beer.

The internet tells me that Benjamin Franklin once said "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

Now, I went through many drinking years without ever touching the stuff. I hated the taste of it in high school (I barely drank then, though), and I managed to get through 4 years of college never having gotten wasted from beer. Yes, there were a smattering of one and a half cans of PBR nights, but I could never really bring myself to drink more than that. The taste of beer never appealed to me, like watered-down bread, what was the point? I had been told it was an acquired taste, but over 5 years of steady social drinking, it just hadn't taken. Plus, I hated the fact that I would have had to ingest so much of it before feeling the effects of what one vodka-tonic could do.

Then I moved to England, where the culture basically consists of daily 5 pm dashes to the nearest pub, and I finally came to truly enjoy the refreshing taste of it. The hoppy bite, the balmy crispness of a cold brew. 

Last nite, the ladies & i went to Map Room, a bar I'd been reading about before I was old enough to get into bars -- apparently, according to our new best friend Hector, the Map Room's doorman, it's the 8th-rated bar in America. Not bad! It certainly had variety down pat -- the bar features over 200 bottles and 26 taps.

We first dived into some New Holland Dragon's Milk, which was totally fucking worth the $12 price tag at its 9% alcohol content, big-ass 20 oz. bottle, and defiantly delicious taste -- a dark stout with a nice caramel flavor, a smooth entry and a spicy bite in the back. If it's ever on the menu, I highly suggest you indulge. From there we moved onto an inferior stout with a superior name: Unibroue -- um, clearly, UNIBROW BEER. Yes, please. Then we shared an outstanding leggy blonde, I think the Hetanker Gouden Carolus Tripel, but let's be honest, after the 30 oz of Dragon's Milk the memories become a little hazy.