I was at a bar last night that brought back memories of college.  I was there with Chris from Iron Hill, and he commented on the glaring lack of anything American on draft.  The English/Irish quasi-macro tap list reminded me of  my college years.  Of my first beer ever, a Bass ale somewhere in New England at 22 years old.  Yes, I didn’t have a sip of alcohol until my 21st had come and gone.

We got talking about such things, and the conversation included, at times, the bartender.  It turns out he tended at my old college watering hole, Floods, in Stroudsburg, PA.  The place where I learned to love beer.  I had my first Samichlaus there.  My first Thomas Hardy’s.  I don’t know if the place is still as good as it is in my mind, but memories can be sweet.

Chris relayed some stories about drinking belgian beer at Brigids in the mid-90’s, before Monk’s was even opened.  About meeting various stars of the Philly brewing scene before they were stars.  The good ole days.  I enjoyed the stories, and wished that I had been there.

All this looking to the past serves only to distract from the real reason I was out at a bar on a Monday night.  The future.  You’ll just have to wait to find out what I’m talking about.

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