I grew up in a working class neighborhood, filled with working class bars that opened at 6 a.m. so men with bad backs heading for work at the dockyards, or driving delivery trucks, could stop by for an eye opener of beer and a shot of whiskey. If the shot was dropped into the beer, it was called both a boilermaker and a depth charge. This was for breakfast, mind you. These guys were made of tough stuff.
It wasn’t until I moved to San Francisco that I discovered the notion of craft beer, artisan brews crafted by the sadly now defunct Anchor Steam Brewing Company. It was a revelation — beer could have taste, it could have texture, it could have depths of experience not often found in the Schlitz, Schaefer, Pabst, Piels and Blatz of my youth. Beer could be a pleasure in and of itself.
It’s an issue that was on my mind recently at Blue Palms Brew House (8440 Balboa Blvd. North Hills; 818-818-5599, www.bluepalmsbrewhouse.com), a convivial spot hidden behind a Chipotle, a Jersey Mike’s, a Five Guys and a Chop Shop, along with a fitness club, on Balboa just north of Roscoe. It was a quiet evening. And I got into a chat with the bartender, where the beer list runs to some 20 exotic brews, with names like Hef Leppard, Unicorn Juice and Hitchhiking Ghosts.
I asked him what he would do if an elbow-bender asked for a Bud Light. He said it happened now and then, and he’d try to direct them to a mild lager like Classic City from Athens, Georgia. Which is easy enough for a Bud drinker, but it still has heft.
Like so many of our brewpubs, Blue Palms offers an education in the evolution of our taste in beer — along with lots of big screens, and bar food both old school and upscale.
I liked their Salty Pretzels Balls and Wings & Rings. Their Imperial Burger was a real treat, made with angus beef and braised short ribs with caramelized onions. The french fries come with an option of white truffle oil — which is silly. Their beer steamers were a mess of broken…
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