Beer Nirvana

Echoing Neil — there is paradise on earth. It’s called 112 beers on tap. And we have notes to prove it!

Suffering slightly from beer ADHD, we figured we’d go with 2 tasting flights to start the night. Which lead to another flight. Which lead to two very happy liquid bloggers. The following notes are in chronological order and are exactly what we wrote down in the bar — meaning you probably shouldn’t take the last couple seriously. (Also, we need to figure out a better notes taking system that doesn’t look like I’m listening to an organic chemistry lecture in the middle of a bar).

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Paradise is in Allston

The scribes of this illustrious journal found enlightenment on Friday night, and, as I always half suspected, the key to happiness is more of a gnostic secret than a zen insight. It’s not fair, but worry not – you’re here now and I’ll share it with you.

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Uh… how do you store YOUR tea?

Y’mean not everyone keeps them in empty pork fu containers?

Pork Fu

Home Bar (part 1)

When you turn 21, it’s as good a time as any to start on stocking that home bar you’ve been daydreaming about before but never could bring yourself to bribing one of your overage friends to buy you 1901823 bottles of hard liquor for.

Well, as a reward to myself for not rioting against the unbelievably ridiculous and paradoxical government which decided that certain subsets of those allowed to vote in a democratic election are somehow still incapable of making responsible decisions, I bought myself the beginnings of a home bar as a birthday present. But what to get?!

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On the consumption of liquid from an animal horn

A while back, one of the chemists in my department threw a a sort of medieval-themed Christmas party with her housemates.Now, I’ll interject that for us, that’s not a huge stretch. For reasons related to our field of study, we tend to be a pretty granola-munching bunch. Dressing up as bards, knights, and wizards is not really a big deal. Well, except for me. I’m not above it, I just don’t own any costumes. I should probably rectify that.

I wouldn’t let details like that slow me down, though, so I of course I went.

After cajoling my way across the drawbridge they had installed in their foyer, depositing my 6-pack of really decent Trader Joe’s Winterfest Double Bock into the fridge and retaining one for myself, (how do I remember that after this many weeks? I’m not sure.), and squeezing my way into the livingroom where Robin Hood and his merry men were playing Simon and Garfunkel tunes on a guitar and a mandolin (really), the hostess came through and offered me what must have been the horn off of an angry 100-kg sheep.

“Oh my. What is this?”


“Wow. I’ve never tried that before. Is it good?”

“Well, C made this batch, but we’ve got a few bottles of the store-bought stuff in the fridge. Wanna try?”

“Well, I’ve already got a beer.”

“Set it down and I’ll show you how to drink from it.”

How you drink from a horn is actually obvious if you think about it – you have to hold the point so that it’s in front of you and tip it back. I took a swig, it was rather tart but pretty good. She took the horn away and let me get back to my beer.

The party progressed as any non-catastrophic party with that many people in period costumes would: we got a little drunk and started singing. Eventually, one of my better friends came up to me with the horn.

“Have you tried the mead?”

“The homemade stuff, yeah.”

“This is the stuff from the store. I think it’s better.”

In our crowd, that’s blasphemy. Things made at home are always better. Admiral Ackbar would have known what was happening, but I walked into it. “Really? Let me try it.”

I was empty-handed, so he handed me the horn. It was nearly full. I tasted the mead; it was sweet and good, though not necessarily better. I said as much and tried to hand the horn back.

“Oh, no thanks. I’ve had enough.”

I drank a little more, or maybe a little more than that, wandered around with my new prop, and did all that party stuff that always happens but which we can never actually recollect very clearly the next day. Eventually, I decided I had had enough mead.

It was at that point that I realized the most important fact about horns: You cannot set a horn down without spilling all the liquid inside.

I tried to find someone else to take the horn, but everybody said they had had enough. It was still half full. There are worse problems to have than alcohol that you can’t set down. Out of primal instinct, I drank more — it’s just what you do when you’ve got alcohol in your hand and you’ve already had a few. At some point I actually internalized that I was drinking mead well after the point which I decided I didn’t need to have anymore; my plight became dire and my search became more desperate. Not that I stopped drinking then, either. That’s just not how it works.

Eventually, someone took it off my hands. I have no idea who, or how much mead was in the horn at that point.

I do know that the rest of the party was freaking awesome.

The next morning, notsomuch.

Mead? In the words of the last person who sold me something on “AAAAA ++++++ Thank you !!!!!”

Horns? Pretty cool, whether on or off of a ruminant.

The juxtaposition? Lethal.

When to pop the tea question?

Happy lunar new year! Xin nian kuai le, gong xi fa cai, etc, etc. I have to confess — I am pretty terrible at being chinese (unless I’m awesome at being chinese, like… when getting food freebies in Costco). I decided I wanted a small little Chinese new year get-together chez moi and I ended up having to call my mother…

Me: “Mommy? What do chinese people eat on chinese new year?”
*Mother audibly signs* (some things you can only ask mothers)

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Trader Joe’s Tea Roundup

Moved to