A Birthday Beer Bonanza

It is important to start off your birthday with a bit of your favorite booze.  I started with a sip of the Bruichladdich favorite, the Classic Laddie.  My scotch was the perfect start to what would turn out to be a fantastic birthday.  I would try many new beers, enjoy a day out-doors, drink and eat with my friends, overindulge appropriately, and really roll around in the one day a year that I don't have any responsibilities or cares.

One very important element in a carefree day is to get someone else to drive.  As luck would have it, I have a very good friend who was willing to haul my ass around all day.  Diego is good like that, and we set out for Jester King Brewery just before noon.  I don't know if you've ever been, but I'll assume you have.  Do you remember how the traffic was oddly terrible driving out there?  No changes to that yet.  One minute you're in heavy traffic, then less so, rinse and repeat.  The brewery is still way the hell out there, and traffic is the only real point of interest on the drive.

The place opens at noon, and by the time we got there at 12:40 it was already packed.  They waved us to the overflow parking field where we got to look in to one of the greatest mysteries of all time.  Take a look at the picture below:

That is a big nearly empty field.  So nearly empty it could be passed off as a mere overflow parking area.  But, is it?  No, that thingy in the middle:

This thingy...

Vent for a nuclear silo/fat-cat bunker.  Sure, they dressed it down to keep the riff raff away, but we know.  We know.  When the bombs start falling, this field is destination #1 to watch our mighty retaliation fly and then duck and cover.  It is just that kind of advanced observation and comprehension skills that earned me the nickname "The Sherlock of the South."  It's true.  Ask anyone.

But onto the brewerying, and the satellite bars of many joys.  When you, for your birthday, go out to Jester King, don't get roped into the disturbingly long and slow line for the pizza/beer bar like we did.  Well, like Diego did.  I'm a cripple.  I got's privileges, yo. I camped, lump-like, at one of the many picnic table in the main beer hall, while Diego double-kneed it through the line to get us started.  You will not be so gullible.  You will head straight for the quietly pleasant...

Where the beer flows like beer.

Diego slogged through the line, Atreyu-like, suffering the loss of his own personal Artax (dignity), and my first wish was granted.  I named it

Jolly Pumpkin Artisan Ale: Oro de Calabaza

From Dexter, MI

8% ABV

Biere de Garde (French for "Fancy Pants")

This beer had every chance to suck completely.  I has a pompous name.  It is French-sounding.  It is available in half-pints.  All the red flags of snob-brew.  The first thing you taste is the distinctive sourness, then the hops do a little dance, you make a face, did someone see your sour face, but, the catch is, you kind of like it.  The next sip is better still.  I would call this a mildly challenging beer.  By the bottom of the glass I was pretty into it.  But I knew I wasn't going back for seconds.

We sat.  We talked.  We saw twin albino kids playing in the sun without hats on.  An Asian child (with a hat on) made a break for the parking lot when his mother wasn't looking.  Several usurpers were celebrating their birthdays there too.  Imitation is the least profitable form of flattery.  It was my turn to buy the beer.

Clever me, I hobbled attractively to the Pasture Bar, with its short line.  The dice were rolled on a stout.

Prairie Artisan Ales: Limo Tint

From Krebs, OK

5.65% ABV

Milk/Sweet Stout

"What is life without challenge?  What value is success without struggle?"

~said the gimp carrying two beers~

The Limo ain't half bad.  Dark, cold, and smooth with a milky and velvety follow through.  But, a bit thin for my tastes.  Diego found it to be like a porter, but a lot thinner and very carbonated.

Towards the bottom of the Limo Tint, Thomas, Katie, and the wee-baby Thor rolled in.  So did our pizza coincidentally.  It was a tasty combo of tomatoes, arugula, and bacon.  Very yum.  The crust was just the right kind of chewy.  The kind that makes you ask:

"Chewy, is that you?"

~J. Dodson (Superfly)

After a lifetime of sexual deviance, Thomas can no longer eat a pizza.  Katie joined us for a slice while Thomas braved the line, returning with garlic knots and another beer.

Revolver Brewing: Blood and Honey

From Granbury, TX

7% ABV

Pale Wheat Ale

It is very possible my experience with this beer was unduly influence by uninspired dish-washing, because my first thought on putting this one in my face was, "soap."  After the soap, there was a light malt, then light and sweet orange and coriander flavors.  This is a very drinkable beer.  Easy to find around town, and pretty enjoyable.  Also, it has a kick-ass name.  It doesn't have much of a "wow" factor.  Does that matter?  I'd drink this again any time.  Not sure that I'd buy a six pack for the house, though.

The scene was set for the cake that Diego had bought and inscribed with friendly sentiment.  We had painstakingly smuggled in this beast of a confection past the watchful "No outside food or beverages" sign.  Yep, we bad!

I went back for another stout.  With family, music and and beer, I play favorites.  And me and stout, we got history enough for favorites.  Stouts first opened my eyes to the world of beer beyond wimpy, down-stream lagers.  It was the search for an elusive stout that lead me to home brewing.  They are my go-to brew.  At the bar I had seen an impressive name:

 Bear Republic Brewing Co.: Big Bear Black Stout

From Healdsburg, CA

8.1% ABV

Imperial Stout

As you can see, this is an impressive looking brew, like a mason jar of espresso with a kiss of creme.  And that name, Big Bear Black Stout, it wears that name like it was a lumberjack's codpiece (plaid flannel, with the sleeves rolled up).  The flavors are fundamental, malt, chocolate, coffee, and *goddamit* soap again.  But it is all sound and fury.  This beer doesn't deliver on the in-your-face big flavor the name implies.  Diego summed it up as run of the mill, was certain he could take it in a fight, and renamed it "Sickly Cub."  

Around this beer, Team Reidy threw in the spit-up towel.  I eventually found the can with its unforgivable man-trough, and later we captured an escaped chihuahua. Diego and I eventually packed up the table and headed for one of the other satellite bars.  The one with the barrel aged beers.  

Jester King: Coquetier

From Austin, TX

7.5% ABV

Brandy Barrel Aged Farmhouse Ale with Cubeb, Anise, and Lemon

At this point, my jotted-down notes become a little unclear, so I will quote the full text of what I have for this beer.

"coquetier

-puppy dog drink = diego

-sour, zesty, cirtus [sic], sour, omar in belton, lemon (citrus)"

Make of that what you will, but I think I means I was really enjoying myself.  I didn't finish, and didn't want to finish this beer.  It would have been a very long trip from the top to the bottom and I didn't have the heart for it.  I enjoyed drinking what I did drink of this beer, but don't remember liking it.

It was time to leave.  I needed leeks and onions for a soup, so we thought we might go by Central Market and have a beer and a nosh while we grabbed my groceries.  We ate our snacks and drank our beer.  We watched the people as they went about their day, we sat, and we talked.  I had a bottle of Lone  Star, so, for those of you who are interested:

Afterwords we hung out at the house for a while.  We might have watched some TV.  Omar eventually joined us.  And then, I made soup.

 Happy Birthday, me.