Hey Peaks & Pints, you just won the Washington Beer #DrinkWaBeer Instagram contest — what are you going to do next? We’re going to Disneyland! No wait, scratch that. We’re going to Marymoor Park, obviously — because it’s Father’s Day weekend, and the Washington Brewers Festival is turning 10, and what better way to celebrate paternal influence than by drinking 100+ beers in a public park surrounded by hopheads, food trucks, and lawn chairs that may or may not support your weight after a triple IPA? First: a hoppy, heartfelt THANK YOU to the fine, fermentation-loving folks at Washington Beer
Close you eyes. Now think about your favorite beer being poured into a glass vessel at the right, chilly temperature. Think about the first sip, the touch of frothy head and rush of effervescence, the flavor balanced between sweet and bitter notes. Now, open your eyes. You’re in the brewery where this beer was brewed. Bags of grain are piled in the corner and bottles are stacked in another. In front of you, a stainless steel tank holds thousands of gallons of this precious liquid. You can hear the light gurgle of liquid fermentation. There are posters promoting their Tuesday
Dick’s Brewing Raspberry Tripel Pull up a map of Europe, darling. No, not the tourist one with Eiffel Towers and overpriced gelato icons—go for the real, grain-and-grape divide version. You’ll see it, clear as a line in the loamy soil: north of the Alps is beer country, south of the Alps is wine. It’s about terroir, of course, but also about temperament. Where fruit thrives, wine flows. Where barley holds sway and fog lingers, beer reigns. But then—ah yes, Belgium. Belgium is the glorious glitch in the matrix. Belgium is where the beer tastes like wine,
More than a hundred new breweries have opened in Washington state over the past two years, and on a warm summer day, there’s no finer place to be than on one of their patios. There’s no finer place to be on a perfect summer night, either. Peddler Brewing, the bicycling-beer enthusiast’s dream brewery in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood, officially opened its new beer garden today, a week after the backyard beer garden’s soft opening. What once was no-man’s land is now strings of white lights, outdoor taps, gravel floor, food trucks and enough picnic tables to seat 400 people. It has,
Running a brewery isn’t just waving a magic wand at grain and water and hops until beer appears; it’s dealing with dangerous gases, caustic chemicals, scalding water and a dozens of other things that can harm or even kill you. It’s not flipping a switch and you’re in business; it’s assembling a complicated, resource-hungry manufacturing system at the same time you’re building a neighborhood bar. Prepare to deal with bureaucracy at many different levels, and a mountain of ensuing paperwork to follow. Opening a brewery open is often hell. You have to be hell-bent to follow your dream. Today, four
Pairing beer with food—real food, mind you, not nachos excavated from a stadium trough—is a sensual tightrope walk. It’s not just about washing down your hot dog with whatever IPA is within reach, no matter how many obscure citrus fruits it claims to contain. No, true beer pairing is an art. A dance. A meditation on intensity. Chefs know this. Brewers feel this. The best beer dinners live in that sacred in-between space where hop meets herb, malt kisses meat, and everything just… sings. Blessedly, chef Jacob Thacker at The Swiss Restaurant and Pub understands the symphony. And last night’s
For much of the last few years, if you wanted to drink beer from South Sound’s newer and smaller breweries you had to travel to their taprooms or seek it out on draft. Cans of 7 Seas Rude Parrot and Wingman P-51 Porter or bottles of Harmon Point Defiance IPA and Narrows Brewing Galloping Gertie Golden Ale might be ubiquitous at local stores, but for many other breweries, time-sensitive growlers have been the only way for fans to share beer at a party or drink a pint at home. Pacific Brewing and Malting Co. head brewer
Did you just turn 21 years of age? Well gather around and listen to my tale. There was once a time when those of us aged more than 25 years — you know, “old farts” — didn’t have a fully interactive, voice-activated GPS in our pocket at all times. We had to carry around giant, totally unfoldable pieces of tree carcass with directions scrawled on them in tiny, barely legible print to know where we were going. You know, maps. And in this age of smartphones, it would be almost inconceivable that anyone would still lug one of those dinosaurs
There are entire subcultures within the craft beer world—let’s call them buzz-denialists—who will swear on a stack of coasters that their deep love of beer has absolutely nothing to do with achieving even the slightest tingle of intoxicated joy. To them, beer is all about flavor, nuance, artistry, mouthfeel, malt character, and something they call “crushability,” which is apparently a compliment. But not drunkenness, heavens no. That would be gauche. These people can be found on both far ends of the ABV spectrum. On one end: the session-beer evangelists, who worship at the altar of sub-5% brews as if they
If you’re still chasing joy in material things, in productivity apps and inbox zeroes, in relentless digital preening and endorphin-sucking social media rituals—darling, you’re doing it all wrong. Connection, real connection, doesn’t emerge from perfectly filtered cappuccino shots or treadmill marathons of status updates. No, it happens in the sunlight, on a wobbly bike, with strangers, over beers. Obviously. Such was the revelation of yesterday’s BikeroBrew (say it aloud: by-kroh-broo, like a password to a secret club that smells vaguely of malt and possibility). A 35-human peloton of giddy, half-hydrated cyclists pedaled from one downtown Tacoma brewery to the next,
Van Halen “Diver Down” vs. Narrows Brewing Diver Down IPA They both carry the scuba diver down flag on their frontsides. They both had frontman changes. They both have tasty licks. But between Van Halen’s “Diver Down” album and Narrows Brewing’s Diver Down IPA, who can truly claim they rule the red with a white stripe from the upper left corner to the lower right corner? Get ready for Van Halen “Diver Down” vs. Narrows Brewing Diver Down IPA. >>> Born On Date VAN HALEN: Their fifth album, 1982′s “Diver Down,” turned 33 years April 14, 2015. As a hastily-recorded
Seattle Beer Week Randall Night There’s this device called a “Randall the Enamel Animal,” or “Randall” for short. It was created and perfected by Dogfish Head’s Sam Calagione. The Randall attaches to a draft line and infuses fresh hops, fruit, herbs, or almost any other ingredient of choice into a beer. Last night, as part of Seattle Beer Week, The Pine Box in Seattle hosted “Can You Handle My Randall,” 12 crazy-infused beers from Washington, Oregon and California. The Randall contraption looked straight out of a mad scientist’s lab. Crazy beer reps at The Pine Box’s
Narrows Brewing taste update, Octopus battle tonight There have been two high-profile changes recently at two Tacoma breweries. Pacific Brewing & Malting Co. assistant brewer Bethany Carlsen left for a head brewer job at Gig Harbor Brewing Co. Former head brewer for RAM Restaurant and Brewery Andy Kenser joined the Pacific Brewing’s sales team freeing up co-founder Steve Navarro to concentrate on brewing. Before Pacific’s change, Narrows Brewing head brewer Joe Walts, who helped build and open the brewery back in 2013, moved back home to Madison, Wisconsin, to be closer to his family and resume his old quality control
Saturday, May 9, a sold-out crowd packed a giant beer garden at The Gig Harbor Uptown Pavilion, 4701 Point Fosdick Dr., to enjoy suds and sunshine (fourth year in a row) at the fourth annual Gig Harbor Beer Festival. John Fosberg, festival organizer and founder of soon-to-open-Gig Harbor Brewing Company, wasn’t on site due to a family member’s college graduation many miles away, but the staff was on it, handling the capacity crowd and keeping the beer cold. Gig Harbor Brewing Company head brewer Bethany Carlsen donned a pretzel necklace and festival three-ounce shot glass, with news her budding brewery
Three Magnets Brewing forced to change Rainy Day IPA name Breweries do what they can to control their image, from their beers to their taglines to their Twitter feeds and Facebook pages. They hire publicists. They issue press releases. They give interviews. Sometimes, they even change their names in an effort to rebrand themselves, and sometimes these strategies work. Sometimes breweries are forced to make a name change, such as Three Magnets Brewing forced to change Rainy Day IPA name. In early April, Three Magnets Brewing Co. in downtown Olympia received a phone call from another brewery requesting that they
You could feel the excitement at 3515 Bridgeport Way W. next to the University Place Library. A large crowd milled about in the Whole Foods Market Chambers Bay parking lot, drinking free coffee, high-fiving the Sonics Guy, watching the Curtis High School Pep Band cranked out the tunes. Wood-fired pizza, live-mollusk tanks and more cheese than University Place roundabouts were discussed outside the closed doors. That’s right, Whole Foods opens and pours beers in University Place! Whole Foods Chambers Bay is now open in University Place. Photo credit: Pappi Swarner Then the countdown began: 10, 9,
My family and I spent the weekend beer-and-loafing our way through Westport, Washington—a windswept, fog-haloed salt lick of a coastal town where time slows to a saunter and the scent of smoked salmon haunts the driftwood like an ancestral ghost. I had grand designs of long beach walks, windblown introspection, and perhaps a moody selfie or two with a rogue seagull. But alas, nature had other, more gelatinous plans. Reason One: Westport is under siege. Not by tourists or economic redevelopment (ha), but by millions—and I do mean millions—of iridescent, alienesque, mysteriously beautiful sea blobs called Velella velella, or as
How much do I loooove Cinco de Mayo? Let me count the ways—preferably in tacos, measured in tequila shots, and garnished with a side of mariachi-induced euphoria. Every May 5th, I mentally (and occasionally physically) salsa-dive into the streets of Tacoma’s Proctor District, sombrero askew, flinging chimichangas and unsolicited hydration like a culinary piñata exploded. Yes, it’s become a national amateur hour of questionable tequila decisions and sad sombrero selfies, but beneath the sugar-rimmed chaos lies a rather noble truth. Because Cinco de Mayo isn’t just an excuse to chase mezcal with regret. It’s history, darling. Real, revolution-soaked, France-thwarting history.
Ah, how dreadfully polite it’s all become. Once upon a whiskey-slicked fever dream, journalistic debauch was considered noble, even essential. You drank to write, wrote to drink, chased enlightenment through smoke rings and barleywine, and nobody batted an eye—least of all the editors, who were too busy laundering rum stains from their cravats. But now? Order a mid-strength saison at lunch and Susan from HR clutches her ergonomic pearls, as if you’d just licked the copier. We have, it seems, bartered away our Dionysian inheritance for ergonomic desk chairs and “hydration reminders.” The great American hangover—once worn like a badge,
