A tale of two binders: Bourbons Bistro and Rich O's Public House.

During the course of chatting with owners and crew at Bourbons Bistro for a forthcoming profile at Food & Dining Magazine, I asked to see the legendary bourbon binder. It dates back to the establishment's founding in 2005 and is filled with tasting notes compiled at the time (and perhaps since) by Michael Veach.

Of course this reminded me of the then-Rich O's Public House binders from the long-lost period of 1997-1998. 

Jason Brauner mentioned that few customers ask to view the binder these days, and speaking for myself, twenty years ago at the Public House publications like this proved impossible to keep updated, so I quit trying.

Perhaps the modern world has made these relics obsolete. If so, something has been lost.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: "Light Beer? Not Here," and other Public House beer list views from 1998.

Earlier this week, I hesitantly delved into the archives for a look at the (in)famous Public House beer binder.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Recalling "Love on the Beach" and taking note of changing times.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: On beer lists, beer-speak, and beer geeksplaining.

The views that follow are from the beer list in early 1998, pre-binder. Note the scribbling in the margins. Like a collection of demos shaped only gradually into a song, they chart the relentless evolution toward the fondly recalled three-ring presentation.

The first real desktop computer we had probably came along in 1996. It cost somewhere around $3,500, possessed all the requisite bells and whistles, and wouldn't be able to power a solitary Facebook memory today without flashing "tilt."

I dimly recall someone loading Microsoft Publisher on the new computer. Probably none of these beer lists would have happened had I been restricted to the embryonic word processing capability we had before the pricey computer purchase.

Looking back, it isn't clear where I found the time to write these surprisingly detailed beer lists, although it's worth noting that until 2001 or 2002, there also was a monthly edition of Walking the Dog (the newsletter of FOSSILS) to write, print, collate, staple, stamp and mail.

Someday I'll rediscover them, too.

The actual number of bottled beers on the list in early 1998 was 150 or so, with perhaps seven draft lines.

At times I wonder what would have happened had we not chosen to pursue brewing on premise, and stuck with the "good beer bar" motif without our own house beers as part of the mix -- and the investment.

Consequently, what strikes me about viewing these 20-year-old beer lists is the relative absence of American craft beer. Of course, we didn't refer to it as "craft" back then.

These microbrews were just beginning to trickle into range, often sporadically. There was a big dip when the dot.com brewery bubble burst at the end of the decade, and as we know, it was only a prelude to the current tsunami.

Crazy days, indeed, and I suppose I'm lucky to have survived to tell the tale, although it would be nice to be able to remember a little more of it.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Recalling "Love on the Beach" and taking note of changing times.

In my view, the game is won.

Numerous details remain to be sorted through, but in large measure, decades of struggle toward greater choice in better beer have brought us past the period where heightened vigilance is necessary. I can relax, live a little and have some fun.

As in this most ancient of beer jokes: Why is American beer like making love on the beach (or in a canoe)?

Because it's fucking close to water.

The joke has become obsolete, but it illustrates the beer lover's mindset during those long, lean years from the advent of mass-market "light" beer (late 60s) through the 1990s, when the first wave of the beer revolution crested. Those were watery times, but during the past 15 years, the American beer scene has changed beyond recognition.

Perfection is an unattainable state of existence, and yet the pendulum has swung decisively toward greater choice in beer, to the extent that rather then critiquing too few good beers on an establishment's list, contrarians like me can't complain that too many of them are hoppy IPAs.

“Love on the Beach: Our Finest Swill List,” was an indisputable classic from the Public House beer list binder during the 1990s. It addresses a state of consciousness in wartime, emanating from righteous indignation that seemingly few beer drinkers would step outside the norm and try something different.

Contrary to popular wisdom, there always were suitable alternatives.

The first draft lager featured at the Public House was Carlsberg, later replaced by Pilsner Urquell. There were milder beers in bottles, like Warsteiner. Happily, most visitors ultimately were willing to give choice the old college try. Some never escaped brand loyalty to the giants, and this always struck me as sadly limiting. 

Granted, I could be an asshole about it, but most of the time a helpful one.

Swill left the building entirely in 2002 with the advent of brewing on site, but in the interim, the King of Beers eventually rose in price to $8.50 at a time when most places asked $2.00 — and one schmuck actually bought one. I hope it was royal enough for him.

That was then, and this is now.

Pints & Union, or Pints&union (stay tuned for the explanation) will be opening at some point in the next 10 days. There'll be alcoholic drinks other than beer, including wine, cider, distilled favorites and cocktails, but of course my role is to devise and administer the beer program, and toward this end pub owner Joe Phillips and I spent much time brainstorming (and drinking) beer.

As stated previously, the beer list will be firmly classicist, with many legacy/heritage brands and golden oldies -- the greatest beer hits of the 1300s through the 1900s.

However, there'll also be "new" classics, maybe even a hazy IPA, as well as a few beers I'd never have opted to offer at the Public House: Old Style, Stroh's and Little Kings among them.

But -- and this is very important -- Pints&union isn't the Public House, and it so happens that Old Style, Stroh's and Little Kings were personal favorites of mine in the pre-craft era.

I'm not a beer snob any longer, and Joe's joint won't be trading in white whales. His goal is egalitarian, and I eagerly subscribe to this ethos. Diversity in beer implies a broad range and hard thinking about price points. Taking these into consideration isn't a compromise at all. 

I'll always be synonymous with the "Love on the Beach" subsection of the beer binder, and that's fine by me. It is inseparable from a time and place, and I'm proud of the work we did. Two decades have passed, and the Public House remains even though I've moved on.

The war, whether internal or external, is over, at least for the moment. It gladdens my heart that a unique and distinctive tradition will be created at Pints & Union, which will be a synthesis of all the experiences preceding it.

We're just about there. In the coming days, I hope to keep readers informed of our progress.

THE BEER BEAT: It should be in a museum, but the original Public House keg box has a new, loving home.

It has been grabbed; thanks, MW and crew. If this keg box could talk ... I'd have been compelled to sell her for scrap.

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NEW ALBANY’S MOST FAMOUS KEG BOX IS UP FOR GRABS

It spawned a craft beer revolution in this city.

In 1992, a keg of Guinness was the first to be tapped at the Public House formerly known as Rich O’s. Next came Carlsberg (later Pilsner Urquell), and then the “third (or center) tap” was installed. It was intended to rotate, and the inaugural occupant was Oldenberg Outrageous Bock.

These pioneering efforts were made possible by the keg box currently reposing in my garage, where it has been resting since 2007, when it was decommissioned after 15 years of service. 

It was dubbed the Jouett Meekin Memorial Keg Box. For a while, I kept beer tapped to drink at home, and used the keg box for Harvest Homecoming Parade parties and occasional social gatherings. I’m quite attached to this hunk of metal and draft lines, but the time has come to find her a better home.

The keg box currently is configured for three standard kegs (three towers), with three draft lines and three couplers (standard Sankey; there’s also a spare German slider). The CO2 tank and regulator are included.

Caveat: The keg box was retired from the Public House because there had been persistent leaks in the drip tray housing, causing beer to soak into the insulation. This eventually led to an irrevocable problem with fruit flies, making the unit unusable indoors, though not for patios or outdoor bars.

After ten winters in the garage, this problem may have been “frozen” away; however, I don’t recommend the keg box for indoor use without extensive troubleshooting and close attention to the drainage. The late Kevin Richards installed a new sheet metal floor covering prior to decommissioning.

The keg box last worked properly circa 2012 or 2013. It stopped cooling, and I let it ride. I’m not an HVAC kind of guy, and I wasn’t drinking enough beer at home to make the repair costs worthwhile. The keg box may require a major repair, or a minor tweak. Takers may wish to calculate accordingly.

For this reason, and because my sole objective is finding a good home for this epochal piece of local beer history, the keg box is all yours to come take from my garage exactly as it is.

Once you’ve restored the unit to working condition and know the full extent of your investment, simply pay me what you think it is worth to you – in cash, barter, beefsteak, porter or nothing at all.

The original price of this keg box was $300 in 1992, as transacted with the legendary Herb Brodarick, who was running the Toll Bridge Inn in Portland (Louisville) at the time.

First come, first option to haul.

Thank you for your consideration.

THE BEER BEAT: Michael "Beer Hunter" Jackson's epochal book at 40, his 1994 visit to Louisville, and the color red.

How did this happen? Keep reading.

Ironically, given the book's influence on me, I seem to have lost my copy of it. But no matter. As the years pass, it's ever clearer to me that Michael Jackson's World Guide to Beer perfectly captured the beer world at a crossroads between old and new.

Furthermore, having been inspired by the text, I had the first-hand opportunity to experience the historic European side of this tableau before modernity began to alter it irrevocably, then to apply all these lessons at my own pub to what became the American beer renaissance.

I've been very fortunate in these instances, and I was even more fortunate to meet the man himself.

MICHAEL JACKSON’S WORLD GUIDE TO BEER ENTERS A ROBUST MIDDLE-AGE, by Tom Acitelli (All About Beer Magazine)

By the start of 1977, Michael Jackson was a mildly successful, 34-year-old newspaper and television journalist whose biggest coups to date were editing the in-flight magazine of Dutch airline KLM and filling in for another writer on a 1976 book called The English Pub (the photo-heavy affair covered exactly what its title implied).

Jackson would exit 1977 as the leading authority on beer in the English-speaking world, maybe the whole world. For it was during that year that publishers Prentice-Hall and Littlehampton Books Services released his World Guide to Beer in the U.S. and the U.K., respectively. It was a groundbreaker in terms of explaining and popularizing beer.

This essay first appeared a few years ago at LouisvilleBeer.com, which appears to have become moribund. That's too bad, though as we're learning on an hourly basis in 2017, change is the only genuine constant. If you've read this piece previously, persevere, because there's a twist to the reprint.

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Jackson, Louisville, and the Color Red.

Michael Jackson unexpectedly visited the former Rich O’s Public House in November, 1994, a tad more than two years after we opened. If I hadn’t been drinking for much of the same day, tagging along with David Pierce as the Beer Hunter made pre-arranged appearances at Bluegrass Brewing Company and the now defunct Silo, I’d have been far too nervous to properly function as host.

I’ll be forever grateful that Jackson consented to accompany our ragged band of awed and inebriated fledgling beer enthusiasts on yet another beer hunt, this one at 9:00 p.m., from downtown Louisville across the Ohio River to an embarrassingly unfinished strip mall space that at the time could offer only three beers on tap.

Moreover, knowing that most of the regulars would be following Jackson through Louisville, we’d closed the pub for the day. Minutes ahead of the approaching motorcade, there was barely enough time to dash inside, flick light switches, sweep up and make the barroom somewhat presentable.

Coming on the heels of a long day of one-ounce samples, Jackson proceeded to order and consume a full 20-oz Imperial pint of Sierra Nevada Porter, and upon departure an hour and a half later, made this wry observation:

“I’ve been to many pubs in America, and I’ve never seen one quite like this.”

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I’ll say it again: It is impossible to overstate the influence that Michael Jackson had on thousands upon thousands of beer drinkers, who continue to find in his elegant and precise prose a purposeful rationale for their pursuit of the perfect pint.

Some describe Jackson as comparable to William Shakespeare in terms of reach and pervasiveness. To me, far more flattering is the suggestion that he is the beer world’s Samuel Johnson, the 18th-century English essayist who established expository norms for non-fiction and wrote a dictionary of the English language. 150 years later, Jackson synthesized Johnson’s style and words and did the same for the language and vocabulary of beer.

Jackson did not invent the notion of beer styles, but he introduced them for the consideration of a bland lager-soaked planet, though it is Jackson’s association of beer with place that survives as the finest representation of his genius. Those 20th-century industrial monoliths complexes may have stolen beer from its traditional point of localized orientation, but Jackson stole it back — first a little, and then a lot.

Jackson generally refrained from writing about technical brewing details, possessing instead an intuitive ability to filter hyperbole of the sort favored by marketers, and to viscerally reconnect beer to its “terroir” in terms of physical geography, human culture and social conditions. He did so factually, wittily, majestically, and always with supreme lyricism.

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A few years after Michael Jackson’s nocturnal pub visit, I was in Denver for the Great American Beer Festival. A few samples under my belt, I was loitering somewhere on the mezzanine, leaning against a vacant table and chatting with the beer writer Stan Hieronymus, who suddenly asked me if I had brought a book for signing. With my face registering cluelessness, he motioned behind me – and there was Jackson, settling in for another afternoon with his reading public.

Completely by accident, there I was at the head of a gradually lengthening line, and without a book to have autographed. However, I had a GABF program tucked under one arm, and it was duly proffered to Jackson as I reintroduced myself and asked if he remembered the Public House. He smiled in affirmation, adding that the FOSSILS newsletters being sent to him in London were entertaining.

“You’re quite the polemicist,” said Jackson.

I blushed crimson as Jackson pushed away the program and said, “Have I told you why your Red Room made such an impression on me?”

It surprised me that Jackson even noticed the Red Room, which had only recently come into being when he visited. It was (and remains) a small seating area at the pub, with one wall painted red and a massive three-part Soviet-era poster of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin on the wall, since augmented with other examples of Communist paraphernalia.

“No,” I replied.

Jackson put down his pen and began telling the story.

It began in 1945 with his earliest childhood memory at the age of three: The post-war British election campaign that ended in Labour’s sweeping victory and Winston Churchill’s fall. Jackson’s father, whom he described as the family’s main political agitator, was at work, and so his mother – normally apolitical – took young Michael to a rally for their Yorkshire constituency’s Labour candidate, an erstwhile journalist who was an unapologetic Socialist.

Jackson never forgot the rally’s uniformly red buntings and campaign banners. The candidate handily won the seat and began a long and distinguished career in Parliament, so long that after the adult Jackson graduated from university in the mid-1960’s and began his own journalistic career, the same politician still held the seat he’d won in 1945.

Jackson was assigned to interview the aging MP, and he learned that the politician had lived in America prior to the second war, and had worked for …

“The leftist Louisville newspaper,” Jackson said that day in Denver. “What is the name of your leftist Louisville newspaper?”

By now I was becoming uncomfortably cognizant of a horde queued behind me. What newspaper in Louisville would fit Jackson’s description? He tried his best to jog my memory.

“The newspaper’s owners were wealthy liberals,” he said, “and they sold the paper to a huge media company.”

I blurted out: “The Binghams? The Courier-Journal?” Jackson came up out of his chair.

“Yes! The Courier-Journal, the Binghams – that’s it!”

And so it was that the member of parliament – the man whose campaign rally had been burned into Jackson’s memory by virtue of the color red – also had worked for the Louisville Courier-Journal. He had spoken of Louisville when interviewed by Jackson so many years before, and this was the cognitive impetus for Jackson’s reaction when he walked into our pub in 1994.

Red Room, geography, colors, politics and beer … all combining to make dozens of other beer lovers grudgingly wait their turns while the dots were connected for my sole benefit by the world’s greatest beer writer … well, I’ll remember these moments until the day I join Jackson at the celestial tap room, when I intend to ask the one question that most needs answering:

What was the journalist/politician’s name?*

I was lucky to chat with Michael Jackson twice more before his death in 2007, and while there’ll be no return visit to Louisville, it seems to me that in 1994, he gave the city’s re-emerging beer scene his seal of approval.

---

AN UPDATE

* In January 2017, I finally got busy and compared notes on Jackson's childhood in Yorkshire with a list of parliamentary constituencies there and the results of the 1945 election, and the journalist/politician whose name I'd forgotten almost certainly was J. P. W. "Curly" Mallalieu, profiled here and here. The Courier-Journal isn't mentioned, but the Lexington Leader is. I'll have to think of a different celestial tap room query ...

ON THE AVENUES: It’s never too late to beer all over again.

ON THE AVENUES: It’s never too late to beer all over again.

A weekly column by Roger A. Baylor.

It isn’t that I’ve fallen out of love with beer. We’re not divorced or anything. A better word is estranged, which implies an alienation of affection, but doesn’t entirely rule out the possibility of reconciliation.

These thoughts occurred to me recently as I was contemplating the future of The Potable Curmudgeon, my beer-themed blog. It dates to 2005, and has enjoyed some fine moments over the years, though recently my commitment to maintaining it has waned.

Slightly less so Roger’s Simple Beer Pleasures, a page at Facebook that I started in late 2015. It is far better suited to the truncated social-media-driven attention spans ruling the planet at present, including my own, at least as it pertains to beer and brewing.

In spite of my efforts, I can’t seem to make The PC blog and Simple Pleasures work in harmony the way NA Confidential’s blog and Fb page do, primarily because my efforts are half-hearted.

There’s the rub.

I care more about what I’m writing at NA Confidential than The Potable Curmudgeon, so I’m willing to make the time at one and not the other. Taking it a step further, this indiscipline owes to my sense of estrangement from the world of beer and brewing. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy writing about beer, thinking about it and even drinking it, just that it isn’t a daily priority at present.

Consequently, I’ll be altering the routine in the weeks to come. The beer writing I undertake will be featured here at NA Confidential, and I’ll allow The Potable Curmudgeon to remain dormant as an archive.

Perhaps Fridays will be NAC’s Beer Day, or some such. Since so much of my beer writing has sought connectivity between beer and other interests in my life, putting them all in one place rather than separating them makes the most sense.

That is, until it doesn’t.

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Returning to the topic of beer estrangement, I'm actually optimistic about the potential for reconciliation, and yet those who have been burned tend to shun the fire the longest time.

My last few years at NABC weren’t excessively happy ones, a frustrating situation admittedly arising in part from my own mistakes as well as a bit too much foundational hubris, coupled with self-imposed stressors related to living and working full-tilt-gonzo.

Consequently, I’ve been compelled to examine these previous experiences in great detail, and it’s precisely like being in therapy, with pain and pleasure in maddeningly shifting measure. It’s getting better all the time, although for my own self-protection, I’m adamant about my priorities being in need of clear delineation before I consider re-upping in small business stewardship, whether on my own or in partnership with others.

Beer was my full-time job for 25 years, and it was part-time for a decade before. In many respects, beer has been my life, and while it is not my life at this precise moment, it remains important to me, enough so that lately I’ve been considering the potential terms of such an employment-based rapprochement, and during the year about to conclude, there have been more green lights than red.

I’m encouraged by a few emerging opportunities and have chosen to emulate the timeless wisdom of the hedgehog, confining myself to one big idea rather than an array of smaller ones.

This big idea goes something like this: “In terms of better beer, there still is a market for what I know how to do – and correspondingly, what I know how to do is undervalued in today’s beer marketplace.”

What I know how to do is educate and entertain in comfortable pub confines, and what I’ve learned not to do is try conquering the world. I’m hoping that accumulated insights will help me avoid previous missteps.

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In 1990, there was a paucity of choice in the beer marketplace. I set about providing these options at Rich O’s Public House, which at the time meant featuring classic imported brands, primarily from Europe. The genre eventually to be named “American craft beer” began filtering into metropolitan Louisville at roughly the same time, and a few years later we reformatted as NABC and began brewing our own beer.

This house-brewing decision led to alternating evolutions and digressions. Years passed, and the competitive landscape became altered beyond recognition. By some measures, NABC’s brewing operation has been successful these past 15 years; by others, less so, but either way it should come as no surprise, because all businesses face similar challenges.

Perhaps the problem for me is that while market conditions and business necessities changed, I didn’t.

There’s no one to blame for this situation except me. The simple truth is that the more “craft” beer became a business, the less business I had inside it. This was a necessary lesson for me to learn, and our experience at Bank Street Brewhouse (now renamed NABC Café and Brewhouse), taught it to me good and hard. I'm micro, not macro. Rinse, repeat.

For better or worse, I remain a reluctant capitalist, harboring absolutely no interest in business books, business seminars and business envy. It is possible for capitalism to suit me in small doses, so long as I’m not required to wear an actual suit. With Bank Street Brewhouse, I placed myself in the position of having to be more of a straight numbers-crunching businessman, and less of an iconoclastic teacher.

In retrospect, this wasn’t a good fit for me. The business survived, if not thrived, while I gradually died inside. It came to a point where the only way forward was severing ties with the past, which isn’t ever easy. My self-identity had become inseparable from the “craft” beer business, but the “craft” beer business had become both distant and impervious to my whims and commands. We needed to be apart for a while.

Like I said … an estrangement.

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To this very day, only one facet of “business” interests me much, and this is the notion of undervalued assets – not exactly in the sense of an undervalued stock, though similar. If the beer market is 95% insipid golden lager, then better beer is undervalued, and worth the investment in time and money. When better beer “wins,” and newcomers flock to IPA, it’s time to advocate other ways of better brewing and drinking.

My advice to myself is to allow the pendulum to swing way over to the other side. It can’t hurt me there, but I must be prepared for the time when it comes back in my direction and be ready with a deft sidestep, like Fred Astaire, because when I'm on the side of the ascendant pendulum, that’s when I can no longer win; then it's an opportunity for the folks who’ll always have more money than me, and they take the joy right out of it.

The overarching point is that 25 years later, what I started doing in the 1990s – a relentless focus on quality and the gradual process of acclimatization borne of incessant education – has gone completely by the wayside. Hardly anyone has the patience for it, and our collective shrinkage of attention spans has led to marketing by electronic flash card.

Screw that. I can do it, and I like the idea (and the odds) of following my muse full circle back to the origins, and featuring beers I know from breweries I’ve visited, both here and abroad, in a reasonably suitable setting, with boring predictability, not unlimited rotation.

It’s what I’m hoping 2017 will be about, because it’s about time, right? I need to go to the mattresses and get in beer again, and this town really needs a soap box for the resistance.

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Two July columns that explore this topic in greater detail. 

AFTER THE FIRE: Before the deluge, or knowing how this whole beer business started.

ON THE AVENUES: An imaginary exercise tentatively called The Curmudgeon Free House.

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December 1: ON THE AVENUES: Once more with feeling, because as the notable American philosopher Moe Bandy once sang, “Here I am, drunk again.”

November 17 and 24: (BYE WEEKS, literally and figuratively)

November 11: ON THE AVENUES: Kind-a full-a you know what, but now we're going to find out whether Jeff Gahan has any cattle under his hat.

November 10: ON THE AVENUES: Don't be a Dickey, local Democrats. The verdict is in, and it's time for a change.

ON THE AVENUES: An imaginary exercise tentatively called The Curmudgeon Free House.

ON THE AVENUES: An imaginary exercise tentatively called The Curmudgeon Free House. 

A weekly column by Roger A. Baylor.

In my previous column, published earlier at The Potable Curmudgeon blog, I recalled the growth of the "better" beer program 20 years ago at the Public House formerly known as Rich O’s, and found myself musing – is this word copyrighted? – whether a retro, back-to-basics, “better beer” pub program still might make sense in an era of HopCat and its 132 IPAs on tap.

AFTER THE FIRE: Before the deluge, or knowing how this whole beer business started

 ... My contrarian instincts tell me that the beer climate is ripe for a modest, thoughtful return to basics, emblemized by a relatively small list of classics on draft, and in bottles and cans, to be accompanied by some good, old-fashioned beer education, which seems to have been tossed aside in the era of mile-wide, inch-deep “craft” fandom.

It should be obvious that any conceivable template I might offer in this context, whether or not it has an immediate future, has been custom-designed in my brain for a specific potential user.

Namely, me. That's purposeful, by the way. I don't make detailed plans very often, and when I do, they're on cocktail napkins.

While it is true that I’ve often railed against cults of personality in the local political realm, and pined for the seemingly unreachable ideal of teamwork and multiple minds coming together, what I'm imagining here is a small, sustainable specialty beer café, not a multi-million-dollar City Hall filled with obscure departments and shuffling time servers.

At least it wouldn't be boring having a personality aboard ship who is capable of staging a floor show in addition to sweeping up and taking out the garbage. Entertainment and education? Been there and done that. Anyway, differentiation seldom has been a problem for me.

At the present time, I’m only thinking aloud, curious about the possibilities. Before describing them further, you must endure a digression.

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It's a story I’ve told on many occasions.

In a year’s time, Diana and I bought an old house on Spring Street in New Albany (in 2003), and George W. Bush was re-elected to a second term (2004).

These two seemingly unrelated occurrences converged with a third contingency, because by 2005, I was looking back on 15 years as a principal player in the New Albanian Brewing Company. It proved to be the right time for a sweeping reappraisal, with a mind toward the future.

Where was I going personally? What about the business, not to mention the whole country?

Providentially, my private life already had evolved for the better, because Diana completed me. It’s always best to have a solid foundation. We did, and do.

Next came a survey of the blighted downtown New Albany landscape of the period, and an insatiable urge to know what caused these empty urban doughnut holes in America – and by extension, why self-described local “leaders” seemed powerless to do anything about them.

Finally, with the curse of W forced on me a second time, there came an epiphany. As an individual, there was next to nothing I might do to change the wider world. However, perhaps the local grassroots provided the best opportunity for participation, to improve the basic building block of community, and to help make it a more solid foundation.

NABC had raised the local bar for better beer. Might my personal future as well as that of my business also be tied to the revitalization of the city’s most undervalued assets, its historic downtown business and residential districts?

Beginning in 2005 and 2006, I embarked upon a journey through a labyrinth of ever-widening learning curves pertaining to urbanism, independent business, street engineering and the enduringly senseless nature of small town hack politics. It truly has been a Long March, and the accumulation of wisdom along the way has proven exhausting.

Eventually I lost an election and gave up the business, but in the process, I regained some semblance of a soul. The jury remains sequestered in deliberation, and the learning curve goes on forever. It should suffice to say that as progress in New Albany pertains to politics, beer, business and urban affairs, there remains much work to be done.

As for me, at some point I'll have to do something with my life, right?

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In consideration of these interrelated themes, and noting the strengths and weaknesses of the startling “out of nowhere” downtown New Albany food and drink scene, a hypothetical plan is taking shape in my brain. It’s just for the fun of it, and here is the overview.

The Curmudgeon’s (purely imaginary) Free House would need a suitable location in downtown New Albany, close to my home. Why? Because it’s better to live as you preach. City officials might even try it sometimes -- you know, walk to lunch.

Limited square footage is preferable, so as to make the Free House affordable. Walkability and bikeability are musts, but as I’ve noted previously, the implementation of these realities depends entirely on the whim of King Gahan the Unclothed.

A stopped clock is right twice each day, and he’s past due. Cross your fingers, and hope that no one else is killed before he finally gets the memo.

With numerous indie eateries located near this fictional location, a crucial bit of cost reduction stands to be achieved, because absolutely no food will be served, save for that required by Indiana ATC statute. The infamous $10 prepackaged frozen weenie sandwich springs to mind, as microwaved by the eater himself, thus ensuring minimal health department involvement.

Customers would be free to order carry-out or procure delivery from the establishments nearby. There’d be bags of pretzels and crisps. That’s all. What is needed is a beer classroom, not another eatery struggling to find, train and keep workers.

An easy and inexpensive two-way Indiana beer/wine license would suffice, allowing for a few supplementary whites, reds and ciders if so desired. There is no need for liquor, and after all, the Grant Line Road location of NABC never once had a three-way permit.

Opportunism is the watchword. Limited business hours would be timed to coincide with peak times for neighboring food and drink businesses and civic events, with groups and seminars by appointment. The object is to construct a one- or two-person operation, limiting expenses and enhancing expertise.

Finally, why have distracting gadgets like televisions when everyone has a smart phone? Persistent rumor insists that Emperor Gahan of Eastridge is bringing wi-fi hot spots to downtown. That'd be useful. Otherwise, FM radio channel WFPK works just fine, and I’d be free to bring a few CDs with me to work – Bulgarian Women’s Choir today, Queens of the Stone Age tomorrow.

In short, just like the old days at the pub, when we listened to what I wanted to hear.

---

I’ve put together an imaginary opening beer list. The rationale includes brevity, availability and diversity of style. There’d be appropriate glassware, which doesn’t mean “branded” glassware, just the right kind of vessel.

There’d be two everyday drafts, and one or two rotating taps (depending on the size of the keg box). Permanent fixtures would be Guinness Stout (nitro) and Victory Prima Pils, with the third spout pouring some hoppier English or American ales. A seasonal tap would take up the fourth tower.

Generally speaking, drafts would be at or near session strength (4.5% or 5% abv, depending on the definition).

The organizational conceit for a bottle and can list of 30 or so selections is my own personal experience. They’d be exclusively drawn from (a) breweries I’ve visited, both in America and abroad, and (b) breweries right here in Indiana.

BELGIUM
Cantillon Classic Gueuze
De Dolle Oerbier
Delirium Tremens
Drie Fonteinen Schaerbeekse Kriek
Fantome Saison
La Chouffe
Orval
Poperings Hommelbier
Rochefort 10
Rodenbach Grand Cru
Saison Dupont

GERMANY
Aecht Schlenkerla Marzen Rauchbier
Reissdorf Kolsch
Schneider Weisse
Uerige Classic

UNITED KINGDOM
Fuller’s ESB
JW Lees Harvest Ale
Samuel Smith Oatmeal Stout

UNITED STATES (brands to be determined)
Bell’s
New Holland
Rogue
Alternates to be named

INDIANA CRAFT BEERS (cans only)

Lots and lots of choices exist at the present time: Black Acre, Bloomington Brewing Company, Central State, Daredevil, Flat12, Salt Creek, Sun King … and others.

You may be wondering about the emphasis on imports, given my advocacy for American-brewed beer. It’s a valid question, and of course, there’d be an American “craft” beer presence (in cans) on the list.

The short answer: So goes the mind of a contrarian.

My career in beer began with imports, and then I spent many years advocating for American "craft." Now American “craft" is everywhere, and the Old World classics have been overwhelmed and often forgotten. Maybe it’s time to pick up the abandoned string of Classic Beer where it started, in Europe, and once again allow the presentation to evolve where it will, as it did 25 years ago.

Will any of this actually happen?

I’ve no idea. These hypotheticals are by no means impossible, but they rely on controlling costs and curtailing bells and whistles. The more spartan the setting, the greater the importance of effective performance art and other intangibles.

Perhaps that's the point. These simple factors also have been neglected in an era of sheen and polish. I used to think that an intelligent beer bar wasn't a contradiction in terms, and still do. I believe in fundamentals and essentials; as you may recall from the 2015 campaign, these strike me as vital every single day, as opposed to every now and then.

Can better beer be repurposed this way, and taken back to the future? It’s an enticing thought, so as always, tell me what you think.

Who knows?

---

July 21: ON THE AVENUES: We have our own Big Four Bridge. They’re called Main, Market, Spring and Elm.

July 14: ON THE AVENUES: Weeds, porch appliances and our civic Gospel of Appearances.

July 7: ON THE AVENUES: You say you want a resolution?

June 30: ON THE AVENUES: Irv Stumler screams, "We don't deserve two-way streets!"

June 23: ON THE AVENUES: There's no business like no business -- and it's none of your business.

When a Grammy winner played the Public House.

2008 wasn't my finest year. In fact, it was one of my worst. Consequently, I cannot honestly remember the chain of events that led to Mike Farris playing the Public House, apart from the efforts of my then-colleague, John Campbell, to tie together WFPK's Live Lunch, NABC and Farris -- who in 2015 won a Grammy for Best Roots Gospel Album.

That's right: $12.50. Indeed, strange days have found us.

It was an unprecedented tariff, given that we've seldom had live music at all, and when we did, it almost never required a coverage charge. John pointed me to My Space (it was that long ago) and force me to listen. Yes, it seemed to be religious music of a sort, but not overt in terms of evangelism -- and that voice. It was otherworldly.

I agreed, and Farris performed. Or did he? I think he did. I'm not sure. We probably lost money. Beer may have been consumed. Like I said, it wasn't my finest year.

Mary Gauthier wrote "Mercy Now," the song embedded here, and she describes it accurately: "Real deal, rotgut gospel." It's not my thing, ordinarily. However, the categories melt away when the music is real, and Farris has an unconventional point of view as it pertains to his religious faith.

Mike Farris' Revival: How a Drug-Addicted Rocker Found God and Grammy, by Joseph Hudak (Rolling Stone)

 ... Like Gauthier says, "Mercy Now," and Shine for All the People as a whole, is able to captivate all music fans, even those who might have preconceived notions about spiritual music. Interestingly, Farris blames any stigma associated with gospel on organized religion. Although a Christian, he refuses to attend church. Instead, he worships onstage with fans, or at home with his wife and their 10 dogs.

"Church is when we're together sharing shit that we're going through on this Earth with each other. Sharing our triumphs as well," he says. "I'm totally against religion."

It's an interesting dichotomy: a gospel singer who doesn't go to Sunday service.

"Forget religion. We're talking about just washing each other's feet. Because that's what Jesus told us to do," Farris says, going on to explain his Grammy-winning album's title. "It's for all the people, not just some of the people. The Grammy is fine, but the big mission is helping somebody make a decision to become a better human being. That's why we do what we do."

"The End of an Error," 20 years later.

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."
-- George Santayana

Back on April 10, I was considering a special pub opening today to mark the occasion. Let's just say that it slipped my mind, but providentially, yesterday's iPhone photo deletion marathon provided a needed last-minute jolt.

Perhaps a special Sunday pub opening day on October 19?

Regular customer EN took this photo at the Public House yesterday. It's hard to believe that while so much has changed, this sheet still remains taped and tacked to the beam behind the bar after almost two decades. It's almost like a shrine, except that for the most part, generationally, Eddie LaDuke is forgotten. Not for me. It's a daily remind: Never promote otherwise capable sports writers to positions anywhere outside the sports department. Doing so simply cannot end well.

But there's always Bill Hanson. As Erich Honecker was to the Berlin Wall, Hanson is (and always will be) to the News and Tribune Paywall. When he's finally gone, perhaps another printout will be merited.

May it remain affixed proudly, another 20 years.

Perhaps a special Sunday pub opening day on October 19?

Regular customer EN took this photo at the Public House yesterday. It's hard to believe that while so much has changed, this sheet still remains taped and tacked to the beam behind the bar after almost two decades. It's almost like a shrine, except that for the most part, generationally, Eddie LaDuke is forgotten. Not for me. It's a daily remind: Never promote otherwise capable sports writers to positions anywhere outside the sports department. Doing so simply cannot end well.

But there's always Bill Hanson. As Erich Honecker was to the Berlin Wall, Hanson is (and always will be) to the News and Tribune Paywall. When he's finally gone, perhaps another printout will be merited.

May it remain affixed proudly, another 20 years.

ON THE AVENUES: Drink real beer or die ... of boredom.

ON THE AVENUES: Drink real beer or die ... of boredom.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.

This is quite strange.

I’ve always viewed the information superhighway as a convoluted maze of sorts, with plenty of mud paths and dead end alleys branching out in all directions from the modern clover leaf interchanges and shiny new stop ‘n’ robs, including more than a few decaying ghost towns in the style of western American states – broken glass, tumbleweeds rolling, coyotes wailing and tourist shutters snapping.

At work, we used to have a domain called richos.com, which passed from our control at some misty juncture when a renewal payment wasn’t made. It didn’t matter so much by then, because newalbanian.com was fully active, but the previous skeletal remains have continued to be visible, appended with links to cheap Viagra and Nigerian moneylenders, in keeping with ownership somewhere in the steppes of the former USSR – where the ghost towns come Chernobyl-sized.

Last night I inadvertently discovered that while presumably, the domain itself is as misplaced as ever, a complete snapshot of it can be accessed via some sort of Internet archive. There it is, vintage 2002, and while eleven years may not seem so long to you, it’s like an entirely different business was being operated back then.

Most days I can’t remember which beer I had for breakfast, so it should come as no surprise that the old website’s contents had long since become synonymous with lengthy gaps in Richard Nixon’s office recordings. Imagine my surprise and pleasure when the following polemic was revealed to have been among the centerpieces of my ideological thrust at the website. It would have been written well before 2002, and probably dates to around 1997.

Today at 53, I spend quite a lot of time contemplating the balance between the allowable percentage of narcissism in beer appreciation, and the wider interests of beer as community in a context of localism. Turns out I was on the scent at 37. As 2013 draws to a close, the major difference between then and now is my mellow imperturbability in the present age.

Right.

Let’s rewind to the Clinton administration.

---

Extremism in defense of good beer is no vice, says the Publican

Drink real beer or die ... of boredom.

Among many unique talents, Americans are adept at maintaining the fiction of their individuality by means of rationalizing that a boastful allegiance to one or another mass-produced idea or commodity denotes independent thinking. Such self-delusion is infinitely less taxing than the all too arduous task of introspection that prefaces genuinely free thought.

In no other aspect of life is this more alarmingly true than when an American sets out to select a beer.

Nine out of ten Americans, most of whom are eager to pound their fists on the bar top in an impassioned defense of their uniqueness and individuality, nevertheless persist in lubricating their argumentative frenzy by buying the major national brands of beer to the exclusion of all others. In large measure, numbingly and with blind repetition, they drink the same beer each and every day.

It is a strange ritual, but it isn't entirely the fault of the consumer. What passes in America for "choice" is shaped not by rational thought or informed free will, but by pervasive forces of marketing and advertising. These abysmal disciplines enforce and maintain the status quo for products that are little more than the tasteless residue of a cynical industrial process performed with antiseptic exactitude by bloated multinational corporate entities like Anheuser-Busch, Coors and Miller.

Of course, it doesn't have to be this way. Some of us openly, loudly and proudly dissent from the norms of American beer "culture”, and we have no intention of going away quietly. Confronted with a seemingly insurmountable ocean of swill, we have ignored this expression of the tyranny of the majority and have chosen the path less traveled - - the true, revolutionary path that leads to beer that does more than provide lowest common denominator satisfaction for the American desire to quaff small, easily digestible doses of alcohol diluted in generic golden liquid, which is the product of brewing as the mass production of a commodity, one utterly lacking artistic merit, and something that is peddled to the masses in a way that would make the famous totalitarian propagandists of old blush with envy.

We'll have none of that. We demand flavor and integrity from our beer and we refuse to settle for less, because beer is important to us, and it is an important part of the story of humanity in a number of ways. The saga of beer is a long and fascinating one, with chapters that deal with all aspects of the human experience. Beer is about science and art, farms and cities, social history, local culture and geography. It's about the places you've gone, and the ones you'd like to go. It's about different textures and flavors to match your mood, the time of day, the season, and the task at hand.

Beer is all about pleasure, and it is my unshakeable belief that the pleasure of beer is enhanced by bolstering one's knowledge of its diversity, and applying this knowledge to everyday life. We all recognize that life is short, and there are so many things to do and to learn, and so very little time, but there's always time for a good beer - - so why not make that beer the best one possible?

If we are to define ourselves in even a small way by the beer we drink, we should do it ourselves, actively, with our minds and our palates in concert, and not because a bikini-clad model, an animated reptile or any other manifestation of corporate America has told us to do it.

The daily experience of our pub flows naturally from these revolutionary principles. We espouse the values of good beer, good food and a good life. We encourage the art of conversation and the marvelous times that follow from it. We enjoy the life of the pub, and the integrity to be discovered therein, and we want our guests to enjoy it, too.

Or, you can make it a Bud Light.

Case closed.

"Jackson, Louisville, and the Color Red," my column at LouisvilleBeer.com

I'll always be proud that the real Michael Jackson once set foot in New Albany. Even so early in my career of beer, it was an affirmation that I'd done it the right way. 

Louisville Craft Beer Week is here, and among the many things about LCBW that you should know is this tidbit:

"Text LCBW to 72727 to receive texts throughout Craft Beer Week reminding you of daily events, specials, and giveaways."

Meanwhile, I'm still thinking about what brought us here. But more than that, I'm thinking about what's next.

Jackson, Louisville, and the Color Red

Posted by Roger Baylor in Baylor on Beer | 0 comments

It’s an old story, but one I delight in retelling, and Louisville Craft Beer Week strikes me as the perfect time to do so.

Michael Jackson unexpectedly visited the former Rich O’s Public House in November, 1994, a tad more than two years after we opened. If I hadn’t been drinking for much of the same day, tagging along as the Beer Hunter made pre-arranged appearances at Bluegrass Brewing Company and the now defunct Silo, I’d have been far too nervous to properly function as host.

I’ll be forever grateful that Jackson consented to accompany our ragged band of awed and inebriated fledgling beer enthusiasts on yet another beer hunt, this one at 9:00 p.m., from downtown Louisville across the Ohio River to an embarrassingly unfinished strip mall space that at the time could offer only three beers on tap.

Moreover, knowing that most of the regulars would be following Jackson through Louisville, we’d closed the pub for the day. Minutes ahead of the approaching motorcade, there was barely enough time to dash inside, flick light switches, sweep up and make the barroom somewhat presentable. Following hours of one-ounce samples, Jackson proceeded to order and consume a full 20-oz Imperial pint of Sierra Nevada Porter, and upon departure an hour and a half later, made this wry observation:

“I’ve been to many pubs in America, and I’ve never seen one quite like this.”

Rocking RateBeer's list.

(Gravity Head returns ... Friday, February 24)

RateBeer.com's list of "Best Beer Bars 2012" has NABC's original Public House in fourth place, nationwide.

An accompanying "Best Beer Retailers 2012" places Keg Liquors (Clarksville/New Albany) at 44th.

I'm fairly ambivalent about beer ratings, but there are two things about such rankings that I always find pleasing.

First, just being included as part of any conversation about best beer bars is reward enough for me. I've always felt we deserve to at least be mentioned, and I'll leave the exact numbers to others.

Second, it's wonderful to see New Albany's name alongside New York, Chicago, New Orleans and San Diego in an accounting of the best of anything.

Obviously, we could not do any of it without our workers and without you, the customer. Your patronage is much appreciated, and we thank you.

In 2012, we mark 25 years for the business overall (founded 1987), 20 years for me at the Public House, and 10 years as a brewery. Once upon a time, I sat down at a bar somewhere with a pint of Guinness in hand, and the next time I looked up, a career seemed to have found me. Problem is, I still don't know what I'd like to do when I grow up.

Previously: Thanks to LEO Readers' Choice voters for thinking of NABC.

Calendar check: Lloyd's wake is next Monday, November 29. We still need photos.

A reminder that Lloyd Wimp's wake will be held on Monday, November 29 in Prost at the Public House (5 p.m. - 10 p.m.)

The evening seems to be coming together, but I still need for all of you who may have crossed paths with Lloyd to gather photos of him and the good times for a display.

Please send digital photo files to me at roger@newalbanian.com. These will be displayed as a slide show. We also can put traditional photographic prints on boards atop easels.

Thanks for remembering Lloyd.

A word from our sponsor: On tap at the Public House, and more.

You already know that I'm committed to the success of our business at its new downtown location, but sometimes I don't give proper due to what we're still doing on Plaza Drive. Accordingly, here's an update of the Public House scene:

Hops and smoke and Randall and what's on tap at the Public House.

Considering that I didn't even preview the six Belgians currently on tap at the Public House (including Chimay, St. Bernardus and Rodenbach Grand Cru), tell me:

Where (anywhere near here) is the draft lineup any better than this?

The answer is obvious, and having spent the past few weeks challenging my waistline with tastings at other establishments, our pizza is pretty damned good, too. Nothing against the competition; there's a place for us all.

Apologies if pointing this out publicly makes me a cocky bastard, but it puts the lie to anyone who says that it can't be done in New Albany. That idiotic Coffey/Price argument is finished, and needs to be buried before the stench grows any stronger.

While I'm at it: Thanks for coming, and we at NABC appreciate your patronage. I believe times are good, and they're about to get better.

Lunch hours at the Public House, beginning now.

Beginning this week, opening hours at NABC’s Public House (Rich O’s) are being expanded backwards to include lunchtime.

I say "backwards" because we opened the Public House at 11:00 a.m. until 1999, when it was concluded that one dining room was enough for lunch. The variable that has changed since then, and the one now being recognized, is smoking vs. non-smoking. In practical terms, this change has the effect of opening the non-smoking area at the Public House to lunchtime business.

Feedback is kindly requested. Among other things, Gravity Head now becomes more interesting, earlier.

From now on, both the Public House and Pizzeria (Sportstime) will be open at 11:00 a.m., Monday through Saturday. Closing hours remain 12 a.m. (midnight) at both. NABC’s original Public House and Pizzeria are closed on Sunday. NABC's Bank Street Brewhouse downtown is open on Sunday, but closed on Monday.

Got it?

Louisville Area Skeptics return to the Public House on Thursday, September 17.

NABC is very pleased to host monthly gatherings of the Louisville Area Skeptics. Here are the details for the group's next gathering on September 17 in the Prost wing (Public House entrance).


When:
Thursday, September 17, 2009 7:00 PM

Where:
The New Albanian Brewing Company (formerly Rich O's Public House and Sportstime Pizza) 3312 Plaza Dr New Albany, IN 47150 -- (812)949-2804

Please join us for our second Skeptics in the Pub! We have another fascinating presentation scheduled. This month, sports conditioning coach Jamie Hale will cut through the media hype to give us the scientific facts behind nutrition. Once again we'll meet at the fabulous New Albanian Brewing Company.

About September's Presentation:
With so much conflicting nutrition information and advice, how do we know what's right and what's wrong? Jamie Hale's "Nutrition: Fact or Fiction" lecture has the answers. Jamie Hale is a sports conditioning coach, author, lecturer, outdoor enthusiast, and fitness and nutrition consultant. He is the owner of MaxCondition Training and MaxCondition Nutrition. He has contributed to numerous exercise and sports publications (nationally and internationally) and has authored six books. Jamie is a member of the World Marital Arts Hall of Fame in recognition of his conditioning work with martial artists. He is the founder of HNE Research Group and a member of KASES. Jamie is currently working on a new book How We Know: A Guide To Reason with Brian Jones (Author, University of Louisville Professor). Check out Jamie's websites: Maxcondition and Knowledge Summit.

To RSVP, see the full listing. Thanks! See you there,

Laurie
Contact Organizer -- Louisville Area Skeptics

After Fest of Ale on Saturday, a Left Hand meet 'n' greet at the Public House.

If you’re a beer aficionado residing in the Louisville metro area, you probably already know that this coming Saturday, June 6, is the occasion for Fest of Ale, which owner Todd Antz of Clarksville’s Keg Liquors seems willing and able to grow into a true signature event.

In three years, the event has grown from 75 paid attendees to 450 (in 2008), and for this year’s fourth edition, Todd has chosen a new venue: St. Anthony’s of Padua Catholic Church, located at 320 N. Sherwood Avenue in Clarksville.

It should come as no surprise that in previous years, selected beer personages in attendance have fanned out after the Fest of Ale’s conclusion and visited other notable on-premise beer spots in Louisville metro.

With this in mind, NABC Grant Line (Rich O’s and Sportstime) is teaming up with Cavalier Distributing (Indianapolis) and sales rep Mike Walters of Left Hand Brewing Company (Colorado) to stage a post-Fest meet ‘n’ greet in the Prost room at Rich O’s.

Two rare Left Hand specialties will be on tap, and specially priced by the half-pint for the occasion:

Left Hand Oak-Aged Imperial Stout
Left Hand St. Vrain Tripple

Plus, Mike will be bringing the remainder of his Fest of Ale bottle samples, so if you missed them at the event, free evening nips will be available.

We’ll be starting around 8:30 p.m. and continuing until 10:30 p.m.

And, don't forget the weekend's other event: Great Flanagan's Beer Fest is Sunday, June 7. NABC will be there, too.

NABC events at both locations, and a Bank Street update.

Having two business locations has made it imperative to be clear about what is happening and when, but more significantly, where it’s taking place.

NABC Bank Street Brewhouse – 415 Bank Street

Thursday, April 23: Pasty and a pint for St. George's Day, April 23, at the Bank Street Brewhouse.

Oaks and Derby evenings: Reservations for Oaks and Derby evenings at the Bank Street Brewhouse.

NABC Pub & Pizzeria – 3312 Plaza Drive

Thursday, April 30: Guided Sierra Nevada sampling in Prost on Thursday, April 30.

It’s business as usual at the pub and pizzeria, and production is back to normal at the existing brewery. Consequently, you’ll be seeing more NABC brands returning to the taps in the coming weeks.

We believe the new brewing system will be delivered to Bank Street on or about May 11. In the meantime, the build-out on the north side is proceeding, with a smaller concrete footer for the brewery’s walk-in cooler, and the larger one (poured today?) for the outdoor seating area.

Your support and patronage are appreciated.

Peggy DeKay would disapprove, but NABC's Saturnalia Winter Solstice draft festival continues.

The second weekend of Saturnalia MMVIII will be underway tomorrow.

Current Saturnalia draft lineup (subject to updating).

Friday's cask-conditioned firkin will be Harvey’s Christmas Ale.

As was the case last weekend, NABC’s new Beer Manager, Mike Bauman, has sifted through the vintage beer cellar as well as uncovering some bottled overstocks, glassware, and other items. He’s set up a Beer Cellar Christmas Shoppe in the rear of Prost (entrance from Rich O’s) and will be offering the merchandise at these times:

Friday, December 19 from 3 to 8 p.m.
Saturday, December 20 from 3 to 8 p.m.