Stop on by the brewery Saturday March 16th between 12 & 6pm to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, or as we like to call it, EBC Irish Fest – The Feast of St. Patrick. To celebrate, we’ve got a new beer release, Custom Melt serving up Irish inspired food, and the tale of St. Patrick.
- When: Saturday March 16th from 12-6pm
- Where: Enegren Brewing Company Tasting Room
- What: Custom Melt and Captain Patrick’s Irish Stout Release
The new beer we’re releasing on Saturday for the event is Captain Patrick’s Irish Stout. Named after the great Captain Patrick who saved the land of Ire, the stout is 4.0% ABV – a bit of a change from the strong beers we’ve been brewing recently. Dark in color with a medium body, the brew has a nice roasted flavor, hints of coffee and chocolate, and a very smooth finish. The hop bitterness is mild yet noticeable and complements the natural roasted malt flavor well. Quite a different stout than Daniel Irons.
Captain Patrick’s Irish StoutMALT:
ABV: 4.0% | IBU: 36
SG: 1.043 | FG: 1.013
Custom Melt Sets up Shop
In addition to our Irish Stout release – Custom Melt is stopping by again and setting up shop and serving an Irish themed menu.
- Corned beef braised in Irish stout and cabbage patty melt
- Green mac ‘n cheese with bangers
- Irish car bomb flavored bread pudding
They’ll be serving from 12pm – 6pm, and all the food pairs great with the Irish Stout.
The Tale of St. Patrick
Oars dipped feverishly into the dark sea as the weathered wooden galley approached the shore. Rain hammered the deck and the lightning flashing on the coast line seemed to have brought the dead leafless trees to a terrifying lively state. Fear gripped the souls of the crew as they pulled the oars, bringing the ship closer and closer to a destination believed to be their last. It was a land that few men had ever traveled to, and one feared by many. The people of this land were thought to be possessed by the devil himself. It was a land where rivers were dry – a land where the sun had ceased to shine. It was the land of Ire.
No man even dared to utter the name of this island, let alone travel to it, but there was one exception: One man. Braver than any man in all of the land, and one man determined to put an end to Satan’s grip on the people of Ire. He stood a towering 6 foot 4, a giant in his time. His beard, red as blood, stretched across his sharp rocky face. He was the captain of the ship. He was Captain Patrick.
As the ship pitched in the waves he walked calmly down the deck, grazing his fingers along the rows of barrels. The barrels were filled with a special concoction brewed with the fruits of barley and bitter flowers from the English hills. Black as the stormy night, smooth as the clouds in the sky, it was the only hope for the damned people of Ire.
As the ship skidded to the muddy shore, a long ramp splashed down and the men jumped out to secure the ship. The frothy black water crashed along the sides of the ship as Captain Patrick shouted orders amidst the deafening rumble of thunder and whistling winds. The barrels rolled down the ramp. Boots sloshed in the muddy sand as the men struggled to push the barrels up the shoreline where they waited on a narrow roadway. The last to exit the ship was one mighty ox. Pulled by four men, it roared as it was eventually coaxed down the ramp.
Upon meeting at the road with all barrels accounted for and a cart being fashioned to the ox, the men began to make their way into the land with their path being lit by the intermittent flashes of lightning. The wheels creaked as they rolled over roots of dead withering trees. Steam hissed out the nostrils of the ox and chills ran down the backs of the crew. Panic stricken, eyes shifted back and forth and the men jumped at every crash of thunder. But Patrick, steadfast in every step ahead maintained his composure. While the rest of the crew was armed with shield and sword, he trudged ahead wearing only a modest tunic and in his hand a wooden mallet and a brass tap. As the column of men and cargo made it through the wooded road, whispers could be heard through the trees. Faint figures seemed to dart ahead and disappear into the distance.
The men had been marching for eight weary hours and had just come into town as the darkness gave way to the red dawn of the coming morn. It looked inhabited. It was almost as if civilization had just vanished. But vanished they had not. Just ahead a figure stepped out through the dense fog in front of an earthen hut. It was a young boy. Tattered, were his clothing. Muddy, was his face. Empty, was his soul. He stared for what seemed like miles. And in that brief moment the men were lost in his deep empty eyes, people began emerging from the surrounding huts. Behind them and to the sides of them… they were everywhere. They moved closer and closer. Dragging their legs, limping, staring through their souls, they slowly surrounded the Captain and his men. It was the people of Ire. The damned civilization that existed as that of folklore and a dark myth was now closing in on them from every direction. The men feared their weapons were useless against them. The dead cannot die they thought. And it was in that moment, just as the crowd was close enough to grab them, Captain Patrick raised his mallet high into the air in his right hand and with his left firmly pressed the tarnished brass tap against the barrel. All was silent. His bright blue eyes scanned across the people and the wind blew through his red hair. With a grin of his white teeth he drove the tap through the side of the barrel sending a magnificent geyser of black beer into the sky raining down over the land and its’ people. The fog cleared. Trees and shrubs, dead for years, filled with green life. The people of Ire, astonished, looked as if they had awoken from the dead. They began to smile and hug each other. The curse was finally broken and for the rest of the day the people of the land of Ire filled their tankards with the beer of Captain Patrick and rejoiced. They danced through the bright day and told stories under the starry night sky.
It was he, Captain Patrick, that saved the souls of the land. It was he that made the people proud to call themselves Irish once again.
And for his glorious work on that very day, the day a whole civilization had been saved from the cold grips of evil, he became a Saint.