I don’t know that I want to know that badly, for once.
The more interesting a beverage tastes, the more I don’t mind drinking it alone. But the more interesting it tastes, the more I want to share it. Bland things are only acceptable when shared: at least you know you’re all in it together, then.
At the end of a long Friday, I saunter into Bailey’s, hoping it closes at midnight not eleven, so I can settle down before going home. I’m in luck and I’ve got time to spare!
I get my input from a man on the rail: “The #7 on nitro. It’s pretty good.”
He’s not wrong; the Gigantic/Bailey’s Woodblock Chocolate stout is pretty smooth and the chocolate really comes through. The chocolate is strong enough that I’m almost expecting the viscosity of milk to come out. That the beer is thin isn’t an objection that I can really raise to it; it’s tasty!
The gent next to me has to get up early tomorrow so he doffs a pink ski hat and heads out. I’m left with an easy beer to drink and what is one of the more low key nights I’ve had in awhile. Which is good! The last week of February decided to keep me hopping. Now that I can breathe, I’m glad to take the change to do so.
I have one more ale in me; tomorrow is also a big day, since I’ll be volunteering at the SheBrew event. I can’t stay out late but it’s a nice day. Let’s treat ourselves.
I give Widmer’s Green Skies, a hazy triple IPA, a shot.
It’s delicious. I’m starting to think that maybe double or triple IPAs are what the hazy style is for. The sugar and mouthfeel help give the beer a density that softens the impact of the higher ABV. Widmer did good on this.
With Bridgeport’s closure, I’m becoming more cognizant that the known brands need some love too, because they are often making something pretty good.
And tasty stuff is what it’s all about.
Today’s second pint goes to Spread the Vote.
Sitting at Bailey’s is nice; I remember how much I miss this place. I wish there had been a spot on the rail so I could ask someone what they were drinking, but it’s a fairly lively Sunday, to my surprise. Still, I’m glad I’m here because I still love this environment and drinking here isn’t just a nostalgia fix, Bailey’s is just a pleasant spot to be.
There are times where I don’t have anyone else to blame but me and this is one of them. I picked the Ruben’s Blimey That’s Bitter Triple IPA-a little reward for a long week-and it is…vehemently bitter. Jaded 50-something bitter, except with pine and soap as the aftertaste. I don’t object to it: It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper glass of IPA.
It’s a LOT though, and maybe I should’ve gotten a smaller pour.
On one side is a couple on a date, speaking a language I don’t recognize and on the other, a couple dudes talking about the origin of heavy metal (for the record, it goes: Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Smoke on the Water, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, everyone else.)
I think I need to start coming back here for a bit.
Today’s second pint goes to the ACLU.
In a stroke of good fortune, I have found myself out at Pelican’s brewpub in Pacific City, and I’m going to try the Brute Lupes. (Which I had to say aloud to really get. I’m like that.)
The next wave of IPAs seem to be using champagne yeast to enhance the fruit notes while imparting a drier quality. The results are usually pretty interesting, though I’m not sure I’m convinced that they are awesome, at least not yet.
And the Brute Lupes isn’t the ale to convince me, either. It isn’t bad, by any means but it has a distinct orange juice flavor to it, as though it was blended together, instead of a distinct beer of its own. Now, since I’m at the Pelican brewpub in Pacific City, I have plenty of other delicious things to try. However, this ale? It’s just an interesting experiment and not one I’d jump on.
This pub is geared to be as cozy as it can be. Everything is in brown tones-even the light seems filtered through sepia. For a spot out in the middle of who knows where (the Oregon Coast) it really wants to make patrons feel warm, especially with the ferocious western coastline outside, clouds always ominous on the horizon at this time of year.
The remote location means that there isn’t anyone to ask-everyone is at a table tonight and there’s gentle disruptions, then there’s outright rude and I don’t want to cross that line.
I like it. I’d come back here en route to anywhere on the coast.
Second pint goes to Trans Lifeline.
I walked to the Zoiglhaus tonight. I’m meeting friends and hoping to get there early so I can write a bit and I have succeeded. But the walk here was akin to wandering through a Mad Max territory, replacing winter for desert.
Portland does not do snow very well. It’s understandable; they haven’t had to until ’12, really, but now it seems like there’s at least one bad winter storm a year and the temps get downright chilly.
It has an effect on my brain, too; I go out walking during these conditions and I start to get very neo-noir detective, a not quite as tough character from a James Ellroy novel. “Empty bottles skidding across the pavement in the wind, the rattle of the skittering plastic sounding like the lost hopes and dreams of once a great city…” That sort of thing.
Fortunately for everyone, rain is expected tomorrow and we should be more or less back to our normal selves then.
There’s only one man at the rail this evening, and he bears more in common with a neo-Viking than with me; military close cropped hair and a blonde beard that goes halfway down to his sternum. He’s got a couple bottles of the schwarzbeir near him and I’m hesitant because smoke beers are hit and miss, but the theme is the theme. Into the breach, my friends!
“I’m having the Doppelsticke.”
Whew. Unfortunately, the concentration I spent on coming up with bad noir metaphors meant that I forgot to take a picture of my beer. It’s a cloudy brown, like overindulgent chocolate milk, served in a snifter style glass. There isn’t much head on it, which I always feel is a dubious sign.
The Doppelsticke is not giving me much in the nose, just faint malt roast, but it’s got some weight to it, sticky, sweet, a blend of coffee and chocolate, it both feels a little hot at 8.9% and finishes with a chalky quality that I can’t get down with.
I don’t hate this but it seems like something went awry here.
Today’s second pint goes to the Portland Rescue Mission.
Last week local cider maker Cider Riot, along with a nearby union had their business vandalized, most likely by right wing dildos trying to ‘make a statement’. Which means it’s a perfect time to go down to Cider Riot and give them some of my money.
A woman on the rail is having the , cranberry hibiscus cider so here we go! The color on this is just beautiful: I love this shade of red. As for the drink itself, it definitely has an herbal nose; the presence isn’t at all shy. The tartness of the cranberry takes over the rest of the cider, though, which works but I wish the finish was a little more sparkly. It doesn’t dance off my palate very well so I’m not encouraged to have a second.
But that’s OK: there are other ciders to try and I’d certainly like another.
Today’s second pint goes to the American Immigration Representation Project.