Last night marked a sort of homecoming epoch for these two beer bloggers. In the span of a few hours, we were re-initiated into the American ethos after a year abroad spent walking instead of driving, and saying "cheers" instead of "thanks" and "grand" instead of "cool." Not to mention telling time by the sun instead of by the tides.
For those who need it, here is the recipe:
We went (drove) to a baseball game.
We ate (gorged ourselves on) over-sized and over-greased stadium food.
We watched (gawked at) a brilliant fireworks display.
We sang (howled) along to American rock standards spanning several decades.
And, most important of all, we picked up a couple of blondes to sit on our laps as we did all of the above! Don't I have the best woman in the world? The stuff she lets me get away with...
Actually, the blondes were a couple of Isotopes Brewing Triple A Blondes. Great debates transpire all over the web and at beer festivals challenging the definition and true character of a blonde ale. Are they a Kolsch-style or a hop-light I.P.A.? Or are they something else, wiggling and dancing between those standards? Wiggling and dancing? We should set up a pole... erm, I mean, take a poll. For our purposes, the litmus test is simple: Is the blonde an enjoyable beer to drink?
The Isotopes blondes absolutely are. They are quenching, meaning you can take a big swig and not feel parch-mouthed after swallowing. Some beers do this to great effect, but not the blonde. These blondes were also light, without being ditzy or vacuous. I could smell a hint of fruitiness, but could not pick it apart on the palate. The Triple A blends its hop-bitter with malt-mellow. Of course, you can only get so particular when you're drinking it out of a plastic cup... but honestly, that particular bit of Americana only adds to the enjoyment when you're lounging along the right-field foul line.
Equally enjoyable is the Isotopes Amber Ale, which we have posted on before. But on this night there was something more to the beer than just enjoyment. There was more to the ball game than the double plays, force outs, and home runs. There was even more behind those good laughs with the family members seated with us and more still within the sparkle, flash, and boom of the fireworks. There was a resounding click embedded and echoing through all of it.
Perhaps it was the click of one door closing on our year abroad. The completion of that chapter in our lives. Perhaps it was the click of another door opening. That next chapter waiting to be written in lands as yet unseen with beers untasted. It could have also been the sound of life as we knew it synchronizing back in to place, back into familiarity.
And then again, it could have just been the sound of that really weird guest mascot, Bird-Zerk, snapping his feathered fingers as he encouraged small children to sway their hips and swing their shirts over their heads (No joke! He did this!). Yup. We're back in 'Merka, alright...