Piratz Tavern, last seen getting some un-helpful aid from reality TV show Bar Rescue, is shutting down for good this weekend. Having eventually made good on my promise to give it another shot, I'm not too disappointed by that news, even if my second visit proved more pleasant that my first. The place was cleaner, service was quicker, the server remembered my orders (that seems like a low bar, but I was sitting at a table with fourteen other people, all working off separate checks), and the pirate-y banter was kept to a minimum. It may not have made for a great night out, but I didn't leave wondering what the hell I had just experienced, either.
The "if you don't like it, you can leave" arguments have persisted, among both staff and regular patrons. It's not a good look to cavil at this stage but self-restraint is not my strong suit and I'll never get this chance again: you shouldn't have to "just know" that most of the menu is best left ignored. And while a person may have a better time if they're willing to go with the flow until there's enough booze in their bloodstream that they can ignore the awkward interactions with the crew, it's not fair to expect anyone to know that going in. That is, you shouldn't have to show up tipsy in order to have a chance at a better time--it's not your cousin's dry wedding.
Lastly, the origin of "grog" is less appropriate than one might assume. It was named for a substance first brewed by the British Royal Navy (mortal enemies of pirates, basically) and introduced by Vice Admiral Edward Vernon, nicknamed "Old Grog" for the grogam coat he wore. Vernon started cutting his men's rum rations with water and lime juice to prevent spoilage as well as ongoing discipline problems among the men (and it was later found to prevent scurvy). Men who remembered the older, purer (and no doubt more satisfying) ration took to calling it "grog" and the name stuck long after those men were replaced by younger sailors with no memory of how good things used to be (scurvy-resistant though those new men were). Grog, then, is a slur for watered-down rum introduced by a well-meaning British naval officer. Not something I'd be eager to drink, but to each their own.
All that said, Piratz has gotten enough crap for wanting nothing more than to be a fun place to gather, with Bar Rescue being just its most public chapter. Looking back on that episode, I'm still not sure whether Jon Taffer was trolling the Piratz crew or whether, in attempting to air out the piratey-ness that he never quite comprehended, he had concocted the worst possible idea to turn the bar around. It's especially confounding when you watch other episodes of the show and see Taffer competently (if loudly) remaking bars without lurching from one gimmick to another. Or maybe having personal experience allows me a level of insight that I'll never be able to have with the few dozen other establish Bar Rescue has profiled. Corporate Bar was a thoroughly terrible idea--at least a Pirate gimmick is vaguely appealing.
Taffer sees bars as a money-making venture, full stop. Tracy Rebelo and her staff--along with their most faithful patrons--saw it as a place for fun. No gimmick was going to make the two sides understand one another. Cue reality television.
For my part, I'll never understand why a bar needs a gimmick at all. Its neighbor across the street never did, unless "noisy but with a good beer list" counts as a gimmick. But even if Quarry House never opens its doors again (and you can support them here), downtown Silver Spring is not losing its status as a bar haven. Because it never was one. It's a late-to-bed suburb with aspirations toward to an upscale nighttime destination. When its residents want to drink out, we take the minutes-long trip into the District. The bars lucky enough to survive here make a lot of coin as twenty-somethings become thirty-somethings and want to have their cake and eat it, too.
Goodbye, Piratz Tavern. You were never for me, but you never tried to be. You knew what you were and what you wanted to be, save for one brief, strange experiment. There's something admirable in that. I'll have a glass of (undiluted) rum in memory of that. And try to not remember all the other stuff.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Who Wants to Hang Out on Thursday?
Hey, everybody. I'll be reading live and in person at Upshur Street Books on January 22nd. That's tomorrow if you're reading this today, today if you're reading this tomorrow, and yesterday if you're reading this on Friday (in which case, you can ignore this and enjoy your weekend). We'll be starting around 7pm and going until they kick me out. Come talk with me, check out Nos Populus, and support a small, local bookstore. All in one crazy* Thursday night.
aois21 will also be in attendance, if you're a writer looking for some guidance.
Hope to see you there, hiding in the back, desperately hoping not to be noticed and called on to speak up or do something else potentially embarrassing, as I'm sure many of my readers will. That's how I'd approach it, anyway.
*The author will not be held responsible for the level of craziness to be found at the advertised event.
aois21 will also be in attendance, if you're a writer looking for some guidance.
Hope to see you there, hiding in the back, desperately hoping not to be noticed and called on to speak up or do something else potentially embarrassing, as I'm sure many of my readers will. That's how I'd approach it, anyway.
*The author will not be held responsible for the level of craziness to be found at the advertised event.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
New Holland Night Tripper
I don't like coffee. The look I get when I tell people that is just about worth the near-constant caffeine-deficiency. "You've just had bad coffee," they tell me. "So have you," I sometimes reply. They shrug it off and tell me I'm wrong. Delusion brought on by addiction is a sad thing to witness.
But that said, context matters and sometimes the bitter coffee bean is more palatable. Desserts, obviously: tiramsu, ice cream. But what I love more than dessert (or, better yet, as a dessert) are stouts and porters, many of which have coffee bonded deep into their DNA. And I don't know if it's the thick body or the alcohol or the fact that it's cold enough when I'm drinking them that I just don't care, but they work in that context. I don't demand that all coffee rise to the heights of a Founders Breakfast Stout or, in this case, New Holland Night Tripper (both, coincidentally, Michigan-natives). But aiming for even a standard coffee stout-level experience would give Starbucks a lot more of my money (though probably a lot less of everybody else's).
Night Tripper pours that sexy none-more-black shade of black that's standard among the style only because nature cannot produce a darker color. It's topped off with a thick, tan head (yes, I read that, too).
There's little scent here, but given Night Tripper's coffee-heavy bent, it's probably for the best in terms of this review (if New Holland cares about my grade, which they almost certainly don't).
As I sometimes fear, the coffee is strong in this one. But, as stated, it works well here--allowing the beerier elements to stand and be counted while being just present enough to augment the favor, rather than dominate. It runs at 11.5% ABV, but doesn't taste it.
Heavy bodied, Night Tripper finishes dry and tantalizing, if not thirst-slaking (but, then, this is beer--it's not meant to do that). I find that stouts often leave the drinker with the sense that they'd like more, but don't need it. This continues the tradition.
Overall, a welcome addition to the style, even if it doesn't push any new boundaries (or perhaps especially because it doesn't). There are times when that's welcome and times when it's not. But a beer that does an ordinary thing to near-perfection usually is.
Grade: A-
But that said, context matters and sometimes the bitter coffee bean is more palatable. Desserts, obviously: tiramsu, ice cream. But what I love more than dessert (or, better yet, as a dessert) are stouts and porters, many of which have coffee bonded deep into their DNA. And I don't know if it's the thick body or the alcohol or the fact that it's cold enough when I'm drinking them that I just don't care, but they work in that context. I don't demand that all coffee rise to the heights of a Founders Breakfast Stout or, in this case, New Holland Night Tripper (both, coincidentally, Michigan-natives). But aiming for even a standard coffee stout-level experience would give Starbucks a lot more of my money (though probably a lot less of everybody else's).
Night Tripper pours that sexy none-more-black shade of black that's standard among the style only because nature cannot produce a darker color. It's topped off with a thick, tan head (yes, I read that, too).
There's little scent here, but given Night Tripper's coffee-heavy bent, it's probably for the best in terms of this review (if New Holland cares about my grade, which they almost certainly don't).
As I sometimes fear, the coffee is strong in this one. But, as stated, it works well here--allowing the beerier elements to stand and be counted while being just present enough to augment the favor, rather than dominate. It runs at 11.5% ABV, but doesn't taste it.
Heavy bodied, Night Tripper finishes dry and tantalizing, if not thirst-slaking (but, then, this is beer--it's not meant to do that). I find that stouts often leave the drinker with the sense that they'd like more, but don't need it. This continues the tradition.
Overall, a welcome addition to the style, even if it doesn't push any new boundaries (or perhaps especially because it doesn't). There are times when that's welcome and times when it's not. But a beer that does an ordinary thing to near-perfection usually is.
Grade: A-
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Unified Field Theory
Ask me why I write and I treat the question like a riddle. And riddles make me suspicious and defensive.
I've yet to find my own satisfactory answer to the "why do you write" question. Christopher Hitchens got close with his Descartian "being a writer's what I am rather than what I do." Hitchens at that time was facing not just his own morality but the ability to to the thing he loves even before his body succumbed. I don't have either problem, so I don't view it so starkly. Orwell also provided a decent answer, but no one asking the question wants an essay-length response. And I don't want to give one. And he did it better than I could, anyway.
This is all to say that the follow up to my first aois21's Creative Speaking video (viewable here) sees me squirm a bit before getting comfortable enough to offer a take on my favorite definition of writing: playing with the scribbles on the page. I'm happiest when parsing ideas and thoughts and phrasings to within an inch of their lives. Some people follow those passions all the way to law school. Luckily, I've had some excellent guidance in my life and avoided that trap. I use my powers for good, dammit.
And, growing up, as I read more and more--Orwell, Lewis, Moore, others who did well for themselves playing with scribbles--I decided that that was what I wanted to do with my life. As though a particularly ambitious sea slug watched Michael Jordan play basketball and said, "hey that looks like fun." Some people want there to be a grand and deep-sounding philosophical approach to the why of writing. Or at least I want that. It would be comforting to me. But the truth is that I write because I can and because it's fun and because it'sconsistently occasionally rewarding. Like drinking. And that, dear readers, is the origin of the name of this blog.
These videos will continue to trickle out over the next year/few months. I'll let you know when they debut.
I've yet to find my own satisfactory answer to the "why do you write" question. Christopher Hitchens got close with his Descartian "being a writer's what I am rather than what I do." Hitchens at that time was facing not just his own morality but the ability to to the thing he loves even before his body succumbed. I don't have either problem, so I don't view it so starkly. Orwell also provided a decent answer, but no one asking the question wants an essay-length response. And I don't want to give one. And he did it better than I could, anyway.
This is all to say that the follow up to my first aois21's Creative Speaking video (viewable here) sees me squirm a bit before getting comfortable enough to offer a take on my favorite definition of writing: playing with the scribbles on the page. I'm happiest when parsing ideas and thoughts and phrasings to within an inch of their lives. Some people follow those passions all the way to law school. Luckily, I've had some excellent guidance in my life and avoided that trap. I use my powers for good, dammit.
And, growing up, as I read more and more--Orwell, Lewis, Moore, others who did well for themselves playing with scribbles--I decided that that was what I wanted to do with my life. As though a particularly ambitious sea slug watched Michael Jordan play basketball and said, "hey that looks like fun." Some people want there to be a grand and deep-sounding philosophical approach to the why of writing. Or at least I want that. It would be comforting to me. But the truth is that I write because I can and because it's fun and because it's
These videos will continue to trickle out over the next year/few months. I'll let you know when they debut.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Heavy Seas Winter Storm
In a city that's also home to the likes of Brewer's Art and Union Craft, Heavy Seas could all too easily come off as the shallow yet popular kid among the more substantial Baltimore breweries. But as luck would have it, that title still belongs to Natty Boh,* allowing Heavy Seas to persist as the flashier brewery in town. Sadly, that flash obscures some decent brewing tradition. For all their overwrought pirate-imagery, much of Heavy Seas' output (their Rye Porter, their Small Craft Warning pils) is built for light palate-refreshers or, more likely, some early evening sessioning. Among the never-too-complex but perfectly-pleasant lineup, Winter Storm fits right in.
Winter Storm pours dark brown, a few shades shy of black, with a dense head (yes, ha ha, dense head).
It smells nutty, and a bit malty. Despite being labeled as an Imperial ESB, this one is introducing itself as a nut brown. Not that I'll ever complain about a brown ale.
Some surprisingly sweet malt is up first, followed by caramel, and then malt again. The taste is not so heavy on the alcohol.
Winter Storm rests medium-heavy. Somewhere between a fall and winter beer, making it about right for the weird November we're having.
My feelings on Christmas ales are pretty well-documented. The entire style could afford to turn the clock back a few weeks and take some notes from this ESB (maybe with a few more notes from the better porters, while being less... nutmegy). Malty with some satisfying heft, Winter Storm comes off like a sleepy pirate, wishing everybody happy holidays a few days too early. Fortunately, the beer is good enough that you don't really mind the seasonal creep.
Grade: B+
*Note to my fellow Marylanders: National Bohemian is now brewed in North Carolina and Georgia. So we can stop pretending that it possesses some kind of noble, local allure and accept that it is instead just a bland "eh, I'm already drunk" beer.
Winter Storm pours dark brown, a few shades shy of black, with a dense head (yes, ha ha, dense head).
It smells nutty, and a bit malty. Despite being labeled as an Imperial ESB, this one is introducing itself as a nut brown. Not that I'll ever complain about a brown ale.
Some surprisingly sweet malt is up first, followed by caramel, and then malt again. The taste is not so heavy on the alcohol.
Winter Storm rests medium-heavy. Somewhere between a fall and winter beer, making it about right for the weird November we're having.
My feelings on Christmas ales are pretty well-documented. The entire style could afford to turn the clock back a few weeks and take some notes from this ESB (maybe with a few more notes from the better porters, while being less... nutmegy). Malty with some satisfying heft, Winter Storm comes off like a sleepy pirate, wishing everybody happy holidays a few days too early. Fortunately, the beer is good enough that you don't really mind the seasonal creep.
Grade: B+
*Note to my fellow Marylanders: National Bohemian is now brewed in North Carolina and Georgia. So we can stop pretending that it possesses some kind of noble, local allure and accept that it is instead just a bland "eh, I'm already drunk" beer.
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