My official micro-brew indoctrination is a bittersweet memory.

Ill stretch it out a little to make it interesting.

Rogue Brewery in Newport Oregon occupies a building owned by the Port of Newport.

Years ago I was involved in the structural replacement of the brewery floor which is made up of concrete panels suspended over water. I dont recall my exact title or responsibility, but I was between jobs and Rogues owner, Jack Joyce and I were friends at the time. My wife also worked in administration as well as part time pour-whore, so I weaseled my way into a paycheck functioning as construction liaison/owner rep/forklift driver.

The brewery was jam-packed with all the ingredients to make the ale as well as bottles, labels, caps, boxes, cases and cases of finished product.... and a magically glorious mountain of what is known as "low-fills"

Obviously all of this stuff had to be moved and stored elsewhere during construction.

Low-fills defined: Bottles of ale labeled 22 oz, which only had 20-21 oz of beer inside.

Apparently by law if the label says X ozs, there needs to be exactly X ozs in the bottle or it cannot be sold. In the bottling process, it is not uncommon for the first few bottles/cases of ale in a new batch to be low-filled. The dude at the controls adjusts a few buttons, and viola, no more low-fills.
I guess sometimes the control-dude has more important things to worry about and the number of low-fills off the line can be significant at times.

Rogue put these "low-fills" aside with the intention of dumping them and reusing the bottles. But I guess they eventually realized the cost of labor to recover only bottles would be a wash. So they sat there in boxes, alone, waiting for the magic of a bottle opener to liberate the tasty liquid inside.
Thats when I show up.

"Hey Jack, what'ya want me to do with these low-fills?"

"Take them to the landfill"

"WHAT????"

"dump them in the bay, donate them to the shelter, take 'em home... I dont care"

The words "take them home" was sweet music to my ears.

I called my brother who was living with us at the time and told him to get off his ass and empty the garage. I rented a ryder truck.
By the end of the weekend, my garage, and my neighbors garage were both filled to the roof with cases and cases of every Rogue product made and bottled.

We suddenly had more friends than Oprah.
I immediately put my family on the recipient list for a donor-liver.


We arranged the cases by product. Mocha Porter was up front, next to Sheakespear Stout, which made the best black-n-tans when combined with golden ale. Wife liked the raspberry-weizen and there was plenty of it to go around too. I purchased an auxilary fridge/freezer to chill pint glasses, and store the Davis family's new staple food.



***


Fast forward 6 months.

I dropped my brother off at rehab on the way to the unemployment office.
Later in the day I visited my doctor who was impressed and concerned that I had gained 65 pounds in 5 months.
I asked him if the depression associated with divorce might have something to do with it.


On my desk today is a single unopened 22oz bottle of Rogue "Mocha Porter" with 21 ounces inside.

MMMM, Beeeeeer.