I grabbed a couple brews while M. hit the piles of snow and quickly proceeded to wedge himself between a mound and the fence requiring a bit of a hand to get freed. This got The Dulcinea worried and she was constantly telling him to stay away from the top of the mound lest he accidentally tumble over the fence. Not being his father, I restrained myself and didn't tell him to play as he liked. I tried explaining to The Dulcinea that, if he were to fall, he'd land in another mound of snow. This was met with angry looks and a series of he-could-break-his-necks. My pleas to let a seven year-old be a seven year-old went nowhere.
A half a dozen friends of mine were due to show but there was no sign of them. Watching The Dulcinea attack her frosty cup of Amber, I saw her designated driver status fade with every sip. I made a call and found that Charles and Dan had gotten there quite early (for the free stein) but, since things were slow, they headed out to run a couple errands. It wasn’t long before Dogger, Old Man Standiford, and Steve showed up and our group staked out a spot as more folks started to pile in the gates. It was great to see them again and we haven't spent time together swilling beer together in many a moon. While the near freezing temperatures prompted many to bundle themselves in snowmobile suits, a couple especially brave souls wore kilts. I got a wee bit cold myself but a couple liters of Maibock drove the chill away. Dan and Charles arrived soon enough and I found myself surrounded by friends, my ladyfriend, and lots of great bier. I don't know that it could get any better.
At about a quarter after noon, the PA system sprung to life and it was announced that the first 1K Running of the Blondes would start anon. This involved 10 guys donning blonde wigs and taking a brisk run around the neighborhood. Amongst the contestants were these guys donning breasts in addition to hairpieces.
It didn't take too long for the runners to return. Indeed, boos emerged from the crowed when told that some of them had taken a shortcut. This little breach of sportsmanship was forgiven as it meant that the Blonde Doppelbock would be tapped sooner than expected.
It wasn't long before Nelson took to the stage and greeted us. He gave a very brief lecture on the history of doppelbock. It extends back into the Middle Ages when monks brewed the stuff to tide them over through the fasting of Lent. The original doppelbock, Nelson explained, was called Salvator, meaning "savior". This understandably brought a big cheer from the garden full of drinkers. He then lamented the death of one of the brewery's old fermentation tanks and sought its blessing for the brewery's recent expansion. Here's a video of the moment.
(Download from the picture or this link..)
Gambrinus and any other patron saints of beer you can think of were smiling down on us because the blessing was given. With the brewmaster's blessing, the taps of Blonde were let loose. This was also the cue for the country stylings of Pupy Costello & His Big City Honky Tonk to begin. I was near the stage during all of this and was surprised to see local muso Henry Boehm readying his bass. I got to know Henry when his gal Toby opened the Toad Hill Coffeehouse near my home. (I still lament its closing.)
Those medieval monks had three weeks of Lenten fasting to survive and the beer they made was a heady drink. With an alcohol content of 8% or so, the crowd grew less sober and Capital staff warmed the crowd up for the fish toss by throwing Mardi Gras beads from the roof. I caught a couple including one in my stein. This was followed by a mashie-laden staff member teeing off and hitting foam golf balls into the crowd.
I'd been kind of worried about keeping M. occupied while we drank but this proved to be no problem. He attacked the slopes with glee and made a nice slide down one mound of snow. Plus he found companionship with other kids his age who were similarly abandoned by their parents. Every so often he come over to us seeking a sip of root beer and perhaps a re-tying of the scarf. And, when The Dulcinea would head inside to use the bathroom or just to get warm, M.'s extended network of doppelbock drinking uncles managed to keep an eye on him just fine.
Around 3, the other moment that the crowd had been waiting for arrived – the fish fly. A fanfare greeted Nelson as he appeared on the roof riding atop a greenish-yellow dinosaur (or was that Nessie?) and clutching a stein of the doppelbock.
The tradition of tossing fish started in 1998, a bad year for ice fishing. To make up for the poor catch, Nelson threw some chub into the crowd. Nine Bockfests later, people eagerly reached out in hopes to catch one of the fish tossed from the roof, which usually explode when caught. A gentleman in front of me caught one but, when all was said and done, he was left holding only the head in his gloved hand. Immediately he prompted his friend to take a picture. Here's some more video.
(The pic is active or you can grab it here.)
The four o'clock hour approached and we had to head out in order to get M. over to his father's house. A $20 parking ticket couldn't spoil the mood as we'd had great fun. It just doesn't get any better than standing around in the cold with a blizzard on the way to greet the year's doppelbock. Throw in a smoked chub toss and you've got pure Wisconsin.
No comments:
Post a Comment