Wednesday, October 21st, 2015

Firkin good time last night at Engine House No. 9

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Let’s get one thing gloriously, effervescently clear: if you think “cask beer” means flat, warm, and vaguely reminiscent of dishwater, then what you’ve experienced is not cask beer. It is beer trauma. It is firkin fraud. It is mishandling of the highest, frothiest order.

Because when done properly—expertly, reverently, as if by candlelight and brewer’s incantation—cask beer is divine. It’s beer without artifice. Beer stripped of excess fizz and refrigerator tyranny. Beer that breathes. Beer that lingers. Beer that loves you back.

Which brings us to last night at Engine House No. 9, Tacoma’s historic, hop-happy firehouse-turned-beer-mecca, where the crew tapped a firkin (that’s right, a real one) of Don of Time, their American Pale Ale singing with grapefruit-forward glory thanks to Waimea hops—a varietal that basically screams “sunlight and peel zest and maybe a little mid-afternoon skinny dip in the Sound.”

This was no ordinary Don. This was Don served proper—unfiltered, unpasteurized, naturally carbonated inside the cask like a patient alchemical trick, then gravity-poured with the grace of a yoga instructor on cold brew. No added gas. No frostbite. Just a smoother, creamier pint with all the citrusy nuance and none of the carbonic bloat that makes you feel like a sad party balloon.

DonnyLlama—yes, that’s E9 assistant brewer, mascot, and possible spirit guide—made the night his own, collaborating with Quan Fi behind the decks to spin exotica and vintage Hawaiian vinyl, an audible wink to the grapefruit-and-sunshine vibes in every pint.

Meanwhile, bartender Todd “The Bod” McLaughlin (we assume that name is well-earned) pulled the pints with the kind of swagger usually reserved for tiki priests and Cicerone demi-gods. To top it off—literally—Donna Herren of Tacoma Boys fame ceremoniously crowned several Don of Times with tiny paper umbrellas, because sometimes whimsy is a requirement.

The result? Firkin Tuesday was less “Tuesday” and more “existential realignment via unfiltered citrusy beauty.” People smiled. Beer was pondered. Records popped. Umbrellas bobbed gently like lazy jellyfish in a glass sea of joy.

And somewhere, an English pub ghost gave a knowing nod and muttered, “Finally.”

Here are a few snapshots from last night, just in case your tastebuds require visual proof.