It’s not that I don’t like St. Patrick’s Day, I just don’t love that it happens on my birthmonth because it always makes the seventeenth day a bit of a challenge. I had started to dread the hordes of green as soon as March got into the teens, so I fully expected tonight’s beer to be a bust. Much to my surprise, the multitudes at the Power and Light District were mostly congregated around the live music and were already too impaired to find their way to my happy place.
My dear friend Maria and I tried to get to the Saucer as early as possible, and it was a good thing we did. We found a (relatively) quiet spot toward the back where we could talk about beer and life. She’s not a beer fan, but she graciously accepted my invitation and even had nice things to say about the Smithwick’s Irish ale she drank. I know that’s not the way to convert someone over to beer. I should’ve recommended something much more interesting and complex, but they didn’t have that in Irish.
While I rarely drink a Guinness nowadays, it was one of the first beers I had that made me think there was more to beer than frat parties. I remember marveling at its pitch black color and beautiful, rich, creamy head. As a mass-produced brew, it has the benefit of consistency. But these days, if I’m going to have a stout, there are plenty of others I would choose before Guinness. Still, it’s St. Patrick’s Day and the famed Irish Stout has a special place in my heart, so it was an obvious choice. Erin go bragh.