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!

Going Upstream to Cheat on Your Beer

Upstream Brewing Company
514 S. 11th St.
Omaha, NE
Visited August 11, 2010

Beer Selection: Exciting variety of freshly brewed beers

Food: Standard brewpub fare

It’s just the way men are wired. We like to try different stuff.

If not held in check, that desire for variety can get us into trouble.

But I see nothing wrong with having a polygamous relationship with beer.

Go ahead. Try it. Cheat on your Miller Lite.

The sun will come up tomorrow. I promise.

When ever I walk into any bar or restaurant, the first thing I check out are the taps. Then the bottles on display.

I can spot the ubiquitous Miller Lite, Bud Light, Coors Light taps from across the room. My eyes just pass right over them like they aren’t even there.

No, I’m looking for something new.

Something cool.

Maybe even, SOMETHING I’VE NEVER TRIED BEFORE!

I guess that’s why I’m a sucker for a good brew pub every time. Freshly made beer in all sorts of cool varieties that have never before passed my lips.

Now that’s something to get excited about!

Unfortunately, sometimes this concept, which is built on the idea of exciting variety, can itself get a little stale.

Too many brewpubs stick the basics. IPA, stout, brown ale, red ale and the “American” lager (so your lame I-only-drink-Bud-Light-girlfriend doesn’t veto the place).

At some point, after you’ve tried one “Award Winning Fill-In-The-Blank Red Ale”, you’ve tried them all.

That’s why Omaha’s Upstream Brewing Company really stands out on my list of brewpubs.

They had the old brewpub standbys like “Firehouse Red”, “Flagship IPA”, “Capitol Pale Ale” and the limp veto-proof “O! Gold Light”.

But their beer selection went way beyond the basics, including “Dundee Scotch Ale”, “Old Market White Satin”, “Munich Helles”, “Johny Dortmunder Lager”, “Smoked Porter”, “Saisson Sorel” and “Raspberry Lager” (in case you have a slightly less lame girlfriend).

On top of that, they had some good cask conditioned beers.

It was like beer snob heaven!

Unfortunately, as always, I was on a tight schedule. I had 35 minutes to sample as much beer as possible and eat the only meal I would consume in a 48 hour period before heading to the Omaha Airport to spread my legs, raise my arms over-head and have some federal bureaucrat deem my bodily cavities necessarily adequate for travel within our own borders.

That doesn’t leave much time for exciting beer experimentation. So before I could even delve deeply into the beer menu, I ordered up an IPA, the ultimate test of brewery quality.

It was a beautiful bright golden color. Strong. Hoppy. Perfect.

Next I had to try Upstream’s “Smoked Porter”. I’ve had the Alaskan Brewing and Stone Brewing versions before and was anxious to try it.

Smoked beers, for the uninitiated, contain malt that has been smoked, rather than roasted. Of course, how much smoke is up to each individual brewer.

The Alaskan Smoked Porter is like drinking a carton of Marlboros – but in a good way. Very, very smoky. An exciting diversion from normal dark beer – and perfect for a cold Alaskan night feasting on smoked salmon and reindeer meat.

The version served up by Upstream is much more subtle, with just a few hints of smoke. But considering it was 100 degrees outside, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

The only problem with Upstream was the service.

My bartender acted like she had just spent the afternoon hanging out with Suit420 before her shift. (But don’t worry about her; I’ll pick up the tab for her federally guaranteed food stamps, WIC, subsidized rent, cell phone and 99 weeks of unemployment after she gets canned.)

If she had demonstrated just a bit more ambition, I might have been able to squeeze in a third beer variety. But as it turns out, I was lucky to get my food 10 minutes before it was time to race to the airport.

I ordered a BBQ bacon burger with corn chowder.

The burger was big, but dry and over-cooked beyond recognition. Of course little miss ambition didn’t ask how I wanted it done and, mesmerized by the beer menu, I forgot to specify medium rare (which is really medium in restaurant translation). So I got stuck with don’t-sue-us-scorched.

The corn chowder was not as extravagant as some varieties I’ve had – it was basically just a can of creamed corn with spices and bacon. But, as it turns out, a can of creamed corn with spices and bacon is pretty tasty.

I wolfed down my food, polished off the smoked porter and was ready for my mad dash to the airport.

I had a 5:20pm flight.

Just one problem though. At 4:20, I was still sitting at the bar trying to get bartender420 to take my money. It was like trying to get one of those fuzzy mascots to throw you a T-shirt at the game.

But bad service on one random Wednesday afternoon isn’t going to keep me from coming back. I’m sure bartender420 will be collecting some of her 99 weeks of unemployment checks by the time that happens anyway.

For truly exciting beer selection in a cool, historic, high-ceilinged hang-out in downtown Omaha, Upstream Brewing is a great place to beat the heat.

Rating: Seriously Thought About Buying Shirt

Racing the Wrecking Ball at Rosenblatt

Rosenblatt Stadium
1202 Bert Murphy Ave.
Omaha, NE
Visited August 10, 2010

Beer selection: Pretty pathetic and over-priced

Food: Ditto

Ah, minor league baseball.

It is one of my Suit757 philosophies that if you want to get the best feel for a true cross-section of a place, go to a minor league baseball game.

You’ll see the families with the cotton-candy smeared kids. The die-hard score-keeping baseball fans. Teenagers on wholesome date nights. And the rowdy town drunks heckling the opposing pitcher incoherently.

If you are lucky enough to be in town on dollar beer night (usually designated “Thirsty Thursday”), you’ll get the added bonus of 20-something coeds prowling the concourses in skimpy little halters looking for love.

Yes, a minor league baseball game is a perfect slice of Americana.

It’s always at the top of my to-do list on those rare occasions my plane touches down before 6pm and there is a home game at the old ballpark.

Tonight was just such a night.

I was especially excited, because Omaha and Rosenblatt Stadium are synonymous. Rosenblatt was built in 1948 and has most famously hosted the College World Series since 1950.

A lot of history has been made between the lines at Rosenblatt. But its days are numbered.

The last College World Series game ever played at Rosenblatt took place on June 29 when South Carolina took the National Championship over UCLA.

Rosenblatt has also been home to minor league baseball for most of its 62 years.

The final Omaha Royals game will take place in three weeks, after which the wrecking ball will mark the historic stadium’s demise once and for all.

In a typical ridiculous display of taxpayer funded waste, the NCAA and the Omaha Royals couldn’t agree on sharing a new stadium.

So what are the politicians in Nebraska doing to solve the problem?

You got it. Build two different brand-new baseball stadiums in Omaha.

One for the College World Series at a cost of $130 million for an event that takes place two weeks out of the entire year. And another one for the Omaha Royals, at a cost of $40 million.

But I didn’t want thoughts about the actions of idiotic politicians to bum me out. I was looking forward to checking out an historic baseball shrine in one of its final games. I felt like a lucky man.

I wish I could say I was impressed.

The stadium just doesn’t have that old-time throw-back minor league feel you get at other historic ball parks, like Jackie Robinson Ballpark (1914) in Daytona Beach, or Ray Winder Field (1931) in Little Rock, or Bowen Field (1939) in Bluefield, VA.

Those places have that cozy nostalgic feel as you contemplate all the decades of baseball fans and famous and not-so-famous players who have trod their rickety wooden stands. Those old ball yards could come straight out of a scene in “Bull Durham”.

But not Rosenblatt.

That’s probably because the stadium has been thoroughly renovated multiple times over the decades to accommodate the surge in popularity of college baseball.

So Rosenblatt just looks and feels like a soulless 25 year old throw-back to the 80s that needs a good scrubin.

There’s a fine line between nostalgic and shabby. And Rosenblatt falls on the wrong side of that line.

That impression is just reinforced when you make your food and beer selections.

Beer options are Bud Light, Miller Light or Coors Light. That’s like choosing between lethal injection, electrocution and hanging. And at $6 for 20 oz., that’s a bit steep for minor league baseball.

I did stumble upon a lonely guy selling Leinenkugel drafts for $6 for 14oz. Highway robbery, but at least there is another option.

Since this is Omaha, the food options include some items from hometown corporate mail-order giant, Omaha Steaks. You could get an Omaha Steaks burger or steak sandwich.

The steak sandwich wasn’t ready yet. And after watching the guy take a chisel to a giant block of frozen burger patties, somehow I lost interest in Omaha Steak products.

I opted instead for the bratwurst with peppers and onions and a hot dog.

The brat ($6) looked and tasted like it had been cooked hours or days ago. The vegetables were the same.

The tiny little hot dog (three dollars!!!) was quite possibly the worst I have ever had in my life. It had obviously been turning on the little hot dog rollers behind the cash register for days.

With food and beer choices this bad, no wonder less than 1,000 people bothered to show up for this titanic struggle between the Omaha Royals and the Tacoma Rainiers. Of course, to be fair, it was Tuesday night and literally 99 degrees at game time. It dropped all the way down to 91 by the last out.

But did the over-priced beer, lousy food and griddle-like temperatures get me down? No way!

I mean, what else would I rather do on a steamy summer night than kick back under the Nebraska stars with a cold beer in hand and watch some baseball?

Eating Taco Bell off the stain-covered bed spread back at the Best Western while watching reruns of “Entourage” just isn’t that appealing to me.

Plus, I was there to take in the last moments of a place that has hosted decades of baseball history.

And watch some baseball.

Oh yeah, the game.

One of the nice things about AAA (the level just below the big leagues), is that most fans who follow the game moderately will usually recognize a couple players in any given AAA game. These are the players who go back and forth between the minors and the bigs on a regular basis.

Tonight, I saw recognizable big leaguers like Mike Carp, Justin Smoak, Matt Herges and Scott Thorman, who hit the game winning home run in the 5th.

Also playing for the Rainiers was Dustin Ackley, one of the top prospects in all of minor league baseball.

So despite the fact that the place seems to deserve the wrecking ball, I enjoyed my evening at Rosenblatt. I saw a good game, recognized some big leaguers, drank some beer and left with the ability to say I’d seen a game at one of the most historic ballparks in America.

I’ll take that over the Best Western bed spread every time.

Rating: Would Wear the Shirt if They Paid Me

Czeching Out a Happy Place in Omaha

Bohemian Café
1406 S. 13th St.
Omaha, NE
Visited July 28, 2010

Beer selection: Excellent variety of Czech beer (from a country that knows how to brew good beer)

Food: Delicious made-from-scratch American and Czech specialties


Dining at a place like the Bohemian Café is one of the joys of exploring America.

Perhaps if you live in certain neighborhoods in Chicago or Cleveland or Cedar Rapids, there is a place like the Bohemian on your street corner. But for 99% of the rest of us, what some might consider simple Eastern European comfort food, can transform lunchtime -- while in a suit between meetings in Omaha -- into something, dare I say, exciting.

Excitement over goulash, sauer braten and schnitzel?

Well, yes. And that’s the problem with Eastern European cuisine.

These Polka dancers need a better marketing agency. Someone like the guy who changed the name of the Patagonian toothfish to “Chilean Sea Bass” when it hit America’s fine dining expense-account bistros.

I mean, let’s face it, if you are a typical American suburban-dweller who never ventures far from the Applebees’ “2 for 20” menu, how enticingly appetizing does goulash sound?

Maybe it was a plot by the Commies during their occupation of Czechoslovakia?

I don’t know.

But one taste of the goulash or the roast duck or jaeger schnitzel at the Bohemian and you’ll be a convert for life.

The liver dumpling soup that starts every meal here is a perfect example of what I’m talking about. Liver dumpling soup? Even I hesitated when ordering that!

But my grandmotherly waitress, who has been serving up these dishes at the Bohemian for literally decades, reassured me the first time I visited, that it was delicious.

When your grandmother tells you to try something, you do it, especially when she is serving up food this good. (I loved my grandmothers dearly, but they were both Irish, and the Irish aren’t exactly known for creative cuisine).

I’m glad thoughts of slimy cow innards didn’t deter me. The reality of Bohemian’s liver dumpling soup is a savory beefy broth poured over a hearty dumpling that absorbs some of the flavor of the soup without disintegrating. Thankfully, there is no liver – at least in solid form – to be found. The broth and dough in every spoonful is a delicious combination of flavors and texture, a great way to start the meal.

But it is the main course that will leave you fat and happy for the rest of the day.

On a previous visit, I had gotten the Czech goulash, an amazing dish of fall-apart-tender marinated pork covered in a rich, red sauce.

As good as that was, I had to try something different today.

So I chose Svickova, otherwise known as Czech sauer braten. Slow roasted slices of beef that come apart with the slightest nudge of the fork. The meat, along with a dumpling large enough to feed a family of four, come covered in a sour cream gravy.

As if that isn’t enough, sweet and sour cabbage is piled high on the other end of the plate. Anyone who can make cabbage taste like desert knows how to cook!

If this is the lunch portion, I’d hate to see the dinner version.

But that’s what the Bohemian Café is all about.

It’s not just a place to grab lunch. It’s a celebration of Czech food, culture and fun. Pastoral Old World paintings on the wall, friendly red-checked clad waitresses, polka music on the over-head speakers and giant-sized plates of ethnic comfort food.

If you came grumpy, you won’t leave that way. Heck, I bet even Keith Olbermann could find a reason to crack a smile here.

Well, maybe not.

I do have one regret though. My head-dizzying Suit757 schedule has never allowed me to just sit at the bar with locals and work my way through the list of exotic Czech pilsner beers.

Oh, well. There’s always next time.

See what I mean?

I’m actually anticipating a return visit to Omaha, Nebraska. That’s what a great place like the Bohemian Café will do for you.

Rating: Bought the Shirt

Meatless in Omaha?

Stokes
1122 Howard St.
Omaha, NE
Visited July 27, 2010

Beer selection: A few interesting microbrews

Food: Southwestern with an apparently vegetarian bias

If a foreigner asked you where he could find America, you could do a lot worse than pointing him to Omaha, Nebraska. The heartland. Good people. Traditional values. Corn and cattle.

A city where the wheels of productivity still hum.

So why do places like Omaha have such an inferiority complex?

That complex is personified by Stokes, a last resort for a suit in a strange place.

It was Tuesday night at 10pm and there was an unexplained power outage across most of downtown Omaha. To put it succinctly, my options were limited.

Stokes was open and still serving food. I was hungry.

The sign said “Southwestern Cuisine”. I like Southwestern.

Under normal circumstances, the fact that I was in Omaha and not Santa Fe might have prompted me to keep walking, but, as I said, the situation was somewhat desperate.

The first problem came when I tried to order a much needed beer.

The only microbrew listed on the menu was Boulevard Pale Ale. I’ve had the Kansas City brew before. It’s good. I was content with that decision -- until the waiter told me that what was listed on the menu and their actual beer selection had very little connection to each other. There was no Boulevard Pale Ale.

Astutely sensing that I was looking for something different than the usual crap beers, he offered an IPA in the bottle from Colorado. I gladly accepted.

The next problem came when I ordered food. I noticed that most of the menu was seafood, chicken and vegetarian dishes.

I’m in Omaha! Is it too much to ask for some dead cow?

So I settled on the steak tacos.

Unfortunately, they were out of them – the price to pay for coming to the only restaurant open downtown at 10pm.

My second choice was a spicy wrap with beef tips, habaneros, jalapenos, potatoes, onions, peppers and cheese.

If I hadn’t been under the gun to promptly come up with a Plan B, I might have taken the time to wonder to myself, “What exactly is a wrap?” I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a heterosexual man order one.

But any buyer’s remorse disappeared as I contemplated the brilliant strategery of ordering BEEF tips in Omaha. When in Rome, right?

So you can imagine my disappointment upon actually eating these wrap things. Bite after spicy bite. Surely the next bite will reveal the promised mouthful of bovine?

It never came. Lots of vegetables. Little of anything resembling meat to be found.

The fact that the spicy peppers and vegetables were tasty in a weird healthy kind of way only made the disappointment that much more soul crushing. Imagine how good this would be with some actual meat?

Alas, I didn’t even finish them – why waste the calories on vegetables? As I sat there finishing my second IPA in a stupor of depression I suddenly noticed the absolutely atrocious music blaring over the sound system. Is that Hall & Oates?

Am I really in Omaha? Sitting at a restaurant with a homosexual love music sound track that just ran out of beef?

If there is anything at all wrong with cities in fly-over country like Omaha, it reveals itself in places like Stokes. Not content to cater to down-home, meat loving Nebraskans, an inferiority complex produces lame attempts to replicate some vegan hipster hang-out on DuPont Circle.

But our nation’s capital is a long way from here. Geographically, politically and culturally.

And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Of course, I’m sure if I spent my entire life toiling in Omaha, I too might eventually crave something more, something different, something exotic. But Stokes ain’t it.

That’s why God invented airplanes. Midwest Airlines has two non-stops per day from Omaha to Reagan National. Memo to embarrassed, fly-over country wannabe hipsters: you are now free to move about the country.

Rating: Wouldn’t Wear The Shirt If They Paid Me