Opening Day: "Hi Neighbor, have a 'Gansett!"

Say whatever they want, but the current owners of the Narragansett trademark do not brew anything with any resemblance to what once was New England's premier beer. 'Gansett was 'Gansett, not Narragansett Light. The beer sold itself and did not need the help of any hotties with the brand emblazoned across their bosoms. Don't get me wrong. I love those girls, but I do love my beer even more. And my beer these days is not Narragansett (nor is "my beer Rheingold, the dry beer.") Narragansett was once a lager beer, if you know what I mean. Moreover, how can Narragansett call it my neighbor when the brewery isn't even in New England? Puh-leez, gimme a break. And gimme a cold Schaefer while you're at it.

 

For those who need a little further appreciation, please visit Rhode Island's Art in Ruins site: http://www.artinruins.com/arch/?id=rip&pr=narrbrew

 

And here's the story from Will Anderson's wonderful (out of print) book, BEER NEW ENGLAND:

 

"Hi Neighbor . . . Have a 'Gansett": the words seem to yet endlessly roll off billboards and newspapers and magazines. And bus and trolley cards, too. While down at Fenway, Curt Gowdy is beaming forth the beginning of another Sox game: "Hiya, neighbor. This is Red Sox baseball brought to you by Narragansett Lager Beer."

 

But the billboards and the ads and the mass transit cards are gone. Curt Gowdy is gone. And, for most intents and purposes, Narragansett is gone, too. Sure, it's still available. But it's brewed in Fort Wayne, Indiana [as of publication, 1988]. Hi neighbor?

It was not long ago, however, that Narragansett was truly "New England's Beer," New England's largest-selling beer. And we're not talking just Rhode Island, either. A 1955 survey, for example, found that 'Gansett was the number one choice among men in Portland, Maine; that it ranked higher than Budweiser and was favored more than two to one over Miller. Try running that one by the folks in Portland today.

German-American Origins

If most New England breweries were built around a tradition of ale -- which they were - Narragansett was an anomaly; it was built, in 1890, as a lager-only brewery. Its founding six - Augustus F. Borchandt, Herman G. Possner, George M. Gerhard, Constand A. Moeller, John H. Fehlberg, and Jacob Wirth (he of Boston fame) were all of German-American extraction. Its first brewmaster, direct from Berlin, was George Wilhelm. It wasn't until 1898 that ale was added to the Narragansett roster.

Growth, from the very beginning, was rather phenomenal. In 1891, the company brewed 27,997 barrels; by 1898, it was 80,083; 1900 saw 101,469; and by 1909, with George Wilhelm still overseeing the kettles, output topped the 200,000 barrel mark. Ale, porter, malt extract, and, of course, lager were all produced. It was the largest brewery in New England.

After prohibition Narragansett bounced back, again New England's largest brewery. Otto Henn, who'd replaced George Wilhelm about the time World War I was unfolding, returned as brewmaster. Emil Schierholz, general manager prior to prohibition, once more headed up operations. Both would remain at their respective posts for many, many years; Emil Schierholz until the late forties; Otto Henn into the fifties. While all this experience was invaluable in many ways, it may have been a negative, too. John McNaboe, Narragansett's last general manager, was later to ruminate: "The obituary column caught up with us. Nobody here ever put on a drive to catch the younger drinker, the 18-to-35s, because we always had the staunch middle-aged Narragansett drinkers." Outdated plant and equipment was a disadvantage, too. While, starting in 1970, Bud and Michelob were being churned out in an ultramodern plant less than one hundred miles up the road in New Hampshire, 'Gansett lager, ale and porter were still being produced in a facility that remained too turn-of-the-century in its state of the art. By comparison, we "still have to make beer by hand" was McNaboe's way of putting it.

From an estimated 65.5% of the region's beer sales in 1963, Narragansett fell to about 17% by 1980. Being purchased by national conglomerate Falstaff Brewing in 1965 didn't seem to stem the slippage. In fact, it may have aided it. An extensive advertising campaign for the new parent company's own Falstaff Beer only proved that spending money doesn't necessarily beat a path to success: Falstaff did not catch on in New England; Narragansett continued to lose ground to Bud, Miller, et al.

The end came in the early 1980s. Fitfully. Brewery officials announced the closing of the 91-year-old operation in the summer of 1981; this in spite of a $200,000 tax break allowed by the Rhode Island legislature for 1980. The high cost of energy -- having to use oil instead of gas, resulting in a beer-production cost ofjust over $7.00 per 31-gallon barrel in Cranston vs. just over $3.00 in Fort Wayne -- was the major reason cited for the shutdown. In January of 1983 the brewery reopened, although on a much smaller scale than previously. And for what turned out to be but a brief period. Within several months it was shutdown day again. This time for keeps.

 Obviously, it was not for keeps, but naming another beer "Narragansett" would be like naming your first born "Humphrey Bogart" and claiming the boy was a movie star.

Three days late and four dollars short ! ! !

Sweet Jesus, what on earth has come over me?

Today being the last month of my own birthmonth, I somehow have overlooked one of history's most essential birth dates: the 28th of March, which was . . .  ummmmmm . . . three days ago. For some reason, I was too busy to write anything more than a dumb joke, when I ought to have written this:

Johann Gottlieb Friedrich Pabst was born in the Kingdom of Prussia on this date in 1836. In 1848. In Chicago, Frederick and his father worked as waiters and busboys. Because the boy had enjoyed his trans-Atlantic voyage to America, he decided to become a cabin-boy on a Lake Michigan steamer. By the time he was 21, Pabst had earned his pilot's license, and was captain of one of these vessels. In this capacity, he met a German named Phillip Best, who was the owner of a small but brewery founded in Milwaukee. Pabst married Best's daughter, Maria, on March 25, 1862. (Write down that date, too!)

For the next year and a half, Pabst plied the waters of Lake Michigan as a ship's captain, until a December accident in 1863 led to a change in career. While trying to bring his craft into Milwaukee harbor, Pabst's ship ran aground. A short while later, Pabst purchased half of Best's brewing company. In that case, perhaps his ship had come in.

Happy belated birthday, Fred. How can I ever make it up?

Oh, I know. Beertender, a round of PBR for the house!

Fascinating napkin math

Apparently, last evening Harvey and I were having a tough time with the concepts of a "Million," a "a Billion," and a "Trillion" of anything, whether it's the national debt, some company's profits, or the odds of winning the lottery.

You know how it is.

And there's always some clown on TV that thinks we can understand it better if we try to imagine that if all that money were stacked in [name your favorite denomination] dollar bills, it would reach as far as [name your favorite celestial body]. Bottom line: whoosh! Understanding the difference is still above our heads.

So, we tried converting the numbers to time.

60 seconds/min X 60 minutes/hr X 24 hours/day = 86,400 seconds/day.

1,000,000 (a Million) seconds divided by 86,400 seconds/day = 11.57 days.

1,000,000,000 (a Billion) seconds divided by 86,400 seconds/day = 11,574. days or 31.7 years.

We are beginning to sense a difference between a Million something and a Billion something: 11 days vs 31 years.

1,000,000,000 (a Trillion) seconds divided by 86,400 seconds/day =  11574074.0 days or 31,709.79 years.

Ouch! My hair begins to hurt just thinking about it. Gimme a beer. NOW!

So, next time someone tosses around one of those numbers that sort of sounds alike, ask your bartender for a pencil and work out the math on a napkin. 

Fascinating.

In Search Of: The Ultimate Dive Bar

This piece comes from Ike Hill at the KCDrinker.com, but we must soon begin our search for The Ultimate Dive Bar of the Cape & Islands! 

 

"So you think you know what a Dive bar is. I'm sure our readers do, but most people simply assume that a Dive bar is just that nasty dark bar you drive by and never think of entering. And those people are right. They should never enter our sacred dive bars. If the idea of going inside a dank dark watering hole is terrifying to you, STAY OUT! You are not welcome inside, and you will have a terrible time. 

"Because as scary as you think we are, we are far more frightened of you and your suburban ways.

"These little drunken treasures are only for the strong of liver, the lushes of liquor, and the true drinkers of our time. The Dive bar serves a purpose greater then just being an establishment for refreshments. They are there to help regular drinkers escape away from the harsh reality of the sober world. Most people go to a bar to have a drink and unwind. But what if you are naturally unwound? What if beer is your morning vitamin? Where can you go to relax and get away from it all? A dive bar, that's where. But how do you really tell a bar from a Dive bar? That's what we're here to do right now. 

 

Far More Than Filth

 
"To the uneducated, a Dive bar is simply defined as a filthy little rat hole full of drunks. And most of the time, that's true, but it's far more than filth that defines a Dive bar. There are, in fact, clean well maintained Dive bars. By clean I mean the trash is mostly off the floor, and by maintained I mean you have less than a 50% chance of getting a splinter in your ass while relaxing. A certain amount of filth is necessary, but there are differences between Dive bars and filthy little rat holes full of drunks. The rat holes are just dirty; they do not have the years of muck and crap accumulated like a good Dive bar. The filth from a Dive bar is built with blood, sweat and bile from years of liver abuse. Any place can simply be nasty, but it takes years of controlled offensiveness to achieve Divedom. 

A Well-trained Bartender
 

"Dive bar bartenders need to fit in like the furniture surrounding them. It is important that they don't stand out, it is important that they are ever so slightly broken down, and most of all that they will likely kill you if they are treated poorly. There is nothing worse than having to break in a new bartender. It takes time to bond and eventually learn how to manipulate the bearer of good booze. The mixologist of a dive bar will never do fancy bottle tricks for you. They will never be caught putting little umbrellas in your drink, hell you'll be lucky to get a garnish at all. And if you order things like "sex on the beach," prepare to die. But they will be glad to bring you a ice cold draft, pour you a shot, and if you're really liked, they'll forget to charge you for the shot. 

Yard Beers
 

"Don't go expecting to get a Zima. In fact, you should expect a severe beating just for thinking of ordering that damned foul drink. A draft of PBR or a can of Schlitz should be the desired thirst quencher. Want a martini? I hope bottom-shelf booze that far down gets you excited. There shouldn't be any damn Grey Goose or Stoli here! The drinking preferences are reserved for low cost high octane beverages only. 

Regulars That Are Irregular
 

"Looking to pick up chicks? Hey if toothless with leather-like dried skin is what you are into . . . go crazy! Don't get the picture wrong, there will always be a few exotic (tattoos and piercing) men and women about. Maybe even a really drunk college kid who strayed away from the normal comfort zone of roofie-infested drinks at the dance club. But for the most part we are talking rough characters: people who strive to one day end up recorded in history books as World Class Drinkers. 

Conclusion
 
"By now you either get it, or you don't. If you are still a little cloudy on the issue of Dive bars, you should read this again. In fact keep reading it over and over again. But for those of you who know exactly what's going on, well, we'll see you at the Beach later!

Question: What’s even better than a barfly with a good joke?

Answer: A barfly with a good bar trick. In this case, “good” = “free beer.”

It all begins as a casual challenge to the person on the stool next to you. And the simple wager is this: “I’ll bet you a beer that I can drink TWO beers before you can drink a single shot of anything you like . . . as long as you give me a one-beer head start.”

The other part of the agreement is that he can’t touch your glass, you can’t touch his,  AND he can’t start drinking until you’ve put your first glass back down on the bar. You can ask the bartender to witness the agreement, or you can just shake on it.

It’s just that simple.

If the challenge is accepted, then you can drink your first beer as fast or as slow as you wish. 

And when you’re finished with that first beer, just tip your emptied beer glass upside down and place it over his shot glass. You might want to remind him that you’ve both agreed not to touch each other’s glass. So, that means he can't drink his shot without touching your glass.

Tastes like free beer to me.

Just keep in mind that you simply cannot do bar tricks every time that you’re in a bar, or else you’ll become a royal pain in the ass (rather than the most fascinating one in the bar). And you can’t do the same trick ever again in the same bar. You just need to know these kinds of things and to keep them in the back of your mind for when the opportunity best arises.

Surely, we've got a million of THESE!

This guy rushes into the bar and says to the bartender: “Gimme shot of the very best stuff you’ve got.”

So, the bartender sets down a shot glass and pours out a full dose.

Before he can barely finish, though, the guy tosses back the drink and slams the shot glass back down on the bar.

“Make that a double!” he barks, and the bartender pours out another.

Once again, the guy gulps down the drink and slams the shot glass back on the back.

“Hit me again,” he says, but the bartender balks.

“You need to slow down a bit, pal,” he says.

But the guy looks the bartender directly in the eye and says, “Believe me, friend, you’d drink like this, too, if you found out that you’ve got what I’ve got.”

“Oh,” the bartender said with a genuine air of concern. “What have you got?”

“Only seventy-five cents,” said the guy, reaching into his coat pocket. He dropped the three quarters onto the bar, then rushed out even faster than he had come in.

The Beer Hunter was born on this date.

Mark this down on your calendar. On this date in 1942 was born Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed “Beer Hunter” and “Whiskey Chaser.” By the time he passed away some 65 years later, Michael had reviewed thousands of brews, had written hundreds of articles, and had published scores of books: all on the subjects most dear to the heart of any barfly. His “Beer Hunter” television series is available on DVD, and his books are all in print.

So, if you are looking for a reason to seek out a bar today and hoist a brew or two, I suggest that you do what Michael Jackson would have done. (No, not get another nose job, dammit. Order up a beer!)

Having written yesterday about oysters and beer and such, I think it’s appropriate to add here a few lines from the Beer Hunter’s column “Heaven Sent - Downing Oysters by the Pint.”

Bushy's Oyster Stout revives a tasty tradition
 
Being a stickler for ritual, I have been looking for a beer with which to greet the return of an "r" to the month. After some thought, the answer is obvious: an oyster stout. It might be thought that such a powerful beer would drown the shellfish, but it is a marriage made in heaven. I believe such a brew should actually contain oysters. This is true of the oyster stout just introduced on the Isle of Man, a traditional home of such brews.
 
The earthy intensity of stout is a perfect foil for the gamey brineyness of oysters. Disraeli once wrote of an election celebration: "I dined at the Carkon, on oysters, Guinness and boiled bone..." In the early Victorian period, porters and stouts were everyday beers, and oysters a bar snack as commonplace as peanuts today. Porter dates from the early to mid-1700s, and is characterised by the use of highly kilned malts. Its name is said to have derived from its popularity as a restorative among porters in the markets of London, though I am not so sure. Until the industrial revolution. a brewery typically served a single pub. With the canal era, breweries began to deliver their beers farther afield. Perhaps porter had something to do with its being carried. In the early to mid-1800s, some of the bigger-bodied porters gained the epithet "stout".
 
The rest of this article can be read online: http://www.beerhunter.com/documents/19133-000740.html
 
An interview with the Beer Hunter can be viewed online: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLohwMW7qjU