Noooo, Not My Beer!!

Connie lamenting the loss of Beer (and Richie).

Bobby was just as sad as Connie (and me) about the beer (and Ritchie).

"Not my beer!!!!", I screamed to the heavens like Richie's mother screaming for her lost child in La Bamba, "You can't be a pain in the ass like all the rest!!!!"  

I was pissed as I left the UPS facility, unsuccessful in my attempt to pick up the beer.  "This two hour pickup window is bullshit, I have things to do", I thought.

It all started so beautifully a few weeks earlier with a facebook message asking me if I wanted free beer.  Naturally I was skeptical because the question is ridiculous (and obvious) at face value.   Certainly there was a hook, a non-monetary price to be paid for something like this.

"Of course I want free beer, asshole." (That's the appropriate response to another guy when asked a stupid question).  "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing", the guy said.  "The beer will be sent to your house and all I need in return is a few lines of text saying how great this gift service is."

"I'm in", I said.

Reflecting on this random gift of kindness made me think of similar gift services, or clubs, I had been a part of in the past.  I could think of two off hand and started dreading my free beer shipment immediately:

1. Columbia House CD Club
2. Wine Club(s)

I joined Columbia House around 1990 and have only stopped receiving threatening letters in the last couple years, I assume because they went bankrupt in 2015.  If you're around my age you probably remember this scam, but here's a little refresher on how it worked:

For the price of ONE PENNY, you received 12 CD's, with the stipulation that you would buy a certain number of CD's moving forward (15?).   The first shipment was glorious and it was hard to comprehend how they could give away that much music.  This was before the digital age and a CD might cost $20, which means I had $240 worth of music sent to me for free!

The second month wasn't as great as you only received 5 CD's and had to return any you didn't want to keep.  That was easy enough the first time.  I sent them all back, which meant I was still obligated to buy 15 moving forward.  The next month the same thing happened, and I noticed I was being sent artists I had no interest in.  As I recall I checked one "genre" box on initial signup, like R&B.  It turns out that meant they would send you every piece of crap ever made in the R&B genre, not anything you actually liked. Instead of Bobby Brown I got "Hi-Five" or "Jagged Edge". It wasn't long before sending the CD's back became tiresome and overwhelming,  at which point I did nothing and collected a large music library for the price of one penny.  I may have purchased one or two additional CD's, but I think I may still be a fugitive of the law.  Lest you shake a finger at me, take a second to reflect on your similar experience with Columbia House.

The wine club experiences (I've had several) are an adult version of the Columbia House scam except you get alcohol instead of music and the genre becomes "red" or "white".  You get monthly shipments of wine you thought you wanted when you tasted the good stuff at the winery, but it's often not what you thought. It makes sense I suppose, they have to sell the junk just like a chef has to get rid of two day old fish and pawn it off as seafood medley. As a bonus there's usually a "members only" bottle as part of the package.  When Coppola made the first shipment I was thrilled to receive the "Director's Cut" until I went to the grocery store for some lunch meat and saw the EXACT  same bottles being sold in bulk at the front of the store right next to Bud Light display.   I promptly bought a case, I'm no fool.  Our friends knew we received the "exclusive" director's cut and now I could pawn it off as a special gift at our next dinner.

The first sign the beer had arrived was a UPS tag stuck to my door.   Even from a 40 foot distance, we all know what that tag means.  I walked up to the the door and saw exactly what I expected: The box indicating "we will try to deliver again tomorrow" was checked.  "(Filthy curse words)", I exclaimed, "I won't be home between 12:30 and 4:00 tomorrow".  I figured I could login to UPS.com and change the shipment date and time so I ran upstairs.

"Incorrect Password".  "(The worst curse words known to mankind)", I screamed repetitively.  After several tries I managed to figure it out and planned to pick up the box the next day.  Upon arrival I ran to the door to get my free beer and pulled on the handle, which didn't budge.  I looked up to see that there's only a two hour window for pickup, and those two hours didn't coincide with the current time of handle pulling. (It's hard to describe the words I used at this point).

By the time I got my free beer home, I already hated it, and I hadn't even seen it yet.  When I opened the package I wasn't surprised to see generic looking bottles arranged into a "beer medley" of shit.  The bottles were generic and lacking imagination, one a plain blue label with the words "Dry Hopped Pale Ale".  They (whoever "they" are) didn't make the slightest effort to fool me with a "Director's Cut" misdirection or a "Limited Edition" ego stroke.  Just bland, boring, pain in the ass beer coming from a club equally as bad as the others.   I drove 20 round miles round trip (twice) to pick up a bad beer medley when Bevmo is 4 miles away with the exact selection I want and zero PITA factor.

My first instinct was correct, there was a non-monetary price to be paid for this free beer.  I'll never get those minutes back I spent traveling to the UPS facility, and god only knows how many additional minutes were taken off my life when the pickup window was closed and my veins bulged to 146% of their normal size.  As I move forward I'll do my best to keep myself away from clubs of all kinds and only buy exactly what I want from my favorite genre.  I'll try to choke down the rest of the beer, but don't be surprised if you receive a special, no label, holiday edition,  "Pacheco Brew" this coming winter season.

Me lamenting beer being a pain in the ass

A Koozie With Class

I was certain Koozies were for rednecks until I saw Donna Barker holding a beer that looked like it was wearing a wet suit and had an elegant zipper like a gown for the Debutante Ball.   I've never considered myself a redneck so I made it a point not to use a Koozie.  Not a good look.  However, I am all about the Koozie with class and since I live in Northern California it will be referred to as the wine country coozie (WCC) (notice I've replaced the "k" with a "c", it adds to the classiness).

Donna is the wife of Al Barker (Al B.), one of my Air Force Academy classmates.  I've only seen her in person 2 or 3 times, but I feel like we're closer.  It's sort of a friendship by osmosis through Al B., whose friendship was forged by 24/7 interaction over 5 years (hey, we were the "dumb" ones that had to go to the prep school first) at the Academy.   We were both part of the tight knit athletic fraternity at the academy and hung around a lot of the same people.   A time gap of 10 years or more is irrelevant in these type of relationships that were forged in the steaming cauldron of leadership in Colorado Springs.

Donna understands our humor, and doesn't seem to tire of the sophomoric, asinine, things we talk about and still do, if only to recapture that magical time in our lives.   I don't know if "pressed ham" is really funny to her, or if she tolerates it only to indulge us, but that's beyond the point.  The fact that she is willing to be a part of the joke is what makes her special and I'm glad Al B. has her.    She's a great gal and I would gladly invite her to any "guys only" gathering.   It's no wonder Al B. couldn't resist a girl who is willing to rock the WCC in her left hand with a badminton racket in her right hand.

Excuse me if I'm late to the Coozie party, but I wasn't aware that the WCC was an option.  The Koozie seems to be largely a midwestern (notice the "colts" logo), perhaps southern phenomenon, you just don't see it a lot in California.  I've been here 12 years, so the  singular image of a Koozie in my mind is the 1/2" thick sleeve that only extends halfway up the length of a beer CAN.   The bottle WCC is new to me, but I'm a fan.  I'll be rockin' this thing on my bottles from this point forward, even if it has a "Colts" logo on it.

Thank you, Donna, I love this thing!

Oh Guinness, Why Guinness?

With much trepidation, I went and purchased a six pack of Guinness' new addition to their product line, Guinness Black Lager.  My hesitation stemmed from the fact that Guinness is so iconic in its look and taste.  It's more than a drink, it's an experience.  I kept thinking to myself, "If I want a Guinness it's for a specific reason:  I love the taste, look and feel of a Guinness".   As I drove to the store, I couldn't shake one simple question from my mind.  Given a choice, why would I order the Black Lager?

The look and taste of a Guinness Stout is like no other taste in the beverage world.   Those who drink it know what I mean and those who don't, well, you don't love Guinness and are excused from this discussion.  It's creamy and smooth with a beautiful brown coloring that I would liken to brown velvet.  The head is distinguishable from any other type of beer.  The khaki brown, smooth, creamy belt that sits at the top is it's signature and trademark, it's DNA.  It's like seeing the face of Jack Nicholson.  You know it when you see it and there's nothing else like it.   I believe Guinness should only come from a tap, but the draught bottles and cans with the CO2 gadget inside have made drinking a Guinness at home a reasonable facsimile of drinking one at the bar.   Prior to that gadget, I wouldn't drink Guinness out of a bottle or can because it wasn't even close to the same experience.  Plus, the CO2 bottles and cans have a distinct look to them and are aesthetically pleasing.

I'm not one of those people who has a sensitive palette and can describe 30 different flavors in a drink, but without a doubt a swig of Guinness will give you hints of chocolate and coffee and many other wonderful, heavy flavors.  There's no deception in the name, its not for the faint of heart, it's a stout.  I find I like it best in the winter months, but will quaff a Guinness anytime, anywhere.

When I first picked up the six pack, I noticed a distinct difference in the look of the bottle.  The label was silver, and the bottle had the indistinguishable shape of any domestic beer.  The bottom of the label made me throw up a little in my mouth. "Cold Brewed" it said.  That's what the bland and tasteless leading domestic brands say.  I shed a quick tear, quickly wiped it away and looked around to see if anybody noticed.  They hadn't.

I got home and poured myself a glass to see if this might be a case where the first impression is a wrong one.  Maybe the packaging needed to be improved, but the product was spot on.  The first thing I noticed is that the head was frothy and ugly.  It looked like the head you get from a cola pour, not my beloved Guinness.  I know, it's a lager, not a stout, I should expect differences.   But I don't want differences.  When I see the word "Guinness", it evokes a very specific image in my mind.  It's brand recognition at its best.

The more I poured, the uglier it got.  The end result was this mop-topped layer of unruly head that looked like an ugly cousin of Guinness.  It looked like root beer had invaded the party and wasn't about to leave.

It eventually settled down into a presentable version of itself, but it still wasn't the same, and I can't get past the notion that I want it to be the same.  After all, it has the Guinness name on it.

After I got past the ugliness of it I eventually got around to tasting it, but my spirit had already been broken.  Much like its appearance, the taste of the black lager was dissapointing.  I could taste the heavy flavors, but less so, and they didn't linger as long.  It seemed to be a watered down version of the stout, a worse version of itself.

At the end of this tasting experiment I still couldn't shake the question I started with.  Given a choice, why would I order this beer?  Except now, the question had an answer.  I wouldn't.

This Blonde Ain't Just A Tease

Don't you hate being surprised and proven wrong?  I mean, when you get to age 40 you know just about everything there is to know, especially when it comes to beer (and everything else).  Just like me, you think you are right about 99.5% of the time, and the remaining .5% falls into the "statistically insignificant" category.  The second I laid eyes on the "Double Take" blonde at the grocery store I had this blog laid out in my head.  It went something like this....

Nothing compares...
I'll buy it anyway to prove a point...
I already have my favorite....
This is just packaging....
All other IPA's suck...

I went home and created the perfect tasting scenario.   I worked out,  I sweat quite a bit, I got really hot, and I got a great pump.  I couldn't wait to get out on the porch, grab the hose, and hit the dry spots on the grass while slowly sipping the brewed elixir that I purchased, although it wouldn't be near as good as my beloved Sierra Nevada.   Some prefer water, perhaps a recovery mix, but I prefer an ice cold beer as a reward for my efforts (Jen, I wasn't kidding about the coffee and cheesecake post-workout).  I sat down, let the water flow from the hose, and began sipping the Double Take IPA.

My love of Sierra Nevada began in approximately 2001.  My job required that I travel to Chico, Ca among many other areas in the Northern California territory.  As luck would have it,  an Irishman named Dan also covered the territory and thus began many a night of wearing the wobbly boot.   Stopping at the Sierra Nevada brewing company was always a priority.  In addition to the many pints we drank at noon, fish and chips was always high on the list as well.  Over time and after tasting every IPA I could find on the market, Sierra Nevada always remained at the top of my list.

From the first chug of Double Take, I knew I had been betrayed by my own preconceived notions.  Damn, if this IPA wasn't good.  I was prepared to be disappointed but I wasn't.  I looked down at the label and it read "At first sip this India Pale Ale will grab a hold of your palette and snap your attention back".  Crap, they weren't lying.    I had read similar exhortations many times in the past, but they were merely words.

I began to panic.  "What does this mean", I thought to myself?  I might  have to reconsider my position on my IPA priority moving forward.

The center of my beer universe had been shifted slightly.  I was a bit dizzy.  Suddenly I remembered I had a Sierra Nevada in the refrigerator.   I stumbled over, popped the top, took a quick swig, and all normalcy returned to my life.  Though I had been tempted by a blonde, and we had a swift, sudden, passionate affair approximating the feelings I have for Sierra, I knew in my heart it was merely a second place finish to that which I hold dear.

Don't worry Sierra, you're still my bitch.  But make sure you wear those high heels and short skirt because there's a temptress knockin' at the door.....