Name Your Brew

“They sell courage of a sort in the taverns. And another sort, though not for sale, a man can find in the confessional. Try the alehouses and the churches, Hugh. In either a man can be quiet and think.”

(Ellis Peters)

“Beer is my coffee.”

(Moi)

I am not a coffee drinker.  The wife and seventy-five percent of our children are coffee drinkers . . . or what passes as coffee drinkers these days.  My parents were coffee drinkers . . . Maxwell Cup right out of the jar . . . not this chocolaty, frothy stuff with exotic sounding names.  They liked their coffee to be black and strong . . . no cream . . . no sugar . . . straight up.  I never could stand the smell of coffee . . . made my stomach queasy.  Nope, I am a tea drinker through and through.  Not those wimpy herbal teas . . . not those spicy and fruity teas (though I really like Wild Sweet Orange Tea by Tazo) . . . plain old, black leaf tea . . . Red Rose and Liptons . . . no condiments.  I like my tea straight.  I guess if a person is not going to drink coffee, he or she should drink tea . . . I am not a coffee drinker.

The other day, the oldest child and his mother started a conversation about coffee . . . actually it was about Starbucks . . . the commercialized flag ship of coffee shops.  Both of them were drooling and ranting and raving about how wonderful the coffee was at Starbucks . . . actually, at any good coffee shop that can produce the exotic drinks that they pass off as coffee today.  Now, I have gone into the aforementioned coffee shop with the wife before, but my heart practically stopped beating when they charged me nearly four dollars for a cup of tea . . . black tea, at that!  I know the price of a box of tea . . . Liptons or Red Rose . . . and, I know that for four bucks I could have made myself forty-eight cups of tea!  The wife told me to relax, I was paying for the experience and ambiance of the place.  I thought I was paying for a cup of tea!  It didn’t even faze the wife to spend six bucks for her coffee . . . four bucks for my tea . . . to sit in a crowded, stuffy place where people used a strange language to order their brews.  For a minute I was not sure if I was really in the biggest city in Montana.  Which brings me back to the conversation . . . the two of them just thought that the coffee and experience was the neatest thing since sliced bread.

In fact, as my wife says, coffee shops . . . in particular Starbucks and the coffee shop in Barnes and Noble . . . are one of her favorite places to unwind, relax, and spend some time with her self.  Most of the time she is with friends or family, it is rarely quiet, and nerve wracking in the introvert eyes of me. She likes to get her brew, sit back, do a crossword puzzle or read a book, think, and relax . . . a good way to end her day, she tells me.  I don’t get it.  In my mind I would think that it would be better to come home to the peace and quiet of home, brew a quick cup of coffee, and find true tranquility . . . but, the oldest and wife informed me I was wrong.

So, I was thinking about this as I was driving home from working at the university in the big city.  Coffee shops are the wife’s favorite places to sit back and have a brew . . . she can relax . . . talk to people . . . read a book . . . listen to music . . . cruise around on her smartphone.  It is a special place for her.  As I thought about that, it dawned on me . . . I have a special place like that too . . . a place where I get my favorite brew, sit back, enjoy some company, listen to some music, do a crossword (if I was really, really desperate for entertainment), cruise around on my smartphone, and even read a book if I wanted to.  The only difference is that my brew would not be coffee . . . it would be beer.  As I was moving down the highway, I thought to myself . . . there ain’t much difference between a brewery and a coffee shop in Montana . . . just depends upon what type of brew a person wants.

The wife doesn’t agree with me on this one.

So, I did a little research . . . coffee versus beer . . . coffee shops versus breweries . . . which are better for a person?  Here is a bit information for you . . . if you want to be creative, drink beer; if you want to be energetic, drink coffee.  Research shows that a couple of beers will make a person more creative . . . that the brain is less distracted by the world around it . . . that it is good for searching for an initial idea.  On the other hand, research shows that coffee is great at giving an individual quick energy . . . makes the person able to focus better . . . and, it makes one active.  This particular research stated that two would be perfect working together . . . the beer would create ideas that the coffee would give energy to achieve.  But, the research warned, moderation is the key to either one . . . neither one was good in over-abundance.

Other research had to do with telomeres—the end parts of DNA.  Apparently telomeres get shorter as a person ages, when they become too short, the cell dies.  Shorter telomeres are associated with poor health and an increased chance of premature death.  In this research it was found that caffeine was found to shorten telomeres, but that alcohol lengthened them.  In others words . . . beer lengthens a person’s life while coffee has a tendency to shorten it.  Beer topped coffee in this research.

Now, if you are actually seeking to relax, think, and spark the creative juices . . . beer is the brew to go with.  If you are seeking to be energetic, twitchy, and raring to go . . . coffee is the brew to drink.  If you are seeking longevity . . . beer.  If you are seeking an adventure and quick action . . . coffee.  Beer is served in breweries . . . coffee in coffee shops.  I get anxious in coffee shops . . . I feel out of my domain . . . out of place . . . I am uncomfortable . . . and, no one has ever yelled out my name in a coffee shop when I entered.  The brewery, on the hand, I feel more comfortable in, I feel I am among my people, and every so often someone actually knows my name.  A pint of beer is usually between three and four dollars . . . a cup of coffee between four and seven dollars . . . a cup of tea, four dollars.  I am no Einstein, but I think my genetic make-up would have me preferring the brewery and beer over the coffee shop and coffee.

I haven’t popped this theory on the wife yet.  As I said, she is a coffee drinker, I am a beer drinker.  She likes coffee shops, I like breweries.  She likes to spend money, I like to save money.  Either way, I have discovered that neither one of us really buys our coffee or beer . . . we rent it.  I do not think that we are going to agree on this topic of which brew and which place to have our favorite brew is best.  We disagree. As singer Dave Mason used to sing: “There ain’t no good guys, ain’t no bad guys.  There is only you and me and we disagree.”  On that I know the wife and I agree.  I can raise my stein to that!

What is your favorite brew?

Road Trip Potpourri

The start of Memorial Day weekend began with . . . snow.  Two inches of snow to be exact—on the lawn and on my car.  This was not the way our road trip to Fort Collins, Colorado was supposed to begin.  After cleaning the snow off the car, loading it up, getting the wife and the youngest son into the car we headed off at 6:00AM sharp!  The great road trip had begun.

Now I am not sure that there is a coherent theme that runs throughout the road trip as there seemed to be a slew of random pictures and themes that occurred as we headed south out of Joliet towards Fort Collins to meet the new granddaughter.  It was definitely an adventure . . . one, in which the temperature at the start was a whopping and bone-chilling 36 degrees and would end with a hellish 87 degrees in Fort Collins.  So, I wore shorts and my new sandals.  My neighbors probably thought I was hitting the microbrews a little early that day, but I wanted to be prepared for the worse.  Besides, the temperature in the Jetta was a toasty 72 degrees!  On the day that weather records were broken for Montana we headed south.

First image that pops out of my memory were the drivers on the road heading to points unknown just like we were—all with a destination in mind.  Our destination was Fort Collins and I drove five miles over the speed limit most of the way there . . . and for the most part I thought I was doing pretty good.  Unfortunately I did not realize that there were so many Indy and NASCAR wannabes on the highways.  Vehicles of all types blew by us as if we were standing still . . . which I can handle, but what I couldn’t handle was that as soon as they blew past me they pulled directly in front of me and slowed down.  Each and every time I had to brake, slow down, and let them basically cut me off.  This is a pet peeve of mine, thus the birds were flying early and often.  It became a sort of highway hop-scotch that I apparently was not too good at.  But no one doubted my sign language.  Luckily we made the trip safely and the only injury was my finger was a little sore.

Then there were those new hand driers—in the rest areas, gas stations, restaurants, and other fine establishments where one might want to dry his or her hands.  What ever happened to those good old paper towel dispenser, you know the ones I am talking about—where you turned a crank and the paper towel came out.  Now there are these fancy, ultra modern ones that strip the first layer of skin off your hands.  Actually the force of the blower in those things blows all the water off your hands, out the side, and onto the floor.  I was lucky I didn’t slip and break my neck.  But not all the places had these wicked machines, some still had paper towel dispensers . . . but not with the cranks.  No, they have those little electric eyes that dispense the paper towel when a hand is waved in front of it.  At one stop it seemed that every time I moved a paper towel was being dispensed for my use.  They just kept coming out and I just kept ripping them off.  Piles and piles of them!  I got stuck in there for nearly fifteen minutes trying to get that thing to stop before my youngest son showed up and pushed me out of the way of the electric eye.  I might still be there if he hadn’t showed up and rescued me!

  
The further south we went the more the traffic picked up and the more people there were.  From Cheyenne to Fort Collins seemed to be nothing but motor vehicles and people . . . and the people looked funny and talked funny.  Then I remembered that we were driving through Wyoming!  Just kidding . . . we still had Colorado to go!  There were people everywhere . . . that is tough on an introvert.  That is why I never liked cities of any shape or size—too many people.  It was kind of overwhelming, but I must say, for the most part, they had manners.  I must be looking old because I seemed to be called “Sir” quite a bit.  That took a while to get used to and the wife said I had to quit turning my head so much trying to figure out who they were talking to—they were talking to me!  Ouch!

Then there were the food servers—waiters and waitresses—at the restaurants.  For the most part they were conscientious, courteous, and hospitable.  Except for one.  For the most part he did his job well—the food was served hot, he kept the glasses full, and he was always Johnny-on-the-spot . . . but in the end he was dishonest.  When the bill came—over eighty dollars, he short changed me the change.  Instead of giving me all of my change he gave me the paper money and pocketed the change—sixty-two cents.  Now I know sixty-two cents is not much, and I might be making a mountain out of a mole hill, but it is the point of the whole thing.  He should have given me all of my money.  The end result?  Well, I pocketed a portion of his tip.  That sixty-two cents cost him a couple of dollars in tips.  He could have kept the sixty-two cents if he just asked . . . shoot, by that time in our trip the change in my pockets was making me look like I was wearing low-rider jeans!

 

The most fearful moment during the trip was while we were waiting for the light to change at a busy intersection.  Calmly sitting in the car I suddenly heard a loud crack and bang—just like a gun shot.  My first thought was, “Hey, were in a big city.  Big cities have gangs.  It must be a drive-by shooting!”  I yelled at everybody to duck and cover their heads!  Turned out to be a blowout of a tire as a lady as turning in the intersection.  The guy in the car next to us looked us over, shook his head in disbelief, and laughed.  Silly hicks from Montana!  

There were also Starbucks everywhere, but I guess that Fort Collins is a “hip” sort of place that way.  Lots of Starbucks junkies running around with their insulated cups of java.  The wife was in heaven as there were at least three Starbucks within a mile radius of the motel.  She had to have her “fix” each morning and each morning we were there with Fort Collins’ best.  She tried to sweeten up the experience for me by offering to buy me a hot tea since I don’t drink coffee . . . but I refused.  I refused because I can’t see paying nearly three dollars for a cup of tea.  I can buy a box of Liptons for three bucks and make nearly fifty cups of tea for that price.

At the same time I must confess, the day we headed back to Montana I broke down and allowed her to buy me a hot tea.  The darn motel did not have any regular tea in the breakfast bar.  I even asked.  The lady told me that people always pick the regular tea over the herbal tea.  I asked if there were more and she said no that was all that they had.  I asked why they didn’t carry more if the regular tea was so popular . . . she said I could go down to Starbucks and get a nice cup of tea for three bucks!  I think it was a conspiracy between the motel and Starbucks.  The wife just smirked at me.  That was a tough cup of tea to get down—took me nearly a hundred miles before I could even admit that I enjoyed it!

These are just a few of the thoughts, impressions, and themes that I remember from the trip—a mixture of “road trip potpourri”.  As unimportant as these were, we did have a wonderful trip to meet our granddaughter—little Emily.  It was fun to be able to spend time with our son.  Good to meet his friends.  I will write more about that in my next blog.  In the meantime, I have to admit it was nice to get home.  Since being home no one has shot at me while driving by . . . I have gotten all my change when I’ve eaten out . . . I have a huge stash of Liptons . . . and there are not too many people . . . plus I can understand them when they speak . . . no one has called me “Sir” more than once a day.  Plus my dogs gave me a royal welcome home.  Road trips are nice, but nothing beats home!