Part One showed up in my inbox this past weekend, followed by Part Two, a disclaimer of sorts, that rendered it an immediate classic. I have permission to reprint both parts, with a few minor changes to protect the innocent.
Part One, 11:05 p.m.
"_____________ very kindly gave me some beers.
"It took me until now to open one. I'm by myself here, so I thought I'd open a smaller bottle. That had me choosing between two Lost Abbeys. I had a Lost Abbey once, at Spring St. Bar, and I loved it so much that I considered getting a second one (I didn't; I'm a lightweight), but I can't remember which of their beers it was. Devotion, maybe?
Anyway, of the two
bottles of Lost Abbey, one seemed super-special,
and the other seemed less special. I chose to less special one,
because I was eating dinner alone, and hopefully I'll open the other one
with a friend around, and that friend will get to try it, too.
"So, Deliverance.
Thankfully, my dinner was some hot Italian sausage that was actually
hot (good job, Trader Joe's) with caramelized onions and slightly burned
bell peppers. This beer poured like sour cherry juice, and had very
little going on in the way of carbonation (was it always like this? Or
did this happen in the dark, over time, between 55 and 58 degrees
Fahrenheit?).
"After it poured like sour cherry juice, it tasted like sweet coffee. At first. It's "blended ale aged in bourbon and brandy barrels," so I could have expected some of the sweet darkness of it.
"The beer is NOT syrupy. I draw the line at syrupy beer and won't drink it. But this successfully walks the line and does not become that. It was a great companion to a spicy-sausage-based dinner, and totally ruled out crackers (by which I mean, I could not handle this beer with bland foods or a lot of carb-y things. If you ever eat eat pasta again, which I know you won't, don't drink this beer with it).
"Without crackers, I broke out some salty Spanish cheese (whoa, Trader Joe's, thanks again!) and Jesus, salty cheese and this beer were made for each other. The second time I went to slice salty cheese, however, things were more complicated, because this beer is 12.5% alcohol, and, as previously mentioned, I am a lightweight.
"Now it's time for a late-night, somewhat tipsy shower. I'm pretty excited.
"After it poured like sour cherry juice, it tasted like sweet coffee. At first. It's "blended ale aged in bourbon and brandy barrels," so I could have expected some of the sweet darkness of it.
"The beer is NOT syrupy. I draw the line at syrupy beer and won't drink it. But this successfully walks the line and does not become that. It was a great companion to a spicy-sausage-based dinner, and totally ruled out crackers (by which I mean, I could not handle this beer with bland foods or a lot of carb-y things. If you ever eat eat pasta again, which I know you won't, don't drink this beer with it).
"Without crackers, I broke out some salty Spanish cheese (whoa, Trader Joe's, thanks again!) and Jesus, salty cheese and this beer were made for each other. The second time I went to slice salty cheese, however, things were more complicated, because this beer is 12.5% alcohol, and, as previously mentioned, I am a lightweight.
"Now it's time for a late-night, somewhat tipsy shower. I'm pretty excited.
"P.P.S. Thanks for reading this/I'm sorry. I realize there's no context here."
(Before we get to Part Two, let me just say, this is me after every beer I've ever had. This is already an awesome email. And then...)
Part Two, 3:32 a.m.
"I am so sorry for making you the victim of my questionable impulses. Which in this case, looked like, "You know what would be fun? Writing about drinking this beer and hitting send before I have a chance to regret it."
"I woke up, pretty confused, still unshowered, on my bed a few hours later, and sheepishly rinsed my dinner dishes.
"I'm just going to tell myself that at least it wasn't bad poetry."
The end.
Okay, a few things. If you are prone to useless endeavors, like casual writing, I declare a bit of alcohol makes it much more fun. For entirely unknown reason, there simply is something satisfyingly pleasurable about typing away on a keyboard half a sheet, maybe one sheet to it.
Which is why so many good writers were famously alcoholic.
Also, it's kind of fun when people are silly. The world needs more silly.
Ode to the lightweights,
to the metabolically challenged,
the lacking of body mass,
the feint of machismo.
Cheap date?
Economically inebriated!
Competently crocked,
proficiently potted,
ne'er vomit nor hangover be.
'Tis Braggart, the lightweight,
they chortle at the rest of us:
"You stinky pukards,
mine was done effeciently,
minus huge bar tab
and disgusting effluvium.
And then I wrote about the beer, versus posting nude selfies on my instagram account."
Ode to the lightweights,
alcohol exemplars.
A little silly,
a little funny,
a little sleepy,
a little nap.
Cheers.