Indiana Microbrewer's Festival '07

I had a press ticket that allowed me access to the festival grounds a full eighty minutes prior to when the unwashed masses would stream through the gates frothing spittle from their slack jaws starving eyes peeled wide, the great sweat pooling in the creases on their faces screaming "WHERE IS DARK LORD? GIVE ME DARK LORD!"

Yet I chose to wait in line with them. The people. If you can accuse me of anything it's probably that I'm loud and smell bad some times. But after that, you'd probably accuse me of being one of the people. Proletariat to the bone. Except when it comes to manual labor. Screw that. But I'm pretty good at standing in lines so stand in line I did. And when I was finally squeezed like oiled sausage onto the festival scene I did not run for Dark Lord. No. I spotted the 92.3 WTTS SUV parked like a beacon beautiful. Could it be true? Could it be true that I would finally realize my life goal of meeting Bill Flint and hearing his patented staccato "nnnnnniiiiinety two three, WTTS" live and in person? Or at least Laura Duncan? Please god, please god, let it be Bill Flint! I ran to the tent, slack jawed and frothing, eyes peeled back, sweat pooling, screaming "Bill Flint! Bill Flint! Bill Flint!" I was tackled by two large bouncer types and hogtied on the ground as a limo sped away running over several festival goers as it rounded the corner and jumped the curb, speeding down 66th street and out of my life forever.

"That was Bill Flint. And he's not coming back." One of the large men said as he removed his knee from the small of my back and stood me up on my one free leg. "You scared him away. He's a very delicate man. Sensitive. The whole Cage Match thing is a front. He doesn't condone fighting. Nor does he condone running at him screaming his name. He's not going to like hearing about those pedestrians his driver hit either. Now you've ruined it for everyone else." He motioned off to the side where a line was forming for people to get pictures with Mr.Flint and maybe an autograph. They were scowling at me. I was untied and sent on my way with a sticker and magic marker.

Quick to distance myself from the angry mob I headed for the firkin tent to hide out for a while, let the air clear, the dust settle.

The firkin tent is where all the real ale lives. Ten casks clad in jackets to keep them cool. Served by gravity with nary a hiss the nectar flows forth still and calm with a loose web of foam and a good day to you too sir. I sampled every single one. Three Floyds, still convinced that much bigger is better, seemed to have a certain Michigan brewery on their mind when they thought up their Fantabulous Resplendence. I kid you not. That is actually the beer's name. Cask conditioned Fantabulous Resplendence. Reminiscent of Bell's Hopslam with warm tropical fruit, but sporting a back end bitterness shining brightly through the goopy body, made me think of chewing on shards of glass coated in syrup, but glinting brilliant in the light. Resplendent indeed.

Lafayette's Piper's Pride blew a soft wind of vanilla through mellow skies. Broad Ripple's Dual Citizenship was well suited to cask service with a perfectly weightless body and mild hop finish that lingers softly but purposefully on the tongue. Barley Island's porter oozed overripe fruit to the nose and deep caramel chocolate sweetness on the palate with a touch of something mysterious. Rock Bottom's American Dream IPA sported a strong hop nose but not overpowering in the mouth. Good cask conditioned IPA.

The fest was crowded, but I fought my way to Lafayette's taps and a sample, or three, of their Common Ale. Tasty as always but it seemed the bitterness was somewhat reduced since the last time I had it. Or maybe it was just that the Fantabulous Resplendence had dulled my senses? I needed a beer that could weigh in vs. the biggest monstrosity of American brewing that 3Floyd's good cook up. The word on the street was that Bell's had a hybrid freak of a beer that had no home but the deep dank dungeons of Dr. Moreau's Kentucky Island bureau, let out into the sunlight for one hour each week to let the puss and sweat and blood dry up and close the wounds of surgery. Aged in bourbon barrels, a blend of Expedition Imperial Stout and Double Cream Stout screams whiskey through a dark heart of coal, and cola?

I ran from the scene and cowered in the bushes only to find Upland head brewer Caleb Staton cowering there as well. We were scared. We needed something happy. Like strawberries. So off we went to Upland's booth and Caleb pulled out a dusty, cobweb covered crate of corked 750s. "Our lambic. Strawberry. It's ready." I was thrilled. I've been hearing about this thing and seen it sleeping in the barrels for years now . Finally. And good things come to those who wait. A wonderful, authentic lambic that shoots sharp cheese and funky rotten strawberries straight up the schnozzle, ripping and tearing at my airways. Tart and tight in the mouth, intensely tart, bacterial acids erode my esophagus. I have great pride in Indiana because of this beer. A true achievement.

Making my way through the crowds I spot JeffreyT from the Good Beer Show holding his $30 video camera in his arm outstretched running down the Hoosier Beer Geek crew. He's yelling something about how they stole his t-shirt design. The Beer Geeks managed to duck around a corner as JeffreyT blows by. I tell them the way to pacify the man is with a pint of Dogfish Head 75 minute IPA.

New Albanian Kaiser Pils was a bit of a surprise for me. NABC makes great ales and now I can say they make great lagers too. Plump malts with an edge of grainyness makes this clean sipper a delight. Hebrew's Lenny's Bittersweet IPA is truly bitter and sweet. Archetypal grapefruit rinds and a pruney sweetness combine well here.

Under my sink is a Tupperware tub filled to the brim with banana peels and coffee grounds that hasn't been opened in three weeks. And it's on fire. Reminds me of Founder's Kentucky Breakfast stout.

So back to the cask tent I went. Schlafly's American Pale Ale is a simple, patriotic standard beer that is truly superb from the cask. The Ram's cask conditioned take on this year's Replicale tastes like twigs in a good way. Shoreline's IPA tastes like salty sandpaper and the sun began to set on another BIG success as I enjoyed an orange orb of citrusy goodness in the form of cask conditioned Bell's Two Hearted Ale.

On to the Broad Ripple Brewpub for dinner and pints of something hand pulled by a beautiful skinny tattooed hipster pixie chick who dangled from the pumps gloriously amid the clamor of the contented denizens of a proper beer town.