It Can be a Drag Brewing

Well I was looking on Spacebook last weekend and noticed that one of my friends who I haven't seen in ages was celebrating the birth of his new homebrew (with pics) which supposedly was loosely based on one of the microbreweries in St. Louis.  It had no interest to me at the time.

See I'm flirting with this new paleo diet and wheat and gluten are not on it.  Except for the pizzas last night.   And most of the things I've eaten this year.  Maybe "flirting" is not quite the right word.   But I do listen to the Bulletproof Executive podcast.   And maybe someday all this "body hacking" stuff will have the imprimatur of science.

I don't have anything against femented foods and beverages in general.  Wine in particular.   And Pow Wow Rye is especially interesting.   Saurkraut and kimchi and those roast eggplant things with balasmic vinegar and garlic sustain me though the many cold winter nights in the blue room with the stars and planets on the ceiling.

Eventually, while staring at the stars on the ceiling, I go to sleep.  Then I start thinking that I too, should start homebrewing.   In fact, I should get a home brewing kit for Chistmas.   The fact that its March did not seem to matter.  So I contact my friend on Facebook and even before I send the email, I receive a lengthy PDF file from a woman who supposedly has the best homebrewing kit on the market.  It costs $500 which seems a lot.  But it might be something I could do with the kids.  I would have to brew Stout beer (the "chew spit" beer), or even better, Russian Imperial Stout, or Expresso Stout which has more alcohol than wine. 

Suddenly I was talking to the woman who sent me the email and she was in the room.  But it wasn't the blue room with stars, it was in the basement.  A basement I have never been in before.  She assures me that I can make Imperial Stout, but you have to do some sort of double fermentation thing so it takes longer.  Then this woman isn't a woman anymore, but a dude in drag.   Like Phillp Seymor Hoffman (god rest his soul) in that bad movie called Flawless.

Then I'm not in the basement, but somewhere else.  Like a restraunt maybe.   And the dude in drag is still there, but so is my friend B.  Only B. is behind a veneer screen acting like the dude in drag.  But he's not doing a very good job at it.  The dude in drag seems to recognize this and we look at each other with the mutual recognition that  B. should be engaged in other pursuits.

Then I'm back in the room with blue stars.  Or was that the blue room with stars.   Wondering where my beer went.  Hey Mable, have you seen my Black Label?  And then eventually I woke up.   Or did I?

Show me the way, to the next whiskey bar.  Oh, don't ask why, oh don't ask why.