Square One for Adults

Remember Square One from the 80s on PBS? What a great show. The Pac-Man parody Macman, and Springsteen rip-off songs with the F Street Band about fractions, all wrapped up with a session on vulgar primes.

Totally didn’t mean to talk about that. Now you know where my fascination with prime numbers began. However, none of the numbers we will discuss next are prime.

38 out of 62 beers. That’s my scoreline from Saturday afternoon’s pilgrimage to the St. Louis Heritage Brewer’s Festival.

Apparently, in 1806 (one hundred years before our house way built, and two hundred years before we moved into it), some immigrants got themselves some dark malts and mixed St. Louis Dark Lager, which was theinaugural brew of the city and the special beer of the festival. Time’s march turned this strong, proud history into a weak tale, tinged uncomfortably yellow and insipidly tasteless.

Thankfully, we’re getting back to our roots, and the festival showcased six breweries boasting a combined total of 62 different beers tastefully arranged into two tents sorted by style. Yes, style. And for a bunch of white beer geeks and their assorted hotties tromping down the straw pathways between tents on a Saturday afternoon in sandals, this was actually a stylish event.

Augusta Brewery from some small town in Missouri, and Square One Brewery from the heart of St. Louis in Lafayette Square, not coincidental sharing common a common owner (who came out from behind one of the taps and introduced himself to us), won over our group with their expert execution of a wide range of educated styles. I tasted 38 different beers, which topped our group. However, thanks to a strict training regime I had followed in preparation for this event, I remained upright and ambulatory the entire time. No substitute for hard work and visualization combined with natural talent.

May 16th, 2007 | Beer, St. Louis | No comments

Dear Friends: The Answer Is Beer.

Dear friends. Without a hearty account of the nature of man , you may find yourself on occasion lapsing into a particular despair. “Who am I?” you ask dejectedly. “Why are the first two sips of Diet Coke always the best?” you wistfully ponder. “What makes me different than the lazy housecat, content to sleep, eat, and poop without a metathought?”

These difficult questions born of malaise endure no facile answer. But I feel you. I grok you. I dig you, see. And, I have an answer.

Beer. What separates man from the animals is beer.

November 24th, 2006 | Beer, Pensees, Unbelievable | No comments