#MyDreamBrewery
Bavik Pils in an English glass—par for the course at The Horse Brass, one of America’s great watering holes.
A couple nights ago, while I was drinking that lovely beer you see above this sentence, a fun bar game unfolded. To protect the innocent I won’t reveal the participants, but the game went like this: without worrying about pesky concerns like “solvency” and “funding,” what’s your dream brewery look like? (If you already own a brewery, it might be recast as “retirement brewery.”) It’s a fun game and one I suspect many of you have played inside the safety of your own brainpan.
So let’s play. To get things rolling, I thought I’d outline my own fantasy brewery—one that has become extremely detailed since I’ve been musing on this for decades. Plot twist! In recent years, as every kind of brewery one can imagine has come into being, my thoughts have shifted to a tavern rather than a brewery. So #MyDreamBrewery is a actually a pub. My dream, my rules.
A Playhouse For the Obscure
(And Sublime)
Because I enjoy hoppy American ales, you will find an IPA or two on tap at Alworth’s Alehouse (final name TBD), but the bulk of the menu will be given to oddities and unloved styles. Matters start with two cask engines, at a minimum, supplied by regular shipments from one of our local cask-makers. A Berliner weisse is a must, at least in the summer, and what the hell, let’s have schuss on hand. Rauchbier cannot be overlooked, since it’s a style with its own fan club—of which at least two Portlanders must be a member. That ought to be a hot ticket.
Lagers will be stocked in volume, and as God is my witness, I’d figure out how to have at least one anstich/gravity pour cask sitting on the bar at all times (Otherlands does it, so it must be possible stateside). We won’t be fussy as to type—we’ll have them all at the Irregular Taproom (final name TBD): Czech styles, including the rarer varieties like výčepní and polotmavý, German styles, Polish styles, Austrian märzen, even Lithuanian examples I may have to form an importing company to receive.
Looking for a tripel, a proper puckery roodbruin, or a rustic Belgian pils? Come to the Apothecary of the Unusual (final name TBD)—we champion Belgian beers! A secret cellar beneath the bar, somehow medieval and vaulted and made of stone quarried from the Ardennes, contains a dazzling array of gently aging lambics. Upstairs we will maintain a store of Belgian bottled ales, only the finest, and a smartly-dressed server (possibly me) will arrive at your table to decant your ale into the proper glassware. We will also offer a well-selected sampling of local versions of Belgian styles, including succulent wild ales from our finer local purveyors. Of course, at the Apothecary, bière de garde is de rigueur.
At Wondrous Zythos (final name TBD) we also celebrate folk beer. We will host brewers like Kjetil Dale to make a traditional Voss kveik ales, possibly on makeshift fire pits situated in the beer garden. Emissaries from Peru will teach us chicha; from South Africa umqombothi; from Lithuania, keptinis. Portlanders will be treated to the most ancient and local of all beers—right in their local neighborhood. (Wondrous Zythos is never more than a five minute walk from any residence in Portland, which is a big part of its wondrousness.)
For those who like a nice pub but not a nice beer, we offer wine and cider—especially cider. Local cider, Basque sagardoa, English scrumpy, and French cidre bouché. Cheese as well, for each demands the other. In February, one full week, we celebrate txotx. The pub provides a chestnut vat full to the brim with freshly-fermented cider.
One evening a month, the House of a Thousand Ales (final name TBD) will turn into a Köln pub. Just one beer pouring, a locally-made kölsch, and everyone receives their golden nectar in proper stange glasses. Diligent servers toting “crowns”—trays of full stangen—will circulate, looking for anyone running low. In the fall, we’ll tap Franconian bockbier each Sunday evening. In December we’ll serve gluhkriek by the fires. One day only, the pub will serve sticke altbier—but you have to be a regular to know which day. In the autumn months, we will celebrate fresh hop season with gusto. No one goes home who hasn’t started to turn green. We will overlook no excuse to trot out a special treat or make a big production of a small beer.
This means all the accoutrements, including the requisite side-pour tap for lagers, Tübinger and British dimple mugs as appropriate for style. (Yes, they’re different!) We will of course serve your oude gueuzes in baskets, and your faro in stoneware pitchers. Berliner weisses will come in giant bowls, and Bavarian weizens in elegant vases. Liter Maßkrug? Obviously. Pints will be honest, and sometimes imperial. At The Happy Hospoda (final name TBD), appropriate ritual is a given.
A World Tour in a Single Building
(Plus Pies)
My fantasy tavern, The Yawning Portal (final name TBD) features many different rooms, each with its own mood. One quiet space, perhaps with tall ceilings, is lined with books and features a cozy fireplace. We encourage gaming, and interested parties can reserve the room for D&D campaigns, Catan tournaments, or weekend odysseys of The Cones of Dunshire—any game is the right game for the Yawning Portal (bonus treats for those who get the reference).
Another room, a bit larger, takes one to old Brussels—lots of bric-a-brac, barely an inch of bare wall showing through the strange and quirky art, tables close enough together to nip a frite from your neighbor before they notice.
It is impossible to imagine The Old Fir (final name TBD) without an expansive beer hall, so let’s not try. The Old Fir’s great hall will feature lighter wood, a set of antlers or three (donated), windows of sparkling stained glass, and heavy, durable oaken tables. Lacing of hop bines ring the room. One of the pub’s many fireplaces crackles at the far end. Loyal locals may inquire about stammtisch opportunities.
In contrast to the beer hall, three or four rooms will be single-use nooks and snugs, little places for little groups to hide away from the world. Introverts are very much welcome at The Tavern for All Types (final name TBD). Accordingly, rooms will be scattered here and there of different sizes, decorations, and temperament. Nowhere, however, will you find a large industrial space with bare walls, concrete floors, and uncomfortable tables made of beer barrels.
Under the eaves and beyond, sheltered in dappled light by mature maples and firs, are scattered outdoor spaces to fit the season. Perennials planted throughout the grounds scent these tables with blossoms three seasons out of four. In the chill months, merry fires warm hands, and awnings redirect rain off patrons’ pates. A secret stone cottage, hidden by foliage and accessible only by a concealed path, welcomes the intrepid.
Finally, and this part is admittedly a bit hazier, The Pie and Pint (final name TBD) will offer wholesome repasts. Sunday roast? Why not. Pies perhaps (savory, sweet, vegan), or possibly pintxos? I mean, who doesn’t love a pie? We could go the full schweinshaxe, though maybe pretzels and pots of mustard are easier. But hey, this is Oregon, so maybe we’ll have cedar planked salmon or oysters prepared three ways or dungeness crab cakes as large as cantaloupes. Apparently adding kitchens makes the whole pub thing far harder, but not at The Pie and Pint, because the economics of my mind do not bend to the realities of restauranteering. Everyone always finds exactly the dish they seek, and it will arrive perfectly prepared.
This tavern, which is impossible, will somehow earn enough money to stay solvent and pay its staff a hefty salary. It will become a haven for lovers of beer, food, traditions, silliness, and each other. It will always be almost full, night and day, but not quite—the best table or seat at the bar always opens just before you arrive. The Gift That Keeps on Giving (final name TBD) warms in the winter, cools in the summer, and brightens all moods. No one leaves without a full belly and a merry heart. All are welcome, and all feel welcomed. Come on down.
Now it’s your turn. I know you’ve been nurturing a secret plan, one you trot out to examine and admire in quiet moments, perhaps while drifting off to sleep. Tell us: what’s #MyDreamBrewery look like to you?