I’m having Ferment‘s Czech Pilz, and this is a treat, because I don’t know this brewery! A chance to try something new on top of it all. Unfortunately, I am, once again, interrupting someone on their phone when I ask for their selection so I’ve retreated to a quiet space on the rail to appreciate this beer.
The flavors are all very clean; the finish almost the barest hint of hop bitterness on it. But what I really like is the way it feels: the Pilz has a denser viscosity to it that rolls across my tongue sweetly and gives me more to do than just pound it down.
So I look around Bailey’s to see the crowd. It’s pretty calm for a Saturday evening, and everyone seems to be relishing the rarity of it.
There are people of Asian descent in here, as well as Indian. The man I asked? Had a faintly Slavic accent when he replied. A black man and a white woman toast their glasses on my other side, an old sentimentality at play. The table of white folk nearby doesn’t bat an eyelash at anyone; the bartenders serve all of us the same. The couple wrapped up in each other’s words, the bearded dude with the glasses and the snow hat, me; we’re all immigrants too, people who arrived in the past to exist in the same space in the future.
We’re all even at the pub. We pay our money, we drink our drinks. We even converse with strangers, sometimes.
It’s not a bad world, just one that I’ve seen less and less of lately. Let’s create more of a better world, OK?
Today’s second pint goes to UNICEF.