Sweet Home Chicago

Have you ever made a vow to yourself and had to take it back, or at least rationalize your actions in some way some time later?

When I left Chicago in 1989 and transplanted myself in Madison’s soils I swore I’d only return for $1 million. The pace of the city and its dog-eat-dog nature seemed almost cruel, taking a toll on untold souls, including my own. A fantastic place to play and visit, I vowed I’d never live there again without proper recompense.

Now nearly twenty years later I’m moving back. At least it’s for something priceless.

In the 80s electro-pop was popping and bands such as Frankie Loves Hollywood and A Flock of Seagulls topped the charts. King Crimson was on its umpteenth incarnation and the art house music genre flourished. Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham died and simultaneously killed the band, and rock and roll.

Ronald Reagan spanned the decade -- elected to the presidency having avoided an October surprise after his VP nominee (GHW Bush) secured the further captivity of the US hostages – showing his growing senility during the Iran-Contra hearings. The Exxon Valdez ran aground when Captain Hazelwood fell asleep at the wheel. The Bulls’ Michael Jordan-era was begun, visions of championships-to-come a glint in his eyes. The “Oprah Winfrey Show” was brand new in 1986.

I turned 21 in 1985 and could legally drink for the first time.

Ah … good times!

In the mid-80s Chicago was host to one brewpub other than the late, great Berghoff, the Tap and Growler, just north and west of the Loop. Their growlers were classic clay pottery bunged with cork or a clasp top and sealed with wax. Amazing beer and fantastic bar service matched their brewpub menu and it became a personal haunt, located one block from my Greenpeace office. I swilled sweet potato chips, microbrews and iced tea between releasing and receiving our canvas crews. I learned loads about brewing beer, becoming enamored of the scents of mashed malted barley and boiled wort. Bartender Ted was like a lifeguard at a beach troubled by riptides; he took good care of all his patrons.

Since then the brewpub movement has boomed, busted, and boomed again.

The first rise came with hobby brewers who had plenty of play-money and a pocketful of investors. In the late 80s and early 90s the industry multiplied like fresh healthy yeast pitched on hearty chilled wort. Shortly thereafter many folded, not realizing it wasn’t so easy to make good beer.

Not until the 21st-century have the next generation of brewhouses and breweries rebounded, almost single-handedly buoying the spirits of the spirits industry. Savvy brewers, the good ones, have survived, assimilating and repurposing old brewery and dairy equipment into their operations, working much more efficiently and thus more productively than their predecessors. The quality and quantity of breweries and brewpubs in the Madison area is a direct testament to their skills and the demand for the craft type of product.

Chicagoland is currently well represented by a few score breweries and brewpubs with many operated with local, family capital such as Taylor Brothers and Two (Edel) Brothers. It is also home to national chains like RAM Brewing and Rock Bottom, which has four Chicago-area locations: 1 W. Grand in the city’s River North district, Yorktown Center (Lombard), S. La Grange Rd. (Orland Park), and Diehl Rd. (Warrenville). In the City, Goose Island is a class act. If you haven’t been to Piece Brewery and Pizzeria you’ve missed a slice of life.

I always like to think of Chicago as home to classic beer, classic pizza and classic blues. Working class beer, not to light, not too stodgy, it is just strong enough, served with taste. It’s never like making love in a canoe (f*-ing close to water). It’s certainly not a musty, dusty-shouldered import.

Chicago and Wisconsin history and legends often cross, from gangsters escaping north and PBR and Schlitz going south. In 1871 after O’Leary’s cow ignited Chicago and destroyed her breweries -- and a good chunk of the rest of the city -- Schlitz shipped boatloads of beer from Milwaukee to slake the thirsts of the firefighters and thousands of other displaced Chicagoans, and became the ‘beer that made Milwaukee famous.’ The Blue Ribbon moniker was born in 1893 with Pabst winning first prize at Chicago’s Columbian Exposition, the World’s Fair in Jackson Park, the event that introduced alternating electrical current and brewing competitions to the American populous.

Classic Chicago pizza is at least deep dish and sometimes stuffed. Pizzeria Uno and Due are of the stuffier variety. In my opinion the best deep dish, thick crust pizza in the Chicago area is Salerno’s founded in Berwyn and now found in Chicago, St. Charles, and Aurora as well.

Classic blues was born in the Deep South and came north with emancipation and industrial jobs. I grew up with the sounds of Buddy Guy, Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf echoing in the streets of Chicago. Clubs like the Southside’s Checkerboard Lounge and Lilly’s near Clark and Fullerton booked the best of the delta blues; I still have places in my heart and soul for Sunnyland Slim stroking his jangly upright piano while leaning and groaning into a booze- and smoke-filled mic. I love going back now that Illinois is smoke-free statewide. The smoke in a true blues bar has always come from the inside, the duodenum, the gizzard, not cigarettes.

I am finally coming home to my home sweet home, Chicago.

Captain Hooked

Back from my vacation cruise I must now admit to an addiction. Experts say the first step to recovery is admitting to it.

But what happens when an addiction is a good one? There are some things that are too good to give up.

On a ship for days, snorkeling near reefs, swimming with rays and sea turtles, soaking up sunshine and vitamins A and D, I have been eternally dazzled by clear blue warm Caribbean waters. The experience is permanently emblazoned on my brain never to be erased. Even if I never physically get back I can never forget.

I am hooked. And unlike bodily introducing elicit substances and other sensational sensations, my soul can partake in memories immemorial without fear of overdose. This is not to say that I won’t jones to enjoy again; I can scarcely go a day without scheming a way to relive that tropical bliss.

Similar to my newfound love for this new place in my heart and mind, I am also hooked on beer.

Maybe hooked isn’t the best word. Like a camel, I can do without drinking for periods of time. In my opinion, an addiction to alcohol is ultimately one of the saddest things of all. My father was a substance abuse counselor for many years; the ravages of booze on his patients was palpable. Perhaps I am snagged, guilty.

And speaking of snagged – feeling free at this time to announce my engagement to be married -- my fiancée Karen and I enjoyed a veritable cornucopia of cuisine on the ship as well as the 3-story waterslide and the adults-only serenity deck. One truly cannot beat free buffets, custom omelet and sandwich bars, or a 24-hour pizza kitchen.

On top of it all the formal dinners introduced us to new people including a couple who raise and market exotic birds and used to bring up big cats – friends of Siegfried and Roy – as well as a charming retired professor and his wife. A contingent of Catholic nuns -- originally from India – were some of the most blessed people I have ever had the pleasure to meet.

The staff onboard the ship represented 27 nations with operations requiring substantial and subtle coordination across cultures and languages. Despite this diversity everything seemed seamless.

While cruising I avoided the available beers -- mostly macrobrews with massive marketing budgets -- and waited for the ports of call on Grand Cayman and Cozumel. With rum-rife boat drinks topped with tequila, beer was one of the last things on my mind.

I had heard of Stingray Brewery on Grand Cayman but could not get to that side of the island while docked. Someone said it’s no longer in operation, a shame if true. I was resigned to options such as Sol, Dos Equis, Corona and Red Stripe, not bad but not the full coterie of concoctions to which I am accustomed in Madison.

On our stopover at Cozumel the 11 peso ($1) bottle of Sol -- after a grand day of snorkeling the underground rivers of the Excaret nature reserve by the mainland’s Playa del Carmen -- was refreshing and reinvigorating. It was the quintessential chaser for the multiple taster shots of tequila we sampled.

Walking down the streets of Cozumel with an open bottle of beer I kept looking over my shoulder for Madison’s finest. No one in uniform was a bit fazed. It seems our MPD is more willing to bust people for open alcohol in public than they are able to find killers still at large in our city.

Current versions of Mexican beers date back to the mid-19th century and the temporary Hapsburg rule of the Austrian magnate Maximilian, a ruler never without his royal brewing entourage. Thus today German-style lagers of the Vienna vein, such as Negro Modelo and Dos Equis, are popular both north and south of the border. Bohemia Beer is a bold, dark lager with hearty hoppy hints. Corona and Sol are lighter colored and sweeter, the former often served with a wedge of lime.

I once heard a beer snob say -- nose firmly planted in the air -- the citrus was added to make Corona drinkable. Despite this reputation, my personal favorite beer experience – ever – entailed a July daylong tuck pointing slog on the south side of a sunny brick wall, cooling with a session of fruit-free ice-cold Corona’s. Golden as the sun’s rays and wet to the withers they whet my whistle and slaked my thirst.

I am hooked and happy to admit it. I hope I never recover.

Cruisin'

Some people think I’m insane, only one reason being that I am going on a cruise. A terra firma urban farmer by trait and trade, I am abandoning dry land for the salty sea.

Not that I’m not nuts, but I have my alibis already lined up for this to not be the trip-trigger that traps me in Toontown.

Reason The First: I haven’t afforded myself the opportunity to go on vacation very often. Ever. There are lots of whys; I’ll write a book about them some day. Whether it’s published or read are entirely different kits and caboodles.

Reason B: Everything folks have told me about the West Caribbean informs me I am going to see some of the most beautiful vistas on this planet. Blue waters. Sandy beaches.

Third Because: After more than 100 inches of snow this past winter, I am totally ready for a few days of the tropical treatment.

Why To The Most: True Love. And one of the things I truly love is beer. My cruise compatriot and I make two ports-of-call along the way, as well as entertaining ourselves for two lovely days at sea. I am determined to get the most local, fresh beer available on Grand Cayman Island and in Cozumel. I also want to have a conversation with the chef and sommelier about the cruise line fleet’s capacity to provide more local and craft beers in their ale and lager arsenals. These fresh brews could be deftly woven into native slow food recipes and paired with menu items. They already do well to procure local produce for their kitchens; it’s time for them to take the next step.

On the crazy side there’s the whole ‘out of character’ thing.

I am a minimalist, sometimes especially Spartan in my lifestyle. That’s one of the reasons I brewed my own beer; I have no need to suckle at the front teat. A big boat and 24-hour pizza bar don’t quite fit. Maybe that part of me needs to wither in the vine.

So it goes.

One mission for our trip is to support green-tourism. Karen and I have planned an excursion to an eco-park. I want at least some of my spending power -- albeit small – to preserve and protect our natural resources. I can only do so much in Madison. I can do much more on this Earth by spreading my wealth wisely across the Earth. Madison is saved. I’m ready to focus on the rest.

Maybe I could bolster Bora Bora’s green business. Mmm…big Bora Bora Bock Beer.

Further there’s the litany of ‘What Can Go Wrong on a Cruise’.

We’ve all seen the footage of victims of turbulent tempests tossed and thrown about the ship’s decks as she’s pitched on the burgling brine. ‘Oh, my Gawd! I was so *urpf*’.

We could be sailing with a bunch of people who take long showers. No fresh water.

Then there’s Legionnaires’ Disease. And Legionnaires! Eep!!!

And don’t forget hurricanes.

Or pirates. It is the Caribbean.

But not to worry; I’m not afraid of Orlando Bloom, Keith Richards or Johnny Depp.

See…I am rational after all.

Earth Day

Why do we take one day to celebrate what should be regularly held in highest esteem?

Why is there a Mother’s Day or Father’s Day? Why is there a Christmas for Christ’s sake? Earth Day?

If these things are so important why don’t we herald their hosannas to the highest?

Why not open a third eye to the joys that can be found in everything, in every moment?

Maybe that’s a little too Zen, a bit too crunchy green.

And I’m not talking about having an Earth Year or anything like that, but even Rats have a year every so often.

It’s certainly not like holding the Olympics every four years.

Let’s think about keeping the planet primary every second, scintilla by silly scintilla.

Part of living in the moment means living in oneness with all that one consumes. This is one of the reasons I have been a vegetarian for 25+ years. I can live with the consciousness and souls of the plants I eat. I can stomach the strain that my cheese habit exerts on the milk cow. But I could never sleep through the pain and screams of the animals I ate, much less reconcile the amount of food it took to sustain that animal so that it could die for me.

So here I am occupying a bar stool while the space that my beer swilling consumes has a significantly larger footprint. With 6 square feet of barley required per pint of beer, I may take up as much room as a pool table or two by the time I’m done with this blog.

I live with the grim fact that I have reaped -- ravaging and decimating populations of barley, hops and yeasts -- in order to slake my beer thirsts. Millions have perished to satisfy my lusts for lagers and aches for ales. So it goes.

It is a cross I bear, not only every Sunday, not just with each confession. I bear it always. I will carry it forever.

At least the barley, hops and yeast I consume are made to propagate further through my efforts. A beef cow doesn’t really get the opportunity to mate, to replicate, to make more of itself.

I have recently crossed over, over to another place. And I can’t make it fully until it is OK’d by forces more potent than I. This is unfamiliar to me, a man of will.

I am very proud. I am now a member of an exclusive club named Stepping Lightly. Our mission is to Save the Earth, One Witness at a Time.

There are only two of us so far but we have lots of fans. Comprised of me and my friend’s daughter, Maddie, Stepping Lightly performed its first act of goodness after April’s advent; we picked up trash and recyclables from around the neighborhood stormwater detention pond.

Among the most intriguing items found were a small rubber bouncy ball, a speckled play ball and a kite. A recent burn of prairie weeds made other plastic detritus like Gatorade bottles and cigarette packages curl up dense-like in the manner of ColorForms.

Maddie, who had donned boots normally for winter stomping, was unphased by mud or high water. With a bold panache borne only by a twelve year old, Maddie marched into muck and mire in such a way that one could only admire her commitment and fortitude.

The bane of our existence was packing peanuts. Every time we had to pluck them out of the weeds we shouted, “Aaarrgghh", to the skies. We were mostly hoarse by the end of the exercise.

And does anyone use packing peanuts anymore? Why, when we have so many wonderful alternatives such as inflatable cushions made of recyclable plastic.

All I have to say is that I am delighted beyond belief that there is at least one person who is interested in saving the planet other than me. I’ve been trying for decades and am glad to have some help for a change.

I am happy.

Happy Earth!

Microbrewtopia - Beer and commerce

OK. This is a blatant pitch to the powers-that-be to work together to build a better world around us.

Not a hippie notion or radical rant I believe that the University of Wisconsin, the State, and regional business advocates could help the Madison area become a new Eden.

A synergy of venture capital, bioengineering research dollars and education grants could float all boats and create the best brewing products and processes, and ultimately produce the best beer ever.

Let’s put our money where our mash is. I absolutely agree with the bumper sticker that reads: ‘Think Globally, Drink Locally’.

We could be a Microbrewtopia.

I envision the Madison area sporting a brewpub for every 60,000 people or so. As we grow as a community I believe we should support local commerce, buoyed specifically by craft beer. Exurban sprawl should not mean one need to drive extraordinary distances to drink extraordinary beer. All communities and neighborhoods should have their own breweries.

I’d like to continue back to a trend that harkens to the day when a variety of small local breweries produced a compendium of unique craft beers. Every community used to have a unique and proud brewing heritage. That era should live again.

Breweries have always supported a large underlying economy of brewers, malters, bottlers, distributors, bartenders, cooks, servers and dishwashers. And this doesn’t even include the barley and hop growers, the farmers, the salt of the Earth.

The teaching of brewing employs people too. The UW-Platteville is the only college campus that I know of with a working brewery. I’d like to see the UW system reinvest some beer research dollars in the Madison Area. The University Research Park 2 would be a fantastic place to showcase a local brewpub as part of the Beer School.

Biotech research firms in the new park could help grow the best and heartiest of the most popular brewing yeast strains. The Ag Department in conjunction with private firms could engineer more productive strains of high-yield, disease-resistant barley and wheat.

Wisconsin was once home to a hops boom in the late 1860’s that eventually went bust in the 1870’s. If our research scientists were able to detect and eliminate disease and increase production in the hop crop we would all be better off in terms of quality and cost.

And let’s not forget MATC’s culinary school, where people would learn how to cook with -- as well as serve -- beer.

Manufacturing jobs would proliferate from the increased demand of stainless steel tanks and piping required for new brewery operations. These skilled trades would attract other businesses, like those that support film making, – see ‘Hollywood Meets Flyoverland‘ Bottle Half-Full blog from March 19, 2008 -- an industry that requires a critical mass of trained workers available on demand.

We in Madison, Wisconsin could continue our arc of influence in many arenas.

So, Mark Bugher, chair of the Greater Madison Chamber of Commerce and engine driver of the University Research Park 1 and 2, I propose including a brewpub in your new development west and south of Mineral Point Rd and Hwy M. The best locally produced and engineered beer could be available, served in a restaurant rife with locally grown organic produce. Bring the slow food people onboard and we could have a movement on our hands.

In this brave new world of craft brewing the City of Madison Planning Unit, and those in other municipalities, would need to embrace the going local, going green world. If they didn’t come around on their own I bet citizens could pass a referendum that would require beerhouses to be built with every significant paving of former open space and/or farmland. City Council races could tip on the strength of one’s stance on local beer.

As our metro area grows each new plat of expansive housing tracts might require a brewpub in their commercial mix. By all rights Sun Prairie and McFarland/Stoughton are far overdue for brewpubs of their own.

Beer is good for local commerce, especially local beer. The shorter distance between a fermenter and ones gullet the better a beer will tend to be.

Local beer is green, too. No trucks, no fuss. It’s also available in bulk; think half-barrel.

Awake

Have you ever had that moment of awakening, that instant when the world and life became clear, when it all made sense for once?

Did your Third Eye ever see into and across time, across the Universe, into the 4th dimension and beyond?

And what was that sound you heard when your one hand clapped? And was that rhythm syncopated when your other hand joined in?

I saw the future yesterday and it is now.

Those who have experienced this understand it too. It’s a secret we all share. As each individual experience is unique across person, place and time, so is each awakening unique. So is each secret.

Some wonder about the secrets of brewing beer. Is it the equipment? Is it the ingredients? Is it the training?

Of course, it’s the combination of everything.

The inability to heat or cool beer, or to keep facilities clean, will kill the best recipe and best raw materials. Five-star ingredients and top-end equipment are of no use to the uninitiated. Not even the most talented brewmaster is an alchemist; no one can turn crap into gold (or golden ale).

As always, to make the best of a situation I look at the big picture. I assume that 90 percent of a solution usually stems from 90 percent of a situation.

The same would pertain to brewing beer.

For best beer I would look at water first. Sometimes forgotten in the midst of discussions about malts and hops, water comprises 90 percent of the mash by volume. The right amount of water at the right pH and right temperature at the right time is the crucial difference between good beer and great beer.

Energy is a large part of the equation too. It takes a tremendous amount of energy to heat the water to mash, much less to sparge. Boiling the sugary wort takes even more. To ready beer for fermentation or to store or serve it, refrigeration makes ones utility meter’s wheel reel. Efficient and accurate temperature application makes one operation stand apart from another. Deschutes Brewery in Bend, Ore., and Madison, Wisconsin’s Ale Asylum are pioneers in the field.

Not forgetting the small stuff, one of the biggest components of brewing beer is the smallest one of all. Yeasts, in varying styles, are the things real beer is made of. These single-celled devils multiply by the silly million when introduced to syrupy wort. They produce alcohol and esters, those things that make beer what it is.

Every home brewer could attest to the fact of variability of processes and equipment. Whether we dabbled a couple of times or took it really seriously, we have all had some sort of not-so-good experience making beer.

Maybe the bottles you stored in the closet exploded all over your tax records, or worse, soused your wife’s shoes.

Perhaps your beer tasted like cardboard and pennies after it took all night to chill your wort in your bathtub after the boil.

Maybe you inadvertently became a “lambic” brewer, taking advantage of -- and being taken by -- ambient yeasts determined to feast on your hard-earned wort.

Despite manic manipulations and handy hardware heroics there was always some way to do it better. We weren’t pros; we were weekend warriors bent on brewing beer.

Remember how hot your stove got? Did you ever fret about all the water that you flushed down the drain cleaning bottles and carboys, not to mention all that was required to crash your wort’s temperature before pitching your yeast? How about when you simply had to toss $20 down the drain because that one batch just didn’t work out?

Now think about the commercial brewer who is making beer in batches 90-plus times as large as your homebrew batch. They face risks far beyond the hobbyists’.

I’m not a beer purist; I do not necessarily subscribe to Rheinheitsgebot, German purity laws. I am a beer snob. I like beer that tastes good, made with crafty combinations of malts, hops and yeasts. I respect fruit as an adjunct. But some things go too far.

I’ve tried the latest trend, pizza beer, and I’m not a fan; I like pizza and beer, not pizza as beer. Tomatoes, oregano, basil and lactose overcrowd a field of flavor that malts, hops and yeasts already yield.

I just read an article in Madison’s free weekly newspaper, Isthmus, which suggests using ingredients such as basil, yarrow, sage, juniper and blueberry in beer.

Uff da, hey!

Junipers are used to make gin. I like blueberries with my pancakes.

Just because it has been used as an ingredient in a beer doesn’t necessarily mean it should be used in a beer.

The reason people used stuff for brewing its availability. It didn’t need to be good, it needed to be there.

Plus, adjuncts can hide the off-flavors created by poor-quality ingredients and/or techniques.

There’s no need to disguise a good craft beer. But there may be reason to put lipstick on a pig.

And back to secrets…. My secret? Like good homebrew I am keen to spill it for you. I am wary of cracking open the cask too soon. Sometimes some things are best savored after they’ve ripened and they are just right.

Roll With the Changes

Naperville has come a long way since the Naper Settlement, which dates back to 1832, sixteen years before Wisconsin’s statehood. The changes are pervasive, pernicious and palpable.

When I left the Chicago area in the late 1980’s having quit my employment with Greenpeace, Naperville had already sprawled out into the countryside west of The Wind City. Explosive suburban growth and improved highway infrastructure over the past two decades have helped propel Naperville to be MONEY Magazine’s 2nd Best Place to Live [Madison was #1 in 1996].

Since 1990 Naperville’s population and family income have grown nearly 60% making it the wealthiest community in America -- of those with a population of over 90,000 -- with a median family income of over $150,000 and a population of almost 150,000 people. Pockets of single family homes, previously nestled in bucolic splendor, isolated in the hinterlands of former farm fields, have now been surrounded by newer, denser, housing tracts and commercial developments.

The ‘Naperville metro area’, if it could be considered such, would be home to well over 600,000 people – similar to the population of the Madison/Dane County area -- if one takes into account nearby communities such as Aurora, Batavia, Wheaton, and Warrenville. Yet this sea of humanity only has access to 6 microbreweries and brewpubs.

Compared to Madison, Chicagoland is relatively devoid of locally produced craft beer; it hosts less than 40 breweries, many of which are part of national chains such as Rock Bottom. This is especially disappointing considering the 10 million people who live, work and play in those environs.

Within 60 miles of Madison one will find 16 brewpubs and breweries, perhaps the highest concentration of craft beer producers in the nation…if not the world. A testament to our mania to mash, if Madisonland were as populous as Chicagoland she would have close to 200 lager and ale houses.

Wherever I go I attempt to find the best local pub product available. My latest trip to suburban Chicago presented me the opportunity to once again taste test the local suds and grub.

I’m hooked on Two Brothers.

Two Brothers Brewing Company in Warrenville, IL has some of the best beer you’ll find in the Chicago area...or anywhere for that matter. Their new Tap House, along with the Ebel brothers’ fantastic beer, also serves tremendous food.

Their location is somewhat of a mystery wrapped in an enigma. There is no signage out front, not even an address over the ingress indicates their hatchway to heaven nestled in a light industrial park. Frankly, if you don’t know where it is, you might not belong in this not-easy-to-find speakeasy.

My dining companion and I spent a Friday evening in a packed house to chow down on some super supper. I don’t know if the masses were there for the artisan cheese (from Greensboro, VT’s Jasper Hill Farm) and beer tasting or if the place was just jumping due to its newfound popularity with local residents and the locally-employed. We were extremely fortunate to get a table for two without waiting too long.

Once seated, we ordered a starter of vegetarian tomatillo nachos to share. Not a newcomer to the dish, these are the best nachos I’ve had the pleasure to eat…ever; the key for me was the aromatic Argentine chimichurri herbs that accentuated the corniness of the tortilla chips and the tomatillos’ tang. I tried a Monarch Anniversary White Ale which added a hint of light citrus and sweetness. Companion paired our fare with the Northwind Imperial Stout, sated by the bold -- but not overstated -- chocolaty blend of malts.

We also split a grilled vegetable sandwich comprised of Portobello mushrooms, roasted red peppers and zucchini, buffeted by herbed goat cheese. The accompanying side of sweet potato fries was a perfect fit, reminiscent of the sweet potato chips Chicago’s now-defunct Tap and Growler used to serve. Hop Juice, a boldly hopped and malty double India pale ale, was just right.

The rest of Two Brothers’ menu, yet personally untested, includes soups, salads, sandwiches, pizzas and other veggie-friendly bar faves. They serve non-vegetarian selections as well; I’ll leave those up to you carnivores out there. They also offer a Northwind Float, their Imperial Stout served with a scoop of vanilla or chocolate ice cream, a creative concoction so sweet it makes my pancreas moan.

I’m looking forward to coming back in a few weeks to try more varieties of Two Brothers’ beer and food, as well as exploring a few other Aurora-area brewpubs. Can you say ‘Walter Payton’s Roundhouse’?

Meanwhile back north I’m pleased as punch that Fitchburg’s smoking ban went into effect April 1. No fooling. Now I can enjoy the Great Dane’s beer at all their locations without it being corrupted by someone’s Kools, Lucky Strikes or American Spirits. As this trend continues Madison-area smokers will need to learn to roll with those changes as well.