Beverwyck Brewing

week one of the #ResurrectSeries

For my 2017 side project, I decided to marry three interests: design, beer, and history. The goal is to resurrect long closed breweries with a fresh look—every Monday through Friday. This is meant to be a quick daily project so I set aside an hour for research and branding on the weekend, then each design gets an hour max. 
week #1
Beverwyck Brewing
albany, ny
Beverwyck Brewing opened in 1878 on North Ferry Street in Albany, NY. During this time Albany was listed as having 80 breweries. Yes, 80 breweries. Prohibition forced Beverwyck to use its non-alcoholic beverage license to stay open until 1933 when it reopened with beer. F.M. Schaefer & Sons Brewing Co. acquired Beverwyck in 1950 and eventually closed it down in 1972. 
The Albany area wouldn't be anything without being on an early American "highway". Enter the Port—er of Albany at 8.5%
For day two of the year, I am creating a collaboration that I assume would have eventually happened. Beverwyck Brewing and Meadow Brook Farm in Clarksville for a milk stout. I can remember some family getting the glass bottles delivered and the insulated metal box on the front steps. 
For day three we explore the Albany Pine Bush; one of the largest of the 20 inland pine barrens in the world. So the obvious style for this ecological landmark is a double IPA. The Boy Scouts taught me to be prepared, so pack two for the trail.
The Troy board… or Toohey board? Called by either name, this type of dart board is from Troy, NY. With large diameter feathered wooden darts you would have to side step the shooting line to fit all three darts in a tight pattern. That is why the board has a larger bull and no triple. Being a solid basswood and double sided make these very long lasting for home or local pubs. If you want one there is a local business in Fonda, NY that sells them: Mohawk Dart Boards. My connection is quite a few family and friends having these in their basement rec-rooms. As a kid, I may have thrown a few darts from across the room—baseball style. *Sorry aunt Joyce & uncle Warren if you’re reading this.
The tale of the “baker’s dozen” is from Albany? Fable, fact, who cares. Below is the tale from Charles M. Skinner’s book Myths and Legends of our Own Land. For the style of beer, I thought a winter ale was in order. Along the same lines as a cookie ale; higher in alcohol and a bit sweeter.
"Baas [Boss] Volckert Jan Pietersen Van Amsterdam kept a bake-shop in Albany, and lives in history as the man who invented New Year cakes and made gingerbread babies in the likeness of his own fat offspring. Good churchman though he was, the bane of his life was a fear of being bewitched, and perhaps it was to keep out evil spirits, who might make one last effort to gain the mastery over him, ere he turned the customary leaf with the incoming year, that he had primed himself with an extra glass of spirits on the last night of 1654. His sales had been brisk, and as he sat in his little shop, meditating comfortably on the gains he would make when his harmless rivals—the knikkerbakkers (bakers of marbles)—sent for their usual supply of olie-koeks and mince-pies on the morrow, he was startled by a sharp rap, and an ugly old woman entered. "Give me a dozen New Year's cookies!" she cried, in a shrill voice. "Vell, den, you needn' sbeak so loud. I aind teaf, den." "A dozen!" she screamed. "Give me a dozen. Here are only twelve." "Vell, den, dwalf is a dozen." "One more! I want a dozen." "Vell, den, if you vant anodder, go to de duyvil and ged it." Did the hag take him at his word? She left the shop, and from that time it seemed as if poor Volckert was bewitched, indeed, for his cakes were stolen; his bread was so light that it went up the chimney, when it was not so heavy that it fell through the oven; invisible hands plucked bricks from that same oven and pelted him until he was blue; his wife became deaf, his children went unkempt, and his trade went elsewhere. Thrice the old woman reappeared, and each time was sent anew to the devil; but at last, in despair, the baker called on Saint Nicolaus to come and advise him. His call was answered with startling quickness, for, almost while he was making it, the venerable patron of Dutch feasts stood before him. The good soul advised the trembling man to be more generous in his dealings with his fellows, and after a lecture on charity he vanished, when, lo! the old woman was there in his place.

She repeated her demand for one more cake, and Volckert Jan Pietersen, etc., gave it, whereupon she exclaimed, "The spell is broken, and from this time a dozen is thirteen!" Taking from the counter a gingerbread effigy of Saint Nicolaus, she made the astonished Dutchman lay his hand upon it and swear to give more liberal measure in the future. So, until thirteen new States arose from the ruins of the colonies,—when the shrewd Yankees restored the original measure,—thirteen made a baker's dozen."
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