Mega-pregnant and massively irritated by last summer’s sweltering weather, my wife made a serious demand. “We need to get out of Brooklyn,” she said, her face mere millimeters from our third-floor apartment’s sole air conditioner.
Outside, the city was broiling beneath a grueling heat wave. To my exceedingly expectant wife, it was as if hell had swallowed Brooklyn whole. “We’re going to New Hampshire,” she said. “Start packing.”
Lickety-split, we steered north to friends, family and cooler weather. Upon arrival, I required beer. Lots of them. In rapid succession. I headed to a convenience store, salivating at the prospect of aromatic Allagash White, crisp Smuttynose Vunderbar or Rising Tide’s bright Daymark pale ale. Heck, perhaps I’d buy them all! In-laws and a pregnant wife can give a man a deadly thirst.
Great Pumpkin Festival at Elysian Brewing
Inside the shop, my field of vision filled with orange. As far the eyes could see, there was a sea of Shipyard Pumpkinhead, the Portland brewery’s wheat ale spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. Ignoring them, I grabbed a couple four-packs of Allagash White and a 12-pack of Sierra Nevada’s Summerfest.
“Sure you don’t want some Pumpkinhead?” the cashier asked, ringing me up.