Mission to Milton

Growing up in Southern Delaware, I took things for granted, beaches in your backyard, crabbing with a piece of twine, and sweet corn on the cob right off the stalk. So now, as my years add up, and my hair subtracts out, I sometimes reflect on and chew over those joys from a simpler life, and I realized how well all of those things go together with good beer. Dogfish Head Brewery in Milton, DE provides that piece of the puzzle. The impact that DFH has had not only to the passionate craft and home brewing community, but also to the beer drinking community around the world, always makes me swell with Slower/Lower pride, but when prodded further by my brew friends about what the brewery was like, I had to politely explain, "I've never been." "Wait! What?!?" Although technically, I did graduate in '93, two years before the open of DFH, and high-tailed it out of there for college. I did return on the night before my 21st birthday, to toast my entrance into legal adulthood, with one of those unique beers I had heard so much about. Alas, I was turned away, and told to return after the stroke of midnight. Being more impatient than afraid all the Punkin Ale would transform into a can of swill, I moved on to some other insignificant place to quench my undergraduate lust for ethanol. I have rued my immature decision ever since. So now, with experiences of life and home brewing under my belt, I vowed to take full advantage the next time I was to visit my old stomping grounds. I visited the Brewpub first down on Rehoboth Ave. excited to get a taste of the Schwarzbier style, Stalactite and the Stalagmite. The 'actite was roasty and nutty, but quick finishing. The 'agmite was earthy and smokey, that finished with spice on the tongue. Seemed opposite from the descriptions online, but no matter, I'm drinking beer.

To my surprise, Positive Contact was a hit. As blogged earlier by Beat 12, the light Fuji apple flavor, was quick and refreshing. I was impressed how the light, lime, lager drinkers in the group took to it. A Positive Gateway beer, perhaps. The next day I quietly ate my breakfast, and counted down the minutes until the tasting room at the brewery opened. Only 11 miles from my childhood doorstep, I peered around every turn in the road, and looked for the tall outdoor silos to rise above the landscape, like the large EPCOT orb thingy. Then finally we turned in at the ironwork DFH sign, and there it was, the brewing Utopia I had imagined, and seen countless times online. I felt like I just won the Super Bowl. I marveled at the tree house, and gazed upon the bocce ball courts. I entered in, and tried to gain my bearings. Over to the left was the tap room, where a few patrons sat and tasted. Off to the right was the gift shop. The astute employee at the front, greeted us, "Welcome to Dogfish. Have you visited us before?" Reluctantly and excitedly I answered, "no." She explained the layout, and finished by saying, "If you have any questions, feel free to ask." "Does Sam walk around?" immediately sprung from my mouth, as if I anxiously awaited some life size cartoon character sighting. "Yes, I have seen him walk," she answered. Picking up a hint of sarcasm, with a pinch of cedar wood (Could have been all the wood paneling decorating the place), I toned the giddiness down from 11. We hit the bar for a pour. Some might think it was a bit early in the day, being still morning and all, but heck, it was Friday, and plus there was no line. From behind the bar, Duane, graciously took us through our tasters, as he listened to me clamor on about how cool this place was. Before long I found myself perusing the gift shop, ready to stock up. I emptied my arms at the check-out, and found the same lady who welcomed us, behind the register. We gladly exchanged goods for currency, and as she packed away my 120's, World Wide Stouts, and new bottle conditioned bombers of 75 min, she dropped a Hidden Mickey, "Legend has it, that if you happen to be in the tap room at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon, for Happy Hour, you might catch a glimpse of Sam walking," and she winked at me. Now if I was one sheet to the wind, I might have thought she was coming on to me, but luckily I caught on. I left questioning, "Was this true, or was this some fairy-tale to get me to come back and spend more money." Regardless, I felt compelled to return. What the hell, I can always drink more beer. So with sharpie and bombers in hand, I coolly bellied back up at 4:45 pm. There, through bevy of people, I spotted Sam. I couldn't believe it. Right there across the bar, was the pioneer that created this incredible craft beer empire. I FaceTimed Beat 12, to share my excitement. Duane came over, and welcomed me back. He brought me a 90 min, assessed my glee, and asked, "Would you like to meet Sam." All I did was nod. "Wait here a sec," he said, and he went across the way and talked to the man. Sam finished what he was saying to the group of friends and patrons, and made his way over to me. It was like Duane had gave me a Fast Pass. I provided color commentary and play by play to Beat 12 over the iphone as Sam approached. I reached across the bar to shake his hand, and he said, "Let me come around," and as he did, I inadvertently tensed up. He shook my hand, asked my name, and asked who I was talking to. With my brew buddy's contact name right on the top of the screen, I went into my best Goofy impression and sputtered out, "This is Uh, uh. This is Uh." He politely allowed this stammering crazy person to gather up my words, and struck up a conversation with the two of us of, as he autographed the bombers. After a few minutes, a few sips, and a few laughs, he assured us to keep brewing, and that the beer community needs more folks like Beat 12 and myself in Alabama. I thanked him, and he went on his way. A simple, but invigorating meeting, that got me excited to brew. On the way back home, I started to plan out my next batch, and my next visit to Delaware, when Doc (Yard Dog's better half) asked, "That place is your Disneyworld?"  I nodded.

“Laughter is timeless. Imagination has no age. And dreams are forever.”--Walt Disney Company

P.S. Here's to aging the WWS I bought for Yard Dog Jr.'s 21st.