Beer drinkers, notorious for waiting till last call to do their holiday shopping, undoubtedly are searching for last-minute gifts for fellow brew aficionados.

Joe Sixpack’s gotta run out for a couple items himself – (anybody know where I can find one of them new Foamby dolls?) – but here’s a quick last-minute shopping guide for the suds slosher on your list:

Easy

Put together a case of 24 specialty beers from 12 Philadelphia-area craft breweries. That way you can get a taste of the fun, too.

Confused about the local selection? Here’s a cheat sheet of some of Joe Sixpack’s favorites available now:

• Flying Fish Belgian Style Dubbel (Cherry Hill, N.J.)
• Yards ESA (Manayunk)
• Victory HopDevil IPA (Downingtown)
• Red Bell Ahopalypse Now (Brewerytown)
• Dogfish Head Immort Ale (Lewes, Del.)
• Stoudt’s Abbey Triple (Adamstown, Pa.)
• Poor Henry’s Original Philadelphia Lager (Northern Liberties)
• Independence Ale (Northeast Philadelphia)
• Weyerbacher Blithering Idiot (Easton)
• Valley Forge Imperial Stout (Valley Forge)
• Lancaster Malt Brewing Milk Stout (Lancaster)
• Dock Street Illuminator (Northern Liberties).

All of these brews are available by the case at better beer distributors.

If, for some odd reason, the prospect of purchasing 288 beers just to create one case doesn’t appeal to you, you can pick up each label by the bottle at a number of area delicatessens. Check out: the Foodery (10th and Pine streets, Center City), Terry’s Delicatessen (2016 Darby Road, Havertown), The Beverage Store (318 E. Lancaster Ave., Wayne) and Ashton Food Market (121 Springton Road, Upper Darby).

Easier

Find a case of something you just can’t buy in Pennsylvania or New Jersey. Something like Bert Grant’s Winter Ale or Three Floyds Alpha King Pale Ale or Alaska Smoked Porter.

These are excellent labels that you may just stumble across if you happen to be making a trip this weekend to New York, Delaware or Washington.

Bring them back for a friend who appreciates the effort.

Easiest

Buy a case of Bud. Give it to some chump. Save the good beer for yourself.

Beer Radar

Reading’s defunct Pretzel City brewery sold off its kettles to a Wilkes-Barre businessman named Thom Greco. Greco hasn’t revealed any plans for the equipment, but he hinted he might open a brewery in Reading, Wilkes-Barre or Atlantic City . . . George Hummel, co- owner of Home Sweet Homebrew (2008 Sansom St., Center City), is hobbling around with a broken heel, the result of a freak bike crash. Homebrewers should send your sympathies to partner Nancy Rigberg, and stop by for a whiff of the shop’s newly available Amarillo hops from Pacific Northwest. The buds are perfect for your brown ale recipe.

Either they’re damn thirsty in West Chester or the new Iron Hill Brewery & Restaurant underestimated the drinking ability of the local university’s student population. The brewpub at the former Woolworth’s at High and Gay streets announced this week that it is expanding capacity by two-thirds . . . Breweriana collectors can pick up hard-to-find trinkets at the hot new on-line auction site, www.ebay.com. The other day, Joe Sixpack found a buncha stuff from the Philly archives, including an old Schmidt’s song sheet ($9) and a Gretz beer tray.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Scaldis Noel) appears every other Friday.

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Here’s some lousy holiday news that will bring tears to beer-loving boys and girls around the world:

Santa Claus is dead.

More precisely, Samichlaus – the Swiss version of the jolly old elf – has kicked the bucket. His annual visits were a widely anticipated event among those of us kids who believed in the powerfully high-octane magic of the holiday lager that carried his name.

Samichlaus, if you’re unfamiliar with the legend, was brewed once a year – on Saint Nicholas Day, Dec. 6 – and then lagered till the following autumn, when it was bottled and sold as a delicious holiday treat. Its brewer, Hurlimann of Zurich, packed it with lots of malt and hops, then fermented it with a special yeast for up to two weeks to produce what was once the world’s highest-alcohol beer, at 14 percent.

Hurlimann sold out to Swiss brewing combine Feldschloesschen last year, and the new guys didn’t bother to crank up the brew kettles on Dec. 6, 1997. Unless the corporation suddenly gets religion, it won’t be brewing Samichlaus on Saint Nicholas Day, 1998 – which happens to be the day after tomorrow.

George Saxon, president of Phoenix Imports of Maryland, the U.S. agent that imported Samichlaus, said he hasn’t gotten a straight answer from Feldschloesschen about its reason for killing Samichlaus.

“We placed our order last November, just as we did for the last 13 years,” Saxon said. “We never got a confirmation. They’re difficult to get to.”

Like most things in life, the decision likely had something to do with money.

Crafting a beer with expensive ingredients just once a year, and then aging it for 11 months before the first bottle is even sold, had to be a hassle for Feldschloesschen.

On the other hand, we’re talking about the death of a one-of-a-kind beverage that brew guru Michael Jackson, among others, has crowned as a world classic. Capable of taking the chill out of the alpine air, a few sips of Samichlaus had you yodeling Yo-Ho-Ho.

In an attempt to fill the void, Phoenix has produced a case of vintage Samichlaus bottles, left over from 1995, ’96 and ’97 (about $70 at better distributors). I tasted a few this week and found the beer ages quite nicely, with the stiff alcohol taste mellowing into a plum-like sipper.

In the words of Doug Stetler, the manager of Rader Beverage in Boyertown, Pa., which was the major importing distributor for Samichlaus in the Philadelphia area, “It’s not Coors Light anymore.

“It’s a distinctive-tasting beer that had its own cult following,” Stetler said.

There are plenty of suitable alternatives – Joe Sixpack offers a list below – so life will go on without Samichlaus. But there is something disturbing about losing a favorite beer to the whims of some interloping conglomerate.

Condolences are in order. If you care to share your grief, visit breWorld, the Internet beer site (www.breworld.com) that first revealed the death of Samichlaus. The site is organizing an e-mail campaign to register beer-drinkers’ complaints with Feldschloesschen (we-want-samichlaus-back@breworld.com) and a registry of other beers that may be headed for the grave.

Meanwhile, put the spirit back in your holidays with any of these terrific holiday brews:

• * Affligem Noel (Belgium).
• * Sierra Nevada Celebration (California)
• * Anchor Our Special Ale (California).
• * De Dolle Stille Nacht (Belgium).
• * Scaldis Noel (Belgium).
• * Penn Brewery St. Nikolaus Bock (Pittsburgh).
• * Samuel Adams Brewhouse Winter Seasonal (Philadelphia – draft only).
• * Snow Goose Winter Ale (Maryland).
• * Catamount Christmas Ale (Vermont).
• * Independence William’s Winter Warmer (Philadelphia).

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It’s not a Christmas ale, but keep your eyes open for Dock Street Brasserie’s (18th and Cherry streets, Logan Circle) Savage Beer. Named after Dock Street’s perfectly modest head brewer, Eric Savage, the beer will be officially tapped at 6 p.m. Wednesday at a brewpub party.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Independence Uncle E$B) appears every other Friday.

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If the United States goes ahead with threats to bomb Saddam Hussein’s suspected nerve-gas factories, it could mean the end of Iraq’s beer industry, such as it is.

Security experts say Iraqi breweries are among the Pentagon’s proposed bombing targets. It turns out that brew kettles and fermenters are perfect for producing anthrax.

So I guess we’ll take out the breweries with Suds missiles.

Frankly, Joe Sixpack was astounded to hear the Islamic nation even permits beer production. Though the region likely was the birthplace of beer 4,000 years ago, today’s strict Muslim law forbids alcohol consumption.

Iraq’s small Christian population, however, is not bound by Islamic code in the this secular, socialist state. As for the Muslims, a former Iraqi brewer told me this week, “Those guys don’t follow the Koran word for word.”

The brewer, whom I’ll call Eric because he requested anonymity, is a German native who landed his first job at one of Iraq’s state-owned breweries in the early ’80s. He now works for a western U.S. brewery, and – since he hasn’t returned to Baghdad in 16 years – some of his insights may be dated.

Most of Iraq’s beer (it’s all lager, no ale, Eric recalled) comes from five facilities that

produce about as much beer as Philadelphia-area breweries combined. Three are state-owned facilities in Baghdad, Amarra and Mosul, which produce Lulua (“The Pearl”). A private/government facility brews Sharacad, while the privately owned Eastern brewery produces Ferrida.

Don’t look for any of these labels at your favorite deli – they’re not (officially) exported. Even Shangy’s Beverages

in Emmaus, Pa., which boasts nearly 2,000 brands, doesn’t stock them.

“Try the black market in New York’s Iraqi community,” said Shangy’s beer dude Nima Hadian, a native of Iran. “One time, some guy tried to sell my dad a bottle of Lulua for fifty bucks.”

According to Eric, that steep price is not so far out of line for a smuggled bottle of Iraqi brew. The stuff costs the equivalent of $50 a case inside Iraq, thanks to high taxes.

As for reports that the breweries were capable of turning out nerve gas and other biological weapons, Eric had heard or seen nothing so diabolical. Iraqi brew, apparently, tastes bad enough without the addition of lethal toxins.

“I tried my best,” he said, “but we were under orders to use Iraqi-grown barley instead of the superior malt from Turkey. The Iraqi stuff was just chicken feed – really hard to malt.”

“The beers are pretty horrible.”

Speaking of Islamic drinking rules, Hadian notes Iran’s strict anti-alcohol policy has resulted in a burgeoning-but-secretive home-brew industry in his homeland.

“Iranians are some of the most immaginative brewers in the world,” Hadian said. “They’re using Belgian yeasts and all kinds of great ingredients. They can’t openly buy beer, but they’re drinking some great home brew.”

Beer Radar

Brew Moon in the King of Prussia Plaza is the latest brewpub to offer take-out growlers filled with craft brew. The two-liter jug, called the Moonwalker, appears to be a suitable bracer for your holiday season descent into suburban mall hell . . . It’s not too late to get a taste of the first local craft brew to use Pennsylvania-grown hops. Dock Street Brasserie (18th and Cherry, Logan Circle), is pouring Hop Harvest Ale, made with Cascade and Willamette hops, grown at Chadds Ford Winery . . .

If they ever get the NBA season started, you won’t be able to blame beer for the high cost of attending a game at the FU Center. At $304.90 for a family of four, 76ers games are the fourth costliest in the league, according to Team Marketing Report’s Fan Cost Index. But Sixers suds – at four bucks for a 16-ounce cup – are far from the league’s steepest. That honor goes to the 12-ounce cup the L.A. Lakers sell for a wallet-busting $5.50 . . . Look for Yards Old Bart after Thanksgiving. The sample Joe Sixpack tasted at the Manayunk brewery yesterday was still uncarbonated, but it came off as a malty-but-smooth 8 1/2 percent barleywine . . .

Men’s Health magazine has chimed in with a lame-o taste-test of macrobrews. Schlitz (described as “slightly sour, lemony”) got a top-rated four pretzels; Busch dragged the bottom . . . Here’s something that’ll get the rank taste of those brews outta yer mouth: Dogfish Head Chicory Stout. The Lewes, Del., brewery won Best of Fest recognition last month for its coffee-ish brew at the Real Ale Festival in Chicago . . . Meanwhile, another Delaware brewer – Iron Hill – opened a second brewpub this week, in West Chester. It’s at High and Gay streets, in the former Woolworth’s.

Beer 2000

Looks like the Big Three are putting as much imagination into their advertising slogans as their beer recipes. Scripps Howard reports the macros are gearing up with corny millennium slogans:

Budweiser: The official beer of the 21st century.

Miller: The official sponsor of the millennium.

Coors: The official beer of Y2K.

Yawn. Carolina beer has been brewing Millennium Pale Ale for months, and we’re still 407 days away from 2000.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a 3-year-old bottle of La Trappe Quadruppel) appears every other Friday.

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As publishing feats go, writer Michael Jackson’s “Ultimate Beer” doesn’t exactly rank with the invention of movable type, or even Mad magazine’s monthly fold-in.

But as for beer-drinking feats, well, Jackson’s new coffee table tome is a classic in debauchery.

Most beer books rely on the kindness and self-promotion of brewers for their illustrations. Those striking photos of oak-paneled brewpubs and their golden pilseners usually are provided by the brewers’ ad agencies.

Jackson’s beautifully photographed tribute to the great brews of the world, however, contains almost all original art. Nearly 400 photographs of beers, precisely poured into their proper glassware, accompany his informative prose.

Naturally, the team of photographers and studio assistants who shot the beers couldn’t let perfectly good beer go to waste.

So they drained every one of them. Twenty-five cases, from Norway’s Aass Bock to Belgium’s Zulte, downed in a binge of gluttonous joy.

And they didn’t even invite Joe Sixpack to the party.

I rang up Owen Barstow, the 32-year-old London man who toils as Jackson’s assistant, to register my complaint. Groveling, he made some feeble excuses that the publication wasn’t all fun and games. “About 18 months ago, we began to think about the scope of the book,” said Barstow, who has been Jackson’s research assistant and secretary for three years. “We knew it would be a big undertaking, but it just snowballed.”

Earlier this month at the Great American Beer Festival in Denver, Jackson told me his aim was to focus on only the best of the best. Sierra Nevada’s seasonal Celebration and Bigfoot ales made the cut, for example, but not its popular Pale Ale. “We wanted a guide to the proper specialty beer for specific occasions,” Jackson said.

Barstow and his assistants contacted 593 brewers from 33 countries and asked them to send along a sixpack and the appropriate glassware. Often, the mere mention of Jackson’s name was enough to score a freebie. One Belgian brewer loaded his family and beer into his Volvo, drove down to Calais, caught the Chunnel’s car train and tooled directly to Jackson’s office.

Others, though, couldn’t be bothered. “The main problem was the Germans, especially in the south,” Barstow said. “We’d tell them it was a chance to be in Michael’s book – free publicity. But they’d tell us they only sell in Munich. One said, `We don’t want to be in your book because we’ll just get calls from foreigners who will ask us stupid questions.’ ”

George Gale’s Prize Old Ale – a heavy, bottle-conditioned after-dinner beer from southern England – was the first to arrive in late summer 1997. Hundreds of righteous sixpacks would follow – and not one of them a Bud. This calls for a little perspective: A decent deli stocks maybe 150 labels; the Foodery (10th and Pine, Center City) boasts 600 on a good day. Jackson’s office in a former Hammersmith brewery collected 1,034 different brands.

More than half came with their own branded glassware – specialty goblets, pints, pilseners, flutes and steins that enhance the aroma and taste of these exceptionally flavored brews. Many brewers sent along handfuls of coasters; Barstow lost count after 10,000. They also received two dozen pump handles and an entire draft system from Guinness, about 40 bottle openers, 38 T-shirts, 11 baseball caps and 25 silk handkerchiefs from Japan’s Otaru.

Though Jackson already was familiar with the vast majority, he tasted every one of the bottles and winnowed the list to 607. Then, during a 15-day photo shoot, Barstow poured a bottle of each, expertly emptying the suds to produce a photogenic collar of foam.

Unlike his boss, Barstow is not a professional beer taster. He is a classically trained sculptor who inherited the job from a German friend. Thus, the preparation of “Ultimate Beer” was a tasty learning experience. His biggest surprise came on the day they shot stouts.

First up: John Courage Imperial Russian Stout, a sherry-like brew that runs about $100 a case. “It was a 1992 vintage, incredibly complex, incredibly sophisticated. It had the aura of a beer that had been around a long time.”

Then they popped open a bottle of Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout, the outstanding brew from East Coast legend Garrett Oliver. You can pick it up for about $25. “We had already tasted 500 beers,” Barstow said, “and it surprised everyone. Garrett’s beer is a very worthy product.”

Barstow attempted to wow Joe Sixpack with other tales, but I never lost count. Let’s see: A sixpack of 1,034 beers is 6,204 bottles. Subtract one each that Jackson tasted, and one more that the photo team poured, and that leaves 4,136 bottles of the world’s greatest beer.

So, where can I get my hands on ’em?

Too late, Barstow replied. They crated them up and sold them off at 12 pounds sterling a case. The proceeds went to the charity fund at the book’s publisher, Dorling Kindersley Ltd. of London.

“Beer deteriorates, so we had to get rid of them quickly,” Barstow groveled.

As excuses go, that one ranks with the worst.

Some of the brews in Jackson’s “Ultimate Beer” are so rare, you’ll never find them. But a fair number of locals made the cut:

• Victory Prima Pils and St. Victorious double bock from Downingtown.
• Stoudt’s Pils from Adamstown.
• Dock Street Grand Cru and Illuminator.
• Sam Adams Triple Bock.
• Independence Franklinfest.

Speaking of books, keep an eye out for beer scribe Lew Bryson’s “Pennsylvania Breweries.” Lew, who knows every godforsaken corner of Pennsylvania, hit 48 breweries (three have since closed) to produce this guide.

For those who tire of hanging out in pubs all day (e.g., spouses, underage children), Lew offers directions to the nearest non-drinking attactions, including the famous Coudersport Ice Mine and the Japanese garden in Wilkes-Barre.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Flying Fish Belgian Abbey Dubbel) appears every other Friday.

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Pull out your long johns, Philly, this week’s cold snap is just the first taste of a long winter ahead. Yeah, I know el Nino says it’s going to be a moderate, but what’s he know?

Deep down in Joe Sixpack’s el gutto, it feels like we’re in for a tough one. And, just in time, the saints of the brew kettle are blessing us with early batches of winter warmers.

These seasonal brews, also known as Christmas beers, are usually dark, full-bodied ales with a touch of spice and a lot of alcohol. They go perfectly with a hot fire and ginger snaps.

One of the best was tapped this week at Sugar Mom’s (225 Church St., Old City) – Old Nick, a barleywine from Young’s of London. This is a tasty ale for novices and others who don’t like the heavy taste of classic barleywines, like Sierra Nevada’s Bigfoot Ale or Anchor Brewing’s Old Foghorn. At 7.2 percent alcohol, it offers the stiff kick you want on a frigid night, but its smooth, almost banana finish makes it highly drinkable.

Independence Brewing just bottled its strongest beer, William’s Winter Warmer, at 7.2 percent. Boasting a toffee flavor, it’s no doubt the sort of thing that Ben Franklin used to sip when he went bar-hopping on Dock Creek.

Elsewhere on the domestic front, Saranac, from Matt Brewing in Utica, N.Y., is casing a sampler pack that features the traditional Twelve Beers of Christmas. Yes, I remember those heart-warming nights when we children hung our stockings with care, to find them filled the next morning with stouts and porters and pilsners. This sampler includes Winter Wassail and a Maple Porter, which Santa would appreciate along with a plate of pretzels.

Looking for other cold-weather stuff? Here’s a shopping list of winter warmers:

• * Chimay Blue (Belgium).
• * Anchor Our Special Ale (San Francisco).
• * North Coast Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout (Fort Bragg, Calif.)
• * Red Bell Wee Heavy Scottish Ale (Philadelphia).
• * Flying Fish Belgian Abbey Dubbel (Cherry Hill, N.J.).

BEER SURFING

The folks at www.realbeer.com feature two, um, unusual Web pages for cyberdrinkers.

At its vomit site, you can search through dozens of metaphors for barfing, from “air the diced carrots” to “zook.” My favorite: rope pa elgen, which is Norwegian for “call the moose.”

Fans of other bodily functions will find nonstop fun at Real Beer’s burp site. There, you can download a variety of audio belches, including those produced by oatmeal stout or a gulped can of Bud. And, yes, there is the always popular burping rendition of the alphabet.

Totally tasteless.

CLASSIFIED AD OF THE WEEK

This one is courtesy of sharp-eyed editor Karin Berry, who says this could be the singles club of the decade.

Home Brew Club. Meets monthly to taste homemade wine, cider and beer. This mostly male group is in need of female brewers.

Speaking for all male homebrewers, let me tell you ladies, we’re definitely in need of female brewers.

Call 609-424-3636 if your interested.

BEER HERE

Coupla new mega-tap joints in town for beer hunters. John Patrick’s joins the fray in Old City, at 208 Race St., where Einstein Cafe once served dinner. The place has a relaxed pub feel, and enough TVs that on a recent night I was able to keep my eyes on the Flyers, LSU football, the AL playoffs and Mrs. Sixpack without straining my neck. Owned by the same folks who run the mammoth 72-tap J.P. McGillicuddy’s in Bethlehem, Pa., John Patrick’s boasts 36 faucets. One was enough on my recent visit, though, as a potent pint of Hair of the Dog Adam Bier took a bite out of my cerebral cortex.

In University City, Mad Mex has a nice variety on 18 taps to go along with OK food. But the place is plagued by the most uncomfortable bar I’ve ever bellied upon. Looks like it was designed by a deranged Drexel undergrad.

HAH-HAH-HIC

Thanks to several e-mail buddies for the following:

After work one day, a group of brewery presidents decide to go out for a beer.

The guy from Budweiser says. `I’d like the best beer in the world, give me ‘The King of Beers’, a Budweiser.” The bartender gives him one.

The guy from Coors says, “I’d like the only beer made with Rocky Mountain spring water, give me a Coors.” He gets it.

The guy from Guinness sits down and says, “Give me a Coke.” The bartender is a little taken aback, but gives him what he ordered.

The other brewery presidents look over at him and ask, “Why aren’t you drinking a Guinness?” The Guinness president replies, “Well, if you guys aren’t drinking beer, neither will I.”

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Somewhere among the 1,700-plus brews at the Great American Beer Festival, which dizzied Denver recently, I tasted the world’s greatest beer.

It was the nectar of the gods, a wondrous balance of malts and hops that refreshed my overworked palate and soothed my soul.

The name? Don’t ask.

It’s indecipherably inked into my notebook and blurred by the spilt suds of some drunken journalist. All that remains is a cryptic, smudged scribble: * * * * * This ish @* $$*##Copyright great!!! Got to find more.

That’s what you get when you plow into the GABF with glasses in both fists and a festival-mandated one-ounce-per-taste limit. After glugging down the first 70 or 80 beers, you tend to forget some of the details.

All is not lost. Highly paid assistants have helped me compile this thumbnail review of the festival, the largest/oldest/importantest in the world.

As for me, I am doomed to wander the earth for the rest of my mortal days, sipping one beer after the next, in search of that great beer.

GREAT MOMENT I

Meeting Sam Caglione’s dad, Sam. Son owns Dogfish Head Brewing in Lewes, Del.; Dad is a New England oral surgeon who invested in the brewery. They didn’t bring back any medals for their beer – Chicory Stout, Immort Ale and Shelter Pale Ale – but the two had a ball.

Amid the earnest hucksterism of beer marketers, running into the father-son team was a reminder that craft brewing is about people, not corporations.

LOCAL WINNERS

The guys down at Iron Hill Brewery and Restaurant of Newark, Del., have got to be walking on air. Their Wee Heavy took a bronze in the Strong Scotch Ale division – their second medal in as many years. Last year’s Lodestone’s Lager won the gold in the Munchener Helles category. This year’s showing is even more remarkable because Scotch ales had to be the toughest of the festival’s 52 categories. Joe Sixpack lapped up at least a half-dozen superb examples, any of which could have been judged No. 1.

Meanwhile, Independence Brewing got back into the medal mix with a bronze in the Marzen/Oktoberfest category for its Franklinfest. Two years ago, it won a gold for its tasty Oktoberfest.

BAD NEWS DEPT.

Last spring’s first-ever GABF road show in Baltimore may have been the last. Poor attendance has the Association of Brewers reassessing its plans to expand its popular festival beyond Denver.

Association prez Charles Papazian told me, though, there will be no GABF road show in 1999. After that, he’s uncertain.

GREAT MOMENT II

Watching Garrett Oliver of Brooklyn Brewery conduct a tutored tasting of India Pale Ales. You never saw such sniffing and snorting and meaningful gazes at amber ales. “The guy’s got a Ph.D. in hops,” one fan exclaimed.

Hint for hopsheads: Get your hands on BridgePort IPA. It’s not available in Philly, but you may run into it in the D.C. area.

BIGGEST SHOCK

Stoudt Brewing of Adamstown failed to win any medals. That’s a first for Carol Stoudt, who had cashed in at her first 10 festivals.

No matter. The brewery’s festival ale, served alongside a special edition from Sierra Nevada, was a huge hit.

BIGGEST SHOWOFF

Anheuser-Busch momentarily halted its assault on the tongues of America by rolling out a few kegs of chocolate lager. It was very respectable . . . and you’ll never taste it, because the brew was an experimental concoction of the beer factory’s specialty division. It will never be bottled.

I’m not sure why A-B bothers – unless it’s an in-house scheme to amuse the brewmasters by allowing them play with the toys. It’s sort of the beer equivalent of letting the Marines invade Grenada.

FESTIVAL FAVES

These didn’t bring home any hardware, but they caught Joe Sixpack’s attention.

New Glarus (Colo.) Raspberry Tart – very fruity and cider-like.

Twin Falls (Idaho) Brewing Trippin’ Trippel – strong and smoooooooth.

Oasis (Colo.) Zoser Stout – rich and chocolatey.

Bert Grant’s Hopzilla Ale – like a garden in a glass. Great name, too, but it probably won’t be used. The brewery’s a little worried that the Japanese lizard will object.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Le Cheval Blanc Apocalypse Buckwheat Ale) appears every other Friday.

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It’s back-to-school-time, kids, so here’s a pop quiz.

Name the No. 1 imported beer in the United States.

If you spent the summer studying the labels in the import section of your favorite deli, you may have a few guesses.

Molson? No, those Canadian lagers aren’t selling so hot these days.

Guinness? Nice try, but it’s too dark to pound.

Bass? Sorry, chap. It’s still way down the list, despite all that advertising.

Here’s a hint: Think lime.

That’s right, amigo, it’s Corona Extra, the light lager in the clear bottle from south of the border. Over the last 18 months, Corona – produced by Modelo Group, the largest brewer in Mexico – has displaced the Netherlands’ Heineken, which had held the No. 1 import spot for more than 50 years.

Now, here’s an easier question:

Who owns Corona?

That’s right, Bud – it’s Anheuser-Busch. Last week, the Beer Borgs from St. Louis upped its holdings in Modelo to 50.2 percent.

Unless you’re an A-B stockholder, the megabrewery’s latest assimilation – uh, acquisition – shouldn’t have any direct impact on your day-to-day drinking habits.

It certainly won’t change the taste of Corona, which is high on refreshment but decidedly low on distinctive flavor.

But underlying Budweiser’s interest in Mexico’s largest brewer is a singularly puzzling question: How is it that millions of straight-laced American beer drinkers raised on pretzels and cigarettes were persuaded to stuff a slice of green citrus into their bottle neck?

You wander into the beer troughs on Delaware Avenue and every other blonde is traipsing around with a fruit salad in her paw.

While investigating this phenomenon, Joe Sixpack has encountered explanations, ranging from the overall growth of expensive imports (which is outpacing that of domestic microbrews) to the growth in the nation’s Hispanic population and its influence on our culture. Big-money marketing efforts probably explain a lot of the growth, but whatever, Mexican beer imports surged an astounding 36 percent last year, according to statistics from the U.S. Commerce Department. The growth continued through the first half of ’98.

A-B has leapt into the Mexican beer scene in a big way.

In addition to its investment in Modelo, it is test-marketing two new Mexican products: Azteca, a hand-crafted brew from Mexico’s Cerveceria Mexican microbrewery; and Tequiza, a new malt beverage that is actually brewed in Baldwinsville, N.Y.

When I asked David English, the A-B veep in charge of imports, why his company has moved into the Mexican scene, he said something about the appealing imagery of Mexico.

Presumably he meant cooling gulf beaches and the party atmosphere of Cinque de Mayo and not the devalued peso, fixed political elections and the teeming metropolis of the world’s largest city.

In any case, he added, People are interested in a wide variety of tastes. They are sophisticated, curious, serious beer drinkers.

That’s why Mexican beers are so appealing – with hardly an exception, they are light, highly carbonated beverages that pose no challenge to the tongue.

Like a low-alcohol version of Evian, they’re perfect for sweaty swings through the clubs.

I haven’t sampled Azteca, so I can’t comment on its taste. I’m told it’s a Corona knockoff.

Tequiza (Ta-keys-ah) is being tested only in New York City and parts of the Southwest. But after reading its press release description, I had to find a sample.

Get this: Tequiza, the first malt beverage of its kind, is made by combining lager beer with blue agave nectar and a flavor containing lime and imported tequila.

Sounds like last call at a Drexel frathouse party, where the last man standing gets to swallow the worm.

Surprisingly, it’s not as godawful as it sounds. The bottles A-B’s p.r. guys sent me tasted exactly like a Corona with a lime shoved into the neck.

It’s really not all that strange, English said. People squeeze lime into their beer all the time.

English said A-B plans to sell Tequiza in other markets in the near future.

No promises, though. This company test-markets new products the way Bill Clinton goes through office interns.

And even if its fails, A-B will remain strong in the Mexican beer market with its interest in Modelo.

In addition to Corona, the brewer produces Negro Modelo and Victoria. (Mexico ‘s other big brewer, Femsa, produces Sol, Tecate, Dos Equis and Tecate.)

For those who are counting, last week’s purchase means Anheuser-Busch now controls three of the top-five selling brands in the world: No.1 Budweiser, No. 2 Bud Light and No. 5 Corona Extra.

 Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Widmer Bros. Hop Jack Ale) appears every other Friday.

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Today’s beer lesson is the correct pronunciation of “Yuengling.”

It rhymes with “mingling” – not “bungling” or “penguin.”

I mention this because, sometime in the next two years, about twice as many people – many who don’t known Pottsville from Pottstown – will be bellying up to their favorite bar and ordering a pint of the brewery’s Traditional Lager or Dark Brewed Porter. If these beer drinkers don’t learn how to say “Yuengling” properly, bartenders won’t know what to slop into their glasses.

Either that, or Yuengling’s current corps of loyal fans – all of whom can ably pronounce their favorite beer even after emptying a sixpack – will have to double up on their weekend beer runs.

Why the grammatical urgency?

Yuengling (rhymes with “jingling”) broke ground this week for its new million-barrel brewery. When it’s fully operational sometime in 2000, America’s oldest brewery will be pumping out more than twice as much beer as it does today.

It’s already brewing about three times as much as it did in the early ’90s, a spectacular rate of growth that makes Yuengling – a regional brewer that sells all of its beer within Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware – one of the success stories of the great beer renaissance. While many smaller craft brewers – faced with flat demand and excess capacity – are now on the auction block, Yuengling is bucking the trend with an expansion that will make it larger than every micro in the Philadelphia area combined.

David Casinelli, Yuengling’s executive vice president, attributes some of the growth to the craft brew explosion. Though Yuengling has been around since 1829, many beer drinkers only recently “discovered” the brand, he said, after Boston Brewing prez Jim Koch encouraged them to try his Samuel Adams. “He deserves a lot of credit,” Casinelli said. “Jim Koch helped develop a consciousness among consumers to try alternative products. People are trending off the national bandwagon, the large companies like Bud, Coors and Miller, and they’re developing loyalty to their local product.”

Brewed up in Pottsville’s coal country, Yuengling (rhymes with “tingling”) has long been favored for its dark porter. Though other brewers – especially the Brits – produce a richer, heavier porter, no one brews as much of the dark beer as Yuengling. Beer bars that proudly offer a dozen or so exotic draft micros often find their Yuengling porter tap is the busiest.

Lager is still its No. 1 seller, Casinelli said, “But the porter drinker is probably our most loyal customer.”

That loyalty has helped Yuengling win valuable shelf space, even as the big guys continue to squeeze out the competition. It’s also one of the reasons the brewery pulled back from outlying regions a couple of years ago. No matter how much New York and D.C. wants Yuengling, the brewer can’t afford to grow if it means abandoning its core markets in Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

In fact, local demand has grown so strong that Yuengling is now forced to brew its Original Black and Tan at Stroh’s Lehigh Valley plant in Allentown. With development of its new brewery, Yuengling (rhymes with “singling”) hopes to once again venture beyond our region.

That’s a lot of people who need Joe Sixpack’s pronunciation primer.

Or is it?

Owner Dick Yuengling says, “It’s no big deal – I’m happy as long as they’re close. And as long as the bartender understands what they’re talking about.”

Beer Radar

Speaking of porter, the judges at the American Homebrewing Association favored the dark stuff when they named Ichiri Fujiura of Japan the 1998 Homebrewer of the Year. Fujiura, the first non-American to be so honored, won for his Toasted Coconut Porter. Sounds like a candy bar . . . Meanwhile, congrats to local brew dude Mark Deorio of Bridgeport, Montgomery County, who took a silver medal for his stout . . . Best new beer name goes to Jim Cancro, head brewer at Red Bell. His Ahopalypse Now, which hits the street next week, is an India Pale Ale with an extremely dangerous dose of Cascades hops. It’s available on tap and in bottles.

You drink beer, she likes art – what’s a guy to do? Next Sunday (9/13), take her to the Philadelphia Museum of Art (it’s free); then, when you get tired of mixing with the beret crowd, head over to Cuvee Notredame (17th & Green streets, Spring Garden) for the Belgian bar’s Breughel Fest and Block Party. The event, which runs from 2 to 10 p.m., features a huge buffet where grazers can eat all they want for 50 cents a minute, then wash it down with a bottle or two from chef Michel Notredame’s swell Belgian beer fridge. (Hint for the art-impaired: Pieter Breughel was a 16th-century painter known for intensely colorful scenes of lavish festivals and landscapes. Hint for the brew-impaired: Belgian beer is like Breughel for the tongue.)

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Smuttynose Shoal’s Pale Ale) appears every other Friday.

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Tough luck, martini drinkers. Your portfolio took a dive yesterday.

Difficult as it is for Joe Sixpack to sympathize with you crash-and-burn stock investors (my 4 percent CD is looking pretty good right now), it is my duty to help you back from the ledge after yesterday’s precipitous drop on Wall Street.

So listen up: If you’re going to make this month’s lease payment on the Jag, you’ll have to give up the Ketel vodka and tonic and switch to something that befits your newfound social status.

Namely, beer.

First, it’s a malt beverage that comes in 40s and sixpacks – not $30 bottles filled with distilled potatoes.

Second, it’s cheap. You can pick up a bottle of Schlitz Malt Liquor for $2. You’ll recognize it easily: It’s the one with the charging bull on the label.

Drink it fast, and you might forget how much you lost yesterday.

If the bull market is truly gone, it would only be fitting to grab one of the several ursine beers in the deli case.

The easiest to find is Grizzly Lager, a lackluster Canadian brew from Ontario, which – in the words of “The Beer Lovers Rating Guide” – has a “heavy, obtrusive odor” suggesting that one “forego the possibility” of having your meal “spoiled by this beer.” Drink it on an empty stomach while you watch the stock ticker on cable TV today.

Panda Pilsner, from Shanghai, China, is a bit tastier and somewhat more appropriate for the occasion, considering how those bearish Asian markets mucked up your bottom line.

Sadly, the American dollar can afford only a few bottles of this imported brew. Better to spend it on a domestic but tasty Stegmaier from Wilkes-Barre or Yuengling from Pottsville. Both are affordable, and your purchase helps the local economy.

I’d recommend Poor Henry’s of Philadelphia, if I thought it would cheer you up. Maybe a slug of Victory from Downingtown will make you hopeful that you haven’t lost your meager life savings.

Still thirsty? Fill up your cooler with some of these other investor favorites:

• Gold Stock Ale when you switch to precious metals.
• Old Knucklehead the next time someone says, “I told you so.”
• Hair of the Dog tomorrow morning.
• Alimony Ale when your ex takes a hike.
• Dead Guy Ale when the Dow – and you – take the next big plunge.

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