Thirst-quenching, delicious beer! The beverage of football players and frat parties has finally become refined. Farewell, watery light beer! Hello, American craft ales!

I am a proud beer snob. I’m not ashamed to admit it. Yet, I’ve come a long way in my journey. When I drank my first beer (a tasteless brew from a giant corporation), I doused my cup with Mt. Dew. Yes, I hated it that much. A few years later, I had the good fortune of living in Denmark, where I was introduced to a finer lager. And thus my taste for good ale blossomed.

Today, I stick to microbrews. (No Mt. Dew needed.) Smooth amber ales will win my heart over any time! I’m also quite fond of good pale ales and hoppy IPAs. I like my beer to slap me in the face with bold flavor. Or, on a hot summer day, I’ll grab a lager and throw in a twist of lime to cool the heat. And while others are clinking glasses of wine, I’ll opt instead for a frothy brew any day.

Yes, I shall forever remain a true beer fan. And in celebration of Sacramento Beer Week, which kicks off tomorrow, I’m putting my beverage-of-choice to the ultimate locavore test. Is it green enough?—and I don’t mean adding food coloring as they do on St. Patty’s Day.

All hail my green beer experiment! I have done the research for you so that you might drink in peace. Grab a pint and let’s celebrate!!

Green Beer Tips:
1) Head to the Nearest Pub (on bike!): Beer containers maximize their environmental footprint. All those bottles and cans start to add up. The greenest beer container? The keg! So, pedal on over to your local pub to keep your brew green.

2) Order Local: Now that you’re comfortably seated at your local bar, order the local brew. For those of us here in Sac Town, ordering locally is easy. From Rubicon to Hoppy, we’ve got some wonderful beers to choose from. You can even remain safely within the 100 mile locavore radius by choosing popular Sierra Nevada ales from Chico, CA. Hell, even if you’re feeling really naughty and want to order one of my favorite brews (Arrogant Bastard) out of San Diego, you’re still lightening the carbon load by not ordering that bicyclist’s beer from Colorado or that Irish brew from across the ocean. Cali’s got it going on when it comes to local beers.

3) Go Organic: Crops of hops are ubiquitously doused in fungicides. If you want to reduce the amount of pesticide use on our planet, opt for locally-brewed organic ale. Here are a few you might like, conveniently located at a brewer near you: Butte Creek (Chico, CA), Bison Brewing (Berkeley, CA), and Eel River Brewing Company (Fortuna, CA).

4) Go Solar: You can minimize your beer’s carbon footstep even further by buying from a solar-powered brewery. Boont Amber Ale is one such delightful beer, and it’s crafted in Boonville, CA—just a stone’s throw away (well, only three hours—still closer than Colorado!). Sierra Nevada Brewing Company is also solar powered. Now doesn’t that just make your favorite beer taste better!

5) Cool Your Own Beer: Cut down on the amount of energy used to keep your beer cold in the grocery store cooler. Buy room-temperature beer (as they sell it at Trader Joe’s) and throw a few bottles in your frig at home. And for Pete’s sake, don’t run an extra frig just for your cold beverages. Keep only what you need in your kitchen frig. If you’re having a party, buy some ice and throw everything in a tub to save energy.

There you have it: proof that you really can go green while drinking beer! For more reading on the matter, check out this fine article.

All this good news is making me thirsty. I hope to see you at the Colonial Theater opening event for Sacramento Beer Week tomorrow at 6pm! I’d love to raise a glass with you. I’ll also be passing out samples of my tasty Chocolate Stout Cupcakes.

Afterwards, meet me back here throughout the week for brew-inspired recipes like my aforementioned cupcakes and some tasty Purple Potato Wedges marinated in Amber Ale. Cheers!

Labels: Arrogant Bastard, beer, beer environmental footprint, Bison Brewing, Boont Amber Ale, Butte Creek Brewing, Eel River Brewing Company, green beer, Sacramento Beer Week, Sierra Nevada

I found this tale in the archives of my computer. This was written last Thanksgiving, but never posted. A year later, pizza memories still warm my heart.

The Midwest has a bad rap for bland, meat-heavy cuisine. Unfairly so. After all, Chicago is the hometown of deep dish pizza, and the whole state of Illinois follows suit. A lot has changed in the six years since I moved away to the avocado-covered lanes of California. Now, back for a visit, I experience culinary joys that make me proud to claim my gastronomical Midwestern roots.

On the first day of my short visit, I return to my Alma Mater, University of Illinois, in Urbana-Champaign. That’s also where I met my husband. The two of us, along with my mom and step-dad (also an alum), went back for memory’s sake. Our tour consists of a walk around the campus Quad, noting the ageless beauty of the trees and stately buildings. The crisp fall air and honey-colored leaves look just as they did six years ago. My husband and I are returned to a time when marriage was a phantom notion reserved for the likes of old folks like our parents.

We are thankful for another unchanged landmark from our past, which still stands majestically as we approach: Jupiter, our favorite pub.

The impressive brick structure rises from the pavement with a brotherly air. Its glass storefront blinks whimsically with lights that read “Leinenkugel” and “Sierra Nevada,” calling us into the warmth. The long stretch of wooden bar and high stools beckons, as from days of yore. The step up to the counter, one swift leap, is rhythmic to my body as I order the usual: a large pizza with pesto sauce, ½ smoked salmon, and four pints of cold quenching ale.

The pizzas arrive like discs from heaven, glistening from melted cheese atop silver pans the size of a sidewalk square. That familiar pizza aroma immediately tickles our senses: warmth, home, tomato sauce, sticky, sweet and chewy. I grab a tiny square, and smother it in soft flakes of red heat and shaved, salty parmesan. The warmth meets the tip of my nose as the piece flies from plate to teeth. As my bite sinks into layers of gooey cheese, moist spinach, tangy feta and mouth-watering sun-dried tomatoes, the crust parts sharply and splits—crisp, light, and crusty. The flavors dance around my mouth as I chew, one by one moving across my tongue to reintroduce themselves, delicate and rich at the same time. I crave another. And another. And another.

Nowhere on earth do they make such wonderful pizza. Rich in flavors, filling your senses like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders on a brisk night curled up in bed reading. Nothing is more comforting, beckoning the feelings of love and friendship. Pizza is the food I associate most with good company. Growing up, pizza night meant a special occasion like a birthday, an A on a report card, or friends in town visiting.

As we eat, my husband and I reminisce our courting days eight years earlier, where many a date were spent at Jupiter eating this very pizza.

Then, shockingly, my mom breaks through my memories. “I remember my first pizza. It came from a Chef Boyardee box.”

My mouth stops chewing as my jaw falls open. “What?!” I cannot imagine what sort of mediocre first experience this could possibly have been.

“Oh yeah,” agrees my step dad. “Mine, too. I must have been twelve years old.”

“Yeah, I think that’s about how old I was,” says my mother. “The first time I had pizza in a restaurant would have been in college—Mabe's.” She touts the name of her own Alma Mater pizza joint in Decorah, Iowa.

“Me too,” says my step dad. “We ate Chef Boyardee until I went to college and found it in the bars.”

I pop another piece of pizza in my mouth, reveling in the chewy soft bites. I cannot conceive of the world before this standard dish. To me, that would be like life without beer or socks.

An hour later, our bellies pleasantly stuffed to exploding, we pay our tab and swallow the last drops of our beer (now warm). I breathe in deeply—satisfaction from a meal so comforting. We have walked down the halls of memory lane today. I’m proud to have grown up in a world filled with pizza made exquisitely from fresh ingredients by the local Mom & Pop shop, not a prepared mix. I could have grown up in another era—a time when my favorite dish might only have been a twinkle in a mass-producer’s eye.

Labels: Chef Boyardee, deep dish pizza, Illinois, Jupiter Pizza, Leinenkugel, Mabe's Pizza, Midwest, pizza, Sierra Nevada, University of Illinois