Rocky Point Artisan Brewers

I’m changing things up a bit here on this craft beer blog. Now that our local, community supported brewery is “coming out” I’ll start writing about our brewery and the Long Island beer scene from the perspective of a brewer, a beer artisan. So from here on out, in this space, you’ll get to follow the adventures of Mike, Yuri, and Donavan (me) as we make beer for the thirsty folks in our neighborhood.

If you want to stay on top of what’s going on with our brewery, check back here, or you can subscribe to our mailing list.

“A Flemish Red is a style of beer,” I said.

“That explains it,” said Doug. “Is it on tap?”

“I wish! No, but Pete keeps bottles in the back.”

“I’ll be right back,” said Doug.

“Where you going?” asked the Preacher.

“To get that bottle of Flemish Red,” said Doug.

“I could use a vodka martini,” said the Preacher.

“Like I said, I don’t do cocktails,” said Doug.

Technorati Tags: craft beer, fiction, long neck

And then Doug walked in. “What are you’s guys doin’?” said Doug as he swaggered up to the bar.

“His beer glass is empty and Pete’s burning my cheeseburger,” said the Preacher.

“I heard that!” came Pete’s voice from the back.

“What do you want?” asked Doug.

“Something called a Rodenbach,” said the Preacher.

“I don’t do cocktails,” said Doug.

“It’s not a cocktail,” said the Preacher. “She’s a Flemish Red.”

“I was asking what he wanted to drink,” said Doug.

Technorati Tags: craft beer, fiction, long neck

“Done any brewing lately?” asked the Preacher.

“Not while I was down in Louisiana, but when I got back, Ray and I made a batch of Flemish Red.”

“Flemish Red, hunh?” said the Preacher. “What’s that?”

“You know, like Rodenbach.”

“No I don’t know,” said the Preacher.

“Pete’s got a few bottles in the back I think. I’ll order one, if you want to try it.”

“What do they taste like?”

“Rich, thick, fruity, slightly sour,” I said.

“Sounds like the liquid version of Pete.”

Technorati Tags: craft beer, fiction, homebrewing, long neck

I finished up my pint of Slight Smug Pale Ale and wondered when Pete was going to come back out with the Preacher’s cheeseburger. I listened to the rattling of pots and pans in the back.

“Your glass is broken, man,” said the Preacher. “It’s not doing what God intended it to do.”

“No beer in the glass, alas,” I said spinning the offending shaker pint on the wood-topped bar.

“Hey Pete!” bellowed the Preacher so loudly that I almost fell off my stool. “A man’s dry out here!”

A mighty crash came from the kitchen. It sounded like a whole shelf of plates hit the concrete floor. The inevitable stream of expletives started immediately.

“I think you’re going to have to get that beer yourself,” said the Preacher.

Technorati Tags: beer, craft beer, fiction, long neck

I took a big long pull off my pint of Slightly Smug Pale Ale and said to the Preacher, “Don’t you just wonder what this is all about?”

The Preacher spun his martini glass on the bar top. “Wonder what what is all about?”

“You know. Life,” I said. “Where did it all come from? What are we doing here? Where are we going?”

“You’ve been watching Run Lola Run again haven’t you?”

Technorati Tags: beer, fiction, long neck

For the first time since he walked into Callahan’s the Preacher turned his head in my direction. He gave me a good long look, like he was sizing me up.

“Something’s up, man,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“You. Something’s different.”

“Maybe it’s my gorgeous tan?”

The Preacher lowered his sun glasses and looked at me. “No it’s not the tan,” he said, then added. “Although, you look marvelous.”

“That’s just so eighties, man,” I said.

He pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “No, you seem… like down or something.”

“It’s nuthin’” I said. “Just middle-age.”

“Tell me about it,” said the Preacher.

“Well, okay. It’s all started when—”

“Stop,” said the Preacher. “It’s a figure of speech.”

Pete went in the back to assemble the Preacher’s cheeseburger leaving the Preacher and me alone at the bar.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” said the Preacher.

“Yeah, been a bit busy. Went on a trip to Louisiana to do some fishing.”

The Preacher nodded and swallowed some vodka martini. “Did you catch anything?”

“Nothing that isn’t curable,” I said.

Technorati Tags: fiction, long neck

Pete and the Preacher continued their negotiations about the Preacher’s (as yet) potential cheese burger.

“When I bite into it I want to hear the animal scream,” said the Preacher.

“I thought you were vegan,” I said.

“I’ll eat anything,” said the Preacher, “including vegans.”

“He’s so charming,” said Pete.

“Just shut up and go make my cheese burger,” said the Preacher.

Pete set a vodka martini in front of the Preacher and said, “How do you want that burger?”

“On a plate,” said the Preacher.

“Everyone’s a comedian,” said Pete.

“Give it to me raw,” said the Preacher.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” said Pete.

“How did you get this job?” asked the Preacher.

“I own the place,” said Pete.

“That makes sense,” said the Preacher.