Not Best Enough

Tonight was the first night of the doubles league at Hedges-Boyer. It was a beautiful night, and there was a great turnout. I got paired up with a young highschool student, and we got off to a great start shooting 3 deuces. On our first hole–which had a cash CTP contest running on it–I put my drive an arm’s length away. By the end of the night, my partner and I combined for a -9 with not a single bogey. Not only was that the best score I’ve ever been involved with in doubles, but it was the kind of -9 where both of us were contributing on about equal levels. Each of us knocked down some good putts, and each of us had some great drives. As I walked off the course I was feeling pretty good. While there was no guarantee that a -9 would win the night, it would usually put us right at the top.

Then we got back to league HQ. Another team had shot an unimaginable -16. 16 under par on 19 holes! That’s just crazy. Having had any hope of winning the night smashed to pieces, I still held onto the hope that my CTP would hold up. Nope. Evidently one of the guys that shot -16 parked his drive under the basket.

So there it was: my very best performance simply wasn’t good enough.

It’s hard to feel bad about shooting a -9 and doing my best. But it’s also hard to feel that good about walking away with nothing.

Of course, that’s exactly what golf of any kind is, and I’ll most certainly be back in two weeks.

Playing with the Big Boys

Yesterday, Sherry stumbled across some good news.

She was working on her book and checking to see what new articles on Gothic literature have been published. She noted that Chelsea House Publishers is updating the Stephen King volume in Harold Bloom’s Modern Critical Views series. What was surprising is that Sherry’s own essay on Stephen King is included!

The publisher announces that

Featuring the latest and most important critical interpretations of the horror master’s work, Stephen King, Updated Edition is an ideal vehicle to jump-start research and further reading.

The publication took her by surprise since no one had contacted her about it; however, we assume it got picked up from the MacFarland collection that first published the essay. In any case, being selected for a Bloom collection is quite something.

Yea, Sherry!

The International Disc Golf Center

I arrived at the International Disc Golf Center mid-morning on Monday. I was greeted by Lorrie, I believe, when I walked into the pine panelled walls of the IDGC and stood facing the stone and metal sculpture of a disc golfer. After showing me the features of the IDGC she got me some bug repellent and a map, and off I went to play the Steady Ed Memorial Disc Golf Course.

From the outset, let me say that the only serious improvement I could suggest for the course is some system for indicating which pin position the holes are in. Other than that minor point, the course is great.

The course seemed to be in the long position, which means it plays out at 6230 feet. But it was by no means clear at first. The first four holes lulled me into a false sense of security. Here I was playing the longs and only one over par. Then came hole 5. This was a hole having the pin position indicated on the tee would have been nice. It plays out over water, and you need to know how far out to drive so that it fades back in at the right spot. I couldn’t tell where the basket was and played it conservative, ending up with a 6.

I had the most fun I’ve ever had getting (more…)

Debauchery and Surprise

de•bauch•ery
1 a : extreme indulgence in sensuality
2 archaic : seduction from virtue or duty

The first time I visited New Orleans (1994) I was struck by the fact that no matter who you were or what you were interested in you could find something to satisfy your fancies. Nothing illustrated this better than a moment in the French Quarter when Sherry and our friend, D, were standing at a corner. Sherry was being tempted by frozen yogurt and a jazz band; I was slobbering over the prospect of a 72oz steak; and D was eyeing one of the skin shows. On a later visit we also were introduced to the historic plantations and antique stores. Our first trip to post-Katrina NO found us walking down Bourbon St several times in the evening hours. Bourbon St has always been the most tawdry part of the Quarter and has always sported outlandish sexual shows. (I’m thinking here of World Famous Love Acts.) But for some reason, perhaps its the corporate backing of several of the strip clubs or the thinning of the music business, on this trip it seemed that there was a higher concentration of such places.

What made me think of debauchery, however, was not so much the presence of the strip clubs nor even the preponderance of lewd photos and signs outside the clubs advertising the titillation within. Rather, it was the touristy throngs moving zombie-like from venue to venue with long beer cups on lanyards hanging from their necks. They would walk past with a determined gaze, a kind of “Ok, we’ve gotten our carry-about booze. Now we must go to the strip show. Check. Now we must dance provocatively in a hot, overcrowded bar. Check. Now we must shout at people on the balconies and get them to toss beads. Check.” For people who were supposedly having fun, they looked like they were having to work at it way too hard. The treachery of debauchery is that (more…)

NOLA throws plastic (other than beads)

After Sherry got up, got ready, I walked her to Canal St. I was mocked at several points for doing so since the path to Canal St. that looked so deserted and potentially dangerous for a lone, small woman carrying a briefcase the night before was now a somewhat busy, safe looking area bustling with people going to work. Nevertheless, I walked her to Canal St. which was filled with people and down which was the Sheraton where her presentation was going to take place.

After walking back to the hotel and enjoying a nice breakfast (Good job, O’Keefe Plaza Hotel!), I was about ready to depart for the DG when Sherry called desperately hoping that I had not left the hotel yet and wondering if I could walk her laptop to the hotel. Seems she, in fact, did need it for her presentation even though she’d been led to believe that all she’d need was her flashdrive. So, I packed up the laptop and ambled off six blocks or so to the hotel. I considered hopping in the car and dropping it off in front of the hotel, but it turns out it was good that I didn’t. When I delivered the laptop, Sherry, with hope in her eyes, asked if I could stay for the presentation to run the PowerPoint since the projector connection was far, far away from the podium.

The presentation went off very well, if I do say so myself. Sherry was examining the “Schoolhouse Gothic” mode of the 5th Harry Potter novel. It was well received. At least the middle-aged woman wearing full wizarding regalia–and a bowler hat–sitting to my right kept nodding and jotting down notes.

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The delay in getting to Lafreniere Park turned out to be a good thing. First, I should mention that getting to the park was easy-peasy. It took less than 15 minutes from the hotel. In fact, it took less time getting to the park than it did figuring out where to park and begin the course. Second, I should mention that Lafreniere Park is amazingly gorgeous, even more so when you consider that in the aftermath of Katrina it was the dumping ground for debris trees which were piled 50ft high in places.

I did locate a DG sign which had a map; however, even though the map was fairly well drawn, I had great difficulty figuring out where hole 1 was. I could see baskets and tee signs everywhere, but not hole 1. Soon I noticed two guys playing a nearby and walked over to ask where I should start. As I approached, “Dixie,” a middle-aged guy with a gray, scruffy beard, round face, a perpetual smile, and something of a cajun accent, asked if I needed help. I said, why yes I do. And he invited me to join them. So I did. The other gentleman was also very friendly. I forget his name, but I did learn that he grew up in Shaker Heights, OH. So, with them showing the way, we teed up on Hole 6 and played on.

After just two holes, the Gentleman from Shaker had to leave and go to work painting a house or something. Before he left he told me that Dixie’s house had been demolished by Katrina. As he put it, “He had 12 ft. of water in a one-story ranch.” Evidently Dixie’s daughter and son-in-law had been in the house; as the waters rose, they had gone into the attic, but the water started into the attic. The survived by somehow punching a hole in the roof and clinging to the top. Throughout the day, Dixie never mentioned or spoke about his troubles. He did constantly point out places where things had been bad but were now recovering.

So, Dixie and I played two more holes until we met his friend Jet. Jet wore a floppy hat with the sides curled up, sun-glasses, a John 3:16 T-shirt, and a big smile. He was clearly the best player of our little trio. And so we continued on with the rest of Lafreniere’s 22 holes.

I didn’t keep score on this round because I was enjoying the company too much. We did keep track of hole honors, so I was able to get the sense that I was doing ok. I got two birdies in a row thanks to some rather nice tee shots. I kept the box for several holes, and I was at the bottom of the box for several.

The course is fairly wide open. On many holes there are some very well placed trees that make things interesting. In the middle of the park is a lagoon which comes into play on two holes; today though, the pin placements didn’t force us over the water. All in all, it’s remarkable how nice the park as a whole and the course in particular has recovered. All around us people were walking, playing, and jogging (Both Jet and Dixie remarked on how they didn’t mind the “distractions” of the jogging path when young females ran by.)

Once we hit hole 22, I had a sense of where the first holes were, and after thanking Dixie and Jet for their hospitality, went over and tossed the first five. It was a great day of DG.

• Only in New Orleans: Everyone I met on the course today made a point of mentioning that in NO you can walk around the park with a beer, and no one will hassle you about it. There was some lamenting of the fact that you can no longer drive around with an open container of beer. It was rather clear that folks make a distinction between beer and spirits. The former being almost a soft drink, and the latter being something that is reserved for the porch or dinner table.

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Driving past the Superdome gives me the willies. Even though it’s all repaired now, and the Saints and events are back to playing the venue, everytime I go by it I feel like there’s ghosts haunting the area. It’s like the evil that erupted in the days following Katrina left some sort of residue that hasn’t washed off.

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After cleaning up, I ambled through the French Quarter to Cafe du Monde, the world-famous coffee klatch. While waiting for Sherry to arrive, I had some amazingly good cafe au lait and beignets. The place was packed to the gills, but the Chinese women on the wait staff were quick to spot newcomers and less quick to take their orders. What is a beignet? They describe them as French dougnuts, which may be true after a fashion, like how Egg Fu Yung is Chinese scrambled eggs. A beignet is a square of sweet dough that is deep-fried and doused with powdered sugar. In fact, at Cafe du Monde, when the beignets arrive there is a small mountain of powdered sugar on them. The sugar hangs in the air like pollen on a really bad allergy day. Except that it’s sugar, and who doesn’t like that?

Just outside the patio, an African-American preacher stood with a trumpet. He’d play or sing gospel tunes–I heard “Amazing Grace”, “This Little Light of Mine”, “Old Rugged Cross”–and “Danny Boy.” In between he’d give some uplifting words and encourage folks to put tips in his trumpet case. He also had CD’s available. His voice was strong and crystal clear, and his trumpet a silver goblet of tunefullness. After he played for a couple of hours, he was replaced by a bluesy trio: a dark woman in a bright white dress singing while another woman strummed a guitar, and an old fat man in a red shirt and a comical hat blue a wonderful harmonica.

I sat reading and writing in my journal and watching the folks come and go. Sherry got delayed meeting me, so I ordered another round of coffee and beignets. I love New Orleans.

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We met up with Vince in the evening. In addition to the conference, Vince was also here to congratulate his brother who is graduating from Tulane with a PhD in Health and Public Safety. Ryan did his dissertation research in Cambodia where he studied water resources in third world situations. His dissertation was named as the best of the year by Tulane. We were invited to attend Tulane’s big “Wave Goodbye.” So we went. There was all sorts of free food–gumbo, jambalaya, pecan pie, BBQ oysters, pulled pork sandwhiches–zydeco music, and atmosphere. We met Vince’s mother and Ryan’s father.

After leaving Tulane, we headed back to the French Quarter. After wading past the nudie clubs and the bars with loud, bad music (Did I really come to New Orleans to hear a bad cover band do ‘Sweet Home Alabama’?”) we finally found Fritzel’s, a bastion of good, live jazz in the haze of frat boy chic. We settled in for a good set of music from the small combo on the stage: piano, sax, clarinet, and drums. It was the essence of what I think of when I go to New Orleans.

Sadly, it seems that such experiences have been curtailed somewhat by Katrina. The small, live jazz clubs seem not to have made the comeback that the corporate sponsored tourist traps have. Makes a certain kind of sense. But it’s still sad to walk down Bourbon St and be bombarded with hyper-loud taped music or third-rate classic rock cover bands. Even the nudie places have the taint of corporate-ness with Hustler sporting at least three spots of their own. As NO recovers, it may be that one of the lasting impacts of Katrina is that the small businesses may have been largely knocked out of the Quarter.

It was still somewhat early when we called it a night, but we’d all had full, busy, good days. Tomorrow we shop, we eat, we listen one last time.

Hello, NOLA

11 years ago, Sherry and I spent a week in New Orleans with our friends Andy and Cindy. Today we rolled into a vastly different N’Awlins. As we crossed Lake Pontchartrain on I-10 we could see abandoned apartments and condos with their broken windows and partially shingled roofs. We arrived during what should have been rush hour, but there was no traffic to speak of. Our hotel is in the Central Business District somewhat closeby to the Superdome, but many of the buildings are empty. While our hotel, O’Keefe Plaza, is nice, it clearly shows signs of damage and rennovation.

Yet, despite all of the devastation, there are sprouts of growth everywhere. Like green shoots coming up after a forest fire, life is struggling to establish itself here in NOLA. Canal St is filled with construction, and Bourbon St was lit up like a Christmas tree, even if the crowds were smaller than our last visit. There seem to be more chain restaurants and clubs (How many outlets does Larry Flynt need?) than before, but many of the old standby’s remain. We had supper at the Crescent City Brewery where we ate 11 years ago, and remembered several places as we walked about.

On our evening walkabout, Sherry stopped in at the Sheraton to register for the conference at which she’s presenting. While there is an academic component to the thing, the weekend is also something of a Harry Potter fan-thing. People were walking around in full costume and talking about the live-action Quidditch matches taking place tomorrow and Saturday. I tried not to snicker since it was my generation (and that before) that gave birth to Star Trek conventions and Star Wars Celebrations. While Sherry really just wants to meander about the Quarter and sip coffee, we may try to attend the masquerade ball on Saturday.

While Sherry is speaking about the Schoolhouse Gothic elements of HP tomorrow morning, I’ll be heading over to Lafreniere Park to check out the disc golf course. Disc Golf Magazine ran a story recently about the recovery of the course after Katrina. In the afternoon, I plan to locate and park myself at Cafe du Monde munching on beignets, sipping coffee, and working on my story for the Glen. If I’m lucky, Sherry will join me.

In other news, on the way down here, we stopped at two rest stops that I clearly remembered. (Yes, family, we stopped at more than two rest stops on the trip.) The first was the welcome center in Kentucky on I-75. We had stopped there with Ted and Nancy driving to Florida for Christmas 2005. While there, we saw a crazy man talking to himself and another man collapsed in the doorway to the restrooms and blamed Ted. The second memorable stop was the welcome center in Alabama with the Saturn rocket. They have a stone marker that proclaims “We dare defend our rights.” When we stopped there in 1994 with our friend Dave, we decided that they were so proud of defending their rights because they had little else to defend. A thought that was born out in the fact that that was the last rest stop we saw until we hit the Mississippi state line. I am glad to announce that there are now more rest stops.

Sittin’ here

That’s what I’m doing. Just sitting here on my porch, outside, sittin’ in my camp chair. The rosy pink of the sunset is peeking between the maples across the street. The occasional vehicle drives by. Some kind of bird that I’d love to be able to identify by its song so that I could sound all knowledgeable about nature stuff is chirping to the north.

The street lights just clicked on. When I was a kid, that’d be my signal to head home. It’ll probably be dark in just a few minutes.

Mainly I’m excited that I have a porch to sit on, the weather is nice enough to sit outside, and I’ve got a wireless network at home that lets me do some work out in the fresh air. If it’s nice on Monday, I may even try doing my GRE scoring out here.

‘Course, I sit out here long enough, I’m going to decide that we need some flowers or something out here on the porch.

T4: Honey, You’re A Grand Ol’ Cru

February 20, 2007

This will be my first batch using a published recipe rather than modifying a kit. My main motivation for choosing this recipe was that I wanted to try using honey in the brewing process. Given the Belgian witbier style of this ale and the presence of coriander, I’m also curious if it’ll be at all like the Japanese Hitachino Nest White Ale I had last summer. The recipe is printed in Charlie Papazian’s The Complete Joy of Home Brewing, 3rd ed.; his version is called “Who’s in the Garden Grand Cru,” evidently punning on Hoegaarden since the recipe is a copy of the famous Belgian brew. I’ve made some very slight modifications due to the amounts in which ingredients are sold and also to feature some local ingredients.

During the brewing process, the coriander created some problems plugging up the racking tube. I may have been better off using Papazian’s straining method. The fermentation was also kind of weird: it was slower than other batches I’ve made, but it was solid and steady. Due to my schedule, I racked to a secondary fermentor, and it’s going to be there for the longest period of my previous batches. Papazian says I should relax.

On bottling day, the color was deep gold. When altogether in the bucket, it looked rather dark. The sample I took for measurements tasted rather good, but I didn’t really sense any of the coriander hit I was hoping for. The Hitachino Nest I had last summer tasted and smelled like you’d just cut into a fresh bunch of coriander; no such sensation here. However, there was a pleasing sweet aroma; I keep vacillating between vanilla and banana. I’m told that that is the result of the witbier yeast doing what it’s designed to do. I must admit that I’m chomping at the bit to taste this thing; it’s taken way to long to get this into drinkable form due to my schedule.

The Recipe

1. 6 lbs Munton’s Light DME
2. 2.5 lbs Honey (a local honey made in Republic, OH. On the darker side of amber.)
3. 1.5 oz Hallertauer Hersbrucker pellets (boiling hops, 3.3 alpha acid)
4. 1/2 oz Hallertauer Hersbrucker pellets (flavor hops)
5. 1/2 oz Saaz Czech pellets (flavor hops)
6. 1/2 oz Saaz Czech pellets (aroma hops)
7. 2 oz fresh crushed coriander seeds
8. 1/2 oz dried orange peel
9. WYEAST 394XL Beligian Wit Yeast

The Numbers
(2/20) Original S.G.: 65
(3/03) S.G.: 12
(3/7) S.G.: 11 (I think this number may be anomalous due to temp.)
(3/27) F.G: 12
ABV: 7

Tasting Notes
(4/10)
Opened the first bottle. The brew is fully carbonated, so my concerns about storage temp seem to be unfounded. There was a good amount of sediment, more than any of the other batches, but the ale itself is clear. I carefully decanted the first bottle, so in the glass the brew is golden and crystal clear. I’m sensing NO coriander. This is my second attempt at adding spices to a brew and not achieving the desired result. However, what is here tastes good. I’m tasting LOTS of bubblegum, which doesn’t seem to be abnormal for this yeast strain. I’m thinking I should have added more hops. Before I write up a more formal tasting, I want to try a bottle with the sediment roused. In addition to adding some yeastiness, I’m wondering if some of the spiciness isn’t trapped therein.

OK, the bubble gum flavor is totally overwhelming.

(5/3)
I must admit to freaking out a bit about the level of bubble-gum flavor that was coming through. I posted a question on the Grape and Granary message board, and John, the helpful main brewer guy, suggested that the flavor would dissipate over time. So, I waited. Today, Joe K came over to watch/help me brew T5, an English ale using Flying Dog Yeast. Over lunch we tasted a bit of T4, and it was like tasting an entirely different ale. The bubble-gum flavor had retreated into a much more wheat-beer like banana and clove character that was present but not overwhelming. In fact, he had brought over a Paulaner Hefeweizen (a wheat-beer from Munich, Germany), and we both found the two brews very comparable. (Joe was kind and said he liked mine better than the professionally made stuff. So, I sent him home with a sixer.)

At this time, I’m feeling ready to make T4 available for public consumption and offer these tasting notes:

Appearance
Crystal clear golden hue. There is a significant yeast sediment in the bottle, which when poured clouds up the works. Decent head of white.
Aroma
Fruity, vanilla and banana aromas. Some hops, but just enough to cut through the sweetness.
Taste
Crisp, clean. Banana and clove. Yes, a hint of bubblegum still hangs around. The higher alcohol content makes itself known somewhat. The bitterness is smooth unlike the sharp lemon of Perlaner. I’m guessing that’s a result of the orange peel, which while not overt would be missed if absent. The honey doesn’t affect the taste much, but I didn’t expect it too since it was boiled for the entire boiling period. However, there is a certain honey-ish undertone brought about, I’m sure, by the fact that I used a slightly dark, local honey. (I’d do that again in a heart-beat.)
Drinkability
It’s medium bodied, but the sweetness of the aroma/taste makes it feel thicker than I think it really is. The higher ABV puts it on the high edge of session worthy. I find it refreshing, but I’m not sure I could handle more than one or two at a sitting due to the fruitiness.
Overall impression
If Joe is any indication, this batch is a success. Slice up an orange and serve it. I learned alot about honey and yeast, so that’s good. After tasting some other Belgian style ales, I’m realizing that this effort is right in line with other Belgian wits. However good all of that is, I can’t help but being a bit disappointed that I didn’t achieve the herbacious hit of coriander I remember from the Hitachino I sampled last summer. I think when I do this style again, I’ll switch out the hops to what Hitachino uses and try some wheat extract.