Last summer I spent a considerable portion of my humble hosting paychecks on alcohol at this fine establishment in Cambridge, MA. It helped that the bar was closer to my apartment than the bus stop, mailbox, and laundromat. And what better way to spend a humid Tuesday night in a city that has “nice summers”? It was there that I was, for the first time, truly transformed by a draft list. The beers on their menu took what I already knew about drinking—that it makes the soul richer—and added an element of romance. Or, at least, a nice atmosphere for drinking.
I relished perusing their constantly rotating list and landing on a brew from a company I’d never heard of in a city where I’d never been. Their plentiful taps made it easy and fun to find something new (good luck finding it anywhere else, though), and they were all American craft brews. (And they say the American industrial spirit is dead.) I learned two important lessons from my months of frequent patronage at Lord Hobo:
#1: IPAs are the reason we were given taste buds.
#2: If a beer arrives at your table in a tulip glass (see below), it’s going to mess you up.
I also realized that I can never know everything there is to know about beer, which is part of why I like it so much. But because I like to make life more challenging than it already is, I decided I need to test myself in a different way—a more geographically-oriented project rather than purely a collection of knowledge.
I want to drink to a beer (or two) from every state in America.
I couldn’t begin to sift through the hazy recollections of all the beers I’ve consumed in my life, let alone their originating state, so I’m going to start fresh. Beginning now, I will be tracking what and from where I drink, making an effort to try as many new (for me) and unheard of beers as I can. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.