Beermas Day 7

On the seventh day of Beermas I poured out for me
Seven spicy mockswans
Six stones a-hanging
Five golden caps
Four calling birds
Three speckled hens
Two flightless non-doves
And a pear cider fresh from the tree

Yeah, I know it's not a swan really, but it kind of looks like one, doesn't it?  Any excuse for a good stout.  This one is special too, very festive with all those spices added to it.  It reminds me of The Mayan, which I quite enjoyed at l'Europe some time ago.  Tempest has made appearances before, but I don't remember seeing this particular beauty.  I suppose it was waiting for the right time.  Mexicake is just the thing to ring in a new year.  It recommends serving at room temperature, but I did chill it a little before opening it up.  It's not like I'm going to drink it in one gulp, so I'll get a development of flavors as it warms up.

The smell is oddly delicately sweet, without a lot of spice or chocolate smokiness.  I think I can convince myself that I smell the chili, but I might be imagining things in anticipation.  It certainly looks right, maybe a little light in the head.  The taste is very chocolatey, almost like pudding, and the chilies don't come out until the beer is practically in your stomach.  Even then, they're not spicy exactly, but they give a little kick and dissolve into bitter.  It's probably the cinnamon that I'm picking up more than the chilies.  The vanilla starts to make itself known after a couple of sips, but it comes out swinging, beating back the chocolate easily.  The chili is sort of ghostly, drifting in not even as an aftertaste, but as a kind of delayed reaction.  A little tingle builds on the lips with continued sipping, although the beer itself remains sweetish and smooth.  It's a powerful beer, one which pleases me greatly, but it might be a little much for a casual night out with friends.  For a tasting, fantastic, something a little different and memorable without a doubt.  May all our new year's beers be half as good.

Supplier: Espuma
Price: €5.50

Beermas Day 6

On the sixth day of Beermas I poured out for me
Six stones a-hanging
Five golden caps
Four calling birds
Three speckled hens
Two flightless non-doves
And a pear cider fresh from the tree

Yeah, there wasn't much chance of a good match here.  I wondered if maybe some brewery had a goose, or an egg, as a label design, but no such luck.  Still, we can infer a vulgar synonym if we accept a slang use of "egg" common in languages other than English.  The bottle was very stately on the shelf, and there's nothing like a good stout on a chilly December eve.  Ilkley's Hanging Stone will be welcome on my Beermas table!

It certainly looks good, with its rich chocolatey color and abundant head.  It's not heavily scented, being just slightly on the sweet side.  The chocolate taste is pretty heavy, though.  There's an odd blast of bittersweet first, then unmistakable dark chocolate.  We're to expect notes of burnt caramel, so maybe that's the sweet part.  There's also a hint of coffee, and no smoke or earthiness in this beverage.  It's really a clean if weighty flavor, fine to sit back with and focus on other things.  What can you expect from something full of oatmeal?

Supplier: La Buena Pinta
Price: €3.90

Beermas Day 5

On the fifth day of Beermas I poured out for me
Five golden caps
Four calling birds
Three speckled hens
Two flightless non-doves
And a pear cider fresh from the tree 



Well, this one is pretty close. Bottles caps are round, rings are round. Right? Anyway!

Yep, gold and round all right!

La Sagra is one of the standards these days, being found (in the bottle) in supermarkets and bars all over the place. It's well worth trying, whatever's available. My personal favorites were presented at fairs, and one was a special run, but the other is at my local Carrefour. It'll get here someday. Tonight, though, it has to be something gold, and the cap is good enough for me. Also, this is a wheat beer, which tends to be a little sunnier yellow than others.

It's a nice wheaty color, with an enticing sweet and citrus smell. The head is a bit thin, but what's there doesn't dissipate too quickly. The taste is pleasant, sweet but delicately so, very light and refreshing. It is, perhaps, not the beer for this time, being dark and chilly evenings and an atmosphere that calls for something darker and heavier, but there are tastes that will long for a rather uncomplicated flavor and satisfying beer at any time. On the other hand, there is a subtle candied aftertaste, so maybe fans of preserved or candied fruit would find this Sagra a fitting Christmas/New Year's beer.

Tee-hee, flip cap!

Supplier: Carrefour
Price: €2 

Nobody Loves a Poe

What a night that was.  Now I'm sitting exhausted on my rumpled bed, thoroughly spent but exhilarated.  A small part of my soul is wondering if it was all just a dream, but I mostly know that it wasn't.  At least I feel that it wasn't.  There's an easy enough way to prove it to myself.

I go through the living room towards the old guest room, now hidden behind a rather handsome bookcase, if I do say so myself.  I pull The Classic Mystery Collection out of the fourth shelf up and squint into the little hole behind it.

It is still there.  Just as I'd known, even if I was too gleeful to believe it completely.  Sprawled on the floor, now bare of carpet, it was groaning softly.  Probably just regaining consciousness as I had been minutes before.  Suddenly it realized it didn't know where it was and heaved itself to its feet with a squeaky grunt.  Its eyes darted around the bare room, floor and walls stripped of all decoration and comfort, and it started panting in a panicked way.  Huh, "panicked".  Of course, I'm only projecting what I think I would feel.  I have no idea if it feels anything at all.  Well, if it doesn't feel anger, it does a remarkable job of approximating it; it starts bellowing my name and stomping around the room in that familiar manner, kind of lurching about, like Frankenstein's monster.  There's a recessed light in the ceiling so I can keep an eye on it, but I start to feel a glimmer of nervousness that it will notice the small hole in the wall.  I replace the book quietly and begin my daily routine.  But it is the first day of a new world for me.  A world where I know it won't find me again.                                                                                                      
The day goes by normally, doing my work, having my lunch with colleagues, making small talk.  I do my best to put my secret at the back of my mind, knowing it would not be smart at all to let people know I had something cooking, so to speak.  At the same time, I cannot bring myself to forget it completely.  It is just too enjoyable.

When the end of the day comes, I hurry home and race on tiptoes, like a child, to the bookcase.  I gently remove the book again and peek into the hole.  It was on its back, arm thrown over its eyes.  Still breathing, raspily.  I wonder if it has been screaming while I was at work.  No neighbors close enough to hear it if it did.  It doesn't move for what seems like a long time, and I grow impatient, tapping on the wall.  Stupid move.  It flies to its feet, bellowing, "You have to let me out of here!  This is illegal!"  I replace the book and back away from the wall, hoping I haven't given my position away.  I realize the light has been on all day, and was on the whole night too.  It must be tired now, without a good night's rest since waking up in a strange room.  I go to the upstairs crawlspace to switch off the light and hear it roaming its space, still shouting.  Good.  It doesn't seem to have figured out where my tap had come from.  I'll be more careful in the future, though.  I wonder if the noise will keep me awake tonight, but in the end it doesn't.  My satisfaction puts me to sleep without any trouble.

I start awake in the bleak grayness of the morning, sure it has escaped and is stalking the house for me.  I listen for any sound at all in the dim early of the day, but there is nothing more than the blood pounding in my ears.  I creep out of my warm bed and out to the bookcase.  Everything is in place.  The light is out in the room and I don't hear it shuffling around inside.  Even though it's earlier than usual, I am awake, so I start my day.  Before leaving, I go upstairs to switch on the light and hear thumping and scrabbling noises from the room below.  No shouting though.  Too thirsty?  Too bad.  I go off to my regular life, much calmer than the day before.  My prize is now surely mine, and the specialness is wearing off.  You can get used to anything.

Well, you can get used to anything if you want to.  Some things are not worth getting used to.  Some problems need to be kicked in the face.  That was what I did.  Unfortunately, instead of breaking off the weed, I hit the hornet's nest, and my only options were to run or to exterminate.  I couldn't run.  Not far enough, anyway.  Extermination was the only choice left for me.  I still remember feeling incredulous that it had agreed to meet me for drinks, and the joy and triumph in its eyes as it strode in the door of the bar.  Could it really have convinced itself that I was in fact deeply in love with it after all?  It didn't come to argue, but drank down the beer I had ordered for it and commenced to gloating questions about whether I was sorry.  I don't remember what I actually said, but the act was apparently convincing.  When the drug kicked in, one of the waiters helped me get a taxi and load it into it.  The driver helped me unload to my door.  And no neighbors saw me pull it inside.  Nobody saw me leave a while later, alone, back to the bar where I complained quietly to the bartender about how much whiskey dick sucks.  I drank another beer in private victory.

Now my problem is behind bare walls.  It waits, grunting and mewling, for any sort of stimulation.  I watch its clothing grow ever more rumpled and filthy, and I know there will be some scrubbing to be done later.  I wait with anticipation for the skin to shrivel and peel.  I savor the voice growing thin and harsh.  Maybe I'll be lucky and make a mummy.  Won't that be a treat for future archeologists?  Such a luxuriously large burial chamber!  And I'll be sure to leave it a crown to wear in its dusty eternity.

Beermas Day 4

On the fourth day of Beermas I poured out for me
Four calling birds
Three speckled hens
Two flightless non-doves
And a pear cider fresh from the tree

Hah!  There's no cheating at all with this one!  Look at that label and tell me that's not a calling bird!  I did hesitate a little before snatching up the orange and coffee oatmeal stout, mainly because of the orange.  Real oranges are good, orange soda is good, but orange in the vicinity of anything even remotely chocolatey puts me off.  Still, how can you resist that name?  F*ck The Christmas Tree Is On Fire!!!  That's a Christmas for the movies.  I hope it's not something the Dutch have to put up with regularly.

It has an exciting consistency, strong color, and thick head.  It looks just like a stout should look, and while there is a noticeable orange perfume, it's not as overwhelmingly citrusy as most craft IPAs.  At first I get a light milk chocolatey taste, but it's quickly overcome by bitter orange.  Yes, the orange is there, but heavily influenced by coffee.  I'm not displeased by it, as I feared I might be, in fact it is a festive little beer without making too much of the unusual citrus addition.  It's smoky like a good stout, too.  It's got something for everyone!  Well, ok, not so much for teetotalers.  I would not be upset to see a couple of these under the tree some Christmas morning.  Wait...

The what tree??

Supplier: Espuma
Price: €3.95

Beermas Day 3

One the third day of Beermas I poured out for me
Three speckled hens
Two flightless non-doves
And a pear cider fresh from the tree

This one isn't quite cheating, since the name has the right bird in it!  It also has a festive color for a beer, being a darkish one.  A strong ale, it looks like.  Old Speckled Hen is English rather than French, but quite honestly I don't see that many French beers here anyway.  Morland looks awfully classic, although the bottle is clear, unusual for beers.  The name is explained as a homage to a car that was used in the MG factory, "the owld speckled un", when the ale was first brewed for the company's 50th anniversary.  I wonder if it's still there, producing cars.  I could google it.

That's not a hen!

A tempting orangey brown, not-quite-white head, and little odor greet me.  Taking a big sniff, I detect a little bitterness, but just barely.  The taste is interesting, a little bit floral at first, then taking on a woodiness with just a hint of bitter.  I'm reminded of some barrel aged beers, although they had a heavier sweetness about them.  I probably have it chilled too much, being an English ale, and as it warms up I expect to get more flavor out of it.  It feels like a nice chatting beer, one that quietly slips by with the conversation and surreptitiously helps it get more animated.

Supplier: Más que Cervezas
Price: €2.65

Beermas Day 2

On the second day of Beermas I poured out for me
Two flightless non-doves
And a pear cider fresh from the tree

Ok, so an ostrich isn't a dove of any kind, nor is it a turtle, but they lay their eggs in a dirt nest like turtles do!  So there, a connection.  There are actually a lot of birds on beer labels, but not so many that are exactly the same as in the song.  There's certainly no ostrich, but it's just such a fun bird.  Several types of the Dutch Struis were hanging out on the shelves, but I picked up the one that was among the stouts, for obvious reasons.  I don't see it call itself a stout or porter anywhere, but I'm willing to give it a chance.

The scent of chocolate is strong, but the brown is a little lighter than is comfortable for a stout or porter, at least for me.  The head is fluffy and off-white, and resistant.  Once in the glass, the smell is closer to typical Belgian beers, being sweet and identifiably fruity.  I believe I detect some apple in there.  The taste is also Belgian, with a fermented but candied fruitiness that goes down quickly, but leaves a little bit of sourness that intensifies a few seconds later.  It doesn't seem quite right to call it an aftertaste, as it feels almost like a different taste altogether, appearing in the front of the mouth like it does.  While not the smoky or bitter stout I was hoping for in the back of my mind, there is a certain holiday cheer to the Struis flavor, not as deeply alcoholic as a glühwein, but certainly spicy sweet.  Kind of a fruitcake in a glass.

Supplier: La Tienda de la Cerveza
Price: ~€3.50 (Christmas surprises...)

Beermas Day 1

On the first day of Beermas I poured out for me
A pear cider fresh off the tree

Oh, the first day and I'm already cheating!  Cider is not beer!  It's in the same family, though, and damned if I can find a beer that has anything to do with partridges.  Bulmers is a fairly common cider producer, to be found in bars and larger supermarkets, but I needed something with pears.  Lindemann has peaches and pineapples, of all things, but no pear lambic.  Not in the stores I frequent at least.  Still, I'm not dissatisfied with a pear cider, even if it feels like a more summery drink than is probably warranted at the moment.

It has a dry and slightly sharp scent, kind of like a Spanish cider.  It's sweet at first, though, not dry or champagne-like, but a little sour does creep out just before the drink goes down.  It's not as sweet as regular apple cider, and not as cloying as they can be, but it is a fresh and clean taste.  Probably would be better if I had been running around shopping today, but hah!  Santa's already come.  I guess considering where I am, I should be preparing for the Magi too.

Supplier: Más que Cervezas
Price: €2.99

putting the más in xmas

My Beermas project starts tomorrow, but since this is my regular beer day I had to get a Christmas beer that really is a Christmas beer.  There are a number of them in the stores, mostly Belgian from what I can see.  Dubuisson's Bush de Noel had the most subdued label, which I wonder if it might be reverse psychology.  It does say it's "the strongest Christmas beer" on the back.  The quiet, snowy label lulls you into a sense of security and then the beer itself knocks you out?  Won't know if you don't try!

So unintimidating

It smells a little sweet and tangy, but no more than expected from a Belgian beer.  It's a little more subtle than many, in fact.  It's a nice, dark toasty color, promising flavor.  The flavor is quite strong, and not easy to break down on the first sip.  It's sweet, as expected, but there's also a lurking alcoholic strength and a base of heavier spices, cinnamon or nutmeg perhaps.  It's not syrupy like many sweet beers, even though it has definite weight on the palate.  Is it a little fruity?  Another taste reveals something like apple as a finishing note.  It takes a while for a tang to develop, but eventually it does come out, still with a layered sweetness and alcohol kick.  There is pleasantly little aftertaste, the beer going down cleanly without any lingering bits.  It is quite a party beer, with strength and ease of consumption that recommend it, as well as the fruity, spicy notes that seem perfect for the current holidays.

The water comes from "beneath" the brewery!  The mix of ten thousand beers?

Supplier: Más que Cervezas
Price: €2.49

bit of bubbly

I don't know what to do with myself in the beer stores anymore, there are always so many beers I haven't seen yet.  Will there be time for them all?  Who knows?  No harm in trying.  I went out on a limb for a fruity beer, but not a lambic style.  It's a pale ale from Magic Rock, High Wire Grapefruit.  Sounds almost like a breakfast beer.  The can is acceptable, since it'll have to chill quickly for the evening tasting, and we've been told that's an advantage of the thin metal of the can over the glass bottle.  Onward!

A whiff of grapefruit juice comes out as soon as you pop the tab, and the beer pours out like grapefruit soda.  It's not as pink as you might expect, but there is a hint in there.  The taste is full and mellow, but most definitely bitter.  It doesn't have the citrus sharpness of grapefruit juice or the biting bitterness of an ale, just the flavor that makes you think you're taking in something that better be good for you.  A hint of sweetness lurks around the aftertaste, but never quite makes it out on its own.  It may be a little bit light for a winter evening, having the waking powers and happy feel of a summertime drink.  In spite of its rounded and softly bitter flavor, I'd wait a few months before having it again.  Dark nights call for dark beer and light evenings call for ...well, dark beer too for me, but refreshing ales can also be appreciated.

Supplier: Espuma
Price: €3.50

give the oldies a chance

Established manufacturers have funny ways of dealing with newcomers.  You would expect them to be not exactly happy at the thought of new competition, but in the spirit of capitalism (and we all have that spirit, right?) they should pull up their pants and get to work.  One famous American brewery went about it by establishing its cool jock cred, while buying up small breweries all over the place.  Its counterpart, at least in this part of the country, hangs out at Beer Weeks, has draft beer workshops, and owns a moderately significant percentage of (American) craft beer Founders.  It also produces some crafty looking beers itself, which I haven't taken the opportunity to try - until now.  Why not?  It's a season to be generous.  A whole collection of special Mahous were sitting in the refrigerator, so I grabbed the red label.  Seemed like the most festive.  It's proudly called Cerveza Extra, with the year 1890 on it, like this is the real Mahou classic.

Signed...

...engraved

It's a nice color, a bit of a dark gold, looking very much a beer with a little something extra in it.  Good head, too.  The smell is a little bit wheaty, slightly sweet, but not odd for a lager.  It is lagerish in taste, with a little heavy honey rolling in after the first taste.  That note of grass is there, recalling German beers, but there's also a bitter-sour finish that cleans up the first sweet notes nicely.  I find it a bit heavy, especially considering what the regular products are like, but it's really not bad for the dark evenings of December.  Could use a little something salty with it, though.  Some nice pretzels would go well.

It says it's inspired by the decorative paper factory started by Casimiro Mahou, and that the ice and beer factory is (was) on Amaniel.  I've been down there, quite recently in fact, and there's no brewery down that way now.  The only one in the area these days is the possibly not uncoincidentally named Fábrica Maravillas on Valverde.

Supplier: Birra y Paz
Price: €3.85

not mistletoe then

I have to think about Christmas now, what with time flying by as it is.  Gotta browse for some brews.  I haven't been down to Palma Brew very much; I was disappointed the first time because I expected to see cakes.  On their website they say they have cakes!  And there aren't any immediately visible cakes!  They have the bar, a big table in the middle, the shelves of unchilled beer and the refrigerators of chilled beer, but no display case of cakes.  Well, I'll get over it.  They do have some really nice beer.  At first I thought Triple Virgin Cherries could be pushed into a theme, but later thought better of it.  So, it gets drunk tonight.  It's a celebratory kind of beer, though, and although it's not actually my birthday, it's pretty close.  So, near-birthday cherry beer it is.

Some nerve, lounging around like that with Christmas beer to look for

It's opaque and an odd blend of color.  Pink lemonadeish brown for the beer and with a pale pink tinged head.  It smells tangy and sharp, as these red fruit beers tend to do.  The taste, though, is dry, like a champagne or Spanish cider, with just a little sourness coming up as an aftertaste.  A teasing sweetness does appear once the beer has warmed up a little.  Maybe I just had it too cold to begin with.  It loses a little bit of the edge (hah!) but still has a pretty clean and light taste.  While I could see it as a summer pick-me-up, it would also be an alternative to holiday punch, a light counterpoint to the heavier meals of the season.

Supplier: Palma Brew
Price: €2.90

new beer in the old town

Think global, act local, isn't that the saying?  Buying local is part of that, I guess.  Fortunately, when it comes to beer, the choices are numerous.  One of those choices is Cibeles, not only quality, but also quantity beers, having produced a number of varieties over the past few years.  Viejo Madrid is one I had not seen before, so I couldn't resist.  I notice the label is also in English, and not really a translation.  They have been exporting to the US for a couple of years, so they're either prepared or have gotten used to a bilingual theme.  And the English part is much more...commercial.

"Madrid excellent water", as opposed to, say, London excellent water?

For some reason I expected a darker beer than I got in my glass, maybe because of the brownish label, or because of the slightly sweet smell.  It reminds me a little of a bock in aroma.  The color is golden and standard beer, though.  The taste is apple-y and just a little tart, although I feel like it could become syrupy if left to warm up too much.  This "traditionally" crafted beer is a fine drink, flavorful, bright and happy, and a pick-me-up on a rainy evening.  Much better than certain other beers that claim seniority around here.

Supplier: La Buena Cerveza
Price: €2.66

beer

The bar was filled with damp, beery air, but not a lot of noise.  This wasn't really strange.  It was Wednesday night, after all.  The bartender leaned back against the mirror, the college kids racked up on the pool table, the rest of the customers gazed stonily into their half full glasses.  Young William Alberts drummed the bar restlessly with his left-hand fingers.  Finally the bartender glanced at him and said, "Dude, just drink your beer or order another one, or something.  You're freakin' me out with that face you're making."  Young Alberts looked up.  "What face is that, Danny?  I'm not making any goddam face."  The bartender rolled his eyes and looked back to the room, making sure everybody was behaving.  "What face, Danny?  I'm serious."  Young Alberts had straightened up and was looking earnestly over at the bartender now, with just a hint of worry in his voice.

At that moment, the door to the bar opened and a small crowd of young women hustled in.  They were about the same age as the pool players, likely from the same school given the size of the town.  Neither group acknowledged the other, though.  The girls tumbled over to a booth, amid giggles and hair flings, and piled in, four or five to a side.  The bartender stared at them incredulously.  The customers hadn't even raised their eyes to the disturbance.  Young Alberts leaned over the bar and almost whispered, "What's up, Dan, they give ya problems before?"  The bartender rubbed his forehead and eyes with vigorous irritation.  "Christ, Alberts, just mind your own business."

They both waited for a while, letting the new crowd settle down, and finally a couple of pony-tailed representatives trotted over to the bar.  "So we gotta order at the bar, or what?"

"You see any waiters?" the bartender motioned with his hand.

The two looked around the room like birds at a puddle.  "Well, can we get a pitcher at our table then?"

"Pitcher a' what?"

"Whatever's cheap today."  And the ponytails swayed on the way back to their herd.

The bartender audibly growled as he filled a pitcher with PBR - from cans.  Young Alberts studied the group at the table.  "Hey, Danny..."

"Don't even ask, Alberts, it's not worth it."

But Young William Alberts had been captivated by one of the young women in the booth.  She wasn't as bubbly as her friends, in fact she was almost solemn in her demeanor.  She had the same long light-colored hairstyle, looking like it was probably helped out chemically in its coloring.  Her clothes  were the same style and color scheme.  But there was just something...different.  Maybe it was her expression.  Not serious exactly, she was smiling.  But it wasn't the shiny, toothy smile the others had.    Young Alberts could swear that she was thinking about being somewhere else.

The bartender left the pitcher at the tables and hustled back to the bar to cries of, "But we need cups, come onnnnnnn!"  He gathered up half-pint glasses from behind the bar and shot Young Alberts another warning glance before going over to deliver them.

He came back to the bar and stared for a moment at Young Alberts before saying, "I know you're checking out Soledad.  Just forget about it, dude."

"Soledad?  Not Soledad Quiroga?"

"The very same."

"Holy shit, I thought she was a maneater."

"She is, don't let the sorority girl outfit fool you."

Young Alberts stared with even more interest at the booth and at the calmest woman in it.  He drained his glass, in the vain hope that it would give him courage, and stayed put right on his bar stool.  He was both surprised and exhilerated to see the girl of his dreams walking over to the bar all of a sudden.  She did not, however, give him the slightest glance.  She leaned over the bar and said in a low and syrupy voice, "Can I get a pint of good lager over here?"

The bartender coughed and rolled his eyes again.  "Good lager, you say?  What's wrong with what you and your buddies got?"

She looked at him with an expression of patience and pity.  "You know how beers are, you know what I mean."

They locked eyes for a good minute and the bartender poured a pint from the tap.

"Just leave it on the bar," she said, pulling out the money for the pint, "The right one will ask for it."

The bartender smirked and said, "How the fuck will I know the right one?"

"You'll know," replied Soledad Quiroga, prancing her way back to her friends, glancing over her shoulder.

"Hey, Danny," said Young Alberts, "I feel like a pint about now."

"Fuck off, Alberts," said the bartender.

And the evening went on, with pool, giggling, and a beer on the bar.

Young Alberts couldn't help glancing at the pint every minute or so, with eyes of longing, although who could tell if it was longing for the beer or for the girl who had it set there.

The night dragged on, as nights like these tend to do, and little by little the bar emptied.  The collegiate pool players went home, their money having made rounds in all their pockets.  The few regulars eased out into the dark like puffs of smoke.  The table of pitcher beer drinkers was among the last to be cleared.  Young Alberts was also still at his post at the bar.  The pint was still there on the end.  When the herd was passing him, Alberts felt in his gut that it was his last chance and he hopped off his stool and grabbed up the pint, spilling a good third of it.  The bartender groaned from behind the bar, disgustedly.  Alberts raised the glass and rasped, "Here's t'you, Soll-a-dad!"  He poured what he thought was a respectable swallow into his mouth and waited for her calm, sexy approach.

It was a long wait.

Not really.  Just a couple of seconds until the gaggle of girls burst into shrill, alcohol enhanced laughter, and Young Alberts gaped at them like a startled dog at the garage.  Soledad Quiroga was in the middle of the pack, flanked by her guards as it were, shaking her head angrily.

"Wull, ya didn't akshully say who th' right one was gunna be," slurred Alberts, trying to save face.

"It sure as hell wasn't you," she snapped, and turned to lead her flock safely home.

"Mussa bin onna them pool pricks," concluded Alberts.

"Yeah, sure.  It's a different right one every night and he never gets his fucking beer, then some asshole like you grabs it, spills all over, and pisses her off," snapped the bartender.  "At least she didn't start a fight this time.  I guess you have some sense after all, waiting until closing, you drunk bucket of pre-shit."

"Waddaya mean, she alliz gets a beer for the bar?" wheezed Young Alberts.

"Yep.  Every damn time she's in here.  Her bait for Mr. Right, I guess.  I don't know what headfucking chick flick she saw that dumbshittery in."

The bar now completely empty and only Alberts was swaying on the floor while the bartender wiped down moist, dark surfaces.  Suddenly he looked up like he had forgotten he wasn't alone and shouted, "What the fuck christ, Alberts, go the fuck home!"  And Young Alberts, startled once again by a loud noise, waddled out the door to the street.

Although they say cool air clears a drunken head, it isn't really true, especially not for Young William Alberts.  He was as wasted as he was in the warmth of the bar when he started stumbling down the street, on the way to his bed, to tell himself about how he almost got with Soledad Quiroga.

Emotional Labor

Although it seems like it ought to be a fundamental part of human relationships, emotional labor does not get a lot of popular press.  I have seen it mentioned by name only in "SJW" spaces.  I suppose that other thinkers in other spaces might consider the idea too basic to be examined, and yet there does appear to be a need for it when so many have so much dissatisfaction with their relationships.

Emotional Labor is defined as the effort a person puts into maintaining and deepening connections to another person, usually in the context of a romantic relationship, but friendships are also scenes for this kind of effort to be put forth.  This effort is time and energy spent listening to the other person, both soothing when there is trouble and supportive when they are joyful.  While we might assume that this kind of effort comes naturally to humans as a social species, we should also remember that we must be trained to have empathy with one another as children.  While the capacity might be natural, its performance might need to be cultivated.  The romantic notion of a relationship often consists of two people performing this labor for each other, at much the same level and intensity, but romance is basically a fantasy and a poor version of reality to pay attention to.  The truth is that we do not have very good role models for emotional labor; the media presents only the happy ever after stories and the feel-good marriages and partnerships; our parents were raised on much the same stories and could very well be living under the same misunderstanding of human relationships as we might be.  We assume that relationships - "romantic", friendships, work and neighborly acquaintanceships - ought to come naturally, and we should not have to put forth much effort at all, if any.  In fact, we see a person who requires attention to thrive as an adult as "high-maintanence", particularly if that person is a woman.

Now we come to an interesting gender divide in this subject.  While all of us assume that relationships should be easy to be of any worth, the simple truth is that if nobody does any work, the relationship will wither and die.  There are different expectations of this work from different partners in our society.  It falls to women to do the majority of the emotional labor, because we have the cultural idea that women are naturally more "caring" and "nurturing" while men are stoic and practically emotionless when it comes to other people.  Hence, a woman who demands emotional labor from her partner is labelled "high-maintenance", while she is expected to care and coo over everything that occurs in her partner's life.  This is not even limited to established relationships; men in our society often assume a woman, any woman, will and should be willing to listen to him.  He might just want a friendly chat, or he might want to get some problem off his chest, but he sees any woman in his environment as a potential sounding board.  This might account for the dumbfounded fury some men display when strangers refuse to engage with them.  Without being consciously aware, they are going along with the subliminal cultural context that men talk and women listen appreciatively.  Even in established relationships, the male part normally has the expectation that he will be taken seriously, while the female part has the expectation that she will be depended on for emotional support.

Why does it matter if different members of a relationship perform different tasks?  Could it not be taken as similar to household chores, for example, where each person does their part, but chores are distributed between them?  There is nothing wrong with this in theory, but the result is the previously described gender divide.  There is no dialog and agreement about how best to maintain the relationship over the long term, but an assumption that provokes anger when challenged.

Taking into account the presumption from strangers, it is easy to see how this is a problem for women. However, it can also be less than ideal for men as well.  Human beings are a social species.  We have a need to interact with each other and feel a sense of belonging to a group.  While men are excused from effort, they are thus disconnected from one of the prime ways of forging bonds with other human beings - interpersonal communication.  When men are not "allowed" to have deep feelings, much less share them, they are caught in a not fully developed role in the human play.  The accepted interactions between men in our society have a tendency to be superficial or outright competitive rather than truly friendly.

So, if we accept that there is a problem that needs to be addressed, what should be done to find a solution?  First of all, I would propose that we reexamine what it means to have a good relationship with another person.  Our society has developed a view of individualism and independence that borders on obsessive.  I repeat, we assume that our relationships with others must be easy, or they are not worth the trouble.  The most important thing is our individual comfort level at all times.  In order to promote healthier relationships, which are based on interpersonal connection, we need to place more importance on doing emotional labor, and not being in the most comfortable position at all times.  We need to value empathy and sympathy, those qualities we need to understand each other and want the best for each other.  Most of all, we need to stop seeing emotional labor as "women's work" and reinterpret it as a human requirement for a functional society based on the feeling of belonging to that society.  As a job for the ladies, emotional labor is unimportant and to be ignored (a topic for another essay, if not more).  As a human duty, emotional labor is the backbone of a culture of caring and humanity.

Once we accept that Emotional Labor is as necessary to happy existence as physical or intellectual labor, we might find it necessary to include training for it in our educational system.  We already value the teaching of facts and physical fitness, and to some extent even critical thinking.  We do not, however, see the need to train our children from the start of their academic life in the skills for taking care of relationships, perhaps because of the aforemenioned assumption that these skills are natural and there is no need to improve them in normal people.  It is true that there is some instruction of small children when it comes to sharing or not hurting others, physically or emotionally.  Still, this teaching ends once the real academic rigors begin, perhaps before children's ages are in double digits.   Where does further training come from?  From the family, from the media, from friends who have little experience themselves.  None of these sources may recognize the problems of not distributing the burden of emotional labor species-wide, leading to uncomfortable situations at best.

Emotional Labor is a human duty as it improves the human condition.  All of us are responsible for providing it to those we care about, or hope to have care about us.  We need, for our own betterment and survival, to learn to respect it and those who do it for us.

spirit animal

My first exposure to Smuttynose was actually in a bar around Halloween; they had a pumpkin ale I just had to try.  It was more of a pumpkin pie ale, to be honest, a little sweet 'n' spicy for my normal beer consumption, but an interesting seasonal thing.  The faded quality of the label on Really Old Brown Dog Ale probably made me think it would be a little more laid back than that pumpkin ale.  Also, for some reason changing seasons really wears you out, and you want to just curl up in a chair like that dog.

Just five more minutes, ok?

Just a little sweetness, something sort of Thanksgiving-y.  Maybe the power of suggestion?  There's a fruity/honey taste, with an interesting bitter sting leading the way and disappearing almost instantly.  There's a hint of cinnamon riding on top too.  It's a nice, light example of brown ale, in terms of taste and also the color.  While definitely brown, it's not earth colored, and rather translucent.  I'm used to brown ales being a little heavier, either in fruitiness or bitterness, but this one is practically summery. 

Supplier: La Buena Cerveza
Price: €4.37

the calming quaff

It's kind of weird fall weather right now.  First it got cold, then not so cold, then it rained a little.  At least it isn't very windy right now.  It's not bad enough weather to keep people from clogging up the little sidewalks downtown, unfortunately.  I had to shuffle up to the bus stop after leaving the beer store.  I went down to La Buena Cerveza this time, one that's just far enough away that it's kind of a pain to go very often.  There is a good selection, though, especially from national breweries.  However, I grabbed up a Danish porter before I made my way to the Spanish craft section, the coffee infused Still Lifestyle, with one of my favorite motifs on the label.

Not so subliminal advertising, anyone?

It has kind of a funky smell, more earthy than I expected from a coffeed porter.  It's a nice, rich black color and the dark beige head is bubbly, but not especially long-lasting.  The taste is very smooth, not at all earthy actually, and with a sweetness kind of like a coffee with condensed milk in it.  It's not very sweet, mind you, but there's really no sourness to be found in the flavor.  You might think it's too light to be a pleasing black beer, but it lives up to its name, in my opinion.  Unlike some light stouts and porters, it has a solid foundation of flavor, just a less deep and smoky or tangy one.  It is not watery or weak in any way.  The lack of heaviness makes it a good choice for a moment of contemplation and quiet.  The smooth taste lets you meditate and the sweetness gives you a little pick-me-up at the end of the day.  Another good black beer choice!

Supplier: La Buena Cerveza
Price: €4.09

prime time beer

So I've had my Oktoberfest and my Halloween, now I have my prize.  Every once in a while, some Czech beers wander through, and tend to fly off the shelves, 'cause reputation.  Primátor has been around in various forms over the past few years, always a treat.  I got the last one this time!  I don't even think there was any Bernard left, and that's been a lot more present in the beer stores recently.  I saved it for last from my last beer run, since it doesn't really have any holiday connections, and "best for last" and all that.

Ta-da!

If anything exemplifies a beer, here it is.  The color is right, the smell is right, I managed to get a not over-abundance of head.  And there's that nice bittersweet flavor, not as grassy as other Central European lagers, but not overly bitter either.  Although I must admit my tastes have been developing towards stronger flavored beers, this is quite a nice little lager.  It's smooth and balanced, but leaning on the sweeter side.  I kind of wish I was in the middle of a serious discussion, because this is the kind of beer that keeps your tongue light and agile, not weighed down or tied up.  Too bad I don't have a Twitter account, I could start some shit.  @FuckfaceVonClownstick.  (Yeah, I know it's an old joke, but the video was just featured on Slate.)

And some things just call out for alcohol.

Supplier: La Birratorium
Price: €2.25-2.45

The Dead

There is no way to remember all my Dead.  They are many, and their names are lost to the universe.  Those that even had names.  My Dead were proud in their way, toiling in their journey to create better worlds for the future.  They pushed plows and wielded hammers.  A few even carried guns.  They brought children into an uncertain life, sometimes with intent, sometimes with surprise.  They stuck to their roots, they tore them up and replanted in better lands.  They saw the world from wagon and from ship, from calm village and burnt city.  Their ships sailed through waves and wind, and airplanes through clouds and radiation.  They borrowed and they saved, they worked and they dreamed.  They kept their eyes on the earth, careful to bring out its fruits.  They raised their eyes to the heavens, hopeful for blessings.  They set their gaze on better futures - a new spouse, a new house, a new country, a new life.  New knowledge was everywhere.  Languages that were not their own surrounded them, and all became theirs.  People that were strangers became family.  Family far away were as strangers.

My Dead are stories on a page and a screen, their lives are notes and images on paper.  My Dead are brief flashes in a wooden box, a pastry, a story warped from its first living.  But all the Dead are there, they are there, they are resting, and they are gone.  And they are mine and all of ours.  They are as we will be, to the future.

the art of dark beers

For some reason, a good Halloweeny label wasn't easy to find.  It's better on a dark beer, but I would have settled for an IPA.  Still nothing.  The best I could find was a can, which aggravates some people, but there are some practical arguments for them.  I say "the best I could find', but Dark Arts Surreal Stout does have a legitimately spooky design.  So, it's a stout, there's ghosts on the container, will it be the rich redeemer of my stout tasting?

It's a smooth pour, but a little over-bubbly in the glass; maybe it's more chilled than it needs to be.  It's just the color you want to see from a stout, and there's a fairly strong and enticing smell from it.  The taste is not extremely powerful, but pleasing, tending to chocolate at first and then dying back to more low-toned bitter.  It's exactly the consistency a stout should have, being smooth and creamy, but with that bite of bitter and smoke in the background.  I'm quite pleased with Halloween weekend beer!  If somebody dropped it in my bag for trick-or-treat I'd have to TP a house in their name.

Supplier: La Birratorium
Price: €2.25-2.45

The Cowardice of Agnostics

It is probably necessary to first clearly differentiate "agnostics" as a noun and group identity from "agnostic" the adjective.  When used in terms of religious or spiritual belief, "agnostic" generally means a person who cannot know for sure whether a particular deity exists or not.  Some see this as the most reasonable approach, since we have never been able to prove the existance of any god, and, as is often said, absence of proof is not proof of absence, so the deity in question is not disproved either.  The Agnostic takes the description as a label, and a mark of pride.  It represents the rationality that many see as a high-level achievement in the face of blind belief.  Without proof, it is sheer folly and risk to proclaim a belief.  And here the trouble begins.

While agnostics and atheists agree that no god has been proved to exist, atheists take the step of living their lives under a moral code with no need of any god.  They accept the existence of reality as a necessary given in order to interact with their own existence and others'.  Agnostics must remain "unconvinced" of reality, since anything we could use to prove it still hinges on the acceptance that something does exist.  We make a leap of faith for the sake of convenience, even without any faith to go with it.  Believers follow what they assume to be the rules laid out by their deities for good living; atheists keep the rules that they have been taught and have seen to be useful, throwing out the harmful ones; what kind of morality can Agnostics have?  They might put themselves in the atheist camp, saying their moral code is based on observation and utility.  However, why would they not use a religious moral code, for the sake of convenience?  Of course, many probably do, but deny its origin when pressed.  If one really is not sure of the existence of a law-giving deity, or lack thereof, Pascal's Wager seems like the most reasonable thing to latch on to.  If you truly cannot be sure that some god is not looking over your shoulder and counting your sins, why would you pretend not to care?  The veneer of rationality wins no divine friends.  As David Silverman has said, the Agnostic is really an atheist, but does not want to say so.  There might be real psychological reasons to do so, but it still looks like a person fooling themselves.

So, when it comes to doing what we want, Agnostics follow the atheist example.  But, when it comes to social regulations, are they similarly unconvinced?  It seems, and I am sorry to say this is purely anecdotal, that Agnostics will always stand with theists when push comes to shove.  When the debate arises, the majority tend to favor a religious background for applying and proposing laws.  While I argued that Agnostics would do better acting as if they believed for their own convenience, I find it irritating that they pretend to have no debt to religion in their personal life, but are happy to assign debt to others.  I assume - yes, a dangerous thing to do - that the Agnostics' agreement with theists in the public sphere has to do more with the sheer numbers of theists than with any arguments they might have.  Hiding under the not-quite-atheist wing in one's personal life is only to avoid any labels of superstition, but if religion has anything over rationality, it is the power to control.  Of course, there is no philosophy of agnosticism that requires a code of conduct, but believer or not, a great many people want nothing more than to control those around them.

Finally, I come to my great accusation.  Because Agnostics do not honestly say how they come by their morality or how they propose moraity for others, they are liars.  Because they do not accept the reality that openly doubting a deity is tantamont to atheism, and they hide under their cloak of "impossible to know", they are cowards.  An agnostic person is rational in the lack of knowledge we have may not be remedied.  An Agnostic wants only to parade a lack of decision as a virtue.

the recommended

When I picked up the Oktoberfestbier last week, the clerk recommended this other German lager style.  He swore it was more flavorful and a better drink for those who like lagers.  I'm not actually the biggest fan of lagers, but I do want to keep my options open and my choices varied.  It's not like I don't like them.  So, into the bag went St. Georgen Kellerbier.

da-da!

Not a lot of aroma here either, but it's a more robust tannish color.  Not too heady.  Oddly sour-grassy taste, incorporating that grainy flavor of many German beers, but with a bitter chaser.  The Oktoberfestbier was content to sit back and relax, but the kellerbier demands your attention.  The surprise of the sourness wears off after a couple of sips, but it remains a stronger tasting beer for sure than last week's selection.  It's not one of my recent favorites, a little too sharp.  It would be good on a warmer day, actually, but now we're in the fall and it's the rainy season here.  Some people might be perked up by the strong, sour taste on a gray, wet day, but I prefer a good smoky stout.  Who am I kidding, I prefer that any time.

Nothing personal, Georg

Supplier: La Birratorium
Price: €2.25-2.45 (somewhere in there)

oh, time to check

La Birratorium was off my radar for a little bit, due to vacations and then extended vacations.  But now we're all back mostly in full swing.  Given the season, I thought a nice German beer was called for; I've had my Spanish märzen, where's my German equivalent?  Spaten's Oktoberfestbier isn't a märzen, but it is German, and it does say Oktoberfest on the label.

Bring on the beer, little horsies

It comes out pretty fizzy, but the head doesn't last too long.  It's a light straw yellow color, maybe a little lighter than I'd like, now that I'm such a craft beer snob.  It's not terribly aromatic either, but the scent there is has a pleasant sweetness to it.  The taste is very mild, just a little bit sweet and mellow, with none of the grassiness or odd aftertaste I've gotten from a lot of wheat beers.  I was told it's one of the less flavorful beers on the German shelf, so maybe that accounts for it, but I'm not really unsatisfied at all.  It's an excellent beer for a long sit-down, not heavy at all, easy to drink, light enough that food or serious talk aren't interrupted, but not so tasteless that it might as well be water.  It's a seasonal beer, this one, but one worth the wait through the rest of the year.

Supplier: La Birratorium
Price: €2.25-2.45 (o paperless, receiptless days we live in)

closer and closer

La Virgen is not Cibeles in terms of variety.  They've been more limited in scope, but definitely focused on quality.  That's why it's kind of exciting when they put out something new, especially something seasonal, like chestnut beer or märzen.  I don't know if they've been making märzen for the fall for a while or if this is the first year, but it is the first time I've seen it.

Yeehah!

Rather light on the head, but a nice rusty color.  It has a whiff of German beer grassiness, which it probably should, given its style.  It's a little bit sour, something that I've experienced in the past with Madrid beers that aren't ales, but there's a good layer of malt on top of it.  As I supposed on seeing the head, it is really a light beer, soothing in taste, but quite easy to swallow.  Märzen doesn't have to be as heavy as a black beer, of course, but I do seem to remember them being a little fuller-bodied.  Still, can't complain too much.  It does have something of a holiday taste, with that mix of sweet and beery, heralding the coming of the best holidays of the year.  Better start thinking about my pumpkin.

Supplier: Cervezorama
Price: €2.45

Corruption

There is a joke that goes something like,"I want an end to corruption.  Or at least more opportunity to participate."  We say this or hear it, and we laugh, thinking that the joke is obvious.  Nobody would really admit to wanting to be a part of a corrupt system for the fun of it, would they?  Nobody would admit to wanting to be a part of a corrupt system at all, unless they did not mind being thought of as one of the bad guys.  And not one of the cool bad guys, some sort of evil bureaucrat.  Yet, not so long ago I heard somebody make a statement that was essentially that.  No, he did not say that he wanted to be a part of the corruption, he merely stated that there was no problem with corruption existing - as long as "people lived well".  Really, is there a problem with anything in that case?  There is no system under which every single person lives well, although some do a significantly better job than others in making sure there is a minimum level of dignity available to the citizen body.  We must admit that the vast majority of, if not every, governing system is by no means immune to corruption, and will be affected by some amount of people taking advantage in ways they should not.  Since it is unavoidable, should we simply accept it?  Should we not work to reduce the incidence of corruption, since this could be seen as a waste of time and energy?  Is it worth it to say that corruption is "bad"?

First, the obvious argument is if we accept corruption simply because it is common despite the law, we have to say the same about other crimes.  If we cannot fight against or consider corruption bad, why would we do so for theft?  Or the various forms of assault?  Or murder?  The desire to commit these crimes can be seen as "natural", the same as the desire to find a benefit for ourselves at the expense of others.  If one natural desire is acceptable despite its harm, why not the others?  Insisting that the prevalence of corruption means that we should not spend time working against it is rather an insult to doctors and the medical profession as a whole as well.  Illness and injury are not just common, they are absolutely unavoidable.  Every single person on Earth will come down with at least a cold or twist an ankle at least once.  But if these things are universal, why bother fighting them?  We cannot keep everyone's health perfect forever.  Medicine is a losing proposition.  A waste of energy and resources.  While some people would in fact make a similar argument, they are on the fringe of ideas about how to deal with health care.  Saying that the commonness of corruption should protect it from attack is the same line as saying the ubiquitousness of colds make medicine a waste.

Let us go to a deeper level.  We can agree that health problems deserve to be taken care of because nobody wants or deserves to be sick or injured.  Why should corruption fall under the umbrella of undesireables?  There must be some kind of identifiable harm that comes from corruption that makes it necessary to fight it.  What is the harm?  My partner in conversation specifically said that corruption was all right as long as people lived well.  Can people live well under a corrupt system?  Absolutely.  But do all people live well?  Absolutely not. This is the key to the issue.  When a fair, or mostly fair, system is in place, those who get the shaft have recourse.  They can press for redress of grievances and demand that their rights be respected.  Under a fair and just system, every citizen should have the same rights and importance before the law.  The very essence of corruption is that only a few have access to those avenues, and the rest of the citizenry must keep quiet, lest they find themselves in danger of losing what they do have.

This is the true danger of corruption: It increases the distances between the regulars and the privileged, and leaves the non-privileged out in the cold.  It solidifies a ruling class and a social hierarchy that will perpetuate itself, relying on nepotism and bribery to find leaders.  There is no possibility of social movement or development.  Even when corrupt leaders are canny enough to make sure the masses have enough toys to distract them from their lack of power and opportunity, anyone who wishes to be treated as a full person without the benefit of being in the upper ranks will have to pay for the privilege.  Those who cannot pay will never be given the slightest consideration.  There we have the heart of the matter: Not a single person is seen as a person.  Even the privileged are but cogs in the larger machine.  Those on the bottom?  They will never ascend if not by force.  If merit and rights do not exist, the only way to make a better life for oneself is to destroy those who have better lives and usurp their position.  Corruption, in the end, only encourages revolution, and violent revolution at that.  A system of rights and merit, at least in theory, gives opportunities to those without means and allows for peaceful transition between social strata. The fact that no system is perfect should not discourage us from seeking to perfect the system we live under.

halloween on the way

Hooray, my favorite month with my favorite holiday!  I stopped by Cervezorama, resurrected, and picked up something special from their now numerous fridges.  I'm surprised I haven't grabbed a Reptilian Apokalypse before, given my affection for stouts and such things.

These things

But there it was, like a sign that scary things are coming.  Good scary, though.  Just gotta get ready.  It's a brandy barrel aged Russian Imperial Stout, so it's definitely a fortifying drink.  Strong draughts for strong souls.  I have, in fact, come across Reptilian before, and even a stout, but this one looks even more demonic somehow.

Extra sweet smell, with something of an mandariny touch.  It looks heavy and black, not especially heady though.  First the taste is sweet, but there's a not unpleasant woodiness that follows on its heels, and it goes down with a bitter finish.  It's a smooth beer in spite of the alcohol kick, with the brandy barrel taking out the smokiness of the typical stout.  There's no candy weighing the flavor down, even though it stays sweet, so it's a pleasant drink.  

As black as my own heart

Supplier: Cervezorama
Price: €4.70