The State of the Texas Craft Beer Scene Part 2 - The Bayou Complex: Houston vs. The Fringe Movement

In what is hoped to become a semi-regular feature of [AA], the writers (that's "writers" without the 's') of this spotty publication will attempt to occasionally examine the current state of affairs regarding the craft beer scene in this Great State; it being a reeaaally long limb to step out onto, given that nothing else appears to be as healthy economically, socially, and culturally within the last 28 months than small beer -- and thusly, becomes a pretty goddam easy thing to babble on and on about.  

You can read The State of the Texas Craft Beer Scene Part 1: Fort Worth here.

Part 2: Houston, Texas

It used to be Houston was just a good place to do some crimes and easy heckle-bait when scraping the bottom of the barrel for roomie trolling.

Myself, I had been pretty casual about engaging with Houston at all, apart from a Cure gig in late-college, where during the 9 PM encore, Robert Smith more closely resembled a black-cloaked receptacle of gelato left out to render in the courtyard of the Uffizi than a British icon.  The other time was to catch a Gold Cup match between two largely uninspired national football teams with my then-pregnant wife.  Fun times.

Because of those adrenalizing adventures, I was able to see upfront 'why' Houston was considered the most cultured city in Texas by not-at-all link baiting publications like the venerable Complex Magazine (Who? Mike Jones.).

So, when Buick sends something to one's inbox about an opportunity to experience H-TIZZOWN in a supplied loaner Encore, the only real decision is, how the fuck would I choose a lucky companion?

Who I did pick was, in fact, a native of Houston.  A dude who served as the beneficiary of decades-long hometown ribbing at the benefaction of me and fellow mates.  A guy who would prove to be a worthy apostle for the new Houston -- because he has forever deemed it as a city that has become progressively cooler and more invigorated than it was at any point before this very moment.  An agent provocateur of great taste in booze and beer and overall atmosphere (and friends?); and finally, one who would lead us both in a venturesome direction.  Yep, a perfect ambassador for interpreting the mass of concrete and humanity that is Texas' largest and most derided city, but leading us into the underbelly of all that is cool and current.  Along with, of course, that Buick.

For the entertainment of you bastards, I'll spare the details of the 100%-dry Buick Discovery Tour in which we partook, but then ventured off to find a safe parking for the Encore for the rest of the evening so that we could cab the shit out of the rest of our time there.

First stop on the Houston Re-Discovery Tour: The Hay Merchant.

What I discovered almost immediately about a city still bewildered by the news of the Oilers bouncing to a shithole like Nashville, and the total failure of the 1996 NBA season led by the newly acquired Sir Charles, was that the population feels like it has a reason to get fucked up.  Its this general mood that permeates every drinking establishment we would later visit.  Good for them.  I like to drink the pain away as well, so I fit right in.

The second thing I learned is that it took but a single man with an glamorous vision to provide all of the necessary counsel for Houston to gain back its civic pride -- and to work towards a more positive approach to drinking.   But it was gonna take a fuckload of taps.

Mononyminity is the honor bestowed upon the ubiquitous, and like "Magic" at the The Forum or "Pele" at The Maracanã, "Bobby" is the dude that maneuvered the correct angles and set up an offensive strategy.  Out of the six establishments we visited while drinking across Houston that night, Bobby had influence over five of them (-- and if you're counting the next morning's breakfast, then it was six).  By no means was a pub crawl of this sort our intention, but in Houston's current iteration, almost impossible to avoid.

The Hay Merchant was a solid place to have a pint.  Its exactly the experience one expects to have out of a beer bar: choices and a nice chair, with 'fair prices' being a nice bonus characteristic.  Its got the trinity.  And so, the opportunity to lay waste to a Karbach Bourbon Barrel Aged Hellfighter felt like a great way to begin a night of drinking.

Its also, however, a very quick way to end one as well, with one's head stuck down a bowl.

But what kind of adventure would this be if I didn't allow this beer to lay it on me thick with a blanket of digression and fuzz.  Besides, we don't get anything from Karbach Brewing in Austin, and I wasn't gonna let irreverent math like 10.8% and 12 ounces get in my way of a long evening.

After the Hellfighter, was the customary visit to Bobby's first born, Anvil, which if this was a craft cocktail blog and I had a cleft asshole like so many cocktailians assume from having a pestle so far up their asses, I'd go on endlessly about how fucking brilliant it is.  It is. It is a brilliant place. Though I'm a beer guy, I understand the value of a great drink and the importance of a good time.  A real good time* (*Pit Bull).  And so, with three cocktails massaging my insides -- including a very clever Nitro'd Cuba Libre that approximated a creamy imperial porter -- we headed off to the next gig in town: Mongoose vs. Cobra.

Look, with a name like Mongoose vs. Cobra there is almost no fucking way it could live up to anyone's expectations, like Wolf Blitzer or my deadbeat cousin Tyrannosaurus Rex Munoz.

In places like that, most of the creativity stops at the entry, hoping to capitalize on themes and the general fuckery of its clientele.

But as we enter through its gorgeous cedar paneling ...

Amazing Larry gonna amaze. (which, BTW, should be the name of MvC's expansion bar)

...We're like, 'is there something you'd like to share with the rest of us, Houston'?

Jesus fuck.  This place is a beer drinker's dream: long, handsome community tables, 1800's UK sweatshop architecture, an expertly curated beer selection -- tight and tidy, fucking Jester King's RU-55 ON CASK!  The shit?  Where is the satellite branch in Austin?  This place immediately becomes my newest favorite bar on earth.

As Austinites I know that we find it difficult not to exhale the bored and jaded sigh of those who have seen it all before, but srsly-to-death, Houston, I'm impressed.  I want to drink beer with you.

And it continued like this onward, to several other Bobby-influenced establishments; Goro & Gun (for tonkotsu pork belly ramen and Lone Stars), OKRA Charity Saloon with its majestic wooden bar, and finally at Captain Foxheart's Bad News Bar, which i proceed to immediately declare as my new-newest favorite bar on earth.

Past the fellow on the street wearing the 'Fuck You, Houston is Awesome' tee, behind a darkened door with Lawyer-ly fonts, up a long and narrow stairwell, and between the narrowest of railcar confines hides the gem of the night; a bar as sharp as it is smudged.

Barmen, here, are differing to the palates of the customers selections -- and so, it was my obligation to order something from my limited cocktail memory.  On one of the meteorologically wettest nights I'd experienced in a long time, I ordered a Dark & Stormy, which I guzzle with approval.  I keep eying their small, but inspired beer offerings.

The barmen are also differing to the auditory preferences of their customers, and so someone has donated something more obscure than Youth Lagoon b-sides to the interior, and they are fine songs, wafting through the bar at just the right decibels for a place that doesn't take too many to make it feel full.  It's a poignant moment.

If only the day was 30 hours long.

The State of the Texas Craft Beer Scene Part 1: 'A Fort Night' ft. Martin House Brewing

In what is hoped to become a semi-regular feature of [AA], the writers (that's "writers" without the 's') of this spotty publication will attempt to occasionally examine the current state of affairs regarding the craft beer scene in this Great State; it being a reeaaally long limb to step out onto, given that nothing else appears to be as healthy economically, socially, and culturally within the last 28 months than small beer -- and thusly, becomes a pretty goddam easy thing to babble on and on about.

Whenever there is a flourishing industry in which success is measured by a precarious equation of two-parts popularity and one-part quality, competitors often view the achievements of others as a personal affront, as if being robbed of something that is rightfully theirs. You see it all the time in various enterprises of retail or consumables -- two areas in which craft beer uniquely operates under a single umbrella -- yet remains the example of the one, single, resolute outlier without industry cannibalism.

As it stands at this moment, brewers, investors, capitalists, politicians, and the general collective of craft fans appear to be at the height of satisfaction with small beer's state of affairs, given its cultural and economic impact on communities all over Texas -- and in large part, the entire country.

Recently, I had the opportunity to broaden my exposure to the hyper-local craft beer scenes in other Texas cities beyond my beer-sopped interests of Travis County -- and so, with Mrs. [AA] as my forever companion in kickassery, we went looking for raucous piss-ups in Fort Worth for a night of exploring and matrimonial bonding through the medium of hopped-and-malted fermentables. 

BEER, is there anything it can't do?

PART 1: FORT WORTH, TEXAS

In civic terms, there appears to be a bit of a wince from the Fort Worth populace when packaging the 'FW' into the equation of 'D' as part of the running Metroplexial summation.  This is to say that a bit of escapism is practiced by the local Fort Worth demographic from the banalities of being Dallas' little sister -- and with no disrespect to Dallas -- I don't blame them for it. 

Fort Worth, on its own, is such a magnificent city that it appears a total injustice for it to be packaged as the salsa to Dallas' tortilla chip -- as if Big D is the only vehicle in which Fort Worth can be properly enjoyed, an axiom found by the [AA]'s to be wholly untrue.

Instead, Fort Worth is bacon.  And Dallas is eggs.  And though they are dependable companions, each can be thoroughly enjoyed without the help of its geographical ally. 

And so this is what we did.  A full porcine helping of Fort Worth's belly meat -- first stop, Panther Island Pavilion.

Excuse me while I plagiarize a bit of my own work, but in another publication about the Fort Worth's Untapped Music and Beer Festival, I wrote about how at some point in time, someone, somewhere opined, "whatever happens in indie music happens in craft beer".

Truthfully, nobody has actually ever said that -- but if someone had, the theory would hold up well: quality collaborations, mashups, harshly palatable grimecore, revivalism, and, ultimately, the showy-showy showcases of talent in the form of a festival circuit.

To me, its seems positively mad that these two mediums -- craft beer and indie music -- have never been aligned in a completely determined way, being that they are so analogous on so many levels.  Here, in Fort Worth (and in Dallas at the later half of 2012), the two were masterfully allowed to cross-pollinate on a rather gorgeous Saturday in the spring.

Apart from the gorgeous weather and clever musical narration, what made this festival a relevant example of Fort Worth's emergent beer scene was: 1) The impressively visible representation of North Texas' breweries who were proudly serving their new, yet fully gratifying line-up of beers, and 2) The very appreciative and prescient crowd who expertly gravitated to the beer tents like old ladies to multiple-play bingo.  There was a definitive air of knowledge on the festival grounds that day, and left me with the impression that the people of Fort Worth are serious-to-fuck about great beer.  For its size, I would be hard-pressed to think of a more well-organized and better-curated beer event than Fort Worth's Untapped.





Beside the obvious treasures of [AA] family-favorite Founder's Kentucky Breakfast Stout and Firestone Walker's hot-tag of Parabola and §ucaba, one could find limited treasures from Fort Worth's Rahr & Sons Brewing in the form of two casks named Cheech (Imperial Red dry hopped with Galaxy and aged on Spanish cedar) and Chong (IPA with hemp seed and jalapeno), a not-so-subtle head nod to the event's coincidental calendar date.

For a community of beerists who tend to become very pretentious over time in rather unfair fashion -- and who often say unspeakable shit like, "OK, now fucking impress me" the beer vendors at Untapped had the attention of every single person in attendance, including us reprobates from [AA], who continued throughout the day to shoot flirty eye-boners at the tent handling Fort Worth's newest brewery, Martin House.

The thing with beer festivals in general is that its a bit like being in the Beer ICU, where one is on a steady drip of booze and pharmaceuticals all day and its veeery fucking easy to get inadvertently ruined.  Sometimes, you need a break from the 2oz sampling -- and strangely enough, the best way to do this is to get a proper pour of single beer to recalibrate the system. 

Brilliantly, Untapped made it simple to achieve this typically-impossible beer festival task by offering pours for a measly five skins.

And as a result, we elected Martin House's River House Saison to transition us from an afternoon of boozing in Fort worth to an evening of boozing in Fort Worth.  Congratulations to us.

River House Saison was the jaunty banjo of foot tapping Americana -- an excellent interpretation of a Wallonian, but not distinctly Belgian at all.  Instead it reflected on the heritage of the old-world while maintaining the ambiance of mid-century, mid-American brewing, then juxtaposed with a modern lo-fidelity texture, like Justin Vernon recording in the summer kitchen of a small stone house by some fucking woods or whatever.

River House maintained steady cohesion and great control from its brewers, who despite brevity in business, appear to be expert in skill.  River House was citrusy with foraging wheat and underlying fruit spices.  It really impressed with its refreshing and bright complexity, but understated composites.

It set us in a good direction.

ABV ~5.o%
Acquired Untapped Festival [Ft. Worth]
Can I Find This in Austin? Not yet, but canning is forthcoming and I'm feeling lucky.
Album Pairing Volcano Choir | Unmap (2009)
★★★★★★★★☆☆

And thus, after a light dinner we gathered ourselves again, because the enjoyment of beer is not something that we ever run out of.

We drifted on to two of many highly recommended beer bars in the approximate areas of downtown and the Mockingbird area -- The OG Saucer and The Live Oak Music Hall and Lounge.  I'm a bit envious that 1) Their Saucer actually does NOT suck like the Austin one does, which is shameful because the Austin Saucer has proximal advantages that many other Austin beer bars don't, and has the corporate backing to bring in heavy hitters, like the aforementioned Founder's KBS, and 2) Fort Worth has a very legitimate, very permanent, very seamless venue for craft beer and live music in the form of The Live Oak, which beyond the badassedness of that alone, is curated and portered by the venerable Tony Drewry of Tony Drewry fame.  The melting of minds caused us to bail on our final destination, Zio Carlo Brewpub.

But, we left ourselves a reason to return.

Hops & Grain's 'The One They Call Zoe': Austin's (new) Most Important Beer

Pale lagers are the world's most pervasive beer style, and any one of you reading this has undoubtedly drank your age in kegs of it.

Budweiser is a pale lager.  Yep, the King of Beers.  So is the 'ol Silver Bullet.  And all the scenester standards -- them too: Old Style, Hamm's, Pabst, Lone Star, Schlitz, you name it.  Even [AA] grad-school-staple Michelob (in the lava lamp bottle -- fuck, can we bring those back yet?) is a pale lager.  Its easy drinking stuff and as genetically ingrained in American conventionalism as the 2nd Amendment and loving Taco Bell at 3AM.  Simply put, pale lagers are safe and agreeable in almost every way: mild in flavor, low alcohol, and a disarming color that prevents people from perioding down the front of their pants.  

The problem is, is that these 'beers' are dependent on mass-producing technology and cheap ingredients, like corn and rice fillers to mimic an all-malt bill.  But what those additives impart, is a sickly sweet (corn), abnormally dry (rice), apparition of a true pale lager.  Essentially, Anheuser-Busch and its ilk have castrated the balls of a traditionally round and robust beer style in favor of a gimmick called "drinkability".  What in the entire hell does that even mean?  Well, I'll tell you what it means: it means that the product is inoffensive.  'Drinkability' is basically the equivalent of boneless fucking buffalo wings. 

This city, Austin, -- and any of Hops & Grain's reachable market -- is about to be turned on to something called 'Affability', the central thesis of the most approachable, good-natured, and transcendent beer to approach the city in a decade. 





Hops & Grain's The One They Call Zoe will take over the long-vacated position of Austin's 'gateway beer', where Real Ale's Fireman's #4 left a gaping hole when trained palates became too enduring for a light, golden ale.  It will responsibly be tasked to herald in the next generation of the craft-curious, the same way Austinites were escorted through the desolation of the 1990s by Celis Pale Bock and the open experimentation of the early-aughts by Fireman's #4.

Zoe clears the smokescreen of what is considered seasonal beer drinking by the general beer populace, but a term itself under scrutiny by Austinites because of our weak temperature transitions.  Zoe provides the relaxed spirit of a medium-bodied, appropriately pigmented, slightly sweet, and brightly gratifying beer one would expect to find in the spring and summer, yet, roundly robust, with a clever hop finish that would also be appropriate to drink in the autumn months along with the two days in February called winter.  This beer has year-long endurance.  A game changer.

Immediately, I associated Zoe with a kolsch beer -- a criminally underrepresented style in the Central Texas, provided our heavily influential German roots, reckless summers, and mild ancillary seasons.  Kolsch beers are designed for a place like Austin, given its clean, uncomplicated, and refreshing composition, but also its textured and bold flavor disposition -- like Natalie Portman's navel: tender with a light peach fuzz.  Zoe is a fresh white girl.  Its amazing how great something can taste when care is used.

Here is the final stroke of genius with Zoe as a kolsch:  It is a natural rival of Hops & Grain's own Altbier -- essentially the Texas-ou rivalry of German beer folklore.  Fortunately, we are not forced to take a side in that battle and we can enjoy the fruits of competition.  

So, for a measly $2 more per-pack than any other corn-and-rice pale lager at any local grocery chain (thats ¢33.3 more per can, for you Fine Arts grads), one can procure a beer that uses proper ingredients, brewed with sustainable practice in mind, and crafted by an actual human person.  Its one hell of a deal that will get you by on a year-round basis.  Besides, we can't be expect to get passed these bastards-for-summers with only Pearl Snap and Hans Pils at our disposal, now can we? 

ABV 5.1%
Acquired HEB Hancock
Can I Find This in Austin? You bet. Also, H&G is shipping some stuff to Houston now. Excite!
Album Pairing Josh Ritter | The Beast In Its Tracks (2013)
★★★★★★★★★★

Sunday Hombre Funday Pt 2: No Cruza Enfrente del Autobus! (The #3 Pub Crawl)

The Twitternet has a habit of making pals out of strangers and because of some general common interests, like beer and music and America's war on sarcasm, the gents at the Austin Beer Guide have had ourselves some pretty hilarious online banter.  

Online affairs between social media dweebs, however, only keep their pretty sheen for so long before things wears off into perilous awkwardness.  Reflecting back, the ABG fellas are the kind of dudes who will only passingly acknowledge my massive brilliance in 140 character micro blogging, so, we did as chaps do, and that was to meet for beers IRL (In Real Life, Twitternoobs).

The plan was to entrust our Sunday to Capitol Metro and its #3 bus, and rely on our vital organs to see us through the madness to Monday morning.  And because I put a ton of value on professional development from those who allege beer-drinking-and-beer-writing as their forte, I was down for some continuing education from the ambassadors of Austin's beer scene. 

These are the lessons I learned on Sunday Hombre Funday Pt 2: No Cruza Enfrente del Autobus, or How to Crawl Pubs on the #3 with Two Bucks and a Debit Card.  (Read Hombre Sunday Funday Pt 1, here)

[note: names have been withheld to protect the guilty. -- AA]

10 AM

Its early as shit for a beer crawl, but thats cos we are living in the wilds of wives and kids.  As a pittance, we offer said wives/kids the opportunity to send us off on our voyage with a last-supper-like brunch, where a balloon man makes a solid bid for the gig of 'foul entertainment/talent' for the ABG Spring Release party.  Things are off to a great start. 

After we feast on light fare like fucking warriors, we dismiss the progeny and balloon talent away from the restaurant so that we may focus on our mission of conquering the bar portion of NXNW (Stop 1).  In a toast to men's liberation, we all drain a tulip of something barrel-aged like a murder of bosses. 

Lesson 1: When on a pub crawl with unfamiliars, always order the barrel-aged option to establish dominance, or else order something low-alcohol.  Its like the unwritten, but mutually acknowledged prison rule of either kicking the baddest dude's ass right away, or offer to become someone's bitch.  You want to let everyone know right away where you stand. 

We set out in Austin's northern wasteland suburbia in search of the most elusive fucking bus stop on Cap Metros entire map.  One would suspect given the ocean of surface parking and low-rise apartment complexes, these things would be easy to find.  Shit, there it is.

Lesson 2: Catch an early buzz because you're going to need it on the #3 Bus Pub Crawl.  This ties in with rule #1.  The first bus hunt is a bitch.  We're not telling where it is.

11:15 AM

11:45 AM

The main expectation of any bar tour that the first real stop will be something pretty damn special.  If you do it right and follow this guide, this is absolutely the case for this crawl.  Buddy's Place (Stop 2) is the oft-forgotten fourth stop on the overrated Burnet dive bar tour, we're saving it today from pub crawl exile.

We stroll into the limo-dark bar the way five lardy idiots from the internet would ...

Every time I stumble into a dive, I get the feeling that I'm fucking up some foreign-war townie's day as a result of my enthusiasm towards their favorite joint.  As a sign of humility and recognition of this, five beer nerds order five Lone Stars, ignoring Buddy's singular craft beer choice -- Boulevard's Single Wide IPA (I'm imagining Buddy on a Wild Turkey bender with the Keg One rep, being convinced that this is what would bring the jerks on a pub crawl into this bar.  Wrong, Buddy.  It's Lone Star.).  None of us are into vintage IPAs, anyway, so we pass and head over to the jukebox to load it with a shitload of Bob Seger. 

Eventually, between shuffle board games and Night Moves, someone notices that we should hustle to catch the next bus -- but urgency will not be in the cards today with this group.  We go back to our Seger and Lone Stars.

Lesson 3: Always bring a roll of quarters for the occasional chance of lifting a townie's spirit through the magic of heartland rock. 

12:20 PM

Balls.  Missed the bus.  We think.  Some of us keep staring up Burnet Road like passengers waiting to de-plane in row 55, while others try to figure out Cap Metro's QR code (which is surprisingly accurate, come to discover).  We need this guy to attract our ride ...

 
We think we have 20 minutes until the next pick up, which in crawl-years, is like two decades -- so we have some time to kill in any place in the vicinity serving anything stronger than Snapple.   

Lesson 4: Technology. Use it or lose it.

12:25 PM

Waterloo Ice House (Stop 2.5) smells like a fucking glazed donut inside.  Someone in the group mentions how depressing the place is.  No shit.  How can you call a bar Waterloo Ice House, and then give it absolutely no balls at all?  

Although there is a wall-length beer fridge and several taps facing us with what seem like pretty decent selection of craft beer, no one wants to really hang out too long in Waterloo effen Ice House as the next #3 wheezes past us with that cockstrain buses seem to use when ambling around town.  We are more uncertain about the ordering protocol here than we were at Buddy's Place, so we just order a pitcher of something benign and dwell upon our thoughts quietly.  All this glazed donut odor make me wish we'd been stranded at the Applebee's instead, so I could drink one of those signature frothy cocktails.  What are those things called? Mud Slides®? 

Lesson 5:  A well-timed pitcher can prevent over-ordering in a pub crawl time pinch.  These are called Pinchers®.

1:10 PM

Finally on the dang bus again and we're headed to Hopdoddy Burger Bar (Stop 3) for reasons I'm unwilling to accept, because Hopdoddy on a Saturday afternoon in a starter-home, two-kid Austin district is like walking up to the Fader Fort during a Fleet Foxes set.  I pause at the entrance because I'm not sure if I needed to RSVP for this shit.  

Luckily, we've got people on the inside.  They wave us through the swath of scene-dads, to where they are seated.  Two of the 48 members of the Bitch Beer Blog have real estate at the bar.  Ok, fine.  I'm humming Helplessness Blues out loud.

Aside from the fact that it looks like Hopdoddy is giving away free MacBooks, we feel comfortable enough to order some really good shit from the bartender, though he is slammed with pouring enormous goblets of beer to meat-choked daddies.  Fortunately, the ABG crew has no conscience and orders everyone a round of drinks.  Then another.  While most of us decide on something crafty, like Austin Beerworks Pearl Snap and Hops & Grain Alt-eration, one master-level crawler (male) in the group actually orders a bombastic drink that looks like this:

Lesson 6: Ironic drinks are the new ironic hats. 

Finally, my brain is treading in its own cerebrospinal fluid a little bit.  Goodness, yes, a buzz.  Who's ready to fucking party?  But wait -- the familiar stab of fear as we gather ourselves to leave ... more folding of the arms, more northward gazing up Burnet for our public carriage.  I order one more for the road.  

Lesson 7: Between the decision of yes and no, always order another.

2:15 PM

We're on the porch of Billy's on Burnet (Stop 4), which is frankly one of the best beer bars in all of Austin.  Its also a place where, individually, we've all spent an immeasurable hours enjoying sunshine and fantastic pints of local brews.  Everyone is cool and collected and knows all the words to the song.  Billy's isn't a challenge.  Billy's isn't difficult.  Billy's is home.  

Lesson 8: Pub crawls are pointless so long as Billy's still exists.

3:30 PM

Mercifully, we ditch the bus and hoof it over to Pinthouse Pizza (Stop 5).  I'm starting to feel whatever pint it was that I ordered at Billy's that I actually had two of.  Everything is great.  I browse the beer board and notice that Pinthouse still has the barrel-aged imperial stout magic that is Jaguar Shark on tap. 

Pinthouse Pizza Beer Board: Shall we play a game?
An Avenue: Love to.  How about Jaguar Shark?
PHPBB: Wouldn't you prefer a good session beer?
AA:  Later. Let's play Jaguar Shark.
PHPBB: Fine. 

Jaguar Shark is the anesthetic on my face that I'd been waiting for all afternoon.  Now my mouth is flapping away and my tongue moves like it has fur on it.  This is the salve of a barrel-aged imperial stout.  A great one.  This is fun.  I am having fun. 

I'm pretty buzzed. 
 
Lesson 9: Lesson 1 is bullshit.  Never order a barrel-aged beer while on a pub tour.  The winning move is ... not to play.

I think I'm getting fucked up.
 
4:30 PM

If Billy's is our home, then The Draught House (Stop 6) is our church -- the place where we all congregate and worship and gossip and speak in tongues.  

The guys discuss the possiblility of beginning an online Kickstarter for money towards a ride back to our houses.  Why did we turn this hobby into a job? ...

5:30 PM

... but through the shrubbery of the pub's trough gardens, our wives!  Our children!

Rides home!  Salvation!

Lesson 10: The enduring truth? Get married. Its a ride home from the #3 pub crawl.

Note: I stole all of these pictures off of the internet.  I know its hard to believe they weren't from the actual crawl.  Bonus lesson: bring a camera. 

Bishop's Barrel #2 Chardonnay Barrel-Aged Old Ale on Cherries | Saint Arnold Brewing | Houston, TX

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