(billy) goat!

Despite the abundance of beers to try, sometimes I feel like there should be more Czech representation.  They do consume the most per capita, after all.  Pilsner Urquell is around, on tap even, but...it's just not the same.  And it's not so good, unless it's unfiltered.  There was some Kozel on tap at Prost Chamberí! some months ago, long gone now, and that was nice.  Something besides the normal offering.  Kozel has been in the beer stores before, although it's been a long time since I've seen it.  It must be a time of exportation, since now we have Primátor and Bernard available, since Kozel was sitting there on the shelf with them at Espuma.  My first visit to them, and worth the trip!  Since there's no more on tap, I'll content myself with a bottle of dark billy goat beer.

Baaattle...oh, did someday else already do that?

Nice warm color, deep brown and just a little ruddy.  The head, on the other hand, is light and fluffy, dissipating rather quickly.  That familiar grainy smell is there, like a summer field.  The taste is lighter than I recall from the tap, a little watery even.  Still, sweet and what you expect from central European dark beers.  While the wateriness could be irritating at first, it does take out the danger of the beer getting too syrupy later on.  While we could use some lower temperatures here, like I recall from my visits east, at least the beer stays light and refreshing, and most importantly, tasty.

Supplier: Espuma
Price: €1.95

a tale of decisions - not much is decided

Prince David's life rolled on with little excitement, and he refused to visit the Seer again until she apologized and addressed him properly.  Edmund did not push the issue.  He had never put much trust in seers anyway, and had been slightly alarmed by her recent provocations.  Soon, though, the visitors who once had been content to spend a few days chatting blandly at princely meals and strolling aimlessly through royal gardens began to seek out more exciting pleasures at the palace.  They began to seek out Meleneche.  "How she knows the trails!" they exclaimed afterwards, "How well she understands the game!"  The Prince was bemused by the new dinner commentary.  It seemed nobody cared to work on diplomatic matters at his palace anymore, they all wanted to relax and enjoy a good hunt.  It is true that not every hunt ended with a game beast on the table or trophies sent off for mounting, but the thrill of the chase was charming and exhilarating, and any courtier or noble with any amount of athletic skill was drawn to have a run in Meleneche's pack.

Actually, Prince David didn't really mind; it left his palace quiet for the most part.  Even at mealtimes when the guests were chattering about the plans or the results, they controlled themselves.  Before the hunt it was to avoid jinxing their chances, and afterwards they were too tired to make much fuss.  Only Edmund the Advisor worried about the political repercussions.  Finally, he tried to take the Prince aside to speak of this serious matter, but the Prince brushed him off, saying, "Edmund, everything is running perfectly.  Only the most pressing complaints reach my ears, and I have plenty of time to deal with them now that I am not distracted by petty concerns."

"But Highness, nobody has brought any business for the past two weeks.  The guests only come to hunt."

"Precisely, Edmund, everything is fine," and the Prince strode away to his library to reorder his treatises on grilling.  Edmund shook his head, beginning to worry in earnest.

Of course, quiet times can simply be that.  But often something is happening under the surface, just waiting for its moment to bubble up.

Unknown to everyone at the palace, conspirators had taken to the mountains, enemies of the Duchess of Sotelo.  They had no quarrel with Prince David or his family, but neither did they have any friendship to offer him.  They had assumed the Prince's lackadaisical attitude towards the mountain hunt would allow them to remain hidden as long as they wanted.  The new Huntmaker's talent for finding hidden trails and secretive game was an unwelcome surprise.  Meleneche actually had no idea there were people holed up in little caves and shelters, although she did sometimes wonder about the traces of activity she found.  "Some Huntmaker," she would say later.  "Huntmaker, not soldier or bounty hunter," she would be told in reply.

The conspirators tolerated the hunt for some months.  They expected the activity to die down when winter came with its chill winds and stinging snow, and were unhappily surprised once again when the number and range of hunts did not in fact drop.  Meleneche had groups on horseback and foot, even camping on occasion, taking deer, boars, birds, and bears as game when they could.  Despite the fact that nobody had any idea the conspirators were there - even in Sotelo there were no rumors that placed them on the mountain - their agitation grew with every passing hunt.  They decided they needed to discourage further intrusions into the forest and the mountain.  They turned to their advisor.  He promised them, smiling broadly, that soon enough he would have the Count's daughter, not to mention every other noble in the realm, with no desire to return.

On a frosty fall morning, the air is clear and the light is pleasant.  It is a good time to hunt.  On one such morning, Meleneche saddled her horse and gathered her small hunting party in the stable yard.  They were hoping to spot a Great Elk, one of the prize trophies of the mountains, but it was understood to be unlikely.  Few were left, and they were swift.  The hunting party was serious but undemanding.  They were all well-experienced, both with this Hunt-Maker to the Royal House, and with hunts in general.  It had become a greater challenge to follow Meleneche over the trails with the dangers of a horse shying or falling than to merely shoot some poor beast.  The Prince's Hunt was fast evolving into a steeplechase.  The group was mounted on sturdy, mature horses, experienced on the trails already, and trusting of their riders.  These were not mounts to see stumble and lose the crowd.  They were walking their calm steeds to the gate when they were surprised to hear brighter, lighter hoofbeats behind them, and the Prince himself call out, "Do not leave your Prince behind, good courtiers!"  Not only not left, but allowed to pass to the front, nearly abreast to the Huntmaker, the Prince and his spirited chestnut mount joined the party.  Nobody would say a word to him, of course, but many an experienced eye caught another, silently trading impatience over that mount.  Such a nervous beast would cause nothing but trouble on the chase.  A more fawning Huntmaker would adjust the hunt to something more in line with the Prince's steed's abilities, he carried the Prince on his back after all, but Meleneche was not in the habit of changing her plans for anyone or anything but the most dire of weather.  The stage was set for an inevitable bad experience.

To everyone's relief, the party rode for almost two hours with no problems.  The pace was relaxed, the horses calm, the riders alert but not tense.  They stopped at a broad stream for the horses to drink and to work out any last minute details for the next leg of the ride.  Although ascending the mountain had gone well, the horses needed a break.  Meleneche was nervous, but controlled herself well.  She had let rumors of the elk go among the party, but her plan was actually another.  She meant to track a lone wolf that had been harassing wood cutters.  These solitary creatures were generally old or sick, which was why they had been thrown out of the pack, and no trouble for mounted hunters even if they could successfully attack a person on foot.  It had been seen mostly on the north side, prowling through stands of trees.  It had killed nobody - yet.  But it was a nuisance and had to be dealt with.  In fact, that was the true reason why Prince David had joined the party; although he had mentioned it to nobody, he was concerned about his reputation as protector of his people.  While his nobles kept their eyes open for tall and slender beasts, he would scan the landscape for signs of thin and slinking creatures of the shadows.

When all seemed restored to full energy, the party mounted up to start the ride into the Deep Forest.  There was a band of thickly wooded mountainside between the more cultivated trees and the sparse higher altitudes.  The ground was always shaded and movement through it was slow.  Except for wolves, apparently.  While most of the party believed they were taking a shortcut to the elk's most likely haunts, both Meleneche and David were purposely stalking a dweller of darkness.  As they moved into the dimness under the intertwined branches, David lamented to himself never having bothered to find hunting hounds.  When dealing with a wolf, it seemed safer to have some "hands on the ground".  Of course, it was too late for that now.  The hunting party gradually disappeared into the heavy underbrush and shadow of the Deep Forest.  Prince David's horse was getting more and more nervous, but was unable to bolt or shimmy with the thick growth all around it.  The others shook their heads, more than one thinking, "I could have told him to pick a better horse."  But of course, they had said nothing, because he was the Prince and they weren't even his Advisors.  Then, suddenly, the other horses started to twitch and snort too, and everyone knew at once that something wasn't quite right.

Of Death And Animal Sacrifice

Not too long ago, a Spanish bullfighter was killed in the ring while performing.  His death was a tragedy for some and a grim poetic justice for others, who spammed his Facebook page and his wife's Twitter feed with celebratory comments.  It is easy to dismiss bullfighting as barbaric and its fans as savages.  It is also easy to dismiss fanatical animal rights activists as the same.  What I wonder is why the fascination with this activity is promoted, since many humans do seem to have curiosity about violence and death, but in most cases are told to bury or redirect that interest.  It is generally accepted that we do not push dogs or roosters to fight each other.  We are not allowed to tease or bother farm animals, especially if we do not own them.  The way we treat our pets, our legal property and responsibility, is regulated.  The majority do not have a problem with these facts.  Yet, in some countries, it is perfectly respectable to torment a large animal for many minutes and finally kill it in front of a cheering crowd.  Is this a double standard?

One argument in favor of bullfighting rests on the supposed art and representational quality of it.  The killing of the bull is a performance acting out the struggle for survival in nature; the clever often survive, not always the merely strong; a death is always necessary to maintain a life.  Some insist that bullfighting is more "honest" than the simple slaughter of food animals.  Are we likening the killing of our prey to bullying versus boxing?  For the most part people are not happy to see the weak terrorized, although they may not intervene.  We do enjoy a contest between equals or close equals, however.  A test of skills and will to succeed is exciting, and we may root for one side or the other, but we do not like to see abuse on the playing field.  Even in sports with a heavy dose of physical violence, we like to see sheer power or technique overcome a tough opponent, not a clearly superior winner obliterating the competition.  There is no sport in slaughter.  The food never has a chance.  The bull, on the other hand, is supposed to be brave, strong, a worthy foe.  He should be a bit wild and unpredictable, but not so much that the bullfighter cannot dodge him, I suppose.  Still, if the bullfight is merely playacting, a show of nature's brutality, why is it necessary to open the bull's veins?  Why must he die impaled by steel at the end of the performance?  The competition becomes a snuff show.  The other sort of "man against nature" show is hunting, which is not performed, but simply done.  It is sometimes done in a group for the enjoyment of the hunters, and the trophies may be displayed afterwards, but the actual kill is not a spectacle worthy of an audience of fans.

The very art of the fight is another argument put forth.  The dance and grace of the two opponents, the tradition of the costume and form of the animal, savage beauty, they say.  Yet, how many beautiful traditions have we eliminated due to their cruelty?  Who would insist we begin to castrate young boys to preserve their singing voices in this day and age?  Who would promote foot binding in the old Chinese style?  Although tattooing is more accepted, we still generally shudder at scarification and piercings not in the ears.  But, these things have been or are considered beautiful and traditional.  One objection to this argument is the concept of physical autonomy that we tend to grant to people, although limited to some extent with regard to children.  The bull does not have this right.  And yet, we view with distaste the cropping of ears and tails in dogs and horses, another tradition based on looks in the end even in there was practicality in the beginning.  Snuff films are illegal.  The torture of animals for art's sake is not permitted.  Even our own bodies can be protected from our harmful whims when we long for extremes of modification.  Why should an animal be bothered, poked, stabbed and finally executed just because of an artistic fashion?  The argument of tradition is also a weak one, as it usually is.  A great many traditions have fallen by the wayside as society and culture develop because they lose relevance or gain cruelty.  The bullfight is unlikely to represent either the Roman circus or the Minoan bovine acrobatics.  It is modern in its performance and meaning.  Tradition is a weak and unsatisfying argument.

However, something still seems to be missing from the scene.  There is history, tradition, ritual, color, combat, death...why, I would say we are dealing with a sacrifice!  An animal sacrifice, to be precise.  The bull, a strong and powerful animal, must die to water to earth with his potent blood, and the bullfighter must kill him in order to grow in skill and strength, absorbing the spirit of those he has killed.  This, this is a sacrifice to the gods!  What gods?  Well...maybe that is the real problem.  The gods have been forgotten.  Their names are lost.  They are no longer called and adored, and we know how pissed off gods get when they do not receive the attention they feel is due to them.  That may be the answer to why Spain has so many problems - they have lost the favor of their forgotten gods.  All they have to do is rediscover their names and shout them aloud the next time the sand is stained with the liquid life of one of their champions.

isn't there a song?

I think there is

It feels like it's been a while since I've had a nice German dark beer.  It's been a month and a half since the film fest, which is kind of a long time in drinking terms.  I stopped by La Tienda de la Cerveza this morning for a "coincidental" encounter with my old cervecero friend, and also to pick up some new stock.  I've said many times I can hardly resist the dark beers, your stouts, your porters and the like.  So, there's a classically named porter, just sitting on the shelf for me!  Othello Porter.  And what a label!

That's a crime scene if I've ever seen one...which I haven't

It's a lovely chocolatey brown, a bit light on the head.  The foam is slightly cream colored, and is resistant enough to not disappear completely, leaving a little cap on top.  The smell is also strongly chocolatey; I'm already salivating.  The taste is a little disappointing at first.  Mildly plummy and earthy, but with a kind of watered-down flavor, only to get a second wind of fruity smokiness as the beer goes down.  The fruit, and expected porterness, sharpens over time, becoming a little wilder and fiercer.  Unlike some porters, the fruit isn't heavy or cloying, but a little bitter and with a nod to the forest.

Supplier: La Tienda de la Cerveza
Price: €3.15

super!

Brabante is a successful craft beer, I think.  It's popped up on signs outside of bars all over town and is even on tap at my favorite restaurant empire.  At least, in the toasty parts.  Like Cibeles, it's become easy to find even in regular supermarkets, so after a couple of shopping trips and seeing it just so available, I decided to grab something easy.  It is local, after all.  Brabante Lager, for those bright summer evenings.

Pride, strength, independence...what else do you want from your beer?

The smell is especially beery, I think, much like regular lagers.  The color is a little light for my taste, accustomed as I am to ales and stouts.  It's a light lemony straw color, fluffy white head, very bubbly.  I remember Brabante being on the sour side, but it must have been another style, as this lager isn't sour at all.  It's mildly sweet, as many lagers are, with just a hint of grain in the aftertaste.  I'm reminded of a good many German lagers that have come by my table.  It's mild and refreshing, although not nearly as awakening as some IPAs and the like.  A good table beer to go with a good conversation or other evening entertainment.

Supplier: Carrefour
Price: €1.95

czeching in again

My second Czech acquisition was Primátor, one which has made a very favorable impression in bars.  Now I have a bottle of my own!  It's a doppelbock, 24% of double in fact, so a good investment for a weekend evening.  It's even a whole half liter, so definitely worth my three Spanish euros.

Hmph, lighting is hard

There's a promising color, dark chocolatey brown, and a thick off-white head.  It has a slightly sweet smell, typical of a central European dark beer, and nothing like chocolate.  The taste is a little sugary but not syrupy, which is a plus.  A good clean-tasting beer is what we look for in the summer months.  There is a bit of a bitter aftertaste, but nowhere near ale strength.  It's a dessert-like beer without a doubt, kind of like the porter I had with the Menú de Praga a couple of years ago.  Well, not quite so cakey as that one, but Primátor Double is one you might end a night with.

Supplier: La Birratorium
Price: €2.95

the winds of memory

There is a notorious lack of Czech beer in this city.  Some of the beer stores even acknowledge it, saying the distributors aren't reliable and the beer that gets to Spain is about to expire when it arrives.  Still, sometimes they manage something.  La Birratorium got some Primátor and Bernard for July, which I skipped right over to check out.  Or "Czech" out.  Ha.  I only got one of each, since I can only carry so much beer when it's hot like this.

Appropriate towel today

First up is Bernard Černý Ležák (black lager).  There's a little nostalgia there, being a beer I remember sitting down with after ducking into a park restaurant/bar in the middle of a storm like a hurricane.  We snagged the last table and the couple who came in after us went back out rather than stand around like dorks.  A little sad for them, but in extreme situations it's first come, first serve.  It's not like it was raining acid, anyway.  Now, the bottle is quite a bit smaller than I remember the mug being, but we all know memories get exaggerated.  Even completely removed from reality.  That storm beer was real, though, I have photographic evidence!

This isn't it.  Screw you for poking into my private life.

The beer is toasty brown with a light fluffy head.  It has a sweet tangy smell, rather typical of central European beers, and a sweet milky taste.  There's no detectable bitterness, but there is a mildly smoky aftertaste.  It's a controlled and and steady flavor, one that's been honed by years and decades of practice, rendered perfect for every occasion.  The downpour of that day would be nice to have about now, but the wind...not so much.  We already have trees ready to come down around here.

Supplier: La Birratorium
Price: €2.15