Tobin's Tummy Pleaser

Beer is a favorite topic around our house. We still enjoy wine on occasion, but our tastes seem to have come full circle in recent months. To fully appreciate how we arrived at this renewed love affair with beer, a little history is in order.

I had the good fortune of landing in Ft. Collins, Colo., in 1989. At the time, the town was in the very early stages of a boom that would truly come alive in the '90s, bringing with it all the joys and pains of a city on the move. Two interesting things happened along the way, and to this day I haven't a clue as to why these events took place in Ft. Collins. Even stranger is the third phenomenon, which I'll mention at the end.

1. Ft. Collins was, for a time, the epicenter of disc golf (aka frisbee golf). As a college student, cheap entertainment and low-impact exercise were a welcome combo. High-end competitions were held in the city, and the sport had become quite prominent. I'm not clear on how it's doing these days, but what I do know is an old college acquaintance is responsible for essentially killing it in the early '90s. As the student body president at CSU, she saw to it that the on-campus course was eliminated. Seems she had a special place in hell reserved for disc golf players and the destruction they left in their wake. A big bummer, but such is life.
2. Perhaps more interesting is Ft. Collins' previous reign as the Kings of the Microbrew. Yes, for some years, Ft. Fun had more microbreweries per capita than any other destination in the United States. Breweries like New Belgium, Odell and H.C. Berger were among this pantheon, and needless to say, life was great.

So, here I was, a young punk just barely legal to drink, and I had a liquid goldmine right under my nose. Yes, it was a blessing to be there when Fat Tire first hit the scene. More memorable than my first sip of this once-sweet nectar was the brew that changed my life. I was having a little post-newsroom meal with my sports writer buddies (I, myself, was an entertainment reporter at the time) at a local sandwich joint called The Pickle Barrel. While in line, I heard the late, great Doug Noble order an Odell's 90 Shilling. I thought to myself, "What in the hell is my buddy Doug doing ordering some non-alcoholic crap!?!?" Of course, I was naive and at that moment a tad dim. Odouls is Odouls, but Odell? Well that's just something completely different.

Doug was quick to point out my folly, but was just as quick to offer me a taste of something that would forever change my life. Yes, 90 Shilling was my first ... and you know what they say about your first. It was the sweetest, and it remains my favorite.

So, here I was, spoiled and delirious over years of incredible beers. And when college was over, it was back to California for two years, where I met my wife and some incredible friends, and became a willing Fat Tire evangelist. Keep in mind, this was 1995-1997, which was a few years before New Belgium was selling in Cali. So, needless to say, I was the ad hoc distributor, taking cases back every time I returned from a quick visit to Colorado.

It was around this time that my wife (girlfriend at the time) found herself drinking and (gasp!) enjoying beer. Yes, Fat Tire changed her life, as 90 Shilling had changed mine. And before we knew it, we were going nuts over microbrews together. This was not unheard of by now, as the microbrew craze was in full swing.

To make a longish story not quite as endless, the upshot is my wife and I eventually grew tired of the heavy beers. Drink enough of these, and suddenly a crisp, simple Coors Light or Corona is a welcome libation. So we took a break from the heartier quaffs and began to take an interest in wine (as most adults do the older they get).

But here's where we get to the part about coming full circle. What wine taught us was how to sip, taste and appreciate a drink. This new-found appreciation coincided with an interesting trend in the microbrew industry. The specialty brew craze ended, and as a result, some brewers (craft and micro alike) returned to the basic principle of making tasty beers. They no longer had to concern themselves with attempting to establish a marriage between quality beers and broader commercial appeal. They were free to challenge the customer, push them to step outside their comfort zone, and in effect put forth some unique twists on traditional European recipes. As if by a divine force, the specialty beer industry and our tastes found each other again ... reunited at last.

I credit a little-known Boulder outfit for our personal turnaround -- Avery. These guys have really shown me something, and my beer tastebuds have come alive again thanks to Avery's unyielding quality. Few folks (even in Colorado) know of Avery, despite the fact that the brewery recently celebrated its 12th anniversary. To be clear, those who know good beer, know Avery. It's a small brewery with big beers, with 'big' being an enormous understatement. In my mind, Avery doesn't get nearly enough credit for what it's doing, and I'll happily sing its praises as Colorado's new king of beer.

Sure, New Belgium still puts forth some intriguing beers, but they are in a different league these days, so they aren't as free to challenge consumers in the same way that Avery is. In fact, the only real opportunity fans have to taste the experimental New Belgium drafts is to visit the brewery in Ft. Collins. I have no problem making the trip, as it's a great place and well worth the 70-mile drive. But I can't get up there more than a couple of times a year.

Interestingly, the Denver Post this week reported on declining beers sales. The big boys are saying all the right things, but the truth of the matter is these companies will never be able to deliver anything other than commodity beverages. The more mass-market you are, the less appealing your product; I wouldn't go so far as to say this is the case for all products, but it's certainly true with beer. I (and countless others) noticed the drop in quality once Fat Tire was produced at a much higher volume.

I could care less what the sales numbers say; I will forever be grateful for Avery's existence, as it has clearly demonstrated that great beer is still possible. My wife and I look forward to Friday nights, which is nothing new, but these days it's special because it's Avery night. We keep a stocked fridge on hand, always ready to pop open a Maharaja IPA, the world's best IPA, but a seasonal, so we get our fill while we can; The Reverend Quadrupel Ale, which if you like New Belgium's Trippel, is as good a brew as you'll find; or the Hog Heaven barleywine, a dry-hopped masterpiece so good that one of Avery's employees has the label graphic tattooed on his arm.



Which leads us to the third and final Ft. Collins phenomenon -- the Blasting Room. How seminal West Coast punk gods The Descendents/All and Black Flag found Ft. Fun is uncanny enough. How these guys turned this former cow town into a modern punk recording Mecca is just beyond belief. But it's true, and the hardcores of Colorado forever thank the boys for giving us some street cred.