Take lessons.
Posts tagged as “Beer”
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.
Sincerely,
The Black Laser.
Dear America,
New York City has been holding out on you.
I’m not talking about musical theatre or the nightlife or whatever things people come to New York from all over the country to experience. No, I’m talking about what might be the single greatest beer in the entire history of the universe, Sixpoint’s Righteous Rye. Never before has a beer so tasty, so dangerous, exerted such pressure on me to drink it. It makes most other craft beers seem like the cans of Hamm’s sitting in your trunk while you’re at summer school when you’re 16.
Brooklyn Brewery? I love you, but no.
Dogfishhead? No!
Smuttynose? How I adore your IPA, but, still, no.
Europe? Your dogged adherence to tradition is commendable, but no.
Asia? Not in a million years.
Africa? South America? Australia? No! No!! No!!!
And while I would love to recommend that you fine folks around the country go to your local purveyor of fine beers and purchase a six pack of this mighty beast of a drink, you cannot. Sixpoint does not bottle beer. You can only get it on draught. It’s even difficult to find sometimes in Manhattan, but it waits for me like a patient friend when I come home to Brooklyn. Always there. Always happy to see me.
Sixpoint, you have brightened my life with the Righteous Rye and I thank you for it.
To the rest of America, when you’re in town on vacation, take a break from the tourist crap, take the subway across the East River, find yourself a nice little bar, and get a Sixpoint. You will thank me for it.
Check out their site: Sixpoint Craft Ales
I have returned from my trip in the wild, wooly western frontier. I was privvy to some of the best of what Northern California and Southern Oregon have to offer. Here are some highlights of the trip.
The Beer Stein, Eugene OR – Any serious beer fan owes it to themselves to check out this place if they are anywhere near Eugene, OR. They have precisely 1 million beers for sale from all over the world. Oh, did I mention their prices? Rock bottom. Charlie and I were dancing back and forth along their massive refrigerator walls trying to decide just how we were going to punish our livers next. This place is fucking amazing. It puts my beloved Brouwerij Lane here in Brooklyn to total shame. I even called stupid Jesse to tell him how awesome The Beer Stein was, but he didn’t pick up. Sucker.
Wolf Creek, OR – Though we only stopped in Wolf Creek for a few minutes to stretch our legs and get coffee on the long drive between home and Portola Valley, I was fortunate enough to see not one, but TWO men with knives on their belts. Wolf Creek is the kind of town that can be found anywhere across our great nation where the city fades out and people are left to fend for themselves. We could have been in Alaska or Alabama and Wolf Creek would have been exactly the same. The United States is not its New Yorks and San Franciscos; the United States is the Wolf Creeks across our land.
Black Bear Diner – You can find Black Bear Diners up and down I-5, between Washington state and the southwest states. I put it here not because the food is good (it isn’t), but because no where else have I seen so many awful puns in one place. I kid you not, I saw a waitress with a nametag that read, “Ambear”.
The maybe 3 good photos I took – They’re not ready yet. Be patient.
Amazing roadtrip games – These include, but are not limited to “3 People You Would Take On A Roadtrip”, “10 People You Would Invited To A Pool Party”, “I Like My Women Like I Like My…”, and “If You Had To Get A Phrase Other Than ‘Exit Only’ Tattooed On Your Lower Back Right Above Your Ass, What Would It Be?” One of my favorite answers for the 3 people on a roadtrip game was Charlie’s “Helen Keller”.
Troy pouring himself a beer in the closed hotel bar – That’s it.
Andy Stearns – Yes.
That the whole trip to Oregon can be summed up in these three photos –
All in all, I would say that it was a successful trip and that a good time was had by all. Keep your eyes peeled for some photos I took while up there.