Ever go through those stretches where nothing much seems to be happening? Work/rest/play cycles all spin along, requiring little of your attention, and the days on the lived-and-done side of the ledger accumulate with odd, even unnerving frequency, because what do you have to show for all those ticked-away hours, how have you advanced, furthered, improved, etc.? And then it occurs to you that, holy crap, change is afoot, the burning house of the world has, without your noticing, revealed you to be in an entirely different wing, and excitement bubbles up where before was naught but the mindless imperative of routine. A weaver of large tapestries carefully threads the needle, cinches the last bub, and stands back to behold not a humdrum jumble of string, but a brilliant window revealed entire and at once.
This week (or next week, I guess…Sunday the 19th, is what I mean) marks the start of the French Broad Brewery’s Tasting Room opening its doors to Sunday traffic. I am speaking to you: football-bereaved spouse, and to you: person whose traditional day of rest best includes a pint, and to you: beerlovers of any stripe, who on the seventh day seek an hour or so frittered away over a cold flight in the company of friends. As per our normal operating procedure, the Tasting Room will open its doors at one in the afternoon and close them at eight in the evening. Plenty of time to stir up a little naughty on the Lord’s Day, if that’s your fancy. Or to achieve silent communion with one of Asheville’s most gracefully prepared ales. Or just to goof off. Whatever. Whatever you want. FBBTR is an everyday thing now. Pile in, ye thirsty.
Stocking up for the week? Sundays only you can get away with a case of our 22oz bottles for a lot less than the little they usually go for. It’s perfect for the home event: Football on the telly, leaf raking done and done, the fireplace, the mantel, the glass. Our carry-out specials of Sunday will become legend throughout the land. How do we do it? We do not know. Really. We have no idea.
Here’s another piece of news: Even as I write this now, enjoying a four o’clock Ryehopper (it’s on tap, come get it while supplies last), The Antlers on the radio and a steady hum of sated peeps heard from the TR, a batch of Zepptemberfest ferments in the brewery. That, folks, is what you call a teaser.
Also, I made up the word “bub” earlier. It just sounded like a tapestry-weaving term, for some reason. You know what I’m going to do to compensate for my insneaking of a fictional term into a more or less factual account? I’m gonna go compliment the first person I see, shake that person’s hand, and say: “Let’s enjoy a French Broad beer together.” Whatsay you join me, reader?
Here’s a tiny picture of Leigh Glass alongside her Hazards. Friday night, y’all. You know you want it.