Somehow, after a night of writing, no matter how cool the San Francisco night is (and no matter where else you've been looking for liquid inspiration), you still feel like you've just mowed the yard, peeled the gloves off, and shoved the John Deere into the corner of the garage.
Time for a beer.
Many of you know my contempt for ridiculously over-hopped, over-malted wheat beers from Belgium or inspired by Belgium or whatever. I won't even belabor that point. Name one great non-beer thing from Belgium. Not so easy, huh?
Look to your right. Doesn't that look good?
Yes it does. And it tastes even better. It's feathery and ephemeral, dusted with grain and caramel powder with just the right amount of hops. You can't put the glass down without taking another gulp. It's like biting into an angel and getting hooked on its blood. Made since 1328, presumably by German vampires disguised as monks.
$17.95 a six-pack at the liquor store at the top of Cortland Street. I wasn't going to buy it, but I hadn't seen it anywere else in town ever, and this crazy little store is full of beery treats. They also clearly have some hardcore German beer fans (or at least one) that I'm happy to lend a few pesos of support to. Goddamit, when I see things going my way, it makes me feel like stuffin' a few bucks in the right pockets.
Another beer I bought here, Apostelbrau, I haven't seen since, but (fingers crossed) they're supposedly going to re-order. I hope they do, because the shit is majestic, just like this one is.
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