In keeping with tradition, the Post-It Queen and I went on a hunt last Sunday. As a preface for the uninitiated, the Day of Rest in our house is set aside for killing the urban doldrums. Of course, the activity involves the use of a wretched thing called money. If we have none, we live with our boredom.
However, on this (somewhat) financially robust weekend, we set our sights on what is arguably the greatest social lubricant humanity has ever invented: Beer! And I’m not talking about that piss of a beverage called San Mig Light. I am shamelessly of the opinion that the stuff is made by rusting nails in water and was designed specifically to send you on one too many trips to the john without the benefit of getting shitfaced. I know a lot of you felt the quiver of an insult. Tough!
It’s time we take the road less traveled.
Which is what we did. Literally. Mind you, without getting lost. The feat demands an ovation.
On the corner of Polaris and Durban Street in Makati sits an unknown little watering hole called Beers Paradise. The credit for the discovery goes to the Post-It Queen for her incessant alcohol-driven Googling. As attested by their menu, their claim to fame is that they serve 100 kinds of beers from all over. We didn’t really count but even if there were only just 98, they have enough to keep us intrigued.
Granted it’s a little pricey. But where else can you find a joint that serves curiously named brewskis such as Dead Guy Ale and Flying Dog In Heat Hefeweizen? Or a Trappist monk beer called Chimay? And if it is to your liking, you can soak up the old Teutonic way by ordering something called König Ludwig or Jever Pilsener.
I can feel my 600-year-old Prussian lineage coming full circle just by standing within 5 feet of this freezer. It’s glorious.
The first thing I uttered to the bartender was a request for a certain Irish stout. I’ve been on the look out for it since I was legally allowed to imbibe alcohol. Finally, ladies and gentlemen, I was served my first bottle of Guinness.
Some of you might recall my idealistic tirade that I was to only have a pint in a real Pub tap-dispensed by a red-headed barman named Seamus. Then I grew up and became a broke sell-out. Also I realized I didn’t really need the “perfect pint”. I’m just dying to know how the damn thing tastes like.
The verdict is this: it’s heavy. I’m inclined to think of it as the bastard child of beer and red wine. And if you have more than three bottles…Well. Let’s just say you’ll deny everything in the morning. It’s very good though. My drinking buddy was partial to the lighter brew. But I think I like this Celtic poison. At least in moderation, I do.
As a follow-up, I went for a Boston lager called Samuel Adams which was mildly sweet. Perfect for washing down the nachos we ordered. The Post-It Queen got herself a Belgian ale that I forgot the name of. I would’ve ordered a third bottle but I was fresh out of cash. At that, our taste-testing endeavor came to a close. Partly because I was getting hungry and was craving for something more substantial. The shawarma and humus beckoned us away.
But much as the white folk who, after having discovered Moluccas, kept it as a stubborn afterthought, so shall we be back better armed and will keep coming back until we’ve sampled everything on their goddamn shelf.