I’m going to do something I don’t usually do. I’m writing a blog entry in the place I’m writing about.

I’m sitting here in Dunsmuir Brewery Works, sipping an Arnold Palmer, since they don’t make their own root beer anymore, alas.

This is one of the go-to places in Dunsmuir, and I’ve been recommending it For Lo These Many [a shameless promotional reference to by book, For Lo These Many].

I can see through the open door the big vats where the beer is brewed. That’s both inspiring and enticing.

You can look over the counter and watch them preparing the food.

Dinner and a show!

At the bar with six comfortable bar stools, you can place your order and watch them pull the beer.

Chaz and I were by here on Monday, on the way to Mount Shasta to pick up dinner at Puerto Vallarta, good Mexican food. Chaz had loaded the growlers into the car, ready for re-filling. Growlers, in case you don’t know, are glass jugs heavy enough to hold the effervescent beer and keep it fresh. When you bring your own, you only pay for the refill. We had two in the trunk of the car.

We had both forgotten that the Dunsmuir Brewery is closed on Monday and Tuesday. Today is Thursday. Chaz will probably run over here for a refill. I think I’ll suggest it, when I call for them to pick me up. That way I don’t have to do the walk back, because I’m lazy.

I’ve been coming here ever since I’ve been coming to Dunsmuir, and I’m always glad I did.

Last year, across the street at the Library, where I participated in a local poetry reading and met my new good friend in person, Michael Sykes, he’s that wonderful author who owns Floating Island Press that I already knew about. We’re colleagues now and instant friends of like mind, and I bought his book and wrote him an extravagant letter about it.

After the poetry reading, I suggested to the assemblage that if they were hungry they should go across the street to the Dunsmuir Brewery, which the locals already knew enthusiastically, and which newcomers would know as soon as they came there their first time.

I like shopping local, promoting the businesses in the community, and Dunsmuir Brewery Works [notice how often I say/write the name] is very high on my list.

The inside seating is comfortable, welcoming, inviting.

The outside patio is almost like a beer garden [there is, through an arch, an actual outdoor beer garden down the hill, but you have to bring your food yourself from the restaurant, no extended service] and you can sit with your friends on the patio and watch the world go by in Dunsmuir, at rush hour more than one car per hour.

The people working at the restaurant, at any business, really, help make the place what it is and help determine whether you want to go back.

I do. I did. I will.

Now I’m going to call the house to see if they’ll come pick me up. If they do, the growlers are already in the trunk. Maybe I can convince them to get our dinner here, either take out, or eat it here, the way we did last time when I had the barbeque ribs.

I hope so. They’re serving ribs again.

I’m sitting here feeling like a local. Some people even seem to remember me.

[Postscript: I called. It worked! They’re coming!]

[Post Postscript: They’re here. They brought three growlers. We decided to bring the food home, and we all ordered the rib dinner, with an extra side of cheese bread. While we were waiting, there was a changing of the guard, the afternoon shift going home, the night shift coming on, a few carry overs. So I greeted that other group of friends, and gave my business card to one who didn’t have it. The owner Master Brewer was calling it a day, I praised his enterprise, and he and Kristina talked beer a bit, both in agreement. We loaded our horde into the car, drove home and watched a Powell/Pressburger film we hadn’t seen before, Pursuit of the Graf Spee, a remarkable re-creation of the naval Second World War, we all feasted, I like a happy pig, with enough left over to do it again tomorrow.]