CRAFT CITY
It was a snowy and blustery night in Portland, Oregon, when I ducked into the cabin-like bar at Ex Novo Brewing Co. I figured such weather was typical for February in this corner of the United States, but apparently it’s rare. The waitress asked me how it was out there in “Snowmageddon.” I told her I’d survived just long enough to make it here. Then I joined the happy-hour crowd, ordered a pint of Liquid Sweater red ale from a wool-swaddled bartender, and watched as the streets outside turned white.
I never thought I’d be braving snowstorms to seek out beer. Between my father—a devout Scotch drinker—and a rye-loving bartender whom I developed a crush on in college, my coming of drinking age was primarily fueled by whiskies. Little did I appreciate the craft brewing revolution that hadmore discerning age (and income), beer was something to .
