The Adroit Alcoholic
A less than philosophical look at all things brewed

To introduce myself to the readers out there, I will tell you all that I love booze. I have a lust for libation, fervor for fermentation, an absolute adoration of alcohol. It fascinates me in much the same way food must fascinate the very hungry. I also love to travel and discover various potables that I don’t normally find near my local stomping grounds.

That explained, we move to the next scene. I am in Colorado. There because that is where the beer gods had sent me. Personal beliefs aside, any time you happen across a situation that makes no real sense and you can’t fully comprehend the timeline that brought you there, it is a fortuitous action of the beer gods. Anyway, I am in Colorado and thirsty for something hoppy. Hops are, possibly, my favorite things on the planet, so much so that I have taken to growing them across the expanse of my yard. The full plan is to allow them to take over my neighbor’s yards. Then, as yard by yard my neighbors fall, to crown myself King Fuggle and crush my enemies with a hop encrusted fist, or just make beer with them, that works as well.

Sorry, I got off track there. Back to Colorado and I am at a place called the Liquor Barn. If that name doesn’t grab a guy that not only enjoys liquor, but as an added bonus, grew up on a farm, nothing would. I had a mission since finding myself in this state. I had heard of a beer called Modus Hoperandi from Ska Brewing Company out of Durango. It is not easy to find but, as I turned to the cooler aisle, there it was. This beer spoke to me right off the bat. The checkerboard prints on the can, the phrase ‘Lip up fatty’ on the side...well, let’s just say that if you ever found yourself skanking in a pinstripe suit, you’d like the can. Yes, it only comes in cans, a worrying point for many but it seems that this is the new way to go for smallish craft brewers. Cans are cheaper, easier to ship and, as far as I can tell, do no damage to the beer as has been speculated. It is also far simpler to crush a beer can on your forehead than a bottle. Anyone who questions this fact is welcome to try. That person is also welcome to send me pictures that I can send to America's Most Humorous Facial Lacerations.

Returning to my hotel after hunting down a decent glass (not an easy purchase in a small town at 11:30 a.m.), I cracked the can. An interesting thing about good beer in a can, when it’s cracked, there is a huge blast of CO2 that carries the aroma right up the old nose. The beer was wonderful: deep orange color, sturdy, white head with staying power. Well balanced hop-to-malt ratio with strong, yet not overpowering citrus notes. It was many things that I search for in a beer, plus it had alcohol in it, which made the whole picture come together.

That was only one beer of many I had in Colorado. There are so many great breweries in that state I could probably never visit them all. However, if anyone wants to fund it, I will give it a shot. One day I will have to head out that way again, back into the hills to find that Colorado gold, the shiny treasures I cannot find in my neck of the woods.

I left Colorado with a trunk full of beer and only a couple regrets. Regret number 1: Not bringing a bigger car or a truck to Colorado. Regret number 2: Not getting a picture of me flipping the bird to a certain mega-brewery in the Golden area.

--Joe Bjorklund