Salt Point Brewery

 

Located not far from Cayuga Lake and Ithaca, this popular brewery utilizes the outdoor setting as well as local farmers and producers for its craft food and beer. The snack board, a modified charcuterie, is a mixture of local cheeses, olives, seeds, dried fruit, and cured meats. Even though we chose the Margherita, the wood-fired sourdough pizzas are interesting and unique. (For example, the pizza special on the night we were there was a peach and pork belly pizza.) For dessert, we had the excellent Nutella burdino, which immediately demanded a recipe search.

Uncle Hazy IPA

My beer of choice was Uncle Hazy IPA (6.5% ABV), definitely hazy with a slight bitter edge. I liked it enough to take a 4-pack home.

Nutella budino

The atmosphere is lively and convivial, making it difficult, especially on a Friday evening, to find a seat to have dinner.

Address: Salt Point Brewery, 6 Louise Bement Ln, Lansing, NY 14882

 

BRLO (Berlin)

 

Nursing a Blurred Vision IPA for a few extra minutes of enjoying pleasant, if not threatening, weather. A sparrow is trying to manage and protect a huge chunk of bread, but rivals make that job increasingly difficult. Many people are sneezing because of the high pollen levels.

Pulled kikok chicken sandwich with red cabbage-tomato salsa, beetroot yogurt, and roasted onions. BRLO Blurry Vision Hazy IPA.

Rough Edges Brewery (Waynesboro, PA)

 

After an early evening outdoor jazz concert in Main Street Park with Paul Bollenback and Pat Bianchi, and an excellent meal at Sapporo Japanese restaurant, we wandered down to Rough Edges Brewery for an after-dinner beer. Recently renovated, the converted storefront with tin ceilings is spacious and inviting. We opted instead for the limited outdoor seating along West Main Street to watch the world go by on a late summer evening.

I sampled the Promiscuous Strange Porter 4.7ABV.

Black Swan roll from Sapporo Restaurant

At dinner we met a couple who were enjoyable interesting rolls at the Japanese restaurant. I had noticed them earlier at the concert because the man was wearing a Michigan Tech t-shirt, the university located in Houghton in the Upper Peninsula. While chatting we learned it was the couple’s anniversary and we mused about the weather and beauty of the area. After they left, the encounter led to a sanguine conversation about when we could return to the Keweenaw and enjoy the quiet, beautiful summers of Northern Michigan. 

Rough Edges Brewery

 

The art deco style Wayne Building in Waynesboro

Beamish

 

Brewed in Dublin, Guinness has become a global icon of Irishness. The black stout represents the country with global marketing campaigns, is a major sponsor, and is on the checklist for many visitors to the island. Its counterpart, brewed in Cork, has an equally interesting history, but does not enjoy the fame or global reach. Nevertheless, Beamish is an Irish tradition far off the radar of many tourists set to buy overpriced Guinness apparel in tourist shops.

Dating from 1792, Beamish is today brewed by the Heineken company in Cork. It retains its original recipe that creates a beer that is pleasantly bitter with a creamy texture. While occasionally found outside of Ireland, it is primarily brewed for domestic consumption.

Nønsuch Brewing Company, Winnipeg

 

A funky, but elegant, brewpub wedged between the River Walk and Chinatown section of the city. After checking my vaccination record and identification, the female server commented that it must be my first time visiting given that I was from Pennsylvania. COVID protocols meant that ordering and serving was done through a phone app, but the service, nonetheless, was kind and friendly. I ordered deviled eggs and Baltic Porter. At first one might think that the combination was strange, and I would tend to agree. However, a commercial during the hockey game on television the night before, from Canadian egg producers, argued that having a egg as a snack was not weird. And it was weird to think otherwise. No doubt that I was primed by the commercial, but I also remember that in the early twentieth century it was common for bars in the United States to serve hard boiled eggs as well.

Despite the rather plain exterior, the interior of Nønsuch is lavishly decorated in soothing colors. Comfortable tables and couches, with soft lighting set a mood. A small after work clientele made up most of the patrons. Most of the tables would turnover before a Friday night rush. Electronic music played in the background, capping off a sophisticated, cool ambiance.

The Baltic Porter was described as, “A deceptively smooth gateway to the dark side.” At 6.8% abv it certainly was. After asking how I liked it, I told my server that the description was accurate. Without know the alcohol content, it would have been very easy to have another one or two. With a mile and a quarter walk back to the hotel, and at 5:30 in the afternoon, a second beer would likely have meant an early night for me.

Thinking about Montreal

Montreal is a hip town, where even a house band in the local brew pub sounds cool while singing, “A Few of My Favorite Things” in French. Although it is a wonderful city in the summer, it is more appropriate to explore Vieux Montreal with a chill in the air and a bracing wind. It puts us in the moment; I am aware of my surroundings and the warmth each building potentially provides. I made my way to a local brew pub, where the beer was rated as excellent and the ambiance was inviting.

Sitting near the bar at a high-top table, I watch people enjoy the evening, good beer, and interesting food. Between my poor French and the loud background noise, I could only understand about ten percent of the conversations around me, but I can deduce what is going on. Two young men at the table next to me discuss their frustration at work; while a couple behind me are on a date, peppering each other a series of questions.

It is the second week in November and the late fall is making its impact felt as a light and persistent rain changes over to snow shortly after sundown. With sunset at 4:30 in the afternoon, a 7:30 dinner feels like a late-night supper. I enjoyed my light dinner and the drafted beer so much, a few nights later I cajoled Kevan into accepting a Saturday dinner invitation at the Bistro-Brasserie Les Soeurs Grises. I had a pint of the Appât-Si-Noir before we had dinner and duck carpaccio as an appetizer. As we chatted, I noted the television behind the bar each had different hockey games. People would occasionally steal a glance to keep themselves updated on the games that mattered.

When I returned to the hotel after dinner, I rode the elevator with two guys, dressed in complete fan attire, who just came from the Canadiens game. I asked about the game, and they recounted with great detail the exploits and highlights of the game. I mentioned I had been to the game Thursday night and I spent the rest of the elevator ride recounting my experiences.

It has been fourteen years since I attended my last baseball game at Olympic stadium. Yet, there is a deep imprint the Expos has left on the city. Youppi, the team mascot transferred to the Canadiens and you can by a costume at the team store. Also available are Expos T-shirts, jerseys and baseball cards. One might even imagine that the team never left, and was never having trouble drawing any fans to the games.

​

Walking the Royal Canal (Part 2)

On an overcast day, a little over a week later, I returned to Mullingar to explore more of the canal. My ambitions were high that afternoon: to walk from the center of town to a small pub, Mary Lynch’s, approximately seven-and-a-half miles toward the east. The weather was cooler, a pleasant 63°F, and the only demands on my time was the bus schedule to allow me to return to Mullingar at a reasonable time.

The previous week I had walked to where the N52 crossed over the canal and path, approximately a mile-and-a-half out of Mullingar. Thus, tried to move swiftly through the area, and it seemed to take forever to get back to N52. On my previous walk I had been concentrating on birds. This walk I became fascinated with the windflowers and the bees that roamed from flower to flower.

Quickly, it felt as if I were walking in remote areas. Probably because it was a Tuesday afternoon, I saw very few people on the trail. There were several overgrown paths leading from the trail, most were overgrown and appeared not to have been used in quite a while. In Scotland, the right to roam makes it less daunting to explore the odd and intriguing path. The idea is that as long as you are recreating, committing no harm, you can walk virtually anywhere in the wilderness. But this does not apply to Ireland. There are far fewer no trespassing signs, or signs warning to beware of dogs, then in the United States; however, there are some. I overcame my trepidation and took a side path, which was not particularly well marked, up a hill. What did I find at the top of the hill? Nothing more than a field, or perhaps it was a pasture. My curiosity was in unrewarded. Of course, how would it have been rewarded unless I had taken a look?

Marlinstown Bridge

Earlier in the day, at a convenience store in Mullingar I bought a ham sandwich and a bottle of water. The elderly gentleman who sold me the sandwich, said it was a nice day. I retorted it was an excellent day for a walk. A big grin came across his face as he said, “Enjoy the walk, and God bless.” I stopped for my lunch at Marlinstown Bridge, a one-lane bridge in a remote area. Yet, a service truck crossed the bridge and a man and his dog walked by. I wandered to the other side of the bridge and found a trailhead to a wilderness path along the high bank of the canal. A few bug mansions and bee hotels had been built to help promote local biodiversity.

The path opened into a wide valley, where it ran alongside several pastures and farms. I was thinking that I had not seen many aquatic birds along the canal, other than a pair of swans on the west side of Mullingar the week before. Then, within seconds, I spied a grey heron, who did not allow me to get to close to photograph before flying off. Many of the nature signs along the canal touted the multicolored kingfisher as being native, but elusive, to the area. Although I kept looking I was disappointed by not seeing the European cousin to one of my favorite birds. In fact, the crane would be the only aquatic bird I saw during all my walk on the canal.

The N4 highway approached closely, and ran parallel to the path in this area, and it was hard not to be distracted by the noise. I saw another stone marker, which was impossible to read. I noted, however, that today in Ireland every half kilometer is denoted along roads N4 and the stone markers would probably outlast the metal signs that currently gave motorists their whereabouts.

The Downs Bridge

As I approached the Downs Bridge, the path served as a paved one-lane road used by a few houses. At one point, a bush hog mowing the grass along the edge of the road patiently waited for me to pass. I was glad he did. After I passed I heard the mower hit some glass bottles and aluminum cans, the shrapnel would have hurt I am sure. A little bit further, several trucks were repaving the asphalt on the Downs Bridge. An older worker sitting on the back of a truck greeted me. I asked him to confirm that I was the Downs Bridge, which he did. He inquired as to if I were having a good walk but the look on his supervisor's face suggested that we should keep the conversation short.

Here and there houses told stories about their occupants and the land. A white house with yellow trim caught my eye and sparked my imagination. The house had several additions and four rather large pine trees, which looked out of place in the Irish countryside, which were planted a generation ago. The back of the house, typically known as the garden, was full of flower pot and plants. An old sliding board, with faded red paint, was being consumed by grass that had not been mowed in a quite a while, indicating that the children no longer lived there. But a newer, small green table with two chairs overlooked the canal. I imagined an elderly couple taking their afternoon tea or evening drinks while watching wildlife or the cyclists pass.

A hand-cranked drawbridge

Shortly before automobile access to the path ended, I passed a bridge that had an intact hand crank drawbridge that would allow cars to traverse the bridge when down, its current state, and boats to pass when raised. I was mesmerized by this old structure and was thinking about how to describe it. I took several photographs, from different angles, to demonstrate how it worked. In my head, I was imagining a conversation with my dad, trying to explain the design to him, who would have been deeply interested.

Between the Downs and McNeads Bridges, the canal sat high above the valley floor. Several culverts allowed small rivers and streams to pass beneath. Since this section of the canal was completed by 1817, I pondered the work and planning that went into its creation. I am unclear about the conditions under which the canal was built and who did the labor. But It was a reminder that early nineteenth-century canals were a marvel of engineering. I walked between the Royal Canal's successors: to my right was the railroad tracks, which later in the nineteenth century would make the canal obsolete; to my left, the N4 highway that took the modern traveler, whether my bus or car, to destinations throughout the island.

Toward the end of my journey, I realized how glad I was that it was not sunny. Although it was not optimal for beautiful picturesque photographs, it made walking much easier. I was not prone to being too hot or having an Irish sunburn. Besides, the cloud cover did make it easier to photograph some of the wild flowers without shadows. It also made it easier to continue the journey. I arrived at Mary Lynch's pub a full hour and a half before the next bus was scheduled to arrive. I had walked a little over seven miles at that point but did not think that ninety minutes in the pub was a good idea.

A pied wagtail at Lock 25

After a few minutes, I started to slowly walk to the next bridge, another two kilometers further. After a few minutes I resumed my natural pace but was beginning to feel the toll on my feet. When I reached Lock 25 (Loc 25), I decided that it was enough of a walk. My day would end with a total of 9.8 miles.

Mary Lynch's Pub

I returned to the Mary Lynch Pub with about an hour before the bus was set to arrive. I few people were around the bar, and I ordered a celebratory Guinness to pass the time. The bartender, who said she saw me walking earlier, asked me how I enjoyed my walk. I replied that it was a nice day for walking. She gave me a detailed summary and update of the weather, noting that previous week had been too hot for many people. The pub had had several walkers and cyclists who could not cope with the extreme (for Ireland) temperatures.

Mary Lynch's Pub

The bartender told of a woman who, while cycling with her husband the previous weekend, got cramps and light-headed. Her husband gave her a "fiver" and rode his bike home to retrieve the car. An hour and a quarter later he came back. One of the women at the bar comment, "An hour? She needed more than a fiver." The bartender went on to tell me that, "High pressure will be building tomorrow night and will be turi-bill winds. It will blow itself out by Turs-day morning. Sunny weather then, but cooler." Her forecast was pretty much right.

She took care of other guests and nursed my beer. I went out to catch the route 115 bus at 17:52, five minutes early. Even though I knew the stop was near the end if the route and it highly unlikely to be on time. After walking nearly ten miles, I neither wanted to miss an on-time bus nor consider a 7-mile walk back to Mullingar. I have been riding buses in Ireland for over 15 years and feel confident about understanding the nuisances of doing so. But I have to admit, with my feet aching, watching cars zooming by coming home from work, when the bus was twenty minutes late I began to have some doubts and trepidation. But when the bus rounded a bend in the road, thirty-three minutes after its scheduled arrival time I was happy to pay my €4.30 to return to Mullingar.

Souvenirs in Apalachicola

I was waiting to have my growler filled with Hooter Brown, a wonderful beer made with Tupelo honey, at Oyster City Brewery in Apalachicola. A man and woman, obviously from the area, were laughing hysterically as they made their way to the bar. The local man told the bartender that they had just come from a tourist shop and were tickled to find that the proprietor was selling oyster shells, ten for a dollar.

The bartender responded that he reckoned that he had about twenty dollars’ worth of shells sitting in the window in the brewery. Still laughing, the patron asked if anyone really bought the shells. The bartender looked serious, nodded his head, and assured the man, “Oh yeah.” In my travels, I have seen tourists spend money on even more bizarre souvenirs.

Lake Linden, Michigan

After a fire destroyed Lake Linden in 1887, most of the town had to be rebuilt. Today a great deal of the commercial architecture dates from the years immediately following the fire.

Interior of Lindell's Chocolate Shop

One of the great places to visit in Lake Linden is Lindell’s Chocolate Shop, an old style restaurant that still retains its 1920s décor.

One of the most famous businesses of the Keweenaw was the Bosch Brewery Company, which operated from 1874 to 1973. Most of the remnants, save a few collector’s items, are gone; however, there is a building Third Street and Schoolcraft that once was warehouse and still bears the name of the brewery. 

Drinking History: An Introduction

Food and drink are evocative memory generators that can help us relive past experiences. Furthermore, old recipes can help us experience the lives of our ancestors. It has become fashionable to drink beers that are brewed from old recipes. In a sense, what we are doing is drinking history. In our travel explorations, both physically and temporally, we endeavor to make connections with other cultures, our memories or our heritage. In many ways it is a natural response to the globalized food and beverage world of the early 21st century.

Growing up in Louisville there were often a number of bars around that would display Oertels ’92 signs. It was a local brewery that was long out of business by the time I was old enough to try beer. I often wonder what the beer taste like (I understand that it would have been, most likely, disappointing). There is a connection, in my mind, between the history of Louisville and Oertels. Many of the neighborhood “beer joints,” as my grandparents referred to them, proudly displayed the name of the tavern on beer’s logo. Although my grandparents occasionally imbibed, the so-called beer joint on the corner was a source of great consternation. No doubt it was contrary to their German-American belief in the essential necessity of consistent work as they cornerstone to success and salvation. Yet, at the same time, drinking beer was a part of their German heritage. 

Concerns about alcohol became prevalent as industrialization and the modern world began to take hold. Most of these concerns were focused on the working class. Reformers were concerned that workers would not be able to adequately perform their jobs if they imbibed too much during their off-hours. If too many workers resorted to alcohol use, then factories would not run at peak efficiency, or at worst stand idle. Thus, one of the motivations to limit access to alcohol was economic in nature. In the United States, a dalliance with prohibition reset the brewing history of the country. Prior to the First World War there were over a thousand breweries that dotted the country. Anti-German sentiments and proposals by the Anti-Saloon League for a ban on the sale of grains to brewers and distillers, helped to cut the number of breweries by half within the first months of the war. Beer became synonymous with treason in the United States because the public thought most beer was from Germany. No one mentioned the beer from Belgium or Ireland during this time.

A water fountain, in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware,
placed by the Women's Christian Temperance Union
during prohibition in 1929.

The introduction of prohibition, through constitutional amendment, shuttered most of the remaining breweries across the United States. The emergence of a temperance movement in the late nineteenth century by the puritanical impulse meant that between 1920 and 1933, alcohol was not allowed to be sold. This had a devastating effect on American beer production and, in many ways, reset the history of American beer. Some brewers, such as Budweiser, made non-alcoholic beverages during this time. Budweiser was called Bevo, but when you are on tour at the Budweiser factory do not ask any questions about it. You get a polite, no comment and the tour moves on.

As with many families, there are vignettes about life during prohibition. My grandmother tells a story about her father in upstate New York. One night, while she was staying with him, a police officer came to the door and took her father into town. It turns out that there was a federal agent in town and the local law enforcement agency needed to demonstrate its effectiveness in enforcing prohibition. Apparently my great-grandfather helped to stage a bootlegging operation, was arrested in front of the federal agents, and when the agents left town, was released.

Following the lead of the United States, and with the help of American Dry forces, New Zealand nearly instituted Prohibition in 1919.  In April 1919 a national referendum on prohibition yielded 49% of the vote to prohibition. As the first votes were reported it appeared that dry forces had carried the day. It was not until after the votes of New Zealand soldiers who were still overseas were counted tipped the scales, was it realized that proposal was defeated. Today the referendum is referred to as the soldier’s vote.

In Britain, the emancipation of women after the First World War led to concerns about the effect of alcohol on females. The idea of returning to a romantic past, where women did not drink is ahistorical. Prior to the modern age, many people, especially in Europe, drank some form of alcohol because it was imminently safer to drink than water.  Yet in a 1926 article in the Manchester Guardian, a doctor complained that ‘girls’ had been consuming more alcohol and it “was distasteful to those who remembered the healthy lives that women lived formerly.”  The doctor went on to suggest that the increased partying among women was having an effect on the health and beauty. The article intimated that the partying without appropriate sleep led to “the lines that rightly belonged to the woman of middle-age” in girls as young as 20. In calling for a return to the Victorian Era, the article suggested that young girls had “acquired the habit of living for excitement so much so that they found themselves unable to break the habit and live a normal life with any prospect of happiness.”

Despite these concerns, the real problem with alcohol was, and is, the overindulgence. Early nineteenth century French thinker Jean Anthelme Brilat-Savarin, in his classic work on food, remind us: “Those persons who suffer from indigestion, or who become drunk, are utterly ignorant of the true principles of eating and drinking.” The culture of massive alcohol consumption obfuscates refined techniques and craftsmanship. It hides a legacy of sharing a drink and conversation passed from one generation to another. It diminishes a history of common people, who worked hard enjoyed time away from their labors.

Sean’s Pub (Athlone)

In the shadow of the Adamson Castle, there is a small traditional Irish pub called Sean’s. It has the distinction of the claiming to be the oldest pub in Ireland, which in 2004 was certified by the Guinness Book of World Records. Circa 1680, the pub was known as “The Three Blackamoor” and that name is still used on the front of the bar as well; however, an even older name suggests that it was called Luain’s Inn. There is a display case in the bar that shows the wattle and wicker used in the walls of the pub that were uncovered during renovations in 1970s, which, according to carbon dating, suggests that the building was constructed circa 900 AD. Going into Sean’s is like stepping back into history, with some interesting variations. Although there are Irish men sitting in the bar, staring at one another, not saying anything, with their arms crossed, there are also German tourists, taking pictures of each other drinking Guinness with their cell phones.

The physical layout of the building and furnishings helps to give it a cozy feel as well as a sense of history. There are small tables with short stools and saw dust on the floor. A fireplace sits not too many steps from the front entrance. I judge the ceiling to be about 7.5-8 feet high. Over the bar, there are rods and reels, oars, and a hand fishing net fastened to the ceiling for decorative purposes. A collection of pipes mounted to a board hangs behind the bar. Automobile license plates from the United States adorn one section of the bar. A cacophony of newspaper articles, photographs and drawings adorn the walls, making it nearly impossible to find any empty spaces on the walls.

I came to make my periodic pilgrimage to have a Guinness in the old pub. It can take the bar staff up to four or five minutes to pull a pint for you. Sure they are busy, but the staff also practices the correct procedures in pulling a pint. On the Saturday night I made my visit, the patrons were convivial. In addition to the Irish men and German tourists, there were a number of couples having a drink and engaging in conversation. A dim roar of conversation was just audible above a mixture of Rod Stewart, the Corrs, and the Waterboys coming from the speakers. A young woman sitting at the bar, perhaps in her thirties, wearing a black top and pink scarf, sat next to her boyfriend/husband in a Ramones t-shirt and enthusiastically sang along with each of the songs. Occasionally someone will see me sitting by myself, writing in my notebook, and offer an acknowledgement. But I think this is because they feel sorry for me rather than a sense of communal engagement.