I Can't Stop Talking About Wheat Beer

I'm ready to eat words now. No, my own please.

Thanks.

I spent an afternoon recently expounding on the sins of drinking wheat beer all year, smugly sipping on an ESB or other comparative low-alcohol, all-barley beer (coincidentally, the replacement of wheat for barley, a different yeast, and about a million other miniscule variables; you've got a hefe.) I stand by that. I don't believe that any (beer drinker's) life would be complete simply drinking a cloudy, citrus-laden beer (which may or may not be integral to the taste of said beer.)

However, upon both not re-reading the post and having a rather astounding (wheat based!) beer, I've decided that there was snobbish tone to it. I don't hate all wheat beer. I don't hate any wheat beer, unless it isn't any good (in which case I hate it.)

I'm currently enjoying a Leipziger Gose (and man, I don't know if that's right; there are about twenty names on this thing) and damn. Just. Damn. There's a tartness that doesn't quite make your jaw hurt (like this one) but smacks of intense sourdough bread. It's bone dry, highly carbonated, and scrubbed the shit out of my tongue as I ate some of my roommate's chili. Which you said I could have, Sean. I'll buy some more tortilla chips. And some trash disposal strips.

THIS IS WHY I HATE WHEAT BEER. Sorority chicks come in to the shop (more on that LATER!) and won't freaking shut up about how good Starr Hill The Love is. I don't care that you like phallus shaped fruit and clove cigarettes. I don't want your review on how easy it is to have five of them and then give head to the nearest guy (intriguing as the story was, Corrinne.)

I don't give one damn how cute the label is, no matter how cute you are. And you really are cute.

(This was a wee-bit ramble-y.)