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It contains lines as indecipherable as this: “They landed a gyppo logging crew on the St. Joe River, Gig talking his way onto one end of a two-man misery whip, Rye ladling water and pounding wedges in the kerfs to keep the saws from binding.”

Like us, the Gyppo Ale Mill’s co-owner Julie Peacock took one of the dramatic drives to the Lost Coast region and immediately fell in love with it.

“Locals think nothing of driving that road to town,” said Katie Wallace-Schmidt, the manager of Gyppo as she delivered falafel burgers and lamb sausage to our table.

They opened Gyppo last spring and call it “California’s most remote brewery,” because, said Ms. Peacock, “I haven’t found one more remote.”

“S'prised a gyppo knows a big word like that? Yer don't know who I am, do yer? Oh, I remember you all right. These yots don't forgets a face. We was both at the littl'uns school in the village. Frogmartin, Figmortin, the teacher's name was, summat like that. Yer was stuttery then, too, wasn't yer? We was playin' that game, that Hangman game.”