Comments on: Session 20: Beer and Memories http://www.brainardbrewing.com/blog/?p=346 Changing the World One Beer at a Time Mon, 09 Aug 2010 12:15:11 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.0.1 By: Bathtub Brewery » Session #20 Roundup http://www.brainardbrewing.com/blog/?p=346&cpage=1#comment-1388 Bathtub Brewery » Session #20 Roundup Mon, 06 Oct 2008 09:06:04 +0000 http://www.brainardbrewing.com/blog/?p=346#comment-1388 [...] Keith at Brainard Brewing channels some enchanted headwear as he reminisces about the early days of his home. [...] [...] Keith at Brainard Brewing channels some enchanted headwear as he reminisces about the early days of his home. [...]

]]> By: BobbyO http://www.brainardbrewing.com/blog/?p=346&cpage=1#comment-1351 BobbyO Sat, 04 Oct 2008 05:10:09 +0000 http://www.brainardbrewing.com/blog/?p=346#comment-1351 Reading your reminiscence reminds me of a favorite beer-related episode of my own many years ago. It was spring semester of my senior year in college, and I had just finished a grueling, almost sleepless week of exams and problem sets leading up to spring break. I handed in the last homework due before break around noon on Friday, and returned to my dorm room to take a nap. Awaking 5 hours later, I was hungry and thirsty, and I remembered that there was going to be a keg of beer in the dorm's office. I grabbed my favorite mug and headed downstairs. The half-keg had been tapped, and was perched in a trash can full of ice. I drew a mug full and drank a couple of swallows. The label on the side said Tuborg; I had had this Danish brew before in bottles, but fresh from the keg is was delightful. Clean and crisp, with a wonderful grain and hops balance, it seemed like the classic refreshing cold lager. I finished the mug and drew another. A couple of my friends had gathered in the office, and we hung out, chatted, and generally socialized. Time passed in a happy and relaxed pace. About 45 minutes had elapsed since my first mug, and I was beginning to realize that I might have made a mistake by not having eaten something first. The beer tasted so good and went down so easily that I had drunk at least 6 mugs, 22 oz. each, by then. I was tired and just a little bit queasy, so I thought it best to retire back to my room and my bed for a while. Just need to regain my equilibrium, I thought. Laying down probably wasn't the best idea. Five minutes passed and I was feeling sicker; ten minutes and I realized that I had set into motion an irreversible and unstoppable process that had only one conclusion. I stumbled to my feet and staggered into the bathroom. I have to admit that I've never before (or since) vomited with such ease and lack of discomfort. Maybe having an empty stomach wasn't such a bad idea after all. It all came up just as easily and smoothly as it went down. I doubt Tuborg could use that as a marketing endorsement, but to this day I remain impressed at how effortless the process was. Here I was, 21 years old, and this was the very first time that I drank enough to get physically ill. I never have been much of a drinker, and always had -- and still do, for the most part -- found the process to be self-limiting well before this point. Returning back to bed, it struck me: my body having purged itself of the toxic overload in my stomach, I no longer felt sick, but I had a hell of a delightful buzz. I marveled for a few minutes at this happy state of affairs, when I heard a familiar thumping knock on the front door of the apartment. Out of the blue, my girlfriend shows up: beer mug in hand, drunken grin on her face, eyes aflame with inebriated desire. <i>We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.</i> The Tempest, Act 4, scene 1 Reading your reminiscence reminds me of a favorite beer-related episode of my own many years ago. It was spring semester of my senior year in college, and I had just finished a grueling, almost sleepless week of exams and problem sets leading up to spring break. I handed in the last homework due before break around noon on Friday, and returned to my dorm room to take a nap. Awaking 5 hours later, I was hungry and thirsty, and I remembered that there was going to be a keg of beer in the dorm’s office. I grabbed my favorite mug and headed downstairs.

The half-keg had been tapped, and was perched in a trash can full of ice. I drew a mug full and drank a couple of swallows. The label on the side said Tuborg; I had had this Danish brew before in bottles, but fresh from the keg is was delightful. Clean and crisp, with a wonderful grain and hops balance, it seemed like the classic refreshing cold lager. I finished the mug and drew another. A couple of my friends had gathered in the office, and we hung out, chatted, and generally socialized. Time passed in a happy and relaxed pace.

About 45 minutes had elapsed since my first mug, and I was beginning to realize that I might have made a mistake by not having eaten something first. The beer tasted so good and went down so easily that I had drunk at least 6 mugs, 22 oz. each, by then. I was tired and just a little bit queasy, so I thought it best to retire back to my room and my bed for a while. Just need to regain my equilibrium, I thought.

Laying down probably wasn’t the best idea. Five minutes passed and I was feeling sicker; ten minutes and I realized that I had set into motion an irreversible and unstoppable process that had only one conclusion. I stumbled to my feet and staggered into the bathroom. I have to admit that I’ve never before (or since) vomited with such ease and lack of discomfort. Maybe having an empty stomach wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It all came up just as easily and smoothly as it went down. I doubt Tuborg could use that as a marketing endorsement, but to this day I remain impressed at how effortless the process was.

Here I was, 21 years old, and this was the very first time that I drank enough to get physically ill. I never have been much of a drinker, and always had — and still do, for the most part — found the process to be self-limiting well before this point. Returning back to bed, it struck me: my body having purged itself of the toxic overload in my stomach, I no longer felt sick, but I had a hell of a delightful buzz. I marveled for a few minutes at this happy state of affairs, when I heard a familiar thumping knock on the front door of the apartment. Out of the blue, my girlfriend shows up: beer mug in hand, drunken grin on her face, eyes aflame with inebriated desire.

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest, Act 4, scene 1

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