This is my new Blackberry Storm Coaster Application, the only thing the phone does well. Willing to sell patent for mad cash.

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Look, Mr. Budding eco-friendly anti-corporate capitalist, I don’t give a shit about your politics on coffee. I don’t care if it’s farmer friendly, all I care about it getting it. Starbucks is what it is for better or for worse, but dammit they make coffee and that’s all that matters.

The Pike Place Roast blend comes off as a neutral, mild yet perfectly acceptable blend. I find no hint of hazelnut or vanilla, just a nice clean roasted bean. I’ve had a few burnt batches, that tasted like drinking coffee that had cigarettes ashed in it, but that may be my coffee maker. The poor girl is getting older, and the brewing is becoming more inconsistent.

I have always found that the best way to get the taste from a blend is to let it cool down until it is almost cold. The true aroma really seems to reveal itself when it’s not burning your tongue.

Would I recommend the Pike Place Roast you ask? Well, honestly that depends. I have no idea how much it cost because I bought the bag when I was drunk. So, if it’s relatively cheap then yes, buy the damn thing. If it’s not then find something else. This is no special coffee. It’s about as non-offensive as they come. I’m sure by now you coffee aficionados will be coming for my head for this very unrefined review, but hey that’s what this blend deserved. Garth Brooks has a BBQ stain on his white T-shirt, and I have coffee stains all my white T-shirts, and my teeth, keyboard, carpet, newspaper, and couch.

NO ROOM FOR CREAM. DRINK IT BLACK!

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There was a terrible time in my life, in which I didn’t particularly like big kick ass beers, I drank malt liquor, I drank rolling rock and horrible, horrible shit. I call this time anywhere between the ages of 17-18. When a friend finally got a fake ID, and we had carte blanche reign over the beer isle, I bought a bottle of Stone’s Arrogant Bastard, and a six-pack of Sierra Nevada. I could hardly manage to drink the Arrogant Bastard, the hoppiness was overpowering, even the Sierra Nevada was far from enjoyable to me…

However time heals all wounds, or in this case evolves all palates, and I began to explore the more intense beers not simply because I thought it would make me look like a bad ass (though it is a nice side effect), but out of a sincere lust for something of substance, something with a voice. The India Pale Ale was the first beer style that yelled loud enough for me to pick it out of a crowed.  So like a newly born, blind kangaroo baby, I clung to it as though it were my mother’s fur and crawled instinctively into its nurturing marsupial pouch.

The side effect of my early and often IPA abuse is that I’ve become extremely accustom to the flavor profiles they present. Big hops, tons of bitter lovely flavor and a deliciously tangy lingering aftertaste. While I’m no where near being tired of it, I do feel that it takes a good deal more uniqueness to truly rouse me than it did when I made the switch from Mickey’s Grenades to real beer.

Which brings me at last to the beer this review is supposedly reviewing… Karl Strauss’ Tower 10 IPA. This is a lovely, lovely beer. Appropriately bitter, but not so much that it flattens out the flavor profile. Slightly citrus-y, but not so much that it becomes gimmicky. The aftertaste comes on strong and coats the mouth with a lingering bitterness. It’s balanced, above all else, and engenders love and respect because of this.

Often I think the IPA genre becomes a brewery’s intimidation beer. The brew they produced with maximum hops, full flavored, high percentage, full on attitude, in an attempt to garner some street-cred. While this does produce some truly impressive over-the-top beers, I fear that it sells the IPA style short, and is increasingly pushing it towards homogenization. Tower 10 avoids this, both in marketing that is delightfully lacking “edginess” and in a taste that satisfies the lust for hops, without sacrificing multidimensional flavor in the process.

Interestingly Tower 10 didn’t shake me from my IPA desensitization by blowing me away with it’s intensity, nor did it get my attention by going to extremes in the addition of adjunct flavorings like orange peel or something. Instead it simply followed the old creed “Everything in Moderation” and in doing so it delivers a wonderfully balanced IPA experience.

Karl Strauss, Tower 10 IPA

(Did Ben Franklin really coin “Everything in Moderation”? I feel like every witty quote from American History is either attributed to him or Mark Twain, often erroneously, so why bother siting the source anymore. Right?)

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Rich pots of bold deliciousness.  The warmth and the aroma are the only things that get me up in the morning.  If it weren’t for coffee I may never arise from my slumber.

This liquid gem has been around forever, so it seems reasonable to assume that the brewers would have been perfected some time ago.  That simply isn’t the case.  I have had multiple makers including a couple of Hamilton Beach fancy flim-flams, and one of those stupid single shot makers.  They have all since passed on.  Hopefully to the fiery pits of hell.

Now I have this stylish Mr. Coffee maker, and frankly, it’s quite good.  Let’s look at the features.  It has a clock.  You can set a brew timer that I have never used, and it has a feature that allows a cup to be poured mid-brew without spillage, though that has since broken.  Most importantly it makes a good 12 cups, and it keeps them warm four hours.  The unit doesn’t take up much counter space, and can be tucked in the corner.

So sit back, enjoy your coffee, and brandish a knife at anyone that tries to steal a cup.

Product: Mr. Coffee 12-Cup COF FTX41

Price: $50

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Listen, I feel that wine making is one of the more noble things a person can do with their life. So naturally, I’m biased toward winemakers. I want to love them no matter the quality of their product. Regardless of taste, it’s still wine, and therefore liquid love and happiness. So if I really don’t care for a bottle of wine, I almost feel bad knocking it. All it ever tried to do was bring a little light into the dark cavernous reaches of my heart and I shot it down, rejected it, called it fat and made it cry. Old Moon Zinfandel came to me all sparkles and sunshine and I spit it from my mouth like lukewarm seawater. For this I feel bad.

Old Moon is a Zinfandel made from vines that are 35-70 years old. I don’t know enough about wine making to know if old vines are synonymous with good wine. However, I would wager that a well placed, well tended middle aged vineyard could produce just as equally interesting wines as an ancient vineyard of similar quality. All this is a long winded way of saying, that the Zinfandel vines that Old Moon gets it’s grapes from are old… Take away from that what you will.

Here’s the deal though. This didn’t taste like the Zinfandels I love, it tasted overly fruity. The black cherry that’s mentioned on the label’s tasting notes is certainly there, but too much so. It overwhelmed the whole balance of the thing and left me kinda puckered up. I tried to get through the glass, but the berry tastes were just too much, too sweet. I wanted a Zinfandel that was big and bold and tasted like sunshine, dirt and spice. Something that’s so dry you have to drink water afterward because you’re parched. This wasn’t that… at first.

BUT WAIT! I sit here now, two days after opening this bottle and I’ve got half of it left. Arguably it should no longer be in a great state for drinking. But I figure I’m writing the review, I should have a sip to remember why I disliked it so damn much. I wrest free the cork and because I’m lazy I take a swig straight from the bottle. What the fuck? Hello spicy dryness, hello bold character, hello tannins aplenty. What happened to you Old Moon? What have you become? Did oxygen contamination fix you? Did my palate change almost overnight?

I pour some into a glass to investigate further. Not much change, I can pick up a bit more fruit if I focus hard and sniff deep, it’s so much less than before. Suddenly this wine has become – almost – hot tasting.

What does this mean? Well, I think if there’s one take away from this it’s that any review is horribly subjective. When you’re dealing with taste (I mean literally the sense, not the “there’s no accounting for…” kind) things get even more murky. In this case, I can’t even trust my own palate to tell me the same “truth” on separate days because even it seems subjective and privy to fits of change. To chop up a review of food or drink into a “This sucks. This doesn’t” dichotomy is to be disingenuous and ignorant, at best.

So buy the wine still. Buy all kinds of wine. Remember that wine loves you and it’s up to you to let it into your heart.

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Beep.  7:30am.  I’m supposed to run, fuck that.

Beep.  8:00am.  Just get your ass up, fuck that.

8:30, 8:45, 9:15, 9:30,9:35, 9:40.  Alright, alright, fine I’ll get up.  I’ve got work in fifty minutes anyway.  Why does my back hurt?  Jacuzzis and Martinis DO NOT MIX.

I’ll take a quick shower, and still have enough time for a cup of coffee, oh thank god.    I still feel like crap.  Work is clearly not an option today, I’ve got to leave in ten.  Good, I need food.  Bagels, no.  Hard boiled eggs, no.  I can’t stomach any of this crap.  V8!  Victory, chug it down.

It’s not only good for hangovers, it is really quite good on it’s own.  The stuff is packed with sodium, oh delicious sodium.  DO NOT GET THE LOW SODIUM V8!  I guarantee life will suck.  Also, drink it cold.  When it’s cold it’s think and a little lumpy, the way I like it.  When it’s room temperature the viscosity is like water, and the taste is mildly offensive.

I hated it at first, but like most good things in life like whiskey and public radio, I learned to love it.  Now it’s part of the routine.  It’s a great pick-me-up too, if you don’t think you’ll make it till lunch.  They make a 5.5oz can, I don’t know what that bullcrap is about.  Get the 11.5oz can, it’s the perfect amount.

Fucked if I know if it has electrolytes, but drink this post boozing and you’re golden.  If you’re feeling like a real trooper in the morning, have a hair of the dog that bit you, and drink a bloody mary.  Much respect.

Alright, I’m swearing off alcohol for at least a day.  I’ll run tomorrow, probably, maybe.

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Well, it’s a beer. I swear to God, Allah, Buddha, Zeus, and Judas Priest on that, but no one else.  Every week I bowl, and every week I am confronted with two options for draft beer,  Bud Light or AmberBock.  Between these two evils I routinely choose the latter.

I wouldn’t say it’s a full body beer, but it’s hearty enough.  I have found if you drink enough of it, it becomes a full body beer.  The taste is unrefined, and bland. As a product of Michelob this is no big surprise.  When they come out with an AmberBock Ultra sign me up, clearly it will be divine.

AmberBock is like a scab that is starting to fall off.  At first you think ‘oh, no, I better just leave it alone,’ but we both know that doesn’t last long.  Eventually you start picking at it (drinking), and picking at it, and figure when it’s all done things will be much better.  Sure the process isn’t pleasant, and there is a little blood (normally in both cases), but you are grateful for the end result, blotto and scab free.

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