Check out this video for Saucony Creek Brewing Company and visit their Kickstarter page. They have about 10 days left and are pretty close to their goal.
I had the opportunity to try a few of the beers at a local tasting. Of the four beers they were tapping, my favorite was a wheat beer I think they were calling Hex-a-weizen. It was good and crisp like a wheat beer should be. They also had a cranberry wheat that had a great tartness and fizziness that I really enjoyed - at least for the sample I had - though I may be just a bit too man-ish to drink more than one pint of it - it was kinda pink. I am more than kinda man-ish.
There was a raspberry chocolate stout that was alright, definitely tasted the raspberry and chocolate and it was nicely balanced, with a hint of booze. The fourth beer available for sampling was a double IPA. It was my least favorite - a bit thin or watery and at 100+ IBU's I was expecting more of tongue punch, perhaps it was lacking in the carbonation department, but regardless I would certainly drink it again and with a fresh palate I could have a totally different opinion. Overall, the event was fun - the brewer, Matt, seemed like a good dude and tried to find time to give everybody some personal attention and answer any questions they had - I look forward to getting out to another tasting to give them all another try. If you like good beer make a pledge.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Video Follow Up: Sixpoint Resin
I had a conversation the other day with some one that started with them asking me "What is a hop anyway?"
This video from the Sixpoint website does a pretty nice job of answering that question. Enjoy!
This video from the Sixpoint website does a pretty nice job of answering that question. Enjoy!
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Sixpoint Craft Ales / That time I went to Birreria...
Birreria is a roof top bar/resturaunt in NYC run in collaboration with the brewers of Dogfish Head, Baladin, and Del Borgo. It is essentially an Italian beer garden with amazing food and beer.
But first, let me explain an important, but little known, Law of the Universe: The Law of Simon and Garfunklism - if you take the title of a Simon and Garfunkle song and put something behind it, like a noun, then that noun, whatever it is, is guaranteed to be amazing. Take for example Bleeker Street Pizza - amazing pizza. I think they are one of the 300,000 pizza places in New York City that have a sign that says they have the city’s best pizza. They are the only ones telling the truth. Another example: I have a Subaru, it saves my life daily, and it has a little something under the hood called the Boxer engine. It is an amazing engine that goes fast. One more example - Homeward Bound: the Incredible Journey (the movie) - the story of two dogs and a cat and their trek across the country to be reunited with their owners, featuring the voices of Micheal J. Fox, Sally Field, and Don Ameche - rent that movie and try not to laugh, cry, or forget your troubles for 84 minutes. The feel good movie of a generation.
(Just one more thing about the universe that they can’t teach you in college but that you can find out about thanks to Beer on my Shirt…)
So we ate at Bleeker Street Pizza and it was awesome. Then we walked around a bit, going in and out of a few random pubs. We walked into one and the bartender, with a very English, or maybe Irish accent, asked of if we were there for the football game, meaning soccer. It was one of those moments where I felt if I knew the correct response it would get me into a secret backroom poker game that could change my life - like that movie Rounders, or like that episode of 90210 where Steve and Andrea drive around giving eggs to convenience store clerks in hopes of finding the secret location of a rave. But alas, we had no eggs so I answered honestly and said no, we were not there for the football game, we were there for beers. He asked what we’ll have and after the worst conversation I'd ever had with food and beverage service professional while sober, I ended up ordering a Sixpoint, a brewery I had never heard of.
Sixpoint? I asked the bartender what it was.
He said it was beer.
I asked what kind of beer.
He said it was a local brewery.
I said “but what TYPE of beer is it”.
He look confounded so I de-escalated the situation and just said for him to give me one. It was amazing. So I asked what it was called, trying to get more info, and the bartender looked at me like I was the Helen Keller of his entire customer history and said “Sixpoint.” I felt like I was in an outtake of a parody of the Departed, what with accents and circular dialogue. Perhaps if I had said I was there for the football game he would have been more forthcoming with his information. Either way, I drank it and loved it.
A few pubs and hours later and my fancy friends are walking around with boxes of cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. I ducked into a bar to use the bathroom and to avoid the homo-erotic segment of our outing - grown men skipping around the city eating pink cupcakes and licking icing off their fingers, saying “look, isn‘t that Adrian Brody?”. I asked the bartender what interesting beers he had and he was kind enough to introduce me to a can of Sixpoint Sweet Action. The can itself is as pretty as Adrian Brody eating a messy cupcake, and it hit me that this is the same beer I had a few pubs back - only now I knew it’s full name and that it comes in a 16 oz. can.
At that moment, all I needed were two twenty pound barbells, my shirt off, a full length mirror, a chalkboard, and Minnie Driver and I would have felt just like Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting, except I was in New York City with no real reason to take my shirt off. Beer really does have some marvelous side effects. I wanted to run back to the pub from earlier, it may or may not have been called The Red Lion, slam my empty Sweet Action can down on the bar in front of Captain Vaguery and say “how ‘bout them apples.”
We slowly made our way to Eataly, the Italian market that Birreria sits atop of, and found ourselves immersed in a world of meats and cheeses that words cannot describe. An elevator took us to the roof top and we were seated quickly and treated kindly. The operation is pretty impressive, although the place itself was smaller than I imagined, giving it a level of intimacy I was not expecting. They offered three cask beers that are brewed on site and only available there - I had the Gina, a pale ale brewed with thyme. It was amazing and I could have drank it forever. But at $10 a pint I think forever meant somewhere in the area of two or three. We also had their finest selection of meats and cheeses, which set us back a pretty penny but really added to whole experience. The place had a great vibe, we were drinking some of the finest, freshest beer that I had ever had, the sun was shining down on us on a rooftop in one of the greatest cities on the world, and we were laughing and enjoying some quality imported meats and cheeses. If it were a only dream, I would wake up glad to have had it. But it was real - and I stole a menu to prove it. And I took a photo of said stolen menu to prove that I stole it to prove that my time at Birreria was real. That's some improper use of the Law of Syllogism for the domes of all those logic-heads out there - put them hands in the air! What what! Quod Erat Demonstrandum, biznitches. I'm about to Law of Detachment your arms and beat you with them if you don't keep your mouth shut. Where's my beats, DJ?Our day ended in Little Italy with a family style feast followed by me stumbling into a bakery searching out cannoli and cheesecake. When the man asked what I would like I ordered a cheesesteak. Eventually, with a little help from friends, we figured it out - but that was one pissed off baker. Regardless, I could have watched him tie knots 'round boxes for days. His hands were magical.
I’ve had a few more of their beers since the trip to NYC with my favorites being the Sweet Action (5.2% ABV) - a creamy, hoppy ale; Resin (9.1% ABV) - a piney, malty, balanced but sticky double IPA that came in a 12 oz can with dimensions similar to a Red Bull; and Diesel (6.3% ABV) - a stout that has a nice smoothness but also some bitterness that a normal stout doesn’t typically have - it is almost like a lighter Imperial Russian Stout with a milder but similar flavor profile to something like Old Rasputin. I love their packaging but the beer is pretty outstanding as well.
The Sixpoint Sweet Action was a featured choice at the Beer on my Shirt Holiday Party, and it was a hit. I would like to tell you more about the Holiday Party, like the other beverages available, but I don’t really remember much other than a conversation about baby nurseries, my awkward attempt at shaking an acquaintance’s hand that involved me pointing at his hand with my hand (an orangutan has more social couth than all Beer on my Shirt employees combined, excluding the 3 orangutans that work in the mail room, obviously), and Andre’s insistence on discussing celebrity pornography in the presence of ladies, including one particularly disturbing comparison of the picture quality of my video baby monitor to his Paris Hilton DVD.I've had a chance to try the Sixpoint Bengali Tiger, but had it just once and all I remember thinking was that it was different than what I expected. Also had the Spice of Life Warrior on draft a few weeks ago. The Spice of Life is monthly series where they make a single hop IPA, using a different hop each month - which is pretty cool because most of the time multiple hops are used in a beer, making it difficult to pick out what each hop is bringing to the table - especially for the un-initiated - but with a single hop series, it gives you an opportunity to wrap your head around that one particular hop. I had the Warrior hop and upon my first sip I thought - well, I guess I’m not a fan of the Warrior hop - but by the end I was really digging it and would have had another if time had allowed.
In Summary: Sixpoint makes some quality brews. Check them out, you won’t be disappointed. And if you are (dissapointed), let me know and I’ll come get drunk in your garage while your eating dinner. Problem solved.
P.S. Here is a picture of my fantasy baseball team in one the leagues I'm in. It's a 13 team roto league for the geeks out there. The draft happened about two weeks ago. I feel pretty good about it. A couple things on there make me a little nervous, but overall I think it turned out all right considering I had the 13th pick.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Hoptimum, Hopslam, and Nugget Nectar (and by the way - we’re hiring)
In the swell of gloom and doom that tends to be the winter months, my mind slows down, much like the hibernating heart of a mother bear, and the events of the winter and preceding fall season tend to get neglected by the secretary in my brain in charge of filing stories away. Apparently she is too busy sneaking smoke breaks in the ladies’ room - a practice that has led to several meetings and too much corporate “no smoking” signage around the Beer on my Shirt offices. And let’s not forget about all the plotting she does to steal the petty cash from my office safe - digging tunnels must be time consuming - an exercise that certainly takes away from the actual filing tasks she should be performing. Also, it should be pointed out that my brain’s capacity for memories was severely handicapped when we had to make room for a ladies room to accommodate the addition of a cerebral secretary, something we clearly didn’t consider when we hired her. Prior to that, she refused to use the men’s room and just pissed all over the place - things were starting to smell a little musky - it was just getting to be too much.
So, needless to say, there have been a few things worth mentioning that have yet to be mentioned - until now. At the same time, I am constantly drinking, constantly trying new beers, and even though I rarely leave the house, I have managed to find new solitary ways of embarrassing myself (file under “difficulty with belts“). So along those lines, the plan is for the next few posts to have a bit of the past and a bit of the present. Chronologically speaking, here is something I should have mentioned back in January…
Beer on my Shirt… is hiring!
In line with the new corporate structure that was decided on at this year’s holiday party, it has been decided that we are ready to expand. The office construction has been finished - we now have both a men’s and ladies’ room - and a few part time positions have already been filled. Thus far, the few interested candidates have each had the same prying, yet appropriate questions:
“What exactly is the current corporate structure?”
Well, some of details are highly secretive, but there is a CEO, or at least a mythical beast whose name that shant be spoken can be abbreviated with those initials. That said, the CEO mainly provides memos and directives via telepathy and an antiquated Dell computer server. Rarely seen, but heard regularly as a voice inside your mind - the CEO of Beer on my Shirt will burn your soul from the inside out if you choose to cross him. Or if you use the restroom without washing your hands afterwards. And he expects to hear you sing “Happy Birthday” not once but twice while hand washing. And we don’t use the term ‘sing’ loosely around here - you better be in key or you’ll be soulless before you know it. Could you maybe sing a few bars for me?
“What exactly will I be doing?”
You’ll be drinking craft beer, sometimes in excess, and writing about your experiences with the beer.
“So I’ll be writing beer reviews?”
Not really - we’re actually not really in the review writing business because that generally requires knowledge. Our “reviewing” process focuses more on consumption and whether or not we would consume again, and how much, and for how long. Sure, adjectives tend to come in handy when describing a beer, but per our CEO you will be provided with a word bank/flowchart to reference when attempting to describe a beer. Working outside of said word bank/flowchart will result in swift justice. However, feel free to explore new words, new uses for otherwise old words, inappropriate similes and metaphors, and general delusional imagery when writing about your experience with the beer. Think of beer as a lady - now think of the letter you would write to Penthouse describing your time with that lady - that is your job description. As a Beer on my Shirt employee you will quickly learn that we are more about the “shirt” and less about the “beer”.
“May I see said flowchart?”
Not at this time.
“So who will I be working under?”
While there is a CEO, there is no real boss or manager or president. There is however a large conch shell filled with crystal skulls. I hold the conch shell 90% of the time. If you don’t like it you will be subject to electric shocks of incrementally increasing voltage until you do like it. Or until you die.
“How much will I be getting paid?”
Ass wipe - writing doesn’t pay the bills - I don’t care how many times you’ve seen Midnight in Paris. But in terms of compensation, you will be paid in bad habits, poor choices, and suspect hygiene - and paid handsomely.
“What is that smell?”
I’m gassy.
“no, the egg smell…”
Yeah, that’s me.
“oh, that’s horrible”
I know, it’s an issue.
“it smells like pure evil”
That’s because it is pure evil.
“Does it smell like that all the time?”
Pretty much.
So in summary, the CEO is invisible, you’ll write about beer like it was a one night stand, we have a men's room and a ladies’ room, I’m in charge, and the office constantly smells like pure evil - or eggs, depending on your level of olfactory tolerance.
If interested, please apply via email or the comments section.
So, needless to say, there have been a few things worth mentioning that have yet to be mentioned - until now. At the same time, I am constantly drinking, constantly trying new beers, and even though I rarely leave the house, I have managed to find new solitary ways of embarrassing myself (file under “difficulty with belts“). So along those lines, the plan is for the next few posts to have a bit of the past and a bit of the present. Chronologically speaking, here is something I should have mentioned back in January…
Beer on my Shirt… is hiring!
In line with the new corporate structure that was decided on at this year’s holiday party, it has been decided that we are ready to expand. The office construction has been finished - we now have both a men’s and ladies’ room - and a few part time positions have already been filled. Thus far, the few interested candidates have each had the same prying, yet appropriate questions:
“What exactly is the current corporate structure?”
Well, some of details are highly secretive, but there is a CEO, or at least a mythical beast whose name that shant be spoken can be abbreviated with those initials. That said, the CEO mainly provides memos and directives via telepathy and an antiquated Dell computer server. Rarely seen, but heard regularly as a voice inside your mind - the CEO of Beer on my Shirt will burn your soul from the inside out if you choose to cross him. Or if you use the restroom without washing your hands afterwards. And he expects to hear you sing “Happy Birthday” not once but twice while hand washing. And we don’t use the term ‘sing’ loosely around here - you better be in key or you’ll be soulless before you know it. Could you maybe sing a few bars for me?
“What exactly will I be doing?”
You’ll be drinking craft beer, sometimes in excess, and writing about your experiences with the beer.
“So I’ll be writing beer reviews?”
Not really - we’re actually not really in the review writing business because that generally requires knowledge. Our “reviewing” process focuses more on consumption and whether or not we would consume again, and how much, and for how long. Sure, adjectives tend to come in handy when describing a beer, but per our CEO you will be provided with a word bank/flowchart to reference when attempting to describe a beer. Working outside of said word bank/flowchart will result in swift justice. However, feel free to explore new words, new uses for otherwise old words, inappropriate similes and metaphors, and general delusional imagery when writing about your experience with the beer. Think of beer as a lady - now think of the letter you would write to Penthouse describing your time with that lady - that is your job description. As a Beer on my Shirt employee you will quickly learn that we are more about the “shirt” and less about the “beer”.
“May I see said flowchart?”
Not at this time.
“So who will I be working under?”
While there is a CEO, there is no real boss or manager or president. There is however a large conch shell filled with crystal skulls. I hold the conch shell 90% of the time. If you don’t like it you will be subject to electric shocks of incrementally increasing voltage until you do like it. Or until you die.
“How much will I be getting paid?”
Ass wipe - writing doesn’t pay the bills - I don’t care how many times you’ve seen Midnight in Paris. But in terms of compensation, you will be paid in bad habits, poor choices, and suspect hygiene - and paid handsomely.
“What is that smell?”
I’m gassy.
“no, the egg smell…”
Yeah, that’s me.
“oh, that’s horrible”
I know, it’s an issue.
“it smells like pure evil”
That’s because it is pure evil.
“Does it smell like that all the time?”
Pretty much.
So in summary, the CEO is invisible, you’ll write about beer like it was a one night stand, we have a men's room and a ladies’ room, I’m in charge, and the office constantly smells like pure evil - or eggs, depending on your level of olfactory tolerance.
If interested, please apply via email or the comments section.
It is that time of year when some of my favorite hoppy seasonals are on the market. I bought a case of Bell’s Hopslam this year. And while it is a little pricey- I think I paid $70 for it - I really enjoyed the few I had last year and at 10% ABV it will take awhile to get through it all. Or I’ll get so drunk that shame about my bank account will be the least of my worries. Hopslam is a double IPA using all kinds of hops and a little honey. The hops are so potent that it is hard to differentiate between the bitterness and booziness. It pours a nice yellow color and the honey gives it a palatable sweetness that makes this surprisingly drinkable. But again, while I could drink it all night, at 10% all night consists of about 2.5 of these.Next up was the Troeg’s Nugget Nectar (7.5% ABV). This is billed as an Imperial Amber, but as the label makes apparent it is really all about hops. This beer is simply delicious. The malts carry a sweetness that make a perfect backbone for the beer, but still take enough of a back seat to put the hops 100% in the driver‘s seat. This brew made that fifty best beers list I’ve been mentioning in previous posts and it is well deserved. Interestingly, going to the beer distributor and asking for Nugget Nectar is like code for saying “I’m a beer geek” because the clerk’s reply after getting me a case was “You know we still got some Hopslam in the back.” It is like slowly being initiated into the Skulls, minus the danger and political intrigue. And the fancy watch.
The Nugget Nectar and the Hopslam, if your lucky enough to have both laying around, make a nice little one-two punch. I start with the Nugget Nectar and enjoy it and all it’s perfect hop harmony. Then for beer #2, I make the switch to Hopslam. This really exaggerates the impact of the honey of the Hopslam and makes the smoothness of it really stand out. Andre and I went for it the other night while arguing Mets-Phillies baseball, an argument that as a Mets fan I just cannot win right now, and it made for a nice night - or as nice a night as possible while hanging with a Phillies fan.
Any other hopheads out there that have had this? Either way - what would you say is the hoppiest beer you’ve ever had? Because right now, I think Hoptimum has the title in my book.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Top 50 (Part 2): Pliny the Elder, more about Pony, and a failed pirate metaphor.
Prior to Pony revealing that he was headed to the pet store to have his dog’s picture taken with Santa, but after shaving the beard off his face, Pony and I were seated at a lovely little establishment, Union Jack’s Inn on the Manatawny. They had been kind enough to invite the two of us to a great IPA event called Hoppy Christmas - by invited, I mean I called and made reservations and they accepted them.
The tap list was loaded with some awesome IPA’s and Double IPA’s, and included the very hyped and hard to find, at least in these parts, Pliny the Elder, by Russian River Brewing. Pliny the Elder is an American Double IPA that is frequently ranked at the top, or near the top of many “Greatest Beer in the America/World/Universe” lists. It can be found on the Fifty Best Beers List over at fiftybest.com that I mentioned in Part One of this post. Here is their description of Russian River’s Pliny the Elder:
Obviously, I was excited to try it.
Pony ordered a set of flights, 5 or 6 ounce mini-glasses of beer - a beer sampler, in other words, that included Pliny the Elder, Firestone Walker Double Jack, Coronado Idiot, and Blue Point No Apologies. This was falling right in line with the series of poor decisions that Pony had been and apparently would continue to make.
I feel that if the first thing I order is a round of flights the waitstaff will consider me weak and poor at making decisions, or they may think I'm a fan of whimsy and gumdrops - “Hi, my name is Pony and I like whimsy. Wanna gumdrop?”, or perhaps they will think I am an illustrator of fairies and gnomes hiding under toadstools after a sloppy summer shower - “Would you like to see my sketches?”, or worse than that even - a fan of aviation history - “I have only been to the Wright Brothers Museum once and I really don’t feel like I need to explain that to you or to any other waiter, regardless of how much beer knowledge you have or how ridiculously good you are at making recommendations.” (The waitstaff at Union Jack’s is pretty darn knowledgeable and pretty darn good at recommendations - this one guy, I call him Buddy because I don’t know his name, is a beer phenom.)
Really, I just wanted my first time with Pliny the Elder to be pure and unfettered - like all first times should be.
Buddy brought us our beers and our table was filled with what looked like glasses of gold. We were captains in a pirate world of transposition where rum was the booty and gold coins were drunk to celebrate a long day of successful mayhem on the high seas.
To be clear, we were drinking beer, not rum. And is it possible for mayhem to be unsuccessful?
Pliny the Elder was very, very good and lived up to the hype more and more with each sip. The smoothness of this beer is what sets it apart from other Double IPA‘s. The description above from fiftybest.com pretty much says it all. An amazing beer worthy of the hype.
Firestone Walker’s Double Jack is another Double IPA we had that day that is listed on the Fifty Best Beer List. Pony wasn’t a fan but I really liked it. It had a rather pale yellow color compared most of the other IPA’s from that day, but it’s flavor was very crisp and bright, and I will definitely be ordering it again next time I see it. I don’t understand why Pony didn’t like it, but then again I don’t understand why a grown man would take his dog to sit on Santa’s lap - which was Pony’s next revelation of the day.
Ironically enough, it was after drinking a Coronado Idiot, a double IPA by Coronado Brewing in California, that Pony revealed the errands he had to attend to after we settled up. His wife called and they discussed Pottery Barn and lamps. I silently passed gas and hoped it smelled horrible. Pony got off the phone and casually said something about lamps and that he had go to the pet store later because Santa was there. He said this as if he was talking about going to Home Depot to buy a new hammer - like it was no big deal that he was going home, picking up his dog, taking the dog to the pet store, and then paying for a photo of his dog sitting on the lap of Santa. I don’t know if I was more disappointed in Pony for the words coming out of his mouth or in my own flatulence for not smelling bad enough to kill us both right then and there.
Anyways, I finished our unsettling encounter with a Ballast Point Sculpin IPA. Apparently, Ballast Point Brewing has their own sport fishing team, which makes sense since this IPA is named after a fish. This is a single IPA with a nice balance between the sweet of the malt and the citrus of the hops. It has nice bright flavor with more subtle fruity complexities than most IPA’s, which is probably why this beer is also found on the Fifty Best Beers list. I have since found and bought a six pack of this that I have been slowly chipping away at, and I must say I like this beer more and more each time I have one. It will be purchased again.
Overall, the day was a success. Pony and I had a good time and Pliny the Elder was great. I would recommend that everyone try this beer if the opportunity presents itself. Even if your not into hoppy beers, try this just to experience the smoothness, dare I say creaminess, that an IPA can have. Not all IPA’s are bitter punches in the tongue. Pliny manages to be crisp and smooth at the same time - a juxtaposition worth the price of admission. (Originally, that sentence ended with “a juxtaposition that every mouth should experience” - my editor said I needed to change it - that it sounded like a bad pick-up line. I’m fine changing it, but that line has the potential to be an award winner in the right situation. In my experience, using ‘juxtaposition’ in a sentence, whether you use it correctly or not, has been a consistent panty-dropper. Especially at Barnes and Nobles while pretending to read The New Yorker.)
P.S. The Coronado Idiot was good; a solid IPA - I’d drink it again. The Blue Point No Apologies was very sweet, too sweet, I did not finish my glass, and would probably not drink it again. I was disappointed because I really like Bluepoint’s Hoptical Illusion.
The tap list was loaded with some awesome IPA’s and Double IPA’s, and included the very hyped and hard to find, at least in these parts, Pliny the Elder, by Russian River Brewing. Pliny the Elder is an American Double IPA that is frequently ranked at the top, or near the top of many “Greatest Beer in the America/World/Universe” lists. It can be found on the Fifty Best Beers List over at fiftybest.com that I mentioned in Part One of this post. Here is their description of Russian River’s Pliny the Elder:
A
smooth Double IPA from the Russian River Brewing Company is all it is
hyped up to be. An absolute classic clocking in at 8% ABV. The ale is
named for the Roman scholar and naturalist who first named the hop plant
and studied them. Pliny the Elder named hops, “lupus salictarius,”
meaning, “wolf among scrubs.” The beer is made with 40% more malt and
two times the amount of hops used in the Russian River IPA, a single IPA
product from the same brewery. A sticky, beige head leaves tons of
lacing as the yellowish-orange nectar is gulped down. The aromas
include oranges, floral centerpieces and notes of pine. The cream
factor that makes this beer smooth and incredibly drinkable is what
separates this from other Double IPAs of its kind. A very subtle bite
and overall taste with big, bright aromas and malty reinforcement.
Obviously, I was excited to try it.
Pony ordered a set of flights, 5 or 6 ounce mini-glasses of beer - a beer sampler, in other words, that included Pliny the Elder, Firestone Walker Double Jack, Coronado Idiot, and Blue Point No Apologies. This was falling right in line with the series of poor decisions that Pony had been and apparently would continue to make.
I feel that if the first thing I order is a round of flights the waitstaff will consider me weak and poor at making decisions, or they may think I'm a fan of whimsy and gumdrops - “Hi, my name is Pony and I like whimsy. Wanna gumdrop?”, or perhaps they will think I am an illustrator of fairies and gnomes hiding under toadstools after a sloppy summer shower - “Would you like to see my sketches?”, or worse than that even - a fan of aviation history - “I have only been to the Wright Brothers Museum once and I really don’t feel like I need to explain that to you or to any other waiter, regardless of how much beer knowledge you have or how ridiculously good you are at making recommendations.” (The waitstaff at Union Jack’s is pretty darn knowledgeable and pretty darn good at recommendations - this one guy, I call him Buddy because I don’t know his name, is a beer phenom.)
Really, I just wanted my first time with Pliny the Elder to be pure and unfettered - like all first times should be.
Buddy brought us our beers and our table was filled with what looked like glasses of gold. We were captains in a pirate world of transposition where rum was the booty and gold coins were drunk to celebrate a long day of successful mayhem on the high seas.
To be clear, we were drinking beer, not rum. And is it possible for mayhem to be unsuccessful?
 |
| Pliny the Elder |
Firestone Walker’s Double Jack is another Double IPA we had that day that is listed on the Fifty Best Beer List. Pony wasn’t a fan but I really liked it. It had a rather pale yellow color compared most of the other IPA’s from that day, but it’s flavor was very crisp and bright, and I will definitely be ordering it again next time I see it. I don’t understand why Pony didn’t like it, but then again I don’t understand why a grown man would take his dog to sit on Santa’s lap - which was Pony’s next revelation of the day.
Ironically enough, it was after drinking a Coronado Idiot, a double IPA by Coronado Brewing in California, that Pony revealed the errands he had to attend to after we settled up. His wife called and they discussed Pottery Barn and lamps. I silently passed gas and hoped it smelled horrible. Pony got off the phone and casually said something about lamps and that he had go to the pet store later because Santa was there. He said this as if he was talking about going to Home Depot to buy a new hammer - like it was no big deal that he was going home, picking up his dog, taking the dog to the pet store, and then paying for a photo of his dog sitting on the lap of Santa. I don’t know if I was more disappointed in Pony for the words coming out of his mouth or in my own flatulence for not smelling bad enough to kill us both right then and there.
Overall, the day was a success. Pony and I had a good time and Pliny the Elder was great. I would recommend that everyone try this beer if the opportunity presents itself. Even if your not into hoppy beers, try this just to experience the smoothness, dare I say creaminess, that an IPA can have. Not all IPA’s are bitter punches in the tongue. Pliny manages to be crisp and smooth at the same time - a juxtaposition worth the price of admission. (Originally, that sentence ended with “a juxtaposition that every mouth should experience” - my editor said I needed to change it - that it sounded like a bad pick-up line. I’m fine changing it, but that line has the potential to be an award winner in the right situation. In my experience, using ‘juxtaposition’ in a sentence, whether you use it correctly or not, has been a consistent panty-dropper. Especially at Barnes and Nobles while pretending to read The New Yorker.)
P.S. The Coronado Idiot was good; a solid IPA - I’d drink it again. The Blue Point No Apologies was very sweet, too sweet, I did not finish my glass, and would probably not drink it again. I was disappointed because I really like Bluepoint’s Hoptical Illusion.
Monday, January 2, 2012
The Week of Flossing, Pony P gets suspended, and some more winter seasonals.
I recently received this memo from the CEO of Beer on my Shirt (a man of great power and wealth)…
RE: Pony P
In lieu of recent transgressions, not limited to but including the following:
As a result of this recent development, I am forced to put Part 2 of the Top 50 series on hold because, unfortunately, he who can not be mentioned plays a pretty big role in the whole thing. Luckily, for everyone involved, my life is essentially a bottomless pit of beer related experiences and embarrassment. Revel in my poor decisions like you’re Fidel Castro and I’m a boner named the Bay of Pigs Invasion.
The days between Christmas and New Year’s Day are always a strange time. Everything seems to be in flux - apparently no one actually has to go to work, everyone is running rampant with gift cards and new socks, and losers that think that winning and losing still matter make resolutions. Resolutions that, by the way, are the equivalent of sending your high school sweetheart a carnation because she’s pissed at you that your best friend‘s sister has bigger tits than her. ("It's not like I put them there!" - "But I always catch you looking at them!" - "There fucking huge! No matter where I look, I'm gonna see them.")
Carnations and resolutions - in the long run, nobody gives a shit about either one; after a week they both shrivel up and die so stop wasting everybody’s time and just give some money to a charity that feeds hungry kids. Your dumb girlfriend will eat that up. (Am I implying that your girlfriend is a hungry child fed by charitable organizations? Or that she will be aroused by your philanthropy? Some questions - like “Does monogamy make sense for humans?” - can never be answered.)
Here at Beer on my Shirt, we have established a tradition that takes a slightly different approach to the days between Christmas and New Year’s - we call it the Week of Flossing. It came about after years of failed “I’m gonna floss more” New Year’s Resolutions. Coincidentally, the years of flossing resolutions were preceded by years of failed “I’m gonna have more intercourse” resolutions along with the absolutely unsuccessful Week of Intercourse back in 2001. A Week of Time Travel had a better chance of success.
The Week of Flossing is based on the premise that resolutions are unsuccessful and attempts a “hit the ground running” approach to flossing in the New Year. A successful week of flossing is measured in simple terms - you floss at least once a day every day starting with the day after Christmas and culminating on New Year’s Day. The hope is that with a full week of flossing before the New Year - followed by another week of daily flossing in an effort to stick with the resolution - followed by a week or two of intermittent flossing as you try and hang on to the dream of actually becoming a better person, and finally, culminating with a strategically scheduled dentist appointment that will lead, hopefully, to my dental hygienist actually believing that I give a shit about teeth that are as crooked as the motives of a sloppy French maid.
Here are a few things that I tend to think about while flossing during the Week of Flossing:
One of the major challenges of the Week of Flossing is the combination of a sensitive gag reflex with the excessive drinking of a large variety of holiday or winter seasonal beers. In some circles, the Week of Flossing is also known as the Week of Morning Dry Heaving.
I wrote about a few holiday beers a few weeks ago. Here are a few more that I came across during the Week of Flossing:
Belgian Freeze (8% ABV) - This is a Belgian Dark Ale brewed by River Horse Brewing. It has a nice sour Belgian yeast smell and taste - along with some very mild spice flavor, like coriander, and a dark fruit sweetness. Chuckles, a friend of Beer on my Shirt, had it on draft and loved it - so I bought a few bottles. I thought it was good but just a bit flat and just a bit too sweet to make me want to go buy it again this year. It did have a nice booze warming finish that I enjoyed so next year I’ll probably buy it again just to have one or two in the fridge.
Lancaster Brewing Company’s Winter Warmer (8.9% ABV) - From what I can
tell, the style here is considered an Old Ale but it certainly had
characteristics of a Belgian Dark Ale - I felt like this was a better
version of the Belgian Freeze. It had a nice doughy flavor, just a
little spice, and some chocolate and roasted flavors. The sweetness was
similar to the Belgian Freeze but more subdued and the finish had
almost a tart or sour edge to it that I really liked. It left a little
tingle on the back of my tongue after every sip. I was pleasantly
surprised by this beer and will be seeking it out again as it made a
perfect nightcap - but the booze of it snuck up on me and my empty
stomach - Wife was forced to make me a soft pretzel after I repeatedly
yelled “Soft Pretzels For Everyone!” while dancing on an imaginary
pretzel shaped dance floor. It was as if John Belushi was cast for the
lead role in Footloose.
Heavy Sea’s Winter Storm “Category 5 Ale” (7.5% ABV) - Winter Storm is an ESB, or Extra Special Bitter, that I really enjoyed. Pretty strong for the style but very tasty. It was a great change of pace from the typical winter beer, the spices were non existent, and it had a great caramel malt flavor balanced with a earthy hop taste. Very crisp, very flavorful but mild enough as to not overpower, and with a hint of alcohol at the end. I liked it very much and wished I had more - I could have drank it all night.
Delirium Noel (10% ABV) - This is another Belgian Dark Ale, actually from Belgium. It smelled like banana bread dough and had a nice solid, not overpowering Belgian yeast flavor. The carbonation was great, giving it a nice dry crispness, and the spice flavors were very mild. Wife and I split the big bottle and we both enjoyed it very much - would have popped open another if we had it. But we didn’t - so instead we inflated the kiddie pool, broke out the olive oil and goggles, and wrestled slippy Greco-Roman style until one of us blew chunks. Winner gets the leftover honey ham, a highly coveted prize. Loser cleans up all holiday vomit. All of it. ALL OF IT!
RE: Pony P
In lieu of recent transgressions, not limited to but including the following:
- Shaving of his face (done not for personal reasons (which would have been totally acceptable), rather to please his wife and the Mother of his good friend Chuckles (a woman that loudly proclaimed Pony P’s ugliness multiple times, “Your so ugly with that hairy face and hair, you used to be cute”)).
- Taking his dog to sit on Santa’s lap.
- Communist tendencies.
- Allowing his wife to verbally attack me at the Beer on my Shirt holiday party over the content of Top 50 (Part 1): Andre and Pony P get weird.
As a result of this recent development, I am forced to put Part 2 of the Top 50 series on hold because, unfortunately, he who can not be mentioned plays a pretty big role in the whole thing. Luckily, for everyone involved, my life is essentially a bottomless pit of beer related experiences and embarrassment. Revel in my poor decisions like you’re Fidel Castro and I’m a boner named the Bay of Pigs Invasion.
The days between Christmas and New Year’s Day are always a strange time. Everything seems to be in flux - apparently no one actually has to go to work, everyone is running rampant with gift cards and new socks, and losers that think that winning and losing still matter make resolutions. Resolutions that, by the way, are the equivalent of sending your high school sweetheart a carnation because she’s pissed at you that your best friend‘s sister has bigger tits than her. ("It's not like I put them there!" - "But I always catch you looking at them!" - "There fucking huge! No matter where I look, I'm gonna see them.")
Carnations and resolutions - in the long run, nobody gives a shit about either one; after a week they both shrivel up and die so stop wasting everybody’s time and just give some money to a charity that feeds hungry kids. Your dumb girlfriend will eat that up. (Am I implying that your girlfriend is a hungry child fed by charitable organizations? Or that she will be aroused by your philanthropy? Some questions - like “Does monogamy make sense for humans?” - can never be answered.)
Here at Beer on my Shirt, we have established a tradition that takes a slightly different approach to the days between Christmas and New Year’s - we call it the Week of Flossing. It came about after years of failed “I’m gonna floss more” New Year’s Resolutions. Coincidentally, the years of flossing resolutions were preceded by years of failed “I’m gonna have more intercourse” resolutions along with the absolutely unsuccessful Week of Intercourse back in 2001. A Week of Time Travel had a better chance of success.
The Week of Flossing is based on the premise that resolutions are unsuccessful and attempts a “hit the ground running” approach to flossing in the New Year. A successful week of flossing is measured in simple terms - you floss at least once a day every day starting with the day after Christmas and culminating on New Year’s Day. The hope is that with a full week of flossing before the New Year - followed by another week of daily flossing in an effort to stick with the resolution - followed by a week or two of intermittent flossing as you try and hang on to the dream of actually becoming a better person, and finally, culminating with a strategically scheduled dentist appointment that will lead, hopefully, to my dental hygienist actually believing that I give a shit about teeth that are as crooked as the motives of a sloppy French maid.
Here are a few things that I tend to think about while flossing during the Week of Flossing:
- When was the last time I ate steak, cause that piece there definitely looks like steak.
- What is that smell?
- How much more purple can my finger tip get?
- How much longer do I have until that finger tip gives up and just falls right off?
- Zombie Finger Tip?
- They say the tongue is the strongest muscle in the human body. Have “they” seen my thighs? (I floss in front of a full length mirror.)
- I fucking hate my wisdom teeth.
- "Are you looking at me?"
- Avoid eye contact.
- Don’t throw up.
One of the major challenges of the Week of Flossing is the combination of a sensitive gag reflex with the excessive drinking of a large variety of holiday or winter seasonal beers. In some circles, the Week of Flossing is also known as the Week of Morning Dry Heaving.
I wrote about a few holiday beers a few weeks ago. Here are a few more that I came across during the Week of Flossing:
Belgian Freeze (8% ABV) - This is a Belgian Dark Ale brewed by River Horse Brewing. It has a nice sour Belgian yeast smell and taste - along with some very mild spice flavor, like coriander, and a dark fruit sweetness. Chuckles, a friend of Beer on my Shirt, had it on draft and loved it - so I bought a few bottles. I thought it was good but just a bit flat and just a bit too sweet to make me want to go buy it again this year. It did have a nice booze warming finish that I enjoyed so next year I’ll probably buy it again just to have one or two in the fridge.
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| The Beer on my Shirt "nonick" pint glass, from Wife's Sister |
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| The Beer on my Shirt "shaker" pint glass, from Alice. |
Heavy Sea’s Winter Storm “Category 5 Ale” (7.5% ABV) - Winter Storm is an ESB, or Extra Special Bitter, that I really enjoyed. Pretty strong for the style but very tasty. It was a great change of pace from the typical winter beer, the spices were non existent, and it had a great caramel malt flavor balanced with a earthy hop taste. Very crisp, very flavorful but mild enough as to not overpower, and with a hint of alcohol at the end. I liked it very much and wished I had more - I could have drank it all night.
Delirium Noel (10% ABV) - This is another Belgian Dark Ale, actually from Belgium. It smelled like banana bread dough and had a nice solid, not overpowering Belgian yeast flavor. The carbonation was great, giving it a nice dry crispness, and the spice flavors were very mild. Wife and I split the big bottle and we both enjoyed it very much - would have popped open another if we had it. But we didn’t - so instead we inflated the kiddie pool, broke out the olive oil and goggles, and wrestled slippy Greco-Roman style until one of us blew chunks. Winner gets the leftover honey ham, a highly coveted prize. Loser cleans up all holiday vomit. All of it. ALL OF IT!
Monday, December 26, 2011
Top 50 (Part 1): Andre and Pony P get weird.
Top fifty lists. Or top ten lists. Or even top three - like your top 3 three albums of all time - right now - give ’em to me. It’s not easy to do. I’ve been there - Thanksgiving eve, fresh from being snuck upstairs to see the second set of a great local band with a new line-up - a few deep on some Mad Elfs and chasing with Pabst in a basement bar (picture me running around in a basement with a guy named Pabst, a stout hairless man with his shirt off, think Iron Sheik meets a bowling ball, chasing stuff, and maybe there‘s a crowd of on-lookers waving cash and placing bets). The band covered the Lemonhead’s “Drug Buddy” and that inspired me to declare It’s a Shame About Ray (the Lemonhead’s album containing “Drug Buddy”) as a top ten of all time. To which my friend Andre (yes, I have a friend named Andre, and yes, he is a man that likes a fine lightweight scarf) proclaimed his number one album of all time was the motion picture soundtrack to The Last of the Mohicans. Starring Daniel Day Lewis. His defense of this “album” at one point included the phrase - “man, when those violins hit you…I could run up a mountain.” It was around this time that I noticed a fire in Andre’s eyes that let me know he was serious. I feared he would punch me in the crotch.
I was and still am awestruck. Flabberghasted. Last of the Mohicans. Really? I almost downloaded it on iTunes. Three different times. But I don’t have a credit card. Or any iTunes gift cards. I am way off the grid.
But top 50 lists, specifically top 50 beer lists, like Andre’s bold pledge of allegiance to Daniel Day Lewis and the stringed compositions that attempt to describe an elk hunt, tend to get my attention. While out stalking on various social media sites, I came across such a beer list at thebestfifty.com. The way I look at it, a beer on such a list is a beer worth having.
I’ve had the opportunity to have more than my fair share of some of these: Allagash White (a Belgian wit with a slight American twist), Bear Republic Racer 5 (an IPA), Bell’s Two Hearted Ale (a double IPA), North Coast’s Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout, Troeg’s Nugget Nectar (a hopped up Imperial Amber), Stone’s Sublimely Self Righteous Ale (a black IPA), and Stillwater’s Cellar Door (a saison).
Obviously all of these beers are very good. The Sublimely Self Righteous, while I wasn’t completely sure about it when I wrote about it here, has grown on me in a big way. One day I was lucky enough to have a 21st Amendment’s Back in Black, another Black IPA, followed by some Sublimely Self Righteous. Both were good, but I was quickly falling in love with the Self Righteous. That night, I had a bottle of Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout, a beer I love, and it seemed mild in comparison to the Sublimely Self Righteous I had earlier in the day. I was hooked.
Stillwater’s Cellar Door is one that I just had recently, once on tap and then again, with Wife, in a big bottle, at this place called The Mint - a bank that got turned into a gastropub - the beers are kept in the vault! What I love about this beer is the subtleness of it’s complexity. It’s a saison, but with wheat and sage. It has a smoothness and an earthiness that really dance around one another. Very Last of the Mohicans, in it’s own way.
There are a few more on the list of the 50 best beers that my good friend, Pony P, and I recently enjoyed at a lovely event called Hoppy Christmas or Very Hoppy Christmas or something like that - you get the idea, right? - and I want to tell you about those beers, I do, but all I can think about right now is the fact that Pony P shaved his beard. He’s bare faced headed into the height of winter. Clearly, he is not mentally sound, and I have some real concerns. The fact that he took his dog to sit on Santa’s lap doesn’t not make me feel any better about the whole situation. The fact that he told me about the whole dog and Santa thing has my bowels all knotted up and shaky. Pony P has taken this bromance to a level of intimacy that, frankly, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with.
Andre’s listening to movie soundtracks; Pony P is shaving his face and taking his pooch to Santa - what the fuck is going on here, guys? Does the dog ask for stuff? I mean seriously! Keep your weirdo shit to yourself. I don’t go around flaunting my collection of pictures of animals dressed as doctors. Nobody wants to see a kitten, or a golden retriever for that matter, wearing a stethoscope and a white coat, looking all George Clooney on ER circa 1995.
Anyway, I found another list, this one is the top 50 American Beers and is based on votes. I’ve had quite a few off of this list as well, some with the man formerly known as Pony P.
Oh, and I'm in the process of creating a new list: Top 50 most embarrassing things you can do/say while/after drinking one of the Top 50 beers.
But I’ll tell you about those later. Right now, I need to go write “Pony” on some cinder blocks and smash them with a sledge hammer. Yes, I will wear safety goggles. And a toga. And yes, I am gonna grow the fuck outta my sideburns.
I was and still am awestruck. Flabberghasted. Last of the Mohicans. Really? I almost downloaded it on iTunes. Three different times. But I don’t have a credit card. Or any iTunes gift cards. I am way off the grid.
But top 50 lists, specifically top 50 beer lists, like Andre’s bold pledge of allegiance to Daniel Day Lewis and the stringed compositions that attempt to describe an elk hunt, tend to get my attention. While out stalking on various social media sites, I came across such a beer list at thebestfifty.com. The way I look at it, a beer on such a list is a beer worth having.
I’ve had the opportunity to have more than my fair share of some of these: Allagash White (a Belgian wit with a slight American twist), Bear Republic Racer 5 (an IPA), Bell’s Two Hearted Ale (a double IPA), North Coast’s Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout, Troeg’s Nugget Nectar (a hopped up Imperial Amber), Stone’s Sublimely Self Righteous Ale (a black IPA), and Stillwater’s Cellar Door (a saison).
Obviously all of these beers are very good. The Sublimely Self Righteous, while I wasn’t completely sure about it when I wrote about it here, has grown on me in a big way. One day I was lucky enough to have a 21st Amendment’s Back in Black, another Black IPA, followed by some Sublimely Self Righteous. Both were good, but I was quickly falling in love with the Self Righteous. That night, I had a bottle of Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout, a beer I love, and it seemed mild in comparison to the Sublimely Self Righteous I had earlier in the day. I was hooked.
Stillwater’s Cellar Door is one that I just had recently, once on tap and then again, with Wife, in a big bottle, at this place called The Mint - a bank that got turned into a gastropub - the beers are kept in the vault! What I love about this beer is the subtleness of it’s complexity. It’s a saison, but with wheat and sage. It has a smoothness and an earthiness that really dance around one another. Very Last of the Mohicans, in it’s own way.
There are a few more on the list of the 50 best beers that my good friend, Pony P, and I recently enjoyed at a lovely event called Hoppy Christmas or Very Hoppy Christmas or something like that - you get the idea, right? - and I want to tell you about those beers, I do, but all I can think about right now is the fact that Pony P shaved his beard. He’s bare faced headed into the height of winter. Clearly, he is not mentally sound, and I have some real concerns. The fact that he took his dog to sit on Santa’s lap doesn’t not make me feel any better about the whole situation. The fact that he told me about the whole dog and Santa thing has my bowels all knotted up and shaky. Pony P has taken this bromance to a level of intimacy that, frankly, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with.
Andre’s listening to movie soundtracks; Pony P is shaving his face and taking his pooch to Santa - what the fuck is going on here, guys? Does the dog ask for stuff? I mean seriously! Keep your weirdo shit to yourself. I don’t go around flaunting my collection of pictures of animals dressed as doctors. Nobody wants to see a kitten, or a golden retriever for that matter, wearing a stethoscope and a white coat, looking all George Clooney on ER circa 1995.
 |
| Thank You uNatrualInspiration! |
Oh, and I'm in the process of creating a new list: Top 50 most embarrassing things you can do/say while/after drinking one of the Top 50 beers.
But I’ll tell you about those later. Right now, I need to go write “Pony” on some cinder blocks and smash them with a sledge hammer. Yes, I will wear safety goggles. And a toga. And yes, I am gonna grow the fuck outta my sideburns.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
My walk, my women, and some holiday beers
I have a distinct walk. Or so my parents told me, starting in my teen years. They said they could pick me out of a crowd from a mile away - just by my walk. I think it may have had more to do with the fact that I was the one in the crowd with my hair dyed some strange shade, although typically, and parallel to my taste in women, I liked to bounce between very black to very blonde. Speaking of my women, since the birth of the Beanpod, my daughter, my life has resembled that of a reality cooking show contestant. I make meals in pressure packed, time sensitive circumstances with ingredients I am unfamiliar with, go to sleep exhausted, and on occasion have the opportunity to drink a delicious beer.
My most recent challenge involved a mystery packet of seasoning that reminded me of fajitas when I smelled it. With some steaks defrosted in the refrigerator, steak fajitas seemed like the logical choice. Unfortunately, I was sans the necessary vegetables. The discovery of a can of green enchilada sauce in my pantry and some shredded cheese with a first name of Taco lead me to a nice little medley I called Steak Fajita Taco Enchiladas. Cinco de mayo en diciembre!
Speaking of December, let’s talk some holiday beers. There are tons. I tend to classify them into two categories - you have the spice-heavy and the non-spiced. Obviously, I consider a holiday beer spiced if it’s brewed with a mix of spices, like clove and coriander and even pepper. I am generally anti-spice. It’s not that I don’t like these beers, like Bell’s Winter White Ale or St. Bernardus Christmas Ale, but they are certainly not at the top of my list because I feel like the spice dominates the beer. And like I just said, I’m anti-spice, unless your talking Dune-House Atreides-Arrakis-Paul Muad’Dib-Sandworm spice, then the spice is king, of course.
Winter Warmers are a style of beer that sometimes are brewed with spices, but generally it is the sweet malty body that you notice more than any spice, and typically you get a little alcohol warmth at the end. Sam Adams “Old Fezziwig Ale” is a good example of this that I enjoy. However, some beers labeled as winter warmers can be all about spice, which is not really true to the style, so the category itself can be hit or miss for someone that is not a fan of spiced beers. This idea gives any beer labeled a “winter warmer” the distinction of being placed in a sub-category in my mind that I call Crapshoot. I’ll usually only take a chance on one of these if I see it on tap and can have a taste before I order, which, for the record, is a practice that Wife tends to abuse. I haven’t really said anything about it to her, but I’ve noticed she’ll ask for a sample of a beer she’s already had. Is she forgetful or frugal? Will I ever really know? Can anyone ever really know anything about the elusive enigma we men simply call “Wife”. Generally, I’m just happy to survive another night next to a mystery that sleeps with a small hatchet under her pillow. Wife says the handle helps her - it’s for her neck. I fear it may be for mine.
The non-spicey holiday ales can be all over the place, but I have three in mind that I really enjoy, each pretty standard and easy to find round this time of year, at least round these parts (I mean, I want to blow your mind with some crazy holiday beer you’ve never heard of, but this is only the second holiday season here at Beer on my Shirt, and I want to be honest and give you the beers that I was looking forward to this holiday season. I am always open to suggestions though).
The Mad Elf (11%ABV) - Troeg’s makes this and it is awesome. Brewed with honey and cherries, it has a unique flavor that reminds of the time I went to LA after Christmas and drank way too much cough syrup. Sipping the sizzurp, as they say. Mad Elf can have a similar effect to the sizzurp, as it is potent and goes down too easy. It is a go to for me when cooking dinner for the family. Twenty minutes and dinner is done and I’ve got a sweet buzz after one Elf. I’m living the dream and ready to listen to an album containing lyrics I don’t really understand but about to have my mind blown by said album because the Elf has prepped my brain for deeper understanding while eating some chicken breast seasoned with herbs de provence - that’s what the Elf does to you, to your soul.
(For those not familiar with the sizzurp and its effect, here at Beer on my Shirt we have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. And yes, that is working out quite well.)
The above mentioned album was Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks’ Real Emotional Trash, and I had it for about 6 months before I listened to it with the Elf. I mean, I had enjoyed the album but had very little grasp of the what the hell he was singing about at any given moment. Two and a half bottles of Elf later and I’m totally sympathizing with the tragic tale of Hopscotch Willie - he was panting like a pit bull, minus the mean. True story. And I still love the album.
Celebration Ale (6.8% ABV)- This one is by Sierra Nevada and it really is the only beer of their’s that I’ve had and love. It has a little hop bite to it but also has a nice malt foundation to balance it all out. This is one of my favorites all time, not just holiday time. One of the best all around American beers I’ve had the pleasure of funneling. I’m kidding - about the funnel, not the flavor - you must savor this amazing nectar.
SIDENOTE: I have never funneled a beer in my life. Pretty sure about that.
Santa’s Private Reserve Ale (6% ABV) - Made by Rogue, this red ale also has some hop to it. This year, I felt it had a bit more of a metallic/copper taste than I remembered. I consider this like a little brother to the Celebration Ale, similar characteristics, but this has a bit more pine taste to it that dominates, where Celebration has more of a balance between hops and malt. Either way, I like it. Definitely something I’ve drank a few of and would not hesitate to do it again. And the label has Santa on it. Sold!
Also, this beer seems to have a positive effect on mathematical reasoning skills - three of these puppies and I am twice as good at math. It follows that 6 of these would make me 4 times as good at math. Now, I’m already pretty mathematically inclined and when you take that raw talent and multiply it by 4 you get…well, you probably wouldn’t be familiar the concepts I was about to reference, so drink a few Santas and get back me. We’ll hang out and prove some trigonometric identities during commercial breaks while watching one of the 3 NASA channels I get. And yeah, those are pay channels, bitch. (Uhm, no sir, they’re not.)
Saturday, November 5, 2011
It's a Process
I sat down to write a post this past weekend, and the sad sack short story below is what came out, about a guy at a bar on Halloween. It is not very humorous. However, it seems to be part of the Beer On My Shirt process, so perhaps it belongs; the character is drinking beer after all, although it doesn’t feel as if he is drinking craft beer. After this, I will be funny again. So funny, in fact, that you will pee your pants and pass out. For three months. And then you’ll wake up frozen to a metal chair.
“How, what, where did the metal chair come from? And why am I frozen to it? It’s not even that cold out yet, and how did I get outside even?”
Listen, you’re still inside, Snagglepuss. While you were passed out, I removed your furniture and replaced it with an interior design concept I’ve been developing using the dollhouses in my attic called “Thanksgiving day kiddie table,” all card tables, metal folding chairs, and paper plates all over the place. And your frozen to that shit because you’ve been asleep for 3 months, and it’s January now, and your heat never got turned on, and even if it did it would have been turned off anyway cause you lost your job and haven’t paid any bills. All because my humor made you pee yourself and pass out for three months.
Now your nervous. Don’t be. I’m not that funny. Here’s the proof: a short story based on the lyrics to a Talking Heads song. Also, it should be noted that I haven’t shaved in almost a week, I’ve dyed my hair black, I’m wearing a bathrobe and a red beret, and my last three Google searches have been “psycho killer lyrics”, “doc martens“, and “raison d’etre” which is a beer I had by Dogfish Head that I did not care for at the time, a bit too sweet and boozy for me. It turns out that “raison d’etre” is also a French phrase that means “reason for existence.” Ironic, because it’s French, not because it works well with the bathrobe/beret motif. And now, a short story:
Psycho Killer, Qu’est-ce que c’est
The blister is healing nicely. Just a pink spot on the thumb, an extra knuckle at a quick glance. And that sums up his night nicely. Dying, trying, to start a conversation to give the night some rhythm beyond the band playing at the other end.
Having a good time with beers and costumes and a front man so David Byrne and Robert Smith simultaneous and on purpose, but still nothing to say surrounded by acquaintances and friends. He picks at dry skin around the pink spot on his thumb, mirroring the attempts at small talk. Quick picks and quips and everyone seems to need to grab another beer. Nothing is coming up with any meat to it. His charm carnivorous, his wit blood thirsty, shrivels and shrinks.
The first few lines of All Along the Watchtower come to mind.
He has had rough week or two at work and so this venture out is needed and forced and he feels outside himself watching a man that is quickly realizing he just wants to sleep. His wife is a few seats down with friends, enjoying the night out, and he loves her so he pushes on as to not bring her down and takes another lap.
Some guy dressed like a generic version of skinny Vince Vaughn a la Swingers dances like a fool and he wonders if he dances like all the time or if it is part of the costume. That might not even be a costume, he thinks. He stops watching because something about it makes him angry and directs his attention to the bottle for the rest of the night.
He wakes the next morning, confused by the clock but refreshed. He has slept in like Saturdays should. Finally, a late morning - an act of reciprocation from a woman that gets him - and he feels like he has all he needs. Last night be damned. The smell of coffee and memories of thoughts of David Byrne flood his senses and he smiles…
Ce que j’ai fait ce soir-la
Ce qu’elle a dit ce soir-la
Realisant mon espoir
Je me lance vers la gloire… OK.
“How, what, where did the metal chair come from? And why am I frozen to it? It’s not even that cold out yet, and how did I get outside even?”
Listen, you’re still inside, Snagglepuss. While you were passed out, I removed your furniture and replaced it with an interior design concept I’ve been developing using the dollhouses in my attic called “Thanksgiving day kiddie table,” all card tables, metal folding chairs, and paper plates all over the place. And your frozen to that shit because you’ve been asleep for 3 months, and it’s January now, and your heat never got turned on, and even if it did it would have been turned off anyway cause you lost your job and haven’t paid any bills. All because my humor made you pee yourself and pass out for three months.
Now your nervous. Don’t be. I’m not that funny. Here’s the proof: a short story based on the lyrics to a Talking Heads song. Also, it should be noted that I haven’t shaved in almost a week, I’ve dyed my hair black, I’m wearing a bathrobe and a red beret, and my last three Google searches have been “psycho killer lyrics”, “doc martens“, and “raison d’etre” which is a beer I had by Dogfish Head that I did not care for at the time, a bit too sweet and boozy for me. It turns out that “raison d’etre” is also a French phrase that means “reason for existence.” Ironic, because it’s French, not because it works well with the bathrobe/beret motif. And now, a short story:
Psycho Killer, Qu’est-ce que c’est
The blister is healing nicely. Just a pink spot on the thumb, an extra knuckle at a quick glance. And that sums up his night nicely. Dying, trying, to start a conversation to give the night some rhythm beyond the band playing at the other end.
Having a good time with beers and costumes and a front man so David Byrne and Robert Smith simultaneous and on purpose, but still nothing to say surrounded by acquaintances and friends. He picks at dry skin around the pink spot on his thumb, mirroring the attempts at small talk. Quick picks and quips and everyone seems to need to grab another beer. Nothing is coming up with any meat to it. His charm carnivorous, his wit blood thirsty, shrivels and shrinks.
The first few lines of All Along the Watchtower come to mind.
He has had rough week or two at work and so this venture out is needed and forced and he feels outside himself watching a man that is quickly realizing he just wants to sleep. His wife is a few seats down with friends, enjoying the night out, and he loves her so he pushes on as to not bring her down and takes another lap.
Some guy dressed like a generic version of skinny Vince Vaughn a la Swingers dances like a fool and he wonders if he dances like all the time or if it is part of the costume. That might not even be a costume, he thinks. He stops watching because something about it makes him angry and directs his attention to the bottle for the rest of the night.
He wakes the next morning, confused by the clock but refreshed. He has slept in like Saturdays should. Finally, a late morning - an act of reciprocation from a woman that gets him - and he feels like he has all he needs. Last night be damned. The smell of coffee and memories of thoughts of David Byrne flood his senses and he smiles…
Ce que j’ai fait ce soir-la
Ce qu’elle a dit ce soir-la
Realisant mon espoir
Je me lance vers la gloire… OK.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Information about my Thighs, Strombolis, and Black IPAs
As of yesterday, my thighs have officially stopped rubbing together. Not that they ever did any serious rubbing, but I am choosing yesterday as the date to make that statement official. Adjust your date books accordingly.
I look at this accomplishment as a half-step backwards on my path to becoming a no talent, sex appeal-less, sans jump suit version of 70’s Elvis. Is ‘accomplishment’ really the right word here? It’s too early to tell.
Why yesterday as the official date, you may be wondering?
Yesterday, while driving, I saw two rather large and round college girls walking down the street. Between them was a stick-like skinny boy carrying 4 pizza boxes and 2 large bottles of Mountain Dew.
Many thoughts ran through my head.
The nostalgic: “Ah, college”
The thankful: “I’m glad my thighs don’t rub together like that” (hence the official date of my thigh rubbing declaration. The world needs to know.)
The logical: “That is not going to be enough soda.”
The near sighted: “If I take my glasses off, this looks like a walking Venn diagram”
The perverse: “If that young man is about to become the meat in a sexual sandwich, that sandwich would be called a ‘Stromboli’.” (All dough with a little meat and cheese.)
The reactionary: “I will never eat a Stromboli ever again.”
I just threw up a little in my mouth.
The sickening: “If the big girls are housing that pizza, what’s the little guy gonna eat?”
Now I am throwing up all over my car.
The reality: “How do I get vomit out of leather?”
The future: “That poor young man will probably have a similar concern regarding vomit and leather in his future.”
The literary: “Rabbit, Run.”
The blogger: “How do I relate this to beer?”
Stone’s Sublimely Self Righteous Ale (8.7% ABV)
Really, who am I to judge or assume? What makes me better than anyone else?
Frankly, many many things. But now is not the time for a long list of admirable qualities such as: armpits that don’t smell, a resilient immune system, lady-like hands, squinty eyes that lend themselves to daydreaming under the façade of deep thought, perfect lip placement in relation to the other elements of my face, effective sperm, regular bowel movements, a clean driving record, beautiful thighs, keen pattern recognition, I have some Miles Davis CD’s, flexible morals, un-obnoxious sideburns, I don’t work in the food service industry (all my friends that work in the food service industry are collectively going “Hey!”), shoulders, an ability to grow a moustache that makes women nervous (the moustache, not the ability), never had a broken bone, an open mindedness so open that theoretical physicists have referenced it when discussing models of an expanding universe, a collection of Pulitzer Prize winning novels in paperback, health insurance, a well balanced respect for the music of Led Zeppelin, life insurance, and punctuality, to name a few.
Victory’s Yakima Glory (8.7% ABV) is another beer I’ve had that is considered a Black IPA. The Victory website pretty much says it all:
“The tenacious grip of big, juicy hop aroma and character slides smoothly into rich, dark malts. This heavyweight battle between fresh, Yakima Valley hops and dark, roasted malts is resolved harmoniously as the flavors merge to deliver complex satisfaction with a warming edge. Bask in the “glory” of the bright and brassy hops!”
The first time read this description, I ordered it and was disappointed. Then a few months later I saw it at the Victory table at a microbrew fest, ordered one, and loved it. The description nailed it. It has more of a brown color compared to the Self Righteous, so it leans more to the IPA side of that IPA/Imperial Stout middle ground. The beer definitely delivers on the malt side of things and has a nice roasted chocolate taste to it.
As one of my friends put it, “That’s a beer meal - a little bit from every food group.”
This post goes out to Chris and anybody else that's away from home and looking for a laugh.
Later this Month: "Corsendonk Abbey Pale Ale and The Bartender Who Swore Too Much"
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