Sour Wheat
12oz | ibu 7 | 5.7% alc/vol
Based on the Hefeweizen style, cloudy with a mildly sweet fruitiness. This beer has a lemony, citrusy, tartness that makes it very refreshing.
In collaboration with:
IRISH RED ALE
12oz | ibu 25 | 5.8% alc/vol
They called her Red. She had a shock of fiery red hair and a temperament to match. This particular characteristic in a woman was not met kindly in the year of 1848, in the throes of the Great Famine. Drochshaol was on everyone’s lips. The Revolution was the last straw. Red had a few tricks up her sleeve, and one happened to be her ticket out of this ire muck. Secret recipes, entrusted to her by the owner of the pub she had come to call home. In the wake of his passing, she made the decision to leave her life as a barmaid behind, and boarded a ship bound for America.
It took no longer than a month or two before Red decided she could no longer stomach the boredom bound life of a housemaid. With nothing but her unabating resolve and the scribblings of an old drunk, she set out to make something of herself. Not having the build or the patience to join the monotonous ranks of the railroad workers, she decided her next and best bet was the life of a performer. She struck out for the circus. Naturally, to match her red hair, personality and temper, it was only fitting that she become a fire eater.
After a particularly scorching performance in New York, Red required some medical attention. She flung open the doors to the new Ringmaster’s quarters to find a roguishly handsome man about her age. Love at first sight. The wedding was untraditional, to say the least- attended by lions, elephants, monkeys, tiny horses, tightrope walkers, contortionists and one bearded lady.
In the spring of 1889, the circus made its way through the Great Plains to perform in a little place to be known as Oklahoma. Her fiery red hair now soft as the autumn leaves, his youthful good looks gone rugged, the two were ready to retire. Bidding farewell to the circus life, they mounted their zebras and joined the land run at high noon on April 22nd. They staked their claim on two adjacent 160-acre parcels of land. A hidden oasis out among the flat fields and stretching sky, with a large pond, a few cliffs, and trees that stretched up to the heavens. There, they would build a one-room cabin deep in the woods and call it home.
One warm day in a year not far from their last, Red came upon the old pub owner’s secret recipes. They had been hidden away in a book, in a box, on a shelf, lost and forgotten. In her mind she could almost remember the taste on her tongue. She’d kept the secret long enough. It was time to share.
IMPERIAL STOUT
12oz | ibu 29 | 8.0% alc/vol
Viktor was a gentle soul with a conqueror’s name. Born in Russian America in 1825, he had a heart for helping animals. When he was young, his parents each worked two jobs to provide at least one square meal a day for their children. Viktor always saved his scraps for the strays, who now gathered every night outside the shack they called home. He was the third of nine, and when his parents were away, the well-being of his siblings fell to him. When he was twelve, the family left what little they had behind and made their way to New York.
The city of New York was a tough one. Nevertheless, Viktor spent hours caring for the neighborhood’s forgotten creatures. One muggy evening, he happened upon a Robin on the brink of certain death, but magically, almost by touch, he managed to bring the small bird back to life. From that day forward, Viktor resolved to allow nothing to keep him from his dreams of working with animals.
There were setbacks, sure. His family was broke and pressure grew for Viktor to work on the rail. The industry overwhelmed his ambition in his teenage years. He made a dollar a day and sent every penny back home to his family. If he was being honest, the danger of the job excited him, but there was no passion involved. Responsibility inevitably won out, and he did his best to forget the aspirations of his youth.
One fateful afternoon, a Robin appeared, resting gently on his hammer. Emboldened by destiny, or more likely, coincidence, Viktor left the miserable binds of the railroad labor force and never looked back. He immediately began applying for positions that mirrored his passion and was met with rejection, time and again. One day, he happened upon a leaflet for a local circus. The Ringmaster had tragically been consumed by a malnourished lion. They were in search of a replacement. What Viktor lacked in experience, he made up for in reckless ambition. Since no one in their right mind wanted the position, it was an easy sell. And so, Viktor became the Ringmaster of a circus full of misfits.
His first night on the job, he’d been so nervous to greet the crowd that he feigned sickness and sat alone in his Ringmaster quarters. Finally making his mind up to sneak under the tent flap and away from his obvious lapse of judgement, Viktor had just risen to flee when his doors swung open. A strikingly beautiful, and somewhat scorched, red-head burst through the doors. Despite the smell of singed hair that lingered, he knew then and there, this woman would be his wife.
HEFEWEIZEN
12oz | IBU 12 | 6.4% Acl/Vol
Just outside of what would one day become a small town known as Duncan, located in what would become the great state of Oklahoma, sat a parcel of land unlike any around. Trees and rolling hills covered the property, as well as a distinct set of slightly elevated cliffs just east of the twenty-six acre lake. A herd of wild horses freely roamed the land, basking in the uncultivated grandeur of the acreage.
One day, an odd-looking couple strode onto the land, bareback on a couple of zebras. They surveyed the land, the steeds, the lake, and staked their claim. This 320-acre tract would become their home. They built a one room cabin, surrounded it by fence and lived happily for 194 days until coyotes and laminitis took the zebras. They needed the powerful animals to assist them in their new way of life. Conjuring up the skill set of his past, Viktor set to work to tame the stallions.
Day after day, night after night, he thought up ways to make them his. He landed on a mediocre plan to camouflage himself with leftover circus makeup and await the perfect opportunity atop a tree branch. He would leap from the branch, survive the bucking that would surely follow, use the rope the bearded lady had given them as a wedding gift and give the steed a forever home. Five days passed without a single horse venturing under the tree of his stakeout. His stomach rumbled, the deer jerky he’d consumed the day he began this venture long gone. Suddenly, a bright flame burst through the dim light of sunset. It was his magnificent wife, running through the pasture wielding a flaming branch and shepherding the horses in his direction. Two stopped just beneath his branch to look back at the maniacal woman who had given them the scare. Now was his chance.
Viktor plunged off the branch in pencil pose between the horses, flinging the rope around their necks, one arm around each midsection. They startled, ran, bucked and dragged, but Viktor maintained his grip. Their rage finally subsided and the horses came to a stop. Viktor led them back to the cabin, determining a name for their property as he walked.
This place would be known from this day forth as Wildhorse.
Cream Ale
12oz | Ibu 15 | 6.0% alc/vol
Born in 1931, in the midst of The Great Depression, Sam was a tough old bird. The years had done a number on him and left his mind far superior to his physique. He was tall, scrawny and a self-proclaimed ‘old codger.’ He often wore suspenders to keep his pants from drooping and a cowboy hat reminiscent of his younger days. He coined the phrase “well I’ll be jiggered,” and collected arrowheads as a hobby. He lived deep within the woods of the Wildhorse estate in an abandoned one-room cabin that he’d staked claim to years ago. This was luxury living compared to the dugout he’d lived in decades ago in the treacherous desert of New Mexico. Living on coyote carcasses and cactus water was no way to live, but he had made do.
Presently, every day looked like the next. He’d sit in his worn-out chair, on the porch of his decaying cabin, pondering truths about the Universe and mysteries of the world while chewing on his corncob pipe. On occasion, Sam would venture into town to challenge the wits of the other local old-timers over a steaming hot cup of joe. None of them could keep pace with his uncompromising intellect and the magnitude of the discoveries he’d made. Sam decided it best to keep his findings neatly scribbled within a mountain of notepads and books for safekeeping.
One dreadfully humid summer day, Sam noticed a creaking in the floor he had previously ignored. Underneath, hidden deep within the rickety wooden floors of the worn-out cabin, lay a box. Inside the box was a book. Inside the book were recipes scratched on a browned and battered piece of paper. He recognized them as the fabled beer recipes that were rumored to have been smuggled from a notorious Irish pub over a century and a half ago. While not a brewing man himself, he imbibed most evenings from an old growler he’d discovered within the cabin. Chemistry was his strong suit and the idea of replicating the famous brews excited him.
After hiding the recipes safely where he’d found them, Sam stepped outside and eased into his worn-out chair. With his Winchester placed safely beside him, Sam nodded off to sleep.
INDIA PALE ALE
12oz | ibu 82 | 7.3% alc/vol
Mr. Kochendorfer was a young man with an ambition that matched the immensity of his last name. At the age of three he decided he wanted to become a magician, so he taught himself how to escape from a zipped piece of luggage while sinking to the depths of his neighbor’s pool. Becoming tired of magic in adolescence, he became a self-taught acrobat at the age of eighteen. At twenty-one, he met Laura. Bedazzled by her sharp wit and relentless humor, he determined this would be the woman with whom he would grow in life and age. They would share aspirations and build them together, whether they be successes or failures.
With nothing to hold them back, they set off on adventures far and wide. From Germany to Bulgaria, Asheville to San Diego, they soaked in the culture of the planet and its people. Deciding to finally settle down, they laid roots in Oklahoma and started a family. Having picked up the art of beer brewing in his travels, Mr. Kochendorfer built a rudimentary brewery in his garage. He quickly became known by all his friends, neighbors and family as a master of his craft. Although he agreed his brews were enjoyable, he still felt the relentless urge to better himself and create something to be enjoyed the world over.
Pondering this impulse while hiking aimlessly one day, Mr. Kochendorfer ventured further into the Wildhorse woods than he had ever gone before. He happened upon a run-down cabin. The old man outside was asleep. Through the window, he could see many books, most with titles that were far outside of his intellectual capacity. Several books on Chemistry caught his eye. Slinking round the corner and observing the old man, he noticed a growler full of beer. Interest piqued, he determined this was a man he needed to know. Quietly stepping onto the patio and making certain the Winchester was safely out of reach, he awoke the old man. That day was a major bump in the road of what would ultimately become their journey to friendship. The old man couldn’t help but admire the young man’s tenacity, and they eventually became as close as family. On his deathbed, the old man gave him a browned and battered piece of paper.
PALE ALE
12oz | ibu 46 | 6.5% alc/vol
Mr. Cripps was a beer man. He refused the breast as a babe and took nothing but a bottle of water, barley and hops. In middle school, he traded his fruit punch for apple juice in the lunchroom and spent his recess time fermenting cider. Years passed, and he slowly transformed into a white-haired man with kind eyes and a laugh that shook the room. Now retired, he lived on his sprawling acreage near the Wildhorse estate with his beautiful wife, Kathryn, and their two hounds, Bacchus and Barley. He had been fortunate to find a partner in life who shared his fervor for all things beer.
They had traveled the world together, and on their journeys, they acquired immeasurable treasures from every brewery, alleyway bar and flea market. The greatest possessions of them all however, were not tangible things, but the lessons he learned within the brewery walls. Reinheitsgebot was the law he would come to live by. He became a brewmaster, and a master of brew he was. Now retired, he spent his days over a hot flame and boiling wort. Everyone living within a ten-mile radius of his estate came to visit at least once a week to fill their growlers full of his homemade concoctions. There was no question- this man produced the world’s greatest beer. Although he knew his brews were superior, there was a longing inside his soul. A longing to share his talents with the world.
Years passed and Mr. Cripps finally relented to the idea that his beers would only be famed upon the lips of his fellow neighborhood brethren. Suddenly, there came a knock at his door. Knowing it must be a stranger, because no one ever knocked, he slowly opened the door. Outside was a young man who went by the name of Kochendorfer. Mr. Kochendorfer introduced himself and explained that he had heard that Mr.Cripps was a master of his craft. He welcomed him inside his brewery in the woods just behind his home. Mr. Kochendorfer was so impressed with his brews that he quickly decided he was the one he would share his secret with. He slowly pulled out a browned and battered piece of paper. Having had some of Mr. Cripps’ barley wine, the paper slipped from his hand and landed in a pool of spilled beer and disintegrated immediately. Mr. Kochendorfer stood speechless, feeling his hopes and dreams slip away as fast as the paper dissolved.
Mr. Cripps looked at him and let out his signature laugh. “If you thought those recipes were the key to successfully brewing the best beer in the world, wait until you see all of mine!” And just like that, a partnership was formed.
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