Several minutes later, he emerges cradling half a dozen cool, dusty bottles of beer.
Arrieta, 27, keeps his beer in the closest thing to a cave: the crawl space under his parents' North Pasadena house. To test it out years ago, he crawled down on a 100-degree afternoon holding a thermometer. It read 60 degrees.
"Light and temperature are going to be your enemies," Arrieta says. "But your worst enemy is going to be yourself. That's why it's under there."
Arrieta cellars his beer — stouts, porters and strong ales that he says get better over the years, even decades. He ransacks the cellar only twice a year.
Though cellaring beer has nowhere near the following that cellaring wine does, hundreds of beer fans in Southern California have begun amassing impressive collections of beers made to mature.
Turning basements, garages and bedroom closets into beer caves is the latest twist in L.A.'s growing beer culture — one that increasingly revolves around collecting, trading and, yes, waiting, with patience once ascribed only to wine drinkers. Some of the collections cost several thousand dollars too.
This year alone, dozens of California brewers will release specialty beers that crank up the alcohol percentage and punch up the spices (everything from figs to juniper berries) to create flavors that age. Many sit for months in the same oak casks used for whiskey, wine or brandy, earning followings among even Scotch drinkers. Brands with names such as Decadence, Old Stock, Angel's Share and Consecration hit the market in small batches, only to be snatched up for private collections, as if they were Impressionist art.
Stone Brewing Co. in Escondido may brew the best-known, a series of annual beers called Vertical Epic, with each new release coming one year, one month and one day after the last. The full flight is meant to be experienced, according to the brewers, in one sitting on Dec. 12, 2012.
Even Trader Joe's has gotten in on the act. The U.S. chain has contracted with well-respected Canadian brewery Unibroue since 2005 to make its Vintage Ale, the beer equivalent of its Two-Buck Chuck (it's $4.99 a bottle).
Keeping beer in cellars has, of course, been done for centuries by Trappist monks and Europe's most serious taverns. Even in the U.S., traditional brewers have long used underground storage to "lager" their brews for months.
But aging beer for personal consumption is relatively new in the U.S. and particularly in Southern California, where basements, let alone caves, are hard to come by.
Tomm Carroll keeps 500 beers locked in a cement closet in the underground parking garage of his Culver City condo. The 55-year-old, who writes for the film industry, estimates he has spent $10,000 on his collection, which shares space with his neighbors' deflated mountain bikes and beach chairs. Some of the rare specimens that date back to the '80s could fetch more than $100 a bottle on EBay.
He has an additional 200 bottles in the kitchen cupboard where his wife used to keep their oil and vinegar. This year he started renting a temperature-controlled wine locker to handle the overflow.
The Carrolls like to age Sierra Nevada Brewing Co.'s Bigfoot Ale, a hoppy, barley-wine-style beer that evolves over time thanks to its 11% alcohol. Carroll can tell you that Bigfoot Ale "peaks" at about 5 years old if it's matured properly in a dry, dark space kept around 55 degrees.
"After that it doesn't mean it's not any good, it's just not as good," Carroll says.
He only knows because he keeps a log. Carroll says cellaring beer, unlike wine, is an evolving hobby, with collectors still groping around to find the best vintages. "It's still young, this idea of aging beers."
Even brewers at Sierra Nevada were clueless at first, according to Bill Sysak. The retired medic known in the beer community as "Dr. Bill" first stashed English ales under the bed when his father caught him drinking in the family's Garden Grove basement 34 years ago. So, when Sysak had dinner with Sierra Nevada's founder Ken Grossman in the mid-1990s, he brought vintage bottles of Bigfoot Ale.
"Ken said, ‘Whoa, whoa, these are all supposed to be drunk fresh,'" Sysak recalls. "I like to think that made him realize" his beers could be aged.