New post on Five By Five Hundred about the secret history of that wretched poison that people actually pretend to like. Ugh.
Look, we all know that I love stories and drinking. This is no secret to anyone who’s ever spoken to me for more than a minute. So naturally, I’ve got another article on the topic that’s now live over at Quirk Books. Think of this as a kind of companion piece to my How To Drink Like Your Favorite Writer and A Guide To Pairing Your Comic Books and Beer posts. You liked those, right? Of course you did.
Here’s a new post I did for the fine folks at Quirk Books, about two of mankind’s greatest creations: alcohol, and literature.
Continuing in my established tradition from the Mass Brewer’s Fest and last year’s Winter Beer Jubilee, I present for you the latest installment of Haiku Beer Review, compiled at the 2012 Winter Beer Summit. I make tasting notes into my phone as the night goes on, so that I can turn them into haikus when I get home (and eventually sober up). I know, I know, I’m a genius, it’s true. Anyway, enjoy!
(Also, thanks to Dig Boston for the free tickets and for putting up with my whining. #thomdunnwantsbeer)
I started homebrewing hard cider when I found out that my good friend and drinking buddy Charles had an allergy to hops (which I still assert is the most ridiculous allergy on the planet, even moreso than peanuts. Hops literally are not used for anything except for beer and the occasional tea! But I digress). Of course it was just a matter of time before another drinking partner of mine came forth with a different problem: celiac disease.
Meaning no gluten. Meaning no beer.
Okay, yes, sure, gluten-free beers do exist, but unfortunately, they’re not very good. And so, my good friend Jeff Marcus enlisted in my aid to help him create a homebrewed gluten-free beer that was exactly good! Something hopefully more hoppy and full-bodied (gluten-free beers are notoriously sweet and light-bodied), possibly even eventually something darker like a porter or stout (but that’s not for a while).
It’s currently way too early to deduce if our wild experiment was actually successful, but I’ll keep you updated as the fermentation process moves along. In any case, here’s the recipe for our Gluten-free HoneyHop Pale Ale (which is the name I just came up with right now and isn’t very good).
It’s that time of year again, when every website and blog and news outlet dials up their completely arbitrary criterium and publishes their “Top 10” lists for the year. This year I finally pulled off something I’ve been meaning to do for a while: a Top 10 list of “Top 10” lists of the year. A comprehensive list of the best of the best of the “Best Of” lists.
ME SO META.
Drinking! Family! Revelry! Tryptophan! All the things that make Thanksgiving such a wonderful holiday! But then — what comes after? The barren wasteland full of angry zombies, near-comatose after having gorged on too much flesh and blood. So basically, after dinner time, Thanksgiving becomes kind of a post-apocalyptic landscape, the kind you see in Zombie films or Mad Max.
You can figure out where this is going, can’t you?
In a tradition that began back in January at the Winter Beer Jubilee in Boston, I recently posted the second iteration of my “Haiku Beer Review” series, which is precisely what it sounds like — beer reviews, in haiku form (I also try to tweet Haiku Beer Reviews whenever I try a new brew at a bar). These reviews began as voice memos that were taken by my friends and I at the Mass Brewer’s Fest at the Seaport World Trade Center in Boston on September 2, 2011, but I only just got around to compiling the voice memos and turning them into haikus. Anyway, if you like beer and/or poetry and/or drinking, I’d advise you check it out (along with, hopefully, some new beers)!
Here’s the thing: I’m 25 years old, just over 3 years out of college. I stay out late, I drink (and make) lots of beer, I work in the arts, and show up at my job most days in cut-off jean shorts (or “jorts,” if you will) and a t-shirt. I don’t feel that old — I’m not that old — and the idea of college doesn’t seem like it’s so far away. But biking from Harvard Square on Friday night, I discovered that college was indeed back in session, and that I have apparently become a jaded old man.
It was the first weekend of college for many freshmen at Boston’s countless universities. It was a beautiful night as well, so the frosh were out in droves, playing at adulthood by making lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of obnoxious (but incredibly fun) mistakes from which they will (one day) hopefully learn. “Freshmen Weekend,” as I like to call it, is not that day. My bike route brought me past Harvard, MIT, Boston University, Northeastern, and Wentworth University, as well as plenty of off-campus student abodes. You know those 13-year cicadas? It was kind of like that.
So mid-bike ride (I swear, it was totally safe), I recorded this poem, which I then fixed up when I got home. Enjoy!
You know that friend who you always see at parties and when you’re both drunk s/he is totally your best friend and you talk about everything, but then when you’re sober and back in the real world, it’s awkward because you’re not really actually friends and you don’t hang out or anything and then you see him/her on the street and it’s totally weird?
Yeah. You know the one.
Today on FiveByFiveHundred.com, I share my own story of my favorite drinking buddy from the local pub who I don’t actually know. His name is Paul.