January 28, 2010
Can the beer trade be a style? A matter of shipping. Box size. Choice. Styrofoam. Newspaper. Choice again. With friends, as below, we just send. What do you want, might be asked. Or we might opt to guess that we know what the other wants.
Children trade. Toys. Comics. Baseball cards. My worst memory of trading is neighborhood friends stealing cards during a trade when I was maybe 11 or 12. I felt ashamed. Duped.
The beer trade has yet to reach that stylistic disapointment for me. The thrill of selection. I am not duped. I am pleased. Can there be an aesthetic of the consumer? One of its styles might be the trade. The ISO, of course, is part of such a stylistic approach to trying new beers. But we might also include the desire to please, to provide the hard to find, to surprise. One stylistic taught in writing classes is the active or the passive voice. One shows action; one does not. The trade might be the middle voice. As others note, the middle voice is neither active nor passive. Of course, action is needed to trade and can be noted (“he traded with me”). But the stylistic of the trade is the middle. This middle is mood. The box opens, and a mood is created. Wow. Oh. Hmmm. Oh my. I have this. I have wanted this. And so on. The contents play a role, but they are not the only agents here. Anticipation, hype, knowledge, taste also play a role.
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January 17, 2010
A basic beer vocabulary might include: H is for hops, F is for fermentation, W is for wort and so on. This kind of vocabulary is a simple alphabetic listing of items and relevance. This kind of vocabulary is based on common assumptions and expectations regarding language and experience. To name something or someone, we draw from what we already know.
But any experience then becomes limited. We draw from the same experiences over and over; eventually those experiences blend into the same one. And thus, a cliche is created. “Pine, grapefruit, bitter” – tasting notes expose their limitations. “Chocolate, roast, coffee.” These kinds of notes work too hard to match a reference with its thing. Such is how taxonomies function. But if we drift too far over into the folksonomic – “Radio playing KISS, memory of Homestead, Florida, raining” the tasting notes become too idiosyncratic. They lose meaning completely to anyone but the one expressing that meaning.
Still, I am drawn to the folksonomic. A vocabulary that leans heavily on the personal, as opposed to the communal. This vocabulary is a modified Keywords. It takes Raymond Williams’ genre and makes it more like Barthes’ autobiography. I, of course, want someone else to understand the meaning. But I write first for myself so that I may understand the complex meanings I encounter.
W is for wife. When I was still learning about beer, my wife sent me a box of beer from Liquid Solutions. Not knowing what to send, she asked someone at Liquid Solutions. He suggested Fish Tale. That 12 ounce bottle of the 10th Anniversary was the greatest beer I had consumed up to that point. She sent that box to me in Michigan. Most of our memories revolve around a first. But what about a not first, but not middle either? A somewhere near the beginning experience.
G is for grammar. For most, it is a fine line between grammar and punctuation. Take the common its/it’s error as example. Is this a grammar or punctuation mistake? If a bottle of beer has the wrong “its” on its label, do we draw attention to grammar (“it’s” means it is and not the possessive) or to punctuation (that apostrophe does not belong where the writer placed it). In my line of work, such distinctions are not as important as the basic task of proofreading. Proofread your work. Revisit what you think you have experienced in writing.
M is for Michigan. My beer memories do not begin in Michigan, but are strengthened by Michigan. Michigan is somewhere near the beginning for me. I bought a six pack of Expedition soon after moving to the Detroit area. I knew what the expectation was supposed to be: Oil change. Thick. Intense. And I repeated that expectation in my notes. A friend, visiting, pulled one out of the fridge in search of a beer. I knew he wouldn’t like it. His expectations were not prefigured. He didn’t like it. But I made him drink the whole beer. Expedition, based on my then financial expectations, was too expensive to waste.
N is for narrative. The story of under-carbonation is already a common Web tale. Lost Abbey under-carbonated their special release beers last year. Most narratives are based on expectation. A particular moment opened one’s eyes to beer (childhood memories, gift box, moving to an area where new beers were available). We know others too: down and out kid makes good, boy meets girl/boy loses girl/boy gets girl, a movie car chase will usually include a car knocking over a produce cart. If the narrative is already familiar, the experience either is confirmed (the beer is too flat) or accepted (I know what the story is supposed to be, but look at what else I have discovered). I choose the second approach to narrative. What other details, other than the known story, might I find? Common narratives help us make sense of the world. I need to draw out alternatives to those narratives, however, in order to make my own sense of the world. Otherwise, my experiences are yours. Otherwise, we live in the cliche. Such is how politics work.
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January 9, 2010
The trade. It is a dominant feature of craft obsession. Swapping possessions. Like swap meets, or baseball card conventions, or even comic book gatherings. I have something. You have something. We both believe that our “something” is of value to the other. Let’s swap. The online forum facilitates the swap. We trust each other based on the premise that we are willing to swap in a forum. Social networking is all we need to cultivate that trust.
The conclusion to the trade is the feeling of trophy hunting. I want to display the results. Beers do not hang well from the mantle. The photograph, however, frames our achievements, our glories. We take great pride in what we own. With beer, some ownership is fleeting. At some point, the possession will be consumed. Another reason why not to hang your trade trophy from the mantle. You have to take it down and drink it at some point.
A gallery of ownership is a gallery of pride. And boasting. Look what I have bagged. My camera held on to some of these baggings until yesterday, when I downloaded my achievements onto my computer. In the display is also worry. I am not an alcoholic. These trophies were collected over time. I didn’t do all this drinking at once. The fear reflects other false perceptions, like a hunter is not necessarily brutal (the way some think). Whenever I see Ted Nugent shoot game with a bow and arrow, I do not think he is savage for killing. My wife, however, does. We read the achievement differently. We read his captures differently. We read his boasting differently. I read: I am capable of hunting my own food, food that is more natural than what you buy at a supermarket (which is typically full of hormones and drugs). My wife reads: cruelty.
Still, despite such perception risks, I am drawn to the display. When you are obsessed, you are not ashamed to share that obsession. This past week, we watched two movies about nerdly obsession: Monster Camp and Wordplay. I love movies about nerds. I see my own nerd behavior in that of people playing the Nero game or competing to do crossword puzzles in record times.
My nerd-behavior is not without self questioning. Can I continue this forever? At one point do I stop collecting, even if for a short period of time? Why is it so difficult to share my collections?
Did I just look at the trade forum again?
On with this recent display of trophy hunting before I make yet another trade:
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December 30, 2009
Our last day, we ventured to Berkeley to dine at Chez Panisse for lunch. I’m drawn to reputation. I would have preferred to eat at the French Laundry – where reputation dominates almost all dining experiences – but not only is it not kid friendly, it would probably cost $200 or more. At 11:30 a.m., almost two hours before our reservation, we went to Triple Rock.
I first visited Berkeley when I was 16. A friend had a family friend there he wanted to visit. My friend’s friend had AIDS. No one would go with. I said I would go. We went to the campus where I bought a sweatshirt I still own and wear to the gym each day. His friend died years ago. I remember him as very kind and very open about his life and experiences. Berkeley, like San Francisco, is a city of homeless people. Outside the McDonald’s they congregate. Talking to people walking by. Changing clothes in the restroom inside. Eating food that poisons them. These are the experiences of the homeless.
The last Vered menu of the trip. One day I will publish an academic article based only on the pictures of my daughter reading menus. From one years old to fifteen years old. A rhetorical exploration of her menu reading. From this menu, she ordered nachos. It’s a fine line between snack and the poison called fast food. Is it snobbery to belittle the dining habits of the unfortunate, particularly on a day that we ate at Chez Panisse? This is a beer blog. I drink and write about expensive beer. Of course, it is snobbery.
I enjoyed an XIPA. It’s been said many, many times. The West Coast invented the floral, hoppy IPA. Grapefruit and pine. The oddest and most enjoyable of all IPA flavors. If there exists a topos of the IPA, it is the West Coast IPA. This topos is the place where all IPA meaning resides. The strong ale I had, Titanium, lacked the dark malty color of an American Strong Ale, but nevertheless was enjoyable.
This chalkboard provides a spreadsheet breakdown of style, description, ABV, etc. Excel meets chalk.
A pony tailed man checks the wort.
Wine and beer have no reason to fight. All of our pleasures deserve their occasions. If there is a fight to be had, it should be with fine dining and fast food. Fine dining still prefers to favor the wine over the beer. Reading Calvin Trillin’s Feeding a Yen, I notice his reference to ordering a “microbrew” instead of wine at a fine dining establishment. But which beer did he order? Hopefully, as Trillin might say, one he wouldn’t throw rocks at.
Fast food, on the other hand, offers neither. When I lived abroad at 16, I remember, however, a McDavid’s that sold Budweiser. We went into town to buy the awful hamburgers so that we could also order beer. Could beer save fast food in America? Probably not. The poisoned hamburgers and fries would be accompanied by the tasteless and mass produced Budweiser. The quality would remain at the level of the disadvantaged.
And our destination. Quail. Simple done well. By no means the meal of the disadvantaged. Alice Waters sat behind us in another booth. She was eating at her restaurant with her friends. We were eating at her restaurant by ourselves. We never spoke. Her email is hard to locate. Maybe I should have asked her then to contribute to the special journal issue on Food Theory I am editing. But I hate speaking. I prefer to write. That is my rhetorical and professional disadvantage.
Posted in 40, California, Triple Rock 1 Comment »
December 24, 2009
Our night at the Metro Hotel and Cafe in Petaluma finished with a bottle of Firestone Walker 13 I spotted at the Petaluma Market. “I want this,” I said to my wife as she scooped out some mac and cheese out of the prepared foods selections for our little girl. My box to ship beer home was already taped up and in the trunk. This would have to be consumed during the trip. We had lunch at an In N Out in order to see if fast food, indeed, could be good. In N Out is celebrated as California’s fresh alternative to the fast food hamburger. It was my first fast food experience in maybe 20 years. The restaurant was clean (cleaner than the McDonald’s in Berkeley I used in order to urinate. A sign on the woman’s door in that fast food establishment read: “Please respect the gender assignments of these bathrooms.” In the men’s room were a pair of pants on the floor).
13’s bourbon reminded me of the Abacus that I had once had at the Toronado in San Francisco. Or did it remind me of the barrel aged Firestone (what was its name?) that I had as a guest tap at Dark Lord this year? The barrel age beers blend together in memory as much as they do in the barrel. I do not mind. Roll out the barrel. Roll it out. Beer sometimes feels like a fast food experience. From one beer to the next.
We arrived the next day in Novato in order to visit Moylans (after a trek up and down the mountain to tour the Muir woods).
The brewery is located in a non-descriptive business park. The brewpub is equally non-descriptive. Along the rafters hung kitsch and Direct TV advertisements. Grateful Dead posters were framed against the wall where we sat. The food was uninspiring. Despite my pledge to not try every hamburger and fries at every brewpub I visit, I broke down and ordered a burger and fries. I soon regretted that collapse in will. Unimpressive. As tasty as any heavy meal can make itself be. I felt bloated and weighed down. A fast food chain had done better than Moylans.
The traditional menu picture – Vered holding a menu – ruined by a nap.
Water.
Barrel aged Hopsickle? I can’t tell. Whatever barrel it sat in, it acquired little addition. The alcohol, however, was pronounced.
Chelsea’s Porter. Decent and creamy. But not exceptional.
The return of the chalkboard. I must setup my chalkboard again. Our kitchen, however, has no identifiable space for a chalkboard. My wife has hung her pictures up on the walls. A chalkboard could hang in the dining room, but the effect would be ruined. I need a stainless steel refrigerator with a chalkboard built into the door. The kitchen at In N Out was all stainless steel.
When Moylans came to Missouri, I felt the excitement as well. The brewpub generated less excitement. As did Novato. If our hotel had not been paid, I would have continued on to San Francisco early. All travel is met with excitement and regret. Regret comes with the planning mistakes we inevitably make. I am an excellent planner in all things but travel. I say this in the age of the Internet when planning is easier than ever. How did my parents plan their family vacations with only a map and no Internet? How did they find anything without GPS? Grand tourist visits: Disneyworld. Busch Gardens. Denny’s. We are dependent on Google Maps and GPS now; Yelp and Chowhound guide our dining plans. Today, we would have travelled to Lincoln for a visit. The Internet warned us not to: snowstorm still active. We stayed home. I’m now drinking a beer as I write this rather than battling I-70 and a blizzard.
Marin IPA in the hotel room.
Alesmith X in the hotel room. We watched Office reruns while the little girl slept. The room was dark. We sipped our beers out of water glasses.
In downtown Novato, my name serves as graffiti tag on an old public phone. I have marked my space by accident. GPS will not find my mark. I found it by accident. “Look!” my wife called out. I snapped the picture.
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December 22, 2009
You can read a text multiple times and still not see what is written. I tell this to students when we go over proofreading and peer review. I take this advice to heart when I write; I ask someone else to read my work before I submit it for publication (notice the occasional typos on this blog where no one reads the work before I hit the “publish” button Wordpress provides; Vygotsky was right about inner speech, after all). Apparently, I do not remember this point about blindness when reading a website. However many times I read the Lagunitas website, I somehow didn’t read that it was closed on Monday. Maybe I didn’t want to see that it was closed. Maybe I was too convinced by the first schedule I wrote (the perfect trip, I thought) that I was, at some level, unwilling to change my plans before booking hotels. Maybe I just made a stupid mistake.
When we pulled into the business complex where Lagunitas is located, I saw the schedule on the sign out front. What was to be the second most important stop of the tour was not to be at all. We headed back into town and I felt disgusted. My wife did her best to console me, but I felt like an idiot. The hotel was paid for, so we were staying the night.
My compensation was Taps Petaluma. A fantastic beer bar in the downtown area. It was suggested to me by some Ratebeerians responding to a query I placed a week or two earlier.
Racer X on the paper menu; it is not on either of the two chalk boards. Again, chalk deceives what we desire. Still, I love the chalk board. It fascinates me. It makes an appearance on every post I write. Today we have this; tomorrow we have that. All bars should have chalk boards (and restaurants too). I have one that I made when I lived in Michigan. It hung in my kitchen and I wrote menus on it when people came over. It is now in our garage. It still has the last menu I wrote on it (a prison dinner I prepared for our dinner group).
A kid friendly bar. High chairs stacked up against the back wall. Tiny hot dogs on the kid’s menu. Vered ate her hot dog but left the bun. I still think of Hot Doug’s in Chicago; we waited in line but it was too late for us. We couldn’t make it to the front. More travel regret.
On the chalk board, my eyes went straight to the Valley Brew Uberhoppy. Another fabled IPA from the message board world. Very floral. Fantastic aroma. Slight malt.
Then my eyes fell on the 10.2 % (as Ratebeer claims….but I swore it said 13% on the chalk board) Speakeasy Old Godfather Barleywine. While my memories of Speakeasy were that it is an ok beer (stacks of six packs on the shelf at Holiday Market in Royal Oak that I seldom bought), I cannot resist the high alcohol special release barleywine. “Is it good?”I asked the waitress. “It will knock you out,” she said. It didn’t knock me out. But I enjoyed its intensity and sweetness. Caramel and toffee.
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December 21, 2009
Early in the trip, I stopped at a FedEx in Petaluma to ship back a box. The man behind the counter said: “Columbia? Wow. I used to live there.” ”
“Really?” I asked.
“I was a student. I studied Computer Science.”
“That’s great. I’m a professor there.”
“I loved Columbia, but it’s expensive.”
“Expensive?” I asked. “Compared to California?” Little is more expensive than a state where the five day rental of a crappy Mercury can cost over $300.
All seemed fine. My box was on its way. I had schmoozed the counter man properly. We made eye contact. We related. We had a story to share. He wouldn’t betray me, I was sure. By the time we got to Novato, I checked the status of my box. “Improper Shipment” in Windsor, California. The nightmare of all shipping is the returned box. The opened box. The stolen beer. RateBeer threads are devoted to the frustration of shipping. Out of all the things to send in the mail, these various shipping agencies – from the private to the public – fear the shipping of beer. If the question is underage drinking, the real question is: what teenager would spend this kind of money to ship beers that individually cost as much if not more than 30 cans of mass produced beer? If anything should be the target of government attention, it should not be the $18 Russian River sour ale (is there an under 21 year old who wants to drink this anyway?) but it should be on the mandated party pack of 30 cans (designed for inebriation) that every grocery and 7-11 seems to hawk. And, as I remember my teenage years, every teenager seeks out to purchase.
When I looked again at the status during the trip, the box was in transit once more. For the rest of the week, I remained in a type of panic: am I out of money? I won’t have the beers for my brother in-law? There were beers in there I had not yet tried. The message may not always arrive in communication, but in shipping, it must.
And this particular message did arrive as scheduled. And the world turned once more. Obsession settled from panic to a resounding “ahhhhhhhh.” We all lived happily ever after.
Posted in 40, California, beer 3 Comments »
December 20, 2009
Bear Republic, hidden off the main street in downtown Healdsburg, was our second stop. When Bear Republic began distributing to Missouri a year or two ago, we felt a rush of excitement. Now, I was entering the source of that excitement.
“Who lives in this town?” my wife asked. The town feels luxurious, and yet small. The brewery feels like it sits in the back of a pedestrian mall. An adjacent building holds tanks and barrels.
I divide brewpubs into a binary: the wooden, English pub look and kitsch. Speed Racer cutouts on the wall. Racing gear framed. Large flags of the Bear Republic hanging up. Faded yellow, red, and gray stripes running along the walls like in a Southwest gas station. Kitsch. The focus of Benjamin’s work. Here it is again. In brewpubs, kitsch is everywhere. Kitsch makes reproduction less obscure, less dark. It makes reproduction – like a beer that must be similar each time it is made – seem transparent. Brewpubs – whichever part of the binary they fall on – do the same. Tanks are often visible through glass partitions. You can see the production at work.
I just finished Michael Ruhlman’s The Making of a Chef (long after I’ve read the other two books in this series. . . I’ve read backwards, finishing with the first). I began the book on the flight out to California. What is interesting about Ruhlman’s work is the focus on obsession in terms of production: redoing one’s home, boat building, cooking. My obsession is about consumption: drinking beer, eating. I don’t brew beer. I don’t cook like a professional (though I wish I did). My obsession, however, is closer to that of fandom. To be a fan is to collect. To admire. To want. To desire. As a fan, you don’t necessarily make (though you could) what you obsess over. You consume it. If I’m obsessed, then I’m a fan.
The cornerstone of fandom – as it appears in obsession – is rarity or scarcity (In this case or as is often the case, I embrace capitalism, rather than reject it). At Bear Republic, I found several non-bottled rarities, including this wonderful, sweet Triple. But Racer X, the prize of all Bear Republic rarity, was not on tap. “When it goes on tap,” the waitress said, “it’s gone in a week. Everyone comes and fills their growlers.” I was glad to have tried it at Falling Rock in Denver. “Come back next week when we’re doing all sours,” she said. Again, rarity strikes me down. The strike is a dark pain for the fan. Come back next week? I live in Missouri.
Chalkboards keep us informed of our options. Through a glass darkly. What we want seems so clear. The chalk, easily erasable, makes things less clear over time. Availability. Scarcity. Come back next week. The board will look different.
On The Rolling Stones’ album, Through The Past, Darkly, Jagger sings on “Honky Tonk Woman”: “I’m sitting in a bar, tipplin’ a jar in Jackson” The album is a compilation album; it collects previous hits into one space. Our trips, too, are compilations, as are these blog posts. Sitting in bars. In Jackson. In Healdsburg. In Santa Rosa.
Through a glass darkly…
Wine and cheese afterward at Oakville Grocery. People walked their dogs up and down the street. We were too early for Chabad. A sign promised that they would arrive at 5:30 and light the Hanukiah in front of the grocery. Inside, the grocery’s workers had no idea what Hanukkah is. Through the glass of the grocery they would look out at the bearded, black coat men lighting a large candle holder and saying something in a different language. The day would be dark by then.
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December 18, 2009
The story of travel is the story of expectation. It is the move from the extraordinary to the ordinary. Extraordinary – wanting the exception, the hype, the anticipation to be realized. Ordinary – most trips proceed in similar ways. Packing. Getting there. Delays. Arrivals. Stays.
Our trip to Northern California is no different. A delayed arrival. A frustrating, GPS-driven delay through almost all of San Francisco on the way to Santa Rosa. A longer than expected drive in the rain. An emotional meltdown. When we arrived at Wallywood, thankfully, it was open. I would have hated to break in and be arrested on the first day of a vacation.
Choice. What to choose when faced with everything? When I was younger, I had a reoccurring dream. I am in a comic book store. There are too many comic books. Comic books I’ve heard of, and now finally find. Comic books I’ve never heard of. Which to choose? Which to buy? I’m too excited to do anything. I panic. The dream is going to end. Hurry! Buy the comic books!
Choose among the many. Redemption. Salvation. Perdition. Temptation. IPA. Porter. OVL Stout. Pliney. Blind Pig. Whatever was on the board. I did not really choose. It was brought to me.
The path to taste arrives via chalk. I had seen these boards before – on other people’s blogs describing other people’s visits. All of our tourist trips eventually become the same. Based on these other photos, I imagined a small, quaint pub with outdoor seating. Sunshine. People in shorts sitting at tables with umbrellas. Russian River, though, resembles most other pubs. Kitsch on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Beer signs. Wooden tables. A long board. Even pitchers of beer! And the chalkboards. They were familiar, yet different. As if chalk can ever be different. You write something. You get chalk on your hands. You make a scratching sound. Voila. Words appear. Redemption. Temptation. Salvation…..
Behind the glass, barrels. The greatest achievement in brewing was taking the commonplace – the beer barrel – and making it unique – the barrel aged. Didn’t they once sing, “roll out the barrel”? Now, beer sits idly in barrels maturing. Taking on flavors. Being infected on purpose. I have always loved Russian River for the infections. The taste of brett. Sour. Ales that have been aged.
In the rain. My daughter has been to more brewpubs by two years old than I had been to by the time I was in my 20’s. She takes easily to the bewpub. Most brewpubs are family oriented. Highchairs. Coloring paper. Crayons. Each of us plays with our respective toys. I’m still that child in the comic book dream. Hurry up and drink before the dream ends!
And all trips end in purchases. If there is anything that scares me about tourism – whether it is beer tourism or tourism of some other sort – it is the eventual credit card bill. Bottle Barn did not make this part of the trip easier. Will the beers arrive tomorrow? Or did FedEx send an empty box? I’m scared like in that dream. Panic. I have another day of expectation to get through.
Posted in 40, Russian River, beer 1 Comment »
December 6, 2009
I thought about posting this review to the Columbia Beer Enthusiasts site, but since we already debated Broadway once before, I’ll just put it here.
I love the concept of Broadway: local food and craft beer. I understand that they can’t install a fryer and thus meet the requirements of most brewpubs: fries (including fish and chips). Still, they don’t seem to be doing much with the local food concept, and I’m worried about their future.
We revisited Broadway again today. This is may be our sixth or so time. I had the ESB which was fine. Not inspiring, but fine overall.
And that may be part of Broadway’s problem. It borders the fine to less than fine, but seldom excels. We got there at 11:30 on a Sunday. The place was empty. We left forty minutes later. It was still empty. No one had come in. Some places across town are doing very well at this time on a Sunday morning (Cafe Berlin in particular). Broadway is empty. They don’t do a Sunday brunch for some reason (even though they are empty and the few places that do a brunch – Cafe Berlin, Bleu – seem to do well). And they aren’t doing enough, I feel, to keep people like us coming back (my favorite past mistake we experienced at Broadway – the waiter who brought one menu for the four of us to order from).
The food has not improved much since our first visit. My corn beef sandwich came with burnt toast. Given that the cook was not rushed (no other customers), I was curious as to why he didn’t re-toast the bread. Pretty unacceptable. The sandwich also comes with a big side of mustard that could probably serve five sandwiches. Who can eat all that mustard? This seems like waste. I had plenty on my sandwich and over 3/4 of the mustard was still in the little bowl.
The sides make little sense. Asian stir fry was one side you could choose today. Asian stir fry goes with what exactly? I had the heirloom tomato pasta salad as a side. Whatever heirlooms (out of season) that were in the salad were not noticeable. They were diced up so small, one couldn’t tell there were tomatoes in the salad. Plus, pasta salad does not inspire. I can make pasta salad. In fact,when pressed for a side dish for a picnic or get together, I make pasta or potato salad. It’s easy to do. It won’t offend. It’s basic. Sometimes, I throw in chilies to get the attention of other people going to the picnic, but overall, I make a basic side. Customers coming to your restaurant, who come willing to pay to eat, want more than the basic.
Out of eight pizzas offered, now six have pork. Whatever one’s dietary issues are (I’d say the same if six pizzas had chicken, beef, pesto, or any other same ingredient), this is a real lack of variety. Do you really need six of eight pizzas to have the same ingredient? Find more purveyors to buy from. Introduce variety. Get your chef to study pizza making. He seems to not have enough ideas. There isn’t one cheese pizza out of the eight. Not one. A white or cheese pizza can be done in amazing ways. With or without marinara, the cheese pizza should be on the menu. Three cheese. Five cheese. Whatever brewpub lingo you want to adopt, figure out how to make one (When we first visited, I had a veggie pizza that had uncooked eggplant on it. The chef didn’t know to precook eggplant before adding it to a pizza).
Given the emphasis on “local,” is Broadway doing enough to push local foods in interesting, yet acceptable ways? Not yet. Uninspiring sides. Uninspiring sandwiches. Way too much of one ingredient on the menu. If I go to Uprise (whose bread Broadway is using) and order a sandwich, soup, or salad (and often quiche), I am getting a unique, good sized, well presented meal. Uprise can take a base stock and daily churn out interesting variations of soups. Their sandwiches are well done mixes of meat, toppings, or just vegetables (and of course, they have the best bread in town). The corn beef sandwich I ordered today at Broadway (second time I’ve had it), is small, alone on a plate (no garnish), and not equal to its price. A customer looks at the food pushed to one side of the plate and thinks: is this worth $8.95? Presentation makes a customore feel like that are getting their money’s worth.The food needs better presentation.
Four waitresses stood around while we ate. It was a slow morning. Why isn’t prep being done for the week? Why aren’t pickles being made? Why isn’t dough being made for pizzas (rather than buying dough from Uprise)? Why isn’t soup being made or stock being made? Or why isn’t anything being prepped that can be used this week and that will be homemade?
That said, I really want this place to make it. We need it to make it. It fills a niche here and compliments a growing beer and food culture. If Asheville can sport over eight breweries, we can support two brewpubs. My biggest complaint is not the beer. It is ok for now. There are two audiences for beer Broadway needs to meet: everyday drinkers and nerds. For now, the beer is good enough for everyday drinkers who want craft beer but are not nerds. For nerds, the beer is not yet enough. The brewer should follow the lead of Mattingly in St. Louis and do one time beers in carboys for one or two nights a week. This will leave equipment free for big batches, it will bring in the nerds on a regular basis, and it will help establish a reputation among beer drinkers. For the rest of its audience, Broadway needs to refocus its attention on food.
And….they need to turn the music down. I love Curtis Mayfield, too, but I’m eating out, not attending a concert.
Posted in Broadway, beer 1 Comment »
