Grizzly Growler

Craft brew really has made it across the Pacific. This is from my good friend Peter Bowling, a business man, philanthropist, AIDS activist working in China. Take it away Pete – Here’s a shot of the import beer section. There used to be just about nothing in the way of good beer here, but now [...]

Where Tim drinks Bitterroot Brewing Co.’s Saison and talks about the famous French farmhouse-style ale. Prost, GG

Why not throw back a Lucifer? This bottle-conditioned Belgian golden ale is anathema to a long, cold, Montana spring. It is a slightly dangerous reward for a long day spent in a blistering reminder of the extremes of this perch above America’s prairies. Yes, we live in a hamlet at the “confluence of great trout [...]

On days when the sun beats down on Missoula after a long winter, on days when the blue sky promises to go on forever beyond the jagged mountain tops that frame our horizon, on days when the air seems to carry a heaviness born of the perfume of freshly mowed grass, those are the days [...]

Mussels are the national dish of Belgium, and though Belgium is not too far from the rich mussel beds of the North Sea, Missoula is about as far away as you can get. Thanks God for Costco. My wife found a five-pound bag of Penn Cove mussels for $2 something a pound. So on Friday, [...]

Red Bird has this interesting tripel from Kerkom brewery in Belgium. It’s called Bink, and it’s hoppier than most tripels. At first I was a bit surprised by the deep, earthy taste of this beer, but then the hop profile expanded once the beer warmed up a bit. Turns out this was a whole new [...]

You really have to be careful with beer drinkers when introducing them to new styles. Never has this been more apparent to me than this last trip back to Oregon. After finding a great little bottleshop in Vancouver, my buddy Jason and I headed back to his place to try a few of our discoveries. [...]

Hello Grizzly Growler readers. I wanted to pause to thank you all for reading and commenting on this blog. I hear from many of you through E-mail or in person, and I’m grateful for your feedback. I’m off visiting family this week in Oregon, but I’ll keep the blog posted with short news bits about [...]

Matching Asian cuisine with wine is tricky. Typically you would pair spicy Chinese food with a reisling or a Gewurztraminer. However, I can save you a lot of hassle right now. Forge the wine, or better yet, sip the wine as an aperitif or with appetizers. If you’re going to do Asian food, especially spicy [...]

A child was born 300 years after the birth of Jesus. His parents named him Nicholas, and he was born into wealth and privilege in a world that was more slave than free man.

It was Asia Minor, and it was a cross roads of religion, politics and culture.

While he was still young, Nicholas lost both his parents to a sickness. Their wealth became his wealth, and he was sent off to school while trustees ran his estate.

The death of his parents profoundly affected young Nicholas, and he rejected the wealth he had inherited, choosing instead to become a priest and live a monastic life. But rather than give his wealth away to the church, he carefully and willfully gave away every last bit.

But that is not what made Nicholas unique. His passion, second only to his service to God, was to give in such a way that no one would ever know who the gift came from.

He was known to disguise himself and sneak through the streets and squares of ancient Myra in search of the neediest of his flock.

On one such occasion he overheard a merchant telling another merchant that he’d fallen on hard times, and that he could not provide a dowry for the oldest of his three daughters.

As was tradition in those days, he had decided to sell the oldest daughter into slavery in order to insure dowries for his younger daughters. After all, someone would have to look after him in his old age.

Still, Nicholas could detect a sorrowful tone in the voice of the merchant. The man loved each of his daughters deeply.

Nicholas followed the merchant to his home, watched his stooped shoulders and the resigned gate with which he walked those last weary steps. At the corner, Nicholas studied the house. It had a high wall, an opposing gate, and one small window high above the street.

Nicholas walked slowly toward the church and formulated his plan.

In the latest part of evening, just before night’s darkest blue invades the sky like ink on paper, Nicholas set out dressed in a red robe and a red hood.

He walked in the shadows along small streets. When he heard voices he pressed himself into crevices in the ancient city walls.

Finally he found the street of the merchant from the market. Nicholas walked from one end of the property to the other, and all he found was the small window high above the street.

Undeterred, Nicholas took his hood and unfolded it to form a length of cloth. He jumped and draped the hood over a lamp that hung just below the window. With all of his ebbing might, Nicholas pulled himself up until he could balance on the lamp.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Nicholas peered in through the opening.

His eyes poured over a small room with sparse furnishings, dying embers in a fire place and three pairs of stockings hung near the fire. There was a large pair, a medium-sized pair and a small pair.

When morning came, the merchant sat at the table while his daughters prepared breakfast. His heart was heavy, and he worked over what he would tell them in his head.

A surprised cry from another room aroused him from his dark thoughts.

The merchant’s oldest daughter came into the room holding her stockings and four gold coins in her hands.

The smile and tears of joy that overcame the father that day were known only to his daughters, but a quiet priest in another part of the city shared the joy that day.

In much the same way, Nicholas deposited four gold coins in the stockings of the each of the merchant’s younger daughters when the time came for them to marry. And in many other ways Nicholas gave up his wealth, gave in secret so that know one would know, and eventually he gave up his life and died as respected old Bishop.

But the stories of his life lived on the lips of those who remained. And they told the stories to their children, who told the stories to their children and so on and so forth.

The story of Nicholas found its way to Europe, and eventually Nicholas was sainted. As his legend grew, so did the stories of his life. Sinter Klaus, as he was known in Holland, became a favorite of young children who celebrated the day of his birth, Dec. 6.

My own childhood experiences with St. Nicholas were formed by memories of the town priest wearing a white mitre and walking through town leaving oranges, nuts and chocolates in our shoes, one of which was placed on the door step of our house.

Eventually, St. Nicholas, Sinter Klause, found his way to the New World, to more and more fanciful stories, to eight tiny reindeer and a house at the top of the world.

The severe-looking priest from Asia Minor, the man who loved nothing more than to give in secret, became a fat old elf who resides at the North Pole, a legend we believe in for a while and then abandon to the reality of parents sneaking around at midnight putting packages under the tree.

I tell my children the story of Nicholas every year. I tell them that Nicholas died, but that what lived on was the spirit in which he gave. It is that spirit that gave us Christmas and stockings and giving presents wrapped in secrecy. In essence, many of the most enjoyable things about Christmas are because of a man named Nicholas whoendeavoured to be like the Man who died some 300 years before he was born, a man he had dedicated himself to.

Prost,

GG