Angie Durbin fills a growler with Legend Porter at Legend Brewing Co. (Photos by Lee Graves)
The waitress behind the bar smiled at the grumbling.
“You call this a pint? You don’t even know how to pour a proper beer,” said one red-faced, middle-age gent sitting with comrades among glasses ringed with foam.
Her grin said his grousing was just the good-natured teasing of a regular customer at Legend Brewing Co.
She went about the task I had handed her: filling a growler with Legend Imperial IPA.
A 32-ounce growler from Wild Wolf Brewing Co., left, and a 64-ounce version from James River Brewing Co.
I am on a growler kick, and for good reason. Buy one of the brown glass jugs at any brewery or upscale beer emporium, take it to most any reputable establishment that makes or sells beer, have it filled with the freshest craft draft of your choice, return home and quaff at your leisure (sharing with like-minded beer lovers, of course). After you’ve drained said growler, give it a quick wash and you’re ready for another adventure. You have not only enjoyed delicious beer but also avoided contributing to the mass of material trucked to recycling centers or landfills. It’s a green thing.
The particular growler I brought to Legend originated weeks ago in Scottsville, at James River Brewing Co. Chris Kyle, vice president of operations, and I chatted about beers and business while he filled the growler with First Class Rapids Ale. For $12, I got 64 ounces of a British-style IPA brewed with an eye toward the heritage of the style, when hops such as Fuggle and East Kent Golding preserved ale on voyages from England to India.
An IPA of a different stripe was taking its place at Legend. Imperial styles — bigger, bolder versions of whatever — are all the rage, and Legend’s offering hit all the right notes.
As the pour peaked, my waitress produced a piece of plastic wrap. “Someone told me that growlers with screw-on tops might not hold the pressure sometimes,” she said. “So one of our customers showed me this tip of putting plastic wrap on the top, then screwing it down.” She smiled. “It seems to work.”
Indeed. Both the growler and the beer proved highly satisfactory.
Later that week, I growled again. This time I went to Capital Ale House’s location at Innsbrook. I took a smaller bottle, one with a ceramic top rather than a twist-on cap, from Wild Wolf Brewing Co. in Nellysford, Va. Growlers come in various styles but hark back to a common heritage, when pails of beer carried from pub to home would slosh, making a growling sound.
Before I sallied up to the Cap Ale bar, I had planned to order a Virginia beer. But there among the rows of taps was my Achilles heel: Arrogant Bastard Ale. Gotta have it.
The waitress, equally as pleasant as the one at Legend, patiently filled the growler in stages. As the foam settled, I noticed the legion of growlers lining shelves throughout the restaurant.
Nationwide, growlers are a big part of the brewing movement, according to the Brewers Association in Colorado. Mike Killelea, head of the Virginia Craft Brewers Guild and brewmaster of Center of the Universe Brewing Co. in Ashland, told me recently that the trend has hit Virginia.
A new state law that allows brewers to sell pints and fill growlers on-site feeds the craft beer boom. “People can go to a brewery or brewpub, have a pint there and have a growler filled to take back home,” Killelea says.
The trend has bubbled up elsewhere. At the Whole Foods Market in Short Pump, Greg Self wears the crown of “Growler King.” He takes pride in the variety of beers available, going through about 20 kegs a week. “There are many people doing growlers now,” he says.
Meanwhile, at Cap Ale, as the waitress topped off my bottle and rang up the bill, we remarked that the Wild Wolf growler was about half the size of the 64-ounce jugs sold in-house. We hadn’t really paid attention to it earlier, but, to her credit, the waitress surmised that I shouldn’t be charged a 64-ounce price ($19 for Arrogant Bastard) for a 32-ounce growler. She consulted the manager, who promptly and graciously cut the cost in half.
Now, that’s the way to keep customers from grumbling while growling.
Angie Durbin fills a growler with Legend Porter at Legend Brewing Co. (Photos by Lee Graves)
The waitress behind the bar smiled at the grumbling.
“You call this a pint? You don’t even know how to pour a proper beer,” said one red-faced, middle-age gent sitting with comrades among glasses ringed with foam.
Her grin said his grousing was just the good-natured teasing of a regular customer at Legend Brewing Co.
She went about the task I had handed her: filling a growler with Legend Imperial IPA.
A 32-ounce growler from Wild Wolf Brewing Co., left, and a 64-ounce version from James River Brewing Co.
I am on a growler kick, and for good reason. Buy one of the brown glass jugs at any brewery or upscale beer emporium, take it to most any reputable establishment that makes or sells beer, have it filled with the freshest craft draft of your choice, return home and quaff at your leisure (sharing with like-minded beer lovers, of course). After you’ve drained said growler, give it a quick wash and you’re ready for another adventure. You have not only enjoyed delicious beer but also avoided contributing to the mass of material trucked to recycling centers or landfills. It’s a green thing.
The particular growler I brought to Legend originated weeks ago in Scottsville, at James River Brewing Co. Chris Kyle, vice president of operations, and I chatted about beers and business while he filled the growler with First Class Rapids Ale. For $12, I got 64 ounces of a British-style IPA brewed with an eye toward the heritage of the style, when hops such as Fuggle and East Kent Golding preserved ale on voyages from England to India.
An IPA of a different stripe was taking its place at Legend. Imperial styles — bigger, bolder versions of whatever — are all the rage, and Legend’s offering hit all the right notes.
As the pour peaked, my waitress produced a piece of plastic wrap. “Someone told me that growlers with screw-on tops might not hold the pressure sometimes,” she said. “So one of our customers showed me this tip of putting plastic wrap on the top, then screwing it down.” She smiled. “It seems to work.”
Indeed. Both the growler and the beer proved highly satisfactory.
Later that week, I growled again. This time I went to Capital Ale House’s location at Innsbrook. I took a smaller bottle, one with a ceramic top rather than a twist-on cap, from Wild Wolf Brewing Co. in Nellysford, Va. Growlers come in various styles but hark back to a common heritage, when pails of beer carried from pub to home would slosh, making a growling sound.
Before I sallied up to the Cap Ale bar, I had planned to order a Virginia beer. But there among the rows of taps was my Achilles heel: Arrogant Bastard Ale. Gotta have it.
The waitress, equally as pleasant as the one at Legend, patiently filled the growler in stages. As the foam settled, I noticed the legion of growlers lining shelves throughout the restaurant.
Nationwide, growlers are a big part of the brewing movement, according to the Brewers Association in Colorado. Mike Killelea, head of the Virginia Craft Brewers Guild and brewmaster of Center of the Universe Brewing Co. in Ashland, told me recently that the trend has hit Virginia.
A new state law that allows brewers to sell pints and fill growlers on-site feeds the craft beer boom. “People can go to a brewery or brewpub, have a pint there and have a growler filled to take back home,” Killelea says.
The trend has bubbled up elsewhere. At the Whole Foods Market in Short Pump, Greg Self wears the crown of “Growler King.” He takes pride in the variety of beers available, going through about 20 kegs a week. “There are many people doing growlers now,” he says.
Meanwhile, at Cap Ale, as the waitress topped off my bottle and rang up the bill, we remarked that the Wild Wolf growler was about half the size of the 64-ounce jugs sold in-house. We hadn’t really paid attention to it earlier, but, to her credit, the waitress surmised that I shouldn’t be charged a 64-ounce price ($19 for Arrogant Bastard) for a 32-ounce growler. She consulted the manager, who promptly and graciously cut the cost in half.
Now, that’s the way to keep customers from grumbling while growling.
Lee – Really enjoying to new column! Hope all is well with you.
the* new column…
Thanks for the explanation. I always wondered why I never saw growlers around RVA when they are much more popular in other cities.
A good friend and beer enthusiast brought some of Midnight Brewery’s finest to my house in a 64 ounce growler a few months ago. He forgot his growler when he left. My wife, who had never seen one before, promptly recycled it the next day! I replaced his and bought a few of my own shortly thereafter. Thanks for the good article Lee.
@Chris–Arrgh. At least it went into the recycling pile and not the trash. And a tip of the hat for replacing. I just got back from Champion Brewing Co. in Charlottesville yesterday with a growler of their Missile IPA (which is excellent). Their growlers are clear glass, which is interesting because more often I’ve seen them in brown glass because beer can be affected negatively by lots of exposure to light. But, as was pointed out to me, growlers are meant to be consumed while the beer is fresh; or, if the beer is unfiltered and can be aged, you… Read more »
Lee, I feel old , I remember my dad bringing home jugs of beer from the pub when i was boy. About a half gallon white metal enamel pitcher, and he would keep it covered with a damp cloth. Had no fridge but didn’t need one back then and I doubt the beer hung around long. Not sure i’m buying the origin of growler however.