I’ve been living with wine people. Hardcore wine or die kinda French. The Male Counter-Part will partake of all reasonable alcoholic items. He enjoys the clink of the drink! The Female Half on the other hand has a stigma against beer.
She likes cider.
As a beer evangelist, I quickly went work with my beer enlightenment. Thus far to no avail.
Granted, I started off with a super IPA. A DIPA. My hysterical hop loving mistake. When one is nose deep in the floral notes of Dordogne Valley by Corrézienne then it is impossible to think someone wouldn’t love it as much as yourself. I smell the wilderness and home, romance and stability. But… granted, when you taste the beer it burns a little. To those who are less accustomed to the sting of love, it can be a rough road.
I then graced her over to pale ales in which she politely sampled a sip but refused another drink.
“Do you like coffee and/or chocolate?” I posed casually.
And since she did, I went right away into the darkness. Women LOVE the darkness.
Or so I thought.
Here’s what happened:
We started on the wrong foot again, classic bumbling me. I assumed a porter would be more “beer” and less drastic a change from what she was used to appeasingly drinking when men were around. Didn’t want to shock the poor girl.
Was a failure of nose wrinkles and polite smiles. “Yep, tastes like beer. Ew.”
I corrected my mistake, let’s completely ignore “beer” and give her something that is russian winter stout with body and delight.
Tzarine Imperial Stout byBrasserie du Mont Salève
Warrented a pre-tasting battle of “oh, but I really don’t feel like it….” and then “oh okay…”
All the while I’m holding my breath, waiting for the.. ya know.. light to click.
She drank a glass of cider to wash down the evil broth that had been pushed upon her for yet another awkward evening.
Now, don’t think this was an every day sort of thing. I’m a lady! This was gradual and spontaneous!
To which, naturally, follows with gaping unexpected set backs…
Black Bear Beer by Brasserie de Fleurac
Black bear beer is my new absolute favorite French beer. My favorite current beer. My go to AND impresser. Like a hat trick at 10% it will give you a buzz from one sip, but has the body of a knock out porter and the head of a hop duchess. It is all leather and lace.
So it is natural that when the Male Counter-Part tried to once again force his partner into beer sampling (always trying to be the helpful, inventive type) he exposed her to group bondage orgies when she had hardy had come to realize sex was possible with the lights on.
Young’s Double Chocolate Stout by Wells & Young’s Brewing Company
Was my home run!
I thought it was going to be my home run anyway. I thought it was going to a halo around her head and tears to her eyes.
“It all makes sense!”
But alas, to me even, my much loved Young’s Double Chocolate Stout wasn’t as chocolate as I remember. Or maybe had thought I remembered it being more dynamic in my younger beer discovery years.
At that point I had moved on.
I had a Rogue Chocolate Stout and didn’t even offer it to her. What was the point?! She would hate it. The girl likes cider and, although I hadn’t even began to help her explore Gueuze and Lambics, I felt totally defeated. No hope. No justice in the world! I had lost my touch. I was no longer a messenger of god (Ninkasi).
This stout had been sitting in the frig for over two weeks. That is how much beer sampling had declined in the Nitch household due to lack of companionship.
This night. Not but one hour ago, my French Man asked if we could drink the bright red beer in the frig and I obliged because we were drinking whiskey and smoking things. It was a party! And the movie had just ended. Oui.
As people milled around, I saw the French Man pour the beer into his glass and I felt a little tickle in my soul. It had a black, saucy body and a velvet cream head. He held the glass up commenting on its lush appearance. I drooled. He went to get another glass and I commandeered his.
Chocolate cream with a bitter chocolate bite, finishing with a milky chocolate ring.
I was gob smacked. THIS was the dynamic beer I was looking for. THIS was the chocolate stout to convert nuns into can-can dancers. I had to test it on the Female Half.
“No thaaank you…” she tried to slide out of the way around me as I husked in an almost creepy voice, “so.. did you try this one.”
I cleared my chocolate beer coated throat and tried to explain that his was different from the other ones. Again, I mean. Different-er.
Male Counter-Part had tasted the beer said she would hate it, she hates coffee.
“I like cafe,” she protested
I hand her the beer, insisting eagerly. Maybe too expectantly. This whole thing had become an obvious obsession for me and she thought I had already left her alone. Given up. She wasn’t going to like beer and I wasn’t going to be able to change her mind.
Yes. But taste this.
Wide eyes, nose wrinkled and a playful smile of, “yum, I can’t taste it yet but I know I’m going to hate it,” she sipped the stout.
She set the glass down giggling awkwardly, following quickly with a sip of water.
It was just too bitter, all evil and darkness. She liked apples and champagne. It lingered and she didn’t like the aggressive nature.
The French Man made a beautiful speech about how he found the enlightening path into beer foodie-dom. How he had been around me and sampled so many beers in Australia and America that he was no longer able to drink a Heineken without thinking of what a beer could be. So sweet of him, but there was no saving my credibility, it had leaked all over the floor. Quel dommage.
The Male Counter-Part mentioned that it was still too bitter, it reminded him of his morning coffee.
Breakfast stouts, I grumbled. Breakfast stouts.
We discovered that, for wine drinkers, it is helpful to compare dark beers to light beers as one compares red wine to white. Most novice wine drinkers (women implied, having lowered alcohol experience aka are fucking dumb to that sorta thing) don’t like red wine.
At one point a French Girl says that she never drinks red wine because of “you know, Freud.” Red wine reminds woman of her period, the pain and discomfort. The French Girl never drinks red wine.
And so we end the evening…
…more determined then ever to make the Female Half try Lambics!
Bwahhahaa. Nothing can resist the CANTILLION!