Local cognescenti will recognize that the Cheddar Curtain starts somewhere around the Wisconsin state line and will, perhaps, dismiss this story as a description of the micro-brews available in the locales around Milwaukee and Madison. But the author asks the gentle reader to step back and ask, "What if I penetrated even further behind the Cheddar Curtain; to the areas frequented by the true Cheeseheads, and not Illinois transplants, bent on achieving an exotic North Woods experience?" I arrived at my own answer to this question over the past few years during three different excursions to the Wisconsin hinterlands.

Your author's first experience behind the Cheddar Curtain occured several years ago in a trip to Minoqua, a locale about as far behind the Curtain as one could get without a passport and a taste for backbacon, if you know what I mean. I was, at that point, merely accompanying the woman I travel with who was taking her Granny back to tour her roots. The promise of new and different angling experiences in this area figured prominently in my decision to support my spousal facsimile in this matter. Suffice it to say, it was a more satisfying fishing experience than a beer adventure and your author shamefully admits to having consumed something less than a quality beer. For those of you crying in anguish, "Arrrrrggghhhh!! How is such depravity possible in these supposedly enlightened times??", allow me to explain: My first morning, having procured the use of a boat for the day, I had motored away from the dock with my favorite array of fishing accouterments and a cooler of food and drink prepared by Granny and her friend, Lucille, a local. After a morning of seriously scaring a number of the lake's aquatic residents and adversely affected by the increasingly hot sun, I developed a powerful thirst and reached into the cooler. Instead of a frosty longneck, my hand fell upon a heavy metal cylinder. Taken aback, I withdrew the apparition and eyed it suspiciously. The red, white, and blue painting on the cylinder revived a long-buried memory: This was "beer", sometimes packaged in "cans". Another memory from my youth surfaced: Yes, checking the top of the can, I found a "pop-top". My college training (in beer drinking, not engineering) had prepared me to recognize that a tug on this "top" would open the "beer." I subsequently did this, exposing a beer-like liquid inside, which being the only potable liquid available, I drank. The flavor brought back other youthful memories like that time we had a grocery bag full of Coors quarts at the Woodland Drive-in and Schultzie decided he needed to take a nap in the camper parked next to us....Oh! I’m sorry I was talking about Wisconsin. Anyway, I finished the "beer" and spent the rest of the afternoon wondering how potable the lake water was. Subsequent extensive searching revealed that one of the local watering holes, a lakeside establishment with an eclectic clientele going by the name of the Thirsty Whale, had a few bottles of Sam Adams. These I consumed and, apparently, cleaned out the town of anything approaching reasonable beer.

My next excursion behind the Cheddar Curtain came about a year later in the form of a motorcycle trip out in the vicinity of the Iowa-Wisconsin border. After a few days of motoring around the obscure western reaches of Wisconsin (with precious little to quench my thirst in the evening beyond Old Style and Hamm's), the woman I travel with and I pulled into New Glarus for lunch on our way back to Chicago. Approaching the city from the north, I spotted a low building off to the left with a few kegs on the loading dock. Closer inspection revealed a sign announcing that this was the New Glarus Brewery. A weekend of bad beer having made me hypersensitive to such things, my manuevering into the brewery parking lot was somewhat precipitous (to describe it in the best possible light). The woman I travel with seemed unhappy about having arrived in the parking lot behind a cloud of dust and freshly strewn gravel, and I attempted to distract her by saying, "Oh, look! A brewery!" I will spare the reader details of the next few minutes of the conversation, but, suffice it to say, a number of facts became clear in that time period: 1) My bike handling skills needed improvement; 2) The woman I travel with was not at all happy with the recent manifestations of the 'travel' part of her moniker; and 3) It was Labor Day and the brewery was closed. I suspect additional information was forthcoming, but, by that point, I had discretely removed my earphone and had pointed the bike into town to find lunch. A few minutes later found us ensconced in the Glarner Stube,which I quickly discovered had New Glarus' Apple Beer on tap. I tried a pint, but years of feeding apple juice to my two daughters (substantial amounts of which, subsequently had to be cleaned off myself) having perhaps colored my judgment against any liquid having anything to do with apples, I found it pleasant, but not impressive. Finishing lunch (the Glarner Stube has a very good fondue), we mounted up and returned to Chicago without incident.

After that trip, New Glarus beers began to show up in Chicago, including an appearance at the Oktoberfest on Navy Pier. The line-up of beers coming out of the small New Glarus brewery, most of which I liked, caught my attention and, through the subsequent winter, I began to watch for the appearance of new varieties in the local stores. Upon the return of warm weather, the woman I travel with, noting that I was spending an unhealthy amount of time scuttling around in the basement tinkering with my brewing equipment, announced it was time to get out and ride. I suggested New Glarus as a likely destination (having already ascertained that the brewery was open for tours on weekends, both Saturdays and Sundays). This was immediately agreed to and I left the woman I travel with to arrange accomodations while I selected the route.

New Glarus is about three and a half hours from Chicago by car on expressways. However, as the unspoken rule for motorcycle trips au deux is to avoid all roads that have numbers associated with them, it took us an extra hour to arrive at our destination behind the Cheddar Curtain using the backroads route. Having made this trip in the 90 degree heat of a Friday afternoon, I arrived in New Glarus with visions of cold frosty ones swimming before my eyes. Following the woman I travel with's directions to the bed and breakfast where we were to stay, I watched the miles past New Glarus go by with growing unease. We passed Belleville, where available watering holes seemed to be limited to the Elk's club and the bowling alley, and eventually arrived at Basco, (4 houses and a sign) where I was instructed to turn. The side street we had turned in on ran past a sign that announced "Dot's Tavern". My sagging spirits revived at this, but closer inspection revealed that "Dot's" bore a striking resemblance to one of the locals' basements. The road quickly took us out of Basco (a matter of seconds at 25 mph) and eventually led us to our destination, the Cameo Rose.

In spite of my zymolurgical anxieties, I was forced to congratulate the woman I travel with on her choice of accomodations. The Cameo Rose is a attractive Victorian in a very picturesque location. So picturesque, in fact, that I became concerned that the sound of my recently unmuffled engine, which had been stampeding cows and terrifying old women since Marengo, might not make us entirely welcome guests. Our noisy arrival notwithstanding, we were welcomed, ("we get a lot of motorcyclists here") directed to our room, and advised on appropriate dinner spots. Of these, Quivey's Grove in Verona seemed to be the most promising and we wasted no time in mounting up and heading out.

In spite of the very rural appearance of the area, we were actually very close to Madison (Verona is about 5 miles from downtown), and I was relieved to discover that Quivey's had a big selection of micros from the Madison and Milwaukee areas as well as selections from the New Glarus Brewery. I had ample opportunity to sample these as we were faced with a one hour wait for dinner. The beer menu also included a few more exotic beers, including Chimay Red, which I passed on because 1) an extended slugfest with a Chimay seemed imprudent given our two-wheeled transportation, and 2) it was out of stock. In spite of the wait, the food was good and the surroundings pleasant. Quivey's Grove is, in actuality, a farmhouse that has been recycled into a restaurant. It includes a formal dining room in the old farmhouse and a more informal restaurant and bar in the barn. We ate in the barn, having decided that our road gear might be a little out of place with the coat and tie set eating in 'the big house'.

The next day was spent motorcycling and was, consequently, without beer adventures. However, of interest to any scrounge-hounds out there, we stopped at Delaney's Salvage, located across US 12 from the Badger Ammunition Plant , between Sauk City and Baraboo. Delaney's is best described as several acres of 'stuff'; indoor and outdoor. The proprietors of Delaney's would, no doubt, consider our local Chicago salvage yards as being run by anal retentive neat freaks. To describe Delaney's outdoor yard as chaotic would be ascribe to it a degree of order that doesn't exist; old washing machines are sandwiched between stacks of plywood and large stainless steel 'things' and some degree of patience and determination is required to inspect the stock. There was a large stainless steel lauter tun laying about that, as it would have required a flatbed to carry off and the woman I travel with was exhibiting unmistakeable signs of agitation at my interest in the colossus, I passed on. The inside of Delaney's defies description, but if one imagines a post-apocalyptic K-Mart after a food riot you'd have a reasonable approximation. Food, clothes, tools, motors, pumps, nuts, and bolts are all scattered at random around the interior and, invariably, while walking around, one has to step (or climb) over 'stuff' that has fallen out of some broken open crate and been scattered over the floor. Lack of luggage space prevented my taking advantage of this bonanza, but the woman I travel with picked up some gloves. These gloves were determined to be 'antiques' at the cash register and the price adjusted appropriately. The operative definition of 'antique' seemed to be anything that was in the store when the present proprietors took over and whether this caused the price to be adjusted up or down, I was not able to ascertain.

The next day, we finally made our way to the New Glarus Brewery. The brewery is owned and operated by Daniel Carey and his wife. Dan had spent his early life designing breweries for Anheuser-Busch before he decided to strike out on his own. His wife, who is a native of Wisconsin, selected the site of the brewery which was a machine shop prior to its present incarnation. The brewhouse itself is a 15 barrel system, but the bulk of the interior is taken up by a large number of lagering tanks. New Glarus specializes, for the most part in German-style lagers and, as demand for their products has increased, production has been expanded through expansion of the lagering facilities. At present, the building appears to be fully utilized. Our tour guide, who doubled as the brewery’s microbiologist, allowed that the brewery’s products were distributed only in southern Wisconsin and was surprised when I mentioned that New Glarus beer was regularly available at Evanston 1st Liquors. Growth in popularity of the brewery’s beers had apparently been much more rapid than expected and they are presently wrestling with the issue of expansion beyond their existing building. Clearly, the town has embraced the brewery and all of the local restaurants carry New Glarus products and the waitstaffs take an unmistakable pride in recommending them. I required little convincing and took advantage of the availability of the Maibock during our visits to the local dining establishments.