Family Brews in Fall Rivah

Battleship Brewhouse
101 President Ave.
Fall River, MA




“Blue collar cities = Budweiser crap.”
          -- Cousin757 email to Suit757


You can tell we’re kin, huh?

Yeah, Cousin757 loves double IPAs even more than I do. She probably wouldn’t drink a Sam Adams if it were free.

I guess that’s where the similarities end. I’m pretty sure I’ve never turned down a beer.

Ever. Not even a Bud.

But Cousin757’s warning about the perils of finding a good place to sample local double IPAs near her home in Fall River, Massachusetts was well taken.

This is the town that is famous for two things: the gang rape trial depicted by Jody Foster in “The Accused” and Lizzy Borden -- who axe murdered her parents.

Not exactly Chamber of Commerce marketing material.

Folks in this gritty former textile town are perfectly happy with their bottles of Bud, thank you very much. Hoity toity beer snobs like us can keep their “fancy beer” inside of Route 128.

But Cousin757 mentioned a strip mall brewhouse that serves an unusually nice selection of suds in this blue collar town.

Battleship Brewhouse in Fall River.

Deal. Count me in.

If USAir doesn’t ruin my life, I’ll be there at 7:30pm on Wednesday night!

To add yet another layer of festivity, my sister unexpectedly decided to drive four hours round trip to join us.

The lengths people will go to down a few brews with Suit757!

I was honored.

And thirsty when I pulled into the nearly empty trash-strewn parking lot on the outskirts of downtown Fall River.

Next to a nail salon and a Chinese take-out joint, Battleship Brewhouse’s parking lot view didn’t look too promising.

But the inside was much better, freshly painted with pictures of the namesake USS Massachusetts battleship parked on the Fall River waterfront.

Other than a small scattering of a few lonely beer drinkers, we had the place to ourselves.

I kicked off this 757 family reunion in style -- with a beer flight, of course.

While Fall River doesn’t appear to have climbed aboard the craft beer bandwagon with a local brewery, the beer menu offered some tasty options from other parts of the People’s Republic of Taxachussetts.

I chose an IPA from Ipswich Ale and a porter and IPA from Mayflower Brewing in Plymouth for my maiden flight of three.

I thought Mayflower’s IPA was a little thin, but the porter was toasty, malty and full of flavor.

The Ipswich IPA was definitely a notch above the Mayflower. And isn’t that why we order beer flights -- to compare and contrast -- and declare a winner?

Congratulations Ipswich IPA.

But that was just the warm up for one of the greatest beers to ever grace my liver -- Vermont’s Otter Creek Backseat Berner -- a hoppy IPA masterpiece with aromatic piney hops balanced perfected with a tasty malt backbone.

Four beers into the festivities (don’t worry, three of them were 5oz samplers), it was time to join my cuz on the heavy double IPA side of the beer menu.

I opted to leave New England for Colorado’s Left Hand Brewing. Their Nitro Stout is a Suit757 Hall of Famer, so I was anxious to try the Twin Sisters. She didn’t disappoint. Twin barrels of hoppy deliciousness.

By this point in the evening it was past time to start thinking about actual non-liquid sustenance.

Cousin757 had warned me, “The beer selection is decent but you probably won’t be buying the shirt.”

Well, we’ll see about that.

As they say at the kick off of football season, “That’s why they play the games.”

Like many blue collar sections of America, Fall River has developed its own unpretentious culinary traditions (and language) that you just won’t find on your local two-for-twenty Applebee’s menu.

Chourico (pronounced “shar-eese”), Linguica (pronounced “ling-weese”), Quahogs (pronounced “stuffies”), Clam Chowder (pronounced “chowdah”) and Pork Altejana (pronounced “pork and necks”).

Many of these dishes originated in the islands off of Portugal and were transported here to the southeast coast of New England by Portuguese settlers generations ago.

Cousin757 has exactly zero Portuguese blood. I know -- I’ve researched our family history.

Just don’t tell her.

She sure sounds like she knows what she’s talking about because she married into a native family.

She warned me that Battleship Brewhouse probably isn’t your first, second, third or fourth choice in Fall River (pronounced “Fall Rivah”) for sampling authentic local Portuguese dishes, but I was determined to give it a shot.

After all, I can order another cheesesteak or overcooked burger anywhere.

The clam chowder was creamy and chock full of local clams. Not as thick as I usually prefer, but pretty darn tasty.

The quahog was an oversize clam shell stuffed with diced clam bits and seasoned breading mixed together with spicy seasoning. Instead of a crabcake, think a clamcake -- on the half shell. Probably the highlight of the meal.

As a sausage connoisseur, I just HAD to try some local chourico -- a dense local Portuguese sausage. So I opted for the “Mac & Cheese and Chourico Flatbread”.

I hate to say it but it was a bit of a disappointment.

It was basically a thin pizza with some macaroni piled on top.

Cousin757 asked, “Where’s your ‘chareese’??”

On top of the macaroni was a thin sprinkling of red flakes, kinda like bacon bits. No thick slices of sausage I was hoping for.

Basically the flatbread was just a disappointing mouthful of carbs.

Fortunately, the meal was salvaged by the Pork Altejana, a stew of diced potatoes and pork chunks in a well-seasoned garlicy, peppery broth.

Wow. You could put that sauce on my flip-flops and I’d gladly eat them.

The littleneck clams on the side lended a nice balance to this Portuguese version of surf and turf.

While my sister and I were pretty infatuated with this dish, our cuz was left underwhelmed.

“The clams are supposed to be steamed in the broth,” she griped. “I can make better Altejana than that.”

My sister and I took that as an open invitation.

And that’s one of the great perks of this traveling life.

Flight delays, 3am hotel check-ins and TSA crotch gropings aside, the opportunity to drop in on family and friends scattered across America on a random Wednesday night makes it all worthwhile.

After all, double IPAs go down even better in good company.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt.

The Revolution Comes to Nebraska

The Crescent Moon Ale House
3578 Farnham St.
Omaha, NE




I’m pretty sure nobody in America is more excited about the on-going craft beer revolution than Suit757.

Just a few years ago, one of my typical stopovers at a Middle America sports bar or college hangout like the Crescent Moon Ale House yielded nothing more than a monotonous display of ubiquitous tab handles -- the same dozen boring taps you see in every bar in America.

Under those tap handles pours the identical watered down pale fizzy crap.

I guess that’s the thing I don’t get about all those fans of the mass produced American lagers: don’t you get bored drinking the same damn thing over and over again?

And don’t even try to tell me that Bud Light tastes radically different from Miller Lite. I’ve blind taste-tested them all. Any differences are subtle at best.

It’s all the same exact style. Same formula. Same pale color. Same nonexistent flavor.

Now, don’t get me wrong.

I’m not one of those Nazi craft beer snobs who refuses to allow a mass produced beer to touch my lips.

I mean, my favorite style of beer might be a hoppy Imperial India Pale Ale, but my second favorite style of beer is…

…free. Even if it is a Bud Light.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never turned one down yet.

Trust me, if you get a First Class upgrade, that’s what you’re going to be drinking.

While mass produced watered down American lager might not be my favorite style, I’m not religiously opposed to it either.

In fact, as I type this I have a keg of Coors Light on tap at the bar in my home.

With that admission, I might have just lost half the followers of this website.

But low alcohol, low taste, cheap beer has a role to play alongside the arsenal of good beer stocked in my bar -- particularly on hot summer days or at the tail end of particularly lengthy sessions of beer drinking when the law of diminishing returns has long since kicked in.

What makes me excited about the craft beer revolution is the wonderful variety of good beer out there now just waiting for me to sample.

This revolution is so exciting, it can make even a trip to Omaha, Nebraska an enlightening experience.

I chose the Crescent Moon not for its beer selection alone, but primarily because I read that it serves the single best sandwich in the state of Nebraska, the Blackstone Rueben.

Named after a nearby long-gone historic hotel where the original version was served, this was one top notch Rueben.

Slow cooked in some secret spices, the thick chunks of corned beef melted in my mouth they were so tender. The Swiss cheese and Thousand Island dressing lended plenty of condiment gooey goodness.

Even the sauerkraut was spot on. And I don’t even like sauerkraut.

On the side, I paid extra for fried green peppers.

Fried green peppers?

The only other menu where I’ve seen them was at a strip mall crab house in Maryland.

I’m making a prediction right now.

Fried green peppers are the next big thing -- coming soon to an Applebee’s “Two for Twenty” menu near you.

First of all, the shape is just fun. Sliced from a pepper cross section, each one was a big oddly formed ring.

Lightly breaded so the mild pepper flavor shines through, fried green peppers are a welcome reprieve from the side dish monotony of fries, onion rings and cole slaw.

To me that is what I love most about eating my way across the USA -- breaking the monotony by trying new things.

Which just happens also to be why I love the craft beer revolution.

Crescent Moon Ale House is a fantastic beer bar sporting exotic never-before-seen tap handles from across the Midwest and across Nebraska.

I was excited. Even more so when the bar tender informed me that all Nebraska beers were just $3.50 per pint tonight.

Bargain!

I started with the Zipline Black IPA out of Lincoln, Nebraska, a toasty flavorful oxymoron in a glass. How exactly can a “pale ale” be black, anyway?

My second brew was the Radial IPA from Infusion Brewing Company across town, a nice wallop of spicy hops.

How cool is it that small microbreweries are popping up in every nook and cranny of America -- even in decidedly non-hipster places like Nebraska??

Pretty cool. And plenty of others agree.

The Crescent Moon had a nice crowd for 10pm on a Wednesday night.

Definitely a college bar vibe with long communal tables full of students from nearby Creighton University, beer banners hanging from the ceiling and a burly bouncer dude checking IDs by the front door in front of a glass case selling t-shirts that say “Moon Me.”

There is even a “Huber-Haus German Bier Hall” in the basement and Max and Joe’s, a Belgian beer bar off in a side room.

You would think this place would be a sausage fest of frat guys downing beers and telling fart jokes.

But you’d be wrong.

There were as many girls as guys knocking back brewskies.

How cool is that?

As I was crunching on my fried green peppers at the bar, a couple of attractive college girls stopped by to order several good local microbrews.

“Damn, I love beer,” the brunette said.

The blonde one replied, “I know, right?!? The next time you go home to Denver, I want to come with you so we can stop off at every brewery in Colorado.”

Wow!

Besides sounding like a VERY fun roadtrip (would it be rude if I interrupted them and invited myself along?) -- I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Girls who like good beer?

Apparently I was born too early.

When I was in college, the cool girls would help you finish your four dollar pitcher of Busch.

The less cool high maintenance chicks would demand you make a special side trip to the Tiny Giant to pick up a four pack of Bartles and Jaymes wine coolers.

Losers.

Thank God those dark days are behind us.

The craft beer revolution has saved us all from such indignities.

And the evidence is right here at The Crescent Moon Ale House in Omaha.

Craft beer in Nebraska. College students drinking IPAs. Girls planning brewery roadtrips.

Yep. The revolution is complete.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!

Searching for Cultural Enlightenment in Sin City

Aces and Ales
3740 S. Nellis Blvd.
Las Vegas, NV





The last time I wrote a review in Las Vegas, I think I clearly articulated my distain for Sin City.

Vegas is an inauthentic lowest-common-denominator amusement park for unimaginative American travelers too timid to use their precious two weeks of vacation time to go anywhere real or interesting.

So here I am. On another business trip to Las Vegas.

Trillsville.

Okay. I have an idea. I’ll do what Suit757 always does.

Why should Las Vegas be any different?

I’ll seek out the local crowd -- away from the vulgar tourist masses.

Yep. I’m setting out to find “real” Vegas.

Wherever that might be.

Most of the 40 million tourists who come to Las Vegas every year never venture more than 100 yards in either direction from The Strip.

But as anyone who has sat in a window seat on approach to McCarran International Airport can attest, there is more to Las Vegas than The Strip.

More than two million people live underneath the apartments and residential rooftops that sprawl outward across the desert valley floor as far as the eye can see.

Yeah. That’s where I am headed.

Screw valet parking, lousy beer selection and hoards of 80 year old widows on walkers throwing their Social Security checks into slot machines 25 cents at a time.

I am going to find a local’s hang out to drink real beer with real people.

So I typed my favorite word into Google Maps.

B-E-E-R.

One of the first results that popped up was Aces and Ales, 25 minutes out into the Vegas sprawl.

There was just one problem with my strategy.

There aren’t any “real people” in Las Vegas.

I mean, I’m not saying that Vegas is populated with the Walking Dead, I’m just saying there really isn’t much of a local Las Vegas culture to tap into.

First of all, nobody is actually “from” Las Vegas.

Hanging out with the “locals” in Sin City isn’t like going to a Friday night fish fry with the lumberjacks in Northern Wisconsin.

Workers in Las Vegas don’t grow timber or mine coal or extract oil from the ground or build automobiles.

Virtually everyone in Las Vegas works in one industry: servicing those 40 million tourists -- and each other.

They park your car or carry your bag or give you your room key or slide you a beer or make your bed or cash out your gambling voucher or take off their bikini top for your viewing pleasure or taxi your drunk butt back to your hotel.

All for a tip of course.

So I guess what I’m saying is that hanging out on a Wednesday afternoon with the locals at Aces and Ales wasn’t quite as culturally enlightening as I hoped it would be.

But the beer was top notch.

Aces and Ales is a Las Vegas Mecca for good beer that is open 24 hours per day.

Yeah. Like Sin City itself, this joint NEVER closes.

Aces and Ales was started by bonafide rock star, Keri Kelli, in 2009.

The former guitarist for Alice Cooper loves craft beer and has utilized his connections to some legendary craft brewers to create a destination in this metropolis of mediocrity to try rare high quality beer.

Fortunately I got there just before 3pm -- the start of “Hoppy Hour”. All drafts are five bucks, a steep discount off the high alcohol/high priced beers on tap.

Awesome.

I sat at the only spot at the bar that didn’t have a video poker machine.

And I was the only patron in the place under the age of 70 -- and every one of them had their heads down punching away at the video poker buttons.

Surprisingly, most of them were drinking Budweiser or Miller Lite.

Maybe this isn’t so different from The Strip after all.

The 40ish bartender was friendly and helpful. She flipped the TV to the afternoon baseball game for me and waxed enthusiastically about all the high powered beers on tap.

I started with the Mikkeller Beer Geek Breakfast Stout, from those crazy beer geeks in Denmark who specialize in brewing off-the-wall concoctions for adventurous American craft beer drinkers.

It wasn’t really breakfast time but I suppose 3 o’clock on a Wednesday is close enough.

Malty, sweet and smooth, I’d happily make this beer my breakfast of champions -- if I were to take up beer drinking at 8am.

Probably not a good career move, but as they, say, “You can’t drink all day if you don’t start first thing in the morning!”

Noticing that I liked strong imperial stouts, the bar tender gave me a sample of Nectar Black Xantus, an 11.5% powerhouse of flavor. Luxurious and sweet as liquorish, it was like going straight from breakfast to dessert.

The Stone IRS 2011 was yet another imperial stout -- but very different from the first two. This one was more sour than sweet. Interesting, but not what I’m looking for in a dark beer.

Eventually I switched to a nice IPA by Smog City Brewing out of Southern California called

Hoptonic. Excellent choice. Perfectly balanced with a nice hoppy kick.

If this sounds like a lot of beer, well…

…it was.

And it wasn’t.

Most of the beers are served in small 8oz shot glasses. But that is because they have double to triple the alcohol of a normal beer.

These aren’t gulping beers.

Which was a problem for me when I bit into my Moondog Grilled Cheese Sandwich loaded with pepperoni, salami, cheese, olives and jalapenos.

Most restaurants that serve jalapenos as a garnishment cook the spice right out of the peppers. So I wasn’t too worried when I placed my order.

But after one bite, my head was on fire.

This sandwich included big disks of raw jalapeno -- seeds, stems and all.

Fortunately, the bar tender rushed me a glass of tap water to douse the flames. Wouldn’t want to try that with a ten percent alcohol beer.

While I would have preferred a higher cheese/meat to olives/jalapenos ratio, the sandwich was exactly as advertised.

Can’t complain.

For me, the highlight was the Arrogant Bastard Ale Onion Rings made from scratch with its namesake beer batter.

As I enjoyed my meal, it became clear that as usual I was the only guy in the place nobody knew.

And the only one in a suit. Of course.

Two very old men and a women who has been working in Las Vegas for 47 years sat next to me.

She and the bar tender started whispering about “the good looking guy in the suit.”

I immediately began nervously calculating how many minutes it would take me to finish my beer and get the check.

It didn’t take long before the lady turned my way and began telling me her story of how she came to Vegas, dealt cards for decades at the Sands and then took a job working for the government.

She soon launched into a monologue about how the “difficult working conditions” doing government work were made bearable because of the union.

She is now the union shop steward -- a bonafide government union boss!

“You know, they claim we make $80,000 per year, but that’s not true. I make $39,000. The rest is benefits and that shouldn’t count,” she tried to explain.

“But at least we can’t be fired.”

I didn’t bother to tell her that the $80,000 sure counts for the taxpayer who has to pay the bill.

But that is Vegas culture for you, to the extent that it has one: two million people working hard doing nothing but taking other peoples’ money.

By the time I polished off my sandwich, the bar tender asked me if I minded cashing out since her shift was over.

Even though I was still contemplating one more beer, I didn’t mind at all. This is Vegas. Everyone lives and dies on their tips.

She worked hard and deserved to be tipped for it before she hit the I-515.

Since it was “Hoppy Hour”, my three beers and sandwich were all five bucks each. So $20 plus tax.

I figured if I was paying full price, the tab would be closer to $34. So I left her a $7 tip on my credit card slip.

I guess I was feeling generous since the Depression Era patrons drinking Buds and playing video poker didn’t figure to be big tippers.

Meanwhile, the replacement bartender, a young attractive girl, who possessed the assets to make more money at any number of other various Sin City occupations, took over.

I ordered a pint of Smog City’s Saber Tooth Squirrel, a delicious 7% red ale, from her.

Since it was my last beer, I handed her some cash to pay for it up front and left $1.50 tip on the bar.

Like I said, I appreciate good service.

Just then, Bartender Number One makes her rounds, grabs my credit card jacket and the cash I left for Bartender Number Two and walks off in a huff.

She probably figured all I left her for her TV channel surfing and beer commentary efforts was a buck and half.

Hopefully she figured it out when she looked at the credit card slip.

But that didn’t stop her from pocketing the younger girl’s tip.

So if I ventured out to the Las Vegas suburbs to immerse myself in the real culture of this city, I guess I got what I came for.

From the 70 year old government union boss sitting next to me -- to the bar tender -- everyone’s in competition to pocket everyone else’s money.

And now you understand why I’d just assume hang out with the lumberjacks in Wisconsin.

Rating: Would Wear a Free Shirt.

Parking is a Premium at Off Site Kitchen

Off Site Kitchen
2226 Irving Blvd.

Dallas, TX 75207

 

It's been just over two years since my last visit to Texas, and as a guy from the Great Lakes region, I can tell you that I did not look forward to return to the heat of Texas.

I was in the Dallas area on business with a fellow Suit who explained to me that the heat in Texas can get so extreme that bugs will actually melt on the sidewalk. Not the crunchy bugs, he clarified, just the big, fat and juicy ones.

Comforting...

Look, I'm sure Texas is nice not during the summer months, but I can't exactly confirm that, being that I've only really been there during the months that bugs melt.

And don't get me started on the politics of Texas.

Every conservative believes that Texas is somehow a utopia for conservative politics. Texas has worse gun laws than Pennsylvania!

Oh, and you also have to provide all ten fingerprints to get a driver's license in the state. How about that for freedom-loving?

And Rick Perry...where do I even start with him? Sometimes he can be so right and other times he can just be plain stupid. Perry is finally stepping down after being Governor for what seems like since the Civil War. No term limit for the Executive? No thank you...

Oh, and let us not forget that Texas also gave us the Bush dynasty which single-handedly destroyed the Republican Party.

But the people of Texas are good people, so long as you can tolerate them constantly correcting you that everything is better and/or bigger in Texas.

No, but seriously, I shouldn't be so tough on Texas because despite their government and obnoxious heat, it is a nice state. And one thing for sure, they know how to cook.

My fellow suit, being a native Texan, knew that I would be interested in the finest of what Dallas had to offer. He did his research, and brought us to a shady part of town to what looked like from the outside a perfect place for a Suit to review.

Once through the front door, I knew he had just taken me a goldmine of a Suit review.

Off Site Kitchen is everything that a Suit could ask for in a delicious place to eat: severe lack of parking spaces, long line to the register, very little seating, and the smell of smoked meat in the air.

I ordered the special of the day which was half a BBQ chicken with house made BBQ sauce, coleslaw, and Texas toast.

In true Texas fashion, my fellow Suit ordered the Ten Buck Four Burger, which is a burger made up of four 1/4 pound burger patties, for a grand total of a pound of meat, plus a fried egg on top.

I must say, I became envious of that burger. That thing looked awesome, and according to my fellow Suit, it was, as he had to restart his heart several times during the process of eating it.
 

Don't get me wrong, though, my BBQ chicken was delicious. The meat was very moist and flavorful, and the house made BBQ sauce that came with it had the right amount of tang to it.

The only way to truly complete this meal is by washing it down with the beer that is the pride of Texas, Shiner Bock. Now, I'm not going to sit here and sing the praises of Shiner Bock. It's an okay beer and really is about the best Texas can offer. The laws in Texas just absolutely kill the craft beer industry.

Yet another fine example of the lack of freedom in the Lone Star State...

But I salute Shiner for their long history of serving the people of Texas with a quality beer.

Freedom will come some day to Texas so that Texans can actually openly carry a firearm without being thrown in jail, and to know what real good beer tastes like.

Until then, they can keep enjoying their delicious food with a small variety of good beer, while dreaming of the day they can live up to the label of "freest state in the union."

Off Site Kitchen is a must for anyone visiting the Dallas area. It is off the beaten path, and you'll have a hard time finding parking, but it is well worth it.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt

Good Southern Living on Tap at The Owl

Owl Tap Room
75 Commerce St.
Apalachicola, FL



Just a few short years ago finding good craft beer in a small Southern town was about as difficult as finding a virgin along Florida State’s sorority row.

Yuengling was about as exotic as it got.

My how things have changed.

For the better.

The Owl Tap Room in the oyster capital of the world, Apalachicola, Florida, is a perfect example.

The beer list spelled out on a big chalk board declares, “Welcome to beer heaven!”

Heaven indeed.

Recently opened as the younger, hipper sister to the frumpy white tablecloth Owl Café next door, the Owl Tap Room sports 15 rotating taps of top notch regional and national craft beers.

And I do mean top notch.

Somebody who knows their beer does the ordering for this place.

Obscure high quality beers from America’s greatest breweries like Ommegang, Bell’s and Southern Tier pour from the taps.

The best beers from Florida and the Southeast are also well represented such as Cigar City in Tampa, Intuition in Jacksonville and Highland in Asheville.

The selection is continually changing as evidenced by the multitude of colorful tap handles hanging from the rafters.

Florida was one of the last states in America to develop a taste for good beer, so finding creative breweries in the Sunshine State can be a challenge.

One of the best is Cigar City. So I was excited to try their High Seas IPA, a flavor I’d never tried before.

Cigar City is famous for its delicious Jai Alai IPA, but this was something different.

Brewed in Ponce, Puerto Rico and then dry hopped with Simcoe hops on its journey back to Tampa in a refrigerated vessel, High Seas IPA has a spicy, fruity snap you’d expect from a top notch IPA.

My Highland Gaelic Ale was a poor choice to follow such a kick-ass brew. There is no way the much more subtle flavors of this ale could match up against a hoppy IPA. But it grew on me as I approached the bottom of the glass.

Next up I had to try Hop House Pale Ale from Ommegang.

Ommegang is a tiny brewery in Cooperstown, New York (home of the Baseball Hall of Fame) that has earned a world renowned reputation. Literally.

Legendary Belgian brewery Duvel was so smitten by the Belgian-style beers being produced by this little Yankee brewery that they bought the damn place.

That’s like Formula One inviting me to race my Toyota Solara in the Monaco Grand Prix.

The Hop House Pale Ale is a hoppy version of a fruity Belgian ale. The Belgian yeast reminds you of the style while the spicy hop finish puts a smile on your face.

Next up I wanted to try the Thomas Creek Porter out of South Carolina but the guy sitting next to me got the last one before the keg blew.

Luckily for me, they replaced it with something even better, Southern Tier 2X IPA, one of my favorite double IPAs from one of my favorite breweries in America. Southern Tier never disappoints.

While my brain could still comprehend what I was drinking, I finished up with pint of Bell’s Smitten Rye, a hoppy pale ale brewed with rye grains, which adds a nice spicy kick.

While clearly beer is the most important item on the menu in the Tap Room, you can also order food.

Good thing too considering all the hops and alcohol flowing through my blood stream.

Of course the reason everyone comes to the tiny town of 3,500 people on the “Forgotten Coast” of Florida is to slurp down fresh Apalachicola oysters.

At the Owl, they proudly serve “13 Mile Brand” oysters.

Most oyster eaters on the Gulf and Atlantic coasts aren’t pretentious enough to fret over oyster brands.

To most southerners, an oyster is an oyster is an oyster.

At most, you might hear them comment about the oyster being “salty” or “fresh”, which varies based on the wind direction and the resulting salinity of the water from which it was plucked.

On the West Coast or at the Grand Central Station Oyster Bar in New York City, you pay four bucks a piece for oysters from specific estuaries and then must commence to pretentiously waxing poetic about the subtle differences.

Here in Apalachicola, if your oyster carries a brand, it will probably be “13 Mile”, which is the only brand sold by The Owl.

13 Mile is the name given to an oyster dock owned for four generations by the Ward family located along Apalachicola Bay which is…you guessed it…

…13 miles from town.

Most days you can catch one of their 13 Mile Brand shrimp boats tied up to the dock downtown.

Maybe I need to become a more pretentious oyster eater because my half dozen raw 13 Mile oysters were some of the biggest, plumpest, most delicious oysters I had in Apalachicola.

Clean, salty and sweet, each slurp was a succulent taste of Apalachicola Bay.

My 13 Mile Brand oysters were like a mini vacation on the half shell.

And at less than a buck a piece, an absolute bargain. After all, if you only have to transport them 13 miles in the back of a refrigerated truck, it dramatically cuts down the transportation costs.

And dramatically ups the freshness.

The fried 13 Mile oysters were excellent too, perfectly prepared to a nice golden crisp. The horseradish dipping sauce was good but unnecessary.

While the menu in the tap room is a bit more modest than in the more formal Owl Café next door, there was a nice selection of options to soak up all that good beer.

I went with the alligator sausage sandwich.

There’s just something fun about eating an animal more dangerous than me.

In the swamp in my backyard I might be at a disadvantage, but here at the Owl Tap Room it was Suit757 at the top of the food chain as I admired the black grill marks on my perfectly charred tube of mashed up gator parts.

The sautéed onions and sauerkraut gave the gator a nice sweet and tangy accent.

Full of beer, oysters and gator, I stumbled out onto Commerce Street a happy man.

I mean I’m always happy after a good meal.

But what put me in an especially good mood was knowing that the craft beer revolution has spread even to this tiny nook of the American South -- one of my favorite destinations of the wide Suit757 map.

A trip to Apalach no longer means a weekend of washing down my oysters with a steady stream of Miller Lite and Yuengling.

In fact, as I crossed the street, I peered into the empty storefront that soon will be “Oyster City Brewing Company”. The folks at the Owl are building their own brew pub!

How cool is that?

Life in the Confederacy just keeps getting better.

Rating: Bought the Shirt!