It’s some of that one-track mindedness, but funny the things that bring back memories.
So I’m busy and rural and simply don’t watch or hear much news. This fact doth suck furiously, as Shakespeare might have said, though I don’t recall reading it anywhere. Today, I very purposely pulled out my laptop as I fell to work prepping for my day of burritos and beer. Since the formats of the local NPR stations here just don’t trip my trigger in the same way that good, old WUNC does, I fired up Mr. Live-Streaming and tuned into to North Carolina radio-licious news-arrific-ness from many miles away.
There I was: building box after box, prepping for a long day of bottling. Hundreds and hundreds of cases. Pallet after pallet. Amber. Brown. Porter. Milk Stout. The occasional seasonal. And NPR on the radio.
I must confess that I’m pretty lousy at keeping in touch with old friends. And probably my mom. Since moving from Raleigh nearly two years ago, I’ve been determined to do a better job than I have with high school, college and Rez buddies, and I’d say I’ve done fairly well at keeping in contact with the likes of Pauly (and Heather) and beerbuddies GlennH2Os and Ken. Occasional emails to former HH coworkers like Matt, who actually reads this cyber-rag from time to time.
But I haven’t had a conversation or email with my former boss Paul Phillipon, Duck-Rabbit Craft Brewery owner/brewmaster. Inspired by Diane Rehm, I called to check in. I’ve heard rumblings of coffee this or cask that. Braggots, bourbon barrels and lactose-infused goodness, and he confirmed it all, as well as a few distribution expansions in the works.
Wow. Great catching up, and I’d suggest you go call a long, lost friend right now. You do that, while I sip my last bottle of the first batch of Duck-Rabbit Baltic Porter, in remembrance of Paul, North Carolina and The Almighty Duck-Rabbit.
It’s still yummy: Goodness, gracious. Black attack with a thin, dark caramel-colored head. Like three layers of chocolate: dark, milk and cocoa powder. Earthy love and toffee. The cherry notes have faded, but it’s still just this big round bomb of delight. Rich, thick and dreamy. With the wry smile of alcohol warming your soul.
Mmmmm…Fade to black.