Dear Sierra Nevada Bigfoot,
Why? I remember the first time I drank you. It was at Deegan’s house in Portola Valley. His parents were gone and we were maybe Seniors in high school. We’d been drinking Red Tails and then he decided to bust you out. I took only a few sips before I called it quits and decided that it was no longer worth my time to force you down.
And then age happened. And I discovered what beer could be beyond the stale, miserable experiences I’d had as a youth. I learned there was more to the world that Coors Light and Hamm’s Gold and Natty Ice. I learned that beer was an art, an experience to be had, not just the easiest way to get drunk without poisoning myself on hard liquor.
Oh, Sierra Nevada Bigfoot, you are one of my favorite seasonal brews. I thank God every day that I can find you on the East Coast. Sure, you’re no Six Point Righteous Rye, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a place in my heart. You do. I love you.
As I sit here tonight, on my second bottle, I am reminded that I’ve been given a gift. And that gift is strong beer. When everything around me is crumbling and horrible, I always know that somewhere, somehow, someone is making beer that will lift me out of the darkness and make everything all right.
So, Sierra Nevada Bigfoot Barleywine Style Ale, I salute you.
The Black Laser.