The Haybag was back at the office Wednesday. So, Beerbecue Daycare day #3 started with the sinking feeling that willfully ignoring diapers would get me nowhere. And I had forgotten how much you talk to babies when you’re alone. Not the cutesy “Oh, look at Mr. Giraffe” bullshit. More like the offhand small talk, even though they clearly can’t respond. Unfortunately, I don’t think Clara would respond anyway. She has formed an exclusive “besties” clique with her feet. This may seem a little strange, but imagine you just discovered your feet. It’d be mind-blowing…like you simultaneously figured out how to achieve cold fusion and beat Mike Tyson’s Punch Out.
2.0 and I made our way to Old Town’s Pizzeria Paradiso. They are having JulyPA the next 2 weeks, which apparently means all their taps will be IPA, or similar. One offering caught my eye: Blue Mountain Barrel-Aged Big Blue DIPA. So, Beerbecue Daycare was on the scene to investigate.
The online list said it was a barrel-aged baller. Interestingly, the on-site beer list made no mention of baller status. And unfortunately, nobody at Pizzeria Paradiso seemed to know. The best they could do was speculate that since there was enough room on the menu to have included a reference to its barrel-aged status, it must not be one. I think this is known as the “it coulda fit” school of statutory interpretation, which is a lesser-known off-shoot of strict constructionism. Also, it’s not to be confused with the more inclusive “it couldn’ta fit” school of thought.
“The Court finds persuasive the petitioner’s argument that but for the lack of space between the seventh and eighth article of amendment the Framers would have included the right to free donuts. It just couldn’ta fit.”
Now to the beer:
It poured a clear amber. And it had a tiny, white head, but I think the bartender was just maximizing the beer in the cute, little glass they use. Also, you can’t smell as much when it’s filled to the brim, but I ain’t gonna hate for that. It’s huge: Grapefruit, pineapple, sweet malt, and what could either be oakiness or a woodsy hop character. Baller status, inconclusive. Magic 8-Ball says ask again later. It finishes pretty bitter, with a bit of booziness and some herbal and earthy business creeping in once in awhile. I like it, but it could be a little (lot) much for some. But it’s a Double IPA, playa. If it’s too much for you, your contributory negligence begs the question: What’re you doin’ in Double IPA’s neighborhood at this time of night anyway? Go cry to your Double IPA Victims Group. I take a break to throw some peaches and sweet potatoes at 2.0, but the finish is still hanging around like Captain Woody Hazelwood has run his hop oil tanker aground in my mouth; and iconic, pitiful pictures of my hop-coated tongue will circulate the interwebz for years after the destruction subsides.
The Haybag: Ahhh, sweet potatoes and peaches. That explains the orange gunk I found between her fingers and toes last night.