Bariloche Beer & Travel Blog | San Carlos de Bariloche | Craft Beer Blog

Man Vs Wild Mockumentary (Trailer)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 23:35:00 +0000

Man Vs Wild Mockumentary coming soon in 2011. Below is a sneak preview of the trailer.

A Beer with a View

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 18:05:00 +0000

We live in a porous house. I don’t mean there’s the odd hole here and there; I mean it’s a sieve masquerading as a home. Rain, wind and snow penetrate its walls like a bull penetrates a matador’s cape: with vigour, menace and ease. It’d be humorous if hyperthermia weren’t a real threat. And while our little abode barely fits the description of a house, it does have one redeeming feature. It’s views.

The views from this place are spectacular (see image below). Sunrises, sunsets, full moons, shooting stars, lakes, mountains and forests. You name it; we’ve seen it through the big glass windowpanes that span almost one wall. And thanks to the clear Perspex roof (it’s barely a house I tell you) shooting stars are a frequent occurrence, so too my schoolgirl squeals of delight whenever I see one. It’s natural (that we have great views, not the schoolgirl screams) given we live just a stones throw away from Cerro Campanario, voted by National Geographic as having one of the best vistas in the world.

And so it was that Sofi, the cat and I found ourselves wrapped in every blanket we owned last Saturday morning with snow covering the house and burdening the branches of the surrounding trees. There was no hope of getting our little Volkswagen Gol out to go skiing and even leaving the warmth of the bed seemed suicidal. However, valour prevailed and we decided that if we couldn’t beat the elements we might as well join them, which involved simply getting out of bed.

We decided to don the snowshoes and head up the aforementioned Cerro Campanario. Not only does it sport world-class views but I’d heard the café up top sold craft beer so I was easily convinced. Stepping out of the house was like stepping into a Walt Disney Christmas Special. The sky looked almost too perfect, as if someone had taken to it with a paint brush using those fancy paints with equally fancy names like “bashful blue” or “virgin white” or, I don’t know, “sky blue”. Whatever its colour it provided a stunning contrast to the pillows of brilliant white powder snow that covered everything.

I remember the first time I saw snow. It was on a sweltering hot summer’s day in Brisbane. Our sub-tropical town was hosting the World Expo and my brother and I had lined up outside the Swiss Pavilion for over an hour in the hope of catching a glimpse of the magical white stuff (others were doing the same outside the Columbian Pavilion). Once inside we were hit with a wall of cold air and in front of us stood a mountain. Not a real mountain obviously but a miniature man-made version, complete with a ski run made from artificial snow. It was fantastic, it was surreal and I loved every minute of it.

But this “wild snow” that was in front of us was something altogether different. When I look back at it now, man’s attempt to recreate what I was seeing before me fell well short. The scene became even more beautiful as we entered the forest proper and started to climb. A gentle breeze was dislodging the loose snow crystals from the trees and as they fell, caught by the sun, they glittered like diamond dust (that might sound like hyperbole but check out the video below).

The higher we climbed the deeper the snow got. There were sections where we were forced to crawl under the ever-present caña colihue plants, bamboo’s Argentinean relative, who were bent over themselves in an attempt to carry the weight of the snow. Unlike the 5-hr trek to Frey, climbing Cerro Campanario can be done in 30 – 40 minutes. What the climb lacks in length and height however, it makes up in steepness. The trail is unrelenting in its purpose of getting you to the “summit” as quickly as possible.

All of this to say that I felt I had deserved a beer upon reaching the top. But before I could quench my thirst, my eyes first needed to feast on the views. What makes the vista from Campanario so famed is the immensity of it. It is mountains and lakes as far as the eye can see in every direction save for a small break out to the east where the Andes give way to The Step. Having fed one of my senses, it was time to give a bit of loving to the others. The beer I had come to drink was a Red Pale Ale from the local Prosit brewery, located in picturesque Colonia Suiza, not far from Berlina’s modern brewhouse.

To accompany the beer I chose to eat a ham and cheese filled empanada. Empanadas are ubiquitous in Argentina. The small pastry can be eaten at nearly anytime of the day as a snack or a meal unto itself. The pastry’s flexibility can probably be chalked up to the fact that it can be filled with almost anything, and usually is. While there are hundreds of variations, most combinations include a liberal use of mozzarella cheese. Mine certainly fit that bill.

Fortunately the Prosit Pale Ale, with it’s liberal use of the local cascade hops and moderate carbonation, was able to cut through the buttery pastry and oozing cheese to nicely compliment the ham with its subtle fruity flavours, in much the same way a spicy chutney would. The caramelized malt flavours latched onto the smooth milkiness of the mozzarella adding another layer of complexity to the fast maturing relationship. I suspected it wouldn't be long before beer and empanada were finishing each other’s sentences.

A steaming hot empanada, a craft beer with tons of character and views that make grown men weep: it sure can be tough braving the elements.

* Photos by Sofi Cullen

What the Bock?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 01:30:00 +0000

“He does what with his urine?”
“What do you mean he drinks it?”
“What do you mean he drinks it for his health?”
“Uro…what?”

The conversation above took place between my wife and I a few months ago. She is developing an interest in alternative health and while not at the urine drinking stage just yet, she does come into contact with some pretty interesting people.

She had gone to the subject of the conversation above for a massage and “one thing led to another” (as she innocently puts it) and suddenly they were talking about Uropathy. I love that it has a name and a Wikipedia page (written I imagine by castaways and pirates).

And so it was that this anecdote was filed safely to the back of my mind where it would remain until called upon to fill uncomfortable silences. That was until I tasted Quilmes Bock. Suddenly the little man that organizes my equally little brain was retrieving the Uropathy file and bringing it to the section where conscious thought takes place.

“Ah yes Uropathy,” I thought as the Bock made it’s way past my ungrateful taste buds. Actually, Uropathy (I just love saying the word) involves drinking your own urine; I on the other hand was obviously drinking someone else’s. The “Brewmaster’s” perhaps? Even Uropathien’s turn their nose up on this sort of behaviour.

“Hear about that man Fred, you know the one that drinks other people’s urine”
“I know Rog, what is this world coming to…need a hand with your fly?”

While I will admit that Quilmes Bock may not be the excretions of the Brewmaster, it is barely a beer and only just a Bock. Bock beer is famed for a barley-malt sweetness that cleverly hides the formidable 6-7% alcohol content. A moderate level of bitterness provides balance and months of ageing produce a beer that is smooth and full-bodied.

The Quilmes on the other hand is lightweight in every respect. The hallmark caramel, bready flavours are there but only just. Rather than being proudly paraded around the palate, like a pedigree at a Best in Show competition, the flavours make an all too brief appearance before ingloriously exiting down the throat. The bitterness never reaches any great heights so the balance of the beer is lost, leaving you feeling underwhelmed and disappointed.

In the end the Quilmes Bock feels like it is a slightly maltier, slightly stronger version of Quilmes Crystal, the Brewery’s flagship lager, and for that it is a slightly more interesting beer. And that, not the uropathiens of the world, is the real embarrassment here.

It’s Official: Beer Tastes Better 1700m Above Sea Level

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 13:34:00 +0000

Growing up in sub-tropical Brisbane there wasn’t much opportunity to be exposed to snow, nor to craft beer for that matter. Hot and humid was the usual refrain from the weatherman; bland and weak was all you got from the barman.

So to be standing at a trailhead with the intention of traipsing through snowy Patagonia in search of local craft beers seemed at best, a little odd, at worst ludicrous. The fact that I had convinced my wife Sofi to come along could only strengthened the case for ludicrous.

In my interview with Brewmaster Bruno Ferrari a few weeks earlier, he had casually mentioned that his beers were available on tap at Refugio Frey, a mountain refuge 1700m above sea level. It struck me that this would be the perfect place to try his microbrews and provide you, dear reader, with some amateur tasting notes.

So we set off with backpacks so laden with supplies that upon getting lost our only logical option would be to setup a minimart, charging inflated prices to unsuspecting hikers.

The first part of the trek had us traversing away from South America’s largest ski resort, Cerro Catedral, crossing partially frozen streams with the aid of a variety of wooden bridges.

Coming from a country where the seasons are marked by how long it takes for clothes to dry - 20 minutes for 8 months of the year, 40 minutes for the other four - snow and mountains have always fascinated me. While over the years I’ve learnt to snowboard, I still consider myself a mountain novice. This became abundantly obvious a few minutes after lunch.

The going had gotten decidedly tougher. The snow was deeper and as we broached the tree line the direct sunlight had softened it, making it unpredictable to walk on. By the time I came upon a gapping chasm in the path I’d already fallen a number of times.

I decided that there was nothing for it but to jump the expanse. Not only did I come up with this ridiculous plan all by myself, but in a clear sign that altitude sickness had set in, I announced my intentions to Sofi.

Knowing a good thing when she sees it she got out her camera to capture the moment. In preparation for the jump I started swinging my hands slightly and moving my hips while counting to three in my head. As I came to the count of three and with all my energy flowing downwards, the snow beneath me gave way.

Not ready for the fall, I landed awkwardly, “my guys” getting squashed between the snow and my full body weight (see image left). Between laughing and taking photos Sofi was able to help me out. Dusting the snow from my clothing I realized that my manhood, both figuratively and literally, had taken quite the bruising.

After six and a half hours the apex of Frey’s roof suddenly appeared behind a crest of snow. What a sight. As we ascended, the stone and wood structure slowly revealed itself along with its stunning backdrop of snow-capped spires.

We were greeted by the friendly staff who urged us to just drop our bags in the hall and relax a bit. Not needing to be told twice, we headed back outside to enjoy the afternoon sun and the achingly beautiful surrounds.

Setting up camp on a rock beside the frozen lagoon, I wasted no time in pulling out the two bottled Berlina beers from my bag. I had brought their Munich Ale and Foreign Stout as backup in case the draft beer was no longer available. With the late afternoon sun showing an intensity that belied our location it seemed appropriate to try the Munich first.

The Munich Ale was born out of Bruno Ferrari’s desire to offer patrons a house blonde that wasn’t a pilsner. Brewed from three types of crystal malt, it poured golden brown with a nice fluffy white head. An earthy aroma pointed to the use of German Hallertau hops, while the local Cascade hops provided a slight bitterness to an otherwise light body that finished dry on the palate. Just the thing after a long day of hiking.

As the sun began to retreat so did we, back to the warmth of the mountain refuge. During summer all food, beer and wine is brought to the refuge on horseback. In winter, this task is left to man. As such, only essential items are replenished during the colder months.

So it was with little expectation that I approached the small kitchen to ask if there was any beer left. “Sure!” came the reply. “Which one do you want, the Munich or the Foreign Stout?” I plumped for the Stout to go with my pasta and mushroom sauce.

The stout arrived at the same time as the food. I’d assumed the mushroom sauce would be cream based, so when a tomato based concoction arrived I was a little taken aback. I shouldn’t have worried; it was delicious with a subtle spice kick that you rarely find in Argentinean cuisine.

The stout handled it with aplomb, its espresso flavours combining nicely with the mushrooms while its natural sweetness counteracted the acidity of the tomatoes beautifully. Who am I kidding, I was staving and thirsty and would have found happiness in the sole of my hiking boats and the sweat from my stinking socks.

All said and told I probably didn’t uncover the greatest match to grace the beer and culinary worlds, however I did discover a great place to enjoy the pleasures of local craft beer. The mountain refuge provided it all. A beautiful sunny afternoon to enjoy the very drinkable Munich Ale and a cosy, congenial atmosphere at night where the stout seemed right at home. I couldn’t help but think about All About Beer’s recent article 150 Perfect Places to Have a Beer; they might want to make that 151.

A Man, His Muse and the Beginnings of a Revolution

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 03 Aug 2010 23:03:00 +0000

Fifteen years ago Bruno Ferrari was living the hippy lifestyle in Northern Patagonia, paying his way by selling homebrew out the back of his pickup. Now as Head Brewmaster at Berlina Microbrewery he is responsible for pumping out 15,000 litres of craft beer a month, a meteoric rise but not always a smooth one.

“It was the first time they let me brew by myself and I forgot to add the additional hops to the wort kettle,” says Ferrari, reminiscing about the three years he spent learning his craft in Germany.

"It overflowed and eight hours of work went to the floor. I was sent to the mill for two weeks," he adds with a smile.

Modest and unassuming, Bruno Ferrari is roughly bearded, with dreadlocks escaping from underneath a black beret. He looks part revolutionary, part renaissance artist, which maybe just what the Argentinean craft brewing industry needs.

"The revolution of beer is going to get here that’s for sure," predicts Ferrari partway through our interview (see below). “However, the industry is not growing as fast as it did in the United States twenty-five years ago when the revolution happened there. Within five years it just exploded, ” he says.

Beer in Argentina has historically played second fiddle to its more successful and internationally renowned cousin, wine. The past 40 years, however, have seen Argentina’s per capita beer consumption increase by nearly 200%, up from an almost embarrassing 10.8 litres in the 1970s to a more respectable 32 litres today¹.

While this figure still pales when compared to the gluttonous Czechs (140.9 L), Irish (124 L) and Germans (110.6 L)², Argentina’s newfound fondness for beer has helped microbreweries like Berlina establish themselves.

In 2004, Ferrari and his two brothers graduated to the professional ranks by opening the doors of the Berlina Brewpub, offering an IPA and Stout to willing customers. Within a few short years they had already exceeded the brewery’s 200 litres a month capacity, despite being located literally metres away from the well establish and popular Blest microbrewery.

Then in 2008, the brothers completed the construction of a 45,000 litres per month brewing and bottling facility in the picturesque Colonia Suiza (Swiss Colony) area of Bariloche, allowing them to meet growing demand while expanding into retail distribution.

However for every success story like Berlina, there are those here who have struggled to make the transition from brewing out of a garage to offering a commercially viable product.

“It’s a big difference between being a craft brewer and a home brewer,” says Ferrari.
“The science is the key. It makes up 95% of the process. The other 5% is art, which can’t be forgotten either,” he says.

Not that that’s likely to happen at Berlina, whose named for a long-forgotten 15th century muse.

“I was talking to a guy in a bar in Prague and he told me a story about how in the renaissance period brewers had their muse much like painters, poets, writers and musicians. According to him her name was Berlina,” Ferrari explains.

“However, with my bad German, him speaking Czech and us being drunk…” Ferrari laughs, trailing off.

Under the steady gaze of Berlina, Ferrari produces three beers all year round – a Munich Ale, an IPA and a Foreign Stout - with quite a number of other beers rotating in and out of production depending on the time of the year. *

“We want our beers to be a good interpretation [of the style] but also to give our own energy and our own shout,” Ferrari says enthusiastically.

“I’m sure you are going to drink any one of our beers and you are going to be sure it’s from Berlina. Not because they’re all the same because they are totally different, but because they have the brewmaster’s stamp,” he says emphatically.

When asked about the future, Ferrari’s goals are at once understated and ambitious.

“We want to get to lots of different places where people respect us and respect our product,” says Ferrari. “Not in huge quantities but to get to places where people respect Berlina,” he says.

With international distribution talks already underway, getting the beer “there” looks like a near certainty. Gaining respect in competitive international markets will be the greater challenge, a challenge these ambitious brothers are clearly up for.

_{* Seasonal beers include a German Weissbier offered in summer, a Belgium Strong Ale available during winter and smoked and alt beers on tap during Spring and Autumn respectively.}

¹ww.infobae.com
²Kirin Institute of Food and Lifestyle Report Vol. 22, 2008 Beer Consumption in Major Countries, December 21, 2009.

The IPA That Started it All

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 22:55:00 +0000

I still remember the first craft beer I had ever had in Bariloche – an Indian Pale Ale, fiery red in colour with a powerful hop burst to match. The snappy, dry finish cleansed the palate, leaving it fresh to enjoy the next gulp anew. I looked down into my pint in wonderment.

An old local man saddled up beside me. “It’s beautiful isn’t it,” he said in his lyrical English. “When all the parts come together and work as one, it can be magic,” he continued.

I readily agreed with him before realizing he was referring to the Salsa being danced in front of us and not the beer. I was in a local bar with students from my Spanish class. The Spanish school I was attending at the time put on nightly activities, and that night was Salsa lessons. I decided to leave the Salsa to the experts, besides I had already found my partner for the night. I ordered another.

The Perfect Match

The following day, slightly hung-over, I met Sofi. A beautiful Argentinean, who speaks perfect English – my type of girl. It didn’t take long before I had put aside my plans to travel the rest of South America and became ensconced in Bariloche life, learning the language (sort of), eating the delicious Patagonian food and trying many of the local craft beers. This lasted for six happy months before my dwindling bank account meant that I had to resume my journey. I had a one-year permit to work in Canada and managed to convince Sofi to join me. We ended up staying a year and a half and in that time, amongst many other things, I started to discover the delights of matching beer with food via Garrett Oliver's wonderful book The Brewmaster's Table, among many others.

An Unlikely Expert

Having now returned to Bariloche, I’ve decided to put this theory into practice. My plan is to visit each of the craft breweries here – there are quite a few as you will soon find out – and try to match their wonderful beers with the local cuisine. Not only that, I have decided to chronicle my adventures here, in this blog. Now I don’t profess to be a beer expert. I like beer to be sure, but an expert I am not. However, I own a bike, I have time on my hands and to be frank with you no one else applied for the job so you’re sort of stuck with me. So with that, let’s begin shall we?