GRAB A PENCIL, crack open a cold one and test your beer knowledge.

1. Which one of these TV shows does not have its own official beer?

a. Game of Thrones.

b. The Walking Dead

c. The Simpsons

d. The GOP presidential debates

e. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia

2. Which of the following is not an Anheuser-Busch brand?

a. Loser Pale Ale

b. Swill Beer

c. Toxic Sludge

d. Beck’s

e. None of the above

3. What is the beer that a Latin-owned Chicago brewery named as a tribute to Donald Trump after his anti-Mexican speech?

a. Ivana Drink

b. F@#! Your Hair

c. The Don Ale

d. Orange IPA

e. Trumpinator

4. Which of the following ingredients has Dogfish Head used to make beer?

a. Lobster

b. Wine

c. Spit

d. Stalactite.

e. All of the above.

5. What do you call a person who collects beer bottles?

a. An arenophile.

b. A glaziologist.

c. A labeorphile.

d. An alembic

e. Your lazy roommate.

6. Which of the following is a recognized style of beer?

a. Mumme

b. Rottenbier

c. Low Country White Ale

d. Shanty

e. All of the above.

7. Where does Rolling Rock come from, according to its label?

a. Pure Rocky Mountain Spring Water

b. Mountain Springs.

c. Glass-Lined Springs.

d. Little Green Bottles

e. Old Newark

8. What is the oldest brewery in North America?

a. Weihenstephan

b. D.G. Yuengling & Sons

c. Molson

d. Schaefer

e. Buffalo Trace

9. What is the name of the Philadelphia bar where the U.S. Marine Corps was formed?

a. The Few, The Proud & The Tankard

b. City Tavern

c. McGillin’s Old Ale House

d. Tun Tavern

e. Jarhead’s

10. What is the oldest beer brand brewed in America?

a. Yuengling

b. Budweiser

c. Bass

d. Rheingold

e. Pabst

11. What beer was advertised on the scoreboard at Connie Mack Stadium?

a. Bud Light

b. Longines

c. Schmidt’s

d. Ballantine

e. None. Philadelphia blue laws banned beer advertising.

12. The four main ingredients of beer are:

a. Water, malt, hops, yeast.

b. Water, malt, rice, corn.

c. Sugar, yeast, water, barley

d. Water, wheat, hops, yeast.

e. Hops, hops, hops, hops

13. What beer set the record as the world’s strongest, in 2013?

a. Samuel Adams Utopias

b. Brewmeister Snake Venom

c. Samichlaus

d. Dogfish Head World Wide Stout

e. BrewDog End of History

14. What Philadelphia-area brewery has won the most medals at the annual Great American Beer Festival?

a. Iron Hill

b. Stoudt’s

c. Yards

d. Manayunk

e. Yuengling

15. Which of the following is not brewed by Guinness?

a. Guinness Bitter

b. Guinness Blonde American Lager

c. Harp Lager

d. Guinness West Indies Porter

e. None of the above.

How many did you get right?

• A perfect 15, you’re a bigger beer geek than me;
• 10-14, you know your suds;
• 5-9, you’re a light beer drinker; fewer than 5, you’re a wine drinker.

Answers: 1-d, 2-e, 3-b (it’s known by its Spanish-language name, Chinga Tu Pelo.), 4-e, 5-c, 6-a (it’s a hoppy German wheat beer), 7-b, 8- c (founded in 1786, 43 years before Yuengling.), 9-d, 10- c (founded in England in 1777, now brewed in Baldwinsville, N.Y.), 11-d, 12-a, 13- b (67.5 percent alcohol.), 14-a, 15-e.

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THE WEEK should not pass without a toast to the 50th anniversary of the seminal event of modern American brewing.

No, I’m not talking about the invention of the beer-can ring-pull.

I’m instead raising my glass to Aug. 2, 1965, the day when a 27-year-old named Frederick Louis Maytag 3rd – a/k/a Fritz – paid “practically nothing” for a controlling share of San Francisco’s aging dump known as Anchor Brewery.

It was that day that Maytag slapped American beer in its face and woke it up from its pitiful, ugly slide into mass mediocrity.

Of course, it didn’t happen in a single day. It took nearly a decade for Maytag to salvage the brewery and begin turning out quality beer. And, man, what beer! Not just San Francisco’s iconic Steam Beer, but a multitude of other styles that Americans had never tasted in the age of factory-made light lagers.

With Maytag as their model, hundreds of homebrewers and entrepreneurs soon recognized that it was possible to run a small, independent brewery and compete in the age of consolidation. All they had to do was produce quality, full-flavored beer.

So, this is not an overstatement: Maytag’s impulsive purchase of Anchor on that Monday afternoon in 1965 sparked the greatest wave of beer-making creativity in the history of mankind as, in the next 50 years, the nation would go from fewer than 200 operating breweries making the same beer over and over, to more than 3,700 producing an astonishing array of flavors.

Maytag sold the brewery in 2010, and today the guy deserves an entire wing in my Beer Hall of Foam. In the meantime, here are a few more anniversary thoughts.

The Maytag family. Fritz is the great-grandson of the founder of the Maytag washing machine company. His father founded Maytag Dairy Farms, famous for its blue cheese.

Where inspiration struck. Maytag says he bought Anchor after learning, over drinks with Fred Kuh, owner of The Old Spaghetti Factory in San Francisco, that the brewery was about to close. The restaurant was a Bohemian hangout in the ’50s and ’60s, attracting the likes of Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and Arlo Guthrie.

According to Maytag, Kuh told him, “You ought to see it . . . you’d like it. “

Maytag, a Stanford grad with a wad of inherited cash and no real ideas about his future, wandered over the next day and bought the place for “less than the price of a used car. “

Steam Beer. Anchor’s flagship beer is a hybrid brew made with lager yeast that uniquely ferments at a warmer temperature than typical lagers. Though steam beer has been around since the mid-1800s, Anchor says its version is likely different from the historic brew.

Anchor says its name comes from the steam that was generated when it used to cool its hot wort in open tubs. Others say its due to its high concentration of carbon dioxide, which required one to let out steam before dispensing.

In any case, Anchor now holds the trademark for “Steam Beer,” which is now known generically as “California Common Beer. “

More than just Steam

Porter – With all due respect to Yuengling Porter, which had been around since 1829, it was Anchor’s dark, roasty ale, made with a distinctive top-fermenting yeast, that put the style back on beer menus nationwide, beginning in 1972.

Our Special Ale – Until this holiday favorite was introduced in 1975, American Christmas beer amounted to nothing more than red-and-green cans stacked at the front of your local distributor. Each year’s recipe changes – another Anchor innovation.

Liberty Ale – When it was introduced in 1975, few Americans had ever tasted an India pale ale. Now it’s the craft beer’s biggest-selling style.

Old Foghorn – Another nearly lost style, this high-alcohol barleywine sparked America’s fascination with super-strong ales when it was first bottled in 1976.

The changing landscape. It’s tempting to think that the revival of Anchor Brewing reversed the domination of Anheuser-Busch. In fact, the monolith controlled less than 12 percent of U.S. beer sales in 1965. Today, A-B brands account for about half of all sales.

That’s not to say that small breweries haven’t changed the landscape. Only two of the top 10 breweries in 1965 (A-B and Miller) still brew their own beer.

1965

1. Anheuser-Busch
2. Schlitz
3. Pabst
4. Falstaff
5. Carling
6. Schaefer
7. Ballantine
8. Hamm
9. Miller
10.  Stroh

2015

1. Anheuser-Busch
2. Miller Coors
3. Pabst
4. Yuengling
5. Boston Beer (Sam Adams)
6. North American (Genesee, Pyramid, Magic Hat)
7. Sierra Nevada
8. New Belgium
9. Craft Brewing Alliance (Redhook, Widmer)
10. Gambrinus (Shiner)

Note: Anchor is ranked No. 22.

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PEDALING up the hill to Abandon Brewing, above New York’s Keuka Lake, late one afternoon last week, I shift down to my lowest gear and find the agony and joy of bicycling for beer.

The sky has turned blue with billowing clouds after a late-morning electrical storm. My jersey is soaked, my legs ache.

I am thirsty.

About 100 yards into the climb, I know there is no way I’ll make it to the top without walking. The 9 percent grade has defeated stronger riders than me, I tell myself. I have nothing to prove – not after the 200 miles I’ve already put in as part of the Finger Lakes’ Bon Ton Roulet summertime cycling tour.

I had joined about 400 riders for the scenic weeklong ride as an opportunity to visit some of the dozens of breweries that have cropped up in this region over the past two years. Many of them are so-called farm breweries, created by state legislation intended to support farming and tourism. Others are welcome watering holes in quaint yet economically depressed towns like Penn Yan, Geneva and Cortland.

Today, more than 80 breweries make up the Finger Lakes Beer Trail, providing an ideal destination for the beer-drinking cyclist.

Or walker, in this case.

I snap my cleats off the pedals, stand tall and take a step.

Rainwater from the earlier storm rushes down a gully on the shoulder to my right, past brambles and a broken-down shack of a house. A car zips by and its driver gives a polite toot of the horn.

One step after the next, I aim the handlebars of my Cannondale toward the top, the sweat dripping into my eyes making it impossible for me to focus on my target.

Abandon Brewing is not one of those trendy, beer-geek destinations, where the faithful brag about scoring treasured bottles. Open for fewer than two years, it distributes kegs to no more than 100 bars and restaurants in central New York.

I’d never heard of it till the day before, when one of the owners at nearby Climbing Bines Brewery suggested that I add it to my itinerary.

A lunchtime pint of Abandon’s smooth and spicy Belgian-style rye ale, poured at Timmy G’s restaurant, in Penn Yan, confirmed his recommendation.

As the road levels slightly, I ignore the screaming protests from my mutinous thighs and climb back into the saddle. Ahead, a stone-covered driveway leads toward a 200-year-old red barn, where a friendly bartender, I’m certain, soon will be pouring me a cold one.

I take a breath and calm my huffing.

It is quiet.

Too quiet, dammit.

No cars in the parking lot. No music from inside. No conversation on the outside deck.

Closed.

You have got to be freaking kidding me, I grouse. A rookie mistake! I should’ve called first.

I poke around and try the front door. No luck.

Another string of swears gathers up a bellyful of steam but deflates sharply as I swing around to face back down the hill.

My jaw drops. I ease onto a wooden picnic bench, gawking in disbelief.

Below – hundreds of feet below – the blue upper reaches of Keuka Lake cut through the verdant green of a pine forest. The winding ribbon of a wooden slat fence rambles across a nearby field. Rusty-tipped grape leaves cascade along rows of vines. A gentle breeze rolls off the hill to the west, stirring up a high-pitched murmuration of starlings.

I take in a deep breath and catch the sweet-and-sour aroma of stale beer and fresh cow manure.

Spectacular.

The scenery, the sound, the smell – it floods all my senses. The only view that comes close, I’m thinking, is from the patio at Full Sail Brewing, in Hood River, Ore., where visitors gather over pints of Extra Special Bitter to watch hang-gliders circle above the Columbia River Gorge.

Only, I have what may be the world’s most beautiful brewery vista to myself.

I mop my brow and stretch my legs. They don’t seem so tired now.

I take it all in and catch myself thinking, “All this needs is a beer . . . “

But no – this doesn’t need a beer. I grab one of my plastic water bottles and take a swig.

It’s perfect just the way it is.

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TEN YEARS ago this summer, Mark Hellendrung and a group of investors sat down with the owners of Pabst Brewing Co. and convinced them to part with one of its many retro beer brands, Narragansett.

“It was worth everything,” said Hellendrung, a former executive with Nantucket Nectars and Magic Hat Brewing Co. “And it was worth nothing. “

Narragansett had been around since 1890, and became part of the huge portfolio of brands that Pabst began acquiring in the 1970s when it took over its parent, Falstaff. Despite ‘Gansett’s old-school cred, few outside its home turf in Rhode Island were familiar with it, except perhaps as the can that shark-hunting Robert Shaw famously crushed in his fist in “Jaws. “

It was selling about 5,000 cases a year.

“Pabst could see the potential,” Hellendrung said, “but they didn’t know what to do with it. “

Under the 47-year-old Hellendrung’s leadership, Narragansett today sells the equivalent of more than 1 million cases a year. Its double-digit annual growth prompted CNN to declare that the brand is on the verge of supplanting Pabst Blue Ribbon as America’s hipster beer.

That’s laughably wrong on two counts.

First, though PBR’s sales growth is slipping, it’s still selling more than 5 million barrels – or about 70 million cases – a year. Narragansett, available only in the Northeast and a few other markets, has a long way to go.

And, second, Narragansett is far more than the ironic choice of the disaffected skinny-jeans set. Craft-beer lovers – people who willingly pay a premium price for full-flavored, small-batch brews – are reaching for the brand, too. Today, it is the highest-rated mainstream lager among BeerAdvocate.com’s famously picky users.

Now, you could say this is a result of discount pricing and savvy marketing, but it’s also because Narragansett is actually a good beer. It’s smooth and dry, with a clean, refreshing finish – a near-perfect pounder that’s an easy-drinking follow-up when your palate is played out by all those IPAs.

No, it’s not all-malt; it contains a portion of corn. Hellendrung said he got the recipe from the last brewmaster at Narragansett’s old plant, in Cranston, R.I. Today, the beer is brewed by Genesee, in Rochester, N.Y.

How does Hellendrung explain its appeal?

“You have to remember that, 75 years ago, regional brands like Narragansett were the original craft beer,” he said. “They got steam-rolled by Anheuser-Busch, but we’ve got that heritage going for us . . .

“Craft beer is in our DNA. “

Now, if you’re thinking this sounds an awful lot like what you might hear from the folks up in Pottsville, Pa., you’re on the right track. Like Yuengling, Narragansett is trading on memories and regional pride. But as his company happily clings to the past (annually issuing a circa 1975 version of its Lager can to commemorate that famous scene in “Jaws”), Hellendrung has been far less conservative than the Yuengling clan about stepping into the future.

Narragansett has expanded its portfolio to about 20 styles (compared to fewer than a dozen from Yuengling). Some are traditional: a very good porter, for example. But can you imagine Yuengling canning a coffee milk stout? Narragansett did, and its collaboration with Rhode Island’s Autocrat Coffee was one of last winter’s winners. Next month, it will release the latest in its series honoring horror writer H.P. Lovecraft: Reanimator Helles Lager.

While most of Narragansett’s specialty brews are produced at Buzzard’s Bay Brewing, in Massachusetts, Hellendrung said he’s moving forward with plans to open his own brewery in 2016.

“I drink a lot of lot of craft beer,” Hellendrung said. “But sometimes you need to drink something different, but craft beer drinkers don’t want to switch to the big Super Bowl brands. “

That’s the niche that Narragansett Lager fills.

Speaking of old-line breweries, Wilkes-Barre’s Lion Brewery is launching a new Stegmaier Cellar Series that pushes beyond the 110-year-old brewery’s traditional roots. First up: Grand Hoppa, a very hoppy double IPA with 8.9 percent alcohol.

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MY BAR TALK podcast partner, Glen Macnow, and I got to yapping about my suggestion of a couple of weeks ago for a Philly beer museum. The WIP sports talker came up with even better idea:A Beer Hall of Fame.

To get things started, here are my nominees for the first class. You can vote for your favorites or add your own nominees at www.joesixpack.net.

The Inventors

Louis Pasteur. In 1858, the French chemist discovered that heat kills the bacteria that turns beer sour. His process of pasteurization spared millions a life without beer.

William Painter. In 1892, the American engineer invented the crown bottle cap, but that’s not why I’m nominating him. He’s here because he also, thankfully, invented the bottle opener.

Runner-up: Bucknell University’s Delta Upsilon fraternity, creator of beer pong in the 1970s.

The Innovators

Josef Groll. The Bavarian-born brewer is generally credited with brewing the first batch of pilsner in 1842. The light, golden lager beer is the world’s most popular style.

Adolphus Busch. The 19th-century brewery baron practically invented the American beer industry with dozens of innovations, including refrigerated railcars that helped create the first nationwide brand, Budweiser.

Runner-up: Gabriel Sedlmayr, who perfected lager brewing at Munich’s Spaten brewery.

The Innovators (Philly division)

Benjamin Franklin. Known primarily as a thinker, not a drinker, he formed the American Philosophical Society, in 1743, partly to seek ways to improve the brewing of beer in the colonies.

John Wagner. In 1840, the Bavarian immigrant brewed the first lager beer in America, in Northern Liberties. In less than 20 years, lager would come to dominate the nation’s entire beer industry.

Runner-up: Carol Stoudt, the first lady of craft brewing.

The Craft Beer Pioneers

Charlie Papazian. The former nuclear engineer guided America’s passion for home brewing with several books, including The Complete Joy of Home Brewing. As president of what is today known as the Brewers Association, he oversaw the growth of an industry sector that now accounts for more than 10 percent of U.S. beer sales.

Fritz Maytag. The heir to a family washing-machine fortune revived San Francisco’s near-dead Anchor Brewery and proved that, even in the age of industrial giants, it was possible to run a small brewery in America.

Runner-up: Vinnie Cilurzo, of Russian River, whose invention of the double IPA sparked the hops craze.

Philadelphia Bartenders

Catherine “Ma” McGillin. The early 20th-century owner of McGillin’s Old Ale House raised 13 children and still managed to run one of the city’s most celebrated bars. Her funeral in 1937 shut down Broad Street.

Michel Notredame. In the 1980s, the late former operator of Bridgid’s in Fairmount introduced Belgian beer and cuisine to Philadelphia. The fun-spirited host and raconteur was the first to serve the likes of Chimay, Kwak and Lindemans in the city.

Runner-up: Vince Papale, the Delco bartender who earned a roster spot on the Eagles.

The Beer Drinkers

Andre the Giant. The 7-4, 500-pound professional wrestler could drink anyone under the mat, once allegedly downing 127 bottles in one night at a Reading, Pa., hotel bar.

Babe Ruth. He drank for the good of all men. “Sometimes when I reflect on all the beer I drink,” he reportedly said, “I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn’t drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. I think, ‘It is better to drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver. ‘ “

Runner-up: Homer Simpson.

The Writers Wing

Michael Jackson. As industrialized beer continued its assault on taste buds through the ’70s and ’80s, the late-British newspaperman’s chronicles of European artisans introduced millions to unusual and largely unknown beer styles. His articles and books are almost single-handedly responsible for saving Belgium’s unique beer heritage.

Mike Royko. The Chicago Daily News columnist famously declared that most domestic beer tasted like it had been run “through a horse. ” In 1973, he conducted the first formal beer taste test by an American newspaper, uncovering a dozen or so unknown regional gems, including Point Special.

Runner-up: Dave Barry, the Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist who once declared, “Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza. “

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LAST WEEK, The New York Times tackled the quandary of outdoor wine drinking. Specifically: How does one enjoy a fine vintage on a picnic without the proper glassware?

Indeed.

For starters, everyone knows it’s impossible to balance a crystal Champagne flute on a cashmere blanket. Never mind those pesky bugs swarming that 2005 magnum of Saint Emilion Grand Cru. But the big question on the south lawn at the summer estate is: Cabernet goblets or claret chalices? Oh, pooh! The servants simply cannot be trusted with the Waterford decanter – not after that disastrous outing in the Hamptons when Jeeves nearly knocked it over with a croquet mallet.

Pity the poor outdoor wine drinker, for those who do not live at Downton Abbey must suffer the ignominy of sipping the LCB’s finest from a (gasp!) plastic cup.

Assuming they remember the corkscrew.

Which is yet another reason beer is the superior beverage.

For, while the extended-pinky set frets over proper stemware, I’m just going to pull the flip-top and guzzle straight from the can.

In that simple act, beer rules.

Drinking straight from a can or bottle is democratic, a manifestation of the equality of mankind. Anyone with fingers and a mouth can do it.

The act of plunging your fist into a bone-chilling bucket of ice and fishing out a cold one is primordial, a visceral connection that binds us triumphantly to our grizzly bear ancestors.

The crack of the can, the spray against the face, the splash of malt glory shotgunning down the throat, the carbonated belch – we are at one with our habitat.

On your front steps. Out on the golf course. Sitting by the creek. Mowing the lawn. Buck naked in the outdoor shower down the Shore. Who can even think of drinking wine?

No, it’s beer, and it’s straight from the can.

Yes, I know your favorite suds often taste better out of a glass. The Belgians have turned the pouring of beer into an art form, dispensing each type into wonky glassware that captures the foam or showcases its unique aroma.

But most beer tastes perfectly good without pouring.

Don’t believe me? Read the label on The Alchemist’s Heady Topper, ranked the world’s greatest beer. In big, bold caps it demands: “DRINK FROM THE CAN! “

Brewery owner John Kimmich says that pouring it into a glass needlessly exposes his hop-forward ale to flavor-damaging oxygen. I’m not sure I buy that, and Kimmich confesses in a YouTube video that, for him, drinking from the can is an aesthetic:

“I want beer – especially Heady Topper – to just be considered a beer. It’s nothing elevated, it’s nothing more than what it is. And what it is, is the perfect drink for the working person, the common man. “

Wine, meanwhile, is too special, too precious for the outdoors. It’s meant for candlelit evenings in white-tablecloth restaurants, where it can bask in its excessive, cork-sniffing ritual. The foil cutters, the openers, the aerators, the engraved spit buckets . . .

Really, if wine were meant to be enjoyed outdoors, it would come in a 12-ounce bottle with a screw-off cap.

Instead, it’s sealed up tighter than a virgin in a Victorian chastity belt.

Beer is accessible to everyone under the clear, blue sky.

6 for your picnic basket

Here’s a sixpack of outdoor favorites:

1. Oskar Blues Dale’s Pale Ale: The massively hopped brew that kicked off the canned craft-beer movement.
2. Boxcar Mango Ginger Pale Ale: Crisp and fruity, with a ginger snap in the finish.
3. Sierra Nevada Summerfest Lager: A dry, floral, thirst-quenching pilsner.
4. Sly Fox Royal Weisse: An unfiltered wheat with a cool, smooth body.
5. Manayunk Belgian Style Session Ale: A blond ale with just a hint of lemon aroma.
6. Anything in a seven-ounce pony bottle: Easy to finish before the blazing heat of a Philly afternoon turns it into skunk water.

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SOMETHING smells about Not Your Father’s Root Beer, and I’m not talking about the heavy dose of vanilla extract that flavors the suddenly popular brew.

Described as “ale with the taste of spices,” it tastes exactly like soda and contains 5.9 percent alcohol. Two other versions sold in large bottles contain 10.7 percent and an astonishing 19.5 percent alcohol.

The brew has social media and beer aficionado websites buzzing with excitement and high ratings, and buyers in Pennsylvania have been scooping up $50 cases since they arrived earlier this year. Its manufacturer went from an unknown startup to national distribution in under five years, with one sales survey calling it the fastest-selling new craft-beer product of 2015.

What is this stuff, and who’s behind its incredible success?

Tim Kovac, founder and brewmaster of Small Town Brewery, in tiny Wauconda, Ill. (population 13,823), where Not Your Fathers Root Beer was born, says he’s astonished at his success.

“It has been very much an amazing ride,” Kovac told me. “Going from a few dozen Chicago bars to one of the most sought-after beers in America – it’s a phenomenal beer, it really it is. ”

At first, Small Town Brewery sounds like the prototypical independent craft brewery with a quaint back story: The owner is a graphic artist who stumbles upon his best-selling recipe during a carefree day of stovetop home-brewing with his son. It takes him two years to perfect it, finally producing an authentic, old-fashioned hard root beer.

One day, he serves it to a woman and watches a tear roll down her cheek as she declares, “You just brought back memories of me being a little girl. ”

There are other gems, including the discovery of a 17th-century “leather-bound scroll” filled with brewing recipes from a seafaring ancestor who, legend has it, won a brewery in a card game.

Kovac shared the homespun tale with me last week during a phone call arranged and monitored by his public-relations agency, Sard Verbinnen & Co., a high-priced New York City firm known mainly for representing Wall Street scoundrels, including the Madoff family and Lehman Brothers’ Dick Fuld.

When I asked for details on how the root beer is brewed, the PR rep interrupted and said, “Parts of the recipe are proprietary. ”

Kovac said it’s “brewed and fermented just like any other beer. ”

Perhaps, but this is what else we know:

The brewhouse at Small Town Brewery, tucked into a small industrial center that also houses a body-jewelry outlet and a smoke shop, is capable of making fewer than 15 kegs a day.

That’s the equivalent of about 2,500 bottles – or would be if the brewery owned any bottling equipment.

Most of the root beer is brewed and packaged 238 miles away, at the former G. Heileman Brewing plant now owned by City Brewing in La Crosse, Wis.

Kovac said that City Brewing uses his original recipe.

The La Crosse plant, however, is known primarily for the production of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Smirnoff Ice and other so-called malternatives.

These drinks, which are not generally regarded as real beer, are fermented from grains and sugar, then stripped down to their essential taste-free alcohol and reflavored artificially.

It’s a fairly advanced technique, one that no small, largely inexperienced craft brewer would likely tackle on his own.

Kovac and the names of two other area men are listed on Small Town’s state liquor license. Nonetheless, there is ample evidence that the brewery is either controlled by or in a partnership with a much larger company called Phusion Projects LLC.

For example:

1. The label for Not Your Father’s Root Beer was registered by Phusion.
2. Small Town’s Illinois state business registration lists Phusion’s Chicago offices as its main address.
3. Small Town and Phusion shared the same director of strategic marketing.
4. And, tellingly, Small Town Brewery’s own website includes a contact address that is the same as Phusion’s. Or, at least it did, until the address was erased from the website sometime this spring.

Why the subterfuge?

Possibly because Phusion is responsible for the most notorious alcoholic beverage to hit the shelves in the past decade: Four Loko.

Made with caffeine and marketed as an alcoholic “energy beer,” Four Loko was linked to dozens of hospitalizations and at least one death from excessive consumption before the U.S. Food and Drug Administration forced it off shelves in 2010.

The drink has since returned but without added caffeine.

Phusion did not reply to a request for comment about its relationship, and Small Town declined to answer further questions about its ownership.

However, a source familiar with the companies told me that the brand (but not the brewery) was recently acquired by Eugene Kashper, the new CEO and chairman of Pabst Brewing.

Pabst will distribute the root beer in all 50 states

Meanwhile, Small Town Brewery is developing other brands, including Not Your Father’s Ginger Beer and a barrel-aged root beer with 24 percent alcohol.

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WITH THE LONG Independence Day weekend around the corner, now’s the time to get ready for some backyard (or roof-deck) entertaining.

A few cases of summer ale are a good start, but to make the party even more memorable, get in touch with your inner-Martha Stewart. For inspiration, I tracked down Denise Sabia, an interior decorator from Ambler whose own backyard beer garden was recently featured in a photo spread in Country Living magazine.

“You don’t have to go crazy, spending $20,000 on a project,” Sabia told me, explaining that “we’re not talking about wine – this is beer, and it should be simple . . . There’s plenty of easy, creative stuff that any person can do very simply. “

Sabia makes use of everyday objects around her house – Mason jars, baskets, toolboxes, even an old pair of cowboy boots. The idea is to repurpose these objects to hold beer or food or table plants to create a unique look that will have your guests complimenting you on your creativity.

Indeed, that’s a reason to go to the trouble of decorating. You’re aiming to turn your space into a fun, sociable environment.

“The whole idea of a beer garden is to socialize with your friends,” Sabia said. “So you want to design a space where people can gather and face each other, and talk. “

And drink.

Don’t store your beer in that extra fridge hidden away in the dirty garage. Put it in a metal bucket, overflowing with ice, right in the middle of your gathering space.

“You don’t want your guests to have to go back inside every time they want a drink,” she said. “Keep them outside where the fun is. “

Sabia used an old metal trough for the beer, then found a wire basket and packed it with Philly soft pretzels. I’m fond of the fresh, bite-size “rivets” from Philadelphia Pretzel Factory, served with a selection of mustards that I doctor with horseradish, honey or Sriracha.

To keep the guests circulating, create small gathering “stations” with a focal point.

For one table, Sabia used an empty wooden cable spool that she picked up for free from a local electrical supply shop. She sanded it down (“You don’t even need to do that, if you don’t mind a rough surface,” she said) and stained it to look like a distressed bar top.

Your local hardware store is another source of cheap decorations. Sabia took a bunch of iron plumbing fittings and shaped them into hooks for jackets and beer mugs.

Don’t forget beer ornaments. A bunch of empty German malt sacks – the sort of thing breweries toss away daily – made an attractive backdrop, clothespinned to a laundry line.

“You want the decor to be guyish – this is not for a girls’ night out. Not that girls don’t drink beer,” Sabia said. “But we’re talking about simple, stupid stuff, and you don’t have to be a decorator to do that. Just have fun. “

To see more from Sabia, check out her blog at paintedhomedesigns.com.

Beer-garden brews

What to serve at your summer party? Here’s a sixpack of summer beers made for outdoor party fun:

1. Evil Genius I Love Lamp (West Grove, Chester County): A pineapple hefeweizen? Yes, and before you mutter something about the sanctity of the Bavarian beer purity law, know that this excellent, thirst-quencher was one of the top beers in the Inquirer’s recent Brew-vitational. Local supplies are limited right now, but you can grab a taste tomorrow when I’ll pour it during Happy Hour Yoga at Yoga on the Ridge (493 Domino Lane, Roxborough). Tix $25, yogaontheridge. com.
2. Two Roads Worker’s Comp (Stratford, Conn.): Brewery founder Phil Markowski, one of America’s leading experts on farmhouse ale, has turned out a rather fruity (a hint of mango?) refresher with this saison.
3. Liquid Hero Schweet Ale (York): This newcomer to Philly beer shelves is a strawberry wheat ale that’s not overly schweet – I mean, sweet. Look for it in cans.
4. Victory Kuhl Kolsch (Downingtown): In these hop-crazed days, Kolsch – the traditional ale/lager hybrid from Cologne, Germany – gets little respect. But this light, crisp, lemony brew seems ideal for dousing sweaty foreheads, especially when pulled from an ice bucket.
5. Ballast Point Sculpin Grapefruit (San Diego): Two years after its introduction, people still can’t get enough of this unique West Coast IPA. The grapefruit only adds to the ale’s assertive array of citrusy hops.
6. Heavy Seas Smooth Sail Summer Ale (Baltimore): This hop-forward wheat beer brewed with orange and lemon peel is available in cans only. The brewery suggests using it as a base for “beer-mosa. ” Just add fresh ginger and orange juice and serve over ice.

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IT’S HAMMOCK time – the lazy months of summer when a boy can dream. This one’s already got his feet up and his can in the ice bucket, imagining how to make Philadelphia an even better beer-drinking city.

For example:

Bring back the drinking car on SEPTA trains. How much more tolerable would your commute be if you could enjoy a cold Kensinger while rumbling home from work? Onboard beer sales would attract new riders and generate revenue for the transit agency.

Give the city’s official seal a beer. I suppose the image of a woman holding a cornucopia has some historical significance. But what’s with that disembodied arm? It seems ripe for holding a mug – a symbol of our beer-soaked heritage. This should be our next mayor’s top priority.

Enact an honest pour law. This would require a line on barroom glassware that marks either 16 ounces or 500 milliliters. If bars are going to charge six, seven or eight bucks a glass, beer drinkers deserve to know how much they’re getting.

Open a beer museum. We need a place to document and celebrate the role of beer in the founding and growth of our city. I suggest installing it at the Man Full of Trouble Tavern, the city’s only surviving Colonial tavern that currently sits empty and shamefully ignored on the 200 block of Spruce Street.

Pass the Great Northeast Bar Relief Law. No, there is no such proposal. But, clearly, government intervention is the only solution to help this huge swath of the city. It’s home to hundreds of thousands of beer drinkers, yet only a half-dozen or so places above Cottman Avenue, where the tap lines aren’t dominated by Coors Light. Roosevelt Boulevard deserves better than Applebee’s.

Allow bars to open outdoor cafes. They have to jump through all kinds of state and local regulatory hoops – why? Some outdated sense of Quaker propriety, I imagine. Look, if it doesn’t severely limit pedestrian traffic, let them put a few tables on the sidewalk. It’ll boost business and neighborhood sociability. In return, bars would . . .

Install bike racks. The city took away all the damn parking meters; now there’s nowhere to lock up our fixies. Do cyclists a solid and give us a place to park.

Open a beer garden at Lemon Hill. Now that Fairmount Park is open to the idea of (gasp!) beer on its sacred grounds, it should go all-in. This is not such a novel idea: the Lemon Hill grounds attracted thousands to a huge German beer garden throughout the 1800s. Think picnics and families and music and games and fresh casks of Yards ESA.

Install radio-frequency identification (RFID) tags on kegs. Currently, kegs are marked with paper collars that get soaked and fall apart during delivery. They’re hard to read and they contain little useful information.

An RFID loaded with detailed info is easily tracked with basic computer equipment. And (here’s an idea for an app developer) the information can be shared via the Internet with beer drinkers in search of specific brands. When a keg of, say, Weyerbacher Sunday Morning coffee stout is tapped, the tag would automatically alert the world.

Open a brewpub at the airport. Much as I appreciate Jet Rock Bar & Grill’s incredible selection, there ought to be a Philly-branded pub in one of the terminals. Also, the airport should add a selection of Philly beer to its duty-free shop. Out-of-towners are eager to bring home the local product.

Allow refill growlers at gas stations. This is not some loopy idea – it’s an actual modern convenience in Charlottesville, Va., of all places. Imagine rolling home on Chester County’s Route 113, stopping at the Sunoco to fill up your Honda and jogging inside for a half-gallon of draft Sly Fox Rt. 113 IPA to go.

Clean up Drury Street. Now that McGillin’s Old Ale House has been joined by BRU and the Drury Beer Garden, the tiny Center City block from 13th to Juniper streets is hopping with big crowds. It’s on the verge of becoming a unique pedestrian beer oasis, but it won’t get there till someone grabs a power washer and hides the ugly Dumpsters.

Tempted as you may be to respond to these ideas with the jaded shrug that “it’ll never happen in Philadelphia,” I’d rather hear your own ideas – nutty or otherwise. Email them to me or comment below.

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