In case you missed these blog posts last week . . .
You may now return to your glass of beer.
Stan Hieronymus
Orange tree terroir
Lord knows how scientists may have manipulated orange genetics since John McPhee reported this in 1966, but here’s a little bit about the where involved with oranges.
He writes that taste and aroma vary based on “the position of the individual orange in the framework of the tree on which it grew. Ground fruit — the orange that one can reach and pick from the ground — is not as sweet as fruit that grows high on the tree. Outside fruit is sweeter than inside fruit. Oranges grown on the south side of the tree are sweeter than oranges grown on the east or west sides, and oranges grown on the north side are the least sweet of the lot. The quantity of juice in an orange, and even the amount of vitamin C is contains, will follow the same pattern of variation. Beyond this, there are differentiations of quality inside a single orange. Individual segments vary from one another in their content of acid and sugar.”
In “Oranges,” his book developed from New Yorker articles, the Catch-22 becomes obvious to McPhee when he checks to see if a restaurant offers fresh juice at breakfast.
“There were never any request for fresh orange juice, the waitress explained, apparently unmindful of the one that had just been made. ‘Fresh is either too sour or too watery or too something,’ she said. ‘Frozen is the same every day. People want to know what they’re getting.'”
Then he strikes up a conversation with a couple at the next table. “. . . they had an orange grove on their property, with three kinds of oranges, so that ripe fruit was on their trees almost eight months of the year. All year long, they said, they drank concentrate at breakfast. They hadn’t made juice from the fruit on their trees for more than ten years.”
People knew what they were getting.
But what was the price?
Tune in the Brewing Network Sunday
Pardon another brief advertisement.
I’ll be a guest Sunday on The Brewing Network Sunday Session. The show begins at 5 p.m. Pacific.
We’ll be talking about Brewing With Wheat (I have a copy in hand, Alan, and it weighs 11.8 ounces), the book and the physical activity.
You can even ask questions live by joining the CHAT ROOM or calling 888.401.BEER. Show some compassion and don’t make them too tough.
Somewhere down the Ghost River
Wait, did you hear that
Oh this is sure stirring up some ghosts for me
She said “There’s one thing you’ve got to learn
Is not to be afraid of it.”
I said “No, I like it, I like it, it’s good.”
She said “You like it now
But you’ll learn to love it later.”
– Robbie Robertson, Somewhere Down The Crazy River
If you use Twitter and follow beer folks you’ve see a lot of pointers today to CraftBeer.com, one of three relatively new websites from the Brewers Association. The other two are a site for members of the American Homebrewers Association and one for Brewers Association members.
A bit of necessary disclosure: I did a bit of work for the CraftBeer.com site and I also write for association publications, including two books.
That’s not why I’m suggesting you take a look at this particular video about Ghost River Brewing. Hit the arrow and hang on until they get to the river. You’ll wish it was longer.
Soundtrack Project: A Tangible Birthplace from Memphis Chamber on Vimeo.
Anyway, nice music. Works well, don’t you think? Yet when they return to the Ghost River and Chuck Skypeck (he’s the guy talking) mentions the “sound of your canoe going through the water” Robbie Robertson’s music found its way into my head. Both the melody from “Somewhere Down The Crazy River” and one of those lyrics you never heard on the radio and will never forget.
A canoe, a river, a beer, music. All things that stamp themselves into your soul.
I’ll have the sturgeon beer, thank you
Sometimes we are our own context, meaning what you bring to a glass of beer influences what you take from it.
Rick Lyke writes about a 7-year-old bottle of Schlenkerla Urbock, his daily drink Monday, that opened with a big smoked ham nose. A fellow taster from Wisconsin taster said it was like smoked sturgeon.
Drinkers in Bamberg, Germany, where Schlenkerla beers are brewed, most associate them with meat, but in Wisconsin — home to Friday evening fish fries — smoke and fish makes perfect sense. The same in Alaska.
That wasn’t something Geoff and Marcy Larson of Alaskan Brewing necessarily considered when they first brewed Alaskan Smoked Porter more than 20 years ago. In fact, Geoff Larson didn’t react very well the first time a drinker told him his beer tasted like salmon. In fact he had smoked the malt that went into the beer at a fish smokery, but he had cleaned the facility obsessively in advance, fearing how fish oil might affect the beer.
“I took it inappropriately and defensively,” Larson said. Months after, talking to the late Greg Noonan — who had made his own smoked porter at Vermont Pub & Brewery — he began to understand just how powerful memories of smoke are.
“Greg talked about first using hickory and customers would ask if he put hickory smoked ham in the beer,” Larson said. “Then he used maple and they asked, ‘Hey, did you start throwing sausage in your beer?'”
It wasn’t salmon that drinkers noticed but the alder wood both the malt and fish were smoked over. In Southeast Alaska smoke from alder wood conjures up memories of campfires and smoked salmon. In the northeast maple smoke reminds consumers of Jimmy Dean Sausage.