Mook of the Week
So I been had.
The bottle purports to be McSorely's Ale, "Brewed in the tradition of Olde New York." It showed up in the local megamart recently, six bucks a six, so I gave it a shot.
"McSorely's!" I thought, "I know McSorely's!" McSorely's is the oldest ale-house in Manhattan. And yes, I've been there. (Once. I soooooooooo did not belong there. I am not oblivious enough to be a tourist there, and not snobby enough to be a New Yorker there. Then again, this was back in the 80's, so things are probably better there now. Hafta go find out one of these days.)
The McSorely's ale I bought? Made in Wilkes-Barre, PA. So it's a fake. Of course, I suspect that Wilkes-Barre (pronounced Wilkes-BERRY, for whatever goddamned reason) itself is also largely fake.
(The sandwich in the foreground is the Don't-Make-Me-Hurt-You PB&J, which is essentially a PB&J with twice as much PB&J as the bread can reasonably be expected to support structurally. The chips are Pringle's Select Sechuan BBQ Rice Crisps. For the record, the fake McSorely's fakety fake ale is a pretty good craft-style ale, which is to say you can do better, and you could easily do far worse. Still, I feel like a mook.)
And since I don't want to be posting yet another post almost abstractly concerned with food, here is the absolute latest, a poem about mortality.
OLD LADIES
The wisdom of the universe rolled up in a ball
And spun out at random into rush-hour traffic
Smiles on parchment faces and eyes grown deep as tea saucers
Limbs that angle out, joints sprung from years of service
To and from shops and birthday parties
And Christmases made of tissues
As thin and frisible
As the draperies covering bones grown brittle
With calcium and the wisdom of a lifetime
Spent out in the universe:
Old ladies scare the hell out of me.
The wisdom of the universe rolled up in a ball
And spun out at random into rush-hour traffic
Smiles on parchment faces and eyes grown deep as tea saucers
Limbs that angle out, joints sprung from years of service
To and from shops and birthday parties
And Christmases made of tissues
As thin and frisible
As the draperies covering bones grown brittle
With calcium and the wisdom of a lifetime
Spent out in the universe:
Old ladies scare the hell out of me.
posted by Bobo the Wandering Pallbearer at 10:23 AM
4 Comments:
How fake is the fake McSorley's? Well... Sam Adams Boston Lager is brewed in, among other locales, Pittsburgh (at the Penn Brewery, at least when I lived there). Meanwhile, Penn Pilsner (brewed at the Penn Brewery, at least when I lived there) was looking to make a distribution deal to sell their wonderful stuff across the US. Primary bidder: Anheuser Busch.
Does the real McSorley's sell cans of insta-ale to the brewery in Wilkes Barre? Or have they outsourced brewing altogether? Or is this a ripoff brand?
It's the booze business. We'll never know.
How can you eat a PB&J sandwich with too much PB&J? I guess I'm really girly, because I prefer my PB&J to be neat and prissy. No peanut butter exuding from the sides and no little glops of jelly falling off the bread.
I believe Miss Manners would agree with me that your PB&J sandwich violates all sorts of etiquette regulations.
You should be ashamed.
Doc: McSorely's was most recently owned by Pabst, which is now owned by Miller. A quick web search failed to reveal the current ownership, but the bottled stuff is produced (per the label) at McSorely's Brewery, Wilkes-Barre, PA, which is where the Pabst operation made it's last stand (if I remember my history right). So my bet is it's a fine Miller product, and Miller simply isn't fessing up in order to preserve kitsch value (which is a pretty standard SOP for Miller).
Reese: I am ashamed of myself. I am also fed.
Is there something WRONG with posts about food? IS THERE??
Try a triple-decker PB&J sammich, and go say a novena after. They're that freaking good. Have it on toasted whole wheat, and you may as well have sold your soul to Satan, because that right there is some high-quality sinning. ;)
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