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So wait...did I ever mention that I like the craft beer?
Tis true. In my dozen years in Brooklyn, I've had myself delicious craft beers in pretty much every bar in Park Slope, forgoing the beloved Buds & Yuenglings & Heinekens of the masses. Down with the proletariat! Give me something hoppy. Give me something flavorful. Give me something that’s been brewed in the tradition of the Mayans.
"Great taste, less filling" be damned.
It wasn't always this way, but it got better over time. After a teenage existence where I didn't have a single drink until post-graduation, in college I cut my teeth on bottles of Red Dog & Sam Adams (which, c'mon Sam Adams...other than your specialty beers, you kinda suck). I carried around six-packs of Newcastle in my hippie backpack at frat parties. When I went home for the holidays, my dad always had a few frosty mugs waiting in the freezer so I could pour myself a glass of Nutfield or whatever NH craft beer was available at the moment.
Eventually, after around my 5,000th craft beer, it dawned on me...FROSTY MUGS KILL THE FLAVOR OF A GOOD BEER.