People are putting along, sustaining themselves, making art, living slowly, and being content in remote areas all around the world. And they seem to always end up making beer, too.
Acetaldehyde made a little more sense—if you can readily relate latex paint to green apples.
I was invited to participate on a judging panel as a Beer Writer. And the judges were supposed to choose the one drink that paired best with the pork slider bite. So I put on my Goldilocks cap and started tasting.
The tangy bread and mild funkiness of the cheese complimented the horsey/barnyardy yeast character. The fresh spritz of lemon zest accentuated the beer's refreshing effervescence. I had tried this beer beforehand so I knew it would be perfect.
I may be more of a behind-the-scenes writer but hosting events like these are worth witnessing people engage with each other and the beer in front of them. That’s the mission.
If you love beer, too, I’m grateful for you. Come learn more about your own relationship with beer, and why it should be cherished. This summer, I’m testing the waters and tasting the beers.
I feel bad for the lad I made open a 750ml of Dupont with five minutes left at the festival (pretty sure that was for VIP only). “No, no, no—I see you trying to pour me that wheat ale—I want that one! The good stuff!”
I volunteered at this event in order to gain experience with temporary draft systems (I poured from a beer trailer and a jockey box), but I learned so much about the everyday consumer, too: 1) People mostly appreciate when you can talk about beer. 2) IPA daddies still rule the world.
I wish all small businesses/breweries had the resources to put out their best content consistently, but I know firsthand that’s easier said than done.
In phase one, you purchase the occasional six-pack of craft beer, probably Sierra Nevada or Deschutes, probably from Safeway, and you finally discover the breweries that have existed in your town for years. Oh, to be young again.