversary beer. This damned beer had it all going on: chocolate, tartness, cherry, a twist of smoke, a beer that really rewarded contemplation. The room got a bit quieter as we drank it. Then someone said they wanted something dark and not sour, more sweet. David got up and left the table, and we just kept drinking...next thing we know he's back with a bottle of Malheur Dark Brut. Delicious stuff, first time I'd had the dark. "Wow," I posted to Facebook, "Good and fizzy and sweet and complexity. Cheers!" Indeed.

Yes, "complexity." We were getting a bit buzzed by this time, and decided to take a break. We dropped in on two "Whisky Week" events at Alembic (where we ran into the very cheerful and pleasant David Perkins of High West, and I had some rye whiskey drink with a cucumber garnish) and Elixir, showing the Malt Advocate flag, as it were. And then we went and had dinner at a new place David Keene is partner in, the π Bar.

Okay, it's actually the Pi Bar, but I wanted to show off. Pi Bar is simple: pizzas, salads, a little pasta (I got the pasta bolognese, and liked it), and good beer and wine. And it was all good. the anchovies were a high point: locally cured, fleshy, mild, delicious. I got a glass of Deschutes Black Butte (cuz I could, which I can't at home) and then Moonlight Death & Taxes, a black lager with some roasty dark malt authority. I took to the Death and Taxes rather strongly.

When we broke up to head back to the hotel, I texted my friend Steve Jackson, who lives in SF, and asked him if he wanted to meet me at Zeitgeist. Sure, so I walked down Velencia 1.5 miles and walked into the place...and got carded! Yeah! Really! It was great. No Steve yet, so I grabbed another Death & Taxes and waited for him. We got caught up (had a Drake's Porter, too) and had some laughs, but it was getting late. I said good-bye, and walked another 1.5 miles down Mission to the hotel.

A good day. Thursday would be a good day too. More soon.

Jay Brooks Takes Over

Very glad to see Jay Brooks taking over Bill Brand's On Beer column at the Bottoms Up Bay Area drinks blog. It was a complete shock when Bill passed away after a tragic accident (during San Francisco Beer Week), and it's a nice sense of completion as Jay picks up the pen.

Congratulations, Jay. You are the man for the position.

Say a prayer for Bill Brand

One of our own, long-time Bay Area reporter and beer writer Bill Brand, is in a coma and listed as critical after being hit by a commuter train. Here's the story, reported on his own blog (shared with a wine writer). It would be a terrible thing at any time, but it's particularly stunning during San Francisco Beer Week.

I've never met Bill, but we've corresponded and I'm a regular reader of his blog. He is one of the best of us, thoughtful, realistic, and sharp-eyed, and just damned enthusiastic and unabashed about the beers he likes. Think good thoughts, wish him luck, pray: whatever it is you do to influence fate, do it. I want to meet Bill Brand.

Tuesday at 1:26: Just read on Jay's blog that Bill's been upgraded to stable. Very good news.

Big Daddy and more oysters

Friday morning we got up early and walked out in the brisk, breezy morning, up the hill to Dottie's True Blue Cafe. Great timing: we walked right in the door and sat down at a table, and didn't miss the usual wait in line at all (by the time we left, the line was out the door). Lots of good coffee floated us through breakfast; I had a lamb-fennel sausage and goat cheese scramble with their buttermilk dill bread, Cathy had a whiskey fennel sausage omelette with grilled cornbread. Plenty of good chow, and neither of us felt a need for more till about 6:00 that night.

We walked back to the hotel and got to work on set-up for WhiskyFest: setting up the tables for registration and sales, putting up our signage (we've gone pro with retractable stand-up banners, but one of them needed some banging and convincing to work properly), and sorting the hundreds of ID bands for VIP and regular guests. By about 11 AM we were done. We went up to the room, cleaned up a little, and walked down to 4th Street Bar & Deli.

I know I've said places are JAFSB (Just Another Freakin' Sports Bar), and 4th Street largely was...but we weren't there for sports TV or wings, we were there for beer. I started with a Speakeasy Big Daddy IPA, the beer that John had told me they had here. Great stuff: not just hoppy, it's built on a base of solid, sweet maltiness, a nice solid West Coast IPA. Then I got to looking at the full beer menu -- got a taste of Speakeasy's White Lightning, a surprisingly pleasant filtered West Coast hefe (real style-snake biting its own tail, there) -- and lo and behold, there was Russian River Damnation. JAFSB? Well, not quite! After I finished that little beauty, and Cathy finished her iced tea, she went off to shop for make-up at Sephora (what a look she had on her face), and I went back to the room.

I hadn't more than sat down when an idea hit me: call Jim McGinley, husband of our events manager, Joan. Jim's a fun guy I don't get to hang out with enough, and he's usually up for a beer. I got hold of him, and we were soon hiking up to Johnny Foley's. It was time for Guinness! We grabbed two pints and lubed our conversation. Damned good jars, poured properly, and didn't it drive me to get a half-dozen oysters on the half-shell? Yes indeed, and they were delish. (Weird moment: recognized the song on the sound system as the Boomtown Rats "Someone's Looking At You," a song I haven't heard anywhere except on my own stereo for years.) Another pint, some great stories, and then we headed back to the hotel to get spruced up for WhiskyFest.
Things were a bit rough this year at first -- our first time at this hotel, which always takes some adjusting -- but soon ran very smoothly. We had some amazing whiskies that distillers had donated to raise money for charity (San Francisco's FoodRunners): five years of the Glenfarclas Family Casks, five bottles of Glenlivet Cellar Collection, and four one-time, one-bottle special bottlings of The Macallan, selected by four current and past distillery managers. That was just kind of cool to see the labels sporting "Bottle 1 of 1." Cathy wound up pouring the Glenfarclas, and had a fun time with it.

And once again, I ran into Ethan Prater. It's all webs, folks. Hmmm...they're calling my flight. Gotta go. More in a while, including why I'm catching a flight.

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...

Top Ten: Favorite Cities

The monthly not-usually-drink-related Lew's Top Ten. This month, a truly off-the-top-of-my-head list of the cities and towns I most like to visit or have most enjoyed on a single visit. Thoroughly me-centric, and I'm not anywhere near as well-traveled as I'd like to be...but it's what I've got. As always, the list is unranked, in the order I happened to write them down, and as I've done in the past, I cheated a little by shoving some close cities together.

1. Portland, Maine. The first time I drove into Portland, it was 72°, blue sky with a few clouds, and I bought a paper and looked at the want ads. Just a marvelous city, surrounded by water, fed by the water (and B&M Beans), and blessed with some solid beer joints. A little gem.




2. Chicago. Cathy and I have been enjoying the blazes out of Chicago for quite a few years now, thanks to WhiskyFest Chicago and our good friends, George and Sue Sarmiento, both Chicago natives who have shown us some of the fun to be had there (and Frank E., and Terry and Monica Sullivan...yeah, all you guys). Great museums, the Lake, the German joints (and Polish joints, and Ukrainian joints, and Swedish joints, and Irish joints...), and some truly excellent beer spots. A great city to walk around in, to dine in, to have a hell of a time in.

3. San Francisco. Simply gorgeous, in a way most cities only hope for. The Bay's a wonderful window on the world (and Oakland), the bridges are inspiring, and there are bars here that have been serving for well over a century. The people are very interesting and friendly (friendlier than I remember from the 1980s, actually), the food is outstanding, and the romance is palpable.
4. Portland, Oregon. Only been once, can't wait to return. Portland has a smaller beauty, and an intense desire to better itself that is much more appealing than it sounds. One of the best beer scenes in the world, of course (although believe me, guys...we know you know...), and a happy worn-in attitude about it.

5. Bamberg. How can you not like a town with so many good breweries, so much history and preserved architecture, walkable and beautiful? I'd go back every year if I could.






6. Toronto. Good beer in excellent places, great transit, old buildings, the St. Lawrence Market, and vibe just shimmering off it. And of course, The Lake, right there, which Toronto makes the most of. Love visiting this town, any month of the year.








7. Düsseldorf/Köln. I picked both to avoid the arguments, yes. Hate to disappoint the folks who told me to skip Köln (and kölsch) and just stay in D-dorf and drink altbier: I love both, and I particularly love the places they're served. Actually, if I were going to go on where they're served, Köln might have a slight edge, if only because of numbers. But truly, both wonderful places, -- not just for beer, for people and architecture and setting and history -- and I'm hoping to make them a yearly visit.




8. Ghent. I really am picking Ghent over Brussels, after only one visit to each. It may be because I was a bit overwhelmed by Brussels (may be that I was a bit over-served there...), but mostly it's the canals and the look of Ghent. I'm a sucker for water, and Ghent has so much of it. It's also of a more manageable size than Brussels for a first-time visit. My opinion may well change (especially after I get to Brugge), but for now: top ten.


9. Madison. Spectacular lake setting, and when it's really on, it's beautiful here. The people are wonderful, the beer culture is the closest thing to Germany I've encounted in the U.S., and the brewpubs rock. Another town I'd re-locate to in a heartbeat.

10. Washington/Baltimore. I hate the heat, I despise humidity. These towns can be miserable with it. But I love them; DC for the bustle, the international character and attractions of such a relatively small city, the Smithsonian, the embassies, and all the goings-on. Baltimore is special for its real personality, a town that has as much individual character as Boston or New York, some great beer bars and brewpubs, a gorgeous ballpark, and the whole harborside thing, and the exceptional seafood. Always happy to visit these towns; need to do that again soon.

WhiskyFest San Francisco: Day One

We've arrived in San Francisco for WhiskyFest; got in last night, actually. We got to the Hyatt at 6:10, and by 6:50 we were on our way to the Toronado, which is, well, one of the best damned beer bars in the country. At least, I'd been told that, and had no reason to doubt it, but...I'd never been. So we went.

And we did get stuck into it. That's Toronado owner Dave Keene, me, and Malt Advocate publisher John Hansell...well, last night John wasn't the publisher. He was a guy who'd been going to Toronado for years, hanging out with his buddy Dave. I was lucky enough to tag along.

I was also lucky enough to be in time for dinner from Rosamunde's Sausage Grill next door. Oh, God, yum. Dave and John each got their beer sausage, Cathy had a duck sausage (with figs), I had a merguez (smoked lamb and beef), and Jim McGinley (husband of our magazine manager, Joan) had a hot Italian. I had a bite of Cathy's, and I can definitely report that our two were superb. Gawd. Two landmarks I definitely wanted to visit, down in two hours. Rock on!

Before anyone thinks this has turned into "Seen Through A Big Piece of Meat," let me say that the El Toro Deuce I started the evening with was great: hoppy and fresh, not overpowering. Then we had glasses of the Toronado 20th Anniversary that Vinnie Cilurzo had brewed at Russian River, and it was arresting: sour, deep, with a deftly woven character of oak and teasing sweetness that grew towards the end of the swallow. I also had a Moonlight Sublimmminal IPA (I think that's how they spelled it) from the cask (four handpumps, BTW: all pouring): an interesting project. Dave said it was all mash-hopping and dry-hopping, no hops in the kettle. Very good, and quite drinkable. A sip of John's Blind Pig IPA (Russian River) brought back memories of this beer from GABF in 1996, wow. It's a shame this beer gets overlooked in the rush to the Pliny's.

Wow. So now Cathy and I are in our room on Monday morning, ready to head out. This is the view, a picture I just took a minute ago. We're going to walk for about an hour, have breakfast, and do some sightseeing: tour of Anchor Brewing at 1:00, meeting a friend for beers at 5, and then going out for a big staff dinner. Should be fun.