Craft Beers, Koozies, and a Cult

By Ian Guevara

“Yo man, over there, that’s our leader Zachariah,” Jacob, a local gutter-punk stated, pointing into the direction of a lean man sunbathing on an Egyptian carpet under the sun.

What did I just hear? How did I get here? Do I want to meet this cult leader? Have I had too much to drink? Do I need more to drink?

Asheville has officially gotten weird.

I left Green Man Brewing Company with the intention to head over to Archetype Brewing Company. Only a 20 minute walk down Lexington Avenue, I began my walk through the guts of Asheville with wide eyes and a grin.

The city is beautiful.

Inexplicably placed among rolling hills in a shallow valley among the Blue Ridge Mountains, I find myself consistently befuddled by the layout of this city. I now realize how many people visiting New Orleans feel when they look at a map of the city and suffer a slight aneurysm.

Thankfully my walk is a straight shot, and serendipitously I have the privilege of wading through the rapids of Asheville’s culture. Downtown Asheville is where brick and steel meet, melding turn of the century red brick railroad architecture with modern concrete and steel. The combinations create an eclectic and varied skyline, rapturing appreciators of urban landscaping.

It’s hard not to just enter random bars and breweries lying upon my path. The music blaring out of every bar, a mixture of bluegrass, grunge, and rock. Inviting surroundings, neon signs, christmas lights strung on ceilings, and endless taps. Stunning bartenders from far off cities, covered in colorful tattoos and short jeans willing to endure endless conversations from drunk patrons. Beer Valhalla.

I hoofed the crest of Lexington Avenue over the bluff and walked down toward the confluence of Lexington Avenue, Highway 24, and Interstate 240. Under the overpass I noticed my left shoe laces unraveled. The overpass looked like a safe oasis from the berating sun, magnified by the urban sprawl and global warming, and seemed like a good place to tie my shoes.

“What up man, my name is Jacob, do you have any weed?” I look up and find a lithe man in his mid forties, shirtless, wild eyed, gray hair dreaded, and smelling of body odor and cheap liquor. I shook his hand out of sheer nervous politeness. An error in judgment. I was locked into a conversation my Southern gentility would not be able to evade.

“Uh, no man, I don’t do that. But I do like to drink.” I answer, stupidly. I should have just kept walking. I know better. I’ve lived around gutter punks my whole life in New Orleans. Walking around the French Quarter and the Marigney used to put you front and center with this punk subculture. Voluntarily homeless, gutter punks immerse themselves in the panhandling and drug lifestyle, often living off of their trust funds from wealthy elite Northeastern families.

I didn't listen to that little voice in my head. I didn’t walk away.

“Yeah man, I’m on a mission to hit over 30 breweries in five week,” I started to give this dude the sales pitch… Am I really this drunk? Like this guy is barely sober. His eyes are moving faster than Tyreke Hill’s “accidental” backhand.

I hand Jacob my “card,” a koozie emblazoned with the Trail Hoppin symbol and website.

“This is cool man. You got any smokes? Can you buy me a pack of smokes? The Shell station is right around the corner man? You can help me out right?” Jacob spoke so fast I barely understood his words.

“Nah man, I’m out, but If I do go, I’ll hook you up,” I had no intention of doing so, I’m trying to get out of this without being dragged down a weird road.

I look around and realize I’ve been surrounded by 10 more gutter punks. Some holding tall boys, some tattered backpacks, and others holding leashed malnourished muts. If I panic, they’ll smell the blood in the water and will attack with stories about their Indie bands. I must remain calm.

I look up to see a younger gutter punk, clean shaven, dreaded, and wearing a bright clean and unwrinkled Nike performance shirt. His brand new Jordan 1s glimmered in the sun, the red patent leather almost blinding me. He scratches his head and squints his eyes as he steps toward me.

“I heard you’re giving out free weed bro?” He asks.

“Nah man, don't do the stuff,” I answer as his brow furrows and his clean Jordan 1s perform a perfect about face, walking away toward the hovel of other gutter punks. One down, but I remain surrounded by nine more.

“All right now, y'all take it easy,” I say as I try to wiggle myself out of the crowd like a toddler in the middle of a naptime tantrum.

“You’re pretty cool, man,” states Jacob, clasping his grimy hands on my deltoid.

He effortlessly moves me in a 180 degree turn toward a small set of trees looking over the intersection.

“Yo man, over there, that’s our leader Zachariah,” Jacob stated, pointing into the direction of a lean man sunbathing on an Egyptian carpet under the sun.

At this moment I found the distant instincts of fear and flight begin to swell within me. Before you could say “Helter Skelter” I launched through a small crack in the line of gutter punks like Alvin Kamara finding daylight among linemen, and beelined toward Archetype Brewing Company.

With the cult gathering behind me, I walked up Broadway Street with extreme vigor finding the location of the brewery. It was closed. CLOSED. I walked through booby traps more dangerous than the Amazon temple in Raiders of the Lost Ark just to find my destination defying god and its google schedule. What to do? Where to go?

The previous day, after suffering through a hangover and completing my brewery visits, I wandered around the streets of South Asheville. After getting turned around several times, I pulled out Apple Maps and found my route home. Upon that mini journey, I passed a brewery that was not on my original list. So after being denied Archetype, I decided to pivot and call an Uber… I’m not walking back under the overpass.

Opened in 2001 making it one of the early breweries to make its mark in Asheville, French Broad River Brewery is a sizable brewery located not far from Biltmore Village on Fairview Road. The tap room is quite large, offering space for multiple tables and a stage for live music. Outside the brewery provides seating under cover or out by the creek. French Broad River provides over 15 brews all colorful, consistent, and tasty.

My first flight flowed with “Goldenrod”, “River’s Mist”, “Spring Forward”, and “Nitro Cherry”. Goldenrod is a Pilsner displaying a lovely gold color and a bready and hoppy scent. It’s light and crispy with a subtle sweet start and muted hoppy finish. When sipping this beer my mind immediately floods with sports… lawn care… Dad beer. Rivers Mist is a New England Style Hazy IPA showing an old gold color with that classic hop and citra scent, yet not as hazy as one would expect. The hops are STRONG, impeding the taste from start to finish with only a slight juicy flavor.

Spring Forward is a Saison revealing a canary color with a floral and earthy aroma. It’s down to earth like a good grounded friend who doesnt branch out much. It starts off peppery and earthy with a yeasty twist. Nitro Cherry is a Stout appearing in a dark and mysterious umber color inviting curiosity and adventure while also producing a heavy malty sweet smell. It’s light and crispy for a stout starting toffee like and ending with a little chocolate twist.

My second flight produced a lovely rainbow of golds and ambers with “Gateway”, “Redman”, “13 Rebels”, and “Micha Wee Heavy”. Gateway is a Kolsch expressing a straw color and a muted hop and malt fragrance. It’s light and SUPER crispy, definitely a DAD BEER candidate that’s popping and airy to start followed by a balanced malt and hop taste. Redman is a Session IPA presenting a deep gold color with a slightly citra and heavy hop smell. It possesses a balanced bitterness from start to finish with a lovely citra aftertaste.

Micha Wee Heavy is a Scotch Ale unveiling a slight tawny color and a sweet roasty smell. It’s rich and smooth with a toasty start and a sweet and airy caramel finish. The star of the flights was the 13 Rebels, an ESB English Style Pale Ale. I never in my life thought I would have a bitter ale become the top beer, but here we are. 13 Rebels parades a copper color with a mild balance of hop and malt aroma. It’s malty sweet to start possessing an excellent balanced bitterness making it just a lovely beer.

French Broad River Brewery is open Monday and Tuesday from 1pm to 8pm, Wednesday and Thursday from 1pm to 9pm, and Friday through Sunday from 11am to 9pm. The brewery provides a broad schedule of events weekly including a Grateful Dead cover band called “Jerry’s Dead” that I unfortunately missed out on. If I ever return to Asheville I’m making my way back to see that band.