The Beer Chronicles, Day 3 - Driving Into Our Past

Our Route

Strange Routes

Sunday, May15, and the winds from yesterday have barely abated.  We arrived in the Palm Desert area in a virtual brown out, a familiar sight to desert dwellers in the N32-35 latitudes.  There's a reason the massive wind farm, an iconic fixture of the Coachella Valley along the I-10 corridor, has been crashing away since the 1980s, providing much needed power for the region and gracelessly annoying many passersby on CA111 out of Palm Springs, who complain about the massive noise they create when it's breezy... which is most of the time.  

As Saturday evening wore on and we crawled our way back to the hotel, there was no sign of the wind stopping like it does in our desert when the sun goes down.  On the contrary: the dust and wind magnified considerably and continued on well into the morning.  We resolved then, to get out of the San Gorgonio Pass ASAP, taking the back way into Big Bear rather than the shorter but likely longer and windier routes to the south.  

Sonny's Dedication Fountain

Strangely, at a pit stop in Palm Springs- nestled quietly away from the bustle of the interstate at the foothills of the 11,500'+ Mount San Gorgonio itself- the wind was nothing more than a gentle, pleasant breeze, cooling the morning desert air and allowing for a brief but pleasant walking tour of downtown.  We secured coffee and a quick stop to "visit" Sonny Bono, arguably Palm Spring's most famous resident before his skiing fiasco, where we posed selfie style with his memorial (and to satisfy a geocache requirement).

Now you may be asking: why on earth would they drive through Yucca Valley and then Big Bear to get to Los Angeles?  Well, my pretties.  That's an interesting story.  Prior to moving to New Mexico at the ripe young age of 12, I lived for four years up in Running Springs, a very small mountain town just 10 miles west of Big Bear Lake in the San Bernardino Mountains, right along the lovely Rim of the World Scenic Byway.  Cheryl too, who predates me on this planet by 11 years or so, also spent some time there in her 20s.  Of course, back in the 1970s when we lived there, the scenic views were frequently hampered by a dense layer of smog that covered the Inland Empire, a monument to dirty industry and a excessive amount of even dirtier cars.  Nearly 40 years later, the smog problem is substantially curtailed thanks to some draconian but effective emissions measures California passed as well as "dirty" industries largely packing up and moving to other countries.  

So to make a long answer even longer, we drove the Big Bear Lake area and subsequently Running Springs for the sake of nostalgia, for touching on a more innocent time of youth and play.  Also, there was a brew pub which served food...

Climbing from Sea Level to 4000', quickly!

The Mountains

Neither one of us had ever taking CA62, which wound its way through Joshua Tree forests to reach

the high desert north of Big Bear, and it was exhilaratingly beautiful.  The windy road that followed up to above 7500' was equally spectacular, if a bit harder to spectacle, given the nature of the drive up and the fact that inevitably got caught behind a "land whale" of an RV on the switchbacks.  It was also a bit disheartening when we came upon the first body of water which you approach coming from the north, Baldwin Lake.  The locals told us that it usually dried up in the summer but even so, this early in the season to see a completely dried up mountain lake was sobering indeed.

As we finally arrived in Big Bear Lake itself, we secured time to find an absolutely spectacular geocache at a Big Bear Lake Inn.  It was quite clever, requiring you to pull the right combo of cords to activate the cuckoo clock and thus open the back of the cache where the container and log were.  

From there it was a hop, skip, and to Big Bear Lake Brewing Company, one of two brewpubs in the city and the one recommended to us by others and the all important Tripadvisor and Google Reviews.  

What we found was a homey, friendly full service brewery with a large food menu, just in time to slake our thirst and fill our bellies.  Not surprisingly, the beers here were big on the pine and resin, as if to remind us that we were smack dab in the middle of a forest.  The Double Down IPA was a strong example of this, a sort of Porter/Double IPA hybrid that came in at a whopping 9.2% ABV.  Even more indicative of our surrounding was the Whisper Pine IPA, which gave off an almost palpable aroma of Spruce and Pine resin and followed with a hoppy punch in the teeth.  

We also sampled their Golden Ale, which strangely had a black licorice finish, their high alcohol Red Ale, and a rather ordinary Hefeweizen and Chocolate Porter.  Still in all, it was a heady mix of quality craft brews, eagerly served up by a young, enthusiastic local.  Side note:  What was considerably more surprising than a quality brewpub in a town of just over 5000 people was the fact that my sis had never had Carnitas before!  Luckily, the carnitas tacos fit the bill to educate her about the marinated pork goodness that this iconic Mexican preparation offered.  Needless to say, I now have a convert.  

Our bellies full and beer palates satisfied, we stopped again to grab a highly rated geocache.  I suppose I should mention: premium member geocachers (those that pay the $30 annual fee) can earn and assign favorite points to caches which they like.  Some, like some virtual at major national monuments, can have thousands of favorite points.  Most, more humble and less visited ones like this clever fake wood knot cache, will be lucky to get to 100 favorites.  Still, this stop afforded us the chance to talk to the cache placers themselves, who lived right across the street, and a fellow geocacher, who found it just before us.  And it's no wonder it was so popular on this day:  it was a gorgeous 65 degrees, sunny, light winds, perfect for being out in the woods.  

My old house, circa 1976-1980

I mention this casual detail because the 10 mile drive to Running Springs, which also dropped us about 1500 feet to about 6000', became anything but.  Low hanging fogs rested between the 4000' and 6000' elevation mark in the mountains, hovering there with cold and frightening intensity.  What was a beautiful 65 degree spring day in Big Bear became a zero visibility 38 degree day by the time we got to Running Springs, freezing fog stinging our cheeks as we got out to find another geocache.  My old home was spared the worst of the fog as Palo Alto Way sat slightly above the brunt of the storm... But Running Springs main street was socked in completely and we were barely able to see 50' in front of us.  

The drive down the mountain reminded me of the terror we all felt at times during a San Bernardino Mountain winter, when thick blankets of fog, layers of black ice, and massive 6-10' drifts of snow made the drive up and down to San Bernardino and Riverside beyond a hazardous, life threatening terror ride.  It was no wonder my mom and dad were all too happy to move to the less wintery southern New Mexico.

Los Angeles

LA's iconic city hall

Full disclosure: I learned how to drive in New Mexico, which is not a great place to learn how to get behind a wheel. Las Crucens have a justifiable reputation for being some of the worst drivers in the US: slow and clueless, fast and clueless, or with just a complete disregard for their fellow drivers.  So I would say that I actually LEARNED to drive in Los Angeles, where the unstated motto is drive well or die; we don't give a crap which one.  I prefer this method of driving, where aggressive competence rules the day, where the rule of the road is stay in formation, go with the flow of traffic and for God's sake, don't go slow in the fast lanes.  

Well, that's true when traffic is moving at all. 
Yes, the notorious Los Angeles traffic jams are a very real thing, something I have experienced in their full frustration way too many times.  On this day, though, the drive into downtown was a cake walk, with only a small delay when we hit the spaghetti bowl of intertwined tarmac where the 110, the 101, the 10 and the 5 all come together in spectacular cluster of freeway madness.  It was no wonder my sister declared that she would be happy to drive anytime on this trip... except in LA.  Point of fact: I did all of the driving, which is just as well.  In Guinevere, our 2015 Toyota Avalon hybrid, there's this little thing called "sports mode", which is ideal for Angelino-style driving.  


Angel City

It should be said that normally, I avoid driving into downtown LA, mostly because I'm usually heading up to Ventura or points north to visit family and/or friends and the route through Pasadena and Burbank is usually faster.  

Well, today was different because we were meeting an old colleague who lived in Torrance for the Angel City Brewery Heritage Music Festival; right at the cusp of Asian, Hispanic, and European cultures, the brewery is at the center of an Arts Distract revitalization, one which I can attest to after visiting their area some 25 years ago and not wishing to return to that torrid wasteland again.  

I should add that my sister spent many of her formative years here, as her dad lived very close to the heart of the city.  So this was a homecoming for us both.  I was born in Hollywood just north of here and she spent a good portion of her teen years in the belly of the beast itself.  And thus we drove deep into our past, only to find that LA has done far more to embrace a vibrant future while still recognizing its cultural connections.  I have spent many years poo pooing the vast sprawl that is the City of Angels, with its myriad of cultural, economic, and crowding problems.  But today, there is a sense of optimism, especially when you spend times in neighborhoods like the ones we did.

Inside Angel City

Now the wasteland is no more, the region punctuated by at least five breweries, a Japanese-style mall, more sushi places than I could count, trendy bistros, and a vibrant sense of a neighborhood on the rise. For me, the core of this is Angel City, a massive city block warehouse cum brewery some 4 stories high, once a place of industrial commerce and now a huge tasting room and brewery; the place also sports a large outdoor area, where additional taps were laid out to accommodate the massive crowds the festival attracted.  Food trucks were aplenty as were drummers, artists, and vendors of all sorts, creating an atmosphere of exuberant but convivial hedonism.  The inside features the largest tasting room I would encounter on this trip, complete with darts, boardgames, and some sort of beanbag toss game that seems quite popular in California.   A metal loft rises up above the main cement floor and it was here that we ran into some truly spectacular brews; the weird and wonderful world of barrel aged, small batch gems were featured here, mostly just in tasting cups as the vast majority of this magnificent space is reserved for fermentation vats and bottling areas for more common fare.

And each one was better than the next. First up was a magnificent beer called the Funky Wit, a Belgian Wit Soured and Barrel Aged to bring out the lemony citrus character of the wit. Then there was the Dark Rye Lager, Bourbon Barrel Aged that accentuates the lagering with an almost molasses finish.  Similarly, the Mouthful Molasses Dopplebock exudes coffee bitterness and burnt sugar sweetness. The Imperial IPA is a hophead wet dream, with tropical passionfruit permeating the palate, nicely balancing the hop bitterness.  Finally, my favorite was the Jameson Barrel Aged Irish Red, a phenomenal 15% ABV powerhouse that tastes of Islay smoked whiskey and Irish Red sweetness.  What a beer!

Keep in mind that should ever decide to make the journey into downtown LA, there's a very good chance that you'll never find these brews. But I'm sure the eclectic geniuses that run the place, like the very city itself, will surprise and delight you with even more delectable and usurious pleasures for your palate.  Just be sure to bring your credit card.  

Wurstküche Pub

Post Mortem:  I wasn't sure if I would include this tidbit- as it doesn't really fit with the local craft beer theme of this blog- but I should admit that my sis, friend and me decided not to indulge in the food truck city of the festival, instead walking two blocks away to the remarkable Wurstküche, a place that has made German food trendy again.  With a huge array of reasonable and house made sausages available at walk up window, the place is a also a trendy pub, with some 30 taps of German and Belgian ales straight from the motherlands.  First you stand in line for your sausages (yes, there's even a vegetarian one for you veg heads out there!), then you sit down at in the pub, where you will happily fork out between $8-10 dollars for a tasty treat from the Old World.

Our plan was simple: Cheryl and Kristi would stand in line and order the sausages while I secured us seating at the bar, ordering libations in the process.  I suffered through a lovely Belgian saison called Brasserie St-Feuillien while I ordered (and sampled) Früli Strawberry beers for my companions. Those Belgians do know their stuff, although the Früli was a little sweet for my palate.  The Brasserie, on the other hand, was a very traditional Farmhouse, giving off an almost meaty quality that paired well with the tubes of pork we were ingesting.

Next up:  Monday, May 16, where we venture down to the beach and enjoy carnitas in Oxnard, curvy driving wonders of Highway One, the trendy hipness of Santa Monica and the funkiness of Venice Beach.  

The Beer Chronicles, Day 2 - Treasure Hunting in the Desert

Morning in the Foothills

We were lucky enough to secure lodging with a friend who lives deep in the Tanque Verde area of Tucson, a lovely foothills paradise of lush Sonoran splendor.  Unlike our home turf of Las Cruces- which resides is the parched Chihuahuan Desert- the Sonoran Desert foothills of Tucson is resplendent with lush desert growth: Palo Verde trees blossom, grasses from spring rains green up, and Saguaros flowers bud like beautiful tumors, all coming to life like clockwork in late spring.  Our host took my sis and me for a three mile loop walk/hike through a neighborhood desert preserve to witness this beauty, helping to cast aside the cobwebs from too little sleep and a wee bit too much beer.

When 8:00 am rolled around, we set out for our 300 mile journey for the day, stopping just long enough to fortify ourselves with coffee from a well-known national chain that rhymes with Barclucks.  A bit of bitter brew later, we were on the road, traversing the light Saturday morning traffic to reach I-10 in record time.  A word of caution about Tucson:  the city planners apparently made a conscious decision to NOT build a loop road for the northeast part of the city.  The net effect of this lack of limited access roads is 8-10 miles of city street driving from the foothills to westbound I-10, which on a quiet Saturday morning was an easy stroll.  During rush hour?  Expect a LONG slog to reach your destination.

Another Hobby on Display

A good friend of mine has accused me of "gamifying" everything in my life, including beer drinking. That might be a bit too close to accurate.  After all, Untappd- with it's myriad of virtual badges you can earn for different "beer accomplishments"- feels very much like another favorite activity of mine, Geocaching, which was on full display this day.  My usual way of traveling, at least when time allows, is to stop frequently, both to stretch my legs and to follow the mantra of many a journeyman: The point of the journey is not to arrive.  It is the journey itself.  Prudence tells us that this isn't always possible, especially in our rush-rush-rush, ticky-tack-little-houses society, but when possible, it makes for a much more sublime, cathartic journey.  This road trip was just such a journey and thus we resolved to stop frequently, treasure hunting along the way.  The first first such stop was at a odd desert park, about 10 miles west of the I-10/I-8 interchange, roughly 45 miles east of Gila Bend. State Highway 84 intersects with I-8 at this point, running a ENE route towards State Route 347 and then due north to the little down of Maricopa after which the mighty Phoenix county is named.

The park, named Pinal County West, is a strangely quiet and rustic little roadside desert oasis of Palo Verde and Saguaro, intermittently punctuated with little shabby shade covers and BBQ grills. And there was also a Geocache, which we took a short .5 mile stroll to find.  Mind you, by this time, around 10:00 am, the temperature was already pushing 90; such is the way in Arizona's beautiful but brutal desert.  I was glad I opted for iced coffee.

Yuma Renaissance

Back in the 1980s, as an undergraduate in college, I used to drive I-8 all the time, visiting friends

attending UC-San Diego.  At that time, Yuma was nothing but a hot, agricultural blip in the road, known mostly for cheap gas at the AM-PM off of the US95 exit which leads down to the Mexican border town of San Luis Rio Colorado in the state of Sonora.  Well, the AM-PM is still there but Yuma has grown into rather substantial hub of SW Arizona, complete with a college, an airport, over 50,000 residents and a winery.  Yes, I said winery.  My first thought upon seeing this was, "How on Earth?  It gets to 110 regularly in the summer here.  How can they possibly grow grapes that don't just make the wine taste of sweet, sugary pap?"

On this trip, I wasn't about to find out because right across from this tasting room was the object of our desire, a brewpub oasis in the Yuma Proving Grounds heat called Prison Hill Brewery, named for the nearby territorial prison made famous in Elmore Leonard's 3:10 to Yuma.  Bonus: this brewery served food, just in time for our lunchtime repast.  While their beers were quite respectable, including a rather nice, smokey session ESB called ES Bueno ESB and a lovely summer Porter called Sally Porter, the standout here was a guest tap from our friends at Victory Brewing back in Pennsylvania.  An amazing Kirsch Gose, this cider-like brew was tart, slightly sweet, and packed a huge sour cherry punch.  Absolutely refreshing!  The food was quite nice but pretty typical pub fare, with standout meatball kabobs and some nice house dressings for their salads.

California Here We Come

I have this disagreement with friends and family all the time:  my eldest sister and brother-in-law insist that the best way to drive to California from New Mexico is through Phoenix which, in ideal traffic situations, is a bit faster than my chosen route.  HOWEVER, I-8 is a trafficless joy of tarmac, a 350 mile joyride for the speed freak who loves to avoid the cavalcade of semis, RVs, and sun-baked yahoos blanketing Phoenix like a bunch of drunk, disoriented ants, forever caught in someone's magnifying glass.

So I nearly always go through Yuma and up CA86, a fast and furious state highway that skirts the western shore of the Salton Sea on it's way to joining up with I-10 in the heart of the Coachella Valley.  Usually this road is limit access and even when it isn't, traffic is light (caveat: if it's during the Coachella Music Festival in April, ignore this advice).

And thus we come to the next part of our story, which is a brief and hot mini hike to another geocache, this time on the shores of the saline sea herself, somewhere within the confines of the optimistically named Salton City, a 1950's preplanned community that had its own idea about whether it wanted to have residents or not. In this place, you can almost feel the sense of hope that developers had, thinking they happened upon the next Palm Springs.  What they didn't account for was the smell: Salton Sea exudes an almost living, palpable stench, the product of Hydrogen Sulfide given off by the waters themselves.  This, along with increasing salinity, decreasing water levels, and pollution from nearby agriculture, curtailed that development.  Now the little berg is nothing more than an unincorporated Imperial county community of about 3500, a mixture of resilient retirees in their Saltillo-tiled homes and ancient single-wide mobile homes, the latter of which are largely occupied by Mexican agricultural workers and service industry 20somethings who cater to the rich and old of Palm Springs.


Coachella Brews

A quick and satisfying check in at the Palm Desert Homewood Suites - a fabulous deal off season by the way- we sought sustenance at nearby awesome Thousand Palms taqueria en route to our true destination and the reason we decided to stay the night out here in the Valley: Coachella Valley Brewing Company, a place that takes beer making to a new level of bonkers.  While their industrial park taproom has only been around for a couple of years now, master brewer Devon Sanchez and company are doing remarkable things, incorporating local ingredients into many of their brews.  For example, they brag about their use of Africanized Killer Bee Honey in their brews, which stands out particularly well in their amazing Desert Swarm, a Double Belgian Wit (not usually one of my favorites) that lingers with hot honey at the back of the palate but with none of the sweetness.  The addition of locally grown kumquats gives it a citrus taste that is out of this world.

The menu was a nearly limitless array of varieties to satisfy every palate, from a slightly sour Berlinerweisse to the gargantuan Grand Conquistador, a Belgian Quad infused with locally grown dates that tops out at a whopping 20% ABV.... and that's without any fortification!  How they managed this magical feat is beyond me but Devon and his fellow beer wizards are truly remarkable. I can't wait to revisit this place come August!






Next time, Day Three of the May beer journey, where we drive the Rim of the World, sample 7500 feet brews, descend into the heart of darkness itself, and get overwhelmed at a cavernous brewery music festival.  Los Angeles, here we come!

First of two flights

Friday the 13th, The Beer Chronicles Day I - Beginnings

Setting Out

How does one begin to write about a journey of this magnitude?  

I could invoke the ubiquitous classic Star Trek opener...

Beer, the Frothy Frontier.  These are the voyages of the Toyota Avalon Hybrid, Guinevere, her 10 day mission... to explore strange new brews, to drive 2000 miles through Arizona & California, and to boldly visit 20 different brewpubs without being completely clattered. 

Or perhaps a simple haiku would do?  

If I could explore

Two thousand miles of brewpubs

The beers of the world

Whatever the case may be, Friday the 13th of May was an auspicious day to start the journey, having turned in my grades that morning, ready to pick up my partner-in-suds and sister, for our epic adventure into malt & hops.  Now, if you're a superstitious person, you might thing that such a day is NOT a great day to begin a journey, that Triskaidekaphobics worldwide would be casting bones and reading cards to see what horrors would await us.  But then you would be an idiot so I would promptly ignore you anyway.  

The journey planned would eventually take us to the west coast but seeing as how I had already experienced the wonders that Tucson's burgeoning beer scene had to offer in the form of Barrio Brewing Company last year and back in March, it was imperative that we stopped for the night a mere 260 miles to the west of our departure point.  But this time we would forgo Barrio, partially because I had already experienced it, partially because we had some time issues with our hosts for the evening, but mostly because we wanted to hit two breweries at once and Barrio was too far removed for that effort.  

Into the Borderlands   

Thus, we came upon the ramshackle old warehouse a scant two blocks from downtown, where parking is strange and roads doubly so.  It is in this strange and wonderful space that we happened upon Borderlands Brewing Company, a place that proves that Ben Franklin was right about beer, God, and all the rest.  But first we had to move the car to one of the FOUR allotted parking spaces reserved for the brewery (yes, you read that right).  Fortunately, arriving at 2:30 in the afternoon, even on a Friday, has it's advantages so no problems there.  

The place was eclectic, to say the least, with an outdoor sunken patio in front which we were later

informed served as a wedding locale for the boozier of nuptials. Inside, the decor was a rustic cacophony of Steampunk chic, local art, fermentation tanks and, of course, a substantial bar with many a tap.  My sis and I made a tacit arrangement which would benefit us both:  I would drive and remain sober, thus only sampling our flights of beer, while she would throw herself in front of the lion's share and enjoy the repast.  I, in turn, would jump on the local WiFi, log everything on Untappd as a form of memory jogging tasting notes journal, and my friends on Facebook and Twitter would be inundated by way way WAY too many posts about beer.  It was a good arrangement for everyone.

Whenever possible, we also made a point of sitting at the bar itself rather than peripheral tables, in hopes of garnering some witty repartee with our hoppy hosts.  This was a marvelous idea and allowed for some real insight at times.  In the case of Borderlands, this was a fine plan, especially since the crowds were small and our server sufficiently chatty.  The bar is also the place where you end up meeting some really interesting "others", such as a fellow who showed up with a small insulated canister of what appeared to be alchemical glassware from the 19th century, graciously and somewhat surreptitiously pouring a dark elixir from the bottles into samplers for  the bartender and who we presumed to be the brewmaster.  Turns out this clandestine fellow was a fellow master of beercraft at a collaboration brewery, giving them samples of a soon-to-be-tapped cask.  

Now, the beer!  I'm going to focus on the standout beers in this blog, not necessarily the ones that were my favorites.  The idea of this journal was to find "strange new worlds" of beers so while I love a good IPA, Brown, Pale Ale, Lager, Stout, Red, or what have you as much as the next guy, I'm going to focus on the strange, weird, and wonderful here.  So you've been warned.  

I'll focus on two standouts here, beers which were unlike anything else we found on this trip: one was their magnificent Horchata Cream Ale, a delicious novelty of a beer that could easily have ended up just being sweet pap but was instead a slightly sweet, subtly cinnamon treat.  I avoid sweet beers usually but this one works on so many levels, not least of which was it was 95 degrees out and this dang thing was genuinely thirst quenching.  But the real marvel was their special Citrana beer, a Gose style sour beer with just enough citrus tartness that it felt like I was back in the Northwest, drinking one of the many exquisite ciders than can be found there.  This one deserved a growler fill; too bad I left all of mine at home and we had no room in our coolers to purchase another 1/2 gallon jar.  Next time!

The seductive nature of our first craft beer experience together complete, my sister began to see the wisdom of drinking craft rather than crap and thus we made our way to our next stop, one that made this bare bricked temple to rusticity seem positively posh by comparison...

Back Alley Brews

On the other side of the tracks, a scant half mile from our last stop, we happened upon Public Brewhouse, but we almost didn't.  Unmarked, undistinguished, this ancient converted garage opens onto what can only be described as a back alley off of a slightly less back alley street called Hoff, in an incongruously trendy part of downtown Tucson that seems part desolation, part hipster.

The pub itself maybe the ultimate in understated, the entrance a barely propped open corrugated iron rust heap, probably placed there by the garage owners before they left, circa 1955.  Inside, however, everything changed and the hipster vibe began to come into play, complete with a stand up console Centipede machine from 1981 (and free to play too!).  The wall of stacked board games belied the geek chic shabby splendor of the place and the lack of traditional seating fit in nicely with the Bohemian oeuvre.

While the brews were uniformly good (even the Hefe, which is a variety I usually don't care for), the standouts here were the Happy Poppy, a dirty, grassy and feral IPA, unique in its almost artichoke vegetable finish.  But my favorite was another summer brew (surprise! surprise!), a Pale Ale concoction called the Summer Love Ginger Lemon Peel Experience; despite the hippy dippy name, which very much fit the vibe of this place, it was a super subtle and refreshing brew, ideally matched with spicy food like a Thai curry.  I could go on and on about their excellent saisons and their fabulous oatmeal stout/pale ale hybrid but I've already said enough for now.  We must allow you to catch your breath and me to get some shut eye (and get back to grading summer session papers).  Next up:  Day Two, when we experience Yuma's first ever craft brewery and find that the brewmeisters of the Coachella Valley are just plain bonkers. 

Danger! Brewfest Taster Needs DD

So this last Saturday, I had the pleasure of going to my very first brewfest.  I know it's hard to believe.  I've logged hundreds of beers and countless flights by now, achieved 250+ badges on Untappd, and generally been a craft beer guy for awhile.  But the fact remains that brewfests don't come into my area very often.

The New Mexico Brewer's Guild sponsored this little soiree as they did last year and I had a few hints from attendees from last years event:

1. Go early to avoid the crowds.  This was a wise move; by the time we left at 6:30, the lines were getting pretty ridiculous and pours were smaller as the vendors supplies became diminished. We got there about 15 minutes before they officially started, stood in line to get IDd and receive our sample pint glass (courtesy of Taos Mesa Brewing Co), which also served as our tasting glass.  Clever idea that.  Not only did it eliminate the need to buy 1000s of disposable tasting cups, it gave everyone a souvenir from the event.
2. Bring a designated driver or walk.  My lovely spouse agreed to help in this capacity.  Good thing too: there were 29 different beers we sampled in about 90 minutes.  Even with small pours, that's way too much beer to drink and remain sober.
3. Bring friends and be willing to share tastings.  Most of the breweries were tapping at least three, up to five beers, but you only have one glass.  That meant standing in line again if you wanted to get a second tasting.  But in a group that's willing to share?  You could sample many beers from each vendor at once.

Now the run down of breweries who were there and a few standout brews they were serving:

• Abbey: Monk made heavyweights, deep in the heart of northern New Mexico.  Try their Dark Ale.  Very tasty, almost dessert beer. Sweet, luscious, and creamy.
• Marble: Albuquerque's veteran craft brewers, it's hard to go wrong with any of these but their Double Wit or Pilsner, some of the best in their class.
• Le Cumbre: The upstart in Albuquerque, justifiably famous for their Elevated IPA.  My favorite was the Red Reyot, a huge red in the spirit of Marble's Red Ale; big and bitter, with the rye enhancing the hop bitterness.
• Picacho Peak:  The newest kid in Las Cruces, this place has a way to go to match the awesomeness of Spotted Dog.  Still, I'd give their Amber or Hefe a try if you come here. And their food is excellent.  Bonus: they serve local wines for the non beer drinkers in your crowd.
• Spotted Dog:  The closest we have to "a local" in the Las Cruces area.  Their ESB is fabulous as is their Belgian and Strawberry Wits.
• Red Door: Another upstart in the industrial "beer ghetto" of Albuquerque.  They had perhaps the best beer of the whole fest, a Black RyePA that resonated with burnt toast and orange marmalade as prominent flavors; it was a strange and satisfying brew, reminding me of the Italian liqueur Campari.
• Taos Mesa:  Our pint glass benefactors also pours a mean pint apparently.  Their Kachina Peak Pale Ale was a standout; in most parts of the world, it would be considered an IPA. Big, bold, froggy and most of all delicious!
• Tractor: My personal favorite in Albuquerque, mostly because of their ultra dry and amazing Et Tu Brute Cider.  Sadly, they weren't pouring this at the fest but their Honey Wheat was excellent, reminding me of a dry mead almost, with the warmness of the honey coating the palate but with no sweetness remaining.
• Santa Fe:  The oldest craft brewery in New Mexico brought out the big guns, serving up the amazing Western Block IPA, the only beer that rivaled Red Door for shear ingenuity.  This is a dry hopped wonder with citrus & tropical fruit everywhere. 
• Rio Grande & Sierra Blanca:  Veterans from little Moriarty along the I-40 corridor, these guys have a mixed bag of beers (don't ask me about their Alien Amber... meh) but I know they can do great things after the amazing Bourbon Barreled Stout I had on nitro from them last year.  I finally took the plunge and tried their Pancho Verde Chile Cerveza at the fest and sure enough, it tasted exactly like carbonated, roasted green chile.  Very strange but not altogether unpleasant.  
• Ponderosa: One of the newest breweries in Albuquerque and they're doing some great things. The standout at the brewfest was their aptly named Spanglish, a corn-based lager in tribute to New World brewing. Nice carbonation, light vanilla taste, and a refreshing finish. Surprisingly awesome.
• Little Toad Creek:  Silver City's one and only craft brewery also distills and serves local wine but the best they were pouring at the brewfest was their Hop-a-long Rye IPA, a well-balanced ale w/ surprising maltiness, slight hop bitterness and a rich sweetness on the finish. Rye astringence didn't overwhelm the flavors.

And that, my friends, is all for this entry.  All in all, it was a fine experience.  

Next up: a trip to Tucson and California, where I plan on sampling any number of breweries.  Stay tuned.

POST MORTEM: I found out that New Mexico breweries won several awards at the 2016 World Beer Cup, which took place the same weekend as our local brewfest.  To read more about the winners, check out this article from the Albuquerque Journal: New Mexico Breweries Bring Home Gold.