Straight Outta Okemah

Driven West by drought, dust, and economic opportunity, a young Woodrow Wilson Guthrie set out from home in 1936, scribbling folk songs, letters, and memories that were published seven years later as the autobiographical novel Bound for Glory. "I was always a big hand to walk along and look at the things along the side of the road," he wrote. "Too curious to stand and wait for a ride. Too nervous to set down and rest. Too struck with the traveling fever to wait." 

In his book, Guthrie described the people he met as well as the societal ills he observed, but he also wrote about the beauty of America, a country the musician would cross again and again after his "traveling fever" originally took him from Texas to California by foot, car, and train. I first heard Dust Bowl Ballads in college, and since reading Bound for Glory I've decided that someday I'd like to follow in Guthrie's footsteps—using the book as a guide—to survey how much the landscape and lifestyle of the American Southwest has changed, and to learn what today's ribbon of highway might have in common with that of the late 1930s.

Until then, I'll have to explore his legacy in other ways. Fortunately, the Grammy Museum and Woody Guthrie Publications (with help from several other centennial sponsors) have joined forces to celebrate the life of one of the country's most influential singer-songwriters. All year long they've hosted conferences, theatrical performances, and concerts, and with a number of events remaining before the end of the year, there's still time to wish Woody a Happy Hundredth. I'd definitely like to make it to one of the last shows; hopefully other fans are planning to get their tickets, too.

Another Year, Another Beer

I look forward to coming home for Thanksgiving every year, although with gray skies in Baltimore, a part of me wishes my family could spend the holiday in San Antonio. The sun makes this Texan city particularly appealing when temperatures on the East Coast dip into the 40s, and on top of that, I discovered that it also has a youthful, yet accomplished beer scene.

Trying all of the craft breweries in the area wasn't an option during my abbreviated visit this summer, but I'm glad I didn't skip Freetail, which celebrated its first anniversary this weekend. Located in a small shopping plaza off a beltway that's easy to drive by if—like me—you don't know San Antonio well, Freetail serves pizza and large, freshly-made sandwiches in addition to a rotating selection of beers.

An inexpensive sampler seemed like a great way to get a better sense of their full range so I asked for a small pour of Interloper Stout, Torper Porter, Tadarida IPA, and Verano Sin Fin Saison along with a half pint of their year-round Freetail Ale. While I did enjoy all five styles, if I found myself in the vicinity again soon, I'd probably go for the malty, medium-bodied porter with its notes of coffee and caramel over the slightly less successful saison. A stronger beer at 6.4% ABV (vs. the porter's 5.6%), the Verano Sin Fin poured a cloudy yellow and had the fruity aroma I would expect from a saison, but lacked in spiciness and struck me as overly bitter in the finish. Finally, while it wasn't exactly the ideal drink for a hot summer afternoon, with a deep, roasty aroma, smooth mouthfeel, and smoky-sweet finish, the 6.2% Interloper is definitely a stout worth trying. Happy brewing, Freetail—here's to another year of beer.

Shine On

I knew I wouldn't want for good food on my first trip to the Lone Star State. For starters, it simply isn't the kind of place that does small helpings of anything. I was not, however, expecting to find so many suitable beers to wash down my meals with. Dozens is a low estimate.

Of the numerous local styles to choose from, I soon learned that the one oat soda you simply can't miss is Shiner Bock, brewed and bottled in the "Cleanest Little City in Texas." It was for sale nearly everywhere, and somehow, complemented most of what I ate during my brief visit. Especially the barbecue. In fact, my advice for anyone within a tank of gas from Hill Country is to head immediately to Lockhart, order some brisket at either Smitty's or Kreuz Market, and reach for the ram.

Now that I'm back at my editing desk in Brooklyn, I could really use a smooth, medium-bodied, ice-cold Shiner. It would certainly make this eighteenth-century philosophy go down easier. Unfortunately, Spoetzl doesn't currently distribute their dark lager to thirsty Northeasterners.