Our Wisco Beer Adventured Continues

When we met Rick and Nadine, they were halfway through glasses of red and white wine respectively. As we started talking about beer, Rick reiterated one of the most common dichotomies expressed by beer tyros. "I like beer, but it can't be too bitter." Nadine, more adventurous in her palate, said that she was willing to try anything. So, Andrew, Alex, and I took it upon ourselves--perhaps out of the euphoria of being in New Glarus, perhaps out of some sense of obligation, perhaps because we like to share beer with strangers--to present some of the beers on tap to them and explain the nuances of different styles. Time and again, Rick and Nadine--maybe out of sincerity, perhaps out of awkwardness or flattery--were wowed by the beers. After tasting Raspberry Tart, one of New Glarus's award-winning fruit beers, Rick went on in detail about how he would love to reduce the beer as a sauce and cook it with pork tenderloin.

Our generosity was spurred on, in part, by Wisconsin prices. When the first bill--of five beers--came to $7, we were hooked for the night. "I think we should stay in New Glarus tonight, visit the brewery again, and go back tomorrow," Alex said at one point. It was his car and his plan, so there we were (Not that Andrew or I were difficult to convince.) We left Rick and Nadine and the Stube, fully intending to come back, in order to get a hotel room and move a car. We even left our name on the waiting list for dinner.

But New Glarus, it turned out, was not where we would spend our evening. There was a 200-plus person wedding going on in town, and every hotel room in a ten-mile radius was booked. As we considered our options, I pulled up a map of Wisconsin on Alex's iPhone and mentioned that Mt. Horeb, a small town about 15 miles away, was home to a well-known brewpub. We called the Village Inn in Mt Horeb; they had a room; and we were on our way.

Mt. Horeb is like New Glarus, but it was settled by Norwegian instead of Swiss immigrants, and the fascination with trolls in Norwegian culture (I'm serious about this, and a Google search quickly confirms the legitimacy of this non-harmful ethnic stereotype) played out here: Mt Horeb is the "Troll Capital of the World." After a short drive, we arrived at the motel, checked in, and started our walk down Main Street, "the Trollway," to the local brewpub, "The Grumpy Troll."

Andrew, Alex, and I would have been happy to settle in and have a few beers at a smalltown brewpub, enjoy some fried cheese curds, and call it a night. We asked for a table near the brewhouse--visible through some floor-to-ceiling windows in the back of the restaurant--so that we could eat, drink, and talk about the brewery. Things played out differently. The manager, Doug, overheard us discussing the brewery and asked us if we were brewers. "We're students at the Siebel Institute, actually," we said. Doug smiled and said that he used to be the manager at the Goose Island brewpub, just across the street from Siebel. "Does that tall, drunk Canadian still run the program?" he asked, referring to Keith Lemcke, the institute's VP.

Doug invited us to have a few rounds of beers with him at the bar, and six pints later, we were the last customers of the evening. Doug had shared tales of his hope of opening a brewpub of his own in Maine and offered his advice about opening a brewpub to me ("Keep it family friendly; have a tight menu; don't call it a brewpub.") Since the night was still young--relative to Chicago hours--we asked for another recommendation, and he sent us across the street to the local bar. For those Lake Nebagamon-savvy folks, we finished the night at the Mt Horeb equivalent of Bridge's, replete with karaoke, pool, Big Buck Hunter, and shuffleboard. Given that it was also a small-town Wisco bar, it was little surprise that about eighty percent of the folks inside gave us the head-to-toe when we entered.

The last few details of the journey are less adventurous: we did indeed make it back to New Glarus the following morning, enjoyed another tour of the facility with Adrian, chatted up folks in the tasting room, snapped plenty of pictures, and made it back to Chicago in good time.

At the end of the summer, when the folks who worked in the Northwoods came back to Portland, their generosity was abundant, and they brought me many New Glarus bottles. I remember James telling me that the gift wouldn't be as big a deal now since I was going to the Midwest myself. Getting my hand on New Glarus beer wasn't that easy. Though I'd spent six weeks in the vicinity, it was only a flesh-and-blood arrival in south central Wisconsin that enabled me to drink from the source. There are many great craft brewers in the Midwest, but New Glarus will long remain the one that floats to the top for me; the fact that it requires a trip to Wisconsin is an added benefit and allure. Like I told Joey Bos a few weeks ago when asked what beers to drink at a Belgian beer fest, thanks to New Glarus, I subscribe to the scarcity-theory of value for beer.