Holiday Hiatus? Whatever. I will not be around much for roughly the next two weeks. We have family in town now, and they take precedence over blogging/tweeting/etc.. I'm recovering from a truly miserable, my-skull-is-a-dead-sweatsock cold, and we're going out of town for week the day after Christmas.

And when we return, we have to move the contents of our kitchen to the basement in preparation for the remodeling project, which will get underway the first week of January. So: not much blogging or tweeting until I resume normal business operations on or around January 4th.

May your days be merry and bright --- and I hope all of you can take time to enjoy that which matters most: family and friends.

One of the few blogs I check regularly (no, I'm not a snob; I'm just busy to the point of being overwhelmed) is Yours for Good Fermentables, owned and operated by Tom Cizauskas.

I've been enjoying the heck out of a series he's running right now: "Twelve Books of Christmas," a collection of books he recommends for gift-giving. Unlike most lists, his is annotated, and that alone makes it worth a trip to his blog. You can see the entries so far here.

Anyway --- damn! I made the list. For that honor --- and I do consider it an honor --- I thank him. So if you're still wondering what to get for people on your list, head on over to Tom's blog and pick up some ideas.

Part One --- Part Two --- Part Three 

Welcome to First Draft Follies, an ongoing series at the blog. The material is presented "as is" from the first draft of the manuscript that became the book Ambitious Brew. In a few places I added one or two words in brackets -- [like this] -- for clarification. When the material is lengthy, I break it into several parts; this is part three of three.

The setting here is the early 1870s, when the American temperance movement, which had been derailed by the Civil War, regrouped and renewed its efforts to eliminate alcohol in the United States.

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Over at A Good Beer Blog, Alan McLeod has rolled out the winners of this year's photo contest. The "grand prize" winner (and, ahem, loser) are here. The other winners are here and here and here. Round of applause and a cup o' cheer, please, for Alan, who gets nothing out of this except the pleasure of sharing the photos with all of us.

Part One --- Part Two --- Part Three 

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And so it went in another nine hundred towns in thirty-one (out of thirty-seven) states and the District of Columbia. The tens of thousands of marchers met with but limited success and may have done the cause more harm than good: most men were hostile, and many of the women played to type, thereby reinforcing the common view among men idea that a woman’s place was in the home. “It is easy enough to conquer a man, if only you know how,” one crusader explained.

I wish you could see me talking to some of these saloon men that I would never have spoken to before; I employ my sweetest accents; . . . I look into their eyes and grow pathetic; I shed tears, and I joke with them--but all in terrible earnest. And they surrender. (*1)

The hypocrisy left a bad taste in the mouth of an Ohio man.

“It is a little amusing,” he commented, “to hear one of these women talk to ‘their man’ as they have him cornered behind his bar, and to see how he takes to talk of that sort.”

He listened to one crusader as she “opened out her battery of words,” telling the proprietor that she “loved” him and “always had.”

“I’ll venture a treat,” the man scoffed, “that this same woman never thought of this poor devil of a saloon-keeper before, and if she had met him on the street . . . she would not have spoken to him.” (*2)

Still, there was no doubt that the crusaders placed themselves in real danger. In some communities minor riots erupted and mobs attacked the women. At a march in Pittsburgh, hecklers jeered and threw rocks, paint, eggs, bricks, and beer at the women. One man used a horsewhip to rescue his wife from the crowd.

In Plano, Illinois, the occupants of a saloon removed themselves to the second floor of the building and dumped “the contents of baser toiletware” on the crusaders below. (*3)  In one town, a man exposed himself to a group kneeling for sidewalk prayer.

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*1: Blocker, ‘Give to the Winds Thy Fears’: The Women's Temperance Crusade, 1873-1874 (Greenwood Press, 1985), 43.

*2: Ibid. *3: Ibid., 60.

Part One --- Part Two --- Part Three 

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The “Women’s Crusade" of the early 1870s was the inadvertent by-product of an otherwise ordinary evening of entertainment. In the 1870s, lectures and speeches were the most common forms of mass entertainment. Experts of all sorts toured the United States speaking to large audiences on everything from homeopathy to hydropathy; transmigration to trans-Atlantic travel.

Among them was Diocletian Lewis, a physician-reformer with interests in abolition, women’s rights, and temperance. In late 1873, he took the platform in front of a crowd of about a thousand at a hall in Fredonia, New York. There, he touted the virtues of temperance, denounced the evils of liquor, and regaled his listeners with tales of drink-induced woe and degeneracy.

Lewis capped his discourse with an anecdote about how, some forty years earlier, his own mother, married to a drunk, had led a group of her friends into a saloon where they prayed until the bar owner was persuaded to shut his doors and find other employment.

The following morning, a hundred or so women who had attended Lewis’s lecture gathered at a Baptist church to discuss what they had heard. Shortly after noon, the women began marching, first to the bar at the Taylor House Hotel, and from there to the city’s eight liquor retail outlets.

At each stop, the women demanded that the male owners of the establishments abandon their devilish business and then prayed for their redemption. Only one of the men so targeted agreed to find another line of trade.

Over the next few weeks, the Women’s Crusade spread across New York and the midwest. It arrived in Milwaukee in late February when the city’s “gentle raiders” mailed postcards to hundreds of saloons. "Sir,” the cards read, “believing your own conscience must smite you for your criminality in dealing out liquid damnation to our husbands, sons and brothers, we propose to aid that conscience by praying in your gilded hall of vice, next Monday March 2.” (*1)

On the appointed day, the women’s efforts provided plenty of entertainment for the throngs who pushed past them on Milwaukee’s sidewalks, but not much else. No saloonkeepers repented; none shut their doors.

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*1: “The Gentle Raiders,” Milwaukee Sentinel March 2, 1874, p. 1.

You gotta love surrealism, especially when it's live! In person! Happening now! As in my past few days:

As you may know, we midwesterners just experienced a giganto-super-wallopy snow storm. The snow and wind started Tuesday afternoon and stayed with us until Wednesday afternoon (at least here in Iowa). Fourteen inches of snow, forty mile-per-hour winds, etc.

Which would have been okay, except that I was supposed to fly to Los Angeles on Thursday morning for a speaking engagement. When the airport shut down Wednesday morning, I got, um, a little worried? Would I make? Should I even try? And what to do if I can't make it? (*1)

To cut to the chase (because someone else's travel woes are about as interesting as someone else's home movies), I got up Thursday morning at 5 am and decided to give it a try. The temperature was  five degrees below zero, the streets had barely been plowed, the interstate was, as the weather people say, 100% snow and ice covered.

Took me 90 minutes to make a trek that usually take about 45 minutes (which, frankly, wasn't bad, given the circumstances). Made it to the airport without mishap. (Thank god. Because sliding off the road and into a ditch in sub-zero weather is not my idea of a good time.)

Boarded one airplane. Landed. Boarded a second plane.

Voila! Hours later I was gazing through the plane's window at --- palm trees, sun, warmth. And about an hour or so after that, I was in the hotel's rooftop, outdoor pool, swimming laps before my speaking gig. That, my friends, is the surrealism of modern life. (*2)

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*1: Being the conscientious soul that I am, I rounded up a substitute in case I couldn't make it: My dear pal and all-round-fabulous-human-being Anat Baron, the producer and director of "Beer Wars," agreed to take my place if need be, short notice and all. How great is that?

*2: Said surrealism is, to be honest, a tad exhausting. By the time I got back to Iowa last night, I was wiped out, especially thanks to a serious interstate traffic snarl of indeterminate nature that turned my forty minute trip back from the airport into an hour and 45-minute nightmare. And then I had to get up this morning and drive back to Des Moines for a previously planned engagement.

Man, we're having a blizzard. Serious snow. Went for a long walk earlier and enjoyed the hell out of myself. I love walking and I love walking in snow. (*1)

Speaking of which: Last year, my ten-year-old boots finally shot craps. All I wanted another pair just like them (they were Merrells) but, of course, the company no longer makes that model. (Of course. I mean, if it's a great product, why keep making it?)

So in October I started hunting for a new pair of snow/cold boots. Did an in-house test-drive of several. Kept coming across a kind made by Bogs.

Frankly, they looked so insubstantial that I kept skipping past. But after trying, and rejecting, a half dozen or so other brands of boots, and after seeing Bogs on offer from reputable companies, I decided to do a little investigating. The company claims its boots are insulated down to forty below (!) and waterproof. Truth be told, that sounded too good to be true, especially given their appearance: most winter boots are clunky, leathery, hardware-laden affairs, but these are sleek, streamlined, and minimalist.

But I found some at Zappos, and as we Z. fans know, it costs nothing to try shoes from Zappos. So I ordered a pair.

They fit. (Major deal with me: I'm 5'10" and most shoe/clothing manufacturers don't bother with tall people.) They were comfortable. I wore them a couple of times in freezing temps and my feet definitely stayed warm.

But today was the Big Test: Would my feet stay both dry and warm during an hour-long walk in seven inches of snow? YES! And because I got the tall model, my calves and ankles stayed dry, too.

So. Will they last ten years, as my last pair did? I dunno. Check back with me in, oh, four, five years.

Meanwhile, Bogs is now on my list of Things I Love, and I'm equipped for winter: My ten-year-old coat (basically this coat, but the old model) is fraying at the cuffs but otherwise up to the task. (I dread the day I have to replace it. I love the damn thing. Plus it actually comes to my knees.) (I'm thinking of trying duct tape on the cuffs.)

And last year, I finally finally finally found a serious winter-weather hat. This guy. Perfection. It's warm, water-resistant, and the brim is bigger than it looks, which means it keeps winter sun off my face. (I have CLL and am fair-skinned, to boot, so sun is not my friend.) So. The weather outside is frightful, and our, um, furnace is so delightful. But I'm ready for winter.

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*1: Walking is good for heart, body, and soul. Plus it's the most efficient way to get from Point A to Point B.

There's a ton of garbage written about the American food system. (No pun intended. Really.) Inaccurate. Misleading. Muddle-headed. Etc.

Indeed, there aren't many food writers to recommend, but one I do read regularly is Tom Philpott. I don't always agree with him --- indeed, most of the time I don't --- but he works hard to present facts and argument rather than blather and nonsense.

A fine example of his work is in his most recent post at Grist. Good reading from a smart guy. (Although the historian in me must note that he's off about about fifty years in his comment about an "official" policy of cheap/affordable food.) So, if you're interested, take a look. Better still, bookmark the Grist site. (Tom is also at twitter as @tomphilpott.)

By Alan Hovhaness. Stunning.

How's that for use of slash marks?

The lovely Bryan Kolesar at BrewLounge is once again running a brew-round-up, in which he asks various beer types to opine about the current and future years. His own take is here. Part One of "others'" views is here.

Elsewhere in the net-o-sphere, the equally lovely Stan Hieronymus has added more thoughts on his views about "lists." Leave it to him to be, well, thoughtful. Lew is up to his usual, so you should take a gander. Why? Because I like him. (Not, mind you, that I know the guy. I just like his smarts, talent, and wit.)

The folks at All About Beer finally (as in finally) have their new website up and running, so that's another place to visit.

Jay Brooks, a guy whose interests range far, wide, and in between, has a marvelous post about Gregg Hinlicky's portraits of brewers. The image of Fritz Maytag is a marvel. (Full disclosure: Fritz and I are friends, and the portrait captures the man's spirit and intelligence.)

Reminder: only a few days left to submit your beer photos to the 2009 contest. Tim Beauchamp has a number of posts worth reading (he's a ranter after my own heart).

And if you've ever wondered "What ARE the dimensions of a stainless steel firkin?" --- wonder no more. Tom has the answer.

"Minestrone" being a fancy, furrin word for "vegetable soup."

Every year about this time I make up a large pot of it. I portion it into containers and freeze it and then it's ready to during the year-end rush when we usually have family around. (This year the family doesn't get any: I'm stocking the freezer in preparation for the kitchen remodeling that will start the second week in January. Although "stuffing the freezer" is more like it; I'm filling every inch with enough food to last the three months with no kitchen.)

I don't know where I got this recipe. I think it orginally came from Gourmet magazine, but I'm not sure. In any case, I've been making this for about twenty years and it never fails to satisfy.

As always with a dish like this, the quantities and components are up to the cook. For example, I can't find good cannellini, and am too lazy to cook dried ones, so I used canned navy beans. I rarely remember to add the pesto (although it's a marvelous addition if you can remember). Etc.

At our house, this makes 12 servings, but we're old and eat small portions.

• 1 c. chopped onion
• 1 c. chopped carrot
• 1 c. chopped celery
• 1/2 c. chopped leek
• 1 or 2 cloves of garlic, minced
• 3 T. butter
• 3 T. olive oil
• 8 c. beef stock
• 35 oz. canned tomatoes, with juice
• 2 c. diced potato
• 2 cans navy or cannellini beans, drained
• 1/2 c. peas
• 2.5 c. zucchini, chopped
• 2.5 c. green beans cut into bite-size pieces
• 2.5 c. peeled, cubed eggplant
• 2 c. mushrooms, sliced thick
• 4 c. shredded cabbage
• 2 c. shredded spinach (frozen is fine)
• 1/2 c. small pasta (I usually use orzo)
• 3 T. chopped parsley
• 2 T. pesto
• a piece of parmesan rind

You need a large pot; I use my stock pot. Heat the butter and olive oil and add the onion, carrot, celery, leek, and garlic. Cover with a piece of wax paper and then cover the pot and sweat the vegetables for ten minutes.

Remove the wax paper (please!) and add the stock, tomatoes and their juice, potato, beans, peas, zucchini, eggplant, green beans, peas, and mushrooms, as well as salt and pepper. If you don't have any pesto, toss in a handful of basil. Bring to a boil and then simmer for two hours (or whatever).

Stir in the cabbage, spinach, pesto, pasta, and cheese rind. Simmer another 30 or 40 minutes. Add the pesto and taste for salt and pepper.

Slice the bread, pour the wine. Be happy!

This got right by me --- but this past week Pete Brown was named Beer Writer of the Year by the British Guild of Beer Writers. To which I say: Congratulations, Mr. Brown!

Pete is an immensely gifted writer (note that I did not describe him as a "beer writer"; he transcends the genre). He's also an extraordinarily nice and generous human being. So --- Pete: here's to you.

Another matter that I lost track of (because right now I'm losing track of things right and left. If it doesn't involve the history of meat in America, my brain's not connecting ). Anyway: Alan McLeod is taking submissions for this year's Yule Beer Photo competition. You have one week to send your photos to him. Do it!

If you've read this blog for more than two minutes, you know that I'm all in favor of informed discussion and debate, which means I'm all in favor of what are usually dismissed as "scholars." You know: those pointy-head types who spend inordinate amounts of time studying a subject so that when they open their mouths to discuss their subject, what comes out is substance rather than fluff.

However, I adore scholars who then make the effort to share what they know with the rest of us. (The alternative being to remain closeted in their university offices, sharing knowledge only with other scholars.) People like that used to be called "public intellectuals," but I think of them as benefactors. Or saints, depending on my mood.

Anyway, that's why I'm a fan of Chris Raines. Chris is a professor in the Department of Dairy and Animal Science at Penn State. He's the model of a new kind of scholar: one who is not afraid of blogs, Twitter, and, gasp, making connections with ordinary people like me.

His blog, Meat Is Neat, epitomizes what scholars can (and, in my opinion, should) be doing with their expertise: sharing it in simple language that non-experts like me can understand. A prime example (no pun intended) is his recent entry on e-coli and grass-fed beef. If you have any interest in the current debate about food, food safety, and environmentalism, you should take a gander. (Hoof it over there? Paw through it?)

Chris is also a master of what Twitter can and should be. He's there as @iTweetMeat. Enjoy!

Well, I'm here, but I'm not HERE, if you know what I mean.

I am researching the next chunk of the book. It's certainly the mid-section or perhaps the middle two-thirds, or whatever. In any case, I've moved the research into a new time period which means I'm trying to figure out "what happened" during that particular block of time (in this case roughly 1900-1940).

The only thing I know for sure is that my initial instinct, way back when, was correct: The Jungle didn't "cause" much of anything to happen. It was more of what we'd now call a tipping point than a cause; a straw (beefsteak? pot roast? rolled rump?) that broke the camel's back.

But even that moment (c. 1906) is clearly not the main event in the years from 1900-1920 and beyond. Not even close.

Anyway, it's all fascinating, but the most efficient way for me to deal with all this new information is to stay focused on it. Or, more accurately, to allow my brain to stay focused by not digressing into things like beer, random rants, pondering the nature of the cosmos and other distractions.

So that, dear readers, is why I'm not here ranting away. Soon as I get a good grip on this new material and actually start writing the next chapter(s), blogging will return to its usual pace. 'Cause I can research for hour and hours, but I can only write for a few hours at a time.

This from Scholars & Rogues via the irreplaceable Dexter: Revels! Who knew? (Not me.) I think I need it. Here's the Amazon page for the cd.

Okay, so nothing to do with anything, but . . . Today's Wall Street Journal has a brief take on the state of e-readers (you know: Kindle, Nook, etc.) There's also a great graphic in the sidebar that's a side-by-side comparison of the current contenders. Nice! My favorite part, however, is that the reporter notes that, ahem, this first crop of readers may go the way of the eight-track. Which is precisely why I've not bought one. There are too many flaws in all of them. So until Mr. Jobs enters the fray, I'm keeping my checkbook closed (my debit card unscanned? my paypal account unclicked? whatever). Not that Jobs will come up with a perfect e-reader, but a) I'm guessing it'll be better than what's available now; and b) its arrival will surely spur even more competition and some kind of standard for the device. And when it comes to stuff like this, standards are where it's at.