Yum yum eatum up

As reviewed at Gabesreview:

Ah, transfattyacids, that poor discriminated against of all the fatty acids. Has anyone else noticed the outright war food makers are waging on this poor mutant beast of modern creation. Sure it might increase your cholesterol, or give you a heart attack at the age of 45, but is that ol' transy's fault? In the beggining was lard, and it was good. The world rejoiced in its creaminess, and the way it could make any food (and I mean ANY!) taste not only good, but enjoyable. But man's food lust could not be satisfied. We needed "healthier" alternatives, without sacrificing the flavor. Lo and behold! vegetable oil was a great alternative and it only had one downside!!! Hurray! Wait, one down side? Go on. Well it seems vegetable oils tend to become, how you say, rancid. As in they rot quickly and that does not make for good eating, let me tell you.
It seems, though, if you hydroginate those suckers, they last a lot longer. Now we have a long lasting, lowfat, alternative to our true love of Lard. The Lord did grin, and the people did feast, unwittingly having released the beast that is the transfattyacid. Not only do they increase "bad" cholesteral, but "good" cholesteral as well. What's a man to do you ask? Boycott all foods with transfatt in it. Conversley, if you buy food that says "No Trans Fat!!" in little blurbs all over the box, it MUST be healthy. In fact they dont just cause health, they are the substance of health. Pure health in a box. Yet, remember to shed a tear for transfattyacids, it wasnt their fault, they were just made that way.

Hot digity

What happens to a man when he has nothing to look forward to? What must be the next, logical consequence to this unfortunate occurance be? let us follow the rabbit hole. Can a man truly have "nothing to look forward to"? Many would say no, by our very nature, namely rational, we can hypothesis, imagine, hope, thus creating endless elements for a future object to be supplied to our intellect and for us to "look forward" to it. Yet, this opperation of the intellect is not necessary, such as, "reasoning" is to the faculty of "reason". A man, by having reason, cannot cease to employ his reason. He may be misinformed, and use it incorrectly, but the actualization must be constant. Ergo, a man MAY look forward, but this act is not necessary, leaving him to lack its performance.
So a man can, not look forward to anything. Where then does his gaze, inner and outer, look towards? If not forward, then behind, oui non? Presuming, of course, that the gazer gazes from the present, thus excluding it, the present, as an object of the gaze. Then we have a man who soley beholds the past, in all its unchanging, and unchangeable glory. Now we can examine the result of such a state. Due to the nature of the past being unchangeable, the viewer must be limited to finite # of observations, due to his never extrapalating any new, and thus forward thinking, propositions or knowledge. He, ah fuck it, the four shots of espresso are wearing off, and from what I can tell, i just verbaly diahread all over the screen. Im bored, parched and its saturday night.

Bam!

And new philosophy calls all in doubt,
The element of fire is quite put out;
The sun is lost, and th' earth, and no man's wit
Can well direct him where to look for it.
And freely men confess that this world's spent,
When in the planets, and the firmament
They seek so many new; they see that this
Is crumbled out again to his atomies.
'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone;
All just supply, and all relation:
Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot,
For every man alone thinks he hath got
To be a phoenix, and that then can be
None of that kind, of which he is, but he.
This is the world's condition now.

John Donne, 1611

Hit 'em where they aint!

Me.......me........me agian, I didnt know I was so popular.

All things beer: The RFD Washington

Already a legend in my mind, due to being run and operated by the The Brickskeller, the RFD was a little slice of heaven. I must admitt to not really experiencing the establishment itself, but I got something far better. Thanks to my Compatriot in Beer, Angie the Pastry extrordinare, I found out about an exclusive beer tasting being put on by The Beer Guy. Ten excelent brewers are invited every so often to showcase a specific style of beer, and all of us get to become sloshed off it.
When I arrived, I was shuttled into a nice and private back room, illiciting imagined images of political manuvering, and smokey deals. Right away I knew this would be a good night, because following me through the door was an oak barrel of high quality beer, I knew not what. Tonight was strong ale night, and our good hosts cut no corners in that department. Let me just list the alchohol contents of the ten beers, lowest to highest. 6.7%, 7.4%, 8.0%, 8.2%, two at 9.0%, 11%, 11.5%, and last but not least, 18%. These are all "official" figures, but most brewers conceded that actual figures were higher. Most, if told they would be drunk after 30 oz of beer, would laugh in your face. I would wager even the most hardened alchoholics would be feelin it after this line up of 3 oz glasses. Couple of interesting points, this room was the first, ever, to try Franklin Brewery's Chaos, as well as the last 5 gallons of DuClaw Russian Imperail Stout.
Im a firm believer that a goodness of a night can be judged by how hard it was to get home. Thus, my falling asleep on the metro, again, ending up God knows where, and having to have Stephan come to pick me up, means that I had a great time. There only used to be one pricipal in my brain for beer in the District: Its damn expensive. Now, at least I know that if its going to be damn expensive, it can be damn good too. Located just up 7th from the Chinatown metro stop, next to Fado's.

The Brickskeller

As reviewed at Gabesreview.com:

Once, in every man's life, he comes upon a place that takes every dream he ever had and wraps them all together like the sweet folds of a Salt Water Taffy. I never really held out much hope of ever finding this fabled land, I was in a new city, the Nations Capitol, and it was scary. But born upon the wind, word of a magical land floated to my ears, "a thousand beers" it softly called to me. But what could this mean, this siren song, tempting me with a prospect no man dare dream.

Naturally, I headed for the subway. Not only does this technological marvel take one places faster than any man has gone before, but there would be alchohol imbibed this night, and D.C.'s finest were out in full force. Giddy with excitment, I paid no heed to the grunting hordes that made their way towards the seedy underbelly of "the District". No, I was on a mission, not even a broken escalator could slow me down. I took it two steps at a time, working out my salvation by the sweat of my brow, paying no attention to the cat calls of those on the working escalator next to mine.

You may be asking yourself, "where is this fool galavanting towards?" "what could drive him to such madness!?!?" I shall tell you, but do not say I didnt warn you. The power and misteek of this establishment are enough to make one doubt the very foundations of his existance. Offering full bar service with a beer list over a 1000 strong, the Brickskeller has been the recipient of many awards. Included in this list is the Guiness World record for worlds largest selection of beer comercialy available in 2002. Opened in 1957, it occupies the bottom two floors of the lovely Brickskeller Inn (they knew what they were doing with that combo). Lets recap what we've learned, ONE THOUSAND BEERS! And thats today's lesson.
I found myself outside a non-descript building on some back street, parched from my efforts, and I smiled. I smiled because I knew that locked inside this pandora's box, brewed the efforts of an entire planet, and thier persuits of beer.
"How many in your party?"
"One"
"we only have an empty space at the bar"
"Perfect"
And so it began. I flew with unbridled passion that night. Racing from country to country, savoring the sights and sounds of distant lands I knew I would never see. England, Austria, Belgium, Russia, Japan. Chicken strips floated in and out of my consiousness at one point, but just as soon as I could greet them, they were gone, and I was full. Smaking my lips from my meal, I dove back in, this time enjoying the fruits of the U.S.A! I dabled in Virgina, ed in California. Those who were there that night are really the only ones who can understand what it was like. We toasted the dawn, and spoke of double and triple fermentations. The carnivorus dance of yeast and sugar.
Just as fast as it had come, the dream was gone. I found myself home, cozy in my bed, drifting off to sleep with the same smile upon my face, free to dream of Honey Ales, and Imperial stouts. So if your path ever takes you to this throbing heart of democracy, listen to the wind, my friends, your dreams just might find you. (but if you dont want to wait that long, just take the red line to the Dupont Circle station, go west of Q street for two blocks to 22nd street and turn left.)