posted Jan-30-2006 05:23 PM            

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posted Jan-30-2006 05:33 PM            

Personally I prefer Tetley’s (Mike?)

Tetley's

The use of traditional Yorkshire Square fermenting vessels enables Imperial to get its unique character from not one but three yeasts. The Styrian Golding hops compliment these yeasts to provide the beer with a distinctive aroma. The result is a full bodied beer with a perfect balance of fruity and nutty flavours combined with a distinctive dry hop character.

Boddington’s

Has my favored Fuggles

• 6 lbs. (2720 g) English 2-row pale malt
• 1 oz. (28 g) black patent malt
• 3 ozs. (85 g) Cane (white table) Sugar
• 3/8 Cup (packed) soft dark brown sugar for priming
• 1 oz. (28 g) Fuggles hop pellets (4.5 alpha acid)
• 1 1/8 ozs. (38 1/2 g) E.K. Goldings hop pellets (4.6 alpha acid)
• 1/8 oz. (3.5 g) Northern Brewer hop pellets (7.6 alpha acid)
• 1 tsp gypsum added to mash water
• 1 tsp gypsum added to sparge water
• 1/4 tsp Epsom Salts added to kettle
• Wyeast #1968 Special London Ale (or other suitable ale yeast) made up to a 1 quart (1 litre) starter

Speckled Hen is good for throwing into a batch of scrambled eggs - NTTAWTT

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posted Jan-31-2006 08:24 AM            

Nice.

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posted Jan-31-2006 09:31 AM               

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:
Personally I prefer Tetley’s (Mike?)

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Don't think I've ever had it. They don't sell it down these parts yet. Nothing like a good English bitter - although I have to say I prefer the assertiveness of bottled bitters (or English Pale Ales) over draught cans. Yeah, they're tasty and creamy, but just a hair too creamy for me. You know? They're overdone. Abbot Ale is probably my favorite of the nitro-cans, but we get Old Thumper down here now, so barring the occasional cask ale (St Arnolds!) there really is no contest.

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posted Jan-31-2006 10:01 AM            

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posted Jan-31-2006 10:01 AM               

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:
What are the differences between Tetley’s, Speckled Hen and Boddingtons? Maybe it's the hops?

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And I think Speckled Hen has a bit more flavor than Boddingtons. Do they do Speckled Hen in cans now? I don't get out much...

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posted Jan-31-2006 11:03 AM               

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:
Who said anything about draft cans? These are on tap at the bar - Thirsty Scholar is where they can be found along with the most delicious mussels. I believe they are also found at our virtual bar where the lines are always clean and there is really Sierra Nevada Celebration under the Coors light tap.

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Oh, sorry. Like I said, I don't get out much.

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posted Jan-31-2006 11:06 AM               

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:
... and there is really Sierra Nevada Celebration under the Coors light tap.

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There's a Coors Light tap?

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posted Jan-31-2006 11:28 AM            

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posted Jan-31-2006 11:34 AM            

Doobie's, 2201 Lombard St., Philadelphia, PA

quote:

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It's small. It's smoky. It's practically windowless. But Doobie's is also one of the city's best neighborhood bars. There's a small but select beer offering and very good food. David Bowie and Johnny Cash play on the jukebox, and wine-dark walls surround you in this brightly lit corner bar. Despite its size and having only a medium-sized bar and about 10 tables, Doobie's never feels crowded. With one TV in an obscure corner, people talk to each other here. The bar works well for small get-togethers and couples who want to hang out at bars all night. There's nothing elegant about Doobie's -- the bar is pretty utilitarian -- but the casual, no-pressure environment is evident from the moment you walk in. Certainly Doobie's is a dangerous place to live around the corner from, because if you like bars, it could quickly become your home away from home.

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quote:

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For those who aren't familiar with the dirty-dog-and-tattooed-boy joy that is Doobie's, it's one of the coolest and most comfortable bars in the city. This is aided by a Bowie-centric jukebox and the fact that they have games. Scrabble, cards, even Operation (try that one after three pints and through a hazy cloud of smoke). A recent evening spent laughing and yelling over a made-up game called Spirit Cards (don't ask) got my mind working on all the silly stuff I loved as a kid. If you're young enough to have played with Mad Libs (under 50, say, as they've been publishing the things since around 1960), I'm certain we'll be in agreement here: This game was invented by a genius who understood the illicit thrill of putting the word "fart" in writing. Not to get all heavy, but Mad Libs hit upon something inherently delightful about mixing up the language as well. It's like seeing someone slip and fall on the ice or go flipping out of a hammock. No one's sure why futzing with the natural order of things is funny, but it is. Anyway, I found a pair of the books for the price of one at Robin's Bookstore: One is titled Sooper Dooper Mad Libs and the other simply Kids Libs. See? Grown-ups are supposed to do them. And would they not make a great drinking game? I amused myself for a full 20 minutes before falling back into my usual state of despair and self-loathing. Here are two especially fun phrases I generated: "POISON IVY League" (ha) and the wise "Isn't STUPID love worth your BUTT?" I think we all know it's worth at least that. At Doobie's or at home, grab a partner and a pencil and start filling in those [PLURAL NOUN].

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posted Jan-31-2006 01:40 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by MikeMills:
There's a Coors Light tap?

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It is just a front for the Sierra Nevada Celebration

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:01 PM            

quote:

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"Bottle, please."

The man reaches into the ice chest, pulls out a beer, cracks it open, hands it and a clean, chilled glass to her ... she puts a bill on the bar.

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Maybe ... she ... knew???

[This message has been edited by randymar (edited Jan-31-2006).]

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:04 PM            

[b]Doobie's, 2201 Lombard St., Philadelphia, PA

A dubious story if I ever heard one

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:11 PM            

------------------

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:24 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:

... dubious ...

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HA!!! You punny!!!

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:25 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by runninbob:
A quote comes to mind:
" Beer is proof that God loves us, and wants us to be happy"

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Ben Franklin?

By the way it was recently his cumpliaño

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:34 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by runninbob:
A quote comes to mind:
" Beer is proof that God loves us, and wants us to be happy"

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In the December/January issue of Mid-Atlantic Brewing News, on the front page no less, Alexander D. Mitchell IV argues the unthinkable, that Franklin's immortal quote (which has decorated many a tee-shirt stretched to its limits )

"Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy"

is (gasp!) bogus. Worse yet, Mitchell says his research shows that
Franklin did utter a strikingly similar quote--about wine, not beer.

Sorry.

[This message has been edited by randymar (edited Feb-06-2006).]

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:42 PM            

Or tradition, for that matter.

Bogey never said "Play it again, Sam." either

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posted Jan-31-2006 02:46 PM            

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:
By the way it was recently his cumpliaño

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Really??? I hadn't noticed ...

quote:

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from joesixpack@phillynews.com
Joe Sixpack | Ben had a yen for taverns

"Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

"Eat not to dullness, drink not to elevation."

THERE IS a fine line, apparently, between happiness and excess. As Philadelphia celebrates Franklin's 300th birthday [last] week, it's clear we still have no idea where to draw that line.

Booze is omnipresent in America. It is advertised everywhere. Millions of acres of farmland produce its raw ingredients. Entire businesses are devoted to pouring it into glasses. Half the country consumes it regularly. It is the most common litter on the highways.

Yet booze is the most restricted legal product in America. Its sale is taxed and licensed and frequently banned altogether. The government tells private business how, when and where it can be sold. And still more laws are being enacted to control those who make it, sell it and consume it.

The same contradictions confronted and likely troubled Franklin in 18th century Philadelphia.

Upon running away from Boston in 1723, his first night in our town was spent in, yes, a tavern - the Crooked Billet, at the time the oldest inn in the city, on Water Street at the bottom of Chestnut. Surely he participated in the toasts around the bar's single table that night. A year earlier, at age 16, Franklin had written in praise of the virtues of alcohol, in an essay under the pseudonym "Silence Dogood."

Moderate consumption of alcohol aided conversation, Silence declared, and thus "the diffusion of knowledge among the ingenious part of mankind." In other words, a few pints made us all sound smarter.

Indeed, taverns were the "focus of community life" in colonial America, according to W.J. Rorabaugh's "The Alcoholic Republic." We socialized in them, conducted business in them, and even heard court cases in them. And, of course, we plotted the Revolution in them as well. The role of places like Tun Tavern, where the Marines were born, and City Tavern, where the Continental Congress recessed, is as much a part of American history as the Betsy Ross House and the Liberty Bell.

Franklin himself practiced that "diffusion of knowledge" over a stein or two of beer. His famous Junto, a group of intellectuals who gathered to discuss the issues of the day, met regularly at the Indian King Tavern, near 3rd and Market streets. (And often the topic of discussion was how to make better beer!)

Yet, while benefiting from the social lubrication of these institutions, Franklin was a leading proponent of shutting them down.

At least, the ones that didn't meet his standards.

In the early 1740s, the city saw a rapid growth of so-called "tippling houses," or unlicensed drinking establishments, that catered mainly to underclass residents and slaves. An area south of Race Street had gotten so rowdy, it had become known as "Helltown."

As chairman of a grand jury that looked into the mess, according to Peter Thompson's "Rum Punch & Revolution," Franklin declared that rather than diffusing knowledge, tippling houses were "nurseries of vice and debauchery" where one regularly heard "profane language, horrid oaths and imprecations."

Franklin pushed for stronger controls, targeting establishments run primarily by women, whom he regarded as unfit to curb drunkenness among customers. His strict view - a product of his era's republican ideal of "public virtue" - was tempered by more lenient city magistrates who oversaw tavern licenses. But the mindset that favored government control of taverns in the 18th century ultimately evolved 100 years after Franklin's death into the Prohibitionist movement that shut them down completely.

As Philadelphia marks Franklin's tercentenary this month, we're still struggling over the same issues. No, thank heaven, the question of whether women can run a tavern is no longer debated. But whether it's drunken driving, underage drinking, keg registration, takeout beer or malt liquor, the law still treats beer primarily as a vice - even if God wants us to be happy.

Contradictions notwithstanding, Joe Sixpack will toast Ben Franklin at a special beer tasting next week. This toast will feature beers made by Yards Brewing and Iron Hill Brewery & Restaurant that were based on a Franklin recipe for spruce-flavored ale.

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posted Feb-01-2006 09:33 AM               

quote:

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Originally posted by randymar:
Mitchell says his research shows that
Franklin did utter a strikingly similar quote--about wine, not beer.

Sorry.

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I have a book somewhere at home (probably stuffed in one of my book boxes between A Void and Tropic of Capricorn) by Ben Franklin about farting. He probably didn't write that either, dammit...

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posted Feb-01-2006 10:29 AM            

MM - go find "A Void" - now!!!

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posted Feb-01-2006 10:31 AM               

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:
tercentenary - nice word

MM - go find "A Void" - now!!!

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You know what? Lisa desperately needs to find a book that may or may not be in one of those boxes. So, I muhnna find A Void and I giss I muhnna readit.

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posted Feb-01-2006 10:45 AM            

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posted Feb-01-2006 10:48 AM               

quote:

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Originally posted by La Tortuga:
Ay - tis a gooda

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Right after I get done with The Pirates! In An Adventure with Ahab. Raaargh!

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posted Feb-01-2006 10:57 AM               

'That's rubbish!' said the albino pirate. 'It's the doubloons. Doubloons are easily the best bit about
pirating.'

The rest of the pirates, sunning themselves on the deck of the pirate boat, soon joined in. It had been several weeks since the Pirates' Adventure with Cowboys, and they had a lot of time on their hands.

'It's the pirate grog!'

'Marooning! That's what I like best!'

'Cutlasses!'

'The Spanish Main!'

'The ship's biscuits!'

One of the pirates pulled a special face to show exactly what he thought of this last comment, and soon all the pirates were fighting. With a sound like a bat hitting a watermelon, pirate fist connected with pirate jaw and a gold tooth bounced across the deck. The pirate with gout found himself run through in a grisly manner, and one of the cabin boys accidentally got a shiny pirate hook in the side of the head. It would probably have gone on for hours in this fashion, but both of the heavy wooden doors that led to the downstairs of the boat crashed open, and out onto the deck strode the Pirate Captain himself.

The Pirate Captain cut an impressive figure. If you were to compare him to a type of tree-and working out what sort of tree they would be if they were trees instead of pirates was easily one of the crew's favourite pastimes-he would undoubtedly be an oak, or maybe a horse chestnut. He was all teeth and curls, but with a pleasant, open face; his coat was of a better cut than everybody else's, and his beard was fantastic and glossy, and the ends of it were twisted with expensive-looking ribbons. Living at sea tended to leave you with ratty, matted hair, but the Pirate Captain somehow kept his beard silky and in good condition, and though nobody knew his secret, they all respected him for it. They also respected him because it was said he was wedded to the sea. A lot of pirates claimed that they were wedded to the sea, but usually this was an excuse because they couldn't get a girlfriend or they were gay pirates, but in the Pirate Captain's case none of his crew doubted he was actually wedded to the sea for a minute. Any of his men would have gladly taken a bullet for him, or even the pointy end of a cutlass. The Pirate Captain didn't need to do much more than clear his throat and roll his eyes a bit to stop the fighting dead in its tracks.

'What's going on, you scurvy knaves!' he bellowed. Pirates were often rude to each other, but without really meaning it, so none of the brawling pirates took being called a 'scurvy knave' too much to heart.

'We were just discussing what the best bit about being a pirate is,' answered the pirate dressed in green, after a bit of an awkward pause.

'The best bit about being a pirate?'

'Yes sir. We couldn't quite decide. I mean, it's all good . . .'

'The best bit about being a pirate is the shanties.'

And with the argument settled, the Pirate Captain strode back into the galley, indicating for the pirate with a scarf to follow. The rest of the crew were left on their own.

'He's right. It's the shanties,' said the albino pirate thoughtfully. One of the other pirates nodded.

'They are really good. Shall we sing a pirate shanty?'

The Pirate Captain was secretly relieved when he heard the strains of a rowdy shanty coming through the roof of the galley. Just recently he had been worrying about discipline on board the pirate boat, and there was an old pirate motto: If the men are singing a shanty, then they can't be up to mischief.*

'Come into my office for a moment,' he told the pirate with a scarf, who was his trusty second in command. The Pirate Captain's office was full of mementoes from the previous pirate adventures. There was a ten-gallon hat from the Pirates' Adventure with Cowboys, and some old bits of tentacle from the Pirates' Adventure with Squid, as well as several Post-it notes reminding the Pirate Captain to say things like 'Splice the mainsail!' or 'Hard about, lads!' On the walls there hung several fantastic paintings of the Pirate Captain himself-one of them showed him looking anguished and cradling a dead swan: this painting was titled WHY? Another was of the Pirate Captain reclining naked except for a small piece of gauze. And a third pictured the Pirate Captain sharing a strange futuristic-looking drink with a lady who seemed to be made from metal. There were also quite a lot of nautical maps and charts about the place, and even an astrolabe. The Pirate Captain wasn't 100 per cent sure what the astrolabe did, or whether it was actually an astrolabe rather than a sextant, but he enjoyed fiddling with it when he got bored, nonetheless. Right at the moment boredom was an issue that weighed heavily on the Pirate Captain's mind.

'Care for some grog?' he asked politely. The scarf-wearing pirate wasn't very thirsty, but he said yes anyway, because if you start turning down grog when you're a pirate it doesn't help your reputation much.

'Ship's biscuits? I've got ship's custard creams, and ship's bourbons,' said the Pirate Captain. He held out a tin that had a boat painted on it and the pirate with a scarf took a bourbon, because he knew custard creams were the Pirate Captain's favourites.

'What do you think all that brawling was about, number two?' asked the Pirate Captain, absentmindedly seeing how fast he could spin the astrolabe using just one finger.

'Like the men said . . . it was just a friendly discussion that got a bit out of hand,' replied the scarf-wearing pirate, not entirely sure where the Pirate Captain was going with this, but amazed as always that he could carry on a conversation whilst doing complex calculations with an astrolabe. That sort of thing was why the Pirate Captain was the Pirate Captain, the pirate with a scarf reflected.

'I'll tell you what it was about,' said the Pirate Captain. 'It was about bored pirates! I've made a mistake. We've been moored here in . . . in the . . .' The Pirate Captain rubbed his nose, which he liked to think of as a stentorian nose, even though stentorian is actually a tone of voice, and squinted at one of the charts.

'The West Indies, sir,' said the scarf-wearing pirate, helpfully.

'Mmmm. Well, we've been here too long. I thought that after our exciting adventure with those cowboys, we could all do with a break, but I guess us pirates are only really happy when we're pirating.'

'I think you're right, sir,' the scarf-wearing pirate said. 'It's nice enough here, but I keep on finding sand in my grog, from all that lying about on the beach. And those native women, wandering about with no tops on . . . it's a bit much.'

'Exactly. It's time we had another pirate adventure!'

'I'll let the other pirates know. Where will we be heading for? Skull Island? The Spanish Main?'

'Oh, Lord, no! If we plunder the Spanish Main* one more time, I think I'll tear out my own beard,' said the Pirate Captain, trying on the ten-gallon hat and narrowing his eyes like a cowboy as he studied his reflection in the mirror.

'So what were you thinking?'

'Something will come up. It usually does. Just make sure we've got plenty of hams on board. I didn't really enjoy our last adventure much, because we ran out of hams about halfway through. And what's my motto? "I like ham!" '

'It's a good motto, sir.'

Back on deck, the other pirates had finished their shanty-which had been about how a beautiful sea-nymph had left her rich but stupid Royal Navy boyfriend for a pirate boyfriend because he was much more interesting to talk to and could make her laugh-and now they were roaring. This was another common pastime amongst the pirates.

'Rah!'

'Oooh-arg!'

'Aaaarrrr, me hearties!'

It didn't mean much, but it filled a few hours. They all stopped when they saw the pirate with a scarf had come back from his meeting with the Pirate Captain. He almost slipped in a pool of the cabin boy's blood that was left over from the fight.

'Can somebody swab these decks?' he said, a little tetchily. Left to their own devices, the pirates tended towards the bone idle.

'It's Tuesday! Sunday is boat cleaning day!'

'I know, but somebody could get hurt.'

The diffident pirate gave a shrug and went off to find a swabbing cloth, whilst the remaining crew looked up expectantly from where they were sprawled. The scarf-wearing pirate gazed out across the sparkling water, and at the tropical beach with its alabaster sands, and the forest of coconut palms behind that, and then he noticed one of the pretty native ladies and so he quickly looked back down at his pirate shoes.

'Listen up, pirates,' he said. 'I know all this endless wandering up and down the beach . . . and our interminable attempts at trying to choose which sort of mouth-watering exotic fruit to eat . . . and all these wanton tropical girls knocking around . . . I know it's been getting you down.'

A couple of the pirates muttered something to each other, but the scarf-wearing pirate didn't quite catch what they said.

'So you'll be happy to know,' he went on, 'that the Pirate Captain has ordered us to put to sea, just as soon as we've collected some hams for the journey.'

A buzz of excitement ran around the deck.

'Perhaps we should cook the hams first, before setting off?' asked the pirate dressed in green.

'That sounds like a good idea,' said the albino pirate.

'Do you think roasting is best?' asked the pirate with a nut allergy.

The scarf-wearing pirate sighed, because he knew how seriously the pirates took their ham, and he could predict how this was going to end up. He tried to look hard-nosed, which involved tensing all the muscles in his nostrils, and with as much authority as he could manage he said, 'Yes, roasting is good. It allows the free escape of watery particles that's necessary for a full flavour. But we've got to make sure it's regulated by frequent basting with the fat that has exuded from the meat, combined with a little salt and water-otherwise the hams will burn, and become hard and tasteless.'

'Roasting?* Are you sure?' asked the surly pirate who was dressed in red, barely concealing his contempt. 'What about boiling? I always find a boiled ham becomes more savoury in taste and smell, and more firm and digestible.'

'Ah, but if you continue the process too long, you risk the hams becoming tough and less succulent,' said the pirate in green.

'But the loss from roasting is upwards of twenty-two per cent of the ham! The loss from boiling is only about sixteen per cent. More ham for us! That can only be a good thing.'

'We need to dust the hams with bread raspings if we're going to boil them. And we should dress the knuckle bone with a frill of white paper.'

'A frill of white paper? What kind of a pirate are you? Rah!'

The pirates started to fight again, and it wasn't until one of them noticed that the Pirate Captain had come back from his cabin and was now leaning against the mast, drumming his fingers on a barrel, that they shuffled to attention.

'That's enough of that, my beauties!' he roared. 'Let's set a course'-at this point the Pirate Captain paused in what he hoped would be a dramatic and exciting fashion-'for adventure!'

The crew just gave him a bit of a collective blank look. The Pirate Captain sighed.

'All right,' he said with a pout, 'south.'

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