Memoirs of an amnesiac, pt. 2
John's harrowing account of the 12th annual Toronado barleywine festival, spruced up with pictures of kittens:
Here it is! Virtually info-free, I'm afraid, because I left my notes and the menu there. Stupid alcohol!
Barleywine festival, Sunday 2/20. Toronado's second room was open, beer-hall style. Many people with at least three dozen wine glasses in front of them. Maybe some of them still had their eyes open. The better-equipped had water bottles, or jugs. One skinny man had a water buffalo. That might not have been real. Somebody broke a glass on our table, and then claimed he knew the owners, but I don't believe him, he didn't look like he'd ever heard Motorhead [aren't there some umlauts in there somewhere? - ed.] in his life.
The three of us tried the large, 11-oz glasses at first. No real recollection of what we had. One dark and bitter, one lighter and less bitter, the third right in the middle. One was Drake's Barleywine, no recollection which one. Drank. Ate sausage. Excellent with merguez, but no so excellent as a good hand-pumped ale. (A side note: Venison sausage. Must return soon) [an entire post on the joys of Rosemunde and pairing beer with sausage is a must - ed.].
Second round: I'm fairly sure involved Hair Of The Dog Doggy Claws, Russian River Old Gubbillygotch 2001, and the Uinta X. Gubbillygotch was fairly light one, a little sweet and mellow. I liked it. Hair of Dog was also good, darker maybe. I don't trust any memories. Drank.
Yum.
Third round: Smaller glasses this time, and Aimee came to visit, so there were four. They were Nos. 14, 15, 24, and 33. Anybody who took their menu home can help. No. 33 [help! please! - ed.] was my favorite of the night, very dark and very sweet. Candy in a glass. Drank. Yum. Drunk.
Fourth round: Two drivers stop drinking. Aimee and I try another round. No idea what they were. Luckily they were out of the 21 percent one. Or No. 21 that was 15 percent? Memory fails. Drank. People are leaving. We're intoxicated. Home. Pizza. Sleep. Woke up sweating at 7am with somebody pounding a nail into in my head. Ouch. Drunk. Yum. [Sadly, he didn't follow the thongs over to Tommy's for tequila tasting. 'Nuff said. - ed.]
Here it is! Virtually info-free, I'm afraid, because I left my notes and the menu there. Stupid alcohol!Barleywine festival, Sunday 2/20. Toronado's second room was open, beer-hall style. Many people with at least three dozen wine glasses in front of them. Maybe some of them still had their eyes open. The better-equipped had water bottles, or jugs. One skinny man had a water buffalo. That might not have been real. Somebody broke a glass on our table, and then claimed he knew the owners, but I don't believe him, he didn't look like he'd ever heard Motorhead [aren't there some umlauts in there somewhere? - ed.] in his life.
The three of us tried the large, 11-oz glasses at first. No real recollection of what we had. One dark and bitter, one lighter and less bitter, the third right in the middle. One was Drake's Barleywine, no recollection which one. Drank. Ate sausage. Excellent with merguez, but no so excellent as a good hand-pumped ale. (A side note: Venison sausage. Must return soon) [an entire post on the joys of Rosemunde and pairing beer with sausage is a must - ed.].
Second round: I'm fairly sure involved Hair Of The Dog Doggy Claws, Russian River Old Gubbillygotch 2001, and the Uinta X. Gubbillygotch was fairly light one, a little sweet and mellow. I liked it. Hair of Dog was also good, darker maybe. I don't trust any memories. Drank.
Yum.
Third round: Smaller glasses this time, and Aimee came to visit, so there were four. They were Nos. 14, 15, 24, and 33. Anybody who took their menu home can help. No. 33 [help! please! - ed.] was my favorite of the night, very dark and very sweet. Candy in a glass. Drank. Yum. Drunk.
Fourth round: Two drivers stop drinking. Aimee and I try another round. No idea what they were. Luckily they were out of the 21 percent one. Or No. 21 that was 15 percent? Memory fails. Drank. People are leaving. We're intoxicated. Home. Pizza. Sleep. Woke up sweating at 7am with somebody pounding a nail into in my head. Ouch. Drunk. Yum. [Sadly, he didn't follow the thongs over to Tommy's for tequila tasting. 'Nuff said. - ed.]
posted by Rob at 10:34 AM
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