Smelly Bastard

Two nights ago I poured two liters of perfectly good beer down the drain.

Wait. That's not really accurate. I should say I poured two liters of two-week-old, probably rotten beer down the drain. But that doesn't really make for as interesting a lead-in, does it?

For my birthday a couple of weeks ago Connie and I went down to San Diego. Part of our excursion was a tasting and a tour at the Stone Brewery, makers of all kinds of ultra-hoppy and incredibly strong brews. The tour itself was fascinating. For example, I never really got the whole "brew" part of making beer until our guide explained that the malts were actually cooked in heated water to release their sugars and flavors into the water. I don't know what was in my head before, probably more of a process like wine where the juices are squeezed out. But malted barley doesn't even have juices so I guess I was just being dumb.

Anywho, when the tour was done there was a free tasting. I sampled a couple of my favorites, like Arrogant Bastard and their IPA. But I also got to try a couple I probably wouldn't have picked up off the shelf like their Ruination IPA and Smoked Porter. The porter was either overly hopped or overly smoked—probably both—and to my (albeit unsophisticated) palate, just tasted bitter and burnt. There were none of the subtle chocolate or malt flavors I've come to expect from a good porter like Black Butte.

So back to our introductory story, Stone has a cool little program where you can buy a bottle for around $10 and fill it as many times as you like at a discounted price. I decided on the two liter not only because that's a lot of damn beer but it also looks really cool. It's one of those jugs with the one-finger handle on the side. Stone being fresh out of the Oaked Arrogant Bastard that was my first choice, I decided to fill it up with good ol' Arrogant Bastard. But that night when Connie and I drank some I discovered I just couldn't enjoy it anymore.

I think, sadly, that a couple nights of overdoing the Bastard had ruined my enjoyment of it, specifically last year's birthday at the Yard House when I drank pint after pint of it, mixed with several Patron shots and ended up driving the porcelain bus all night.

So why did it take me two weeks to dump the damn stuff out? Not because of any sentimental attachment. No, it's because I left my $15 jug o' brew in the back of Connie's car and both of us kept forgetting to get it out. And since the fine print recommends you chill and consume withing 24 hours of bottling, you can only imagine the ungodly smell of two liters of fermented sugar, sitting in the back of a hatchback in 100-degree heat for two solid weeks.