By Tassie Mardikes . . . write Tassie
Tassie,
September is upon us and it is during this time of year I find myself particularly aroused by the aroma and flavor of hops. It’s as if the hops’ brisk bitterness is carried in on the chap wind that now blows through Chimacum, and their tang filtered from the fading light that steeps through the multicolored decay of leaves. While I am usually content to saunter over to the Valley Tavern for a pint of Hop Diggity, or swill some FinnRiver dry hopped cider






Dear Tassie,



