Yearly Archives: 2016

A journey to the brews of Ireland

IF THERE IS A MOTHERLAND for American beer drinkers, it is Ireland.

True, our brewing heritage might reach back to Germany or England, and we seem to have a soft spot for Belgium. But our drinking chops come straight from Dublin, and if you don’t believe me, get off your butt today on St. Patrick’s Day, the national holiday of beer lovers, and go dancing with the leprechauns.

Black stout in a pint glass and the Pogues on the jukebox – the Irish pub is our church, and a pilgrimage to the Emerald Isle is a rite of passage.

Funny thing, though, until recently, American craft beer fans heading to Galway or Killarney or Belfast were surely disappointed with the slim pickings. Yes, there was plenty of fresh, perfectly poured Guinness stout to be had, but you could get that back home. Otherwise, it was the same old, same old: Heineken, Carling, Coors, bleh.

“Every pub had the same three products, and, for generations, that’s the way it was,” Seamus O’Hara, who cofounded Carlow Brewing in the southeast of Ireland with his brother Eamonn in 1996, told me in a phone conversation this month.

As little as 10 years ago, there were only about a dozen breweries in Ireland, most of them owned by the big guys.

But things have improved quickly, thanks mostly to new tax laws that benefit small brewers. Today, Ireland boasts more than 75 independent breweries, and O’Hara is widely seen as their pioneer.

“It has become quite a vibrant craft beer scene,” said O’Hara, who was recently appointed chair of the Irish Brewers Association. “I can see it bringing all kinds of energy and excitement to consumers. “

You don’t have to take his word for it. In October, I’m leading Joe Sixpack’s Irish Beer & Whiskey Tour, a 10-day crawl to some of the country’s small breweries and distilleries. Join me as we visit Dublin, Galway, Killarney, the Dingle Peninsula, and elsewhere to explore the sights and share a few pints.

Yes, we’ll stop in at Guinness – how can we not? Mostly, though, we’ll focus on small breweries and family-owned distilleries. Places like:

Galway Bay Brewery, whose Oslo Bar is one of Europe’s great craft beer destinations.

West Kerry Brewery, a real ale brewery where the locals speak the traditional Irish language.

Franciscan Well Brewery in Cork, where the Summer Saison was recently judged the world’s best pale ale.

Teeling, the only distillery in Dublin, now making award-winning Irish whiskey.

We’ll treat ourselves to plenty of Irish stout, porter, and red ale. But like much of the world these days, small brewers are taking their cues from adventurous American brewers. These days, Irish taps are pouring everything from Belgian-style abbey ales to West Coast double IPAs.

Even Carlow, which got its start by reviving traditional Irish styles that had been dumbed down by big producers, is now producing barrel-aged ales and single-hop India pale ales.

“People want hoppier beer, more interesting flavors,” O’Hara said.

That’s a big change from the days when an Irish pub merely had to open its doors and crank up the fiddles. The recession, a smoking ban, and real estate pressures have cut into the bar trade, he said, forcing pubs to “put beer on the agenda. “

In some ways, it sounds like the American craft beer scene circa 1998. In other words: the early exciting days of a movement.

Want to learn more? I’m taking over the second floor of McGillin’s Old Ale House (1310 Drury St., Center City) Wednesday at 6 p.m., to share more details and some great O’Hara’s ale, including the brewery’s new collaboration brew (yes, that’s now a thing in Ireland) with Virginia’s Starr Hill Brewery. Tix are 10 bucks, via my website or at the door.

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Tour the brewpubs along the Susquehanna

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I’m a firm believer that there’s no better way to discover a new town than from a bar stool, and that was never better illustrated than my trek last weekend to north-central Pennsylvania.

This big-city boy has lived in Philadelphia nearly his entire life, never bothering to venture a mere two hours to the small towns that cling to the Susquehanna River and its western branch. Places like Berwick, Shamokin, and Mifflinburg.

But offer me a beer and, well . . .

That’s the idea behind the River Rat Brew Trail linking nine breweries in Columbia, Montour, Northumberland, and Union Counties – the state’s midsection, where old coal mines give way to rolling farms and game lands. The local visitor agencies that created the trail hosted me and several other journalists for its opening.

I bellied up to a bunch of bars. Here’s what I found.

Mifflinburg

Claim to fame: Once home to more than 50 carriage manufacturers, giving it the nickname “Buggy Town, USA. “

You’ll still catch glimpses of the area’s Amish in horse-drawn buggies, but the main attraction here today is one of the most ambitious brewpub projects I’ve encountered: Rusty Rail Brewing Co. Opened last year in a massive former brick factory at an astounding cost of more than $7 million, the brewpub spans 24,000 feet over three floors, and expansion plans are already in the works.

Its portfolio focuses on the basics, including a very aromatic pale ale and Wolf King Stout, made with cold-brewed coffee produced through a partnership with nearby Lycoming College.

Lewisburg

Claim to fame: The nearby federal penitentiary was home to Henry Hill, of Goodfellas infamy.

Situated on the west branch of the Susquehanna, the seat of Union County is a tidy little town with well-trimmed storefronts and an active arts and culture scene. At night, it teems with students from Bucknell University, many of whom head for the Bull Run Tap House.

Though its 48 taps are overly populated by the ho-hum likes of Blue Moon and Kona, Bull Run just opened its own in-house West Branch Craft Brewery. It won’t be long till its smooth-as-silk Dark Side English Dark Mild is outselling the faux crafts from Coors and Anheuser-Busch.

Shamokin

Claim to fame: Officially designated by Pennsylvania as a “distressed city. “

The sad sight of the downtown’s empty, dilapidated buildings and nearby abandoned coal mines did not discourage Eric Kuijpers, a Dutch immigrant, from setting up shop here. His one-room Covered Bridge Brewhaus is a quirky gem, serving unusual brews – including a very tasty Sunset Coconut Porter – that he brews in his garage.

“The rent was cheap,” he said, explaining how he ended up in Shamokin.

For now, it’s open only on Thursday nights and the first Saturday of the month.

Bloomsburg

Claim to fame: Home of Berkeley Breathed, Opus and . . . oh, never mind, that was Bloomsbury.

If you’ve ever been to Bloomsburg, it was probably because you were dropping your kid off at the local state university. If you were smart, you spent the night at the friendly Inn at Turkey Hill, where its adjoining Turkey Hill Brewing Co. earned it recognition from Condé Nast as one of America’s best beer hotels.

Stroll over in your bathrobe and you’ll discover that brewer Donny Abraczinskas is turning out a solid, occasionally exceptional (Revelation Pale Ale) line of styles ranging from a deceptively simple Kolsch to complex barrel-aged ales.

Danville

Claim to fame: The T-rail, used by railroads nationwide, was first made here in 1845 by the Montour Iron Works.

You may already know that because the local brewery, Old Forge, packages its criminally underrated T-Rail Pale Ale in 16-ounce cans for the Philadelphia market. What you may not know, though, is brewer Damien Malfara also produces a world-class variety of draft-only ales, including Gouden, a strong Belgian ale made with Pennsylvania maple syrup.

You can try them at the Old Forge Brewpub, a handsome downtown spot decorated with old steel forge equipment, including a massive antique bellows that is a reminder of the region’s industrial past.

And don’t miss

Berwick Brewing, with a bird’s-eye view of the river from a beer garden, and killer pizza.
Marley’s Brewpub & Grille (Bloomsburg), where they go through a keg of Pack Dog Peanut Butter Ale, a two-time Great American Beer Festival medalist, every day.
Marzoni’s Brick Oven & Brewing Co. (Selinsgrove), with a big menu and six-packs to go.
Three Beards Brewing (Sunbury) isn’t open yet but serves test samples when available.

The River Rat Beer Trail is a self-guided tour. Figure on a full weekend to hit all of the destinations. More info at RiverRatBrewTrail.com.

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Trump is a poor excuse for a drinking buddy

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POPULAR WISDOM says Americans vote for presidential candidates whom they’d like to have a beer with. That explains how easygoing George W. Bush beat stiff John Kerry in 2004.

Maybe there’s some truth to the adage, but, then again, Bush was a teetotaler who invaded the wrong country, so: Bad way to choose a president.

Which brings me to Donald Trump, also a teetotaler. Last fall, the current leader for the GOP nomination came in first in an NBC News poll that asked: Which Republican presidential candidate would you most want to have a drink with?

First, 47 percent of those surveyed said, “None of them. “

But the point is, more people would rather belly up to a bar and share drinks with Trump than with Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz, John Kasich or even any of the Republicans who dropped out of the race.

What is America thinking? Hoisting pints with Trump would be a nightmare, for a number of reasons:

He’s a lousy wing man

Out for a night of drinks with your pal, you want support and friendship, not name-calling and threats from a bully.

Hang around with a guy with his kind of mouth, and you’ll quickly find yourself getting dragged into a back-alley fistfight.

And how will you meet attractive new mates when he’s by your side, calling them losers? For Trump, the “The Art of the Deal” is the same as the despicable art of negging, the insulting pickup technique that works only on those with low self-esteem.

Including, apparently, Chris Christie.

Doesn’t pay his bar bill

Forget about Trump springing for an occasional round of drinks – that’s socialism. Worse, the cheap bastard won’t even bother paying his share of the tab.

Remember: Trump is a deadbeat whose companies have filed for bankruptcy four times, leaving mountains in debt as he went on his merry way.

In a bar, he’s the one ordering bottles of Dom while you’re nursing a beer. Then, when it comes time to settle up, he’s out the door, stiffing the waitress and leaving you, you poor chump, to cover the check.

And he’ll be back the next night, pulling the same stunt.

Too much drunk talk

If you heard it in a bar, you’d assume Trump’s bile was coming from the cankerous mouth of that rum-soaked derelict who just fell off his stool. Seriously – read, or slur, a few of his gems out loud:

“I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue (belch) and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters, (hic) OK? “

“The beauty of me (places arm around your shoulder) is that I’m very (breathes in your face) rich. “

“If Ivanka weren’t my daughter, (pauses too long) perhaps I’d be dating her. “

“They’re bringing drugs. They bring crime. They’re rapists … And some, (just after a Mexican gives him a dirty look) I assume (quickly making his exit) are good people.

He’s a blowhard

The beauty of bars is they bring together a diverse population. We can root for different teams, wear different clothes, speak different languages, hold different opinions. We can look, act and love differently.

Yet we’re equals, seated side-by-side with a glass of social lubricant in front of us. We don’t insult each other, we find a common ground and, importantly, we listen.

Not Trump. The man is a xenophobe who cannot comport himself in a civil manner on a national stage; you think he can hold his mouth in a barroom? You may agree with many of the things he says, but you’ll spend the whole night shushing him.

Eats pizza with a knife & fork

Remember that scene in It’s a Wonderful Life when George Bailey winces as Clarence asks Nick the gruff bartender for a mulled wine (heavy on the cinnamon and light on the cloves)? The two of them are quickly dispatched, face-first, into the snow.

Same thing happens when you’re unlucky enough to be sitting next to Trump, a short-fingered vulgarian who demands utensils for his pepperoni and double cheese.

Trump is out of place in a bar, slumming with losers, and you are guilty by association.

Or as Nick said, “Out you go . . . through the door or out the window. “

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Hype over beer-pouring gizmo is just a lot of air

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One of the simple yet overlooked joys of beer is that it comes in a bottle or a can, ready to drink. Grab an opener or just yank the pull-tab, and you’re good to go. No assembly required.

Which is why the arrival of any new, high-tech beer-dispensing gadget gives me pause. Put me in the if-it-ain’t-broke-don’t-fix-it league.

That seems to be the case with the “revolutionary” Fizzics portable draft beer system, a Mr. Coffee-like contraption that sucks beer out of a bottle and pours it into a glass.

For $169.99.

At Brookstone. You know, the over-priced headphone and massage chair store.

Now, you may rightly wonder why anyone would need an expensive machine to do the same job that can be adequately performed, at absolutely no cost or inconvenience, by a hand connected to a functioning wrist. Even your uncoordinated brother-in-law somehow manages to get most of the beer into the glass, right?

Maybe, but take a close look at that ghastly head.

Closer!

You’ll see that “a hand pour of your favorite beer will create foam of randomly packed bubbles of non-uniform shapes that are inherently less dense and frothy, and result in a grainy mouthfeel. “

Or, at least that’s what the company behind Fizzics says.

Its machine, with a “proprietary built-in tap and patented infusion technique,” uses high-frequency sound waves and oscillation to pour “a dense, long-lasting head, resulting in rich, creamy foam that enhances the texture, aroma and aroma of beer while locking in flavor. “

In short, it says Fizzics makes any store-bought beer “awesome. “

In fact, the damn thing actually does a good job of simulating beer poured out of a tap. The bottle of Red Hook Blackhook Porter that I ran through it was silky and full-bodied with a head that reminded me of the nitro collar of foam on a perfectly poured Guinness.

The thing is, it doesn’t make for a better beer.

For starters, few brews really need this kind of enhancement. Light-bodied lagers, for example, are so enjoyable precisely because they’re poundable. Who wants a Troegs Sunshine Pils that goes down like a ladleful of gravy?

It did bring out subtle malt notes in a bottle of Rinn Duin Sandpiper, a brown ale from Toms River, N.J. And it gave a half-empty day-old growler of Love Gravy barrel-aged stout from Barren Hill Brewery some new life.

Overall, however, the dozen or so beers I ran through the machine didn’t taste better, just different.

More alarmingly, though, Fizzics is just a bad precedent for beer. It’s exactly the sort of money-wasting nonsense you’d expect to see in the wine world, with its nose hair aerators and sterling silver drool buckets.

Not that I’m opposed to technological progress.

Case in point: the ManCan.

This is no gimmick, no magic bubbles. It’s a simple, one-gallon, stainless-steel keg that takes the place of your glass-bottle growler.

Fill it at your favorite taproom or brewpub. Bring it home, attach a simple, smartly designed, pocket-size CO2 regulator, and you’ve got instant draft beer.

It’s small enough to fit in your fridge, and light enough to take to a party. Basic growlers go flat after they’re opened and exposed to oxygen, but beer in a ManCan stays fresh and bubbly for weeks.

I’ve been using one at home for the last month with small batches of homebrew, and I already like it better than my power-guzzling Kegerator. It’s pressurized with mini-CO2 cartridges that are available at bike shops, so there’s no need to haul a big, empty tank to a gas supplier. And, with just eight pints of beer inside compared to the nine sixpacks in a sixtel keg – it takes a lot less time to empty and move on to something new.

At about $150 on Amazon and elsewhere, ManCan is not cheap. But it works, it’s simple, and it appears to be built to last.

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Why Victory Brewing went Wall Street

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The story is familiar to Philadelphia-area beer drinkers:Two fifth graders named Bill and Ron meet on a school bus, become fast friends, grow up together, learn to make beer, and many years later open Victory Brewing in an old Pepperidge Farm bakery in Downingtown.

Tales like these are part of the hagiography of craft brewing, a backstory that distinguishes Victory Helles Lager from Budweiser, that helps explain why you should pay more for a beer made by small-business entrepreneurs than the cheaper, mainstream brands that dominate the market.

But what happens when that story takes a twist? When the down-home craftsmen go to Wall Street?

Those two kids – now 50-something business partners Bill Covaleski and Ron Barchet – are going to find out. This week, they announced a not-unexpected deal to join New York’s Southern Tier Brewery in a unique partnership that will be managed by a Manhattan private equity firm.

I say it was not unexpected because, if you asked Philly beer insiders who’d be the first local brewery to make a deal, the answer was always Victory. That’s mostly because of its size: It was the area’s second-largest brewery (behind Delaware’s Dogfish Head), making it a ripe acquisition target for anyone seeking a quick share of Philadelphia’s craft beer market. But it was also because Victory has a reputation for innovation and growth, whether in expanding its wholesale distribution network or in building new brewpubs and production facilities.

In its first 20 years, Victory could depend on the promise of double-digit sales growth to underwrite its need for capital. When it needed cash, as in the case of its construction of a brewery in Chester County, banks were eager to lend.

But the craft beer landscape is changing rapidly.

A dozen other small breweries have been bought up in the last 18 months by the likes of Anheuser-Busch InBev and Heineken. The industry was rocked when Ballast Point – a San Diego brewery about the size of Victory – sold out to a Mexican beer importer for a stunning $1 billion.

Meanwhile, larger Western breweries – including Sierra Nevada, New Belgium, Oskar Blues and Lagunitas – have moved eastward with second facilities.

With more than 4,000 breweries competing for tap handles and support from wholesalers, Covaleski and Barchet realized they needed to grow even bigger, and fast, or they’d be left behind.

The pair had suitors willing to hand them cash (they won’t name names), but that option left a bad taste.

Covaleski said he didn’t want to “turn to our employees and say something like, ‘Hey, the same guys who brew Coors Light are now calling the shots here. ‘ “

Barchet added: “I’m sure a strategic partner could have delivered money, but at the same time we were very concerned about our legacy and our brands. I wanted to feel good about going into a supermarket, buying Prima Pils in five years, and not worrying whether it tastes the same. “

Victory opted instead to accept money from a private equity outfit in New York called Ulysses Management that already owned a minority stake in Southern Tier. Together, they formed a holding company, Artisanal Beverage Ventures, that now owns both Southern Tier and Victory.

Private equity is not without its risks because it leaves the founders with less control over their companies’ future. The quality of Vermont’s Magic Hat, for example, has suffered greatly since its private-equity parent was sold to a Costa Rican-controlled brewing conglomerate.

The greater threat, though, may be to the company’s story.

Each bottle of Victory beer is printed with a message and the signatures of Bill and Ron. It’s their personal trademark, one that – despite the brewery’s considerable size – makes it seem Victory has a personal relationship with everyone who drinks its beer.

Now, with their holding company under the leadership of two former Anheuser-Busch execs, could Victory’s big-money deal damage that image?

The initial reaction on social media has been mixed. Some beer enthusiasts are worried about the New York influence on their local beer; others are supportive and taking a wait-and-see attitude.

“It’s a concern, for sure,” Covaleski said. “But people should have 20 years of confidence in the way we manage a company, that we are focused on quality and innovation.

“There’s no reason for us to crash our most important creation ever. “

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Declare love with hops and malt

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Valentine’s Day is more than hearts and flowers. It’s hops and malt, too. Whether you’re a couple or not, there’s good reason to fall in love this weekend.

Get an early start

Weyerbacher Brewing in Easton will open at 10 a.m. to unveil this year’s version of Sunday Morning Stout. Yes, it’s a bit of a drive up the Northeast Extension, but that’s time you and your significant other can spend together in deep conversation about the importance of roasted malt in this outstanding barrel-aged brew.

Go Rogue

A bold red bomber of Double Chocolate Stout from Rogue Ales & Spirits is a great gift, but make sure you stick around for a taste. It’s a strong (9 percent alcohol) oatmeal stout infused with Dutch chocolate – a creamy treat made with hops and barley grown on Rogue’s farm in Oregon’s Willamette Valley.

Share your love

Your partner is into yoga; you love beer. Try both together at the original Happy Hour Yoga. It’s a one-hour all-levels yoga class at Yoga on the Ridge (493 Domino Lane, Roxborough) led by Mrs. Sixpack, Theresa Conroy. That’s followed by a tutored tasting of Valentine-themed beers led by Joe Sixpack. Reserve at yogaontheridge.com. 6:30 p.m. Friday, $25.

A table for two

Each Iron Hill Brewery & Restaurant location offers a different Valentine’s menu this weekend, but they’ll all be pouring Cherry Vanilla Porter. It’s a special version of its mainstay Pig Iron Porter, aged with vanilla beans and finished with sour cherry juice.

Play the field

Your steady favorite back home is nice enough, but a little taste of something different never hurt anyone. Let Joe Sixpack introduce you to a few of his favorite chocolate beers at Bell Beverage (2809 S. Front St., South Philly) from 4-6 p.m. Friday. If you like something, bring it home to share with your sweetie.

Do the deed

Get in the lovin’ mood with this sixpack:

Fourplay. This IPA from Stoudt’s is a good way to start things.
Pearl Necklace. No, this oyster stout from Flying Dog is not a piece of jewelry.
Old Leghumper. A porter from Thirsty Dog might be the best you can get.
Lovely, Dark, and Deep. Release the passion with this oatmeal stout from Brewery Ommegang.
Bringing Sexy Bock. Cape May Brewing’s tribute to Justin Timberlake, circa 2006.
Happy Ending. An imperial stout from Sweetwater that will leave you smiling.

Say it with chocolates

Beer made with chocolate is one thing, but what about chocolate made with beer? The best I’ve tasted is Vosges Smoke & Stout, at right, a gooey bar made with Rogue Chocolate Stout, smoked salt, and burnt sugar caramel. Available at Whole Foods.

Do the funky thing

Shmaltz Brewing is launching Funky Jewbelation ’16 this weekend. It’s a blend of eight of the New York brewery’s ales and lagers that was aged in bourbon and rye barrels for a funky mélange of chocolate, citrus, and sour cherry flavors. Look for it in large bottles.

Reconnect with your ex

Remember your old flame, Red Hook from Seattle? One of the Pacific Northwest’s earliest microbreweries faded with the years as hot new trophy breweries won your attention.

This winter, though, Red Hook came storming back with Blackhook, a full-bodied porter that it first brewed in 1983, but never distributed in Philly. It’s here, and it’s proof that, sometimes, experience is better than the next new thing.

Grab some honey

Mead, the drink of newlyweds and King Hrothgar of Beowulf fame, is fairly scarce in these parts, thanks to antiquated liquor laws. But you can find the sweet stuff at handful of local meaderies.

Stonekeep Black Currant Mead, available at the Other Farm Brewing, Boyertown.
Jersey Devil Honey Wine, available at Valenzano Winery, Shamong, N.J.
Woofiedog Hopped Mead, available at the Colony Meadery, Allentown.

Uncouple

Who needs a significant other? You can go it alone if you’ve got the right bottle.

My Bloody Valentine. You’ll be seeing red with this AleSmith brew.
Arrogant Bastard. A strong ale from Stone Brewing that’s better than that jerk who dumped you last month.
Femme Fatale. A seductive IPA from Evil Twin who’s nothing but trouble.
Damnation. Swear off all relationships with this strong Belgian-style ale from Russian River.
Of Love and Regret. An herbal saison from Stillwater Artisanal Ales for that late-night moment of introspection.
Alimony Ale. Buffalo Bill’s bitter beer is “irreconcilably different. “

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Trading insults with a talking tap

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No doubt you’ve caught the Shock Top commercial with comedian T.J. Miller. The spot, a fast-paced insult swap between the star of the HBO sitcom Silicon Valley and a wiseguy talking tap handle named Wedgehead, has been floating around the Internet for the last week in advance of its TV debut Sunday during the Super Bowl .

What you haven’t seen is the original version – the one featuring Joe Sixpack. Or maybe that was a bad dream.

In any case, it went like this:

Wedgehead: Yo, beer boy, over here. . . .

Joe Sixpack: Wha . . . ? A talking tap handle?

Wedgehead: That’s right. You got a problem with that?

Joe Sixpack: Uh, no. I’m just surprised you’re speaking English. Aren’t you from Belgium?

Wedgehead: Oh, I’m surprised you understand English. Aren’t you from Philly?

Joe Sixpack: Your new ad campaign is supposed to be “real talk” without pretension. Isn’t that a bit ironic coming from a faux craft beer?

Wedgehead: Faux? Now who’s being pretentious? Are you sure you’re not a wine writer?

Joe Sixpack: C’mon, in last year’s Super Bowl, your pals at Budweiser bashed beer geeks for drinking pumpkin peach ale. Now they’re advertising Shock Top Spiced Banana Wheat. Is that even beer?

Wedgehead: That’s a helluva question coming from a guy who drinks Sweet Baby Jesus Chocolate Peanut Butter Porter.

Joe Sixpack: Tell me one thing: Is Shock Top Strawbanero Wheat the bastard son you had after banging a Bud Light Mang-o-Rita?

Wedgehead: At least I got some action. When you beer nerds do it, you call it a “collaboration. “

Joe Sixpack: That sounds like sour grapes. Is that your latest flavor?

Wedgehead: You mean like that funky old bottle of lambic you spent 20 bucks on last night?

Joe Sixpack: It was 25.

Wedgehead: How’d you even afford that? You look like you’ve been unemployed since the Prohibition.

Joe Sixpack: I work for a newspaper.

Wedgehead: Like I said.

Joe Sixpack: Did you get that badass attitude working for a greedy international conglomerate?

Wedgehead: It’s my shtick. I was dreamed up by an advertising agency to give the impression that Shock Top is hip and edgy. Our slogan is “Live Life Unfiltered. “

Joe Sixpack: And here I thought they called it Shock Top because that’s how they woke you up after that brain injury.

Wedgehead: They call you Sixpack because Nickelback was already taken.

Joe Sixpack: You’re not fooling anyone. You look like an undercover FBI agent trying to infiltrate Greenpeace while wearing wingtips.

Wedgehead: What’s your point? We fooled everyone into thinking Beck’s was made in Germany – even when the fine print said “Brewed in St. Louis. “

Joe Sixpack: So you’re trying to corner the idiot market?

Wedgehead: You mean your readers?

Joe Sixpack: Ouch.

Wedgehead: You write like Donald Trump talks.

Joe Sixpack: Said the guy with that hair. Is that real or is it as fake as the “essence” of berries in Shock Top Raspberry Wheat?

Wedgehead: Who cares? Anheuser-Busch just spent a zillion dollars to put me into the Super Bowl!

Joe Sixpack: I wish somebody would throw some of that money my way.

Wedgehead: You’re already overpaid – you drink beer for a living.

Joe Sixpack: Are you wearing sunglasses because you’re famous or because you’ve got a hangover from drinking Shock Top?

Wedgehead: Both. Do you have gray hair because you’re old or because you’re old?

Joe Sixpack: Do you wear a Mohawk to appeal to hipsters in 1993?

Wedgehead: Said the guy with the goatee. You look like you were raised in the wild by wolves.

Joe Sixpack: You taste like you were pissed by wolves.

Wedgehead: Yes, but it’s unfiltered piss!

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Grover Cleveland Bergdoll: A brewery scion turned crazy ex-con

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There was a time in this city when everyone knew the name – and not just those who drank his family’s famous beer.

He raced in the Indianapolis 500, got into fistfights with cops, flew a Wright brothers biplane, and joined Pancho Villa’s rebellion in Mexico. He was a rogue, a draft dodger and a fugitive.

And 50 years ago yesterday, he died a madman.

Grover Cleveland Bergdoll, heir to one of the city’s greatest beer empires, never worked in a brewery. But the so-called Playboy of the Eastern Seaboard was surely the most notorious character in Philadelphia’s long, sudsy beer history.

His grandfather Louis J. Bergdoll launched the beer empire in 1849 with a small brewery at Fifth and Vine Streets. Within 10 years, the German immigrant moved his brewery to the other side of town, where it became one of the great anchors of Brewerytown. His Protiwiner Export and Philadelphia Lager Beer were world-renowned.

Louis Bergdoll lived like a king, building mansions in the city and suburbs. One of his estates featured a roller coaster. His giant, domed mausoleum is among the most magnificent at West Laurel Hill Cemetery.

Grover Cleveland Bergdoll never knew his grandfather; his father was a vague memory at best. Both were dead before the boy reached age 3.

Raised by his mother, Emma, in a mansion at 22nd and Green Streets, Grover was a classic third-generation scion – a hell-raiser with no interest in the family business, but plenty of money to burn.

By the time he was a teenager, Bergdoll was already well-known around the city and suburbs for racing fast cars made by his older brother’s Louis J. Bergdoll Motor Co. In one incident, a police officer tried to stop him for reckless driving in Ardmore only to find himself clinging to the running board as the privileged boy sped home.

For his youthful indiscretions, Bergdoll typically got off with a slap on the wrist and a meager fine.

His need for speed had no bounds. In 1912, he traveled to Dayton, where the Wright brothers taught him to fly and sold him a biplane. He built an airfield along West Chester Pike, where the Manoa Shopping Center now stands, and wowed thousands of spectators with his stunts.

On his first flight over Philadelphia, according to an often-told story, Bergdoll circled three times around Billy Penn’s hat above City Hall, then back across the Schuylkill.

In the next years, there were more arrests for reckless driving. Bergdoll went on to fly with Pancho Villa’s nascent air force during the Mexican border war, fighting against Pershing’s American force.

Later, he competed in the Indianapolis 500 against Eddie Rickenbacker, the American fighter ace of World War I.

It was during that war that Bergdoll achieved his notoriety as a “slacker,” a label then used for draft dodgers.

Refusing to fight against Germany, he fled the city in 1917, taunting authorities with postcards from his various hideouts, according to the Historical Society of Pennsylvania. His disappearance made national headlines. When he was finally tracked down in 1920, he was court-martialed and sentenced to five years in prison for desertion.

In an incredible chain of events, however, Bergdoll escaped once again, persuading his captors to accompany him to the secret location of a “pot of gold” he’d buried in the mountains of West Virginia. Along the way, they spent the night at his mother’s mansion.

The next morning, Bergdoll climbed through a window and sped off in a waiting car, eventually making his way to Germany.

The escape made headlines around the world, and though a congressional committee investigated allegations that the guards had been paid off, no one was charged.

President Warren G. Harding ordered the seizure of the family’s assets. During Prohibition, the Bergdoll brewery closed and finally died.

Bergdoll married a German woman and, over the years, faced down kidnap attempts by bounty hunters seeking to drag him home. He finally returned on his own in 1939 and spent World War II at hard labor in Leavenworth federal penitentiary.

His life after his release from prison was relatively quiet. He lived for years at his farm in Downingtown. He moved to Virginia. He divorced his wife.

With age, he slowly withered into dementia, living his final years in a psychiatric hospital. On Jan. 27, 1966, he succumbed to pneumonia at 72. He was buried in a modest grave.

The Bergdoll name is a just memory in Philadelphia, but remnants of the beer empire remain. The mansion on the northwest corner of 22nd and Green still stands. Part of the Bergdoll plant, at 29th and Parrish Streets, is now the Brewery Condominiums.

And the Wright brothers’ Model B biplane – the one Bergdoll flew around Billy Penn’s hat – hangs from a ceiling at the Franklin Institute.

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Born in a barroom

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A lot of bad decisions are made in bars. Dancing with your pants on your head . . . Bingeing on a second cheesesteak . . . Drunk dialing . . . Sex with your ex . . .

But, c’mon, let’s give barrooms their due, for without them there’d be no libraries, no credit cards and no NASCAR.

Here are 10 great things that were born in bars.

1. The United States Marine Corps

Jarheads, who have been known to pound a few beers, take special pride that their beloved USMC was founded at Tun Tavern near Philadelphia’s waterfront on Nov. 10, 1775.

The Colonial inn had already served as host of various meetings and organizations around town when the Second Continental Congress tapped its manager to recruit marines. The tavern, which stood where I-95 now runs through the city, is long gone, but you can find a historical marker on Front Street near Sansom Walk.

2. “The Gift of the Magi”

The classic 1905 short story tells the beautifully sad tale of two struggling newlyweds who sacrifice their most cherished belongings to buy Christmas gifts for each other. O’Henry is said to have written it in a booth at his local pub, Pete’s Tavern on East 18th Street in the Gramercy Park section of New York.

Historians say there is little evidence to support that story, but I have no doubt he wrote the tale over beers. His real name, after all, was William Sydney Porter.

3. The gay rights movement in America

According to author June Thomas in The Gay Bar: Its Riotous Past and Uncertain Future, “gay liberation is the only civil rights movement that began in a bar.” That’s mainly because gay bars were not only “a refuge” in the 1950s and ’60s, they were also where people learned the ethics and tradition of gay culture.

The Black Cat in Los Angeles, Dixie’s in New Orleans and, most famously, New York’s Stonewall Inn, among others, are widely regarded as the birthplace of gay rights.

4. The city of Raleigh, N.C.

In the 1780s, a tavern built by Colonial landowner Joel Lane served as the first meeting place of North Carolina’s burgeoning general assembly. It was in this tavern that the legislature authorized the purchase of 1,000 acres of Lane’s land to establish the city of Raleigh as the new capital of North Carolina.

Today, the building has been restored as a historic home and museum and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

5. America’s first lending library

Before smartphones and Wikipedia, a must in any decent bar was a stack of books to settle arguments. In early 18th-century Philadelphia, however, most books were privately held – a problem that confounded members of Benjamin Franklin’s high-minded Junto discussion group as they sought definitive answers to their academic queries.

The group, meeting at the city’s Indian Head Tavern on Market (formerly High) Street, solved the problem by pooling their money to buy books, which they then lent to subscribers. Their original Library Company of Philadelphia still exists – not in a bar, but in its own building at 1314 Locust St.

6. NASCAR

Stock car racing got its start with Prohibition bootleggers trying to outrun the law in automobiles that were modified to go faster than police cars.

So it’s not surprising to learn that the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing was founded in a bar – the rooftop Ebony Club at the Streamline Hotel in Daytona Beach, Fla. That’s where drivers and others met in 1947 to organize the sanctioning body, jotting down its first rules on cocktail napkins.

7. Credit card numbers

Pull out your credit card and look at the raised, square-ish numbers. That typeface is called Farrington B, and it’s one of the most familiar icons of our computer era. It was designed to be easily recognized by optical card readers in the days before credit cards came with magnetic strips or embedded chips.

David H. Shepard created the typeface in the 1950s, jotting down numbers on a cocktail napkin at New York’s Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.

8. Buffalo wings

The ubiquitous treat was invented with loose chicken parts at the Anchor Bar in Buffalo, N.Y., in 1964.

9. Martin Van Buren

The 21st president was born in his father’s tavern in Kinderhook, N.Y., in 1782.

10. Shark Week

The kitschy annual Discovery Channel series was the product of barroom brainstorming by a crew of TV executives in the 1980s.

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A mad monk’s brew devotion

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You know Woody Chandler, or at least you do if you’ve ever gone to a beer festival around these parts. He’s the character with the Rasputin beard wearing a monk’s robe and a beer-mug hat.

Oh, right – we’re talking beer freaks, so maybe that doesn’t completely narrow it down. I’m talking about the dude who just posted his 7,000th unique check-in on Untappd, the popular social networking app for beer-lovers.

That means he’s tasted 7,000 different beers since 2011 – 2,000 of them in the last 12 months alone, a pace of more than five new beers every day.

No, that’s not the top of the leaderboard; there’s one guy with more than 24,000, though skeptical observers wonder how he could have actually tasted ’em all so quickly and in so many places around the world, given the constraints of the space-time continuum.

Indeed, Chandler acknowledged he’s been accused of cheating.

“There are detractors out there, one guy especially, saying I couldn’t have had them all,” Chandler said. “Other people stepped up to defend me, but now I add a picture whenever I check in . . . shut this guy up. “

It’s beyond me why anyone would doubt the man. Chandler, 50, has been a familiar, cheerful denizen of the East Coast beer scene since the 1990s, riding Amtrak from his home in Lancaster to Philly, Washington, New York, wherever. He pops up at festivals and dinners, and pokes in and out of bars, always clutching a cold one.

He poses for more photos with admirers than Kim Kardashian.

Seven thousand beers is a lot of suds, and Chandler is not one for counting one-ounce sips to inflate his number. We’re talking full beers or at least samplers, savored and then followed with a quick bit of fuzzy wordplay.

Of Great South Bay Sleigh Ryed winter ale, he wrote, “I got slayed by a Sleigh Ryed. “

Of Pizza Boy Arck Angel quadruple IPA: “Arck, the herald Angel sang! “

Of 4 Hands Absence of Light peanut butter chocolate milk stout: “My 4 hands suffer from an absence of employment.

Though the temporary lack of a job may explain his milestone, Chandler is by no means a slacker. He holds a master’s degree in arts and teaching from the University of Pittsburgh and spent more than a decade as an English teacher at Lancaster’s J.P. McCaskey High School (his alma mater) until he retired two years ago.

In 2013, he ticked off his local newspaper by running an offbeat write-in campaign for mayor of Lancaster. Among other things, his platform called for the establishment and taxation of a mobile brothel to cut the city’s budget deficit.

The Lancaster New Era called him “wacky” and slammed him for “his far out political views [that] make us wonder about their impact on his students . . . “

Chandler responded with campaign buttons that said, “Put a Woody in Lancaster. “

That irreverence is what makes him so endearing in beer circles.

For example, there’s his penchant for wearing a full-blown sailor’s uniform to beer festivals down at the old Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. He’s not goofing on the armed forces; turns out, it’s the same one he wore while serving 15 years in the U.S. Navy.

That’s where he got bit by the beer bug.

A night in port in Barcelona in 1985 led him to a punk rock club with a bunch of mates. He ordered a beer and the bartender pulled out a massive corked bottle.

“No, beer, not wine,” Chandler said.

“Si, cerveza! “

Turned out it was a pricy bottle of Chimay Premièr Red, the Belgian Trappist ale.

“It was delicious. I thought, ‘If this is beer, what is that stuff we’ve been drinking back in the States? ‘ “

He’s been tracking down great brews ever since, with thousands now following his exploits on Untappd and Facebook.

“What I like about [social media] is that it helps me keep track of everything I drink,” Chandler said. “Plus, it promotes drinking socially. You add a location, people know you’re out and about, and you end up meeting a lot of people. “

I’m not so sure he needs a smartphone app for that. If you drink beer in these parts, you already know Woody.

Here’s more about the man in the monk’s robe:

Top-rated beer on Untappd: Triumph Brewing Chill Amber (5 stars).

Lowest-rated: James Page Casper White Stout ( 1/4 star).

Most-often checked-in: Old Style (32 times, to earn special badges for drinking in Chicago).

Number of badges he’s collected: 1,324, including “Epic” for 5,000 distinct beers. Still ahead: “Uber,” for 10,000.

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