Hops are not cannabis, mind you, any more than the Unabomber’s second-cousin-twice-removed on his mother’s side is the Unabomber. They simply share some genetic ancestry or something like that. Wikipedia wasn’t that specific.

I probably knew that, but I hadn’t thought about it for a while. If you look at the hop flower, genus Humulus lupulus, there is a resemblence to the flower of the Cannabis branch of the Cannabacaeae family, the big plant clan that includes both of them.

Hops don’t possess the psychoactive agent that makes its distant relative such a nuisance, but it makes you wonder: How would hops would taste in brownies?

Several hours later, sprawled on the dew-soaked lawn of the host museum, I had to admit my error. By golly, it was possible after all, a feat I attributed to all the oxygen one gulps while downing 30 to 40 tiny glasses of beer of various styles and strengths on a hot, summer’s night.

By the time I attended the Great American Beer Festival in Denver, I knew better than to try to sample all 1,800 beers on premises.  Even spread over three days, that would mean drinking more than 4.5 gallons of beer per day, which I haven’t done since attending a friend’s wedding in South Bend a couple of decades ago.

Upland Brewery’s upcoming Radfest isn’t on that kind of scale, but the Bloomington craft brewery has assembled a sufficient cast of Indiana brewers to suggest the advisability of designated drivers or public transportation.

The lineup for RadFest includes a brand new commercial brewery in Indianapolis — Sun King Brewing Co. The June 13 event will offer a chance to sample the new brewery’s wares before the Indianapolis Brew Ha Ha on June 27 or the Indiana Microbrewers’ Festival on July 11.

According to an article on the Hoosier Beer Geek blog, Sun King intends to produce a regular lineup of three beers (a wheat, a pale and a malty something-or-other), along with seasonal and speciality beverages. Get the 4-1-1 straight from the Geek at http://hoosierbeergeek.blogspot.com/2009/04/sun-king-rises-over-indy.html.

Here are other out-of-town breweries scheduled to have tables at Upland’s RadFest: Alcatraz Brewing Co., Indianapolis; Barley Island Brewing Co., Noblesville; Brugge Brewing Co., Indianapolis; Mad Anthony Brewing Co., Fort Wayne; and Shoreline Brewing Co., Michigan City.

Of course, Upland and Bloomington’s other craft brewery, the Bloomington Brewing Co., will be fully represented, as will the Bloomington Hop Jockeys Homebrew Club. Don’t pass up the Jockeys’ table, thinking homebrew can’t be as tasty as brewery fare. Homebrew clubs at tastings I’ve attended have never failed to offer some of the most interesting and exotic malted beverages on the grounds.

Upland also will be releasing its new Rad Red Amber Ale at the event, which head brewer Caleb Staton says is a reformulation of Upland’s previous amber ale.

And if a smogasbord of Indiana-made beer wasn’t enough to draw a crowd, RadFest also will have food, music and a costume contest.

Sounds like a party to me. You can find more details, including how much and where to buy tickets on the home page of Indianabrew.com

Magnetic Image fared better than the pilot. It’s still in business in Evansville, so if you liked what you saw here, give them some work. They’re on the Web at www.videomi.com.

Hope you enjoyed watching the pilot for our TV show during American Craft Beer Week. Have one on me, and I’ll catch you on the other side.

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I have a walk-on as a stovetop kitchen brewer. It’s all my equipment, which I still have in storage. Watching the pilot again makes me want to dig out my fermenter and whip up a batch of homebrew. If I only had that wort chiller I’ve been meaning to buy.

This American Craft Beer Week review of the lost “What’s on Tap” TV pilot concludes tomorrow.

This clip features Jim Greulich, a professional actor and voice-over specialist who was the narrator and tour guide for our “What’s on Tap” failed TV pilot. Jim lives in South Bend, which if memory serves me, is why the Magnetic Image crew picked Three Floyds to feature; it was conveniently located near the talent.

So sit back, pop an Alpha King and enjoy. We’ll continue our special American Craft Beer Week special tomorrow with the homebrewing segment featuring Dave Miller and the Blackstone Restaurant and Brewery of Nashville, Tenn.

Well, my old friends at Magnetic Image in Evansville, and my new friend, Cole, who also works there, has reformatted the original video for online viewing. That this has arrived just in time for American Craft Beer Week is more than fortuitous. It is perfectly providential.

Here’s what you see: The first clip is the nifty intro for this series-that-never-was. Then, I’ll follow that in a day or so with Clip 2. If you are a fan of Three Floyds Brewery in Munster, Ind., you’ll be interested in seeing what the operation looked like 10 years ago, when this craft brewery was just acquiring a reputation for quirky, highly satisfying beers. You can base a drinking game on this segment; simply chug a brew every time someone says, “That’s not normal.”

I’ll introduce Clips 3 and 4 when I post the video links to those segments. I make my big video debut in one as a stovetop kitchen brewer. That’s all the info you’re going to get today.

I hope you enjoy our show. If you know any cable TV executives, give them hell about letting this one get away.

Other New Belgium beers coming to Indiana, according to various beer blogs, include 1554, a dark beer with hints of coffee and chocolate, and Mothership Wit, a Belgium-style White beer that melds wheat malt, coriander and orange slices into a zesty beverage. At least, that’s what the brewery’s descriptions promise. I haven’t tasted those styles myself, but I look forward to trying them when they become available.

Fat Tire is one of my all-time faves, and I am not dismayed to hear brewheads say they consider it one of New Belgium’s worst beers. If Fat Tire is the worst stuff that brewery puts out, I only imagine that its best must be like … uh … liquid sex.

Fat Tire itself is a light, evenly balanced amber ale that has a nice toasted quality that neither overwhelms nor disappoints. It reminds me of Bloomington Brewing Co.’s Ruby Bloom Amber. If you like that, I guarantee you’ll like Fat tire.

New Belgium Brewing Co. is located in Fort Collins, Colo. It’s wind-powered, employee-owned and has its own bicycle track, which makes it a sustainability All-Star in craft brewing circles. Learn more about the company at www.newbelgium.com. You also can Twitter with company reps (called “Beer Rangers”) at http://twitter.com/newbelgium.

According to the brewery’s Web site, its products will be in 26 states by the end of 2009. Besides Indiana, distribution is being added in South Dakota, Wisconsin, South Carolina and Georgia. It is the third largest craft brewery in the United States, as ranked by the Brewer’s Association, and it is the No. 8 brewery in the U.S. in terms of overall sales volume.

My first exposure to Fat Tire was in Georgia a few years back. I was on an airplane at the Atlanta airport, awaiting takeoff, when a young man boarded the plane cradling a box like it contained his firstborn child. When he sat down across the aisle, I noticed the Fat Tire logo. It was a case of beer (this was obviously before current TSA restrictions on on-board liquids). Right then, I knew that any beer worthy of being carry-on luggage was a beer I had to try.

It was another two years before I tasted my first Fat Tire during a visit to Colorado. Since then, I have motored to Missouri to pick up cases, and when friends tell me of their vacation plans, I listen diligently to determine whether they will be traversing into New Belgium territory.

I can’t wait to get home today and have one.

Bud is always drawing outside the lines, always coming up with unique insights into the human condition. It’s never made him rich, but it certainly enriches his conversations.

One day, many years ago, as we were well into a case of long necks, Bud had an idea that can be described only as inspired.

“You know,” he said. “Ford ought to put bottle openers on the bumpers of their pickup trucks. That way, if you’re too drunk to stand up, you could still get your beer open.”

Shortly thereafter, beer companies came out with twist-off bottle caps. And bumpers became plastic. Stuff like that was always happening to Bud. No sooner than he would hit upon the Next Big Thing, the ground would shift beneath him.

I haven’t talked to Bud now in years. I should remedy that. No telling how many near-misses he’s has had to talk about since then.

None were in evidence the recent afternoon I spent at the establishment, which is perched on the shoulder of Indiana 545 in Spencer County in the extreme southern reaches of the state. I didn’t hear anyone bitching about it, either.

Most of what passed over the bar that rainy, cold day were traditional American lagers of the Bud, Miller and Coor’s varieties. The taps were Michelob and Amber Bock, but no one was drinking draft.

Bottles and cans were the order of the day, and cans were a quarter cheaper. Make mine a Miller Lite, I told the busy bartender/waitress who hustled between customers on barstools and customers crowded around tables crammed in two, smallish rooms. It was like an extended family gathered for a holiday feast, which is sort of the point.

It was Froglegs Day at the New Boston Tavern, which is owned and operated by Rick and Barb Fortwendel. The place was packed shortly after a noon opening for good food, easy conversation and reasonably priced beverages.

Sometimes, a day at the tavern is not just about the beer. It’s about the place; it’s about the company; and it’s about the trip you made to get there.

The trip

Like most destinations in southern Indiana between Evansville and Louisville, there is no good way to get to New Boston, especially if you start north of Interstate 64. I took Indiana 37, choosing the nausea-inducing curves and hills south of Paoli to the longer drive and heavier traffic of U.S. 231.

It was the sort of day mystery writers might paint as “raw.” Battleship grey skies soaked the landscape with a dismal, water-colored hue.  Horses in meadows dressed in the lime-green of early spring huddled together against fencerows, their rumps to a biting wind. Bulbous flakes of snow smacked into the windshield and slowly slid across the glass as they melted, like Wylie Coyote hitting the side of a cliff in Roadrunner cartoons.

A good day to drink beer at a tavern, I thought, as I dropped south of I-64 and promptly lost my way in the Hoosier Bermuda Triangle formed by Crawford, Spencer and Perry counties.

I pursued a generally southern course, knowing that eventually I would hit the Ohio River and Indiana 66 somewhere near Tell City in Perry County. From there, I would follow the highway west to Troy, where I would turn north on Indiana 545, cross into Spencer County and reach my destination.

The place

I can’t imagine that the structure that is now the New Boston Tavern began its existence as a barroom. It looks more like an old, wooden commercial building from the early 20th century.  I was thinking general store as I sized up the tavern from my car, one of a long line of vehicles pulled off the side of the road near the rambling two-story building.

New Boston, itself, consists only of about a half dozen structures plopped down in the middle of farm country. Certainly, the walk-in population would not support a tavern/restaurant, and sure enough, there were folks inside who had come from all over southern Indiana. And unlike me, it was not their first visit.

The tavern is a popular dining spot, said the fellow sitting next to me at the bar. Froglegs are a specialty. A sign taped to the back bar announced that you could get five sets of legs on Friday for $7.95.

Froglegs also are prominent on the official New Boston Tavern T-shirts, which are available for $8 each. On the back of the shirt, beneath the caricature of a smirking frog, are the words: “Spread the legs. Tastes like Chicken.”

The bar is in a long, narrow room that leads to the kitchen. A sign at the entrance warns “Employees only,” but it was routinely ignored as people arrived and headed there to hail the owners.  Some of these newcomers promptly disappeared into the back, where they were pressed into service to prepare a dish or to carry food through the bar to the adjacent family room.

A line of warming trays against one wall held a variety of southern Indiana comfort food: froglegs, fried fish fillets, potato salad, steak fries, pulled pork barbecue and a bowl of pickled beef tongue. The latter, everyone told me, was quite good, and I’m sure it was.

Periodically, someone appeared with a pan of something that had been breaded and deep fried to a golden brown. There were bite-sized crab cakes, catfish fiddlers and oysters. When the “oysters” appeared, I peered at the contents of the pan and asked, “What animal did those come from?”

It was a reasonable question, considering that I was in was rural southern Indiana in springtime. And considering that the fellow at the bar earlier had told me about recently enjoying a batch of “turkey fries,” to which he had added, “I didn’t even know turkeys had testicles.”

Turns out the oysters really were oysters. People told me they were quite good, and I am sure they were.

I ate double helpings of everything else. Then, when I looked around for someone to pay, I was told all the food was free. Every bite of it. The only charges were for drinks, T-shirts and jars of homemade horseradish if you wanted to take some home.

Turns out that Froglegs Day at the New Boston Tavern also was customer appreciation day, which made it my lucky day.

The company

The Fortwendels have operated the tavern for nearly 15 years. It’s a family tradition for Rick, whose brother, Mark, operates a tavern that was started by their father just down the road in Troy. It’s called the Roundup.

Mark didn’t even bother to open his place on Froglegs Day. He put a sign in the window of his bar that said, “Closed. Go to Rick’s,” which is what he did.

Rick said it was the tavern’s third annual froglegs feast, but this one was different because of someone who was not there.

Cliff Guilliams wrote about horse racing for a living. He worked for Equibase (formerly the Daily Racing Form), and he covered Kentucky horse racing for the Evansville Courier & Press newspaper.

Cliff also used to do promotional work for Ellis Park, the thoroughbred horse track between Evansville and Henderson, Ky. That’s how he got to know the Fortwendels and other country tavern owners in southern Indiana.

He would help them put on special events such as Froglegs Days, and the friendships he built with the bar owners and their customers would be reciprocated by their patronage at the track.

Cliff died last April at age 52, just before the Kentucky Derby. Rick said he decided to go ahead with this year’s customer appreciation day just like usual. For Cliff, he said.

Cliff’s widow was there, as was Tim Ethridge, technically Cliff’s boss at the Courier but really more friend than boss.

It was Tim who had told me about Frogleg Days, but he hadn’t mentioned Cliff’s connection. And, really, there was little talk of it at the tavern, except for Rick’s brief explanation of how the day came to be. Instead, the conversation ambled comfortably between NASCAR, the NCAA basketball tourney, what old friends and neighbors were up to and the weather, always a popular topic in farm country.

I got a strong handshake from Rick as I got up to leave, and I got a hug from Barb in the kitchen, having gained enough familiarity in an afternoon to be given an escort past the employees-only barrier.

Before I pulled away, I took one last photo of the outside of the building, and I thought again of what Rick had told me.

I didn’t know Cliff as well as some of the people that day at the New Boston Tavern, but  we were friendly, and he never failed to buy a round when our paths crossed in some neighborhood bar.

I figure I ended up on the positive side of that balance sheet.  Now, it looked like I owed Cliff for dinner, too, and for introducing me to a fine place to sit out a cold, dreary day in early spring.

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