Alright, friends. I’m going to open this blog post with a simple apology. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I say and whatever comes from this post because I do not know how to make this sound any less condescending than it probably does. I have deleted this entire post several times because I just sound like the biggest asshole whenever talking about this brewery. Not that I’m shitting on it. I just sound like I’m talking about it like I am better than it, which I am not. So, let’s jump into it and know that I am not trying to sound like a big time “beerfluencer” (pay me pls) because we all know that’s not who I am. I have humble roots. I’m from Wisconsin. I’m kind and polite. But whatever. We’ll see how this goes.

The events I am about to recount take place on the final day of the previous decade. I believe that some of my most recently posted posts may have mentioned that I was in Cheyenne, and that’s because I wrote them at a cafe in Cheyenne. I was in Cheyenne because I found out, as one does, that it’s less than two hours from Denver! And I had never even been to Wyoming! So why. Not. Go?!!! My plans for the day were simple(ish). I decided to head up to Boulder to get coffee at Boxcar Coffee Roasters because they were named by Mental Floss as the best coffee roaster in Colorado. Then I was going to go to Everyday Joe’s in Fort Collins because Mental Floss also named them the best coffee shop in Colorado. From there I was going to grab a beer in Cheyenne, then go to the grocery store, buy myself a steak, and be home by 8pm to make myself a steak and then I would celebrate 2020 at 10pm when the new year would dawn on the east coast and then immediately go to bed because I worked all day on the first.

Next to none of this happened, however. Instead I skipped all the coffee shops on my list and went deadass right to Cheyenne without much of a plan. I bummed around town, trying to get a feel for it. What I was not prepared to encounter in the biggest town in Wyoming is it being so fucking small. But they do have a Toppers. I drove by it and did a literal U-turn to head back to get some Topperstix to find out that it’s not open yet. But soon. Of course, at this moment I thought to myself hm, I guess I’ll have to come back to Cheyenne for some Topperstix. But whatever, fine. Break my heart why don’t cha. But from there, I found a coffee shop to fuel up in and work on the blog for a little bit. I did the thing that I do a lot. I rolled into a town with no plan and coffee shops are a great place to formulate a plan. I had to figure out where I wanted to drink and what I wanted to do.

But I guess I was not prepared for there to be next to no choices for me. Remember when I was like “Baltimore is the only place that does nothave a boom craft beer scene” ?? Well, that was in 2017, a lifetime ago, and now I discovered that the place that actually does not have a “booming” craft beer scene is apparently the entire fucking state of Wyoming. Which is fair, I supposed. When you look at how the state is, they virtually don’t matter. They have the minimum number of votes in the electoral college. I don’t exactly know what their major exports are? The entire state’s population is smaller than the city of Milwaukee. But fuck, get these people some more craft beer! But then again, I ended up going to a brewery and I really enjoyed their beer, so… 🤷🏽‍♀️

Anyways, the brewery I went to was Danielmark’s Brewing Company. The reason why I chose that place was 1) The internet said it was in an old house and I thought that was interesting and 2) The other brewery, Accomplice, said something about being a self serve brewery and the thought of having to learn a system at a brewery involving pouring my own beer stressed me out. It’s the same reason why I never drank wine at Black Sheep. I don’t have the level of ability to learn systems. That’s where I draw the line.

So the first thing I should note about Danielmark’s is that it’s actually, literally an old house. And walking into it felt like walking into someone’s living room. And everyone that was in there turned and looked at me like I was a weirdo stranger just walking into a football party that I was not invited to in someone’s living room . It didn’t help that when I got carded, my ID loud and proud says “this bitch is from some bullshit city” and then I became very aware that I was dressed like an asshole. I mean, it was comfy clothes to me. Leggings, Phish tank top, flannel over top. But between that outfit, my dumbass hipster asshole glasses, my hair that is currently varying shades of blue, black, and faded gray on the bleached ends, I looked like someone who got lost on their way to a Bon Iver concert. Or a Dead and Co concert where Justin Vernon joins on stage to close out the first set with the band. (If this sounds like a very specific example, it’s because this is quite literally what happened when we saw Dead and Co last year). 

And I know this is a beer blog and not a fashion blog, but there is something I’ve become very aware of in the last six months since I moved and it’s a lot about how I dress. I don’t think about what I wear, I just kinda wear what is comfy. Like, full disclosure. That Phish tank top I was wearing? I was only wearing it because I wore it to bed the night before and didn’t wholly change out of my pajamas. I was wearing leggings because I didn’t feel like wearing jeans. I was wearing a flannel because I left my coat in Milwaukee and my hoodie hasn’t been washed in an obscenely long time and cannot, in good faith, be worn in public until it goes through the wash. But even me in my lazy clothes put me at a different fashion stance than everyone else. Everyone was in jeans, t-shirts, flannels but worn with a more authentic and functional flare than I was wearing. Their hoodies were thick and warm. We all dressed with the same intention, comfort over looks, but even with the same intention, I very much looked differently than them. I don’t know what this is supposed to mean, but I need everyone to know that I was immediately an “other” among this group of regulars.

 

The first beer I ordered was the Bluesitra, recommended to me by the bartender/owner of the establishment. It’s their house IPA and I did really enjoy it. Thanks for the rec, ma’am. The beer was good.

The second beer I had was the pale ale. Also very good.

I should also mention that the University of Wyoming was playing in a Bowl game while I was there, which I was not prepared for. But they ended up crushing the other team, which created a jovial environment. So by the time I was on my second beer, I was now no longer the weirdo girl who just stumbled into this brewery that they were not prepared to see, but now the weirdo girl who was loudly talking about how charming and quaint she found Cheyenne with the people she was sitting by. Yes guys. I was only two beers in and I was sitting there making it well-fucking-known that small town life wasn’t for me but that’s because I don’t know what has happened to me in the last twenty six years of life, or the last six months of me living in Denver, or two years in Bay View, or all my time in the Orlando/Kissimmee area or just my general demeanor and personality as a pretentious asshole hipster but fuck man. Yah girl was not quiet about how small town living would not be for me.

But no one seemed to give a shit. They still were nice to me. And honestly, I’ve missed that in Denver. Back home in Milwaukee, we talked to each other. We made friends at the bar. I once gave a stranger a list of local resources for adaptive equipment in the Milwaukee area when she was in town from Cleveland trying to help her uncle who had a stroke. We hugged at the end of the night. I befriend bartenders and old traveling salesmen just passing through. I like to talk to them about whatever they want, use my vast pub trivia knowledge to be able to make one intellectual comment about something I know nothing about to keep strangers engaged. It works! This is what we do in Milwaukee. We talk to each other!

The people of Denver don’t do that.

The people of Cheyenne, Wyoming do. And I missed that. I miss people being friendly. I know I’m an asshole but I’m personable but the people of Denver aren’t. They’re suspicious and maybe that’s what real cities are like and I’m not from a real city. I’m from Milwaukee. It might be about the same size as Denver but is it a real city? Or is it an illusion? A figment of a misremembered time? A time that never existed? Does any of this matter? Has any of this ever mattered?

Anyways, I had a third beer. I popped back to the Bluesitra. Then I opted for the Corson, for my fourth, which was a lager. When I ordered this Corson is when everyone was suddenly like “Girl, should you really be having another beer? You have to drive back to Denver?” And I was like “lol y’all have no idea.” It wasn’t like I was throwing these back in an hour. Time had elapsed. I was at hour three of my visit ordering a fourth beer. And I am a beerfluencer (apart of my 2020 is just calling myself what I want to be. I want to be a beerfluencer so now I’m calling myself a beerfluencer so fuck you guys). I can drink four beers in three hours. I am fine!

I also had a four ounce of another beer that I do not remember the name of. The problem with that beer and thank CHRIST I got a four ounce of it was because man. The tap list listed it at 9.8% and the bartender was like “this batch came out 11%” and I was like 😮😮😮. I’m gonna say this last 4 ounce pour of the 11% beer is what is responsible for enabling the rest of my night in Cheyenne but that is not a story for here. That is a story for my memoir Maelstrom which is only hypothetical but I picked that title out like six years and now I just embrace it.

Anyways, welcome to 2020. 2019 started with a whimper and ended with a bang. Here’s to a new year with new beer. Who knows where it’s gonna take us but does it even fucking matter anymore? Let’s get stupid.