The need to scratch the seedy underbelly of government contracting sent me to Washington, DC on a lightning-fast, one-day trip. Such visits, designed to save the cost of hotel room, generally require my getting up at some very early and very dark hour of the morning to get on a plane with a collection of other people who have been consigned by their own companies to this particular Dantean version of hell on earth. This trip was no exception and the nightmarish pre-dawn drive to the airport was made all the more pleasant by the arrival of a sub-artic cold front that caused the temperature to drop into the 20’s. But enough of my own personal travails....

My meeting on this particular day was just outside of Old Town Alexandria and was completed somewhat earlier than expected. I subsequently headed back to the Metro expecting to catch an earlier plane back to Chicago thinking I could help the woman I travel with deal with the hordes of trick-or-treaters about to descend upon the Lincolnwood estate (this being Halloween). However, walking down King Street, I passed the Virginia Brewing Company, identifiable by the stainless steel fermenters prominently displayed in the front window. I checked my watch, mentally reviewed my return flight options, and walked through the door, stepping into the breach once again.

Thinking to find the premises deserted (it being 3:30 in the afternoon), I was surprised to find a large crowd within. Then I remembered that I was in Washington and that most federal bureaucrats had already put in their prerequisite 5 hour workday and were now ready to kick-back and relax. I forced my way through the crowd of revelers and commandeered the last empty seat at the bar. I would caution those wishing to follow in my footsteps that the bar at Virginia Brewing is tiny; it has a total of 6 seats and don’t be surprised if you have to stand while drinking there. Taking my seat and squeezing in between two groups that were clearly hunkered down for a long slog into the evening, I was informed that happy hour had been in effect since 3:00 and that half-pints were half-price. Looking around the crowded bar, I muttered something about ‘my tax dollars at work’, but, recognizing that my own position was hardly more defensible, I ordered a beer.

Virginia Brewing had six of their own beers on tap when I was there, supplemented by three additional micros. During my stay, I tried the kolsch, an IPA, an ESB, a smoked ale called ‘the Brown Bomber’, and their Halloween pumpkin ale. The IPA was a standout; crisp and dry, but wonderfully hopped. The pumpkin ale seemed a little short of pumpkin flavor, but the obvious presence of nutmeg and cinnamon made this an interesting beer nonetheless. Unfortunately, all of the the beers at the Virginia Brewing are served ice-cold in frosted mugs. I managed to convince the bartender that I really didn’t want a chilled mug. This helped a little, but the otherwise respectable selection of ales was hurt by the overly cold serving temperature.

The group at the bar was somewhat amused by my sticking my nose in my mug prior to drinking. This prompted some explanation of my brewing experiences on my part and upon discovering that I was from Chicago, one of my fellow revelers pointed out that he had once been a part owner of the Cubs, who had led the fight to prevent their sale to the Chicago Tribune. Apparently, as the story was subsequently related to me, his grandfather had been a friend of the Wrigley family who had bestowed one share of the Cubs upon him for some now forgotten favor. This share was eventually passed down to my new neighbor, who had cherished his position as a part-owner of the Cubbies. Consequently, when he received a proxy letter from the Wrigley family asking for his approval of the impending sale of the Cubs, he had written back, "No! No! A thousand times, ‘No!’" or something to that effect. History records that this had no effect and the Cubs were subsequently sold. However, sometime later, my neighbor received a phone call from Charlie Wrigley himself, who had called to say what a good laugh they had all had at his letter, as the proxy vote had turned out to be 9,999 to 1 in favor of the sale. In compensation, my neighbor received a check for his share of the sale, permission to keep his stock certificate, and box seats at Wrigley Field whenever he was in town (and the Cubs were playing one presumes). I was about to ask if these seats were largely unused and empty as he was now living in Washington, when another of my fellow late afternoon beer swillers, overhearing the conversation, launched into a discussion of the merits of Wrigley Field versus other ballparks. This second worthy, as it turned out, was what would best be described as a ballpark groupie as he had apparently made a point of visiting every major ballpark in the United States and had strong opinions on all of them. Wrigley was clearly at the top of his list, with Comiskey being described as "serviceable, but nothing special." Further discussions on the state of ballpark architecture in the U.S. were cut short by my need to catch a plane. I made my apologies and headed for the Metro station.

All in all, the Virginia Brewing Co. is a worthwhile stop. The beer is well-made and there’s a nice variety on tap. The bar space is really small, but that seems to make for a friendly atmosphere. On a different note, although I had neither the time or the inclination to stop in, National Airport now has two Samuel Adams outlets in the main terminal under the moniker of "DC Brewing Company"; three Sam Adams beers on tap plus a selection of whatever Jim Koch is putting in bottles these days. While this is of no use to those boycotting Sam’s in protest of Jim Koch’s tendency to sic his lawyers on anyone who uses the word ‘beer’ in a sentence and it is a far cry from the Wild Goose Brewery outlet in the Baltimore-Washington Airport, it is a short step in the right direction from what had been a depressingly limited selection of budmillercoors in the terminal up until now. (The author somewhat shamefully admits to perhaps having had a Bud in this very terminal under the duress of horrendously delayed flights.)