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Buddy’s Beer Garden

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looney-tunes
On the eve of the repeal of prohibition, anticipation must have been running pretty high. On November 11, 1933, Warner Brothers cartoon studios released their newest Looney Tunes animated short film, “Buddy’s Beer Garden.”

“It is a Looney Tunes cartoon, featuring Buddy, the second star of the series. It was supervised by Earl Duvall, here credited as ‘Duval,’ was one of only five Warner Bros. cartoons directed by him, and one of only three Buddy shorts. Musical direction was by Norman Spencer.”

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Here’s the description of the film from Wikipedia:

We enter Buddy’s beer garden, where are gathered many merry patrons, singing “Oh du lieber Augustin”, mugs in hand. The happy opening scene fades to one of an equally merry Buddy, who balances a tray and sings of the good cheer his beer brings (to the tune of “Auf Wiederseh’n (We’ll Meet Again)”), as he fixes a tablecloth and sets down two glasses of his ware, while a black dog, pretzels on its tail, behind him barks in tune. A German oom-pah band creates an ambience (and, as the band reappears four times throughout the cartoon, each time they are seen, as a gag, a small member of the group will come out of the largest member’s brass instrument, playing, in succession, a trumpet, maracas, a piano, and a bass drum.) Beer flows on tap, and Buddy ensures that each mug has plenty of foam. Cookie neatly prepares several pretzels, which then are salted by the same little dachshund, and carried thence away. The tongue sandwiches offered as part of the bar’s free lunch sing & lap up mustard; an impatient patron (presumably the same brute who serves as the villain in later shorts, such as Buddy’s Show Boat and Buddy’s Garage) demands his beer, which he instantly gulps down upon its arrival.

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All present take part in “It’s Time to Sing ‘Sweet Adeline’ Again”: some sing, one patron plays his spaghetti as though the noodles were strings on a harp, Buddy makes an instrument out of his steins, &c. Cookie comes around, offering cigars and cigarettes to the patrons, one of whom, the same impatient brute as before, accepts, but not before freshly stroking the girl’s chin. Cookie performs an exotic dance for the entire beer garden, and is joined by the selfsame patron, & a formerly stationery piano. The film goes on: Buddy whistles “Hi Lee Hi Lo”, tossing beer from one mug to another, preparing sandwiches, clearing tables.

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As a final treat for his customers, Our Hero introduces a lady singer (who bears a striking resemblance to Mae West), who reveals herself only after Buddy’s departure and a brief musical interlude. The grand dame attracts the attention of the very same recurring patron, who drunkenly stumbles over to her with the intention of receiving a kiss: as the song (“I Love my Big Time, Slow Time Baseball Man”) ends, he makes his request, but a horned goat, part of a poster advertising “Bock Beer”, but nonetheless quite alive, with its horns stabs the patron’s backside, sending him flying. The patron, on his airborne journey, causes the lady singer to catch her dress on an overhanging tree; the dress tears, & the throaty performer, now grounded, is revealed to be a cross-dressed Buddy. Pleasantly embarrassed, Buddy stalks away, waving blithely to all present; in the final shot, we see that the bird cage strapped to Buddy’s posterior (there to replicate the voluptuousness of his singing persona), in fact houses an exotic bird, which shows itself to have a voice & nose like those of Jimmy Durante, as well as a saying: “Am I mortified!”

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Although it’s fairly small, here’s the entire cartoon to watch. Enjoy.

Bistro IPA Festival Winners 2023

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Today was the 25th annual IPA Festival at the Bistro. It was another lovely sunny day in Hayward, making it perfect beer festival weather, although we’d returned to being sequestered in the basement for judging. The full list of winners is below.

Judging today at the Bistro for their IPA Festival.

IPAs

Tenma picking up their gold medal.

And Tenma also won People’s Choice for favorite IPA at the festival.

It was a beautiful day in Hayward.

Beer In Ads #4574: Miss Rheingold 1960 Emily Banks After Her Reign

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Friday’s ad is for “Rheingold Beer,” from 1960. This ad was made for the Rheingold Brewery, which was founded by the Liebmann family in 1883 in New York, New York. At its peak, it sold 35% of all the beer in New York state. In 1963, the family sold the brewery and in was shut down in 1976. In 1940, Philip Liebmann, great-grandson of the founder, Samuel Liebmann, started the “Miss Rheingold” pageant as the centerpiece of its marketing campaign. Beer drinkers voted each year on the young lady who would be featured as Miss Rheingold in advertisements. In the 1940s and 1950s in New York, “the selection of Miss Rheingold was as highly anticipated as the race for the White House.” The winning model was then featured in at least twelve monthly advertisements for the brewery, beginning in 1940 and ending in 1965. Beginning in 1941, the selection of next year’s Miss Rheingold was instituted and became wildly popular in the New York Area. Emily Banks was Elected Miss Rheingold 1960.” Banks was also a finalist last year. She was born January 23, 1933 and was 21 when she served as Miss Rheingold. She was born in Virginia, but raised in Cambridge, Massachusetts (her father was in the military), and she graduated from the local Simmons University. She enjoyed swimming, diving, horseback riding and baseball, not to mention dancing and cooking. She also wanted to learn how to fly a plane, and was hoping to use her winnings to start a graphic arts business with her father. After her Rheingold year, she became an actress. She’s perhaps best remembered as Tonia Barrows in the original Star Trek episode “Shore Leave,” but she appeared in numerous TV series, including Mr. Terrific, The Wild Wild West, Dragnet 1967, Bewitched, Death Valley Days, Love American Style, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, Highway to Heaven, and Simon & Simon. She was also in a couple of films, most notably the 1968 Elvis Presley vehicle, “Live a Little, Love a Little.” I couldn’t find out much after that, and she appears to become more private after her career ended around 1986. As far as I can tell, she’s still around and would be 90 this year, wherever she is. As I mentioned previously, Ms. Banks had an acting career after her Miss Rheingold year was over. Beginning in 1966 and not ending until 1986, she appeared in numerous television series along with a few movies roles. They were usually small parts, but she did seem to keep working steadily for twenty years.

Star Trek: Shore Leave

But perhaps her most memorable role was that of Yeoman Tonia Barrows in the Star Trek episode “Shore Leave,” which was episode 15 of the first season. Here’s a few stills from the episode:

She also did quite a few other television shows and films, and here are a few examples:

Gunfight in Abilene

Gunfight in Abilene, a 1967 film also starring Bobby Darin.

Live a Little, Love a Little

In this film she played a receptionist at the RKC&P ad agency.
Where the star of the film was Elvis Presley.

Wild, Wild West

Playing Arden Masterson in the Wild, Wild West.

Dragnet 1967

She played Ann Tipton in an episode of Dragnet.

Hell’s Bloody Devils

In the film “Hell’s Bloody Devils” she played Jill Harmon opposite Broderick Crawford.

The Tim Conway Show

In 1970, she landed the role of Becky, the romantic interest lead in this Tim Conway sitcom.
Though the show only lasted one season.

Bewitched

She later played Becky on an episode of Bewitched in 1972.

Modeling

She also continued to do some modeling, and here are a few of the many photos that turned up for her over her career.

Guy de Maupassant’s “Waiter, A Glass Of Beer!”

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book
Today is the birthday of French writer Guy de Maupassant. He was a prolific writer, very popular during his lifetime, and “considered one of the fathers of the modern short story and one of the form’s finest exponents.” He wrote half-a-dozen novels and around 240 short stories. One of them was entitled “Waiter, A Glass of Beer!,” although since the original was in French, it’s sometimes translated as “Waiter, A Bock!” It’s a somewhat melancholy tale, but there’s a couple of great quotes in the story, like how the barfly describes his life:

I get up out of bed at noon. I come here, I have a meal, I drink beer, I wait for the evening, I have dinner, I drink beer, and then, about half-past one in the morning, I go home to bed again, because, you see, they close at that hour—which is a nuisance. I have probably spent six years out of the last ten on this seat, in this corner, and the rest of the time in bed—none of it anywhere else. Occasionally I have a chat with some of the guests.

And in the “Bock” version of the story, the barfly is referred to as a “regular” in the beer bar, but in the “glass of beer” version they use an interesting term I hadn’t heard before: a “beerite,” which he describes as “one of those habitual frequenters of beer-palaces who come in the morning when the doors open, and leave when they close for the night.” I may have to try to get that word back into common usage, if indeed it ever was.

Because it’s in the public domain, several versions are available online. I’ve reprinted the Bartelby version below, but you can see others, such as one of the Bock versions at Classic Short Stories or at Google Books’ version at The Complete Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant. Enjoy.

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A photograph of Guy de Passant taken in 1888.

‘Waiter, a Glass of Beer!’

I WAS going nowhere in particular. I was merely taking a stroll after dinner. I passed the Lyonnais Bank, the Rue Vivienne, and other streets besides. Suddenly I halted before a half-empty beer-palace. With no special object in view—for I was not thirsty—I went in.

Casting a glance about for a comfortable place, I took a seat next to a man who looked rather old, and was smoking a cheap clay pipe, which was as black as coal. Half a dozen glass saucers piled up on the table in front of him indicated the number of glasses he had already consumed. I paid no closer attention to my neighbor, recognizing him at once for a “beerite,” one of those habitual frequenters of beer-palaces who come in the morning when the doors open, and leave when they close for the night. He was untidy, and bald on the top of his head, a shock of long, greasy, pepper-and-salt hair falling upon his coat collar. His clothes, which were too loose, had apparently been made at a time when he was stouter. One suspected that his trousers were not fastened on tight, and that every ten yards the wearer would have to stop and pull up that erratic garment. Had he a waistcoat on? The bare thought of his boots, and of what they might contain, made me shudder. His frayed cuffs were a deep black all round the edges—just like his nails.

No sooner had I sat down beside this individual, than he coolly addressed me:

“How are you?”

I turned toward him in surprise, and looked him over. Then he resumed:

“You don’t recognize me?”

“No.”

“Des Barrets.”

I was dumfounded. It was Count Jean des Barrets, an intimate friend of college days. I shook hands with him, but was too much perturbed to bring out a syllable. At last I stammered:

“And you—how are you?”

To which he placidly replied:

“I might be worse.”

That was all he said. I tried to be civil, and racked my brain for an observation to make. At last I put the question:

“And—er—what are you doing at present?”

He answered in a tone of resignation:

“As you see.”

I felt myself blushing. Nevertheless, I braved it out:

“But every day, I mean?”

After puffing out an enormous cloud of smoke, he replied:

“It’s the same thing every day.”

Thereupon, giving the marble surface of the table a rat-tat-tat with a copper coin, he exclaimed:

“Waiter, two glasses of beer!”

A distant voice repeated, “Two glasses of beer!” A voice still more distant shouted a strident “Here you are!” Then appeared a man in a white apron, carrying two glasses, from which he spilt a few yellow drops as he shuffled speedily across the sanded floor.

Des Barrets emptied his glass at a single draft, and put it back on the table, sucking off the foam which had remained on his mustache. After this he inquired:

“Anything new?”

I really had nothing new to tell him, and so I muttered:

“No, old chap, nothing that I know of. I—I’m in business.”

In the same even tone he asked me:

“Oh! And do you find that amusing?”

“No. But it can’t be helped. A fellow must do something or other.”

“Why so?”

“Well—er—so as to have his time occupied.”

“What’s the use of that? I never do anything, as you see—no, not a thing. If one is poor, I understand that one must work. But as long as one has anything to live upon, then it’s quite unnecessary. Work—why work? Are you doing it for yourself or for others? If you are doing it for yourself, I suppose you enjoy it, and then it’s all right; if you do it for somebody else, you’re an idiot!”

Then, resting his pipe on the marble slab, he again cried out aloud:

“Waiter, a glass of beer!”

Turning back to me, he continued:

“Talking makes me thirsty. I am not used to it. No, I have no occupation; I do nothing but simply grow old. I shall have nothing to grieve for when I die. This beer-palace will be my only parting memory. No wife—no children—no cares—no worry. That’s the best way.”

He drained the tall glass brought him, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and took to his pipe once more.

I was stupefied. Presently I said:

“But you have not always been like this?”

“I beg your pardon, always; ever since I left college.”

“But this is no life for you, my dear fellow! Why, it’s horrible! Surely you have something to do—you must have friends—you must be attached to somebody or something?”

“Not at all. I get up out of bed at noon. I come here, I have a meal, I drink beer, I wait for the evening, I have dinner, I drink beer, and then, about half-past one in the morning, I go home to bed again, because, you see, they close at that hour—which is a nuisance. I have probably spent six years out of the last ten on this seat, in this corner, and the rest of the time in bed—none of it anywhere else. Occasionally I have a chat with some of the guests.”

“But when you first came to Paris, what did you do, to start with?”

“I took my degree—at the Café de Médicis.”

“And what did you do next?”

“Next? Oh, I crossed the river, and came here!”

“Why did you take that much trouble?”

“Well, you know, a fellow can hardly stay in the Latin Quarter all his life. The students are too noisy. I shall never move again, now. Waiter, a glass of beer!”

I thought he was making game of me, and so persisted:

“Now, look here, tell me the truth! You have had some great sorrow, haven’t you? some unfortunate love-affair perhaps? You certainly look like a man who has been hard hit by fate. Tell me—how old are you?”

“Thirty-three; but I look at least forty-five.”

His wrinkled face, which was none too clean, might indeed almost have belonged to an old man. From the top of his skull fluttered a wisp or two of hair above some skin of a doubtful color. He had enormous eyebrows, a heavy mustache, and a thick, shaggy beard. There appeared to my vision—I can scarcely tell why—a basin full of dark water, in which he had attempted to wash.

“Yes,” said I, “you look older than you are. Surely you must have had some trouble.”

“None in the world, I tell you. I have aged because I never take any exercise. There’s nothing worse for people than this life in cafés.”

Still I could not believe him:

“Ah, then you’ve been a bit gay! One doesn’t get bald like that without running after the women a good deal.”

He tranquilly shook his head, sowing his coat collar with little white particles that fell from his last remaining locks.

“No,” he remarked, “I have always behaved myself.” And raising his eyes to the chandelier overhead, he added, “If I’m bald, the gas is to blame. It’s frightfully bad for the hair. Waiter, a glass of beer!—You don’t seem thirsty?”

“No, thanks. But really, your case is interesting. When did this—er—apathy set in? It isn’t normal; it isn’t natural. There’s something beneath all this.”

“Well, yes—it dates back a long way. I’ll tell you about it.”…

“Waiter, a glass of beer!”

The glass that was brought him he gulped down at one swallow. Only, in taking up his pipe again, as his hand trembled, he let it drop, and it broke. This caused him a gesture of despair, and drew from him the complaint:

“Well, now, that’s really a tragedy, that is. It’ll take me a month to color another.”

And through the immense room, now full of tobacco-smoke and beer-drinkers, resounded again his everlasting cry:

“Waiter, a glass of beer!” Only this time he added, “And a new pipe!”

A Tale Of Pretty Polly Perkins

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While looking through the Internet Archive today, I came across this odd bit of temperance literature from England. It’s a six-page story published in 1890 to persuade people from partaking of the demon alcohol and instead suggesting Mason’s Extract of Herbs “for the speedy production of herb or botanic beer, a non-intoxicating beverage.” Unsurprisingly, it was published by Newball & Mason, makers of the apparently non-alcoholic beer. It’s called “A Tale of Pretty Polly Perkins.”

The name, I believe, comes from an earlier song called Pretty Polly Perkins of Paddington Green that was first published in 1864. According to Wikipedia, “it was almost universally known in England until around the mid-1950s, when it began to fade as being too old-fashioned.” So here’s the story in full. It’s worth a read.

Page 1.
Page 2.
Page 3.
Page 4.
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Page 6.
Back Cover.

The back cover shows a bottle of Mason’s Original Herb or Botanic Beer. What was it exactly? I’m not sure, but the Monterey Bay Herb Company has a history of it on their Facebook page:

Herbal History: Mason’s Botanical Beer

“The little busy bee improves the shining hour and prefers Mason’s Extract of Herbs before the laborious old fashioned method of extracting it itself.”

Newball & Mason’s original Extract of Herbs, also known as “Botanic Beer,” was promoted as a refreshing tonic and non-alcoholic alternative to beer in keeping with the Temperance movement which prevailed at the time. The company was formed in 1859 through a partnership between Thomas Ayres Newball and his apprentice, 15-year old Thomas Mason. In 1875, the younger Thomas opened a factory on Park Row in Nottingham, from which he produced his “extract of herbs.”

Advertisements for Mason’s Extract of Herbs appeared regularly in newspapers and on posters and handbills circulated in street railways throughout London. The ads always contained the familiar tagline,”The little busy bee improves the shining hour and prefers Mason’s Extract of Herbs before the laborious old fashioned method of extracting it itself’ and instructed the reader to “Send 9 stamps for sample bottle, enough to make eight gallons.”

In 1880, Thomas took on an apprentice of his own, Benjamin Deaville, who later became a partner in the company. Over the next several years, the company would move twice more until landing in New Basford where the two men established Maville Works, a merging of their names. Here the company diversified to also produce coffee, flavorings, fruit essences, dried herbs and household chemicals.

Benjamin became the sole proprietor after Thomas died in 1911, and he remained chairman and managing director until his death in 1938. Newball and Mason relocated to Staffordshire in 1957, where it continued to operate until 1970.

Wondering what Mason’s botanical beer was made of? Like most formulas of the period, it was a closely guarded secret. But, because few things stay secret forever (and the label’s illustration provides a clue)…the primary ingredients were yarrow, dandelion, comfrey and horehound.

Ad for Mason’s Extract from around 1900.

So it’s made with “yarrow, dandelion, comfrey and horehound,” ingredients more at home in a gruit. How exactly did that concoction create a beverage that tasted in any way like beer, enough that they felt comfortable calling it beer, botanic beer or otherwise?

Below is some more information from an advertising leaflet produced in the 1890s.

Newball & Mason’s original extract of herbs or ‘botanic beer’ was promoted as a wholesome, refreshing drink, a tonic. Most importantly (in line with the Temperance movement of the time which disapproved of alcohol drinking and campaigned determinedly against it), it was marketed as a non alcoholic (and much cheaper) alternative to beer.

In the advertisement an image of bees buzzing round a bottle and the clump of flowers to the left (dandelion, white dead nettle, burdock and comfrey) suggest the natural and healthy origin of the extract. Another image shows a smiling, young, male scientist holding a glass of the extract, endorsing the product. Newball & Mason were manufacturing chemists & botanic druggists based at the Hyson Green Works, Nottingham.

I love the line “no other extract makes beer like it.” That I believe. And here’s one more account of the extract, from a local history group in Nottingham, England:

The company of Newball and Mason was originally founded by Thomas Ayres Newball and Thomas Mason. In 1850 Thomas Ayres Newball had opened a chemist shop at 36 Derby Road, Nottingham and in 1859, at the age of fifteen, Thomas Mason became his apprentice. After several years, Thomas Mason opened his own shop on Derby Road and it was at this time that he invented the ‘extract of herbs’, a concentrated essence that could be made up into the non-alcoholic beverage, ‘Botanic Beer’. In the 1870’s the two businesses were amalgamated to form Newball and Mason, chemist and druggist, with premises near the Market Place and at 10 Derby Road (Morris’s Trade Directory for 1877). With the growing popularity of botanic beer, in 1875 Thomas Mason opened a factory on Park Row in Nottingham, to produce his ‘extract of herbs’. Benjamin Deaville joined the company as an apprentice in 1880 and after serving a three year apprenticeship, he decided to concentrate on the manufacturing side of the business, later becoming a partner in the company.

In 1890, the company moved into a larger factory on Terrace Street in Hyson Green and in 1902, they moved again to a former lace factory on Beech Avenue, New Basford. This factory was known as the ‘Maville Works’, combining the names of Mason and Deaville. By this time, Newball and Mason had diversified to produce not only the ‘extract of herbs’ but also coffee, fruit essences and flavourings, household chemicals, culinary and medicinal herbs, the latter being grown on the company’s herb and fruit farm in Bunny. In 1911, Thomas Mason died and Benjamin Deaville became the sole proprietor. In 1925 he decided to form a private limited company and held the position of chairman and managing director until his death in 1938.

THE INGREDIENTS : yarrow, dandelion, comfrey and horehound. All grow wild in Ryde Cemetery so if you fancy taking up brewing…!

Based on this ad from the 1890s, it looks it was also sold in the U.S., as well.

The First Tavern In America

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Today, March 4, in 1634 is when the first licensed tavern in Colonial America opened in Boston, which is why today is also considered “American Tavern Day.” Given that record-keeping was spotty back then, you probably won’t be surprised that it’s not absolutely certain it was the first, although it seems to have been the first in New England at least. Apparently, there is some evidence that another may have opened earlier in Jamestown, Virginia, but I’ve not seen the evidence for that, so here we are.

The account of it opening comes from Boston magistrate John Winthrop, who wrote in his journal under the date 4 March 1634 that “Samuel Cole set up the first house for common entertainment,” this being the first public house or tavern in the colony.

This definitely not Samuel Cole’s Inn but it is typical of taverns of that time period and often shows up in stories about early taverns.

This account is from 1917, and appeared in the book “Old Boston Taverns and Tavern Clubs,” by Samual Adams Drake.

SAMUEL COLE’S INN

Samuel Cole came to Boston in the fleet with Governor Winthrop, and he with his wife Ann were the fortieth and forty-first on the list of original members of the First Church. He requested to become a freeman October 19, 1630, and was sworn May 18, 1631. He was the ninth to sign the roll of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company in 1637 and in the same year was disarmed for his religious views. In 1636 he contributed to the maintenance of a free school and in 1656 to the building of the town house. In 1652 he was one of those chosen to receive monies for Harvard College. In 1634 he opened the first ordinary, or inn. It was situated on Washington Street, nearly opposite the head of Water Street. Here, in 1636, Sir Henry Vane, the governor, entertained Miantonomo and two of Canonicus’s sons, with other chiefs. While the four sachems dined at the Governor’s house, which stood near the entrance to Pemberton Square, the chiefs, some twenty in all, dined at Cole’s Inn. At this time a treaty of peace was concluded here between the English and the Narragansetts.

In 1637, in the month of June, there sailed into Boston Harbor the ship Hector, from London, with the Rev. John Davenport and two London merchants, Theophilus Eaton and Edward Hopkins, his son-in-law, two future governors of Connecticut. On the same vessel was a young man, a ward of King Charles I., James, Lord Ley, a son of the Earl of Marlborough (who had just died). He was also to hold high positions in the future and attain fame as a mathematician and navigator.

The Earl of Marlborough, while in Boston, was at Cole’s Inn, and while he was here was of sober carriage and observant of the country which he came to view. He consorted frequently with Sir Henry Vane, visiting with him Maverick, at Noddle’s Island, and returning to England with Vane in August, 1637.

His estate in England was a small one in Teffont Evias, or Ewyas, Wilts, near Hinton Station, and in the church there may still be seen the tombs of the Leys. He also had a reversion to lands in Heywood, Wilts.

In 1649 he compounded with Parliament for his lands and giving bond was allowed to depart from England to the plantations in America.

On the restoration of Charles II. in 1661, the Earl returned to England and in the next year was assisted by the King to fit out an expedition to the West Indies. In 1665 he commanded “that huge ship,” the Old James, and in the great victorious sea fight of June 3 with the Dutch was slain, with Rear Admiral Sansum, Lords Portland, Muskerry, and others.

He died without issue and the title went to his uncle, in whom the title became extinct, to be revived later in the more celebrated Duke, of the Churchill family.

It was shortly after the Earl’s departure that Cole was disarmed for his sympathy for his neighbor on the south, Mrs. Ann Hutchinson, and he was also fined at the same time for disorders at his house. In the following spring he was given permission to sell his house, to which he had just built an addition, and he disposed of it to Capt. Robert Sedgwick in February, 1638.

Cole then removed to a house erroneously noted by some as the first inn, situated next his son-in-law, Edmund Grosse, near the shore on North Street. This he sold in 1645 to George Halsall and bought other land of Valentine Hill.

Although it was always known as Cole’s Inn, writer Henry Wadsworth Longfellow mentions it throughout his play “John Endicott,” but calls it the “The Three Mariners.” For example, from Act IV:

Now let us make a straight wake for the tavern Of the Three Mariners, Samuel Cole commander; Where we can take our ease, and see the shipping, And talk about old times.

Märzen Madness 2023

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I may not be biggest fan of academia’s version of indentured servitude, otherwise known as college basketball, but I do still enjoy the games of March Madness every year. The tournament is usually a fun diversion for a few weeks each year, so for the twelfth straight year, I’ve set up a fantasy game, similar to fantasy football or baseball. It’s a bracket game through Yahoo which I call “Märzen Madness.” It doesn’t look like there’s a limit to the number of people who can play, so sign up and make your picks beginning right now, with the first games taking place on March 14, which only gives you roughly two weeks to complete your bracket. So don’t delay, sign up right away and fill out your bracket.

To join Märzen Madness and play the Yahoo! Sports Tournament Pick’em game, just follow the link below. You’ll also need a Yahoo ID (which is free if you don’t already have one).

To accept the invitation and play Märzen Madness this year, just follow this invitation link.

Good luck everybody.

Historic Beer Birthday: Johannes Karl Fix

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Today is the birthday of Johannes Karl Fix (February 24, 1832-1895). Johannes Karl Fix, which was probably Fuchs (for “Fox”) in his native Germany, was born in Freistadt, which at that time was part of Bavaria (but today is part of Austria). He founded the Fix Brewery in 1864 in Athens and was the first major brewery in Greece. “About 30 years earlier, his father had started brewing beer in Greece. As purveyor to the court of the Greek king, the company was able to maintain a monopoly position in the Greek market for about 100 years. After the bankruptcy of the company in 1983 and several failed attempts to revive it, Fix beer has been brewed again in its own brewery since 2009. The reason for this is the relatively high popularity of beer in Mediterranean countries.”

Here’s a history of the brewery, from Wikipedia:

The brewery founder’s father, Johann Adam Fix, a miner from Edelbach in Spessart, had followed the call of King Otto to Greece and had – like other Bavarians – settled in Iraklion near Athens.[2] He was responsible in the management of the mines in Kymi, Euboea. Earlier, he had left his son Johann Georg behind with his mother. When Johann Georg traveled to his father at the age of twenty, he was to be picked up in Piraeus; but his father was murdered on the way by robbers. After the event, Johann Georg Fix was rescued in Iraklion, he stayed there and started to import barrels of beer from Bavaria. Later, he decided to produce beer himself and launched a small enterprise selling his home-made beer in Kolonaki (today a expensive and celebrated shopping area in the heart of Athens), which was a good place for socialising for the Athenian Bavarian community. Joseph von Ow, who was in the service of the Athenian royal court in 1837–39, wrote in his memoirs:

“The Bavarian compatriots have company among themselves. – A brewery has been in operation in Athens for two years and is being used heavily. Professor G. Everus from Oldenburg rightly notes how excellent it must be for a Bavarian soul to have his patriotic drink here – on the border of the Orient! A society – To the Green Tree – (with garden, bowling alley, stone beer steins, singing and loud conversations) reminds of the far bank of the Isar! “

Around 1840, the beer is said to have prevailed throughout Greece. Johann Ludwig’s son Karl Johann Fix (Karolos Ioannou Fix) in 1864 founded the Fix brewery in Athens,[6] coinciding with the appointment of the next king of Greece, George I, from beer-loving Denmark. The new royal court encouraged Charles’s efforts, and Fix Company soon became the official purveyor to the Greek Royal Court, and has been the only major in the country till the middle of the 20th century. It was located at the foot of Lycabettus also in Kolonaki and competed with small breweries such as Gulielmos (Wilhelm) and imported beer from Trieste and Vienna (Schwechat). The German brewers (including Fix) are said to have barely met the demand for beer and “became wealthy in a short time.” Beer was therefore more expensive than wine. Around 1905, 89,000 hectoliters were produced in eleven breweries.

This is an account of the history of Greek brewing beginning with Fix’s brewery, from Food & Dining.

Modern brewing in Greece dates to the period just after Greece became independent of the Ottoman Empire in 1832 following a decade-long war of liberation. The new Mediterranean nation acquiesced to the persuasiveness of Europe’s empires, which paraphrased Frank Zappa by insisting that all real countries need a king in addition to beer and a football team.

So it was that a member of the Bavarian royal family set up court in Athens, soon to be followed by brewers and sausage makers. After all, all kings were not Bavarian, but all Bavarians (including their kings) needed beer and brats. Some things never change.

A Bavarian miner named Fix was among the early arrivals in Athens, intent on serving royalty by making money. He began dabbling in brewing, but it was his son Johann Karl Fix who founded the eponymous brewery in Athens in 1864.

By this point the Greek Royal Court had become Danish on grounds of Bavarian kingly ineptitude, but as we know Danes are beery to the core, and Fix the younger, being a well-read capitalist, began his pursuit of the new monarch’s favor. This quest resulted in the Fix brand becoming “official” purveyor to the royals, and subsequently a quasi-monopoly in Greek brewing for decades to come.

By the time of my 1985 visit to Greece, Fix was acknowledged as the must-drink Greek beer by all those who had preceded me on the backpacker’s circuit. But as I soon discovered, Fix no longer existed, having passed from the scene two years earlier following a multitude of setbacks.

The reasons for the decline of Fix in Greece were quite similar to those afflicting post-Prohibition family breweries in America. For one, bigger breweries (in Greece’s case, European multinationals) wanted a piece of the action and expended their resources to achieve it by hook or crook.

Also, the Fix family’s younger generations proved far less adept at brewery management than their elders had been. The Fix brewery also came to be seen as aligned with the right-wing military junta that ruled Greece from 1967 through 1974, and when the junta fell, paybacks were hell.

And this account is from The First Cemetery of Athens:

Tragically, Georg [Johannes Karl’s father] was shot and killed by robbers in 1862 while awaiting the arrival of his son Johannes from Bavaria. His grave can be found in Iraklio’s Roman Catholic cemetery. In spite of that terrible event, Johannes decided to remain in Greece. Informed sources have him working at the palace briefly, gaining the concession for the importation of ice from Mount Parnitha to Athens and/or apprenticing at the brewery of Melcher and then taking it over around 1864 when Mr. Melcher died.  However much of that beginning is solid fact, it is true that he had begun his own small brewery and moved it from Paleo Iraklio to Kolonaki in the late 1860s.  His business grew, partly because of hard work and partly because his beer had a reputation for consistent quality.

Bistro Double IPA Winners 2023

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Earlier today, the 23rd annual Double IPA Festival was held at the Bistro in Hayward, California, and after a virtual fest two years, and a modified outdoor festival last year, this year it was back to a much more typical festival, complete with people and sunshine off and on. I got there early for judging again this year, and we were back in the basement again — which was oddly comforting. We judged 87 Double IPAs for most of the morning and part of the afternoon, before choosing our favorites

Beginning the judging process.

After emerging from the darkness into the light, it was nice to see the shining, at least from time to time.

Beautiful downtown Hayward.

At 2:00 p.m., Vic and Cynthia gathered everybody together to announce this year’s winners.

Double IPAs

People’s Choice Awards

It was also great running into loads of old friends.

Gŵyl Mabsant

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Today is Gŵyl Mabsant, which is an old Welsh holiday that hasn’t been widely observed there since the 1860s, so it’s been gone for some time. But maybe it’s worth bring back. It certainly sounded interesting, especially when one article referred to it as “A Drunken Welsh Mini-Olympics,” and described it thusly:

The Welsh holiday of Gŵyl Mabsant, which celebrates a local parish saint, hasn’t been properly celebrated since the end of the 19th century. It’s a damn shame, too – the whole thing sounds like a blast, with highly unorthodox athletic competitions such as blindfolded wheelbarrow-driving, “fives” (a squash-like game, pictured, played against the church walls), and something called “old women’s grinning matches.” There was also football, bando (a field hockey-like game), and, unfortunately, cockfighting. The mix of alcohol, gambling, and crazy games gave the holiday a bad reputation, ultimately getting it shut down by religious leaders.

The game of ‘fives’, rather like a primitive form of squash, often took place against the church walls. Image from The Cambrian Popular Antiquities, Peter Roberts (1815).

And this account is from the Museum of Wales:

The gŵyl mabsant was one of the most popular rural festivals in Wales. Commemorating the local parish saint, this annual celebration developed from a dedication through prayer to a programme of recreational activities, enjoyed by all.

Gŵylmabsantau was mentioned in writing as early as 1470, and the festival was common throughout Wales up until the end of the 19th century.

From cockfighting to grinning matches

Competitions at the festivals ranged from running races to old women’s grinning matches and blindfolded wheelbarrow-driving. At the three day sports event held in Llangyfelach near Swansea in 1780, competitions and prizes included a women’s race for a smock and petticoat and eating a hot pudding for a silver table spoon. Animal sports were a familiar scene, particularly cockfights, on which large amounts of money were wagered. Birds were specially trained for the contest, and the owner of a victorious cockerel was held in high esteem.

Early versions of Association Football were often played over Christmas, New Year and at Shrovetide. Large crowds of spectators gathered to witness the matches, which, owing to a lack of pre-determined rules, tended to degenerate into chaos, with injuries being common.

Bando

Bando was another favoured team sport and continued in some areas until the late 19th century. Particularly popular in Glamorgan, bando was similar to the modern game of hockey and teams used clubs to strike the ball towards a goal.

A rowdy reputation

Owing to the combination of betting, feasting and alcohol consumption, it was not surprising that parish festivals built-up a reputation for their rowdiness. Publicans often played a significant role in organising and promoting sports events, many being arranged over the bar. The games contested were high-spirited and unwritten rules were often decided informally before the start of a match. As many sports were localised activities, rules usually differed from place to place, leading to disagreements between parishes.

Cockfighting
Cockfighting featured prominently on the rural calendar, and was popular with all sections of society throughout Wales until the early 19th century.

Concern regarding the unlicensed revelry and alcoholic over-indulgence commonly occurring at the festivals, as well as the doubtful benefits of the games themselves, was increasingly voiced from the 18th century onwards, most noticeably by religious leaders.

Worthless and sinful

The Methodist and other religious revivals which swept across Wales from the mid 18th century until the turn of the 20th century, attacked sporting activities indiscriminately as worthless and sinful. Physical recreation was viewed by some as a great threat to the morals of the population. Eminent religious figures, such as Thomas Charles, tried to suppress impious fairs and festivals, in 1799 he described Wales as “sunk in superstition and vice”. Consequently, parishioners turned increasingly to churches and chapels for release and salvation, and as prayer meetings were sometimes purposely arranged to clash with sports days, religion became a potent force in the eventual decline of the Gŵyl Mabsant.

This is the album cover for a record of Welsh Celtic folk songs released in 1984.

And this one is from Cracked:

Looking back at some historical holidays, we kind of got an unfair deal. We get Arbor Day, a day theoretically dedicated to trees but practically dedicated to nothing, and Columbus Day, a day celebrated by people trying to defend a racist on the internet. Meanwhile, we don’t get Gwyl Mabsant.

Gwyl Mabsant means “Feast of the Patron,” and it, appropriately, was a religious festival that honored a parish’s patron saint. While it was intended to be a time of prayer, Gwyl Mabsant experienced a major shift around the time of the Reformation. This took away much of the religious context from the festival and replaced it with partying that would make any frat boy jealous.

The true saint of Gwyl Mabsant was booze, and this more popular version of the festival involved days of drinking and participating in sports and games. Contests like eating hot pudding and racing wheelbarrows while blindfolded would get a laugh out of Gwyl Mabsant attendees. Old women participated in “grinning matches,” which might be a version of gurning, an English contest in which people try to make and maintain the ugliest face possible. Drunkenly laughing at old ladies was probably as good a time as drunks were going to have in the days before beer pong and Waffle House.

Gambling was another major appeal to Gwyl Mabsant, and the main draw was cockfighting. Owners became stars of the festival and betting on the fights sort of became the main event.

Nothing screams “Feast of the Patron” like betting on which bird will kill the other.
Of course, between the gambling, drinking, and mocking of the elderly, someone was bound to ruin the fun. Like a resident assistant in a college dorm, someone had to come in and break up the party. In this instance, religious leaders began to object to the festivities associated with Gwyl Mabsant.

Revival movements started pushing back against the festivals around the middle of the 18th century. Gwyl Mabsant didn’t survive in any form much longer, and now one of the most fun holidays but a small blip in the history books and a loss for WorldStar viewers.