Drunk on a Dream

Our movements slowed considerably with the onslaught of rain. Large globules spattered the window shield as we bid good bye to Cape Lookout, wet hair dripping as I began to drive further north into the unknown. Great expectations were on route to have a day of concrete walking through quaint towns, boutiques and bakeries.

The deluge never subsided for 24 hours, and how we thanked the Lord for giving us the fortitude to rent a Yurt for this eve. From Garibaldi steam engine, to the boardwalks of Rockaway, Cannon Beach, to the outlet shops in Seaside, and onto Fort Steele there wasn’t a dry eye to be had.

Our Microbrewery Guide to the Coast would be our only companion today. A lonely barrel in the middle of the empty parking lot was the only sign of the Seaside Brewery. A cold bare saloon at 12:37 with a chalk board of its specialities was all Hal had to go on. The brewery was situated in a 1924 court house with jail cell still intact, that where the vats were kept, if you got out of hand, you were rooming with the hops, not bad for a robbery.  

Hal started with a mixture of hops, whisky, and spices resembling and tasting to me of black sludge. I tried some oyster shooters with lemon, with a proclivity to add sauces, I went raw.

Next stop was Astoria at the top of the Oregon Coast, there were five brewery of which we ventured into 3. Astoria brewery was situated over the ocean and the honking we’d heard down the coast from the sea lions persisted on the wharf and rungs of the pillars below, but out of sight. Hal enjoyed a delightful lighter Stout and I a horrid bitter concoction they called Angel. She must fallen from grace into hell to taste that bad. There drinks were procured with grand names: Bitter Bitch, Lynched Lager, Hitting Harder Stout, Solar Dog IPA and our favorite Mean Monster Mash.

We stopped at a road side picnic area to eat our lunch hunched over in the car avoiding the rain listening to Amy Whinehouse, always uplifting songs on a sour day.

Onto our favorite, George Public House and Brewery. You could see the vats through glass windows and the guys tasting the mixture every ten minutes, grand career. High beamed ceiling, warm character and heat was all it took when a middle aged women with a yellow and grey t-shirt dress with square glasses long grey pigtails greeted us with the warmest smile engaging in fruitful dialogue about each beer.

“Now this one is squash stout made with real squash in it. Deep essence of spices with a balanced texture and flavor.” I thought wine bottles were getting out of control with hints of apricot, apples and cinnamon, beer must have caught onto what sells. I had my first beer that I actually didn’t squint at Wix Mix, a light savory blend of beer…….the chips and salsa were superb, we might have stayed for dinner but it was only 4:30 and I was catching on to the structural atmosphere, stories behind the brewery locations, many of them outdoing the café I’d once enjoyed. Remember it is Monday afternoon and this place is hoping….pun intended.

Our last brewery was right on the waterfront with a large glass viewing platform to watch massive 1-2 ton sea lions using the stilts and platforms that this place is held up on for resting spots. I’d never seen a beast that big it was grotesque, and I thought they should have forced them into the open water for some exercise. Buoys Brewery overlooked the harbor with 3 mammoth cargo ships in port, one loading up and the other 2 waiting for their wares. Grey stormy skies left cold beer less than flavorful in my palates, yet I’d found another one. I had a mere ounce of it as this was Hal’s journey enjoying a London Bitter. He reminisced about opening a brewery in our backyard and then thought if only he had done it in his twenties. Okay perhaps instead of becoming a deacon we’d open a brewery when we retired.