Things About Butte

I am sitting in the second story of a building in downtown Butte, Montana, that used to house a newspaper, more than 100 years ago. The narrow plank wood floors show the carefully restored wear and use of what was probably the photo and lithograph developing area, based on the chemicals they encountered during restoration, according to the current inhabitant. A “reasonably good-looking” in his own words, and “epically talented” brewer, he’s the man behind Muddy Creek Brewery, which, according to Google ratings, is the best brewery in Butte. Whether Google raters know anything remains in question, but Muddy Creek seems to know their beers. A sample flight brings me three blondes, a thick vanilla stout and an obligatory IPA (this is, afterall, a microbrewery). Any other flight with multiple blondes would normally sound better as a sexual encounter than a beer tasting, but Muddy Creek mixes it up just right.

Being a 'professional' beer connoisseur, my methodology for sampler consumption is quite scientific, if not flawed. I always try them all and then drink the balance from least favorite to most, so I can savor and enjoy the best beer, leaving the establishment with the taste of it still on my breath. I say flawed because as we all know, after the first four or so samples, it doesn’t really matter two shits what they taste like. It’s all delicious.

In the case of Muddy Creek, it was a mid-afternoon time-killing stop wherein I didn’t plan to hang out for unending hours redefining the meaning of inebriation. But in spite of the steady stream of right-on-the-brink of too-loud classic rock (my least favorite genre), I feel right at home here. The beer is good and the tables, crafted out of old cable spools, coupled with late 1800s woodwork give me the industrial warm fuzzies. It helps that they let me bring my road weary dog in from the car so she could lie in stiff tension on the wood floor, staring at the resident stuffed black bear named Stout, just across from our table.

My plan was to stick with a modest four sample flight before moving on responsibly and checking into my budget-priced Econolodge room for the night. But the reasonably handsome master brewer insisted on throwing in a sample of his Storm the Door Vanilla Porter, and I didn’t want to be rude. That fifth sample, after all, spells the end of productivity for the day, unless you count a blatherous post about beer and the merits thereof.

But back to the beer: The Dirty Blonde was a basic, easy drinking, 5% ABV classic golden hued blonde. None of that over-hopped hipster microbrewing overkill. It was comfortable and good. The Blue Sky Blonde, which the epically talented brewer says is their most proliferously distributed beer, is a blueberry blonde. I am not one for fruity beers, and I have been out-blueberried a time or two, but this one is a winner with a 5% ABV. The berry factor is subtle enough for the manliest of rednecks to abide with. The Mandarin Tango is another 5% ABV blonde with some subtle citrusy and other almost unidentifiable flavors that were good, but bordered on a visit to Bath and Body Works. Still a smooth drinker, lots of my Budlight girlfriends would dig it. The Skinny Cow IPA was a good IPA at 6% ABV. Not one of the cleanest ones I’ve tasted, and nothing that I wanted to send a postcard to my ex-boyfriends about, but if you’re an IPA drinker, which I am when the mood takes me, it’s doable. Storm the Door was a good vanilla stout, the talented and handsome brewer wasn’t wrong, but not being a dark beer aficionado I would have to defer to one of my more surly friends for a professional verdict. It clocks in at 6.2% ABV. The fact that I didn’t hate it was good enough for me.

After my accidental flight of five, I found myself with a full pint of the Dirty Blonde. Like the talented and handsome brewer says, it’s the only place in town that you can have a dirty blonde and not leave with an STD - an especially poignant statement considering the longest operating brothel in United States history is very literally just down the street a few blocks.


While the whole town of Butte with it’s rollicking hills and crumbling brick buildings won my heart, Muddy Creek certainly clinched the deal. I want to come here and buy the whole town and make it the next Dollywood. Except cooler. Never have I seen so many extremely badass buildings lying vacant and hopelessly abandoned. I am glad Muddy Creek made a home here in the old newspaper office, and it feels just about right to sit here with AC DC and type my little heart out next to a dirty blonde and a mini dachshund.

 

Things About Wenatchee

Once upon a time a girl who really couldn't afford it but had all this faith in The Good Things To Come, traveled to a far away land for a class about things she thought she might be good at. So much speculation in that sentence. Story of my life. It's really all about speculation. Wondering if THIS STEP is the Best Good Decision she has ever made or the Worst Mistake of Her Life. Ever unpredictable, the coin lands as it will, with the dashing prince that turns out to be a dud and the lost cause that becomes a best friend. But as the snowboard full of beer sits before me, and with the full knowledge that I will be able to pay at least for this One Last Supper, all is well.

This week I am in Wenatchee. I am learning how to be a Public Information Officer for all-hazard incidents for the federal government, which is to say they are teaching me how to avoid saying anything of traceable importance or litigatable fact to the surging media that appears on any major fire, flood, earthquake, terrorist attack or Black Friday sale. So far the only definite thing that I have learned is that when I am shot on video for an interview, I look exactly like my dad in a really bad wig (no offense dad, but it's a good thing you aren't a woman) #notphotogenic. It's a good thing I am really good at Twitter, and Facebook, and Writing All The Things.

Being in the town of Wenatchee, which is not only geographically, but culturally dead center between Bend, Oregon and Kettle Falls, Washington, I am forced to do what any self respecting single-woman/beer-loving/unpaid-employee would: seek out the breweries and conduct an experiment in awkward drink-alone situations and creative bar-tab justification. It's working, y'all. I am winning. Not only have I succesfully ruled out the chance that I will EVER appear before a video camera again, I have determined that for the dedicated beer drinker, the only true micro-brewery in Wenatchee is Badger Mountain Brewing. While Badger Mountain doesn't offer a full menu, in the Happy-Hour I spent there with 6 of their noteably good beers, the brewer/cook came out and chatted with me, because he's cool. Well worth the visit. Don't even waste your time at Columbia Valley Brewing since apparently their brewing apparatus broke down months ago and they forgot to tell anybody. Their food also leaves something to be desired, namely flavor, and the place smelled like Pine Sol, which is totally cool if you're in a nursing home. Saddle Rock Brewing, on the other hand, while making the most mouth watering calzone I have ever experienced (it is a full-on experience), offers only one SRB beer on tap, calling into question their viability as a "brewery". Let's go with "Awesome taphouse with a brewing hobby" instead. That's better. To be fair, the one beer is decidely good, even for an IPA, which most of you know is not my favorite. But the WVC (Wenatchee Valley College) 4.0 IPA is an easy, not-too-hoppy drinker, so most IPA die-hards will be dismayed. Upon further "research" involving a 12 beer sample flight and a burly, tattooed, red-headed waiter, it appears that SRB releases one brew a month in addition to their 11 guest beers. Turns out their 45 gallon brewing system is truly a platform for brewing experimentation. Potential for better days (and brews) ahead. I don't hate it, especially when the guest taps are from Ninkasi, Deschutes (including Not The Stoic?!?!?) and 21st Amendment, a brewery I had been itching to try.

So even if I don't make a very good camera-ready PIO, I know that I can Tweet the rest of them to shame, and if all else fails: BEER.

Things About Girls. And Beer.

It was a long time coming. Last year sometime, so long ago that I don't remember when, me and a bestie met up with my Aunt and cousin for a girls beer night in Spokane at No-Li brewing. Turns out that there is this group of gals in the Spokane area that set up micro-brew-centric events for GIRLS that like beer. We had a blast then, and I mentioned to the ring-leader that they should travel north for a visit to Northern Ales in the lovely town of Kettle Falls. Northern Ales started in Northport, and I won't lie - I pretty much lived there for a little while... but even after they relocated I retain a hometown loyalty toward them. Not to mention they make some pretty stellar beer.

Anyway, long story short, we finally set a date and sold a few tickets, and the Inland Northwest chapter of Girls Pint Out hosted a road trip to Northern Ales. So as it turns out, mid November, with sub-freezing temperatures, can be somewhat of a deterrent for a 2+ hour drive in the dark with the intention of drinking. I get it. So when only two girls from Spokane showed up, we did the only reasonable thing: overcompensate with our local presence. They kept trickling in, until we had almost a dozen gals, from many different places and walks of life. It was a fun group. And the beer...

Most Girl's Pint Out events involve beer sampling. Sometimes with food pairings, and a brewery tour, etc. Steve and Andrea at Northern Ales stepped this one up a little bit. We were each provided with a taster glass and the beer list, complete with wordy descriptions of the brews that used terms like "creamy mouthfeel", strategically placed toward the bottom of the list so that you've had enough beer that this provides ample middle-schoolish giggling. The beer was delivered to the table by the pitcherful. I don't know if you have ever calculated how many taster/shot glasses you can fill from a pitcher of beer, but with 10 beers on tap (or was it 11? I lost count after 4) that equated about a pitcher of beer apiece. And this is no lite beer.

Steve took us on a whirlwind tour of the brewery (which we were technically sitting smack dab in the middle of) between sets of the concert that his band, the Northern Aliens was playing. Talk about a man of many talents! He can play drums, brew beer AND tolerate a bunch of rosy-cheeked, beer-officianato, middle-schoolesque girls on a tour. He's a winner in my book. 

In addition to A LOT of beer, we got some of the best chips and salsa on the market, the brewpub's "Soggy Snacky" (a creative moniker for crostini with oil and vinegar), and a couple of pizzas that were seriously to die for. I have never eaten anything at Northern Ales that I didn't want to dedicate an entire blog to, much less my whole diet plan.

The giggling set in when we were about 3.75 pitchers deep - part of the way through the tour when we witnessed a couple emerging from one of the coed bathrooms together. I mean, the sign says...

It was a great night. With great food, great company and AMAZING BEER. I could easily do that once a month. Or week. Or every night. If I could somehow relinquish the necessity of daily functionality.

Check out Girl's Pint Out on Facebook - there are some awesome upcoming events, like a hockey game in January, that I CANNOT wait for. If you aren't from the Great North Best, no harm, no foul - there are regional GPO chapters all over the place. Look it up in your area. It's a great way to meet other crazy girls and get in on some sweet beer-oriented deals.