Man Voyage V: Ontario & Midwestern US
October 19, 2018 § Leave a comment
August marked year five of Man Voyage, my annual male bonding trip & tour with my best pal and Echo & Sway comrade Jared A. Conti. The MV intro has been done to death and I’ve nothing new to add so you can read the full mission statement here if you’re so inclined (the gist: we drive, talk, eat & drink). With the shit show that is our current political climate, we decided to get the hell out of Trump country for a few days and hightail it to Ontario where, if our previous visits have been any indication, we’d be in for a refreshing and much more tolerant change of pace. We struck gold.
Man Voyage rule #2 requires a heavier use of back roads over major highways, and we started our day with a beautiful drive up through rural Pennsylvania and New York, twisting & turning our way through glorious stretches of landscape that would make Ansel Adams blush. Interspersed with melancholic little ghost towns and the eccentric characters who occupy them, it’s poetry in motion: one minute you’re coasting by endless fields of sunflowers, the next you’re admiring a woman walking her dog in nothing but her underwear and a thick winter coat before entering a sleepy tourist town full of chalets, anxious for the ski season to start. The highways are faster but not even half as interesting.
We met our friend, alt-rocker James Martin at Big Ditch Brewing in Buffalo for a quick lunch before crossing the border. It’s a relatively new brewpub, and looks to be a cornerstone for a neighborhood in resurgence. You can see a ton of potential in the empty warehouses lining the surrounding blocks. We lucked into street parking half a block away and immediately spied the brewery’s garage-style doors that opened into a sidewalk patio; we liked the place already. Service was a tad slow for a Thursday afternoon but we probably wouldn’t have even noticed if we weren’t worried about a potential holdup at the border.
I always appreciate a brewpub that offers a smaller size option, for times like these when I wanted to try a few different beers but didn’t want to commit to a whole sampler in case again, potential border holdup. We shared a handful of 5oz pours including some signatures (Hayburner IPA, Excavator rye brown) and seasonals (Squeezer dry-hopped sour kolsch, FC session wheat IPA and Cinnamon Apple amber) with not a bad one in the bunch, and the FC was exceptional. I kept it light with a turkey club while Jared went whole hog with a bacon wrapped meatloaf, which I was grateful for – it gave me an opportunity to mooch a bit. Don’t feel too bad for him; James offered up half of his pastrami sandwich as a parting gift so he made out just fine. Swell guy, Mr. Martin. His material has a distinct 90’s feel so it’s not for everyone but if you’re into bands like The Cult, STP and Bowie’s Nine Inch Nails collaboration phase, James Martin might just tickle your ears.
Crossing the border is always unpredictable but we needn’t have worried: we zipped through in about two minutes. We even got an agent with a sense of humor, ribbing us for going to London (“Listen fellas, I’m not saying there’s nothing there, but basically there’s nothing there”). We resisted the signs for breweries, wineries and distilleries that lined Queen Elizabeth Way and stayed the course all the way to our Airbnb just three blocks from downtown London. It was a flawless first Airbnb experience for both of us. We rented a two-story carriage house with a full bathroom, kitchen and complete privacy. Jared took the loft bedroom upstairs (complete with an outdoor deck) and I crashed on the sectional couch downstairs that was so comfortable it may as well have been a bed. Our host knocked once to tell us we could pull our car up a bit more into the driveway but aside from that it was like we had the run of the place.
En route to the first of our two gigs that evening we stopped to get re-energized at Locomotive Espresso, just up the block from our Airbnb. Truly the heart & soul of any local community, it’s amazing how these independent coffee shops all have their own quirks and special touches, yet offer the same sense of familiar comfort from town to town. Locomotive is no different with its worn-in wooden floors & fixtures, soft pendulum lights, small pastry & sandwich selection, engaging staff and welcoming vibe. Their special touch? An old locomotive hauling bags of coffee beans on a looped track suspended from the ceiling. We’re suckers for a commitment to a theme and the only thing we would’ve liked more was if the train had been running. The barista offered us a choice of two different espresso roasts for our double shots and Jared got a coffee as well. Everything was dark, strong & delightful. We had a gig to get to but two minute walk + the promise of fresh donuts = we’d be back in the morning.
We drove a few blocks south to Grooves Records for a short promotional set in anticipation of gig #2 later in the evening. Like the neighborhood cafe, local record stores always seem to offer a glimpse into the local flavor despite not being terribly different from one another. My younger self was way into the dingy atmosphere of a cluttered underground shop but the older my eyes get, the more they appreciate a bright, organized space like Grooves with the music on the sound system kept to a non-deafening level. They had a great selection of local & regional artists right up front and were spinning Canadian treasures the Tragically Hip periodically during our setup & shopping times. They offer performers a discount on all purchases and I’ll be forever kicking myself in the ass for not abusing that privilege to fill what little empty space we had left in our vehicle to the brim but hey, burgeoning adult here. I responsibly only purchased a few used soul albums and the newest Tom Waits ‘Blue Valentine’ reissue… goddamn, being an adult sucks sometimes.
The staff was friendly and helpful in having the PA set up for us ahead of time so all we had to do was plug in my guitar. The booker warned that a weekday afternoon spot in the summer before the university students came back would be a hard sell for an out-of-town band but if nothing else, we saw it as a chance to get loose and tune up for our evening gig after six hours in the car. It was sparsely attended to say the least, mostly by shoppers who paused to give a quick listen on their way out but we did earn one loyal observer toward the end. He plopped down on the floor directly in front of us and listened intently for the duration of the last song, with a look on his face excited & engaging enough to let us believe our art had truly spoken to this lost soul searching for meaning in this harrowing journey we call life, and that his salvation & solace would be found in the poetry of an Echo & Sway song… then we finished, and he spoke.
Boy, did he speak. It would be impossible to recount everything he said but for several minutes he rambled incessantly about our songs, my guitar, his guitar, Jared’s beard and current trends in facial hair, the fact that my hair is thinning but he liked my hat, other color hats he thinks would work for me, Jared’s shirt, something about chocolate chip cookies, whether or not I’ve ever heard of Johnny Cash, whether or not this store carries Johnny Cash because he’s “not real well known,” garbage and littering, and tattoos, which thankfully brought things to a climax as he declared tattoos OK for men, but not women. We were still trying to process the first thing he said when we heard a loud “WHAT THE FUCK?” from the back of the store. The girl who’d been cataloging stomped up as we were attempting to refute such an offensive remark, but then he made it worse: “Well, I guess they’re OK on women some places, just not on their public real estate.” I can’t even gesture or mime the way he did for maximum effect. She handled it like a champ by sternly growling at him “Is there anything I can help you find sir?” as if she wanted to embed a few records into his head, and we couldn’t blame her. He went on a brief search for albums by the unknown up-and-comer Johnny Cash but sensed the abrupt change in the atmosphere and quickly showed himself out. If there’s some mental illness issues there I hope he gets some help… if he’s just an asshole, I hope he gets hit by a bus. We chatted a bit about Canadian music & culture, she recommended a spot to get a few local beers and we were on our way.
Our continuous search for unique venues wherever we go wielded Taproot, a performance space above the Root Cellar gastropub in the Old East Village neighborhood, just a few blocks from our Airbnb. The venue was forthright from the beginning that their pay scheme wasn’t the most lucrative for touring bands, and we’d likely make bigger bucks elsewhere but they dug the album and offered us a gig, suggesting we secure some local support to help fill some seats. We reached out to folk collective Esther’s Family and in quite the happy accident, they were able to finish their debut EP in time for the gig to double as their album release show.
The space is beautiful. Newly restored wooden floors with matching bar & seating, brick walls and lamps made of repurposed bicycle parts make it feel fresh and weathered all at once. Farm-to-table fare from the Root Cellar and organic beers by the London Brewing Co-op round out the menu and would’ve ensured we took the gig even if we weren’t making any money at all. We ordered one of those trendy charcuterie boards with a slew of delicious meats & cheeses, veggies, breads, nuts and dips our simple palates couldn’t identify but enjoyed thoroughly nonetheless. There’s a larger selection of London Brewing beers downstairs but we were content alternating our way through the Norfolk Red IPA, London Lager and Tolpuddle Porter, careful to pair each properly with their food platter counterparts to emphasize the subtle flavor notes… ha, I’m kidding. We shoveled it in and poured beers on top of it all, finishing it faster than we ought to be proud of. What a damn fine dinner.
EF arranged a sound tech for the evening who had us plugged in and ready to folk ‘n roll in mintues. We eased our way through much of the album (have you heard it yet? Stream it here) before turning the evening over to the band of the hour. I love groups that can’t be simply defined by genre and while it’d be easy to shoehorn them into the folk category, there’s something about EF that gives ’em that little something different. Frontman Lliam Buckley commanded the room with the charismatic charm of a old timey minstral, and the quartet kept pace nicely with bass, keys, cello and drums. They were a bit scattered but still incredibly tight despite limited percussion as the drummer had lost his scuffle with a kitchen knife earlier that day. They filled the silences during tuning & adjustments with jokes and lighthearted stories, and had us fully engaged all the way through their show-stopping medley of MGMT’s “Electric Feel” with “Funky Town.” Their new EP ‘High Fantastical’ is a great mix of poetic lyrics and romantic melodies, and we can’t thank them enough for sharing the evening with us.
We’d passed up the earlier recommendation of Milo’s Craft Beer Emporium because we were uncharacteristically attempting to improve our time management skills before the gig, but the Grooves staff had spoken so highly of it we ventured over for a nite cap and a late bite. In a decent sized town with a university and a college, Milo’s feels like a more of a locals place: many of the patrons looked closer to our age, scattered throughout booths & smaller tables in the main dining room but seemed to be mingling with one another. The vibe was friendly & fun. When we told our waiter the Grooves staff had recommended the place we briefly chatted about records which led to him asking what we’d purchased, and just as we began to peruse the menus we heard ‘Blue Valentine’ begin to play over the sound system… he may have just been negotiating a big tip but shit, he was going to get one. We ordered up a few lighter Ontario beers (a pilsner & a sour from breweries I wish I could remember) and some sort of boneless curried chicken from the late night snack menu we were in no way prepared to enjoy as much as we did. I can’t speak for anything else but this was far from standard pub fare, and if we’d been hungrier I would’ve ordered a few other things to try.
We retreated to our pool house for a fantastic nights’ sleep. Our host communicated quickly in the morning to coordinate a check out time, and within an hour of our leaving she’d left several kind remarks about us in a review on my profile. We’d love to return to London for another go-around with EF and I can’t imagine staying anywhere else. We nabbed our morning caffeine and some homemade donuts at Locomotive before heading west toward Sarnia to cross the border into Michigan.
Rt 402 might’ve saved us 20 minutes but we drifted a bit slower on the farm road alongside, enjoying some breathtaking views of dozens of wind turbines in the distance. We stopped at Refined Fool Brewing Company in Sarnia for lunch and hopefully a few to-go beers, as we hadn’t yet purchased anything to bring home. Refined Fool is a large industrial loft-style space, with nearly an entire wall open to outdoor seating and colorful murals throughout. The bartender welcomed us immediately, gave us the run down on beer tasting options and directed us across the room to order food from Burger Rebellion. She apologized several times for the multi-line food court setup, as their #1 complaint is people having to place two different orders but hell, there are burgers & beers in the end… the dumb shit people complain about. We were still waking up so the Uprising breakfast burger (fried egg, bacon, hash brown, ketchup & maple syrup) with two tasting flights (four 5oz beers) hit the spot.
We constructed our flights based primarily on the beer titles. We wanted a good mix of styles but of the four IPAs on, chose “And Then Bernice Flipped the Canasta Table” because well, an absurd amount of effort devoted to nonsensical titles is a hell of a lot more interesting than the IBU count… further proof that while we enjoy good beer, we could never be referred to as “snobs.” Much of the draft selection was available to go in bombers so we filled a few boxes and headed for the border. As always, Canada bats a thousand and if the winters weren’t so cold, I’d move here in a heartbeat.
The Blue Water Bridge crossing was only a slightly longer wait than the day before. Our agent didn’t have quite the sense of humor as his New York counterpart but let us through quickly and though I’d looked up a few potential beer stops along the way, we made a beeline for Ann Arbor to get settled and try as many of their five breweries as we could squeeze in. All the highway travel was necessary but damn was it getting old fast. We lucked into a parking spot right in front of our evening gig so we took a few minutes to scope things out; it’s one of the few we’ve booked over the years that required a signed agreement and though probably harmless, we wanted to make sure we weren’t getting in over our heads… turns out it’s just a nice space in a well preserved building and they want to keep it that way by weeding out the riffraff. We ventured off to celebrate our subsided fears by drinking beer.
My wife and I have long enjoyed bottles of assorted Belgian styles from Jolly Pumpkin Cafe & Brewery and with Jared’s ever expanding palate allowing him a new appreciation for sours, we hit there first. Grabbing two seats at the bar in the main room we immediately noticed the fulfillment of three requirements for every nice but ordinary brewpub in America: dark wood, dim lighting & classic rock (henceforth to be known as the brewpub three), though the chandeliers made of old kitchen utensils were a nice touch. The plain atmosphere was more than made up for by our charismatic bartender who, from the moment she handed us our beer menus, playfully ribbed Jared without abandon when he casually muttered to me that he wished the print were larger. Now I understand it’s a college town but she was way more amused by this than she ought to have been but even Jared loved every moment of her shameless laughing: “Larger print? How old even ARE you?!” She proceeded to giggle a bit each time she walked by as we sipped our Bam Biere and Oro de Calabaza, and injected the the experience with that little something extra we’re always looking for. We tipped her well and passed on the bottle selection since we didn’t see anything we can’t get at home. While any beer is better on draft we were hoping for a few brewpub exclusives but hey, can’t win ’em all.
We walked a few blocks to the Beer Grotto, hoping for some fresh pints from other regional breweries we wouldn’t have time to visit. Their website mission statement describes them as “meddlers and experimenters, beer geeks and craft cocktail purveyors, friendly faces with discerning palettes. We’ve been thrilled for some time to offer a great selection of craft beer from all over. But we have a larger mission these days: to be much more than just a cozy taproom to imbibe at. We’ve truly become obsessed with fostering an approachable environment that celebrates progressive ideas, friendship, and of course, tasty drinks of all kinds” … we found them to be slightly above grumpy, begrudgingly pouring beers whilst attempting to communicate as little as possible and avoid all eye contact, though that’s based on one quick visit and all we wanted was to drink beers outside so we didn’t really give a shit.
We ordered up a few IPAs by Michigan’s Eternity and Avron breweries at the cafeteria-style counter, were granted permission to take them outside before being immediately met by a sign on the patio that instructed all glassware must be handled by a server. We were confused and while I’m sure we could’ve crept to a table unnoticed we didn’t want to be disrespectful so we waited a few minutes for a highly trained purveyor of the serving arts to gracefully deliver our glass vessels of alcoholic nectar so as not to disturb the delicate balance of the established directives (READ: our awkward college-aged waiter spills 1/3 of my beer while clumsily dropping them on the table, barely apologizes and tells us if we want anything else we have to go back in because we’re outside of some designated patio area and table service isn’t offered). The beers were tasty and the ivy-covered brick walls are very pretty but the whole thing was more trouble than it was worth. Onward.
Jared went to browse comics at Vault of Midnight while I, with the hostess’ permission but still a vague aura of annoyance, grabbed an outdoor table at Grizzly Peak Brewing Company (am I missing something? Why doesn’t anyone want you to sit outside in this town?) I probably didn’t need a third microbrew within an hour but I had been cheated out of 1/3 of my previous beer after all. I’m loving the trendy beer of the moment; the New England style hazy IPA that everyone’s brewing these days and GP’s was exceptional. I ducked in to use the bathroom and sure enough the brewpub three were satisfied. Sometimes you can set your watch by this stuff.
I’d been looking forward to Frita Batidos from the moment I read about it on a Michigan food blog. Fast-casual Cuban inspired food & cocktails sounded like a can’t-lose situation. We ordered up two chorizo burgers topped with shoestring fries, sweet chili mayo, avocado spread, muenster cheese and egg (another trend sweeping the nation I’m more than happy to partake in at every opportunity) and some crisped plantains with cilantro-lime salsa to go, and ate on the back porch of our B&B. It was a gloriously delicious mess I would seriously consider having shipped to my house if anyone in Ann Arbor would be willing. Cuba’s been on my list for a long time and Frita Batidos helped move it up a bit, especially with new regulations that make visiting easier.
Speaking of our B&B, we checked in quickly so we could eat before our food got cold. The Cadgwith Too is located a few blocks from downtown, unassumingly on the corner of Third & Mosley. We tried the B&B thing a few years back in Sackets Harbor and found the lower price & inclusion of breakfast most appealing, if slightly awkward: I’m guessing many B&B owners are used to guests being older, able to swap stories about grandchildren, etc. The Sackets Harbor folks were sweet but didn’t have much to say to the tattooed troubadour and bearded poet. I was hesitant about this place only because I could find very little about it online – reviews, listings, praise and criticism were all scarce, as if it existed in name only. We took a chance because the price was right, and hoped it was just a case of the place being modestly old fashioned. We arranged the date promptly through email, sent a deposit check and couldn’t have been happier with the accommodations. Comfortable twin beds in a private room with shared bath (though to my knowledge we were the only guests), complete privacy, peace & quiet with a spacious back patio overlooking a park where we could slop down our Frita Batidos. If we’d had more time before the gig I would’ve taken a nap in the hammock.
When I emailed Crazy Wisdom Bookstore & Tea Room in February I was just looking to get a feel for the place and see if we’d be a good fit, so I was surprised when Michelle replied and said they were booked through 2018 and started into 2019. Damn, this must be a highly sought after gig – who books that far ahead? I started looking elsewhere until she contacted me again a week later, saying she’d listened to the album, thought we’d fit in well and had spoken to the local guy who had the date we were after – he was willing to move his show to fill a cancellation she had later in the year, and that freed up this evening for us. Class act, that one. Between the booking fiasco and aforementioned performance contract with more than a dozen caveats we were cautiously optimistic but needn’t have worried.
The tea room is a cozy, bright space on the second floor overlooking the main drag, and Michelle greeted us warmly upon arrival to get us set up and couldn’t have been more helpful or nice. We intentionally planned this stop before the fall arrival of MU students, as I imagine they’re every bit as fervent as our Penn State crowds in PA, which bode very well for our leisure time but not so much for the gig – Michelle had warned how thin the summer crowds could be, especially on nice nights and this one was damn near perfect. Still, while not packed to the rafters we had a few folks who stayed for the majority & chatted during the set break, and we sold a few CDs. Michelle offered to have us again anytime we’re willing to make the trip, which will give us a great excuse to go back for more Frita Batidos. Overall a superb time where our only real inconvenience was supplying our own PA. A gig as established as this one could probably benefit from having an in-house sound system but we had enough fun we’d lug ours back again.
The coffee was delicious but more beers were needed to quench our thirsts after a two hour set. Unfortunately we chose Arbor Brewing just around the corner and regretted it almost immediately when for the third time, our simple desire to sit outside and drink a few beers in the summer air came rife with unnecessary complications. For fuck’s sake, most of the restaurants in town offer outdoor seating, so why did it so often seem like they didn’t want us to sit there? I understand maybe they want to save the tables for diners, afraid they won’t make much on a check of just a few beers but it was late, peak dining hours had passed and three of the four tables outside were open. The hostess resentfully complied, and when we asked our waitress if anything less than a full pint was an option, she treated it as an imposition on par with asking for one of her kidneys. The kicker through all of it was the one IPA was actually really good, and we wanted to take some home. We’d seen a cooler just inside with six packs but that particular beer wasn’t in it, so we inquired about a growler: “I’m sorry but we don’t fill growlers with our higher alcohol beers.” We doubled checked the ABV on the menu, and it was a little over 8%. I’ve no idea what they found so offensive about two middle aged dudes who just wanted to sit quietly, drink beer and chat but it seemed they were actively working to get rid of us. Fuck this place.
Since Arbor made it clear they had no interest in feeding us, we followed the light a few blocks up the street toward a large TAPAS sign, calling out to us like a beacon: Eat! Share! Have a drink, outside on our patio without judgment! Aventura is a bit upscale and it wouldn’t surprise me if their clientele is comprised largely of well-to-do professors and UM staff with too much money to spend but it’s got an authentic European feel and friendly staff WHO DIDN’T FUCKING COMPLAIN WHEN WE ASKED TO SIT OUTSIDE. We practically had the patio to ourselves under the partial roof & string lights, and ordered up another cheese/cracker/jam/bread/vegetable menagerie, a few Spanish lagers and a glass of red wine, which our waitress brought in its own little carafe and poured into a glass at the table… again, the kind of elegant touch some stuffy conservative probably feels all self-important over but us salt of the earth types see as an extra dish that’s gonna need washed. Nevertheless, a perfect late night snack and excellent way to end the evening.
After a fantastic nights’ sleep we enjoyed a heap of scrambled eggs, bacon & toast courtesy of Jeff at the Cadgwith Too. He checked to make sure we didn’t need anything but gave us privacy and left us to check out at our leisure. We’d have preferred to forego one of the more uninteresting drives in the country across Ohio on I-80 but I was hoping to make it home in time to catch the last baseball game of the season with my family in State College, and there were a few easy beer stops just off the highway. Back in 2011 we stopped in Toledo en route to a wedding in South Dakota for lunch & beers at the Maumee Bay Brewpub, and our collective memories placed Toledo somewhere in the “filthy shithole” category. Searching for the Black Cloister Brewery though, we found the downtown to have a weary, welcoming charm with new murals adorning the sides of historic buildings still bearing old storefront signs.
We arrived just as they were opening the doors (sorry to have been those guys; we really do try to avoid it whenever we can) and were welcomed into a large Abbey-style hall with sweeping arches and minimalist decor. There was classic rock playing but the atmosphere easily evades the monotony of the brewpub 3 thanks to a few key touches in its large medieval style chandeliers and sprawling mural depicting historic war scenes interspersed with little pop culture blips like the Death Star. We ordered up a Helles Angel lager & Pale Rider IPA and couldn’t even sit to drink them; the building dates back to the late 1800’s, it’s got soul in every nook & cranny and we couldn’t help but wander. Tasty beers as well, this place is too cool. Sometimes beers before noon are the best beers, especially on a rainy morning.
*Side Note* A guy from Toledo wrote to call me an asshole when I referred to his city as a cesspool after our 2011 visit… dude, I divided my time growing up between a ghetto in central Baltimore and a rural PA farm town where the locals went apeshit and offered thousands of dollars in reward money to apprehend some hooligans who tipped over Santa’s hut in our town square…. no actual vandalism was done, they just tipped it over. I’ve still got a great deal of pride about both, yet I can’t help but laugh when someone makes a comment like “you grew up in Baltimore in the 80’s, how did you make it out alive?!” The point: it’s obviously hard to pass judgement based on these little pocket stops, and rest assured any insulting words are more comedic effect than serious slander.
I remember an old joke from the Drew Carey Show where he responded to someone’s insulting of Cleveland with “looks like somebody needs a trip to Youngstown for some perspective.” Like much of the rust belt, time hasn’t been kind to Youngstown. The burden is everywhere, in the burned out buildings, littered highways and lost, desperate looking souls wandering the side streets. It looks a lot like our town. There’s nothing like a visit to church to lift one’s spirits, however, and much like Church Brew Works in Pittsburgh, Noble Creature Cask House has taken the religion out of an old house of worship and replaced it with food & drink, something I find much easier to put my faith in (side note: Jared is quite devoted to his faith, and I’d never want anyone who finds their way to his blog from here to think otherwise… my heathen ways are my own). Noble Creature is much smaller and more intimate than CBW, with lots of light coming in the stained glass windows and some pew seating in addition to long high top tables and traditional bar at the head of the room where the altar would’ve been (fitting, yes?).
They had a good selection of eight or nine beer styles & a few sandwiches listed on a chalkboard and since we weren’t in Ann Arbor anymore, we were welcomed to sit outside where they gladly delivered our muffaletta & Cuban sandwiches each with a healthy handful of chips. The bartender even smiled while doing it! I’ll be damned. Food was simple but damn tasty, and the Bohemian Pilsener, IPA and saison were all flavorful & seasoned enough you’d never know they were a newer brewery. Posters advertised live original music, DJs spinning punk, ska & new wave and bring-your-own-vinyl nights. Do they have a scene here? Shit. We were hoping to chat with the bartender a bit about it but they were getting busy. They have a nice stage at Black Cloister too; looks like a few shows over a long weekend in Ohio is something we should look into.
That, my friends, is all she wrote. We did a three hour haul back to State College, where Jared dropped me off at Medlar Field at Lubrano park where I reunited with my family, we gorged ourselves on much sausage & beer and watched the State College Spikes lose the fourth home game we attended this season. Post-game fireworks over the stadium while “Born to Run” played over the loudspeaker… perfect end to a perfect weekend.
A few photos by Jared. More to come.
Top 10 Influential Albums
July 30, 2018 § Leave a comment
I recently participated in one of those viral Facebook chain list things where friends nominate each other to share fun information… not typically my M.O. but it was indeed a great way to break up the horrifying monotony of politics and dehumanizing hatred that dominates social media these days.
I was nominated to list the top 10 most influential albums in my life. I decided to compile them all together here with the informative ramblings I came up with, if for no other reason than it’s been too quiet around here the last year or so, with my energies focused more on three different album projects. I hope to return to steady posting in the near future. Enjoy!
—————————-
Day 1 of 10
The Ramones
S/T
The one that started it all, for them and for me. I wish I could remember the first time I heard the Ramones. I remember seeing a poster of them in the window of the House of Kashmir in downtown State College when I was about 13, and thinking it was one of the most badass things I’d ever seen. Four skinny dweebs in leather jackets hanging around the Bowery, looking like they couldn’t give a fuck about anything. Still the greatest rock & roll band of all time.
Day 2 of 10
‘Good Morning, Vietnam’
Soundtrack
The first LP aside from my Sesame Street record that my dad let me spin on my own. Also my introduction to soul and R&B, and Robin Williams. His dialogue woven in between songs was so unique, and unlike any other record we listened to. To this day it’s one of my favorite movies and Williams roles.
Day 3 of 10
Bruce Springsteen
‘Born to Run’
When I was about nine my dad and new step mom moved us to rural central PA for a fresh start, where they could simultaneously attend the local university while both working what seemed like two or three jobs apiece. We lived in a trailer, money was tight and luxuries were few & far between. For the better part of the first year though, my dad scraped enough cash together to rent a piano and spend the evenings serenading us with everything from the Beatles and the Rolling Stones to the Beach Boys, Sinatra and most importantly to me, the Springsteen songbook. He played the songs from this album to teach me about harmony & melody, and there were many nights my homework stayed buried in my room so I could keep singing with my old man. The title track is my all time favorite song, and the first tune on any road trip.
Day 4 of 10
Jane’s Addiction
‘Nothing’s Shocking’
Synonymous with that horribly awkward first year of junior high school when the world suddenly got a lot bigger, everyone was trying different things, falling into cliques and struggling to find their place. I’d successfully found a home with the grunge/stoner crowd and was digging much of the music until it was time to dabble in illicit substances and everyone else was listening to Pink Floyd while enjoying them, which I hated. The songs went on forever and made me sleepy; I was already high, how much more relaxed was I supposed to get, for fuck’s sake? ‘Nothing’s Shocking’ had plenty of mellow parts to veg out to but rocked enough to keep me awake. It was my ‘Dark Side of the Moon.’
Day 5 of 10
Tom Wais
‘Heartattack & Vine’
The man, the myth, the legend, and my greatest songwriting hero next to Springsteen. He performs so infrequently these days I’ve long said I’ll travel far as I need to at any time to see him. In 2013 it was announced he was headlining the annual Bridge School Benefit in Mountain View, CA with the worst possible timing, just days before my wife was due to give birth to our first child. I’d have never forgiven myself if I’d not made it home in time to witness the birth of our son so I wisely made the right decision and have never though otherwise. It did make choosing his middle name easier though, and shortly after the show we welcomed Enzo Waits into the world. From the day we brought him home I sang “On the Nickel” as my lullaby of choice, which is why I chose this album – it could have been any of his records. His greatness is unparalleled.
Day 6 of 10
The Hold Steady
‘Boys & Girls in America’
The first band my wife and I got into together. I used to run into a friend over holidays at the bar and we’d chat music, catching each other up on the latest we were listening to. He raved about this band and I streamed a song or two from previous albums; they were decent but nothing that overly grabbed me. A few months later this album came out and I read a review that described them as “Thin Lizzy & the E Street Band with a literary giant at the lyrical helm.” I gave them another chance, we picked this up and played it almost exclusively over the next year. They’re easily our favorite band from the past decade. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve seen them but it’s somewhere in the double digits, and they’re still the greatest live rock & roll band on the planet. ‘Separation Sunday’ is their most heralded but this will always be my favorite simply because it was my introduction to them.
Day 7 of 10
John Coltrane
‘Blue Train’
‘A Love Supreme’ is widely regarded as his best work but I’ll always have a soft spot for this one. It’s the album that introduced me to jazz; I never would have discovered Parker, Monk, Davis, etc without it. Jazz was always on in our house but it sounded weird and jumbled to me as a kid. Somewhere along the line something clicked and I fell in love with how free and uninhibited it was, which was odd because I hated jam bands (still do… if I’m ever a prisoner of war I’ll give up any information after 10 minutes at a moe. concert). You could hear it transcending boundaries and going anywhere it damn well pleased. This one has become a fixture during Saturday morning breakfasts while my son and I make a mess of the kitchen, cooking French toast & eggs.
Day 8 of 10
The Vibrators
‘Pure Mania’
One of the first English punk bands I fell in love with. My wife and I were settling in with some friends after a long night out celebrating someone’s 21st birthday, on what must’ve been our third or fourth date. After she fell asleep, we were thumbing through her CD case and somewhere between all of the shitty later era Radiohead was ‘Pure Mania.’ I drunkenly professed to everyone that I would marry her one day, a hasty statement considering I’d long considered marriage & I to be unfit for one another. 14 years later, this record sounds better every time I listen to it.
Day 9 of 10
Violent Femmes
S/T
When I was 13 I asked my parents for a guitar for Christmas, though I didn’t actually have much interest in learning to play it. I just wanted to pose with it in front of my bedroom mirror and tell girls I had one. When they bought me an acoustic instead of an electric, I had even less interest – it was too big & bulky, it hurt my fingers and I didn’t look like a rock star, I just looked like a skinny dweeb with an acoustic guitar. The Ramones didn’t play acoustic guitars; how the hell am I supposed to pretend to rock out on this thing?
A year or so later, I picked this up at our local record store. The singer’s voice was pretty bad though in a way that still made you want to listen to it, but what really grabbed me was the guitar playing – it was all acoustic, and so simple it convinced me I could do it too. “Blister in the Sun” was the first song I taught myself to play, then the rest followed. For 20+ years I’ve based my songwriting and playing on the blueprint this album lays out. You don’t have to be a virtuoso to make decent music… you just have to pick up a guitar.
Day 10 of 10
The Clash
‘London Calling’
My family vacationed in Ocean City MD every summer. I was about 13 when I wandered off the boardwalk into a skate shop called Chat Street, and it was instantly the coolest place I’d ever been. I was perusing decks and t-shirts when a song came over the deafening sound system. I timidly asked the stoned counter guy what it was, he led me to the CD racks and pulled out the only Clash album they had – ‘Super Black Market Clash.’ He said the song playing in the shop wasn’t on this album (it turned out to be “Train in Vain”) but that I should really buy the band’s whole catalog anyway: “They’ll change your life, man.”
Dude wasn’t kidding. I wore out ‘Super Black Market Clash’ in no time and found out it was mostly a rarities collection: if these were the songs they left off of the albums, how good must the actual albums be? I bought ‘London Calling’ next because I really wanted to hear that song from the skate shop again. The album blew my mind. It still does; they call it a classic for a reason. Of all the musical heroes I’ve lost, Joe Strummer hit me the hardest. The way I found this album, this band, this genre, this subculture means so much to who I am I have a “Chat Street Wrecking Crew” tattoo on my arm, based on a piece of tattoo flash they used for their logo. I wish I could’ve shown it to that stoned counter dude and told him how much the whole experience meant to me. Changed my life indeed.
Otto’s Pub & Brewery: a Quintessential Central PA Brewpub
October 11, 2016 § Leave a comment

Photo pirated from elsewhere on the internet
It’s hard to believe it’s been over five years since I wrote a scathing review on Beer Advocate of the newly relocated Otto’s Pub & Brewery, just up the road from their former Atherton Street location on the outskirts of State College. They’d just moved into the much larger Quaker Steak & Lube building, solving many of their problems (namely their parking issues) but abandoning the charm and quaintness of the smaller brewpub my wife and I had come to love over the years. I’m not typically averse to change and am more than happy for their success but the bigger, louder restaurant overloaded with big screen TVs and cocktails with names like Screaming Orgasm all read like just another sports bar rather than a unique independent.
Fast-forward to the present and we visit more often than ever. It started as a quick and easy dinner option after our weekly grocery run to the nearby Wegman’s and Trader Joe’s plaza – after all, their beer was still top notch, if often limited to their flagships and single guest tap, presumably due to brewing constrictions caused by the big move. The menu was also a fraction of what it had been but again, we assumed it would expand as they became more settled into the new digs. Over time though, we realized we were visiting so often because we wanted to, not just for the convenient location.
It’s still got TVs everywhere and they’re often broadcasting sports I have no desire to watch while I eat but we’ve accepted we’re in the minority where that’s concerned (especially in State College where, as I’ve indicated elsewhere on this blog, they’re fanatical about football and prone to rioting over it… it’s likely a crime to not have TVs in your establishment to show PSU games). But it’s also got enough going for it that the pros far outweigh the cons:
- The beer is consistently great. Their flagship brews are standouts, and make the most of everyday styles to please casual drinkers and aficionados alike. We’re not huge red ale fans but their Red Mo is a fantastic anytime drinker, and the Mount Nittany Pale Ale, Slab Cabin IPA and Double D DIPA are better than most. Even their Spring Creek Vienna style lager is a solid representation of a style I don’t overly enjoy. They have two casks that alternate bitters, IPAs and the ever-popular Jolly Roger Imperial Stout. Best of all, they started churning out a great assortment of seasonals and one-offs once their brewing operations were firing on all cylinders again, and they’ve been better than ever. Their Apple Tripel, Schwarzbier, Hefeweizen, Ottonator and Winter Warmer variations are all beers we look forward to each year. There’s even a house-made root beer.
- The food is as consistently great, and comes fast even during peak dining hours. The menu changes seasonally but maintains a number of “Otto’s Favorites” items like the cobb salad, beef on weck, black bean burrito (with optional chicken, steak, shrimp or pulled pork but equally delicious vegetarian style) buffalo mac ‘n cheese and beer brined smoked chicken. They also added wood fired pizza with a half dozen pies to the regular menu and a special to accompany their weekly features (my personal favorite: chorizo romesco manchego with red onion and roasted red peppers).
- Much of the menu is locally sourced, a plus in any restaurant (and not a “hipster thing” as I’ve heard it referred to in my small-minded small town… eating local and fresh supports your community’s economy and is better for you… it’s just good sense). There’s a bulletin board in the lobby with a list of local vendors they utilize, everything from Hog’s Galore farm in Philipsburg to State College’s own Gemelli Bakery.
- Their kids’ menu beats the shit out of every kids’ menu you’ve ever seen. Criticize Jamie Oliver and his annoying accent all you want but having something for kids other than chicken strips and fries ain’t a bad idea. Otto’s offers salmon with lemon herb butter, pasta from local Fasta & Ravioli company, quesadillas with cheese or beans and mini wood fired pizzas next to classics like PB&J and yes, chicken fingers, though they can grill them instead of frying. $5 buys an entree plus a side (chips & fresh salsa, whipped potatoes, jasmine rice, apple slices, carrots & dip, among others), a drink and a warm chocolate chip cookie for mom & dad to split on the way home (before you call me a monster: our kid gets babysat by his grandparents all week and is fed ice cream and sweets on a daily basis. Plus, we paid for the dinner… the damn cookie is ours).
- They train their staff extremely well. From the hostesses to the bartenders we’ve never had anyone be remotely rude to us, and most are exceptionally friendly. The wait staff are keen to talk up their pub club benefits but have never been pushy about it. Even the cooks working the pizza oven are more than accommodating when Enzo insists on staring, mesmerized by the fire and the assembly of pies.
- Live music and entertainment: though I don’t believe we’ve actually seen a band here (if we’re in SC for weekend music we’re usually downtown to catch one of our friends’ bands at Zeno’s or the Darkhorse), I’m a fan of anywhere that supports live, local music. It’s the folk, blues and Americana that typically accompanies a brewpub atmosphere and that’s not a bad thing. On select Sundays they have a magician that walks the dining room, though he won’t make you feel bad if you politely refuse his services because your kid’s just not ready for that yet (Enzo’s tendency to stare blankly at the unfamiliar would probably just bum the guy out).
- The gift shop: They’ve got every style beer glass imaginable, each imprinted with the name and logo of the corresponding Otto’s beer. Shirts in all colors and sizes, growlers & caddies, beer-infused soaps, shampoos, chocolates and other assorted confections, and a Pennsylvania-centric takeout beer selection. It’s the perfect gift shop for regulars and out-of-towners alike.
- Firkin Friday: every Friday at 5:00 they tap a fresh cask, usually one of their flagships that’s been dry hopped with different varieties, or something more experimental. They’re even priced slightly less than one of their regular pints, ensuring that they’ll go quickly – it’s usually kicked within the hour.
- Everything is fairly priced. Dinner for the three of us plus a round of beers is usually between $30-35. Ordering a 1/2 price pizza on Sundays makes it cheaper yet.
Otto’s doesn’t have the best of everything. I prefer Selinsgrove Brewery’s chili, Riepstine’s Alpha Deuce IPA and Elk Creek Cafe’s atmosphere to any of Otto’s counterparts, but they strike an impeccable balance of everything we enjoy. In a region inundated with great options, Otto’s satisfies on all levels, and is somewhere I’d take an out-of-town visitor to without hesitation every time. If they had one dining area without any damn TVs, they’d be better yet.
Old 97’s at the State Theater, State College PA
August 9, 2016 § Leave a comment
“We’re not used to playing venues with seats. I checked with management and they said it’s okay for you guys to stand. Matter of fact it’s encouraged because I’m gonna be shaking my ass all night.” (Rhett Miller, beginning the evening’s festivities).
We’ve got to be choosy about our concerts and nights out in general these days, what with the kid and all. We had tickets to see the Old 97’s in 2009, the year we bought our house. The closing fell on the same day, late enough there was no way we’d catch the show considering it was a four hour drive away in Maryland. My wife didn’t even remember this when she surprised me with tickets for my birthday, and the veteran alt-country rockers put on a great fucking show, more than worthy of one of our rare nights out together.
We had pre-show dinner and beers at Liberty Craft House downtown. I’ve written about Liberty previously and still have mostly good things to say. It was surprisingly not busy during peak dinner hour and the R&B/soul station they had queued up was ideal for a quiet dinner without our manic child. Fig/prosciutto/arugula/balsamic and kale/tomato/caesar flatbreads were tasty and filling enough to sustain us through showtime.
We saw the Hold Steady and Drive-By Truckers on the Rock & Roll Means Well tour at the State Theater in 2008 and it was one of the best shows we’ve ever been to. The only negative was the lack of alcohol – I don’t mind pre-gaming and am not above sneaking a flask sometimes when booze is prohibited but if there are two bands whose shows demand to be enjoyed with an open beer freely in one’s hand, they’re THS and DBT. We were feeling similarly about the Old 97’s and were delighted to discover the addition of a liquor license and small bar to the theater lobby. I was eyeballing a can of Sierra Nevada pale ale (and would have even settled for one of those Miller Lite cans with the screw-top lids) when we noticed they had local Elk Creek Cafe beer on tap. Double Rainbow IPA and Poe Paddy Porter, hot damn. There was also wine and a small liquor/mixer assortment.
I’m a big proponent of catching the opener – back in my punk rock days, my band was often it. They know you’re there for the headliner but are trying their damndest to make a name for themselves, and always appreciate having the majority of the crowd come early (one particularly discouraging incident occurred when my band opened for New Found Glory and much of the audience opted to flank their tour bus, only to find out what a huge bunch of snooty dickheads they were… served ’em right). Get your refreshments and use the bathroom but try and catch at least a little of their set.
1990’s fashion revivalists Western Star were a fitting opener. Their new album was produced by the 97s’ own Ken Bethea and you can hear it in their sound; sort of a twangy power pop with some garage leanings and southern harmonies. Learning that they relocated to Baltimore earned them a few extra points in my book. A heckler repeatedly yelled “TEETH! SHOW US YOUR TEETH!” between songs. Maybe it was an inside joke or he was new to heckling; either way the band obliged several times with big gaping smiles.
The 97’s were fucking great. Between them and the Pixies last year I’m beginning to think bands approaching and/or past middle age are the shows to go to. They played with the passion and energy of groups half their age, with 20+ years of experience on top of it. They were unbelievably tight and looked to be having a blast. At Rhett’s behest most of us were on our feet dancing and the front row even propped their drinks and elbows on the stage. The set list spanned their career with a good mix of greatest hits-type tunes (“Doreen,” “King of All of the World,” “Rollerskate Skinny”), deeper cuts (“Streets of Where I’m From,” “Stoned”) and a few Merle Haggard songs, who’d passed away the day before. Rhett gave a shout out to local radio station 98.7 the Freq, claiming the reason their tour stopped in State College at all was due to overwhelming listener demand.
Bizarre incident of the evening: toward the end of their set a burly dude with a beer walked down to the stage and stood with his middle finger pointed at the band for a solid few minutes. Like the “teeth” guy we assumed he knew them and it was some sort of weird joke, but after a few minutes he angrily exchanged words with Ken then left via the emergency exit by the stage, followed by Ken’s guitar tech and a few security guards. No idea what was going on there but they wrapped things up moments later with “Four Leaf Clover,” a hell of a closer even without the female duet. They returned a few minutes later for a short encore with “Victoria” transitioning seamlessly into “Timebomb” to end the evening altogether. If that guy’s antics lead to the set being cut short as it indeed appeared to be, and us missing out on something like “Melt Show” or “Nightclub” then I hope security beat the shit out of him.
Ten years ago this week I proposed to my best girl in the bar where we had our first date by singing the 97’s “Question.” It doesn’t appear to be a song they play much these days so we counted ourselves lucky when it was the first ballad of the evening. A highlight for sure.
We popped down to legendary basement bar Zeno’s for a few post-show beers. It’s a State College institution and one of the finer places to drink a few pints downtown, especially during university breaks when those pesky students go home. The evenings range from cramped to crowded with a mix of drunken 21 year old idiots putting scores of drinks on Dad’s credit card, and locals who want them all to go the fuck away so we can enjoy our beer in peace, or hear one of the decent satellite radio stations above their screaming.
Food is available from the Corner Room restaurant upstairs – typical & tasty pub fare but beer is the reason to visit Zeno’s. Their 21 drafts (and countless bottles) rotate a good mix of styles, rarities and aged brews, and always includes the rye ale brewed for them locally by Otto’s, a great standby and anytime drinker if nothing else looks particularly tempting. They also feature an “Around the World in 80 Beers” passport and beer festivals of all kinds (we attended an awesome pay-as-you-go cask fest one year where the bar was lined completely with fresh barrels, replenished as they emptied, with a few beers unique to that event alone).
Their Friday night happy hour offers half price Pennsylvania micros from 9-11, a nice accompaniment to the regular lineup of live music ranging from bluegrass (King Cotton Rounders) and Americana (Pure Cane Sugar) to 80’s/90’s cover bands (Spider Kelly) and PA’s best rockabilly trio the Ultra Kings. It’s one of the state’s best beer spots though much more enjoyable during the day or an evening during school breaks, unless you’re into large groups of loud, obnoxious undergrads. The bathroom graffiti is as legendary as the beer selection, covering the entirety of the walls and offering a disturbing glimpse into the area’s vast array of frat boy douchery (bar tours… oh so many bar tours), with an occasional slice of veritable wit or humor. Sample philosophy: “Alcohol won’t solve your problems but neither will water or milk.” Retort: “Unless your problems are that you’re dehydrated or calcium deficient.”
Summary: a night out with my best gal, some aging rockers and a wealth of good beer. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Photo pirated from Google search. Mine were all blurry.
Keuka Lake, NY
August 1, 2016 § Leave a comment
May’s weekend in the Finger Lakes with my wife was my fourth trek to the region in the last six months, lending more credibility to the notion that it’s like a second home. It’s not drastically different from central PA, full of beautiful wide open spaces and stunning glimpses into nature with an abundance of available outdoor recreation, so it’s really a testament to the fine food & beer that we’re willing to make the drive so often. Lake Seneca has been our go-to for many years and it was hard to imagine visiting the area without hitting all of our favorites, but discovering just how good Prison City Pub & Brewery is on Man Voyage in April gave us proper motivation to explore elsewhere. It was about damn time to head slightly west of the norm and explore Lake Keuka’s brewery scene.
We found Brewery of Broken Dreams just outside of Hammondsport, a short drive down one of those back roads that looks like it doesn’t lead anywhere. Nestled in the basement of a historic stone country house, the tasting room features a cozy corner fire place, a few seats and a long wooden bar. One of two kind and knowledgeable bartenders welcomed us promptly despite being fairly busy and offered a tasting of any six beers for $5 ($6 to keep the glass, which we did). It’s a bold move for any brewery to not have an IPA on tap but we didn’t mind at all. Most were lower in ABV but quite flavorful, our favorites being New Moon (dunkel weizen style), Floating Leaf (brown porter, very unique take on the style) and the Wise (old ale). We paid $1 extra to sample an additional special draft of Triskaidekaphobia, a strong ale brewed with 13 ingredients exclusively for Friday the 13th and not available for takeout due to its limited quantity, so of course it was my favorite. There is no food available but they encourage you to BYOS (bring your own snacks). We purchased a growler to bring home the Wise ale – we don’t need another in our collection but couldn’t resist the crying loon logo.
The turnoff for County Road 76 leading up the trail isn’t well marked or particularly inviting so we mistakenly drove alongside the lake on Rt 54A for 10 minutes before we realized it wasn’t going anywhere, wondering how much some of the lakeside properties sell for despite their dilapidated states. We backtracked and enjoyed a much nicer view when we caught up with the trail en route to Steuben Brewing, a family-run farm brewery in Hammondsport. The unassuming shed-like outward appearance gives way to an inviting albeit loud and somewhat cramped tasting room and spacious back deck with a sprawling view of the lake. Coco’s Cafe Food Truck was parked next to the back deck and offers a nice array of burgers, sandwiches and snacks. We had a few sliders (chicken & turkey) and split an order of sweet potato fries with honey mustard, all for about $10 and more than enough for lunch. They also advertised Pale Ale Cupcakes made with Steuben beer we later regretted not trying.
The beer listings were a bit chaotic, in three different places on two separate chalk boards, confusing us as to what was available. To be fair though, they were extremely busy and it would have been a challenge to keep everything promptly updated. Someone tended to me immediately and was more than helpful, setting us up with a four beer sampler of NY Pils, Hometown Brown ale, Double IPA and Belgian Blonde. They brew everything with at least 20% New York malt and hops and it’s all got that small batch freshness to it, the Double IPA in particular standing out. I see old fashioned popcorn carts popping up (bad pun absolutely intended) in more breweries and Steuben is no exception, offering up a fresh batch just in time for a post-lunch snack. A duo was prepping for live music just as we were leaving, to the sound of some drunk moron repeatedly yelling out for “Truckin'”. Real original dude, I’ve definitely never heard that song before. At least wait for them to finish setting up before yelling out your absurdly cliched requests.
Abandon Brewing had our favorite atmosphere all weekend. A big converted and weatherproofed barn done up with string lights, resting on a sizeable farm with a view of their hop vine trellises on one side (naked this time of year) and the lake on the other. There’s also a large pavilion and deck outside though the cold weather prevented us from enjoying either of those. The tasting room inside has a nice wraparound bar, plenty of picnic tables for shared seating and is all watched over by a resident yellow lab, making the rounds and hoping for complimentary peanut scraps to be dropped. They tempted us with way too many delicious sounding beers, forcing us to pay for two samples in addition to our flight of six. Nice variety of styles, divided into flagship and Woodshed (special & seasonal) drafts, and a heavy focus on Belgians: Peppercorn saison, Belgian Golden Strong, Abbey Ale and Belgian Rye were among our favorites, though the Black Rye IPA and Berliner Weiss stood out as well. I was debating the last beer to finish assembling our sampler when someone approached me and strongly suggested I get the porter. It was less a suggestion and more a forceful demand, practically bullying me into choosing it, arguing that it’s “the best beer I’ve ever tasted and you’d be a damn fool not to get it.” It was a perfectly good porter but nothing about it made me feel my life would be more empty if I hadn’t tried it. Way to oversell it, guy.
We made our way into Penn Yan and checked into the Colonial Motel for a change of clothes before dinner. They stole my wife’s heart immediately with their resident feline, greeting us upon check in and roaming the office. Simple digs and much of the furniture is dated (save for the newly remodeled bathroom) but as per usual, we don’t care. It’s quiet and clean, the owner is friendly and there’s a killer view of the lake from the shared porch. There’s also a stone patio out front with lounge chairs and our queen room included a kitchenette, all for under $100 without the required two night minimum so many hotels in this region require, even in the off season.
We stopped at LyonSmith Brewing in downtown Penn Yan before heading to Geneva for dinner. I couldn’t pass up a brewery specializing in beers of the United Kingdom, some of my favorite styles. LyonSmith is fittingly located in a basement on a revitalized section of Water Street downtown, and does well to capture the vibe of a UK pub while putting their own spin on things. Interestingly enough the owner shared with us his choice to focus on these particular styles didn’t come from an inspirational visit to the UK but rather a desire for consistancy: most breweries offer a worldly range of ales & lagers, inevitably experimenting with a Belgian style or two, etc. While I’ll never complain about variety, these styles are their forte and LyonSmith is dedicated to perfecting them. We’d done a fair amount of tasting already, still had dinner and late-night cocktails to get to so we settled for splitting a pint of Rylie pale ale, and I was immediatley reminded of the great beers we enjoyed on tour throughout the UK & Ireland the previous year. The English bands on the sound system were a nice touch (the Pogues and Madness in particular). LyonSmith chose their specialty well; I only wish we’d had time for more.
We didn’t expect Kindred Fare to be located in a strip mall, though that tainted its mystique only until we stepped inside. Expansive but minimally decorated with brick and aged barn wood, it’s an inviting space if slightly noisy. The hostess offered us two seats at the counter with a view of the kitchen, which I’ve always been leery of, wondering how the staff feels about customers watching their every move but she talked us into it. Just after we placed our drink order one of the cooks slid us a few complimentary slices of tasty ramp flatbread, effectively killing my concern for the kitchen staff’s feelings in lieu of getting free stuff. The southern style half chicken satisfied my weekly fried chicken craving with an upscale touch of hot honey sauce and jalapenos. My wife enjoyed her salmon as well. The craft cocktail menu was temping but I chose one of the pre-fixed “Tap & Spirit” pairings, with a 10 oz local beer and local spirit for $8 (Naked Dove doppelbock and Myer Farm rye whiskey). The bill wasn’t cheap but definitely worth the splurge.
It was dark by the time we arrived in downtown Geneva, after a quick coffee at a nearby Tim Horton’s, the Dunkin Donuts of Canada… alas, there was no better coffee to be found. Lake Drum Brewing specializes in sours and ciders, spins vinyl on a turntable behind the bar (they also decorate with it) and has a dim, enticing atmosphere I’m sure we would have enjoyed more another night. This one, however, was marred by an overly boisterous group of the bar’s regular patrons, dressed to the nines like they just came from a crowning ceremony for the Douchebag-of-the-Month award at some pretentious country club, throwing elbows and crowding everyone else out of getting served, several of them shouting “What are all of these people doing in OUR bar? This is OUR bar!” By the time I wedged in to order I picked a sour and cider at random, neither of which were memorable but several selections are guest taps, so they might not have even been theirs. Bars get crowded and sometimes your only option is to stand and get bumped into, but it’s another thing entirely when the locals are visibly unhappy with your presence and trying their damndest to force you out… mission accomplished, you bunch of asshats. None of that is Lake Drum’s fault but I’d only give it a second go-around early enough in the day to avoid another shitstorm like that. Here’s hoping it’s not a regular thing.
The next morning we headed east to hit the Ithaca Farmer’s Market, a fixture on our visits here we weren’t about to forego just because we were on another lake. Most farmer’s markets are pretty similar but there’s something special about Ithaca – probably just my sentimental side recalling the many visits with my wife early in our relationship but I enjoy this one more than most. Sure, there are a few pitfalls: the parking is a complete pain in the ass and the stench of patchouli occasionally overwhelms the nostrils when a particularly potent hippie walks by, but the grounds are stunning with hand painted benches and a roomy pier outside. Folk/bluegrass musicians setup throughout the pavilions, which host vendors offering everything from fresh fruits & vegetables to meats & cheeses, wine & ciders, art, crafts and pottery and a delicious array of ethnic food. We’re often unformfortably full after squeezing in Khmer Angkor Cambodian, Thai Palace, a cuban sandwich, falafel, Dennis’ Homemade Ice Cream, apple cider donuts and/or any number of other things. The pièce de résistance, and a reason in itself for us to drive 2.5 hours to the market is the breakfast burrito at Solaz. It’s easy to find – just look for the longest line. I’ve no idea what they do to make it so magical but it’s hands down the best breakfast burrito I’ve ever eaten, including anything I’ve had in the southwest. I could go on but I don’t want to oversell it the way that guy did with the Abandon porter.
The Ithaca Commons is a pedestrian mall, recently renovated with all new landscaping & local art and occasionally featuring street vendors and performers. It’s full of unique shops but we go mainly for Petrune and Angry Mom Records. Petrune is a vintage boutique carrying clothing and accessories dating back to the Victorian era alongside vintage style reproductions. Among my favorite items I’ve found are my 1960’s brown houndstooth tweed jacket ($30 in near mint condition) and a wooden sea captain hand-carved in Italy, whom we named Ciro and put in my son’s nursery sophisticated young gentleman’s room. Prices are fair, especially given their location and they’re usually spinning decent tunes (early 60’s Atlantic Records soul interspersed with Phil Collins and Hall & Oates? It’s like they stole my iPod).
Speaking of decent tunes, Angry Mom carries on the tradition of fine record stores like the ones depicted in movies like High Fidelity, Pretty in Pink and Empire Records, and written about on the Aging Cynic. If you were lucky enough to grow up in the glory days of these establishments and they weren’t among your favorite places to be, you obviously lack good taste and kindly click here to go spend time among your own kind. There aren’t many of these places left to sift through a dozen haphazardly organized 7″ records out of sheer boredom, buy a used CD for $4 because the liner notes are slightly warped (Night Marchers’ See You in Magic) or discover a new band playing over the sound system and immediately march to the counter to ask who it is and what aisle you can find it in (the Neanderthals’ Latest Menace to the Human Race). I struggle to remember which day is trash day but memories like that are vivid as they come. I can’t count the number of times I’ve said it: patronize and cherish these places before they’re gone for good and Amazon is all we have left.
The only thing I enjoy shopping for as much as vintage clothing and records is alcohol, and Finger Lakes Beverage is among the finest purveyors of the elixir of the gods (beer only, but it takes nearly an hour to get out of the place as it is… liquor and wine would make it an all-day affair). The beauty of FLB is in both their selection and availability: hundreds of craft beers from all over the world are neatly organized by region and able to be purchased by the case, six-pack or single bottle. If that’s not enough there are a dozen draft beers for growler fills, bombers and glassware, snacks and soda. We typically do a mix of singles bottles, leave with a case’s worth (including a few bombers) and spend between $50-60. The staff has always been knowledgeable and friendly, quick to answer questions or make suggestions. One of the finest beer outlets I’ve come across anywhere.
Ithaca Beer Company has exploded in recent years, growing exponentially and constantly being distributed to new markets as a result. I’m either showing my age or sounding like some dumb hipster but we’ve been visiting long enough to remember its former location in a one-room building just off of Rt. 13 (now Green Tree Garden Supply), manned by a lone bartender and offering free tours pretty much whenever you wanted them. Many was the time we’d be the only ones in the place, chatting about beer, listening to Hank Williams and sampling everything on tap while mulling over our purchases. The times they are a-changin’, and while we miss the simplistic charm of the former location it’s largely been for the better. They built a massive brewery & warehouse down the hill behind the old building and added a full bar and restaurant. The beer is as good as it’s ever been (though we’re both bitter about the apparent discontinuation of our two favorites, spring seasonal Ground Break and winter seasonal Cold Front), and like any good brewpub they feature a few draft only selections in the bar. We shared a few Belgian Golden ales and cask IPAs with locally sourced and seasonal (of course) cheddar burger and garden pizza. A damn good lunch that more than filled us up for the ride home.
—
They need to build bridges across these lakes. It’s going to get harder to decide which direction to take our day trips in if we keep discovering worthwhile places on each one. Guess we’ll just have to take them more often.