Posts ByJeremy Fuerst – PorchDrinking.com
It is paradoxical that a long and happy life means you get to watch your parents age and die. It should be said that death is—hopefully—still years off for my parents, but it now lingers under every conversation like a guest who has long worn out their welcome. February brought for me an unplanned and unscheduled trip to my home state of Nebraska to look after my ailing parents. In a strange coincidence, all of this took place during the church season liturgical Christians observe called Lent, during which, among other things, we embrace the reality of our own mortality.
Countless others before me have had to navigate the vast, barren seascapes of the wintry Midwest in order to be delivered the gut-punch of their parents’ transience. But when it comes to commiseration in a glass, what is a craft beer lover to do? Thanks to the craft beer explosion, even in the more sparse stretches of America’s breadbasket, one is rarely more than 30 minutes away from solid craft beer. Enter Zipline Brewing Company’s Copper Alt.
Ballard, Seattle: home of canal locks, Golden Gardens, farmer’s markets, overpriced housing, beards, sandwich boards, and, oh yeah – a gaggle of breweries. But if you want to brew in Ballard, you gotta be handy with the hops, if you know what I mean. Earn your keep.
Like any story worth sharing, it started with a night of drinking wine with his grandparents. The moment of clarity slapped Dick Mergens out of sleep at 3AM, and he saw it immediately through a boozy haze: “I should open a brewery.” The 23-year-old Lowe’s employee crawled out of his grandparents’ basement the following morning and shared his vision with his coworker Dylan. Soon enough, two other longtime friends were on board. It was only a matter of time before I walked into their brewery to taste Molten Peaches.
Confession: New Year’s is my favorite holiday of all the holidays. I have long been drawn to the celebration of turning the page, leaving the previous year behind and the anticipation of new beginnings. (I would be lying if I denied that my love of the holiday has nothing to do with the excess.)
Several years ago, a good friend of ours in Wisconsin invited us to an epic New Year’s Eve party. Starting at 8:00 in the morning, every hour featured a traditional food or drink from a country within that time zone.