I’m sitting here, sharing a table with a homebrewer and a man from Yorkshire, in the biergarden at Golden City Brewery. Their discussions thus far:
– Which local breweries have worse beer than his homebrews (most of them)
– Virtues of experimenting with brewing (if it’s shite, you can just toss it)
– American vs British beer (USA! USA!)
– Beer vs lager (or fat guys vs fit guys)
– Best cycling recovery beer (agreement to do further study)
Now they are trying to figure out the best Golden-area vantage point from which to watch the USA Pro Challenge cycling race. So, I’ve tuned out a bit…
Other than my tablemates, I’ve decided that Golden either has an obscene concentration of attractive, in shape people, or all the beautiful people in Golden gather here. Or both.
I’m not used to being on my own at breweries. I’m attempting to channel my father, who is a professional people-watcher. But I kind of feel like a creeper.
As I said this weekend: never go full creeper.
It’s good, though, to have some time in my own brain, but not all by myself (yes, I totally sang that in my head).
And as I write that, the Bearded Brewer pokes his head out of the brewhouse like some boozy Puxatawny Phil and calls me back. Time to go.
Have a great Tuesday. After all, at least it’s not Monday.