Good Beer Week: The Adventures of Captain Blackbeer & Long John Pilsner #1

DAY ONE: Moondog's & Craftymen.

'Twas late one evening in a small port-side tavern in Barbados, I was sipping mead from my tankard and casting my eyes upon some fine local wenches, when a old, sea-weathered pirate pulled up a stool at my table, his body crooked from battle, his face telling a thousand stories through each scar and wrinkle. From under his beaten hat, he pulled a tattered map, coughed into his sleeve then looked me straight in me good eye and said "Over the seas, there be a port called Melbourne-on-Yarra... If you be brave enough to find it, you'll be finding Ol' Crafty's treasure... " He handed me the map, which I accepted hesitantly. I studied it carefully, twas like no map I'd seen before, but it bared the unmistakable mark of Good Beer Week... I'd heard tales of riches untold from Good Beer Week, and the legendary Ol' Crafty. But Ol' Crafty was a cunning operator, he'd spread his hidden treasure across the great port of Melbourne-On-Yarra. I looked up from the map to find the old, weatherbeaten pirate gone... as had the local wenches, come to think of it... cheeky bastard...

That night, upon my ship, the Imperial Black Pale, I lay awake in my quarters, unable to avert my eye from the map. Could it be done? Could all the treasure be found by one man? I couldn't do it alone, I'd need a crew. I needed to go for a walk, to clear my head. Twas not long before I found my crew. One man. Long John Pilsner. As I walked along the waterfront of the port, my eye fell upon him looting a local mead house, loading barrel after barrel of mead and ale onto his ship singlehandedly. After a sharing of stories and mead, he agreed to join me, so long as the booty was split 50/50 and I kept my hands off his stash of mead.

A month later, we caught first glimpse of Melbourne-on-Yarra, as we sailed the Imperial Black Pale into Port Cookie. This be a port that was not readied for the likes of two of the ocean's fiercest pirates, but with a long quest ahead, we made certain not to draw further attention, so we chose a dim lit corner and ordered two Bridge Rd Brewery Dog's Breakfast, and settled in to study the map further.

Long John Pilsner was the first to taste this hearty brew.
"Oi, Captain, this be the finest breakfast beer I've had in all me times, this'd be lovely with a plate of fried mutton and eggs. Get that smoky lager down yer" he bellowed across the table. I took my own sip. He'd be right. What balance of flavours and depth in texture. It reminded me of the kind of breakfasts my old Mam used to make, before I sold her for 12 gold pieces and a flagon of ale.

"Aye, cracking beer be this Dog's Breakfast, fantastic for a dark lager", I offered in return.

After much heated discussion and cutlass wielding, we both decided to set sail for our first treasure ground, Mrs Parma's Cove. The seas were treacherous, but we were able to parallel park our ship relatively close to the mouth of the cove. We were getting close to fortune and glory. If the old pirate's tattered Good Beer Week map was true, we would find the precious George Freeth Memorial Tropical Brown Ale from Moondog. We entered the Cove's only tavern with swords drawn, but were met with other seafarers who'd come to seek refreshment and were not interested in trouble. Out of respect, we returned our swords to their sheaths, and found a table.

One of the tavern maids called us over for a quiet word. "You come seeking the Tropical Brown Ale?"

"ye knows too much to be talkin' bout the Moondog in these parts" I scowled, hoping the other seafarers in the room had not heard her question. Pilsner pulled me away, offering his apologies, "Aye, tis the brown ale we seek, wench." he followed with. She smiled at him in a way that displayed her full set of white teeth, something we seafarers need not the luxury of. She opened up a small cabinet and removed two tankards. Then filled them with ale, ordering the young boy from the kitchen to fix us some parma fare. The George Freeth Memorial Tropical Brown Ale from Moondog was ours! Our first treasure on this long voyage! We marveled at how well balanced it was, like a calm ocean of pineapple, coconut and malt flavours, and it was delicious plain sailing right to the bottom of the tankard. This was truly an ale to live up to the legend. As we gathered up as much as we could fill a glass with, we spotted Karl Moondog himself... another fierce pirate, a pirate who's treasure we had been consuming, right under his nose. We made a mad dash for the Imperial Black Pale, loaded up our treasure and set sail again for Local Taphouse Island.

Local Taphouse Island has been home to many ale swillin' pirates over the years. It's tavern was reknown across many lands as one of the finest taverns a pirate could drink in. Our success so far with the map had meant expectation of another fine haul had risen amongst myself and Pilsner. It would be an easy pillage, and I could almost taste the Cocksockin' Ball Knockin' Imperial Stout, again from Moondog, the map had promised. We approached the bar, cap in hand and gold pieces a-ready and there it was, the second treasure we had come in search of. Ol' Crafty's Golden Ale Chalice.

Long John Pilsner and I danced a merry jig and ordered a flagon of the prized Moondog Imperial Stout. Local Alchemists had infused the stout with chipolte, which left a mighty after-burn, redder than any beard i'd come across. Such complexity of flavour, with the heat bringing out cherry and subtle chocolate undertones. Twas an ale i'd turn my back on any number of tavern wenches for. And so it was, with chalice and our second Moondog in hand, we boarded the Pale and set of into the darkness of the night... with many more treasure to uncover in the course of the week, two pirates shall take some much needed downtime.....

....to be continued....