Jack Oblivian plays Wiseacre Brewery tonight as part of the brewery’s free music series. Music starts at 7 p.m., and the show is free to attend. The series also features appearances by John Paul Keith and the Chinese Connection Dub Embassy, but no word yet if CCDE’s new hardcore band will join the bill.
Get to Wiseacre Brewery (2783 Broad) by 7 p.m. and let the Lone Ranger of Love and The Sheiks take you into your Halloween Weekend.
Jack Oblivian Live at Wiseacre Brewery
Memphis Made Brewing Company has been in operation about 10 months and has introduced 16 styles of beer to the Memphis market. Two new IPAs are being introduced this month, including Guitar Attack in bottles and a Golden Ale especially for Gonerfest aptly named GBR. Their popular Lucid Kolsch is slated to be their first year-round offering.
When it comes to advising one on how to drink a beer, Memphis Made co-owner Andy Ashby puts it plainly: Hold glass, tilt, don’t choke. Brewmaster Drew Barton takes the question a bit more seriously. His first bit of advice? Don’t smoke. “It distracts from the flavors,” he says, adding, “Also, it’s so bad for you.”
Ashby, who has now put out his one cigarette of the day, says that temperature is also important for serving different styles of beer. “Ales, and we just brew ales, generally speaking, can go warmer than lagers,” he says. “The English drink their beer cool not cold. The mass majority of Americans like to drink their lighter lagers really cold.” Ashby notes that while a PBR will not improve in taste 30 minutes after being opened, a stout or a porter may very well taste better and have more flavor after it warms.
Barton says there’s a reason to drink cheap beer cold — to mute the flavors. Ashby agrees saying that really, really cold beer stuns the taste buds, which are the gatekeepers.
Barton says 40 to 45 degrees is a good temperature depending on the beer. “Some brewers put suggestions on the bottle for temperatures and style of glass, but they aren’t hard and fast. You don’t have to drink Chimay out of a Chimay glass,” he says.
Both Ashby and Barton liken the temperature issue to wine. In general, red wine is better at room temperature and white is better chilled — although Barton reserves the right to put ice cubes in his red.
Ashby also advises using a clean glass. Barton agrees, “A dirty glass can cause an off flavor. Any film will cause nucleation sites. Bubbles form and while the head retention may be better, it will decarbonate quicker,” he says. Ashby, translating, says, “If bubbles stick to the side of your glass, it isn’t clean.”
Speaking of head, Ashby says a pinky’s worth is a good measure. “How much head depends on style. The Brits like no head, or less than one centimeter. Belgium styles may have two inches.”
Barton adds, “Belgians argue that you should pour straight and foam it up.” Ashby offers his advice on a proper pour: “Hold it at a 45 degree angle. Get the tap close to the lip of the far side of the glass and make sure it is fully open. Fill it two-thirds or three-fourths of the way and then level out the glass to finish filling.”
Ashby and Barton are in the process of finishing a taproom and patio and hope to have them open in the next month or so.
Justin Fox Burks
High Cotton
High Cotton Brewing Company’s taproom (598 Monroe) is open Thursdays (4-8ish), Fridays (4-10ish) and Saturdays (2-10ish) and features seven to eight beers, including the ESB, Biere de Garde, CT Czar IPA, Hefeweizen, Scottish Ale, Pilsner, and Milk Stout. They also have 160 taps around town.
Owner Brice Timmons is the go-to guy for anyone who wants to feel really good about drinking beer. “Drink beer with family and friends. Beer is about community and friendship,” he says. “It’s quite literally the origin of civilization.”
Beat that, wine!
Timmons says that monolithic hunters and gatherers had a more varied diet than farmers and had more time for leisure and socialization. “Anthropologists spent decades trying to figure out why anyone would choose farming. It was to grow grain to make beer,” he says. “The point being that humans have developed a civilization in which beer and community are inextricably linked. We do ourselves a service when we gather in clean, well-lit places to drink beer and spend time with friends and family.”
His second piece of advice on how to drink a beer is to drink without judgment. “There is no benefit to snobbery. If someone wants a Bud Light from a bottle, that is their business. Likewise, if someone wants a Belgium sour ale in a flared tulip glass at 55 degrees so they can take tasting notes, so be it.”
Personally, Timmons likes to drink beer from a Burgundy wine glass because it focuses the aroma but still has heft. “I like to spend time thinking about the aroma and how it goes from nose to palate to finish seamlessly. When it smells like fresh biscuits, tastes like malty bread, and finishes with the sweetness of toast, it’s a beautiful thing,” he says.
Timmons says that craft beer’s greatest advantage as a beverage is that it’s accessible to everyone. “Even the best beers are affordable, maybe not every day, but … making such an accessible beverage inaccessible through snobbery or pretense doesn’t do a service to anybody.”
On October 4th, High Cotton will be tapping a special release Oktoberfest lager as part of their block-wide Oktoberfest celebration from noon to 7 p.m. General admission is $40 (VIPs $100 per person or $150 per couple). There will be all the beer you can get to the front of the line for, a whole pig roast, a buffet including locally made bratwurst, traditional fermented delights like sauerkraut and dill pickles, folk music, traditional music, and family-friendly activities.
Justin Fox Burks
Wiseacre
Wiseacre Brewing Company offers two year-round beers in cans — Ananda IPA and Tiny Bomb American Pilsner — and features those as well as a host of other beers in its taproom (2783 Broad), which is open Thursdays (4-8 p.m.), Fridays, (4-10 p.m.) and Saturdays (1-8 p.m.).
Co-founder Kellan Bartosch believes drinking beer should be less scary to newcomers and more light-hearted for “connoisseurs.” He says, “Folks often come to the taproom and lay out their fears before ordering. ‘I don’t like dark beers’ or ‘My husband likes the mega hoppy stuff, but, yuck, I think it’s gross — do you have wine?'”
Bartosch says it would be easy to condescend to these new patrons with beer vernacular and BJCP-style (Beer Judge Certification Program) guidelines vs. modern American brewing techniques, but he and his brother, the brewmaster, Davin, would like everybody to know that there are relatable flavors and textures in beer from the rest of the gustatory world. “Like coffee? Stouts have roasted flavors. Enjoy bananas? Hefeweizen yeast produces banana-like ester compounds,” he notes. “Tiny Bomb is a clean, crisp lager that’s similar in style to many macro-produced beers but has a ton more flavor — so much so Southern Living said it was the best beer in the state!”
All this is to say that the Bartosch brothers think people should drink beer with an open mind and know that there is bound to be something recognizable in beer that he or she might enjoy. “Much like other subcultures with way too much seriousness, it shouldn’t be forgotten that this is beer and not rocket science. In our internet culture so many have taken it upon themselves to become critics of whatever the topic is, arguing on message boards or writing derogatory messages on social media. Simply pointing a finger and being a critic is easy; being an appreciator is more difficult and inclusive in the long run,” he says.
However, he does also believe there is a time for analysis, excessive sniffing, and such. “Aroma, appearance, flavor, mouthfeel, and history all play an important part in understanding what you’re drinking. Beer ingredients, what flavors/textures they create, and the role they play in different styles can teach us that it’s silly to complain about a Marzen not being hoppy because that’s like getting mad at a burger for not being Thai curry,” he says.
Bartosch continues, “Balance is a touch achievement on the brewery side and learning to appreciate that can be zen-like. Similarly, making something clean and delicate is more challenging than making something extreme. Understanding that every style of beer can be enjoyable the same way we peruse genres of music or food based on our moods is much wiser than only drinking IPAs.”
Wharton helps producers prepare a tribute to constituent Dr. Craig Strickland, senior pastor of Hope Presbyterian Church.
It was an eventful 24 hours, even by Mayor A C Wharton Jr.’s standards.
A Tuesday afternoon meeting at the White House with President Barack Obama and a group of mayors. A follow-up meeting with Attorney General Eric Holder and Memphis police director Toney Armstrong. A White House reception that evening with speakers from the March on Washington in 1963. A 4 a.m. wake-up call, the early-bird flight to Memphis, a dash to the Convention Center to welcome the Memphis Minority Business Council, a ribbon-cutting and tour of a new brewery in Midtown, a meeting with interim University of Memphis president Brad Martin, remarks in front of City Hall at a ceremonial reading of Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech, one-on-ones with CVB CEO Kevin Kane and city attorney Herman Morris, plus interviews and photo sessions.
It was enough to make a guy who turned 69 in August almost forget that his 43rd wedding anniversary was the next day.
“If I was in the legislative branch, I would pass a law that after 25 years you don’t have to buy anything,” he muttered without much conviction. There would probably be a trip to the flower shop before he called it a day.
After four years as city mayor and seven years as county mayor, Wharton can make it look easy. We have had politicians who served longer and provided more thrills and headaches (Willie Herenton), who were more gregarious (Bill Morris) and rambunctious (Wyeth Chandler), and who were better at machine politics (Harold Ford Sr.). But none of them was smoother than Wharton with his country charm, sincerity, and civility, combined with the canniness of a trial lawyer.
His attraction, and his vulnerability, is that he offers something appealing and hopeful to everyone — Memphis Tomorrow to AFSCME, bike lanes to blight, off-the-record wisecracks to thoughtful interviews, Tweets to The New York Times, five-year plans to get-right-on-its, the rich constituents of East Memphis councilman Kemp Conrad to the poor ones of North Memphis councilman Joe Brown. He dresses like a model for GQ but sprinkles his conversation with “ain’ts” and dropped g’s at the end of verbs. He travels alone. He and his wife Ruby raised six boys. For more than 40 years, they have lived in the same upscale neighborhood on South Parkway East, but they can’t get pizza delivery because they’re on the wrong side of the railroad tracks. A Roto-Rooter driver recently agreed to make a house call only when assured that he could park his truck inside the locked driveway gate.
So why hasn’t he led? Can he lead? Why does he make unforced errors? Why doesn’t he spend his political capital? Like Obama in 2008, there are great expectations, usually met by assurances. The glass is always half full. Compromise is possible. The door isn’t closed. Patience. We can work it out. A deal is in the works. The budget gets done. Memphis is not Detroit.
Driving 55 miles an hour might get you to Nashville or Atlanta, but you feel like jumping out of the car and screaming first.
“Can he say no? I’m trying to think of an example,” says Councilman Myron Lowery, who was interim mayor between Herenton and Wharton. “He will not say no directly. What he will say is, I understand what you are saying; let’s go back to the drawing board. He’s a compromiser. He’s a peacemaker. He doesn’t want to fight. At some point, you have got to make your position known and just say we differ.”
The mayor allowed the Flyer to tag along with him for a day last week that happened to follow his visit to Washington. He runs on a daily regimen of pushups, healthy eating, half-finished cups of Starbucks, and the print edition of The New York Times, but having missed both the coffee and the paper at his hotel in Washington, he was mildly irritated as he looked over his schedule:
“Someone will say, ‘Yeah Wharton, he’s up there flittin’ around in Washington, D.C., and I can’t get my weeds cut.'”
His seventh-floor corner office has a big view of the riverfront, which seemed like a good place to start.
“How can I talk about industrial opportunities on Presidents Island, which is way off in the woods down there, when so many people aren’t worried about 10 years from now. They’re worried about next month’s car note or tuition payment. And here’s this guy talkin’ down-the-road stuff. If he’d do something now and give more money to MATA, I wouldn’t have to worry about that car note. I seldom use the word stress, but there’s tension between trying to do what you know is right for the long term and balancing that with day-to-day survival. That’s what I deal with every day.
“When someone is sayin’ we gotta cut, cut, cut, I’m sayin’ we gotta grow, grow, grow, which is our ultimate salvation. I don’t need an economist to tell me the best way to grow this city is to develop Presidents Island and potentially create 5,000 new jobs.”
Wharton readily admits that his old job as county mayor was easier in many ways and offers more opportunities to pass the buck:
“This is retail, and that side of the street is more wholesale. They make sure there is funding, but the mayor doesn’t hire sheriff’s deputies or appoint the sheriff. Taxes? Sorry, trustee does that. Don’t like your appraisal? I’m sorry, I’ll put you in touch with [Assessor]Cheyenne Johnson. My job wasn’t like Mayor Herenton’s. It was easy for me to glide along. That’s why I never second-guessed his style. This is a totally different animal.
“Perhaps to a fault, I like to get real dirt under my fingernails. I was raised in the retail business, dealing with customers, which I have always loved to do. There’s nothing more gratifying to me than have a parent come up to me and say, ‘Thanks for that program’ or ‘I’m sure glad you tore down those old apartments in my neighborhood.’
“The council is competing interests. If you do something for Graceland, then what about Raleigh Springs Mall? Or if you do Overton Square, what about the Beltline? Or you closed my police precincts, why don’t you close hers? I did not have to deal with that on the county side. The closest thing was probably the agreement to build Arlington High School and Southwind High School.”
An aide knocks on the door and says it’s time to go. We drive to Broad Avenue in Midtown for the ribbon cutting at Wiseacre Brewing. Wharton says he doesn’t drink the stuff. There is a big crowd, perhaps waiting for possible samples. But the tasting room isn’t serving yet. Twelve hours after sitting in the Roosevelt Room with the president, Wharton is sweating on a plastic folding chair in the blazing sun while bankers praise a new brewery with an outdoor patio that looks like an excellent location to combine trainspotting and drinking. The founding brewing brothers, Davin and Kellan Bartosch, are sensibly wearing T-shirts and jeans or shorts and eating it up.
“This is home-grown talent showing that their dreams can come true right here in Memphis, Tennessee,” Wharton says.
Then it’s back in the car for a pit stop at Starbucks. I ask Wharton if he marched on Washington in 1963.
“I did not,” he says. “I was working part-time after my freshman year at Tennessee State in Nashville. It’s amazing that there were 250,000 people who went to Washington. Adjust that for social inflation. The march was on a Wednesday. Most of them had to go by bus, which meant leaving on a Monday or Tuesday. They probably couldn’t make it home until Friday, which meant they missed a week of work. It was one hellacious sacrifice.”
At the University of Memphis, Wharton is greeted by President Brad Martin. They are old friends who did election analysis together on WMC-TV years ago.
“He was really good at it,” Martin says. “I knew he had a future.”
For the meeting, Martin is dressed casually, but Wharton doesn’t even shed his coat. The subject is “talent retention,” which is a pet project of Wharton’s new Office of Talent and Human Capital. The university has lower enrollment this year than in 2009. Of the school’s graduates, 38 percent stay in Memphis and 78 percent stay in the metro area, which doesn’t seem so bad, but no one brings that up. Martin envisions imitating the Teach For America model for students in the College of Education, with a goal of 4,000 future teachers, all of them honor students.
Wharton has a polite caveat, noting that TFA alumni often move on after two or three years.
“I would much rather have them come to Shelby County and work their way up through the classroom and administration and stay here,” he says.
Martin also puts out the idea of an all-optional Shelby County Schools high school on the university campus, with philanthropic backing, that would feed into the college of education. One other idea that comes out is a city/county/university welcome reception for new faculty and staff to make them feel as appreciated as Electrolux employees, the gold standard for new jobs. This is not exactly outside-the-box stuff, given that Wharton and former U of M president Shirley Raines overlapped by a decade, but everyone agrees it should happen soon.
We head for lunch at the Piccadilly Cafeteria on Poplar. Wharton hates to eat takeout because he finds it “gross” and enjoys the opportunity to meet people and glad-hand in restaurants. Getting out and about, he says, is often how he gets his ideas and avoids burnout:
“Flying over the intersection of Lamar and Pendleton, I said to myself that’s horrible. And I live not too far from there. People were always complaining about that death trap out there. I look down and say to myself, damn, you’re the damn mayor, why don’t you do something about it? I’m never satisfied. I always think we can do something a little bit better.
“Problems are in the DNA of cities. Cities were formed by folks who couldn’t make it unless they worked together. Counties were laid out by the legislature. I expect a bunch of challenges every day. I never expect an easy day.”
I suggest that Nashville is a more governable city, and he nods enthusiastically.
“I am glad you said it, not me. If I had an alternative, I would never do a PILOT. But what’s the alternative? Folks say you’re not puttin’ any money in schools. Well, where do you get the money? Property taxes. How do you get it to increase in value? Well, people buy homes. Well, how do they buy homes? They get a job. How do they get a job? Well, maybe because Electrolux comes to Memphis. You take a small victory whenever you can. I thought about Nashville this morning. You’re absolutely right. Race, income, and geography makes it more difficult here.”
Back at City Hall, we run into Lowery after the March on Washington ceremony.
“His relations with the council are sometimes strained because there is an opinion of some on the council that A C is constantly campaigning and wants the credit,” Lowery says. “The council realizes that nothing can be done by the mayor himself but must be done in partnership. Things happen sometimes which cause us to delay, like last week’s sanitation vote. The day before the meeting the mayor signed a compact with AFSCME saying what we were going to do, subject to council approval. One member specifically said A C wants to do this because the 50th anniversary of the march was going to get a lot of national publicity and he’s going to frame the story with the sanitation workers. There was a little bit of jealousy with that.
“On the budget, it doesn’t matter what the mayor gives us for a budget. The only thing that matters is what we do. Several members insist on sending the budget back to the mayor to make him come back with a more conservative budget. And A C did that. Had I been mayor, I would have told the council members they have the ultimate authority, so don’t make me second-guess myself. I remember one year Dr. Herenton sent us a budget with a 50-cent tax increase and followed it with a note that said, ‘Pass the damn budget or not. I’m not playing games.’ That was his style. A C has a laid-back, country style that people like, but there is skepticism on the council.”
Wharton has heard this many times before and does not dispute it.
“There’s tension, but on major issues, we iron out our differences and come up with something,” he says, back in his office. “There is one of me and 13 of them, and many of them want to hear directly from me. It might not be the prettiest budget, but we get it done. That’s the ultimate measure. Do you get it done?”
Scuttlebutt, he insists, doesn’t bother him.
“I know how to do Twitter and Facebook, but you find folks who are readin’ all that stuff, it will drive you crazy. When you are out as much as I am, I would much prefer to talk to people face to face and let them chew me out if they want to. That’s my game. Maybe I’m a dying breed.”
It is after 6 p.m. and A C Wharton hasn’t been home in nearly three days. And he still doesn’t have anything for his anniversary.