Single Hop Theory...

The fine folks at Weyerbacher seem to be taking a page from the Nicene Creeders when it comes to their latest big beer offerings: Double Simcoe IPA and (coming soon) Eleven Triple IPA, both of which make extensive use of a single hop variety.

Though Simcoe sounds like a corporate psuedonym straight out of a Philip K. Dick novel, homebrewers and beer afficionados (i.e., high-toned sots) know that it's the latest hot hop variety (first introduced in 2000, it's taken some time to really catch on). A casual search on the web will tell you the why—high alpha acid level + low cohumulone content = big, smooth hop flavor sans harsh bitterness—but you'd do much better to dispense with the science and simply try this beer.

I first heard of Simcoe hops from Derrick at myLHBS, who sold me an ounce for the IPA I was planning to make. It was a good choice, though the exact contribution from the Simcoe hops in my brew was difficult to distinguish from the lupuline qualities of the other two hop varieties I used, the downside of blending different types of hops. Not a problem with Double Simcoe IPA.

I first sampled Double Simcoe straight from the tap at Max's on Broadway in Fells Point (Baltimore Harbor) with my girl about a month ago, and knew just from the first huff that I was going to like it. Then, while recently scanning the beer section at a local WholeFoods, I noticed the unusual label on the bottle—a surreal close-up of a hunk of hop cone that could have been painted by Edvard Munch—before I caught the name. Almost without thinking, I swept three bottles into my basket.

So what does it taste like? Well, true to form, it's hoppy AND smooth. Citrusy? Yeah, sure. Complex, especially considering the limited ingredients, and with a strong alcohol presence, though not as much as you might expect for a niner. Very drinkable, like it should be. Malt is there, but as with most hop-laden ales, it's the spindly rack on which the bitter fruit hangs in abundance, to wax artsy. Definately recommended; in fact, I just picked up another bottle, along with something called Black Hole Ale, which looks, um, interesting, to put it mildly.

Also, I recently had a chance to try the newly reformulated Hops Infusion Ale on tap at Rustico in Alexandria; a big improvement on an old ale that just seemed dated once the newer wave of hop-heavy IPAs (e.g., Loose Cannon, the alliterative duo Nugget Nectar and Hop Hog, Sierra Nevada's Celebration Ale, etc.) hit the market. Looks like Simcoe had a hand in the new taste as well.

As for the aforementioned Eleven, a triple IPA that uses Phoenix hops as the single variety, it's due out sometime this month, and celebrates Weyerbacher's 11th year in the beer business. At nearly 12% abv and with 109 IBUs, this one's gonna leave a mark.

POSTSCRIPT: Speaking of PKD, his elegiacal masterpiece A Scanner Darkly has been made into an upcoming film that makes use of an animation technique known as digital rotoscoping. Digital rotoscoping is the tracing of live action sequences to produces animated images that are eerily lifelike; you may have seen it used recently in that series of creepy commericals from Charles Schwab (imagine receiving investment advice from a 'toon—Debord has by now spun himself six feet up to the surface). Seems to me like one helluva way to increase the costs of production, assuming you still have to pay the actors along with the rotoscopist, but maybe they're counting on the "wow" factor to bring in the brass.

And who do they get to "play" Bob Arctor, the leading character? Keanu Reeves. That's right, the guy who played "Ted" in all those horrible movies, most profitably The Matrix and its familial ilk. Although early indications are that the movie's plot stays true to the book's (the choice of Reeves notwithstanding), I'll really be surprised it this one doesn't suck like all the other overhyped, overbudgeted, derivative dreck that Hollywood continues to paristaltically push out like so much spent beer. That aside, you have to love the genius of signing on Woody Harrelson and Robert Downey Jr. to play Arctor's drug-addled roommates.

POST-POSTSCRIPT: If you brew-it-yourself and you're in the area, check out myLHBS in Falls Church. Derrick will be happy to hook you up with anything you need and offer advice drawn from years of service as a professional brewer.

R.I.P. Syd...

The piper has passed...
Photo credit: Mick Rock

Market Walker...

One of the benefits of living in Arlington County—in addition to the continuing proliferation of bike lanes and the burgeoning bike culture in general—is the eternal possibility, however slight, of running into an icon of the local punk rock scene at, for example, the neighborhood Whole Foods Market. After all, the "Dischord House" is located in the Lyon Park area. And Inner Ear Studios, birthplace of such notable Fugazi offspring as "In On the Kill Taker," "Red Medicine," and "The Argument," to name a few, is located in the Shirlington area. And given that even legends of punk are occasionally compelled to venture out into the throng to shop for food, I guess the wonder is that I haven't run into him before.

My girl and I had just stopped to pick up something cold to drink after biking from Clarendon to Old Town, Alexandria, then on to Shirlington (where we were waylayed by some Belgians at Capitol City, while outside the heavens darkened and the skies opened up with another downpour), and finishing up back where we started. Grabbed a handcart, stepped inside, checked out the fresh produce, meandered a bit. Looked around.

Odd, but even from the back I recognized him immediately. The hat was the clincher. Nudging my girl like an excited schoolboy, and with a directional nod of my head, I said in a low voice, "Hey, that guy right there, that's Ian MacKaye of Fugazi. The guy in the hat." She looked at him, then at me, and said, "Are you sure?" All I said was, "Watch this." I walked up to him, mindful of the fact that overt idol worship, however benign, is generally considered an intrusion by the recipient, and casually hit him with what can only be described as the most banal of questions, to wit: "So, are you guys planning on getting back together?"

The ensuing conversation went something like this:

IM: "Who's that?" (Slight play-off. Sidelong glance.)

Me: (Nothing to lose.) "C'mon, man. Fugazi?"

IM: "Oh...yeah." (Damn. Recognized.) "Yeah, well, Fugazi is an open thing; I mean, we never broke up. We're just there. Doing some different stuff right now. It's an ongoing, open (extends arms slightly, congenially, palms up) kind of thing. Who knows?...oh, I'm (politely extends hand) Ian."

Me: (Shakes hand, introduces self.) "So, no plans to play Fort Reno any time soon, huh?"

IM: Well, yeah, we played a show there a few years back. And, uh, I'm playing there with Amy as The Evens on July 31st, so..."

Me: (Fuck. Saving face.) "Oh yeah, yeah, sweet. We'll be there."

Then out with the camera for an obligatory photo request—accompanied by an ameliorative apology and a thanks, which elicited a good-natured laugh. He popped off his hat, quickly struck a pose, and—voilà! The whole exchange lasted less than five minutes. Surreal.

We said goodby and left him to shop in peace, a quiet, pleasant, unassuming guy in shorts, a nondescript t-shirt, and skate shoes, no sign of the powerful hurricane that used to (and may yet again) explode on stage, steam rising from his shaven head like a displaced spirit in the cool of an autumn evening...

Regardless, I've got a good idea where I'll be at 7:15 p.m. on July 31st.

POSTSCRIPT: There's a humorous scene in Instrument—Jem Cohen's workmanlike documentary of compiled shows and interviews spanning the life of the band—that comes to mind just now. MacKaye is on stage and, dismayed, stops the show to point out a hooligan in the crowd who is apparently kicking the shit out of someone. He says something like, "Hey! You! Badass! I saw you man, I saw you outside, before the show...you were eating an ice cream cone! All happy and laughing like a little kid. Now you're in here beating on someone. You ice-cream-cone-eating-motherfucker!"