(as written at the Deschutes brewpub about 15 minutes ago)
“I’ll have a Pink Lady”-how often do I get to say that? And it IS pink, as if a marker was dipped into the beer- or in this case rose petals for dry hopping. I’m told that dry hopping adds to the nose but damned if it doesn’t have a mouthfeel like chewing on rose petals. This place tends to distract me; I came in hoping for the anniversary stout, and then attracted to the lager I make a beeline for the Pink Lady.
But Portland is humid and this crisp, cool ale stands defiant to it, like the gang; full of spitfire and bright color to stave off the mugginess. I can see her, standing with a hip cocked away from me and the pink jacket, rolling her eyes at the sky; what, ya gonna pay attention to that or to me?
Malts stay through this beer, winking at me before disappearing to the hops, a roasty moment amongst floral and Janice Joplin sings.
If only this place has less TV’s and more windows into the brewery, it might be perfect.
A pint for Dionysus 