It is that time of the year again by which I mean craft beer time. Suddenly pretentious lads of a certain age and plus, one of which is helpful son, wax lyrical about the delights of craft beers. Intelligent conversation is discarded as was the case when wineries mushroomed around the country. Remember all those damn fruits you had to identify to prove buff status. I love scoffing a plate of fresh fruit with wine, but competing to identify which ones are in it without looking at the bottle is not a substitute for camaraderie and conversation. Worse still craft beers brings back a distressing memory of lads pre-Germaine Greer along with their home brew. At least the latter frequently distressed them, too.
Offsider assured me I have been a natural for good plonk, quaff his glass and most of the bottle without fuss or fruit fixation. Well done me, the perfect guest. Maybe the craft beer bible study of late is more appropriate to our diminishing income status now that interest rates have nosedived. I like cider, there wasn’t much wayback, it sadly vanished from the shelves. Now it’s a treat given me by a neighbour for looking after her cat. I don’t have to recall the type as I’ve liked them all.
I like the mainstream lagers. And drinking from a bottle. A minor penchant for reckless hand gestures and dodgy grip doesn’t fully account for this. I do insist on a cheap wine glass but fatalities are frequent. A cheap sauvignon blanc on regular special is neighbour’s and my pick for the evening sip provided it is of very recent vintage.
Christmas goodwill means I will down a craft beer without great angst. But I think I’ll take along a copy or two of this delightfully derisory Guardian piece on craft beers: Modern Tribes: The Craft Beer Enthusiast. The author is a woman.
In the interest of balance if you are thinking of giving someone a posh bath oil or the like read this: Your Beauty Mark: The Ultimate Guide to Eccentric Glamour by Dita Von Teese – digested read. The author is a man.
Have a happy festive season.