April 27, 2010
Look at the banner photograph, at its dented, gleaming denizens. Top row, fifth from the left. That bird mocks me; the key in his belly unlatches the gateway to my sanity. Whence did it come? What beer was it guarding before I pried it from that purpose? Looking at my banner now, I can name every other guardian as well as each departed escort, but this one and its mocking bird are mysteries that peck my brain. Obsession has overtaken me. So, adhering to my blogging tradition of writing articles that interest nobody but me, I will now employ all of my deductive skills to track down this cap’s lost host. Well, not now. Tomorrow. My fridge has beer in it today, so … tomorrow.
May 1, 2010
My beer lasted longer than expected, but bird and key still taunt me from their perch atop my blog. The time has come to put my talents as a detective to the test. I am Batman, and Google is my Gotham. Or my utility belt or something. Whatever. Check this out: I bring up Google and type in “beer bottle caps bird key.” I hit enter. The wait begins – and ends 2 seconds later. Nothing?! Well played, Joker.
After a few more attempts to use Google (and, of course, Google Images – you think me an amateur?!), I finally break down and post a question in a beer forum. Everyone else seems stumped, too. My investigation requires a new approach.
Step one: Find a comprehensive index of beer bottle caps with corresponding images and information. Googled. Found. But, as you know, the name of the brewery escapes me, so the index must offer description-based search capabilities. Googled. FOUND. Holy cap – that’s a lot of ‘em. After a few searches, that damned bird pops up, laughing at me! Stop that, STOP SQUAWKING, I swear I’ll throw my laptop out the—
Had a breather; feeling better. Found the bird-key cap, but for some reason the site doesn’t list a brewery. It does, however, mention a country of origin: Great Britain. My first clue! And I know a beer store that sorts by country. At the break of the new day, I will ascend the mountain where my quarry has sought shelter. I will end my chase. I will hold my decapitated foe above my head and howl.
May 2, 2010
Received only silent stares when I entered the store and asked the clerk where I could find freshly stocked vengeance. Learn a joke, people! Made my way to Great Britain section. Scoured the tops of bottles.
Saw the gold and black chickens glinting under the artificial light, issuing challenges! Grabbed a bottle and tilted it back to reveal the label. St. Peter’s Brewery. Huh. Oh wait! I remember drinking their Old-Style Porter! Did I like it? Can’t remember. Bought a bottle. Just – to be – sure.
May 3, 2010
I know not what madness assailed me on the night of May the Second. I awoke this morning on the roof of my parents’ house, gripping an empty bottle of St. Peter’s Old-Style Porter in my right hand and a badly bent bird-cap in my left — my writing hand. Roofing tar had begrimed the cap’s jagged edge. Beside me, carved into the shingles themselves, were the words “DIE BIRD,” followed by some surprisingly cogent and well-mannered tasting notes.
Apparently I thought the porter “smelled faintly of rich, dark chocolate” and “cascaded onto the tongue with subtle notes of coffee, carob chips, and roasted malt.” Then there’s more foul-mouthed bird commentary (and something about a maiden named Lenore). I’ll skip that part and avoid mentioning such deviations again, having barely stopped myself from using “fowl-mouthed” once already. My conclusion: “St. Peter’s porter represents the ‘old-style’ perfectly, tasting like a blend of aged and new beers with a lovely medium body and sharp, complex flavors. I’d drink it again.” Hopefully without going bananas.
Thursday: A review of the strongest beer in the world.