With no L.A. home teams to fret about, I had the whole football season to plot my Super Bowl party brew. Lacking a backyard distillery, I went to one of the local brew-on-premises pubs, where rookie brew masters (oxymoronic, eh?) can boil grain and pour in hops to produce their own beer. (Just over 100 bucks and about five hours of work yields 120 bottles.) But what to name it? I spurned the simply obscene route that others chose--the general manager at the Santa Fe Hops Brewery in Santa Fe Springs, Scott Diehl, showed me a "Pull My Finger Ale" boxed and ready for client pickup, and another's "Christmas Droppings," with little brown chips substituting for falling white snow on the label. Eew. What is it about beer that brings out the "South Park" in everyone?
I desired something that would sum up my city. Alas, each name that entered my mind pointed back to our sad lack of a football season: "Ovitz's Promises, Promises Pale Ale," "Broad's Blown Deal Brew," "Al Davis' To Hell Wit' Ya Lager." I had to take another route. Inspired by the sneezing that accompanied my brew-making session (some kind of newfound hops allergy), and the howling gusts that cause so many eyes, including my own, to tear this season, I settled on "Santa Ana Windswept Ale." It's crisp and hoppy, like our winter weather. And maybe, if my Super Bowl party-attendees break into a wave over its taste and I end up cashing out as a microwbrewer, I'll make enough to buy back the Rams.