Reflections on the Last Three Years of the "Vail Fest"

My dad and I make an annual event of "The Vail Fest", as I call Big Beers, Belgians and Barleywines because I'm not linguistically limber enough to elocute alliterations (on a daily basis, at least). The first year, he and I went alone before I learned about things like bread, water, getting air, and wearing a large black hat. Our personal standout beer that year was Russian River Consecration, which I'd not seen since until I went to the Cheeky Monk the other day and found it on tap (that was January 15, 2011, kids--mark it). I also had fuzzy but fond memories of Zak at the Schmaltz booth, who still asks about this blog and whose query this year finally inspired me to write again.

Our second year, the event moved from the Marriott to the Vail Cascade Resort, and we went with my then-boyfriend Gabe as well. This was our first taste of Utopia, and the first time I saw Sam Calagione and actually knew who he was (my maturity in brewing knowledge at the time being severely compromised by the fact that I squealed like a twelve year old girl who just saw Justin Beiber). Standouts of that year were two Weizenbocks -- both of which we tried at the end of the night, and as such only one of which I remember: the Krampus from Altitude Chop House. The water flowed more like water this time, and I do distinctly remember leaving.

This third year, I in my wisdom and experience drank lots of water and ate bread, as well as doing at little Calzone Fortification, which is a distinct personal battle tactic. I don't usually eat bread (solid bread, anyway), but extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Festival standout beers this year, in my opinion, where the "Rumpkin" Pumpkin Ale from Avery, aged in Gosling's rum barrels, and the mole beer from Steamworks. This mole (moh-lay, like the sauce, not like the mole people that live in the subways of New York City) was a personal revelation in the type of warming and balanced complexity a beer could sustain, as I said many times to anyone who would listen as well as those trying to get away from the crazy lady with the prospector's hat.

I was glad to see Strange Brewery and Funkwerks, from Denver and Fort Collins, respectively. The rise of the Saison has been happening for a few years now, and Funkwerks specializes in them. They brought a cherry white that was delightful and when I got back to the Fort I went to their tasting room for a long Tuesday afternoon with the Maori King, an amazing imperial Saison with New Zealand-based hops. Long story short--I'll write about that day and the many others I will spend there...soonish.

The Vail Fest crowd was delightful as always (and very, very tall--just goes to show that those who drink beer turn into men of strapping, viking-like proportions), especially because we brought my little brother Sean, who is 21 but looks 28, and my boyfriend Fred. Other notable events were the return of the New York Jets fans, and an vaguely awkward conversation in which I observed that Greg Koch seems to have very wide feet and he thanked me for making him feel uncomfortable in narrow shoes. I also received a marriage proposal from a zealous young man (I collect them, like my collection of broken pens) for being able to identify Sam Adams Triple Bock by taste and probably for wearing a coat covered in cherries. My boys over at Dry Dock brought the Black Death, and imperial stout, I believe, that started life as the Best of Show winner at last year's Vail Fest homebrew competition.

I think that this festival is so particularly special to me because it is attended by people who love beer, and because the breweries take pride in giving the people what they want, and often what they didn't know they wanted until they loved it. Faces have started to become familiar, and I feel like everyone there is my long-lost cousin who I nevertheless get to see every year in a place where everyone is exactly where they want to be.

Here's to the Vail Fest, and to many more, my cousins.