January 18, 2013 by 250 Beers
Dear Gage Roads,
I cannot for the life of me work out if I loath you or love you. I’m at the end of my tether with it.
I like beer. I like good beer. I’m not fussy about beer but my taste buds aren’t backward when coming forward when they’re graced with a poor beer.
Back in 2008, I arrived in Australia with all my worldly belongings. I’d left loved ones behind. Not long after I arrived, I reacquainted myself with my love of beer. This was brought on by a realisation that there is more to life in a beer glass in Brisbane than a XXXX.
I used to walk into bottle shops and stare in awe at the range of stuff that I’d never heard of. I’d only ever done this before as a kid in London – gawping like a fool into the beautifully dressed windows of Harrods and the like at Christmas time.
One of my early introductions to Australian beer was your Wahoo. I’ve got to be honest. I wasn’t that impressed. I yelped more of an “Oh, poo” than a “Yahoo”. This was followed up by your Premium Lager. Premium? Really?
After those encounters, I’d see you around; at parties, in pubs. I’d ignore you. I couldn’t bear to make eye contact with you in case you sucked me in again. I was on a self-imposed Gage Roads ban. I caved in just once with an Atomic Pale Ale. I disliked it. I nicknamed it ‘A-Bernard-Tomic’ because I can’t stand him either.
A year or so past and somebody handed me a Sleeping Giant IPA at a function. I got embarassed. I didn’t know where to look. I didn’t want to appear rude so I offered my hand. Gage Roads, we were back on. I was really starting to take a fancy to other breweries by this time but you snared me with this IPA.
We seem to have this ‘on again, off again’ relationship that we both appear to be comfortable with and you don’t seem to mind me having strong feelings for others.
You proved this by serving me a London Best. That was it. I never wanted to hear from you again. You really broke my heart. I just couldn’t believe it. It was worse than bad. I’m sorry if the truth hurts.
From then on, I really took it upon myself to avoid you like the plague. I even told my mates what you did to me with London Best. They distanced themselves from you too. You’re a menace.
We’d been apart for several months when you appeared again recently as The Convict. I couldn’t avoid you. You looked pretty good. You’d grown up a bit. You’d been working out right? Beefed yourself up to a 7.2%? I liked what I saw. A Strong Ale.
You’d had some artwork done too. I’m a sucker for good ink so I took you home and I had my wicked way. I even took photographs.
You blew me (ahem) away with your floral aroma. Your bitterness and hop-filled wonderness may force me to pay for your services again very soon. Maybe we could get together over the long weekend coming up? We could celebrate Australia Day together? I could ask the wife if she’d like to hook up with you too? Actually, on second thoughts maybe that’s not a good idea.
I just don’t know what to do with you. I want to be more than just friends but you really do need to start performing consistently. My mind wanders and I’m easily distracted. I need commitment from you if we’re to have a future together. Stop stringing me along.