I did not know if I was going to get through the day, but I am here, sort of, so I must have. The Tigers got in a hole early, and there was another squeaker on which they came out on the wrong side. One game away from elimination, and they have to take two straight to advance to the World Series.

I am not holding my breath, which is what I was doing last night at Willow. I was sitting next to Old Jim, waiting for Tommy Hunter of the Flying Dog Brewery in Maryland to kick off the Dogtoberbest beer tasting. Chef Brian, Tracy’s husband, was doing some special dishes to accompany five beer courses.

I have no idea what I was thinking when I signed up for the event. I don’t drink beer any more, a carb thing, but I got so excited when Tex added the six-position draft tap to the bar that it just seemed like a great idea.

I do that, and then when it comes around to it, start to panic. There had been too much in the day already, so I went a little early to talk to Jim about the craziness in town. I won’t get into it any more than I did yesterday- there has already been so much noise flying around this morning that it makes me tired.

And I was tired already. The Fish and Wildlife Service was having one of their happy hours in the cocktail nook, celebrating their return to work. It was pretty raucous, and there was an air of relief among Deborah, the Willow Ops Boss and the staff- business and tips were back. The only people that really got hurt by all the political posturing were the small businesses that make a living off the Federal workforce- the luncheon counters and carts, the wait staff and all that.

When I discovered the connection between Flying Dog and Dr. Hunter S. Thompson made the beer tasting seem inevitable. The founder of the brewery- a Dr. George Stranahan- owned a property just down the mountain from Owl Farm, Thompson’s fortified compound in Woody Creek, CO. Proximity and shared interests made them fast friends. I mean, if you like explosives, high-powered weapons, politics, football, whiskey, and beer, what is not to like?

The good Doctor had made an immense impression on me with the release (in paperback) of “Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs,” which I thought was about the coolest thing I had ever read.

He continued to captivate me in his Fear and Loathing books until he appeared to have run out of new things to say, and spent his life full time being a Literary Legend. It wasn’t until much later that I realized he was actually pretty much of an asshole, but I shrugged and realized I was, too.

The “Flying Dog” name dates to a moment Stranahan had at the Hotel Flashman in Rawalpindi. Flashman is the anti-hero of the fine series of novels set in the age of High Empire by George MacDonald Frazier, and serves alcohol, a seriously regulated product in Muslim Pakistan.

Stranahan was committed to consuming his full quota permitted under the “alcohol list” at the hotel after adventures on the glaciers and vertical footage of K2, and found himself looking at a remnant of the Raj: “A beautiful oil painting, big, nice. And the dog was like…well, he had left the ground.”

The Flying Dog brand was born at that moment, and the weirdness was enhanced by the logo designed by none other than Ralf Stedman, the artist who illustrated the finest literary work in the English language, Thompson’s “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”

Well, maybe not the greatest, but certainly a candidate for fevered and delusional.

Anyway, Stranahan’s local agent Tommy Hunter was doing the promo, and I had it in my head that the deceased Dr. Thompson and his artist would sort of be present at Willow, which advertised the Dogtoberfest as “a fall harvest beer dinner with locally-sourced ingredients and beer.”

Now that I am spending more time in Culpeper, I have become a believer in the whole Local Food thing. It is sustainable and all that green horseshit. I asked Deborah to put me on the list for the dinner without thinking things through: I don’t drink beer any more, try to avoid big dinners, and was going to be surrounded by Foodies. I like to cook, and don’t mind eating, but enough is enough, you know?

I dolefully stood up from the stool at the bar as we approached the 1830 minute for the kick off. “I guess I will go back to the Tasting,” I told Jim. “Maybe I will be seated with some interesting people.” He scowled.

I walked back and got in a line of people waiting to be seated and realized this would be like going to church, only with beer and food. “Enough,” I said, and turned around. I walked back out to the maître d’ station and told Deborah I could not do it, not even if Dr. Thompson came back. “I committed, though, and I will pay.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that, Vic.”

“Yes, I do” I said resolutely. “I am a man of my word.”

Heather bustled by, not in her cocktail dress but in a server’s uniform and told me she could just bring the food and drink to the bar. I sighed in relief. “You are a wonderful woman, Heather. I hate to be a problem, but I just can’t sit back there with those folks.”

She smiled and went on back to where the Foodies were salivating.

Jim was still on his stool when I slid in next to him. “Couldn’t do it, Jim,” I said. “but there has been a strategic solution. They are just going to bring the stuff here.”

“Perfect,” he growled, and took a pull on his Bud long-neck.

Here is what came out from the tasting:

Pigs in a Blanket, with local sausage king Jamie Stachowski’s French garlic sausage mustard aioli. Paired with Raging Bitch Belgian-Style IPA. A classic beer, my favorite of the night.

Autumn Salad. Local apples, endive, sweet & spicy walnuts, buttermilk blue cheese & cider gastrique. Paired with Under Dog Atlantic Lager. Rich. Very hoppy.

Oyster’s “Rockefeller” Rappahannock River’s finest, lightly dusted with seasoned cornmeal, fried golden brown & served with a bed of creamed spinach topped with Béarnaise sauce. Paired with Pearl Necklace Oyster Stout. Dark and nutty and rich.

Smoked & Braised Local Short Ribs. Roseda Farms short ribs marinated in Gonzo Imperial Porter and finished with a coffee & cumin rub, served over Anson Mill grits with smoked Sharp Cheddar cheese, crispy parsnips & a dark mole sauce
Paired with Snake Dog IPA

House made miniature doughnuts prepared with The Fear Imperial Pumpkin Ale, served with house-made salted caramel & Moorenko’s Pumpkin Ice Cream. Paired with The Fear Imperial Pumpkin Ale.

I did not get a picture of Kate’s Apple Cider Doughnuts. Jim and I just ate them. We are no foodies, but I think we were, at least by that time, certainly berries.

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303