Marooned on Hog Island, our latest collaboration, is now available for a limited time. We paired up with oyster mercenaries John Finger and Terry Sawyer, owners of the Hog Island Oyster Company, to create a luscious, silky stout brewed with local Hog Island Sweetwater oyster shells. Stout and oysters have a long and rich tradition together. In its heyday in the early 1800s, stout was the primary drink of the English working class and oysters were the cheap and plentiful food of the masses. The two pair beautifully as the rich, creamy mouthfeel of stout complements the creamy texture of the oyster, and the oyster’s crisp, briny finish is balanced by the roasted bitterness in the stout.

Hog Island Oyster Company sits on an incredibly gorgeous piece of land on the edge of Tomales Bay in Marin county, about 60 miles north of San Francisco. The waters of Tomales Bay are among the cleanest, most pristine and natural in the country and are perfect for growing these delicious, sweet bivalves. Hog Island also runs an oyster bar in the Ferry Building on the downtown San Francisco waterfront. For many years, we have been heading over to Hog Island for lunch and we always bring a few empty pails to collect shells and brine that we use to brew oyster stout at our pub. They seemed like a natural fit when it came time to decide on our 2012 collaboration.

Hog Island is a small island near the mouth of Tomales Bay and rumor has it that a ship wrecked near there carrying a load of livestock to a local farm. A bunch of hogs made it to the island where they roamed freely and thus the name. John and his wife were actually stranded on the island years ago….marooned. We thought it would be a fitting name for our beer.

Here is the full story as found on our four pack box. We hope you like this awesome beer!

 After too many fortnights aboard Sir Francis Drake’s galleon exploring the coasts of northern California, deck swabs O’Sullivan and Freccia were growing restless. The work was tedious, food was scarce and worst of all, the beer was weak. Captain Drake might have their heads on a platter but they had to abandon ship.

 Freccia leapt into the Pacific with a few essentials: a musket, a blade, a cigar cutter, and a bottle of cocktail sauce. O’Sullivan rolled a few casks of the Captain’s finest dark ale overboard and belly flopped in behind them. Draped over the barrels, the swabbies bobbed through the waves.

 At last they washed up on a tiny island in Tomales Bay. They were greeted by two weathered locals named John and Terry, who raised some of the sweetest, juiciest oysters you ever ate but otherwise subsisted on rainwater and the occasional wild hog if they were lucky enough to catch one.

 With the help of a couple of ducats of lead shot, these beer mutineers and oyster mercenaries were soon straddling a roaring fire and feasting on roast pig, freshly shucked oysters and goblets of fine ale. They could think of worse fates than being






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