Spirit of the Earth

Tonight’s beverage of choice is the McChouffe Brown Ale. Quite frankly I’m shocked that I’m writing this review tonight. This is a beer I drink on a fairly regular basis. I honestly thought I would have reviewed it by now. For that matter, I would have been positive that I would have reviewed at least one Chouffe - any Chouffe. But not so.

Regular readers know my affection for the Belgian Browns (referring to the beer of course). Looking back on it I’m not positive which Belgian Brown I had first. However, I’m guessing it was the Corsendonk. Nevertheless the brewery that paints little gnomes onto their bottles has garnered a place in my heart. Generally I’m not a fan of animation on the web, but at first glace of their web page I’m afforded a chuckle of humor as a I watch a little gnome run around my screen. If I drink enough of this beer I wonder if the gnome on the bottle will do the same.

Sidenote - Who already knew that a gnome is one of the eight elemental spirits featured in the Mana series representing the earth element (presumably because gnomes are subterranean). What this has to do with their brewery I have not a clue.

At *only* 8% abv it is not one of the stronger Belgians. Actually it could be considered weak, I suppose, as it is rare Belgian Browns get any lower in alcohol than 8%. But “weak” is relative in this instance. But what this lower alcohol does is provide a ridiculously smooth quaffing experience. One that is savored sip after sip. I’m now realizing why I haven’t written about these brews before - I’m just too damn busy enjoying them.

The beer pours from the 750ml bottle into my chalice leaving little head with a soft pour, but what little that rises sticks heavily to the glass walls and relentlessly clings as I consume. I expect there will be dried lacing on my glass when I wake in the morning. Vanilla extract is the overwhelming profile detected by the olfactory’s. It is a welcoming sent that beckons you deeper into the glass.

The website states that hops are present in the flavor profile. I certainly am no one to disagree with the brewers of this righteous brew, but I think Belgians and Americans are at opposite ends of the hop-sickle. Belgians like a subdued hop presence; one that adds flavor yet remains mostly transparent. Americans, on the other hand, generally want the hops to crack you upside the back of your skull like Father Griffen used to do to me in Freshman typing class anytime I would look at the keyboard.

This beer is actually quite difficult to peg as far as the flavor profile goes. I could take the easy way out and just say “complex” but I don’t think that would be entirely accurate. Not saying it isn’t complex, but I think rather than complexity causing lack of a distinguished flavor profile it should be chalked up as the smoothness lending a hand at the difficulty. What does comes to mind is roasted malts, Carmel, and pine tar. Also a little orange zest is present in the finish - ok so maybe the brewer was right about a slight presence of hops. 

If you want to try one Belgian Brown Ale and have a good idea what this style should taste like reach for the gnome. 4 mugs out of 5 for the white-bearded little guy. As I like to say for fine beverages, “this brew is eminently quaffable.”

The Plot Thickens

Perhaps you remember Emily. I hadn’t seen her in a few months and hence the reason for no updates. Well,… she’s back. She is a cocktail (almost brings new meaning to the word ) waitress at the bar I tend. It seems she is still in college at a University across the state and thus the reason for her appearing, leaving, and again abruptly appearing. Looks like she is back again for the summer. No new news, but rest assured if anything noteworthy happens you’ll be on the notification list.

Perhaps you remember our DUI Detective. Upon the loss of her job did any of you ponder what she might do for a living now that she is no longer an officer of the law? I hadn’t. I sincerely doubt any of you did either. Well, unless Lisa or any family members were reading my blogs perhaps (coincidentally my blogs about Lisa Staples have remained one of the most popular viewed blogs of mine to date). I didn’t know the women, but I felt pretty strongly back then that she didn’t need to be representing the law given her actions. I still feel this way about the situation, even now after I have inadvertently gotten to know Lisa. You see, when a former detective resigns from the police department amid DUI charges, at least in this particular case, their next employer is also my current employer and she is in charge of hand delivering the scrumtious martinis I concoct. Strange someone with a DUI charge would find their next employment in a bar. Anyway, I’ve had the opportunity to work with Lisa for about a month now and not until tonight did I put this puzzle together. A few minutes of down time offering chit-chat yields a seemingly harmless, “What did you do before this?” I guess I wasn’t ready for that answer. ”I was a cop,” she said. My wheels begin spinning. I already knew the Lisa I worked with had a DUI. It took maybe 30 seconds… Lisa… DUI… former cop…. “Staples!” I said perhaps a little too loudly and excitedly the moment the name moved from the tip of my tongue outward. Oops. She acknowledged my recollection of her last name.

What a small fuckin’ world.

No Condoms Required

So my personality type basically prohibits me from working a singular profession 40 (or more) hours per week. I prefer to keep things new and interesting. Obviously “new and interesting” is far away from a cubicle office. I do understand how some people find comfort in the 40 hour office gig. At times I often wish I could be OK doing this. But I just can’t. I’ve tried.   

One of my income producers is bartending. “New and interesting” this is on a nightly basis no doubt about it. I truly enjoy this job and can envision myself doing it for a lifetime regardless of my income level if for no other reason than enjoyment of the job. I could probably blog about this profession and it’s happenings alone, but to date I never have. Tonight that all changes.

Let me state this - although for my faithful readers I truly shouldn’t have to: None of this is made up. This is exactly how it played out. Truth is truly awesome and hysterical shit at times.  

Her name is Marya. She insists it is pronounced like Mariah. Whatever. Her and the husband come in somewhat frequently when I work. They are fond of the amount of liquor they receive in the drinks I pour (as are all my customers I’d guess). They are about as country and white trash as you can get, with one exception - the husband understands the concept of tipping. Despite being a redneck misplaced at a bar that rednecks normally aren’t found, he tips just as well as the fat cats. His friends still haven’t figured this out so they get McCormick Vodka while he gets double Grey Goose. Mayra has always been a flirt, but a harmless flirt because hubby is there to keep her in check. For the first time tonight hubby wasn’t around. Uh-oh.

She starts with her harmless flirting but it quickly escalates. This women is on a mission tonight and it involves me. It starts with those stupid little winks. Everybody has gotten these winks before so I know you know what I am talking about. I guess they worked because I knew exactly what she meant, but they also backfired because I didn’t want any part of it and her repeated eye convulsions weren’t helping her bring sexy back. But I’m a bartender tonight. I’m paid to make sure the customer leaves happy and plans to return. So although I did absolutely nothing to encourage her behavior, let alone respond in kind, I also did nothing to discourage it. OK so maybe I encouraged it just a  little. That is until she lunges across the bar and grabs a hold of my shirt. I stand my ground but with the seems and buttons throughout my dress shirt ready to tear out I’m left with two choices.  

Choice A: Allow this women to pull me forward. Awaiting me merely 24 inches from my present position is an open mouth with tongue sticking out. I’m guessing it is meant to engage with my mouth and tongue.

Choice B: Continue to resist her attack, praying the whole time that my shirt was worth the money I paid for it, and accept the possibility that I may become topless in mere seconds.

I realize I haven’t described Mayra to you yet. This won’t take long. Prototype country chick with hair that hasn’t been taken care of in years. Actually she pretty much doesn’t give a shit about one aspect of her appearance. Mother of 5 and it shows in the hips. She might be nocturnal because she clearly hasn’t seen daylight in eons. Glasses with coke bottle glass as a lens. Lest we forget the two large moles on her face, one of which is due for a trim. These hairs are especially easily viewed because it lies near her eye and is basically magnified by her glasses. Yeah… thanks for the birds-eye view.  

At this point I must toss out some props to George Foreman dress shirts - the house brand at Big and Tall stores. The shirt held and I was spared kissing this women. 

She gets dejected by this. Although I’m certainly OK with this, I can’t have her leaving angry. More or less it’s all about the tip. Her bill is already approaching $100 of liquor which is not anything out of the norm and these people are always good tippers. I need them liking me and coming back to see me (for the record she tipped me half of what her husband normally would so mental note: hubby pays from now on). So I explain to her that her behavior is recorded by the multiple cameras on me and if the owners see it I could likely be fired and that’s why I can’t be kissing her. Clearly I shouldn’t have said this… it gave her hope.

She asks if she could send me pictures to my phone of herself. Clearly this is an attempt to get my phone number (of which she has already repeatedly asked for but been denied). This time I’m quiet curious. What kind of pics will this drunky send me? So I give up my digits.

“PG-13, R, or X rated,” she asks.

Was this really a question? Do I really need to answer? Don’t be wasting my time with anything less. “X rated will do just fine,” I say. Now let’s see just how drunk Mayra is.

Yep, really drunk. Four pictures arrive into my Blackberry which truly I didn’t need to ever see. I’ll spare details, unlike her, but let me just say that in these four pictures absolutely nothing was left to question. Well, maybe just one thing…. Is that the biggest damn cucumber I’ve ever seen or is that an eggplant?

OK now I’m flat out scared. I mean, I’m quite comfortable with my, ahhhh, size, but damn if I’m considering competing with a eggplant grown with Miracle Grow. I mean before the pics she was outside the scope of being helped by a shit ton of Capt’n but now I’m just purely mortified.

“Did you get my pics baby doll,” she asks.

Oh shit x 2. First, she has escalated to pet names. Second, just what in the fuck am I suppose to say about pics I’m not even willing to share with friends because I don’t want them thinking I have some sort of fetish about fat girls with huge vegetables.

“No I still haven’t gotten any. Maybe you sent them to the wrong phone. What number did you use?” Damn that was quick thinking.

She repeats my number perfectly.

“Oh you reversed the last 2 digits,” I said. “Just swap them and resend. Hopefully the people at the other number like what you sent.”

At this point she freaks out about someone other than me unknowingly recieiving her vegetarian photos. This truly was a stroke of genius on my part as she was in such a panic about this for the next couple minutes that she totally forgot to resend the pics and likely will wake in the morning thinking she had the wrong number.   

Around about this time my section of the bar gets closed. I work at a huge place that has three separate bars each with multiple bartenders. My bar getting closed deeply concerns me as this chick is trying to wait for me to get off work. I have repeatedly told her I’ll leave long after 2am and she can’t wait for me, and so I can’t let her know I’ll be leaving soon. I make sure no employees are beginning closing duties around her until she is out the door. She is clearly on her way out soon but is waiting for one last opportunity to speak to me.

“I want you to be the first man I cheat on my husband with,” she says.

Right. Yep. I’m positive I’d be the first. And even by the remote chance it is truthful… geee, yeah, let me jump right at that opportunity. LOL. “I’m sorry, I don’t sleep with married women,” I say barely holding in my laughter with such a statement.

“Oh c’mon,” she says. “It won’t take long (proof that she hasn’t been with me) I just need you to fuck me.”

OK now I’m  laughing. I don’t know if it’s at how pathetic she is in general, how drunk she is and slurring half her words, or just her pure lack of self respect in her drunken state. Nevertheless, I’m laughing and making no attempts to stop or hide it. ”I’m not going home with you and you aren’t going home with me.”

I’ll give her this much - she is persistent and dedicated to a cause. “You can’t go home with me. My husband is there. You just need to come out to the parking lot. My car is parked out there.”

More laughter. Nearly uncontrollable laughter. “I’m not fucking you in the parking lot of my employer” I said.

“Why?” she promptly retorts.

Why? Why!? Does this really need an answer? Probably not. But in this instance of course it does. By this point I’ve grown an audience from my fellow teenage bar-back who is loving every second of this conversation. “I don’t have any condoms with me” is my reply. I think this is a pretty good reply actually. It gives me an out, but doesn’t close the door. What will her volley be?

Oh boy. If only those 2 cameras pointed at me as I work came with audio. This is the stuff of legends.

Mayra responds, “who gives a fuck about condoms. After five kids my tubes are tied. You ain’t gettin me pregnant baby. Besides, if you cum anywhere besides on my face you’ll just have to do it all over again.”

At this point I just lost it. Really, how does one answer this? I’m just not witty enough. Hysterical laughter carried me away from the conversation and backroom. After calming down I reenter the bar and Mayra is still present and awaiting me. I keep it simple and while biting my lip say, ”Mayra I simply do not sleep with married women and will not compromise my integrity. I’m sorry.” With this I bid her farewell and she leaves alone and dejected accompanied by a lady friend with her husband. After a few steps away the husband turns back, approaches me, and speaks.

“Holy shit dude how do I get a job bartending? You must pull so much ass out of this place it’s insane. How much ass do you get? Wow I can’t imagine. You get so much ass that you can push away a chick like Mayra without second thought! How many do you have waiting for you tonight? My man!” With that he awards me with a high five and sprints to catch up to the ladies before I can even digest what just took place.

Sometimes you just have to wonder if stupid people have it better in this world.