Beerbecue Daycare: Day 5 and Lessons Learned

Day 4 was July 4th. Beerbecue Daycare closes for Federal holidays. So, on to Day 5 and lessons learned.

We could never afford me as a stay at home parent (even at my current salary): Going out every day for lunch and craft beer is not cheap. In fact, the Haybag politely suggested that perhaps Day 5 could entail lunch at home and a beer from the fridge. So, I got $20 of take-out from Pork Barrel BBQ and drank a Devil’s Backbone Vienna Lager from the fridge. I spent the rest of the afternoon drowsily admiring my fiscal restraint.

Maybe just one...

Maybe just one…

With my special edition Beerbecue Daycare facial hair, sunglasses, and my generally disheveled look derived from my need for a haircut, slovenly sartorial decisions, and inconsistent showering, I look like a degenerate…with a Baby Bjorn: Melissa’s hair stylist saw me walking around, and commented to the Haybag that with the Baby Bjorn I reminded her of the Hangover. I don’t think it was a compliment.
There is one guy here whose looks one should aspire to. I missed the mark.

There is one guy here whose looks one should aspire to. I missed the mark.

I was unable to infiltrate a stay at home mom group: I never really saw one. At Pizzeria Paradiso, I did hear a woman order a margarita over the racket of several kids, but that does not a mom group make. Besides, interaction with the fairer sex is not my strong suit. Had I actually tried to infiltrate one, I probably would have made some awkward joke and received some blank stares a la high school…college…law school…life.

Babies are self-absorbed sociopaths: Listen, I don’t want some protracted comment from some idiot about how poorly I understand basic psychiatric diagnoses (I’m looking at you 500-word Nietzsche rant guy), but clearly Clara meets several of the criteria for dissocial personality disorder: Callous unconcern for the feelings of others; disregard for social norms, rules, and obligations; and very low tolerance to frustration and a low threshold for discharge of aggression.

She demonstrated this behavior consistently, but never more pronounced than when I met the Sports Glutton for a beer at the Curious Grape (a short walk from our place). She was blurting out babbling baby non sequiturs without regard to topic or who was talking, squawking loudly in a situation that clearly called for a conversational tone; and writhing, squirming, and throwing baby ‘bows the whole time I held her. Hopefully she grows out of it.

And now for the beer…
Vienna Lager

This decorated beer is a Vienna Lager, appropriately named “Vienna Lager”. It pours a clear amber, with a fairly dense head that hangs just long enough to get used to it (like it leaves its toothbrush at your place and has a half a dresser drawer), then suddenly it’s all like “It’s not you. It’s me.” And it’s gone without a trace. It smells like a beer (that’s all I got. 2.0 was screaming for more pureed pears). It’s got a nice toasted bread and slightly sweet malt character with some caramel peeking in. The bitterness is pretty low (only 18 IBUs), but it’s just enough to finish nearly clean and crisp with a slight malt sweetness lingering.

The slight sweetness of the brew goes nicely with the sweetness and caramelization of the piggy. I had it with a mustard-based sauce, but I imagine it would work with about any sauce.

The Haybag: Yes. Get $20 of takeout. That’s exactly what I was thinking.

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Beerbecue Daycare: Day 3 – DIPAs and Statutory Interpretation

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.
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“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:

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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.

Beerbecue Daycare: Day 1 – Festina Pêche and Gerber peaches

Day 1 of Beerbecue Daycare is under our belt. Nobody was injured, maimed, or lost. I consider this a victory. The Haybag aspires to higher standards, like adequate napping, timely feedings, and regularly changed diapers. Overachiever.

I would say the first part of the day was pretty uneventful. After dropping 1.0 off at preschool, 2.0 pulled an hour-and-a-half nap. For most babies this would not be unusual. But this baby hates naps with the intensity of a thousand white-hot suns. I like naps. The Haybag doesn’t. I’m not pointing fingers or anything. I’m just making an observation.

After taking her in to the Haybag’s office to parade her around (where 2.0 randomly picked who to smile at, who to give the stink eye, and who to scream at), I made it to my first beer around 1pm: Dogfish Head Festina Pêche at the Curious Grape. I figured since I was throwing Gerber peaches at the monster, why not?

Festina Pêche is a Berliner Style Weissbier, which is a sour wheat beer. This one has been brewed with peach concentrate, though. The other two peach beers I’ve had this year (Terrapin Maggie Mae’s Farmhouse (GA) (dry and lightly peachy) and RJ Rocker’s Son of a Peach (SC) (sweet and angrily peachy)) have been missing something. Probably most people would argue that if peach beer needed anything it would be to not have peaches in it, but fruit beers have grown on me a little bit…as long as they’re done right. And I love peaches.

Interestingly, it appears Delaware (Dogfish Head’s situs) has stepped in and been all like, listen up South Carolina and Georgia, this is how you shake your peaches. After all, if Delaware is known for anything, it’s a slew of corporate headquarters and peach groves.

The smell is perfectly peachy, accompanied by wheat and an impending tartness. The taste is the same, with peaches leading the charge, complemented nicely by the wheat, and mercifully backed up by a bracing tartness. This tartness is what the others were missing. It’s never sweet. In fact, it tastes a little champagney at times. The peach is never overpowering. And the acidity is refreshing. And 2.0 agrees, peaches are where it’s at:

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The Haybag: You make Beerbecue Daycare sound pretty interesting, but I can’t help but think it’s a little more like this:

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Beerbecue Daycare: An introduction

This week, daughter 2.0’s daycare is closed. One downfall of in-home daycare is that you have to let the caretaker take a break a couple times a year to regain their sanity and, presumably, drink themselves into oblivion. This means the Haybag and I usually split taking-off work for childcare duties. This go around, however, it’s during Congress’ 4th of July recess, so I am taking-off the week for…wait for it…Beerbecue Daycare.socket

I will be blogging and tweeting over the course of the week, while I try to incorporate as much beer into childcare as is possible (and responsible…or at least legal). When I pitched this idea to the editorial board, it was not met with the requisite enthusiasm I would expect for such an inspiring endeavor. In fact, it generated a number of questions from the Haybag…HAQ’s, if you will:

How are you going to incorporate beer into taking care of our 4-month-old daughter?
I haven’t figured that out quite yet. As with parenting, I’m flying by the seat of my pants. My week’s goal is to infiltrate one of those stay-at-home mom happy hours that I see pics of on Facebook all the time. It seems the key to gaining their trust will be to order a cosmo. Oh, and hopefully I’ll get a jump on any interesting drafts that come out this week.

Don’t you think infiltrating a mom group is a little sketchy?
Objection. Calls for a conclusion.

Why do you want to infiltrate a mom group?
Purely informational. I want some juicy, gossipy dirt. Plus, I think it would be fun to introduce our Daycare Plague Rat to some stay at home kids. I would be doing them an immunological favor…in the long-term.

Why don’t you infiltrate a stay at home dad group?
Dude gossip isn’t nearly as good. Chicks are way more interesting. Besides, I checked and they only have lame-ass coffee meet-ups. Their group’s acronym is SAHD…which just about sums it up.

You’re a total sexist.
Objection. Argumentative.

Why are you letting Clara eat the remote?
She looked curious about it, I was just letting her…Oh God! Take that our of your mouth, you slobbery baby. That’s nasty. Here. I think she pooped, too. Would you mind changing her?

This is going work out great.
Objection, your honor. Counsel is badgering the witness.

So, notwithstanding the Haybag’s skepticism, I think this is going to work out famously. Stay tuned for posts and tweets (@beerbecue7).