So the story behind the taster tray and the Bent Nail IPA at Red Lodge Ales in the Montana town of the same name is the same.

The beer was named as a tribute to the construction workers who were among the brewery’s first customers. “They said it (the beer) made for a lot of bent nails,” a bartender explained. It’s a solid beer, nicely balanced, worthy of the bronze medal it won at the 2007 Great American Beer Festival (as an American-style Strong Pale Ale).

The handle for the taster tray features the same bent nail. Easy to carry and nicely decorated. Customers use the green sheet, on the left, to order, writing numbers next to the beer name on the laminated menu with a grease pencil. Very efficient.

Broken Nail Double IPA was not available when we visited. My nephew, whose wedding we headed north to attend, assures me it’s worth returning for. We must may.

In the front matter of his new book, Great American Craft Beer: A Guide to the Nation’s Finest Beers and Breweries, Andy Crouch revisits the never-ending discussion about “What the heck is craft beer anyway?” If you’ve followed this online, including at Crouch’s blog, this won’t be new.

That he notes it is (at least in part) an “existential debate” seems relevant to a guest post this week at WashingtonCityPaper.com. Greg Engert, the beer director for the Neighborhood Restaurant Group, which includes ChurchKey and Birch & Barley, writes that “Craft Brewing Faces an Identity Crisis.”

The debates that continue to arise as to what craft brewing is are inevitable and often interesting. What I find more interesting is the need for craft beer drinkers, myself included, to pin this down, to specifically signify when identifying something as craft-brewed. And these debates always seem to intensify in the face of further complexity, as if craft beer drinkers need to maintain a sort of ownership and authority over a product that is becoming harder and harder to identify by definition. Perhaps even more importantly, the industry is becoming more complex and more difficult to understand and define just as it is also becoming more popular and—dare I say it?—mainstream.

Engert concludes, “In the end, debates about what craft beer is may in actuality be a burgeoning debate about who craft beer may be.”

Existentialists, have at it.

Derrick Peterman has posted the roundup for The Session #42.

Once again, the beer blogosphere provided many unique, memorable personal perspectives, this time, about how beer connects us to places. In many cases, the “special” beers associated with special places where rather ordinary, even substandard, as most posters readily acknowledged. And as I anticipated, “place” clearly meant different things to different people.

This seemed like an excellent topic to me, but only a dozen bloggers chimed in with contributions. Perhaps we should blame the summer doldrums. However it’s also fair to consider if the beer blogosphere has “moved on.”

Beer blogging certainly is alive and well. Look at the number of attendees for the first Beer Bloggers Conference (first in the U.S., that is, since the initial international gathering will occur earlier in Prague).

Anyway, it wouldn’t be shocking if The Session has run its course. After all, it looks as if the separate site created for Wine Blogging Wednesday has not been updated more than a year ago, although it would seem the project continued until at least the most recent May.

Just an observation . . .

For the 42nd gathering of The Session Derrick Peterman asks we write about “A Special Place, A Special Beer.” Visit his blog for a recap of all the posts.

I told this story in Brew Like a Monk. This is the condensed version.

Inside the brewery café at the monastery of the Saint Benedictus Abbey of Achel, only a single food server and one monk putting items on his cafeteria tray remained when Marc Beirens opened the door and stepped into a chilly December evening.

Beirens, a businessman who has been visiting monasteries since he was a child, took a few strides into a terrace area that was once the abbey’s courtyard. As the sky above turned from dark blue to black, he nodded back toward the brewery, located in a space that once housed the monastery dairy, then to a new gallery and gift shop to his right. Those buildings held pigs and more cattle, before it became obvious agriculture would not sustain the community.

“You should have seen this all a few years ago,” he said, his voice bouncing lightly about an otherwise silent courtyard.

*****

During the next few hours Beirens and Brother Benedict, the monk in charge of marketing when I visited in December of 2004 gave me a complete tour of the monastery and its small brewery. Always a good host, Brother Benedict insisted I try the beers.

Staring with Extra, a substantial 9.5% beauty served from a 750ml bottle. He didn’t drink himself, talking a little business with Beirens, answering my questions about the monastery, and excusing himself after his cell phone rang. He returned a little later. “This is the same bottle?” he asked, knowing the answer was yes. “You don’t like the beer.” He laughed mightily.

He ordered we have another, then headed off again. Both Beirens and I ordered the Achel 5, a blonde beer of 5.3% abv, and compared it to the 5% abv Westmalle Extra. When Brother Benedict returned, he looked at our blonde beers, working on a scowl. He took a sip of one. “Water,” he said, once again laughing.

*****

Beirens appreciates the importance of commerce to the monasteries, and that the six Trappist breweries are part of a larger family. He distributes a range of monastic products ? beer is the best selling, but they include cookies, soap, vegetables, wine, and other goods ? throughout Belgium and France. His father did the same. “I’ve been visiting monasteries since I was this high,” he said earlier, holding his hand below his waist. That’s why he understands something else about monasteries.

It was dark now, and the courtyard empty.

“I love the silence,” Beirens said. “I used to have a friend who was a monk. He’s gone now.”

We walked along in silence.

“When he was 80 or so, I’d still call him. If I had a problem I could go see him. He didn’t have to say anything and I’d feel better.

“All it took was silence.”

The bathrooms at Sam’s Tap Room and Kitchen, which is the tap room for Red Lodge Ales Brewing Co. in the Montana town of Red Lodge, has glass holders like this one in both the men’s and women’s bathrooms.

The holders — set beside the toilets, the urinals and the sink — hold both large and small glasses. I don’t usually carry my glass with me into the bathroom, but it appears some people do.

Red Lodge Ales has the largest solar thermal array in the state of Montana up on the roof. That warms water to heat the brewery in winter (radiant floors) provides warm process water in the summer. The beer garden faces the mountains and hops plants decorate the garden walls (in season).

Did I mention the sampler trays are cool? They are. None of these delightful amenities would matter, of course, if the beer weren’t pretty damn good. It is.

Today’s New York Times has an article about artisinal ice cream. There’s that word again. The story focuses on the price of high-end (as in expensive) ice cream.

Read both pages, and not only because I guarantee Taos Cow makes great ice cream. Think about it in terms of our previous discussion.

In case you are on the fence about taking the time, a few excerpts:

If you hang out here much you know I think many beers that can fairly called artisinal are underpriced. That doesn’t mean I can’t be offended when a marketer describes a product as “artisinal” just so a company can charge more.

The Mint Bar in Sheridan, Wyoming, is as impressive inside as the cowboy neon out front. Although not as expansive as The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar across the state in Jackson and certainly not fancy, it holds its own on a per capita basis.

The place was hopping Monday evening. People come here to drink — there is no food — to talk, and many to smoke. The wall across from the bar is covered with complimentary clippings and the booths in the back are exceptional (see below).

We knew about this place before we reached Sheridan, so this wasn’t exactly a lucky discovery. Nonetheless it surpassed expectations, including the beer — eight taps, two of them serving Alaskan Amber and New Belgium Fat Tire.

We’re headed north in the morning (attention burglars: somebody will be watching our house), eventually to Montana and Wyoming because my brother’s son is getting married in a week.

While we’re off looking for cowboy neon signs hanging on old bars (maybe even old saloons) here are a few links I’ve been meaning to pass along. (The photo on the left is was taken in front of The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson, Wyoming. A place your really should visit before dropping by Snake River Brewing for excellent beer.)

The headline across the bottom of Details magazine caught my eye today at Borders.

“Artisanal America: How Handmade and Homegrown Became the New Consumer Religion.” The story itself is even online. Sure enough, the cute timeline that runs above the story has a picture of beers from Anchor Brewing and a note that in 1965 the brewery helped “kickoff the microbrew craze.”

(See, not everybody uses the term craft beer.)

What’s troubling, and a reminder why I’m not part of Details’ target audience, is that most of the items mentioned in the story turn out to be expensive. (It’s hard to continue reading after the reporter asks this question: “Does the phrase ‘Horween Tracker bone suede upper’ mean anything to you?”)

This story equates artisanal with luxury and exclusivity. Which is not the way to build a better beer culture.

Drinking note of the day (not really a new feature, so don’t expect one tomorrow):

From The Gourmet Guide to Beer by Howard Hillman (1983).

Hamm’s (U.S.A.) 2 mugs (out of five)

“Born in the land of sky blues waters,” says the motto. Pale yellow color. Innocent nose and palate.

How’s that for concise?