“Jesus doesn’t drink Jager: Jesus isn’t going to drink dead Nazis!”
This is the philosophy I go to bars for. I’m tempted to just let this post stand on that overheard. But instead, let me start over…
“Neon lights do amazing things to cover up blemishes in strip clubs” the bartender tells me, “that’s why there is no natural lighting there.”
She’s a smiling, bespecled, barrel chested blonde who’s got a jill of all trades vibe, explaining to me why she reacted so startled to my presence: Apparently I looked like someone who had been 86’d. She looks like the kind of lady who could easily kick me out of here, then turn around to the rest of the bar, crack a joke at my expense, everyone would “huzza” and everything would go back to normal. The cantina scene without aliens.
I get Breakside’s Lunch Break: I don’t know anything about this beer but the nose (pine but not pungent), the color and the finish (very clean) suggest it’s one of those session IPAs. This beer isn’t going to convince me that session IPAs should be a thing-nothing will-but it’s not a bad beer. I’d recommend it.
This is a strange place. I think there are more tv and video screens then there are people right now. And this place isn’t deserted: There’s pool players and video poker players and even a couple run-of-the-mill drinkers.
Which tells me something, too. It’s almost certainly a neighborhood bar that’s adapted to the times: the beer list is reasonably broad, the bottle selection includes ciders alongside jello shots, air hockey, dartboard, and a very modest wall of spirits, every other empty space filled with neon signs.
The age range is reasonably wide too. All in all I’d probably come back to have another drink.
The grapefruit is starting to light up the finish of my beer. I’m not so happy about that: there isn’t enough backbone to this beer to really let the grapefruit be a satisfying flavor for me. I think I’ll have another beer, though.