You Arrogant Bastard

Well no sooner had the sheen worn off my lustrous silver trophy--gained however dubiously by a fateful concatenation of atmospheric conditions, bottle mix-ups and the judges' being completely faced--than a new challenge presented itself, and this time from among the ranks of the well-initiated, the down-and-dirty, the silent scourge within our midst, a wrangler by the name of Chuwy. That's right: Chuwy.

A call was put out a month or so ago, won't say by who (or whom) because I've already said it. One Chuwy. Seems the dude's got a thing for an outfit name of 'Stone' runs outa San Diego. Well sa' I say, you got something to prove then go haid and prove it.

The idea was to cotton to what these Southern California types were up to in their brew house and replicate it least'nears you could and such like what with IBUs and thems, while still lettin' it set in the craw aright, bitterwise.

An added incentive was put out to the folks involved, those that'd take it up, in the form of glory and notoriety for the man (or woman, let's not forget how our noble tradition started--in the kitchen!) that got it nearest aright flavor wise. Prizes were announced and whatnot, but curiously, once we boys commenced the brewing we just up and forgot all about it and carried on so.

I won't tell you exactly what become of my own contribution--becuz the story ain't done yet--'cept that I made it, and you can pretty well see it in the depiction above.

That dark red color ain't no trick of the light mind you, but the true soul of the brew what I brewed. If you detect a cinnamon tint there you're not mistaken, as certain roasted malts contribute that earthy glow, and the hop additions that were undertaken definitely add to that element in their spicy bookay. That offset tan head is a might 'oily' you might say in that it sticks way down the glass till the last little bit is drunk. Not an expert but I'd venture to say that's not a bad thing now is it.


Just between you me and the wallpaper, I'd say that while those city dudes may produce a finer 'high street' ale down there in the Deee-ego, this here brew is just about all a man needs other than the stars overhead, some pinto beans simmerin' in the pan, ol' Jefe on the guitar, and a harmonica to make a summer evening that much sweeter.


Oh but you're probably wondering about the name.