To my unborn Sierra Nevada Beer Camp #175 Chicocabra Imperial Stout,
To the most awe-inspiring creation ever made, I don’t think anyone is able to understand the love I have for you; I don’t even think I fully understand it myself. It has never quite made sense to me how anyone could love someone so much, without having ever met them, but from the moment I first heard your bubbling wort, my heart was filled with an abundance of that exact kind of love.
There are a lot of scary things happening in this world, and I pray that you will help people get through it all.
There are still a several months until we meet, but already I’m busy writing you letters. I started writing things down because I honestly couldn’t stop thinking about you. There’s a letter about how your other nine parents and I met, another about the day you became a reality, plus others about all the crazy shenanigans my fellow Sierra Nevada Beer Camp #175 participants and I did on our free night in Chico, California.
In all these letters, I find myself imagining the bartender I hope to be when you are tapped. That bartender I picture, he’s a tall order, but although there’s a whole lot I can’t plan for — dropped pints, digital menu boards crashing, Cheez-Its my beard — there are also some promises I vow to keep. …
I promise to begin and end your days with the reminder that I adore you. At night, you’ll hear “I love you” loud and clear as I turn off all the neons, and I promise to wake you each morning with a soft pull from the bottom of your Sierra Nevada tap handle and leave a one-inch head, obvs. Those might seem like small things, but trust me: it makes for increase aroma and a lovely mouthfeel. You know, Cicerone stuff.
OK, I really can’t promise you anything else beyond the perfect pour.
Wait, I promise you’ll know that you were celebrated by the people who cared about you most — your 10 parents. Your conception was beautiful, in a tipsy-romp through Willy Wonka’s brewery kind of way. Yes, these folks named you Chicocabra, but they really are nice people.
You see, my precious Chicocabra, you were conceived at Sierra Nevada Brewing Co. on a blazing hot July 2016 day in Chico, California. You were but a dream of Beer Camp #175, 10 adults representing bottle shops, taprooms and restaurants from Washington, Oregon and Idaho. Beer Camp is the ultimate brewing experience. Sierra Nevada invites beer industry folks and fans into its brewery for three days where “Beer Campers” inspect the bottling line at an arm’s reach; explore a freezer bigger than a house where fresh hops are stacked to the ceiling; pedal across Sierra Nevada property on a 12-seater beer bike outfitted with fresh kegs of Celebration Ale; watch the research lab test batches; shovel hops; taste experimental batches; and, ultimately, brew their own craft beer on Sierra Nevada’s pilot brewing system with its head brewer, Abe Kabakoff. We experience all that, Chicocabra, and much more — although I can say with confidence some of it was a blur. Our Beer Camp began with a banquet of Sierra Nevada craft beer, many straight from the tanks, and ended with us hugging, exchanging addresses and wiping each other’s tears, while drinking beer straight from the tanks. Beautiful moments, really.
As I have mentioned, you have 10 Beer Camp #175 parents, no doubt marking your major moments with screenshots of your RateBeer and Untappd achievements of your life. Joellen Piluso, esteemed owner of Portland’s Horse Brass Pub, which celebrated its 40th birthday in late 2016 late, will probably give media interviews on your flavor profile. Facebook Live streaming banter could come from the comedy team of Neil and Dave of Belmont Station bottle shop and taproom in Portland. I could see Jay Stumpff of Bella Union Restaurant in Jacksonville, Oregon, brag about your dark roasted malts on Untappd as his last name and the app share interesting spellings. Shane, owner of The Twin Falls Sandwich Co. in Twin Falls, Idaho, a strong gent of a man, will brag your cocoa and chicory notes up and down LinkedIn. Bob Cady, owner of the Cougar Cottage bar (“The Coug”) in Pullman, Washington, will speak eloquently of your creation at business networking outlets. Sierra Nevada sales executive from Oregon and Washington, Bobby Marler and Sarah Tomlinson, respectively, who coached us through your birth, and through our Chico nightlight excursions, will grade your papers and provide you with the proper education. It wouldn’t surprise any of us if Alex of Bier: Thirty Bottle & Bistro in Boise, Idaho would mark each of your birthdays with a raging pool party, complete with him performing ceremonial swan dive off the diving board in a Speedo.
Just like Dorothy whispering in the Scarecrow’s ear, “I think I’ll miss you most of all,” each one of us Beer Camp #175 campers whispered the same sentiment in our tour guide’s ear as we departed. “Tour Team Leader” Rachel Becker guided us, taught us, was one of us. She laughed at our jokes. She laughed at our tardiness. She laughed at our jokes about our tardiness. Our Beer Camp experience wouldn’t have been the same without her, honestly. She’s in your DNA, Chicocabra. Check that. Her DNA is now in ours, too. Too weird?
As for me, I promise to make your debut a big damn deal. I will invite everyone I know to your Western Washington debut at 4 p.m. Saturday, Jan. 28, at Peaks and Pints bottle shop, taproom and eatery in Tacoma’s Proctor District.
I suppose this is the paragraph for explanations. Frankly, I’m going to need a few. Paragraphs, that is. From our introduction dinner to parting beers in the lobby taproom (that’s a thing) three days later, Sierra Nevada made sure the brewery would be a constant in our daily Facebook Moments and Memories. We toured every inch of the Sierra Nevada facility in Chico, from the original, small metal-sided warehouse where Ken Grossman first brewed Pale Ale in the early ’80s to Abbey of New Clairvaux in Vina, a 30-minute drive from Chico, past the guy peeing on the side of the road, where the monks help brew Sierra Nevada’s amazing Ovila Abbey Ales. In 100-degree heat, we toured the brewery’s private railway depot where the grains arrive (million pounds a week). In 100-degree heat, we examined Sierra’s groundbreaking sustainability facilities. In 100-degree heat we walked the brewery’s private farm and hops fields. It was only natural that we manned a pedal-powered 12-seater bicycle as Grossman supplemented his brewery launch with income employed at a Chico bicycle shop.
Of course, we would escape the heat by darting into the brewery’s giant hop storage refrigerators every hour or so, breathing in the whole leaf goodness while lying on the concrete floor. Shane and Alex high-fived in front of a stack of Idaho 7 hops because, you know, it’s an Idaho thing.
We felt like Golden Tickets winners inside Sierra Nevada’s sprawling facilities, with rooms of wonderment and what seemed like a river of craft beer. From the German hand-made copper brewhouse where Sierra Nevada 2.0 launched to the beautiful scientists (seriously) tinkering with test tubes, we witnessed how the Chico brewery continues to innovate. The bottling plant hypnotized us. The solar panels intrigued us. The barrel warehouse delighted us, as we pulled many a nail for tastes. Bière de Garde in Francis Ford Coppola’s red wine barrels, my precious Chicocabra! Micro turbines, a sea of 200-barrel tanks, whirlpools, lauter tuns, fermenters, keg washers, sterilization equipment, picture after picture of long-haired pioneers wearing short shorts brewing beer on hand-built systems — only 1,000 times more impressive than these simple words.
The river of beer? More like Niagara Falls. Have you ever danced with Pale Ale direct from the tanks? Of course you haven’t, Chicocabra. Beer Camp #175 did. We drank unfiltered Old Chico in the fermentation room. We drank Chico-only Pale Ale variant in the brewery’s taproom. We drank Kellerweis from dish bottom fermenters. We drank Brown Ale out of Pigtail valves. We sipped (drank) bottle after bottle of Ovila Abbey Ales at dinners. We drank Nooner in the garden patio. We sampled mystery beers in the pilot room brewery (most likely Sidecar Orange Pale Ale and Tropical Torpedo). Then, we hit downtown Chico. And drank.
Of course, we learned how to detect contaminated beer, as well as pour the perfect pint — basically the reason why Sierra Nevada invented Beer Camp. Ken Grossman wants his beer to taste the same as it does in Chico. Not too much to ask.
The other reason the 10 of us converged on Sierra Nevada was you, Chicocabra. Every Beer Camp begins its last official day in Chico brewing a beer on Sierra Nevada’s pilot brewing system. Twenty-four hours before brewing, we met with Kabakoff to develop a recipe. We knew. The hops, dropped. The malt, magic. Yeast, house. Imperial chocolate stout rolled off our collective tongues. We knew, at that point, Beer Camp #175 was one single unit of brotherly and sisterly Sierra. Fifteen minutes, done. Off to see 250-kilowatt co-generation hydrogen fuel cells. Yes!
Brewing day began slowly. We closed the city the previous night. Kabakoff and his team of brewers made busy while we filed in — 8 minutes between each appearance, not counting our Speedo-wearing friend who didn’t appear until we were weighing whole leaf hops two hours later. Several floors below the Pilot System sat the mill room where we poured 27.5 pounds Patagonia Especial Malt 140L from Chile, a half bag of Golden Naked Oats, 50 pounds of roasted wheat malt and, of course, chocolate malt into the Terminator of milling machines that cleans and shoots the grist up to the mash tun. Next, we broke apart bales of whole leaf hops — Magnum, Mosaic, Neo Mexicanus and Comet — weighing out the proper proportions. Back upstairs in the Pilot room, we added the Magnum hops to the first kettle. … I’m might be a bit boring to you, Chicocabra. I’ll cut to the chase: 20 pounds of chocolate nibs to the wort, massive amount of Hershey Cocoa to the beginning and end of the brewing process and Chico yeast. I know, shocking.
Let’s just say this outright: You are what legends are made of, Chicocabra. Hey, it’s a fact us Campers knew as we drank Pale and deliberated your name, protected by a gazebo in the middle of Sierra Nevada’s herb garden. “Dave’s Not Here,” the old Cheech and Chong comedy routine, was you name for most of the Camp. Dave missed his flight out of Portland, arriving a day late and 12 beers short. Speedo Stout was also knocked around, a homage to Alex’s teenage trauma. But, I tell you Chicocabra, we couldn’t shake your Neo Mexicanus hops makeup. Or your 8.3 percent alcohol by volume strength. We came to grips that you could age to be strong. We have an inkling you’d become a dark, hoppy, high alcohol chocolaty beast with rich notes of toffee and chocolate balanced by bright, fruit-forward hop aromas. You named you after Northern California’s mythic beast, Chicocabra.
(More: Recap of Sierra Nevada Beer Dinner in Tacoma)
We’ll love you no matter what you make for yourself. You want to run away from home in a distributer truck? You want to really feel the world, kiddo, even if it’s just a few taverns away? You want to experience an empty pint glass, a feeling that even your parents can no longer handle without freaking out and looking terrified? That’s easy. Just leave a growler behind, silly.
As I leave Chico and head back to start the interior construction of Peaks and Pints, shaving years off my life painting, staining and clear-coating wood, I yearn for your arrival in six months. I’ll love you and your other nine parents. With words and with actions I’ll say it and I’ll show it, and if just one of my promises can be kept, let it be this: that you’ll feel it. A love so big that it fills you up to 15.5 gallons, that it makes you feel safe.
I can’t wait to meet you.
Love you already,
Ron Swarner
Save
