Royal Roadtrip

August 2, 2024 steveboilard3 Comments

I’d always felt that there are two kinds of towns in California (and perhaps beyond). The first is the generic and undistinguished town, with the usual collection of faceless corporate businesses (Applebee’s, Chili’s, Home Depot, Target, etc) and the same tract home developments with names like “Willow Creek” or “Creek Willow,” where you literally would not be able to tell which specific town you were in without a sign to tell you.

The second type is the town that has some distinctive character that makes it recognizable. This second category can be further subdivided into towns with an organic distinctiveness (due to their history or topography or whatever) and those that fabricate their character out of whole cloth.

I was reminded of this distinction when I recently received an article from loyal reader Karen Y. The article lists six “themed towns” in the US that “lean into their own unique identities.” Some of these, like Tombstone, Ariz., have legitimate historic links that make them special. Others, like Santa Claus, Indiana, less so.

*Predictably pointless 11 months out of the year.*

Two of the six “Themed Towns” are Leavenworth, Wash. (pop: 2,400) and Solvang, CA (pop: 6,000). Alert readers will recall my 2022 blog post about Leavenworth, which postures as a Bavarian village. As I noted in that post, the civic leaders in Leavenworth had visited the Danish-themed town of Solvang as part of their planning to go Full Saxon.

*Faux-Danish Solvang (from* The Discover Blog’s “Six Themed Towns” article).

Though not mentioned in the article, there’s a Swedish-themed town in California’s Central Valley that might warrant inclusion on the list. And, like Solvang, this town’s civic leaders also visited Leavenworth before they launched their Scandinavian make-over.

The “Swedish” town we’re talking about is Kingsburg (pop: 12,600), which is about 20 miles southeast of Fresno on CA-99. It is sited next to the Kings River. And it’s where I spent an enjoyable day this week.

Kingsburg enthusiastically embraces the Swedish vibe. Everywhere (and especially on the main street that cuts through downtown) you see Swedish flags, dala horses, half-timbered facades, and even a gigantic Swedish coffee pot. Check it out:

*Traditional folkcraft “Dala Horses” are everywhere*

*Even the town’s water tower fits the theme.*

*At Peet’s, its the cup rather than the pot that gets the Swedish treatment.*

Like so many California settlements, Kingsburg owes its existence in part to the railroad. In 1873 the Central Pacific Railroad established “Kings River Switch” as a flag stop, where boat-borne freight was transferred to rail (and vice versa). The town’s name was changed a number of times, to Wheatville to Kingsbury to Kingsburgh and finally to Kingsburg.

Notably, the railroad station still stands today. And fortuitously, I arrived on the one day of the week the station is open for tours. Docent Steve (no relation) showed me around. The current building was constructed in 1888, and was moved to Kingburg in 1902 to replace the original station that had burned down. Remarkably, both stations were constructed from the exact same plans (“Southern Pacific Common Standard No. 18”), so the replacement station was simply dropped directly onto the foundation of the station that had burned down.

The station/museum is maintained by an amazingly dedicated crew of volunteers. It’s been restored to appear as it did in 1922, when it was modernized with electric lights, steam heat, and a stucco facade. The latest restoration took place 2007-2015, and it’s a well-executed, authentic restoration. The station is full of period-correct antiques, including many pieces (such as the telephone, freight scale, and some furniture) that are original to the depot.

*The stucco walls are period-correct for the early 1920s.*

*Docent Steve in the office, with original scissors phone and telegraph.*

Docent Steve is a knowledgeable historian who’s eager to share his knowledge, but the one thing I couldn’t get him to shed much light on was: Where does Kingsburg’s Swedish connection come from?

This is a question I pursued at the local bakery. The woman behind the counter said she thought there used to be “a lot of Swedes living here,” but that “these days hardly anyone is Swedish.” She said she never really gives it much thought.

Next I asked at the coffee shop: “What’s the story behind the Swedish theme of this town?” asked I. The young woman seemed to be taken by surprise. “What Swedish theme?” To her it was all just decoration, I guess. “I commute from Fresno,” she added, as though that explains everything.

The clerk at my hotel darkly observed that “The Church controls everything in this town.” I wasn’t sure if she meant the Church of Sweden or a local parish or maybe some kind of Elmer Gantry figure. I thought it best not to ask her to elaborate.

Finally, at a local cafe a friendly woman (who, alas, wouldn’t consent to being photographed for this blog) advised me to talk to the owner of the Svensk Butik gift shop. “She knows all the history of this town.”

And that wasn’t an exaggeration. June (for that’s her name) comes from honest Swedish stock, was born in Kingsburg, and opened her shop here 39 years ago. She’s been a major force behind the town’s Swedish theme. Dressed in traditional Swedish garb, she told me the story behind Kingsburg.

Here’s the short version, and I apologize if I have garbled anything. Back in the 19th century, Swedish immigrants came to the Midwest to escape religious persecution and find employment. They took up mining, agriculture, and other trades. But over time some became restless and began to the west coast, where the weather was better, might be the ticket. A scouting expedition was dispatched, and through some fortuitous encounters that featured someone’s cousin, the scouting party determined Kingsburg would be a suitable place. Many Swedish-American families subsequently came out to settle in Kingsburg, and by the turn of the century virtually the entire town was ethnically Swedish.

Notably, those early settlers didn’t try to replicate the architecture and other trappings of the Old Country. They were just trying to sink roots and make an honest living. It was a fairly prosperous town, served by the railroad and the river.

In the 1960s the railroad ended its passenger service, and then CA-99 became multi-lane freeway that whisked travelers past the town without stopping. To make matters worse, many local residents made use of that same freeway to shop in Fresno and other towns. Kingsburg needed something to bring business back to its commercial center, and that something became the Swedish Plan. The aforementioned visit to Solvang followed. June tells me that the good folks of Solvang warned the Kingsburg delegation against becoming too much like Disneyland. Evidently there’s some regret among Solvang’s residents that the Danish village is built to serve tourists but not residents. June tells me that, in her opinion, Kingsburg found a good balance, where the Swedish theme is evident and attractive, but the underlying services remain practical and accessible to the town’s residents.

She also mentioned that Kingsburg holds an annual Swedish Festival every May, with native food, crafts, music, and the like. I may need to come back.

After hearing June’s story, I reconsidered my typology of organic vs. contrived theme towns. In some ways Kingsburg is promoting its very real Swedish history, although few of the current residents have any connection with the Old Country. But what struck me was the friendly vibe of the place. Every single person I spoke with was kind and welcoming and happy to be there. The public spaces were clean and attractive and welcoming..The main street even had Swedish music softly playing over speakers. Even if the Swedish heritage feels a bit forced, it doesn’t feel fake. This is just a nice, friendly, attractive town that I’d like to visit again.

There is one dark postscript to this story–Kingsburg is the headquarters of Sun-Maid Raisins, which is nice so far as it goes.

Caption from the back of the box: “On July 1, 1992, this box was dedicated by Mrs. Gayle Wilson, the wife of California Governor Pete Wilson, as the World’s Biggest Raisin Box. The box was originally constructed and filled with 16,500 pounds of Sun-Maid raisins to establish a world record in The Guinness Book of World Records by business students from California State University, Fresno, as part of a class project.”

However, a neighbor to the Sun-Maid plant is evidently at war with the company, putting up combative signs, maintaining an expose-themed Facebook page, and offering passersby “free tours” of the environmental degradation supposedly caused by Big Raisin.

*It doesn’t exactly look like the Cuyahoga River.*

It seems the neighbor (Doug Johnson) is upset that some of Sun-Maid’s “raisin processing discharge” ends up in his ditch. I can’t offer any judgments about his claims, but I will say that this doesn’t appear to be a Silkwood situation. So let’s move on to the..

BREW OF THE DAY

For reasons that are too convoluted and uninteresting to get into here, I had my BOTD at the Seal Beach Grill in Seal Beach, CA. It was a warm day, so I decided an IPA would do the trick. The Seal Beach Grill does not brew its own beer, so I had an Elysian Space Dust IPA. Elysian Brewing is based in Seattle, and, like so many breweries, is owned by Anheuser-Busch. But let’s not hold that against them.

Space Dust is a bright, flavorful IPA. It’s got a fresh sweetness that’s nicely balanced with several different types of hops. It presents beautifully with a golden honey color, lively carbonation, and a decent surface of foam. At 8.2 percent ABV, this is a big beer that happens to go down easy. On a hot day it can be downright dangerous. Ask me how I know.

Four stars out of five.

Road trips

Back To Benjamin

April 19, 2024May 29, 2025 steveboilardLeave a comment

Today I returned to Philadelphia to finish up my Ben Franklin research. This took me to a couple of sites that you might not associate directly with Franklin. For example, I spend a couple of hours meandering about the labyrinthine Eastern State Penitentiary. Opened in 1829, it’s considered the world’s first true “penitentiary,” designed specifically to promote penitence among its inmates. Toward this end, prisoners at Eastern State were kept entirely isolated from one another, housed in (relatively large, by today’s standards) cells that resembled small chapels, prohibited from speaking, and given solitary jobs to perform. The idea was that isolation would impel prisoners to reflect on their crimes and on spiritual salvation.

*Reminds me a bit of my visit to the old Preston Castle reform school. The blog post is here.*

What does this have to do with Ben Franklin, you ask? Eastern State Penitentiary was a direct (though delayed) outgrown of a meeting held at Ben Franklin’s house in 1787. Franklin and other notable Philadelphians formed “The Philadelphia Society for Alleviating the Miseries of Public Prisons,” and many of the points for which the Society advocated were adopted into the design of the new prison. It was truly a paradigm shift in the punishment of lawbreakers.

The model underlying Eastern State was adopted across the world, with many hundreds of prisons following the so-called “Pennsylvania System.” Over time, however, Eastern State’s approach proved too costly, and the principles of isolation and silence were officially abandoned at the prison in 1913. It closed due to obsolescence in 1970.

*View from the exercise yard today. Original 1829 turret in the middle; 1950s guard tower to the right; modern Philadelphia skyline to the left.*

For decades the prison simply decayed in place and was eventually slated for demolition. But it was saved by preservationists at the last minute, and since the 1990s it has been maintained in a state of arrested decay, with tours offered most days of the week.

*And if you think this looks a little spooky, they do a Halloween Haunted House event as a fundraiser each October.*

*The Hospital Block (note the red cross symbol in the center). Al Capone had his tonsils out here in 1929. Seriously.*

*Plaque listing prisoners who died fighting the First World War. (Over 100 prisoners were paroled to fight in the war.) Note that they are identified here only by their inmate number.*

It was a sobering visit. And while one can certainly find fault with the system of incarceration, we can thank Ben Franklin (among others) for helping to move the country away from the horrific practices of the 18th century.

My next visit of the day is harder to connect with Ben Franklin: the Edgar Allan Poe house on N. 7th Street. But there is a connection. Poe wrote a short story titled “The Business Man” that, some scholars claim, is meant as a satire of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography. (Poe actually wrote several satirical pieces that ridicule the concept of a “self-made man” and conceit more generally.)

Anyway, as we learned a couple of days ago at The Philadelphia Free Library, Edgar Allan Poe had called Philadelphia home for about six years, from 1838 to 1844. The last year of that time was spent at the house on N. 7th Street, which is now a US Parks Service site.

The house is a small, three-story brick structure that was built sometime between 1840 and 1842, so it was still quite new when Poe lived there. After Poe moved out the house changed hands dozens of times, with very little if any attention to its Poe connection. Finally it was purchased by Richard Gimbel (son of the department store magnate), who was a Poe fanboy. After his death in 1970, it eventually ended up with the National Park Service.

The house is mostly unfurnished, but the Park Rangers told me the floorplan and “bones” of the house are virtually unchanged from Poe’s day. In fact, I think this unfurnished space is more conducive to Poe’s spirit than one filled with period antiques and interactive displays and such. I found it quite easy to imagine Poe in this house, climbing these stairs, writing next to that window.

Poe wrote a number of his best-known stories while living in Philadelphia. It’s difficult to connect specific tales with each of his four Philadelphia homes. But the basement of this house is very, very suggestive of the basement in “The Black Cat.”

“In one of the [cellar] walls was a projection, caused by a false chimney, or fireplace…. I made no doubt that I could readily displace the bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole up as before, so that no eye could detect any thing suspicious.”

Do yourself a favor and re-read the story.

While visiting the yard surrounding the house I ran into a trio of women tending the planting beds. They are Daughters of the American Revolution and they care for the plants once a week. They are very enthusiastic, and explained in some detail the types of herbs and flowers that Mrs. Poe probably grew out here.

*Let’s call them Ligeia, Morella, and Annabel Lee.*

Also in the garden area was this sculpture of a raven. I’ve got to say, though: It looks a little, uh, Third Reich for my tastes. I thought Dickens’ stuffed raven (Grip) looked more like it belonged on a pallid bust of Pallas.

Finally, as I was leaving Poe’s house, I noticed a neighboring building with a Poe mural. It does seem that Philadelphia takes its Poe connections seriously.

The Park Rangers at the Poe house told me there are two other Poe homes in existence. The one in Baltimore (which I describe in this 2022 blog post, which also contains an Easter Egg related to The Thinker!) and one in The Bronx (which will have to be the subject of a later trip). I did impress the Rangers by pointing out that there’s a third extant Poe domicile in the form of his dorm room at UVA. (I describe it in this blog post.)

BREW OF THE DAY

My final Ben Franklin experience today took place at Victory Brewing Company. The connection here is simply that it’s located at 1776 Benjamin Franklin Parkway.

In 1996 Victory Brewing was established in Downingtown, PA (which you will recall is home to the diner featured in The Blob). This Philadelphia location opened in 2021.

I ordered Victory’s Moonglow, which is a weizenbock. As you know, a weizenbock is a like a bock, but much of the barley is replaced with wheat. It’s a German style that you might find at the Munich Oktoberfest.

Victory’s version displays a medium copper color, almost no head, and high carbonation. At the front it’s quite sweet, and reminiscent of a classic saison. You can’t help but notice the distinct flavor of dried apricot and raisins. Then there’s a burst of spices mid-palate, including clove, cinnamon, and maybe anise. This morphs into the distinctive flavor of banana Runts, which I consumed by the handful in the 1990s. Finally there’s a little bit of menthol on the finish. Overall, it’s an interestingly complex beer. At 8.7 percent ABV, it’s a beer for sipping rather than quaffing. But I ordered a second one anyway. I’m compelled to give it 4.5 stars out of 5.

bridges · Cars · Puns · Road trips · Yard art

O Say Can You See?

April 18, 2024 steveboilardLeave a comment

The short answer is: Not very well.

The longer answer is this: Son Ian recommended I take advantage of my proximity to Baltimore (pop: 570,000) and check out the remains of the Francis Scott Key bridge, which collapsed a scant 3 weeks ago. It’s the kind of light-hearted whimsy we Boilards are known for.

The FSK Bridge opened in 1977, and it carried over 11 million vehicles annually until a container ship struck one of its piers last month. Much of the span is now underwater, posing a hazard to ships.

This week the Army Corps of Engineers is supposed to be removing much of that wreckage. It should make for a cool photo op! And according to Google Maps, I was only about an hour and a half from the foot of the bridge.

So after getting a cup of coffee and a Power Muffin from The Speckled Hen in Strasburg, I set out for the greater Baltimore area.

Getting there was easy enough–until the last couple of miles, when I encountered a police roadblock. They weren’t going to let me get anywhere close to the foot of the bridge. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I guess I envisioned a big, Roadrunner-style “Bridge Out” sign on sawhorses a dozen yards from the shore of Boston Harbor.

No matter. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I consulted Google and found a nearby spot that should afford a good view of the salvage operation. Alas, all the property in the area seemed to be a naval base or some other official facility that prohibits visitors. Undeterred, I drove under the harbor through the miraculous Baltimore Harbor Tunnel, and approached the Key bridge from the southern end. More roadblocks. Finally, I headed further south to a private beach community, where through a combination of illegal parking and trespassing I was able to get a decent view of the Francis Scott Key bridge in the distance.

*Circles represent my failed attempts to see the bridge; the square is where I finally succeeded.*

*FSK Bridge in the background, terminating at the head of the arrow.*

So, now with that pointless project out of the way, I began a leisurely drive in the direction of Philadelphia.

The drive through the Maryland countryside was pleasant and picturesque. The road carved its way through hills dense with trees and other flora. My only complaint is that some of the signage was a bit hard to comprehend at a glance.

Signs like these remind me of the nighttime driving scene in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. It appears in the following clip, which is only 45 seconds. Note that the guy who uploaded the clip wants to point out you can see a pulley system moving the scenery. But we want to watch the clip just for the signs.

I know just how you feel, Pee Wee.

Along the way I passed another bridge that, like the FSK Bridge, no longer carries traffic. The Gilpin’s Falls covered bridge in Maryland’s Cecil County was originally constructed in 1860, and restored in 1959 and again in 2010. And unlike the FSK Bridge, it still sits on the same piers where it was placed in 1860.

*Straight out of* The Bridges of Cecil County.

The next roadside attraction requires a bit of a setup: You may recall that I’ve been charmed by Tin Man-themed yard art that I’ve spotted on my travels. Here are two recent examples:

Now, recall my photo of Rodin’s “The Thinker” that I took in Philadelphia:

Put them together and what do you get? This sculpture of “The Tinker” (note spelling) that sits in front of a brewery in York, Pennsylvania.

*For some reason I think this is brilliant!*

The artist claims his sculpture says something about York’s industrial history. I don’t know about that, but I’m simply taken by the whimsy and humanity of the thing. As I’ve said before: This world needs more Tin Men.

I stopped for the night in Wilmington, Delaware–less than an hour from Philly. After my big splurge on the Red Caboose Motel last night I figured I’d bed down in a simple Days Inn. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by this sign whose reference to “”the best” seems like a dubious claim.

*At least they didn’t make the common error of adding an apostrophe to “its.”*

Then I got to the office and saw this idling near the front doors:

Tomorrow I’ll head back into Philadelphia. God willing.

Mail Corner

Loyal reader Brian W sent along this photo he took of a Lincoln Highway sign he spotted near Route 30 in Tama, Iowa. It dates from 1915, which is just two years after the Lincoln Highway was established.

It’s a far cry from the boring, utilitarian signage I encountered today in Strasburg.

Brew of the Day

I got today’s BOTD at Valhalla Brewing Company in Elkton, Maryland. It’s an out-of-the-way roadhouse with an empty parking lot and an nearly-empty bar. The bartender spent most of his time leaning on the bar and staring at his phone. But to be fair, it was 2 in the afternoon on a Thursday.

*Middle of nowhere. Which I guess is where you’d expect to find Valhalla.*

I chose the Zombie Ice Double IPA. It turns out it’s a guest brew, made by 3 Floyds Brewing Co, in Munster, Indiana. Behold the golden-copper color:

The first sip suggested that this is just a basic IPA. But with subsequent sips it became more interesting. The usual citrus and hops are omnipresent, but as you move through it you detect orange peel, library paste, and shoe polish. You might not think that sounds especially tasty, but somehow it works. There’s a total lack of pretentiousness about this beer (except for its name, of course). It’s solid, genuine, and hardworking. I give it a solid 4 out of 5 stars.

In the interests of full disclosure, I should note that I paired this IPA with Valhalla’s “Big Ass Pretzel,” which is served with mustard, beer cheese, and a maple-caramel sauce that is to die for. So consider that it might just be the pretzel talking. In fact, the Pretzel gave the beer 5 stars.

bridges · movie theaters · Road trips · trains

Blob Blog

April 17, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

By coincidence, I recently received as gifts two books concerning the Lincoln Highway. The first, which I read last year, is The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles. It’s a fictional account about a trip along the fabled transcontinental route. The second book, which I’m currently reading, is American Road by Pete Davies. It’s a true account about a caravan of military vehicles which traversed the Lincoln Highway in 1919, in an effort to raise awareness and promote the paving of the route.

Established in 1913, the Lincoln Highway was the country’s first transcontinental route for automobiles. It began as a patchwork of existing stretches of roadway, most of which were just rutted dirt roads. Over time it got re-aligned and paved, with gas stations and diners and motels dotting the roadside. Today, most of the old Lincoln Highway is long gone, superseded by modern interstates.

In California, I-80 roughly traverses the old route. There are a few markers and memorials a long the way. (A couple of years ago I hiked a crumbling, original section of the road near Donner Pass. Here’s the blog post and here’s the photo:)

I also discussed the Lincoln Highway and included a photo of an original Lincoln Highway marker in this blog post.

I bring all this up because today I drove around a hundred miles of the old Lincoln Highway route heading west out of Philadelphia. Most of the original route is now U.S. Route 30. I was hoping to see some ancient infrastructure and roadside structures from the Old Days, but most of the route today looks like any other two-lane highway. Yet I did spy a few elements that date back to the early 20th century.

*1922 bridge and (presumably) much older building. These were surely around for the Lincoln Highway’s early years.*

*Phone booth in Compass, PA might not have been around for the original Lincoln Highway, but it qualifies as historic.*

When I eventually arrived in Downingtown (pop: 7,900) I was feeling a bit peckish. I stopped at the mid-century Downingtown Diner, whose sign announces that it’s the “Home of the Blob.”

*For the 90 percent of the country that isn’t familiar with the movie, is “home of the blob” a winning slogan for a diner?*

You remember The Blob, right? It was a 1958 science fiction film that featured a young Steve McQueen in his first starring role. The plot (such as it is) involves a giant, carnivorous blob of Jell-O from outer space. Do yourself a favor and watch the trailer; there’s even a shot of the diner.

I went into the diner and was greeted by Shannon. I quizzed her about the Blob connection, but surprisingly (shockingly, even) she admitted to never having watched the movie. She did inform me, however, that the diner building was replaced since the movie was made. (“But the basement is original!”)

*Though not the original, it* does look a lot like the diner in the movie.

The Downington Diner doesn’t shrink from it’s B-movie connection. Not only is The Blob featured on their roadside sign, but the menu features a “Blob Special.”

*I couldn’t bring myself to order the Blob Special.*

Shannon, who was as friendly and helpful as they come, instead whipped me up a delicious mint chip milkshake. (“It’s green, like the Blob!”) Which is true, if you go by the green blob on their sign. But it should be noted that the Blob in the movie is red.

*Seriously the best milkshake I’ve ever had.*

Now that I was fortified with 1,700 calories of blended ice cream, there was only one thing to do: Head over to the nearby town of Phoenixville (pop: 20,000), where the Blob’s famous Movie Theater Scene was filmed. (You saw it in the trailer, above.) Phoenixville was founded in 1849, and for years the local economy was centered on the Phoenix Iron Works. The company closed in the 1980s, and Phoenixville suffered a economic decline. But in recent years the city has been transformed, and today it appears charming and downright prosperous.

I sensed a good deal of civic pride in the spotless business district and beautiful homes. I even encountered a group of students from the local college who were spending the morning sprucing up the public spaces with rakes and brooms. These kids are seriously the best–energetic, outward-oriented, positive, friendly.

But let’s get back to the reason I came to Phoenixville: to see the theater from The Blob. The place looks practically unchanged from its 1958 movie appearance.

The Colonial Theater actually dates all the way back to 1903, when it started out hosting Vaudeville shows. Showbiz greats like Mary Pickford and Harry Houdini have graced its stage. It’s gratifying that the good people of Phoenixville have seen fit to preserve and support this historic venue. In fact, every summer the town and the theater throw a major festival called Blobfest. I’m seriously thinking about coming back in July…

It was now time to return to the Lincoln Highway, which in the form of US Route 30, cuts through Pennsylvania’s picturesque Amish county. Farm houses, rolling hills, and horse-drawn buggies constitute the main scenery. I figure these scenes are pretty much unchanged from when the Lincoln Highway was established over a century ago.

Of course, when one travels through Pennsylvania’s Amish country one is obligated to take advantage of the Intercourse photo-op.

*There’s got to be a story behind the name change.*

After Intercourse I had a cigarette, and then headed into Strasburg, which is a well-known railroad Mecca. In addition to several impressive railroad museums, a steam-powered railroad, a model railroad display, and antique stores jammed with railroad memorabilia, Strasburg has a motel comprised entirely of old, full-size railroad cabooses.

*Not your father’s motel. (Well, not my father’s, at least.)*

When I was a lad I begged my dad to let us stay at a place like this while we were on a driving vacation. What could be more cool than sleeping in a railroad cabooses? Dad said no, however, figuring that the fun factor (such as it was) wouldn’t justify the compromises in terms of comfort. But today I made a different calculation. So, over a half-century later, I’m finally spending the night in a caboose. It’s actually a nice little room, and the funky floorplan and high windows really lends a certain charm. Plugs, I’m surrounded by other railcars and a full-size steam railroad. I admit, however, that if my wife were with me this would not be an option.

BsOTD

Today’s Brews (note the plural) Of The Day come from Spring House Brewing Company in Strasburg. Their tavern on Main Street is comfortable and inviting, with ancient dark-wood paneling and a dark-wood stairway to unexplained upstairs rooms. My server (Dani) didn’t know how old the building is, but the ripples in the front window glass suggest at least a century.

The brewery had 13 of their own beers on tap, and I found it hard to choose just one. So I ordered a flight of four. And then, I ordered another flight of another 4. What follows, then, are my eight Brews of the Day.

*Server Dani, who delivered my 8 Brews of the Day.*

*My first 4 Brews of the Day (in order from left to right)*

Empty Terrarium: Nitro Fruited IPA (6.3% ABV). Watery. Boring. A slight tinge of citrus but no real flavor and no fizziness. It’s like a chocolate Easter Bunny after the first, decapitating bite: no head and not hoppy. 1 star out of 5.

Commander Salamander: Fruited sour (4.5%). Seems to start with the same base as the Empty Terrarium, but somehow it’s fizzier (without really becoming hoppy). The sour taste is quite enjoyable–it’s fairly understated; more like sour apple gum than a lemon Warheads (TM) hard candy. This would be satisfying on a warm day (which today is not). It’s one of those beers that you should only have one of–not because of the alcohol, but because the second pint could be cloying. For the first glass, though, it’s quite satisfying. 3.5 stars.

Tasty Little Devil: Imperial Milk Stout (7.5%). Characteristic sweetness and creaminess of a milk stout. More roasty than chocolatey, But a slight peppermint note on the finish evokes a Christmas hot chocolate. Well balanced. I give it 3.5 out of 5 stars. I would have given it a 4 if they upped the alcohol at least to 8 percent, which in my mind is the floor for anything called “Imperial.”

Kerplunk! Imperial chocolate stout (8.0%). The punctuation is part of the name, presumably taken from the Milton Bradley game. A bit harsher than the Tasty Little Devil. But more importantly, this doesn’t really attain its potential. Reminds me of brownie mix stirred into water. 2 stars.

Painted Pony: English style brown ale (5.4%). Nicely balanced. A bit on the bitter side (which maybe is the “English style” coming through?) Definite chocolate notes. Good backbone. The kind of beer you’d enjoy at the neighborhood pub at the end of your 12-hour shift in the mines. 3 stars

The Angler: Cali Pale Ale (5%). Definitely the California style. Clean, citrusy, bright. It’s perfect for those of you who like this style of beer. Which I don’t. But I know quality when I taste it, so I’ll give it four stars.

Demon Squirrel: Amber lager (5.3%). Now this is interesting. Malty, with some hints of fruitiness. Very balanced hops. Heavy carbonation adds dimensionality and compensates for the neutral finish. Flavorful without being overpowering. 4.5 stars.

CASK Mild Party: Dark mild (3.3%). The name of the style (“dark mild”) says it all. Intentionally served at room temperature, this is a dark-colored beer with absolutely no structure, backbone, carbonation, or even flavor. It has the consistency and mouthfeel of dishwater. It tastes like watery tea that’s been left in a styrofoam cup on the dirty Formica counter for a day and a half. And it can’t even deliver a mild buzz. It’s the kind of beer that makes you question your faith in God. 1/2 star.

bridges · cemeteries · churches · Obelisks · Road trips · trains

Philadelphia Stories

April 16, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

I’ve been working on a top-secret project (which will likely be revealed by the end of the year) and it involves, oddly, Benjamin Franklin. I’m not making this up. And this project has made clear to me how much my grasp of American history is lacking.

Growing up in California, I never learned much about the Continental Congress or the Revolutionary War or really anything that took place before 1849. I’ve made a few attempts to remedy this, including my trip with friend Vic to Salem, Mass.

So I’m now trying to fill in some of the gaps in my education Which is why this morning I found myself in The Quaker City for a few days of exploration. What could go wrong?

My crash course on Philadelphia actually began on the plane ride. I’d taken a red-eye from Sacramento, and my seatmate was a garrulous Philadelphian (if you’ll permit me that redundant phrase). He was on his way home after a vacation with his wife, but they were taking separate planes. It seems there was some kind of booking mix-up related to the use of frequent flyer points. But the real point, for my purposes, is that he was unexpectedly flying solo and looking for someone to talk to. And having learned that I was going to be sight-seeing around his home turf, he spent the next few thousand miles sharing his insights about the city. (Did you know that Elphreth’s Alley is the oldest continuously-habitated street in America?)

Anyway, I got breakfast and a Nissan Sentra near the airport and set out for downtown Philly. Ben Franklin is certainly well represented around the city. Bridges, parkways, institutes, boulevards, schools, and various other features of the city are named after Franklin. There’s even a large, modern sculpture of his distinctive bespectacled face and stringy hair on a random street corner.

While chatting up the National Park ranger at the Ben Franklin Museum, I learned the following story: Some years back the Philadelphia Inquirer was taking up a collection for a Frank Sinatra mural somewhere in the city. A rival paper objected, pointing out in an editorial that Philadelphia should instead create a mural for one of its native sons. And, perhaps as a joke, the editorial noted that Larry Fine (of Three Stooges fame) is one such native son. The idea nevertheless caught on, donations were made, and the mural was painted at the location (S. 3rd and South Street) where Fine was born.

*Giving Ben Franklin a run for his money.*

*A bar in the same building capitalizes on the Fine connection as well.*

But I digress. I was talking about how Ben Franklin has captured this city’s imagination. And in addition to all the named structures and graven images, the city has been tagged with various plaques that commemorate Franklin’s various activities in the area. For example, on St. Stephen’s Church is a brass plaque which claims Ben Franklin conducted his famous kite experiment on this site in 1752.

*Built in 1823 at 10th and Ludlow, which may or may not be where Ben flew his kite.*

Here’s a closer look at the plaque:

Now, it turns out that there’s considerable debate as to whether this is really the site of Frankin’s kite adventure. And while the “Certified” marker above the plaque would seem to lend credence to the plaque’s claim, it turns out the marker relates to the church building, and not to the plaque.

A few blocks from the dubious kite claim is a bare steel pipe structure outlining where Franklin’s last family home had stood. Ben’s kids had the house razed some years after he died. But in the 1940s, archeological efforts uncovered the foundations of the house. The steel “ghost house” was erected in the 1970s, since there were insufficient records or drawings to reconstruct the house itself.

*The ghostly outline of Franklin’s house, marking its exact location some two and a half centuries ago.*

Finally, and inevitably, Franklin’s body rests in Philadelphia, not far from the ghost house. He is buried at Christ Church Burial Ground under a smooth marble tablet that’s perpetually covered with a scattering of pennies from passersby.

*Even allowing for some resume-padding, it’s an impressive list of accomplishments.*

Of course, Philadelphia isn’t all Ben Franklin and Larry Fine. For example, there are these random nudes built into a pedestrian walkway. For no discernible reason.

*There’s got to be a flying buttress joke in here somewhere..*.

There’s also Auguste Rodin’s bronze sculpture The Thinker on the grounds of Philadelphia’s Rodin Museum:

You probably know of this piece. Rodin actually cast a number of identical bronze Thinkers. I remember once seeing one at Stanford University. But I’ll forever associate it with Dobie Gillis, who had a habit of sitting next to the statue in a copycat pose.

And if that’s not enough, today I also ran into some literary luminaries that you don’t often associate with Philadelphia. In the Philadelphia Free Library’s Central branch (built almost a century ago in the beau arts style) one finds a bust of Charles Dickens in the Rare Books Room.

*Have you ever noticed how Charles Dickens resembles Don Quixote?*

Not far from the Dickens’ bust is his actual pet bird, now stuffed and mounted in a glass box.

The bird is (was?) a raven by the name of Grip. Grip even gets some speaking lines in Dickens’ novel Barnaby Rudge. But she (for Grip is a female) also played a much more important literary role: She is said to be the inspiration for Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven.

*Wasn’t Nevermore the title of a Nirvana album?*

As we all know, Poe lived in Philadelphia for six years. And one of his Philadelphia homes still stands. I will be visiting it on Friday, so we’ll be returning to this theme later.

It’s now getting late, but I do have two more items to share from today. The first is:

OBELISK CORNER

I was taking an afternoon walk through Philadelphia’s Woodlands Cemetery. It dates back to the 1840s, and has a distinctive Victorian air about it. Many of the grave markers take the form of obelisks, with some quite large specimens cropping up here and there.

But take a closer look at that one in the center. Though it doesn’t appear especially large in the photo, it’s actually about 15 stories high. In fact, it’s the largest gravestone in the Continental U.S. Let’s take a closer look:

*For perspective, note the two stacked sarcophagi at the foot of the obelisk.*

The obelisk marks the grave of one Thomas Wiltberger Evans, who died in 1897. You never heard of him either? It seems that the man with the country’s tallest headstone was a….dentist.

And now, let’s finish up with the

BREW OF THE DAY

I drank my BOTD at Manayunk Brewing Company, which sits in a cavernous, historic cotton mill on the banks of the Schuylkill River. The cotton mill dates back to 1822, and it operated (making cotton or, later, wool) until 1992. At that point it became a brewery.

My words can’t do justice to the wonderful setting. Not only is the historic building awe-inspiring, but there’s an old railroad (?) bridge crossing the river right behind the brewery. And I had a great spot in the sun to enjoy the view.

*I couldn’t find any info on this bridge that’s directly behind the old cotton mill. Uncle Ed, please help!*

I had my heart set on getting one of Manayunk’s home-made brews. But sadly, my server informed me that they lost their entire brewing setup to a flood a few years back. It seems that flooding has been a recurrent problem, judging from the “high water mark” signs in the bar.

However, a few of their beer recipes are still being faithfully produced by local brewing partners. I selected the Schuylkill Punch, which is being brewed by Yards Brewing.

*“How would you like a nice Hawaiian Punch?”*

This is nothing like what I normally drink. It’s light, with a body light iced tea. There’s almost no malt. And with an ABV of 4.5 percent, it has about half the alcohol of my usual brews.

But this is an exceedingly smooth beer, and it complemented the warm weather perfectly. It’s slightly sweet, with distinct citrus notes of grapefruit, lemon, and some tropical fruits. Carbonation is low, but it has a nice head. Overall, I’d call this a “session” beer, especially if your session is outdoors on a warm day next to the Schuylkill River. I give it 3.5 stars out of five. If they could up the flavor a bit (maybe brewing it with more fruit), I’d knock it up to a solid 4.