We apologize for what seems to be a summertime hiatus. We have our reasons for not being able to fill your mind with reviews, events, and interviews for the past few weeks but we will not take this time to drop a bunch of excuses on you. Shame on us for not updating as often as we would have liked.
That being said, we are returning next week and will once again provide you with what we refer to as “beer necessities”. We are also in the midst of planning some great ExBEERiment events for the fall and winter! So please, stayed tuned.
Thanks again!
The Ladies of PE
P.S. We can neither confirm nor deny the rumors that we have been busy over the last few months traveling through time, trapped in a battle between elemental forces of good and evil:
“Give my people plenty of beer, good beer and cheap beer, and you will have no revolution among them.” — Queen Victoria
Wise words from the queen. We especially like the advice that good beer should be cheap. Maybe it’s time the new administration took a hint from our former rulers and passed the 28th Amendment: ‘ The right to drink and bear change in the wallet.’
In honor of her long-gone majesty, we’ve sallied forth with two beers redolent of ages past:
Southampton Imperial Porter
7.5% ABV
Kunoichi Erica becomes possessed by the Spirit of Writers' Past whilst experiencing porter.
Southampton Brewery, rather like Detective Holmes, prides itself on its “infinite variety” — of craft brews, that is.
Kunoichi Erica: Porter. The word stared merrily up at me from the menu at South Philly Taproom, calling to mind images from my youth, which, as a self-professed bibliophile, was spent mostly indoors sprawled on the floor with a good book. It was in the old English novels that visionaries like Charles Dickens first hinted to me of the comforting qualities of the red-cheeked cherub the adults termed as “beer.” At last, I was determined to try this staple of Victorian culture that so fascinated me at an early age and, like the fiddler in A Christmas Carol, to ‘dip my face in it.’
As the waiter deposited his dark burden before me, the aroma of blackberry soda invaded my olfactory. It was soon complimented by the swift, bitter punch of black licorice. Overall, this porter reminded me of a hearty shepherd’s pie — there wasn’t enough bang to make it one of my favorites, yet it offered the warm delight that accompanies most comfort foods. My tongue was pleasantly insulated with the bitter taste of ale, which served as a steady companion throughout the meal. Southampton Imperial Porter will definitely be a beer I call on once the winter months roll back in, and I find myself in need of a bit of good, old-fashioned indolence from the Publick House.
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Whilst Kunoichi Erica was stomping through 19th century England, Rachel Riot was also there storming the heavy seas.
Rachel Riot: To sail the seas or wait ashore was my initial thought about this Abbey Ale. After a few minutes of debating and advice from the bartender I decided a 9% beer pint for $5.00 seemed like an opportunity this thirsty lass couldn’t pass up.
OH HOLY SHEET! This full bodied beer with a dark ruby glow was a great choice! The aroma is sweet and somewhat flowery (which initially frightened the hell out of this floral hop hater) but the taste is mostly of tart fruits, spices, and hints of caramel. It’s a strong beer with a bite that tingles the side of the tongue but leaves a smooth and appealing aftertaste. If you want a bang for your buck this is the beer to buy! One or two glasses of this fine ale and you’ll be staggering like a lily-livered pirate after having a bit too much grog with his favorite wenches. Argh!
Now check out this old Chuck Jones’ cartoon we dug up. It’s chock full of some of our favorite things in the world: beer, pool, and dastardly villains!
“The Dover Boys at Pimento University” (1942), directed by Chuck Jones
Before the man convinced you to spend your hard-earned money on video games, there was a time when imagination was all you needed to express your inner rock ‘n roll god.
This weekend, go back to basics and rock out at the US Air Guitar Championships! The event takes place this Saturday, May 30th at the Khyber. It starts at 9 pm, $15 at the door. So strap on your best imaginary Fender, and go out and root for your favorite wind shredder.
And remember, NEVER practice your air instruments while driving:
The Fairmount bar scene is an area that we South Philadelphians have yet to frequent. So in honor of long since passed Philly Beer Week we decided to go take a gander at what Fairmount had to offer. One stop along the way was Urban Saloon.
Rootin' Tootin'...from the outside at least...
Standing outside of Urban Saloon makes one imagine being at a bar where Maverick or Cheyenne might have grabbed a pint or two before they had to outwit and outlaw. But beyond the old western saloon doors lies something unexpectedly different.
The single-floored, wide room has the architectural structure of a place that was once a storage shed or facility. The gathered curtains separating bar from dining area give a modern take on the saloon doors at the entrance. However, the combination of new wood floors, brick inlays, spot lights, and four flat screen T.Vs. makes you wonder if you’re still in the same “saloon” you walked into.
Maybe Urban Saloon is code-word for “fourth dimensional entrance” in these parts. Which would not only explain the mismatched atmosphere, but would also excuse the hour-long wait we experienced after ordering only a salad and a cup of soup in what was not a crowded restaurant. Time simply ran differently for the customers and waiters, as the kitchen crawled along in Twilight Zone space.
The green dressing was neither appetizing nor tasty.
When at last the plates of food sallied forth with the slow tread of Yosemite Sam, we could not help but react like a pair of yellow-bellies staring down the barrel of a gun: our meals didn’t so much resemble food, as slop fresh from the trough. Miss Riot’s “Caprese Salad” was no more than an ant-hill made out of tomatoes, with a few mozzarella balls stuck on top for good measure. And Kunoichi’s Clam Chowder was about as leathery as a jacket stripped from the back of Steve McQueen.
In the end, we couldn’t even resort to a decent array of beer to fortify our pallets. Although the menu includes some interesting craft bottles, like Victory and Flying Fish, nevertheless the assortment resembles more nearly the standard beer menu available in any chain restaurant.
As the Western Code saying (sort of) goes, this Saloon ain’t saloon-y enough ‘fer the both of us! This bar didn’t fulfill what two spaghetti western-watchin’ lasses had wished for. In fact, Urban Saloon was just as unexpected as this gun fight!
We’re all familiar with the stairway to heaven and the ladder of success, but very few of us would realize that descent can also lead to new worlds and good things. Not so the people at 12 Steps Down. They have hidden their bar away in a den below ground, daring the adventurous to climb down and discover what lies hidden for them in the darker depths.
The brave will encounter, not a haven for Morlocks, but a strangely inviting expanse of sensual overload. Like a well-made spaghetti western, 12 Steps Down offers a little bit of everything: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Some traits may overwhelm the newcomer with delight, others may annoy; but overall, these traits combine to create an experience well worth reliving again and again.
Upon first setting foot on the green carpet, we couldn’t resist the impression that we were walking across a giant pool table. The viridian field spread out before us, beckoning us inward as smoothly as entrants to the Emerald City. We passed the actual pool table in the back; it seemed to grow out of the ground, a living extension of the rug. Even the light stretching forth from the restroom corridor was green, glowing eerily like the special effects from a Stephen King TV special.
Soon, our ears were seduced by the strains of Jimi Hendrix and Cream, and we were forced to admit that we had finally discovered a bar where we didn’t feel the need to feed more money into the jukebox. The final assault to our senses came in the form of a television with gigantic proportions. It was Ray Bradbury’s wall-screen, transformed from fiction into reality. What better way to enjoy our beer than to accompany it with a bit of sleuthwork, and take in the latest episode of Dateline in mammoth dimensions?
True, the service at the bar was a little slow. But we really couldn’t fault the bartender for finishing his conversation with a regular before moving on to the uninitiated newbs.
Something truly pleasing about this bar is their beer list. Even though three taps sit meekly at the corner of the bar, they are filled with a beer for everyone: one for the cheapos, one for the everyman, and one for the aficionados. Although itty bitty in the eyes of most places blooming up these days, the bottle selection is shockingly varied. Beers from PBC,Yards, and Victory line the shelves as well as other well known, non-locally crafted beers.
If you take a gander at the board behind the bar you’ll see what’s on tap and a dozen bottles that might only be available for a limited time. But the most wonderful thing about this board is the prices scribbled alongside the beer (which is something all cash strapped beer lovers can appreciate).
But the most important thing we discovered at 12 Steps Down is a lesson Rowan Atkinson learned a long time ago: sometimes, things can be a little more fun down below.
* this post was previously posted at our Philadelphia Weekly page.
For those of you who already get the “mission” of ExBEERiment, we apologize for the lesson that follows. For those who don’t care to do a bit of basic research and peruse our About page (a.k.a. “Bottled Blurb”), we would like to reiterate points 2 and 4:
“2. We vow to offer you our exceptionally inexperienced and completely unprofessional opinions on said beers, and furthermore to pepper these opinions with witty interjections for no reason whatsoever.
“4. We swear to bombard your eyeballs with completely unnecessary, but totally nifty details on local events and venues where you can actually DRINK the beers we talk about.”
Our determination is to stand out from the masses of beer-and-bar review websites out there, and actually dare to be a little different by taking things to angles you wouldn’t normally expect. And we refuse to change our format just because there are some who would like to suck the fun out of the Philly bar scene. After all, let’s remember what we’re discussing here. It’s beer, not politics.
Alright, now let’s put on our Sherlock caps and use a bit of deductive reasoning as we review the blog in question:
First off, we visited Grace Tavern rather late at night, towards the end of Philly Beer Week. It was our first time entering this bar, and our desire was to describe our sensory impressions, not to the regulars, but to those Philadelphians who had not ventured as yet to this oasis of beer. In the spirit of exBEERimentation, we exist to break our readers out of their regular Saturday night routines and dare them to force a little bit of adventure out of their nights on the town. Picture us as the kids from A Christmas Story; we won’t back down until you stick that tongue on the pole.
The first thing that struck us was how dark it was inside Grace, and the lighting gave the space around us a definite purple hue, viz. : “The color? Purple Haze.” This reference had absolutely nothing to do with the beer of the same name. Rather, we were using a pop. culture reference to a somewhat famous song by a guy who used to be pretty good on the guitar. Like Francis Ford Coppola in that famous river scene from Apocalypse Now, we utilized the song to try to comment cleverly on the strong sense of color that bombarded our occipital lobes.
The next bit of decor that called our immediate attention was the huge triangles painted onto the surface of the mirror behind the bar. Anyone remotely familiar with The Dark Side of the Moon will recall the prism that stands out rather prominently on what is perhaps the most famous album cover of all time.
From there, we combined our immediate impressions with the vintage fridge in the corner, the slanted ceiling in the bathroom, the skull-shaped light glowing from behind the bar, and decided the word that best fit our notion of this bar was, undoubtedly, psychedelic. As always, we enjoy hyperbolizing our writing in order to splash a bit of color on an empty canvas. And the “Whose Line” comment was just a segue to the video clip that followed.
We’ve been accused of avoiding “truthiness.” Well, from our understanding of the term as it is now used in the present day, truthiness is a satirical term used to refer only to one’s visceral reactions to a subject, which is exactly what we attempt to do in every one of our blogs. Anyone can walk into a bar and give you the basic facts. We could follow the example of any number of reviewers out there and simply tell you that, for instance, “the bar is made of cherry wood, the walls are painted white, and the beer was good.” But in our attempts not to be boring and mundane, we will continue to play around with words and to call your attention to details you wouldn’t necessarily notice otherwise. So when we say, for example, that a bar reminds us of Escher’s Labyrinth, or that a beer tastes like the voice of Nat King Cole, try to remember that we don’t literally mean that the steps run upside-down or that an ale was made out of the jazz singer’s ashes. We may just be commenting on an interesting level-effect created by criss-crossing stairways, or on the smoothness of a beer as it goes down our throats.
It’s like Theodore “Dr. Seuss” Geisel once said: “I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, and that enables you to laugh at life’s realities.” We promise our readers not to let a few stuffy, old curmudgeons scare us away from peppering your beer ventures with a bit of entertainment. After all, we believe that our fellow Philadelphians deserve a blog that acknowledges their ability to appreciate wit. Furthermore, we believe that every one is entitled to his/her own perspectives on the places that they encounter. That’s the beauty of an opinion piece.
But what we will never promise is to stop using our medial prefrontal cortex/hippocampus network (i.e. imagination centers of the brain). We will never promise to suck the excitement out of writing, and leave you with only the bare bones of a story. Most importantly, we will never promise to waste your valuable time by filling up our blog space with someone else’s work and questioning his/her right to share personal perceptions of a venue with the wider world.
Here’s another hint for those who may have a bit of trouble using basic comprehension: Stephen Colbert is not actually a Republican.
I guess if we can no longer resort to imagination and metaphor, there’s always good-old Monty Python to get a point across:
Grace Tavern. It was a name we’d heard passed back and forth between the lips of locals, peppered throughout conversations behind the bar and in the midst of parties. We were informed of its status as a hole-in-the-wall that was, nevertheless, well worth a visit. For us, it became like a legendary El Dorado, a promised land that only those in-the-know could reach.
We were not disappointed by our nighttime venture. We walked through its misleadingly shabby exterior, into a realm cut directly from a Pink Floyd album cover. Like Dr. Dave Bowman after confronting the Black Monolith, we were drawn forward into a landscape of strange hues and distorted geometry. Grace Tavern can be summed up in only a few words. The atmosphere? Psychedelic. The color? Purple Haze.
Nevertheless, don’t let the trippy atmosphere fool you. This hippie haven is well-stocked with the best in beer. With featured drafts from Monks Cafe and Nodding Head, and a bottled beauty for almost every letter of the alphabet, this bar at 2229 Grays Ferry Ave will keep you happy all night long.
Sure, the bathroom may be kind of small, and the Bevador in the corner may look like a leftover prop from Forbidden Planet, but this bar screams “cool” as fiercely as a Bob Dylan record. From the floral pattern etched into the ceiling, to the funky lighting, Grace is sure to please the flower child in all of us. So hop aboard the magic bus and take a ride to Grace Tavern.
And if you should have trouble spotting it, just remember, it vaguely resembles the background from the original Whose Line Is It Anyway? set:
“Work is the curse of the drinking classes.” — Oscar Wilde
Many a writer seems to lead a life that runs hand in hand with alcohol, yet none so much as the American writer. From Ernest Hemingway to Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac to F. Scott Fitzgerald, creativity and a passion for the drink have danced along that same fine line that separates genius from insanity. How fitting then that one of our next beers up for discussion is named after that all-too-familiar poem by one of our most famous alcoholic Americans.
The Raven
Special Lager, 5.5% ABV
The next invention we're hoping to see come out of Japan: the beer bookmark.
Kunoichi Erica: The Raven cannot be described as anything other than perfectly Poe-like. The first glance of its golden hue immediately recalls sunlight breaking through the rent in the House of Usher. Its murky texture speaks of mysteries swirling within one’s glass–mysteries as curious as the mind of the poet himself. The crisp fragrance is as wholesome as Landor’s Cottage, as comforting as the embrace of Lenore.
True, its flavor is not complex. Nor is it particularly potent. Rather, it is the longevity of the taste that reels one in. Like the meter of Poe’s poems, it sticks to the pallet, locking the unwary drinker into a state of satisfaction sealed as tightly as the tomb of Fortunato. While The Raven may not be destined to be ranked among the finest of beers, its haunting quality guarantees it a role as loyal companion to many a lager-lover. One cannot help but wax poetic:
Once from out a bottle trimly, as I poured it, nice and nimbly,
Tumbled outward a smooth and syrupy lager of some writer’s lore–
While I sipping, slowly savored, suddenly there came a flavor,
As of fresh bread newly lavored, lavored with a caramel score.
”Tis a tasty brew,’ I muttered, flavored with a caramel score–
‘Drink the Raven, evermore.’
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While Kunoichi tackles America, Miss Riot will be mingling with ancient alcoholics from the Mediterranean. Thanks to the generous donation of Doc’s DeLorean, she was able to kick it old-school with the wine-guzzling Roman wonder: Ovid. Together, they sampled a magical beer aptly named for his most famous mythical character. Now go exBEERiment, before you metamorphose into an insect:
Midas Touch Golden Elixir
9 %/ ABV
Deemed a Herbed/Spiced Beer and royally crafted by
King Midas: “Fiddlesticks! Give me gold, not advice!” Goldie: “So be it. I gave thee advice. Now I give thee gold. The golden touch is thine. Toodle-oo!”
-The Golden Touch, 1935
Rachel Riot:This “elixir” is fit for a King himself. It lays within a bottle decorated in purple and gold and pours a color of golden coins. A smooth beer with little to no head and perfected with features of honey and fruit. It’s sweet but not overpowering and sits well on the tongue and in the aftertaste. It’s definitely not a session beer so take your time and enjoy the texture and taste. You can experience this golden beer for $6.00 a bottle at 12 Steps Down. Purchasing Midas Touch might leave recession affected people without riches but, just like King Midas, you will be richer in the things that really matter: good beer.
Now check out Tim Burton’s Vincent (1982). It’s about as close as you’ll get to a glimpse into our childhood.
The kegs are tapped, the brewers have gone home, and the events are now just a memory of a successful Philly Beer Week 2009. While you mourn the loss of a good reason to drink everyday, we hope you remember all the good times you had, the people you met, and the good beer you tried.
But let’s face it. Some of you might have partied too hard and can’t seem to remember where you left your hat (it was on the South Philly Beer Bus), who you “accidentally” fondled, and what bar you face-planted in front of.
That’s what we’re here for.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Ladies of PE are proud to present pictures from our favorite beer week moments. We hope you enjoy!
Kunoichi Erica: Porter. The word stared merrily up at me from the menu at South Philly Taproom, calling to mind images from my youth, which, as a self-professed bibliophile, was spent mostly indoors sprawled on the floor with a good book. It was in the old English novels that visionaries like Charles Dickens first hinted to me of the comforting qualities of the red-cheeked cherub the adults termed as “beer.” At last, I was determined to try this staple of Victorian culture that so fascinated me at an early age and, like the fiddler in A Christmas Carol, to ‘dip my face in it.’
Rachel Riot: To sail the seas or wait ashore was my initial thought about this Abbey Ale. After a few minutes of debating and advice from the bartender I decided a 9% beer pint for $5.00 seemed like an opportunity this thirsty lass couldn’t pass up.
Rachel Riot: This “elixir” is fit for a King himself. It lays within a bottle decorated in purple and gold and pours a color of golden coins. A smooth beer with little to no head and perfected with features of honey and fruit. It’s sweet but not overpowering and sits well on the tongue and in the aftertaste. It’s definitely not a session beer so take your time and enjoy the texture and taste. You can experience this golden beer for $6.00 a bottle at 12 Steps Down. Purchasing Midas Touch might leave recession affected people without riches but, just like King Midas, you will be richer in the things that really matter: good beer.
