Bobbing For Shovelhead
by Randy Lawrence
On the drive home from the Friday night Canal Street market in Newark, laden with exotic jam, seasonings, and salsas, fresh veggies and designer cookies, not to mention a cooler stuffed with bison, pork, and chicken from Thornville’s Cherokee Valley Farms, I began to feel the gravitational pull of the Buckeye Lake Brewery. I’d received word that upon the “Pay A Pint Forward” wall stood evidence of the kindness of, if not strangers, strange friends leaving kind gifts of liquid largesse waiting to be claimed.
“Gravitational pull” isn’t quite right; it was more like the steady tug of fishing line, a shovelhead catfish pouting on the other end, steady, stubborn, inexorable. So when storms began blowing in along the I-70 corridor and the security service called to report a power outage back home on my farm, I took both as a sign: “Go forth, son, and getcha some.”
Buckeye Lake’s streets were busy, the steady rebound from the low water years continuing to lift both boats and commerce. The Brewery parking lot was jammed, but there was just enough room for one battered ‘Yota farm truck out back. I shoved a good book under my shirt to keep it out of the rain, reading material against not meeting anyone I wanted to talk to, and made a dash around the building, tolled by the smoky aroma from Smitty’s Real Pit BBQ truck camped along the street.
I ducked inside, found an empty stool, and glanced up into my reflection in the bar back mirror. Who is that Cranky Looking Old Guy, and what did he do with Me-The-Way-I-Thought-I-Looked? Duly noted since the morning’s shave was that I had (a) not gotten any younger, or (b) handsomer, nor (c) grown any new hair any place I might want it. But by gar, I could put a smile on that C.L.O.G. face!
To that end, I mentioned to the affable young fellow behind the bar that I had stopped by for a “Shovelhead with a bobber.”
That deserves a bit of explanation.
If you haven’t heard by now, Buckeye Lake Brewery’s Shovelhead 2X IPA is an “Imperial” or “double” IPA. It was described by one Michael Paull in the August 17, 2016 Columbus Dispatch as “sport(ing) a unique tropical-fruit hop flavor profile and a deliciously cool, sweet, malty balance. Its hazy, effervescent polished-copper pour puts up a short layer of thick white foam and an aroma that is all tropical fruit at first. Malt notes are more detectable as the beer breathes and transition smoothly into a well-balanced but definitely hop-forward first sip.”
My oh my.
Honestly, beyond being both “hazy” and “effervescent” a time or two myself, I’m not sure I understand a lot of Michael’s purple beer dude prose, but it seems artfully complimentary and carries a certain gravitas beyond the review I wrote on that rainy Friday:
“It’s hot outside. I am sweating through the second shirt of the day, and I am really thirsty. As good as Shovelhead is in bottles, on tap, it’s got a crisper, brighter fruit-tinged lilt (“Lilt”? Eat your ink-stained heart out, Michael Paull !) that makes it really, really good and my favorite beer of any kind available anywhere.”
That, and the pièce de résistance – Kaley Porter’s bobber.
Actually, I didn’t know that Kaley was the author of the Shovelhead’s signature “bobber” – a perfectly rounded scoop of frozen grapefruit one can choose to have…well…bobbing in his or her beer, a clever play on the lake fishing motif.
It’s worth noting that I generally consider fruit in beer as a(nother) quick ticket to surrendering one’s Man Card. But there at the Buckeye Lake Brewery home office, that little scoop of grapefruit isn’t just a gimmick or some fru-fru garnish. It slowly melts into that lovely, old gold brew, adding tang to the taste as one savors every sip.
“The bobber was Kaley’s idea,” the bartender said, just as Kaley Porter, Girl Genius, came ‘round the corner with an empty pint glass.
Brandishing my cell phone, I asked Kaley if I could take her picture scooping a bobber and pulling a Shovelhead. She rolled her eyes and sighed.
“OK. I’m not having a bad hair day. Go ahead.”
Kaley reached a small steel bucket from a freezer under the bar and corralled a single frozen grapefruit round, dumping it into a glass. I followed her to the tap wall and watched how a pro pours a great beer, slow and steady with just the right tilt.
Back on my stool, my Buckeye Lake brew gleaming against the counter, Kaley Porter’s grapefruit bobber floating high and proud, I caught another glimpse in the bar back mirror. I may not always recognize me, but I can spot a Shovelhead smile from clear across the taproom.