Beer

Now I have never been a big drinker, well except in college where it was a mandatory part of the culture.

Actually I'm a bit of a beer snob. It's not like I haven't had my bottles of Budweiser in my day. Sometimes when the pub is full it's just best to keep it simple. The bartender sees my head over the crowd, remembers what I want, and reaches one right over to me.

But give me a draft of Guinness, served at room temperature as it's meant to be - now that's beer. I guess if I have a beer it's more about the taste then the after effects.

Monday night this week, the night before Barb's birthday, we went out to Bube's Brewery in Mt. Joy with Bill, Susan, Charlie and Alyssa. We just went to the Bottling Works, one of three restaurants at Bube's (pronounced "boobies"). Bube's is nothing if not always unique, and it's open on Mondays.

As we settled in, it struck me that I was sitting likely very close to a Guinness draft.

Now I haven't had a beer in I don't know how long. I think it's been about a year. I asked Barb how long it's been and she got that faraway thinking look in her eye. "It's been a really long time," she said.

The waitress came around for our drink order, coffee, Sprite, coffee . . .

"Do you have raspberry iced tea?" asked Alyssa.

"No."

"Any kind of flavored iced tea?"

"No."

(grooooaaaaaaannnnnn) "I'll take Pepsi or Coke whatever you have."

It was my turn now. Should I do it?

"Do you still have Guiness on tap?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I'll take a pint of Guinness please."

Well it came. In all it's dark foamy goodness there it was. Like a lava lamp of beer perfection it glowed before me.

I glanced around.

Susan, Barb's Mom, was giving me a wide-eyed, surprised expression. Barb reserved a quiet expression of concern. Darn family, they always seem to know what's best.

Well it was just one pint. And it wasn't like I was going to sit there yelling "Fill 'er up!" Actually I knew going into this venture that there was a very strong chance that I wouldn't finish this pint. I picked up the pint with a goal of getting halfway.

I sipped the first sip of frothy goodness, then wiped off the obligatory moustache.

(sigh) It was good. It was too cold. I would expect better from Bube's, but I am a beer snob. And it was good afterall. "Quit complaining," I told myself, "you have a pint of Guinness in front of you."

Barb asked me how my Guinness was. She wanted to make sure that it didn't instantly start a war in my stomach. And the stomach was fine, with the Guinness, with the tenderloin tips, with the onion rings (not exactly my regular soft chicken meal).

I drank the pint slow, not finishing until just before we were ready to leave.

Later the Guinness took it out on my body, bending me over with cramps and starting a battle of wills through my digestive system. There's been much worse. But the Guinness was probably not one of my best ideas.

But there are some things, sometimes, on some occasions, even though you know it's probably not in your best interest, you just feel overwhelmed with interest to try.

Like a hot italian sausage sandwich covered in sauce with onions and peppers.

(drooling)

Oops. Sorry.

There always seems to be ironies I find with living with cancer, that are so peculiar you just have to laugh.

All my life I've appreciated things like a good pint of Guinness. I am part Irish afterall. But Guinness on draft is a difficult thing to find. It takes a special tap system, and slows down a pub since it taps incredibly slow like molasses. All my life finding an establishment with Guinness on tap was like finding a diamond in the rough.

Now, with cancer, I live within walking distance of two historic pubs, great pubs, neighborhood pubs where people of all ages gather. And they both have Guinness on tap.

And they serve it at room temperature.

Maybe I'll have another pint on my birthday.