note to self: you don’t have to pretend to like every craft beer you try

i think it’s about time i’m honest with the world and say that i didn’t enjoy that one stone brewery double IPA i bought back in 2014. i just pretended to like it because i bought an entire six-pack of it and brought it to a party where the 2nd highest alcohol percentage in a drink was less than mine by double-digits. whenever people noticed and asked about the beer, i offered them a bottle because i knew they were beta and wouldn’t take a bottle of what was basically mashed hops. that being said, i didn’t enjoy it either and it’s been weighing on me ever since.

i’m not sure why i feel the need to act like there’s something enjoyable about every new beer i try. i’ve thrown out phrases like “complex flavors,” and “surprising aftertaste” like i’m getting sponsored by marlboro. perhaps it has something to do with the intense and deeply flawed beer culture that gatekeeps harder than texas border patrol, or the fact that a six-pack of craft beer is usually north of $13 so i’m financially obligated to find something i like about it.

and it has nothing to do with being able to look down on people who enjoy PBR and coors lite, because even when my liver finally gives out and i’m freshly stitched up after taking a liver from my least favorite son, i’ll still be out in downtown making passive aggressive comments about saving time by putting the miller lite tap right above the urinals in the men’s room.

but peter, you might say, why don’t you just buy beers that you’ve already tried and know you like? because moron, i say, settling into comfortable routines is the inscrutable first step down an imperceptible slope that ends in mediocrity, a sterile middle aged life, and voting republican. so i’ll pour one out for you and your coors lite, and also for my liver because goddamn that guy needs a break.