It’s almost American Craft Beer Week, where we celebrate everything that is good about an industry where everything’s good. As a result I feel the need to get this out on the table: I’m a dirty pinko freedom-hating hippy Canuck. Born in Montreal. Yup, that’s the French speaking part of Canada. I know, I know, I should be totally ashamed of myself. I understand if you won’t talk to me anymore. But let me get this out on the table as well in the hopes that I’ll be redeemed:
I love American craft beer more than anything else one can imbibe on this planet.
Envision the superpatriot – that guy with the mullet and Bass Pro Shops hat driving around in a F-350 with balls on the trailer hitch, a picture of Calvin pissing on Osama Bin Laden and a “Never Forget” sticker on there as well. That’s kind of like me, only replace the USA stuff with American craft beer. Hopefully you can subtract most of the obnoxiousness, too.
I have some fantastic beer loving friends who are extremely knowledgeable on European (read: Belgian) beers and are constantly recommending something from some brouwerij I’ve never even heard of. I’m always willing to try that stuff out, nine times out of ten the results are superb, but when it really comes down to it I will always go to an American ale when I’m bellying up to put in my own order.
I can’t explain what it is that keeps me wanting to explore all the beers produced in these 50 states. I might say it’s the fact that we make some huge-ass beers, but I love an American Kölsch. I might say it’s that I prefer Cascadian hops, but I love me some American all-noble brews. Maybe it’s that my first beer ever in my whole life was Arrogant Bastard, and I’ve been transformed into some kind of beer demon. I have literally no idea what’s caused me to wave the flag so hard, but I do know one thing:
BEER, FUCK YEAH!