The end of the year is fast approaching. Aunt Bessie’s fruitcake is assuming a leaden texture in your stomach, there’s paper cuts on the little one’s fingers from buzzsawing through presents and that John Denver and the Muppets Christmas album’s getting a little less funny each time it plays.
Christmas. The moment of the year when even a notoriously cynical Grinch such as myself shelves the snotty personality for the warm fuzzies of family time. To me, Christmas is an amalgamation of experience. I may have long ago traded the unbridled anticipation of the countdown – one that intensified with each flip of the advent calendar – for a more mature” looking forward to,” but the culmination of experience still brushes the coal dust off my skeptical heart.
For those who went searching in vain for the Abita Select Oyster Stout last week, I apologize. Turns out I wasn’t the only one who fell for this amazing ale and the limited supplies disappeared quicker than Halloween candy left on an unattended porch. It’s bound to happen from time to time as I write this over a week in advance. It was certainly not my intention to lead the readers on a wild goose chase.
I’d share with you, dear readers, my thoughts on my favorite beer in the whole wide world – Porterhouse Oyster Stout – but I can’t. It’s not available in Florida for some reason. If we can’t buy it without participating in some Arthurian quest, then why bother?