It's Delicious . . . Enough Said

Stone Delicious IPA lives up to its name-- it's tasty, but not overwhelmingly hoppy, and at 7.7 percent alcohol, it packs quite a punch; the words that come to mind when I drink this beer are:

1) crisp;

2) beer-like;

3) good;

and now for the words that did not come to my mind when I drank this beer-- and I have culled these words from the reviews on Beeradvocate-- so these words really and truly came to someone's mind when they drank this beer:

1) herbaceous;

2) sweet lemon grassy;

3) bready;

4) sweet lemon candy;

5) piney;

6) resinous;

7) not abrasive;

8) fluffy sponge;

9) pungent;

10) orange rind;

11) burlap;

12) burlap?

13) grapefruit pith;

14) black pepper;

15) mellow booze;

16) dirty brass;

17) blurry;

18) parching and numbing;

19) yeast cake;

20) lemon zest;

21) tropicalness;

22) tropicalness?

23) minty touch;

24) antique white head;

25) bold drippings;

26) frothy ice-cream;

27) funky yeast;

28) funky hoppy note;

29) very floral;

30) faint jasmine;

and the contrast between these lists leads me to wonder if my palate exists on the same plane as these poetic, aesthetic and rather prolix folks who write the reviews on Beeradvocate . . . I do appreciate a good beer and I am voluble guy with a prodigious vocabulary, but I am loathe to admit it: very few adjectives come to mind when I drink a beer-- I don't know if this is a skill I can foster, or an attribute I don't possess-- but the next time I have a beer in a relaxing setting . . . after a long day of teaching and coaching, I like to drink a glass of beer while I spray water on my wife's garden, and this might be the perfect venue to find some new and creative flavors and capture them with precision . . . but I have a feeling I'm still going to come up with words like "cold" and "refreshing" and "unlike the bitterness of red wine."

Staunton and Beyond: A Deadly Hike, Breweries, and Cider Houses

The rest of our trip to Staunton was a bit more relaxing than the first two days. The day after our epic hike up Elliots Knob it rained, so we headed east past Waynesboro to hit some of the many breweries and ciders that litter this area.

First, we went across the Blue Ridge Parkway to Route 151 to visit the Blue Mountain brewery. The fog was epic. No visibility. Pea soup. We made it, but it was scary. The Blue Mountain set up is impressive: great beer, huge restaurant, several bars, indoor and outdoor seating, etc. The place was packed! Great atmosphere.

I only had exactly one beer though because I wanted to get back to Waynesboro in exactly one piece. The bartender was helpful-- he had comprehensive knowledge about every bar and brewery in Staunton and Waynesboro and beyond.

We took his advice and we headed back through the fog to Basic City Beer. This place is in a metalworks warehouse on the outskirts of Waynesboro. The beer is excellent, I especially liked the 6th Lord IPA. The warehouse is huge and has shuffleboard, corn hole, giant TVs, ping-pong, pinball machines, video games, etc. Great place to bring the family.

And they have a kitchen cooperative, a place that was once a food truck and had now moved into the warehouse. Hops Kitchen.

I broke my New Year's Resolution (even though it was before 2020) and had some pork, on these pulled pork nachos, which were ridiculous.

I also beat my wife at Bananagrams, which is not easy.

We then walked across the parking lot to Blue Toad Cider House. Good stuff. We bought some to bring back. Jersey hasn't started making good cider yet (that I know of).

Then back to Staunton. We ate at The Mill Street Grill. A low-ceilinged wood paneled place that feels quite high end, attentive service, great menu, and all that, but the prices are reasonable. Highly recommended.

The next day the weather was ridiculous. It was drizzling, but over 60 degrees. The weather report said the rain was going to stop, so we packed up the dog and headed to Crabtree Falls. We were a little worried about the state of the trail because so much rain had come down, and apparently people die on this hike all the time. All the time! Over thirty people! And pets die too.

We took the scenic route, which may have been 30 seconds fast on Waze, but was also 30 times more dangerous. Incredible windy road.

The rain stopped as we started hiking. I was in shorts and a t-shirt. While you can see how people die on this trail-- as there are a lot of really dangerous spots to take selfies-- if you follow the advice on the signs then you most definitely will not die. The trail is well marked and there are overlooks with sturdy railing intermittently. People must really do some sill stuff on a regular basis to keep up the death toll.

I was able to let Lola off the leash for a good portion of the trail, and just reeled her in and leashed her at the spots that looked like certain death. Catherine proclaimed that Crabtree Falls is her Number #1 Waterfall hike in the world. It is impressive. A lot of viewpoints and the falls are endless. It is billed as the longest waterfall east of the Mississippi.

After hiking the falls, we headed to Devil's Backbone Brewery Basecamp on 151. This is an amazing location: restaurant, meadows, outdoor seating, cafes, etc. The weather had become spring-break-like.  The staff was NOT prepared. The outdoor bar wasn't open and the place was utterly packed. The poor bartender was in the weeds! We were able to grab a beer and sit outside with the dog. Beer was great, this would be a great place to return when it's fully staffed and ready. 

                             

Next stop was Bold Rock Cider. This was our favorite place. We returned the next day-- it was colder as you can see by my wife's attire-- and sat and tasted ciders. 

                       

We eventually sat by the fire and talked to a pretty older mom--a Southern belle-- and her firebrand of a daughter. People in the south are so chatty. The mom had a nursing story about a quadrapelgic who was put into that tragic state by . . . you guessed it: Crabtree Falls! 

We also visited Wild Wolf Brewery, which had great beer and food. You could make a whole vacation of hiking and visiting breweries and cider houses on 151. The places are all spacious, and kid and dog friendly.

This was the only sad part of our vacation. 

Here's a shot of Staunton from above the train station. Really a great town to wander, with so many historic sites and buildings.

On our way to the breweries on 151, we did some driving on Skyline Drive through Shenandoah National Park and the Blue Ridge Parkway. 

It was windy.

Lots of scenic overlooks.

A great winter break trip with my lovely wife . . .

And our silly dog . . .

We made great time driving back to Jersey (because we left at 6:30 AM on New Year's Day . . . that's the way to do it). We walked into the house and it smelled weird. My parents had picked the kids up after we left for Virginia. They closed up the house. Ian left a bowl full of noodles on the counter, which had gone rotten. It smelled upstairs as well. One of them had urinated and did not bother to flush. That stuff fermented, yuck. Back to reality.

We picked the kids up that evening. My wife, myself, and the dog were happy to see them (and smell them). But the break was nice.

Denver to Moab: Ice Your Beer!

Utah: the land where you can legally drive 80 mph, but you can't buy full strength beer in the grocery store (and after white-knuckling it along the scenic route into Moab-- Route 128, which is an incredibly scenic route, as there are no unsightly guardrails to ruin the views-- so after navigating that, I really wanted a cold beer . . . but the good stuff I bought in Colorado was warm, and the only full strength beer available in Moab was in the State Liquor Store . . . and they only sell that warm . . . warm? . . . and the stuff Cat bought in the supermarket in Utah was 3.2 . . . because that's how Utah supermarkets roll, and that information was extremely difficult to find on the label, so I did the usual stupidity and put some cans of warm Colorado beer in the freezer, then went to the pool, then came back and tried to pour a cold one, only to find it was frozen slush . . . so next time I'm coming through, I'll remember: ice your beer in Colorado if you want a cold one in Moab).

Hiking Boots Are For Sissies

Though we got a bit of a late start (by desert standards) and didn't get to the trailhead until 7:30 AM, we decided to tackle the most famous and popular hike in Arches National Park, Delicate Arch; when we arrived, the parking lot was already half full and there were a fair amount of people walking into the red rock desert . . . we were well-prepared for the heat and the slickrock, with our sun hats and hiking boots and plenty of water-- the hike is over three miles, with a strenuous steep ascent without much shade, but apparently-- if you're really tough and Asian and came by tour bus-- then you make the hike much more difficult by wearing completely inappropriate clothing and footwear; we saw Asian folks wearing heavy jackets, jeans, flip-flops, dress shoes, wedge heels, carrying umbrellas in one hand and cameras in the other . . . and despite these encumbrances, they moved along at a decent clip; in order to embrace this challenge and do America proud, I am going to do my next Arches hike in sandals, long underwear, sweatpants, and a sweat-shirt, while carrying a laptop computer and a lit sparkler . . . and I did harness my inner-Asian when I descended low on the slickrock bowl below the Arch to take a picture of my family-- my wife said I was making people nervous because I was close to the rim and not looking at my footing and she reminded me that many people fall while snapping pictures, a fact I did not know . . . anyway, despite the late start and the biting gnats that only swarmed Catherine (a very rare occurrence, according to the ranger) and the line of people waiting to get a picture inside the Arch, it was still beautiful at the top (and quite cool, I guess because of the shade, the desert, breeze, and the altitude) and it was a fast walk down (with an excellent side trail to see some petroglyphs) and then we stopped for lunch at The Moab Brewery, which now serves full strength beer . . . the last time Cat and I were there-- twenty years ago-- they only served 3.2 beer, so that's a major improvement, but we still heard the waiter give a long, apologetic explanation to the table next to us about why they couldn't order a flight of beer . . . in Utah, you can't order more than two drinks at a time-- even if they're just shot glasses of beer-- and the two drinks can't both be liquor drinks, so you can order a shot and a beer, but not two margaritas (according to this waiter, who sounded like he'd done this spiel a million times before) but he told them once they chugged their two shot glasses of beer, they could order two more . . . and then drive 80 mph to the next bar . . . and if you need more visuals to understand all this gibberish, head over to Captions of Cat.

Deer Beer Diary . . .

The lady at the beer store in Ludlow said I should start a beer diary so I could better remember what I like . . . but Gary Taubes told me beer contains quite a bit of sugar, in the form of maltose, and apparently sugar is the enemy-- which makes me very sad-- but now I understand why I gained eight pounds over spring break in Vermont . . . anyway, here are some of the beers I sampled, the remains of which are still hanging about my midriff:

Idletyme Joy and Laughter . . . delicious;

Fiddlehead IPA . . . hoppy and delicious;

Trout River Rainbow Red Ale . . . smooth and delicious;

Farnham Red Ale . . . even better than the Trout River;

Terrapin HI-5 . . . typical;

Idletyme Zog's American Pale Ale . . . another good one;

Uncanny Valley Burlington Beer Company . . . weird cloudy grapefruit juice;

Whetstone Big 'stoner . . . awesome;

Whetstone Down South . . . way too smoky;

Whetstone Off the Rails . . . black but not heavy;

Farnham Double India Pale Ale 78 . . . a better version of the Uncanny Valley cloudy grapefruit juice;

Miller64 . . . nope.

Yours For the Taking

While I generally appreciate leftover beer from a party, someone left two bottles of Traveler Jack-O Pumpkin Shandy in my refrigerator and I am never going to drink them-- in fact, I hate the flavor of pumpkin so much that I don't even think I would cook with this stuff, especially because it is also a "seasonal wheat ale brewed with lemon peel," and I can't stand lemon peel in my beer and wheat ales give me a stomachache; in some ways, I view this beer with awe and admiration, as it is a combination of everything I don't like in a beer in one bottle (maybe I should drink one, if it doesn't kill me, it will certainly make me stronger . . . this beer is literally my taste nemesis) and so I'd just like to put it out there: if anyone wants these, swing by and they're all yours, you can even use one of my chilled pint glasses to quaff them down.

A Disembodied Voice Gives Dave Good Advice

The first night of our balmy Vermont vacation, I walked from our rental to Manchester Discount Beverage to stock up on local beer, and I immediately grabbed a six pack of the new stubby Switchback Ale bottles (normally Switchback only comes in 22 oz. bottles) and then I couldn't make up my mind on another six pack-- I kept pulling open the cooler doors and perusing all the beers they don't stock in New Jersey, and every time I opened a different door, bursts of profanity poured from behind the beer, as the two dudes stocking the shelves were chatting away, swearing profusely as they did, and-- finally-- after the fifth time I opened a cooler door, a voice from behind the beer said, "You just can't make up your mind, can you?" and I said, "No, I'm from New Jersey," to explain how baffled I was by the selection and he said, "You're all from New Jersey" which was accurate, because it was a beautiful Saturday and Manchester was packed with tourists, eating, drinking, and shopping at the outlets (there were quite a few New Yorkers roaming around as well) and then he said,"What do you like?" and by this time I had found his face through a crack between the six packs of beer, he was wearing a hat and had crooked teeth, but-- from what I could see of it-- a friendly enough face, and I told him "I've got a six pack of Switchback" and he said "Switchback is boring" which is one hundred percent accurate (it's also  easy drinking and delicious) and then, after a brief interrogation, he convinced to buy some Descender IPA, which he claimed could only be purchased in Oregon and Vermont, and while I don't know about the accuracy of that statement, I will say this: it's delicious, a little bit hoppy, a little bit malty, a little bit floral, and it tastes exactly like the voice from behind the beer said it would taste (he also instructed me to twirl my Switchback in a figure eight for ten seconds before drinking it, to "rouse" the yeast and make the flavor more consistent . . . which is a great tip, because I usually just pour out the bottom of the bottle, because it's so thick with yeast).

Double Beach Vacation (During a Pandemic)

This year, this oddball year, my family was kind enough to allow me to combine my annual guy's get-together-- Outer Banks Fishing Trip XXVII-- with a family vacation.

We've obviously been itching to get out of New Jersey, and we were able to find an affordable rental a block from the beach in Kill Devil Hills. Milepost Nine. As a bonus, we were able to bring the dog.

Here are a few notes for posterity on our vacation during a very weird time. 

1) We stayed at my buddy Whitney's house in Norfolk on Friday night. Whitney's daughters were there, and they are lovely. One just graduated high school and the other is going to be a senior. Aside from playing Bananagrams with them, my boys did not attempt any social interaction with them. Not a word. 

Par for the course.

Whitney and I attended the Friday fraternity Zoom happy hour from his upstairs music studio. It's hard to fit two large men in one Zoom square. 

Lola came up to join the Zoom at one point, and she knocked over a hollow-body guitar with her incessantly wagging tail, denting the body. Sorry, Whit!

2) Saturday we got up early so we could beat the July 4th traffic. We got to the Outer banks at 8:30 AM. No traffic but we had a lot of time to kill. We couldn't get into the rental until 3 PM, and we weren't going into any restaurants, because we were avoiding indoor spaces-- plus we had the dog.

We went for a hike in the Nags Head preserve, which is an amazing place-- an aquifer fed forest on a sand dune-- but it was humid and buggy. So we drove down to Rodanthe, way south of the main action, and hung out on a beautiful beach. 

Lola dug a hole in the shade and was quite happy. 

3) Beaches on the Outer Banks are more "anything goes" than in New Jersey. You can swim anywhere . . . near the lifeguards or not. There are also lifeguards on dune buggies that roam the strand, but if you drown before or after they drive by, you are SOL.

You can bring your dog to the beach, surf anywhere you like, smoke, legally drink beer, and do whatever sport suits your fancy. There's plenty of room to spread out.

While the freedom and the space are a nice change from the Jersey shore, you have to endure more chaos. One of the most entertaining moments from our vacation happened while we were sitting idly on the beach, under umbrellas. It was quiet and the beach was not crowded at all.

Then a horde of college-aged kids poured out of a house a hundred yards down the beach. They all had surfboards. They took the water by storm. Most of them were excellent surfers, but none of the boards had leashes. They were swapping boards, boards were crashing in the waves, the people in the water were in jeopardy of getting hit. They were weaving in and out of each other as they surfed. It looked like a circus. A dude and a chick tandem-surfed on a paddleboard. Occasionally, someone would bring out a six-pack of beer and toss a beer to all the interested parties. Theses people would chug a beer while they surfed. We had never seen anything like it. This went on for a good two hours. We never saw them again.

4) We saw a couple of biplanes fly by with Trump 2020 banners. One had something about the American worker. The other said something about independence. Folks cheered and clapped when they saw the slogans. That reminded us we had crossed the Mason/Dixon Line.

5) Lola really enjoyed playing in the warm surf.

6) The kids really enjoyed playing in the warm surf. While my older son Alex is an experienced surfer, that's no fun to watch. Much more enjoyable to check out Ian, who rarely surfs. 

Zoom in on his face in this picture . . .

Actually, I'll do it for you.

7) One night Aly-- a girl I teach with-- and her husband came over and had drinks on our front porch. Dan told me he had been coming to the Outer Banks his entire life. He was twenty-seven. I informed him that it was the twenty-seventh year of our annual guy's trip to the Outer Banks. In other words, I am old.

8) On Thursday and Friday, I abandoned my wife and kids to hang out with my fraternity buddies.

These guys.

Thursday was a long day of drinking, catching up, and cornhole. No one ate any real dinner. There were chips and salsa and some cold bbq, but that was it. The main course was beer.

Catherine picked me up at 1:15 AM and I got to go back to our lovely air-conditioned beach house and avoid sleeping with all the snoring men. She's a great woman.

The next morning I was a little rough around the edges, but Ian wanted to play tennis. By 8 AM, we were on the court. It was very hot and humid. While I was proud to be running around after a long night of drinking local IPAs,  at 5-5 we decided to call it a draw. I was dehydrated and going to pull a muscle.

Friday, folks were a little hungover. We sat on the beach, swam, chatted, told jokes, and played cornhole. Mattie O and I continued to reign supreme at cornhole. We started nearly every game down a few (or more) points but Mattie's mantra-- "We're fine"-- held true every time.

9) The other thing that reigned supreme was the Truly hard seltzer. A few of us had never tried one. A few had, and swore by them. After a long night of drinking hoppy beer, I must admit that those things were wonderful. They go down way too easy.

We discussed which flavor was the manliest. Mixed Berry? Pineapple? Mango? Passion Fruit? 

Black Cherry seemed to be the only flavor even vaguely marketed towards men. 

Cucumber Lime might be what James Bond would choose . . . if he had to.

While absurd, those things were easy on the stomach and after you had one, it was well-nigh impossible to drink a hoppy IPA. They are the wine coolers of 2020.

Talking to Dave Fairbanks about how nice the Outer Banks is in September and October, and how calm the island was during the lockdown has given me a new goal in life: live somewhere in the offseason! 

Someday.

A note on the jokes that were told on the beach: in this climate, any jokes centered on race are a bit dicey. Everyone gets that. So the jokes that were mainly focused on bestiality. And then there's this one, that the whole family can enjoy (if you can do an impression of a whale).

On Friday, my wife picked me up at 9 PM, because we were getting up early and heading home Saturday morning.

Thanks for hosting Whit, and thanks for everyone that attended. It's astounding we can still put up with each other. While we call it the Outer Banks Fishing Trip, there's no fishing. That's a testament to how much everyone likes to hang out.

On the docket: a ski trip where no one goes skiing.

10) Meanwhile, Friday evening, while I was on the beach chatting and playing cornhole, my wife and kids were packing the car. 

They did get to enjoy the sun, sand, and surf during the day-- we really lucked out with the weather, and aside from a few jellyfish, the water was perfect.

During the packing of the car, something unfortunate happened. Catherine expertly packed the huge rubber sack that goes top of the van. That's normally my job, but she did a better job than me. She put the zipper in front! Why didn't I think of that? And she got two boogie boards in there, along with the beach cart, the chairs, and the umbrella. Impressive. 

Has she earned this awful task? 

I think not, she already does too much.

She does all the organization inside the house. the only item I added to the packing list this time around was "blackening spice." I imagined we'd be blackening some fish, but it was too easy to order take-out seafood. We did NOT use the blackening spice.

We got up on Saturday at 5:30 AM, finished packing the car, and made the haul home. The ride went smoothly, aside from a Wawa in Virginia. While I was pumping gas and watching a video on the little screen on the gas pump about Wawa's impeccable cleaning, Catherine was inside the store surrounded by a bunch of people who weren't wearing masks. She wrote an irate comment on their website.

Now we're back, cases are spiking, we are in quarantine until we get tested on Tuesday, and it's back to the usual . . . which is unusual. We're living through history right now, and we don't know how the story ends. It's maddening. But we were lucky enough to have the resources to get away from it all for a week. It is a different world out there, it doesn't feel like a pandemic-- the Outer Banks has had less than a hundred cases, in total. 

It was great to see the guys, and it was great to get away with the family . . . even though we've spent a LOT of time together. The change in location helped. 

I hope we can do the same thing next year. I hope there is a next year!

Beer Might Be Like Jazz

My new favorite beer in the universe is Switchback Ale, a delicious amber brewed in Burlington, VT and sold in 22 ounce bottles -- and I was surprised that BeerAdvocate gives it a fairly run-of-the-mill review, but then I remembered tasting this highly reviewed "world class" beer, which was way too hoppy and bitter and fruity and spicy for my primitive palate . . . and so I think my taste in beer, like my taste in jazz, might not be that sophisticated . . . I love Miles Davis and Charlie Parker, but have some trouble with Sun Ra and Ornette Coleman; if you are unsophisticated as well, then I highly recommend Switchback: it is smooth, delicious, high in alcohol, unfiltered, and has a scent and flavor vaguely like Magic Hat #9, but not as fruity.

Dave Defeats His Wife in a Battle of Logic!

It's a rare occurrence, but I always relish when my wife screws up-- in fact, it's the topic of the very first Sentence of Dave-- and so it was with great pleasure, when my wife came down the stairs and into the kitchen yesterday morning, that I asked her-- facetiously-- if she had heard the weather report the night before, you know . . . the weather report about Winter Storm Jonas, the mighty blizzard that had dominated the news for the latter half of the week . . . and though she knew I was up to something, she admitted to having knowledge of the storm, and this admission buried her, because my next question was: "then why did you leave two six packs of beer on our back porch?" and at first she tried to maneuver her way out of it-- she said she didn't think that they would have been buried and she pointed out that I occasionally put beer in the snow, but she finally confessed that it was an absurd move, and that if I hadn't seen the bottle caps, just above the blanket of snow (and wondered if some fruity beer fairy had come in the night and left a six pack Illusive Traveler Grapefruit Shandy and a six pack of Leinenkugel Berry Weiss as some sort of blizzard survival kit) then the beer would have been buried in a snow drift until spring, the bottles shattered, and-- more importantly-- my wife would have been beerless for the duration of the blizzard.

A Meditation on Vacation Juxtaposition

Our first day of vacation in the woods of Vermont was an odd mix of country living and science-fiction:

1) I supervised a wood delivery (the truck driver was very pleasant, but when he dumped the wood, he missed the tarp . . . the driveway was fairly icy);

2) our dog tried to eat a chicken;

3) Ian set up his Anki OVERDRIVE track in the main and only room of the cabin, under the only table, so he could race Alex . . . the track is wide and magnetic, and you use a cell-phone or Ipad to steer the cars and deploy digital weapons and force fields and such, which then affect the actual physical cars zipping around the track;

4) Alex played with his BB-8 app controlled droid robot-- he taught it some voice commands and made it navigate an obstacle course;

5) the kids built a snow fort and did some sledding, and incorporated their battery-powered Nerf machine gun into both activities;

6) we drove to Brattleboro and walked out on the frozen river to get a closer look at the ice fishing shacks, while I bored the children with a description of the ice industry in the 1900's;

7) we tasted delicious cheeses at the Grafton Village Cheese Shop and then hiked the retreat trails behind the farm, climbing the mountain overlooking the river and then passing the Ice Pond and the Harris Hill Ski Jump . . . I had never seen an Olympic-style ski jump up close-- it's much steeper, bigger, and monumental than I thought;

8) we ate at the Whetstone Restaurant and Brewery . . . and it may be my favorite place in the world: a great view of the Connecticut River from the bar and nearly every table, wide selection of delicious and obscure beers-- and fairly cheap too . . . the beer they brew themselves is only $4.95 a glass-- the food is awesome, and they kept giving us free stuff: the beer I ordered was kicked, so the waitress brought me a taste of the Off the Rails Imperial Double Black IPA, which sounds insane but it was delicious . . . so I ordered it, and then she brought me another tasting pour, which someone didn't want, and then she brought me another full glass of the beer, because the bartender had poured too many . . . by the time we left I was feeling quite good . . . and she also gave the kids free cookies, and to continue sci-fi/country-living theme, the beer menus were on little tablet devices so you could scroll through the many types and descriptions, while everything else about the place said Vermont-style microbrewery;

9) once we returned to the cabin--  in the spirit of a family vacation in the woods-- we started a fire and sat down to play a board game . . . we decided to play a new one (for us) that we got for Xmas: Carcassonne . . . but it's fairly complicated and while we don't have cell-service, we do have wi-fi, and so we watched a couple YouTube videos which explained the rules of the game and then we were able to play (I won!) without the usual bumbling (it took us six or seven times to learn Settlers of Catan);

10) the cabin doesn't have a DVD player but it does have a big TV and Netflix, so we finished the evening with a 30 Rock marathon, our new favorite family indulgence . . . how could you live out in the woods without Russian mobs, invisible motorcycles and sex pooping?

It's Got to be the Water

Yesterday, I bought my first ever "growler" of beer, from a local brewery a couple miles from my house; Cypress Brewing Company is located down a bosky side street in an industrial park in Edison, New Jersey, amidst auto body shops and computer firms, near the community college, and while I didn't ask, I'm fairly sure that the brewers use the flavorful and pungent waters from the Lower Raritan Watershed . . . despite this hurdle, several prominent beer drinkers (Ashley, Connell and Alec) agreed that the beer is delicious-- the Knobbed Whelk Amber Ale specifically-- and I will definitely visit this diamond-in-the industrial-park soon to refill my growler (four dollars to buy the 64 oz growler and twelve dollars to fill it with beer).

Bags, Cans, Baskets, Etc.

During our vacation in Vermont my wife got to spend more time than usual with me, and so while she got to see how I operate out in the world, I had to endure her criticism -- which was always warranted, but I'm used to doing things in my own particular style, and when she's not there to witness my own particular style, then I think everything is going just fine; here are three examples from the trip that come to mind:

1) I have a poor sense of direction, but I like to drive -- especially in mountainous terrain, because controlling the car keeps me from getting carsick -- and over the course of our week vacation, we took quite a few drives -- for lunch, to snowboard, to shop -- every single time we approached the town of Weston, I had to ask my wife which way to turn (left) and if she asked me which way I thought I had to turn, I would yell, "Just tell me!"

2) we had to take the trash to the dump, because there was no garbage service at the house -- and I put the trash can in the back of the mini-van -- but the seats were folded down -- and so I tried to use the seat-belt to hold the garbage can in place, but every time I stopped short, the can tipped over, spilling garbage juice into the car, and the first two times the can tipped I told the kids to unbuckle their seat-belts and run back there and right the can -- which they thought was awesome . . . "We're walking around in the car while it's driving!" and I was thinking, "Welcome to 1978" and then my wife ended the party by asking, "Why didn't you put on of the seats up and put the can in the well?" and I told her that sounded like a great idea, and that I wasn't sure why I didn't think of that (perhaps I am an idiot?) and when I stopped the car and went back there and tried it, the garbage can fit perfectly and did not spill;

3) at the grocery store, I noticed that Switchback Ale was only $3.99 per twenty-two ounce bottle, instead of the $5.99 per bottle price at the beer store, so I brought six bottles up to the register, along with a frozen pizza and a rotisserie chicken -- and the old lady scanned the beer first, and put the large bottles in three little paper bags -- two beers per bag, and while Catherine was getting out money to pay for everything, I decided that my part of the transaction was over, and grabbed one of those little plastic grocery baskets and put the beer in it, and the old lady gave me a funny look and said, "You're going to bring that basket back, right?" and I said, "Of course, I'm just afraid if I carry these bags loose I'll have an accident," and then left, but my wife got to see her slow head-shake of disapproval at my strange behavior, because she was going to put those three paper bags into another plastic bag, which I didn't anticipate, because I have no patience and very poor communication skills (unless I'm talking about something I just read).

Diet Soda, Beer . . . It's All the Same in the Catskills

We did several scenic hikes today and had a good meal at the Truss and Trestle but my favorite moment was when we were having a beer at the Creekside Bistro and a lady came in and sat adjacent to us at the bar and asked for a menu-- this was around 1 PM-- and when the bartender asked what she wanted to drink the lady said "a diet soda" and then, without skipping a beat, she said, "but what do you have on tap? Any Oktoberfest? Actually, I'll have a Smuttynose brown ale" and it made me wonder what turn her day was going to take because she switched from diet soda to beer.

 

Heady Topper: I Am Undecided

On our Thanksgiving pilgrimage to Bolton Valley, Vermont, there was much mention of the legendary Heady Topper Imperial I.P.A -- a locally brewed and canned beer -- and everyone seemed to have an opinion on it; most folks loved it, and were willing to rush over to the tiny Alchemist Cannery in order to grab a few cans before they sold out, but others were vehemently opposed to this beer that "tasted like a pine tree" and so I decided to try it for myself . . . we swung by the brewery, but they were sold out (of course) so I had to make do with a sample, and while I certainly didn't feel that it was "world class", I did like the first few gulps, but then it got a little sharp and hoppy for my taste . . . I prefer New Jersey's Hopfish IPA . . . which is ALWAYS available at Pino's in Highland Park, and so though it doesn't have the legendary allure of the beer that is impossible to buy (the demand for Heady Topper is so great that it costs $3 for one can and $72 for a case, there's no price break for bulk buying) I like the fact that I don't have to plan my day around an alcohol purchase . . . which seems like a pathetic pursuit for grown man with a wife and two children.

Hooray for Child Labor!

The boys and I were in a rush to get to a barbeque on Saturday (mainly because we were held up at the Rutgers/Kansas game, which was intolerably slow, due to a preponderance of penalties and TV timeouts) and we had to procure both beer and Klondike bars (which they do not sell at the same store in New Jersey) but then -- miracle of miracles-- I had an idea: I dropped the boys off at Stop and Shop, and they went in and bought the ice cream, while I drove across the street to the beer store and bought beer, and then I whipped around and-- perfect timing-- picked them up in front of the grocery store . . . this made me very happy, and I will exploiting them like this more in the future.

The Evolution of Beer Pong

Catherine and I played beer pong for the first time on Friday night (or the new version of the game, I remember a game we played with cups of beer on a ping-pong table in college, but we used paddles and if you lost you had to take your shirt off and the other team got to whack you with the ping-pong ball, which didn't hurt much, but it did leave a little welt that lasted for a few days . . . I think we called the game "pong-ping") and Catherine was good.

Craft Beer or Crafty Beer?

If you like Ballast Point Grapefruit Sculpin and think you're a craft beer connoisseur, then I recommend you cleanse your palate and listen to Benjamen Walker's Theory of Everything "sudculture part I."

If You Seek Me, You Shall Find Me (Not Eating Potato Chips)

I'm turning 50 in March, and I'm trying to preempt the stereotypical mid-life crisis-- so I've been running more in an attempt to improve my mile time. This might be an exercise in futility. I'm certainly building up my endurance, and also, by running more, I'm playing basketball less, so preventing injury. But it might not matter.

I'm still heavy. I ran an 8 minute mile in the summer, and I weighed 195+. Now I'm down to 192 or so, but I'm still too heavy to really move around the track. So I've got to shed a few pounds, but I refuse to diet. I do too much exercise. I'm hungry all the time. And I love food. And beer. I try to drink less beer, but it never lasts. Tequila and seltzer is light and less caloric and it tastes great, but it's not beer.

Then, yesterday, my friend and colleague Stacey pointed out that the worst food to eat was potato chips. I did not realize this. I knew they weren't good, but I didn't know just how bad they were. And, if you exercise a lot, they can be useful. They contain potassium. But when you get old, there are better ways to obtain this mineral. And you probably only need a few chips. That's not how I eat chips.

Because I am addicted to potato chips. I eat them all the time. Almost every day. If they are in the house, I eat them. Inhale them. If I stop for coffee at Wawa, I get a pack. I eat them without realizing it. I eat them all, the whole bag, no matter the size.

So I'm quitting them. As best I can. Hopefully, I'll have the same result as Jameis Winston. I will keep you posted.

Maturity is Admitting You're Stupid

This is hot off the press: so fifty-four minutes ago . . . at the end of middle school soccer practice, my son Ian and some of his friends decided to bike up to the Okie Pokii Cafe and get some bubble tea-- they took off while I was packing the soccer equipment into the minivan, but when I drove the 200 yards up the hill from the park to my house and turned onto Valentine Street (our road) I saw Ian biking the wrong direction, back to the park . . . so I rolled down the window and asked him what was going on and he said he thought he left his phone down at the field and was going to find it; then I drove up the road and crossed paths with his friends, and I told them to wait a moment at Ben's house because Ian had to retrieve his phone and I went home and pulled a cold mug out of the freezer-- Friday!-- but before I could fill it with beer, Ian came storming back in the house, looking for his phone-- he had really lost it-- and this totally pissed me off because it was finally Friday and time for a celebratory beer and now I was on this (mock) epic quest with my son, using Find My Android, calling his phone, searching the house and the soccer equipment bag in the van-- all fruitless-- and then he decided his phone was at the park so we drove back down, and he had to suffer through several tirades and some profanity on the ride but instead of his usual routine-- denial and argument-- he finally realized how to soothe the savage dad, and he acknowledged that his behavior was stupid and insane and the work of a lunatic, and then we found his phone, in the grass behind the goal, and he willingly admitted that he was disorganized and wanton and profligate and he needed to take the time to pack a bag and he couldn't rush to practice and he would accept any consequence and it made me think of how I left my car door open for 90 minutes two days previous (with my wallet on the console) and I told him that I was also insane and constantly losing things and an absolute idiot and then I grew very calm and told him we just had to think of a method to prevent this from happening again (especially on a Friday when dad wanted to kick back and have a beer) and I told him he was lucky to have good friends that would wait for him when he did something stupid like this and then he rode off on his bike to go get bubble tea and all-in-all, it was a pretty decent parent/son interaction and I'm proud of both of us for working through it.