The Dangerous, Delicious Drama of Fire-Poked Beer

Happy belated Groundhog’s Day, Top Shelfers! Tony Rehagen here. We’re 10 days into the extended six-week winter that the rodent weatherman condemned us to and, after a brutal nationwide cold snap, we could use a beer — one transformed via fire into a seasonal treat. But first, some brews news:

I’m standing with about three dozen coat-clad drinkers on the open-air patio behind Blue Jay Brewing Co. in downtown St. Louis, watching my breath rise as I curse myself for forgetting my gloves. It’s a Wednesday night in early February. The pile of snow beside me has been there for more than a week, and it certainly isn’t melting now as the temperature dips back below 30F. My fingers are numb as I grip my empty, weather-frosted glass stein. Yes, I’m freezing in line for cold draught beer.