Pint Taken

Obama recently imbibed a pint of Guinness in Ireland, which gave the right-wing media another thing to bitch about. You know, if I heard that 100+ of my constituents were dead, I’d have a fucking pint too.



I’m not here to talk politics, though. In conjunction with Obama’s mocking-the-dead-by-not-being-in-the-exact-place-they-were-when-they-died, Slate ran this article: http://www.slate.com/id/2295487/.

It pissed me off. Not because it’s inaccurate – in fact, it cleared up some misconceptions I had, like that Guinness draught is brewed in Canada (it’s not. It’s all brewed in Dublin). Not because it didn’t make sense – it did. After all, beer that travels 20 miles is going to taste better than beer that travels 3,000. That’s fair. And it’s not even that I disagree – though their test was obviously biased (what kind of beer expert is going to say he prefers the Guinness in America? That’s like saying you prefer the Coca-Cola in Europe…oh wait, Coca-Cola is better everywhere else in the world that’s not America including Mexico yes there is actually an instance in which one would say I wish I were in Mexico instead of America and that instance is when one is drinking Coca-Cola. Sorry Mexico I know you’re going through a rough patch and I shouldn’t make fun of you and I’m sure there are other instances in which one would prefer to be in Mexico over America; for example if one wanted to be beheaded. Dammit sorry I did it again).

Back to Guinness. The reason this pisses me off is because it’s just begging for more culturally retarded American tourists to come back from a trip to Ireland, sit with their friends at their local bar, order a Guinness, take one sip and say: “You know, the Guinness really is better in Ireland.” I hate this because it’s such a fucking cliché, up there with “You know, swimming is the best form of exercise”; one of those things that everyone’s heard one thousand times before and will hear one thousand times again before they die. And the speaker – the cliché dispenser – has no conception of whether or not that’s true. Ten-to-one they couldn’t taste any difference between the two, but they either fooled themselves into thinking they could or they just no know one’s going to disagree with them.

When I went to Dublin, I got off the airport bus, walked into the first pub I saw and ordered a Guinness. It was bar none the worst Guinness I have ever had. It was completely flat, it had none of that renowned Guinness head), and it smelled like a horse. I drank it because I was in fucking Ireland. I left disappointed and went to another bar that was more touristy but poured a much tastier Guinness.

My point is that lots of people went to that right-off-the-airport-bus pub, and lots of them had vomit-inducing Guinness. And lots of them went back home and told their friends the Guinness was better in Ireland.

While I’m ranting, let me say one other thing: Guinness is kind of a shitty beer. I’m a little ashamed to admit this, because considering that it’s a mass-produced product of a massive beverage conglomerate it weirdly gets a pass from most beer lovers. I think this because a) everybody loves Irish people, b) it was many people’s first beer that had any kind of flavor at all, and c) everyone loves doing car bombs. But drinking it now I realize that it’s basically the blandest stout in existence, and it has a helluva lot of body for what’s essentially no flavor. It pours well – I’ll give it that. And, of course, it makes a great sound when it’s opened.

Can-gali Tiger!

Well, a lot of people were disappointed that the world didn’t end last week. The fact that we’re all still here, livin’, lovin’, and tuggin’ got a lot of people questioning their faith. Well, I say, “Hey you nuts! I got proof of the almighty right here in my hand: Sixpoint in cans!” Sixpoint Bengali Tiger IPA to be exact. I drank this one on the roof of my apartment building - the beer delicious, the experience novel.

Sixpoint has been a favorite of mine since they opened. I have watched them mature as a brewery, and have seen the beers go from solid to phenomenal. I remember the first time I had a Sixpoint. It was 2007 at Soho Park, a great place that sells large exceptional burgers that you eat while listening to fun techno music, DJ’d by a pleasant person, at a reasonable volume (to get a true sense of Soho Park, please imagine the opposite of what I have just described).

Never having seen this particular beer before, I ordered a Sixpoint Sweet Action. They had the Righteous Ale, and the Bengali Tiger, but I was drawn to the Sweet Action – damn, the name was just so sexy. So sexy you could almost impregnate a waitress just by ordering one. Well, long story short, I almost became a father four times that long thirsty night. That’s right, I had three beers…and made a small mistake (let’s just say that Sixpoint in cans isn’t the only thing I’m glad is available at the 24 hour Duane Reade. Hello!)

-Erich

A Street-bar Named "Brewsire"

This is my second steet-fair beer blog post. What can I say? I find an unexpected beer offered on the side of the road irresistible. It’s like lemonade stand, minus the being a stupid waste of space. You stop what you’re doing, put your journey on hold for a moment, and take an opportunity to make things all about you. It’s a nice thing to stop and smell the roses sometimes -- or, if you live in Park Slope, lesbians. I treasure those moments, where you have nothing to do, nowhere to be, and no one to say, “Hey, watch it there, Mr. Joel."

The beer I went for after stumbling upon outdoor festivities last weekend was a Sixpoint Harbinger. It’s a Saison, and it’s, as the English say, “rawthah niiiice!” It was so good, that I didn’t feel like stopping to take a picture of it while I was drinking it. That’s why I was left with such a disappointing visual element this post. An empty cup. An empty seat. An empty kebab foil. Oh yeah, I had a kebab…

Cinco De OH NO!!!

On May 5th, my girlfriend Lindsay and I fulfilled our duty as upper middle class white people living in Brooklyn to go out for Mexican Food. As UMCWPLIB (if I get that shirt made will anyone buy it?), we understood it would somehow be "offensive" if we went to Taco Bell or Chipotle, so we took a gamble on a neighborhood Tex-Mex place called Lobo.

Mexican food is kind of like sex - when it's good, it's really good, and when it's bad, you get terrible diarrhea. The food at Lobo was closer to the former - not remarkable by any means, but far from sickness inducing.

The star of the night was the Michelada, a cocktail that Christian introduced to me about a year ago. Michelada is essentially beer with Bloody Mary ingredients. As a huge Bloody Mary fan, Michelada is the only beer cocktail I've ever had, and the only one I really care to try (normally I'd be all, "get this shit out of my beer"). The recipe calls for a Mexican beer as the base - generally Negro Modelo, which now that I think of it I have never had NOT in a Michelada - along with lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, hot sauce, black pepper and salt for the rim. Add ice to remind yourself you're not in Mexico, breathe a deep sigh of relief for your good fortune and enjoy.

If you haven't had one of these before, give it a try. Even if you aren't nuts about Bloody Mary's, you'll still find these surprisingly refreshing. Michelada's are also great drinks to bust out at dinner parties which, if you're a UMCWPLIB like me, you'll be attending at least one of this week.