Before you even start judging me, let me preface by saying that for the purposes of this blog post “weekend” means “the period between Wednesday and Sunday evenings.” That said, yes, I went out a bit. Experimentation, okay?

This picture! Ain’t she, as we would say in the business, a beaut? Anyway, on Wednesday it was warm and fake-summery, which meant finishing off the last of a six pack of Victory Hop Devil and blasting “Brimful of Asha” from my iPhone (this is indisputably the best summer jam ever. Right?) And with appropriate glassware, no less! I like this beer a lot because 1. it’s from my home region, represent represent and 2. it’s a very good hoppy beer. That is really all I want out of a drink, usually.

Thursday night was a group trip to the Narrowest Bar in Chicago in co-host Eli’s slammin’ new wheels. Nothing like cruising around in a 2002 Ford Focus during a warm thunderstorm to make you crave a cocktail made with rye and maple syrup. Actually, that sounds like something I would drink pretty much whenever. And it was good.

Friday, after a day spent at DePaul for a panel on screenwriting and a Quatro de Mayo tacopalooza in which I consumed my body weight in Donkey Chips, I was fortunate enough to get a taste of a celebratory Vigneronne sour (people and their getting jobs! WHAT IS THIS). It was like the name suggests: sour. Not my favorite style of beer (in fact, probably my third least favorite, after Belgian-styles and Tripels) so I am recusing myself from judgment. Might have been a bit better had it retained more carbonation than it did, too.

And now that I’m not the only one with a car, I also don’t have to be de facto designated driver any more! The aforementioned Rolls Joyce took us ALL THE WAY  to Maria’s in Bridgeport for drinks (me) and also Pleasant House pie (Eli). The Berkshire Bourbon was solid in a tasty and not-burning kind of way, and the Mongo IPA on tap was well-balanced but a touch too bitter for me (it reminded me of Victory Golden Monkey, which I KNOW doesn’t make sense because they’re different styles of beer but LAY OFF). The Founder’s Red Rye was bottled, very good, and very red (Instagram filter notwithstanding). The bar itself is also really nice, for lack of a better word. Hipsters, but also normals, and a few olds, and with a savory pie place right next door. You kind of can’t ask for more.

I don’t know if this “feature” on this “blog” is even entertaining or edifying for anyone but me, as it allows me to piece together the tatters of my weekend into a coherent and alcohol-fueled narrative.* But anyway!

Thursday! New Holland Dragon’s Milk Stout at The Pub!

Oh man, you guys. This is my jam. This is the beer that made me realize I like beer. It’s the watershed beer. Here are some terms that I think might apply: vanilla-y, coffee undertones, medium body that makes it drinkable (i.e., it doesn’t feel like a milkshake, like other stouts. See below). Not pictured are the subsequent pitcher(s) of significantly cheaper beer that we enjoyed. Seniors forever!

Ugh. The problem with taking pictures of drinks in bars is that you look like an asshole the pictures never turn out good! Anyway, Goose Island 312 at The Blackout Diaries in Roscoe Village, which I had never tasted and where I had never been. The beer was unremarkable (but not bad!) and I think I was too distracted by the entertainment to taste properly. The Puterbaugh Sisters are on my radar as funny ladies, because 1. they tell great stories about what it’s like to work as a hungover Nestlé Quik Mascot and 2. they’re sisters! I love sisters (well, I love mine. That counts!) Take notice, world!

Not content to end our night at 9:30 (what are we, old people?!) and needing to make the most out of a car trip into Actual Chicago (what are we, people who can afford gas?!), my putative podcast co-host Eli and I decided to head to Revolution because we thought we were close. We weren’t, really, especially when we drove the wrong way down Division for a spell, but no matter! There was delicious beer and bacon popcorn waiting for us! After the SPORTS of the night were over, the place cleared out a bit and I got to try their Anti-Hero IPA (I wanted the Rye IPA, because that’s a thing?! But alas, it wasn’t to be tapped until Sunday). It was good, well-balanced in a classic IPA way (can you tell I am a novice at describing beers yet? I DON’T KNOW I LIKED IT)

Eli decided to order a pizza and provided me with an excuse to nurse a second beer. Best friends! I opted for the lower ABV Paddy Wagon Stout so that I could actually drive home, and it turned out to be a delicious choice. It had a fuller mouthfeel like a traditional Irish stout and creamy, foamy head** that I think came from nitrogenization? Spellcheck says that’s not a word, but I’m pretty sure that’s what the menu said.

Tune in next week when I try more beers, go to more comedy shows, and hopefully find better lighting!

*This is a joke! I always remember what I do over the weekend! This is why Instagram exists!
**(giggle)

Four quarts (& change) of homemade chicken stock. Just kidding! I did not drink this; that would be weird. But I did make it and Instagram it, so.

In case you’re wondering how to make it: take 1 (cooked and picked clean) chicken carcass, the ends of 2-3 onions/carrots/celery if you’re not allergic to it like I am*, a few bay leaves, and chuck them in a crock pot with enough water to cover, then cook on high for as long as it takes you to get a cookbook signed. Boom. Stock!

Bourbon Barrel Quad, chez Abe. It was one of those Saturdays where me and my fellow editor of a yet-to-be-launched pop-culture blog were 2/3 of the way through a terrible Lifetime movie (for research) when something reminded me of your first-grade math teacher whom we called Bill Crumbly, for some reason? And then I texted my beer-obsessed grade-school buddy who lives down the street to reminisce, and then, next thing I know, we’re going over to his place for some beer and and baked goods, watching a video tribute to Shooter McGavin, and getting tickets to Judge Mathis. Are you jealous of my life? You should be jealous of my life.

The beer was excellent; I was too tired from being up all night to remember many details. It said it was flavored with cherries, but I didn’t get too much of that, which, thank God. Cherry anything always tastes like cough syrup.

Not booze, but a café au lait from New Wave Coffee. I just liked the way they wrote on the cup. Olé! Triforce! Let’s bomb some dodongos!

The milk was the kind of thick and frothy that feels like drinking a warm coffee milkshake**. I had to spend my final two cash dollars, BUT one was a Where’s George bill, which is always exciting, because I’ve been on that damn site since the sixth grade and NEVER get any hits on my bills. Grr. Also: please to ignore my fingernail dirt.

I came home from picking up my meat and buying books at around 4:30 and found that my roommates had already begun to drink, and obviously I couldn’t be rude. I’m a fan of Great Lakes’ Edmund Fitzgerald but had never had their lighter stuff, and I found Mr. Ness winning. A medium body, I think? As in, it didn’t seem too thin? And with a kind of rounded sweetness to it that I will inelegantly describe as “apple-juice-like.”

*Yes, this is a real allergy! Seriously.
** It is this kind of sparkling prose that will win me a Pulitzer for food journalism

Bitter Woman IPA at the Pub. They also had Dogfish Head 90 Minute, but I felt the need to try something different. And something in the name really spoke to me. And it was only $4.50 a pint. Not particularly outstanding, but certainly drinkable.

Revolution Bottom Up Wit at Uncharted Books (with guest hand Cecilia!) Not pictured, but also drunk: Bulleit Bourbon (rocks), also good. I’m so undiscerning when it comes to bourbon & whisky. If it’s halfway decent, I like it, and I can’t come up with articulate reasons why. Lame.

So much fun! So many writers! Very good (free) booze! Sometimes I worry about meeting other people who write stuff because I think they’re going to be jerkoffs, but this was entirely the opposite. I talked to oodles of neat folks and wore many other peoples’ glasses. If I met you there, hello! Please leave me a comment so that I can read your blog.

Three Floyds Gumball Head at Gallery Cabaret. The Two-Hour Comedy Hour at this underground comedy club? eccentric dive bar? was decently funny and featured no comedians that made me cover my face in awkwardness. And pitchers were cheap, so. I’d already had Gumball Head to accompany a homemade pizza night and I really liked its grapefruity-hoppy-ness. These are not technical beer terms, please don’t yell at me.

Three Floyds Zombie Dust at The Map Room. Dark bar Instagram shots forever! Anyway, I got this on the recommendation of some guy named Vinnie sitting at the bar, which might seem like an arbitrary way to pick a beer, but whatever. It was good! It’s got a 99 on BeerAdvocate, so I’m not just making this up. Taste-wise, it was…similarly hoppy? Also fruity? Still delicious? Makes me want to roadtrip out to the brewery. Indiana’s not that far, right?