Why the 2 1/2 hour drive to Duluth is worth it

For some, 2 ½ hours in the car is nothing. For others, who already live in a beer rich area, taking precious time (precious drinking time) to drive elsewhere might seem an unlikely choice.

For the past couple of years we’ve used our one weekend per year pass to Duluth to attend the Gitchee Gumee beer fest (and yes, that is technically in Superior). This year we decided to skip what has become more of a college fest than it was in the past and instead use our pass over the July 4th holiday weekend.

To keep your attention and provide a handy dandy list of not-to-miss places should you find yourself there, off we go.
Fitger’s: They never fail to deliver tasty beer and on this trip we got hoppy with 20/20 IPA and Trampled by Hops.

Sir Benedict’s Tavern: They don’t make their own but offer such delights as Surly, Bell’s and Lake Superior with a great patio offering a lake view. Oh, and yummer sammiches.





Northern Waters Smokehaus: No beer but smoked meats and fish, sammiches and a great selection of cheeses and olives.





Hell’s Kitchen: You can get beer, but food is the star, especially a breakfast of Mahnomin Porridge.


Seven Bridges Road: You’ll have to bring your own refreshments to this park but once you find a place to take a load off maybe you, too, will be lucky enough to have picked up provisions at the Smokehaus and have great friends who have brought along such things as Eel River Raven’s Eye, Rare Vos, a couple of Belgians and the weasel poo beer, Mikkeller.
Should time permit, Superior is just a short cab ride away. Check out the Anchor Bar for a brew and a burger. The really hungry will appreciate their Gallybuster, a 1 lb triple decker burger for $5.50. For the brewpub minded, Thirsty Pagan serves up a number of brews along with ‘za, the steak and blue cheese being a winning choice.

To complete the trip round up, two awards:
The award for “Skip it unless you enjoy indifferent-bordering-on-rude service with so-so food” goes to At Sara’s Table.
And the award for “Well, if you’re there and got time to kill, why not?” goes to the Lester River train ride. It's a fairly relaxing way to spend a couple of non-drinking hours, assuming you're lucky enough to get on a car that is rug rat free.

If your weekend was half as fun as ours, chalk that up to the good.

Good Day for Beer - Bad Day for my Nipples

Yesterday's Brewers Bazaar was...well, interesting. It wasn't your typical beer tasting kind of event in that we didn't see very many familiar faces and the crowd was mostly a non-craft beer kind of crowd with pockets of beer folks. It was fun, nonetheless. And the breweries and brewpubs were well represented. Kris and I had previously had opportunities to meet and chat with Jeff Williamson of Flat Earth and Bob DuVernois of Great Waters, but yesterday we got to meet and spend some time chatting with Dave Berg of August Schell, a couple of the guys from the new Lift Bridge brewery in Stillwater, and Trevor Brau of Brau Brothers. Hell, even Mark Stutrud, founder of Summit, was there serving beer and chatting up the attendees. The guys from Fitger's (Brian and Bob, I think) were familiar faces and I think they work at the brewery, but I didn't ask in what capacity. I will, yet again, re-declare that most of the folks that I meet at these beer events, including the brewers and their reps are damn nice folks.

Now, let's talk about my nipples. I know you want to. When we were in Portland several weeks ago, I'd picked up a cool Rogue shirt (kind of a Hawaiian shirt). I washed it before wearing it, but didn't wear a shirt underneath it. The material was a bit rough and I'll be damned if it didn't start wearing my nipples raw. God that hurts. So, early on I was forced with a bit of a Sophie's Choice. I could soldier on with my beer drinking, leaving my nipples to the ravages of Satan's threads or I could swallow my pride and find some bandaids or tape to protect my nipples. Turns out I don't really have any pride to salvage, so I begged for some tape from the fest workers. At the end of the day, I decided I'd rather go through the excruciating pain of ripping packing tape off my sensitive and hairy nipples versus the excruciating pain of tearing my dried-blood soaked shirt away from the ragged stumps of what were once my nipples.