Realizing I was early, I decided to seek out some breakfast. At the time I worked for the Wisconsin Historical Society and was in the Dells to work on the computers at the H. H. Bennett Studio. Either I’d completely misread the site’s hours or had discovered that the people who worked there had a more European view of punctuality during the off-season and so I was left with some time to blow before the doors would be opened. I drove around looking for a diner but there wasn't one to be had amidst the Tommy Bartlett signs and goofy tourist attractions which lure young Russian women with the promise of prosperity and Illinois vacationers with the siren call of water slides and bumper cars. Tired of cruising the streets of Wisconsin Dells like a desperate junkie in need of a bacon fix, I spied a Denny’s and hastily made my way there despite my better judgment.
Walking in, I found the host, a man in his early 20s, at a lectern. He looked me in the eyes as I said, “A table for one, please.” His gaze was then drawn down to my chest and my work ID which was hanging there on a lanyard.
“So, you work for the Historical Society?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied, shaking off a perplexed look as I just realized then that I was wearing my ID and that he was not, in fact, endowed with psychic abilities. Little did I know that I'd just run into a subscriber to the Fortean Times.
With a bit of excitement in his voice he said, “My friends and I have a paranormal group here in town.” His eyes widened as he eagerly continued, “And we’ve got a lot of stuff on haunted houses and Bigfoot. Would you have any interest?”
If eye rolls made noise, mine would have made a sound audible back at my office in Madison. A Triumph the Insult Comic Dog-like commentary began running through my brain which asserted that this Egon Spengler wannabe’s mom surely drove him and his friends around in an old station wagon loaded with cameras and homemade ectoplasm detectors to the supposedly haunted houses. Having made a snap diagnosis, I briefly thought about telling him that the recommended course of treatment is to get laid but kept my own counsel.
Instead, I excused myself by pleading that I was merely an IT drone and have nothing whatsoever to do with Wisconsin or history. The look of disappointment on his face almost made me feel bad. He seated me, I had breakfast, did what I needed to do to those computers, and then drove back to Madison.
I related this little tale to a co-worker of mine whose job seemed to mainly consist of telling the Department of Transportation whether or not the new highways they always want to build would destroy, say, a Native American effigy mound, pave over a Native American burial site, or trash anything of historic value in the name of shaving .002 seconds off someone’s trip to Menards. Little did I know that he encountered members of the Erich von Däniken fan club on a regular basis.
“Pfft. That’s nothing,” he scoffed. “A couple weeks ago, a guy called me to say that he’d been out walking in the boonies when these spirit orbs just suddenly appeared and he wanted us to investigate. I asked him what he'd been smoking because I wanted some but he insisted he was sober as a judge. I said, 'They're will-o'-the-wisps,' but he kept saying they were spirit orbs.” If eye rolls made noise, mine would have been a mere peep in contrast to the Stentorian roar his eyes would have sounded out and been heard throughout the Upper Midwest.
He continued, “And then there’s this other guy that calls me every couple of months or so saying he’s got photographic evidence of pyramids in Rock Lake. They’re just fucking piles of rocks!”
Rock Lake is in the town of Lake Mills, about 25 miles east of Madison. Also in Lake Mills is the Tyranena Brewing Company which has brewed the beer that is the subject of this blog post, Lake Mills’ Finest. It is rather unhelpfully billed as simply a lager. This laconic description, that would never be foisted upon an ale, has burned me in the past and I have come to learn that, when an American craft brewer calls something simply “lager”, it’s generally their take on Miller and Bud. It’s a light American lawnmower lager.
I was weary when I first saw Lake Mills’ Finest thinking it fell into this category. But local beer scribe Robin Shepard described it as a Helles in his review and sang its praises, so I figured I’d give it a shot. Besides, brewmaster Rob Larson is a brewer of no mean talent and, although he focuses on ales, I’ve enjoyed his lagers through the years. The taproom at the brewery is really nice and cozy and you don’t see industrial equipment until you go to the bathroom. Also, I appreciate how their beer names and labels reflect Lake Mills and small town life more generally. They even had a pale ale called Stone Teepee in tribute to those pyramids that lie submerged in the depths of Rock Lake waiting...dreaming...
Lake Mills' Finest was a lovely, brilliant yellow and clear as day. My pour produced a nice head of frothy white foam that stayed around long enough for me to get a picture of it. And there were plenty of bubbles. It looked tempting. The aroma was green. My initial sniff caught a big dose of grass or hay followed by a little cracker and a bit o’ honey. There was also a faint berry fruitiness too.
Those bubbles translated into a hearty fizz. The malt had a biscuit flavor and a mild doughy sweetness. Grassy hops could be discerned in the background and no doubt kept the malt in check. On the finish it was exeunt malt and hello hops which were again a bit grassy, perhaps slightly white peppery tasting. The hops were mild, though, providing just a touch of bitterness and dryness.
I really liked this beer. It had a nice, gentle malt flavor with just enough hops for balance. (Had things been any gentler, we would have been in Miller/Bud clone territory.) In addition to its easy going crisp and clean flavor, it’s something like 4.5% A.B.V. which means it would be a most genial companion at your local biergarten in the summertime. (I believe this is a summer seasonal.)
Junk food pairing: When you’re down at the biergarten slaking your thirst with a Lake Mills’ Finest, be sure to have a bag of Snyder’s Honey Mustard & Onion pretzel pieces with you and a can of Easy Cheese at the ready.
No comments:
Post a Comment