To be sure, this stout brings me back to my first taste of stouts, in my 80's high school days. So full, it closes my throat while I remember 4-hour tilts of RISK. Good times.
Understand, I don't get out much, and this foray into an open night hails my memory with a tweak of sadness. My son turns 15 soon, my friends have high school kids bordering on college age, so accessible funds and available minutes are a rare commodity. Anyway, it's nice to just sit and enjoy my life.
Relax, loyal reader, I'm not going down memory lane. I won't regail/repulse you with reflections on Ron. I won't try to make you sad, nor will I solicit a sentimental response. I'm here to tell you at the foot of the mountains there sits a mildly chubby cherub who is grateful for the adventure, however mundane it may seem.
As I look into the stemmed glassware cradling this gorgeous potion, I want to tell you this is what it means to win. When I read the headlines of this backward world, listen to the non-melodic music of the age, and turn away from the shallow nature of today's vernacular, I'm refreshed at the simplicity of pleasurable things. People are laughing around me (maybe they're drunk), the day's repose is the right temperature, the sun's sitting just right over the peaks, and I have time to myself.
You know, if I must truly confess, my back hurts. The couple next to me are getting on eachother's nerves with consistent reminders that they both look "shitty". The college couple on the other side of me are eating stinky food, raped by the reek of wing sauce. My palette's getting corroded with the stank--glassware is now being dropped on a consistent basis. I'm swirling the stout in a desperate attempt to summon better odors. One of the bartenders has an open shirt down her back, revealing a typical tribal design--a shame, really, she'd be more attractive without the Mark of the Fad. She must make good tips. It's irritating, really--I get upset just thinking about it.
Do you really have to put your iPhone (trademark) in your back pocket? Don't you ever sit?! Or, in your clunky attempt to look cool, do you need to have it precariously hanging out of your dirty jeans? What do I care, you could probably afford another one--
And, what's up with the long beards? Are you studying sorcery? Are you wise? Are you compensating for the bald head? Why don't you conjure a spell to make your feet stink less, when you wear those disastrous thongs. Look in your tome of magic under the letter "S", for "stink foot".
Swirling the caramel concoction a little more, now.... The drink temperature is getting to where I like it, and the aromas are blitzing like an '77 Orange Crush front five. Grapefruit, that's what it is! I mistakenly took the orange citrus train to Prediction Town on this heavenly mixture. Make this blitz an '85 Bears front five! Oranges, begone, there is a dark grapefruit hither--No, cherub, this stout has the bitter numb of grapefruit. Brewers, well done: your palettes have foresight and ingenuity. I am contrite.
The dude next to me chugged his... Troglodyte.
And, do you really need to drag your dogs to the brewery? Their filthy nature doesn't drum up a tinge of appreciation from my like, I have two charming furries of my own. Here's the difference: your pups aren't endearing, they're spoiled from you parading them around the local inebriates, like an emperor without clothes, who happens to eat his own scat.
Golly, this stout is good. Best to leave it at just one. A good memory.
They're playing rap, now. Time to head out. The mountain scenery has turned black, and the interior just looks like any other bar, with dreadful music filling the room. Thank you, God, for the magical drink. I suppose I really won't experience its like for a while.
Guys are starting to stare at the tattoo, and I feel ashamed for the sex I'm a member of--until this girl opens her mouth and flashes gang signs, swearing like an amateur.
Going in for the descent, time to join life again. Not the hustle and bill-paying of earthly gears, but the warmth of a family and a newfound appreciation for momentary gaps.
Appreciation, indeed. This was a worthy culinary experiment. I could go for a good movie, about now.
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