“The world was my oyster, but I used the wrong fork.” – Oscar Wilde Originally published in the July 2022 Issue of the Old Town Crier Magazine Oysters and beer, one of the greatest culinary delights known to man. A delicacy of indulgence beyond any other. The two go together like eggs and bacon. Back in … Continue reading Oysters and Beer
Originally published in the June 2022 Issue of the Old Town Crier Magazine This is the unedited version The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page. – St. Augustine The view from our deck in St. Barths I don’t feel like I’m in the Caribbean, I feel like I’m … Continue reading St. Barths: Rhum, Ti’ Punch, and Cuban Cigars
OK, it’s Spring. So, it’s time to change what beers we are drinking, right? Wrong!! Spring cleaning does not have to include dispensing with some of your favorite malted beverages.
Originally published in the April 2022 Issue of the Old Town Crier Magazine “God made beer because he loves us and wants us to be happy.” The above quote is often attributed to Benjamin Franklin. However, there is no proof that he ever said it. But we love believing that he did. Beer has been associated … Continue reading Charity, Compassion, and The Love of Beer
I asked one simple question: What’s the difference between a stout and a porter? The answer opened the craft beer equivalent of Pandora’s Box.
In 1991 I was in graduate school and bartending at the Fish Market in Old Town Alexandria. It was the beginning of my love for what would become my adopted hometown.
In the world of alcohol, the charred oak barrel is one of mankind’s greatest inventions. It gives us many gifts.
The word “wassailing” has evolved for over 1000 years. It is derived from Old Nordic and Old English words that meant “be in good health”.
No celebration is complete without beer. It’s been that way since 7000 BCE. Why would our modern Thanksgiving be any different?
“You can’t drink all day unless you start in the morning!” My fraternity brother, Smitty, speaks these words to me while he’s ladling Bloody Mary’s out of a full 12-gallon stock pot into two plastic cups for us. The year is 1982. It is eight o’clock in the morning on my first football Saturday living in the fraternity house. There are two 12-gallon stock pots on the bar, the Bloody Mary one, and one full of vodka and orange juice, Screwdrivers, next to it. These are our morning vitamins. The smell of stale beer that had been spilled at the party the night before is our potpourri. I remember the drinks being great. But I’m sure they were terrible.