The Session No. 82: Beery Yarns

Two months have once again flown by. I missed the latest one just a month ago, but I'm primed and ready to go for this wide-open Session. This time it's hosted by Steve of Beers I've Known and the topic he's chosen is quite an intriguing one. We are to come up with a beer-related story to tell this month. Preferably in a campfire style.

To be honest, this was a tougher topic than I thought it would be when it finally came to to come up with a good story and type the darn thing up. I finally decided on a tale that involved a beer I've been fantasizing about since the night I first had it.

If I remember correctly, this took place during the March after I had turned 21. I was still developing my taste in good beer. I was still in school at Slippery Rock University of Pennsylvania, where North Country Brewery was located. So, the term "microbrew" was still being used to describe the beer scene. At least, in the area of Pennsylvania I was at the time brewpubs were the big thing.

A friend and I (Chris) drove up from Slippery Rock that March to meet my old man and his brother (Bill Sr. and David, respectively) to see the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament in Buffalo that weekend. The games took place in what was then known as HSBC Arena. Just alongside one of the arena lots was this five floor brewpub called Pearl Street Grill and Brewery. We ventured to the basement deli/speakeasy after the first session of games for lunch that Friday. There I had a very hoppy pale ale, as I recall. We decided that we had to return there for dinner the next day and watch some of the other basketball games going on at pother sites (remember that NCAA Tournament sites alternate days for the first two rounds). And so the night began.

We decided to settle in on the third floor since it was the closest thing to a typical pub and had televisions for us to take in some college hoops on. Just to set the scene here, keep in mind that my old man is quite boisterous and loud. As my uncle David always says "he like to make comments and he doesn't care who hears him." Because of this, the old man proclaims that it's my job to go grab us two of those beer tube dispensers. I obliged and went down two floors to be told that only one person could "rent" one with a $20 deposit and said person's driver's license. Thus, I clambered up the two flights once again to report the situation and bring my buddy Chris back downstairs with me.

Next came the selection of which brews we were to fill these tubes with. My dad wanted to go with Street Brawler which was, an oatmeal stout. I convinced Chris to go in with me and get the beer that hooked me from then on. Pearl Street's Blue-Eyed Blueberry Blonde. My first blueberry beer in memory. The men in my family are very astute. We notice things quite easily. The floor we were on had posters/murals of the beer labels Pearl Street offered. The Street Brawler mural is kind of self-explanatory. The beer I chose featured a blonde woman in a blue dress picking flowers in some field. My out-spoken father proclaimed that I must be some sort of big sissy because of my beer choice and referenced the murals. David and Chris laughed like hell.

"Look here! This is the one I want. That looks manly and tough. Now, look at the one Billy wants!"

I've been meaning to get back to Buffalo to reunite with this beer ever since. It seriously reminded me of blueberry waffles. Still, the night continued. There was some form of a wedding reception in the room behind the bar. Some of the men from that reception attempted to sneak out and catch some of the hoops games on in the bar. Of course my father noticed and began to make a scene at their expense.

"Get back in there!"

Us Kostkas men also share many mannerisms and traits. David and I have the same hissing laugh. We sound like hyenas that are choking on bones. With each outburst from my father David and I broke out with in this chorus. Dad also began to single out other characters in the pub. Someone my age kept walking back and forth to the restroom. He had on one of those Che Guerra shirts that were popular at the time. The old man began referring to him as Communist boy.

"Better get started on your manifesto!"

The same chorus broke out in response. Another of the men from the wedding reception poked his head out to check a score.

"What the hell are you doing? Better get back in there!"

Then there was a group of macho fraternity members at a table next to us. They too chose to get a few of the beer tubes. We paid close attention to them as their night progressed. Unfortunately, so did their level of inebriation. We watched with glee at each pass they made at every female that walked past. Sadly for them, they just kept walking. It got to the point where this bunch got so bad that we started taking bets on the time in which he would vomit. He eventually ran away and his friends couldn't find him. Sounds of hyenas echoed as this transpired.