This series of posts is dedicated to the many, many six packs, pony kegs and pints that have sauntered into my life at one point or another.
Going to college in a town with a beloved small town brewery inspired a certain amount of civic pride. It especially manifested when it came time to measure our local brew against similar potables in other Wisconsin cities, usually resulting in especially pointed disparagement of the competitors. This sort of sniffy ire was often directed at Rhinelander beer, the product of the town on the same name, located some ninety miles north. As many barbs as I tossed at the beer, I did have to admit that they created a fairly nice product when it came to their seasonal, Rhinelander Bock. Like a lot of offerings that bore the bock designation back then, it was especially rich, malty and meaty, providing the sort of satisfying heaviness in the gut that beer connoisseurs such as myself and my fellow drunkard friends were looking for during the icy expanse of the winter months. It still suffered in comparison to the equivalent in good ol’ Stevens Point, but it was a nice beer when measured against only itself.