Philly Craft Beer Fest

Volunteering to cover the first Philly Craft Beer Festival seemed like a good idea at the time.

by Will Dean

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Volunteering to cover the first Philly Craft Beer Festival, held last Saturday at the Navy Yard, seemed like a good idea at the time. My friends were jealous — oh, what fun I'd have drinking in the name of gonzo journalism. My assignment? Consume as much booze as humanly possible during one of the festival's two four-hour windows, jotting notes about each's look, smell, taste, aftertaste, etc. That I would likely spend Sunday wallowing on the couch — exhausted, head throbbing, a dune of sand where my mouth used to be — never entered my mind. Not that you care about my wretched post-fest hangover; you want to hear about the 120-plus varieties of beer from 50 different breweries that landed me in this godforsaken state in the first place.

Down at the Cruise Terminal, local breweries put on quite the dog-and-pony show, but many of the usual suspects (Yards, Flying Fish, Dogfish Head, etc.) were trumped by standouts from minor competitors. The Extra Special Bitter Ale from Climax Brewing, based in Roselle Park, N.J., smacked strongly of hops softened by a pinch of honey — the beer equivalent of a cynical friend who, deep down, really does care about humanity. Euphoria, a golden ale from Legacy Brewing in Reading, boasted a crisp, spicy, lemony flavor that tasted like a relaxing summer day. Cricket Hill, from Fairfield, N.J., brought its new Colonel Blides Altbier, a German-style brown ale with a hardy, hoppy flavor that bites back. Though billed as a cask ale (i.e. the carbonation is produced naturally by hungry yeast), Blides is injected with carbon dioxide, making it rougher than the real thing.

Mixing beers is chancy, but I found that blending Lancaster Brewing's Milk Stout and Strawberry Wheat Lager was like drinking a Milk Dud. The strawberry morphed into smooth caramel when downed with Stout's choco-coffee combo.

National and international brewers, meanwhile, showed up for the festivities in droves; even Peroni, the Budweiser of Italy, snagged a table, though it didn't fool anyone. The line at He'Brew beer, made by San Francisco's Schmaltz Brewing Co., was never-ending, living up to the company slogan ("The Chosen Beer"). Its Messiah Bold, a dark brown ale, had a delicious roasted favor but was more of a Peter or Paul than a full-on JC. Another standout was Belgium's Cantillion Gueuze, specially commissioned by Monk's. A mixture of aged lambics, the Gueuze was akin to sucking on a sourball with a lemon shoved up your nose. Which, all things considered, sounds way better than whatever it is I'm feeling now.

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