Halfway into my recent trip to London, I was feeling somewhat disconcerted by my failure to ferret out a variety of beer experiences. Sure, I’d wandered down to the pub for a pint and a pie, and althought there was plenty of local color (the man sitting next to me was singing “Got to Pick a Pocket or Two” and no, I am not making that up), the pint in question was a pretty forgettable. I’d also had a plate of fish and chips and a London Pride in a cowboy-themed restaurant. Sure. Why not? Still, I had yet to find a really transformative experience.
I wandered the neighborhood, beer radar pinging away. At last, I saw it–a small chalkboard advertising London-brewed craft beer. I inquired within the establishment, and was rewarded with a porter from The Kernel. And it was probably the best porter I have ever had–rich, smooth, and wonderfully warming against the damp, chilly London spring. After further research, I discovered that The Kernel brewery was open for tastings every Saturday, which happened to be the next day. It was ON. Read the rest of this entry »
Posted by Lady Jay 
That was my reaction on a recent trip to Tampa with Herr Hordeum to visit his progenitors. The “what” was a Cigar City brewpub. The “where” was Airside Terminal C of the Tampa International Airport.
Recently, I found myself sitting in a car on Friday afternoon, at the border of the United States and Canada, anxiously awaiting a weekend of delicious Seattle hop-bombs on the way back from suffering through nine days of weak Canadian swill.* I thought I had nothing to fear. I thought my suffering was over. I thought wrong. When my passport was scanned, a warrant popped up for my arrest for a crime I did not commit, in a Missouri county I have never been, on a date when I wasn’t even on this continent. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Quick question for you: what is responsible for the adoption of agriculture, the pyramids, antibiotics, the Sistene Chapel, antiseptic medicine, modern commerce, American colonization and independence, modern manufacturing, the end of child labor, and little girls being able to eat ice cream?
ith all of the coverage of the 2012 presidential election, I began, naturally, to wonder: if the candidates were beers, what beers would they be? The knee-jerk reaction is to say, “They’re all Bud Light/Miller Light/Beer 30. Done. Let’s move on.” However, as a scientist, I oft feel the need to peer deep into the darkness of the unknown, even if the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age (I also feel the need to blatantly rip off turn-of-the-century horror writers). 
A few weeks ago, while my companion the Herr was lamenting the hardships of living in a state with poor distributional diversity as is his wont, I was in Juneau, Alaska. Drinking lots of beer. It was awesome.
