Munch drove north last weekend, a journey toward the unfamiliar, toward, even, a state of mind. Something about heading north. Makes you feel adventuresome, or rustic, and certainly worthy of a photo spread in the next L.L.Bean catalog, perhaps curled near a fireplace wearing a red double-cotton crewneck.

North Country Brewing Co. is at 141 S. Main St., Slippery Rock. Hours are Mondays through Thursdays 11 a.m. to 11 p.m.; Fridays and Saturdays 11 a.m. to midnight; and Sundays 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Call 724-794-2337.

Especially when the sun set, and the temperature made the toes curl, the novel trip north felt appropriate. Pittsburghers, it bears mentioning, don't head up that way too often. We drive east for bigger cities. We drive south for sun. We drive west for freedom and new opportunity. And north?

Outlet shopping, anybody?

So allow Munch to provide some new incentive. In Slippery Rock, one hour north of Pittsburgh, one finds the North Country Brewing Co., a remote repository for thick burgers, hand-crafted beer and enough interior wood design to basically provide the root cause of worldwide deforestation.

When you walk toward North Country Brewing -- wear flannel, if you want the full effect -- you spot the paneled outdoor facade, the postcard-perfect northerly image. Everything is wood, left in a rough chisel: the outdoor entrance, the indoor railings, the tables, even the beertaps. Styling for some parts of the ceiling can best be described as treehouse moderne. Although Munch and Friend of Munch (FOM) had arrived just past 9 p.m. on a Saturday, the place was packed; we waited 15 minutes for a seat.

When a waiter finally showed us to our spot, we sat near a wall decorated with a pitchfork.

"Feels like we're in Montana," FOM said.

We brought to our table the beers we'd ordered at the bar and summarily ordered nine more. OK, five-ounce samples of nine more, available in any mix-and-match you please (for $9). North Country normally has a dozen beers available, all brewed on site, and most of them with an alcohol volume between 6 percent and 7 percent. And you can't find these things in bottles at your local store; best as Munch could tell, the brews of North Country, unless you take something home in a growler, have a distribution base of a couple-hundred square feet.

So Munch consumed while the chance remained. Munch loved, in particular, the Friar's Porter (dark, with a hint of caramel and chocolate) and superb, aromatic Feedbag Stout -- the dark-brew equivalent of ... well, a warm L.L.Bean sweater. A few of the lighter beers didn't dazzle -- FOM thought the Firehouse Red ale, on cask, tasted like applesauce -- but Munch found enough superstars to appreciate the whole lineup.

While waiting for the food, our table never received bread or water, but in retrospect, such subsistence grub would have only stolen stomach space from the real stuff. North Country offers up the typical pub menu, with an emphasis on the hearty, cabin-style meats: the slow-roasted beef and the barbecue pork, to name a few.

You can get sandwiches, salads, pastas ... or, as Munch decided, an Elk Burger.

The meat came from a local ranch, the menu noted. Elk meat is leaner than regular beef -- and, as Munch can now attest, a sturdy substitute. FOM, the control variable in our experiment, ordered the Roasted Garlic Burger ($6.95), topped with grilled onions, swiss and a creamy radish sauce. FOM raved, at least in the rare moments when he wasn't chomping.

Both plates arrived with a stack of hand-cut fries, perhaps the best Munch has had since the Rosa Villa (on the North Shore) closed its doors. They were cut thick, enough to notice the potato, and browned until they glowed. The perfect touch of seasoning proved irresistible. At meal's beginning, Munch glanced at the stack of fries and promised to leave at least half on the plate. At meal's end, the plate was empty.

We soon retreated to Munch's car, stealing a backward glance at the glistening beer vats, and realized that northbound trips should occur more frequently. But before driving away, Munch opened the door to the backseat and secured, behind a tight seatbelt, a 64-ounce growler of Feedbag Stout, sustenance to hold us over 'til the next time.