Beer and Loathing in Pittsburgh, PA

The drive up is, as usual, filled with psychopaths and miscreants: degenerates and testaments against the American driving education system. And I have to drive myself this time, to boot. I detour by way of House of 1000 Beers for obvious reasons, as it becomes apparent that my phone has not only autonomously drained its battery while charging, but overheated itself in doing so. Fascinating.

I pick up a bottle of Angel's Share, Fegley's Bourbon Barrel Insidious (which I drink later—it is indeed insidious but also pretty good; with a trace of bitter oak finish, plenty of bourbon and chocolate, and a solid stouty backbone), as well as a Jolly Pumpkin Maricaibo Especial and three small bottles of Evil Twin's The Cowboy, which until recently came in either big bottles, or not at all (more commonly the latter). Cowboy is expensive, but great smoke flavor while maintaining a sessionable ABV.

I wander around Shadyside, Pittsburgh, attempting to follow some of the most ambiguous instructions I've ever received to "Walnut Street." I do not find Walnut Street. I do find a place with four restaurant/bars in close proximity. A pizza and beer dive that looks exceptionally normal, a trendy artisanal breakfast/sandwich joint that looks exceptionally closed, a bar/restaurant/lounge that looks exceptionally packed, and a 'bartini' (I wouldn't make this up) that looks exceptionally, exceptionally sleazy. I choose the packed one. Every local in the neighborhood can't be wrong.

Inside, the bartender is friendly, and as it turns out they are out of both pulled pork and pirogi (not 'brought to you by the letter P', evidently), my Founders Smoked Porter is free. It is also pretty good, kind of on par with Alaskan, but not quite at the level of Weyerbacher Fifteen in its prime. I tip egregiously for the complimentary beer and also the advice to dip the spicy chicken sandwich in the macaroni and cheese. The two foods, both great initially, combine to form something amazing. In my completely-out-of-place electric blue polo shirt, the word 'synergy' comes to mind, and I want to go play golf.

Shaking that urge from my head, I wander back to the hotel, past a store that has some interesting beers available, including a vintage Unibroue and what I believe to be a vintage He'Brew Jewbelation. I make a mental note to return. And a further note to find some pirogi. I have driven over 300 miles, after all.

Beer and Loathing in Washington, DC

It was a melancholy I hung in my heart—a winter coat I'd just as soon take off for warmer days. I've just seen a silent version of Hamlet (without all the "words, words, words", it was a magnificent spectacle of "inexplicable dumbshow and noise"), and it is time for beer.

Our efforts to visit Bluejacket have been hampered earlier by a mob scene, one of whom accosted my partner in crime, then made tracks before I could extract from him a cost of a knuckle sandwich. ("Is that the meaning of 'accost'?") Anyway, I thirst for beer, and Churchkey, equally packed though it is, remains my destination. The suggestion of pies is put forth, but Titus Andronicus is in my thoughts (which were bloody, or nothing worth), and I pass. No traffic can conspire to separate me from my quarry, not even a psychopathic motorist whom we avoid by mere inches. My caravan leaves me there alone, lacking the patience for crowded beer-times. Flights of angels sing them to their much-needed rest.

People who take tequila shots in one of the foremost beer bars on the east coast are beyond my comprehension, but there they are. Pricey as it is, I'd go elsewhere were it not for beer. I angle in and break the fast with a Fastenbier, it being the season, and then realize that they are out of Hemel & Arde and also Vandals & Goths and basically anything separated by an ampersand. The bartender, spotting me for the rare-beer-dork that I am, recommends a Mikkeller George. It's spot-on, with that character that you know, if aged for a few years, will become delicious shoe-leather. I move on to try a "Spaghetti Western" which tastes of mostly coffee and barely any spaghetti (it contains both). Then, a Querkus (on cask) which has that distinct flattish cask character—it's decent and mild, but hard to stand up to everything else. A sessionable breather—wedged as I am between bar stools, it's the only breathing I can do.

I finish with a Cuveé Delphine. Surprisingly light, with blueberry and slightly tangy nose. Some red currant and bitter root. Not very bourbon-y but still nice. At this point, I realize my menu has left me. Stolen evidently, by some people who are also taking bar stools which I don't recall having been free, and for which I doubt they were waiting longer than I. I don't mean to impose. I've sampled my personal gamut, and I elect to leave. It was that or another Fastenbier.

I stumble back to the house, thoroughly lost in Tenleytown, no one at all about, recording some of this entry in a drunk-Orson Welles impersonation (If you need to ask whether I am drunk, or whether I am impersonating a drunken Orson Welles, or both, you clearly haven't been reading very well.) en route. I make awkward small-chat with people I don't know terribly well. "Would you like a cup to brush your teeth with? // No thanks; I usually use a brush for that." I am the epitome of wit.

Uinta Tinder

Those of you who know me will know I like smoky things, beers not excepted. Those of you who do not know me just got to know me a little better, right there.

This brew smells slightly harsh to my seasoned nose, which means it will probably smell incredibly smoky to anyone else. The body is nice though, light (almost corn-like) malt supports a smoke flavor that might otherwise be astringent. It's comparable to the Schlenkerla Märzen, I suppose. Granted, I prefer a bigger, heavier bodied rauch (a la New Holland Charkoota Rye) or one with a more mellow smoky flavor (a la Schlenkerla Eiche or Starr Hill Smoke Out). And couple making out on the label make me think that if there are two people in the world who are dating each other and both like this beer, they're destined to be together. Still, this is a success, and I like it more than I imagine I'd like that app the kids are using nowadays. That is to say, I'd 'swipe left' on this one. Or right. Whichever one means I get to keep it and drink it.

Beer and Loathing in Boca Raton

The lady by the door of the Funky Buddha is gorgeous. A patron, but I was willing to be patronized. Alone and reading a book, she seems tormented despite her rose tinted glasses. A writer perhaps. Another day with another crowd, and I'd have given her my card.

We are served by a young lady who was hostess, bartender, waitress, and cook. The beer and food were both outstanding. I get a T-shirt as a gift from someone in my party, it being the Christmas season, and I treasure this shirt for months to come, and further months to go. I have the Maple Bacon Coffee Porter (fulfilling a life dream), So This is Christmas Mint Chocolate Stout, Bonita Applebum Apple Pie Brown, Red Dawn Ale, Missionary Lager, and Piiti Porter. All are outstanding. Everyone remarks that the Bonita smells and tastes exactly like apple pie. I like the MBCP and Mint Chocolate better still, but these are polarizing flavors (as is my lapsang souchong tea).

I switch gears from being apologetic (this trip is evidently an inconvenience to my convoy) to thankful that everyone has humored me. The experience has been better than I could've hoped for.

Portland, OR Part 2

I awake, if that's the word for it, thinking that if I have in fact killed myself with beer, I hope to be eulogized as a man who died as he lived. My recollections of last night remain clear however, particularly the man in the pink gorilla suit whom we encountered on the street. The pink ape-man followed us into the doughnut store, got behind a register, and sold us some donuts, communicating only in a series of grunts. My partner in crime couldn't deal with this, but it seemed like my kind of town.

We hit the festival after a hearty brunch consisting of mostly poached eggs. The Hair of the Dog offering had come and gone already, but we tried Golden Valley Santa's Smokin' Bock (which was up to par with any German rauchbock), Viking Braggot Winter Squash Porter which had delicious spice backed up with a full squash body an sweetness, Crux Oud Freakcake which was a quality Oud Bruin, then swung by VIP to taste a very old Goose Island Bourbon County and North Coast Old Stock, the vintages of which escape me. The Bourbon County turned into delicious beer candy. We tried John Barleycorn Mele Kalikimaka which didn't really taste like coconut or bourbon barrels, and Stone Spiced Unicorn Milk which was a total spice bomb (nutmeg, cardamom, allspice). The flavors were running together, so we ran with them, out of the tent, and onto the street

I bought some film for my camera and we beat feet across the river while I made phone calls to phone trees which hung up on me repeatedly—far more efficiently than any human could've. At Hair of the Dog, we try Cherry Michael (the 'from the wood' variety on draft at the time) which is delicious (cherry is hard to do well, an argument we later have in depth), Blue Dot, the best IPA I've ever had, then we hit the bottle list: Adam from the Wood has the rich leather, fig, and date it ought to plus soy, chocolate, and sweet bourbon. Matt is similar: licorice and a bit of apple from its barrels. Bourbon Fred tastes like candy cigarettes, which suits me fine. We meet a nice couple sitting next to us on a beers by bicycle tour, fitting for Portland. We meet them again at Cascade, where I hope we provided ample entertainment.

We sprinted back across the bridge, or rather a different bridge, as this one appears to be missing a sidewalk. It puts us in a convenient location to encounter the ape man from Paragraph One. We stumble back to the hotel, and wander into a restaurant, about to close, evidently a repurposed bank building. I order the boar, but they are out, so I think I get macaroni. I wake up at 2AM, perhaps the most hung over I have ever been, wondering if I have in fact killed myself with beer, and wondering how I got back to Paragraph One. I'll ask the ape man if I find him.

Beer and Loathing in Portland, Oregon

Touching down at PDX feels like coming home. There's a girl handing out samples of whiskey, and she remarks upon seeing my ID that we are almost exactly the same age. She's quirky and cool; I like her style. And her whiskey.

We call for a free airport shuttle for the airport hotel and get there just before the kitchen at the off-track betting bar next door closes. Which it evidently did at 10:45. I get a French Dip which seems to be made on garlic bread with cheddar. Together with my Lagavulin, my coconspirator's onion rings, and my side salad, it fills my favorite taste groups: beef, salt, cheese, and whisky, while the green leafy bits soothe me with the illusion of health.

We check into the hotel, and check out of consciousness.

Saucony Creek Captain Pumpkin's Maple Mistress

No lie, a beer with packaging like this does not inspire confidence, per se, but the disproportionate blue-haired cartoon pirate wench is not altogether uninspiring, if that's not too much entendre for this particular blog.

Hazy amber-brown with some floaters. A fine white head that dissipates in relative haste.

It smells of rich brown sugar with a hint of the promised butternut squash and a bit of maple and spice. Real maple, not 'breakfast syrup', so it's restrained as to not be too intense.

Tastes like rich maple, butternut squash, and some pie-spice/pumpkin. Funny that they get the 'pumpkin
 vibe with a different gourd, but whatever works. Definitely on the sweet side, but spicy enough not to be syrupy. This flavor portends its higher ABV, but makes it dangerously drinkable.

Thick (and there's some serious sediment, so not for the faint of heart) feeling and rich, appropriate for this style as far as I'm concerned. You'll want a glass of water though, as it lingers a bit and can be overwhelming especially if you are thirsty or dehydrated to begin with, as I am.

I bought this on a whim for novelty value because it wasn't too expensive. I found it so good that it's one of the few pumpkin beers I liked so much, I'd buy again (not that I dislike pumpkin beers, but I've had so many that they hardly ever stand out).