Pint of No Return

by L. M. Fortin

  “He was the first person to have a vision that, even though we were all competing with each other, more breweries meant more beer drinkers. He created the Skinner Brewer’s Guild and has always been a key player in making us see that we can do more together than as rivals. It would be very sad to lose his leadership. I don’t see any of the other brewery owners with the skills and patience to take his place if he couldn’t return.”

  “He had mentioned he was still recovering from a bad bout of the flu,” said Callie. “If that’s all it is, I’m sure he’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

  Gerta finished the second half of her beer in one gulp and went to get another. Callie had only sipped at hers, so she didn’t need more.

  Trying to take Gerta’s mind off of Floyd’s sudden illness, Callie said, “In addition to Sylvan Ales tomorrow, I’m visiting Sullivan’s Cider and Barton’s Pub next week, and I’m curious as to what sort of beverages the others will present as their showcase beer. Sullivan’s will, of course, be presenting a cider, and not a beer.”

  Gerta sat back down. “Bill Sullivan at the cider house will try to tart up an apple cider with cherry flavoring or something like that. Chris Ashton will spend time telling us he hand fertilized the hop plants and picked them using local schoolchildren on a garden project. Who knows what that Zeke at Barton will offer? His beers are as unpredictable as he is and he has only been brewing a short time.”

  “His is the only premium showcase brewery to be located downtown,” said Callie.

  “Right in the heart of the weirdness of Skinner,” said Gerta. “When he finally manages to get a batch of beer done, he hires homeless folks to come in and help him bottle. He says it supports the local economy. I say it probably lowers the quality of his beer.”

  Callie laughed. “I bet they drink as much as they bottle.”

  Gerta nodded, “That, too.”

  As Callie left Weissworks, waving to Gerta as she stood in front of the former church, Callie realized she had an idea for her glassware and decided to call Creative Imprints as soon as she got home.

  That evening, Callie drove to the Cloudburst Pub to hang out with Jeremy Bilson. The Cloudburst was participating in the brew fest, but not in the premium showcase.

  The restaurant tables were only half full and there was no one at the bar, so Callie went and sat there. Jeremy, his hair in his usual blond spike, came over.

  “Callie, it’s good to see you,” he said. “How’s the brew fest going? We got our info packet today.”

  “Good. I was hoping those would give you at least a week to prepare your booths.”

  “It was a little surprising. I don’t think we’ve ever gotten an info packet before. We’ve been participating for about ten years now and things were usually just done over the phone and with a conversation. It’s a big help.”

  Callie smiled. “I’m glad. The idea is that if you have all the information at your fingertips, I’ll receive less phone calls. Plus, it helps advertise the sponsors and the Barley and Sheaf.”

  “What would you like to drink?” he said. “We’ve got a new pinot noir in from one of our local vineyards.”

  “Jeremy, I’m running a brew fest. Don’t you think I should be drinking beer?”

  “Have you tried any of the beers that will be served at the fest?” he asked.

  “Not really. I was over at Magic Waters and I almost had a drink, but then Floyd fell ill and I didn’t get to try anything.”

  “That’s too bad. Sounds serious.” he said, his brow furrowing in concern.

  “I couldn’t tell, but he’s in the hospital now, so hopefully it will get taken care of,” she said. “I’ve also been to Weissworks to drink a pure beer, according to Gerta Weiss. What type of beer is the Cloudburst going to offer at its table at the brew fest?”

  “Well, everyone is familiar with our Liquid Sunshine, so we’re going to try to get away from that,” he said. “I think we’re going to offer something we call the Brazilian Bean Stout, which is a coffee flavored dark beer,” he explained at her questioning look at the beer’s name. “Then we are thinking of something more middle of the road like a kolsch. Although I’m sure we can’t do a better one than Weissworks. That Gerta Weiss has got a lock on any German style beers.”

  “Maybe you could walk me through the beers you have on tap here. I feel like I have no idea what everyone is talking about when they throw out names such as stout and kolsch—I had a nut brown ale at Walt’s the other day and I couldn’t tell you the difference between that and a bean stout.”

  Jeremy laughed. “We wouldn’t want you to be uneducated in beer,” he said. “I’ll get together a tasting tray for you.”

  He spent a few minutes busy at the taps and returned to her with a tray loaded with small glasses. “Let’s start with the light beers, move through the hoppy ones and then on to the dark.”

  Callie looked at the selection of beer doubtfully. “Do I drink all of this?”

  “Some people do. But think of it like a wine tasting, you can just take a sip. You don’t have to drink the whole glass,” he said.

  “I think I’m used to the smaller quantities of wine,” she said. “This just looks like a lot of liquid.”

  She picked up the first glass, which was light yellow. She held it up to the light and it was shot through with sunlight. “You should be able to recognize this one,” said Jeremy.

  She took a sip and immediately recognized it as the Cloudburst’s signature beer, Liquid Sunshine Lager. Instead of just drinking it as she had before, this time she rolled it around in her mouth before swallowing, much like she did when she was tasting a new wine. “This is good, but after trying the darker filbert beer at Walt’s, and Gerta’s beer, it doesn’t seem as substantial as before.”

  “I’d guess that’s because you haven’t had too much beer and you were sort of taking it on its own merits. Now you have others for comparison.”

  She nodded. “With only wine to compare it to, I think I found it a bit yeasty. After drinking the darker beer though, this doesn’t seem quite so, I don’t know, thick?”

  He nodded. “That’s understandable. However, don’t be fooled into thinking all beers that color are lighter in flavor.”

  He handed her the next glass and she held it to the light. That one was also golden in color, but the liquid was shot through with darker highlights. “Is there something floating in this beer?” she asked.

  “Good eye,” he said. “This is a German style wheat beer. As part of the process, a bit of yeast sediment remains in the final product.”

  She took a drink and rolled it around on her tongue. “That’s weird. This definitely reminds me of what I first thought the Liquid Sunshine Lager tasted like. This is more bread-like though.”

  “You’re tasting the yeast used to ferment the beer,” he said.

  A pale pink beer was next in line. “Why is this one colored?” she asked.

  “This year we tried a bit of a fruit flavor,” he said. “That’s our Raspberry Refresher. It was made for summertime drinking. You’re lucky to get it as we’re on our last keg and won’t make it again until next spring.”

  In the light, the beer was a bit more golden, but still had a pink tinge to it. She took a sip. “It does seem refreshing, but I don’t think I could drink a lot of it.”

  He laughed. “See, you’re already developing a palate. I call that one a girl beer as it is mostly drunk by women who want to be seen drinking a beer, but don’t like beer much.”

  The next beer was a pale brown in color. “Is this a nut ale?” she asked.

  “What fun would it be if I told you what it was first?” said Jeremy.

  She took a sniff and didn’t detect any nutty odors. Taking a sip, she found the first taste on her tongue was the sort of smooth flavor she knew to associate with a malt. However, when she swallowed, there was a sharp, bitter taste. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I like the bitter finish.”

&nbs
p; “I think the beers with the heavier hops flavors are definitely an acquired taste,” he said. “When you first drank wine, did you like dry Chardonnays or prefer Rieslings?”

  “Definitely the Rieslings,” she said, remembering how long it had taken to develop her palate. “Although now, I don’t like those as much.”

  “It’s the same thing with beer,” said Jeremy. “Right now you enjoy the milder, sweeter flavors. And while you will probably always enjoy them, especially if you are pairing them with food, you’ll find that you learn to appreciate the greater depth of flavors in some of the darker, hoppier beers.”

  “If you say so,” she said doubtfully.

  The final beer on the tray was very dark, with a white foamy head. When Callie held it up to the light she could barely see through it although it seemed to be shot through with some tones of a dark red.

  She smelled it. “This smells like coffee beer.”

  “Good nose. That’s the Brazilian Bean Stout we’re using at the brew fest.”

  She took a drink and was immediately taken with the underlying dark flavor of the stout that had notes of chocolate and brown sugar in it. The coffee flavor enhanced those other tastes. “Wow. I would never have ordered this on my own, but I really like it.”

  He nodded. “I think I would have been able to guess that. Not only do you like coffee, but your palate is developed enough from wine that you can enjoy the more complex flavors of this beer.”

  She finished the glass. “Is that all you got?”

  “Well, that’s our standard tasting tray,” he said. “We have about ten other beers we rotate in throughout the year. Do you want to try any more?”

  “No, no,” she laughed. “I don’t think I want to stretch my palate any farther than it’s already gone.”

  “The traditional drinker now orders a glass of his favorite,” said Jeremy.

  “Can I just get a half glass of the stout? It will seem like dessert,” she said.

  He got her a glass. “How’s the planning for the event going?”

  “Usual stuff. What do you think of the Johnson Pavilion?”

  “It’s come a long ways since its bad wooden roof days. A lot of people have weddings there,” he said.

  “I guess if you aren’t going to use a local church, it’s some of the nicest interior architecture we’ve got in town,” said Callie, thinking of Audrey Wolcott’s nuptials. “You heard Audrey Wolcott was getting married again?”

  “I had heard things were getting serious between her and Vijay Singh,” he said.

  “Not that I think of you as a gossip or anything,” said Callie, “But what do you know about the prospective groom?”

  “A good bartender always has his ears out for any information,” Jeremy said, smiling. “Although he’s been in Skinner for more than twenty years, and a practicing dentist for more than ten, he’s looked at as a bit of an outsider because he was born in India. He went to dental school back east somewhere, but has been in Skinner long enough he should be considered a native.”

  “Nothing like small town politics. You think Skinner would be a bit more open-minded.”

  “It has nothing to do with him being from a foreign country. To some here, Idaho is a foreign country. He’s looked at strange just because he’s not from Skinner. And he’s marrying into one of our more prominent families,” he said.

  “I never thought of the Wolcotts in that way,” she said.

  “You were pretty close to Audrey in high school, but since then her Dad’s spent a lot of time in the public eye working for the prosecutor’s office.”

  Callie didn’t mention Scott. Jeremy had been on the one outing they had had as friends and she was sure he knew she had an interest in Scott. Thank goodness he didn’t know about their last disastrous date. If one could call it a date.

  Jeremy brought him up instead. “And of course, she was married to one of our police officers and they had a fairly contentious divorce,” he said. “This will probably bring all of that up again.” He looked at her expectantly. “Does Scott know?”

  She glared at him. “Why would I know what Scott does or doesn’t know? He’s no worry of mine.”

  “That’s not the impression I got. From either of you,” he said laughing, and swatting away her hand as she tried to punch him in the arm. “But go ahead and pretend as long as you want. It’s no skin off my nose.”

  She finished her beer and told him good night. The drive home was short and as the lights were off downstairs in the house, she went straight into the cottage. Turning on her computer, she checked her email and turned in for the night.

  Chapter Eight

  On Friday, after breakfast in the kitchen with Noah and Grandma Minnie, Callie got into the car for her last day of visits to premium showcase breweries.

  As she approached the warehouse, she could see that Sylvan Ales was a much different style of brewery than Magic Waters or Weissworks. There wasn’t an apparent sense of the past, or of tribute to the long history of brewing. All the buildings were new and reminded Callie more of the computer chip plant in West Skinner than of a decades old brewery decorated with mahogany bars and beer barrels.

  There was an open overhead door that allowed deliveries into the plant. Callie walked in the door and stopped to get her bearings. The warehouse was segmented into three main areas. On the left was the brewing area, full of floor-to-ceiling tanks, fronted by a glass wall. Further along in the building were shelves that held silver kegs. The remaining area opened into a tasting room that allowed the patrons full view of the brewery operations. Callie smiled to herself as she noted that they did have one remnant of the old days. There was a large wooden keg on the counter, with a tap, just like at the other breweries. She wondered if it was an active tap and what beer was served there.

  Her attention shifted as a group of people came out from the far end of the warehouse, out of the shelves of kegs. There were four people, but it was obvious from the way three of them were focused on the fourth, that he was leading the group and even at this distance she could tell is was Chris Ashton.

  He was dressed in worn jeans that hugged his body. As with the other breweries she had been to, she saw he was wearing a shirt with his brewery’s logo, but she wondered if it had been designed with his physique in mind. The black V-neck t-shirt accentuated the muscles in his chest and his well-defined biceps. The sight reminded her she needed to be going to the gym. Maybe she should join his.

  If his inattentive presence at this safe distance was distracting to her, that was nothing compared to what she felt when he saw her at the end of the warehouse. She saw him smile and say something to his companions. They gave her the impression of small mice, scurrying off to tasks elsewhere.

  It wasn’t often Callie got the feeling of sheer enjoyment when watching the male form. For one, there weren’t that many male forms in her daily life worth watching. Second, she was generally too busy to pay attention. And of course, for many years she’d had her previous boyfriend, Peter, no slouch in the looks department, to occupy that portion of her brain.

  She didn’t know much about the man, but as he came towards her, she felt as if she was seeing a stalking tiger moving forward and pinning her with his gaze. The analogy bothered her as she didn’t think of herself as prey like a wild animal.

  As he approached, she saw his eyes were dark brown with long lashes. He had high cheekbones that made his lips protrude slightly. There was no hint of make-up she could see, but his skin seemed too flawless to be natural. Must be good genes, thought Callie. His dark brown hair had a hint of a curl with slight copper highlights.

  “Miss Stone? It’s nice to see you again. I didn’t get a chance to speak with you at the Brewery Guild meeting,” he said, reaching out his hand towards hers. His voice was low and rumbled in her brain directly behind her ears in some sort of subsonic hearing range. She wondered if he knew how attractive he was.

  What on earth was she thinking? Mentally, Callie shoo
k herself back awake. “Yes, it was a fairly busy meeting.” His hand was warm and dry in hers.

  Callie was wearing her good jeans again and black half-boots. Her cashmere V-neck teal sweater was accented by a multi colored scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. She had left her chestnut brown hair down, but was now wondering if she should have put it up.

  “What can I do for you today, Miss Stone?” Chris asked.

  “Please, it’s Callie. Didn’t Walt Eckman call?”

  “Yes, we’ve had some conversations about the premium showcase,” Chris said. “If I had realized the package included a visit from you I might have been a little more excited about it.”

  “Why wouldn’t you have been excited about it in any case?” Callie asked, changing the topic as she tried to resist being flattered. “It’s a great chance to show off your product.”

  “I’ve finally got Sylvan Ales poised to take off nationally,” he said. “In fact, this is the last year I’ll even qualify as a small craft brewer by Bru-topia’s standards. I would have skipped it, except Walt persuaded me with the premium showcase idea.”

  “Why would the idea of the premium showcase change your mind?”

  “I’m not sure how much you know about us,” he said. “We are a fully organic brewery with almost all our ingredients locally sourced. Everything that goes into the beer is certified by an independent organization. We use solar power for much of our operation, recyclable materials for all our packaging and promotion, and we use our spent grain as animal feed.”

  “Is this sustainable with as much beer as you’d need to produce on a national level?” asked Callie.

  “That’s a good question and very perceptive,” he said. “What I’m trying to do is make the model of what we do here marketable. Although I also plan on increasing the amount of beer we make, you’re correct in that only so much can be produced at one plant and keep it sustainable. My idea is to take the template and franchise it out.”

  “So it wouldn’t actually be you making beer somewhere else.”

  “It wouldn’t be me or my Sylvan Ales staff doing the labor, no. Instead, we franchise out the name and the model, and supervise and certify the other breweries using our name. We’ve got a plant started in California that should start operations next year.”