Saturday, traditionally the day before the evening of the Grand Gala, is of course predestined to a late evening culmination. Which is something completely different from saying one couldn't do anything else but waiting. At least, we had completely different goals. The dinner is fine, but I can appreciate new beers better without some food to ruin their flavours. And I still thought there were more beers to be explored. So thought Carl and Lorenzo, and we had made up our minds to "do" the touristic ferry to the Coronado peninsula. That there happens to be a Coronado brewery didn't spoil anything, of course.

But we would only part after lunch - and before lunch, we had a completely original program. See, being a judge gives one ample liberties, one of them being inscribed to the full program of the Conference. And as it happened, all we had seen so far from that was a short run through the (in the mean time already folded) exhibition. However, on the program we had seen that our friend Roger Mussche (Belgian Fine Products, and Lindemans fame) was speaking about new additions to beer, and we thought we needed to give him some support. Better even, in the same conference room, his lecture was preceded by one given by a Sierra Nevada brewer about thumbprints of hops in beer. Exactly what we thought interesting, so we entered, for the first time this week, a lecture hall.

Both lectures were interesting. The Sierra Nevada thing truly lacked handouts, Rogers' sometimes went into the mist because of his sheer total inability to understand the questions coming from the hall, the acoustics not helping - really too bad. But I certainly would call it an interesting morning. During lunch, we three were approached by Ivan Chramosil. This portly, fine old gentleman has been the brewmaster at the world-famous U Flek? brewpub in Praha., for the last 37 years. He had heard about our plans, and asked, really a bit timidly, if we would mind if he joined us for the trip. Imagine, us minding being accompanied by a walking, living beerlegend!! He was immediately given directions, were to assemble, and was obviously very satisfied he could join in.

We departed for the trolley: Carl explaining that the pub on the peninsula would be only a first stop: on the way back, scarcely one stop from the hotel, was another brewpub: the second (in fact, original) establishment from Ballast Point. Carl had gotten wind about a really good attempt the brewmaster had done there at a Flemish sour with cherries. Seen our impressions from the big Ballast Point, we all heartily agreed to search for the other venue

But first it went downtown, to the harbour. If the ferry to Coronado can't be called cheap, it was still worth every penny, seen the beautiful trip over the water (though it wasn't windy, the sun had deserted us for my last day of California, and unfortunately the sky was grey and overcast). We enjoyed it, and found us fast on our way over the grassy lanes of Coronado, towards this brewpub. I must say that visually at least, it was by far the most spectacular, even beautiful, brewpub of the trip. And the brewmaster was extremely kind, and showed us willingly around, even when his time was very short. We finally sat down, and quickly downed a couple of pints (each a different one, so we could compare notes). One beer was said to be Bohemian-inspired, and the face of our friend Ivan was really priceless.

But then we had to hurry back to the ferry landing, as this boat leaves only once each hour. At that time, I cursed the plans not to stay for another hour, but seldom I've changed so radically from idea. It took us some time, to find this other place, and at first, it wasn't very promising. In fact, Linda Vista Ballast Point is, before anything, a homebrew shop, twinned with a microbrewery. Where the two merge, something is made that in Frankenland would certainly be called "Schwemme", a narrow service hatch under a big blackboard, mentioning all the beers available that day - and there were more than yesterday at the main brewery! The measures were also pretty small, giving more opportunity to try. One is supposed to hand over an identity card (and as every European has learned to his utter amazement, that means a driving license chez Uncle Sam!), and it stays pinned to the tab you run. Our cards were waved fast, the jurybadges seen, and after a couple of phonecalls to the brewer, regarding the promised kriek, the whole bill got waved. Hurray for California!

If the first tries were - as suspected, pretty good, my third however proved to be the try of the day. I had seen a Doppelbock, called Navigator, on the menu, and this type of beer wasn't exactly the kind I had drunk often over the last week. On top of that, the board mentioned something about "aged in Shiraz barrels". Aging a Doppelbock on a winebarrel - enough to give heartfailure to every German brewer of the old school. The nose was mindblowing, and the taste didn't fail on any point the promise given. I offered a try to Carl, who nearly went berserk, trying to get rid of his current glass, and order himself another helping of my Navigator. In this light, the finally opening fridge, yielding the kriek, nearly came as an anticlimax.

This beer has been given the name of "hout". This Dutch word means "wood", and the diphthong in the middle is pronounced as "ow". The Californians had of course, this changed into "oo", much to the merriment of Carl, who said that it was pronounced in the good West-Flemish way. I was not slow to correct him. There ain't a Western Flemish in existence that can pronounce an "h" as it should. So, instead of the Dutch "howt", or the Californian "hoot", they speak about "oo-oot". And now you still now zilch about the beer.

It was really good, if nowhere as stellar as the Doppelbock. In comparison to yesterdays' "Chez Monieux", it was galactical. If they go on, like this, I'll have to come to California to taste really good Oud bruin, with or without cherries - never mind how they want to pronounce it. We went back to the hotel, preparing for the big night. I'm going to go fast over that. A bit in the way they served the different courses. One had hardly time to scrape the last morsel from the platter, or it was readily replaced by the next. Not that that wasn't necessary - with the long proclamations, even without speeches, this time, the evening was going to end late whatever. I must confess my admiration for the efficiency of the serving crew, because the mass (about 2000 people, if I got that figure right), was impressive. So were some of the courses. I'm less enchanted over the pairing. I'll be a sceptic about beer-and-food, for as long as I'll live. Even when at least one of the beers, in itself not very much, IMO, really bloomed in combination with the food. To me, an exception confirming the rule.

After the proclamations, the acclamations, the happy cheerings and glorified faces of the winners, the endless pictures taken, Carl and myself got to the lobby, to pre-check out, in order to save time for tomorrow. We were both wondering, how we would get all in our cases to get on. I say: get on, because poor me, as expected, was flying over to the Old World. Not so our friend Carl. HE was flying to Frisco, in order to add another two weeks of USofA, and a few more dozens of visited American breweries… By the time of his flight, he would have done a stiff 250 already… Some people have all the luck.

Not that I didn't enjoy every moment of my stay, and I absolutely felt privileged.

A happy Joris,

5 May 2008

PS. Two questions, guess which one is serious.

1. Why is it, that any American, male, female, white, black or other, thinks of him/herself as Dirty Harry & the Terminator combined, from the moment they put him/her into a uniform?
2. One of the most spectacular sights of my South California trip, amongst many others, is a type of tree, plentiful in the gardens. A tree of medium height, branches absolutely bare of any leaves, but every tip of branch crowned with a superb cone of bright carmosine-red flower, which by the first look, resembles a very big pinecone, the red flowerleaves like the opened scales of the cone. Regarded from nearby, each "scale" happens to be a flattened, singular flower with a fine, hidden yellow heart, the upper flowerbuds being inconspicuously small, greenish, but fast getting bigger below, and getting the spectacular red hue. If anybody reading this could provide me with a name, or a link, I'd be very grateful. BTW, if anybody having travelled with the Carl Kins Brewerybus, reads this, just such a tree was flowering at the entrance of the Green Flash Brewing plant.