Latitude 42, Portage, MI
Kalamazoo, Michigan is blowing up the craft beer world right now. This was my second visit, and I haven’t had the opportunity to hit it too hard, but I am sure a pub crawl will be in my future. Outside of downtown in the suburb of Portage, sits Latitude 42.
The first thing on the beer list that spoke to me was something billed as a Northwest style pale ale. I don’t know what would make it “Northwest” besides the hops, so I asked the server where the hops were from. If she would have said the Yakima or Willamette Valley I might have danced a jig.
Come to find out they use local hops from a local farm, so I can’t hate on them for that. If she would have said California, I would have asked for the brewmaster and made a scene.
I must also say there is something homey about ordering a Northwest style pale outside of the Northwest. Are the cheese steaks better in Philadelphia? Fuck yes. Is Chicago style pizza better in Chicago? No shit, Sherlock. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to order one in a joint in eastern Oregon. All I can do is concede that this is the best I can do in Pendleton and enjoy what I have.
This beer was the best I could do in Kalamazoo, and I thank the people at Latitude 42 for it.
NOTE: French fries and French toast are not better in France because, well, fuck France—French bread, maybe.
The point I am trying to make is, the good folks at Lat42 put their balls where their mouth is and made an attempt to tip their hat to the Northwest. It was good enough that I give them high regards for trying, and if nothing else, the beer tastes fucking good.
But don’t you worry, there are other beers there too. I bought a jug of some red something-or-other and it was bad ass two days later when I drank it. Growler life is a real testament to the quality of a beer. I never buy one without tightening the lid first. Not to brag, but I am 6’3, 240, with huge hands. I can tighten a cap better than any barmaid, but that doesn’t mean that they will all survive.
The atmosphere deserves a shout out as well. I was there on the fourth of July for lunch, a lot of other places in town were closed, and I really don’t think that they expected the crowd that they got. We have all been in places like that before and have been frustrated because the staff had not been able to keep up. What really impressed me, was that there was a sense of this aint no shit on the part of the staff. They were working hard, you could see it in their eyes, but you couldn’t see it on their faces.
For $8.50 I had a personal meat lovers pizza and bowl of beer cheese soup. Fucking amazing. My girlfriend had a goat cheese and shrimp pizza. I don’t like goat cheese as a general rule because goat cheese tastes like goats smell and that bothers me. At Lat42, goat cheese tasted like goat cheese, but not like goat. That is a truly amazing feat.
NOTE: Google “goat dairy near me” or some shit like that. Call up, ask the farmer if you can come check it out. You will either swear off goat anything forever or suck on the teat of the goat yourself.
Goddamned disgusting.
Latitude 42, with that being said, would be a top notch spot in Portland or Seattle. It is that good, goats or not.
The first thing on the beer list that spoke to me was something billed as a Northwest style pale ale. I don’t know what would make it “Northwest” besides the hops, so I asked the server where the hops were from. If she would have said the Yakima or Willamette Valley I might have danced a jig.
Come to find out they use local hops from a local farm, so I can’t hate on them for that. If she would have said California, I would have asked for the brewmaster and made a scene.
I must also say there is something homey about ordering a Northwest style pale outside of the Northwest. Are the cheese steaks better in Philadelphia? Fuck yes. Is Chicago style pizza better in Chicago? No shit, Sherlock. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to order one in a joint in eastern Oregon. All I can do is concede that this is the best I can do in Pendleton and enjoy what I have.
This beer was the best I could do in Kalamazoo, and I thank the people at Latitude 42 for it.
NOTE: French fries and French toast are not better in France because, well, fuck France—French bread, maybe.
The point I am trying to make is, the good folks at Lat42 put their balls where their mouth is and made an attempt to tip their hat to the Northwest. It was good enough that I give them high regards for trying, and if nothing else, the beer tastes fucking good.
But don’t you worry, there are other beers there too. I bought a jug of some red something-or-other and it was bad ass two days later when I drank it. Growler life is a real testament to the quality of a beer. I never buy one without tightening the lid first. Not to brag, but I am 6’3, 240, with huge hands. I can tighten a cap better than any barmaid, but that doesn’t mean that they will all survive.
The atmosphere deserves a shout out as well. I was there on the fourth of July for lunch, a lot of other places in town were closed, and I really don’t think that they expected the crowd that they got. We have all been in places like that before and have been frustrated because the staff had not been able to keep up. What really impressed me, was that there was a sense of this aint no shit on the part of the staff. They were working hard, you could see it in their eyes, but you couldn’t see it on their faces.
For $8.50 I had a personal meat lovers pizza and bowl of beer cheese soup. Fucking amazing. My girlfriend had a goat cheese and shrimp pizza. I don’t like goat cheese as a general rule because goat cheese tastes like goats smell and that bothers me. At Lat42, goat cheese tasted like goat cheese, but not like goat. That is a truly amazing feat.
NOTE: Google “goat dairy near me” or some shit like that. Call up, ask the farmer if you can come check it out. You will either swear off goat anything forever or suck on the teat of the goat yourself.
Goddamned disgusting.
Latitude 42, with that being said, would be a top notch spot in Portland or Seattle. It is that good, goats or not.
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