Crooked Ewe, South Bend, IN

My writing has been limited lately due to the fact that my laptop went tits right around Christmas time. I prayed to Santa Clause for a new one but he did not deliver.

I always liked Jesus better anyway.

Regardless, I decided that February was the time to buy one and get back to what I do. The last couple of posts were either typed at work or on my phone...Unless of course my boss is reading this, then they were all typed on my phone.

I had been eyeballing the Ewe for a while. I had never stopped in, but today I was happy that I did. It wasn't particularly happening, but the beer was better than expected. I admit that I am kind of a hater, when it comes to the Midwest beer, but I liked this joint.

The Crooked Ewe sits cozily along the Saint Joseph River and under a train bridge. If this place wasn't here, it would be an ideal place for a prostitute to turn tricks. Maybe on the right night it could act as both.

For the record, I am not condoning prostitution, but I also don't condone drinking and driving, and it wasn't like I walked home.

When I entered, the place wasn't overly crowded, but like a douchebag, I was carrying my laptop in my man-purse looking computer bag and I was in search of a power outlet. One of the waitresses helped me find one. Turns out there are a ton at the bar, which is great, but I think it also says a lot about the direction of our society.

The bar wasn't crowded but it was busy, and I sat in the vicinity of an Asiany woman who was talking loudly to an Asian man about how bull shit it was that this girl who was sexually assaulted by a janitor sued her company. That was all I understood, but that was enough. Then her white guy husband showed up and she got quiet. When they left, some dude sat down and asked the bar maid how good her dishwasher was at washing. She responded by informing him that it was a dishwasher, and that it performed as expected.

Other than that, this place was not special.

Ironwood Brewing, Valparaiso, IN

The first time that I stumbled upon this place, I was driving through Valpo on a Sunday afternoon. It was winter break, the college kids were home, and jack-shit was going on in town. I figured that this would be the best time to grab a beer at a brewery right off of campus--the place would have to be at its most authentic.

And it was. It was closed.

I went back about six weeks later, as I was in town to go to a basketball game. I parked in a football field lot that was about half way in between the gym and the brewery. This time, a Saturday evening when school was in session was the setting, and I anticipated a rowdy pre-game college crowd. I crossed the street and could tell from about 75 yards out that the joint was alive. There were few to any cars in the lot, so this had to be an on-campus rowdy crowd.

Again, I was disappointed.

This time they were open, but when I opened the door, it was either filled with professors or old folks having a pre-funk before going to some sort of January high school graduation party. Shoulder to shoulder and nobody was rowdy. The ladies all had dates, and the guys wore ties. The ol' girl pouring was very overwhelmed, but very nice. After things cleared out, I bull shat with her for awhile. She explained that the bar operated in spite of the college--the two basically had no knowledge of the existence of the other one. Local politics dictate that the town and the school will always be at odds over what ever the fuck they want to be at odds over.

This was the first college town that I had ever been to that disliked its college.

She assured me that they make enough money off of the locals and tourists, and that they do nicely and don't need the college kid market. It's really a shame because you can actually see the football stadium from their building. Tailgating should be their niche. All they would have to do is barbecue in a 21 and over area outside and get some corn hole set up. If they didn't want to fuck around with the food license, get a hotdog cart or a taco van to come up.

Fuck, or just corn hole. Drunk college kids love their corn hole.

The other problem that this place had was it's prices. They were on the high end of normal, but their token beer was a Russian Imperial called Black Friday. It was going for $20 per 22 ounce bottle. A $20, 22 ounce bottle had better be straight panda semen or something expensive, not some fucking nothing special home brew. If you are Sam Adams or Rogue, you can do a $20 bottle--not some little-ass local joint.

Three Floyd's Brewing Co., Munster, IN

About damn time that I got here. 

I rolled in one Sunday in December while on my way to pick up my parents at O'Hare. I was hoping to post up and catch some football and drink at one of the premier joints in the Midwest. 

I was happy to roll up and find that they shared a parking lot in an industrial area with their Three Floyd's Distillery. The distillery looked like it was still under construction, but fuck it. 

Besides beer, liquor is one of my favorite things to drink. 

The inside of this joint was an accidental tribute to Northwest Hipster scene. No football on the television, just a Star Wars movie with no sound. Sound would have distracted from the iPod that was plugged in playing the Amos Lee or Ray LaMontagne greatest hits that was keeping it mellow. 

I was not disappointed with this because it was such an authentic breath of fresh air to be in a joint that smelled like the Cascade Mountains. 

Do the Cascade Mountains smell like pine? No. They smell like fish hippy and marijuana. 

I ponied up to the bar and began to drink. The bar tender looked to be a good 6'3", 250, and had a beard that acted as its own bouncer. When he spoke he sounded gay. 

I hope he was gay. If he wasn't, it would totally have ruined the Northwest vibe. 

The drunk next to me should have been drinking for free because he was the greatest hype man in the history of brew house hype men. 

"Yeah, that's a great one," he said every time I looked at the beer list.

Or, "Do you like IPAs? A lot of people don't like IPAs, but I like IPAs because the hops are what make the beer."

Thank you for the wisdom Fucker. 

I will give him credit though, he talked me into ordering the bacon and duck fat popcorn. And it tasted like bacon and duck fat popcorn. 

The best part of the experience, however was the authenticity of the joint. It's easy to be a brewery in Washington or Oregon. The scene is doing it in the Midwest but it isn't there yet. I don't know if it is the proximity to Chicago, the proximity to a D1 university at Valparaiso, or what it is, but Three Floyds is everything that is good about drinking microbrew. 

Half Moon Restaurant and Brewery, Kokomo

The shame of the whole thing, was that this place is a restaurant first. I think it would be a better bar if it was separate. I can't blame them for selling food though--food is one of my favorite things to eat.

I was headed south on 31 to Indianapolis to go see a Butler basketball game. I'm a whore for sporting events, especially college sporting events, so the opportunity to check out a game at Hinkle was a hell yes. It wasn't feasible for me on a quick trip to check out any of the Indy joints, but a stop in Kokomo was perfect.

I walked in, and the rush-hour dinner crowd had this place locked down. Usually when you walk into a place like this where they have people paid to seat you, people like me are able to just walk past and go to the bar. When I walked in, there was only restaurant in my line of sight. I had to ask the hostess if I could sit in the bar. She looked at me like I was an idiot and a busboy had to explain that the bar was through the restaurant around the corner. That's not a good place for a bar because if I get piss pants drunk, I don't want everybody and their family to see me walk to my car and try to figure out how I'm going to drive home.

Once in the bar things got a little better. It was a cozy little sausage fest but it was a bar all the same. The barmaid was eager to pour me samples of what they had, which is always a plus. Everybody else in there looked to be a local, which isn't bad either. The gentleman to my left at the bar was drunk. The gentleman on my right was an old 300 pound man with white hair and a white beard and a big red jacket. That right there was worth the price of admission because it was only four days before Christmas. 

I don't know about you guys, but it was my first time drinking with Santa Claus.

The beer that they were very proud of was a porter that had been run through a hop bucket full of peppermint candy. I tried a sample. It tasted about is good as it sounded. 

Yes, that is what Santa was drinking. Shit you not. 

They were also all over mixing their Irish red mixed with the porter. They called it something, but I don't recall what it was. I even thought about writing it down just so I could tell you folks. But I didn't. 

I ended up drinking the red ale, which was nothing special, but it wasn't bad. I bought a growler of the porter, which was nothing special, but it wasn't bad and I wanted it on Christmas Day. 

I was also happy with the number of televisions in the bar. It felt like a lot but it probably wasn't many. The bar itself was cramped like a Red Lobster bar, so more than two TVs felt like a lot. And at the time I was in there, there were two basketball games and a football bowl game, so I kind of checked out to the world around me and watched sports and drank beer.

I was brought from my slumber when the drunk to my left began asking the barmaid to spank him with the paddle again. If the story I heard was true, last time she spanked him, she broke the paddle over his ass. I did not see a paddle in there, but that might be because it had previously been broken over his ass. I'm not really sure. 

To my right, Santa made a halfhearted comment about getting his ass spanked too. I finished my beer and left before shit got violent. 

New Paradigm Brewing, Elkhart, IN

New Paradigm is an excellent testament to the importance of a solid location to the success of any establishment. It sits in downtown Elkhart, which isn't exactly a tourist mecca. In fact, let me list some reasons why you might find yourself on that particular sidewalk that is adjacent to the post office and train station:

1. You are going to a show at the Lerner--This seems like the best reason. I know they have David Allan Coe coming up, and I love me some shitty old school Country, so I will most likely be hitting up New Paradigm to pre-funk.
2. Your level of alcoholism is so ridiculously high that a trip to the post office cannot be made without a pre or post libation.
3. While waiting for a train at the rail crossing, your car stalls, and you decide to walk away from it and pretend like it is someone else's car.
4. While waiting to catch a train at the depot, you decide to have a beer.
5. While waiting for your dope dealer at the depot, you decide to have a beer.

That's really about it.

The joint itself, is actually pretty good. I swung in on purpose on a Friday after work. I had to go out of my way to do it, which unless I worked for the post office or Amtrak, I would have to do regardless. I stopped because it says "New Paradigm Brewing" in the window and I like craft beer. I hope this place survives.

I entered and sat at the bar. There were three people sitting at the bar dead smack in the middle, no stools between them. They were eating burgers that looked good and not conversing with each other. They didn't look mad at each other, and they obviously weren't strangers. The person in the middle was the wife to one of the fellas on either side. I'm not sure which one.

Maybe it was both. It wasn't my business.

The bartender brought me a beer list, and was pleasant about it. By the way he carried himself, I feel as though "proprietor" might have been a better word than "bartender". They had four of their own beers on tap, then a bunch of other local beers from the Michiana neighborhood.

And Miller Lite.

I ordered one of theirs. The Big Hopbowski they called it. It was fine. Not special, not offensive. I generally get uncomfortable when I go into a place and they are carrying other people's beers. It seems to me like having a supermodel girl friend and spanking it to fat girl porn. Mill Creek Brewing in Walla Walla really pissed me off for that reason. They had a wide variety of their own, but always had Coor's Light on special. The difference in this case, was that the Mill Creek was right downtown in a perfect location that adjoined the trendy Walla Walla shops and downtown scene to Whitman College. The Mill Creek was the place to go.

The New Paradigm was in a situation where they just needed to get people in the door. I could not begrudge them.

I was disappointed that there were not more people in there. It was four o'clock on a Friday, and the Cubs and White Sox were only five minutes away from a first pitch in an interleague game. The game was on, but there was a lot of atmospheric potential that never materialized.

They had hard liquor and a pool table for fuck's sake!

And then just as I was thinking about it, three hipster girls came walking in. They sat at the other end of the bar. I couldn't tell what was ordered, but two of them had beers, and the other one had white wine. At least they talked to each other, which was far ahead of the odd little ménage-a-trois to my immediate left.

I found myself not feeling it as I sat there and drank. We have all been there. That moment when you are in a spot, and for whatever reason, you just don't feel like being there.

The final straw came when a fat-bellied hipster dude with dandruff and a tie came and sat down next to me. He was greeted by the proprietor and ordered a beer by some other brewery. I was offered the opportunity to keep drinking from with a light finger point and a "Doin' awright?"

"Nah, I'm good, but thanks," I said. Then I left.

I felt guilty for not buying three more beers and a case to go, just so they could keep their doors open, but fuck. Unlike those hipsters, I can't go around saving the world.

Rant and Rave Volume 1

Today marks the about-a-month-or-so anniversary of my move to the Midwest. I shouldn't complain too much because you guys have all been real nice to me, but I might anyway. Maybe this is all shit that should go in the "Biographical Information" section, but I don't really care. This is more of a rant or a musing about what I have learned so far.

Sorry if I piss you off.

The thing is I am an ass hole. I say sharp and abrupt things with very little concern for people's feelings. I do not do this for the sake of shock value or to make me feel better about myself, I do this because the things that I say are a real time commentary of the way that I view the world at that particular moment. With that being said, let me provide a little commentary on the beer I have drank, the shit I have seen, and whatever else tickles my pickle over the past month or so.

Early on in my Michiana experience, I picked up some Sunspot by Greenbush Brewing. It tasted like shit. I could give you some snobbery break down of it, but that isn't how I roll. You won't hear me speak of IBUs and aromas on this blog. I don't believe in either of those terms. Ratings, awards, honors, honours with a u, and other such subjective bull shit do not appeal to me--and this is my blog, not yours. There are two ways that something can taste. Good and bad. That is it.

Fortunately, I was able to plug my nose and suck it down and then go buy some other stuff. Robert the Bruce by Three Floyds was a solid choice. It's a Scottish ale, and there is not much that beats a good Scottish ale. I could drink that shit all day--but I didn't because I only had six and they were expensive. I stretched them out for a week, which was very difficult. We had a 19-pack of Miller Lite, so my routine was to drink one of the good beers, then follow it with three of the piss-waters.

Before you purists start bitching at me for drinking something as common as a Miller Lite, go fuck yourselves. Piss-water beer has its niche. I mean, shit, McDonald's isn't fine dining, but when the kids are in the car, or you are on a long haul, sometimes you have to do it. And when you do it, you are going to supersize that shit because go big or go home. Fuck no, I don't want McDonald's for dinner every night, but unlike some of you snobs, I can't afford to drink four craft brews a night.

The other nice thing about shit beer is that it lacks substance and creates less of a hangover. If I want to drink six Miller Lites I will still function and not get a big ass headache. It doesn't work that way with a craft beer. Craft beer is not meant to be pounded. Same thing with one of those fancy restaurants that you need reservations for. Good expensive food, but with small portions.

And while I am thinking about it, Michiana is a stupid fucking name. I lived on the Washington-Idaho border for four years, and the Oregon-Washington border for eight. We didn't start combining names to make our own bullshit region. No. We despised the ass holes across the border, agreed on nothing except that all those fucking Californians need to go back home. Fuck Michiana.

However I will concede that Washingho would have been a cool name for everyone in Spokane Valley-Post Falls and Pullman-Moscow.

I think it is also a waste to be drinking a good craft beer when you are already drunk. Anybody who has ever drank beer has drank themselves to the point where they can't taste it anymore. What the fuck is the point in that? If you are going to get drunk, do it right.

Busch 30-packs fit perfectly under a college dorm bed for a good reason. That should be any 19 year-old's go to. The hipsters are ruining PBR for me. Why do they like that shit?

I went through South Bend yesterday and had sometime to kill. I had been to Evil Czech and loved the shit out of it last year, but I wanted to find a place that I had never been before. I used MapQuest to search craft breweries and it took me to three different places that had either been shut down or never existed. I stopped and walked around at Notre Dame a little and remembered that the only thing more irritating than college kids is rich college kids. It made me miss sitting at the Ram next to Husky Stadium in Seattle before UW games. I ended up leaving town without having a beer, which was a damn shame.

A goddamn shame.

You fuckers go on and have yourselves a good week this week. Later.

Bell's Brewing, Kalamazoo

So here it begins, my first new post from the Midwest. Since I visited last summer, I have gotten married, moved to Indiana, and listened to everyone tell me about how shitty the winter is going to be.
 

Don't worry, I'm sure it will be awful.

I have also heard relayed with the same passion how great the beer is out here. Again, this is not anything that I doubt, but have you been to Portland, Seattle, and Bend? We did pretty well out west with our beer.

Sometimes it snows there too.

I admit that people in the Northwest have a tendency to talk about the local beer scene like they are the only ones in the country, but shit, I think we can claim some expertise.

Now with all that being said, Kalamazoo, Michigan is a damn good beer town. I have no complaints, but it isn't Portland yet. It isn't even Bend. It is about even with Spokane--and that's okay--there is good drinking in Spokane. It's way better than Boise.

Way better.

Fortunately I have people in Kalamazoo, so if I have too much of their better-than-Boise beer, I can call someone for a ride.

On this particular trip, my parents from Washington state were visiting so we took them to Bell's. I had been to Bell's a couple years before and had enjoyed it. Midwest Beer 101 at the University of Beer Drinking starts with a lesson at Bell's.

The time I had been before, we took the kids (because Michigan lets you take kids to a tavern) and sat outside. The young man who is now my stepson was four years old and took his wiener out and pissed on a tree. It startled me when he did because I was pretty sure he wasn't drunk.

This time, he was six years old, and was one of five cousins his age in a one table party of eleven. We sat inside and the place packed. Since my previous experience, they had built an addition to the indoor seating area, and hired a bunch of waitresses so you didn't have to order at the bar.

I don't mind ordering at the bar--especially when I can send a kid up to get me another pitcher. You can't always count on a waitress to come by or get your shit right.

When our waitress finally came by, she didn't get our shit right.

My wife didn't drink on this adventure and ordered some sort of tea because, well, who the fuck knows. They never brought it.

I inquired about buying a growler to add to my collection. I couldn't get one in the restaurant. I had to leave through the bar, out the front door, through the parking lot, go around to where their store was. Then when I got there, they only had four beers on tap and I couldn't sample at the store, I had to sample at the bar.
 

Well fuck that. I would rather call my cable provider.

The growlers were pretty bad ass though. They were the big beer stein style and only cost $18, but since I couldn't sample, I had to settle for some of their Two Hearted Ale that I could just as easily get at the store. It wasn't worth taking a risk and winding up with a growler full of something shitty.

I have to give Bell's credit though. The shitty service and the run around to get a growler added to the Seattle ambiance that this place has. They are a very good joint to sit and drink at, and they keep hipster waiters and waitresses on hand to really send home the authenticity. There was even a butchy with a blue mohawk. The 65 degree July day made may really feel at home as well.

This is the brewery that the rest will be compared to.