More Beer Pix (Beck’sts) - Nostalgic for Pubs!

Introduction

Well, this COVID-19 thing has really come home. I’m not talking about my daughter, recently kicked out of the college dorms and made to move home—with all her stuff—and remain until October (though that did happen). I’m talking about California’s Governor, Gavin Newsom, announcing that pubs statewide should close. I’m feeling pretty bitter but won’t fault Newsom for it. (I kind of owe him one … I once ate his breakfast. For details see the Appendix.)

I’d already planned a pub night with my pals for this Friday. We had all agreed that alcohol-based hand sanitizers are no longer enough, and we need to be disinfecting from the inside out. A dozen emails later we’d finalized our plan. Now that’s off.

I’m already feeling nostalgic for pubs, and for sharing the beer drinking experience digitally via Beck’sts. (What?! You haven’t heard of Beck’sting? You’re already living under a rock even before the COVID-19 shelter-in-place orders come down! Click here to learn all about the fast-growing global phenomenon that is Beck’sting.)

To get my readers through these tough times, I’m posting here some more or less cheerful Beck’sts. As before, I’ve grouped most of these thematically. Since a Beck’st isn’t just a photo, but a photo with a caption and/or commentary, I’ve included that too, and the initials of the Beck’ster. Where you see one letter only (e.g., “T—”) that’s generally somebody’s spouse.

Apocalypse IPA

DA: This is a 10 Barrel Apocalypse IPA.

DA (continued): I rather liked it. It drinks like a beer that has been doubly or triple-y hopped—and dry-hopped, no less, or at least dry-humped—with a very aggressive malting and/or molting. It’s a big, cheeky, voluptuous, dare I say buxom IPA. But it’s brassy without being brazen—not the kind of beer that you’d meet in a bar (where else?) that would dare you to punch it in the stomach as hard as you could; it’s more like the kind of beer that would let you finish whining and then would let out a little derisive snort, maybe a dismissive whuff. It’s got tones of melanin, surely due to the natural oxidation of the amino acid tyrosine endemic to the piney resins of barley ester that find their way, through the very air we breathe, right into the soul of this handcrafted ale. It’s also got arias of woodwind from all the up-and-down hopping like you get in a long line for the bathroom at a mobbed kegger. Subtle hints of sell-out and corporate synergy threaten to spoil the smooth, big-drinking cred of this beer, but it walks the line nicely, giving my drinking experience a ragged little blade of excitement.

Better Dayz Beck’st

                                                                                                                    

JL: Family ski trip to Killington, Vermont. Snow is good. Double IPAs are better.

DA: NOOICE! Were you skiing downhill or cross-country? I think a Double IPA is great for after downhill, but after XC you probably need a really hydrating beer like a lager!

Unorthodox Beck’st

DW: Deschutes Pacific Wonderland Lager in a Hydroflask 22oz. cup:

DW (continued): I wanted to see if the insulating qualities of this cup would enhance or degrade the experience of drinking this nice beer. Verdict: I’ll stick with the regular pint glass with some random logo on it. This bex’t is subsequent to riding the McKenzie Pass earlier in the day ... a top five road ride for me in terms of scenic beauty and experience. They don’t open the road up for cars until mid June, so it is a cycling wonderland right now.

DA: Unorthodox vessels? Insulated beer mugs with a new-age-y logo? I agree, that’s not the best way to enjoy a beer. You don’t mix alcohol paraphernalia with normal stuff, IMHO ... you just don’t. Non-beer-specific vessels for beer drinking is a bit weird, like a teddy bear with nipples or something. Even those standard foam rubber beer can caddies never made sense to me. I mean, why would a beer ever sit around long enough to become warm? My MO has always been fridge-to-belly within 5 minutes, tops.

Post-workout Beck’sts

JL: W— left this morning for another six day trip, and then they canceled school tomorrow because it is currently -4 degrees F and only going to get colder and windier (Polar Vortex rocks!). So there was only one thing to do: ride the trainer in the garage for an hour and then drink a nice stout beer!

JL (continued): Notice the 9 year old reading (and pouting) in the background! (Pouting because I said no to a sleepover tonight.)

DA: I’ve been kind of getting back into weak, pussy lagers, particularly Stella (a beer for which I formerly had no use). Kind of refreshing and “won’t slow me down,” as they say. I split one with Freya this evening after my (outdoor) bike ride.

DA (continued): By “pussy” above I mean the word that rhymes with “wussy” (and means pretty much the same thing). If you thought I meant “pussy” to rhyme with “fussy,” meaning “puss-laden,” I can’t blame you, heteronyms being what they are. Perhaps the context helped here … I’ll concede lagers can be a bit boring, but puss is not the answer.

Dark days Beck’sts

DA: I wasn’t drinking much this week (last night’s Stella doesn’t count—Freya drank most of it) because I was going to race on Sunday. But I broke my derailleur hanger last Sunday, and though I got right on it and ordered a replacement on Monday, it didn’t arrive in time. I’m kind of bummed because I actually have pretty decent form right now, which I’ve worked hard for, blah blah blah.

The silver lining is that there’s really nothing more for me to do now but drink! I never need to be fit again! E— is even talking about walking over to Fieldwork (despite the fact it’s raining). Anyway, dark times like these call for strong beer, so notwithstanding all the chatter about IPAs being so January, I’m enjoying (actually, it’s all gone now in the span of this typing) the Lagunitas Maximus IPA featured above.

PCS: Dana! These truly are the dark days of biking AND beer drinking. Although, of all the people I know, you are the one person who I knew could rebound from such adversity. The rest of us would be considering buying a new bike and a case of the Banquet. But, you are fixing the bike problem AND supporting the local brewpub. Good on you! Tonight, I was so damn lazy that I drank wine instead of beer because all my beer in the house is warm...talk about dark days. I think it’s over Boyz. It was nice knowing you all.

BA: Dana, how on earth did you break your derailleur hanger? I think you’re riding too aggressively. You might get hurt. On the plus side, at least you can replace it. Back in the old days you’d just be hosed. I’m glad you enjoyed your beverage. By the way, I thought you said you ride better when you’re drunk? Or maybe that was driving. Hmm...

Expat Beck’st

PCS: We came to Spain for spring break because S— has some business here next week. We got here at 7:30 am today and have been wandering around, snoozing on the beach, and doing some day-drinking! I don’t even know what kind of beer this is … it’s great and I’ve decided this is my kind of lifestyle.

DA: Dang, Spain really takes the stemware to new heights! Was H— content during this lazy afternoon?

PCS: Sure, he was enjoying the coke next to my beer. We invented a new game called “Does this person smoke?” Which, for a pulmonologist, is not a hard game but was entertaining nonetheless!

JL: Oh yes, European café culture! It’s pretty great. If there was one thing I could import from Lisbon to the United States it would be the fact that they put a café/bar in every public park. So parents take their kids to the park to play and then they just sit in the café drinking coffee and/or beer and/or wine. But the prevalence of smoking was pretty crazy. So many smokers and so many discarded cigarette packs on the sidewalks.

DW: Love this picture...not much to say because everything is answered in the image. Your expression tells most of the story. The only word that comes to mind is GLORIOUS! Feliz vacacions, bebe y disfruta!

Palliative Beck’st

So, this isn’t a very good beer (not even worth pouring into a bottle) but I really needed a beer. (Full disclosure: so dire was my situation, I also had half of E—’s beer.)

Kind of a rough day. First, during the team mountain bike ride I decided to pop a wheelie and went over backwards. Normally this isn’t a problem because you just drop your feet and end up running behind your bike. But due to mud in my cleat or something, I couldn’t get my foot out. So I went all the way over backwards and landed on my back, my butt, and my phone. The phone and my lower back damaged each other. In testing the scuffed edge of my phone I actually cut my finger slightly. Man, I really landed hard. Obviously it was pretty embarrassing too, but mainly I’m just sore. My back, my butt, and my elbow. Even my neck. I might have whiplash. Serious need for beer in light of these facts (right Dr. S?).

Then we got home and Alexa got some bad news via email. Vassar, after admitting Alexa for the class of 2023, sent us their financial aid letter, in which they announced that they’re prepared to give us (drum roll please) … [scroll down for the amount].

NOTHING.

That’s right, no aid whatsoever. The government, however, under the dutiful guidance of The Donald, is prepared to provide $3,500 per year in low-interest student loans. That will really help with the cost of this school, which is (drum roll please) … [scroll down for amount].

$73,000 a year!

So, needless to say, A— won’t be attending Vassar. I recommended she file a financial aid appeal which should contain the phrase “obviously whacked out on coke and smack.” Poor thing … she’s really mourning. I’m trying to buck her up, but it’s not easy when I’m feeling all lugubrious myself over having only this Pacifico to drink.

JL: Ouch! Ouch squared!! And one more ouch if your daughter refuses to do the math! The wheelie accident I can definitely relate to. I popped a wheelie on my cross bike a couple years ago in our cul de sac to impress my kid (and to imitate Peter Sagan) and forgot that I was clipped in… went right over and landed on my hip and back so quickly that I didn’t have time to break my fall (which is probably for the best — could have broken a wrist!). Took weeks for the bruise (and the pain) to go away. Ego is still bruised. Needless to say, kid was not impressed… So that sucks. Adding to your pain is the busted phone, which is just salt in the wound. Sorry dude. I’m not a doctor (wait! Yes I am! [a Ph.D.]), but I would recommend lots of Advil during the day and as much beer as you can get away with without worrying the family at night.

DW: What a complete bummer to go off the back of the bike. I’m so glad you did not smack the back of your head on the ground. Even if you had a helmet on, that is no bueno for what lies in between. I gave up doing wheelies just for that reason a long time ago. Alas, now I always hold the railing when going downstairs. Why are ultra-white New Balance sneakers with velcro suddenly appealing?! I digress...

Beck’st + Dairy

BA: Last night, after dinner, I learned that this was a thing:

BA (continued): Who knew? I’ve got to say, I was a little skeptical at first but discovered that it was really good! (That’s just vanilla ice cream under that Milk Stout Nitro, in case it wasn’t obvious.) Also, while enjoying this treat in Estes Park, at altitude, I noticed that they fill the ice cream containers until they’re overflowing before they put the lid on! Actually, I was told (and I have no reason to disbelieve) that the air bubbles in the ice cream expand in the relative vacuum of altitude here causing the ice cream to expand, lifting the lid right off the carton. Amazing. (I have also witnessed chip bags exploding on Trail Ridge Road as they get tauter and tauter the higher you go, due to the reduction of air pressure protecting them from the vacuum of space. If you wish to experience this mini science lesson for yourself, it helps to have the bags on the dashboard of the car, in the hot sun, to increase the pressure.)

JL: Funny you should post that photo after my lamenting about no longer eating ice-cream, because that very stout (from Left Hand) has been one of my go-to beers of late. I’ve been moving away from IPAs and trying more stouts lately, and that Left Hand nitro is really, really good. Maybe if I lose a few pounds I’ll reward myself with one of those stout beer floats!

PCS: Ice cream and beer! Epic, truly epic. though I’ve never had it personally. The thought of a milkshake with some whiskey in it also sounds interesting to me...

Airport Beck’st

JL: Traveling to Denver via Newark. They have iPads everywhere in the waiting area. I ordered this beer more out of curiosity than anything else while my kids play video games. Like 30 seconds after swiping my CC, this bartender showed up with the beer. Weird. But this beer is welcome anytime! I won’t tell you how much I paid for it...

DA: I use that airport from time to time when I travel on bidness. The iPads are pretty silly, especially when the restaurant app suggests a 15%, 18%, or 20% tip. Even when I’m spending my employer’s money, I bristle at tipping an iPad app. Sure, somebody comes over and plops a plate down in front of me, but that’s hardly service. Nobody even checks on me (thus depriving me of the chance to say, “The games are boring, the user interface insipid, the color palette uninspiring, and the screen grubby”).

I know what you paid for that beer. I bought one last time, even though I shudder to waste money, even my employer’s, but I was emboldened because my boss was next to me, his boss next to him, and they both bought expensive drinks (my boss’s the size of a ten-gallon hat and his boss’s some froufrou cocktail). My beer was small and disappointing. (I know, I know … “that’s what she said.”)

How’d you like the Lagunitas IPA? I wish I had one right now…

Appendix: how I ate Gavin Newsom’s $1,000 breakfast

I was at a fundraiser back in 2004 in San Francisco. For $1,000, I didn’t even get a table in the same room as the guest of honor. I was pretty pissed. On top of that, the breakfast was pretty bad: rubbery pancakes, MSG-y sausage, OJ from concentrate, etc. Right after I finished eating, but before the event began, a friend happened by and said, “Hey, come to the main ballroom, there’s room at a better table!” He himself wasn’t at said table, but there was indeed an empty seat. It was like ten feet from the stage. Right after I sat down I was served breakfast again, bringing my unit cost down to $500. NOOICE!

As the table filled in I realized I was with some pretty high-caliber people … impeccable suits, beautiful attachés, etc. Someone said, “Is Gavin coming or not?” Newsom was the San Francisco mayor at that time, and I suddenly realized to my horror I was sitting in his seat. How do you explain that to the Mayor? “Uh, sorry dude. Hey, I didn’t touch the fruit salad…”

Suddenly Newsom appeared at the edge of the room with his entourage, briskly walking along waving to everyone. To my utter relief, he couldn’t stay, and literally just made an appearance on his way to departing through the other exit. Nobody ever questioned my spot at the table. I finished “my” breakfast and (somewhat) enjoyed the event.

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Even More Beer Pix - Beck’st-O-Rama!

NOTE: This post is rated R for alcohol references.

Introduction

Okay, my last blog post was pretty hifalutin, with all that Latin and the obscure references to Sir Thomas Wyatt’s illicit affair with Anne Boleyn. So, I think it’s time for a fluff piece. And, after the warm critical reception to my H.B. Albert Memorial Beck’sts post, and the runaway box office success of the Beck’sting post before it, I’ve decided that this cheap-reboot endless-sequel thing is really the way to go!

Now, if you’re feeling all left out because you’ve never heard of Beck’sting (and really, what rock have you been hiding under?) click here for my original Beck’sting post, which will tell you all you need to know about this global phenomenon.

As before, I’ve grouped these Beck’sts thematically. Since a Beck’st isn’t just a photo, but a photo with a caption or other gloss, I’ve included that too, and the initials of the Beck’ster. Where you see one letter only (e.g., “T—”) that’s somebody’s spouse, kid, or another friend.

Photobomb Beck’st

DA: Best. Photo. Bomb. Ever. This is a Bear Bottle IPA, or maybe a Bare Bottle, maybe even a Rebuttal. It’s really loud in here. I asked the barmaid twice to repeat the name but just couldn’t make out what she said. Whatever it is, it’s completely and totally off the chain. I love the hazy IPAs.

[Postscript: Having done some research, I found this beer was actually from Barebottle Brew Co. in San Francisco, and was probably their Colonel Kush Hazy IPA.]

Perfunctory Beck’st

DW: I had this DB Fresh Squeeze at the local pub while watching the Sounders/Timbers game on Sunday night. I was pretty knackered from a 91 mile ride in the smoky heat ​that day and dragged myself out to watch the game. I actually didn’t even feel like having a beer (no man should utter those words), but pub, game, you know, seemed like the thing to do. I also had many glasses of ice water in those slightly blue tinted plastic cups that make water taste so good. The IPA was “just fine” like the Pliny. It was no Barley Brown’s.

Cheap and free Beck’sts

PCS: Boys! A friend of mine had this IPA at a party last week. $4.99 for a six pack! Pretty tasty!

DW: $4.99 for a IPA six pack! Unheard of. I’m surprised it didn’t come in those white, generic cans and just said “IPA” on them. Like the old “BEER” ones did. This is an oatmeal stout that my friend, the Angry German, made. My daughter and his daughter did the graphics. I don’t know if they sampled it or not, I didn’t ask.

DW (continued): It was his first go around of brewing and he did a nice job. I decided to have a beer during the week because all of our relatives and old friends’ houses burned down in Ventura today. Including our old house that we used to live in (not the one on the beach, D—, where we had a gun pulled on us, but the one up in the hills that I don’t think you ever saw). Everyone is evacuated and sorting through it all. What a year of extreme weather! I promise to have a more positive bext tomorrow night.

Amazing Tales Beck’st

DA: Ask me about this water bottle.

JL: I’d like to know about the water bottle.

DA: As I wrote in a blog post awhile back: look at the bright orange water bottle in the background there. It’s an important part of the bike. It has a story: I had it on my bike when I lived in San Luis Obispo, and a local racer actually asked me to stop using it. He was very proud of being Dutch, and told me that an orange water bottle was kind of his trademark in the peloton. I thought his request was absurd and reeked of narcissism. I was working at a bike shop at the time, and happened to learn that Specialized was blowing out those orange bottles for thirty cents apiece wholesale. I ordered like two dozen of them and gave them out to all my friends. At the next race, they were all over the place. If anything, the orange bottle had become the trademark of the Cuesta Community College cycling team, not the Dutch Douchebag.

JL: This is a good story and I’m sorry I missed it on your blog but am happy to have it excerpted here! The Dutch can be so touchy!

DA: About that water bottle and my blog excerpt ... I only pasted that from my blog because it would have taken about half an hour to type all that with my thumbs. I wasn’t trying to insinuate that anybody should have seen that blog post. I take it as an article of faith that most of my blog posts go unread, which is oddly pleasing to me ... it makes my blog seem really elite, like it’s too logorrheic for just anyone. But just in case you want to see the post from whence that tidbit sprang: here!

DA (continued): Here’s another story from that night, for no particular reason. After Fieldwork, C— and I headed over to The Pub. We went to this back patio where this really scary looking guy engaged me in discourse. (I have a long history of attracting crazy people.) He looked like one of these Star Wars villains, Darth Maul or whatever—very thin, kind of ashen and ghastly, almost sepulchral in this hooded sweatshirt with the hood up creating a shadow over his face. His opening salvo was, “I know you—you slept with Cheryl and I can prove it because I watched it on the Internet!” It seemed that to deny this would be so predictable, and frankly so boring, that I decided to take a page out of the improv playbook: they always say “yes, and...” instead of “no.” I replied, “I did sleep with Cheryl, many times, though I wasn’t aware she filmed it.” This kicked off quite a dialogue, which included how I ended up getting with Cheryl (I found her in bed with my wife and thought it only fair to be allowed in), and how my ongoing fling with Cheryl damaged Darth’s relationship with her, and so forth. Then the discussion rambled around a bit until Darth looked at C— and said, “You’re his wingman, huh.” C—, perhaps also following the improv rule, said something like, “Yes, and I’m glad you noticed.” At this point I found I could no longer follow the improv rule, and said to C—, “Wait a second, I’m your wingman! I’m not the kind of guy who gets a wingman! I’m not ready!” Etc. Anyway, it was at least a 15-minute conversation and when we got up to leave, Darth suddenly turned on me, yelling, “There isn’t a damn thing you’ve said tonight that’s true! You’re nothing but a damn liar!” Uh, good point ... but why did he wait until the end to notice, or say so? I’m glad, though ... I don’t want him coming after me because of something I supposedly did with Cheryl. Anyway, there’s probably a lot more I meant to tell you, but it’s not coming to mind. Thank you for tuning in to this edition of “Behind The Beck’sts,” brought to you by Silver Moon Brewing, est. 2003.

Mall date Beck’st

PCS: S— and I had a date whilst the kiddos were at “Star Wars” [Episode 8]. Our date was at a place in a mall which was somewhat repulsive though it had a couple things going for it....1) it had over 100 beers on tap and 2) it was showing biathlon racing [skiing & shooting] on the TVs. I generally hate watching TV in a bar/restaurant though I’ll take biathlon. I had a Rogue beer (some nondescript IPA) and a Delirium Tremens. I’ve attached a photo of the Delirium Tremens ... damn it was delicious! I don’t think I’ve ever had it and I was duly impressed. Please don’t take offense to the stemware.

DW: So glad you had the gumption to pull off a mall date. Your inner strength is an inspiration. Did you choose to not see “Star Wars”? Or did your kids ask you not to come? I went a few weeks ago and was duly disappointed. That beer looks great. No offense taken, but noted. Sometimes we have to make a sacrifice for something good.

DA: Stemware notwithstanding, that’s a pretty good-sized “pour” of Delirium Tremens, P—. I’d say that’s a good place. Some places around here would serve it in a thimble. A— wants me to take her to “Star Wars.” I’m not sure I have it in me. I’m just so tired of these retreads. Last night E— and I saw “Lady Bird” in the theater. It was very refreshing and original. And yes, since you’re wondering, I am trying to show off by acting far too highbrow for silly sci-fi movies.

Macro Beck’st

JL: Look, it’s a Beck’st!

BA: Haha, someone’s got a new macro lens!

JL: Yes, new lens. It was “refurbished”, so quite a good deal — less than $200. It allows me to take photos of things that are less than an inch from the lens. Usually that’s an insect, but this time it’s a Sierra Nevada.

Compulsory Beck’st

DA: E— is so irked at how skinny I have gotten, she went out and bought two six-packs of beer that she has ordered me to drink, purely for the weight gain. (My foray with the South Beach Diet was all too successful.) So here I am drinking at home alone, violating my own policy! Well, I have the cat for company, but she is an asocial predatory beast with little use for me ... kind of like my daughters, come to think of it. This Ballast Point Sculpin IPA is brilliant. I recommend you buy this when you find it available. It is great all by itself, or paired with a tabby cat.

BA: You’ve got a pretty tough life there, D—. Not only did E— tell you get fat, and made you drink beers, but she even bought you the beers! Next she’ll be bringing home the Zach’s pizza and Mac and Cheese and standing over you while you scarf it down.

DW: I am with E— on this one. Nobody your age should be getting a PR in body fat index. Eat, man, eat! Don’t make me come down there and have a pizza eating contest with you again!

BA: D—, he may be scrawny and weak, but one thing I would not do is engage him in an eating fight. Over the decades I’ve seen him eat, and when he gets on a roll, there’s no stopping him. Speed, volume, duration, spag, pizza, Thanksgiving, he can do it all. I’m sure you’ve seen it. He shows no sign of decline, either. It’s astounding. I don’t know what’s wrong with his body, but he can just eat and eat and eat, whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and he never gets fat. If he does lay off the American diet for a few weeks, he gets into this situation where his wife has to buy him beer.

Speaking of pizza

DA: E— is out tonight and I got Zach’s pizza with the kids. And you can’t have ‘za without beer, can you?

DA: J—, remember you invoked this rule at Zach’s the night before the Death Ride? And P—, remember we did that epic ride and then ate too much Zach’s and got all bloated and you hated me? And D—, remember I talked endlessly about how great Zach’s is, and took you and T— there and you both hated it because you don’t like tomatoes? Anyway, this Fat Tire is a bit flat because it’s so old. I bought it for the big bike team party in October and we forgot to put it out (along with the rest of the beer, duh!). Oh well.

JL: Indeed that is a rule—one I learned from my father in fact. Pizza goes with beer. What else goes with beer? Well, nearly everything, but certainly waiting for take-out food is one. Which is what I’m doing. So there’s this:

This supposedly a “imperial India pale lager”, whatever that is. But it’s definitely not pale, and doesn’t taste like any lager I’ve ever had, though it’s not unlike some stouts. It doesn’t hurt that it’s 8.5%! Oh, and it’s local, though you wouldn’t know that from the name. It’s made in Azambuja, a place name that I assure I did not just make up.

Post-op Beck’st

Home from helping my mom post-surgery. She is doing great, which is a relief, because last time I helped out post-op, the patient frickin DIED. Mom sent me home with some of the goodies you see here (other than the bread, which is local). I call this the “Finer things” Beck’st.” Good times!

BA: Meanwhile, back at Mom’s house, I’ve taken over for D— who tagged me in a week ago. D— must have really lazed out here because Mom’s got me working like a slave. I guess she actually worked D— pretty hard, too, but yeah, it’s like she’s punishing me for all the chores I didn’t do as a child. Maybe it just feels like that... On the brighter side, D— left me some beers in the fridge, which was downright good of him, and they’ve been a real life saver, let me tell you. I haven’t enjoyed a beer quite so much in a long time, I guess I feel like I’ve earned it. Unfortunately, they’ve run out, I’ve drunk them all up. I may have to replenish for the weekend. This photo shows what I’ve been enjoying, very much, in fact, a high octane Imperial IPA.

DA: Wow, nice! Too bad you’ve run out of beers. After my long commute today I settled down in the backyard with this bad boy. You can tell I was fried by how poor a photo it is, with the background in focus and the beer blurry. Then I ate food that was too hot and fried all the skin on the roof of my mouth. I’m not bitter, though!

Then E— asked me to open a bottle of Chianti. Why? Because people love the word “Chianti.” So I couldn’t get past the protective layer of foil over the top. Well, I eventually did. It was damn hard because I was so fried from my two-hour drive. I practically couldn’t function and I almost gave up. I told E— of the trouble I was having and she said, kindly, “Well, you’re not Italian.” I said, “Damn straight. My ancestors didn’t drink wine. They drank mead. And when they weren’t drinking that, they were drinking frickin’ blood, from the bodies of their enemies. They’d cut their heads off and drink blood right out of their neck stumps!” Finally I went at the foil with a big knife and it’s a miracle I didn’t stab myself. On purpose. Well so then I went in there with a corkscrew and the cork broke in half. Somehow, switching to a more nimble corkscrew, I managed to remove the bottom half of the cork instead of plunging it into the wine. But you know what? I may as well have, because the wine wasn’t any good anyway. Wine never is.

BA (one day later): D—, the beer you left for me ran out so I had to head to the store. I figured as long as I was going to be drinking beers, I ought to get some exercise, so I grabbed a backpack and walked there. I felt a little like a hobo heading back to camp with my backpack full of clinking bottles, but hey, a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. So in the photo you see our dinner, with a kind Total Domination IPA, which I enjoyed, served in, well, a glass of some sort. I’m getting the sense here that that’s not the right vessel. As you know, Mom doesn’t have a proper beer glass, so, sue me. You’ll notice the sandwich, I blame you for breaking my South Beach diet with that bread. Mom says you made her buy it, so she made me eat it. Anyway, chewing all those carbs gave me a mighty thirst, so I had two of those Total Dominations. Pretty swell.

Conspicuous Connoisseurship

DW: This is a Sun River Brewing Australian Lager at Brother John’s Public House.

I wanted to try something different. When it first arrived, I took a long whiff. Not because I think that makes any difference, but because if people see me do that, they’ll think I am some beer expert who knows the etiquette. I don’t know the etiquette of beer tasting or anything else. This beer had an unusual taste. Imagine pulling out the insole of an old shoe, soaking it into a large glass of water in the sun for a few days, pulling it out, and drinking the remains. That’s what this beer tasted like...but it was not too bad. It was, you know, acquired. Like kimchi.

DA: You crack my shít up! I think to look like a proper beer snob you need to thoughtfully stroke your goatee while wearing the intelligent and thoughtful expression of a true intellectual like John Paul Sartre or Jonathan Vaughters.

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More Beer Pix - the H.B. Albert Memorial Beck’sts

Introduction

It was a little sad for me that, when researching my recent aquaculture post, I couldn’t consult my dad. It would have been a great conversation topic, and those weren’t always easy to come by. I say “weren’t” because my dad died last year. I’m now bumping into various anniversaries: of our last non-medical visit; of the unsuccessful surgery that was the beginning of the end; of the end itself; and, of the aftermath.

Now, I don’t cope with these anniversaries, nor did I cope with these events, by drinking beer. But, looking back, I can see the role that Beck’sting played in being supported through the gradual dénouement. Read on for some bittersweet memories, bitter beers, and fetching photos.

A note on the captions and other comments: throughout this post, I’ve included the initials of the Beck’ster and anybody who commented on his Beck’st. Where you see one letter only (e.g., “E—”) that’s somebody’s spouse, etc. And if you don’t know about Beck’sting, click here. For a follow-up gallery of Beck’sts click here.

Last time we hung out with Dad in a non-convalescent capacity– June 18, 2017

[All four brothers took the old man out for a Father’s Day dinner. We were together in Washington state for my nephew’s wedding. My dad, already in the throes of a losing battle with cancer, had made a heroic solo road trip—which we all knew would be his last—so he could attend.]

DA: This is a Boundary Bay Scotch Ale. You can tell H— is very impressed with my exquisite taste.

PCS: H— is looking dapper! Did you get him to drink a few brewskis?

DA: Very funny. I think he’s consumed a grand total of half a beer during his lifetime. He does look pretty baked in this photo, though. (Of course he’s not.)

BA: Well... it is a good picture of your Scotch Ale, Dana, but I’ve seen better of Dad! He was actually pretty chill for the time together, which was great.

Helping out post-surgery – September 6, 2017

PCS: Funkwerks Saison! Chillin’ with Dana....Gondo! [Gondo = Café Gondolier, a Boulder favorite.]

DA: Funkwerks Saison! Very good, out of Fort Collins. Chillin’ with Pete at the Gondo!

DW: I bet that Funkwerks is a hella lot better than the Mirror Pond that’s sitting in my fridge, which I have on good authority is meh.

JL: Gondo Bext! Double Gondo Bext! That’s got to be worth 50 points! Maybe more! How many plates of spag will Dana eat tonight? And why aren’t you there are on all you can eat night???? Or is Wednesday all you can eat night…? I thought it was Tuesday. What are you doing out there Dana????

DA: We missed spag spesh night by one night! So we had garlic twists, one plate of spag, and shared a pizza. Good times! I am in town helping my dad out after a major surgery. At least that’s my excuse. I am really here for the spag!

DA [later than evening]: This is one of my very favorite beers: the Dogfish Head 90-Minute IPA. Isn’t it amazing that the Gondo, an iconic restaurant from our childhoods, is now serving us brilliant adult beverages?

JL: Yes, you are correct.

DW: Great Bex’ts. What’s on tap for tomorrow...some 180 mile mega ride with 22,000’ of climbing? After a few of those awesome looking beers and the twisted, elated, conspiring expressions you both have, I’m sure that’s what you were planning. On the other hand, did you guys put your phones down and talk to each other, or just kept checking your social media accounts with a nod, grunt or response that had nothing to do with the question asked from the other? Both are totally acceptable, BTW.

DA [the next day]: LOL. I meant to ignore Pete and Max by immersing myself in online dialogues but I don’t have enough virtual friends to make that work! We’re going to do some kind of mega-ride. I might go for some bonus miles by riding to Golden to meet Peter. Kind of depends on how comfortable the saddle is on my rental bike. I am kind of hurting this morning ... can’t tell if it’s the beer, the overeating, or the stress of being a ... CAREGIVER. (Say that reverently, with a pregnant pause for effect beforehand.)

Helping with skilled nursing facility, then hospice – October 17-26, 2018

DA: Maxin’ out with Bryan and Max at the Gondolier in Boulder. This is a Modus Hoperandi IPA from Ska Brewing in Durango. It’s 6.8 IBU and 88 IBUs but surprisingly smooth and darn good!

JL: Bryan looks angry for a guy with a nice looking full pint of beer in front of him — what did you say to him?? Or maybe he’s just hangry because they haven’t delivered the spag yet. And what brought you guys to Boulder? Weren’t you just there?

BA: Here’s the view from the other side of the table. The spag spesh is a nice reprieve from all the action here in Boulder.

DW: Dana looks equally angry. I hope you guys had more than one IPA.

DA: We are here visiting my dad who is very sick. As in very, very sick ... we are on the way back from the airport having just fetched Geoff [who flew in from Holland]. Sorry to be a downer.

JL: Oh man, I’m really sorry to hear this. There was a part of me that was wondering if something bad was up with your first email, but then I “perished the thought.” You and the brothers are there, and that’s good. My thoughts are with you guys.

DA: Thanks John. I thought about saying something earlier but I didn’t want to taint a perfectly good Beck’st. Things are headed pretty swiftly in the inevitable direction....

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DA: At Uncle Max’s pimpin’ new bachelor pad. Dan, note that even though the New Belgium Trippel specifically recommends stemware, I served these in a proper (and non-carcinogenic) pint glass.

DA (continued): Here’s another. New Belgium Trippel, Crystal Brewing Blood Orange Kolsch, Great Divide Colette.

JL: The perspective appears to be from someone who has already had a few too many… For me, I’m having this odd “IPL” [India Pale Lager] from Jack’s Abby. It’s “cleaner” than an IPA I would say. Slightly more refreshing, but still very flavorful. It might become my new favorite beer. Oh, and it’s in a can, which is my preferred container for beer in the summer/warmer months. Many breweries around here are putting more of their beers in cans. It’s “cool.”

October 27, 2017

[I sent this Beck’st just a few hours after my dad’s death, which is described here. I snapped this photo at the Dushanbe Teahouse, a restaurant my dad raved about but which we somehow never managed to visit together. It was weird to be dining in such a swanky place while our dad was laid out stiff somewhere, but I guess life goes on. As if to underscore this point, at the Teahouse we happened to run into the hospice nurse who’d been at our childhood home with us, and even in the room with us, when our father died. I didn’t feel like addressing these surreal feelings in my Beck’st—much less typing a lot with two thumbs during dinner—so I kept my Beck’st short and sweet.]

DA: A local beer from Avery Brewing Company, the White Rascal Belgian style white, at the Dushanbe Teahouse in Boulder. Delicious! I hired a model to pose in the background. Huh huh, no. That’s my niece R—.

PCS: That’s good times! Cheers to the memories.

BA: Good times indeed. As much as I’m relieved that the late night amateur nursing care, the [heinous] ostomy odors and the gut-wrenching pain of it all are (more or less) behind me, I’m really going to miss the rich, wonderful times with these brothers. I can’t imagine what it would be like going through something like this alone. We had some good Beck’sts, that’s for sure. The food at this tea house was really good, as was the tea I had. Who could have known?

Memorial trip – November 16-18, 2017

DA: This is a Mojo IPA from Boulder Brewing. Pretty yum! Note the reflection of my checkered napkin, and of course Evil Uncle Bryan in the background. We are in Boulder for my dad’s upcoming memorial.

BA: Too bad your phone has such a tiny lens with such a small aperture, otherwise you’d be able to blur out the background a bit better! Still, good times, all things considered.

DA: Actually, I was thinking the main flaw with this photo is that you’re so bald.

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DA: Liquid Mechanic Belgian IPA, post-memorial. [Pete gave me a lift to the memorial “after-party,” held at a friend’s house in a suburb outside Boulder, and when we drove by the Liquid Mechanic brewery Pete made an executive decision and swung into the parking lot. He’d wanted to try this place, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. The memorial had gone just fine, but so many complete strangers approached me afterward and talked my ear off—all on the subject of a dead man who’d been my father—I was feeling pretty damn overwhelmed. This glorious beer and a little peace and quiet were exactly what I needed.]

DW: You guys look quite dapper in your sports coats. That beer looks pretty darn tasty too. Sorry about your dad, Dana. I hope this bex’t will make you laugh a bit. This is my GWAR bex’t.

DW (continued): This is a Tropical and Juicy from The Hop Concepts in San Diego. This IPA blew me away. It was delicious and a total surprise. We stopped in Sacramento on our way down to Ventura for Thanksgiving. No shortage of breweries in Downtown Sac. We tried Fieldwork, but there was no room and not an ideal arrangement for two 15-year-olds. My kids were very hangry and not amused with my need to get to a brewery. “What’s wrong with Denny’s?” I think I heard. We walked over to something called “Burgers and Brew.” The name is a bit hokey, but it had good ratings and a great selection of craft beer. There was a huge line next to the restaurant with a lot of metal heads, hanging on from the 90’s. The reason? Next to Burgers and Brew was the night club “Ace of Spades” and that’s where GWAR was playing. One unfortunate thing about Bend (and most of Oregon, except PDX) is a lack of ethnic diversity. Hanging out in Sac for awhile was nice for that, and the cultural experience of metal heads was a whole new level of diversity that my kids were pretty blown away with. I played them a YT video of GWAR in all their glory.

DA: Wow, cool Beck’sts! I confess that a) I didn’t know Fieldwork had expanded from Berkeley to other locales like Sac, and b) I had to look up “GWAR.” I asked E— if she’d heard of GWAR and she replied, “I’ve heard of guar gum.” Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the crowd as much as the Tropical and Juicy IPA. I love the idea of ageing metal-heads (or “metallists” as we used to call them in high school). I have managed to turn [my daughter] A— on to Metallica. That’s not so hard though, since they’re tot’ly wicked. BTW, my brother Max made a new year’s resolution a few years back (one of many) which was “no more classic rock people.”

Follow-up Boulder trip, cleaning out Dad’s house – March 5-6, 2018

DA: Here’s another Boulder Beck’st with Uncle Peter, Uncle Bryan, and Evil Uncle Max. The beers in the glasses are a Belgian style from Upslope Brewing, a local place. Gorgeous beer. Note the pasta dough—fresh pasta is imminent and nothing goes better with beer except maybe friends and brothers. Fortunately we’ve hit the trifecta! Note also the also local (Denver) Great Divide Titan IPA, a solid choice. Good times!

JL: You guys are all looking good. Real good. However, that “pasta dough” as you call it looks more like an alien tumor. Yikes.

Road trip Beck’st – March 7, 2018

DA: Bryan and I are at the Nevada Hotel in Ely. Our room came with free breakfast at Denny’s and free Budweisers at the bar. I reckon these are about 8-oz. beers and maybe 3.2% ABV. They were slightly better than nothing and the company was top-notch.

JL: I must have missed something. Why are you in the middle of nowhere Nevada????

BA: ROAD TRIP! We were driving Dana’s new car to Cali. He inherited Dad’s Toyota Scion XB, in case you hadn’t heard… So we were havin’ a Bud. It was nothing special but I must confess, it was better than I thought it would be. (That was my first Bud ever.)

Real estate closure – March 10, 2018

DA: Here are Bryan and I celebrating the closing of a major real estate transaction: selling our father’s house. (I finished the paperwork during the Boulder trip but of course it wasn’t really done until the wire transfer came through.) This is at Fieldwork, which is not only the best brewery in NorCal but happens to be walking distance from my house. Bryan has a Belgian “table beer” of some kind and I have got a Radlands IPA. Both very tasty!

DA (continued): I’m not sure this is technically a selfie. We used the self-timer, which predates the selfie by many decades, innit? 

Life goes on – April 12, 2018

DA: I’m up to 174 pounds but the wife says I’m still too scrawny to cuddle, so here I am Beck’sting again. Solo-Beck’sting, no less, in clear violation of my only-drink-with-friends rule. E— put her foot down about that, on the grounds that the only way for me to fill back out after the all-too-effective South Beach Diet is thru regular consumption of beer. Hence the flurry of Beck’sts lately. Don’t worry, though: I can quit anytime I want. In the background there is my new car. Dad called it the Toaster (or “Towster” to be precise) but it’s my car now and I am calling it Boxtro. Bryan can provide the etymology. The beer is an East Brothers Pilsner. It’s okay—paying my rent at this coffee shop is all. They don’t serve Lagunitas IPA here anymore which is a bummer.

PCS: Beck’staholic!

BA: Boxtro was some kind of stuffed animal, though I’m not remembering too well just what kind of animal it was, a bear, I guess, but it seems it had smooth skin rather than hair or fur. I have a memory of someone squirting toothpaste on Boxtro’s head, which proved very difficult to remove. I’m not sure how the name came about. It was Max’s pet, was it not? The car’s looking good!

DA: Boxtro was a teddy bear, and you’re right, he had oddly smooth fur, like a bed sheet. You, Geoff, and Max were huddled around the bear, and I watched with fascination as one of you meticulously drew a figure-8 in Crest on the bear’s head. Max seemed oddly cool with this, perhaps because it was so gratifying to be participating in a group activity with his cool older brothers.

The car is just fine, but E— is begging me to get some hubcaps. Where the hell did Dad put them, after he had the rims spray-painted? I should have asked him when I had the chance…

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