Is it possible for something to be excellent and overrated?

I certainly think so. Even those entities worthy of high honors, fully deserving of the piling-on of accolades, can deified beyond reason. In the pop cultural realm, the perfect example is Michael Jackson – the dude could certainly sing and dance, but what type of person was he? Does having the sickest of moves overshadow the consequences of being the a legitimately sick person?   I’m inclined to say “No.”

But let’s steer away from the potentially-pedophilic pop icons of yesteryear. Instead, we can head to a more palatable subject. To be precise, we’ll gravitate towards the most palatable of all subjects.

Beer.

Living in Greater Boston, I’ve fully embraced my role as an acolyte of Sam Adams. These muthafuggahs are Skywalker-honorable, leading the way as the largest American-owned brewery while still putting out craft-quality products. As such, I’m often confused as to whether my allegiance stems from an insular perspective or an objective assessment. I hope it’s more of the latter, but fear it may bit a bit of the former.

What assuages this fear, however, is the fact that I don’t lose my mind over the Samuel Adams Summer Ale. While I certainly think it’s a wonderful drink,   many of my comrades sing it praises otherwise reserved for the Elysian Fields. Hell, I’ve even known some beer-drankers who stock up on Sam Summer while it’s available so that they can continue drinking it until the November expiration date. Again, I like it, but I don’t even think it’s Sam Adams’ best seasonal (if you’re wondering – that’d be Octoberfest).

Consequently, today’s Friday Brew Review is dedicated to stepping outside of comfort zones. Rather than imbibing a beer that I believe is excellent and overrated, I’ve opted to give another potable a chance. Today is all about Brooklyn Summer Ale.

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Sometimes the Friday Brew Review can get a little out of control. During the process of tasting new beers, I often find myself inspired creatively. Sometimes the inspiration gets into the review’s bloodstream, transforming it into a short story. Other times, the alcohol seeps into my brain-bone and I have to comment on cinema to get it out. Yes, this place can turn into a real monkeyhouse.

If you come to the Friday Brew Review looking for beer advice, this week’s for you.

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I’m drunk.

It’s not even 7PM and my brain is buzzing as I drown it in poison. Is this healthy? No. Should most people do this? No. But then again, most people don’t spend eight hours hopelessly trying to make a positive impression on the future generation of America. Goddamn, being a high school teacher is depressing. It wouldn’t be half as bad if I didn’t truly believe that the vast majority students I’m trying to reach are too beyond repair, already suckered into the myopic structure of feed/fuck/entertain/distract me now, I don’t give a shit about later. Ah well.

Tonight, I’m drinking Brooklyn Local 1. I picked up this beer for a few reasons. Firstly, I have a profound respect for the brewery’s other products. Secondly, this motherfucker came in a big bottle, providing one pint & 9.4 fluid ounces of goodness to my gullet. And lastly, I was (of course) taken in by the label’s advertising of 9% ABV. Through and through, Brooklyn Local 1 seemed like a good choice.

And as far as my Friday night is concerned, it has been. Truthfully, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know how to really describe the beverage’s flavor. It’s a bit hoppy. It’s a bit dry. It’s drinkable and refreshing. Overall, it just tastes like a good beer. Nothing exceptional to take note of, but nothing terrible to decry either.

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For the second week in a row I headed to the package store hoping to find a brew based in coffee or espresso. And for the second time in two weeks, my hopes were powerbombed. Am I asking for too much? Is it unreasonable to think that I deserve a beer that tastes of coffee? Hell, I’ve dreamed of drinking such a liquid since 1996 and I’ll be damned if this fight is over.

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Another Friday, another work-week in the bag, and now it’s time to get halfway into it myself. After doing my normal gig and then giving a drum lesson, I headed for my local beer-dealer.

Wanting to avenge the injustice that was last week’s beer, I made sure to be much more considerate about my choice. Rather than just grabbing the first six-pack to catch my attention, I actually took a minute to look around. “No goon-fuck Pump-o-Jacktern is gonna fool me this time,” I told myself.

And I was right. Kind of.

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