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So most of these happened because I rode the subway out to Brooklyn for a Mensa meeting that didn’t seem to exist. There was no one there, the bartenders didn’t know about the meeting and the provided phone number was for a dude who didn’t know what Mensa was. Out of that turmoil, you get hearty recommendations for some absolutely delicious beers. My pain lead to our communal gain. Check them joints, my dude.

I had a Goose Island Bourbon County Stout and about two sips in, I thought, Whoa, this stuff is dangerous. I was texting my dad at the time because I’d asked his help to figure out what to do–we eventually agreed that drinking by myself was better than riding the subway for an hour and a half. Luckily for us, I got to drink this and text him: “Holy shit, if you can find a place that serves Goose Island Bourbon County Stout, I strongly recommend you go.” His reply: “That’s what I wanted to hear.” The point is, this is a big, old, thick, strong man beer. The only thing that wasn’t manly about it was how they served it in a wine glass; if they’d put it in an old-fashioned glass, I don’t know if I would have a) left or b) remembered anything past 8PM.

Luckily, I do remember because I left Pacific Standard and went across the street to Cherry Tree where I ordered a Lagunitas Cappucino Stout. I’m not entirely sure I’ve met a coffee-flavored beer I haven’t liked–it tasted like a smoother but heavier Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale. And when I finished that I had to go home. By the time I got home, I was drunk enough to knock on my neighbors’ door and offer to bake for them. Sure, I didn’t bake for them for another two weeks and they loved my chocolate chocolate chip cookies, but all that drunk brought out the southern in me.

The next two, although unrelated, were just excellent.

Sam Adams makes a Noble Pils that was on tap at an Irish bar called the Blarney Stone a large contingent of my friends tend to flock to for karaoke night. So, although the songs weren’t always the best, the beer was consistently excellent. I’m tempted to say it’s better than Pilsner Urquell and mostly because it didn’t have that strange, almost skunky smell Pilsner Urquell does.

Perhaps most importantly, Brooklyn Brewery lets a magical beer ferment for four months. They’ve decided to call this behemoth of taste and excellence the Monster Ale. They say it’s brewed in the style of a barleywine, which for the layman seems to mean it’s delicious but surprisingly drunk. Don’t drink this with dinner before you have to go close down a retail store. I think I was drunk at work. Luckily the only large machinery I operated was a trash compactor and that was very late in the night. They sell these lovely beers in four packs that cost more than their six packs–that was my cue to think, It’s what? Well, I’ll try it once then obviously never buy it again because that’s a huge price hike. After drinking it I mostly think, Having a job that would allow me to afford this godly nectar would be ideal but is perhaps a bit dangerous for my health. Hopefully, with a career comes the ability to reign in my desire for heavenly delights. Well, there’ll always be women…

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