I’ve had a love/dislike relationship with beer reviews over the past 15 years or so. I used to love them and rely on them. I didn’t know a stout from a porter or an IPA from a pale ale. I didn’t know what a saison was. Reviews let me know what to expect.
I go so into reviews that I started writing my own, but even by then I knew it could be a monotonous process. Even at best, reviews simply broke down what one reviewer considered noticeable about the color, smell, flavor, texture.
Rating beers on their style was interesting at first, too, and I combed through BJCP guidelines to hold brewers accountable. Was this too boozy tasting to be a brown ale? Is the color off on this amber? If the ABV says 8%, is it really an imperial? It got boring.
As you can see on the sidebar, I got really into writing similes for UnTappd, because did we really need another review that said: “Nice cloudy head, pineapple nose, dry on the…” Oof.
The men of Brewheads — the trio Brando, Big Mike, and Clinton — stay true to the beer review in their YouTube videos. They’re silly, but at least edited. After watching clip after clip, you get their rhythm and feel like you know them. Luckily, I got to know them better in an interview for “It Starts With Beer.” Episode 20 is a lot of fun, so check it out. You can view it on my new Podbean podcast webpage.
A native of smalltown Ohio, Josh moved to Connecticut to pursue his mechanical engineering career. Disappointed along the way, he leaned more into his small-batch homebrewing experience and decided that a brick building in Southington would be where Witchdoctor would find its home.
He’s since created such beers as Bunny Patch Strawberry Malt-Shake New England IPA, Cocoa for Peanuts amber ale, and a gose I can’t get out of my mind.
Enjoy our interview, along with others from the podcast here.
They say you need to keep busy if you can while staying home during this COVID-19 outbreak, so I’ve turned to podcasting to create, inform, and connect with people. It’s turned out to be a timely venture, as my main writing outlet at my local newspaper has been placed on hiatus.
Nine weeks ago, I was welcoming my first child into the world. While I was doting on her and learning how to calm and swaddle, everything outside our bubble started to fall apart. It wasn’t long after we were out of the hospital that rules for visiting hospitals got much stricter. We needed to cancel visits from family and friends, and the territory that included my child, my wife, and my 3-year-old mutt closed off.
For the first two weeks I was so tired I couldn’t have formed a proper sentence, much less conducted an interview. But as my body and mind got used to the shocks of new parenthood, I grew restless. I penned what would turn out to be my last column for the Waterbury (Conn.) Republican-American for the foreseeable future — a financial piece about Connecticut breweries and their new ability to deliver door-to-door — thus putting a pause on a 15-year run. It was done for financial reasons, and I hope the paper can return to a stronger position soon. I bear no ill will.
I’d started my podcast, “It Starts With Beer,” back in January, starting with a few monologues and basically feeling my way in the dark. I had an audio interface from Christmas that was meant for home recording of music, but I figured out how to use it for podcasting.
By turning my podcast into an outlet for breweries to talk about how they were dealing with the coronavirus-related business slowdowns, I felt like I was performing a bit of a public service. I’ve broadened my conversations to include writers and an accountant and as of today I’ve got episode 17 almost ready to go. It’s become such a welcome chance for me to speak with people about a topic that isn’t germs, viruses, or politics (or, for that matter, feeding times and baby development).
I am incredibly privileged to find myself in a safe home with a job that allows me to work here and a family that doesn’t mind if I have high-volume conversations in the study. I hope to return to writing, too, right here at beersnobwrites.com, even if it won’t see life in glorious ink and paper. If you’ve read this far: thank you and I wish you safety and fulfilling connection.
Spirits, as the name suggests, evoke the magical, intangible and ethereal.
I’ve never spent a lot of time in the lands of whiskey, rum, or gin, mostly because they send me to a magical place a little too quickly for my equilibrium.
However, when I heard that a new distillery was opening in Waterbury that extracts alcohol from slushy beer runoff from other breweries, I was intrigued.
Continuum Distilling has the vibe of a brewery, and it even smells like one. Tucked away just a few doors down from Brass Works Brewing in an industrial park on Thomaston Avenue, it’s got a nice little tasting room with a bar made partly from barrel staves, while the back is filled with containers of viscous liquid.
There are racks of small casks, rows of blue 55-gallon drums, and a bevy of 275-gallon totes that hold a soupy elixir: semi-solid beer remnants reclaimed from brewery fermenters. Owner and head distiller Brandon Collins has added sugar to keep it fermenting, and it’s destined to become rum and two spirits so new that Collins had to invent names for them: Drops, for beers made with IPAs, and Charred, from maltier beers.
A few feet away, where the fermenters would be if this were a brewery, were two conic pot stills, which turn the sludge into distillates. The beer byproduct is placed in the stripping still, heated 110 gallons at a time until vapor rises through a copper column and mixes with cold water to become alcohol, one drop at a time. After another run through the spirits still, you get a nearly colorless liquid, and the best of that gets aged in casks that have charred black birch and white oak staves, from trees downed in a storm.
It was the slurry that sat in those giant white totes that all this fuss was about, and Collins, a 41-year-old chemist from Tennessee, walked me through it.
Continuum takes the “trimmings” that brewers usually throw out: the goo that doesn’t make it to the brite tank but still has residual sugars, hops and yeast.
“There’s a lot of alcohol in there,” he said. “Cloudy, murky liquid with a ton of flavor.”
It’s that flavor that comes from craft beer that makes his product special, he said.
“Upfront it’s a sustainable process,” Collins said. “But what’s exciting for me is the flavor you will get. It’s a finished beer. If I wanted to do this from scratch, it would be astronomical. Plus, a traditional spirit is using a base grain. It might be good, but it’s straightforward: corn, barley, rye. But we have roasted chocolate malts, flaked oats, all these awesome malt bills and impart a lot of flavor.”
The beer run-off comes from seven local breweries currently, but most comes from Oxford’s Black Hog Brewing, whose owners are also partners in the Continuum venture.
It was while working as an intern at Black Hog after being laid off by a major pharmaceutical company that Collins had his brainstorm about collecting and using other breweries’ beer slush for spirits.
“I was working the canning line and I could see how the bottom of the fermenter runoff was not being utilized,” Collins said. “I thought I had an idea. I went to them and started putting plans together.”
Black Hog co-owner Jason Sobocinski said that when he sampled Collins’ mason jar moonshine over two years ago, he was surprised to hear that its origins were from Black Hog’s beers. “This was amazing stuff,” Sobocinski said. “He asked, ‘So how do I do this?’ And here we are.”
Collins said he did a test batch at Litchfield Distillery in Litchfield in January of 2018, and a year later, while navigating the licensing needed to open his business, worked with Westford Hills Distillers in Ashford.
Opening a distillery in Waterbury was not his first choice; he would have preferred to be closer to Black Hog, but the options didn’t pan out.
As it turned out, though, Collins and Black Hog were happy to spread into new territory, and being next to Brass Works has its perks as well. They two businesses are already sharing ingredients and making drinks together, and plan to share food trucks, and of course, customers.
I had a chance to taste their three bottled offerings, and I’d say the beer plays a significant role in all of them.
Their ContinuRum is made with molasses, not beer run-off. However, it does use repitched yeast from Black Hog’s Granola Brown. I found it pleasant and smooth.
With Drops, I certainly got a tropical nose from the IPA. Collins said it’s close to gin, but without the juniper taste. What shines is the hops, and this batch came from three Black Hog IPAs: Ginga Ninja, Hog Water, and Piglet. It’s tingly in your mouth, and the bitterness is smoothed over at the end by sweetness.
Charred, which comes from the runnings of maltier fare like stouts and porters, is known unofficially as “beer whiskey.” Batches 001 and 002 are made from Black Hog’s Milk Stout during pilot mode, and clock in at 96 proof. Lactose does not ferment out in the brewing process and it’s present in the flavor.
You can check out the distillery yourself this weekend at their grand opening. They offer $10 tastings and tours and buy bottles of their spirits. Starting in July, their license will allow them to serve beer as well.
Finding the perfect pairing isn’t just about food and beer.
I was reminded of this recently when I got together with Naima Craft of The Craft, a new venture in Bloomfield, Conn., that gives clients a chance to learn the art of baking. She asked if I could lead a class on pairing food with beer, and I was excited to take on the challenge. You can sign up for our December 14 class here: The Craft Catering.
We had a lot of fun preparing for the class with her in my dining room, mixing and sometimes matching cuts of cheese, meat, and chocolate with a slew of beer styles, from hefeweizen to imperial stout.
Naima and I started with a plan, much inspired by Julia Herz and Gwen Conley’s Beer Pairing and Garrett Oliver’s The Brewmaster’s Table. We thought about which foods would pair best with which styles, and filled the table with chilled bottles and cans and samples of delicacies that might make the eventual menu.
Two things made two-hour preparation session especially enjoyable: the selections and Naima’s reaction to each combination. Whether it was a wrong-note failure, bliss-inducing alchemy, or somewhere in between, Naima – who claims not to be a “beer person” – absorbed it all.
Naima was born and raised in Trinidad, where she said that having a great time was always surrounded by food. “Trinidadians are known for something called ‘limin,'” she wrote to me. “In other words, hanging out with a good beer or mixed drink and of course flavorful food.”
She said Trinidadian flavors influences how she enjoy experiences surrounding different types of foods. Naima recently started her own business, teaching students ways to bake, which is her passion.
“I remember when I was around the tween age, my grandmother introduced me to basic baking: Cakes and quick breads, all by hand,” she said. “Then she bought me my own hand mixer! I felt so special, especially being aware of how much and how long she may have had to save to purchase that precious baking tool.”
After graduating from the University of Hartford, where she earned a Doctorate in Physical Therapy, and attaining advanced certification in vestibular rehabilitation from the American Institute of Balance in Florida, she worked as a physical therapist. But her love of food never left her.
“I love sharing my creations with others and learning new ways to improve my outcomes,” she said, “always pursuing that ‘soul-hugging’ experience as best as I could.”
This is how The Craft was born, and I’m so honored to be a part of this journey. We hope you’ll take it with us. Sign up for this December 14 class and enjoy a “soul-hug.”
In Connecticut we’re coming up on 100 breweries, and we’ve seen a dramatic spike in the past three years. What was once a cause for celebration and curiosity and I-gotta-get-over-there has turned into…
But why? I’ve been an avid local brewery visitor for 15 years. I love everything about them, despite hit-or-miss selection and irritating acoustics. Weirdly bright lighting? Fine! Unfocused and uninformed bartenders? Not a problem. Every one that’s opened in Connecticut is in it for their own right reasons, I can almost always find at least one beer I like a lot.
So why did I lose that sensation, starting about a year ago? What numbed me to the excitement of a new venture and new beer? And how do I get that feeling back?
I suspect that overload is the culprit. If you visit any kind of arena too often over a period of time, be it baseball stadiums or concert venues or restaurants, you’re bound to face stimulation fatigue. And it’s not just the visiting, but the experiences themselves can smear into one another until you can’t quite discern what makes this former-frozen-yogurt-joint-now-brewery different from this used-to-be-farm-equipment-storage-now-brewery.
And I hate to say it, but after a while the stories behind them blend together, especially by the 70th or so brewery. That’s not to say that each and every one isn’t special and their lives aren’t unique and delightful. They are. But it’s kind of tough differentiating which white male team in their 30s used to be in insurance and which ones are middle school teachers.
What a luxury it is to have this problem: oh, no, you have too many cool breweries to visit! I’m not saying I’m actively suffering. I’m just saying I’m in a bit of a funk.
So, here’s what I’m doing to get out of said funk. First of all, I’ve already decided I’m not going to chase down all 100 breweries. Some of them are at least an hour away, and I wish all of those breweries well. (If they want to pay for my Uber, I’m ready to ride and give out 5-star reviews like Halloween candy.)
Secondly, to get back into writing about new breweries, I’m going to focus more on my experience than on documenting all the facets of what brought the brewery to life. I’ll include some of that, of course, as I’m endlessly curious about how people could actually risk their livelihood to run a brewery, even during this Golden Age. My recent column about Noble Jay Brewing in Niantic went in this direction.
Lastly, I don’t necessarily need to try every single beer. I’ll gladly try your double dry hopped, oak flaked NEIIPA, but I know my taste and that will lead me to your porter or stout and thanks for playing.
If you’re new to the beer scene or feeling a tinge of jadedness, there’s more to enjoy than ever. Just don’t let it underwhelm you.