Forgive me if this sounds like an obituary, but. . .

Samuel Adams Brewhouse, the Center City brewpub that helped launch Philadelphia’s revived beer scene, will close next week. The second-floor pub, a familiar fixture on the funky 1500 block of Sansom Street, was just shy of 10 years old.

Its owner, David Mink, who operates the popular first-floor Sansom Street Oyster House, said simply: “It’s time to move on.”

For local beer lovers, the pub – the first of its kind in Philadelphia since he Prohibition – was a treasure. In an age when 9 of every 10 beers is a routine, factory-made Budcoorsmiller, the brewery produced fresh, original palate-pleasers from traditional recipes.

Though its beers were made from extracts (as opposed to whole grain), its brewers – most recently, William Reed – created excellent ales that could hold their own against any other local craft brewer.

When Mink opened the pub, in conjunction with the Boston-based company that produces Samuel Adams in bottles, there were fewer than 60 other brewpubs in America.

Today, there are 910, about two dozen of them within a half-hour of Center City.

Mink sounded sad about the decision. He clearly regarded the closing of his brewpub as a failure.

“I guess the thing I learned is it’s not enough to brew good beer,” said Mink, a longtime homebrewer. “The food was always important, but I thought the beer was what this place was always going to be about.

“I know fish and I know oysters. But that knowledge of running the oyster house doesn’t really translate into running a bar,” he continued. “Any time you close something, you’re saying it’s not worth continuing. I mean, we made money. But I think I learned in life that timing is important.”

Mink will continue to operate Sansom Street Oyster House, and he said he has an agreement to sell the upstairs operation to an as-yet-named buyer. Word on the street is that it will reopen as a brewpub.

“I think these other guys can do a better job than I have,” Mink said. “And I don’t mind being a landlord. I’m 52. I’ve got a little vinegar, but not much p— left in me.”

Here’s a Joe Sixpack toast to Samuel Adams Brewhouse. Good memories, great beer.

The last pint will be served May 1.

Awards

Philadelphia’s Favorite Beer festival – the people’s choice awards for the city’s best beers – came off without a hitch, despite the first-hand involvement of Joe Sixpack. The People Paper’s beer scribe rolled in the barrels, then helped Beer Girl Anne Cebula of Shangy’s beer distributor tap almost 40 kegs, and not more than a half-dozen of ’em exploded.

Nearly 400 hearty brew fans turned Reading Terminal Market, in the words of organizer Jim Anderson, into “a no-holds-barred orgy of fermented fantasy.”

Sorry ya missed it, eh?

The Leukemia Society of America is still totaling up its take from the charity taste-testing. In the meantime, here are Philadelphia’s three favorite beers, based on the festival’s highly scientific blind taste test:

1. Iron Hill Brewing, West Chester. Its Pig Iron Porter wins for the second consecutive year.
2. Troeg’s Brewing, Harrisburg. The out-of-towner, not widely available in these parts, scored with its Extra Special Bitter.
3. Stoudt’s Brewing, Adamstown, Pa. Another western favorite, the brewery’s American Pale Ale squeaked past Savage Beer, from Dock Street brewer Eric Savage.

Full results are available at www.beerphiladelphia.com.

Unsubstantiated rumor department

According to Internet sources, the federal government may require brewers to include one of the following warnings on their beer labels:

• * Warning: Consumption of alcohol may make you think you are whispering when you are not.
• * Warning: Consumption of alcohol may cause you tell the same boring story over and over again until your friends want to SMASH YOUR HEAD IN.
• * Warning: Consumption of alcohol is the leading cause of inexplicable rug burns on the forehead.
• * Warning: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at 4 in the morning.

Beer Radar

Huntingdon Valley Beverage (801-H Huntingdon Pike) is developing into a decent local craft brew option for northern suburbanites. The distributor gives you a chance to swallow before you lay out hard-earned cash, with free weekly tastings. Tonight, it’s Tsing Tao, Peroni and Tetley. Upcoming: Weyerbacher, Yards and Riverhorse. . .More than 20 East Coast brewers are on tap at Poor Henry’s Brewery & Restaurant (829 N. American St., Northern Liberties) for Philly Fest ’99, Saturday, May 8. Tickets are $25; info: 215-413-0700. More than 100 dealers will be selling brewery collectibles. It’s your chance to get your hands on that old Esslinger neon sign you always wanted. Talking your significant other into letting you hang the thing on the dining room wall, of course, is your problem.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Rogue Dead Guy Ale) appears every other Friday.

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It’s time to clear up a few myths about Joe Sixpack.

I am not Millennium Man.

I do not drive a cab.

I did not start that fight in the 700 Level of the Vet.

And, contrary to what you may have seen in People Paper advertisements for next week’s Third Annual Philadelphia’s Favorite Beer People’s Choice Awards, I never – not even on my worst day – slop suds onto my mustache.

Onto my shirt, onto my lap, onto the bar, onto the guy sitting next to me at the bar, yes. But after a good many years with a pint in my paw and whiskers on my face, I have perfected the subtle art of sipping without sloshing all over my kisser.

As many beer-drinkers know, this is an important skill, apparently lost on whoever designed that milk-like mustache on the promo photos for the beer fest. (Turn to Page 90 for a gander and, remember, despite what some of you foul-minded mucks might presume, those are suds.) Slopping beer outta the mug and onto your mug is just bad form, suggesting a distressing inability to get close but not close enough to one’s destination, namely the gullet.

In other words, it’s a waste of beer.

We can clear up this beer-mustache myth easily enough if you join me for a few brews next week.

Fortunately, the Daily News, along with Beer Philadelphia magazine and the Leukemia Society of America, have made things easy for us by sponsoring the People’s Choice fest. It’s Thursday, 8 p.m. to midnight, at the Reading Terminal Market.

Joe Sixpack supports almost any reason to tilt a few good beers, but this festival seems like an especially excellent excuse. For starters, organizer Jim Anderson promises that EVERY MICROBREWERY WITHIN 50 MILES OF PHILLY will be present. That means you get a chance to sample the specialities from something like 40 micros and brewpubs, without driving all over the place. (Though, if you’re not taking public transit, find yourself a D.D.)

Jim suggested that, in mentioning the large number of craft brewers who will be on hand, the festival might be an opportunity to pound our chests about this vibrant part of our local economy. Those breweries employ scores of workers. They brew a locally made product for their neighbors’ enjoyment. The existence of these tiny breweries in an age when 95 out of 100 beers we drink is made by Budcoorsmiller is a testament to the rebirth of our region’s beer-making heritage.

If I’ve got my geography right, from Weyerbacher to the north, to Dogfish Head to the south, from Stoudt’s and Victory to the west, to Flying Fish and Tun Tavern in the east, it hasn’t been this good to drink in Philadelphia since W.C. Fields was bending his elbow at McGillin’s. These days, you’d have to schlep out to Portland or Seattle to find another city in this country that can match us.

Well, that’s a good excuse to drink local.

But, having tipped more than a few with Jim, I know the other, bigger reason we favor Philly-area micros: They’re mighty tasty.

Of course, that’s just my opinion.

Your opinion, on the other hand, is what this festival is all about. That’s why they call it the People’s Choice Awards.

Unlike most festivals which tell you which beer is best, this one lets you decide. It’s a blind tasting in which you’ll vote for your fave.

The past two winners tickled the tongue, from fruity to bitter. There was the light and freshing Peach Wheat from Valley Forge Brewing Co. (267 E. Swedesford Road, Wayne), then the hearty, roasty Pig Iron Porter from Iron Hill Brewery (147 E. Main St., Newark, Del.)

What will I be drinking on Thursday?

Not sure, yet. But I can promise you I won’t slop it on my face.

Join Joe Sixpack, the Daily News, Beer Philadelphia and 40 great beers at the Reading Terminal. Tickets are 25 bucks, and your beer consumption benefits the Leukemia Society of America. Call 215-232-1100 for info and tix. Note to Bonner and St. Joe’s Prep students: You must be 21 to enter.

Beer radar

Keep the fun going through the weekend at the Manayunk Brew Extravaganza on April 24, from noon to 6 p.m. Call Manayunk Brewpub for info: 215-482-8220. . .One thousand pardons to Dave Wilby at Dawson Street Pub for failing to direct fellow Bud-boycotters to the exact address of his well-hidden joint. It’s 100 Dawson St., Manayunk, where Cresson Street dead-ends along the SEPTA rail line. . .

Brewerytown’s Red Bell, still putting the finishing touches on its pub at Veterans Stadium and nearing completion on a brewpub at the Reading Headhouse (12th and Filbert, Center City), is launching yet another. This one will be pouring for Penn Staters in downtown State College. Among the co-owners: Frankford High great/N.Y. Jets ho-hum Blair Thomas, radio yakker Mike Missanelli, Pro-Bowl-why-didn’t-the-Eagles-draft-this-guy Sam Gash and whatever happened to ex-Nittany Lion QB Doug Strang.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Stoudt’s Abbey Triple) appears every other Friday.

One of these years, I’m going to get this March Madness thing right.

I don’t mean the NCAA brackets – I’m a terminal loser when it comes to predicting the winners. Each year, I bet the equivalent of my 401(k) on various pools – running the 64 teams through the office Pentium, researching the RPI rankings, playing bone-headed hunches – and I’ve yet to cash in on a single one of them.

But that’s just wasted money.

Where I get fouled up is with the actual watching of the tournament’s marathon of games. On the first weekend alone, we’re talking, what, 48 games in four days?

Back in the days when ESPN carried the tournament, this was no sweat. Just stock up the fridge with a coupla cases of cold beer, send the spouse shopping (“don’t forget to pick up chips, honey”) and grab the remote. Now that CBS has glommed the game, serious hoops-watching during March Madness takes some actual effort.

The problem is that the network shows just one game at a time. And it’s almost always the WRONG GAME. I mean, who cares about Cincinnati vs. George Mason? Give us Tennessee-Delaware, dammit.

I had a plan this year.

The new Shula steakhouse in University City (35th and Chestnut streets) has something like 3,000 TV sets hanging from the ceiling. The joint is stunning – about a quarter-million square inches of glowing screens irradiating a roomful of roundball freaks. The tubes are hooked into space satellites that orbit the earth at 22,000 miles just so they can bounce us Nike commercials.

Without even moving your neck, you could watch Kent/Temple, Oklahoma/Arizona and Wisconsin/Southwest Bleeping Missouri State. Following all those games is daunting, unless you are a terminal hoopsaholic. The conversation at our table went something like:

Mike (watching Rhode Island): “Oh, man, nice jam.”

Dave (watching Miami): “Time out! Call time out!”

Me (watching “SportsCenter”): “Digger Phelps is a dope.”

Somehow, it all makes sense. In the end, we all agree that we hate the Tarheels.

The problem at Shula’s – the problem that you find at every sports bar I’ve ever visited – is the beer. The conversation at our table went something like:

Me (watching Temple): “What kind of beer do you have on tap?”

Waitress (watching her fingernails): “We’ve got them all.”

Me (watching Utah): “Um, every one of them?”

Waitress (still watching fingernails): “Yeah, Bud, Miller. . .”

We’ve all had this conversation before, so I won’t bother you with further details. My buddies finally decided on Dock Street. It arrived damn near frozen in a frosted mug.

The point of all this is not to bore you with my complaining. You wanna hear whining, let me tell you how I picked Minnesota to go to the Sweet 16 after half its team was suspended for cheating on tests. No, the point of this rant is that “sports bar” is a contradiction in terms. Yeah, they get the first part right with their TVs and old photographs of teams of yesteryear. But, for a beer-lover, a bar that doesn’t serve a decent pint is not a bar at all.

One of these days, I’m gonna get March Madness right:

Wall-to-wall TVs glowing with every college basketball game in the world and a decent beer.

In the meantime: Go Owls!

Beer Radar

Spring – one of my four favorite seasons for drinking beer – is upon us, and so is a slate of vernal brew festivals.

Among the biggest and best – and I say this with strict objectivity, even though it’s sponsored by my employer – is Philadelphia’s Favorite Beer ’99. The event features a blind-tasting of 40 area craft brews in which reg’lar beer-swillers like you and me (not professional beer-sippers) will judge the best brew in the city.

The $25-a-head festival benefits the Leukemia Society of America and will feature a semi-conscious appearance by Joe Sixpack. It’s Thursday night, April 22, at the Reading Terminal Market. Call 215-232-1100, ext. 33, for info, and look in this space for further details in coming weeks.

Elsewhere, look for these excuses to drink beer in coming weeks:

* Tuesday, March 23, and Wednesday, March 24 – Rub elbows with Lew Bryson, author of “Pennsylvania Breweries,” in a pair of beer tastings featuring Keystone ales. On Tuesday, he’s at Samuel Adams Brew House (call 215-563-2326), where brewmaster William Reed will be serving cask-conditioned real ale. The next night you can tip a few and chow down for dinner with Lew at Mount Airy’s McMenamin’s Tavern (215-247-9920).

* March 27 – The tutored beer tasting with Brit beer dude Michael Jackson at the University Museum (215-898-3900) may be sold out by the time you read this. But this fest is so good, I advise you to try to sneak in. What’s the worst that could happen?

* March 28 – A pair of Belgian beer dinners. One features Jackson, at Monk’s Cafe (215-545-7005). The other’s at Cuvee Notredame (215-765-2777), where local beer guru Jim Anderson will be cracking open bottles. Excellent grub at both.

* March 31 – International Title Fight, featuring local beers matched with famous labels from the other side of the pond, at The Khyber (215-238-5888). See how Victory St. Victorious squares up against Spaten Optimator.

* April 3 – Split Thy Skull, the World’s Most Dangerous Beer Festival, is an afternoon of barleywine consumption, at Sugar Mom’s Church Street Lounge (215-765-3169).

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Victory Old Horizontal) appears every other Friday.

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The Dawson Street Pub would be an otherwise anonymous neighborhood taproom on a secluded corner in the back streets of Manayunk if it weren’t for its phenomenal beer selection. More than 100 bottles of imports and micros supplement a heady selection of tap handles and three – count ’em, three – beer engines that draw from a steady rotation of cask-conditioned ales.

For many newcomers, though, the striking thing about this bar isn’t its substantial beer list – it’s the list of what’s not on tap.

Namely: Budweiser and Coors Light.

A sign behind the cash register tells customers not to bother asking for it. Other signs blot out the familiar Anheuser-Busch trademark with the international cross-out symbol.

Recently, Joe Sixpack pulled up a stool and jawed a few hours with Dawson Street owner Dave Wilby. Over glasses of Dogfish Head Big Winter Ale, I quizzed the ponytailed publican about his Bud ban.

No Bud – isn’t that unAmerican?

Some people think so. And it’s true, we do sell a lot of imported beer. But we sell a whole lot of locally produced beer, too. And that employs a lot of area people and helps the local economy. I’d rather not put money into the pocket of a big corporation.

When did you stop selling it?

I bought the bar in 1988, when it was called Uncle Chalies. It was a biker bar with two taps. That’s not the kind of bar I wanted to run. The beer revolution was just starting – we were the first bar to put Pete’s Wicked Ale on tap, for instance – and when I expanded to four taps, I took off the Bud. About four years ago, we stopped selling Bud in bottles. When I did that, the bikers left for good.

What did the bikers have to say about that?

A lot of them said, “What, are you some kind of commie?” Another guy, I’ll never forget, he says, “Did the Bud truck run over your dog?”

What do you tell people now when they ask for Bud?

I used to tell them I don’t serve it because it sucks. It’s crap. Now, I tell them it doesn’t fit into the kind of bar I’m trying to run.

You offer a dozen taps, three beer engines and a ton of micros and imports in bottles. Why do people still want their Bud?

Most people ask out of habit. It’s like asking for a Band-Aid. It’s so generic. They think beer is Bud.

What do you suggest as an alternative?

Usually, I offer Rolling Rock because it’s brewed in Pennsylvania and it’s marginally better. Or maybe Yueng-ling, which is also a better quality beer. If they’re willing to try something better, I’ll suggest Sierra Nevada Pale Ale or Pilsner Urquell.

Do some people simply insist on their Bud and walk out?

Very few. Maybe if it’s a big crowd and they all want Bud and they want to make a big deal about it, like it’s the principle of the thing.

So you don’t sell Bud because you believe that’s the right thing to do. But what about the taste of Bud? What’s your problem with that?

It’s been so long since I’ve had one, so it’s hard to remember. . .It almost has no taste, unless it’s warm, and then it tastes skunked. Any beer that doesn’t taste better at 45 degrees than at 32 degrees just isn’t worth drinking. Basically, the only time Bud is drinkable is when you pull it out of a cooler full of ice and you’ve been mowing the lawn all afternoon.

What about Anheuser-Busch – has anyone from the import distributor ever tried to persuade you to bring Bud back?

The Bud salespeople hardly ever came in when I was selling their beer. They’re so comfortable in their share of the market, they don’t make sales calls to places like this. Their attitude is: You can’t have a bar and not sell Bud.

You also don’t sell Coors – what’s up with that?

I don’t sell light beer because I don’t consider it a real beer style. I do sell Amstel Light, though. I figure if somebody really wants a light beer, I’ll punish them by making them pay $3.50 for a bottle. I just don’t understand the phenomenon. It’s the same culture that thinks McDonald’s is a real restaurant.

So it’s been four years since a Bud has passed anyone’s lips in this bar – is this the kind of bar you wanted when you bought it?

Absolutely. This was my goal from the beginning. Comfortable, good beer, good music.

What’s the most-played tune on the juke?

When it was a biker bar, we heard a lot of “Born to Be Wild” and “Free Bird.” Now, it’s a diverse mix. I dunno – hey, Omar, what’s hot on the jukebox these days?

Replied Omar the bartender: “We get a lot from the Sublime.”

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

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Coming to a ballpark, deli, tavern or package store near you: plastic beer bottles.

That’s right – your favorite beverage soon will be packaged in the same material that more commonly encases root beer, toothpaste and crack cocaine. I can see the slick advertise-ments now, of plastic beers boasting the deep, rich taste of roasted malts, fresh hops and imported polymers.

Yechh. Drinking a cold brew out of plastic strikes me as stupid as watching the new “Star Wars” movie on a 9-inch black-and-white TV.

None of which escaped the marketing geniuses at Miller Brewing when they first launched this hare-brained scheme last autumn. They figured plastic would be perfect for ballparks, beaches and other venues that prohibit glass.

“We certainly heard the skepticism,” said Miller spokesman Scott Bussen. “There’s a real emotional connection between the average adult drinker and a glass bottle. It has been ingrained in us.”

Indeed, most beer drinkers regard their bottle like a child regards his momma’s breast. We stare, we suckle, we peel the label.

Ah, well, you know what I mean.

Anyway, mention a plastic beer bottle to most people, and they think of a flimsy, two-liter soda bottle. That may be cool for those accustomed to slugging their punch 40 ounces at a time. But the rest of us prefer to drink out of something a little sturdier, something that wasn’t designed for kindergarten arts-and-crafts projects.

The Miller bottle, though, is heftier. Bussen said its hardened plastic feels like the real thing, and it can keep beer cold as long as glass does. More importantly for beer wonks, the bottle manufacturer apparently overcame the longtime obstacle in plastic packaging: keeping the carbonation in and the air out.

Miller has been test-marketing 20-ounce and one-liter plastic bottles in a half-dozen cities (the closest is Norfolk, Va.), and says it’s gotten remarkably good response. “We had it at the Super Bowl [in Miami] and it did great there,” Bussen said.

Unlike some purists, I don’t subscribe to the belief that plastic beer bottles are the end of civilization as we know it.

For one thing, they’re perfect for stadiums. It’s gotta taste better than concession stand draft beer that was poured 20 minutes before it hit the stands. And they may finally put an end to those expensive personal-injury lawsuits that drunken Eagles fans regrettably face whenever they clock visiting Dallas fans with their empties.

Philly Beer Names

Back Bay Brewing Co. in Boston is taking a hit from critics for its deliciously tasteless new label: Boston Strangler Stout. Seems families of the ’60s neck-wringer’s victims regard the label as a bit insensitive.

Hey, if the Puritans can be so crude, why not the Quakers?

Here, then, is a tribute to our own city’s history of killers, crooks and cons: A sixpack of Completely Tasteless Philly Beer Labels.(All licensing rights reserved by the Daily News.)

1. Marty Graham Cask-Conditioned Ale.
2. Mumia Abu-Ja-Malt Liquor.
3. Eddie Savitz ESBVD.
4. O’sage Lite.
5. Grays Ferry Black & Tan.
6. Heidniken.

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On a marginally more serious note, here’s an idea the city should cop as it looks for new sources of revenue to fund its new stadiums: Philly Beer.

I stole this idea from the city of Toronto, which recently contracted with Molson to brew Toronto’s Own Amber Lager. Proceeds will be used to fund new recreational facilities.

Given the vast number of public-spirited beer drinkers in these parts, I figure our mass consumption of Philly Beer could raise millions for the construction of a pair of new, state-of-the-art stadiums that could then sell even more over-priced, under-poured beer.

Oh, never mind.

Joe Sixpack (written this week with a bottle of Yards Old Ale) appears every other Friday.

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