Beer is God's Gift

When we lived in the Pacific Northwest, we became huge beer snobs. We went to tastings and festivals and befriended home brewers who made quality product. I knew some nanobrewers who sold to a handful of taverns in the local area, and I favored brew pubs. I never missed a chance to tour a brewery.

To be honest, I started on the raod to beer snobbery in Washington DC. First, visits to the Rathskellar down by Dupont Circle, where they served every beer in the world it seemed, exposed me to the rich variety of beers, ales and stouts. For a time, I was an aficianado of bad beer and tried to make my way through every variety of "Pennsylvania piss" that I could get my hands on. The final verdict on best bad beer: Lion's Head Lager.

I favored John Courage and Bass Ale (on tap). I loved Guinness and Harp in a black and tan. Mrs Vache Folle had a soft spot for Elephant Malt Liquor. She still does when I can find it.

I haven't had a beer in months. I don't know why. I still love it. It's just not so easy to lay hands on the good stuff. I don't know how to choose from the proliferation of craft style beers that the macrobreweries are putting out. Maybe I'm afraid that I'll like something that isn't cool because I'm no longer surrounded with beer snob peers to keep me in line with what's good and what's not. Also, beer gives me gas like nobody's business nowadays. It had better be worth it what with the suffering it causes.