July, 2000

By Bobby Bush

What a build-up, huh? (Accompanying article, "An Innocent Man," should be consumed before reading this one). Every beer drinker of note knows something about Georgetown�s famed beer bar, the Brickskeller. But I wonder if they have as many wild stories as I do?

Once is was a $70 beer night, all by my lonesome. Another time I stumbled in upon a Sierra Nevada beer tasting party and wound up meeting the Chico, California brewery�s plant manager and buying an embroidered jacket in a silent auction (the exorbitant price went to charity). Met Bob Tupper, designer and contract brewer of strongly hopped Tupper�s Hop Pocket, that same night.

This time, the upstairs room was hosting a tasting of single-hopped beers. Had I known (I had checked their website before leaving home, to no avail) I would have arrived earlier. Trying to talk my way in, to no avail, I swiped two coasters from the counter and dejectedly bounced downstairs to the regular bar area.

Sitting at the crowded bar alone, I studied the coasters in my hand. Belgian beers both, I ordered one, the strong Delirium Nocturnum, difficult to find cousin to Delirium Tremens. Its label and coaster featured a playful pink elephant for a good reason. From the bottle into a glass into my eager mouth, even cool, Tremens warms the throat. Supple fruity body, this 8.5% ale is so sweet it�s sour, almost grape-like. And, unfortunately, like most Belgian ales, it is deceptively intoxicating. STRONG, with all six letters upper case, is the only way to write and say it.

I�d already decided to have just one more of Brickskeller�s 600+ bottled beers before calling it a night. The frothy head was still standing on Villers Oud Vielle, a sour 7% abv Belgian Abbey ale, when I heard my name called. Phone call. Fresh on my trail, two beer-curious buddies had caught up with me. Will I wait for them? Hell, it was only 10:30. Sure. I drank slowly.

Moments later, bursting through the doorway, the pair secured neighboring barstools and off we flew. The one that I�ll call the Westerner (he resides in Greater LA), has been to brewpubs and festivals with me before. The other, a likable lad, was unskilled in the ways of Belgian ales. Corsendonk Brown Ale, we professional beer drinkers screamed. And a corked jerobaum - three quarts and five ounces - was produced from the back bar cooler. Tall and green with classy silk screened label and gold script, it was immediately obvious that this beer, at least quantity-wise, was too much for the three of us to handle. Extra glasses, we demanded. And our fellow bar mates, all strangers a second ago, became instant friends. The Westerner walked through the restaurant, sharing tastes of our wondrous, sweet and wine-y elixir with all outstretched glasses.

A glittery label Scaldis Noel - Christmas in Springtime, why not? - was next in our sights. This �Special Belgian Ale� in a magnum (50.8 ounce) bottle from the province of Hainaut was nutty with sweet-and-sour flavor complexity. Sharing and beer tales proliferated. The neophyte was waxing prolific on beer and life.

Then it was a small, only 16 ounce, crock bottle of Sailer Jubelfest, a German Christmas beer, actually a strong alt beer. It lasted only seconds among this thirsty, growing group. Chouffe, someone cried. Bless you was offered, but a magnum of 1997 N�Ice Chouffe, a 10% beer from Brasserie D�Achouffe in Belgium appeared.

That�s when my note-taking ceased, though we did leave a trail of bottles, which I�m staring at intoxicatingly as I write. Somehow we ordered a second magnum of N�Ice Chouffe; a two liter fancy crock Rauchenfelser Steinbier, made in the ancient hot stone process; two UK ales - J.W. Lees Moonraker Old Ale (7.5%) and George Gale & Co.�s Prize Old Ale (9.0%); and an out-of-place US micro, Mobjack Pale Ale from Bay Brewing of Richmond, Virginia. We also got kicked out of the Brickskeller�s walk-in coolers twice. Don�t ask.

Our bill - hope you�re seated - was $325. No food, just beer, albeit some damn great Belgian beer in collectible bottles. It would have been higher if the 43-year-old Brickskeller sold beer-to-go.

Box of dead soldiers on my lap. Headed back to the hotel, still sweet and innocent. Thank goodness for taxis.

This article first appeared in Focus, a weekly paper published in Hickory, North Carolina.

� Bobby Bush