snap 2

A lazy bumblebee leaves an invisible trail in the air while I watch it in terror.  I've always had a phobia of insects in general, and buzzing, stinging insects in particular.  It's not clear to me if there was a reason, an allergic reaction to a sting as a baby perhaps, but the fact is the sight of anything with more than four legs makes me freeze up.  Usually I can't even scream and can barely breathe.  It's horrible.  It's especially horrible when people think I'm actually brave because I can't scream, run away or flail my arms to protect myself.  It's worst when it's bees and wasps.  Everybody thinks it's just hilarious, how brave I am, how i stare them down, daring them to come at me.  For some reason spiders don't bother me so much, even when they're dangling by their silk threads from the ceiling, right at eye level.  There's just something more menacing about those bees.  Maybe part of it is the erratic way they fly.  You can never tell which way they're going to go.  They change direction randomly, without any warning at all.  It makes me very nervous not to be able to predict with any certainty when, where from, or even if they'll come at me.  Yeah, I think it's the randomness.  There's no reason for a bee to fly right into your face just as there's no reason for it to fly right past you.  It's like being constantly at risk for an attack.  Your defenses have to be up all the time and it's exhausting, you can get really tired of it really quickly.  Then, when you're tired, you're in danger of having unreasonable reactions.  You get violent, behave in an erratic, random manner yourself, trying to neutralize the randomness outside you, I suppose.  Mostly, you have to reestablish the pattern.  You have to take out the random, the arbitrary, and get back to the logical actions and reactions you've come to expect.  That's when you have to kill the bee.  It's not only the sting that threatens, it's its whole existence of unpredictability that knocks you off-balance and makes you feel like your whole world is collapsing.  That's when you have to take it out.  It all makes sense now.  I feel full of purpose, even righteousness.  My actions were all justified, even if it's hard for the police to believe somebody so slight and afraid of insects was able to take down a neighbor in such a way.  A neighbor who did nothing but cause trouble.  So yes, I swatted him like an insect.  And I had every reason to do it.

snap 1

All those days we spent thinking they would last forever.  All those nights that seemed to be endless at the time.  I can still remember how you smelled when I snuggled up to you in the rain, with my arms around you under your coat.  You always wore itchy, woolly sweaters for half the year and sternly pressed linen shirts the other half.  I teased you, trying to get you to loosen up your dress code, but you almost never did.  Would you think about our trip to the south now?  You wanted to drive because it was faster, but I wanted to take the train because it was more romantic.  In the end, you caved in to me like you almost always did.  I couldn't just sit in my seat.  I stayed in the dining car most of the time, looking out the window.  I stayed right up against the glass.  Sometimes you came up to hug me from behind for a few minutes before going back to sit, laughing at my childish enthusiasm.  The trip was one of the best of my life.  The weather was perfect - sunny, but not too hot, with only a few clouds and a gentle breeze.  We wandered through little, twisty streets all day, not even stopping for lunch, just eating apples and bananas and grapes as we roamed the town.  Then we had quiet suppers in small restaurants with almost no other customers.  Finally we went to our hotel bed, softer than our own bed, but narrower.  Your skin under my fingertips had all the heat of the day stored up in it.  You radiated, you almost glowed in the dark from the lines that I traced on your back and arms.  You were so smooth.  My hands slid over your flesh almost unstoppably.  I was connected to you by your energy.  First I absorbed from you and then I gave back, feeling like sparks could flow from my fingers.  At first you were a passive conductor, allowing the energy to pass through your body but doing nothing to direct it.  Then you started to mimic my actions, your hands brushing lightly over my back and shoulders.  It was perfect.  It was even better than the sex we had afterwards, and our sex was always good.  Even though massage was a part of our repertoire, we never had such electric experiences at home or on other trips, but it didn't really matter.  Even the unrepeatability didn't bother me, since I felt it was like seeing a comet that passes every 1000 years or so.  I remember how I felt with you, always.  I felt safe and calm, comfortable, fearless.  Everything about me that was good was magnified and the bad minimized.  I couldn't even see your flaws, your doublethink, your hypocracies.  Until just about 10 minutes ago.  And that's when it seemed like the best thing in the world to do would be to stab you with the carving knife a hundred times so all your condescension and all your love with strings attached would leave that soulless shell of your body, where energy will never flow again.

what the left hand does

The label looks dreamy, psychedelic, but the beer holds no surprises.  This is not to say it's bad or boring; it's just the kind of stout I like, in fact.

It smells earthy and stouty, and in the glass it's an opaque dark brown, with just a little touch of red in strong light.  The head is frothy at first, but doesn't take long to flatten into a thin beige cap.  The beer has a smooth, kind of toasty flavor.  There's just the slightest bit of sweetness, which could be the oat, or more likely the lactose sugar.  It's almost too easy to drink - if I had more, it might all be gone before the end of the night.

Here's to you, out-of-doors

a pair of bears

I always tends towards the darker beers, but an amber ale can be tasty and refreshing.  Boont has an eye-catching bottle, with that pond and moose, and a bear on the neck that seems like he should be right at home in Madrid.  It also has an interesting bottle cap.

Here comes the osa, with wine and cheese

If that doesn't say "California" to you...

Boont has a warm caramel color and fluffy head, but not much smell.  The first taste is a little bitter but immediately after it becomes sweeter, caramelly.  The head will dissipate after some minutes, but there's always a little foam on top.  After warming up for a few minutes, the ale really doesn't develop any stronger smell, and the taste stays ale-y and bittersweet.  Not bad to relax with in the late afternoon.

it's named just for me

After reading Slate's article in praise of Labor Day drinking,  I went out to hunt down my own drinks from my country of birth.  I found some in the usual place.  The first one I picked up seemed to be calling me from across the aisle: Raging Bitch.

The name's too big for the bottle

The citrusy smell is evident on opening.  When poured, the beer has and interesting color, dark gold I'd say, with a full, very foamy head.  The first sip has a strong citrus flavor, but not too heavy.  It goes slightly bitter within a couple of seconds of swallowing, and as the beer settles it gets a little sweet and even malty.  On the whole, Flying Dog has provided a zesty, stimulating beverage, with an eye catching name.

juice of the druids

That's what the label on Ebulum's Elderberry Black Ale says, anyway.  It has a very, very slight fruity smell if you stick your nose right over the bottle after opening.  When poured, it's amazingly bubbly.  It has nice, dark brown color, which you would expect from the name, with a kind of off-white foam.  It does seem to be more bubbles than beer head.  It is lightly sweet at first, the taste colored by the smell, but there are some earthy undertones.  Like other beers with some fruit or berry added, the sweetness increases as the beer warms, but in this case it never becomes overwhelming.  It's quite a satisfactory drink, but I'm almost disappointed that I'm not having visions.  That seems like something that would happen with a product inspired by druids.  Maybe I've read too many fairy tales.

Is that a dragon or a pig?  And is its tongue hanging out?

in the neighborhood, again

I picked up another example of the local brews, from a brewery I had sampled from before, although a different drink.  I'd had La Virgen's Jamonera, which is a nice red ale, but not their lager.

It comes out very bubbly, with typical beer color.  There's the cloud-white head, and barely any smell at all.  It seems to be the simplest beer you could ever want to find.  It's slightly sweet at first, later a little bitter-sour.  It's a beer that goes down very easily, you could knock back four or five bottles before you know it, probably.  Personally, I prefer a little more character to my brew, but there's nothing to really complain about at all.  Anyone who feels like drinking with connection to the city could find Madrid Lager enjoyable.

Notice the Madrid bear with the beer!

red hot temps call for...

Red ales?  Maybe a St. Peter's Ruby Red Ale?

It seemed like it should be worth a try, since my other encounters with St. Peter's were resounding successes.  The bottle itself is interesting, with kind of an almond shape instead of being round.  It makes me think of an old medicine bottle for some reason.  Trying to recall the medicinal uses of alcohol in the past?  An invitation to self-medicate, perhaps?

Easier to hold onto?

The beer keeps just a thin cover of foam after filling the glass.  It has a sharp smell, one that might wake you up after a tiring day.  The taste is also sharp, even spicy, as they suggest on the label.  There isn't much sweet, although I seem to detect hints of citrus, and once the brew goes down there's a more earthy aftertaste.

And it's really red, too

 My brushes with St. Peter's continue to be positive.  It makes me want to plan a trip.

not getting hammered

Thor brings up the rear of the Lest trio.  This one is a nice looking dark beer, like its brethren with a very light smell when poured.  It's not quite as bubbly as the other two, or maybe the color hides the action.  I'd say the smell is very mildly earthy, and the first taste shares that quality.  Although the bitterness is quite noticeable at first, there's a touch of caramel as the beer goes down.

It's probably the least "interesting" beer of the three, but it would be the easiest for me to drink on its own, without feeling the need for analysis.

Does the movie have the rights to the hammer or something?

bubbliness is next to godliness

At least that seems to be the idea for Lest's Norse-named beers.  I began with Odin, and now I move on to Freya, described as a refreshing choice for summer.

The beer has a very light scent, just barely giving off a faint citrusy smell from the bottle.  It's bubbly and a classic beer color, like it's brother Odin, but once in the glass the beer has a definite herbal odor.  It has a little bit of herb in the taste too, but there's an undercurrent of the lime stated on the bottle.  This beer also gets sweeter as it gets drunk, but the aftertaste is oddly candy-like.  Or even something like Fruit Loops.

This is definitely an interesting beer, one that would be good on a hot summer evening.  I think it needs something salty to offset all the sweet, though.

Soo...not the goddess of brewing, huh?

norse gods...

So it turns out there's another microbrewery in the area, although outside of the city.  We ran across their stand at a farmer's market and took a card...

...and a bottle of each of their brewed products.  I begin with Odin, 'cause he's the top god, so it just seems right.  The name is put to a Belgian ale.

It gives off a sour citrusy smell when the bottle is opened, which is quite pleasant and appetizing.  The beer comes out fizzy and bubbly, not too much head, and somewhat cloudy.  The cloudiness makes sense, it being unfiltered.  The thousands of bubbles flying to the top are a little mesmerizing, kind of like a lava lamp.  As it sits, the scent gets fruitier, but the taste is more bitter than you might expect from the way it smells.  It's a good, strong ale flavor.  After a few sips the aftertaste really starts to come out; I'd say it's a surprisingly smooth vanilla.  The beer gets sweeter and smoother as it warms, really an interesting brew.  If I was going to have snacks with it, I don't think I'd want anything with a powerful taste of its own.  The beer should be appreciated by itself, in my opinion.

Could that look any more like a classic beer?

in the neighborhood

It's been a little while since I've had a Spanish beer, and they're just waiting to be tasted.  Don't want to disappoint.  In the store, complementary things are said about Yria, so that seemed like a good bet.

It's so pretty when poured out - not much head, very nice color - rich, dark brown.  It has a very slight sour smell, more nutty.  The taste makes it very much an ale.  There is some bitterness, but extremely mild. I also find head dies back quickly.

Isn't that just gorgeous?

what does that label mean??

I felt like I should grab a German beer, just because...well just because.  Something in the air, maybe.  The bottles of Ruppaner Hecker Dunkel were sitting politely on the shelf, with the red of their labels snapping smartly.  I'm always the sucker for a dark beer, too.

See? Snappy

 In the glass it has a nice dark amber color and a malty smell.  The head is nice and light.  The smell starts to become a bit caramelly as the beer takes on a little warmth and I immediately get a sweet taste from the first sip, reminds me of Märzen.  It's a very pleasant beer, without overpowering flavors or scents, one that can be enjoyed very well on its own.

The label gives you something to ponder, too.  The man with the hat seems to be reaching out to lead you into a world of fermented grain drinks, and his friend behind him looks a little irritated with having to deal with a crowd, and then...wait, is there a naked woman standing on his hand?

 

Just a minute here...

And with broken ... shackles?

The symbolism is lost on me.

the crow again

I went looking for more cream stout, but unfortunately there was none to be found.  There was, however, Old Style Porter.  Can't stay away from those porters either.

Upon opening the bottle, I get a maltier sniff than from the stout.  It sits in the glass like the respectable beverage it is, with that near-black brown color and that cap of heavy off-white foam.  The first sip gives me that smokey, bitter porter, just like it should be.  The taste gets earthy, as drinking continues.  St. Peter's has a porter through and through, something I'd like to have next to me while I write short stories.  Or maybe to relax after a long day of walking or working, since it isn't something for those who might worry about their weight.  It certainly makes me feel like scarfing down something chocolate.

It's no cream stout shake, but it'll definitely do

my new favorite

I've had a sweet spot for dark beers since developing the taste for beer at all.  I try to sample a variety, but if I want to be sure I'll be pleased I look for a stout or porter.  So, there on the shelf, with that jug-like bottle, St. Peter's Cream Stout was calling to me.

I didn't realize at first that the bottle was actually green...

I could drink this beer every day, no joke.  It's sweet from the get-go, low foam but bubbly.  I could watch the little tiny bubbles in the head dissolve into the beer itself like one of those bubble games with colored oil drops for who knows how long.  It's so smooth going down, like a dark chocolate shake.  If only that little raven on the bottle did home deliveries.

Isn't that key to get into anybody's house to leave the beer?

what ginger ale should mean

Harviestoun Bitter & Twisted Blond Beer.

That's what it should mean.

The bottle has eye-catching words on it, that one might think a mere marketing ploy, but no.  I can assure you they are not.

The middle one is less noticeable to me than the other two; I got a pretty normal beery aroma, and not much else to speak of.  But at the first sip I caught definite spice, and wow!  It does have a nice little kick.  It's spicy at first taste, mellow but with noticeable bitterness in the aftertaste.  I found it to have a citrusy tingle even a minute after swallowing.  When pouring the beer, it's fizzy, with a good head which becomes a light foam.  The taste becomes fruitier as the beer warms, acquiring what seems like a hint of banana to me.

Imagine elves and reindeer frolicking around the glass

I think the spiciness is what makes me think of ginger, and then Christmas.  Seems like it ought to be toasted with and chased with candy canes.

could it be...

SATAN RED??

I tend to be wary of Belgian beers lately; they just have something in the aftertaste that gets me.  Still, how could I resist the label?  I guess the devil made me pick it up.

This is one effervescent beer.  It flows smoothly into the glass, foams right up, and the head sits there like a cloud for many minutes.  It took two fills of my glass to empty the bottle, and both pours produced a fluffy, marshmellowy foam.  I'm not quite sure where the "red" comes from.  It doesn't look very red in the glass, not like Kilian's for example.  It does have some of that sharp Belgian beer smell, but the taste isn't nearly so cutting as some I've had.  There's the typical sour, but then a surprising undertone of sweet.  Kind of mellow, at least compared to what I was expecting.

Note: Beer is lighter in real life

I wonder if Mephisto will show up at my door with a case of this now?  Probably not, I'm not enchanted with it.  It's perfectly alright, but I prefer, say Köstritzer.  Those dark beers are the most seductive to me.

Well, isn't he special?

trio

Heart, where is your shield?
You face your dangers daily
Alone and unprotected
When you would be betrayed
Turned away, rejected
With no choice left but to yield
Heart, where is your shield?

Mind, where is your clarity?
Clouds of wonders rise and surge
And pull you from your appointed rounds
Delights and joy on you they urge
That when you seek will not be found
And all around, smug charity
Mind, where is your clarity?

Soul, where is your peace?
How often do you dream of rest
And progress on your path, free from trouble?
How were you made to think it best
That all existence be an endless struggle
Where fears and sorrows cannot but increase?
Soul, where is your peace?

seen

When I was very young we lived in a small house in an older part of town.  All the houses around were small, with small yards, and some had a porch kind of on the side.  There wasn't much traffic on our street so us kids could play in all our yards at once pretty much, and out in the street too.  It was like a big playground.  Two blocks down the street from my house was a perfectly square, red one with an open porch.  Most of the porches had screens to keep the bugs out when people were on them during the summer, but that house didn't have anything.  There weren't any chairs or a swing on that porch either, although sometimes I saw a woman pacing slowly back and forth when I would walk by on my way to the library, or the drug store where they sold old fashioned sodas.  I never paid too much attention, even though some of my friends said there was a crazy man living there.  I never saw a man around the house.  Just the neighbor who mowed the lawn, but he was a high school kid.  The house wasn't run down or anything, and the outside light went on and off like everyone else's, but I never saw any lights on inside the house.  Somebody shoveled the walk in the winter too.

One day towards the end of the school year - I must have been in about 1st grade - we got a lecture in class about being friendly.  So that afternoon when I passed the house on my walk home and saw the woman pacing the porch, I called out, "Hello!" and waved my little hand.  The woman stopped and frowned a little, looking more perplexed than upset, but she didn't look at me.  After a second or two she went back to her measured walk back and forth across the porch.  She hadn't even lifted her gaze from the floor.  A little flustered and embarrassed by the failure of my first attempt at excessive sociability, I just kept walking towards home.  I didn't say anything about it to anyone, at first out of lingering embarrassment, and then because it was such a small incident that I just forgot about it.

A week or so later I was walking by with a friend on our way to buy sodas and I decided to try my luck again for some reason.  I kept my eye out for the woman, but didn't see her as we passed the first time.  Then, coming back with our desired bottles in hand, I thought I saw her silhouette going around the corner of the house.  On impulse I yelled out another greeting and my friend gave me a weirded-out look.
"What are you yelling at the haunted house for?" she asked me, "My sister told me there's a family of vampires there and if you go ring the bell, they'll come for you that night when you're in bed."
I rolled my eyes saying, "So now there's vampires living there?  What happened to the crazy guy?"
"Well, that's easy," my friend replied confidently, "The vampires killed him when they moved in.  They sucked his blood and now they're crazy too."  We made up a bunch of 6-year-old's jokes about mentally ill vampires all the way to her house and then got absorbed in Scooby Doo.  Once again, the house and the strange woman on the porch were forgotten.

As summer vacation began, my friends and I took to catching lightning bugs after supper, filling jars with little globs of intermittent light.  It was a weekend night, when parents were laxer about calling us in for baths and bed, even though school was out.  For some reason, the bugs had congregated a few blocks away from my yard and we congregated too, all the kids running over to Donohue's front yard.  Finally, we released our captives and split up to return to our own houses.  I had to walk passed that house, totally dark by now.  Earlier the outside light had been on, but now everything was deep, dark shadow.  It was looking a little rough around the edges at that time, since the boy who took care of the lawn was apparently busy with other things.  The grass had grown long and shaggy over a couple of weeks.  It looked more than ever like an empty house, or one occupied by some lunatic, or even a monster.  A couple of friends were walking with me, Silvie and Emma.  Silvie smacked my shoulder and said, "Bet you won't ring the doorbell."
"Why would I anyway?  There's nobody home."
"The crazy guy never leaves.  He's afraid to turn on the lights."
"Why would he be afraid of the light?  Aren't you supposed to be afraid of the dark?"
"Yeah, but he's crazy."  Stunning grade school logic.
"Come on, you guys," whined Emma, "I don't like that house.  Let's just go!"
"You're such a baby!" snapped Silvie, and then she turned back to me.  "Well?  Are you going or not?"
"Why should I go?  Why don't you?"
Silvie turned as if to keep walking down the street to her house, shrugging her shoulders, and she said airily, "Oh, I would go, but I dared you first."
"So what!  That doesn't mean you can't go first!"
"I dared you and you aren't going.  Chicken."
"Am not!"
"Are so." She was speaking so calmly, in that infuriating kind of sing-song that kids use when they're goading somebody.  I didn't actually think it was such a bad thing to be a chicken about some things, but her tone was really pissing me off.
"I'll show you who's a chicken," I muttered as I stomped up the sidewalk.  As I got closer, though, my resolve started to evaporate.  The dark house loomed before me, even with its single story.  The windows gaped at me like huge, empty eye sockets.  My steps got slower and smaller until I was right in front of the steps leading to the door, and I looked up at it timidly.  The wooden steps were worn down, with only a few flakes of white paint left on them and the door frame was in the same condition.  The screen door was tight against the inside door and the screens themselves looked like they were in pretty good shape.  I looked for the doorbell, but didn't see it.  Puzzled, I climbed up the steps for a closer look, thinking maybe the shadows were hiding a black or dirty button.  But, even up close there was no bell or buzzer.  Even the inside door didn't have so much as a knocker.  I was confused and started back down the sidewalk to the street. Silvie was positively gleeful, jumping around and squealing.  "Oh my gosh, I can't believe you went up there!" she shrieked.
"Well, I didn't ring the bell, they didn't have one." I regretted saying it the second the words left my mouth.  Silvie's cool, teasing superiority returned in a heartbeat and she said, "Well, I knew you wouldn't."
"I would have if there's been a bell!  I went all the way up on the porch and you stayed here!  I don't believe you would go up to the steps!"
"But I dared you."
"Well, I'd dare you, but I know you wouldn't even go!  You're the chicken!"

I saw a look of uncertainty flash across Silvie's face and I knew I had won that round.  Her eyes slowly traveled up the sidewalk behind me to the house, and the weight of what she had to do descended on her.
"I don't wanna stay here anymore!  I'm going home!" cried Emma and she ran off.  Her departure didn't save Silvie, though.  I kept staring at her, with my arms folded across my chest.  Little kid logic and honor demanded that she go to the porch at least, or be branded a chicken, a scaredy-cat, or worse for the rest of our school days.  Finally she bit her lower lip and started off up the walk, slowly and with resignation.  I was feeling both smug and afraid for her, but of course I quashed my worry and let the smugness take over.  In fact, my fears decreased with every step she took and I just felt better and better about being the one to put her in her place after all the teasing.  I was feeling gleeful myself when she got to the steps and stopped, looking lost and small in front of the porch.  It was almost unnaturally dark in my memory now, like a living, impenetrable blackness had covered it.  Maybe it wasn't like that in reality, maybe it's just my mind more details in, based on what I know now.  Silvie's hesitation lasted many long seconds and I was growing impatient, about to shout at her to get a move on, but then she lifted her left leg and placed her foot unsteadily on the first step.  She kept her arms at her sides as she climbed, like she didn't want to risk touching any part of the house with her bare skin.  She managed to get up to the door and stood looking all around it like I had done.  I could see her fists clenching and unclenching with nervousness, and I thought her mind must have been racing to find a way to one-up me with no bell and without touching anything.  Finally she turned slowly to her left and stepped carefully down the porch.  Just in front of the window, she turned her head with a jerk, like an automaton.  She was completely still for about a second and then she came tearing back down the sidewalk towards me.  She wasn't sobbing, but tears were streaming down her cheeks and her brow was all knotted up.  She ran right passed me and down the sidewalk towards her house, without even looking at me.  I stared after her, not sure whether to follow her or not, and if I did follow her, could I gloat at her fear or should I be a concerned friend.

I looked back at the dim and vaguely menacing porch, and my heart almost popped right out of my mouth when I saw the woman standing there.  She was looking right at me this time, leaning forward a little on the railing of the porch, right in front of the window Silvie had looked in.  Even though the rest of the porch was too dark to make out much detail, I could see her features perfectly.  She wasn't glowing or anything, it was more like there was a light shining on her, without hitting anything else around her, not even a little.  I was so stunned to see her have appeared out of nowhere like that, I didn't even consider the illumination until much later.  She didn't really have any expression on her face, not angry or laughing at our daring; maybe the best description of what it was is "alert".  She was looking right at me, and I was looking back at her, watching her face get closer and closer.  I was almost at the porch steps before I realized I was moving.  With a start, I tore my gaze from the woman and looked up at the door, stopping dead in my tracks.  I looked back at her timidly.  She was just as emotionless as before.  She turned her head slowly, seeming to gesture towards the window behind her, and I couldn't prevent my feet from climbing those steps one at a time and moving foot by foot closer to the window.  It was like I was hypnotized, or in a bad dream.  I had a vague feeling that I was going to see something horrible, but I couldn't stop moving towards it or cover my eyes.  I came up to the window and looked in.  In spite of the darkness outside on the porch, I could see the outlines of the furniture inside: a couch and chairs with a coffee table in the middle.  Everything looked perfectly normal and undisturbed; I couldn't even tell if the place was covered in dust in the dimness.  Puzzled by Silvie's reaction to the absolute normality, I turned around.  The woman was gone.  Like that, the spell was broken, and the terror of being on the "haunted house" porch exploded in my soul, and I ran.  I guess I ran like Silvie did, with tears but without sobs, and when I burst in the back door of my house and Mom asked what was wrong, my voice didn't shake at all when I told her nothing, I just had something in my eye.

Thankfully, I didn't have any dreams that night, that I remembered.  I went out to play the next morning, like normal, everything about the house the night before feeling like just a fuzzy memory of a weird dream.  I didn't see Silvie for several days.  People said she was sick in bed.  Maybe she was.  When we did see each other finally, neither one of us mentioned anything about the house or what we had seen.

It was about 15 years later and I was home from college for a visit.  The drug store and the sodas were long gone, but I still wandered around the neighborhood resurrecting childhood memories from the houses and trees.  When I got to the "haunted" property, I was shocked to see the house had been demolished right down to its foundation.  I felt a twinge of frustration, like some plan had been foiled, but I really didn't have any plan to do anything if the house had still been there.  I walked home, thinking I would ask my parents what they knew about the fate of the old place.  Just as I got in the door, my mother called from the kitchen, "Oh, Erica, come meet our new neighbor!  She's moving into Schuman's old place, behind us.  Her family used to live around here too."  I went into the kitchen, where the new neighbor was drinking her coffee, and stopped short to see the woman from the porch all those years ago!  She went a little pale too when she saw me.  I managed not to blurt out anything while my mother was there, but as soon as she went out of the room, I was going to ask this woman what the hell she knew.  Soon enough, Mom left for some reason or other, and before I could say a word, the neighbor leaned over the table and said, "Do you have a little sister?"
"Um, no.  Just two brothers."
"I swear I saw some girl who looked just like you at my uncle's house.  But about 5 years old.  She would come up on the porch and just look at the door.  And then she would disappear."
"What?  When was this?"
"A couple of months ago.  It got so creepy, we decided to demolish the house and put up a new one.  I was lucky the house behind yours was for rent, this is such a convenient neighborhood for me."
"But this girl, what did she do that was so creepy?"
"She didn't actually do anything but look and the door and sometimes she would look in the front window.  It was that nobody else saw her that made it creepy.  I haven't seen her since the demo.  I think other people have seen other things, though.  There's a lot of resistance to having anything to do with that property.  All because of some old stories about witches and whatnot.  The men across the street told me he had seen a witch walking around on the porch years before.  It took months to find a crew willing to knock the house down!  Can you believe it?"
Mom came back in at that moment and our conversation was cut short.  I went back to school the next day and spent the night looking for Silvie's contact info online so I could ask her what she had seen when we were very young.

but not for breakfast

It may sound odd to have oatmeal in your beer.  Sure, oats are grain, they can be fermented, but oatmeal beer?  Yes!  Oatmeal stout, to be precise.  An English brew, naturally.

Who wouldn't want to stick a straw right into that?

Being a stout, it's a nice dark color.  The beer comes out with a lot of lightish brown foam, making it look like you have something more like a chocolate shake at first.  Most of the head disappears after a bit and you have a glass of rich, dark brown beer.  It has a grainy smell and the full bitter taste you would expect from a stout, with just a little salty taste to it as well.  Serving suggestions include Italian food and lobster, although I don't know if I would care to have anything very heavy with it.  It might go well with some soft pretzels, and Boetje's mustard.  I have the feeling "The Celebrated Oatmeal Stout" could calm horseradish agitated tongues with ease.

One more look at that busy label

berliner original

Well, now it's time for something German.  My next tasting will be of German beers, so I feel like getting in the groove.  This bottle just cried out for me to take it:

Hmm, look at that.

So that's where kids come from...

Fizzy lemonade, anyone?

It's a normal volume bottle, 33cl, just a little squatter than most.  In keeping with the Kind, it's a rather low alcohol beer, only 3%.  The label suggests enjoying in "Berliner style", with a shot of woodruff or raspberry syrup.  It's lightly fizzy - although the head comes up easily, it also dies down in a minute or so.  Looking at it in the glass, I'm reminded of carbonated lemonade.  The smell has just a hint of sourness and the first taste also is quite reminiscent of citrus.  As you keep drinking, it gets sourer and sourer, making that fruit syrup sound like a great idea.  I'm out of syrup of any kind, and but I do have some cheap beer to balance the taste.  The mix is somewhat bitter, but not as stingingly sour.  Cheesy sausages with mustard work wonders too, and there's something reassuringly German about sausages with mustard.

I'm a little surprised at myself for having trouble finishing a nice and cold, but sour, beer by itself.  It's not like I don't do sour; I eat entire jars of dill pickles without blinking.  Berliner Kindl Weisse, though, is meant to be balanced out with something.  Mixed with syrup (I would suppose) or consumed with meat and spicy mustard, it's refreshing and just what you'd want in Berlin's sweltering summers.




Wait, what?

stout hearted

I'm a fan of dark beers.  I love a good porter or stout, anytime.  They have more character for me than most light beers, and drinking them is more of an experience than just an action mandated by biological impulse.

Here's the latest of my stouts, Hop Back Brewery Entire Stout.  It's a good, dark brown when poured, with a creamy head that sits lightly on top.  The bottle advertises chocolate and coffee flavors, and both come out if you pay attention, but I noticed the aroma of chocolate more.  It's a dark chocolate smell too, earthy, mouth-filling.  The coffee seems to come out more in the aftertaste.  The brew is smooth going down, could be good with sweeter foods.  The label insists it's good with "most".

The Greenman wants you to know the star over the "i" is really there, it's not an effect of the flash.

continuing cibeles

It's time for another round with Cervezas La Cibeles.  This time I have their Madroño, another light beer, with a little madroño fruit flavoring.  I have no idea what madroño is.  It's part of the symbol of Madrid, the bear is trying to climb or shake fruit from a madroño, which is usually translated in English as a "strawberry tree".  Whatever madroños are, they are not strawberries.

Bear (supposed to be a she-bear, actually) going after "strawberries"

Like other Cibeles beers, it isn't filtered.  You can see a layer of sediment in the bottom of the bottle, much of which will come out when poured.  It doesn't have that strong, sour flavor that I associate with unfiltered Belgian beers, however, in fact I don't think the sediment draws any attention to itself at all.  There's no appreciable change in the flavor or texture of the beer from start to finish, except that the slight fruity smell increases as the beer warms.

The beer is light, with a fizzy head that doesn't hang around long, and the fruitiness is just barely there.  It's pleasant, a little bit tart, not in the least overpowering.  This is another beer for drinking by itself, perhaps with some mildly flavored snack, on a nice spring day when the temperatures are just starting to hint at summer.  Hot Madrid summer.  Baking, eye-blindingly sunny summer.  Better go get some more to keep around.

Yeah, yeah, I should be drinking Irish beer for St. Patrick's.  I hate crowds, what do you want?

taste of home

Old Scratch Amber Lager - sitting by the door with those horrible, eye-catching flea-dogs on its label, I couldn't help but pick it up.  Although it's from Maryland, the bottle was obviously for export, what with 10 languages on it.

It's a pretty standard lager, although once warmed up a little it has some caramel to it.  Both flavor and aroma have some sweetness.  I feel like I could use some potato chips now, or pretzels or olives, something salty that would contrast nicely.

Next to my heavy duty bottle opener

How'd you like to come home to that?